Archive of Our Own ^beta

Seonghwa’s parents died—or so he preferred to believe they did—when he was about five. The details were a blur, but he recalls returning home from school, dropping his backpack at the door and waiting. Time flowed on, the sun falling past the horizon, painting the sky purple and orange, the room cloaked in shadows. But his parents never came back.

Days later, he roamed the streets alone, digging through food remains until somebody spotted him. He was sent to an orphanage - a place that should have been soothing, a new home but it just taught him how cruel people could be; even kids sometimes. Heavy fists would strike, without notice, his body at the slightest mistake, and sharp words echoed through the air, leaving him feeling less than the dirt underneath his fingernails. He ran away countless times, and one of these attempts led him to cross paths with Hongjoong’s father.

Seonghwa, thin and desperate, tried to rob him, but the guards caught him almost instantly, dragging him into a dark alley. Their heavy first came down hard, but Seonghwa, as stubborn and furious as he was, fought with the little strength that remained in his malnourished body. He kicked, scratched, and refused to remain down, despite the pain burning in his ribs.

When another man emerged, accompanied by no fewer than five guards, Seonghwa was ready for the worst. But rather than anger, the man’s expression was one of intrigue. He raised his hand for the guards to halt, eyeing the scrawny boy who regarded him with unrelenting defiance despite the blood trail trickling from his lip.

“What’s your name, kid?” the man said, his voice calm but authoritative.

Seonghwa said nothing, simply held his fists up and refused to move.

A slight smile played at the man’s lips.

“You’ve got guts,” he said. “Most kids your age would be crying now.” He paused, his gaze steady. Then, as if deciding, he extended his hand. “Come with me,” he said. “I’ll give you a purpose.”

Seonghwa paused, his mistrust battled a flare of curiosity. But when he stared into the man’s eyes, he saw something he hadn’t seen in a long time: certainty. An unspoken guarantee, at least, that his life wouldn’t be meaningless anymore.

The Kim estate looked like a small village of its own, engulfed in large trees and fronted with a giant fountain. The mansion itself was something Seonghwa had never seen in his entire life; it was gorgeous and intimidating, like some story-book castle.

He was escorted through wide halls, where his pace slowed slightly as he drank in the wealth surrounding him. Crystal chandeliers sparkled above him and polished marble floors mirrored the dim flow of ornately designed sconces adorning the walls. It felt surreal, like stepping into a world that wasn’t his to begin with.

And then, finally, they stopped in front of a heavy wooden door. The man turned, and his piercing gaze landed on him.

“What’s your name?” he asked again, this time his tone was more firm.

The adrenaline had faded away and all Seonghwa now was aware of was the pain that blossomed under his torn clothes. His bottom lip pulsed, crusted blood tugging unpleasantly at the chafed skin. He swallowed hard, looking at the guards standing behind him like statues. There was no going back now.

“Seonghwa,” he finally answered, his voice quiet.

The man smiled, with satisfaction in the curve of his lips. He opened the door without another word, revealing a library. Bookshelves were set against four walls not far from the oak table. The early evening glow from the fire filled the room with a warm hue and reflected on the soft leather chairs angled in neat circles around a plush carpet.

By the fire sat a woman exuding quiet elegance, her hair neatly pinned back. A young boy sat on her lap, a book in his hands. Seonghwa froze when their gazes fell on him, his throat closing.

The boy’s eyes ran over him, sharp and judging. The weight of that scrutiny made Seonghwa feel unbearably small. He bit his blistered lip, the familiar taste of iron rushing to the surface as fresh blood seeped from the wound.

“This is Seonghwa,” the man said, putting his hogging hand on Seonghwa's shoulder. “Eun, can you get him to a room?”

Eun glanced at the man for a moment, her face inscrutable. Then she turned to Seonghwa, her expression softening a bit. Sighing, she pressed a sweet kiss to the boy’s hair, then set him on his feet and stood elegantly.

“Come, dear,” she said, holding her hand out to Seonghwa.

Seonghwa hesitated, glancing at the boy, who continued to stare with quiet curiosity. Swallowing his nerves, he took a tentative step foward and placed his hand in hers. 

Eun guided him through the mansion’s maze, her steps light and leisurely. The hallway they stepped into was covered in dark blue carpeting, so thick it muffled their footsteps. Freshly cut flowers filled vases and were beautifully placed on polished tables throughout the space. Long gilded frames encased huge paintings on the walls while chandeliers suspended above like frozen rain spread a soft light across the corridor.

For a moment, he felt like he’d walked into a dream—so different from the dirt-smudged streets he had walked out of. Seonghwa had never been anywhere as vast as a mansion. The biggest place he’d ever considered home was an orphanage, and even then, with all of the noise and chaos — kids yelling, racing around — it had sometimes felt enormous.

“Well, here we are,” she said, pausing before a door.

She pushed it open, and Seonghwa couldn’t help the soft gasp that left his lips.

“Make yourself at home,” she said, her voice polite but remote.

Then, turning to the boy behind them, her tone became sharp. “Hongjoong, be nice to Seonghwa. I need to have a word with your father.’

Hongjoong only glanced briefly at Seonghwa before looking away.

Then she walked away, her figure growing smaller with each stride until he disappeared into another corridor. Seonghwa stood frozen for a few seconds, unsure of what to do. He was overwhelmed by the atmosphere of the large room, but what made him most uncomfortable was the boy's silent presence near him.

When Seonghwa looked at him, he was already staring, sharp eyes assessing him in silence. An embarrassed heat crept up his neck — for his clothes stained with mud and blood, hair damp and plastered to his sweaty forehead. In contrast, the boy was neat, his pale clothes clean, his hair combed.

But the boy— Hongjoong, he corrected mentally— said nothing. He only turned and walked into a room opposite to his, the door slamming shut with a loud thud.

Seonghwa sighed, brushing it off. Whatever .

He then stumbled into the door frame and looked around the large, beautifully decorated bedroom. He didn’t know if he could close his own door, so he left it open and walked in, treading lightly on the polished floor.

The room was enormous, at least three times larger than any space he’d ever claimed as his own. In the middle was a big bed with a green velvet blanket, the covers freshly crisped and immaculate. A polished hardwood floor glinted in the warm light of a crystal chandelier, and a desk was tucked into one corner of the room. His gaze flicked back to the giant bed in the middle, the sheets inviting. He wanted to fall, to lie down, to feel the softness beneath him, but a small fear gnawed. What if he soiled it, and was punished?

After a beat of consideration, he decided to take a chance. He cautiously climbed up onto the bed, sinking into the almost forgotten familiarity of a mattress. He scarcely had time to close his eyes before a voice startled him.

“How old are you?”  

Seonghwa shot up, turning around to see Hongjoong standing at the open doorway with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Ten,” Seonghwa responded, the steadiness of his voice surprising him.

Hongjoong tilted his head thoughtfully. “Hm, I’m nine. My birthday hasn’t come yet, though. Do you like your bedroom?” he asked, stepping inside.

“Yes,” Seonghwa answered without thinking.

Hongjoong stopped in front of him, arms outstretched. He was holding a neatly folded pile of clothes.

“I brought you some clothes so you can shower,” he said, his tone a matter-of-fact.

Seonghwa blinked, momentarily lost for words; then he accepted the light bundle with a grateful nod.

After the shower, Seonghwa came out to see Hongjoong sitting on the bed, feet swinging back and forth idly while glancing around. There was a small box sitting in his lap. Hongjoong’s eyes landed in Seonghwa and he patted the space next to him.

“Come sit,” he said, a gentle smile tugging at his lips.

Seonghwa only hesitated a moment before complying. He sat rigid while Hongjoong began to open the box, which had bandages and ointments. He picked up Seonghwa’s hands and cleaned the cuts and scrapes along the skin without saying a word. He did it quietly, rubbing ointment on the wounds and then putting bright, colorful band-aids over them.

Seonghwa's gaze stayed glued on that little gesture, warmth burning through him. He felt astonished, he was not accustomed to that sort of kindness, unexpected and unspoken, anymore.

“Are you here to be my new friend?” Hongjoong asked suddenly, looking up with wide, expectant eyes.

A purpose.  

For Seonghwa, being friends with Hongjoong was as natural as breathing; even though for someone so impeccably well-mannered, the boy had a surprising disregard for personal space.

He would burst into Seonghwa’s room, arms loaded with toys, books or games, without warning. He would put any vegetables he didn’t want to eat onto Seonghwa’s plate. He would sometimes pull him by the arm to tour the estate as well; and Seonghwa couldn’t help but think about what it would have been like for that child raised under here. No other children to break the silence, no shared joy to bounce off the walls. Just him, by himself in a house far too big for one kid.

But there was something in the way Hongjoong smiled whenever Seonghwa trailed behind him into the gardens, and a soft giggle whenever he ate the vegetables that had been slipped onto his plate as if it was a small secret agreement between the two of them.

For Seonghwa, being friends with Hongjoong was as simple as breathing; because Hongjoong made Seonghwa feel special, like someone was finally glad that he was alive.

𖦹

It didn’t take long for Seonghwa to adjust to his new routine — though perhaps “adjust” was a too generous word. He wasn’t there just to be Hongjoong’s friend; but to protect him. Donghae made that clear.

At first the training was exhausting and humiliating; it didn’t matter that he was the only kid amongst adults, that he couldn’t reach the bars or lift the weights with his malnourished body; he’d get used to eventually, it was what they said. Some days Seonghwa could hardly even manage to pull himself out of bed, his muscles sore and screaming protest.

One afternoon, Seonghwa sat against the wall on the floor, eyes shut. His chest pumped with exhaustion, but quiet allowed him to catch his breath — until the whispers began.

“Unbelievable that the boss brought some street rat into the house,” one of the trainers muttered, clearly disdainful.

“Guess the spoiled brat needs a company too,” another one chuckled.

Seonghwa’s eyes shot open as the man went on. He knew better than to speak up, but the defiance in his eyes said enough.

“You still got the energy to glare, huh?” the man said with a sneer as he straightened. “Fifty more laps. Let’s see how long that attitude holds.”

Seonghwa bit his tongue, choking down the retort that burned on his lips. He forced himself to his feet, his legs unsteady, and began to run. He wouldn’t cry.

But the impact of the training began to weigh heavy on him as the days passed. The time he once spent with Hongjoong became more and more rare. Once Seonghwa completed his training, he was too exhausted to play, too drained to listen to Hongjoong’s tales or participate in his games.

Until one day, when he dragged himself to the training room, the soles of his sneakers scraping against the floor. He came to an abrupt halt when he found Hongjoong was already there, seated cross-legged on a bench, something metallic in his lap.

“You’re late,” Hongjoong chided, a lilt in his voice, even as his lips pouted slightly. “Come here.”

Seonghwa blinked, momentarily confused but compliant, and walked over.

“Dad taught me this,” Hongjoong said, raising a pistol over his hands. “Said I need to know how to use one in case I ever need it.”

It was the first time he got so close to a weapon, and the fact that it looked huge in Hongjoong’s tiny hands made it more daunting. Even so, the other one appeared to be calm, his fingers danced, as he dismantled the gun from its entirety, piece by piece, with the skill of someone who had done the same a hundred times.

Seonghwa didn’t blink though; his exhaustion was forgotten in the moment so Hongjoong placed the pieces carefully on the bench.

“Now you try,” he said, sliding the pieces toward him.

Seonghwa hesitated. His hands shook, his fingers were awkward, but as Hongjoong led him step by step, his voice was steady.

“No, not like that,” he corrected, his hands covering Seonghwa’s to guide him into a more secure grip. “Here. Like this.”

After a few attempts, and with Seonghwa fumbling a bit along the way, he was able to disassemble and reassemble it all himself.

“See?” Hongjoong launched into a toothy smile. “I told you it wasn’t so hard.”

Nobody said a thing when he took Seonghwa's hand and basically dragged him to the shooting range. As soon as he arrived, Hongjoong took one of the smaller guns and handled it like he had been around them a lot longer than he really was. His shots weren’t precise, but to Seonghwa, they were admirable.

He hesitated when Hongjoong faced him, his expression beaming with glee as he extended the gun out toward him. It was cold, strange and heavy in his hands which trembled as he took it. He lifted up the gun, took aim at the target, and squeezed the trigger. The shot missed completely, and instantly Seonghwa tensed, bracing himself for a hit.

But all Hongjoong did was tilt his head and offer him a comforting smile. “It’s okay! If it’s too scary, we can try again another day,” he said.

Seonghwa glanced anxiously towards one of the trainers who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching him with that familiar look of disdain. He could not give the man any further excuse to look down on him. But beyond that, he hadn’t wanted to let down Hongjoong.

Seonghwa shook his head again and turned back to the target.

From that day, it became a common occurrence for Hongjoong to appear at training. Having him there made the coaches more patient, less likely to bark at him, their scoldings lessened, their punches softer.

He learned quickly that the boy was more than eager to join him whenever he had free time; whenever he was not busily doing his private lessons or reading in the library with his mother, Seonghwa could recognize from a considerable distance the sound of his small footsteps rushing towards him no matter where he was.

Seonghwa never realized until then how truly lonely he had been before they met.

𖦹

“Happy birthday!”  

Seonghwa blinked at Hongjoong, who stood in the training room doorway with a small cake in hand, a candle with the number eleven lit and glowing.

“…It’s not my birthday,” Seonghwa said, confusion evident in his tone.

“When is it, then?”  

Seonghwa hesitated, opening his mouth, yet no words were spoken. His chest weighed heavy with the realization. He didn’t know. He had not had a birthday since his parents died.

Hongjoong shifted, fidgeting with the edge of the tray that held the cake. “Mom said we don’t have your birth certificate so we don’t know the date. And then there was this thing I thought…” He paused and shyly smiled. “It could be the day you came. April 3rd. Unless you want to choose another date?”

The simplicity of the gesture made Seonghwa’s throat constrict. He stared at the flickering flame of the candle and then at Hongjoong’s earnest face.

“…April 3rd,” Seonghwa whispered, his voice gentle. “That’s… good.”

“Great!” Hongjoong said, his smile beaming up as he held a tray out. “Ok, make a wish!”

𖦹

Three years passed before his hands were stained with blood for the first time.

Seonghwa was sitting on a wooden box at the warehouse entrance, swinging his feet freely from its height. This was not the first time he had tagged along with his superiors on a mission, and his job was rather simple: observe, learn, and watch out if anything seemed off or if any unknown face showed up.

At first, it was terrifying; listening to the arguments, the insults, the shrieks of individuals pleading for their lives, and the sound of gunshots being fired beyond the door. Sometimes, someone would walk by him, dragging a body and trailing blood across the floor.

The images invaded his mind whenever he lay down to sleep and it took months to learn how to control the trembling in his hands.

“The boss wants to speak to you,” Jinseok a hoarse voice pulled him out of his thoughts. The man propped against the door, with a cigarette hanging off his lips.

Seonghwa glanced up at him, his brow slightly furrowed in confusion, but he did not ask questions. Simply got up and walked into the warehouse.

He paused when he got to the door to the room, unsure of what to do. The air in there was dense with the bittersweet stench of sweat and the metallic tang of blood. In the middle of the room, illuminated only by a lightbulb dangling from the ceiling, was a man tied to a chair. His face was unrecognizable, features deformed and marred with bruises, so that it was impossible to identify him or even to guess his age.

“What is the punishment for a traitor, Seonghwa?” Kim Donghae said without looking at him. The back of his shirt was stained with a few sweat marks, the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, bloody knuckles where he held a knife.

“Any one who turns against a Kim must die,” he responded; the words so familiar after all those years that his brain produced the answer almost instantly.

"Exactly." Donghae laughed and turned his head back at him. He had a smug grin on his face. As Seonghwa stopped next to him, he beckoned him closer, then threw a heavy hand over his shoulder. The blade was stained with blood, wooden handle still warm from those who had held it before him, and he set it in Seonghwa's grip. "Show him how it's done."

The breath left his lungs when he looked up at Donghae in surprise, he couldn't hide the terror that made his heart race, but all the man did was watch him impassively.

“I…” Seonghwa started, but the words got stuck in his throat when the boss raised an eyebrow.

It was a test. And he knew he could not refuse. Those who turn against a Kim must die.

Seonghwa gulped, his throat was made of sand. Do not overthink it, do not overthink it. He took several steps until he stood at the front of the man in the chair who had, somehow, managed to lift his head enough for their eyes to meet. They had no pleading, no despair in them, just resignation.

He inhaled sharply, glancing again at the knife in his hand. He decided to strike at the neck, to make it quick, and immediately a wave of sickness overwhelmed him as he sensed the skin give and the knife plunge through the flesh. The man howled—or at least what he could howled as he began to choke on his own blood—his body bucking violently against the ropes. His legs flailed, a foot collided with Seonghwa’s heel; he stumbled back, the knife falling out.

Blood gushed from the wound and Seonghwa gasped, eyes wide and unblinking as a drop dripped warmly onto his cheek, he felt a jolt of energy course through his body, his mind going white with panic.

Involuntarily, he rushed forward, laying his hands on the man’s neck in a useless effort to stem the bleeding. Warm, viscous blood soaked his fingers, dripped on his wrists and seeped into the fabric of his sweatshirt. His hands shook with the effort, and he pressed harder, but the man had gone still beneath him.

Then he felt Donghae’s hand heavy on the back of his neck, warm like iron scoring his skin.

"It's done. Good job, kid." 

When Seonghwa returned to the mansion, it was silent, not in peaceful way, but rather suffocating. He felt like everything around him knew what he had done, like even the flower pots were keeping silent waiting for his confession.

He walked into living room with his steps slow, stiff, almost robotic. And there was Hongjoong, sitting relaxed on the couch, reading a book and illuminated only by the soft glow of the lamp. He didn’t immediately bring his head up from the page, too lost in the text, but just seeing him made Seonghwa’s chest constrict painfully. The sole thought of meeting Hongjoong’s eyes brought fresh shame crashing down upon him. It was unbearable.

He swallowed hard, lowering his gaze and shoving his hands behind his back as he stepped through the door. His feet hurried down the corridor toward the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind him. The privilege of solitude only lasted until his eyes caught his reflection in the mirror, there was still blood in his cheek, smeared where he’d tried to wipe it away with his sleeve, which only made it worse.

Seonghwa opened the faucet, the sound of the running water failing to drown out his ragged breaths. He snatched a toothbrush off the counter, blood-soaked hands shaking as he started to scrub frantically at the blood. The bristles scratched his skin, the red dye swirling in the water, but it didn’t feel clean. It wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

He scrubbed harder, his thoughts spiraled. The man’s face — broken, dead — flashed in his mind. The warmth of blood on his hands. His heartbeat loud, unbroken, insistent. And then Hongjoong. Would he know? Could he tell by simply looking at him? Would that gentle, calm gaze become one of disgust?

“Hwa!” Hongjoong’s voice pierced that haze, clear and alarmed. Seonghwa didn’t hear the door open and didn’t realize Hongjoong had stepped inside. “Hwa, enough. You’re hurting yourself.”

“It’s not my blood,” Seonghwa said quietly, his voice empty and far away. “It’s not my blood.”

The toothbrush slipped, falling into the sink, but Seonghwa didn't stop. The skin around his fingers was raw, starting to bleed, as he dug in with the soft bristles and continued to scrub.

Hongjoong took a step closer and reached out, grabbing Seonghwa’s wrist. “Yes, it is. Look at your hands,” he said, speaking firmly but gently. “Stop. Give me your hand.”

“I don’t want to get blood on your clothes,” Seonghwa said, more of a murmur than anything, and he stared into the swirling red water.

“And then stain them,” Hongjoong said, without missing a beat. “I don’t care.”

Seonghwa went still, Hongjoong’s words piercing through the storm in his head. His breath quickened, and he realized for the first time that his cheeks were wet. His eyes raised, locking onto Hongjoong’s.

His eyes were steady, rich with emotion that Seonghwa could not understand the exact shade of — concern, sadness, but not disgust. The back of Seonghwa’s hand was graced by his thumb’s gentle caress, grounding him, pulling him away from the spiraling thoughts in his head.

Seonghwa’s chest tightened. He knows . A heavy, suffocating weight settled over him, realizing that. Every instinct was telling him to run, to hide, but Hongjoong’s presence was the only thing preventing him from crumbling completely,.

Please, please don’t look at me differently. The silent prayer spun circles in his head, twisting his lips but not allowing him to utter the phrase.

“It’s okay, Hwa,” Hongjoong said in a gentle tone, his voice low and mellow.

The dam broke. Seonghwa’s bottom lip trembled and a shuddering sob escaped from his throat, his body drawn upright yet bending under the heaviness of it all. Hongjoong caught him, pulling him in for a gentle embrace, not caring about the blood and water that pooled on his shirt. He just held him, one hand gentle pressed against the back of Seonghwa’s head, the other arm securely around his shaking frame.

𖦹

Seonghwa was 16 when he realized he was in love.

It was a normal night; he stood guard in front of the great mahogany door of the dining room, his eyes on the chandelier above him in boredom, the crystals hanging like frozen raindrops, swaying with the wind that had come through the window. The only sounds breaking the stillness were the faint clatter of silverware and murmured conversation behind the door. 

These days, the mansion was quieter than usual. Hongjoong’s parents were rarely at home together. Eun was an art curator; she would spend more time travelling the world in pursuit of rare pieces than in her own house. Ironically, her most valuable finds were not shown in her gallery but in the very hallways of the mansion. While Donghae was always locked behind the door of his office, always busy with work or going out with heavy footsteps, surrounded by his own trusted guards.

So family dinners became a non-negotiable tradition when both of them were home at the same time.

It began rather quietly, but Seonghwa could feel it, the emotional tone of the voices behind the door sharpening, growing louder. The unmistakable thunder of Hongjoong’s father’s baritone made his ears perk.

“Well, if people aren’t afraid to mess with your family, you’re a shitty leader!” Hongjoong’s voice sliced through the air.

Seonghwa gasped, the sound barely leaving his mouth. His head turned towards the door just in time for it to be flung open with a loud bang, the echo rattling the paintings on the wall.

Hongjoong stormed out, his red hair catching the late sunlight, making him seem like a fireball escaping the confines of the room. Seonghwa automatically stepped forward, intent on following, but Hongjoong’s sharp gaze stopped him mid-stride. In his eyes was a storm, an alarm, and Seonghwa could only stand rooted to the spot.

He watched helplessly as Hongjoong disappeared into the shadows of the corridor, his heart sinking with every step that took him further away. 

A moment later, Hongjoong’s mother appeared in the door. Her polished facade had slipped just enough, a stray hair escaping her immaculate updo. With a small sigh of annoyance, she cast a disappointed glance at Seonghwa.

“Seonghwa, be a dear and find Hongjoong, would you?”

He hesitated. He knew Hongjoong well enough to know he preferred to be alone during moments like these, and the last thing Seonghwa wanted was to aggravate him further. But he also knew better than to defy a direct order. He bowed, turned on his heel and walked off.

Hongjoong was in what his parents dismissively called "a rebellious phase."The first sign was the new red hair, an affront to the polished image they had worked hard to create. Custom-tailored designer clothes were replaced by ripped jeans and hand-painted t-shirts. Seonghwa had even caught him sneaking into the bathroom late at night, piercing his ears with a needle under the flickering light of the mirror.

His parents saw it as defiance. But to Seonghwa, it was just the way Hongjoong has always been — vibrant, creative.

Seonghwa spotted him at the edge of a spring of water at the border of the estate, his silhouette illuminated by the gentle radiance of the moonlight. His flaming hair shone in the night, catching the moon's silver rays and turning it into a breathing ember — a lonely flame, dancing in the wind in a motionless night. He sat completely still, knees bent, arms loosely around them, looking out at the water.

Seonghwa watched him from a distance, not sure if he should get closer. Hongjoong looked untouchable, like he’d stepped right out of the paintings Kim Eun loved so much.

“Wooyoung is going to Italy next week,” Hongjoong said out of the blue, as if he had been waiting for Seonghwa the whole time despite his initial rejection. “To study cooking or something.”

Seonghwa took a step closer. “Is that why you’re upset?”

Hongjoong’s lips twitched. “All the chaebol kids are graduating high school and going to college. Mom’s always travelling somewhere. Dad’s never home.” His eyes were still on the shimmering surface of the spring. “And I’m here. Stuck. I would like to do those things as well. Go to college to study music or something.”

Hongjoong sighed and threw a pebble to the spring. It bounced once, twice, and then disappeared into the water, the ripples the only evidence of its presence. “I had an older brother,” he said, voice lower. “He passed away a couple of months before you came. That’s why they’re so paranoid.”

It felt like a sudden gust of wind had hit Seonghwa. It explained so much — the strictness, the protectiveness, the heaviness of a unspoken grief that hung in the mansion. Seonghwa wanted to comfort him, yet he remained silent. What could he say that would ease the ache in Hongjoong’s words when he himself was a part of what anchored him here?

“We should go inside,” he said after a beat. “You’ll catch a cold.”

Without responding, Hongjoong looked over to him and motioned to the spot beside him. Seonghwa walked up and sat down on the grass. Almost immediately Hongjoong pressed closer, laying his head on Seonghwa’s thighs with a quiet sigh. The smile that spread across his face did not match the sadness glinting in his eyes. Stars shone in them, reflected from the sky above them.

Seonghwa’s eyes followed Hongjoong’s gaze up. Out there, away from the city, the stars shone brighter, littering the velvet sky like glittering diamonds.

They remained like that for a moment until Hongjoong finally spoke.

“Where would you go if you weren’t stuck with me, Hwa?”

Seonghwa clicked his tongue; they had this same conversation before. He didn’t like when Hongjoong implied that he was a burden, or a punishment, like he was the chain strapped to Seonghwa’s ankle, and not the other way around. He could never be. Seonghwa only wanted to be here, with him, nowhere else in the world.

“I’m not stuck with you, Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong laughed lightly. “Okay, so where would you want to travel to, then?

“I don’t know,” Seonghwa said. “I’ve never thought about it.”

Hongjoong looked up through narrowed eyes at Seonghwa, mischief dancing in them. A smile curled his lips, lifting some of the weight in his expression.

“It must be super boring in here,” he teased, flicking Seonghwa’s forehead lightly.

Seonghwa scoffed at just how ridiculous that sounded.

How can it be boring if it’s full of you?

The moment was broken when Hongjoong pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Look,” he said, lifting the phone so Seonghwa could see. “I’ve been looking into this university. See the dorms?” He gestured toward a photo of a cozy room on his screen. “It’s small, but it’s nice. Some people share larger rooms. We could share.”

“Share?” “Seonghwa echoed, mildly surprised.

Hongjoong grimaced, as if the idea was obvious. “Of course. You didn’t think I’d leave you behind, did you? But you’d have to cook. I don’t know how.”

The idea sent a warm flutter through Seonghwa’s chest. The easy certainty in Hongjoong’s voice, the care with which he had slid him into his plans; it made his chest ache.

“Isn’t that cool?” Hongjoong continued with more and more anticipation. “I think they’re still taking applications. Dad could probably pull some strings if he wanted to.” His voice trailed off, a note of bitterness creeping in.

At some point, Seonghwa realized that he had stopped even listening to word of what Hongjoong was saying. He was too caught up in the way the moonlight danced in his eyes, how his whole face lit up as he spoke about his plans. His lips moved so effortlessly, coloring this picture of some distant future dream, and all Seonghwa wanted to do was fill the space between them—to feel those warm lips against his in that cold night, to tell to Hongjoong without uttering a single word how much he meant to him. That he’d go anywhere, do anything, as long as it was with him.

But he stayed still, his heart heavy, just listening, letting himself imagine a different future—one that wasn’t already written for them.

𖦹

Seonghwa still didn’t know all the details of what went down that night. It was a very private event — one so exclusive that he wasn’t even allowed to accompany Hongjoong there.

Then, earlier that evening, Hongjoong had shown up to his room, a pout pulling at his lips and a tie dangling from his hand.

“Help me,” he said, holding it out like an offering.

Seonghwa let out a small chuckle, taking the tie in his hand while reaching out for Hongjoong’s, guiding him to sit at the edge of the bed.

“It’s going to be so boring without you,” Hongjoong whined dramatically. He leaned forward a bit as Seonghwa slipped the tie around his collar.

“It could be an opportunity for you to make some new friends,” Seonghwa teased, gliding his hands down the fabric of the knot and arranging it just right. He brushed fingers over the freshly dyed hair of Hongjoong, the white strands smooth under his fingers. The color made Hongjoong appear otherworldly — angelic, even.

Hongjoong scoffed, folding his arms. “I don’t need other friends,” he stated resolutely. Then, pausing, he sighed deeply, pressing his lips into a small pout. “What am I supposed to talk about with these people? Investments? Politics? I’d rather die.”

“Don’t say stuff like that,” Seonghwa said, quiet but serious.

“I really mean it,” Hongjoong insisted now, voice softer, gaze falling to his hands. “You’re the only friend I need.”

Seonghwa was left speechless for a split second as warmth bloomed in his chest at the genuineness in his voice. He smiled sheepishly, embarrassed, leaving his hands resting on Hongjoong’s shoulders as if trying to cool himself down.

Hongjoong looked up at him, expression soft and unguarded, and time slowed, the room suddenly too small for the both of them. But Hongjoong cleared his throat just as quickly, straightening up.

“Don’t miss me too much, OK?” he said with a smirk before walking toward the door.

Seonghwa didn’t respond, just watched as he walked out.

Hours later, Seonghwa was abruptly awakened in the middle of the night by the sound of heavy doors slamming open, hastened footsteps, and the loud crash of glass breaking. His heart racing, instinct took over: He reached beneath his pillow for the gun he always kept there and ran toward the stairs.

Seonghwa paused in his tracks upon seeing the chaos in the foyer. But at the center of it all, Donghae stood with his usual icy mask scattered into jagged pieces. Kneeling at his feet was a man with his hands bound tightly behind his back, blood running down his face and flooding atop the pristine floor. The air surrounding them was thick.

Seonghwa’s voice cut the tension before he could think better of it, low and quivering. “What happened? Where is Hongjoong?”

Donghae’s head whipped in his direction, his eyes narrowing, the fury in them sharp enough to slice. His jaw set, he took one step closer to the stairs. “Isn’t it your job to know?! Where were you when they took him?! ” His voice was the sound of thunderous snarling and every word smacked into Seonghwa like a hammer.

The accusation hit hard. Seonghwa's body jerked, his breath stuttering as he instinctively took a step back, his fists so tightly clenched that his nails would surely draw blood. “I—I didn’t know. I wasn't told I could...” he stammered, his voice little more than a whisper.

Before Donghae could unleash another wave of fury, Mrs. Kim came rushing into the room. With shaking hands, she pounded Donghae’s chest, her face crumpled in anguish. “You said he’d be safe! You promised me!” Her voice broke, each word soaked in desperation.

“Eun,” Donghae said sharply, fastening both hands around her wrists to steady her. His voice was firm, but trembled from the weight of his own panic. “We’re doing all we can. The teams are already looking for —”

“Everything you can is not enough!” she screamed, interrupting him, her sobs twisting into tortured wails. “My son is out there, and you’re here! Do something!” Her voice faltered completely, the raw hurt in it echoing against the walls.

Donghae's body froze, the hold he had on her wrists loosening as he brought her into him, her cries shaking her small body. Seonghwa could only watch, feeling empty and guilty.

The next two days were a waking nightmare. No one told him anything. He wasn’t allowed to join in the search efforts, even as he begged to do so. Instead, he ended up wandering the estate, hollow-eyed and restless. Every glance at Hongjoong’s open door, at the empty bed mocking him, sent crashing waves of frustration and guilt.

Seonghwa knew better than anyone that Hongjoong had been walking through life with a target on his back since the day he was born. That awareness had shaped everything about his life: every hour of training, every sacrifice he’d made. It was all for this moment, to protect him. And yet when it mattered most, when Hongjoong really needed him, Seonghwa wasn't there. His failure bore heavily on his chest, like big hands pressing on it.

It was on the third day that a line of cars pulled up to the mansion as Seonghwa stood at the entrance, eyes gritty from lack of sleep. At first, he didn’t recognize the small figure being carried past him. Dulled by exhaustion and fear, his mind struggled fit the pieces together. But then he caught sight of it — the pale strands, tangled and soaked in blood. The old gold bracelet on the dangling limp wrist.

Time slowed. Seonghwa took an unsteady step forward, his knees on the verge of giving away under his weight. His throat constricted, and he could not speak.

Hongjoong.

Hongjoong was immediately taken to the medical ward set up on the estate grounds where a team already waited. For another two tormenting days, Seonghwa was not allowed to see him.

The silence that surrounded the mansion felt heavy, with the hallways void of Hongjoong's giggles reverberating throughout the walls. Seonghwa realized with a painful twinge in his chest that he had gotten so used to Hongjoong’s presence that he could not function without it anymore. Like he had no purpose.

When he finally walked into the medical ward, the acrid smell of disinfectant made his nose twitch. The place was too bright and eerily quiet.

Hongjoong lay in bed, his now-washed hair blending into the white pillowcase. His mother was next to him, a yellow dress laid across her lap. She stood when she noticed Seonghwa coming in, leaving a gentle kiss on Hongjoong’s forehead before glancing at him.

"He’s been asking for you. Be gentle,” she told him softly, squeezing his shoulder as she walked past.

Seonghwa walked to the bed, his throat constricting as he stared at Hongjoong’s pale face. His fingers twitched at his sides, uncertain if he was allowed to touch him. Suddenly, Hongjoong stirred, his eyelids fluttering open. Fear glinted in his eyes for a moment, his mind processing his surroundings slowly. But when he saw Seonghwa, all the tension drained away, replaced with relief. Despite the bruises and swelling, his lips quirked up in a sleepy smile.

“Did you miss me?” he teased gently, his tone hoarse but tinged with warmth.

Seonghwa let out a strangled laugh at that, and hastily blinked a few times to try to clear the moisture threatening to spill from his eyes. “Don’t ever do that to me again,” he said, choking on his words, his voice cracked with emotion. “You hear me? Never scare me like that ever again.”

Hongjoong’s smile softened, with his eyes fluttering softly shut for the briefest of moments before he forced himself to open them again, battling through the haze of the anesthetics. 

“I’ll try...” he said, light and playful, despite the underlying fatigue. “But only because you asked so nicely.”

𖦹

Seonghwa's soles were burning as he ran through the Kim estate grounds. A few minutes before that, there had been a missed call from Hongjoong’s emergency number, and a message that just said “garden.” Seonghwa gripped the phone in his fingers, he was a fucking idiot for having left it on silent mode.

He got a few weird stares from other employees as he walked past, and a few raised eyebrows from the other guards, but he couldn’t even be bothered to care about the hostility, his mind consumed solely with the fact that something might have happened to Hongjoong and he would be too late for his carelessness.

He stopped when he noticed a person sitting alone in a gazebo. He didn’t look bothered, focused on the phone.

There was a tea table beside him, covered with sweets and pastries. Seonghwa walked briskly down the stone path that led in, cautious as ever. Hongjoong glanced up once he heard him and opening a wide smile and waving in his direction.

"What happened?" he said, a bit out of breath.

"Sit, sit." With his foot, Hongjoong nudged the chair opposite him, offering a place for him.

Seonghwa paused before sitting down, his eyes fixated at the young heir. He examined the boy in front of him for any indication that something was wrong and breathed a sigh of relief when he concluded he was not hurt. Seonghwa’s gaze roamed the surroundings. The gazebo’s cedar beams remained steadfast, the hydrangeas lining the stone path only fluttered in the soft wind, and even the trees appeared to be standing still. It didn’t appear to be any sort of immediate threat.

“You have to try this for me,” Hongjoong said, pushing a slice of cake toward Seonghwa.

Seonghwa blinked, astonished.

“What? It could be poisoned,” Hongjoong added breezily as if with all the layers of security on that property this was something even vaguely plausible. “Would you rather I die?”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes. Obviously not.

Leaning forward, Hongjoong brought the fork closer to Seonghwa’s mouth. His persistence was amusing. With a sigh as resigned as his expression, Seonghwa opened his mouth, knowing it was futile to argue with him.

The instant the cake touched his tongue, his resolve faltered. It was moisturized, the cream and the strawberry balancing each other's sweet and sourness.

“That’s fine, I think,” Seonghwa told him, working to appear unaffected, even as the sweet yet filling aftertaste lingered.

Hongjoong smirked smugly and took a bite for himself, letting out a sigh of pleasure as he closed his eyes.

Seonghwa tilted his head. “What’s going on?”

“Try this,” Hongjoong said, completely ignoring him as he added another pastry to Seonghwa’s plate.

“Hongjoong.” his tone was firm yet patient. “What’s the emergency?”

Pretending not to listen, however, Hongjoong continued to chew, his eyes lazily wandering over the surrounding trees.

Seonghwa’s piercing gaze remained steady.

Hongjoong let out a dramatic sigh and put his cup of tea down on the table. “Mingi is busy and Yunho is not answering the phone.”

Seonghwa gaped at him. “Was that it? You can’t call the new emergency number just because you’re bored,” he said, the rebuke stern but accented with subtle worry.

At that, Hongjoong huffed.

“Isn’t that your job? Making sure I’m fine?” he pouted, folding his arms like a petulant child. “Don’t you care about my happiness?”

That last sentence sliced straight through him. Seonghwa knew that Hongjoong was just acting out to get his way, because being a brat was his favorite sport. But the words weighed heavy on his shoulders. He does, more than anything is this world. But the words never leave Seonghwa’s lips. Instead, he studies Hongjoong’s expressions — the nuanced annoyance and the familiar loneliness.

And so, with a soft sigh, Seonghwa picked up the fork again.

𖦹

Seonghwa sat on the edge of the sofa in the living room, hands resting neatly on his knees as he waited. Except for the soft ticking of the clock on the wall, the room was silent. His eyes briefly shifted to the extravagant staircase just in time for Hongjoong to be seen emerging from the upper level, bouncing down the steps excitedly.

He was dressed a comfy beige cardigan above a plain white shirt, and his glasses perched just right on the tip of his pointy nose. His wavy brown hair hung down and framed his face, with a few locks falling over his forehead. The thought of how adorable he looked flew through his mind, but Seonghwa quickly turned away.

Hongjoong came down the stairs slightly confused by Seonghwa’s neatly buttoned shirt and black jacket. “Why are you dressing so tightly? We’re going to an amusement park,” he said, the hint of a pout on his lips.

Before Seonghwa could answer, Donghae’s stern voice emerged from the doorway of his office. ”Since you asked Seonghwa to be the only one to go with you, he will take his job seriously. That was the agreement.”

Hongjoong sighed, giving a slight roll of his eyes but not without a smile. “Right. Thank you, Dad,” he muttered and turned toward Seonghwa. Without hesitation, he took his hand and pulled him to the door.

A hum from the engine of the car blended in with the low volume of the music playing from the speakers. Hongjoong was in the passenger seat, phone in hand, thumbs flitting across the screen to send messages. His eyes lit up each time a new message pinged in, and his lips quirked upwards like Seonghwa hadn’t seen in ages.

It took days of tireless pleading and reassurance to win Hongjoong’s parents over to the idea of this outing. Even Wooyoung’s parents had intervened, making sure the area was secure and protected by allied organizations. Wooyoung just got back to Korea, so it was a great chance for him to see Hongjoong again after quite some time.

Seonghwa looked over for a moment and smiled softly. “I haven’t seen you this excited for a while.”

Hongjoong glanced away from his phone, grinning wider. “The festival is nice, and I haven’t seen Woo in ages.”

Seonghwa nodded.

By the time they arrived at the amusement park, the sky had turned dark, and a light drizzle started to fall. Grabbing an umbrella from the backseat, Seonghwa opened it over them as they walked to the entrance. He kept close to Hongjoong, one hand firmly on the handle of his umbrella and the other on the knife he carried in the pocket of his trench coat, his eyes constantly scanning his surroundings. Seonghwa’s gaze caught sight of the additional guards subtly positioned in the crowd; a silent reassurance, though he chose not to mention them.

Suddenly, Hongjoong beamed, waving excitedly as he saw Wooyoung, and another person walking towards them.

Choi San, 22, from Namhae, a taekwondo instructor who lives in an apartment with his younger brother, Jongho. He was clear — no gangs, no shady organizations, and absolutely no connections to the chaebol world. Just a normal person.

Seonghwa had dedicated a handful of hours silently searching into San’s history. It wasn’t from mistrust, but caution. Wooyoung had a tendency to bring chaos on himself and Seonghwa wanted to ensure that hadn’t been the case this time. But San was everything he said he was. He had no skeletons in his closet, his life was an open book that was mundane and filled with the same mundane details that left Seonghwa calm and assured.

Wooyoung’s face cracked into a broad smile, and he dashed over with arms open.

“Hyung!” he exclaimed before pulling Hongjoong into a fierce embrace.

Hongjoong laughed, light and uninhibited and Seonghwa felt a rush of affection at the sight. To see him like this, without the usual weight of their world on his shoulders was, well, precious. Wooyoung let go of Hongjoong and turned to Seonghwa, bowing politely.

“Seonghwa.” 

He nodded, his habitual stoicism settling over him. “Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung pointed at the figure beside him. “This is my boyfriend, San.”

San stepped forward with a slight nod and an easy, warm smile. “Nice to meet you.”

As far as Seonghwa could remember, he hasn't been to an amusement park, not even once. Small lights decorated a series of trees and were strung from one side of the avenue to the other, creating a beautiful path. There was lively music from an unknown group that Seonghwa couldn’t recognize, barely distinguishable from the different shouts and excited conversations of the people around him, and the smell of caramelized sugar, fried dough, and other sugars wafted in the cool night breeze.

He looked at Hongjoong half-hoping that he would be overwhelmed by the crowd and noise. He wasn’t used to be in such public, chaotic spaces, and Seonghwa had silently prepared himself for signs of discomfort. But to his surprise — and relief — Hongjoong’s face was lit with pure wonder.

He stood there watching as Wooyoung led Hongjoong from attraction to attraction, arms threaded through each other. Warmth crawled in Seonghwa’s chest. It had been a while since he had seen Hongjoong like this — so free, alive.

Later, they stood in a long line for the Ferris wheel, its slow-moving carts floating lightly in the soft air filled by carnival music. Seonghwa was behind Hongjoong, posture rigid and arms stiffly crossed over his chest. Meanwhile, Wooyoung was squirming on the sidelines, his eyes brightening when he noticed a nearby popcorn stand.

“I’m going to get some popcorn! I’ll be right back!” Wooyoung announced, darting off before anyone could stop him.

San shrugged, mumbling an excuse about keeping Wooyoung in check and followed him—leaving Seonghwa and Hongjoong alone in the line. They stood in silence for a moment, laughter and the mechanical creaks of the Ferris wheel filling the air.

Hongjoong turned his head a little to the side, his gaze settling on Seonghwa. He looked him over for a minute, his mouth twitching and then he broke down laughing. Seonghwa frowned, his brow crumpling in confusion.

“What?” he asked, tilting his head.

Hongjoong chuckled, attempting to suppress his laughter but to no avail.

“Relax a little, Hwa. You’re scaring my friends with that grumpy face.”

Seonghwa blinked in surprise.

“Sorry,” he said softly, his tone hushed. “I didn’t mean to.”

Hongjoong’s laughter faded into an affectionate chuckle.

“I know,” he said, extending his hand to gently nudge Seonghwa’s shoulder. “But you can have fun as well, you know? Try smiling once in a while.”

Seonghwa nodded slightly, almost imperceptibly, and the corner of his lips lifted in a tentative smile. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough to make Hongjoong’s smile bigger.

“There we go,” he said triumphantly.

As the line inched slowly toward the wheel, he noticed Hongjoong nervously fidgeting with the sleeve of his sweater for the first time that night. They both had knowledge of his fear of heights, but Seonghwa also knew him well enough to know that there would be no way his stubbornness would let him back out now.

"Are you sure about this?" Seonghwa asked, his tone dripping with concern, though the faintest trace of a smile betrayed him.

Hongjoong huffed and gave him an annoyed glance, crossing his arms. “Yeah, I’m not twelve anymore, Hwa. It’s just a Ferris wheel. I’ll be fine."

Seonghwa didn’t respond immediately, but regarded Hongjoong with a long, skeptical stare. His eyebrows raised, the corners of his mouth twitching as if trying to suppress a laugh. Hongjoong hated that expression — it meant Seonghwa had already started to list all the embarrassing things that had happened in the past.

“I’ve heard that one before,” he finally said, unable to quite keep the teasing out of his voice.

Hongjoong groaned, rolling his eyes. “Okay, that happened years ago and I was a kid. This is totally different.'”

“Sure,” Seonghwa said, drawing out his words with feigned disbelief. He didn’t need to explain; the memories were stamped across his face. That time at the waterpark, when Hongjoong insisted he could handle the tallest slide but ended up frozen halfway up the ladder. Or the disastrous attempt at "overcoming his fear of heights" on the rope climbing training, which ended up getting Hongjoong clinging onto a safety harness for dear life and screaming at Seonghwa for laughing too hard to get him down.

Hongjoong deliberately averted his eyes away from Seonghwa, feigning to check the line for the Ferris wheel. “This is different,” he muttered again, mostly to himself.

“It is,” Seonghwa said before finally breaking into a grin.

Seonghwa was in awe as he stared at the view as the Ferris wheel slowly rose into the sky. Below them, the amusement park glittered like a field of stars, the distant sounds of laughter and music mixing with the soft creaking of the ride. He leaned a little closer to the glass, taking it all in until something caught his eye in the reflection. 

Hongjoong was covering his face with his hands as he peaked down past his fingers to the ground, meters below. 

Seonghwa tried to bite the inside of his cheek, but a chuckle escaped his lips. It blossomed all too quickly into a full-blown laugh, his shoulders shaking as he clapped his hand over his mouth.

Hongjoong revealed his face slightly to look at him, cheeks flushed. “You’re laughing at me.” 

The corners of Seonghwa’s lips turned upwards as he continued to chuckle, shaking his head. “No, I’m not.”

“You are,” Hongjoong sighed, kicking at Seonghwa's calf.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and yet the smile across his face said otherwise. “But you told me—” Hongjoong glared in reply, but a smile tugged at his lips betraying his feigned offence. Seonghwa inhaled deep, suppressing the laughter. “Sorry. You’re adorable when you’re scared.”

Hongjoong’s eyes widened for a moment before the tips of his ears turned red. He grumbled something before kicking again Seonghwa in the heel, which made the other burst out laughing again.

Hongjoong seemed to forget his fear as the teasing continued, their laughter mixing with the sound of the park. At one point, Seonghwa found himself watching him again, his heart pounding in a different rhythm now. His eyes traced the curve of Hongjoong’s lips, and, oh, how Seonghwa wanted to kiss him. For a brief second he considered just throwing caution to the wind and leaning in, closing the slight gap between them.

Would it ruin everything? Would Hongjoong reject him? Would he be overwhelmed by Seonghwa's enormous desire to have him?

He hated himself for wanting so much more than he already had. And so he settled for just memorizing how Hongjoong’s laughter lit up his face, tucking away the moment in his heart for safekeeping.

𖦹 

The rustle near his bedroom door pulls Seonghwa from sleep. The handle turns gently and the door opens with a creak. His eyes are adjusting to the dark when footsteps padded toward his bed. Without a word he shifts, making space.

Hongjoong slides under the covers, back to Seonghwa, careful but too groggy from sleep to be as quiet as he could be.

“Nightmare?” Seonghwa whispers into the quiet.

Hongjoong just hums his answer, mumbling in reply. But in the proximity, Seonghwa can feel him shaking.

“It’s okay,” Seonghwa says to him, “it’s not real.”

“I know.”  

Hongjoong never speaks about that night. And Seonghwa doesn't really need to know. He sees it in the quiet nights, in the way Hongjoong sneaks into his room after a nightmare, trembling but silent, longing for reassurance without saying anything at all.

And every time, Seonghwa shifts, makes room, and lets him in.

His hand twitches under the blanket, the instinctive urge to reach out. To feel Hongjoong’s hair, to soothe him with touch, to pull him into the safety of his arms. But he stops himself, instead whispering quietly, “I won’t let anyone hurt you again. I promise.”

Hongjoong sighs and slowly he turns, and in the soft moonlight that bathes the room, his tear-streaked face comes into view.  His eyes fixate on Seonghwa’s, as if looking for something. He opens his mouth, then closes it, hesitating.

They look at each other for a few minutes, until Hongjoong finally breaks the silence, his voice hoarse and shaky. “I know I could survive it again. I’m not afraid of getting hurt. But God, Seonghwa, it’s not me that I’m worried about. It’s never me dying in my nightmares. That’s why I can’t stand it.”

His breath hitches at the realization. Seonghwa’s heart breaks, the shards painfully digging inside his rib cage. This time he can’t help himself—he cups Hongjoong’s face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that stain his delicate face.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Seonghwa whispers, his voice steady and low. “I would gladly die for you as long as you are safe. It’s my job.”

There’s a scoff from Hongjoong, bitter and hurt. A look of disbelief flickers across his features before he hunches away again, his back curling into himself.

“I wish it wasn’t.” He murmurs, barely audible.

𖦹

The air stank of burning wood, gunpowder, and blood. Flames shot into the night sky as gunshots rang out. Smoke and the sickly stench of death clawed at Seonghwa’s throat, forcing him to cough as he gripped Hongjoong’s wrist tighter. They ran through the wreckage, the creaks of splintering beams and muffled screams echoing from all sides. 

Hongjoong stumbled into the rubble, and for a split second, Seonghwa feared they wouldn’t make it out alive. He yanked him out of the way just before a beam fell behind them, the heat of the fire licking at their skin.

Then Hongjoong halted, body freezing in place.

Seonghwa turned to follow his gaze and his stomach dropped. The bodies of Hongjoong’s parents lay among the wreckage. Their faces were eerily calm, unfeathered by the chaos around them.

Seonghwa’s hold on him loosened for one second, just a bit, enough for Hongjoong to stagger back toward the haunting scene.

“Hongjoong!” Seonghwa snapped, tugging at his arm, but he remained still. His feet remained rooted on the charred ground, his wide, tear-filled eyes glued to the bodies of his parents.

“No… no, no,” Hongjoong breathed, trembling voice and weak knees. He crumpled to the ground, desperately grasping at them as if he could somehow pull them back.

Seonghwa tumbled onto his side, panic coursing through his body as the heat threatened to smother them. He took Hongjoong’s face in his hands and forced him to meet his gaze. “We don’t have time for this! We need to go—now!” His voice shook, rough with urgency.

“I can’t,” Hongjoong gasped, a sob breaking loose. “I can’t leave them. I can’t just—”

“They’re all gone,” Seonghwa interrupted, his voice sounding harsh and yet shaking. “I’m sorry, but they would not want you to die here as well. We have to go.”

Hongjoong stuttered, his right hand trembling, but his eyes were glued to his parents. Tears streamed down his cheeks, his body not moving.

A booming crash reverberated in the mansion, the ceiling creaking under the weight of the flames. Seonghwa didn’t hesitate. He dragged Hongjoong to his feet, deaf to the protests, struggling and the panicked cries.

“I’m sorry,” Seonghwa said, throwing Hongjoong over his shoulder as the shorter man screamed and weakly thumped at his back.

“No! Let me—please!”

Seonghwa didn’t stop. He couldn’t. The smoke clawed at his lungs, his vision going blurry, and still he kept moving, stumbling out, toward the exit. They were nearly there when a sharp crack made the air split.

He felt it before he heard the sound—a burning, tearing pain shredding through his side. The world tilted around him and he stumbled, almost dropping Hongjoong.

“Seonghwa!” Hongjoong scrambled off his shoulder, panic sharpening his voice.

Seonghwa’s hand pressed to the wound, red blood gushing over his fingers. He stifled a groan and forced himself upright. “It’s OK,” he rasped, his breath uneven. “Keep moving.”

Hongjoong hesitated, glancing between Seonghwa’s ashen face and the dark silhouette reloading a gun far away. The realization hit him like a brick and he heaved Seonghwa’s arm over his shoulder.

“You’re not fucking dying here,” Hongjoong growled.

Seonghwa wanted to fight him on it, to order him to go and save himself, but the words wouldn’t form. Gritting his teeth, he made his legs move. It was agony with each step, but neither of them stopped. They couldn’t.

They got to a car, Seonghwa’s vision starting to blur as his adrenaline began to fade. With trembling fingers, Hongjoong climbed into the driver’s seat and ignited the engine.

In the rearview, Seonghwa spotted a plume of orange smoke that had painted the sky, leaving the night too bright as they drove away from the mansion.

The first time Seonghwa neared death there was no dramatic montage of his life flashing through his eyes. No comforting highlights or fond memories to ease him into the abyss. Instead, there was silence — a numbed acceptance as he lay on an empty street, his stomach empty and his body frozen. He had embraced the fantasy of fading away quietly, painlessly.

This time Seonghwa battled the abyss of unconsciousness with the remnants of strength he had. He didn’t want to go. He couldn’t. Not when Hongjoong’s shaking hands gripped the steering wheel, his panicked voice calling his name. Not when every fiber of himself ached in wanting to be with him a little longer.

“Joong.” he said faintly, his voice little more than a whisper.

“Just hold on,” Hongjoong begged, his voice breaking. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, and his eyes shifted between the road and Seonghwa. “We’re almost there. Please, just a little bit more.”

Seonghwa felt himself want to answer, to assure him, but the shadow thickened, closing around him. His body betrayed him, his eyelids closed, and the world went black.

The last thing he heard was Hongjoong’s voice, raw with fear, shouting his name.

Seonghwa’s eyes opened once more to the sterile white ceiling of a hospital room. The faint beeping of the monitors echoed in the silence. His body was numb, and whatever pain was in his side felt dull but relentless. He glanced over to find Hongjoong sprawled on the couch, casually scrolling through his phone. His normally soft features were edged by exhaustion, dark smudges under his eyes and his hair fell carelessly over his forehead. He seemed a shell of himself, as if the incident had carved him hollow.

“Seonghwa,” he gasped, voice breaking with relief as he rose to his feet and crossed the room in a couple of tense strides. His hands hovered just above the bed, where they trembled slightly, confused about where to go. “You’re awake. I’ll get a nurse.”

The nurse came in soon after, describing Seonghwa’s condition in a calm, clinical manner. In addition to the bullet wound, he had inhaled a large quantity of smoke. They’d put him in a coma for a few days so his body could recover more effectively.

As the nurse left, Seonghwa brought his attention back to Hongjoong. He ached for him, at thought that had spent the first days of grief alone. Yet, he didn’t appear to be in the mood to discuss what had just occurred, and Seonghwa’s body still felt heavy, his limbs weighed down by residual anesthetics. So he relented, letting Hongjoong help him sit up and drink a few sips of water. The hours passed in a tense, uncomfortable silence as they half-watched a movie playing on the small television. Seonghwa’s eyes kept finding their way back to Hongjoong, who appeared to be drifting off in his own world until a knock at the door interrupted them.

“Come in,” Hongjoong said, his tone flat.

A man walked in, Seonghwa recalled having seen him once or twice but didn’t know his name. “Sir, we found Minseok.”

Minseok? Seonghwa raised an eyebrow, confused. Donghae’s left arm?

Hongjoong clenched his jaw, eyes narrowing. “Take him to the warehouse. I’ll deal with him later.”

The man left, nodding, leveling an unbearable tension between them.

“Do we know who directed the attack?”

Hongjoong’s face darkened immediately. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, in a clipped tone.

Seonghwa’s hand twitched under the covers, the silence was unbearable.

“Talk to me, please,” Seonghwa pleaded. “Don’t shut me out.”

For a long second, Hongjoong simply stared at the door, his expression unreadable. And then he sighed, the weight of the past few days visibly etched on his shoulders. “We discovered that someone from inside helped the attack,” he said, his voice low and bitter. “We were betrayed, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa's eyes widened in shock, and he instinctively tried to sit up straight only to feel the stitches pull painfully. “What?! ”

Hongjoong nodded, fists clenching at his sides. “I don’t know who to trust anymore. But I will find them. Every single one of them.” his tone was cold and sharp, laced with fury.

The rage simmering under Hongjoong’s words was clear, but Seonghwa could also see the cracks beginning to form. The betrayal was not only an attack on their empire — it was personal. It had cost Hongjoong his parents, his home, and almost Seonghwa’s life. He understood how that sort of loss could contort a person into something unrecognizable.

“I’m sorry about your parents,” Seonghwa said softly.

His eyes widened, as if he could barely remember and Seonghwa had reminded him. But then he just sighed and rubbed his face.

“We knew this could happen at any time,” he said, his voice flat. Then his mouth flickered and a dry, humorless snort escaped his lips. “There was no funeral. The house itself burned, and so did they. I thought that place would be my coffin — who thought it would be theirs.”

His voice broke, but he did not weep. It was as though he had cried himself out, and all that was left was this empty vessel of rage and anguish. His eyes strayed, and Seonghwa could see the walls caving in around him again, it was terrifying. He had never seen Hongjoong like this, so pale and disheveled, so far off; it was disconcerting. He longed to touch him, just to make sure he wasn’t staring at a ghost.

Hongjoong stood there for a second, then moving slowly as if he needed time to figure out just what to do next, he sat down on the edge of Seonghwa’s bed. His arms lay lazily on his thighs, and for a moment he spoke nothing.

“I love you,” Hongjoong finally said, looking at the ground. “And I’m sorry I didn’t say it before. I’m sorry it took nearly losing you for me to tell you. But I do. You are the most important thing in the world to me.”

Seonghwa’s chest squeezed, his heart clenching at each word.

Hongjoong went on, his voice shaking. “That’s why I am giving you the freedom to leave, Hwa. To live a normal life, far from all this. I’ll make sure you have enough money so you’ll never have to work another day in your life. All I want is for you to be happy, even if it’s not with me.”

Seonghwa’s breath hitched, his mind spinning. He felt heartbroken at the idea of leaving, at the hurt in Hongjoong’s voice.

Seonghwa was looking at him, his heart heavy with his words. The thought of leaving him, of walking away from all they had gone through together, was something he could not fathom. How could Hongjoong not see that? How could Seonghwa ever be happy without him?

Seonghwa reached out cautiously, his hand shaking just a little as he cradled the side of his jaw. He turned his face, urging him to meet his eyes. The vulnerability in Hongjoong’s gaze almost broke him.

“Come here,” Seonghwa said, voice soft but demanding, bringing Hongjoong in closer and closer until their bodies were almost glued together.

Hongjoong followed, laying beside Seonghwa where their faces were barely separated. Seonghwa’s fingers brushed over his cheek, wanting to soothe away all the pain in every feature. His thumb traced gentle circles, his touch light, almost reverent. Hongjoong leaned into the touch with a soft, shaky breath, the walls he was trying so desperately to build around himself crumbling.

Seonghwa leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss into Hongjoong's forehead. He paused there, his lips against warm skin, as though he was trying to communicate all the love he felt for him.

When their eyes met again, something shifted. This time, Seonghwa didn’t hold back. He leaned in, their lips meeting in a soft, gentle kiss that said everything—promises kept, loyalty unshaken. It wasn’t rushed or frantic; it was steady, grounding, molded by their unspoken devotion.

When they pulled back just a little, their breaths mixing in the quiet, Seonghwa whispered, his voice calm and steady, “I’m not going anywhere. Nothing else matters but you. I’d do anything for you.”

Hongjoong didn’t respond with words—he didn’t need to. He let his head fall onto Seonghwa’s shoulder, finally giving in to the exhaustion weighing him down. And Seonghwa held him there, close and safe, wishing he could shield him from everything. Silently, he swore to tear the world apart if it meant keeping him safe.

With the memory of Hongjoong’s lips still lingering on his, something settled deep in Seonghwa’s chest. This was as close to heaven as he would ever come—not because of the purity of love, but because of the rage burning within him. For the desire of revenge fueled by Hongjoong’s pain.

For Hongjoong, he’d rebuild everything, even if it all had to burn first. No amount of blood on his hands would feel like guilt. For Hongjoong, his heart had one purpose.