Chapter 1: The Mirror Shatters
Chapter Text
Hoseok pulled his cloak tighter around himself. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his entire body because of what he had done. There was a ringing in his ears, and his hands could barely hold the heavy gas lamp.
He had hidden in the shadows since the lights of the Opera Populaire had gone out and until the building was completely empty. He had wanted to do this for a very long time. He had barely managed to gather the courage to come this far, and now there was no turning back.
He took a deep breath. The dusty and damp air of backstage filled his lungs. He passed through the narrow corridors behind the stage. In the dim light of the gas lamp, the shadows of the costumes used in the opera looked quite frightening as they fell onto the wide walls. When there were no audiences, performers, or staff inside the opera house, the building was cloaked in an eerie silence but this was exactly what Hoseok needed.
Silence.
So he could hear and listen to himself.
Passing by the colorful and flamboyant costumes, he arrived at the prima donna’s dressing room. He knew there would be no one inside and that the darkness was waiting for him, but knowing that what he was doing was forbidden kept him constantly on edge.
He inserted the key he had secretly taken and carefully hidden so that no one would notice into the ornate door. There were only a few people responsible for stage setup at the opera, and only two of them had keys to every door in the building. Hoseok was lucky that one of these employees was quite careless constantly taking smoke breaks and neglecting his belongings.
Hoseok had learned this through long observation. It had taken him quite a while to plan how to get the key to the prima donna’s room, but luck had been on his side; he had managed to take it easily on his first try.
He turned the key, and with the soft click from the door, the ornate door opened. Hoseok wrapped his cloak tighter around himself as if someone were watching him.
Only those who had permission from the prima donna could enter her room. It wasn’t normally like this, but the prima donna performing at this opera—Madam Guidecelli—was arrogant and full of herself. She didn’t let anyone near her and looked down on all the other dancers, staff, and musicians at the opera. Hoseok was no exception.
He stepped inside quietly. So quietly, in fact, that he could hear his own breathing. It didn’t help soothe his frayed nerves, but the fact that he had successfully carried out his plan let a slight wave of relief seep into his body.
As soon as he entered, he closed the door behind him. He knew the walls of this room were thick. Madam Guidecelli had done countless rehearsals and vocal exercises here. To help her use her voice better and avoid being disturbed by other rehearsals, the soundproofing here was particularly strong.
He placed the gas lamp on the vanity and lit a few of the candles in the room. The once-dark room was suddenly illuminated by the soft yellow glow of the candles, and Hoseok could now see the colorful flowers surrounding the room. All of them were gifts from guests who had come to watch the opera, given to Madam Guidecelli.
A sudden surge of jealousy flared within Hoseok.
He had watched the opera countless times and knew Madam Guidecelli’s lines by heart. He thought she looked down on the opera and didn’t deserve all this extravagant attention, because Madam Guidecelli had only joined the opera for the fame it brought.
But Hoseok...
Hoseok wanted to be in the prima donna’s place.
He had loved singing since he was a child. In every opera he attended, he would watch the stage with sparkling eyes, and in his dreams and fantasies, he always saw himself on stage, captivating everyone with his voice, offering a visual feast in lavish costumes, collecting all the applause, attention, and flowers.
But now Hoseok was here.
He had secretly entered the prima donna’s room and was nothing more than a dancer in the opera. It hadn’t been his choice. He had grown up in a family with financial hardship, unable to afford vocal training. It wasn’t something he would have chosen.
Still, he felt grateful that he could at least perform in the opera, dance, and hear the applause. But it wasn’t enough.
That’s why now, secretly, hidden in the shadows, avoiding everyone, he was trying to get a little closer to his dream.
He wanted to find the notes of the operas performed, the sheet music of the songs sung, and the script with the lines written in them, and memorize them. To project his voice a little, to prove to himself that he could sing, that he could be like her.
Maybe, by dreaming a little and fooling himself, he could pretend his childhood dreams had come true. A little dreaming never hurt anyone.
He took off his cloak and placed it on the chair. Then he turned toward the section with Madam Guidecelli’s costumes. The dim light in the room didn’t illuminate everything, but the vibrant and dazzling quality of the costumes was evident even in the dark. Running his fingers over them, he felt the different fabric textures on his skin.
He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if he could one day live the life he dreamed of. But he didn’t allow the thought to sadden him.
He reached the bookshelf beside the costumes. The shelf contained many books about music. On the bottom shelf were drafts and scripts of previously performed operas. That wasn’t what he was looking for.
He gently sifted through the shelves to find what he was after. He was careful not to make a mess or move anything out of place because if someone noticed the room had been entered by morning, all hell would break loose in the opera house.
He found what he was looking for on the second shelf: the script of the opera currently being performed. Inside were all the notes of the songs sung by the prima donna. Hoseok let out a small gasp of joy as if he had found a treasure, grabbed the book, and returned to the vanity where the gas lamp was.
He didn’t waste time opening the book and reading the notes and annotations, his time was limited. Grabbing the small notebook he had brought with him, he began to swiftly go through the musical notes.
He knew most of it by heart, but he still struggled a bit when it came to identifying the notes he heard. That’s why having a physical study sheet in his hands was best for him.
After a while, he started to feel the ache in his hands from writing and going over the music. At last, he leaned back and took a deep breath. Because he’d been so focused while writing, he had stopped being alert to the sounds around him. When he listened again, he noticed that the deep silence still ruled the opera house. The last bits of anxiety inside him also faded with it.
His eyes caught the items on the vanity. Various powders, lipsticks, and eyeshadows covered the entire surface. Of course, as a dancer, Hoseok wore makeup but only for tone correction. To make them look pale, almost ghost-like.
He couldn’t resist the urge.
He picked up one of the powders and gently brushed it across his cheek. He had never applied makeup on himself before, but his hands moved with a natural instinct. Mimicking the movements of the opera’s makeup artists, just as he had watched them countless times, he followed what he remembered.
After a while, when he looked at himself in the mirror, he liked what he saw: the blush on his cheeks, the rose-tinted lipstick on his lips, and the subtle darkness on his eyelids.
He couldn’t help but feel like a prima donna about to take the stage.
Slowly, he stood up and took the white, laced, voluminous gown Madam Guidecelli wore on stage, the one he could never take his eyes off. He stood before the large, ornate full-length mirror at the edge of the room, its golden-trimmed frame stretching nearly from floor to ceiling.
He held the dress up in front of himself, as if checking whether it would suit him, and looked at his reflection.
For the first time, he was able to overlook what everyone always commented on, his sharp jawline, his wide eyes, his long nose.
With the soft makeup and the elegant white dress in his hands...
Hoseok felt pretty for the first time.
He looked ready to take the stage, to captivate everyone with both his appearance and voice, to bask in the applause and compliments.
It didn’t take long for him to part his lips and sing the opening lines of the prima donna’s first solo in the opera,
“Think of me, think of me fondly
When we've said goodbye
Remember me, once in a while...”
The words spilled from Hoseok’s lips naturally. He could almost hear the delicate, high-pitched sound of the violin accompanying his voice. He imagined himself on stage, in front of everyone.
He closed his eyes and held the dress tighter in his hands. He could feel the softness of the lace in his palms. His heart began to beat faster.
“Please promise me you'll try
When you find that once again you long
To take your heart back and be free
If you ever find a moment
Spare a thought for me...”
Every time his voice softened or dropped an octave, he thought of how Madam Guidecelli sang those very parts. He was trying to prove to himself whether he could sing them as beautifully as she did. Because Madam Guidecelli was a strong soprano, Hoseok had to thin his voice, pushing his vocal cords to their limits.
As his light voice filled every corner of the room adorned with grand and lavish flowers, Hoseok felt a sense of fulfillment.
“Sing like yourself.”
A different, deeper voice cut through Hoseok’s sweet, high-pitched one. His eyes snapped open, and his heart began to pound wildly. He wasn’t expecting to hear a voice other than his own. Fear suddenly wrapped around his body like a thorned vine and began to choke him.
“You don’t have to imitate her. Your voice is already enchanting.”
Hoseok felt like he couldn’t breathe. He threw the dress aside and looked around, trying to locate where the voice had come from. The room was dimly lit by candlelight. When Hoseok had entered, he was sure no one was there. But now the thought that someone might have been hiding in the shadows sent a shiver down his spine.
He pressed his hand against his wildly beating heart and instinctively flung himself toward the nearest wall, pressing his back against it. It was as if he were bracing for any kind of attack.
He was angry at himself for not realizing someone else had been in the room. If it was someone from the opera, it could mean the end of his career. He was already barely managing to stay on stage as a dancer under tough conditions. If he lost that opportunity too, he didn’t know what he would do.
But what if the person inside wasn’t from the opera? That thought scared him even more. He could be in the same room as a thief or a murderer. His eyes welled up just from considering all the possible scenarios.
Coming here was a mistake. Hoseok would never be like Madam Guidecelli. All he did was imitate, chasing dreams that led nowhere.
“Hey, don’t be scared, angel.”
The same voice echoed through the room again. This time, it felt closer. Goosebumps rose on Hoseok’s skin.
“I’m right here,” said the voice. It sounded muffled, as if coming from behind something, but Hoseok now noticed its tone, deep, gentle, like velvet.
“I won’t hurt you. Just look in the mirror.”
Hoseok took a deep breath. He didn’t know how much he could trust this person. He had no idea where they were hiding, how long they’d been watching him, or whether they were a threat. But a voice inside whispered that he should do as the stranger said. Because the voice didn’t sound threatening, it felt more like a gentle request.
Slowly, Hoseok peeled himself away from the wall. He was still on edge, as if someone inside the room might lunge at him. He scanned the room with his eyes as he approached the mirror. When he realized there was nothing to fear, his shoulders relaxed slightly, and he looked into the large mirror with its gilded, carefully crafted frame.
The first thing he noticed was how pale he still looked even after the light makeup. His pupils were dilated, his lips turned downward in fear. His body was on high alert, ready to defend against any threat.
Then he saw him.
Beyond the mirror, behind his own reflection, a man appeared long black hair falling over his shoulder, dressed in a high-collared black coat over a white double-breasted shirt with lace-trimmed sleeves.
But what caught Hoseok’s attention the most was the white, plain mask covering half the man’s face. Despite the mask, the sharp, feline shape of his eyes stood out immediately.
Hoseok exhaled shakily. He was trying to match the voice he’d heard with the man he was now seeing.
“Come closer, little one,” the stranger said from the other side of the mirror. Hoseok approached as if obeying a command. Up close, the masked figure was clearer. His brown eyes sparkled as though he had found something precious. His soft pink lips formed a flat line. The whiteness of the mask covering half his face competed with the pallor of his skin.
“Let me help you. Let your voice be heard by the whole world. Let it enchant everyone.”
When Hoseok heard the stranger’s words from beyond the mirror, at first he didn’t quite understand what he meant. Everything that had happened in the past hour felt like a dream.
“Your voice is angelic. Sweet, innocent, and mesmerizing. You can captivate everyone. I won’t let you be wasted as a mere dancer. Trust me. Believe in me.”
The stranger’s voice was becoming more passionate, more eager. Hoseok felt a shiver run down his spine like an electric current, spreading through his body maybe it was because of the offer the stranger had just made. Hoseok couldn’t tell what excited him more.
"Please, let me help you, angel.”
Hoseok’s heart beat faster. The offer the stranger was presenting was utterly enchanting. Hoseok, who had longed to be on stage since childhood, wanted to believe that this was finally his chance.
He didn’t know whether trusting the masked man beyond the mirror would be a mistake. But his dreams and desires weighed heavier than his fear, doubt, or anything else.
Slowly, he stepped closer to the mirror. The gloved hand the masked stranger extended toward him came into view. It was as if he could reach through the mirror and take it.
A hand.
The only thing Hoseok had to do to reach his dreams and desires was to take that hand.
But Hoseok didn’t take it.
A sudden, thunderous noise echoed through the walls of the opera house. Startled, Hoseok pulled back. He locked eyes with the masked stranger beyond the mirror.
In his reflection, Hoseok could see the helplessness and disappointment in his eyes. As he met the gaze of the masked stranger, he silently prayed that the man could see it too. When their eyes met those deep, sharp brown eyes, he would at least understand how sad and confused Hoseok was to be leaving.
Hoseok had hoped he could stay for just a few more minutes, so that he could talk to the masked stranger. But he couldn’t remain here for even another second. He had to leave the prima donna’s room immediately.
He gathered his things quickly and let the adrenaline surging through his veins guide him to avoid being caught. He threw his cloak over his shoulders and covered his head.
As he rushed out of the room, he heard the voice of the masked stranger behind him:
“I’ll wait for you, angel.”
And those were the last words he ever heard from the stranger.
🥀🥀🥀
As Hoseok entered the opera house at his usual hour, he felt all his nerves tightly wound. Not even the previous night when he had snuck into the prima donna’s room or fled after that tremendous noise in the opera had made him this tense. Now, it felt as if the golden, ornate statues decorating the opera house were all watching him, casting accusatory glances as if they knew exactly what he had done.
He took a deep breath. He knew if he could just get through today, everything would be fine. He just needed to stay calm. As he made his way toward the rehearsal and dressing rooms reserved for dancers, the only thing running through his mind was the feeling that everyone who looked at him was glaring with resentment, just waiting for a chance to expose his secret.
Before entering the room, he muttered a few motivational phrases to steady himself. Then he opened the door and stepped inside.
The first thing he saw was a few people already dressed in costume, doing warm-up exercises. That’s when he realized how late he was. He had barely a few minutes to get changed and warmed up. Madam Guidecelli was probably on stage rehearsing at that moment, and Hoseok’s dance group was scheduled right after her.
After he changed, Hoseok returned to the rehearsal room to find it empty. He rushed to the stage. He tried not to let anyone notice he was late, but he was certain the empty space where he should’ve been had already caught the dance instructor’s attention.
If he was lucky—
“Hoseok!”
His name echoed across the stage, bouncing off the red velvet-covered, opulent walls of the opera house. Hoseok knew that tone all too well. It was the unmistakable sign that he was about to be scolded. He already knew the dance instructor wouldn’t call his name unless it was for that reason and never for anything else.
“I can’t believe how irresponsible you’re being. We’ve been working for days to get this performance ready, and you show up late to rehearsal?”
The dance instructor marched toward him, and the very thing Hoseok dreaded most happened, he locked eyes with her piercingly pale blue, almost glass-like gaze.
Hoseok was sure she had once been a beautiful woman in her youth. But now, with her sagging face, those glassy eyes that widened with every burst of anger, and her tightly pulled-back white hair, she looked less beautiful and more...frightening.
Or maybe Hoseok just felt that way because he had never once seen her smile.
“You’re right, Madam—”
“Don’t answer me,” she practically screamed, then pointed aggressively toward the rehearsal room. “Go and do five hundred battement fondus as punishment. Maybe that’ll help you remember how serious this performance is.”
Hoseok nodded, swallowing against the knot forming in his throat. He had nothing to say in his defense. He had no intention of angering her further. He shouldn't have been late. Without a word, he left the stage.
Alone in the rehearsal room, he began his punishment. As his eyes scanned his reflection in the mirror, checking whether his movements were correct, his mind wandered back to the masked stranger from the night before.
He still couldn’t tell if it had really happened. Seeing the stranger, hearing his offer, it had all felt like a dream. Maybe it had been a hallucination brought on by too much adrenaline. He had longed to be the lead on stage, to sing, so intensely that he could no longer distinguish between reality and fantasy.
“Hyung.”
Hoseok’s thoughts were interrupted by the gentle voice of his beloved friend, Jimin. In the mirror’s reflection, he met Jimin’s worried gaze, then turned around to face him directly.
“Jimin…” He walked over and hugged his friend tightly, as if Jimin had pulled him back from the edge of a cliff. Jimin’s small frame responded instantly to the embrace.
“Hyung, are you okay? You’re never late. I’ve never seen the dance instructor this angry. You really made her mad.”
At Jimin’s words, Hoseok’s shoulders slumped even more. The last thing he’d wanted today was to draw attention to himself, and he’d failed even at that. He let go of the hug and sat down on the wooden floor beside the mirror. His leg muscles ached from the punishment. Only then did he realize how exhausted his body truly was. His shoulders drooped from both the physical fatigue and the weight of everything on his mind.
Jimin could see how down he was. He also understood how deeply the instructor’s words had hurt him. So he sat beside him to offer support.
“Hyung, you know... The instructor is really strict, but the reason she got so mad is because she knows how responsible you are. It probably upset her more than usual to see one of her best dancers make that kind of mistake,” he said gently, his hand stroking Hoseok’s shoulder, trying to offer both physical and emotional comfort.
“I know, Jiminie,” Hoseok said hopelessly. His voice faded into the wide rehearsal room. He began fiddling with the lace trim on his shirt collar.
“It’s just... I couldn’t sleep last night.”
Hoseok avoided meeting Jimin’s eyes. Not telling his dearest friend what had happened made him feel guilty, but with so many people around, he couldn’t risk it. Besides, pretending it had never happened might be the safest thing for him right now.
“Hyung…” Jimin said, dragging the "u" out slightly. His voice had a playful, melodic tone. It was obvious he’d thought of something to cheer Hoseok up.
“Did the Phantom of the Opera come visit you in your dreams?”
Hoseok turned to look at his friend, blinking as he tried to make sense of what he’d just heard. Jimin looked far more cheerful than a moment ago, his eyes sparkling mischievously.
“The Phantom of the Opera? What’s that?”
Jimin leaned back, staring at him in disbelief. He blinked, trying to figure out if Hoseok was actually being serious.
"Don’t tell me you’ve never heard the Phantom of the Opera legend, hyung. We’ve been here for months. There’s no way you don’t know it."
When Hoseok didn’t answer, Jimin scooted back and crossed his legs, looking like he was about to spill the juiciest gossip known to mankind.
“They say there used to be a ghost living deep within the walls of this opera house,” he began, his voice dipping into a mysterious tone. “Everyone here could hear his deep, grief-stricken voice echoing through the halls and corridors.”
As he went on, Jimin waved his hands around to gesture at the walls like the ghost was about to emerge from them at any moment and start watching them.
“Those who heard his voice were never able to listen to music the same way again. It was so full of sorrow, they say it made them suffer just like him. But those who saw him…”
He paused dramatically, letting the silence settle like a heavy fog over the room. Hoseok could tell Jimin had slipped into full storytelling mode. But watching his friend speak with such passion was always fun.
“Those who saw him would run away screaming,” Jimin finally said, then inhaled deeply and lowered his voice even more. “They were never the same again. They could never return to the opera, never look anyone in the eyes. His face was so horribly scarred... that all they could do was wait helplessly for death and carry that image to their graves.”
Hoseok held his breath as he listened, finally understanding why this story had become a legend. What he didn’t understand was how he had never heard it before.
“That’s why,” Jimin added, “he wears a white mask and hides behind the walls of the opera house.”
Leaning back with a satisfied grin, Jimin looked like he had just unveiled a grand mystery. But Hoseok didn’t share that sense of satisfaction.
As soon as the word white mask left Jimin’s lips, his heart began pounding. His skin erupted in goosebumps like a predator had marked him as prey and flung him off a cliff just for sport.
The masked stranger behind the mirror last night… Could it be the “phantom” of the legend?
“Hyung, no need to be scared,” Jimin said, catching the worry in Hoseok’s eyes. “It’s just a story.”
Hoseok looked into his friend’s eyes and forced a smile. This wasn’t the time to let fear win. But it was getting harder and harder to believe that what happened the night before was just a dream or a fantasy.
He needed to be alone for just a little while. To make sense of what he’d heard… and what he’d seen.
“Jiminie… I think Madam is calling you. You should probably go.”
Jimin looked at him, uncertain. He didn’t quite buy Hoseok’s smile, but he also didn’t want to risk the dance instructor’s wrath again. So he left the practice room with quick, reluctant steps.
As soon as he was alone, Hoseok leaned his head back against the mirror. He could feel his wildly beating heart pressed against his chest. He hadn’t expected a childish fantasy and a twinge of jealousy to weigh on him so heavily. His fragile body struggled to bear the emotional storm inside him.
He took a deep breath. There was only one thing that had always calmed him since childhood, dancing.
He didn’t know what to do or how to think. So he chose to surrender himself to music, letting rhythm carry both his body and his mind. But just as he stood up, he noticed a single red rose lying gracefully where he had left his things.
He approached it cautiously, wondering who could’ve left it there. It definitely hadn’t been there when he first walked in.
As he got closer, he saw that the thorns had been carefully trimmed, and the stem was tied with a black ribbon. Underneath it, a small envelope rested. Written in elegant, slanted handwriting was just one phrase:
To my Angel.
His heartbeat, just calmed, picked up speed again. He could hear the velvety, deep voice of the masked stranger from the night before echoing in his ears, calling him Angel.
With trembling hands, he opened the envelope sealed with a crimson wax stamp shaped like a flower, the same shade of red as the rose and the candle beside it. Despite the ringing in his ears and the electricity buzzing through his limbs, he began to read.
Dear Hoseok,
I watched the way your delicate body flowed like water today. Your tired limbs, your trembling voice, the sorrow in your eyes, they struck my heart like an earthquake. No cruel word they said to you is the truth. They fear talent, and they scorn beauty.
You are not ordinary, Hoseok. Every step you take on stage is like the echo of a melody that touches the heart. And I saw it before anyone else. I heard you before anyone else.
Tonight… Far from the world that hurt you, In the only place where you truly belong… Where our reflections become one, I will be waiting for you.
Come to me, my Angel. I am waiting.
—P.O
🥀🥀🥀
Hoseok couldn’t believe he was once again standing in front of the prima donna’s room at midnight. In his hand, he clutched tightly the letter that had brought him here, and the crimson rose. He cast one last glance down the corridor; he wanted to make sure no one was there, no one to witness what he was about to do.
The opera house was as silent as it had been the night before. It was as if the dancers who had been running down its halls just hours ago, the stagehands bustling with props, the costume designers sewing gowns and combing wigs, had never existed at all…
The building had sunk into a state of deserted stillness, as though it had been abandoned for years, shrouded in shadow and solitude.
Perhaps a night ago, this bottomless darkness would have unnerved Hoseok. But now, knowing that somewhere beyond that door the masked stranger was waiting for him, pulled him into an entirely different storm of emotions.
Or should he call him… the Phantom?
Hoseok took a deep breath. In his mind, the velvet-soft voice he had heard the night before echoed. Contrary to what Jimin had told him, the Phantom did not seem frightening to him at all.
Perhaps it was because he had come here tonight to meet him, clutching the letter in his hand. Perhaps it was the knowledge that there was now only a single door between them that smothered the whirlwind of feelings that had been clinging to him since morning.
Hoseok knew there was no point in lingering at the door any longer. He clung to that tiny shred of courage within him, to the adrenaline and curiosity coursing through his veins. Because normally, Hoseok was never this brave. But now, strangely, he felt as though he was.
With trembling hands, he pushed the door open. He was grateful that he had not returned the key to its place from the day before.
The moment the door opened, the scent of flowers in the room washed over him. Just like the night before, he was met with a deep darkness. For a few seconds, he searched for a trace of the Phantom, but the room was so quiet he could hear only his own heartbeat and the sound of his breath.
He immediately began lighting the candles in the candelabras at the side. This time, he wanted the room to be much brighter. He wanted to see every detail of the Phantom, the expressions on his face, the sharpness in his gaze, clearly.
In the candlelight, the room appeared larger than it was. The elegant shadows of the flowers spilled across the paintings on the wall. As Hoseok’s eyes roamed the room, he stayed on edge, thinking the Phantom might emerge from one of the darkened corners at any moment. He didn’t know when or where he would appear, and with every passing moment, the tension inside him grew.
After a while, he began to think no one would come. While waiting, he had walked through every corner of the room, studying the costumes, the makeup tools, the mirrors in detail. He was tired of waiting.
But more exhausting than the wait itself was the realization that the letter, despite all its beautiful words, might have been nothing more than a gilded lie. He reached out and picked up the rose and letter from the vanity once again. With his fingers, he stroked the velvety petals of the rose as if it were a precious keepsake.
“You told me to trust you,” he said, the words slipping from his lips with a bittersweet reproach.
“And I stand by my word, Angel.”
Hoseok startled at the sudden voice. The rose slipped from his hand to the floor. He recognized that familiar, velvet-deep tone instantly. He turned to the mirror at once. The Phantom was there, just as he had been the night before, watching him from behind the glass with those sharp, catlike eyes.
“Every promise I have given you is like chains I have bound to my soul,” the Phantom said. “Until I fulfill them, my soul can never be free.”
Hoseok began to walk toward the mirror in slow, measured steps. With each one, his heart pounded faster. Seeing that the Phantom had kept his promise filled some hidden part of him with quiet relief.
“I thought you wouldn’t come,” he said softly, his gaze shyly finding the Phantom’s sharp eyes. The room was brighter now, allowing him to see the man before him more clearly.
He was wearing a white shirt again, with a dark red embroidered vest hugging his torso. Below, perfectly pressed black trousers.
Hoseok couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed how built he was the night before. Broad shoulders, strong arms resting at his sides with confidence… Hoseok’s breath trembled involuntarily.
“I could say the same to you, my angel,” the Phantom replied. His voice was soft and low, yet it made Hoseok flinch as if it had been whispered right in his ear. “After hearing what your charming friend had to say, I thought you might be afraid of me.”
Learning that the Phantom had heard his conversation with Jimin unsettled Hoseok. The thought of being watched left an icy shiver crawling down his spine.
“You… how—?” he stammered, trying to piece together who exactly was standing before him. Why did he appear from behind the mirror? Why was he called a phantom? And how could he see his every move and hear every word he spoke?
“Have you forgotten? I am the phantom of the opera,” the Phantom said, stepping closer to the glass. Now Hoseok could see the rounded curve of his cheeks, the faint smile tugging at the corners of his pink lips.
“I know everything that happens in this building. Every opera staged, every song sung, every dance performed… all because of me.”
The Phantom’s voice rose slightly, as though trying to prove his very existence. His deep, resonant tone echoed off the ornate, gilded walls of the room.
“Don’t let the artless people who wander these halls, pretending to own this opera, blind you, Angel,” he said, turning his gaze on him. Hoseok froze the moment those eyes found him. It was as if moving in the Phantom’s presence was forbidden. He had to place a steadying hand on his own chest to slow the rapid rise and fall of his breathing.
“I am the one who owns this opera. My work is in every corner of it. My entire being is bound to this place. And my art, my music, will go on living here. I couldn’t care less what others think.”
As the words left his lips, the Phantom looked utterly certain of himself. It was as though they gave him strength, pride.
“And you, my angel,” he continued, his voice softening now, “will be the voice of my desperate soul, hidden behind walls and mirrors. With your angelic voice, you will show the world art, you will show them opera. Your voice, joined with your beauty, will enchant them all.”
Hoseok hadn’t realized how close he had drifted to the mirror, but he could see, could feel, the passion and desire glinting in the Phantom’s eyes. His gaze wandered to the plain white mask that covered half his face, as though trying to imagine what lay beneath it.
He wondered what could be there that would send people running from the Phantom in terror. But no matter what he imagined, his mind could not place the Phantom in the role of a frightening monster.
What held Hoseok’s attention wasn’t what was beneath the mask, it was the Phantom’s voice, and what he was offering him. He realized this only a few seconds later.
“Are you serious?” Hoseok asked, his mouth dry as an empty well, making his voice come out low and trembling. “I mean, I… I’m just a dancer. I’m trying to work on my voice, but…” He didn’t know how to finish the sentence. Saying aloud that this dream was childish felt like it would only disappoint the Phantom, who had spoken to him with such beautiful praise.
“I’ve been watching you, angel,” the Phantom said, as if to stop the slump of Hoseok’s shoulders and keep hopelessness from wrapping around his soul. “And more importantly… I’ve heard you.”
Hoseok’s timid gaze found him again. From behind the mirror, the Phantom looked as if he were ready to step out and gather him under his wings.
“I have witnessed the birth of those shy notes that fell from your lips, alone in the rehearsal room. I have seen how they wrapped themselves around you as you closed your eyes and surrendered to the music. I have heard the melody that accompanied the violin.”
The Phantom drew in a deep breath, as if even the memory of what he described enchanted him. “A voice like yours should not echo only within the worn walls of rehearsal rooms. It should be on stage. Like an enchanting song sung by a mermaid, it should bewitch everyone who comes to the opera.”
With each of the Phantom’s words, something inside Hoseok stirred; his heart fluttered with joy. But one thought kept this feeling from growing.
He bent to pick up the rose at his feet. It was as if all of the Phantom’s words had been tucked between its petals, for his fingers began to stroke the velvet-red blooms. His gaze traveled over the stem, carefully stripped of its thorns.
“But I… I’m just a dancer. Even if I wanted to, even if I could sing, I was certain they would never let me on stage. I have no fame, no experience. I’m nobody.” The hopelessness in his voice filled the room like the faint smoke left behind by extinguished candles, leaving a grey stain on his soul.
“I can’t let you say such things to yourself,” the Phantom said quickly, his voice sharp with pure anger, as if ready to fight anyone who dared stand in Hoseok’s way.
“This opera house is mine. They must do whatever I wish. All I need…” The anger slipped from his tone, replaced by a hopeful, eager anticipation. “All I need is for you to say yes, Angel… to allow me to help you.” At last, his eyes found Hoseok’s wide, doe-like gaze.
Hoseok took a deep breath. He didn’t know what the Phantom was doing to him, but it felt as if he were under the spell of his words. He realized that all those terrifying stories Jimin had told him were nothing but a ridiculous fable.
The ghost of the opera was standing right before him. He knew the secret Hoseok hid from everyone else, the desires, the dreams within him. He said he had heard the voice no one else had cared to listen to. He said he had been watching him, and that he would help him take the stage he deserved, to share that voice with the world.
And he said it all in such a soft tone that Hoseok melted with every word. His heart fluttered like a butterfly at every compliment.
Hoseok realized that the dreamer inside him had been seen, that the Phantom would do anything for that small child within him, would listen to his voice endlessly, and would give him more than the attention he had never been given.
And most of all, Hoseok felt, for the first time, truly seen. Truly noticed.
And that alone was enough for him to say yes to the ghost of the opera.
The smile that had unknowingly bloomed on his lips grew, shaping into a heart. And Hoseok accepted the Phantom’s offer as new hopes blossomed in his heart like flowers, taking root deep in his soul.
🥀🥀🥀
Hoseok took one last deep breath, knowing it would be the final time he could truly fill his lungs, and tightened the laces of the corset that was part of his costume. In the beginning, dressing, and more importantly, breathing, had been quite difficult with the corset, but after countless rehearsals in the same outfit, he had grown used to the way it gripped his waist tightly and restricted his breathing.
The moment he finished tying the corset, he stepped in front of the mirror. Ensuring that his costume looked flawless, without a single error in appearance, was crucial when performing on stage. Even if they weren’t going on stage right now and were only going to rehearse, he knew all too well how meticulous their dance instructor was about such matters.
He adjusted the collar of the deep red tunic he wore, making sure it sat perfectly on his shoulders. He carefully tied the laces holding together the V-shaped neckline. He shook out the tunic so that no dust would remain on the silver embroidery adorning it.
Finally, he checked the fitted pants he wore. It was important that there were no wrinkles; when dancing, it made his movements more defined and showed the dancers’ physique better.
When Hoseok’s eyes in the mirror drifted from his hips to his thighs, he felt his mood sink. While the costume looked magnificent on all the other dancers, he didn’t think it was fair how much it exposed his own flaws.
Having danced since childhood, his legs were slightly thicker than everyone else’s, and he always wore loose clothing to hide them. Unfortunately, the opera’s costume director had deemed this outfit suitable for their choreography. Hoseok had no choice but to get used to it.
He could no longer bear to look at his reflection. Every second he stared at himself, it felt as though his flaws multiplied. From the strands of his hair to the tips of his toes, he spotted something missing or excessive everywhere his eyes landed.
His cheeks were too chubby, the skin under his eyes slightly sunken from fatigue. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t tone the fat around his stomach, which seemed to strain against the corset and draw everyone’s attention there. His legs, meanwhile, looked thick and shapeless, like crooked statues made by a blind sculptor.
Taking a deep breath, Hoseok tried to shake off the thoughts crowding his mind. He checked the corset laces one last time, quickly put on his shoes, and made his way toward the room where hair and makeup were done.
When he entered the room, he found Taehyung in his usual spot. The young man was styling Jimin’s bright, sun-like yellow hair, a signature smile playing on his lips.
“Hello, Taehyungie,” Hoseok said, trying to shake off the unpleasant thoughts that had gripped his mind minutes earlier. Seeing the few people he liked and was friends with at the opera always made him feel better. He could only hope today would be the same.
“Ah, hyung, welcome.” This time, Taehyung’s smile was directed at him.
“You’re pretty early today. What a nice thing to start the day with you. I was getting sick of the other grumpy-faced dancers,” he said as he sprayed Jimin’s hair to keep its shape.
“Not everyone gets this lucky, Tae. Treasure the moment. When Hobie hyung becomes a famous dancer, you might not see him again,” Jimin said, standing up from his chair and giving Hoseok a side hug. Hoseok was always surprised at how much his cute friend loved physical affection, but his warm hugs never failed to make him feel good.
“Maybe even a singer. We can’t know that for sure, right Jiminie?” Taehyung winked at Jimin and began tidying the messy table he’d made while doing Jimin’s hair.
“Ah, Taehyung…” Hoseok said shyly. He didn’t want the little secret he shared with Taehyung to come out. A faint, uncomfortable buzzing spread through his body, the kind that came from the fear of being exposed, of secrets spilling out.
“Whether singer or dancer… hyung will be really popular one day. Just like this opera,” Jimin said in a bright, bubbly voice. He seemed to be in a very good mood. Then he turned to Hoseok, meeting his eyes. “Hyung, I have to go now. I need to find Namjoon hyung. See you at rehearsal, okay?”
Jimin blew kisses to Hoseok and Taehyung, and he skipped out of the room cheerfully.
“Hyung, come on. Let’s do your hair. There’s not much time left before rehearsal.”
Hoseok tore his gaze from the doorway and turned it to Taehyung, sitting down in the chair the younger man had pointed out. Hoseok had always marveled at how quick Taehyung’s hands were, but he credited it to the fact that he had been in the profession since a young age.
“I still can’t believe you haven’t told Jimin that you sing, hyung,” Taehyung said as he combed Hoseok’s hair. Hoseok, who had been relaxing with his eyes closed under the gentle motions at the top of his head, opened them slightly at those words.
“Because it’s nothing serious, Taehyung. I just sing for fun,” Hoseok replied, unsure if his words sounded convincing.
“Hyung, I think you should seriously consider singing. It’s not fair that I’m the only one who gets to hear you in this cramped, old room.”
Hoseok took a deep breath, feeling the corset pressing into his ribs. He didn’t want to lie to Taehyung but…
But he also couldn’t tell him that he had started taking lessons from the Phantom of the Opera. That was something that had to stay between him and the Phantom. If he told anyone, it would only be a matter of time before they thought he’d lost his mind. Besides, it wasn’t something Hoseok could decide on his own.
The Phantom had specifically asked for it to remain hidden, unknown.
Only you will see me, angel. This secret will remain the seal of the pact we made between us.
When the Phantom’s deep, resonant, spine-chilling voice echoed in his mind, Hoseok swallowed audibly. In the mirror, he locked eyes with Taehyung, who was gently styling his hair back. He had to distract himself, and more importantly, Taehyung.
“How about I sing you your favorite song?”
“You know I can’t say no to you, hyung.” Taehyung’s eyes sparkled, and his boxy smile widened. Hoseok began to hum his favorite tune to him just as he did on other days, during moments when it was only the two of them, when they sang to each other out of boredom or simply for fun.
Hoseok still couldn’t believe that every time he came to get his hair done, Taehyung wanted him to sing, simply because he loved listening to music and hearing Hoseok hum. But this small secret they shared made him happy, filling him with warmth. Still, he was careful not to tell anyone else.
“Wow, hyung. It must’ve been a long time since you last sang. I couldn’t have forgotten how good your voice is.”
Hoseok stopped singing those words. Heat spread to his cheeks from the compliment.
“Don’t exaggerate, Taehyung. Same song, same voice as always,” he said quietly.
But he knew it wasn’t the same.
Hoseok had been practicing diligently in his lessons with the Phantom. He wrote down every detail the Phantom told him in his notebook and applied everything he was taught so that he could use his voice freely.
Not according to your voice, your voice should sound the way you want it to. You must learn to command it.
And that’s exactly what Hoseok was doing. After each lesson, he would go to his room and practice what he’d learned until the first light of dawn, noticing the change whenever he listened to himself. That was why, after every lesson, an indescribable joy coursed through his veins.
The fact that Taehyung had noticed it now was proof that all his effort had paid off. His heart-shaped lips curved to the sides, and the flush on his face became even more pronounced.
“It’s not like that, hyung, look, it’s really more—”
“Oh, it’s getting late. I shouldn’t be late for rehearsal, Taehyung. I have to go now,” Hoseok said quickly. He was grateful Taehyung had noticed, but he had no idea how to change the subject anymore. Escaping the room to get his makeup done suddenly felt like the most logical option.
Hoseok waved to Taehyung, whom he knew was now left behind with questions and confusion, then hurried his steps toward the makeup room in the next room over. But when he saw it was empty, he froze mid-step.
Inside, there were only a few dancers, chatting among themselves. When Hoseok suddenly appeared in the doorway, they paused their conversation, and the room fell silent.
“Isn’t Jungkookie here?” Hoseok’s eyes searched for the young makeup artist responsible for the dancers’ makeup, but the young man was nowhere to be seen.
“You’re late. He waited for you, but said he had something to do and had to leave,” one of them said indifferently. It sounded as though none of them really wanted to answer, but one had reluctantly spoken up; his tone was full of displeasure.
It was as if ice water had been poured over Hoseok’s head. Only a week ago, he had already made the dance instructor very angry. He absolutely did not want to get punished again. The day before, the instructor had made it crystal clear that everyone should be ready as if they were about to go on stage. Hoseok wasn’t brave enough to admit he was late again.
His face fell abruptly. As he thought about the punishments he might receive, his eyes began to well up. Being late was entirely his fault. He shouldn’t have spent so much time with Taehyung.
“Hey,” someone called, grabbing his attention. “ Jungkook asked us to tell you to go to Seokjin. To the prima donna’s room. He can finish your makeup.”
Hoseok quickly nodded. A spark of hope lit inside him. There was little time before rehearsal started, and if he could get his makeup done in time, he might make it without getting punished. So he hurried off toward the room he knew very well.
When he reached the prima donna’s door, he suddenly realized where he was. The fact that he had only ever come here at night while the entire opera was cloaked in darkness, meeting Phantom by candlelight, made it all feel like a dream. It had always felt like a figment of his imagination, an echo of his subconscious.
But now, the corridor that usually sank into endless darkness at night was bright. Staff bustled back and forth, their footsteps echoing against the walls. The prima donna’s door was slightly ajar, and light spilled from within.
Everything felt as though it belonged to another world. It didn’t feel real. Hoseok had grown so used to coming here in the dark, meeting Phantom in secret.
“Come in, darling, I can see you standing outside the door.”
Hearing Seokjin’s voice from inside snapped Hoseok out of his reverie. He stepped into the prima donna’s room with a faint tingle running through his body, as if he’d never entered here in secret before.
“Come on, let’s do your makeup, darling. Jungkook asked me. You shouldn’t be late for your rehearsal.”
Hoseok nodded almost as if he had been ordered to, then sat in the prima donna’s chair. Every nerve in his body reminded him that, especially in broad daylight, and with Madam Guidecelli somewhere inside this opera house, he should not be in this room.
A quiet voice in the back of his mind whispered that Madam Guidecelli was probably on stage doing vocal warm-ups, and that he was safe. But it was so faint and uncertain that Hoseok didn’t know if he could trust it.
He was grateful Seokjin was kind enough to invite him inside, but the mere thought of Madam Guidecelli seeing him here was enough to make his hair stand on end.
“There’s no need to be afraid. I can practically hear what you’re thinking. She won’t come,” Seokjin said gently, swirling his brush over the powder on his table. A faint smile lingered on his face, his eyes slightly narrowed.
Hoseok watched Seokjin’s movements. He couldn’t understand how someone so gentle and sweet could work with someone as arrogant and self-absorbed as Madam Guidecelli.
“How do you…?” His thoughts slipped into words without him realizing it, and the moment he noticed, he fell silent.
A pleasant laugh filled the room. Seokjin seemed thoroughly amused by Hoseok’s timid gaze.
“I know a magic trick the others don’t, darling,” he said at last, traces of laughter still in his voice. Hoseok’s eyes widened. Seokjin’s playful yet mysterious demeanor had caught his interest.
“What is it?”
Seokjin began brushing lightly across Hoseok’s face, his eyes now looking a little more thoughtful.
“If you had worked within these grand walls for years, you’d have learned too… how to deal with this place and the people in it.”
Hoseok didn’t fully understand what Seokjin meant, but he could sense the subtle drop in his tone. Curious, he waited for him to go on, but Seokjin seemed so focused on his work it was as if their conversation had never happened.
“The magic word?” Hoseok asked, giving in to his curiosity. This time he caught Seokjin’s attention, and their eyes met. “What is it?”
Seokjin suddenly shook off his stillness and smiled. A small giggle escaped him, making Hoseok smile as well.
“You’re right. That’s the magic word, darling ‘you’re right.’”
Seokjin leaned back slightly and set the brush down on the table. “If you just keep telling Madam Guidecelli, she’s right, working with her isn’t that hard,” he said. Then he leaned in, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “And when you’re really mad at her, imagine her in ridiculous situations… Every time I picture her rolling around on stage in a jester’s costume, all my anger and frustration vanish instantly.”
Seokjin straightened again, and his laugh reached Hoseok’s ears like a pleasant melody.
“Your makeup is done. Don’t be late for rehearsal, darling. Good luck dealing with Madam.”
When Hoseok stood and leaned toward the mirror on the makeup table to check his reflection, he was stunned by what he saw.
A faint blush colored his cheeks. His lips were a soft rose pink. His eyelids were adorned with a lovely gradient of pale pink to white.
It was nothing like his usual stage makeup. Normally, their lips were painted skin-toned and their faces rendered almost expressionless to emphasize the dance moves. But this…
This made him look far more beautiful and sweet than the clumsy makeup he had put on himself when he first entered the prima donna’s room.
“This… is beautiful. Thank you,” Hoseok said. He didn’t know what else to say. He just… felt good. Dazzling, attractive, beautiful.
“Go on now, you’ll be late.”
Seokjin took him by the shoulders and steered him toward the door. “You’re welcome anytime. I’ll never get tired of doing makeup on your beautiful face. But for now, don’t be late.”
Hoseok smiled. As he stepped out the door, he turned back to wave one more time. Just then, in the full-length mirror behind Seokjin, he caught the faint silhouette of Phantom’s white mask.
He ignored the tightening in his stomach and the tingling running through his body. He was going to meet Phantom tonight anyway, but the fact that his body still reacted the same way every time was surprising. He knew Phantom was watching him, and that… made him happy.
Knowing he was worth watching introduced him to feelings buried deep in his soul that he had never experienced before.
He waved to Seokjin and left the room. With a smile still on his face, he headed toward the stage where they would rehearse. When he arrived, most of the dancers were doing warm-up exercises and taking their places. One of them was Jimin, quietly stationed in his corner of the stage, waiting for the music to begin.
Hoseok also took his place on stage. The scene they were rehearsing was the one where the prima donna sang her heart-wrenching aria about life and love. The most important thing here was for the aria to touch the audience’s hearts and draw them into the stage, hence why it was supported with choreography.
The dance moves weren’t overly difficult. Hoseok had danced in much more physically demanding choreographies before. But this aria was a sorrowful piece. Not fast-paced; on the contrary, it was a lament in which the prima donna cried out her inability to find her lover and her desire to no longer live.
The choreography was arranged accordingly. The dancers moved slowly on stage, turning as if to represent how the prima donna’s emotions trapped her, gradually drawing closer to her and forming an invisible cage around her.
Hoseok stretched his legs and shoulders one last time. The dance instructor checked the dancers’ positions from the corner of the stage. Then, after the assistants around Madam Guidecelli made a final check of her costume, wig, and makeup, they left the stage.
The instructor signaled the maestro at the head of the orchestra. The maestro raised his baton, and the melody of the instruments began to echo through the opera house.
The violin started playing a high and delicate tone. Hoseok began moving his body in harmony with the music and emotions. Then, Madam Guidecelli’s voice echoed through the stage.
Hoseok knew this aria by heart. He silently recited the words in his mind and, while dancing, let himself be carried by the notes, the unique touch of the violin blending with the piano.
His arms and legs moved gracefully, as if brought to life by the melody floating in the air. Hoseok felt surrounded by the notes and the emotions the aria stirred in him. He aimed to give his best, performing flawlessly as if the audience were truly watching him.
The scene progressed perfectly. Madam Guidecelli finished her aria. Now came the part where the dancers would surround her and show how their emotions wrapped around her like a cage.
Hoseok quickened his steps. Moving in perfect sync with the other dancers, he advanced to the front of the stage. He grasped Madam Guidecelli’s skirt as if it were a tangible embodiment of the sorrow, hopelessness, and dark feelings pulling her down.
As the violin’s final notes blended with the art-filled atmosphere of the opera, the maestro waved his baton one last time, and the music abruptly stopped. Then the dance instructor’s voice echoed, praising the dancers for a job well done. They announced a five-minute break before the stage would be cleaned for the next rehearsal.
Hoseok took a deep breath. These rehearsals were always the hardest because they danced as if the audience were actually there. This made the instructor more strict and detail-focused. Most of the penalties dancers received happened during these rehearsal scenes. Hoseok was grateful that he hadn’t made a single mistake today.
He slowly let go of Madam Guidecelli’s skirt and stood up from where he had been sitting. As soon as he stood, he locked eyes with Madam Guidecelli’s cold brown gaze. For a moment, it felt as if time itself had stopped, like the grains in an hourglass refusing to fall.
“You...” said Madam Guidecelli.
At first, Hoseok didn’t understand if she was speaking to him. He looked around, but no one was near Madam Guidecelli. Everyone else had retreated to the edges of the stage, resting their aching muscles.
“What do you think you are?” Madam Guidecelli’s voice rose. Hoseok looked at her in confusion. He didn’t understand what was happening. His heartbeat quickened.
Madam Guidecelli closed the short distance between them swiftly. Her gloved hand, adorned with ornate lace, grabbed the collar of Hoseok’s tunic tightly and pulled him close.
The heavy scent of lavender wafted to Hoseok’s nose, making his stomach churn. Madam Guidecelli’s brown eyes stared at him with hatred.
“Who told you that you could do your own makeup like this?”
Every word from Madam Guidecelli felt like she was spitting on Hoseok’s face. Hoseok wanted to look away, to escape her grip. He knew everyone was watching them. He had even caught a few sympathetic glances from some dancers and the instructor, even if only out of the corner of his eye.
Hoseok was deeply embarrassed. Knowing that everyone was judging them and that Madam Guidecelli was punishing him as if he had done something cruel and truly deserved all that hatred made Hoseok want to disappear.
“Do you think you’re a soloist, huh?” Madam Guidecelli asked, her eyes still shining with unforgiven hatred. She held his collar tight, with no intention of letting go.
“I...” Hoseok started.
“Silence! No one told you that you could speak.”
Madam Guidecelli was almost shouting now. Hoseok felt her words stab into his heart like a sharp knife. A silence rarely heard during the daytime in the opera fell over them like a poisonous fog.
He tried to swallow the lump forming in his throat, but it was useless.
“Did you really think you could draw attention with that paint on your face, you little whore?”
Madam Guidecelli said with a fake laugh. It was clear that she enjoyed her words. Perhaps she was just glad to have someone to scold and humiliate. Hoseok didn’t know what had caused her rage.
His mouth was drying, and he felt weak as if about to die of thirst in a desert. His stomach twisted; the tension, fear, and shame he had suppressed made him want to vomit.
“You’re a pathetic fool who thinks you can cover your ugliness with makeup. Do you dream at night of being as beautiful as me?” Madam Guidecelli added. Her voice turned into an angry storm.
Hoseok’s body felt like it had given out. His heart was pounding; shame, anger, fear, and helplessness mingled together. But as he looked at Madam Guidecelli and heard her words echoing in his ears, the sadness inside him became heavier than anything.
“You’re a small, pathetic dancer.” Every word stuck to his childlike heart, never to leave, leaving dark, uncleanable stains.
Madam Guidecelli tightened her grip on Hoseok’s collar even more and started dragging him toward the backstage. Hoseok didn’t understand what was happening. He had no strength to break free from her firm hold.
He was even surprised that he was still standing. His eyes filled with a painful ache, and a stone-like heaviness weighed on his throat. Without realizing it, a few tears slipped down his cheeks.
Finally, backstage, he realized they had come to the narrow, long mirrors where the dancers changed their clothes. Madam Guidecelli shoved Hoseok in front of the mirror like a sack of potatoes. Hoseok barely managed to keep his balance and avoid falling.
Before he could ask what was happening, Madam Guidecelli came behind him. Her hand grabbed Hoseok’s face firmly. Despite the gloves, it was possible to feel the pain from her nails. They reminded him of the pitch-black, long, sharp nails described in witches’ tales.
“Look at yourself. Look at your ugliness.” She forced him to look in the mirror. “Did you think you could cover this ugly face and disgusting skin color with makeup?”
Hoseok swallowed hard. There was something stuck in his throat like a thorny wire growing larger and making it harder to breathe. The tears that had built up in his eyes now became uncontrollable. The streams flowing down his cheeks resembled a waterfall.
“I will never see you wearing makeup with me on stage again.”
Madam Guidecelli’s voice came in a threatening tone. She whispered in Hoseok’s ear as if to warn him the consequences would be much worse if it happened again. She squeezed his face harder and pressed her fingers deeply into his cheeks.
Hoseok nodded helplessly. His lips were glued shut, refusing to let any word out. Because of his tears, he could no longer see his reflection, marked by disappointment, fear, and most importantly, sadness.
He wanted to get out of there as soon as possible, away from this dark, cramped place and Madam Guidecelli’s presence. He never wanted to see or hear her again.
“This is your last warning, you little worthless dancer,” Madam Guidecelli said, then looked at Hoseok one last time with a face full of disgust, leaving him standing in front of the mirror.
Hoseok met his own gaze again. The hair that Taehyung had carefully styled was slightly disheveled, and the front of his tunic, carefully buttoned in the morning, was wrinkled from Madam Guidecelli’s pulling. His makeup had run down his cheeks with his tears.
Only a messy, ugly, and pitiful image remained from the makeup Seokjin had applied so carefully that morning. Most importantly, none of the sweet and beautiful feelings that had wrapped him in the morning were left anymore.
Hoseok wiped the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand. He still couldn’t believe that he had been scolded by Madam Guidecelli in front of everyone just for wearing makeup. Worse yet, everyone had witnessed it.
He headed toward the opera’s dark corridors, hoping to find a place where he could be alone.
A place where he could cry alone…
A place where he could question why fate was like this…
And most importantly, a place where he could try to understand why he was never loved, all while losing himself in the dusty corridors of the opera house.
🥀🥀🥀
Hoseok washed his face thoroughly. The cold water felt like medicine on the tears that had dried on his cheeks, soothing the heart inside his chest that felt as though it had caught fire and scattered its ashes everywhere.
Careful not to catch sight of his own disappointment-filled eyes in the bathroom mirror, he patted his face dry with a tissue and stepped out of the small, old bathroom he had shut himself in for hours.
He felt the exhaustion and aching that comes after crying in every inch of his body, but since he knew the Phantom was now waiting for him in the prima donna’s room, he had to ignore that physical pain and more importantly, the venomous words that had stabbed his heart during rehearsal.
When he reached the door of the prima donna’s room, he took a deep breath. He could tell his face was puffy, the skin beneath his eyes had turned dark, and that he looked truly unsightly. All he could do was hope the Phantom wouldn’t notice. Normally, whenever he came to lessons, Hoseok would tidy himself up, style his hair, and wear his best clothes. Now, being the complete opposite made him feel miserable.
Hoseok gently pushed the door open and stepped inside. The scent of flowers and the soft, dim lighting that filled the room made him feel just a little bit better. For the first time, he appreciated that Phantom had prepared everything before his arrival.
Phantom stood in his usual spot, behind the mirror. His gaze silently swept over Hoseok from his hair down to the tips of his toes, observing every inch of him with great care and attention.
Hoseok usually wasn’t bothered by those sharp eyes on him in fact, being watched by the Phantom always sparked a quiet satisfaction somewhere deep inside. But this time, he couldn’t feel that way, because he could faintly see his own pitiful state in the reflection.
He coughed lightly and tried to recover the voice he had lost from crying.
“I’m sorry I’m late, Phantom,” he whispered. No matter how hard he tried to act as if nothing had happened, the rasp in his voice gave him away, sending ripples of anxiety through him. He didn’t want Phantom to be upset with him for failing to preserve his voice and being careless.
He couldn’t even imagine what he would do if the Phantom said something cruel. Every word from the Phantom mattered deeply to him.
There was no response. Hoseok’s eyes timidly searched for the man behind the mirror.
This time, Phantom was wearing black trousers and a cream-colored shirt. His pale, white skin emphasized the faint outline of his collarbones. The ruffles along the V-neck of his shirt spilled down his broad chest. The black sash at his waist highlighted how much slimmer his torso was compared to his upper body. His strong-looking arms rested freely at either side of him; one hand was shoved casually into a pocket, while the other…
Oh… this was the first time Hoseok had ever seen Phantom’s hands without gloves.
Phantom’s hands were just as white and pale as the rest of his skin. His fingers weren’t particularly long, but they were thick and powerful, the knuckles clearly defined. Hoseok drew a shaky breath. He could already imagine how those fingers would dance in perfect rhythm across the white and black keys of a piano.
“We won’t be having a lesson today, angel,” Phantom finally broke the silence. His voice sounded remarkably calm compared to the emotional whirlwind Hoseok had been trapped in these past few hours. Hoseok’s gaze slowly rose from the Phantom’s hand to his face, unable to look away.
Phantom had slicked his hair back. Every expression the mask didn’t cover was clearly visible, bringing Hoseok a strange sense of comfort. Being able to take in every detail of him felt like a gift.
But he couldn’t understand why there would be no lesson. Unless…
“I’m sorry,” Hoseok blurted out, panic rising. Maybe Phantom had already heard what happened today on stage. He must have heard how Madam Guidecelli had screamed at him, how she had humiliated him. Hoseok should never have caused such a thing. If Phantom was angry with him, it was completely reasonable.
“I didn’t do it on purpose. I didn’t know she would react that way,” Hoseok said, his voice trembling more with each word. Tears he thought had dried up an hour ago began to gather in his eyes once again.
There was only one place where he could sing freely, and only one listener who truly heard him and he didn’t want to lose that.
“Angel.” Phantom’s commanding, powerful voice filled the room. Hoseok froze. His body tensed in readiness, as if prepared to obey whatever the Phantom might say next. Realizing he had Hoseok’s undivided attention, Phantom continued.
“There’s a gift for you on the table. Why don’t you take a look?” he said gently, smiling slightly as if trying to prove just how wrong Hoseok’s thoughts were.
For a moment, Hoseok couldn’t process his words. Then, when his eyes drifted toward the table, he saw a large box sitting there. It was tied with a red ribbon, with a single rose fastened on top, elegant and filled with mystery.
Hoseok’s feet carried him toward it on their own. He had no idea what might be waiting inside. He couldn’t even imagine what kind of gift Phantom would give him.
He carefully picked up the rose from atop the box, brushing his fingertips over its velvety petals. Hoseok couldn’t hide how thrilled he was, his breathing quickened, audible in the room’s heavy silence.
“Open your gift, my angel. I had it made especially for you,” Phantom said from behind the mirror. Hoseok couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine; the Phantom’s voice felt like it was caressing his skin, wrapping him up in something tender.
When Hoseok hesitantly looked into Phantom’s eyes, he found them shining with confident anticipation. Placing the rose gently on the vanity, he opened the box.
At first, he couldn’t understand what he was looking at. It looked like lace-covered, pearl-embroidered fabric. Then, as he reached in and pulled out the gift, a small sound of surprise escaped his lips.
In his hands was a dress made from the softest material in the world, pure white, adorned with pearls and delicate lace in every corner. The bodice was a corset, its chest area decorated with lace ruffles, the pearls carefully lined up to hide each seam.
Hoseok blinked, mesmerized by the beauty of the dress. It was lovelier than any he had ever seen, not extravagant, not flashy, just incredibly elegant.
“You deserve the most beautiful dresses in the world, my angel.” At Phantom’s voice, Hoseok turned toward him, still feeling as if he were under a spell.
“I will never forgive anyone who speaks ill of you. You are my leading role.”
Hoseok blinked again. The fact that Phantom was bringing up what happened today meant he had heard, and more importantly, seen everything. Somewhere deep inside him, pain began to seep out from the fractured places in his heart.
But he tried his best to ignore it.
“Is… is this dress really for me?”
As he clutched the soft fabric in his palms, he pressed the dress to his chest as though claiming it. No matter how much his mind resisted, his heart had already accepted the gift. He knew the answer to his own question, yet he still wanted to hear the words fall from Phantom’s lovely pink lips.
“For you, my angel. A dress worthy of the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, one so heavenly, even the angels themselves resemble you.”
Hoseok didn’t realize he was smiling. His heart fluttered like butterfly wings. His stomach tightened with excitement. His whole body felt as if it were floating among the clouds, lifted by Phantom’s praise.
“Why don’t you try it on? I know you want to,” Phantom murmured, lowering his voice. Hoseok could hear the notes of desire drifting through the room. Their eyes met. Even in candlelight, the depth of Phantom’s warm brown gaze was unmistakable.
A sudden shiver shot down Hoseok’s spine.
“Here…” he started, sounding innocent and unsure of what awaited him, “you want me to change here, in front of you?”
Phantom’s soft laugh filled the room. Hoseok couldn’t take his eyes off the way Phantom’s eyes crinkled and his lips curved while he smiled.
“I’m always watching you,” Phantom said gently. He sounded careful, as if he didn’t want Hoseok to feel afraid. “It’s simply impossible for me to look away.”
His eyes lingered on Hoseok’s face before devouring the rest of his body with hungry intent.
Hoseok felt a spark of arousal shoot down to his lower body under the weight of Phantom’s words and incomprehensible gaze.
“All right then.”
He wasn’t even sure his voice came out, but he made no effort to say anything else. He placed the dress back in its box and began undressing out of his dance rehearsal costume, the one he never got a chance to change out of after running away.
First, he loosened the laces of his tight corset. The moment it came off, his lungs filled with oxygen. His body was wrapped in relief… but that relief quickly turned into thrilling tension as soon as Phantom’s sharp eyes met his.
Now Hoseok could feel the growing arousal in his lower half, the part of him he very deliberately didn’t touch, much more clearly. The way Phantom stared without blinking was introducing him to sensations he had never tasted before.
Setting the corset aside, Hoseok slowly pulled down his tight trousers. As the fabric slipped away and fresh air touched his skin, a soothing sensation swept through each cell of his legs.
With his pants off at last, he took a deep breath. His heart pounded like it was in a race, even though his hands moved far more slowly, purposefully drawing out the moment just so Phantom could take in every detail.
Finally, his fingers found the collar of his long tunic. Without trousers, it now looked like a short dress on him, long enough to cover his hips, yet far too short to hide the subtle outline of his awakening arousal beneath his underwear.
He slowly undid the ties at the V-neck. Each loosened knot felt like it twisted a new knot somewhere inside his soul.
As the tunic’s neckline fell open, Hoseok’s collarbones came into view. His skin gleamed like honey beneath the candlelight, soft as the flowers filling the room.
Standing there with only his tunic and underwear, Hoseok felt exposed, vulnerable, in front of Phantom. But Phantom’s gaze… it was dark, full of burning desire. Like a caged predator barely holding itself back, threatening to break free and tear everything apart.
And Hoseok liked it. The way Phantom’s eyes devoured him, the way he whispered beautiful things, the way he refused to look away like a ravenous beast…
Hoseok wanted Phantom desperately. He wanted more. He wanted to feel that attention poured over every inch of him, wanted to be wrapped up not only in words, but in Phantom’s body, his hands, his lips, to be completely claimed.
But suddenly, a sinister voice echoed in his head:
Did you really think you could draw attention with that paint on your face, you little whore?
Madam Guidecelli’s poison-laced words repeated over and over in his mind like a curse. Each time they grew heavier, wrapping his heart in darkness.
“I…”
Hoseok turned his face away from Phantom. The thought that he wasn’t worthy of Phantom’s passionate gaze clouded his mind with poisonous doubt. He had never been beautiful. He was used to people looking at him as if there was no hope for him. Dance was the only thing he knew but even then, he was constantly criticized by his instructor.
He had nothing to offer Phantom in return for his attention, gifts, and tender words.
“I can’t wear this.”
His voice trembled, on the verge of tears. His glistening eyes proved it.
“Why, my angel?” Phantom asked. Hoseok didn’t see the masked man, but his voice sounded closer now as if Hoseok could reach out and cling to him, if only he dared.
“No matter what I wear… no matter what makeup I put on… I can’t hide the ugliness underneath.”
Hoseok took a deep breath. The mixture of flowers that filled the room reached his nose, but even that couldn’t calm him. Inside him, it felt as though storm clouds were gathering, ready to unleash chaos.
“All of this—”
“No.” Hoseok cut Phantom off like a knife, refusing to let himself be fooled by Phantom’s sweet words anymore. The truth was simple: Hoseok would not fall for compliments that weren’t meant for someone like him.
“I’m just an ordinary person. A simple dancer. The only thing I know how to do is dance. My voice isn’t even good. I’m just fooling myself.”
He withdrew to a corner of the room, distancing himself from the mirror behind which Phantom stood. As though being too close would allow Phantom’s lovely words to entangle him like vines and trap him in some imaginary rose garden.
“You’ve never listened to yourself the way I have.”
Phantom’s voice was steady, as if he understood the storm brewing inside Hoseok.
“It’s a miracle I can even dance on stage, let alone with Madam Guidecelli around,” Hoseok murmured, as if he were talking only to himself now. His eyes were locked on the carpet, fingers gripping the hem of his tunic like he needed to cling to it so his thoughts wouldn’t blow him away.
“I’m not even good enough at dancing. Madam is always criticizing me. Nobody wants me. Not on stage, not even…”
He suddenly fell silent. The fact that these things were about to leave his lips for the first time hit him like a crashing wave.
Perhaps he had never spoken his thoughts aloud, yet for years he had fed and nurtured those poisonous ideas inside of him and now he didn’t even realize he was being devoured by them.
He took a deep breath. The words trembled on the edge of his lips, waiting to escape. As if to stop them, Hoseok bit down on his lower lip.
He turned around to face Phantom again, locking eyes with him. He wanted to see the desire, the love, and the affection disappear from that gaze. He knew it would hurt him deeply but in order to face the truth and stop drowning in his fantasy, it was necessary.
But he couldn’t find any of those emotions in Phantom’s sharp, cat-like eyes.
Phantom stared at him with those dark eyes as if completely unaffected by Hoseok’s words, his stare was so deep, so knowing, it sent shivers through Hoseok’s soul, as though he already knew all of Hoseok’s deepest secrets. And that was the final push. The words fell out:
“Not on stage… not in bed… nobody wants me.”
His voice came out breathless. Heart pounding, he stared at Phantom, determined not to miss a single flicker of his reaction.
“People don’t know what they’re missing, angel. Someone like you…”
Phantom’s sharp brown eyes drifted from Hoseok’s exposed collarbones, revealed by the open neckline of his tunic, down to his waist, then to his bare legs that looked like a flawless marble statue under the candlelight.
He did it slowly, sweeping over every inch of Hoseok’s body as if trying to memorize every detail, in case he never got the chance to see him again.
Without realizing it, Hoseok took a few steps closer to the mirror. He gripped the armrest of the vanity chair for support. Phantom’s gaze made his entire body tremble like a delicate leaf and Hoseok had no idea what to do about it.
“People don’t even want to touch me.”
He said it almost reproachfully. He had grown used to staying in the background all these years. But not being touched, not being loved, not being kissed, having to fall asleep in a cold bed every night…
He had never said those things out loud before. But whenever his friends talked about their lovers, about how cherished they were, how adored, Hoseok became painfully aware of how empty his own heart was, and how starved his body felt for loving touch.
Some nights, he knew all too well how much it hurt to make do with nothing but dreams. Especially after he began taking lessons with Phantom, the dreams he had at night…
First, the darkness would begin. Then it would be illuminated by the flickering light of a flame. The Phantom would touch him. His hands would hold Hoseok's hips, squeeze them, and caress them. Then his lips would find Hoseok's, and with that voice, soft as velvet yet deep, he would whisper sweet words into his ear.
Hoseok would feel the Phantom's pale skin under his hands, losing himself under his touch. Then he would find himself in front of a mirror, with the Phantom behind him. He would beg for the body pressed firmly against his back to envelop him, to ruin him, to make him forget his own name. He felt every inch of the Phantom in his deepest, most desirous, sensitive, and untouched places.
He would get so lost in it that sometimes he couldn't tell dream from reality.
But he could only experience this pleasure until he noticed the wetness on his pajamas, his arousal hardened by the dream, and that he was alone in his cold bed.
Hoseok took a deep breath. He had remembered just one of the obscene dreams that came to his mind, yet he felt as aroused as he had in that dream. His groin was tightening, his penis growing fully hard.
Hoseok noticed the Phantom's eyes had never left him. When that dark gaze began to linger on his groin, which his tunic was struggling to conceal, his mind couldn't prevent the thoughts in his heart from spilling into words.
"You..." Hoseok began. His voice was hoarse and breathy, as if it had just emerged from a wet dream, sexually unsatisfied and disappointed.
"Would you... touch me?"
Hoseok's gaze didn't leave the Phantom's eyes. He wanted to see every reaction, the smallest flicker of expression. He waited for the Phantom's answer, holding his breath.
"I... I would touch you..." the Phantom said after a long silence. He was breathless, as if he had just barely survived a battle within himself. "I would remind you how unique every inch of your skin is."
Upon hearing the Phantom's words, Hoseok felt he could no longer stand. He sat in the nearby chair.
He spread his legs as if inviting the Phantom to prove his words. The outline of his penis beneath the underwear his tunic barely covered was now on display for the Phantom's eyes under the thin fabric.
"Say more," Hoseok said breathlessly. With one hand, he tugged at the collar of his tunic. He pulled the fabric down from his left shoulder, and his left chest shone like the sun under the dim light.
From all the arousal on his body, his nipples were erect, his hairs standing on end. His penis was already in a difficult state. His hole, affected merely by the Phantom's words, had begun to clench needlessly around an emptiness.
Hoseok felt as if he were on the edge of a cliff. He was ready to throw himself off at a single word from the Phantom.
"First, I would start by kissing your aching muscles from dancing. I would massage every inch from your toes to your hips, then adorn them with small butterfly kisses."
With every word from the Phantom, Hoseok felt his whole body tense. He slid a little further down in the chair and pushed his honey-colored, smooth legs a bit more forward. The thought of the Phantom's white, bony, thick fingers roaming his legs aroused him. Just imagining the tension his fingertips would create on his skin, the slight dimples they would form, was enough to draw whimpers from his lips.
"Then I would reach your slender waist. I would reach your stomach, which you hide from everyone, which you try your hardest to make more muscular, but which is perfect even as it is."
The Phantom chuckled lightly, but the sound came out dangerously. He closed the one-step distance between himself and the mirror and leaned one hand against it. He looked powerful, as if he could melt that single pane of glass between them at any moment and leap onto Hoseok.
"My lips would roam every inch of it. Tasting it slowly, feeling it on my tongue and my lips. Afterwards, I would move up, and my lips would find that perfect curve of your chest."
Hoseok tugged at his tunic with his hand. It was as if the thin piece of fabric was sticking to him, causing him to burn like fire. But Hoseok knew his skin, burning like a candle flame, wasn't because of his tunic, but because of the Phantom's words.
"My lips would meet your chest. I would carefully kiss your sensitive spots. I would take my time. I would taste your hardened nipples. I would suck on them and tug at them with my teeth as if trying to pluck a fresh blackberry from its stem. I would leave marks with my wet, hungry kisses," said the Phantom. Though his voice echoed through the room, it was deep and came as a whisper.
Hoseok couldn't stop his hands from slowly finding his nipples under his tunic. His slender fingers caressed his skin, played with the pink buds for a moment, then gently pinched them as if the Phantom's lips were on his skin.
Every movement sent a tingling sensation through his entire body. A soft whimper escaped his lips, as if to say his own fingers weren't enough.
"Would you like it? Having my hands and lips on you?" asked the Phantom. There was a dangerous expression on his face. His chest rose and fell with his rapid breathing.
"Yes," Hoseok said quickly. He hadn't expected his voice to tremble so much. But he wasn't in a good state at all right now. His fingers were mercilessly teasing his nipples. His penis, hard from all the passionate sentences the Phantom had uttered, strained against the fabric of his underwear, desperate to be free.
Hoseok didn't need to see the precum from the tip of his penis wetting and staining his underwear; he could feel every drop leaving him.
Hoseok's gaze scanned the Phantom's body. He wanted to see if he was in the same difficult state. He wanted to see if he was affected by his own words, burning with lust just like him.
It didn't take long to find what he was looking for. Beneath the Phantom's jet-black fabric trousers, he could make out the outline of his hardened penis, trying to hide in the darkness. Seeing that he was in the same state satisfied something deep within him.
His hand slowly drifted downward. He grasped his sensitized cock over his underwear, and a small moan fell from his lips. This sound, spreading through the room filled only with sinful words and breaths, made him fight the urge to close his eyes, but it didn't stop him from looking into the Phantom's sharp cat-like eyes.
"Is that all? Wouldn't you touch me elsewhere?"
Hoseok felt a thrill that the words had left his lips. Because his mouth was as dry as a desert. His lips were slightly parted, his heavy breaths barely filling his lungs with oxygen.
The Phantom's dangerous, low chuckle echoed through the room. If he hadn't looked lustful before, now it was as if pure lust and passion had painted his eyes.
"You have no idea what you're doing to me, Hoseok. Did you think I would just leave you like this?”
Phantom's gaze found Hoseok's penis, which he was palming through his underwear. Hoseok heavily tugged at the waistband of his briefs and freed his cock, wanting Phantom's eyes to not leave him for even a second.
The underwear fell to his feet. Hoseok now stood before him, his most intimate area completely exposed. As if urging Phantom to keep talking, his hand wrapped around his own hard, throbbing, warm length and gave it a few strokes.
Because of his slender fingers, he had never been able to truly enjoy masturbating. But with Phantom's thick, bony, white hands right there in front of him, and while imagining them on his body, he felt a pleasure he had never experienced before.
"I would lay you down on the softest beds, Hoseok. First, I would stroke your cock a little, spreading the precum all over your shaft," Phantom said quickly.
Hoseok did as Phantom said. He gathered the precum beading at his tip onto his fingers, spread it over his entire length, and began stroking a little faster. The slickness felt better now, but it still felt like something was missing. His thin fingers just didn't seem to be enough. With Yoongi's thick, bony, and strong hands right there, he felt greedy.
"Then I would taste it. All of it. I would feel its weight on my tongue. I would lick it gently. I would give you a pleasure no one has ever given you before."
Hoseok's hand sped up. His cock was harder than it had ever been. He was stroking himself rapidly. Moans were now beginning to spill from his lips. He was losing control. He could barely keep his eyes open, holding his legs as wide apart as possible, as if inviting Phantom to come and do what he was saying. He could barely see himself in the mirror, but he could see the reflection of his desperate, clenching hole.
And Hoseok wasn't the only one who noticed it. Phantom's gaze had darkened even further. He took a deep, harsh breath, filling his lungs with air.
"Has that beautiful hole ever been filled by a cock, Hoseok? Would you let me? Would you let me fill you, let me feel your sensitive walls?"
Hoseok's breath hitched. Just imagining the Phantom's words, just picturing him being satisfyingly filled by his thick penis, was almost enough to make him come. It felt like he was on the very brink of tasting that sweet, tangy flavor of orgasm.
"I would let you. I would let you do anything you wanted to me, Phantom," Hoseok moaned. The words escaped his lips disjointedly.
When no sound came from the Phantom for a moment, Hoseok cracked his eyes open and looked at him. The moment their gazes met, the Phantom spoke.
"Yoongi…"
For a second, Hoseok didn't understand what the Phantom had said. The hand stroking his cock slowed, and he blinked several times.
"Call me Yoongi. Moan my name, Hoseok."
A shiver ran through Hoseok's body, which was already teetering on the edge of orgasm. His heart began to race.
Yoongi.
So the Phantom's name was Yoongi.
The name Yoongi fell from his lips several times. Hoseok looked into the Phantom's eyes and moaned his name. Each time, his voice came out more sensual, more demanding, and more filled with pleasure.
Yoongi. Yoongi. Yoongi.
It was the only thing he could think about. The only sounds escaping his lips were moans and whimpers, adorned with Yoongi's name.
He desperately stroked his cock a few more times. But it wasn't enough to push him over the edge. It was as if there was an invisible barrier in front of him, and it was making Hoseok furious.
Hoseok looked into the eyes of Yoongi behind the mirror. He wished the desire and determination inside him could reach the masked man. Then, he collected the precum from the tip of his cock with his finger. He guided his fingers to his entrance. With a slender finger, he first gave the tight ring of muscle a light massage. Moans immediately followed from his lips.
"I want you," said Hoseok. "I want you, Yoongi." The moment Yoongi's name left his lips, he pushed two fingers inside himself. His eyes closed for a moment from the slight sting, and a single tear silently traced down his cheek.
He tried to reach his orgasm, just as he did after waking from his dreams, just as he desperately did to satisfy himself alone in the dead of night.
"I want your touch, Yoongi. I want you to kiss me, touch me, fill me." As Hoseok's fingers caressed his sensitive, soft inner walls, his words were interspersed with moans. He could no longer keep his eyes open. Even though his wrist was in an awkward position for fingering himself, the sensation of his slender fingers reaching deep inside made his toes curl and his back arch like a bow.
“Please, please, Yoongi… I need you,” Hoseok begged helplessly, cursing the mirror, that meaningless piece of glass, standing between them. He couldn’t bear the useless distance separating them. He needed to feel Yoongi in his skin, in every cell of his body, more importantly, inside of him.
“I… I…”
For the first time, Yoongi’s voice didn’t sound confident. After a long silence Hoseok, overcome with pleasure, opened his eyes to look at him. Yoongi’s brows were furrowed, his gaze averted and fixed on some unknown point in front of him. He looked like he was talking to himself.
“I can’t,” Yoongi said, taking a deep breath. He shook his head as if trying to convince himself of how wrong this entire situation was. “I can’t do this. You’ll regret it. You’ll never want to see me again.”
Hoseok tried to understand what Yoongi was saying, but he was too close to orgasm, his mind too hazy to think clearly. The moment the words entered his ears, they scattered into meaningless letters. He couldn’t grasp what was going on or why Yoongi’s behavior had suddenly changed.
“Why are y—”
“You’ll be afraid too. Just like everyone else, you’ll want to run away from me.”
Yoongi’s voice rose. Hoseok couldn’t understand how the atmosphere could shift from lust to this so quickly. He hesitantly pulled his fingers back, and his entrance clenched against nothing once again. The fading sting left behind was quickly drowned out by disappointment and bitter dissatisfaction that spread through every inch of his body.
“No, I won’t run away.”
“Don’t lie!”
This time Yoongi shouted. As if trying to escape the chaos in his mind, he clapped his hands over his ears. He was muttering to himself, but Hoseok couldn’t make out a single word. All he knew was that the sadness and disappointment spreading from his heart through his body were now far heavier than the pleasure that had carried him to the edge of orgasm.
“Yoongi, please look at me,” Hoseok pleaded helplessly. Yoongi looked like he was suffering all alone, and Hoseok couldn’t stand to see him like that.
The moment their eyes met, Yoongi's eyes widened as if he had suddenly remembered where he was and who he was with. He reached for the collar of his shirt, tugging at it like he couldn’t breathe.
“I… I can’t. I have to go.”
He turned around and quickly disappeared from the other side of the mirror, leaving Hoseok alone.
At first Hoseok couldn’t believe he was actually gone. For several minutes he sat there in silence, waiting.
But Yoongi didn’t return.
Hoseok remained in the middle of the room, nearly naked. The frustration and disappointment of being denied orgasm pulsed in every inch of him. His erection had softened, losing its flushed pink color, and the pre-cum at the tip had turned sticky, a disgusting, poisonous reminder of the moment left unfinished.
Hoseok felt revolted by himself.
His breathing turned ragged. Tears he hadn’t even realized were gathering now slipped down his cheeks and dripped onto his exposed chest.
Nobody wanted Hoseok.
Not on stage. Not in bed.
Maybe he was used to being unwanted, but being rejected so clearly by Yoongi struck his heart’s most fragile parts, shattering it like glass.
He bit his lip, trying to push down the sharp knot in his throat, and began to pull on his underwear with trembling hands. He fussed with the collar of his tunic, trying to fix it as if nothing had happened.
But the tears streaming down his face blurred everything. He couldn’t stop the feeling of being a dirty, broken, unwanted object, used and then tossed aside.
As he tried to pull on his pants, his foot hit the box that contained Yoongi’s gift. It was the final drop that made the glass overflow.
His sobs grew louder; screams tore from his lips. He grabbed the box and hurled it at the mirror.
Hoseok hated Yoongi.
His hand reached for the items on the prima donna’s vanity. One by one, he began throwing everything at the mirror with wild fury as though taking revenge on every single word he’d never managed to say earlier to protect himself.
Hoseok hated Madam Guidecelli.
When there was nothing left to throw, he walked up to the mirror. Sharp shards from shattered perfume bottles and brushes dug into his feet, but he didn’t care. The mixture of natural flower scent and spilled perfume made the air nauseating but Hoseok felt even more nauseated by himself.
When his eyes met his own reflection, he saw someone utterly pitiful, swollen eyes, messy hair, the tunic open at the collar, exposing his collarbones as if to mock his shameless behavior just moments before.
Sadness, anger, and disappointment wrapped around his body like a second, suffocating skin. No matter how much he washed, scrubbed, or scoured, he would never cleanse himself of this pathetic feeling.
Hoseok hated himself.
Gathering what little strength he had left, without even bothering to wipe the tears from his cheeks, Hoseok slammed his clenched fists into his own reflection.
The mirror shattered with a loud crack, and cuts bloomed along his frail hand, a physical mirror of the wounds carved into his soul. Blood dripped from his fingers and splattered onto the floor.
But Hoseok didn’t care about the blood.
His eyes wandered to the dark corridor that appeared on the other side of the broken mirror, the same corridor Yoongi had once walked down to meet him, and now used to run away. It mocked him just by existing.
A single tear slid down Hoseok’s cheek. There were once countless things he could have done to reach Yoongi, his music angel, yet now, taking even one step toward him would shatter his pride and invite even deeper self-loathing.
Even that thought made his body tremble like a candle flame about to die. His entire body and soul could no longer withstand the storm of emotions he had gone through in a single day.
His eyes slowly closed, and Hoseok surrendered himself to the darkness.
The next day, the opera house buzzed with news. Madam Guidecelli had fallen down the stairs and been injured. All rehearsals were suspended for three days.
🥀🥀🥀
The sun illuminated the opera house’s golden structure, crafted with flawless workmanship, through the pale light filtering between the gathering clouds.
His footsteps hurried and anxious climbed the stairs, the breathlessness no longer mattered. Leaves flew wildly in the strong wind, and even the sun’s yellow rays couldn’t hold back the coming storm. Far away in the sky, dark clouds gathered, hanging black as if announcing some ominous fate approaching.
He tried not to dwell on it. After the unfortunate accident that happened to Madam Guidecelli the day before, he couldn’t let the gathering dark clouds dampen his spirits.
As he passed by his partner’s room on his way to his own, he tried to be quiet. He didn’t expect to have to deal with him so early in the morning. If only he were financially independent enough, the first thing he would do was buy the opera without him, but unfortunately, he hadn’t succeeded yet.
As soon as he entered his room, he took off his jacket. He went to the pots lined up by the window, which he had planted to ease the stress of owning an opera and dealing with hundreds of people.
In the first pot were the pink peonies he had planted with great care. He gently stroked their leaves, cleaned the dead leaves scattered on the soil, and checked the moisture. Feeling there was enough dampness at his fingertips, he decided not to water the peonies at noon and moved to the next pot.
The other pot was supposed to be filled with red roses.
Or at least, it should have been.
Seeing the withered and dead roses, his mood sank even further. No matter what he did, he couldn’t keep the red roses alive, and he blamed himself for it. Reluctantly and hopelessly, he removed the dead leaves. He cut the roses that had started to wilt and turn brown from their stems.
He wasn’t sure whether it was because of his wilting roses or the meaningless anxiety he had felt since morning, but he felt like he couldn’t breathe. It was as if a weight pressed down on his chest, making him terribly uncomfortable.
Hoping for a short rest, he sat at his desk, and the moment he sat, his breath caught at what he saw on top of it.
A letter.
Sealed with red wax. The seal was shaped like a skull and looked quite threatening. Next to the letter, a rose lay sprawled on the desk, as if mocking him with all its pomp.
He knew what it was. Perhaps this was the reason his chest had been tightening since morning.
Taking a deep breath, he tried to steady his trembling hands and opened the letter, beginning to read the lines addressed to him.
Dear Namjoon,
I thought you were somewhat smarter, more art-loving, and rational than your partner, but I see there’s no difference between you.
Since when did the opera start employing such low-quality people? I blame not you but myself. That’s why from now on, I will manage it as I see fit.
If you cooperate with me, you will be the one to benefit here, of course. But if you start opposing me, I think you’ve already seen a preview of what will happen, haven’t you?
You have one day to think it over. I’ve already given you enough time to prove yourself, but I see you have just become your partner’s puppet. That’s why time is running faster for you.
From tomorrow on, I suggest you be careful. If you want to learn how to run an opera even a little, just watch me.
Also, I think you need to learn a few things about roses as well. It turns out you’re terrible not only at managing the opera.
Think carefully tonight and make your decision accordingly. Be careful not to make a decision you’ll regret.
— P.O
Namjoon read the letter over and over, engraving every word into his mind. He hadn’t received a letter from Phantom in so long that he had forgotten what that feeling was like. But now, all those feelings that made him feel like he was walking on needles engulfed his entire body again just like the first day.
He took the letter and hurried to his partner’s room next door, or at least where he thought he was. Before opening the door, he didn’t bother to knock and just burst in. The urgency and anxiety in his movements were clearly visible.
As soon as he entered, the heavy smell of tobacco that filled the room made him cough. His partner was blowing the smoke of the cigar he was smoking into the room without even bothering to open the window. He didn’t seem affected at all by Namjoon’s sudden intrusion.
“There’s a letter from Phantom,” Namjoon said, breathless. The worry that spread through his soul and the tobacco smoke filling his lungs made it hard to breathe.
“So?” his partner said, showing no surprise at all.
Namjoon wasn’t even surprised by his partner’s indifferent reaction. Only his growing frustration toward him intensified in his veins.
“Yejun, this is a serious matter,” he said, trying to keep his tone steady. He hadn’t come here to have their usual arguments. He needed to make him understand how serious this was.
“Do you know how many letters this opera gets every day, Namjoon?” Yejun replied, keeping his calm. He took another puff from his cigar and then exhaled the gray smoke heavily into the room. “If we took every letter seriously, this place would have shut down long ago.”
“I grew up here, Yejun. Phantom isn’t someone who utters empty threats. I know that best of all.”
Namjoon felt his words echoing in the room but never reaching Yejun. The anxiety growing inside him was pulling at his heart like the tobacco smoke filling the space.
“The whole huge opera is run by just the two of us, Namjoon. A ghost can’t harm either us or the opera. Accept that already. It’s not time to believe in the fairy tales you heard as a kid.”
Namjoon recognized the tension rising in Yejun’s voice. He’d fought with him enough to know that tone well. Setting all emotions aside, he weighed the arguments that might convince him in his mind. Then he took a few steps closer to Yejun’s desk.
As he approached, he noticed an envelope on Yejun’s desk identical to his own.
“Have you really never even bothered to open and read it?” Namjoon said, raising his voice slightly. His partner’s indifference not only surprised but also angered him.
Without waiting for Yejun’s quick reply, Namjoon grabbed the envelope on the desk, pulled out the letter inside, and began reading.
The letter started like his own, Dear Yejun . But here, Phantom’s language was much harsher and more threatening. Phantom must know Yejun well to warn him so sternly in words. Namjoon knew that if Yejun didn’t do what was said, Phantom wouldn’t just stop at words. But he didn’t bother trying to explain this to Yejun. He got straight to the point.
“This time, we have to leave the opera to Phantom. Apparently, he doesn’t like Madam Guidecelli.”
No sooner had the words left his lips than Yejun’s laughter echoed through the room. He laughed heartily, as if mocking clumsy monkeys performing in a circus show. His laughter was interrupted by coughing fits likely from inhaling too much smoke but he seemed not to care.
“Are you mocking me?” he said, wiping tears from his eyes with a handkerchief pulled from his pocket. “You must have forgotten how much money we’ve poured into Madam Guidecelli. People flock to watch her. I’m not going to fire the person who makes us the most money.”
Namjoon took a deep breath and threw both letters onto the desk. Dealing with both Yejun and Phantom this early in the morning had drained him mentally.
“This opera belongs to him, Yejun. And he can do anything to prove it. Even if it means burning this opera down to ashes. You’re forgetting that.”
“If it belongs to him, then where is he?” Yejun said, spreading his hands as if to prove there was no one else in the room besides them. “Look, I’m sitting in this chair right now, Namjoon. That means this opera is mine. Don’t forget that.”
Namjoon watched Yejun lean back in his chair, puffing on his cigar arrogantly, thinking he had won their small arguments.
Being partners with him was a mistake.
But unfortunately, now he had to deal with the consequences of his choices.
He grabbed his own letter left on the desk, leaving Yejun alone to enjoy his hollow victory, and without saying a word, turned his back and left the room.
As soon as he opened the door, he met Seokjin’s eyes. He was surprised to see Seokjin, but after battling so many emotions in just half an hour, his surprise didn’t last long. He guessed Seokjin was listening at the door with curious eyes, but even asking about it now seemed too exhausting.
Knowing Seokjin would follow him, he returned to his own room and dropped his tired body into his chair. Seokjin entered the room and closed the door behind him.
“Namjoon-ah...”
Seokjin’s gaze lingered on the rose lying on the desk and the letter Namjoon held tightly in his hand. As if he understood what was going on, his worried eyes softened slightly. He patiently waited for Namjoon to speak and explain everything.
“A disaster is coming,” Namjoon finally said.
And at that moment, the sound of thunder roaring violently echoed through the empty corridors of the opera house.
Chapter 2: The Curtain Rises
Notes:
Hey, I’m here~~
Wishing you an enjoyable read 💝
There’s a long journey ahead of you ✨
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It didn’t take long for the opera to return to its old, crowded, and hectic days. It was as if the unfortunate accident that caused Madam Guidecelli to break her leg had never happened.
Nobody mentioned either the incident where that conceited old woman humiliated Hoseok or the time he came to the opera with his leg in a cast and, because of his condition, was treated with special care.
It was as if talking or commenting about it was forbidden. Everyone was focused solely on their work. There were only a few days left until the performance, so everyone was tense.
Hoseok was one of those who felt that tension.
But it wasn’t just that. Alongside the tension, sadness, acceptance, and hopelessness were also showing themselves. In fact, hopelessness outweighed all his other feelings.
His last day at the opera had been terrible. He had felt humiliated in front of everyone. That was why as soon as the dance rehearsal ended, he fled the stage hoping to find a place where he could be alone. Unless absolutely necessary, he didn’t even talk to his closest friend Jimin.
He didn’t think he could face either his friend or anyone working at the opera again. Madam Guidecelli’s words had pierced his soul like a sharp knife, leaving a wound.
Whenever he tried to forget what had happened and move on with his life, that wound would ache and remind him of itself.
Hoseok had found solace in running away.
But deep down, he also knew he was running away not only from Madam Guidecelli but from Yoongi as well.
He hadn’t been attending his lessons with Yoongi. Sometimes the letters he found in the rehearsal room locker, sometimes the carefully picked roses tied with a black ribbon he found in the stairwell where he hid to be alone, made his heart ache again.
He never quite had the courage to open and read those elegant letters that he was sure were from Yoongi.
Because Hoseok knew that if Yoongi said a few kind words, he would immediately soften.
That day, when Yoongi had left him like that, halfway and helpless, he had been furious. But that anger flared like a sudden blaze and then quickly died out. Only its smoke and the ashes it left behind remained. His anger had turned into deep disappointment and sadness.
Now Hoseok thought he had no choice but to accept what had happened. He realized his heart and soul loved Yoongi, that he had begun to fall in love with him with every cell, and that his body was ready to give itself to him.
But... there was a feeling of abandonment.
Hoseok was still struggling with that feeling. He couldn’t just sweep it away like dust and hide it on a shelf. That’s why he had decided it was best to take a break, to not see Yoongi for a while.
Now, he was sitting alone in the attic room of the opera, where old instruments were stored. Apart from the melodic sound of raindrops hitting the roof, only Hoseok’s slow and heavy breaths could be heard.
The flickering light of a burning candle wasn’t enough to illuminate the entire room. But for Hoseok, it was enough. The darkness seemed to help him hide all the complicated feelings inside.
Perhaps more importantly, it kept him from seeing himself in the dusty mirror in the room.
Hoseok didn’t want to see himself. Every time he looked into a mirror, he feared he would once again find in his own eyes the sorrow, the anger, and the disappointment that had appeared there when Yoongi left him.
He took a deep breath. His lungs filled with the damp air and the scent of dusty wood. He slid back a little on the piano stool and let his eyes wander over the black and white keys of the piano shining with all their elegance in the dark.
Black and white... Despite all their contrasts, how could they look so harmonious? Yoongi’s eyes appeared in his mind. Despite their darkness, his pale and flawless skin reminded him of the piano keys.
The feelings he had tried to suppress in his heart began to rise again. He noticed the tears gathering in his eyes with the revival of those unfinished memories.
No matter how hard he tried, it wasn’t something he could overcome. Though he told himself he was fine, his heart kept reminding him how hurt and wounded he really was.
He started to move his fingertips over the piano keys. He gently caressed the keys as if touching Yoongi’s skin. The skin he had longed to feel that day, he now touched on the keys as if Yoongi were really in front of him.
Then he pressed a little harder with his fingers. But his movements remained hesitant and shy, as if he wasn’t really allowed to touch, as if it were forbidden…
Soft notes of the piano echoed faintly in the room. Hoseok didn’t know which notes he was playing. But he liked how the soft sound blended with the rain. At least it had become a nice way to silence his thoughts.
His fingers moved uncertainly but freely on the piano. Maybe no playable melody was coming out, but Hoseok felt for the first time in a long while that his mind was somewhat distracted.
But the fingers that danced those unhurried notes stopped when the candle, the only source of light in the room, went out. The room was suddenly plunged into a deserted darkness.
Before fear and unease flowing through his veins could take over, Hoseok tried to think logically.
He was in the attic, and it was quite windy outside. Even the slightest breeze entering the room could have been enough to extinguish that weak candlelight. Maybe he should have brought a gas lamp instead of a candle when he came up here.
Taking deep breaths to calm himself, he stood up and tried to find his way to the door by gently touching objects around him with his hands.
The darkness was so thick that even keeping his eyes open was useless. It was like falling into a black hole. He began to feel dizzy.
Suddenly, soft notes rose from the piano.
Hoseok realized he was no longer alone in the room.
The piano melody started melancholically. It accompanied the raindrops hitting the roof slowly. Then it gradually intensified, filling the room with a heavy and burning sadness, as if a volcano were erupting and spewing lava everywhere.
Hoseok had no difficulty understanding that Yoongi was the one playing the piano. Even from the first note, his heart calmed as if it knew it was Yoongi. His restless mind betrayed his heart and relaxed for a moment.
Unable to see anything, Hoseok leaned on the first thing he found. From the feeling under his palm, he guessed it was a table. Then the piano sound stopped, and the room was suddenly silent again.
Hoseok strained his ears as if he could hear the footsteps of an ant. The little broken-hearted child inside him stepped forward to be the first to speak and to avoid throwing himself into Yoongi’s arms.
He was more than ready to forgive Yoongi, but the reasonable voice inside him was yelling loudly that it needed more time.
First, a pleasant scent reached his nose. Fresh, reminiscent of flowers and earth but at the same time woody and sharp notes adorned it, a masculine and confident scent. Then Yoongi’s voice echoed in the darkness.
“You don’t come to lessons anymore, angel?”
A tingling sensation spread down Hoseok’s spine. His stomach clenched at the sound of Yoongi’s voice.
He couldn’t see Yoongi’s face in the dark, but his voice was so close that Hoseok could feel the vibrations of each word ripple through his body.
Hoseok swallowed hard. He forced himself to open his mouth to answer. His hands gripped the edge of the wooden table behind him as if to steady himself, leaning heavily against it. In this way, he thought he had created a safe distance between himself and Yoongi, who he guessed was standing right in front of him in the darkness.
“That’s how it had to be.”
His voice didn’t tremble as much as he feared, and that alone made him feel like he’d won.
“So it had to be you running away from me?”
Hoseok tried not to be affected by Yoongi’s low, husky voice. Every breath escaping from between Yoongi’s lips brushed against Hoseok’s own.
He felt like he was about to faint. The Yoongi he had dreamed of, the one he longed to touch, was standing right in front of him, but it was so dark he couldn’t see him. Maybe that was for the best. If he could see him, he might throw himself into Yoongi’s arms despite everything.
“So it had to be you leaving me completely at your mercy… helpless and wanting?”
Hoseok was surprised at the words that came from his mouth. His sentence sounded like a bitter reproach mixed with disappointment.
Holding his breath, he realized he had no choice but to wait anxiously for Yoongi’s response.
Yoongi took a small step forward. The sound of his shoe scraping the wooden floor alarmed Hoseok.
Yoongi was now standing right next to him. Hoseok could feel the fabric of their clothes rubbing together, but they weren’t close enough to truly touch.
He couldn’t stop his heart from pounding. Since he couldn’t see, his other senses were on high alert. Every warm breath that touched his skin and Yoongi’s deep voice in his ear became clearer and made his body weak, sending chills down his spine.
“The last thing I ever wanted was to leave you like that, Hoseok,” Yoongi whispered. Hoseok flinched as Yoongi’s hand found his cheek. Their skin touching for the first time felt like a miracle.
It wasn’t hard to guess that Yoongi’s fingertips were a bit rough from playing the violin. His fingers felt thick, as Hoseok noticed, but the palm of his hand was soft and warm.
Hoseok resisted the urge to rest his cheek on Yoongi’s palm, to close his eyes and savor the feeling. He stared at Yoongi as if he could see him, but the darkness formed a thick curtain between them.
“You’re an angel. Your voice, your appearance. You shine like a candle flame. You’re as pure and clear as falling snowflakes, innocent like an angel. And I am…”
Yoongi took a deep breath. His thumb gently caressed Hoseok’s cheek. Hoseok tried not to get distracted by the warm breath on his lips and the touch on his cheek. But the deep darkness magnified all these feelings a thousandfold.
“I am the opposite. A monster who would cast a shadow over your bright light. I can’t do that to you.” Yoongi’s voice sounded tired. This truth seemed like it had become a part of him.
Hoseok wanted to object. He wanted to say it wasn’t true, that Yoongi had truly seen him for the first time in his life, made him feel valuable, and that with him, he found himself shining. But before he could speak, Yoongi continued.
“But leaving you behind like that... You were like a blooming, untouched rose, Hoseok. And I ran away scared, making the biggest mistake of my life.”
Yoongi moved a little closer. Their bodies were now touching. His other hand wrapped around Hoseok’s slender waist, pulling him tightly against himself. Hoseok felt as if every cell in his body was on fire. It was so dark he couldn’t see anything, but feeling Yoongi’s body and warm breaths on his lips felt suffocating.
“I’d do anything for you, Hoseok. Anything you could imagine. Just so no tears fall from your eyes, and your beautiful pink lips never stop smiling.”
Hoseok didn’t know what to say. His hands trembled as they reached out to Yoongi. Hesitantly, he placed them on Yoongi’s shoulders. He tried to feel the muscles beneath Yoongi’s silk shirt on his broad shoulders. As if to prove to himself that Yoongi was not just someone he saw in his dreams, he held on to him tightly.
“I only wanted you, Yoongi.”
He meant it.
Yoongi exhaled. He rested his forehead against Hoseok’s. Hoseok felt the coldness of Yoongi’s white mask on his skin. He was still surprised that Yoongi was wearing the mask.
“You don’t realize what you want.”
“No, I kno—”
Yoongi’s thumb found Hoseok’s lips. First, he gently stroked his upper lip, then the lower, silencing Hoseok. Under Yoongi’s touch, Hoseok felt as vulnerable as a newborn baby.
“I’ll give you everything you want. But not me. I’ll give you fame, the stage, the costumes... The sweet, flashy, and adorable, everything that suits you.”
Yoongi’s finger didn’t leave Hoseok’s lips. Hoseok struggled hard not to part his lips and kiss those white fingers, not to take them into his mouth and taste them.
“If you’re not there, I don’t want any of it,” Hoseok said firmly. He pulled his head back slightly, freeing himself from Yoongi’s fingers. He left a few centimeters of space between them that felt safe.
“But wasn’t that what you wanted from the beginning? To sing… to be the prima donna?”
“Yes, but—”
Hoseok couldn’t say he loved Yoongi. His lips parted but then closed again. He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t explain to Yoongi that what he truly wanted was to be loved, that he had convinced himself he could get that love by going on stage and having the audience watch him.
“But what, angel? Finish your sentence,” Yoongi said.
This time Yoongi’s fingers found Hoseok’s chin, closing the small gap Hoseok had created between them. His lips brushed Hoseok’s skin.
Those lips... the soft pink lips Hoseok had dreamed about so many times now barely touched his upper lip. It was as if they were exploring, gently brushing the curve of his lips.
Hoseok’s body felt as if it was floating in empty space. His hand on Yoongi’s shoulder gripped his shirt tighter, and he gave his weight to Yoongi. Somehow, he knew Yoongi’s strong arms would keep him standing.
“But…” As his lips moved, he felt Yoongi on them. His lips barely touched Yoongi’s chin, Hoseok closed his eyes, which he had foolishly kept open to see Yoongi, and surrendered completely to the sensation of Yoongi’s lips on his skin.
“But after all this, I’m afraid you’ll leave,” Hoseok whispered. The vulnerability of confessing a secret he hadn’t even admitted to himself now showed in his voice.
Yoongi’s lips stroked Hoseok’s cheek, then, like the wind gently caressing leaves, traced his skin and reached his ear.
“I’m always here, angel. Inside your mind .”
With every word Yoongi spoke in that deep, low tone, Hoseok’s heart beat faster. He knew Yoongi was not only in his mind but in his heart too.
As soon as Yoongi finished, he broke the burning contact between them. His lips left Hoseok’s skin, his hands withdrew, and Hoseok suddenly felt like he had fallen naked into an icy river.
His hands froze in midair. It was as if he was searching for a lifeline, reaching for Yoongi in the darkness.
Then he felt the cold touch of a chain around his neck. From the chill of the metal, he guessed it was a necklace.
“This is for you, angel,” Yoongi said after finishing fastening the necklace. Hoseok was curious about what the necklace looked like. Judging by the weight it pressed against his chest, it seemed quite magnificent.
“I have only one request of you.”
Yoongi closed the distance between them again. Hoseok exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Feeling Yoongi close once more gave him a deep sense of comfort and safety.
“Don’t come to rehearsal tomorrow. I don’t want you to witness what’s going to happen.”
Yoongi cupped Hoseok’s cheek and gently lifted it. He moved as if he could see him, flawless and confident. Even that made Hoseok feel like a puddle at his feet.
“Can you do this for me, angel?”
Hoseok swallowed. Yoongi’s closeness made his mouth feel as dry as a desert. No words came from his lips; he simply nodded slightly to show he understood. But he couldn’t quite grasp why Yoongi wanted this. His mind wasn’t thinking clearly.
“Good job, my sweet angel,” Yoongi said. His voice carried notes of satisfaction. Hoseok hadn’t seen Yoongi smile, but he could imagine it.
Then Yoongi leaned in slightly. His lips found the delicate chain hanging on Hoseok’s neck and pressed down gently but firmly. Hoseok felt Yoongi’s warm lips burning against the coldness of the chain at the most sensitive spot on his body, reminding him of the forbidden dreams he had seen.
It wasn’t until a few seconds later, when Yoongi pulled back, that Hoseok became fully aware that Yoongi had just kissed his neck. This… this wasn’t a dream.
“I’ll do anything for you, Hoseok.”
Before Hoseok could respond, Yoongi withdrew. Hoseok felt himself fall back into the cold darkness again. So much had happened in just a few minutes that the line between reality and dream blurred.
When the extinguished candle suddenly flickered back to life, he snapped out of his thoughts. He grabbed the candlestick where the candle stood and went to one of the old mirrors in the room, as if to prove what had happened, and searched his eyes for his neck.
Around his neck was the most elegant and beautiful necklace he had ever seen. A thin, straight chain stretched from the curve of his neck down to his chest. At the end of the necklace hung a blood-red, crystal-clear stone set inside a rose-engraved frame.
The stone was as dark as the color of the roses Yoongi had given him, but shone as if it could reflect his own image.
Hoseok’s fingers found the necklace. A smile started to grow on his face.
Yoongi’s lips had touched him. They had caressed his lips and cheeks, his strong arms had wrapped around Hoseok’s body. Their breaths had mingled.
Hoseok looked himself in the mirror.
He knew.
Yoongi was always in his mind.
And he would always be in his heart, too.
🥀🥀🥀
LE TEMPS DE PARIS
Paris, Wednesday, February 21, 1873, Special Edition
BLOODY SCENE AT THE FAMOUS OPERA POPULAIRE
A body hung from the stage, strangled by a rope.
A scandalous night at the Opera Populaire: the heart of art now beats with fear and suspicion.
Yesterday at noon, during the rehearsals for a dazzling performance at the Opera Populaire, the spectacle suddenly turned into a horrifying nightmare. In the middle of the rehearsal , everyone believed the figure dangling from above was a broken piece of stage decor, until terrified screams revealed the truth: it was no stage prop, but a human body.
According to authorities, the hanging body belonged to Joseph Buquet , manager of the prima donna, Madam Guidecelli. The building was quickly evacuated in shock, rehearsals were suspended, and the opera house was sealed off for two days. Witnesses claim the man’s body hung with a thick rope around his neck, his face twisted in a grotesque expression of death.
Police officers immediately launched an investigation on the scene. Evidence and witness statements are already under review. Opera directors Kim Namjoon and Park Yejun refused to make any comments to the press, though some employees reported hearing strange noises backstage, whispers, echoes, and even the presence of a figure moving through the shadows.
Could the legend of the Opera Ghost be real?
Rumors within the Opera are old and persistent. Tales speak of a “Phantom” wandering the corridors, curtains opening and closing on their own, and even the piano in the music room playing by itself at midnight. After years of ominous incidents, unresolved and without culprits, the existence of the Opera Ghost has once again become a subject of whispers. Has the Phantom returned after a long silence?
Was this death truly a suicide? Or was it a murder committed by the mysterious figure everyone only knows as the “ Phantom ”?
What secrets lie hidden behind the glittering curtains of the Opera Populaire? Paris awaits the answer.
Hoseok stared at the newspaper before him. With each word he read, his fingers tightened on the fragile paper. His breathing felt as though it wasn’t reaching his lungs.
A body strangled by a rope, suspended above the stage.
It had happened in the very place where he spent more time than in his own home. The place where he always rehearsed. He couldn’t believe it. A thousand thoughts flooded his mind all at once. Had his friend Jimin witnessed this horror? Was Taehyung there? Did Seokjin know what had happened?
Hoseok didn’t know what to think. Fear, worry, and grief all swelled within him. The breakfast he had eaten that morning seemed stuck in his throat, pressing against his chest. His stomach churned.
For once, he thanked God he hadn’t attended rehearsal the day before. If he had seen such a thing, he didn’t know how he could have gone on living.
Suddenly, Yoongi’s commanding yet gentle voice echoed in his mind.
Don’t come to rehearsal tomorrow. I don’t want you to witness what’s going to happen.
Hoseok’s eyes returned to the crumpled page he had been clutching too tightly. The words he had been searching for stood out as though illuminated by a spotlight.
Could the legend of the Opera Ghost be real?
“Real,” Hoseok whispered. He didn’t realize what he had done until he heard the trembling, fearful sound of his own voice. Then his eyes moved down the page, rereading the next lines as if for the very first time, unraveling each word in his mind.
Was this death truly a suicide? Or was it a murder committed by the mysterious figure everyone only knows as the “Phantom”?
Hoseok’s breath caught in his throat. He tossed the newspaper onto the table as though it were evidence of the murder itself. His hand flew to his mouth, as if trying to keep from screaming.
I’ll do anything for you, Hoseok.
Could it be true?
Yoongi?
Could Yoongi have committed murder?
Hoseok’s heart pounded wildly. His mind was a storm of confusion, his eyes glued to the words on the page.
I’ll do anything for you, Hoseok.
He knew Yoongi was a man of his word, but to believe he could be reckless enough to do something like this was almost impossible.
And yet…
Had he truly done it for Hoseok?
I’ll do anything for you, Hoseok.
Hoseok pressed a hand against his chest, trying to calm the frantic beating of his heart. But the echo of Yoongi’s voice, whispering just a few inches from his ear in the darkness, would not leave his mind.
His fingertips slowly found the necklace Yoongi had given him. He gently caressed the blood-red stone that hung from it. The sorrow in his heart gradually slipped away. Like muddy water clearing, his soul was being cleansed.
He knew the man who had died. A drunkard, a gambler, an adulterer who dragged Madam Guidecelli wherever the money was. For such a man, Hoseok felt no sorrow.
Only shock remained.
Had Yoongi truly done it for him?
I’ll do anything for you, Hoseok.
Hoseok gripped the necklace tightly, feeling every detail of its engravings press into his palm. As though the answers to all his questions lay hidden inside it, he held on.
I’ll do anything for you, Hoseok.
His heart, which had been thrashing wildly, gradually slowed to its natural rhythm. A wave of peace washed through his body, silencing the voices in his mind that clamored for understanding. Only Yoongi’s voice remained.
I’ll do anything for you, Hoseok.
Hoseok knew.
He knew Yoongi would truly do anything for him.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at his lips, shy, hesitant, and desperate to be hidden. His heart fluttered as though Yoongi stood right before him.
Hoseok couldn’t wait to see him again.
🥀🥀🥀
Hoseok was getting dressed in the rehearsal room. Ever since he had stepped into the opera, a chill had clung to him, as if something might happen at any moment.
After the recent incident of a dead body being hung onstage, the police had combed through every corner of the opera house with meticulous care, questioning everyone involved. Even Hoseok, though he hadn’t been there that day, was among those interrogated.
They had asked the same questions to everyone, and everyone had given the same answers.
Even Hoseok.
But the truth was different. He should have spoken about the Phantom, the hidden passage behind the mirror, the lessons they shared… and perhaps most importantly, the things Yoongi had whispered into his ear.
But why? Why would he expose Yoongi?
Why would he betray the one who saw him, listened to him, offered him everything, his only audience, his only confidant, the one who held his heart in his hands? Why would he hand him over to the police?
So Hoseok kept quiet. Like the others, he said he hadn’t noticed anything strange in the Opera, that he hadn’t been there that day, that he had taken a sick day. And not once did he regret the lies he told.
He did it for himself. As a small repayment for all that Yoongi had done for him.
But now, it was impossible not to feel uneasy. The Opera might have returned to its usual state on the surface, but the horror of what had happened still spread from mouth to mouth, growing into a tale of terror with every retelling.
The rope that had tightened around Monsieur Buquet’s neck, the way his eyes had bulged wide as if he had seen a monster before he died, the bloodless pallor of his skin, Hoseok only imagined these from the stories. And even those were enough to make him believe that something dreadful was still waiting for him on that stage.
He took a deep breath and straightened his collar. His fingers brushed against the necklace Yoongi had given him, seeking strength. He stroked the smooth stone, waiting for the familiar sense of security he felt at Yoongi’s side to wash over him.
“Hyung, are you free?”
At the sound of the voice, he immediately tucked the necklace inside his shirt and turned toward the door.
“Oh, Jungkook.”
His voice came out like that of a child caught doing something in secret. He could only hope Jungkook, the hairstylist winking at him from the doorway, hadn’t noticed.
“Did I interrupt you? Were you busy?”
“No, of course not,” Hoseok replied quickly. He slipped on his shoes and closed the distance between them.
“Director Kim is waiting for you in his office. He asked me to let you know. The sooner you go, the better, he said.”
Hoseok blinked in surprise. The sudden summons unsettled him. “Alright, I’ll go right away. Thanks for letting me know, Jungkook.”
With a small nod, Jungkook left the room. Hoseok, his mind buzzing with a thousand thoughts, made his way toward Kim Namjoon’s office on the upper floor of the opera house.
With each step, his heart beat faster, his spirit tightening with dread. Kim Namjoon rarely sought out the dancers unless it was absolutely necessary. The last time Hoseok had spoken to him was during his audition.
Could it be…
Did Namjoon know Hoseok had been secretly taking lessons with Yoongi at night? That he had lied to the police to protect him, that he had hidden him?
Hoseok’s heart nearly stopped. At last, he reached Namjoon’s office. His thoughts and fears pressed against him like the bars of a cage. He placed his hand on the doorknob, but froze when voices drifted out from within.
“Are you mocking me?”
It was Madame Guidecelli’s voice. Her furious, shrill tone rang clear even through the door.
“My manager was murdered on this very stage. And you expect me to continue performing here?”
A chair screeched harshly across the floor. Hoseok pulled his hand back from the doorknob and leaned in slightly, straining to catch more of the conversation.
“Look, just one last scene, Madam. The audience is eager to see you. We wouldn’t want to disappoint them, would we?”
At first Hoseok couldn’t place the male voice, but the slight pauses at the end of each sentence, as though stifling a cough, told him it must be Park Yejun, one of the directors.
“Disappointment?” Madam Guidecelli shouted. “You have no idea how you’ve disappointed me! I will not stand onstage with corpses dropping on my head. I am finished here!”
Her voice drew nearer to the door, and Hoseok panicked, retreating just in time to nearly collide with her as she emerged.
She looked exactly the same as the last time he had seen her: self-satisfied, disdainful expression, hair piled high with meticulous care, eyes heavy with exaggerated makeup. She didn’t look like a woman who had lost her lover only days ago, rather, she appeared polished and indifferent, as though nothing had happened at all.
Hoseok held his breath under her gaze. His heart seethed with hatred for this woman. Her very presence felt like a curse, draining the energy of everyone around her.
But Hoseok could do nothing. He lacked the strength and courage to confront her. Learned helplessness bound him, leaving him with no choice but to lower his head under her words.
“You…” Madam Guidecelli’s brows furrowed deeper, her lips curling in disgust as she stepped closer.
“I hope next time, you’re the one hanging from that rope onstage,” she hissed before striding away without a backward glance.
Hoseok inhaled sharply, his eyes stinging as tears welled up. He shut them tightly for a moment, holding back the pain.
He hated Madam Guidecelli. But more than that, he hated himself for being unable to stand up to her.
“Hey, Hoseok. Would you come in, please?”
He opened his eyes at the sound of Namjoon’s gentle voice. When he looked around the room, Namjoon was sitting in his usual chair. In one of the seats across from the desk sat Park Yejun, legs crossed, his eyes fixed on the floor as he smoked his cigar, looking pensive and troubled.
Hoseok shook himself, trying to shake off the sentence Madam Guidecelli had just said, and stepped into the room.
“You wanted to see me?” he asked calmly. But as soon as he spoke, he felt Park Yejun’s unsettling stare land heavily on him. Even without words, the man’s furrowed brow made it painfully clear that Hoseok’s presence was not welcome.
“Why don’t you sit down, Hoseok? There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”
Namjoon’s warm smile eased Hoseok’s nerves, if only slightly. He quietly sat in the chair opposite Park Yejun, though he couldn’t rid himself of the feeling of being on edge. Not until he knew the reason he was here.
The room fell into silence, broken only by the sound of Park Yejun drawing on his cigar. The heavy smell of smoke spread slowly through the air, and Hoseok felt himself suffocating beneath the weight of both the silence and the stifling haze.
“I’m going to ask you for something, Hoseok,” Namjoon finally said. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk, locking eyes with him.
“I know this is sudden. But believe me, this situation developed just as quickly for me as well.”
With every word that slipped from Namjoon’s lips, Hoseok’s curiosity grew stronger. His heart began to pound, fluttering anxiously at the uncertainty of what was coming.
“I want you to take Madam Guidecelli’s place.”
Hoseok’s breath caught. This had to be a dream. Maybe he had died after hearing the Madam’s venomous words and was in heaven now.
“What?”
He barely had time to part his lips in shock before Yejun exploded. He shot up from his seat, his voice sharp and furious.
“Do you even realize what you’re saying, Namjoon?”
“This has gone too far, Yejun. I can’t let you keep making decisions on your own,” Namjoon said calmly, his gaze shifting from Hoseok to Yejun. Unlike Yejun, who was red with anger from ear to ear, Namjoon remained collected.
“You seem to have forgotten we’re partners in this. You don’t get to decide on your own. Who did you even consult before making this decision?”
Yejun looked as though he might leap across the room any second, but Namjoon didn’t flinch. Instead, he leaned back slightly, opened one of the drawers at his desk, and placed a sheet of paper in the middle of the table.
“I consulted this, Yejun. The Phantom himself. At his request, I’ve decided the one to replace the prima donna will be Hoseok.”
At those words, Hoseok’s gaze fell to the letter. Even from across the table, he immediately recognized Yoongi’s distinct, slanted handwriting.
Yoongi…
He had arranged all of this. So Hoseok could stand on stage, so his voice could reach the world, so he could finally live the dream he had carried since childhood.
Hoseok’s heart thumped wildly. Butterflies erupted in his stomach, and he could hardly suppress the smile tugging at his lips. He tried to restrain himself from drowning in the intoxication of it all. His fingers instinctively found the necklace under his shirt, brushing against it as if thanking Yoongi himself.
“Are you out of your mind, Namjoon?” Yejun barked. He shot Hoseok a look so sharp it nearly made him flinch.
“I will not replace Madam Guidecelli with a mere background dancer.”
The contempt in his eyes was piercing, but Hoseok refused to let the words wound him. He clutched the necklace tightly, drawing strength from it, and lowered his gaze to avoid Yejun’s.
“Think carefully about what you’re saying, Yejun,” Namjoon’s voice carried the edge of dwindling patience. “The last time we followed your decision, someone was murdered in this opera house. I won’t allow that again. From now on, we take the Phantom’s requests seriously.”
Yejun seethed, his lips parting as if to argue, but he thought better of it. Instead, he shot Hoseok one last venomous glare and stormed out of the room.
It took Hoseok a few seconds to process what had just happened. Everything felt unreal. He hadn’t even had the chance to revel in the joy of being offered the prima donna’s role of knowing Yoongi had specifically asked for him.
“So, what do you say, Hoseok?” Namjoon’s voice pulled him back. His eyes were filled with hope, expectation lingering in his expression. “I know it’s sudden, but the Phantom wants to see you on stage. And if he wants it, there must be a reason. Still, what matters is that you accept it.”
Hoseok swallowed hard. Only one thought echoed in his mind, flooding his veins with fire and lifting him to the clouds.
The Phantom wants to see you on stage.
Hoseok’s lips curved into a faint smile.
Yoongi wants to see me on stage.
That was all that mattered. His dreams were finally coming true. He was going to step onto the stage. He was going to sing. The dream he had nurtured since childhood was finally within reach. But more than anything else… Yoongi wanted it. He wanted Hoseok to be there, singing under the lights.
When his smile stretched to its fullest, his brown eyes locked onto Namjoon’s, which blinked with eager anticipation.
“Yes… Yes, I’ll do it.”
🥀🥀🥀
Hoseok was staring intently at his reflection in the small mirror on the table. He still couldn’t believe he was sitting in the prima donna’s room.
From the other side of the door came the hurried footsteps of people rushing through the opera house. Because the performance had been changed at the very last moment, almost everything, from the stage set to the costumes, was being rearranged. It forced everyone working in the opera to move without catching a breath.
Meanwhile, Hoseok was quietly waiting for his hair and makeup to be done. In the prima donna’s room… In the very room he had almost every night snuck into, forbidden as it was, yet now, he sat here officially, as its rightful occupant.
His gaze roamed over the reflection in the mirror. His large, deer-like eyes were still wide, as if they couldn’t fully comprehend what was happening. There was a faint paleness on his skin from everything he had been through in recent days. His brown hair had grown a little longer, its fine waves brushing faintly against his shoulders.
After a few seconds, he shifted his eyes from the small mirror to the full-length one in the corner of the room. He didn’t know who had replaced the last one, the mirror he had broken in a fit of rage. And he didn’t care…
Because what Hoseok cared about was Yoongi’s presence beyond the mirror. The uneasiness of not having seen him for days wrapped around his entire body. Talking to him, hearing his voice, even if luck was on his side, feeling his touch… these had become his greatest desire over the past few days.
Not seeing Yoongi, even for a short while, had felt like a lifetime to Hoseok.
Taking a deep breath, he rose to his feet and stepped toward the mirror. He was just about to call out, hoping Yoongi might appear. But, when the sound of the door opening startled him and made him sink back into the chair.
“Hello, darling.” Seokjin’s gentle, warm voice bloomed in the room like flowers. Hoseok smiled faintly.
“Are you ready? I’ll do your hair and makeup. Then rehearsal awaits. And this time… as the prima donna.”
Hoseok swallowed hard. Seokjin’s words lingered in the air like proof that his dream had truly come alive. Adrenaline and excitement surged through his veins, and he gave a small nod in response.
Seokjin began combing his soft, slightly wavy hair. His touch was so light that it felt like a massage to Hoseok. His eyelids grew heavy, struggling against the soothing comfort of Seokjin’s fingers weaving through his strands.
“I’m glad it’s you who will take the stage, Hoseok,” Seokjin said, breaking the peaceful silence, though his voice was almost no louder than a whisper.
“I… thank you.” Hoseok didn’t know what else to say.
“I’ve never seen the Phantom so reckless, so insistent before.”
Hoseok’s breath caught in his throat. The calm that had settled over him instantly gave way to another feeling, anxious, buzzing through his whole body.
“You… you know Yo— the Phantom?” he asked once he managed to steady himself. He had nearly let Yoongi’s name slip. Internally, he scolded himself, silently thanking the heavens he hadn’t exposed him at the last second.
“Everyone knows him, Hoseok.” Seokjin set the comb down on the table. His long lashes lifted as he looked at him. “But very few have seen him,” he whispered, before rubbing a bit of cream gently into Hoseok’s hair.
“And you…” Hoseok’s voice trembled, uncertain. He feared he might let something slip about Yoongi, yet curiosity burned too strong to hold back. “Have you seen him?” he asked at last, mustering his courage, though the hesitation in his tone betrayed how wary he was of the answer.
Seokjin smiled faintly. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it still felt sincere.
“Whether I’ve seen him or not… I don’t know if that matters. What matters is that you’ve seen him.”
Seokjin’s words drifted into the room like storm clouds, making Hoseok’s heart pound as if it would break out of his chest. Realizing that Seokjin knew the secret he had guarded for weeks in the deepest corner of his heart felt like hanging by a fragile thread at the edge of a cliff.
“I… I…”
“Don’t worry, darling.” Seokjin placed a light hand on his shoulder. “Your secret is safe with me.”
Hoseok drew in a deep breath, unconsciously relaxing the tense muscles in his body. Still, even though Seokjin’s words gave him comfort, he couldn’t stop feeling on edge. A faint nausea curled in his stomach, and a tremor rippled through his limbs.
“I’ve never seen him this happy before. Not until he met you…”
Hoseok blinked rapidly. The urge to know how long Seokjin had known Yoongi gnawed at him like an unbearable itch. “How long have you known him?” he asked, unable to stop himself.
“For quite a long time…” Seokjin exhaled, a troubled breath. His lips pursed, shoulders slumping. The discomfort of old memories weighed on him visibly.
Hoseok wasn’t sure if prying further was right. But having someone he could talk to about Yoongi brought him an undeniable relief. Now, more than anything, he wanted Seokjin to say more.
“How did you meet him?” he asked in a timid voice, watching Seokjin closely for his reaction.
“I…”
Unexpectedly, Seokjin didn’t respond with sharpness or evasion. His gaze froze in the emptiness ahead, as if he were battling within himself, whether to reveal the dark secret he had carried for years, one that had been slowly consuming him.
“Your secret will be safe with me,” Hoseok said, hoping to offer Seokjin the same sense of trust Seokjin had given him. A small smile, one that felt genuine, appeared on his lips.
“Please… tell me how you met the Phantom. I promise I won’t share your secret with anyone.”
Seokjin’s thoughts snapped back at the sound of Hoseok’s gentle tone. His brown eyes lingered on Hoseok’s face, and then a faint smile bloomed, one that showed he felt safe, that he believed Hoseok’s words.
He pulled over a small chair from beside the vanity and sat down right next to Hoseok, as though even the slightest gap between them might swallow the secret whole and spill it like rain across the world.
“We were very young… I can only vaguely remember.” He began, his eyes absentmindedly fixing on the table. His voice dropped low, almost fragile.
From the heavy, mist-like weight that filled the room, Hoseok sensed that whatever Seokjin was about to say could not be good.
“In those days, circuses used to come to this area. My grandfather would always take me, wanting me to enjoy myself.” He paused, his face tightening.
“Of course, I didn’t understand much back then, I was too young. In front of one tent they were advertising: ‘See the most terrifying creature in the world!’ My grandfather dragged me there. We went inside. There was a large cage…”
Pain seeped into Seokjin’s voice. Instinctively, Hoseok laid a hand on his shoulder, hoping to bring him even the slightest comfort.
“It was so dark inside… I slipped through the crowd until I stood at the bars of the cage. Inside, there was a man… and in the middle, a child lying on the ground. A sack covered his head, and he had shrunk into the corner of the cage as if trying to escape. This seemed to amuse the man, because he dragged the child by the arm back to the center. People looked entertained… Every time coins were thrown into the cage, the man’s eyes gleamed, and he would pull off his belt and strike the child with it.”
Seokjin’s voice broke, and a single tear slid silently down his cheek.
Hoseok felt his chest tighten, a lump swelling in his throat just from hearing it. He could hardly imagine the impact it must have had on a young Seokjin, who had witnessed it all with his own eyes.
“At last, the man must have thought he’d collected enough money, because he yanked the sack from the child’s head.”
Seokjin held his breath, thoughts spinning endlessly in his mind, none of them able to take form in words.
“The crowd screamed and stumbled back when they saw the enormous scar covering half the child’s face. Some even fled the tent. But I… I froze. I saw the pain, the grief, the hopelessness in that boy’s eyes.” He swallowed hard, wetting his dry lips.
“And in that moment, I did something.”
Seokjin’s eyes shifted to Hoseok’s, and Hoseok felt his own begin to sting. Just imagining that this might have been Yoongi’s past was enough to make his heart ache violently.
“By the door was the key to the cage. While the man greedily gathered the coins scattered on the ground, I threw the key to the boy. When our eyes met, I thought… maybe with that one act, I could at least apologize for everything he had suffered.”
Hoseok’s hands reached for Seokjin’s, gripping them tightly, as if to tell him how much courage it had taken, what incredible bravery it was, for a child to do such a thing.
“What happened next was so quick. The boy snatched the belt the man had cast aside and strangled him with it. Before the man could even comprehend what was happening, he collapsed unconscious. The boy stepped out of the cage, but he looked lost, as though he didn’t know what to do.”
Seokjin took a deep breath, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand.
“So I brought him to the opera. It was the nearest place he could hide. My grandfather worked here, and he had told me about the secret passages beneath the building. The boy didn’t say a word to me. He only squeezed my hand lightly, as if in thanks, and then disappeared into the corridors.”
A bittersweet smile tugged at Seokjin’s lips as he met Hoseok’s eyes again.
“And that’s how he became the Phantom of the Opera. I helped him however I could. When I began working here, I tried to protect him from curious eyes. But he always chose his own path. He didn’t need me.”
Hoseok needed time to absorb all that he had just learned. Knowing that Yoongi’s childhood had been so cruel didn’t only shatter his soul, it pierced his heart with thorns.
“Please, Hoseok…” Seokjin’s voice came out almost like a plea. He squeezed Hoseok’s slender fingers with hope. “Please don’t run from him. He needs you. He’s alive again because of you.”
“I won’t run from him.” The words slipped out of Hoseok’s mouth quickly. It wasn’t his mind that answered, it was his heart. He had already surrendered his entire soul into Yoongi’s hands; running was never an option.
Nothing he had just learned could be a reason to turn away. Yoongi’s flaws didn’t matter to him. No matter what, he was still Yoongi.
He was the one who whispered beautiful words into Hoseok’s ear… who gave him gifts… who did everything he could to help him reach his dreams… and, most importantly, the one who truly saw him, truly listened to him.
The thought of running away from Yoongi never even crossed Hoseok’s mind.
A small, sincere smile appeared on his face. “I won’t run from him. I’ll stay by his side.”
This time, his voice rang steadier. Each word that fell from his lips felt like a vow he made to himself. A sacred oath, sealed with his heart, one he would never break.
Relief washed over Seokjin as he leaned back into his chair. The streaks of tears still marked his cheeks, but he seemed not to care. Now his face carried a broad smile, the kind that only came from finally unburdening himself of a secret long kept.
“I believe you, Hoseok. I believe in you, darling.”
🥀🥀🥀
Hoseok walked slowly through the narrow corridors of the opera house. He could feel the rough, cold texture of the floor beneath his bare feet. The scent of dusty wood mixed with the smell of the red velvet fabric covering the walls, reminding him of exactly where he was.
His fingertips brushed over the costumes lined along the hallway leading to the stage, garments waiting either to be worn or to be mended. At the far end of the dimly lit corridor, the stage stood in all its grandeur.
Hoseok felt as though he were under a spell, his entire soul hypnotized, drawn irresistibly toward the stage.
And it surprised him. The calm flowing through his veins brought him peace, as if after years of wandering. He had finally returned to the place he was always meant to be.
It was the complete opposite of the anxious feelings he had experienced sneaking into the prima donna’s room in the dead of night.
As his feet carried him toward the great, ornate stage, he marveled at how much he had changed in such a short time.
Not long ago, he was the Hoseok who skulked in the shadows to avoid being caught, driven only by the childhood dream of the little boy inside him who longed to sing. And now, that very boy had become the man about to take the lead role in a major opera.
It all felt surreal.
He had witnessed firsthand the storm that erupted the moment the news spread that he would be replacing Madam Guidecelli.
The way people whispered from ear to ear, how their eyes glittered with jealousy and contempt, how they muttered behind his back, it didn’t surprise Hoseok, but that didn’t mean he had been fully prepared for it either.
Still, when Jimin and Taehyung had run to him the moment they heard, and when Jungkook had offered his shy, fleeting congratulations, it had been like a bandage to some of the deepest wounds in his heart.
Yet, as he walked the corridors, the bitter side revealed itself too, dancers he had never spoken to shouldering past him, two stagehands he didn’t even know spitting shameful words when they found him alone.
Shadows falling across his happiness.
Even so, Hoseok tried not to dwell on it. Because whatever happened behind the curtains, the next night he would be the one stepping onto the stage, the one who would sing.
That thought alone silenced all the noise in his mind and sent joy exploding through his chest.
When his steps finally brought him to the very center of the stage, the only sound breaking the deep silence was the furious pounding of his heart.
The stage was lit only by the great gas lamps mounted on the tall columns flanking it. The plush red velvet seats of the audience and the VIP balconies gazing down from above were swallowed by darkness.
Normally, darkness unsettled him, made him shiver. But now, the faint glow that allowed him to glimpse the first few rows of seats was enough.
The thought of what would happen the next night circled around him, tangible, heavy. Hoseok could picture the audience seated there, Paris’s elite, dressed in magnificent clothes and painted faces, watching him with absolute seriousness.
But perhaps most important of all was that they would finally hear his voice. The idea alone made his whole body tighten with excitement. Until now, only his father, Taehyung, and Yoongi had ever heard him sing.
But tomorrow, Hoseok will sing before hundreds of people, for the very first time.
Suddenly, he realized this was no longer a dream. It was real. Just hours away.
Hundreds of eyes watching him… hundreds of ears straining to catch every note from his vocal cords… dozens behind the curtain waiting for him to fail…
His body that had been trembling with joy now quivered under the weight of fear.
Even though he had pictured himself on stage since childhood, had sung countless times in his dreams, those had only ever been illusions crafted in his mind.
His breathing quickened. His bare feet felt nailed to the wooden stage. His gaze darted, panicked, as if he were already standing before an audience, already faltering.
The vast stage suddenly felt like a cage. Singing had always made him feel free but now he was like a bird with bound wings, aching to fly.
Hoseok’s eyes welled with tears under the storm of emotions raging inside him. It was as though the air he breathed no longer sustained him.
And then, a familiar, fresh floral scent reached his nose.
It dragged him back to the memory of that dark room just nights ago. The owner of the scent wrapped strong hands around his waist, pulling him close, like tree roots fastening into the earth.
When Hoseok leaned his back against Yoongi’s broad chest, it was as if the storm inside him cleared and the sun broke through the clouds. Yoongi’s mere presence was a safe, solid harbor to anchor himself in.
He took a deep breath, drawing in Yoongi’s scent. It was as if every cell in his body needed it more than oxygen itself to keep living.
His fists, clenched tight with tension, loosened. He placed his palms over the firm white hands circling his waist. With the comfort of being in Yoongi’s embrace, he sank back fully into his chest.
“It’s so beautiful to see you where you belong, my angel.”
The deep, soothing voice whispering by his ear unraveled the last taut strings in his body.
Hoseok tilted his head back slightly. Part of him ached to turn and see Yoongi’s face in the light, but he didn’t want to disturb the moment just yet.
Instead, his fingers traced over Yoongi’s bony, pale knuckles, wandering along his joints. He guided those large hands so much bigger than his own, downward, lower across his stomach.
The possessive warmth of Yoongi’s grip above his hips sent a shiver of pleasure through him. If those fingers moved just a little farther, they would touch the place Yoongi hadn’t dared since leaving him undone last time… the thought alone was enough to drive Hoseok mad.
But he tried to push the thoughts away. Because as much as his body responded, the reaction of his heart weighed heavier.
"Why haven't you come all these days?" Hoseok asked, his voice calm and slightly reproachful, as if no impure thoughts had ever crossed his mind.
He wouldn't admit it to Yoongi, but he missed seeing him, hearing his voice, and feeling his presence.
Yoongi’s fingers grazed Hoseok’s abdomen, teasing his pelvis in a way that made their bodies sway, moving as if dancing to the faint, delicate sound of a violin.
“I wanted you to savor the attention you deserved…” Yoongi whispered softly, carefully choosing each word as if no one else could hear, directly into Hoseok’s ear.
“Besides, it was too crowded around, angel. How could I have approached you like this?”
Goosebumps rose on Hoseok’s skin from the warmth of Yoongi’s breath brushing against his neck.
Their bodies now seemed fused into one. Yoongi’s arms clung tightly to Hoseok’s frame, and their swaying, synchronized movements grew bolder, circling the stage lazily as if performing a waltz.
“I thought you didn’t care about anyone else,” Hoseok said, his voice tinged with disappointment and a subtle sadness.
He knew Yoongi was capable of doing anything he wanted and sought a logical reason for why Yoongi hadn’t come to see him.
“I do, angel. The only one I care about is you.” Yoongi’s lips grazed Hoseok’s ear provocatively. Both his words and his touch made Hoseok feel as if he might dissolve into a puddle right there.
Hoseok tilted his head back, exposing his neck as if surrendering it to a predator, craving Yoongi’s lips to trail down and ruin his skin with kisses.
As they continued dancing in their private rhythm on stage, Hoseok tried to steady himself with Yoongi’s scent filling his lungs. He also mustered the courage to voice a question that had been lingering in his mind.
“Yes…” he said after a brief pause. “You said you’ll do anything for me, didn’t you?”
His voice barely carried over the dominant sounds of their steps on the stage, as if the stage itself absorbed every word. Hoseok chastised himself for feeling so weak and timid.
“I’ll do anything, Hoseok. Even things you can’t imagine, I’m ready to do them all for you.”
Yoongi’s grip tightened. Hoseok marveled at how, despite being two separate puzzle pieces, their bodies fit together perfectly. His back rested against Yoongi’s broad chest, his hips pressing against Yoongi’s pelvis with every step, as if it was always meant to fit there.
“Then, the murder at the opera… you did it?” Hoseok blurted, knowing he might never find the courage to ask if he paused. But if he didn’t ask, the question would gnaw at the back of his mind.
As Hoseok held his breath for an answer, Yoongi’s dancing steps abruptly stopped. He leaned close to Hoseok’s ear, his teeth grazing the earlobe dangerously for a fleeting moment.
“What if I did…” he murmured in a tone so deep that Hoseok could barely hear. Then, suddenly, he pulled away.
Hoseok couldn’t react to the sudden disappearance of warmth enveloping him. One of his hands was still held by Yoongi, but now Yoongi was two steps away, arms extended perfectly parallel to the ground.
And then, Hoseok met Yoongi’s eyes. Before he could react further, Yoongi pulled Hoseok’s hand, their chests collided like opposing poles of a magnet, forcefully and passionately.
“Would it scare you if I took a life for you?”
Hoseok felt the heat of Yoongi’s words and breath on his lips. His sharp, catlike eyes gleamed in the dim light, piercing into the depths of Hoseok’s soul, searching for an answer.
Hoseok swallowed hard. One of Yoongi’s arms was wrapped tightly around his waist, bringing their bodies together again, the other hand held Hoseok’s delicate fingers in the air. Their steps resumed, matching the rhythm of the melody of their souls, waltzing in perfect unison.
Hoseok felt his lips press tightly together, unable to form words. He had longed for days, even weeks, to see Yoongi truly in front of him. Without mirrors, without shadows to hide behind, he wanted to see Yoongi in all his presence.
And now, Yoongi was right there.
The white mask covering half his face seemed like another skin. Up close, his eyes were sharper, his complexion more vivid under the glow of the gas lamps. A few freckles were scattered delicately across his nose and cheeks as if painted with care.
The shadows of his lashes fell gently on his cheek, contrasting with his freckles. His lips, full, pink, and crafted with precision, exuded an aura that made every word feel sacred.
As he inspected Hoseok with that gaze, a subtle, wise, confident smile curved his lips. Hoseok parted his own lips to speak, but no words came; his vocal cords seemed to disconnect from his mind.
He only clung tightly to Yoongi, like a parched soul discovering water in a desert, as if Yoongi were his sole salvation.
“What’s the matter, angel? Silent now. Are you afraid of me? Are you afraid of what I did for you?”
Hoseok watched Yoongi’s lips move with each word, each syllable emerging like notes forming a delicate melody. As his lips parted, a glimpse of pearly teeth appeared in their full glory.
But Hoseok managed to pull himself back from being completely entranced by Yoongi. The words sank in, and he shook his head frantically.
“No… no, I…” Hoseok’s voice came out breathless. They continued dancing, their rhythm now faster than when they began but Hoseok knew it wasn’t the movement that quickened his pulse.
He wanted to prove to Yoongi that he had been wrong in his assumptions. Hoseok panicked, fearing Yoongi might still think otherwise.
“Monsieur Buquet was already a terrible man,” Hoseok began, clutching Yoongi’s shoulder for support and reassurance. “He even made an indecent proposal to me once. His presence disturbed everyone.”
Hoseok was surprised at his own words as they flowed out. He hadn’t realized he felt this way until he spoke.
Yoongi, hearing this, pulled Hoseok closer, pressing their bodies together just enough to make him tremble and perhaps moan softly.
“If I had known he did such a thing, I would have killed that artless bastard earlier. By killing him instead of Madam Guidecelli, I made the right decision.”
Yoongi’s voice carried anger, but instead of scaring Hoseok, it nourished the fledgling flowers blooming within him. Knowing someone protected him, knowing Yoongi would do anything for him, made him happy rather than fearful. Butterflies danced in his stomach.
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Hoseok said gently. Now it truly didn’t matter. All of that was behind them, and Monsieur Buquet would rot in his grave with his own filth.
“Tomorrow, I’ll take the stage, right here. And it’s all thanks to you.”
Hoseok placed a small smile on his face, one he hoped Yoongi would like. His hand on Yoongi’s shoulder lifted slightly, playing with the black, wavy strands at the nape of his neck.
“Yes, angel. You’ll be in the place you deserve. You’ll mesmerize everyone with your voice and beauty. And I’ll watch you from the most special seat, my eyes sparkling and my heart full of admiration for you.”
Yoongi’s previously harsh tone had softened. Hoseok realized he liked him this way even more. His gentle voice felt like velvet, wrapping around Hoseok’s heart, warming it and shielding him from all harm.
“But I don’t know if I can. What if I get too nervous… or go off-key?” Hoseok said, voicing the anxieties that had been living in his mind for some time.
“Nothing will happen, angel.”
Yoongi slowed his steps, their dance in the calm silence becoming more tender, more deliberate.
“Just like we practiced at midnight. Just like I taught you. There’s nothing to fear,” he whispered softly. Yoongi seemed to read Hoseok’s thoughts, to understand all the emotions behind his eyes, answering every worry without a word.
“But it’s not the same. We practiced in the dark, with no one else around. You taught me so many things I didn’t know. But now, I’m stepping in front of hundreds of people. I’m not sure if I can pull it off,” Hoseok admitted.
“Think of me… imagine that when you get nervous, it’s just us practicing in front of the mirror. I’m there in your mind, angel. Just thinking of my presence is enough,” Yoongi said gently.
“It’s not the same,” Hoseok sighed helplessly. He didn’t expect Yoongi to understand the absence of Yoongi; he had never experienced what Hoseok had. Behind walls and mirrors, he lived like a ghost. Despite his magnificent voice and endless knowledge of music, he had never performed on a stage.
Yoongi had never been on stage.
This thought, suddenly appearing in Hoseok’s mind, sparked a hopeful glimmer in his eyes.
“You…” he began, his brown doe-like eyes locking with Yoongi’s cat-like gaze. “You come on stage with me,” he said in one breath.
Yoongi’s faintly smiling face immediately tensed. Hoseok felt the body beneath his hands stiffen. Yoongi seemed to regret the offer he had just made.
“I can’t, angel. Tomorrow, you’ll be the lead. I’m sure you’ll enchant everyone alone. People need to hear your voice, not mine…”
Even though Yoongi’s response was negative, Hoseok was pleased by how normal and composed it was. He hadn’t fled or abandoned him like before. This was progress.
Hoseok’s hand on the nape of Yoongi’s neck found the cold surface of the mask covering half of his cheek. As his fingers traced it, he remembered why Yoongi hid in the shadows, why he concealed himself.
People had treated Yoongi cruelly, forcing him into a life he did not deserve. His voice, his unparalleled musical talent, the ears that distinguished every note, the hands that could flawlessly play every instrument, and most importantly, his flawless singing… people were oblivious to it all.
Hoseok felt sorrow for this. He wanted Yoongi to be where he deserved, to be free to sing on stage.
“Let’s sing together. I don’t care what people think. My voice comes alive and is complete with yours,” Hoseok said, whispering each word to Yoongi’s lips as if trying to convince him. His fingertips traced the cheek exposed by the mask, feeling the warm, soft skin.
“I can’t, angel… I just can’t,” Yoongi said hopelessly. His tone dropped, and Hoseok’s morale sank. “Ask me for anything else, but please, don’t ask this.”
Hoseok took a deep breath. He didn’t have the courage to push further. If Yoongi turned away again, he wouldn’t be able to bear it. He had no choice but to accept.
“But when you’re here with me,” he began, dreamy as if speaking to himself.
“When you’re here, I calm down. I forget where I am, and my heart beats only with the excitement of your presence.”
Hoseok fixed his gaze on Yoongi’s eyes. Confessing this made him tremble with excitement, he wondered how Yoongi would react.
“Wouldn’t it be wonderful? You’d calm me before the stage, and then we’d step out and show everyone what true opera, true passion, is.”
Hoseok felt his passion rising. Imagining himself on stage with Yoongi, imagining their voices intertwining, thrilled him.
“Ah, angel,” Yoongi said. His previous helplessness seemed to have vanished. His pupils dilated, almost appearing pitch black.
“I can calm you now, too.”
Yoongi smiled slightly, in a way that made Hoseok’s skin tingle. Without giving Hoseok a chance to respond, his large, strong hands found Hoseok’s hips.
He squeezed his hips as if asserting his strength, stretching his thick, bony fingers through the fabric of Hoseok’s pants, fingertips pressing against the soft flesh.
Hoseok’s breath caught in his throat. It took him a few seconds to realize and react.
“Do you want me to… ease your excitement and tension, angel?” Yoongi lazily brushed his nose against Hoseok’s sharp nose, patiently waiting for an answer.
Hoseok’s lips parted helplessly, wanting to kiss the lips just inches away. Yoongi’s passionate gaze, the fingers kneading his hips, the body beginning to caress his pelvis, all of it made Hoseok desperate.
But when he realized Yoongi was truly waiting for an answer, he nodded quickly, a barely audible “yes” escaping his lips.
As he leaned toward Yoongi’s full pink lips, he suddenly found himself lifted into the air. The thrill of height made him wrap his arms around Yoongi’s shoulders, his long legs encircling his waist.
Yoongi’s firm hold made Hoseok feel as if his fingers were pressing into his skin despite the fabric of his pants. When Yoongi’s lips reached his neck, a deep moan escaped Hoseok.
Like a bee extracting nectar, Yoongi licked the most sensitive spot beneath his ear with warmth, then gently tugged and nibbled.
Hoseok felt his soul being drawn from beneath Yoongi's lips. The warmth spreading from that point of contact throughout his entire body had affected most of all his penis and hole, which he hadn't touched in days.
He clung tighter to Yoongi’s shoulders, tilting his neck further toward him. He surrendered completely. If Yoongi were a vampire, he knew he would give himself fully, down to the last drop of blood.
He tightened his legs around Yoongi's waist more tightly. His penis desperately wanted more friction and more of Yoongi. Unable to resist this, he rubbed against him as much as he could.
The hungry, lustful lips roaming his neck intensified the pleasure a thousandfold. Hoseok closed his eyes, as Yoongi licked along his neck, leaving a burning wet trail, a whimper escaped, signaling his desire for more than just lips.
Suddenly, his back pressed against a solid wall. When he opened his eyes slightly, he realized he was leaning against a carved wooden plaque on the left side of the stage. Then, just a few inches away, he found Yoongi, breathless and predatory, watching him.
Yoongi’s mask still covered half his face, which for the first time, made Hoseok uncomfortable. It felt as if an insurmountable wall existed between them. Hoseok wanted to see Yoongi fully, without barriers, without anything between them.
Just as he moved to lift his hands to Yoongi’s face and remove the mask, Yoongi’s deep, firm voice cut between them.
“Oh, Hoseok,” he chuckled heavily. His voice sounded so dangerous. But Hoseok must have liked it because the image just a few centimeters away and the voice filling his ears sent a thrill of arousal to his penis.
“You are so forbidden to me… but still, I can't stay away from you.” Yoongi’s lips found Hoseok’s adam's apple, which moved as he swallowed hard. He kissed it softly and continued speaking without his lips leaving Hoseok's skin.
“I can't take my eyes off your beauty… I can't pull my lips away from you… It's as if my very existence is tied to you. I can't help but think, like a coward, how I would live without you.”
Hoseok wanted to say it. You don't have to live without me, let's live together. But Yoongi’s lips, moving from his throat to his chin and then to his lips, prevented him from speaking.
As if he didn't want to cause harm, Yoongi placed an almost imperceptible kiss on Hoseok’s lips and pulled back very slightly.
At the touch, Hoseok’s entire body went numb. His legs gave way without him realizing, and he only noticed when he felt the wooden floor under his bare foot.
He hopefully parted his lips for the next, deeper kiss to come, but the kiss he expected didn't arrive. Instead, Yoongi’s lips found Hoseok’s neck again.
Hoseok wanted to whine. He wanted to feel his lips, taste him, and kiss Yoongi. Something stirring restlessly inside him was screaming because he wasn't getting what he constantly wanted.
But Hoseok didn't have the opportunity to think about it. He suddenly realized his shirt had fallen open from the cold that hit his chest.
As the coolness of the night hit his skin, his nipples stiffened. From the pleasure he was experiencing, his chest was rising and falling rapidly. Two drops of sweat from the heat enveloping his body made their way glisteningly down his faint abdominal muscles.
Meanwhile, Yoongi watched, mesmerized, as Hoseok's body bloomed like a flower. His gaze, sharp and dark, lingered on his nipples, watching the contrast his necklace's bright red stone created against the glowing skin.
Yoongi licked his lips.
"You're so beautiful... so unique."
Hoseok's heartbeat quickened. All the pleasure in his body began to create an uncomfortable throb in his penis. His pants felt tight. He wanted to tear off every piece of fabric on him.
Just like he did when he first put the necklace on him, Yoongi gently kissed the thin chain, then, without pulling back, whispered against Hoseok's skin.
"I'm going to make you feel so good, my angel. I'm going to relax you so well," he said. Then, without wasting any time, his lips found Hoseok's pleasure-stiffened, dark pink, sensitive nipple.
A deep and lewd moan escaped from Hoseok's lips. He knew that if he were in his right mind, he would be ashamed of this, but his brain had turned to water, so he had lost his ability to think rationally.
Yoongi's teeth gently tugged at Hoseok's nipple, then, as if to soothe the pain, he wet it with his tongue and encircled the nipple with his saliva.
Hoseok felt like he was going to faint from the pleasure Yoongi's tongue was giving him. His hands helplessly found the silk fabric of Yoongi's shirt and squeezed it as if seeking support. His feet, as if they could no longer carry him, grew numb.
But Yoongi must have understood this because his hands found Hoseok's hips again, and while his tongue teased one nipple, his hands squeezed and kneaded his buttocks, simultaneously supporting him to keep him standing.
When Yoongi pulled back slightly from his nipple, he licked and gathered the saliva from his lips, then, without wasting any time, found the other, untouched nipple.
Hoseok was no longer sure if he was breathing. He was trying not to tear his eyes away from Yoongi's seductive and sinful state, but the way Yoongi's tongue circled his nipple, then sucked on it with lustful sounds, leaving his marks on his chest, felt so good that his eyelids closed involuntarily and he surrendered himself completely to Yoongi.
When Yoongi was done with his nipple, he lingered in the curve of Hoseok's breast, then from there, he licked a long trail down Hoseok's stomach to his groin, and then he knelt down.
Hoseok's breath caught in his throat as he saw Yoongi before him through his half-lidded eyes, just like in his dreams.
Min Yoongi... The Min Yoongi whose very words made everyone fear and flee, who instilled terror in everyone, the one everyone only heard about in stories and marveled at... was now kneeling before him, in the most obscene way possible, preoccupied with his own honey-colored, slender body.
Just that thought alone was enough to make his toes curl and for innocent-sounding but far-from-innocent whimpers to fall from his lips.
The echo of need-filled sounds on the stage was all it took. Without wasting another second, Yoongi undid the buttons of Hoseok's trousers and swiftly pulled them down along with his underwear, leaving him exposed and vulnerable.
A cool draft hit Hoseok's hardened, flushed cock, making the hairs on his skin stand on end. His penis seemed to relax a fraction, freed from the confines of the irritating fabric, and it curved slightly upwards towards his stomach.
Hoseok had to make an extraordinary effort to fill his lungs with oxygen and calm down. He felt completely exposed, laid bare for Yoongi in the most literal sense, but the empty audience seats he could see from the corner of his eye and the vast, expansive stage they were on wouldn't allow him to find any peace.
Because just hours ago, this place was full of people. Staff, dancers, workers, so many people had been right where they were standing just a few hours earlier. And now, Hoseok was on that same stage, almost completely naked. His penis was hard, arousal coursing through his veins like a drug.
And he was about to do something obscene and utterly inappropriate out in the open with Yoongi.
But Hoseok didn't care.
The only thing he could think about was Yoongi, who was kneeling before him, looking utterly ravenous, as if he was going to devour him whole in a matter of seconds.
"You look so delicious, Hoseok."
Yoongi's gravelly voice and the words he spoke without ever taking his eyes off Hoseok's red, hardened penis curving against his stomach made Hoseok's toes curl. Standing there, waiting for Yoongi's touch with every passing second, was starting to become painful.
He couldn't wait. A hunger he'd never felt before, a yearning, and a fire that turned his insides to ash were consuming him.
"I made a mistake not touching you that day."
Yoongi gripped Hoseok's thigh with one hand and pressed a firm, lingering kiss to the thin, sensitive skin dangerously close to his penis.
"I should have fucked you right there, the first place I saw you."
Hoseok felt pre-cum bead and leak from the tip of his crimson, hard length. He dug his fingers into the ornate, wooden-paneled wall behind him, sure his nails were scraping grooves into the surface.
As Yoongi's lips continued to linger on his groin, sucking on the skin there, Hoseok was growing frustrated with his painfully untouched penis. He involuntarily bucked his hips forward towards Yoongi's face. He wanted Yoongi's lips, his hands, on his hard, throbbing, aching erection.
"Please, Yoongi." Hoseok's words tumbled out, followed by a needy moan. "I'm so hard, it hurts so much, please."
"Shh, angel." Yoongi met Hoseok's gaze. Without looking away from him for even a second, his eyes dark and almost black with lust, he placed a kiss on the tip of Hoseok's leaking penis.
"I'll take care of you. So well you'll forget your own name."
As soon as Yoongi finished speaking, he licked the pre-cum from the tip of Hoseok's penis, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as if he greatly enjoyed the taste. Then he slicked the entire length with his own saliva, carefully tracing over each prominent vein.
Hoseok could feel the vibrations of Yoongi's pleasure-filled murmurs on his cock, which he was now struggling to hold back from orgasm, as if Yoongi were savoring his favorite dessert.
"Ah, Yoongi, I'm-" Hoseok couldn't even hear the words coming from his own lips. Each breath was followed by a deep, pleasurable moan that melted into the lust-filled atmosphere of the scene.
Seemingly pleased with the reaction he was getting from Hoseok, Yoongi took the penis he had slicked with his tongue into his mouth.
"Ah, please, please!"
When Hoseok felt his penis enveloped by the warm mouth, his eyes rolled back, emotions from the pleasure filling his eyes until a single tear streamed down his cheek.
Yoongi teased his cock lightly with his teeth, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked.
With Yoongi's mouth wrapped around him so perfectly, sucking on every cell, Hoseok, with the disadvantage of an inexperienced youth, tried desperately not to come, wanting to prolong this moment just a little longer.
"I'm- I'm gonna-" Before he could finish his sentence, Yoongi pulled his lips off Hoseok's cock with a pop sound.
"That quickly? I'm not done with you yet, beautiful.”
Hoseok's penis throbbed with ache and anticipation in the aftermath of his interrupted pleasure. He wanted to wrap his own hands around his length. He knew just a few strokes would be enough to make him come.
But Yoongi noticed. "Tsk tsk, no. I told you I would take care of you. Leave it to me."Yoongi rose from his kneeling position. He faced Hoseok.
Hoseok could barely keep his eyes open, but in the reflection of Yoongi's eyes, he could see his own desperation as if in a mirror.
"Will you open those pretty lips for me?”
As if commanded, Hoseok let out a whine and opened his mouth, just in time to feel Yoongi's fingers inside it.
Hoseok's eyes fluttered shut with pleasure from the weight of the thick fingers on his tongue. Suddenly, he felt voracious, like a slave who had been starved for days.
He swirled his tongue around Yoongi's thick fingers, over their prominent knuckles. They tasted sweet, like vanilla. His mouth watered, and saliva dripped from the corners of his lips.
"That's enough, angel. Now, let me take you to heaven.”
Hoseok whined at the sudden emptiness in his mouth. But immediately after, as Yoongi's fingers teased the muscles around his rim, a moan he had never uttered before escaped his lips and echoed off the opera's empty walls.
A smirk formed on Yoongi's face, seeming pleased with the reaction, and he gently pushed his middle finger inside Hoseok.
The movements started slow at first. Experimentally, he went deeper, gauging Hoseok's reactions, and gently stroked Hoseok's inner wall.
Hoseok gripped Yoongi's shirt tightly. Despite the fabric in his palm, his nails left marks and drew faint blood, but he didn't care. The sensation of the fingers he so admired inside him made him want more.
"Please, please, one more," he said breathlessly. He was grateful that letters could form words between his moans.
"I won't deny you, angel. I'm sure you can take my fingers so beautifully. They were made for you, weren't they?" Yoongi whispered into Hoseok's ear as he pushed another finger inside him.
"Aren't they perfect for you to feel on your sensitive walls, to swirl that sweet tongue of yours around and taste?"
This time, his movements began to get faster and harder. As if he knew exactly what to do and knew Hoseok by heart, Hoseok curled around Yoongi's fingers, which stretched his soft walls.
"Such sweet innocence," Yoongi said against Hoseok's neck. While his fingers caressed Hoseok inside, his lips sucked on his neck.
"I... I can't take it, please!"
Hoseok had never felt so full before. Yoongi's presence enveloped him completely. It was a thousand times more pleasurable than any dream he'd ever had.
Yoongi's fingers found Hoseok's prostate as if they knew the way.
His back arched like a bow. His toes curled from the pleasure coursing through his veins. Hoseok forgot where he was, what he was doing. The only thing he knew was that Yoongi was taking him above the clouds.
And that was it for Hoseok. A scream-like moan tore from his lips.
His entire body trembled like a thin leaf, and all the cum from his throbbing cock spilled out, untouched and without warning Yoongi.
Hoseok had to wait for a while, catching his breath, for his body to return to normal, for his heartbeat to calm down after the orgasm he had experienced, and for the tears streaming from his eyes to stop.
He felt his mind and his entire body like mud. His thoughts and emotions seemed to have been swallowed by a swamp. No words fell from his lips, and he doubted his vocal cords would cooperate with him anyway.
Yoongi slowly withdrew his fingers from inside him. Hoseok opened his eyes, which he had closed against the feeling of emptiness. His hole clenched with disappointment, as if seeking the tension and fullness it had lost around the void.
The first thing he saw was that he had ruined Yoongi's trousers and shirt with his own semen. A sudden sense of shame enveloped his entire body.
Coming this early was something only an inexperienced young boy would do. Under Yoongi's touch, Hoseok was no different from a naive youth.
He should have been better for Yoongi. He should have satisfied him. But he had come just from Yoongi's tongue and those white, thick, artist's hands.
Yoongi noticed his shoulders slowly slumping and the gleam of pleasure fading from his eyes with these thoughts, and smiled gently at Hoseok.
"You were so good, Hoseok, you did so well, my sweet angel."
With his clean hand, he brushed back Hoseok's hair, which was stuck together with sweat and falling onto his forehead, then pulled Hoseok to his chest.
Hoseok suddenly didn't know what to do in the face of such affection. Yoongi's voice, now completely stripped of all lust, erased all the anxieties in his heart. He breathed Yoongi's unique, flower-like scent into his lungs.
"Let's get you cleaned up, angel. Tomorrow is a big day."
Hoseok felt himself melting from Yoongi's husky voice, burying his head deeper into Yoongi's neck. He let Yoongi's warm body wrap around him like a blanket and gently lower him from the clouds he was on after his orgasm.
Wrapping his arms tightly around Hoseok's body, Yoongi suddenly picked him up and began to carry him in his arms, as befitting a princess.
Hoseok was struggling to keep his eyes open. But his body felt tired because he had just had the biggest orgasm of his life. Moreover, Yoongi's scent and warmth were causing his body to relax completely.
He finally lost the battle within himself. He closed his eyes and fell asleep with the comfort of knowing that Yoongi would take care of and protect him, no matter what.
In his dream, he saw two roses in the middle of a garden, their roots entangled.
🥀🥀🥀
“The audience is starting to take their seats, check the stage props one last time!”
“Lighting adjustments are complete.”
“Direction is ready. Sir, everything is set!”
The loud shouts echoing from the corridor, mixed with the sound of hurried footsteps, slipped in through the slightly ajar door of the prima donna’s room. Everyone at the opera house was filled with both stress and excitement.
The big day had finally arrived.
Hoseok sat there, almost melting under Taehyung’s hands as he styled his hair. The young man’s fingers danced through the strands of his brown, slightly long hair, carefully arranging them into natural waves for his stage debut.
Meanwhile, Seokjin was finishing his makeup. Soft brushes glided across Hoseok’s cheeks, tickling the tip of his nose. He could feel the grainy texture of colorful pigments settling lightly onto his skin.
Hands kept fussing over his costume, tugging at his shoulders and smoothing out the hems of his trousers. The very people who had once attended to Madam Guidecelli’s outfits were now swarming around Hoseok, making sure his costume looked flawless.
Hoseok drew in a deep breath and slowly opened his eyes, which had been shut for who knows how long. He thought not seeing the crowd around him would help calm him down but he was wrong.
With every passing second, the thought of stepping onto that stage filled his heart with both anxiety and excitement.
He didn’t even know how he had managed to sleep the previous night. The last thing he remembered was surrendering himself into Yoongi’s arms. At some point in the middle of the night, he woke up to find himself in his own bed, wearing his favorite red nightgown.
At first, he couldn’t make sense of it. He thought it had all been just another dream. After all, Hoseok was used to that. Countless times he had woken up in the middle of the night, realizing everything had only been a dream, drowning in disappointment.
But that night was different. His body still ached faintly. Especially, his lower body carried a sweet soreness, the kind that reminded him of Yoongi’s thick fingers, his hungry lips, sweet enough to make him crave more.
Even then, Hoseok had struggled to separate dream from reality. That was until he lit the candles in his room, the warm glow spilling across the walls and revealing a rose Yoongi had left for him.
As always, the thorns had been carefully removed, tied with a black ribbon, a crimson red rose.
In that moment, reality struck him like a splash of icy cold water, and his heart began to pound wildly.
The things he had felt, the hands roaming over his body, lips worshiping his skin, returned to him like a lingering shadow. Until the first light of dawn filled his room, Hoseok’s mind was consumed only by Yoongi: his bold tongue, his confident touch, his dark, piercing gaze.
That night, Hoseok had once again been left restless, forced to ease his own ache but of course, it was nothing compared to the pleasure Yoongi gave him.
Because he had spent the entire night thinking of nothing but Yoongi, replaying those moments again and again in his mind, he had almost forgotten the terrifying truth that he was to stand on stage.
Until morning came, and he found himself at the opera house at his usual hour.
The frantic pace of everyone rushing through the corridors, pulling him along to finish last-minute preparations, left Hoseok face-to-face with the thing he feared most.
He had to perform.
But he was utterly terrified. Because it would be the very first time he revealed his voice before an audience.
Hoseok had always been an insecure child. He still remembered his very first time dancing on stage as if it were yesterday. He was only sixteen then, so small and fragile. Right before going on stage, he had thrown up twice, only to be calmed down by a fellow dancer. Hoseok had done everything he could to make sure his dance instructor never found out, afraid he would think Hoseok wasn’t ready and end his career before it even began.
When he finally stood before the audience, he froze. But when the music swelled and the melody reached his ears, reality hit him. His first instinct was to close his eyes, take a deep breath, and surrender himself to the rhythm. Because that was the one thing he knew best: dancing.
And when the violins faded, replaced by the audience’s thunderous applause and whistles, his heart fluttered like a butterfly. His spirit felt light, as if he were gliding among the clouds.
That was the day Hoseok realized he could never leave the stage. All that stress and anxiety melted away into smiles and applause.
But now…
Now he wasn’t so sure.
He could barely control his breathing, chest rising and falling as though he were running a marathon. His hands and feet tingled constantly, and at times, his whole body went numb, his muscles tightening as though the walls were closing in on him.
“Hyung? Are you okay?”
Taehyung’s voice finally pierced through the storm of his thoughts. It took Hoseok far too long to realize someone was speaking to him.
“Yes… yes, I’m…”
Hoseok swallowed hard; his voice came out weak.
“Hyung, you look really nervous. Is something wrong?”
Trying to calm himself, Hoseok placed his hand over his heart. His fingertips brushed against the red stone of the necklace Yoongi had given him. And just like that, as though it had given him strength, the tightness in his body began to ease.
“I’m fine, don’t worry, Taehyung.”
“Sweetheart, it’s his first time singing, it’s perfectly normal for him to feel nervous and tense.”
At Seokjin’s words, Hoseok’s eyes drifted toward him. The older man was looking at him with a broad smile and a faint sparkle in his eyes. There was a hidden note in his voice that always managed to soothe Hoseok.
“I understand, hyung. But you deserve to be on that stage more than anyone. I know how incredible your voice is. I have no doubt everyone will fall in love with you.”
Taehyung flashed his signature square smile at Hoseok and gave his shoulder a light reassuring squeeze, as if silently promising that he’d always be there if something went wrong.
“And besides, this nervousness will only last until you step on stage, after that, everything will flow like water.”
Hoseok blinked at Seokjin’s words. If someone could’ve just shown him proof that everything would go as smoothly as they said, he would’ve walked onto the stage without a shred of doubt or nerves. But he knew they were saying this only to calm him down.
“I don’t know… I’m really worried about messing everything up.”
“Everything’s going to be fine, hyung,” Taehyung said as he took Hoseok’s hand and helped him up. He led him to the large ornate mirror in the room.
“Look at yourself. You’re like an angel . First, everyone will be struck speechless by your beauty, and then they’ll be blessed by your voice. You have nothing to be worried about, hyung, you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.”
Hoseok’s heart started to pound even faster as Taehyung’s words filled his ears. His gaze locked with his reflection in the mirror.
He was dressed in pure white. Because of the delicate fabric of his shirt, the golden glow of the candles revealed the shape of his body, especially the slim line of his waist. The frills at his cuffs and chest gave the shirt a romantic, soft aura. The top three buttons were undone, showing off the honey-colored line of his collarbones.
His trousers were pressed to perfection, with silver embroidery along the seams that matched the shimmer of his shirt.
Hoseok’s eyes wandered from his outfit to his face.
A soft pink eyeshadow dusted his eyelids. His cheeks carried the faintest blush, just like the shade they turned when he was flustered. His lips were rosy, as if kissed for hours, accentuating their heart shape.
He didn’t know what to say to the sight in front of him. He felt different, yet at the same time, it felt exactly right. He was finally standing where he had dreamed of being countless times before.
“You’re beautiful, darling.”
Seokjin’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. Hoseok looked at his reflection in the mirror again, this time meeting Seokjin’s gaze. The older man stepped closer, placed his hands gently on Hoseok’s shoulders.
“Everything is going to be perfect. There’s nothing for you to stress about. You were born for this,” Seokjin said softly. Then he leaned in and whispered into Hoseok’s ear. “And besides, you’ve been trained by the very best.”
Hoseok knew that was true. He had spent days learning from the world’s greatest opera singer, a true musical genius, an unparalleled maestro. He had learned everything because of Yoongi. But… Did that really mean he was ready to stand before hundreds of people?
As his anxiety resurfaced, his chest tightened, and Hoseok parted his lips to distract himself, to breathe, to calm down but the words died in his throat when a knock came at the door.
“Hello, Hoseok. If you’re free, may I speak with you?”
The polite tone of Kim Namjoon’s voice filled the room. Seokjin and Taehyung immediately stepped back, gathered their things, gave Hoseok a respectful nod, and left. Hoseok suddenly found himself alone with Namjoon, confused about what was happening.
“You look wonderful, Hoseok. As if you’re ready for the stage.”
Namjoon smiled, his dimples deepening, but Hoseok noticed the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was as if his true feelings were shadowed, a forced attempt at warmth.
“Thank you. If it weren’t for Seokjin hyung and Taehyung, I don’t think I’d look like this.”
Hoseok fiddled shyly with the lace on his sleeve, not sure what else to say. The silence stretching between them made him both nervous and uneasy.
“I actually came to tell you something.”
Namjoon cleared his throat. His words seemed heavy, like a burden weighing on him.
“There are some very important guests in the audience today. The mayor of Paris, members of parliament. And many of the leading nobles as well.”
Hoseok met Namjoon’s gaze, surprised to see he looked almost as worried as himself.
“If the Phantom chose you for this stage, then he had his reasons. All I ask is that you give it your best,” Namjoon said, then immediately waved his hands as if realizing he’d spoken too harshly.
“I mean I know you will. Even during dance rehearsals, you were always so disciplined and responsible.”
Namjoon bit his lip, like he was debating whether or not to share the rest of his thoughts.
“It’s just… tonight is critical for the opera,” he admitted at last, stepping closer. “After the recent incidents, we were on the verge of shutting down. Tonight is our chance to restore the opera’s reputation.”
The sincerity in his eyes reached Hoseok. He had heard from Seokjin just how much effort Namjoon had poured into saving the opera.
Hoseok wanted to give his all for Namjoon, but hearing the weight of how important this night was only added fuel to his nerves.
“I’ll do my best,” Hoseok whispered, though his voice nearly disappeared into the space between them. He prayed Namjoon wouldn’t notice the tremor of his insecurity.
“Thank you, Hoseok. I knew I could count on you.”
Namjoon offered a small smile, excused himself, and left the room. Hoseok was alone again.
With no one to distract him, the voices in his mind screamed louder. In just half an hour, he would be singing on stage. It was as important for the opera’s survival as it was for his own future.
Slowly, he walked toward the large ornate mirror. As he did every night, he half-expected to see Yoongi’s masked silhouette behind him but this time, the only thing staring back at him was his own fear.
He pressed his hand against the mirror, as if he could feel Yoongi’s presence through it. His eyes roamed over the makeup and the soft waves of his hair. He should’ve been the happiest man alive right now, yet all he felt was the icy rush of anxiety.
“Please…” Hoseok whispered, closing his eyes. He leaned his forehead against the mirror, body curling inward like a prayer at an altar. “Please, Yoongi. Don’t leave me alone.”
He had to force himself not to cry, terrified of ruining his makeup. If he stayed by the mirror any longer, he knew he’d shatter it and run to find Yoongi. So instead, he tore himself away, gave his reflection one last look, and stepped out, heading toward the stage.
Every step he took sent his heartbeat crashing through him like thunder. Hoseok barely registered where he was or where his feet carried him, he was just moving on autopilot.
Until a voice made him freeze.
A familiar voice. Deep, rasping, as if it could break into a cough at any second.
“I want police every two rows. Extra attention on the VIP balconies.”
Park Yejun’s voice was quiet, but unmistakable. Hoseok instantly pressed himself against a column, hiding in the shadows where Yejun couldn’t see him.
“Yes, sir. We’ll keep our eyes wide open,” replied a younger-sounding man.
“The Phantom will definitely be here tonight to watch. We need to catch him, end this once and for all.”
Hoseok’s breath hitched. He never could’ve imagined Yejun planning something like this. Panic surged through him.
Yoongi couldn’t be caught. He had to warn him.
He was about to run back to the prima donna’s room and slip through the mirror passage when he felt a gentle hand close around his wrist.
He froze, heart racing, terrified of being caught eavesdropping. Slowly, he turned.
“Hyung, what are you doing here?”
Relief flooded him when he saw it was Jimin. His muscles relaxed at the sight of his friend.
“I…I was on my way to the stage,” Hoseok said quickly, forcing a smile. His hands trembled with nerves, both from what he had overheard and from being caught sneaking around. But he had to act as though nothing was wrong.
“Let me walk you there, hyung,” Jimin said brightly, tugging him forward by the wrist.
Hoseok froze in surprise. He needed to go back, warn Yoongi about Yejun’s plan, but how could he slip away from Jimin? His thoughts tangled like a knotted string.
Jimin, unaware of his turmoil, kept leading him cheerfully toward the stage. “I know you’re nervous, hyung. In moments like this, it helps to have someone with you. Talk to me, it’ll ease your nerves.”
“Y-yes… thank you,” Hoseok managed, though his eyes kept darting over his shoulder toward the hallway leading back to Yoongi.
He had to warn him. But he was only minutes away from stepping on stage.
Hoseok didn’t know what to do. All he could do was pray. Pray that nothing would happen to Yoongi, and that somehow, tonight’s performance would go on without disaster.
🥀🥀🥀
.
Ten
Hoseok stared at the thick crimson velvet curtain that separated him from the audience. It looked like an unscalable wall.
Nine
Behind the stage, the stagehand’s hushed voice echoed as he counted down to signal the curtain’s rise.
Eight
The only thing filling Hoseok’s lungs was the mixed, heavy scent of the stage and curtains, their dusty, damp smell. Every breath he took felt like it was clogging his chest.
Seven
Hoseok’s thoughts revolved only around Yoongi… He had to warn him.
Six
If Yejun’s plan succeeded and Yoongi was caught, he had no idea what he would do.
Five
The only person who made him feel truly cherished was Yoongi. If he lost him before confessing his love…
Four
It felt as though barbed wire was coiling around his throat. His heart broke at the very thought of those unrealized possibilities, and it threatened to stop altogether.
Three
Hoseok had to find Yoongi. Taking the stage didn’t matter.
Two
As long as Yoongi was in his life, he could feel like he was standing on stage. All he needed was Yoongi’s gaze fixed on him and his beautiful words to wrap around him like an embrace.
One
Yoongi…
Hoseok couldn’t lose him.
And then, cutting through the storm of Hoseok’s thoughts, the curtain began to rise with a heavy groan.
Hoseok slowly dragged his feet across the dusty floor, watching the curtain being drawn. The creak of the pulleys scraping against their wheels shattered the stillness of the stage.
The first thing Hoseok saw was the blinding light, stabbing his eyes until he thought he’d gone blind. He blinked rapidly, desperate to bring his vision back into focus.
At first, Hoseok didn’t know what to think. His mind was so clouded by thoughts of Yoongi that, for a fleeting moment, he forgot he was on stage.
But now he was confronted with reality, he was standing on the very stage he had dreamed of, facing the audience whose expectant, curious eyes locked onto him.
His entire body began to tremble. In the dead silence of the stage, he could hear the pounding of his own breath and heartbeat. The countless eyes on him, brimming with curiosity, felt as though they were trying to devour his very soul.
Tears welled up in his eyes. Realizing that stepping onto the stage wasn’t the dreamlike experience he had always imagined shattered the tender heart of the child within him. In his fantasies, singing had always seemed as natural as breathing.
But now Hoseok felt as though he couldn’t do it. The weight of responsibility pressed down on his shoulders. He wasn’t doing this only for himself. Tonight, he had to give a flawless performance and restore the opera’s image.
Most of all, he couldn’t disappoint Yoongi, the one who had believed in him, praised him, and taught him music like a guardian angel of melody.
As his gaze swept across the audience, he caught the maestro’s signal. Within seconds, the piercing notes of the violin filled the opera house.
Hoseok’s stomach churned. His hands and body could no longer defy gravity, swaying as though they might collapse at any second. He had only a few moments left before he had to sing. Even breathing felt impossible; he doubted whether his voice would even come out.
His whole body was suffused with disappointment. He should have known that singing on the stage he’d dreamed of since childhood would be this difficult. Now he was certain he would let down himself, Yoongi, and everyone who had come to watch.
His eyes brimmed with tears, his body quaked. The violin’s melody faded, leaving space for his voice to begin.
Hoseok couldn’t—
“You have come here
In pursuit of your deepest urge
In pursuit of that wish which till now has been silent, silent.”
The sudden rush of that familiar voice filled his ears, calming the storm that had begun to rage in his soul. The buzzing in his veins disappeared. Hoseok could breathe again.
Because Yoongi stood before him.
This time, his mask stretched jet-black across his face, from his cheekbones to his forehead, making his pale skin shine even brighter. His sharp, feline eyes gleamed with their distinct shape, despite the shadows the mask cast.
“I have brought you
That our passions may fuse and merge
In your mind you've already succumbed to me
Dropped all defenses, completely succumbed to me.”
Yoongi’s voice was effortlessly strong, brimming with confidence. It echoed clearly against the velvet-lined walls. The audience, unprepared for such a voice, held their breath, their wide-open eyes fixed solely on him.
Hoseok could only look at Yoongi. He was captivated by the majestic sight before him, lost track of where he was, and slipped into a dreamlike haze where it felt as though only the two of them existed on stage.
“Now you are here with me, no second thoughts
You've decided, decided.”
Yoongi stopped moving and stepped to the very front of the stage, the lights hitting him full force as he revealed himself completely to both Hoseok and the audience.
A long black cape draped over his shoulders. Beneath his black jacket, a white ruffled shirt with a high collar concealed his neck, yet the buttons were undone, revealing the flawless tone of his skin.
Hoseok’s mouth watered. Memories of what they had done just the night before on this very stage resurfaced, and butterflies stirred in his stomach.
“Past all thought of if or when
No use resisting
Abandon thought and let the dream descend
What raging fire shall flood the soul?
What rich desire unlocks its door?
What sweet seduction lies before us?”
Yoongi stepped closer, closing the distance between them, and took Hoseok’s hand into his palm. His lips brushed against his skin ever so lightly, sending a jolt of electricity racing through Hoseok’s body. He couldn’t stop himself from feeling like a helpless, yearning boy all over again.
Without wasting another second, Yoongi pulled away and moved toward one of the two staircases positioned at the back of the stage. His words flowed seamlessly, his voice blending perfectly with the violin’s melody. His movements looked so professional, as though he had performed on stage countless times.
“Past the point of no return
The final threshold
What warm, unspoken secrets will we learn
Beyond the point of no return?”
As Yoongi ascended the staircase, Hoseok followed without hesitation, climbing the spiral staircase on the opposite side, his eyes never leaving Yoongi.
The rising voice of the violin reminded him that it was his turn. It was time to part the lips that had been pressed shut. He gathered every ounce of courage he had. The knowledge that Yoongi’s gaze was on him like a spell cast over his spirit made his nervousness vanish, as though he were witnessing a miracle firsthand.
Unable to look away from Yoongi’s eyes, he let the words slip into the melody.
“You have brought me
To that moment where words run dry
To that moment where speech disappears into silence, silence.”
At first, Hoseok’s voice wasn’t strong enough to fill the entire opera house. There was still a trace of insecurity in its undertones. But then he saw it, a faint, proud smile on Yoongi’s lips, so subtle no one else would notice, but one Hoseok had learned to recognize.
In that instant, the last fragments of his fear melted away, spilling down into the stage floor beneath his feet.
With heavy, synchronized steps, he climbed the staircase alongside Yoongi. With each step, he felt his confidence grow.
“I have come here
Hardly knowing the reason why
In my mind I've already imagined our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent
Now I am here with you, no second thoughts
I've decided, decided.”
Hoseok knew these words were meant for the audience as part of the aria, but in his heart, he was speaking every syllable directly to Yoongi. Each letter fell from his lips like a confession of love.
At last, he reached the top. Breathless, he felt the intoxicating thrill of singing with Yoongi. He swallowed hard, and on the bridge that connected the two staircases, two meters above the stage. They rushed toward each other, meeting in the middle like lovers long separated, consumed by longing.
Yoongi clutched him as though to make up for lost time, his hands wrapping around Hoseok’s slender waist just as they had the night before. His breath ghosted against Hoseok’s skin, his voice interweaving with the violin.
“Past the point of no return
No going back now
Our passion play has now at last begun
Past all thought of right or wrong.”
Under the sound of his voice and the heat of his touch, Hoseok closed his eyes, struggling not to give in completely. He felt as though they were in their own little world, whole and complete with nothing but Yoongi.
He silently swore to himself. He would mend Yoongi’s wounded heart, cover the most fragile corners of his soul with tender kisses, and give him the love he deserved.
Lost in thought and in Yoongi’s voice, Hoseok was startled when Yoongi suddenly pulled away. He gently cupped Hoseok’s hands in his palms, holding them as though they were something fragile, like a flower, and gazed deep into Hoseok’s soft brown eyes.
“Say you'll share with me
One love, one lifetime
Lead me, save me from my solitude.”
Each word that reached his ears bloomed flowers in his heart. Before he realized it, the distance between them had shrunk to just a few centimeters.
Yoongi’s voice surrounded him like mist, enchanting him. It stirred feelings Hoseok had never experienced before.
He knew it, he could give Yoongi his heart, his body, his soul. Hoseok knew he was in love with Yoongi.
“Say you want me with you here, beside you
Anywhere you go, let me go, too
Hoseok, that's all I ask of—”
And Hoseok couldn’t hold back any longer. He pressed his lips against Yoongi’s soft, full, pink ones.
Sweet friction… The warmth and softness blooming at the edge of his lips spread through his entire body. Slowly, his hands slid to Yoongi’s cheeks, pulling him closer.
He felt Yoongi tense slightly under his palms and lips, but he didn’t pull away. He only hesitated for a heartbeat before returning the kiss with as much hunger as Hoseok gave.
Like he was claiming the kiss they hadn’t shared the night before, Hoseok’s lips parted. Yoongi’s tongue teased against his lips before slipping inside his mouth with unrestrained passion. His heart-shaped lips were sucked and tugged by Yoongi’s teeth, not gently but with fervent desire.
Hoseok gasped, trembling with the rush of emotions and sensations. Soft whimpers escaped his lips, only audible to Yoongi. His hands wandered over Yoongi’s face for support, but when his fingers brushed against the cold surface of the mask, it felt like a wall between them.
Wrong…
That mask, his way of hiding, of clinging to his scars, of carrying every painful memory with him…
It felt so wrong to Hoseok.
He pulled back just slightly, enough to keep Yoongi’s warmth lingering on his lips. Their hot breaths mingled in the aftermath of the kiss.
Hoseok loved him. He knew he would accept Yoongi no matter what. And he wanted everyone else to do the same, to see that a mask was nothing to fear, but something that hid untold treasures beneath.
While his lips still lingered on Yoongi’s, Hoseok hooked his thumb beneath the mask’s strap. With one swift movement, he tore it from Yoongi’s face.
And then everything happened at once.
Screams erupted through the hall. Only then, pierced by the shrill, ear-splitting cries around him, did Hoseok truly realize where he was and what he had done.
Hoseok locked eyes with Yoongi. From those sharp, feline eyes came nothing but disappointment.
A touch of bitterness, a hint of anger, and an overwhelming sadness…
That was when Hoseok realized he had made a mistake.
Yoongi, in desperation, covered the scar on his face with one hand. His shoulders slumped, and he looked utterly defeated, as if he had just lost a war he had been fighting for days.
The sight shattered Hoseok’s heart. Inside, a voice screamed at him, crying out that he had done something terribly wrong.
“Why…” Yoongi’s voice came out like a whisper, barely audible through the screams on the stage.
Hoseok wanted to explain, but the hall had turned into complete chaos. Some of the audience stood up, rushing to leave, while others hurled insults, spitting out their hatred.
And Hoseok, he wanted nothing more than to stop time, to undo everything, to erase the chaos he had caused.
But what he wanted most of all was to heal the shattered reflection of Yoongi’s soul that he saw in his eyes, a soul fractured like broken glass, scattered and ruined.
Hoseok could read all of Yoongi’s heart and spirit through those eyes. He could feel the sorrow, the humiliation of being exposed in front of everyone, the depth of the shame eating him alive.
And all of it was because of Hoseok.
“I-I…”
“There! Right there, catch him! What are you waiting for?”
Yejun’s voice rose above the screams, reaching Hoseok’s ears. He turned toward the stage, where the police were running straight at them. His hand instinctively reached for Yoongi’s arm, desperate to escape the stage together, but Yoongi ripped his arm away with force.
Hoseok thought his heart stopped. The sadness in Yoongi’s brown eyes had turned into fury, spreading over him like a curse that consumed his entire being.
Yoongi pulled a small dagger from behind his trousers. Taking two steps back, he cut the ropes that held the chandelier above the stage. Hoseok couldn’t understand what he was doing until the ropes snapped with a sharp sound, and the dazzling crystal chandelier came crashing down, shattering against the stage with a deafening crash.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the devastation caused by the chandelier and the frantic rush of people scattering in every direction. But when he finally looked at Yoongi, he was already gone.
His body surged with adrenaline, his chest tight with the suffocating thought of losing Yoongi. He felt as though he couldn’t breathe.
“Hyung! You need to get down from there! The fire’s spreading!”
Jimin’s frantic cries shook Hoseok out of his haze. The flames that had sparked from the chandelier’s fire lit the old wooden stage and thick red curtains.
The bright yellow blaze spread quickly, staining everything with ash and smoke, painting the air with suffocating gray.
As soon as Hoseok saw it, he hurried down the spiral staircase. He ignored Jimin running toward him, his heart pounding louder than ever. The only reason he was still standing, after everything that had happened, was Yoongi.
He had to find Yoongi.
Now.
A thousand thoughts raced through his head. That Yoongi had abandoned him… That he might never see him again…
But the thought that cut deepest of all, the thought that destroyed him, was that Yoongi might leave because of him. He could bear everything else, but he could never forgive himself for that.
The screams and chaos of the hall drowned out every logical thought. Only one voice cut through it all, his inner voice, telling him he had to find Yoongi.
When Hoseok finally reached the prima donna’s dressing room, he was out of breath. But there was no time to rest. He rushed inside, locked the door behind him to keep anyone from following, and went straight to the large mirror.
The place where he first met Yoongi. The place where he first saw him, first knew him.
He looked into the desperate reflection staring back at him. His hair was disheveled, his eyeliner smudged, his face pale despite the rouge on his cheeks, like his soul had been drained.
If he had the time, he knew he would break down right there, wallowing in self-pity. Tears were already slipping down, spilling from his guilt, for what he had done to himself, and what he had done to Yoongi.
He swallowed hard. Licked his dry lips. Took a few seconds to gather strength.
Hoseok had always been a coward, but this time, he didn’t have the luxury of fear.
Love does not forgive cowards. Hoseok knew he was in love with Yoongi. And for him, he was ready to do anything, to stand against the whole world if he had to.
He wiped his tears away with the back of his hand. Drew in a deep breath. Felt the trembling in his body subside. In his veins, determination flowed, along with the strength he always associated with Yoongi. That strength pushed him forward, filling him with courage.
He grabbed one of the vases from the room. His fingers closed around its cold, bejeweled surface. He lifted his gaze to the mirror again, meeting his own reflection.
This time, the eyes staring back were not helpless. They were confident, darker, filled with resolve. They belonged to someone who knew what he wanted, someone willing to do anything to get it. Someone Hoseok had always wanted to be, but had buried deep down after years of being trampled on.
And now, here he was.
All because of Yoongi.
Because Yoongi had done so much for him, because Yoongi had believed in him. Now, it was Hoseok’s turn to do something for Yoongi.
He drew in another deep breath, raised the vase, and hurled it at the mirror.
The mirror shattered into countless pieces, just as it had before. Behind it, the dark corridor appeared again, menacing and eerie.
But Hoseok wasn’t afraid. The thought of going to Yoongi, of being with him, of loving him, did not scare him.
So he clung to the sparks of courage growing inside him, and with steady steps, he crossed the threshold of the mirror’s frame into the darkness beyond.
🥀🥀🥀
Hoseok had always been a dreamer. Even as a child, he would listen to his mother’s fairy tales and live within them in his dreams. Sometimes he was the tortoise chasing the rabbit, sometimes Cinderella losing her enchanted slipper.
As a child, he didn’t have many toys. Yet his imagination was vast enough to let him play for hours with whatever he could find. He spent his time quietly in his own world. After all, being the child of a poor family required that. When you had nothing else to play with or pass the time, imagination was all you had.
For Hoseok, this was a priceless gift. No matter how old he grew, even as an adult, his favorite thing remained lying in bed at night, staring up at the ceiling, and letting himself dream. Wandering through countries he had never visited, tasting sweets others spoke of, or imagining himself performing on stage at the opera… These were indispensable to him.
These were the dreams Hoseok’s close circle already knew about. Even if he never spoke of them, anyone near him could notice the way his eyes followed the singers on stage, how his lips moved in time with the lyrics, and how the light in his gaze could brighten even the darkest night.
But there was one dream Hoseok never confessed, to fall in love.
Before he even knew how to read and write, he had already learned from his mother’s grand tales that every princess had a prince. The magic slipper would always find Cinderella, the prince’s kiss would awaken Snow White. In the end, despite every hardship, true love always bloomed in the hearts of two lovers.
Hoseok believed that, in time, his own flower too would blossom, that he would find his true love.
That was until he left behind the innocent years when he still believed in fairy tales and saw the world painted only in rosy hues…
He realized for the first time, when his heart was broken, that true love was nothing more than a spell woven of words, something that existed only in stories.
Because love was not easy in real life. In fact, nothing was easy. At that moment, he remembered wishing for nothing more than to go back to his childhood.
But now, something was different. The frantic, frightening feeling in his chest was not some simple emotion one might feel for an ordinary person. He couldn’t recall ever having felt emotions this intense before.
If losing someone felt this unbearable… then perhaps this was the very true love the fairy tales had spoken of.
To love someone so deeply that you couldn’t imagine losing them, to care so much that you couldn’t picture life without them, to feel as if all the colors of the world vanished in their absence…
That was exactly how Hoseok felt.
As he tried to walk carefully, yet quickly, through the narrow, dark corridor, only one thought occupied his mind, Yoongi.
To find him, to speak to him, to apologize, even to fall at his feet if forgiveness required it…
Hoseok was willing to do anything, just to see Yoongi’s smile and hear him call him my angel one more time.
Because love wasn’t as simple as in fairy tales. In real life, love demanded effort, courage, and, if need be, standing against the entire world.
And for the first time, Hoseok felt brave enough to defy everyone. He thought he could put every tormentor and mocker of Yoongi in their place, and do everything in his power to ensure Yoongi’s heart would never be broken again.
He stopped short when he felt dampness beneath his feet. Drawing in the musty, humid air, he half-expected to catch some trace of Yoongi. But all that filled his nose was the scent of mold and moss.
He squinted, searching for a clue. He could just make out the faint gleam of a candle flickering against the surface of a shallow pool of water before him. Even the smallest sign that he might reach Yoongi was enough to rekindle Hoseok’s fading hope.
He stepped carefully onto the water. In his mind, he pictured monstrous creatures with gills and sharp teeth rising up to seize his legs, but he fought to suppress his imagination.
Taking small, steady steps to keep his balance, he pressed on. The water rose higher, up to his knees, yet with every step closer to the glowing candle, the space around him grew clearer.
And what he finally realized in the dimly lit corridor was that the water had pooled there because of the sloping ground.
When he emerged from the water and reached the clearing, he was already beside the candle. The candle resting in a small sconce on the wall could not have lit itself.
That was why Hoseok felt that he was drawing closer to Yoongi, his heart pounding with excitement and urgency. Taking the candle, he continued down the corridor.
The flame cast light along the narrow tunnel walls, the silence broken only by the drip of water from his soaked trousers.
Until, suddenly, a delicate, gentle melody reached his ears.
His steps quickened. The candle trembled in his hand, nearly extinguishing. But Hoseok didn’t care. His very soul was rushing to reunite with the one it belonged to.
Pacing his steps to the rhythm of the music, he turned left through the tunnel and came upon a wide opening.
It resembled a vast cellar. The entire floor was covered in water, and small boats tied to the sides swayed gently.
But this wasn’t what held Hoseok’s gaze.
At the center, the pool widened into something like a lake. On the far side stood a magnificent chamber. Roses and candles, countless and unending, were arranged all around.
The candles’ dim golden light shimmered across the water, cloaking the place in warmth and enchantment. Heavy red curtains hung everywhere, seeming almost guilty, as though concealing grave secrets beneath them. In one corner stood a grand piano, alongside a number of other instruments Hoseok couldn’t even name.
His breath caught, his stomach twisted in knots when he finally saw Yoongi, seated on the floor with his back turned, collapsed against the edge of the great round bed at the center.
Hoseok was both relieved to have found him and anxious, afraid of how Yoongi might react.
But as his feet carried him forward, Hoseok realized how needless his worries were. His body moved toward Yoongi of its own accord, as though drawn to its missing half.
He didn’t even notice when he stepped into the boat or when he crossed the little lake. His eyes never left Yoongi, motionless and bent forward, his back to him. He soon understood that the melody he heard came from the music box Yoongi was cranking in his hand.
Hoseok disembarked with careful steps. The moment his feet touched the splendid ground he had glimpsed from afar, goosebumps rippled across his skin.
Perhaps it was the sheer awareness of being in the same space as Yoongi.
He drew in a deep breath. The familiar scent of Yoongi filling his lungs felt as if it had revived
He quietly approached Yoongi. With every step he took, Hoseok braced himself, certain Yoongi would whirl around, shout at him, tell him to leave. But that moment never came. Yoongi simply sat at the edge of the bed, turning the key of the music box again and again.
Hoseok slowly knelt and sat down behind him, mirroring his posture. Yoongi’s silence and lack of reaction were beginning to scare Hoseok.
“Yoongi?” he called, as if trying to draw the young man’s attention. But when no response came, his heart sank further.
“Yoongi!” This time his voice rang out stronger. It tore through the melody of the music box that filled the cellar, and the sound of water dripping somewhere in the distance.
Yet Yoongi remained as still as stone, as though he had built an impenetrable wall around himself to shield his ears and every sense from Hoseok.
Hoseok swallowed hard. The pain of not being able to reach him was unbearable. He longed to look into Yoongi’s eyes and glimpse his soul again, to hear once more those beautiful words he used to speak.
And this time, Hoseok too had things he wanted to say that he loved Yoongi, that he was in love with him, and that he would do anything for him…
He crawled forward on his knees, closing the single step of distance between them. His pale trousers were smeared with mud, his knees aching against the hard stone floor, but he wasn’t in a state to think of that now. With trembling hands, he hesitated, then slowly reached out to him.
At the touch of Hoseok’s hands against his back, Yoongi’s body stiffened for a brief moment. Hoseok realized then that he had pulled Yoongi out of the swamp of his thoughts and back into the real world.
When Yoongi did not push him away, Hoseok’s hands slipped from his shoulders to his waist. Just as Yoongi had once done for him, he wrapped his arms tightly around his back.
His body that had been tense with anxiety for hours finally relaxed. Hoseok rested his head against Yoongi’s broad back. Simply feeling his warmth was enough to make him forget all that had happened, to bring him even a little peace.
“Yoongi, I…” he whispered. He pressed his nose against Yoongi’s shirt, inhaling his scent as he tried to gather the words he wanted to say. His arms tightened around him, as though Yoongi were a precious jewel about to slip through his fingers, as if holding tighter were the only way to keep him from leaving.
“I’m so sorry.”
The words hung suspended in the air, stretching on as if an eternity had passed. But Hoseok did not let his hope falter. He waited patiently for Yoongi’s reply.
“Why?”
That voice echoing in the cellar was like the whistle of a chilling wind.
Hoseok’s body, which had just begun to relax, froze stiff again. Never before had he heard Yoongi’s voice so cold, so devoid of emotion. The unfamiliar tone was enough to break his heart.
“Why?” Yoongi repeated, his voice like ice. His hunched shoulders straightened, stiffened.
The music box slipped from his hand, crashing to the ground. The little monkey striking the cymbals paused at the impact, then the melody that had filled the cellar fell silent.
“Why did you do such a thing?”
“I…” Hoseok swallowed harshly against the lump in his throat, but it was useless. He felt like someone trapped in a bog, sinking deeper with every desperate struggle.
“I… it all happened so suddenly…” His hands slipped from Yoongi’s waist, as if it were forbidden now to touch him. He clasped them in his lap, looking like a guilty child waiting to be scolded.
“I wanted everyone to see your talent. I didn’t want you to hide, to remain behind the mask. I didn’t want the mask to stand between us like an unbreachable wall.”
Each word spilled out with a quickening breath. His timid gaze wandered to the faint outlines of muscles beneath Yoongi’s snow-white shirt, now sitting straight and unyielding.
When Yoongi’s bitter, furious laughter rang through the cellar, every hair on Hoseok’s body stood on end. A shiver coursed down the back of his neck.
“You didn’t want me to hide behind the mask, did you?” The laughter died suddenly, replaced by a voice sharp and frigid. “Was that your plan from the very start? To have me caught? To force me onto the stage, to be seen by everyone? Was that your goal?”
Hoseok felt his legs nearly give out beneath him. He had never imagined Yoongi would think such a thing.
“No, never!” he burst out. His heart pounded under the weight of the misunderstanding. His body trembled with fear and dread, the tremor spilling into his voice.
“I only… I only wanted people to see how extraordinary your talent is.” His lips, dry, were wetted with his tongue. His fingers nervously picked at his cuticles. “It’s so unfair that people fear you just because of a mask.”
Yoongi only let out a low growl. Then he rose to his feet, slow and effortless. Hoseok held his breath, waiting. When Yoongi turned his head, their eyes met.
He looked just as hopeless as he had while fleeing from him on stage. But now, the difference was that the darkness circling his eyes was born of fury.
“You think I don’t already know that?” Yoongi hissed. Venom dripped from every word. “Do you think I chose this life of hiding, of masking, of living like a ghost, huh?”
Hoseok tried not to flinch despite Yoongi’s rising voice. But this was a side of him he had never seen, and he didn’t like it. He wanted back the Yoongi who whispered sweet words, who had once been so tender.
“Do you think I chose to be a ghost, The Phantom?”
Yoongi’s voice thundered against the cellar walls. He closed the distance between them, bent down to where Hoseok sat on the floor, and seized him by the collar, yanking him close.
“Do you think I wanted to be born this way? To have people fear me? To live out my dreams in hidden corridors, in secret passages?”
Tears welled in Hoseok’s eyes. This close to his face, he could see the raw disappointment Yoongi carried toward life itself. His gaze dropped to the scar Yoongi always hid beneath his mask, the wound that made people fear him.
Blistered skin, as though burned and bubbled. From just above his brow to his cheekbone, the flesh was an angry, inflamed red. In some places, blood pooled beneath the surface, as if ready to burst and form fresh wounds.
“People chose to fear me,” Yoongi said at last. He released Hoseok’s collar harshly and strode toward the red velvet curtains draped at the sides of the bed. As if his life depended on it, he seized one and yanked hard.
“They chose to run from me.”
Each curtain that fell revealed behind it a massive, cracked mirror, looming with menace.
“They chose to mock me.”
Yoongi’s movements grew more frantic. He tore down every velvet curtain with a violence that left the room shaking, exposing one fractured mirror after another, each more damaged than the last.
At last, he reached the largest crimson curtain, hanging from the ceiling down to the floor at the deepest part of the chamber. He yanked at it again and again until it ripped from its hooks and collapsed to the ground with a deafening crash.
“They chose to see not me, but my mask.”
Yoongi’s voice had dropped low. The storm of emotions he had unleashed seemed to have consumed him. He collapsed before the mirror as though undone, his shoulders slumping with the dejection of a small child, no trace of the outburst remaining.
Hoseok, frozen, could only watch. With every shattered, scarred mirror revealed, his heart broke as well, for he knew that every time Yoongi looked into them, what he saw was the child mocked, sold like a circus animal, his future stolen from him.
He drew a deep breath and wiped the tears streaming down his cheeks, not even aware of when they had begun to fall. Slowly, he rose to his feet and stepped toward Yoongi. In every fractured shard of glass, he saw the reflection of Yoongi’s face, twisted with grief and pain.
“I will not fear you.”
Hoseok’s voice, to his surprise, came out strong. It gave him a courage he had never believed he could possess.
“I will not run from you,” he said next. He knew it was impossible to erase what people had done to Yoongi, but at the very least, he wanted to prove he wasn’t one of them.
“I will not mock you.”
Slowly, Hoseok reached out and touched Yoongi’s shoulder from behind. His arms wrapped around him tightly once again, his chest pressing against Yoongi’s back. As if trying to pour all his warmth into him. His slender fingers sought out Yoongi’s heart.
He felt its rapid beat in the palm of his hand. Resting his chin on Yoongi’s shoulder, his voice dropped, soft and secretive, as though he were sharing his greatest truth.
“I will see you, not the mask,” he whispered, staring into the deepest part of Yoongi’s eyes, reflected countless times in the mirror’s cracks.
He smiled faintly, as if to seal the honesty of every word he’d spoken, and held Yoongi tight, as though he would never let him go. Burying his face in Yoongi’s pale skin, he breathed in his scent, hoping to calm both himself and Yoongi.
To be one. To become a single body. To feel their heartbeats and, more importantly, their souls intertwine. To be complete. He knew he would do everything in his power to make Yoongi feel the emotions flooding through him.
“Why…” Yoongi’s voice barely reached Hoseok’s ears. A warm tear fell from his eye, landing on Hoseok’s hand. “Why…” Yoongi tried, but couldn’t finish the sentence. Yet even a single tear was enough for Hoseok to understand everything inside him.
“Because I’m in love with you.”
Hoseok’s voice lingered between them, fragile as glass suspended in the air. But he didn’t stop. Closing his eyes, he tried to gather his thoughts. No matter how hard he tried, the words refused to fall into place. So he listened to his heart, and declaring his love felt like the easiest thing in the world.
“Because I’m in love with you. I love you with all my heart and soul.” Hoseok smiled when he felt Yoongi’s pounding heartbeat and the faint shudder of his body at his words.
“Because you are the most precious thing I have in this life. You are my inspiration. My angel of music. The one who holds my heart in his hands.”
With every word leaving Hoseok’s lips, butterflies fluttered in his stomach, his spirit tickled by joy. He still couldn’t believe he had finally shared his feelings with Yoongi. It all felt like a fairy tale, except this time, he was the main character.
He pressed a small kiss to Yoongi’s neck. As light as a butterfly landing on a flower petal, it was a timid attempt to express his love in a tangible way.
The touch jolted Yoongi as if waking from a dream.
“No… no, you…” He tore himself free from Hoseok’s arms. Standing up quickly, he put distance between them, as though desperate to escape.
“You’re lying. I… I don’t believe you.”
Though Hoseok ached at the loss of warmth, he kept his composure when he saw Yoongi’s panic, the small crisis born of fear.
He rose immediately and went to him. Holding Yoongi’s face in his hands, he forced his eyes to meet his own.
“I’m not lying. I love you,” he said with conviction. Yoongi’s eyes glistened with surprise and emotions he couldn’t name. A few tears traced down his cheeks, glistening in the candlelight.
“No…” Yoongi’s voice broke. He seemed unable to resist Hoseok anymore.
“I’m in love with you, and I want to be with you.”
“You’ll be disgusted by me.”
Hoseok smiled. His fingertips brushed Yoongi’s scar as gently as if touching the most fragile diamond.
Their lips were so close now, their warm breaths mingling.
“I will love you,” he whispered.
“People will see you with me and fear you too.” Yoongi swallowed hard. The words fell from his parched lips with difficulty.
“I don’t care what people think. As long as I’m with you, I’ll be happy.”
Hoseok’s breath slowed. He felt as though the fragile thread between them could snap with the slightest wrong move.
“You’ll regret it…” Yoongi finally said, breathless, his tears falling faster now. Hoseok carefully wiped each one, as if they were precious pearls. His gaze never left Yoongi’s wounded, doubtful eyes, silently pleading for him to believe he wasn’t alone.
“I won’t regret it.” Closing his eyes, Hoseok pressed his forehead to Yoongi’s. He wanted him to read his heart like an open book and believe every word he spoke.
“I won’t regret loving you. It’s the truest decision I’ve ever made.”
He took a deep breath. A faint smile appeared on his face as the words slipped from his lips.
“I’m in love with you, Yoongi. And I’ll do everything I can to make you believe it.”
Hoseok leaned back slightly, meeting Yoongi’s eyes. They were weary, his skin glistening with tears, his hair disheveled and shadowing parts of his face. But beyond the exhaustion and disappointment clouding him, Hoseok could see his priceless soul shining through.
Carefully, as if afraid of breaking him, he lifted a hand to Yoongi’s hair and brushed it back. He gave him time, to let his words settle, to believe that every one of them was true, that he was hopelessly in love, and that this love was real.
“I…”
Yoongi’s lips seemed glued shut. His eyes darted wildly over every inch of Hoseok, searching desperately for proof of his sincerity.
Hoseok noticed. To ease the storm of thoughts in his mind, to remind him he was still there, he gently caressed Yoongi’s cheek.
Yoongi’s uncertain gaze flickered with awareness. Then, with Hoseok’s warm touch, his tension began to melt away. He drew a deep breath, parted his lips as if to speak, but no words came.
Instead, as though racing against the last grain of sand in an hourglass, he wrapped his arms around Hoseok and pulled him fiercely close. Then his lips crashed against Hoseok’s soft, heart-shaped ones.
Hoseok hadn’t expected Yoongi to kiss him. But the suddenness released the tension coiled in every cell of his body. He threw his arms around Yoongi’s shoulders, struggling not to melt into the man who kissed him with hungry fervor.
Yoongi devoured him like he’d been starved for years. His tongue explored Hoseok’s mouth, sucking, tugging on his lips with his teeth, biting as though savoring every taste.
“Say it again,” Yoongi demanded, voice husky. He pulled back just enough to breathe, holding Hoseok’s slender waist tight, his hands wandering dangerously to his hips. Their bodies pressed together, not even a speck of dust between them.
Eyes still dazed from the kiss’s intoxication, Hoseok opened them, locking onto the deep brown, cat-like eyes he could lose himself in forever.
“I love you.”
Another kiss, harder, more desperate.
“Again,” Yoongi urged, as though he’d never tire of hearing it. His eyes blazed with light.
“I’m in love with you.”
Yoongi’s lips curved at Hoseok’s words. As if realizing it for the first time, he looked happy, as though he were living inside a dream.
He rested his forehead against Hoseok’s. Their breaths mingled, tangled from the kiss they had shared and the weight of all the emotions between them.
“My angel… my Hoseok-ah…” Yoongi murmured, his voice calmer now, steadier. He had returned to that gentle, tender tone Hoseok loved and had longed for.
“I love you.”
With just a few words, Hoseok felt as though he were soaring through the sky. His heart pounded with the joyous flutter of a bird learning to fly. His eyes filled with tears, not from sorrow this time, but from happiness.
“I’ve waited so long for this… I—” Yoongi tried to explain, but Hoseok caught the faint trace of sadness flickering in his eyes. So he silenced him with a soft kiss.
“You’re not alone anymore. The past is behind us.” Hoseok’s voice carried a note of reassurance. Perhaps he couldn’t erase all the scars people had left behind, but he would do everything in his power to turn Yoongi’s heart into a blooming garden again.
Yoongi said nothing, only smiled. But Hoseok could read everything unsaid in his silence, simply by looking into his eyes.
For a while, they remained in each other’s arms, embracing the silence as they tried to let the reality of their love sink in. They felt detached from the world. The kisses they stole from one another grew bolder, more insistent, simmering with desire.
Yoongi’s hands slipped beneath Hoseok’s shirt. As his fingers caressed that smooth honey-colored skin, the kiss they shared no longer seemed enough.
But from the far corners of the cellar came shouts, slicing through the passionate atmosphere they had created on each other’s skin like a blade.
In an instant, Hoseok remembered everything. Yejun’s plan to capture Yoongi. The dozens of police officers watching from the opera house…
When Yoongi had fled the stage, the chandelier crashing down in flames, Hoseok thought the police had given up their pursuit.
But he had been wrong. They were still coming.
They were still coming for Yoongi.
He couldn’t risk losing him again.
Hoseok pulled away from his arms, gripped his hand tightly. “We have to get out of here. They’re coming for you. We need to run.” His voice was frantic.
The joy he had just felt had already given way to dread. In his mind, countless scenarios of what might happen if Yoongi were caught played on an endless loop.
But no matter how hard he tugged, Yoongi didn’t budge. When their eyes met, Hoseok saw again the Yoongi he had first fallen for, strong, resolute, fearless.
“I’m not going anywhere, my angel,” Yoongi said calmly. In stark contrast to Hoseok’s panic, he looked utterly at peace.
“But what if they catch you?” Hoseok’s panic deepened at the sound of the approaching voices. It was as if time itself was racing against him. The only thought in his mind was to run, to escape with Yoongi.
Yoongi’s hand slid through Hoseok’s silky brown hair, gently brushing the fringe from his forehead and tucking it behind his ear.
“Do you trust me, my angel?” he asked softly, his eyes never leaving Hoseok’s doe-like brown ones.
“Of course… of course I trust you,” Hoseok replied without hesitation. Yoongi’s touch, his fingers tracing through his hair, caressing his cheek, calmed him, if only a little.
“Then stay with me. Here. In the opera.”
“But what if they—”
Yoongi pressed his thumb against Hoseok’s lips, silencing him. Then, he placed a gentle kiss on those heart-shaped lips. A smile spread across his face, a smile only Hoseok knew, one he shared with no one else, full of reassurance.
“I promise you, my angel, I’ll handle everything. I won’t lose you or this opera where you’ll make your dreams come true.” His gaze lingered on Hoseok’s face, as if searching for his reaction.
Hoseok took a deep breath. The voice in his head kept spinning dark possibilities, but Yoongi… he trusted Yoongi more than he trusted himself. Even though doubts still lingered in his mind, he knew he could close his eyes and place his fate in Yoongi’s hands. He didn’t need to listen to that voice anymore.
He gave a small nod. And in return, Yoongi’s face lit up with a smile so radiant, it felt like a priceless gift.
“I love you, Hoseok,” Yoongi said, his voice laced with love, joy, and every beautiful feeling. Then he sealed it with another kiss on Hoseok’s soft pink lips. “And I’ll do anything for you.”
And Hoseok knew.
Yoongi wasn’t the only one who would do anything for love.
“I love you, Yoongi,” Hoseok replied, straight from the depths of his heart. It felt as though his soul was making a vow, to himself and to Yoongi both. “And I’ll do anything for you.”
LE TEMPS DE PARIS
Paris, Saturday, May 3, 1881
A PARADE OF STARS AT THE FAMOUS OPERA POPULAIRE
The world’s leading stars lined up to watch the Opera Populaire.
Once shrouded in mystery, the Opera Populaire became the beating heart of the art world the previous night. Under the artistic direction of Min Yoongi , who rose like the sun, the opera attracted not only lovers of classical music but also celebrities from around the globe.
The performance of the young and brilliant star Jung Hoseok on stage was so mesmerizing that the hundreds of spectators filling the hall held their breath as they watched him. Not only the public, but also film stars, statesmen, fashion icons, and world-renowned musicians queued up to witness Hoseok’s performance.
The lines in front of the opera house, which had begun days earlier, serve as proof of how the venue owned by Kim Namjoon and directed artistically by Min Yoongi has transformed into a temple of culture. Tickets sold out within minutes of going on sale, once again putting the Opera Populaire at the top of the headlines.
Art critics say that Hoseok “shone as if he were light itself” on stage, while they sum up Min Yoongi’s vision in a single sentence:
“A Phantom of the past, today’s true genius of the art world.”
Great interest in the artist behind the Phantom’s mask
For years, Phantom lived in the dark corners of the stage, hiding his identity. A few years ago, he chose to reveal both his mask and his scars to the world. Although accused of various crimes, Min Yoongi was acquitted of all charges due to lack of evidence.
Now, Min Yoongi is no longer known only as a phantom but as the Opera’s Artistic Director. Under his new leadership, the opera quickly became a favorite destination for art lovers.
Whispers of his journey out of the shadows of the past still echo through the corridors of the opera. But today, in the center of the spotlight, Min Yoongi is applauded not just as a “phantom,” but as a “reborn artist.”
Art lovers say they are no longer witnessing just a performance, but a miracle. The man behind the Phantom has finally stepped into the brightest light of the stage with his true face.
Hoseok placed the newspaper on the table. He finished the half-empty glass of water and set it down carefully, making sure it made no sound.
The chill of the night raised goosebumps on his skin, and he pulled his robe tightly around him. His steps were light. He avoided stepping on the clothes scattered carelessly across the floor as he made his way to the bed.
Yoongi’s eyes, not fully surrendered to sleep, half-open, followed Hoseok’s movements.
Hoseok smiled. He untied the sash of his robe and let the white silk slide from his shoulders like water, revealing the bare skin marked by Yoongi in places no one else would ever see.
In the dim flicker of candlelight, the brilliance in Yoongi’s eyes was enough to illuminate everything, just as it had from the very first day.
To escape the cold and return to his home, Hoseok slipped quickly beneath the covers. He nestled into the circle of Yoongi’s arms, resting his head against his chest.
The warmth that enveloped him lulled his body; his eyelids grew heavy, and in the place where he felt safest, he surrendered to sleep.
After all, it was still the early hours of the morning, and the sun had yet to rise. Before the new day began, he could sleep a little longer, listening to the heartbeat of the man he loved.
Notes:
I’ve finally completed a long journey of two months… I honestly don’t know what to write here. I keep deleting and rewriting, because nothing feels enough to express my emotions.
While writing, I had some doubts, because The Phantom of the Opera is such a beloved and important work, and I worked hard to translate its artistry, literary value, and orchestral grandeur into my story.
Especially when describing the atmosphere and emotions, I worried that I might bore you with too much detail. But in the end, I decided not to tone it down and left it just as it was.
I’m sorry for the less than perfect intimate scenes. it was my first attempt at writing in that style, and I know they weren’t very successful and perhaps a little lacking.
I just hope you’ll love the rest of the fic enough that those parts won’t bother you too much eheheh
Thank you so much for reading up to this point. I’m really looking forward to hearing your thoughts and comments.
For now, goodbye 💕
Stay close to art. Beware of the phantom behind the mirror (or don’t. You never know what it might bring you, or how it could change your life 🤭)
Harelequineve on Chapter 1 Thu 28 Aug 2025 09:02AM UTC
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