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Seungcheol was always the one who got the job done. He was ruthless, efficient, and cold as ice traits that had made him one of the best hitmen in the business. His reputation was built on precision, and his hands had never failed him. But as skilled as he was, there was a part of Seungcheol that longed for something different. He didn’t need the money anymore, he had more than enough to live comfortably for the rest of his life. Yet, his heart felt empty, as if it were always searching for something more than the bloody work he did every day.
As he sat in the corner of a dimly lit bar, his best friends, Soonyoung and Jihoon, sat across from him, lost in their own world. They were so wrapped up in each other that they hardly noticed Seungcheol’s lingering gaze. Kisses, touches, whispers, they were always like this, constantly affectionate in a way that made Seungcheol uncomfortable at times. He loved them both like brothers, but sometimes, the sight of their love made him feel like an outsider.
They had grown up together in an orphanage, all three of them abandoned by families who couldn’t care for them. The orphanage had been their only home, and it was there they had forged an unbreakable bond. In a world where survival was everything, it wasn’t long before they all found themselves drawn into the same dangerous profession—hitmen, like so many others who had no other choice.
Seungcheol’s mind drifted back to his decision. He had been planning to step down from the job for months now. He had survived in this world because he was good at what he did. It wasn’t a career he had chosen willingly, but when you're raised in an orphanage with nothing to your name, survival instincts kicked in. He'd taken the first job out of desperation, and it had led to a long, bloody career. But now, after years of taking down targets and building a fortune, he felt like it was enough. He was ready to leave it all behind and try for a normal life. He wanted something peaceful, something normal. He didn’t want to die as a man with blood on his hands.
But just as Seungcheol was about to step away from the shadows of his past, one last offer came through. A job he couldn’t refuse.
"Mr. Yoon," the message had said, "the most dangerous drug lord in the city. He fronts hospitals as his cover, but I know who he really is. He killed your parents."
Seungcheol had lived years with the pain of not knowing who killed his parents. The memories were always clouded in darkness, the anger and confusion eating him alive. He’d spent too many sleepless nights searching for answers, only to come up empty.
Then came the call. The job. He didn’t know why he accepted it at first, but when the details were laid out before him, everything changed. A folder thick with photos, documents, and a video clip. His parents’ deaths—murdered in cold blood, orchestrated by none other than Mr. Yoon, a name that Seungcheol had heard in hushed whispers. The evidence was undeniable.
The moment he saw it, something in him snapped. The man he’d been sent to kill wasn’t just another job. He was the reason Seungcheol’s life had been shattered. The man who had taken everything from him.
Retirement seemed like a far-off thought now. There was no going back. This job would be his last. He would make sure of that. With the truth finally in his hands, Seungcheol couldn’t let it go. Mr. Yoon had to pay.
Seungcheol’s hand tightened around his phone as he read the message again. Mr. Yoon wasn’t just a criminal; he was a personal enemy. Seungcheol’s parents had died when he was just a boy, and he had always promised himself he would avenge their deaths. Now, the opportunity was finally in his grasp.
As much as Seungcheol wanted to walk away from this life, revenge burned hotter than any desire for peace. It was the only thing that had kept him going for all these years. He couldn’t walk away without avenging his parents.
Seungcheol knew this would be his last job. There was no turning back now. He reached out to Soonyoung and Jihoon, knowing the two would worry. They were protesting at first so Seungcheol spent almost half an hour trying to make them understand why he needed to take this last mission.
“Guys, I need to do this,” Seungcheol said, looking at them seriously. “I have to take down Mr. Yoon. It’s personal.”
Soonyoung and Jihoon exchanged a look. They both knew how deeply Seungcheol had been affected by his parents' deaths, but they also wanted him to step down from being a hitman already.
"Soonyoung, Jihoon," Seungcheol said, his voice laced with the years of unspoken pain, "I’ve made up my mind. This is my last job."
Jihoon’s brow furrowed. “Seungcheol-hyung, you know I’m against the idea…. But if that would somehow ease your pain then I have no qualms.”
Soonyoung’s hand gripped Seungcheol’s shoulder. “Same here.”
Seungcheol nodded. He knew what they meant.
This was the final piece of his past that needed to be put to rest before he could finally move on to something new. This job, this mission would either destroy him or free him from the past he had never been able to outrun.
—
It was finally the night Seungcheol had been preparing for.
He parked his car a short distance away from the private hospital owned by Mr. Yoon. Everything looked normal on the outside, quiet building, a few lights still on, a night guard standing by the main gate but Seungcheol knew this place hid something darker. This hospital was one of the main hubs where Mr. Yoon moved illegal drugs without raising suspicion.
Seungcheol took a deep breath and checked his watch. 11:40 PM. Just like he expected, Mr. Yoon was inside his private office on the second floor. According to his research, the man stayed late every Thursday night to go over reports alone. No guards in the hallway. No cameras inside.
He reached for his gun and gloves but left his mask in the seat beside him.
There were no cameras in that wing of the hospital, and he needed to move fast. A mask might block his view or make people suspicious if he had to slip out in a rush. He figured: if no one saw him, there was no risk.
That small decision would change everything.
—
Seungcheol entered quietly through a side door using a keycard he got from a contact. He moved quickly but carefully through the halls, keeping to the shadows. On the second floor, he found Mr. Yoon’s office door slightly ajar. He peeked in, there he was, sitting at his desk, typing on a laptop, completely unaware.
Seungcheol raised his gun.
He didn’t feel nervous. He was calm. All the pain and anger he carried for years felt like it was coming to an end tonight.
But just as he stepped forward—
“Dad?”
A voice came from behind.
Seungcheol’s body froze. The hairs on his neck stood up.
Footsteps echoed softly from the hallway, getting closer. He quickly moved behind a shelf near the door, hiding in the shadows.
The door opened.
A young man stepped inside, dressed in neat black pants and a tan coat, his black hair tied into a ponytail. He looked around Seungcheol’s age.
“Dad, we need to talk—”
His sentence stopped midway.
His eyes landed directly on Seungcheol.
The two locked eyes. For a moment, neither moved.
Seungcheol’s heart dropped. He was still unmasked. The young man had seen everything.
“Who are you?” the man asked, voice sharp.
Behind the desk, Mr. Yoon looked up but didn’t see Seungcheol, who was still hidden by the shelf. “Jeonghan?” Mr. Yoon said, confused.
Shit, Seungcheol thought. So this was Mr. Yoon’s son.
He had no choice now.
Before Jeonghan could speak again or yell, Seungcheol grabbed him, pulling him into the hallway.
“Hey! Let me go!”
“Shut up,” Seungcheol hissed.
“unha—!”
But before Jeonghan could scream louder, Seungcheol covered his mouth and dragged him down the stairs. They reached the emergency exit just before a nurse turned the corner. Seungcheol pushed the door open and rushed to the car.
---
“Let me out!” Jeonghan shouted as Seungcheol pushed him into the passenger seat.
“Too late. You saw my face,” Seungcheol muttered, starting the engine and speeding off.
Jeonghan looked at him, breathing heavily. “You were going to kill my father.”
“Yeah,” Seungcheol said simply, not even trying to hide it.
Jeonghan stared at him, then looked away. “...So what now? You’re going to kill me too?”
“No,” Seungcheol said. “You weren’t part of the plan. But now that you’ve seen me, I can’t just let you go.”
Jeonghan didn’t speak. For a while, the car was quiet.
Then, to Seungcheol’s surprise, the young man leaned back in his seat and folded his arms. “Fine.”
Seungcheol glanced at him. “Fine?”
Jeonghan nodded, looking out the window. “If I scream or try to run, you’ll just kill me. Right?”
Seungcheol didn’t answer. He was confused. This guy was way too calm.
“What a fucking weirdo,” Seungcheol muttered.
“You’re the one who tried to shoot my dad and kidnapped me,” Jeonghan replied dryly.
Seungcheol sighed. He didn’t have time for this.
He kept driving. Maybe he could use this. Jeonghan saw his face. That was dangerous. But Jeonghan was also Mr. Yoon’s son. If Seungcheol needed leverage, he had it now.
But something about Jeonghan’s strange calmness kept bothering him.
Why wasn’t he more scared?
Why did it feel like... Jeonghan wanted to come with him?
—
The room was quiet, just the soft sound of an old fan spinning slowly on the ceiling. Jeonghan sat on a chair in the middle of the room, hands tied behind his back, ankles secured to the legs of the chair. Seungcheol stood a few feet away, arms crossed, eyes locked on him like he was a puzzle he couldn’t solve.
“You’re lucky I didn’t knock you out,” Seungcheol muttered.
“I’m lucky you didn’t knock yourself out,” Jeonghan replied with a straight face.
Seungcheol blinked. “What?”
“You were sweating when you carried me out of that hospital. You huffed like an old man. Maybe try doing cardio sometime, loser.”
Seungcheol groaned, turned around, and rubbed his temples. “God, he’s a talker.”
“Thank you,” Jeonghan said, cheerful. “I take pride in my communication skills.”
“Let me remind you, you’re tied to a chair.”
“But why does it feel like I have the upper hand in this conversation?”
Seungcheol turned back, squinting. “You know you’re kidnapped, right?”
Jeonghan tilted his head. “Am I? Or did I let myself be taken?” He grinned.
Seungcheol stared at him for a second before sighing loudly and sitting down on the couch across from him.
“You’re either very brave or very stupid.”
“Can’t I be both?” Jeonghan asked sweetly.
“No,” Seungcheol snapped, then paused. “Actually, you definitely are both.”
Jeonghan smiled wider, clearly proud.
They sat in silence for a while until Seungcheol finally asked, “So… what were you doing there, anyway? Showing up at your dad’s office in the middle of the night?”
Jeonghan shrugged the best he could with his hands tied. “I had to remind him I exist.”
Seungcheol raised a brow. “He forgot?”
“Oh, he doesn’t forget. He just doesn’t care.” Jeonghan’s voice stayed light, like he was talking about the weather. “I’m not exactly the child he dreamed of. Not violent enough, not cold enough. I refused to join his little crime kingdom.”
“He offered you a spot?” Seungcheol asked, a little surprised.
“Oh yeah,” Jeonghan said. “At a very young age so he could make use of me. But he finds me very stupid especially when I told him I’d rather be a cow caretaker.”
“Wow.”
“Right? Total drama queen.”
Seungcheol shook his head. “Okay, but if you really hate him that much, why show up at all?”
Jeonghan shrugged again. “Curiosity. Boredom. Trauma. Take your pick.”
Seungcheol narrowed his eyes. “You talk like this is a joke.”
Jeonghan gave a sly smile. “Isn’t it?”
Seungcheol leaned forward, serious. “Look, your dad is going to be freaking out when he finds out I took you. He’ll come looking. I hope you realize that.”
Jeonghan blinked. Then started laughing.
Seungcheol waited.
“You’re serious?” Jeonghan asked, still
laughing.
“Dead serious.”
Jeonghan leaned forward as much as his ropes allowed. “Seungcheol that’s your name right? Well…My dad wouldn’t even look for me if I went missing for a year. I once locked myself in a storage room for two whole days just to prove a point. No one noticed. When I came out, the only person who said anything was the maid—she thought I’d gone to Europe.”
Seungcheol stared at him. “You’re bluffing.”
“I’m really not. Kidnapping me gets you nowhere.”
“You’re his son.”
“More like his tax deduction.”
Seungcheol let out a frustrated sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Jeonghan watched him calmly, smirking again. “Don’t hurt yourself, Seungcheol. You’ll get wrinkles.”
Seungcheol glared. “How are you so calm right now?”
“I’ve been kidnapped before.”
“…What?”
“Twice, actually. Once by accident.”
“By accident?!”
Jeonghan nodded. “Yeah. They meant to kidnap my cousin. He and I switched cars at a family event. Long story short: they realized I wasn’t him and they find me very annoying so they gave me a juice box, and let me go.”
Seungcheol ran a hand through his hair. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“I took it as one anyway.”
There was another long silence. Seungcheol stared at him, trying to figure out what kind of person he’d just dragged into his life. Jeonghan, meanwhile, seemed like he was on vacation. If anything, he looked comfortable.
Finally, Seungcheol stood up. “I need some air.”
“Bring back snacks!” Jeonghan called after him. “I like strawberry-flavored ones!”
Seungcheol stopped at the door and looked back. “So demanding.”
“I’m still human,” Jeonghan said with a pout.
Seungcheol walked out without another word, but not before muttering under his breath, “He’s going to drive me insane.”
—
The heavy door creaked open, letting in a beam of afternoon light as Jihoon stepped into the hideout, brushing a bit of dust off his jacket.
“I told you, this place always smells like old socks,” Jihoon said, frowning.
Soonyoung followed behind, carrying a small paper bag of drinks. “Well, it is a hideout. Not exactly a five-star hotel.”
They both walked in deeper and paused when they heard someone humming, a voice that definitely wasn’t Seungcheol’s.
Jihoon glanced at Soonyoung.
Soonyoung blinked. “...That’s not him, right?”
Then a voice called out from the back, casual and smooth.
“Oh? You brought company? You didn’t even tell me we were expecting visitors, Seungcheol.”
Both Jihoon and Soonyoung froze in place.
“What the—who the hell is that?” Jihoon whispered.
They turned a corner and there he was. A lean guy sitting calmly in a chair, wrists loosely tied but looking like he was just chilling at a café. His dark eyes sparkled with mischief, and he had a confident smirk playing on his lips.
“Hi,” he greeted like this was a normal meet-and-greet. “You must be the sidekicks.”
Jihoon narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”
“Jeonghan. Libra. Likes long walks and pissing people off.” He leaned back, smiling. “And currently... This old man’s unexpected guest.”
“I told you to stop calling me an old man,” Seungcheol’s voice came from behind them, sounding exhausted. “We’re the same age.”
“Yeah, but I look younger,” Jeonghan shot back.
Jihoon turned sharply to Seungcheol. “Okay. What the hell is going on? We only came here because you told us to check in.”
Soonyoung stepped in. “You didn’t say you had company. Or that you were hiding someone.”
Seungcheol sighed, running his hand through his hair. “I wasn’t expecting it either. He saw my face during the mission.”
“You weren’t wearing your mask?” Jihoon asked, stunned.
“Stupid decision I know,” Seungcheol muttered. “And besides, it will hinder me from doing the job fast. Then he walked in. Wrong place, wrong time.”
Jeonghan lifted his hand a little. “Sorry for ruining your evil plan. I just came to ask my dad for something. Turns out, surprise visits don’t end well.”
“Wait,” Soonyoung said, looking at Jeonghan carefully. “You’re Mr. Yoon’s son?”
Jeonghan gave a small bow, still seated. “Yep. Shocker, right? We don’t look alike. I got all the charm.”
Jihoon blinked, still confused. “In other words.. you’re saying you just... kidnapped him?”
“He saw my face,” Seungcheol repeated. “He had to be taken.”
“Oh wow,” Jeonghan said in mock surprise. “You make it sound so dramatic. I walked with you half the way. You weren’t even dragging me.”
Soonyoung leaned in and whispered to Jihoon, “He doesn’t look like he was forced into anything.”
Jihoon frowned. “He looks too comfortable.”
As they both stared at Jeonghan, something caught his eye. His gaze dropped to their hands intertwined naturally. And then he noticed the matching rings.
His eyes lit up with amusement. “Wait. Hold on. Hold on.”
Jihoon looked confused. “What?”
“You two?” Jeonghan pointed between them. “You’re lovers?”
Soonyoung blinked. “Well... yeah?”
“Engaged,” Jihoon added softly, glancing away.
Jeonghan let out a dramatic gasp. “Oh my god. This is so good. Seungcheol, so you’re officially the third wheel.”
“Shut up,” Seungcheol muttered, rubbing his temples.
Jeonghan leaned forward with a mischievous grin. “No wonder you’re grumpy. Failed a mission and surrounded by lovebirds. Must be a hard week for you, old ma—oops, sorry. Cheol.”
Jihoon shook his head. “This is a mess.”
Jeonghan kept going. “So let me guess. You guys are all killers but draw the line at kidnapping, huh?”
“We’re hitmen,” Jihoon corrected sharply. “There’s a difference. We do jobs. Clean and quick. This is sloppy, Cheol-hyung. Real sloppy.”
“I know,” Seungcheol admitted.
Soonyoung scratched his head. “And now what? Are we just keeping him here?”
“I am still in the room, by the way,” Jeonghan said cheerfully. “Don’t talk like I’m some sack of potatoes.”
“You’re tied to a chair anyways,” Jihoon pointed out.
“But buuut buuuuutt I’ve made more conversation than all three of you combined,” Jeonghan replied smoothly. “Honestly, you’re lucky to have me here. This place could use my energy.”
Soonyoung chuckled under his breath. “He’s... weird.”
Jeonghan winked. “Thank you.”
Jihoon turned back to Seungcheol, serious again. “You need to think this through. Mr. Yoon’s son? That’s risky. We’re walking on fire now.
Jeonghan hummed. “Not really. My dad doesn’t care about me that much. You could send him a toe and he’d probably just tell his assistant to buy a new carpet.”
Seungcheol stared at him. “You’re kidding.”
Jeonghan shrugged. “I could be. Or not. That’s the fun part.”
Seungcheol rubbed his face again. “I hate this guy.”
“Love you too, Cheol.”
Jihoon looked between them, then to Soonyoung. “Looks like he found his match.”
—
Seungcheol entered the room holding a plastic bag filled with takeout. The smell of hot, freshly cooked food wafted through the air, crispy chicken, sweet garlic sauce, and the exact brand of banana milk Jeonghan wouldn’t shut up about the day before.
Jeonghan, still tied to the chair but looking very much at ease, sniffed the air dramatically and grinned. “Is that—oh my god, is that Hongdae Chicken?”
Seungcheol dropped the bag onto the small table in front of him, frowning. “Don’t make it weird. It’s just food.”
Jeonghan leaned forward, eyes twinkling. “You remembered my birthday?”
“I remembered you wouldn’t stop yapping about it,” Seungcheol grumbled. “You literally said it ten times yesterday like you were trying to manifest a cake.”
“And look at that. Manifestation works,” Jeonghan said proudly. “You’re kinder than you look, Cheol.”
“I’m still your kidnapper.”
Jeonghan shrugged, eyeing the food. “Yeah, but one who brings gifts. Honestly, I’ve had worse dates.”
Seungcheol rubbed his temple again, now a habit every time Jeonghan opened his mouth. “You know, I’ve been watching you.”
“I’m flattered.”
“I’ve been giving you chances to escape,” Seungcheol said more seriously. “You noticed, right?”
Jeonghan blinked innocently. “What chances?”
“You think I didn’t see you when I left the keys on the table? Or the time I left the door unlocked for fifteen minutes?”
Jeonghan smirked. “Oh, that was a test? I thought you were just bad at hostage-holding.”
Seungcheol squinted at him. “You could have run.”
“I could’ve. But then who’d eat this delicious chicken with you?”
“You're not supposed to want to eat chicken with your kidnapper,” Seungcheol deadpanned.
“Well, clearly I’m not the typical damsel in distress.” Jeonghan wiggled his tied wrists playfully. “Besides, I’m not dumb. You didn’t hurt me. You fed me. You even gave me a blanket when it got cold. You’re like… a grumpy Airbnb host.”
“I’m not,” Seungcheol muttered, sitting down. “I’m just—trying to figure out why you're so calm.”
“Maybe I like you.”
“Don’t joke.”
Jeonghan laughed, his smirk never leaving. “Alright, alright. Maybe I just find this fun. I get to sit around, annoy you, and now I get birthday food. What’s not to love?”
“You’re still kidnapped.”
“Abducted, not tortured,” Jeonghan replied smoothly. “And to be fair, you tied me loose. If I really wanted out, I could’ve left.”
“Then why haven’t you?”
Jeonghan’s smirk faded just a bit, and he looked Seungcheol straight in the eye. “Because my dad doesn’t care if I’m gone. And I don’t have anywhere else to go right now.”
For a moment, the room went quiet. Seungcheol stared at him, surprised by the sudden seriousness in his voice. But before he could say anything, Jeonghan grinned again and leaned forward.
“But now I’ve got crispy chicken, banana milk, and a grumpy man entertaining me for free. That’s basically a five-star day in my book.”
Seungcheol shook his head, almost laughing out of disbelief. “You’re seriously the weirdest person I’ve ever met.”
“I’ve been told.”
Seungcheol handed him a piece of chicken, sighing. “Just eat. And stop talking for two minutes, please.”
Jeonghan took the chicken happily. “Sure. But only if you say ‘Happy Birthday’ first.”
Seungcheol stared.
Jeonghan raised an eyebrow.
After a long pause, Seungcheol muttered, “Happy Birthday.”
Jeonghan beamed. “Aww. You do care.”
Seungcheol immediately reached for the bridge of his nose again. “I regret everything.”
—-
Seungcheol granted Jeonghan freedom from being tied up to eat the chicken. He watched as he chomped on it with delight, his legs casually swinging under the chair like he wasn’t being held hostage. Honestly, Seungcheol felt like he was the one being held emotionally hostage here between Jeonghan’s non-stop teasing, his dry humor, and the strangely calm energy he gave off, Cheol was starting to think maybe he was the one tied up in this situation.
They’d been talking for over an hour now. Mostly Jeonghan making sarcastic comments and Seungcheol trying not to lose his mind. But still… it wasn’t the worst company he’d ever had.
Just as Seungcheol was about to tell Jeonghan to stop swinging in the chair before he flipped it over, something unexpected happened.
Jeonghan stood up from the chair.
Seungcheol blinked. “Wait—”
Before he could say anything else, Jeonghan casually stepped forward until he was right in front of him. Without saying a word, he reached up and started unbuttoning his shirt.
“What the hell—HEY!” Seungcheol quickly stood up and grabbed Jeonghan’s wrists to stop him. “What do you think you’re doing?!”
Jeonghan tilted his head, confused but still wearing that half-smile. “Saying thank you.”
Seungcheol stared at him. “A normal thank you is enough, you freak.”
Then—for the first time since he’d met him—Seungcheol saw Jeonghan’s expression shift. The smirk was gone. His lips were parted slightly, his brows furrowed. He looked... genuinely puzzled.
“You don’t want to sleep with me?” Jeonghan asked slowly, as if the idea was foreign to him.
“What—no!” Seungcheol said, still holding his wrists, shocked. “Why would you even think—?”
Jeonghan looked down, then back up with an almost childlike confusion in his eyes. “My dad’s men always want something in return. His friends too. If they ever helped me or gave me something, it always came with a price.”
Seungcheol froze.
His grip on Jeonghan’s wrists loosened.
For a long moment, he didn’t know what to say. His heart suddenly felt heavier, the room somehow quieter. He looked at Jeonghan again—not the loudmouth who teased him, not the laid-back guy with smartass remarks but simply a person.
“…Jeonghan,” he said quietly, his voice losing its usual edge.
Jeonghan blinked, still looking at him like he couldn’t figure him out. “…So, you really don’t want anything?”
“No,” Seungcheol said firmly. “I gave you food because it’s your birthday. That’s it. No strings.”
“Oh,” Jeonghan muttered, then glanced down again, expression unreadable. “strange.”
“Yeah,” Seungcheol breathed, still watching him closely. “Strange.”
He didn’t let go just yet. Not because he was stopping Jeonghan now, but because he wasn’t sure who needed the steadying hand more at this point.
Seungcheol slowly let go of Jeonghan’s wrists.
They stood in silence for a moment. The room wasn’t cold, but something about the air felt still now—like the energy had shifted. Not tense… just heavy, in a way neither of them wanted to acknowledge.
Jeonghan sat back down on the edge of the bed, pulling his shirt closed again, but not buttoning it. He didn’t say anything, just looked down at his knees. Seungcheol noticed how his fingers lightly fiddled with one of the loose threads on the hem.
“You’ve been through a lot, huh?” Seungcheol said quietly, almost like he was talking to himself.
Jeonghan gave a small, breathy laugh, but it lacked humor. “That’s one way to say it.”
Another pause.
“I wasn’t gonna hurt you, you know,” Seungcheol added after a beat.
Jeonghan finally looked up again, lips curling into a faint smirk. “I figured. You bought me fried chicken. Nobody who buys fried chicken on your birthday is gonna stab you after.”
“That’s not a normal standard of safety, Jeonghan,” Seungcheol muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose again.
Jeonghan just chuckled. “Well, welcome to my world.”
Then he leaned back on his elbows, shirt still open like he didn’t care, watching Seungcheol with that same unreadable, playful look. “You really are weird though, you know that?”
Seungcheol raised an eyebrow. “I’m weird? You’re the one who didn’t even try to escape when I literally left the door unlocked three times.”
“Told you I thought you’re bad at hostage taking,” Jeonghan replied casually. “You even moved the chair closer to the door this morning. Very subtle. But like I said. Again I would stay here rather than going back there.”
“That’s not… a normal answer.”
“Nothing about my life is normal,” Jeonghan replied, sitting up again. “You think I’d still be here if I had a normal life?”
Seungcheol sighed, crossing his arms. “You’re exhausting.”
“Who dragged me here in the first place?”
“Fair point.”
They stared at each other for a beat, then Jeonghan broke into a crooked smile again. “You look like you’re trying really hard not to care.”
Seungcheol’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” Jeonghan said, standing up again and stepping close, this time without the weird tension from earlier, “you’re not as heartless towards me as you pretend to be.”
Seungcheol opened his mouth to protest, but Jeonghan poked his chest lightly and kept going.
“You tied me up, but then brought me food. You scolded me, but then bought my favorite kind. You didn’t let me leave, but you didn’t really stop me either. You want me here.”
Seungcheol blinked. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I’m not,” Jeonghan replied smoothly. “I’m just saying… if you’re gonna keep me around, at least fix that broken light in the hallway. It flickers. Very annoying.”
“…You’re so demanding.”
“Maybe. But you still haven’t kicked me out.” Jeonghan grinned.
Seungcheol turned away with a muttered curse under his breath, mostly to hide the way his ears were turning red. He had no idea what he was doing anymore.
But as he glanced back, just for a second, he caught sight of Jeonghan sitting back down on the bed again, humming a tune to himself like he wasn’t a kidnapped hostage in a safehouse with a trained assassin.
Seungcheol rubbed his temple once more and sighed. But he had to admit he is starting to get used to the other’s presence in this household
—
It had been a week since Jeonghan stopped acting like a hostage.
He now walked around the hideout barefoot, sometimes in one of Seungcheol’s oversized shirts, complaining about the dust or the flickering hallway light again. He left mugs everywhere, sung while brushing his teeth, and somehow managed to rearrange the kitchen shelf without permission.
They were starting to feel like two people who shared a flat… minus the awkward reason why Jeonghan was there in the first place.
Seungcheol didn’t question it. Not out loud. But he thought about it a lot.
Every time Jeonghan tossed him a teasing grin over breakfast, every time he cracked some dry, dark joke while folding a blanket like he lived here. It was weird, it was domestic, and it was comfortable. Unreasonably so.
That afternoon was quiet. Jeonghan was sitting on the floor, legs folded under him, poking at a takeout box with his chopsticks.
Seungcheol had just returned from a short errand, setting his phone down and glancing over. “You didn’t eat much.”
“Not hungry,” Jeonghan said, still poking at the rice.
Seungcheol narrowed his eyes a bit. “You love this place.”
“Yeah, well.” Jeonghan shrugged. “Appetite’s been weird lately.”
Seungcheol didn’t push right away. But when Jeonghan stayed quiet for longer than usual, no snarky comment, no joke about him being nosy. He sat down across from him.
“You good?”
Jeonghan looked up.
His smirk wasn’t there this time.
“I’ve been thinking,” he started, voice quieter than usual. “You’re probably weirded out with the way I acted last time when you gave me delicious food.”
Seungcheol didn’t answer, just nodded once.
Jeonghan set his chopsticks down. His fingers trembled slightly as he placed them on top of the box.
“My father…” he started, then stopped. He exhaled sharply, like trying to force the words out. “His men. His friends. The ones always around the house, calling him sir like he’s some goddamn king. They—” He paused again. “They touch me. Hurt me. Use me.”
Seungcheol’s whole body stiffened.
Jeonghan didn’t look up. He stared at the floor instead, like the words were rotting as they left his mouth. “Sometimes it’s because he owes someone a favor. Sometimes because he’s closing a deal. Sometimes just because… he doesn’t want to bother saying no.”
“He knows?” Seungcheol’s voice was sharp, louder than he meant.
Jeonghan finally looked up. His eyes weren’t glossy. No tears. Just that same dry, empty expression that somehow hurt more.
“He arranges it,” he said. “Thinks I’m useful that way. Pretty face, good body, quiet mouth—his words, not mine.”
Something in Seungcheol snapped. He stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor.
“That bastard—”
“It’s not new, Cheol,” Jeonghan cut in, voice flat. “It’s been going on for years.”
“That doesn’t make it okay!” Seungcheol exploded. His fists clenched at his sides. “You’re telling me he sells you off like—like you’re nothing?!”
Jeonghan gave a small, bitter smile. “You look angrier than I am.”
“Because I am!”
They fell into silence again. Seungcheol paced a bit, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to calm himself. His jaw was tight. His breathing shallow.
And then, softer this time, he asked, “Is that why you didn’t try to run?”
Jeonghan leaned his head against the wall, tilting it slightly to glance at him. “Because you’re the first man who didn’t touch me after I offered? Yeah. Partly.”
Seungcheol sat down again, slower this time. He looked at Jeonghan not the smirking tease he usually was but the boy who had lived too long pretending not to care.
“Jeonghan…” he said, voice low. “I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t do it.”
“No. But I didn’t know either.” He paused. “If I had… I wouldn’t have tied you up. Wouldn’t even throw harsh words on you.”
Jeonghan just gave a light shrug, the corner of his lip twitching. “I probably would’ve mocked you anyway.”
“Yeah, you probably would’ve,” Seungcheol muttered, shaking his head.
They stayed like that for a while. The room was still golden from the setting sun, but it felt heavier now, like the air itself understood something had changed.
And when Seungcheol stood up again, he quietly grabbed the spare blanket from the couch and gently draped it over Jeonghan’s lap.
“Thanks,” Jeonghan said, voice softer than usual.
Seungcheol didn’t reply.
But this time, he sat closer than before.
—
It was another lazy afternoon when Jihoon and Soonyoung came to visit Seungcheol again. Seungcheol had gone on a quick convenience store run, leaving the two at his place with Jeonghan, who was lounging on the couch reading a book.
Jeonghan didn’t mind being left alone with them; they were usually a quiet pair, but today was a different story.
The moment Seungcheol stepped out, it was like Jihoon and Soonyoung forgot there was another person in the room. The two were locked in their own world, giggling and flirting like high school students. It started with soft pecks, which turned into heated kisses. Then at some point, they both ended up shirtless. Jihoon straddling Soonyoung’s waist on the couch as the kisses turned deeper, their tongues exploring each other. Soonyoung’s hands were resting low on Jihoon’s back, and Jihoon had his fingers tangled in Soonyoung’s hair.
Jeonghan raised an eyebrow but kept watching in amusement, flipping to the next page of his book like this was normal.
Finally, as Soonyoung was in the middle of basically sucking on Jihoon’s lips and tongue, Jeonghan decided he’ll take a shower.
When he was done taking a shower he’s surprised to find the two no longer on the couch, he shrugged his shoulders off and decided to continue the book he was reading earlier where he left off. A few minutes later he finds himself comfortably sprawled on the same living room couch, wrapped in one of Seungcheol’s hoodies like it was his personal blanket. He was half-watching some random nature documentary and half-scrolling through Seungcheol’s tablet when he heard it.
A long, breathy moan echoed down the hallway.
Jeonghan paused mid-scroll.
Then came another sound, this time unmistakably Jihoon’s voice, high and shaky, followed by something even clearer:
“Please, Soons—don’t stop… fuck me, please…”
Jeonghan blinked. “Oh, hell no…For crying out loud.”
With a heavy sigh and no sense of urgency, he got up, slipping on his house slippers and making his way down the hall. He didn’t even have to guess which room it was coming from. Of course it was Seungcheol’s.
The door wasn’t locked.
Without bothering to knock, Jeonghan pushed the door open.
What greeted him was exactly what he expected… maybe worse. It looks like a scene straight out of Pornhub.
Jihoon was fully naked, flushed from head to toe, straddling Soonyoung’s lap while Soonyoung sat propped against the headboard—shirtless and groaning, thrusting upwards to meet his boyfriend’s movements. Jihoon was riding his cock with slow, deep rolls of his hips, clinging to Soonyoung’s shoulders as he whimpered and moaned, completely lost in the moment.
“Yes baby, ride me.. You’re so tight.”
“Oh my God, so big—Soonyoungie, I’m so close—please…”
Soonyoung responded with a quiet groan and a firm grip on Jihoon’s waist, encouraging him to move even faster.
It took a full thirty seconds and another desperate “Please!” before either of them even noticed the other person in the room.
Jeonghan stood there, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe. “Are you two seriously trying to give me a live porn show?”
Jihoon froze. Mid-bounce.
His entire face went crimson. “J-Jeonghan?!”
Soonyoung, however, simply turned his head and smirked. “You’re here early.”
“Early? For what? The moment your boyfriend begs you to rail him into next week?” Jeonghan raised a brow, completely unfazed. “In Seungcheol’s bed, really? You guys really don’t give a single damn about privacy, huh?”
Jihoon buried his face in Soonyoung’s neck with a whimper. “This is sooo embarrassing…”
Soonyoung just laughed and kissed the top of Jihoon’s head. “We forgot he was here.”
“I basically live here now,” Jeonghan deadpanned.
Soonyoung just grinned, one hand still resting low on Jihoon’s waist. “You’re welcome to stay and watch,” he teased without missing a beat.
“Please don’t tempt me,” Jeonghan said with a smirk. “You two are making me feel like I should start charging people for live shows.”
Jihoon groaned in embarrassment and tried to hide his face in Soonyoung’s shoulder. “Soonyoung, please tell him to go away.”
“Why?” Soonyoung chuckled. “He’s not even mad. It’s just Jeonghan.”
“Not mad but I’m traumatized,” Jeonghan claimed, hand dramatically over his heart. “You’ve corrupted Seungcheol’s poor, clean bed.”
Right on cue, the front door opened and shut. A beat passed, and Seungcheol’s voice called out holding a brown paperbag, “I got the food!”
“Cheol!” Jeonghan yelled back without moving from the doorway. “Your bed’s been defiled!”
Seungcheol walked into view, paused, looked into his room—and sighed like a man who had seen this far too many times. “Are you guys serious? Again?”
Jeonghan pointed with his thumb. “Do they always do it like this?”
Rolling his eyes, Seungcheol muttered, “Yeah. I’m used to it by now. Those two fuck like rabbits. Anywhere, anytime.”
Jihoon let out a mortified groan while Soonyoung just laughed harder.
“Next time,” Seungcheol added dryly, “leave my room out of it. Please. Alright. Off. Both of you.”
Seungcheol tossed the snack bag onto the couch and marched toward the bed, voice sharp with the kind of long-suffering patience only older brothers or traumatized roommates possessed. “Get. Off. My. Bed.”
Jihoon scrambled off Soonyoung like he’d just touched a hot stove, arms flailing for something to cover himself. He ended up yanking the blanket off the bed, dragging half of the sheets with him. Soonyoung followed, a little too casual, stretching his arms like he just wrapped up a gym session and not getting caught mid sex.
“You guys are unbelievable,” Seungcheol muttered, grabbing the ruined sheets with a grimace. “I don’t even wanna know what kind of biological warfare is happening on this fabric right now.”
Jeonghan plopped onto the armchair in the corner with a fresh bag of chips, already grinning. “Tell me again why you haven’t kicked them out yet?”
“Because I’m stupid,” Seungcheol grumbled, shoving the bundle of sheets into Jihoon’s arms. “Laundry room. Now.”
Jihoon pouted, cheeks still flushed. “Can’t Soonyoung do it?”
“I did the hard part already,” Soonyoung said, winking.
“That was the fun part,” Jeonghan chirped. “Now go wash your sins.”
Seungcheol pointed to the pile of pillows. “And those. You violated them.”
Jihoon groaned and started picking up the pillows while muttering apologies under his breath.
“You know,” Jeonghan mused, narrating like a nature show host, “the lesser-spotted horny hitman migrates from the bed after completing his mating ritual. Watch how he carries the soiled linens shame coiling around his tiny frame.”
“Jeonghan,” Jihoon growled, “shut up.”
“I’m sorry, baby, I can’t hear you over the sound of sin-starched cotton.”
Soonyoung snorted as he followed Jihoon out of the room, arms flailing. Jihoon mumbled something unintelligible, likely a threat.
Seungcheol stood in the middle of the war zone that used to be his bed and sighed again, rubbing his temples.
Jeonghan just leaned back, still chewing, smirking at Seungcheol. “Next time, you should just install a camera. At least then you can earn money out of it.”
Seungcheol narrowed his eyes. “You’re helping me disinfect.”
Jeonghan raised both hands. “Touché.”
—
Soonyoung and Jihoon stumbled into the laundry room with arms full of defiled pillows, sheets, and their tattered dignity. Jihoon was still mumbling curses under his breath, mostly directed at Jeonghan’s existence and his own lack of spatial awareness.
Soonyoung, meanwhile, was entirely unbothered, whistling a cheery little tune as he loaded the machine like it was just another chore in their totally normal, totally not sex-fueled domestic life.
“You’re way too relaxed for someone who just got caught having sex,” Jihoon grumbled, shoving the pillowcases in with unnecessary force.
“Baby,” Soonyoung said, spinning the knob on the washing machine and giving Jihoon a slow once-over, “you were the one riding me like a mechanical bull in Seungcheol’s bed. I’m just enjoying the show.”
“Enjoy it quietly.”
Soonyoung smirked. “You know, this room does lock…”
Jihoon’s head snapped up. “Don’t even think about it.”
But Soonyoung was already backing him into the counter, hands slipping around Jihoon’s waist like it was second nature. Jihoon let out a breathy little noise, somewhere between protest and want—l when his back hit the cold edge of the washing machine.
“Soonyoung,” he warned, not really meaning it.
“You still look flustered,” Soonyoung murmured, brushing Jihoon’s hair back, lips ghosting near his ear. “I think I should help you calm down.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Yeah?”
Jihoon opened his mouth for another scolding, but it turned into a gasp when Soonyoung kissed him. Unlike earlier, this kiss wasn’t about lust. It was warm and sweet, the kind of kiss that said I love you, without needing to say anything at all.
Jihoon melted. Just a little.
That was, of course, when the door burst open.
Again.
“YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME.”
Jeonghan’s voice sliced through the room like a knife through cake.
“That’s the second,” he added, leaning on the doorframe like he was keeping score. “Are you guys actively trying to get caught?”
Jihoon buried his face in Soonyoung’s chest. “I give up. I’m done. Let the floor eat me.”
Soonyoung held him close, biting back a grin. “Hi again, Jeonghan.”
Jeonghan threw his hands in the air. “You locked the door this time. I literally had to pick it. Why do I know how to do that?!”
“You’re scary,” Jihoon mumbled into Soonyoung’s hoodie.
“I’m resourceful,” Jeonghan replied proudly. “Now finish the laundry before Seungcheol decides to put you both on house arrest.”
“I would thrive in house arrest,” Jihoon muttered.
“Yeah,” Jeonghan said dryly, “until you’re caught on top of the dryer next.”
Soonyoung’s eyes sparkled. “Actually…”
“Nope!” Jeonghan slammed the door shut behind him. “I’m out! I’m so out!”
—
Jihoon and Soonyoung were finally done being disgustingly sweet, clingy and horny. After fixing their clothes, sharing one last kiss (that probably lasted too long), and exchanging lingering glances like they wouldn’t see each other for years, they finally bid their goodbye.
“See you, hyung!” Soonyoung grinned, slinging an arm around Jihoon’s shoulders as they walked toward the door.
“Take care, Cheol-hyung, sorry again,” Jihoon said with a soft smile, still a bit red in the ears.
Seungcheol waved, a small fond grin on his face. “Yeah, yeah. Get out of here before you start stripping again.”
As soon as the door clicked shut behind the couple, Jeonghan turned from where he was sprawled on the couch, arms behind his head, eyes glinting with interest.
“Wow,” he said casually. “So that’s your life now, huh? Living in a romantic drama where the leads constantly make out in your living room or fuck each other in your bedroom.”
Seungcheol chuckled, plopping down beside him. “They’re a lot, yeah. Always all over each other. Sweet, horny, annoying—but… they mean a lot to me.”
Jeonghan tilted his head, intrigued. “You’re close with them?”
Seungcheol nodded, his tone softening a little. “Yeah. Jihoon was my first real friend. Best friend. We met in the orphanage—we were both kids, scared and kind of angry at the world, I guess. But he stuck with me.”
Jeonghan’s brows lifted slightly. He stayed quiet, letting Seungcheol continue.
“Then Soonyoung came a bit later. Ball of energy, couldn’t sit still, always dancing. He just… clicked with us. The three of us were inseparable.”
“Cute,” Jeonghan muttered, smirking.
Cheol let out a breathy laugh, but then he glanced down, eyes a little distant. “Thing is… Jihoon was also my first love.”
Jeonghan blinked, eyes widening slightly. “Wait, seriously?”
Seungcheol nodded with a sheepish smile. “I was gonna confess to him. I had it all planned out. It was the night we sneaked out to the rooftop to see the fireworks. Jihoon loved fireworks.”
“So dramatic,” Jeonghan teased, grinning. “Please tell me he beat you to it.”
“He did,” Seungcheol snorted. “He said he had something to tell me, too. And I was like, this is it. But then he said he liked Soonyoung. That he thinks Soonyoung might like him too.”
“Oof.”
“Yeah,” Seungcheol sighed. “But I couldn’t let it show. I just smiled and said I’d help him. And I did. I helped them get together.”
Jeonghan stared at him for a moment, lips pursed before he spoke again, voice dry as ever. “Damn. That’s both tragic and noble. If I were you, I would’ve pretended to fall off the roof.”
Seungcheol snorted.
“No, seriously,” Jeonghan said, deadpan. “You had a whole firework confession moment planned and got friendzoned while helping your crush get with your other best friend? That’s Shakespearean heartbreak right there.”
“You’re not helping,” Seungcheol groaned, rubbing his face.
“I’m not trying to help,” Jeonghan grinned, nudging him. “But hey. That’s oddly impressive. Maybe you are a good guy under all that brooding and criminal behavior.”
Seungcheol rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”
“But seriously…” Jeonghan leaned his head back, looking up at the ceiling. “That was kind of beautiful. Painfully so. Don’t worry, I’ll only make fun of you like, seventy percent of the time.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Jeonghan said, flashing him a smirk. “For what it’s worth, I think you turned out fine.”
Seungcheol glanced at him, raising a brow. “You think?”
“Well,” Jeonghan said, eyes twinkling, “you’re a weird mix of emotionally constipated and weirdly loyal. It’s kind of charming in a self-sabotaging way.”
Seungcheol just shook his head, but he was smiling anyway.
—
“You’re doing it wrong.”
Seungcheol looked up from the cutting board with a raised brow. “I’m literally chopping onions.”
“Yes, and you’re making them cry from how uneven your cuts are,” Jeonghan teased from his perch on the counter, swinging his legs like an overgrown child.
“Why are you even here if you’re not helping?”
“I’m here to monitor. Supervise. Provide morale support.”
“More like morale sabotage.”
Jeonghan gasped, clutching his chest. “You wound me, Choi Seungcheol.”
“You haven’t even washed the tomatoes.”
“I was getting to it!” Jeonghan said indignantly, hopping off the counter and grabbing a colander. “I’m perfectly capable.”
“Uh-huh.”
Jeonghan muttered something about “old man” under his breath as he made his way to the sink. He was halfway through rinsing when he turned with a mischievous grin. “You know, we should open a restaurant. You cook, I charm the customers.”
Seungcheol snorted. “Yeah, that’ll end well. You’d flirt the tips out of everyone.”
“Exactly. A win for the team.”
He turned back toward the sink just as Seungcheol stepped closer to reach for the oil bottle on the top shelf and in their awkward shuffle, Jeonghan slipped slightly on a patch of water he'd splashed earlier.
“Woah—!”
But before he could hit the ground or even panic, Seungcheol caught him around the waist with a firm, steady grip, holding him tightly against his chest.
They both froze.
Face to face. Eyes locked. Close enough to feel each other’s breath.
For a second, it felt like the world paused—no sizzling pan, no bubbling pot, no witty remarks. Just the quiet sound of their breathing and the faint scent of herbs in the air.
Jeonghan blinked, lips parting slightly.
Seungcheol’s eyes softened, lingering on the way Jeonghan’s lashes fluttered, how his hair fell slightly into his eyes, the faintest curve of a smile tugging at his lips.
Then—
“Ahem.”
They both jolted.
Seungcheol cleared his throat, awkwardly stepping back. “Be careful next time.”
“Right,” Jeonghan said quickly, brushing imaginary dust from his shirt. “Thanks. I—I was just testing your reflexes.”
Seungcheol rolled his eyes with a chuckle, turning back to the stove.
Jeonghan stayed at the sink, but he glanced over his shoulder more than once.
And Seungcheol?
He was definitely stirring the sauce too hard.
His thoughts kept circling one thing: Jeonghan’s kind of… cute.
Maybe, just maybe, he liked having him around more than he was willing to admit.
—
The scent of simmered stew still lingered faintly in the apartment as the evening settled in, warm and lazy. After dinner (which Jeonghan declared as “shockingly edible”), they migrated to the couch, one bowl of popcorn between them, a random movie playing.
Jeonghan was curled up on one end of the couch, legs tucked under him, wearing the same hoodie he'd been mooching off Seungcheol for days now. His head rested against the cushions while Seungcheol slouched on the other end, arms folded behind his head.
They were halfway through some crime thriller neither of them were really paying attention to.
“This guy’s definitely the killer,” Jeonghan mumbled, tossing popcorn into his mouth.
“No way,” Seungcheol countered. “Too obvious. It’s the quiet sidekick. Always is.”
Jeonghan squinted at him. “Are you secretly one of those true crime nerds?”
“I could say the same to you.”
They shared a brief smirk. Jeonghan shifted, gradually leaning sideways until his head nudged Seungcheol’s shoulder.
Seungcheol blinked. “Uh. Are you… comfortable?”
“Mmhm.” Jeonghan hummed, eyes half-lidded. “You’re warm. Like a human space heater.”
“You’re literally stealing my body heat.”
“You’re big enough to spare some.”
Seungcheol rolled his eyes but didn’t move. His heart, on the other hand, betrayed him completely. It thudded loudly in his chest, echoing with thoughts he hadn’t had the courage to entertain before.
Jeonghan shifted again, this time fully resting his head against Seungcheol’s chest. He murmured something soft, maybe a thank you, maybe just a sleepy sigh and soon, he was out cold.
Seungcheol stayed still, unsure what to do with his hands until one instinctively settled around Jeonghan’s waist, holding him close.
He glanced down at the sleeping man, the way his lips parted slightly, how his lashes rested against flushed cheeks, how peaceful he looked.
Seungcheol exhaled slowly.
“Just stay like this,” he whispered, so quietly even he barely heard it.
Because the truth was, he didn’t want Jeonghan to leave. Not the next morning, not the next week.
Not ever.
—-
The next morning, Jeonghan was still curled up against him, one hand tucked beneath his own chin, the other resting over Seungcheol’s heart like it belonged there. His face was calm, peaceful. Vulnerable in a way he rarely ever showed when awake.
Seungcheol blinked up at the ceiling, trying not to think too much.
It didn’t mean anything.
That’s what he told himself.
But when Jeonghan stirred and slowly opened his eyes, blinking sleepily, their gazes locked for a moment too long.
“Uh,” Jeonghan mumbled. “Didn’t mean to... pass out on you.”
Seungcheol gave a soft laugh. “Yeah, well. You drooled on my shirt.”
Jeonghan sat up, wiping his mouth instinctively. “I did not.”
“You did.”
“I’m never watching movies with you again.”
“Sure you are.”
They grinned at each other. But something unspoken lingered in the space between them that is not quite ready to be named.
—
Later that afternoon, Jeonghan was unusually quiet again just like last time. No snarky remarks. No teasing. No singing while rearranging the kitchen cabinets just to annoy Seungcheol.
Seungcheol noticed immediately.
He found Jeonghan sitting in the corner of the balcony, legs hugged to his chest, gaze far away.
“You okay?” Seungcheol asked gently as he stepped out, handing Jeonghan a mug of tea.
Jeonghan took it with a nod, voice quiet. “Yeah... just thinking.”
A beat passed. Then another.
“It’s my mom’s death anniversary today,” Jeonghan said softly. “Several days after my birthday, every year. Feels like the universe’s way of reminding me nothing good lasts long.”
Seungcheol sat beside him without a word, just listening.
“She was murdered,” Jeonghan continued. “No one knows who did it. It was... brutal. Her body wasn’t even recognizable. They only confirmed it through a DNA test.”
A painful silence hung in the air.
Seungcheol hesitated before asking, “Do you think… it was your dad?”
Jeonghan shook his head. “My father’s many things. Controlling. Cruel. Manipulative. But I don’t think he could ever hurt her like that. He loved her—too much, maybe. In his own twisted way.”
Jeonghan stared at his tea, then smiled faintly.
“She was incredible, you know? When I was a kid, she’d sneak me out to eat street food when my dad insisted on fancy dinners. She’d sing me to sleep even when she was tired from hosting endless parties. She used to let me play with her makeup and tell me I looked beautiful, even when I smudged lipstick all over my cheeks.”
He chuckled softly. “She’d hide the bruises my dad left on her arms and still smile like nothing was wrong. She was light in that big, dark house.”
Seungcheol reached out, resting a hand gently on Jeonghan’s knee.
“I miss her a lot,” Jeonghan whispered. “Every day. But especially today.”
Seungcheol’s hand tightened slightly. “I’m here.”
Jeonghan turned to look at him, eyes glassy but soft. “Thank you, Cheol.”
—
That evening, Seungcheol lit a single candle and placed it near the small potted plant Jeonghan kept in the kitchen window. He didn’t say much just lit it quietly and gave Jeonghan a soft look.
“For her,” he said simply.
Jeonghan’s heart clenched. The gesture was small, but it meant the world.
They stood side by side in the kitchen, candlelight flickering between them, warm and gentle.
After a long silence, Seungcheol finally spoke again.
“My dad… he was a lawyer. A human rights lawyer. Always busy, always rushing to the next protest, the next trial. But somehow, he always made it home for dinner. Always made time for me. Even if it meant sleeping only two hours a night.”
Jeonghan glanced at him, listening closely.
“And my mom was quiet, calm, and loving. She was a homemaker. Always had a warm meal waiting, always had this soft way of talking that made everything feel okay.”
He paused, staring at the flickering candle.
“My dad took on a case once. A big one. He was representing a witness against Mr. Yoon. That was the last case he ever touched.”
Jeonghan’s breath caught in his throat.
Seungcheol continued, voice low, steady, but distant. “One night… they just didn’t come home. I was seven. Police found their bodies three days later. Brutalized. Stripped of anything recognizable. Just like you said about your mom. The authorities said they didn’t know who killed them and I actually didn’t know who it was too initially till I was presented with evidence by the mysterious person who hired me to kill him…”
Jeonghan’s lips parted in shock, heart sinking. “Cheol…”
“I ended up with some relatives. Didn’t last long. They… weren’t exactly kind. Eventually, they left me at an orphanage when I was nine. Said I was too much of a burden.”
The silence stretched.
Jeonghan turned to him, eyes full of something raw and aching. “I’m sorry…”
Seungcheol turned his head, met his gaze.
“You don’t have to apologize for what your father did. You’re not him, Jeonghan.”
Jeonghan looked away, lips pressed together, as if trying to hold something in.
Seungcheol reached out slowly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been through hell, too. But you’re still standing. You still laugh, still tease people, still care—whether you want to admit it or not.”
Jeonghan gave a broken little laugh, blinking rapidly. “You’re really annoying when you talk like that, you know?”
Seungcheol smiled softly. “Yeah. But I mean it.”
Another beat passed. This time, they didn’t look away from each other. The candle was still burning, quiet between them, the silence no longer awkward but intimate, like two people sitting with each other’s pain for the first time.
Jeonghan’s voice, when it came, was barely more than a whisper.
“Well yeah back to my story….After my mom died… things got worse.” He didn’t look at Seungcheol. His gaze was distant, unfocused.
Seungcheol didn’t interrupt.
“My father ..He let his men do whatever they wanted to me. And just like I mentioned last time… he even arranges it. I was fifteen. Told me so that I could be useful for once since he found me useless when I refused to train and be part of his illegal activities.” Jeonghan’s fingers tightened around the edge of the counter. “I told myself to endure it. That it would pass. That it wasn’t forever. But it kept happening. Again and again.”
The candle flickered, casting shadows over his pale skin.
“I tried to end it once. Took everything I could find in that fucking house’s medicine cabinet. It wasn’t a cry for help. I just… didn’t want to wake up.”
Seungcheol’s breath caught in his throat.
“My nanny found me. She wasn’t even supposed to be working that day. But she came back—said she forgot her scarf. She called for help, stayed with me while I was unconscious. Made sure I got to the hospital… my father’s hospital.” Jeonghan gave a dry, bitter laugh. “They pumped my stomach. I lived.”
Seungcheol’s chest ached. “And your nanny?”
Jeonghan went quiet. His jaw trembled slightly.
“A few days later… they found her. Hanging in the back garden. Said it was suicide. Said she left no note.” He blinked slowly, like he was pushing something down. “I don’t know if it was guilt. Or if someone else decided she knew too much. Either way, I lost the only person who ever fought for me in that house.”
He turned his face away, swallowing hard. “This world’s a huge, fat joke sometimes. A cruel one.”
Seungcheol stepped closer. He didn’t say anything—just wrapped his arms around him, holding close to him.
“You shouldn’t have gone through that,” he said quietly. “None of it. Not as a kid. Not ever.”
Jeonghan didn’t cry. He just leaned into the warmth, into the calm that was Seungcheol, and let himself breathe for the first time in what felt like years.
—
The next morning, Jeonghan was alone in the hideout’s kitchen, rummaging through the old cabinets for something, anything edible that wasn’t instant noodles or expired cereal.
He spotted a dusty hardcover wedged between two forgotten bags of rice.
It was an old recipe book, stained and dog-eared, the spine nearly falling apart.
Curious, Jeonghan opened it and there it was. A recipe card written in elegant, looping script. Miyeok-guk. Seaweed soup. For special birthdays and cold days.
There was a tiny note scribbled beside it: Cheol’s favorite. He always asks for seconds.
Jeonghan’s breath caught in his throat.
He closed the book slowly, his mind racing.
The ingredients were here. He could cook. It wasn’t hard.
And maybe, just maybe it would bring a little warmth to Seungcheol the way Seungcheol had done for him.
He glanced at the candle still resting in the corner of the counter, now melted low.
“Alright,” he muttered under his breath. “Let’s see if I can feed a man without burning the place down.”
The smell of sesame oil sizzling in the pot was already beginning to fill the kitchen by the time Seungcheol wandered in, hair a mess and eyes puffy with sleep. He blinked, stopped in the doorway, and rubbed his eyes like maybe he was dreaming.
Jeonghan was standing at the stove, sleeves rolled up, gently stirring something with a wooden spoon.
“You’re… cooking?” Seungcheol asked cautiously.
Jeonghan glanced over his shoulder, lips twitching in amusement. “Wow, thanks for the voice of confidence.”
“No, I just—” Seungcheol stepped closer, sniffing. His expression softened. “Is that… miyeok-guk?”
“Mm-hm.” Jeonghan nodded. “Found an old recipe book in the cabinet. There was a note in it that said it was your favorite.”
Something flickered in Seungcheol’s expression. He moved toward the stove, peering into the pot. “That recipe… that was my mom’s handwriting.”
Jeonghan’s stirring slowed.
“Oh,” he said softly. “I didn’t know. I just thought… you’d like it.”
Seungcheol didn’t answer right away. He reached out and plucked the spoon gently from Jeonghan’s hand, giving the soup a slow stir. He tasted it, eyebrows rising in surprise.
“You didn’t burn it,” he said, teasing.
Jeonghan elbowed him, but there was a quiet smile behind it. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
Seungcheol looked at him, really looked at him. Hair a little messy, lips soft from sleep, the scent of soup clinging to his clothes. It hit him all at once: Jeonghan had done this for him. After everything he’d shared last night. After the rawness and the pain.
“Thank you,” he said, voice low.
Jeonghan’s gaze flicked up to meet his, and for a moment, they just stood there, the steam from the soup curling between them.
“Sit down,” Jeonghan said, breaking the silence. “Before you start crying and ruin the seasoning.”
Seungcheol snorted, shaking his head as he moved to the small dining table.
Jeonghan ladled the soup into bowls, setting one in front of him with a soft clink.
“Happy late birthday,” he added, voice quieter now. “And… thank you. For last night.”
Seungcheol met his eyes. “Anytime.”
—
The first message came while Seungcheol was washing dishes.
His phone, abandoned on the kitchen counter next to a jar of sugar and a half-sliced orange, lit up with a soft ping. He almost didn’t check it. These days, he didn’t feel the urge to look at screens so often. His world had gotten quieter, filled with mundane sounds: Jeonghan humming while folding clothes, the clink of spoons against ceramic, the gentle rustle of wind pushing through a cracked window.
But instinct tugged at him. Something he couldn’t quite name. He dried his hands on the edge of his shirt and picked up the phone.
[Unknown Number:] You forgot something, didn’t you?
Frowning, he scrolled up.
“Still no progress?”
“He’s alive. Why?”
“Tick, tock, Seungcheol.”
A chill crept down his spine. He had no idea who was sending these. The number didn’t trace back to anything. No name. No digital footprint. It was like the messages were appearing out of thin air.
He rubbed the back of his neck, staring blankly at the screen as it all came rushing back to him.
He had forgotten. He’d gotten... distracted.
Cooking in the mornings. Fixing broken hinges. Laughing with Jeonghan over stupid things like spilled flour or mismatched socks. Watching the tension in the other man’s shoulders slowly melt the longer he stayed close. Watching Jeonghan laugh at dumb variety shows and argue about how the blanket should be folded. They had fallen into something unspoken and warm.
He blinked.
What the hell was he doing making scrambled eggs every morning and fixing leaky faucets?
Seungcheol was supposed to kill Mr. Yoon.
That was why Jeonghan ended up in his grasp in the first place. He hadn’t forgotten the pain. Or the rage. But the target had blurred.
Now the messages had brought it back into focus. They stirred something old and cold inside him.
He slipped the phone into his pocket and walked into the living room.
Jeonghan was perched cross-legged on the floor, sorting socks with the kind of quiet concentration usually reserved for bomb defusal. He was wearing Seungcheol’s hoodie again. The sleeves swallowed his hands.
“You okay?” Jeonghan asked, looking up. “You look like the cat died.”
Seungcheol dropped onto the couch with a sigh. “I remembered something.”
Jeonghan arched a brow, clearly unimpressed. “What did you forget this time? We have laundry in the washer?”
“No. Worse.”
Jeonghan tilted his head.
Seungcheol pulled his phone out, flashed the screen toward him. “Someone messaged me. Reminded me I have... unfinished business.”
Jeonghan’s gaze sharpened instantly. “Mr. Yoon. My father.”
“Yeah.”
“I figured.”
“I mean—I didn’t forget why you were here. But I didn’t realize how far off track I’d gotten until the messages came in. It’s been days. I haven’t even made a plan yet.” He let out a dry chuckle. “Got a little caught up playing house, I guess.”
Jeonghan didn’t laugh.
“Who messaged you?” he asked after a beat.
“No idea. The number’s not traceable. Messages are vague, but they clearly know I’m here. Know what I was paid to do. I don’t even know who hired me exactly. Just someone who wired payment anonymously and offered everything I needed to start the job. Now, suddenly, they want updates.”
Jeonghan frowned. “That’s weird. Why now?”
“Exactly. Either they just realized I haven’t made a move... or they’ve been watching this whole time and finally got impatient.”
Jeonghan let that sink in, then looked up at him.
“So. What now?”
Seungcheol met his eyes. “I need to finish what I have to do.”
Jeonghan nodded.
“I’ll help.”
“You already have,” Seungcheol said. “You being here—”
“No,” Jeonghan cut him off, voice firm. “I mean I’ll help you plan. Strategize. Execute. I know you haven’t gotten far because you’ve been busy keeping me alive and sane. But it’s time.”
“You’re serious?”
Jeonghan gave him a look. “I wouldn’t have let you kidnap me if I wasn’t.”
Seungcheol cracked a smile. “Fair point.”
“You’re not dealing with some passive victim, Cheol. I lived under that man’s roof. I watched everything. I know things.” Jeonghan’s voice grew colder. Sharper. “I know which men are loyal to him and which ones are waiting to stab him in the back. I know the passwords to his devices. His biometric quirks. His wine preferences. Which safe holds the backup files of his cases. Hell, I even know where he parks his most untraceable car.”
Seungcheol stared at him, stunned.
“You’ve been planning this, too.”
Jeonghan shrugged. “Let’s just say I wanted to be prepared if the opportunity ever came. And now that it has... I’m not letting it go.”
There was a long silence before Seungcheol muttered, “You’re scary smart.”
“I’m just tired of waiting for someone else to burn down the hell I barely escaped.”
“You could’ve done it without me.”
“I would’ve tried,” Jeonghan said softly. “But having someone who wants to do it with me? That’s different. That’s... freeing.”
Seungcheol’s heart thudded once, heavy and slow.
“Alright then,” he said. “We make a plan. Together.”
Jeonghan nodded, face unreadable, eyes alight with purpose.
“For the record,” Seungcheol added with a half-smile, “this wasn’t what I expected when I got the job.”
“For the record,” Jeonghan echoed, “neither was falling in love with my kidnapper.”
Seungcheol froze.
But Jeonghan didn’t elaborate. He just stood up, tugged at the sleeves of the hoodie, and added, “We’ll need paper. And coffee. Lots of it.”
Then he disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Seungcheol blinking like he’d been hit by a brick—one with excellent timing and a terrifyingly sharp mind attached to it.
—
Jeonghan had rolled up his sleeves, hair tied back, posture sharp with focus. A pile of notes was growing beside him, hand-drawn floor plans, names, links, and access points—all pulled from memory.
Seungcheol had given up trying to keep up twenty minutes ago. He watched as Jeonghan connected dots like someone who’d spent years preparing for war. And maybe he had.
"The estate has three key entry points," Jeonghan said, circling the spots with a red pen. "Two are obvious and heavily guarded. But this one," he tapped the lower corner, "is the wine cellar’s supply entrance. Not many use it anymore. It’s old, and it hasn’t been upgraded with the newer security tech."
"You sure it’s still active?" Seungcheol asked.
"He’s sentimental. The same way he still wears the watch my mother gave him. He thinks it makes him untouchable. It makes him predictable."
Seungcheol exhaled slowly. "You scare me."
Jeonghan smirked. He moved on, sketching a second diagram—the interior layout.
"These two rooms are blind spots. Security cameras were never installed because they’re considered too close to private quarters. If you make it to either of these, you have a five-minute window before patrols pass."
"I thought of just sniping him from a distance," Seungcheol muttered.
"And risk not confirming the kill? He has a history of using doubles during public appearances. You’d be surprised how many people don’t even know his real face anymore."
"Jesus."
Jeonghan’s eyes glinted. "Welcome to the heart of the empire."
They moved to logistics. Seungcheol pulled out the old weapon case, checking silencers and loading spare clips. Jeonghan, meanwhile, outlined a secondary plan in case infiltration failed.
"If you’re caught, don’t try to talk your way out. They’ll know your face by now. But I’ll have a fail-safe. Poison in his wine."
Seungcheol looked up. "How?"
"He drinks the same red every Wednesday at 9 p.m., alone in the west chamber. He thinks better when he’s alone, planning his next piece of human misery. We get someone inside to swap the bottle."
"You know a guy?"
Jeonghan smiled coldly. "I know a girl. Former maid. She owes me a life."
They paused around midnight. Jeonghan stood and stretched, rubbing his neck.
"You okay?" Seungcheol asked.
"Fine. Just... it’s strange. All these years I wanted this, and now that it’s here, it feels unreal."
Seungcheol stepped closer. "We’ll finish it. You’ll be free."
Jeonghan looked up, voice low. "Not just me, Cheol. We will be.”
—
Despite their resolve and detailed late-night planning, Seungcheol and Jeonghan quickly realized they wouldn’t be able to execute their plan immediately.
Mr. Yoon, for some reason, hadn’t returned to the estate in days. Nor had he visited the hospital regularly. He was frequenting another location. One Jeonghan wasn’t familiar with. A building with tinted windows in a relatively quiet part of town. No security cameras were mounted outside, and very few people ever went in or out. Seungcheol had trailed him there once and instantly knew: something’s going on inside.
“I’ve never seen that place before,” Jeonghan murmured when Seungcheol described it. “It’s not part of the businesses under our family name. And my father doesn’t trust anyone enough to visit new places randomly. He must be doing something there.”
“It might be the perfect place,” Seungcheol agreed. “Less security. Fewer eyes.”
They decided that night would be a good time to survey the location again. Seungcheol would tail Mr. Yoon from a safe distance and study any patterns.
But plans rarely unfold the way you expect them to.
Hours into the surveillance, parked in an alley across the unfamiliar building, Seungcheol’s phone vibrated.
It was a message from Jeonghan.
[Hannie]: Cheol… help me.
His blood ran cold. For a moment, he froze. Then his body lurched forward, hand gripping the steering wheel tight as sweat slid down his temple.
Was someone in the hideout?
Had they found him?
“Fuck—no, no, no—” Seungcheol muttered, already starting the engine. But a brutal reality hit him—he couldn’t afford to lose Mr. Yoon’s trail either.
Soonyoung was off on another mission. His only option…
Seungcheol immediately called Jihoon.
“What?” Jihoon answered, voice annoyed, as if he'd already predicted this call would be trouble.
“I need a favor. I’ll owe you.”
“You already owe me, dumbass.”
“Jihoon. Please. I need you to tail someone.”
There was a pause, then a sigh. “Who?”
“Mr. Yoon.”
Jihoon was silent for a moment longer. Then, “Where are you?”
They met quickly at a halfway point. Jihoon taking Seungcheol’s spot across from the suspicious building after Seungcheol relayed everything, including what he knew so far.
Jihoon rubbed his temples. “So let me get this straight. You finally remember you have to assassinate the man. You start watching him. Then your little boyfriend sends you a ‘help me’ text like it’s the last line of a horror movie.”
Seungcheol gritted his teeth. “This isn’t the time, Jihoon.”
“I know.” Jihoon finally stood straight, gave him a short nod. “Go save your brat. Good luck.”
Seungcheol didn’t wait another second.
His tires screeched as he sped through the night, heart pounding, fingers shaking, pulse roaring louder than his engine.
He didn’t know what he’d find.
But if someone had touched Jeonghan—
They wouldn’t live long enough to regret it.
—
At first, tailing Mr. Yoon felt too easy.
Jihoon had shadowed marks before, slippery politicians, violent traffickers, even corrupt cops but none had ever led him into such a deceptively smooth trail. Mr. Yoon's routine tonight was too neat, too predictable. Still, Jihoon kept calm, his cap pulled low, hoodie up.
But then, the car Mr. Yoon had entered suddenly pulled into an abandoned warehouse.
That’s when Jihoon knew.
He’d walked into a trap.
“Shit—” he muttered, too late. He turned, but four armed men surrounded him before he could even make it ten feet. One of them shoved him down with a rifle butt to the back.
Jihoon hit the ground hard, biting his lip to stop from crying out. He'd been careless. He’d always worked with Soonyoung or at least had backup. Tonight, he was on his own. He slipped his hand into his jacket pocket as subtly as he could, pressing down the emergency dial on his modified phone.
Just one touch. One signal. It would alert both Soonyoung and Seungcheol.
He only hoped he wasn’t too late.
Footsteps echoed in the empty space. The heavy, composed ones belonged to a man who clearly didn’t run—he commanded. Mr. Yoon’s smooth, detached voice sent a chill through Jihoon’s bones.
“Well, well... what a pretty little thing we have here,” he said with a smirk, bending slightly to get a better look at Jihoon’s face. “Who sent you? Hmm?”
Jihoon kept silent, his expression blank despite the sharp sting in his ribs.
Mr. Yoon clicked his tongue and sighed dramatically. “You kids these days. So troublesome.”
For almost an hour, the interrogation dragged. Mr. Yoon’s men rotated, threatening, hitting, but Jihoon never cracked. He had nothing to say. And nothing to reveal. His body ached, but his silence never wavered.
Eventually, Mr. Yoon stood and dusted off his coat. “I have places to be. This is getting dull.”
He snapped his fingers toward his men. “Teach him a lesson. Make him suffer. Do whatever you want. The more traumatizing the better.”
He turned away, walking out like he’d ordered a table to be cleaned.
Jihoon froze when he felt their hands on him. His eyes widened as fingers reached for the hem of his hoodie, then his waistband. He kicked, punched, spat but he was just one injured man.
One of them pulled out a pistol and fired a shot straight into his thigh.
Jihoon screamed, collapsing with blood blooming from his leg like a burst petal.
Another man laughed. “Pretty boys always break the loudest.”
They kept going.
Until—
Gunfire erupted like thunder cracking open the sky.
A bullet pierced through one of the men’s heads before he could remove Jihoon’s jeans. Another fell backward with blood spraying against the warehouse wall. The third raised his gun but didn’t even get a shot out before a flurry of bullets tore through his chest.
It’s Soonyoung. Out of the three of them he had always been the sharpshooter when it comes to settings like this.
Only one remained and before he could surrender, he fired.
One. Two. Three times.
It was aimed at Soonyoung but before it could reach Soonyoung, Jihoon pulled all the strength he had in his little body to use himself as a shield, two bullets hit him. This made the older’s eyes widen but he can’t panic, not right now.
Soonyoung grunted when the third bullet grazed him in the side, but he didn’t go down. He raised his gun and emptied the clip into the man, over and over until the body collapsed with a sickening thud.
Breathing heavily, Soonyoung stood there, fury in his eyes.
Then he shifted his attention to Jihoon, almost naked, bloodied leg, bruised skin, trembling and wide-eyed, lips bitten raw, pants halfway undone.
Soonyoung’s heart broke and ignited all at once.
He rushed forward, throwing his coat over Jihoon’s body, gently gathering him into his arms.
“Jihoon—Jihoon, hey, stay with me, baby—” his voice cracked as he pressed Jihoon to his chest. “It’s okay. You’re okay now. I got you. I got you.”
Jihoon whimpered softly, his breath stuttering.
Soonyoung didn’t waste a second. He lifted him princess-style, cradling him like something far too fragile to be in this cruel world. Blood soaked through his shirt, but he didn’t care.
He ran toward his car. Tires screeched as he sped toward the nearest hospital, hands stained red, lips whispering over and over:
“Hold on, Jihoon. Hold on. Please.”
—
Soonyoung sat in the hospital corridor, hands stained with Jihoon’s blood, eyes wide and unblinking. His shirt clung to him, soaked in sweat and fear. Nurses and doctors had taken Jihoon from his arms the second he crashed through the ER doors, and now all he could do was wait.
He kept hearing the sound of that last gunshot in his head. Kept seeing Jihoon’s trembling eyes. The pain in his voice. The way his body had gone limp.
The doors opened. A doctor approached with solemn eyes.
“Are you the fiance?” the doctor asked gently.
Soonyoung swallowed hard and nodded, voice too dry to answer.
The man exhaled. “He’s stable… but he’s in a coma. We don’t know when—or if—he’ll wake up.”
Soonyoung blinked. “Wh—what?”
“There’s… something else,” the doctor said, shifting uncomfortably. “He was pregnant. A few weeks along. We assume he didn’t know yet. The trauma… it caused a miscarriage. I’m sorry.”
Soonyoung didn’t feel the moment his knees gave out.
He hit the ground like his soul was yanked from him. His palms trembled as he stared at them. The words crushed him.
Pregnant. He didn’t even know Jihoon was pregnant.
And now he wasn’t anymore.
And Jihoon… he wasn’t waking up.
“No… no, no, no, no—” Soonyoung muttered, fists slamming against the floor. “Fuck!”
His heart thundered with grief and rage, boiling over into a scream that echoed through the hallway. He didn’t care if people stared. Didn’t care if they whispered. All he could feel was the wreckage in his chest.
He should’ve been there.
Why did he let Jihoon go alone? When Jihoon told him Seungcheol asked for help.
His teeth clenched. His face twisted in a mix of horror and fury. And then his vision turned red—because there was one person to blame. One person who should’ve not let this happen.
Seungcheol.
—
The air reeked of damp metal and mildew.
Jeonghan sat in the middle of the empty warehouse, wrists bound behind the wooden chair that creaked beneath his weight. A harsh overhead light flickered above him. Blood trickled from the corner of his lip, dried now, but he could still feel the sting of the last hit.
He should’ve known.
He should’ve been more careful. But it was too late for regrets now.
The bastard Min, one of his father's errand boy had found him. He must’ve been watching him ever since Jeonghan didn’t show up in the estate for days. Then, Mr. Yoon out of nowhere gave him a task to track down Jeonghan.
It didn’t take long for Min to discover he was staying with Seungcheol. And that Seungcheol wasn’t just a nobody. He reported to the man that he located his son already but he decided not to reveal Seungcheol first, he wants to surprise the boss lf his discovery.
“A hitman, huh?” Min had said hours earlier, leaning close to Jeonghan’s face with a grin that dripped with menace. “Didn’t think you’d shack up with someone like that. But now I’m thinking… maybe you’re worth more than just dragging back to your daddy.”
Jeonghan remembered how his stomach twisted.
Min had learned everything about Seungcheol enough to know he was the one responsible for the failed assassination attempt on Mr. Yoon. And now, he was using Jeonghan to lure Seungcheol out.
“What better prize than the rat who turned his back on the family,” Min sneered, “and the hitman who tried to kill the king himself?”
He’d sent the message from Jeonghan’s phone, short and urgent.
Cheol… Help me.
It was enough to bring Seungcheol running.
—
The moment Seungcheol stepped into the warehouse, he knew something was wrong.
The silence was too heavy. The air too still.
His gun was drawn in seconds, finger brushing the trigger. His eyes scanned the corners, sharp and cold but his pulse betrayed him. It quickened when he saw Jeonghan slumped under the flickering light, chest rising and falling too fast for calm.
“Jeonghan!” he hissed, rushing forward.
“Don’t!” Jeonghan’s voice cracked out. “It’s a—”
Click.
The sound of a dozen safeties being disengaged echoed from the shadows.
Seungcheol stopped mid-step, surrounded. Ten men stepped from the darkness, all armed, all aiming directly at him.
The trap snapped shut.
“Well, well,” Min stepped out last, smug and calm, spinning a pistol in his fingers. “The infamous Choi Seungcheol. Gotta say, you clean up nice for someone with so many bodies on his hands.”
Seungcheol’s eyes flicked between the guns, calculating distances.
“Let him go,” he growled.
“Or what?” Min laughed. “You gonna shoot all of us?”
“If I have to,” Seungcheol replied coolly.
Min raised a brow. “Even if you do, you’re too late. The moment I send a photo of you to Mr. Yoon, he’ll double my reward. He’ll want you dead and broken after all he’s aware by now as well as the whole gang that you’re the one who tried to end him last time.”
Seungcheol shifted, taking a single step toward Jeonghan.
Min’s pistol lifted. “Ah, ah. Don’t be stupid.”
Then Jeonghan did something Seungcheol didn’t expect.
He kicked the chair backwards.
It slammed to the ground, knocking over a crate behind him, which clattered loudly and drew attention for just a split second, enough for Seungcheol to move.
Bang.
His first shot struck the man closest to Jeonghan in the shoulder. The second hit another square in the chest. Chaos erupted. Gunfire cracked like thunder, bullets whizzing through the air.
Seungcheol weaved through them like smoke, sharp and brutal. Three down. Four. Five. He took a graze to the arm, but it didn’t slow him down.
Min tried to flee, but Seungcheol saw him.
With a roar, Seungcheol tackled him to the ground, disarmed him, and drove a fist into his face with such force Min collapsed unconscious in seconds.
Breathing hard, Seungcheol dropped his gun and rushed to Jeonghan.
“You okay?” he asked, pulling out a knife and cutting his restraints.
Jeonghan groaned, rolling to sit up. “I’m fine. Bastard’s been talking all night, though. If I hear the word ‘reward’ one more time…”
Seungcheol cracked a weak smile, but it faded when he saw the bruises along Jeonghan’s wrists and the blood on his lip.
He touched Jeonghan’s cheek gently, thumb wiping the blood.
“I should’ve gotten here sooner,” he said quietly.
Jeonghan leaned into the touch, eyes tired but clear. “You came. That’s enough.”
Seungcheol helped him up, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Come on. We need to get out of here before the police show up, dialed their number before coming here.”
They limped out into the night together, the adrenaline fading, the cold sinking in.
It wasn’t until they were inside Seungcheol’s car, doors locked and silence falling around them, that his phone pinged.
[1 New Message from Jihoon’s Emergency Line]
Seungcheol’s breath caught.
His heart dropped.
“What is it?” Jeonghan asked.
Seungcheol stared at the screen, frozen.
“…I think something happened to Jihoon.”
—
Seungcheol and Jeonghan rushed through the emergency wing, their footsteps echoing in the hall. They rushed there when Soonyoung sent him a simple text message that he rushed Jihoon to the Seoul City Hospital. They reached the ICU floor with frantic hearts, dread already crawling under Seungcheol’s skin. But it wasn’t the sound of machines or doctors they heard first. It was the heavy silence outside Room 615.
And there, slumped against the wall, sat Soonyoung.
He looked broken.
His head was bowed, hands curled tightly into trembling fists, knuckles scraped. His body was still, save for the slight rise and fall of his chest. But when he heard the approaching footsteps, he slowly looked up.
Their eyes met.
And fury exploded.
“Soonyoung—” Seungcheol barely got the name out before Soonyoung lunged.
He tackled Seungcheol to the ground with a guttural yell, the weight of anguish and rage crashing down with him. The loud thud echoed through the corridor.
“You bastard!” Soonyoung growled, gripping Seungcheol’s collar and shaking him violently. “You sent him out there alone!”
“Soonyoung, wait—!”
Punch.
Another punch.
Then another.
Seungcheol didn’t fight back. He barely raised his arms in defense. The second Soonyoung’s fists started raining down, he let them.
Because Soonyoung was right.
Jihoon was in that ICU room because of him.
“We were supposed to keep him safe!” Soonyoung yelled again, voice cracking. “You gave him that mission! You let him go after Mr. Yoon alone! A place he’s never navigated before without any plan!”
Blood spilled from Seungcheol’s lip. His vision blurred. He made no move to stop the assault. Each blow landed heavy, but not heavier than the guilt that buried him.
Jeonghan tried to pull Soonyoung off. “Soonyoung, stop! You’re hurting him!”
“I should be hurting him!” Soonyoung barked, shoving Jeonghan’s hands away. “My fiance is in there fighting for his life, and it’s his fault!”
Security guards came rushing at the commotion, their radios squawking, but Soonyoung didn’t stop until they forcibly yanked him away from Seungcheol, who was left bleeding and dazed on the floor.
“He’s in a coma!” Soonyoung spat, chest heaving. “And we lost the baby… we lost the baby.”
His voice broke completely now.
No more shouting.
Just a sob.
Seungcheol froze, the words slicing through his chest like a blade. Jihoon… had been pregnant?
And now…?
The nausea hit him first.
Then came the shame.
Soonyoung collapsed to his knees again, dragging his hands through his hair and shaking as he sobbed. “We always wanted one.. Jihoon always wanted one… Now we lost it…”
The guards didn’t move. They let him cry.
Jeonghan dropped beside Seungcheol and carefully pulled him into his arms, cradling his bloodied face as if it would heal him.
“You need to go,” Jeonghan whispered. “We need to rest. We can’t stay here, not at the hideout either. It’s not safe anymore.”
Seungcheol didn’t answer.
He couldn’t.
Soonyoung’s next words weren’t screamed, but they struck deeper than all the punches combined.
“Don’t come back. Jihoon doesn’t need you. I don’t need you. You’re not allowed near him again.”
Seungcheol’s head bowed.
And for the first time in years, Choi Seungcheol, the man who survived every mission, every kill, every war—felt like he had finally lost something he couldn’t take back.
—
They left the hospital without another word.
Soonyoung’s screams still rang in Seungcheol’s ears, each syllable carving deeper into the hollow space behind his ribs. He didn’t protest when Jeonghan guided him toward the parking lot. Didn’t flinch when Jeonghan opened the passenger door for him. He simply got in, his body aching more from guilt than from bruises.
The silence in the car was oppressive. Jeonghan’s hands trembled slightly on the steering wheel, but he said nothing as he drove, weaving through the streets quietly. The city lights blurred outside the windows, glowing gold and red and white, but inside the car, everything felt grayscale.
After nearly an hour of driving away from the hospital, Jeonghan finally pulled into a narrow alley tucked between two aging apartment buildings. It looked like nothing, just another forgotten block in a crowded district but Jeonghan parked in front of a small garage door and reached for a hidden panel beneath the dashboard.
A soft beep. Then the garage door creaked open.
Inside was a dark, concrete space, vacant except for dust and silence.
They stepped inside, and Jeonghan led him through a secondary door that revealed a loft-style safehouse tucked behind the facade. Dim, furnished with the bare minimum. An old couch, a clean bed, a stocked kitchenette. It wasn’t much, but it was safe. Untraceable. One of the many places Jeonghan had scouted in case things ever spiraled out of control.
He never expected to use it like this.
Seungcheol dropped onto the couch wordlessly, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. His knuckles were raw. His face was still bleeding in places. But he hadn’t said a word since they left.
Jeonghan locked the door, pulled the heavy curtains shut, and finally knelt in front of him.
“Cheol.”
Nothing.
Jeonghan gently took his hands, ignoring the way Seungcheol flinched. He held them carefully in his own. “Look at me.”
Seungcheol slowly lifted his head. His eyes were hollow. Broken. He looked like a man who had just survived a war only to come home and find the battlefield followed him.
“I should’ve never sent Jihoon,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “He wasn’t even my first choice, Han. I only asked him because Soonyoung was away. I thought… he’d be okay. I thought I’d have time.”
“You didn’t know,” Jeonghan said softly, brushing the dried blood from Seungcheol’s cheek with his sleeve.
“That’s the problem,” Seungcheol murmured. “I should’ve known.”
Jeonghan didn’t argue. He didn’t offer platitudes. He just sat beside him, wrapping his arms around Seungcheol’s shoulders, letting the older man finally fall apart in the safety of silence.
For a long time, they stayed like that pressed together in the flickering light of the old safehouse, the reality of everything that had happened settling like dust around them.
Eventually, Jeonghan pulled away just enough to look into Seungcheol’s eyes.
“We’ll regroup here,” he said gently. “Lay low. Your hideout’s compromised now that one of my father’s men tracked me there. We’ll stay until we figure out our next move.”
Seungcheol blinked slowly. “Soonyoung meant it. He really doesn’t want to see me again.”
Jeonghan swallowed. “He’s hurting. And he’s scared.”
“It was my fault. And I…” Seungcheol’s voice cracked. “I hate myself.”
Jeonghan leaned his head against Seungcheol’s shoulder, his voice a whisper.
“You still have me.”
Seungcheol was stunned. He didn’t react though. Jeonghan stood up and proceed to patch up his wounds, Soonyoung did quite a lot of damage on his pretty face. Jeonghan tended to it quietly as Seungcheol was also quiet the whole time. When he’s done Jeonghan just sighed.
“I did this,” he murmured, voice frayed. “Jihoon’s fighting for his life because of me. I sent him into a trap. I didn’t double-check everything, didn’t think twice. I just— I treated him like a pawn.”
Jeonghan leaned against the wall by the window, arms crossed, eyes soft but unreadable. He let Seungcheol speak. Let him suffocate under the guilt he knew words couldn’t fix. Because no amount of “you didn’t mean to” would change what happened.
Seungcheol pressed his palms to his eyes. “He’s my best friend. He’s my family. And now… now Soonyoung won’t even look at me. He told me they lost the baby, Han. They lost their baby.”
The words cracked something inside him, and his shoulders trembled as he fought not to cry again. “Jihoon… he’s so small. Fragile-looking. But he’s always been the strongest of us. And I still got him hurt. If he— if he never wakes up—”
“Cheol.”
Seungcheol didn’t look up. His breathing was uneven.
“Cheol,” Jeonghan said again, stepping closer. “Hey—”
And then he cupped Seungcheol’s face with both hands and kissed him. Full on the lips.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t hesitant. It was firm and sure, and it stole Seungcheol’s breath right out of his lungs.
When Jeonghan pulled away, there was a slight curve to his lips. “There,” he said with a soft laugh. “That was effective in making you stop, right?”
Seungcheol blinked at him, stunned. “Wha— Jeonghan, I—”
“I’m serious,” Jeonghan interrupted, sitting beside him, folding one leg up onto the bed. “No one wanted this. Not you. Not Jihoon. Not Soonyoung. It happened, and it’s hell, but wallowing in guilt won’t fix it. You’ll just burn yourself out.”
Seungcheol tried to find his words, but Jeonghan reached over, smoothing his hair back gently.
“I know Soonyoung by the little time he visits the hideout,” he said softly. “Maybe not as closely as you, but I’ve seen how he loves. How loyal he is. He’s just hurt right now. He’s lost so much in one night. But once the pain softens, I think… I think he’ll reach out. I think he’ll remember how you’ve always been there, even if you messed up this time.”
Seungcheol’s lips trembled, but he didn’t speak.
“And Jihoon?” Jeonghan added, tapping Seungcheol’s chest with two fingers. “You told me stories. Said he once dragged you out of a burning building when you broke your ankle mid-mission. Said he threatened a cartel boss with nothing but a pen.”
Seungcheol huffed a half-laugh, his eyes glassy.
“That man is made of steel under all that pretty skin. If anyone can survive this, it’s Jihoon.”
Jeonghan’s voice lowered, his thumb brushing lightly over the healing cut and bruises on Seungcheol’s face. “So rest. Please. You’re no good to anyone—especially not yourself—if you break down completely. We’ll plan the next step once you’re steady. My father’s still out there. And now that Jihoon’s paid the price for our mess, we have to execute our revenge.”
Seungcheol nodded weakly. “I just… I just need him to wake up.”
“He will,” Jeonghan whispered. “He has to.”
The quiet settled again, but this time, it wasn’t so suffocating.
Eventually, Seungcheol lay down, heavy with exhaustion, and Jeonghan sat beside him, keeping watch while the man who had nearly unraveled before him finally drifted into a restless sleep.
There would be revenge.
But for now, Jeonghan let the silence cradle them both.
—
Jeonghan sat on the floor, legs curled beneath him, staring into the soft flicker of candlelight. The electricity was still unreliable, so they made do. Seungcheol leaned against the worn couch behind him, sipping on tea that had long gone cold. The silence between them wasn’t heavy anymore. Just… present. Shared.
“I used to hate silence,” Jeonghan said quietly. “Growing up in that house, silence meant danger. Meant someone was watching. Listening.”
Seungcheol glanced at him, eyes gentle. “You don’t seem scared of it now.”
Jeonghan smiled faintly. “It’s different now. This kind of quiet… it’s not lonely.”
Seungcheol’s heart thudded a little harder.
A few moments passed, the candle crackling between them, and Jeonghan shifted closer until their shoulders brushed. “Cheol,” he murmured.
“Yeah?”
“Do you think… it’s okay? For us to want something soft, even now? After everything?”
The words were barely above a whisper, but they struck deep. Seungcheol turned to look at him fully. “If you’re asking if it’s okay to want peace, or love, or something real—then yeah. I think that’s exactly what we’re allowed to want.”
Jeonghan looked up at him with eyes that carried storms. “Then kiss me.”
Seungcheol hesitated, but only for a moment. Then he leaned in and pressed his lips to Jeonghan’s, soft and tentative, like testing the weight of something fragile. Jeonghan melted into it, lips parting with a quiet sigh, fingers brushing against Seungcheol’s chest for balance.
The kiss deepened slowly, sweet, then desperate. A push and pull between longing and fear. They kissed like they had nowhere else to be. Like their broken pieces only made sense pressed against each other.
Jeonghan's hands moved up to cup Seungcheol’s jaw, his thumbs ghosting over skin. His shirt rode up slightly as he shifted into Seungcheol’s lap, straddling him. The air grew thicker with want, and he started to unbutton his shirt, slow and trembling.
Seungcheol caught his wrists.
“Wait,” he said, voice rough and low. “Jeonghan… you don’t have to. I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything. I don’t want to take advantage of you—not like this.”
Jeonghan blinked, lips slightly parted. Then he let out a small, breathy laugh, leaning forward to press their foreheads together.
“You’re not taking advantage,” he whispered. “I want this. I want you, Cheol. This isn’t about filling silence or distraction. I’m choosing this. Besides I just want to kiss you.. And we’re not going to fuck or anything.”
Seungcheol searched his eyes for any sign of uncertainty. There was none.
So he kissed him again harder, deeper, full of all the things they hadn’t said to each other.
—
Morning came, Jeonghan stirred first.
He blinked slowly, eyelashes fluttering as he adjusted to the morning light. For a moment, he forgot where he was until he turned his head and saw Seungcheol, still fast asleep beside him, one arm draped protectively over Jeonghan’s waist, their legs tangled together.
Jeonghan smiled to himself, quiet and full of fondness. He reached up to gently brush the fringe off Seungcheol’s forehead, his fingers tracing the curve of his brow, the slope of his nose, the faint line of his jaw.
“You look stupidly peaceful for a man who's usually grumpy before noon,” he whispered playfully.
Seungcheol groaned softly, shifting and cracking one eye open. “Did you just insult me first thing in the morning?”
“Technically, it was a compliment.”
Seungcheol let out a lazy chuckle, then tightened his hold, pulling Jeonghan closer. “Can’t believe I woke up with you in my arms.”
Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, but he was smiling. “Regretting it already?”
Seungcheol looked at him, really looked. No teasing now. Just him, bare in every sense of the word.
“Not even for a second,” he said.
Jeonghan’s breath hitched just a little. “I thought… I wasn’t sure if you’d still want this after last night.”
“I’ve always wanted you,” Seungcheol admitted. “But I didn’t think I was allowed to.”
Jeonghan blinked, caught off guard by how sincere it sounded. “Why not?”
“Because I’m a broken man, Hannie. Because you deserve so much better.”
Jeonghan placed a hand over Seungcheol’s chest, right above his heart.
“You’re not just anyone to me. You’re the man who held me when I couldn’t sleep. The man who carried me out of hell with his own two hands. And the man who kissed me like I meant something.”
Seungcheol’s eyes softened. “You do. You mean everything.”
Jeonghan blushed a little. “Then let’s stop holding back, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Seungcheol whispered, leaning forward to kiss his forehead. “We’ve lost enough. I don’t want to lose you too.”
—
Soonyoung sat in the corner of Jihoon’s private ICU room, his hands loosely clasped together, his face buried into them. He hadn’t moved much in hours. The room was dim except for the quiet hum of machines—monitors beeping in an even rhythm, an IV dripping steadily. Jihoon lay there, pale, unmoving, wrapped in too many wires and tubes for Soonyoung’s heart to bear.
He’d been told about the coma.
He’d been told about the baby.
He hadn’t been told how to breathe after that.
His fists were still aching from punching Seungcheol even though it had been days, but the guilt didn't dull—it sat sharp and alive in his chest.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, barely loud enough for the silence to hear. “I should’ve never let you go alone.”
He looked at Jihoon again, remembering the way he looked when he was found, barely clothed, trembling, bleeding, still fighting even as his body was failing. He had never seen Jihoon that vulnerable, and he never wanted to again.
He stood slowly, dragging a chair to the side of the bed. Sitting down, he reached out carefully and took Jihoon’s hand in both of his, holding it tightly against his lips.
“Please wake up. You said you hated dramas, but this feels like one,” he said with a broken laugh. “We were supposed to talk about our baby names, remember? Not this.”
His voice cracked at the end. He didn't want to cry again. He didn’t want to fall apart. But grief had its own gravity, and Soonyoung was already sinking.
Just then, the door creaked open slightly. A nurse stepped in to check the IV and monitors. She gave him a small, apologetic nod, then quietly slipped back out when she saw he wasn’t ready to talk.
When it was quiet again, Soonyoung leaned closer, brushing Jihoon’s hair from his forehead.
“I’ll wait,” he whispered. “Even if it takes forever. I’ll wait for you.”
And as he kissed the back of Jihoon’s hand gently, a single tear rolled down Jihoon’s cheek, not enough for him to wake, but enough to remind Soonyoung that somewhere inside, Jihoon was still fighting.
—
The clock ticked gently in the background as Jeonghan stood in front of the map they’d pinned up on the wall. It was a sketched layout of the estate, slightly worn from being folded too many times, with new red markings circling strategic points. Seungcheol sat on the couch behind him, arms folded, jaw tight. He hadn’t said anything for a while. His eyes never left Jeonghan, as if watching him closely would somehow protect him in advance.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Jeonghan said softly, turning around. “And no—I’m not going to back out.”
Seungcheol stood, voice low but firm. “You’re walking back into the lion’s den, Jeonghan. One of his men almost had you last time.”
“That’s exactly why we have to do it now,” Jeonghan said. “He’s gotten cocky. He thinks I’m shaken. He won’t expect I’m walking back in with full intent to help kill him.”
Seungcheol looked away, clenching his jaw. “There has to be another way. I don’t like this—using you as bait?”
Jeonghan stepped closer, reached up, and gently cupped Seungcheol’s cheek. “You forgot who raised me,” he said with a light laugh, trying to ease the tension. “I’ve survived years of reading my father like a book. I know how he thinks.”
He walked back to the map and traced a circle around the west corridor.
“This is where I’ll lead him. He'll be at the house for sure by tomorrow. I’ve noticed on his schedule and from that goon who tracked me down, it’s one of his more vulnerable routes. He passes through here late at night, often alone. He thinks it’s safe.”
Seungcheol exhaled slowly. “And I’ll be positioned?”
“Just past the corner. There’s an old panic room door that was sealed off during renovations. It’s the perfect cover. I’ll lead him into the corridor. You do what you have to do.”
Seungcheol stared at him. “It’s too clean. Nothing ever goes that smoothly.”
Jeonghan smirked, that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. “Then let’s make it messy in our favor.”
But Seungcheol didn’t smile. “What if something goes wrong?”
“Then you get out,” Jeonghan said immediately. “And I’ll deal with it.”
“Jeonghan—”
“No. Listen to me.” He stepped closer again, softer now. “I’m not scared. Not of him. Not of walking back into that place. But the only reason I feel that way is because I know you’ll be there. I’m not doing this alone. And this plan? This has to work. Jihoon got hurt because of us. We’ve lost enough.”
That silenced Seungcheol.
Jeonghan’s voice dropped, more serious now. “If we don’t end this now, we’ll keep running forever. And that’s not a life I want. Not with you.”
That last sentence made Seungcheol’s heart stutter. He looked at the younger man, how steady he stood even in the face of what they were about to do, and something in his chest clenched tight with something deeper than worry.
Finally, Seungcheol nodded, though his throat felt thick. “We’ll end it,” he murmured. “Together.”
Jeonghan stepped in closer again, pressed a brief but firm kiss to Seungcheol’s lips.
“Good,” he whispered. “Then it’s settled. Tomorrow night… we kill my father.”
—
It was the last night before everything changed.
Jeonghan was in the small kitchen, barefoot, dressed in an oversized white tee that Seungcheol must’ve left hanging over a chair. Jeonghan developed a habit of wearing Seungcheol’s clothes by now. He was stirring a mug of cocoa like they weren’t about to kill someone—like the world wasn’t waiting to rip them apart.
Seungcheol leaned on the doorway and just… watched him.
“Why are you staring?” Jeonghan asked without turning, a tiny grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
Seungcheol shrugged, voice low and a little rough. “Just trying to memorize you.”
That made Jeonghan pause. He set the spoon down and looked over his shoulder. “Cheol…”
“I’m serious.” He walked over and gently took the mug from Jeonghan’s hand, setting it aside on the counter. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen tomorrow, Hannie. We’re good at planning but life has a funny way of going off-script.”
Jeonghan turned fully toward him, resting his hands on Seungcheol’s waist. “Then let’s make tonight something worth remembering.”
That was all the invitation Seungcheol needed.
He leaned in slowly, lips brushing Jeonghan’s in a soft, hesitant kiss. There was no rush this time, no desperation like before, just lips moving gently, breath mingling, fingers curling into fabric like they were grounding themselves in each other.
When they broke apart, foreheads pressed together, Jeonghan whispered, “Do you regret any of this?”
Seungcheol opened his eyes. “Never. You?”
Jeonghan shook his head. “I just wish we met each other in another life. Somewhere happier and more peaceful.”
“You make this one happy enough,” Seungcheol said.
They moved to the couch after that. No lights, just the dim glow of the streetlamp outside bleeding through the blinds. Jeonghan tucked himself against Seungcheol’s side, legs tangled lazily. The TV played an old film in the background, neither of them really watching, just finding comfort in the sound.
“I was scared when I met you,” Jeonghan admitted after a long silence.
Seungcheol turned to look at him, brushing strands of hair behind Jeonghan’s ear. “Why?”
“Because you made me feel something too quickly. And I didn’t know if that was dangerous… or worth risking.”
Seungcheol chuckled softly. “It’s both.”
Jeonghan laughed too, small and breathy. “Yeah. I figured that out.”
He tilted his head up, kissed Seungcheol’s jaw, then his cheek, then his lips again. This time, it was deeper. His hands slid into Seungcheol’s hair, fingers curling gently, and Seungcheol responded with equal tenderness, cradling Jeonghan.
Their kisses grew more fervent, more yearning. Jeonghan climbed onto Seungcheol’s lap, knees on either side of him, lips not parting even for breath.
“Hannie… are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, voice barely a whisper. “I don’t want you to do anything just because we might not get another chance.”
Jeonghan looked him dead in the eyes. “That’s exactly why I want to. I want my last night, if it is our last, to be with you. With everything I have. I want you to know I’m yours. I want to feel you and remember it forever, no matter what happens.”
Seungcheol’s hands trembled slightly as he cupped Jeonghan’s face. “You’re sure?”
“I’m more than certain.”
Seungcheol didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at Jeonghan. At the soft curve of his lips, the tired lines near his eyes, the way his chest rose and fell in quiet anticipation. And then he leaned in, pressing his mouth against Jeonghan’s in a kiss that spoke louder than anything he could’ve said aloud.
It started slow, a gentle meeting of lips. But when Jeonghan exhaled shakily against his mouth, Seungcheol deepened the kiss, his hands moving with quiet purpose. One slipped to Jeonghan’s waist, the other cupping the back of his neck as he kissed him more firmly, more hungrily now.
Fingers tugged at the hem of Jeonghan’s shirt, and when their lips parted for just a breath, Seungcheol whispered, “Let me see you.”
Jeonghan nodded, wordless but sure, arms lifting as Seungcheol pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. His hands traced down Jeonghan’s bare chest, reverent, like he was committing every line and curve to memory.
“You’re beautiful,” Seungcheol murmured, leaning down to press kisses along Jeonghan’s collarbone, then lower, slow, patient. His fingers moved to Jeonghan’s waistband, hesitating for only a moment before he looked up for permission.
Jeonghan gave him a soft nod, eyes lidded but full of trust.
Seungcheol undid the button and slid the fabric down with aching tenderness, never breaking the rhythm of his kisses. Every inch of skin he revealed was met with warmth. His hands, his lips, his whispered praises.
By the time Jeonghan was bare beneath him, stretched out on the couch with the soft glow of the streetlight washing over his skin, Seungcheol could hardly breathe. Not out of lust but from the gravity of what this meant.
He stripped off his own shirt next, letting it fall somewhere forgotten, then settled between Jeonghan’s legs. A low sigh left Jeonghan’s lips when their chests met, when their foreheads pressed together again.
“This okay?” Seungcheol whispered, brushing his fingers along Jeonghan’s cheek.
“It’s perfect,” Jeonghan breathed. “Just… don’t stop.”
Seungcheol leaned back slightly, eyes sweeping over Jeonghan’s newly bare chest. He reached out with one hand, his touch featherlight as his fingers traced along the dip between Jeonghan’s collarbones, then slowly down his chest.
Jeonghan’s breath hitched when Seungcheol’s fingertips brushed over one of his nipples, circling it gently before he leaned down to kiss it, His tongue flicked over the sensitive nub, then the other, drawing a quiet moan from Jeonghan’s lips.
“Cheol…” Jeonghan whispered, voice trembling from the sensation and the tenderness behind it.
Seungcheol looked up through his lashes, his breath warm against Jeonghan’s skin. “I want to memorize everything about you.”
He took his time, lavishing attention on Jeonghan’s chest. His fingers gently rubbing over the hardened nubs, lips moving in slow kisses from one to the other, feeling Jeonghan melt under every caress. The way Jeonghan arched slightly into the touch, the way his fingers tangled in Seungcheol’s hair, it all made Seungcheol’s heart ache with love.
“You’re so responsive,” Seungcheol murmured, lips brushing over Jeonghan’s skin.
Jeonghan looked down at him, eyes hooded with affection and desire. “It’s because it’s you.”
Jeonghan’s back arched subtly as Seungcheol’s mouth lingered on his chest, lips tracing lazy patterns around one nipple, making him shiver. His fingers threaded through Seungcheol’s hair, guiding him closer, his voice a low murmur laced with vulnerability and desire.
“You can suck on them if you want…” Jeonghan whispered, cheeks flushed. “I know you like it.”
Seungcheol paused for a second, caught off guard by how soft and open Jeonghan sounded. Then his lips curved into a faint smile, and he looked up, eyes dark with affection.
“I do,” he admitted, voice husky.
Jeonghan nodded, his fingers gently tightening in Seungcheol’s hair. “Then don’t stop.”
That was all it took. Seungcheol leaned in again, lips closing around one sensitive nub. He suckled slowly, tenderly, letting his tongue flick over it in warm strokes. Jeonghan gasped softly, body pressing into him, hips twitching ever so slightly from the sensation.
“That feels… good,” Jeonghan murmured, voice hazy, eyes fluttering closed.
Seungcheol hummed lowly in response, the vibration sending another shiver through Jeonghan’s spine. He moved to the other side, giving it the same loving attention, his hands gliding along Jeonghan’s waist to hold him steady, grounded.
Jeonghan was pliant beneath him, breath stuttering, hands caressing Seungcheol’s back like he was holding onto something precious. “You always make me feel wanted,” he whispered.
Seungcheol pulled back just enough to press a kiss between Jeonghan’s pecs. “Because you are. Every part of you.”
Their breaths mingled when he hovered over Jeonghan’s face again, and he brushed their noses together before whispering, “Can I ask you for something?”
Jeonghan nodded, eyes soft and trusting.
Seungcheol brought his hand up, fingers resting against Jeonghan’s lips. “Wet them for me?” he murmured, voice thick with affection and restraint. “I want to take care of you properly.”
Jeonghan’s eyes darkened with understanding, and without hesitation, he parted his lips, drawing Seungcheol’s fingers in. His tongue swirled slowly around them, coating them with deliberate intent. The look in his eyes never wavered.
Seungcheol exhaled shakily, feeling every flick and curl of Jeonghan’s tongue like a jolt straight to his core. “Dear Lord, Hannie…”
When Jeonghan was done, he gently released the fingers with a soft pop, his lips curving into a faint smile. “I’m ready,” he whispered. “Please.”
Seungcheol kissed him again, deeper this time, his slick fingers trailing down Jeonghan’s body with reverence. He moved between Jeonghan’s legs, keeping their eyes locked as his fingers found their place, and he pressed in carefully watching every twitch of Jeonghan’s expression, listening to every breath.
“I’ll go slow,” he promised, voice trembling slightly with how much he was holding back.
Jeonghan nodded, gripping his arms. “I trust you.”
Seungcheol exhaled slowly, steadying himself as his fingers began to move. He watched every flicker of Jeonghan’s face, the way his lashes fluttered and his breath caught, the way his thighs tensed and relaxed as he adjusted to the sensation. Seungcheol leaned in to kiss along Jeonghan’s neck, offering distractions in the form of warmth and closeness.
“You’re doing so well, Hannie,” he whispered, his voice full of awe and affection. “Just tell me if anything’s too much.”
Jeonghan nodded, eyes half-lidded and lips parted, one arm curling around Seungcheol’s shoulder to anchor himself. “Don’t stop. I love the way you’re fingering me.”
Seungcheol’s breath hitched at the encouragement, and he pressed in another finger, stretching him gradually, careful not to push too far too fast. He whispered soft praises with each movement, how beautiful Jeonghan was, how much he loved him, how he’d wait all night if he had to.
When he felt Jeonghan loosen and open up to him, when the tension melted into something more fluid, he leaned in to kiss him again, long and deep, his fingers still moving inside, curling just right, mapping out what made Jeonghan gasp, what made him cling tighter.
Jeonghan trembled under him, overwhelmed in the best way.
Jeonghan’s hands moved slowly, as he leaned in to kiss Seungcheol again. His fingers found their way to Seungcheol’s forming tent, palming him through the fabric at first, teasing just enough to make the older man exhale a shaky breath.
“I’ll help with this,” Jeonghan whispered, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. There was mischief there, but also love. “You made me feel good earlier… it’s only fair I do the same.”
Seungcheol’s breath hitched, eyes half-lidded. “Hannie…”
Jeonghan didn’t wait for permission. He already had it in the way Seungcheol looked at him. He tugged gently at his waistband, freeing him, then wrapped his hand around his dick with a firm but gentle grip, stroking slowly. His thumb traced over the tip, spreading the wetness already forming.
“You’re already so ready for me,” Jeonghan murmured, brushing a kiss against Seungcheol’s jaw, his neck, his shoulder. “Let me make it better.”
Jeonghan shifted slightly, his eyes never leaving Seungcheol as he leaned down. There was no hesitation in his movements, only a gentle curiosity, a quiet hunger born not of lust but of wanting to know every part of the man who now held his heart.
He pressed a kiss low on Seungcheol’s abdomen first, feeling the way the older man tensed under his touch. Then another kiss, lower still, until his lips brushed the place that throbbed with heat and anticipation.
Seungcheol's breath caught. “Hannie…”
Jeonghan only glanced up with a soft smile before he finally tasted him, tongue flicking lightly on the tip, lips wrapping around the cock just enough to make Seungcheol’s hand fly to the back of his head.
It was slow, careful, Jeonghan savoring every response, every tremble. He wanted to give, to worship. And Seungcheol, overwhelmed with the affection woven into every movement, nearly came undone just from that.
He didn’t last long not because of urgency, but because of how intimate it felt. Like Jeonghan was pouring love into every moment, into every breathless moan and flick of tongue.
When Jeonghan finally pulled back, lips red and eyes half-lidded, he kissed Seungcheol's hipbone and whispered, “Now you’re really ready.”
Seungcheol’s gaze darkened with affection and want as he gently laid Jeonghan back against the couch cushions. He hovered above him for a moment, just drinking him in, hair tousled, lips swollen from kisses, skin flushed under the streetlamp’s glow.
“I want to take care of you too,” he murmured, trailing kisses down Jeonghan’s chest, pausing to give attention to every spot that made the younger sigh and arch beneath him.
Jeonghan’s breath hitched when Seungcheol kissed just below his navel. “Cheol…”
Seungcheol looked up with a warm smile. “Let me.”
And he did.
He kissed the inside of Jeonghan’s thigh first, fingers spreading gently to hold him in place. Jeonghan was already trembling, but he stayed still offering himself, trusting completely.
When Seungcheol’s tongue finally touched his rim, Jeonghan gasped, hand flying to grip at Seungcheol’s hair. The sensation was warm and wet, and it wasn’t rushed, it was exploratory, indulgent, like Seungcheol was learning him all over again.
He licked deep, soft and patient, listening to every little sound Jeonghan made. His hands caressed Jeonghan’s hips, grounding him, cherishing him.
“Fuck…” Seungcheol groaned softly between strokes of his tongue. “You taste like heaven.”
Jeonghan’s back arched at the praise, flushed and breathless. “Cheol—please. I need you.”
Seungcheol pressed a final kiss there, then slowly lifted himself back up to kiss Jeonghan’s lips again, letting him taste what they’d just shared.
“I’ll be gentle,” Seungcheol whispered.
“I don’t need gentle,” Jeonghan whispered back, eyes shining. “I just need you.”
Seungcheol hovered above him again, their foreheads touching as they breathed in tandem. Jeonghan looked up at him, flushed and waiting, eyes full of trust, love, and need.
Seungcheol cupped his cheek. “Tell me if anything feels too much, okay?”
Jeonghan nodded, voice hushed. “I will… but I want this, Cheol. I want you.”
With a slow inhale, Seungcheol reached down, guiding himself carefully. His other hand stayed firm on Jeonghan’s hip, holding them both as he pushed in, inch by inch, giving them time to adjust. Jeonghan’s eyes fluttered shut, a soft gasp escaping his lips as he held onto Seungcheol’s shoulders.
They stilled once he was fully inside, the silence filled with nothing but the sound of their breath. Seungcheol kissed Jeonghan’s temple, his brow, his nose, anywhere his lips could reach.
“You okay?” he whispered.
Jeonghan gave a small nod, kissing him back. “Move… I want to feel you.”
And so he did slowly at first, like they had all the time in the world.
It wasn’t rushed or wild. It was a slow rhythm, full of murmured names and held hands, of lips meeting in between shallow moans and sweet gasps. Every thrust, every touch, was a reminder: I’m here. I’m yours. I love you.
Jeonghan’s legs wrapped around Seungcheol’s waist, urging him closer, deeper. “You feel so good,” he whispered breathlessly, nails digging softly into Seungcheol’s back.
“So do you,” Seungcheol murmured against his jaw. “You’re amazing.”
The couch creaked beneath them, the only light still coming from the streetlamp outside, casting shadows across the room. It felt like the world had gone quiet just for them for this moment.
And when they finally reached the edge together, it wasn’t just pleasure, it was release. Of pain, fear, and everything they’d carried for far too long. Jeonghan clung to him as he came undone, and Seungcheol held him close through his own tremble, burying his face in Jeonghan’s neck.
They stayed wrapped up in each other long after, hearts racing in sync, sweat cooling between kisses and whispers of “I love you” and “thank you for staying.”
—
The night was cold, and the silence of the estate grounds almost serene, if not for the fire burning in Jeonghan’s chest.
Every piece of the plan had been tested and rehearsed. Seungcheol, despite his worry, trusted Jeonghan’s instincts, and Jeonghan promised to return to him safe. This time, there was no room for mistakes.
Jeonghan wore black. Not because he was trying to look dramatic, but because it helped him blend in. But as he stared at the looming silhouette of the estate he once called home, he couldn't help but feel like he was burying something behind that dark fabric. A version of himself. Maybe even the naive son who once believed his father's word was law.
Seungcheol adjusted the earpiece in his ear, voice crackling softly. “You good?”
Jeonghan, hidden behind a tree line outside the estate, took a deep breath. “I’m ready.”
“You remember the plan?”
“I’m the bait. I draw him out, distract him. You go in through the east corridor and take care of the guards. Then we meet in the main hall.”
There was a pause.
“Don’t be a hero, Jeonghan.”
Jeonghan’s lips twitched in a bitter smile. “Too late for that.”
He approached the estate alone, hands up when the guards came rushing. “I’m here to see my father.”
They looked confused. They weren’t used to him showing up like this, unannounced. Vulnerable.
But Jeonghan had spent his life perfecting the art of manipulation. He knew how to play the obedient son. And they let him in.
—
Inside the estate, everything was hauntingly familiar. The expensive paintings. The cold marble. The chandelier that once sparkled when he spun beneath it as a child.
Then he entered the office.
Just as expected, Mr. Yoon was seated behind his desk like a king watching a failed heir return from exile.
“Look who decided to come crawling back. You look well-fed,” he said lazily. “I assume your little life with the hitman’s been exciting.”
Jeonghan gave nothing away. “I am here to talk.”
“For what?” Mr. Yoon chuckled. “Betrayal? Or were you just bored of being a disappointment here?”
“I came to talk,” Jeonghan said flatly. “To end things properly.”
Mr. Yoon stood slowly, taking a glass and pouring whiskey like they were just two businessmen settling a contract. “And here I thought you’d cry or beg for forgiveness. But no… you’re calm.”
He stepped forward, eyes glinting with something dangerous. “You’ve changed.”
“I had to,” Jeonghan said. “Being your son wasn’t a privilege. It was a sentence.”
Mr. Yoon's smile twitched. “Still holding grudges? Even after all I gave you?”
“Power built on blood means nothing to me.”
Mr. Yoon scoffed. “Spare me the self-righteous act. You were born from filth. You think you’re better than me?”
“Anyone is better than you,” Jeonghan said quietly.
That made Mr. Yoon’s hand twitch around his glass. And then… he smiled. Wide. Sharp. “Still so calm, aren’t you? Stoic. Cold. Just like her. You fooled me into believing you were this dumb useless kid but turns out you’re a little fox.. you’re indeed.. a photocopy of her.”
Jeonghan’s gaze twitched. “Like who?”
“Your mother.”
Silence.
Jeonghan’s fists clenched slightly, but his expression stayed unreadable. So Mr. Yoon stepped closer, cruel grin widening.
“You never wondered why she died so suddenly? Why the story never added up?”
A muscle in Jeonghan’s jaw twitched.
“I killed her,” Mr. Yoon said casually, like he was announcing a business deal. “She was a whore, Jeonghan. She slept with my friend. Did you know that? While I was building this empire, she was out there… fucking someone else.”
Jeonghan’s breath hitched.
“Did you ever wonder why you never looked like me?” his father continued, sipping his drink. “You’re not my son. You never were. You were the stain she left behind. A reminder that even my own house wasn’t loyal.”
“You…” Jeonghan was shaking, fists clenched. “You murdered her because of that?”
“I did worse,” Mr. Yoon said darkly. “Your precious nanny found out. Thought she could blackmail me. So I ended her too. Made my men hang her up and made it look like suicide..”
Jeonghan’s voice cracked. “You’re a monster.”
“You bet I am. You know who arranged my men to touch you.”
Jeonghan drew his gun, pointing it directly at the man who raised him—who used him, broke him, twisted him into something cold.
But his hand shook. “You don’t deserve to live.”
Jeonghan’s vision swam. Rage burned through him.
He fired—missed.
Then his father’s guards came rushing inside, Jeonghan told himself to calm down.
One of the guards lunged. Jeonghan ducked under his arm and rammed a knee into his ribs, then yanked the man’s gun and fired point-blank.
His body was trembling as he fought guards who were taller and way bigger than him.
“You’re just a filthy stain from someone else’s seed!” Mr. Yoon roared. “I should’ve killed you, too.”
Jeonghan raised his weapon—but a heavy boot kicked it from his hand.
One of the last guards shoved him to the floor, gun aimed at his head.
Then—
Bang!
The guard dropped. Blood sprayed across Jeonghan’s cheek.
Seungcheol stood in the doorway, panting, wounded, blood trailing down his side, another gun in his hand.
“Touch him again,” he growled, “and I’ll fucking burn this place down.”
“Cheol!” Jeonghan gasped.
But Mr. Yoon wasn’t done.
He pulled out his own pistol and fired twice—one bullet grazing Seungcheol’s shoulder, the other nearly hitting Jeonghan.
Seungcheol stumbled, but still moved, dove behind the desk. The room descended into a frenzy of gunfire and shouts. Furniture shattered. Shelves exploded. The smell of blood and smoke choked the air.
Jeonghan crawled toward Seungcheol, hands slick. “You’re bleeding—”
“I’ve had worse.” Seungcheol winced. “Focus.”
“Where is he?”
Then Mr. Yoon emerged from the smoke, gun raised, aimed straight for Jeonghan.
“I should’ve ended you the day you were born. Prince Charming came to save you.. How cute. Don’t worry I will you both so you can join your parents.”
Seungcheol didn’t hesitate.
He tackled Jeonghan to the side just as the gun fired, then, rolling onto one knee, he aimed and shot—
Bang.
Mr. Yoon jerked.
Bang.
Another shot to the chest. He staggered backward, stunned, furious and then dropped, unmoving, like a broken marionette.
Silence.
Jeonghan’s breaths were shaky as he stared at his father’s lifeless body, the man who had controlled, terrorized, and shattered every part of him.
Seungcheol collapsed to his side with a grunt, breathing heavily.
It was over.
Jeonghan dropped his gun and ran to Seungcheol, catching him just as he swayed. “Cheol—no, no, stay with me—!”
“I’m okay,” Seungcheol breathed through gritted teeth, barely conscious. “You did it… you got him.”
“No—we did it. You saved me. Again.” Jeonghan cupped his face, trembling. “Don’t you dare die on me. You hear me?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Seungcheol rasped.
Sirens wailed faintly in the distance. Their team had triggered the alert. Reinforcements were coming. It was done.
Jeonghan leaned in, pressing his forehead against Seungcheol’s, their breaths shallow and matching.
He had gotten justice.
But more than that. He had found something worth surviving for.
And he wasn’t about to let it go.
—-
The door creaked open quietly as Jeonghan and Seungcheol stepped inside the safe house.
It was dark, warm, and quiet. So far from the chaos they’d just come from. The storm had finally passed. And for the first time in years, Jeonghan could finally breathe.
Seungcheol dropped his bag by the door and exhaled deeply, his bandaged side aching with every step. Jeonghan moved past him and flicked on a lamp, bathing the living room in a soft, amber light.
“Come here,” Jeonghan said gently, helping him toward the couch.
They sat side by side. Silence wrapped around them like a blanket. No words, just thinking about everything they’d been through, their lips still raw from past confessions, hearts still pounding from near-death.
Seungcheol reached for his phone, his thumb hesitating over a contact.
Then he pressed call.
The line picked up after one ring. “It’s done,” Seungcheol said quietly. “Mr. Yoon is dead.”
Jeonghan, still sitting beside him, hummed with satisfaction. “Very good.”
Seungcheol blinked. “...Huh?”
He turned to Jeonghan, eyes narrowing, trying to process what he just heard. “Wait—what did you just say?”
Jeonghan didn’t answer at first. He stood up, walked over to the small table by the kitchen, and poured himself a glass of water. Then, he turned and leaned against the counter, arms crossed, gaze locked on Seungcheol.
“You’re not the only one who can play the long game, Cheol.”
Seungcheol frowned, sitting up straighter. “What do you mean?”
Jeonghan tilted his head. “I’m the one who hired you.”
“What?”
“That night you received the encrypted message. The one with no traceable sender. That was from me.”
Seungcheol stared, stunned. “But... I tried tracing the source a dozen times. It was clean. Professionally rerouted. Besides you were with me the whole time so how?”
Jeonghan smiled faintly. “Because it wasn’t me directly. It was a friend of mine. Wonwoo.”
Seungcheol's eyes widened. “Wonwoo?”
“He’s an IT specialist,” Jeonghan said, taking a sip. “One of the best in the underground circuit. He owed me a favor, and I asked him to handle all communications with you.”
Seungcheol still looked shell-shocked. “Wait... You mean... from the start? All of it?”
Jeonghan’s eyes glinted, not with regret, but clarity. “I created a fake persona through Wonwoo. Fed you just enough. Let you dig. Let you question. But I was always one step behind you. Watching. Guiding.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Seungcheol asked, voice low.
“Because I couldn’t let my emotions get in the way,” Jeonghan murmured. “Not until I was sure you could do it. Not until I was sure I could.”
“W-wow.”
Jeonghan’s voice dipped lower, quieter, like confessing something he'd buried for years. “My father always thought I was stupid,” he said, eyes drifting away for a moment. “Just some soft, naïve boy too delicate to understand the world he ran. He never knew I was pretending.”
Seungcheol’s brows furrowed as Jeonghan continued.
“When I found out what he did, when I realized he let his men…” Jeonghan’s voice caught, but he forced it out, eyes burning with a mix of rage and pain. “Let them touch me. Defile me. Like I was nothing. That was when I stopped being his son. That was when I started planning.”
Seungcheol sat still, jaw clenched, but his eyes never left Jeonghan.
“I played dumb,” Jeonghan said, a bitter laugh escaping him. “It was the only way to survive. If he thought I was harmless, he wouldn’t notice me sneaking into his offices, copying files, sabotaging deals. I watched everything. I collected everything.”
Seungcheol let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, he was pouting as well. “You really used me.”
“I trusted you,” Jeonghan corrected, gentler this time. “And I’m grateful you came. That you stayed.”
There was a pause.
“How about me kidnapping you, was that part of the plan?”
“Yeah, I asked Wonwoo to track your location… And you were very stupid. If I didn’t walk in there you would have been killed. He always wears bullet proof vests whenever he visits the hospital and that would spare him enough time to kill you and call for back ups so I had to make a plan to somehow save you.”
“Wow.”
“And the day Jihoon and Soonyoung were busy fucking in your bed, it’s also the same day I contacted Wonwoo again through a phone I kept hidden from you.”
Then Seungcheol chuckled. “You’re terrifying when you want to be.”
“I try,” Jeonghan said, nudging him with a smile. “You know, I never told you how I discovered you..”
Seungcheol looked at him, confused but patient, silently urging him to continue.
"I was going through some of my father’s things," Jeonghan began, his voice quiet but steady, "When I found something, a hidden file, buried among his old papers. It was an old case, a murder, and I could tell it had been greatly concealed. My father had kept it hidden, probably to protect himself. But I couldn’t just leave it. I had to know who the victim was."
Jeonghan paused, his gaze growing distant as if reliving the moment. "I traced the person’s history and found out that they had a son. A son who had been kept in the dark about his parents' death. The more I dug, the more I uncovered about this man’s life. And then I found you."
Seungcheol’s eyes widened, as the pieces began to fall into place. Jeonghan continued, his fingers tightening around the glass in his hand. "When I found out you were a hitman, the best hitman in town they say, I knew I had to get you involved. You were the only one who could get close to my father and finish what he’d started. So I called Wonwoo. He’s good with IT, as you know and asked him to help me hire you. That’s when he sent the evidence to you. I needed you to be the one to end it all.”
Jeonghan leaned back, his eyes meeting Seungcheol’s with a resigned, almost guilty expression. "I know this may have seemed like manipulation," he admitted, his voice soft but sincere. "But I wanted to make sure you knew—what I feel for you, what we've been through... It's all real. I didn’t want you to think it was just part of the plan."
Seungcheol’s lips quirked into a faint smile, his gaze still intense as he took in Jeonghan’s words. Then, with a quiet chuckle, he shrugged, his tone light and teasing. “Well, I may be a little fucked up in the head... but you know, even if you did use me, I’m not exactly turned off by it.” He leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping lower, “Actually, it kind of turns me on, how terrifyingly smart you are. You had this whole thing planned from the start, and I just... I didn’t see it coming.”
Jeonghan’s eyes rolled in amusement, but there was a playful gleam in them now. “You’re such a hornball,” he said, teasing Seungcheol with a raised brow.
Seungcheol just smirked, leaning back casually. "Maybe. But I like that about you," he said with a wink.
Jeonghan snorted, then sighed, still smiling despite himself. “You need therapy.”
Seungcheol smiled back, eyes soft. “So, what now?”
Jeonghan leaned in, pressing his forehead to Seungcheol’s. “Now? We rest. Then… we figure out what freedom tastes like.”
Just then, Seungcheol’s phone buzzed on the table.
He frowned, picked it up and froze.
Jeonghan watched as his brows lifted, his lips parting slightly.
“…What is it?”
Seungcheol swallowed.
“It’s a message from Joshua. A friend of mine who’s a doctor.”
He turned the screen to show Jeonghan.
[JOSHUA]: Jihoon’s awake.
For a long second, both of them stared at the message.
Then Jeonghan’s smile broke through—hopeful, a little shaky.
“Let’s go see your friends,” he said softly.
Seungcheol grinned, eyes wet, heart racing again—but this time, for something bright.
Something new.
—
The beeping of the monitor was steady and soft, like a metronome counting down to something sacred.
Jihoon had been still for days. His body, though stable, had been resting, recovering from the gunshots, from the blood loss, from the pain no one could reach except through whispered prayers and silent vigils.
Soonyoung hadn’t left his side.
He slept in the chair beside the bed, curled uncomfortably with Jihoon’s hand held in his, like it was the only thing he had left in the world. He spoke to him every day, sometimes laughing softly at old memories, sometimes crying quietly when the silence grew too heavy.
And today was no different.
Soonyoung was tracing slow circles on Jihoon’s palm, eyes closed, lips murmuring something gentle under his breath when—
The fingers twitched.
At first, he didn’t register it. He almost thought it was his imagination.
Then Jihoon’s eyelids fluttered.
Soonyoung’s breath caught. He froze. “Jihoon?”
Another twitch. This time stronger.
And then slowly, painfully slow, Jihoon’s eyes opened.
“Jihoon,” Soonyoung whispered again, voice shaking. He stood up so fast his chair scraped back. He leaned over the bed, cupping Jihoon’s face, his thumbs brushing against the soft skin beneath tired eyes.
Jihoon blinked, confused. Groggy.
But his eyes, those eyes Soonyoung knew better than his own focused on him.
“…Soon,” Jihoon rasped, voice dry and hoarse.
A tear slid down Soonyoung’s cheek. He laughed, breathless. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me, baby. I’m here.”
Jihoon looked around faintly, taking in the sterile white of the hospital room. The soft hum of machines. The window glowing with the golden orange of an evening sky. And then, back to Soonyoung’s face.
“You’re safe,” Soonyoung said quickly. “We’re in a hospital. You… you were shot.. but you’re okay now.”
Jihoon frowned faintly, his eyes fluttering closed again for a moment as if trying to remember. His hand reached for Soonyoung’s wrist, gripping it weakly.
“Cheol-hyung…” he mumbled.
“He’s fine,” Soonyoung said gently. “Jeonghan’s fine, they’re both fine.”
Jihoon stared at him again. “You’re crying.”
Soonyoung laughed, voice cracking. “Yeah. Yeah, I am. I was so scared, Jihoon.”
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Jihoon’s knuckles.
“I thought I was gonna lose you,” he whispered.
Jihoon didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. His fingers curled around Soonyoung’s hand, and his thumb, barely moving, brushed over his ring finger, the one that held the promise they’d made quietly years ago.
Soonyoung kissed his hand again, then rested their entwined fingers against his cheek. He exhaled deeply, letting the fear melt away now that Jihoon’s warmth was real again.
—
The moment Jeonghan and Seungcheol received the message, they didn’t even exchange words, just grabbed their things and ran.
When they reached the ICU room, Seungcheol slowed his steps. His chest tightened.
He remembered Soonyoung’s voice that day. The rage. The heartbreak.
“We lost the baby.”
“We want nothing to do with you.”
He hesitated outside the door.
“Go,” Jeonghan said softly, giving his shoulder a small squeeze. “He’s your best friend.”
With a shaky breath, Seungcheol opened the door.
Soonyoung was sitting beside the bed, holding Jihoon’s hand like he never wanted to let go again. His head turned the second the door creaked open and Seungcheol tensed, prepared for the worst.
But Soonyoung stood up.
And without a word, he walked over and pulled Seungcheol into a tight hug.
Seungcheol froze, stunned.
“I’m sorry,” Soonyoung whispered, his voice shaking. “I’m sorry for what I said. I was angry, and I was scared, and I just— I needed someone to blame. But it wasn’t your fault. I know that. We all… we all just hurt.”
The warmth, the sincerity, the grief in Soonyoung’s embrace cracked something open in Seungcheol. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed this. How much guilt he had been carrying, thinking Jihoon would never forgive him. That Soonyoung would never forgive him.
He hugged Soonyoung back, tightly.
Then a soft voice called out from the bed.
“…Cheol?”
Seungcheol turned.
Jihoon was awake. Pale, eyes sunken from days of unconsciousness, but awake.
Reaching out for him.
Seungcheol rushed forward like his feet moved on their own. He reached Jihoon’s bedside and took his hand carefully, reverently, as though afraid he’d vanish again if he held too tight.
“You’re awake,” Seungcheol choked out, tears welling in his eyes.
Jihoon gave him the smallest smile. “You’re crying. Just like Soonie earlier.”
Seungcheol laughed wetly, lowering his forehead to their clasped hands. “Of course I’m crying. You scared the hell out of me.”
Jihoon’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Sorry.”
“No,” Seungcheol said, looking up again, his eyes red. “Don’t you dare apologize. I should be the one—I should have protected you. I should have been there.”
Soonyoung rested a hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder from behind.
“You’re here now,” Jihoon murmured. “That’s enough.”
Seungcheol finally broke. Tears streamed freely down his face, and he pressed Jihoon’s knuckles to his lips, letting out a shaky breath.
Jeonghan stood by the door, quietly wiping his own eyes as he watched the moment unfold, grateful that after all the blood, all the pain, all the near-deaths and broken hearts, one of their small prayers was finally answered.
Jihoon was alive.
And he was home, in the way that mattered most with the people who loved him.
—
Seungcheol stood silently in front of the gravestones.
Two polished markers. Side by side.
He’d cleaned them earlier, kneeling to wipe off the dirt, leaving fresh lilies like he always did. But today was different.
Jeonghan stood a respectful few feet behind at first, giving him space but Seungcheol turned and extended a hand toward him.
“Come here.”
Jeonghan walked forward, gently threading their fingers together as they stood before the resting place of Seungcheol’s parents.
“…Hi,” Seungcheol began, his voice soft. “It’s been a while. I know I should’ve visited sooner, but things got… heavy.”
He let out a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “Not that you’re surprised. Things have always been heavy in my life, haven’t they?”
His smile faded into a breath.
“But I came to tell you… it’s done. He’s dead. The man who ruined your lives. Who tore our family apart.” His jaw clenched. “I did it. I put an end to everything.”
Silence followed, broken only by the wind tugging gently at their clothes.
“And I’m done, Mom. Dad. I’m really done this time.” He turned to look at Jeonghan beside him. “No more killing. I’m retiring from being a hitman.”
He exhaled deeply. It felt like laying down a burden he’d carried his entire life.
“I’m gonna live a life you’d be proud of. I promise.”
Then, as if remembering something, he smiled and turned toward the gravestones again. “Also… I brought someone with me today.”
He looked at Jeonghan and gave a small grin. “This is Yoon Jeonghan.”
Jeonghan stepped forward with a small, polite bow. “It’s an honor to meet you.”
Seungcheol chuckled. “He’s the most stubborn person I’ve ever met. Keeps picking fights, keeps stealing the blankets at night…”
Jeonghan nudged him lightly, his cheeks warming. “I do not.”
“…but,” Seungcheol continued, eyes softening, “he also saved me. In more ways than one. He helped me remember who I was. Helped me see there’s something else beyond the blood and guilt.”
Jeonghan’s smile slowly faded into something gentler, more intimate.
Seungcheol squeezed his hand. “I wish you could’ve met him while you were alive. You would’ve loved him. Or at least tried to warn him about how big of a pain in the ass your son is.”
Jeonghan let out a laugh, brushing a thumb under Seungcheol’s eye. “I already figured that out on my own.”
“Oh, yeah?” Seungcheol raised a brow. “Then why are you still here?”
“I ask myself the same question every morning.” Jeonghan smirked. “But then you do that thing where you make coffee and kiss my neck and suddenly I’m weak again.”
They both chuckled, the quiet moment melting into something soft and golden, like the morning sun above them.
Jeonghan looked at the gravestones once more, eyes sincere. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be good enough, but I promise I’ll take care of him. I swear it.”
Seungcheol turned to him fully now, eyes brimming with emotion.
“I love you,” he said suddenly, firmly. “I’ve been through hell. I’ve lost everything, burned everything down just to survive. But you—” he rested a hand over Jeonghan’s chest, “—you make me want to stay alive.”
Jeonghan blinked slowly, his voice quiet. “Say it again.”
“I love you.”
Jeonghan leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to Seungcheol’s lips. “I love you too,” he whispered against them.
They stood there for a while longer, in the silence and the wind and the sun, holding hands in front of the people Seungcheol once lost and the person he had finally, miraculously found.
Fin.