(//A.N.// Please re-read Ch. 13:Hunger. :) i added some important details at the end.. Gomenasaiii >.< Tysm!! Happy reading!)
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"Mister… can you buy that for me?"
A soft little hand tugged at the edge of the man's coat.
The man glanced down, his hands buried deep in his pockets. The sight froze him for a second—.
A little girl—no older than seven or eight—stood there, looking up at him with wide, round crimson eyes that felt painfully familiar. Her pale skin glowed faintly beneath the sunlight, her hair tied into pigtails that swayed when she moved.
She was beautiful in a way that unsettled him—angelic, but carrying an aura that was too quiet, too poised, for a child.
For the first time in a long while, he was caught off guard.
He crouched down to her level, his lips curling into a smirk.
"Which one?"
The girl's eyes flickered toward the street corner, where a shop displayed a massive sign: Strawberry Cream Puff Ice Cream – On Sale.
He followed her gaze, then chuckled under his breath.
"Let's go." He stood, his broad figure casting a shadow over her small frame, and extended his hand toward her.
The girl just stared at his hand, then shook her head lightly.
"My sister said I can't follow strangers." Her voice was soft, yet firm in its innocence.
The man tilted his head, amused. "Then… do you want me to buy it for you instead?"
The little girl tilted her head, studying him, then grinned in a mischievous, childish way.
"Nope. I can't follow you…" She spun around on her heel, "But you can follow me!"
Before the man could answer, she skipped off toward the shop, her tiny pigtails bouncing.
He paused, shaking his head with a quiet laugh
"Bold little thing…" He slipped his hands back into his pockets and followed after her, his long strides slow and measured, his expression unreadable.
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Meanwhile, at the steps of the apartment, a voice called out—loud and urgent.
"Sister!"
Sherina froze, her hand just brushing the doorknob. She turned, startled, to find Shohan, his teenage face pale and breathless.
"Shohan?" she called, brows furrowing.
"Shiela's missing!" he blurted, panic lacing every word.
The world stopped. Sherina's heart slammed painfully in her chest.
"What?" Her voice cracked, her hand instantly reaching for him.
"What happened?"
Shohan's words spilled out in a panic.
"We were waiting outside your apartment a while ago. I looked at my phone to call Dad, and when I looked back—she was gone!"
Sherina didn't hesitate. Her hand clamped around his wrist, her pulse hammering beneath her skin. "Come on!"
They ran together, scanning alleys, weaving through the crowds, their breaths ragged, their shoes pounding against the pavement.
Sherina's mind was a storm of dread—Shiela's face, her small hands, her laughter—what if something happened? What if she never saw her again?
Then, as they turned down the row of small shops, a voice rang out—bright and sweet.
"Sis!"
Sherina stopped dead in her tracks.
The voice was sweet, familiar, and achingly alive.
Sherina stopped mid-stride, her breath hitching. She turned toward the sound, and there—standing in front of a brightly lit ice cream shop—was Shiela.
Her little sister held two ice cream cones in her tiny hands, her cheeks flushed with delight.
Behind her stood a man, tall and commanding, carrying a plastic bag filled with several cups of ice cream.
"Shiela!" Shohan shouted in relief. He rushed forward, wrapping his arms around her so tightly the ice cream nearly toppled.
But Sherina didn't move.
Because her gaze was locked on the man standing just a step behind her sister.
Leon.
His eyes were locked on her, unreadable yet piercing.
It had been days since she last saw him—days that felt like years—and now here he was—standing so casually at Shiela's side, as if fate had orchestrated it.
"Hey…" Leon's voice was low, rough with an emotion Sherina couldn't place.
Shohan froze mid-hug, his gaze flickering between the imposing stranger and his sister. Leon's presence was magnetic, suffocating—his height, the sharp cut of his jaw, the dangerous calm in his eyes.
Shohan swallowed hard. He looked up at Sherina, who stood rigid, her lips parted, her face pale and stricken.
'Do they… know each other?' he wondered silently, unease curling in his stomach.
But the truth was already written in the tension that hung in the air—an invisible thread stretched taut between Sherina and Leon. A thread no one else could see, but everyone could feel.
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Inside Sherina's apartment, the air was quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the clinking of spoons.
Leon bent down slightly, his hand steady as he guided Shiela, who was trying to clamber up onto the chair in her excitement. His other hand was already busy setting down the plastic bag on the table, his long fingers pulling out ice cream cups one by one.
A small sigh slipped from him, but there was a shadow of a smile on his lips as he glanced at the little girl. The way she beamed at the ice cream, the way her tiny hands struggled to hold the cup properly—it made something stir inside him.
Cute. Too cute. Maybe this is how it would feel… if I had one of my own with her.
Shohan, sitting opposite, let out a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Shiela, you shouldn't ask strangers to buy you something."
"But Mister is not a stranger at all," Shiela replied matter-of-factly, already busy peeling the lid off her ice cream. Her spoon scraped eagerly against the frozen surface.
Sherina leaned over with a clean tissue, wiping the cream that smeared across Shiela's cheek while balancing her own spoon.
Sherina's eyes flicked up, sharp. "And how exactly did you know that?"
Shiela giggled, swinging her legs.
"Because I saw Mister waiting outside your house. He was there before us."
Shohan's spoon paused mid-air. "What?"
The little girl, oblivious to the tension, held her spoon of ice cream out to her brother.
Shohan leaned forward, begrudgingly taking a bite.
She went on cheerfully,
"And he looks like a boyfriend waiting for sister… so I followed him."
Sherina jolted, her chest tightening, the blood rushing to her cheeks.
The word boyfriend crashed against her ears like a forbidden bell. Her eyes darted toward Leon.
He stood tall behind Shohan's chair, his broad frame unmissable, arms folded loosely, watching the exchange. His gaze slid to Sherina, and the corner of his lips curved upward in a slow, deliberate smirk.
Her breath caught. She spun around, fleeing to the sink, pretending to busy herself with plates.
"You shouldn't say things like that," she muttered, her voice shaking just slightly.
Shiela blinked, then lifted her wide eyes toward Leon. "Hmm… not yet, Mister?"
Leon inhaled slowly, let it out in a sigh, then gave her the faintest nod, his expression unreadable.
Shohan frowned, annoyed, grabbing a tissue to wipe the cream off his sister's chin and the sticky mess on the table. "Look at you—making a mess again."
"Don't worry, I'll help you," Shiela chirped, though her gaze still clung stubbornly to Leon as if drawn to him.
Sherina's thoughts spun like a storm. Her grip on the dish towel tightened.
Then Shohan's voice shifted, deeper, serious.
"Sis… you probably didn't hear it. But—they took Happy."
Sherina froze. The towel slipped from her fingers. "When?"
"2 months ago. Dad didn't care, so it was just me. I couldn't reject them." Shohan's jaw clenched.
"But… he wants you to take Happy. They probably left her in the old house."
The weight of his words dragged Sherina down like lead. She turned back to the table slowly, holding two glasses of juice, setting one in front of her brother… and handed one to Leon.
When Leon's hand brushed the glass, his eyes flicked up. His face was darker now, his jaw set tight.
He didn't need to ask—he already understood what Shohan meant.
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Night settled heavy over the city.
Leon had ordered Minho to prepare the car.
"They'll go home safe," he'd said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument. Sherina had tried to protest, insisting she could take the kids to the train station herself, but Leon didn't yield.
Now, standing at the curb, Sherina watched the car pull away, Shiela's small hand waving from the window until the vehicle disappeared down the street.
Beside her, Leon stood still, his hands buried in his pockets, eyes locked on the darkened road. His tall figure was a silent wall in the night air.
Sherina's chest tightened. Her sister's words echoed louder than before.
Boyfriend.
That's right. There's nothing special between us. He doesn't even have my number. We both don't know anything about each other. We don't talk about feelings or love.
This thing between us… it's nothing but lust.
But her chest ached even as she repeated it.
She lifted her trembling hand to open the door. The hinge groaned softly, breaking the silence.
She was about to step inside when his voice came.
Low. Rough. Almost hesitant.
"Can I… stay?"
The words struck her spine like a spark.
Sherina froze, her fingers tightening on the metal knob. She couldn't look at him. She knew if she turned, if she saw his face, she would shatter.
"Sorry… you can't." Her voice was fragile, trembling.
The silence behind her was suffocating, but she pushed on.
"Please don't… see me anymore. There's nothing going on between us."
Her eyes blurred as she pushed the door wider. The wooden edge scraped faintly against the floor, the sound too loud in the silence.
With her face cast downward, she whispered,
"Good night."
And she closed the door.
The door clicked shut between them.
Leon stood motionless. His eyes lingered on the wooden door, cold and unreadable, though something darker burned beneath.
Finally, he exhaled a sharp breath, pulling a cigar from his pocket putting it on his mouth, but he didn't light it.
"You really can't be honest with yourself," he muttered, voice low, almost swallowed by the dark.
He closed his eyes, tilting his head back. And then—slowly, with heavy steps—he walked away, the sound of his shoes fading into the distance.
Inside, Sherina leaned her back against the door, her knees weak, her palms still trembling.
She told herself she had done the right thing. That she had protected herself.
But her body betrayed her, burning with the memory of his voice, his presence, the way he made the air itself feel charged.
And she hated that deep down, a part of her wished she had opened the door again.
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Sherina moved briskly to the table, eager to keep her hands busy, to chase away the heaviness still pressing on her chest. The clink of spoons and the soft scrape of plastic cups into the trash were a poor distraction, but it was something.
She opened the fridge, sliding in the leftover cups, when her eyes caught on a box she hadn't noticed before. It was larger than the others, the lid a slightly different color. Curiosity tugged at her, and she pulled it out.
The moment she lifted the cover, she froze.
Inside were three cups of Oreo ice cream, arranged in a perfect triangle. And in the center—was a single plastic crimson rose, its petals deep red, almost glowing under the light of the fridge.
A small folded letter leaned against it.
Her breath hitched. Slowly, carefully, she took it out and unfolded the paper.
They were selling ice cream gift boxes, and your sister said you love Oreo ice cream, so I bought one.
That was all it said. Simple. Almost careless. But it was enough.
Her fingers trembled as she lowered the note, staring at the neat little arrangement inside the box.
He hadn't said it aloud, hadn't pushed her, hadn't demanded anything. Yet in this small, quiet gesture, he was showing her something real—showing her.
A lump formed in her throat, thick and heavy.
All this time, she had been guarding herself, hiding behind excuses and walls, too afraid to feel again, too afraid to risk her heart.
Yet here was Leon—without hesitation—laying out pieces of himself, one by one, in the simplest, most unexpected ways.
It hit her like a quiet storm.
Maybe she was the coward here, trembling behind her locked door, pretending that what bound them was only lust.
Maybe he was the only one brave enough to bare the truth—his truth.
And for the first time, Sherina admitted to herself, It's not just lust.
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Earlier that day:
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"My sister likes Oreo ice cream," Shiela announced proudly, her little voice muffled as she clutched her cone with both hands.
"She doesn't like coffee, but she loves frappe drinks. Ohh—she hates strawberries. She's more of a chocolate girl."
Leon handed the cashier a bill and waited, his sharp features unreadable, though his eyes flicked briefly toward the child as if committing each word to memory.
The moment he took the change and turned, Shiela was already skipping toward a small empty table, her pigtails bouncing with every step. Leon followed at his unhurried pace, his tall figure almost swallowing the space around him.
By the time he sat down across from her, she was already busy licking her ice cream, but her chatter didn't stop.
"My sister is very strong," she went on matter-of-factly.
"She's not afraid of a lot of things. Ohh—and she likes peanuts. It helps her focus when she studies."
Leon leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table, chin settling against the back of his hand. His dark eyes narrowed just slightly as he studied her, a ghost of a smirk curling at his lips.
"Hmm," he drawled lazily. "And?"
Shiela giggled, drips of cream already clinging to her lips.
"She likes cartoons, even if she's an adult. It makes her relax and calm. She's always alone… but sometimes she wants someone to stay with her."
Leon's smirk faded just a fraction, his gaze sharpening.
"...Ohh, right!" Shiela suddenly perked up, her eyes wide as she froze mid-lick and stared straight at him.
Leon raised a brow. "What?"
"Mister, do you smoke?" she asked bluntly.
Leon stilled. His eyes lowered briefly before a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Why?"
"Because sis doesn't like the smell of smoke," Shiela said, pointing her tiny finger at him with all the seriousness in the world. "Any smoke. It makes her uncomfortable."
He tilted his head slightly, amusement dancing in his eyes, though he didn't deny it.
"Then what about when she cooks?"
"That one is okay," Shiela answered confidently, swinging her little legs beneath the chair.
"But sometimes she wears glasses or a mask if there's no exhaust. She is not sick, she just… doesn't like it."
Leon's smirk deepened, though there was a flicker of something else in his expression—something softer. "Ohh. Okay. And then…?"
Shiela's eyes brightened as she eagerly leaned forward.
"My sister is very scared of being attached to someone or to something, so you are lucky she chose you to be her boyfriend."
The words dropped between them like a stone into still water.
Leon's gaze froze, the smirk lingering but faltering just enough to betray the ripple beneath his calm. His jaw flexed once before he asked quietly, "...Boyfriend?"
"Mm-hm." Shiela nodded with absolute certainty, licking her cone again as if she'd just stated the most obvious truth in the world.
"Sis is bad at singing," Shiela announced with a mischievous grin, "But she's good at cooking."
Leon arched a brow, "Really?"
"Yep." Shiela nodded vigorously, her pigtails bouncing.
"So every time she cooks for us, she always sings. We hate her singing—" she broke into giggles,"—but we love her cooking."
Leon's smirk widened, but his eyes softened, like he could already picture Sherina humming off-key in some quiet kitchen, unaware how human and tender she looked in those moments.
Shiela, however, wasn't finished. Her voice lowered a little, as if she was sharing a secret meant only for him.
"Sister is a very good girl. But… people hurt her. " Her eyes blinked rapidly, as though trying to hold back the weight of what she knew.
"Me and brother—we try to grow up fast… so we can protect her."
Leon froze, caught off guard by how deeply the child's words struck. For a long moment, he only stared at her—this little girl with cream smeared on her chin, speaking truths far heavier than her years should carry.
Inside him, something twisted. He wanted to speak, to lean across the table and tell her that she didn't need to grow up so quickly, that he would protect Sherina, that no one would ever hurt her again if he had his way. He wanted to say it so badly his throat burned with the unsaid words.
But he didn't.
"And sis only had one super hero," she added between bites. "It's Happy."
Leon tilted his head, his brows knitting together. "Happy?"
"Yep." Shiela's voice softened as she chewed, smiling to herself.
"Happy gives her happiness when she is sad."
For a moment, Leon said nothing.
He had read Sherina's files countless times, he thought he had her figured out, but sitting here, listening to the unfiltered honesty of her little sister, he realized how little the papers had told him.
A record couldn't capture this—the way she liked chocolate over strawberries, the way she masked herself against smoke, the way she secretly sought comfort in cartoons, or the way her loneliness gnawed at her behind her strength.
He let Shiela's voice fill the air, watching her, listening to every word she gave him—every fragment of Sherina she unknowingly handed over like pieces of treasure.
Every detail carved Sherina deeper into him. Every truth the little girl spilled made his obsession feel heavier, sharper, and impossible to shake.
But in his silence, his hunger for her only grew.