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lily-blue · 8 months

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Innocent as doves

☆ characters: singer!you & activist!yeonjun ☆ genre: historical au, angst ☆ warnings: sexual harassment, character’s death, mention of blood and violence ☆ summary: your dreams brought you to him; his dreams brought destruction upon the both of you ☆ words: 15,1k ☆ a/n: Gyeongseong is the name of Seoul during the period of Japanese colonial rule ☆ also: happy birthday to the lovely @restlessmaknae 💕 i wish you an amazing day with people who love and appreciate you as you deserve ☆ massive thanks to: @dat-town for proofreading the story even though she was short of time 💕 ☆ taglist: @soobin-chois

Throughout your teenage years, you had frequently daydreamed about this very moment: the hustle and bustle of the train station, the thick smoke in the air you could almost taste on the tip of your tongue and the freedom your arrival to the capital city gave you despite your big brother’s presence right next to you. Obviously, you loved growing up in the countryside - being the only daughter of one of the leading figures of your small community came with its own privileges -, but hell did it feel good to finally try your wings on your own!

You snapped your head in your brother’s direction when he cleared his throat and took your luggage from you. Fine, you weren’t entirely on your own, but here at least no one knew who you were, therefore no one would treat you like you could break under the smallest pressure. As if a mere rejection could have destroyed your self-esteem and brought your father’s rage upon them when your father was the most understanding person you knew after your mother.

Your smile was sheepish and your cheeks rose-tinted as you let Taehyung lead you towards the exit.

‘After we get settled in our accommodation, I’ll send a letter to our father,’ your brother said, never the one to leave you in the shadows. You acknowledged his words with a curt nod and a reassuring smile. He had no reason to be worried about you. ‘I’ll try to be quick. Then, we can look around in the neighbourhood, see whether there are any jobs available closeby,’ he added, bumping his upper arm into your shoulder lightly, playfully, like he always did when he wanted to earn your forgiveness. As though you had ever been able to stay angry with him for longer than a couple of hours.

If you wanted to be honest, he had never given you any reason to stay mad at him. Sure, at the young age of seven, having your dolls destroyed might have seemed like a crime against humanity, but in reality, even that had been an accident. Taehyung was just too good-natured and caring to cause you or anyone harm on purpose.

‘I would love that, thank you,’ you said, following him down the busy streets with your much shorter legs. Thankfully, you weren’t in a hurry, so you didn’t have to adjust your steps to his as he was walking at a slower speed on purpose. He really was the best!

Your temporary home for the next six months - the time limit you had gotten from your father to find your footing in the capital city - was no more than two corners from the central train station. It was in the heart of Gyeongseong with numerous shops and facilities that catered to those who visited or lived in the city, which made you more excited about your plans for the afternoon with Taehyung. You wondered whether any of the fancy pubs and expensive hotels were looking for a singer. You hoped they did.

You would have especially liked to work close to the square with the pretty fountain that you had to pass by in order to get to your new home. It was lively and loud and everything the Gyeongseong of your dreams was. There were vendors selling fresh coffee and snacks on one side and businessmen in suit and tie entering an enormous building on the other. There was even a paperboy with today’s newspapers in his hands, shouting from the top of his lungs a couple of metres from you.

‘There are so many people! Look, oppa!’ You exclaimed, unable to resist the urge to point at the paperboy despite your manners.

Taehyung shook his head with a hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth before he grabbed your hand and pulled it downwards, back by your side.

‘Please, try not to offend people you shouldn’t on our very first day here. We’re not at home anymore, little bird,’ he chastised you, his tone lacking the usual playfulness in spite of his soft eyes.

You nodded, apologetic.

‘I am sorry,’ you mumbled under your nose, suddenly hyper aware of how rude you had been and how your actions could have reflected on your family if anyone had paid attention to the two of you.

You gulped down the bile in your throat and followed your brother in silence. You intended to keep your gaze on the ground and your excitement at bay, but after a couple of minutes, your curiosity won and you lifted your chin up high once again. Your eyes were sparkling as your gaze jumped from one spectacle to the other until it met an interesting-looking young man’s piercing one and you almost tripped over your own feet.

It was unnerving, but you failed to look away. He was sitting by a table on the terrace of one of the coffee shops with three other men, all of them wearing the same uniform, and he was observing your surroundings - you - with such intensity that you felt almost obligated to keep up your impromptu staring contest.

For a split second, you were afraid he would stand up and walk up to you and your brother, but that couldn’t have happened due to two reasons. 1) The young man was with other people and even from afar, they seemed to be discussing something rather vehemently, therefore you supposed it was something important. 2) The beautiful fountain in the middle of the square shattered into pieces, the noise and the flying rubble leaving chaos in their wake.

Even though you weren’t close to the now-destroyed fountain anymore, you fell on your butt from the shock and scraped both of your palms when your instinct kicked in and tried to protect you from the fall. People were screaming and crying wherever you looked; some were unharmed, some were bleeding, but luckily none of them stayed eerily still on the ground.

The realisation that the incident had no fatal casualties brought you some comfort and so did your brother’s protective arms that embraced you with urgency. Panting - as your gaze found the young man in the uniform screaming at someone shorter than him -, you found it weird: the relief it brought you that his attention wasn’t on you anymore.

‘Are you hurt?’ Taehyung’s question reached you like it came from under heavy layers of water and you pulled away to be able to look at his face. The dust that lingered in the air stuck to his sweaty skin mixed with the blood that was running down his temple lazily from a wound you couldn’t really see. You lifted your hand to cup his cheeks and hissed when your injured skin touched his jawline.

Taehyung grabbed your wrists and pulled your hands downwards, then pushed them towards you, so that he could take a good look at them.

‘We need to go to the hospital,’ he insisted and you let out a broken huff because what he was saying was ridiculous. People around you had more concerning injuries. Even he had a more concerning injury and he wanted to take you to the hospital because of some scratches?

‘But only because of your head injury,’ you pointed out and seeing how he furrowed his thick eyebrows upon hearing your reasoning, you were pretty sure that he hadn’t realised until that moment that he was bleeding.

He reached up to his forehead, slid his fingers sideways and hissed when his fingertips grazed the wound.

‘It’s nothing,’ he reassured you, but you shook your head and made no attempt at getting up from the ground. If he really believed that his wound was nothing, your wounds were less than nothing and you were determined to prove your point. So determined that Taehyung let out a resigned sigh when meeting your eyes he realised that he had no chance to win this argument. ‘Fine, let’s settle in our accommodation and I’ll bring back some disinfectant and bandages on my way back from the post office,’ he negotiated, but you shook your head.

‘We should buy some on our way home. That way, we can clean and dress your wound before you leave,’ you reasoned, the amused chuckle that left your brother’s throat adding a grotesque contrast to the painful wails of the people around you.

‘Deal,’ Taehyung agreed as he pulled you up from the ground and took your hand.

Without a care for your surroundings or the people in need, your brother dragged you to your new home as gently as he could and let you tend to his wound. He was on his best behaviour the entire time you were disinfecting the cut on his head, so that he could make you promise in exchange that you wouldn’t open the door to anyone once he left.

Within two weeks both Taehyung and you managed to find yourself a job that would be able to cover your rent and living expenses once you used up all of your allowance money. It was a relief, really, since on your tenth day of walking from hotel to pub to a different hotel, you had started to feel a little worried that Gyeongseong might not have had enough room for you. In hindsight, it had been a silly thought, but some things just couldn’t have been helped. Your anxiety, that you weren’t much without your father’s name, was one of them.

Singing at a hotel lobby was as close to your dream job as you could get with your pressing urge to jump on the first opportunity that presented itself to you. If you wanted to be honest, you had always wished to be able to dress in pretty ball dresses during your performances and have your own stage, but your own dresses weren’t that bad, either, nor the new microphone with the silver stand that were provided to you.

It was a promising start.

Hanging out at the bar, sitting by the counter with a glass of juice in your hands, you were waiting patiently for your turn to entertain the guests when your gaze fell on a young man in a white shirt with rolled up sleeves, dark pants, dark suspenders and round glasses atop of the bridge of his nose. His profile was handsome - more pretty than manly -, and you felt enchanted by the sight. It was hard to take your eyes off him.

Maybe that was why you noticed how unusual he was acting compared to the other guests or that the bartender seemed to both keep his distance from him and being weirdly nice to him, like they knew each other, like they were close. For example, they weren’t looking at each other, but the young man’s lips were undoubtedly moving and the bartender was clearly listening, his focus on the other’s words keeping him from walking up to the rich-looking woman near you, even though she had sat down on one of the barstools in the midst of their conversation, ready to order.

You took a sip from your juice and kept watching.

You let your curious gaze linger on the young man’s hands, paying attention to the way his fingers were drumming on the wooden countertop and you found yourself humming for a similar rhythm. You weren’t too good at improvising song lyrics, but you knew a lot of traditional ballads, so you picked one on a whim and adjusted the words to the melody. You pictured the two of you on stage, in front of a bigger audience, loving your admirers as much as you liked each other.

Your cheeks were burning because of your shameless fantasy and they turned a deeper shade of red when the young man suddenly turned towards you and raised a brow in question. You snapped your head in the opposite direction on instinct, like a child caught red-handed in the candy shop.

‘Good evening, miss,’ a surprisingly deep voice greeted you, its owner standing right behind you. Blushing, you wondered just how fast and smooth one’s steps needed to be to change locations so quickly.

‘Good evening,’ you mumbled under your nose, slowly turning towards the man.

Heart beating like crazy, you tried your best to conceal your disappointment when your eyes fell on the person who had addressed you so politely. Instead of wearing a simple shirt, the man in front of you was dressed in a familiar uniform, had a pair of thin lips rather than a full and pouty one and looked at you like he had never seen anyone like you. You weren’t sure why, but the latter made you feel uneasy.

It didn’t take long for you to realise from where he was so familiar; the heavy feeling atop of your chest was similar to how you had felt seconds before the explosion at the square on your first day in the capital city. Now that you were paying more attention to the young man’s eyes and his outfit than his other facial features and how different he looked from the man you had been staring at in the last ten minutes, it was easy to put two and two together.

‘I see you remember me. I won’t lie, it’s flattering,’ he said with a pleased smile, leaning into your personal space more as though the two of you knew each other.

You let your hand fall into your lap and straightened your posture to look more confident.

‘I…’

‘Cute,’ he noted and took a seat on the barstool next to you. ‘Let me introduce myself. I’m chief officer Nishiki Kousuke. What shall I call you?’

You had been taking etiquette classes since you had turned five along with Japanese language classes, singing and piano classes. You had attended your first ballroom dancing class at the age of nine and been taught how to manage a household around the time you had gotten your first period. You knew what the correct answer was - how you should have phrased the words and how you should have had perfect control over your body language. Still, you felt wary about telling the man your name.

You forced a hopefully soft smile on your face while you kept your slightly trembling right hand still with your other hand. You went as far as digging your nails into the inner side of your lower arm to not let your body take over control at the worst possible moment.

‘Cecily,’ your boss called for you, using your stage name, seconds before your resolve could have crumbled and you let out a relieved sigh without meaning to. ‘One more song and the stage is yours, honey,’ the middle-aged woman informed you from the left side of the bar, so you turned towards her with your entire body and nodded as a sign that you were ready.

It was a weird mix of emotions that overcame you once you jumped off the barstool. First and foremost, you were relieved that your conversation with the man in the uniform was over and he couldn’t have done anything about that or pressured you into staying. You were also super glad that you didn’t have to tell him your real name because your boss had already provided him with a name he could call you; something you had completely forgotten about because of how anxious his closeness had made you. Admittedly, you would have much preferred it if he hadn’t known any of your personal information, but it was the least bad, so you could deal with it. Then, you were excited about your performance.

It was because of the latter that your smile reached your eyes when you bid your goodbye, leaving your juice behind with an apologetic frown towards the bartender who just shook his head and poured it down the drain.

You planned to put up a great performance, an excellent performance even. You planned to charm the young man with the rolled up sleeves and round glasses, so that he couldn’t have not walked up to you after you finished your songs, but by the time you stood in front of the microphone and embraced it with both hands, he was nowhere to be seen.

You greeted the guests and wished them an amazing night like you always did, but your eyes couldn’t find him as you scanned the area and it did reflect on your mood a little. Your voice was a little blue, but it fit the ballads you had chosen for the night, so your unprofessionalism didn’t cost your job.

You got paid plenty before your brother came and picked you up, taking you home.

Sunday mornings were your new second favourite time of the week, right after those nights you spent at your workplace, singing your heart out to your audience. Sunday mornings were for you and your brother to discover new places in Gyeongseong: bookshops, clothing stores, coffee shops and diners. This particular weekend, you decided to wake up a tad bit earlier - although still not as early as you normally did on weekdays - and have breakfast outside, so that you could enjoy the good weather.

You didn’t usually drink coffee simply because you weren’t a huge fan of all things bitter, but your brother had found a shop downtown where the owner mixed different flavours into your drinks if you asked him to and the cinnamon coffee he had just made you was from another world. It was delicious, so was the yakgwa his wife had baked freshly in the kitchen in the back of the store.

‘Has that man tried to approach you again since last time?’ Your brother asked after he put the newspaper aside and took a sip from his espresso. He didn’t go into specifics, but even without additional details, you knew whom he was referring to and this fact alone was a tad unnerving.

You wiped your hands into a textile napkin and reached for the newspaper. Finally, it was your turn to have a look at what was happening in the capital city. This time, you were the most curious about the beauty pageant whose finals would be held in Gyeongseong in a couple of weeks, but you also liked skimming through their seasonal recommendations for outdoor programmes and their Japanese poems from independent poets.

‘Only once,’ you admitted quietly, flipping through the pages. ‘I started to stay with the other singers like you suggested,’ you added, not out of obligation, but to reassure him. You didn’t want Taehyung to worry about you too much; you also dreaded the possibility that he might have forbidden you to go back to the hotel if he couldn’t have been a hundred percent sure that you were safe there while he was working. Just like your parents, your brother could be pretty protective sometimes.

‘Good girl,’ the compliment fell from Taehyung’s lips easily, just as naturally as his big palm found a home atop of your head, messing up your braids with how aggressively he ruffled your hair.

You groaned, displeased, and pushed his hand away with a click of your tongue.

‘Oppa! Please, I am an adult now,’ you whined, but instead of fixing those locks that fell into your face, your focus remained on the newspaper and the flavoured coffee in your cup.

Your mother had never liked it when you read by the dining table. She thought that it wasn’t lady-like, hence you should have concentrated on more important things during meals, such as your body posture, your sweet smiles and polite answers whenever someone addressed you directly. She believed that every woman should have stuck to the same topics when joining a conversation: family, suitors and household matters.

However, your father had always had a soft spot for you, hence he had been happy to explain the business and political jargon to you when, every once in a while, you had shown interest in those types of articles. Needless to say, you still didn’t understand every word, but you could rely on context clues.

‘Of course you are,’ your brother agreed with amusement in his voice, but you didn’t pay him any attention. Instead, you kept your eyes on the article that misused the phrase “touch base” in its very first sentence.

It was a boring report on local agriculture and the benefits of trading with the Japanese, not something you usually wasted your time on, however, there was something in the way the writer had structured his sentences that kept you engaged. He used formal language and his statements were mostly general truths, but it still felt like you were reading a book: the text had rhythm and you couldn’t have helped but emphasise certain words in your head naturally. Words like: station, nation, train, eight.

‘Oppa? Did you read this one?’ You asked Taehyung when after the third and fourth reading, your brain made a list of at least a dozen of these words, linking them together and building sentences that didn’t exist.

‘Hm?’

‘This one,’ you pointed at the article with the misused expression in its first sentence and he nodded after one glance at the page, his furrowed eyebrows displaying confusion. Thus, you pushed forwards just a bit more. ‘Do you not think it is weird? Like… that it sounds weird?’

Taehyung took the newspaper from you and read those four, short paragraphs one more time. Then, he gave it back to you with a frown.

‘I mean it does sound like propaganda,’ he admitted in a small voice, making sure that no one around you could hear him. ‘But that’s not unusual.’

You leaned your back against the backrest of your chair and let out a dramatic sigh. Taehyung was right, it wasn’t unheard of that people wrote baseless reports on literally anything that helped the Japanese to be seen in a better light by the locals - according to your father, the more credible these articles sounded, the more money their writers made -, but this wasn’t what you were talking about. You were talking about the hidden message.

‘It sounds like a song,’ you argued, less conscious of your surroundings.

Unsurprisingly, your outburst earned you a reprimanding glance from your brother.

‘Well, not to me,’ he argued and flicked your forehead to remind you of your manners. You straightened your back on instinct and resisted the urge to pout, although you could feel your lower lip tremble because of your suppressed annoyance. You hated when he did this, when he treated you like you were five.

‘But…’ you started, however, soon decided against finishing your sentence when two people took a seat by the table in front of you and Taehyung shook his head in an alarmingly slow motion. You choked on your words and swallowed them down without as much as a yelp.

By the time you finished your cinnamon-flavoured coffee and your brother stole the last piece of yakgwa from the porcelain in front of you, you convinced yourself that the hidden message was all in your head. After all, why would anyone have informed the public - and with that, the local police - about an upcoming bombing and risked getting caught? It would have been stupid. Yeah… utterly, ridiculously, truly stupid. No one was that reckless, which meant that your mind was playing a trick on you.

Leaving, you sealed your lips on the way back to your two-bedroom apartment and didn’t bring up the article even when you got home. It wasn’t worth it, making your brother worried or angry over it.

Three days later, at eight in the morning, a small group of activists blew up the central train station.

You still didn’t tell anyone about the article. Not because you were afraid of the consequences - although you should have been -, but because your brother was already looking for other apartments in the more peaceful suburbs, urging you to quit your job at the hotel, so that you could have moved as soon as he found an adequate deal. You didn’t want to sabotage yourself when it was already a challenge to persuade Taehyung to let you keep working in the heart of the city. Selfishly, you kept the secret to be able to keep your dream.

Before the second explosion, it had taken you ten minutes to get to work. You hadn’t needed to calculate with external factors such as the number of available cabs in the area or the mass on the trams that might have made it impossible for you to get on the vehicle.

Living in one of the outer districts was different. Since you insisted on keeping your job, you had to leave your apartman two hours in advance and be aware of drivers who deliberately chose the longer routes to milk as much money out of you as possible. It was inconvenient, but it was your choice, so you were determined to not show how much you were struggling to Taehyung. The last thing you needed was him reminding you that he had told you so.

Shifting your body weight from one foot to the other, you stayed close to Aeshin, Jenna and Hyolyn like you had promised to your brother, but didn’t join their girly conversation. You did hum here and there to keep up the facade, however, your gaze lingered elsewhere: on the young man with rolled up sleeves and round glasses. He was back, sitting by the main bar and whispering under his nose as though he wasn’t talking to the bartender when the older man clearly paid attention to him.

You wondered whether you were the only one who noticed their strange interactions or the others simply didn’t care. You also wondered whether the same went for the strange article in the newspaper. Were you the only one? Were others out there, too, turning a blind eye to these odd occurrences? Could these two things be connected?

You were dying to know.

Therefore, when Jenna was called on stage and you caught the young man putting something in his pocket from the corner of your eyes, you quickly excused yourself as well and walked up to the bar. It felt like a now or never situation to you and after experiencing first hand how infrequently the other showed up at your workplace and how rarely he stayed, you believed that your urgency was justified.

‘Good evening, sir!’ You greeted him as soon as you were beside him, your smile polite and sweet just the way your mother had taught you. You ignored his raised eyebrow and how he was already half-standing.

‘Yes?’ He asked and for a moment you actually contemplated if it had been wise to sit down and act like you were oblivious to the fact that he was about to leave or he would have used it against you and left without entertaining you with a made-up excuse.

You stayed standing.

‘Have you happened to read the article about the benefits of trading with the Japanese in the newspaper two weeks ago, on Sunday? The writer misused the phrase “touch base” in the first sentence,’ you inquired, paying close attention to the tiniest changes in the young man’s facial expression like you always did with Taehyung, but his mask was impenetrable. Like he wasn’t looking at you, just staring out of his head.

You pressed your lips together, disappointed that you might have been so wrong. However, a voice inside of your head, suspiciously akin to your best friend and forever partner in crime back at home, told you you shouldn’t have given up so easily. After all, it couldn’t have been denied that this man and the bartender were acting weird and seemingly everyone disregarded their weird behaviour like it was the norm.

Or a collective secret.

‘It predicted the bombing,’ you chirped, using the very same tone that always drew a reaction out of your brother without fail.

It earned you one this time as well.

The thought that there must have been a reason for the workers and the guests to look through this man crossed your mind again when he grabbed your elbow and pulled you towards the storage room that belonged to the main bar. A panicked yelp stuck in the back of your throat as you looked around in the lobby and you met numerous unamused looks before people one by one, guests and employees alike, turned in the opposite direction.

You almost tripped over your own foot when you were yanked into the small room and the door closed shut behind your back with a loud thud.

‘Do you have a death wish?’ The young man hissed, pushing you against the wall with both hands. You gulped when your head hit it hard, missing your brother’s gentle palm that always slid between the back of your head and any firm surface when you lost your balance or were too unaware of your surroundings to notice something as big as a lamp pose.

‘No,’ you objected, although your voice came out weak.

Your answer earned you a scoff.

‘Then I advise you not to walk up to random people, talking about things you clearly know nothing about,’ he stated firmly, making your heart beat like crazy with how close his pouty lips were to yours. You could taste the air that left his mouth and phantom the touch of the tip of his nose against your rose-tinted cheek.

‘I did not walk up to a random guy,’ you insisted, short of breath. He pulled away a little to look you in the eyes at that. ‘I walked up to you,’ you claimed, mustering up all your bravery and confidence to be able to keep eye contact. Might it have been because you had grown up with an older brother, but something told you that you needed to earn his respect to get those answers you were looking for. People with thick skin and unwavering hearts were looked up to in every romance book you had put your hands on in your teenage years.

‘You know nothing about me,’ the man retorted and to that you didn’t actually have a good comeback because you were calling him young man in your head since day one and those three facts you did know about him were all pieces of his appearance: the way he dressed, the shape of his lips and his cute habit of drumming on the countertop with his fingers.

You didn’t even know his name.

‘But I am right, am I not? You know about the article. You and maybe Jaewon-ssi, too?’ The second part of your short monologue sounded more like a question than a statement, but it held enough weight for the young man to put more pressure on your windpipe. Mentioning the bartender might have been a bit too reckless.

You lifted your hands to his forearm and dug your nails into his skin to snap him out of it. It didn’t help much, but seconds before you could have started to see stars, he finally let go.

Not being able to lean on him, nor having him hold you against the cold wall anymore, you fell forwards. You crouched down in front of him, trying to catch your breath.

‘Stop sticking your nose into other people’s business, little girl,’ he spat before he leaned down and put his index finger under your chin to force you to look up at him. Your eyes were teary, but lacking anger or fear as you let him do whatever he pleased. ‘I can guarantee you that your suitor wouldn’t be too happy if he knew you’re walking around carelessly, asking questions about the bombings.’

Your furrowed your brows in confusion.

‘What do you mean my suitor?’ You asked, not understanding where this misunderstanding was coming from until the realisation suddenly hit you in the face. You remembered the first night you had seen this man sitting by the bar. Your eyes had met for a sheer moment and panicking, you had looked in the opposite direction. Then, someone had walked up to you and silly you had thought it had been him.

It had been the Japanese chief officer, Nishiki Kousuke.

‘Oh? The Japanese man? He is not my suitor. He is just… well… it might sound like I am full of myself, which I am not,’ you rambled, unaware of the amused smile in the corner of the young man’s mouth. ‘I am telling you, he is obsessed with me.’

The silence that followed your confession was deafening. The longer it stretched, the more self-conscious and uncomfortable you felt, but you also didn’t know what to say to break it.

‘Obsessed with you?’ He asked with a small tilt to his head, one eyebrow raised. His posture and tone reminded you of those times when your piano teacher hadn’t wanted to believe you when you had told him you had been practising and it left a bitter taste in your mouth. You felt super embarrassed.

Munching on your lower lip, you opted for a nod.

To your mother’s dismay, you weren’t always good at it, especially when your feelings were involved, but you had been taught how to read the room and your conversation partners’ facial expressions. It was a must, so that you could leave a good first impression on your potential future husband. Therefore, you stared at the young man attentively, hoping to figure out how he felt about the revelation. Did he believe you? Was he relieved that there wasn’t a courtship he had to be mindful of? Did he feel as hopeful as you did?

After long seconds of silence, you could answer only one of these questions. He put more distance between the two of you, but he believed you.

‘Okay,’ he said as he linked his arms in front of his chest. ‘If you can figure out where to find me, and no, not here. Then, we can talk,’ he gave you an ultimatum, the challenge clear in his tone.

‘I will,’ you promised, anxiously waiting for the clues that could help locate him outside of the hotel lobby, but he remained silent.

He didn’t help you up from the dirty floor. He didn’t give you any hints about where to start your little treasure hunt, nor did he tell you his name. He was simply watching you sitting on your heels, then gave you a nod and walked out of the storage room.

You stayed there, trying to collect your thoughts and process what had just happened until the bartender came in for more soju and informed you that Aeshin was already on stage, which meant you would perform next.

You thanked him and seeing that he wasn’t bothered by your presence, you gave yourself a couple of more minutes before you stood up, fixed your dress and went back to the girls. You should have expected it, however, it still surprised you that no one addressed your absence. They acted like you had been there with them the whole time and something cold and ugly in your chest nagged at you that you should have felt more scared than you did at that moment.

Snapping your head in your boss’ direction when she called your name, you quickly brushed the unease aside and walked behind the microphone with a soft smile on your face. Finally, it was your time to charm the audience.

You started your investigation on your next day at work. You purposely arrived an hour early to be able to strike up a conversation with Jaewon-ssi, but the bartender was sparse with his words and judging with his silence. He was less cooperative than a brick of wall.

The girls were a little more willing. You might not have known each other’s real names, but you had shared many stories about your personal lives over the weeks, hence it wasn’t like they didn’t know that you could keep your mouth shut. You were trustworthy. Maybe not trustworthy enough to get an address, but they did tell you the young man’s name.

Yeonjun. A gift from God.

That night, you were lying in your bed wide awake, thinking of him and what you should have done next. Clearly, he had to be someone important for the employees at the hotel to hide his identity so earnestly. You knew going to your boss or approaching some of the guests who had been there that night when Yeonjun had dragged you into the storage room would have been a waste of time. Should you have gone to the police? What would you have told them? If he had had anything to do with the bombing like you assumed, that would have led to a disaster. You needed to find another way.

After much consideration, you came to the conclusion that decoding another odd article was your best chance. Thus, you started to read the newspaper religiously. You looked for typos and misused phrases in the first paragraphs in case these could have been indications that the article in question wasn’t what it looked like. Then, you tried to find words that rhymed.

It took you weeks, but on a random Sunday night you either lost it or you finally succeeded. You had a location and a time. You knew where to go next.

You were nervous.

You were also super excited about seeing the young man again and finding out whether these hidden messages were real or they only existed in your head and somehow the bombing at the train station had been a mere coincidence. Would the latter have meant that you were crazy? Did living far from your hometown and moving out from your parents’ house have a negative effect on your mental health?

You pushed these thoughts in the back of your mind and locked them away in a box along with those things you didn’t wish to handle ahead of time. You would worry about potentially going mad when you got there; you would worry when you reached the traditional diner you had read about in the newspaper and Yeonjun wasn’t there.

It was the first time you set foot in this area in Gyeongseong. The neighbourhood was on the border of the central districts, thousands of people making it loud and lively as they walked down the streets without a care for their surroundings. It looked more like a bigger town with its own administration than a part of the capital city, but that was why you were so sure you were heading towards the right place. Hence, you held onto your flickering confidence and sped up your steps.

You arrived ten minutes early, but you did so on purpose, because you were more afraid of being late and missing your chance than waiting at an unfamiliar place, completely on your own. You walked inside of the building instead of killing some time in front of it. You greeted the owners with a polite bow and were about to take a seat by the window to be able to keep an eye on the entrance when someone grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards the back door.

‘Hey! It hurts,’ you whined, trying your best to brush the stranger’s hand off yourself until you lifted your head and your gaze landed on him: those pouty lips, the rounded glasses and the white shirt with rolled up sleeves. Yeonjun. You had found him.

You weren’t sure whether it was because of the wide smile on your face that he looked at you so weirdly or because of what you had said, but in the end, he shook his head and let go of your wrist. You pouted, missing the warmth of his touch now that you knew it hadn’t been a random stranger who had tried to drag you out of the diner you had every right to be at - or so you thought.

‘Just follow me,’ he said and turned his back to you before you could have nodded; you felt stupidly happy that he trusted you that you wouldn’t have run away, although if you had given it a second thought, you could have realised that you running away or not showing up at all was almost the same from his point of you. Still, it felt nice.

With your lower lip between your teeth - you were trying to conceal that potentially creepy, bright smile of yours - and your heart pounding in your throat, you did as Yeonjun said and the two of you exited the building through the kitchen. The back door opened to a less busy street parallel to the main road and looking around, you could easily spot the smoking area thanks to all the cigarette stubs on the ground and the excessive amount of ash around the makeshift ashtrays. You hoped the young man didn’t plan to answer your questions there, on the dirty boxes they used as chairs, but he sat down on the one closest to him, so you did the same, albeit with a small frown.

‘What? Is it below you, little girl? Do you need me to bring you a pillow or something?’ The young man scoffed and you swallowed down the retort that was scratching the back of your throat because if you had wanted to be honest, you would have liked to have a puffy pillow or something soft and clean to sit on.

You didn’t want to get into an argument with him that could have potentially upset the both of you. Instead, you sat down and turned towards him with your whole body.

‘Are you the one writing those articles? How many of you are in this together? Is Jaewon-ssi here, too? What about the rest of the staff at the hotel?’ You asked as soon as he met your curious eyes. You had a whole list of questions regarding the bombing as well, but a part of you thought it would have been wiser to start with the less compromising aspect of these odd occurrences in case there was a less compromising aspect of them to begin with.

Yeonjun leaned backwards, putting a part of his weight on his hands behind his back, raising an eyebrow at you with an indistinguishable look in his eyes. Observing his face for a couple of seconds, you decided that he was more amused than anything.

‘Do you really believe I’ll tell you everything just because you’re here?’ Yeonjun asked, his question not making too much sense to you at first. Straightening your back, you put both of your palms on your knees and pressed your heels together, not letting him intimidate you or make you feel as though you were unreasonable for believing so.

‘You promised,’ you stated with your chin held high, looking him straight in the eyes.

Albeit quietly, he laughed.

‘I said we will talk. I’ve made no such promises, stupid girl,’ he reminded you with a click of his tongue like he was lecturing a child or a poor dog. You weren’t too fond of either of these comparisons.

‘But…’ you wanted to argue, however, a single look from the young man was enough to shut you up. You bit into your cheek from the inside then nodded. Admittedly, you wouldn’t have been able to recite word by word what he had said to do that night, but because of this, you had a hunch that going into an argument wouldn’t have ended well. ‘I am not stupid, do not call me that,’ so you said instead, being hung up on another part of his statement that you weren’t happy about.

You had spent a significant part of your childhood around private teachers. You had sacrificed so much time studying, practising, reading that being called stupid so nonchalantly felt like a slap. Especially from him, whose opinion you cared about.

‘How did you figure it out? About this place?’ Yeonjun asked instead of apologising, coaxing a resigned sigh out of you with how much ease and disregard he diverted the topic. But at least he wasn’t calling you stupid this time. In fact! He was curious about something that clearly showed just how smart you were despite your gender. Therefore, you could put aside your frustration and forgive him for his rudeness.

‘It was in the newspaper. Your…’ You quickly corrected yourself before he could have told you that your assumption was incorrect. ‘The article sounds like a song. There is emphasis on certain words,’ you explained, preening yourself on the way he was paying close attention to every word that left your mouth. He had to be impressed, there was no other explanation for the slowly decreasing distance between the two of you, him leaning so close to you that he was practically hovering over the makeshift table placed between your fake chairs.

‘Interesting theory,’ he said, voice deep and slow as though he was choosing every one of his words with great care.

‘It is not a theory,’ you insisted, because at that point you were convinced that you were speaking facts. Sure, there might have been other methods for reading those articles. Maybe, there were people out there with actual decoders, people like your brother who couldn’t see the structure of their sentences without additional help, but that didn’t mean you were wrong or just lucky. You had successfully read between the lines twice already. That meant a pattern, not pieces of information obtained by chance.

For a while, the two of you were staring at each other soundlessly. The muffled buzzing of the neighbouring streets was the only source of noise, your heartbeat in your ears. It wasn’t comforting, not at all, but you dug your nails into your palms to conceal your slowly growing anxiety.

‘Do you like chicken soup? Black bean noodles?’ He asked and you furrowed your brows in confusion. It was such a blatant attempt at diverting the topic that calling him out on it would have almost felt ridiculous. He had to know that you would notice. You were sure he knew that you had noticed.

You let out another sigh. It felt like the nth that day, however, it couldn’t have been more than the second or third.

‘Both,’ you said eventually, because it didn’t matter that much to you. You had eaten the food your mother had put on the table all your life and were only recently experimenting with flavours you genuinely liked. Developing preferences took time.

‘I’ll have Min ahjussi bring us some noodles then,’ Yeonjun informed you before he pushed himself further from the table and stood up. He was already a few steps away when his steps came to a sudden halt and he looked back at you from above his shoulder. ‘If you’re still here when I come back… don’t say you haven’t been warned,’ he said, then disappeared behind the same door you had walked through not that long ago.

In his absence, you let your shoulders fall forwards and your posture take on a natural curve. You didn’t understand. Warned about what? So far he had told you close to nothing. In fact! It was you whose lips had been loose. Thus, you came to the conclusion that he tried to avoid answering your question by scaring you away. And you wouldn’t let that happen.

When he came back with two bowls of steaming black bean noodles, you were still there, patiently waiting. Your mouth salivated at the delicious sight and the mouth-watering smell. You couldn’t wait to dive in the heavenly dish and devour it until the last spoonful of thick, dark paste.

While you were eating, you didn’t talk about any of your questions, but silence didn’t stay in your company for too long. Yeonjun made sure of it. He asked you about your singing career, whether it was like how you had pictured it to be before you had moved to the capital city and why hadn’t you looked for another place to perform at when you had moved to the suburbs. You talked about Taehyung, how hard it had been to convince him to let you keep working at the hotel and how Yeonjun was an only child, but had many friends who were like family to him. You had a good time, therefore you had no regrets even when later, on your way to work, you realised that you weren’t any closer to connecting the dots, the articles to the bombing, not at all.

You also realised that you didn’t really care about the mystery anymore. You were perfectly content with this new side of Yeonjun that you had gotten to know that afternoon.

The diner became your safe place without you realising. Whenever Yeonjun wasn’t there to spend some time with you over a nice, warm meal, you ordered yourself a dish you had never tried before and relished in the flavourful bites that for some reason felt like home even this far from your family. You could stay there for hours, sipping on your iced water and watching the streets.

And when Yeonjun was there… That was another kind of home. A warm and fuzzy bubble in which you could find solace when you had a fight with your brother because of his protective nature. A place where you could vent about the guests at the hotel you worked at and voice out how much you missed your parents without the overwhelming fear of misinterpretation and being taken back to them. With Yeonjun, you experienced a type of comfort you had never experienced in your life; it broke down those thick walls your teachers and your mother had built around the real you in order to please everyone around you and protect your family’s name. With him, you were free: free to speak your mind without worrying about offending him, free to eat more than how much a lady should have eaten in public and free to laugh so loud an unapologetic, random strangers could hear it.

‘No, seriously. Is he still bothering you?’ Yeonjun asked between two spoonfuls of chicken soup, shaking his head in disbelief, mumbling about the audacity and entitlement of Japanese people as though it was a genetic characteristic.

Obviously, over the weeks, you had come to know just how deeply rooted his hate for them was. It was blind rage fueled by his father’s execution and his mother’s broken heart that had taken her, too, way too soon, leaving the then-eighteen-year-old boy on his own. You couldn’t say you understood Yeonjun’s concept of revenge as he hadn’t known the face of the person who had pulled the trigger and turned him into an orphan, but you wanted to be there for him, to support him nonetheless.

‘It’s not that bad. I’ve been alone with him for a total of five minutes. The girls came to my rescue as soon as they noticed,’ you reassured him, more annoyed with yourself for letting a situation like that happen than Yeonjun’s disapproving frown, which wouldn’t have been the case if it had been your brother who was looking at you like this, like he had told you so that it was naive of you to think staying with the girls could keep him away.

‘You should stop being so nice to him,’ he said bluntly, although upon meeting your eyes his gaze became softer.

‘I can’t offend him,’ you mumbled under your nose, shoving a spoonful of lukewarm soup into your mouth to conceal your displeased frown. It wasn’t like you enjoyed having chief officer Nishiki’s undivided attention. On the contrary! You would have preferred not having him anywhere near you at all as something in the way he looked at you made your skin crawl. But you couldn’t have afforded sending him away when it was always in public that he talked to you. There was no way you could have been the cause of him losing face.

‘I could tell him you’re not interested,’ Yeonjun offered in a heartbeat, no hesitation, no stalling. It made you blush furiously, the implication behind his claim.

‘I…’ you stuttered, your brain throwing imaginary scenarios at you of Yeonjun walking up to the two of you when the Japanese man approached you at your workplace, of him pulling you behind his back protectively, telling the officer that you were his.

You had never wanted anything so desperately.

‘And why would you do such a thing?’ An unfamiliar voice came from behind you, the scoff at the end of his question forcing you to turn your head towards the source. In that split second, it crossed your mind that maybe the person was talking to someone else and it was a simple case of misunderstanding, but no. The young man, who pulled a chair to your table in the meantime, was undoubtedly talking to you.

‘What are you doing?’ Yeonjun asked, not bothering with greetings or pleasantries. He didn’t even look at the guy, his chocolate brown orbs focused on you, painting your cheeks a deeper shade of red with their intensity.

‘Deflecting, aren’t we?’ The stranger remarked with a pinch of mockery to his velvety tone. It reminded you of the boys in your hometown when they got defensive after being rejected. You didn’t like it.

Whoever this man was, he opened the wooden drawer of the table with ease and took a casual sip from Yeonjun’s soup with his spoon. You watched the scene unfold, mortified, but unlike what you would have expected, Yeonjun didn’t get upset nor did he push the other away.

Only then did it occur to you that they might not only have known each other, but they were friends, too.

‘What do you want?’ Yeonjun grumbled, sharing his side dishes with the guy so naturally, it made you wonder whether either of them realised how they looked from an outsider’s point of view. Like brothers.

You sucked in your lower lip to swallow back a whimper. Could this guy’s earlier question have meant that he didn’t like you? Did he not want you in Yeonjun’s life? Would he have tried to convince his friend to stop spending so much time with you?

‘That asshole’s never alone,’ the guy said, tone cold as ice. Suddenly, you lost your appetite, too nervous about where this conversation was going. ‘We’ve been watching him for months and now you’re telling me you’d fuck up our best chance to get him away from his lackeys for what?’

Yeonjun’s friend swallowed the food in his mouth and checked you out from head to toe. He didn’t seem impressed and it left a bitter taste on the tip of your tongue. You were wearing your prettiest summer dress and it had taken you half an hour to create the curls in your hair.

‘A pair of adequate legs?’ He finished his monologue, earning an eye roll with his comment on your looks that clearly made you uncomfortable and self-conscious.

‘Wooyoung, apologise!’ Yeonjun demanded, pushing his bowl to the left side of the table, far enough from his friend to not be able to reach it. Despite his calm tone and unbothered facial expression, his eyes looked angry. Yet, you were more afraid of Wooyoung’s opinion about you than him as though, at one point, your heart had convinced your brain that Yeonjun could have never hurt you.

‘But for real, man! You know, just as I do, that it’s our best chance. She goes on a date with him, she makes sure they go somewhere private and then…’ Wooyoung banged on the table with his fists, his excitement showing. ‘Then, we catch the bastard!’

You gulped, feeling uneasy. On the one hand, you would have loved to have the opportunity to be able to prove to this guy that you were worthy of Yeonjun’s time and attention, and you also wanted to help him get his revenge. On the other hand, the mere thought of going on a date with the chief officer sent an icy, unpleasant shiver down your spine. How were you supposed to make him believe that you wanted to go somewhere private with him? You were a singer, not an actress.

‘It’s seriously not that hard,’ Yeonjun sighed, shaking his head, disappointment soaking into his voice and posture. You watched as he leaned his back against the backrest of his chair and linked his arms in front of his chest with a deep sigh. ‘Repeat after me: I’m sorry I’m such an asshole,’ he said, raising an eyebrow in a way that said: dare to do otherwise.

‘You know I’m right,’ Wooyoung protested, refusing to tear his gaze away from his friend or back down.

You dug your nails into your palms under the table, holding your breath.

‘Fine!’ Wooyoung gave in eventually, scaring you with his sudden declaration. You could feel your cheeks burning up from the humiliation when you realised you weren’t exactly subtle with the way your shoulders jerked upon hearing his loud voice. ‘I’m sorry. Your legs aren’t adequate,’ he said and you nodded on automatic, your thoughts all over the place.

Yeonjun shook his head, but pulled the bowl in front of himself again and didn’t growl at his friend when he stole a spoonful of it immediately.

‘You’re unbelievable,’ Yeonjun grumbled under his nose.

‘Unbelievably handsome,’ his friend retorted, serving himself from your side dishes as well since you hadn’t touched your lunch since he had joined you.

You didn’t protest. You were too busy thinking about their plan to go after the chief officer, what it could have entailed and how much danger Yeonjun could have gotten himself into if they had decided to attack the Japanese man with his “lackeys” around. Would he have gone to jail if they had gotten caught? How long would they have locked him up?

‘I will do it,’ you proposed out of the blue, the determination in your eyes borderline insane. There was no reason for you to willingly put yourself in that position. You weren’t part of their movement, you were a mere regular at the diner they occasionally used as their meeting point and still… The thought of Yeonjun and his friend - but mostly Yeonjun - getting hurt because you were a coward didn’t sit well with you.

You were also stubborn and you wanted Yeonjun’s friend to like you, so that you would have his support when things got better and a lot more serious between the two of you.

‘No, you won’t,’ Yeonjun said. He refused to entertain your suggestion and made sure you knew how much he hated your idea with the intensity of his gaze. It burned holes into your skin and closed up your throat.

‘Come on, man! Let the pretty lady talk,’ Wooyoung insisted, nudging his friend’s upper arm, then turning his full attention to you when Yeonjun refused to ease up to the proposal.

Your heart was in your throat when you deliberately ignored Yeonjun and shifted your gaze from his furrowed brows and hard eyes to his friend. You hoped that he knew you didn’t do it to upset him. You simply wanted to help and most importantly, keep him safe.

‘Are you going to be there? The whole time?’ You asked Wooyoung, your nails leaving tiny crescent moons in your palms. You wished Yeonjun would have told you everything was fine, that he wasn’t angry with you and that he would keep an eye on you the whole time, making sure you were safe, but maybe that was selfish. He had every right to be upset, didn’t he? If your brother had been in his shoes, he would have already dragged you out of this diner for insisting on doing something so reckless despite his warning.

‘We won’t let him touch you. I promise,’ Wooyoung pledged, his gaze showing his devotion and you foolishly wanted to believe that his loyalty was meant for you, that your well-being would be more important to him than catching the chief officer off guard in a secluded area. Because an innocent human life should have been worth more than meagre ideals, right?

Clenching and unclenching your fists, you allowed yourself a glance at Yeonjun whose eyes were already on you. For a second it looked like he wanted to tell you something. Maybe he wanted to give it another try and talk you out of this crazy idea; maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was childishly excited about the chance to get close to the Japanese man with your help and he was guilty about it. Maybe you were overthinking it.

‘I’ll get you out of there before you know it,’ Yeonjun declared in the end with a curt nod, sending a small albeit genuine-looking smile in your way from the other side of the table.

You reciprocated the gesture with one of your shy smiles and turned back to your abandoned soup. That was all the reassurance you needed.

The first few bites were spent in silence, but then Wooyoung asked about your relationship with Nishiki Kousuke, how had the two of you met and how confident you were that you could have influenced his choice of date location. You admitted that you weren’t too sure you had that much power over the chief officer, but promised them that you would do your best and asked for suggestions of less crowded yet nice places to go on a first date in the city.

Once the three of you went over every crucial detail, you acknowledged with a happy heart that Wooyoung was actually curious about you, about your thoughts of his best friend and the short history the two of you shared. He wanted to know your favourite dishes and drinks, where you had grown up and what you liked to do for fun. His rambles and anecdotes about himself and the guys (including Yeonjun and a bunch of people whose names you had never heard before) successfully took your mind off the mission you had signed up for.

By the time you had to leave, so that you could have taken the tram to your workplace, you were almost excited about helping the boys.

Unsurprisingly, you only had to wait a week for the Japanese officer to approach you again; from there, making him believe that he actually had a chance was a piece of cake. It took you a couple of soft smiles, a bit less resistance. Then, on the third night that he found you sitting on your own by the main bar, he jumped on the opportunity before your boss could have called your stage name and urged you to stand behind the microphone.

Lying into your brother’s face was harder. It left open wounds on your heart that despite his protective nature, he never once questioned your words when you told him that you had to take on an extra shift because one of the girls had fallen sick and couldn’t sing. Still, deep down you knew he wouldn’t have understood, nor would he have let you out of his sight if you had told him the truth.

So that night you said goodbye to Taehyung the way you always did when he left for work sooner than you did. Then, you waited for ten slowly passing minutes, anxiously sipping on your calming tea, fearing that your brother might have left something at home and would catch you red-handed. You had never felt so much guilt in your entire life.

As soon as your hands stopped trembling, you put on your prettiest dress and styled your hair according to the latest trends in the capital city. The silver necklace in your neck was a piece of jewellery you had inherited from your grandmother, while the rose-coloured tint on your lips was the newest addition to your collection. You had bought it at the market during your last brother-sister date with Taehyung on Sunday morning.

Your heart was in your throat.

If you wanted to be a hundred percent honest, you still weren’t too comfortable with the idea of this man knowing where you lived, but Wooyoung and a similarly young man, Changbin had convinced you that you would never have to see his face again after your date, so you had agreed to share your real address and real name with the officer to rock him into a false sense of safety.

While you were waiting for chief officer Nishiki in front of the building, you repeatedly reminded yourself that Yeonjun would be out there, watching over you the whole time. And not just him, but his friends as well. You were safe. You were helping the man find peace through his revenge and then… then you would confess your feelings for him because after this, you would have a chance for a good life without his past haunting him.

‘Good evening, beautiful,’ was what pulled you out of your head, back into the present where Nishiki Kousuke was looking at you like he was about to dig his teeth into you and tear you to pieces.

‘Good evening, chief officer,’ you reciprocated his greeting with a hopefully believable, shy smile. You forced your body to stay still when he reached out for your hand and to not flinch because of the unwanted touch; you forced yourself to see a different face where there were no adorable, pouty lips or a cute nose, no rounded glasses or a warm pair of chocolate eyes.

You liked walking down the streets, window-shopping and snacking on street food, but of course you had never told any of these to your date, so it really shouldn’t have taken you by surprise when he urged you towards his car instead. You followed him obediently, mumbling a thank you under your nose when he opened the door for you to the passenger’s seat.

You were worried that the guys weren’t prepared for following a car.

‘Where are we going?’ You asked, to prevent your brain from coming up with different scenarios on its own, worst case scenarios, scenarios in which you were left on your own and this man would do as he pleased. Would you be able to tell him no if he started to get a little bit too touchy? Would you be able to push him away without angering him and suffering the consequences?

You dug your nails into your palms, looking out the window, trying to figure out where you were and where you were heading.

‘It’s a surprise, sweetheart. You’ll love it,’ the Japanese man reassured you, patting your head and ruffling your hair a little along with it. If you hadn’t been so nervous, you would have found it funny how the very same gesture from Yeonjun had never bothered you, but you were fidgety and anxious, so there was very little that you had found particularly funny.

You still offered the officer a shy smile.

Probably seeing how awkward you felt in the car and hopefully mistaking it for your lack of dating experience, chief officer Nishiki attempted to break the ice with casual small talk. He told you how happy he was that the weather was pleasantly warm instead of unbearingly hot or rainy. He joked about how his uniform got super heavy when it got soaked, he talked about his achievements and his ambitions. You hummed, nodded and smiled in this sequence like you had been taught, asking questions that encouraged him to talk more, filling the silence, as though you were genuinely interested in getting to know him more.

The ride did feel shorter this way and you were grateful for the momentary distraction even though you couldn’t have recited half of what the man was saying. Honestly, you didn’t have the slightest idea when he had started to talk about his father or how he had managed to divert the topic to something so personal without you noticing.

The building you parked in front of was a traditional, Japanese coffee shop with a beautiful, lush garden in its centre. The cherry trees overpowered the distinct smell of roasted bean and dressed the otherwise green scenery into a lovely shade of pink.

‘It is beautiful, but…’ you stuttered, looking around and taking in the breathtaking sight. At that moment, although you knew this man was bad news and his pushy attitude had indeed put you off during the past weeks, you felt touched that he had taken his time to find this coffee shop for your date, for you. It was just that… something felt off about the silence, the complete lack of heartfelt chatters. ‘Are they closed for the day? Are we allowed to be here?’

Logically, it made no sense that the two of you had been able to enter the building if they had been closed. However, people made mistakes and if the owner had left the door open by accident, you would have hated to cause any inconvenience with your presence.

‘We are. I rented the whole place just for us.’ He came up behind you, placing his hand on your waist and pushing you forwards gently, towards the nearest empty table outside in the private garden.

You gulped, but you obliged without any complaint.

In search for the menu, you soon realised that you didn’t need one, because when a middle aged man walked up to you, he already had some snacks in his hands along with two cups of coffee: an espresso for the chief officer and a cinnamon coffee for you like he had known that was your current favourite even though you had only ever mentioned it to Yeonjun and of course, your brother, who had been there when you had first given it a try. With a knot in your throat, you furrowed your brows, but accepted the drink.

‘Tell me about yourself,’ officer Nishiki urged you, smiling at you from behind his cup.

You bit back the comment that he had already seemed to know more about you than you were comfortable sharing. Yeonjun would have laughed at a remark like this, calling you feisty with a proud look on his face, but this man would have most probably put you back to your place. Offending him would have cost more than what it was worth.

So you started talking. You told him about your hometown, why you had come to the capital city and what kinds of food you enjoyed in general. You were so afraid that he would have caught on to every white lie that fell from your lips that you didn’t dare to say anything else but the truth.

‘Excuse me, chief officer! I need to use the restroom,’ you said softly when you finished your coffee and the boys still didn’t show any sign that they were around, watching over you, even though you had unknowingly gotten the Japanese man alone just like they had wished you to. Had they really lost you when you had gotten in that car? Were you on your own?

You walked into the restroom on the opposite side of the shop as slowly as you could without looking unnatural or forced, then leaned over the marble sink and splashed some cold water on your face, mindful of your light makeup. You had to figure out how to put an end to this date politely since you honestly doubted you would have been able to inform the guys about where you were. Argh. You couldn’t believe that all of your effort was in vain.

You snapped your head to the right, towards the door, when you heard a creaking sound: a clear sign that it was being opened. You had thought the coffee shop was empty except for the two of you and the owner, which meant that the women’s restroom should have been a safe place for you where you could have thought through your options without being disturbed.

‘It’s just me,’ a familiar voice whispered, sending an unpleasant shiver down your spine even before you would have recognized to whom it belonged. You pressed your lips together into a thin line, hiding your hands behind your back, so you didn’t hold onto the sink desperately. ‘I didn’t intend to scare you,’ the officer said, and while his tone was gentle, his presence made you feel unsafe.

‘Is everything okay? Did something happen?’ You asked instead of letting your complaints slip through your teeth as the latter would have done no good to either of you in the current situation.

‘There’s nothing to worry about, sweetheart,’ the man reassured you, his words creating an odd juxtaposition with the way he took a large step closer to you then another, crowding your personal space.

If there was nothing to worry about, why was he there? In the women’s restroom.

It was when your shoulder bumped into the wall that you realised your legs were moving on their own, trying to put some distance between the two of you. Too bad the room was small and with the officer between you and the exit, you had nowhere to hide or run.

‘We should go back to our table then,’ you tried, hoping that your act of innocence would pull you out of this weird predicament, but you weren’t so lucky.

Instead, the Japanese man cupped your cheeks and grinned at you, his calloused fingertips fondling the sensitive skin under your eyes before one of his hands slid to your neck, to your shoulder, all the way down your arm until it found itself a new home on your waist. You could feel panic rising in your insides.

‘I would like to go back to—’ your plea was cut short when a pair of rough lips was pressed against your virgin ones, stealing the air from your lungs. It took you a couple of heartbeats to come back to your senses and when you did, you gave your all to push the man as far from yourself as possible.

Unfortunately, your noodle arms could only do so much for your freedom.

‘Hm, you smell so good,’ the man’s nose grazed along your jawline, his mouth attached to the juncture between your shoulder and the base of your neck.

You started to hit his upper arms with your fists, but your grunts and painful groans seemed to only fuel his excitement. You tried not to think of what was brushing against your lower abdomen when he pressed you against the wall with his body.

Even though a rational part of you doubted that anyone would have come to your rescue if you had screamed loud enough, your survival instincts knew no logic when you cried for help from the top of your lungs. You called for the owner, you called for your brother, Yeonjun, Wooyoung, anybody. You were sobbing and begging and all your assaulter had to say was:

‘You’re so pretty when you’re crying.’

You didn’t know when you had started dissociating from reality, whether you had done so to save yourself or you had been just too tired. Anyhow, in one moment the man sneaked his hand under your clothes, torn fabric hanging on your body haphazardly, then someone lifted you off the floor, mumbling reassuring words into your ear.

‘I’ve got you. I’m sorry we were so late. I should have never let this get this far. I’m sorry,’ he said and you just hummed, too exhausted to speak.

With your head against his chest, the darkness didn’t scare you. You let it embrace you and lull you into a dreamless sleep.

You woke up in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room, but before you could have freaked out, your gaze fell on a pair of rounded glasses sitting on an adorable nose, a pair of chocolate eyes filled with worry, relief and guilt and a pair of pouty lips that put heart was at ease. You were with Yeonjun. You were safe.

‘Hey, shh! It’s okay, it’s okay. You would never have to see him again, we made sure of it,’ he said, reaching out to the apple of your cheek to wipe the tear off your face even though you wouldn’t have been able to point out when you had started to cry or why you were crying. ‘Is it okay if I touch you?’ He asked for your permission and you nodded, melting under the soft touch of his fingertip. He touched you like you were fragile, like you could have broken the moment he looked in the other direction and maybe he was right. Maybe a part of you was broken because why else would you have been crying if not from the mental wounds that disgusting man had inflicted on your soul.

‘I was so scared,’ you sobbed, ignoring the dull headache in your temples, so that you could sit up and pull Yeonjun close. You hid your face in his neck, welcoming his protective, strong arms around your petite figure.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he repeated, over and over like a mantra until your tears waned and your body wasn’t shaking anymore.

You fell asleep without meaning to.

You woke up two more times before you had enough energy to get out of bed, but none of your sleeps took longer than four hours. Your entire being was tired, but your body couldn’t rest; it wasn’t even about your dreams. When awake, your brain was too mushy to reproduce your nightmares. If not for the angry red scratches on your lower arm and neck, you would have assumed you had slept like a stone, completely unmoving.

‘Look who’s here! The Sleeping Beauty,’ Wooyoung exclaimed when you showed up at the top of the stairs, looking down at the interior of the diner that had been your safe place in the last couple of weeks. There were so many people inside. A lot more than you had ever seen in the building.

Offering the boy a small albeit genuine smile, you grabbed the handrail and descended the stairs, perfectly aware of the moment Yeonjun realised his best friend was talking about you. Not because your gut feeling had never failed you before or because you had never made a mistake in your life when reading other people, but because he made it so obvious, snapping his head in your direction and standing up from his chair abruptly as soon as his eyes found you.

‘Hi,’ you whispered when Yeonjun was in front of you, your throat still a bit itchy from all that crying and screaming.

‘You should rest,’ he said, lifting his eyebrows as an indication that he wanted you to go back to his room.

You shook your head.

‘Don’t send me away, please,’ you insisted and he sighed, defeated, when his best friend’s steps came to a halt by your side.

Wooyoung ruffled your already messy hair and gave the other man a glance that you couldn’t have seen, only its consequences: the small twitch of Yeonjun’s lips, his shoulders falling a tad forwards, the light in his eyes burning with the force of a thousand suns. He brushed his friend’s hand off you and held his own out for you.

You took it without hesitation.

Leaving a chuckling Wooyoung behind, he led you towards the backdoor, but didn’t sit down by the makeshift table in the small street behind the diner like he had done the first time you had come here. Instead, he pulled you towards a metal ladder on the right side of the building and nudged you to go first, so that he could have caught you if you had slipped.

Admittedly, you were nervous, but you didn’t fall.

‘Come, sit with me. Here!’ Yeonjun encouraged you to sit on the edge of the roof right next to him and you once again did what he said because his contentment made you happy. You looked at the small package that he pulled out of his inner pocket, the small bites of yakgwa wrapped in his handkerchief mouth-watering.

‘Is there a celebration down there? There are a lot of people here tonight,’ you inquired as you took a piece of honey biscuit into your hand and lifted it to your lips. It tasted delicious.

‘Hn. You can call it a celebration, I think,’ he agreed, munching on a yakgwa of his own, not taking his eyes off you even though the sight in front of you and right beneath your swinging legs was beautiful. As a singer who worked at night, you had already seen this side of the capital city numerous times, but the nightlife from above was breathtaking in a different way. People drinking happily on the terrace, people passing by: it was like a scene straight out of one of your favourite romance books.

‘What’s the occasion?’ You wondered aloud, unsure how long you had been unconscious or whether there was a national holiday you had forgotten about. Or was this an anniversary, a birthday of someone from the boys’ circles?

‘Taking Nishiki out of the picture, it was a huge step forwards,’ Yeonjun explained shortly, in no way going into details about what he had meant by taking the Japanese man out of which picture exactly. Suddenly, his promise of you never having to see your assaulter again came to your mind and you gulped, anxious due to the implication.

You dug your round nails into your palm to anchor yourself. So what if they had locked him up somewhere where none of his subordinates could have found him? What if they had hit him for information and for what he had done to you? It wasn’t like he would have let you go if you had asked him to stop touching you. His no deserved to not be heard, too.

You didn’t realise just how hard you were pressing your nails into your flesh until Yeonjun took your hands in his and forced your fists open. The tiny, crescent-shaped crevices in your palms remained visible after the first couple of seconds.

You shivered when he grazed his fingertips along the wounds, his touch light as a feather.

‘It’s all thanks to you,’ he whispered, eyes bright but undecipherable while he was drawing calming, non-figurative patterns on your skin the entire time.

Your cheeks were heating up under Yeonjun’s undivided attention, your heart pounding with a new level of intensity when letting go of your left hand, he brushed a stray lock behind your ear. It might have been your imagination, but you swore it felt like he lingered longer than it was strictly necessary.

You closed your eyes on instinct, anticipation growing in your chest, pale lips parting slightly. The last person who had kissed you had ruined many first things for you, but at that moment all you could think about was Yeonjun beside you: his hand cupping one side of your face, his rolled up sleeves, his pouty lips. You wondered how the latter would have felt against yours. Would they have brought back horrible memories or erased them effortlessly?

‘So cute,’ he mumbled so close, so super close to your face that you could not only hear him perfectly, but feel his warm breath fanning over your skin.

Yeonjun’s lips were pillowy against yours, tentative, gentle. He made no attempt at forcing his way into your mouth, he was merely nipping on your chapped lower lip as though that was enough. It wasn’t, not really, but you were still grateful for his consideration and decided not to push, either.

Under the starlight, breathing in Yeonjun until your lungs were on fire, you started to dream of an independent country, too, sharing not only a sweet kiss with the activist but ambitions and goals. A peaceful fantasy of a future together.

Although you hadn’t participated in the party the night before, at least not longer than a few minutes that you had spent with Wooyoung and a pretty girl named Jungeun while you had been waiting for Yeonjun to grab some more snacks and drinks for the two of you, you had unintentionally stayed until sunrise, then fallen asleep in a comfortable position on Yeonjun’s lap. Therefore, in the morning, on your way home, you were desperately trying to come up with an explanation that could have placated your brother in case he was waiting for you on the couch, furious.

Taking the stairs, you climbed two stairs at a time, then took a step backwards, to not be too fast even though you had been embarrassingly late. You gave yourself a peptalk three times in those ten or so minutes it took you to get to the second floor.

‘Oppa. I am home,’ you mumbled under your nose as you opened, then closed the front door, hoping to find your flat empty. However, what you walked inside for was anything but that or the scary pictures your brain threw at you ever since you had woken up in Yeonjun’s arms.

The living room was a mess and so was the kitchen and every other room you passed by. Like an explosion had been set off in the middle of your home.

‘Taehyung! Oppa! Are you here? Where are you?’ You screamed, running from one room to the other, trying to make sense of the situation while simultaneously, you were desperate to find your brother. You didn’t understand what was happening.

‘Heh-hre.’ A weak sound came from the bathroom and you tore the door open, almost losing your balance due to how dizzy the horrific sight made you. You dropped on your knees and crawled to your brother with tears in your eyes.

‘What… what happened?’ You asked, your trembling hands reaching out to his bloody face. ‘We have to go to the hospital.’

The choked chuckle that bubbled up in his throat tugged on your stomach in the worst way, but you resisted the urge to throw up because it felt like one of those situations where you had to be strong for the other person’s sake. And you loved him so damn much.

‘Bir-dy… you need… get out,’ he said, using his remaining strength to push you away, but you were stubborn and for the first time in your life, stronger than him.

‘No! Come on! You need to see a doctor,’ you insisted and linked your arm with his, so that you could pull him into a standing position before you somehow get him on your back. That was the only way you could imagine yourself carrying him out of the flat, down the stairs and outside of the building to get yourself a taxi.

‘Get… out!’ Taehyung pleaded, but you brushed his concerns aside and gritted your teeth. He was heavy. He was half-unconscious and white like the wall in your living room. You had to put all of his weight on your shoulders and you just couldn’t take more than two steps ahead without falling head first on the floor.

You groaned because of the pain.

‘Please,’ you begged, unsure whether the blood on your face was yours or his and whether he heard you at all.

You didn’t know what to do.

‘Oppa, please! We need to go to the hospital. Please,’ you screamed, frantic and then…

Then someone put a musty bag over your head and darkness welcomed you as soon as you felt a sharp pain in your nape.

Admittedly, you could be a little naive sometimes. Your father liked to tell you that you were too innocent for this world, but you weren’t stupid. You knew the moment you came back to your senses, tied to a wooden chair, facing two mean-looking men in similar uniforms to the one chief officer Nishiki had always worn, that they wouldn’t let you walk away unharmed even if you had told them everything. So you promised yourself that you would be strong.

It took you three days of constant psychological and physical torture in a dark room with no windows to wish you were dead. It took another two to completely lose hope.

Another week’s worth of rock-hard bread was served to you by the time these ruthless men, who found joy in your tears, deemed you utterly useless.

‘From now on, no more food for this one,’ one of the Japanese said, his tone unamused and nonchalant before he left the room with his lackeys on his heels.

You turned around on the floor where you had been shoved and pressed your burning face against the bloody albeit cool concrete. The pleasant change in temperature coaxed a pleased moan out of your throat.

Floating in and out of consciousness, you stared at the dirty wall in front of you. You didn’t want to think about what was happening in the outside world, yet you did so nevertheless because the more one wished to shut out a thought, the more it stuck. You wondered whether Yeonjun was okay. Had your brother gotten to the hospital in time? Had anyone noticed that you were gone?

You hit the concrete with your pulsing fist. At least two of your fingers were broken and your nail was missing from one because of one of the very first interrogations you had been put through. You were pretty sure it had gotten infected and not just that, but several other scars on your body.

You felt so tired, so exhausted. You prayed that this time it would finally come to an end. The pain, the heartache.

In your dreams, you were happier.

In your dreams, Yeonjun came for you and saved you. He took you to your brother and both of you healed from your traumas slowly but steadily.

In your dreams, Yeonjun not only found you, but also pulled you close as you were watching the Japanese flags go up in flames all around the city.

In your dreams, you won.

Delirious, you turned your head towards your cell’s door when it opened, your chest being filled with a scene of eternal peace as you were staring at the person who was looking down at you from the threshold. At that moment, you felt it in your guts that this was it, that no harm would come to your way anymore.

the end.

#yeonjun x reader #yeonjun x you #txt scenarios #historical au #ssbyme #txt angst #yeonjun scenarios #yeonjun angst

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