►DANCING WITH THE DEVIL #004: Prelude [Sunghoon.]

Abstract: Eight years have passed since you betrayed Park Sunghoon, leaving his fate shrouded in uncertainty. You thought you'd left that world behind, but the serial killings in the capital city —which bore a haunting resemblance to that in your past—pulled you right back into the shadows you once escaped. What began as a quest to prove your worth soon unraveled into something far more sinister: a labyrinthine network of power, deceit, and danger hidden beneath a veneer of opulence.Now, amidst the grandeur of a castle steeped in blood-soaked tradition, you find yourself, once again, entangled with Sunghoon—a ghost from your past whose motives remain as inscrutable as ever. The stakes are now higher, the games deadlier, and survival feels like chasing a mirage. As you navigate a web of twisted rituals and deadly alliances, the tension between you and Sunghoon ignites once again.But this time, the game is different. With whispers of betrayal and lingering wounds threatening to consume you both, you must decide if trust is a risk worth taking—because in doing so, you are not just exposing the truths they've hidden, but also the feelings you’ve fought so hard to suppress and bury.

Parts ‣ #001 | ‣ #002 | ‣ #003 | ‣ #004: Prelude | ‣ #004: Finale

Genre: vampire!sunghoon | horror | thriller | fantasy | romance (or is it? 😋)||| wc: ~31.7k

Featuring: Anton from Riize. [ PSA! ] There's also a Jaeyun here -- this is actually Enhypen Jake lol. Soz, no one fits the role that Jaeyun has in here better than Dark Blood Jake so I plead you guys to just go along and imagine that the Jake in Part 1-3 and Jaeyun in this Part are two different people ((who happen to look alike)) HAHAH

Warnings: blood; violence; injuries (some are self-inflicted); suggestiveness (some are forced); mentions of crimes (missing persons, murder, serial killings); manipulation; toxicity; trauma.

A/N: A re-upload since my initial one got comm-labeled 💀

— i

You have never for once thought you were safe from his clutches—not after he vanished; not after you’ve moved to the Big City and left it all behind; and not even after 8 full years had passed without any hint of him and his kind terrorising your life.

But 8 years was indeed a long time—long enough to make you almost want to believe that it was all just a fever dream especially when your traumatic memories have now been reduced to dubious patchwork of images in your mind.

Until, that is, the odd happenings cropping up around the city in recent months began to bear an eerie resemblance to those from 8 years ago.

“You sure about this?” Anton’s voice cut through your thoughts as the van pulled to a stop near an abandoned alley. Your colleague’s expression was tight, his concern unmistakable. You didn’t look up, eyes fixed on the heatmap glowing on your laptop screen—a web of red nodes clustering around several locations with grey nodes showing your predicted ones.

You’d spent months perfecting this quantitative model and simulation, and this little incursion into the field was a risk you were willing to take to prove it worked, “this district is the next likeliest place. Just a glimmer of evidence from here can really set the whole ‘drug epidemic’ story down the drain.”

“I didn’t mean the location,” Anton sighed, “I meant about you being the bait. You don’t have to take things this far. What if, like they say the serial killings are just the product of yet another drug epidemic? It checks out—youth, homeless, poor, dubious backgro—"

“Then I’ll come out of this little project unscathed,” you cut him, “and you can say ‘I told you so.”

“And if you’re right?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. If you were right and it wasn’t just a drug epidemic, then it is indeed something far worse. Something beyond the comprehension of mere mortals. Something you’d hoped never to face again for it was the very reason that had once brought you so close to death.

"then I get to say I told you so," you replied, forcing a grin that didn't quite reach your eyes. You, of all people, knew if what you suspected was indeed true and something goes wrong tonight then you might not actually make it out alive.

Steeling yourself, you stepped out of the van, pulling your coat tighter against the night’s chill. With a final glance at Anton and the rest of the unofficial team, you gave a curt nod—a silent signal that the plan was in motion.

Truthfully, you’d never planned to get involved in this case—or any case for that matter. You were just a data analyst, seconded to the Ministry of Justice to modernize their outdated systems. It was supposed to be a safe, back-office job. But fate had other plans.

When the first odd killings started cropping up, you’d recognized the signs immediately. The patterns were unmistakable—just like the ones from eight years ago. Still, you stayed quiet, trusting the experts to handle it. This was the capital city, after all—surely, the investigators here wouldn’t fall victim to the same manipulation and incompetence as your small town had before.

But you were wrong.

Just like how authorities back then easily latched onto a convenient red herring, the Criminal Investigations Department here, dismissed the deaths as nothing more than a string of drug-related incident. And that was when you decided to take matters into your own hands. The sloppy slashing on the victims’ necks to hide bite marks, the feral attacks perfectly timed with rising homelessness and drug abuse—it was all too deliberate. Someone was definitely orchestrating this. Someone who knew how to exploit public sentiment and navigate around the intricacies of public policies to mask their crimes.

The Criminal Investigations Department didn’t believe you of course. You could have all the data in the world and use the most expensive software to churn your model and still all they see is just another desk jockey—naive, out of touch, and blind to the so-called realities of the field.

And so, here you were, about to test your model in this so-called field that they held in such high regard.

You stepped deeper into the alley. All sounds from faraway city had disappeared by then—filling the empty maze with eerie silence. Shadows stretched and folded over you, growing heavier with every step. Then, behind you, the faint echo of footsteps began.

You tightened your grip on the dagger hidden in your sleeve.

Making yourself the bait tonight was a calculated risk, just like every other part of your plan. If the pattern in your simulation was correct—and that the culprit were really bloodsuckers—the scent of fresh blood would draw them straight to you.

So with swift resolute movements you quickly pricked your finger against the blade, just enough for a bead of crimson to well up. The shift was immediate. The air grew heavy, the faint echo of footsteps reached your ears, and the lights above flickered, one by one.

Anxiety clawed at the edges of your resolve, threatening to boil over. But you pushed it down—there was no room for error or stalling. You had to keep moving, to reach the junction as planned. The junction wasn't just any random spot; it had been chosen carefully. Its CCTV placements made it ideal for monitoring, and your team was supposed to be stationed at key points, ready to act if anything went wrong. Timing was everything because if you didn’t make it before someone—or something—caught you, the entire operation could fall apart.

Except when you reached the junction and rounded the corner, you didn't see any signals from your team. You looked at the other end, also none. Fuck, you thought, the dread coiling tight in your chest. If your backup wasn’t here, then you might really be alone—in the middle of a potential serial killer’s or bloodsucker hunting ground.

But there was no time or room for fear. So with sharp fluid movements, you pulled the gun from your holster, cocking it in one swift motion as you turned sharply, ready to fire at whatever might be following you. Except, there was nothing. Only an alley stretching out, empty and undisturbed.

A shaky exhale escaped your lips. Maybe it had been your own footsteps echoing after all. You cast a quick glance over your shoulder, scanning every shadow one last time before reaching for your phone. Your fingers hovered over the screen, ready to fire off a message to the team demanding their whereabouts.

Then suddenly, there was a blur of movements but just as you looked up, a gloved hand clamped your mouth, yanking you backward, causing you to drop your gun. You kicked, twisting violently in his grasp, but it was like trying to break free from iron. Another hand gripped your waist, lifting you off the ground before slamming you into a cold brick wall.

The next thing you knew the attacker pressed his forearm hard against your throat, cutting off your air and blurring your visions. Panic clawed at your chest as you thrashed harder, but even through the haze, you saw his eyes—glowing faintly in the darkness, flickering like embers of a dying fire.

For a split second, something passed through them. Recognition? Realization?

Whatever it was, you didn't spend any longer to ponder about it. Instead, you seized the moment of his momentary lapse, jabbing the dagger you concealed up until now, into his hand. He hissed, the sound unnatural and guttural, releasing you just enough for you to stumble free.

But then you saw it as you looked up: the way the wound on his hand was already healing, the flesh stitching itself together before your very eyes.

Not human.

You were correct, after all.

Then a sudden bloodcurdling scream tore through the alley, sharp and bone-chilling. Your head whipped toward the sound, the shock of it stealing your focus for a single, crucial moment. When you turned back, the assailant was already sprinting into the shadows, his pace unnaturally swift.

Cursing under your breath, you bolted after him, refusing to lose sight. But no matter how hard you pushed, he was faster—inhumanly fast in fact. He darted around a corner, but when you reached it, it was a dead-end and he was gone, leaving nothing but silence in his wake.

"What?" you muttered, bewildered, your breathing ragged as your eyes darted around, scanning the area for any hidden doors or passages. There were none.

Your phone suddenly buzzed; it was Anton. When you answered, his voice spilled out, panicked and strained—a contrast to his usual soft-spoken calm, “y/n! Please tell me you’re okay. Please tell me you’re—”

“Anton, I’m fine,” you cut him off, your voice tight.

“Fuck.” Anton cursed—a rare slip. “One of the agents found a body. Said it was bloodless. I thought- I-”

“Where?” you demanded sharply. "Okay, I'll see you there."

You spun on your heels, already halfway to bolting, when an odd crunch under your shoe froze you in place. The sound echoed unnaturally in the suffocating silence of the alley, sharp and out of place. It was something metallic that glinted faintly in the dim light.

Slowly, cautiously, you bent down and picked it up.

It was a brooch, heavy and ornate, its craftsmanship disturbingly perfect.

Your fingers traced the coat of arms etched into the metal: a spiked crown loomed at the top, flanked by a raven and a wolf poised like sentinels. Between them rested a shield, and at its very center, encased in intricate filigree, was a ruby—a dark, smoldering gem that glowed faintly as though alive. It pulsed, dim and irregular, like the heartbeat of something ancient and unspeakable. Beneath the crest, the words were etched in a precise, unnerving script:

"In shadows, we endure. In blood, we rise."

Your breath caught, your chest tightening with a visceral, unnameable dread. The ruby seemed to grow warmer against your skin, the faint light flickering as if responding to the fear blooming inside you.

That was when it hit you.

You’d seen this crest before. The realization struck like a blow, dredging up something long buried—a truth you had fought to forget.

No. It couldn’t be. Your mind grasped for another explanation, anything but the one clawing its way to the surface. But the brooch felt heavier in your palm, its ruby pulsing faintly, as if mocking your denial.

A rush of memories broke through the floodgates, sharp and disjointed flashes that cut through your resolve: bloodied lips, the metallic taste of iron, a pained gaze—and the weight of betrayal pressing into your chest.

“Sunghoon,” you whispered, the name falling from your lips like a curse.

— ii

“Told you it would work,” you nudged Anton as you headed towards the meeting room where you were supposed to meet the Detective Chief Inspector.

“It made a ‘work’ out of you too,” Anton replied begrudgingly, clicking his tongue as his eyes trace the bruise on your neck and the cuts on your hand.

“I’d say it’s worth it,” you shrugged, looking awfully calm and happy for someone who had a brush with death just last night.

True, you got berated by your boss for acting recklessly on your own and putting your life in line but it was all worth it, you thought. Afterall not only did you manage to put a question mark on the current narrative but in doing so, you have also forced the Criminal Investigations Department to take you and your work seriously. After months of being treated lightly and as a joke, you couldn’t help but feel triumphant to see the Detective Chief Superintendent personally walking to your office this morning — requesting assistance on how his department can utilise the model you had built.

“Well let’s hope the Detective they send for me this time isn’t another boomer or misogynist as the rest of the lot has been,” Anton handed you the photocopies he had made, wishing you luck as he held the door of the meeting room open for you. You quickly set up the meeting room, turning on your laptop while setting the copies and relevant files neatly in the middle of the table.

You hadn’t slept all night but this was the most energised you have felt in months. In fact, so absorbed you were, you didn’t notice the figure at first. Your focus was on the documents, your pen tapping lightly against the table as you scanned line after line of text.

It wasn’t until the faintest flicker of movement passed beyond the glass walls of the meeting room that you looked up. At first, it was just a shadow—a fleeting outline that barely registered. Then, step by step, it came into focus.

Broad shoulders and a rigid stance that carried an effortless authority. Thick raven-black hair that caught the light like polished obsidian. Pale skin that seemed almost luminous under the sterile lights.

Your pen stilled in your hands, fingers unconsciously tightening around it as the door clicked open.

The scent hit you first—woodsy and citrusy. That cologne. The one you knew too well. It swept over you with a cruel familiarity, twisting your stomach as memories clawed at the edges of your mind, sharp and unwelcome.

You didn’t need to see his face to know.

And yet, when he stepped inside, bowing slightly—polite in a way that felt almost mocking—it still made your breath catch. By the time he straightened, your heart had already plummeted.

“Park Sunghoon,” you croaked, almost reflexively, your voice barely above a whisper. The name tasted bitter on your tongue, dredged up from a place you had tried to bury.

His gaze sharpened, dark eyes sweeping over you with clinical precision before his lips curved into a slow, deliberate smirk. His hand moved smoothly, locking the door behind him with a soft click that echoed far too loudly in the confined space.

“I don’t think we need introductions, then?” he drawled, his voice low and silken, every word laced with amusement.

Your hand moved instinctively to your back pocket, fingers fumbling for the dagger you always carried.

“Looking for this?" he asked nonchalantly as he pulled something out from his coat. It was a dagger – your dagger from last night. Before you could react, he flicked his wrist, sending it spinning through the air. It landed with a sharp thud, piercing through the stack of files in front of you. The deliberate impact echoed through the room, loud and accusatory.

“Don’t bother,” he said, his tone dismissive but firm. “You know you can’t kill me.”

You swallowed thickly, but forced your lips to curl into a dry, humorless smile. “Killing me here, in a glass-walled meeting room?” you asked, leaning casually back against the table as if you weren’t seconds from bolting. “That’d be messy, don’t you think? Hundreds of employees just outside. You’d need a whole army of PR vampires—or whatever you guys have—to cover it up.”

His smirk was slow, deliberate, like he enjoyed your attempt at bravado. “Even if my fury for you ran that deep,” he said, his voice a low purr, “I wouldn’t be that stupid.”

“Then why are you here?” you asked, your voice sharpening as you straightened, your fingers subtly curling into fists at your sides.

“Because someone has been causing havoc,” he said, his voice dropping to something colder. “And it turns out that someone is you. No surprise there—you’ve always been a thorn.”

You scoffed, “for a thorn you sure are taking your time eliminating me. Lingering feelings?”

His lips curved into another smirk, this one sharper, more dangerous. “You tell me,” he said, gesturing lazily toward your pocket. “You could’ve handed my crest over to the investigators. Why didn’t you?”

Your breath caught, realization dawning. He was right. The crest you’d kept instead of handing over to the Criminal Investigations Department—why hadn’t you? You’d lied to them, and for what?

“That’s not—”

“I’m not interested to hear your excuses actually,” Sunghoon interrupted smoothly, “let me just say if I want to kill you, I would have—be it yesterday or before. I’m letting you live because I need something from you. Your expertise.”

He fished out a file from his briefcase and slid it across the table towards you, “I’ve heard of the model you built. I think it’s brilliant.” His tone was casual, almost complimentary, but his eyes gleamed with something colder. “I have some additional data. It will definitely enhance your model. There is however a catch—whatever you find goes back to me. Not to your boss, not to the department. Just me.”

Your eyes flitted suspiciously from the file to him, “why would I do that? For all I know you’re just trying to mess the investigations up.”

“I mean you guys are already fumbling the investigations as it is," he scoffed. "Look. You, of all people, know that the authorities are powerless against my kind. If they meddle further, they’ll just get caught in the crossfire and make a bigger mess. Deadlier mess.”

“How do I know that you’re not behind it all?” you shot back, the accusation sharp. “It all clicks. You being here. You meddling in the investigations.”

His patience visibly thinned, his expression hardening. “If you hadn’t been messing around last night, that poor woman wouldn’t have been preyed upon,” he said, his tone like a blade. “Do you see it now? the implications of your tampering—of any human tampering?”

Your breath hitched as the weight of his words sank in: it was your fault. Your little game at baiting the undead last nigth had apparently led to the death of an innocent, “I wasn’t—”

“Save your guilt,” he snapped, his voice slicing through your stammered excuse. “I don’t have time for it. What I need is for your department to stop trampling through this mess so I can finish the job.”

You glared at him, still reeling. “Why do you need my model then? Don’t vampires have… superpowers or something? Shouldn’t you be able to track them down faster?”

His expression darkened, and for the first time, you saw something close to frustration in his eyes. “If it were that simple, you wouldn't even need to construct a quantitative model out of it.” he muttered. “Look, our worlds are not that different. We are scattered and fragmented but the more powerful you are, the more you blend in. The ones you have here is not like the usual. This is a network, vast and insidious, weaving itself into your world so deeply that even I can’t see where it begins or ends. They’re embedded in your systems. In your policies. This is why I can’t just go to someone or outsource it to a company to ask them to aid me in this—you never know who’s with who anymore, mortal or not.”

“And yet you trust me?”

“Trust? that’s rich coming from you,” he scoffed, his eyes narrowing with thinly veiled derision, as though he’d accidentally stepped on something unpleasant. “No I don’t trust you and I don’t need to. I need you to be useful, to be good. That’s your only insurance right now.”

“Actually you know what? you don’t have a choice,” he said, his voice unnervingly calm, as though he had already decided the conversation was over. “You can either help me clean up the mess you’ve started, or watch it spiral into something far beyond your control.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. The door clicked softly behind him as he left, leaving the faint echo of his words and the sharp scent of him—woodsy and citrusy, painfully familiar—lingering in the room.

It struck you then—how much he had changed. He was the same physically, but something about him felt far more oppressive now, his presence pressing down like a shadow too large to escape. His broad shoulders carried a weight that seemed heavier than before, not burdened, but deliberate—like the world bent itself to him, not the other way around. There was also a quiet gravity to his presence now, like a storm that hadn’t yet decided when to break.

In fact, even the smallest movements felt so charged and calculated. The tilt of his head, slight but purposeful, carried an air of disdain that cut deeper than any raised voice. His gaze was no less piercing than you remembered, but where it once burned with an intensity that sought to subdue, now it chilled—deliberate and calculating.

Now that you think about, he might not even be a storm looking for release—he was a tempest waiting to destroy.

You staggered backward, the sharp edges of the table behind you digging painfully into your spine, grounding you as the realization settled like a stone in your chest. Time hadn’t softened him; it had stripped him bare, refined him into something terrifying. He wasn’t just dangerous—he was inevitable.

— iii

You couldn’t decide who was more foolish at this point—yourself, for agreeing to work with Sunghoon despite the nightmare he’d put you through eight years ago, or Sunghoon, for still not carrying out whatever vengeance he had surely plotted for you during all that time. While you should be grateful for the latter, you can never put the thought aside–not with Sunghoon at least.

“If you’re done, email it to me immediately,” Sunghoon muttered without looking up, his eyes glued to the screen of his iPad.

As unbelievable as it sound, this had become your normal 5-9 now, churning additional data from Sunghoon and refine your code—all the while he lounge at your office, waiting for you to finish like a headmaster. Or a vulture.

You tore your gaze from him, frowning at the heatmap on your laptop. You’d expected his “additional data” to sharpen your model, maybe even tie up some loose ends. Instead, the trends you’d been working on became a tangled mess—sporadic points, clusters dissolving into chaos. “It’s messier now, thanks to your data,” you grumbled, sneaking a suspicious glance his way. “You’re not just feeding me duds to throw me off, are you?”

Without a word, Sunghoon rose from the couch and strolled over. It took everything in you not to flinch as your fight-or-flight instincts are still hardwired to react whenever he was near.

Oblivious to your unease, he leaned down to take the mouse from your hand, his cold presence making you shift uncomfortably in your chair. The cursor hovered over a dense cluster of points as he swiped through something on his iPad. “Actually, it’s perfect. Send this over.”

“This is perfect?” you scoffed in disbelief before you found your eyes involuntarily shifting to his iPad screen nearby where rows of profiles stared back at you—some with ominous red slashes across their faces.

“They’re people I’ve exterminated,” he said flatly as if reading your mind before you could form the question.

“I wasn—" your mouth went dry. “Exterminated?”

“Don’t worry,” he said nonchalantly as he snatched the iPad back. “They’re not human.”

You hit send just as he moved toward the door, speaking into his phone. “I think there are some new leads. Yes, I’ll take the car.”

“Hey—” you called out, hoping to pry more, but he was already out of your office. You lingered for a moment, the uneasy silence filling the space he left behind. Though you hated dwelling on him, you couldn’t help but feel that there was something different about Sunghoon—something colder, more detached, even by his standards. He felt hollow—as if this was just a shell of the man who had haunted you eight years ago.

But then again, did it really matter, you shrugged the thought off, at least he hadn’t killed you yet.

You grabbed your coat and followed him, catching up just as he reached a sleek black Benz idling at the curb. “If this is related to the case, I should go too,” you said firmly. “We’re working together, after all.”

He stopped mid-step, turning to face you. For a moment, the barest flicker of amusement crossed his face, gone so quickly you almost doubted it had been there.

“Working together?” he repeated, his tone laced with derision. “Look, this isn’t a partnership,” he said, his voice cool and detached. “You’re not my equal. You’re a tool—a useful one, for now—but a tool all the same. Don’t get confused.”

You bristled, heat rising to your cheeks. “You—”

But before you could finish, he slipped into the car and shut the door in your face.

“—prick,” you muttered under your breath.

That should have been your cue to drop it. To turn back and call it a day. But that would be very unlike of you.

Undeterred, or challenged rather, you quickly flagged a cab nearby, sliding into the backseat. “Follow that car,” you instructed, your voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through you. “But keep some distance. He has eyes at the back of his head...” your voice trailed, grimacing at the memory of Sunghoon and his arrogance. Probably the only thing unchanged, you thought as you sink back into the seat.

The drive began uneventfully, Sunghoon’s car weaving through familiar streets of the central business district—all skyscrapers and corporate logos. You watched intently, expecting him to stop near one of the clusters your heatmap had predicted. But then he took an unexpected turn—away from downtown and into unfamiliar territory.

“Where’s he going?” you mumbled, staring out the window. Instead of decaying alleyways or abandoned districts—the usual spots you were tracking—the car rolled through rows of pristine streets where luxury cars were neatly parked outside glittering buildings. This wasn’t the kind of place you would associate with the victims of the recent serial killings—or with him, in fact. With the 1%, celebrities and socialites perhaps, but not him.

“Your guy just got out,” the driver called, jolting you from your thoughts.

Sure enough, Sunghoon had exited the car. But it wasn’t the Sunghoon you’d followed all evening. He was wearing a tailored tuxedo now, his raven hair swept back in a way that made him look effortlessly polished, like he belonged on the cover of a magazine. While others flashed passes to the doorman to gain entry into the towering, shard-like skyscraper, Sunghoon merely nodded—and the door opened for him, as if the place were his.

You stared, dumbfounded. A party? A date? You thought for a split second, even considering turning the car back around. Perhaps, he really wasn’t pursuing any leads tonight and you’re just being a nosy stalker.

“Miss, I’m not your personal chauffeur so if you can get off now—”

“You know what, I’ll pay you extra,” you said, handing the driver a wad of cash. “Wait for me here—I just need to confirm some things.”

“I’m not—” he started, but his protest died the moment you waved another wad of cash. He sighed, exasperated. “Fine. Ten minutes.”

“Deal,” you muttered, slipping out of the car and immediately regretting it. Clad in your office attire, you stuck out like a sore thumb as elegantly dressed guests brushed past you, the scent of expensive perfume lingering in the air.

The towering skyscraper ahead loomed like a beacon of opulence and exclusivity, its glass facade reflecting the city lights in dazzling patterns. The entrance buzzed with high society chatter—sweeping gowns, tailored suits, and muted conversations that felt worlds apart from your reality. Whoever was hosting this wasn’t just powerful—they were untouchable.

You tried to blend in, keeping your head low as you slipped into the flow of guests. But before you reached the doors, a burly security guard stepped into your path.

“Pass?”

“I—uh,” you stammered, scrambling for an excuse. “I’m with Park Sunghoon,” you lied, willing your voice to sound composed. “I’m his personal assistant,” you added, forcing yourself not to gag, “and he left his phone so I’m here to deliver it back to him.”

The guard’s suspicion was immediate. He squinted at you, then glanced at his colleague. “Wait here,” he said curtly, retreating to his desk and picking up the phone. As he made the call, his shifting expressions told you everything you needed to know—your story wasn’t holding up.

Before you could quietly slip away however, you felt the sudden grip of two guards seizing your arms from behind.

“Lord Park says he doesn’t know you,” the first guard returned, his smug expression practically oozing satisfaction. “Nor does he have a personal assistant. He has also requested that we report you to the nearest station for attempted trespassing. If you’ll follow—”

His voice faded into the background as panic set in. Your mind raced, adrenaline surging as you desperately tried to think of a way out. Perhaps show my work ID, you thought, but that won’t be ethical. Perhaps give them a kick, you pondered, come on, what’s a kick going to do against 2 buff guards.

“y/n?”

The voice cut through the noise like a lifeline, warm and familiar, yet so painfully out of place in a setting like this.

You turned sharply, and your breath caught.

There, standing in front of you, was someone you barely recognized.

“Sunoo?” you blurted, blinking as if your brain needed time to process what you were seeing.

Gone were the oversized hoodies and worn-out sneakers. The Sunoo before you now was practically dripping in luxury—a designer suit tailored to perfection, sleek leather loafers, and a watch you were pretty sure cost more than your apartment. His hair was immaculately styled, his face radiating the kind of confidence and wealth that turned heads.

“It is you!” he exclaimed, a broad grin splitting his face, softening his features to the Sunoo you remembered from eight years ago. Your best friend, Kim Sunoo.

You wanted to revel in the reunion, to cling to the warmth of familiarity, but the weight of the moment sank into you like a stone. Slowly, it dawned on you how ominous it all was—how Sunghoon and Sunoo could now be tied so closely. You remembered the tension between them eight years ago all too well, the lengths you went to keep them apart. The bargain you had struck with Sunghoon just so he’d leave him alone.

And yet, here they were, looking as though they were cut from the same cloth.

“Let her go. She’s with me,” Sunoo snapped at the guards, his grin vanishing in an instant, replaced by an expression of sharp disdain. The shift was jarring, his tone unrecognizable—cutting, cold, and entirely unlike him.

— iv

“Wine?”

Sunoo gestured at the uniformed staff pushing a gleaming silver cart toward you. The plates were stacked high with decadent hors d'oeuvres, and some accompanying bottles of wines that looked like it cost three times more than your monthly rent.

You shook your head, watching as Sunoo casually reached for his third glass. “You used to hated drinking,” you muttered.

“Well, the world I live in now is different—" he smirked, “—so are my tastes."

Before you could respond, Sunoo grabbed you by the side of your arms, swivelling you toward the floor-to-ceiling window which overlooked the grand hall below. "Take a good look, y/n. This is the upper echeleons of society."

Your gaze fell on the scene below: a vast, glittering ballroom with a massive crystal chandelier casting golden light over an impeccably dressed crowd. Designer gowns swept the marble floor, and tuxedos gleamed under the light. Waiters glided like shadows, balancing trays of champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvres.

“What is this place?” you asked, dragging your eyes back to him.

“It’s the Charity Gala of the year,” Sunoo said, his voice filled with a casual air you didn’t quite believe. “Officially, it’s a fundraiser for disaster relief in Southeast Asia. Unofficially—” he took a deliberate sip from his glass, his fourth, though he still seemed unbelievably sober, “—it’s a playground for the 1%. A chance to flaunt their wealth, rub shoulders with the powerful, and make backroom deals over overpriced wine.” He raised his glass in mock celebration. “Welcome to their world, y/n. The air up here is great.”

Your stomach twisted as you tried to reconcile this version of Sunoo with the one you’d once known. But before you could dwell on it, your wandering gaze caught something that made your blood run cold.

Park Sunghoon.

He was in the center of the ballroom, effortlessly commanding attention without seeking it. His raven-black hair was swept back, his tailored suit flawless, and a glass of wine rested lightly in his hand. But it wasn’t his appearance that made you freeze—it was the way he seemed to own the room, as though every person there unconsciously revolved around him. He moved through the crowd with an ease that was almost unsettling, exchanging words with men in expensive suits and women draped in jewels.

This wasn’t the Sunghoon you remembered. Back then, he was distant, deliberately anti-social, and disdainful of any social niceties when in a crowd. Now, he was polished, poised, and completely in his element—like a diplomat or a politician.

And yet, what truly froze you wasn’t his transformation. It was his gaze—for when he looked up, his eyes found yours in chilling precision. As if he knew you were there; as if he knew you had been staring.

Shit, you drew back instinctively, trying to stay away from his line of sight.

“y/n?” Sunoo’s voice jolted you out of your spiralling thoughts. “You said you were here because of someone is it?”

You forced a laugh, trying to sound casual. “Yeah, someone I know left some stuff with me, so I was going to return it. But, apparently, I needed a pass.”

“Who is it? I’ll help you find them,” Sunoo offered, clearly oblivious to the tension rolling off you.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you said quickly, waving him off. “I just got a text—they said they don’t need it anymore. I’ll just head out—”

“Go back? Are you kidding me?” Sunoo interrupted, his hand gripping yours as he started to drag you across the room. “Come on, y/n. There’s no way I’m letting you miss this opportunity. You’re practically at the nexus of power and privilege. Everyone who is anyone is in here. I’ll introduce you to some top brass. Permanent secretaries, directors—you name it. I’m pretty sure they’d love to meet someone as sharp as you. You deserve to climb the ladder faster.”

“Sunoo, I—just give me a minute,” you stammered, trying to stall.

But Sunoo was already weaving you through the glittering crowd, his excitement palpable as he introduced you to people whose names blurred together in your head. Your nerves prickled with every passing moment, the hum of conversations swelling louder, pressing in on you. Then, one of them—an ex-politician—broke through your haze.

“Oh! You said you’re from the Ministry of Justice? Then you must know—” His words trailed off as his gaze shifted, scanning the room.

When he turned back, the crowd parted just enough to reveal Sunghoon, standing tall and composed, clinking his glass with a man who radiated power and authority.

Your heart plummeted and instinctively you shrank back, hoping the dim lighting would shield you. But then Sunoo's grip tightened around your hand, a sudden and unwelcome anchor.

“Sunoo, just let go—” you wrenched your hand away, perhaps a little too roughly, for he looked at you all confused as if you had struck him. "Sorry," you stammered, your voice low and frantic, “—bathroom.” Before he could even say anything, you had already turned on your heel, letting yourself get swallowed by the crowd. Except instead of reprieve, the air grew heavier with every step, the clinking of glasses and muted laughter morphing into a sinister undercurrent. The wine in their hands seemed darker, richer, almost like blood under the golden lights.

Finally, you found a door and without even sparing another second, you slipped out, closing the door behind you. You pressed your back against the cool surface of the door, exhaling shakily as you fought to steady yourself. The chill of the corridor was a stark contrast to the stifling opulence you’d just escaped, yet the unease clung to you like a second skin. Even here, away from the crowd, you couldn’t shake the feeling that unseen eyes were still watching, waiting.

“Thought I smelled something that didn’t belong—"

You froze, turning to find yourself surrounded by a group of men—three to be exact. At first glance, they looked as though they had stepped off the cover of a glossy magazine, all chiseled features and effortless grace. But there was something off about them. Their beauty was uncanny, a little too perfect, too symmetrical—like sculptures that had come to life but had missed the soul that should have animated them.

Yet, it wasn’t their appearance that sent shivers racing down your spine—it was the way they moved. They encircled you with slow, deliberate steps, each movement fluid, almost predatory, like Hyenas.

Your pulse quickened as the weight of their gazes bore down on you.

“Yeah, this one probably weaseled her way in,” the other one murmured, giving you a once-over that made your skin crawl, “journalist? fangirl?”

“Maybe it’s one of those waitresses again,” the other one scoffed, “remember how someone stole a dress and paraded around as a socialite during last year’s gala?”

“Ah- right,” the first one drew closer, “well, guess what? We are feeling very generous tonight and would like to give you a personal private tour. How's that?”

You evaded his hand just as he was about to wrap it over your shoulder, only to bump into the other who had closed in from the other side, his hand seizing yours like talons, “she’s warm.”

You yanked your arm free, retreating instinctively, only to collide with the cold, unyielding wall behind you.

“Actually, the wines weren’t cutting it,” the third one said, turning to his companions, who exchanged knowing grins, as though sharing a thought without needing words, “—but you,” he continued, his gaze snapping back to you with an intensity that made your skin crawl, “might just do.”

“You guys are messing with the wrong person,” you spat, feigning confidence despite the tremor in your voice. “I’m with Park—Lord Park, and he won’t take too kindly to a bunch of lower beings harassing his guest.”

“Oh, Lord Park,” the first one sneered, leaning in closer, his breath cold against your ear. “Pretty sure he wouldn’t notice if one of his toys went missing.”

Laughter rippled between them, dark and taunting, and your stomach churned.

“You guys better piss off before—before I—” you broke off, your fumbling hands grazed something cool and solid behind you—a decorative vase perched precariously on a ledge. Without hesitation, you grabbed it and hurled it to the floor. The porcelain shattered with a deafening crash, the sound ricocheting through the corridor like a gunshot.

The distraction worked and the men recoiled for a split second—just enough for you to twist free and bolt.

You didn’t think. You didn’t look back. You just ran, your heels clicking frantically against the marble floor, heart pounding in rhythm with your steps. Their shouts grew fainter as you darted through the twisting hallways, rounding the corner when—slam.

You barrelled straight into something—or rather, someone.

The impact sent you stumbling back, but a strong hand shot out, steadying you with an iron grip. Dread pooled in your stomach as your gaze lifted, meeting a pair of dark piercing eyes.

It wasn’t one of them.

It was Sunghoon.

And frankly, you didn't know which one was worse.

He glanced past you to the commotion down the hall, then back to your flushed, panicked face. His eyes meeting yours in such inscrutable and cold way that it was entirely possible to you that he had sent those three men down your way.

“Lord Park,” one of the men murmured, their voices dropping into something that sounded both reverent and fearful. The shift in their demeanor was immediate. The playfulness vanished, replaced by something closer to submission. They exchanged glances, their earlier bravado crumbling under the weight of his command.

“Didn’t she say she is with me?” Sunghoon’s voice was quiet but lethal, each word laced with venom. His tone was flat, almost disinterested, but the menace beneath it was unmistakable, “and you guys still had the audacity to mess with what’s mine?”

The words hit you like a cold wind, cutting through your defenses. You didn’t flinch outwardly, but inside, you recoiled—the weight of his casual claim felt heavier than it had any right to be. While the possessiveness in his tone unsettled you, what struck harder was the irony: how the very lie you’d spun to escape trouble was now your lifeline. Worse still, it was being wielded by the one who was being taken advantage of.

“Of course not,” one of them stammered, his words spilling out in a frantic rush.

“We’d never dare,” another muttered, bowing his head slightly as if the act alone might spare him from further scrutiny.

The three men backed away, their movements stiff and deliberate, muttering apologies that barely reached the air before they vanished into the shadows.

The hallway emptied as quickly as it had filled, leaving only you and Sunghoon behind. But as the men disappeared into the shadows, the oppressive weight of their presence was replaced by something just as stifling—Sunghoon’s gaze, dark and commanding, boring into you like a spotlight, leaving no room for escape.

You instinctively tried to yank your arm free from his grasp, but his grip was vice-like—firm and unrelenting. “Let go,” you demanded, your voice steady.

“You’re the one who said you’re with me, aren’t you?” he countered, his brow lifting in mocking amusement. “Let’s go then.”

“Sunghoon—” you began to protest, but his hold tightened as he dragged you down the corridor. His pace was deliberate, each step unhurried, but there was no mistaking the force in his pull. Before you could fully processed it, the elevator doors slid shut behind you, sealing the two of you in a tense, suffocating silence.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he said flatly, his tone devoid of emotion, the words hitting like a slap. “You don’t belong here.”

Your chest tightened, the sting of his words sharp and deliberate. “Thank you for stating the obvious,” you shot back sharply. “You, on the other hand, look like you belong. Almost didn’t recognize you with all the mushy act. Maturing at last? Bit late for your age, don’t you think?”

His brow arched, the faintest flicker of amusement crossing his face. “Careful,” he said, his voice deceptively calm, “with that much interest, I might start thinking you missed me.”

The elevator dinged, and you expected him to release you. Instead, his grip only tightened as he pulled you across the lobby.

“Sunghoon—where are we—” you protested, your voice rising, drawing the attention of a few onlookers. “Sunghoon, let me go—let me—”

“You brought this on yourself, y/n,” he interrupted, his voice cutting clean through your panic. The dread hit you fully as you saw his Benz from earlier pull up to the curb. “You need to be taught a hard lesson—” he said, his tone dark, ominous, his grip tightening with every resistance from you, “—then maybe next time, you’ll think twice before running your mouth so carelessly.”

With unsettling ease, he opened the car door, shoving you unceremoniously into the backseat. You barely had time to twist toward the exit before he stepped into the doorway, his frame filling the space, blocking any chance of escape. Before you could shove him away, his hand moved as if he’d anticipated it—catching yours mid-motion with startling precision. The swiftness of it stole your breath, his grip unrelenting as it pinned your arm in place. The harder you tried to pull free, the more his hold seemed to tighten—like a quicksand—rendering you completely immobile with an ease that sent a cold shiver racing down your spine.

“Take her home,” Sunghoon ordered towards his driver curtly, his voice sharp and devoid of patience, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I can go home on my own,” you snapped.

“I’m sure you can,” he replied, his tone calm but razor-sharp. “But you won’t. Not after the havoc you wreaked earlier, with people you shouldn’t have.”

“But they—”

“—won’t let you go that easily. That's for certain.” he finished for you, his voice dropping low, slicing through your protest. His grip on your arm tightened one last time before he threw it back, the motion sending you off balance, your palms hitting the seat behind you to steady yourself.

Leaning into the open doorway, his eyes pinned you in place, his voice quiet but venomous. “He’ll take you home,” he muttered darkly, “or you’ll just never see home ever again.”

And with that, he slammed the door shut before walking back to the tower, the sound reverberating like the final nail in a coffin. No chance to argue. No chance to escape.

— v

Things settled back into a strained rhythm after that evening at the Charity Gala, though Sunghoon had stopped lingering. He would appear occasionally, dropping off new data without a word, then vanish as swiftly as he came. You told yourself it was better this way. His presence was, afterall, suffocating—a storm cloud hovering just out of reach. But no matter how hard you tried to bury the thoughts, the elephant in the room loomed larger with every passing moment of silence: Why had he let you live this long?

You knew Sunghoon hadn’t forgiven your betrayal. And yet, here you were—alive, breathing, and watching the shadows too closely because of him. Perhaps this was his punishment for you—making the guilt gnaw you from inside and driving you to the brink of insanity.

Then, one day, an invitation came out of nowhere.

The oxblood-coloured envelope was thick and weighty, its golden wax seal embossed with an unfamiliar crest that glinted under the light like a silent threat. You stared at it for a long moment before picking it up, turning it over in your hands.

“Wait—” Anton’s voice broke through your thoughts as he leaned over your desk, wide-eyed. “Is that—?”

“What?” you asked warily, still staring at the envelope as if it might bite.

“Noctis Imperium,” Anton breathed, his tone reverent.

You frowned. “Noctis what now?”

Anton looked at you like you’d just admitted you didn’t know how to breathe. “Noctis Imperium. It’s an exclusive retreat for the 1% — total luxury and opulence somewhere in the Montes Obscuri—you know the mountain range you can’t even find on google map? Point is, It’s completely exclusive. Totally off the grid. No cameras, no leaks, no nothing. Just power brokers, decision-makers, and untouchables all in one place.”

“Sounds pretentious,” you scoffed, breaking the seal.

He leaned closer, lowering his voice as if the walls might be listening. “People call it a modern-day Bohemian Grove but... darker. Rumor has it that the deals made there don’t just change industries—they change entire nations.”

You shook your head dismissively as you pulled out the invitation. The embossed gold lettering shimmered faintly in the light:

To Our Chosen Few, The Noctis Imperium convenes soon, A place where maps end and silence consumes. Beneath the shadow of the Blood Moon, shapers and wielders come forge their runes. This is not a request, nor a courtesy—it is an acknowledgment of your place among those who command the currents of power. Your passage has been arranged. You will be expected.

“I’m a data analyst, not a billionaire,” you muttered, “perhaps they mailed it to the wrong room- ah—" your fingers brushed a small note tucked inside which read ‘From: Sunoo.’ “Well, perks of having connections, right?”

“Who cares?” Anton said, waving it off. “If I were you, I’d go. Network the hell out of it. Who knows? You might end up running this whole city someday.”

“To be honest, I’d probably die before I even get promoted,” you deadpanned, “My Reaper is just around the corner anyway—" you muttered nonchalantly. It was a casual claim, thrown carelessly into the air in reference to Sunghoon, but one that would echo with far more weight than you could possibly realize at that point in time.

The day passed in a blur, yet the envelope lingered in the recesses of your mind, a nagging presence you couldn’t quite shake. It resurfaced sharply at the end of the day, your steps faltering when the security guard stopped you just as you were about to leave the office.

“Madam, sorry to bother you, but did you receive your invitation?”

“Excuse me?”

“The red envelope, ma’am. There were only two sent to this building—one for you and one for the gentleman. I was told that it is very important that you receive and read it.”

“Yes. I got—" you halted, “—wait, the gentleman? Which one?”

The guard nodded. “The one who’s been visiting you. Mr. Park, I believe.”

Your stomach twisted. Sunghoon.

You mumbled a distracted thanks.

Of course, he is also invited.

The thought continued to gnaw at you afterwards, echoing in your mind as you climbed into the waiting cab. Your invitation had came from Sunoo but now that you knew Sunghoon, too, had been invited reframed everything. It meant that the Noctis Imperium wasn’t just any retreat of shallow opulence. In fact, the words in the letter, which you have dismissed as being far too pretentious and unnecessarily cryptic, now carried a weight that felt unnervingly and ominously real.

Had he always been part of this? Your mind flashed to him at the party, the ease with which he’d navigated the room, the smiles, the warmth—a performance so seamless it made your skin crawl. He very much look like he belonged.

You sank into the back of the cab, pulling out your laptop and flipping it open. You couldn’t shake the unease now that you look at the simulation your model had churned. The data—the tangled mess of trends and points you’d been staring at for weeks—felt like it was hiding something, just out of reach.

Sunghoon’s words from weeks ago echoed faintly in your mind: “They’re embedded in your systems. In your policies.”

“What if it’s a team effort?” you murmured to yourself as you pull up your coding window, inserting several data and refining the code to allow for some different sets of filtering. This time, one layer of noise dropped. Another filter, another layer gone.

Slowly, patterns emerged where there had been none. The suspects—every single one—had histories that aligned: mental institutionalization, retrenchment, depression diagnoses. All of which conveniently could serve as motives behind drug abuse and the sudden violence as a byproduct of such addiction. The victims on the other hand were from the bottom rung of society – the homeless, the poor, the invisible – people whose deaths wouldn’t have made dent and wouldn’t have been fought for.

If it is a team effort and that they’re embedded in every sector, you pondered toggling with the filters, then the demand and supply can be carefully managed.

Eight years ago, a similar pattern emerged in your little town—but it was confined to a pureblood and a couple of strays. But this? This was larger. It was a system beneath the system. An empire operating in shadows. Or perhaps, you thought, it's a collusion of system that straddle both worlds.

You sunk back into your seat, your head spinning as you realised the gravity of the situation if indeed true. Outside, the city blurred past, its twinkling lights reflected across glass and metal surfaces like fleeting stars. The golden seal of the invitation caught your eye where it lay in your bag, gleaming faintly. As if it was beckoning you.

You hesitated, the weight of the decision pressing down on you. In another life—one with stability, comfort, and certainty—you might have left that envelope unopened, dismissed it as someone else’s game. But that wasn’t your life, was it? Not anymore.

Not since Sunghoon's returned at least. For since his reappearance, your days had become a delicate balancing act, every step more precarious than the last, every shadow in corner felt more ominous by the passing day. With your data pointing toward something vast and insidious, the invitation felt less like a trap and more like an opportunity. Reckless? Yes. But what choice did you have? This was a chance to get closer to the truth, to the root of the tangled chaos that had consumed your life.

The seal gleamed as the cab pulled at a traffic stop—a quiet and unyielding challenge.

Your resolve solidified in that moment.

By the time the cab pulled up to your apartment, you had already submitted your leave request: two weeks, no questions asked. Moving on autopilot, you packed a small bag—your laptop, backups of the data, and whatever else you thought you might need.

You didn’t know if you were walking into a trap or uncovering the truth. But either way, you were determined to find out. You were, afterall, already walking a tightrope as it is.

— vi

True enough, the farther the drive went, the more foreboding the journey became. An hour and a half in, the landscape had transformed into an endless expanse of towering ancient trees. The sun, so bright when you’d left the city, was nowhere to be found—as though you’d been transported into a realm of perpetual darkness.

You glanced at your phone, hoping in vain that you'd a get a signal. Nothing. Nada. But then it wasn't like the signal would have helped, Google Maps showed you that your destination is buried in middle of an unbroken expanse of green—no landmarks, no markings, not even a hint of civilization.

Anton wasn’t exaggerating, you thought, unease coiling tighter in your chest. It's one thing for the retreat to be shrouded in so much secrecy; but another for it to actually be able to evade global mapping systems entirely.

“We’re here, Madam,” the driver announced as the car turned into a gated lawn. Through the dense canopy of ancient trees, you caught glimpses of something massive looming in the distance. Its spires pierced the sky, clawing out from the forested expanse like talons.

“A manor?”

“A castle, Madam,” the driver corrected, the car’s tires crunching over the gravel path. “One of the few left. Very highly protected.”

The path wound sharply uphill, twisting like a serpent as it climbed higher into the forested slope. Ancient wrought-iron torches lined the way, their uneven intervals casting flickering pools of golden light that danced across the shadows of the towering trees. With each turn, more of the castle came into view, unraveling piece by piece. Its gothic silhouette loomed larger with every moment, the sheer size of it making the air seem heavier, as though the structure itself demanded reverence. "I can see why," you sighed, in complete awe.

By the time the car reached the final bend, the forest opened up completely, revealing the castle in all its glory. Perched atop the hill like a sentinel, its massive stone walls seemed to rise endlessly into the sky, adorned with spires and arches that looked almost alive in their intricacy. The grandeur of it was otherworldly, a masterpiece of both architecture and menace.

By the time the car slowed to a stop before the entrance, the sun had fully set—its descent perfectly timed, as if orchestrated to embody the very essence of the Noctis Imperium which aptly translated as 'The Empire of Shadows'. You checked back the agenda and true enough, every events were set to start once the sun sets.

“Madam y/n,” a pair of what looked like a maid and a butler, judging from the uniform, greeted you. “Please come with us, we have been assigned to you. We shall show you around and show you to your suite.”

As you followed the maid, you swallowed thickly, your steps faltering at the sight before you. The castle loomed larger up close, its presence more imposing and ominous than you had imagined. Crimson light seeped through the towering windows, bathing the weathered stone in an eerie glow, as though the building itself pulsed with a forbidden life force. At the grand entrance, blood-red flowers coiled up the walls, their tendrils creeping toward the arched doorway like veins, giving the unsettling impression that the castle was bleeding from within. The effect was grotesque yet mesmerizing, made even more chilling by the gargoyles crouched on the jagged edges of the roof, their wretched expressions seemingly serve as a warning.

As you ventured deeper into the castle, the emptiness and stillness seemed to press heavier around you, yet the unsettling sensation of being watched clung to you like a second skin. Faces in oil paintings—pale, sharp-featured men and women—appeared to shift in the corner of your vision, their painted eyes tracking your every move with unnerving precision. Shadows lingered in the corners, seeming to stir with faint, unnatural movement, and more than once, you swore you heard footsteps trailing behind you. But each time you turned, you found nothing but darkness pooling at your heels.

“Madam y/n,” the maid interrupted your thoughts as they stopped at the farthest corner of the fifth floor, “this will be your suite.”

She pushed open the massive double doors, revealing a room so grand it could have swallowed your entire apartment twice over. The space was opulent yet cold—ancient but well-kept. Rich, crimson drapes framed the tall windows, shielding the suite from whatever darkness lurked outside. The bed was enormous, its carved wooden posts supporting a canopy of deep velvet that seemed to absorb all light. The furniture—ornate dressers, armchairs, and a writing desk—looked like it had been plucked straight from a century long past.

Despite the beauty and grandiosity, the room was no less comforting than the dark corridors outside as it felt both untouched and meticulously staged—like a theater set waiting for its players to arrive.

“Madam,” the maid’s voice drew your attention. She moved to a dresser near the far wall and opened its doors, revealing a collection that left your mouth slightly agape. “These are from Mr. Kim Sunoo,” she explained, gesturing gracefully at the contents. “He has prepared a selection of designers for you to choose from. One for each evening.”

Designer gowns of every color and cut hung delicately, their fabrics shimmering faintly in the dim light. Silks, chiffons, and velvets, all rich and lush, stitched with gold and silver threads. Each one looked painstakingly curated, designed to command attention. A far cry from the practical wardrobe you were used to.

Far from being delighted and spoiled for choice however – the uneasiness you feel only grew. This did not felt like hospitality.

It felt like preparation.

— vii

You stood hestiantly in front of the Hall of Ascendancy—the weight of the decision pressing down on you. You had considered skipping tonight’s welcome dinner altogether—after all, unlike everyone, you weren’t exactly here to mingle and shake hands with elites. But, given the circumstances, skipping would only attract unwanted attention and you weren’t about to make waves before you had a clearer understanding of what you were truly stepping into.

You stared at your reflection in a nearby polished surface, taking in the sleek black suede long-sleeved gown you had chosen for tonight. Its asymmetrical cut was understated but elegant—one shoulder covered, the other left bare, the smooth fabric dipping to reveal your collarbone. The golden phoenix embellishments—one over the shoulder and the other delicately positioned just above the curve of your chest following the neckline—shimmered faintly under the low light, resting on the rich fabric as if they were alive. It was a dress that does not scream for attention, but one that still whispered sophistication.

Just as you stood there, caught between hesitation and obligation, a butler appeared at your side, pushing a cart laden with Venetian masks. He glanced at you briefly, his expression polite but unreadable. “It’s tradition Madam,” he said, his voice smooth and practiced, beckoning you to pick any one of the masks. “Everyone is supposed to be equals once inside. The masks ensure that no one stands above the others, no titles, no status. Simply anonymity.”

Guests ahead of you eagerly snatched the most ornate masks—studded with jewels, embroidered in gold filigree, some even fashioned with feathers that curved skyward. You, by contrast, reached for the most unassuming one: a black Colombina Venetian mask with faded bronze detailing. It blended into the shadows, almost disappearing entirely. Just as you preferred.

As you step into the Hall of Ascendancy, the irony of its name strikes you almost as sharply as the chilling ambiance. The term, which typically conjures visions of rising to heights of glory and light, is subverted here into something far more sinister. Instead of ascending into brilliance, the hall seems to draw all who enter into a descent into shadow.

Above, towering Gothic arches stretch upward, but rather than reaching a grand zenith, they dissolve into darkness, the ceiling lost to an enveloping blackness. This architectural feat creates the disquieting illusion of an upside-down ascendancy, as if the very structure aims to pull the heavens down into the abyss.

The hall is dimly lit by countless candles clustered along its length, their glow insufficient to penetrate the upper shadows but adequate to cast a ghostly light on the faces of the masked guests. Each mask, elaborately crafted and grotesquely beautiful, appears almost spectral under the flickering candlelight. The play of light and shadows however twisted their features, turning what might be considered majestic into something distinctly macabre.

In this realm of reversed ascendancy, the guests move like phantoms against a backdrop of dark stone and darker shadows, their whispers echoing off the walls as if sharing secrets with the ancient stones. Their movement—gliding soundlessly in pairs, every step perfectly in rhythm with the eerie strains of the orchestra—makes your skin crawl.

They were too graceful. Too perfect.

You tried not to stare, reminding yourself that some among them might be bloodsuckers. But that was precisely the most unsettling part—you wouldn't know who. Everyone was perfectly hidden behind elaborate gowns and crisp suits, their expressions meticulously concealed behind eerie Venetian masks.

“y/n!”

The voice was familiar, bright—an anchor in this dizzying sea of masked spectre.

Sunoo.

You spotted him, his pale skin glimmering under the faint light, the grin behind his own half mask unmistakeable. He waved enthusiastically, threading through the crowd as though they weren’t even there. You lifted your hand, returning his wave, moving instinctively toward him.

But then—

The music swelled, deep and rhythmic, and soon the crowd, too, shifted. Pairs began to form, bodies turning in fluid precision. The crowd twisted and folded in on itself, the movements impossibly synchronized, cutting through the hall like tides.

Sunoo’s figure vanished, swallowed by the waves dancing guests.

“Sunoo?” you called, your voice dissolving into the music. You pushed forward but the crowd grew tighter. Dark gowns spun like shadows, masks turned toward you in quick, darting glances—just enough to unnerve you, just enough to make you feel watched. You tried to move away but like tidal wave, the dancing guests surged and swirled around you as if all conspiring to keep you tethered where you were.

Then—

A hand seized yours.

Before you could react, you were pulled sharply into the crowd, your body spun until you collided with someone—chest to chest. An arm snaked around your waist, strong and unyielding, holding you in place as the waltz swept you into its current.

“I’m sorry, I’m not—”

The words died in your throat. You recognized this grip—talon-like and suffocating, an iron cage clasping your ribs. The broad shoulders pressing against you and the sharp jawline cutting like stone beneath the Golden of the Colombina Venetian mask, were unmistakably familiar. And those eyes—the penetrating, intense gaze that seemed to probe the depths of your mind—left no room for doubt.

Park Sunghoon.

Of course, it was him. It was always him, you thought bitterly.

“Of course, it’s you,” you muttered, vivid memories starting to surge to the forefront of your mind—that of eight years ago during the Winter Ball when his grip had been just as unforgiving, his presence just as inescapable, and the proximity just as suffocating. It felt as though no time had passed at all.

His head tilted menacingly, the golden venetian mask he wore catching the flicker of candlelight. “—likewise, it is always you,” he murmured, his voice was quiet but edged with something darker.

The room, the people, the music—all of it faded to nothing. It was just you and him again, caught in a silent war that neither of you dared name. The waltz pulled you into its current, and Sunghoon led you with an ease that only reminded you how effortlessly he always took control.

“I told you to stay away,” he said softly, though there was no kindness in the words—just quiet steel.

“And I told you I don’t take orders,” you shot back, forcing steadiness into your voice despite the way his presence pressed against you, suffocating and all-encompassing. His proximity, the unyielding strength in his hold, stirred memories you had buried too deep to ignore. “Besides, I didn’t come here uninvited.”

“You let yourself be invited into a lion’s den,” he scoffed, the sound barely audible above the swell of violins.

“I trumped the rat maze you set for me eight years ago, didn’t I?" you retorted, "clearly, survival is my forte.”

His fingers curled tighter around your waist, vice-like against your ribs. Not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you who led this dance. “Take your penchant for mind games elsewhere, y/n. This isn’t a playpen—it’s a gladiator ring.”

“You should be the one taking your mind games elsewhere, Sunghoon. I know your game, so if you’re thinking of orchestrating everything around me just to play the savior—don’t bother,” you hissed. “Just come as you are. If you’re here for vengeance, then do it. Stop being cold one second and trying to save me the next.”

The music swelled again, a crescendo that made the floor seem to tremble beneath your feet. His fingers dug into your side—almost punishing—as though your words struck deeper than you expect it would.

As the piece surged toward its thunderous finale, Sunghoon’s hand shifted, guiding you into a sharp turn. But as you spun, the momentum of the movement carried you further than intended—too far for his grasp to reclaim you. The music fractured into a new, chaotic melody, the dancers around you shifting like tides in time with the change.

Before you could regain your balance, another hand caught yours, pulling you into the rhythm of the new dance. The hold was gentler this time, firm but reassuring, a stark contrast to the suffocating grip you’d just escaped. The voice that followed cut through the stifling tension, light and teasing.

“Sorry about that. You looked like you needed rescuing.”

You turned sharply, blinking up at the man who’d swept you to the edge of the room. He was slightly shorter than Sunghoon, his build lean and lithe. Where Sunghoon exuded impenetrable strength, this man moved with a kind of devil-may-care ease as though he thrived on chaos without ever letting it touch him. His blonde hair fell in deliberate disarray, a tousled mess that only added to the impression that nothing in this world—rules, expectations, or danger—could weigh him down.

His half-jester mask concealed the upper half of his face, but the smirk pulling at his lips was impossible to miss. It was wide, sharp, and full of boyish charm, a grin that danced the line between amusement and provocation. The silver lip ring he wore at the centre of his lower lip only enhanced the air of mischief he seemed to carry effortlessly.

“Jaeyun,” he introduced, his voice smooth but carrying the kind of playfulness that made you wonder if he ever took anything seriously. Spinning you out of the crowd with a dancer’s grace, he watched you closely, the weight of his gaze hidden beneath the mask, yet still palpable. His grip was steady but not imposing, the veins on his hands prominent, betraying a strength that seemed out of place with his disarming demeanor.

“I haven’t seen you around before,” he continued smoothly, his tone casual but edged with intrigue. There was something both playful and calculated about him, as though every word he spoke carried a double meaning.

“That is probably because I’m not part of the 1%. Just someone invited out of favour,” you shrugged and eased up, thinking how anywhere was better than being near Sunghoon and right now in this man’s arms, you felt oddly at ease.

His golden brow arched beneath the mask, a playful smirk curling his lips. “No one here gets invited without a reason, my lady. You’re meant to be here.”

“Trust me,” you said drily, “I’m no one important, so you’ve picked the wrong girl to waltz with. I can’t help you worm your way to any position.”

He chuckled, “well, that makes two of us. I’m no one important either. Just a nepo baby bouncing between industries like a particularly well-dressed pinball.”

The laugh that escaped you was unguarded, the first real one that night.

“I don’t think I can last much longer tonight,” you admitted quietly, glancing back at the sea of masked faces and swirling gowns. “Do you think there’s a way to sneak out of here?”

He chuckled, as though he’d been waiting for you to ask. “Skipping the speech? Bold choice. I approve.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “Don’t let a maid or butler catch you—they’ll just escort you back in. But I know a way. I’ll help you escape to your chamber.”

You hesitated, glancing back at the dark swirl of dancers in the center of the room. Somewhere in that tide of velvet and masks, you knew Sunghoon was watching.

“Lead the way,” you muttered, straightening your mask and steeling yourself against the lingering shiver of Sunghoon’s presence.

Jaeyun offered his arm with a wink. “Smart choice. Follow me.”

He led you deftly through the swirling mass of dancers, weaving in and out of the crowd as though he’d done this a hundred times before. You kept your hand in his, letting him pull you along, grateful for the escape—even if part of you couldn’t shake the feeling that this castle had eyes everywhere.

The towering figures in elaborate cloaks and Venetian masks seemed to loom larger as you passed, their heads turning ever so slightly in your direction, as though they knew your intentions. You forced yourself to look ahead, Jaeyun’s golden hair your only anchor amidst the sea of elaborate gowns and flickering shadows.

At last, he pushed open a discreet side door, ushering you into a narrow, dimly lit corridor. The muffled strains of the orchestra faded slightly, replaced by the faint hum of silence. The walls here were stone, the flickering sconces spaced farther apart, casting deep pools of darkness.

“There,” he said, finally letting go of your hand and gesturing down the hall. “This leads back toward the guest wings. No one’ll bother you this way—no guards, no butlers.”

You glanced at him warily, still catching your breath. “And how do you know all of this?”

Jaeyun flashed that mischievous smile, but there was something in his eyes—a flicker of something too knowing. “I have my ways,” he teased, tapping the edge of his mask. “I’m a bit of an expert at slipping out unnoticed.”

You folded your arms, trying to read him. He didn’t feel like the others—those unsettling, predatory guests whose masked faces all seemed to tilt as you passed. Compared to Sunghoon’s towering, fortress-like presence, Jaeyun was the opposite—light, sharp, and unpredictable. If Sunghoon was a storm, heavy with inevitability, Jaeyun was the wind, playful and untethered, ready to shift direction at any moment.

“You’re not leading me into another lion’s den, are you?” you asked flatly. Trust is afterall not something you hand out very freely.

He chuckled. “No lions here. Maybe a few rats, but you’ll be fine.” He tilted his head toward the hallway. “Go on, I’ll keep watch to make sure no one follows.”

You hesitated, searching his expression one last time, but his grin was steady, his posture relaxed—like someone who lived for mischief but wasn’t cruel enough to throw you into a pit for fun.

“Fine,” you muttered. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said, stepping back into the shadows near the door. “And don’t get lost—these halls have a habit of playing tricks. It's not called the Corridors of Treachery for nothing.”

You shot him one last glance before hurrying down the corridor, the faint sound of your heels against the stone floor echoing back at you. The hallway stretched longer than you’d expected, the shadows creeping in at the edges of your vision, distorting the path. Doors lined the hallway on either side, their carved handles gleaming faintly in the dim light, inviting and forbidding all at once.

You reached for the nearest door, desperate to find a way back to your chambers. It creaked open slowly, revealing a narrow staircase spiraling downward into darkness. Nope, you thought as you closed the door and opened the one next to it.

This time, the door opened to a vast, empty dining hall, its long table draped in crimson cloth, the chairs eerily vacant as though waiting for unseen occupants. The chandeliers above swayed slightly, though no wind stirred the air. You slammed the door shut, your breath catching, the eerie stillness pressing against your chest.

Your heart raced as you tried another handle, and another, each opening up to various types of rooms but not to the North Wing. You reached the end of the corridor, desperation creeping into your movements. But when the door opened, your stomach twisted. The staircase from the first door now stood before you again.

No, that's not possible. You turned sharply, your gaze darting down the corridor. You were certain the staircase had been at the other end of the hall, far from here. Yet here it was, unmoved, defying logic.

Shaking your head, you pushed the thought aside and moved to the next door, your steps hurried. The knob twisted reluctantly under your grip, creaking open to reveal something entirely different. The air shifted, heavier now, the dim light casting elongated shadows across the floor. The scent of dust and aged paper filled your senses.

“A library?” you murmured, the word barely audible as your curiosity overrode caution. Towering bookshelves rose around you, their rows packed with cracked leather bindings. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint creak of wood beneath your steps. You ventured further in, but a sudden sound stopped you cold—footsteps. Voices.

“I swear I saw someone—” a maid’s voice, soft but tense, carried through the corridor outside.

“No one would be stupid enough to use this corridor,” an older, irritated butler replied. “Still, we’ll get in trouble if someone’s unaccounted for in the Hall. You check the doors on that side. I’ll take this one—”

Panic shot through you as Jaeyun’s warning echoed in your mind: Don’t let them catch you. They’ll just drag you back. Before you could think, you had already shut the door behind you, bolting it as quietly as possible. The prospect of locking yourself in an unfamiliar room was unsettling, but the thought of being dragged back into the Hall was enough to root you in place.

Stepping back into the dim room, your fingers brushed against a nearby oil lamp. You hesitated only for a moment before taking it, the soft glow pushing back the shadows around you. A new thought flickered in your mind: perhaps this was exactly where you needed to be because if there were any place to find answers, it would be in a library.

And so you turned to the towering shelves, your eyes already skimming the spines of the books. Most of the books were likely ancient with their cracked spines etched with unfamiliar symbols and faded runes.

And then, something caught your attention.

There, in the middle of the farthest shelf, tucked between larger tomes, was a book entitled The Annals of Kings. Its spine was cracked with age, the title barely visible in faded gold lettering. Perhaps this can tell me more about the owner of the castle, you thought, carefully taking it out and flipping open the cover. At first, the book seemed to be a meticulously detailed chronicle of royal bloodlines—family trees stretching back to eras long forgotten, with unfamiliar crests and names etched in bold, precise script. "Weird," you find yourself whispering as one particular page had burnt marks precisely over some members of the House. As you flipped further, your breath hitch when your eyes read the word 'Purebloods' in the 3rd chapter. You remembered Sunghoon had once talked about a 'Pureblood' to refer to one of them.

You read on, setting the book down on a nearby table:

In the earliest epochs of human civilization, the Purebloods did not linger in the shadows—they ruled openly, their supernatural gifts woven seamlessly into the fabric of leadership. To mortals, their superhuman abilities appeared as divine providence, unparalleled intelligence, or sheer physical prowess. Kingdoms flourished under their command, their strength ensuring stability and their cunning guiding progress. Mortals, though inferior, were the lifeblood of the empire in every sense—figuratively and literally. They served not only as a source of sustenance but as indispensable tools in the expansion and maintenance of vampiric rule. By draining mortals to the brink of death, Purebloods could create Strays: undead beings stripped of humanity and intelligence, reduced to feral creatures driven solely by hunger and instinct. These mindless abominations, incapable of fear or betrayal, became perfect instruments of war. By contrast, Spoilbloods were created with precision and strategic intent. Only mortals of exceptional strength, intellect, or loyalty were chosen—sifted from the mortals and meticulously groomed. The transformation involved an agonizing process: near-fatal blood loss followed by the infusion of Pureblood blood. The result was a new kin—impure yet indispensable. Retaining their human intellect and experience, Spoilbloods became tethered to their Pureblood creators through an unbreakable bond. They served as advisors, enforcers, and agents, wielding their knowledge of mortal affairs to further their master’s dominion. Their dual nature made them invaluable, bridging the gap between humanity and the Purebloods’ reign, and solidifying the Purebloods’ control over mortal realms. But as the empire grew, so too did ambition and recklessness. The turning of mortals, once deliberate and controlled, became indiscriminate. Strays, bred in overwhelming numbers, escaped their creators’ control, wreaking havoc even within vampiric strongholds. Spoilbloods, no longer chosen for their value, were created in excess, leading to insubordination and infighting. The tools that had forged an empire became the seeds of its collapse. Strays, unleashed without thought, ravaged lands indiscriminately. Spoilbloods, embittered by their tainted status, turned on their masters, allying with mortals or seeking power for themselves. And mortals, emboldened by the chaos, rose in rebellion, wielding fire and steel against their oppressors. What followed was the Great Sundering—a cataclysmic collapse of the Shadow Reign. Purebloods who had once ruled openly were forced to retreat into obscurity, their ambitions tempered by the need for secrecy. Now, the Purebloods operate from the shadows, manipulating mortals and maintaining their dominion through whispers and unseen influence. Yet the lessons of the past remain unlearned, for ambition stirs once more. The tools that once brought empires to ruin may yet be repurposed in the pursuit of a legacy reborn—

The sound of a doorknob turning shattered your concentration, your heart nearly leaping out of your ribcage. “See? It’s locked—” the butler’s voice, the one from earlier, filtered through, sharp with irritation. “No one is here. Let’s go now before we’re the ones getting searched for.”

You exhaled shakily, bracing yourself against the table as your pulse thundered in your ears. I need to go. Quickly, you shut the book, its weight feeling heavier now, as though it carried more than history—something darker, something alive. You wanted to read more, to uncover the truths buried in its pages, but lingering wasn’t an option. And carrying a book about vampire history through this castle felt like begging for trouble.

Your gaze fell to your gown, and in a moment of desperation, you slipped the book into the narrow space between your corset and dress. The edges dug into your ribs uncomfortably, but it would have to do.

Unbolting the door with painstaking caution, you cracked it open just enough to peek into the hallway. Clear. You slipped into the corridor, moving as quickly as you dared. One door, then another—each led to rooms you’d already seen, as though the corridor itself conspired against you, bending and twisting your sense of direction.

"I swear if—" you groaned in frustation as you twisted the doorknob next to the lopsided sconce, half expecting it to open into a room you had seen but this time, as if the corridor has had enough of torturing you, it opened to the North Wing, the one you had passed through to get to your room.

Relief surged through you, propelling your legs forward. You darted down the hall, your steps unsteady, nearly stumbling as your door came into view. Throwing yourself inside, you slammed it shut, bolting it with trembling hands. Leaning heavily against the door, your chest heaved, each gasp scraping against the pressure of the book pressed tightly to your ribs, making every breath feel like a chore.

With a frustrated sigh, you reached for the zipper of your gown, tugging it down just enough to free the stolen volume. The moment felt almost triumphant—until—

“Fuck—what the heck, Park Sunghoon?!”

Your own voice rang out, sharp and panicked, as you froze.

There he was. Sitting on your bed like he owned it, leaning back lazily with his arms sprawled behind him. His hands pressed into the mattress to prop himself up, his posture infuriatingly casual, like he’d been waiting for hours. One leg stretched out, the other bent loosely at the knee.

His golden Venetian mask sat perched atop his head, as though he’d lazily shoved it out of the way. The ornate design, with its sharp angles and eerie elegance, looked less menacing up there—but you’d almost prefer it over his uncovered face. At least the mask didn’t smirk. That infuriating curve of his lips, brimming with amusement, made you want to throw something at him. But more annoying than that was his gaze: how it lingered—too long—on your corseted torso where the gown had slipped slightly from your shoulders. Your cheeks flamed, flustered, as you hastily tugged your dress back together, zipping it up in one swift, jerky motion. You clutched the fabric tightly over your chest, as though it could shield you from the weight of his gaze.

“Calm down,” he drawled, his voice low and almost teasing. “You had a corset on. It’s not like you were only in your br—”

“Shut it," you snapped.

Sunghoon’s smirk deepened, but the amusement in his expression gave way to something sharper as his eyes dropped to the book still clutched in your hands.

“Instead of worrying about your dignity,” he said, his tone suddenly edged with steel, “you might want to worry about the implication of stealing that.”

“It’s just a book,” you muttered, though you knew better.

He tilted his head, the casual air around him darkening. “Just a book? That’s a very important book, and people would kill to lay their hands on it—humans especially. And if the nonhumans find out that a human had stolen it…” He let the words hang, the unspoken consequence thickening the silence.

You swallowed hard, suspicion flaring despite his warning. “perhaps you’re just saying that to stop me from learning what’s inside.”

He rose fluidly from the bed, moving closer with that same languid grace that unnerved you, “Actually, you know what..." his voice was calm, almost mocking, as he advanced toward you. He didn’t stop, his deliberate steps forcing you to retreat until your back hit the door, "Go ahead. Read it from cover to cover. Then maybe you’ll finally understand how foolish you had been to throw yourself here—and perhaps…”

His tone sharpened as his hand slid up the curve of your waist, his fingers curling against your ribs with a vicelike grip. The pressure pinned you harder against the door, leaving no room to escape. You had almost forgotten how paralyzing his beauty could be up close—how each sharp line of his face seemed crafted with unnerving precision. But it wasn’t just his features; it was his gaze.

There, in the scant inches between you, his eyes burned with an intensity that made you hold your breath. It wasn’t the probing look you’d grown used to, the one that seemed to sift through your thoughts for answers. No, this was something else. This gaze demanded. It didn’t seek to uncover the depth of your mind; it sought to make you reveal it willingly.

And then, fleeting but unmistakable, you caught the way his eyes flitted downward—down to your lips—before returning to your eyes. It was brief, the kind of glance you could almost convince yourself didn’t happen, but the air between you felt thicker for it, alive with unspoken tension.

“—learn a thing or two about not trusting anyone here,” he finished, his voice like the brush of a blade against your throat.

The door clicked open softly behind you, and his hand released you just as suddenly as it had held you. Before you could process the shift, something cold pressed into your palm. It was your dagger—the one he impaled on your stacks of files with just weeks ago.

“I’d keep that knife on me at all times if I were you,” he murmured, breath ghosting your ear. “And maybe sleep with one eye open. You’ve made quite the impression tonight—and I’m not just talking about me.”

It was only then did you notice the small charm dangling from the hilt of your dagger—a ruby crest, unmistakably his. It swayed gently, a silent signature that felt more mocking than reassuring. The crimson gem glinted wickedly in the dim light, its gleam as taunting and inescapable as the smirk that now lingered, unbidden, in your thoughts.

— viii

The second night reconvened in an entirely different space. Unlike the grandeur of the Hall of Ascendancy, tonight’s venue stretched seamlessly into a vast conservatory. But this wasn’t just any conservatory—it was a towering mansion of glass and steel, an architectural marvel that seemed almost alive under the full moon, which hung high above.

The guests were already assembled by the time you arrived, their attire more elaborate than ever. Velvet gowns flowed like liquid shadows, and cloaks billowed with every calculated step. Masks adorned with jewels, feathers, and gilded filigree glinted in the broken light, their ornate designs blurring the line between beauty and monstrosity.

But tonight, something felt different.

Their movements, slower and more deliberate, carried an unsettling weight. The laughter that echoed through the towering space was sharper, colder, its brittle edges slicing through the charged silence.

They no longer looked like nobles. Their presence felt predatory, their glances sharp and calculating, their steps echoing with a primal rhythm. After what you’d learned yesterday, you no longer saw them as elegant courtiers.

Your burgundy gown did little to comfort you, its sheer cape trailing behind as you moved through the crowd. The beads shimmered under the moonlight like droplets of blood, an omen you couldn’t ignore. The dagger in your garter weighed heavier than ever, its promise sharp against your thigh.

At the far end of the room, the soft murmur of voices fell silent when the host stepped onto a raised platform, his usual playful energy somewhat tempered by the atmosphere. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” the host spread his arms wide in a gesture of welcome. “Or perhaps I should say hunters and prey.”

A ripple of laughter moved through the crowd, low and knowing.

“As per tradition, tonight we hunt. We test not just our skill but our resolve,” he continued, his tone light but his words laden with a weight that made your stomach churn. “Our prey tonight will be scattered across the grounds. Cunning and elusive, just as they always have been. You know the rules. The one with the highest count by sunrise… wins.”

The crowd stirred, their masked faces tilting in eerie anticipation.

“Hunting?” you whispered, dread curling through you – dread that no one seems to share. “Of course,” you thought to yourself, “it’s normal rich people bloodsport. Deplorable.”

“Word of advice?”

You jumped, surprised, spinning to face the owner of the voice. It was Jaeyun. Despite wearing an ominous half Plague Doctor mask this time, you could easily recognise those piercing in the middle of his lips and the playful voice. He leaned closer, whispering, “—don’t think of just sitting around and laying low.”

Your brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“This is more than just your usual ‘rich-people bloodsport’. The real prize lay beyond rabbits, bison, herrons-” Jaeyun said smoothly, a casual drawl lacing his words.

You shook your head, disbelieving, “forget it. I’m not interested in getting first place in killing innocent animals.”

“Trust me, it’s not just about coming up at the top,” he muttered ominously before his lips widened into the usual playful grin. “That aside…” he beckoned subtly, nudging you to glance toward the far end of the room, “I can never tell if you two are lovers or enemies, but there’s something there. He’s been staring for ages.”

You turned, following his line of sight, and felt your pulse stutter.

Sunghoon.

He stood at the far side of the glasshouse, his tall figure cutting through the crowd like a shadow. But even the mask couldn’t conceal the intensity of his stare—sharp, piercing, locked directly onto you.

You tore your gaze away, the weight of it lingering far too heavily on your shoulders.

“Careful,” Jaeyun murmured, his grin turning faintly wolfish, “you might end up being the one he hunts tonight instead of a bison.”

Before you could respond, a bell rang and darkness consumed the glasshouse. “You have until sun down,” you hear the host announce, amusement evident, “eternal glory awaits those who makes it. Happy hunting.”

There was something ominous about the way he emphasizes the words but before you could process them further, you feel a hand on yours, soft but insistent. “Madam, it’s me,” you recognised the voice, it was one of those maids who served you breakfast this morning, “please follow me. I am to take you to your respective position.”

Before you could resist, she slipped a blindfold over your eyes and led you outside. The cold night air bit at your skin, your pulse quickening with every step. When the blindfold came off, you were near a shed, and a shotgun was thrusted into your hands.

The bell tolled again, its echo swallowed by the night, and almost immediately, gunshots rang out, shattering the stillness. Manic laughter followed—sharp, jagged, and unhinged, like a predator’s glee.

You’d always been competitive, but killing innocent animals had never been your sport. As the Maid stepped away, a thought struck you. Without hesitation, you grabbed her arm, realizing you could easily disguise yourself—especially since the mask you wore among the guests would conceal your identity.

“Trade clothes with me," you said urgently, "please. It's a bit too heavy for hunting, don't you think?" you lied.

The maid looked hesitant at first but eventually agreed after you promised her some reward as long as she finds you afterward. You two ducked inside the shed and traded clothes.

The maid's uniform was simple and nondescript, just a black velvet dress that hugged the figure modestly with its high neckline framed by delicate white lace and long sleeves that gathered slightly at the shoulders with a matching lace at the cuffs. It was the perfect attire for hiding in plain sight. Or running, should you need to.

You muttered a thanks as she took her leave but just as you were buttoning yours, you heard noises—footsteps, closer now, and the sharp bark of a laugh that set your teeth on edge. You froze, your breath caught in your throat, as you crept toward the narrow window.

Outside, in the clearing beyond, stood the tall man whose obnoxious laugh had always filled the hall whenever you guys gather. His mask hung crooked on his face, barely concealing the manic grin beneath it. He cocked his rifle toward the shadows, his movements deliberate, his laughter trailing like the howl of a wolf on the hunt. Then he fired indiscriminately.

A rabbit fell first, its small body tumbling lifelessly into the frost-tipped grass. Then an eagle, a deer—anything that dared move. He chuckled to himself, carelessly slinging the dead rabbit over his shoulder as another figure emerged from the shadows.

“You’re hoarding everything,” the newcomer whined. He wore a double-faced mask—one side smiling, the other weeping—and his movements were unnervingly fluid, almost inhuman. “You’ve really got to leave some for us poor uncivilized folk. It’s not like we can afford to go hunting every week.”

The tall man turned with an arrogant shrug, his grin widening. “Well, some people are just meant to stay at the top.”

Before he could say more, the masked figure vanished—gone, like smoke dissipating into the night.

And then he was behind him.

You barely suppressed a gasp as the double-faced figure reappeared, silent and sudden, sinking his fangs deep into the tall man’s neck. There wasn’t even time for a scream—just a gurgled choke as the man’s body went limp, his rifle falling uselessly to the ground. The tall man’s once boisterous laughter was silenced forever.

You staggered back, horror twisting in your gut, bile rising in your throat. The realization hit you like ice—this wasn’t just a hunt. It was a literal bloodsport and you were part of the pecking order, a prey for a specific kind of predator.

You had to flee now.

Your pulse thundered in your ears as you darted out of the shed, the shadows of the garden swallowing you whole. Thorny rose bushes clawed at your skirt as you weaved through the rows, their petals dark as ink beneath the full moon. Then you heard it—a low, muffled protest. A man’s voice, weak and disbelieving. You froze, crouching behind the tangled branches, peering through a narrow clearing.

“You bastard—” the man on the ground croaked as he laid in a pool of his own blood. The bile rose in your throat as his voice cracked with desperate rage, “—they were right, you shouldn’t have lived.”

Another man suddenly stepped into the frame with unhurried ease, exuding an air of cold authority. Then with utter ruthlessness, brought his shoe down onto the bleeding man's face, tilting it toward your direction. The lifeless eyes locked onto yours, wide and unblinking, fangs bared in a final expression of fury—frozen in death.

“Why do you have to bleed that much?” the man above him muttered, his tone detached and annoyed. “It’s getting all over my trousers.”

Your breath caught. You knew that voice. That smooth, unbothered and utterly unforgiving voice.

Park Sunghoon.

He stood over the lifeless body, unnervingly casual, shaking his shoes to remove the last traces of blood, as though he’d swatted a fly instead of taken a life.

Your chest tightened. You should have known—he was a vampire after all which means he must have also been taking part in this brutal, predatory game. But seeing it like this, the casual ruthlessness in his every move, made the realization cut deeper than you’d ever prepared for.

Then, his head snapped up.

Fuck, you thought as you drew back instinctively, he knew.

You stifled a gasp, turning on your heel to bolt the other way—only to collide with something solid. Someone.

Sunghoon.

Before you could react, his fingers wrapped around your wrist, effortlessly stilling the blade you had instinctively raised between you. But it wasn’t the pain in your wrist that made your blood ran cold. It was the expression in his eyes. Cold. Calculating. It occured to you that if he could kill his own kind so easily and so remorselessly – killing you would be child’s play especially given the bad blood between you too.

“I should have known—" you said scornfully. Each word spitted out like venom, “you’re just like them.”

“I never said I was any different,” he replied smoothly, his brows arching with disinterested amusement, as though your accusation was a mild inconvenience. “Your words imply you thought otherwise though. I’m touched. But game’s over y/n, let’s stop beating around the—”

Before he could continue, the sharp twang of a bowstring shattered the silence. An arrow sliced through the air, embedding itself in the stone fountain between you with a thud.

“Not the most gentlemanly, is it?”

Both of you turned sharply.

Jaeyun stood at the edge of the clearing, a bow in hand, a smirk painted across his face. His plague doctor mask gleam rather luminously in the moonlight. “Attacking a lone woman? That’s very low of you, Lord Park. But then again, the bar has been in hell when it comes to you—"

Another arrow zipped through the air but Sunghoon caught it mid-flight, snapping the shaft with an almost irritated flick of his wrist. Before he could react further, however, Jaeyun fired again. This time, the arrow struck true, embedding itself into Sunghoon’s upper arm. While pulling his bowstring taut for another hit, Jaeyun tilted his head sharply in your direction, the motion clear and deliberate: run.

You didn’t need to be told twice. You bolted toward the castle, your dagger still clutched tightly in your hand. Behind you, the sound of movement—fast, deliberate, and unnervingly close—cut through the night, followed by the sharp crack of something violent. But you didn’t look back.

You tore through the rose garden, through the labyrinth of shadowed corridors, until the heavy castle doors loomed before you. They slammed shut behind you with a deafening boom, the echo resounding like a gunshot in the empty hall. Only then did you pause, chest heaving, your pulse a frantic rhythm beneath your skin.

As you force yourself to make your way through the series of hallways, dread rose with every step when you realised you had stepped into the Corridors of Treachery—its narrow, winding passages and endless series of identical doors looming ominously before you.

“Fuck,” you muttered defeatedly as you tried door after door, only to find yourself circling back to the same rooms you had already seen. It was as though the castle itself conspired to trap you within its labyrinth.

At this rate, he’d find you.

Then finally, one door opened to a different room. Relief surged through you—until you saw where you’d ended up. The library.

You groaned in frustration, about to turn back but then realised that perhaps this was exactly where you should be. You quickly shut the door behind you as you recalled the host mentioning how tonight's event was tradition. If it was tradition, then there had to be something written about it.

Grabbing the nearest lamp, you scanned the shelves for books that details about traditions or perhaps rituals, reading the titles aloud in a voice that is barely above a whisper: "The Blood Wars. The Vitae Manifesto. Of Reigns and Conquests. The Obsidian Testament. The Silent Prophecy—"

You froze. Backtracking, your fingers traced over one title. The Obsidian Testament.

“This—” you murmured, cutting yourself off as you freed the book from its resting place. You remembered a reference to this particular book yesterday, though the page had been burnt—intentionally, it seemed, as though someone had tried to erase all traces of its existence.

The words from The Annals of Kings surfaced in your mind like a whisper from the grave: “The Obsidian Testament is no book—it is a hunger that feeds. Blood begets blood, and its truths are carved in the ruin of those who sought them.”

The Obsidian Testament felt heavier than you expected, its weight solid and unyielding, as if the book itself resisted being opened. The leather cover, cracked and brittle with age, was uneven beneath your fingertips. At first, you thought it was some widespread leather cracks, but no—there was something more deliberate about it. The surface felt etched, uneven ridges forming patterns you couldn’t quite discern under the flickering lamplight. But there was no time to linger.

Hurriedly, you flipped through the first few pages, your breath quickening as you searched for any explanation for the night’s macabre events but the first few pages only offered you macabre drawings of human, sigils and strange incantations.

There must be something, you thought desperately as you turned the brittle pages. The parchment crackled under your touch, the oppressive silence pressing in around you. Then, finally, something legible:

The Pureblood lineage, though unparalleled in strength, is not immune to the decay that plagues all empires. Bloodlines can weaken. Houses can fall. To maintain the purity and continuation of our kind, vigilance is required. The survival of the Pureblood lineage is not merely a matter of existence but the continuation of perfection itself. The weak may breed indiscriminately, but the strong—the Purebloods—must refine and preserve their population with precision.

“Sounds like something straight out of a supremacist manifesto,” you murmured, but your words faltered as your eyes fell to the next few lines:

—what remains hidden knowledge, however, is that the act of turning a mortal into a Spoilblood, while widely practiced, harbors a purpose far greater than is openly acknowledged. The Reaping—is a truth reserved for the most exalted among us, a secret rite that transcends the mundane utility of turning. It is the keystone of power, a ritual that restores the Pureblood’s supremacy, binding mortality to perfection beneath the crimson glow of a blood moon. If, during a blood moon, a pureblood binds their hundredth Spoilblood, renewal grants power anew—

Just then you thought you saw movements outside the window. You peered through an opening, seeing three figures striding toward the castle, weapons glinting in the moonlight—a bat, a sickle, a scythe. The air grew heavy with the unmistakable promise of bloodshed.

You shoved the book back onto the shelf, your pulse hammering against your chest. Keeping to the shadows, you slipped back into the hall, trying every door possible. At last, one opened to a new hallway, but as you moved to leave, muffled cries stopped you.

“I’ll give you my wealth—my land—please!” The man’s voice was frantic, his words tumbling over each other in desperation. Looming over him were the 3 masked men from earlier, their choice of masks as macabre as the weapon in their hands

“Well, look who it is—the Actor,” the one in the Bauta Venetian mask said ,as he pushed the pleading man’s mask aside to reveal his face.

“Too bad,” sneered the one with the Baphomet mask, squatting beside him. “We’ve got too many pretty faces already. Shall we feast instead?”

“Sounds good to me. All that caviar and wine probably makes his blood taste divine.” The one in the clown mask pressed the edge of his scythe against the man’s neck. “Besides, he’s not good enough for the Reaping—not enough wealth and influence.”

The man’s protests fell on deaf ears, dissolving into guttural choking as the three figures descended upon him in a brutal, efficient frenzy. You turned away, bile rising in your throat, the wet, tearing sounds behind you digging into your mind like jagged glass.

Desperate to focus elsewhere, your gaze landed on the nearest window. The silver glow of the full moon spilled through it, freezing you in place as fragments of memory jolted through your mind, unbidden and sharp. Words from The Obsidian Testament rang like a broken radio—disjointed, warped. "When the full moon wanes, the blood moon will rise, and with it, chaos shall reign." The line clung to your thoughts, twisting with Anton’s offhand remark just a week ago: "There’s a Blood Moon this month," he’d said casually, as if it were a trivial astrological event.

The realisation struck you like a lightning bolt. Tonight's bloodsport wasn't simply for entertainment nor indulgence. It was preparation—an offering—for something far more insidious.

This wasn't just a game.

This was the prelude to a Reaping.

You needed to move—fast. The sickening sounds of their feeding still echoed down the corridor, making your skin crawl. Keeping low, you slipped past the door left ajar earlier and darted into the dimly lit hall, your footsteps light and deliberate. Ahead, a smaller door leading to the servants’ passage came into view.

You shoved it open, slipping through and climbing the spiral staircase two steps at a time, your breath quick and shallow. Then you heard it—the clatter of heavy footsteps below, sharp and deliberate. Looking down, your eyes locked with one of the men from earlier—the one in the Bauta mask. He stood at the base of the stairs, his head tilted, his expression unreadable beneath the eerie mask.

“Thought I sensed a weasel snooping around,” he called mockingly, his tone dripping with sinister amusement. “You’re mine, then.”

Panic surged. Fuck. You slammed the door shut behind you, twisting the lock just as he reached it, sprinting into what looked like a gallery of a statues. But everywhere you looked there were no exit in sight, just statues looming in eerie stillness, their solemn faces twisted as though mourning what was to come.

Behind you, the door crashed open, and his relentless footsteps followed, their sound reverberating through the empty space.

Desperation clawed at you as you slid behind one of the statues, your chest heaving, eyes darting around for an exit. Still none in sight. Your grip tightened around the dagger in your hand, its cool weight grounding you. The heart, you thought as your mind raced back to everything you’d read about vampires yesterday. That was their weak point.

But as your gaze flicked between the trembling dagger in your hand and the figure still prowling the gallery, searching for you, doubt seeped in like an unwelcome shadow. His towering build, his inhuman speed, his strength—there was no way you could overpower him.

Your eyes darted back to the blade, the calculated risk forming in your mind the only option left. Steeling yourself, you drew the blade across your thigh, wincing as the sharp pain flared and blood welled up in angry streaks which summoned him almost immediately. “Gotcha—" he sneered, as he closed the distance in one smooth unsettling motion, his grin stretching unnaturally wide, fangs bared in predatory triumph.

You let him topple you, his weight crashing down with bruising force. As you’d anticipated, his head dipped straight to your thigh, drawn to the fresh cut rather than your neck. His grip tightened, his breath sharp and ragged against your skin.

It was the opening you needed.

With a surge of determination, you drove the blade into his chest from his back, straight into his heart. A guttural hiss tore from his throat as his body convulsed, staggering back violently. Blood soaked his shirt as he clawed at the weapon embedded in his chest. He ripped it free with a snarl, flinging it aside like it was nothing more than an inconvenience. “You filthy wench,” he spat venomously, trying in vain to stem the flow of blood.

You didn’t wait. Scrambling to your feet, you grabbed the dagger he had thrown near you and darted back out to where you came from, sprinting into the corridor at the other end instead which led to a hallway lined with mirrors, their warped reflections casting eerie, shifting shadows. You sprinted aimlessly, your only thought to escape. But just as the end of the hallway came into view, something heavy wrenched you backward with inhuman strength. A hand clamped over your mouth, muffling your terrified cry. It can’t end like this, your mind screamed, desperation clawing at the edges of your sanity but no matter how hard you thrashed, it was futile and the next thing you knew, you were hurled into a small, confined space with the sound of the door clicking shut behind you sealing your fate.

Your back slammed against what felt like a cupboard, the hard surface digging painfully into your spine. The body pinning you in place was unyielding—a solid wall of muscle that absorbed your frantic shoves and kicks without faltering.

“Calm down, calm—” a familiar voice whispered, but with adrenaline fuelling your struggle, terror overrode recognition.

“y/n, calm the fuck down—it’s me, Sunghoon.”

Your movements stilled instantly, your chest heaving with ragged breaths. He flipped a hidden switch near the door, his face was set in frustration, though there was no malice in his eyes, “if you don’t stop struggling, they will find you—“

You looked at him, confused but suspicious. This was, afterall, still Sunghoon—a Pureblood who had killed another of his own tonight, and possibly Jaeyun as well. You were naturally next.

“Look,” he hissed, his tone edged with exasperation. “If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it already. I’ve had plenty of opportunities, remember?” His voice shifted then, quieter, almost coaxing. “I’m going to uncover your mouth, but only if you promise to stop fighting me—at least while we’re in here.”

Your heart pounded, your instincts screaming to resist, but grudgingly, you nodded. If he wanted you dead, he wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of dragging you here.

His hand dropped from your mouth, but before you could fully process what was happening, his arm moved behind you, sliding firmly along the curve of your back. With unsettling ease, he lifted you and settled you on top of the cupboard—the motion fluid and controlled, as though you weighed nothing.

Suddenly, he bit into his wrist, the blood welling instantly. “Sunghoon—what the hell—”

He didn’t answer. Instead, in one fluid movement, he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming as he positioned himself intimately between your legs, his hand sliding up your thigh with deliberate intent, the fabric of your dress gathering beneath his fingers.

“Hey—” you stammered, heat flushing your cheeks as you instinctively tried to stop him. But the protest died in your throat when you saw what he was doing—his bloodied wrist pressed against your wound, his movements steady, precise. The smear of crimson over your skin was deliberate, purposeful, and the air between you seemed to thrum with unspoken tension.

“This will mask the scent,” he murmured, his voice low and almost detached, though his eyes flickered briefly to meet yours. You were just about to ease up when without warning, his other hand had slid up your waist, his fingers splaying possessively over your lower back. Before you could reach, he pulled you flush against him with unsettling ease.

“Sunghoon, st—"

“We’re running out of time,” he cut you off, his tone sharp but tinged with something unfamiliar—urgency, almost pleading—something you’d never imagined him capable of. “You just have to trust me on this.”

But before you could even respond, Sunghoon had slammed his lips against yours. They were soft—unexpectedly so—but his movements were anything but. Fierce and unrelenting, the kiss carried a desperation that felt almost feral, as though the very act was a lifeline he was determined to seize.

You struggled against the onslaught, your hands pushing at his chest, but his grip over your waist tightened, anchoring you to him like a shield. Then the door burst open and his intent—his strategy—became clear to you. His body shifted instantly, fully shielding yours from view as his hand hooked firmly under your thigh, steadying you and sealing the ruse with unnerving precision.

Reluctantly, you played along, your hands faltering as his weight pressed against you, quashing any remaining space between your bodies. Your dress shifted dangerously high as his body leaned into yours, the act deliberate and unyielding. While every instinct screamed at you to shove him away, you forced yourself to stay still, to let the illusion hold—for now.

But then you felt his lips adeptly part yours—deepening the kiss in a way you were never prepared—stealing every breath and muffling every protests. The hard planes of his chest pressed against yours, the beat of his heart—or the echo of yours, you couldn't tell—pulsating in tandem with your own. The dresser creaked in protest, the faint sound barely registering above the storm of your senses.

Time itself seemed to bend, stretching each second unbearably long. Every sensation overwhelmed you—the heat radiating from his closeness, the weight of his touch, the faint creak of the dresser beneath you. It all blurred together, threatening to drown you in its intensity. But then his wandering hands jolted you out of the haze, yanking you sharply back into the present. In a swift, instinctive motion, you wrenched yourself from his embrace. "St-stop..." your breath coming in short, uneven gasps, "—they're... already gone."

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you struggled to steady your racing pulse. The stinging sensation on your lips serving as a persistent reminder of the scorching passion that had nearly consumed you. His kiss, like a brand, had left its mark.

Sunghoon stilled, his chest rising and falling, though you knew better—vampires didn’t tire. His jaw tensed, the sharp line of his profile shadowed as he turned slightly away.

“Right. Of course,” he muttered, his voice quieter than usual, as if trying to gather himself. His usual calm façade was intact, but you noticed the faintest flicker—a barely-there crack in his composure, “—it worked. That’s all that matters.”

You exhaled shakily, unable to look at him, your own pulse thrumming wildly against your ribs. “So, what now?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended as you tried to compose yourself, “we can’t just make out everytime there’s footsteps.”

He nodded absently, but midway, his brows arched as if you’d said something illuminating. “Actually, that’s a great idea. Come with me—”

“No—” You dug your heels in as he gripped your wrist—not roughly, but with enough firmness to tell you resistance was pointless. You give in, reluctantly letting let him pull you along, his pace deliberate but measured, as if he were navigating a trap you couldn’t yet see. Through a discreet side passage—a door you hadn’t noticed earlier—he led you to an ornate chamber, hidden away from the guest suites. The heavy door creaked open, revealing a room so grand it felt frozen in time: dark velvet drapery pooling on the floor, an unlit fireplace, and a sprawling canopy bed swathed in deep red fabric.

“This is your idea of a safe haven? Your room?” you scoffed as Sunghoon bolted the door shut behind him. With swift movements, he shrugged off his cloak and undid his buttons, feeling hot – though whether it was from all the running or memories from the earlier kiss, only he knew.

You backed away instinctively, unsettled by his casual ease, his shirt hanging open just enough to reveal glimpses of his sculpted chest, the memory of his touch still fresh, an unwelcome echo that made your skin prickle.

“Sunghoon, what are you doing? You’re not suggesting-“

“—unless you want to—” he smirked, tousling his well-kept hair with a deliberate flick. “Relax. I’m joking. Ease up.”

He leaned casually against the edge of the bed, his smirk deepening. “This really is the safest place. Firstly, it’s my room. Secondly, after seeing the way we ‘made out’ in that closet, naturally, they’d assume we’d escalate things here. You know… where we’d be up all night, tangled in—”

“Right! I get it-“ you interjected, cheeks blazing, “still though – this is your room. I’m supposed to let myself be locked with you for the whole night? This evening is as much of a bloodsport to you as it is to them.”

He sighed, “look, if trust is too much to ask, I’ll ask for your clear-headed logic then y/n. If I wanted you dead, you’d already be. But tonight, I’ve been saving you instead.”

“That’s the suspicious part, why did you save me then?”

The air was heavy. The silence felt like it dragged on for too long.

“I know what Noctis Imperium really is Sunghoon so if you want my trust then you must answer me honestly,” you tone was firm.

Sunghoon tilted his head lazily, his lips curving ever so faintly, “Oh? Do you now?”

You ignored the sardonic edge in his tone and pressed on. “It’s a Reaping, isn’t it?” the word dropped like a blade between you, heavy and damning. “The bloodsport? That’s just the opening act. It weeds out the unworthy—leaves only the best standing. The strongest. The smartest. The richest. And they’re the ones who get turned. It’s systematic.”

His gaze sharpened, but he didn’t interrupt.

“This event coincides with a blood moon which is due sometime this month—that’s very specific. If you guys wanted bloodsport, it didn’t even have to align,” you continued, stepping closer, “and clearly it isn’t just about sick entertainment is it? It’s about expansion—physically and financially.”

Your hands balled into fists at your sides as you turned to meet his gaze, your voice daring and unyielding. “If you want me to trust you tonight, then tell me—why are you here? For a Reaping as well?”

For the first time, something flickered in his expression. A fleeting shadow of recognition—or understanding—but it vanished as quickly as it came. His smirk didn’t return, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low, measured, “sounds like you have done your homework-“

“That’s not an answer,” you cut off.

“Fine. If it will get you to shut up tonight, I’ll entertain you,” he plopped himself on the bed, hands braced behind him, “I had my suspicions about this... place,” he admitted, his tone calm but laced with something heavier, darker. “But a Reaping? That’s far-fetched. The Reaping is after all shunned and is not widespread knowledge,” he continued, his voice dropping lower, “it’s forbidden—archaic. Lost and buried for a reason.”

“Apparently not,” you shot back, “because I read a book on it in the library so you being here can either mean you’re part of this ring or someone is.”

“You’re smart enough to find this place and unearth a rather dark history and practice by my kind—” he spoke with a quiet, almost resigned tone, “but can't see just how absurd it'd be for me to play detective with you and ask you to run your simulation for me if all I wanted was to attend a ritual I am supposedly to have been part of?”

For a moment, your gaze faltered—not out of fear, but something closer to embarrassment. “Then why are you here?” you demanded, suspicion still sharp in your voice. His explanation didn’t erase your doubts—not yet.

“I’m kind of like you,” his voice is calm, “except I’m not just playing detective. I’m here to root out the deviants among us. I don’t just cover foul plays up – I follow the trail and remove the troublemakers.”

You stared into his gaze a little longer, letting the silence simmer, trying to search if there is any faltering – if he was lying. But it is hard to tell with him.

“Not the answer you’re looking for?” he raised his brows – challenging and proud, “that’s entirely your fault for jumping into conclusions when it comes to me.”

“Well it’s not like you were the most forthcoming anyway,” you grumbled back, “you keep people in the dark and then say cryptic shit. You brought it unto yourself.”

He shrugged, “if you say so. The point is, if what you say is true then the odds are stacked against us.”

“us?” you echoed, incredulous, “Just a few days ago, you said I was nothing more than a tool. What’s changed? Can’t survive on your fangs alone?”

He scoffed, his smirk sharpening. “If it helps you sleep at night, then let’s just say it makes the two of us.” He leaned back slightly, his gaze steady and unreadable. “Now, can you set your blade down and ease up?”

You hesitated, the weight of his words settling heavily. Finally, you let out a sharp breath. “Fine. For now. But don’t mistake this for trust.”

His smirk deepened faintly, though his gaze remained steady. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

— ix

They said the third night was set to be a respite. But by now, you knew better. You knew their sick way of twisting words.

As you stood outside the Hall of Reckoning, your fists clenched tightly at your sides, the full weight of the night before bore down on you. The bloodsport, the laughter, the violence—it wasn’t chaos. It wasn’t chance. It was a gladiator ring.

The realization sat heavy in your chest, making it hard to breathe. You had no illusions about the outcome: the deck was stacked, and you were playing with cards designed to fail. But it was too late to run. Far too late.

“What about the masks?” you asked as you approached the butler usually manning the mask cart.

“No longer needed, Madam,” he replied smoothly, pushing the door open.

The Hall of Reckoning. At first glance, the name seemed almost merciful—a place where justice might be sought, where those who endured could demand retribution for their suffering.

But the irony revealed itself immediately. For the mortals, there could be no reckoning. Survival in the bloodsport had made them complicit in its savagery, their hands stained with the violence they had been forced to commit. This hall, for all its grandeur, wasn’t a sanctuary. It was a monument to their sins.

Every detail in the room seemed to echo that truth. Murals stretched across the vaulted ceiling, vivid and grotesque in their depiction of Dante’s seven circles of hell. Around the room, statues stood like solemn judges—angels with shattered wings, warriors frozen mid-fall, veiled damsels cloaked in grief. Their hollow eyes seemed to follow every movement, bearing silent witness to the carnage both endured and inflicted.

This wasn’t a Hall of Reckoning meant to absolve. It was designed to haunt.

The proof lay in the faces of the remaining guests. Unlike before, only a quarter of them had made it here, their masks removed for the first time. It was painfully clear now who among them were human for trepidation clung to their pale, drawn faces, their hollow gazes—stark contrast to the air of haughtiness and confidence that most displayed during the first day.

And then, there were the vampires. At least by the looks of it for their beauty was unparalleled, ethereal almost, as if they’d been carved from marble to perfection. But that perfection was unnerving, cold, their smiles charming yet faintly menacing in certain light. They moved with an unnatural grace, each step calculated and precise. Their eyes, ageless and predatory, gleamed like polished glass, betraying nothing but an unwavering hunger that lingered beneath their elegant façades.

Together, the humans and vampires painted a stark contrast: the fragility of mortality set against the eerie permanence of the immortal.

You were still absorbing the scene when a hand grasped yours, the touch firm yet deliberate, calculated.

Startled, you turned sharply, only to find yourself face-to-face with a man bowing slightly as he pressed a light kiss to your knuckles. “My Lady,” he murmured, his voice smooth and infuriatingly charming. He straightened, and the wide playful grin that stretched across his face was unmistakable. The glint of a lip ring under the soft glow of the chandeliers sealed his identity.

“Jaeyun,” you muttered, his name slipping out like a reflex.

Unmasked, his face was even more disarming than you’d imagined. His features were sharp—his cheekbones high and his jawline so clean it seemed almost sculpted. Yet there was a boyishness to him, a devil-may-care charm that softened the harsh lines, making him look approachable in a way that felt both alluring and dangerous.

That grin of his was impossible to ignore. His lips, fuller and more expressive than you remembered, curled just slightly as if he were privy to a joke no one else was in on. The lip ring only added to his allure, a small but significant detail that gave him an edge, an irreverent flair.

He tilted his head, his golden hair catching the faint light, and for a moment, he seemed to drink in your surprise. His gaze was playful, mischievous, daring you to react. Where Sunghoon exuded stormy gravitas, with every movement deliberate and weighted, Jaeyun felt like a gust of wind—unpredictable, fleeting, and impossible to pin down.

Before you could react, you felt another presence—familiar, cold, and steady. A hand slid to the small of your back then over your waist, firm and commanding as it pulled you away from Jaeyun.

“You’ve had enough of his company,” Sunghoon said, his voice cutting through the din with icy precision. His tone was low but laced with a chill that sent a ripple through the air, “he’s just a vermin.”

Jaeyun’s grin widened, deliberately slow, as he released you, his movements deliberate and mocking. “Ah, or so I hear about last night,” he replied smoothly. His lip curled in amusement as his eyes flicked between you and Sunghoon. “Apologies. Just a formality, of course. I’d never dare touch what you’ve claimed, Lord Park.”

Your breath caught, mortified. You knew exactly what Jaeyun was implying.

“No, we’re not— we didn’t—" you tried to clarify, but Sunghoon’s grip tightened, cutting off your words as he turned you sharply, his hand firm on your waist as he steered you away.

“Excuse you,” you exclaimed, stumbling slightly as he wheeled you toward the table. His jaw was set, a shadow of something unreadable flashing in his eyes. Without a word, he pulled out a chair and practically pushed you into it, his actions possessive and territorial.

He snatched the plaque bearing Jaeyun’s name from the table and thrust it at a passing butler. “Find this bastard another seat,” he ordered coldly.

Before the butler could even take a step, Sunghoon dropped into the chair beside you—Jaeyun’s chair. His hand rested lightly on the table, fingers drumming in a rhythm that felt calculated, as though he was staking his claim with every deliberate tap.

“Just because you two have some bad blood doesn’t mean I should be the collateral damage,” you huffed, crossing your arms in defiance. “At least you didn’t kill him.”

“I should have,” Sunghoon’s gaze remained fixed on Jaeyun, his expression darkening. “You should stop letting him talk to you,” he said, his tone sharp. “He’s poison wrapped in silk. It doesn’t matter how harmless he seems—he’ll ruin you just the same.”

“And you’re not?” you shot back, your voice low but challenging. “Sunghoon, you’re just as suspicious as everyone else.”

His head snapped toward you, the storm in his gaze faltering. For a brief moment, something softer flickered across his features—something almost tender. His shoulders eased as he seemed to struggle for words.

“It’s not—” he began, his voice quieter, but his unfinished sentence hung in the air, swallowed by the sudden shift in the room.

“Welcome,” the host’s voice rang out, smooth and practiced, drawing all attention to the front of the room. He stepped forward, his grin too wide to be sincere. “After all the fun yesterday,” he drawled, his words dripping with theatrical flair, “tonight will just be purely a celebration. Unending feast and fireworks.”

The room shifted uneasily, the faint clink of glassware underscoring the uncomfortable silence.

“As I’ve reassured you all—what happened last night is not your fault,” the host continued, his grin widening to something almost maniacal. His gaze swept over the room like a predator scanning for weakness.

The words hung in the air, their implication sinking in like lead. The humans, especially, seemed to shrink into their seats, their faces pale and drawn, haunted by memories of the previous night.

“Greed,” the host continued, his voice both rich and biting, “is a poisonous thing. And with stakes so high, we understand when one must act… out of self-preservation.”

Your breath caught at his choice of words. Slowly, your gaze swept the hall, catching subtle tremors in the crowd—the twitch of a hand, the widening of eyes before they schooled back into forced calm. A woman in crimson sat frozen, her glass of wine untouched. Nearby, a man swallowed hard, his fingers gripping his fork like a lifeline. It struck you then: these people must have seen—or done—unspeakable things last night. Survival had come at a cost, and their faces betrayed that cost in every taut line and shadowed expression.

“Rest assured,” the host added, his tone lightening into something almost whimsical, yet no less sinister. “Our discretion is ironclad. Whatever happens here… stays here.”

The words slithered through the air like smoke, a chill rippling in their wake. It was meant to be reassurance but you knew better—it was a warning, one that is thinly veiled in polished charm.

For a moment, the room remained frozen, the silence taut with unspoken apprehension. Then, the faint clink of glassware broke the stillness—a subtle signal that sent ripples through the crowd. The guests shifted in their seats, some reaching hesitantly for their utensils, others masking their unease behind stiff smiles and murmured conversation.

You glanced down at the table before you as the quiet ceremony of dining began. The elaborate spread was a grotesque spectacle, the kind of decadence that bordered on parody. Platters overflowed with fleshy cuts of meat, dripping in dark wine sauces that shimmered like blood under the chandeliers. Fruits glistened like polished jewels, their vibrant colors almost too vivid to be real. Desserts spun from delicate sugar glimmered with an unnatural brilliance.

The clinking of forks and knives against fine china grated against your nerves. It wasn’t the sound of sustenance—it was a performance, a ritual of excess that felt grotesque in its mockery. You shifted uneasily in your seat, unable to quell the nausea roiling in your stomach. This wasn’t a feast for survivors. It was a celebration for predators.

“y/n,” Sunghoon’s voice cut through the oppressive din, low and quiet, his breath ghosting against your ear, “meet me in the library once the firework starts.”

You turned, but he was already gone, leaving behind only the faint scent of his cologne—a mix of wood and bergamot that lingered in the air, equal parts hypnotizing and suffocating.

Time dragged after that, the air in the hall thick with unspoken tension. Each moment stretched unbearably as the chatter around you ebbed and flowed, the underlying unease never quite dissipating. When the first explosion of light burst across the night sky, you slipped away unnoticed, your footsteps soft amidst the murmurs of awe and raised glasses.

The Corridors of Treachery felt colder, quieter as you made your way to the library. Once, these endless stretches of identical doors and twisting hallways had felt alive—ever-shifting, as though the castle itself sought to mislead and ensnare. But now, their tricks no longer held sway over you. After several visits, you had unraveled their secrets, piecing together the intricate design that made chaos into order.

The corridor was more than a labyrinth; they were a calculated test. A clever combination of architectural illusion, psychological distortion, and mathematical precision, that tests not just one’s preserverance—but also the mind. The patterns embedded in the walls required focus to decipher: sconces positioned slightly off-center, cracks in the stone tiles forming faint lines that pointed toward the correct path, even the rhythmic shifts in echo that whispered of direction. It wasn’t enough to simply try door after door—one needed intellect and restraint to navigate the maze. If approached in a state of heightened fear, the corridors became a prison. Anxiety clouded judgment, turned every door into a dead end, and every turn into an endless loop. But you’d learned to steady yourself, to let logic and observation guide your steps rather than emotion.

Now, your movements were purposeful, almost effortless. Three lefts, a right, pause at the second door. The sequence was etched into your mind, the once-treacherous maze reduced to a solvable equation. Without hesitation, you pushed open the heavy library door.

The room stretched before you, towering shelves disappearing into the shadows. The faint scent of aged parchment and leather hung in the air as you lit your oil lamp, its flickering glow barely cutting through the darkness.

Sunghoon, however, wasn’t there.

Figures, you sighed, trailing your fingers along the shelves, half out of habit, half out of frustration. Why did he even—

A sudden gust of wind swept through the room, sharp and biting. The lamp hissed and went dark, plunging you into thick silence. You stilled, your heart leaping into your throat as darkness swallowed you whole.

Moonlight spilled through the tall, arched windows, faint and ethereal. The shadows danced in its glow, painting the room in shifting silver and gray. You fumbled for the small flint striker embedder near the base of the oil lamp, about to twist it when a glimmer among the books caught your eye—faint but unmistakable.

You stilled, the lamp momentarily forgotten as you stepped closer towards the book in the shelf. It wasn’t just the sheen of the leather—it was something deliberate, something hidden. Your fingers brushed the spine, its texture rough and cold. It was The Obsidian Testament—the one you picked out yesterday—but beneath the gilded letters were faint Latin scrawls, curling like veins across the surface like an incantation. You didn’t remember them being there yesterday.

You pulled the book free, its weight heavier than it should have been, like it carried more than just words within its pages.

As you turned it over in your hands, you can feel the roughness in the surface— something you noticed yesterday but didn’t press on. It didn't feel like wear and tear. It was faintly raised but textured in a way that felt deliberate, though the design was invisible to the naked eye. You held it closer to the window, letting the silver light of the moon spill across its surface.

And then you saw it.

Slowly, like ink blooming through parchment, a faint, silvery glow materialised. Ominously scrawled in faint, curling script were words you could barely decipher:"The blood of the pure seals the bond. The moon bears witness."

Beneath it, a coat of arms emerged—hidden from sight, lying dormant until called forth by the moonlight. A spiked crown sat atop the shield, flanked by a raven and a wolf poised as sentinels. Intricate designs framed the emblem, with the motto etched beneath it: "In shadows, we endure. In blood, we rise."

Your blood turned cold. You knew that coat of arms.

“Sunghoon,” you whispered, the realization hitting you like a thunderclap. It was his crest—the same one he often wore on his lapel.

“Took you long enough,” a low voice drawled, making you jump. You whirled, your heart pounding as a figure emerged from the shadows near the door. For a moment, you thought it was Sunghoon but as he stepped into the faint glow of moonlight, the features were unmistakably Jaeyun’s.

“What do you mean?” you demanded, taking a step back toward the table. Unease curled in your chest.

He scoffed, looking mildly offended as he stepped closer. The way the moonlight caught his face accentuated the sharpness of his grin—mischievous, yes, but laced with something colder. “Why do you look so scared of me now? Sunghoon should be the one you’re wary of. Ah, of course, he did save you, didn’t he?”

Before you could react, he vanished—only to reappear beside you, one hand braced against the table as he leaned down, head tilted coyly. Another vampire, you thought.

“Ever considered that saving you serves him more than it serves you? Perhaps he might even be saving you for himself.”

You stiffened, refusing to let his words take root. “And what about you? You’ve been dropping crumbs here and there for me—” you countered sharply. “Nothing is ever free—not from the likes of you.”

Jaeyun’s lips quirked, amused. “You sound just like one of us, y/n. You would make a great addition,” he drawled. “I’m helping because well, you’re not my enemy and I hate inflicting collateral damage.”

“And your enemy is?”

“Sunghoon. Or rather, royal purebloods like him. Someone who has a legacy to reclaim,” he said with a singsong edge. “They represent the dark ages—the rigid hierarchy of power that exalted purity above all else, splintering us with its toxic elitism.”

“Are you not a pureblood?”

“No. I’m a halfblood—borne out of a Pureblood and a Spoilblood.” His tone turned casual, but there was a slight edge to it. “Practically blasphemy to those supremacists. Think of it like a noble bedding their servant.”

The admission hung in the air, bitter and heavy. But you knew better than to simply lap up his words, “and yet you’re here? Toasting and laughing as if you belong.”

His grin faltered just slightly, a flicker of something darker flashing across his face before he masked it with his usual nonchalance. “I’m here because time has changed. We, here, are no longer bound by such hierarchical concept of power—”

He unfurled his hand, and another book materialised. You recognised it immediately—The Annals of Kings, the book you’d pocketed the other day, “—but nothing stays buried forever. Blood, as they say, runs thicker than water.”

Your frown deepened as you stepped closer, your eyes scanning the page he’d flipped open. It was the family tree—the same one you’d seen before, with several members’ pictures burnt out, their identities erased.

“The Annals of Kings usually purges the disgraced from history,” Jaeyun said, his tone casual but laced with intrigue.

Your gaze drifted lower, catching on a footnote you hadn’t noticed before. It detailed how, after the kingdom fell, forbidden books like the Obsidian Testament were uncovered and destroyed. But one line stopped you cold: “Rumor has it the royal bloodline survived through a single son, then eight years old, whose charred remains were never found.”

Your eyes shifted to the Obsidian Testament on the table, the coat of arms seem to glow brighter, its presence now feeling impossibly heavy.

“Who do you think that son grew up to be?” Jaeyun asked softly, his voice a dark thread weaving through your spiralling thoughts.

Your throat tightened. His words gnawed at you, each syllable fitting too neatly into the doubts you were already trying to suppress about Sunghoon. But Jaeyun wasn’t someone you could trust—not completely. His grin felt like a trap disguised as an invitation. Trying to seem unfazed, you retorted, “And your point is?”

“That you should know your enemies,” he said, stepping closer, his presence suffocating. “The Reaping holds immense significance for someone like him—symbolically and physically.” His lips curled into a bitter smile. “The current shadow reign is fracturing, and if someone like him—a figure with such legacy—steps forward to challenge it, everything could come crashing down."

“He is, after all—” Jaeyun suddenly appeared behind you, his long fingers curling around both of your arms like claws. He turned you sharply toward the window, forcing you to look outside.

Below, the rose garden was alive with movements, figures clashing in a violent blur. Your breath hitched as a body crumpled near the fountain, blood pooling beneath it. Then, through the shifting shadows, Sunghoon stepped into view, his chest heaving, a bloodied sword in hand. His expression was cold, detached, as he surveyed the carnage.

“—notorious for being bloodthirsty,” Jaeyun finished, his tone dripping with venom.

“You're not su—” you called out but when you turned, he was already gone, leaving only the echo of his words in your ears.

Before you could process his disappearance, the sharp sound of steel meeting steel cut through the air, pulling your attention sharply back to the garden.

You turned toward the window again, just in time to see Sunghoon locked in battle once more. Two shadows darted around him, their movements impossibly fast—blurs of black against the silver glow of the moonlight. The figures clashed violently, steel colliding in bursts of sparks, the muted sounds barely audible beneath the distant roar of fireworks.

Your breath caught as Sunghoon dodged a strike aimed at his head, his blade moving in a deadly rhythm to fend off one blow after another. The attackers worked in tandem, circling him like wolves hunting their prey.

Almost without realizing it, you followed their movements from one window to the next, each fleeting glimpse quickening your pulse. When you reached the outer hallway near the armory, the scene came into sharp focus.

Sunghoon stood at the center of the rose garden, near the weeping angel statue. The moonlight bathed the scene in stark clarity, illuminating his form as he fended off the taller of the two attackers. The man’s strikes were heavy and relentless, forcing Sunghoon back with every blow.

Then, with a sharp pivot, Sunghoon turned the tide. His blade cleanly plunging into his chest with brutal precision. Blood sprayed across the weeping angel grotesquely as the figure crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

But the danger wasn’t over.

The second attacker appeared from the shadows behind him, silent and deadly, a spear poised to strike.

Given everything you’d pieced together about him—his secrets, his lies, his family—you probably should have let nature run its course. Let him get attacked. Let him fall. Let him bleed.

But you didn’t and apparently, your body had a life of its own as your hands moved before your could catch up, grabbing a bow that had been left discarded near the windowsill. The wood felt foreign and unwieldy in your grip, but you didn’t care. Your fingers fumbled, pulling the string taut, the arrow trembling as you tried to steady your aim.

You weren’t a good shot. You knew that. The arrow might not even strike the man. But it didn’t need to. All it had to do was distract him.

You exhaled sharply, releasing the arrow. It cut through the air, a streak of silver in the darkness. The attacker flinched as the arrow grazed his arm, his blade faltering mid-swing. It was enough.

Sunghoon spun with brutal precision, his sword arcing upward in a deadly sweep. The man barely had time to react before the blade found its mark, cutting him down. His body hit the ground with a sickening thud, blood pooling around him as the garden fell silent once more.

For a moment, Sunghoon stood motionless, the tip of his blade resting in the dirt, as if even he needed a reprieve. Then you saw it—a dark patch blooming on his coat, stark against the pale moonlight. Blood.

Your breath hitched. You couldn’t tell why your chest tightened at the sight, but it did.

He staggered, using his sword for support, his breaths coming in shallow, ragged gasps. But before you could call out to him, he vanished—a blur dissolving into the shadowy expanse of the garden below.

“Sunghoon!” you called after him, but the only response was the distant crackle of fading fireworks. Darting from one window to the next, you searched desperately, peering into the garden for any sign of him.

But all you found was stillness.

The gardens were littered with lifeless bodies, their forms grotesque and twisted. Some had fangs bared, their features frozen in feral rage. Others had begun to disintegrate—their flesh sloughing off in patches, bones crumbling into soil as though the earth itself were reclaiming them. That was apparently how vampires die, you realized with a shudder: reverting to their original forms, their unnatural beauty undone, and their once-mighty presence reduced to the frailty of dust and decay.

But more than the remains, it was Sunghoon’s vanishing that disturbed you the most. As you lingered by the window, the night only grew quieter. The shadows betrayed nothing, and the garden below remained hauntingly still.

He won’t die easily, you reassured yourself as you hesitantly step away from the window, eyes still flicking toward the darkened garden as you made your way back to your room, each step heavier than the last. You pushed your door absentmindedly, mind lost in thoughts, why do you care so much, you thought bitterly, trying to distract yourself, he’s not your ally. He is a lying, manipulative-

Except there he was—the very man who haunted your mind—sitting at the foot of your bed.

Battered, bruised, and bloodied, Sunghoon looked nothing like the composed predator you’d grown accustomed to. His back rested against the mattress, his head tilted back in exhaustion, eyes half-lidded as if he barely registered your presence. Blood stained his shirt, his once-pristine collar torn and soaked through. The dark fabric clung to his skin, emphasizing the sharp lines of his frame and the sheer vulnerability of his state.

“Sunghoon…” you whispered, unsure whether it was relief or fear tightening your throat.

He didn’t respond immediately, his breathing shallow and uneven. For a fleeting moment, the vulnerability of the scene struck you—this wasn’t the stoic, untouchable figure you’d grown used to. He looked... mortal.

His head shifted slightly, but his gaze didn’t meet yours. “I’m fine,” he muttered hoarsely, frustration lacing his voice. “Just… give me a moment.”

You stepped closer, your body moving before your mind could catch up. Despite everything—the lies, the doubts, the warning signs—you knelt in front of him, hands trembling. “You’re bleeding out, you’re not fine,” you said sharply.

Your eyes dropped to the dark patch spreading across his lower abdomen, fresh blood seeping through the fabric. Panic licked at the edges of your mind as you remembered how his wounds used to heal instantly. “Why isn’t it healing?” you asked, horrified.

“Too much damage for an old body, I guess,” he quipped weakly, a sardonic smile tugging at his lips before he winced.

“But you’re a pureblood,” you blurted – reminded suddenly of what Jaeyun had said earlier, how the Reaping was significant for someone like Sunghoon, not just symbolically but physically. “Never mind,” you said quickly, hoisting his arm over your shoulders. “We need to stop the bleeding. Can you get up?”

“You know,” he rasped, leaning heavily against you, “if you leave me here, I could just… die. Problem solved.”

“Not funny,” you gritted out, half-dragging him to the bed. “Besides, too late for that. I’m already in this gladiator ring. You’d just be replaced by someone worse.”

“You’re adapting well,” he drawled, though his voice was strained.

“And you’re not,” you shot back, grimacing as his head thudded lightly against the wooden frame. His sharp intake of breath made your guilt flare. “Sorry,” you muttered, adjusting him with more care, “I’m not used to you being this… human. Stay here, I’ll be back.”

You returned moments later with a first-aid kit. His face was slick with sweat, but his eyes—sharp and calculating—followed your every movement. He leaned back against the headboard, his posture deceptively casual despite the bruises and blood staining his shirt. One leg stretched out along the mattress, while the other was bent at the knee, his foot tucked close to his thigh.

You settled beside his bent leg, placing the kit near his outstretched one for easy access. Shrugging off your sheer cape to free your arms, the fabric pooled beside you, leaving you in the midnight-black velvet dress beneath. The low sweetheart neckline felt far too revealing for your comfort, but practicality took precedence. Ignoring the unease prickling at the back of your mind, you focused on sorting through the kit’s contents with swift precision.

“Baring your shoulders in front of a wounded vampire,” Sunghoon murmured, his lips curving into a faint smirk despite the exhaustion that lined his features. His gaze flicked briefly to your now-bared shoulders. “Reckless.”

“If you had no self-control, like eight years ago, you’d have flung yourself at me cape and all,” you grumbled disinterestedly while tearing open a sterile pad. You didn’t miss the slight twitch of his brow at your words.

“This is going to sound crude,” you continued, gesturing at the blood-soaked fabric covering his lower abdomen, “but you need to take that off.”

He smirked, the expression so maddeningly coy that you were this close to hurling the entire first-aid kit at his face. Only the sight of his injuries stopped you.

“Gladly,” he drawled, his tone light and infuriating, “but I’m far too weak right now. You’ll have to do the honors.”

You scowled. “I know you’re not that weak.”

He leaned back, the movement drawing his bent leg closer to you, his gaze never leaving yours, “your choice.”

Cursing under your breath, you leaned closer and began unbuttoning his shirt. The fabric peeled away, revealing the deep, angry wound slashing across his abdomen. Blood seeped sluggishly, staining his pale skin—but it wasn’t just the injury that caught your attention. Beneath the torn fabric, the sharp lines of his torso stood out, his muscles tense under the faint light.

It was jarring how even battered and shirtless, his broad shoulders and tall frame made him seem larger than life. His physique, though marred by the fresh wounds, seemed to amplify his imposing aura, each flex of muscle a stark reminder of the strength he carried even in his weakest moments. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus on the gash instead of the sheer dominance his form exuded.

“Hold still,” you muttered, pressing an alcohol-soaked pad against the gash.

He hissed, his knuckles going white as he gripped the sheets. “You could be gentler.”

“Enjoy it,” you said with mock cheer, pressing harder. “Your super-healing isn’t working, so welcome to our reality.”

His exhale was sharp, almost a laugh, though it sounded more like a groan. “Why did they attack you?” you asked, focused on cleaning the wound.

“There’s always a bounty on the head of a pureblood,” he replied dismissively, his tone brushing off the question.

“Especially a pureblood with a reigning ancestry?” you pressed though his expression didn’t shift.

“Does knowing that I have links to old royalty suddenly make me attractive?” he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“You tell me,” you retorted, dabbing the edges of the wound clean before reaching for the gauze. “Apparently the Reaping originated from your family. You knew all about it.”

“I love how distrustful you are of me,” he muttered, his voice laced with dry amusement, “and yet here you are—patching me up, looking rather vulnerable yourself.” His gaze dripped briefly down to your body, as if trying to unsettle you. “I wear my crest openly, y/n. If I wanted to hide my ancestry, I wouldn’t flaunt it, would I? And besides—” a sardonic smirk tugged at his lips, “—if I’d completed my first Reaping ages ago, I wouldn’t be in this pathetic state, relying on a mere mortal to save me.”

“You’re a walking contradiction do you know that?” you muttered, eyes focused on cleaning the remaining dark blood on his gash. “Let’s say you do hate your background that much then why wear the crest around like a badge of honor?”

Sunghoon didn’t hesitate, his voice calm but carrying an edge of practicality. “Because in places like these,” he gestured subtly, “ancestry and purity of blood can mean everything. That crest opens doors that would otherwise be slammed shut. It’s a key, y/n and one I’ve learned to wield to my advantage.”

“You always talk as if you’re not one of them.”

He scoffed weakly, “I’ve killed some of them and they tried to kill me as well—does that look like we are of the same camp?”

Your hands stilled, your gaze lifting to meet his. It was infuriating how his answers were always so maddeningly straightforward—delivered with an air of certainty that made your doubts feel baseless. It wasn’t just irritating—it made you feel stupid, even guilty. Like your suspicions were nothing more than the product of paranoia, blinding you to truths that should be obvious.

“You said you haven’t completed even your first cycle of Reaping—why?”

He leaned back, a sardonic smirk tugging at his lips. “While we’re at it, why don’t you ask how many people I’ve bedded over the centuries I’ve lived?” His voice was laced with mockery, his gaze unrelenting. “You don’t get to ask all the questions, y/n. It takes two to tango.”

Your brows furrowed as you pressed an adhesive bandage over the wound on his abdomen. “Fine. Then you can ask me questions, though I doubt there’s anything interesting you don’t already know.”

His smirk faded, replaced by a sharper edge as his eyes narrowed. “Why did you save me back there?”

You stilled, realizing too late that maybe you shouldn’t have egged him on. His gaze pinned you, waiting for an answer you weren’t sure how to give.

Avoiding his piercing eyes, you grabbed an antiseptic wipe and turned your attention to the shallow cut on his bicep. “Hold still,” you muttered, focusing on dabbing at the wound.

His muscles tensed slightly under your touch. “If you want honesty from me,” he murmured, his tone low and firm, “you’ll need to give me just as much honesty.”

You pressed the pad harder than necessary, drawing a sharp inhale from him. “To make us even,” you answered steadily. “You saved me twice. Now it’s repaid.”

He scoffed, “Of course.”

You shifted closer, careful not to lean too far into his space, though the proximity was unavoidable. Your hands moved to tend to the faint bruises along his jaw, the sharp lines of his face brushing against your fingertips. His skin was cool beneath your touch, but the air between you felt heavy, charged.

Your knees brushed his as you adjusted your position, the small contact enough to make you hyper-aware of how close the two of you were. His shirtless torso, marred by bruises and blood, felt more imposing than vulnerable this close.

You feigned nonchalance, focusing intently on the bruises instead of the weight of his gaze burning into you. The room didn’t help—the soft crackle of the fireplace was casting flickering light across his face, deepening the shadows under his sharp cheekbones and making the moment feel stiflingly intimate.

“You’re awfully quiet suddenly,” he mocked, his tone low and taunting. “Also, why are you avoiding my gaze? You’re not suddenly shy are you? After taking off my—ugh—” He winced as you pressed the antiseptic harder than necessary onto the cut along his cheekbone.

“Isn't it my turn now?” you shot back, your voice sharp and unwavering. “You haven’t answered my question earlier—why haven’t you completed the Reaping?”

He sighed. "Because it’s barbaric,” he said evenly, though a flicker of something darker seeped into his tone. “If you believe a vampire can ever have a moral standing, this would be the closest thing I have to it.”

He paused, his voice dipping lower, laced with bitterness that seemed to surface despite his best efforts, “tying someone to your power for eternity? That’s not dominance—that’s desperation. It’s a legacy I’ve spent centuries trying to outrun—the dark history of which I constantly had to carry over my shoulders, sins of which are thrusted upon me as though I am to pay their penance.”

His tone softened, almost imperceptibly, as he continued. “That’s probably why I’ve allied myself with the Council of Elders for a long time. It started as an act to prove to the world that I am not like what my blood dictates—” his voice dipped, quieter now, as if he was speaking more to himself than to you, “—but now it just feels like a duty. A duty to clean the world after the seeds of chaos that my ancestors have planted—“

Your gaze flicked to his, caught off guard by the quiet rawness in his tone. His eyes were elsewhere, focused on the flickering shadows dancing along the walls—perhaps trying to distract himself, perhaps lost in a memory. The sincerity in his words was equal parts fascinating and infuriating. Infuriating because they felt genuine. Too genuine for someone like him. It’s as if being reduced to this state—a state just a fraction closer to that of a mere mortal—extinguish the cryptic layers he had always put up.

But of course, such a rare moment didn’t last long. His gaze returned to yours, and so did the familiar smirk—lazy, detached and maddening. “Besides, I’ve never seen the need for renewal,” he added lightly, brushing the weight of his previous words aside, “longevity is getting boring anyway. Unless, of course, you’re offering yourself up to be mine. That might make eternity interesting again.”

He leaned forward slightly, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “We could spend centuries being at each other’s throats. Literally.”

“I’d poison my blood first then we both can go down together,” you rolled your eyes, moving on to the huge cut on his eyebrows.

“Just like how you poisoned me 8 years ago?” he said suddenly.

That was it. The elephant in the room. Finally out in the open.

Your hand stilled, a physical testament to the guilt you’d carried for years. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, but his stare was inescapable—heavy, suffocating, like it had the weight to crush you on the spot. “I guess the grudge is still there, alright,” you said, your tone brittle with feigned nonchalance, desperate to temper the tension building between you. The isolation, the proximity—it was all suddenly too much. “Then why haven’t you carried out your vengeance?”

“I asked first,” he retorted sharply. Beneath the edge of his voice, though, there was something fragile, almost pleading. “Why did you poison me?”

You hesitated, the truth clawing at the back of your throat. “Because we’re not meant to be,” you finally said, after some hesitation, surprised at yourself for the honesty and depth that you yourself never dared to confront. “We’re too dangerous for each other. Too toxic. It was the only way to break it.”

Sunghoon scoffed, his hand shooting out to capture yours. His grip was firm, startlingly so, yet it lacked malice—gentle in a way that forced your gaze to his. His eyes were unguarded, piercing, the storm within them quieting into something raw and vulnerable.

“Did you ever love me?” he murmured, his voice cracking faintly under the weight of the words.

You froze. The question hit you like a tidal wave, its weight settling deep in your chest. His gaze softened, achingly so, as if the silence cut.

“Did you?” he croaked, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it held a sharp edge, as though the answer could either mend or shatter him.

The guilt clawed at you, deeper than ever, threatening to crack the mask you wore. “Hardly matters anymore, does it?” you shot back, your voice wavering despite your best effort. “I ended it in the worst way possible.”

His grip over yours tightened ever so slightly, his jaw clenching as frustration flickered across his face. Slowly, deliberately, he shifted. Rising halfway, he leaned forward, his shadow devouring the faint light as his frame loomed impossibly large over you. The bed dipped under his weight, tilting you toward him as if even the mattress was conspiring to close the gap.

And suddenly, he was too close—towering over you like a shadow you couldn’t escape. You instinctively leaned back, but his free hand braced against the bed beside you, a silent, immovable barrier that kept you locked in place.

You swallowed thickly, realising how utterly compromising the moment was. His sheer size, the commanding breadth of his shoulders, the dominance in the way he loomed over you, left no room for doubt: he could crush you if he wanted to. The sharp lines of his torso, from the broad planes of his chest to the rigid definition of his abdomen, were marked by bruises and wounds that should have humanized him, softened the edge of his dominance—but they didn’t. Even in his weakened state, he radiated sheer power, every ripple of muscle a quiet, unspoken warning that he could break you, overwhelm you, overpower you, without much effort. His grip on you wrist wasn’t painful, but it thrummed with latent power, the kind that made you all too aware of the control he wasn’t even exerting yet.

You hated how easily he made you feel so small. Yet, despite the tightness in your chest and the way his gaze bore into yours with a storm of unspoken emotions, you refused to flinch. Refused to show that he has an effect on you. You knew him—getting you flustered and yield had always been something he thrived on and now, in a set-up that is meant to amplify it, you refused to give him that satisfaction.

“My turn,” you murmured, the words cutting through the silence like a thread pulled too tight. “Did you?” the question wasn’t a slip—it was purposeful, a strike meant to turn the tables.

Except, the joke was probably on you because instead of a response, something in him snapped. His grip on your wrist tightened almost too punishingly and his other hand shot to your jaw, holding you still as his lips crashed against yours.

Your body tensed at the unexpected contact, but his arm had slithered around your back—locking you in place like a steel band—fingers digging into your ribs as if tethering you in place—closer, ever closer—leaving no room to move, no air to breathe, only the suffocating weight of his presence pressing down on you. The curve of his palm seemed to mold perfectly to your body, a gesture that felt both infuriatingly possessive and unnervingly intimate. His hand, a possessive vice around your nape, tilted your head, allowing him to plunder your mouth with a punishing intensity, his lips slotting against yours with a brutal, consuming force.

You hands clawed at his shoulders, frantically trying to push him off, to break free, but every resistance seemed to ignite a darker hunger within him. With a grunt, he crushed you against him, making you feel every plane and contour of his chest and muscles, the searing heat of his skin branding yours, the unyielding planes of his chest pressing into you, heavy and demanding. Before you could catch your breath, he pressed forward with a brutal force, throwing off your balance and sending you crashing down onto the sheets—his lips never leaving yours as if it was his very lifeline. The world around you spun and you struggled to regain your bearings, but he was relentless, his lips moving with ever greater fervour, forcing your lips apart, his tongue invading your mouth with a forceful, dominant stroke.

The weight of his body pinned you down, heavy and unyielding, his bare skin hot against yours—suffocating and intoxicating all at once. Your breath was coming up in ragged gasps as you struggled against the tide of sensations that threatened to drown you. Like sandcastles against the tide, your resistance crumbled under the unrelenting force of his lips and touch. Your hands, grasping for purchase, clung to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you struggled to anchor yourself, as his tongue plundered your mouth with renewed vigor, claiming every inch, demanding your surrender, refusing to accept anything less.

As you softened under him, his hands glided along your sides, caressing every curve and dip with purposeful precision, setting every nerve alight, while making you feel every plane and contour of his chest and muscles. His taut muscles rippled beneath your touch, a testament to his restrained power. Lost in the tempest of sensations, you barely noticed his his hand creeping higher up your thigh, bunching your dress dangerously high. It was only then did you realised just how far things had escalated. Jerking back to reality, you wedged a hand against his chest, breaking the kiss, and grabbed for his wandering hand, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

But like a raging inferno, Sunghoon was unstoppable, his lips now trailing a scorching path down your neck, leaving a wake of fiery, open-mouthed kisses that seared your skin. "Sunghoon, stop," you gasped, panic lacing your voice as his hand pried yours away and pinned it painfully against the bed. You were utterly powerless then, your movements and strength futile against his onslaught. For a terrifying moment, you thought he might sink his fangs into your neck, draining you of your lifesource, but instead, he continued to ravage you with his lips and hands—leaving marks and that burned and bruised. It was quickly dawning on you just how far gone Sunghoon was and the prospect of where it was heading terrified you more than getting bitten was. “Sunghoon, please—" you begged, your voice breaking, and that seemed to have to snap him back to reality for his movements stilled, face hovering inches from yours. The look in his eyes was wild and uncertain, as if he was struggling to reign himself in from crossing a dangerous line.

"I- I’m sorry," he muttered, voice low and hoarse, tinged with something that almost sounded like guilt. He moved off you in one fluid motion, retreating like a shadow, his usual composure slowly slipping back into place. "I shouldn’t have—" He ran a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. "— just stay here for the night, okay? It’s safer. I’ll stay watch outside."

You remained frozen, your breathing uneven, your heart pounding in the deafening silence he left behind. The door clicked shut, but the echoes of his presence lingered, searing into you like a brand. Your bruised lips throbbed, the faint crescent-shaped imprints of his nails burned on your skin, and your neck felt alive with the memory of where his lips had lingered. Every mark he left wasn’t just a reminder of him—it was a reminder of what lay beneath the surface: a beast, barely leashed.

And yet, it wasn’t his loss of control that haunted you most. It was the way, in the charged stillness of the moment, you hadn’t fought him. You hadn’t turned away. Some part of you had yielded—not out of weakness, but out of something more dangerous.

The truth gripped you now, unrelenting: it wasn’t just Sunghoon you didn’t trust.

It was yourself.

— x

As foretold, the sun set the following day beneath a blood moon, casting an eerie reddish glow over the fourth evening, which was to be held in the Hall of Glory. As if mirroring your impending doom, the castle had been unnaturally still all day. The familiar footsteps of maids in the hall and the muted clink of silverware being set had disappeared, replaced by an oppressive, almost reverent silence. No maids brought breakfast to your door. No butlers appeared with fresh linens.

The absence wasn’t coincidence—it was tradition. You’d overheard whispers in the days before, half-muttered exchanges between the staff about “the sacred day” when they were to leave the castle as it would be reserved only for the “worthy.” You hadn’t understood the gravity of those words then, but now, under the ominous glow of the blood moon and the oppressive stillness of the castle’s grandeur, it felt like a prelude to slaughter. As if you’d stepped willingly into a gilded abattoir.

Unlike the vast, awe-inspiring spaces of the previous halls, the Hall of Glory was smaller, darker, and far more intimate, as though it were designed to suffocate rather than inspire. Towering columns stood sentinel around the circular chamber, their presence oppressive and unyielding. Between them loomed statues of tragedy: alabaster angels with torn wings, warriors collapsing under unseen burdens, veiled women weeping into gilded boxes clutched reverently in their hands. Each figure radiated its own unique agony, frozen mid-suffering, their despair immortalized in marble—a chilling homage to the 'glory' promised by the hall’s name.

At the center rose a massive stained-glass window, its grotesque designs seeming to shift under scrutiny. The blood moon’s crimson light spilled through, bleeding into the chamber and fracturing into jagged patterns across the polished floor, pooling like spilled wine—or something darker.

Then, as though drawn by the room’s gravity, the host appeared at the grand doorway, his jubilance a stark contrast to the oppressive room. “Welcome, my survivors!” he proclaimed, arms flung wide. “The best part of our tradition has finally arrived! As you can see, the hall is surrounded by statues. If they seem to call to you, perhaps they are. In fact,” he paused for emphasis, “at their base, you’ll find your names, and in their hands lie a gilded box where your prize awaits.”

You followed the rest as they hesitantly approached the statues. Yours, a marble depiction of a woman being hauled away by a man, felt like a cruel joke. A mocking reflection of your predicament, carved in cold, unfeeling stone. Your jaw tightened as you pried open the gilded box at its base, the air in the hall suddenly feeling heavier. Inside lay two pieces of burgundy parchment.

Suppressing the uneasy churn in your stomach, you picked up the closer parchment, revealing a name etched in elegant script: “Jaeyun.”

Nearby, a man’s voice rose, sharp with indignation. “A name?! What the hell are we supposed to do with a name?!”

The host’s laugh cut through the hall like a razor, too bright, too sharp, ricocheting off the oppressive walls. “Of course they’re names,” he drawled, his grin widening to something feral. “They’re the ones who will grant you eternal glory.”

The words settled over you like a vice, their meaning sinking deeper with each passing second. If this was the Reaping, then... The thought trailed off, unfinished but heavy, tugging your gaze upward instinctively where your eyes lock with Jaeyun who was perched casually at the triforium near the stained glass, as if he’d been waiting for you to look. Jaeyun leaned against the edge, his grin splitting his face like a sinister mask, hand lifting in a greeting in an almost maddeningly casual way like a predator toying with its prey. Mocking you without a word.

“—The Reaper," you finished your thought aloud, the title slipping from your lips as if it had been lurking there all along, waiting to be named.

Your throat tightened, but your hands remained steady as you reached for the second parchment. When you flipped it, the name seemed to glare back at you, heavier, crueler. You whispered it aloud, the word sharp on your tongue: “Sunghoon.”

Your gaze darted across the room, where Sunghoon stood at the opposite triforium from Jaeyun. His eyes found yours instantly, dark and inscrutable. No surprise. No panic. Not even a flicker of emotion. Just that infuriatingly calm, unbothered facade that made your skin crawl. Jaeyun’s taunting words from the library echoed in your mind: What if he’s saving you for himself?

“I can see some victors are rather popular this evening,” the host chimed, his clapping hands slicing through the suffocating tension. His smile stretched wider, dripping with theatrical delight. “But fret not! As tradition dictates, the popular ones will be granted five minutes with each of their suitors in this hall—for one final waltz. Serenade them, threaten them, confess your undying love—whatever suits your fancy. But remember—at the end, only one name must be chosen.”

A man nearby let out a hysterical laugh, his voice cracking as it spiralled into something desperate. “You’re insane—this is insane! I’m not doing this!” His words barely finished before he bolted for the door.

Not that he made it far.

In a blur of motion, one of the vampires materialized before him. The creature’s clawed hand plunged into his chest with a sickening crunch, emerging a moment later clutching his pulsating heart. The man crumpled, lifeless, as a fresh scream tore through the air from the woman beside you.

“And that,” the host exclaimed, his voice still so bright and cheerful, “is what becomes of the ungrateful.” He gestured theatrically to the room, as if he’d just delivered a perfectly rehearsed line in a play. “Come now, victors. Look alive. You’ve earned this. Eternal glory is yours to claim.”

Without waiting for a response, the orchestra struck a jarring chord, the music swelling into something both grand and ominous. Above, the vampires descended from their balconies like a wave of predators, their movements too fast to track. They poured into the hall with eerie precision, seizing their chosen humans without ceremony. The room erupted into chaos—screams, cries, and the sound of shattering glass blending into a cacophony that seemed to mock the elegant setting.

“And now the Waltz commences,” the host declared, his voice ringing with perverse joy.

You barely had time to react before strong hands wrapped around your waist, spinning you with a force that nearly knocked you off balance. “Jaeyun,” you said bitterly, as he grabbed your hand, the other already planted possessively on your waist.

“I told you so,” he drawled, his voice smooth but tinged with mockery. “Your savior is your undoing.”

“And you’re not?” you shot back, trying to pull away, but his grip only tightened as he began to move, forcing you into the dance. His movements were elegant yet aggressive, dragging you along like a puppet on strings.

“Can’t you see? I’m the one saving you from him,” he scoffed, exasperated, “don’t tell me his sob story about the his family's sins and the Council of Elders is all it took to sway you—" he clicked his tongue as he spun you around before pulling you back against him, “Can’t you see the double entrende here? he’s not working under the Council of Elders to promote good. It’s completely self-serving – it grants him what is essentially a license to kill vampires. Less powerful purebloods mean fewer threats. It’s all about power, darling.”

You faltered for a moment, his words digging under your skin. “Even if that’s true,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, “I’m still being passed from one wolf to another. You’re not exactly an ideal choice either…”

He spun you away from the center, the shadows engulfing you both, “tell you what, after this charade, they’ll give you a chance to escape through the Maze outside the castle. People would run aimlessly through the maze, thinking that it will eventually get them somewhere but it wont. The secret lies in the statues. Their hands are always pointing at the right way.”

You stared at him, trying to see past those unfathomable eyes. “Why are you telling me this? Why help me?”

He murmured, his lips ghosting dangerously close to your ear, “because we have the same goal, albeit in different forms, which is survival. And Sunghoon is the only one staying in our way. He’s playing the long game y/n. Look at him. Look at how he watches you—like a chess piece he hasn’t figured out how to move yet. You think he saved you? Sunghoon doesn’t save people. He removes and collects them, like a relic. That’s how it is with the royal Purebloods—it's always all about control and servitude. He’ll never let anyone be his equal.”

“Still, even if I choose you. It won’t guarantee my safety,” you said adamantly, “you could still end up reaping me.”

“And what for?” he said matter-of-factly, “My mother was reaped and I became a ‘tainted’ child in a world that worships purity. Can you see now? why I hate collateral damage?"

He paused, his gaze piercing. “And frankly, with what I hear about you and him… the Reaping might just be his way to stake his claim on you you—to make you his in every sense. Among other things.” His lips twisted into a bitter smirk. “Trust me, you’ll wish he’d killed you instead.”

You wanted to open your mouth, say something defiant, but nothing came. He pressed on, “I know you’re smart and rational so think of me as the lesser evil. I, at least, have no motive to want to reap you specifically and if you choose me at the end—I’ll really let you go because then I know that we are of the same understanding.”

Suddenly you feel his hand creep higher over your back, like a vine reclaiming its hold. His face was inches from yours, and for a fleeting moment, the interplay of shadow and light caught you off guard. Jaeyun’s usual devil-may-care grin—mischievous, boyish—seemed to warp under the flickering half-light. The shadows deepened the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the tilt of his lips more predator than prankster, as though the ease in his expression was a veneer stretched over something far more calculated. The light, faint and fleeting, only accentuated the unsettling duality—a face that could charm or terrify, depending on how you looked at it.

“If you choose Sunghoon however” his voice dipped lower, his head tilting so his breath brushed against your ear, “I’ll take it that you’re no different from him. And trust me—I won’t even let you get past any statues in the maze.”

You barely had the time to process the onslaught of words—teetering confusingly between helpful and threatening—when his hand cupped your face. Gentle yet deliberate, he tipped your chin ever so slightly toward him before pressing his lips languidly on your cheek—the kiss too slow, too deliberate to be mistaken for tenderness. No, it was a warning—a searing brand meant to remind you of the stakes.

He was like a thorny vine—subtle, insidious. The more you moved, the more you were pricked, and if you stayed still, it would creep over you, wrapping tighter until it claimed you entirely.

The heat lingered long after he pulled away, your skin prickling as though it carried the weight of his words. He loosened his grip just enough to spin you away, the force dismissive yet laced with an unsettling possessiveness.

The force sent you stumbling, disoriented, until strong arms caught you mid-motion, halting your fall. You looked up, your breath hitching as Sunghoon’s dark gaze locked onto yours. His presence was grounding, anchoring you in the chaos—but it was suffocating too, a storm restrained just beneath the surface, its weight pressing down on you.

“You look like you had an enjoyable time with the loach,” Sunghoon muttered, bitterness lacing every syllable. His grip tightened slightly on your waist, dragging you closer as the music swelled around you.

“And you look like you’re exactly where you should be,” you shot back, trying to twist out of his grip, “—the Reaping’s poster child. Is that why you saved me so far?” you pressed on, unable to conceal your own bitterness, “because you’re actually saving me for this.”

His grip tightened—not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you tethered to him. “Would you rather there only be a single name?” he asked coldly, his tone as biting as the frigid air between you. “His?”

“At least he’s honest, Sunghoon,” you snapped, your voice cracking under the weight of your frustration. “At least I know where I stand with him. You—” your hand pressed against his chest, a futile attempt to create space as he guided you into a sharp turn. “You twist everything until I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

“You don’t know what’s real?” His laugh was bitter, humorless, as he spun you again, this time keeping you so close you could feel the rise and fall of his chest against yours. “You poisoned me, y/n. You ran from me. You were the one who destroyed what was real.”

The pang of guilt that surged through you was like a knife, but you refused to let it show. “Oh, I see,” you said, mockery dripping from every word. “Killing two birds with one stone, are we? Reclaim your glory and punish me in one fell swoop. Immortality, bound to you for eternity—that’s the perfect revenge for me, isn’t it? You’ve outdone yourself, Park Sunghoon.”

His jaw tightened, his calm facade cracking just slightly. “You think this is about power?” he asked quietly, his voice simmering with frustration. “I’ve lived for centuries and gone through several wars. If I cared about reclaiming anything, I would have done it long ago.”

“So this is about us, is it?” you pressed, your voice trembling with both anger and something rawer. “Punishing me for what I did eight years ago? You knew the Reaping would break me irreparably more than killing me ever could. That’s why you kept me alive—so you could tether me to you, curse me with eternity, all under your control.”

“You think I want you bound to me just to feed some twisted sense of power?” he scoffed, the bitterness in his tone cutting sharper than any blade. “God, y/n, this isn’t about control.”

“Then what is it about?” you demanded. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks a hell of a lot like revenge. A power play.”

His jaw clenched, the restraint in his expression cracking further as he took another step toward you. “You think I want revenge? That I want to punish you?” he snapped, his voice rising. “Can’t you see that it’s you that I want?” his voice cracking, “I can’t afford to lose you. Not to him, not to anyone. I’d tear this place apart before I let him have you.”

“I am not yours,” you said bitterly, the words like venom on your tongue. “And you don’t get to play saviour by making me your captive.”

“Captive?” he echoed, the hint of hurt in his voice was subtle but evident. “Sure. Paint me as the villain then—that’s easier, isn’t it? Easier than admitting you’re the one who’s afraid.”

“Afraid?” you scoffed, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you. “Of you?”

“No,” he said sharply, his gaze piercing through you. “Afraid of what you feel. Of what you felt back then, and what you still feel now.”

You flinched as if his words had physically struck you, the momentary crack in your resolve giving him an opening. He stepped closer, his movements calculated as he swept you into a slow, deliberate turn, each step forcing you to follow, leaving you breathless and off balance. “Because if you were really sure,” he murmured, his voice dropping dangerously low, “you wouldn’t need to convince yourself I’m the villain. You wouldn’t be standing here, accusing me of using you, when the truth is you’re just looking for a reason to run.”

Your laugh was hollow, brittle. “You think I’d run from you?”

“I think you’ve been running since the moment we met,” he said simply, his voice cutting through your bravado like a blade. “And I think you’ll keep running until you admit why you poisoned me in the first place.”

He spun you again, his movements sharp and unrelenting, before pulling you back into him, his voice soft but no less cutting. “You knew what we were, what we could’ve been—and you destroyed it. You burned it all to the ground before it could burn you.”

Your fingers curled against his shoulder, nails lightly digging into the fabric, your voice cracking as you hissed, “What you felt for me is not love, Sunghoon. It’s control wrapped in obsession; possession, dressed up as affection.”

He swallowed thickly, and for a moment, you couldn’t tell why—was it because he had called you out, or because your words had cut too deep? The silence between you seemed to stretch, taut and unyielding. His jaw tightened, his gaze darkening, and when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, sharper, cutting through the air like frost.

“Maybe it is,” he murmured, each word deliberate, his brows furrowing as a glint flashed in his eyes—something cold, something you’d never seen before. “Maybe that’s all I am now.” The faint curve of his lips followed, but it wasn’t a smile—it was bitterness made flesh, a weapon unsheathed.

“Fine, y/n.” His voice dropped lower, darker, as though he were sealing a pact. “I’ll be the villain you so desperately need me to be.”

Before you could respond, he stepped closer, manoeuvring you sharply across the hall. The motion was unrelenting, his grip tightening with a force that felt like it could crush you if he chose. His movements were forceful, almost punishing, the elegance of the waltz tainted by the sheer rawness of his frustration.

“I’ll selfishly take back what you tore from me—what you tore from us—eight years ago,” he continued, his voice low and cutting, each word laced with an accusation that burned. His fingers moved with a slithery precision, curling with just enough force to press you against him, like a marionette in his grasp. His arm, firm and unrelenting, coiled around you like a serpent, each step tethering you closer, suffocating you with its possessiveness.

The curve of his palm seemed to mold perfectly to your body, a gesture that felt both possessive and unnervingly intimate. When he spun you, his hand didn’t falter—it followed the contours of your frame, reclaiming its position with a fluidity that felt inevitable, like gravity itself had shifted in his favour. His grip tightened subtly, fingers splaying just enough to press into the delicate fabric of your gown, branding you in a way that felt both commanding and terrifyingly intimate.

“You tore us apart,” he murmured, his voice dropping into something darker, heavier, as though he was drawing from a well of buried pain. His face hovered inches from yours, his breath searing against your skin. “This time, I’ll make sure you can’t end anything. Because if I can’t have you, no one can.”

The finality in his words hit you like a physical blow, leaving you frozen as he guided you through another step, his movements precise yet devoid of tenderness. The music surged around you, its crescendo mimicking the storm of emotions churning in the air.

And then, as the final note reverberated through the hall, Sunghoon stepped back. His retreat was slow, deliberate, each step like a crumbling facade. His dark eyes burned with an intensity you’d never seen before, emotions swirling just beneath the surface—anger, pain, longing, and something far darker. You couldn’t bring yourself to move, trapped in the gravity of what had just passed between you.

“Now, now,” the host’s voice shattered the silence like breaking glass, his cheerful tone jarring against the tension that lingered in the air. “You know the rules,” he announced, his grin sharp. “Burn the name of the rejected and put the chosen name in the gilded chest.”

Your gaze dropped to the two burgundy parchments in your hand. Slowly, deliberately, you picked up the one with Jaeyun’s name, placing it inside the chest that was meant for the chosen one. The soft click of the lid sealed your choice, a decision made for all to see.

Your gaze instinctively sought Sunghoon in the crowd. His eyes locked with yours for a fleeting second, and in that moment, something flickered across his face—fury, yes, but beneath it, a flash of raw hurt that cut deeper than any words. Then he turned sharply, vanishing into the sea of bodies.

What he didn’t see, what no one would ever see, was how you never burnt the name you rejected—Sunghoon's. You couldn’t.

Instead you folded the parchment with painstaking care, tucking it into the lining of your dress, just over your heart. As though it carried every unspoken word between you.

As if it meant more than you dared to admit.

A/N: No this isn't the end HAHAHAHA told you it was a 40k work so it's actually supposed to be longer but bloody hell apparently tumblr has a 1000 blocks per post limit and it exceeded. So I gotta chop it here. See you in the next one ((i might post it immediately after, or space it out hohoh so let me know what you think about this one)) !

𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍 – 𝟐𝟐

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘𝐓𝐖𝐎: 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

⤲ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⤲ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞!𝐀𝐔, 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!𝐀𝐔, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭

⤲ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞, 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞. 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬, 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨'𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧...

← 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 →

(A/N: unhinged, jealous!hee is back and better than ever, everyone say "thank you jaeyun" 🤭 ik i haven't replied to asks just yet but ive been quite busy atm, will do once i have the time babies! tysm for everything, i love you gyus sm.🥺 feedback and reblogs are appreciated!!!🩷🧸)

TAGLIST CLOSED: @soonigiri @thvhannie @enhaz1 @kpoprhia @abrazosolorcereza @deobitifull @mixtape-racha @certifiedmoa @jungwon-xo @hoonieluv @enhamysunshines @jaehoonii @pussyslayerhd @ineedsomezzz @neocockthotology @heerinnie @onionzzzs @hee-pster @3amstarlight @xxxxrvexxxx @primroselover @mimikittysblog @iea-tsand @lhspeachie @xiaoderrrr @viagumi @smg-valeria @kells5595 @heeseunghee7 @xrvrqs @ddazed-lhs @heebrry @fakeuwus @dammit-jjk @ivyannemarie @thekinkpopstandsforkrackheads @s00buwu

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silcry

8 months ago

against the world

PAIRING ▸ park sunghoon x fem!reader x sim jaeyun (ft. park jongseong)

GENRES ▸ fluff, angst, psychological, horror, thriller

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, murder, descriptions of gore, unrequited love, found family, friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, mc is an unreliable narrator

SUMMARY ▸ if you could change anything about your life, it would be meeting park sunghoon.

WORD COUNT ▸ 14,064 words

PLAYLIST ▸ back to black by amy winehouse • the french library by franz gordon • perfectly splendid by the newton brothers

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ hello !! this fic is a rewrite of one of my first horror fics that i’ve written :') it badly needed reworking and i completely changed the ending. i hope you guys enjoy my spooky szn contribution ♡

THE TRUTH WAS, YOUR LIFE BEGAN TO FALL APART EVEN BEFORE YOU MET SIM JAEYUN.

You realized this as you woke up, face pressed against the ice-cold, concrete floor of a holding cell; when the guards dragged your uncooperative, limp body into an interrogation room; when you were face-to-face with Detective Lee Heeseung and handcuffed to a cold, metal table as he read your Miranda Rights. The handcuffs dug into the flesh of your wrists, but you only fought against them once and gave up as soon as you realized they wouldn’t give in. You just wanted to thumb away the crusted blood staining your hands and pick out the flakes under your nails.

The room was foreign to you. It was something you’d seen in movies and read in books, but you never fathomed the idea of being in an interrogation room yourself. There was a two-way glass that you aimlessly stared at, wondering who was listening in on the other end.

You couldn’t figure out just how you ended up in this situation. Everything was smooth in your memory up until your supposed arrest—a tear in the fabric of your recollection. You hardly remembered what happened on the way to the police station or when you were getting booked in. You dug your palms into your temples and then pressed against the soft flesh under your eyes, frustrated by the stunted gears in your head. As much as you begged than to click and start spinning, they remained stuck and rusted in place.

But you couldn’t ask the brooding man standing over you. You couldn’t look up into his cold, unforgiving eyes. After all, he knew you were a murderer.

“There’s no use in lying to me, Y/N,” Detective Lee said gruffly with a gaze like steel, “the prints match.”

You drummed your fingers against the table—a habit that was rooted in your anxiety. Your fingers were stained and pruned like roses, and as hard as you tried to paint the table red, it only flaked off. You were sure your heartbeat was faster than the tapping of your fingers, your mind perhaps speeding off twice as fast.

Your stomach twisted. If Jaeyun was going to prison, too, then you could no longer protect him.

There was a limit to how much he could take; you knew that being thrown in the slammer would be intolerable for him. You knew you needed to get to him immediately because Jaeyun was the guy who felt too little and too much at the same time—the guy who looked for the part of him that ran away, who self-destructed when he felt the world closing in on him.

After all, Jaeyun was a stick of trinitrotoluene lit at both ends.

You worked up the courage to look Detective Lee in the eye, which made him stiffen up, biceps flexing under his white button-up.

“Where’s Jaeyun?” you asked.

Detective Lee’s lips pressed into a thin, grim line. Cutting into his pale cheeks. You decided that couldn’t be a good reaction.

You continued, “He didn’t do anything, I swear. He was just there. He didn’t do anything.”

“If you cooperate with us, then you can see Jaeyun again,” the detective answered in a clipped tone. “I can sit here all day and wait.”

Cooperate. You hated that word.

You knew Detective Lee was just trying to sugarcoat your betrayal. You knew he was looking down on you, ready to push you to your limit.

But there was nothing you could do in this room. There was no way for you to escape or talk your way out of it to see Jaeyun. You knew quite well that staying silent would only prevent you from making sure your boyfriend was okay.

You had no other choice but to work with Detective Lee.

“Will you at least make sure he’s not hurt?” you inquired, to which Detective Lee agreed with a nod.

“I’ll ask again: Will you cooperate?”

You stayed silent. You despised your old habit of shutting down like this, but you couldn’t help it.

Detective Lee sighed and sat in the chair across from you so that you both were eye-level with each other. “Listen, Y/N, you’re young. This murder investigation—this is serious stuff, okay? We just need to know the full story before we jump to any conclusions and make a false arrest. Can we start from last night?”

Deep down, you understood. But it’s all too fresh—too soon. The grief had yet to settle. The recollections of blood and lifeless eyes poisoned your head; it was all you could see when you closed your eyes.

You sounded hollow when you said, “It didn’t… start from last night.”

Detective Lee acknowledged this and leaned forward, hands clasped in front of him. “Then let’s hear it from the beginning.”

If you could change anything about your life, it would be meeting Park Sunghoon.

Your first meeting was at the age of fourteen. Moving schools was an unexpected shift in your life, and you didn't expect to find many friends at your new school. Starting new in the beginning of the year was one thing, but entering unknown territory with people already acclimated in their respective groups was another.

People flocked to comfort, and you were sure that no one would want to step out of their comfort zone to bring a stranger into their friend group.

And then Sunghoon swooped in, like an angel sent from the heavens.

Initially, he was awkward. You were both fourteen-years-old and going through the initial stages of puberty—all voice cracks and awkward intervals of growth stunts. Sunghoon was soft-spoken and didn’t have many friends when he approached and befriended you.

It started when you both found out you shared a love for novels. You spent hours talking about your favorite books, and Sunghoon shared his dream of wanting to craft the perfect story. Oftentimes, Sunghoon would share some of his writing with you, and then his eyes would sparkle upon hearing your feedback.

You two were classmates, sitting right next to each other in the back of the classroom, conveniently right next to the door. You got to know Sunghoon slowly—the same gradual feeling of starting to care for someone. You knew his boundaries, though, because you were aware that you could never be the closest to Sunghoon. He and Park Jongseong were attached at the hip, and you couldn’t lie to yourself; you felt like a third wheel in the beginning.

But there was some comfort in the security of your friendship.

“It’s you and me,” Sunghoon would tell you, “the two of us against the world.”

You knew you should have been grateful to have made friends in the first place, but you didn’t exactly know if you belonged with them. As comfortable as you felt, there was always a whisper in the back of your head, telling you that you would never be their number one.

You would never be anyone’s number one.

“I don’t understand girls,” Jongseong said one day, hands tucked behind his head as the three of you were hanging out in Sunghoon’s room. You were flipping through some comic book that Sunghoon had laying around, and you shifted uncomfortably upon hearing the question.

“You don’t have to.” Sunghoon’s eyes flitted from you, and then back to his phone. He swiped through some apps, but you could tell he wasn’t really paying attention judging by the glazed-over look in his eyes. “Girls make no sense at this age.”

Jongseong nudged you. “You have anything to say about that, Y/N?”

To be honest, you didn’t understand yourself much either. You were just starting to go through puberty, and it wasn’t ideal for a teenager as young as you to only have guy friends. You couldn’t relate to any of the girls your age, nor could you ask them if they were going through the same changes you were.

You were acquainted with several girls, of course, but you never got close enough to ask what feelings and experiences they had. You wanted to know if they were becoming as conscious of themselves and others like you were, but you kept those questions bottled up since you only had Sunghoon and Jongseong.

“Nope,” you replied. “I couldn’t tell you.”

You supposed Jongseong was having girl problems again, and it all clicked because lately, he had been hanging around a pretty girl in their class. They were cute together and clearly into each other, but you could pick up on the issue: Jongseong was on the down-low about their relationship. More importantly, he had been on the down-low about it around Sunghoon, which had to have been breaking some sort of best friend code.

Jongseong asked, “You like anyone, Hoon?”

Hoon, your brain echoed, and you imagined yourself using the name as casually as Jongseong did. It sounded awkward coming from you, though. Friends gave each other nicknames, right? What if you gave Sunghoon a nickname? How would he react?

Sunghoon flushed behind his phone screen. You could tell he wanted it to go undetected, but you caught a glimpse of his flustered expression before he was able to compose himself.

“Oh, not really,” he replied with an air of indifference. “I dunno. I guess I haven’t really been looking.”

“How about you, Y/N?”

You faltered for a moment before you realized you had been addressed. It was a normal question; you should have expected it, but it hit you like a tornado and your mind was swirling. Dating had crossed your mind a few times, sure, you had never prepared an answer because you thought it was going to be straightforward—a simple “yeah, there’s a few cute guys in class.” But that wasn’t the case this time, and you were wondering why there wasn’t any clarity in your head.

Come on, Y/N, you urged yourself, as if you were complaining to multiple, uncooperating attendants working in your brain. Just say something—anything.

Your mind was blanking, though, and you were scared. You couldn’t quite grasp why your stomach felt like a never-ending pit, but it only worsened when you couldn’t spit some guy’s name out. You wanted to open up your skull, thoroughly examine your head, poke at the areas refusing to work, and figure out who you couldn’t just list some attractive guy in class; on top of that, you wondered why you couldn’t just flat-out refuse the statement and claim that there was no one you were interested in.

You were struck with a painful realization that there was only one person you could think of.

Sunghoon.

No, no, no, your brain and your heart screamed at each other. Get ahold of yourself.

You quickly decided that it was just a passing feeling that you needed to suppress until it went away. It was just stupid teenage hormones and puberty making you feel this way and starving you of affection that you didn’t actually need in the first place. If you didn’t get a hold over yourself, you were going to crumble and ruin the good things you had going.

You internally convinced yourself that everything was fine. There were plenty of teenagers your age who had moments of weakness like this with their guy friends. You just needed to branch out more, that was all.

Sheepishly, you replied before the boys could chew you out, “There’s no one I’m interested in right now.”

You weren’t a very good liar, but as long as Sunghoon and Jongseong were sold, you were content with how things were.

Your group expanded when you turned fifteen, and you and Sunghoon grew closer—maybe even closer than Sunghoon and Jongseong were.

You were laying down in your bed one night, breaking into sobs when you realized that you needed more than one hand to count the number of friends you had now. Your shell was broken and your world was bigger. You normally lived like your uphills were mountains and your downhills were cliffs, but, lately, the mountains were getting easier to climb and the downhills weren’t that big of a drop. You didn’t need to stop and catch your breath or worry about hurting yourself on the way down.

You never felt lonely anymore. If Sunghoon or Jongseong weren’t free, you would call Nishimura Riki to catch grasshoppers in the creek with you, or you’d go play video games with Yang Jungwon. Kim Sunoo called you nearly every night to bother you, but you didn’t mind. You liked them; they made you feel important, like you were wanted.

“Come on,” Sunghoon teased Jungwon one day as he was blushing over some girl. “What are you being so shy about?”

“It’s embarrassing!” Jungwon complained, and you giggled over how a flush of red started creeping from his ears to his cheeks. “I’m not a smooth-talker like you are, Hoon.”

Sunghoon snorted. “I’m not a smooth-talker.”

“He’s practically, like, bulletproof,” Jongseong chimed in. “We can’t tease him about anyone. He just brushes it off.”

“I’m not bulletproof,” Sunghoon argued, but anyone could see the pride behind his expression. “I’m just not interested in anyone right now.”

You thought you had finally squashed the weird, gooey feeling that arose in your chest every now and then whenever Sunghoon came close. It was primarily due to the fact that Sunghoon was a respectful individual who didn’t try to weasel his way into your personal bubble as he pleased. That was probably for the best because you were sure your brain would go haywire if Sunghoon was too close for comfort.

And then there was Sim Jaeyun.

Jaeyun entered your circle pretty easily. With his radiant personality and warm presence, it was no shocker that he was accepted by the group instantly. He possessed some odd charm that drew people to him, and you couldn’t seem to figure just how that worked. You were almost jealous of him, honestly, with how much of a social butterfly he was.

Out of all of them, Jaeyun seemed to take a particular interest in you. It drove you crazy, though, and you couldn’t figure out how to get the guy to stop teasing and messing around with you. The others couldn’t figure it out either; you just weren’t as bright and bubbly as Jaeyun was, so it was odd that he kept nagging the one person whose wavelength wasn’t on par with his.

Sometimes it was cute—endearing even—but sometimes it was just flat-out irritating.

“Hey, Y/N.” Jake grinned, and his voice was all light and airy as he approached you. “What’re you doing for the summer break?”

“Probably sleeping in, hanging out with the others, and some more sleeping,” you replied, hardly sparing him a single glance.

You were too focused on clearing out your locker of all the books and papers you had tossed in during the year. Gotta keep this, gotta throw this away, gotta return this one, you rattled off in your head, mentally preserving a reminder of your various items. But Jaeyun knew how to push your buttons and grab your attention. He never took your deflection without retaliating back. That was one of the many reasons why you found it so difficult to be around him.

“And hanging out with Sunghoon, huh? Have you realized it yet, or are you still pretending it’s not there?”

You closed your locker with a swift swipe of your hand, revealing Jaeyun’s smug expression. Your eyes were practically bugging out of your sockets as you stared him down. Somehow, you knew exactly what he was hinting at, but you refused to spell it out for him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you questioned, but Jaeyun was already walking away from you. He was turned away, but you could visualize that stupid smirk of his like it was carved into your memory.

Jaeyun was smart. Too smart.

Your summer was filled with laughter, beach trips, and shy glances at Sunghoon. He drove you around places and you sat in the passenger’s seat next to him, toes curled in your shoes because you were so overjoyed. The car was always loud with music and laughter, and whenever it was silent, it was because everyone else was sleeping on each other after a long day of being outside.

You still masqueraded around, playing the role of Sunghoon’s best friend who definitely had zero romantic feelings toward him. It was quite hard when you had to pretend like your heart didn’t flutter whenever Sunghoon’s fingers brushed against yours.

“Sunghoon,” Jaeyun would complain, rousing laughter from everyone at how impatient he was, “are we there yet?”

“You’re so annoying,” Sunghoon retorted, clearly as a joke. You couldn’t help but laugh at his outburst, but it quickly died on your lips once you caught a glimpse of Jaeyun winking at you in the side mirror.

Jaeyun had a mischievous glint in his eyes when he said, “But you still love me, Hoon.”

Oh.

He was trying to make you jealous.

You fought down the urge to laugh at him. You might have been harboring a small crush, but you were never the jealous type, especially not over petty things like this. There was one little thing, however, that you couldn’t seem to shake.

For some reason, the anticipation to call Sunghoon by a nickname made you anxious. You never tested it on your tongue; it just floated around in your head. However, when you addressed him as Hoon one day, your heart skipped a beat when Sunghoon responded with a smile that rivaled the brightness of the sun.

You grew closer to Jongseong, too. You didn’t feel like the third wheel with him and Sunghoon anymore; you felt like you were all at the same level of closeness. You and Jongseong hung out sometimes without Sunghoon, and despite a few awkward pauses in your interactions, you two warmed up quickly and you learned how to joke around with him easily.

Jongseong wasn’t all stiff and dry like you were initially afraid of; rather, he was surprisingly fun, and every time you learned something new about him, like how he adored cats but was allergic to them, you were even more amazed.

It wasn’t just Jongseong, though. You and Sunghoon grew far closer than ever before, whether that was for the better or worse.

Sunghoon only lived a street away, so it was convenient to hang out, and when you didn’t hang out with him, you two called each other. You could see him unravel in front of your eyes; he became visibly more comfortable when it was just the two of you—smiling, laughing, and bursting into laughter with tears of unrestrained happiness.

It wasn’t just the jubilant memories that tugged you two closer, though. It was also the despair.

In the first place, it was an accident that you even happened to break down in front of Sunghoon.

You two were in his room when it happened, and things were as they always had been before you sensed the calm before the storm. You joked around as usual and passed the time by playing video games. Sunghoon was perched on his usual spot in the corner of the bed. You looked over at him and realized how close you two had become as friends.

Friends. Just friends.

It was right at that moment when you realized that this wasn’t what you wanted. You didn’t want to just be Sunghoon’s best friend. You wanted to be the reason why he smiled, the one to make him blush, and the one he could share his pain and happiness with.

But your feelings were the scariest thing you’ve ever had to face, and you felt ashamed for even wanting to cross the line drawn between you and Sunghoon.

You couldn’t dare bring yourself to confess. You were almost positive that Sunghoon didn’t feel the same way, and you would be risking a fall-out in your current relationship if you admitted anything. What if Sunghoon ended up hating you? What if you lost him and all of your other friends? What if you weren’t the closest person to him anymore?

That was why you felt like Sunghoon was in another dimension, always a layer away. Always.

This was your own fault. You were the one who fell for your best friend. You were the one who did this to yourself. You broke your own heart.

You couldn’t help it when you started falling apart in front of him. It started with a broken cough that was supposed to cover up a sniffle. You were thankful for the loud battle sounds in the game that drowned out your quiet sobbing. But the video game didn’t stop Sunghoon from noticing your shaking hands gripping the controller.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m okay.”

Your voice is so shaky, so broken. Sunghoon knew you were crying before he could see or hear it.

He paused the game and put the controller down, but your eyes were still trained on the screen, hands shaking as you clutched the controller until you were white-knuckled. Sunghoon was on edge—panicked. Although, it was a different kind of panic from all the times you would be stressing over an assignment and Sunghoon would offer some lame piece of advice in return.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” His tone was frantic now as he searched your face for an answer.

You smiled, although faint melancholy was tucked away in the curl of your lip. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Now, I know that’s not true.”

Your smile broke. It was so unfortunate that Park Sunghoon had to have a heart so big.

You could almost hear Jaeyun in the back of your head: Have you realized it yet, or are you still pretending it isn’t there?

You started crying, and it wasn’t something soft with a gradual crescendo. It was loud and all at once, like a wounded animal. Your hands shook more, and you finally dropped your controller, burying your fingers into your roots, as if tugging your hair hard enough would make it all stop, as if it would hurt more than the ache in your chest.

Sunghoon was quick to get off his bed and slide to the ground, right next to you. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder and it only made you feel ashamed. You stiffened up and shrunk back, hoping he wouldn’t notice how you tensed up at his touch. You could hear your own heartbeat, but you were pretty sure you were hyperventilating at a faster pace than the pounding in your chest. The world under you moved, bounced, so you decided to lean into Sunghoon.

The logical half of your brain informed you in a calm, clipped manner that you were having a panic attack. The other half meanwhile was screaming and shutting itself down.

Five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste, you tried telling yourself, but your senses overwhelmed you completely. Your tears were blurring your vision, you couldn’t hear anything but your sobs, and your lungs felt as if they were on fire.

“Y/N, talk to me,” came the softest voice that eased the painful ringing in your ears.

“I can’t,” you stuttered out. “Not right now.”

You wish you hadn’t let it get to this point. You were completely humiliating yourself in front of Sunghoon right now. This was the one thing you couldn’t let him find out about.

Your heavy gasps grew more labored. You then curled into yourself, sweaty hands tugging and knotting at your hair. And, shit, you couldn’t breathe.

“I can’t, I can’t,” you repeated again and again, like a broken record. The desperation in your voice was so ugly.

There was something fierce in Sunghoon’s eyes, like he was ready to protect you from anything or anyone that tried to hurt you, but there was also softness in his voice. “You know, you can tell me anything. Whatever it is, I’ll hear you out. I don’t want you to suffer alone, Y/N.”

With a small smile, he added, “It’s just you and me, right? The two of us against the world.”

That only made you cry even more. You just replayed Sunghoon’s words in your head, like it was your favorite song.

“Alright.” You breathed in real deep, through the aching chest and everything. “It’s really stupid.”

“If it makes you cry this hard, it can’t be stupid.”

You bit your lip, embarrassed. “I think I like someone—someone I can’t have.”

Sunghoon didn’t respond for a moment, and it rattled your brain. He probably was wondering this underwhelming confession warranted a breakdown from you, and you couldn’t blame him. However, it was the only way you could avoid lying to your best friend without giving him the whole truth.

For a split second, you wondered if Sunghoon simply just didn’t hear you. But you didn’t want to repeat yourself; you didn’t like repeating yourself.

To your surprise, Sunghoon just smiled. “Do I know them?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words were stringing together in your head to form a coherent sentence.

“Uh, well, you don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready,” Sunghoon continued. He flushed and flicked his thumb under his nose—an awkward mannerism of his that you grew to love over the years. “Actually, I think we’re in the same boat. There’s someone I like, too. Someone I can’t have.”

His words bounced in your skull. Settled. Bounced again.

“Really?” you spluttered out, and it took you a moment to recuperate from the heavy sadness that was filling your chest. You brought yourself to ask, “I mean, you’re so popular, so why don’t you just ask them out?”

“Can’t.”

“Why not? Are they dating someone else?”

There was a sad smile on Sunghoon’s lips when he answered, “No, Jongseong likes her, too.”

At the age of sixteen, you realized that you couldn’t get over Sunghoon, but you could suppress your heartbreak and lingering feelings.

It physically hurt to think about how deeply ingrained your concept of friendship was with him, and the possibility that Park Sunghoon would never think of you as more than a friend. You two had shared too many experiences—worn each other’s shoes and walked miles—to ever become more than what you were.

Nothing would ever change.

You were hanging out by a creek near Jongseong’s house. It was just the two of you—no Jaeyun to poke fun at you, and no Sunghoon to distract you. It was just the two of you, and it was somehow so easy to be with Jongseong like this. You could laugh with your stomach and smile with your eyes without feeling the need to close up or shut down.

“It’s getting annoying, isn’t it?” Jongseong asked under his breath at one point. When you shot him a puzzled look, he clarified, “Sunghoon.”

You picked up on Jongseong’s annoyance toward Sunghoon over the past few weeks, but his words confirmed your suspicions now. You wondered if it was geared toward the girl they both liked—whoever she was.

You never thought to ask, mainly because you didn’t want to know. Either way, if Sunghoon wanted to share, he would’ve done so already.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat, trying to grab at words and shove them together, but you genuinely didn’t know what to say.

It had always been you, Sunghoon, and Jongseong. You never thought about them turning on each other. The very idea made you feel sick to your stomach.

Over the past week, you had seen Sunghoon’s indifference toward Jongseong, but you were too afraid to ask about it. Your friend group was slow to pick up on it, but you noticed the way Sunghoon would purposely avoid conversing with Jongseong, or the way Jongseong would walk quickly past him if they crossed paths. It was odd, though, because everyone knew that Sunghoon and Jongseong were the best of friends—inseparable. How could you hold onto someone for so long and just let go of them like that?

You recalled that Jongseong and Jungwon went over to talk to Sunghoon about his moody behavior, but Jongseong never told you whether the talk went well or not. You figured it just never happened because Jungwon called in sick the very next day.

You prayed that he would hurry up and get over his cold. He had been out sick all week, which checked out since everyone was getting sick around this time of the year. Jungwon would know how to get Sunghoon and Jongseong to reconcile. He was always the friend that helped everyone patch things up.

“You guys are best friends,” was all you could say. “You’ll make up in a few days, right?”

Jongseong clicked his tongue loud enough to make your skin crawl.

But you didn’t want to drop it this time, you asked, “Seriously, what happened between you guys?”

For a moment, you wondered if you should’ve brought up what Sunghoon confessed to you—about him and Jongseong liking the same girl. But this couldn’t have been about that; Sunghoon would never let a girl get between his friendships.

“Sunghoon’s hiding something dark,” Jongseong blurted out. “I don’t think I can get him out of this one.”

“Something dark? What is it?”

“I don’t really know—”

“Jongseong,” you cut in. “If you know something, then just say it. He’s my best friend, too.”

Jongseong shifted uncomfortably, restless. He was silent for a long period of time, so you just waited for him to collect his thoughts. Uneasiness bursted from the tips of your fingers and crawled under your skin. You felt the heat of the sun against your face, so you looked up and covered your eyes with a hand, blinking back red.

“If Sunghoon did something unforgivable,” he started in a murmur, “would you forgive him?”

“I don’t know,” was all you could say.

“Yeah,” Jongseong replied, his terse words nearly making you flinch. “I don’t know, either.”

The sun grew hotter against your face, and all you could see was blood red behind your eyes.

You didn’t know how exactly it started, but you slowly started to find solace in Jaeyun.

You didn’t want to admit it, but you were starting to care for him a little more than the people around you. You were starting to get swayed by him—the things he said, the way he looked at you—and it scared you a little.

But Jaeyun felt safe. He felt like home.

You two called at night, sometimes. You weren’t normally one to be vulnerable in front of others, but you shed some tears in front of Jaeyun a couple of times.

The only other person you had cried in front of was Sunghoon.

“It’s kinda sad,” Jaeyun told you one day. You two were spending the afternoon studying together at his place, and you were feeling self-conscious because you were starting to regret not dressing a little cuter. “I’ve known you for a year, but we’ve only gotten close now.”

“I don’t think either of us cared about deepening our friendship back then.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “You think I didn’t want to be closer? How do you think I picked up on you liking Sunghoon?”

“Because I was obvious about it?”

“No, idiot, because I like you.”

You blinked a few times until you fully processed his words. I like you, your brain repeated, and then you reprocessed the information.

No, there was an ‘idiot’ before that. Not only were you liked, but he thought you were stupid, as well.

You became painfully aware of your knees touching Jaeyun’s, but you still couldn’t wrap your head around the idea of him liking you romantically. You had never been in this position. Since your crush on Sunghoon had been one-sided for the past few years, you never expected to be on the receiving end.

“You…” you trailed off, floundering to find something to say—something that wouldn’t make you sound stupid or mean. You settled with, “You, too?”

His eyes beamed with hope. “For a year now.”

Your world was so small before. It was just you, Sunghoon, and Jongseong.

Before you could even wonder if there was space in your heart for Jaeyun, you realized that you had already let him burrow his way in there.

“Can I kiss you?” Jaeyun asked.

You couldn’t help but breathe out a laugh, and every once of nervousness slipped away. You always thought you could attain this level of closeness with Sunghoon, but maybe your relationship with him was just that fragile—where you could just grab the string binding you two together and snip it completely.

But it was different with Jaeyun.

“Yeah,” you answered, smiling, “you can.”

And then, with Jaeyun’s breath fanning your lips, you felt Sunghoon completely dissolve from the impounding thoughts racking your brain. Right now, it was Jaeyun and only Jaeyun.

You leaned in first, cupping his cheek and pressing your lips against Jaeyun’s soft ones. It was weird, kissing for the first time, but he leaned into it instantly so that your movements were less awkward and more guided.

A fire blazed inside of you, burning hotter than imaginable. You didn’t expect Jaeyun to drive you this crazy—to crave more, to want more. You drew back before you slid your hand into his hair, although you were tempted to go further when his pillowy lips peppered soft kisses along your jawline.

But you didn’t want to go overboard or ruin anything by going too fast. You settled for leaving another chaste kiss against his lips before pulling back, and you were delighted when you saw how pleased Jaeyun was. He was practically glowing.

From then on, you and Jaeyun had a relationship that extended past something platonic, but it wasn’t like you two were official. Naturally, you ended up confiding in him over everything.

While Sunghoon still held a place in your heart as your first love, you grew to care for Jaeyun, who kindled a gentler fire in you. Sunghoon, on the other hand, left you burned and scarred.

You didn’t want to rush into a relationship, mainly because you didn’t want Jaeyun to think he was a rebound, and he respected that. So he waited for you to figure out your feelings and let your heart choose who was right for you.

You weren’t stupid, though; you knew that chasing after Sunghoon was a hopeless cause.

You and Jaeyun drifted about in a limbo-state of your relationship. You two went on a couple of dates, got to know each other at a deeper level, and spent a lot of time together. He became the person you thought about when you were falling asleep and when you woke up in the morning.

You two got along surprisingly well, and you wondered why you ever had doubts about him in the beginning. Sure, Jaeyun still got on your nerves at times, but you just found it funny after the wave of annoyance passed.

Your friends started to talk about how close you two were and frequently brought up the idea of you two dating. Of course, you always denied it, enjoying the privacy you and Jaeyun had.

But as your relationship blossomed into something more serious, you decided that you didn’t want things to stay casual any longer. So, you asked him out, and Jaeyun, being the lovesick puppy he was, accepted without a second thought.

You thought about how much had changed in your life. Sunghoon stopped hanging out with you completely, resorting to being alone most of the time. Everyone was concerned about his behavior, but after several attempts of failed confrontation, they all collectively gave up. You and Jongseong still kept an eye on him, using roundabout ways to find out how he was doing; it was the most you two could do given how little opportunity you had to talk to him.

You didn’t share many classes with Jongseong anymore, but you two were still close, even after your “two of us against the world” friendship with Sunghoon had gone to shit.

Jongseong was kind, though, and despite how he was rough around the edges, he was gentle enough.

But he knew that Sunghoon was hiding something dark, and that alone made you somewhat nervous around him.

You felt unsettled the entire day, but when your group chat started flooding with texts about Jungwon in the middle of the night, you felt an icy chill travel down your spine.

It was all over the news. The whole story about him being down with the flu was just a cover-up while authorities were looking for him.

You felt nauseous.

HIGH SCHOOL STUDENT FOUND DEAD NEAR WOODS. FOUL PLAY SUSPECTED.

The 16-year-old boy was found dead at the scene. The parents of the deceased student have identified him as Yang Jungwon. As of now, there are no leads, but authorities have ruled the case as a homicide.

Police have asked anyone with information to contact their local police department.

You read the headline again. Over and over again until your vision was blurry and the words were convoluted. Your fingers were raw and bitten down to the nail bed by the time you were able to put your phone down so that you could just cry into your hands.

By the time you got around to reading the details, grimacing at the descriptions of mutilation done to Jungwon’s body and how his body had been decomposing for weeks now, you had to run to your toilet and dry heave everything out.

You weren’t the closest to Jungwon or anything, but imagining such a bright person meet such a horrific end wasn’t easy to process. For hours, you ignored all of the calls and texts and attempts to comfort from your parents. You stared straight at your wall—so terrified that your chest hurt and your breathing was ragged.

Later that night, when the world was quiet and dreaming, you received a text from Sunghoon.

sunghoon: Hey sunghoon: I’ve been thinking about you. Are you doing okay? sunghoon: I haven’t been a good friend lately, I’m sorry sunghoon: It’s still the two of us against the world

There was a time when those words made you feel like you were on top of the world, soaring high over the clouds.

Now, though, all you could feel was a horrible sensation of dread.

It had been months since Sunghoon and Jongseong’s falling out.

You were seventeen now, but you felt hollower as you aged. Sunghoon showed up to school and lingered within your group silently, only contributing when spoken to directly. He didn’t approach you anymore or ask to hang out after school. Actually, no one knew what he did after school. He would head straight home and then go completely off the radar.

Gone off the rails, as Sunoo called it.

You cried several nights over it. You felt like not only was your best friend slipping away from you, but Sunghoon’s disconnect from the group would soon make you pull away, too. You had Jaeyun, of course, but nothing felt the same anymore. With Jungwon dead, the group felt tense and gloomy. You all started hanging out with other people and slowly stopped responding in the group chat.

Part of you realized that Sunghoon’s detachment was because you didn’t reply to him the night Jungwon’s murder was publicized. Back then, you suspected that Sunghoon could have been behind it, judging by your conversation with Jongseong earlier. It all added up in your head, but the only thing that was stopping you from believing it fully was that you couldn’t fathom Sunghoon ever doing something so evil.

“I don’t know what’s going on with him,” you whispered into the phone, even though there wasn’t anyone around that you were worried about listening in. “He’s shutting me out now. Something must’ve happened to him.”

You heard Jaeyun hum and contemplate for a moment before he replied, “Maybe he just needs space.”

“I think something happened between him and Jongseong,” you admitted, “but I can’t imagine Jongseong saying anything that would make Sunghoon ignore him for this long.”

“It must’ve been serious, then.”

“But… but it’s Sunghoon; he’s”—you paused as you recalled what Jongseong once called him—“bulletproof.”

There was a pause.

“I guess that’s the problem with being bulletproof,” Jaeyun spoke gravely. “People think they can just keep shooting.”

What Jaeyun told you that night kept replaying in your head over the next week—over and over again. It hit you a little too hard, and you waited to confront Sunghoon about it. You wanted him to know that he could be vulnerable, too. But you couldn’t even speak to your best friend these days. He had been avoiding everyone like the plague.

You assumed it had something to do with Jongseong, but when you talked to him about it, he was hesitant to get into it.

“You’re the closest person to him,” you told him. Today was colder, and you rubbed your hands together for warmth as you and Jongseong stood by the gates after school. “I think if you guys sit down and talk things out, then he’ll start being himself again.”

“I was the closest person to him,” Jongseong corrected with a scoff. “Plus, there’s nothing to talk about.”

“Nothing to talk about? What about your friendship?”

You couldn’t stop the words from leaving your mouth. Anger roiled deep in your chest, and you were too furious to realize that Jongseong only looked dejected in response. If he wasn’t going to explain what happened, then you couldn’t understand what was eating away at their relationship.

“There is no friendship, Y/N,” he said slowly, in a voice so low that it sounded like the calm before the storm. His words made everything come to a halt, and you felt like time itself had frozen. “I suggest you let go of Sunghoon, too. You’re hanging onto someone who’s beyond help.”

“But I don’t know what you know!” you exclaimed. “I can’t let go of someone just like that, Jongseong. I need answers.”

He was quiet before he asked, “Do you remember when Sunghoon stayed over at your house once when we were fourteen?”

“When his house caught on fire?” you recalled, but the memory was sort of hazy for you. All you remembered was how you were in complete awe that Sunghoon was unscathed and unbothered by the incident.

“Yeah,” Jongseong’s voice was grim as he said, “and I bet he never told you that he was the one who started that fire on purpose.”

It was like a punch to the gut. You could only shake your head blankly, lips parted in disbelief.

He continued, “When we were fifteen, he thought it would be fun to plan out a murder without getting caught—”

No.

“—and, at sixteen, he actually did it.”

No. No.

“Jongseong,” you whispered, your voice smaller than you intended, “was it…”

“Jungwon?” He said the name so carefully, as if the world would explode into nothingness if he did. You had been gnawing at your lip so hard that you drew blood, yet that couldn’t distract you from the haunted look in Jongseong’s eyes. “Yeah, he killed Jungwon.”

You felt like you had just been doused with ice-cold water.

“I shouldn’t have brought Jungwon with me. I knew Sunghoon was gonna do it to someone, but I didn’t know…” He sucked in a deep, shuddering breath that racked his entire body. “I didn’t think it would be him. I brought Jungwon to talk him out of whatever was going on, not to…” Jongseong stopped himself again, covering his face with his hands to wipe away the tears that had started to fall.

It’s you and me, Sunghoon’s voice chimed in your head. The two of us against the world.

You thought your world had been shattered, but then you realized that it had actually been broken for a long time.

That night, you asked Jaeyun to come over, and he arrived at your door in record speed.

You two were sitting on your bed, controllers in hand, but the screen was off and neither of you were even in the mood to play. You must have trusted him more than anyone by now because the words started spilling with no preamble. You ended up explaining most of your conversation with Jongseong after you had Jaeyun swear on his life that he wouldn’t tell a soul.

Of course, you didn’t expect any normal person to compliantly come to terms with the fact that their friend murdered their other friend, but Jaeyun was a bit different when it came to you. Instead of accusing you of lying or denying the truth, he believed you wholeheartedly. You couldn’t tell if he was patient with you, or if he was just horrified by everything you had told him.

It had been an entire year since Jungwon had been found dead and the case closed as an unsolved murder, but your words sucker punched Jaeyun like it had just happened yesterday.

Jaeyun’s tone was urgent when he said, “We have to tell someone.” When he noticed your hesitation, he shook his head at you with a disapproving frown. “Y/N, this is serious. This is Jungwon, my best friend.”

Your mouth went dry. “I-I know, it’s just—”

Jaeyun didn’t have to cut you off. You froze right when you saw tears welling up in his eyes.

“Y/N.” He said your name gently, but you still flinched. You had never heard your name being called with so much despair. “If Sunghoon really murdered Jungwon, then I can’t keep this a secret.”

“Give me a few days,” you pleaded. “I just want to hear Sunghoon out. No matter what he says, I’ll come with you to testify.”

He shook his head immediately, eyes fierce. “You are not going anywhere near Sunghoon—not after what he did to Jungwon.”

“Then let me ask Jong—”

“Y/N,” Jaeyun interrupted, letting his hand slide over yours. His eyes were full of concern when he asked, “How do you know you can trust Jongseong?”

Your hands started to shake.

“Y/N,” he said again, “if Jongseong took Jungwon to see Sunghoon, what do you think he did after Sunghoon killed him?”

Your pulse raced.

“If Jongseong knew about Sunghoon’s behavior for this long, why hasn’t he ever done anything?”

All this time, you thought your world had grown a little bigger ever since you met Sunghoon and Jongseong.

But you were living in a fantasy by yourself.

Not so long after your talk with Jaeyun, your phone rang. You were in the middle of finishing up your history paper when you saw the caller ID flash across your screen.

It was Sunghoon.

You didn’t even give yourself time to think about it first. You just picked up the phone immediately. It was an old habit; you saw Sunghoon and accepted the call without a second thought. You never expected Sunghoon to ever call you again, so you didn’t exactly have any practice in rejecting his calls.

“Y/N?” came the familiar voice of Park Sunghoon—gentle, but almost like he was a caged animal.

“Sunghoon?” You swallowed hard. “Uh, how are you? It’s been a while since we’ve talked.”

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized, but you weren’t sure what he was apologizing for. “It was supposed to be the two of us against the world.”

You frowned. “Sunghoon, what’s going on?”

Instead of answering your question, Sunghoon hesitated before saying, “We should catch up sometime. You can read part of the story I’m writing.”

You paused, and before he could ask if you were still there, you replied, “Yeah, sure.”

“Right.” Sunghoon sounded like he had more to say. You almost didn’t catch it because he was so quiet, and the last thing you heard before he hung up was a quiet, “Bye, then.”

Your deepest regret was answering your phone later that night.

It was hours after Sunghoon called you. Jongseong was more of a texter, so you were surprised when his caller ID flashed across your screen. It was definitely not a reasonable hour for a high school student to be out and about, but nothing could have prepared you for what you heard on the other side of the line.

Jongseong was sobbing.

The sound chilled you to the bone. You never heard Jongseong cry, but this didn’t feel normal; this cry was frantic and mangled, like he was spiraling out of control.

“Y/N, you have to come over quickly,” Jongseong begged through broken sobs and heavy breaths. “Please, Y/N, I don’t want him to hurt anyone else.”

“Jongseong, calm down. Tell me what’s happening.”

“You have my location, right? Just hurry. Please.” And he hung up.

In a daze, you called Jaeyun and asked him to pick you up.

“I really think we should just call the cops,” Jaeyun offered, almost pleading. “I don’t know what’s going on with Jongseong, but this sounds sketchy, Y/N.”

Pitted fear festered in your throat. You knew something was off, but you weren’t sure if you could handle losing Jongseong, too. You had gotten so used to not being alone that you were paranoid of returning to having no one.

“Call them as soon as we get there,” you said. “I just need to make sure Jongseong’s okay.”

Jaeyun pressed his lips into a thin, grim line, but he kept driving.

It was a port that Jongseong’s location directed you to, and discomfort crept into your limbs as soon as Jaeyun pulled into the area. Maybe you should’ve stayed back where it was safer and let the police handle everything, but you must have been a fool. It was just that Jongseong’s cries echoed in your head whenever you started having second thoughts.

You could hear him before you saw him.

Jongseong’s soft sobs could be heard from behind a metal storage unit, and you and Jaeyun inched closer carefully after getting out of the car. Your heart dropped to your stomach; you were dreading the worst, and when you turned the corner into the closed area Jongseong was in, you realized that the sight before you was the worst it could get.

Sunghoon’s body.

You waited for his chest to rise, but not even a shallow breath escaped his blue-tinged lips.

It took you a moment to reorient yourself and realize that Sunghoon wasn’t just passed out, he was dead.

You saw the blood pooling around him and the wounds piercing his torso, staining his white shirt, but you wanted to believe your mind was playing tricks on you. You convinced yourself that Sunghoon was going to get up any second now and start laughing, and then Jongseong would join in and tell you it was all a joke.

But that wasn’t the case.

It wasn’t fear that overtook you—not an overwhelm of emotion—it was numbness. You stared at Sunghoon’s body as he bled out onto the concrete, blood pooling into the cracks in the ground. You felt an odd sort of disconnect.

You tilted your head to see Sunghoon’s face turned to the side against the concrete. His blank eyes just stared into nothingness, and you realized that you would never get to see Sunghoon’s warm, sincere gaze ever again. You were never going to see his bright smile. You were never going to hear his contagious laugh. You were never going to read the wonderful stories he wrote.

You supposed your life was always meant to be a tragedy.

“H-Hoon?” Jaeyun choked up behind you. He was staring down at Sunghoon’s lifeless body in horror before his expression was slowly replaced with anger. “Jongseong, what the hell did you do?!”

“It was self-defense, man,” Jongseong whimpered out before his body was racked with sobs again. “He pulled a knife on me out of nowhere. I tried to stop him, but he was trying to kill me. I couldn’t do anything else. I couldn’t run, I couldn’t—” He exhaled shakily. “I couldn’t do anything else.”

You didn’t say anything. You just stared at Sunghoon.

“Come on, guys,” Jongseong pleaded. “I can’t go to fucking prison. I’m eighteen now; it’s not juvie, it’s a life sentence.” You didn’t know what he was getting at until he requested the unthinkable, “Help me get rid of the body.”

You wanted to puke. You eyed the shiny metal soaked in blood that Jongseong was clutching. You were never going to see Sunghoon again. You were never going to hang out with him over the weekend. You were never going to hear his voice again.

“Get rid of the body?” Jaeyun raised his voice, exasperated. “What the fuck are you gonna do when they realize he’s gone missing? You just killed someone! This is on you, Jongseong, not us!”

“Are you going to help me get rid of it or not?!” Jongseong tugged at his hair. “Just help me throw him off the dock, and we can all walk away from this.”

You watched helplessly, horror-stricken. “I… I can’t.”

“The body’s gonna float and show up somewhere,” Jaeyun countered with stony eyes. “They’re gonna catch you.”

Jongseong looked terrifyingly pale. You wondered if it was just the glow of the moon, or if he was also holding in his urge to puke. “I’ll just cut his stomach so he sinks.”

Disgusted, Jaeyun scowled. “You’re a monster.”

You watched as Jongseong tried hauling Sunghoon’s body before giving up and dragging him by the legs. You shot Jaeyun a warning look, mouthing for him to call the police before Jongseong noticed. He lingered back to do so while you followed Jongseong to plead him to stop. His arms gave out as soon as he stepped onto the planks, and he let Sunghoon’s lower half collapse onto the solid wood.

“Y/N, help me cut open his stomach,” he ordered, hardly sparing you a glance. If he did, he would have seen how horrified you were.

“Oh,” you said, voice wavering, “that’s… that—that’s his…”

“Y/N, help me.”

“Jongseong,” you begged, “please… please stop.”

He paid you no attention, though. You felt ghastly as Jongseong used a paring knife to make an incision on Sunghoon’s stomach. The smell was putrid. You screwed your eyes shut as the metallic smell of blood invaded your nostrils. Your nausea plunged into your gut, and you had to fight the pervasive urge to hurl.

A stream of Sunghoon’s blood made its way to your shoes, staining the soles.

Jongseong was cutting your old best friend open.

The dread had kept you numb for this long, but it was when reality settled in that you finally lost it. You couldn’t handle it anymore and pitched forward over the edge of the dock, throwing up until you were heaving up bile. You sobbed through it all, mournful and low, and your friend paid you no attention while he was cutting through flesh.

When Jongseong was done, he wiped at his cheek, leaving behind a smear of blood. Sunghoon’s blood. You stared at him, and you had never been more terrified of him in your life.

And then you really noticed Jongseong. You noticed how Sunghoon’s blood was coated all over his hands, how he hardly had any scratches or bruises on his body, how merciless his eyes were as he stared down at his old best friend.

The realization that washed over you was frightening.

“Sunghoon didn’t actually try to kill you, did he?” you managed to warble out. “You killed him yourself.”

A deep silence from him followed—heavy and wretched. Sunghoon’s blood was so dark that it nearly looked black under the dim light, and you could only stare helplessly until Jaeyun made his way to the dock, placing his hands firmly on your shoulders.

Jongseong turned to you and Jaeyun, clutching his knife tightly. You could hardly recognize the boy in front of you. You never truly understood the term “paralyzed by fear” until you saw the crazed look in Jongseong’s eyes—cold and haunting.

Jaeyun’s eyes glistened with tears and his throat was thick with emotion when he said, “Jongseong, please—just hang on and… and we can talk this out.”

The hand gripping his knife started shaking. “You won’t tell anyone, right? You guys won’t snitch on me, right?” When there was no response from you or Jaeyun, Jongseong’s desperation grew stronger. He turned to you with his eyes big and terrified. “Y/N, come on, we’ve known each other for years. You know I—”

“Shut up!” Jaeyun yelled. His protective grip on you tightened. “Cut the bullshit, Jongseong. The police are gonna be here soon, and they’re gonna take you straight to prison once they see what you did to Hoon.”

It was like a switch flipped in him. A distant part of your mind wondered if you could get everyone out of this—somehow bring Sunghoon back and go back to your normal life—but you immediately shut down that fantasy as soon as Jongseong’s eyes darkened.

In the darkness, you could make out an amused expression on his face. His smile took on a cold edge.

“Fine,” he bit out. “I’ll just have to get rid of you two before the police get here, then.”

You felt like your world slowed. Your eyes burned with the threat of tears. You could tell Jongseong was walking closer to you while Jaeyun was desperately trying to tug you and get you to run, but you were frozen in place. You wanted to believe that your old friend wouldn’t actually hurt you, but then you didn’t know what to think when he raised his knife.

It had all happened so fast. Too fast.

In your brief struggle as Jongseong tried to stab you, you heard a sharp gasp that tore you from your haze, like you had just been drenched in cold water. Brutally sober. You tried to push Jongseong off of you, but he was too heavy, too limp. Jaeyun shouldered his way between you two and shoved Jongseong back, grimacing when his skull hit the wood with a thud.

You heard one last, strangled gasp from Jongseong before he stopped breathing. The last star in his eyes twinkled until it dimmed for good.

Jongseong laid flat on the dock with his knife piercing his chest.

As you heard police sirens go off in the distance, Jaeyun wrapped his arms around you before you finally broke down into his chest.

Your best friends were dead and your world was broken beyond repair.

“So, it was self-defense?” Detective Lee asked, his piercing eyes boring right into yours. “Purely accidental? You had no intention of harming Park Jongseong?”

You shook your head. “I still couldn’t process the fact that he killed Sunghoon, so I didn’t think he’d actually try to hurt me.”

You wanted to cry. You bit your chapped lip, but all you could taste was blood that you doubted was even there. You couldn’t even say Sunghoon’s name without seeing that radiant smile of his stained with deep red.

You sucked in a shaky breath. “I’ve told you everything I know. Can I see Jaeyun now?”

Detective Lee eyed you for a moment. Finally, you saw some sort of sympathy in his gaze, although you felt sort of repulsed that you were being pitied in this state. The detective muttered something about him being back later, and he left the interrogation room, leaving you handcuffed to the table.

A minute passed by. Another. Several more.

You were pretty sure it had been at least an hour or two of staring at the wall, but the passage of time felt meaningless now. You could wait hours, even days, but you didn’t think you would ever be ready to confront what cruel reality awaited you.

You were so tired of everything, so exhausted that you didn’t even think about your parents until now. Were they here? Were they informed about your arrest? They must have been worried sick all night.

When the door opened, your head shot up.

“You’re free to go, Y/N,” Detective Lee said, pulling out a key to uncuff you from the table.

You were frozen. You just stared up at Detective Lee with your jaw hung open.

“I know this took awhile, but there was no security footage at the scene to confirm your story,” he elaborated. “But your stories matched up, and we found more evidence in the trunk of Jongseong’s car that he had been planning this murder.”

He helped you to your feet and escorted you out of the room. You were able to pick up everything they took from you before you were locked up in the holding cell—your keys, wallet, and your phone. Then, you were taken to the waiting room where your parents were seated at the far end.

At the sight of you, they all but leapt from their seats to rush over, hands cupping your face and arms embracing your weak, battered figure. There was so much love in their eyes, and their fear over possibly losing their daughter replaced any anger they had toward the situation. However, you wouldn’t have been surprised if you ended up getting an earful the next day.

“Mom, Dad,” you whimpered out, suddenly overcome with emotion. You were immediately aware of how weak and pathetic you felt. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Shh, it’s okay,” your father silenced you by rubbing your back in soothing circles. “Jaeyun’s family wanted us to let you know that he’s okay, too. They just took him home about ten minutes ago.”

You were slightly disappointed. Part of you was hoping that he would wait for you, but you figured Jaeyun’s family would have wanted to go home right away. You definitely would have felt better if you got to see your boyfriend in the flesh to make sure he was alive and well, but you weren’t going to complain now.

There was still a ghost of a smile on your lips as your parents walked you to their car. They gushed and gushed about how glad they were about you being safe and sound, and about how they never would’ve expected Jongseong of all people to end up being a murderer.

You were happy to be alive, of course, but you felt so empty.

You pulled out your phone to try and text Jaeyun, but, as you thought, it was dead.

“Mom, can I use your phone?” you asked, and you dialed Jaeyun’s number immediately as soon as she handed it to you. You had it memorized because it was a combination of numbers that was fairly easy to remember.

It rang four times, and by the fifth ring, you were scared that he wouldn’t pick up. But then, it beeped.

“Hello?” Jaeyun answered. “Who is this?”

It was like a huge weight was lifted off of your shoulders once you heard his voice. Despite Detective Lee informing you that Jaeyun was, indeed, alive, you felt more reassured hearing it from your boyfriend himself. You wanted to cry then and there, but you didn’t want to make your parents worry unnecessarily.

You forgot you were even supposed to respond when Jaeyun spoke again, “Is anyone there?”

“Jaeyun, it’s me,” you mumbled softly. “Y/N.”

You heard him suck in a sharp breath. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m perfectly fine.”

Jaeyun gave you the breakdown of how his experience went, which took a completely different turn than yours. After receiving medical attention, they brought him back to his holding cell to sleep for hardly a few hours. The detective interrogating Jaeyun tried to build trust with him, telling him they wanted to help and just needed his confession. They lied about already having evidence that he killed Jongseong, but Jaeyun denied it and told them the whole story. He was only free to leave after they cross-examined his story with yours.

“Jesus,” you whispered into the phone, breathing out a small laugh. By now, you were already parked at your house and walking to your front door. “This is so fucked up.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, “but we’ll get through it.”

“Yeah, Jae. Us against the world.”

Sim Jaeyun spent nine hours being questioned by authorities.

He knew the nature of the crime that occurred was complex, and he was still reeling from the loss and betrayal that left a deep wound in his chest, but there was something that terrified him still.

It wasn’t the murderous look in Park Jongseong’s eyes, or the blood completely drained from Park Sunghoon’s face.

Rather, what scared Jaeyun the most was that he spent so long pining after you and getting to know you at a deeper level. He genuinely fell hard for you, even though you had monsters in the closet. He thought he knew almost everything about you, like how you were a terrible liar.

Yet, you had just lied about everything that went down last night for nine hours straight.

What scared Jaeyun the most was how clueless he had been about who you really were.

Truthfully, he was also in the wrong for going along with your lie. It was definitely going to bite him back one day. In the moment, though, he was far too much of a coward to go against you. Although he was able to get Jungwon the justice he deserved and allowed his family to finally be at peace with answers, Jaeyun still felt horrible. He just remembered the desperate look in your eyes as your face and hands were stained with blood, begging him to protect you.

Jaeyun’s downfall must have been that he liked you too much to say no.

It was true that Jongseong called you in a panic, begging you to show up at the port as quickly as possible, and it was true that you wanted Jaeyun to drive you there instead of calling the cops first.

Jaeyun knew deep down that you were making the wrong choice, but he had hope that you knew what you were doing. Truthfully, although he liked you a lot, he was still wary about how you felt toward Sunghoon. He just couldn’t understand how you were still unconsciously protecting him after hearing what happened to Jungwon. He knew that you wanted answers, but Jaeyun was worried about how you’d react once you got them.

The real story—the one neither of you told the detectives—never started with Park Jongseong killing Park Sunghoon.

It really started when you and Jaeyun arrived at the port to see that no one was around. It was eerily quiet, and Jaeyun was starting to regret not turning around and heading straight for the police station. When you two got out of the car, you walked several feet down the line of shipping containers before returning to Jaeyun with a confused look on your face.

“I don’t see either of them,” you said, but then your eyes grew unfocused as you stared at something—or, rather, someone—behind Jaeyun.

He turned around to see Jongseong walking over to the two of you in a calm fashion, as if he had no other care in the world. The port was relatively an open space, so he had no idea where Jongseong could have emerged from. Jaeyun rolled his neck, more frustrated than anything.

“Jongseong!” you called out.

When he neared you two, Jongseong shoved his hands into his pockets. “Oh, you brought your boyfriend.”

“What’s going on?” you urged. “Is it Sunghoon? Did something happen to him?”

“Wow, that hurts, Y/N.” Jongseong barked out a laugh, but nothing about his tone sounded sincere. “I call you in the middle of the night and all you can think about is Hoon? Wow. How do you feel about that, Jaeyun?”

Jaeyun didn’t respond. He just glowered.

Nothing about this felt right.

You stammered, “I-I just assumed—”

“Put yourself in my shoes,” Jongseong cut you off with little regard for your excuses. “Sorry to say this in front of your boyfriend, but imagine how I feel when the girl I’ve liked for years only cares about my best friend.”

The air went still.

Your voice was barely a whisper when you asked, “Excuse me?”

Jaeyun pursed his lips together, and, for a moment, he thought his tongue would start bleeding if he bit it any harder. Sunghoon liked the girl that Jongseong liked, and if that girl was you, then Jaeyun was worried that he already lost you. He knew for months that he would never truly have you the way he wanted. Your feelings for Sunghoon were stronger, and although Jaeyun was able to pack his insecurities into a tiny ball and shove it down his throat, it was all coming out now.

His uneasy heart shattered into a million pieces once he caught a glimpse of your expression—hopeful and longing. And it wasn’t for Jongseong; it was for Sunghoon.

“Now that’s a great expression,” came an overly-enthusiastic voice from Jaeyun’s right.

Park Sunghoon was leaning against one of the shipping containers, arms folded across his chest before he uncrossed them and made his way toward the three of you. He must have been hiding behind the containers this whole time because Jaeyun hadn’t seen him at all before.

The situation was getting increasingly uncomfortable. Jaeyun wanted to shrink back when Sunghoon suddenly took great interest in him, keeping his eyes fixed on him instead of you or Jongseong. He used to have such bright and happy smiles, but, this time, Jaeyun almost thought his grin had been sliced into his face with a blade.

Sunghoon slung an arm over Jongseong’s shoulder. “Wow, Jae, now I really wanna see the look on your face when you’re in total despair,” he crooned, almost mocking. Jaeyun’s blood rushed in his ears when Sunghoon’s tongue swiped across one of his fangs. “You should’ve seen the look on Jungwon’s face.”

Jaeyun lunged before he could even think, but he stopped himself as soon as you held onto him, stopping him from hitting Sunghoon.

And that was when he knew he already lost you.

“Don’t,” you insisted.

“Are you serious?” he breathed out, brows knitting into a frown as he looked down at you.

Shame clung to your throat, keeping your mouth shut, but Jaeyun was more concerned now about the sharp blade pointed at his throat.

His Adam’s apple bobbed.

Jongseong had a paring knife pointed straight at him, and Sunghoon’s smile never faltered. They were clearly on the same side. There was a reason why Jeongseong never did anything about Sunghoon after killing Jungwon.

Jaeyun felt stupid for not putting it together earlier.

“I’d listen to your girlfriend,” Jongseong warned. His voice crawled all over him, freezing Jaeyun cold to the bone. “You might as well hear us out before you die here tonight.”

“Can’t exactly let you two run off now that you know what happened to Jungwon,” Sunghoon added.

“Jungwon was our friend,” Jaeyun hissed. “He was my best friend, you sick freak! What did you do to him? Why? He’s never… he never did anything wrong!”

“You’re right. He didn’t do anything wrong,” Sunghoon confirmed, surprisingly calm and collected. “In fact, he exceeded my expectations. It was a great performance, actually.” Jaeyun clenched his fist tight—so tight that his nails dug into his palms and drew blood—and Sunghoon took notice of this with a delighted hum. “You should’ve heard him scream, Jae. I had my doubts about him at first, but when he was begging me for his life, I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”

You were distraught. “Sunghoon, you—”

It all happened in seconds, like a rubber band finally snapping after being stretched too thin. Jaeyun used his elbow to knock Jongseong’s arm out of the way, and he shoved Sunghoon as soon as he found an opening, driving his hands into his ribs. He heard you cry out, but Jaeyun could only see red until he was dragged back up by Jongseong, the sharp blade of the knife being pressed to his throat.

“Stop!” you cried. “Leave Jaeyun out of this! You wanted me, right? Just let him go. Please.”

“I don’t think so.” Sunghoon wrapped an arm around you. “You two already know too much, and Jongseong and I have been waiting for this finale for years.”

Your eyes had a faraway look in them for a moment before you turned your attention back to Jongseong. “You told me…”

“I told you that when we were fifteen, Sunghoon thought it would be fun to plan out a murder without getting caught,” Jongseong filled in the blanks for you, a haunting smile playing on his lips, “and I was in on it.”

Sunghoon tutted. “But you got it all wrong, Y/N. It wasn’t Jungwon’s murder that we were planning; it was yours.”

You looked up at him in horror.

Jaeyun struggled against Jongseong for a moment, face taut with unbridled anger. He just wanted to get to you. Get Sunghoon’s filthy hands off of you.

“I’m a writer. I write stories,” Sunghoon continued. “Isn’t it a great twist? Convincing my childhood best friend that I loved her all this time, only to reveal that she’s gonna die at my hands.” He scoffed. “Jungwon was just at the wrong place at the wrong time, but he was good practice. I was too careless back then. I shouldn’t have left all those drawings and papers out like that when he came over, but now I’m gonna finish the job properly.”

Your breathing was shallow. Jaeyun could see the flood of despair racking your body with soft sobs and quick pants. Your gaze fell to the ground, and Sunghoon peered to catch a better look at you.

“Good,” he praised. “That’s what I wanna see. Wow, that’s great, Y/N. I can’t wait to see more when—”

“Get the fuck away from her!” Jaeyun yelled, grunting when Jongseong pressed the knife harder against his supple skin.

With an exaggerated flourish of his hands, Sunghoon raised both arms and backed up as if he was a deer caught in headlights. He wore an easygoing smile, yet something sinister was tucked behind the curve of his lips. Your inconsolable self stayed fixed in place, staring helplessly at your shoes.

“For the past two years, I’ve been isolating myself from the friend group for the sake of this story and its ending,” Sunghoon said. “I think I deserve a little fun right now, Jae.”

“Fuck you,” Jaeyun spat. “You deserve to go to Hell.”

Sunghoon took a step closer to Jaeyun, ducking his head so that they were at eye-level with each other. Jaeyun tried to struggle against Jongseong once more, but he froze when the knife pierced his skin. He felt something trickle down the column of his neck, and he soon realized it was his own blood.

“It’s hard, isn’t it?” Sunghoon mocked a pout. He lowered his voice by an octave, only for Jaeyun to hear. “Competing with a childhood friend is brave, I’ll tell you that.”

Jaeyun’s blood boiled. To his surprise, Sunghoon gestured for Jongseong to let go of him. He took the paring knife from his friend and handed it to Jaeyun.

“Take it,” Sunghoon said. “Why don’t you try killing me? You wanna get back at me, right? I killed your best friend, after all.”

Owlish, he blinked back at Sunghoon, almost absently. Jaeyun really considered it for a moment—like, really considered it. Some part of him wanted to senselessly beat Sunghoon up until he was unrecognizable, but the morally righteous side of him knew that he could never stoop to Jongseong or Sunghoon’s level.

Jaeyun took the knife by the handle, weighing it in his palm experimentally before chucking it away—far from both Sunghoon and Jongseong. Jaeyun was pretty sure he could overtake Jongseong if Sunghoon turned his back, but he wasn’t sure if Jongseong had another weapon up his sleeve. He heard the blade skid and scrape against the concrete, and he could only hope that Sunghoon and Jongseong being distracted by him would give you time to escape.

But Jeongseong immediately stopped you as soon as he saw you picking up the knife, and he let go of Jaeyun to grab ahold of you. Jaeyun tried to yank Jongseong back by the back of his shirt, but Sunghoon grabbed a fistful of his hair and slammed his head against the metal of one of the shipping containers.

Jaeyun’s world was thrown off-balance. The ground bounced, tilted, swayed. He was so dizzy and disoriented that he couldn’t tell if his head was spinning or if he was collapsing.

The corners of his vision grew hazy with white splotches dancing around. Jaeyun tried hard to focus, making out some of the yelling that was going back and forth, but he couldn’t think at all when a newly-formed cut on his forehead was getting blood all over his face and hands.

He doubled forward, falling onto his knees. Jaeyun had to stay there for a while and ride out the intense waves of vertigo until he was stable again. When the world finally returned to its normal axis and stopped bouncing under him, Jaeyun lifted his head to see you and Jongseong screaming at each other.

And Sunghoon was on the ground.

He stumbled over, and it was as if the white noise in Jaeyun’s ears had drowned out everything in the background. He couldn’t see or focus on anything except the pained look on Sunghoon’s face as the color drained from his neck. Blood was gushing from his jugular vein, and he was digging his palm into his neck to put pressure on the wound.

“—you stabbed him!” you screamed at Jongseong. Your voice was hysterical; Jaeyun had never heard you sound so desperate, not even when he was being held at knifepoint.

“Fuck, Y/N, I wouldn’t have hurt him if you didn’t pull on my arm!” Jongseong yelled back. He sank to the ground, simultaneously dropping the knife and dropping his head between his knees.

The sight was miserable to watch. Jongseong wailed loud and mournful until he couldn’t take it anymore, doubling over so that he could throw up until nothing but bile was coming out. When it seemed as though he had nothing else to heave out of his stomach, Jongseong sat up for a brief moment. You and Jaeyun watched as his eyes rolled back almost instantly, falling onto his back and hitting his skull against the concrete. The exhaustion must have finally caught up to him, and you two didn’t have long until he was conscious again.

Jaeyun turned his attention back to Sunghoon, watching his life bleed out of his body slowly. For some reason, an odd disconnect came over Jaeyun, and he bent down to help apply pressure over Sunghoon’s wound. At first, Sunghoon gritted his teeth, but even he knew when to accept help when it was needed.

Sim Jaeyun was pretty sure he was broken beyond belief by now, but it was impossible for him to ignore someone who was dying right before him.

Even if he murdered Jungwon.

“Y/N, we need to get him to a—”

Jaeyun cut himself off when he looked up at you to see that your expression had changed. Something was different. You looked like numbness had seeped into your body, coiling around your heart until you couldn’t feel anything. The way you looked down at Jongseong, clutching his knife tightly, made Jaeyun worry.

“Y/N,” Jaeyun said again—slower, “whatever you’re thinking… please put it down.”

It didn’t seem like you were listening, though. Almost as if your body and brain were at two different places.

“Y/N—” Jaeyun shuddered when you brought the knife down, driving it straight into Jongseong’s chest.

Jaeyun’s stomach lurched. He watched as Jongseong struggled for his life, hardly conscious as you repeatedly stabbed him over and over again until Jaeyun was yelling at you to stop. He was sure he would never be able to close his eyes again without hearing Jongesong’s blood-curdling screams and seeing Sunghoon’s face drained of color.

“Wow,” Sunghoon choked out. One last amused look crossed his face before it fell apart painfully. “I told you, Jae, there’s no competing with a childhood best friend.” Jaeyun flushed with anger, but it dissolved quickly when he realized Sunghoon’s breathing got slower, shallower. The look on his face was one of someone accepting their untimely death. “Thanks for the show, though.”

In his arms, Sunghoon took his last breath and went still.

It wasn’t grief that Jaeyun felt. It was something far greater.

“Jaeyun, I—I didn’t mean to,” you sobbed out, shakily holding up your bloodstained hands. “It was self-defense! I tried to stop him, but he was trying to kill me, and then he… he killed Sunghoon. I couldn’t do anything else. I couldn’t run, I couldn’t—” You exhaled shakily. “I couldn’t do anything else.”

Jaeyun didn’t respond. He just stared at you in disbelief.

“Come on, Jae,” you pleaded. Oh, so it was Jae now. “You have to help me get rid of their bodies. I can’t go to prison!”

“Get rid of the body?” Jaeyun raised his voice, exasperated. “Y/N, they’re dead! We have to tell the police everything. I mean, what are you gonna do when your prints match?”

Your lips pressed together in a grim line. “Your prints are on the knife, too.”

Were you blackmailing him? Jaeyun couldn’t believe what he was hearing from you. He never expected you, of all people, to be the one to throw him under the bus like this. He had trusted you with his life before, and you threw it all away in seconds.

“Are you going to help me or not?” You looked toward the dock over the water. It was a good enough distance for you to drag Sunghoon and Jongseong’s bodies over to, but Jaeyun sure as hell didn’t want to get involved. “Just help me throw them in the water, and we can both walk away from this, Jae. We can go back to our lives, okay?”

He shook his head sadly. You just sounded like a stranger to him.

“Please, Y/N,” he pleaded, tears stinging his eyes, “please stop this. You have to turn yourself in.”

But his resolve was shaky. Jaeyun knew that he would still be booked once they found his prints at the scene, and there was no telling what you would do to protect yourself. By now, Jaeyun wouldn’t have been surprised if you somehow pushed the crime onto him.

“Jae, listen to me,” you insisted. Your eyes were wide and brimming with tears, and Jaeyun couldn’t help but think you looked a little crazed. “We can both get out of this, but you have to help me out here. We’re gonna tell them that Jongseong killed Sunghoon before we got here, and then he chased us until we ended up stabbing him out of self-defense. I mean, that’s all this was, anyway! It was self-defense!”

A distant part of Jaeyun’s mind wondered what happened to you. He wondered if you had always been this way, perhaps keeping it tucked away. In the end, you were still trying to protect Sunghoon in your own way. You were still trying to protect some fragment of his golden image.

“It’s you and me,” you whispered, kneeling down by your boyfriend’s side until you were cupping his face with your hands, staining his cheeks with Jongseong’s blood, “the two of us against the world.”

Just hours ago, Sim Jaeyun looked at you like you were his entire world.

And now, with your bloodstained hands holding his face, there was unmistakable fear behind his eyes as he looked up at you.

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ thank you so so much for reading if you made it all the way to the end !! i would lovee for you to guys to share what you thought, but just to point a few things out, jake's pov was the unfiltered version of what went down that night. the dialogue from mc is similar to jongseong's because while she painted him out to be the villain in the end to protect sunghoon, it was really her who said those things. originally this had a happier ending but i'm a lot more satisifed with this one actually. i hope you guys liked it !! <3 also i am deciding against using my permanent tag list this time because i haven't used it in a year and don't know if anyone exactly signed up to read horror 🧎‍♀️

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silcry

4 months ago

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silcry

1 month ago

What I look like at the function knowing I should be in bed reading a reader insert rn

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silcry

8 months ago

Epilogue: Dear Lord When I Get To Heaven Please Let Me Bring My Man (p. sh, l. hs)

banner credit: @simpjaes🩷

pairing. step-brother sunghoon x female reader x step-brother heeseung

genre. I Would Give Up Heaven If I Had To.. AU, pwp, M/F, heavy on the angst in this one, fluff💀

warnings. morally grey characterizations(mostly Sunghoon), profanity, toxicity, sibling rivalry, mommy issues, daddy issues, anxiety/depression, Phantom of The Opera references, death, time jumps, pregnancy, no smut warnings *gasp*. minors DNI.

wc. 16.8k+

now playing. Young & Beautiful//Lana Del Rey

for @ncdeeh, the biggest fan of this series out there🖤

———————————-

Germany.

It feels like a movie when you arrive and get off of the train. Smoke blows around, different accents sing through the air, and your breath visibly shudders in front of your face.

Heeseung’s cheeks deepen with color, he insists on carrying your bags. He knows you’re still in some state of shock, too stunned by everything that has unraveled in the last 48 hours.

“The hotel my dad booked us isn’t too far from here, I’ll order a cab for us.” He nods, directing you to follow him.

Innate instinct takes over, it’s time for him to be a man. To embody the role his father has the past few years of his life. He needs to serve and protect you now, because would you really be running off if not for him? Is he not partially to be blamed for drastically altering your life?

“We’ll only be here for a couple of weeks, then we can head back to France if you want. My dad said he’d cover everything.” Heeseung is really trying to make this as easy as possible for you. Maybe he’s feeling more guilty than he anticipated, especially after seeing your solemn expression.

“Yesterday was so fucked up.” You barely mutter, throwing yourself onto the hotel bed. “Can’t believe I did that.”

“We don’t have to talk about it.” In fact, he’d prefer not to…

“I feel like such an awful person right now.”

You shouldn’t, given Sunghoon’s track record but this isn’t you. You would never go out of your way to use your body to manipulate and hurt someone this way..

“Don’t worry about it, alright? You don’t need to worry about me forgiving you. It’s like it never happened.” Heeseung grabs a hold of your hand, smiling softly. “Today’s a new day.”

Worry about forgiveness? Forgiveness for what. You contemplate asking, opening your mouth only to receive a gentle kiss. His lips pressed to yours with a tinge of fear. He’s afraid, probably as scared as you are.

“We need to talk Hee,” you shove at his shoulder, sitting back up. “About your mom, Jian, even Miyeon.. I don’t know, I feel so unsettled.”

“Whatever you want to know, I’m an open book for you.”

And you talked, for hours and hours. Ordered room service as you paced around the hotel room and delved deeper into his life. Picking up the small hints and marks of Sunghoon scattered throughout each memory and story. Late into the night you wore each other down to an empty bottle once full of emotions.

Heeseung cried, told you everything. How his mother offered him his first drink. He fought tooth and nail to make her stay home, to stop entering the local bars and waste her life away. She was never the same after the divorce, never explaining to him why or how it happened. She couldn’t after some time, couldn’t speak more than slurred speech, could barely keep her eyes open for longer than a few hours.

“My brother was jealous of that.” He nods, interlocking his fingers. “He has no idea that I was living through my own personal hell. I was living with a fragment of who my mother once was, by the end.. that wasn’t her. She would call me by my dad’s name a lot, yell at me, throw all types of insults at me.”

The more you listened, the more your heart broke. Sunghoon had no one, and Heeseung didn’t either. They could have at least had each other..

“My grandparents were too old, tired. Grandma was showing signs of early dementia and grandpa could hardly walk without hurting himself.” Heavy pain laces his tone, blinking back tears without looking at you. Not wanting to see the pity or hurt on your face for him. “Mom died in my arms, at the hospital. I didn’t want it to be real, sometimes the memory hits me out of nowhere and I feel so empty. I feel as useless as my dad says I am.”

There’s nothing to be said after he spills his soul wide open for you. Everything makes sense, the jealousy between him and Sunghoon. The unspoken truth that neither of them could even begin to see past their blind hatred for each other.

“He’s right, I should have done more.” Heeseung trembles, failing to fight his tears any longer. They roll down to his chin, shaking off with the chatter of his teeth. “I should have helped her somehow.”

“You were a kid.” You try to help, knowing this is above your capabilities. You hold him, clean his tears, scratch through his scalp, and he lets it all out. Every fear, every thought that plagues hik, the root of his pain that started the day his parents tore apart their family.

“I wanted to be above this, try to have a normal life when I moved back home to live with my dad.” He sighs, sinking deeper into your hold. “He hates me. Maybe I remind him too much of her.”

Even the richest of rich shouldn’t always have kids, even if they are more than able to afford to. Mr. Park clearly had a detachment from his sons, most especially Heeseung..

“I told you, he wanted me to ask Miyeon out first. I don’t know why Sunghoon took that bullet for me. I kind of hoped that it was because he doesn’t hate me, but after this..”

“I think if he knew everything, he would have never put you through all of this again Hee. Not that he deserves an excuse, but I want to believe your brother isn’t actually as evil as he wants us to perceive.”

“I hope he’s not.” Heeseung stares off into the void, sniffling. “If only because I still feel bad, that he grew up without us. Especially after living with my dad again, he’s such an emotionless prick.. it’s no wonder my brother always made fun of me when I’d cry. Moving back home without my mom was hard for me. I felt like a stranger in my own house, as if I didn’t belong there.”

Nothing can excuse Sunghoon’s behavior and actions of course, even if you questioned everyday what his experience was living alone with Mr. Park throughout his primitive years. How did all of that time without a motherly figure alter his life? The way he thinks? That stone cold heart of his you’d come to know.

How could the two of them be so different and yet the same. Heeseung who handled his feelings by expressing his emotion and pain, never scared to shed a tear. Who would lay his head on your lap and kindly ask you to hold him, to stroke his hair the way his mother used to. Who walks around with the open wound in his heart proudly displayed.

Sunghoon, for the little amount of time you had him in your life, he couldn’t do the same. Couldn’t bring himself to open up, to tell you how he really feels. He held back, masked his feelings with anger and harshness; a shield, really. He needed someone to be there for him, to help him understand himself..

And as you lived your life and settle into your loft in Paris, you slowly let those thoughts get to you. Each day he crossed your mind, and you shoved those thoughts down deeper, kicking dirt over the growing pile to keep them buried alive. You could not feel guilty nor sorry for him, or you’d break.

Many nights came and went by staring at his name in your list of contacts, blocked by his brother the day you got on a train to get away from him. You knew that reaching out to him would only lead to your demise, because maybe when Heeseung kisses you, you shut your eyes and can taste Sunghoon’s lips.

Maybe you have to bite down on your tongue to not moan his name. Maybe when you’re extra tired, you swear that your boyfriend resembles him too much, that you can almost picture him being the one walking through the front door of your loft.

Maybe you can’t stop yourself from imagining the other side of the coin, how everything could have gone if you had given Sunghoon a chance.

And despite how perfect your relationship has been, you can’t ward away those curiosities. Can’t fight your mind when you shut your eyes and begin to count the different beauty marks dotted around Sunghoon’s face.

You try to ignore those thoughts, to replace them with only new memories of Heeseung, but maybe you give up one day.

Maybe you allow the fantasy of what could have been to infiltrate your head, and maybe you enjoy it more than you are willing to admit.

———————————-

~one year later~

Three hundred and sixty-five days to be exact. But who’s keeping count?

Sunghoon is. He bought a physical calendar at the airport before flying back home with your mother and father.

That flight had really been excruciating for him. The one upside is that the seats next to him were originally reserved for you and his brother. He could at least wallow in his misery alone.

And he did, for a few hours at first. The long flight home spanned for over half of a day and time ticked by more slowly than usual. He tried to read, paid for the wifi to use and distracted himself with some games, browsed through the movies the airline had to offer. Nothing could stop his mind from racing, stuck in the idea of you.

Because that’s all this was right? The idea of you.

That idea that you could fix him, because maybe that’s what he wants. He wants to be fixed. Sunghoon knows all of his social problems, his dad didn’t pay for an overpriced therapist for nothing. After the divorce, he hadn’t handled the situation so great.

Mr. Park had never wanted to be a father, he was very successful straight out of university after earning his degree rather fast thanks to his own father’s name. Generational wealth had done its due diligence to breeze him through the educational system. The last thing he wanted was to share the money consistently expanding in his bank account with children and a wife. Not when he was having a blast playboying around from country to country on private jets, schmoozed and bribed with free luxury alcohol, grand dining experiences only ever allowed for the wealthy and famous.

His father, Sunghoon’s grandfather, had other plans in mind for him. That's where his mother came in. She was an intern at his grandfather’s company, a girl with a squeaky clean reputation. He set them up on a date, insisting that his son lock in a wife before he cut him out of his will. Growing tired and furious with each new headline of his son out and about partying with celebrities.

It was time for him to get serious. That's business, investors would take him more seriously as a family man as opposed to some messy international playboy.

So, he got married.

Was he in love? No, absolutely not. But then along came the birth of first son Heeseung and he had no choice but to accept his title as a wed father. This was his new life.

A miserable life of work, countless business trips, screaming baby cries keeping him up all throughout the night, and a nagging wife constantly accusing him of cheating.

Things were bleak compared to his world only a year prior, and then Sunghoon came along and everything only seemed to grow worse with time.

The boys—his boys, had no way of knowing and understanding their parents' unhappy marriage. They were given every toy, playset, console, and every shiny new expensive device on the market without question.

Sunghoon had always been closer to his mother given his father’s packed schedule. He loved her, always lit up and giggled when she’d pick him up from school and ask about his day. He can still remember the scent of her perfume, soft and sweet like a batch of fresh cookies. Her loving hands would pinch his cheeks, hoist him up onto her hip until he became too large to do so.

They’d chat for hours into the evening after school, all about his day, what activities he did in class. Any new friends he made, helping him to complete his homework. Heeseung would usually whine for dinner first, rubbing his stomach with big eyes directed at their mother. She really really never failed to show them how much she loved them both.

That’s what hurt and confused him the most for years after the last time he saw her. His father dragged him away from her at the airport, and he kicked, he screamed, he cried and threw a tantrum.

‘That is enough Sunghoon.’ His dad said to him firmly, gripping his shoulders and standing him back onto his feet. ‘No son of mine will embarrass this way.’

He was a kid, not even a teenager yet. Dealing with an explosion of raging hormones while losing his mom and brother. None of it seemed fair, and he cried, he cried for months, for over a year. Screamed at by his father in return, the only parent he had left to care for him. He would throw money at Sunghoon, tell him to wipe his face and go buy himself something to cheer up. That was always his answer to dealing with his overly emotional distressed son.

He tried to keep in touch with Heeseung, but his dad forbade it. Didn’t want him to be influenced by his siblings' new life or manipulated by whatever false narratives his mother would be likely to create.

After a good year of dropping his grades, teachers contacting his father full of concern, and a son that barely opened his mouth to speak, Mr. Park slid a pamphlet across the dinner table.

‘Therapy, son.’ He cleared his throat, setting down his fork to sip his glass of wine. ‘It’s high time you grow up and become a man. No son of mine will enter high school with below average grades. I have expectations of you.’

Therapy. That was his father’s next plan to fix his broken heart. To grant him emotional relief of all his pain.

It helped, at first, to understand why he feels what he feels. Why he acts out the way he does, why he hurts so deeply, why he can’t fathom having hope.

It worked until it didn’t.

Maybe Sunghoon had reached a certain point of maturity that snapped his mind out of his misery. Maybe he never let it go, maybe it became a part of him. One with his misery, embracing it and not allowing it to ruin his life anymore.

‘I don’t think I need this anymore.’ He told his therapist after two years with a thin smile on his face.

He tried to talk him out of canceling his future sessions, tried to explain that this was more beneficial for him than he realized but Sunghoon had opted for another form of therapy.

Years of being spoiled instead of nurtured and loved by his parents led him to sports. He took up weight training. Started to see his arms build muscle, the lines in his stomach grow deeper, his stamina strengthened.

His depressed thoughts lessened by the dayc more focused on how built and lean he could get. Visiting a trainer and nutritionist to change up his diet to nothing but protein to make him stronger, bigger, more intimidating.

His dad couldn’t call him weak anymore. In fact, Sunghoon hasn’t cried a day ever since he cut off his therapist. That damn croc of shit tried to get him on a prozac prescription, often spoke of stronger antidepressants.

He didn’t need any of that bullshit.

No.

Sunghoon knows exactly what he needs.

Three hundred and sixty-five days and he hasn’t missed one gym session. It’s the first thing he thinks about when he wakes up. Craves the burn in his muscle, the pain and soreness he experiences after. He needs to lick off the sweat that lines his upper lip, shake off any before it can reach his eyes and clump his dark eyelashes together.

He’s been working out like a maniac ever since that fucking family vacation. Spending countless hours in the basement gym his father and your mom never step foot inside of. They’re hardly ever home anyway, too busy frolicking around traveling the world in luxury.

He can’t complain, except for days such as today when he enters the kitchen to make himself a protein shake and his step-mother beams the largest smile at him.

“Sunghoon! Come say hi!”

“Oh mom, no please, I really have to go. I’ll be late for class!” The line cuts immediately after before he can even answer your mother.

It’s always the same, you always have to go. You’re busy, your connections bad, you have plans with Heeseung.

“Aw shoot.” Your mom sighs, closing her ipad. “Next time.” She gives him a wary smile on her way out of the kitchen.

There is no next time, you’ve successfully avoided him for a fucking year now. His brother never contacts him, the texts he tried to send you bounce back, his phone calls never go through. He tried at first to contact you somehow, emails, embarrassing phone calls attempted in the middle of the night when he knew you’d be awake given the time difference. Even fucking carrier pigeon would be a useless option.

You obviously want nothing to do with him. Both of your parents are too oblivious to understand the amount of effort his own fucking brother has made to avoid speaking with him. How neither if you ever ask about him, how he’s been, if he’s healthy.

Sometimes it hurts when he allows his mind to drift deep enough into those thoughts. That’s when he really takes it out on the gym punching bag. Lunging his shoulder so hard into it one day that he had to wear a sling for the rest of the week.

It’s times like this he wishes he could be anywhere but here. That he could get away and go back to a safe place that felt more like home than whatever this bullshit is. Days like this stir up old memories of his mother, how she would cradle him and read him bedtime stories. How she carefully held his hand while grocery shopping even though she had to bend at her waist to do so and strain her back.

How he never got to say goodbye to her. Has never even visited her grave. He never got answers, how could she so easily abandon one of her kids. Maybe she never loved him..

And now he asks himself different questions, about another woman he thought, perhaps even hoped, could love him. Was he a fool to believe that you might actually have feelings for him? Fuck if you didn’t play with his emotions and mess with his head enough.

He let you, he let you dog walk him like a fucking idiot. It hurts of course, especially when he’s laid in bed and can’t sleep a wink even after tiring himself out with some midnight cardio. He stares at the ceiling, ponders the time he spent with you. How much you changed and unraveled right before his eyes.

It’s not that he wants to have feelings for you. The truth is, he gave his father an ultimatum for the first time in his life. He’d finish school, collect his degree, and run whatever fucking sector his dad needed his face plastered across as the CEO. Young Sunghoon Park, the next generation of power.

But he did not want to continue his fraudulent relationship with Miyeon any longer, he refused to fall down that same path his dad had. To grow old with someone who only stayed with him by force.

Needless to say his father was disappointed, of course. The old man reprimanded him and argued about what a waste of time it’s been to build a relationship with Miyeon’s father to merge their companies. The real end goal was really to take down his competitors and buy them out, not merge shit. Sunghoon held his guard, he relented and stuck to his word.

He’d be his father’s working bitch, work harder than any asshole that graduated from Harvard and Yale, but the decision of his future wife would be his own. The one thing his dad could no longer have control over- the mother of his children, his partner, the woman he’d walk down the aisle towards.

He hadn’t thought too deeply on the matter until you came into his life and turned his world upside down.

He never felt an emotional tie to Miyeon even when they began dating. They tried at first, too young to comprehend why they were being made to meet up at Dave N Busters with limitless funds to play games all night and order as many fries as they could manage to eat. She had let him know real quick that he simply wasn’t her type.

‘Pretty boys like you do nothing for me.’

And if he was being honest, she didn’t quite spark his desires despite her good looks and charm. They got along better as friends and made a pact to continue on with their relationship to keep their parents equally satisfied.

‘My father keeps dragging me to these business ventures to meet his colleagues' sons. I need my weekends back.’

Their agreement worked out great for both of them. Sunghoon would use those alleged dates with Miyeon to hit up parties and clubs. He started to gain a reputation around campus for having a great body and an insatiable need to fuck like a beast. With his dad remaining none the wiser to his weekend escapades, he felt as if life couldn’t get any better.

And then you came along. You showed up and gummed up the works.

It’s hard to say if Heeseung really saw you first, not that he can stake claim off a look.. but Sunghoon knows that he wanted you first. It’s possible he had only planned to add you to the enormous growing list of girls he had conquered in just the past year. Maybe he just wanted to fuck you to say that he did. To soothe his raging ego with the knowledge that he can and will always get what he wants.

It was too easy really, you needed a tutor. And if Sunghoon knew how to do anything, it’s to pass a class with the highest scores and grades. He wasn’t valedictorian for nothing. Years of his father talking down to him about failing Physical Education of all classes after the split with his mother never allowed him to hit that low again. He studied and worked his ass off day and night to earn better grades, to be the teacher's favorite, to get a spot on the dean’s list.

Sunghoon hadn’t planned to keep fucking you. A few times maybe, for fun, to piss his dad off even if he never found out. But when he heard you inside of Heeseung’s bedroom..

When he saw the way the two of you looked at each other. When his older brother swept you away and off your feet cosplaying as some fucking humble prince to help you escape from an awkward first meeting with Miyeon; that—that pissed Sunghoon off.

Not Heeseung who also forgot about him for years, who got to live with the one parent they had that could give a fuck about either of them. That likely came home after school to home cooked meals. He’s sure their mother still brushed his hair even as a teenager. Still woke up the house on Sunday mornings loudly singing along to her favorite songs as a teenager. That motherfucker really had the audacity to portray himself as a saint in front of you.

And that truly made his blood boil. For a moment, no more than a few seconds.. he felt a tinge of jealousy.

Not only did Heeseung get to have their mother’s love in the end, but he was also going to have you.

Call him a monster for reacting the way that he did, but seeing his brother happy for the first time since he’d moved back in with their father; that made his blood pressure spike.

Why should Heeseung have it so fucking easy?! Why does everything work out for him?? Sunghoon’s sick of it, he’s been sick of that waste of space moping around the house. Taking up time in the living room playing his stupid fucking video games, never even bothering to ask him if he’d want to join him.

Not that he would, never wanting to hold a conversation with that moron he’s forced to call his sibling. His feelings may have been superficial, greedy and childish.. at first, but maybe that’s why he never fucked a random hook-up more than a handful of times. He never permitted himself to grow attached, to release those emotions that could weaken him. He tried so hard to protect the vulnerable shattered boy that grew without love, that he nearly forgot he even once existed.

That’s why this has hurt more than anything he’s felt in years. Because he hasn’t been able to feel. He hasn’t poured anything from his cup in so long that just one splash spilling out was enough to leave him empty.

He finds himself alone in the gym again. Glancing around at everything he’s left in place. The way his equipment shines thanks to the maids that clean up around here. How his mini-fridge stays stocked with energy drinks and electrolytes without him being required to lift a finger.

Easy. Such an easy life. Why would he ever want to leave this? Why would anyone.

Would you have ran off to Germany if not for him? Would you have stayed with Heeseung all of this time if he had just let you be? Thousands of questions with no answer swarm his thoughts when he zones out deep enough. A good vigorous workout can typically cure that, grunting through the burning pain that shoots up his back and arms.

Sweat pours and he twists side to side to spray the droplets away from his eyes. Too fearful of ever catching himself in the mirror again with any type of wetness rimmed so close to his iris. The one time he did had him dropping to his knees, scrubbing a small towel at his face until his skin turned an angry red and not one bit of sweat remained.

Crying is for weak little bitches like his older brother. Always crying to get his way instead of putting up a fight.

Hearing your voice today for only a few seconds, the line beeping when you ended the call.. the thought wrinkles his eyebrows, burns inside of his nostrils. Twitching his nose to make that feeling go away, that hallowing in his chest. Not even a year apart had softened you? These days of nothing, you weren’t at all curious?

Pain. Pain squeezed at his lungs. Subsiding it as over exerting himself by lifting weights that are too heavy. He drops them abruptly and goes to chug water. Dragging a towel across his forehead, leaving his hair sticking up in different directions.

Heartless, a heartless girl with no compassion. Unless his brother had really manipulated you to act this way.. he had his suspicions. That Heeseung had fucked you up as much as himself.. took advantage of the sweet soul he’d come to know. Refusing to believe that what you shared had meant nothing..

It certainly hadn’t meant nothing to Sunghoon. He tried to fuck other girls, even went on dates and forced a smile on his face through each boring one. He couldn’t forget you, everything around him led back to the memory of you.

Perhaps even who he wanted you to be for him.. and time and time again he failed to convince himself that this was your choice. That you chose his brother..

There was just no way.

Sunghoon came to workout to get away from his mind. To shut you off for an hour or so. He can’t deal with this right now. Why did you mom have to be on a video call with you right now?!

Stomping over to the ipad, he scrolls through different playlists in search of something to blast the echo of your voice away. Something obnoxiously loud to drown out his mind.

He should have hit shuffle and gone back to his reps. The universe couldn’t taunt him any harder as your name shows up in bold letters on the screen, recommending him a playlist you must have saved on here when you’d use his gym.

He would have deleted it by now if he had noticed, and he should. He should tap the screen to remove your shitty playlist for good. But he doesn’t, he hits play instead and the room floods with your screamy tortured emo crap. This woe is me wah wah wah music that you and his brother bonded over. Teenage angst at it’s finest as some grown man wails through his sound system and his hands fall limp to his sides. It’s the same shit he’d hear coming from your now unlived in bedroom. The muffled guitar from your headphones.

Why didn’t he just hit delete? Now he can’t stop his nostrils from flaring, his teeth gritting together, the tremble running down his forearms to his hands.

It’s been so long since Sunghoon last shed a tear. It happened last on that flight while he sat alone, about six hours up in the air. He put on some cheesy romcom movie to watch, fully expecting to fall asleep 10-15 minutes in. He should have chosen something else, of course he landed on some ridiculous movie with a love triangle plot.

‘I like you just the way you are.’

Sunghoon had to hit pause, fighting the tears filling up his eyes as he struggled to not blink. If he blinks, the one singular tear dangling near the corner will spill down his cheek. He’ll have shed an actual fucking tear.

Stupid fucking Bridget Jones Diary, he’ll never watch this crap again! Instead he shut off the movie and dabbed away the tear that managed to get past his cold will. No one saw that happen anyway, only he has to know that some sappy romance film brought him to tears.

That won’t happen again. Except that when he landed and finally got home, took a shower and laid in bed; he couldn’t stop thinking about that dumb movie. Who did Bridget fucking pick?!? She couldn’t have chosen that asshole Daniel Cleaver..

Not after Mark Darcy told her he liked her embarrassing ass just the way she is. He threw a fit that night learning that there was 3 Goddamn movies he’d have to get through to find out who this woman ends up with. Not a wink of sleep was had that night as he sat at his computer and found streams of each one go watch in order from start to end.

Sunghoon.. Sunghoon couldn’t stop repeating that line.

‘I like you just the way you are.’ What a load of shit..

Maybe his heart tightened and his pulse slowed down for a minute, everything on the plane went still, his ears popped, and he felt something he didn’t believe to be possible..

Love.

This has to be why girls watch this crap..

What he would give up to be liked just the way he is. That’s how you made him feel, accepted. You saw his darkness and still let him in. That cut him deeper than anything. Losing you to his brother hardly mattered compared to the thought that you accepted him, you liked him for exactly who he is without needing change..

“Stupid stupid stupid.” He slaps at his skull, crouching down by the speaker to tuck his chest into his knees and take shallow breaths. He chose to ignore these panic attacks and nights without sleep, lying to himself that he’s fine. He’s completely fine. That these unanswered questions and intrusive thoughts don’t consume him. That he doesn’t scream in the shower and punch at the tile out of anger, frustration and deep pain that he continues to shove down.

Taking a few minutes to shut off his kind and recuperate himself, he drags his weight up by gripping onto the speaker stand. Slamming his palm down to power off the machine before anymore of your playlist can shake the gym walls and stab the knife lodged in his chest even deeper.

He limps slowly to sit properly, patting around his sweats for his phone. Taking another minute to catch his breath he unlocks the device and searches through his contacts to make a phone call.

“Hello?”

“Yeah.” He licks at his dried lips, rubbing his chest to help his breathing return to normal.

“Sunghoon? What’s going on?”

“Miyeon, I need to see you.”

———————————-

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks.” Sunghoon opens the front door wide for Miyeon, ushering her in toward the living room. His parents aren’t home meaning he won’t have to deal with his father’s pestering questions or wishes of them getting back together. That’s not why she’s here.

Miyeon’s as pretty as ever, her hair shines and bounces as she walks. The scent of sweet cotton candy trails behind her, and her mini-skirt flicks up with each step she takes ahead of him. She’s beautiful, she always has been, and still he feels nothing for her.

“Alright, what was so urgent that you needed me to weasel my way out of the annual tennis finals at the country club? My dad’s not happy.” She huffs, smirking and rolling her eyes. “Not that I’ve loved spending my summer paraded around a bunch of rich spoiled frat boys.”

“How’s your boyfriend?” Sunghoon asks, sitting down next to her.

“Sad, he misses me.” She pouts. “I miss him more.”

“And when will you tell your father about him?”

Miyeon’s lips tighten, hiding a grin. “When will you tell your father that you left me for your step-sister?”

Of course Sunghoon told her, he had to. He had to tell someone and in many ways, Miyeon may be his only friend. It wasn’t easy but he needed someone to understand, to reassure him that he’s not going insane.

‘You can’t possibly be losing your mind Hoon, you never had it to begin with.’

She wasn’t the best of help, but she listened, and she told him that he’s a freak. But a valid freak nonetheless.

“I can’t tell him.” Sunghoon nods, nervously playing with his hands. “Haven’t been on his good side ever since I told him that we broke things off. He’s been on my ass about internships and school. Nepotism must skip a generation.”

“You’re going to inherit his company, don’t be so crass. It’s unbecoming, tarnishing your cold stoic vampiresque image.” She teases, flicking his chin. “You’re definitely a shell of the man I knew. She did a real number on you.”

He hates that she’s right. He knows that his confidence has been rocked, his mind drowned beneath the thoughts he can’t escape. He wouldn’t even know how to keep his guard up anymore to block Miyeon’s sassy jabs. “I guess she did.”

“What is it, Hoon? You could have anyone. Why did it have to be your step-sister?” She crosses her legs, head tilted to the side observing him. All she needs now is a notepad and pen to tap her chin with. She should study to psychoanalyze, really.

“She could have been anyone.” Sunghoon agrees with that. Step-sister or not, he can’t pinpoint the exact reason you caused him to spiral. “But I like her.”

“Why? What’s so special about her?”

It’s not one thing, but a bit of everything. If he could really take away the superficial and shallow reasonings beyond you being his type physically, sexy and alluring, it would come down to the energy between you. The tension and heat. He often questions if that would fade with time once you stop fighting him. If you would ever stop fighting him even if he was able to call you his.

The back and forth with you really does turn him on not only sexually but emotionally. Awakening feelings he forgot could exist. Even now without contact, with no way to reach you, he feels that pull. He feels taunted and defeated, and it’s pitiful how much he loves it. He loves that between him and his brother, you may have been the victorious one after all.

“Would you judge me if I said I feel a connection to her?” He sighs, slumping into the couch seat. “That sounds stupid, right?”

“Not at all.” Miyeon shifts to look at him, offering a small smile. “Sounds normal. You’re crazy about her because it’s more than sex, if it wasn’t you wouldn’t still be hung up on her. A guy like you doesn’t have it hard, you wouldn’t even know what it is to struggle even if you were slapped across the face with it.”

“I have it hard.” He grumbles, glaring at her. “You know what I’ve been through.”

“No you don’t Hoon.” Miyeon laughs, pointing a finger at him. “You think that because your life hasn’t been perfect, everything hasn’t gone your way, that other people wouldn’t sell their soul to live the way you live? We’re so incredibly out of touch with the real human struggle, our biggest hassle is seeking love.”

“So what? I’m not worthy of love because I’m some fucking wealthy brat?” He snaps, getting angrier by the second.

“We’re all worthy of love. You’re just not used to having to try hard, to earn what you want..” Miyeon reaches for his hand, breaking his rage for a moment. “If you expect love, you have to give love. She’s not your mom, she’s probably just as scared as you are of all of this.”

“She loves my brother just fine.”

“From what you’ve told me, he loves her too. I didn’t know back then, but the way he rescued her from having dinner with us would have swept me off my feet.” She shrugs, frowning at him. “And do you know where he is now? In Paris, with her. He gave up his life for her.”

“Because he hates me.”

“Or because he loves her.”

Sunghoon’s mouth twitches, he refuses to believe that. Heeseung isn’t capable of loving anyone other than himself, he’s selfish..

“And you? You’re here, sitting on a couch talking to me as if I am your therapist.” Miyeon continues, cocking an eyebrow at him. “What’s your excuse?”

“What? I’m supposed to go to Paris and stalk her?!”

She shrugs, raising her hands and nodding. “How could that be any worse than everything else you have already done to her? Listen,” fully turning to face him, she grabs both of his hands. “You need to talk to her, tell her how you feel.”

“She won’t speak to me.”

“Don’t give her a choice.” Miyeon says, grimacing. “It’s not the best advice but you don’t have time for this anymore. You’ve been moping around for a year still hanging onto old memories of this girl. She may not even be the same person you felt a connection to anymore. Aren’t you tired of not knowing?”

“You think I should go to Paris? Corner her when she’s not with my brother?” A light flickers behind his eyes, staring ahead deep in thought.

“I didn’t say all of that but, you need to do what you need to do.. get your girl or lose her forever.”

She’s right, isn’t she? How could Sunghoon not realize this on his own? He thought giving you time, that you would come around on your own and realize how much he loves you. That he only did what he did because he wants you. That his brother would never compare to him..

“Poor girl.” Miyeon mumbles, smacking Sunghoon’s shoulder. “Don’t let your greed to win overshadow what you feel for her. Put her first, for once.”

Maybe he needs more friends, perhaps another opinion could have talked him out of this. His father couldn’t complain when he approached him with the idea of finishing up his company internship(aka bitch work) in France, given that he would be taking over the European sector of his father’s company.

So he packed his bags with nothing else planned. No place to call home, no thoughts other than finding you. The flight was long and lonely once again, but he made use of his time and brushed up on French, repeating key words and phrases he’d likely use often.

It was crazy, all of this has been crazy. Miyeon told him to not stress much on his outlandish behavior, it’s not as if falling for your step-sibling sounded normal to begin with.

And maybe, he could fall out of love. He could go on with his life without another thought of you, without another painful grip around his heart.

At least he hoped for an outcome close to that, of discarding his heartache. Of forgetting your name. But that couldn’t be the case.

No. He sat in the hotel lobby where he’d overheard you had taken on a summer job, and he saw you. He stayed by the corner, in the shadows, pretending to wait for his taxi driver's arrival. He watched you walk through the front doors, and he gasped. His chest caved in, his grip on the chair's arms tightened, and he leaned forward. He watched you move like slow motion, as if you were never real, and his stomach fluttered.

He knew right then this may never be over.

Maybe it’s for the best that only Miyeon knew of his plan. To lure you up to his suite and get you alone at your place of work. You can’t leave if he does that.. and sure, maybe it’s not the most ethical approach. Maybe it’s invasive and even deplorable, but what choice have you left him?

Phone number, blocked.

Emails, ignored.

Your living space? Shared with Heeseung.

How else is he supposed to get to you?

This makes sense, planning out a way to trap you alone in his suite with him. Sneaking up on you, showering you with outrageously expensive gifts, and getting on his knees to purpose.

Now Miyeon had not made that suggestion, but Sunghoon concluded no other statement could make it clear how serious he is about you. How much he wants to prove his love to you, that’s why he hopped off of his flight and immediately rushed to one of the most luxurious reputable jewelers in all of Paris. A fat diamond rock to adorn your finger would be the perfect way to express his love, right? It’s not as if he even knows your ring size, having to take a wild guess and make note to adjust it later if necessary.

Everything about this plan is very *him* if he thinks about it, and you should expect no less from him. He’s eccentric like that, always pulling something ridiculous. He’s sure you recall when he purchased that pearl necklace for you simply because you’d been admiring it. How else would he make a grand comeback into your life?

Maybe he is crazy, or maybe you made him crazy. He smiled as he spoke to you, his palms grew sweatier the more his pocket weighed down with the leather box encasing your future engagement ring. The gloves were a real nice touch to not leave any of his grubby fingerprint marks on the silver band, nothing to ruin how pretty the ring would beam from your ring finger. You didn’t seem to like the gloves, but ah well..

‘I won’t give up on what my heart believes is real.’

He couldn’t believe the words leaving his lips, really. Could hardly hold himself together with how loud chest was pounding.

‘Please, say yes.’ He begged, and his tongue felt so heavy dragging through his pleading. The backs of his eyes burned, his stomach churned, his knees trembled on the ground. If not for the cool breeze of air conditioning swarming through the hotel room, he’s sure he’d be sweating enough to soak through his suit.

It’s been so long since he’s touched you, since he’s seen your eyes focused on him, since he’s held you. Nervous hands clutch at your waist and bring you to stand. The look of awe and disbelief written across your face fills his chest with warmth. This could be worth all of his waiting and suffering, if you open your mouth and say that one word that can bring you together again.

“No!” A firm slap flies across his cheek. Snapping his neck to the side and nearly dislodging his jaw, he blinks for a minute to regain himself. Shifting his mouth muscles around to stop the lower half of his face from going numb.

More than the pain scorching through his face, he couldn’t turn off the ringing going off between his ears.

NO?!?!?!??!

Sunghoon’s cheek burns, his chest muscles twitch, and a searing pain erupts in his heart. He can feel it this time, no denying that his heart is literally in severe pain, causing him to reach for the area. He turns to glare at you, dropping the box with the ring from his grip.

“What is wrong with you! You come here, to my job!!” You shout, shoving at his abdomen. “And you fucking ask me to marry you?!? Are you insane! Are you God damn kidding me! You can’t be this crazy, you just can’t be!”

He hears you, he does, but not really. Because the pain in his chest blooms, he steps back with each shove you deliver, and more of his internal hurt spreads. The butterflies flapping inside of his stomach lose their wings, they collapse to their death and he grabs a hold of your wrists before you can push him away again.

“You left me.”

It’s hard to look at him, harder to hear his voice. To feel his large hands wrapped around your delicate wrists. It’s harder to look away and find the ring by your feed, the ring he seriously thought you’d accept and wear on your finger? That you’d say yes?

“I was never with you.”

“Tell me,” he swallows, lifting your arms up and crossing them over your chest. Holding you in place. “Tell me that I mean nothing to you then. Let me fucking move on and forget about me, let me go.”

“Sunghoon.”

“No.” He grits, bottom lip trembling. “You don’t get to do this. You want to be with my brother? Then fine, go fucking be with him. But at least let me go.”

“This was all in your head.” You struggle to rip out of his hold, shaking yourself away. “Y-you think you can have whatever you want because of daddy’s money. You can’t have me just because you stomp and jump around like a bra—“

He should have known you wouldn’t give him a clear answer, you’re too weak for him to deny him. He’s too weak to stay away from you. So he cuts you off with a firm kiss, slotting his lips between yours. He’s been craving, dreaming of this kiss for months, to savor your taste once more.

There’s no push or pull, only tension leaving your body as his soft pout moves against yours and he takes a step closer until the backs of your knees hit the hotel bed.

He deserves this kiss and some, more than anything. For waiting, for staying patient and not losing the little bit of his mind he still has left. A shudder runs up his spine when he drops his hands to your waist and squeezes you, pulling your chest to his. You feel right against him, smell so good, and your lips couldn’t be more heavenly.

Slowly blinking his eyes open, he takes a few seconds to linger by your lips and take in your softened features. The dreamy look that’s taken over your face. The breaths that fan across his mouth heavier than before. He knows in this moment that you’ll never let him go, because he won’t let you.

“Y-you shouldn’t have done that.” You stammer, reaching for his hands on you. “Think you can just come back into my life and mess everything up again?!”

“Yes, I mean, no.” Squeezing his eyes shut, he shakes his head in disagreement. “I’m not here to mess up anything, I’m here to make this right.”

“There’s nothing to make right.” Loosening his hold on your waist, you manage to move around him. “I have to get back to work, please do not follow me.”

“Please.” He knows he sounds pathetic, reaching for your hand to stop you from leaving. He drags along with you toward the suite entrance without letting go. Stopping when you do and your shoulders slump, letting out a long-winded sigh.

“What do you want from me?”

“A chance.” He says confidently, interlacing his fingers with yours. “You can’t tell me you don’t feel it when we’re together. Call me insane and crazy all that you want, but I know what passes between us isn’t nothing.”

“It doesn’t matter—“

“No, it does though.” Sunghoon cuts you off, using your moment of surprise to loop his arms around your waist again. “Because I’m here, I came here for you. I will not leave until you give me a chance.”

“A chance? I don’t understand, I can’t even begin to understand why you’re still trying. Why won’t you give up?!”

He knows that nothing he says to you will make sense, that even if he admitted how his feelings began to develop you may not like his full explanation. “I’m a lot of things, I’m sure you’re aware. I’m nowhere near perfect, and I haven’t shown you anything impressive really. If you deemed me a monster, I couldn’t argue with that.” He nods, rubbing up and down your sides. “But when it comes to you, I really do believe that you like me despite all of that. I—“ he stutters for a second, looking away to recompose himself. The same rush of heat he loathes finds the backs of his eyes. He can’t cry, not now.

“I think we get each other, you’re scared.” Clearing his throat, he eyes your face for any change in expression. “I’m scared. I’ve been scared. Terrified of how strongly I feel about you. I’m done being afraid.”

“And what do you think I’m scared of?” You ask sternly, tilting your chin up.

“Me.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I’m a monster.” That’s who he is to you. He’s the evil brother, the one with malicious intent. Spoiled rotten, crazy enough to do just about anything. He knows what you’ve built him up as in your mind, good or bad, there’s too much to repair and no amount of love you may harbor for him can do the job. If it could, you would have said yes. “That’s what you think of me, right?”

“No, Sunghoon.” You whisper, freeing yourself from his hold yet again. “I prefer to not think of you.”

“Why? Why is that?” He questions quickly, moving around you to barricade the door to exit. “Why are you pretending that I don’t exist? That none of this mattered to you.”

An air of defeat settles over you, dropping your head back with a sigh. You shrug and glare at him, unable to stop your gaze from roaming down, back up, and down again to take in how much more masculine and mature he’s become in just a year. Physically, and obviously emotionally. “Do you want me to tell you that I once had feelings for you? That I felt so guilty for months after leaving you alone in that hotel room. That I beat myself up over it, for feeling bad in the first place. I couldn’t even figure out how to feel, if you even deserved my sympathy after what you did.”

“Did you feel bad? For trying to break my heart?”

“No.” Pressing your lips into a thin line, you blink fast to push down the moisture finding its way to your eyes. Confused and annoyed by the look of disbelief that crosses his face, you clench your fists. “My heart let go of the idea of you after I found out about what you did to your brother. You played in my face and tried to manipulate me, I’m not even sure I know who you really are.”

Sunghoon has to fight to not roll his eyes, resting his back against the door he crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m exactly who I’ve shown you, never seemed to be a problem before.”

“Are you? Are you the same nice guy that took me to the Vatican? Or are you that asshole that threatened me in your bedroom?”

“Both.” He shrugs, pushing off the door to get in your face. “Tell me that you didn’t love both, that you didn’t like it when I fucked you the way you deserved.”

“I don’t think you’d be able to handle the truth if I told you what I loved most.”

Sunghoon squints, licking the backs of his teeth with a hint of annoyance flickering across his face. He shakes his head and scoffs under his breath. “Don’t start.”

“Why? Because you hate to accept that side of yourself? That you can actually feel basic human emotion?” You ask brazenly, reaching for his jaw to drag one of your digits down. “That this sharp cold image is just a facade to hide how broken you really are?”

His neck twists away, snapping his face away from your touch. “Whatever bullshit my brother has told you is a lie. He doesn’t know me, he doesn’t know shit about what I went through.”

“He hasn’t told me much, only what I asked. I know about Miyeon.”

“Pfft,” rolling his eyes, he sets his jaw tight and pins you in place with a furious look. “What about her? I already told you, we broke it off. We never had a real relationship.”

“I know.” Softening your expression, you reach for one of his hands. Not too surprised when he allows you to lace your fingers between his. “I know about that, how your father wanted Heeseung to date her first. And I know that despite everything you’ve pulled, you still have love for your brother.”

Sunghoon lifts your hands, turning from yours to his to admire the size difference between you. How you perfectly fit against his palm, and how much nicer hand would look with a gorgeous ring on your finger. “Even if I did, it’s not enough to stop me from getting what I want. No amount of love for him or my father can stop me anymore, you do realize that, don’t you?”

“I think you’re looking for someone that I am not.” You frown, pulling your hand away. “I’m not the girl that can erase your past or heal you..”

“I don’t need to be healed.” Cupping your face, his thumbs stroke over your cheeks. Eyes dropping shut for a moment as he contemplates kissing you again. He knows better now, than you won’t listen to him if he tries to capture your lips again. “I just need you.”

“No, Hoon..” you sigh, lightly squeezing his wrists. “You’re in pain, whether you understand that or not. And it’s beyond me, above what I am capable of helping you deal with.”

Sunghoon’s fingers tremble against your jaw, slowly dragging his hands down to your throat. “Is my pain all that I am to you?”

“No, but.. I don’t know if your pain is something that I’m ready to handle.”

Dropping his hands, he takes a step back away from you. No longer standing before the door, leaving you with a clear escape. “Yet.”

Perhaps he’s right, maybe it’s hope, delusion, something along that route. But you can’t find it in yourself to deny him. Only stiffly nodding your head as you make your way to leave the suite. He stops you one more time, licking his pink lips.

“Don’t leave me this way, after all of this. After a year of replaying every memory I have with you.” He says desperately, blinking away tears he’d never allow to pour down in front of you.

“What do you want from me?” You ask nearly as pitifully, fearing how much longer you can stand being around him. Your resolve can only stay so strong, even if you won’t admit that the memories of him have never once left your mind.

“A kiss.”

“I’m with your brother.”

“One kiss.”

“One kiss and you’ll let me go back to work?” You ask hesitantly, already sensing thick tension building up around you. There’s nothing to stop you from opening the door and walking out, except Sunghoon could grab you.. and knowing him he would. He’d keep you holed up in here for another hour until you crack under his pressure and give into him. That’d be the worst case scenario, knowing in the back of your mind that you’d absolutely succumb to him if you stay in here alone with him much longer.

A small smile plays on his lips, nodding shortly. “One kiss and you’re free to leave.”

“But am I free of you?”

“No promises.” Sunghoon doesn’t bother to ease into the kiss. Making the first move to cup your face. He presses in, leaning his head in to align your lips.

This kiss that he’s allowed to run rampant in his mind. This kiss that he’s craved for, pictured all of the different ways it would go. How you’d run into his arms, and he’d scoop you up. Maybe even some rain would fall from the sky, because surely even the Gods of the universe had to rejoice in this moment.

Only this is nothing as he dreamt of, this is better.

This is real. The barely there breathy moan that escapes your throat. The heat radiating from your mouth to his. The soft plush of your lips applying pressure against his as you kiss back. And you do kiss back, allowing the tip of his tongue to skim across the seam of your lips. He boldly takes the chance to push in more, eyebrows raised as your mouth parts open around him.

This kiss is more passionate, more intense, blooming life between his thighs. He feels mad once his tongue makes it past your lips, and he licks the roof of your mouth. Licks through the crevices, laps at your tongue. He can’t get enough, moaning as the taste of your saliva meets the back of his throat. He needs more, needs to know how swollen your pretty mouth can get if he keeps going. Pulling back his tongue and slurping, he latches onto your bottom lip. Sucking the plump juiciness between his, biting down harder than intended.

Excitement builds fast, rushing through him at light speed and his hands. His hands slide down, they land at your chest, teasing the buttons of your blouse. And just like that your lips are gone, leaving him puckered up midair. Dreamily blinking open his glazed over eyes.

“H-huh?”

The sight of the back of your hand dragging across your mouth is the first thing he sees. Drawing yourself away from him with a firm nod. You hold out a finger toward him and make your way to the door. “Stay right there.”

Sunghoon can’t ignore the way his chest swoops down to his stomach. His groin aches and throbs. Fuck if it isn’t taking every bit of his restraint to stop himself from chasing after you only to slam your back against that door before you can go anywhere. With clenched fists he listens to you, gritting his teeth.

“Will you allow me to call you now?”

“No.”

Sunghoon chuckles sarcastically to mask his pain. Having to hold himself up by clutching onto the entrance table. Practically knocked off of his feet after getting a small taste of you. “I figured as much. Well I always have your address.”

“Hoon.”

“What?” He acts stupid, blinking dumbly with a shit-eating grin. All of this is fake, an act to keep his tears under control.

“Do not show up at my home.”

“Oh don’t be so dramatic, that’s not my style..” he motions around himself. Indicating that he’d much rather track you down at work where he can at least enjoy a luxurious hotel suite. “I’ll be writing to you.”

“Writing??”

“Letters.” He nods surely, playing with the door handle. “I hope you’ll read them.”

Giving him a suspicious eye, you shake your head and begin to turn around to head back to your manager’s office. Scoffing and muttering under your breath. “Whatever.”

“Don’t be a stranger! Alright?” He calls out from behind you. Sighing to himself and dragging two digits across his bottom lip.

Maybe you didn’t say yes, and sure, you didn’t seem as excited to see him after an entire year as he had hoped for; but one kiss held more than hope. Confirming that you still want him, still think about him. He’d cherish that kiss until you come around and finally accept to let him in. It’s not as if you’ve kicked him out, yet..

———————————-

‘I remember my first time in Paris, I thought to myself city of love? And wondered if I simply did not understand what love must really feel like. Dad had brought me along for a company trip, he wanted me to meet some investors, get my face recognized before I joined his side someday. I watched these old fat bastards chain smoke all night, rave about Parisian women dancing topless at Crazy Horse, drink as if tomorrow would never come. I felt no sense of love, only disgust as I sat there amidst wealth being mindlessly thrown around.

And now I sit here in the city of love, and I sip on cappuccinos every early morning. I order the same flaky butter croissant from this adorable quaint café near my hotel. I take my time to people watch, relax and soak in the morning sun that has just risen, and I think of you. I think of love.’

He really did write you letters. Every week a new one would come in, addressed from one of your favorite aunts. The first to arrive initially had you excited, hoping she had shoved in a few hundred dollar bills after hearing that you’d been working. Maybe your mother had informed her that she hadn’t been transferring you quite as much anymore. The last thing you anticipated was a handwritten letter from Sunghoon.

Choking on your coffee as you began to read, you cleared your throat and peered around for Heeseung’s presence. Thankfully, he was too deep into his game to notice your wide eyes and the paper in your hand. Sunghoon had really sent you a Goddamn letter.. pen and paper.. what a fool.

You tried to hold back a smile as you continued to read upon realizing this was no mail sent from your beloved aunt.

‘I think about you and how nice it would be to wake up by your side. To share my morning coffee with you, to cut a croissant for you. To simply take a stroll before I head into work and hold your hand. How much I’d love to see your face glow under this sunrise. I’d buy you flowers from the local vendors, take you on shopping sprees every weekend. We’d be regulars at the opera house, try out all the fine dining Paris has to offer. And when we’re up to it, we could go to the South of France, take the train out to Sweden, Denmark, wherever you wish to visit. That must be love, to enjoy and live through this life with someone who fills your heart.

-SH’

Thousands of feelings swarm around your head as you fold up the paper and tuck it into your pocket. Already planning to stuff it away inside of the jewelry box you only ever open to look at, to remember.

“Babe, did you check out any of those listings I emailed you?” Heeseung calls out, not moving his eyes away from the computer screen. He leans in too close, jabbing at his keyboard. “Found some really good plots of land and houses that could benefit from a lot of refurbishing in Seattle. I think you’d really like the area.”

It’s been a couple of weeks now since your anniversary, since Sunghoon’s unwelcomed arrival back into your life. You never mentioned your night time visitor at work to your boyfriend, maybe out of fear. Worry and guilt as to how he would react knowing that his younger brother’s booked a suite at your place of work..

Heeseung likely wouldn’t have taken the news well, given your past and how sensitive the topic of his brother always is. You don’t walk on eggshells anytime he’s even alluded to in conversation for nothing.

“Uhm, no, haven’t had time, baby. You know work has been so crazy. Peak tourist season and all.”

You’re not lying, work has been slammed. You’ve come home night after night completely exhausted. Also tense from looking over your shoulder, afraid and hopeful of the possibility to see a familiar face. It’s not that you want to see him, at least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself. You’re curious more than anything.. if he’d rear around the corner. If he’d try to bother you while working, what his next step could be..

It’s better this way. Keeping Heeseung clueless to his brother's current location, avoid any possible altercations, and there’s of course no need to mention the kiss. It didn’t mean anything.. you just needed a way out.

“Babe, our lease here ends in a few months. I really want to start planning for the move back.”

This has been happening nonstop for the last week. Even when you’re fucking he brings up moving, rubbing your stomach and mumbling about having kids. Reassuring you that he’ll land a high-paying job once you move. It’s a near guarantee thanks to his last name and father’s connections..

“We could go month to month..” you mumble, pretending to clean up around the kitchen. “You know, if we can’t find a place we agree on.”

The sound of his game pausing fills your living space in silence. Slowly turning to look at you, he tilts his head, eyebrows furrowed with confusion. “But then we’d be here even longer, and I thought—“

“I don’t want to move.” You should have let him know immediately. But impending fear of losing him kept you quiet. Nodding and agreeing to whatever he said as you went on ignoring his texts and emails about moving. Skirted around the subject whenever he brought it up again. Yawned and waved off the conversation in favor of getting to sleep, or taking a shower, anything to make him stop until he came to the realization on his own.

“You don’t want to move?..” moving to stand, he slowly walks over to you. Lips pulled down in a frown. “But I thought we were planning our future—“

“You.” Interrupting him, you anxiously ring your hands together. Knocking your nail beds against each other. “You were planning..”

“Are you—“ he breathes shallowly, reaching for his chest. “B-breaking up with me??”

“No! Hee, no! Not at all!” You fret, running around the kitchen island to grab his arms. “This is why I didn’t want to talk about this! I don’t want you to be upset!”

“So, you lied to me?” He sighs, head dropping. “You never wanted to move?”

“I didn’t lie.. I never told you that I wanted to move.”

“Then, then—why? Why not?” He sounds genuinely confused, tearing your heart apart. You tried to avoid this, didn’t want to have to ruin the peaceful relationship you’ve become accustomed to, too comfortable with.

“I love living here, in Paris..”

“But it’s—we always complain about so many things! The sewer system, how fast the groceries go bad, the lack of convenient transportation!”

“You, you complain about those things.” Rubbing his arms up and down, you trail down to place your hands in his. “I’m sorry for not being honest. I don’t want you to leave me..”

Heeseung looks as overwhelmed as you feel, forehead wrinkled, lips tightened into a thin line. He sighs and shakes his head, pulling you into a hug. It’s not that you couldn’t make it work.. a long distance type of relationship, but for how long?

There’s a chance you could wake up one day tired of this, missing your life back in the states. But there’s a higher chance you’ll regret letting him slip from your arms to start a new life without you in America.

Silence and a tight hug consumes you for the next hour. Calming each other with soothing rubs up and down each other’s backs.

“Now I feel bad, like I’ve been pressuring you..” he mumbles into your shoulder. Squeezing you closer to his front. “God I feel like such a dick.”

“It’s my fault, seriously. You have nothing to feel bad about.”

No. The only one who should feel bad is you. Giggling over some stupid letter that you should have tore up once you realized who it came from. You should feel bad whenever you’re by yourself, when your boyfriends at work, when you lock yourself in the bathroom alone; and you think about him. Replaying the kiss, the touch of his hands on you, the desperation in his voice. You’re the worst girlfriend, undeserving of a man as good as Heeseung.

“We don’t have to keep talking about this. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Pulling away to look at you, he really tries to force a smile to comfort you. “I was getting home sick, I don’t know.. it was stupid.”

“Not stupid.” You say apologetically. Sorry for things he’s not even aware of..

The rest of the day goes by awkwardly, needless to say. As much as you both continue to assure each other that everything’s okay, and everything will be okay; you know that everything has changed.

Heeseung drops the topic of moving for the next few weeks, and he tries, he tries so hard to be the best boyfriend to you. Only setting in what a piece of shit you really are for holding him back, for keeping him here with you for your own selfish reasons.

He’s your first love and the thought of losing him keeps you up at night. Staring blankly out into nothing as you quietly debate with yourself over and over again. Weighing out the pros and cons of moving, of giving up your dreams to satisfy his.

And through your inner turmoil, the letters continue to come. Never questioned by your boyfriend when you explain that your favorite aunt once lived in Paris when she was about your age. You’ve become pen pals sort of, sharing your experiences back and forth.

Another lie.

‘I told my French instructor about you, or well, perhaps I fibbed a little. Told him that I moved here for my girlfriend. She loves Paris, enchanted with the city. He’s really helped me out to improve the little bit of French I had learned back in high school.

There’s this saying he spoke of when I told him about us.

Le cœur a ses raisons que la raison ne connaît point

It means: The heart has its reasons of which reason knows nothing.

Again, I think of you, I think of my heart when it comes to you. The reasons I think that I love you, how they run so deep that I am not sure I will ever begin to understand how we ended up here..

I hope you are well, and that someday you will understand that love is not one dimensional. Our hearts are stronger than we realize. Love you.

-SH’

These letters, they could be another way to manipulate you. Going on two months now, he sends one every week sharing tidbits of his life here in Paris. How lonely it is, how he’s used to being alone, and how even though you are not with him—he is with you.

And then he writes about her, and you have to ask yourself how far Sunghoon’s willing to go to mess with your head. How much of himself is he willing to open up and spill out for you. He claims to love you, shouldn’t he pour himself empty for you?

‘My mom passed away September 26th. The days coming up again. I don’t talk much about her, I know. I am sure my brother has told you enough, how I bawled my eyes out everyday as a child. How much I hurt all by myself. Maybe it’s true that people like me are some of the loneliest.

Someone like me who seems to have it all. That’s what a lot of the employees under me now say behind my back. I hear them, I listen to their snickering words. To their quiet whispers when I arrive and walk through to my office without acknowledging their feeble existences. They think I’m a fucking dick, they’re probably right.

I don’t blame everything on my mother. I pity her the same way I pity my brother. Both too weak to handle their emotions in a way that doesn’t ruin others lives.

You told me I have love for my brother, that I don’t hate him, and you’re right. I don’t know how you read me so easily, but you do. It drives me crazy, the way you make me feel seen. I go through life with all these eyes on me, but none of them really see me. None of them are actually looking at me.

Ah, I am speaking nonsense, aren’t I? You probably haven’t read a single one of these. Maybe I’m starting to lose my last attachment to this fleeting hope. Not that this hasn’t been worth everything to me. To be able to see you again even if just once, to taste you one last time. I can’t believe I allowed love in only for it to hurt me.

I wouldn’t take any of this back. I don’t believe I have ever let go of myself this much, the invisible armor I keep up. Thanks to you, I have learned to bring down my defenses.. I really do hate that.

Talk soon, I hope.

-SH’

Each letter dug a deeper hole inside of your chest. Sunghoon never gave you a return address, both of you know there were more than enough ways to reach him. You know exactly where his father’s company is located, his email, his phone number that remains blocked.

He poured more and more of himself into each one. And as much as it pained you to read, you felt the same butterflies or excitement each time another letter arrived in the mail. Hiding yourself at your computer desk to read every new one, muttering to Heeseung that you had some work to wrap up.

This couldn’t qualify as cheating if you remained contactless on your side, right? Not that repeating that to yourself helped any with the guilt that continued to suffocate you.

If only you could run to your mother with this problem, let out all of your anguish. How much you’ve been stretched apart by these two men. How they’ve split you down the middle and made you forget yourself.

If they weren’t your step-brothers she’d likely soar to the fucking moon after hearing news of your rapturous love life. Not even your mother had enough faith in you to believe that two Park men could possibly be battling to a bloody pulp to claim you as theirs and only theirs.

As fast as fall came, so did the crushing weight of reality.

Heeseung’s smile rarely graced your days anymore. His laughter hardly filled your loft. And the uneasy strain between you never subsided. His sadness was hard to ignore and trying to only made you feel worse, guiltier, like such a terrible person.

“Hee, I checked out some of those locations you sent me before.” You mention over dinner. Feeling extra tense after reading another new letter from Sunghoon.

He’s officially moved into Paris, no longer residing at a hotel. His writing was full of excitement this time, cheering happily about finding a place. Insisting you come visit him one day to at least compliment him for hiring a fantastic realtor and scoring a decently priced house with a perfect view of the Eiffel tower. Decently priced for a millionaire, of course.

“Huh?” Heeseung asks, half paying attention. Half distracted by a game on his phone.

“Seattle, right? It’s nice and cold out there..”

Nothing like a humid sunny summer day in Paris, no..

“Wh-what? I thought you didn’t want to move.”

You don’t. At all.

“Worth looking at.” You shrug, biting down on your lip nervously.

It’s not actually, and you’re being tortured by your own subconscious that won’t shut up about this. It’s all you can think about even while you fuck and have great sex. Heeseung’s accepting a future he doesn’t desire for you. And you? You’re greedy, selfish, benefiting off of his pain to fulfill your needs and dreams..

“You don’t want to leave Paris.” He nods firmly, reaching across the table for your hand. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

All you seem to do these days is lie. Lie after lie, failing to convince yourself that you only choose to lie to protect him.

You have to lie, because worse than losing him, you’d hate to be another person that’s let him down. Another comparison to his mother, father, brother, all those who have failed him before you..

“I don’t.” You struggle to say, throat welling up with tears. “But I’m scared. What does this mean for us?”

“N-nothing, I—“

“You’re unhappy.” Saying those words out loud rush tears to brim your eyes. Blinking the first batch out, they scold your cheeks on their way down. “You don’t like it here, you’re only here because of me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.” He appeals, sitting up. The game on his phone forgotten about. “I love you, I want to be wherever you are.”

“I know.” Sniffling, you squeeze his hand. Getting up to sit down on his lap and wrap yourself around him. “I love you, and I don’t want you to choose a life that was never meant for you.”

I’ve put you through so much Heeseung. That’s what you wish you could bring yourself to say. That you released his inner demons, went behind his back, selfishly expected him to fix all of your fucked up life himself..

“We can make this work, can’t we?” Heeseung’s first cry makes your heart sink. Clutching onto him, burying your fingers through his hair. You don’t want to ever let go, don’t want to accept the reality of your situation. That he may just be your very first heartbreak.

“Of course we can, baby.”

Lying isn’t always a bad thing, right? Sometimes we lie to spare others feelings. Like when your mother lied to you about cheating on your father, she knew you’d figure everything out in time. But you were too young to fully comprehend the gravity of the situation. She lied so that you wouldn’t hate her or blame her. You lied for the same reasons..

By October, Heeseung had packed up his belongings. The two of you agreed that this wouldn’t be permanent, only until you finish up school and get at least a year’s experience of work. After that was all done, you could revisit the whole moving back to America conversation. Of course you cried and suffered in silence, keeping yourself as calm as you could around him as the days went by. The second you locked the bathroom door to shower, tears would find their way out. You’d sob and cry into your palm. Hoping the shower was louder than your aching chest to drown out the sound of your sadness.

Your mother only side-eyed you when you begged her to not make Sunghoon aware of Heeseung’s departure back to the states. She didn’t pry too much, only clicked her tongue disappointed by the lack of a close relationship you had with her preferred brother.

The goodbye before Heeseung got on the plane to leave you spiraled you into a depressive state for weeks. Only forcing yourself to appear normal when he’d video call you appearing equally miserable. This was the promise you made to each other, to keep your relationship alive. Update each other daily, phone calls, scheduled video chats, texts throughout your days, photos, anything.

And that worked, at first. Even forcing you both to learn how to get each other off in new ways. Video calls often turned steamy, positioning your cameras to enjoy the view of your private areas as you touched yourselves and moaned. Of course, it was never enough and you’d crawl into the bed he shared with you only 3 weeks ago to cry yourself to sleep

“This was for the best.” That’s what you continued to tell yourself. He was miserable here, already back to smiling big as he used to whenever he answers another video call from you. He’s doing better mentally despite missing your warmth by his side, and that’s what matters.

If you love something, let it go, right?

That’s what Sunghoon did.

Sunghoon.

His letters have piled up, the fourth one coming in today. You stare at them stacked on your kitchen counter sometimes. Trembling hands tempted to open each and swallow down each word like a crisp sip of wine.

They felt similar. Addicting, butter, sweet, euphoric. To be let inside of someone that not many, if any, have ever been able to know so well.

Maybe this was the right decision for you and Heeseung, as much as it ripped you to shreds to go through with. He once gave up the only life he’d ever known for you, and here you are.. only giving him up.

There are times you listen to the sound of your heart beating only to make sure it’s there. You’re not a heartless monster for choosing yourself first. Neither of your parents were pleased with this news, especially your mother who has been urging you to move and follow along with your step-brother.

‘At least Sunghoon lives out there now too. I don’t understand you kids, Europe is great for vacation.’

She also pestered you to contact him, to not forget that he is also your step-sibling. That you also should build a healthy strong relationship with him as he will be the one to likely inherit all of Mr. Park’s wealth when his time comes.

‘Heeseung’s wonderful, I was wrong about him.’ She mindlessly chatted with you, holding a yogurt covered spoon by her mouth. ‘I’m so grateful that he took all of that time to look out for you. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he had a crush on you or some type of liking.’

She giggled over the silly idea, finishing her yogurt and ending the call. Not before scolding you to text Sunghoon.

You wouldn’t. Instead, you shoved his unopened letters inside of a drawer and decided to attend your job’s annual Halloween ball. Something that could help to lift your spirits, dressing up a little, dancing and drinking with your coworkers. Why not?

Heeseung encouraged you and helped you pick out an outfit over video call. Leaving your room a haphazard mess of tops and skirts, all types of tights and fishnets thrown about as you tried on various looks for him. The two of you agreed upon a deep blood red coat you purchased sometime last year at a street market that resembled a cape.

“That should be good enough to cover you up on your way over.” He gulped, nervously taking in the skimpy black minidress you chose. Cut low to enhance your breast shape, the fabric clung to your skin tightly showing off all of your shape.

“Good thing I work with a ton of girls, right baby?” You winked, blowing him a kiss. He pressed in closer to the screen whimpering.

“Send me a lot of pictures?”

“Of course, don’t have too much fun handing out candy without me?”

The two of you chatted for a bit longer before you had to let him go. It was already after 8pm and the party had been well on its way by the time you arrived. Many of your coworkers had been hitting the open bar hard, dragging you onto the dance floor right as you arrived.

Halloween tunes from Monster Mash to Thriller blasted through the speakers and everyone had fun dancing. Exactly what you needed, not some grungy Parisian club filled with men attempting to grope you all night. Just a good spooky time with the closest thing you have to friends in this lonely city.

This lonely city that you could run into just about anyone in.

Brava. Brava. Bravissima.

That jawline, those eyes, his curved lips. You’d recognize him regardless of the mask covering half of his face. He’s standing there across the floor, beneath the balcony creating a shadow down his face. Sharp gaze laser focused on you, unblinking, licking his lips when you finally spot him.

How long has he waited? How did he know, and why.. why is he wearing that.

The world really stops, slows down, becomes mute when you see him. That’s Sunghoon’s power over you and he knows it. Floating across the floor to you, he bows forward. The cufflinks on his wrist gleam, the white gloves covering his hands strike visually in contrast against his black suit.

And that mask, that mask hiding half of his handsome features. This has to be a joke.

“Phantom.”

“Ah, you did not read my letters.” His tongue clicks, and you’re sure a hint of blush spreads across his one visible cheek.

“I did.” You stammer, squeezing your eyes shut. “N-not the past few, been busy..”

“Well,” reaching out his hand, he smiles. “Trick or treat?”

“Is this not enough of a trick for you?” You can’t help but sneer, rolling your eyes as you take his hand. “What happened to not stalking me at my place of work?

“I’ll have you know I stayed at this establishment for a month. I was invited because I’m now considered a platinum club member guest.” Sunghoon leads you away from the drunken crowd of girls you’d been amongst all night. Head towards the center of the dance floor, his sharp canines shine under the low lights that scatter about the room. “Didn’t think you’d be here, job requirements I’m guessing?”

“Yeah.”

Not necessarily, but that’s none of his business.

“Not allowed to bring a plus one?” He questions. Making his true curiosity very clear.

“Felt like doing a girls night.” You shrug, lifting his hand to look over his costume. “So, why this get up?”

“Why not? I’m in Paris. Felt like an appropriate costume.” He shrugs back, cocking his visible eyebrow. “Not a fan?”

“That’s hilarious..” you mutter. Falling in line with him as he leads you to dance. “Me? Not a fan of Phantom of The Opera?”

“Let me guess, you’re my angel of music?” He grins, turning you around. His free hand creeping onto your waist beneath your cape. “The mask I wear?

“Good guess.” Sticking out your tongue at him, you snort. “I’m a vampire, obviously.”

“Ah, well, your fangs seems to be missing tonight.”

“Oh? You must be a human to think so naive.”

“Could always bite me if that’s the case?” His smile widens, bending in closer. “Right on the jugular, suck me dry to the bone.”

“You’re too insufferable to pull off Phantom, you know.”

Sunghoon can’t stop himself from smiling. He even laughs, pointing out a table nearby. “Join me? I do miss this back and forth with you, you know.”

“My coworkers are waiting for me.” You lie, beginning to turn away.

“Come on, I won’t try anything. Promise.” Holding out his pinky toward you, he nods at the table again. “We can’t chat? Like old time friends?”

“We’ve never been friends, Sunghoon.”

“You’re right, whatever we are is so much worse.” He chuckles. Seemingly amused just to be in your presence. “Please? For a little bit?”

“Fine.” You know better than to give him an inch. Sunghoon only knows how to take more and more, but you can’t deny how human he seems now. Those stupid letters go to you.

“Honestly, had no idea you were a fan.” He holds out his hands in defense. Lips dragging down at the corners. “I thought about being a ghost and the Paris opera ghost came up while I googled. Tell me that’s not too perfect.”

“Well, I’m a big fan.” Easing up around him, you stir a tepid drink around. Mostly nursing it instead of drinking. He has to sit close to hear you as music blares, and you try to ignore how good the cologne he’s wearing smells. “It’s probably weird.”

“No no no! Tell me all about it.” Sunghoon couldn’t look happier to be talking to you. Crossing his arms over his chest proudly, he motions for you to continue. “I’m familiar enough to understand.”

“It’s just a really good romance. A tragic one, but good nonetheless.” You shrug, looking over his costume again. “Maybe I’m a sucker for love triangles.”

“I think I’ve caught onto that.” He snorts. Drinking the last sip of his beverage. “Is it like a team Edward or Jacob thing for you?”

“Pfftt.. don’t compare Phantom to that.”

“Well? You must have been on the good guys side. Raoul, right?” Sunghoon taps his chin. “I mean, you know, he was no Edward if you ask me.”

“Can’t stand Raoul.” You mumble. “He wasn’t really that good of a guy.”

“Pftt, tell me about it.” He scoffs under his breath. Lifting both eyebrows at you. “And Phantom, he’s just one hell of a man, huh?”

“You see, I get it. I understand why it’s only implied that Eric and Christine got it on.” You begin to explain, over-using your hands to distract from how awkward this conversation has become. “But, like—it wasn’t enough.”

Sunghoon grins, eyebrows mockingly bouncing up and down. “You little trollop.”

“Trollop?!” You guffaw, rolling your eyes. “You clearly have got to get back to America.”

“No no, don’t try to change the subject.” Snapping his fingers in your face, he nods for you to continue. “Go on, tell me about how you wanted Gaston Leroux to go into extreme detail about Phantom clapping Miss Daaé’s cheeks.”

“Ugh, it’s not that vulgar.” His smile only increases the more you lie and brush around the topic. Blowing out a long gust of air, you stomp and pretend to whine. How the conversation took a flirty tone is beyond you. “Fine! Fine okay! I dabbled in reading a few erotic Phantom of The Opera novels.”

“Do tell darling.” Sunghoon leans in, highly amused. “Got your shit off to some freaky phan-fiction, did you?”

“You’re seriously annoying.”

“I have to know,” he pouts, humming. “How was it?”

“I mean, Christine..” you trail off, bypassing his gaze. “She never really wanted it, I mean she did. But she didn’t—like she..” the tightness budding in your throat causes you to pause, locking with his gaze. “She did, but she acted differently. He really had to make her his..”

His head tilts, cheek dimpling with an arrogant glimmer in his eyes. “Sounds like my kind of girl.”

“Oh yeah? Since when has your style been the difficult type?”

“Sometimes you need to meet the right one to know what you’re looking for.”

Sunghoon smiles, nodding toward the exit when you don’t keep the conversation going. “The nights still young, want to check out the Halloween parade?”

No. You shouldn’t, but you want to. So you nod and follow him out, keeping your arms pressed tightly against your sides.

Reading letters was definitely a form of emotional cheating, but this, this had to be worse. And deep down inside you knew after this night that Sunghoon Park would never leave you alone. He’d lurk in the shadows, haunt your dreams, chew away at your heart until he could swallow the last beatz

Maybe the darkness that surrounded him reached out toward you for the hundredth time, and maybe you let him in to finally meet yours.

———————————-

~seven years later~

The Eiffel tower is a magnificent sight at night. Lights glow all over the city, reflecting off of the water around. These days you spend a lot of time simply absorbing, taking in the grandiose landscape.

When morning comes you sit down with a cup of coffee, decaffeinated tea as of late. Stirring a cube of sugar until it melts with the hot water, and you take a deep breath. Paris is romanticized in the media, in reality it’s nothing too special. What makes the city special is the people. From the different street vendors, cafe owners, angry bike riders shouting curses, the snooty designer brand employees bustling and rushing to work. There are certain quirks to the city of love that at times make you laugh.

Because here you are, reminiscing on these last few years.

Heeseung had moved back after some time, and you couldn’t have been happier. Taking advantage of the short period of time he had no job, you would venture off to other parts of Europe. Finally visited the Swiss Alps during the Winter season. Everything was as beautiful as you always dreamt of, even more with him by your side.

“What are you thinking about right now?” Deep warmth vibrates against your throat. Pressing soft kisses up the side of your neck, he nips at your ear. Complimenting the diamond earrings he’d gifted you on your last anniversary.

“How much I love it here.”

“Can you believe that you almost left?”

That’s right, the flight to Seattle had even been purchased. Making it all the way to your gate before you broke down and cried. The life you’d made in Paris was everything you ever wanted growing up. And he was everything your heart needed.

“I don’t think you were ever supposed to move back.” Wrapping around your waist from behind, he flattens you back to his chest. Large hands gently resting on the top of your stomach. “I knew ever since that first time, the way your eyes lit up when you stepped off the plane.”

“I hadn’t even left the airport yet.” You scoff, layering your hands on top of his. The sturdy build of his chest eases some of the weight off of your knees, utilizing his strength to lean against. “And I never wanted to leave after that.”

“That’s why I’m here.” Squeezing your hands, he slides them lower to cup around your protruding stomach. Slowly easing your interlaced fingers beneath your bump. “That’s why we’re here.”

Ah yes, there’s three of you to consider now.

Now, how did this happen? How did you get here? What do your parents think?

For one, they don’t know.

‘We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.’ He shrugged, ever the type B personality. He never stressed much about anything the way you did. His only stress ever seemed to be you.

‘We hardly ever see them anyway. A few holidays that they make their way over here. What’s my father going to do? Disown me?’ He spoke arrogantly as ever. Smiling cockily and spinning you into his arms to follow him through the living room when you ran in holding a positive pregnancy test.

You’re not even married.

‘You’re having my baby. It’s about damn time.’

God knows he’s been trying to get you knocked up for months now. And maybe he’s right, you’ve worked despite him insisting he can afford to take care of you without your paychecks. But now seemed like the appropriate time to relax, be a stay at home mother.. buy fancy strollers and baby Chanel ballet flats. If you have a girl, of course.

“You ready darling? I know how much you love to stand out here and admire the pollution but we do have dinner reservations.”

“Do we have time to walk?” You ask hopeful, batting your eyelashes.

“Ahh—“

“Please?”

He’s been such a hard ass ever since you started showing. Making new rules everyday of what you can and cannot do. “I know it’s not far, I saw the confirmation email.”

Clicking his tongue, he playfully glares at you. Rubbing your stomach. “Can’t ever just let me surprise you, can you?”

“Please? Who knows how much longer I’ll be able to see my own feet, let alone walk without waddling.”

Busting into a smile, he nods and directs you to follow him off of the balcony back inside of the house. First, you have to put on a coat, of course, it’s too chilly outside for you to only walk around in a dress. The baby could catch a cold, that’s what he says while getting your arms into a peacoat.

“Already miss wearing my high heels.” You frown at the flats that have begun to take over your closet. Led down the elevator to exit onto the street. His large hand finds yours, taking slow steps to not rush you. Making more effort with his longer legs to keep a light pace.

“Hey, those are $7000 shoes you have on.” He scoffs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “They’re cute.”

“Yeah, they’re cute.” You pout, watching your feet walk down the cobblestone toward the center of town. The convenient location of your ridiculously expensive house was prime real estate, located close enough to everything you’d want walking distance to.

“They’re cute, you’re cuter.”

“Ahh, you little—“

“Hey.” A nervous smile plays on his lips. Coming around to take a few steps ahead of you, he reaches for the front of your coat and stops you. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

“Sunghoon.” You say flatly. Sensing heat climb up your chest despite the crisp night air. “You know I hate when you do this.”

His smile trembles more, biting on his lower lip. “Do you love me?”

“God, I wish I didn’t.” You sigh to hold back a smile. Turning away to not look at how the tip of his nose reddens. The Eiffel towers not too far now, right to your side.. a near perfect spot for..

Him to get down on his knees as he has when you turn back to look at him.

“I asked you once before if you’d marry me.” His teeth chatter, not from the cold breeze. Blinking at the moisture that rapidly fills his eyes. “You said no.”

“Hoon..”

“And I kept that ring.” The same box from years ago opens up in his hand. The ring he thought screamed your name from the first moment he spotted it in some outrageously priced jewelry store. “I meant what I said back then as much as I do now.”

“You’ve always been crazy.” You manage to say through the wetness filling your throat. Clasping your hands to your face as a sob comes out.

“Is that why you love me?” Sunghoon’s icy complexion flushes pink. A single tear trickles down his cheek, and his eyebrows scrunch together. Chest beating wildly waiting for you to deny him once again.

“One of the reasons.” You nod, draping one of your hands under your stomach to hold your dress down. “One of many.”

“Do you think that this time, I’ll get the girl?” He asks wearily, holding the ring up. “Will you say yes? Will you spend your life with me?”

“I think that you’ve always had the girl.”

“Good, because I’m nothing without her.” More tears pour down his face. Digging the ring out of the jewelry box, he takes a hold of your hand.

“Marry me?”

After all of this time, all of this running away, all of these feelings you denied. There is only one answer.

“Yes.”

———————————-

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silcry

1 year ago

Wake up and break up

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 – 𝟓𝟖

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐘𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓: 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧

↬ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

↬ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬!𝐀𝐔, 𝐂𝐄𝐎!𝐉𝐚𝐲, 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

← 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 →

(A/N: we literally only have two chaps and the epilogue left this is CRAZY 🤕 thank you guys so, so much for all the love and support, am sending everyone kisses pls accept them as a form of gratitude 🥺 i love you all sm💞 feedback is always appreciated!!!💞🧸)

TAGLIST CLOSED: @soonigiri @xrr-s4sha @kwiwin @heelcvr @deobitifull @kpoprhia @doodlelibrary @abrazosolorcereza @certifiedmoa @sleeping-demons @heerinnie @ohmy-moonlightx @heeswif3y @hoonieluv @fakeuwus @jongszn @cheybabey @ineedsomezzz @super-amberlynn @kshoshi @tinie03 @jseongies @mimikittysblog @primroselover @heebrry @jebetwo @donghyckl @07myonlylove @enhamysunshines @quemirasboboandapaya @lostwonderwall @seuomo @enhaz1 @teawithbucky @beomgyusonlywife @dammit-jjk @lhsvibez @azurez @boutyouwonu @finchyyy @ocyeanicc @jaylaxies @in-somnias-world @zerasari @spookyauthorspopmusictrash @capri-cuntz @fluerz @3amstarlight

355 notes View Post

silcry

1 month ago

Sukuna is the type of boyfriend who tells you to shut up when you’re talking—and to talk when you’re silent.

He “hates” it when you cuddle him. He “hates” when you kiss him or show any kind of affection in public.

He “hates” saying “I love you,” and even mocks you for saying it. He says he hates it when you try to hold his hand. He just hates everything.

He says he hates it, hates you, and hates this relationship. That’s what he tells you—every single day.

At first, you thought maybe being mean was just his twisted way of showing he cared. It was weird, but you tried to be okay with it. But slowly, it started getting to you. When you reached for his hand, he would swat yours away. When you leaned in to kiss his cheek, he would push you back.

You weren’t a talkative person by nature—you only spoke when he asked you something. But even then, when you answered, he’d tell you to shut up or say, “Why are you talking so much?”

By the sixth month of your relationship, you had grown painfully quiet inside. You barely said anything, barely did anything. It felt like he had sucked the spark and life right out of you. You were constantly second-guessing yourself.

Every time you had a date with him, it felt like a chore—a heavy, anxiety-inducing task you had to get through. It wasn’t fun anymore. It made you lose sleep.

You started to doubt whether he even liked you as a person, let alone as a girlfriend.

Today was the fourth time you canceled a date on him. —The first time was because you were on your period and didn’t feel up to going out. He had grumbled, gone out to get takeout, then shoved the bag onto your chest and left without a word. —The second time, you had to babysit your cousins. —The third, you had to pick up your baby brother from a different state. —And now today, the fourth, you had a migraine.

For the past three weeks, you’d barely seen or spoken to each other. It seemed like life kept pulling you away—and honestly, you didn’t mind.

But he did.

He was already outside your house, waiting in his car when you texted him that you couldn’t come. He didn’t take it well.

Sukuna slammed his phone onto the passenger seat, got out, and slammed the car door behind him. Then he stormed up to your front door and started banging on it, hard.

You were lucky your parents weren’t home.

You flinched at the sound of his fists slamming against the wood. It wasn’t the first time he had gotten angry, but something about tonight felt worse. Maybe it was the pounding in your head, or maybe it was just the way your stomach dropped when you heard him yell your name through the door.

“Open the damn door, Y/N!” he barked.

You rushed to open it, heart racing—not because you wanted to see him, but because you didn’t want the neighbors hearing and calling your parents… or worse, the police.

His fist was mid-air when the door swung open.

He froze, standing in your doorway, chest heaving with fury. His eyes burned as they locked onto yours, and for a moment, you genuinely weren’t sure what he was going to do.

You looked away, unable to hold his gaze.

“I don’t feel well,” you said quietly. “You should go.”

He scoffed, stepping forward. Sometimes you wondered just how big he really was—how he seemed to fill the doorway with his presence alone. Broad shoulders brushing both sides, head nearly grazing the top. It was like he was built to block the exit, to make everything feel smaller when he entered.

He walked you backward into the house and slammed the door shut behind him.

“Are you serious right now? I’ve been waiting out there for an hour—again—and you’re gonna pull this shit?”

“I said I don’t feel well,” you repeated, your voice a little steadier this time.

He laughed, that same bitter, cutting sound that made your stomach turn. “Yeah, right. Another excuse.”

You went quiet, eyes dropping to your socks. You didn’t want to look at him. You couldn’t.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he snapped. “We haven’t gone on a date in weeks. You barely text or call. Spit it out—what the fuck is your issue?”

Your fingers nervously played with the hem of your t-shirt, tugging it slightly as if that could anchor you.

Then, softly—firmly—you said it:

“Let’s break up.”

Silence.

It was immediate and deafening. He went completely still. You could feel the shift in the air, like all the heat had been sucked from the room. You swore you couldn’t even hear him breathing.

But you still didn’t look up.

You stood there, staring at the floor, heart pounding in your chest like a warning drum.

You didn't want to see the look on his face. You didn’t want to see the moment he realized you meant it.

And you did.

You really meant it.

The silence didn’t last.

It cracked.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

His voice was low. Dangerous. Like the calm before a storm that you’d been caught in too many times before.

You still didn’t move. Didn’t respond.

“I said,” he growled, stepping closer, “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

You finally looked up. Just once. And what you saw made your chest tighten.

His eyes were wild—red with fury, disbelief twisting his face into something almost unrecognizable. His jaw clenched, vein ticking in his temple.

“Oh, I get it now,” he sneered, voice dripping venom. “There’s another guy, right? That’s why you’ve been so distant, so fucking weird lately.”

He stepped forward again, and you instinctively took a step back—until your back hit the wall.

He bent down slightly, crouching just enough to be level with your eyes. His face was so close, you could feel the heat of his breath, the way it shook with restrained anger.

“So tell me,” he whispered, voice low and mocking, “is that it? Is it because of some guy?”

You blinked rapidly, trying to fight off the tears burning your eyes. Your breath hitched, chest rising and falling with the effort to stay calm.

His red eyes searched yours. But this time, it wasn’t just rage in them—it was something else. He was looking at you like he was trying to memorize you. Like deep down, some part of him knew he was about to lose you for good.

“There’s no one else,” you said. “It’s just you. It’s only ever been you.”

He shook his head, his frustration growing by the second. His hands balled into fists at his sides, like he didn’t know where to put them, didn’t know what to do with the energy coiling in his chest.

“Then why?” he demanded, his voice cracking with desperation. “Why? You need to tell me. I need to know. Why?”

His breath came quicker now, but his eyes—they were wild, searching. As if you held the answers to a riddle he couldn’t solve, no matter how many times he asked.

And then, the question slipped out. The one you’d been too afraid to ask, too afraid to even let yourself think about.

“Sukuna,” you whispered, barely above a breath, “do you even like me?”

You didn’t want to ask it, but something in you had to know. Something inside you had to hear him admit it—whether he cared, whether this had ever been real, or whether it was all just a game to him.

You didn’t dare look at him directly, too scared to see the answer, whatever it was. You focused on the floor, trying to steady your breath, trying to hold yourself together.

There was a long pause.

And then, when he spoke again, it wasn’t with the anger or spite you’d grown accustomed to.

It was softer. Almost too soft.

“Of course, I fucking like you,” he muttered, though there was no confidence in it.

You shook your head, unable to believe a single word he said. “No, you don’t, Sukuna. No, you don’t. You hate me. You always say you find me annoying, and you hate this relationship. You don’t like me, let alone love me.”

The words tumbled out faster than you could stop them, like once you started, you couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Sukuna...” You took a shaky breath, voice breaking despite your best efforts. “I... I can’t even sleep. I don’t know how you feel about me or what we have. You’re so angry all the time. I get scared to talk to you or ask you anything...”

You almost felt like you were rambling, but the words were all that needed to be said, finally out in the open.

The truth, ugly and raw, spilled out of you like a dam breaking, everything you’d been bottling up for so long.

Sukuna stood there, staring at you with wide eyes, as if he couldn’t comprehend what you’d just said. For a moment, you could almost see the walls crashing down around him.

He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came. He was still processing, still trying to piece together the pieces of what you’d just revealed.

And then, his eyes softened—not in the way they usually did, filled with mockery or disdain—but with something far more terrifying: regret.

“I... didn’t mean for any of that to happen.” His voice was rough, hoarse, as if the words scraped against him.

“I didn’t know... I didn’t realize that it was like this for you.”

You looked up at him, your chest tight with emotion, heart pounding in your ears.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he continued, his voice quieter now, almost defeated. “I was just—damn it, I…I do love you, Y/N. I love you so much I don't know what to do with it.”

You blinked, stunned, It felt surreal, like a dream or some twisted joke, but the look in his eyes—was undeniable.

For a second, you just stared at him, trying to piece it together. He loved you? After everything? After all the anger, the cruelty, the distance?

His eyes were searching yours desperately, as if he was afraid you wouldn’t believe him, afraid that you would push him away before he could prove it to you.

“I don’t know how to show it, okay?” he said, his voice cracking, frustration and fear bleeding through.

“I don’t want to be like this,” he whispered, his voice barely audible now. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to make you feel scared or… or small.”

You swallowed hard, your heart a tangled mess of conflicting emotions. Was this just another lie? Another empty confession meant to keep you close, or was this the real thing?

Sukuna’s eyes bore into you, pleading, desperate for you to see past the anger, past the walls he’d built up over the years.

“Please,” he breathed, his voice rough. “Please don’t leave me like this. I can’t lose you. I know I fucked up, but I swear I’ll do anything to fix this”

You wanted to believe him. God, you did. But the fear still lingered. The fear that his words would fade, that the old habits would return, that the anger would drown out whatever this feeling was between you.

But... the way he was looking at you, the way he was fighting to keep you—maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for something different.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you slowly took his hand in yours. His fingers tightened around yours almost immediately, as if he were afraid you’d pull away again.

“We... we don’t need to break up, Sukuna,” you said softly, eyes still fixed on the floor. “But I need time. A break.”

You felt his body tense, his hand trembling in yours.

“A break?” he echoed, the word landing heavy between you both like a thunderclap. “What does that even mean?”

“It means I need space,” you said, more firmly now. “I need time to think. To breathe. I need to figure out if I can still be in this... if you really mean what you say.”

His jaw clenched again, but he didn’t pull away this time. His other hand ran through his hair, dragging it back with a frustrated sigh as he looked away from you.

“I don’t want space,” he muttered. “I want to fix this now.”

“But we can’t,” you said, stepping back a little, your fingers slipping from his hand. “Not all at once. You can’t just say the right words and expect it all to go back to normal. I’ve been walking on eggshells for months, Sukuna. I’m tired. I need to feel like I matter to you—not just when you’re scared I’ll leave.”

Silence settled like fog between you. He didn’t argue. He didn’t yell. He just stood there, staring at you with an expression you’d rarely seen on him—something close to remorse. Maybe even understanding.

“I’ll wait,” he said finally, his voice low and rough. “I don’t know how, and I’ll probably mess it up, but... I’ll wait. Just don’t disappear on me.”

You nodded slowly, swallowing hard. “I won’t.”

---//-----//-----//

i opened the doc thinking I was about to emotionally cripple and obliterate myself with some god-tier angst but no for some reason my brain and hand said....what if… love???

7K notes View Post

silcry

1 year ago

when they cheat on you

ʚ incl: gojo, geto, nanami, toji, sukuna, choso, higuruma, shiu, ino, shoko, uraume

ʚ cont: so much angst it’s gonna make u sick

ʚ note: i hated making this so much so i hope the 400 of you who wanted this enjoy… (this is the best smau i’ve ever made)

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

8K notes View Post

silcry

1 year ago

𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍 – 𝟏𝟒

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍: 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐲?

⤲ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⤲ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞!𝐀𝐔, 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!𝐀𝐔, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭

← 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 →

(A/N: the stories are just random but i kinda love the aesthetic so 💀 and pls, not seung getting more and more unhinged 😭 tysm for all the love babies, feedback and reblogs are appreciated!🧸🩷)

TAGLIST: @soonigiri @thvhannie @enhaz1 @kpoprhia @abrazosolorcereza @deobitifull @mixtape-racha @certifiedmoa @jungwon-xo @hoonieluv @enhamysunshines @jaehoonii @pussyslayerhd @ineedsomezzz @neocockthotology @heerinnie @onionzzzs @hee-pster @3amstarlight @xxxxrvexxxx @primroselover @mimikittysblog @iea-tsand @lhspeachie @xiaoderrrr @viagumi @smg-valeria @kells5595 @heeseunghee7 @xrvrqs @ddazed-lhs @heebrry @fakeuwus @dammit-jjk @ivyannemarie @thekinkpopstandsforkrackheads @s00buwu

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