Ad Astra Per Aspera

by astra_yuyu

Summary:

Seonghwa’s eyes meet cold ones as if he were peering into a soulless pit. Out of sheer curiosity, he spits out a question. “Please enlighten me, what could this place possibly have that you’re so interested in?” The sarcasm rolled off his lips, but it was also laced with pain and a plea for mercy.

“You.” The man states with a tone of finality. Before Seonghwa could ask what that meant, he was hit upside the head by the barrel of his assailant’s gun, and his vision went blank.

Or, Park Seonghwa lives miserably due to the torturous clutches of his father and deems his life irreversibly shattered. That is, until a masked man with unruly blonde hair whisks him away, far from the routine he was constantly troubled with. When he believed his life couldn’t get any worse, he found out the revolting secrets behind his father’s affiliation with gangs.

Chapter 1: Prologue

Notes:

HELLO!!!! (again) (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈)

This fic has been in the works since late February so finally being able to begin posting it MAKES ME SO EXCITED! The updating schedule is going to be pretty consistent every week since, for the most part, everything is written and I'm currently just proof-reading and plot editing. Sharing this makes me immensely happy and I hope it's an enjoyable read for everybody that takes the time to look through it. Also, as usual, special mention to my beta readers Cherryjay and Minty. LITERALLY MY LIFE SAVERS. Could NOT have written as much as I did without their guidance and I've come along way because of them. ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

The support I got in "Just, try not to bite" was also very very very kind I LOVE YOU ALL SO BAD ｡°(°¯᷄◠¯᷅°)°｡

Lastly, I'd just like to remind everyone to make sure to read through the fic tags as well as chapter warnings for mentions of triggering topics. This fic will in fact have smut later on so if you're not into that sort of thing then it's 100% skippable.

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"Ad astra per aspera" is a Latin phrase meaning "to the stars through difficulties" or "through hardship to the stars".

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Chapter 2: The dance of wolves and lambs

Notes:

Enjoyy!! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

CW: Domestic abuse, kidnapping, non-graphic depictions of violence, injuries.

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The stars hung like ornaments from the twilight sky, a symphony of twinkling orbs that accompanied the lonely moon in its watch over the earth below. The stunning sight was accompanied by the chirping of crickets and a gentle midsummer night breeze.

Effortlessly breath-taking in its peaceful nature, yet Park Seonghwa watches the sight with a deep-seated sorrow and loneliness that found solace in every aching bone and fibre in his body.

To him, it was just a reminder of what was just out of reach. A reminder of the things he could feel and see and live with if it weren’t for the twisted life he lived. Knowing that if he could just take down the heavy locks that tightly secured every form of escape in this godforsaken mansion, he could be free to feel the luxuries of nature beneath his fingertips.

Fate had never taken a liking to the melancholic man, made apparent the day that his mother died giving birth to him. For as long as he could remember, his father had hated him with every bone in his body for that sole reason. Never failing to make it abundantly clear that he was a mistake, and taking every opportunity to berate Seonghwa for soiling the world with his presence.

Deeming kicking the boy out to the streets to be far too merciful a fate, Seonghwa’s father took it into his own hands to punish him for his so-called wrongdoings. Just like that, Seonghwa’s purpose in life was boiled down from a son to a punching bag.

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A tall man fitted in a crisp black suit loomed over Seonghwa with a disgusted look adorning his sharp features. His posture was refined and unforgiving, like he knew he was the king of everything the eye could see. Dull grey eyes peered downwards, scrutinizing Seonghwa’s body to make sure his lesson was taught adequately enough.

At times, the first hit would be so fucking painful it’d feel like enough to Seonghwa. Sometimes he even allows himself to think that in some world, he didn’t deserve any of this. Swallowing down the lump rising in his throat, he lets his limp head rest on the hardwood floor. His body bristled, and goosebumps rose on his skin at the breeze escaping through the cracks of the window nearby. Everything hurt.

“Don’t bother cooking your repulsive excuse of a dinner tonight, I won’t be home till tomorrow.” A voice grits through his teeth, delivering a final blow to the raven-haired man’s frail ribs. “And clean up this fucking mess you made. I didn’t raise a Neanderthal. Yes?”

At the sound of the question, Seonghwa immediately raises his head like it’s muscle memory. “Y–yes! Yes, sir.”

His eyes are rather foggy. They tend to get that way when his father targets the back of his head. So, instead, he listens. He listens for the sounds of retreating footsteps, the jingling of keys, and the slamming door. He waited and listened until he was left to the sounds of his own whimpers and the leaves of the swaying trees rustling in their slow waltz with the howling wind.

It was seldom gifted to him by the universe that his father had an important enough meeting to delay Seonghwa’s punishment. However, tonight, as if understanding that his body wouldn’t handle it much longer, his prayers were answered by the stars.

Alas, what the punishment lacked in length was made up for in violence, leaving Seonghwa completely shattered and unsure how he was meant to put himself back together. The jigsaw pieces of himself just kept falling out of place.

With the absence of his father, Seonghwa began tending to the wounds he’d sustained with the little supplies he had. Throughout his years, he’d managed to snag different items from around the house when his father wasn’t looking; bandages, alcohol, and even painkillers if he got lucky. Sighing, if he didn’t die from a particularly harsh kick, then he would die from an infection.

But coping with physical pain had become second nature to him. In fact, the pain distracted him from broader conflicts he faced in his darker days. The extent of the emotional abuse Seonghwa went through in solidarity took the biggest toll on him and constantly reduced him to a sack of bones.

Not to mention the severity of his father’s wrath increased significantly over the recent few months, obviously frustrated by something every time he came home. After every punishment, Seonghwa usually had a sort of ‘resting’ phase before the next one came, but that was completely thrown out the window recently.

Unable to handle the shaking of his body from sobs, Seonghwa abandons the gauze he was wrapping around his malnourished ribs and takes to curling into himself on his canopy bed. The sheer curtains waved and caressed his ankles; if he focused hard enough, he could imagine it was a person consoling him.

Seonghwa isn’t quite sure how long he stays there, stewing in the pain that consumes and wrecks him. Time tends to flow quickly when it’s peaceful, the fluidity of it evading the cracks of Seonghwa’s fingers like sand.

Typically, when he’s alone, he’s quite an attentive person. Despite having a ringing in his ears more often than not, if he focused hard enough, he could easily make out where his father was, depending on the sound of his footsteps. He could even make out what sort of mood the man was in, judging by the force of the steps.
This survival skill was completely tossed out the window when he was in states of mourning like this. He’d hold himself together for as long as he could, like a broken glass doll, until the house was void of any souls except his own.

Seonghwa hugs himself with his bruised hands, face buried in his flimsy pillows, heavy gasps finally slowing down to calmer breaths. Tears shifting from a constant stream to a slight drizzle. What he hadn’t had the chance to register was the additional noises occurring around him due to his compromised senses, namely the sound of his window creaking with a much stronger vigour than just being attributed to the wind.

When Seonghwa does notice the sounds, it’s a second too late. Cool steel roughly presses against the back of his head as a gun loading reaches his ears. Then, a voice far colder than the metal against him breaks the silence of the air.

“So much as breathe too loudly and you’ll have a bullet right between your eyes, understood?”

Seonghwa took in a sharp breath of air and kept himself as still as possible. “I said, do you fucking understand?” The unidentified man said as the barrel of the gun was pressed further into the back of his head. Not trusting his voice, Seonghwa nodded his head hesitantly.

He had never been taught self-defence and couldn’t even begin to guess what the protocol was to get out of the situation he was in. Face still streaked with tears and nose snotty, Seonghwa would be damn pissed if he died like this, but it’d do.

The gun is pulled away from his head, the man seemingly finding something more interesting to busy himself with. Judging by the sounds, he was rummaging through the dressers and drawers of Seonghwa’s bedroom.

Since the intruder is somewhat distracted, Seonghwa takes the chance to finally unstuff his face from the pillow it was on to look at the man. His movements are slow and non-threatening, both because of his injuries and also his desire to not get shot five ways to Sunday.

Just as he suspected, the perpetrator had a mask plastered over his mouth to obscure his identity, but Seonghwa could still make out some distinguishable features. For example, the man was surprisingly short and had unruly blonde hair sticking out in tufts from under the noir baseball cap he was wearing. Don’t thieves have some sort of conduct for secrecy? The fuck was this guy doing dyeing his hair that colour?

Seonghwa would admit, however, that the man was still quite intimidating. Despite wearing a mask, he could make out a pair of piercingly predatory eyes. A shudder runs through his spine.

With the only lighting being the glow of the moon and a street lamp adjacent to his window, Seonghwa observes his surroundings. The man pointed the sleek black gun at him as he continued rustling through a desk drawer.

Seonghwa’s eyes darted around his room, but it was no use. He already knew he had absolutely nothing to defend himself, which meant he was in deep shit. Yayy, Seonghwa thinks sarcastically.

Suddenly, the man rips the drawer out of its position and frustratedly throws it across the room. As the innocent piece of furniture flies across his vision, Seonghwa quickly realizes he’s next because the blonde whips his head around to him, stalking towards the bed.

A rough hand grabs a fistful of his black, matted hair, hoisting him upwards and causing him to let out a pained groan. Seonghwa’s ribs felt like they were grinding in their place, making him double over and writhe in pain despite the hand strengthening its grip on his head. Seonghwa grits his teeth and pinches his arm to try to keep himself conscious.

The man manoeuvres his head till Seonghwa’s face looks up at him. “Make this easy for me and yourself, princess. I’ve had a long night already.” Scoffing at the unmatched audacity of this man, Seonghwa is positively fuming. This asshole was asking him for a break!

“Are you seri— I quite literally don’t own shit, jackass. It’s either your first time robbing a place, blondie, or you have the critical thinking skills of a sponge.” Seonghwa seethes through his blood-stained teeth. If his life were going to end, then for once, he’d put up a fight for it.

Besides, if this guy did follow through with his threats, then he’d have one hell of a time haunting his ass in the afterlife.

A laugh broke through the man’s throat before Seonghwa’s face got slapped to the side. The force of the hit was powerful enough to move him to the edge of the bed, and he’d have a bruise to remember it later.

Seonghwa barely had time to register anything because that same hand, clad in a leather glove, grips his cheek, bringing it closer. Close enough to smell the man’s fresh aftershave and the lingering smoky scent of cigarettes. “I’d watch your pretty mouth if I were you, or I’ll slice that tongue clean off.” The blonde whispers out, and even with a mask shielding his mouth, Seonghwa could tell there was a smug grin behind it.

Seonghwa desperately wanted to kick the pompous asshole’s balls in that exact moment. Probably would’ve been a small target, Seonghwa grumbles in his head as he squints his eyes.

“Just to clarify, darling. You do have something that I want.” Seonghwa let out a shudder at the words, unable to disguise the disgusted look on his face. All of the possessions he owned were in all the places Hongjoong had checked; it wasn’t like he had places to hide shit since his father knew about pretty much everything he did.

Rolling his eyes and fixing the man with a dirty look, Seonghwa pretends he’s about to say something before he throws a clumsy punch with all the strength he could muster. When the intruder stumbles back far enough, Seonghwa uses his position to kick the man backwards onto the ground. Then, he bolts to his bedroom door.

Seonghwa limps to the doorknob, hurriedly twisting the cool metal, his heart pounding in hope.

He pulls. Then again. Shaking it and twisting and kicking again and again, like the door would suddenly open.

Then he remembers, his father always locked the door to his bedroom at night to make sure he couldn’t get out.

The adrenaline pumping through his veins felt as frigidly cold as an ice plunge. Seonghwa fell to his knees, continuing his banging on the door. He can’t tell how long his assailant watches him scream for, but it's only until his voice is scratchy and strained that he hears heavy boots clunk against the floor.

The sound was straight out of his nightmares. Confident and stealthy, as if the man were stalking forward and not just walking. Like this was some sort of game to him. Eventually, the boots stop behind him, and fingers weave through his hair. This time, it's far more unforgiving as his neck is forced to turn at a painfully unnatural degree.

Seonghwa’s eyes meet cold ones as if he were peering into a soulless pit. Out of sheer curiosity, he spits out a question. “Please enlighten me, what could this place possibly have that you’re so interested in?” The sarcasm rolled off his lips, but it was also laced with pain and a plea for mercy.

“You.” The man states with a tone of finality. Before Seonghwa could ask what that meant, he was hit upside the head by the barrel of his intruder’s gun, and his vision went blank.

He can’t quite tell what the time frame is between each of his bouts of consciousness, as he faintly registers the feeling of getting picked up and slung unceremoniously over his kidnapper's shoulder before being carried somewhere.

Seonghwa’s eyes are blurry every time they languidly blink open. Despite the haziness and the dull pounding of his head, he can make note of the sounds of the night being far closer to him than he’d ever heard before. Close enough to feel like he could reach and cup the singing cicadas in the palms of his hands. A car engine roars to life, disrupting the peace around them and jolting Seonghwa slightly from his thoughtful daze.

His head doesn’t feel like it’s attached to his neck as it lolls to the side, seeking support by pressing itself against the cool glass of the car window. Ironically, the night sky outside was the most beautiful it had ever been, with not a single cloud obscuring the shine of hundreds of stars and the steady silver glow of the crescent moon.

“Where are you taking me?” The sudden vulnerability in his voice startled Seonghwa, making him wince. He hated sounding small, but if he couldn’t defend himself in his own home, then perhaps he was. Seonghwa’s breath comes out shaky at the thought, eyes slightly welling with tears.

Truthfully, he didn’t expect an answer when he asked that question. Until his face is being manhandled so that his head lolls to the other side, facing the driver's seat. Cheek still sore and being purposely pressed into it, he weakly grabs his kidnapper’s wrist.

“Home, where else? I’m having you for dinner, little lamb.” Unamused by the sarcasm and way too tired to deal with bullshit, Seonghwa allows himself to succumb to the waves of unconsciousness that pulse through him.

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“Worthless. You took your mother’s place in this world, and you dare to dirty her honour like this?” The words are more brutal than the kicks landing on his stomach. Unrelenting and holding too much weight for him to bear. Seonghwa clutches his stomach, wheezing in pain.

“I do this because I love you, Seonghwa, don’t you realize? The Park family is cultured. Must I teach you that every time?” Seonghwa feels a leather shoe press against his cheek, then, as he begins crawling away, that same shoe presses down on his back to weigh his malnourished figure down.

“No, Father, I understand. Please, I really do!” He begged to no avail as the sharp crack of a cane unleashed itself on his back.

Seonghwa awakens with a rough jolt, breath coming out in heavy pants as his eyes screw shut tightly like it’d expel his memories away. Calling them nightmares wouldn’t even begin to describe their severity. They tormented him every time he slipped into unconsciousness, leaving him debauched when he awoke.

He wipes the sheen of cold sweat building on his skin and immediately regrets abruptly sitting up due to the reeling of his head. Wincing and cursing under his breath, Seonghwa lowers himself back onto the bed.

Hang on. He sits up with his back as straight as a rod when his brain catches up to his eyes. He got kidnapped. Was in a bed in who knows where. Blinking away the sleep from his eyes and peeling them open, Seonghwa finally sees four sets of eyes peering curiously at him from the doorway.

Letting out a gasped “Holy shit!” He flinches hard enough that he falls out of the bed. And as if Seonghwa was the dangerous one here, the four men abandoned their post watching him and scurried out the door. It slams shut with a faint click, signifying it’s locked.

This is quite literally the strangest hostage situation he’d ever been in. Not that he’s been in one before, but still, he’s pretty sure this is an unorthodox way of doing it.

The entire day was so disorienting that he wouldn’t be shocked if all the people he’d seen were figments of his imagination. Perhaps his mind was filling in gaps of his consciousness that people were meant to reside in.

Seonghwa runs a hand across his face, then through his hair, grimacing at the feeling of his crusted blood caked through his scalp.

In this newfound silence that feels like the stilling of sand in an hourglass, Seonghwa sits and thinks. If his father found out he’d gotten out, kidnapped or not, the repercussions would be severe. And if he manages to escape, where could his wounded body take him? Not to mention trying to navigate through the dense forest outside in the pitch dark, no less.

Sighing, he does the first thing he can deem logical. Study his surroundings. Shockingly, the room was much more pleasant than he’d expected. The bed his body rested on was delicate and plush, with maroon bed covers thick enough to keep away the cold. The drapes of the canopy were a delicate black lace, elegant and refined.

In general, the interior of the room was dark with splashes of red as an accent colour. Seonghwa was almost thankful that the chosen lighting was dim and atmospheric, rather than a bold white, since it was far easier to look at with the migraine raging in his temples.

Besides the lamp’s light, a fire steadily burned, casting the dance and flickers of fire across the wall. The amber glow, accompanied by the smoky smell of the fireplace’s wood, was comforting and oddly homey.

At least it felt like more of a home than his own ever did, he thinks sadly, causing his heart to ache in the slightest.

Finally, his eyes arrive at two doors. A semblance of an escape route besides jumping out the window. One no doubt led to the rest of the house, the other likely leading to a lavatory.

Throwing his legs over the edge of the bed and immediately regretting the loss of warmth from it, he makes his way over to the door that likely exited the room. Locked. He tries a few more times before deeming the attempts useless, slumping back onto the bed.

Seonghwa raises his arms in front of him; his wrists are rubbed raw, a mirage of purple and blue littering the sensitive areas. They were clearly bound together by rope at some point while he was unconscious, but why would he be trusted enough to roam free without them?

Maybe that blonde asshole didn’t like damaged goods, Seonghwa mutters to himself as he drops his hands to his sides. Just as he thought his life couldn’t get any worse, he had miraculously gotten himself kidnapped (for who knows what reason), was probably going to get his ass beaten all over again, and knew nobody who would have the desire to save him.

He hadn’t noticed he started crying until he registered the cold droplets of tears sliding down the sides of his cheeks. Feeling small and helpless was never foreign to a person treading Seonghwa’s path, but it would never cease to shatter him. Living with the fact that he could never control anything, from the things he wore to the things he did. A broken puppet bound to steel strings.

Knowing of only one way to make himself feel better, Seonghwa turns his head to peer out the large arched windows that framed the lush, dark oak forest surrounding the unknown place he was in.

To understand that the entire world looked so insignificant compared to the vastness of the galaxies that coated the skies above made him feel all the less hopeless. Maybe it wasn’t just him that was small because everyone was just as trivial as him when it came to the grander scheme of the universe. He holds his hand out, pretending to catch a blinking star in his palm.

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After scouring through the room for more clues as to where he may be, he completely stills his movement as he hears faint noises finally permeating from outside the door. Seonghwa can distinguish the sounds as the shuffling of footsteps accompanied by hushed whispers, presumably belonging to the men who had watched him sleep. Or his captive from earlier?

Seonghwa rushes to press his back to the wall closest to the commotion.

The outlines of feet come into view underneath the door frame, momentarily obscuring the light pouring from it. “–this is a terrible idea. If Hongjoong finds out what we’re doing, which he will, we’re getting our asses whooped. If not Hongjoong, then that guy in there who could very well be a murderer psycho!”

Hongjoong. Likely a man of authority if the owners of the voices outside feared him to an extent, right? He grits his teeth at the thought of it being the name of the man who barbarically kidnapped him. Brute.

“Joong never brings his bounties to the main house like this, and god knows why he thought it would be a good idea this time.” The same exasperated voice whispered. So that’s what Seonghwa was, a bounty. He hadn’t quite understood why the blonde had told him earlier, but now it made sense.

There was just a bigger picture that Seonghwa couldn’t see. Something that made him important to these strangers. But he had spent his entire life inside a home. Who would pay money to have him kidnapped?

“But he’s hurt! If we don't help him, he could get an infection and die, and then he’ll be useless to us. We need as much help as we can get; we can’t risk losing an asset like this.” Another voice chimes in, seemingly in his favour, but Seonghwa wants nothing less than his captives prodding around his wounds.

Unfortunately for Seonghwa, there were a few sounds of agreement shared between the men before a final voice says,  “I agree, Yeosang should at least go in there to look over his wounds since he’ll understand the severity of the injuries, but Hongjoong can’t know about this. Not yet, at least.”

Seonghwa stiffens at the resolution of the conversation, slowly backing away from his place near the door to stand closest to the window. There’s more shuffling behind the door and whispers too low and frantic for him to understand before the doorknob finally twists. A body comes into frame, tufts of hair peek through the door.

Then, Yeosang, he’d come to understand from the conversation, steps in, quickly shutting the door behind him. The boys' movements were frantic and a bit nervous. Maybe this Hongjoong guy kidnapped Yeosang, too?

Appearing to be far too innocent to have taken any part in kidnapping him, Yeosang begins shuffling awkwardly in place, unsure whether he should come closer or not. His hands are pressed in front of himself holding a sleek red first aid box, appearing to be hefty, judging by the sag of Yeosang’s shoulders.

Not trusting the innocent act, Seonghwa furrows his eyebrows and cowers backwards, allowing the bed to put space between him and the intruder.

He wouldn’t trust a stranger again. Never again. Shuddering at the memory and grimacing at the phantom pain that shot through the scar across his collarbone, Seonghwa grabs ahold of a pen he’d found to hold it in front of him threateningly.

Yeosang doesn’t appear to have any weapons with him and instead lowers the first aid kit to the floor to free his hands. Raising his palms, Yeosang speaks calmly. “Hello, I’m Yeosang. I work as this…” Pausing briefly to think before continuing, “establishment’s medic. I’m not here to hurt you.”

Gritting his teeth and limping forward with the pen outstretched in a trembling hand, Seonghwa rebutted, “Oh, I’m just supposed to trust you, am I? After your blond imp kidnapped me?” The medic winces at his words but makes no move to back away from the pen now waving at his face.

Choosing not to speak, Yeosang merely kneels in front of his first aid kit. He unclasps the lock of the red box, allowing for its contents to spill out. Seonghwa doesn’t understand what the man is doing until Yeosang arranges everything out in front of him, showing him that nothing dangerous was in it.

“Look. Touch whatever you’d like. I just— those wounds look quite bad, Seonghwa. I know you’re not in a position to trust me, but you’re not in one to refuse help either. You don’t deserve to die like that.” Yeosang sternly says after a while.

Seonghwa bites his tongue just as he’s about to tell the medic that he didn’t know what he deserved, opting against it.

Seonghwa stared at the medic for a few moments, finally deciding to grace him with a response. “Why am I here?” He coldly asks, the only evidence that this interaction was affecting him was the glassy and distant look in his eyes.

“I really shouldn’t be telling you anythi–” When Yeosang looks up and realizes Seonghwa wouldn’t trust him if he withheld information, he sighs before beginning to reorganize his medical supplies. “Our boss, Hongjoong, told us he was going somewhere for an errand, and he came back with you. I’m not even sure why you’re here.”

Humming sceptically, Seonghwa raises his eyebrow. “Right, and your boss picking up strays and bringing them home, is that a normal thing for your business?” He bites back, and Yeosang chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of his head. “More or less.”

That answer frustrated Seonghwa even more. He stomps back over to the bed before sitting down, angrily throwing the useless pen against the wall. By the vague descriptions, he could guess this freak show was a gang of sorts. Just… judging by the little minor detail that the kidnapping of civilians was considered normal.

“Hongjoong doesn’t even know I’m in here,” Yeosang says in a small voice out of nowhere. “He told us to stay away from you, but– I don’t know, you just don’t seem all that harmful.” The sudden gentleness in the medic’s tone causes a shudder to run down Seonghwa’s spine. He didn’t like the tone shift, unsure if Yeosang was trying to belittle him.

Seonghwa couldn’t understand why the medic was putting himself in harm’s way for the sake of somebody he barely knew. They had a point earlier; he could’ve been dangerous. But Yeosang took the chance just to check over his wounds.

With the ways his father had described people outside their circle, this was rather uncharacteristic. What was Seonghwa to do, though? Yeosang was correct; he wasn’t in a position to refuse, and there was no point fighting it. He just hoped that if Yeosang did try something, he’d make it quick.

Unable to hold up his neck any longer, Seonghwa slumps against the pillows. His words slurred in exhaustion as he finally let his guard down. Yeosang offers a tight-lipped smile before shuffling over with his medical kit.

As Yeosang gets closer, he can see that the medic is beginning to make out his wounds a bit more clearly, now illuminated by the glow of the lamp right beside him. Seonghwa grimaces when he notices Yeosang shudder a bit.

“I… I didn’t think my boss would’ve done this to someone like you. Sure, he gets carried away sometimes, but–” Seonghwa’s exasperated voice cuts off Yeosang’s rambling. The last thing he needed was pity. “Let me preserve whatever respect you may have for your imp of a boss; it wasn’t all him. Now drop it, alright?”

This causes Yeosang’s brows to knit together before realization seems to flash across his face for the slightest moment. Just as fast as it's there, the expression is gone. Yeosang swallows down his questions to rummage through his things.

He examines the man closely as he waits. The lamp light allows Seonghwa to see how truly youthful the medic looked. He had chestnut brown hair that framed his young face, his cheeks rounded while still retaining sharpness. A birthmark bloomed in the corner of his eye, a splash of light red like the petal of a rose. Ignoring the growing urge to reach out, Seonghwa averts his gaze.

Seonghwa couldn’t recognize the items Yeosang began setting aside since he’d never been given the luxury of having proper medical equipment at home, save for those little items he’d managed to procure over time.

“I’m not going to sugar-coat it, Seonghwa, but this is going to hurt. We’ll go at your pace, though, so tell me when you need me to stop, and I will.” Yeosang says as he takes hold of Seonghwa’s hand with an alcohol swab in the other.

Again, not wanting to be fooled by faux sympathy, Seonghwa merely nods and grits his teeth through the agonizingly painful and tedious process. The cane lashes were the worst part; rows of red across his skin and legs painfully hot to the touch, and when Yeosang passed through them even subtly, it was as if he were lighting his nerves on fire.

While he had made a mental note to himself not to tell Yeosang whenever he needed a break to compose himself, the medic already seemed to understand when to pause. The entire time Yeosang treated him, Seonghwa could feel the consideration and care that went into each swipe of cotton or press of ice onto his skin. The feeling of being cared for, foreign, and never meant for someone like him, made shudders run throughout him.

Seonghwa didn’t deserve that. The first person who had ever shown him care in his lifetime shouldn’t be the person holding him hostage. That was too cruel even for him

“Oh. Maybe we should skip the ice then?” Yeosang suddenly says out of nowhere, and it’s only when a drop of water falls onto his palms that Seonghwa realizes it’s because he’s crying. Furiously wiping his tears, he vigorously shakes his head.

Clearing his throat, Seonghwa whispers something in a shaky voice. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I said I’ve never done this before,” Seonghwa repeats, a bit waving vaguely at Yeosang’s outstretched hand that had continued dabbing his bruises with an icepack. His confession, however, prompts the movements to freeze for a moment. Fuck, he shouldn’t have said anything.

“Have you never… How about at a hospital?” Definitely not a hospital. His father had denied him going there time and time again. No matter if his wounds were oozing liquids and reeked of rotting flesh, or if he had vomited anything he had put inside his body for days on end. After all, he'd refused to have his ‘reputation’ tarnished if the press found out his son was sick.

So, Seonghwa shakes his head, causing Yeosang’s eyebrows to shoot upwards. “A private doctor, anyone at all?” Another shake to his head. “I thought someone must’ve been getting you regularly checked. Some of these wounds are quite severe, no? How have you not–” Died. Seonghwa knows the end of the sentence. He knows because he’s asked himself that question too many times, like a mantra in his head.

When Yeosang’s eyes become glassy with the slightest hint of remorseful tears, Seonghwa shifts uncomfortably on the bed. He didn’t need the pity. He never did and never will. “Don’t.”

Understanding what Seonghwa meant, Yeosang nodded slightly. The medic averts his gaze back to the wound he was icing. “Look, I– I just wanted to tell you that I’m on your side. I usually trust Hongjoong’s judgement, but I know how his anger is out of place sometimes.”

Seonghwa’s head spun viciously the more Yeosang talked. He spoke as if he saw Seonghwa as an equal. As a human. It was too much for his mind to take, given the state he was in. So, he pulls away and uses his forearms to scurry farther away to the edge of the bed. “You don’t want to be on my side, Yeosang! You don’t fucking know me.”

The medic contemplates his next words for a moment. Then, he reaches for Seonghwa’s hand again to resume treating him.

“All kinds of people have walked the halls of our organization. They all have, more or less, the same traits in common. They did terrible things and still refuse to change because they were born evil. You don’t have that cold look in your eyes that they did. And… I can feel the warmth of a soul inside you. So I may not know you, but I know you’re not who Hongjoong thinks you are.”

---

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Notes:

OH SEONGHWA MY BABYYY... I feel like there's an obvious pattern of hurt/comfort and angst beginning to form in my fics. If anybody noticed that just... shhhh don't worry about a thing everything will be okay!! ദ്ദി(ᵔᗜᵔ)

I love Seonghwa and Yeosang's relationship with each other sm they're so soft and I knew I wanted to reflect that onto the fic by making Yeosang the first person to meet him in the organization. THEY'RE GOING TO WARM UP TO EACHOTHER I PROMISE. As for Hongjoong... well he'll come around sooner or later. (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

HAPPY READING,
-Yuyu ꒰ᐢ. ̫ .ᐢ꒱

Chapter 3: Own me like a ragdoll

Notes:

THIS WAS POSTED SO LATE… life has been throwing tomatoes at me lately and ive been so busy but im glad to finally be able to upload chapter 2!!!

Almost fell asleep proofreading and didn’t upload this… (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

Please ignore any medical inaccuracies that happen in this chapter I literally major in the farthest thing from science ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

CW: intense sickness, injury, mentions of abuse.

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Seonghwa could’ve guessed the rough look on his face without a mirror. Unsurprisingly, he seldom had the liberty of enjoying a good night’s rest, which heavily contributed to his sallow skin, accompanied by heavy sunken eye bags. So it was no surprise that the longer Yeosang had worked, the more drowsy he grew.

After Yeosang had made his stance clear, Seonghwa didn’t speak much thereafter. However, this didn’t discourage the medic, who continued rambling on about his little dysfunctional family. At certain points, he’d completely forgotten that Yeosang was talking about literal gang members.

That was the miraculous thing. Seonghwa had been kidnapped by a gang, but was listening to their medic chatter on about the most peculiar of happenstances. Like how their leader always fell asleep on his laptop in the living room almost every night, or how a member named Wooyoung seldom left him in peace at their home clinic.

Seonghwa found it hard to believe that the man in front of him garnered even a slight bone of wrongdoing in his body. It was also difficult to keep in mind that he was kidnapped when the medic referred to him as a stray animal they were trying to adopt, but their father kept rejecting. According to Yeosang, when that phenomenon occurs, the person who opposes the idea ends up adoring the pet the most.

What a downright preposterous thing to say. Seonghwa wasn’t a stray animal, nor did he want that blonde imp coming anywhere near him! However, he appreciates the euphemism and sentiment behind Yeosang’s words.

By the first breaks of daylight, Seonghwa’s eyes droop to be just about half-lidded as Yeosang applies a gel to the bump forming on the back of his head. Sun kissed his cheek as it peeked through the horizon. It was warm. Pleasant, even. But Seonghwa shook himself awake slightly because he knew he couldn’t let his guard down. He wasn’t safe here.

To avoid dozing off again, he focuses on his hand that visibly displays Yeosang’s handiwork. He thinks that if Yeosang did have something in store for him, then he’d endure it well as gratitude for treating his wounds nicely. His father had always taught him that everything was transactional, a quid pro quo. The man owned a business empire, Seonghwa thinks vaguely, so that mindset was quite fitting.

Nevertheless, evaluating his kidnapper's efforts at treating his wound was a strange outcome to the situation he was in. Out of all the twisted ideas he’d stewed up in his head, this was in quite the opposite direction.

Thinking positively for once, he was away from his father. That meant Seonghwa could let the dawn's light set in without the fear of someone barging into his room and forcing him to start on his chores for the day before he could even blink away the sleep from his eyes.

However, with one positive thought came just about a hundred negating it. Seonghwa always had a reason to be scared. He was scared of what Hongjoong would do to him. He was scared that Yeosang, who had shown him unconditional kindness by treating his wounds, would very likely ask for something in return that Seonghwa couldn’t give. He was scared that at any given moment, his father would find him, no matter how far away he was, and pull him back to the hell he lived in for twenty-four years.

The man would find him like the devil, red with fury and carrying his cane as if it were a pitchfork. Would it be called dying if Seonghwa hadn’t even begun living yet?

---

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“I’m sorry, that’s the most I can do with what I could sneak up here.” Yeosang sighs, seemingly disappointed at what the ‘most’ he could do was. But this was the least achy Seonghwa had felt for a long time. Maybe the lashes won’t scar his skin like they usually do. The prospect has him in better spirits than usual. “I may not always be able to help you with Hongjoong around, but please take it slow. If you have a concussion, the symptoms will reveal themselves soon. I’ll try my best to come back and check on you later.”

As the medic speaks, he begins busying himself with packing up his supplies hastily, failing to notice the baffled look on Seonghwa’s face.

“You shouldn’t be doing this. How can you trust that I’m not going to strangle you when you aren’t looking?” The question earns a scoff and an amused look from Yeosang. “Would’ve been worried about that, but you look just about strong enough to fight a chair. Should’ve kept the pen, it made you look more threatening.”

Shockingly, Seonghwa feels something akin to a laugh bubbling up in his throat. God knows how long ago he’d been amused by something someone had said. However, before the chocked sound could surface, the pair snapped their heads to the bedroom door.

Hurried footsteps and rushed voices resound from the hall just outside the room, the conversation sounding urgent. Yeosang and Seonghwa share a look before the medic begins haphazardly stuffing supplies into his red bag. At the sound of a voice he recognized, Seonghwa’s breath began coming out shaky.

“– told you to stay out of this one, Yunho. This is the first time I ordered everyone to stay out of a case. Was I fucking crazy for expecting my one order to be followed?” The two inside jump at the sound of a fist slamming against the door.

“– Not what it seems like, alright? Yeosang’s probably out getting supplies for the clinic or something.”

The voices are clearer now, right outside the door, just as Yeosang zips up his bag with an anxious look on his face. The expression causes a desire to protect to nestle deep inside his belly.

The medic had helped him. What if Hongjoong had the itch to mend behavior like his father did? Seonghwa couldn’t let Yeosang take the blame. He could handle another beating, but being the reason someone else got one made him gag and squeeze his eyes shut.

“Okay. If I open this door and Yeosang is behind there, so much as breathing in the direction of that fucking monster. You’re not going to like the person I become after.”

Monster. Seonghwa squeezes his eyes shut at the word as if it physically hurts him. Did Hongjoong know about what had happened to his mother all those years ago? But Seonghwa didn’t mean it. He wasn’t a monster. Right?

Two other voices chime in hurriedly, assuring Hongjoong that Yeosang was somewhere far away from Seonghwa. It was obvious those lies were futile in front of their leader because a few moments later, they turned more panicked as the knob of the door twisted.

The dark oak door is shoved open, and Seonghwa finally sees the man behind his kidnapping. He can tell it's him by the striking blond hair that sits in an unruly fashion atop his head like a crown. Surprisingly, the man looked to be about his age; his features still retained a youthful quality, yet his aura exuded maturity with every step he took. Hongjoong’s eyes swept over the room, a frustrated expression shifting to one of fury like the changing of a tide.

If Seonghwa hadn’t already been sitting, then his knees surely would’ve already buckled given the terrifyingly threatening look on the blonde’s face. The pure, unfiltered anger reminded him too much of his father. It was suffocating.

Yeosang must’ve felt the shift in atmosphere too, scrambling off the bed faster than Seonghwa could blink and keeping his head hung low. He knew he shouldn’t have to retrain himself from trying to reach out, fingers twitching in the bedsheets before grabbing it in a fist.

The medic had been at least slightly reassuring. A compass of sorts. The compass was now spinning on its needle uncontrollably while he helplessly watched.

When Hongjoong’s piercing eyes lock on Yeosang and his arm lifts, Seonghwa feels his blood run cold all over again. He shields Yeosang’s body from Hongjoong; he couldn’t watch this.

Yeosang gasps, putting an arm on his shoulder. “Seonghwa! He wasn’t– He would never.”

Hongjoong’s hand falls to his sides, fists clenched and eyes darkening in a deeper anger that Seonghwa couldn’t understand. “Get out, Yeosang.”

“But Hongjoo–”

Hongjoong walks back to the door, pulling it open so aggressively that he’s sure the handle leaves a dent in the wall. “I said get out.”

Yeosang bites his lip and casts an anxious look towards Seonghwa before bravely shoving past Hongjoong on his way out. He would follow the man’s orders, but he was far from happy about them. Seonghwa yearned to be as courageous as the medic had been, impressed at the simple gesture of defiance that he could only dream of doing.

For the second time, Hongjoong stalks forward. Without the mask, Seonghwa can see his expressions. He can see the way every gear turns in the leader’s head, calculated and deliberate as if he were hypnotizing his prey. As he gets closer, Seonghwa takes a step back, seemingly having his bout of confidence run dry.

Seonghwa falls back on the mattress when the backs of his knees reach the edge of the bed. He crawls back as far as he can go until strong grips find his ankles. Hongjoong’s hands hold him so tight they press against the bruised skin, then he’s being pulled forward with brutal force.

Seonghwa yelps, thrashing his legs to try and escape the grip that was sending his mind on a trip he didn’t want to go on in front of his kidnapper. He could feel tears brim in his eyes and his breathing grow ragged, and the hands on his ankles multiplied—the memory of another pair of hands replacing it.

“My hands only harm those who warrant it, pretty thing. Not my family. But people like you.” The man’s hands move from his ankles to instead take a hold of his wrist, his voice dropping to an inhuman growl. “For the stunt you pulled, I should twist this fragile hand of yours until it snaps off your arm.”

The words drip onto Seonghwa’s skin like scalding wax, and his throat constricts around his voice that tries to surface pleas for mercy. He’d never expected to fear another as much as he’d feared his father, but here he was, being choked alive by Hongjoong’s mere voice.

“But I haven’t done anything! I r–really haven’t, you have to believe me.” Seonghwa hiccups around tears before whispering, “You’ve got the wrong person.” Hongjoong grips his throat strongly enough to make his breathing stutter, but weak enough for him to breathe. The force of it had him teetering at the edge of unconsciousness.

“Do I? Are you not Park Seonghwa, son of Park Eunwoo, and the heir to his business? The name should ring a bell in that vacant little head of yours.” Seonghwa gasps around Hongjoong’s words like it’s a pill too hard to swallow, and he pulls at the loose shirt that began clinging to him as if it were melting into his skin.

The fact that the man knew his name shocked him, but the mention of his father's name had a particularly harsh shiver course through his body in a violent wave. Maybe he did target the right person, but Seonghwa didn’t understand how he could have garnered an enemy when he had lived most of his life in seclusion.

“I spent my life in that house. I lived and breathed the air inside windows that were always shut. I’m Park fucking Seonghwa, but I know I’ve never done anything wrong to you.” He spits out while furiously wiping away the wetness on his cheeks.

I’ve never done anything wrong to anyone. Right?

I’ve given enough to repent for my sins. Haven’t I?

Hongjoong scans his face for a brief moment, eyebrows furrowing for a brief moment before he lets go of Seonghwa’s neck. “Drop the act, Park. I’m sure that sick father of yours has been feeding you every ounce of information about my gang. That pathetic man has been after me since I started running it.” Seonghwa was so beyond confused, and the nausea that ripped through him at Hongjoong’s words didn't make this any easier.

There was something so wrong about this entire situation; there was something important he was missing, but he couldn’t get what it was. On the assumption that his father actually confided in him for business-related matters or anything for that matter, Seonghwa scoffs out a wet laugh, looking incredulously at the man in front of him as if he’d grown a pair of bunny ears.

“If we’re talking about the same man, then he definitely wouldn’t be telling me anything of importance like that. The relationship you think I may have with my dad is far from communicative.”

A pause. Then Seonghwa digests Hongjoong’s words more clearly now.

“And why the fuck would he have a vendetta against a gang?”

Hongjoong stared blankly into Seonghwa’s eyes before his face twisted into a wide and sinister smile. “Oh, you really don’t know? Well, this is going to be so much more fun for me.” He feels his stomach churn at the look on the man’s face, paired with the implications of fun that could come out of this situation.

“I’m going to take my time with you, Seonghwa. I’ll destroy your life just like your father has destroyed mine. You’re mine now.”

At those words, Seonghwa scrambles out of the bed to stand his ground. “No! No, you have to let me go. Please, he’ll kill me.” Then, he drops to his knees. Nothing could possibly be above him in this situation. Not begging or pleading or anything. He had no power left in his name.

Seonghwa flinches when the blonde simply shoves past him with his knee before wordlessly making quick steps towards the door.

Slumping against the bed from his position on the floor, Seonghwa begins losing hope that he’ll ever make it out of here alive. With a weak voice, he looks up at Hongjoong with unfiltered rage in his eyes. The fire is weak, but it’s there.

“You’re just like my father.” Hongjoong whips his head around the second those words are uttered from his lips. Seonghwa barely registers the man coming back to him before he’s roughly gripped by the stretched collar of his shirt, pulled upwards, and slammed against a pole of the bed. He hisses at the impact and registers a trickle of blood leaking from his lip. He must’ve bitten it by accident.

“I dare you to fucking say that again.” Seonghwa’s breath was knocked right out of him, but he retaliated nonetheless. Spitting a mix of blood and saliva at Hongjoong’s feet, he replies and makes sure to enunciate every syllable. “You’re just like him–”

Knuckles slam themselves into his cheek, the force powerful enough to throw him back onto the floor, and he staggers towards the bedside table. Before he can even think to brace for impact, Seonghwa’s head brutally bangs against the wooden corner of the table.

The pain doesn’t even register at first, his body succumbing to a fight or flight response that temporarily masks the pain. But Seonghwa’s world does spin viciously, and his head feels ten times heavier for his neck to hold up.

For the first time, his thoughts go silent, completely clouded over by a thick fog of disorientation. He can’t process anything happening in front of him. Somewhat through the blur, he can see a figure coming towards him before a few more blobs come into view.

Maybe the others had heard the commotion and thought Seonghwa had done something to Hongjoong. After all, he was the ‘monster’, wasn’t he? That’s how it’d been his entire life. Owning the label of the monster but always being the one beaten into the earth.

“– the fuck has gotten into you. Look at the state of him! You’re our leader, fucking act like it.” Seonghwa heard all the sounds around him like they were dipped in thick, viscous honey. His mind felt like it was stuffed with cotton, making his thoughts slow and muddled.

A presence kneels in front of him, and Yeosang’s newly familiar voice penetrates his ears, quiet and worried. “I knew I shouldn’t have left the room. I didn’t think it would go this far. I’m so sorry, Seonghwa. I’m sorry.” Not quite sure why the medic was apologizing to him, Seonghwa simply shakes his head, confused and wobbly.

“Hey, easy there. Don’t move your head too much, you got banged up pretty bad.” A trembling hand reached out to assess the wound on his face, and Seonghwa flinched backwards violently. He had somewhat of a faith that Yeosang was a safe person in this hell. But what if. What if he wanted to hurt him now? Seonghwa didn’t want to take the chance.

Yeosang’s hand freezes in the air in front of them, hanging awkwardly before it retracts. The distance between them is short-lived when Seonghwa’s eyes droop dangerously, and he suddenly feels as though he can no longer hold his body weight up anymore.

Relinquishing his efforts at staying cohesive, Seonghwa slumps his body against the person kneeling in front of him, and the pain finally registers in his head like a growing pulse. The medic frantically brings a finger to hover underneath his nose before laying him down on his back. “Steady breaths, Seonghwa. Try to keep those pretty eyes open for me. You can’t go to sleep yet.”

Seonghwa strains to keep his eyes open after that, focusing on the sound of his breathing and trying to ignore the dull ache of his head, combined with the instructions the medic barks to the others in the room. He feels the back of his neck and knees being elevated by hands before a pillow replaces them. A flashlight shines in his eyes, making him groan and shove it away, which earns a chuckle from Yeosang.

“Sorry about that, I have to follow a protocol. Can you focus with me for a moment?” Focusing his mind around a cohesive thought right now felt nearly impossible, but Seoghwa simply bobs his head. Taking that as a yes, the medic asks him to recall basic facts about himself, like his name and age, before evaluating how his body felt.

When he looks past the medic to see six pairs of eyes trained on him, Seonghwa begins sobbing and attempting to hide himself from view. This entire thing felt so humiliating. To be watched by an audience as he’s prodded like that and being expected to comply with the words of his captor was absurd.

Sensing they were no longer welcome, the unfamiliar faces filtered out of the room as Yeosang attempted to calm him down. “They’re gone, Seonghwa. It’s just you and me like earlier.”

Yeosang stabilizes his neck as he comes down from his tears, unable to stop the jolting of his body. It takes a little more testing to determine his conditions until the medic deems him clear of any severe brain damage or spinal injury.

Seonghwa is spent by the end of it all, and the sun outside had barely even reached its peak. Eventually, he becomes too lethargic to respond to Yeosang’s repeated question on whether anything felt ‘different.’ He simply blinks his eyes slowly back up at the medic.

“Can I go t’ sleep now? You told me to stay awake.” Seonghwa slurs, throat dry and sore. Suddenly aware that Seonghwa was still on the floor, Yeosang springs into action at the question. Carefully bracing his neck, Yeosang carries him the short distance between the floor and the bed. He’s quickly arranged in the position he’d previously been in, braced by a pillow behind his head and knees.

The bed dips slightly with the weight of Yeosang sitting beside him. Seonghwa is confused by the action before he feels pressure on his head. It’s light at first, tentative and nervous. Perhaps the medic had intended to check his temperature initially, but now Seonghwa could feel him petting his hair.

“You did really well, Seonghwa. You can rest now. I'll be here when you wake up.” Just as he drifts, he can swear he hears Yeosang mutter something along the lines of “It’s not your fault.”

And maybe it wasn’t. Maybe he shouldn’t be punished for sins on somebody else’s behalf. Maybe.

---

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Steps pattering out of the room break through the fog of his unconscious mind.

“He’ll… be alright. I’ll need to monitor his breathing while he rests. If he hadn’t come here with a concussion, he has one now.” The verdict leads to several sharp exhales and gasps.

“–got the wrong person. There’s no way he’s got anything to do with Mortem Oppetere! Being tied to someone by blood doesn’t mean shit, and I’d bet money he doesn't even know about the operation.”

Mortem Oppetere? Seonghwa had briefly heard that name before while his father talked on the phone, but he never found out what it meant.

“I agree. You should’ve seen the look on his face anytime his father was brought up, he looked just as terrified as we were when we got out of….” A silence hung in the air, only the sound of the fireplace crackling gracing the air before someone cleared their throat.

Seonghwa’s brimming mind couldn’t bear to listen to the men talk about him as if he were a cryptic puzzle begging to be solved. These past two nights felt like a giant joke he would never understand. Story of his life. All he could do was succumb to the blanket of sleep draping over him and allow himself to fall completely unconscious once more.

---

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A bead of sweat runs down Seonghwa’s burning skin. It had been a silent hope that the pain manifesting from the hit he’d taken would’ve already passed its peak long ago. However, this was proven to be far from the outcome.

It’s as if the second his body regained awareness, Seonghwa’s head started pulsing all over again. Beating like his heart had migrated up to his brain. Aside from that, his stomach churned viciously in a way that he’d experienced far too many times previously. He needed to expel all the contents of his stomach as quickly as possible.

When his stomach clenches painfully around itself and he gags, Seonghwa knows it’s only a matter of time before he makes a mess of himself and the place around him.

Back when Seonghwa was still a young child, unknowing of how to tend to himself or understand what to do when falling ill, he’d been unlucky countless times. His father had seen sickness as a sign of corruption. A sign of weakness. So if he didn’t hide it away well enough or mask the smell of bile strongly enough, then the punishments were to beat the illness out of him.

Seonghwa hurriedly struggles out of the mess of sheets and blankets, rushing over to the nearest garbage bin near the dresser. He clutches the cool metal of the bin with one hand while using his other to push back the sweaty hair sticking onto his forehead and obscuring his vision.

When he finally gags hard enough to vomit, it’s merely a mess of stomach acid and water. He hadn’t gotten the chance to eat for who knows how long now. He chokes around as a silent cry, trembling violently as he wretches and wretches around nothing.

He didn’t have a method to tell how long he’d been there, gagging on the floor as his stomach continued squeezing and clenching despite its emptiness. However, it had gone on long enough to alert somebody because he could hear a pair of feet rush down the hall hurriedly. When the door swung open and Seonghwa diverts his hooded and glassy eyes towards the noise, he saw the person he’d least desired to see in this state.

Hongjoong stood at the door; it’s obvious he was still half asleep with his unruly blonde hair and crumpled pyjamas. It takes a while of scanning before Hongjoong finally looks down at his place on the floor, an unknown look flashing through his face.

The blonde didn’t bother making small talk with Seonghwa and instead opted to rush right back out where he came from, not even bothering to shut the door behind him. A wave of worry came over Seonghwa, feeling so terribly exhausted that he could barely lift his hand to wipe at his mouth. While he would’ve rather sat and choked on his sock than ask specifically Hongjoong for help, he’d still expect the man to at least offer him a tissue. Bastard.

The mere idea of it was stupid, that his kidnapper, who seemed to hate his guts for simply being born, could even consider helping him get out of the tight spot he was in. The blonde was likely already cozied up in bed. As the next minutes trickle by, he believed that theory to be true.

Until the sound of footsteps that he’d heard a moment prior came back again, just with another echoing behind it. The telltale sound was soon accompanied by Hongjoong’s miraculous return and, to Seonghwa’s immense relief, Yeosang was hot on his trail.

“Hey Seonghwa,” Yeosang says gently as he pushes the man’s hair that was slick with sweat out of his eyes. When Seonghwa fails to respond and instead stares at the pair agape, Yeosang waves his hand in front of his eyes worriedly.

Hongjoong had called for help. He brought Yeosang to heal him. He didn’t yell at the mess or become furious at his loud wretching so deep into the night.

“It’s completely common what’s happening to your body right now. One of the most well-known symptoms of a concussion is vomiting, and I know it’s scary, but we’re gonna help you through it. Alright?”

Seonghwa nods his head slightly, not entirely comprehending the words Yeosang was saying but agreeing nonetheless. He wasn’t in a state of mind to even register the fear he felt from the heated gaze of Hongjoong across the room, who seemed to be watching them with furrowed brows and a frustrated look on his face.

Yeosang rushes back outside the door, most likely going to grab some supplies, leaving him and Hongjoong alone in the room. Luckily, Seonghwa’s stomach seemed to have finally understood that its attempts at dispelling its contents were futile, allowing him to finally slump completely against the wall next to him.

Sensing the shift, Hongjoong makes a move towards him. The man looms above him, raising his arm above Seonghwa’s head. This sparks an immediate response in him; to cower back as much as he could with the strength he had left. To protect himself from the inevitable blow he’d expected.

…

But that never came. Instead, Hongjoong simply grunted out a “Stay still,” before extending the arm to Seonghwa’s forehead. The back of Hongjoong’s cold hand meets his hot cheek for a few moments and then retracts completely.

If Seonghwa wasn’t so damn spent and out of it, his jaw would probably be on the floor. When he glances upwards again, he sees the conflicted thoughts behind Hongjoong’s troubled eyes, and Seonghwa genuinely feels a sort of understanding for him.

Just like Seonghwa, Hongjoong must’ve lost everything to the same man that he did. Park Eunwoo had likely stripped him of his livelihood and diminished him in some way, shape, or form. Who better to understand that than Seonghwa?

But Hongjoong ended up with a new family around him, and Seonghwa sat alienated on their floor. They’d caught a stray. A nuisance as it lies on their cold hardwood floor, weak and ridden with sickness.

“‘M sorry for whatever my father did to you to make you hate me so much.” Seonghwa pauses his sentence to inch away from Hongjoong, no longer able to bear the frigid skin on his blazing one. No longer able to be near the blonde despite his understanding of his motives.

“‘f I were you, I think I would probably hate me too,” it comes out slurred and no louder than a whisper, but he can tell Hongjoong had heard what he said.

Seonghwa’s eyes fluttered closed, not sparing Hongjoong another glance, a sense of resolution washing over him. He didn’t know why he felt the need to apologize when the latter was the one who brought him to his pitiful state. But Seonghwa knew the feeling of resentment as easily as greeting an old friend.

Hongjoong sharply inhales, seemingly about to speak. Before he can get a word out, Yeosang walks back into the room, hands brimming with medical supplies. After spilling out all the stuff onto a surface nearby, the medic runs into a dilemma. “You think you can stand, Seonghwa?”

At that point, Seonghwa could barely peel his eyes open, let alone stand up and, god forbid, attempt carrying his own weight, so he stayed silent. The pair in the room took the hint, and he felt himself get picked up from his place on the cold floor.

All Seonghwa could think about while he got carried over was the warm scent of wood and marigold radiating from the person holding him. Delirious, he silently wishes he’d be granted the chance to smell it, just the same, but in much more forgiving and pleasant circumstances, preferably, when he didn’t reek of bile himself.

As swiftly as the warmth reaches Seonghwa, it’s taken away as he’s being set down on the plush bed. A cool washcloth is being wiped over his mouth, earning a shudder at the rapid changes of temperature. His body felt like it was sweltering with the heat of a thousand suns, so he squirmed, hoping he could slither out of his skin and escape the stuffiness of it.

“He’s burning up real bad, Yeosang. What do we do?” Seonghwa flutters his eyes open just in time to see Yeosang whip his head around to look at Hongjoong.

“Are you seriously going to act like you weren’t the cause of this fuckass fever he has? Maybe if you didn’t knock his lights out, we wouldn’t have to deal with this at four in the morning!” The grumpy medic whisper-yells, obviously trying not to disturb the exhausted man beside them.

“So I'll tell you what we're going to do, we’re gonna get our heads out of our asses and behave like adults. Take this,” Yeosang says, shoving an almost empty bowl of water with a washcloth inside of it at his leader. “And refill it with cold water.”

Seongwa flinches, half-expecting Hongjoong to lash out as Yeosang. He goes rigid, fear coursing through him on behalf of the medic. Shockingly, the man just kept pulling surprises out of his ass because he simply followed the orders like a kicked puppy with a tail between its legs.

“Seonghwa?” The sound of his name pulled him out of his hazy mind, and he hummed. “You’ll be okay.”

Promptly after that, Seonghwa drifted off to a soundless sleep. Every so often, he would stir at the feeling of a needle pricking his skin or a washcloth erasing any traces of vomit on him, but he didn’t care and just wanted to stay resting like this for as long as possible.

In the back of his mind, Seonghwa wondered what it would’ve been like if the circumstances were different. If, in some alternate universe, he’d have someone to fight for. Would he have gotten away by now? Would someone have come to find him?

Could he ever be worth looking for?

---

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Notes:

JUST TRY NOT TO BITE REFERENCES IN THIS CHAPTER (๑>؂•̀๑)

i know Hongjoong may seem like a wee bit of a bastard in this chapter but WE WILL GET HIS POV… HE WILL BE REDEEMEDD

As always love feedback of all kinds and im wishing you all happy reading! ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Chapter 4: Heart in a headlock

Notes:

Hello !!!!! (∩˃o˂∩)♡

This is a super brief chapter that kinda gives an insight on Hongjoong's perspective of the events that occurred so far (so this is technically like chapter 3.5)! It was a last minute idea but I love how it turned out and I really hope it's going to make the lore in the upcoming chapter a tad bit clearer. HAPPY READING! ( ദ്ദി ˙ᗜ˙ )

-Yuyu ( ◺˰◿ )

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

“Seonghwa’s out of the woods for the most part. His fever’s gone down. Those injections are doing the heavy lifting; all we can do is let him rest and check on him every so often.” Yeosang says in a hushed whisper, fearing he’d wake up the sleeping man behind the door. Hongjoong simply nods, arms crossed over his chest, and a pensive look on his face.

The pair had just gotten done practically grappling with Seonghwa’s immune system to get him back to their plane of consciousness. It’s not like they hadn’t expected all of that to happen, especially since Yeosang had warned them of the possible symptoms of a concussion that may arrive delayed. Still, it didn’t prepare them for the man to appear soulless and gaunt, as if he were on his deathbed.

When Yeosang had ordered Hongjoong to carry their captive, Seonghwa’s body radiated unnatural heat, and his bones jutted out of him, likely due to malnourishment. All in all, the sight was unpleasant to see, especially since it had given him an eerie sense of Deja vu to how he found his other members in the past.

“Until he wakes up, we all need to have a serious conversation. You fucked up, Hongjoong. I think we can all see that the man you hate so damn much is miles away, sitting on piles of dirty money and not the one lying broken in that bed.” Hongjoong stayed silent and gave him a non-committal hum in agreement.

Fast forward an hour later, Hongjoong was leaning against the railing of his balcony, taking in the sight of the endless stretch of forest surrounding the estate. Yeosang’s words echoed in his head as he took a long puff of his almost entirely burnt-out cigarette. He’d been there for a while, doing a dangerous amount of over-thinking.

He couldn’t tell if the fumes were getting to him, but he was starting to see sense in what Yeosang had said. If Seonghwa truly is an innocent bystander in this case, then Hongjoong wouldn’t benefit from hurting him, and, based on his words, Eunwoo wouldn’t care either.

So what was the point?

The concept wasn’t surprising. Given the person Park Eunwoo was, his unwillingness to raise a human being in a healthy enviorment was miles away from shocking. And Seonghwa made that easy to believe. Hongjoong ignored things, but he surely wasn’t blind. He noticed the injuries littering the man’s body. God, he couldn’t forget the way he’d found him either. Curled up into himself like he had a chill he couldn’t shake.

But Hongjoong chose to turn a blind eye to it. He chose to blatantly ignore the signs that waved in front of him because, after all, Seonghwa would be the person to satisfy his thirst for the Park family's blood. The regret that came soon after was bitter and accompanied by even more agitation. 

Hongjoong’s brain told him to be logical about the situation, to squeeze the use out of their new captive and exploit him to the best of their abilities. But his gut was telling him something different. The tender part of him was what led him to bring Seonghwa back to the main estate instead of a dingy warehouse miles out, and the very same reason he didn’t knock the latter’s teeth in the moment they met.

When Seonghwa pitifully stared at him in the car, Hongjoong could recognize the look in his eyes. Not a single word could measure up to that gaze, and he prayed never to see that expression again.

Clenching his fist, Hongjoong agitatedly puts the cigarette out and raises his head upwards to the sky. He didn’t trust Seonghwa. Not one bit. But Hongjoong knew that almost killing Seonghwa just a few hours ago, despite it being an accident, was a mistake.

Hongjoong was the face of the organization. It’s representative and a leader. He couldn’t raise his members to be downright cruel. Hongjoong refused to set that example. Even if it hurt him, and even if Seonghwa’s presence reminded him of everything he had built the organization to escape from. He’d still do it for his family.

---

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

The living room sounded eerily quiet as Hongjoong treaded down the stairs leading to the ground floor. It was odd for these halls to be cast in silence when it was usually bursting at the seams with sound. 

Hongjoong had tried to delay the discussion on what they would do with Seonghwa as much as possible, making up several consecutive excuses until Yeosang had caught onto his lies. A headache already began tugging at the edges of his mind before he even passed the threshold of the living room, a foreshadowing of the stubbornness he knew to be associated with his other members.

Truthfully, it wounded him that the others hadn’t seen a purpose to his strict rules around interactions with this specific captive. For Yeosang to go as far as sneaking around behind his back, and the others lying through their teeth for him, is one of the reasons he had been positively furious with Seonghwa.

Call it jealousy or protectiveness, Hongjoong didn’t care; what he did care about was the simple fact that there were certain lines Seonghwa could never cross. Turning his family against him practically desecrated that line.

As soon as he sees the others seated on the couches with their hands pensively drawn together and legs tapping almost in sync, he can tell this conversation isn’t going to end lightly. So, he silently walks over to his armchair by the fire and practically slumps against it.

Yeosang is the first to speak, “I’m sure you all know why this meeting needs to be held.”   Murmurs pass through the room, seemingly coming to an end at Hongjoong’s silence. “Hongjoong, we never question you, but you’ve gone too far.”

It’s Wooyoung’s turn to chime in. “Yeosang is right, this isn’t what Ultio was made for.” Hongjoong abruptly stands at that finger pointed towards the stairs, “No, don’t start with that bullshit! This is exactly what Ultio was made for. Getting rid of Park Eunwoo!”

“Yeah, Hongjoong, but the man upstairs isn’t Park Eunwoo, is it?” It’s Yunho’s turn to burst out now. Hongjoong knows he's right. “We hate the man just as much as you do, but not to the point of hurting innocent people like that.”

Hongjoong huffs out a breath of air and clenches his jaw, not expecting his second hand to side against him on this. The decision to keep Seonghwa as a captive despite Hongjoong coming to terms (at least somewhat) with his innocence isn’t an easy one. But if they let the man go, who’s to tell he wont rat their location out to Eunwoo. 

“Alright, so what do you all suggest? We let him go?”

Silence falls over them all until Yeosang breaks it once again with a proposition. “No, we let him choose. Leave if he wants, but stay if he pleases too.”

That crossed a boundary for Hongjoong. Trusting a total stranger in their safe home could jeopardize everything they’d ever worked towards and shatter the walls of protection Hongjoong had created around the seven of them. Even worse is the fact that he can leave whenever he wants, risking a massive breach of security.

“Bullshit! This isn’t a fucking inn, and how are you all so sure he won’t turn on us and sell us out? Since when did we trust people like this?”

The question is met with no answer, and everybody is agitated by his sudden bout of stubbornness. While Hongjoong agrees that what he’d done was extreme, his newfound tolerance shouldn’t be taken lightly.

“All in favor of keeping Seonghwa until further notice?” Yunho states while raising his hand. When the others repeat the gesture, Hongjoong finally acquiesces.

“Fine,” Hongjoong finally says as he pushes back his chair and storms out, not before turning his head the slightest and addressing the room from the doorway, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I won’t hurt him, but I sure as hell don’t trust him either.”

---

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Notes:

Well well well... Hongjoong is finally (somewhat) (just a teeny bit) starting to trust Seonghwa!? So many important lore references in this chapter and don't worry everything will be cleared up soon including what the mysterious 'Ultio' is, what their organization is for and why Park Eunwoo is such a threat to them! ( ͡º ꒳ ͡º)

I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED! See you next chapter and thank you all for the support you've given this fic so far!!!
(˶˘ ³˘(´͈ ᵕ `͈˶)

Chapter 5: The lullaby of the heartbroken

Notes:

CHAPTER 5 OH HOW YOU'VE DEVASTATED ME. Tell me why I was sad proof-reading this chapter like I wasn't the one that wrote it... Pls don't kill me guys the angst bus literally boarded outside my house ( ˶°ㅁ°) !!

Mind you my pinky finger is making a weird clicking noise now because of how aggressively I was editing this

+ The chess is actually inspired off of a fan theory I saw that said that the Ice on my teeth MV (when they're all sitting in a line outside the mansion) are meant to reflect the hierarchy of chess pieces!? I was like YES that singlehandedly inspired this whole fic actually ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

++ MASSIVE Trigger warning for this chapter for the tags I've listed as well as mentions of human trafficking!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

It’s been five days. Five days since he’d gotten the concussion. Five days of Seonghwa spending his days drifting in and out of sleep instead of finding his next course of action. Despite his compromised health, Seonghwa still felt as though there was more he should do. But for now, he was stuck burning daylight.

Unsurprisingly, Seonghwa was seldom alone. Every so often, different faces had rotated schedules amongst themselves to watch over him. They brought him three meals a day, which he was rarely able to stomach, opting instead to push the food around on his plate before declaring himself full.

By the end of the fifth day, Seonghwa counted seven people. He wasn’t sure if they had any more members in the group since he had never left the confines of the bedroom he resided in.

Out of the seven, however, he recognized two. Yeosang had been the most frequently visiting face of all, mother-henning him constantly. While Seonghwa was still unsure about his grounds of trusting the medic, he’d definitely grown more accustomed to him as the days passed. 

The other face he recognized was none other than the group’s leader. When the night grew old and Seonghwa pretended to be asleep, he sensed Hongjoong’s presence slumped against the window's alcove. While the others usually came in pairs, politely greeting him and attempting conversations, Hongjoong was the opposite. The blonde came and went without the utterance of a word, and always came in solitude.

Their seclusion, in the same room, far from Yeosang’s protection, spiked Seonghwa’s anxiety. It likely worried the medic as well, who comes into the room every morning with an expression that suggested he’d expected Seonghwa not to be there anymore.

However, something had shifted in Hongjoong’s behavior towards him after the few words they’d exchanged that one fateful night. He wasn’t welcoming or kind towards Seonghwa by any means, like the others were. Instead, the blonde was withdrawn and cold, a change he was content with. While the hospitality the group had shown was overwhelming and worrying, Hongjoong’s was far more bearable in its realistic nature.

---

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

“This should only sting a little,” Seonghwa winces as Yeosang pulls out the needle from its position buried deep in his skin. “You’re healing well, Seonghwa, but you still need to take it easy. Your concussion may have long-term symptoms.” The medic says as he disposes of the syringe and takes off his latex gloves.

Now that Seonghwa was deemed well enough to move around normally again, a sort of ‘what now?’ struck him. So, he addresses Yeosang with furrowed brows. “What do you plan to do with me now?”

An awkward silence settles between them, and Seonghwa can see Yeosang’s hand hover slightly before it continues rummaging through something. “Hongjoong requested to be the one to discuss that with you. Until then, you’re welcome to roam around.”

Roam around? Maybe he could search for clues on where the hell he was and if his father had begun looking for him yet. To avoid suspicion, Seonghwa merely nods his head tentatively. 

“The only place off limits is Hongjoong’s room on the top floor. I don’t reckon you’d want to stumble into him alone, would you?” Yeosang turns to him expectantly, and Seonghwa belatedly realizes the medic is waiting for an answer. “N–no! No, of course not.”

After that odd encounter, Yeosang finishes up the last of his wellness check before helping Seonghwa up. The feeling of standing on his own two legs without the help of someone else’s body supporting him causes his knees to buckle instantly. It takes a few circles around the room until Seonghwa can somewhat balance himself as he moves without Yeosang’s assistance.

Something Seonghwa grew increasingly aware of as he walked was the feeling of grime building across his body, not to mention the fact that he’d been wearing the same pair of clothes since he’d been taken. “Sorry about that, you must be uncomfortable. The bathroom is stocked with shower products that you’re more than welcome to use.”

Seonghwa’s eyes snap upwards at the mention of a shower, wanting nothing more than to feel any semblance of cleanness. Sensing he was interested in the offer, Yeosang walked over to the bathroom and pushed the door open. 

While he’d grown familiar with this bathroom being dimly lit to accommodate his migraines, Seonghwa could now see it far clearer with the lights on. The interior design was much like that of the room they were previously in, exuding luxury with every piece of furniture. His eyes are instantly drawn to a grand bath nestled in the farthest corner, large enough to fit at least four people. The basin had murals painted all over it, a stunning depiction of chess pieces. The artwork is far more beautiful than any expensive painting hanging in his father’s estate.

“When we started bringing in enough money to finally buy this place, Hongjoong hand-painted murals in each room. A way for the principles of our organization to stand unwavering to the test of time.” Yeosang’s voice startled him out of his curious observations.

“What sort of principles lie in a game of chess?” Seonghwa asks after a beat as his hand grazes the cool porcelain of the tub, tracing his fingers on the curves of the painting. Yeosang chuckles at the question, a distant smile on his face. A tell-tale sign that the medic was reminiscing on something. “We all asked the same question, funnily enough.” Yeosang began as he turned the faucet of the tub on and pulled out a fluffy black robe from a dark oak cabinet beside it. 

“But Hongjoong saw things we didn’t at the time. He said something about how chess preserves the idea that, despite being constrained by the rules of existence, a person remains able to shape their own path. To carve their lives out based on the choices they make.” 

Suddenly, Yeosang abruptly stops his bustling to turn and address Seonghwa. “It was like Deja vu seeing you for the first time, you know? We were all running from something at one point. Constantly fighting for what should’ve been a guarantee for us. We only survived it because of how badly we wanted a family. I see that desire in you.”

Seonghwa stares at the medic speechless, tongue unable to grasp itself around a coherent word. Allowing Seonghwa to stew in the words left hanging in the air, Yeosang continues busying himself with the bath as if he said nothing at all.

There was something about Yeosang’s words that acted as a giant spyglass. It peered invasively into Seonghwa’s head, reaching into his throat to pull out his feelings from within. Because it was undeniably true. He’s suffered an endless cycle of torment, with his only hope being the promise of rebirth if fate allowed it.

Yeosang, seemingly taking pity on Seonghwa, continued briefing him on the importance of chess to their establishment. Not particularly as a game but as a foundation. Hongjoong had assigned each of them different chess pieces that corresponded with the roles they played in the organization. 

The pawns, Yeosang added, were the lowest ranking and were assigned to those who typically assisted them on ‘missions’ through an indirect and minor manner. Then came the Rooks, Knights, and Bishops, whose roles were filled by the inhabitants of the house.

“And lastly, the king–” Seonghwa raises his head curiously and locks eyes with Yeosang, immediately supplies the name for him, “Hongjoong?”

“You guessed it. And all those pieces combined form our organization, Ultio.” The newfound knowledge answered several of Seonghwa’s questions while adding just about a hundred more to the top of his head. But one dwindled and piqued his curiosity more than the others.

Growing up playing chess, he knew all the fundamental basics as if it were the back of his hand, including the importance of each type of chess piece from least to most significant to the game. “You didn’t mention a queen? How was the most powerful role not filled?”

The question earns a dismissive shrug from Yeosang, followed by a, “We’ve never found anyone to take that place.” Something seems to hang off the end of the medic’s words, shrouded in mystery.

Before he could press further on the topic, Yeosang turned the faucet off before dropping in vibrantly orange petals accompanied by what appears to be a pink star. Seonghwa stares in awe as the object begins fizzing and bubbling the moment it comes in contact with the clear water. The water tinges a faint shimmery baby pink, growing in color as the star became smaller.

Noticing his surprise, Yeosang rubs the back of his neck. “I know it may seem childish, but–” Seonghwa immediately cuts him off as he shakes his head. “It’s perfect.” He’s never been particularly eager to be in a bath, especially since the ones that have accumulated till now have been ruthlessly unpleasant. Memories of cold water and liquid forced in his lungs fill his mind. 

Something about the scent of fresh strawberries and the stunningly pink water washes those bad thoughts away like waves lapping at a shore. Seonghwa never really had the luxury of using an item just for the sake of his own pleasure and comfort, so he felt his skin buzzing in an odd anticipation. 

Yeosang smiles tightly, pity flashing across the man’s eyes before he clears his throat. “Well, I’ll give you your privacy then. You can stay for as long as you need. I’ll be nearby, so call me if you start feeling unwell, alright?”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The reflection of the person in the mirror felt foreign. Some pieces of familiarity surely stuck, like his malnourished figure and skin littered with bruising. They remained strikingly present. Those sorts of traits couldn’t vanish overnight. But for once, he looked and felt clean. 

Seonghwa’s obsidian hair was void of the metallic scent of blood, now regaining its natural sheen and silky feel. Hell, even his skin looked soft and missing its usual grey undertones. It was raw from the amount of scrubbing he’d done, but it was alive.

The feeling of cleanliness, instead of feeling sterilized as he often did back home, left a bittersweetness on Seonghwa’s tongue. If he focused on it too much and relished in the fluttering of his heart with joy, then would he miss it more when it was gone? How could he be sure that he wasn’t being lured into a trap or that moments of calm didn’t mean a storm was fast approaching?

Wrapping the warm robe tighter around his shivering frame, Seonghwa finally leaves the steam-addled bathroom. His thoughts had become far more suffocating than the building condensation in the enclosed chamber.

Just as quickly as Seonghwa realizes he didn’t have clothes to change into, his eyes land on a pair of boxers, ash grey sweats, and a loose white sweater draped over the edge of his bed. He bends over to pick up the sticky note that sits beside them, which reads, ‘Clothes for our esteemed guest. Hope everything fits! (..◜ᴗ◝..)’

As he slips his body through the articles of clothing, tears of happiness prick at his eyes. Seonghwa had lived to see the day the scent of strawberries wafted to his nose and his skin grazed the most delicate of cottons. 

---

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Seonghwa’s cheek is pressed against the cool pane of the bedroom’s window when a soft knock wraps at his door before it’s pushed open gently. Yeosang steps through the threshold, looking pleased to see Seonghwa in better spirits. 

“Looking good, Seonghwa. The sweater fits you well; it was Wooyoung’s, actually, but he insisted I give it to you.” Seonghwa tugs at the hem of the sweater, his lip tugging inwards by his teeth. Would Wooyoung really mind sharing with him? He wasn’t too keen on being caught in the crossfire of another misunderstanding.

“A–are you sure? Maybe I should just wear the clothes I came in?”

“The paper-thin shirt? In your dreams. I promise he didn’t mind. In fact, the others have been mother-henning you from the sidelines.” Seonghwa’s eyebrows arch upwards in surprise, and he tilts his head to the side. “The only reason they hadn’t introduced themselves to you during shifts is because they didn’t want to overwhelm you with conversation while you were unwell.”

Finding that hard to believe, but being unwilling to argue, Seonghwa simply nods reluctantly. “On the topic of introductions, I came here to inform you of something.” At the sudden tension in the air, he begins shifting uncomfortably from his place by the window. Yeosang appears to be nervous about something, hesitant to speak.

“Hongjoong is requesting your presence at supper. I–I’ve been trying to delay your interactions with him as much as possible, but I–”

“I’ll go.” Seonghwa couldn’t deny the itch that had settled underneath his skin. The questions swirl around his mind dizzyingly. He would find out what Ultio was. He’d find out what his father had done to spark the revenge of an organization like this one. He’d find his answers tonight. If that meant walking into the den of the lion. Then, fuck it. He was already knee-deep in this.

Startled and left agape at the sudden approval to meet their leader, Yeosang regains composure and nods. It seemed that Yeosang was more hesitant to allow the two to meet than Seonghwa himself. Probably worried he’d lose all the progress with his broken stray if Hongjoong chose to lose his cool again.
Walking to the threshold he’d recently entered from, Yeosang extends his hand to Seonghwa. “Then, I’m ready whenever you are.”

---

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Seonghwa knew it’d be now or never because he’d never be able to pluck up the courage to willingly be brought out of the only room in this house that he deemed safe. So, he approaches Yeosang’s place by the door, and the pair begin their descent downstairs.

They made it down a warmly lit hallway with a window at the very end before turning onto a stunning black marble staircase. Seonghwa hated to admit it, but damn, Hongjoong knew how to design a house. Despite the place’s undeniable dark and gothic architecture, it still somehow retained a cozy atmosphere. Well-lived, in its own charming way, as if a family genuinely inhabited the place and love radiated off the walls.

“We’ll take it slow on the steps. I know this may be difficult for you. Tug on my sleeve if you need a break, alright?” Seonghwa hums in reply, silently grateful that Yeosang understood this would be quite the daunting task. Before he even begins walking down, he can feel his joints and muscles, rusty from disuse, groan in premonition.

Luckily, they make it down with merely an occasional pause here and there for Seonghwa to catch his breath. The environment downstairs starkly contrasted that of the hall they just passed. While the floor above basked in a sleepy silence, the one they were currently on bustled with a rhapsody of noise and movement.

The living room was a hub of life, with six people coexisting and partaking in their own unique activities to pass the time. But the differences of these people were far from overwhelming. It was surprisingly cohesive. Seonghwa was looking at a family that had created a brilliant ecosystem for themselves to live in.

Hell, even the room itself was undeniably unique. The ceiling lights were made to replicate little white stars that twinkled and blinked in tandem, casting everyone in a soft glow. There were other ambient lamps scattered around, mostly turned to a dim setting. Yeosang must’ve told them he couldn’t handle bright lights just yet. However, to compensate for the low artificial lights, streams of natural moonlight pour in through the extravagantly large windows. 

A blazing fire burned steadily in its mantle piece right below a flat screen TV that two of the six members—of whom Seonghwa had not learnt the names of yet—played some sort of game on. Further, an armchair was perched right beside the fireplace, occupied by none other than one of the only people he had begun to recognize. Hongjoong.

Almost in a rehearsed way, the moment everyone notices the pair’s arrival, they disperse to sit on different couches. Seonghwa’s nerves flare up again with the several curious eyes boring into his. Subconsciously, he reaches a hand out to hold Yeosang’s sleeve.

The palpable silence is broken by a sudden voice, “Came down at the perfect time. The food just came in.” The brave soul that opted to speak appeared to be younger than him, with black unruly hair matching his own. “Seonghwa. I’m glad we could see you under better circumstances. I’m Wooyoung.” 

The bishop alongside Yeosang.

What rested on his tongue was a sarcastic question like ‘define better circumstances’, but then he realized that Wooyoung was the owner of the sweater he’d grown fond of. Tightening his hold around Yeosang’s sleeve, Seonghwa speaks.

“Thank you… I’m immensely grateful for your generosity. The sweater is lovely.” He bows just about ninety degrees, missing the startled expression on Wooyoung’s face. “O-oh! Uhm, you’re welcome? You don’t have to talk to me like we’re at a cocktail party, though. Please be as informal as you like.”

Yeosang’s encouraging hand finds his lower back, gently nudging him to sit in the vacant seat beside Wooyoung and another member pressed to his side. Wooyoung, sensing his apprehension, pats the cushion beside them with a warm smile painted on his lips. The person next to Wooyoung, he’d come to find, is San. 

The introductions were smooth sailing from there. Across from them sat Yunho and Mingi. The two were incredibly intimidating, with sharp features and towering heights. For a moment, Seonghwa believed the fact that these, too, were in fact in a gang. Until Yunho shoots him a wide grin as Mingi waves elatedly at him. The two rooks.

Wooyoung teases them for being the organization’s two puppies, which ends tragically in an exchange of profanities that Seonghwa regrets having heard until the last unintroduced member pipes up.

Jongho, who took up the role of the knight with San, was the youngest member among them. When Jongho says, “I’m the only normal one besides Yeosang.” A chorus of disgruntled yells ring throughout the room, making Seonghwa’s lips upturn at the playful banter.

Lastly, the king, who was sitting mechanically typing away on a laptop, settled atop his thighs. Hongjoong surprisingly didn’t interrupt their interactions with Seonghwa as he did all those nights ago.

“Hongjoong!” Wooyoung drawls out the name with a faux-annoyed tone. “We agreed that supper means family time, so stop working.” The man lifted his gaze from his work, eyes settling on Seonghwa before he shut his computer screen off.

“Seonghwa.” The mention of his name slipping from Hongjoong’s lips sent a shiver down his spine, anxiety pumping through him. His nervous system couldn’t distinguish between Hongjoong’s voice and a gun pointed at his head, apparently.

When Hongjoong takes too long to speak after that, Yeosang laughs awkwardly and shoots the blonde a sharp glare. “We should probably dig in lest the food gets cold!” Hoots and hollers can be heard, followed by the crinkling of bags containing a food called AburaSoba.

Wait, they planned on eating here? How most peculiar…

Yeosang nudges his arm gently, stirring him out of his reverie to hand him a bowl. Seonghwa’s eyes widen in shock, not expecting to be included to eat alongside them. “Is this for me?”

The medic tilts his head and furrows his brows in confusion. “Yes? You didn’t think we called you down to watch us eat, did you?” Eunwoo had made it clear back home that he was strictly forbidden from eating in front of him. Seldom was Seonghwa even permitted to eat the food he himself cooked.

He looks down at the warm bowl of food in his lap. Tendrils of smoke rose to his nose and brought with it the scent of rich nuttiness and intense seasoning. He had to check twice if he was drooling.

---

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Everyone eats until their plates are practically licked clean and their bellies are warm and full. Seonghwa had only been able to stomach a few bites, as he was still not accustomed to having access to so much food and was unable to shake the berating words of his father from his head. No one will want you if you get any chubbier, Seonghwa, he had said once. The words struck him like an arrow.

When the plates clear, Hongjoong is surprisingly the first to speak. He hadn’t said a word for the duration of the entire meal, as if allowing Seonghwa to mentally prepare for what he was about to say. But he knew he’d never be ready. Whatever the blonde decided to do with him, it would be a worse fate than the other.

“Before I tell you why we’re after your father, you need to know about the history behind Ultio. The history behind all of us.” Hongjoong says irritably, obviously reluctant to explain something as sensitive as this to Seonghwa. Perhaps he still believed Seonghwa would sell them out.

“Everyone sitting here and our several other affiliations outside this home share one specific thing in common. The reason why we’ve joined together under the umbrella of the organization I’ve founded, Ultio, is because we all escaped from a human trafficking organization known as Mortem Oppetere.” 

The name rings through Seonghwa’s head. It had become familiar now. Once of vague importance and something he had distantly heard, now replaced in his mind as an unrelenting mantra that felt like a boa constricting his throat.

“Six years ago, I was the first to get out of one of their first circulations of young adults. Six years ago, on the exact day I had escaped, I swore to save those that I couldn’t take with me. To the outside eye, Ultio is a drug cartel but we actually track down the human trafficking circles dominating the country.”

Seonghwa’s heart palpitates in his chest. It’s erratic and suffocating. “Mortem Oppetere it sounds familiar. I’ve heard… him talk about it before, but I fuck— why can’t I remember what he was saying on the phone?” He gathers his hair tightly in his tense fists. His memories of hearing the name come up felt like they were muffled underwater.

Hongjoong gets up abruptly and rounds the table. “Think. You have to know something. Park Eunwoo is the president of the association; he’s had to have let something slip before.” Hongjoong sounds frustrated with him, trying to grapple with Seonghwa’s thoughts and find what he’s looking for.

But Seonghwa himself is coming up dry. His stomach churns, and if his jaw wasn’t tightly clenched shut, then he would’ve expelled the food he’d eaten all over himself. His father couldn’t be the leader of a trafficking ring. The man was evil, but not enough to do that. right?

Seonghwa stands, face to face with Hongjoong, swaying slightly as he shakes his head vigorously enough to make it spin. “He wouldn’t… You— you’re lying to me.” Any words that try to escape his throat come out as strangled noises, his brain no longer able to string together cohesive words. Yeosang was speaking to him. Right beside his ear, but he couldn’t understand what he was saying. What was that ringing sound? All he knew was that he had to leave.

He pushes past Hongjoong, stumbling a few steps before finally bolting towards a random hallway he could see out of the corner of his eye. He hit his head against the palm of his hand repeatedly in an attempt to quell the ringing that had become ear-splitting. He was being hunted all over again. Hongjoong was behind him, the sound of boots sounding more urgent this time around.

Unable to locate a door, he opts for a window. Reaching the nearest one, Seonghwa attempts to push it open, but his limbs feel paralyzed. His entire body was giving up on him, causing his knees to buckle and his body to fall limply against the floor.

Before he hits the ground, a pair of arms takes hold of him. When Seonghwa recognizes the hands to be Hongjoong’s, he begins to try to shove them away but his limbs still weren’t cooperating with him. “I–it’s not true! I would’ve known… he would’ve told me!”  

Would he have, though? The answer is obvious, but it wasn’t a crime to hope.

Tonight, sometime around July, as he sits on the cold floor, reluctantly held down by a few people to stop him from thrashing, he feels like an animal. Something trying to be tamed. 

He’d passed out for a few minutes, according to Yeosang. As his body finally relaxed, overcoming its state of shock, the others finally let him free. “Let’s try again, Hwa.” Yeosang whispers soothingly as he strokes his hair. The nickname was as tender as everything else the medic told him.

“W–why can’t I feel my hands?” Seonghwa finally whispers back brokenly, lips chapped from crying. “I’m scared.”

“It will pass, but I’m here until it does.”

---

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In a blur, all eight of them make it back to the living room, Seonghwa being placed on the armchair by the fire with a blanket wound tightly around him. It felt like a warm embrace, and distantly, he believes Yeosang may have intended it to be that way. Maybe it’d even help the numbness go away.

“I was a fool for thinking he was only like that with me, wasn’t I?” Seonghwa says quietly, a wet laugh escaping from his lips. It’s cold and doesn’t even sound like his voice when he hears it linger in the silent air. The question is mostly directed to Hongjoong, who had been right from the start. Who would’ve believed that something as big as Mortem would be right under his nose, but he had never been able to learn a single ounce of information on it.

What was the use of a hunting dog if its sense of smell was broken? Seonghwa felt useless.

“I thought that too, at first. But I know if one person is capable of hiding all that away from his own son, it’s Eunwoo. I’m sorry for doubting your innocence, Seonghwa.” Seonghwa nods helplessly as a way to accept the apology. He didn’t deserve it, though. Nor did he like what it meant.

Seonghwa stares into the stray embers of the fireplace, choosing his next words with deep regret. “That’s it, isn’t it. You know I have no use anymore, and you’ll have to take me back.” At the mention of his return, everyone makes a move to protest, but Hongjoong beats them to it.

“Seonghwa, look at me.” 

Dragging his melancholic eyes back up to Hongjoong, he braces for heartbreak. “When you compared me to the man who had done immeasurable damage to our lives, I allowed myself to take out my anger on you. That was one of the worst decisions I ever made in my life. Because you didn't know what it meant. Hell, you didn’t even know why I hated you, and you still sympathized with me.”

“No matter the repercussions, it’s our obligation to follow through with our promises as an organization. I, Kim Hongjoong, swear my protection to you.” The phrase is repeated by each member. 

The promise of being protected was all Seonghwa needed to begin weeping all over again. Unsure how he’d react to their touch again, the others stay silently as he breaks down. Some of them even hurriedly wiped tears of their own.

Yeosang walks over to him after leaving him alone for a while to place his palm against Seonghwa’s cheek. Then, the medic gently cradles his face within his hands. “No more crying for today, you’re already running a fever.”

Seonghwa simply closes his eyes, letting the last tear slide down his cheek. He nods resolutely against Yeosang’s cool hands, content to have a break from the heat he was in. He’s handed a pill alongside a glass of cold water, which he drinks without a second thought.

“He needs sleep, should we carry him up–”

Weakly protesting, Seonghwa grabs hold of Yeosang’s sleeve for the nth time this night. “Please, let me sleep here.”

That’s exactly how he ended up curled up against the velvet cushion of the armchair, soothed by the sound of hushed whispers and a crackling fire.

---

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Notes:

So.... that happened?!? ( ˶°ㅁ°) !!

Why did Hongjoong finally lock in this chapter and why did he lowkey eat like YESSS KINGG! PERIOD! Me behind the screen at HJ: ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU GUYS THINK AND ONCE AGAIN THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR SUPPORT... LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH! Feel me sending a hug through the screen rn!!!!! FEEL IT!!!!! ՞߹ - ߹՞

Chapter 6: The labyrinth of minds and hearts

Notes:

HELLO EVERYBODYY ꉂ(˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵)

Missed you all so bad it's crazy + having to end Just, try not to bite WAS SO DIFFICULT FOR ME i literally love that fic so much and it was kinda like drinking a fruity gliterry fun cocktail after drinking straight whiskey (the angst of Ad Astra). WHICH MEANS.... I MUST START UP A NEW FLUFFY ONE SHOT................ so stay tuned for that.
ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS CHAPTERR, Happy reading!! ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

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When Hongjoong gets home, the twilight had just begun lifting itself from the world. Still too early for light to descend upon them, but just about time for the sun to begin to rise from the horizon. He had been called in for an urgent meeting in a subfaction of Ultio, which had ended resolutely with Hongjoong informing them that he’d settle the issue with the main group in an upcoming mission. 

Despite its swift conclusion, it had still been quite the headache sorting out the conflict so late into the evening, which only added to Hongjoong’s foul mood.

He had chosen not to inform the others about this sudden rendezvous, as he’d done several times before. The reason for the secrecy is simply an act of protectiveness, since the others often became jittery receiving major news like this, and he refused to cause more unrest when Seonghwa was already a topic of concern for them.

Speaking of their ‘captive,’ as Hongjoong sluggishly heels his shoes off and tugs off his blazer, he recalls the fact that he couldn’t go a minute without thinking of him throughout the meeting. Realizing Seonghwa’s innocence was a tough pill to swallow, but realizing Hongjoong caused him pain so severe that it had warranted the events that occurred hours prior was even more disconcerting. The burden of guilt was heavy to carry, but he deserved to shoulder it alone.

It wasn’t like he was too prideful to apologize. Justice would never go blind in the household of Ultio; that was always how it was. Every action has its own consequences one must pay the price for, but it was more a hesitance to face the captive, look him in the eyes, and offer only an apology for what he had done. He knew that he needed to show the man that his fight against Eunwoo wasn’t just his but all of theirs. With Seonghwa rather than against him.

Sighing exaggeratedly, Hongjoong stretches his arms over his head and walks over the threshold leading to the living room. He knew he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep in a time like this; he’d end up tossing and turning until noon. 

Hongjoong’s insomnia wasn’t getting any better. Yeosang’s pleas for him to see a sleep therapist echoed through his head. Hell, maybe even a therapist in general. But the thought of laying his trauma out, which he knew was the main source of his insomniac tendencies, to a stranger, no less, was far too daunting a task for him to consider seeking professional help.

Shaking his head, Hongjoong turns his focus to the room he had just entered. The only form of light left in it was the glow of the dying embers emitted from the mantlepiece, so the dimness combined with Hongjoong’s below-average eyesight made it difficult for him to see. 

Tugging a lamp on, he almost jumped out of his own skin when he saw a figure draped across his armchair. Then he realized who it was. His heart rate settled back to normal as he clutched a hand over his heart. He’d forgotten that Seonghwa had requested to sleep downstairs. 

Hongjoong crouches down to be face-to-face with the sleeping Seonghwa. The man looked different as he slept. He had noticed that several times he’d watched over the captive while he had been recovering. At the time, he could argue that he looked over the unconscious Seonghwa in an attempt to decipher if he was truly harboring evil intentions or not. Now, his tender curiosity was a bit misplaced at the silence of this room.

Awake, Seonghwa constantly had a haunted or tense look to his face. His shoulders were always rigid, and his eyebrows were pulled taut ever so slightly in a frown. 

Asleep, however, Seonghwa looked ethereal. The yellow glow from the lamp only added to the gentleness of his soft face. He looked like an entirely different person.

Just as Hongjoong reaches out to push a stray hair out of the man’s face, he’s alarmed by a noise bubbling up from deep within Seonghwa’s throat. It was a mixture of a strangled whimper paired with a gasp for breath. 

In a matter of seconds, the person beneath him had lost the gentle glow. Features now replaced by the agony that Hongjoong had only ever seen when Seonghwa was conscious and terribly hurt.

A storm of a nightmare was brewing in the forefront of Seonghwa’s mind.

---

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When Seonghwa feels himself stirring from consciousness, he isn’t even sure if he’s awake. All he does know is that he feels as though he’s being buried alive due to the overbearing, suffocating pressure cast over his body like a curse. His attempts at writhing and thrashing are futile; the all-consuming darkness that swallowed him just wouldn’t budge. 

Over the years, Seonghwa had developed an increasingly severe fear of being confined to tight spaces, and his father was well aware of this. Using it as a tactic for correction, whenever Seonghwa would act out, he would get shoved into a broom closet and left in the dark. It was a dehumanizing form of conditioning that he could never shake himself free from, even in his dreams.

Now, he felt as though he was reliving those moments of pure agony just as he had relived them in his memories several times before. This wasn’t a new occurrence, and yet it worried him all the same.

“–onghwa?”

“Seonghwa, can you hear me?”

At the sound of his name, he thrashes even more viciously as the voice continues piercing through the fog of his mind. It grew in urgency until he could physically feel a hand roughly grab his shoulder. The physical touch successfully lifted the agonizing veil over his consciousness. However, it had caused him to startle so hard at the sudden touch that he bolted forward, not noticing the head in proximity to his and bumping his forehead onto the person in front of him.

“Shit,” Seonghwa quietly hisses as he rubs his sore temple before lifting his eyes to address the person he accidentally head butted. The last person he’d expect to see is Hongjoong, donning a crisp suit and tired eyes, especially since it was way past midnight, judging by the darkness residing just outside the windows. “Hongjoong, what’re you doing up so late?”

He grimaces both at the raspy sound of his voice sounding like a needle against a chalkboard and also at the stupid question. To hell with whether the man wanted to be up at this time in his own house; that wasn’t any of his business. To be fair, though, Hongjoong had to have been watching Seonghwa sleep if his face was that close to him. 

Odd. Seonghwa thought they’d settled their differences at least remotely enough for Hongjoong not to need to watch his every move. Alas, he could only hope that the man would shake free from his suspicions. 

It takes a few seconds too long for Hongjoong to answer, Seonghwa understood the delay was so he could come up with a lie. “I was running an errand of sorts. I just got home and heard you making… noises.” Seonghwa raises a brow, about to retort with something sarcastic until he sees Hongjoong raise a hand to his nose, and a trickle of blood peeks through from behind his palm.

“Fuck your bleedi–” Seonghwa’s words are cut short by a hand being placed over his mouth as the pointer finger of Hongjoong’s unoccupied hand goes to his lips to gesture to be quiet. Aghast at the audacity and sputtering from behind the oppression of the palm, Seonghwa licks the skin until Hongjoong grimaces and pulls it back.

Fixing him with a disgruntled look, the blonde juts a finger to the sofas opposite them. When Seonghwa turns, he realizes why. San, Wooyoung, Mingi, and Yunho had morphed into a tangle of legs and arms, seemingly forming a dog pile. Seonghwa pursed his lips, trying to figure out how that could possibly be comfortable. 

One of them was bound to wake up with their backs shaped like a question mark, if not all of them. A bit more acceptable was Yeosang, whose head was laid over Jongho’s lap as the latter slept upright.

Seonghwa hadn’t realized the others had decided to stay in the living room as well after he declined to go back to his bedroom. Truthfully, he couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason he did so. Perhaps Seonghwa just couldn’t stand the thought of being alone after what had happened. If Ultio were enemies of his father, then they wouldn’t gain anything from allowing Eunwoo to storm in and take him back. If he could keep that sliver of hope, then so be it.

He tears his gaze away from the strange display to return to Hongjoong, who incessantly winces as he prods his finger around the base of his nose and foolishly assesses his injury. It was safe to say Seonghwa still saw Hongjoong as a hooligan because who does that?

Irritably batting the hand away, Seonghwa whisper-yells, “Stop touching it, you imbecile!”

“Imbecile? A ‘Sorry for smashing my forehead into your nose’ would suffice, actually. This shit hurts.” In retaliation, Seonghwa scoffs. “Save me the melodramatics, your nose is not broken.”

“It so is!”

“Oh, stop acting like a toddler. Need me to kiss it better?”

The last thing Seonghwa expects is for Hongjoong to lean forward a bit and whisper huskily, “Maybe that’s exactly what I want.” Sputtering at the sudden display of blutness, Seonghwa pokes a finger at Hongjoong’s forehead to push him back. The latter must find humour in this, breaking out into a smug grin and snickering quietly.

When his display of amusement finishes, Hongjoong’s expression turns a tad stony as he searches Seonghwa’s face. “You looked like you were in pain. If you're feeling unwell, I trust you’ll inform Yeosang of it immediately.”

Hesitating slightly and uncomfortable at the sudden change in demeanor, Seonghwa hesitates. He woke up with his head pulsing ever so slightly and nausea from getting up so quickly, but Seonghwa felt as though he could simply chalk it up to the aftermath of the nightmare, so he simply shrugged.

“That won’t be necessary. You needn’t worry for me, my health is none of your concern.” It comes out colder than he’d intended it, and he sees the brief flash of what appears to be regret settling on Hongjoong’s face. But he didn’t care. Seonghwa didn’t owe the man updates on his health; he’d been the one to do this after all.

Clearing his throat to push away the tangible tension between them, Seonghwa instructs Hongjoong to lean forward slightly. “Direct me to your nearest lavatory. You’re getting blood everywhere, and the least I can do for Yeosang is prevent you from whining in his ear first thing in the morning.”

“Laboratory? I mean, I know the house is big, but why the fuck would we—”

Seonghwa slaps his palm against his forehead before muttering something about the failing education system and walking briskly past Hongjoong. “A lavatory refers to a bathroom. I don’t suppose you need a translation for that, too?”

The realization dawns on Hongjoong’s face, and the blonde rolls his eyes before directing Seonghwa to their downstairs guest bathroom. As they walk, Seonghwa takes note of the sensations in his hands steadily regaining as he rolls and clenches them to test their mobility.

Arriving at their destination, Hongjoong flicks the light switch on to flood the quaint space. It’s small, but it’ll do. While the blonde washes his nose under the running tap, he vaguely motions at Seonghwa to check the cabinet adjacent to them. It takes a bit of rifling through messily strewn toiletries before Seonghwa finds a mini first aid kit shoved underneath a wad of toilet paper.

Deeming himself effectively cleaned from the blood on his face, Hongjoong sits on the closed lid of the toilet, tilting his forehead just as Seonghwa had told him to do earlier. Plucking a ball of cotton from a biohazard bag, Seonghwa holds it to Hongjoong’s nose, purposely jostling his hand ever so slightly, which earns a groan from the afflicted man. 

It’s quiet between them. The only sounds that could be heard from their position in the bathroom were a faint ticking of a nearby grandfather clock and the sound of cicadas chirping just outside the window. But as the silence grew too deafening for them both to handle, Hongjoong decides to speak.

“We all get nightmares around here, too," Seonghwa startles slightly at the sudden voice tearing through the quiet. Shifting his squinting eyes away from the nose he was plugging, he meets Hongjoong’s eyes. “I know how difficult it can get to chase them away.”

Sighing, unwilling to have this conversation, Seonghwa simply purses his lips in indifference. “Chasing away silly nightmares is the least of my worries, Hongjoong. The things I run away from don’t leave when I’m awake.”

The words strike Hongjoong a little. A lot, actually. The sentence was raw and real, far from what he’d expect Seonghwa to say in response to his bold statement. Perhaps what startled Hongjoong even more was the serenity of the man’s voice as he outright said it. As though he had come to terms with the fact, and he had long since learned to live with it.

“Seonghwa I–” With one final swipe, Seonghwa disposes of the bloody piece of cotton before turning away from Hongjoong. “I apologize, but may I excuse myself?” The formality is cold and bitter, as if it were second nature for Seonghwa to need to ask before going somewhere. He doesn’t miss the slight waver in his voice.

Hongjoong's voice strains a bit, torn between asking Seonghwa to stay and allowing him to go. “Right, yes, of course.” 

---

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Seonghwa moved through the empty halls like a ghost, no longer feeling as though he was in a house but rather a labyrinth. His mind’s eye was hazy, the nightmare too freshly seared into the backs of his eyelids, and concussion pulsing at the throes of his brain. It wasn’t shocking that he couldn’t think straight. 

Despite the beams of warm sunlight pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling columns of windows lining the hallway, Seonghwa’s conversation with Hongjoong had left him strikingly cold and shaken. He knew the beginnings of a dissection. Just like Yeosang had done, Hongjoong knew the questions to ask in an attempt to peel back his layers. To interrogate him until his tongue slips with something he had never meant to say.

Shuddering at the thought, Seonghwa continues dragging his feet to his unknown destination until his eyes catch sight of a particular room. It was robotic the way he had immediately swerved to push the door further open, and be met with a comfortably large kitchen, pristine enough that it looked new. Sterilized. Untouched. The familiarity struck him so hard his body moved on autopilot as he rifled through the cabinets to find what he needed.

Seonghwa’s movements were shaky yet rigid all the same, in a way that further tricked his brain into believing he was in a place that he painfully recognized. He began cooking as if his father was just down the hall in his study, waiting for Seonghwa to call him to the dining room for Breakfast. Waiting to grimace at the first bite of food, and waiting to ask his son to remake it all from the start, until his hands were tinged red from burns and sweat built up on his forehead from the sweltering heat of the kitchen.

It was rotten work, food tasting so perfect except for the one imperfection being the obvious sorrow and anguish cooked into it. Perhaps that was another reason why eating had become one of the most difficult chores for Seonghwa, he thinks as he watches a tear drop into the eggs he had just poured into the pan. The liquid causes the hot steel to gargle distastefully in the silence before quieting back down to a simmer.

Wiping away at the moistness of his cheeks, Seonghwa continues to make enough food for seven and even wipes at the already spotless counters countless times, fussing over the tiniest specks of dust or a whisper of a crumb that could be present.

It was only when he heard someone take in a shaky breath from the entrance behind him that Seonghwa broke out of his stupor. Turning stiffly, it takes Seonghwa a few blinks before registering the person hunched at the door.

“I–I’m sorry, I heard noises and thought…” Wooyoung’s voice lacks its spark and comes out as a hushed whisper. “Have you seen San anywhere?” When Seonghwa shakes his head, the latter’s breath begins to come out shallower. Just as he’s about to ask, Wooyoung's lower lip wobbles a bit before he chokes around the beginnings of a sob.

Unsure of what to do, Seonghwa watches helplessly as the man in front of him begins caving in on himself until Wooyoung’s knees hit the floor and his body wracks with cries. It was Seonghwa’s first time being the one to watch a display of pain like this, usually being the one breaking down. It wasn’t like he had grown up surrounded by people. It was predominantly just him and his father, who had been capable of no emotions other than pride and anger.

Pushing his luck, Seonghwa takes a tentative step towards the weeping man in front of him. He wondered if the others could hear Wooyoung’s cries; would they care? Was Wooyoung asking for the whereabouts of San in fear that the latter would be furious if he saw him cry? Had San already done something? A strike of protectiveness struck Seonghwa deep in his belly. 

Picking up the pace, he crouches down right in front of Wooyoung and reaches a firm hand out to cradle his face. When Seonghwa peers into the glassy eyes in front of him, he sees a small boy rather than a fully grown man. Wooyoung couldn’t be that much younger than himself, but he knows a broken child when he sees one. He knows it because he is one himself. 

To just begin your life and have it thrown back at your face. He knows.

In an attempt to muffle the cries, Seonghwa brings Wooyoung’s face right up to the crook of his neck and pulls him closer in a bundle. “Shhh, I know.” His words are firm rather than soothing, sounding more like statements instead of sweet nothings. But it works well enough because eventually, he feels a pair of hands grip the back of his shirt. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

When Wooyoung’s cries shift to silent tears, he extracts his head from Seonghwa’s shoulder to look up at him. “Nightmare.” One word mumbled in the air that had Seonghwa nodding in understanding before gathering Wooyoung even closer, hesitantly stroking the other's hair, unsure if that was what comfort was supposed to be like.

All the while, Hongjoong’s words stick to him. They stick to him like wet clothes against sweltering skin. The way he had told him that they all knew about nightmares and trying to get rid of them. Those nightmares all came from the same person. The person Seonghwa was related to. His blood felt filthy as he selfishly held Wooyoung tighter. 

Seonghwa can see a flash of a person pass by the door, running to who knows where, until said person takes a few steps back and locks eyes with Wooyoung’s back. It was San, looking disheveled and freshly woken up, perhaps not longer than five minutes ago. “Wooyoung,” San says in between gasps before falling to his knees in front of the pair.

When Seonghwa thinks to shield him away, Wooyoung turns at the sound of his name and, after registering the person in front of him, jumps into San’s arms. 

They hug for a beat until Wooyoung shoves San away, “Where were you! I– fuck, I had a nightmare that you were… that we were…” Wooyoung’s words are choked and frustrated, “I woke up and you were gone, and I thought you were still there. I thought it was real.” Pulling Wooyoung back into the hug, San whispers apologies into the top of Wooyoung's mussed hair.

Seonghwa stands, dusting his pants and moving back to his position near the counters to give the pair some privacy, face void of emotion as if nothing had happened. Suddenly, a hand grabs onto his, making him startle a bit. Whipping his head around, Seonghwa realizes it's Wooyoung gripping onto his sleeve with a soft expression painted on his features. 

“I understand what Yeosang means when he talks about you now.” Suddenly, Seonghwa is pulled into a bone-crushing hug, and Wooyoung whispers the rest into his ear, “Thank you for protecting me.”

---

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Wooyoung and San end up helping Seonghwa bring all the plates of food over to the dining room despite his attempts at protest. His father would’ve punished him for the disgrace of making the homeowners help with miniscule chores such as this one. 

Nonetheless, he’s grateful for the assistance, unsure he would’ve been able to carry everything over with his still weakened limbs. The long-term symptoms were finally beginning to manifest throughout his body just as Yeosang had told him earlier. 

Seonghwa stands beside the long table in the center of the dining room with his trembling hands clasped together, watching as all the members of the estate take their seats around steaming plates of food. 

When Hongjoong enters the room in hushed conversations with Yeosang, Seonghwa quickly averts his gaze to a tree outside. The seasons must be changing, he thinks, as he watches a yellowing leaf fall from a branch.

“What’s this? Did one of you take a cooking course? I thought you were all only talented at eating,” the blonde chuckles as he makes his way to the head of the table, ruffling Wooyoung’s hair affectionately and passing him a comforting look. He must’ve been briefed on what happened.

“Thank you for having faith in us,” Wooyoung replies sarcastically as he throws a glare at Hongjoong and smacks away the hand playfully. “But you’re right, we are only good at eating, which is why Seonghwa is the one who made all of this.” 

With a mouth stuffed full of food, Mingi says, “Fuck, this is good. I didn’t even know we had eggs.” Turning pink at the compliment, Seonghwa quickly bows his head to excuse himself from the table, not waiting to hear what anyone else has to say. When Hongjoong requests that he eat with them, he immediately shuts the offer down by telling him he’d already had his breakfast since he’d been up early. 

Before he can make it too far down the hall, Yeosang’s voice calls to him from the end of the hallway. “Seonghwa, wait up!” He turns to see Yeosang jog towards him, padded footsteps resonating through the marble. “You ought to be careful, Yeosang, lest you fall on these slippery floors.” 

Batting the chide away, Yeosang nudges his head in the direction of Seonghwa’s persistently trembling hands. “Feeling alright?” The question feels like ice running down his back. He didn’t feel alright. He could hardly remember the last time he could describe himself as alright, of all things. Despite that, he simply nods kindly, lips pulling into a tight and artificial smile.

Looking unconvinced, Yeosang sighs in disappointment that Seonghwa is withholding critical information from him, shoulders slumping a bit. “Well, just to be sure, please let me know if your tremors get worse or other symptoms arise.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you for your concern.” Seonghwa says with a bow of gratitude, head lowering in respect to the medic.

Yeosang simply shoots him a smile, shrugging. “I should be thanking you, actually. Thanks for patching Hongjoong up, dealing with a bloody nose so early in the morning would’ve put me in a mood.”

At that, Yeosang waves to him as he turns to head back to the dining room, leaving Seonghwa in the empty hall.

---

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Notes:

Well well well, how the turns have tabled with our mischievous little Hongjoong fellow... ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

WHAT DID YOU GUYS THINK!! I genuinely hope Seonghwa's character is as realistic as possible which is super difficult because he's in such a niche situation... like who tf gets kidnapped but lowkey forms a trauma bond with his captives' partners in crime. Seonghwa might just be y/n chat ∘ ∘ ∘ ( °ヮ° ) ?

P.S feel free to contact me on my discord! User: astra_yuyu

Anywaysss thanks for reading and see you next update! (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑)

Chapter 7: The scars that tell our stories

Notes:

OH THIS CHAPTER WAS SO DELIGHTFUL TO WRITE!!! Hope you all enjoy reading this especially since it's not too angst heavy ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

also I know this chapter is posted a bit late but I SWEARRR it's my beta reader (Cher_joong)'s fault! SHE KEPT DISTRACTING WITH SOMETHING OK? Just trust me... (Does hypnosis so you believe me as I make my suspicious claims) ( ๑‾̀◡‾́)✨

Anywaysss happy reading my loves!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

The morning passes sluggishly as if it were dipped in thick molasses, with Seonghwa braving a storm of self-deprecating thoughts due to his disobediently trembling limbs and building migraine. 

As he tucked himself into the darkest corners of the house he could find, incessantly organizing then reorganizing misplaced items habitually, Seonghwa writhed in the pain of his heavy limbs. On top of that, he had also taken it upon himself to avoid Yeosang since the medic had made it his job to attempt to get Seonghwa to slow down and rest for a while. But rest meant his mind could run free, and that was what he was trying to get away from at all costs.

Seonghwa had almost agreed and succumbed to his tremors until he had heard the tail end of a conversation carried by the wind. Seonghwa remembered hearing about a ‘mission’ many moons ago, when he had first arrived. He had completely forgotten this piece of information, which had grown dusty at the back of his mind. But now, his interest was piqued.

So, when the other members took the initiative to follow Hongjoong into the living room to discuss the details, Seonghwa silently followed right after. Something about an upcoming raid was made clear to him—a warehouse down in the far west of their city was tipped off by one of their allies, and was revealed to be engaging in suspicious activity. They all have reason to believe that the activity is related to Eunwoo since the head of this particular ring was one of his close associates, Junu. 

The members of Ultio were all sprawled haphazardly around the small living room table, rifling through papers and files while Hongjoong and Yunho stood in front of their flatscreen displaying a layout of a warehouse. 

The leader seemed to eye Seonghwa suspiciously, no doubt curious as to why their captive was suddenly interested in these aspects of their organization. But Seonghwa’s purpose was clear; he would atone for the sins of the bloodline he carried in him.

The question of whether or not he could’ve done something if he searched a little harder, or listened a bit better, pushed him further into the crashing waves of thoughts that consumed him in their vicious clutches. 

Searching Seonghwa up and down once more with his eyes, Hongjoong turns to Yunho to begin the presentation. “The location isn’t too different from the ones we usually deal with, so we can predict it won’t take too much planning on our part.” Yunho says as he flicks through some images of the display on the screen, “Wooyoung managed to trace the activity to this particular warehouse right down the west-end river. Far enough off the main road to not be seen by the public eye.”

Wooyoung nods to that before adding, “Despite being active, it isn’t too heavily guarded, with the lowest amount of men rotating the premises from around one to four o’clock in the morning. How security looks on the inside is unclear.”

“Is that not suspicious? If it were the main facility, it’d no doubt be more secure. Playing the offensive would just put us on their radar. Besides, how do we even know Junu is going to be there?” Mingi chimes in as he puts down the profile of the man Seonghwa had never heard of before. 

Hongjoong bounces his leg once and then twice, pen pulled between his lips in deep thought, before he pushes against the arm of the chair he was leaning against to stand up straighter. 

“You’re absolutely correct, which is why we can’t fuck this up. According to Wooyoung’s research, Junu routinely visits his various warehouse facilities to verify they’re functioning as they should, about every two weeks. Each day of that second check-up week is dedicated to a different location.” Hongjoong says as he presses the remote that shifts the displayed image to reveal several dots around a map showcasing the potential locations of the different branches.

“Based on the information tipped off to us, this is the least secure one, meaning it’s our safest bet. If we fail to follow through with the plan and bring Junu in, they’ll have enough time to tighten their security before our next move, making it an easy checkmate on their part. So that leaves us no room for mistakes.”

No one seems to have any objections to that, murmurs of understanding over the gravity of the situation filling the room. Promptly after, Hongjoong moves on to role assignment. The Bishops would be working on the diversion and disabling security systems from outside the facility. The Rooks, alongside the King, will infiltrate the base and eliminate those deeper within until they find Junu, while the knights secure their path from behind. Lastly, the pawns belonging to Ultio’s outposts will clear out the building and rescue the captives once the target is acquired.

“— Junu stays alive. If we kill him and fail to retrieve the exact coordinates of his other trafficking rings, it’s game over.” Hongjoong pauses for a second, eyes finding Seonghwa’s for a moment. “Besides, he may have information on the movements of Park Eunwoo.”

At the mention of that name, Seonghwa's eyes twitch ever so slightly, followed by a deep chill running from the top to the base of his spine. This was his chance. If not proving to Hongjoong that he was innocent, then perhaps proving it to himself. 

“I would like to offer my assistance, by any means necessary.” There’s no hesitation in his words, a newfound determination coating his tone.

Seonghwa’s request, however, is ill-received. The members of Ultio are immediately split between a pensive silence and a chaotic disagreement. When Yeosang realizes his disapproval does not get through to Seonghwa, who remained firm on joining their mission, he furiously turns to Hongjoong. 

“There’s no way you’re letting this happen! He’s concussed, Hongjoong!” The blonde simply massages the bridge of his nose between his fingers, no doubt sporting a headache at the catastrophe that has erupted. Simply raising his unoccupied hand, leaving no room for argument, the room quiets down.

“Please, everybody, I have not made my decision on the matter, nor have I even considered it.” With a tightly set jaw, Hongjoong yields. “I do not know what made you believe that it was in the cards for you to be able to join us on this exhibition. Swearing our protection is one thing, and trusting you to that caliber is another, Seonghwa.” 

It was obvious Hongjoong was trying to battle a deep-seated fury at Seonghwa’s request, no doubt not favoring the idea of another outburst that had ended tragically the first time around. So, the leader instead opted to adjourn the meeting and push past Seonghwa on his way out of the room.

Not taking no for an answer, Seonghwa musters up the courage to rush after Hongjoong and grab his arm before he can make it too far up the grand staircase. The touch is searing, his passionate determination heating his skin. “Did you not say justice wasn’t taken lightly at Ultio, Hongjoong? Follow through with that promise, let me repay this debt.”

That does the trick. His words cause the leader to stiffen, then Hongjoong turns around, gaze darkening as he stares down at Seonghwa from his elevated position. “It’s too early for you to be using my words against me, no?” Scoffing, Seonghwa crosses his arms over his chest and vanishes the emotions on his face until the coldest expression remains. 

“Prove me wrong, Seonghwa.” Hongjoong dares as he takes a few steps down towards him, and despite their height difference, the blonde still exudes dominance with the way he carries himself. Daring him. 

“Fuck this up for all of us, and you’re out.” With that, Hongjoong pulls away and turns back around to continue storming back up the stairs. Despite the bitterness of those final words, Seonghwa still felt the glory of victory seeping into him. One of the first battles he had been able to stand his ground in and actually win.

 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

---

 

Hongjoong spent the following day slamming his fists into a punching bag that rattled and strained against the chain hanging it to the ceiling. To say he was furious was an understatement, but he still couldn’t quite place the source of his misplaced anger. Perhaps his breaking point had been Seonghwa’s blatant overstepping or, even worse, the fact that Hongjoong had allowed himself to fold so quickly and acquiesce to his request.

He delivers one final blow before stepping back slightly, dragging the towel draped across his shoulders to dap at the sweat of his forehead. Ridiculous. Hongjoong had been the one to be questioned directly by his own members for making a premature decision, immediately after he had agreed. It wasn’t like the blonde had wanted to decide of his own volition, but neither could he deny Seonghwa this one act of freedom.

Stirred out of his thoughts by the sound of the door to their home gym being clicked open and closed, Hongjoong’s eyes stare Seonghwa’s down as the man scans the room. 

Speak of the devil. The only way the other members would silently agree to Seonghwa being allowed to come to their exhibition was if one condition was met. Hongjoong would personally train him just like he had done with each and every one of them.

Judging from the several times Hongjoong had come into rather physical contact with the man paired with Seonghwa’s obviously malnourished physique, the task of training him would not come easily. “You still haven’t told me what my task would be? I’d presume it isn’t anything of a great caliber.”

Hongjoong hums noncommittally—unsure of how tense the two were with eachother all over again. Why was it that it felt like he and Seonghwa were going in circles with eachother? “You’re presumption would be correct. Yeosang told me he’d have my head if I gave you a task that’ll worsen your injuries in the slightest.”

Before Seonghwa can let out a protest, Hongjoong adds. “You’re going to be locating the victims for us. Assuring them that they’re being rescued until our pawns take them to a safehouse.” The words instantly die in the latter’s mouth, expression shifting from surprise to something else he couldn’t quite place. But if Seonghwa’s silent nod says one thing, it's that the task was something he was interested in doing.

Since the mission would take place in approximately two weeks, Seonghwa and Hongjoong will practically be living and breathing the gym for the next couple of days. The blonde needed to guide a man who had absolutely no training whatsoever or semblance of strength in his body. Sounds easy enough?

 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

---

 

Training with Hongjoong was absolutely, irrevocably the opposite of easy, Seonghwa thought as he massaged the soreness away from his muscles. If he’d thought the man to be an evil imp before, then he sure as hell knew it to be a fact now. 

Hongjoong was ruthless with his training techniques, never once treating Seonghwa as the newbie he was. They sparred day in and day out, the leader effortlessly bringing him to his knees every single time.

Worried Yeosang would hang him by the balls onto a clothing line, Hongjoong had made it a habit to escort Seonghwa to Yeosang’s little clinic after every single session. There, Yeosang would do his routine checks on the progression of symptoms arising from his concussion. His tremors weren’t getting worse, per se, but they weren’t getting any better either, which also wasn’t a good sign. 

Countless times, Yeosang had grumbled on about Hongjoong going too hard on him during their spars, which Seonghwa swiftly waved off in fear of the latter going back on his decision.

A positive that arose from the pre-mission preparation was that Seonghwa and Hongjoong seemingly grew closer by the day. It was odd at first, lingering tension beginning to chip away piece by piece until something different bloomed from beneath the ice. Perhaps not friendship or anything amicable to that extent, given their aggressive history, but something akin to companionship. 

 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

---

 

Seonghwa’s breaths come out heavy and in quick succession, eyes half-lidded as he heatedly stares up at the cocky bastard pinning him to the ground for the nth time this week. Struggling to break free from the firm weight straddling his lithe waist, he was well aware he wouldn’t win with strength. After all, he was still weak and sparring against someone born to be a fighter.

So Seonghwa thought about strategy. There was one thing he knew he could outsmart the great blond oaf pressed on top of him at, and that was acting. Feigning defeat with an exasperated sigh, Seonghwa slumps against the hardwood floors. Hongjoong simply lets out a knowing chuckle, chalking his dramatics up to exhaustion from about two hours of working out.

When he feels the tell-tale sign of the loosening grip around his wrists, Seonghwa bites his lip to hide a smirk. 

Hook. Line. Sinker. 

“Tired already? I tho–” Using his newfound freedom to the best of his abilities, Seonghwa shifts his weight to buck his hips to the side, successfully throwing Hongjoong off balance. The blonde’s stumble left Seonghwa with enough room to tackle him before reaching a forearm out and pressing it against Hongjoong’s throat. Lightly, of course, he didn’t fancy strangling the man just yet.

When Hongjoong yields, they both can finally catch their breath. Seonghwa drops his sweaty forehead onto the latter’s chest to heave, feeling it rise and fall below him. “We’ve only been training for a week and you’ve already gotten me pinned to the floor.” Hongjoong pants out teasingly, causing Seonghwa’s lips to curve upwards against the fabric of the shirt his face was pressed against.

Gaining enough strength, Seonghwa finally pushes himself off the leader’s body. “Don’t go soft on me now, Hongjoong. There’s a lot more where that came from.” In response, Hongjoong scoffs at the lilt before getting up and resuming a defensive position. 

 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

---

 

Time slipped by them ever so quickly, like the sand of an hourglass pouring down till its completion. The day before the mission, the air in the Ultio residence seemed practically palpable. More members had joined his and Hongjoong’s training sessions with eachother to warm themselves up for the looming due day.

It was odd. Laughter and liveliness seemed to dwindle, and despite the countless missions Ultio had gone on before, Yunho had informed Seonghwa that the post-mission jitters always seemed to kick in at times like this. 

Hence why they were all currently seated in the living room together. Apparently, to quell the recurring anxiety before intense events such as this one, the group drank their worries away with cheap booze and greasy food. Because, according to Wooyoung’s poetic words, “it’s better sleeping while blacked out drunk than filled with anxiety.

The living room was the liveliest Seonghwa had seen it yet, with chatter rumbling through everyone, spurred on by the liquid courage they were drinking. Tendrils of smoke from the arrays of junk food lazily lick the air, the scent of grease being carried with it. 

While the scene was nowhere close to the refined elegance Seonghwa was used to, he still felt a stroke of something strange and foreign within his heart. Everybody belonged here for a reason, and perhaps the fate of the stars planned his arrival for a reason, too. Maybe what he felt was a distant sense of belonging that seemed to surface at times like this. Times when these people, who quite literally forced their way into his life, wanted him to be included. Times when the nights grew old, and he felt safe when his head hit the pillow. Times when he stopped chasing dreams and truly lived in them.

The thoughts were like crashing tides in his stomach, successfully quelling his appetite after a few measly bites of the burger he had been given. Politely wrapping it up and ignoring Yeosang’s questioning glances at his eating habits, he places it on a table and sits beside the medic. “Feeling alright? I know you’re nausea hasn’t gone away in a while, but you’re looking a little queasy.”

Seonghwa simply shrugs, turning his focus to stare at the fire crackling peacefully. “Just nervous. I’ve never done anything like this before.” He feels a comforting and painfully warm hand firmly place itself on his back. “Nothing to worry about, we won’t let anything happen to you. I know I won’t.”

For once, Seonghwa wills himself to believe it.

 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

---

 

Lively music shifted to something softer as everybody’s eyes began drooping, addled with sleep and dreams already seeming to roll in. The members slowly (and very drunkenly) hobbled up the stairs one by one, Wooyoung even plasting a sloppy kiss on a disgruntled Hongjoong’s cheek as he bid them a goodnight.

When the clock chimed one o’clock in the morning, it was only Seonghwa and Hongjoong left in the warmth of the toasty living room. The food had long since been moved into the fridge to be eaten the coming morning; however, alcohol still remained. He watched curiously as Hongjoong cracked open another can of beer beside him. The man was skilled at handling his drinks, looking slightly tipsy compared to the drunken displays the others had shown.

When Hongjoong notices the pair of eyes staring intently at him, he does a double-take before noticing what Seonghwa’s gaze is fixed on. “Uhm, did you want some? We didn’t want to pressure you into drinking.”

Seonghwa’s fingers twist nervously from their place, joined on his lap. He’d never done anything as remotely rebellious as this. While he could remember his father often drinking some expensive type of booze at home, he would’ve been outraged at the scandal of Seonghwa doing the same.

But his father wasn’t here, Seonghwa thought mischievously as he eyed up the drink in Hongjoong’s grip. Fuck it, if his father was already going to kill him for being gone for so long, then he might as well check off a few things from his bucket list.

With his newfound courage, Seonghwa scoots closer to Hongjoong on the couch, ignoring the other’s raised eyebrow to pluck the drink out of his hand. “Well, help yourself, I gue–” 

Before Hongjoong can finish, Seonghwa is already tilting his head back to down the entire drink in one go. He’s quick enough to gulp it all down before the bitterness and taste of the cheap beer burn his throat.

When the odd sensation does catch up to him, Seonghwa squeezes his eyes shut and purses his lips at the downright revolting taste of malt that hits his palate belatedly. A laugh breaks through Hongjoong’s stunned lips. It starts as a small chuckle until Seonghwa joins in, and the two of them are doused in full-blown laughter like children.

Hongjoong’s company, once tense and awkward, is now oddly welcome. With the tension now broken, it left them much room to communicate. At some point, the leader exchanged stories about the different members until the two of them had cheeks tinged red from the mixture of laughter and drunkenness.

Seonghwa was quick to find that he was most notably a lightweight. His rationality wandered off the moment the alcohol had hit his bloodstream, his mouth now rambling on as if it had a mind of its own. Hongjoong seemed to be extremely pleased with this, untensing his shoulders for the first time around him. A sign of trust, his drunken thoughts supplied helpfully.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

---

 

Time was no longer a concept to the pair. It was late, he was sure of it. Exhaustion had just begun to tinge at the edges of their eyes. Their movements, once loud, were now quiet and slow. Their conversation drifted to silence, the pair opting to let their loose tongues rest as they slouch against the cushions of the lush sofa. 

They were close. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating off of eachother and smell the permeating scent of beer from their lips. Neither of them moved, in a silent agreement to enjoy this peace with each other before the new day came and they were forced apart again. Forced to actually face reality. To face eachother.

Hongjoong stretches his arms high above his head, uncaring that his compression shirt is now halfway hitched up his stomach. The definition of Hongjoong’s muscles and the trail leading down to a place well below the blonde’s waistband was something Seonghwa could cough and move on from, but something else caught his eye.

Illuminated by the amber of the fire was a jagged scar rooted just above Hongjoong’s belly button, and trailed viciously upwards underneath his shirt. Seonghwa’s breath hitches at the sight, sinuses burning and head pulsing at the sudden memory that shot clear through the drunken fog of his mind.

“How utterly horrendous, Seonghwa. For goodness' sake, cover that ghastly scar up, will you? Look at yourself, imagine what others will think of me when they see you parading that thing around everywhere.” Eunwoo huffs as he harshly grabs the collar of Seonghwa’s shirt, his teenage body slamming against a wall.

“Do not mistake me for a fool. If you ever attempt to escape again, I’ll give that mark a friend. Am I clear?” Seonghwa shivers at the idea, face averted to the side. The arms on his collar clench before pushing him backwards again. “Y-yes!”

“Yes, what?”

“...Yes, sir.” At that, his father drops his shirt, causing him to hit the floor harshly with his knees. 

When he’s stirred back to the present, Seonghwa realizes his now trembling hand had instinctively moved to his collarbone. His mouth was dry, and his throat felt scratchy at the memory that had shaken his core. 

Hongjoong, clearing his throat, makes him snap his gaze upwards. “It’s not pretty, I know, but I’m not ashamed of it.” At the hurt in the other’s voice, Seonghwa immediately shakes his head vigorously. 

“N–no! It’s not like that I just… I was just thinking.” His hold over his shirt tightens a bit. He doesn’t know why he does it. He could blame it on the alcohol until he’s blue in the face, but he knows the real reason. Seonghwa knew, deep down, he’d be ready to pull out the memories from the depths of hell as long as he wasn’t shouldering them alone anymore.

For the first time, Seonghwa pulls his shirt down from the collar, revealing a scar not too different from Hongjoong’s. Despite the action being determined and firm, he still shook like a leaf while doing it. 

Hongjoong’s eyes widen, any inklings of fatigue washed away from his face. His gaze shifted between Seonghwa’s scared eyes and the scar on his collarbone. It looked deep, and despite it being the mere ghost of a wound, Hongjoong knew that it still hurt Seonghwa. Not physically, but as a memory.

“You— you don’t have to talk to me about it, Seonghwa. I’m probably the last person you’d consider discussing these things with, but if you… If you want to,” Hongjoong's words trail off from there, the implication of his words left hanging between them.

Like a faucet left running, Seonghwa relents to the idea of getting this off his chest. To tell somebody other than the stars. To actually have someone listen to his sorrows instead of wetting his pillow with the dampness of his tears. If the person on the other end of his words was his greatest enemy, then so be it. C’est la vie. 

Hongjoong set down the drink in his hand, body twisting on the sofa to face Seonghwa and give him his undivided attention. He told him about the story as if he were reliving it again. He was only seventeen when it happened. The details of why he had wanted to run evaded him completely. The one time he had gained the courage to escape, Seonghwa couldn’t even remember why he had done it. A gap in his memory.

But the one thing he could never forget was what happened after. What happened after was the sole reason why he had never been able to run away again. When Seonghwa sways a bit, holding his stomach at the nausea that surmounts, Hongjoong reaches a tentative hand to rest on Seonghwa’s bouncing knee. 

At seventeen, he knew nothing of the world outside his home. He had been homeschooled his entire life, and his world was limited to the meadow just outside their estate. Hell, he had a closer connection to the animals in the garden than a real person. So, not knowing where to go, he’d simply taken to running until he located a highway. 

He should’ve kept running. Seonghwa feels the tears on his cheeks but chooses to focus on Hongjoong’s grip tightening on his knee. When he had finally reached the road and walked until his legs ached, he began slowing down, and a car pulled up beside him.

When the window rolled down, it was a man who didn’t look much older than him. He had offered to bring him to a police station or a shelter after Seonghwa told him he was running away from someone.

“I trusted him like an idiot without a second thought. I trusted him because I was desperate and too young to know what to do in a situation like that.” A sob wracks through his lips, and just as he’s about to raise his arms to reprimand himself with a smack to his head—a force of habit—Hongjoong’s hands quickly grip them gently and pull them down. Actions that showed that he was there to protect Seonghwa against the memories that seemed to have teeth. Memories that tried to tear and eat at him from the inside out.

“It was too late when I realized the car was going back to where I came from, and all I could do w–was scream in the backseat until I saw my father’s face, expressionless, standing in the driveway of our house.” Seonghwa couldn’t bring himself to continue, but judging from Hongjoong’s expression, he didn’t need to. 

They were both drunk. That fact was obvious when Hongjoong wrapped his arms around Seonghwa, pulling him close enough to almost be in his lap. It was obvious when Seonghwa didn’t push away but instead took to sobbing into the crook of the other’s neck, inhaling the addicting scent of pine and Marigold’s with each unsteady breath he took.

It was better that way. It was better for Seonghwa to fall asleep from the exhaustion of pulling those phantom memories out of him, tucked away from the demons he carried in Hongjoong’s arms. He prayed he could forget about this moment when he woke up in the morning with a hangover that piled onto one of his daily migraines. He wanted to forget because he couldn’t imagine knowing what he could’ve had and voluntarily leaving after it.

He couldn’t.

Notes:

OOHOHOOOO.... OHOHOO.... (mischievous chuckles) Well if it isn't for one of my favourite tropes, Drunken conversations, fancy seeing you here... ( ͡º ꒳ ͡º)

WHAT DID YOU GUYS THINKK! We're FINALLY seeing major progression in Seonghwa and Hongjoong's relationship! can you believe it?? Alsooo next chapter is the mission! SO excited for that one because, let me tell you, it is PACKED with content

P.S feel free to contact me on my discord! User: astra_yuyu