Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The axe glints in the pale light. The masked man drags it behind him, leaving a trail of crimson in its wake. The sound of it dragging across the splintered wood grates his ears. Every notch on the wooden floorboards syncs with the pounding in his chest.

Goosebumps ripple down his arm as he watches the masked man make his way towards the woman. Her hands cling to the wall as she tries to push herself back up.

There’s a sickening squelch when she falls back onto the ground.

The ground soaked through with the blood of the victims just before. He looks to them, lying contorted, masses of flesh and bone no longer full— lifeless as they come. The only breaths coming from the masked figure and the woman on the floor. She scrambles out of his grasp, attempting to run.

Out the door, into the woods.

She slips. Of course.

The axe.

The blood that covers his hands makes it hard to grip the handle.

The masked man swings.

He misses.

With what adrenaline she has coursing through her body, she forces her body to the side.

The axe makes its home into the dirt.

He plants his feet more firmly on the ground.

Another swing.

It hits.

A horrifying scream. Anguish bleeds from the sound that leaves her mouth.

It catches her on her shoulder, too close to the junction of her neck.

The sound resonates in his skull.

She falls back against the tree, backing up into the rough bark.

Jisung’s heart is racing— a jackhammer pounding against his chest as if he were the one cornered.

He can’t blink, eyes wide open. Worried that, if he were to close his eyes, the killer would turn around and come for him. He doesn’t dare breathe. Not a breath in, not a breath out.

The masked man towers over her slumped form. The words spoken are whispered into the air between killer and victim, but her words reach Jisung’s ears clear as day.

“Why?” She croaks out.

Silence, a single tilt of the head from the man above her. The cheery face of the cartoon character on his mask smiles back at her.

Jisung watches the blood oozing down her arm—the wound on her shoulder is too big, too significant not to need immediate medical attention.

But she’s lost too much blood, and her will to fight along with it. She’s not moving away.

The masked man looms over her.

This is it— the final swing. There’s no way out. Her breaths slow, her eyes blink one last time.

The wet smack of the axe against her frail body.

Jisung can’t help the violent flinch that shakes him.

There’s too much blood. His hands feel sweaty. He can’t look—yet he can’t bear to close his eyes.

The masked man turns, and Jisung’s heart drops.

He’s looking straight at him. Unseeing eyes of the masked character bore into Jisung’s very being.

It’s as if all the sound has been sucked out of the room. All that remains is each heavy footstep towards Jisung. He needs to move, to get away, but he’s frozen.

Get away. He’s too close. It’s too fast-

Suddenly, there’s a hand on his wrist.

He shrieks, reflexively kicking out. Making contact with the hard muscle of someone’s thigh despite his legs tangled in his Hello Kitty blankets.

“Jisung-ah,” light chuckles follow along with a teasing voice, “Oww— you big baby.” There’s a dull sting where someone playfully smacks his thigh— retaliation for kicking said person he guesses.

Jisung’s head snaps to the side. Minho’s eyes are narrowed as they look down at him cowering against the corner of the couch. Jisung’s got the blankets wrapped up in his fists, clinging to them like a lifeline. His eyes are wide, his hands continue to shake, and the adrenaline from the fear pulses in his veins.

Eyes darting around the room, the photos on the walls, the large cat tree in the corner by the TV where the cheap horror movie Minho had chosen for them to watch continues to play in the background. The room is dark, Jisung can just about make out the gleam of the twinkling city lights below making it’s way through the curtains of Minho's expensive apartment.

Minho.

“Huh— hyung, what the fuck?” Jisung’s words come out raspy, breathless. He places a hand on his chest, feeling how rapidly his heart is beating along with the violent rise and fall of his chest. The air is not getting into his lungs fast enough for his body to be satisfied.

Jisung’s chest continues to heave as Minho leans forward, hand reaching out and slipping beneath Jisung’s own to place his right over Jisung’s heart. The heat from Minho’s hand radiates through his shirt. Minho inches closer, eyes flashing with something Jisung can’t quite place.

He can’t help the way his heart skips a beat at Minho’s mere gaze. Everything around him goes still, there’s nothing but the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. Minho’s hand amplifying each dull thud. No one’s ever wanted Jisung this desperately before. Another skip. Never looked at him with this much need. Another.

Jisung lets out a stuttered laugh, “That was unfair, you know I'm jumpy.” He uses his free hand to push at Minho’s shoulder playfully, “he was looking at us through the screen.”

Minho hums down at him, raising his eyebrows, as his mouth curves into a smile. He knows exactly what he’s doing to Jisung. A shiver runs down his spine.

“You just like it when I’m scared,” Jisung petulantly whines, pouting up at him.

Minho curls his fingers, gripping the soft fabric of Jisung’s shirt as he pulls him forward, a hair’s width away from his face.

A gasp leaves his lips. He’s suddenly frozen, staring at each feature of Minho’s face, close enough to see each mole, each pore, the light stress lines on his face from a job too demanding. He holds his breath.

“Yes, my Jisungie— and what of it?”

Jisung isn’t prepared for the uncharacteristically serious tone Minho’s taken— audibly gulping. Yet he can’t deny the underlying arousal that sparks along his skin, he suddenly feels hot, far too hot.

Every nerve is heightened again, and he feels like he’s back at some dirty club. Months before he met Minho. When all he had to make him feel something, anything was grainy white powder and a bottle of cheap tequila.

When Jisung opened his eyes, everything was a blur. The lights were too bright, the music was too loud— like a sledgehammer battering against his senses. He could always tell that the floor was sticky, each step felt like he was walking through molasses. Too many spilled drinks were left as a second layer on the wooden floor. Where it shouldn’t have taken him that long to get to the other side of the room, but the crowds of people, packed together like alcohol-infused sardines pushed back against his every move.

He didn’t know why Felix chose this place. He recalled strings of words, Taehyun said he’d get us in for free, rich older men for the taking, fuck it, why not? Perhaps it was Hyunjin’s idea. Jisung couldn’t really remember anything other than the glitter he applied on the highs of Felix’s cheeks and the earrings Hyunjin let him borrow before they left the house.

It was a distraction. Because that was what Hyunjin said he needed; to stop thinking about the letters that had been slipped under his door, the notes posted on his mailbox, the flowers left on his doormat. To have the high of the night let him slip away under the waves where they couldn’t find him any more. For the unknown stranger to be nothing but a bad dream, that the words of devotion written to him by a faceless man were just a nightmare he would one day wake from.

It worked, he guessed. Momentarily at least. By then, he had forgotten what the last note said, only knowing that he had found it there when he woke up before his shift at the convenience store.

Jisung didn’t know what he’d taken. But he felt like he was floating, slightly numb, just right enough to feel something—yet nothing at all.

On top of that, he remembered feeling hot. The heat of sweaty bodies continued to bump into him as he pushed past to find Felix, to find Hyunjin. Maybe even Taehyun would be nice. The dealer was nice enough to give Felix a decent rate, and he was pleasant enough to work with at Jisung’s late-night shifts at the crappy bar downtown.

That night fades away, and Minho is calling his name.

Minho; he’s laughing like he made the funniest joke, airy and high. “I was only teasing, Sung-ah.” His fingers tickle against his side. Minho’s eyes are bright, but Jisung’s out of it again. He misses Felix. He misses Hyunjin. He misses the feeling, or maybe he doesn’t? Minho’s smiling down at him like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be. He wants Minho’s presence. He wants Minho. And there’s a hand crawling up his thigh that feels a thousand times better than the shakes that two snorts of ket and three shots of tequila ever did for him.

“Min— hyung,” Jisung’s voice cracks when Minho presses in close before sealing their lips together in a bruising kiss. Their lips slot together like perfect pieces of a puzzle, silencing Jisung in his rebuttal. As if Minho hadn’t needed his reply – that he knew Jisung through and through – his other half. There was no need for Jisung’s words when Minho could draw every answer out from the taste of his lips and the touch of his skin. Jisung whimpers, and Minho dives in – tongue tracing along the plump flesh of Jisung’s bottom lip before pushing into his pliant mouth.

Minho is insatiable, eating up the sounds that Jisung makes. He licks and nips at Jiusng’s bottom lip, a sharp sting that sends a strike of lightning down his spine. He shivers, one hand bracing himself on Minho’s hand still gripping the fabric of his shirt. If Minho were to let go, Jisung is sure he would sink into the couch.

His hands find their place on Minho’s shoulders, grasping at the light material of his dress shirt as he pulls himself closer, while Minho’s hands trail down his body, settling at the dip of his waist and pushing him down on the hard muscle of Minho’s thigh. Jisung can’t help the way his body naturally reacts to his touch, the ease with which he handles his lithe body— oh how he would let Minho pull and pick him apart without a bat of his eyes.

One of Minho’s hands leaves his waist to trace down the soft flesh of Jisung’s thigh, a featherlight touch that leaves goosebumps in its wake. Jisung shivers, breaking apart to gasp for air. His hips unconsciously jerk forward, Minho’s fingers tracing so close yet so far away from his hardening cock.

“Happy anniversary, baby,” Minho whispers, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

The clock strikes midnight.

One year together.

Jisung recalls the hour, the minute, the second he first laid eyes on Lee Minho. January eleventh, nine forty-two pm and thirty-six seconds. He’s sure. Maybe. Or maybe he’s exaggerating just a bit; everything with Minho is a blur at times—a mind-melding, overwhelming sensation that makes him zone out whenever Minho is in his presence. All the synapses of Jisung fire over and over, sending signals straight to his heart (and dick, he can admit). Time never feels still, too fast and too slow all together.

What Jisung remembers was being hungover halfway through his night shift at the shitty bar when Jisung first met Choi Yohan. He was older then than he was now– probably about ten or so years older than Jisung. Tall, taller than himself, though he imagined that not being that hard of a feat to accomplish. His dark hair was styled and slicked back in a way that was clearly trying too hard to make himself look younger, but instead made him look somewhat greasy. He had a sleazy grin on his face to match as he made his way toward the bar. He walked past Jeongin, who sat on his phone pretending that he was not on shift, making his way to lean on the counter just in front of Jisung.

But Jisung wasn’t looking at him then, but rather at the man trailing behind him in slow measured steps: Lee Minho. The timer stopped on January eleventh, nine forty-two pm and thirty-six seconds— he thinks. He hadn’t known his name then, he knew nothing but that unfairly handsome face, broad shoulders, and thick thighs. His dark hair was parted down the middle, strands framing his face, brushing the tips of his eyelashes. Dressed up in black slacks and a pristine white button-up, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he looked like he’d just come from some white-collar firm or one of Jisung’s wet dreams. Jisung couldn’t help but focus on the visible veins crawling up the man’s forearm. He would’ve felt bad for staring if he hadn’t seen the man’s eyes trailing up his own moments after.

Minho smiled at him then, pleased, and Jisung ignored the shiver that went down his spine from the feeling of approval. Always so easy, Hyunjin would tease him. In turn, Felix would smack him over the head for the comment, rebutting, look who's talking. Jisung wasn’t easy, not sober at least, not like this. This was different— he was different.

“Yohan.”

Jisung turned back to the other man who had introduced himself as if it were a privilege to be given that piece of information. He was handsome, Jisung could give him that. Though much older, he wore a grin on his face that took up too much space. That wasn’t so pretty. It was more crooked and sharp as he leered down at Jisung. Yet he was dressed far too nice for a shithole like The Serpent’s Nest— nestled into the deadbeat downtown of the district. If Jisung could tell anything from the watch on Yohan’s wrist, he knew he was far, far away from whatever expensive bed he got out that morning.

His cologne was overwhelmingly tangy, mixed with the subtle scent of whiskey and cigarettes. End of the week company drinks, Jisung thought and unconsciously took a step back. Perhaps the man didn’t notice or it simply didn’t deter him in the slightest, as he leaned over the bar, in an attempt to get as close as possible.

“What can I get you?” Jisung asked.

“You’re beautiful,” Yohan ignored the question.

“I know.” Jisung didn't believe his own words, at least not in that moment, eyebags likely protruding through the rushed concealer he had applied just before his shift. Rumpled uniform, messy hair— flecks of glitter probably left in unwashed strands from the night before. Nothing like how he felt when he was out— out of it.

Yohan looked baffled for a second at Jisung’s response, and Jisung fidgeted with his fingers behind his back, pin-pricks of anxiety piercing his skin. The comforting ease of a distant haze was nowhere to be found, instead, the reality of his endeavours sat before him, and Jisung was definitely not interested.

“Did you fall from heaven?”

“Unfortunately not, I haven’t died yet.”

Yohan looked somewhat stumped again and Jisung wondered how much he’d actually had to drink or if this was his genuine attempt at a pick-up line. But the grin returned and so did his tasteless words.

“Didn’t know angels existed down here in the slumps.”

Angels.

Jisung nodded, fingers continuing to fidget, digging into the palm of his hand.

“And you are, angel?”

“Angel?”

The pet name soured his tongue. His first thought was that the nickname would’ve suited Felix more; his delicate features and golden hair. Though it was more the second thought that made spiders crawl up his skin.

Angel– the word has been tainted ever since the letters started piling up.

You looked beautiful at work today angel — xxxxx

Slipped under his door.

I can’t take my eyes off of you angel — xxxxx

Stuck on his mailbox.

These flowers match your eyes angel — xxxxx

Left on his doorstep.

Then Jeongin was in front of him. Taking over. Bottle in hand, pouring what? A Martini? A Whiskey on the rocks? A glass of Sauvignon Blanc? Something that must have pleased Yohan, because he was gone and suddenly Minho was there.

“Jisungie, I hear.”

Jisung raised an eyebrow at the nickname coming from the seemingly serious man. His eyes were playful, sweet, hungry. Jisung didn’t know where the sudden sensation of wanting to let him have a taste came from.

“That would be me.”

“Pretty name. Suits you.”

“The question is, does your name suit you?”

“Lee Minho.”

“Cute. Suits you.”

Minho smiled sweetly, hungrier.

“Tell me three things about you, Jisungie.”

“This a quiz show?”

“You got me, we’re on pranked.” Minho nodded towards the security camera in the corner. If only he knew that shit had broken months ago.

“What’s the prank?”

“You talking to Yohan instead of me.”

“Hah hah. It was hilarious.”

“I’m more fun.”

“Sure thing, old man.”

Minho huffed lightly, tongue poking the side of his cheek, chuckling. “Bet it’s not even ten years difference.” He carded a hand through his neatly styled hair, making it look effortlessly tousled.

“Okay, three things only?” Jisung asked.

“Mmhmm.”

“I’m twenty-three, I can play the guitar, andddd— I’m not hungover.”

“Who said this was two truths, one lie?”

“How’d you know one of them’s a lie?”

“Call it cosmic intuition.”

“What else can you tell with this cosmic intuition?” Jisung curled his fingers in air quotes.

“That we’ll be seeing each other a lot more soon.”

“You sure of it?”

Minho hummed in agreement, “If you think nine years isn’t a bad age gap.”

And that was it.

Jisung passed him a drink, “A strawberry daiquiri, you look like someone who’d enjoy something sweet.”

Jisung beamed up at him, but all he could focus on was the way Minho’s fingers brushed his as he passed him the glass, the swipe of delicate fingers brushing against his clammy skin. And he was gone, as quick as he came. Leaning against the wall as he watched Yohan break the balls at the pool table.

Jisung tried not to stare. Jeongin whacked him several times— Jisung probably wasn’t trying hard enough.

Though what he found was that he wasn’t the only one with a penchant for staring. Eyes locking with Minho again, and again. A smile. A wink. A nod. A finger pointed at Jisung, with the clear indication of this one’s for you as he prepared to take his next shot. He potted it. Of course he had. Jisung rolled his eyes and smiled, shooting finger guns Minho’s way, playing along.

And Jisung was giddy, from the looks, the smiles. His nerves set alight without anything in his system, he thinks maybe he’s about to crash out right here behind the bar. The hope of something more than a fling. Someone who actually seemed interested in Jisung— this Jisung. Not high Jisung, not brave Jisung, not numb Jisung. Just Jisung.

How many drinks had been served? How many touches crawled up his arm, as he passed drink after drink? How many looks had passed between them? How was he so dizzy sober?

Jisung didn’t speak to Minho after that. The giddy feeling fading away as Minho and Yohan left the bar. He didn’t know the time they left, but he remembered the feeling of disappointment.

“Woah, he left you a fuckin’ two hundred thousand won tip?” Jeongin bumped his shoulder, “Maybe I should’ve joined in on the weird tension-filled staring you had going on.”

Jisung swatted him back and rolled his eyes, “I’m cuter.”

“Let’s ask Minnie about that.”

“That’s cheating,” Jisung pouted. “He’ll always choose you and your dimples.”

“Boo hoo,” Jeongin playfully stuck his tongue out at him before heading back to register.

Jisung sighed.

Perhaps he should’ve felt grateful rather than disappointed. Who was he to even think it was more than a simple tipsy drunk man having a little fun with the next young waiter for the night? Someone to throw money at for their little charity work of the week? At least he got something out of it.

Jisung needed another hit. He needed Felix, needed Hyunjin, and the dull throbbing of the bass and the static in his ears. It felt far too raw without anything in his system, under the cover of a neon haze, and the barrier of comfort they provided to ease that loss of something he didn’t even have in the first place.

Jisung didn't think he'd ever see Minho again. A handsome stranger lost to time. Who was Jisung to think that anyone would want something more? The only one who had ever wanted more was— them. Black ink and lined paper waiting on his doorstep three days later.

Five days after Minho, Hyunjin took him on a joyride in his fancy expensive car (correction: whoever he was seeing’s fancy expensive car). The wind cut through Jisung’s clothes as he stuck his torso out the open window. Felix’s joyful laughter bounced around the rush of air as he clung onto his waist, holding onto him so tight as if he were afraid Jisung would fly away with the breeze. There was a letter of devotion tucked into the pocket of Jisung’s jeans, burning into his skin, and Jisung played off the flinch that wracked his body when Felix’s hands brushed over the hidden letter. He couldn’t help it.

Despite the sickening feeling that ran up and down his veins, he couldn’t help the morsel of satisfaction that settled. That no matter what, there was someone out there that wanted him— actually wanted him. It eased the dull ache for a second, before he was sober and the fear set in again. Crumpling the letters and throwing them into the bottom of his drawer.

Then, cosmic intuition struck.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Jisung darted his head up at the familiar voice.

“Minho-ssi,” he paused, raising an eyebrow. “Are you stalking me?”

“Can’t a man do his local grocery shopping?” Minho gestured vaguely at the aisles.

“Sureeee,” Jisung said. “Seems quite far out of your area for local.”

“Can’t help it if I like the selection at this store more than the ones in mine,” Minho smirked.

Jisung turned around to face the selection of cigarettes behind the counter to hide the heat that bloomed on his cheeks. Idly tracing a finger among the various brands. “Well, are you looking for anything in particular?”

“Looking right at him.”

Jisung bit his lip, gnawing at the flesh. “I think this one might be out of stock.”

“I can be patient.”

Jisung pulled out a pack of Benson & Hedges Gold, tossing it onto the counter. “Can you?”

“Well, let’s see. Dinner, at eight, tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up.”

“Doesn’t sound like good patience.”

“And it doesn’t look like you’re out of stock,” Minho swiped up the packet of cigarettes, flipping it between his fingers. “Good taste, sweetheart.”

“Richer.”

“That, I am—”

“I meant the cigarettes.”

Minho chuckled, “That too.”

“Is this how you proposition most men in convenience stores?”

“Only the pretty ones.”

“How lucky of me.”

“Good thing you’re only the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Jisung was ashamed at how easily his words awakened the butterflies in his stomach. Cocoons discarded at the bottom of his belly, the fluttering of wings swirling through his gut.

“Dress code?” Jisung asked, foot bouncing behind the counter.

“Unfortunately clothing isn’t optional at this restaurant, so anything in your closet will do.”

“So desperate to get into my pants?”

“Practically on my knees if you’d let me right now.”

Jisung laughed, he had never once been propositioned by anyone who wanted to suck his dick and take him out quite like this.

“Though, why don’t we get to know each other first, hmm?” Minho continued.

“Sounds like a date.”

Cosmic intuition, Jisung thought. Perhaps Minho was onto something.

It should’ve scared him how easy it was to talk to Minho, how comfortable his presence was. Jisung knew that he was desirable. He’s heard it in whispered words of older men, in the bruising hands of strangers who assume they own him by a simple smile their way. It was fun, it was mind-numbing—but it wasn’t comfortable, it wasn’t safe. It wasn’t Minho.

When Jisung found Minho, it wasn’t at another party, under neon lights reflecting each fleck of glitter splattered on Jisung’s cheeks. He wasn’t in a tight-fitting shirt and a belt cinched to the smallest loop. He was behind a bar or in a shitty collared blue convenience store uniform, scraping by short on change.

No one had ever looked at Jisung like this— sober Jisung under the unflattering fluorescent lights of the convenience store. And Minho looked at him like he was perfect.

Minho looks at him like he’s perfect, like he’s everything he’s been looking for in life. And Minho’s here, pushing him down into the sofa, kissing him, parting his lips to lick into his mouth.

Jisung slackens his jaw, always so easy to let Minho in, to let him take what he wants. He moans into his lips, fingers curling into the fabric of Minho’s shirt.

“Hyung— bed,” Jisung exhales into his mouth.

Minho drags him back up. “What if I wanna take you here Sung-ah? Take you wherever I want? On the counter, over the sofa, on my desk… You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To let them know exactly who you belong to.” Jisung wobbles on shaking legs, Minho guiding him towards one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Maybe right here,” Minho pulls the curtain aside, the view of the glittering city lights below, and pushes Jisung against the glass.

Jisung gasps, breathless. “I— nghh. I think it’s you who’d like that, showing just exactly who I belong to.”

“Maybe that stalker would leave you alone as soon as they know who you truly belong to,” Minho grunts into his skin. His words are piercing, the mention of Jisung’s stalker striking a nerve but the drag of blunt teeth across the back of his neck sends shivers down his spine. Sensitive. He’s always been so sensitive to Minho’s every touch. Each graze upon his heated skin. Minho’s eyelashes fluttering against the back of his neck, blinking rapidly and Jisung realises for a second—

Jisung turns his head to the side, “Are you sure? The height–”

He feels Minho nod and he presses a chaste kiss to the spot his teeth grazed seconds earlier, “-’s dark enough. I want you here– need you now.” His voice is airy, breathless; the mix of adrenaline from the heat, the height, the desire. A concoction of desperation Jisung feels through Minho’s hands on his waist.

Minho manhandles him with ease, each item of clothing vanishing off his body in seconds. Suddenly, Minho’s got him pressed against the window again, now bare— nipples hard against the cool glass, skin prickling at the contact in contrast to the fiery heat swelling in his belly and pulsing across his skin. Back arched, he’s held in place, pressed up against Minho’s clothed cock. He’s so big. Even through the fabric, Jisung can already imagine the way he’d fill him up, carve a way into his body just right.

Darkness engulfs him three times. The first, when Minho fills him up in one swift thrust, legs trembling, hands shaking on the glass. The second, on Jisung’s apt second orgasm, a garbled sob of Minho’s name and a moan leaving his lips. The third, as he Jisung drifts to sleep with a warm rag pressed to his skin, and a chaste kiss on his forehead.

—

Jisung wakes with his heart in his throat. The bed is cold and Jisung doesn’t know where Minho is. Panic erupts, and clogs his throat.

For a second he thinks Minho’s left him. Just like Felix and Hyunjin left him: with spite on their tongues, and scars over their eyes. Maybe his stalker has taken away the last precious thing in Jisung’s life.

But Minho isn’t gone, because he opens his eyes and Minho’s making his way towards the bed with a tray full of breakfast and coffee in his hands.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Minho says, a tired but warm smile gracing his sharp features.

Jisung takes a breath. Nails pinching the palms of his hands. He breathes in; Minho’s here. He breathes out, he’s happy. He smiles up at Minho.

This is what Jisung wants to remember: Minho’s kind eyes and pretty smile.

So, Jisung wakes to breakfast in bed. Minho places the tray on the side table and takes Jisung’s face in his hands. A flurry of kisses planted all over his face. Jisung giggles, fingers clinging to the loose shirt Minho’s got on. He thinks that perhaps he’s gotten away with it this time.

But when the bed dips and Jisung sees Minho’s gentle yet worried gaze. He knows what's coming. The panic from earlier doesn’t escape Minho’s calculating eyes.

“Hyung-ahhh,” Jisung draws out the vowel, arms wrapping around Minho’s neck. “I love youuuuu.”

Minho smiles for real and Jisung thinks he’s got the prettiest smile in the world. His eyes crinkle at the sides, mirth swirling amongst the worry. Jisung thinks maybe he’ll get away with it this time.

“I love you too, bug.” Minho pulls Jisung’s hands away from around his neck to clasp them in his lap. “But hyung needs to ask you something first.”

Nevermind, Jisung thinks.

“Yeah?”

“The cabin trip. That annual trip I go on with some others at Yohan’s family cabin.”

Jisung knows of it— though a simple cabin doesn’t quite represent the sheer size of the building nor the expanse of the land Yohan’s family owns on Blackwood Mountain.

It once had been the Blackwood Pines Hotel, an alpine health resort that eventually ceased operation in the early 1990s. Where the wealthy Choi family purchased the vast plots of land that surrounded the site. Demolishing the run-down hotel and erecting a large chalet-styled mansion on its foundations. Nowadays, it’s only ever used by Yohan as a vacation getaway or to entertain possible clients and guests. Minho has told Jisung stories of past visits, of expensive wine, extravagant dinners, hot tubs in the snow, and skiing trips.

“At the start of February, I’d like you to come. It’s a week-long trip.”

“I don’t know...”

“It’s not like the last ones, it’ll be quiet. Yohan wanted to make it lowkey, and only Soojin and Hyerin will be able to join anyway.”

“You don’t even like ‘em.”

“That’s our secret, Sungie.”

“Well, they don’t like me. Y’know they don’t approve–”

“And that’s none of their business. I want you there. And Yohan wants you there too.” Minho mock rolls his eyes, “I know you're irresistible, but you’re also all mine, baby.”

Jisung laughs and shakes his head at the mere thought of being anyone else's. He reaches over to pinch his cheek.

“Of course not, old man.”

“I’m thirty-three, brat,” Minho feigns a glare.

Jisung pinches his other cheek, “My old man.”

Minho huffs quietly before asking again, “So you’ll join me?”

Anxiety swells in his gut, guilt bubbling under the surface. How can he even explain it in a way Minho will understand? The too many reasons to stay, the too many reasons to not go. Jisung’s at a crossroad and doesn’t know the right way.

“You can escape from your stalker–”

“I told you we don’t talk about that, hyung,” Jisung interrupts to glower at him.

“It’s your safety. You don’t even like being alone–”

“I know. I just– I don’t wanna think about them now.”

“Fine,” Minho relents for now. “But you know it’s not just that… You know what happened the last time I left you alone,” Minho carefully plays with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I just want you to come with me this time.”

His words are soft, but stern, like there’s no real other option in his mind. The white sheets crumple in Jisung’s fidgeting hand, refusing to look up, because he knows. Jisung knows what Minho is thinking, he doesn’t need to look up to see the steely look in Minho’s eye.

This conversation should’ve been expected. Jisung could sense Minho’s palpable worry, despite how much he tries to mask it. Considering what happened two months ago, what happened to Felix, and with Jisung’s stalker. Jisung’s in no real place to disagree.

“But– it’s Jeongin’s birthday and I– Hyunjin is hosting a surprise–” Jisung cuts himself off as Minho audibly sighs, fingers still tangled in his hair.

“Hyunjin. Did he invite you?”

“No…”

“Have you talked to him?”

Jisung shakes his head, eyes trained on a loose thread on his shirt.

“Have you tried talking–”

“I know what they’re going to say.”

“How’d you know?”

Jisung frowns, frustrated, “I– well… Yohan-ssi— he said…”

“Baby.” There’s too much sympathy in Minho’s voice, Jisung feels sick. “What did he say?”

“He– he said that he saw them, at The Boudoir. They were… on it. I mean it’s been months. But he asked about me… and and,” Jisung bites his lip. His throat feels like it’s closing in on him. “Felix was tired, but he looks like he’s healing well… other than using again… but, Hyunjin’s looking worse. He looks worried.”

“But what did they say?”

“They don’t wanna see me again.” Jisung shakes his head, Minho’s hand stills.

“Then why stay?” Minho’s hand slides down to trace the line of his jaw and cup the swell of his cheek. “You deserve better.”

Jisung refuses to look him in the eye, but Minho’s thumb caresses him so gently, almost as if he believed Jisung would crumble at one wrong word.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Minho continues, softer.

“You don’t know that.”

Suddenly Minho’s guiding his head up to look him in the eye.

“I know that you don’t deserve to be alone.”

His voice was so serious, so sure of this one thing and Jisung wishes he believed him.

“I want to stay here. I’m sorry,” Jisung whispers.

And Minho smiles at him sadly, but presses a kiss to his forehead nonetheless.

“Okay, Sung-ah,” he whispers into his skin. His lips burn, his words sting.

Jisung doesn’t deserve him.

He wonders how disappointed Minho is in him. He knows he must be. For letting him down. For choosing the possibility of seeing Hyunjin and Felix again over leaving with him. For choosing them over Jisung’s own mental health. He also knows Minho’s just worried. Worried about what he’ll do with them, scared about what he’ll do alone, terrified of what he’ll do without Minho there by his side.

There’s justification in his worries. They both know what happened the last time he was left alone. Minho had only been out of town for just a week.

Jisung recalls it so clearly. The start of it, at least. The property and land disputes with the Seo Construction Limited.

“They’re a close acquaintance,” Minho had mumbled as he packed. Jisung watched him idly from his perch on the bed. Pressed up against Minho’s expensive pillows, and taking comfort in the weighted blanket of serenity before he was left alone.

And when he was gone, Jisung missed Minho, immensely. He didn’t have Felix and Hyunjin anymore. Yohan’s presence at the end of the bar hadn’t given him much, other than another reason to wish Minho had been there instead.

So, when Taehyun offered a small baggie on the side as some sort of condolence for Jisung’s deteriorating mental state at the bar, who was Jisung to pass on the offer?

It wasn’t like he’d do it right there. He’d keep it, tucked away from desperate eyes, just in case the nights got too dark. For emergencies—he promised. He promised, like he had promised Felix, that everything would be okay. Like he promised Hyunjin that nothing would go wrong.

For a second, he wondered if this was Felix’s doing. Colluding with his dealer, offering Jisung something he couldn’t deny. Give him something he deserved—no. Felix wasn’t like that. But he used to show up, out of the blue. He would bat his eyes at Jisung, leaning over the bar as if Jisung wasn’t going to slip him another free drink. That was when everything was fine, before the accident. How it was before Minho, before Yohan. Jisung shook his head; so stupid, he thought. There wasn’t any point dwelling in the past.

Jisung should’ve known drug dealers weren’t the best to take advice from, anyways. As much as Taehyun seemed like a nice guy, he knew how much of a bad idea this was. He knew how much temptation that small little bag held. But Taehyun’s pitying stare was enough. He had snatched it out of his hands with a nod and a tight smile.

So, maybe it was Taehyun’s fault for caring. Maybe it was Jisung’s, for being so weak. Minho was to be gone for only a week—a week too long in Jisung’s books.

He stuffed it into his drawer, ignoring its presence. He could survive without it. He’d done so well, not touching a thing. Even with the shakes, the nausea, the agitation, the insomnia that followed. Even if he never knew which were due to the withdrawal and what was due to the guilt.

But Minho—he missed Minho, Felix, and Hyunjin. He missed them. He missed them. He couldn’t recall Felix’s smile or Hyunjin’s perfume. What little comforts he once had a murky cloud in his mind. What was one little consolation present for doing so well so far? Just to help him remember, to imagine Felix’s hand in his, Hyunjin’s laughter in his ear, Minho’s smile pressed into his shoulder blades.

His room had never felt so cold.

Bad idea. Bad idea. Bad idea.

He flipped his phone on and off, letting it light up where he hid beneath the covers then encasing himself in the shadows once again.

No new messages. No new messages. No new messages.

Not that he expected any different. Blind hope was what had driven him on most days, since he didn’t have the guts to send a message first. There was too much shame, too much guilt. He pinched the soft flesh of his thigh.

Minho wasn’t here, Jisung needed him here.

It was two-thirty am. He thought and thought and thought and finally caved.

Jisung promised this would be the last. He hadn’t been out for months, and hadn’t taken anything since then. Then, four days after he had hidden Taehyun’s gift in the bottom drawer of his side bed, and two days before Minho was coming home, he took out the small bag tucked away behind Felix's self-help guidebook on how to love oneself and a half empty bottle of lube.

It was three am. The moon was in its first quarter, shadowed neatly in half. Its slivers of silver painted his room in an otherworldly glow, perhaps enhanced by the small bump he took thirty minutes earlier. His phone lay abandoned on the floor, the screen facing down, but the light emanated out the sides like he’d just turned it on. It was buzzing, but in his state he didn’t know why.

It was four forty-five am. Jisung didn’t know why he went back for more, or why the hand dipping back each time looked more like Felix’s delicate hand than his own. Jisung saw Felix in every mirror, in every corner. And then, he was gone. It hurt more when he was gone. It hurt more because Minho wasn’t there to fix him back up. How could he live like this?

It was five twenty am. He thought that he may have slept for ten minutes. He swore he hadn't. There was a drink by his bed. He shouldn’t have drunk it. It burned going down his throat. He coughed. His head hurt. Then it didn’t anymore.

It was six am. The sun was kissing the horizon, and he was trapped on the bed. Invisible ropes clung to his wrists, he couldn't get up. The ropes chafed against his skin. It stung—he needed it to go away. He needed more, more. Again and again, his feelings bouncing back and forth like a metronome. It didn’t hurt at all. There was music in the other room, he swore it. He was sure it sounded like the melody of Hyunjin’s favourite song.

It was two pm and he had one, or two, or four more keys. Who was counting? The curtains were drawn, like he’d been up, but it was the first time he was in the bathroom, leaning over the toilet bowl. There was a hand in his hair, carefully carding the strands away from his eyes. Felix? Felix. Felix. How many more times?

It was eight thirty pm, and he was awake. Twilight— lovers’ dusk. How was he awake? Where was Felix? He thought he saw Hyunjin’s ring on the floor. There was a missed call on his phone? He didn’t remember hearing it ring. He didn’t remember making any calls. There were pretty flowers on his desk that reminded him of Minho. Orchids. Purple and white, uniquely shaped petals— far too pretty for Jisung, far too good for someone like him.

He didn’t know what time it was. His phone had run out of battery at some point after the second repeat of Hyunjin's favourite album. There was a banging on the door. Jisung felt nauseous. Like a hammer had gone straight through his chest, crumbling him to pieces. He ran to the bathroom and—Yohan. Yohan was there. Yohan was here? He held out his hand. Jisung took it, craving what little touch he could at that moment. He wished it were Felix, Hyunjin, or Jeongin. He wished it was Minho here to hold him close, to stop him from falling apart. Or maybe Minho would walk away. He deserved it. Soojin was right.

It had been a day. It had been two. His body felt lethargic. Like time had been set in slow motion. He thought he felt worse than when he started. Who else was to blame but himself? How mad would Minho be? Would it be the end?

There was water down his throat. Soothing, overflowing, suffocating— maybe he was drowning.

Jisung sunk into the duvet. It was dark again. The streets were quiet. The streets had been quiet. The groaning of heavy machinery echoed in the distance. The machines were on. They echoed in the streets.

He remembered a doctor, or at least someone who looked like a doctor. There was a damp cloth on his forehead, it felt more sticky than cooling.

“Handle this discreetly,” Minho’s voice was stern, sombre, a tone he so rarely used in Jisung’s presence. It made him feel small, like a child being scolded for stealing too many cookies out of the cookie jar.

Minho wasn’t looking at him though. Yohan wasn’t either, placing a bouquet of orchids on his bedside. Jisung didn’t know how those would help. He just wanted Minho to look at him.

He closed his eyes, tears slipping down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked, voice parched.

“I know,” Minho spoke softly.

Jisung opened his eyes— Minho was looking right at him, smiling sadly. Perhaps Jisung wasn’t drowning anymore.

Minho took his hand, squeezing it once, twice. “Let me get you some water, baby.”

Jisung watched him leave, and pushed himself up, leaning back against the headrest. The room felt foreign, too many things just slightly off. The posters weren’t looking quite right, figurines swapped in places, his stacks of CDs looking smaller than before. What kind of minor redecorating had he done that night? But it was the white lined paper on his bedside that caught his eye.

Angel, you are better than this. Don’t make me need to intervene again. — xxxxx

Jisung ran to the bathroom and threw up again.

Now, there’s a glass of iced coffee in front of his eyes. Jisung pushes the bad memories to the back of his mind, he doesn’t want it to ruin his day. Not with Minho.

“Just think about it,” Minho says and hands him the drink. “And yes, an iced americano for my favourite bug this morning.”

“Thank you, hyung.”

“You’ll need energy for what we’re going to do later.” Minho's smile is what could only be described as mischievous, and Jisung snorts. Spilling some coffee on the partly clean white sheets.

“Hey!”

“Not my fault!”

“Yes it was!”

“Mmmm, I’ll teach you a lesson later.”

“Hyunggg,” Jisung whines and Minho’s smile widens.

Minho does indeed teach him a lesson in the late afternoon, several times, and Jisung’s sure he might have to be bed ridden for the next two weeks. Not that Jisung’s mad, another excuse to convince Minho to join him in bed and watch anime for hours on end before Minho needs to go back to real life obligations such as a job. Jisung’s just glad Minho took him out to the aquarium right after breakfast because he knows Minho isn’t above carrying him around like a sack of potatoes. Jisung had to learn about Minho’s hidden core strength the hard way. Hard in several ways, but he digresses.

It’s a week later and Minho’s eyebrows are drawn together in indignation as he goes over whatever new files he has for his latest client.

Jisung likes to listen to him muttering under his breath, trying to piece together what he can before he goes to distract Minho from his work.

Minho hasn’t asked him again, but he knows he wants to. The slight crease in his forehead appeared more often than it had before. The way he paces the kitchen a few minutes too long.

And Jisung feels bad, but he’s sure. He needs to find a way to fix this again, even if it won’t be the best for him.

—

The late afternoon sun drifts slowly down into the horizon. The mid-January breeze stings his cheeks and Jisung pulls the beanie further down his head, covering his chilled ears. It’s not too far to walk, ten to fifteen minutes to the Serpent’s Nest. He dropped the job at the convenience store a month after meeting Minho. There wasn’t time with the paid internship at the local radio station uptown, he got thanks to some connections Minho had. Though, he still takes a few shifts at the Serpent's Nest on late nights, for the extra cash.

Maybe also to keep seeing Jeongin— it wasn’t as if they ever saw each other out of work much, but Jeongin was a friend nonetheless. His closest after Minho at this point. He ignored the voice in the back of his head that waited for Felix and Hyunjin to show up again.

Jisung dials Jeongin on the way to work.

Jeongin finally picks up the phone on the fourth ring.

“Yah, what do you want?”

“Hello Jisung-hyung, what’s up?” Jisung attempts a crude imitation of Jeongin’s voice.

There’s a huff through the speakers before Jeongin repeats, “Hello Jisung-hyung, what’s up?”

Jisung looks down, kicking a stray stone on the pavement. He doesn’t tell Joengin that he’s calling because he’s walking alone. Doesn’t want to worry him the same way he knows Minho worries. Minho, who assured Jisung he could reschedule his meeting so he could drive him. Jisung had declined. He needed to get it together, prove to Minho that he could be left alone for that week in February. If he couldn’t walk to and from work alone, how could he convince Minho he could last a week?

“I’m actually very sad since I’ve been informed that my partner in crime at work is in fact, not coming to his shift today.”

“I’m busy.”

“With what?”

“Fucking my boyfriend.”

“Yah, why’d you pick up then?”

“Just cause… y’know.”

Jisung doesn’t really, or more he doesn’t want to think about it. But there’s a thud in the background, something probably thrown Jeongin’s direction and that’s a distraction enough.

“Get some Minnie!” Jisung raises his voice and hopes Seungmin hears him.

There’s a muffled shout of cockblock through the speakers. Message indeed received. But it won’t deter Jisung, who rattles off about the fox he saw a few days ago that reminded him of Jeongin.

“It looked just like you! You just need to dye your hair orange now, and I swear. You’d look so good, plus it gave me like… creepy eyes.”

“The fuck?”

“Like intense eyes?”

“My eyes are friendly and loving.”

Jisung snorts, “Tell the customers that.”

“They like my kind eyes and breathtaking smile. Suck it. I dunno what you’re on about.”

“It sounds like you’re getting defensive,” Jisung chuckles.

“Well, you wanna talk creepy? Yohan gives me the creeps. He’s like a spider on the wall.”

“What? Cause he buys me drinks on shift?”

“Yes, that and he doesn’t stop staring at you? Like… for real? You're dating his coworker-friend, whatever they are.”

“He’s just… protective?”

“I mean, okay I get it with the… the stalker thing. Cause yes, we want you safe, which also if you’re walking home tonight I will kill you. Cause like… You look like a baby animal, and people have the urge to take care of you. Like even Seungmin gets it and he finds you annoying, so of course Yohan would feel that too, and don’t let me start with Minho. Like man loves you, like we get it, calm down. Yeah… But I dunno…” Jeongin trails off as if lost in thought.

“Are you high?”

Jisung hears spluttering through the phone, “Wha— hey, why would you ask that? I’m so not high. Minnie-yah, he thinks I’m high.”

Jisung can hear the muffled voice of Seungmin replying, “You just ate half an edible?”

Jeongin groans through the phone, “Okay, fine— I’m a little high, so what? Doesn’t change the fact your boyfriend constantly looks like he wants to eat you. It’s kinda disgusting, like bro— calm down the eye-fucking too. Like you’re much too old to constantly do that, especially in front of me. Like I did not volunteer to watch him eye fuck you all night during my shift.”

“Wasn’t this rant supposed to be about Yohan?” Jisung questions, “Also, poor me, my boyfriend wants to fuck me. Also, also— stop eyeing my boyfriend then, Innie. The fuck?”

“Hey hey hey, it’s all in the eyes. Remember, the eyes are the window to the soul. And yeah, I don’t know, Sung. I think maybe Yohan just likes the cheap drinks, or he just thinks you can’t take care of yourself, orrrrrrr he’s been into Minho for years and now you, and he’s really into cucking.”

Jisung lets the silence speak for himself as he processes what the fuck Jeongin’s weed filled mind is coming up with. Jeongin takes that as his cue to continue.

“Anyways, Minho’s good for you too, after… Felix… and what happened, and whatever. You know they– they think of you still. Just take care of yourself… You and Minho… Plus you did choose the hotter old man at least–”

Before Jisung can even formulate a reply, there’s suddenly shuffling and rustling that comes through the phone. A muffled hey, that’s mine, what? And suddenly it’s Seungmin on the phone, clearly having wrestled it out of Jeongin’s hands. Though he guesses, depending on how high Jeongin is right now, it couldn’t have been too hard.

“He’s like ten years older than you,” Seungmin says.

“Nine, actually,” Jisung replies.

“Semantics,” Jeongin yells from what sounds like the other side of the room.

Jisung shakes his head fondly, “I’ll give you a sticker for thinking of that word high Innie-yah.”

“Anyways,” Seungmin says, “are you at work yet?”

“It’s just around the corner–”

“Cool. Well, cockblocking time is over, I‘m gonna fuck my high boyfriend now. Be safe. Let us know if Yohan hits on you again.”

“What?! Not anymo– wait no!”

The line’s already disconnected, and Jisung stares at his contacts list with offense.

Jisung sighs. It’s not as if they’re completely out of the ballpark, he thinks. Yohan’s nice– very nice. Too nice, perhaps. Jisung’s flattered, but Minho usually shows up right after, with a hand on his waist, and Jisung can’t even recall the name of any other man except Lee Minho.

He can’t help himself as he scrolls up the contacts, finger hovering over Felix’s name. Just what if. Would Felix answer? Would he even want to hear his voice? Would he ever forgive him? Jisung bites inside his cheek, the sting grounding for a second, and pockets his phone.

Only eight hours before freedom, now. Jisung clocks in for his shift. He places his bag in the staff room, and heads to the front. He clearly isn’t looking as he walks straight into another body.

“Oh–” Jisung exclaims, bracing a hand on the other’s shoulder, “Sorry, Taehyu– I mean...”

Fuck. New colleague.

“Sorry, Sana,” Jisung corrects himself, giving her an apologetic smile.

She smiles back with a quick no worries on her lips, heading towards the cashier.

It’s not anything new to see staff come and go, but Taehyun had been here ever since Jisung started working here for any bit of cash he could get. Taehyun was pretty chill, from the spectrum of drug dealers Jisung knew, he was better than most. He was reserved and kept to himself on most days, except when it came to Felix— though most people had a weakness for Felix and his natural charm.

Jisung wishes he had at least said thank you, despite what happened after he gave Jisung the small baggie. It had been the last time he ever saw him.

Taehyun had left town then. Disappearing out of the blue. Ran away, some people said. Fucked around with the wrong clientele, others murmured.

“Overdose,” Seungmin surmised, two weeks after Jisung got back to the bar.

“But there’s no body?”

Seungmin shrugged from across the bar, nursing some cheap beer Jisung couldn’t fathom drinking for pleasure.

Jisung wonders where Taehyun could have gone. They’d spoken about visiting family down south once long ago with him. He wonders if Felix knew. Perhaps. He was too scared to ask, though it wasn’t as if he could now, anyways.

The hours passed slowly, drink after drink served, but before he knew it, it’s nearly eleven.

They let him leave early, Sana’s well-adjusted enough to close up with the others on shift. Jisung makes it up by starting his shift fifteen minutes earlier.

It’s dark out, definitely a time where he’d prefer not to walk home, but he was stubborn. And when he stared Minho down and repeated that he did not want to be picked up, that a fifteen minute walk in the cool air would do him good, he had felt pleased. He could do things on his own.

But now, that pleasant feeling melts away. The cool breeze cutting through his clothes again. The streetlamps don’t offer any warmth, but dimly light up the pavement. Jisung watches his feet, avoiding any possible icy patches.

Jeongin’s probably passed out at this point. Jisung’s heard enough stories of the weed slumbers that take over whenever he takes edibles, so, no use calling him. He can’t keep bothering him every time he walks home, anyway.

Jisung shivers, eyes now trained ahead, ignoring the way the shadows seem to close in.

He shakes his head. Don’t be ridiculous, Jisung thinks. This is why I need to stop letting Minho choose the movies on movie night. There’s no such thing as ghosts, there’s no such thing as demons, there’s no such thing as an unkillable serial killer running around town.

He closes his eyes tightly, cursing away the whatever horrors his mind tries to create in the darkness, just in time to stumble on a loose slab of pavement.

Shit. Jisung makes a mental note to remember that this is why you walk with your eyes open.

There’s the faint noise of sirens in the distance, which doesn’t bode well for Jisung’s racing mind.

Well, maybe there is a murderer out on the loose, he huffs under his breath.

Jisung wants to tell his brain to shut up again.

It doesn’t work well. Thoughts of a killer clown hiding behind the next corner, an axe wielding madman trailing behind him in the dark, his stalker waiting for him at home.

There doesn’t seem to be enough air in his lungs.

The one thing that plagues his days. The one thing he’s tried time and time again to not think about. That maybe if he ignored them, ignored their constant presence, that they would leave him alone.

It could be anyone. Maybe it was the man he walked past in the grocery store this morning. Or maybe the man who always comes by the bar at ten pm and sticks around till closing.

He walks a bit faster, unconsciously glancing over his shoulder, eyes roaming the dark street.

Seven more minutes before he’s home. His small apartment home… that his stalker knows. God, why did he think he could’ve been normal about staying in his place again at night. After everything that’s happened. What normalcy could he have there?

He can’t breathe.

Fuck, he needs to call Minho.

Numb fingers reach into his jacket pocket and pull out his phone. His phone lights up, brightness on max, temporarily blinding him and—

Suddenly there’s a force knocking him over, his phone clattering onto the floor. He lands on his ass, hands barely catching himself on the pavement. He feels the sting from where the rough pavement scraped his palms.

Jisung groans, the panic seizing in his chest.

Half his mind wants to stand up and see who the fuck just barrelled into him about to give them a piece of his mind whilst the other half is paralysed, unable to even look up. He’s stuck frozen on the ground.

“What the fu–”

Then there’s a hand around his wrist, and it burns, searing into his cool flesh. The grip is too hard, he’s trapped, kept in place for his stalker to find, to haunt, to hurt. No no no. He needs to get away.

It feels like claws digging into his skin as whoever it is tries to pull him up, but Jisung pushes himself closer to the ground.

His stalker has finally caught him, followed him one too many times and has finally decided that this was the night to go in for the kill.

No sound other than a keening whine leaves his lips, eyes clenched shut.

He misses Minho. He wants Minho. He needs Minho. Why did he say no to staying over at his? Why did he think he’d be okay alone?

He needs to fight back, but his body just shuts down.

“Jisung?”

Jisung's head whips up suddenly at the voice, he knows that voice.

Choi Yohan.

He sucks in a deep breath, eyes wide, staring at Yohan’s bewildered expression.

Not my stalker.

He breathes out.

The panic settles down as quickly as it came, but Jisung’s gaze has dropped to Yohan’s hand still wrapped around his wrist.

Yohan senses the intensity of his stare and carefully lets go of him. Jisung brings his hand back to his chest, gently messaging at the sore skin.

“Yohan-ssi?” Jisung furrows his brows.

“C’mon,” Yohan reaches for his hand again and Jisung reluctantly lets him this time. The fingers don’t scald his skin like before.

Jisung tries to ignore the questions bubbling in his mind at Yohan’s behaviour. What is he even doing around here at this time?

Yohan lived far from the area, miles away. The only other reason he’d be in this area was the bar, maybe he had forgotten what time the Serpent’s Nest closed on a weekday. Or he was here stopping by Jisung’s apartment. He’d done that a few times. As my friend’s boyfriend, it’s my duty to make sure you’re well fed, safe and healthy, he had told Jisung time and time again. Jisung never had the heart to tell him that it wasn’t needed, that Minho did a perfect enough job.

Yohan meant well, Jisung thought. He gathers his thoughts for a second.

“Wait, where were you going? Why– why’d you come from–”

“Had some business nearby, just ended. Drinks and all that, y’know how it is.”

Jisung doesn’t. Not really at least, but he’s not in the mood to ask more about it.

“Ohh.. okay.” Jisung nods, “I’m walking home now.”

He looks around for his phone, finding it a metre away from where he had fallen. He picks it up and dusts it off. There’s a crack right down the middle that splinters off into several more cracks on the left corner. Jisung sighs, turning it around. At least the camera isn’t broken, he thinks.

“Ahh, of course, let’s go then.”

Yohan takes his hand, tugging him down the path. Jisung startles at the gesture, taking a few steps with him before he pries his fingers from his grasp, “Thank you, Yohan-ssi. It– It’s alright.”

“I insist. I’ll walk you home. It’s late, I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you. Minho would feed me to the pigs if anything were to happen to you, let’s be real,” Yohan chuckles.

He goes to grab Jisung’s hand again, but Jisung just needs a second to collect himself. Just a second to breathe.

One, two, three – in.

One, two, three – out.

One, two, three – in.

A loud buzzing makes him jump, his phone nearly clattering to the floor again.

It’s Minho, calling him.

Fuck, he forgot to send a text that he’d left work.

“Who’s that, you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s Minho.”

Jisung waves the phone screen in Yohan’s direction, a clear, see I’m fine, my boyfriend wants to call, and preferably alone.

“Minho-hyung will be here with me.”

“But– You were just–”

Jisung does a small bow in thanks, and goes to answer the phone, “Yohan-ssi, thank you. I’ll see you–”

“On the trip, right? You will be coming, right?”

Jisung bites his lip and shakes his head, looking down at the ground. “No, I… well. I don’t think so. I can’t.”

“Ahhh, Minho had mentioned you said no, but I was hoping you’d change your mind. Really, I can make arrangements to fit whatever you need, Min– we really want you there.”

Jisung grimaces, he’s not in the mood right now.

His phone pings and Jisung looks down.

Hyung <3 [10:57pm]

You okay there baby?

Do I need to come over?

Oh shit, and now he’s worrying Minho. Again.

He needs to get home.

“Please, it’s fine,” Jisung says, taking a step forward, but Yohan stops him again.

“I’ll figure out a way for you to come.”

He puts his hands on Jisung’s shoulders, his smile is crooked, as it always has been.

Jisung wants to roll his eyes. He wants him to take the hint. Yell that it’s not as simple as that.

Are all rich men like this, Jisung thinks. So used to getting their way, everything they can to get what they want. It doesn’t feel the same as Minho, who’s words taste like honey, slipping through him with a simple hum. Yohan’s words tend to stick to the sides of his throat, clogging his airway like tar.

And maybe it's the adrenaline that kicked in with the fear that has already diminished as quickly as it came, but Jisung’s patience is wearing out. He’s tired, and all he wants to do is hear Minho’s voice.

“Yohan-ssi. It’s late, don’t you need to head back to your place? It’s quite far, isn’t it? I’d rather you not get home too late. My apartment is just around the corner, I’ll be okay.” Jisung gives him a tight smile and hopes it’s enough.

“Always so considerate. If you’re sure, I’ll let you speak with Minho now,” Yohan gives him a slightly disappointed smile, but lets him go, heading off in the direction of the Serpent’s Nest.

Jisung doesn’t waste any time, he doesn’t look back, eyes trained ahead and calls Minho.

It rings once.

“Sung-ah, are you safe?” There’s the underlying sense of concern in Minho’s voice. Definitely overthinking the possibilities of what reasons there are for Jisung to not answer him at this time of night.

Jisung’s sure if he didn’t respond for a few more minutes, Minho would have raced downtown just to find him and make sure he was safe. Jisung ignores the swooning in his gut at the thought.

“I’m okay, hyung. Forgot to text, and then I bumped into Yohan-ssi on the way back.”

“Yohan?”

“Yeah, business drinks, then I think he wanted to ask if I was coming to the… holiday.”

“At this time? Weird.”

“Mmhmm. Whatever, I’m so sleepy. What’d you do today?”

Minho changes the subject, talking about how Soonie knocked over a bowl by accident, the way Minho’s knee started clicking when he went to the gym (Jisung reiterating the fact that he’s becoming an old man), anything to distract Jisung from any more anxiety inducing thoughts for the rest of his walk.

“I’m home, just gonna go in the lift now. I’ll talk to you in a sec, okay.”

“Sure thing, love you.”

“Love you too, hyungie.”

Jisung can’t stop the smile on his face, mood lifted instantly just with Minho’s presence on the phone.

He pushes the fourth floor button, bouncing back and forth on his feet whilst he waits for the old rickety lift to get to his floor.

Jisung pulls out his house key, the one on a key-ring with a small plastic keroppi keychain and a fluffy bunny figurine, swinging it around his finger as he walks out the lift. Humming to himself under his breath.

He gets to his door, the number 413 rusted on the front. He goes to put his key in the lock and turn it, but before he can, the light touch of his hand already pushes it slightly open. The door—his unlocked door creaking.

Jisung freezes, heart hammering in his chest.

This isn’t what he wanted. This is how he planned for tonight to go.

Jisung cautiously pushes the door open slowly with the top of his shoe, careful not to make any sudden movements.

“Hello…” Jisung whispers, as if anyone would hear him, as if anyone hiding would respond.

Jisung slowly enters the small apartment, turning on every light switch within reach.

There’s nothing off at first, the curtains are drawn, the pile of clothes hanging on the back of the cheap sofa are the same. Jisung opens the fridge, no— nothing new. No fresh food stocked by his stalker. He’d changed the locks with one of Yohan’s locksmiths the first time someone had broken in. Maybe this time Jisung had really just forgotten to lock the door, in a rush to get to work. It wasn't the first time he’d done something like that.

Jisung allows himself to breathe a little easier, taking off his shoes and making his way to his bedroom. He switches the light on and–

There.

Placed prettily in the centre of his bed is a red envelope.

His heart drops to the floor, the bag on his shoulder following with a dull thud.

No no no no.

Not again.

Fuck.

His head spins. His eyes dart around the room, looking for anything else, any other hint, any other sign of who it was, but there’s nothing but the dust and stale air.

Of course they would be back, the start of a new year not a deterrent for their hauntings. A thorn at Jisung’s side for over a year and a half.

Legs stiff, he walks over to the bed and picks up the envelope, twisting it back and forth.

Just a letter it seems. Nothing else.

He knows he shouldn’t open it, playing into the hand of his stalker, but he needs to know. What is it this time, what is worth tormenting him about now?

He rips the envelope open and pulls out the letter inside.

The same neat black handwriting he’s seen hundreds of times before lies in front of him.

I’ve missed you angel,

But you’ve been bad. I know you try but you’re starting to stray again.

Every second away, a small cut against my flesh.

I would lay my life down for you, a death by a thousand cuts, I would suffer them all for you, just to keep you safe.

But you stray, angel. You stray towards those tainted by Lucifer himself.

How many times must we go over this lesson?

Your pretty Hyunjin and Felix, fallen angels, they only bring you down.

Do I need to step in again?

I could pay them a visit perhaps.

Or maybe I’ll finally bring you home for good.

If you cannot stay away, I will be the one to keep you on a pretty leash.

We’ll be together soon enough.

See you soon, angel.

— xxxxx

Jisung’s eyes flit around the room again, they could be watching, they could be here. The locks changing don’t mean anything to a narcissistic psychopath.

His mind is spinning, the words start to blur, and he realises that he’s crying. The tears smudging the black ink, and Jisung rubs his thumb into it, rendering some words illegible. If only erasing the words could erase the vile threats of his stalker.

His chest feels too tight, breaths coming in short gasps— hyperventilating. Fuck. He’s hyperventilating. He can’t stop. Too much air is leaving his lungs, and he can’t take anything in.

Shit. Fuck. Fuck. Hyunjin. Hyunjin. Hyunjin. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Jisung tries the breathing exercises Hyunjin guided him through once before. He holds his breath— one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Out. Inhale. One, two, three. Again. Hyunjin. Felix. Minho. Fuck.

He needs to tell them, warn them. They’ve done so much to protect him only for Jisung to fuck them over again and again.

They don’t deserve someone like Jiusng in their life.

He unlocks his phone, scrolling till he finds Hyunjin’s contact. He ignored the way his heart stops for a second. It doesn’t matter what happened before, this matters now. He needs to make sure they’re okay. He needs to fucking breathe.

Hyunjinnie ❀

#########

[unblock caller]

Hyunjin’s number is blocked. He doesn’t remember doing it. Can’t recall when it was done. When did he do it? How fucked had he been when he’d done it? What was he on?

He’s becoming a shell of himself? What is he without Felix, without Hyunjin, without the drugs? What does Minho even see in him? What does this psycho want with him?

The phone rings, and rings, and rings. The idea of Hyunjin just not picking up swims in his mind, and he doesn’t know what to do. It continues to ring, and ring and–

“What do you want, Han Jisung?” Hyunjins voice is laced with venom but it sounds like heaven to Jisung.

There’s the loud bass and thumping music that comes through the speaker. Watery voices and distant shouting. They’re out, Jisung concludes.

“I– I need you to go.”

“Go? What’re you on about?”

“You can’t stay out. You need to–”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Jisung winces at the hostility in his voice. It shouldn’t surprise him, but Jisung’s eyes start to water just the same.

“I– I…”

“Spit it out.”

“Hyunjin…”

“No. You don’t get to do this, after everything.”

“But, it’s… my stalker, they’re–”

“No, no. Jisung. This is not a joke, you can’t preach about us and what’s best for us after what you did to Felix. After what you did to us? And to block me? As if it wasn’t enough, you had too much fucking shame, you couldn’t even face us. Couldn’t face Felix? He could have died, Jisung. You could have died. In fact, Felix did for a fucking minute. Don’t you fucking get that?”

It didn’t matter how loud the music and voices in the club, they were all a faded echo. Hyunjin’s voice cutting through him like a knife.

Hyunjin’s voice is cracking, and Jisung’s heart is breaking.

“They, they… they said they’d stop.”

“And did they Jisung? Did they fucking stop? Why are you calling? After months-”

“Felix is still using–”

“No, you don’t get to blame him, you never called.”

“I was scared, please. Hyunjin, listen-”

“Did you listen to us then?”

“Minho said–”

Hyunjin laughs, it’s wet, and Jisung can imagine the tears smudging his glossy makeup. It’s quieter, he’s probably escaped into a bathroom stall. Jisung wonders where Felix is, he doesn’t think Hyunjin would ever let Felix out of his sight for too long.

“Perfect Minho, of course.”

“Hyunjin.”

“I know, it’s not him that’s the problem, Jisung. It’s you.”

Jisung stifles a sob, “I’m sorry.”

“Just go away. Leave us alone, just the way you wanted. We don’t want to hear from you again, I don’t care what you or your stalker has to say, I’m done. Keep us away.”

The phone clicks. The silence of his room has never felt so loud.

He dials again.

Voicemail.

He dials again.

Voicemail.

He dials again.

Voicemail.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He can’t do anything right. He wants to throw his phone across the room.

He scrolls down his contacts list.

Lixie ☀︎

#########

[unblock caller]

He dials.

Voicemail.

He dials again.

Voicemail.

He sobs. His heart in his throat, he needs out. He can’t do this, he needs to escape, he needs to leave. He can’t be here anymore.

He scrolls back up.

Hyung <3

#########

[block caller]

He dials.

It rings once.

“Jisung-ah. I was waiting for you–”

“Hyung,” Jisung's voice cracks.

“I’m on my way.”