Halcyon Syndicate

by Barking_Kitty

Summary:

Wooyoung loves his family, he really does. But it’s not always easy being a member of one of the most notorious crime families in the country, and sometimes, Wooyoung just wants to be normal. Do normal things. Meet normal people who aren’t criminals. So he starts hanging out at a coffee shop where he immediately befriends the barista, Mia, and they have a wonderful, perfectly normal friendship.
Should be easy to keep those two worlds separated, right?

Right?

Chapter 1

Notes:

I've been working on this story ever since the MV came out and finally I'm posting it! I'm already like 30.000 words deep (at the time of posting the first chapter) and have most of the story mapped out in my head, so there should be no hitch with a weekly upload schedule :) I will update the tags as I go!

It starts out focused around the OC (as what happens with her kickstarts the story) but as it progresses the screentime gets divided more between her and the members and their relationships with each other (with an extra dash of completely unhinged but very sexy Seongjoong) and how they handle and process the stuff that happens. Honestly writing about the exisiting bond between the members is my absolute favourite part of this :D

This first chapter is almost exclusively fluff, with the exception of an asshole who can't take no for an answer, but he gets satisfyingly dealt with.

Enjoy! ♥️

 

“Halcyon (adj.): A time of idyllic peace amidst the storm / Calm, peaceful or prosperous / Halcyon bird: a mythical kingfisher said to calm the seas during winter”

 

It is a boring shift after a whole week of even more boring shifts. Sometimes Mia wonders how this coffee shop even manages to survive on so few customers, but it probably had something to do with it being a Starbucks. And as long as they insisted on being represented in this neighborhood, for whatever reason, Mia would continue working there. Until a better opportunity came along, at least, that’s what she’s telling herself.

The chiming of the entrance bell makes her look up from her phone, and she jumps up, straightening her apron and putting on her best customer service smile. “Good morning, what can I get you?”

The guy looks about her age and seems slightly lost, eyes darting from her face to the menu above her head and back. Mia wonders whether this was his first time visiting a coffee shop.

“Uhhh I’ll take, um, a Caramel Macchiato?”

“Sure!” Mia says and gives him a more genuine smile, feeling a bit more motivated to make an effort with this one. He smiles back, his eyes crinkling.

“Is it okay if I sit here with my laptop for a while?” He gestures towards the tables scattered around the room.

“Of course! Lots of people do their work here, you can stay as long as you like. And it’s not like you’re stealing anyone’s seat or anything.”

They both look at the completely empty space and the guy giggles. He seems pretty friendly and utterly harmless, despite his all black outfit and leather jacket. His hair is pulled back in a short ponytail, and she was sure she saw a tattoo peeking out from his left sleeve. As far as customers go, she wouldn’t mind having this one hang around, just from first impressions alone.

“Do you want anything to eat as well?”

The guy glances at the displayed snacks, already shaking his head. “Ah, no thanks,” he says, slightly awkward.

“Alright, why don’t you go pick a seat and I’ll bring you your coffee when it’s done?”

“Yeah, thanks!”

He wanders deeper into the room and after hesitating for a bit, he chooses the small plush couch right in the corner with the window at his side.

Excellent choice, Mia thinks. She also prefers sitting in corners. There is just something very calming about being able to oversee the whole room.

She takes some extra time with the Latte art on the Macchiato, something she rarely bothers with but she wants to give this guy a nice first coffee shop impression. She also decides to place two cookies on the saucer, because he said he’d be here a while. Maybe he doesn’t have that much money that he could waste it on overpriced Starbucks cakes, and this way he’d at least have a little snack. She arranges it all on a little tray that is actually meant for collecting used dishes, since it’s company policy to have people collect their own orders instead of bringing them out, but who cares. She doesn’t have anything better to do, anyways.

“One Caramel Macchiato! Enjoy!”

The guy looks up and hastily shuffles some papers to the side to make room for his drink. When he sees the little cat face on his macchiato, he gives a little squeak. “Oh my god so cute!! Aww thank you!” He beams at her, and Mia grins happily.

It’s nice to have her efforts appreciated. The whole interaction leaves her with a warm glow, and she catches herself hoping he would come more often. As far as customers go, this was the sweetest one she had had in months.

When he leaves about two hours later, he says a quick goodbye and slides a folded bill towards her on the counter. Before she has the chance to thank him for the exorbitant tip or to ask whether he accidentally gave her way too much, he already hurried out of the store.

~

The guy’s name is Wooyoung, and he does come back. He has entirely too much fun watching her struggle to spell his name correctly on one of the few times he takes something to go before he finally takes pity and spells it out for her.

The next couple of weeks, he drinks himself through their entire menu, only to realize in the end that none of the other options actually beat the Caramel Macchiato, which he then continues to order every single time.

For about a week, Mia is slightly worried that Wooyoung would start flirting with her or something, but he never does, and eventually she relaxes entirely around him. They usually spent a couple of minutes with idle chit chat while she prepares his drink, and then he would just sit quietly at the corner table with his laptop for several hours. He continues to tip her way too much and she continues to illegally give him free cookies.

~

“Oh hi,” Mia grins as Wooyoung barges through the door on a Tuesday morning with a dramatic spin, pushing up his sunglasses. “It’s my favorite customer!”

Wooyoung giggles and leans against the counter with his elbows, not bothering to give his drink order since she already started preparing his usual. “You’re my favorite barista too,” he says and wiggles his eyebrows.

Mia laughs. “Have you ever actually been to another coffee shop though?”

“I have once,” says Wooyoung, and Mia gasps, scandalized.

“Are you cheating on Starbucks with another franchise?” She asks, pretending to be offended.

“I mean yeah, but they didn’t even put cute animals on my coffee. Absolute scam, zero stars, wouldn’t recommend.” He giggles again.

“I guess I can forgive you then,” says Mia and Wooyoung sticks out his tongue.  “Hey be nice or you’re not getting any cookies!”

“I actually thought about eating something from here today,” Wooyoung says and starts eyeing the display. “Anything you would recommend?”

“Oh! Uhh depends, do you want something sweet or something savory?”

“Sweet,” Wooyoung decides.

“Then I would recommend the cheesecake. Can’t really go wrong with that one.”

“Cheesecake it is!” Wooyoung is bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly, and Mia has the sudden urge to pinch his cheek.

The chiming of the bell has them both looking up, and Wooyoung retreats to the pick-up area to wait for his coffee, making room for the new customer.

Mia puts on her business smile. “Hello, what can I get you?”

“One large Americano please,” the guy says with a broad smile.

He starts playing around with his earring, and Mia is suddenly convinced he is only doing that to show off his obviously expensive watch.

She quickly finishes up Wooyoung’s order and places both the cake and the drink on the wooden surface of the bar, next to where he’s standing. She expects him to pick it up and move to his seat, but he doesn’t. When she tries to catch his eye, she realizes that he is looking at his phone, which she has never seen him do before, and throwing glances at the new customer. Weird.

“Anything else?” asks Mia as she starts on the Americano.

“Your phone number,” the guys says and winks at her.

It takes Mia actual effort to not groan out loud, and she forces herself to smile coolly but politely. “I’m sorry, but that is not on the menu today.” She says.

“I can come back tomorrow, no problem,” he retorts with a grin. Mia sighs. He might be objectively handsome, but she is so not interested. The whole flashy and pretentious styling, the way he is looking her up and down, and the fact that he is trying to talk her up while she is working. That and the fact that she is really not looking for anyone or anything right now.

“I’m afraid it will stay off the menu,” she says, pouring his Americano into a to-go cup, hoping he’ll take the hint. “Have a nice day.”

He hesitates for a while, shooting a look in Wooyoung’s direction who is still ignoring his order and staring at his phone, and eventually pushes himself away from the counter. “Alright then beautiful,” he says and winks again. “I’ll see you around.”

I hope not, Mia thinks and breathes a sigh of relief when the door closes behind him.

She turns towards Wooyoung only to realize that he has apparently finally taken his order to his table and is flipping open his laptop, as if nothing happened.

Mia stares for a bit, confused, before she makes his way over to him. He looks up at her and smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes as it normally does. “Oh hello!”

“Wooyoung,” Mia starts, thinking about how to best ask this question. “Did you just… hover around the counter to keep an eye on that guy?”

Wooyoung’s smile falls, and he starts fidgeting with his fork. “Um, yeah, I kinda did,” he says and looks at her apologetically. “But not because I didn’t think you could handle yourself or anything, please don’t take this as some weird macho type protector shit, that’s really not me. He just, I dunno, gave me bad vibes. I hope that wasn’t out of line.”

Mia smiles. “Well, I did handle it myself,” she says and Wooyoung nods emphatically. “But it was still nice to have you close, you know, it felt kinda like I had back up in case I needed it.”

She grins, and Wooyoung laughs, relieved. “Hell yeah!” he says and gives her a fist bump. “I totally got your back against whatever coffee shop creep decides to try his luck next. Just leave it to me, I’ll protect you, baby girl!”

He puffs up his chest and Mia makes a gagging noise.

“Please don’t ever say that again,” she groans, and Wooyoung cackles.

~

About two weeks after the coffee shop creep incident, the university closes for summer break, causing an influx of new customers. The company knows this and sends additional employees, and Mia is delighted that they rehired a girl called Annie, who had been there to help out during the Christmas break as well. Annie is loud and chatty and constantly snacks on the displayed cakes, and Mia is very happy to have someone with her who gives even less fucks about the company rules.

Wooyoung is still there almost every day, but he doesn’t seem too happy about all of the people, and he spends a lot of time glaring at everyone over the top of his laptop, sinking down low into the couch as if he wanted to hide.

One time, a group of girls actually have the audacity to steal his table, and he looks so incredibly shocked and offended that Mia gives him his Macchiato for free, as soon as she managed to stop laughing. He takes it to go.

He does immediately hit it off with Annie, which is no surprise at all since they are both loud and mischievous, and Mia had introduced him as a friend and treasured regular as soon as Annie came in for her first shift.

She regularly catches them giggling and talking shit about the other customers, and one day they spend an entire hour scrolling through tinder, trying to find Annie a girlfriend, leaving Mia to handle the customers on her own. She doesn’t mind at all, she is much too happy about the bright and friendly atmosphere at the café, and she realizes she hasn’t had this much fun going to work in years.

~

It stays like that for about a month until the guy returns. Mia doesn’t immediately see him, as she’s busy with another customer, until he is grinning right at her face. She stares at him for a second before just deciding to pretend she doesn’t recognize him.

“Hello, how can I help you?”

“Oh I can think of a couple things,” he drawls, leaning across the counter and winking at her.

Mia takes a step back, having no desire to get any closer to his stupid face. She throws a glance at the corner of the shop and realizes with some surprise that Wooyoung is already watching, a hard expression on his face. They are not alone though, Annie is next to her, busy cleaning the espresso machine.

“Does one of those things involve coffee? Otherwise I’m afraid I can’t help you,” she says, her voice frosty. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Annie looking up at the tone of her voice.

“I’ll have a large Americano again,” says the guy, and he gives her what he probably thinks is a sultry look.

Mia grabs a to-go cup again and clicks open a pen. “Your name?” she asks.

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” he says, grinning.

Mia stares at him. There’s a badge with her name on her uniform, and she has the sudden urge to cover it up with her hands.

“Alright,” she says and starts writing on the cup. “’Dude with the bleached hair.’”

There’s a high pitched cackle to her right, and she sees Wooyoung who appears to be studying the folded menu, leaning against the far side of the counter.

The guy narrows his eyes, and there is something truly unpleasant in the way he stares at Wooyoung for just half a second before he immediately composes himself again.

He opens his mouth to say something but gets interrupted by Annie, who shoves Mia to the side with her shoulder and pushes a paper cup into the guy’s hands. “Here’s your coffee,” she says with a flat voice. “Bye.”

They stare at each other for a second, him looking offended and somewhat shocked and Annie looking incredibly bored.

“NEXT!” she eventually shouts and he jumps a little, flushing a deep angry red, and he turns on his heel and stomps out.

“Dumbass,” mutters Annie and Mia starts laughing, hiding her face behind her hands while Wooyoung gives Annie a high five.

~

Things stay quiet for a while after that, and Mia is truly sad when Annie comes in for her last shift. They celebrate by eating an enormous amount of cake that nobody pays for, and Wooyoung plays obnoxiously sad violin music over his laptop, turning it up as loud as possible in an attempt to drown out the coffee shop music. Mia wants to claw at her ears.

After Wooyoung leaves for the day, Annie and Mia spend the rest of her shift just chatting and exchanging numbers, with a promise to actually stay in touch this time.

Mia is horrible at staying in touch, and she fervently hopes that Annie will be back for Christmas again. Much too soon, it’s time for her to go.

“Oh by the way,” says Annie just before she walks out the door. “I left you a little present, in case you get lonely and need company.”

She has a shit-eating grin on her face, and Mia groans. “What did you do?”

“Loverboy left his phone number a couple days ago, when you were on break. I put it in your coat.”

“Thanks,” says Mia flatly, trying to ignore Annie’s giggles.

“And guess what,” she says, slightly out of breath and her eyes twinkling.

“What?”

“His name is KYLE! What a DUMBASS name!” She doubles over with laughter, holding her stomach as she finally stumbles out the door. “Byeeeee!”

Mia rolls her eyes, making a mental note to burn the number as soon as she gets home.

~

With the end of the summer break, the number of customers drops to their usual amount, and more often than not it’s only Wooyoung sitting in the shop, just like before, with occasional exceptions.

Today is one of those days, and there is a whole crowd of middle-aged guys in suits all coming in at the same time, staying for way too long despite Wooyoung throwing them evil looks every now and then.

When they finally leave, Mia breathes a sigh of relief. It’s not like they had been particularly unpleasant customers, but she much prefers the peace and quiet with only Wooyoung here.

She snatches up a tray and starts collecting all of their empty cups and plates, noticing absentmindedly that Wooyoung is not at his table. Probably in the bathroom.

She is on her third run and just picking up the last three glasses that didn’t fit on the last tray when the entrance bell chimes.

“I’ll be there in a second!” she calls over her shoulder and quickly wipes down the table. When she turns around, she almost collides with a broad chest. Apologizing profusely, she takes a step back, before realizing who she just ran into. It’s the dumbass. Kyle, she thinks, and her heart gives an unpleasant twinge. Something about the lack of a barrier between them feels profoundly unsettling.

“Just a second,” she mutters and tries to push past him. He steps to the side, blocking her path. Mia stares at him, and he tilts his head slightly, smiling at her.

“I’m gonna take you out to dinner,” he announces. “How does Friday sound?”

Mia is genuinely flabbergasted for several seconds, then she takes a deep breath. “I am not going out to dinner with you,” she says, very slowly and very clearly.

“Why not?”

“I don’t even know you.”

“Exactly, that’s what the dinner is for,” Kyle says, and his tone is infuriatingly condescending. Like he is explaining something to a child.

“I have no interest in getting to know you,” Mia says, forcing her voice to stay calm and neutral.

“Well that’s a bit rude now, isn’t it?”

Mia’s mouth drops open. “Rude? I have told you no MULTIPLE times, just accept the rejection and get the fuck on with your life!”

Kyle has the audacity to chuckle. “Now, now, there’s no reason for that tone. Especially from someone like you.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Kyle gestures at her with a pitying smile. “I mean look at you, you’re a waitress! You should be a little grateful, hm? To get this much attention from someone like me.”

Mia is gripping the tray so hard that her knuckles have turned white. A part of her really wants to whack it across his stupid face.

“Okay that’s enough now, asshole. You are banned from the coffee shop, which I should have done ages ago. If you come here again I will call the police. Now get the fuck out of here and waste your time on someone who’s actually interested in your stupid ass!”

Kyle’s smile drops, and he grabs the tray and rips it out of her hands, causing the glasses to crash to the ground and shatter into hundreds of shards around her feet.

Mia gasps in shock and freezes, her heart hammering. Before she is able to think of what to do, he shoves her, hard. Her back collides with the wall, causing the back of her head to slam against it painfully.

“Now listen here, you fucking bitch,” he hisses, close enough for his breath to fan across her face.

Mia wants to throw up.

“You are going to show me some respect, because if you d-”

He disappears so suddenly that it takes Mia a moment to understand what just happened, and then the guy crashes into the wall next to her, face first, his arm twisted behind his back by none other than-

“Wooyoung,” Mia whimpers, and she is so relieved she could cry. Then she notices their size difference. Kyle is almost an entire head taller than Wooyoung, and much broader.

Her heart racing, she starts looking around for something to use as a weapon, when Wooyoung suddenly calls her name, sharply. She looks up.

His face is hard, harder than she has ever seen it, and his jaw is clenched. For some reason, he doesn’t seem to struggle too much with keeping Kyle, who has started loudly cursing, pressed against the wall.

“Go into the kitchen and stay there,” Wooyoung commands. Mia hesitates, not wanting to leave him alone with the asshole.

“Go!” says Wooyoung, louder than before, and Mia pushes herself away from the wall, knees shaking, and makes her way to the counter.

“Now you listen here, you bastard,” she hears Wooyoung say, his voice dripping with anger.

She hesitates, looking back.

Wooyoung shoots her a warning glance, and she hurries into the kitchen, leaning against the closed door. Panic still courses through her body, and she tries to calm her breathing, to slow the hammering of her heart.

She is almost successful until a scream suddenly rips through the air, and she flinches so violently that she bangs her head against the door. She pushes it open with shaking hands, just enough to see that Wooyoung is still holding the bigger guy against the wall. She quickly closes the door again and sinks to the ground, burying her head in her knees.

“Mia?”

She flinches again and looks up at Wooyoung, who is standing in the doorway to the kitchen, looking worried. “Are you hurt?”

“Me?” asks Mia, her voice embarrassingly high and shaky. “No, I’m – I’m fine.”

Wooyoung looks somewhat doubtful at that, but he doesn’t say anything and instead offers her his hand. She allows herself to be pulled up.

Wooyoung turns towards her, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding her eyes. “I’m not usually- I don’t- I just-”

He sounds like he’s trying to apologize or something, and that won’t do. Mia takes a step towards him and throws her arms around him, hiding her face in his neck. Wooyoung makes a startled sound but after a moment of hesitation, he hugs her back.

“Thank you,” Mia whispers, and Wooyoung tightens his arms. She releases him after a couple of seconds, suddenly scared that she crossed some kind of line.

But Wooyoung smiles at her, his eyes warm. “Let’s go sit down, yeah?”

A few minutes later, they are both sitting at Wooyoung’s table, Mia’s hands wrapped around a huge cup of hot Chai that Wooyoung insisted she make for herself. The first couple of sips cause warmth to spread through her body, and she feels herself relax a little.

“That’s better,” says Wooyoung and takes a sip of his coffee. He sets his cup down and regards her for a moment. “Are you alright?”

Mia swallows the impulse to say I’m fine and tries to give an honest answer.

“I… I think so? I’m a bit shaken, to be honest.”

Wooyoung nods.

“That sounds like a normal reaction,” he says and gives her one of those smiles that crinkles his eyes. Mia suddenly realizes that, unlike her, Wooyoung seems completely unfazed.

“What about you?” she asks.

Wooyoung blinks. “Me?”

“Yes you! You just- I mean, what even happened? I uh, I heard a scream?” Her hands are shaking again.

Wooyoung looks unhappy.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” he says.

“Can you please tell me why he screamed?” Mia asks in a small voice. Wooyoung hesitates.

“Please?”

He sighs. “I broke his finger,” he finally says, and looks at her searchingly. Trying to see her reaction, probably. Mia tries to look calm.

“Accidentally?”

“No.”

“Okay,” says Mia, her voice slightly squeaky.

Wooyoung’s eyebrows pull together into a frown, and he looks down at his coffee.

“You’re not… you’re not mad at me, right?” he asks quietly.

“What? Of course not! Wooyoung, you saved my ass! I was so scared, I…” she suddenly finds it hard to breathe. “I don’t know what I would have done without you,” she finishes with a shaky voice, blinking furiously against the stinging in her eyes.

“Okay,” Wooyoung whispers.

“And he totally deserves to have his fucking finger broken. I would have broken his arm if I could have!” She adds, shaking her fist.

Wooyoung chuckles. “I agree.”

“So you what, you broke his finger and politely asked him to leave and then he just did?”

“Um, not exactly. I explained to him what he had done wrong and when he kept spewing egotistical and misogynistic nonsense, then I broke his finger.”

Mia nods. “That’s fair. I mean, you tried.”

Wooyoung grins.

“Right, so then he was screaming and whining and I told him to shut the fuck up or I would dislocate his shoulder, and then I told him to never come here again, and if I ever see him around the coffee shop or if he ever talks to you again, I would, uh-” he suddenly stares at Mia with wide eyes, interrupting himself.

“You would?”

“Not important,” Wooyoung says, staring down at his coffee again. “What’s important is that he left, he’s gone, and I’m pretty sure he won’t show his face here again.”

He starts sliding his middle finger along the rim of his glass in slow circles, still avoiding her eyes. Mia is pretty sure that he is withholding a lot of information, but it’s not really her place to pry. Wooyoung literally saved her.

There is a slight pause, before Mia speaks up again, her voice soft.

“I’m really glad you were here today.”

“Me too.” Wooyoung smiles, but then his face falls slightly. He seems to debate something with himself.

“Alright, so,” he says finally, ripping the corner from one of the papers on his table, and starts scribbling on it.

“If he ever does show his face here again, and I happen to not be there that day, um, call me, okay?” He slides the piece of paper towards her, and Mia takes it very carefully. It’s a phone number.

“Okay,” she whispers.

“But, and this is very important,” says Wooyoung, waiting until she looks up to meet his eyes. “Do not, under any circumstances, share this number with anyone, and only use it if there’s an emergency. Do you understand? Promise me.”

Mia nods, still staring at the piece of paper in her trembling hands.

“I promise.”

 

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed the start of this story! I'm a bit nervous about it since it's the first story I ever posted, so kudos and comments are very appreciated ♥️ I get so much motivation from knowing people read my work 🥰 Let me know if you have any suggestions or find any mistakes, English is not my first language so there might be some!

Endless thanks to the people who encouraged me to actually post this, I love you all ♥️

Extra special thanks to my friend, beta reader and favourite author pearlypearlypearl, wouldn't have been able to do this without you! (Check out their stuff I'm so serious it's absolute poetry)

Chapter 2

Notes:

It gets a little more heated in this chapter.

TW: Violence, gun violence, blood, interrogation

 

Wooyoung leans back in his chair, the plate in front of him empty. It’s the first time in a long while that they had all managed to eat together, and Wooyoung spent hours in the kitchen preparing an extravagant three-course meal after sending the kitchen staff home early, refusing any help that was offered. The result turned out very satisfactory, and the others all showered him in compliments that filled him with warm pride.

He sighs, feeling happy and content. The others’ voices are starting to blend together into a low buzzing noise as he allows himself to zone out. An indefinite amount of minutes pass before the humming of voices takes on a different quality, and Wooyoung feels slightly annoyed. Someone elbows him in the ribs, and he jumps, turning towards San who is sitting next to him.

“Is that your phone? Something’s buzzing, and it’s not mine.”

Wooyoung blinks, and it takes him an embarrassing amount of time to react. Then he suddenly jumps into action, hastily digging his phone out of the jacket thrown across his chair. The screen indicates that an unknown number is calling.

Oh shit Wooyoung thinks and jumps up, drawing everyone’s attention.

“I’ll be back in a second,” he says, and doing his best to keep his face neutral, he hurries out of the room and accepts the call. “Hello?”

“Wooyoung? Is that you?” It’s Mia’s voice, and she sounds scared. Wooyoung runs up the stairs to his room to grab his keys and helmet.

“It’s me! What’s going on?”

“I’m so sorry for calling,” Mia whimpers. “I just, I didn’t know what to do, I-”

“It’s okay, just tell me where you are, alright? Are you at the coffee shop?” Wooyoung connects a headset to his phone and shoves it into his pocket to free his hands.

“No I, I closed up and I was walking home and I- I think I’m being followed.”

“Alright,” Wooyoung says, hurrying down the stairs. “I’m coming, okay? Now I need you to tell me exactly where you are, so I can come find y- oof”

Wooyoung collides with Hongjoong, who is standing at the foot of the stairs with his head tilted curiously.

“Going somewhere?”

“Uhhh,” Wooyoung takes a step back, schooling his expression into a smile. “Just going for a ride, I’ll be back soon though. Dinner is finished, right?” He spins the helmet nervously.

“Sure,” says Hongjoong, the corner of his mouth pulling up.

“Okay, um, see you in a bit! Bye!” He hurries across the entrance hall before someone can try and stop him, hauling open the heavy wooden doors and running towards the garage.

Hongjoong turns towards Seonghwa, who is leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. They share a long look before Seonghwa pushes away from the wall and opens the door to the dining hall.

“San! Mingi! Grab a car and follow him. I’ll send you the GPS of his phone.”

The two share a look. “Should we be prepared for trouble?”

Hongjoong sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“Always,” he says.

~

Mia throws another nervous glance over her shoulder. The two shadowy figures are farther back than they were a minute ago, but that doesn’t do much to calm her down. Just as she turns a corner into a different street, hoping to get to somewhere more populated, two other men appear right in the path she was going to take, staring at her and slowly walking towards her. She immediately turns, heading in the other direction.

“Mia? Are you still there?”

Wooyoung’s voice is muffled and barely audible over the sound of the engine and the wind. Mia presses the phone to her ear with shaking hands.

“Yeah I’m- I’m still here. Wooyoung, I have this… this weird feeling, it sounds insane when I say it, but- they keep appearing in front of me too, forcing me to go certain directions, and they’re not even trying to get closer. It all feels like they’re, I don’t know, herding me somewhere? Like there’s a trap somewhere, maybe? I feel like I’m going crazy, this all sounds so weird, maybe I’m just imagining things, I-”

“Mia, stop,” Wooyoung interrupts her. “You’re not crazy, and I’ll be with you in a couple of minutes okay? But I need to know exactly where you are right now.”

“I- I don’t know,” Mia whimpers. “I keep turning into random streets, I don’t know where I am anymore, I’m so sorry, I’ve never gone this way before!”

“Okay, that’s okay! Try to find a street corner, alright? Hopefully it will have both names of the two conversing streets and then you can tell me those.”

Mia looks around and hurries towards the closest street corner she can see. Again, there is someone just standing in the middle of the street, staring at her. Mia forces herself not to immediately run in the opposite direction, and she relays the two street names to Wooyoung in a shaky voice.

“Okay that’s great! I’m almost there, just a bit more, and then we can get out of there together, yeah? You’re doing so well, just keep moving!”

Mia nods, forgetting for a moment that he can’t see her. Just a bit more, she tells herself.

She almost stumbles over her own feet when another man in dark clothing appears on the road in front of her, much closer than the others had ever come. She claps a hand over her mouth in order not to scream and turns into the narrow street to her left.

Only a couple of steps in, she realizes that this street is a dead end.

Well fuck, she thinks. This is it then. Either Wooyoung gets here right now or I’m gonna die.

She continues to the end of the road, hoping that maybe there is some passage that she just can’t see from here, only to end up in front of a solid brick wall. She turns around slowly, having no other option than to wait.

The street is dark and deserted, lined with rundown buildings and a handful of parked cars. She is just starting to consider hiding under one of the cars when she hears the sound of an approaching motorcycle.

“I- I can hear a motorcycle, is that you? Please tell me that it’s you,” she begs, her whole body trembling.

“It’s me!”

A singular headlight appears at the entrance of the road, and Mia leans against the rough stone behind her, trying to take deep breaths. The motorcycle approaches her, and the driver jumps off as soon as it reaches a standstill, yanking the helmet off of his head.

Mia throws herself into his arms.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry, thank god you’re here, fuck I’m so scared, this is so stupid!”

Wooyoung hugs her tightly for a few seconds, then he gently pushes her away.

“Stop apologizing, alright? Let’s just get out of here and we can talk later,” he says, giving her cheek a little pat. His hand is freezing, probably because he’s not wearing any gloves. Mia feels terrible.

“Have you ever been on a motorcycle before?”

Mia shakes her hand, eyeing the vehicle with a new kind of nervousness.

“That’s alright, just hold on to me really tightly and don’t move around. Pretend you’re my backpack!” He grins encouragingly.

The ear shattering noise of gunshots rips through the air, and Mia shrieks, covering her ears. She hears Wooyoung curse before he shoves her down towards the ground and tries to pull her behind a car.

Before they reach it, just when the sound of gunshots and shattering glass is joined by screeching tires, Wooyoung stumbles a step back and collapses to the ground.

“NO!” Mia screams, grabbing at him, her hands coming away bloody.

“Nonononono please PLEASE!”

She tries to shake him awake, and the sudden light that floods the street from a pair of rapidly approaching headlights illuminates his body. His eyes are closed, his face pale, and there is so much blood. The white shirt he is wearing under the open jacket is drenched in scarlet.

Mia starts sobbing, trying to find a heartbeat, anything. She doesn’t even realize that people have started shouting around her, and she ignores the continuous gun fire.

She had just managed to get her shaking hands on his throat in search of a pulse when someone grabs her arm and yanks her away from Wooyoung.

She screams, flailing and kicking at whoever is dragging her away, and then something hard knocks against the back of her head. She feels a brief explosion of pain before her vision goes dark.

~

Mia wakes up to a terrible headache. Her thoughts are sluggish, and she struggles to move.

Something is very wrong, but she has no idea what. It takes her several seconds to realize that she is sitting slumped over on a chair, her hands tied behind her back. Panic claws up her throat, and she tries to lift her head, but it’s just so heavy.

More time passes with her drifting in and out of consciousness until she finally manages to force her eyes open. There is a single drop of blood on her right knee, and she stares at it, trying to make sense of how it might have gotten there.

Her head is still pounding, and all of a sudden, memories of Wooyoung’s motionless body and blood soaked shirt flood back into her mind. Her breathing quickens, and with a monumental effort, she manages to lift her head, just a tiny bit, only to immediately freeze.

A pair of black combat boots entered her vision. Someone is sitting right in front of her, legs outstretched and ankles crossed. Have they been here the whole time? She doesn’t dare to move, but whoever sits there has apparently noticed the small movement of her head.

“Good morning,” says a smooth voice.

Mia closes her eyes and takes a breath before finally lifting her head up all the way, staring at the man in front of her. His face is angular, with narrow, feline eyes and a sharp jaw. He looks dangerous.

“How’s the head?” he asks with a small, cold smile. Mia doesn’t answer.

“Alright then,” he sighs. “This sounds very cliché, but we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. I personally don’t care either way, but you could spare yourself a lot of pain if you answer my questions.”

Mia stays silent. Was he the one who shot Wooyoung? Could he still be alive? Do they have him? Her biggest hope is that they left him there for dead, and that someone called the police because of all the gunfire, and that he was brought to a hospital in time to save him.

That has to be it, she tells herself. They made the mistake of leaving him, which is why they need me to give them information.

She couldn’t imagine that she was the actual target of whatever the hell this was. There was absolutely nothing interesting or secret about her, while there was definitely something going on with Wooyoung.

“First question,” the man says, interrupting her thoughts. “What’s your name?”

Mia gnashes her teeth together. She channels all of her anger and hatred into one scalding look, but the man merely looks slightly amused.

“I’m not gonna give you shit,” she hisses.

He throws his head back and laughs, and after a while he uncrosses his legs, leaning forwards and bringing his face close to hers. She recoils at the sudden proximity.

She expects him to throw around more threats, but before she can blink, a fist collides with the left side of her face, violently snapping back her head.

Pain explodes across her cheekbone, her visions goes fuzzy for a few seconds, and the retreating headache comes back tenfold.

She gasps, her heart racing from the shock and the pain, and it takes her a long while to slowly turn her head back towards the man who appears completely relaxed.

He absentmindedly flexes his fingers, covered in black leather gloves.

“How about now?” He asks with a smile.

“Fuck you,” Mia gasps with all the courage she can muster, and she closes her eyes right before the next punch. This one lands on her right jaw, and her head whips around so hard that for a moment she worries her neck might snap.

The coppery taste of blood fills her mouth, and she blinks against the stinging in her eyes. Don’t cry, she commands herself. Whatever happens, don’t cry.

Two more punches, and Mia feels like she is close to breaking. One of her teeth feels somewhat wobbly, and there’s a split in her lip that burns like fire. Her whole face is throbbing with pain, and it gets harder and harder to hold back tears. She struggles to even hold up her head.

He hadn’t even asked anything in between the last couple of punches. Just endure, she tells herself, but the fear of more pain is causing cracks in her resolve.

Nothing happens for a couple of seconds, and she carefully blinks open her eyes. He has gotten up from the chair and is leaning down right in front of her, one hand braced against the back of the chair. As soon as she meets his eyes, he buries his fist in her stomach.

Mia doubles over in her chair and chokes on the blood in her mouth. For a couple of seconds, she feels like she is going to throw up, and she waits for the pain to recede, but it doesn’t.

Low whimpers keep escaping her no matter how hard she tries to keep them in, and tears have finally started streaming down her aching cheeks. Her lungs struggle to properly expand, her breath coming in short little gasps.

A hand appears under her jaw, taking a hold of her chin and forcing her head to tilt up. Mia stares at the man’s face through a veil of tears. He has a slightly crazed look on his face, his eyes wide.

“I’m going to do that again,” he breathes. “And I want you to look me in the eyes.”

Mia’s whole body fills with dread, and she weakly tries to pull her face away, but he has her in an iron grip. His arm pulls back.

“Wait!” Mia gasps, shaking all over. He waits, arching a sharp eyebrow.

“M-Mia,” she whispers.

The man drops his arm, and suddenly his hands cup her face, impossibly gently.

“Is that your name, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice soft. Mia closes her eyes and nods, and her lips start to tremble, more tears escaping down her face.

She can’t see him, but she can feel his breath against her neck as he brings his lips close to her ear.

“What’s the rest of it?”

“Williams.” Her voice sounds as small and hopeless as she feels, and the hand smoothing across her hair feels strange.

“Good job,” he says, his voice warm. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? You’ve been so brave.”

Mia just wants to curl up and cry and hate herself in peace. She feels weak and cowardly and not at all brave, and she hates how a part of her latches onto this morsel of kindness that is being thrown her way.

But she is tired, and in pain, and she lacks the strength to fight anymore, so she just hangs her head and starts sobbing, and she doesn’t resist when the man pulls her into his chest and caresses her hair as her tears stain his shirt.

He smells faintly of leather and wood smoke, and something sweet. Vanilla?

Shame burns through Mia at how long she indulges herself before she finally manages to try and pull away from him. He releases her immediately and takes a step back, peering at her face.

“You’ll probably want some ice for that,” he mutters, softly touching her cheek. He is not wearing gloves anymore.

“That’s enough for today, alright?” He says, as if she had any say in that at all.

~

The light flickers again. Mia stares up at it, squinting angrily.

She is sitting in a corner, her legs pulled up to her chin and her arms wrapped around herself in an attempt to combat the chill creeping up from every part of her body that is touching the cold white tiles covering the small room. It is completely bare except for a metal sink and a toilet.

The guy who beat her up left her in there an indefinable amount of time ago. He hadn’t said anything, just cut the tape holding her wrists together, and then he had actually given her an icepack for her face before leading her out of the room, down a hall and into this absolute hell of a place.

Since then, nothing.

There had been a bottle of water and a pack of crackers on the ground, but they are long gone. Should she have rationed the food? She didn’t expect to just be left in here. It has been more than a day, surely. Or has it?

She wishes there was any way for her to tell the time, but the light stays on, bright and cold and fluorescent, and nothing changes at all.

Mia tried to sleep at some point, but the pain in her face and abdomen and the bright light, along with the merciless cold tiles of the floor made it impossible for her to get even a little comfortable.

Her feet are bare, and the thought that someone took off her shoes and socks while she was unconscious is unsettling for some reason. Why would they do it? Just to make her feel more vulnerable? If that was the reason, they had succeeded.

Not for the first time, she wishes she was wearing pants. It had been one of the last somewhat mild days of the year and she had decided to wear a skirt along with the white blouse she always wore at the coffee shop. If she could slap her past self for that decision, she would. Not only does the skirt not offer much warmth, it also makes her feel incredibly exposed.

For the first couple of hours, she had been angry. She had thrown the icepack to the side, raised a middle finger towards the thing that looked like a camera in one of the corners of the room, and had ignored the food and the water.

After a while, she had felt stupid, like a child throwing a tantrum, and she had picked up the icepack to cool her swollen face. Then she had started thinking, trying to make sense of the whole situation. Why was she here? Who were these people? What could they possibly want from her?

She was still convinced that it had something to do with Wooyoung, but someone had definitely followed her after work, chasing her around the streets. If they were after Wooyoung, how would they have known she would call him, or that he would come for her?

It didn’t make any sense, and the longer she tried to come up with a reasonable explanation, the worse her headache got. Could it actually have been about her? But who had a problem with her to this extent? What could people think she knew?

At some point, the idea that this could have anything to do with that absolute bastard Kyle entered her head and wouldn’t leave again. He was the only one holding a grudge towards both her and Wooyoung. But- just because she turned him down? He was a creep, but this?

Maybe it had been some kind of mistake. Maybe they got the wrong person.

Hours of spiraling theories and throbbing pain in her temples later, she came to the conclusion that it didn’t really matter. Whatever she had gotten herself into, she probably wouldn’t make it out of. And it didn’t even matter that they knew her name, she was fucked anyway.

But she would not, under any circumstances, give up anything about Wooyoung. He had been shot, maybe killed, all because he came to help her. It was all her fault, and the least she could do was not betray him, no matter what they did to her.

The light flickers again.

Mia buries her face in her arms with a low groan. She is starting to suspect that they will just leave her there to starve. She has refilled her bottle several times from the sink, but the lack of food is starting to get to her. The hollowness in her stomach is almost painful, and the last time she stood up, her vision went black for a couple of seconds.

She catches herself hoping the guy from earlier would come back, even if that only means more pain. Anything is better than this. Is that what he is trying to do to her?

Mia slams her fist against the wall in a sudden burst of rage. He is getting under her skin, and she hates it. Hates that she wants him to come back. He is the devil, sent up from her own personal hell.

Hours later, and she is still in the same position. Her mind is empty for a blissful moment, until the light starts to flicker again, and this time it doesn’t stop.

Mia screams into her hands.

Her body is aching all over from holding the same position for such a long time, but it’s so cold. She will lose her mind in here, she knows it. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

Allowing her body to slide down the wall, Mia stretches her limbs for a moment and then curls up into a ball, her head pillowed on one of her arms, the other arm thrown across her face in an attempt to block out the horrible flickering.

She wakes up some time later. The pain in her face has gone down a little. She is shivering, and her feet feel like ice. As she pulls herself up in order to refill her bottle, she wishes again that the sink had warm water, instead of just icy cold. How nice would it feel to drink something warm. She twists the small metal knob and holds the bottle under the faucet.

Nothing.

Mia stares at the sink, her mind blank. She turns it the other way. Nothing happens. Refusing to give up, Mia twists the knob this way and that, as far as it goes, until her knees give out and she sinks to the floor, clutching the empty bottle.

They cut off her water. This can’t be an accident. How long does a human survive without water, was it three days? How much of that time had already passed? She was thirsty.

A lump forms in her throat, and her eyes are starting to sting. She’s just so tired, and so cold, and so hungry. What has she done to deserve this? A wave of self-pity washes over her, and she hugs the useless bottle to her chest, allowing herself to drown in her misery. Why her?

The tears do nothing but worsen her headache.

At some point, she remembers the camera, and how someone might look at her just this moment, observing her weakness. Maybe they are high-fiving each other.

Anger twists itself through her insides, hot and burning. Who the fuck do these people think they are. What right do they have to do this to her? Fucking bastards, all of them.

She forces herself to remember Wooyoung’s bullet-ridden body. No, it’s not time to give up yet. He deserves better than that.

She curls her hand into her thigh, digging her nails into the skin. They can do what they want. She will not give him up.

 

Notes:

Don't be too worried about Wooyoung guys, my heart could never handle writing a main character death!

As always, feel free to share your thoughts and opinions 🥰

Much love!

Chapter 3

Notes:

TW: Interrogation/torture, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, nonconsensual drugging

 

Mia flinches at the sound of footsteps outside. As much as she had longed for something, someone to release her from this hellish isolation, a surge of panic floods through her now.

She barely has the time to imagine all the horrible scenarios that might be in store for her now before she hears a key turn in the lock. She presses herself against the cold tiles, arms wrapped around her chest protectively.

The door swings open, revealing him. The devil. She stares up at him with all the hatred she can muster, while he just smiles and steps into the room, twirling a roll of duct tape around his fingers. As he comes closer, the sudden overwhelming smell of freshly baked bread envelops her, so strong that it makes her feel dizzy. Her empty stomach cramps up with longing, and she has to restrain herself from leaning closer to him. She balls her hands into fists to stop them from shaking.

“Hello Mia,” he says conversationally, crouching down. “Nice to see you again.”

Mia presses her lips into a tight line.  He tilts his head slightly, examining her face.

“I’m glad to see the swelling has gone down,” he says, his smile widening.

I hate you, Mia thinks. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

“Alright then!” He claps his free hand on his thigh and stands up again. Mia scrambles to her feet, not wanting to be looked down upon. She leans against the wall in an effort not to stagger to the side, her knees feeling wobbly.

“Turn around for me, would you?” he says smoothly.

Mia doesn’t move.

“Please?” he says, and grins like he just said something funny. When Mia still doesn’t turn, he sighs.

“We both know that I can easily do this with or without your cooperation, yes? I’m asking you because I want to be civil, and I didn’t think you would be so eager to have me all up in your space already.”

He has the audacity to wink at her, and Mia feels her cheeks grow hot with anger. She hates the implications of this, and she definitely doesn’t want him to touch her any more than necessary, but she also can’t get herself to just turn around. It feels too compliant, too obedient.

Of course he can do whatever he fucking wants with her, she’s starved and weak and he is clearly much stronger than her, with broad shoulders straining against the confines of his jacket. She’s not dumb enough to think she can actually fight him off, but that’s not the point. The only thing she has left is her pride, and she will hold onto it for as long as she can.

“Alright, suit yourself,” he mutters and steps into her space. Mia clenches her jaw and forces herself to stare into his eyes, but only a heartbeat later finds her with her cheek pressed against the tiles, her arm twisted painfully behind her back. She bites her tongue to keep herself from crying out at the sudden pain in her shoulder, and she doesn’t even try to resist when he easily brings her hands together behind her back, wrapping them with tape.

The whole thing doesn’t even take half a minute.

“Come on then,” he says cheerfully and starts leading her towards the door, keeping a tight grip on her upper arm. Mia stumbles over her own feet before they even make it out of the room.

“Whoa there, careful!” he says, steadying her. Mia’s face burns and she resolutely keeps her eyes on the ground.

She ends up in the same chair as before, and for a while, they just observe each other silently.

Eventually, he reaches into the pocket of his jacket, fishes out a crumpled piece of paper and smooths it out against his thigh before holding it up between two fingers for her to see.

Mia feels her heart sink. It’s Wooyoung’s phone number.

She remembers how he had implored her not to let anyone else see it, how important that had seemed. Now these assholes have it. She hadn’t kept it safe.

“How did you get this?” he asks.

Mia clamps her mouth shut.

The devil in front of her waits for a long time before he lowers the piece of paper and leans forward in his chair.

“Everyone has a breaking point, Mia,” he says softly. “So do you. Why are you doing this to yourself? The end result will be the same, but you could save yourself from so much pain.”

Mia doesn’t answer.

He leans back again with a sigh, and then he gets up. There’s a long table along one wall, covered in things Mia would rather not see. He grabs a pair of leather gloves and pulls them over his hands before moving to the other side of the room. Mia would have to turn around in order to see him, so she stares at the floor in front of her feet, trying to keep herself from panicking. Her mouth is dry from both dehydration and fear.

The sudden sound of running water makes her jump a little.

He enters back into her line of sight and drops into his chair, one leg thrown casually over the other. They stare at each other in silence, the water splashing noisily in the background.

Mia’s heart is hammering in her chest so hard it’s almost painful, and her anxiety grows stronger with each passing minute.

The man in front of her is looking at her with a completely blank expression, his posture relaxed, not a single trace of emotion in his face. Mia starts fidgeting nervously.

At some point, he gets to his feet again and disappears behind her. The water stops.

Without warning, a hand buries itself in her hair, yanking her to her feet. Mia cries out as she gets dragged across the room, her scalp burning with pain.

A small metal bathtub sits against the wall, filled almost to the brim with water. Something shoves against her legs from behind, causing her knees to buckle, slamming painfully into the ground. The hand in her hair forces her body forward, her chest pressed against the rim of the tub, her face inches from the water’s surface.

Mia’s breath comes in short, panicked gasps.

“How did you get the number?” His voice is cold.

Mia screws her eyes shut. The hand in her hair pushes downward. Mia’s head plunges into the cold water, and the shock almost has her gasping for air. She hadn’t been able to properly fill her lungs, and already she feels like suffocating.

Panic thrums through her entire body, and she is shaking violently, no matter how much she tries to tell herself to relax. She tries to concentrate on something, anything, and so she focuses on the pain in her scalp. The pressure in her lungs grows and grows, and at some point Mia loses control. She starts struggling against the hand holding her down, her body writhing and squirming, but all that happens is that a hand grabs her neck and shoves her even deeper into the water. She desperately tugs at the tape holding her wrists together, and just when lights start bursting in the darkness of her closed eyes, her head gets yanked up, out of the water.

Air rushes into Mia’s lungs while her body crumbles to the ground, away from the cursed water. She curls into herself while she hungrily gasps for air. She feels lightheaded, her body is tingling, the floor is cold underneath her cheek.

Before her breathing can calm down, the cruel hand is back in her hair, pulling her upwards.

Mia is whimpering, weakly struggling against the grip holding her in place. She tries to pull away from the tub, but a firm body appears behind her back, pushing her forward until the edge of the tub digs into her flesh.

She is pinned in place, her torso crushed between his chest and the hard metal, her heart racing with terror, and a voice in her head screams at her to take a proper deep breath, but she can’t. The hand pushes her head down slowly, mercilessly, and she closes her eyes before her face submerges, taking away any sound and enveloping her in darkness and silence.

This time, her panic overwhelms her only moments after she enters the water. The bitter taste of fear fills her throat while her lungs are screaming for oxygen. The added sensation of another body crowding her against the bathtub fills her with claustrophobia, and her brain is suddenly convinced that she is dying.

Mia strains against the hand holding her down with all the power her panicked mind can muster, twisting her hands against the tape so hard that it cuts into her wrists.

The devil holds her in place.

Mia feels herself grow weaker, and she prepares for the sensation of water rushing into her lungs.

Her head breaks the surface of the water, and she is heaving for air again, fighting against the water that managed to make its way into her airway. The sound of static is buzzing in her ears and her body is shaking so hard that her teeth are chattering. After coughing her lungs out for what feels like minutes, still choking on every single breath, she feels herself getting pulled up again.

“No,” she gasps. It’s too soon, she’s not breathing properly, she didn’t get enough air, she can’t go again, she can’t. “No, please, wait!”

The hand pushes her head down, slowly, the surface of the water glittering menacingly.

“He gave it to me!” Mia bursts out. Her face halts, inches from the water.

“Who gave it to you?” His voice is quiet.

“H-he,” Mia whimpers. Don’t give him up. You promised. You promised. You promised.

“The- The one the number belongs to, he, he gave it to me.”

Please let this be enough, Mia silently begs. It’s all I have, please.

The hand lets go of her hair, and the body pressed against her back retreats just enough for her to fall away from the tub. Before she can crumble to the floor again, an arm circles around her, hugging her to a warm chest, holding her while desperate sobs wrack her body.

It takes a while for Mia to calm down enough to take a proper, full breath, and the relief almost makes her cry again. Her eyes are shut tight, and she feels a hand brushing the wet strands of hair out of her face.

She doesn’t want to open them, doesn’t want to confront reality. She wants to be held, comforted, she wants to pretend that the arms around her belong to a friend, that the safety they promise is actually real and not just an illusion.

Something soft presses against the top of her head. His lips?

“Well done,” he whispers into her hair. “Good girl, hm? You did so well for me.”

Mia hates him. She hates him so much. Her face is pressed into his chest, and she breathes in the scent of leather and smoke and freshly baked bread. He is so warm, and she is so cold, her wet hair dripping icy water down her neck.

A hand is rubbing soothing circles into her back, and Mia hates how her body calms down.

“It’s okay,” he mutters. “You’re okay.”

Mia feels the adrenaline slowly seep out of her bloodstream, leaving her entirely exhausted, and she goes slack in his arms. She is too tired to think about anything.

“Hold on a second” he says, and Mia is suddenly scared he will let her go, but he just shifts around, one arm still tightly wrapped around her shoulders, and then she feels a towel press against the back of her head. The sensation of getting her hair patted dry is shockingly tender, and the feeling sears itself right through her heart. Mia feels like a child.

“Thirsty?” he asks. Mia nods.

He shifts around again, and this time his arms pull back from her. Mia’s eyes fly open with a sudden feeling of anxiety, and she blinks, trying to clear her vision.

He is close still, rummaging around in an open cabinet on his knees, his back turned towards her. Mia notices that he is no longer wearing his jacket, probably so it wouldn’t get wet. He is wearing a grey tank top that leaves his shoulders and arms exposed, and there is a tattoo curling itself all the way around his left arm, starting from his wrist and across his shoulder.

Hundreds, thousands of tiny scales cover his skin, inked in small, detailed strokes. A snake?

He turns around with a small bottle of water in his hand, and stops when he notices her staring. Mia should feel embarrassed, she really should, but she can see so much more now and something about the way the scales move along with his muscles is utterly hypnotizing.

She can see a scaly leg that ends in long claws, crushing something that might be a flower. Not a snake then. A dragon? It looks like it is climbing up his arm, around his shoulder, down his chest, dipping under the fabric of his shirt. She wishes she could see the head.

He clears his throat, shaking her from her daze, and Mia’s eyes snap to his face, mortified. He doesn’t say anything though, just gives her a small, amused smile as he unscrews the bottle cap.

Mia gives a small tug against the restraints around her wrists as she reflexively wants to reach for the bottle, only to be reminded that she can’t. He moves closer to her, a finger tilting up her chin.

“Open up,” he says, his smile widening.

It takes Mia a moment of hesitation before she complies, a moment filled with both the fear of water near her airways and her broken pride, but she shoves it down. It doesn’t fucking matter. She is tired and thirsty.

He rests one hand on her jaw, keeping her head in position with just his fingertips, while he pours a sip of water into her mouth with the other. Mia panics a bit at the liquid running down her throat, and he lets her pull back, giving her time to swallow on her own terms, then he repeats the whole thing.

The relief from quenching her thirst is so intense that she feels it in her entire body. She empties almost the entire bottle before he pulls it away, and she gives a small sigh. There is a slight bitter aftertaste left in her mouth, probably from all the dehydration, and Mia drops her head against his shoulder. His arms wrap around her again, holding her in place, and she just wants to stay like this for a moment, just a moment to rest before everything goes to shit again.

He allows it.

After a few minutes, he slightly shifts his body so he can lean back against the tub, and then he keeps holding her.

There is a small voice in Mia’s head, yelling at her, judging her, shaming her for enjoying this. It gets quieter as time goes by. Why not? She asks herself. It’s not like I can just get up and walk away if I wanted to. This is happening whether I want it to or not, so why the hell can’t I just give myself a break?

You know why, the voice responds. Mia ignores it.

After a while, she feels herself go quiet inside. The constant noise of her thoughts fades away, leaving behind only peaceful, glorious silence. Warmth spreads through her body, starting in her belly and tingling itself all the way to her fingertips. Her chest feels heavier, but not unpleasantly so, while her head is feeling light as a feather. She feels suddenly incredibly aware of the soft fabric of his shirt under her cheek, the warm, steady heartbeat.

She gently rubs her cheek back and forth, sighing at the pleasant sensation.

His arms tighten for a moment, and she hears his heartbeat slightly pick up speed. Slowly, he releases one of his arms and starts to drag his nails across her back in small, soft circles.

Mia shudders, goosebumps erupting all across her body. Her head gets jostled around a bit when he chuckles, and then his nails move to the exposed skin of her neck. The sensation of his hand against her bare skin is overwhelming, it feels as though his fingertips are leaving burning trails behind, even though his touch is light.

Her brain is all fuzzy, and she takes a shuddering breath. The hand on her neck grows heavier as he slowly wraps it around, using it to press her head into his chest. A different kind of warmth floods her body, and she melts against him, feeling suddenly very small.

He hums low in his chest, and the vibrations are soothing like a cat’s purr. Mia feels sleepy.

When he eventually gently pushes her away, she mourns the loss of his warmth, but her mind is still deliciously hazy. A hand tilts up her chin, and she blinks her eyes open only to find him already looking at her, his face only inches away from hers.

His eyes are burning with intensity, and she feels as if she is drowning in them. There is something dark hiding beneath the surface of that gaze, something monstrous waiting to claw itself to the surface. It is terrifying and intimate and Mia wonders if anyone had ever looked at her with this much weight before.

There is something strangely addictive about it, a feeling as if in that moment, nothing exists in the world but her. She feels a strange craving to please, to give him what he wants, to gain his approval, to keep his attention on her and no one else.

His thumb gently strokes her cheek as he holds her face in both hands. Mia shudders as it brushes across her bottom lip, softly pulling it down. She relaxes her jaw, letting him push down against her chin, opening her mouth. The corner of his lips curls upwards in a smile, and Mia feels her heart beat heavily in her chest.

He pushes his thumb into her mouth, slowly, and softly presses down on her tongue. Mia’s eyelids flutter, her mind hazy.

She closes her eyes, and for a glorious moment, everything is perfect, peaceful, weightless.

Until an image of Wooyoung’s lifeless body suddenly flashes across her mind, shattering everything. Mia’s eyes fly open, and she sees his smile drop, just a fraction of a second before she bites down on his thumb with all the force she can muster.

The face in front of her contorts in shock and pain, and he yanks her head back with so much force that she cries out in pain, allowing him to pull his thumb out from between her teeth.

His fist slams into her mouth, and as her body gets thrown backwards, her head painfully smacking into the hard floor, she wonders how much of the blood filling her mouth is actually his.

She still feels strangely delirious, blinking up at the ceiling until he crouches over her, filling her view. The expression on his face scares her. He doesn’t even look angry, a smile bares his teeth and he comes so close their noses are almost touching. Mia has trouble focusing her eyes.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he whispers.

Mia tries to respond, but her thoughts are all jumbled up and sluggish. She clumsily rolls herself onto her side, trying to get her legs underneath her body, when his boot collides with her stomach. Mia chokes and groans, curling around the pain thrumming through her body, but it’s not enough to protect her from the next kick. Or the next.

Time loses all meaning as Mia drowns in her agony, her mind strangely detached from her body getting knocked around on the cold tiles.

Eventually, it stops.

Mia lies still, trying to breathe as shallowly as she can, because every breath sears fresh pain through her torso. She wonders whether bones are broken, even though she doesn’t remember hearing or feeling any cracks. Does it matter? Her brain still feels fuzzy.

Something touches her side, making her flinch violently. She grimaces as her body throbs at the movement.

A hand lays on her waist, gently squeezing.

“Was that really necessary?” His voice is soft again. Mia just groans.

“Why did you do that, hm? You knew I would have to respond.”

Mia feels her eyes fill with tears, her bottom lip quivering.

“Ah don’t cry sweetheart. It’s all over now, hm? All done.” Soft fingers brush at her cheeks, catching her tears. A hand cups her cheek and slightly tilts up her head, but she doesn’t want to open her eyes. He sighs.

“I know love, I know it hurts. But it will pass. Just don’t ever make me do that again, alright?”

Mia whimpers.

“I’ll be back in just a second.”

Mia doesn’t want him to go, doesn’t want to be alone, but her tongue feels heavy in her mouth, and he is gone before she can get her voice to work. Not even a minute passes before he is back, and Mia feels a cloth soaked with warm water gently brush away the blood on her face. Something soft gets pushed underneath her head, and Mia presses her nose into it, breathing in. It smells like him.

“I’m gonna free your arms, I’ll trust you not to do anything stupid,” he says, and there’s a sound of a knife flicking open. “Will you be good?”

Mia nods. There’s a gentle pressure against her wrists, and then her arms fall apart. She grimaces as blood floods back into her hands, accompanied by a stabbing pain and unpleasant tingles. Her shoulders ache.

“Careful now,” he says and catches her wrist, slowly moving her arm to the front. “Don’t wanna damage your shoulders by moving too fast.”

Mia doesn’t miss the absolute irony of that statement, but her mind is too far gone to think about it too much. She freezes as she feels her blouse being pulled up.

“Don’t be scared,” he mutters. “I’m just going to ice your ribs and needed to check where.”

He covers her back up, and then something cold presses against her side. She inhales sharply, and he makes a sympathetic noise.

“Just stay still for a bit,” he says.

Mia hadn’t planned to move.

After a while, she can feel his fingers gently card through her hair. The sensation is so intense that it causes a full body shiver, and he hums, continuing the movement.

“I’m going to ask you a question,” he says softly. “And I need you to answer me honestly. Can you do that for me?”

Mia nods, her mind blank.

“Who do you work for?”

Mia blinks, confused. “Starbucks?” she answers, but it sounds more like a question.

He hums again. “Starbucks, I see. Who else?”

“N- No one else.” Her words are slightly slurred.

His hand stops, and Mia feels tears prick her eyes. Was that the wrong answer?

“I told you,” he says, his voice very quiet, “that I need an honest answer. Who else?”

“There’s no one else,” she whimpers.

He sighs, and Mia’s stomach constricts in fear. He sounds disappointed.

“Are you protecting someone, Mia?”

She swallows, thinking of Wooyoung. You need to lie, the voice shouts at her. He’ll be mad, she thinks and feels herself begin to panic.

Wooyoung is more important.

She bites her lip, aggravating the split still oozing blood, and shakes her head.

He stays quiet for a while.

“I think it’s time you go back to your room,” he says eventually. Her heart stutters.

“Please, I- I’m sorry, please-”

“It’s alright, I’m not angry with you,” he says and Mia releases a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“But we’re done for today, and I need to put you back. Can you walk?”

Mia shakes her head, horrified at the mere thought of having to move.

“Alright,” he sighs. “Hang tight.”

Before Mia can process what he said, an arm snakes its way underneath her legs, another one holding her shoulders. He lifts her up slowly and carefully, but the movement causes pain to flare throughout her entire body.

Her breath comes in short little gasps. He says something, but she doesn’t have the capacity to process his words, entirely focused on not crying out. Her hand is curled tightly into the fabric of his shirt, as if she could somehow hold on to this version of him.

Her eyes are squeezed shut, and she doesn’t realize they reached the other room until her body makes contact with the familiar cold floor.

She feels incredibly vulnerable, and the thought of being left alone in this place causes her heart to clench in fear. A part of her wants to ask him to stay, but the words don’t come. He pulls her hand from his shirt with ease, and Mia buries her face in her arms as he pulls back from her. Something warm drapes across her shoulders, and then she hears the door fall shut with an eerie finality. The key turns audibly.

Mia blinks her eyes open, feeling for the warm thing, and realizes that he left his jacket with her. She curls into a ball and starts crying.

 

Notes:

San is not being very nice to our poor protagonist :D I had a lot of fun writing this chapter and really liked how it turned out! Does that make me a bit weird? Probably!

Stay tuned for chapter 4, we'll finally meet some of the others!

I hope you liked this chapter as much as I do <3

Chapter 4

Notes:

We finally meet some of the others this chapter!

TW: Knife stuff, more of that escalating San/Mia dynamic that the last chapters had been building

 

Yunho frowns at the silver plastic wrapper that is all that stands between the candy and his mouth. He is a trained fighter, a dangerous man.

He’s been trying to rip off this goddamn wrapper for several minutes.

It’s all Wooyoung’s fault. He’s the one who bought an atrociously huge box of lollipops because ‘they were a bargain’ and now they were kind of stuck with them. He didn’t even particularly like lollipops. That doesn’t mean he would let this one escape him though.

Yeosang chuckles from the other side of the room, watching Yunho over the top of his laptop.

“Need any help?”

Yunho scowls at him. Eventually he just bites down on the small bit of foil he had managed to pull loose and rips. He ignores Yeosang’s excited claps and stares at the black sugar ball suspiciously.

“What flavor is that one?”

“Not sure,” he says and gives it a tentative sniff. “Licorice?”

Yeosang makes a face “Eww!”

Yunho shrugs and pops the black orb into his mouth. “I don’t mind it.”

He sighs as sweetness spreads over his tongue, resting his head against the metal cabinet he is leaning against. At a soft knock, he looks up.

“Hey,” says San, hovering in the doorway. “I was just wondering if you found anything?”

Yunho stares at him, open-mouthed, and San shifts uncomfortably.

“What?”

Yeosang clears his throat. “You um, you’re kinda splattered with blood.”

San blinks and then starts hastily wiping his hand across his face.

“Oh my god your HAND!” Yeosang jumps up from his desk and moves towards San who is trying to hide his hand behind his back, taking a step back.

“Get in here,” Yeosang mutters, pulls him fully into the room and closes the door behind him. “What the fuck happened?”

San’s face darkens, and something in his face closes up. Yunho watches quietly.

“I don’t know what you guys think is going on down there but we’re not sitting around talking over a cup of tea or something,” he grumbles.

“San,” Yeosang says, softly, but San doesn’t look at him. Yunho sighs.

“No one here is judging your methods,” he says and puts a hand on San’s bare shoulder.

“We were just – surprised to see you all, you know,” he gestures at San’s face and arms.

San looks down at his hands, his bloody knuckles, the spatter of blood on his arms.

After a pause, Yeosang starts pulling on San’s arm. “Let me look at that thumb please.”

“I’m fine,” San mutters, but he doesn’t protest and allows Yeosang to push him into a chair.

Yeosang looks at the thumb with his eyebrows pulled together.

“Is that a bite?”

San doesn’t answer.

Yunho wordlessly turns around and gets one of Yeosang’s first aid kits out of the cabinet behind him before dropping it next to them on the table.

Yeosang opens it without looking up and starts cleaning the wound with antiseptic.

“This is deep,” Yeosang says and looks up at San who is studiously avoiding his gaze. “What happened?”

There is a long silence during which Yeosang continues to examine the injury.

Eventually, San clears his throat.

“I… miscalculated,” he says. “It won’t happen again.”

Yunho and Yeosang exchange a look.

“So she’s being difficult?”

San purses his lips.

“You could say that,” he says. “She wouldn’t even give me her name without a fuss.”

Yunho hums. “I gotta admit, I didn’t expect that.”

Yeosang makes an affirmative noise.

“You think she’s a pro?"

San shakes his head. “I really don’t,” he says. “But she really, really doesn’t want to talk.”

“Doesn’t need stitches,” Yeosang mutters and looks up. “So why do you think that is?”

“Maybe they got something on her?” Yunho guesses. “But whatever they threatened her with would have to be a lot worse than what she’s getting here. Unless…”

“She’s protecting someone,” Yeosang interrupts quietly.

San nods. “That’s what I think,” he says.

“So…” Yunho leans forward, bracing his hands against the table. “She might not have been hired, she might have been forced into luring Wooyoung into the ambush? Maybe they have someone from her family?”

San shifts in his seat, looking uncomfortable. “They might.”

“But,” Yeosang gestures to his laptop. “She hasn’t had any contact with any family for years. She has one sibling but they’re living on a completely different continent. Mother has been dead for seven years, father lives on the other side of the country. Also her father is kind of an asshole, judging from the last messages they exchanged, all several years ago.”

“Friends, maybe?” Yunho suggests.

Yeosang shakes his head.

“There’s nothing, really. Only one recent message from a girl called Annie, saying ‘here’s my number, sweetcheeks’ and then nothing. It’s kind of sad, actually.”

None of them say anything for a while, watching Yeosang disinfect San’s knuckles.

“Sad or suspicious,” says Yunho eventually. “Maybe she is a sleeper or something, and just a really good actress?” He watches San’s face pull into a scowl.

“Whatever it is,” Yunho says, “Seonghwa has been getting kind of restless.”

San groans. “For god’s sake, keep him away from her!”

Yunho grins and twirls the lollipop in his mouth.

“I don’t get paid enough to antagonize Seonghwa,” he says and leans back against the cabinet. “But I think you can rest assured that he’s not just going to snatch her up without at least giving you proper notice first. I’m just saying, you might not have a whole lot of time.”

San wipes his free hand across his face, smearing some of the blood clinging to his skin.

“This is ridiculous,” he mutters, and then he sighs. “I’m gonna talk to Hongjoong.”

“Have fun with that,” Yeosang says good-naturedly and gives San’s hand a little pat to indicate that he’s done with him. “Maybe get cleaned up a bit first.”

~

San takes a deep breath before rapping his knuckles against the elaborately carved wood of the door to Hongjoong’s office.

“Come in!” a cheerful voice trills from the inside.

San pushes the door open and enters the room.

Hongjoong is draped across one of the huge leather armchairs littered across the room, one leg thrown over the armrest, dangling a fluffy slipper from the tip of his foot. His small frame practically drowns in the voluminous fur coat he is wearing. His hair, which had been an electric blue the last time San had seen him, is dyed black and artfully swept away from his forehead. He breaks into a wide grin at the sight of San, exposing the small gem on his left canine, glittering in the firelight.

“Sannie! How nice of you to visit, come in!”

He waves something small in the air, and as San approaches, he identifies it as a black nail polish brush.

“You have impeccable timing my dear, I hate doing my right hand!”

San huffs a laugh and pulls another armchair closer to his leader.

“I don’t think I’m the right choice for this,” he says doubtfully. “I don’t have a lot of experience with painting nails.”

Hongjoong pouts at him.

“Yeah but you’re here. It doesn’t have to be perfect, and if you really fuck it up we can just try again later.” He bats his eyelashes. “Pretty please?”

San sighs. “You know I’ll do anything you ask of me.”

Hongjoong giggles at that and holds out the black nail polish. San shifts his chair even closer and accepts the bottle, gesturing vaguely at Hongjoong’s head.

“The black looks nice,” he says. “I also really liked the blue though, and you only had that for such a short time. Like two weeks?”

Hongjoong sighs, holding out his hand for San. “Yeah, I’m stress-dying my hair again. Pray for my roots will you? Although, at least the black didn’t require me to bleach them again.”

San shakes his head and gingerly wipes off the excess nail polish on the little glass rim.

“I’m still amazed you haven’t gone bald yet.”

“That shall never happen,” Hongjoong says with conviction, and then he gives his head a little tilt, peering at San from underneath his impossibly long eyelashes.

“So, what brings you here?” He nudges his chin in the direction of San’s bandaged hand. “Our girl in the basement giving you trouble?”

San hesitates, choosing his words carefully.

“It’s not… that,” he says eventually, carefully brushing a coat of shiny black across Hongjoong’s pinky. It actually looks quite decent.

Hongjoong’s stare is piercing. “But she is giving you trouble?”

San sighs. There was never any point in lying to their leader, or trying to hide something. His sharp eyes and ears catch everything, every nuance, every pause. It’s one of the reasons he made is to where he is now, the head of one of the most notorious crime families in the country. The only secrets you could keep from him were the secrets he allowed you to keep.

“I wouldn’t say trouble,” San says slowly, dipping the brush back into the bottle. “I would say that she is… challenging me.”

Hongjoong smiles. “Challenges are fun”

San nods. “Yeah, they are.”

He chances a look up at Hongjoong’s face and sees his smile grow wider, his eyes glinting.

“So you are having fun with her then?”

San freezes. That… hit a little too close to home. A little too close to the swirling chaos of emotions he has regarding what is happening in the basement, the doubts and uncertainties, the dilemmas and conflicts he has with himself. He wasn’t even ready to properly confront all of that with himself, least of all discuss it with Hongjoong.

“That- I don’t-” he stutters.

Hongjoong leans back and brushes his predicament away with a single wave of his manicured hand.

“Never mind that,” he says. “Say what you wanted to say.”

San takes a couple of breaths, thoroughly shaken, before remembering why he came here.

“Yunho mentioned Seonghwa is getting impatient,” he says finally, keeping his eyes on his task. “I’m a bit worried he might… take her.”

“Ah,” Hongjoong sighs. “Yeah, that might happen.”

“I would very much prefer it if that didn’t happen,” San says through clenched teeth.

Hongjoong eyes him curiously.

“Why is that?”

San chooses his words carefully.

“I am trying something… new with her.”

“Oh? Can you elaborate?”

“Hmmm remember Moscow? What you and Seonghwa did with that guy?”

Hongjoong throws back his head with a throaty chuckle.

“Ahhh good times,” he says fondly. “How could I forget?”

“It’s something like that,” San continues. “Only that it’s just me, and I… tweaked some details to make it fit better to me and, well, her.”

Hongjoong leans forward, his eyes wide and full of interest.

“That sounds exciting,” he breathes. “Share some details?”

So San does. Tells him everything. Everything except his own warring emotions.

When he finishes, Hongjoong lets out a low whistle and shifts his position, fanning his hand.

“I must admit, I am invested,” he says and gives San a little wink. “That is indeed quite a challenge you took upon yourself. I am impressed.”

The praise causes a warm glow of pride to spread through San’s belly.

“I will talk to Seonghwa, it would be a shame if all your work and progress would be wasted. I can’t promise anything though. He seems determined to have this solved before Wooyoung gets home, and I don’t think he will compromise on that, you know how he gets when one of us is hurt.”

San shifts on his seat. “Well yeah he’s not the only one who is worried sick,” he mutters.

Hongjoong’s eyes soften, his smile warm.

“I know that. And I’m happy to tell you that I spoke to the hospital this morning, and Wooyoung is over the worst. The surgeries went well.”

San’s head jerks up at that, his hands gripping the armrests.

“He- he’ll be okay? He won’t…”

Hongjoong gives a slow nod. “He is expected to make a full recovery. It seems that the blood loss was actually the most dangerous thing among all his injuries. He will be okay.”

San takes a shaky breath and feels tears sting his eyes. The tension his body has held ever since he had first heard the gunshots going off in that alley bleeds out of his body, and he suddenly feels light-headed.

Hongjoong gives his head a couple of slightly awkward pats.

“Go find someone to hug, I don’t wanna ruin my nails. You did a surprisingly good job.”

San laughs wetly, burying his face in his hands.

“Oh, and San,” Hongjoong adds and waits until San drops his hands to meet his eye.

“There’s no shame in enjoying what we do. But be careful. Mind games like that have a tendency to pull you in a little too deep.” His eyes are sharp again.

San swallows and nods.

“Take the evening off, and keep me updated on your progress. And don’t lose yourself to your own game.”

He stares at San intently for a couple more seconds, then he smiles again.

“Off you go now,” he says and waves his hand in a clear dismissal. “And thank you for the manicure!”

San wordlessly gets up and leaves the room, trying his best to ignore the turmoil in his head.

~

Mia wakes up with a groan, her whole body aching. Her head is pounding, and her mouth and throat feel dry and sore. The tiles are hard and cold beneath her cheek, and she rolls onto her back, teeth clenched at the way her body protests against the movement. Something slips off her shoulders, and she blinks her eyes open.

The jacket.

Mia stares at it for a long while, trying to piece back together what had happened. The memories come slowly, and she wonders whether she has a concussion.

She knows there are things she has to figure out, but she can’t bring herself to muster the mental energy. Right now, she just wants to rest. She can deal with whatever happened in the other room later, and get her feelings under control. They will probably leave her in here for days again. The thought of that makes her empty stomach cramp up painfully.

Did they turn the water back on? It takes her a while to convince herself that her parched throat was more important than her beat-up body, and so she slowly pushes herself into a sitting position. Her ribs are sending sharp shocks of pain through her side, and she considers lifting up her shirt to check the damages.

Before she can muster up the courage, the sound of footsteps causes her to freeze.

Oh no, nonono, she thinks. She’s not ready. She feels raw and vulnerable, her mind is slow and her defenses are down. She’s not ready.

At the sound of the key turning in the lock, she pushes herself back against the wall, one arm protectively wrapped around her middle. He hasn’t even entered yet and she already feels like crying, her heart jumping erratically inside her chest.

Get yourself together.

The door opens to reveal the devil himself, but he looks – different. He is wearing some sort of fuzzy cream-colored sweater, his hair is falling loosely across his forehead instead of being pushed back, and his smile reveals dimples in his cheeks. He looks… friendly, disarming. Soft.

Alarm bells are blaring inside Mia’s head. This is all wrong. He’s not supposed to look soft.

“Good morning,” he says smoothly. Mia narrows her eyes at him.

“Is it?” she asks, and his eyebrows draw together, confused.

“Morning, I mean.”

His smile widens. “Maybe,” he says and winks at her. “Maybe not.”

Such easy cruelty, denying her even this simple thing. This one singular information that might have helped her feel less untethered, less disoriented. And he said it like it’s a joke.

“I brought breakfast though,” he continues and turns around again, picking up something from outside. When he turns around again he is carrying a large tray, and the smell of food and coffee hits Mia with a force that makes her head spin.

“Mind if I sit here with you?” he asks with a slight tilt of his head. Mia stares at him. She is not going to entertain this farce of pretending she has any kind of say in this.

It doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest, and he lowers himself to the ground, crossing his legs and placing the tray between them.

Mia stares at the amount of food, her stomach painfully empty.

When she doesn’t make any move to take something, he picks up a shiny golden bread roll and holds it out to her.

“You should probably start with something like this,” he says. “It will be easy on your stomach. I would hold off on stuff like orange juice for now.”

The familiar scent of freshly baked bread causes a fresh bout of dizziness, and without thinking, Mia reaches out a hand to accept the bread roll. It’s still warm.

She tears off a piece, and watches the steam curl up from the soft, creamy interior. Saliva floods her mouth. For some reason, the thought of eating in front of him makes her uncomfortable, and she glances up to see him busy himself with buttering one half of a croissant, and she feels lighter without the heaviness of his gaze on her.

Slowly, she lifts the piece of bread to her mouth. When she starts chewing, she has to consciously suppress the soft moan that wants to wiggle its way past her throat. The bread is soft and sweet and warm, with just a hint of vanilla. She closes her eyes, savoring the bite, and without thinking much, she keeps tearing off more pieces and shoving them into her mouth. Her body rejoices at the nourishment it has been denied for so long, pleasant tingles coursing through her veins, and she can feel her mind clear a bit.

When the last piece of the bread roll disappeared down her esophagus, she opens her eyes to find him watching her.

“Good?” he asks. Mia nods. He smiles.

“Glad you like it,” he continues around a mouth full of croissant. “Made it just this morning.”

Mia picks up on the fact that the way he said it probably meant that it was no longer morning, before her mind comes to a screeching halt and she blinks at him.

“You- made this?”

“Yup!” He takes a sip of orange juice with a happy expression. Mia stares at him.

“You bake?”

He grins at her.

“You say that like it’s weird,” he says. “Nothing wrong with having hobbies, is there?”

Without waiting for a response, he redirects his attention to a jug of dark liquid, pouring some of it into a blue ceramic mug. Coffee, from the smell of it.

Mia is still trying to wrap her head around the image of the man in front of her pursuing something as domestic as baking, although it would explain why he always smelled like he just came out of a pastry shop.

“I got you some Ibuprofen,” he says, stirring her out of her thoughts.

“You must be in… quite some pain.” He gestures towards her body, and for a second it almost looks like he is avoiding her eyes. Like he feels bad for her. Something about the fact that he is acknowledging what happened is actually quite comforting, making this whole thing feel like less of a fever dream. Connecting the two worlds, somehow.

She chooses not to respond, but she does accept the glass of water he holds out to her, and the two small white tablets that he popped out of their foil in front of her.

“Thanks,” she mutters before she can stop herself, glancing up to see his face soften for just a moment.

“It’s not really necessary for you to thank me, is it?” he says and watches Mia wash down the pills with the cold water. “But still, you’re welcome.”

Mia drains the entire glass, feeling even more life return to her parched body. She almost feels human again.

“Doesn’t it kind of defeat the purpose to give me painkillers before you drag me to the other room to beat me up again?” Mia asks, bitterness clear in her voice. “Would have made more sense to give me that afterwards, right?”

He holds up his hands almost defensively, eyes wide.

“Oh, oh no, not today,” he says and Mia narrows her eyes suspiciously.

“I just want to talk.” He looks at her with a way too genuine expression.

“I’m not gonna hurt you today.”

The softness of his voice paired with the statement itself causes a lump to form in Mia’s throat, and she swallows hard. She hates how easily the relief from his words floods her mind. She shouldn’t believe him this easily. Although, so far, he has not lied to her yet.

Just enjoy it while it lasts.

Taking a deep breath, Mia allows some tension to drain from her body and she lowers her eyes to the tray of food.

He reaches out a hand to nudge the glass bowl filled with strawberries in her direction, and she only hesitates for half a second before she takes one. They taste like summer.

“Don’t eat too fast,” he says. “Your stomach has been empty for a while.”

Mia throws him a dark look, but she does listen to him.

“Do you want some tea?”

She nods.

Another steaming mug gets pushed towards her, and Mia accepts it without hesitation this time, taking a few small sips of hot peppermint tea.

“So,” he says eventually, and Mia’s eyes snap up towards his face, immediately suspicious again. Here we go, she thinks.

“I talked to some of my, um, colleagues,” he starts. “You seem quite… averse to sharing any information, and we’ve been wondering why that might be.”

Mia blinks. What?

“What I mean is, I don’t believe you are keeping information to yourself out of pure stubbornness. I also believe that you are smart enough to understand that resisting a little bit longer is not going to lead to us just giving up and letting you go back to your life.”

He tilts his head and peers into her eyes. “Right?”

“Right.” Mia mutters. She’s not an idiot.

“Someone might have threatened you. But what could someone threaten you with that you need to be afraid of while you are here, in our control, being actively harmed?”

Mia stays silent.

“Unless,” he continues, “You are protecting someone else.”

Several seconds tick by without anyone saying anything.

“If that is the case,” he eventually says, “There might be things we could do about that. But in order for that to be possible, you need to tell us the truth.”

More silence. Is he trying to trick her? What the hell is he talking about?

He puts down his coffee and leans forward.

“I’m trying to help you here. Things are only going to get worse for you if you continue not to give us the information we want. I have been comparatively civil with you, but other people won’t be, I can promise you that.”

Mia feels a flicker of unease. “Other people?” she whispers.

He hums, sitting back again.

“Right now, you are my responsibility. I have the right to make decisions on what is to be done with you. But that could change rather quickly.” He hesitates for a moment before continuing to speak. Mia clutches her mug so tightly that her knuckles go white.

“There is someone, let’s call him my superior, who has been getting a little impatient, or so I’ve heard. If it was solely up to him, you would be in his hands right now. And believe me – you don’t want that.”

The look he gives her is grave.

“Why not?” Mia asks, her voice very small. A part of her doesn’t want to know, but a morbid kind of curiosity wins over that part.

“Well,” he says, turning the mug in his hands. “The last guy who was his responsibility ended up with the skin flayed away from his right arm and his balls crushed.” He looks at her, gauging her reaction. Mia tries to keep her face neutral.

“He confessed everything he knew by the time the skin was missing from three fingers, but, well.” He gives some sort of half-shrug.

“And that’s the kind of people you work for?” Mia hisses, repulsion plain in her face. “How the fuck do you sleep at night?”

His face tightens somewhat. “If you really want to know, that guy was a piece of shit who made his money trafficking children, and he liked to ‘break them in’ himself, as he called it. He deserved everything he got. So actually, I sleep like a baby, thank you for asking.”

Mia recoils at his words, heat rising to her cheeks.

The pause that follows is tense.

“I didn’t do anything of that sort,” she eventually says, voice hardly louder than a whisper.

He sighs. “That might be true,” he says, “But somebody who is quite dear to us got hurt as a result of your actions, which does cause us to… take this very seriously.”

Mia’s mind is reeling. Her actions? Was he seriously talking about fucking Kyle getting his finger broken? This was completely ridiculous. Anger flares up inside of her.

“Well maybe your friend kinda caused that himself, have you ever considered that?”

The face in front of her freezes, and she suddenly feels cold.

“What did you just say?” he asks, his voice very quiet.

Mia opens her mouth and closes it again. Fear creeps up her spine.

The man in front of her grabs the tray of food and pushes it to the side, eliminating the barrier between them. He comes closer, causing Mia to shrink back against the wall.

“I asked you a question.”

It is at this moment that Mia realizes that she has never seen him angry before, not even when she bit him. He had always been calm, controlled. Now, there was something burning in his eyes. He wasn’t just mad. He was livid.

Mia tries to think of something to say, something to take back whatever she just did.

“I – I don’t – I didn’t –” She struggles to speak around the panic squeezing her ribcage together.

He grabs her jaw, fingers painfully digging into her cheeks.

“So he got what he deserved, is that what you’re saying?”

His voice is still quiet, but it cuts through Mia’s insides like a knife. She tries to shake her head, but he holds her in place. The hand around her jaw tightens, and she whimpers at the pain in her face.

“Maybe I’ve been too nice to you,” he says softly, and Mia’s heart beats so loudly she is sure he can hear it. Her breath comes in short, panicked bursts.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpers. “Please, I-”

“No,” he says simply, and there is something almost like pity in his voice. Mia falls silent. He comes closer, his nose almost touching hers. She can feel his breath fanning her face. She closes her eyes.

There is a long moment of silence, filled only with the sound of her erratic breathing and her heart thrumming inside her ears.

“I’m going to take your eye,” he says softly.

Mia’s eyes fly open. “W-what?”

He smiles, and Mia’s mind is racing. He did not just say this. He can’t mean it. He can’t-

The sound of a knife snapping open causes Mia to flinch violently.

“Y-you can’t! You said, you said you wouldn’t h-hurt me today!” Her voice is breaking, gasping out the words through a too-tight throat.

“You changed my mind,” he almost purrs.

A sob wrenches its way out of her chest and she feels tears start to fill her eyes, blurring her vision. The flash of a polished blade in the corner of her vision causes a fresh wave of panic, and her hand shoots up, wrapping around the arm that holds her face. She is not even trying to pull it away, she just hangs on to it, as if for comfort.

“Please,” she tries again, sounding horribly broken. “Please, I’ll- I’ll do anything!”

He looks at her, his movements stilled.

“Anything?” he asks, softly.

Mia closes her eyes, feeling nauseous. He tilts his head.

His eyes move down her body, and the realization of her words and their implied meaning hits Mia like a freight train. He had never, never crossed that line. She feels oddly betrayed.

Why the fuck didn’t I see this coming, she thinks bitterly. Dropping her eyes to the floor, she takes a shaky breath before nodding.

There is a long pause filled with nothing but the painful hammering of her heart inside her chest, her tears finally spilling over her cheeks.

“Too bad,” he says eventually. “There is nothing you could offer me that I want.”

Mia’s eyes snap up to his face. He looks at her strangely, his mouth a tight line. There is something in his eyes she can’t quite place, a different kind of upset than the pure rage she had found there before. Her relief, mixed with a strange hurt, is short-lived as he lifts his knife to her face.

“No!” she gasps and tries to pull her head from his grip.

“Calm down,” he mutters with a roll of his eyes. “I changed my mind. But I need you to hold still. Can you do that for me?”

Mia just blinks at him, swallows thickly, and nods. She is rewarded with the ghost of a smile that causes a wave of… something to wash over her.

He looks at her for a while longer, his eyes tracing a fresh tear that rolls across her left cheek.

“Pretty,” he whispers. Mia releases a shaky breath.

With a hum, he brings his face closer to hers and tilts her jaw up slightly.

“Now,” he says. “Don’t move.”

Mia closes her eyes, all of her thoughts and efforts focused on staying still, on not moving a single muscle. There is nothing more important than that.

The feeling of cold metal just underneath her left eye almost causes her to wince. Almost.

The first sharp sting as the tip of the knife digs into her skin is almost cathartic. She breathes in, she breathes out. The blade burns as it slowly traces its way down her cheek, leaving a line of cold fire in its wake. She feels strangely peaceful, almost delirious.

The knife stops, close to her jawline, and disappears. Mia keeps her eyes closed for a second longer before she blinks them open, finding him already staring at her with a burning intensity, only inches away from her.

I did it, she wants to say. I stayed still, for you. But no sound leaves her mouth.

They stay locked onto each other for what feels like several minutes, their breaths mingling in the limited space between their faces. Finally, he pulls back, his expression again unreadable. Mia searches his face almost desperately, looking for some hint that he is pleased with her.

“Well done,” he whispers eventually, and Mia feels another sob catch in her throat at the force of her relief. His eyes leave hers in order to observe his work.

“You’ll always think of me when you cry now,” he says so softly that she wouldn’t have been able to hear it if he hadn’t been as close as he is. Just for her, this is just for her. She nods.

He releases her jaw and brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. She tilts her face slightly, leaning into his hand. A smile plays across his lips and he swipes his thumb across her uninjured cheek, catching another tear.

After another moment, his hand falls away, much to Mia’s dismay. He gets to his feet, and the suddenness of his absence makes her dizzy.

“I have to go,” he says, his voice back to its neutral, controlled tone. He sweeps up the tray of food, and without another look at her, he exits the room, slamming the door shut behind him, leaving her with nothing but a burning face and blood dripping down her jaw.

 

Notes:

I HAD to include Yunho with the black lollipop, obviously :D so iconic!

I had so much fun writing Hongjoong, I did my best to properly encapsulate the unhinged twink energy that he exudes in the MV and I'm really happy with how he turned out!

As always, let me know your thoughts and thank you for reading! 🥰

Chapter 5

Notes:

We finally meet: Seonghwa! I had been looking forward to writing evil mafia boss Seonghwa ever since the MV came out, and he's finally here! And not being nice at all!

TW: Physical violence, gets kinda bloody

 

Mia is sitting in the same chair she first woke up in, an unknown amount of days ago. She is staring at the man sitting in front of her, who in turn is watching her with a carefully neutral expression. It’s crazy how much of a mirror image this is of her first time here in this room, and yet somehow, everything is different.

Her hands are unrestrained, sitting folded in her lap. He didn’t even bother tying her up or anything, he had just come into the cell and stepped aside, waiting for her. She had walked out on her own, into the large room, and when he had inclined his head towards the chair, she had sat down. Her mind is strangely empty, as if on hold. She doesn’t know what’s going to happen today. What he will ask of her. So she waits.

They had been staring at each other for a long while before he takes a breath, preparing to speak, and Mia sits up a bit straighter.

“Mia,” he says.

She searches his voice, his face, but cannot find anything. Her hands clasp tighter.

The hint of a smile ghosts across his face, and he opens his mouth.

Someone knocks on the door.

Mia flinches as if she had been slapped. The man in front of her whips his head around, but not before she sees the shock on his face. He gets up, almost tipping over his chair with the force of his movement, and walks towards the door with heavy, angry steps.

He twists the knob and opens the door just a small crack, leaning his face close.

“What?” he hisses.

Mia can’t hear the words spoken on the other side of the door. Her heart is thumping fearfully, and she feels almost reassured by his anger. He is the one responsible for her, he said so himself. He wouldn’t let someone else just come in and interfere.

The thought of being confronted with anyone but him in this house terrifies her beyond reason. And since he seems outraged at the interruption, that surely means he won’t let it happen.

“Absolutely not!” he spits out, and Mia’s heart warms at the outrage in his voice.

Whoever is on the other side continues talking, and there is a hand pushing the door open wider. Mia grabs the edges of her chair with shaking fingers.

Another hand appears, clasping his shoulder as if to calm him down, but he shrugs it off. The voices are starting to get louder.

“…know how he is … not my call … is coming home today.”

That last sentence seems to stir him up, his hand falls away from the doorknob and flies to his mouth.

“Today?”

The door pushes open wider, and whoever is outside again lays a hand on his shoulder. This time, he doesn’t shake it off.

Nononono, Mia thinks, hanging on to the chair as if it could save her – while the only thing capable of saving her currently stands in the doorway, head hanging low.

Not a second later, he raises his head again and squares his shoulders.

“The answer is still no.” There is a hint of a quiver in his voice.

The hand on his shoulder squeezes.

“I’m afraid it’s not a request, San,” the strange voice says gently.

San.

The name echoes through her mind and then bounces right off. She can’t make sense of it.

He stands there, and Mia watches his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“I want to talk to the Captain,” he says through clenched teeth.

“I already did,” the voice says, and there is a hint of regret laced through the words. Then: “I’m sorry.”

The world comes to a standstill, the floor tilting underneath her as she stares desperately at the familiar shoulders rising and falling with numerous breaths.

He turns his head and looks at her for only a second, a whirlwind of emotions hidden in the hard set of his jaw, the furrow between his eyebrows. Then his gaze drops to the floor, and the man from outside pushes him to the side.

“No,” Mia whispers, and shrinks away from the man entering the room, pressing herself against the back of the chair with bruising force. He is tall, much taller than her, and the softness of his features does nothing to lessen her terror. He quietly examines her, eyes darting across the cut on her face and the bruises on her bare arms.

“Can you walk?” he asks, his voice not unkind. Mia doesn’t answer.

The man turns around, facing her captor, who is still standing by the door.

“Get up,” the familiar voice says hoarsely, and it takes Mia a moment to realize that his words were meant for her. He doesn’t meet her eyes.

Mia’s breath quickens, and slowly, she rises from her chair, her hands aching from the hard edge they had been digging into.

“Please,” she whimpers. No answer.

The man in front of her wraps his hand around her arm, and Mia jerks away from the touch as if it burned her.

“No please, don’t – don’t let him take me, please!” her voice shakes and crumbles, and still she receives no answer from the man she is so desperately staring at.

The tall man starts pulling her towards the door, ignoring the way she digs her bare heels into the ground. They’re almost there.

She throws out her free arm, fingers frantically clinging to a black shirt, and finally, he meets her eyes.

“Please,” she breathes.

His face is blank, empty, and he lifts his hands only to pry away her fingers from his shirt. Mia feels something break inside of her, the sharp edges of her heart tearing into her lungs on every breath. She would have crumpled to the ground if not for the hand holding her up, and she no longer resists being pulled along. The door slams shut behind them with a grim finality.

Betrayal burns through her chest. He let them take her. Abandoned her, gave her up like it was nothing. After everything. She hates how small she feels, how alone, how scared. She should have never trusted him. How did that even happen, did she seriously trust him? What the fuck was wrong with her?

She feels as if in a daze, her surroundings passing in a blur. Is she crying? She wipes an angry hand across her face. Pain flares up in her cheek at the contact, salt stinging the raw flesh of her cut, and she hates that he was right. She wants to claw away the skin on her face until no traces of him remain.

The man leads her up two flights of stairs, and she stumbles and would have fallen several times if the man hadn’t kept a steadying grip on her. She doesn’t lift her eyes from the ground until they stop in front of a door. Dark wood with decorative carvings. Mia shivers.

The man hesitates for only a second before he twists the doorknob and enters without knocking. Mia briefly lets her gaze sweep through the large room, noticing the walls almost entirely covered in heavy bookshelves and paintings, a fire burning in a marble fireplace and a soft, plush rug underneath her bare feet. The lighting is dim and keeps the corners wrapped in shadows.

It is a beautiful room, richly decorated, but Mia can’t find any comfort in it. Her eyes lock in on a wrought iron poker that was left in the fire, its tip glowing white hot. She swallows the bile rising in her throat.

The man leads her to a chair standing on its own in the middle of the room, and nudges her into it. Mia follows without a fight.

“Stay here,” he says, and Mia looks up to stare at him, her fear surging. For a moment Mia thinks he’s going to say something, but then he just sighs, turns around and leaves through the same door.

Mia is alone.

Alone and without any kinds of restraints. Is this a test? She doubts that they just forgot. Aren’t they scared she would try anything? Even if there were people guarding every door, what would stop her from grabbing the iron poker in order to defend herself? Should she try to defend herself? She twists in her seat, staring at the fire place. The fire crackles, the air around it shimmering from the heat.

Mia doesn’t move.

Images of the hot iron of the poker sizzling itself into her flesh flood her mind unbidden, and she presses a shaking hand to her mouth in an effort not to throw up. Fear binds her to the chair as effectively as metal chains.

The room is quiet, the only noises are the occasional pop and crackle from the fire and her own labored breathing. Cold sweat starts beading on her forehead the longer she sits there, waiting for whatever nightmare awaits her. She tries to focus on the soft carpet under her feet, on not being cold for the first time in days, but her body and mind are too far gone into a state of panic to be able to relax even the slightest bit.

Her lungs feel as if they are unable to expand enough, her chest tightening around her ribs, and Mia’s shallow breaths become quicker and quicker until black spots start dancing across her vision. She squeezes her eyes shut, digging her nails into the bruises on her thigh.

The door bangs open.

Mia’s breath gets stuck in her throat as she stares at the man entering the room. He is dressed in a full black suit, and his hair, long enough to touch his shoulders, is slicked away from his face. He doesn’t look at her once as he strides towards a large cabinet with glass doors.

His face is striking. High, proud cheekbones, a tall nose and full lips. He would be beautiful if not for the expression of contempt contorting his features. He moves with an almost aristocratic grace, as if every single move is calculated and intentional, exuding an air of cold decadence.

Mia watches, frozen, as he retrieves a bottle of wine and a glass from the cabinet. With measured steps, still ignoring her, he walks towards an armchair next to a small glass table with delicate legs. After placing both the glass and the bottle down on the table, he turns around, looking at her for the first time.

Mia shrinks under his cold stare.

She feels like an insect trapped under a glass, waiting for her limbs to be torn from her body, one after the other.

Pure, raw terror rages through her brain, leaving her unable to form a single coherent thought. She can do nothing but stare at him as he takes a seat in the armchair opposite her, grabbing the wine bottle with gloved hands and pulling a silver corkscrew from his pocket.

Keeping his eyes on her, the man slowly sinks the silver spiral of the corkscrew into the top of the bottle. Deliberate, methodical. The metal squeaks against the soft wood.

Once fully buried, he pulls out the cork with a fluid motion, the loud pop making Mia flinch. After pouring himself some of the wine, he leans back and starts twisting the cork still clinging to the screw, slowly releasing it from the silver instrument. Once free, he sets it down carefully on the glass table.

The silence in the room drags on uncomfortably.

His gaze wanders up and down her body, along her exposed legs, and Mia has the urge to cross her arms in front of her chest. She can’t get her muscles to obey.

“So. Mia,” he says after an eternity, swirling the rest of the wine around his glass, and Mia is surprised at how such a velvety voice can sound so cold.

“I have heard a lot about you. I must admit, none of it pleases me.”

He gives his head a little tilt, and Mia swallows.

“San has been entirely too soft on you, not that that surprises me.”

There was that name again. It pushes against her mind with more intensity, wanting to be let in. Go away, Mia thinks.

Like a vexatious insect, it dodges her attempts to swat it away, circling back around, flooding her consciousness with his face, his voice, his name. San. San. San San San San S-

“You should have been given to me right from the beginning.”

Mia’s eyes snap back towards the sneering face in front of her. She wonders if she should say something, if he expects her to. Her throat is dry.

They stare at each other for a while longer, and his eyes narrow.

“Pathetic,” he mutters, voice dripping with disdain. He uncrosses his legs and rises to his feet gracefully, and as he picks up the silver corkscrew from the table, he allows the sharp tip to drag against the glass surface, creating a high-pitched screeching noise that grates painfully in Mia’s ears.

He approaches her with slow steps and looks down at her for a moment.

“I thought about what questions I should ask you,” he whispers, and Mia sees a glint of insanity in his eyes. “But I am sure you know exactly what it is that I want to know, hm?”

He taps a finger against her cheek and Mia recoils, causing him to smile. He brings his face closer to hers, and Mia perceives a soft flowery fragrance, mixed with the smell of wine.

“You will tell me everything, and when you have convinced me that there is no more, I will grant you the great mercy of death. And believe me, you will be grateful.”

Bile crawls up Mia’s throat as she continues to stare at the face in front of her, still frozen in fear, like a mouse cornered by a snake. She doesn’t even move when she feels the cold metal of the corkscrew trace along the cut on her cheek, almost gently, almost lovingly.

A hand grabs her shoulder, pressing her into the chair, and before her panic-ridden mind can catch up to what is happening, the corkscrew buries itself in her thigh, right above her knee. Mia gasps with pain and shock, and she sees a flash of a widening smile before he starts twisting, and Mia screams.

Her body tries to escape the pain, but there is nowhere to go. She is pinned to the chair, and the metal digs itself deeper and deeper into her muscle, twist by twist, excruciating pain spiking through her leg. The face in front of her blurs, and everything falls away until there is nothing left but the white hot agony in her knee, and a sharp stinging in her throat from the force of her screams.

Distantly, she hears a door banging open, followed by voices yelling. The torturous movement of the corkscrew holds for a single, blissful moment, before it rips out of her leg. The pain explodes and Mia chokes on her scream before her vision goes white.

~

The first thing Mia registers when she regains consciousness is the pain, throbbing in time with her heartbeats. The second thing is the voices, shouting, angry and desperate. She can’t understand what they’re saying, the volume swells and dims randomly, the words slurred and muffled as if she were underwater.

One of the voices is oddly familiar, but something is wrong. That voice shouldn’t be here.

Mia struggles to make sense of what she is hearing until the voice starts yelling again, and this time she registers her name. Her eyes fly open.

The first thing she sees is the back of a man clad in a black suit, and the sight of the silver corkscrew held in one hand, dripping with blood, makes her stomach lurch. She bites her tongue, swallowing hard to keep down the vomit she can already taste in the back of her throat. The man moves slightly to the side, and then she sees him.

Wooyoung.

No, she thinks, despair flooding through her. He can’t be here. She held it all in, endured everything, only for them to catch him all the same.

He is shaking, face contorted in anguish, cheeks wet with tears.

Only then does Mia notice the man next to him and the tight grip he has on Wooyoung’s arm.

San.

A million emotions race through her at the sight of his face, his sharp features frozen in an expression of shock, deathly pale.

The man in front of her raises an arm in an angry gesture, and Mia sees a flash of silver. A gun, tucked into the back of his dress pants, hidden behind his jacket.

Everything quiets in Mia’s head as her entire focus zeroes in on the weapon right in front of her. This is her chance. The only one she’ll ever have. It’s too late for her, she knows it deep in her heart, but it’s not too late for Wooyoung. Sweet, brave Wooyoung who had never once shied away from risking himself to help her. Almost died, for her.

She takes a deep, shaky breath, trying to summon all the strength left in her body, tries to force down the pain in her mangled knee screaming for her attention, the sticky warmth of the blood still trickling down her calf.

Teeth clenched to the point of pain, she pushes herself out of the chair and snatches the gun from the man in one fast motion, immediately stumbling back a few paces.

The room goes very quiet.

Three pairs of eyes are locked in on her, and she breathes fast and shallow, biting her cheek in an effort not to pass out again as she points the trembling gun at the face of the man closest to her.

“Back away,” she says hoarsely, wincing at the pain in her throat.

The man takes a couple of steps back, his face blank.

“Mia,” Wooyoung whispers, his eyes wide.

San starts tugging on Wooyoung’s arm as if trying to push him behind his back, and Mia points the gun at him. He freezes.

“Let go of him,” she commands, trying to steady her voice. San hesitates, then his hand falls away. Wooyoung sways on his feet before catching himself.

“Mia don’t- please don’t shoot!” Wooyoung pleads, fresh tears welling up in his eyes.

“Go,” Mia croaks. “Go now, I’ll hold them off!”

Wooyoung blinks. “What?”

“You need to leave!” Mia’s voice breaks. “They’ll hurt you!”

Wooyoung still stands there, staring at her with his mouth open. Why doesn’t he run?

San takes a step towards her, and she tightens her hands around the gun.

“Stay back!” she whimpers, and he halts. “Stay the fuck back, and don’t- don’t touch him!”

“Mia,” Wooyoung says, his voice very small. “Mia he would never hurt me, he-”

“Yes he would!” Mia screams, and she sounds so horribly broken. The gun in her hands is shaking from the force of her grip. It’s so heavy.

“He will hurt you just like he hurt me! He’s- he’s the devil!”

Pain flashes across Wooyoung’s face, but still he doesn’t leave.

“Mia.” San’s voice is quiet, and yet it sends a shock down her spine. It’s the first time that he has spoken since he entered this room, and now she can’t look away from his face.

“Mia, lower the gun.”

“Fuck you!”

He has the audacity to smile at her, and she is suddenly aware of the tears streaming down her face.

You’ll always think of me.

“Lower the gun.”

“Stay away,” she whimpers, but he takes a slow step in her direction, and then another.

“San no! What are you doing!” Wooyoung hisses and tries to pull him back, but San brushes his hand away without taking his eyes off her, coming closer until he is all that she can see.

“I hate you,” she whispers. “I hate you!”

“Do you really?” he asks, softly, warmly.

Another step closer, and the barrel of the gun presses into his chest.

“I don’t think you do,” he mutters.

Mia says nothing.

Slowly, steadily, San raises a hand and gently pushes down the weapon with two fingers, smiling at her, filling her chest with an aching warmth.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispers. “So proud, sweetheart.”

A warm hand cradles her cheek, and she closes her eyes and relaxes her grip just as a gunshot echoes through the room. A burning pain explodes between her shoulder blades, and she hears more screaming as she stumbles forward.

Familiar arms wrap around her, guiding her to the ground, enveloping her in the warm scent of leather and sweetness before everything fades away.

 

Notes:

Ateez had that performance in which Seonghwa smashes the wine glass AFTER I had already written this chapter, and it made me so happy :D Like, yes thank you for bringing that image to life, more please!

We finally get Wooyoung back from the hospital, so the cat's definitely out of the bag! In the most DRAMATIC way possible!

I honestly feel almost more sorry for San than for Mia, he's having a very rough awakening to what he actually did :D

The next chapter very much deals with the aftermath of what happened, from the perspective of multiple different people, so stay tuned ^_^

PS: I kinda realized at some point that I put Seongjoong as one of the main ships rather than just a background ship, and since I'm having an absolute blast writing both of these characters, I decided to give them a hell of a lot more screentime rather than changing my tags :D so, be prepared for more Crime Parents action! I'm pretty sure we're gonna get Seongjoong smut long before we get any other kind of smut, so, that'll be fun!

Much love <3

Chapter 6

Notes:

So sorry about the late upload, I forgot it was monday! :D

Just one more chapter and then we'll finally have met all the members ^_^

 

“NO!”

Wooyoung’s scream shatters the stunned silence left behind by the gunshot. San’s hand instinctively searches Mia’s back, expecting blood, but finding none.

He looks up, past Wooyoung who has staggered to his knees next to him, hands flying over Mia’s limp form.

His eyes fall on Hongjoong, leaning in the small doorway next to the fireplace, a rifle resting casually on his shoulder.

“What the fuck Hongjoong?” San growls, arms tightening around Mia instinctively.

Hongjoong waves around a lollipop with his free hand and rolls his eyes.

“Oh please, that was just a tranq gun. No reason to get all dramatic.”

San’s searching hand finds the small dart, and he pulls it out carefully.

“I had her,” he mutters darkly.

“I’m sure you did”, Hongjoong purrs, sauntering into the room. “Congratulations on that.”

San opens his mouth to respond but is interrupted by a sharp pain throwing his head to the side. Wooyoung slapped him. With all of his strength. San freezes.

“What THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?” Wooyoung’s hand fists into San’s shirt, shaking him. San doesn’t put up a resistance, allowing his body to be yanked around.

“Get your FUCKING hands off her!”

San feels himself get pushed away, and his arms go slack. Mia’s warm body leaves his arms.

“What have you DONE?”

San doesn’t know what to say, he can’t see anything but Wooyoung’s tear-streaked face, the fury that is directed at him. He feels numb.

“Wooyoungie,” Hongjoong says in a placating voice. “There’s really no need for-”

“No, SHUT UP! Get out of here, all of you! I don’t want to see any of your faces right now!”

Wooyoung’s voice breaks on the last words, and San just wants to hug him, comfort him like he always does. A hand wraps around his arm, pulling him up.

“Come on,” Seonghwa says, his expression stoic.

San lets himself be pulled up. He looks at his hands and realizes they are shaking. He can distantly hear Hongjoong say that he will send Yeosang, before leaving out of the same door through which he entered. His eyes find Wooyoung again, the way his slumped shoulders are shaking with sobs. His cheek still stings.

Seonghwa pulls him out of the room, and San doesn’t even know how he ends up in his own room, just staring straight ahead unmoving for who knows how long.

His hands are twitching at his sides, and it takes a long while until he finally breaks out of his daze, picking up the nearest object and hurling it into the wall with all of his might.

~

Mia wakes up in a daze. Everything hurts. Her head is pounding, her mouth is dry, and her entire body feels itchy and tingly in the most horrible way. Her knee feels like somebody stabbed a knife in it and twisted it. Wait, did that happen? She can’t remember.

She blinks open her eyes only to immediately squeeze them shut again at the blinding white light above her head. A fresh wave of pain stabs through her eyeballs and into her temples.

The more she wakes up, the more the pain intensifies, and Mia fists her hands into the soft material she is lying on. Somebody is whimpering brokenly, and Mia wishes it would stop before realizing the sound is coming from herself. She shuts her mouth, and the noise stops.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright!” There’s an unfamiliar voice right next to her, soft and warm and pleasant. Mia relaxes just a little bit. She feels a hand on her shoulder, and it calms her down further.

She tries turning her head in the direction of the voice and manages to open her eyes. Her vision is blurry, and she squints at the most lovely face she has ever seen. Princely, statuesque. Divine.

“Am I dead?” she croaks. What’s wrong with her voice? Why does her throat hurt so much?

The worried face in front of her evens out into a small smile, which makes her feel all warm inside.

“You’re not dead,” he says, giving her shoulder a little squeeze. “You’re fine, I mean, you’re going to be fine.” He looks away then, and Mia wants to reach for him but the movement causes the pain to flare up and she draws a sharp breath, clenching her teeth in an attempt not to cry out. The hand on her shoulder trembles slightly.

“I know, I know it hurts, I’m so sorry!” He sounds distressed. Why is he apologizing? He didn’t cause this. Did he? She has no idea.

“I couldn’t give you something against the pain earlier, I didn’t know how it would interact with the…” he trails off, and the hand on her shoulder disappears. Mia blinks her eyes back open and looks at him through a blur of tears.

“I’ll make it better, I’ll be right back, I just have to-”

“Don’t go!” Mia tries to reach for him again and falls back with a whimper.

The angel takes her hand and gives it a gentle squeeze.

“I won’t, I promise. I’m not going to leave the room, you can see me the whole time, okay? I just need to get the medication and then you’ll feel so much better!”

Mia does want to feel better. She feels like shit. But she is also so scared of being alone. It takes her several seconds before she manages to let go of his hand.

“Okay,” she whispers.

He smiles and gets up, and Mia tries to keep her eyes open but it’s so hard. Her heart is beating painfully fast.

Less than a minute later, he is back and starts fiddling with a bag of clear liquid hanging from a metal stand. Mia doesn’t know what he’s doing, and she doesn’t care. As long as he stays.

“There,” he says and sits down next to her, again taking her hand. Mia feels a strange burning sensation on the back of her other hand, warmth flooding up her arm, and then suddenly she feels as if she is drifting on clouds. Painless, floaty, warm.

The relief is so intense that she feels tears rolling down her temples, soaking into her hair. Her eyes are getting so heavy.

“’M so tired,” she mumbles, words barely audible.

“It’s okay, you can sleep,” he says softly. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Another squeeze of her hand, and with that, Mia lets herself fall into the gentle embrace of darkness.

~

San is staring at his bloody knuckles. He is sitting hunched over against the wall of his room, surrounded by shards of glass. Did he punch the wall hard enough to break something? That would be so annoying.

He feels numb.

The air starts feeling heavy, getting stuck on the way down his throat on every breath. The room is too small, the walls too close.

He stumbles to his feet, kicks the broken remains of his chair out of the way and makes his way downstairs. Where is he even going? He decides to get a drink before leaving the house.

As he passes through the kitchen without bothering to turn on the light, he collides with something soft. It makes a muffled noise.

San flicks on the light and stares at the man crouching on the ground, rubbing his head.

“Mingi?”

“Hey San!” Mingi’s husky voice is oddly cheerful.

“What- what are you doing?”

Mingi looks sheepish, as if San caught him doing something forbidden.

“I’m, uh, fixing the fridge.”

San frowns. “In the dark?”

Mingi points at the small flashlight in his hand. San opens and closes his mouth.

“Well, any success?”

“I mean, it’s not flickering anymore,” Mingi says, scratching the back of his neck.

San opens the fridge. It’s completely dark.

He looks back at Mingi, who is now chewing on his bottom lip.

“It’s a process,” he says.

“Sure.”

“Did you need anything?” Mingi gets to his feet, brushing dust off his pants. As always, he is towering over San in a way that most people find intimidating.

“I, uh, I was just looking for a drink,” San says, hiding his hands behind his back.

“I can make you a drink! What are you in the mood for? Something sweet? Something strong?” Mingi is already opening cabinet doors, searching through their contents.

“…strong.”

“Coming right up!”

He slams down two glasses on the kitchen counter and starts busying himself with the drinks. San watches him carefully.

“I haven’t seen you around lately,” he says in a tone that he hopes is conversational.

“Yeah I’ve- I’ve been busy.”

“Mhh. Working on the van?”

“Yeah.”

The conversation lulls, and San starts getting fidgety. He hadn’t intended for anyone to see him. He doesn’t want to burden anyone else with his bullshit. He doesn’t even want to confront his own bullshit. Which is why he wanted a drink in the first place.

He hopes Mingi doesn’t ask him how he’s doing. He plans on doing him the same favor.

“All done!” A cold glass gets pushed towards him, and San grabs it reflexively. Mingi stares at his bloody knuckles. A few seconds tick by in silence.

Then Mingi looks up at San, a smile plastered across his face.

“Do you wanna play some video games?”

“I…” San hesitates. “I was actually planning to go outside a bit, you know, for some fresh air.” He twists the glass in his hands.

“Sounds great,” says Mingi. “Well then, enjoy the night and don’t stay up too late!”

“I won’t,” San says.

They both know he’s lying.

~

Wooyoung is leaning back in his chair, arms crossed in front of his chest. Hongjoong is watching him from across his desk, expression thoughtful, fingertips drumming a soft rhythm against the expensive wood.

Nobody says anything.

Wooyoung shifts uncomfortably, trying to subtly find a position that doesn’t pull on the barely healed holes in his body. Hongjoong’s gaze sharpens.

“Are you in pain?”

“I’m fine.”

Hongjoong sighs.

“Tell me how you met her,” he says eventually, voice much too casual.

Wooyoung considers staying silent purely out of spite, but that wouldn’t get them anywhere. And even just the thought makes him feel like a petulant child.

“She’s the barista at the coffee shop I always go to.”

“So you met her about seven months ago?”

Wooyoung nods.

“I assume that you formed some kind of friendship?”

Wooyoung narrows his eyes.

“Yeah we did. She’s awesome. It was usually just us two at that place.”

“You never mentioned her.” Hongjoong’s voice is soft, like he is trying really hard to not let that sound like an accusation.

“Yeah well I wanted to keep her away from all this,” Wooyoung makes a sweeping gesture. “Worked out fucking fantastically, didn’t it?”

Hongjoong stays silent. Wooyoung goes back to crossing his arms.

“We never talked about that kinda stuff. She never asked me, I never asked her. I guess we both had our reasons. She was… she was a friend I had that was just normal, you know? We talked about normal things. I didn’t want to freak her out. It was just nice to be away from all of this for a while.”

Wooyoung knows Hongjoong well enough to see the pained expression flickering across his face, the guilt, before he is back to being perfectly composed. He feels some of the bitterness drain away.

Despite everything, he loves Hongjoong. He loves them all. It had been Hongjoong’s idea that he should get out more, interact with people who weren’t fucking criminals. It had been nice while it lasted. He should have known better.

“She probably wishes she had never met me.”

That gets a reaction out of Hongjoong. He makes a move as if to reach across the table, before thinking better of it.

“Hey, don’t say that. None of this is your fault Wooyoung.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Well then tell me!”

Another pause.

Then, softer: “Tell me what happened.”

Wooyoung starts chewing on his bottom lip.

“There was this guy,” he starts. “This idiot. I thought he was just a harmless creep. Doesn’t know how to take a no, you know? One of those kinda guys. Young, arrogant, flaunting his money. Couldn't understand that that wasn’t enough to have girls falling all over him.”

Hongjoong scoffs in a very satisfying way. Wooyoung almost smiles.

“Anyway, he gave me bad vibes right from the start, so I stayed close whenever he showed up. Mia politely told him to fuck off several times. It was only when he got completely humiliated by another server that I thought he finally gave up. Didn’t see him for a long while after that.”

Hongjoong raises an eyebrow. “I guess he did show up again?”

Wooyoung’s face darkens.

“Yeah he did. I was in the bathroom and next thing I know, there’s the sound of breaking glass so I run out and he has her up against the wall.”

Hongjoong’s jaw twitches, but he stays silent.

“So I pulled him off. Told Mia to wait in the kitchen. Once she was gone, I gave him a piece of my mind, but he wouldn’t stop rambling garbage. So I uh, I broke his finger. Squealed like a pig, the fucker.”

Wooyoung glances up at Hongjoong to see several emotions pass across his face. He thinks one of them might have been pride.

“Told him if he ever shows his face there again or comes near her, I’ll kill him. Threw him out after that.”

Another silence, during which Hongjoong takes a deep, slow breath. “What then?”

“I gave her my number. Told her to call if he ever showed up while I’m not there.”

Hongjoong sighs. “Wooyoung…”

“I told her to only use it in an emergency. And not to share it. I trust her!”

Hongjoong hesitates, then nods. “We’ll talk about that some other time. Please continue.”

Wooyoung clenches his teeth for a moment before very consciously relaxing back into his chair. He is not looking forward to getting scolded for sharing his super-secret personal phone number with an outsider. But that’s a problem for future Wooyoung.

“About a week later, she called. Sounded super distressed. She had just closed up and was being followed. So I told her to hold tight and that I’ll come get her.”

Why is he feeling so nervous all of a sudden? Hongjoong’s gaze feels heavy.

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Because!” Wooyoung yells, throwing up his hands, wincing as the movement pulls on his injuries. “I thought he was just some fucking idiot trying to intimidate her! And I didn’t want to have you guys show up there like the fucking militia and ruin everything!"

Hongjoong says nothing.

“I can’t believe Seonghwa tracked my fucking phone! And had me followed!”

“I’m pretty glad he did,” Hongjoong says quietly, and Wooyoung hears the quiver in his voice. He feels like shit. This is all his fault. Well, not all.

“Seems like he wasn’t just some random idiot, was he?” Hongjoong says eventually.

Wooyoung shakes his head, balling his fists to hide the shaking of his hands.

“Do you have a name?”

“Just Kyle. Don’t know if that’s his real name.”

“San described it as an ambush. That they were in the buildings, waiting for you.”

Wooyoung says nothing.

“How did you end up in exactly that spot? She told you where to go, didn’t she?”

Anger boils up again.

“She had NOTHING to do with this!” Wooyoung hates how his eyes are starting to burn. Why does he have to be an angry crier? It’s so humiliating.

“She said on the phone that people randomly showed up in front of her, blocking pathways, forcing her to go a certain way. They were herding her to that spot!”

Hongjoong nods, but Wooyoung can see the doubt in his eyes. He hates it.

“I’m not saying that you’re wrong”, Hongjoong says gently. “But you have to admit that it does look suspicious? She also didn’t get hurt at all while you caught several bullets.”

Wooyoung is back to biting his lip.

“You could have fucking asked me!” He says eventually, sounding much shakier than he would like. “She’s my friend, I would have told you!”

They stare at each other for a while.

“I want to see her,” Wooyoung says eventually.

Hongjoong shakes his head. “Not before I talk to her.”

“Why?”

Hongjoong sighs.

“Because I have to make sure. I’m not saying that she is involved or that I don’t trust your judgement, but there still is a possibility. And I have to rule that out as much as I can right now.”

Wooyoung scoffs. “Why don’t you torture her some more?”

Hongjoong’s eyes flash and Wooyoung knows that he is getting very close to crossing a line. He doesn’t care.

“Wooyoung,” Hongjoong warns.

“Harm’s already done, isn’t it? I’ll probably wake up tomorrow just to find out you took her out back and shot her like a lame horse because she knows too much!”

“I would never allow that!” Hongjoong actually looks angry now.

“What then, huh? So what if you talk to her and convince yourself that she’s innocent. You just gonna let her walk? So sorry we tortured you, here’s a gift basket, please don’t go to the police?”

Hongjoong’s mouth presses into a thin line. They can’t let her go. They all know.

“So I’m sorry if I don’t fucking trust you right now not to just get rid of her like the security hazard she is. Because you made her one!”

“I would never do that to you. I would never go behind your back like that.”

Wooyoung doesn’t answer, and Hongjoong sighs again, running a hand through his freshly dyed hair.

“You don’t trust us right now, I get it. But you do trust Yeosang, yes? He has her for now. And I promise we won’t make any decisions without you.”

Wooyoung narrows his eyes. Of course he trusts Yeosang.

“Fine,” he mutters.

“This situation is… unfortunate. To say it mildly.” Hongjoong starts fiddling with his sleeves. “And you’re right, we should have consulted you. We weren’t in the clearest state of mind.”

Wooyoung waits. Hongjoong sighs.

“We made a mistake. I’m sorry.”

There it is. Wooyoung nods. That’s the most he can give right now.

“You are my favorite child, and you know it. I- I was going a bit crazy, thinking I might lose you. We all were.”

Wooyoung scoffs.

“You are literally not even two years older than me, stop pretending like you personally birthed me!”

“What, are you saying we’re not family?”

“Of course we are”, Wooyoung grumbles.

Hongjoong smiles. “That’s right,” he says. Then his smile fades.

“There’s another thing,” he says. “Please don’t take your anger out on San.”

Wooyoung flinches.

“He fucking tortured my friend!”

“He was following orders. And we didn’t know she was your friend.”

“It’s still fucked up! And he didn’t just- he didn’t just hurt her, did he?”

Hongjoong stays silent.

“He fucked with her head somehow, I saw the way she reacted to him. He knew she wouldn’t hurt him, and then the way he touched her face? I-” Wooyoung takes a shaky breath. He feels like throwing up. “What the fuck did he do to her?”

Hongjoong hesitates. “It’s not my place to talk to you about that,” he says slowly. “But he did what he did out of love and concern for you.”

Wooyoung laughs. He sounds insane.

“What a fucked up thing to do for love! As if I would ever want that!”

Hongjoong frowns.

“Do you remember when San was taken?”

Wooyoung narrows his eyes. “Of course I remember.”

“Tell me you wouldn’t have done anything in your power.”

Wooyoung chews his lips. He starts tasting copper.

“We didn’t know… for the first days, we didn’t know if you would make it. San was losing his mind.” Hongjoong’s voice is soft. Wooyoung says nothing.

“He was going crazy. Wanted to run out there and start hunting people that might have been involved. It was fucking scary, honestly.” He runs his hand through his hair again.

“He needed something to do, to focus on. He needed to feel like he was helping, somehow. So I gave him the assignment, after he begged me for it.”

Wooyoung feels like crying again. Crying or punching something.

“Now imagine how he feels after spending his entire energy trying to get information out of someone in order to help you only to have you come home and absolutely hate him for it.”

“I don’t hate him,” Wooyoung whispers.

“And add onto that, to learn that he possibly tortured an innocent person, and not just any innocent person – your friend.” He sighs. “I know he trashed his room yesterday, and then got drunk, wandering through the gardens at night.”

Wooyoung winces.

“I’m not asking you to forgive him if you don’t feel like it, but I know that he hates himself right now and believes that you hate him too. So if you don’t, let him know. I doubt he’ll listen to anyone else right now.”

Wooyoung nods, not trusting his voice.

“I also want to remind you that you are technically still on bedrest. The condition for letting you out of the hospital early was that you take it slow and allow yourself some time to properly heal while not exerting yourself. Understood?”

Wooyoung nods again

“That is all.”

Wooyoung gets up wordlessly, leaving the room without looking back. As soon as the door slams shut behind him, he finally allows himself to cry.

~

Mia’s eyes open to an unfamiliar ceiling. She stares into a bright overhead light, trying to figure out where the hell she is and how she got there, before the memories crash into her all at once. Mia gasps, trying to get up, but something is holding back her arms. Wasn’t she shot? She should be dead. Why the fuck isn’t she-

“Hey calm down, it’s okay!”

Mia whips her head around and stares at the young man crossing the room with slow steps. Approaching her cautiously, like he doesn’t want to scare her. His hands are raised slightly, as if showing her that he’s unarmed. He doesn’t look very scary.

“I am genuinely so sorry about the restraints. They are for your own protection more than mine.”

Mia looks down at the white leather cuffs fixing her wrists to the hospital bed. Protection? Protection from what? Her? Do they think that she’s dangerous?

“Where am I?” she asks hoarsely.

The man hesitates. “You’re still… wait, do you remember what happened to you?”

Mia’s eyes flick down to her knee, covered by a thin white blanket.

“I’ll take that as a yes?”

He seems to wait for a response, so Mia nods.

“Alright, so you’re still in the same building, topmost floor. This is kind of a small hospital wing we’ve built in here, or as close as we could make it.”

She’s still there. Still caught in the nightmare. Still alive. Her back feels fine.

“Why am I not dead?”

The question seems to catch him off guard. He opens his mouth and closes it again.

“I- you- I don’t-”

“Wasn’t I shot? In the back?”

“Oh!” His face instantly clears up. “Yeah, um, that was just a tranquilizer dart. It’s relatively harmless, all things considered. It’s the reason I couldn’t give you pain medication immediately, I was worried about how the two would interact, and the tranquilizer isn’t really designed for humans, so…”

He trails off and looks away. Fiddles with his hands.

“Do you remember waking up once before?”

Mia blinks. “I woke up before?”

He nods. “Okay, so you don’t. Maybe that’s for the best, you were in a lot of pain.”

Mia looks down at her knee again, and feels nausea squeezing her stomach.

“I fixed you up alright,” he says, following her gaze, coming a step closer. “I don’t think there will be any lasting damage, the bone was only very lightly scratched and the rest of the injury was all muscular. It’s gonna leave a scar but you won’t have any lasting problems.”

Mia doesn’t know if that information makes her feel better or worse.

“Why?” she whispers. He looks confused.

“I mean, why fix me up at all? It’s not that this was an accident.” She sounds so bitter.

His expression is pained.

“It kinda… I mean, ugh I’m not really the one to tell you about all this, it’s kinda complicated.”

She narrows her eyes at him. He smiles apologetically.

Something beeps and then there’s a sound of a very tinny sounding meow. The man jumps and fumbles around in his pockets, pulling out a phone.

“Sorry about that,” he mumbles, and Mia can see his ears turn red.

Does he seriously have a cat noise as a notification sound? If her situation wasn’t as dire, she would have found that hilarious. She kinda still does.

“I didn’t – Wooyoung set that as his message tone. I tried to change it but he-” He stops, seeing her expression.

“Wooyoung is still here?” she whispers.

He hesitates again, then sighs.

“This is his home, Mia. He lives here. I know this is all very confusing, but he’s fine, he’s safe, you don’t have to worry about him.”

Mia stares, mouth open. This doesn’t make any sense.

“He actually really wants to come see you but he can’t, yet. But you’ll see him soon, I mean, if you want to.” He smiles a bit.

Mia’s head is spinning. “I don’t understand.”

The man starts running his fingers through his hair, turns towards the door, turns back. He looks agitated.

“Okay you know what? Screw this.” He walks around her bed, dropping into a chair by her side. Mia tries not to flinch away from him.

“We were all having dinner together, and Wooyoung suddenly gets a phone call. He looks nervous, goes outside, then announces he’s gonna take his bike for a ride. He’s a terrible liar.” He shakes his head exasperatedly. “So we thought he might be getting himself into trouble and sent someone after him, just to make sure. When they found him, he was being ambushed, bleeding out on the ground. You were crouching over him, unharmed.”

He looks at her as if seeing if she could follow his words. She’s not sure that she does. Her mind flashes images of Wooyoung on the ground, covered in blood.

“So we got him out of there, and took you as well. There were bullets still flying around, it was all very chaotic. People were hiding in the buildings, shooting from the windows. They had to get out of there.” He swallows. Mia notices that his hands are shaking.

“Took him to the hospital, brought you here.” He stops. Looks down. Looks at her. Waits for her to understand.

Mia doesn’t want to understand. Her head is buzzing. This all feels unreal.

“You thought…” her voice breaks, and she clears her throat. Takes a deep breath. Tries again. “You thought I was with them. With the people who tried to kill him.”

“Yes,” he whispers.

“You’re… you’re Wooyoung’s friends.”

“Yes.”

“So this all… it was all for nothing. Just… a misunderstanding.”

He nods slowly. “It looks like it.”

Mia feels her breathing quicken, her heart rate pick up. Just when she thinks she might pass out, a laugh bubbles up her throat, followed by a sob.

 

Chapter 7

Notes:

I think this is my favourite chapter so far. And we finally meet Jongho!

TW: There's a sort of boxing match/sparring session and someone is getting their ass kicked

 

Wooyoung tilts his head to the side, staring at the hulking figure of a man who is currently trying to wedge himself behind the kitchen sink.

He clears his throat. “Hey princess!”

Mingi flinches, there’s the unmistakable bonk of a head banging against a hard surface, and then he starts wriggling out of the cabinets, cursing under his breath.

Wooyoung smiles when Mingi squints up at him, cobwebs in his hair and a smudge of something on his cheek.

“Oh uh, hi Wooyoung, shouldn’t you be in bed?” His eyes look wide and… guilty?

Wooyoung scoffs and waves a hand around. “I’m fine. Do you know where San is?”

Mingi wipes the back of his hand across his forehead, leaving another smudge.

“Haven’t seen him since last night. Have you asked Yunho?”

“I guess he’s next on my list,” Wooyoung mutters. “Do you know where he is?”

“Probably burying himself in paperwork,” Mingi grunts and Wooyoung watches the corners of his mouth turn down. He decides not to pry.

“Okay, thanks. I’ll let you get back to… what exactly are you doing?”

“I…” Mingi turns around and stares at the sink. “The uh, well, the faucet was leaking.”

“I see! Didn’t even notice!” Wooyoung says and watches Mingi’s cheeks turn red. “Well, thank you for preventing the house from getting flooded, that would be no fun at all!”

He leans down and presses a kiss against Mingi’s dusty cheek, causing an actual smile to appear on his face.

“Continue the good work, and I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, see you later,” Mingi says, his gruff voice unusually soft.

~

“Come in!”

Wooyoung opens the door to Yeosang’s and Yunho’s office, now only occupied by Yunho.

“Oh hello Wooyoung! How are you feeling?” Yunho rises from his chair and walks around his desk with a worried expression. “Didn’t the doctor put you on bed rest?”

“I’m fine,” Wooyoung mutters, trying not to sound too annoyed. He has to strain his neck to look up at Yunho, the only person in this house who is even taller than Mingi.

“Glad to hear it,” Yunho says with that disarming smile of his, reaching up and tousling a hand through Wooyoung’s long hair.

“Hey!” Wooyoung takes a step back and tries to sort his hair back into a presentable state.

Yunho laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Did you need anything? Or just come to hang out a bit?”

“I’m actually looking for San. You don’t happen to know where he is?”

Yunho’s smile drops a bit, and Wooyoung feels something in his chest tighten. He wonders whether Yunho knows, whether he has seen the destruction of San’s room. Maybe he had even talked to San afterwards, had held him through it. Does he blame Wooyoung? They all know what happened. There were no secrets in this place.

“I… haven’t seen him in a while,” Yunho says softly.

Wooyoung nods and looks away, anywhere but those terribly sympathetic eyes that know him all too well.

“Jongho went down into the basement for some training, maybe San joined him?”

“I’ll check,” Wooyoung croaks and flees before Yunho can ask him how he is and he’d end up crying into his chest for the next couple of hours.

~

San kicks open the door to the basement, wrapping a long strip of fabric around his knuckles with practiced ease. He needs to let out some steam, somehow. Trashing his room hadn’t been enough. Getting drunk hadn’t been enough.

He hesitates when he notices the lights are on. Someone is down here already. He considers sneaking back out before whoever is here notices his presence, but then he hears the unmistakable sound of boxing gloves against leather, followed by a familiar grunt.

Jongho. Perfect.

Jongho doesn’t make it a habit to ask too many questions. He is a calm, steady presence who believes in letting people handle their own shit in their own way.

Also, he is completely capable of beating the absolute shit out of San. Maybe that is exactly what he needs.

He squares his shoulders and enters the training room, past the array of weapons mounted on the walls, past the door to the gun range, around a corner and towards the swinging punching bag creaking on its chain.

Jongho is covered in a fine sheen of sweat, a loose black shirt with the sleeves cut off hanging from his broad shoulders. He looks up when he sees San, straightening his posture and running a hand through his damp, black hair.

San feels his fists tighten under the intensity of Jongho’s stare, those black eyes piercing right through the center of his being. There is no judgement, no pity. Only alertness.

“Hey,” he says, trying to sound casual. Jongho responds with a nod.

“Are you up for some sparring?”

Jongho tightens his eyes for a second, gaze running up and down San’s body, then he lifts a corner of his mouth in a smile.

“Sure,” he says, walks to the wooden bench running along the side of the room and picks up a towel, wiping the sweat of his face. He drops onto the bench, towel slung across his shoulders, and opens a bottle of water.

“Gloves or no gloves?"

San stares at Jongho’s fists, the fists he has personally seen crack open someone’s skull.

“No gloves.”

Jongho lifts an eyebrow but doesn’t respond.

“Go warm up then, start in five minutes?”

“Sounds good!” He smiles tightly and walks to the dark blue mats in the corner they usually use for stretching. He goes through the familiar motions, ignoring the aches from the places he hurt himself the night before. Jongho is watching from the bench, his head leaning against the wall, sipping water every now and then.

San stops a bit earlier than he probably should, and he can see Jongho’s eyebrows draw together at his lack of proper preparation, but he doesn’t comment on it. He just puts down the bottle and gets up wordlessly, walking towards the boxing ring.

San feels a thrill running through his body, staring at Jongho’s massive back, at the way the muscles in his shoulders work even when walking. San is fit, he is trained in several martial arts and without a doubt one of their most capable fighters.

Jongho could squash his head like a pumpkin.

San is a bit faster than him, so he can usually dodge the heaviest punches. When one lands though, he is fucked. The others like watching them spar, like taking bets on who will gain the upper hand. San is hungover and not in the best shape today, but he doesn’t care about winning today. He doesn’t care about training. He doesn’t plan on dodging anything, honestly.

He grasps the offered hand and lets Jongho pull him up into the ring, ducking underneath the ropes. Jongho takes a fighting stance, feet apart, fists covered in nothing more than white hand wraps raised to the height of his chin.

San feels his heartbeat quicken, adrenaline flooding his body as he mirrors Jongho’s position. His eyes rake across the younger man’s broad chest, his thick arms, the dangerous glint in his eye.

He almost sighs in relief as his brain finally, finally shuts up. Yes, this was exactly what he needed. His face pulls into a grin, looking even more manic with the purple mouth guard protecting his teeth.

Jongho’s chest vibrates with a chuckle, and then he attacks. San dodges instinctively, feigning a punch to Jongho’s kidneys before aiming a kick towards his hip. Jongho grunts as the kick connects, but it doesn’t even throw him off balance. With a speed that belies his heavy frame, Jongho catches San’s ankle and gives a fast tug, and while San is flailing his arms around for balance, Jongho swipes his other leg.

San lands heavily on his back, air rushing out of his lungs with a whoosh, and then he starts laughing. This is fun. Maybe he shouldn’t let himself get knocked out immediately. Jongho reaches out a hand and pulls him to his feet again. His eyebrows are raised in a silent question, and San gives his head and his limbs a little shake, jumping up and down before crouching back into his fighting stance. He feels so incredibly alive, nerves tingling across his entire body.

This time, he attacks first. They exchange a flurry of blows, blocking each other so fast that at some point San feels instincts take over completely. If Wooyoung were down here, this is where he would start cheering. Wooyoung always bet on San.

San feels his movements stutter, and then a fist slams into his jaw with enough force to throw him halfway across the ring.

He might have blacked out for a split second, because he suddenly finds himself lying on his back, blinking up at Jongho’s face, stars bursting across his vision. He stares at that beloved round face, the softness still clinging to the cheeks of the youngest member of their family.

Right now, he looks a bit worried.

“You good?” Jongho’s voice is slurred from the mouth guard, and that’s when San realizes that his own mouth is empty.

“Did you-” he croaks and clears his throat. “Did you seriously punch the mouth guard out of my face you fucker?”

Jongho’s eyes crinkle into half-moons and then he starts giggling. “Looks like I did!”

He leaves San’s field of vision, and San uses the moment to carefully check on his teeth with his tongue. He can taste blood, from where his cheek was crushed against his molars, but at least his teeth are all still there. This is fine. This is amazing. His face is throbbing, but the pain is delicious and anchors him to the present, and he feels another rush of adrenaline.

“There you go!” Jongho pops back into his sight and unceremoniously shoves the mouth guard back into place. San winces at the sudden sting in his lip. He tentatively presses the back of his hand against his mouth and looks at the bloody smear it leaves on the white fabric. What a pretty color.

“You good to continue or are you done?” Jongho asks, head tilted in a challenge.

“You wish!” San grins, feeling a bead of blood roll down his chin as the split in his lip widens, and allows himself to get pulled to his feet once more.

~

Mia stares at the plate of food in her lap. She feels nauseous.

“It’s not poisoned,” Yeosang says and smiles. She feels her cheeks grow hot. Yeosang had stayed with her all throughout her bout of hysteric laugh-crying that at some point turned into a panic attack, had awkwardly patted her back and given her tissue after tissue. After she had calmed down, she had been thoroughly embarrassed. And then she had started crying again.

She kept flip-flopping between a desire to process this by herself and being absolutely terrified of being alone, so when Yeosang had asked if she wanted him to leave, she had said no. The smile he had given her was so radiant that it had spread a fluttery warmth through her chest, and she had finally managed to stop crying.

He had started talking then, softly and casually, had told her his name and about his work in the garden, what flowers he had planted, how many apple trees they had. It was completely random but it kept her distracted, and she was so grateful that he didn’t ask her any questions. She didn’t want to think about anything.

The whole thing made her feel incredibly vulnerable, like he had seen a part of her that was not meant to be witnessed by anyone at all, and she was still waiting to be judged for it.

He just kept being incredibly warm and kind towards her, and eventually she relaxed enough that when he said he would leave to get her some food, she didn’t immediately start crying again.

The food he had brought her was some kind of porridge, because it was easily digestible, he had said. It doesn’t look too appetizing but actually smells kind of good.

“I know it’s not poisoned,” she mutters, poking the grey sludge with her spoon. “I just- my stomach doesn’t feel all that great.”

Yeosang hums sympathetically.

“I can imagine, you haven’t had regular food in a whole while. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but eating is actually the way to get your stomach to calm down. Maybe just try a spoonful and then we’ll see how it is?”

Mia feels like a child who doesn’t want to eat her veggies. This is humiliating.

She grabs the spoon with fresh determination and shovels a portion of porridge into her mouth. The texture is sticky but it tastes… comforting, somehow. Warm and sweet and she can taste hints of cinnamon and nutmeg. She swallows it down easily, and her stomach gives a very audible growl.

She glares up at Yeosang who looks entirely too happy about the whole thing, and eats another tentative spoonful. Warmth spreads through her belly, and she sighs.

The sound of knocking shatters the peace like a gun shot. Mia gasps, clutching the bowl so hard she fears it might break. She squeezes her eyes shut and suddenly finds herself back in that room, being dragged out, San’s cold face as he just lets it happen.

Someone touches her arm and she flinches, opens her eyes with a choked sound and stares at Yeosang’s face, only inches away from hers.

“You’re safe,” he says, and Mia wishes she could believe him.

Cold sweat starts beading on her forehead and she wants to say something but all she can do is stare at him with wide, panicked eyes. Someone has come for her. Someone is going to take her away again.

Yeosang looks at her for a moment longer, then he gets up and walks towards the door with long, determined strides. Mia reaches out a hand, not wanting him to leave, but she still can’t make her voice work through the cold press of fear tightening around her throat.

Yeosang leaves her sight and then she hears voices, and only seconds later a door slams shut and Yeosang returns to her bed, sitting down like nothing happened.

“Take a deep breath, Mia.” He says and Mia tries. Her eyes keep flickering towards the door but no one is coming in, and she can slowly feel her racing heartbeat calm down.

“What-” she says hoarsely, “Who-” her hands are still shaking.

Yeosang shakes his head a little.

“Don’t you worry about that,” he says and smiles, but Mia keeps staring at the door, so he sighs. “Okay so, that was our boss and he just wanted to, um, chat with you a bit.” He looks at Mia searchingly, gauging her reaction. Mia tries not to panic all over again.

“I told him you’re not ready to talk right now and to leave you alone, so he left.”

Mia blinks. “You- just like that? But, you said he’s the boss? I don’t-” she shakes her head.

Yeosang grins. “He might be the boss but this is my domain. You’re my patient and I call the shots. If I say you’re not ready to talk, then you’re not ready to talk.” He offers her a small smile.

Warmth blooms in Mia’s chest and she suddenly feels her eyes sting with tears. The force of the relief washing through her makes her muscles go slack and the bowl almost slips from her lap but Yeosang catches it with quick fingers.

“I know you’re not going to feel safe here for a long time, and that’s completely valid and very understandable. But I do promise you that as long as you are in my care, no one is going to hurt you.”

Mia stares at Yeosang’s face, at the way a hard glint had entered his kind eyes, and she finds herself believing him.

~

Wooyoung pushes open the heavy door to the basement, hissing as the exertion causes pain to flare up along his injuries. He really should be on bedrest, probably. He hopes all this running around doesn’t cause any stitches to pull out, Yeosang would be so pissed.

He only gets to take a couple of steps into the room before he freezes.

San and Jongho are circling each other in the ring, and there’s something not quite right in the way San moves. His usual cat-like grace is slightly marred, and Wooyoung’s eyes widen when he sees the blood staining his white shirt.

His feet carry him closer and he opens his mouth to say something when San’s eyes meet his.

Time seems to stop for an infinite second, and he watches San’s expression run through a myriad of emotions in just a heartbeat before Jongho’s fist buries itself in San’s stomach, causing him to crumple to the floor with a strangled noise.

“HEY!”

He is surprised by the anger in his voice as he closes the distance between him and the ring. Jongho turns around and regards him with a look of mild surprise.

“Hey Wooyoung,” he sounds out of breath but otherwise unbothered.

“What the FUCK are you doing?” Wooyoung yells.

Jongho blinks. “Sparring?” he says. Like he doesn’t see the problem.

Wooyoung huffs. He tries to ignore the broken pile that is San in order to glare at Jongho, who is pulling out his mouth guard and kneels down next to San, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“You alright?”

Wooyoung suddenly feels like he is intruding. Why is he so pissed anyway? It’s not like this is the first time they are sparring. Hell, he is usually the first to cheer them on. He has half a mind to just turn around and leave when he hears a soft groan of pain.

His chest constricts. San’s pain is his pain, always was, always will be.

He inches closer and clears his throat, forcing himself to meet Jongho’s dark eyes.

“Can you- give us a moment?” he asks stiffly.

Jongho looks at him for a long moment, looks at San. Then he shrugs.

“Sure,” he says, slipping underneath the ropes and letting himself drop to the floor. His hair is stuck to his forehead and his shirt is completely saturated with sweat, clinging to his chest, but other than that he looks completely unharmed.

Wooyoung doesn’t know why that upsets him so much. He clamps his mouth shut in order to control his tongue that is usually much too quick for his own good, staring at a spot next to San’s head as he waits for Jongho to leave.

He flinches as a heavy hand falls to his shoulder and turns around to face Jongho.

The look Jongho gives him is searching, and Wooyoung suddenly feels close to crying again.

“There’s ice in the freezer, he’ll need it.”

Wooyoung nods, not trusting his voice, and then Jongho gives him a small smile and his shoulder a squeeze before turning around and heading towards the showers.

It takes Wooyoung several seconds to calm down his suddenly completely jumbled up emotions enough to even look at San, still lying on his back. He is relieved that San isn’t looking back at him, his eyes are glued to somewhere on the ceiling. His chest rises and falls heavily.

Wooyoung runs his hands through his hair, clenches his fists, clenches his teeth, and then finally walks around the ring to the small wooden steps that nobody ever uses unless they are seriously injured. He ducks underneath the ropes, cautiously approaching the man still lying on the ground. He crouches down next to him, peering at a face that is so familiar and yet so strangely foreign. San’s expression is completely flat as he continues to stare at the ceiling.

Wooyoung’s eyes run across the bruises on his jaw, the split in his lip, the blood glistening on his chin.

“Hey,” he says quietly, and he watches as San blinks, a twitch going through the muscles of his jaw, and then his bottom lip starts trembling.

He watches silently as San’s eyes fill with tears, listens to his ragged breathing, the way his expression crumbles into one of agony as the tears start rolling down his temples, the way he presses his lips together in a futile attempt to stop himself from crying.

Wooyoung feels oddly calm as he looks at the broken man in front of him, a small seed of warmth blooming almost painfully in his chest. He huffs a small sigh as he lays himself down next to his best friend and stares up at the ceiling along with him.

He feels a tentative touch against the hand resting between their bodies, and without looking away from the ceiling, he tangles their fingers together.

San’s breath hitches on a sob, and Wooyoung swallows against a lump in his throat at the desperate clutch of San’s fingers, tightening almost painfully around his.

He takes a deep breath, and finally, the knot in his chest loosens.

 

Notes:

I know this chapter was on the shorter side but it felt right to end it at that point.

Feel free to let me know your thoughts, and thank you for reading! ♥️

Chapter 8

Notes:

Early upload because I will be on a plane tomorrow yay! :D

No TWs for this one :)

Enjoy!

 

Mia giggles. “How did he get out?”

Yeosang sighs. “One of us eventually found a ladder big enough to reach the top of that tree, and pulled him out. He was all shaky and crying and I felt kind of bad for him but at the same time, that was the funniest thing ever.” He grins. “We teased Wooyoung about it for years, about him being a baby cat who got stuck in a tree for a whole night. He learned to laugh about it.”

A ding, a meow.

Yeosang frowns and pulls out his phone. “Speak of the devil,” he mutters.

 

            [Woo]

            Hey sexy, come down into the basement pls

            thank u xoxo

 

He takes a deep breath before typing a reply.

 

                                                                                  [Yeosang]

I’m kinda busy Wooyoung. Is this important?

 

            [Woo]

            Excuse me I’m always important

            Actually yes can u bring your kit as well thx

 

[Yeosang]

What the fuck did you do

Are you hurt

Did you pull your stitches

            [Woo]

            No I’m fine

            San’s kinda beat up tho

 

Yeosang stares at his phone.

 

[Yeosang]

Did you fight?

 

            [Woo]

            Ugh just come down already

            Thx ok love u xoxo

 

Mia looks at him curiously, watches him as he takes another slow, exasperated breath with his eyes closed.

“Everything okay?”

Yeosang gives her a reassuring smile. “Yeah nothing to worry about! I just, they need me in the basement for a second.”

He watches her flinch slightly at the mention of the basement and silently curses himself.

“Our training room is down there,” he says quickly. “Somebody probably has a bruise they want me to look at or something.”

Mia blinks, her eyes wide. She is making an effort not to let her fear show, her smile only wavering slightly.

“Okay,” she says.

“I won’t be long,” he promises and she nods, her hands tightening slightly where she clutches the blanket.

Yeosang gives her his warmest smile and watches her relax the tiniest bit, and only then does he turn to leave. He grabs his medical kit from one of the cabinets on his way out and takes care to lock the door behind himself, even if it’s just to give Mia an added sense of security.

He shoves open the heavy door to the training area with no idea what to expect, and it takes him a while to spot the two figures lying on their backs in the middle of the boxing ring.

He walks across the room with fast strides and watches Wooyoung pop up his head and give a little wave. “Hiya!”

Yeosang swings himself into the ring, staring at Wooyoung who seems completely fine, and then at San who looks… rough. His face is bruised and swollen, blood is trickling down from a gash in his lip, and there are bloodstains on his shirt. His eyes are open, and he looks at Yeosang with a raw expression.

Yeosang turns his gaze to Wooyoung, narrowing his eyes.

“Did you beat him up?”

Wooyoung laughs and then winces, a hand flying to his abdomen. It is only then that Yeosang sees their connected hands, and he feels himself relax just a little.

“Nah that honor goes to Jongho. Love that you think I could, though!”

Even in pain, he grins at Yeosang, and almost successfully hides the tension hiding underneath his cheerful exterior.

“Alright, so, why am I here?”

Wooyoung gestures to San. “To check on him, obviously?”

Yeosang tilts his head to the side and looks San over. He looks beaten up, sure, but nothing super out of the ordinary. They have a freezer with icepacks down here that could have dealt with the bruises just fine.

“I told him I’m fine,” San mutters, looking away.

Yeosang hesitates. There’s something in the air, some kind of tension that doesn’t have anything to do with him. He considers putting Wooyoung on the spot and asking why he really called him down here, but then decides to not stick his nose in their business.

“Alright San, any other injuries except for your face?”

San wordlessly pulls up his shirt, and Yeosang gives a low whistle at the purple bruises discoloring the right side of his ribs.

“That looks painful,” he hums. “I’ll check for any breaks, alright?”

San mutters something about there being no breaks, but he obediently lift his shirt further to give Yeosang the access he needs for a proper check-up.

Yeosang does his best to be gentle but he does have to press down in order to check the bones and cartilage, and for a while the silence is broken only by San’s sharp intakes of breath whenever Yeosang hits an especially tender spot. He notices Wooyoung’s hand holding San’s a little tighter.

“Alright, nothing’s broken,” he says eventually and clicks open his kit. “I’m gonna disinfect that split in your lip, alright? Don’t want that to get infected.”

San only hums and Yeosang starts soaking some gauze in disinfectant.

“How is she doing?” Wooyoung asks and Yeosang sees San stiffen.

He stares at them both, watching Wooyoung lift his chin defiantly and San’s face turn into an emotionless mask. He sighs.

“She’s… doing alright,” he says carefully and starts dabbing at the blood on San’s chin. “As well as can be expected under the circumstances, I guess.”

San’s face is motionless, his eyes fixed on a point at the ceiling.

“So when can I see her?” Wooyoung’s voice is innocent.

Yeosang sits back on his heels. “What the hell is this?”

Wooyoung blinks. “What?”

“You know when you can see her. After Hongjoong talked to her. He told you. So I am asking you again, what the hell is this? Is it some kind of weird way of punishing San? Is this why you called me down here?”

Something twitches in San’s face. Wooyoung opens his mouth and closes it again.

“Okay you know what, I’m out. I will have no part in this. You guys need to TALK to each other, for god’s sake. And also, Wooyoung, you are on bedrest and I swear to god if I catch you running around again I will strap you down to a bed as well!” Yeosang starts stuffing his equipment back into his kit only to look up at a small sniffle.

Wooyoung is blinking against the tears filling his eyes, and Yeosang sighs. He’s never been able to stay mad at Wooyoung, even back when they were kids. Wooyoung looks like he wants to say something but is interrupted by San’s quiet voice.

“What do you mean, as well?”

No one says anything for a couple of seconds, and then Wooyoung’s eyes go wide.

“Is Mia strapped down? What the fuck Yeosang?”

Yeosang groans. “Come on guys, as if that would have been my decision. Captain’s orders, obviously. She is classified as a high security risk until Hongjoong has had his chance to talk to her and make his own evaluation.”

Wooyoung sits up, looking scandalized, but it is again San who is faster.

“This is some bullshit,” he says, and while his voice is still quiet, it is shaking with anger.

“She is NOT dangerous. I didn’t even use restraints on her and she never tried anything, and that was still a hostile situation! Why the hell would she do anything now? It’s bad enough that she is here at all, there’s no reason to treat her like this!”

Yeosang’s eyes flit to Wooyoung who is staring at San, openmouthed.

Controlling his expression, he turns back to San. “Didn’t she point a gun at you? And bite your finger?”

“She bit your finger?” Wooyoung lifts up San’s hand, staring at the thin bandage still wrapped around his thumb, peeking out from under the dirtied hand wraps.

“Yeah she did,” says San and Yeosang could swear the corner of his mouth twitches up into a smile for the barest moment. “That was completely my fault though. Purely defensive on her side.”

Yeosang waits.

“And as for the gun, she didn’t use it, did she? Had us right there at gunpoint, everyone who hurt her, and she didn’t use it.” His mouth presses into a thin line.

“The only reason she took it at all was to give Wooyoung a chance to get out of there, not even to defend herself. It was all for Wooyoung, all of it!”

His voice is starting to get louder, and Yeosang sees the telltale glimmer of tears in his eyes.

“I thought- I thought she was protecting someone, I didn’t think – I didn’t know-”

He takes a shaky breath and throws an arm across his face. Wooyoung reaches out a hand, splaying his fingers across San’s rapidly rising and falling chest.

“San,” he whispers.

San lowers his arm and turns to look at Wooyoung, an expression of anguish on his face.

“It was you,” he says hoarsely. “It was all for you, all this time she was trying to protect you, and I- I just-”

A tear escapes his eyes and Wooyoung catches it with his thumb before leaning in and pulling San into a hug.

Yeosang looks at the two of them, hanging on to each other, San’s sobs muffled in the crook of Wooyoung’s neck, and decides that this is his cue to leave.

Before he manages to sneak out of the ring, Wooyoung’s hand catches his sleeve.

“I’m sorry Yeosangie,” he whispers, eyes wide and honest and full of tears.

“It’s fine,” says Yeosang and pats his hand, trying to gently pull himself free so he can get the hell out of there. “I’m serious though, you need to go lie down, both of you, actually. Get some ice for your ribs and face and then have a marvel marathon or something, I don’t care. But I’m having my hands full enough as it is without you two idiots adding your own injuries to the list.”

San and Wooyoung have the decency to look sufficiently guilty at that.

A couple of muttered apologies later, they finally allow Yeosang to leave, and when he closes the basement door behind himself, he leans against it for a moment. He takes a deep breath, and while the whole thing left him exhausted, he also has the small, distinct feeling that he just accomplished something.

~

They decide to take Yeosang’s advice. A couple of hours later, they are both snuggled up in Wooyoung’s bed, surrounded by empty pizza boxes, staring at the screen of Wooyoung’s ridiculously huge TV, watching Captain America.

There is still some awkwardness in the air, but that is probably to be expected after everything that happened. What’s important is that they are here, together, Wooyoung is no longer avoiding him and that alone has taken such a huge weight off of San’s shoulders that just thinking about it causes another lump to form in his throat. Better not to think about it too much then, he still has a headache from all the crying he has already done today.

Every now and then, he looks over at Wooyoung’s face, as if making sure that he is actually, really there with him. It gets harder and harder to focus on the movie, and at some point, he grabs the remote and clicks pause.

Silence envelops the room and San fidgets with the blanket in his lap, trying to figure out what it is he needs to say while Wooyoung sits next him, waiting.

Eventually, he looks over again, and sees that Wooyoung is watching him, his face illuminated by the TV screen, his expression guarded.

“Wooyoung,” he whispers eventually. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.”

Wooyoung’s face softens, and he reaches over to slide his hand into San’s, giving a reassuring squeeze.

“I know,” he says quietly. “And I’m- I’m sorry too. You couldn’t have known, I know that, I know you were just trying to help, I just-” He takes a shaky breath. “It’s all so fucked up. I just wanted a friend outside of all this, you know? I’m the reason this happened to her. If I never went into that coffee shop, if I never made friends with her, if I never threatened that guy…”

It’s San’s turn to give Wooyoung’s hand a squeeze.

“None of this is your fault!” he says, eyebrows furrowing. “You couldn’t have known.”

Wooyoung chuckles, but it’s a joyless sound. “That’s exactly what Hongjoong said. And I know that, on a rational level. Doesn’t make me feel any less horrible about it. And it’s not just me feeling guilty about what happened to her, which I do, it’s also that- I already know this will be the last time I ever try to make friends outside of this family. I will never again trust that I can keep the two worlds separated. Whoever would become my friend would immediately be at risk and I don’t want that for anyone."

He sounds absolutely devastated, and it cuts right through San’s heart. He squeezes his hand again.

“You’ll always have us though,” he whispers, and Wooyoung gives him a teary smile.

“I know that, Sannie. And I wouldn’t trade you guys for the world.”

San wants to hug him, but they are both tender and sore and moving hurts, so he just gives his hand yet another squeeze.

Silence again fills the space between them, but it doesn’t feel quite as heavy.

Wooyoung unpauses the movie, and a few minutes in, he shuffles closer to San, allowing his head to fall on San’s warm shoulder.

San’s arm snakes around him, holding him tight, and for a moment, Wooyoung allows himself to believe that maybe things are going to be alright.

~

San hangs around in Wooyoung’s room for three days until the younger finally throws him out.

“It’s not that I don’t like having you here,” he had said to a pouting San, “But you can’t avoid the mess in your room forever. It’s just gonna get harder the longer you wait and you’ll feel better once you cleaned it up.”

San had groaned and looked over at Wooyoung with a pitiful expression. “You don’t happen to be in the mood to help me, are you?”

Wooyoung had pulled the blanket up to his chin with a dramatic sigh and a twinkle in his eyes. “God I wish but I am unfortunately still on bedrest. Doctor’s orders. So sorry. You know how much I love cleaning.”

San had thrown a unicorn plushie at Wooyoung’s head and left the room amidst Wooyoung’s high-pitched cackling.

Then he had taken a shower, made himself a sandwich, ate that sandwich on the veranda, and now he is finally standing in front of the closed door to his room, anxiety coursing through his veins.

He thinks of the chaos he left behind, the glass covering every surface, the hole he punched through the wall, and shame burns in his chest with an intensity that makes it hard for him to breathe. He gives himself another few seconds before finally taking a deep breath and opening the door to face his room.

For a second, he thinks he got the wrong door.

There is no glass on the floor, no hole in the wall. But this is his desk, his bed, it’s even his chair even though he distinctly remembers ripping it apart.

San enters his room with an eerie sense of unreality. Did he hallucinate trashing his room?

He crouches down next to the chair and traces a fine line connecting one of the wooden legs to the rest. Somebody glued this together.

A noise behind him makes him jump so hard he almost topples over, and he whirls around only to see Mingi standing in the doorway, clutching a familiar desk lamp to his chest.

“Oh, hi San!” he says, looking everywhere but at him. “I didn’t know, I mean, I can just-”

“Mingi,” San whispers, walking over to him. “Did you fix my room?”

A small smile plays around Mingi’s lips as he finally meets San’s eyes.

“Yeah, I mean, I couldn’t fix everything but you know, I thought you had enough shit going on, and I had the time, so…” he starts twirling the lamp around in his hands. “This one works now, it just took some time for the new light bulb to get here, we didn’t have that exact one in the house so I ordered it and then I-”

San throws his arms around Mingi’s neck, effectively shutting him up. Mingi stiffens in surprise before enveloping San in the warmest bear hug, the lamp still clutched in one hand.

“Thank you,” San whispers into his shoulder, blinking away tears. God damn it.

Mingi tightens his arms around him and it hurts his bruised ribs but San doesn’t care. He needs this. He needs this so bad. He gets the distinct feeling that Mingi needs this just as much, so they just stand there for several minutes, silently embracing, and San feels so warm. Warm and loved and cared for.

Mingi sniffles a bit and San gives him some time to compose himself before he lets him go, taking a step back and taking the lamp Mingi pushes into his hands.

The glass had been cracked in several places and it had been ripped out of its metal socket, wires and all, and San stares at it in awe.

“Did you seriously get this to work again? How did you even-” he lifts the lamp to eyelevel, squinting at the base. “Did you weld this together?”

Mingi smiles, proudly. “I did! Was fun to get out the welding torch. I also reconnected all the wires and stuff.”

San shakes his head in amazement. “You are a wizard, you know that?”

Mingi’s smile widens, crinkling his eyes into little crescents. “I’m glad I could help.”

“That is the understatement of the year,” San says and walks to where his fist had damaged the wall. There is nothing but smooth plaster, and he runs his fingers across it in awe.

“I’m glad you didn’t throw your laptop against a wall or something, that would have been a bit above my skill level,” Mingi says and scratches his neck. “You would have had to ask Yunho for help for that one.”

San watches Mingi drop his eyes to the ground. His shoulders are hunched over slightly, as if trying to make himself smaller, and San decides – to hell with staying out of other people’s business.

“Hey,” he says, softly. “Is everything… alright with you?”

Mingi looks up quickly and the smile is back on his face. “Oh yeah I’m fine, I’m-”

“It’s okay if you’re not fine,” San interrupts him, trying to keep his voice gentle, and Mingi’s face falls.

“I just-” he starts rubbing his arms sheepishly. “You guys have so much on your plate right now, I don’t want to, you know, add to that.”

He looks pained, and San walks over to his bed, drops down onto the fresh linens and pats the space next to him.

Mingi hesitates for a second before sitting down onto the bed. San gives him a little bump with his shoulder. “Talk to me!” he says. “Please?”

Mingi sighs. “It’s just that everyone is so stressed and I know Wooyoung is so upset with all of us and I hate it when you guys are fighting but I also don’t know how to help. I would usually talk to Yunho but he doesn’t even come out of that study anymore, I know he blames himself for what happened because he always feels responsible for everything even if he’s really not, the stupid idiot.”

San huffs a laugh at that and that gets Mingi to smile a bit.

“So I don’t want to stress him out even more but I also feel absolutely terrible about what happened.” He glances over at San apologetically. “I know it must be so much harder for you. And I mean, that job could have been given to me, and I would have done it.”

San winces at that image, and for the first time, he is glad that he was the one to do it. He wouldn’t wish his guilt on any of his brothers.

Mingi sighs and rubs a hand across his face. “I also can’t forget the moment we found Wooyoung in that alley. There was… so much blood, and I just…” he takes a shaky breath, and San does his best to control his features as the horrors of that night replay in his mind.

“I still get nightmares about it,” Mingi says quietly. “So I’m trying to keep myself busy, and I’m trying to find ways to help.”

“I also dream about that,” San says eventually, his voice a bit shaky. Mingi looks over at him, his eyes wide and sad. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” San nods. “What helped the most was spending time with Wooyoung, I think that kinda convinced my brain that he’s actually not dead, that he’s okay.” He gives Mingi what he hopes is an encouraging smile.

“Also, Wooyoung is losing his mind with boredom because Yeosang threatened to tie him to the bed if he doesn’t respect his bedrest. I think he would really appreciate company, honestly.”

Mingi gives a throaty chuckle. “Yeosang is scary when he is in doctor mode,” he says, and San agrees.

They sit in comfortable silence for a while and then San gives Mingi another bump with his shoulder. “Star Wars marathon?”

Mingi holds up his hands with a terrified expression on his face.

“Seonghwa would MURDER us if we watch Star Wars without him,” he says in a hushed voice, as if scared that Seonghwa could overhear them.

San laughs. “Fair,” he says. “Harry Potter?”

“Now we’re talking!” Mingi grins. “Wanna order takeout?"

“Definitely,” San nods. “What are you in the mood for?”

“I’ll go ask Woo,” Mingi says and skips out of the room.

San watches him go, then he lets himself fall backwards onto the bed until he is staring at his ceiling.

He feels as light as a feather.

 

Chapter 9

Notes:

Mia finally meets the Captain!

 

Mia stares at the man sitting at the side of her bed, trying to reconcile him with the image she had in her head of what a mob boss would look like.

Hongjoong, leader and Captain of what she understands is some kind of crime syndicate that Wooyoung is somehow a part of, is smiling at her. His black hair is framing his small face in 20s-style finger waves, his black eyeliner is infuriatingly perfect and contrasted nicely by a hint of silvery shimmer on his lids. He is wearing a white ruffled blouse and a pearl necklace with matching pearls dangling from his ears, and his nails are painted with black sparkly nail polish.

He has a pretty face with delicate, pointy features, highlighted by his choice of make-up, and a rather small and slender figure. All in all, there should be absolutely nothing scary about this man.

And yet.

Mia is not sure whether it’s the knowledge of him being a dangerous person that causes the hair on the back of her neck to stand up, or if it’s something else. He has been perfectly polite since the moment Yeosang allowed him into this room, and yet there is something completely terrifying about him and she can’t put her finger on what it is.

Something tells her to be very, very careful.

She is incredibly grateful that Yeosang decided to stay in the room with them, watching from the corner with his arms crossed and a frown on his face.

“So! Mia,” Hongjoong says and Mia is eerily reminded of the man who had mangled her knee. That one had looked exactly like what she would have pictured a mob boss to look like.

She suppresses a shiver.

“I’m glad to see you are recovering well!”

Mia only manages a nod at that.

“A lot has happened in the past weeks, and I would like to get to the bottom of it. So, if you don’t mind, would you be so kind as to tell me how you met Wooyoung and everything that followed afterwards?”

He tilts his head and widens his smile, and Mia could swear he was fluttering his eyelashes at her. She feels a small pull in her chest and shifts uncomfortably before clearing her throat.

“Um, yeah, sure.”

Hongjoong leans forward and rests his chin on his dainty little hands, looking at her with the wide-eyed, innocent expression of a child about to hear a story. Mia closes her eyes for a moment, collecting her thoughts, before she starts to speak.

Yeosang had encouraged her to be honest. In fact, he had warned her not to lie, and to just stay silent instead if there were any questions she really doesn’t want to answer. It had made Mia even more nervous, but then again, there was really no reason to lie. She hadn’t done anything wrong.

He had reassured her that she needn’t be worried, that Hongjoong truly wanted to find out the truth and wanted her side of the story, and that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. He had also revealed that Wooyoung was furious with Hongjoong and basically everyone for allowing this to happen, and that everyone was being extra careful because of it. No one wanted to do anything that would upset him even further.

Mia had been strangely touched by this, and she did feel safer because of it. She had never doubted that Wooyoung was on her side, and she had also grown to trust Yeosang who himself seemed invested in her wellbeing. She tried her best not to think about the other members of this house.

With Yeosang’s encouragements, and also the knowledge that she was only allowed to see Wooyoung until after she had spoken to Hongjoong, she had finally gotten up the courage to allow this meeting to happen. Now she just had to try and not fuck it up.

Hongjoong allows her to speak freely without interruptions, even when she has to take a break to gather her thoughts. His eyes never leave her face, and she often finds herself looking at her hands in order to escape that piercing stare.

He smiles when Mia talks about how Wooyoung had stayed close to her when Kyle had first entered, he narrows his eyes when she describes how Kyle attacked her. She takes another moment to get her voice under control before she can continue, and dares another look at Hongjoong’s face. What she finds is an unexpected warmth, just for a moment.

She continues talking.

Her voice gives out again as she describes the attack in the alleyway, and she stares at her hands again, taking a few shaking breaths and blinking away tears.

“I think you can stop here,” Hongjoong says, and his bright voice is a bit softer than it used to be. There is a moment of silence and Mia wonders whether he is giving her time to compose herself.

“I would like to ask you some questions, is that alright?”

Mia nods.

Hongjoong begins asking her for details, especially about Kyle and the people who had attacked them. He tells her that he would like her to describe his face to an artist later, to which she agrees. She can tell that he is disappointed by her lack of information about him, but he doesn’t seem mad at her personally, at least.

“Well,” he says finally, leaning back in his chair. “I do believe apologies are in order. There has been a tremendous misunderstanding on our part, and you had to suffer greatly as a result of it. We acted rashly, and while our intentions were to protect one of our own, we should have gone about it with more patience and a clearer head, which might have prevented this from happening. As it is, we are in your debt.”

He stands up and gives a graceful bow.

“On behalf of everyone here, I deeply apologize.”

Mia stares at him with her mouth hanging open. An apology was the last thing she had expected. She scrambles for an appropriate response.

“I, uh, I appreciate the apology?” she says and feels her cheeks grow hot.

Hongjoong stands up straight again and grins, inclining his head graciously at her words.

“Well!” he says and claps his hands, causing Mia to jump. “Now that we cleared that up, why don’t we celebrate this with a drink?”

He pulls out a bottle from god knows where, waving it enthusiastically. Before she has a chance to say anything, Yeosang takes a step forward.

“Is that alcohol? Hyung, she’s still recovering!”

Hongjoong turns around to face him with a rather dramatic eye roll.

“Oh come on Yeosangie, this is a special occasion. Just a sip! That’s not gonna hurt, is it?”

Yeosang presses his lips into a thin line, but he doesn’t respond.

“Would you be a dear and bring us some glasses?”

The two stare at each other for a couple of seconds, and then Yeosang looks at Mia, raising an eyebrow in a silent question. Mia gives a helpless little shrug. The prospect of being alone with Hongjoong frightens her, but she also doesn’t think he would actually do anything to her. She doesn’t want to cause trouble for Yeosang.

“Fine,” he mutters eventually and turns to leave, throwing another worried glance in Mia’s direction.

Hongjoong waits until the door closes before he swings back around to face her.

“Now,” he says and Mia feels herself shrink back against the bed.

“I stand by what I said and I meant every word of it. What I also need you to understand is that there is nothing at all I wouldn’t do to protect my family. If I get even the slightest feeling that you present a danger to anyone in this house, I will make you disappear so fast you won’t even know what’s happening. I don’t care whose friend you are, I don’t care who it will upset. Their safety is my first priority, always. Do you understand?”

He had started to lean closer to her as he spoke, and his face had dropped any trace of friendliness and civility, leaving behind a frightening, manic smile that showed his sharp canines and caused a cold fear to crawl up Mia’s spine. He brings his face even closer, causing her breathing to stutter.

“I said, do you understand?”

Mia nods, not trusting her voice.

Hongjoong’s smile widens for a terrifying second before he sits back again, allowing his face to smooth back into a pleasant expression. “That’s what I thought.”

Mia is still trying to process what the hell just happened when Yeosang returns with three glasses. He looks slightly worried and Mia does her best to look composed.

“Wonderful!” Hongjoong chirps and gives a small wave towards the little white table next to the bed. Yeosang wordlessly places the glasses down, and he keeps glancing at Mia who avoids his eyes.

Hongjoong pours a bubbly purple liquid into the three glasses and hands Mia hers with another wide smile. She suppresses a shiver.

“Cheers!” he says and they all rather awkwardly clink their glasses together before taking a sip. Mia is pleasantly surprised at the taste of sweet berries.

“You like it?” Hongjoong asks, happily batting his lashes at her.

Mia clears her throat. “Um, yeah, it’s tasty! Not too strong and I like berries.”

Hongjoong laughs delightedly. “I wouldn’t have dared giving you anything stronger, Yeosang would have strangled me!” He winks at Mia and she feels another weird twinge in her chest.

“Now that we cleared this all up,” he says and gets more comfortable in his chair. “Are there any questions you have? Providing you with answers is the least I can do, so please don’t be shy, ask away!” The smile he gives her this time seems genuine.

“Um.” Mia blinks and takes another sip of the sweet fizzy drink. Then she asks the most important question. “When can I go home?”

She watches Hongjoong’s smile fall a bit and her heart sinks.

“Ah,” he says and looks at her apologetically. “That is a rather difficult question but I did promise to answer truthfully. To be completely honest, I am not quite sure what to do with you yet. While I am truly sorry about what happened, it would be too big of a risk to simply let you go. I’m sure you understand why.”

Mia nods. She does understand. She could promise not to go to the police but they had no reason to trust her, not after what happened.

“It might not feel this way, but you are also a lot safer here than you would be at home. You have already been attacked once, twice if we count the incident in the coffee shop, and we have no reason to believe it wouldn’t happen again. Not until we find whoever did this.”

She hadn’t considered that. As much as she doesn’t like it, Hongjoong has a point.

“I understand,” she says quietly.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice unexpectedly gentle. “I promise to make your stay here as comfortable as possible, so if there is anything you need, please let us know.”

Mia swallows and nods, and tries to think of more questions.

“Actually, I have all my stuff in my flat, um, is there a way for me to get some of my things?”

“Oh of course,” Hongjoong purrs.

Mia’s eyes widen with a sudden realization. “I have to pay rent!” she gasps, sitting up. “I- what date is it? My landlord is an asshole, he already almost threw me out once when I paid a couple days late, I, I have to-”

“Calm down, calm down!” Hongjoong interrupts her, hands raised. “It’s all taken care of, you have nothing to worry about.”

Mia stares at him. “What do you mean, it’s taken care of?”

Hongjoong smiles. “We made sure that your bank account is sufficiently covered and set up an automatic transfer each month. Your flat is safe.”

“You- you hacked into my bank account?”

“Oh please, what do you think we are, amateurs? We obviously had to make sure your absence wouldn’t be noticed so it wouldn’t arouse any suspicions. Don’t want the police to knock on our door now, would we?”

Mia feels faint. “What about my job?” she whispers.

“We sent in your resignation via e-mail. They seemed really sad to see you go, so I’m sure they’d hire you back in a heartbeat should you ever want that.” He takes another sip from his drink, seemingly completely unaware of the effect his words are having.

Mia is gripping the blanket. She doesn’t even know why this is hitting her so hard, considering she just escaped torture and death, but still – the fact that they just quit her job for her is deeply unsettling. A part of her had still thought she would someday escape this place and go back to her old life.

She also feels violated. If they hacked into her bank account and her email account, what else did they stick their noses in?

“Did you hack into anything else?” she asks, sounding hollow.

Hongjoong sighs. “You have to understand,” he starts. “Since we believed you to be working with whoever ordered the hit on Wooyoung, you were the only lead we had, so our research was… thorough. I will continue to answer your questions but consider that some things might be better left unsaid.”

“No,” Mia says and surprises herself with the sharpness of her voice. “Tell me.”

Hongjoong considers her for a moment.

“As you wish. We accessed everything there is to access. Your phone, your computer, your accounts, all of your messaging services. We tracked down every single person you’ve had contact with in the last five years. Or in the case of your family, we tracked them down even if the contact was further back than that.”

“You- tracked down my family?” Mia chokes.

“There was a theory that whoever you were working for had some kind of pressure on you, which could have been a kidnapped friend or family member,” Hongjoong explains. “I personally checked on several of them.”

His face pinches into an expression of disgust. “Speaking of, if you ever want to put a hit out on your father, I would gladly carry it out. On the house, free of charge.”

Mia huffs a surprised laugh and then buries her face in her hands. “Oh my god,” she groans. “I can’t believe you met my dad.”

“A bigoted, selfish, cruel and generally insufferable excuse of a human being. No wonder you cut contact with him years ago.” Hongjoong grins at Mia’s disbelieving face.

“It was honestly one of the most difficult things of this entire research mission to just leave him there in one piece. The world could do with less men like that. So, about my offer-”

“Please don’t kill my dad!” Mia says quickly.

“Why not?” Hongjoong seems genuinely curious.

“You can’t just- go around killing people just because they’re assholes!”

“I mean…” Hongjoong tilts his head. “I can, that’s the point.”

Mia stares at him. He is actually serious about this. She just shakes her head, at a loss for words.

“Fine,” Hongjoong mutters, looking somewhat disappointed. “Oh, by the way!” his face lights up. “I did also check on your former colleague, Annie, and found her to be entirely delightful!”

Mia chokes on her drink. “Please don’t hurt Annie!”

“Why would I do that?” Hongjoong actually looks sort of hurt. “I just told you that she is delightful. I wish the world had more people like that. I have no reason to hurt her.”

Mia shakes her head again. This man is giving her whiplash.

“Anyway,” Hongjoong sighs and throws back the rest of his drink. “I will leave you for now, you still have a lot of recovering to do. If you need anything, if you have any more questions or if you happen to remember anything else about this Kyle person, let Yeosang know and I will be with you in no time- Mia?”

Mia had frozen with her glass halfway to her lips.

“Wait,” she breathes. The mention of Annie had unlocked the memory of a moment she had forgotten immediately after it had happened. “I might- I think I might have his phone number. Would that be helpful?”

Hongjoong’s eyes widen, and he leans forward, gripping her arm.

“That would be INCREDIBLY helpful! How did you get it? Where is it?”

Mia feels a little breathless at the sudden closeness and his hand on her arm and tries to sort through her jumbled thoughts.

“Um, it was Annie’s last day and when she left she made a joke about leaving me something in case I got lonely, she said he had left his number when I wasn’t there and that she put it in my coat pocket.”

“Is it still in there?”

“I mean I think so, I honestly completely forgot about it. I haven’t worn that coat since, so if she wasn’t joking about the whole thing it should still be in the pocket, so, in my apartment.”

Hongjoong’s lips pull into a wide smile, but this time, it isn’t terrifying. It’s excited, eager, and the wild glint in his eyes makes her heart beat faster.

“Excellent!” he breathes. “With the help of a crutch, do you think you can walk?”

“I-”

“ABSOLUTELY not!” Yeosang looks furious.

Hongjoong rolls his eyes. “Isn’t it bad for people to stay in hospital beds for this long after an injury? I’m certain I heard about how that only causes your muscles to degrade and that is much harder to come back from than the actual injury.” He tilts his head at Yeosang. “Isn’t that right?”

“Well- technically, yes, but it’s not like she’s been in bed this entire time. We did some exercises around the room, so-”

“Ah how wonderful, so she IS able to walk, yes?”

Yeosang opens his mouth and closes it again. “Still, doing light exercises is not comparable to a full on trip with stairs and everything! And you said it yourself, she might not be safe out there!”

“Well obviously she wouldn’t be going alone. And Mia, dear, you mentioned that you wanted some personal things from your flat, wouldn’t you much rather pack them up yourself rather than have someone else rummage through your things?”

Mia’s heart gives a stutter at the look he gives her. “Um, I mean, yeah I kinda would prefer that, I think.” She winces at the image of some random strange men digging through her belongings.

“Excellent! That’s settled then.”

The look Yeosang gives her is half worry and half betrayal, and she ducks her head guiltily.

“Do I have permission to accompany her?” he asks, his voice flat.

“No Yeosang, you are needed here. I will send, hmm let’s see… Jongho and Mingi? Ah, maybe Jongho and Yunho would be better.”

“Hongjoong,” Yeosang says, a worried frown on his face. “Are you sure about Yunho? He might- evoke some bad memories.” His gaze flickers to Mia who suddenly feels faint.

“Is- is he-” she whispers. “Is he the one-” she swallows and looks down at her knee.

“Oh! Oh, no that’s not him,” Yeosang says quickly. “Seonghwa isn’t here at the moment, you won’t meet him anywhere in the house. Yunho is… well, he’s the one who brought you upstairs.”

Mia’s relief is short-lived as memories flood her mind unbidden, a knock on the door, San’s emotionless face as she was dragged away, the feeling of panic and heartbreak at being abandoned, and pain, so much pain...

“Mia.” Yeosang’s hand on her shoulder snaps her out of it and she takes a shaky breath, trying to center herself back to the present. Her palms are sticky with sweat.

When she looks up, she meets Hongjoong’s curious eyes.

“I will send him up here first so we can see how that goes,” he says, still watching Mia closely. “If it goes well, that’s great. If it doesn’t, I’ll consider Mingi.”

“Why not send Mingi right away?” Yeosang asks.

Hongjoong sighs. “Mingi isn’t doing that great right now and I would rather give him a break,” he says. “Also, Yunho is leading the investigations and would be very upset if he didn’t get to go.”

He stands up and leans forward, waiting until he has her full attention.

“Mia,” he says and again there is an unexpected gentleness to his voice. “I understand that confronting what happened is difficult, but you will spend some time in this house and at some point you will have to confront the people who live here. My experience is that getting these things over with sooner rather than later is usually the wiser cause of action. Yunho is a trusted member of my team and a kind person, and you will realize that very quickly.”

He pushes himself away from the bed and nods towards Yeosang. “I will sort some things out and then I will get back to you. You can expect the mission to be carried out within the next couple of days.”

He gives Mia another small smile before leaving the room.

 

Notes:

In the next chapter, we'll finally get some juicy Seongjoong content! ^_^

Chapter 10

Notes:

HAPPY PRIDE EVERYONE :D

I know they're not actively fucking in this one, my apologies! Good things take time! Also I've never written smut before and I'm scared (We'll get there, I promise^^)

In all seriousness, Seongjoong might cause me to tick up the rating to explicit, they are just too horny for each other, what can you do! (also the violence)

Have fun! <3

 

Hongjoong stretches himself like a cat on the damp sheets, feeling utterly delicious. His body aches in several places, and he hums happily.

“Seonghwa,” he purrs, rolling onto his side and throwing an arm over the other man’s bare chest. “Are you relaxed now? Did you finally get it all out of your system? Or do you need to go another round?”

Seonghwa huffs a laugh and laces his fingers with Hongjoong’s. He shoots him a look from dark eyes, a small smile lifting the corner of those gorgeous, full lips.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea” he says, and the tone of his voice causes a shiver to run down Hongjoong’s spine.

“Why,” he says teasingly, digging his nails into soft skin. “Don’t think you can deliver?”

Something dangerous flashes across Seonghwa’s eyes, making Hongjoong’s heart beat faster, but just as fast as it came, it was gone. Seonghwa shakes his head and Hongjoong sighs in defeat.

Seonghwa’s eyes turn back towards the ceiling, and Hongjoong watches him silently. So beautiful, he thinks. He loves him so much that it physically hurts sometimes. They both have an inherent interest in fashion and keep themselves immaculately styled even on their days off, but to Hongjoong, Seonghwa is never as beautiful as exactly like this. Lips kiss-bitten and rosy, cheeks flushed, unstyled hair falling into his face in a disarray, no fabric hiding away his honeyed skin, covered in a sheen of sweat and the marks Hongjoong left on his body.

“Will you come home soon?” he asks softly.

Unease twists Seonghwa’s features for just a moment, causing Hongjoong to unconsciously tighten the grip on his hand.

“Not yet,” he whispers.

Hongjoong doesn’t have to ask why. He knows. They all know, even if no one really says it out loud. They trust each other to make the right decisions for themselves, so Hongjoong hesitates before speaking.

“I think… I think it would be good if you talked to him,” he says, his voice quiet.

He watches as Seonghwa’s face hardens almost imperceptibly, and sighs.

“He and San seem to have worked it out, so I don’t see why it should be any different with you.”

Seonghwa turns to stare at him, eyes wide.

“They did?"

Hongjoong smiles. “I mean, I haven’t asked them about it, but they spent almost a week cooped up in Wooyoung's bed, watching movies and eating take-out all day, so I’d say they’re doing alright.”

Seonghwa directs his gaze back towards the ceiling.

“It’s different,” he mutters. “We both know those two can’t stand to be apart for more than twenty-four hours anyway, and I bet San was tearing himself apart with guilt. Wooyoung wouldn’t have been able to watch that without wanting to help. I’m sure he delivered a sufficiently heartfelt apology.”

Hongjoong props himself up on one elbow, looking down at Seonghwa who still doesn’t look at him.

“You’re not sorry for what you did.” It wasn’t a question.

“No,” Seonghwa says, finally meeting his eyes. “I’m not.”

Hongjoong nods. “And I would never judge you for it,” he says. “I do have some regrets, but only because we could have handled it in a way that would have been less messy for everyone involved.”

Seonghwa scoffs. “I don’t trust that girl. If Wooyoung wasn’t so attached, I would like a couple of hours alone with her. Ask some questions.”

“Yeah I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible at the moment,” Hongjoong sighs. “Right now, we can only rely on the fact that she didn’t trigger any alarm bells when I talked to her.”

“That’s not enough for me,” Seonghwa says darkly. “It will never be enough for me. She is a danger to everyone for as long as she is in that house, and she is even more of a danger outside of it. I only see one solution that doesn’t put us at risk.”

“I don’t disagree with you. But we’ll have to tread carefully, think things through. I don’t want to hurt Wooyoung.”

“I’d rather hurt him than find him with his throat slit one day,” Seonghwa grits out.

“That won’t happen. I’m keeping a close eye on her,” Hongjoong promises. “Until then, all we can do is try and find the people responsible for what happened and see what that uncovers about her possible involvement.”

“And that’s exactly what I’m doing here,” Seonghwa says. “The sooner we clear up what happened, the sooner we can put an end to all this. I’m following several leads, and I can do that perfectly fine from here.”

Hongjoong nods, brushing a damp strand of silky black hair away from Seonghwa’s forehead, causing the other man’s eyes to soften.

“Thank you for coming here,” he whispers, and there is a slight tremor of vulnerability laced through his words.

Hongjoong leans down and presses a warm kiss onto Seonghwa’s lips.

“I will follow you anywhere,” he breathes, leaning their foreheads together, mingling their breaths in the space between them. “Into the depths of hell and back again. I would crawl into your skin if I could, breathe you in like air, let you swallow me whole. You know I would.”

“I know.” Seonghwa closes his eyes, tightening his arms around Hongjoong’s waist.

They stay like that for several blissful seconds, before Seonghwa gently pushes him off.

“I need a shower,” he mutters, and Hongjoong laughs.

“Will you still be here when I come out?”

There it is again, that hint of vulnerability that makes Hongjoong want to burn down the whole world just to make sure that nothing can ever hurt Seonghwa again, makes him want to eat the hearts of everyone who even dares to look at him with anything but fear or love.

“Always,” he says and Seonghwa smiles.

After Seonghwa closes the door to the bathroom, Hongjoong stretches out his arms in front of himself, marveling at the red marks that he hopes will turn into bruises. What better way to remember their time together? He brushes his fingertips across the marks almost reverently, continuing on to the place his neck meets his shoulder, feeling the slight indentations left behind by Seonghwa’s teeth. He smiles at the mental image of being devoured.

Seonghwa had been full of anger today, thrumming with an anxious energy that needed an outlet Hongjoong was entirely too happy to provide for him. He loves his anger just like he loves his calm, cherishes his happiness just as much as his sorrow. They were all part of Seonghwa.

He was glorious and ruthless and deadly and Hongjoong loved him more than he loved himself, which was saying something.

He will never cease to be amazed at his luck of finding a person that so perfectly matches his own insanity, an insanity that he had wholeheartedly embraced many years ago.

There are certain things in life that are more important than indulging his own urges, the most prominent of them being the safety and happiness of the people he considers his family. For them, he will spend hours upon hours in a boring office, securing their future with copious amounts of paperwork and securing deals with other dangerous people.

He does have to take certain measures to ensure he doesn’t get too bored, because nothing is more dangerous than a bored Hongjoong – and he bores so easily. It had taken time to learn how to properly control himself.

Ever since he was young, Hongjoong had been hungry. It had always felt like there was something living in his chest, a ravenous beast that could only be sated with blood, adrenaline, sex. Things that make him feel alive like nothing else can.

He never believed in monogamy. Sex is a game, and Hongjoong has always been a gambler.

Why torture someone when you can seduce them and get the same results? It is remarkable how readily people whisper all of their secrets into his waiting ears in the quiet darkness of a bedroom. It isn’t too rare that Hongjoong will slit someone’s throat while still in their embrace.

Yunho had called him a succubus once, much to Hongjoong’s delight. What a marvelous comparison.

He has also been called a whore many times throughout his life, and he always found that rather flattering. He harbors a deep admiration for the ladies of the night, befriending many throughout the years. Sex workers have always been his best source for whispers and rumors by far, and they formed a mutually beneficial relationship built on respect and trust.

He sighs, rolling over to Seonghwa’s side of the bed and inhaling the scent that still clings to his pillow. It carries a hint of the perfume Hongjoong gifted him years ago, a mixture of jasmine, patchouli and musk. Sweet, spicy and intoxicating, like Seonghwa himself. It mixes with the scent of sweat and sex in a way that almost makes him dizzy.

He doesn’t like not having Seonghwa close by, but he respects his wishes. At least this apartment is a mere forty minute drive away from their mansion. They had other apartments, safe places all of them could use whenever they needed, scattered throughout the country, but this one saw the most use.

As the sound of the shower cuts off, Hongjoong faces the bathroom door with an excited grin on his face, already hungry for the feeling of the other’s skin on his.

Of Seonghwa, he would never grow bored.

~

Only about half an hour after Hongjoong left the hospital wing, the door flies open with a bang, revealing a very disheveled looking Wooyoung.

Mia jumps so hard she throws the apple she was nibbling at, somehow managing to hit poor Yeosang squarely in the back as he leaps up to put himself between Mia and the possible danger barging into the room.

She doesn’t even manage to finish squeaking her apology before she finds herself with an armful of Wooyoung, and it takes her brain a second to catch up and return his embrace.

This is it, the last puzzle piece, the last proof she needed to fully allow herself to believe that this whole thing wasn’t just some kind of trick.

Wooyoung is holding her almost painfully tightly while at the same time cradling the back of her head with infinite gentleness, and she is not sure who starts crying first but at some point they just cling to each other, sobbing from both guilt and relief, ignoring Yeosang who mutters darkly in the background, having been unceremoniously shoved out of the way by Wooyoung. He doesn’t disturb them, which Mia appreciates.

After what feels like an eternity, Wooyoung slowly extricates himself from her arms, pulling back until he can see her face. He runs a gentle thumb along the mostly healed cut running down her left cheek, and his lower lip starts wobbling while his eyes fill with even more tears. Mia’s chest tightens at his expression.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he whimpers. “I swear I didn’t know, I never wanted this to happen, I-”

“Wooyoung,” Mia mutters, interrupting him. “It’s okay.”

“OKAY?” Wooyoung’s eyes widen with disbelief. “Nothing about this is okay! You didn’t do anything, this is all my fault, if I had just-”

“Stop!” Mia takes a shuddery breath and grabs Wooyoung’s face with both hands. “Stop saying that stuff. It’s not your fault, obviously. Of course it’s not okay and this is all fucked up but you blaming yourself is not helpful to anyone!”

Wooyoung deflates, and seeing him this devastated hurts Mia’s heart.

“I’m so glad to see you are okay,” she says, softening her tone. “I was so worried about you.”

Wooyoung looks up, giving her a shaky smile.

“I know,” he whispers. “I heard about- about what happened. You didn’t even give my name!” He shakes his head, incredulous. “Mia I don’t know how- what I did to deserve that, I never even-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence!”

Wooyoung blinks.

“You almost died because of me. You got shot just because you wanted to help, because I called you!”

She holds up a hand when Wooyoung looks like he wants to say something.

“If I had never met you, what do you think would have happened that day when Kyle caught me alone?”

Wooyoung says nothing, but Mia can feel his hand tightening around hers.

“So don’t go around torturing yourself with what-if’s and blaming yourself for things that are not your fault. You came when I called you, and I will forever be grateful for that, because that was the thing you actually had control over. What happened afterwards doesn’t change that. I never-” her voice breaks and she swallows against the lump in her throat. “I never had someone who would do something like that for me. I am used to fending for myself. We don’t even properly know each other and yet you always stood up for me, always. Without ever expecting anything back. This was the only time I could- that I could give that back. You’re my friend Wooyoung, and I’m so glad I met you.”

Wooyoung’s face crumbles and he pulls her into another hug, sniffling into the crook of her neck.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and Mia huffs a laugh.

“We’ll be okay, right?” she asks after a minute, her voice sounding small.

Wooyoung pulls back again and gives her another wobbly smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, we’ll be okay. I’ll make sure of that.”

Yeosang chooses this moment to clear his throat and push a very familiar tissue box in between them. Mia groans.

“I’m so sorry Yeosang, I feel like I spend half my time here just bawling my eyes out, I’m sorry you had to witness that again.”

Yeosang shrugs. “Eh, I don’t care. Crying is healthy. You went through some pretty terrible shit so I don’t think anyone can judge you on however you cope with it.” He gives her a small smile. “I actually think you’re coping impressively well, all things considered.”

Mia feels a familiar warmth at his words and she gives him a watery smile while Wooyoung noisily blows his nose.

“Thank you,” she whispers and tries her best to dry her face

Yeosang pats her head affectionately. “I’ll give you two some time alone, yeah? Do you want to have lunch with us Woo?”

“I’d love to,” says Wooyoung and then looks at Mia a bit unsurely, as if worried she might not want that.

“That would be great!” Mia says quickly, and Yeosang smiles before turning to leave.

He doesn’t get far.

The moment he pulls the door open, he recoils with a yelp, clutching his chest. “Jesus FUCKING Christ you’re gonna give me a heart attack one of these days!”

There’s a muttered apology from whoever is standing on the other side of the door, and then silence.

Yeosang turns to look at Mia, eyebrows furrowed.

“Yunho’s here to see you,” he says. “Should I tell him to come back later?”

Mia opens her mouth but gets interrupted by Wooyoung, who yells “Ayyyyy Yuyu-bear!” and throws up his arms, only to immediately gasp in pain and curl up into himself with his arms wrapped around his middle.

“Wooyoung!” Yeosang is at his side immediately, trying to get him to unfurl himself.

“Is he hurt? What happened?”

Mia looks up at the unfamiliar voice, and watches Yunho put a hand on Wooyoung’s back with an expression of worry on his face.

She stares at the tall man, grateful for the moment that everyone’s attention is on Wooyoung who is still curled into a ball and whining loudly.

The memory of their first meeting flashes through her mind, causing her to wince, and she waits for the panic to wash over her.

It doesn’t come.

She remembers the firm grip he had had on her arm, catching her multiple times, always waiting until she got her feet back under herself. He had looked entirely unhappy about the whole thing.

Mia finds that she is not scared of him, and breathes a sigh of relief only for it to get stuck in her throat when Yunho suddenly looks up and meets her eyes.

“I…” he starts and takes a step back, hesitantly. “I’m sorry I just barged in like this, I can go, I can come back some other time-”

“It’s okay,” Mia says quickly and watches a look of surprise cross his face. He opens his mouth only to get drowned out by Yeosang who is starting to sound genuinely annoyed.

“Jung Wooyoung I swear to god if you don’t let me check your stitches right now I will sedate you!”

Wooyoung sniffles and mutters something inaudible and then, very slowly, straightens his torso. Yeosang pulls up his shirt and reveals pristine white bandages covering his entire abdomen.

Mia swallows at the memory of his blood and quickly looks away, staring at her hands that are balled into fists in her lap. She takes a shaky breath and tries to calm her pounding heart. She looks up at the sound of someone clearing their throat.

Yunho is watching her. “Are you alright?” he asks softly.

Something about the genuine worry in his voice causes her heart to clench painfully, and she finds herself shaking her head.

He comes a cautious step closer and looks towards the side where Yeosang has sat Wooyoung down on another hospital bed to check his injuries, a direction Mia is studiously avoiding.

“Memories of Wooyoung?” he asks in that same gentle voice, and Mia nods.

He smiles sadly. “I can imagine,” he says. “We were all an absolute mess when we heard about it, the entire house was in shock. I can’t imagine what it was like to actually see it.”

Mia’s throat feels tight, and her voice is hoarse. “There was so much blood,” she whispers. “It all happened so fast and there was so much blood and I thought- I thought he was-” she doesn’t finish her sentence.

Yunho nods. “The first couple of days, we weren’t sure he would make it. Worst days of my life, seriously. And we’re at least kind of used to stuff like that. Comes with the job, I guess.”

His smile fades and then he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“Listen, I know this might not be a great time but I have to say it. Mia, I’m so incredibly sorry about what happened. I had a bad feeling about this whole thing and I should have done something, said something, but I didn’t. I allowed it to happen and I regret that so much.”

The look he gives her is one of pure anguish.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me, or any of us honestly, for the part we played in this. But I still wanted you to know how sorry I am.”

A long silence stretches itself between them, only broken by the soft bickering voices of Yeosang and Wooyoung on the other side of the room.

Mia feels stunned, moved by the depth of his sincerity. Say something, she tells herself.

“I’m- thank you for saying that,” she finally says. “I appreciate it.”

Yunho’s face brightens with a smile, and he gives her a short bow that reminds her of the one Hongjoong gave her.

He hesitates for a second before vaguely gesturing towards her body. “Are you- healing okay?” he asks, and Mia sees the cautiousness in his eyes, as if he is unsure whether asking this might cross a line.

“Yeah, I’m doing much better,” she says and smiles at him. “Yeosang is taking good care of me.”

“I bet he does,” Yunho says happily and throws another look in the direction of the other bed, where Yeosang is currently smacking Wooyoung across the back of his head, causing the other to yelp loudly.

“He’s a, uh, very gentle and attentive healer.”

Mia giggles at that, and Yunho’s eyes crinkle with another smile.

Fondness spreads warmly through Mia’s heart, and she realizes with a start that she likes Yunho. She remembers Hongjoong’s words about Yunho being kind, and she finds herself agreeing.

Yunho is still watching the other two, who seem to be fighting about how to correctly put Wooyoung’s shirt back on, silently chuckling to himself.

Mia takes a deep breath and closes her eyes for a moment, allowing her shoulders to let go of some of the tension they held.

“Alright,” Yeosang says, and Mia opens her eyes to see them both back to standing next to her bed. “He’s fine, apart from a bit of tearing around the stitches and complete idiocy, though I’m afraid that last one is incurable.”

Wooyoung gives him a dirty look that Yeosang ignores and Yunho laughs, putting a gentle arm around Wooyoung’s shoulders. It looks somewhat adorable, since the top of Wooyoung’s head barely clears Yunho’s chin, and Mia smiles at the sight.

Yeosang moves closer to her, his eyes flitting between her and Yunho.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, subtly jerking his head in Yunho’s direction who is busy trying to escape Wooyoung’s kisses while at the same time making sure the younger one doesn’t hurt himself again.

“Yeah,” Mia breathes. “Yeah, I’m- I’m okay. Yunho seems nice.”

Yeosang smiles widely. “He is,” he nods. “I’m glad you’re reacting so well to him. I wasn’t sure.”

“Me neither, honestly,” Mia says and shrugs. “I was kinda waiting for the panic attack but it just- didn’t come. We talked a bit, and I don’t know, he just seems… nice.”

Yeosang puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes, and Mia can see how pleased he is.

“So, you’re alright with the whole mission thing?”

The reminder causes a small surge of anxiety, but the thought that Yunho would be with her is actually kind of reassuring.

“I think so,” she says. “Is- is the other one also nice?” She immediately feels silly for asking, but Yeosang just gives her shoulder another squeeze.

“Jongho is very nice. He’s just a bit, hmm quiet?” Yeosang looks thoughtful. “He’s our youngest, but it often feels like he’s the most mature one. He’s probably not gonna say a whole lot, but that’s just him, so don’t worry about that.”

Mia tries very hard not to worry about that.

“Also, you’re already friends with Wooyoung and he’s honestly the most obnoxious person here, so if you can stand to be around him, everyone else should be no problem.”

He grins when Wooyoung yells “I HEARD THAT!” and Mia giggles.

Wooyoung returns to the side of Mia’s bed with his arms crossed and a haughty expression on his face.

“Don’t listen to him, he adores me,” he says, dramatically flipping his hair over his shoulder.

“You need a haircut,” Yeosang says dryly while Yunho tries to pinch Wooyoung’s cheeks.

Wooyoung groans and slaps away Yunho’s hands. “Weren’t you about to get lunch or something? Poor Mia must be starving!”

Mia blinks and stares at Wooyoung who is pouting at her.

“Uhh yeah, um, I’m starving!” she says quickly, trying to look serious.

“Sure, sure.” Yeosang rolls his eyes and grabs Yunho by the elbow. “Come on, let’s go so the poor children don’t starve.”

“I’m not a child!” Wooyoung yells after them, but Yeosang just blows him a kiss before the door falls shut behind them.

 

Notes:

Let me know what you're thinking about crime mom & crime dad's relationship, I'm honestly having such a blast writing them. Maybe I'll have to write a prequel about their rise to power! That would be fun! Also I like this universe and the characters and then I wouldn't have to say goodbye to it so quickly :D

As always, thank you for reading! <3

Chapter 11

Notes:

ADVENTURE TIME WITH 2HO

Things were quiet for long enough, don't you think?

hehe

 

Mia sits on the side of her bed, dangling her healthy leg. Yeosang put her in a leg brace, which supports her injured knee, and she had actually been pretty okay walking around with just that and no crutches, which is a relief.

She is wearing a pair of Wooyoung’s old sweatpants which fit her quite well, since they are almost the same height. A bit tight around the hips but not uncomfortably so. Wooyoung had also insisted on providing her with a shirt and an oversized hoodie, and socks that were slightly too big and covered in little cartoon raccoons.

Wooyoung is currently fussing over her hair while they are waiting for Yeosang, who had been tasked in finding her shoes. They had realized rather quickly that none of the guys had feet small enough to be able to lend her any of their shoes, and she really didn’t need another tripping hazard. Which only left the option of finding the ones she had been wearing when she arrived here.

“Do you want braids?” Wooyoung asks and runs his fingers through her hair again.

Mia huffs a laugh. “It’s fine Wooyoung, just leave it as it is. I appreciate the offer though.”

She smiles at Wooyoung who sticks out his lower lip in a slight pout.

“You can braid my hair some other time, alright?”

Wooyoung’s face lights up. “I’ll hold you to that!” he says, jabbing a finger at her chest. “None of the other guys have long enough hair and it’s hard to do on myself!”

Mia sighs but the mental image of her and Wooyoung having a very one-sided makeover party gets interrupted by Yeosang, who enters the room with a pair of sneakers in his hands and a smile on his face.

“Got them!”

“Oh sweet, finally!” Wooyoung jogs up to Yeosang and snatches the shoes out of his hands. “May I?” He gestures towards Mia’s feet and she feels her cheeks grow hot.

“Oh, um, it’s okay, I can-”

“Nonsense, Yeosang says no overexerting yourself!” Wooyoung drops into the chair next to her bed and pats his thigh, and Mia sighs in resignation and gently places her foot on Wooyoung’s lap.

She watches him carefully slide the sneaker onto her foot, and realizes with a start that these sneakers are very clean. Much cleaner than the last time she had seen them. She looks up at Yeosang who watches her with an unreadable expression, and decides not to ask. She takes a deep breath and shoves down the mental image of him scrubbing his best friend’s blood off of her shoes so she doesn’t have to see it.

It feels strange, wearing her own shoes. Like a little piece from her old life that somehow doesn’t fit into whatever her life turned into. Such a familiar feeling and yet weirdly surreal.

She doesn’t get a lot of time to dwell on that since the door opens again, revealing Hongjoong himself, wearing a bright smile and being trailed by Yunho and a man with a rounded face and a broad build she hasn’t met yet.

“Hello hello, good morning Mia!” Hongjoong sings, sauntering into the room. He is dressed in a black shirt with a lot more open buttons than would be considered decent, a half skirt wrapping over the top of black leather pants and several belts crisscrossing across his hip. He has an excited bounce to his step that causes his long silver earring to swing wildly.

“You have already met Yunho, yes?”

Mia and Yunho exchange small nods and smiles in greeting and Mia feels some of her nerves calm down just the tiniest bit.

“Well then, let me introduce you to our youngest, Jongho! Jongho, this is Mia, Mia, this is Jongho!” Hongjoong gesticulates between them and Jongho gives her a curt bow that Mia tries to imitate.

He doesn’t smile at her, but he also doesn’t look unfriendly. There is something cautious about the way he observes her, and he looks serious despite the softness of his features.

Mia is glad that Yeosang had explained that he is quiet.

“How are we feeling today? Are you ready for your trip to the outside world?” Hongjoong leans his head to the side and reveals his teeth in a grin, and Mia suppresses a shudder.

“Um, I think so?” She says, shooting a look in Yeosang’s direction who gives her an encouraging smile. She suddenly realizes that Wooyoung has been suspiciously quiet and turns to look at him, only to see that he is glaring at Hongjoong with narrowed eyes and his arms crossed.

She swallows and turns back to Hongjoong whose grin widens.

“Wonderful,” he says and holds out a hand. Mia stares at it for a second too long before catching herself and accepting it, allowing Hongjoong to help her off the bed. Even though his skin is cool, the feeling of his other hand wrapping around her waist burns itself through all the layers of fabric.

“Yunho is leading this mission, and in my absence, his word is law,” Hongjoong says and turns to lock eyes with her. The closeness is causing her heart to stutter inside her chest.

“You follow what he says, always. Understood?”

Mia nods, but his eyes keep boring into hers until she croaks out “Understood.”

Only then does he release her from his gaze, an easy smile sweetening his delicate features.

“You have nothing to worry about, it is Yunho’s and Jongho’s responsibility to protect you out there and they are very proficient at their jobs. Just follow their lead and everything will go without a hitch, you’ll all be back here in no time.”

He winks at her, causing her heart to flutter uncomfortably, before turning towards her two guards for the day.

“Stay in contact with me throughout the whole thing. I want this to go fast and clean, in and out.” There was a hint of command in his voice that Mia hadn’t heard from him before, and she watches the two nod silently.

“Alright then, off you go! I’ll see you at dinner.” Hongjoong gently pushes Mia towards Yunho, who quickly steps forward to take her from Hongjoong, long fingers wrapping around her arm, supporting her elbow. She considers commenting that she can walk by herself but the words are stuck in her throat, nerves flaring up as they move towards the door.

She throws a quick look back at Wooyoung and Yeosang who give her a wave and a thumbs up, but she does notice that Wooyoung still looks upset, his mouth pressed into a hard line.

Before she can think about that too much, they have passed the door and a small hallway, leading them into the rest of the house, and Mia’s steps stutter for a moment.

High arching ceilings, dark wood, warm light. A huge chandelier, its thousands of crystals glittering and throwing little specks of rainbow light across the walls and carpets.

Yunho’s hand is warm, and he waits patiently for her to get her bearings. Just like last time.

She takes a deep breath and continues walking. There is a grand staircase with an ornate railing curving itself through the entire mansion, but they walk past it. She only wonders about it for a few seconds before she spots the elevator doors, and looks up to see Yunho grin at her.

“Would be extremely annoying to move furniture without these,” he says lightly, and Mia wonders whether he is intentionally trying to lighten the mood.

The elevator cabin is huge and its sides covered in mirrors. Mia keeps her eyes at the silver doors, studiously avoiding her own reflection. The ride down is short, and with a soft ding, the doors open again to an enormous entrance hall with a marbled floor.

“I’ll be back in a second,” Yunho mutters and Mia suddenly finds her arm empty. Unease twists through her stomach as she stands in the grand hall, Jongho nothing but a quiet presence in her periphery.

When she hears footsteps around the corner she expects Yunho, and turns around with a relieved sigh only to freeze at the sight of the man in front of her.

San.

The air leaves her lungs with a choked exhale, and she wants to step back, wants to run, but her muscles are locked in place. She hears a ringing in her ears, her heart feels like it wants to burst out of her chest in an explosion of blood and breaking ribs, and the cut along her cheek flares up in a phantom pain as she suddenly feels knives slicing her skin open.

“Go.” The low growl from next to her shakes Mia out of her stupor, and she breathes in a short gasp of air as a sturdy back moves in front of her, pushing itself between her and San, who looks equally as frozen as her.

“I- I’m-” San stutters, eyes wide, hands lifted in a helpless gesture.

“No. Go.”

San’s expression falls, and Mia almost thinks she sees the glint of tears in his eyes before Jongho moves slightly to the side, blocking her view. She squeezes her eyes shut, and when she opens them again, San is gone.

The room tilts around her, and she doesn’t even realize her knees gave out until a warm hand catches her around the arm, gently lowering her down.

She takes a couple of deep breaths before looking up at Jongho who is crouched down next to her, watching her with a frown. She prepares herself for questions, but none come.

After a while, her heartbeat slows again, the panic bleeding out of her body, leaving behind a feeling of emptiness and a deep sadness. She presses a hand against her aching chest, breathes in, breathes out.

At some point Jongho gets up, offering her a hand. She takes it and allows herself to be pulled to her feet, legs shaky but able to bear her weight. As soon as she is steady, Jongho lets her go and goes back to his position at her side, as if nothing happened.

“Alright!” Yunho’s cheerful voice makes her flinch the tiniest bit, and she watches him round the corner with a huge suitcase in his hand.

He hesitates at the look on her face, looks at Jongho, raises an eyebrow. Mia turns just in time to see Jongho give a slight shake of his head.

“Are we… good to go?” Yunho asks, peering at her with uncertainty.

Mia nods, and Yunho hands the suitcase over to Jongho and takes her elbow again, leading them across the hall to the mighty wooden doors.

She had expected a short walk towards wherever they keep their cars, but there is a sleek black one parked right outside the entrance, waiting for them. Mia looks up, catching only a short view of the small artificial lake in front of the house before Yunho opens the car door for her.

Jongho slides in next to her in the back while Yunho walks around the car to the driver’s side.

Mia plays with the fabric of her hoodie. Something has changed in the air between her and Jongho, even though he acts the exact same around her as before. Maybe that was it. She would have expected him to ask questions, tell Yunho about what happened, treat her differently, maybe look at her with pity, maybe suggest they postpone the whole thing.

He does none of those things.

For some reason, it reassures her. Like he is treating her as an adult, allowing her to handle her own stuff in her own way, trusting her to voice her own concerns should she want to.

The thought of San’s face sends shocks of pain through her chest, and she quickly pushes the memory down. She is glad she hadn’t been alone when he ran into her.

She chances a look in Jongho’s direction, who is resting his head against the leather seat and looking out the tinted window. Maybe someday, she’ll thank him.

The ride doesn’t seem to take more than an hour, although Mia has no way of telling the time in order to know for sure. She realizes how little she misses her phone, which should be strange but somehow doesn’t surprise her.

She almost laughs at herself when she catches herself wanting to tell them her address- they know it, of course they do. Good thing she didn’t make herself look like an idiot by asking.

For some reason, the closer they get to her place, her anxiety grows. As soon as she starts recognizing the streets near her apartment, an uncomfortable pressure starts in her chest, her heart beating uncomfortably fast. This feels wrong, somehow.

Yunho throws her several glances through the mirror, and she wonders whether he can see something going on with her, but he doesn’t ask. The drive continues in silence up until the car comes to a stop outside her apartment building.

“Alright,” Yunho says and turns around to face her. “Ready to go up?”

Mia nods and attempts to smile at him, but the expression feels strained.

Yunho hesitates for just a moment before he turns to Jongho, giving him a small nod. Jongho opens the door on his side and exits the car, and Mia can hear the trunk opening. She wonders for a second whether this is her cue to get out, but then Yunho opens the door on her side and offers her his hand, and she allows herself to be pulled out of the car. Her knee twinges with the movement and she bites back a noise of pain.

Jongho slams the trunk shut again, carrying the big suitcase, and Yunho guides Mia towards the entrance with a hand on her lower back. Mia thinks for a second about whether this is just to support her or to also keep her from attempting to run away, a ridiculous notion. Where would she even run to?

The elevator ride is short and slightly awkward. Mia can’t shake this strange feeling of wrongness, the way her stomach twists unpleasantly, and she finds herself thankful for Yunho’s hand on her back. It is grounding, somehow.

When they reach the door to her flat, Yunho produces a key from his pocket, and Mia stares at the familiar keyrings clanking against each other. Shouldn’t this upset her more? She feels like she should be angry. She’s not. She’s tired and anxious and scared but, for some weird reason, not of the two men next to her. She doesn’t even know what she’s scared of anymore.

The door opens silently and Yunho ushers her in, the hand on her back falling away. She feels unstable. Her apartment looks exactly the way she left it, although it does smell a bit musky. When had she last been in here? Can’t be much more than a couple of weeks. It somehow feels like months.

The soft sound of the door clicking shut behind her rouses her a bit, and she remembers the purpose of their visit. Clearing her throat, she walks over to the coat rack, sticking her hand into the pocket of the bright red coat she had worn on Annie’s last day.

Her fingers close around an unfamiliar piece of folded paper, and she feels adrenaline pump through her veins. She looks up at the two expectant faces and grins, feeling strangely giddy.

“I think I got it,” she whispers, pulling out the paper and beginning to unfold it.

Yunho snatches it out of her hand before she gets far, giving her an apologetic smile.

“I’ll take that, if you don’t mind,” he says, and Mia swallows down her protest.

Yunho smooths out the paper and Mia watches his eyebrows draw together into a frown. Was it not the number after all?

“What’s wrong?” she asks, keeping her voice low. For some reason, this feels secretive, even though they are literally standing inside of her own apartment.

“Um,” Yunho passes the paper to Jongho, who takes a picture of it with his phone. “It’s definitely a phone number. It’s just also, well, a message, to you I guess.” He looks uncomfortable.

“What kinda message?”

He shakes his head. “Believe me, you don’t want to know. It’s, well, it’s kinda gross.”

Mia definitely does want to know, but she again decides not to push it.

Yunho lifts a hand to the side of his head, and only then does Mia notice the small black earpiece.

“Did you get it?” he asks, and then smiles. “Yeah I agree. Not surprising, honestly.” He directs his smile at Mia, who feels strangely included, even though she can’t hear the other side of the conversation.

“Alright, we’ll head out soon. Yeah, will do. Got it.”

He taps his earpiece again, and his smile widens.

“Hongjoong is very happy,” he says, and for some reason that causes a warm excitement to replace the anxiety in Mia’s chest. “He expresses his thanks. And encourages us not to linger here for too long, so, what do you need? Anything I can do to help?”

Yunho’s good mood puts Mia at ease, and she starts collecting some belongings. Clothes, mostly, a whole bag of stuff from her bathroom, a couple of books. She freezes for a second when she stands in front of her desk, staring at the empty space that once held her laptop.

“Sorry about that,” Yunho mutters behind her, and she turns around to see him standing in the middle of her bedroom, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. What a strange sight.

“It’s okay,” Mia responds, not wanting Yunho to feel more guilty than he already does.

She gives a small sigh and turns in a circle, scanning her bedroom. “I think I’m done,” she says, and the feeling of wrongness returns. Yunho nods, taking the last couple of books from her.

“Yunho!”

Jongho’s voice sounds from the other side of the apartment, and Yunho’s head snaps up.

“Come here for a second.”

Something in Jongho’s voice causes her anxiety to grow, and the way Yunho sprints out of the room certainly doesn’t help.

Something is wrong.

Mia does her best to swallow down her panic and follows Yunho, slowed down by the stiffness of her leg brace. She finds them both at the window looking over the street in front of the apartment building, positioned to the side in a way that would make it difficult for someone to spot them from outside.

Yunho’s hand is touching his earpiece again.

“We might have a problem,” he says at the exact moment that Jongho notices Mia approaching.

“Stay back!” he says sharply, and Mia freezes, blood rushing in her ears.

“What- What’s wrong?” she croaks.

“Black SUV, unmarked,” Yunho says, still looking out the window. “Can you run the license plate? Jongho sent a picture.”

A pause.

“No, it definitely wasn’t there when we went in.” Another pause. “Ah fuck!”

He turns to look at Jongho, who had started walking away from the window, moving closer to Mia.

“It’s unregistered.”

Jongho curses softly, and Yunho turns back towards the window.

“What does that mean?” Mia whispers, looking towards Jongho.

“It means that it’s fake,” Jongho mutters, and Mia realizes she hadn’t actually expected an explanation. “And a fake license plate means trouble. Organized crime, usually.”

“Could- could that be a coincidence?” Mia feels stupid for even asking. Jongho sighs.

“Extremely unlikely,” he says, and then gives her a grim look. “They’re here for us. What we don’t know is what they want.”

Mia nods, feeling faint.

“Yeah, alright,” Yunho says. “Of course.”

More silence, and Mia digs her nails into her palms.

“Understood.”

Yunho turns around, his expression serious.

“We’ll proceed as planned,” he says. “Pretend we didn’t see it, get in the car, start driving. They might have just been tasked with following us, and in that case we’ll deal with them outside of the city. Hongjoong sent some of the others, they’ll meet us on the road.”

“W-what?” Mia squeaks. “But what if they’re not just here to follow us?”

Yunho smiles at her, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s unlikely that they’re looking for trouble in the middle of the city, in broad daylight. There are stores around us with cameras, the police station is just a couple of blocks away. We can be relatively sure they are not going to start a shoot-out in these conditions.”

Mia takes a shaky breath. Every time she blinks, she can see blood on her hands, Wooyoung’s unmoving body. It gets harder to breathe.

“Hey,” Yunho says, much more gently, and Mia realizes that he is standing right in front of her. She blinks up at him.

“It’s going to be okay, alright? We’ll keep you safe, the others are already on their way but we are perfectly able to handle this on our own. Right Jongho?”

Mia looks to the side at Jongho who is shoving a magazine into a gun that she did not even know he had with him. He rolls his eyes and gives her the first smile she has ever seen from him. It makes him look so much younger.

“Piece of cake,” he grumbles and gives his gun a fast little spin, and Mia has the distinct feeling that he is doing all that with the sole purpose of calming her down. It’s strangely sweet.

“You just stay behind us, alright?” Yunho says, a hand on her shoulder. “The car windows are bullet proof, so we’ll be safe inside. We’ll go fast but not rushed, remember we want them to think we didn’t notice them, okay?”

Mia nods, not trusting her voice.

Yunho turns to Jongho. “You ready?”

Jongho nods, the gun nowhere to be seen. Mia squints at his suit jacket, wondering where exactly he is keeping it, but she can’t see anything. Just knowing he has it makes her feel a bit better.

“Alright, let’s go,” Yunho mutters and grabs the suitcase. He leads the way out of the apartment, with Jongho following behind, his hand a comforting pressure on Mia’s arm.

As they step out of the elevator, Mia watches Yunho transfer the suitcase from his right hand to his left, and she realizes he is probably doing that to free his dominant hand in case he needs to reach for a weapon. Such a small thing, but she can’t help but focus on it. Where is he hiding his gun? Somewhere under that hoodie?

His posture stays relaxed as he pushes open the door to the street, and then he freezes. Just for half a second, he stays in the entrance, then he resumes walking.

Jongho’s hand tightens around Mia’s arm and she can’t help the trickle of dread down her spine as she allows herself to be guided outside.

The van is still there, and she wonders why Yunho had hesitated until her eyes fall on their own car- and the man leaning against the hood.

He looks to be in his fifties, with thinning hair and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. He is wearing a grey suit and Mia would have taken him for some kind of random business man, but something about him creeps her out. He is too relaxed, too self-assured. A lazy smile spreads across his features, and he pushes himself away from the car, taking a step towards them.

“Can I help you?” Yunho’s voice is cold. He shifts his position slightly, bringing his body between Mia and the stranger, and she is reminded of Jongho doing the same just this morning.

“As a matter of fact, you can!” The man says, and even though he keeps his tone pleasant, there is something distinctly unpleasant about his voice.

“But time is precious, and I would much rather discuss this with the boss himself. Would you be so kind as to connect me with the Crane? I’m sure you already have him on call.”

Yunho’s shoulders tense, and Jongho’s grip around her arm turns painful.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Yunho says stiffly.

The man sighs. “Oh please, don’t waste my time, kid. I’m sure you want to go home soon, hm? And tell your dog to take his hand off his gun. There are several snipers in the buildings around us, so I advise you not to make any sudden movements. They get twitchy after a while.”

He grins at Yunho, and the condescension in his words causes a slight stir of anger in Mia’s belly.

“You want to create a scene right here, in broad daylight, with cameras everywhere and the cops just a couple of streets away?” Yunho asks, and Mia is impressed at how calm his voice is even now.

“Oh, I certainly don’t want to. But I will, if I have to. See the difference?”

A moment of silence, during which the man tilts his head to the side, directing his smug smile at Mia, who feels thoroughly unnerved to be perceived by this man. His eyes are weirdly pale, flat, reminding her of a shark. Yunho repositions himself again, and Mia breathes a shaky sigh of relief when all she can see is Yunho’s tall figure blocking her from the man’s view.

Yunho lifts his hand to his earpiece, and after another few tense seconds, gives a curt nod.

“He hears you,” he says.

“Oh, but I want to hear him too!” the man claps his hands together and there is something perversely wrong about this shark of a man acting like a child.

Yunho turns around, giving Jongho a look. The younger one starts digging his phone out of his pocket, and during those few seconds, Yunho locks eyes with Mia.

“Not a word,” he breathes, so quietly that Mia almost can’t hear it. She nods.

Jongho passes his phone to Yunho, who has to wait only a second until the phone buzzes softly, the screen lighting up with a call. Yunho accepts it, ticking the volume up as far as it goes.

“Go ahead,” he says, turning back around to face the stranger.

“Ah, wonderful,” the man purrs. “Am I talking to the Crane then?”

“You are,” Hongjoong’s voice is slightly distorted through the phone speaker. “What do you want?” He sounds almost bored.

“Oh hello, what a pleasure to make your acquaintance! It is so hard to get a hold of you these days.” Faked sweetness drips thickly from the man’s voice.

“I wish I could say the same,” Hongjoong sighs. “But alas, I have absolutely zero interest in you. What do you want?”

“Ah well, as I’m sure you know, one of your boys started a bit of a brawl with one of ours, leading to quite the escalation. Several of our men died during that last confrontation.”

There is a slight pause, before Hongjoong’s voice sounds again, sounding guarded.

“I believe it is up to some interpretation who exactly started this,” he says slowly.

“Ah, but our boy didn’t touch yours, did he? It is none of anyone’s business what we do with random other people, as long as we don’t cross each other. Your kid decided to meddle in a situation that had nothing to do with him. He started this.”

Mia shifts uncomfortably. This is quite obviously about her. The thought that Wooyoung started so much trouble just to help her out makes an ugly feeling rise in her chest.

“And you think a broken finger warrants an ambush with several armed men? Whoever died that night died because we defended ourselves, nothing more than that. It was you who decided to escalate.”

The man sighs dramatically. “These are all unnecessary details,” he says, looking incredibly smug. “The fact remains that you started this, and it is our right to retaliate. Now, since you caused several very tragic deaths in our ranks, don’t you think it is our turn to retaliate with equal force?”

Another pause, this one longer. The air around them turns icy, brittle, rattling with the sharp threat of his words. Are they supposed to be the equal retaliation?

Oh god, Mia thinks. Oh god, we’re all going to die.

As if he could read her thoughts, Jongho squeezes her arm, and she chances a look at his face. He looks grim, serious, but there is no fear evident in his expression. Mia wishes she could say the same about herself, but she has no doubts that she looks just as utterly terrified as she feels.

“Get to the point,” Hongjoong says flatly, and the man’s grin widens.

“I’m sure that none of us would profit from letting this run its course,” he drawls. “It is a rather antiquated practice to be honest, and my boss has decided to extend a very generous offer on how to end this before more people die. I might also remind you that we have the advantage of knowing exactly who you are, while you sadly have absolutely no idea as to who we are. Just something to consider.”

Hongjoong’s sigh sounds through the phone speaker. “And what,” he says “does your boss want?”

The man chuckles, stepping to the side, and before Yunho can move between them again, Mia finds herself with a finger pointing right at her face.

“Her,” he says, and Mia feels the word announcing the finality of her existence like the lid of a casket slamming shut.

The ground seems to tilt underneath her feet, and she is again grateful for the tight grip on her arm, even though her fingers are starting to get tingly from the pressure of it. She is absolutely sure that without Jongho, she would have sunk to her knees for the second time that day.

“No,” Hongjoong says calmly. “She’s with us.”

Mia’s head whips up, staring at the phone in utter disbelief. She had expected to be handed over without much fuss, she wouldn’t even blame them. It was her fault after all, that all of this started. It was the logical thing to do.

The man laughs, an unpleasant, grating sound.

“Oh please. Just because your little boy wants his toy, you would risk the lives of your family? She’s not even that pretty, and you quite obviously don’t care much about her. I mean, look at her face! The boss is not going to be happy you damaged her like this, honestly. She might be better off with us.”

Mia feels sick. She feels sick and humiliated and utterly small, and the cut on her cheek burns along with her shame.

Hongjoong says nothing, and that makes it worse.

“We will give you some time to think about it, but I advise you not to take too long. And I will just again remind you how generous this offer is. She started all this, so we can just go back to pretend your boy didn’t interfere and start fresh with a clean slate. In this world, isn’t it better to have allies rather than enemies? I would say one random girl you picked up in a coffee shop is a small price to pay for peace, is it not?”

“I will consider,” Hongjoong finally says, and Mia digs her nails into her palm to stop them from shaking.

“Very wise, Mr. The Crane,” the man says gleefully, and pulls out a business card from the pocket of his suit. “Call this number when you have decided, and again, do not wait too long. We are looking forward to doing business with you.”

Yunho takes a step forward to accept the card, and then the man turns around without another glance at them. They stand frozen, watching as he gets into the passenger side of the van, and they are still motionless as it drives off.

Mia’s head is filled with nothing but white noise, and she continues staring at the empty parking space until she feels a tug on her arm.

“Come on,” Jongho mutters, and Mia blinks as she looks around. Yunho slams the trunk shut and heads towards the driver’s side, stopping as he sees that Mia hasn’t moved.

His face looks grim, mouth pressed into a tight line, and as he nods towards the car, Mia finds herself walking towards it on shaky legs.

The drive back towards the mansion is silent. The place on her arm feels cold without Jongho’s hand on it, and the feeling of dread gets slowly replaced by a hollow emptiness that feels strangely familiar. She doesn’t see the other two continually glancing at her, at each other. She leans her face against the window, ignoring the way her head rattles against it painfully, and concentrates on the growing and shrinking patch of condensation created by her breath on the cold glass.

Time flies by, and it feels like only minutes have passed before the wheels of the car crunch across the white gravel lining the path from the gate to the mansion.

The car comes to a stop after another minute, and Mia reaches for the handle of the door.

Before her fingers get a chance to even touch it, the door flies open, and she flinches, looking up at a very upset looking Wooyoung.

“Fuck!” he hisses, “Fuck, are you okay? Mia?”

“I’m fine,” Mia says, and her voice sounds strange. She clicks open her seatbelt and allows Wooyoung to pull her out of the car and into a hug that she returns more out of reflex than anything else.

There are voices around her, car doors being slammed, the sound of shoes on gravel. She stares at the tree behind Wooyoung’s shoulder, waiting until he releases her.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Wooyoung holds her at arm’s length, studying her face. He doesn’t seem too happy about what he finds there.

“Yeah I’m fine,” says Mia again and Wooyoung’s eyebrows draw together in a frown. He opens his mouth to say something else, but he gets interrupted by Yeosang appearing behind him, a worried expression on his face.

“Mia, are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Mia says, wondering how often she would have to repeat this today.

Yeosang looks equally unhappy with her answer as Wooyoung does, but before either of them can interrogate her any further, the voices around them fall silent. They turn to see that Hongjoong has appeared in the open door to the entrance hall, arms crossed and a grim expression on his face.

His eyes search the group of people until they find Mia.

They look at each other for a long while, Hongjoong’s eyes narrowing slightly while Mia just meets his gaze with the same empty feeling.

“Meeting room, now.” He finally says and turns back around, disappearing through the door. Yunho leaps up the stairs, taking several steps at once, hurrying to catch up to his leader.

“What about her?” he huffs before he slips through the door after him.

Mia turns around to find everyone staring at her. There is a tall man she has never seen before, and she might have been intimidated by his size and the dangerous slant of his eyes but she continues to feel nothing at all.

Yunho sticks his head back outside. “Yeosang, could you help Mia with the suitcase and join us afterwards?”

“Sure,” says Yeosang and moves to take the suitcase from Jongho who refuses and insists on carrying it up the stairs himself. Mia follows them, struggling a bit with the knee brace.

Yunho materializes at her side, taking a hold of her elbow.

“Thanks,” Mia mutters, keeping her eyes on the ground.

“Yunho?” Mia turns around at the unfamiliar deep voice and realizes that the tall man has followed them inside. He looks worried, but it doesn’t seem directed at her.

“Mingi,” Yunho says, a softness to his voice, and releases his hold on Mia’s arm. “I’m alright, nothing to worry about.”

The man called Mingi walks up to them and reaches a hand out for Yunho, who takes it in both of his. “Really, I’m completely-”

“It should have been me!” Mingi growls. “I should have gone with Jongho, this was dangerous, you could have been hurt!”

“Well, I wasn’t,” Yunho says and gives Mingi’s cheek a couple of gentle pats. “Nothing happened, alright? Come on, let’s go to the meeting.”

Yunho puts an arm around Mingi’s broad shoulders and gently steers him towards the far side of the hall. Mia watches them go until she hears the soft ding of the elevators, reminding her that Yeosang is probably waiting.

She can feel his eyes on her the entire ride up, and she again keeps her gaze focused on the metal doors. As soon as they slide open, she steps out and heads towards the hospital wing.

“Mia, wait!”

She stops, turning to face Yeosang.

“You don’t actually have to stay in there anymore, we prepared one of the guest rooms for you.” Yeosang smiles and points at one of the wooden doors lining the corridor.

Mia blinks. “You… what? Why?”

Yeosang looks a bit unsure. “Well, the beds in there are much more comfortable,” he says and starts walking towards the door. “This one has a bathroom attached to it, so you don’t have to walk through the house if you need it. You can just put all your stuff in the wardrobes. You’ll be the only one using that bathroom, so you can spread out as much as you want to.”

He opens the door, pulling the heavy suitcase over the threshold. Mia follows hesitantly. She was fine in the hospital wing. Yeosang had always been there, and she had gotten used to it.

The room is not big, most of its space taken up by an enormous four-poster bed with heavy green curtains, swept back to reveal an ungodly amount of pillows in all shapes and sizes. There is a large antique looking wardrobe next to the door, made from a dark reddish wood, and another smaller one next to it. The other wall has a single window framed by curtains made from the same dark green fabric as the canopy of the bed, and a small desk pushed against the wall. Next to the bed is another door, one that Mia guesses leads to the bathroom.

“Are you gonna be okay in here?” Yeosang asks, looking at her with that searching gaze again.

“Yeah sure,” Mia says and walks towards the suitcase, mostly to show him that yes, she is fine, he can go.

“Alright,” he says after a small pause, watching Mia fiddle with the latches. “I’m sure you’re hungry, so we’ll have someone bring some food up for you.”

Mia opens her mouth to tell him she’s not hungry, but that would probably just make him more worried, so she nods and tries to smile.

“That would be great, thanks.”

Yeosang hesitates again, then he sighs. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Sure.”

Finally, he leaves.

Mia lets go of the suitcase and moves to lean against a wall. She slides down until she is sitting on the carpeted floor, letting her head fall back. She does not really see the point of unpacking.

After all, she won’t be staying here much longer.

 

Chapter 12

Notes:

I'm just saying

Hongjoong on a motorcycle

 

“You cannot possibly be even thinking about doing this!”

Hongjoong sighs, looking at Wooyoung who had sat himself very demonstratively on Seonghwa’s empty chair at one end of the table, directly opposite Hongjoong’s.

“Wooyoung,” he starts, sounding tired.

“No, absolutely the fuck no. Do I have to remind you of our own basic rules? The Golden Principles? Hmmm? NO HUMAN TRAFFICKING!”

He uncrosses his arms to slam a hand on the table.

“Just because we wouldn’t be paid in money doesn’t make it any less of a transaction! I will not stand for this, I swear to god, I-”

“Wooyoung!” There is steel in Hongjoong’s voice and Wooyoung shuts his mouth, glaring at his leader in angry silence.

Hongjoong runs a hand through his hair before sighing again.

“I did not say I planned to hand her over. I am aware of our principles, thank you very much. But we need to take this seriously, and we need to make a plan. I know she is your friend, but if you cannot stay calm and unbiased during this meeting, it will continue without you. Have I made myself clear?”

Wooyoung leans back in his chair with his arms crossed and shoots Hongjoong a look of icy contempt, but he stays silent.

Hongjoong nods. “Right. What are our options?”

Multiple heads turn in Yunho’s direction, who straightens in his chair. “Well, one option is to follow through with their demands and hope they will honor their side of the deal.” He glances at Wooyoung who bares his teeth in a snarl.

“But that is not a favorable option for multiple reasons. It goes against several of our principles, not only would it break our law against human trafficking, it would also violate our rules about not harming innocents.” He sighs. “We have already failed to uphold that second one quite spectacularly over the past couple of weeks, and I would personally prefer not to let that girl come to any more harm.”

A couple of nods follow his words. San stares at his hands, his face pale.

Hongjoong gives a small wave with his hand. “What other options?”

“We could do nothing and wait to see what they’ll do,” Yunho continues. “We are not defenseless after all. Although that would still pose a significant risk, even more since we don’t know exactly who we’re dealing with and how much they know.”

“It’s bad enough that they know who we are,” Jongho mutters. “And that we don’t know how they know. What is their source? Do they know our location? Do they have the resources to keep us under surveillance and pick us off one by one as soon as we leave the mansion?”

A muscle tenses in Hongjoong’s jaw as his eyes flicker to the empty chair. They’re all aware of the fact that Seonghwa is out there, alone.

“It’s risky,” Yeosang says quietly.

“They didn’t give us a deadline,” Yunho continues, frowning. “Which is honestly very strange. I don’t believe they simply forgot. All they said is not to wait too long, but how long is too long? If they have a time in mind, why wouldn’t they tell us?”

Silence follows his words.

“Do you think they might be bluffing?” Mingi asks warily.

Yunho shakes his head. “I don’t think so. They know who we are, so they have some kind of source. They definitely had the resources and manpower to plan and execute that ambush on Wooyoung, and they had the resources to keep Mia’s apartment under surveillance. We shouldn’t underestimate these guys.”

“Well,” Hongjoong says, leaning forward with a glint in his eyes. “That is knowledge we can use to find them, is it not? Not many groups have these kinds of resources. It certainly narrows down the candidates.” He turns towards Yeosang. “And we have the phone number now. It's different from the one we were given, which is most definitely a secure line, so if we’re lucky, this Kyle person was actually dumb enough to hand out his private number. If we’re even more lucky, he either forgot about it or didn’t tell his boss that he gave it out.”

His face pulls into a dangerous smile. “How would you gauge your chances of getting us a name and an address from that number?”

Yeosang shifts on his chair. “Well,” he says, looking pensive. “It depends. If it really is his own personal number, then it will be registered at whatever phone company he uses. I have contacts at a couple of them, and the others Yunho and I could probably hack into. He might have not properly registered it, in that case we might be able to trace the phone if he does still use it and get us a location.”

“In that case,” Yunho says, “I mean, if we do find them, there is an option three.” A small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Strike first.”

“I vote option three,” Wooyoung mutters.

Hongjoong shoots him a warning glare. Wooyoung ignores him.

“Actually,” Jongho leans forward in his chair with his elbows on the table. “Even if we don’t decide on a course of action now, finding out who they are is vital. It would help us in any of the scenarios, and might also help decide on what is the most sensible approach. We don’t even know what we’re up against, how can we decide what to do?”

There’s another pause, and then Hongjoong clears his throat.

“Jongho is right. My suggestion,” he says, looking at each of them in turn, “Is to focus on finding out who they are while tightening our security just in case. If we can’t find anything in three days, we’ll meet again and decide how to proceed. Those in favor, raise your hands.”

Five hands raise without much hesitation. Hongjoong looks at Wooyoung, whose arms are still crossed in front of his chest.

“Wooyoung?” he asks, sounding tired again.

“What about him?” Wooyoung jerks his chin in the direction of the empty chair.

“I will talk to Seonghwa.”

Wooyoung glares at Hongjoong for a couple of seconds longer before he finally raises his hand. Hongjoong nods and rises from his chair.

“Yunho, Yeosang, your task is to find out whatever you can. Use the phone number and the sketch we have of Kyle, and make another sketch of the man from today. Run them against the police records if you can and whatever else you deem sensible. Jongho, Mingi, reinforce our security around the mansion, I also want the guard doubled. I talked to our head of security already, he’s on his way. San, help where you’re needed.”

“What about me?”

“You’re technically still on bedrest, Wooyoung. Don’t give me that look, I know you almost tore some of your stitches, and I do not want to delay your healing process any further.”

Wooyoung gives him a dark look. “If I can sit in this meeting, I can sit at a desk. Can’t I help Yunho and Yeosang?”

The two exchange a look, and then Yunho shrugs. “He could help with comparing the sketches to the databases, that doesn’t require a lot of computer skills.”

“Gee, thanks,” Wooyoung mutters.

“Fine,” Hongjoong says after a moment of consideration. “You can help them in the office, but if I catch you at any kind of strenuous activity, I am locking you in the hospital wing.”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “And what about Mia?”

“She has been given one of the guest rooms on the top floor. She is obviously not to be involved in any of the research. She will be treated as a guest here for the time being but I want everyone to stay vigilant, understood? She is still an outsider and we have not fully solved the attack on Wooyoung. For now, she is my responsibility.”

Hongjoong looks at Wooyoung like he expects protests, but Wooyoung says nothing, settling for scowling at his leader in silence.

“Right,” says Hongjoong and lets his eyes wander across the faces of everyone present. “Any more questions or comments?”

When he is met with silence, he gives another nod and turns towards the door.

“Meeting dismissed. Get to work.”

~

Hongjoong leans against the doorframe of Mia’s room, watching the girl sitting on the floor with her back and head resting against the wall. She returns his gaze steadily.

Something is wrong with her, he noticed as soon as he saw her step out of the car. On first glance, she might seem relaxed, but that wasn’t quite it. She looks… empty. Like a puppet with its strings cut. She had moved as if she was on autopilot, slightly slower than was normal, and her eyes have a glassy quality about them.

When Hongjoong had first seen her (awake, that is), she had looked haunted. Scared, twitchy, constantly on guard. Her eyes had flickered towards the door, to Yeosang, down to her hands, back to the door. Flinching at the smallest noise as if she expected pain at any moment.

A completely understandable reaction.

Only two days later, just this morning, she had looked much better. Still guarded, alert, but the fear had lessened. Nervous, yes, but no longer terrified. There was a certain air of determination about her, as if she wanted to do this, wanted to help. Hongjoong had not expected her to so readily agree in the first place, and found himself quite pleased by her willingness to cooperate.

He had also not missed the way she had visibly relaxed at the sight of Yunho, even though she had only properly met him the day before. How interesting, the way this girl so easily trusts people, especially after what happened. Hongjoong does not believe her to be gullible or naïve, but rather suspects her to be painfully starved for human connection.

It would also explain why San’s way of interrogating her had worked as well as it did.

Of course, a part of that can also be attributed to both Yeosang’s and Yunho’s inherent likeability, they both have a certain gentleness about them that makes them incredibly non-threatening if they want to be. She is much more guarded with Hongjoong himself, which suits him just fine. He honestly would be worried for her intelligence if she would not be wary of him.

Hongjoong takes in the untouched bed, the uneaten food sitting on a tray on the small desk, the unopened suitcase.

The silence stretches between them.

Hongjoong is always rather curious about the way people deal with silence. There are so many who find it practically unbearable, who feel a desperate need to fill any empty space with words, start sweating when they run out of material to stuff into the quiet room between them.

So far, Mia doesn’t seem to be one of those people.

Be that as it may, he is somewhat displeased at her complete lack of reaction. He is used to having an effect on people.

Hongjoong lets his head tilt to the side, blinking slowly. He looks at her through his lashes, and allows a somewhat wry smile to lift a corner of his mouth in a way that he knows bares his jeweled canine.

The fingers of Mia’s hand, resting on the carpet, give a minuscule twitch, and Hongjoong watches a soft wash of color return to her pale cheeks.

There we go.

“Do you really think so little of me?” Hongjoong purrs, and watches Mia’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.

He pushes himself off the doorframe and takes a couple of slow steps towards her, immediately noticing the way her shoulders stiffen and a look of wariness crosses her face, only to again be replaced by confusion when he lowers himself down onto the floor in front of her.

He settles himself against the bedframe, pulling one leg up and allowing the other one to stretch out in front of him, almost close enough to touch her.

She blinks at the black combat boot that Hongjoong had painted with daisies the day he bought it, now resting just a hand’s width away from her, before looking back up at his face. She doesn’t move away.

Hongjoong waits.

“What,” her voice is hoarse, she clears her throat. “What do you mean?”

Hongjoong makes a sweeping gesture towards the suitcase, the wardrobes, the uneaten food.

“Not expecting to stay, are you?”

She blinks, taken aback, and then slightly narrows her eyes. Hongjoong can practically hear the wheels turning inside her head, trying to figure out what game he is playing.

He decides to be generous.

“The meeting concluded that we will focus our efforts on trying to identify these people who wish to harm us, so that we can hopefully deliver the first strike and end this conflict by eliminating them.”

Mia’s eyes widen. Then she narrows them at him, suspicion returning to her face.

Hongjoong sighs.

“Even if you weren’t a friend of Wooyoung’s, who would honestly skin me alive if I even considered letting them take you, it is one of our most sacred rules to not engage in human trafficking. And exchanging you for peace is a transaction, whether money is involved or not.”

Uncertainty flickers in Mia’s eyes. She wants to believe him.

“I gain nothing from lying to you,” Hongjoong says, allowing his voice to soften, leaning forward with an uncharacteristically genuine expression on his face. “If I planned to hand you over, I would keep you locked up in the hospital wing and then get it over with as soon as I can. But I don’t. I’m not saying that I’m a good person by any means, but I don’t play with the lives of innocent people like that. It’s not my style.”

He leans back again and gives her a small smile. “Especially friends of my family. Especially people I am indebted to.”

A bit more color rises to Mia’s cheeks, and she starts biting her lower lip. A nervous habit that she shares with Wooyoung.

“You are free to talk to the others about it, if hearing it from Wooyoung or Yeosang would make it easier for you to believe. They will happily confirm what I told you.” He lightens his tone and keeps the smile on his face, keeping his posture relaxed.

Mia takes a shuddery breath and then nods. “I believe you,” she mutters.

Finally.

“What if-” she hesitates. “What if you don’t find them?”

Smart girl, Hongjoong thinks. Asking the right questions.

“I have confidence in my people,” Hongjoong says, immediately seeing how that answer doesn’t satisfy her. “But,” he continues, “If they truly don’t find anything, we will have another meeting and decide on a course of action. We might wait for them to go through with their threat while being as prepared as we can, or we might disappear for a while and continue our investigations from a safer place.”

Mia’s eyes widen again. “You mean- leave the country?”

“Possibly,” Hongjoong shrugs. “We have safe houses here as well. We’ll decide when the time comes.”

Mia goes back to gnawing on her lip, and Hongjoong wonders whether she will ask the question that he can read as plainly as if she had written it across her face in black marker.

What about me? Would I be taken with you?

She doesn’t.

Hongjoong gives her another few seconds before he rises to his feet, watching her eyes immediately snap up to his face, tracking his movements.

“Eat your lunch, Mia,” he says kindly. “And unpack that suitcase. You will be here for a while.”

Mia nods, and then a frown crosses her face.

“Wait,” she says, and Hongjoong waits. “The girl who brought the food up-” she hesitates.

Hongjoong smiles at her, encouraging her to continue. He has an inkling of what her issue might be. How remarkable that she is asking about it, rather than silently carrying her suspicions and drawing her own conclusions.

“She seemed- awfully young.” She looks up at him, guarded again. As if she is not quite sure whether her question might get her a negative reaction.

“Ah yes, Lilly, was it? She is seventeen, to be exact.”

Mia almost recoils, and Hongjoong can see the accusation in her eyes. He lifts a placating hand.

“She is here because she wants to be, don’t worry. There was an… incident, several years back, of some of us finding out about a child trafficking ring purely by chance and we decided to take it down. Not all of those kids had places to go back to. We offered the older ones jobs, a couple of them accepted. Lilly is one of them, she is part of the kitchen staff.”

Hongjoong watches relief wash over her face, the way her shoulders relax, and then she seems to remember something that causes her to go a little pale. Hongjoong tilts his head curiously.

“Is he, I mean, is that- was there one guy who got his arm skinned and his balls crushed?”

It is not easy to catch Hongjoong by surprise. He gives a startled laugh.

“There was, yeah, I wanted to spare you the gnarly details. Did Yeosang tell you about that?”

Mia’s face closes up. Not Yeosang then. Of course.

“Doesn’t matter,” Hongjoong says quickly, not wanting to force her to talk about San. “Get yourself set up in here, I will check in with you later today. And Mia?”

Mia blinks up at him and he points at the tray.

“Eat your food.”

The ghost of a smile passes over Mia’s face, and she nods.

Hongjoong leaves, feeling rather pleased with himself.

~

After checking in on the others, making sure they’re all doing what they’re supposed to be doing, Hongjoong sits down at the desk in his office. There are phone calls to make, certain contacts he needs to inform, alliances to revive, favors to call in.

There are a select few people that nobody but Seonghwa knows he has struck deals with in the past. Not because he doesn’t trust the others, but because he doesn’t want to burden them with the knowledge. He is the leader, certain hard decisions he makes on his own.

Over the years, Hongjoong has worked on collecting favors, to be called in at a time just like this. A lot of people in his line of business value money and reputation higher than anything else, but that has never been of much interest to Hongjoong. Of course, money is something they need, and he enjoys spending it, but it isn’t his preferred type of wealth. He values information much higher, a delicate net of whispers and rumors and debts waiting to be called in, all at his fingertips, neatly tucked away in the vast landscape of his brain.

Knowing that he could shift the distribution of power throughout the whole country just by pulling on one little string, releasing one little rumor at the right place and time, gives him a delicious sense of control. That is where his true power lies. The reason he is so dangerous.

Most people know. Most people decide not to cross him and his family.

The fact that someone had the audacity to threaten him like this has started a tight ball of furious bloodlust in his chest, and it is screaming to be unleashed on something, someone. He is keeping himself controlled, as always, but it has been a while since it has been this hard. His fingers are itching to crush someone’s windpipe, his teeth hungry to sink into flesh.

Someone will bleed for this.

He looks at his phone, the list of numbers he would call already running through his mind. There is never a need to write them down. Physical evidence is always a risk, as clearly proven once again by the phone number Yeosang is currently working on tracing.

He doesn’t want to make calls, he doesn’t want to stay calm, he wants to tear someone apart with his bare hands, he wants-

Hongjoong abruptly gets up out of his chair, running a hand through his hair and taking a deep, shuddering breath.

He wants Seonghwa.

His feet carry him to the garage without him consciously deciding anything, and for a short moment, he wonders whether what he is doing is wise. Yunho would be furious. They had just discussed the possibility of them being under surveillance and the danger of going out alone, but he honestly doesn’t care.

It has been years since somebody had been dumb enough to attack him directly, and a part of him is silently hoping that someone will try. It would allow him to let off some steam at least.

It is a cold, clear autumn day, the air is crisp with the threat of winter but the sun has not quite lost its power. Hongjoong takes a deep breath, enjoying for just a moment the leaves swirling around him in a gust of wind.

The roads are dry, and Hongjoong decides to take a motorcycle rather than a car. If anyone asked, he would just say it’s because it’s much easier to shake pursuers, but honestly he just craves the rush that it gives him.

He walks past a row of cars to the end of the garage, staring at the empty space that once held Wooyoung’s bike. San and Mingi had left it in the alley, and it had been gone when they came to check a day later. Hongjoong makes a mental note to get Wooyoung a new one.

Hongjoong’s motorcycle is sleek and fast, built for agility. He had spent an admittedly ridiculous amount of money on the custom paint job, matte black with crimson and silver details, and Seonghwa had rolled his eyes and reminded him of the importance of secrecy and blending in, but Hongjoong had never cared much about blending in anywhere.

Seonghwa had managed to talk him out of adding a decorative crane decal, saying that he might as well announce his name to anyone walking by his bike, and Hongjoong had grudgingly agreed. He had also allowed Yunho to talk him into wearing proper protective gear. It might take a bit of the fun out of the whole experience, but he did have a responsibility to stay in one piece for his family.

Sighing, he shoves his helmet onto his head, silently lamenting the way it would most certainly ruin his hairstyle.

Both the helmet and the padded leather jacket are custom pieces made to match the aesthetic of his bike, just the gloves are store bought and simply black. He isn’t that fancy.

The feeling of the familiar leather saddle of his motorcycle between his thighs, molded perfectly to his body, gives him a tingly feeling of anticipation. He hadn’t taken it for a ride in way too long.

The wrought iron gates are open when he arrives at the end of their estate, the guard had seen him coming and gives him a small, friendly salute as he drives past. Hongjoong responds with a thumbs up.

The streets are blissfully empty, and Hongjoong takes full advantage of that fact. He feels some of his pent-up tension ease up as the landscape flies past him in a blur, the wind whipping across his body and tearing at his clothes.

Exhilarating.

After just letting himself enjoy the ride for the first half of his journey, he starts thinking about how to actually find Seonghwa. There is a possibility that he is simply at the apartment he currently occupies, but it is much more likely that he is out and about, following whatever leads he is currently working on.

He feels a small spike of excitement at the thought of having to track Seonghwa down, he always enjoys a good hunt. And Seonghwa doesn’t even know he is coming.

How fun.

Hongjoong decides to hide his bike in one of the big parking garages a couple of streets down from the building, just to be safe. He thinks about breaking into the apartment via the fire escape, but it is the middle of the day and people might see him – and he also doesn’t really want Seonghwa to shoot him off the building at the first sign of movement outside his window.

Besides, he knows the door code. Even if coming through the door is boring.

Unsurprisingly, Seonghwa isn’t home.

Hongjoong snoops around the apartment, just because he can, and then runs a soft fingertip across a stack of yellow sticky notes on the desk. A smile spreads across his face as he finds a pencil, softly running it across the blank note at a slanted angle.

The imprint left behind by Seonghwa using a ballpoint pen when writing down something on the now missing note on top of this one starts to emerge into sharp relief, and Hongjoong ends up with a perfectly clear address clutched tightly in his small hands.

There is no guarantee at all that this is where he would find Seonghwa at this very moment, but there has to be something of interest there. And Hongjoong is curious, and bored.

He decides to take a cab for maximum sneakiness, telling the driver to stop quite a distance from the actual address. His heart is beating happily as he pads through the mostly empty warehouses, keeping to the shadows provided by the setting sun.

It is quiet here, an eerie sense of desolation clinging to the run-down buildings that look like they’d been abandoned years ago. Hongjoong moves noiselessly, all of his senses on high alert. He checks his phone one last time, confirming that the address from the note is around the next corner.

The sun has fully dipped behind the horizon at this point, the sky a rich, dark blue. Hongjoong loves the darkness, the twilight, loves knowing he is fully capable of being invisible.

How perfect, how absolutely perfect.

He draws his gun, carefully switching the safety off.

Darting from shadow to shadow, Hongjoong circles the building, making a mental note of every door, every window. He notices the cars parked at the back, none of them belonging to Seonghwa. Three cars. That means there are anywhere from 3 to 15 people inside. The cars aren’t very big, and while they aren’t flashy, they certainly aren’t cheap either. Hongjoong doubts the people owning these cars would like to be crammed into the backseat, so 5-12 people are a much more realistic estimate.

The fact that they were dumb enough to park in such an obvious location tells Hongjoong that they are not professionals.

The cars give him an idea.

Fifteen minutes later, Hongjoong skips away from the cars, giggling to himself as he dumps a couple of very relevant pieces of the cars’ engines behind an empty barrel. He had thought about simply cutting some cables, but there is still the possibility that these are actually Seonghwa’s informers and he would not appreciate them dying in a car crash.

He had made that mistake once before. Seonghwa had been very displeased.

It’s safer to cause the cars to not be able to start rather than not be able to stop. Even if that is a bit less fun.

Hongjoong circles back to the small open window he had spotted on the other side of the building, and he spends some time listening for any noises before he silently climbs into what he can now see is a run-down bathroom, the white tiles cracked and dirty.

Adrenaline deliciously buzzes under his skin as he peers through the half open door. He sees a huge hall, empty but for a couple of old pieces of machinery, a couple of desks and chairs, and paper scattered across the floor. The only light is coming from the darkening sky outside, reaching the hall through a row of windows at the top, several of them broken.

Hongjoong slips into the hall. There is a small shimmer of yellow light coming from underneath one of the doors lining the wall, and Hongjoong finds himself a good spot hidden behind one of the rusty pieces of machinery.

Then, he waits.

 

Notes:

I seriously can't wait to show you guys the next one, we're getting some solid Seonghwa mob boss action! And Hongjoong simping the entire time, obviously

Chapter 13

Notes:

TW: Some guys are being shot; descriptions of a panic attack/flashback

 

With the sky darkening to a full black, the light inside the old warehouse fades as well. Hongjoong’s eyes have adjusted to the darkness, but even so he can only make out vague shapes of the objects around him. It doesn’t matter, he knows where everything is.

He crouches motionless, not caring about the uncomfortable position. There is a soft thrill running through his blood, tickling the hunger in his chest, buzzing with anticipation.

The voices from behind the door throwing the sliver of light across the floor, muffled and indistinct, are getting louder, agitated. Hongjoong tightens his grip around the handle of his gun.

A shout, and then a gunshot. Two, three. Hongjoong’s heart leaps in his chest. He would recognize the sound of that gun anywhere. A custom Mateba Autorevolver, so rare it might as well be a unicorn. Seonghwa owns two.

Hongjoong is close enough to hear the hissing and snarling of the cylinder as it resets after each shot, almost making it sound like a living, breathing beast.

Another thunderous crack, another clack-whirr, and Hongjoong automatically counts. Seonghwa has eight shots left.

More shots, these from other guns, sounding almost puny against the heavy booms of the Mateba.

Hongjoong stays put, not worried in the slightest. Seonghwa can handle himself.

He did not come here out of some weird intention to save Seonghwa in any way, protect him, make sure he got out alive.

He simply wants to see him, and seeing him in action is a nice bonus. And maybe Seonghwa will allow him to share in on the action just a bit.

More shouts, more shots. Seonghwa has five left.

An agonized scream, and then the sound of a door banging open, footsteps slapping against the cement in a frenzied patter. More than just one person.

Hongjoong rises to his full height, rounding the machinery with soft footsteps. The sound of glass breaking joins the shouts, and wood splintering. Something screeches across the floor, and then an angry shout that is unmistakably Seonghwa.

Hongjoong jumps up and crosses the hall in a heartbeat, ripping open the door. It opens into a dimly lit corridor, and he can just spot the shape of a man disappearing round the far corner. There’s a cabinet shoved in front of the door closest to Hongjoong, and he eyes it curiously.

Another deafening shot, followed by a hiss, and the lock of said door explodes outwards in a mess of splinters.

Seonghwa blasts through the door with such force that the cabinet topples over, and Hongjoong gets a short flash of Seonghwa’s magnificent face, teeth bared in an expression of rage, before he finds himself staring down the barrel of one those beautiful guns, the shot as it goes off so loud that it sets his ears ringing.

The barrel had been ripped to the side at the last possible moment, leaving a fist sized hole in the wall next to Hongjoong’s head.

Seonghwa’s mouth falls open in shock, and then he looks angry again.

“What THE FUCK Hongjoong! I almost killed you!”

Hongjoong giggles, his heart full of gooey, warm love. “I can imagine worse ways to go.”

Seonghwa groans, then he shoves Hongjoong out of the way with enough force that his back collides with the wall.

“I don’t have time for this,” he hisses, starting down the corridor. Hongjoong follows, a happy bounce to his steps.

“Do you need them all dead?”

Seonghwa throws him a dark glare over his shoulder.

“All that are currently running, yeah. They’re gonna reach the cars right about now.”

He quickens his steps and Hongjoong laughs again, delighted.

“They won’t get far then!”

Seonghwa stops, just for half a second, and takes in Hongjoong’s wide grin.

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters as he turns back around, his coat billowing around him at the movement.

He is so beautiful like this, full of magnificent rage, black hair fanning behind him, a spatter of blood across his cheek. Hongjoong feels his heart beat faster.

Seonghwa kicks open the door leading to the outside, hard enough for it to bang against the wall. Someone is still trying to start their car, unsuccessfully, but two others have abandoned their vehicles and are sprinting away from the warehouse, towards a dark gap between two buildings.

Another shot rings out, and Hongjoong can see a hole being blasted into a corner of the concrete wall of one of the buildings, narrowly missing the man bringing up the rear.

Hongjoong tugs at the back of Seonghwa’s coat, meeting his angry scowl with fluttering eyelashes and what he hopes is an enticing smile.

Seonghwa groans. “Fine! Go. I’ll deal with the rest.”

Hongjoong darts off after the escaping men, like a coiled spring finally set free.

Delicious adrenaline sings in his blood, his heart dances in his chest.

He stops when he reaches the corner, grabs the rusty lid of a nearby trashcan and slowly pushes it around the wall. It gets shot out of his hand with a loud bang almost immediately, confirming what he had already suspected: that alley is a dead end.

In the background, he can hear several shots crack through the night, and the screeching sound of the engine trying to ignite cuts off.

Hongjoong’s eyes flit across the building next to him, and he switches the safety back onto his gun, sliding it back into its holster, and starts scaling the building.

A gust of wind whips his hair out of his face as he pulls himself up onto a windowsill, balancing there for just a second before he jumps to grab a metal pole sticking out of the wall. Its rusty surface scratches against his palm as he swings himself up silently, up onto another windowsill.

The building is not too tall, and Hongjoong reaches the roof in less than a minute, barely out of breath. The roof is flat and full of weeds growing out of cracks. Hongjoong keeps to the edges, not wanting to risk it collapsing underneath him.

He creeps towards the side bordering the narrow alleyway, and peers over it carefully.

One man is crouching behind a large dumpster, just barely visible in the darkness. The other man is hidden somewhere.

Hongjoong carefully retrieves his gun, switches the safety off again, and takes aim at the person behind the dumpster.

He waits for a lull in the wind, even though it is by no means a critical distance. Just a habit he developed years ago. He breathes in, he breathes out.

Bang.

The man drops to the side almost noiselessly.

Hongjoong scans the alley, but there is no movement. He had hoped the gunshot would startle the other guy out of hiding, but it remains eerily quiet.

Just as he considers climbing down again, he sees movement in his peripheral vision. Seonghwa approaches the corner, his coat flapping in the wind, his steps cautious and completely silent.

He watches as Seonghwa hesitates before rounding the corner, leaning forward slightly, just enough to peer around the edge. He pulls back immediately as a shot rings out, and Hongjoong feels a smile split his face.

There had been the slightest spark of light, at the far corner of the alleyway, completely hidden in shadows. He takes aim and starts emptying his magazine into the corner, hearing a small cry of pain. Seonghwa whirls around the corner, dancing from side to side in order to dodge the bullets flying his way as he bears down upon the injured man like some apocalyptic horror, black clothes rendering him almost invisible in the darkness.

Another echoing shot, followed by a soft hiss, and then silence.

Hongjoong sees a pale smudge in the dark as Seonghwa lifts his face.

“You up there?” He sounds mildly annoyed.

Hongjoong giggles, and Seonghwa gives a soft huff.

“Come down before I go up there myself and drag you down.”

The words cause a delightful little shiver to run down Hongjoong’s spine, but he decides to behave, for once.

The way down takes him a bit longer, and when he drops down onto the ground, landing softly on his feet, he turns to find Seonghwa waiting for him, twin guns still held in his hands, pointing towards the ground, coat softly billowing around his figure.

He looks like an angel of death, a harbinger of doom, and oh, Hongjoong wants him.

“Would you mind explaining what the hell you are doing here?”

Hongjoong saunters towards him, head cocked to the side, smiling widely.

“I missed you. I thought I might surprise you at work, isn’t that romantic?”

He hears the exasperated puff of air leaving Seonghwa’s lungs, and then he finally puts away his guns, sliding them into the holster fastened to his hip and thighs.

What a shame, Hongjoong thinks.

Seonghwa approaches Hongjoong with measured steps, forcing him back until he feels cold concrete at his back.

“You,” he says, his voice low. “Are the bane of my existence.”

Hongjoong shudders.

“Isn’t that why you love me?” He whispers, allowing himself an insolent little grin.

A hand grabs his jaw with bruising strength, forcing his head back. Hongjoong suppresses a moan at the feeling of the leather glove digging into his cheeks.

Seonghwa crashes their lips together, and Hongjoong gasps, inviting Seonghwa to lick into his open mouth. Hongjoong makes a soft, desperate noise at the back of his throat as Seonghwa’s teeth pull at his lower lip.

“Menace,” Seonghwa growls into his mouth, and then steps back, releasing Hongjoong who almost slides down the wall before he catches himself.

“I’m not done here,” Seonghwa says and runs a hand through his hair, a hint of regret in his voice.

Hongjoong pouts. “Are you on a time crunch though? Or can whoever you left in that office wait a bit?”

Seonghwa’s eyes narrow. “They might not be alive for long enough. And I still have to clean up this mess.”

Hongjoong sighs. “Would you like me to put the cars back together?”

“That would be very helpful,” Seonghwa says, an edge of sarcasm to his tone.

Hongjoong smiles at him, and Seonghwa’s face softens. “I missed you too,” he mutters, leaning down to give Hongjoong a soft kiss on the lips.

They walk back towards the warehouse with their fingers tangled together.

“Ah, Seonghwa.” Hongjoong pulls Seonghwa to a stop. “We have the number. But there was someone waiting for them when they got back out.”

Alarm flashes across Seonghwa’s features, and he grabs Hongjoong by the shoulders. “What happened?” he demands. “Is everyone safe?”

“Everyone is safe,” says Hongjoong and puts a calming hand on Seonghwa’s arm. “They weren’t there for an ambush, they were there to… make an offer.”

Seonghwa’s eyes narrow. “What kind of offer”

Hongjoong sighs. “They’re willing to bury the hatchet if we hand Mia over.”

Seonghwa blinks, and Hongjoong watches as Seonghwa’s face turns carefully blank.

“And?” Seonghwa says, his voice very flat.

“We had a meeting about it, and the point was brought up that following that offer would directly clash with our rule of not engaging in human trafficking.”

Seonghwa huffs a bitter laugh. “I imagine it was Wooyoung who brought that up?”

“Yes,” Hongjoong says. “But the others agreed. It would be using her as payment.”

“I would say that is a matter of interpretation,” Seonghwa mutters.

“Be that as it may,” Hongjoong continues. “We have decided to try and find out who we are dealing with as fast as possible, and then ideally strike first.”

Seonghwa hums. “How long until they want an answer?”

“They didn’t specify.”

Seonghwa whips his head around, staring at Hongjoong. “They didn’t specify?”

Hongjoong shakes his head, feeling the same cold discomfort that he sees on Seonghwa’s face.

“I don’t like that,” Seonghwa growls. “I don’t like that at all.”

“Me neither. But it is what it is. I’m tightening security, everyone else is working on finding out who they are.”

Seonghwa stops suddenly, regarding Hongjoong with a frown on his face.

“Who is keeping an eye on the girl?”

“Ah,” says Hongjoong, and Seonghwa’s upper lip curls into a snarl. “You need to get back there right now.”

Hongjoong considers discussing the matter, and decides against it.

“I will,” he says. “And Seonghwa, we don’t know how much they know. They know who we are, somehow. They asked Yunho to connect them with the Crane.”

This, more than anything, seems to unsettle Seonghwa. He grabs at Hongjoong’s collar, pulling him close. “How?”

“We don’t know yet. My point is, it might be dangerous to be out alone. They might be keeping the mansion under surveillance.”

Seonghwa laughs incredulously. “And you thought the best way of telling me that is by going out? Alone? This is what we have phones for!”

“But I wanted to see you,” Hongjoong whines. “And I was getting agitated. I needed to get out a bit. Will you come home with me?”

Seonghwa sighs. “I’m not done here,” he says again. “I’m- close to something. I will see that through. But once I am done, yes, I will.” He smiles a bit. “I’ll come home.”

Hongjoong nods, accepting Seonghwa’s decision.

“Keep me in the loop, alright?” Seonghwa says gently, cupping Hongjoong’s jaw. “And I’m serious, don’t just give that girl the run of the house. You said you’d keep an eye on her.”

“I will,” Hongjoong says and smiles ruefully. “Kiss?”

A small spark of affection lights up Seonghwa’s eyes as he leans in for a kiss, soft and warm against Hongjoong’s lips.

“Go,” he mutters, and Hongjoong leaves after giving Seonghwa an affectionate pat on his butt, earning him an annoyed glance that makes his heart feel all warm and happy.

~

Mia is folding one of her sweaters on the silky purple sheets of her new bed when she hears a tentative knock on the door. The sound makes her flinch, and she presses a quick hand against her hammering heart before she straightens up and takes a deep breath.

“Yes?”

Yeosang sticks his head through the door, looking cautious.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah, sure.” Mia quickly pushes the sweater aside and sits down on the bed, looking up at Yeosang with a hint of nervousness.

Yeosang hesitates before pulling the chair out and lowering himself on it, still watching Mia with that wary look on his face. Mia fights the urge to bite her nails.

“So, um. How are you feeling?”

“I…” Mia gives the question some thought. “I’m okay, I think,” she answers eventually.

Yeosang nods, and the worried little notch between his eyebrows smoothes out a bit.

“Good, that’s good. You looked really, um, pale when you got back. I was a bit worried.”

Mia looks at her hands. “Yeah,” she says eventually, her voice very quiet.

“It must have been scary,” says Yeosang, voice softened in a way that is very familiar by now. “I understand if it left you shaken. That guy sounds really creepy, from what I’ve heard. But Yunho and Jongho would never have let him hurt you, I hope you know that.”

Mia sighs. “It’s not… that,” she says, slowly. Yeosang cocks his head to the side.

“I just-” Mia grimaces, trying to find the right words. Yeosang waits.

“I honestly just thought you would hand me over.” Mia’s voice is small. She looks at her hands again. “I mean, it’s the logical thing to do, isn’t it? I wouldn’t blame you at all. You’re a family, you have to keep each other safe. And this whole mess started because of me. Why would you not take that deal?”

A long silence follows her words, and Mia doesn’t dare to look at Yeosang’s face. When he speaks, his voice is very calm.

“Mia,” he says, and she forces herself to look up at him. His face is carefully composed. “Have you thought about what that would mean for you? What might happen to you there?”

Mia shrugs. When Yeosang continues to wait for an answer, she sighs. “Nothing nice, probably,” she mutters.

“That’s a very- mild way to put it.” Yeosang frowns and Mia looks down again.

“Don’t you care? I mean-” he hesitates, and when he continues his voice is very soft. “I know that you know what it’s like, now. What can happen. And I don’t want to diminish that experience at all when I say it could still be much, much worse.”

“I know that,” Mia says. The memory of the wine opener flickers through her head. Her knee twinges.

“But-” Yeosang sounds upset. “That would be willingly handing you over to people who we know would hurt you. Do you think Wooyoung would just be okay with that? That I would be okay with that? That San-” he interrupts himself, taking a shaky breath. “I know we’re not exactly innocent law-abiding citizens and I know you suffered in our hands, but I thought- we’re not heartless, Mia!”

Mia had flinched at the mention of San, not sure why Yeosang would even bring him up. She can see Yeosang getting agitated, running a shaky hand through his hair.

“I know you’re not!” she says quickly. “You’re a good person, and Wooyoung is too, I’m not saying that I don’t think you care. Of course it would be hard and you would feel guilty and Wooyoung would be sad but, I’m just- a random person. You are putting everyone at risk just for me, that just doesn’t make any sense! I know you feel guilty about what happened but you shouldn’t-” her voice breaks, and she feels her eyes sting with sudden tears. “You shouldn’t risk your lives because of that. I’m not even- I understand, you know? I understand why this happened to me. You just wanted to protect Wooyoung, of course you did! And I wanted that too. I still want that. Why are you risking him now?”

She blinks furiously, staring accusingly at Yeosang who looks back at her with an expression of shock.

“If something does happen you’ll all regret not taking the deal. And it’s gonna be my fault, again!” She is almost yelling at this point, hands balled into fists.

“And what then? You can’t even let me go, Hongjoong said so himself, because I’m a security risk! What’s the plan, you’ll just string me along until we all grow old and die? Do you think I want that? Wooyoung got shot because I called him, I asked him to come, he almost died because of ME!” She chokes on a sob, slamming her fist down onto her injured leg, causing a sharp stab of pain to shoot through her leg. Yeosang flinches.

“I’m not WORTH IT, Yeosang! I’m not-” her voice gives out again and she has to take several gasping breaths. She looks back at Yeosang who sits frozen on his chair.

“Just let me do ONE fucking thing right in my life! Wooyoung- he-” it gets harder and harder to fill her lungs with enough air to speak. Panic starts clawing at her throat, blurring her vision. She can’t breathe, her lungs aren’t working, cold water in her ears, her nose, her mouth, an unrelenting hand pushing her head down, down-

“Mia!” Yeosang’s voice is distant, wavery, so much less real than the cold tiles under her knees, the water rushing into her lungs, the sharp tugging pain on her scalp. Her vision is dimming, and she’s dying, she knows it, this time she will die and it will all be over, and she almost sobs with relief.

She distantly feels something warm wrap around her, rocking her back and forth, and that doesn’t make any sense because she is kneeling in front of a bathtub and everything is cold. A hand holds the back of her head, when just a second ago it had been tearing at her hair. Mia smells something vaguely familiar, something comforting, but how can she smell something when she is underwater?

The moment stretches, time seems to flow in weird ways, and she is still not dead. She realizes that the warm things are arms, tightly wrapped around her torso, and something automatically loosens in her at the realization. Slowly, the world seems to shift around her, morphing tiles into a soft mattress, cold water into air. And then she realizes that she is breathing.

She gasps, and tries to blink the room into focus. The arms around her are keeping her together, preventing her from sliding apart like melted ice cream. Still rocking her gently, back and forth, back and forth. Mia closes her eyes again and drops her head onto a warm shoulder, utterly exhausted.

“Are you with me?”

It takes Mia a moment to figure out the question, and then she nods. A weak movement, but distinctly felt by Yeosang against the curve of his neck.

He hums, running a soothing hand up and down her back, and Mia feels the tension bleed out of her body, leaving nothing but a hollow weariness.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Yeosang mutters, and Mia has the bitter thought that she is causing issues again, but she simply doesn’t have the energy to hold on to that feeling.

Minutes tick by, and Mia feels herself slowly return to a feeling of normalcy, albeit a very weary one.

With awareness comes shame, and she starts pulling back from Yeosang, who immediately drops his arms.

Mia looks down, wiping at her face with the sleeve of Wooyoung’s hoodie.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

Warm hands cup her face, forcing her to look up at Yeosang’s eyes, wide and dark and full of sorrow. “It’s alright,” he says softly, and Mia shakes her head.

“It is,” Yeosang says with more conviction. Mia just sighs, too tired to argue. She is having trouble keeping her eyes open.

“I think I need to sleep,” Mia says hoarsely, and watches as that little worried line returns to Yeosang’s forehead. She has the sudden, stupid urge to smooth it out with her thumb.

“Will you be okay?” he asks, sounding uncertain.

“Sure,” Mia mutters.

The line deepens.

“Why don’t I stay with you for a bit? Would that be alright?”

Mia wants to say no, doesn’t want to be an inconvenience, but she also doesn’t want him to think she doesn’t trust him. She lacks the energy to properly make her point.

“Yes?” Yeosang prompts after several seconds pass by, and Mia nods.

Yeosang smiles, brushing his thumbs underneath her eyes in a motion so tender that it makes her want to cry all over again.

“Okay,” he whispers, and then hesitates a bit. “Do you, um, need something? Your pajamas or something?”

Mia shakes her head and just allows her body to flop backwards onto the mattress, landing in a pile of pillows. Yeosang fusses over her for a bit, pushing one of the pillows properly under her head, pulling up the blanket and tucking it around her body.

Mia’s heart hurts.

Yeosang sits next her, brushes her hair out of her face, runs a hand along her arm in a steady motion. It only takes seconds for Mia to fall asleep.

~

Hongjoong kicks down the stand of his motorcycle and swings a leg over the seat, dismounting. He clicks open the clasp under his chin and pulls off his helmet, smoothing a hand through his hair. At least he hadn’t used any product today.

He returns the helmet to its place on the shelf running along one wall of their garage, tugs off his gloves, shrugs out of the stiff jacket.

Then, finally, with a resigned sigh, he turns around to find himself face to face with a very upset looking Yunho, arms crossed over his chest.

“You came to welcome me, aw that’s sweet, you shouldn’t have!”

“Hyung.” Yunho’s voice is sharp.

Hongjoong sighs again. “Yeah I know. I should have told you where I went.”

“You shouldn’t have gone out in the first place! Didn’t we just discuss how dangerous that might be? What kind of example are you setting?”

Hongjoong groans, rubbing a hand across his face. “Yunho, I don’t think my job is to set an example for people. That would be absolutely terrible, honestly. You’re all smart enough to know that.”

“No, your job is to be the leader of this family, present and ALIVE!”

Yunho really has the disappointed dad voice down, Hongjoong thinks, complete with the blazing accusation in his eyes. He thinks for a second that Yunho would make a great father.

“Yeah alright alright I was being reckless. I’m sorry I worried you.”

Hongjoong does his best impression of rueful puppy eyes, but Yunho just frowns at him.

“Don’t give me that look Hongjoong. It doesn’t work on me and you know it.”

“Ugh, what do you want me to say? I needed to get out a bit. I missed Seonghwa. I needed to let off some steam. I needed to kill something.”

Something twitches in Yunho’s face. “Did you?”

“Well, yeah, I caught Seonghwa out in the field and made myself useful.”

Yunho huffs. “And are you feeling better now?”

“Actually yes,” Hongjoong says and grins. He does. He feels so much better.

“Fine. Next time, you’ll talk to me before you go out, alright?”

Hongjoong makes a dramatic show of crossing his fingers over his heart. “I promise.”

The corners of Yunho’s mouth tick up in the hint of a smile. “Thank you. Do you have anything to report? Did you see anything unusual around the mansion? Any news from Seonghwa?”

Hongjoong shakes his head. “Everything is normal,” he says. “How about here, did I miss anything?”

Yunho hesitates for a second. “Not… really,” he says and Hongjoong raises an eyebrow.

“Yeosang had a talk with Mia that kinda escalated, apparently. She ended up having a full on panic attack.”

“Ah jeez,” Hongjoong mutters, feeling a small twinge of sympathy. “Is she okay now?”

“She’s sleeping.”

“How about Yeosang?"

“He’s- troubled,” Yunho says, and Hongjoong looks over to see a worried frown on his face. They are walking towards the house side by side, the cool night air caressing their faces.

“He didn’t tell me any details, but he looked pretty distraught. You should talk to him.”

Hongjoong nods. “I will,” he says quietly.

Yunho stops in front of the mansion, putting a hand on Hongjoong’s shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re back safe,” he says softly, and Hongjoong feels his heart overflow with love.

“How can I not, when you’re waiting for me?” He wiggles his eyebrows at Yunho, who rolls his eyes at him, but doesn’t quite manage to hide his smile.

 

Notes:

I had SO MUCH fun with this chapter. I'm honestly thinking about writing a little Seongjoong focused spin-off after I finish this one, about how they met and how they came into power. Their dynamic is just so fun to write! I did a ton of gun research for this one - shout-out to my beta reader's brother who has been incredibly generous with his knowledge <3

Also, someone give Yunho a vacation that poor man is the only sensible adult in that house and he has his hands full! :D

Chapter 14

Notes:

TW: Gun violence, blood, threat of torture

 

Mia opens her eyes to a dark room. She feels strange, like something in here is not quite right, goosebumps rising along her arms as she shivers. The air is cold.

She pushes herself up on her elbows, planning to switch on the lamp next to her bed, when she spots the shadowy figure of a man standing in her room, completely motionless.

Her breathing stutters to a stop as she stares at him, frozen in place.

It’s too dark to make out a face, but she doesn’t need to. She would recognize that silhouette anywhere. The cut down her cheek tingles.

She watches with bated breath as the figure comes closer, silently, cat-like. Predatory.

Her eyes dart to the window, showing nothing but blackness, and then back to him, now standing directly in front of her bed. Close enough to hear his breath, to see the glint of his eyes.

Mia doesn’t move as he climbs on top of her, his weight settling over her body, pressing her into the mattress. She smells leather and smoke and sweetness and she tips back her head in a silent offer.

Lips brush across her bared throat, softly, gently, before she feels the first prick of sharp teeth. They sink into her throat, cutting through skin and muscle and tendons like a knife through butter, and Mia feels the warm blood gushing from her arteries, almost as warm as the hands holding her down.

Yes, she thinks.

 

Mia wakes with a start, her heart hammering painfully inside her chest. Her hands fly to her throat, searching for damages, finding nothing but smooth skin. She gasps for breath, struggling to fill her lungs, nails raking across her throat, trying to rid herself of the sensation of teeth.

Her legs are tangled up in the blanket, she feels too hot, trapped, and she can’t breathe. With a choked out sound and trembling hands, she starts reaching for the lamp, feeling around clumsily for the light switch.

The lamp tips to the side and crashes to the ground, the sound of breaking glass cutting through the darkness, and Mia whimpers.

The door flies open, and Mia throws an arm across her face to protect herself from both the sudden light and the intruder.

“Mia? Are you hurt?”

Soft footsteps approach the bed, and Mia wants to say yes, yes I am, but she doesn’t even know anymore. Is she hurt?

She lowers her arm enough to peer at the person standing next to her bed.

It’s Hongjoong, and he looks like he just rolled out of bed a second ago. His hair is sticking up on one side of his head, there is an imprint left behind by the crease of a pillowcase across his cheek, and he is wearing red checkered pajamas. He looks alarmed.

Mia fully drops her arm.

“I’m- I’m fine, I think,” she croaks. “I had a- nightmare?”

She rubs a hand across her face, trying to get a grip on herself. A dream, it was a dream. The light flooding the room helps to shed the lingering feeling, helps ground her back in reality. When she looks up again, she sees Hongjoong watching her, his eyes tracing over the redness of her throat, the broken lamp, the sweat sticking her hair to her forehead.

She squirms under his gaze, feeling not for the first time that he sees too much.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” she whispers.

Hongjoong hums, looking into her eyes. Mia has no idea what he finds there.

“How about this, I’ll go make us some tea and you use that time to change into your pajamas?”

Mia blinks, and then looks down. She is still wearing Wooyoung’s hoodie. No wonder she is so sweaty.

“You don’t have to,” she mutters, feeling her cheeks grow warm.

“I know!” he says, smiling widely. “See you in five minutes!” And with that he leaves the room, closing the door gently behind himself.

Mia stares at the door for several seconds.

She is not entirely sure how she feels about having a cup of tea with Hongjoong at – she squints at the clock above the door – almost four in the morning, but it seems she doesn’t have much of a say in the matter.

She slowly extricates her legs from the blanket, swinging them around until she is sitting at the edge of the bed. She takes in the glittering pieces of glass spread across the carpet and decides that maybe she should get out on the other side.

It feels heavenly to exchange the cold, damp fabric sticking to her skin with a clean pair of her own pajamas. She splashes water against her face, pulls her hair back into a braid. When she climbs back into bed, she almost feels human again.

It doesn’t take long for Hongjoong to return, knocking softly before he pushes open the door, carrying a tray. He sets it down on the desk and leaves again with a mutter of be right back, and Mia curiously eyes the two cups of softly steaming tea and the small plate with what looks like chocolate chip cookies.

Hongjoong comes back with a small handheld vacuum cleaner, and Mia feels her cheeks grow hot. “You don’t have to- I can-”

Hongjoong switches on the vacuum, effectively cutting her off, and starts carefully removing the glass from the carpet. Mia watches him, feeling wretched.

“There we go,” Hongjoong says eventually, switching off the vacuum cleaner and smiling at her. “Don’t want you to cut up your feet, do we?”

“I could have done that,” Mia says weakly. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t want to wake everyone up.”

“Ah, don’t worry about that. The private rooms are all on the floor below us, and the walls are thick. This won’t have woken up anyone.”

Mia stares at Hongjoong, who starts busying himself with the tea tray.

“I woke you up,” she says, feeling miserable.

“Ah yes, because I slept in the room next to you. I wanted to be woken up. Here, have a cookie.”

Mia opens her mouth and closes it again, not sure what to reply to that. Hongjoong pushes a cookie into her hand, and she accepts it automatically.

“Eat, it’s good!” Hongjoong says and there is a twinkle of mischief in his eyes as he drops himself into the desk chair, nibbling his own cookie.

Mia brings the cookie to her mouth more out of politeness than anything, but when it falls apart in her mouth, buttery and soft and sweet, she makes a small surprised noise.

“This is- really good,” she says and examines the cookies. “Are those macadamia nuts?”

Hongjoong hums happily. “Macadamia and white chocolate,” he says. “My favorite.”

“I get that,” Mia mutters and shoves the rest of the cookie into her mouth.

The sugar seems to settle something in her body, and Mia suddenly wonders whether she had been hungry. When had she last eaten?

“Now, tea!” Hongjoong announces and passes her a cup. Mia has a short, intense flashback to a different tray with food, a different mug of tea, a different- she stares at the cookies, heart racing. They seem- too good to be store bought. She looks up at Hongjoong, who looks back at her, smiling.

Maybe she would rather not know.

She swallows down the question and sips at her tea. Something herbal, hot and soothing. She feels herself relax a little.

“A nightmare, hm? Would you tell me about it?”

Mia narrows her eyes at him, at the way he phrased that question. “Do you- want me to tell you about it?”

“Yes.” Hongjoong takes another sip and Mia almost laughs at his directness. “Why?”

Hongjoong shrugs and grins. “What can I say, I’m a very curious person,” he says. “Also, nightmares are a very common trauma response and I happen to know a bit about that. It can also help to take some of the threat out of something existing only in our heads by allowing it to exist outside of it as well. The scariest things are always the unknown, after all.”

Mia blinks at him, taking in his words. Hongjoong waits patiently, nibbling on another cookie. He looks- strangely human, like this. He looks young. Almost harmless.

She makes a decision. Tightening her grip around her tea, she takes a deep breath.

“I dreamt about San,” she says softly, and the name feels strange in her mouth. Unfamiliar.

Hongjoong hums and waits.

“I, um.” She looks down again, biting her lip. “I dreamt he came in here and ripped my throat out with his teeth.”

“I see,” Hongjoong says, and the look on his face is unreadable. His eyes flick down to the scratches she left on her throat. “How did you feel during that dream?”

“I-” Mia hesitates. Something unpleasant spreads through her chest, something heavy that feels like shame. “Relieved? I think?” she throws a quick glance at Hongjoong, who has put his half-eaten cookie down, and searches his face for judgement. She doesn’t find any.

The intensity of his attention on her makes her a bit nervous, but she also feels seen. She takes a shuddery breath, gaze dropping back down to her tea cup.

“I didn’t even try to stop him,” she whispers. “I just- bared my throat and let him have it.”

There is a slight pause, and Mia takes another sip of her tea, her hands shaking slightly.

“Well, I certainly understand that sentiment,” he says, and Mia looks up to see a wry smile on his face.

“You- you what?”

Hongjoong shifts on his seat, and Mia wonders whether she is imagining the dusting of pink across his cheeks.

“I’m just saying, it can feel good to surrender yourself sometimes. There’s nothing inherently wrong with that.”

Mia searches his face. He looks entirely serious.

“Hongjoong,” she says, her voice barely more than a whisper. “He tortured me.”

It feels strange, saying it out loud. Acknowledging it. She realizes that until this moment, she hadn’t even let herself think it. Somehow, sitting here in her bedroom at four in the morning, drinking tea with Hongjoong in their pajamas, feels safe.

“He did,” Hongjoong nods. “I know the things he did, the things he said. I know because I ordered him to give me detailed reports.”

Mia clutches her cup. What happened with San had felt so- personal, intimate, something secret only between them. The fact that someone else knows about it all makes her feel nauseous. Her mind flashes through moments from the basement, the white room, and she squeezes her eyes shut.

“Mia, hey, look at me.”

She forces her eyes open, looks at Hongjoong’s calm face. Her hands are shaking.

“It’s okay,” he says. “Breathe.”

Mia breathes.

“Did I just surrender myself?” she whispers, struggling to form the words. “Did I just- let him have it? Was I complicit?”

Hongjoong’s dark eyes fill with sympathy, and it makes Mia want to cry.

“You did what he wanted you to do,” he says softly, and Mia has to swallow down a whimper. “But that doesn’t mean you are weak, or that any of it is your fault. He is trained in this, Mia. He very consciously used strategies to make you more vulnerable, to get you to open up to him. He held all the power in this situation, and he used it very efficiently. He weaponized your desire for comfort.”

Mia feels sick.

“And I know that it is a very effective strategy, because I have used it in the past. San learned it from me.”

Mia looks up, staring at Hongjoong who is carefully watching her. Preparing for her outrage, maybe. Mia tries to imagine a similar situation but with Hongjoong, and she shudders. She hopes whoever was on the receiving end deserved that horror.

Should she be angry, horrified, at Hongjoong? Probably. Something must not be quite right with her, because she doesn’t really feel any of that.

“And yet,” Hongjoong continues when it becomes clear that Mia is not going to say anything. He leans forward in his chair, and his eyes are suddenly alight with an intensity that makes her want to shrink back a bit. “And yet, you gave him nothing. You protected Wooyoung, until the end.”

There is something like pride in his voice, and that realization causes a warm shiver down her spine. She looks down.

“Didn’t really make any difference, did it?” she mutters. “There wasn’t even anything to protect him from. I just made things worse for myself.”

“Do you regret not giving his name immediately?”

“No!” The answer came fast, without her even having to think about it.

“Why not? It would have saved you from a lot of pain.”

Mia hesitates. Why not? “Because- because then I would have just- given him up. I wouldn’t have known then that it wouldn’t do him any harm. It would mean I was willing to put him in danger just to save myself.” The thought makes her feel disgusted. “And that’s just not right.”

Hongjoong smiles. “You certainly proved your toughness by not doing so,” he said, and Mia blinks. Did she? She doesn’t feel tough at all. Something warm spreads through her at the way Hongjoong keeps looking at her. Like he is pleased with her. She realizes that she wants that to be true.

“You’re a good friend to him,” Hongjoong says softly, and Mia’s face crumples. Her whole body starts shaking with sobs, and Hongjoong takes the cup out of her hand as if he had been ready for it. He doesn’t touch her, just lets her cry herself out into her hands.

Something inside of her broke at those words, and she has no idea what, but after the tears finally stop and she washes her face in the bathroom, she feels lighter, somehow.

She comes back to the bedroom to a smiling Hongjoong still sitting on her desk chair, waiting for her, and feels suddenly embarrassed.

“Um, I’m sorry I woke you up,” she says, feeling awkward. “I’m sure you would rather have gotten a good night’s sleep.”

“What makes you say that?” Hongjoong’s smile widens. “This was much more interesting than a good night’s sleep. I have those all the time!”

Mia blinks a bit, trying to figure out whether he is being serious.

“Well, uh, in that case, thank you? For the tea, and um, for listening. It really helped, actually.”

Hongjoong’s smile softens, losing some of its mischief. “You’re very welcome,” he says gently. “Thank you for talking to me, I know it’s not an easy thing to do.”

Mia is not sure how to respond to that.

“Oh, and I haven’t had a chance yet to talk to you about the mission,” Hongjoong says as Mia climbs back into her bed, pulling the covers over her lap. “That number could be the key to finding these people, so, thank you very much for your help! It is appreciated.”

Mia feels herself blush and she looks down at her knees.

“Um, of course, you’re welcome,” she mutters. The she hesitates. “Hongjoong, can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” he says easily, and smiles at the look on her face. “Well I don’t always have to answer, do I? But you certainly have my permission to ask whatever you want.”

“He um, the guy who waited for us outside the house. He asked for the Crane?” she looks at Hongjoong’s face, who sighs.

“It’s my code name,” he says.

Mia had figured as much. “Why a crane?” she asks softly, not sure if this is getting too personal.

Hongjoong smiles. “It’s an animal I’m quite fond of,” he says. “It carries a lot of symbolism, and I honestly think it’s pretty fun to carry the name of a bird that is not actually dangerous at all.” He grins at Mia. “People in this business usually have code names that are a bit more threatening, that are trying to convey strength and power and violence, especially those in positions of leadership. I have a history of being underestimated, much to my own advantage. This is just another small thing that confuses people who deal with me, and that amuses me.”

Mia feels a prick of interest, a sudden desire to learn more about this person and his rise to power. She can imagine how he might have been underestimated, and how that would not have turned out well for the person doing the underestimating.

Hongjoong spreads his arms, displaying his rumpled pajamas. “Don’t I look harmless?”

Mia huffs a surprised laugh, and shakes her head.

“I don’t?” Hongjoong presses a hand to his chest in fake offense, and Mia giggles.

“Not to the extent that I would start underestimating you,” she says honestly, and she watches as Hongjoong’s smile sharpens into something dangerous, causing a shiver down her spine.

“That’s because you’re smart,” he purrs, and Mia could swear her heart stutters to a stop.

He rises from his chair with all of the grace someone wearing pajamas and messy hair could possibly possess, and walks over to her side of the bed. He looks down at her for long enough that it makes her fidgety, and then he reaches out a hand and boops her nose.

Mia’s mouth falls open in shock, and Hongjoong grins.

“Sleep,” he orders and walks out of the room before Mia can even process what the hell just happened.

~

Seonghwa stares down at the man writhing on the floor in front of him. His own face is blank, his eyes cold, and he knows he looks terrifying, like this. Heartless, brutal. He wonders sometimes how much of that is real, how much of this persona has settled into his flesh, his bones. Maybe it is the real him. Maybe he was never anything else.

The man whimpers, and Seonghwa lifts his foot, placing a heavy boot on the man’s shoulder, and presses down with his full weight. The man screams.

Seonghwa waits, lets him scream until the noise turns hoarse, garbled. He’d been careful with his bullet placements, not wanting the man to die too fast. There is something about hitting people in their joints, the inherent terror it invokes of knowing that limb is fucked. A bullet to the thigh hurts, sure, but it would leave nothing but a scar. A bullet to the shoulder is something else entirely.

The man is crying, thick tears streaking down his dirty face, and Seonghwa curls his lip in an expression of disgust. Weak, he thinks. Pathetic.

“Please,” the man gasps again, voice shaky and raw. “Please I don’t know anything, I don’t know these people, please you have the wrong guy-”

Seonghwa digs the tip of his boot into the mangled hole in the man’s shoulder, causing blood to bubble up around the expensive leather, and listens to his renewed shrieking with mild annoyance. Always so loud.

“Please,” he sobs. “Pleasepleaseplease let me go home, please I don’t know-”

“You’re never going home,” Seonghwa says flatly. The man shuts up, staring up at him with shock all over his face. Seonghwa suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. What did he think was going to happen?

“But, but-” he splutters, a sheen of sweat covering his forehead. “If you kill me- I might know something, if you kill me you’ll never know, you can’t- you can’t-”

Seonghwa throws his head back and laughs, and the man shuts his mouth, going very pale.

“I know you know something, idiot, that’s why we’re here,” he says, slow, patient. “And we are going to stay here until I am absolutely sure you have nothing more to give me. For your sake, I hope it won’t be all night.” He smiles down at the man who clamps his mouth shut with some kind of fresh determination. Bad choice.

Seonghwa lifts his gun and points it at the man’s other shoulder, ignoring the sudden yell of “no NO WAIT PLEASE!” and pulls the trigger. The Mateba lurches in his hand with a heavy recoil, one he is familiar with and easily absorbs. The bullet blows a ragged hole into the soft flesh, splintering the bone, blood splattering across the concrete. More shrieks, more writhing. Seonghwa can feel a headache developing.

“Will you shut up,” he groans, pointing the gun at the man’s forehead. The screaming cuts off, replaced by a wheezing whimper. Seonghwa can see blood seeping out of the corner of the man’s mouth. He probably bit himself.

With a sigh, Seonghwa puts the gun down and shrugs out of his woolen coat. He carefully folds it over the back of one of the few chairs still standing in one piece, pops open the buttons on his cuffs and starts rolling up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt.

He watches as the man follows his motions nervously, eyeing the movements of his hands. His breathing stutters as he takes in the newly uncovered tattoos curling around Seonghwa’s forearms.

Seonghwa smiles at the man, the way the color drains out of his face, the way his eyes widen with fresh horror.

“You,” he breathes, air rattling in his throat as he takes several short, hitching breaths. “You”

“Me,” Seonghwa confirms, widening his smile, and he pulls out a flat, rectangular leather pouch, keeping his eyes on the man who looks like he is about to throw up. With slow movements, he clicks open the pouch, revealing a row of glinting, silver scalpels. Different shapes, for different purposes.

The man starts crying again.

Seonghwa plucks out one of the scalpels, carefully attaching it to a silver handle. His movements are calm, methodical. He crouches down next to the wailing man, one knee braced down onto his upper arm. Not to hurt, this time. To immobilize.

His hand curls around the man’s wrist, pulling it towards himself, and then slides up until it holds the twitching hand around the palm, his pointer finger pressing between the pinky and ring finger, separating the smallest digit from the rest.

He tries to ignore the shrieking, the incoherent babbling. The man yanks on his hand, weakened by his destroyed shoulder. Seonghwa holds him in place easily.

“NO, NO! Please, I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you everything, PLEASE!” The words are garbled, slurred to the point that they are almost unintelligible.

Seonghwa smiles down at the man whose chest is heaving with choked sobs, and he lowers the scalpel.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he purrs, allowing a modicum of sweetness to soften his voice. “I’m listening.”

 

Chapter 15

Notes:

CATS

 

Wooyoung hesitates before knocking on Mia’s door. The guilt about what happened, about her being here at all, lays a heaviness onto his limbs that is almost too much to bear. A part of him wants to hide away.

He takes a deep breath and taps his nails against the door, trying to keep the noise soft.

“Yes?” Mia’s response is delayed by several seconds, a slight tremor to her voice.

“It’s Wooyoung, can I come in?”

There is a moment of silence, and then the door opens. Mia smiles, but there is something nervous about it, some anxiety hiding beneath the friendly expression. Wooyoung can relate to that.

“Hey um, I was wondering, do you like cats?”

Mia blinks, and the nervous smile gets replaced with confusion. “I mean- yeah? Are there people who don’t like cats?”

Wooyoung narrows his eyes and looks around the empty hallway. “Not in this house, that’s for sure. I would have kicked them out immediately.”

Mia huffs a surprised laugh and some of the tension dissipates.

Wooyoung grins. “You want to go outside with me for a bit? Meet the kitties?”

Mia’s eyes go round. “You have cats here?” she breathes. “I never saw any!"

“Oh yeah they’re not allowed in this part of the house. Let’s go visit them, yes?”

“Um,” some of the nervousness is back in Mia’s face. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to… go outside?”

Wooyoung scoffs. “Of course you can go outside! You’re not confined to this room. Hongjoong said you’re a guest, did he not? And guests get to meet the cats!”

Mia smiles, rubs her arms, turns around to look inside her room, turns back to Wooyoung.

“I mean, why not, I guess? And if you’re with me, that should be alright.” It sounds like she is trying to convince herself, and Wooyoung nods encouragingly.

“Grab a hoodie, it’s chilly out,” he advises, and Mia disappears inside the room for a couple of seconds before reappearing, her hair a bit messy and wearing Wooyoung’s hoodie.

Wooyoung smiles and grabs her hand, pulling her towards the elevators.

“Are you supposed to be out and about? I thought Yeosang put you on bedrest?”

Wooyoung sighs and puts a hand on his stomach. “I’m allowed some slow walking around,” he says and rolls his eyes. “Yeosang is being overprotective.”

The elevator doors close, and Mia eyes Wooyoung, fiddling with the too-long sleeves of the hoodie.

“Are you- healing okay?” she asks, her voice very soft.

“Oh yeah, I’m healing fine!” Wooyoung says as the elevator starts moving downward. “I mean, good news is that the injury is doing much better, bad news is that Yeosang took me off the good stuff and all I’m getting for the pain now is ibuprofen. Can you believe it? Three bullets and this is what I get! I would have thought I could have at least stayed on the morphine for a bit longer, don’t you think?”

Mia looks startled at the sudden question. “Isn’t morphine super addictive though? It’s probably not a good idea to take it for a long period of time, right?”

Wooyoung groans. “You sound exactly like Yeosang,” he mumbles. “I guess it’s a bit my fault. I really shouldn’t have moved around as much as I did right at the beginning, but I felt mostly fine with the morphine and got a bit, ah, overconfident.”

The elevator stops with a ding, and Wooyoung grabs Mia’s sleeve, pulling her towards a part of the house she has not seen yet.

“He says that now that I actually feel the pain more accurately, I will be more aware of the consequences of my actions or something. Stupid Yeosang and his stupid tendency to be right all the time!”

He hears Mia laugh behind him, and smiles, satisfied.

They move to the end of a hallway and through a door leading into a tiled wet room. Mia looks around curiously, eyes roaming across a coatrack and quite a large pile of shoes spread out messily near the door they are heading to. Wooyoung lets go of her sleeve in order to turn the key sticking out of the lock, pulling it open and gesturing for Mia to go first.

There are a couple of steps leading downward, and Mia steps down carefully. Wooyoung notices that she is not wearing the leg brace, and feels a pang of guilt. Should he have reminded her?

“How is, um, how is your knee?” He asks, trying to keep his tone light.

Mia turns around and smiles. “Oh it’s pretty okay! I definitely still feel it when I bend it too far or put a lot of pressure on it but just normal walking is not too bad.”

Wooyoung nods and walks past Mia, leading her to the stables.

Mia stops in her tracks as she recognizes the building. “You have HORSES?”

Wooyoung laughs. “Nah we don’t, the people who built this place did but we never had any. This is cat territory now!”

He swings open the door and they enter the stables, still smelling faintly of horses. He looks around, trying to peek behind the mountains of hay that they never bothered to move.

“Hmmm now where is that- GAH!”

Wooyoung curses loudly as a small black shadow darts out from behind them, dashing between his legs and disappearing behind a corner.

“This FUCKING CAT!” he yells, shaking a fist in the direction the cat disappeared in and clutching is chest with the other. “I swear he has made it his goal to kill me! I’ll either die of a heart attack or break my neck stumbling over this little demon, I’m telling you!”

He turns his scowl towards Mia who looks like she is trying very hard not to laugh. “Is that the cat you wanted to show me?” she giggles.

“No! I wanted the other one, where is- ah sweet darling, there you are!” Wooyoung’s voice drops to a gentle croon as he finally spots what he has been looking for. Mia’s eyes go wide when she sees her, and Wooyoung’s chest swells with pride.

A gorgeous cat with cream and silver colored fur slinks around Wooyoung’s leg, looking up at him with stunning blue eyes and meowing softly.

“Come here baby, oh you’re so cute!” He gently lifts her into his arms, turning to Mia happily. “This is Princess!” He announces.

“Oh hi Princess!” Mia whispers, reaching out a tentative hand. Princess gives her fingers a few sniffs and then meows again. “Whoa, she is so pretty!”

“She is! She used to be a show cat, won lots of prizes!” Wooyoung says happily. “How about we sit down for a bit?”

Mia wrenches her eyes up from where she had run a careful hand through Princess’ long, silky fur. “Oh, sure!”

They find a couple of hay bales and sit down, and Wooyoung is just about to tell Mia more about Princess’ impressive career when something small jumps out from the shadowy framework of the roof, landing softly on the ground between them. Mia gives a small squeak of surprise.

“Oh it’s you again!” she says happily, holding out her hand to the small black cat. “What’s your name cutie?”

“That is Max, and he bites,” Wooyoung says dryly. Mia hesitates for only a second before continuing to let the cat sniff her fingers.

Max seems satisfied with whatever it is he smells, since he bonks her hand with his little head and then jumps onto her lap.

“Oh!” Mia says in delighted surprise and then looks at Wooyoung who is still scowling at the cat who is starting to swat at Mia’s hair with his furry little paw.

“Does he really bite? He seems so friendly!”

Wooyoung huffs. “I mean, he doesn’t bite hard,” he mutters. “But you don’t bite at all, do you sweetheart? No, you would never! You’re such a good kitty!” He scratches behind Princess’s ears, and she starts purring softly.

Mia smiles. “They seem so different, these two! But they’re both really cute.”

Wooyoung narrows his eyes at Max, who is happily rolling onto his back on Mia’s thighs, still trying to catch her hair.

“Princess is a sweet angel who has never done any wrong in her life. Max is a little gremlin whose favorite activity is breaking into our trash cans and destruction of property!”

Mia giggles and runs a finger along Max’s soft belly fur, causing him to now try and catch her finger. “Aw you can’t be that bad, can you?”

“He is the reason they are no longer allowed access to most of the house!” Wooyoung protests, hugging Princess a little tighter to his chest, ignoring her little warning growl.

Mia hums, continuing to tickle the wriggling ball of black fur. “He is so tiny, is he young still?”

“Nah, he has looked like that for years. We thought he was a baby when we got him, but he just stayed like that.”

Mia looks up at him. “So you don’t know how old he is?”

Wooyoung shakes his head.

“Where did you get him? Actually, how did you get both of them? Did you really take her to shows?”

“Ah, no, um, that was before we got her. Her previous owner paid a shit ton of money for her and then drove her around to those shows all the time. Must have been so stressful, poor baby!” Princess turns around on his lap, swishing her fluffy tail into his face.

“Then how did she end up here?”

Wooyoung grimaces and cranes his neck, trying not to get a mouthful of fur. He contemplates for a moment how honest he should be about this, and then decides it doesn’t really matter. “Her owner was a, well, a target of ours,” he says, watching her reaction. Mia blinks, eyes widening slightly.

“We took him out in his house, and she was there, looking all cute and pretty and so we decided to give her a new home.”

Mia doesn’t actually look too horrified. She thinks for a bit.

“Was she sad about losing her owner?”

Wooyoung huffs a laugh. “Not at all. She pretty much immediately jumped into our arms. I don’t think he treated her with much love. And you deserve all the love, don’t you sweetheart?” He nuzzles into her soft fur.

“What about Max?”

“Well,” Wooyoung says slowly. “It was kind of… similar? Only that his owner wasn’t a rich big shot high society dude, it was just a piece of shit who had been harassing some… friends of Hongjoong’s.” He decides to leave out the way the little demon had started lapping up the blood spreading around his owners head, much to Wooyoung’s horror and Hongjoong’s absolute delight. It was one of the few times he had been taken out into the field, the job had been a quick and easy one and Hongjoong had dragged him along. They had returned with a growling little fur ball wrapped up in Hongjoong’s jacket, and he had been terrorizing them ever since.

“I think he’s really sweet,” Mia says softly. She runs a hand along Max’s back, who had gotten to his feet on Mia’s lap and started licking the hair on her temple.

Mia looks like she is not sure whether to find this cute or disgusting.

Wooyoung suppresses a smile. “Well you’ve never had him jump into your food before, or had him smack your half-drunk glass of orange juice off the table,” he says mildly and pats Princess’s butt.

Princess gets to her feet, stretches, and digs her claws into Wooyoung’s thigh.

Mia looks somewhat worried at Wooyoung’s pained yelp. “It’s okay,” he whimpers, trying to lift her away, causing her to dig her claws even deeper. “That’s just- how she shows her love!”

Princess purrs loudly, looks up at Wooyoung with those sparkly eyes that look like someone sprinkled tiny diamonds over a length of light blue satin and softly rubs her head against his face.

“Yes yes, I love you too, sweet baby,”

“Wooyoung?” Mia asks softly, still gently running a hand across Max’s fur, who has rolled into a little ball on her lap.

“Mhh?”

“You said- three bullets?”

Max looks up and sees the strained expression on her face, the fear, the guilt.

“Ah, yes. I was kinda lucky honestly. One of them was more of a graze, one of them hit one of my ribs and got stuck there, and one of them hit my spleen.” He shrugs, smiles. “Turns out a spleen is not that important, I can totally live without one.”

Mia’s mouth falls open. “You’re missing an organ?”

“Well, as far as missing organs go, a spleen is really not that big of a deal,” Wooyoung tells her. “Apparently a lot of its function can be taken over by my liver. I should definitely do my best and live a healthy life, you know, not get drunk every night, but it’s not like I was planning on doing that anyway.” He shrugs again.

Mia looks stricken, and her lower lip starts trembling. “Wooyoung I’m so sorry,” she whispers.

“Hey now, none of that!” Wooyoung says, frowning. “Didn’t we already establish that you really don’t have anything to apologize for? You’re not the one who shot me, are you?”

Mia nods, but there’s a brightness in her eyes that Wooyoung suspects is tears.

“I’m okay, really,” he says, softly. “This kind of comes with the job. It’s not the first time one of us has caught some bullets. It happens.”

“Have you ever been shot before that?”

Wooyoung shakes his head. “I don’t actually go out into the field that much. I can if I have to, but I just… don’t really want to. I’m not that big of a fan of all that stuff to be honest.”

Mia hums, looking thoughtful. “What else do you like to do then?”

Wooyoung smiles. “I like cooking!” he says, a bit of pride in his voice. “I’m really good at it too, I even got a certificate!”

Mia’s mouth takes the shape of a surprised little o.

“I actually studied for that test a lot back in the coffee shop,” Wooyoung says and grins.

Mia smiles, and then the smile falters a bit. They both just look at each other in silence for a while. What a different time that had been, how easy, how careless. Wooyoung’s heart starts feeling a bit heavy. He clears his throat.

“What, um, I mean, did you always want to be a barista?”

“Oh! Well, not really, I guess.” Mia smiles a bit sadly. “When I was younger, I had this absolutely idealistic drive to make the world a better place. I wanted to go into politics, can you imagine?” She chuckles. “I would have made a terrible politician.”

Wooyoung feels a pang in his chest. “I mean, maybe you also would have been a great one, who knows?”

Mia shakes her head. “I really don’t think so. But, you know, as a child my dream was to work in an ice cream truck, and a coffee shop isn’t that far away from that, don’t you think?”

Wooyoung grins. “You did sell iced coffee, I’d say you got very close to achieving your childhood dream!”

They smile at each other and sit in silence for a while longer. Wooyoung takes a deep breath, anxiety twitching in his gut.

“Mia,” he starts slowly. She looks up, slightly alarmed at the tone of his voice.

“I wanted to… talk about San.”

Mia freezes. Then after a moment, she very consciously goes back to petting Max, movements slower than before. She doesn’t meet his eyes.

Wooyoung sighs. “Not if you don’t want to, of course. I’m not gonna force that conversation on you.”

Mia says nothing.

“He um, he asked me to say something to you. Do you want to hear it?”

More silence, and then a small nod. Her eyes are still on the cat in her lap.

“Okay, well, he wants to apologize. And he wants to do it properly, but he also knows that you probably don’t want to see him, and that’s fine. But if you ever do feel ready for it, you can let him know.” A pause. “He just- doesn’t want you to think that he doesn’t care, that he’s not sorry. But, Mia,” he waits until she finally looks up at him, her expression guarded. “It’s okay if that time never comes. You don’t have to forgive him, ever. You don’t even have to listen to his apology. And he knows that.”

Nobody says anything for a while, and then Mia sighs.

“It’s okay,” she says, barely above a whisper.

Wooyoung feels his eyebrows draw together into a frown. “You- it’s okay? What do you mean? It’s okay that he wants to apologize?”

“He was just trying to help you, he didn’t know we were friends. He just- he did his job.” Mia’s voice is thin, brittle.

Wooyoung’s mouth falls open, and it takes him a while to find his voice. He feels outraged, and he tries very hard not to raise his voice. “Mia, don’t say that! That doesn’t make it okay! He hurt you, and you have a right to be upset about it!”

Mia gives him a sad little smile. “He’s your friend, right? You guys are really close.”

Wooyoung feels something dreadful coil up in his stomach. “Please don’t just forgive him because he is my friend! Hell, I am still upset at him for what he did! You don’t have to be nice just because we’re close, please tell me you know that!”

“I know that,” Mia says softly. Max uncurls on her lap and stretches up until he can bump her chin with his furry little head. Wooyoung can see the shaky smile she gives the cat, and she scratches at the base of his neck.

Good kitty, Wooyoung thinks.

“I just mean, he didn’t do what he did out of malice, or because he enjoys hurting people, right? He just wanted to help you. I don’t-” her voice falters for a moment, and she swallows. “I don’t think he’s a bad person,” she finishes eventually, her voice so soft it is barely audible.

Wooyoung chews on his lip for a moment. This feels wrong, everything about this feels wrong. It’s just hard to put into words why. It’s not that what she’s saying is technically untrue.

“He’s- he’s not a bad person, but that doesn’t mean he can’t fuck up and do bad things. That doesn’t mean he can’t do things that are worth being mad about.”

Mia looks up at him, frowning. “Do you want me to be mad at him?”

Wooyoung throws up his hands. “Honestly? Yeah! I do!”

Mia presses her lips together and says nothing. Wooyoung is starting to feel kind of desperate.

“It doesn’t matter if someone had the right intention, you were still wronged. You were hurt, really badly! I just-” he runs a hand through his hair, taking a shaky breath. “I guess I’m scared that you think you shouldn’t be angry at him, because he’s one of us and you’re kind of stuck here for now. I’m scared that you think that it would cause trouble for you if you refuse to forgive him. That you think we expect you to just move on, or something. It’s not something to just get over, you know?”

Mia still doesn’t say anything, she just continues to pet the cat on her lap with slow movements. Max suddenly perks up and looks towards the door, ears twitching, and then he jumps off of Mia’s lap and disappears into the shadows.

“Aw,” Mia says sadly, watching him go, one hand still in the air.

Wooyoung opens his mouth to say something but is interrupted by the sound of the stable door opening. Mia freezes, her eyes on the door, and Wooyoung turns around to see who entered.

It’s Mingi, and he stops in his tracks when he spots the two of them.

“Oh!” He says, cheeks turning pink. “I, um, I didn’t know you guys were here. I can just come b- BWAHH!”

A ball of black fur launches itself at Mingi’s chest, causing Mingi to shriek loudly and flail his arms around, managing to land a solid hit against the small cat and sending it flying.

“Oh SHIT oh no baby I’m so sorry!” Mingi immediately runs after the cat, disappearing behind a mountain of hay.

Wooyoung almost whimpers with his effort not to laugh and he shoots a look in Mia’s direction, who is staring at the scene with her mouth hanging open.

“I’m so sorry baby, did I hurt you? I didn’t mean to!”

Wooyoung turns back around in time to watch Mingi come back out, several bits of hay sticking out of his hair and the small black cat cradled to his chest.

Mingi stops again when he remembers his audience, the blush deepening on his cheeks.

“Um.” He says.

Wooyoung quickly gets to his feet. “Ah, you two haven’t met yet, have you? Mingi, this is Mia, Mia, this is Mingi!” he says happily, gesturing between the two of them. There is a moment of rather awkward silence during which Max starts to wriggle out of Mingi’s arms and climbs up onto his shoulder. Eventually, Mingi clears his throat.

“Uh, hello Mia, nice to meet you!”

He takes a couple of tentative steps in her direction, and Mia flinches a bit before quickly getting up as well. Mingi smiles, extending a hand, and Mia takes if after only a moment of hesitation.

“Hi,” she whispers.

Mingi lets go and takes a step back, turning to Wooyoung. “I just came down to feed the cats. But I can come back! I didn’t mean to interrupt you guys.”

He reaches for Max and tries to pull him off his shoulder, much to the cat’s dissatisfaction, as evident by the way he digs his claws into Mingi’s sweater, pulling the fabric up with him.

Mingi winces. “I’m sorry sweetie, I’ll be back real soon!”

Max mewls unhappily and Mingi hesitates for a few seconds, looking conflicted, and then he finally gently sets him down.

“I’ll see you guys around!” he says and gives a small wave before leaving the stable.

Wooyoung grins at Mia who still looks completely baffled.

“You know, Mingi’s nickname is also Princess, so when we got Princess the cat we started calling Mingi ‘human Princess.’ He got all cranky about it so Yunho eventually told us to knock it off.”

Mia blinks. “His nickname is Princess?”

Wooyoung giggles. “Yeah, he’s a huge softie. I mean, you saw him, right?”

Mia stares at the door Mingi disappeared through. “Huh,” she says.

Mingi and San had been the ones who found Wooyoung and Mia in that alleyway, and Wooyoung wonders whether Mia had seen him there. It would explain her reaction- Mingi in the field was quite the terrifying sight. He decides not to ask about it.

Silence stretches between them, and Wooyoung starts biting his lip. Princess is still curled up on his lap, appearing completely unfazed by Mingi’s interruption.

“Listen,” Wooyoung starts and Mia looks at him with that guarded expression again. “Just- let it settle a bit, okay? This is all really recent. I don’t want to tell you how to feel, of course, but give yourself some time. Like I said, no one expects anything from you. And if you ever wanna talk about anything, I’m here.”

Mia’s face softens a bit. “I know,” she mutters.

Wooyoung smiles at her, trying to look encouraging. “And you know, if the next time you meet San you throw a chair into his face, no one will blame you!”

Mia huffs a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she says, and Wooyoung feels a tiny bit lighter.

“Do you wanna go back inside?” he asks and Mia nods.

They get up and do their best to brush off all the hay, Wooyoung gently nudging Princess off of his lap who gives him a sad little meow before rubbing her head against his knee and padding off to one of her many pillows.

They are almost at the door when Wooyoung feels a warm little body press itself against his legs. He leans down and runs a hand through black fur, scratching his nails at the place behind Max's ears that he knows is his favorite spot. The small cat purrs and licks his fingers with its coarse little tongue.

“I love you too, you little spawn of Satan,” Wooyoung whispers affectionately, and Max responds by sinking his tiny little teeth into Wooyoung’s thumb, just hard enough to not break the skin.

 

Chapter 16

Notes:

Shit's going down. It has been peaceful for too long.

TW: Gun violence, blood, people getting shot

 

Mia tosses and turns in bed for several hours before she gives up. She had fallen asleep once, for about twenty minutes, before she woke up with a gasp from one of the worst nightmares she has ever had. Since then, sleep has evaded her.

With a sigh, she sits up, letting the blankets pool around her waist. Enough time has passed for her hunger to return, and there is an uncomfortable hollow feeling in her stomach that further prevents her from falling asleep. Wooyoung had shown her the kitchen the day before and told her she could get herself a snack whenever she wanted, but she hadn’t actually planned on ever doing so. Especially since Yeosang had popped his head in right when she was getting ready for bed to let her know that Seonghwa has returned.

She gets out of bed, pulling on a sweater to keep her warm from the chill air pervading the house at night, and silently crosses the dark room. The door opens noiselessly, and she stands inside the doorway for a couple of seconds, listening. The house is silent.

She tries to swallow her anxiety, reminds herself that she is not doing anything forbidden, and then she finally leaves the safety of her room. Her steps carry her towards the elevators, but then she hesitates. The elevator tends to make quite a lot of noise, and she would rather not draw attention to herself. She sighs and turns around, deciding to try the stairs.

Yeosang had told her that it was good to gently exercise her damaged muscle, and she tells herself that the stairs should be fine as long as she takes it slow.

Lost in thought, she reaches the end of the stairs, one foot on the first step down, when she hears a noise coming from downstairs.

She freezes.

There is a soft patter of footsteps, hushed voices, the clink of metal.

Mia’s heart is hammering. Something doesn’t feel right.

She slowly pulls back again, thinking of waking up Hongjoong, when her back collides with something warm, solid. Before she can scream, a hand clamps down over her mouth and nose, and an arm wraps around her chest, dragging her backwards into the shadowed hallway.

“It’s me, it’s just me, be quiet!”

Mia freezes, her arms falling away in shock from where she had clawed at the hand cutting off her air. The hand loosens slightly, freeing her nose. Mia breathes in deeply, and the familiar smell of leather and smoke makes her shiver.

“There’s someone in the house!” San breathes into her ear, still moving backwards. Mia feels fresh panic bubbling up in her chest, competing with the uproar of emotions about suddenly being this close to San. She closes her eyes and lets herself get dragged.

The soft click of a door causes her eyes to open again, and suddenly the warm body disappears, leaving her cold and unsteady. She whirls around and staggers several steps back. San is turned away from her, fiddling with something on the wall.

“Fuck!” he hisses, turning to face her. “They cut the power!”

Mia blinks, finding herself unable to form a coherent thought. Her hands are shaking, her blood is roaring in her ears.

San stares at her for a moment, his eyes wide. “We- we need to warn the others,” he whispers. There is fear in his eyes, and for some reason, it inches her back from the edge of the panic attack she had almost succumbed to. She balls her hands into fists, nods. The others, she thinks. Wooyoung. Yeosang. Something like determination hardens inside her chest.

“How?” she breathes.

San is frozen for a moment, then he crosses the dark room in three long strides, tearing open the drawers of a small cabinet. When he turns around, he is holding a gun.

“Have you ever shot a gun before?” he asks, keeping his voice soft.

Mia shakes her head. He doesn’t look surprised.

“Okay, well, just stay behind me for now, alright?” He turns around before Mia has time to answer, somewhat relieved that she wouldn’t be expected to shoot anyone.

San runs a hand along the sides of a large mirror, glimmering softly in the darkness, before pulling it away from the wall. It takes Mia a second to realize that behind it, there is- nothing. A hole in the wall. Her mouth drops open.

“You have secret passageways?” she hisses, and San turns around, the corners of his mouth twitching in something that is almost a smile.

“Do you think you can climb down a ladder?” he asks softly, gesturing towards her leg.

“I- I can try,” she answers, swallowing down her apprehension.

San takes a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll- I’ll go first. You need to pull the mirror shut behind you, alright? There’s a handle on the back.”

Mia thinks that it is rather stupid for him to go first, in case she falls and takes him with her, but she decides not to argue. She’ll just have to not fall.

San steps through the hole in the wall, immediately disappearing into the inky blackness, and Mia feel her fear surge up again. She hurries to follow him.

The temperature drops as soon as she pulls the mirror shut behind her, and the darkness is so complete that she can’t even see her own hands in front of her face. There is a slight smell of damp stone. Her short little puffs of breath seem much too loud.

“Over here!” A small light flickers into existence, and Mia can see San sticking halfway out of a hole in the rough bricks covering the floor, a lighter in one hand. She breathes a sigh of relief.

Getting into the hole is awkward and painful, and she bites her tongue to keep in any noises of pain. It gets easier as soon as she is properly inside, gripping the cold metal rungs sticking out of the wall in front of her. She manages to keep her injured leg relatively straight.

“Almost down!” San whispers, and then there is suddenly a hand on her lower back. Mia flinches so hard that she bangs her knee into the rungs, and she hisses sharply.

The hand disappears. “Sorry, I’m sorry!”

Her feet reach solid ground, and she is glad for the darkness hiding her face.

She blindly reaches out a hand for the wall to steady herself, turning into the direction of the soft noises of San shuffling around.

Light floods the small space from a crack in the wall, widening fast as San opens what Mia assumes is another hidden doorway.

“San! For fuck's sake you almost gave me a heart attack!”

The voice is hushed, and Mia watches a tall figure block most of the doorway, throwing his arms around San's shoulders and pulling him out. She recognizes Yunho's face the moment he spots her, still hovering behind San, and a myriad of emotions cross his face. Shock, relief, confusion.

“Get in here!” He whispers, reaching an arm towards Mia and pulling her out. Something inside her calms at the familiar face, even though Yunho looks more stressed than she has ever seen him. She blinks, looking around the windowless room that is filled with computers and an entire wall of monitors. The monitors are all black.

She turns back to Yunho and San, who are talking in hushed voices.

“...the generator?”

“If I turn on the generator they know that we know they are here. We don't know if their plan B is to blow up the building or something, we can't risk it!”

“So what's the plan?”

“Get everybody out as fast as possible. Mingi is getting Yeosang and Jongho to the tunnels, and I just located Wooyoung. The only ones missing are Hongjoong and Seonghwa, they're not in their rooms.”

San groans. “Ah fuck they could be fucking anywhere. Seonghwa just got back, of course they're not sleeping!”

Yunho shoots a look in Mia's direction before turning back to San. “They're not in this part of the building, they're not in the basement and I doubt they went to the roof. My bet is on the library.”

They look at each other for a while, and there seems to be some sort of silent conversation happening. Mia looks from one to the other, her heart hammering, trying to understand what the hell is happening.

Eventually, San groans. “Fuck,” he says softly, and Yunho puts a hand on his shoulder. “I promise I'll get Wooyoung out safely,” he mutters, and San nods, looking down.

“Do you have weapons?”

“One,” San says quietly, and Yunho turns around wordlessly, opening a drawer and pulling out another gun. He turns to Mia, but San puts up a hand, stopping him.

“Let's give her the Glock,” he mutters, and Yunho nods.

“Alright, Mia,” San says, turning towards her and pulling out the gun he had stuck into the back of his pants earlier. Mia flinches, taking a step back, wide eyes trained on the weapon.

Something twitches in San's face, but he continues talking as if nothing happened.

“Keep your finger off the trigger until you are ready to shoot. Do not point your gun at anything you are not ready to kill. Be aware of your target and what is behind it, meaning, don’t shoot at someone who is standing between us. Are you right handed?”

Mia nods weakly.

“Alright, grip the gun firmly with your right hand, grip the top of the slide with your other hand, and push the grip forward. Like this, see? It takes less strength than pulling the slide back. Release the slide, let it slam back into place. If you've done that, your gun is ready to shoot. Wrap your left hand around your right so you're holding it firmly with both hands. Assume a stable position, with your feet apart, and line your target up with the front and rear sight, like this. Pull the trigger until the threat is eliminated or you are out of bullets. It's gonna be loud, and there will be a recoil, so be prepared for that. Any questions?”

Mia just stares at him, mouth open in shock. He can not be serious.

“San,” Yunho says, face pulled into a worried frown. “Maybe that's not such a good idea, maybe we should-”

“No!” San says, more loudly than before. There's something desperate in the way he stares at her. “She's got this. Mia, take the gun. Do what I just told you. It's okay, it's not loaded yet.”

Mia swallows, squares her shoulders, and takes the weapon from San's hand. The grip is warm against her palm, and it trembles in her grasp. It's heavy, but not as heavy as the one she had taken from Seonghwa. But maybe she had just been weaker then.

She tries placing her hands the way San had, gripping the top and pushing the weapon away from her. The slide draws back, and when she can't pull it any further she lets go, flinching at the way it whacks back into place.

“Good. Aim it at the door.”

Mia takes a deep breath, wraps her left hand around her right and lifts the weapon until she can squint along the sights on top of the barrel. At the last second, she remembers to widen her stance.

“Perfect, well done!”

Mia grits her teeth and closes her eyes as a wave of nausea hits her out of nowhere. The praise of his words, combined with the genuine approval in his voice, zaps through her body like electricity. Something warm spreads through her chest while at the same time she feels like someone punched her in the stomach, and a burning pressure builds behind her eyes.

No no no, she thinks, desperately. Stop it. Keep it together.

San and Yunho are talking again, and she takes a couple of shuddering breaths, trying to get her feelings under control. Yunho takes the gun from her shaking hands, and she blinks up at him, watching as he ejects the magazine and shoves a different one into it.

Somewhere in her dazed mind, she realizes that this gun is now loaded.

The whole situation feels unreal. She digs her nails into her palms, trying to use the pain to ground herself. They are still talking softly, and at some point Yunho gets something else from a different drawer.

“Just have the one here,” he mutters, and San nods.

“Mia?” Mia looks up at Yunho's voice. He looks at her like he expects her to break down any moment, and she stands a little straighter. “Hold up your arms, please.”

She obeys easily, and he helps her put on a heavy black vest. “This is a bullet proof vest,” he mutters as he closes it as tightly as possible, leaving it still rather loose and quite obviously too big on her. “It will not protect you from everything so try not to get shot at, yeah?” He smiles a bit, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Mia nods, glancing up at San who is still only dressed in a black t-shirt.

“What about San?” she whispers.

Yunho gives her a small pat on the cheek, something soft in his eyes. “San is fast,” he says quietly. “He can take care of himself.”

Before Mia can think of an answer, Yunho has turned around to face San.

“Don't take any unnecessary risks, you hear me?” He says lowly, and Mia sees San's eyes flicker in her direction for the briefest moment. “Do I ever?” he asks, and Yunho sighs.

“Don't die, alright?” he mutters, and Mia suddenly feels like she is intruding on something. She looks down at her feet when Yunho presses a quick kiss to San's forehead.

“I'll see you on the other side, my brother.”

Mia looks up when something cold nudges her arm. San is holding the gun by the barrel, offering it to her with an unreadable expression on his face. Yunho is gone.

She takes it hesitantly. “Where is Yunho?” she whispers. “Is he not coming with us?”

San shakes his head. “He's getting the others out,” he says softly. “Our job is to get to the library and leave with Hongjoong and Seonghwa.”

Mia swallows. “How far is the library?”

“Depends,” San says. “We can't take the direct way. We'll have to figure it out as we go, and we have to be quiet. If you hear anything, let me know. If anything goes wrong, try to find cover and wait until I have dealt with it. Use the gun only when absolutely necessary, alright?” Mia nods. She has no desire to use it at all.

“Let's go,” he mutters. “Stay close behind me. And, um,” he shoots her a look, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a smile. “Don't shoot me, alright?”

Mia grits her teeth and shakes her head, feeling her cheeks grow warm. She doesn't look at San.

They exit the room through the door Mia had aimed her gun at earlier, moving through a corridor draped in darkness. She runs a hand along one wall in order to keep her sense of direction, following San's near silent footsteps. The gun is an unfamiliar weight in her hand, but it does make her feel less helpless.

“Left,” San breathes at some point, and Mia follows him down a left turn.

“Stairs,” only a few seconds later, and they silently descend down a dark stairwell. The adrenaline is keeping the pain in her knee down better than any painkillers ever had.

Mia has no idea how long they walk through the darkness, until San stops.

“Quiet,” he whispers, and Mia stops breathing. Very carefully, San opens a door, revealing a sliver of light. They stand in complete silence for several seconds, and then the light disappears again.

“Back!” San hisses, and a hand wraps around her arm, pulling her away from the door. Mia's heart stutters as she waits for people to follow them, for gunshots to tear through the silence and men shouting, but nothing happens. San continues to pull her along, faster now than before, and eventually he opens a different door.

They walk into what looks like a study, and San lets go of her arm, walking straight towards the windows. He looks out for quite a while, searching the dark gardens, and then he curses softly.

“What's wrong?” Mia whispers.

“I thought we could use the fire escape, but they're out there. We'll have to go risk the open corridors.”

Mia nods, not seeing any other option than blindly trusting whatever course of action San deems best.

San walks away from the windows and towards a different door, putting his ear against it for a while. After several seconds have passed, he turns to look at Mia, a grim set to his jaw.

“You ready?”

Mia swallows, takes a breath, and nods. Her hands tighten around the handle of her gun.

“We gotta be quick,” he whispers, and waits for Mia to nod again before he cracks open the door, peering out.

“Alright,” he breathes, looks back once more and then opens it fully. Mia hurries out after him, glad for the way her socked feet are basically noiseless on the wooden floors.

They walk out into another corridor, this one larger and more open, a huge window at the end letting in moonlight. They creep forwards, and San gestures for her to stop when they reach a wide open space, one wall falling away to reveal the view of a large hall, separated by an intricate railing. San crouches down and crosses the open space in a short sprint, holding out a hand that tells her to wait. After a couple of tense seconds, San beckons her to follow. Mia crouches down behind the railing and tries to be as fast as she can, ignoring the protests of her knee. She reaches San without incident.

More moonlit corridors follow, and they encounter nothing but silence. San keeps throwing short little glances over his shoulder, as if making sure that she is still there. Mia forces down any thought that is not focused on move, fast, quiet.

“Almost there,” San whispers as they turn into another dark corridor, and Mia looks up to see the massive carved double doors at the far end. Her sigh of relief gets stuck in her throat when she remembers who might be waiting on the other side.

They reach the huge doors without incident. San walks towards the right. “Let me check the side d-”

The large doors bang open, and Mia recoils in shock at the loud noise. She gets one glance of Seonghwa's face, teeth bared in rage, before she stares down the barrel of a gun, pointed right between her eyes.

“YOU!” he snarls.

She stands frozen, her own gun hanging limply by her side.

“Seonghwa! Stop!” San is at her side in an instant, throwing out his arms to cover her with his body. Seonghwa immediately drops his arm, pointing the gun towards the ground.

Never point your gun at something you are not ready to kill, echoes through her brain.

“MOVE!” Seonghwa's face has lost none of its fury, but now it is directed at San.

Hongjoong appears next to him in the doorway, putting a hand on Seonghwa's bare chest. Mia takes in his appearance for the first time, the black coat thrown over a naked torso, black hair in disarray. Hongjoong doesn't look much better, cheeks flushed and shirt half unbuttoned.

Mia blinks, eyes skipping between the two. What.

Hongjoong's touch seems to calm Seonghwa down to some degree, and he allows himself to be pushed back.

“What the hell is going on, San?” Hongjoong asks quietly.

“The house is infiltrated. They cut the power. Yunho is getting the others out. We need to leave, now!”

“Why the fuck does she have a gun!” Seonghwa hisses, and Mia suppresses the urge to take a step back.

“I ran into her and took her along,” San says, his voice steady.

Seonghwa laughs. “Oh really, what a coincidence. Off to welcome your friends, were you?” His gaze is back on Mia, burning right through her. She shakes her head frantically, failing to find her voice.

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong mutters. “Now is not the time.”

“Why don't we just give them what they want, hm?” Seonghwa tilts his head, allowing several stands of hair to fall into his eyes as a manic grin splits across his face, and Mia feels her heart drop through the floor.

“That's enough.”

Mia flinches, and she sees San have the same reaction, as well as, to her utmost surprise, Seonghwa. There is something sharp and dangerous in Hongjoong's voice, something that cuts through the tense atmosphere like a blade, leaving no room for dissent. He runs a hand through his hair, flattening down the unruly black strands, and turns to San.

“How far in are they?” he asks, voice deceptively calm.

“I don't know,” San says. “I don't think they've reached this part of the house yet. They came through the front door. I saw them on the second floor near the observation room but I haven't heard anything since. They're in the gardens too.”

Hongjoong nods. “The others are taking the tunnels?” he asks.

“Yes.”

There's a short pause and then Hongjoong grimaces. “Let's head to the garage then,” he says and San nods as if he expected the answer. Mia chances a look at Seonghwa, who is still staring at her, a gun in each hand, both barrels pointed towards the ground.

Hongjoong nudges her arm, and she flinches, turning her attention to him. “Do you know how to shoot that?” he asks softly. Mia swallows. “San- gave me a demonstration,” she whispers.

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa says, gritting the word out between clenched teeth.

Hongjoong turns around, and Mia doesn't see his face but Seonghwa doesn't seem happy by what he finds there. He shuts his mouth, grimaces, and then dips his head in a movement so small it is almost unnoticeable.

“Right.” Hongjoong says. “Mia, stay close to San. If we encounter anyone, take cover. If there is no cover, get down on the floor and cover your head. Seonghwa, bring up the rear.”

“Are you armed?” San asks as they get into formation. “Yes,” says Hongjoong, not elaborating any further.

San grabs Mia's arm, only to immediately let it go again. She looks up to see a conflicted expression on his face, teeth worrying his bottom lip.

“I- is it- can I-”

Mia sighs. “It's okay, San,” she mutters, soft enough to only reach his ears. She doesn't look at him, but she feels a tentative hand on her back, suppressing a shiver at the familiar warmth. At the first couple of steps they climb down, the hand moves to wrap around her arm, and from then on, it stays there.

Mia feels calmer than she should. Her eyes are on Hongjoong's back, the black silk shirt covered in delicate silver embroideries fluttering around his slim frame, and she sees no hesitation in his movements.

They encounter nothing but silence, and Mia notices the sky outside has turned from black to a deep indigo.

She is starting to feel slightly on edge by the lack of people. Where the hell are they?

“There's no way they left the garage unguarded,” San breathes, and Hongjoong throws a grim look over his shoulder. “I know.”

They reach another door, and Hongjoong, for the first time, hesitates. He turns around, facing San. “The others are safe?”

“They should all be out by now,” San whispers, something heavy in his words.

Hongjoong nods. “Good,” he says. His gaze wanders to somewhere behind them, and Mia knows he is looking at Seonghwa. There is something burning in his eyes, some soft, smoldering intensity that she can't quite place. His mouth pulls up into a smile, eyes flashing mischievously. “Ready to have some fun?”

Without waiting for an answer, he kicks open the door.

They are met with gunfire, flashes, shouting. Mia jerks back from the door, but the hand on her arm pulls her forward, into the mayhem. She looks down, terrified to lose her footing, shoulders hunched in a desperate attempt to make herself smaller.

“STAY DOWN!” San shouts above the noise, and then he is gone. Mia whimpers, crouching low with her hands over her ears, gun forgotten at her side. Her shoulder is pressed against cold, smooth stone, her eyes shut tightly.

The shouts have turned into screams, and the clamor of gunfire is joined by the sound of broken glass. Mia expects bullets to rip through her flesh at any second, panic locking her muscles into place. Why won't it end?

She has no idea how long she stays crouched there, before eventually her fear for the others overcomes the raw panic keeping her down. Are they alive? Is someone hurt? She opens her eyes, taking in her surroundings. San had left her behind the wide base of a marble pillar, large enough to completely cover her form. The room they are in is huge, and peering around the pillar she can see a large balcony spanning the entire length of the hall. There are people on that balcony, masked men dressed in black.

A piece of marble explodes right next to her head, and she pulls back with a gasp, feeling a burning pain along the side of her forehead. She raises a hand to her face and stares at her bloody fingers, trying to calm down her racing heartbeat. Just a splinter of stone, she tells herself. Not a bullet.

Looking to the side, she spots Seonghwa crouched behind another pillar, a look of deep concentration on his face as he darts to the left for only a split second, firing a round at the balcony before immediately pulling back again. A faint scream lets her know that his shot found its target.

A spray of bullets follows, aimed at Seonghwa's pillar, and Mia watches the explosion of dust and marble splinters flying through the air. She can see neither San nor Hongjoong.

Fear clenches her stomach at the thought of either of them being hurt, and she picks up her own gun with shaking hands.

Grab the slide, push the gun forward, let the slide snap back into place, she tells herself, going through the motions with a numb feeling. She holds it tightly with two hands, like San had told her to, and peers around the pillar again. And that's when she sees Hongjoong.

He is hanging from the wall underneath the balcony, climbing up to the platform still filled with black clad figures. If anyone not on the balcony is still alive, they could easily pick him off, but everyone on the ground floor seems to be dead. With a feeling of anxious fascination, Mia watches his progress. Just when he is almost at the top, Mia hears Seonghwa bark an order.

“San! NOW!”

Mia pulls back as more gunshots burst out through the room, feeling a lightheaded relief as she realizes that that must mean San is still alive.

Screams suddenly echo through the room, and Mia can't help but peer around the corner again, realizing that Hongjoong has made it onto the balcony and is evidently wreaking all kinds of havoc. She hears a shout coming from her side, watches as Seonghwa leaves his cover, darting forward out of her field of vision.

And then, silence.

Someone starts laughing maniacally, and Mia gingerly sticks her head out just in time to see Hongjoong jump down from the balcony and throw himself into Seonghwa's waiting arms.

It's over, she thinks and steps out from behind her pillar, eyes roaming across the room until she finally finds San.

He is walking out from behind a massive wooden desk that is riddled with bullet holes. His face is flushed, his eyes wide, and he turns towards Mia, locking eyes with her and smiling.

Something twinges in her chest as she finds herself smiling back, and then she sees it.

A man, mask long ripped off, darting out from behind a cabinet, gun raised up, aimed at San's back.

“NO!”

The scream comes from her side, where Seonghwa shoves Hongjoong off in a frantic motion, reaching for the pistols he had placed back into their holsters.

A single shot rings out, echoing in the large hall, and time seems to stop.

San stands frozen, hands pressed against his chest. He looks down, seemingly confused at the lack of blood, and then the man behind him collapses to the floor with a soft thump, his gun clattering on the marble floor.

San looks up, movements slow, and stares at Mia. The gun is still clutched in her hands, so tightly that her knuckles have gone white, and the barrel is shaking, still pointed at the man that is now dead.

The man that she killed. She killed someone.

Mia's eyes are locked on his lifeless form, at the pool of blood slowly growing around his body.

She flinches when someone touches her arm, and she looks up to see Hongjoong, his face splattered with red, his hand gently circling her wrist to direct the gun downwards.

“Let go now,” he says softly, and Mia tries, she really does, but her muscles are locked into place, her fingers refusing to loosen their death grip around the handle of the weapon.

“It's okay, you're okay,” he says, and he sounds like he is talking to a scared animal. Is that what she is?

Gently, Hongjoong begins to pry her fingers away, leaving sticky smears of blood on her skin, and Mia doesn't put up a fight when he finally frees the weapon from her clammy hands. Her vision starts to get fuzzy around the edges.

“Breathe,” he mutters, and Mia takes a gasping breath, whimpering as her body starts shaking uncontrollably.

“Hongjoong, we need to go.” Seonghwa sounds strange, but Mia doesn't have the capacity to give that much thought. Her eyes are back on the dead body. There is so much blood. How is there so much blood?

“I'll take her,” someone mutters, and Mia looks up to see San. He too looks at her strangely, and Mia suddenly feels angry, angry at them all being so careful with her, when she just fucking shot someone.

San's hand is back on her arm, and she hates how much that soothes the panic still coursing through her body. She lets herself be guided to the door, trying to ignore the blood on her hands, trying and failing not to look back at the dead body. There are bodies everywhere, on the balcony, on the floor, spread out between the wreckage of the room, but she can only see the one.

She stumbles over something soft, freezing in horror when she realizes what she just stepped into, warm blood soaking into her socks.

San turns around, tugs on her arm. She hardly notices.

“Mia come on, we really need to-”

“DOWN!”

Everything happens too fast. One second she is staring into the face of a man with a hole in his forehead, the next a searing pain explodes in her side, punching the air out of her lungs. Before she has time to process the fact that she just got shot, something heavy barrels into her, throwing her to the ground. She is buried under a warm body, and she wants to scream but there is no air in her lungs. The body jerks above her, and she hears a small grunt of pain, and somehow that noise scares her more than the gunfire that has erupted around them once more. Her eyes fly open and she finds herself only inches away from San's face, teeth bared in a grimace of agony, eyes shut tightly.

Her vision begins to get blurry, and she can't even tell if it's tears or the lack of oxygen.

Is this how we die?

Someone pulls San away from her, her fingers uselessly grasping at his shirt. People are shouting again, but she can't hear what they're saying.

An arm wraps around her middle, and the pain in her side almost makes her pass out as she is dragged backwards, out of the room, through a door. She feels herself getting lifted, an arm underneath her shoulders and one under her thighs, and the first breath she takes, face buried in the crook of someone's neck, is of a distinctly floral perfume.

 

Notes:

hehe

Many thanks to my beta reader's awesome brother who is an expert and very patiently walked me through the whole gun instructions ^_^ I do love things like that to be accurate!

Chapter 17

 

The next minutes pass in a blur. One second, she gets a glimpse of the twilit sky, the next, she’s being shoved into the back of a car. Doors are slamming shut, and then the car lurches forward. The start of the drive is accompanied by muffled bangs, and one time she looks out of the window just in time to see a bullet lodge itself in the glass right in front of her face. She doesn’t even flinch at this point.

The car takes several sharp turns, gravel crunching underneath the tires, and Mia gets thrown to the side, held in place by a seat belt. When had someone strapped her in?

Muffled shouts, and then the car hits something with a muted thump. She closes her eyes as she feels the tires jolt over something lying on the path.

Another sharp turn, and suddenly they are flying over smooth asphalt, the purr of the engine the only sound to be heard.

Mia’s arms are wrapped around her middle. Slowly, as her thoughts turn back to her own body, she notices a distinct lack of blood. She should have bled out by now. She brings a tentative hand to the pain in her side, and finds something hard, cold. Grimacing, her fingers dig through the fabric until they close around the warped piece of metal lodged in the bullet proof vest.

Of course.

Somehow, the realization brings her no comfort.

Every breath burns like fire along her side, and she tries to keep them shallow. The adrenaline drains out of her body, leaving behind exhaustion and pain.

A soft groan causes her to look up.

San is sitting to the left of her, curled up against the window. Strands of damp black hair are sticking to his forehead, and his face looks deathly pale. His eyes are closed.

Fear twists Mia’s stomach, and she reaches out a shaky hand.

“San?” she whispers, tentatively touching his thigh with the tips of her fingers.

San’s eyes blink open, and it looks like he has trouble focusing his gaze. It takes several seconds for him to find her face, and then his eyes drop down to where she is touching his leg.

She draws back her hand.

“You,” he breathes, blinking a couple of times and squinting back at her face. “You alright?”

His words are slurred, and his forehead is scrunched up with the effort to speak.

“I’m wearing a bullet proof vest, you idiot, unlike you.” Mia whispers and watches his mouth twitch into the shadow of a smile. He leans his head back against the seat, closing his eyes again. Mia’s heart quickens.

“Hey, don’t- don’t do that!” She remembers hearing somewhere that it’s important for people to stay awake in these situations. Or is that just a movie thing? Better not to take any chances.

San opens his eyes the barest amount. “Hmm?”

“Don’t fall asleep!”

San’s head lolls to the side, facing her. “Why not?” he mutters.

“Um, so you don’t die?”

Mia feels somewhat flustered at the way San stares at her, and then his face pulls into a smile wide enough to show his dimples.

“Whatever,” Mia grumbles and looks away. That was a mistake, because she suddenly catches Seonghwa’s dark eyes in the rear view mirror, watching her. She looks down and takes a breath, wincing at the pain stabbing through her side.

“Mia,” San whispers, and Mia turns back to look at him. The smile has disappeared and has been replaced by a tortured expression. Mia wonders how much pain he is in.

“Yeah?” she says, since he seems to wait for an acknowledgment.

“’M so, so sorry.” His voice is shaky, and Mia watches his eyes fill with tears. She grimaces, shaking her head. “San, I can’t- I can’t do this right now.”

San nods, turning away, and Mia pretends she doesn’t see the tear rolling down his dusty cheek, leaving a track of clean skin behind.

Her heart hurts, her body hurts. She is so tired. She hopes she doesn’t start crying too, she can only imagine the agony that would bring.

“We’re at the hospital in ten minutes,” Hongjoong says, voice soft in the quiet of the car, and Mia nods.

“What about the others?” She asks with a sudden surge of anxiety.

“They’re all safe, Yunho texted.” Hongjoong answers, and Mia releases a shaky breath. She looks to the side and sees that San’s eyes are closed again, his mouth open slightly.

“Will he be okay?” she asks, voice very small. She glances up to see Seonghwa’s eyes in the mirror again, and then Hongjoong turns around in his seat, looking first at San and then at her. He had apparently done his best to wipe the majority of the blood off his face, looking almost normal again. He gives her a small smile.

“He’ll be fine,” he says warmly. “He’s had worse.”

Mia isn’t sure how to feel about that, so she just nods and allows her head to fall back against the headrest.

~

“Wooyoung, slow down!”

Wooyoung ignores Yunho’s voice, shouldering open the next swinging door, ignoring the pain flaring up in his abdomen.

“Wooyoung I swear to god, don’t make me regret taking you along with me!”

A hand catches the back of his jacket, pulling him to a stop. He whirls around to face an exasperated looking Yunho.

“Let me GO!” he hisses, jerking his body in an attempt to free himself.

“You don’t even know where you’re going! You just barged off without listening to the nurse, what exactly is your plan here?”

Wooyoung scowls, saying nothing. He hates it when Yunho is right.

“What’s the room number?” he snaps. Yunho sighs. “San is still in surgery and no you cannot just walk into the operating room because you want to see his face.”

Wooyoung huffs. “Where is Mia then? Hongjoong said she also got hurt.”

Yunho puts his hands on Wooyoung’s shoulders, ignoring his attempts to shrug him off. “Mia’s room is precisely where I’m headed, so if you just calm down and stop running off in random directions we can go there together. Yes?”

Wooyoung grimaces, but Yunho’s hands are steady, a calming weight on his shoulders, and he forces himself to take a slow breath. “Fine,” he mutters.

Yunho smiles and takes his hand, and Wooyoung feels like a child. He swallows against the lump in his throat.

The hallways of this hospital are familiar. Wooyoung knows that Hongjoong has some kind of deal with them, even though he never asked for any details. He only knows that they always go to this specific hospital and that they always get excellent treatment here, without getting the police called on them. He also knows that Hongjoong regularly brings his guns along, which are probably not usually allowed in hospitals. He kind of hopes that this service is the result of generous donations rather than threats of violence, but he doesn’t care enough to ask. Knowing Hongjoong, it’s probably a mix of both.

“Here we are,” Yunho says softly, stirring Wooyoung from his thoughts. He hesitates before rapping his knuckles against the door in a practiced rhythm.

The door swings open to reveal Hongjoong, looking very well put together except for the obvious blood stains on his expensive shirt. He smiles at the sight of Yunho and Wooyoung and steps aside, letting them in.

Wooyoung spots Mia, wearing a hospital gown and looking very pale, sitting up in one of the beds. Her face lights up when she sees him.

“Mia!” Wooyoung crosses the room, reaching out for a hug only to quickly draw his arms back again before he can accidentally hurt her. “Um, I heard you’re injured?” His eyes scan her body.

“Uh, yeah, bruised ribs,” Mia mutters and places a careful hand on her left side. Wooyoung grimaces. “Oof, those hurt like a BITCH!” he says, earning himself a smile.

“They really do,” she nods and sighs. “I really shouldn’t complain though. I was wearing a bullet proof vest so…” she looks down.

Wooyoung peers at the gauze taped across her forehead. “What happened here?”

“Huh? Oh, that.” Mia touches the bandage absentmindedly, like she had forgotten it’s there. “Just a scratch, I think that was a piece of marble flying around. Nothing to worry about.”

Her eyes drop down to her hands again. Wooyoung looks around, finds a chair and starts pulling it across the room. He glances at Yunho and Hongjoong, who are having a quiet conversation.

“...Seonghwa?” Hongjoong shakes his head. “Not here,” he mutters and throws a sideways glance at Wooyoung, who quickly looks away and returns to Mia’s side.

“Hey,” he says softly, watching as Mia looks back up at him with a guarded expression. “Are you… alright? That must have been fucking terrifying.”

Mia doesn’t say anything for a long time, then she takes a small, shaky breath.

“I killed someone,” she whispers.

Wooyoung blinks, his mouth falling open. “You what?”

Mia’s lips are starting to tremble.

“Sorry, sorry, I just-” Wooyoung says quickly. “I mean- how?”

“I shot him,” she says, voice barely audible. Wooyoung watches as the pointer finger of her right hand curls slightly, as if in memory of pulling a trigger.

“You-” Wooyoung’s mind is racing, trying to come up with something to say. He wants to know what the fuck happened, but Mia looks like she is seconds away from bursting into tears, her shoulders curled inwards. She looks so small like this.

He sighs, grabbing her hand in both of his and pressing a kiss to the back of it. Mia blinks up at him, her eyes wide.

“That sucks,” he says softly. “And I mean for you, not for the guy you shot. He probably deserved it.”

Mia huffs a surprised little laugh. Wooyoung smiles at her. “First one is always the hardest, you know? I know I bawled my eyes out for hours after my first. But it gets better, I promise.”

Mia nods, looking at their connected hands.

“So, um.” Wooyoung starts. “I’m kinda dying of curiosity about how the hell that happened but I also want you to know that it’s super valid if you don’t want to talk about it, today or ever. But sometimes it helps to talk about it!”

He squeezes their hands, smiling in what he hopes is an encouraging way.

Mia sighs. “It was already over,” she says softly, and Wooyoung leans forward in his chair. “I thought it was over. Hongjoong and S-Seonghwa were hugging and San was looking in my direction but then someone was suddenly behind him and- and they were about to shoot him and I don’t- I don’t even know what happened, it was like my brain went blank and next thing I know he was dead and I-”

She takes another shaky breath and Wooyoung puts a hand on her cheek. “Hey, it’s okay!” he says. “Deep breaths, alright?”

Mia nods, taking a couple of deep breaths, wincing when they hurt her ribs.

“You shot the guy who was about to shoot San,” Wooyoung repeats, his voice very quiet.

Mia looks up at him, blinking a couple of times, then she nods.

“You- you saved his life,” Wooyoung says, hearing the way his voice shakes.

“I-” Mia looks mildly panicked. “I don’t know!”

“It certainly sounds like it!” Wooyoung cries and Mia flinches.

“He got shot because of me,” she whimpers, and her eyes are bright with tears and guilt. “More people came into the room and started shooting and he threw himself over me even though I had a vest and he didn’t and he should have just worn that and-”

“Hey, stop that! Don’t say things like that.” Wooyoung scolds, pulling Mia’s chin towards him so she has to look at him. “You are not responsible for his decisions. Those are his own.”

Mia’s lips press into a tight line. “He probably only did that because he felt guilty,” she whispers.

“Well yeah he should though, shouldn’t he? If that was his attempt at righting some of his wrongs by taking pain that you would have otherwise gotten in order to compensate for the pain that he wrongfully caused you, isn’t that kinda valid?”

Mia blinks.

Wooyoung takes her face in both of his hands. “You,” he says, very earnestly. “You wonderful, amazing, brave woman, you saved my best friend, the person I love most in this world, even though he treated you horribly. Do you even know what that means?”

Mia swallows, and Wooyoung feels her cheeks grow warm under his palms.

“I will never forget that. None of us ever will. We are forever in your debt. I would take another bullet for you, do you even realize? We all would!”

“Please don’t,” Mia whispers, and Wooyoung leans in to place a kiss on her forehead, carefully avoiding the bandaged cut.

Mia smiles a bit when he draws back, but the smile quickly fades. “This is all… a lot,” she mutters, and Wooyoung nods. “I know,” he says, smiling warmly. “And nobody expects you to figure anything out in the next couple of days. Just take it easy and give your brain some time to catch up, alright?”

Mia nods, and then her eyes suddenly focus on something behind him. Wooyoung turns around to see that Yunho has approached the bed. Hongjoong is nowhere to be seen.

“Hey,” he says, a bit awkwardly but with genuine warmth in his eyes. Mia smiles a bit unsurely.

“I want to ask you how you are but that’s probably not something you can give me any kind of accurate answer on so I’ll just spare us both,” he says and Mia’s smile widens a bit, turns genuine. “Thanks,” she says. “I appreciate that, honestly.”

“I, um.” He glances at Wooyoung, then looks down again. “I heard what happened,” he says eventually, looking back at Mia who has started fiddling with her blanket.

“So… thank you,” he says, softly, gaze heavy with the weight of his sincerity.

Mia’s fiddling stops, and they stare at each other for several seconds before Yunho clears his throat. “I uh, I’ll go find some food,” he says and turns around without waiting for an answer, leaving Mia and Wooyoung alone in the room.

~

Yunho runs into Hongjoong on his way to the cafeteria, dressed in a clean shirt, a phone pressed to his ear and a tight expression on his face. He catches Hongjoong’s eye, raising an eyebrow in a silent question of whether his presence is permitted. Hongjoong ignores him, so Yunho stays, leaning against the wall of the empty corridor.

“I don’t care Seonghwa, just because you don’t see anyone doesn’t mean that nobody sees you!”

Yunho is not surprised that it is Seonghwa on the other end of the line. Few people can get Hongjoong this visibly worked up.

His leader pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, taking a breath with his eyes closed. When he speaks again, his voice is calmer.

“Do what you must. I don’t want you there any longer than twenty minutes.”

Hongjoong turns his back to Yunho, concealing his expression, but Yunho can see the way his free hand clenches and unclenches as he listens, the tight set of his shoulders.

It is touching, the way Hongjoong allows him to see through the cracks. He knows that not many people get this privilege. Hongjoong is perfectly capable of presenting a smooth, diamond hard exterior, no matter what is going on inside of him. But he lets Yunho in, in his own way. Yunho knows him well enough to see this for what it is: a tremendous show of love and trust.

Hongjoong takes the phone away from his ear with a sigh and turns around to face Yunho. There’s a small unhappy crease between his eyebrows.

“Seonghwa is at the mansion,” he starts and Yunho’s eyes widen. “Is it still standing?”

“Yeah,” Hongjoong says, and then sorrow bleeds into his eyes. “The guards are all dead.”

Silence spreads between them, cold and empty, and Yunho fights the urge to claw at his chest. “Alex had a baby on the way,” he whispers, and Hongjoong nods.

“I already sent people out to collect all of their families and set them up in safe houses, at least for now. It’s the least we can do.”

Yunho blinks against the pressure building behind his eyes. He should have thought of that. He’s usually the one to deal with logistics like that, who thinks ahead, who makes sure all of their bases are covered.

“That’s- that’s good,” he says, and his voice comes out all wrong. He wrote the staff roster. He wrote down all of those names, deciding on who would come in that night. He doubled their number, like Hongjoong had asked. None of them had complained, even though some of them had definitely sacrificed their free weekends. Yunho had promised them all a raise once all of this was over.

Now they were all dead.

He takes a shuddering breath, and for just a moment, he sees a tremble in Hongjoong’s bottom lip. Then his jaw sets, his eyes narrow, and the grief gets replaced by pure, cold anger. Yunho stops himself from taking a step back, reminding himself that Hongjoong’s wrath is not directed at him.

“They will pay,” Hongjoong says, and it’s almost shocking how calm his voice is. Like he is merely stating a fact, not making a threat. It doesn’t take away from the fire in his eyes.

Yunho nods. He knows they will. Nobody has ever stepped away from hurting his family.

“What is our plan?” he asks quietly.

“We need to set up base somewhere we can continue our investigations from. None of our safe houses here in this city are big enough for all of us, but I think it would be better to split up anyway. You and I will join Seonghwa, the rest can go to the lake house.”

Yunho considers this. “If we want to continue tracing the number, we need Yeosang.”

Hongjoong frowns. “Yeosang is our medic. I was planning to leave him with the others, we have three people injured right now. Can’t you two work together remotely?”

Yunho shakes his head. “It would be both riskier and more difficult. Mia and Wooyoung are fine as long as they don’t overdo anything. We’ll have to see about San, but I doubt this will keep him down for long.”

Hongjoong sighs. “The doctors said San will be fine, the bullet didn’t hit anything important. We got very lucky- again. I feel like we’ve used up all of our luck at this point. We need to be more careful, I don’t want to tempt fate.”

“The lake house is not a bad place to heal,” Yunho offers. “They would be safe there, and they’d have Jongho and Mingi there just in case something happens. We wouldn’t leave them without fighters.”

Hongjoong runs a hand through his hair and gives Yunho a tired smile. “They also have San. You know something as trivial as a bullet to his flank is not gonna stop him from defending everyone if he needs to. I just-” he sighs again. “If you’re with us, and Yeosang is with us, we’re basically leaving them without any functioning adults. I mean, who’s gonna take over the leader position, Mingi?”

Yunho smiles. “They have Jongho!”

He watches as the corners of Hongjoong’s mouth pull down. “Jongho is our baby! He is younger even than Mia, I can’t give him all that responsibility!”

The expression on Hongjoong’s face almost makes Yunho laugh. “You know what, you could also just not assign a single person to the leadership position and trust that they’ll be fine deciding things as a group?”

Hongjoong frowns and Yunho suppresses a smile.

“Hyung, if they have a problem, they can also just call. And if they have a medical emergency, they can drive to the nearest town where there’s a doctor or a hospital. You know, like normal people do!”

Hongjoong tilts his head. “I guess,” he says slowly, but the small frown stays on his face. He is not happy, but he accepts that this is the better solution.

Yunho has a different worry.

“Do you think Mia will be okay with San there? It was not really a problem to avoid him at the mansion, but the lake house isn’t that big.”

Hongjoong gives him an odd look. “Well I’d say at least we know now that she doesn’t want him dead, don’t we?”

“I mean… yeah.”

What Mia had done would have to be discussed at some point, what that meant for them, what this would change. But that conversation would have to wait.

“Should I send Jongho ahead to get the house ready? And then the others follow later?”

“Send Wooyoung along with him, there is no reason for him to stay here any longer. Mingi will drive San and Mia once they are cleared.”

Yunho nods, trying not to think about whether Mia would be upset to be locked in a car with San for two hours. They didn’t have the luxury to be mindful of that stuff right now. He just hopes that Mingi’s anxiety wouldn’t go through the roof at the tensions around him. He’ll be fine, he tells himself, but his gut twists with worry. He doesn’t like being away from Mingi, and he knows that Mingi likes it even less.

He notices that Hongjoong’s attention is back on his phone, and takes that as the clear dismissal that it is. With a sigh, he turns around to continue on his way to the cafeteria.

 

Chapter 18

Notes:

I hope you're ready for several chapters of LAKE HOUSE FUN ayyyyyyy

 

“Are you cold? There’s a seat heater!”

Mia looks over at Mingi, who is holding the steering wheel in a grip so tight his knuckles have gone white. He is throwing nervous little glances her way.

“Um, seat heater sounds great actually, thank you!”

Something softens inside her at the small smile lifting the corners of Mingi’s mouth, even if it is still nervous.

“Here, it’s this button,” Mingi supplies helpfully and points towards the correct set of shiny silver buttons after Mia had stared at the console for just a little too long.

“Thanks,” she says, trying to keep her tone light, and activates the seat heater.

Mingi has been awkwardly fussing over her since the moment he had stepped out of the silver BMW in front of the hospital. Mia had dreaded the long car ride, picturing herself trapped in the back seat with San again, but Mingi had immediately opened the front passenger door for her and she had gratefully accepted. It is easier to ignore San now that he is sitting in the back by himself, and he has not said a word throughout the entire ride.

She was squirming under the heavy unspoken tension, but not as much as Mingi. His eyes had darted between Mia and San and Mia could practically watch the sweat form on his temples. It was clear he was trying his absolute best to be as respectful and polite as possible, offering her drinks and snacks, but he was doing it with a tremble in his voice and something akin to fear in his eyes.

It succeeds in distracting Mia from her own awkwardness, and she actually finds herself feeling almost protective over this huge man who is probably a trained criminal. Whenever he offers her something, instead of politely refusing, she accepts and thanks him with what she hopes is a genuine and friendly smile, and every single time she gets rewarded by his shoulders relaxing just the tiniest bit.

“This is nice,” she says, leaning back into the warmth enveloping her as the leather seat heats up, and Mingi gives her another smile, this one wide enough to crinkle his eyes.

The landscape passes them by in a blur.

Mingi clears his throat. “Do you, um, like music?”

“Oh! Uh, yeah, of course,” Mia says quickly, watching the tips of Mingi’s ears turn pink. He keeps his eyes on the road.

“Any- Anything specific?”

Mia smiles, even though Mingi still isn’t looking at her. He has a pleasant voice, deep and husky and currently very soft.

“Not really, I mean, I’m pretty flexible. There’s good music in every genre, I think.”

Mingi nods, and Mia watches as his fingers drum on the steering wheel. “I agree,” he says.

“If you want to turn on the radio or something, I’m all for it!”

Another small, grateful smile, and then Mingi fiddles with the radio until he finds something he likes. It’s an old rock song, and Mia can feel the nervous glances Mingi throws her way, so she starts bobbing her head to the rhythm of the song to indicate her approval.

Mingi shifts on his seat, and then he finally relaxes.

The music helps. It distracts her from the person sitting in the back seat, the silence between them. Mia concentrates on the song, on the warmth underneath her body, the countryside flying by.

Half an hour later, Mingi exits the freeway, turning into ever smaller roads with less and less cars on them. They pass through a forest, a small village, another forest.

The car slows down as they turn into a narrow road marked by a big sign declaring it a private property, and Mia feels her nerves flair up again.

Only a few minutes later, they stop in front of a metal gate. Mia spots several cameras mounted on the surrounding fence. She expects Mingi to get out and punch a code into the silver keypad next to the gate, but he simply waits and only seconds later, the gate pulls to the side all by itself.

Mia swallows as they pass through, listening to the sound of the gate closing behind them. A ring of trees seems to envelop the property, and when they finally pass the last ones, revealing the lake house, she is almost surprised at how normal it looks.

She had expected something grand and luxurious, like the mansion, but this is simply a white two story house sitting at the edge of a lake and a rather overgrown garden on the side facing them.

A black car is parked on the side of the gravel path, and Mingi pulls their car to a stop behind it. As soon as he cuts the engine, the door of the house flies open, and Mia watches a very happy looking Wooyoung emerge, followed by Jongho who looks somewhat annoyed and who seems to have a tight grip on the back of Wooyoung’s sweater.

Wooyoung lifts his arms to wave enthusiastically before immediately dropping them again, grimacing in pain as he wraps an arm around his middle. Jongho’s scowl deepens and he says something Mia can’t hear, but Wooyoung only rolls his eyes and slaps at Jongho’s hand until he is released.

Mia clicks open her seatbelt and opens the door on her side, only to immediately wince at the pain flaring through her side. She stops moving and takes a slow, shallow breath.

“You, um, you need help?”

She looks up and sees Mingi standing next to her car door, looking worried and like he is not quite sure what to do with his hands.

Mia hesitates. Mingi’s face falls a bit, and she finds herself reaching a hand out, smiling up at him. Mingi immediately takes a hold of her arm, gently pulling her from the car.

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” Mia breathes and does her best to sound sincere.

“Hey Mia!” Wooyoung pops up from behind Mingi’s broad shoulders with a wide grin. It makes something warm bloom inside her chest. “Hi Woo!”

“Welcome to the lake house! Come on, I’ll show you your room.” Wooyoung takes her hand and pulls her towards the house. They pass Jongho who is walking towards the car at a more measured pace. When he catches Mia’s eyes he gives her a nod, this one accompanied by a small smile that Mia hurries to mirror, feeling shy but pleased.

“We used to go here on holidays a lot, but usually in the summer. It’s a shame that we can’t go swimming honestly, it’s way too cold for that, but at least we’ll be spared from the hoard of mosquitos that try to eat us alive every time.”

Wooyoung stops as soon as they pass the front door, giving her a short once over. “Are you alright with the stairs? Should I get Jongho to carry you?”

“I’m fine!” Mia says quickly, feeling her face heat up. Wooyoung giggles and squeezes her hand before leading her towards the wooden stairs.

Mia looks around, trying to take in as many details as possible. The house looks surprisingly lived in, the furniture mismatched and strewn with personal belongings, the walls covered in photographs. It looks cozy, friendly. A family home. Something tugs in Mia's chest.

“You’re gonna sleep in Jongho’s and Yeosang’s room, if that’s fine with you. We only have double bedrooms in here, I’m rooming with San, Mingi will stay in his and Yunho’s room and Jongho moved to Hongjoong’s and Seonghwa’s bedroom for now.”

Mia opens her mouth to ask why she didn’t just get put into that last room so Jongho could stay in his own, but something about the thought of sleeping in Seonghwa’s bedroom makes her viscerally uncomfortable. She shuts her mouth again, instead focusing on the pictures littering the wall as they make their slow way upstairs.

Laughing faces, frozen in time. A view of Yeosang’s profile against the sunset, leaning against the porch bannister, looking so beautiful it almost hurts. Seonghwa lounging in a lawn chair with a wide brimmed black hat and sunglasses, sipping a bright pink drink from a glass with a tiny umbrella. A shot of Yunho, Mingi and San tossing a very blurring looking figure into the lake while Wooyoung is doubled over in laughter next to them. Jongho wearing a snapback and an apron, manning a grill.

The next photograph makes Mia’s stomach sink. San, shirtless, eyes crinkled in laughter, with Wooyoung draped over his shoulders, pressing a kiss to one of San’s dimpled cheeks. San’s tattoo is on full display, but Mia finds herself averting her eyes. The picture her eyes fall on next makes her stop in her tracks.

Hongjoong, dressed in purple swim shorts, standing at the edge of the lake with a pool noodle in his hand, looking out towards the water. His bare back is in full view, displaying a huge tattoo of a crane, delicately inked in black and grey, wings spread in flight.

“The Crane,” Mia mutters, and Wooyoung whirls around, wide eyes flitting between her and the photograph. “Ah,” he says eventually, huffing a relieved little laugh. “You- you know, right? Because of the, ah, phone call situation?”

Mia nods. “I also asked Hongjoong about it,” she says and watches Wooyoung relax further. “Good, that’s good,” he says, more to himself. He throws her a quick smile before turning back around to finish their way upstairs.

“Your room is this one, and it’s right next to mine, see?” Wooyoung points towards a door with a sign that has “WooSan” written on it, surrounded by little hearts and cat faces. Mia swallows the sting of something painful in her throat and follows Wooyoung through the door right next to it.

“This one’s yours, we already got you some stuff since, you know, we didn’t really bring anything from the uh, house.” Wooyoung’s smile falls a bit as he gestures towards the pile of clothes on one of the two beds, pushed against opposite walls of the room.

“Thanks,” Mia whispers and Wooyoung nods, the smile back on his face but not quite reaching his eyes. “I’ll um, I’ll let you get settled in. I’m gonna start cooking now that you’re here, so dinner will probably be in about half an hour. Don’t be shy to sniff around, Jongho has given full consent for you to check all the drawers.” He grins at the face Mia makes and slips out of the room with a last little wave.

The door closes behind him, enveloping Mia in silence. She stands in the middle of the room, taking a long, deep breath, ignoring the pain in her side as her lungs push against her bruised ribs.

After a moment of just standing there, she lowers herself down onto the bed, toeing off the brand new black sneakers Yunho had wordlessly left in her hospital room. God knows how he knew her size. The fact that he even thought of that, had noticed her lack of shoes and then went to buy some in the middle of all the chaos, was so touching that it had almost made her cry.

Right now, she just feels exhausted.

She carefully moves the little pile of clothes off the bed and lies back against the soft bedding, staring up at the ceiling. Someone had glued little yellow stars all over it, and Mia wonders whether they are the kind that glow in the dark. She supposes that she will find out soon.

With a sigh, kept shallow enough not to hurt, she allows her body to relax and her eyes to fall closed.

~

A soft scratching sound drags Mia up from her sleep, and for a moment, she feels incredibly disoriented. Her thoughts are slow, sluggish, and when she can’t immediately place her surroundings, a spike of panic surges inside her. She sits up with a jolt, hissing at the pain in her ribs. At least that pain works to finally wake her up properly.

She presses a hand to her side, willing her heart to slow down. How long had she slept? The shadows had wandered, the golden light of late afternoon pouring through the windows at an angle.

“Mia?” a muffled voice calls softly through the door.

“Y-yeah?”

“It’s just me,” Wooyoung says and after some shuffling, the door flies open. “Ah sorry!” Wooyoung winces at the noise, entering the room with a plate of food in each hand and a bottle of juice tucked under one arm.

“Wooyoung! I would have helped!” Mia pushes herself off the bed only to immediately drop back down when Wooyoung clicks his tongue disapprovingly.

“You stay right there, you’re freshly injured and I am fully intending to pamper you to death. Don’t even try fighting me on this one, stop giving me that look!”

Mia lets out a long suffering groan, burying her face in her hands with some extra dramatics in order to make Wooyoung smile. She succeeds.

“Scooch over, we’re eating on the bed!” he announces happily and kicks a pillow to the side with his knee.

Mia blinks up at him. “Oh? We’re not eating with the others?”

Wooyoung passes her one of the plates, piled high with baked vegetables and extremely crispy looking potatoe slices. “I didn’t think you’d be super comfortable with that,” he says, scooching up on the bed until his back hits the wall. “I mean, San is there and everything. I couldn’t really picture you being happy sitting at a table with him.”

Mia grimaces. “Yeah I- I guess not,” she mutters, shoving a potato into her mouth. They’re as crispy as they look. “Thanks,” she adds, peering at Wooyoung who has his mouth full of vegetables. “For, you know, thinking of that. And for keeping me company.”

Wooyoung shrugs, smiling around his stuffed cheeks.

They eat in silence for a while. Mia has the distinct feeling that Wooyoung has something to say, and she appreciates that he is holding back while they are eating. When Mia pushes away her empty plate, feeling satisfyingly full, Wooyoung offers her the juice bottle. She accepts with a smile, taking a few sips of the sweet drink, feeling very clearly Wooyoung’s eyes on her.

She sighs, screwing the lid back on. “Come on, spit it out,” she says, looking over at Wooyoung who looks vaguely like a deer caught in the headlights. “I can hear you thinking, out with it!”

“Ah, hm!” He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I guess I just wanted to ask how you’re doing with everything? A lot of stuff happened, obviously, and I’m here if you wanna talk about all that, but I mostly mean being in a house with San, and the probability of running into him a whole lot. Because, and I’m being so fucking serious right now,” he waves around his fork in a mildly threatening way, a deep furrow between his brows. “I will totally tell San to stay in his room all day and only come out at night, if that makes you feel safer. And I know he’ll do it!”

Mia huffs a laugh at that. “I know Wooyoung, I know. Don’t- don’t do that though, please. It’s okay. I mean-” she lifts her hands when she sees Wooyoung raise an eyebrow at that. “I think it will be okay. I can still just always come here, right? If it gets too much or something? I just- at some point I kinda have to get over it right? I can’t avoid him for the rest of my life. And I don’t think that would be healthy anyways. Maybe it’s better to, you know, rip off the band-aid or something?” She tries to smile at Wooyoung and is met with a scowl.

“You don’t have to get over anything,” he says sharply. “You can be mad at him for as long as you like, you can-”

“I’m tired, Wooyoung,” Mia interrupts him, and Wooyoung’s mouth falls shut. “I’m tired of being on edge all the time, of looking over my shoulder. I’m tired of the way he looks at me like I will shatter the moment he touches me. It makes me FEEL like I will shatter. I feel so- brittle, and everyone expects me to be so fucking wounded and traumatized and maybe- maybe I am but how can I ever stop when that’s all I ever see reflected back at me? I just,” she buries her face in her hands. “I wish I could just flip a switch and everyone would forget anything ever happened so we can all just act normal, you know? I’m not- I’m not that fragile! I don’t want to be fragile! I don’t want to feel like this anymore. I’m not just the girl that got tortured, but that’s everything everyone here sees me as. And I don’t even know who I am anymore, but I don’t want to be that!”

She takes a shuddering breath, eyes squeezed tight against the threat of tears, when she feels arms wrap around her shoulders. She tenses for only a second, then she relaxes into Wooyoung’s hold who begins to rock her back and forth in a gentle motion. Her chest feels tight, but her eyes stay dry.

“I don’t,” Wooyoung mutters, muffled against her hair. Mia makes a questioning noise. “I don’t see you as just that. I see you as my friend who gave me free cookies and put cat faces on my coffee. I see you as someone who let herself get hurt to protect me. I see you as the person who fucking shot someone to save the guy who hurt her.”

The arms around her shoulders tighten. “And I know it’s horrible and selfish of me to feel that, but I’m kinda glad you’re stuck with us. I wouldn’t ever risk it again, you know? Not after what happened. And now, I get to keep you.”

Mia exhales slowly. “Do you really think that?”

“Yeah. Not proud of it, but I’m part of the fucking Mafia, there’s a lot of things I’m not proud of. I guess this isn’t the worst of them.”

Mia chuckles, and she feels some of the tightness in her chest loosen. “It feels like forever ago, doesn’t it? Cookies and Coffee?”

Wooyoung hums. “Like years.” He pauses, and then pulls back a bit. Mia is surprised to see the remnants of tears clinging to his lashes. “There’s a fancy coffee machine in this house, by the way.” He grins. “I haven’t had a kitty coffee in ages, it’s really bad for my mental health, you know? Those things are what keep me going in this dark and toilsome world.”

Mia slaps his shoulder, but Wooyoung just ducks his head, giggling. “I even asked Jongho to buy caramel syrup!” He looks extremely pleased with himself.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?”

“Oh please, you love me!”

“Ugh, shut the fuck up”

That just makes Wooyoung cackle, and then he leans in and gives her a short peck on the cheek. “I love you too, you know,” he says, voice very soft. Then he grins, holding out his fist. “Platonically!”

Mia rolls his eyes and bumps his fist with her own, a warm glow spreading through her chest. She leans back against the wall with a sigh, and Wooyoung shifts around on the bed until he is lying flat on his back with his head on her thigh.

“You know,” he starts, peering up at her. “I don’t think the others see you as just the girl who got tortured either. Yeosang really likes you, and Hongjoong, um, finds you very interesting.”

Mia barks a surprised laugh. “Did he say that?”

Wooyoung frowns. “I mean, not like that, but he gets this look whenever someone drops information about you. He’s eating it all up. Sometimes he mutters ‘fascinating’ under his breath or something, the weirdo.”

“That sounds more like he sees me like, I don’t know, some entertaining science experiment or something,” Mia huffs.

Wooyoung sighs. “Everything’s an entertaining science experiment for Hongjoong,” he mutters, and Mia feels herself perk up. Hongjoong is an enigma, one that scares and fascinates her in equal parts, and she suddenly realizes here is someone who knows him intimately.

“It- it is?” she tries to sound casual.

“I mean,” he starts, looking pensive. “Hongjoong is a bit, uh, different.”

“I noticed.”

“What I mean by that is, his brain works differently. He’s fucking brilliant, like, scary smart. He remembers everything. He notices everything too, it’s really annoying sometimes because you can’t really lie to him.”

Mia swallows. “Yeosang warned me not to lie to him,” she says quietly. “Back when I first met him. He said I should rather say nothing if I didn’t want to answer something.”

Wooyoung nods. “I’m glad,” he says. “Lying would have been bad. But he does respect secrets, like, he won’t force an answer out of you. I mean-” he hesitates. “Unless he sees his family threatened. He might have dug for some answers, actually.” He blinks up at Mia with an apologetic look on his face.

“I mean, that’s understandable,” Mia smiles. “I can’t really blame him for that.”

Wooyoung looks satisfied. “Yeah,” he says. “He’s someone you don’t really want as your enemy. I’m not saying he’s a bad person or anything, but… his sense of morals is a bit, well unique.”

“Unique?” Mia echoes.

“For him, the end justifies the means, always. If he thinks that he has the correct end in mind, there’s absolutely nothing that’s off the table. He could commit gruesome atrocities and not lose a single second of sleep over it, if he feels justified about it.”

Mia remembers his threat the moment Yeosang had left the room. “Yeah I can imagine,” she mutters.

“He’s really steady in his positions though, that makes it all a lot less terrifying. And it’s not like he’s a sociopath or something, he genuinely cares about the people he cares about. He would die for us, a hundred percent. He likes to use the power he has to help people. So, he can be a hero for some people while simultaneously being a fucking supervillain for others, you know? And he will probably enjoy both.”

There’s a small pause in which Mia tries to digest all this information while Wooyoung smiles wistfully.

“I think he likes you,” he says suddenly, and Mia blinks at him, surprised.

“You, um, you think so?” she asks, feeling nervous all of a sudden.

Wooyoung grins at her, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I do!” he says. “I think you surprise him, and he loves that. I think he wants you to do well. Remember when he sent you off on that little mission? I was pissed at him, because why the fuck would he put you in danger like that? You weren’t necessary for that whole thing, he could’ve just sent Yunho and Jongho on their own. Why risk it? You could have made a public scene or something.”

“I-” Mia opens and shuts her mouth. “I mean, yeah, why?”

“I think,” Wooyoung starts, “that he was testing you. He wanted to see what happens. How you would react to stuff. Even just you agreeing to go told him something about you. I think he hoped it would go well and it did.”

Mia laughs disbelievingly. “Go well? We were basically ambushed!”

“Yeah but not because of anything you did. You cooperated. You didn’t try to get away or anything. You acted like part of the team, and he looked pretty fucking pleased with that.”

“I- I’m not sure how I feel about that, honestly.”

“Oh that’s fine, this is a good thing! He’s not just tolerating you. As long as you don’t do anything to make him think you’re a threat, you’re fine!”

“Right,” Mia mutters, and Wooyoung giggles at the look on her face.

“Relax, he promised he wouldn’t do anything without consulting me first. He’s not just gonna steal you away in the night or anything.”

I will make you disappear so fast you won’t even know what’s happening, echoes through her brain.

“If you say so,” she says, hearing the doubt in her voice. Wooyoung looks unconcerned as he starts playing with a strand of her hair that is tickling his forehead.

“Um,” she says, remembering something else.

“Hmm?”

“Him and, uh, Seonghwa,” she starts and watches the hint of a frown cross Wooyoung’s face. “Are they, like, together?”

Wooyoung blinks, the frown disappearing and being replaced by an amused expression.

“Well they’re definitely something,” he says, grinning. “Lord knows we’ve all given up on finding a label for whatever that is. Soulmates? Partners in crime and otherwise? Grossly in love? Constantly jumping each other’s bones?” he sighs in a weary, long-suffering way. “They’re all of that and more. They’re not exclusive or anything though, so who the fuck knows?” He shakes his head. “They are obsessed with each other. Whatever weird thing they have going on, it works for them, so I don’t question it.” He sighs again. “I do wish I could wash certain memories out of my brain with bleach though. I really have to start knocking on doors.”

Mia feels her face heat up. “I um, I think we interrupted them at something when the mansion got attacked.”

Wooyoung nods, a grave expression on his face. “My condolences,” he says. “It has happened to all of us at some point.”

“You and Seonghwa,” she says carefully and watches Wooyoung’s face darken again. “Do you have some kind of, I don’t know, beef?”

Wooyoung looks startled for a moment and then laughs dryly. “Beef? Yeah I got beef with him. He stabbed my friend with a fucking corkscrew and he has not apologized to either me OR you. Fucking hell, he left that same night like a fucking coward and hasn’t talked to me since!” He looks away, but Mia can see the telltale shine of tears in his eyes.

“Are you- close? Normally?”

“Yeah, we’re fucking close,” Wooyoung grumbles, still staring at the wall.

“Is he,” Mia swallows, trying to imagine Seonghwa as anything other than a cold, raging monster. “Is he kinda like Hongjoong?”

Wooyoung looks at her with an uncharacteristically serious expression. “No,” he says eventually. “They are very different people. In a way, I guess they balance each other out. Seonghwa can stay professional and keeps Hongjoong in line when he might go a little too crazy, but sometimes Seonghwa is the one needing to be calmed down when his emotions get away from him. They keep each other steady, in a way. It’s why they work so well together as a team.” He sighs. “Another huge difference is that Hongjoong is completely fine with the way he is, with what he does. He finds great enjoyment in it. I don’t think that’s the case for Seonghwa.”

Memories of her encounter with Seonghwa flash through her mind. His manic smile as he loomed above her.

“Are you- are you sure?” she says, her voice very small.

Wooyoung looks at her with so much compassion that it hurts. “He never says anything,” he says eventually, “he never complains, but I don’t think he’s all that happy with himself. With the person he’s had to become to survive, to keep us safe.” He smiles sadly. “I’m glad he has Hongjoong,” he whispers. “It’s not good for him to be alone for that long. He gets lost in his head too much. Bad things can happen then.”

Silence stretches between them, a million different emotions on Wooyoung’s face as he anxiously chews on his bottom lip. Mia decides to change the topic.

“Is your code name rose related?”

Wooyoung’s teeth release the raw skin of his lip as he opens his mouth in surprise. “Huh?”

Mia smiles and pokes a finger at the tattooed rose on the inside of Wooyoung’s forearm. He glances at it, still looking confused, until it finally clicks and his face clears. “Oh!” he says, a sheepish smile returning to his features. “Oh, haha, no, no it’s not.”

“But you have one?”

Wooyoung hesitates. “Um,” he says, seemingly debating something in his head. “Ah you know what, if you already know Hongjoong’s, the others don’t really matter that much. Our code names aren’t exactly secret, what’s secret is who they are attached to. But you know who we are, so…” He shrugs. “Basically, we didn’t all start out with code names. Not all of us need one. Only people who go out into the field and interact with other people in our, um, profession really need them. So, in the beginning, only Hongjoong, San, Yunho and Jongho had them.”

Mia blinks in surprise. “Not Seonghwa?”

“No,” Wooyoung says, something in his gaze that Mia can’t quite place. “He isn’t there to lead any negotiations. He does other things.”

Mia suppresses a shiver.

“But, as these things go, names start being given if you don’t choose them yourself. Build enough of a reputation and people start referring to you by something. Seonghwa was the first to build a reputation, and out of all of us, he has the biggest one. He has more of a reputation than even Hongjoong, I think. If you’re somehow connected to organized crime, you’ve heard of him. And you’re fucking terrified.”

There’s something almost like pride in Wooyoung’s voice, and Mia does her best to keep her expression neutral. “I can imagine,” she mutters, and Wooyoung smiles.

“People noticed his tattoos,” he continues. “The ones that lived to tell the tale. And there was definitely some purpose to that. Hongjoong wanted Seonghwa to have a reputation, to be the thing that keeps people up at night. He definitely contributed to the whole thing.”

“So…” Mia says slowly, “what kind of tattoos does he have?”

Wooyoung smiles. “A black dragon. Huge, across his entire torso. The tail winds down his arm.”

Mia remembers the black ink across the sliver of bare chest she had seen flashes of and nods. Then she remembers a different tattoo, tiny scales moving across a bicep, a flower crushed between claws.

“Is it- like the one from San?”

Wooyoung looks at her for a long while before he answers.

“They’re similar, but not the same. San’s isn’t black, and it’s not as big, and there are other details that are different. They’re both by the same artist though, so the art style is definitely the same. We used to joke that the dragons are brothers or that Seonghwa’s dragon was the mom dragon and San’s the son.” He smiles again.

“So, is… San’s code name also dragon related?”

“Nah, he doesn’t really let people see much of his skin when he’s on an official job. His was assigned by us, he’s had it before he got the dragon tattoo. But, um, we were talking about mine, right?”

Mia hesitates for a split second and then nods, smiling. Maybe code names are kind of personal.

Wooyoung huffs as he raises one of his legs and starts pulling up his pant leg, twisting it around to present Mia with his right calf. At first she thinks that what she sees is a small orange cat, but then she leans closer.

“A fox?”

Wooyoung grins, dropping his leg down again. “A fox! I was the last one without any kind of code name, I don’t go out enough to gain a reputation, but then we all went out drinking one night and decided we should just make one up. I already had the tattoo then, so we decided on Fox!”

Mia giggles and pokes Wooyoung’s cheek. “It fits!” she says. “Foxes are very mischievous.”

“And cute!” Wooyoung adds, framing his face with his hands and batting his eyelashes.

“Yes, very cute,” Mia agrees. “So all of you have one, right? Did Yeosang also get one through reputation?” She tries to imagine Yeosang in a fight.

Wooyoung’s smile fades a bit. “Um, yeah, he got one through reputation,” he says, something hesitant in his voice. “But it’s more because of the fact that no one ever sees him rather than because of some physical attributes.”

Mia tilts her head to the side, confused. Wooyoung sighs. “Sorry, I know I’m being super vague. Ask him, if you want. It’s his story to tell.”

Mia nods.

Wooyoung pushes himself into a sitting position and gives her a small smile. “I’m gonna go head to bed. It’s early as fuck but I honestly haven’t gotten any decent sleep since, you know.” His smile falters a bit. “It’s good to be here though. I only have good memories of this place.”

He stares off towards the window for a bit, looking lost in memories, before giving his head a little shake and focusing his attention back on Mia. “Let me know if you need anything, alright? There’s a toothbrush for you in the bathroom, the orange one. And if anything happens, you can knock on the wall and I’ll hear you and come check on you.”

He looks very serious as he says this, waiting for Mia to nod before he continues. “Make yourself comfortable here. I’ll see you in the morning, sleep tight sweetcheeks!” He leans closer and smacks a kiss against her cheek.

“You too,” Mia says, feeling warm. Wooyoung gives her a little wink before he gets up, gathering the empty plates and softly closing the door behind himself.

 

Notes:

We got some more background on Seongjoong and whatever weird horny relationship they have, yay! And yes they all have dope code names that will be revealed in due time :) And also yes, Seonghwa being Black Dragon was 100% inspired by him looking like Toothless. I had to. (I know we've known Hongjoong's for a while but since I haven't said it before: His is inspired by his line in Ice on my Teeth, of course!) Wooyoung being a fox doesn't need any explanation I think :D

When I first mentioned the Lake House setup to my partner, they got all excited and went "Oh my god BEACH EPISODE!" and ended up being sad that no, we are not getting the protagonists in cute bikinis, it is late autumn! They could get sick! But as a little nod to all that potential, we have cute beach pictures of them on the walls at least. I hope that is a tiny consolation.

Love you all, thank you for reading! <3

Chapter 19

Notes:

Shit's about to get real again. The slow burn is slowly burning.
(Oh wait I just realized I didn't even tag slow burn, maybe I should go do that)

 

Mia wakes up early the next morning, the sky still a dusky blue. She stays in bed for a while, looking up at the little stars that had indeed been glowing in the dark but had faded throughout the night and are now slowly becoming more visible in the growing light.

Eventually, she sighs and swings her legs over the side of the bed, sitting up. It had taken her less time than she had expected to fall asleep, and she feels surprisingly rested. She places a careful hand over the dark purple bruise on her side, taking a deep breath as if to check whether it still hurts.

It does.

For a while, she just sits on the edge of the bed, feeling a bit lost. This is a new place, there are no routines she can adhere to, and she honestly isn’t sure what to do. In the mansion, she had kept herself hidden away most of the time, but the conversation with Wooyoung has reminded her of how tired she is of that.

With fresh determination, she gets up and for the first time looks through the pile of clothes that had been left for her. The fluffy orange socks with paw prints on the soles make her smile, obviously Wooyoung had had a hand in choosing these. She dresses in simple black sweatpants and a dark green hoodie with a small turtle printed on the chest and, with a last deep breath, ventures outside of her room.

The house is quiet, and Mia assumes that she is the first one up until she reaches the head of the stairs and stops in her tracks.

The sweet, familiar scent of freshly baked bread hangs heavily in the air, and it hits Mia like a punch to the gut. She reaches out a hand to steady herself on the wall, narrowly avoiding knocking down a framed photo of Yunho with a ridiculously huge pair of sunglasses and an equally ridiculously wide hat.

The slow deep breaths don’t help as much as they usually do, flooding her nose with more of the sweet smell. Closing her eyes conjures up memories, so she quickly opens them again and instead stares at that picture of Yunho, anything to ground her to the present.

Yunho is grinning widely, one hand pulling down a side of the hat. The glasses are yellow and when she squints at them, she can just barely make out the tiny yellow ducks printed all over the frames. Mia smiles without realizing it, and then she takes another deep breath. Her heartbeat starts slowing down to a normal pace.

Someone has gotten up even earlier than her, and chances are high that it’s San. Mia considers retreating back to her room, but then she squares her shoulders and with slow, deliberate steps, she walks down the stairs. The wood is creaking underneath her feet, so at least he won’t be surprised at seeing her.

When Mia rounds the corner towards the large living room that opens into the kitchen, she finds it empty. She stops, unsure, and looks around, but the only sign of someone having been here is the basket full of steaming, golden bread rolls on the counter. That, and the wide open door that leads to the veranda.

Mia stares at it for a while, and then decides to ignore it. Maybe San hadn’t fled when he heard her, maybe he just went out for a run or is getting groceries or something. Maybe he is already back in his room. Not my problem, she tells herself grimly, and walks towards the huge shiny silver coffee machine Wooyoung had mentioned. She is determined to get him that caramel macchiato, and so she gets to work familiarizing herself with the machine and locating ingredients.

When Wooyoung shuffles into the kitchen half an hour later with his hair sticking up in every direction and stifling a yawn in the sleeve of his purple pajamas, Mia is ready.

“That will be seven fifty-nine,” she says, holding out the biggest cup she could find, and Wooyoung drops his arm.

“Wha?”

His eyes are adorably round as he stares at her, and then he hurries over, yanking the cup out of her hands with so much force she is surprised it doesn’t slosh over the sides, and peers at the perfect little cat face nestled in the foam.

He stays quiet for a long time, and Mia starts getting a little fidgety when he finally looks up at her, eyes shining and bottom lip wobbling.

“Oh Woo,” she says softly, smiling as Wooyoung gently places the cup on the counter and then throws his arms around her neck.

“Where’s my free cookie?” he grumbles into her hair, and Mia giggles. “Sorry, we’re out of cookies today,” she says, and then squints over his shoulder at the bowl on the counter. “We do seem to have gotten a fresh delivery of bread though,” she says, and Wooyoung steps back, following her gaze. They stare at the bowl in silence for a moment.

“Did you… run into each other?” Wooyoung asks warily, and Mia shakes her head. “He was gone when I came down,” she says and then frowns. “Is he not in your room?”

Wooyoung shakes his head. “Nah, he’s an early riser.”

“I guess he’s- running some errands then,” Mia mutters, trying to ignore the way Wooyoung’s gaze flickers from her face to the open door and back. He hums. “Breakfast?”

“Yes, please!”

They set the table, Wooyoung passing out plates and cups and half of the contents of the fridge. He hesitates with a carton of eggs in his hand.

“Should I fry some eggs?”

Mia looks up, smiling. “Oh hell yes! I haven’t had eggs for breakfast in ages!”

Wooyoung nods, looking pleased, and starts banging around the cupboards in search of a frying pan. Mia makes herself another macchiato and decides to also treat herself to a little latte art, this one a very classic leaf shape. It feels good, doing something small for herself.

She hesitates before sitting down on one of the mismatched chairs. “Are there any… fixed seating arrangements?” she asks nervously, feeling silly for even asking.

Wooyoung looks up and gestures towards a battered leather armchair. “That one’s Jongho’s!” he says, “And I like sitting on the side facing the lake, but other than that, just pick wherever!”

Mia takes a couple of seconds to consider, and then she chooses a comfy looking chair with faded pink padding that lets her face Wooyoung as he’s humming and bustling around the kitchen area.

“I’m smelling eggs.”

Mia’s head swivels to the side so fast that she hears a small crack in her neck, and then she breathes out a small sigh when she spots Jongho standing in the doorframe. He looks much more put together than Wooyoung, hair slightly damp but neat, dressed in a dark blue flannel shirt.

His eyes sweep through the room, and his eyebrows raise slightly when he spots her sitting at the table, clutching her macchiato.

“Oh, hello!”

“Good morning,” Mia says, a little breathless.

“Hi Jongho!” Wooyoung pipes up, and Jongho walks up to him, inspecting the contents of the pan with his chin on Wooyoung’s shoulder.

“Sannie made bread too!” Wooyoung says happily, and Jongho hums. “Did he make cheese buns?”

“I dunno, you’ll have to check for yourself.”

Jongho starts digging around the bowl, and Wooyoung turns around, catching Mia’s eye. “Oh and Jong-bear! We have a barista in the house, so now is your chance to get a pro-level coffee you would otherwise have to spend like eight bucks for!”

Mia feels her cheeks heat up as Jongho looks up, his eyes wide. “Oh?”

“U-um, do you want a caramel macchiato too?” she hastily gets up from her chair and starts rounding the table.

“Oh! Ah, you don’t have to!” Jongho raises his hands in protest.

“Since you’re already on it, can you make me another one?” Wooyoung calls over his shoulder with a grin, and Mia gives him a kick as she passes him.

“It’s really no problem, I like making them,” she says to Jongho, who is still looking somewhat hesitant. After a second, he tilts his head to the side. “Well then I won’t say no. Could you maybe make one without the caramel?”

“Of course!” Mia smiles and happily busies herself with the coffee machine. Wooyoung bumps her hip with his, and Mia feels a deep feeling of content spread through her body.

This is nice.

“Do you think Mingi wants eggs?” Wooyoung asks as he transfers the contents of the pan to a warm plate.

“What kind of question is that,” Jongho deadpans, and Mia looks over to see him return to the table with two large buns in his hand, looking satisfied. Looks like San did make cheese buns.

He lowers himself into the armchair with a long sigh, the old leather creaking as it adjusts to his weight.

“How many do you want, grandpa?”

Mia suppresses a giggle at the dark glare Jongho sends Wooyoung’s way. “Three,” he huffs eventually, and Wooyoung cackles. “Coming right up!”

Mia finishes the macchiato and tops it off with a little teddy bear face, feeling suddenly very nervous about the whole thing. She carries it over to the table and quickly walks back, avoiding Jongho’s eyes.

“Ah, thank you!” he says to her back, and then she hears a little “Oh?”

She dares to throw a glance in his direction, and finds him smiling down at his coffee, looking softer than she has ever seen him.

Feeling somewhat lighter, she starts pouring caramel syrup into Wooyoung’s cup.

She is just about finished when she hears a door opening and closing upstairs. Wooyoung abandons his eggs, walks over to the bottom of the stairs and yells “MINGI” at the top of his lungs. It is answered by an inarticulate questioning grunt.

“If you don’t come down here right now, your eggs will get cold!”

Wooyoung returns to the kitchen, looking pleased with himself as he switches off the stove.

The stairs creak under heavy, shuffling steps and only seconds later, Mingi appears in the doorway. He is dressed in white and blue striped pajamas, his black hair even messier than Wooyoung’s, eyes barely open. “Eggs?” he mumbles, and his voice is even deeper than usual, crackling with sleep.

“Go sit on your throne Princess, the food will come to you!” Wooyoung chirps, and Mingi huffs and starts dragging his feet towards the table.

“Coffee?” Mia asks, still standing by the coffee machine, smiling at the rumpled state of the tall man.

Mingi blinks a couple of times, eyes still not opening all the way. “God, yes, please,” he groans, dropping his head onto the table with a worryingly loud thunk.

“Just make him a triple espresso or something,” Wooyoung mutters and Mia nods and gets to work.

Wooyoung starts distributing eggs while Mia finishes up Mingi’s coffee, places it near his head that is still buried in his arms and gives his shoulder a little nudge. “Coffee’s done!” she announces and walks back towards her chair, her plate now piled high with eggs.

“You’re an angel,” Mingi grumbles and pulls the cup into the circle of his arms as if scared that someone might steal it.

Mia startles at the sudden term of endearment, almost stumbling over her chair. The soft snickering from Wooyoung’s direction lets her know it has not gone unnoticed.

Cheeks flaming, she sits down and starts stuffing her cheeks with fried egg.

“Thanks for making breakfast, you two,” Jongho says, and Mia looks up to see a profoundly amused expression on his face.

“You’re welcome,” Mia says and Wooyoung hums, snatching up her glass to fill it with orange juice.

“Bread?” he asks, holding up the basket. Mia only hesitates for a second before nodding.

“I recommend these,” Jongho says and waves around a half-eaten bun.

“Mhh yes, they’re good!” Wooyoung digs around between the bread rolls and tosses a bun with a crust of cheese onto her plate.

Mia mutters a quiet thanks and grabs the bun. It’s still warm.

For a couple of seconds, she stays still, taking several slow, measured breaths in and out through her nose. It’s just bread.

The cheese bun is delicious, of course. Conversation flows softly around her, and she is content to eat in silence and entertain herself by watching Mingi slowly come alive. He reminds her a bit of a deflated bouncy castle that is gradually gaining shape, only instead of air, he gets pumped up with caffeine.

When he finishes his cup and spends a whole two minutes just staring at it sadly, Mia gets up. “Anyone else want more coffee?”

“I’m good,” Wooyoung declares around a mouthful of food, but Mingi perks up in hopeful interest. “Me?” He has the most puppyish expression on his face, eyes round and shiny, and Mia feels a warm swell of affection.

“Coming right up,” Mia smiles, and then looks over at Jongho. “How about you?”

“Still got some,” Jongho says and raises his cup.

Mia nods. “You want the same again Mingi? Or something else this time?”

“She makes a mean caramel macchiato,” Wooyoung pipes up and Mingi blinks. “Can I have that?”

“Sure!” Mia leans against the counter while the machine starts whirring, watching the other three enjoy their breakfast and bicker over who gets the last egg.

There’s a subtle current of anxiety running underneath her skin, a voice telling her not to get too comfortable, that this can’t possibly last, but the warm feeling in her chest grows anyway, pushing against the fear. It helps, feeling useful. It makes her feel part of the group. She remembers her conversation with Wooyoung and realizes that nobody has looked at her as if she were fragile today, as if she were wounded. They just treated her- normally.

She swallows against the sudden tightness in her throat and turns around to blink away the sheen of tears stinging her eyes without anyone seeing them.

Mingi flushes a deep red when he receives his sweet drink and spots the little puppy face, and mumbles his thanks.

Mia has long finished her breakfast but finds that she has no desire at all to leave the table, happy to just sit there and bask in the friendly atmosphere.

Nobody mentions San’s absence.

~

The next couple of days, Mia does not see San at all. He is there somewhere, she knows it because fresh bread and cookies and muffins keep popping up, but he seems to be fully utilizing his secret mafia assassin abilities in order to avoid her.

It’s starting to genuinely piss her off.

She mentions it to Wooyoung one day when he drags her outside to harvest some apples from a withered old tree in the corner of their garden.

“I just- I feel like I’m ready to move on but then I CAN’T because he’s fucking HIDING from me!” She laments, catching another apple that Wooyoung throws her way and dropping it in the wicker basket slung across her arm. “Does he think this is HELPING? Does he think he’s doing me a favor or something?”

Wooyoung sighs and climbs down from the chair he had been balancing on in order to reach the higher branches. “He might,” he says, giving her a look she can’t quite place. “But he might also have other reasons. Do you want me to tell him to knock it off?”

Mia considers, but eventually shakes her head. “I don’t want him to act a certain way just because you told him to. If he doesn’t want to be in the same room with me, that’s his choice.” She sounds bitter and she knows it, and she studiously avoids meeting Wooyoung’s eyes, scared that what she would find there is pity.

~

The next morning when she trudges downstairs in order to start coffee for everyone, a perfect little apple pie is sitting in the middle of the dining table, steam curling up in the cool morning air.

She glares at it as if it had personally offended her, and decides that she’s had enough.

The coming day, she gets out of bed at five in the morning, tired and ill-tempered and her skin crawling with anxiety. She grabs a thick woolen blanket and does her absolute best to open and close her bedroom door with the least amount of noise possible, avoiding the creakiest steps on her way down.

When she reaches the dark kitchen, she hesitates. Making coffee is out of the question, that would wake the whole house up. Turning on the lights would alert San that she is here and at this point she wouldn’t put it past him to climb out of his window or something in order to avoid her. Just sitting and waiting in the dark room feels creepy as hell.

In the end, she decides to go outside and watch the sunrise. She pushes open the glass door to the porch carefully, and it slides open and closed without making too much noise. The porch wraps around two sides of the house and offers an unobstructed view of the lake, glimmering in the darkness.

Mia wraps herself in her blanket and tries to get comfortable on the wooden floor, knees pulled up to her chest and her back resting against the side of the house.

The sky is still an inky black, covered in little dots of light reflected by the lake’s smooth surface. She takes a slow breath and allows her body to relax.

When she jerks awake, the sky has turned from black to a deep, indigo blue, and the stars have shifted. She blinks a couple of times, listening to the chirping of the birds and wondering what woke her up, when she hears the door slide open.

She freezes.

A dark figure steps out onto the porch and walks right past her, looking out over the lake with his elbows braced against the railing.

Despite the chill in the air, San is only wearing a t-shirt, the black fabric clinging to his broad shoulders that rise and fall with a deep sigh.

Mia feels something strange and heavy weighing down her chest. She stays quiet.

After a while, San pushes himself away from the railing, and Mia expects him to turn around and finally spot her but he just rummages around in the pockets of his pants, producing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Mia watches as he sticks one between his teeth, cups his hand around the end and lights it, the sudden flicker of the flame sharply illuminating the side of his face in an orange glow for just a moment.

He turns back towards the lake, takes a deep drag, holds the smoke for several seconds and then slowly breathes it out. It melts into the wisps of fog rising from the lake’s surface.

“I didn’t know you smoke.”

San whirls around, eyes wide, hand flying towards his hip where Mia supposes he usually carries his gun. He makes a choked sound, takes the cigarette out of his mouth with shaking fingers.

They stare at each other in tense silence.

“I,” San eventually says, breathlessly, taking a step back. “I didn’t know you were here, I’m sorry, I can just-”

“Stay.” Mia says quietly, and San stops in his tracks.

He looks almost panicked as his eyes keep flickering between her and the door, his body coiled tight like a spring waiting to be released. As if he expects her to do anything. Mia is so tired.

“Just sometimes,” he says eventually, and it takes Mia a second to realize that he is answering her question. At least that explains the faint smell of smoke that seems to always cling to him.

Another pause, and San still looks ready to bolt into the darkness like a frightened deer. Mia sighs and lets her head fall back against the wall. “Can you sit down?”

San does that thing again where his body stays motionless but his eyes flit around, as if locating every available exit route. Mia is just starting to wonder whether he will actually just leave when he, very slowly, lowers himself to the ground with his back to the railing.

“I um,” he waves around the cigarette, clears his throat. “I can put this out if the smoke bothers you.”

“It doesn’t.”

San hesitates, looking at the glimmering end of his smoke, looking at her. “Do you… want one?”

Mia gives him a tired smile. “Thanks, but I don’t smoke.”

San nods, looks at his hands, looks at her. Then he finally takes another drag and his shoulders relax just the tiniest bit as he lets his body slump against the railing. He turns his head to the side, blowing the smoke away from Mia, then he glances at her again.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“No, I was waiting for you.”

San blinks, and his hand stills for a moment before resuming its journey to his lips. Mia’s eyes follow the movement, the way his mouth forms a perfect little o around the filter. San blows the smoke to the side again, out of the corner of his mouth, keeping his eyes on her face. Still with that tense, guarded expression.

“It’s- not a good idea to sneak up on me like that. Or any of us, honestly. You could get hurt.”

Mia huffs dryly. “I didn’t do shit, I was just sitting out here, looking at the lake. It’s not my fault if you don’t look where you’re going.”

There’s a small spark of shock on San’s face, but it disappears as fast as it came. Then he drops his gaze and nods.

For some reason, his meek acceptance of her jab causes her anger to flare up.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she says, more sharply than she had intended. San looks up again, and for a moment she can see something pained in his eyes before his face blanks into an expression of careful, manufactured neutrality. One she is a little too familiar with.

“Don’t- don’t do that,” she bites out between teeth clenched so tightly that she feels an ache in her jaw. Her heart thumps erratically, and she squeezes her eyes shut, trying to get it under control.

“What? Mia, do what? Hey, are you alright? What- What’s happening!”

San sounds distressed enough that she opens her eyes again, and she finds him a lot closer than before, eyes wide with worry and a hand hovering close to her knee. Not quite touching her. She takes a shaky breath, balls her fists under the blanket.

“That- that face. When you go all blank. You did that a lot, back- back in the basement.”

San flinches as if she had slapped him. She watches as his face goes from horrified to blank, to guilty, to blank, to tired.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Mia doesn’t say anything, and after a while, San slowly returns to his position leaned back against the railing. He brings the cigarette to his mouth only to find that it has gone out. With a small sigh, he fishes the lighter back out of his pocket and lights it anew. Another flicker of bright orange licks across his face, illuminates his pinched eyebrows.

Something about looking at his face hurts, and Mia is having trouble pinning down what exactly it is. All the same, she can’t seem to look anywhere else.

San takes a deep breath, puffing out a cloud of smoke into the slowly lightening sky.

“I have,” he says eventually. “Been avoiding you, I mean. I thought- I thought it might make things easier.” His voice gets quiet at the end.

“For you or for me?”

San swallows, looks down at his hands again. “Both,” he whispers.

“Well I don’t know if it’s made things any easier for you, but honestly it’s just been kind of pissing me off.”

San looks at her again like a kicked puppy, and she feels that same mixture of guilt and annoyance. She doesn’t know why she can’t stop egging him on, what kind of reaction she wants him to have. Not this one.

“I don’t know what the right thing to do is,” San says quietly. “I thought- giving you space might be the right thing.”

“There is no right thing. There are no magic words or actions that will suddenly make everything okay. That shit happened, and we can't undo it. It's fucked up, but it doesn’t help to just avoid me forever like if I don’t look at you long enough I’ll just suddenly be fine again.”

San grimaces, then his shoulders slump inward in what looks like defeat. Mia has the feeling that San is used to finding solutions for things, and that he might have trouble accepting that sometimes, there is none.

After a moment, he looks up at her again, and there is something so vulnerable in his expression that Mia has the sudden urge to look away. She doesn’t.

“I could at least apologize,” he whispers, hesitantly, questioningly.

Mia says nothing.

“In the car,” San presses. “It wasn’t the right time. Is now the right time?”

Mia wants to get up and walk away. Maybe this had been a mistake. But now she is here, and she wants to move on, and this would have to happen eventually, but something about it makes her skin crawl, sets her teeth on edge. Just get it over with, she tells herself, and she looks down at her knees as she gives a jerky nod.

Nothing happens for a while, and Mia wonders whether San is going to chicken out after all when she hears him take a shaky breath. When she looks up at him, there’s a shine of tears in his eyes.

“I am so, so sorry about what I did to you,” he says, eyes wide and full of grave sincerity. “You did not deserve any of that, it was all wrong. I fucked up. If there is anything, ever,” he pauses for a moment, takes another breath. “Anything that I can do to make this right, I’ll do it. I swear.”

Mia nods, looking at her knees. Something twists in her stomach, something unpleasant and painful.

She chews on her bottom lip for a while, trying to figure out what is upsetting her so much.

“What exactly,” she says, slowly, “are you sorry for?”

“I-” San sounds taken aback. “I’m sorry for hurting you,” he says eventually, and there’s a quiver of uncertainty in his voice.

“I’m not mad about that. You just did your job. Why should I be more mad at you than at Hongjoong, who ordered it?”

She chances a glance at his face, and finds confusion there.

“But it was still wrong, I still hurt you!” He sounds upset, and Mia almost laughs.

“Yeah well, you are forgiven for hurting me,” she says, and her voice is all wrong.

There’s a long pause, and she keeps her eyes fixed on her knees.

“I don’t understand,” San whispers.

Mia says nothing.

“Please,” San says, a hint of desperation to his voice. “Please tell me what to apologize for. I’ll do it, I promise! Just please tell me!”

“That’s not really how it works, is it?” Mia says and finally looks up at him. She wishes she hadn’t. “Me just telling you what to be sorry for?”

“Please,” he says again, the desperation more palpable.

Mia lets her head drop back against the wall, trying to stomp down the rush of anxiety that is roaring up inside her chest.

“Do you know the biggest trigger I have left after all of this?” she asks eventually, her eyes on the slowly lightening sky. “It’s people knocking on doors. Do you know why?” She glances down at San who looks stricken, frozen, his cigarette cold and forgotten at his side. He shakes his head, eyes wide with something that could be fear.

“Because the thing that fucked me up the most, out of everything that happened, was you just letting me get taken away.”

San’s mouth opens in silent horror, and Mia looks back at the sky. There’s only one visible star left, and she stares at it as if it could somehow save her from this conversation. She feels small, vulnerable, flayed open.

“It’s not you hurting me that did the most damage,” she continues, her voice shaky and broken. “It’s everything else. You comforting me, being kind. Giving me something to hold on to, something to crave. I wanted to please you so bad, you know? I craved every little morsel of kindness, of approval. A part of me still craves it.”

She closes her eyes and notices to her dismay that there are warm tears running down her cheeks, slipping out of the corners of her eyes, growing cold in the crisp morning air.

“Hongjoong told me,” she continues in a hoarse whisper, because now that she started, she can’t seem to bring herself to stop. “He told me about how it’s all strategy. Tactics. Using my desire for comfort against me.” She laughs, and it’s the most joyless and bitter thing she’s ever heard. “I knew, of course, but it was still something, to hear it laid out like that. And I fell for it all so easily, and I feel like a fucking idiot for even believing for a single second that a part of you actually did care, that there was- I don’t know, something. And I know it’s kind of hypocritical to hold that against you because, just like hurting me, it was all just part of your job, but it’s hard to let go when a part of me still-”

“It wasn’t.”

Mia blinks, drops her gaze back down to San’s face who looks about as brittle and cracked open as she feels, but there is something burning in his eyes, something begging her to believe him.

“What?”

“It- It wasn’t just tactics. I mean, it was at first, but-” San grimaces, looking down at his hands. “I did care,” he whispers. “I mean, I still do. I- I didn’t want to let Yunho take you away, I almost physically fought him, you looked so scared and I just-”

“Stop.”

San looks up at her, confused, mouth falling shut.

Mia’s hands are clutching the blanket so hard that she thinks it might tear. Her entire body is shaking, and she can hear her blood rushing in her ears. For a second, she fears she might pass out.

“You- you do not get to say that to me,” she chokes, stumbling to her feet, and then there’s suddenly a hand on her arm, trying to steady her.

“Don’t TOUCH me!” she yells, voice breaking, and San recoils as if he had been burned, staggering several steps back. The world starts turning blurry, and Mia is glad because then she doesn’t have to see that look on San’s face anymore.

“You can’t just- you can’t-” she walks backwards, clutching the blanket to her chest, overcome with the overpowering need to get away. She stumbles over something on the ground, and San makes a jerky motion as if he wants to grab her, and Mia flinches away from him, her heart thumping erratically inside her chest.

“Fuck you!” she whimpers, finally fumbling her way through the sliding door, and then she turns and flees, away from this fucking porch, away from San who stays behind, frozen.

 

Notes:

Sooooo this has been a long time coming. I apologize for ending things on a painful note, it's not gonna last for long, I promise! It's just - a lot of very fucked up things happened and I wanted to give them the space they needed to figure things out, and it would have felt wrong to make this go completely smoothly. My lovely beta reader pointed out that the moment Mia decides to go down the stairs anyways, despite the potential confrontation with San, feels like a really pivotal turning point in which she takes back control, and I agree! Also, shout-out to everyone who has ever craved an apology from someone who hurt them, only to realize getting it doesn't actually fix anything :]

I'm kinda proud of the whole porch scene and San smoking was so fun to write (yes this was 100% inspired by that one performance with the lighter), I hoped you enjoyed it as much as I did!

Thank you for reading ♥️

Chapter 20

Notes:

Another long overdue talk

 

Wooyoung stares at Mia’s retreating form, mouth hanging open. He is standing in the kitchen with a glass of water in his hands, trying to decide whether he should run after her. The look on her tear-streaked face had been scary, full of a wild, desperate kind of grief, and Wooyoung just decided that he should probably go check on her when he hears a dull thump coming from the porch, causing him to squint through the glass.

San is sitting curled up on the ground, arms slung around his knees, face buried in his arms.

Oh no, Wooyoung thinks, feeling a pang of sadness, and his feet carry him outside.

“Sannie?” Wooyoung asks gently, crouching down beside him and putting a careful hand on his shoulder. “Hey, look at me.”

San curls up even tighter, and his body starts shaking with heaving sobs.

“Oh San.” Wooyoung puts down his water and wedges himself between San and the wooden railing, wraps his arms around San’s warm body, and pulls him against his chest. It’s a bit awkward because San is so much bigger than him, but after only a couple of seconds he finally goes slack and melts into Wooyoung’s embrace, burying his face in Wooyoung’s shoulder.

Wooyoung starts rocking him like a child, humming soothingly while his shirt is starting to get soaked with San’s tears.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” He mutters, running a hand through the hair on the back of San’s head, heart clenching at the intensity of his pain. He had hoped for a conversation to happen, had been carefully optimistic since San was as remorseful as he could possibly be and Mia seemed determined to put this all behind her, but something must have gone terribly wrong.

He takes deep, slow breaths in the hopes that San would imitate him, and he can feel the moment that he starts to calm down. The sobs die down, the shaking lessens, and for a while, Wooyoung just keep rocking a San that has gone quiet in his arms.

Eventually he stops, gives San’s shoulders a last little squeeze and then pushes him back a bit, trying to see his face. The sky has lightened enough to see by, even though the sun has not yet breached the horizon. San lets his head hang down limply, so Wooyoung puts a hand on his cheek, tilting his face up.

What he sees is enough to break his heart, and he swallows against the lump rising in his throat at the look of complete desolation in San eyes.

He wipes at San’s cheeks with his thumbs, presses kiss after kiss onto that beloved face. San closes his eyes, looking defeated.

“Hey,” Wooyoung says, keeping his voice soft. “What happened Sannie?”

San just shakes his head and tries to pull back, but Wooyoung holds his face in place. “Don’t shut me out,” he says, and there’s a bit of a tremble in his voice that causes San to open his eyes, looking at him with a sadness as deep as the ocean.

“I fucked up,” he croaks, voice hoarse from all the crying.

Oh boy, Wooyoung thinks, but does his best to smile encouragingly. “Come on, tell me what happened. How did you fuck up?”

San sighs, and there’s a hint of a frown on his face. “I don’t even know, I just- something I said it just, it set her off and then she ran away and I don’t-” he exhales shakily, closing his eyes again.

“Okay,” Wooyoung says, “what exactly did you say before she left? Or wait, maybe just tell me the whole thing from the beginning, yeah? How did you two end up here so early in the first place?”

The corner of San’s mouth twitches up in a broken parody of a smile. “She ambushed me,” he mutters, and Wooyoung’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “She what?”

“When I came out here at around six for a smoke, she was already there, waiting for me.” He looks down at his hand, at the half smoked cigarette between his fingers, as if just now remembering it. He shifts, pulls back, sitting himself next to Wooyoung, close enough for their shoulders to touch, and pulls out a lighter. Wooyoung frowns at the cigarette but doesn’t comment on it. When San lights it, Wooyoung notices that his hands are shaking.

“I um, I was going to leave but she told me to stay.”

Wooyoung hums, feeling somewhat impressed that Mia had actually taken the initiative to catch San and start a conversation. He hadn’t expected it to happen like this. Maybe he should have.

“She um, she told me that my avoiding her was just kind of pissing her off and not helping,” he mutters, taking a drag of his cigarette, and Wooyoung can’t stop the surprised huff of laughter tumbling out of his mouth. “Did she really use those exact words?”

San frowns a bit. “Yeah, pretty much.”

Wooyoung shakes his head in amused disbelief. “Wow, she really didn’t sugarcoat that at all.”

San’s head snaps around to stare at him, eyes narrowed. “Did you know about that?”

“Kind of?” Wooyoung gives a half shrug. “She asked me not to talk to you about it. But I didn’t know she was planning to ambush you.”

San’s shoulders slump. “I thought I was giving her space,” he whispers, and Wooyoung reaches over to give his knee a little squeeze. “I think she was a bit hurt by it, you know, like you’re not able to stand being in the same room with her or something.”

San’s eyes go wide. “That wasn’t it at all!” he splutters, but Wooyoung catches the miniscule twitch in his eye. He tilts his head to the side, leveling San with a look. “No?” he asks. “Not even a little bit?”

“I-” San stares down at his hands. Wooyoung feels a little bad at making him squirm like this, but whatever mess he’s in won’t fix itself unless he’s honest- with Wooyoung, but also with himself.

“I guess I was also being a coward,” San whispers eventually. Wooyoung puts an arm around his shoulders. “Elaborate a bit, Sannie.”

San sighs, exhaling smoke through his nose. “It’s hard for me, to see her. To see what I’ve done, the way I’ve hurt her. I could kind of shove that all down when the house got invaded because there were so many other things going on, but now… I tried to apologize in the car on the way to the hospital, and she shut me down. She ignored me completely on the way here. I just thought- maybe she needs more time, and I shouldn’t force her to see me and relive all that stuff.”

He takes a shuddery breath. When he continues, his voice is strained. “When she left just now, she almost fell and I tried to catch her and she- she flinched away from me, yelled at me not to touch her, and I just-” he blinks several times, eyes filling with fresh tears. “I know she sees a fucking monster when she looks at me, and I just can’t stand it, Wooyoung, I can’t. I just want to fix all of this but I don’t know how.”

He buries his face in his hands, and Wooyoung rubs a hand up and down his arm, at a loss for what he could possibly say to make any of this easier. “I don’t think she sees you as a monster,” he says eventually. “I mean, she said to me herself that she doesn’t think you’re a bad person, and that she’s aware you were following orders. I think she’s hurt and confused and fucked up by all of this but she also really wants to work it out, somehow. I mean, why else would she start the conversation, hm? That must have been hard as fuck, but she did it anyway!”

He means for that to be encouraging, but the wrecked, choked up sounds San is muffling with his hands don’t sound very encouraged. Wooyoung sighs and leans against him, waiting for San to regain his ability to speak.

“You’re right,” he croaks eventually, face still hidden. “It must have been hard as fuck, but she did it, and now I made everything worse. She is never going to try again.” His voice breaks on the last word, and Wooyoung feels his throat go tight again. “Ah Sannie,” he whispers, taking a second to get his own voice under control. This is not the moment to allow himself to cry. He needs to be strong for San.

“Tell me what happened next, hm? Maybe there was just a really bad misunderstanding there somewhere. Maybe I can talk to her.”

San shakes his head, taking another minute to get himself together before harshly rubbing his face dry with his palms. “She said- that there’s no right thing to do, no way to fix this. I asked if I could apologize. She said yes.” He swallows. “So I did. I had this whole speech planned out, you know? I really- I tried to get it right. But I could tell that she wasn’t happy with it, at all.”

He falls silent again, and Wooyoung bumps their shoulders together, trying to quietly urge him to continue.

“She- she asked what exactly I was sorry for, and I said that I’m sorry for hurting her, and she just said she wasn’t mad about that. She even said you are forgiven for hurting me but it was just really dismissive and like that wasn’t at all what she wanted to hear. I didn’t- I didn’t understand, I begged her to tell me what she wanted me to apologize for.”

Wooyoung grimaced, remembering how Mia had said she didn’t want San to act a certain way only because someone had told him to. He kept quiet though, waiting for San to continue speaking. When he eventually does, it’s not what Wooyoung expects him to say at all.

“Did you know that Mia gets triggered by people knocking on doors?”

Wooyoung looks up, surprised, and finds San watching him. He takes a deep breath, letting the air rush out of his body. “Yeah,” he says eventually. “I noticed.”

San’s eyes widen. “You- noticed? She didn’t tell you?”

Wooyoung shakes his head and smiles sadly. “We haven’t talked about what happened in the basement,” he says quietly. “I never asked about it, she will tell me when she’s ready, and if she never wants to talk about it, that’s fine too. I’ll just have to trust that she knows she can talk to me.” He lets his head drop back against the railing. “But I noticed. I was with her in the hospital wing a lot and she flinched whenever someone knocked on the door. It was worse in the beginning, she would get all pale and shaky and start clinging onto the blanket or the bed or my arm. Like she expected someone to grab her and drag her away.”

San closes his eyes and rubs a hand across his face. “Fuck,” he whispers.

Wooyoung watches him, waits. When San stays quiet, he asks, softly, “Why is Mia scared of knocking, San?”

San doesn’t say anything for a while. He inhales another lungful of smoke, then he snuffs out the remaining stub against the sole of his boot and tosses it in the direction of the little mason jar he uses as an ash tray.

“She said,” he says eventually, and his voice sounds flat, empty. It alarms Wooyoung more than if he had been sobbing. “She said that the thing that fucked her up the most out of everything that happened is that when Yunho came to fetch her for Seonghwa, I just let it happen.”

Wooyoung’s eyes widen, and then a wave of horrified sympathy washes through him. “Ah fuck,” he breathes.

San continues, in that same empty voice. “She said that the thing she is mad about is not the pain I caused, but that it’s everything else. The times I comforted her, was kind to her. Gave her something to hold on to, to strive for. Making her want to make me proud, gain my approval.”

Wooyoung feels something icy and dreadful curl inside his stomach. He had suspected some form of psychological trickery shit going on, from the way San had been able to make Mia drop the gun, but Hongjoong had refused to tell him more and he had never asked San about it. Maybe he had dreaded the answer.

He balls his hands into fists so tightly that he feels his nails cut into his palms. This is not the time to get mad at San, he tells himself, but this is so horribly fucked up, and he is having trouble getting his raging emotions under control. San isn’t looking at him, and Wooyoung thinks that staying quiet might be the best he can do right now. He takes a slow breath in through his nose and releases it through his teeth.

“She- it seems that she has trouble letting go of that. She said a part of her still craves my approval, or something like that.”

Wooyoung closes his eyes, takes another slow breath. When he opens them, he finds that San is watching him.

“I’m sorry San,” he croaks, shaking his head. “This is just- this is messed up. I- I might need a minute to process this.”

San smiles, pained. “Don’t think I expect you not to hate me for that. I know I do. You don’t have to pretend that it’s fine. It’s not.” His voice is hollow, and the look he gives Wooyoung is one of hopeless acceptance. Like he is expecting Wooyoung to just get up and leave. Like he had counted down the days until Wooyoung would find out about what happened, knowing the day would come eventually.

Wooyoung gives himself a couple of seconds to breathe through the turmoil of emotions in his head, and then he grabs San’s hand and interlocks their fingers, and turns to give San a look of quiet determination. “It’s fucked up,” he says, emphasizing every word. “What you did, it’s fucked up. It will take me a while to get over it, and it’s not my place to forgive you for that anyway. But it doesn’t make me love you any less, Sannie. You could burn down the world and everyone in it and I would still be right here, by your side, where I belong.”

San’s face crumples, and Wooyoung pulls him back against his chest. He has a feeling these won’t be the last of San’s tears today, but he will hold him through all of it. He had meant every word.

The sun’s rays have started to paint the top of the roof in a golden light when San pulls back again. They sit next to each other in shared silence for a while, listening to the birds.

At some point, Wooyoung nudges San’s knee, their hands still tangled together. “So,” he says. “She let you know what she was actually upset about. Did you then… apologize for that as well?”

San stiffens next to him, saying nothing, and Wooyoung is starting to suspect that this is where things went truly wrong. He squeezes their fingers together, trying to get San to look at him, but San keeps staring at the wall, his jaw tense, his mouth pressed into a tight line.

Wooyoung sighs. He is doing his absolute best to be patient but he cannot help San if he doesn’t tell him what the fuck went wrong, and he is starting to get mildly frustrated. “San,” he says eventually, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice and mostly succeeding, “just spit it out, okay? I’m not gonna judge you or hate you or anything, shit happens, but nothing is going to get solved if you just sit with this by yourself and don’t talk to me! Tell me, please?”

San closes his eyes, takes a shuddering breath. “She, um,” he starts. “She said that Hongjoong told her about all of that being strategy, tactics. Psychological tricks to get her to become more vulnerable and open up to me.”

Wooyoung catches himself chewing on his lip and stops before he bites himself bloody again. He knows about that, of course. Hearing about those kinds of tactics had always made him wildly uncomfortable.

“I-” San stutters to a stop again. The muscles in his jaw are twitching, and he opens and closes his mouth several times without speaking. Wooyoung squeezes his hand again, and then San turns and looks at him, and there is something so viscerally tortured in his eyes that it fills Wooyoung with a sinking feeling of apprehension.

“I told her that- that it wasn’t just that.”

He looks away again, and Wooyoung tries very hard not to jump to any conclusions yet. “What do you mean by that?” he asks, and is surprised when his voice comes out steady.

“What I mean is that- I didn’t- I failed to stay detached,” he sounds breathless, as if getting the words out is a struggle. He still doesn’t look at Wooyoung. “I- I cared. I got pulled into my own fucking games. Hongjoong- Hongjoong warned me about that, and I failed. I got- too close, and I felt- I felt possessive, I didn’t want Seonghwa to get his hands on her, fuck I almost slammed that door in Yunho’s face when he came down to-”

“San,” Wooyoung whispers, and San falls silent. “What- what are you saying?”

San doesn’t answer him, and Wooyoung reaches over to grab his chin, pulling his face towards him. San’s eyes are wide and full of something that looks like fear.

“Do you- do you like her?”

San stays quiet, and Wooyoung lets himself fall back against the railing. “Jesus Christ San, that’s fucked up!” A look to the side reveals that same look of worried apprehension in San’s eyes, so Wooyoung quickly picks up his hand again, holding it in both of his own and pressing it to his chest in a gesture of reassurance. “I mean, feelings aren’t really anything we can control, right? It’s just, um, well the circumstances are kinda- not ideal?”

“Not ideal?” San repeats, disbelieving.

Wooyoung sighs. “Did you, you know, back then, did you know? While- while all that happened?”

San shakes his head, shoulders slumped forward. “It was all a mess,” he whispers. “My feelings were all over the place. Most of all I was worried about you, I was so scared, and so angry, and it felt good to have somewhere to direct that anger. Someone.” He pauses, face twisting in an expression of self-disgust. “It was so easy to justify it all. So easy to just tell myself I’m doing it for you. I enjoyed it, Wooyoung. I started looking forward to it. She never- she never gave me anything, but I didn’t even care. I knew that I was getting to her, and it was so… addicting, the way she would look at me, react to everything I did. At some point I noticed that I was almost proud when she didn’t cave, when she held on. And I kept telling myself that I’m just playing the long game, that this is all just part of the strategy, that I’m just really immersing myself because it makes the whole thing work better on her, but I was fucking deluding myself Wooyoung.” He looks over, his eyes pleading for understanding, or maybe for forgiveness. “I told myself I only enjoyed it because I’m working towards getting revenge for what happened to you. That it would all be fine because she was going to cave eventually. I was getting her there, I could feel it, and I couldn’t stop. I- I lost control a couple of times, did things out of the books. Like when she bit me, or when I cut her. Fuck, I can’t even look at her without being reminded of that Wooyoung, I’m so fucked up.”

The last words are groaned into his hands, and Wooyoung sits there, trying to swallow what he just heard. He tries to come up with something to say, but San is not done.

“When- when Yunho came to take her, I almost fucking lost it. She was begging me not to let him take her, she looked so shocked, so betrayed, and I fucking felt like it. Like I betrayed her. That’s kind of when I finally realized I had royally fucked up. And then- then you came home and it all came out and I- Wooyoung, fuck, I wished I didn’t exist.”

Wooyoung flinches next to him, and finds himself reaching out without even thinking about it. San stiffens for just a second, then he returns the hug, awkward angles and all. They cling to each other for a solid minute, before slowly settling back against the railing. Wooyoung drops his head against San’s shoulder.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispers.

San laughs joylessly. “You were already mad at me because I hurt your friend, I didn’t- I couldn’t face it. I honestly tried not to think about it at all. I- I thought about leaving, like Seonghwa, but I couldn’t just leave you without an explanation. I managed to just stay out of her way in the mansion, and it was fine, and I thought maybe it would be okay, maybe I would just be normal about her, maybe it was all just that fucking clusterfuck of a situation and I didn’t actually fucking know what I was feeling.” He sighs. “And then the mansion was attacked, and suddenly she was there. And I couldn’t hide from her. I had to get her out, and she was so- she must have been fucking terrified. Seonghwa almost shot her. And then-” he pauses again, swallows. “I didn’t see the guy. I just heard Seonghwa shout something and then I looked up and saw her with her gun pointed in my direction and the shot went off and I was honestly convinced she just fucking shot me in the chest.” He looks over at Wooyoung, smiles ruefully. “And all I was thinking was, yeah that’s fair. But she hadn’t shot me. She had saved my fucking life.” He shakes his head. “As if this whole thing needed to get any more complicated, now I also owe her my life. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? How can I ever make this right?”

The look he gives Wooyoung is full of despair, and honestly, Wooyoung gets it. What a fucking shit show. Whatever exists between Mia and San is tangled up so badly that it seems almost impossible to even begin to solve.

“What a mess,” he mutters, and San chuckles dryly. “Yeah,” he whispers.

San looks over at him, cautiously, searching. “You don’t- you don’t hate me after all that?” His voice is very small.

Wooyoung frowns and flicks San’s forehead. “Of course not, you idiot. I might get upset with you sometimes, but I will never, ever hate you.” He smiles, and then sighs. “Mia doesn’t hate you either,” he adds, more softly, and San scoffs. “I’m not so sure about that. You saw the way she left, how much I upset her.”

Wooyoung tilts his head to the side, thinking, remembering that what he had initially tried to find out was what exactly had caused Mia to bail.

“So… she left after you said that it wasn’t all strategy? Or was there something else?”

San chewed on his tongue for a while. “I told her that I did care. That I didn’t want to let Yunho take her. She- she yelled at me, told me I can’t just fucking say that to her.”

Wooyoung takes a long, slow breath. “Yeah, okay, alright.” He nods. “So why do you think she reacted so strongly?”

San looks at him in helpless confusion, and Wooyoung sighs. “Sannie,” he says, slowly. “She told you herself that she still struggles with that weird kind of connection you two built, the one she thought was entirely fake. I’m guessing that Hongjoong telling her it was all tactics was painful to hear and that she started trying to work on that, to convince herself that there was nothing there and to cut whatever feelings of attachment were still left over from back then. She probably put in a hell lot of mental work to get to a point where she could interact normally with you. And now you come in and tell her that actually, it wasn’t all fake, so now everything she had tried so hard to convince herself of lays shattered at her feet.”

San blinks, and then he drops his head back with a loud groan. “Fuck!” he curses, running a hand across his face. “I’m the fucking WORST!”

Wooyoung huffs a laugh and nudges their shoulders together. “You’re fine San. You might not always be the smartest, but you do try.”

San sits up and stares at Wooyoung incredulously, then his shoulders drop. “Can’t even argue with that,” he mutters.

Wooyoung smiles and pats his arm. “At least we know what went wrong now, yeah? And I’m glad that- that you told me all of that. I might have to get absolutely wasted with Mingi tonight and scream into my pillow a bit later on, but hey, it’s all out now. That probably feels better, doesn’t it?”

San sighs. “I guess it does,” he says eventually. “I was always so scared of confronting all of that shit. I should have- I should have trusted you more. Told you sooner.” He looks at Wooyoung with wide, apologetic puppy eyes.

“Damn right you should have!” Wooyoung punches his shoulder, but the look he gives San is full of love. “Come on, I’m actually fucking starving. The others are gonna be up soon, and I should also probably check on Mia.”

San nods, and then he wraps his arms around Wooyoung in a hug so tight that he feels the air rush out of his lungs with a whoosh. “Can’t- breathe- bullet holes-” Wooyoung croaks, and San immediately drops him, leaving Wooyoung to flail for balance for a second.

“Oh no, did I hurt you?”

“You’re fine,” Wooyoung reassures him and gives his head a couple of affectionate pats. “No harm done. I’m just not quite as durable yet.”

San nods and gets to his feet, and he pulls Wooyoung up with infinite gentleness.

“Let’s go make some breakfast.”

 

Notes:

Amicus Ad Aras <3

Chapter 21

Notes:

it's JONGHO TIME

 

Jongho is squatting on the ground, somewhat helplessly petting Mia’s hair. This is not how he had envisioned his morning to go, but now he is kneeling on the cold floor at the top of the stairs at the ass crack of dawn with an armful of sobbing girl.

I am not qualified for this, he thinks with some exasperation.

It had all happened so fast. One second he had been sleeping, then he had been roused by a number of alarming noises and raised voices, and when he shot out of bed, grabbing the gun he always kept under his pillow, he hadn’t even made it five steps out of his room before he had collided with Mia who had bounced back so hard that only Jongho’s quick reflexes had saved her from being hurled down the stairs. She had already been crying then, but Jongho’s worried ‘Oh shit, are you okay? Did something happen?’ somehow caused a complete breakdown, and Jongho, not knowing what else to do, held her through it.

He is relatively sure that they aren’t being actively invaded and that whatever happened probably doesn’t pose a security risk, because he trusts Mia enough to actually tell him if that were the case, but that doesn’t stop him from casting worried glances down the stairs and keeping his ears sharp.

Mia’s sobs are starting to quiet down, turning into sad little sniffles, and Jongho rubs small circles into her back. He is not really a big fan of close physical contact, and his way of comforting people usually looks different from this, but he had heard that he gave good hugs. The best, Wooyoung had actually said once. Although he isn’t sure whether that might just be because of their rarity. Be that as it may, whatever he is doing seems to be working, since Mia seems significantly calmer than just a minute ago.

Should he do anything, say anything? He just barely stopped himself from saying ‘there, there’ like an absolute moron. Better to stay quiet and let her decide on the next step. Maybe he should call for Wooyoung.

He can feel the wet patch on his shoulder start to grow cold, and Mia shifts a bit in his arms. Jongho immediately loosens his hold, and Mia draws back, running her sleeve across her face.

“I’m sorry,” she croaks in a hoarse whisper, still hiding her face with her arm.

“It’s okay,” says Jongho. “Um, just to make sure, there’s no- danger, right? You weren’t like, attacked or anything?”

Mia drops her arm, looking at Jongho with eyes that are round and shiny with residual tears. “Oh! No, nothing like that.” She looks away again, and her features twist into something pained.

They sit there in a somewhat awkward silence, and Jongho is trying to figure out what to do. He and Mia don’t really know each other very well, there is not really much basis for this. Even with the others, he usually just shows his support with quiet assurances. He could just walk away from this, find Wooyoung, nobody would blame him.

Mia’s lower lip starts wobbling, and she bites down on it. “I, um, I should- I should go.” Her voice is a shaky, broken thing, and Jongho feels a small tug in his chest.

He sighs. “Hey um, do you wanna… talk? About what happened?”

Mia looks at him again with those huge, sorrowful eyes. “I- I don’t want to impose,” she whispers.

Jongho thinks about what he could say to convince her this was an offer he made voluntarily, when there are suddenly voices floating up from the living room. Mia flinches violently, her eyes wide with panic.

“Come on,” Jongho mutters, pulling her up and leading her into her bedroom, his bedroom, with a sure grip on her arm. She follows easily, seemingly relieved to be escaping what sounded like San and Wooyoung downstairs. Jongho closes the door softly and listens for a moment, but it doesn’t sound like they are coming upstairs.

When he turns around, Mia is standing in the middle of the room with her arms wrapped around her middle protectively, looking rather lost.

Jongho thinks for a moment. “Do you want to take a walk?”

Mia’s eyes flicker to the door with fresh fear, and Jongho quickly shakes his head. “Ah no, we can just sneak out through the window!” At Mia’s look of confusion, he walks towards the large double window, gesturing at her to follow him. “See that ledge? If we follow that until we reach the corner, there’s a set of steel stairs we can pull down. This house is pretty much designed in a way that lets you escape from every room without having to risk breaking your neck.”

Mia looks doubtful, and Jongho thinks that maybe she has a fear of heights until she turns those doubtful eyes on him. “You don’t have to do this,” she whispers.

“I know,” Jongho says easily. She doesn’t look convinced, so Jongho sighs. “Listen, if you prefer to be alone right now, absolutely fine, I’ll leave you alone. But if you would rather have company, either with talking or without, I’m here.” He shrugs and gives her a rare smile. “I don’t have much else to do this morning.”

There’s a small answering smile on Mia’s face, a bit wobbly, but there all the same.

Jongho counts that as a win.

“Should I- go get your shoes?” he asks carefully, eyeing her socked feet. Mia hesitates, and then she nods. “What if they ask what you’re doing?”

Jongho shrugs. “I’ll probably just tell them the truth, it’s not like they’re gonna try and stop me or anything.”

Mia bites her lip again but doesn’t offer any protests, so Jongho gives her his best attempt at a reassuring smile and quietly leaves the room, closing the door behind himself. He pads down the stairs without making any noise, listening to the sounds of San and Wooyoung’s quiet voices and the sizzling of something on the stove. It smells like bacon, and Jongho’s stomach chooses this moment to give a sad little rumble, reminding him that he hasn’t eaten anything today. Breakfast will have to wait.

He collects both his boots and Mia’s sneakers, as well as his own coat and one that maybe belongs to Wooyoung, he doesn’t really care. When he makes his way back to the stairs, he throws one last glance in the direction of the living room and suddenly finds himself staring into Wooyoung’s surprised face from across the room. Neither of them say anything, and Wooyoung’s eyes flick down, taking in both pairs of shoes and the coats thrown over his arm. He can practically see the wheels working in Wooyoung’s brain before his look of confusion gets replaced by understanding. He gives a minuscule nod and then walks out of Jongho’s field of vision, noisily reprimanding San for almost burning his eggs.

Pleased, Jongho returns to Mia’s room.

Whatever coat he brought up for Mia turns out to not be Wooyoung’s after all, since she is practically drowning in it, the shoulders much too wide and the gray woolen fabric almost reaching her ankles. At least she will be warm.

Jongho has a moment of doubt, thinking that he could also just do the sensible thing and walk out the front door with Mia, but there is something like excitement sparkling in her eyes and maybe doing something a little reckless is just what she needs right now. He’ll just have to make sure she stays safe.

“Alright, I’ll go first. It’s very important that you lean slightly to the side of the roof, keeping your hand against the tiles, alright? The ledge is wider than it looks but we still don’t want to risk anything. And with that coat, it kind of looks like a strong gust of wind will just send you flying.”

Mia honest to god giggles at that, and Jongho feels rather pleased with himself. He’s killing it at this cheering up thing.

After he climbs down onto the ledge, he turns around to help Mia, who already has one leg out of the window. “Okay okay let’s take it slow, yeah? Wooyoung will kill me if you fall and hurt yourself on my watch.”

Mia smiles again, this one crinkling her nose a little, and dutifully grabs Jongho’s offered hand, helping her safely out onto the ledge. It’s only a few steps until they reach the corner of the house, and Jongho pulls down the stairs that are making an unpleasant screeching noise following the years of disuse. Jongho steps on them first, testing them carefully, then he beckons Mia to follow him. The metal is bobbing up and down a bit under their shared weight, but when Jongho looks back to check on Mia, she looks rather happy, no trace of fear on her face.

They both make it down safely onto the grass, overgrown and still damp from the early morning. Jongho lets go of the metal stairs, which causes them to pull up to their original position with no small amount of creaking, and he doesn’t miss the look of surprise and slight dismay on Mia’s face. Oh well. She can’t hide from the others forever anyway.

He turns wordlessly and walks towards the tree line, a plan already formed in his head of where he would be taking her. Mia hurries to follow him.

They walk in silence for a long while, following a path through the thick trees. The forest is quiet and loud at the same time, the air filled with the rustle of leaves, the chirping of birds and the echoing drumming of a woodpecker. It smells fresh and earthy and alive, and Jongho notices that Mia is taking several deep breaths next to him, her eyes on the canopy of autumn colored leaves.

It takes them about fifteen minutes to reach the metal fence that surrounds their property, and Jongho follows it until they reach the small side gate that nobody ever uses, mostly because it is much too narrow for a car and there is nothing really of interest on the other side, except for more trees. He opens the small metal box next to the gate and presses a few buttons, then he leans forward and brings his face as close as possible to the little lens in the corner of the box. A happy little jingle of beeps lets him know he has been accepted, and then the lock clicks.

“Is that- facial recognition?” Mia asks incredulously.

“Iris scanner,” Jongho corrects and pushes open the gate. When he looks back at Mia, he finds her rooted to the ground with wide eyes. He waits.

“We’re leaving?” she asks eventually, her voice small. “Is that- safe?”

Jongho smiles. “We’re not going far,” he says. “And I’m here, so, nothing to worry about.”

Mia hesitates for a moment, and Jongho considers showing her the gun strapped to his ankle, but he could also see that coming off horribly wrong.

“Alright,” she says eventually, squares her narrow little shoulders, and follows him outside of their territory.

Jongho turns to the right, following a trail that is so hidden and overgrown it can hardly be called a path. He holds overhanging branches out of the way so Mia doesn’t get smacked in the face every few minutes, and they keep walking in silence.

Jongho thinks about bringing up what had happened, but decides against it. He had offered both quiet companionship and a listening ear, it was up to her to choose what she wanted.

After a while, the trees are starting to thin, and slivers of the lake are peeking out from between the trees. Jongho leads Mia around a pile of large boulders, and then, having reached his destination, he starts climbing up one of them. The rock face is uneven and jagged enough that footholds are easy to find, and Jongho trusts Mia to find her own way up.

With a sigh, Jongho drops down onto a smooth area of stone, leaning back against another outcrop of stone and stretching his legs out in front of himself. It only takes a couple of seconds before Mia’s head pops up next to him, and then he hears a sharp intake of breath. He smiles, keeping his eyes on the absolutely glorious view in front of them.

They are sitting above the lake, with a full view of the large expanse of water, glittering in the morning sun that is melting away the last of the fog. There are several ancient willows flanking the shore, their branches dangling above the water’s surface. The lake house is visible on the other side, the small sandy beach conjuring up memories of the summers they spent here. There are several flocks of waterfowl paddling across the water, and Jongho can spot at least one heron fishing for a meal.

“It’s beautiful,” Mia whispers, settling down next to Jongho. He nods, satisfied. “I like coming here,” he says. “It’s so quiet, and I never get tired of the view. It’s great for clearing my head, or when I really need to think and the others are being too loud.”

He can feel Mia watching him, as if she expects him to ask. When he doesn’t, she turns back towards the lake, visibly relaxing.

They sit in a companionable silence, and Jongho is almost convinced that she chose not to talk to him after all when he hears her take a couple of deep breaths.

“I talked to San,” she says, and then stops again. Jongho peers over and finds her staring out across the water. “This morning?” he asks, gently prompting her to continue.

She turns to face him and the look she gives him is so miserable that Jongho can feel it in his bones. “Yeah,” she whispers.

The sun has moved to its zenith when Mia eventually stops talking, wiping at the last bit of wetness on her cheeks and sighing. “It’s a mess,” she mutters, and Jongho finds himself wholeheartedly agreeing. “Do you want me to beat him up for you?” he offers, only half-joking, and Mia laughs wetly. “I don’t think that will help much,” she says and shoots him a smile. “But I appreciate it.”

Jongho nods, and then he freezes. The hair on his arms is standing up, and his heart is starting to beat faster. Mia is leaning her head back against the rock face, blissfully unaware. Another rustle, caused by something definitely larger than a bird or a squirrel.

Mia is sitting between him and the threat, and Jongho yanks the gun out of the holster around his ankle, pulling Mia down and throwing himself across her body. She gives a small squeak of surprise and Jongho is hissing at her to be quiet, when a familiar voice carries from the tree line.

“Don’t shoot, Jong-bear, it’s just me!”

Jongho groans and falls back, allowing Mia to sit back up, looking slightly ruffled and shaken. She stares with an open mouth as he shoves the gun back into its holster and covers it with his pant leg. “You had a gun on you this whole time?”

“He always does, honeybuns!” Wooyoung singsongs and his head pops up next to their little ledge. Mia flinches and stares at him in surprise. “Woo, how the hell did you know we were here?”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “As if I don’t know Jongho’s secret hiding place. Don’t worry, I’m not crashing your party, I just wanted to drop off some snacks cause, you know, it’s almost noon and I know that you haven’t eaten yet.” He wiggles out of his backpack and pushes it into Mia’s arms.

“Wooyoung, that’s- thank you!” She breathes, and Wooyoung just waves a hand dismissively. “Yeah yeah, don’t worry about it. I’ll see you later, and Jongho, be nice!”

Jongho straightens, offended. “I’m always nice!”

Wooyoung grins. “Suuure you are. Alright well, bye-bye, have fun!” Without waiting for a response, he drops out of sight, and the retreating rustles let Jongho know that he actually left. They both stare at the backpack in stunned silence.

“I am so fucking hungry,” Jongho admits eventually, and Mia huffs a surprised laugh. “Yeah actually, me too. Wanna check what’s inside?”

It turns out that ‘a couple of snacks’ meant an entire breakfast spread, complete with pancakes, a bottle of maple syrup, a little Tupperware box of scrambled eggs with small pieces of bacon mixed in, a bottle of orange juice and a thermos full of coffee.

“Oh my god,” Jongho groans as the first sip of coffee hits his system. “I love Wooyoung so fucking much.” He turns around to fix Mia with a threatening stare. “Don’t you dare tell him I said that.”

Mia giggles, screwing the lid back on the orange juice. “I wouldn’t dare,” she says.

They eat in silence for a while, and Jongho uses that time to contemplate what Mia told him. It doesn’t take long before Mia pushes away the box of pancakes with a groan, having apparently eaten her fill. Jongho picks up the container and happily finishes everything left inside, and then he packs up the empty boxes, keeping the thermos of coffee close.

“You want any more?” he asks and waves the thermos around, but Mia just shakes her head, her eyes half-closed. “If I consume any more I will explode,” she sighs, and Jongho pours himself another cup.

He is content to quietly sip his coffee while they watch a family of geese land noisily on the lake, maybe taking a break on their journey to warmer regions.

It is Mia who eventually breaks the silence. “What do I do now?” she asks quietly, her eyes fixed on one of the geese that is ruffling its wings on the water, glittering droplets rolling off its body.

Jongho hums. “That depends,” he says. “What do you want?”

Mia throws him a questioning look.

“I mean,” Jongho continues, “you can pretty much control what happens now. Whatever your choice ends up being, San will do his absolute damnedest to make that happen. You don’t ever want to talk to him again? He’ll stay out of your way. You want him to grovel at your feet and beg for your forgiveness for the next three years? He’ll do it.” Jongho notices the way Mia’s face twists at that. “You want him to pretend nothing ever happened and treat you completely normally, whatever that means? He’ll try and do that.”

Mia takes that in, chews on it. “I think,” she says eventually, “that I don’t want to be controlling his behavior. I don’t want him to act the way he thinks I want him to act. That’s not helping. I just,” she throws up her hands exasperatedly. “I want to know what the fuck is going on in his head! I want to know,” she stops, starts chewing on her bottom lip. When she continues, her voice has gotten quieter. “I want to know what he meant, when he said that. I want to know what he wants. What I don’t want is for him to try and make up for what happened for all eternity, I don’t want him to think he has to earn my forgiveness or something.”

“You know the quickest way to make him stop trying to earn your forgiveness?”

Mia throws him an annoyed look. “Like that’s gonna stop him,” she mutters. “If I tell him he’s forgiven, he’ll think I just said that to make him feel better or some bullshit. He’s going to keep doing this shit until he has forgiven himself!”

Jongho turns to look at her, his eyebrows raised. She looks back at him with the same expression, as if surprised herself by what she had said.

“Damn,” Jongho says, stretching out the word, which earns him an elbow to the ribs, but Mia can’t hide the small spark of contentment in her eyes. “You’re not wrong, but it still might make things easier. I mean, obviously that is only an option if you actually have forgiven him.” He peers at her face, but Mia looks away, saying nothing.

“You know,” Jongho says after a few seconds of silence have passed. “If San hadn’t fought so hard for that assignment, it might have been given to me.”

Mia’s head whips around, her eyes wide. “What- what do you mean?”

“Interrogating you. And everything that entails. It initially wasn’t supposed to go to San.”

Mia opens her mouth, closes it. “That’s- a sobering thought,” she mutters, and Jongho doesn’t miss the little side looks she throws his way. Probably imagining how that would have gone. He decides it is better that she doesn’t find out.

“It would have either been given to me, or to Mingi,” he continues, and Mia chokes on her orange juice. “Oh Jesus, fuck,” she croaks, and Jongho thumps her back a couple of times as she coughs to clear her airways. “Thank god it didn’t go to Mingi!”

Jongho leans his head to the side, studying her. “Because you are scared of what he might have done to you? Or because you wouldn’t wish San’s pain on him?”

Mia blinks, staring at him. She is clutching the plastic bottle so hard it starts crinkling in her grip. “I-” she starts and then falls silent again. A plethora of conflicted emotions cross her face, and then her shoulders drop, deflated. “Am I a hypocrite?” she asks quietly.

“Nah,” Jongho says. “You have no reason to think badly of Mingi at all. You have plenty of reasons to think badly of San.”

“Yeah but,” Mia starts twisting the bottle. “That’s the thing! If the job had gone to Mingi, I would have plenty of reasons to hate him, and no reason at all to be mad at San!”

Jongho hums, considering this. “It’s not that simple,” he says eventually. “You said yourself that you’re not resenting San for hurting you, but for all the other stuff. I can assure you Mingi wouldn’t have gone at it with that kind of psychological manipulation. His approach to these things is a little more… straightforward.”

Mia gives him a sideways look. “What’s your approach?”

Jongho smiles. “Let’s hope you never find out.”

Mia narrows her eyes at him. “Have you done that stuff before?”

“Yes.”

“How often?”

Jongho waves a hand around. “Let’s not get off topic here,” he says, and watches the corners of Mia’s mouth turn down unhappily. “We can agree that it would have been bad if Mingi had gotten the job, and we can be thankful that didn’t happen. You don’t seem to be too worried about me in this hypothetical scenario, so I guess we know where your loyalties lie.”

Mia opens her mouth in protest and then she punches Jongho’s shoulder as he cackles. “Asshole,” she mutters. “Seriously though, I feel like you probably would have coped better than the two of them. Wouldn’t you?”

“I agree,” Jongho nods, serious again. “But things happened the way they did, and we can’t know what would have changed. Maybe this is the best outcome.”

Both of them dwell on their own thoughts for a while.

“So,” Jongho says eventually, taking the conversation back to its original topic. “What you want is to find out San’s position on all of this, his feelings on the matter, his feelings on you. With that knowledge, you’ll have an easier time deciding on your own course of action.”

Mia takes a long, measured breath. “Yeah,” she says.

“Then you’ll have to ask him,” Jongho says and Mia groans, burying her face in her hands. “I don’t want to!” Her voice is muffled. “Look at how that conversation went last time!”

Jongho pats her arm. “I get it,” he says. “I wouldn’t want to either, to be honest. I don’t envy you. But if you want things to change, you’ll unfortunately have to talk to him. Also,” he adds, having a sudden realization, “we know that he talked to Wooyoung, who will probably have already smacked some sense into him if San actually told him what happened.”

Mia huffs a laugh and drops her hands. “Probably,” she says.

“Knowing him, he probably gave him a very detailed explanation of what exactly he did wrong, complete with several slaps to the back of his head.” Jongho grins and raises his flask of coffee. “To Wooyoung, both for the emotional work and for the breakfast,” he says and Mia bumps her crinkled up bottle of orange juice against Jongho’s with a smile.

“To Wooyoung,” she agrees and they both finish the last sips of their drinks.

 

Notes:

I had a lot of fun with this chapter, we finally got a little Jongho pov! Sometimes, a new perspective from someone not involved can be really helpful. I'm very proud of our Maknae and how he handled this! (Yes I know I wrote it, I'm still proud :D)
I hope you enjoyed this one! And as always, thank you for reading ♥️

Chapter 22

Notes:

TW: mentions of past torture

 

When Mia and Jongho get back to the house, the door flies open to reveal Wooyoung who looks so stressed that Mia takes an instinctive step back, ready to hide behind Jongho.

“Guys! Mingi is gone!”

Jongho frowns at him. “What the fuck do you mean, he is gone. Elaborate, Wooyoung!”

Wordlessly, Wooyoung holds up a piece of paper, and both Mia and Jongho lean forward in an attempt to read the messy scrawl of words.

 

I’m getting the cats

Don’t follow me

- Mingi

 

They stare at the note in stunned silence for several seconds, before Jongho groans loudly. “Mingi, man, what the FUCK!”

Wooyoung steps back, beckoning at them to come inside. “Come on, we need to have a team meeting and figure out what to do.”

They follow him into the living room, where San is already sitting at the big dining table, looking rather forlorn. His eyes immediately snap to Mia’s face, then down at his hands.

Jongho lowers himself into his armchair. “When did you find that? And when have you last seen him?”

“I haven’t seen him at all today. He didn’t come down for breakfast so I thought he was just massively oversleeping, it got a little weird at some point so I went to check on him and found this on his bed. That was about twenty minutes ago.”

“Ah fuck, so he could have left hours ago. Mia, you were up early, did you hear anything?”

Mia flinches at the question. “Um, no, I didn’t,” she says, eyes flickering over to San who is still staring at his hands. “But I was out on the porch pretty much the whole time. He could have just left through the front door at some point and I wouldn’t have heard anything, unless he slammed the door or something.”

Jongho sighs. “Mingi can be scarily stealthy when he wants to be. I guess you already tried to call him?”

Wooyoung nods, his lips pressed together into a flat line. “He’s not picking up.”

“Should we call the others?” San asks, his voice very quiet.

There’s a slight pause.

“They are closer to the mansion,” Wooyoung says eventually. “If something… went wrong,” he starts biting at his lip.

“Seonghwa said he didn’t see anyone there,” Jongho says. “But we can’t be sure that no one is watching that place. If he is fast, it should be easy. But what if one of the cats is hiding in a tree or something? I mean-” he runs a hand across his face. “It might take him a while. But if he went really early, which he probably did so that he would be gone before San got up, he’ll have already arrived there like- two hours ago?” He grimaces.

They go back and forth for a while, weighing arguments against each other, talking about loyalty and autonomy and risk assessment, and Mia is pretty sure that Jongho is only seconds away from calling Hongjoong when Wooyoung’s phone vibrates and gives a very robotic sounding little bark.

Wooyoung flinches so hard he almost drops the phone as he scrambles to unlock it, and then he stares at the screen for a second before collapsing against the table with a shaky exhale.

Jongho is halfway out of his chair as San snatches the phone from Wooyoung’s limp fingers and wordlessly turns the screen so everyone can see it.

 

            [Princess Minki]

            omw back

 

There’s a collective sigh of relief, and Jongho drops back into his armchair with his eyes closed. “Yunho will kill him,” he mutters, and Wooyoung, head still on the table, peers up at him. “Only if he finds out,” he says, and Jongho scoffs. “What are you planning to do, just pretend the cats found us all on their own?”

“Maybe we can just sneak them back to the mansion later,” San says and there is something almost like a smile on his face. He meets Mia’s eyes for a split second, and Mia’s heart gives a little stutter before she quickly looks away.

“So how mad at him are we?” Wooyoung asks after a moment of silence.

Jongho frowns. “I feel like I should be furious but I’m honestly just glad he’s okay.”

“I’m kinda looking forward to having the cats here,” Mia offers, feeling a bit shy. Wooyoung lifts his head from the table and gives her a warm smile. “Hell yeah!” he agrees. “I gotta admit I have felt pretty shitty about the fact that we just left them there. They must be so scared and hungry!”

Everyone considers that for a while, and then San speaks up. “I think I’m not actually angry at all,” he mutters, and the tension in the room dissipates as his words are followed with nods and hums of agreement.

The next two hours are filled with nervous anticipation. No one seems to want to retreat to their room, so they all hover around the living room while Wooyoung begins cooking an elaborate dinner. After a while he starts delegating tasks to everyone, and so before long Mia finds herself dicing carrots while San is kneading dough for some homemade pasta and Jongho is sullenly scrubbing at a large greasy frying pan, muttering something about preferential treatment and unfair work division. Wooyoung starts blasting a playlist of summery pop songs over the kitchen speakers, drowning out Jongho’s complaints, and Mia smiles down at her carrots.

Everyone flinches when an alarm goes off, several loud beeps cutting through the music before Jongho hurriedly runs to the door to shut it off.

Mia abandons the macchiato she had been making to turn wide eyes in Wooyoung’s direction, who had gone back to stirring his pasta sauce. “It’s just the alert from the gate,” he explains. “It means Mingi will be here in a minute.” He turns off the stove and directs a bright smile at Mia. “Wanna come welcome him?”

Mia follows him outside, alarmed by the sudden thought that they don’t even know whether Mingi actually found the cats, but her worries turn out to be unfounded.

They are soon joined by San, and they all watch silently as Mingi parks his car. It takes him a couple of extra seconds before he climbs out of the driver’s seat, and Mia’s heart gives a happy little flip at the sight of Max perched on Mingi’s shoulder while Princess is cradled in his arm.

Mingi hesitates when he sees them all standing there, his expression sheepishly guilty, and he seems to square his shoulders against the expected storm.

“Guys, listen,” he starts, but before he can say anything more, Wooyoung is skipping through the garden with his arms wide, throwing himself at Mingi, squishing Princess between them. “You’re back!” He cheers, and the look of surprise on Mingi’s face melts into one of warm relief as he drops his forehead against Wooyoung’s hair. Princess wiggles out from between their bodies, jumps to the ground and pads towards San, who scoops her up and buries his nose in her fur. Mia can hear her purring from several feet away.

“OW!” Wooyoung flinches away from Mingi, and Mia dissolves into giggles at the sight of Max furiously swatting his tiny black paw at Wooyoung’s head. “Demon! Hell spawn! Scourge of Satan!” he curses, but then he grabs at Max and tries to pull him away from Mingi’s shoulder, resulting in loud meowing and more swatting at Wooyoung’s face. “Will you shut up and let me LOVE YOU!” Wooyoung yells, and then he tucks the wiggling ball of fur under his arm and marches into the house.

Mingi watches him leave, and his smile drops when his eyes fall on Jongho, who is watching him with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He ducks his head, the guilty expression back on his face. “How much trouble am I in?”

Jongho sighs. “You would be in a lot more trouble if something had happened to you. We were fucking worried, Mingi! Why didn’t you talk to us beforehand?”

Mingi shrugs, shuffling his feet. “You would have either not let me go or insisted on coming with me. I didn’t want to put anyone else at risk.”

“Oh and if you hadn’t come back, you think we would have just sat back and thought Oh well, guess Mingi’s gone now? We would have come after you, obviously! We’re a team, Mingi. You can’t just pull shit like this on your own.”

Mingi’s face twists unhappily, and Jongho sighs. “Promise you’ll talk to us next time, alright? I don’t want to lose you.”

Mingi looks up, cheeks tinged pink, and then he nods. “Promise,” he mutters.

“Alright then, come on in, Wooyoung made pasta,” Jongho declares and turns around, disappearing inside the house. There’s a moment of awkward silence as Mingi and Mia realize that they’re the only ones left outside.

Mia smiles. “Welcome back,” she says, and the corner of Mingi’s mouth pulls up. “I’m glad you’re okay, and I’m glad you got the kitties out,” she adds, feeling a bit self-conscious, fiddling with the sleeves of her sweater. Mingi’s smile widens until his eyes are crinkled into little half-moons, and then he walks up to her and tentatively touches her shoulder before heading towards the house. “Me too,” he sighs, sounding both relieved and happy.

~

Wooyoung hesitates in front of Mia’s door, hand raised. After a moment, he drops it. “Mia?” he calls softly. “Can I come in?”

The door opens, showing Mia in her pajamas, her hair braided back.

“Ah sorry, were you in bed already?”

Mia shakes her head and steps back, gesturing for Wooyoung to come in. “I was just getting ready,” she says and smiles, but there’s something tense about it. Wooyoung sighs. “Are you up for a talk or have you had enough today? We can just postpone it, whatever you prefer.”

Something softens in Mia’s face. She drops onto her bed, patting the space next to her. “Nah, let’s just get it over with, I was kind of waiting for you to come, honestly. I doubt I would have been able to fall asleep anyway. This is about San, yeah?”

Wooyoung sits down next to her, hugging a pillow to his chest. “Yeah,” he says. “But probably not quite what you expect. I know you already talked to Jongho about what happened, about what he said. You probably don’t need any more input on that. But, I’ve been thinking,” he shifts around, biting his lip. There’s a persistent twinge of anxiety in his gut that he can’t quite get rid of. “I wanna tell you something about San. And it’s not- I swear I’m not telling you this so you forgive him quicker or anything, you know I’m all for you being angry and all that. And it’s also not really a secret or something like that. I’m sure he would tell you himself, but he won’t, because he wouldn’t want you to think that he wants sympathy or that he thinks it excuses anything he did, or that-”

“Wooyoung.” Mia interrupts him quietly.

“Sorry.” Several seconds of silence pass, and then Wooyoung hardens his resolve. “What- what happened, with you, in the basement. San’s been through that before.” There, he said it. No way back now.

“He accidentally interrogated the wrong person before?” Mia asks, sounding confused.

“No,” Wooyoung says, looking up at her. “He was the one being interrogated.”

“Oh,” Mia says, and then she blanches. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Wooyoung looks down again. “I- I don’t like to think about that time. It was- it was bad, really bad. It was during the time we took down that child trafficking ring. There were only two of the guys who had been in charge still alive, and they were desperate. Usually, people know not to mess with us like that. I guess they didn’t see any other options.” He swallows, keeping his gaze down. “They snatched him up while he was out in the city, running some errands. They probably knew we would find them quickly, so they- did a lot of things, in a very small amount of time. To him. It was really bad.”

Mia is very still next to him, then she takes a breath. “What things?” she whispers.

Wooyoung grimaces. “Do you really want to know?”

Mia takes her time with her answer. “Yeah, I think so,” she says eventually. “But- if you don’t want to talk about it, I understand.”

Wooyoung doesn’t, he really doesn’t. But he finds himself answering anyway.

“They whipped him, he still has the scars on his back. Burned him. Gave him electric shocks. They, um.” He swallows again. “They pulled out a couple of his fingernails. Broke almost all of his fingers, some other bones too. Beat him to a pulp, obviously.” His voice starts trembling, and he stops. The lump in his throat persists, no matter how hard he swallows. He doesn’t look up at Mia. “He- he had a lot of long term issues from that. Especially from the shocks and the broken fingers. They only had him for two days before we found him, so it was still early enough to set all the bones correctly, but there was so much damage. Took him years to get his dexterity back. That’s actually why he started baking, apparently kneading dough is a really good way to exercise your hands.” He smiles a bit, finally looking up. Mia’s eyes are wide and horrified, and she looks a little sick.

“It- messed him up pretty bad. Mentally, I mean. Took a long time for him to reach something like normalcy again. And a lot of therapy. I sometimes think about what Hongjoong must have threatened that poor therapist with so he would keep his mouth shut. He was paid handsomely though, so I guess he can’t really complain.” He starts picking at the threads hanging from the pillow. “He was completely obsessed with getting back into fighting shape. He wasn’t this buff before all of that happened. I think- I think he felt like he was abandoning the others, putting them in danger while he stayed behind. It was driving him insane.” He sighs. “We all tried to talk him into taking things slow, but he was so desperate to get back in the field. It actually went pretty well, all things considered, even though we all thought it was too early. But it helped, being a functioning part of the team again. That’s how he phrased it, at least.” He chances another look at Mia’s face, only to find that her expression has melted into something sorrowful. “He’s pretty much back to his old self now. The nightmares have almost stopped. But… yeah, that’s the reason Hongjoong originally didn’t plan on giving that assignment to San. You can probably imagine that he had some… concerns.”

“Yeah,” Mia whispers.

“I guess he was convincing. I think Hongjoong really felt for him, and his desperation to avenge me, or whatever. San and I are… really close. San was apparently going absolutely crazy without being able to do something, while I was in the hospital. Hongjoong has been struggling to say no to him ever since all that stuff happened, so in the end, he relented and San got the job.” He gives Mia a sad little smile. “I haven’t asked him about it, but I actually think that’s why he did things the way he did, with you, because it’s so different from what had been done to him. So he wouldn’t trigger himself, you know?” He shrugs. “That’s just speculation though.”

There’s a long pause during which Wooyoung continues to pull threads from the pillow.

“Thank you for telling me,” Mia says eventually, her voice very quiet. When Wooyoung looks up at her face, her eyes have a distant look to them.

“Like I said, I didn’t tell you this to imply that it lessens his accountability or to make you pity him or anything. He wouldn’t want that. He would hate that, actually. I just- wanted to give some context.”

Mia nods. “I understand.”

Wooyoung fidgets a little, swallowing against a sudden anxious tightness in his throat. “There’s another thing,” he says, biting at his lip. “This morning, I… I was in the kitchen when you ran past, so, I saw that you were crying and just, really upset.”

Mia makes a choked off little sound and when Wooyoung looks up, he sees her rub a hand across her eyes, looking embarrassed. “I was a mess. Sorry you had to see that.”

“No don’t- don’t say that! You were right to be upset. What I mean is, I mean-” he grimaces, trying to find the right words. “I thought about going after you, to check on you, but then I heard San, and I just, I kinda went on autopilot? I feel kinda shitty about it, is what I’m trying to say. Because I wasn’t there for you.”

Mia drops her hand and looks at him, wide-eyed. “It’s okay Woo, I um, I ran into Jongho and that was… I’m really glad. It was nice, talking to him. I think it was exactly what I needed, also just getting out a bit. And it was nice to get to know him a little better.” She smiles a bit, but it doesn’t completely reach her eyes. “And I would never expect you to prioritize me over San. I mean, you guys go back years. And it’s not like you’re responsible for me or anything.”

“Yes I am!” Wooyoung cries, dismayed. Mia flinched back a bit at the volume of his voice, and Wooyoung takes a quick breath to calm himself down. He takes one of her hands in both of his. “I’m the reason you’re here. I’m your friend here, your only friend. Everyone else has a ton of support, people they could go to, but let’s face it, the others are basically all still strangers to you! I just-” he falters, takes another breath. “It doesn’t matter how close San and I are, you’re still the victim in all of this and that changes things. You’re here because we’re forcing you to be here. You’re the one that was hurt. Yes, San is fucked up too by what happened, to an extent we all are, but that’s still not comparable to the fucking trauma you’re working through here! And I shouldn’t- just because you seem like you’re doing okay doesn’t mean that I should lose sight of that.” He presses Mia’s hand against his cheek, watches her blink a couple of times, her eyes a bit shinier than they were just a second ago. “So I just wanted to say, I’m sorry. I should have checked on you. And, I’ll do better in the future.”

There’s a moment of silence, and Mia almost looks like she wants to protest, but then her shoulders drop in a release of tension he hadn’t even quite noticed she held, and she throws her arms around him, drawing him close. Wooyoung clings to her, burying his face in her hair. She smells like Yeosang’s shampoo.

After a while, they separate again, and Mia wipes at her cheeks, the smile she sends his way shaky but full of genuine warmth. “Thank you,” she whispers, and Wooyoung squeezes her hand again, feeling suddenly ten times lighter than before.

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

They sit together for a while longer, and eventually Wooyoung leans over and kisses her on the cheek, getting rewarded with a fleeting little smile.

“Good night, Mia. Feel free to roll me out of my bed whenever you need me, yeah? And about San- don’t shoulder too much of his pain, alright? You have enough of your own.”

Mia takes his hand and squeezes it, but she doesn’t say anything, so Wooyoung gets up and leaves her to her thoughts.

~

Mia is sitting out on the porch, wrapped in a blanket, staring at the deep indigo of the early morning sky. When she had finally managed to doze off hours after Wooyoung had left, she had dreamt that she was pushing San’s face into a bathtub full of blood. After she woke up from that, sobbing into her pillow, she decided not to go back to sleep.

She is having a much better time than the last time she was out here, which is mostly owed to the cat treats she had found the day before, and the two furry companions they have attracted. Max is currently balancing on the wooden railing, chasing after a moth, while Princess is napping curled up on her lap, providing Mia with a very welcome warmth.

It’s hard to feel anxious with a purring cat on her lap, and Mia finds herself filled with a fresh gratitude for Mingi bringing them here.

Max is pouncing at something, making small chirruping noises, then suddenly looks up towards the glass door. Mia sucks in a breath, bracing herself.

The door slides open, and Max jumps off the railing to greet the newcomer.

“Hey sweetheart,” San hums and leans down to scratch Max’s ears while the small black cat rubs its head against San’s leg affectionately.

Mia softly clears her throat, and San’s body goes very still. Several seconds pass before he looks up at her, his expression unreadable, his face shadowed.

He doesn’t say anything.

Mia hugs Princess a little more tightly to her chest. “Hi San,” she says quietly.

San straightens himself up and takes a deep breath before answering. “Hello Mia.” He swallows, looks around, looks back at her. “Would you… like me to stay?”

There is something almost hopeful in his voice, soft as it is, and Mia’s heart clenches. “Yeah,” she says, and San nods. He lowers himself down in the same place as last time, and Max immediately pounces onto his thighs.

San runs a hand across the fur on his back while the cat pads around in a small circle, searching for the most comfortable position.

“No smoking today?” Mia asks after some time has passed. San shakes his head. “I don’t want to bother the cats,” he hums. “They don’t like it.”

Mia nods and starts chewing on her lip, trying to find a good way to start the conversation. San beats her to it.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he says quietly. “I shouldn’t have said what I said. You were dealing with your own issues and I was dumping mine on you. That wasn’t right.”

Mia thinks for a moment. “Were you lying though?”

San’s hand stops in his ministrations, even as Max mewls in protest. “No,” he whispers eventually.

Mia nods. “What did you mean,” she says slowly, “when you said you cared?”

San looks up at her, his eyes wide. “I- I shouldn’t- it doesn’t matter.”

“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter? Why wouldn’t it matter?”

“I just-” San starts looking a little panicky. “I mean, you should be able to work through your own stuff, without having to concern yourself with whatever happened with me.”

Mia frowns. “Well it doesn’t help when the assumptions I’m working with aren’t true,” Mia says. “You remember what I said, about trying to convince my brain that you never actually cared? Do you want me to continue fighting to believe something that’s not true?”

San looks down, shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter how I feel,” he mutters.

Mia wants to shake him. “But it does, San! It does. How you feel changes things for me.”

“You were so- so hurt, though, when I said those things. I don’t want to hurt you anymore.” San’s voice is small, and his words punch the breath out of her lungs, settling heavily in Mia’s chest. It takes her a moment to find her voice, and when she does, it’s softer than before.

“I wasn’t hurt by the fact that you cared though. I was just- it was too much, in that moment. I wasn’t- I wasn’t prepared for that. It kinda hit me out of left field, and I just, I needed to get away.” She watches San, who has gone back to petting Max and is keeping his eyes down. “Anyway, what I’m saying is that you telling me more about that is not gonna cause me to freak out again. I want to know, San.”

San’s mouth twists unhappily. “I’m not proud of those things. It was wrong for me to feel that way. I didn’t- I didn’t deal with it the way I should have.” The next words come out in a whisper. “I don’t want you to hate me even more.”

“I don’t hate you, San.” The words come fast, without Mia even having to think about it.

He looks up, finally, and he still looks torn, but there is something else there. A longing kind of ache. Mia returns his gaze, trying to ignore the goosebumps raising on her arms.

Finally, San sighs, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against the railing.

“At some point, it started feeling like a game of two players, instead of one. I don’t know how else to describe it. You felt like an opponent, rather than… a subject.” He swallows. “I enjoyed it when you fought back. God that sounds so fucked up.” He runs a hand across his face, then quickly drops it down to Max’ head when the cat voices its complaints. “I swear I didn’t think of you in any kind of sexual way, I swear it. It wasn’t like that. I would never-” He grimaces. “I would never. That one time when I realized that- that you thought this was the direction things were going, I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. And don’t get me wrong, I understand how you got there, I just-” His eyes find Mia’s, and they are filled with a raw kind of desperation. “Please believe me.”

“I believe you,” Mia whispers.

San exhales a shaky breath, and visible tension drops from his shoulders. This must have been a huge weight on him, Mia realizes. Ironic, when it hadn’t even entered her list of concerns.

It takes San a while to find his voice again. “You know that I was using certain- strategies to get you to open up to me, make you emotionally more vulnerable.” His eyes are back on his hands, which are still methodically running through black fur. “And I- I’m pretty sure I succeeded.”

“Yeah, you did.”

San’s eyes flicker up to hers for only a split second, visible pain in his gaze, before he drops them down again. “Well, I kind of… failed to keep my own emotional distance? I started losing sight of the main objective. I got too invested, in the wrong things. I kept- I kept telling myself that I was still following the plan. My emotions were all over the place, and I failed to admit to myself that I was losing control of the situation. I-” his face twists again, and Mia notices that his hands are trembling. “In a way, I enjoyed it. Looked forward to it.”

He stops, stays very still, as if he expects to be yelled at. Mia stays quiet. San looks up at her, cautiously, a shadow of apprehension in his eyes. Mia nods, not trusting her voice, but needing to give San the permission to continue. He presses his lips into a line, looks down and away.

“I should have pulled out sooner, shouldn’t have let it come this far. I should have admitted that I was in over my head and stepped back.”

Mia laughs, and it sounds strangled. “What, so Seonghwa would have gotten his hands on me sooner?”

San winces, and something flashes in his eyes.

Mia shakes her head. “No, San. I think I prefer it this way.”

The look San gives her is wide-eyed and incredulous. “You do?”

Mia tilts her head to the side. “If you could turn back time,” she says, “so that either Mingi or Jongho would have gotten the job, would you?”

“No!” The answer comes fast, his voice firm. Mia raises her eyebrows. “No?”

“They would have hurt you.”

Mia laughs again, surprised. “San, you hurt me!”

San shakes his head. “Not like that,” he mutters, and there is something haunted in his eyes.

Mia remembers the conversation with Wooyoung, and suppresses a shudder. She tries to think of something to say, to bring San back from whatever memories he is caught up in. Before she can think of something, San snaps his gaze back up to her face. Tracing down her cheek.

“I’m sorry about the scar,” he whispers, and Mia barely catches herself from running her fingers along its length, the thin red line that is now a permanent feature of her face.

“Why, you don’t like your work?” She had intended that to come out like a joke, but it doesn’t quite work out.

San’s eyes widen. “That’s not- I didn’t say that!”

“I kind of like it,” Mia says, smiling at the way San’s mouth falls open a bit at that. “Makes me look a little dangerous, don’t you think?”

San blinks at her, and then the corners of his mouth curl upwards in the first genuine smile she has ever seen on his face. It’s painfully sweet and it causes Mia’s heart to thud inside her chest.

“It does,” he says, and his eyes are crinkling into little crescents and Mia is suddenly glad for the lingering twilight of dawn, hiding the flush she can feel warming up her cheeks.

San’s smile fades a bit. “I meant what I said, back then,” he says softly. “About wanting you to remember me.”

“Well I’m pretty sure I will, actually,” Mia says, and this time she manages to make it sound lighthearted. When San’s smile returns to his face, she feels a small surge of victory.

They look at each other for a while, and then something else creeps into San’s eyes. A quiet, simmering intensity that reminds her of the way he used to look at her sometimes, back in the basement. It causes a shivery warmth to trickle down her spine, and she finds herself unable to look away. There’s something almost… hungry, in the way he stares at her.

She flinches when Max jumps up and chases another bug down the wooden porch. San looks down, takes a couple of breaths. When he looks up at her again, his eyes are soft. “Thank you for talking to me,” he says, quietly. “I thought- after last night, I thought I had missed my chance.”

He looks entirely too vulnerable again, and Mia just nods and averts her eyes. “You know what would probably help?” she asks after a couple of seconds passed, feeling the corner of her mouth lift in a smile. “If we actually spend some, you know, normal time together. I mean, we haven’t had a single normal interaction, if you think about it. It was all pain and chaos and violence. No wonder we’re struggling.”

San returns her smile. “Yeah, that’s- yeah.” He laughs, a bit awkwardly, but it causes warmth to bubble up inside Mia’s stomach. “Do you, um.” He stops, rubs the back of his neck. “I was gonna start on some bread, if you, um, wanna join? You don’t have to!” He looks down at his hands again.

“Sure,” she says, making it sound very casual. San blinks at her, mildly surprised. “Yeah?” he asks, his smile pulling even wider, making his dimples pop. “What do you want to make? I have ingredients for basically everything!”

“I mean we should definitely make cheese buns for Jongho,” she says, and San nods approvingly. “Of course!”

“And, hm, back in the basement, when you brought breakfast,” she pauses, watching something twitch in San’s face. “The first thing I ate, it was some kind of sweet bun, and it was really soft, and I think there was vanilla in it? It might have been the hunger, but it was seriously so good. I’ve been kind of craving that one.”

There are a multitude of emotions crossing San’s face in rapid succession, and Mia is starting to regret bringing it up, but then San’s face clears and he nods. “Brioche,” he says. “Yeah we can make that!”

Mia claps her hands together, feeling strangely giddy. “Great!”

An hour and a half later, the house is filled with an absolutely divine smell, and Mia very carefully pushes a steaming, golden loaf of Brioche from the baking tray to a wooden chopping board. She dusts her fingers off on the checkered apron San had insisted she wear, and turns a questioning look to San, who is observing her carefully, looking very harmless and domestic with his own matching apron and a bunch of flour in his hair.

“Looks perfect,” he says and gives her an approving little smile. Mia bounces on the balls of her feet with a proud kind of excitement. “It needs to cool some more though, so I’ll just finish off the cheese buns and then we can set the table.”

“Right!” Mia salutes, and San’s eyes crinkle again, before he turns back to his own tray of bread rolls and starts sprinkling cheese on them.

Mia leans against the counter, watching San’s back, when she sees movement in her peripheral. She looks up to see Wooyoung in the doorway, sleep rumpled and an expression of absolute shock on his face. His eyes move from her to the perfect little Brioche, to San who has started humming to himself, back to Mia who feels her cheeks grow warm under the intensity of his stare.

A second later, Wooyoung’s face breaks into the widest smile she has ever seen on him, and he skips into the room, almost vibrating with happiness. Mia giggles a bit as he walks up behind her, wraps his arms around her middle and presses his forehead against her shoulder, exhaling shakily.

He doesn’t say anything, but he squeezes her so hard it makes a dull pain flare up her side.

She finds herself not minding at all.

 

Notes:

ABOUT TIME! 🥰

(also I just spent an hour updating the formatting, since the double spaces were bothering me a bit. Just in case you're wondering why it looks different now!)

Chapter 23

Notes:

BONUS CHAPTER

It's my birthday and when I brought up the idea to post a little extra thing to celebrate, my friends who are reading along reacted with quite some enthusiam (you know who you are, this is for you ❤️)

Since I am a little behind on writing (as in, only three chapter ahead instead of five, so really, nothing to worry about^^), a whole chapter felt like a little too much. I then remembered that I had played with the idea of actually showing what happened in the library before the mansion got attacked, but it didn't quite seem to fit into the flow of the story. Also I've never written smut before and I was scared :] I honestly just sat down today and wrote this whole thing out without stopping, at this point words don't make sense anymore and I just hope it turned out decent enough 😀 So here we go, my first smut scene ever and, as predicted, I'm gonna have to tick up the rating to Explicit now because Seongjoong are horny. Yay!

This chapter is not plot relevant so if you don't like smut, you can skip it!

TW: they be fuckin :) Hongjoong is bitey

Have fun! 🥰

 

The first hint Hongjoong gets that he is not alone is nothing more than a slight stirring of the air, something that could just be a stray breeze from some open window, but Hongjoong knows that there are no open windows in the library.

He turns the next page in the book he is reading, eyes down. Nothing in his posture or expression changes, nothing to give away that he has perceived that something has changed. And yet, every single one of his senses is sharpened, his skin feeling much too aware of the fabric draping across it, the smell of old books and wood heavy in the air, the sound of his heartbeat thunderous to his ears.

Nothing happens for several minutes, and the words Hongjoong stares at blur in front of his eyes with the depth of his concentration. He listens intently, for anything at all. After an appropriate amount of time has passed, he turns another page.

Shifting slightly in his armchair, worn with age and molded to his body, he picks up the glass of wine from the small round table next to him and takes a sip. It allows him to change his posture without arousing suspicion, settling into something just a little more forward leaning, a little faster to get out of.

Two more pages turn, and then Hongjoong hears something. A soft swish of fabric, so quiet that it’s almost inaudible, but almost deafening to Hongjoong’s strained ears in the otherwise silent room. For the first time, Hongjoong allows himself a quick look up, but try as he might, his gaze can’t pierce the shadows surrounding him.

The library is dark, the only light coming from the small lamp behind Hongjoong’s favorite reading armchair, a soft yellow halo around his seat in the middle of the towering shelves. It feels like he is an island in the darkness, visible from every angle.

Another small gust of air, enough to make the pages of Hongjoong’s book flutter. He holds himself very still, every pretense of reading forgotten. Another rustle, from his left, this time.

Very slowly, Hongjoong reaches out a hand and grabs a slice of apple from the small white porcelain bowl next to his wine glass. He hears the knife before he sees it, and then the slice gets ripped out of his hand, followed by a soft thunk as the blade embeds itself in the bookshelf next to him, the apple slice cleanly pierced and impaled against the dark wood.

Hongjoong’s pulse spikes, adrenaline flooding his system. His head whips around to stare into the darkness. Another swish of fabric.

A slow grin splits Hongjoong’s face as he reaches for the handle and yanks the knife free. He lets his head fall back, exposing the long, pale line of his throat, and then he gently pulls the apple slice off the blade with his teeth. He runs his tongue along the blade for good measure, the slight bitterness left behind from the knife oil mixing with the tangy sweetness of the apple juice, allowing himself a moment of theatrics, then he gives the familiar knife a little spin.

“Come to play, have you?” he whispers into the huge, domed room. There is no answer.

Goosebumps erupt across Hongjoong’s entire body, trickling down from the top of his head all the way to his toes, and he closes his eyes for a couple of seconds in pure bliss. Then he opens them again, sharper this time, and slides out of his chair. With every single muscle in his body tensed, ready to launch himself in any direction, he waits, the knife held securely at his side.

At the next almost imperceptible stirring of air, he leaps into the opposite side of the darkness surrounding him, hearing clearly the noise of another knife embedding itself in the bookshelf behind him.

He allows himself a few seconds of almost manic giggles before he melts into the shadows, silent and invisible. His body thrums with euphoric adrenaline as he moves further back, further away from the little pool of light.

I am the monster in the darkness, he thinks as he slowly starts moving towards the right, rounding the room.

The one he is hunting is moving as well, but not quite as silent as Hongjoong. A little slower than him. Too slow.

Before long, Hongjoong sees movement, a shadowy silhouette in between him and the light. His blood sings in his veins, and he allows himself to move closer, keeping the knife hidden behind his back. The silhouette moves as well, hidden again in the darkness, but then Hongjoong sees it. The soft glint of silver, a reflection in the blade of a third knife.

Without hesitating, he pounces. He barrels into a warm body, both crashing against a bookshelf and into the ground, knives clattering onto the hardwood floor. Seonghwa grunts, tries to throw him off his back. He rolls over, burying Hongjoong underneath himself. The air gets squeezed out of Hongjoong’s lungs at the weight on top of him, but he doesn’t loosen his grip.

An elbow buries itself in his ribs, but he holds on. Wraps his arms around Seonghwa’s neck, breathes in his scent like a drowning man until he feels almost dizzy with it. A hand snakes behind his neck, squeezes, and Hongjoong feels himself melt into the familiar touch.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he groans.

The hand moves to fist into the back of his shirt, and before Hongjoong has a chance to react, Seonghwa curls himself forward, yanking on Hongjoong’s shirt and catapulting him forward, over the top of his head. Hongjoong lands flat on his back, slamming into the ground with an impact that causes the air to rush out of his lungs, dazed for a just a second.

Seonghwa is on top of him in a heartbeat, knees digging into his stomach, hands searching for his wrists.

They roll around on the floor, messy and uncoordinated in the shadows, blindly grappling with each other. Seonghwa is stronger than him, heavier, but Hongjoong is faster. They both hold their own for a long while, none of them quite able to gain the upper hand, until Hongjoong manages to get his knee between them and lands a solid kick to Seonghwa’s stomach, throwing him off.

He scrambles to his feet, launches himself at the dark figure pushing itself up from the ground, and swings himself back onto Seonghwa’s back. But this time, he wraps his right arm around his neck, Seonghwa’s throat in the crook of his elbow, and squeezes.

Seonghwa wheezes, tries to throw him off, but Hongjoong holds tight, his legs locked around Seonghwa’s middle. Not long and they both collapse to the floor again, and Hongjoong can feel Seonghwa’s movements get weaker.

Stubborn fool, he thinks lovingly, and then, finally, Seonghwa taps his arm, two times in rapid succession. Hongjoong lets go immediately, and for a minute they just lie there next to each other, catching their breaths.

After a while, Hongjoong rolls himself on top of Seonghwa, searching for the soft warmth of his lips in the darkness, his hands running along Seonghwa’s sides. He can feel Seonghwa smile against his mouth, his arms wrapping himself around Hongjoong, squeezing him to his chest. All of the tension Hongjoong carried for the last couple of days melts away, unravelling inside his chest.

They kiss slowly, languidly, unhurried.

“It’s been a while,” Hongjoong whispers eventually, rubbing their noses together. Seonghwa chuckles. “Too long,” he mutters, and the velvety sound of his voice is enough to give Hongjoong a full body shiver, like tiny sparks rippling across his skin.

He smiles, nipping at Seonghwa’s bottom lip hard enough to make him hiss. “I win,” he whispers, buries his hands in Seonghwa’s hair and forces his head to the side. He grazes his teeth over the exposed side of Seonghwa’s neck, reveling in the shiver running along Seonghwa’s body. He hums happily, breathing in more of the flowery scent of his perfume, and rolls his hips right against Seonghwa’s crotch.

Seonghwa groans, tightening his arms around Hongjoong who notices with a great deal of satisfaction that Seonghwa is hard underneath him.

“Eager,” he whispers, and he can hear the scowl in Seonghwa’s voice when he answers “as if you aren’t, you little whore.”

Hongjoong giggles and bites down on Seonghwa’s neck, eliciting another strangled, guttural groan from him.

“Big words,” he smiles, “for someone who is definitely my bitch today.”

He delights in the small rumble of a growl in Seonghwa’s chest, feeling it more than hearing it. There’s a small edge of danger to provoking Seonghwa like this, which is probably the main reason that Hongjoong can’t seem to stop himself. The added flutter of fear in his heart is just too tempting.

He draws back a bit, searching Seonghwa’s face. Black eyes glitter in the darkness that he has adjusted to enough at this point to at least see a little bit in. He cups Seonghwa’s cheek, running his thumb across his skin. Watches as those black eyes soften, flutter shut.

Mine, he thinks, almost dizzy with love and desire.

He sits up, tilts his head to the side, watches that beloved face. Then he pulls back and gets to his feet. Seonghwa’s eyes follow him from where he lies on the ground, waiting.

Hongjoong smiles. “On your knees,” he purrs.

Seonghwa’s eyes flash, but he does as he’s told. Hongjoong shudders from the rush of power at having this man kneeling in front of him, feeling almost drunk with it. The most dangerous man he knows. The most beautiful too.

Hongjoong reaches out a hand, runs it through Seonghwa’s hair. Then he tightens his grip into a fist around the long strands, pulling Seonghwa’s face towards the front of his pants.

“Use your teeth.”

Seonghwa hesitates for only a heartbeat before he gets to work, and Hongjoong closes his eyes, sighing. It doesn’t take long before he hears the sound of his zipper opening. Without further instructions, Seonghwa nuzzles against Hongjoong’s clothed cock, rubbing his cheek against its length.

“Fuck,” Hongjoong breathes, pressing Seonghwa’s face tighter against himself.

After mouthing at his cock for a couple of seconds longer, Seonghwa takes the edge of Hongjoong’s boxer shorts between his teeth and pulls them down.

Hongjoong exhales a breathy moan when Seonghwa wraps those gorgeous lips of his around the head of Hongjoong’s cock and slowly sinks down, sending flurries of electricity through Hongjoong’s body. Feeling generous, Hongjoong neither bucks his hips forward nor does he push against Seonghwa’s head, allowing him to take his time.

Before long, Seonghwa’s nose brushes against Hongjoong’s pubic hair, and Hongjoong groans as Seonghwa swallows around him.

“Look at me,” he whispers, and the sharp glint of Seonghwa’s eyes causes another shiver to run down his spine. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he moans, and watches as Seonghwa’s eyes glaze over slightly, his posture relaxing. He is starting to let go, Hongjoong knows it, feels it. He takes back control, cupping both hands around the back of Seonghwa’s head and rocking his hips forward, softly, gently. Seonghwa’s eyes flutter closed again as he relaxes his jaw and surrenders himself.

When he feels the first tightening of the muscles low in his stomach, heralding his approaching orgasm, he pushes Seonghwa back. He sinks to his knees in front of him, kissing him deeply, relishing his own salty taste on Seonghwa’s tongue.

“So beautiful,” he mutters again between kisses, “so good to me. My love, my only love.”

Seonghwa makes a noise that might be a whimper, swallowed by Hongjoong’s mouth on his.

Hongjoong pushes him back, slowly, gently, until Seonghwa is lying flat on his back. Hongjoong takes his time with him, unbuttons his shirt, his pants, movements calm and controlled. His hands never leave his lover’s body, making sure he knows that he is not alone, that he is loved, held. That he is allowed to let go.

He kisses every bit of skin he uncovers, softly and reverently. Worshipping him like he deserves. He licks a stripe up Seonghwa’s cock, causing him to moan softly, then he wraps a hand around Seonghwa’s thigh and lifts it slightly. He hesitates, looks up, and finds Seonghwa watching him with his eyes half lidded.

“Did you come prepared?” Hongjoong asks softly, and Seonghwa nods. Patting around Seonghwa’s coat, acting as a blanket between Seonghwa’s body and the hardwood floor, he finds a small bottle of lube and a strip of condoms.

“Good boy,” he purrs and watches Seonghwa’s eyes flutter shut, his head falling back against the ground with a soft sigh.

Hongjoong takes his time opening Seonghwa up, kissing along his thighs, his belly, his chest. By the time he pushes in a third finger, Seonghwa breath is coming in short little gasps.

Hongjoong drinks up all his little noises, the shivers running across his body. When he gently pulls out his fingers, Seonghwa makes a vaguely displeased noise, and Hongjoong laughs softly. “I know, I know. Just give me a second.”

He wipes his hand on Seonghwa’s discarded shirt and grabs one of the condoms. Seonghwa and him are fluid bonded, with each other and no one else, but Seonghwa hates messes. And Hongjoong feels rather indulgent today.

He rolls the condom onto himself, slicks himself up with more lube, and climbs across Seonghwa’s body until their faces hover just an inch from each other. Seonghwa blinks up at him, his gaze soft and open, full of so much trust and vulnerability that it makes Hongjoong’s heart clench. “I love you,” he whispers. “So much. More than anything in the world.”

Seonghwa’s eyes glaze over again, and Hongjoong reaches down, lines himself up, and pushes in. He swallows Seonghwa’s shuddering groan with another open-mouthed kiss, rocking his hips softly, pushing deeper on every thrust.

He hooks an arm around Seonghwa’s thigh and pushes it up towards his chest, breath hitching when he finally sinks down to the hilt. He holds still for a while, giving Seonghwa time to adjust, pressing kisses along his jaw and finding the saltiness of tears. He licks them up softly, kissing along their path, ending with a kiss to Seonghwa’s closed eyes and damp lashes.

“You’re doing so well,” he mutters between kisses. “You feel so good, my beautiful love.”

Seonghwa exhales, wrapping his arms around Hongjoong’s neck, and Hongjoong starts moving his hips. Gently at first, slow little thrusts, until Seonghwa whispers “more,” sounding breathy and hoarse with his lips to Hongjoong’s ear.

Hongjoong picks up the pace, propping himself up on one elbow, snapping his hips harder.

Seonghwa groans, slipping his hands underneath Hongjoong’s open shirt, digs his nails into Hongjoong’s flesh and drags them downwards. He leaves tracks of fiery pain across his back, causing a wave of heat to wash through Hongjoong’s body. “Fuck,” he gasps, dropping his head against the crook of Seonghwa’s neck. The pain tickles something deep inside of his chest, something that wants to tear and bite and hurt and not be gentle at all.

He finds Seonghwa’s hands and tightly interlocks their fingers on the ground next to Seonghwa’s head, an effort to secure his hands somewhere safe.

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa breathes, voice choppy from Hongjoong’s harsh thrusts. Hongjoong shakes his head against Seonghwa’s shoulder, holding on to his sanity, his control.

“Please,” Seonghwa whispers, and then his teeth nip at the shell of Hongjoong’s ear.

“Fuck,” Hongjoong groans again, feeling his control slipping through his fingers. He lets out a harsh grunt, his thrust turning erratic, and then he turns his head and sinks his teeth into the place Seonghwa’s neck meets his shoulder as he finally releases his grip on his sanity. Seonghwa cries out, arching underneath him, and Hongjoong feels it as Seonghwa’s warm release paints both of their chests.

He bites down harder, tasting blood, slamming his hips into Seonghwa’s body with a desperate, frenzied kind of hunger. Seonghwa’s cries and sobs caress his soul like the sweetest honey, and he lets go of Seonghwa’s flesh only to crash their mouths together, tasting salt and copper and something else that is purely Seonghwa.

His orgasm slams into him with such force that his visions whites out for a moment, and he presses down for several seconds, muscles locked tightly, letting the waves of fire roll through his body, before he collapses on top of Seonghwa with a gasp, going utterly boneless.

They lie there for a long moment, and at some point Hongjoong becomes aware of the gentle hand carding through his hair, nails softly scratching at his scalp.

He feels floaty, delirious, euphoric. His heart bursting with love almost to the point of pain.

It takes him a while to convince his body to move, and then he just turns his head enough to press a kiss against Seonghwa’s chest, shiny and wet with their combined sweat.

Seonghwa hums and continues to play with his hair.

Another long moment passes, and then Hongjoong pushes himself up with a groan, enough to see Seonghwa’s face, smiling at him in the darkness, looking utterly relaxed. Still, he has to check. “You alright?” he asks softly, and Seonghwa’s smile widens. “Perfect,” he sighs, and Hongjoong allows himself to collapse back onto Seonghwa’s chest, solid and warm beneath his cheek, and takes a deep, relieved breath.

 

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed this, I went into this scene with the sole plan of having them be freaky af but then of course it turned super heavy and emotional, but I think it fits them. Also a little expectation subversion at having Hongjoong top, hehe. They switch!

Much love to all of you!
❤️

Chapter 24

Notes:

Back to our regular schedule!
What are the others up to?

Also, fun times with Mingi :)

 

Hongjoong is staring at Seonghwa’s empty workstation in silence. He hasn’t moved in at least an hour, delicately perched on his own chair with one leg drawn up to his chest, his chin resting on his knee. He ignores the protesting rumble of his stomach, the discomfort in his lower back that is starting to turn into pain.

The sound of a laptop slamming shut makes him look up, just in time to see Yunho forcefully pushing himself away from his desk, rubbing a hand across his face. Yeosang, seated next to him, looks up with wide eyes, his hands pausing in their incessant typing.

“Nothing!” Yunho exclaims, directed at no one in particular, kicking the leg of his desk. “One whole fucking week and there’s nothing! How is that even possible?” He turns a tight expression in Hongjoong’s direction, searching his face for an answer that Hongjoong doesn’t have. After a few seconds of tense silence, Yunho gets to his feet, his movements jerky. “I need to- I need to go outside for a bit,” he mutters, snatching up his jacket with enough force that he almost topples over his chair. Yeosang flinches as the door slams shut.

Hongjoong finds himself alone with Yeosang, large brown eyes examining his face. Hongjoong looks away, feeling strangely naked under that gaze that always sees just a little too much.

“Hyung,” Yeosang says, his voice very soft.

“Don’t,” Hongjoong shoots back, his tone sharper than he intended. The muscles around Yeosang’s mouth tighten, just a minuscule little motion, and Hongjoong sighs. “I’m sorry,” he mutters.

Yeosang’s shoulders relax a little, and his mouth curves into a small smile. “I’m going to text Yunho to bring back food,” he says and pulls out his phone. “None of us are eating properly right now, and I’m pretty sure that doesn’t help the situation.”

Hongjoong swallows his comments and nods.

“Should he bring some for Seonghwa as well?”

Hongjoong stiffens. He knows what Yeosang is actually asking. Where is he? What is he doing? When will he be back? To which, to Hongjoong’s growing frustration, the answer would be the same. I don’t know. 

“Yes,” he says, sounding more confident than he feels. They have a fridge. If Seonghwa doesn’t come back in time, he can just eat it later.

He can feel Yeosang’s eyes on him again, and suddenly he has the overwhelming desire to follow Yunho outside, to escape this stuffy little apartment and breathe some fresh air, stretch his legs, find a neck to dig his hands into… He should stay.

“I’m gonna go take a shower,” he mutters, and flees the room, not waiting for an answer.

The shower is nice, the scorching hot water manages to ease a little bit of the tension out of Hongjoong’s body. He wished it were enough. When he lifts his hands in front of his face, they are shaking.

He hates not feeling in control. They had a plan, they had time, there were so many paths to go down, clues to follow and possibilities to exhaust. He had been completely positive that they would be successful. Now, a week later, they weren’t any closer to finding the bastards that had invaded them. And Yunho was right: It didn’t make any sense. Sure, maybe that fucking Kyle person was being more careful with his phone than they had anticipated. Annoying, but possible. Maybe neither he nor that guy who had ambushed them in front of Mia’s apartment have a criminal record. Maybe they are really good at cleaning up after themselves.

The thing that gives Hongjoong a constant, throbbing headache is the fact that none of his contacts could tell him anything about a new group in this city with a vast amount of resources and man power. That shouldn’t be possible. He prides himself with his knowledge of the power structures in this country. These people, who are clearly experienced professionals, should not be able to fly under his radar.

Did his informers lie? Do they fear that group more than they fear him? Uncertainty gnaws at him. It is becoming harder and harder to ignore the voice in his head that is telling him that he is failing his family, failing to keep them safe.

All of this is enough to turn Hongjoong into an anxious mess, a feeling he is not well equipped to deal with. His thoughts turn back to Seonghwa, and something in his chest tightens. Seonghwa, who is gone more than he is here, following leads, as he says. Not elaborating what kind of leads. Not looking Hongjoong in the eye when he just sighs and shrugs whenever Yunho asks him if he has found anything.

Hongjoong could ask him. There are a million different questions that Hongjoong could pose, and even if Seonghwa didn’t answer any of them, his reaction would tell Hongjoong what he needs to know. But he can’t. It is an unspoken agreement between them that they are allowed to have secrets from each other, that they trust each other to do things their way. There is no room for control between lovers.

Never before has Hongjoong been so tempted to break this rule. He can feel Seonghwa slipping away from him, day by day, the space between them filling with unspoken words until the questions are all he can see when he looks at him.

He turns off the shower, resting his forehead against the cool tiles, exhaling slowly. I trust him, he tells himself, for the hundredth time this day. The tight, uncomfortable pressure in his chest grows and grows, pushing against his lungs until it gets hard to breathe. It takes him a long time to put a name to this new and terrible feeling.

Hongjoong is afraid.

~

Mingi has been standing in front of Mia’s door for several minutes now. He is being held back both by his nerves and by the fact that he is not sure how to even approach this. Don’t knock on the door of a room that Mia is in, Wooyoung had told him, with an uncharacteristically stern expression on his face. No further information was given, and Mingi didn’t ask. But how the hell else is he supposed to announce himself? Surely Wooyoung didn’t mean that they should just waltz into her room without knocking. That wouldn’t be right.

Mingi takes a deep breath and clears his throat. “Um, Mia?” he calls through the door. This feels stupid.

He can hear some muffled noises, and then the door opens. Mia looks surprised to see him, but not displeased. She even smiles a bit, after a moment of rather awkward silence.

“Mingi, hi!” she says, and Mingi feels himself smile back. Some more seconds pass, and Mia’s smile fades a bit, an uncertain little notch appearing between her brows.

“Oh! Ah, sorry for bothering you, I wanted to ask if you wanted, um, if you wanted to learn how to shoot?”

The words leave Mingi in a breathless kind of rush, and he watches as Mia’s mouth falls open in an expression somewhere between surprise and shock. She says nothing for a while, and Mingi starts questioning his idea all over again when her mouth shuts with an audible click.

“You- are you serious? Like, now?”

Mingi scratches the back of his head. “I mean, whenever you want I guess, but now’s as good a time as ever to start. We have literally nothing to do here. Would be a waste not to use this time for something useful right?”

Mia’s eyes are big and round, and there’s a bit of color high on her cheeks that hadn’t been there before. “Is that even allowed? I mean-” she hesitates, bites her lip. “Does Hongjoong know about this?”

Mingi shrugs. “Nah. You were already allowed to carry a gun once, you even successfully used it. It’s only logical that you learn to do it properly, in case a situation like that ever comes up again.”

Mia’s face falls at that, something pained and almost haunted in her eyes, and Mingi thinks that maybe he could have brought that up with more tact.

“You know, that, um, probably was not a pleasant experience for you, but it’s like with car crashes, you know?”

Mia blinks, and Mingi starts rubbing at his neck again.

“When you get in a car accident, it’s actually crucial to start driving again as soon as possible. A lot of people are really scared and nervous afterwards and think, oh I’m just gonna take a break until I feel comfortable again, but it just gets harder the longer they wait! Those are the people that never drive again.”

Mia just stares at him.

“There’s studies about this,” Mingi says, ducking his head a bit. “So, you know, if you wait too long you’re probably gonna make it harder for yourself.”

A couple more seconds of very awkward nothing, and then Mia straightens her shoulders. “Alright,” she says, and it is Mingi’s turn to be surprised. “Alright?”

“Yeah.” She nods, and the smile is back. “Um, do I need to, I don’t know, wear something special?”

“Not really, as long as you can move in it.” Mingi shrugs. “It’s chilly out, so maybe wear a jacket?”

Mia’s eyes dart to the window. “Outside, then?”

“Yeah, we have a shooting range in the forest. Nothing fancy, but it serves its purpose.”

Mia nods. “Give me five minutes.”

“Oh! Ah, actually, I need some time to set it all up, so um, wanna meet in the living room in like half an hour?”

“Sure!” Her smile widens, and she does a little bounce on the balls of her feet. Cute. Mingi firmly shakes that thought and takes a step back. “I’ll see you in a bit then!” He quickly turns and leaves down the stairs, his cheeks feeling warm.

It doesn’t take Mingi long to prepare, since he had planned to do some practicing himself and had already cleaned up the shooting range earlier this morning. His preparation mostly consists of packing up a selection of weapons, as well as two sets of electronic earmuffs and safety glasses.

After carefully stacking everything in a large duffle bag, he exits the small basement room where they keep their stash of weaponry and heads upstairs, a little earlier than planned. He is surprised to see Mia is already there, looking extra tiny in a big hoodie with sleeves that fall across her hands, which results in her having to push them up her arms every couple of seconds as she fiddles around with the fancy coffee machine.

Mingi had learned early on to give that one a wide berth, ever since he had tried to make himself a very simple coffee and had ended up with a face full of searing hot steam.

“Well well well. Hello Princess, fancy seeing you down here.”

Mingi turns in surprise, only to be faced with Wooyoung perched in the middle of one of the couches, one leg thrown over the other, slowly petting Princess the cat who is curled up on his lap. He looks like a caricature of a Bond villain who has just successfully intercepted an enemy, and Mingi feels his shoulders draw up with a hint of guilt. He hadn’t planned on telling anyone about his plans, simply so there could be no chance of a discussion. It seems like he had been found out.

“Mingi, hi, do you want a coffee too? I’m just making one for Wooyoungie and then I’m all done and ready!” Mia has spotted him and is smiling, a mix of nervousness and anticipation on her face, her cheeks flushed.

“Oh, yes, that would be great!”

Mia turns around happily and pulls more levers on the hell machine, and Mingi has to consciously tear his gaze away, reminding himself that she knows what she is doing and is unlikely to be killed by the vile thing.

“I heard you have plans today,” Wooyoung purrs, back to dramatically stroking the cat, trying to hide his annoyance at having his monologue interrupted by arching an eyebrow in a knowing sort of way.

Mingi clears his throat and lowers the heavy duffle bag to the ground. “Um, yeah, I thought, I was going to go practice on the range a bit, and I thought, since you know, um.” He stops, feeling his cheeks grow hot, but then Princess jumps off of Wooyoung’s lap and trots over to Mingi, rubbing a fluffy head against his leg. “Oh hi sweetheart,” Mingi coos and scratches behind her ears, happy about the distraction. When he looks up again, he has to suppress a giggle at the look of shocked indignation on Wooyoung’s face.

“Betrayal! Betrayal of the highest kind!” He laments, throwing an arm across his face. Mingi picks up Princess, the vibrations of her purring soothing against his chest, and unceremoniously drops her back onto Wooyoung’s lap. “Sorry, you were saying?”

Wooyoung drops his arm and scowls at him. “Too late now,” he grumbles, but wraps himself around Princess all the same. “Don’t let her hurt herself, yeah? I don’t want her coming back with a hole in her foot or something because you didn’t pay attention.”

“Hey!” Mia protests. “I’m not gonna shoot myself in the foot Wooyoung, I’m not stupid!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Wooyoung mutters dismissively.

“If you can’t be nice you’re not getting a cat on your macchiato!”

Wooyoung’s eyes widen. “Hey I’m nice! I’m super nice! I’m sure you’re gonna do great! Actually, I’m sure you’re gonna be better than Mingi!”

Mia laughs, and she walks over with Wooyoung’s macchiato, cat face and all, and pushes it into his hands. “Yeah I don’t think so,” she says, but Mingi thinks that she looks rather pleased.

The walk to the shooting range is short, only about ten minutes from the house, and Mingi notices that Mia is looking more and more nervous the further they go. He decides not to comment on it.

“Alright, here we are,” he declares and steps around a long wooden table, heaving the duffle bag on top of it and turning around to Mia who is fiddling around with her sweater paws. “I’m just gonna unpack everything, you can take a look around if you want.” He busies himself with setting out the weapons in an orderly fashion, giving Mia some space to familiarize herself with the range. When he shoots her an inconspicuous glance after a couple of minutes, she is examining one of the smaller targets, made out of red steel.

He leans his hip against the sturdy table, sipping on his coffee from a thermal mug that Wooyoung had generously let him borrow, and watches her pace all the way down the lane towards the wide earthen berm that had been by far the most time-consuming part to erect among this whole thing. She turns around, looking slightly flustered at being watched.

“Is this so the bullets don’t just randomly fly off into the forest?” She has to raise her voice to be heard across the distance, gesturing towards the small artificial hill that at this point is covered in grass.

“Sure is,” Mingi says with a smile, deciding not to share with her that time in the very beginning when one of their bullets had accidentally grazed some poor squirrel. Wooyoung had yelled at them all for a solid ten minutes and then cried until Hongjoong had agreed to drive it to the nearest vet clinic. They had started working on the berm the day after.

Mia hesitates a bit, then she starts walking back. When she gets close enough to see what Mingi has arranged on the table, she stops in her tracks, eyes going wide. “What-” she croaks, pointing a shaky hand. “What is that?”

Mingi follows her gaze. “Ah!” he says cheerfully, walking over to one end of the table. “This is a Mossberg 500!” he gives the handle an affectionate little pat. Mia does not unfreeze, and Mingi frowns a bit. “It’s a shotgun,” he provides helpfully. Mia turns her wide eyes on him. “Do you- do you want me to shoot that?”

Mingi huffs, trying not to feel offended. “That’s a perfectly good weapon, very reliable! A classic, really. Has never let me down in all the years I’ve used it. And actually very beginner friendly!”

Mia doesn’t look appeased by this. Actually, she takes a step back. “It’s- it’s huge!” She says, and this is when Mingi notices the way her voice is shaking. Oh, he thinks, with a sudden realization. She is terrified.

“Ah, don’t worry about it. We can get to that later, or not at all, if you don’t want to. It is a big gun, but it’s really not scary! It’s not that hard to use actually.”

When Mia tears her eyes away from the Mossberg and faces him, there’s a bit of defiance in the tight line of her mouth, and Mingi is suddenly reminded of a much younger Wooyoung, in a very similar situation, saying I’m not scared! While hiding his trembling hands behind his back. The memory makes him smile.

“Before we start,” Mingi says, feeling himself slip into teacher mode. “I want to talk to you a bit about the shot you fired back at the mansion. That alright?”

He doesn’t miss the small flinch, but the defiant look on her face persists, and she gives a short nod, her hands back to pulling on her sleeves.

“Okay, so I’m guessing the gun you used was a Glock 19, simply because we have a lot of those lying around. Can you confirm that real quick?” He picks up one of the hand guns and holds it out to her. Mia doesn’t move, her hands balling into fists. “No need to touch it or anything, just give it a look,” Mingi says and gives his best encouraging smile. Mia looks rather pale, but she does step forward and takes a long look at the Glock he turns around in his hands.

“Yeah, I- I think that’s the one,” she whispers.

“Right,” Mingi says and puts it back, stepping away from the table. “I would like you to recreate the positions of everyone involved as close as you can. Let’s say, I’m San, and this tree is the guy you shot. Can you position me and then yourself?”

Mia stares at him for a couple of seconds, taking several quick breaths. Mingi waits patiently.

“Um, ok, can you- go to the right? My right. A little further. Take a couple steps back.”

Mingi follows her instructions, keeping his eyes carefully on her shaking form. She nods, and then moves back a couple of steps. Her eyes dart around, and she draws a shuddery breath. “I don’t- the memories of that moment are a bit fuzzy, I don’t know if this is right.” There’s an edge of panic in her voice, and she wraps her arms around herself.

“That’s fine. It doesn’t need to be perfect, just as much as you remember.” Mingi keeps his voice very calm, and Mia’s shoulders relax the tiniest bit as she nods. “Okay, well, I think this is as close as I can get it.”

Mingi takes a moment to examine their positions, and then his eyebrows rise. “Lift your hand as if you were to shoot the tree,” he instructs, and Mia obeys after a moment’s hesitation. Mingi huffs a surprised laugh. “Jesus, that’s a close shot. You sure you weren’t aiming for San?” He means it in a joking way, but Mia’s face pulls into a frown. “Of course I’m sure!”

Mingi lifts his hands in a placating gesture. “I believe you, don’t worry. Where did you hit him?”

Mia’s jaw is very tight when she grits out her next words. “Chest, I think.”

“Did he die instantly or was there a lot of screaming and stuff?”

If possible, Mia goes even paler, and now she is starting to look faintly sick. “No screaming,” she whispers, and Mingi nods. “Clean shot to the heart then, that’s very impressive. Was that what you were aiming for?”

Mia hesitates again, then she shakes her head. “I’m not- a hundred percent sure, it’s all a little blurry, but I think I was aiming for the head.”

Mingi chuckles. “Ah well, still a very impressive shot, considering the circumstances. Not bad, not bad at all!” He smiles at her, and Mia’s returning smile is a little shaky, but it’s there.

“Did you hurt your hand while shooting?”

Mia blinks, looking a bit surprised, and then squints her eyes in an expression of deep concentration. “I think so? I think,” she looks at her hands, flexing her fingers and then curling them into a loose fist. “I think I had a bruise on my thumb afterwards. And- my wrist hurt for a while.”

Mingi nods. “Those are quite common injuries in beginners and are usually because of an improper grip. We’ll do our best to avoid those. Now!” He claps his hands, causing Mia to flinch. “Let’s go over some basics, shall we?” Not waiting for a response, he walks over towards the table, and after only a few seconds he can hear the telltale rustle of leaves that lets him know Mia is following.

He picks up his coffee, still blessedly warm, and turns to face Mia, who is watching him somewhat warily.

“Alright then, tell me everything you already know.”

Mia looks taken aback for a moment, then she starts thinking. “Um,” she says after a moment. “Don’t point your gun at anything you’re not ready to shoot.” She glances at Mingi, who nods.

“Be careful not to shoot at someone when there’s someone else standing behind them.”

“I mean that depends,” Mingi supplies with a small smile. “If the person standing behind your target is someone you don’t mind killing, you can go right ahead.”

Mia swallows and nods. “Okay, um, don’t put your finger on the trigger unless you’re ready to shoot.”

“Very good.”

Something passes over Mia’s face that Mingi can’t quite place, some jittery emotion that is quickly hidden behind clenched teeth and drawn brows.

“I would like you to hold one so I can see your grip and stance. Let’s look at some guns, shall we?”

Mia flexes her hands a couple of times and then follows Mingi to the table. The nervousness is back in full force when she looks at the selection of weapons spread out on the worn wooden tabletop.

“Alright, so here we have the Glock 19, you’re familiar with that one, then we also have a Walther PPK and a Beretta APX A1 compact.” He looks at Mia, who is chewing on her bottom lip. “Do I- have to remember all those names?”

Mingi barks a short laugh, and it diffuses some of the tension, Mia’s shoulders visibly relaxing. “Ah no, don’t worry about that. I just brought some of what we have stashed here at this house, ones that I thought might be alright for you to handle. We have a much bigger selection at the mansion, so we can look for one that suits you best some other time, when we’re back there. For now, it’s just about choosing one for today! And I promise there won’t be a quiz at the end of it.” He winks at Mia, who gives him a tentative smile, before it gets replaced by a frown. “What do you mean, alright for me to handle? Which ones would not be alright for me to handle?”

There’s something a little offended in the way she narrows her eyes at him, and Mingi suppresses another smile. “I don’t mean ones you’re not allowed to handle, just, you know, ones that don’t have a huge recoil and fit your tiny hands.”

Mia’s mouth falls open in protest. “My hands are NOT tiny!”

“They’re smaller than mine,” Mingi grins, and Mia huffs a bit, still looking rather miffed, and so Mingi swishes back one side of his coat with a sigh and whips out his own personal baby, his trusty Staccato P pistol, that he carries on his hip. “See this one?” He asks, ignoring the way Mia’s eyes go wide and she takes a quick little step back. “This is my personal favorite, and it has served me very well over the years. But it is big and heavy and would be more challenging for you to hold and aim. See the difference?” He picks up the Beretta and holds them next to each other.

“Yeah alright, fine, I see your point,” Mia mutters, and Mingi tucks the Staccato back into its holster, letting the coat fall back to hide it once more. He keeps the Beretta in his hands and starts naming the different parts of the firearm, explains how they work together, and shows her how to tell whether it’s loaded or not. After Mia has repeated all of this information back to him to his satisfaction, he places the Beretta back onto the table and gestures towards the three pistols.

“Okay so out of these three, which one are you gonna shoot today?”

Mia opens her mouth and closes it again, some conflicted mix of emotions on her face. Then she seems to steel herself and takes a very deliberate step towards the table and stares at the three pistols with an intensity that Mingi catches himself thinking is rather endearing.

“That one,” she says eventually, pointing at the Glock. Mingi nods, pleased with her choice. He hadn’t been sure whether the bad memories would outweigh the advantage of the familiar, and he feels a small surge of pride.

“Good choice. Pick it up.”

Mia whips her head around to face him, fear back in her eyes.

“It’s not loaded, don’t worry.” He says and surprises himself with the gentleness of his voice.

Mia focuses back on the gun, her fists clenching and unclenching a couple of times before she slowly reaches forward and picks it up, carefully, as if she was handling a live grenade. She stares at the gun for a couple of seconds before pointing it towards the ground and giving Mingi a questioning look.

He nods again. “Very good,” he praises, and this time there is only the slightest flicker in her eyes. “Even if we know that a gun is not loaded, even if we checked and double checked, we treat it as if it is loaded, always. Which means that you never point the muzzle at anything you’re not ready to destroy. So, no matter the state of the gun, we handle it as if it were loaded. Understood?”

Mia nods, pointing the gun a bit farther away from her feet.

“Like you already said, keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to shoot. Now, let’s pretend you’re preparing to shoot at one of the targets.”

Mia hesitates for only a second, a slight flush on her cheeks, before she faces the range and lifts her gun to eyelevel. Mingi approaches to check on her stance and is pleased to find that her trigger finger is still safely on the side of the barrel, away from the trigger. She might be a little too wary of the weapon, but Mingi much prefers that over an overly trigger happy student.

Her feet are shoulder width, but she is leaning backwards a little bit. Mingi raises a hand to correct her and then hesitates. “Is it okay if I touch you to correct your posture?” he asks carefully, and Mia nods, keeping her eyes forward. “Alright. So your feet are good, but it is better to lean forward just a bit, so the recoil doesn’t push you off balance.” He places a hand between her shoulder blades and pushes her body forward ever so slightly. “Also, you are locking your elbows, which might seem like it would add stability but it actually makes it harder to absorb the recoil, and it would also put a strain on not only your elbows, but also your shoulders and spine.” He taps Mia’s elbows until she unlocks them, keeping her arms at a very slight bend. “Like this, your arms will absorb more of the recoil, like the crumple zone of a car. It will also prevent you from being thrown off balance.”

He takes a step forward and scrutinizes her grip. “Your right hand is good, but your left is cupping your other hand from below, which is not going to help you. You want to wrap your left hand around your right from the side so that both thumbs point forward, and be careful to keep them below the slide. That one might be how you hurt your thumb actually.”

Mia adjusts her hands, still keeping her eyes firmly on the targets. She is still rather pale, but her hands aren’t shaking anymore. Mingi feels an unexpected warmth at her grim determination.

He gives her a last once over. “Good,” he says, stepping back. “Pull the trigger.”

Mia doesn’t move. Mingi waits, fully prepared to wait however long it takes for Mia to either do it or to abort the whole exercise.

The moment grows longer, and then he watches her shoulders rise on a deep inhale.

Click.

The breath rushes out of her in a shudder, and then she lowers the gun, pointing it towards the ground. Her finger is off the trigger, back on the side of the barrel.

Mingi smiles and claps a heavy hand onto her shoulder. “Well done,” he mutters, and watches as she closes her eyes for a long moment.

 

Notes:

♥️

Chapter 25

Notes:

Part 2 of our shooting lessons!

 

“Again.”

Mia ejects the empty magazine, puts it on the table, picks it up again, and shoves it back into the gun. If she is feeling annoyed at being asked to repeat the same basic motion for what might very well be the tenth time in a row, she sure as hell hides it well.

“Again.”

Her movements are becoming smoother, faster, more confident.

“Again.”

When Mia places down the empty magazine, Mingi snatches it away and replaces it with a fully loaded one. Mia jerks her hand back and stares at him. Mingi says nothing, raising one eyebrow, and Mia presses her lips into a tight line and grabs the magazine. Her expression is pinched, but her movements remain smooth as she slaps the magazine into her gun.

She grabs the slide, and then hesitates again, looking back at Mingi. He says nothing, just watches her. Her eyebrows draw together, and then she tightens her grip on the slide and racks it, arming the weapon. Then, she freezes.

Mingi waits as Mia comes to terms with the fact that she is holding a loaded gun, ready to shoot. He is impressed she has made it this far, and is now rather curious what she will do next.

After several seconds of staring at the Glock, she very consciously lowers it to point the muzzle at the ground, at an angle that keeps it a safe distance away from her feet. Then she looks up, and her expression is oddly doubtful, almost suspicious.

“Why are you trusting me with this?”

Mingi cocks his head to the side. “Why, are you planning to shoot me?”

“Of course not!” a bit of color rises to her cheeks. “But you can’t know that!”

“You think you could shoot me right now?”

Mia looks at him in disbelief. “I am holding a loaded gun!”

“Well yes, but you’re standing much too close. I could disarm you pretty quickly.” Mingi thinks for a bit. “But if you step back, your aim will get worse, and you’re a very inexperienced shooter. I’m pretty confident I could dodge your shots.” He smiles wryly. “Also, you saw that I am armed. I could put a bullet between your eyes before you even manage to raise that gun to chest level.”

Mia blinks a couple of times, and her throat moves around a swallow. Mingi sighs. “Put the gun back on the table."

Mia doesn’t move, the knuckles of her hand going white at the force of her grip. “What if I don’t?”

Mingi smiles mildly. “Then we will have to stop this exercise and have a talk about the importance of listening to your teacher.”

Mia holds his gaze for an impressive amount of time, then her shoulders drop as she visibly deflates. She carefully places the gun back onto the table and steps back, and now, finally, her hands start shaking.

Mingi disarms the gun with slow, calm movements. He drops the magazine, racks the slide to eject the bullet from the chamber and pulls the trigger with a soft click, dry firing once to drop the firing pin. After he has put everything back on the table, he drops down onto the carpet of damp leaves, patting the spot next to him. “Let’s sit down for a bit.”

It only takes a couple of seconds before Mia follows his invitation, wrapping her arms around her knees as if trying to bundle herself up as small as possible.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

Mingi hums. “Nothing to apologize for,” he says, and then he allows silence to drape around the two of them.

The sounds of the forest surround them, a breeze rustles through the trees and caresses their faces, and after a couple of minutes, a blackbird starts hopping around only a couple of feet away from them, sifting through the autumn leaves.

“Have you really not thought at all about- about what if I see you as an enemy?” Mia’s voice is very quiet, as if hesitant to disturb the moment.

Mingi shrugs. “Wooyoung trusts you,” he says easily. Then he glances her way and finds her watching him. “And you saved San. That’s enough for me.”

Mia stays quiet for a while before she speaks again, voice even softer than before. “Don’t you see me at all as a security risk?”

“Are you?” This time, when Mingi looks over, her eyes are distant.

“I don’t think so,” she whispers, and then, a little more firmly, “No. I’m not.”

“Well that’s that then, isn’t it?” She faces him again with her eyes big and round, and Mingi gives her an easy smile. “Come on, let’s shoot some rounds.” He gets up and offers her a hand, and she takes it without hesitation, letting herself get pulled to her feet.

Her face is back to that look of grim determination, and Mingi feels a small surge of pride.

“We’re gonna wear our protective gear now,” he says and grabs a pair of headphones. “These are electronic, meaning they’re gonna muffle loud noises like gun shots but amplify ambient noises, so we can still talk to each other. We’re also gonna put on safety glasses.”

Mia accepts both and wordlessly dons them. She is a little pale again, but there’s a very serious little notch between her eyebrows and her shoulders are tight with a stubborn kind of concentration.

“Alright,” Mingi says and adjusts his headphones. “Take the gun and arm it.”

Mia repeats the same set of motions, a little slower than before but her movements are sure and determined. When she is done, she looks up at Mingi.

“Get into position and let me check your posture.”

Mia wraps her left hand around her right, widens her stance and lifts the gun, aiming it down the range. Mingi gives her a short once over and gently taps her elbow, getting her to bend them slightly.

“Good,” he says and nods approvingly. “It is best to shoot at the very end of an exhale, so take a deep breath and wait until all the air has left your lungs. That’s the moment your body is most still. Understood?”

Mia nods.

“Shoot whenever you’re ready. You can keep going until you’re out of bullets, if you want. Try and aim for the big white target right at the back, and don’t be disappointed when you don’t hit it. This is basically just a test round.”

Mia takes a deep breath, then another one, and then she shoots.

The gun jerks in her hands, and she takes a small step back before immediately repositioning herself. She missed, which is not surprising, and despite Mingi’s words there is a hint of frustration in the way she clenches her jaw.

“You’re very tense,” Mingi comments, and immediately, Mia’s shoulders drop. “Try to be a little less stiff, and squeeze the trigger slowly and gently. Don’t try and anticipate the recoil by snapping the gun downward. Your grip and posture are good, you are not going to hurt yourself. Don’t close your eyes when you shoot. Your eyes are protected by the glasses.”

Mia gives another wordless nod, and Mingi watches as she takes several steadying breaths. Then she pulls the trigger.

Clang.

Mia flinches and turns towards Mingi, her eyes wide. Mingi grins. “Damn, that was a hit! Not bad, not bad at all!”

There is a moment of stillness, and then Mia’s face pulls into a wide, excited smile, her eyes sparkling, a flush of color on her cheeks.

Mingi chuckles. “Don’t get too excited, that might have just been a lucky hit. Let’s see if you can reproduce it, yeah?”

Mia lifts her chin and turns back towards the range with a rather dramatic flip of her ponytail.

Out of the fifteen rounds chambered in the Glock, Mia manages to send nine into the steel target, the rewarding clank of each successful hit prompting a small hop of victory.

San shows about around the sixth one.

He approaches slowly, making an effort to shuffle his feet through the leaves in order to not surprise anyone. Mingi spots him immediately, while Mia stays blissfully unaware, completely focused on the target.

It gives Mingi a great deal of satisfaction to watch San’s eyes get bigger and bigger with each successful hit. He is not stupid, he has seen the way San looks at her with those puppy dog eyes, now that they’re finally okay with being in the same room together.

When Mia’s last two bullets hit home with the satisfying noise of brass against steel, she throws back her head and laughs, and Mingi turns towards San, reaches out to place his pointer finger beneath San’s chin and closes his mouth. San takes a step back and blushes a deep red, scowling at Mingi who can’t help but grin at him.

“Did you see that? Lucky hit my ASS!” Mia yells and turns around, immediately flinching a step back at seeing San. She gains back her composure quickly, but the pink flush on her cheeks stays.

“Oh uh, hi San!” She shoots him a quick little smile before she walks towards the table and puts down the gun, pulling off her earmuffs and safety glasses.

“Hi,” San croaks, and then quickly clears his throat. “Um, hi. Wooyoung sent me, he says food is ready and he’ll get mad if you don’t show up.”

“Aw, we haven’t even gotten to the Mossberg yet,” Mingi says sadly. He is hungry though. Maybe they should call it a day.

“Should we pack up and continue tomorrow?” He asks Mia, who quickly tears her eyes away from San to face him. “Sure thing,” she says, the excited glint still in her eyes, and there is something very smug about the way she smiles at him. Deserved, Mingi thinks.

“That was some excellent shooting Mia, especially for your first time,” he says, and he can hear the sharp intake of breath from his left.

“That was the first round?” San asks, disbelief plain in his voice, and his eyes are all round again. “Yup,” Mingi says, going for nonchalant, and starts packing up the Mossberg.

“Damn,” San says, so quietly he just barely catches it.

Mingi waves a hand around. “You go on ahead and tell Wooyoung we’ll be there in a couple of minutes, yeah? We’re just packing up here and then we’ll head back.”

“Oh, yeah, sure thing. See you guys in a bit.”

Mingi watches until San has disappeared into the trees, and then he turns his grin towards Mia, who flushes a little darker and blinks a couple of times, looking rather dazed.

“Nice,” Mingi says and holds up a hand for a high five, and Mia only narrows her eyes at him for a single second before her face breaks into a somewhat shy smile and she smacks her palm against his.

~

Mia pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulders before wrapping both hands around her cup of coffee, grateful for the warmth. She doesn’t think she will ever get tired of the view of the lake in the early morning, the way the fog blurs the willows at its edge, putting a soft filter over every otherwise harsh line.

The cats are off to some adventure today. She had been worried the first time they wandered off, but Wooyoung was quick to reassure her that they had been to the lake house several times before and knew their way around.

This time, she hears San before he comes outside, and she wonders whether that is because she is more awake than last time or because San is trying less hard to be quiet.

When the door to the porch slides open, San immediately looks down in her direction. When she gives him a little wave, his face pulls into a smile full of so much genuine warmth that it squeezes something inside her chest.

“Is that coffee? It smells like coffee.”

Mia grins. “Yours is on the counter. I’m surprised you didn’t spot it, Mr. Ninja Assassin.”

San blinks at her and disappears back inside. He comes back shortly after, cradling a steaming cup of coffee to his chest. He sighs happily and sinks down until he sits across from her on his usual spot against the railing. He takes a careful sip and closes his eyes in an expression of bliss. “I didn’t hear the coffee machine.”

“It’s cold brew.”

When San just gives her a confused look, she explains. “It’s when you put water over ground coffee beans and then just let it soak overnight. Makes for a very smooth coffee.”

San hums. “It’s perfect.”

Mia hides her smile by taking a sip of her own. San was the last person to share his coffee preferences with her: No milk, one spoon of sugar.

“Thank you for this,” San says after a moment of peaceful silence, lifting his cup.

“My pleasure.”

“Were you planning to ambush me again? And you call ME a ninja assassin!” San’s eyes twinkle as he speaks.

“Excuse me for wanting to enjoy a peaceful, quiet morning out on the porch,” Mia counters with a huff, causing San to chuckle softly.

When San eventually speaks, there’s something a little guarded in his voice, and Mia tries very hard not to get alarmed by it. “Actually,” he says, shifting a little. “I um, I wanted to give you something, if that’s okay.” He peers at Mia a bit unsurely, and when she doesn’t offer any protests, he reaches into the front pocket of his hoodie. Guess it’s finally gotten too cold for a t-shirt, Mia thinks idly.

San looks incredibly nervous as he plays with something in his hands, and Mia finds herself staying very still. Whether out of self-preservation or to not spook him, she isn’t entirely sure.

“Here, I, um, I want you to have this,” he says finally and leans forward, holding out the object in his hand. Mia’s fingers close around something cold and hard as she reflexively reaches for it, and it is only when she brings it closer that the sparse morning light reveals what she is holding. It’s a knife, folded up. Mia turns it in her hands until she finds a button, and when she presses it, the blade snaps open with an all too familiar sound. Mia feels her muscles lock up for a fraction of a second, her heartbeat quickening. She closes her eyes when she feels a tingle run down the scar on her cheek, and for just the breath of a moment, the sensation of cold tiles under bare thighs. She opens her eyes and slowly releases the breath that had gotten stuck in her throat.

When she looks up, San is watching her very carefully.

“Why?” she whispers, holding the knife at a bit of a distance, as if scared it might suddenly come alive and bury itself in her flesh.

San looks from her face to the blade and then down at his hands. “It’s… the knife I cut you with. I don’t know, I thought- I thought you should have it. It hasn’t felt right to use it afterwards, and I don’t think that’s going to change. And, you know, maybe in a way it can make you feel safer.”

Mia looks down at the knife, weighing it in her hand. The blade is polished and silver, and she finds herself somehow surprised by that, as if she expected to find her own dried blood clinging to the tip. The handle is starting to warm in her hands. She carefully folds the blade back into the handle, then she lets it snap open again. Something about the weight of it, the way it jerks in her hand with the force of the mechanism, fascinates her.

When she finally looks up again, San is watching her with that same hesitant uncertainty, as if he is not yet quite sure if he made a huge mistake just now. She brings the knife closer to her chest. “Thank you,” she says, quietly.

San’s face clears up immediately, a relieved little smile curving his lips. “You’re very welcome,” he says, then he looks back at the knife. “It’s um, it’s very sharp,” he says, “Please be careful with it.”

Mia huffs a small laugh. “I know it’s sharp”, she says, tilting her head to the side, and watches as San’s eyes trace the long, thin scar decorating her cheek, and then snap back up to her eyes.

They stare at each other in silence, something tentatively searching in his gaze, studying her with a quiet intensity. The moment stretches, and Mia feels the air thickening with a strange kind of heaviness.

When Max leaps into her lap like a noiseless little shadow, Mia jumps so hard that she spills some of her coffee over her fingers. San surges forward only to immediately pull back his hands, and something about that makes her stomach twist unpleasantly.

“Are you okay? Did you get burned?” The worry in his voice is palpable.

“I’m fine,” Mia says quickly and shakes out her hand, causing coffee droplets to fly into the cold air. “It’s not hot anymore.”

San nods and sighs. “That little menace,” he mutters. “I can’t even count how many times he spooked us all. I suspect he does that on purpose.”

Mia releases a breathy little laugh. “I think Wooyoung would agree.”

San smiles, nothing but shy friendliness on his face. “You wanna go inside and make breakfast?”

Mia nods, trying to shake a lingering feeling. “Yes, let’s go. You said we could try sourdough today.”

~

Mingi looks more awake at breakfast than Mia has ever seen him this early in the morning, and he keeps throwing conspiratorial little grins her way. It’s hard not to get swept up in his excitement, and she finds herself eating a little faster than usual.

The sun is out today, caressing her cheeks with a gentle warmth whenever its rays find their way through the canopy, and the entire forest is mottled with shivering flecks of light.

Mingi is whistling while he walks, and Mia has to hurry in order to keep up with his long legs. She is no longer quite as scared to shoot that big monster of a shotgun Mingi had shown her, but she is still full of jittery nerves.

Shooting had been fun, which came as a bit of a shock to her, even more so the fact that she apparently had a knack for it. A slight thrill of anticipation mixes into her nervousness.

“Are we gonna start straight with the big one?” she asks, slightly out of breath from her effort to keep up with him, her feet rustling through the carpet of leaves.

“Yup!” he answers cheerfully. “If we don’t, you’re gonna be nervous about it the whole time. We can practice with the Glock afterwards, if you want!”

“Yeah okay,” Mia huffs, and lets out a relieved little sigh when the shooting range finally comes into view.

Mingi walks over to the long wooden table and sets down the duffle bag, once again busying himself with setting up everything.

Mia watches him, hands buried in the pockets of her soft sweatpants, and catches herself playing with the folded up switchblade that she had slipped into her pocket this morning.

“Mingi?” she asks tentatively, and Mingi hums without looking up. “Um, do you know stuff about knives too?”

Mingi stops and turns to face her, his gaze searching. “Stuff,” he repeats, tilting his head to the side. “I do know some stuff. Why do you ask? Do you want to learn to handle blades too? That’s a good skill to have, but maybe we’ll do one after the other? A knife is not going to be of much help to you when you’re faced with someone who’s holding a gun.”

Mia starts biting her lower lip, considering for a moment. Ah what the hell, she thinks eventually and pulls out the knife. “San gave me this,” she says and watches Mingi’s eyebrows shoot up. “I just thought that- if I have it, I should kinda know what to do with it?”

Mingi abandons the duffle bag and walks towards her in a couple of long strides. “Can I see that?”

“Um, sure.” Mia only hesitates for a second before handing over the knife, feeling strangely uneasy about parting with it.

Mingi turns it around in his hands for a while. His expression is thoughtful, and Mia has the distinct feeling that there are a million thoughts he is having right now, and maybe examining the knife is his own way of giving himself the time he needs to sort through them.

After a while, he snaps it open, carefully pressing his thumb to the sharp edge, before he gives it two fast little spins and then folds it together again, handing it back to Mia with a very neutral expression on his face.

“He gifted you this? Can I ask what the context was?”

Mia feels immediately better as soon as her fingers close around the knife. “He um, he said it was symbolic. It’s the one he cut me with, you know?” she gestures to her face and sees something soften in Mingi’s eyes, and then he nods.

“I see,” he says. “Well, I do agree that if you own a weapon, you should know how to use it. I’m not necessarily the expert in our group, that would be Seonghwa, but Hongjoong and San are very close to him in skill level and either of them should be able to teach you just as well. I certainly know the basics, so if you would prefer to learn them from me, I’m happy to teach you what I know.”

Mia nods. “I, um, I like learning from you,” she mutters, feeling her cheeks warm up, and when she finally manages to look up again, there’s a wide smile spreading across Mingi’s face, crinkling his eyes. “You’re a good student to teach,” he says, and there is so much warm affection in his voice that it makes Mia’s heart feel all fuzzy.

“I would suggest that we postpone honing your knife skills though, I don’t want you to try and learn too many things at the same time. Is that alright with you?”

“Yes, of course!”

Mingi smiles again, looking pleased. “The one thing I will tell you now is that the most widespread reason people injure themselves while handling a knife is that when they try and stab something, or someone, they slip on the handle and slice their palm or their fingers on the blade. So, if you do intend to stab someone, make sure to really grip it tightly.” He grins, turning back to his duffle bag. “I would advise you to avoid getting into knife fights for now though, until you have had further schooling. Think you can manage that?”

Mia giggles, slipping the weapon back into her pocket.

“I’ll do my very best.”

Mia had expected to get a long lecture about the Mossberg before Mingi would let her handle it, but he waves her off. “We can talk about that later,” he says, loading shells into the magazine tube, one after the other. “For now, I just want you to be able to shoot it, we can get into naming the parts and everything afterwards.”

Mia nods, fiddling with her sleeves again. “Do you think I would actually ever get into a situation where I need to shoot it?” she asks, sounding rather doubtful. The nerves are back, making her jittery.

Mingi gives her a wide smile. “Oh, totally,” he says, and Mia blinks.

“I mean, just as an example, if we’re all chilling in the lake house one evening and suddenly the alarm goes off, because someone is tearing down the gate. How effective do you think you would be with a handgun like the Glock? I mean, you’re not a bad shot for a beginner but these would be moving targets, hard to see in the dark, and they would be pros. So even when you land a hit somewhere, chances are they would still be able to fire back at you.”

He continues loading the Mossberg, while Mia is bunching up the edges of her sleeves in her fists.

“If I were to give you this baby though, you could just shoot in someone’s general direction and they would probably no longer be a problem.” He directs another grin her way, and Mia does her best to smile back, feeling rather shaky.

“Right!” Mingi says eventually, turning to face Mia with a cheerful expression. “The Mossberg 500 is a pump action shotgun, so after every shot, you pump it to put another shell into firing position. Each pump will also eject the spent shell. These are going to be very hot, so be careful not to touch them!” He waits expectantly and Mia nods.

“Now, as I said, this one is actually a good beginner shotgun because it has a more manageable recoil than some others, but the recoil is definitely still there and much stronger than what you have experienced so far. In order to properly absorb that, you hold the stock against your shoulder, like this. Make sure not to leave a gap, because then it would basically punch you in the shoulder, and that would be much more unpleasant. Put on your ear muffs.”

Mia jumps at the sudden instruction, scrambling a bit as she grabs the electronic ear muffs from around her neck, switches them on and places them securely over her ears. Her hands are clammy with cold sweat.

“I will demonstrate. You rack it firmly, back and then forth, like this. Now it is ready to shoot. Tighten your posture, keep your stance wide. Lean into it a little, imagine that you’re bracing against someone who wants to shove you.”

Mingi pulls the trigger, and Mia winces as the recoil shudders through Mingi’s torso. Her throat feels dry, no matter how often she swallows.

Mingi turns around, smiling, and waves her forward. Mia does her best to ignore the almost painful hammering of her heart and walks up to him. You can do this, she tells herself, balling her hands into fists to try and get her hands to stop shaking.

“Alright, here you go.” Mingi passes her the shotgun, keeping his hands on it until he has made sure she is holding it correctly. “Good,” he says, and Mia feels a tiny bit better at how close he still is. “Now pump it, and remember to do it with force! If you half-ass it, you might cause a malfunction.”

Mia feels a fresh wave of something like panic, and she squeezes her eyes shut before yanking the pump back and forth with all of her strength.

“Good job!” Mingi says happily, and Mia blinks her eyes open again. “Now shoulder it, and remember to really pull it into your body, don’t let it free-float. Be prepared for the kick!”

Mia thinks that she might be a little too prepared for the kick, seeing as she is completely terrified. She manages to lift the heavy gun into position and presses the stock against her shoulder, but then she freezes. She dimly realizes that Mingi is taking a couple of steps back and telling her to go ahead, but she finds herself completely unable to pull the trigger.

The seconds tick by, and nothing happens.

“Hey, you’re okay.” Mingi’s voice is suddenly very close to her ear, and she flinches violently. Mingi’s hands find her elbows, steadying her, and for a moment Mia thinks that he will take the gun from her but he doesn’t. He just gently pushes her arms back into position.

“I’m going to absorb the recoil alright? If I stand directly against your back, it will basically be transferred to my body. Don’t worry about a thing, okay? I’m right here. You’re doing great.”

Mia can feel a solid, warm chest pressing up against her back, and she takes a shaky breath. It helps, having him close. Makes her feel safer, more steady. Less likely to fuck something up.

Baring her teeth in a silent snarl of determination, she tightens her hands around the gun and points it at one of the targets. Before the small surge of courage has a chance to leave her, she pulls the trigger.

The recoil lurches through her shoulder, shoving her back more firmly against Mingi, who remains solid at her back.

“Nice,” he says, and his deep voice vibrates through her body. He sounds pleased. “Do it again.”

It takes Mia a couple of seconds to remember that she has to pump it, and then she goes again. Then a third time, and a fourth.

Her heart is still hammering, but no longer with panic. She feels a similar rush of adrenaline as she had felt when she first fired the Glock, but it’s not quite the same. A little overwhelmed, a little nervous and less in control, but powerful all the same.

Mingi taps her shoulder and draws back, and Mia lowers the shotgun, turning to face him with wide eyes.

When Mingi holds out his hand with a smile, Mia passes over the weapon, and then she hurries to catch up with him when he heads back towards the table. He rummages around in the duffel bag for a moment and then starts loading new shells into the magazine tube, leaning his hip against the sturdy wooden tabletop.

“So,” he says conversationally, “how was that? You feeling good to try it alone?”

Mia clears her throat, feeling a bit fidgety. Adrenaline is still thrumming through her body, leaving her a bit breathless. “I’m- it was okay, I think. It helped, I mean, you helped. Thank you for that.” She feels a bit awkward, but Mingi’s smile as he looks up from his work is warm and bright. Mia smiles back reflexively, and then she takes a deep breath. “I think I’m okay with trying again, on my own. The recoil was… it was a lot, but it didn’t hurt. I thought it would hurt.”

Mingi hums and shakes his head. “It only hurts when you leave a gap between the stock and your shoulder, that can actually give you bruises. As long as you hold it tight to your body, you’re good. And your stance is great, so it’s not going to throw you off balance either.”

He pushes himself away from the table, done with reloading, and heads back to the range. Mia feels her heart give a pleased little flutter at his casual compliment, and she joins him, full of fresh determination.

 

Notes:

I know I've said it before but huge huge thanks again to my resident gun expert for always answering my questions and suggesting the perfect models for every member :) Feel free to look them up if you want! Seriously, when I asked how you would put a gun back in safe mode after it was already cocked and ready to go, I got a whole instructional video with a demonstration, rather than just a message. I am just so incredibly thankful to all the lovely people in my life who are helping me with this.

And to you, my lovely readers ❤️

I worked hard to make all the details accurate, but if you catch anything that's not, let me know!

Also, porch date number 3! I hadn't planned to make this a regular thing but I kind of like the way it shows the progression of their relationship.

Chapter 26

Notes:

Another episode of: What has Hongjoong been up to? :]

And some party planning. hehe.

 

“Hey you there, stop! Give me your wallet!”

Hongjoong sighs, then he turns around. The kid who is trying to rob him looks about as young as he sounds, probably early twenties, if even that. He has a gaunt look to him, his cheeks hollowed out, and dark, bruise-like shadows under his eyes.

“Dude are you deaf? I have a knife! Give me your fucking wallet!”

The outstretched arm that holds the knife is shaking. His voice is hoarse, cracked, as if he had been screaming not long ago. There’s a look of wild desperation in his eyes. Hongjoong looks at the jut of his collarbones, the obvious track marks on his arms, and sighs again.

“Ah, sweetheart,” he says softly. “Life has not been kind to you.”

The guy’s eyes widen, then his face twists. “You think I’m not gonna do it?” he rasps, jabbing his knife in Hongjoong’s direction. “You have a fucking death wish or something?”

Hongjoong smiles, keeping his posture relaxed, his hands hanging loosely at his sides. “I quite enjoy my life, actually. Put the knife away, before you hurt yourself.”

A tiny flicker of doubt passes across the boy’s face, then his expression hardens. He takes a step forward.

Hongjoong grabs his bony wrist with lightning speed, twists his arm back and pushes him face first into the cracked wall at the side of the dingy street. He yelps in pain and surprise, a pitiful sound, and the knife clatters against the pavement. Hongjoong scoops it up and takes a step back, putting a bit of distance between them.

The would-be robber stumbles a couple of steps back, his mouth hanging open in shock. Then he stops, hesitates. Hongjoong smiles again, folding the dirty switchblade and holding it out.

Nobody moves for several seconds, and then Hongjoong sighs. “Go on, take it. I’m not gonna hurt you. Just don’t point it at me again, alright?”

Slowly, carefully, the guy inches closer. Hongjoong expects him to snatch the knife away quickly, but his fingers close around it almost gently, his hand cold where it brushes against Hongjoong’s.

This close, he looks even younger.

“What’s your name?” Hongjoong asks. He doesn’t get an answer for a long moment.

“Why do you want to know?” His voice is still raspy, but now he mostly just sounds tired, tired and wary.

Hongjoong just shrugs and smiles, and waits.

“Jamie.” He says it quietly.

“Well Jamie, I’m not gonna give you a whole speech about being on the wrong path and changing your ways, you’ve heard all that before. I’m afraid you’ll have to figure this out all on your own.”

Jamie doesn’t respond, just presses his lips into a tight line.

“Do you have people forcing you to do this? Do you owe the wrong people money? Anyone threatening you?”

A pause, and then Jamie shakes his head. Hongjoong hums. “I see, I see. Well, that’s good. Keep your needles clean, alright? Don’t make a shitty situation a hundred times shittier. And stay away from the cops, they say they want to help you, but they really don’t. You probably know that already.”

Jamie just peers at him, his shoulders tight, the suspicion never quite leaving his eyes.

Hongjoong feels a small pang of sadness, a familiar tug in his chest, the same one he had felt when they found the tiny black kitten, ferocious and so full of spirit. But this is a person, not a stray cat that he can bring home. He fishes out his wallet, counts out a handful of notes and holds them out.

Jamie takes a step back, his jaw tight. “I’m not- I’m not one of those,” he rasps, and Hongjoong quickly shakes his head. “I don’t want anything from you, I promise. Just- take it, get yourself something to eat. Don’t spend it all on smack, okay?”

The boy eyes the money, still hesitant. Eventually, he takes a tentative step forward again, reaching out a careful hand, and Hongjoong presses the wad of cash into his palm.

“Stay out of trouble, alright love? Things… things are going to look up again, eventually.” He forcefully swallows down everything else he wants to say, wants to do, and plasters a smile on his face. The small, shy uptick in the corner of Jamie’s mouth hits him like a fist to the chest. So young, he thinks mournfully.

Not waiting for an answer, he turns and flees, his heart heavy and his emotions all over the place.

Cherry’s Inn is only a couple of streets further, and Hongjoong takes a slow, calming breath at the familiar red sign. The double doors are open, warm light spilling invitingly into the cold night air. Hongjoong skips up the few steps leading up to the entrance and pushes away the heavy velvet curtain.

“Captain!” The establishment’s owner is a tall woman with blonde curls and large blue eyes, and her face lights up at the sight of him.

Hongjoong smiles and gives a charming little bow in greeting.

“What brings you here? Can I get you anything? A drink? A night of fun?” There’s a mischievous little sparkle in her eyes as she hops up from the tall chair she had been sitting on and walks around her little table in order to greet him. Hongjoong has never accepted this specific offer, and yet she keeps offering it. It has become a bit of an inside joke.

Hongjoong chuckles and waves a hand. “A most gracious offer darling, but I can’t stay for long. You do look ravishing tonight, though.”

The woman laughs and flips her cascade of curls behind her shoulder, baring a graceful neck adorned with a delicate diamond necklace, and smooths down the front of her lavender dress with a dainty little hand movement.

It’s an act, a beautiful, captivating little show, aimed to conceal a razor sharp mind and hands that are more than capable of slipping a knife between someone’s ribs. Hongjoong and her have been friends for years, ever since Hongjoong’s syndicate wiped out the group of sleazy would-be crime bosses that had moved into the city with too much ambition and not enough respect, harassing the local establishments for months, demanding protection money and free services.

Hongjoong had appreciated neither their methods nor their insolence, and after his warnings had continued to be ignored, he decided to do something about it. He worked together with the previous owner to set up a trap, successfully eradicating the entire group. Since then, the girls working at Cherry Inn have been of tremendous help to Hongjoong multiple times, providing him with whispers and rumors and information he would otherwise never have gotten.

“Everything alright with you here? Business going well? Has anyone made any trouble?”

The woman smiles. “Everything’s peachy. We’re taking good care of our own, as always. So what brings you here? Come to seduce more of our staff?” There’s the barest hint of annoyance in her voice at that last question, and Hongjoong giggles, craning his neck to get a look at the burly security guard keeping a careful watch over them from further inside the house. When Hongjoong catches his eye and winks at him, he blushes all the way to the tips of his ears, the lower half of his face hidden by the majestic beard reaching halfway down his broad chest.

“Oh hello there,” Hongjoong purrs, batting his eyelashes. “It’s been too long.”

The guard shuffles his feet and clears his throat, scratching his tattooed neck as he looks everywhere but at Hongjoong.

“He’s on duty, Captain!”

Hongjoong holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “Don’t worry, don’t worry, I’m just here for business. We are looking for someone, or for any information at all concerning these two men.” He pulls out the printed out sketches of Kyle and the shark-looking guy, handing them over.

The woman studies them with a concentrated expression, then she shakes her head. “They haven’t been in here,” she says. “I’ll make some copies for the girls, maybe they have seen them on an outside job. I’m guessing this needs to be handled delicately?”

Hongjoong nods. “They are very dangerous, please only show these to people you trust. And we don’t want word to get out that you are on the lookout, that will just put a target on your back.” He hesitates, then smiles. “Is Anna here?”

“Ah, I’m sorry but Anna is in the Maldives with a client, she won’t be back for a while. I will let her know you’ve been asking for her as soon as she gets back.”

Hongjoong dips his head. “Once again, I am in your debt. If you ever need anything-” he gets interrupted by a cool hand cradling his cheek, blue eyes boring into his. “Will you stop that? We’ve been over this.”

Hongjoong nods. “There’s one- other thing,” he says, shifting from foot to foot. “On the way here, I ran into this kid, looked around nineteen, probably lives on the street, brown hair, pretty scruffy looking.”

The woman lifts a perfect eyebrow, a knowing look in her eyes. “Captain, we don’t have the room nor the money to take in any more strays.”

“No, I know! I’m not asking you to. Just, if he ever does come looking for help, a meal, or a bed for the night, just… put it on my tab, alright?”

There’s a breath of silence stretching between them before Hongjoong gets an answer.

“Alright, we’ll keep an eye out for the kid.”

Hongjoong releases a puff of air. “Thank you,” he says, earnestly. He is rewarded with an angelic smile and a kiss on the cheek.

“Anything for you, sweetheart. Now get out of here, you’re scaring away our clients.”

~

“I have summoned you all here today to talk about something very important.” Wooyoung glares at them all in turn, over the tops of his fingertips that he is tapping together with an air of conspiratorial significance.

“Uh-huh,” Jongho says, leaned back in his arm chair, and takes another sip of his coffee. He sounds rather doubtful.

“Tomorrow,” Wooyoung says, only narrowing his eyes at Jongho for half a second before turning to Mia, who is listening with what is apparently the appropriate amount of rapt attention. “Is Mingi’s birthday!”

Silence follows his words, and he leans back from the table, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“So?” Jongho says eventually.

Wooyoung gasps, clutching at his non-existing pearls. “Well excuse you but I happen to think that we should celebrate a beloved member of our family!”

Jongho rolls his eyes. “We all agreed that birthdays during war times don’t get celebrated.”

Wooyoung starts turning an angry shade of pink, but before he can say anything more, San leans forward in his chair. “I mean, Jongho is right, but we also don’t really have anything to do here except chill and wait for further instructions. I’m sure Mingi is not going to expect anything, but it might be nice to do a little something?”

“Thank you!” Wooyoung ruffles San’s hair affectionately, then he squints at Jongho who still looks rather unimpressed. “Unless you have a problem with that?”

Jongho shrugs. “Sure, do whatever you want,” he says, which might have been a dangerous thing to say, considering the victorious, very pleased grin spreading across Wooyoung’s face, baring way too many of his teeth.

“Um,” Mia pipes up, “where is Mingi, actually? I haven’t seen him in a while.”

Wooyoung waves a hand around. “I sent him to buy cat food so he would be out of the house for a bit, so we can get some planning done. So, since we all agreed that I can choose whatever we do for his birthday, I propose a princess make-over party.”

Mia’s jaw drops open in surprise, but before she can think of anything to say, Jongho slams his empty coffee cup onto the table, a deep scowl on his face.

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not!” Wooyoung whines, pouting.

“Because! You will just take that as an excuse to chase all of us around with nail polish and glitter and stupid accessories, and I do not want ANY part in that!”

Mia lifts a questioning eyebrow in San’s direction, but he just shakes his head a little with a ‘don’t ask’ expression on his face.

“Well, the IMPORTANT thing to consider here,” Wooyoung says, lifting his chin. “Is whether Mingi would like it. Because, remember, this is about him.”

There’s a rather lengthy pause following his words, before San gives a long sigh. “He would love it,” he says.

“AHA!” Wooyoung yells, jabbing a finger in Jongho’s direction. “Do you deny it?”

Jongho groans, burying his face in his hands. “I hate this family,” he mutters.

“No you don’t,” Wooyoung says happily, and then he claps his hands together, all business-like. “Now, let’s distribute some tasks. Mia and San, you’re on cake duty. Jongho, you’re doing drinks, and I want them PRINCESS themed! I’m going to do the decorating. We’re going to celebrate in Mingi’s room, so that when he passes out, we can just leave him there.”

Mia clears her throat, and Wooyoung directs a sweet smile at her that gets offset immediately by the daggers he shoots at her through his eyes, as if daring her to protest his plans in any way.

“I just, if we plan the whole thing in his room and it’s supposed to be a surprise, when are you going to decorate it without him noticing?”

Wooyoung blinks, then claps a hand on her shoulder. “Excellent question. How about you just go practice shooting a couple hours before we start? That should give me plenty of time and he will absolutely never say no to that.”

“Uh, right.”

“Wonderful. Now everyone can write down what they need and then me and San will do some shopping later today. Any questions?”

Jongho frowns a bit more. “Should we really get drunk at a time like this? What if something happens? What if the house gets compromised?”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes so hard that Mia worries they might fall out of their sockets. “Oh PLEASE, we’ve been here for what, almost two weeks? And you think this will be the night anything happens? And even IF for some miraculous twist of fate we get invaded or something, you and I both know that Mingi can still shoot even if he’s too drunk to walk. Or do you doubt your own ability to fight with a couple of drinks in you?”

Jongho’s frown deepens, but he doesn’t offer any more protests.

Wooyoung flicks his hair back and slaps a piece of paper onto the table. “Now,” he declares, “grocery list!”

~

“Pink or purple?”

Mia looks up from her bowl of buttercream and sees San squinting at two tubes of food coloring with an expression of intense concentration.

“San,” Mia says, causing him to look up at her. “It’s a princess party. Pink, obviously!”

San frowns. “Aren’t there purple princesses?”

Mia sighs, pushing the bowl away and straightening up. “I mean, I guess? There are probably princesses in every color. But you’ve seen the decorations Wooyoung bought. I don’t think he will be happy if the cake doesn’t match.”

San doesn’t say anything, and then he downright pouts. Mia blinks against a sudden weird rush of feelings, unbidden thoughts of how he kind of looks adorable right now and how his cheeks look very pinchable. She gives her head a little shake and then she clears her throat. “How about we do light pink for the base and then highlights in purple and blue?”

“Fine,” San mutters, pulling more little tubes and containers out of the plastic bag Wooyoung had labelled cake supplies. “We also have a shit ton of edible glitter,” he says and gives one of the plastic jars a little shake. “And sugar flowers and sprinkles and pearls and this thing.” He holds up a plastic box with a delicate golden cake topper shaped like a crown.

Mia grins. “Does he always go this overboard?”

San just shakes his head exasperatedly. “This is nothing. We need to seriously reign him in, or he would spend half of our budget on party supplies for every single birthday. He had a fight with Yunho over this a couple of years ago, I think that was the only time I’ve seen them actually screaming at each other. Since then, there’s a very strict birthday budget that he’s not allowed to exceed.”

“Does he adhere to that?”

San levels her with a very pointed look. “What do you think?”

Mia snorts and shakes her head. “Of course not.” She stirs the buttercream for a couple more seconds and then decides that it’s well enough mixed. “Pass me the pink?”

San grabs the little tube and rounds the kitchen island. Mia holds out a hand, but instead of passing it to her, he puts it down on the granite countertop and slides it towards her the last couple of inches, keeping his distance. He doesn’t meet her eyes when he steps back and heads towards the fridge.

Mia swallows against the sinking feeling in her chest. San had been careful to keep a physical distance from her, and Mia is pretty sure this has something to do with the way she flinched away from him back when they had their failed first talk, how she yelled at him not to touch her. She wishes she could tell him that it’s okay, she doesn’t mind physical contact with him, but every time she tries, the words get stuck in her throat.

Pushing down the ache in her chest, Mia concentrates on her buttercream, mixing in a couple of drops of the vibrant food coloring, turning the entire thing a bright baby pink.

San has fetched the three round cakes from the fridge that he had prepared late last night, so that they could cool down overnight. He is currently busy carefully stacking them on top of each other, held together by even more cream and a plastic stick thing that pierces through all the layers.

“Alright!” he says happily, taking a step back. “That looks mostly symmetrical. You ready with the buttercream?”

They spend the next hour turning the cake into a glittering pink abomination of a birthday cake, and then another half hour cleaning up the mess of glitter and frosting and sugar pearls that have somehow spread across the entire kitchen area. San had also baked a small cupcake, and they use all the leftover buttercream and decorations to turn it into a miniature version of the cake.

Mia is just wiping the last bit of flour off the countertop when Wooyoung comes shuffling down the stairs, eyes half closed but very firm in his demand to inspect their work. He spends a couple of very tense seconds staring at the cake they had put back in the fridge, and San and Mia exchange a rather nervous glance before Wooyoung closes the fridge door, makes an indistinct huffing noise and gives a nod of approval.

“It’ll do,” he says and pulls out some eggs.

They prepare an elaborate breakfast, and Wooyoung goes outside to find a selection of leaves and some very late flowers in order to decorate Mingi’s plate. The birthday cupcake gets placed in the middle, and then San digs out a couple of candles to finish everything up.

Jongho joins them at some point, and eventually, when Mia is finishing up a little heart on a macchiato sweetened with hazelnut syrup, Mingi makes his way down the stairs with heavy, shuffling steps.

San hastily lights the candles, Mia hurries to put Mingi’s macchiato next to his plate, and then they all face the stairs.

As soon as Mingi appears in the doorway, they start singing Happy Birthday very loudly and badly, and Mingi jumps so hard he whacks his elbow into the door frame while Max shoots across the room to hide under the couch with a loud yowl. Princess just blinks from her throne of pillows, unbothered by the chaos.

Mingi blushes a bright pink, rubbing his elbow, and Wooyoung barrels into him as soon as they finish singing, throws his arms around Mingi’s neck and squeaks “HAPPY BIRTHDAY PRINCESS!”

San and Jongho hug him as well, and then Mia has a moment of panic in which she doesn’t know what to do, until Mingi smiles a little wryly and lifts one arm, tilting his head with an unspoken question. Mia steps towards him before her courage leaves her and tentatively wraps her arms around his middle, almost disappearing in Mingi’s answering hug. He feels warm and solid and safe, and Mia is reminded of that moment on the range when he stood behind her to absorb the recoil.

“Happy birthday,” she whispers into his shoulder, throat tight with a sudden flood of emotions. Mingi tightens his arms for a second before he releases her, smiling at her with an expression that looks incredibly fond. “Thanks”

“Look at your plate!” Wooyoung yells from behind them and starts shoving Mingi towards the table.

Mingi blushes again at the sight of his cupcake, then again at his coffee, and Wooyoung refuses to even sit down before Mingi hasn’t bitten into his birthday cupcake and declared it satisfactory. “Delicious,” he mumbles around a mouthful of cake, pink frosting on his nose, and they are finally allowed to sit and eat.

Their breakfast is interrupted by the alarm blaring through the house.

Mia drops her pancake, Mingi knocks over his orange juice, and suddenly the entire room erupts into chaos.

Jongho is on his feet with a gun in his hand, San runs towards the glass doors to the patio and slams his fist into a red button, causing metal sheets to drop down in front of the glass. Mingi kicks over his chair in his hurry to get up, a dark look on his face, and proceeds to pull what looks like an entire machine gun out of the fireplace.

Mia sits frozen on her chair, watching the others with her mouth open and her heart hammering, her hands gripping the edge of the table.

“Wooyoung!” Jongho barks. “Grab Mia and go to the panic room!”

“GUYS!” Wooyoung shouts, and everyone stops to stare at him. Wooyoung lifts up his phone, showing a grainy video feed. “It’s the mailman, calm down, jeez!”

Jongho frowns and walks over, snatching the phone from his hand. “Could be a trap,” he mutters. “This place doesn’t get mail. They probably want us to split up.”

“Or,” Wooyoung says, rolling his eyes, “OR, maybe it’s Mingi’s birthday today and someone might have sent something?”

Nobody says anything for a couple of seconds, the others exchanging glances.

“We need to check it out, but be on our guard, and maybe with back-up,” San says eventually, and that’s when everyone starts disputing who should go to the gate and who should stay behind. Wooyoung heaves a big sigh and pushes himself away from the table, gets up and starts walking towards the door.

“NO!” San shouts and leaps at him, wraps his arms around Wooyoung’s torso before he can open the door, pinning his arms to his side, and drags him back.

“Guys he’s gonna LEAVE! What if he takes Mingi’s present away?” Wooyoung whines, and then Mingi squares his shoulders, puts down the gun and strides towards the front door. Jongho hesitates for only a second before he shoves his pistol back into its holster and then he hurries after him, slamming the door shut behind them.

Silence envelops them, a stark contrast to the mayhem just a second ago.

“What the fuck?” Mia whispers, still frozen on her chair.

“Ugh,” Wooyoung mutters and shakes off San’s arms, who lets him go with some reluctance. “Don’t worry Mia, they’re just overreacting, as always.”

San frowns. “Did you forget that our literal home was invaded just two weeks ago? It’s better to be careful!”

Wooyoung doesn’t answer, and San huffs. “I’m gonna get the rifle and keep an eye on them through the window,” he says and disappears up the stairs.

Mia blinks a couple of times and stares at Wooyoung, who has thrown himself onto the couch and is fishing around behind the backrest. Mia thinks for a moment that he is going to pull out some other kind of weapon until she hears a hiss and then Wooyoung yelps and pulls his arm back up, frowning at his hand.

“Are you- are you sure they’re okay?” she asks, her voice sounding very thin. “What if it is a trap?”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “Do you really think dressing up as the mailman and coming in the middle of the day is the smartest thing they could come up with? And it just happens to be on one of our birthdays? Nah. They’re all just jumpy as fuck. You saw them, they all immediately went into fight mode without even checking the camera feeds.” He sighs and gives Mia a tired little smile. “Don’t worry. I’ve seen them do this a lot, trust me.”

Mia nods, not entirely convinced.

Not a minute later, San comes shuffling back down the stairs, looking a little sheepish. He sits down at the table and starts poking around his plate of pancakes, studiously avoiding looking at either Wooyoung or Mia.

Wooyoung gives Mia a very meaningful stare followed by another eye roll before he goes back to trying to entice the cats to come out from under the couch.

“GUYS!” The front door bangs open with a crash so loud that Mia almost topples over in her chair, clutching her chest to calm her racing heart. Mingi comes running in with a large package in his arms, flushed with excitement. Jongho follows at a bit of a distance, expression caught somewhere between exasperation and fond indulgence.

“Let me guess, it’s from Yunho?” Wooyoung’s voice is muffled from where he is currently stuck under the couch, only his legs sticking out.

“Yes!” Mingi says happily, his blush deepening, and San hurries to clear some space on the breakfast table so Mingi can put the box down.

Wooyoung groans a bit and then he finally pushes himself back out again, dust bunnies and cobwebs in his hair and a very dusty and disgruntled looking Max tucked under one arm. “Well go on, let’s see!”

Mingi smiles shyly and then pulls out a knife from god knows where, snapping it open with a practiced flick of his wrist. Mia shoots a look in San’s direction and finds him already watching her. Something in his eyes makes her feel a little too warm in her clothes, and she ducks her head and quickly focuses back on Mingi, who has started carefully slicing through the wrapping paper. There’s a lot of padding and bubble wrap, and finally a box made of dark wood, covered in engravings. It looks old.

“Ooooohh” Jongho says under his breath, and everyone leans a little closer. The box seems to mean something to the others, Mingi’s breath audibly stuttering, and Mia cranes her head to get a good look.

Gently, carefully, Mingi opens the bronze latches and finally opens the box. There are several sharp intakes of breath, one whispered oh shit from San, and Mingi covers his mouth with both hands, his eyes wide.

Nestled in burgundy velvet lies a revolver, dark metal and cream colored grips. Even to Mia’s unpracticed eyes, it looks beautiful.

“Is that vintage?” she asks curiously, and four pairs of eyes turn to stare at her. She feels her face heat up. “I mean,” she starts, but gets interrupted by San, whose eyes are wide and full of genuine reverence. “That’s a Schofield revolver,” he says, his voice slightly hushed.

“It’s so pretty,” Mia muses and gets rewarded by a blinding smile from Mingi, who finally drops his hands from his face. “It’s a vintage Schofield with ivory grips and a blued finish, and probably hand engraved!” His voice is slightly wobbly at the end, and Mia is surprised to see his eyes get a little shiny. “It’s beautiful!” He sighs, carefully running the tip of a finger along the grip.

Mia jumps slightly when Wooyoung appears at her back, wrapping an arm around her middle and resting his chin on her shoulder. “And worth about five grand I’d reckon,” he mutters into her ear. Mia’s eyes widen. “Damn.”

They all stare at the revolver in silence for a couple more seconds. Mia leans a little closer, taking in the delicate engravings, vines and leaves swirling across the dark metal. “Are you gonna shoot it?” she asks.

Mingi blinks at her, and then his smile widens. “Wanna go take it for a spin?”

Mia takes a step back. “What- me?”

Mingi chuckles. “Why not?”

“But- what if I drop it? Or, I don’t know, get dirt on it?” Mia starts feeling a little panicked. Mingi laughs, but the grin he sends her way is a little sharper than usual. “Don’t drop it,” he says.

Before Mia gets a chance to come up with a response, Wooyoung clicks his tongue. “Nobody goes anywhere before we haven’t finished eating,” he declares, and just like that, the box gets closed and carefully stored on the kitchen counter.

As they continue their breakfast, Mingi keeps shooting littles glances at his present, as if making sure it didn’t spontaneously grow legs and run away while he wasn’t looking. He bounces his leg so hard that it makes the entire table shake, and after he has picked up his empty cup to drink a sip of nothing for the third time, Wooyoung groans and throws up his arms. “Okay, fine, FINE! You’re excused, go play with your new toy, birthday boy!”

Mingi grins and jumps up, scooping up the box and disappearing upstairs. Mia follows him with her eyes. “He’s not gonna shoot it indoors, right?” she asks nervously.

Jongho barks a laugh. “Nah don’t worry, he’s just gonna take it apart and obsessively clean and polish it for the next couple of hours or so,” he says and there’s a little twinkle of amusement in his eye.

“He was joking, right?” Mia says eventually, looking from one to the other. “About me shooting it.”

San shrugs and smiles. “Guns like that are like fancy cars. Something you keep on display for the vast majority of the time, admire them, polish them. But, on really rare occasions, you have some fun with them.” He leans back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. “Like when you first get them, for example. And aren’t experiences always more fun when they’re shared?” He grins at her, a little wolfishly, and Mia buries her face in her arms, hiding both her desperation and the heat of her cheeks. “I’m gonna drop it,” she groans. “And then he’s gonna be so mad. He’ll probably shoot me.”

“Stop being dramatic,” Wooyoung says and whacks her with the end of a damp towel. “You’re not gonna drop it. And even if you do, that will just give him more of a reason to obsessively clean it. As long as you don’t drop it on a rock and then step on it for good measure, it’s fine.” He turns his back, returning to his sink of dirty dishes. “Also, you obviously don’t have to shoot it if you don’t want to. You can just say no, you know.”

Mia lifts her head from her arms and squints at his back. “How the hell can I say no to that? Did you see that thing? When would I ever get the chance to hold something like this again?”

Wooyoung huffs but doesn’t turn around, and Mia’s eyes flicker back to San, still leaned back in his chair, still watching her. The smile that spreads across his face is warm and fond and full of something else that makes the back of Mia’s neck prickle. Pride? Approval? She quickly lowers her gaze, tightly wrapping her hands around her empty coffee mug.

“Oh this is perfect actually,” Wooyoung pipes up, breaking some of the heavy tension in the air. “We were planning to send him to the shooting range anyway, and now he’s just gonna go on his own and he won’t come back until we drag him. So you can just play with him all afternoon until we send someone to get you two back!” He walks past Mia and pats her head, and when she looks up she gets a full view of his rather mischievous grin. “Seriously though, go have fun. Don’t worry too much. If he wants you to shoot his new baby, that just means he trusts you.” He gives her shoulder one last reassuring squeeze before he goes back to cleaning the table.

 

Notes:

I was a little unsure about the Hongjoong scene at first because it takes us away from the story a bit and there are so many different characters popping up, but I do feel that it shows us another side of him, both as a person and also how he manages to have eyes and ears everywhere: by being kind to the people no one else is kind to, and that nobody else pays attention to. Will Jamie ever show up again? Probably not, but who knows? Did y'all like him? :) Other parts in that scene are going to be important to the story later on, which is another reason I left it in. Also the thought of him going around and seducing burly security guards is just hilarious to me.

If any of you watched the og Avatar The Last Airbender, yes this was absolutely inspired by Uncle Iroh ♥️

Also, yay! Princess Party!

Much love, and thank you for reading 🥰

Chapter 27

Notes:

Sorry for the slightly late upload!

 

“Jesus Christ Mia for the third time, you’re not gonna drop it!”

Mia isn’t so sure about that. Her hands are shaking worse than when she held the Mossberg. “But what if I do?”

Mingi rolls his eyes. “Do you see the forest ground right here? There’s nothing but leaves. It’s not gonna just spontaneously explode from hitting the soft ground. It’s a gun for god’s sake, it will survive! This one was designed to be shot from horseback. It’ll be fine.”

Mia takes a deep breath. She is not even sure what has her so nervous about this. This just seems like such a personal thing, something very important to Mingi, and Mia is terrified of somehow fucking it up and ruining that tentative friendship they have managed to build over the last couple of days.

You can do this, she thinks. You’ll be okay.

Mingi’s smile widens when she finally reaches out a hand and closes her fingers over the smooth ivory of the grip. She takes the gun from Mingi and spends some time simply admiring it, running her fingers across the beautiful engravings.

“Now remember, you gotta manually cock it before each shot, do it right before you actually plan to fire it. It’s not gonna absorb recoil as well, so expect the muzzle to flip upwards. Take your time, be gentle, this is not about accuracy. Just enjoy it! You have five shots, leave the hammer down after the last one.”

Mia shoots Mingi a small smile before lifting the gun to eyelevel, pointing it down the range at one of the closer targets. It’s heavier than what she is used to, the balance different, the grip almost slippery in her hand.

A slow breath in, and she cocks the hammer. A slow breath out, and she pulls the trigger. The muzzle kicks upwards, as if trying to buck out of her hands, and she is glad she decided to hold it securely with both hands instead of just one. The shot misses, and Mia’s heart rate spikes to a fast gallop.

She turns wide eyes to Mingi, who is watching her from the side, arms crossed and a wide grin on his face. “I feel like a cowboy,” she says rather breathlessly, and Mingi barks a laugh. “I know right? Isn’t it fun?”

Mia nods. “It feels so different from the Glock!”

She focuses back on the target, cocks the hammer, and tries again. She hits one out of her five shots and is rewarded by Mingi clapping excitedly. She passes it back to Mingi, who flips open the hinge, expelling the spent casings. Mia had gotten quite the fright when she first saw him do this, since it almost looked like he broke the whole thing in half, and Mingi had taken some time to explain about the Schofield’s unique top-break mechanism and how it allowed people to quickly reload it while on horseback.

She jumps up and down a few times, trying to work off some of her nervous energy, and watches Mingi load more rounds into the chamber. His movements are calm and gentle and almost ceremonial, and Mia gets it. Something about this feels almost sacred, completely different from playing around with modern guns.

She turns around to grab her water bottle from the table, and that’s when she sees two figures moving through the trees. She freezes for a second, heart quickening with a short burst of panic, before one of the two figures raises an arm in greeting and shouts something.

“Oy!” Mingi yells from behind her, making her flinch. “I sure hope you guys brought food, or I’m sending you right back!”

Laughter sounds out through the forest, and before long they are getting close enough for Mia to identify them as San and Jongho, and she rolls her shoulders back, taking a couple of slow breaths to calm down her body, still tensed from the moment of fear.

They did bring food it turns out, several huge Tupperware boxes of nothing but fried chicken, much to Mingi’s delight. “Wooyoung sends his greetings,” San says, pulling a couple of paper plates and a bottle of soda from his backpack. “He also basically threw us out, said he needed some peace and quiet and to go play in the forest.” He frowns a bit, and Mia bites her tongue to keep herself from laughing. “Mind if we join you? We can also just fuck off towards the lake and hang out there, that would be no problem at all!”

He directs the question at Mingi, but both his and Mingi’s eyes flicker towards her, the question written plain across their faces. Mia feels her cheeks warm up a bit, and she does her best attempt at a non-committal shrug. “Fine by me,” she says, taking another sip of water. Then she grins. “You could do a competition or something! Who’s the best shot anyways?”

“Mingi,” San says at the same time that Jongho says “Yeosang.”

They stare at each other for a second, and Mia feels her eyebrows raise in surprise. “Yeosang?”

Mingi clears his throat. “It depends,” he says. “Yeosang is very specialized. He has the best aim, and in his area of expertise, he is completely unrivaled, no question. I’m much more flexible, you can basically hand me anything with a trigger and I can make it work.” He grins at Mia. “I actually taught some of the others to shoot, Wooyoung was the last to learn. Seonghwa and Hongjoong are both excellent shots, but they’re all fine.” He waves a rather dismissive hand in the direction of the others, and San’s face pulls into a pout while Jongho scoffs. “Fine?”

Mia giggles, and Mingi winks at her before turning his back to the others, focusing back on the Schofield. “Yeah they’re alright,” he says. “Entirely passable, I’d say.”

“Hey fuck you man!” San shoves against Mingi’s shoulder, who throws his head back and laughs. “Well are you just gonna stand around and complain or are you gonna do some shooting?” He teases, eyes crinkled with mischief.

They do end up making a competition out of it. It turns out that San’s preferred weapon is actually the Glock 19 they had brought with them anyways, and Jongho brought his own personal gun, a Colt 1911 that lurches in Mia’s hand with a far heavier recoil than she is used to when he lets her try it, and she shakes out her wrist when she gives it back, which makes Jongho laugh. He explains that this one is different from the one he usually carries on his person, which is a much smaller one that is easier to conceal. That is when she finds out that a smaller gun doesn’t mean it has a smaller recoil, because when she tries out the Ruger LCP Max that he pulls from its ankle holster, expecting it to be more manageable and happy to have one that fits her hands so well, the muzzle snaps up so sharply that she gives it back immediately, a little shaky from the shock of it almost jumping out of her hand.

Mingi explains that larger guns are better at absorbing recoil, something about slide mass and weight and different grip surfaces. That just makes her more curious about his personal gun, since it is so much bigger than the others, and he only hesitates for a second before letting her try it. The recoil is much more manageable, but the sheer size and weight of it end up still making it difficult for her to handle. Coming back to the Glock after all this feels almost soothing, the gun a familiar and comfortable weight in her hands.

She ends up taking a break, letting her legs dangle from the sturdy wooden table and munching on some chicken while the others have their little shooting competition. Mingi, to no one’s surprise, comes out on top, while San and Jongho seem to be surprisingly evenly matched. San manages to beat Jongho in the end, and by the volume of his victory shout and the surprise on Mingi’s face as he congratulates him, Mia gets the impression that this doesn’t happen too often. San keeps shooting her little glances, and Mia feels her ears warm up, stuffing her mouth with more fried chicken to keep herself distracted.

Something about watching San shoot, the way he holds himself with an effortless kind of grace, muscles tensed but still fluid in his movements, makes it hard for her to look away. It’s interesting to observe their different styles, Mingi’s casual precision, Jongho’s stern focus.

Watching their practiced familiarity with weapons serves as a grim reminder of what it is they do, who they are. Mia finds herself wondering whether Mingi exudes the same kind of nonchalant swagger when it is humans he shoots instead of targets. Wonders how many people San might have killed. If it keeps him up at night sometimes, like it does her.

Not for the first time, she wonders whether there is something wrong with her for knowing those things and still liking these people. Aren’t they the bad guys? She doesn’t know exactly what kind of business it is they have, what kind of crimes they commit. Just because they don’t condone human trafficking doesn’t mean they’re not hurting people.

Is it some kind of weird Stockholm syndrome? Is it because deep down, she knows she will be stuck with these people for the foreseeable future, so she might as well make her life easier by befriending them? Or is it plain selfishness? Does she simply not care about other people getting hurt?

She swallows against a sudden tight feeling in her chest, bites down on her bottom lip. Does she not care about them being bad people because she is one herself? She did kill someone after all. And isn’t that why they are teaching her to shoot? So she can kill more people?

Closing her eyes, Mia takes a long, slow breath, trying very hard to push down the churning ball of anxiety in her gut, that familiar feeling of not quite managing to fill her lungs all the way. Not now, she thinks, exasperated.

“Hey”

Mia opens her eyes to find San standing in front of her, closer than usual, peering at her face with a worried little notch between his brows. “Are you alright?”

Mia manages a shaky smile and looks over his shoulder to see Mingi and Jongho standing further down, still focused on the range, their backs turned to her.

“I’m- I’ll be fine,” she says. San looks at her expectantly, eyes wide and open, and she sighs. “Just, you know, some memories. Some… thoughts.”

There are several different emotions passing across San’s face, and then he asks, hesitantly: “Memories from… when the mansion got invaded?”

“Yeah,” Mia says and sees San immediately relax. “Ah,” he says, and turns to look at the two others who are reloading their guns. “I can imagine this can be a bit, well, triggering. I was actually surprised that you took to it so well.” He smiles slightly, with his head cocked to the side, and Mia feels some of the anxious knot in her chest loosen, replaced by something warm.

“It wasn’t easy at first,” she admits. “But looking back, I think I was almost more scared about being triggered than I actually was. So after the first few shots, I kind of realized I was okay. And then I actually hit something and that just felt…” she stops, and San’s smile widens. “It’s fun, isn’t it?” he asks, and Mia nods, finding herself smiling back.

San runs a hand through his hair and huffs a small laugh. “This is making Mingi so happy, you have no idea.”

Mia blinks at him. “Huh? What is?”

The look San gives her is fond. “You being so interested in this. It’s just- this is his thing, you know? He’s the weapons guy. But it’s not just because that’s the role he was given, it’s genuinely his passion. And there are few things that are more fun and gratifying than to introduce someone to your passion and find them interested.”

There’s this thing in his eyes again, pride or approval or something of that sort, and it makes Mia’s breath hitch. Goosebumps crawl up her spine, and warmth floods her cheeks, but it’s not entirely unpleasant. She thinks back to the mansion, when he and Yunho had instructed her on how to use a gun for the first time, the way his good job had almost sent her into a panic attack.

Is this progress? She wonders. She realizes with a start that the two of them have just been staring at each other in silence for several seconds now, and feels her shoulders tense.

“Is there any chicken left?” Mingi pops up behind San, throwing an arm around his shoulder.

“Yeah, yes!” Mia says quickly, turning around so fast she almost knocks the Tupperware container off the table. “Quite a lot actually.” She grabs the box and holds it out to Mingi, hoping that nobody notices the way her hands are shaking.

“Aw, sweet!” Mingi says happily, climbs onto the table next to her and starts stuffing chicken into his mouth.

“We have plates, you know?” Jongho deadpans, his eyes on the box and the way Mingi’s hands are disappearing into the mountain of chicken.

Mingi grins at him. “Yeah and you can totally get one for yourself!” he says, rather cheekily, and Jongho narrows his eyes at him. “You’re lucky it’s your birthday,” he mutters and grabs a plate for himself.

They take a proper break, sitting and eating and chatting until all the chicken is long gone. Afterwards, they shoot some more, Mia feeling slightly flustered at the audience, but to her relief it doesn’t impact her shooting too badly. San and Jongho seem impressed with her progress, giving advice of their own and clapping and whistling at every hit. Jongho gives her some very dad-like pats on the back and squeezes her shoulder after an especially good streak, and when she glances in San’s direction, his eyes are glinting with something dangerous and pleased.

At some point, the shadows under the trees start to deepen, and they decide to pack up. Mia catches Jongho checking his phone and throwing an inconspicuous little thumbs-up in San’s direction while Mingi has his back turned, reminding her of what is waiting for them at home, and she hides a smile.

The walk back is cheerful and full of harmless bantering that Mia finds herself listening to rather than participating in, content with hanging a step back and observing their dynamic.

The house is suspiciously dark and quiet as they approach, and Mia allows herself to fall back a couple more paces. This turns out to have been the right choice, since as soon as the door opens, the entire group gets dowsed in an explosion of glitter and confetti, and it’s almost comical to see all three men reflexively flinch a hand towards their weapons, perfectly synchronized.

“Welcome home birthday princess!” Wooyoung cheers, jumping at Mingi and clipping a sparkly pink tiara into his hair. Mingi, still recovering from the glitter jump scare, laughs and lifts Wooyoung off his feet with a big bear hug.

“You’re gonna sweep all of this up later!” Jongho scolds, a stern expression on his face, and San just laughs at him, shaking confetti out of his hair. “Relax Jongho, we can clean up tomorrow!”

“We?” Jongho repeats incredulously, but then Wooyoung appears at his side and pushes him into the house. Mia follows a step behind, miraculously almost glitter free, and grins at him. “Nice job,” she whispers, and Wooyoung giggles.

There’s a big banner with the words HAPPY BIRTHDAY hung across the living room, and Wooyoung has apparently lit every single candle he could find in the house, bathing the entire room in soft, orange light. The cake is perched in the middle of the dining table, in all its pink and purple glory, and Mingi honest to god gasps when he sees it, eyes wide.

“Did you make this?” he asks, his voice hushed.

“The cake was all San and Mia, I just provided some-” Wooyoung wiggles his eyebrows. “Stylistic direction.”

Mingi turns around, his eyes shiny. “It’s so beautiful you guys,” he says, voice wavering, and then he pulls Mia into a bone crushing hug. Mia giggles a little breathlessly, as much as she can with her lungs compressed by Mingi’s arms, and pats his back affectionately. After a couple of seconds he releases her and wraps his arms around San, who chuckles and pats Mingi’s butt.

“Alrighty then, who wants cake?” Wooyoung calls happily, waving around a large knife and managing to look menacing despite the wide grin on his face.

“Wait! I need to take a picture first!” Mingi fumbles around with his phone, snapping several pictures while Wooyoung plays around with the knife, ignoring San who hovers behind him with a nervous expression on his face.

Jongho fetches some plates, and Wooyoung cuts a generous piece for everyone, successfully not stabbing himself, much to San’s evident relief.

Mia gets the suspicion that San might be a little overprotective over Wooyoung.

“How about we… eat this cake upstairs?” Wooyoung says with a meaningful raise of his eyebrows. Mingi blinks. “Huh?”

San throws an arm around his shoulders, steering him towards the door. “What’s upstairs?” Mingi asks nervously, but gets no answer.

They all file up the stairs with Wooyoung in the front and San and Mingi behind them. Mia turns around to check on Jongho, who is bringing up the rear with a slightly sour look on his face. “Oh cheer up,” Mia whispers. “It’s a party!”

“You have no idea,” Jongho grumbles, but the corner of his mouth ticks upward just a little bit, softening his expression.

Mingi’s room has been transformed into what looks like a mix between a 12 year old girl’s birthday party dream and a hipstery bar, with the two desks pushed together into a makeshift bar full of bottles of alcohol, different shaped glasses, a basket of fruits and a cooler, probably for the ice.

There are pink and purple balloons and streamers covering almost every surface, and Wooyoung has apparently hauled the sound system from the kitchen upstairs, playing a familiar playlist of bubbly pop music. Several small desk lamps provide a warm, dim light, and there’s some kind of projector that is pointed at the ceiling, flooding it with moving swirls of red and blue lights.

Princess the cat is lounging on Mingi’s bed, looking very elegant with the baby blue satin ribbon Wooyoung has tied into a neat little bow around her neck. The same can’t quite be said for Max, who is spinning in wild circles on the ground, trying to catch the end of the decorative red ribbon wrapped around his tail until Jongho takes pity on him and pulls it off, which results in Max immediately pouncing on the offending fabric and rolling under the bed in his attempt to destroy it, growling menacingly.

“Are we sure it’s a good idea to have the cats in here?” San says in a somewhat doubtful tone, trying to peer under the bed. “I mean, with all the drinks and the music and all the-” he takes a sweeping gesture around the room. “-opportunities for destruction?”

Wooyoung pouts. “But they’re part of the family!” Mingi drops onto the bed with a big grin on his face and starts running a hand across Princess’ silky fur. “We can just leave the door open a bit so they can leave if they want to. I like having them in here! And if they want to have fun with all of the decorations, that’s fine with me.”

“The princess has spoken!” Wooyoung says happily, and throws himself down onto the bed next to Mingi. “Jongho! Drinks!”

Jongho utters a little sigh from behind Mia and starts making his way to the bar. Mia hesitates for a moment, not sure what to do or where to sit, and eventually follows Jongho who is pulling an assortment of bottles and jars out of a mini fridge Mia hadn’t noticed before.

“Could you use an assistant?”

Jongho looks up at her and smiles. “Sure, if you want to.”

“I do!”

“Alright, could you get the bag of frozen raspberries out of the cooler and throw a handful into five of the champagne glasses?”

They work side by side for a while, Jongho taking the lead with some kind of recipe he evidently memorized, and after a few minutes they have five high-stemmed glasses with a magenta colored sparkling drink, looking very fancy with the swirling silver glitter and frozen berries Jongho had used instead of ice cubes.

They toast to Mingi’s birthday, and Mia downs her drink rather fast, finding it deliciously fruity and sweet and just the right amount of tangy, while Jongho makes a face like he just bit into a lemon and pours himself a glass of whiskey on the rocks. This doesn’t escape Wooyoung’s sharp eyes, who immediately complains about “ruining the vibe” and “not being on theme,” and then he actually throws a handful of edible glitter into Jongho’s whiskey in what is probably the bravest and most reckless move Mia has ever witnessed. The look Jongho gives him is absolutely murderous, and for a second Mia is convinced that Jongho is just going to grab him and throw him through a window, before Wooyoung giggles cutely and hides behind San. Jongho closes his eyes and takes a deep, slow breath in a remarkable show of patience and self-restraint and takes a big gulp of glitter-whiskey.

It appears that people are having a hard time saying no to him, which Wooyoung seems very much aware of and shamelessly uses to his own advantage, which is how an hour later, a very unhappy looking Jongho has a tiny sprout of a pigtail on the top of his head, tied with a small red ribbon, and Mia does her absolute best not to giggle every time she looks at him. Wooyoung, wearing fluffy purple cat ears, is busy covering Mingi’s face with stickers, who appears to already be quite drunk and keeps wrapping Wooyoung in crushing hugs, slowing his attempt at turning Mingi’s face into a sticker album.

So far, Mia’s observations conclude that Wooyoung gets louder and bolder when he drinks, San gets quieter, Mingi gets clingy and Jongho appears completely unaffected.

She herself feels rather giggly and relaxed, sipping on her third drink, this one creamy and tasting like roses and vanilla. She is pleasantly buzzed and greatly entertained by Wooyoung’s antics, feeling happy and content from her corner where she sits leaned back against the wall with a purring Princess curled up against her thigh and a tasty drink in her hand.

Wooyoung seems to be finished with his artwork, but Mingi keeps pulling him back into his lap with slightly slurred variations of “I love you man,” and Wooyoung only manages to escape him by grabbing Princess and offering her up as a trade. Mingi immediately nuzzles into her fur, muttering “and I love YOU too,” making San chuckle from the other bed.

“You!” Wooyoung says and points a very threatening finger at San, whose laughter freezes on his face. “You think you can escape me?” He makes his way over and throws himself down on the bed, grinning up at San. “This is a makeover party, and it is your turn! I will let you choose between cute accessories, stickers and nail polish!”

San looks at him warily. “What are the accessories?”

“That will be up to me!” Wooyoung says and giggles, and San sighs. “Alright, I choose nail polish.”

“Wonderful!” Wooyoung rolls off the bed and starts sifting through his box of horrors, pulling out an assortment of nail polish bottles. “I must warn you though, I’m kinda bad at it. I think I might lack the patience to do it neatly.”

“I’ll do it,” Mia says, following a sudden spontaneous thought about how this could be a great opportunity to show San that she’s fine with them being in close physical proximity. The wide-eyed shock on San’s face and the sudden silence in the room causes a rush of panic and regret to crush all of her booze-fueled bravery, but then Wooyoung claps his hands with an extremely pleased grin on his face. “Oh perfect! Mia, you choose, we have metallic blue, pink, silver, red, and sparkly purple.”

“Um,” Mia says, trying her best to focus on the colors and not the look on San’s face, already forgetting about most of what Wooyoung just said. “Sparkly purple?”

Wooyoung hums, appearing pleased with her choice, and he lays out the bottle and a box of tissues before getting to his feet, freeing the spot next to San so she can get to work.

Oh god, she thinks, her mind reeling, oh god what the fuck was I thinking?

Taking back the offer now is not an option, so Mia takes a deep breath, hands Wooyoung her empty glass and pushes herself up from her comfy spot in the corner.

This is fine, she tells herself. You’ve done this before.

She climbs onto the bed next to San and finally manages to look up at him. His eyes are wide, hesitant, but he doesn’t look angry or upset or scared or any of the other reactions Mia’s panicked brain had managed to conjure up.

“Is this okay?” she whispers, looking down at where her hands are nervously twisting around the little purple bottle.

San says nothing for a while, and Mia starts to consider putting some more distance between them, her stomach dropping, when he clears his throat. “I’m, yeah, I mean, it’s okay for me, totally. I just- you don’t have to.”

She looks up again, and finds his eyes full of worry. Worry for her, she realizes, and the knot of anxiety loosens in her chest. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to,” she says and smiles. “Also, who knows what horrible massacre Wooyoung would have committed with this nail polish. I don’t think he can be trusted.”

San’s face breaks into a wide smile that makes his dimples pop, and the last bit of apprehension gets flushed out of her body with a warm wave of affection. Her face is already flushed from the alcohol, and she hopes that it will be enough to conceal the warmth she can feel rising up her cheeks.

“You alright with the purple? I can totally use something else, he can’t stop me.”

San laughs, and Mia’s heart does a weird little flip. “No I’m happy with it,” he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s what I would have chosen myself.”

Mia breathes out a relieved little laugh and shifts around on her knees until she sits directly in front of San. “Ready?” she asks, fervently hoping her hands won’t shake, because there is no way in hell San wouldn’t notice that.

It turns out that she needn’t have worried, because her hands are steady. It is San’s hand that is shaking as he hesitantly places it into her waiting ones. Small little tremors run through his fingers, and Mia reflexively tightens her grip around him. Looks down so he doesn’t feel watched, at his hand that is warm in hers, familiar and strange at the same time. The tip of a dragon’s tail curls around his wrist, ending halfway up his middle finger. A finger that ends in a nail that is slightly warped.

Mia freezes.

Only two of his nails look normal, smooth and pink. The other three have different degrees of damage, the one on his pinky is slightly discolored while the other two have irregular ridges distorting their surface. Both the back of his hand and his fingers are covered in scars.

The memory of what Wooyoung had told her about San slams into her like a freight train, and it suddenly feels like the room is spinning, nausea climbing up her throat. It’s suddenly all so real, the knowledge of his pain a sickening weight in her stomach. With some horror she realizes that her eyes are starting to sting with the threat of tears. She blinks furiously, forcing down the lump in her throat.

“Sorry about- they might be a little hard to paint,” San says, and when Mia whips her head up to stare at him, the corner of his mouth is pulled up in an apologetic little smile. It starts to fade as he sees the look on her face, his eyebrows pulling together in confusion. Mia sees him trying to make sense of her expression, and she clears her throat quickly, pulling herself together. “Oh, no, no it’s fine!” she says, voice breathy and thin in her attempt to sound cheerful. “Don’t worry about it!”

She quickly looks down again, busying herself by pulling the box of tissues closer to her and picking up the nail polish. She realizes she will have to release his hand in order to open it, but she feels a sudden, overwhelming urge to hold onto him. After a second of hesitation, she pulls up her leg, foot planted on the mattress, and gently places his hand down on her knee.

Her heart beats wildly as she twists open the bottle, thoroughly shaken by the warm weight of his palm on her body.

Focus.

She wipes off the excess nail polish from the brush, and then very carefully, gently, she lifts up his pointer finger, pouring every bit of warmth and tenderness she can summon into this small touch. Trying to somehow balance the scale on what this single digit has been through.

The room around her fades away, the music and the chatter of the others muffling and melting into indistinct background noise as her focus zooms in onto nothing but San’s hand in hers and her mission to somehow show her care through painting his nails. She takes her time, long, slow brushes, and the sharp smell of the nail polish mixes with the familiar scent of San, making her dizzy.

When she finishes with his right hand, she chances a look at his face. He is watching her with a singular intensity, searching, as if she is a puzzle he is trying hard to make sense of. As if to him, right now, nothing else exists either. Mia’s breath catches at the eye contact, and she swallows against the dryness in her throat.

“Um,” she whispers, somehow hesitant to disturb the moment with too much noise. “Other hand?”

Wordlessly, San pulls his right hand back and offers her his left, and Mia takes it in both of hers and places it on her knee. No tattoos, but more scars. Two more nails that are visibly warped, and a third that has a very slight ridge running along one side. And his pinky, just a little kink in one of the joints where it had been straight on his other hand.

Again, she handles his hand with the utmost care, as if it were a bird with a broken wing, trembling in her hands. She wonders whether the tremor is a result of the damage or if he is as nervous about this as she is. When she picks up his thumb, she notices that his palms are damp with sweat.

With the last nail finished, she takes a moment just to observe her work, and that’s when she hears San give a quiet, sad little sigh, almost inaudible over the background noise.

“Alright,” she says, following another impulse. “Second coat, give me the other one again.”

She glances up at his face, pleased to find a smile there, and so much warmth that she smiles back reflexively, her heart doing a little flip.

Gently brushing another layer of sparkly purple over his nail, she wonders whether she could somehow come up with an excuse that would justify a third coat.

 

Notes:

Omg they're being cute 😭

I really really enjoyed writing that nail polish scene. It does so much in my opinion, and it's so tender and sweet ❤️

I hope you liked it as much as I did!

Much love 🥰