The VIP restaurant was an oasis of quiet luxury, all soft lighting, plush booths, and the discreet clink of fine china. But for Rinwoo, stepping into it felt like walking into a cage. His heart was a frantic drum against his ribs, his palms slick with sweat. He hesitated at the entrance, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on her.
Yuna sat poised in a secluded booth, a picture of elegant distress. She looked up as he approached, her eyes instantly welling with tears she had practiced in the mirror.
Rinwoo froze for a second, then bowed slightly, his movements stiff with anxiety. "Y-Yuna-ssi," he greeted, his voice barely a whisper. He slid into the seat across from her, his posture rigid, every instinct telling him to flee.
Yuna didn't waste time. A single, perfect tear traced down her cheek. "Thank you for coming," she whispered, her voice trembling with manufactured emotion. She dabbed her eye with a napkin. "I… I didn't know who else to turn to."
Rinwoo's own nervousness was momentarily eclipsed by concern. "What… what is it?"
Another tear followed the first. "It's Taekyun," she breathed, her voice cracking artfully. "He's… he's blackmailing me."
Rinwoo's eyes widened in pure, unadulterated shock. "What? No… that… that can't be. Taekyun would never—" The denial was automatic, born from two years of clinging to a fragile image of his husband.
"You don't believe me?" Yuna's voice pitched higher, laced with a pain that sounded utterly genuine. She leaned back, a gesture of defeat, and pulled a small envelope from her purse. Her hands shook—a masterful touch. "Look. If you don't believe me, just look."
She slid the envelope across the table.
Rinwoo's hand trembled violently as he reached for it. He pulled out the photographs. The air left his lungs in a painful rush.
The photos were clear, high-quality. They showed Taekyun and Yuna together. In one, they were entering a building, Taekyun's hand on the small of her back. In another, they were in a dimly lit bar, sitting close. But the most damning detail wasn't the intimacy; it was Taekyun's hair. It was cut in the new, shorter style he'd gotten only a month ago. After their marriage. These were recent. Undeniable.
The world tilted on its axis. Rinwoo felt dizzy, the restaurant's soft music warping into a dissonant hum. The foundation of his reality—the belief that Taekyun's coldness was just his nature, not active betrayal—shattered.
He looked up at Yuna, his vision blurring. "Why?" he choked out, the word raw. "Why is he blackmailing you?"
Yuna leaned forward, her expression one of shared, horrified conspiracy. She delivered the lie with devastating conviction. "Because he's a crazy pervert," she whispered, her voice dripping with disgust and fear. "He only uses me for my body. And when I refuse him… when I try to end it… he threatens to release these photos. He'll ruin my reputation, my family's name. He has all the power."
She painted a picture of Taekyun as a monstrous predator, and herself as the helpless victim, turning Rinwoo's world into a waking nightmare. The evidence was in his hands. The timeline was perfect. And the kind, trusting heart that had always seen the best in people was completely unequipped to see the malicious fabrication for what it was. The trap had been sprung, and Rinwoo had fallen right into it.
The world had narrowed to a tunnel. The soft music, the clinking glasses, the murmur of other diners—it all faded into a meaningless hum. Rinwoo could only see Yuna's tear-streaked face and feel the cold, glossy weight of the photographs burning a hole against his chest through his jacket pocket.
Yuna's performance crescendoed. She sobbed, her shoulders shaking, painting a vivid picture of terror and helplessness. "He'll destroy my family… he'll ruin everything… you have to believe me, he's not the man you think he is!"
Each word was a nail in the coffin of Rinwoo's faith. His mind, usually so calm, was a chaotic whirlwind of the lipstick stain, the late nights, the coldness, and now this—irrefutable proof of a recent, secret life. It was all connecting into a horrifying picture he couldn't unsee.
Slowly, mechanically, Rinwoo pushed his chair back. The legs screeched against the floor, a sound that seemed to come from very far away. "I…I should leave now," he whispered, his voice hollow, devoid of all emotion.
Yuna looked up, her eyes wide with feigned panic. She reached out a trembling hand. "Please," she begged, her voice a desperate whisper. "Please, you can't tell him I told you. You can't tell Taekyun about… about us. If he finds out I spoke to you… he… he said he would hurt my mother." She delivered the final blow with masterful precision, sealing his silence with a threat that played perfectly on his protective nature.
Rinwoo flinched. The idea of Taekyun capable of threatening an old woman was the final, unbelievable detail that somehow made the entire monstrous story plausible in his shattered state. He gave a stiff, jerky nod, unable to form words.
His body moved on autopilot. He turned and walked out of the restaurant, his steps unnaturally even. He didn't feel the ground beneath his feet. He didn't see the people he passed. The photographs in his pocket felt like a lead weight, dragging him down into an abyss.
He just walked, his mind a terrifying blank, the image of Taekyun's face in those photos seared onto the back of his eyelids.
Back in the restaurant, the moment the door closed behind Rinwoo, Yuna's tears vanished. She picked up her champagne flute, a slow, triumphant smirk spreading across her face. She took a sip, the bubbles tickling her tongue.
She chuckled to herself, a low, venomous sound. "He looked so innocent. So utterly broken." She shook her head in mock pity. "Poor, poor Rinwoo. He must have suffered so much because of that idiot already." She finished her champagne, setting the glass down with a definitive click. "Making him turn against Taekyun… wasn't hard at all. He didn't even question it."
The game was in motion. The first domino had fallen. And Yuna, the scorned mistress, was now the puppet master, watching with cold amusement as her pawn stumbled blindly into the heart of the battle.
The grand foyer of the Lee estate had become a hub of low-voiced anxiety. Eunjae was pacing, his own drama with Daon momentarily forgotten. "Has anyone seen him? He was just here!" he asked a passing maid for what felt like the tenth time.
Even Taemin, drawn out of his depressive cocoon by the unusual commotion, was hovering near the staircase, his face pale and worried. "Rinwoo hyung doesn't just disappear," he mumbled, a stark contrast to his usual boisterous self.
The servants exchanged nervous glances, huddled together. The elderly Mrs. Kim held her ground. "We must wait," she repeated, but even her voice lacked its earlier conviction.
The tension snapped like a stretched rubber band when the main door creaked open.
Rinwoo stood there, silhouetted against the fading afternoon light. But he was a ghost of the man who had left. He was deathly pale, his skin almost translucent. He seemed to be dragging his feet, each step a monumental effort. His eyes, usually so warm and gentle, were wide and utterly vacant, staring at nothing. He looked like he'd seen a specter.
"Rinwoo!" Eunjae exclaimed, rushing forward. He grabbed Rinwoo's arms, fearing his legs would give way. "Where have you been? What's wrong? You look terrible!"
Rinwoo didn't respond. He stood frozen in Eunjae's grip, his body rigid. He was breathing, but he wasn't really there. Inside his mind, it was a hurricane of betrayal and heartbreak—the photos, Yuna's tears, the accusations. The world around him—Eunjae's voice, the concerned faces of the servants, Taemin's presence—was just a distant, muffled echo. He felt disconnected, like he was watching a play from very far away, his own body moving on a strange, autonomous autopilot. The weight in his jacket pocket felt like it was pulling his entire soul down toward the floor. He was back in the estate, but he had left a vital part of himself in that VIP restaurant, shattered at Yuna's feet.
Eunjae's questions died in his throat. Rinwoo's eyes, those usually soft, expressive pools, had rolled back slightly, showing the whites. His body went completely limp, the last of his strength giving out.
"Rinwoo!" Eunjae cried out, lunging forward just in time to catch him before he crumpled to the hard marble floor. The dead weight was shocking. As he struggled to hold him up, a terrifying sight made Eunjae's own legs go weak.
A thin, vivid trickle of blood began to flow from Rinwoo's nostril, tracing a crimson path down his pale, ashen cheek.
"No, no, no…" Eunjae panicked, his voice a high, frightened whisper. He couldn't hold him. He was about to sink to the floor with him.
"Hyung!"
The shout came from the stairs. Taemin, seeing the scene unfold, took the steps three at a time. All his own despair was instantly replaced by a surge of adrenaline. He shoved his way past the stunned servants, his strength fueled by pure fear.
"What happened?!" Taemin demanded, but there was no time for answers. He slid his arms under Rinwoo's shoulders and knees, lifting him with a grunt. Rinwoo was dead weight, unnervingly light yet heavy with helplessness.
"His room, now!" Eunjae instructed, his voice shaking as he pointed, his hands now free and covered in the faint smear of Rinwoo's blood.
Taemin didn't hesitate. He carried Rinwoo swiftly down the hall, his heart hammering against his ribs. He pushed the bedroom door open with his foot and carefully laid Rinwoo's limp form on the bed. The contrast between the peaceful, neatly made bed and Rinwoo's bleeding, unconscious state was horrifying.
Eunjae followed close behind, grabbing a cloth from the bathroom and wetting it, his hands trembling so badly he could barely wring it out. He rushed back to the bedside, gently dabbing at the blood on Rinwoo's face and under his nose, his own breath coming in ragged gasps.
The two young men, usually wrapped up in their own dramas, were united in a single, terrifying purpose: the well-being of the gentle soul who lay motionless before them, bleeding from a pain they couldn't see.
The scene in Rinwoo's bedroom was one of hushed, frantic energy. Taemin's voice was sharp with command, a side of him rarely seen, as he barked orders into his phone to their family doctor. "Just get here now! He's unconscious, there was blood... I don't know, just hurry!"
He ended the call, his face a mask of grim determination. He turned to Eunjae. "Stay with him. I'm going to find out what happened."
He stormed out of the room and down the stairs, where a cluster of servants stood wringing their hands, their faces pale with fear.
"Where did he go?" Taemin demanded, his voice echoing in the grand foyer. "Who did he leave with? Someone here must have seen something!"
The servants exchanged terrified glances, but remained silent. Their loyalty to Rinwoo, and their fear of the masters' wrath, sealed their lips. They bowed their heads, refusing to meet his eyes. Mrs. Kim, their elder, gave a almost imperceptible shake of her head, her message clear: We cannot say.
Taemin's frustration boiled over. "Fine!" he snapped. He pulled out his phone again, dialing the head of security. "Pull up all the CCTV footage from the main gate for the last two hours. Now! I want to see who he left with and what car they drove. Report to me directly."
Back in the bedroom, the frantic energy was replaced by a tense, worried quiet. Eunjae sat on the edge of the bed, having cleaned the blood from Rinwoo's face. The bleeding had stopped, but Rinwoo's complexion was worryingly pale, almost waxen. His breathing was shallow but even.
Eunjae gently brushed a strand of hair from Rinwoo's damp forehead, his own heart aching. "What happened to you, huh?" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "What could possibly have hurt you this much?"
He looked so fragile lying there, a world away from the quiet, steady presence that usually moved through the house. Eunjae's mind raced, trying to piece it together. The sudden disappearance. The return in a state of catatonic shock. The physical reaction—the nosebleed, the fainting.
Something had shattered him. Something he saw, or something he was told. And as Eunjae sat there, guarding his friend's vulnerable sleep, a cold dread began to settle in his own stomach.
Taemin stood in the security office, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he stared at the bank of monitors. The footage played back, showing Rinwoo hesitantly stepping out of the main gate. His body was angled toward a spot just beyond the camera's range. He paused, seemed to converse with someone unseen, then, after a moment of clear internal struggle, walked decisively out of the frame.
"Again," Taemin growled, his jaw clenched so tight it ached.
The security head rewound the tape. They watched it for the fifth time. The result was the same. A blind spot. Someone had known exactly where the cameras were and had stayed expertly hidden. All they had was the back of a generic, dark sedan pulling away from the curb a minute later. It was useless.
"Whoever it was, they knew what they were doing," the security head said, his voice apologetic.
Taemin slammed his fist on the console. "That's not good enough! Find the car! Check traffic cams on the surrounding streets!" He was breathing heavily, a mix of fury and helplessness churning inside him. Someone had hurt Rinwoo, had deliberately lured him out, and they had covered their tracks perfectly.
---
Upstairs, the doctor finished his examination, a deep frown on his face. He closed his medical bag with a soft click.
"There is no clear physiological reason for the epistaxis—the nosebleed," he said, his tone professional but concerned. He looked down at Rinwoo's still form. "But his body is telling a story of severe neglect. Look at the shadows under his eyes. This is chronic sleep deprivation. His pulse is weak, his color is poor. This is a body that hasn't been nourished properly or rested deeply in a very long time. The shock and stress of whatever happened today were simply the final straw."
He turned to Eunjae, his expression stern. "When he wakes, he must be cared for. Small, healthy meals. Ensure he sleeps. No stress. His system is fragile. He needs to build his strength back from the ground up. I want to see him again in one week to check his progress."
Eunjae bowed deeply, his usual brattiness completely gone, replaced by genuine worry. "Thank you, Doctor. We will. I'll make sure of it."
He saw the doctor out, closing the door softly before returning to Rinwoo's bedside. The doctor's words echoed in his mind. Neglect. Chronic sleep deprivation. Not nourished properly.
A cold anger began to mix with his worry. This wasn't just about one bad day. This was a pattern. This was the result of two years of being invisible, of quiet suffering, of love given and never returned. And someone, today, had pushed that suffering past its breaking point.
Eunjae pulled the chair closer to the bed, determined not to leave Rinwoo's side. He was going to find out who did this. And when he did, there would be hell to pay.
The mood in the penthouse shifted the moment Yuna and Jake stumbled through the door, their laughter loud and careless, their arms tangled around each other. The sound was a stark contrast to the usual tense quiet.
Mrs. Choi looked up from her magazine, her eyes narrowing instantly. Her gaze zeroed in on her daughter, who was practically draped over Jake, a man she usually had to hide.
"Yuna," her mother's voice was sharp, cutting through their laughter. "What is the meaning of this? Why are you clinging to him so freely? Have you lost your mind?"
Jake just smirked, pulling Yuna closer. "Relax, mother-in-law," he said, his tone dripping with insolent familiarity. "We don't need that idiot Taekyun anymore."
Mrs. Choi's face tightened. She ignored him, her eyes locked on her daughter. "Yuna. Explanation. Now."
Yuna shrugged, a defiant glint in her eyes, fueled by her triumphant manipulation of Rinwoo and her anger at Taekyun's ultimatum. "Taekyun knows about Jake," she stated bluntly. "He's been pushing me, mother. Lecturing me. Making me feel like a caged bird. I'm sick of it! He had the audacity to give me 'one last chance'. Who does he think he is?"
Instead of the support she expected, her mother's expression turned to one of sheer horror. She surged forward, grabbing Yuna's arm with a surprisingly strong grip.
"Have you lost all sense?!" Mrs. Choi hissed, her voice low and urgent. "Yuna, don't you forget! Don't you dare forget how we were living before him! We were on the verge of losing everything! That 'idiot' Taekyun gave us a home! A roof over our heads! Food! He gave us money to spend like water! He gave us a life!"
Yuna rolled her eyes, trying to pull her arm free. "That's all in the past. Jake has a perfect job now. With him, I can be free. We can get married properly, have a real family, give you grandchildren! With Taekyun, I was suffocating. He's a cold machine. He doesn't even know how to romance a woman!"
She and Jake shared a laugh, a cruel, mocking sound that seemed to diminish the immense security Taekyun had provided.
Mrs. Choi released her arm, taking a step back. She looked at her daughter not with anger, but with a profound, weary disappointment. "You are making a terrible mistake, Yuna. You are throwing away a kingdom for a moment of rebellion. You will regret this. Mark my words."
But Yuna was too far gone, high on her own perceived victory and newfound defiance. She just waved a dismissive hand. "Whatever. You'll see."
With that, she turned, pulling a smirking Jake with her, and headed toward her bedroom, leaving her mother standing alone in the lavish living room. Mrs. Choi watched them go, her heart heavy with a chilling certainty. The gilded cage door was open, and her daughter was flying straight toward a cliff, utterly convinced she was finally free.
The grand foyer of the Lee estate, usually a place of imposing quiet, was currently a chamber of cold, seething fury. Mr. Lee stood like a granite pillar, his suitcase still at his feet, his overcoat draped over a nearby chair. He had returned from abroad expecting the structured, respectful welcome that was his due. Instead, he had been greeted by nothing but silent, empty halls.
Now, his two eldest sons stood before him, having just returned from their respective offices. Daon and Taekyun, both powerful men in their own right, were reduced to chastised schoolboys under their father's blistering gaze.
"Is this what my household has become?" Mr. Lee's voice was a low, dangerous rumble, not a shout, but somehow far more terrifying. "I return from a long journey, and not a single soul is here to welcome me? Not a son? Not even a spouse?"
His eyes, sharp and critical, swept over Daon and then Taekyun.
"You," he said, jabbing a finger at Daon. "Where is that dramatic husband of yours? Should he not be here, ensuring the house is in order? Showing respect?" His glare shifted to Taekyun,even colder. "And you. Where is Rinwoo? His one purpose is to maintain this household's harmony and represent it. Yet, he is nowhere to be found. Is he so useless he cannot even perform this basic duty?"
He was strategically turning them, pitting them against their husbands, making their spouses' absence a reflection of their own failure to command respect and order.
"I expect obedience and discipline from my sons," he continued, his voice dripping with contempt. "But I at least expected your chosen partners to possess the basic decency to be present when the head of this family returns. It seems I have overestimated them. And by extension," he let the words hang in the air, "I have overestimated your control over your own households."
Daon's jaw was tight, the lecture hitting a raw nerve after his own tumultuous morning with Eunjae. Taekyun's expression was its usual cold mask, but a muscle ticked in his jaw. Their father's words were designed to incite resentment, to make them look at their husbands not as partners, but as failing subordinates who had embarrassed them.
The grand welcome Mr. Lee had envisioned was now a stage for a different kind of performance: one of dominance, disapproval, and the ruthless reminder that in the Lee family, every absence was an insult, and every insult was a failure of leadership. The air was thick with the unspoken message: get your houses in order, or there will be consequences.
The oppressive weight of their father's lecture still hung in the air as Daon and Taekyun made their way to the dining room. The grand table was set, but the chairs were empty. An unusual silence permeated the space.
"Where is everyone?" Daon asked, his voice sharp with the lingering irritation from his father's scolding and the unresolved tension with Eunjae.
A maid, who had been hovering nervously nearby, bowed deeply. "Young Master Eunjae and Young Master Taemin... they are in Young Master Rinwoo's room, Sir."
Taekyun's frown deepened. This was highly irregular. "Why? What is the meaning of this gathering?"
The maid hesitated, wringing her hands. She glanced between the two formidable brothers, fear evident in her eyes. "It's... it's Young Master Rinwoo, Sir. He... he fainted this afternoon. They are with him."
The words landed like a physical blow in the quiet room.
Daon's chair scraped back violently. All thoughts of his own problems vanished, replaced by a surge of pure, unadulterated concern. Without a word, he turned and strode swiftly out of the dining room, heading for the stairs.
Taekyun remained seated for a fraction of a second longer, a conflict warring on his usually impassive face. His father's angry words about Rinwoo's dereliction of duty echoed in his mind.
Pushing back his own chair with a controlled motion, he stood and followed Daon.
The door to Rinwoo's room was slightly ajar. Daon pushed it open, Taekyun a stern shadow behind him.
The scene inside was quiet and somber. Eunjae was seated in a chair pulled close to the bedside, his usual dramatic energy replaced by a watchful stillness. Rinwoo lay against the pillows, his skin pale against the white linen, dark circles stark under his closed eyes. He looked fragile, a stark contrast to the immaculate, if silent, presence they were all accustomed to.
Daon's voice, when he spoke, was uncharacteristically soft, laced with a concern that overrode his usual sternness. "Eunjae. What happened?"
Eunjae looked up, his expression weary. "He just… disappeared this afternoon. No one saw him leave. Then he came back… he looked like a ghost, Taekyun. Pale, scared, like he'd seen something horrible." He swallowed, the memory clearly unsettling. "He just… collapsed. Right in the foyer. There was blood… from his nose."
He gestured vaguely. "The doctor came. He said Rinwoo's body is weak from not eating or sleeping properly. The shock was just too much." Eunjae's eyes then flickered with a hint of frustration. "Taemin is downstairs with security, trying to check the CCTV footage to see who he left with, but… he hasn't found anything yet."
The information landed heavily in the room.
Rinwoo left the estate. The concept was so foreign it was almost unbelievable to both brothers. Rinwoo, who was as much a part of the house as the walls themselves, had ventured out alone, willingly, and returned in a state of catastrophic shock.
Daon's brow furrowed deeply, his mind racing through the implications.
But it was Taekyun's reaction that was more profound. He stood frozen just inside the doorway, his sharp eyes fixed on Rinwoo's still form. The anger he'd felt moments ago—at Rinwoo's absence, at his father's reprimand—evaporated, replaced by a cold, unsettling dread.
The doctor's words echoed his own hidden fears. Weak. Not eating. Not sleeping. Shock.
Far away, in the serene, ancient silence of the mountain shrine, Master Hwang's eyes snapped open. He had been in deep meditation, but a sudden, violent ripple in the unseen energies he guarded had jolted him awake. It was a sharp, painful tear in the fabric of a fate-bond, a cry of anguish from a heart under his protection. He placed a withered hand over his own chest, feeling the echo of a profound hurt.
"Rinwoo," he whispered, his voice like the rustle of dry leaves. The peace of the shrine was shattered. Without another moment's hesitation, the ancient man began to move with a purpose that belied his years, gathering a few essential items. The journey to the Lee estate was long—nine hours by car. But he knew he had to go. The time for waiting was over.
---
Back in the Lee estate, the atmosphere in Rinwoo's room was thick with a helpless anxiety. Eunjae, who had been putting on a brave face, finally felt the full weight of his fear and exhaustion crash down on him. Seeing Rinwoo so lifeless, so unlike himself, was terrifying. His own shoulders slumped, and a tremor ran through him.
Daon, ever observant, noticed the shift immediately. Without a word, he reached out and pulled Eunjae closer, drawing him into the solid circle of his arms. It was an instinctual gesture, one that bypassed their usual bickering and pride.
The moment he felt Daon's strong, steady embrace, Eunjae's composure shattered. He buried his face in Daon's shoulder, his body shaking with silent sobs that he could no longer hold back.
"What happened to him, Daon?" he cried, his voice muffled against the fabric of Daon's shirt. "Why does he look like that? He's so pale… and he's not waking up… it's… it's scaring me."
All his bratty defiance was gone, stripped away to reveal raw, terrified concern for his friend.
Daon held him tighter, his own heart clenching at the sound of Eunjae's distress. He rubbed slow, calming circles on his back. "Shhh, it's alright. He's going to be alright," he murmured, his voice a low, reassuring rumble. "The doctor was here. He's just resting. He's strong. He'll wake up." He offered comfort, a rock in the swirling emotional chaos of the room.
The display of raw vulnerability was too much for Taekyun. The sight of Rinwoo's fragility, the sound of Eunjae's tears, it all pressed in on him, amplifying the furious, confused protectiveness roaring inside him. He couldn't stand there anymore. Without a word, he turned on his heel and left the room, his footsteps echoing down the hall as he sought the solitude of his own space to try and process the storm of emotions—anger, guilt, and that terrifying, unfamiliar urge to protect—that threatened to overwhelm him.
The cool night air did little to soothe Taemin's frayed nerves. He leaned against the cold stone wall outside the security office, a cigarette dangling from his lips, its tip glowing like a tiny, angry star in the darkness. He exhaled a plume of smoke, watching it curl towards the sky, trying to blur out the image of Rinwoo's pale, unconscious form.
In his pocket, his phone vibrated again. For the fiftieth time. Juwon. He'd been ignoring the calls, the texts, too wrapped up in the family chaos and his own despair to face him. But the persistent buzzing was a tether to a reality outside these oppressive walls. With a sigh that was more smoke than breath, he finally stabbed the answer button and brought the phone to his ear.
He was met with an immediate, frantic barrage. "Yah! Lee Taemin! Where have you been?! What's gotten into you? Why are you ignoring my texts and calls? Do you have any idea how worried I've been?!"
Despite everything, a slow, weary chuckle escaped Taemin. The sound was rough from the smoke, but fond. "Calm down, darling," he said, the endearment slipping out naturally, a habit born from a thousand secret conversations.
On the other end, in his lavish bedroom at the Park estate, Juwon's tirade cut off abruptly. A brilliant blush spread across his cheeks at the word. "I… I wasn't that worked up," he mumbled, his voice instantly losing its edge, becoming softer.
Taemin could practically hear the pout. "There was some… problem in the family," Taemin explained, his voice losing its slight amusement, turning more serious. "I'm sorry for ignoring your calls. It's been… a lot." He couldn't bring himself to elaborate, to voice the dread of the upcoming dinner or Rinwoo's collapse.
Juwon, who had been pacing in his room, stopped and fell back onto his plush bed, staring up at the ceiling. The anger was gone, replaced by a quiet, wistful longing. "I miss you," he said, his voice almost a whine. "I miss the old Taemin. The one who would show up in the middle of the night on that obnoxiously loud bike of yours and just… take me away from everything."
The memory was a bittersweet ache in Taemin's chest. The freedom, the rebellion, the wind in their hair—it all felt a million miles away. He took a final drag of his cigarette before flicking it away.
"Soon, baby," Taemin promised, his voice dropping into a low, familiar tease that made Juwon's heart flutter. "I'll come and kidnap you again. Just you wait."
The line was quiet for a moment, and Taemin could perfectly picture Juwon blushing, rolling over onto his stomach to bury his smiling face in his pillows. The connection, however brief, was a lifeline. It was a reminder of what he was fighting for, even when all hope seemed lost. For a moment, under the vast, indifferent sky, he didn't feel like a trapped heir; he felt like Taemin again, Juwon's Taemin, and that was enough to keep him going.
The phone line hummed with a new, intimate energy. Juwon's earlier worry had melted into a soft, contented sigh. "You'd better," he murmured into the phone, his voice a warm whisper. "My knight in shining leather."
Taemin's grin was audible. "Don't I always come for my prince?" he teased, the weight on his shoulders feeling just a little lighter. "Just try to be ready. I won't wait if you're busy picking an outfit."
Juwon let out a mock-offended gasp. "Yah! My outfits are always perfect! It's you who shows up looking like you just rolled out of bed!"
"For you? Always," Taemin shot back, his tone dripping with playful affection. "It's my signature look."
They fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, just listening to each other breathe, the miles between them feeling insignificant.
"I should go," Taemin finally said, his voice softening with genuine regret. "The family… thing… isn't over yet."
"Okay," Juwon replied, equally soft. "Just… be careful. And answer your phone next time. You scared me."
"I will. I promise." Taemin paused. "Goodnight, Juwon-ah."
"Goodnight, Taemin-ah. Dream of me."
The call ended. Taemin stood for a moment longer in the cool night air, the ghost of a smile on his lips. The world was still a mess, but for a few precious minutes, he'd been reminded of the reason he was willing to fight it. He pushed off the wall, the promise of a future kidnapping a secret beacon of hope in the dark, and headed back inside, ready to face whatever came next.