Fragments

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/64878334.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: Passion - 유우지 | Yuuji (Webcomic)
Relationships: Jeong Taeui/Ilay Riegrow, Jeong Taeui & Ilay Riegrow
Characters: Jeong Taeui, Ilay Riegrow, Kyle Riegrow, Mr. & Mrs. Riegrow, Other
Character Tags to Be Added, Jeong Chang-In
Additional Tags: Temporary Amnesia, Family Fluff, Angst and Hurt/Comfort,
Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault
Language: English
Series: Part 2 of ILTAE STORIES
Stats: Published: 2025-04-20 Completed: 2025-05-05 Words: 50,909 Chapters:
31/31
 Fragments
by Chirisa_Ace

Summary

Taeui’s road to recovery? More like a rollercoaster with no seatbelt. Between surviving the
daily roast sessions from his in-laws, dodging his partner’s not-so-innocent 'collection calls,'
and dealing with returning memories that range from heartwarming to relationship-wrecking,
he’s got his hands full. Love, chaos, and a bruised ego—what could possibly go wrong?
 Welcome Gift
Chapter Summary

Ilay and Mrs. Riegrow exchanged a look.

Taeui screamed internally, for the third time in ten minutes.

Welcome back to the Riegrow family, he thought, face down on the garden table.

The sunlight filtered gently through the leaves, dappled over white porcelain and gleaming
silver spoons. Taeui shifted gingerly on the wrought-iron chair, trying to suppress the wince
that tightened his jaw.

Mrs. Riegrow, regal as ever in a pale blue dress and pearls, poured him tea with the serenity
of a queen—who definitely noticed everything.

“Oh dear,” she said with a lilt of amusement, “the doctors advised against straining activities
for the time being.”

Taeui blinked. “Eh?”

Her eyes sparkled behind her teacup. “Straining, my dear. You know. Activities.”

He choked on nothing. “W-what? No! We didn’t—It’s not—I didn’t—”

She raised a brow in mock sympathy, as if he were a poor little lamb trying to lie. “Mm-
hmm.”
“W-we didn’t do that!” Taeui waved his hands, beet red. “I mean. He didn’t—We didn’t—It’s
not that!”

He was spiraling.

In a last-ditch effort for dignity, he blurted, “Your son bit my ass cheek!”

Mrs. Riegrow blinked.

Then delicately placed her cup down and laughed. Not the haughty society laugh. A genuine,
shoulders-shaking, eyes-crinkling laugh.

Taeui wanted to evaporate into the garden fountain.

Flashback – Last Night

He had barely returned to his room after dinner when Ilay cornered him like a shadow
springing to life.

His back hit the mattress before he could even ask what was happening.

Ilay was already on top of him, one knee between Taeui’s legs, his gaze dark and molten.
Predatory.
“I would’ve devoured you by now,” Ilay murmured, voice low and gravelly as his fingers slid
under Taeui’s shirt, “but we couldn’t strain you just yet.”

Taeui swallowed, wide-eyed. He could already feel his body heating up, confused between
want and caution.

“For now…” Ilay leaned in, their foreheads brushing. “Let’s reacquaint our bodies.”

He didn’t wait. Clothes were shed, slowly and reverently. Skin to skin again after weeks
apart, the space between them disappeared.

But then Taeui saw it. Him.

He blinked. Then stared.

Then panicked.

“Wait—hold on—are you sure I used to—?”

Ilay chuckled, low and amused. “You used to take this a lot, Taeui.”

“I—I must’ve been possessed.”

“You were in love,” Ilay corrected, licking the shell of Taeui’s ear. “Still are.”

And with that, Ilay pulled him closer.

They didn’t go all the way—not yet. But fingers tangled, mouths found each other in long,
breathless kisses, and Ilay’s hands moved like he’d never forgotten a single contour of him.
They ended up jerking each other off until Taeui nearly cried from overstimulation.

And just as he was floating in post-orgasm haze, Ilay leaned down… and sank his teeth into
Taeui’s right buttcheek.

Hard.

Taeui had yelped like a startled puppy.

Back to Present – Garden

Taeui groaned softly into his teacup as the memory assaulted him.

Mrs. Riegrow tilted her head, watching him knowingly. “Well, dear. You’re glowing.”
“Please,” Taeui muttered into his tea. “Let the earth open and take me now.”

Mrs. Riegrow only smiled sweetly. “If my son bites you again, do ask him to be symmetrical.
It’s better for aesthetics.”

Taeui choked again.

Just as Taeui was about to retreat deep into his teacup and pretend the last five minutes of his
life had never happened, Mrs. Riegrow clapped her hands softly, as if remembering
something important.

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” she said, reaching to the small lacquered side table beside her.

She picked up an elegant, ribboned box—midnight blue with gold trim, the kind you'd expect
to find rare jewelry or diplomatic invitations in.

“My little welcoming gift,” she said sweetly, setting it before him.

Taeui looked at it like it might detonate.

“For me?”

“Of course. You’re part of the family now. And I do care deeply about your well-being…”
Her eyes glittered. “…and my son’s happiness.”
There it was again—that glint.

A familiar, terrifying sparkle that meant nothing good for Taeui's peace of mind.

He hesitated. Then, with the reluctance of a man disarming a curse, he pulled the ribbon loose
and lifted the lid.

There was a long beat of silence.

Inside—

A set of high-end, luxury-brand lubricants. Glass bottles with gold accents. Imported.
Premium. It probably cost more than a ministry official’s annual salary.

Taeui stared at them.

Then back at her.

Then back at them.

Speechless.

Defeated.

He closed the lid slowly, like he could somehow undo reality with that motion.

Mrs. Riegrow sipped her tea, utterly composed. “They come highly recommended.”
Taeui opened his mouth to speak, failed, then shut it again.

“…They smell like roses,” she added, as if that helped.

Taeui didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or dig a hole in the garden and commit to a life
underground.

“I—I’m going to die,” he muttered faintly.

Mrs. Riegrow only smiled.

“Not before the honeymoon, dear.”

Taeui was still sitting there, box of bougie betrayal on his lap, processing the fact that his
mother-in-law had just gifted him artisanal lube like it was a box of macarons.

His soul had left the building.

His tea had gone cold.

His life had gone cold.

Mrs. Riegrow, serene as a saint, poured herself another cup, clearly enjoying the
performance.
And then—

“Ah,” came a low voice from behind. “There you are.”

Taeui flinched.

No. No, no, not now.

He turned his head slowly, like someone staring down an incoming avalanche—and there
was Ilay, walking into the garden with that usual assassin-grade grace. Black turtleneck, coat
over his shoulders, sleeves rolled up like he’d just returned from either a mission or a fashion
shoot. No in-between.

Ilay’s gaze drifted lazily to the box in Taeui’s lap.

Then to Taeui’s face, which was redder than the jam on the tea table.

Then back to the box.

“Did you open it?” he asked blandly.

Taeui clutched it like a war crime.

“Why do you know what’s inside this box?”

“I helped pick the scent,” Ilay said without missing a beat.

Taeui made a sound only dolphins could hear.

Mrs. Riegrow was biting the rim of her teacup to keep from laughing.

Ilay took a seat beside him like this was a perfectly normal family tea, leaned back, and
added, “We figured you’d prefer something gentle for now. Something… soothing.”

Taeui physically levitated out of his chair.

“I am going to pour this tea over my own head.”

“You’re not supposed to strain yourself,” Ilay said, calmly catching his wrist mid-flight.
“Doctor’s orders.”

“Then stop saying things that make me want to throw myself off the balcony!”

Ilay just smiled, kissed the top of his head, and nodded toward the box. “Don’t lose it. It’s the
good kind. Silk blend, no parabens.”

“Ilay—”

“And the warming one has cinnamon notes. Thought you’d appreciate the attention to detail.”

Taeui opened his mouth to scream—

Mrs. Riegrow beat him to it with a warm sip and a teasing smile. “He takes after me, doesn’t
he?”
Ilay and Mrs. Riegrow exchanged a look.

Taeui screamed internally, for the third time in ten minutes.

Welcome back to the Riegrow family, he thought, face down on the garden table.
 Home
Chapter Summary

“I don’t remember this place. But I feel… safe. Like I’m not intruding. Like I belong.”

Ilay didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

But Taeui turned to him anyway, eyes searching. “Is that weird?”

Ilay’s gaze held his, unwavering. “No,” he said simply. “You’re home.”

Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

The Riegrow mansion was quieter than he expected.

Not silent—but peaceful, like the deep breath after a storm.

Taeui wandered its halls, fingertips grazing the polished wood railings and tall window
frames, the cold surface strangely comforting. He didn’t remember this place—not truly. But
the warmth that coiled in his chest with each step... it made him feel like he didn’t need to.

Because somehow, it felt like home.

He passed one of the maids in the hallway—an older woman with a stern face, clipboard in
hand, brows forever furrowed.

“Straighten your back when you walk,” she snapped at him without even looking up.

“Good morning to you, too, Rita,” he mumbled, instinctively standing straighter.

Wait. How did I know her name?

She shot him a glare over her shoulder before disappearing into a room.

Then there was Peter. The gardener. A sweet, soft-spoken man with dirt always under his
fingernails and a perpetual smile. Taeui found him trimming roses, humming under his
breath.

“You came back,” Peter said simply, as if Taeui had only gone out for bread. “The
hydrangeas you liked are blooming again. Want to see?”

He didn’t remember ever liking hydrangeas. But he followed Peter anyway. And when the
older man handed him a delicate bloom, Taeui found himself smiling, like a reflex he’d long
forgotten.

Then there was her.

Mrs. Riegrow.

Sharp-witted, elegant, terrifying—but there was a glint in her eyes when she teased him that
made Taeui feel... safe.

“You should call me Mom, you know,” she’d said just that morning, a twinkle in her gaze as
she handed him tea with the same hand that once gifted him luxury lube. “After all, I gave
birth to that menace you're clinging to.”

Taeui had nearly choked. She only hummed with smug amusement and patted his cheek like
a cat satisfied with breaking a vase.

Kyle was a constant blur of energy and dramatics, always storming in mid-call or mid-crisis.
He’d ruffle Taeui’s hair, shove him into a side hug, then launch into complaints about the fire
damage and “your lover’s scorched earth phase.”

Taeui never felt lost around him. Kyle was loud, ridiculous, and annoyingly fond of giving
him big-brother advice he never asked for. But somehow, Taeui welcomed it. Craved it, even.

And then there was Mr. Riegrow.

Silent most of the time, tucked away in his study or stepping out to handle “family matters,”
but whenever they crossed paths, he’d stop. Just for a second. Just long enough to place a
warm, heavy hand on Taeui’s shoulder. It lingered with reassurance, and without words, said:
You’re safe here.

Taeui didn’t know what to make of it all.

He didn’t have all the memories. The years were a blur, stitched together by emotions he
couldn’t name. But in this house, with these people, he felt it—

A strange, inexplicable sense of belonging.

Of family.

And at the center of it all—

Ilay.

Always close. Always watching. Like a shadow fused to light. Possessive. Overbearing.
Gentle. Commanding.

Ilay, who kissed his forehead without warning. Who tucked him into bed with the quiet
confidence of someone who had done it a hundred times before. Who stood behind him at
dinner like he was ready to snap a neck if someone reached across the table too quickly.

Ilay, who slept beside him like a man guarding treasure, but looked at him like he was the one
lucky to be there.

Taeui touched his chest, right over his heart. There was a tug. A quiet ache. Not of pain—but
of recognition.

Of something rediscovered.

He couldn’t explain it.

But it felt warm.

And somehow, even without the memories—he knew.

He was home.

------------

Taeui stood at the edge of the terrace, leaning slightly over the railing.

Below, the garden buzzed with soft activity—Peter moving about, sleeves rolled up,
muttering to a row of rebellious azaleas. Rita emerged from the back entrance with her ever-
present clipboard, scolding a junior maid with her hands before even opening her mouth.
From the sitting room window, laughter—probably Kyle’s dramatic retelling of something
trivial.

Taeui smiled to himself.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched. Soaked it in.

It felt like… breathing after holding your lungs tight for too long.

“Do you like it?” a voice murmured behind him.

He startled slightly, but not in fear. Just in surprise.

Of course, Ilay.

The taller man stepped beside him with practiced ease, like he’d been there the whole time.
Taeui could feel the heat of him, even without contact. It was like standing beside a storm
that had chosen—just for him—not to rage.

“I didn’t know you were watching,” Taeui said quietly.

“I always am.”

Taeui gave him a side glance, flustered but not annoyed. Not anymore.

Ilay looked relaxed, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a book he clearly wasn’t
reading. There was a rare softness to him—subtle, but real. The kind of softness that said I
know you. I remember you. And I waited.
“I…” Taeui began, eyes dropping to the scene below. He fiddled with the edge of his sleeve.
“I don’t remember much. But being here—it doesn’t feel scary. It should, right? Big mansion.
New people. Crazy ex-military boyfriend who stares like he’s planning a crime.”

Ilay blinked once. “Not ex.”

“…What?”

“Still military. Technically. I’m on an extended leave.” He shrugged. “I like keeping titles.”

Taeui sighed, but a small laugh slipped out. “Of course you do.”

There was a pause. The wind brushed by, carrying the scent of gardenias.

Then, softer:
“I don’t remember this place. But I feel… safe. Like I’m not intruding. Like I belong.”

Ilay didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

But Taeui turned to him anyway, eyes searching. “Is that weird?”

Ilay’s gaze held his, unwavering. “No,” he said simply. “You’re home.”

Something caught in Taeui’s throat. He looked down, blinking quickly.

They didn’t speak for a while after that.

Eventually, Ilay led him back inside, wordless and gentle. Taeui let himself be guided, hand
resting lightly in Ilay’s. They ended up on the old velvet couch in the private library. The rain
began to fall outside, faint but steady.

Ilay sat back with one arm stretched across the couch’s top. Taeui sat beside him, knees
tucked, head resting carefully against Ilay’s shoulder.

A moment passed.

Then Taeui shifted, just slightly, until his cheek found the space beneath Ilay’s collarbone.
Ilay didn’t move—only glanced down, and then exhaled, long and slow.

“I missed this,” Taeui whispered.

Ilay’s hand came to rest gently at the back of Taeui’s head.

A beat.

Then, almost inaudibly:

“Thank you…”

Ilay looked down, but Taeui’s eyes were already closed, breathing even.

Asleep.
 Ilay stayed still for a moment. Then slowly, he leaned back against the cushions, arm curling
protectively around the smaller form curled against him.

His expression didn’t change much—still unreadable to anyone else.

But there was something in his eyes. Something satisfied.

As if, for the first time in years, the storm inside him had found its harbor.

And that harbor had fallen asleep on his chest.

Chapter End Notes

My dears, as you may have noticed, I love making Kyle my comic relief. More of him
and other shenanigans up next!
 Sanity is a distant memory
Chapter Summary

Mother,” Kyle said sharply. “Please. For the love of my arteries.”

“Oh hush,” she replied. “Why aren’t you dating someone? At this rate, even your
brother’s pet turtle would’ve found love faster than you.”

“That turtle is dead,” Kyle snapped.

“Exactly.”

The Riegrow Mansion, Breakfast Table – 9:07 AM

“You’re thirty-five, Kyle. Thirty-five.”

Mrs. Riegrow’s voice rang out over the clinking of silverware, polished with enough
maternal judgment to butter toast without touching it. “And still not even a rumor of a date?
Not even a charming botanist? A single professor? A baker with strong hands and kind
eyes?”

“Good morning to you too, Mother,” Kyle replied flatly, raising his coffee cup like a toast.
“It’s lovely waking up and being immediately reminded of my withering desirability.”

“You are very desirable, sweetheart,” she cooed. “Just tragically, perpetually alone.”

Kyle blinked at her in silence.

Taeui, still groggy and wearing one of Ilay’s black button-ups like a robe (sleeves too long,
collar loose), walked into the dining hall mid-chaos, looking between them like he’d
wandered into a family sitcom by mistake.

Ilay followed behind him, looking entirely unfazed by the breakfast battlefield. His only
contribution was to gently place his hand on Taeui’s lower back to guide him to a seat—an
unnecessary gesture, but one he clearly enjoyed.
Rita set down a plate in front of Taeui with the same maternal grace as always, muttering
something about “not enough protein on that boy.”

Mrs. Riegrow’s eyes sparkled as she caught sight of him. “Good morning, sunshine. Slept
well?” she asked sweetly.

Taeui blinked, clearly half-asleep still. “Mhm. Ilay’s chest makes a good pillow.”

Ilay sat down. Smirked.

Kyle choked on his coffee.

Mrs. Riegrow beamed.

“I knew you’d fit in again right away,” she said, reaching over to fix Taeui’s hair. “You’re
such a darling. Speaking of which, have you used my gift yet?”

Taeui, mid-bite of toast, froze.

Ilay paused, fork halfway to his mouth.

Kyle slowly set down his cup, eyes wide. “What gift.”

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Mrs. Riegrow said, waving a manicured hand. “It’s natural.
They’re clearly very close.”

“It was lube, Kyle,” Taeui muttered through gritted teeth, face rapidly turning pink. “Luxury
brand. Like, the kind that comes in a box with gold lettering.”
“You’re welcome,” she replied brightly. “I picked the cherry blossom one. Thought it
matched your aura.”

“Mom,” Kyle said, exasperated. “This is why I don’t date. Any person I bring home will have
to survive you.”

“Well, at least someone should be surviving something in this house,” she huffed.

Taeui covered his face with one hand, peeking through his fingers. “Why are we like this?”

Ilay leaned in, whispering just low enough for only Taeui to hear: “You haven’t used it yet?”

“Shut up,” Taeui hissed, elbowing him in the ribs.

“I’m just asking. For planning purposes.”

Across the table, Kyle looked like he aged three years in ten seconds.

But Taeui—flustered, red-eared, and clearly too soft to be truly mad—turned to Ilay and
frowned. “By the way, did you take your meds today?”

Ilay just stared.

“…You didn’t,” Taeui said, scandalized. “Ilay. We talked about this. You can’t just walk
around looking hot and emotionally stunted while ignoring your blood pressure.”

“I don’t have—”
“Take. Your. Meds.”

Ilay sighed, defeated. “Fine. Later.”

“No. Now. Or I’ll put it in your coffee.”

Mrs. Riegrow’s hand flew to her chest, clearly impressed. “Oh, he really is family.”

Kyle raised his cup again. “I give this relationship six months before they start threatening
each other with edible glitter pills.”

“They already did,” Rita said flatly, walking by. “Two nights ago. I had to confiscate the
glitter.”

--------------------

Vienna | International Security Symposium Gala

Hosted at the Hofburg Palace – opulent, cold, crawling with power.

The Riegrows were a name that carried weight in Europe, even when Mr. Riegrow himself
rarely made appearances anymore. So when Kyle showed up in a crisp navy tux and Ilay
flanked him in black-on-black with that look in his eyes, people noticed.

But what really caught everyone’s attention was the man on Ilay’s arm.

Jeong Taeui.
Not a Riegrow by blood. Not a diplomat, not a soldier anymore. But there he stood, dressed
in a charcoal suit that hugged just a little too perfectly, looking up at chandeliers like they
were stars and smiling too kindly for the atmosphere.

Ilay’s hand never left the small of Taeui’s back. Not once. Not even when shaking hands with
defense ministers. Not even when a Belgian delegate leaned in too close, smiling too widely.

“Your partner?” the man asked casually, gesturing toward Taeui. “Handsome. Military
background, no?”

Before Taeui could politely confirm, Ilay’s smile sharpened into something that did not
belong in a diplomatic setting.

“My husband,” Ilay replied flatly.

Taeui choked on his champagne. “Ilay—!”

The Belgian blinked. “Oh. I hadn’t heard you were married.”

“You hadn’t heard because it’s none of your business.”

Ilay’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. Taeui tried to elbow him discreetly. It didn’t work. Ilay
gently pulled Taeui closer, letting their hips brush together.

“It’s fine,” Taeui mumbled, covering for them both with an apologetic smile. “He’s just being
protective. It’s our first event back together.”

“He gets territorial,” Kyle muttered behind his wine glass, watching them from a distance
like someone resigned to inevitable disaster.
From across the hall, a tall redhead in a high-slit gown caught Taeui’s eye and offered a sultry
smile. She’d been circling their side of the ballroom all evening. Before Taeui could even
blink—

Ilay stepped in front of him.

Just stepped.

Like an eclipse blotting out the sun.

“Eyes up here,” Ilay said coolly, staring the woman down. “I bite.”

She laughed, clearly delighted. “Do you always mark your territory in a tux?”

“Only when people forget they’re prey,” he replied.

Taeui was pink from embarrassment. Kyle had to walk away before he burst a nerve.

Mr. Riegrow, seated nearby with a diplomat from Berlin, watched the entire scene unfold and
quietly sipped his whiskey.

Later, when Taeui finally pulled Ilay aside near the tall windows and whispered, “You’re
being dramatic,” Ilay only tilted his head slightly and said, “You think this is dramatic? You
haven’t seen what I wanted to do.”

Taeui pinched the bridge of his nose. “You can’t growl at foreign officials.”

“I wasn’t growling. I was speaking firmly.”

“You were purring with threats.”

“…Still effective.”

Taeui groaned. “You know, just once, I’d like to attend one of these events without someone
assuming you’ve claimed me like a dragon.”

“You’d prefer I let them flirt with you?” Ilay’s voice dropped. “Touch you? Imagine they
have a chance?”

Taeui sighed and leaned into him instead. “No. But you could tone it down.”

“I’m already toning it down.”

“God help us all,” Taeui muttered, then added quietly, “...But thanks. I know these places
make me nervous. You kind of… make it better.”

Ilay’s fingers brushed his wrist. “You always look like you belong here more than any of
them. They know it, too. That’s why they stare.”

Taeui shook his head but couldn’t hide his smile.

Hofburg Palace – Later in the evening, terrace garden

The gala buzzed behind them—diplomats mingling, violins playing softly, glasses clinking—
but Taeui had slipped away to catch a breath. The garden was softly lit, the chill in the air
pleasant against the warmth of his cheeks.

That’s when she approached.

Tall, graceful, wrapped in burgundy silk. Her lips curled in an easy smile as if she were
revisiting a fond memory.

“You’re with Ilay Riegrow, aren’t you?” she said, voice smooth as wine.

Taeui turned, polite as ever. “Yes, I am.”

She tilted her head, letting the diamonds on her neck catch the light. “That’s funny… I knew
him once. Years ago. He was sweet back then. Gentle. (A lie.) It was just one night, but it felt
like a fairytale, you know?”

Taeui blinked, smile intact. “Oh?”

“Mm. It’s hard to imagine him settled down. He wasn’t the type. Always aloof. Wild. But I
suppose people change—though some habits linger, don’t they?”

Taeui laughed lightly. It wasn’t loud or cold—it was gentle. Dismissive. Dangerously sweet.

“He is sweet,” Taeui agreed. “To me. In fact, he feeds me breakfast when I’m too lazy to get
up, gives me foot rubs when I whine about walking too much—and do you know what he did
last week?” He leaned in just slightly, voice still sunny. “He sewed a button back onto my
pajamas. With his own hands. Isn’t that cute?”

She blinked. “Really…”

“I know. I’m lucky, right? I got a man who’s beautiful and useful.” He beamed.

From a distance, Ilay had frozen mid-step when he caught wind of the conversation. One
hand clenched at his side, and Kyle—catching the look—muttered, “Oh god, no. Don’t.
Don’t.”

But before Ilay could step in, Taeui kept going, his expression innocent, cheerful, not an
ounce of visible jealousy or insecurity.

“Of course, he was probably a handful in the past,” Taeui added. “But who wasn’t? I’m sure
you were… fun.”

The woman narrowed her eyes ever so slightly. “You say that, but are you really married?
There’s been no announcement. No press release. Feels a little… suspicious, doesn’t it?”

Taeui didn’t miss a beat. He rested a hand on his hip and smiled like he was about to offer
cookies.

“Oh, that’s easy. If it bothers you, I’ll just ask him to marry me tonight.” He shrugged. “He
listens to me really well.”

Then—just to twist the knife with velvet hands—he added:

“In fact, he begged me to move in. Twice. He’s clingy like that.”

The woman’s mouth parted, unsure whether to look affronted or impressed.

Right then, Ilay finally approached, his hand slipping possessively around Taeui’s waist as he
eyed the woman with the kind of blank disdain that said you’ve lived too long.

“I see you’ve met my husband,” he said.

Taeui smiled up at him. “She was just telling me what a fairytale you were back in the day.”
Ilay’s eyes darkened, and for one tense moment, the air felt thick with unspoken death
threats.

The woman huffed and excused herself with forced grace, heels clicking away like a
retreating army.

Silence.

Then Taeui exhaled and leaned into Ilay, whispering, “Didn’t I do great? I didn’t stab her
with my fork.”

Ilay finally blinked. “…You scare me sometimes.”

Taeui grinned, resting his head on Ilay’s shoulder. “Mom says diplomacy is just a battle where
you use your manners to kill people.”

Ilay pressed a kiss to Taeui’s temple, finally letting himself relax. “You didn’t need to say all
that. I would’ve handled it.”

Taeui’s voice softened. “I know. But I wanted to. She tried to make me feel small.”

“You’re not.”

Taeui looked up at him. “I’m not.”

Ilay smirked. Looked down.

“But that—“

“—Don’t.”

------------

Incident 1: Kyle Riegrow's POV

(a.k.a. babysitter to one emotionally unhinged little brother and his terrifyingly charming
sunshine lover)

He knew it.

He knew the second Ilay started drifting toward the garden like some sort of haunted wraith,
something was off.

Kyle was mid-sip of champagne—good champagne, aged just right, probably from a
Rothschild vineyard—when he saw the glint in Ilay’s eye. That look. The one that screamed
“I will commit a crime, hide the body, and sleep like a baby afterward.”

Kyle nearly choked.

“Oh hell. He’s going to kill someone.”

Beside him, a diplomat was talking about the trade agreement with Sweden or something
equally boring, but Kyle had already started mentally scanning for flower beds deep enough
to bury a corpse. There was one by the hedge. Ilay would definitely go for the hedge.

Then he saw her—the woman in red. Of course it was a woman. Of course she was attractive,
and smug, and probably making small talk with Taeui like it wasn’t her last day on Earth.

Kyle braced himself.

The last time someone flirted with Taeui in Ilay’s line of sight, Kyle had to talk down a
security breach, a lawsuit, and three separate injuries involving cursed flatware.

So he edged closer, just in time to catch Taeui smiling like an angel while delivering verbal
devastation so subtle, Kyle physically winced.

“Oh god,” Kyle muttered. “He learned from my mother. That’s illegal.”

Then came the cherry on top—Taeui’s casual “we’ll get married tonight if I ask,” and Kyle
literally had to hold his champagne away so he didn’t spit it on the Minister of Finance.

He watched as the woman walked away, tail tucked, while Ilay slithered in like a demon
granted husband privileges.

Kyle just sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I work in intelligence. I negotiate peace. I de-escalate military standoffs. But no—every

family gathering is a boss-level diplomatic incident.”

He downed the rest of his glass in one gulp.

Behind him, a junior aide whispered, “Is your brother okay?”

Kyle gave a grim smile. “That depends. Is ‘plotting to commit bloodless social annihilation
with his partner’ considered okay?”

The aide blinked. “Sir?”

“Never mind.” Kyle waved a hand. “Just tell catering to cancel dessert knives. We don’t need
Rick improvising again.”

He turned away, muttering to himself. “Should’ve been an only child.”

-----------

Incident 2: Kyle Riegrow’s POV

(currently regretting every choice that led to this moment)

It started with Taeui knocking on his study door with a sweet smile and a cup of tea.

Suspicious.

Taeui never just brought tea without a reason. Not unless he was buttering Kyle up for
something. And true enough, he had barely taken one sip before Taeui leaned over the desk
with that gleam in his eyes.

“Kyle,” Taeui said with a tone that should’ve triggered a national security alert, “I need your
help with something very important.”

Kyle lowered the cup slowly. “Is this illegal?”

Taeui blinked. “No. Probably. It’s not a crime crime.”

That was never a good sign.

Turns out, Ilay had—once again—messed up a romantic moment with Taeui by politely
kidnapping a man who accidentally bumped into him in public. Just a casual van-snatching,
nothing dramatic. The man was released in an hour, unharmed but traumatized.
So now, Taeui was enacting revenge.

Specifically: Operation “Ilay is Not the Only One With Power.”

It involved Taeui sneakily changing Ilay’s phone alarm tone to a compilation of embarrassing
audio clips (“Who's my pretty boy?”) and redirecting all of Ilay’s monogrammed suit
deliveries to the local clown academy for a day.

Kyle stared at the plan, stunned.

“You want me to hack into Ilay’s security system and reroute his biometric locks?”

Taeui beamed. “Exactly! You’re a genius. A real brother-in-law.”

“I’m also a man with a self-preservation instinct.”

Taeui pouted. “You said you loved me like family.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to die like family.”

“Please?”

Damn him and that sweet puppy face.

------------------------

Incident 3: Kyle Riegrow’s POV

(Somewhere between a breakdown and a crime scene)

Kyle stared at the phone in his hand like it was a cursed object. Then he hit “Call.”

Two rings. Three. Then—

“Mm?”

That was it. Not even a hello. Just a disinterested grunt.

“Chang-in,” Kyle said tightly. “Your nephew is trying to kill me. Slowly. Mentally. With
glitter. And emotional sabotage.”

A yawn. “Taeui or Jaeui?”

“Taeui,” Kyle hissed. “Sunshine-colored demon. Smiles while planning war crimes. That
one.”

“Mmm,” Chang-in drawled. “He gets it from my side of the family.”

Kyle pressed his fingers against his temple. “He roped me into some ridiculous plan to ‘get
back’ at Rick. I was stupid enough to agree. Now there’s a fake love letter in Rick’s drawer,
written in my handwriting, and a scented candle in my room that smells like guilt and
betrayal.”

“Ah,” Chang-in replied, with far too much serenity. “He’s executing phase two, then. That’s
earlier than expected.”

“Expected?!”
 “Chang-in. Rick is going to murder me. This morning, he looked at me like I was a
cockroach crawling over Taeui’s shoe.”

“Romantic.”

Kyle’s voice cracked. “I had to drink tea laced with a mood enhancer just to survive
breakfast. And your nephew called me brother-in-law like he meant it, which is terrifying.”

“He does mean it,” Chang-in replied, amused. “You should feel honored.”

“I feel like I’m one Tae giggle away from getting buried in the backyard next to Rick’s
childhood pet.”

“Well, that turtle was kind of a jerk.”

Kyle let out an inhuman sound. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m not paid to help.”

“You’re not paid at all!”

Chang-in sighed. “Then I’m doing an excellent job.”

There was a thud as Kyle leaned dramatically against the nearest wall.

“I just wanted a quiet morning. A cup of coffee. Maybe one email. Instead, I’m stuck in the
middle of a slow-burn domestic cold war between my emotionally constipated brother and
your chaos-summoning gremlin.”

“Taeui is very emotionally articulate.”

“He threw a croissant at Rick’s face, Chang-in.”

“Better than a knife.”

Kyle’s eye twitched. “Do you even like your nephew?”

“I adore him,” Chang-in said serenely. “Which is why I let him learn by doing.”

“Doing what?! Starting psychological warfare?”

Pause. Sip. “Love.”

Kyle screamed into the void.

From somewhere down the hallway, Taeui’s cheerful voice floated, “Kyle! Did you open
your closet yet?”

Kyle turned pale. “What. Did. You. Do.”

Another innocent chirp: “No peeking until Ilay comes back!”

Kyle clicked the phone off.

He had ten minutes to pack his things and flee the country.

-------------

Incident 4: Kyle Riegrow’s POV

(Day 17: sanity is a distant memory)

Kyle sat stiffly at the breakfast table, gripping his coffee like it was his only lifeline.

To his left, his mother was reading a scandalous romance novel with no shame, occasionally
sighing and muttering things like “Ah, youth. Why doesn’t your brother do that to Taeui in
public?”

To his right, Ilay was feeding Taeui a strawberry.

Feeding. Him. A. Strawberry.

With eye contact.

And that terrible little smirk that said I will burn the world if he so much as blushes for
another man.

Taeui giggled and took the strawberry like this was normal behavior in a formal dining room
where people were trying to digest food, not witness softcore PDA.

Kyle cleared his throat. Loudly. Repeatedly. Then coughed. Then choked.
“Do you need water, Kyle?” Taeui asked sweetly.

“I need bleach,” Kyle muttered, stabbing his eggs. “For my eyes.”

Mrs. Riegrow beamed. “Oh, let them be! They’re in love. Ilay didn’t even hiss at me this
morning. Taeui is good for his blood pressure.”

“Nothing is good for mine,” Kyle muttered.

Then came the Incident.

Mrs. Riegrow suddenly clapped her hands. “Oh! Taeui, sweetheart, did you wear the
matching couple hoodie I gave you?”

Taeui brightened. “Not yet! I was saving it for our picnic date.”

Ilay, possessive gremlin that he was, pulled Taeui onto his lap—in front of their parents—and
said in that terrifyingly low voice, “I want to see you in it. Now.”

Kyle flinched. His mother sighed dreamily.

“Oh! You two should recreate the photo on the package—Ilay carrying him on his back,
running in the rain. I’ll take the picture myself!”

“Mother,” Kyle said sharply. “Please. For the love of my arteries.”

“Oh hush,” she replied. “Why aren’t you dating someone? At this rate, even your brother’s
pet turtle would’ve found love faster than you.”
“That turtle is dead,” Kyle snapped.

“Exactly.”

Somewhere across the room, Taeui leaned in and whispered something to Ilay that made the
man smirk like a villain with a hostage. The smirk. The eyebrow raise. The subtle touch to
Taeui’s waist.

Kyle stood up. “I’m going for a walk.”

“You haven’t finished your—”

“I’M GOING FOR A WALK.”

Later. In the safety of his office.

(Surrounded by documents. And regret.)

Kyle called the only person he could trust to be more unhinged than his family.

“Chang-in,” he said flatly when the line picked up. “I’m being haunted.”

“By ghosts?” the man replied, mildly interested.

“By PDA. Everywhere I turn. Your nephew is multiplying in displays of affection. I walked
in on them slow-dancing. In the kitchen. To no music.”
“Romantic.”

“There was a candle.”

“Even more romantic.”

“I’m pretty sure they were quoting a poem mid-hug.”

“God, I hope it was Neruda. I trained him well.”

Kyle exhaled. “Do you know what it’s like to live in a mansion where your little brother has a
better relationship than you, more serotonin than you, and more strawberries than you?”

Silence. Then—

“You sound bitter, Kyle.”

“I am bitter, Chang-in. I am bitter, over-caffeinated, and dangerously close to asking my

therapist for emergency appointments.”

“Well, if it helps, your pain brings me joy.”

“I will block your number.”

“You say that every week,” Chang-in yawned.

“…He threatened to bite me if I interrupted a cuddle.”

“Which one?”

Kyle screamed.
 Nightmare
Chapter Summary

"Have you ever woken up and realized… what you believed was real might’ve just been
something you told yourself to survive?"

Mr. Riegrow did not answer right away.

“I have,” he said at last, voice low, like he was admitting a crime. “And sometimes the
choice is whether to destroy the illusion—or live with it.”

The room was dim, muted overhead light filtering through the cracked blinds of the
UNHRDO dormitory.

The scent was faintly medicinal, cold, sterile, familiar. Taeui stood at the doorway. He didn’t
remember opening it.

He blinked.

Inside, Ilay was on the bed—shirtless, pants undone, back resting against the headboard like
this was his room.

And in front of him, on his knees,

was Xinlu.

Taeui couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

He felt like a ghost. Watching, unseen.

But Ilay saw him.

Ilay looked straight at him.

Expression unreadable.

Eyes fixed on Taeui like he knew.

Like he dared him to say something.

There was no shame on his face. No panic.

No guilt.

Only silence. Only the sound of breath, and Xinlu’s head moving slowly—rhythmically.
Taeui’s chest hurt. Something inside him cracked, a soundless snap. It didn’t make sense.
This didn’t make sense.

They were already together—weren’t they?

They lived together. Slept in the same bed. Ilay kissed him. Held his hand. Let him cry in his
arms. Called him mine in front of strangers.

They were—They were—

“No.”

The word escaped Taeui’s lips like a breath. It didn’t belong in this scene. None of this did.
But no one looked up.

He took a step back, hand gripping the doorframe, skin going cold. His stomach turned.

A memory—not even fully formed—tried to surface. A line from someone. A laugh. A

moment of déjà vu. The UNHRDO hallways. Summer heat.

He thought they were a couple back then.

But if this happened—if this happened while he thought they were already in love—then
what were they?
What was he?

Just someone who assumed he was loved?

“Why would he do this?” Taeui wanted to ask aloud. But his throat was dry.

Why did it feel like betrayal when he couldn’t even remember being claimed?

He woke up crying.

The pillow was wet. His throat is sore. Migraine splitting his skull like something trying to
claw out from the inside.

The ceiling above him blurred.

His chest tightened with every breath, each inhale a jagged blade.

He curled into himself, arms wrapped around his stomach, nausea threatening to pull him
under again.
His hand trembled as he reached for the edge of the blanket. Just to ground himself. Just to
feel something solid. Something that wasn’t that goddamn image burned behind his eyes.

Ilay.

Ilay letting him see.

Ilay not stopping.

Ilay not saying a word.

Taeui’s lips trembled.

He bit down on his knuckles, tried to choke the sob, but it still came out—a broken sound.
Soft. Desperate.

They were supposed to be happy by then. The timeline didn't make sense. He thought he had
Ilay by then.

What if Ilay never saw him the way he saw Ilay?

What if it was all in his head?

And what hurt more—was not the act itself. But that cold, challenging look in Ilay’s eyes.

As if he wanted Taeui to see it.

The room was quiet. Too quiet.

No footsteps. No voices from the hall. Just the soft ticking of the antique clock Ilay insisted
on keeping beside the window—its ticking a low reminder of the minutes dragging by.

Taeui sat up slowly, muscles stiff, neck aching. His head still throbbed. His pillow was cold
from dried tears.

He had barely slept after waking from the nightmare. He'd stared at the ceiling for hours,
blinking against the blur, trying to piece memory from dream.

Trying to convince himself that maybe it was a dream. Just a cruel stitch of scattered images,
twisted emotions, and sleep-deprived delusions.

The door creaked open.

Ilay stepped in. He wasn’t in uniform—just a dark turtleneck and slacks, sleeves rolled up
like he always did when working from home. He was carrying a cup of tea in one hand and
some headache medicine in the other.

He paused when he saw Taeui sitting upright.

“Taeui.” His voice was quiet, almost gentle. “You're up early.”

Taeui blinked at him. His heart lurched.

Ilay crossed the room and placed the tea and pills on the nightstand. He brushed a hand
against Taeui’s forehead, his thumb grazing the skin under his eye.
“You didn’t sleep, did you?” he asked. His voice dipped a little, concerned. “You look like
hell.”

Taeui smiled—softly. Carefully.

“I always look like hell in the mornings,” he said, lightheartedly. “You just like me too much
to admit it.”

Ilay didn’t laugh, but his gaze softened. “I like you whether you look like hell or not,” he
murmured.

That should have made Taeui’s chest warm. It should have.

But instead, he looked away.

He forced a smile and reached for the tea, blowing on it. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

Ilay sat on the edge of the bed, hand resting on Taeui’s ankle through the blanket. The contact
was casual, familiar. Loving, even.

And yet—

The image came back, unwanted: Ilay's face in that nightmare—cold, indifferent,
challenging. The weight of his gaze as someone else touched him. The way he let Taeui see.
He took a sip of the tea to keep from speaking.

Ilay watched him for a moment, then tilted his head. “Taeui?”

“Hm?”

“You’re quiet.”

Taeui looked up, met his eyes—and instantly regretted it.

Because Ilay was looking at him the way he always did.

As if he belonged here. As if he was real. As if they were real.

That made it worse.

“I’m fine,” Taeui said softly. He smiled again. “Just a headache. I get them when I don’t
sleep.”

Ilay’s hand brushed up his leg, resting over his knee now. “You should’ve woken me up.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.” Taeui forced a small laugh. “You looked peaceful. For once.”

Ilay didn’t answer right away. He seemed to study him, gaze lingering.
Something in Taeui’s throat tightened.

Was it guilt? Was it shame—for not asking? For assuming? For wondering if he’d been used
all along?

He wouldn't do that to me, Taeui told himself again.

But then why did it feel like he might have?

Why did that nightmare feel like a memory?

He couldn’t bring it up. Not yet.

He needed to be sure.

He didn’t want to accuse Ilay of something from a dream.

He didn’t want to break this… whatever this was.

Not unless he knew.

So, instead, Taeui leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Ilay’s cheek.
“Thank you,” he whispered.

Ilay’s hand tightened gently over his knee, turned, dipped down, and kissed him deeply.

It only took less than a minute.

Taeui smiled again—brighter this time, more believable.

But inside, something curled up and went still.

It was happening again.

Darkness spilled over the edges of his vision like ink in water, smearing one memory into the
next. It started the same.

Xinlu's head bowed over Ilay’s lap, the same dim light of the UNHRDO bedroom. Ilay
leaning back against the headboard—shirtless, hand lazily curled in Xinlu’s hair, gaze sharp
and still.

Staring at Taeui. Like he wanted him to see.

Taeui stood in the doorway, frozen. A strange pressure in his chest. Not quite fear. Not quite
anger.

Why are you doing this?

He didn’t say it.

He couldn’t.

The dream blurred—colors bleeding, sound stretching, Xinlu’s silhouette dissolving into
smoke—

Then silence. Cold. And sterile white.

The infirmary.

Taeui recognized it instantly, even before he saw the bed. The scent of antiseptic. The quiet
hum of magical equipment. He was back in that room.

Ilay was there, pale and still against the sheets. Taeui approached slowly in the dream,
unsure, tense. This was the first time he had visited him after the poisoning incident. He
remembered that. Vaguely.

He reached out to touch his hand.

The scene jerked.

Taeui was no longer standing. He was beneath Ilay—pressed to the bed, wrists trapped in
restraints, body aching. Ilay was above him, eyes shadowed, skin fever-warm. The bandages
on his chest peeked from under his shirt, but he was moving anyway, holding Taeui down.

Taeui remembered the confusion. The helplessness. The disbelief.

“Ilay—stop—”

His voice cracked in the dream, desperate and breaking. His body was shaking. He had said
no. He had begged.

But Ilay hadn’t listened.

The memory fractured there—blinding white pain, a stifled sob, and the unbearable pressure
of being invaded without consent. The air turned thick and unbreathable.

Taeui’s chest heaved in the dream, but no sound came out. He wasn’t sure if he was
screaming.

And then—

He woke up.
His body lurched upright.

Sweat soaked the sheets. His mouth was dry, and his throat was raw as if he had screamed for
hours. His entire body was trembling.

Taeui clutched his stomach and folded over, sobbing. Not loud. Not messy. Just broken little
gasps like he’d forgotten how to breathe. His heart slammed against his ribs, wild and
panicked.

His wrists ached.

He stared at them—no marks. Of course not. Nothing real.

Except it was real. Wasn’t it?

That had happened.

He could feel it in his bones now. Not imagined. Not misremembered. It was a piece of his
life—something that had been buried, edited, scrubbed clean in his mind.

But his body remembered.

The way Ilay had looked at him—calm, untouched by guilt. The way he’d whispered his
name like a promise and a possession.

Taeui.

He’d thought they were in love. Thought this was safe. Thought Ilay was his.
But if this was love, why did it hurt like this?

Taeui clutched the sheets tighter and let himself cry, shaking so hard the bed creaked.

For the second night in a row, the silence after waking felt heavier than the nightmare itself.

He didn’t know how to face Ilay tomorrow.

He didn’t know if he could.

The mansion was unusually quiet. Mrs. Riegrow was away, and Ilay hadn’t returned from
T&R. No arguing voices in the hall. No echo of boots on marble. Only the rustle of
newspapers and the distant ticking of an antique clock.

Taeui wandered into the breakfast room late, sleeves too long, hair unkempt, the corners of
his eyes swollen from restless sleep. He hadn’t meant to be seen.

But Mr. Riegrow was there, sitting at the head of the long table, half a plate untouched, eyes
scanning the Süddeutsche Zeitung. A man built like a pillar—precise, composed, unreadable.

Taeui stilled in the doorway, suddenly unsure if he should retreat. But it was too late.

Mr. Riegrow looked up. His eyes landed on Taeui.

Then stayed there.

"...You’ve lost weight."

His voice was dry, like the morning air. A statement, not a question.

Taeui blinked, startled, then gave a half-smile, too tight.

“Maybe a little,” he said. He pulled out a chair near the end of the table, not too close, and
poured himself lukewarm coffee. His hand trembled slightly. He hoped it wasn’t obvious.

Mr. Riegrow folded the paper.

"You’ve been... unwell?"

Taeui hesitated. His gaze dropped to the coffee surface, watching it ripple.

“I just haven’t been sleeping well. It’s nothing serious.”

A pause. Long enough to grow heavy.

“I see,” Mr. Riegrow said, then added—almost softly, “But your face says otherwise.”

That surprised Taeui. He looked up, startled again.

Mr. Riegrow wasn’t looking at him anymore. His gaze had shifted to the window, sharp with
morning light.
“I’ve known many men,” he continued. “Some scream when they’re hurt. Some fall silent.
The worst are the ones who smile while crumbling inside. They think if they don't speak of it,
it won't exist. But it always does.”

Taeui swallowed hard. His throat burned. His fingers clenched around the mug.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” he said quietly. “This family has already given me so much. I
don't want to cause trouble.”

Mr. Riegrow finally turned to face him again. His expression remained unreadable.

"Family is not measured by trouble."

A breath. A long silence.

Taeui stared at the coffee, voice tight and almost inaudible:

"Have you ever woken up and realized… what you believed was real might’ve just been
something you told yourself to survive?"

Mr. Riegrow did not answer right away.

“I have,” he said at last, voice low, like he was admitting a crime. “And sometimes the choice
is whether to destroy the illusion—or live with it.”
Taeui’s hands trembled more now. He pressed them to the mug, desperate for warmth. For
something to ground him.

“I just…” He swallowed. “I didn’t think it could hurt this much. I thought I belonged here.”

“You still do,” Mr. Riegrow said simply.

Taeui looked at him. “Even if I’m not who I thought I was? Even if—if the truth ruins
everything?”

Mr. Riegrow studied him. Not gently. But not cruelly either. With the weight of a man who
had seen too many things rot from the inside.

“I will not cast you out for bleeding,” he said. “Just try to bleed where it can be treated. Not
where it can fester.”

Something broke in Taeui’s chest—so quietly it didn’t even echo. His breath hitched, but he
nodded, face lowered, jaw tight.

He didn’t say the name.

Didn’t mention Ilay.

Didn’t mention the restraints. Or the quiet pleas.

But Mr. Riegrow didn’t ask.

And somehow, Taeui was grateful for that.

 Shattered
Chapter Summary

“Let me remind you—since you forgot.”

A pause.

“You are mine, Jeong Taeui.”

The next words were quieter. Hungrier.

“Remember.”

Taeui heard the familiar click of boots before the door even opened.

Ilay came in without announcing himself, like always. A brief glance, one hand brushing
Taeui’s bangs to examine the fading bruise on his temple. A sharp frown.

"You didn’t rest properly."

"I did," Taeui lied.

Ilay didn’t press. Instead, he pressed forward.

Like always.
Taeui’s body knew the rhythm of this already: the way Ilay pulled him close like claiming
territory, the heat of breath and roughness of touch. They hadn’t gone all the way in weeks—
not since Taeui’s injury. But Ilay still took what he wanted, piece by piece.

This time, he made Taeui lie down and straddle him. Ilay’s hands guided him, possessive but
not harsh. Taeui tried to will his heartbeat to slow, to focus only on the familiar friction of
their hands. But Ilay shifted, groaning low, and positioned Taeui’s thighs around him.

The pressure of Ilay’s need pressed against him—raw, hungry, instinctive. And Taeui didn’t
fight it.

Because first, Ilay was stronger. He always had been.

And second: Taeui still wanted—needed—to believe these were just nightmares. Whatever
surfaced in his dreams wasn’t real. Couldn’t be. That the ache he woke up with was just guilt,
not trauma.

Ilay came against his skin, holding him in place, face buried in his chest. He whispered
something Taeui didn’t catch—maybe his name. Maybe something that might’ve been sweet
in another world.

Taeui laid there, eyes open, hand in Ilay’s hair, fingers trembling.

Next Day – Tea Time

The sun slanted lazily through the conservatory windows. The tea smelled of bergamot and
faint cinnamon. Mrs. Riegrow had returned from her trip that morning, cheerful, still in her
work suit.
Taeui sat across from her, posture polite, hands folded too neatly on his lap. He was quieter
than usual, only responding when directly addressed.

Mrs. Riegrow noticed. Of course she did.

“Taeui, dear. You’re usually chattier than this. Are you still feeling unwell?”

“I’m fine,” he said, smiling softly. “Just tired. And Ilay’s been… himself.”

She chuckled lightly, setting down her cup. “That he has. Still hovering around you like a
wolf guarding its territory, I imagine?”

Taeui laughed on cue. It sounded genuine enough.

He poured himself more tea with steady hands, but he didn’t drink.

Then—carefully—he said, “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

He tried to keep his voice light.

“Are Ilay and I really married?”

Mrs. Riegrow blinked. The question must’ve seemed odd coming from someone who lived
under her roof, slept in her son’s bed, and smiled through every dinner.
She set her cup down again, slower this time.

“Well. Not in the legal sense,” she said. “But you’ve been living together, sharing a room,
traveling together. Everyone assumes you are. Including us.”

Taeui stared into his tea. His lips parted slightly. But no sound came out.

“Oh, Taeui—don’t look so devastated. We’ve always considered you family. What’s a piece
of paper when you two are inseparable?”

He nodded quickly. “No, I—I understand. I was just wondering. I didn’t really think it
mattered.”

She smiled warmly. “You love each other. That’s more than enough.”

He smiled back.

Too wide.

Too long.

After she left, Taeui remained seated, fingers pressed against the delicate china cup. The
floral scent had faded, but he could still smell it—faint, distant, like everything else that had
once made sense.

His throat tightened, but no tears came. He wouldn’t let them.

Because that hope—that fragile prayer that maybe Ilay had chosen him in a way that couldn’t
be undone—was now shattered.

They weren’t married. Not really.

Just together. Just assumed. Just... convenient.

He swallowed the shards of that truth and smiled again at the empty room.

Taeui laughed at something Rita said.

They were in the kitchen. The light was soft, golden. Normal.

Peter popped his head in and waved a banana like a sword. “Heard you were up and moving
again. Good to see the world hasn’t ended.”

Taeui smiled, head tilting. “Not yet, but give me another week.”

It was almost easy. His body remembered how to be Taeui—the one who teased and helped
Peter in the garden, who shared jokes with Rita, even if she didn’t smile, who greeted the
guards by name and asked after their families. He even stopped to help Maria in the
greenhouse that morning.

And the more he moved through the house, the more he remembered.
The stone corridor outside the west wing—he’d wandered there once and gotten lost in his
first week.

Mrs. Riegrow’s garden—he’d helped her repot lilies.

Kyle’s office—and all the expensive books around

Mr. Riegrow’s voice when they first met.

It was all coming back now.

But that only made the pain harder to carry.

Because with memory came details. And with details—discrepancies.

He and Peter were in the lounge, fixing a chessboard, when Peter said offhandedly, “Man,
Second master Riegrow used to be impossible before he brought you home. Cold, dead-eyed
—scared everyone out. But after you showed up, even with you unconscious and bruised, he
was suddenly manageable. Like he’d found something he lost.”

Taeui froze, hand hovering over a bishop piece.

Peter didn’t notice. He went on, chuckling. “Rita thought he's finally turning human. I
thought so, too.”

Taeui forced a laugh. “Right. Sounds like Ilay.”

But his ears were ringing now.

Unconscious.

Brought you home.

Found something.

Kyle called him into the study under the pretense of checking on his memory.

The fireplace was lit, the brandy untouched between them.

“You seem better,” Kyle observed.

“I’m starting to remember more,” Taeui replied softly. “Just... pieces.”

Kyle nodded. “That’s normal. No one as lucky as you recovered quickly from that kind of
accident. You’re really lucky.”

Taeui hesitated. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“How did I end up here?” His voice was too casual.

Kyle leaned back. “You don’t remember?”

“Some of it. But... I think I was using a different name?”

Kyle chuckled. “Right—Kim Young-soo. You were in disguise, and I learned too late. At that
time, you were on the run.”

Taeui’s heart stopped.

Kyle continued, oblivious. “Rick saved you when you were held hostage. He tracked you to
that tower —Rick even burned the forest down. Imagine the damage control.”

He said it like it was just a normal event.

“You were unconscious when he brought you back. Had to carry you in. Everyone thought
Rick would kill you. A few months back, Rick had threatened me—to find ‘Jeong Taeui’
immediately. Wouldn’t explain why. Just said if I didn’t find you, he’d kill me.”

He laughed dryly at the memory, shaking his head.

Taeui sat very still.

So.

He had been running.

He had been hiding.

The man he had trusted with his body, with his heart… had wanted to kill him? But instead of
killing him, he had dragged him back.

Kyle sighed. “You must’ve done something to make him obsessed like that. Never seen Rick
that unhinged, even killed some people back in UNHRDO.”

Unhinged.

Tamed by force.

Tenderness, built on lies.

Taeui thanked him, left the room quietly, and walked to his own.

The walls were familiar. The warmth of the halls. The scent of Ilay’s cologne clung to the
fabric in the closet.

But none of it felt safe anymore.

It felt like a stage set.

Like a beautiful prison.

Taeui was quiet during dinner.

Not enough to draw attention from anyone else—but Ilay noticed.

He always did.

When Taeui smiled, his eyes didn’t crinkle.

When he laughed, but it didn’t reach his chest.

When his hand flinched ever so slightly under Ilay’s touch.

Afterward, while the others lingered over wine, Ilay took his wrist gently and led him out of
the dining hall without a word.

They walked in silence through the west corridor. Past the portraits. Past the half-lit
chandeliers.

Until they reached their shared room.

Ilay closed the door.

Then turned to him, slow and deliberate.

“What’s wrong,” he asked softly—not kindly.

Taeui looked up, startled. “Nothing.”

Ilay’s eyes didn’t move from his face. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not—” Taeui tried to smile. “You’re being dramatic.”

Ilay tilted his head. “I’m being observant.”

Silence.

Taeui felt it again—that instinct to leave. To pack a bag. To breathe fresh air away from these
walls. Maybe go somewhere far. Maybe nowhere at all.

Just away.

He turned his face.

And Ilay’s eyes sharpened, catching it like a predator scenting blood.

In one breath, Ilay closed the space between them.

He took Taeui’s face in his hands—gentle, almost reverent. His thumbs stroked his
cheekbones.

Then he kissed him. Deep. Possessive. Like he wanted to consume the thoughts in his head.

Taeui’s knees weakened. His breath caught—but he didn’t pull away.

And then Ilay wrapped his arms around him tightly, burying his face into the crook of Taeui’s
neck. Holding him like he was both treasure and prisoner.

Ilay’s whisper was velvet against his skin.

“Are you thinking of running away from me again?”

Taeui froze.

Ilay's lips ghosted over his ear now, tone soft as silk and twice as deadly.

“Let me remind you—since you forgot.”

A pause.

“You are mine, Jeong Taeui.”

The next words were quieter. Hungrier.

“Remember.”
 Touch
Chapter Summary

Taeui curled tighter into the sheets.

And for the first time since the accident, he wanted to forget again.

Not to remember. Not like this.

Taeui woke with his body aching all over.

The soft morning light filtered in through the sheer curtains, casting slow-moving shadows
on the marble floor. The sheets clung to his skin, damp with sweat, the faint scent of Ilay still
lingering—on his thighs, his chest, his breath.

Ilay was gone, already. Left for some early obligation, or maybe giving Taeui space in his
own twisted way.

But the silence was worse than his presence.

Taeui didn’t dream that night.

No nightmares, no fractured memories clawing at him.

Just—

Ilay.
He turned on his side slowly, body protesting. His muscles were sore, his hips were tight, and
his back ached from being bent over the headboard. A dull throb reminded him exactly how
thoroughly Ilay had touched him.

He didn’t even mean to remember it—but his mind played it anyway, piece by piece.

Last night

Ilay was gentle at first. Too gentle.

Kneeling between his legs, strong hands parting him open. Kissing the insides of his thighs,
murmuring his name in a low, strained voice.

“Taeui…”

And then—warm, wet, unrelenting.

His tongue—

Taeui gasped and arched under him, moaning despite himself, fists curling into the sheets as
Ilay rimmed him with all the devotion of a man worshipping something sacred.

He didn’t even touch him at first. Just held his hips and worked his tongue in deeper, slower,
tasting him until Taeui was trembling, panting, begging—but for what, he didn’t even know
anymore.
And then Ilay did touch him.

Sucked him off with a quiet, obscene eagerness. Eyes shut, lashes trembling, and every now
and then, that voice—

“...Taeui…”

So soft. So broken.

Like Taeui was both salvation and sin.

Now

Taeui buried his face in the pillow and groaned.

His entire body burned—not from pain, but from need. A craving.

His lips were swollen. His legs are sore. His skin still tingled.

And the worst part—

He wanted more.

He missed it.

His body—traitorous, stupid—still ached for Ilay’s hands. Still clenched at the memory of
Ilay’s tongue. Still hardened at the echo of his voice.

But his mind—

His mind was screaming. Run.

This is wrong.

This is not love.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Bit down on the corner of the blanket to silence the whimper
escaping him.

How could he want someone who terrified him?

How could he still crave the touch of the man who whispered “You are mine” like a vow and
a curse?

He remembered Mrs. Riegrow’s quiet truth.

Kyle’s offhand comments.

Peter’s slip.

Mr. Riegrow’s silence.

This family wasn’t his.

None of this was real.

So why did it hurt so much?

Why did his body still remember Ilay like he was home?

Taeui curled tighter into the sheets.

And for the first time since the accident, he wanted to forget again.

Not to remember. Not like this.

The door creaked open softly.

Ilay stepped in.

His eyes locked instantly on the figure curled on the bed, sheets tangled, hair disheveled.
Taeui hadn’t moved from where he collapsed hours ago, except now—

Ilay’s gaze dropped. His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

Taeui was hard.

Even in sleep or something close to it, his body betrayed him.

Ilay shut the door behind him with a soft click.

Taeui stirred. Turned slightly. Blinked up—slow, hazy—his eyes widening when he saw Ilay.

He sat up instinctively, but the sheets slipped off his shoulder, baring his sweat-slick chest.
He grabbed at the fabric half-heartedly, caught between wanting to hide and not being able to
think fast enough.

“Ilay…”

Ilay didn’t answer. He walked toward him without pause, silent and sharp, eyes dragging over
every exposed inch of skin. When he reached the bed, he climbed over Taeui without a word.

Taeui froze. He didn’t dare move, even when Ilay’s hand touched his knee, then slid slowly
upward.

Ilay looked down at him, gaze unreadable, but his voice was low, amused. “Did you miss me
that much?”

“I—” Taeui’s breath hitched. “It’s not…”

But Ilay had already pulled the sheets away, revealing the hard outline in Taeui’s shorts.

He leaned down. Pressed his mouth to Taeui’s neck. Then his collarbone. His chest.

And then—

He took Taeui’s nipple into his mouth.

Sucked.

Taeui gasped, fingers fisting into the sheets. His hips jerked despite himself, and the heat
surged up so fast, he saw stars behind his eyes.

“Ilay—”

Another suck, this time with teeth. Ilay tugged gently, then licked over it, deliberately slow.

Taeui squirmed. His pride, what little was left, tried to hold firm.

“Don’t… do this,” he whispered, voice shaking.

Ilay looked up, lips red and wet. “Then why are you so hard, hm?”

Taeui turned his face away. His eyes burned.

Ilay’s mouth returned, this time to the other side. He sucked harder. Groaned softly against
him, murmuring, “You taste desperate.”
And Taeui broke.

He let out a choked breath, trying not to cry, not to beg—but the ache in his chest was worse
than the one in his groin. His whole body throbbed with it.

“I need…” he whispered, voice cracking.

Ilay stilled. Then lifted his head.

“What do you need, Taeui?”

Taeui’s lips trembled. “I… I need you…”

Ilay’s fingers trailed down to Taeui’s waistband.

Taeui swallowed. His pride clawed at him, but the shame felt good somehow—tangible,
grounding.

“Just…” he whispered, eyes glassy, “do something…”

Ilay leaned in, his lips brushing over Taeui’s jaw, then against his mouth.

“Say it,” he whispered, breath hot. “Say ‘please.’”

Taeui looked away. Bit his lip. His hands trembled.

And then, in the faintest voice, as if surrendering his last thread of resistance:

“...Please.”
 Restraint
Chapter Summary

“Taeui… Taeui, Taeui—fuck, please stop me—before I can’t anymore.”

Because he was drowning.

And there was only so much more he could take.

Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

"...Please."

Ilay froze above him.

Taeui's lips were parted, his breath shallow. His eyes were dazed, pupils blown wide with
need. The faint imprint of Ilay’s mouth was still visible on his chest, glistening in the soft
light. And his voice—please—still echoed in Ilay’s skull, making every nerve in his body
thrum like it had been struck by lightning.

Ilay gripped the sheets beside Taeui’s head so hard his knuckles turned white.

Fuck.

He wanted him.
No, he needed him.

He wanted to slam into him, pin him down until the bedframe shook, until Taeui cried his
name like he used to—half sobbing, half laughing, ruined and open and completely his.

But—

His jaw clenched.

The doctor’s words echoed in his mind, unwanted and infuriating.

"Too much strain could be dangerous. There may be neurological damage. The swelling
hasn't fully gone down. Be careful with him."

Be careful.

Be gentle.

Ilay looked down again—and that was a mistake.

Taeui’s flushed skin. His half-lidded eyes. His trembling thighs slightly parted in helpless
invitation. The sound of his breath. The faint moan, involuntary, that escaped his lips when
Ilay shifted slightly above him.

Ilay's body screamed.

His restraint stretched paper-thin.

He lowered his head and kissed Taeui’s throat—not sweetly, not tenderly, but like a man
barely restraining himself from tearing his lover apart.

“Do you know…” he murmured, voice guttural, “how hard it is not to fuck you right now?”

Taeui whimpered, his body arching against Ilay’s without thought.

Ilay let out a ragged breath, almost a growl, and pulled back, sitting on his heels on the bed.
His hands trembled.

His gaze was wild.

“This is torture,” he muttered, dragging his hand through his hair roughly, almost yanking it.
“I’m losing my goddamn mind, Taeui.”

Taeui looked up at him, still panting, confused by the sudden distance. “Ilay…?”

Ilay looked at him with raw desperation—his chest heaving, his jaw clenched so tightly it
looked painful.

“I want you so badly, I feel like I’m going to break something. You—you look like this, you
sound like this—and I can’t—I won’t—”

He bit down on the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood.

Because if he touched Taeui the way he wanted to right now, he’d forget everything.

He’d forget the doctors.

Forget Taeui’s healing body.

Forget reason.
All he’d remember was how Taeui felt beneath him and how his name sounded falling from
those lips.

“Just a little more…” he whispered, more to himself than to Taeui. “Let me hold on… just a
little longer…”

But he was shaking.

And he knew—

He wouldn’t last long.

Not like this.

Taeui reached out—slow, hesitant, but trembling—with fingers that barely brushed Ilay’s
wrist.

“Ilay…”

Ilay’s head snapped toward him. His eyes, already dark, went darker still.

Taeui bit his lip, cheeks flushed with a mix of need and shame. “I… I know I shouldn’t ask,”
he whispered, “but I… I want you. I need—something. Anything. I—”

His voice cracked. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

“Please…”

The word hit Ilay like a bullet.

He let out a sound—somewhere between a groan and a growl—as if that one word physically
hurt him.

“Scheiße…” he hissed, hand flying to his mouth, covering it like he was trying to muffle
something dangerous. His whole body trembled.

He was falling apart.

“Verdammt. Gottverdammt nochmal, Taeui,” he snarled, dragging both hands over his face,
then gripping his thighs, fingers digging in like claws.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me—Scheiße, I can’t—”

Taeui opened his eyes again.

“Then don’t hold back,” he said—quiet, almost a whimper.

Ilay’s breath caught.

That was it.

That was all it took.

He lunged.

Mouth on Taeui’s neck, breath hot, lips moving down hungrily. Not rough, not yet—but
desperate. Controlled madness. A man hanging by a thread.

“Ich will dich so sehr,” Ilay muttered against his skin, teeth grazing his collarbone. “I want to
rip you open and crawl inside.”

His hand trembled as it brushed Taeui’s waist, tracing the dip of his stomach. His forehead
pressed against Taeui’s chest, sweat beading at his temple.

“Warum bist du so… verflucht süß, verdammt nochmal?” Why are you so fucking sweet?

He slammed his hand against the mattress beside Taeui’s head. Not him—never him—but
close.

“I want to fuck you until you can’t walk. Until you forget your own name and only remember
mine.”

Taeui gasped, hips twitching involuntarily.

 Ilay clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached.

But still—still—he hadn’t moved inside him.

He was shaking violently now, forehead still pressed against Taeui’s skin, mouthing his name
like a prayer, like a curse, like salvation and damnation wrapped into one:

“Taeui… Taeui, Taeui—fuck, please stop me—before I can’t anymore.”

Because he was drowning.

And there was only so much more he could take.

Chapter End Notes

My mind needs a moment after this... haha

 Not yet
Chapter Summary

As they walked side by side, Taeui peeked up at Ilay’s face.

Ilay’s expression was calm.

Not peaceful.

Just… settled. For now.

Ilay’s breath came in ragged bursts.

His body hovered above Taeui’s, muscles locked in restraint so tight it was almost painful.

He wanted it.

He wanted him.

But he wouldn’t—couldn’t—not like this.

Not when Taeui was still recovering.

He leaned in, their foreheads pressing together. His eyes searched Taeui’s, bloodshot and
glinting with lust and torment.

“…I want to break you,” he whispered, voice like crushed glass.

Then—swift, almost vicious—he reached down and gripped both their cocks in one hand.

Taeui gasped sharply.

Ilay began moving—fast, brutal strokes—his hand a blur. He jerked them together with
rough, precise control, gritting his teeth, every muscle in his body trembling from the effort
not to give in and take more.

Taeui arched his back, keening softly.

“I’ll make you feel it,” Ilay growled, his lips grazing Taeui’s cheek, “but I’ll have to fucking
stop before I ruin you.”

His pace didn’t falter.

Taeui moaned helplessly, fists clutching the sheets, face flushed, breath catching in his throat
with every jerk of Ilay’s hand.

“Ah—Ilay, I—I’m gonna—”

“Do it.”

Ilay’s voice cracked.

“Jetzt. Now. Scream for me.”

Taeui did.
With a sob and a whimper, Taeui came, trembling violently, his nails scratching down Ilay’s
back as he cried out his name. Ilay didn’t stop until Taeui had wrung himself dry, panting,
face glazed with heat and confusion and something like shame—but not quite.

Ilay released his own grip, chest heaving, his cock hard and leaking—still.

He stood up without a word.

And then—

He exploded.

He turned and slammed a chair against the wall so hard it splintered on impact.

The nightstand went next, kicked and thrown, drawer contents scattering like confetti.

A lamp shattered into jagged pieces.

His coat rack snapped in half. He hit the mirror—once, twice—until the glass fractured like
spiderwebs.

Through it all, Taeui didn’t flinch.

He just lay there, dazed and sticky, staring at Ilay’s rampage as if it were… expected.

As if this was just how things were.

As if this, too, was normal.

When Ilay finally stopped—breathing hard, body twitching with residual fury—he turned
back to Taeui.

Still hard.
Still hungry.

But… calmer.

He walked over slowly, kneeling by the bed, brushing Taeui’s damp hair from his forehead.

For a long moment, he just stared at him. Something quiet flickered in his eyes—too brief to
name.

Then, wordlessly, he reached for a warm, wet towel from the bathroom. He cleaned Taeui
gently—almost tenderly—down to the last drop.

Not a single word passed between them.

Afterward, Ilay dressed Taeui quickly—casually, like he’d done it a thousand times—and
helped him down the stairs just moments before Rita’s sharp knock echoed through the
hallway.
As they walked side by side, Taeui peeked up at Ilay’s face.

Ilay’s expression was calm.

Not peaceful.

Just… settled. For now.

And Taeui, still dizzy from the morning, thought distantly—

Yeah. This is just how he is.

 Confess

The dining hall had long since emptied. The air was quiet now, filled only with the faint
clinking of teacups and the distant ticking of an ornate clock on the wall.

Taeui sat at the table, poking at a half-eaten scone, his gaze vacant.

Across from him, Mrs. Riegrow poured herself another cup of tea, her movements graceful,
composed. She didn’t speak right away.

She simply sat, stirring honey into her tea with the slow, methodical rhythm of someone who
had all the time in the world.

Then, softly—almost casually—she said, “He doesn’t look well lately. And neither do you.”

Taeui flinched.

He didn’t look up.

Mrs. Riegrow set her spoon down, folding her hands in her lap. “

You’ve always been good at hiding things with a smile,” she said, her voice like velvet over
steel.

“But it’s not working on me.”

Taeui let out a nervous chuckle, trying to lighten the moment. “

You make it sound like I’m some secret agent.”

“You’re worse,” she replied, not unkindly.

“Because you don’t even lie. You just... swallow everything. Tuck it somewhere behind your
teeth and pretend it’s fine.”

Taeui’s fingers curled around his cup. A silence stretched between them.

“I’m not here to pry,” she added gently.

“I know what it’s like, loving someone like Ilay. That boy... doesn’t give himself away easily.
And when he does, it’s never in half-measures.”

Taeui’s eyes finally flicked up to her. He looked vulnerable—tired in a way sleep couldn’t
fix.

“I know you’re hurting,” she continued. “And I know it’s complicated. He’s not easy. But
love isn’t about ease, Taeui. It’s about choosing someone—even when it’s hard. Especially
when it’s hard.”
Taeui bit his lip. “But what if he doesn’t understand…? What if I say something wrong, and it
makes everything worse?”

Mrs. Riegrow gave a small smile, wise and faintly amused.

“You’re not made of glass,” she said.

“And neither is he. Do you really think Ilay would shatter just because you told him the truth
or any of your problems?”

“I don’t want to burden him, or maybe I don't want to hear the truth,” Taeui mumbled.

“No,” she said firmly, “you don’t want to lose him.”

Taeui stiffened.

Mrs. Riegrow leaned forward, her gaze kind but unwavering.

“You think being silent protects the relationship. Hiding the hard parts makes you easier to
love. But it doesn’t. It just builds walls where there should be bridges.”

She picked up her tea, sipped, and added, “Talk to him. He’s not a mind reader. If you keep
it all locked away, he’ll only hear the silence. And silence, my dear, is how people lose each
other.”
Taeui stared at her. His throat felt tight.

“He loves you,” she said, softer now.

“I can see it—even when he’s quiet, even when he’s rough. That boy would burn down the
world for you. But you need to give him a map. Tell him what’s wrong. Let him help carry
it.”

“…What if he doesn’t know how?”

Mrs. Riegrow smiled faintly. “Then teach him. That’s what love is, too.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy—it was full. Full of something warm, something
steady.

A quiet understanding that settled in Taeui’s chest like a balm.

“…Thank you,” he whispered.

Mrs. Riegrow stood and walked around the table.

She rested a gentle hand on his head, fingers threading through his hair for a moment.

“You’re my son now, too,” she said. “And I don’t want to see you fight your battles alone.”
The room was spotless.

Not a single shard of glass, not a single overturned chair remained from Ilay’s earlier
destruction.

It looked as if nothing had happened at all.

Which only made the silence feel louder.

Taeui stood by the door, eyes flicking around the room. His heart beat hard in his chest.

Ilay was sitting by the window, one leg folded over the other, cigarette burning slowly
between his fingers.

He didn’t look up when Taeui came in, but Taeui knew he was aware—Ilay always was.

“Ilay.”
A small pause. The cigarette glowed, then dimmed. Finally, Ilay’s gaze slid to him, sharp and
unreadable.

“I need to talk.”

Ilay didn’t move, but he gave the slightest nod. A quiet invitation.

Taeui stepped further in, sat down across from him—close, but not too close. His fingers
were clenched together, knuckles white.

“I’ve been having nightmares,” he began.

“And… they’re not just dreams. They feel too real. And I—I didn’t want to think they were,
but they are. Memories.”

Ilay’s stare didn’t waver. He didn’t interrupt.

Taeui swallowed.

“They’re about you. About you with someone else—Xinlu… then there’s—A woman. And a
child…And more”

Ilay’s jaw shifted, but he didn’t speak.

“I hated it,” Taeui whispered, his voice cracking.

“I hated that I felt jealous of something I didn’t even know was real. I hated that it hurt. I
hated that I felt betrayed. I hated that I didn’t know my place here.”

Still, silence.

“I thought maybe… maybe I was losing you,” Taeui admitted.

“Even though you’re right here. I thought if I said anything, you’d pull away. Or worse…
confirm it.”

Ilay finally put out the cigarette, crushing it in the ashtray without looking away.

Then he spoke, low and firm.

“Some of those things might’ve happened.”

Taeui’s breath caught.

“But you’re reading them wrong,” Ilay said.

“Dreams mix truth and lies. You remember the what, but not the why. And the why is
everything.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his voice still cold around the edges, but solid, like
granite—something Taeui could hold onto.

“You think I loved someone else?” Ilay scoffed, just barely.

“You’re the only one who’s ever had me. Not just my body—me. All of me.”

Taeui stared at him, blinking fast.

“I don’t care what you saw,” Ilay said.

“If I touched someone else, it was meaningless. If there was a child, it wasn’t mine. You think
I’d give that part of myself to anyone but you?” He shook his head.

"No. Never.”

The words settled deep in Taeui’s chest. A balm over a raw wound.

Ilay reached out, hooking a finger under Taeui’s chin, forcing their eyes to meet.

“You want to know the truth?” he said quietly.

“Then wait for the memories to come back fully. I’m not hiding anything. But until then—
trust me. And promise me this—whenever something comes back, you come to me first.
Speak. Don’t run from it.”
Taeui nodded, breath hitching.

“Say it.”

“I promise.”

Ilay leaned in, lips brushing Taeui’s. “Good.”

And then—like a dam cracking—it shifted. Taeui leaned into him, desperate to close the
distance, and Ilay met him halfway.

The kiss was deep, unrelenting. Ilay’s hands were rough, clutching Taeui’s waist and pulling
him onto his lap. There was no gentleness, just the brutal need to feel, to claim, to remind.

Taeui gasped into his mouth, fingers tangling in Ilay’s shirt. It was a make-out session that
scorched through lingering doubt, sweat, and heat building fast between stolen breaths.

Ilay didn’t speak again, but his hands did—gripping, guiding, grounding Taeui like a man
terrified of letting go.

And Taeui—he kissed back like he finally believed.

 Anticipation
Chapter Summary

Tonight, he’d take back what was his.

Not with gentleness.

Not with tenderness.

But with hunger sharpened by restraint.

He pushed open the door.

Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

The room was dim.

Only the bedside lamp glowed faintly, casting a golden hue across the sheets. Taeui sat curled
against the headboard, knees drawn up to his chest, dressed only in a loose robe. The silence
in the room buzzed with anticipation.

Ilay had told him that morning, while adjusting his tie with frightening calm:

"Tonight, I won’t hold back."

He’d said it like a promise.

A warning.

Taeui's cheeks were still warm hours later.

His thoughts drifted—not to the present, but the weeks leading up to this night.

Flashback — Week One.

After the doctor’s check-up, Ilay had said nothing on the drive home. But once they were
behind closed doors, his voice was cool and direct.

“They said you’re healing well. We’ll start training.”

Taeui blinked, confused. “Training…?”

Ilay had already opened the drawer. Mrs. Riegrow’s “gift” had been waiting all this time—
elegantly wrapped, unopened. Now, Ilay retrieved it with the slow deliberation of someone
who knew exactly what it meant.

Taeui flushed bright red. “Wait—wait, you’re serious?”

Ilay’s response was simply pushing him onto the bed.

That night, he used two fingers, slick and careful. He murmured nothing sweet, only
instructions—“Breathe. Relax. Take it.”
It burned, just a little, but Ilay moved slow, drawing out soft gasps and choked moans from
Taeui’s throat.

And when he was done, he only said: “You did well.”

Flashback — Night Two.

Three fingers. No teasing.

Taeui clung to the sheets, his breath unsteady.

It felt fuller—more intense. Ilay’s eyes never left him, drinking in every twitch and shiver.

“You’re learning fast,” he said simply, voice low. “Good.”

That night, Taeui dreamed of Ilay's hands.

Flashback — Night Three.

Four fingers.
It stretched him open, too wide at first, but Ilay’s pace was cruelly patient. He whispered
nothing—just used his free hand to hold Taeui down by the hip, firm and steady.

Taeui arched, breathless, and sweating.

He hated how much he wanted more. Hated how empty he felt when Ilay finally pulled his
fingers out.

Ilay leaned down, brushing a kiss just below Taeui’s ear.

“Not yet,” he murmured.

Back to the present.

Taeui’s body remembered it all.

Every night. Every stretch. Every almost.

Tonight wasn’t going to be almost.

He licked his lips nervously, glancing at the door. The robe clung to his skin, his heartbeat
loud in his ears. He could still hear Ilay’s voice from this morning.

"Be ready. I won’t go easy on you."

Taeui wasn’t sure if it was fear or desire pooling in his stomach—but he didn’t move.
He waited.

Because tonight was the night.

Ilay

He had been patient.

Too patient.

Every night for the past week, Ilay had come to their shared bed not to soothe, not to comfort,
but to tame.

To break him in.

He never said a word of love. He didn't need to. The slick sounds of his fingers stretching
Taeui open said everything.

The way Taeui whimpered, the way his legs trembled—that was enough.

Ilay drank in every shudder, every breathy gasp, like it was penance owed.

A debt long due.

And Taeui, sweet Taeui, offered it all up to him without knowing it was a quiet revenge.

Because Ilay remembered the unconscious teasing at the hospital.

His patience and restraint, tested over and over again.

The lonely and desperate nights, he only had his hand.

That image of him all flushed and needy.

And now?

Now Taeui was unraveling beneath him, piece by piece.

Ilay took his time, measured each night like a slow-burning match.

Two fingers.

Then three.

The next night four—rough, stretching, curling deep enough to make Taeui's voice catch in
his throat.

He could feel it—the moment Taeui gave in. His thighs trembling, his hips rising on instinct,
begging without words.
Ilay said nothing. Just watched with sharp, gleaming eyes.

He wanted him to suffer.

To want.

To crave.

To understand who he belonged to.

Now, walking down the hallway, Ilay could already feel it—the weight of tonight.

He’d warned him this morning in a quiet, deadly voice:

“I won’t hold back tonight.”

His hands curled into fists, remembering how Taeui had moaned under him the night before
—his name, again and again, almost broken.

Now he stood before their bedroom door.

His face was unreadable.

Tonight, he’d take back what was his.

 Not with gentleness.

Not with tenderness.

But with hunger sharpened by restraint.

He pushed open the door.

Chapter End Notes

...and then I remembered I don't write graphic smut... hahaha FML

 At last
Chapter Summary

Then he leaned down, lips brushing against Taeui’s ear as he whispered—low and firm:

“Wrap your arms around me.”

Taeui obeyed, threading his arms around Ilay’s shoulders and pulling him closer.

Ilay entered the room in silence.

Taeui was already on the bed, half-sitting against the pillows, freshly showered, his body taut
with anticipation.

There was a hint of nervousness in his eyes, but he didn’t look away.

Ilay’s gaze flicked over him slowly, like he was memorizing him again for the first time.

He shed his coat, undid his cuffs, and rolled his sleeves up.

Taeui swallowed.

Ilay didn’t speak. He rarely did in moments like this—words were pointless when his intent
was clear.
He leaned in, bracing himself above Taeui, and kissed him.

Hard.

No softness, no preamble.

Just months of pent-up hunger and restraint pressed into a single, searing collision.

Taeui moaned into his mouth, gripping his arms, and Ilay deepened the kiss like he was
falling into it.

The touches were not gentle—but they were not cruel.

They were consuming.

Possessive.

Hungry.

Taeui arched into him, desperate, needy, wanting everything Ilay had held back.

And Ilay gave it—slowly at first, then faster, harder, deeper.

Taeui’s hands clutched at his back, his hair, anywhere he could anchor himself.

Ilay moved like he was trying to etch himself into every nerve, every breath.

He whispered nothing, only grunted softly against Taeui’s neck, jaw clenched, eyes dark with
focus and feeling.

Taeui’s voice cracked.

He called Ilay’s name again and again, each time more raw, more broken.

And Ilay took it in like it was oxygen—like he had been starving for it.

Their bodies moved in sync, chaotic but intimate, tangled in sweat and gasps and low curses
in German that fell from Ilay’s mouth when his restraint wavered.

Then—

Taeui’s fingers suddenly dug into Ilay’s shoulders, his breathing ragged.
“Ilay—wait... I—” He gasped, eyes dazed. “I’m getting... dizzy. I—can we—just... a
second…”

Ilay froze instantly.

His breath came fast. His eyes locked on Taeui’s face, checking for panic, for pain.

Taeui wasn’t scared.

Just overwhelmed.

Ilay didn’t pull out. He didn’t move away.

He simply shifted his weight, held Taeui close, and stayed still—his chest heaving as he
fought to calm his own storm.

He buried his face against Taeui’s shoulder and exhaled shakily. Taeui’s arms came up around
him slowly, holding him back.

Neither of them spoke.

The room was quiet but for their breathing, mingling in the heat between them.
Taeui’s breathing evened out after a few moments.

The dizziness passed like a tide receding, leaving warmth and lingering tremors behind.

He blinked up at Ilay, dazed but grounded now, and gave him a small nod.

Ilay’s eyes never left him. Still deep, still burning—but there was a flicker of gentleness in
that fire.

“I’m okay,” Taeui whispered.

Ilay shifted slightly, still buried in him, and brushed Taeui’s damp hair from his forehead.

Then he leaned down, lips brushing against Taeui’s ear as he whispered—low and firm:

“Wrap your arms around me.”

Taeui obeyed, threading his arms around Ilay’s shoulders and pulling him closer.

“Hold tightly,” Ilay murmured again. “And never let go.”

Taeui clung tighter. Ilay began to move again—steady now, deeper than before, each motion
pressing his command further into Taeui’s skin.
Every time Taeui’s grip loosened even a little, Ilay would murmur against his ear, sometimes
in German, sometimes in English—but always the same message:

“Don’t let go of me.”

Taeui didn’t. Not once. Not even when he was breathless.

Not even when his tears returned—not of pain, but from being overwhelmed by the intensity,
the rawness of what they were sharing.

The night stretched on. They were relentless, their bodies learning each other again.

No rush, no frantic desperation like before—just long, unbroken intimacy that felt like it
could go on forever.

By the time it ended, they were a mess of sweat and tangled sheets, limbs locked together,
flushed and silent.

Ilay stayed atop him for a while, just breathing against Taeui’s throat, letting the tension in
his shoulders melt for the first time in weeks.

When he finally pulled back, he kissed Taeui’s collarbone—once, quietly.

Ilay cleaned Taeui with reverence, his movements slow, his touch surprisingly tender for a
man so ruthless.
He changed the sheets, brought Taeui a warm cloth, and even helped him into a fresh shirt
before pulling him into bed again.

Taeui was half-asleep already, tucked under Ilay’s arm, blinking slowly like a dream was still
clinging to him.

Ilay watched him.

He wasn’t smiling. But he looked... satisfied.

Finally.

His fingers lazily traced Taeui’s spine under the covers.

Ilay closed his eyes and, for once, allowed himself to rest—his breathing syncing with
Taeui’s, heart finally quiet, mind finally still.
 The draft™
Chapter Summary

Kyle muttered, “Enthusiastic? I thought someone was dying.”

Mr. Riegrow took a sip of coffee. “And yet no one died. Shame.”

The Riegrow breakfast table was unusually quiet.

Taeui limped in.

Not dramatically.

Just enough for anyone with eyes to notice the slightly-too-slow shuffle, the way he held his
lower back like he’d tried to wrestle a dragon in his sleep—and lost.

He yawned as he sat down gingerly, wincing a little as he lowered himself onto the chair.

“Morning,” he mumbled, blinking as if light physically hurt.

Kyle looked up from his newspaper.

Froze.

Then slowly lowered it.

Mr. Riegrow didn’t look at him at all.

Mrs. Riegrow smiled, positively glowing.

“Sleep well, Taeui, dear?”

Taeui let out a long sigh, face already half-melted into his toast plate.

“Uh-huh… Just… a little sore. Might’ve slept weird.”

Kyle’s spoon clattered to the table.

“That’s one way to describe it,” he muttered under his breath.

Taeui blinked. “Hm?”

“Nothing,” Kyle said.

“Just… admiring how you could drag yourself out of bed, for someone who, according to my
very scientific deduction, got about three hours of sleep—if that.”

Ilay glanced sideways at Kyle. One silent warning.

“Strange,” Kyle casually continued, poking at his scrambled eggs.

“I walked past your wing around midnight. Thought I heard… I don’t know, a murder? Or a
spiritual possession?”
Taeui blinked, still too slow. “Huh?”

Mr. Riegrow finally looked up. “It’s interesting,” he said slowly, “how the draft in this
mansion seems stronger at night. Don’t you think, Ilay?”

Ilay didn't reply. He just took another sip of coffee.

Taeui tilted his head. “Draft?”

Mrs. Riegrow giggled.

“Well, I did happen to notice a breeze in the hallway, come to think of it. Cold draft coming
from your room.”

Kyle looked up. “Right. Door was…slightly open.”

Taeui paused, toast halfway to his mouth.

Mr. Riegrow spoke, now back to not making eye contact.

“At my age, one doesn’t need… reminders of youth.”

“What?” Taeui asked, now more confused than anything.

“What does that—?”

Kyle cleared his throat. “Say, Taeui… when you guys went to bed last night, did you check if
the door was closed?”

Taeui frowned. “Ilay closed it.”

“Ahh,” Ilay said smoothly, setting down his cup. “I think I closed it – but it might not be all
the way.”

Taeui’s eyes widened in slow, dawning horror. “Wait—wait, it was open?!”

Ilay didn’t answer.

Mrs. Riegrow daintily cut her croissant. “Well, I do admire your enthusiasm. It’s lovely when
young couples are so… energetic.”

Kyle muttered, “Enthusiastic? I thought someone was dying.”

Mr. Riegrow took a sip of coffee. “And yet no one died. Shame.”

Taeui turned crimson.

“Oh my god.”

Mrs. Riegrow hummed. “I will say, the acoustics in this mansion are wonderful. Really
carry.”

Ilay was quiet. But a faint smirk curved at the corner of his mouth.

Taeui slowly covered his face with his hands. “No. No, no, no…”

Kyle took another bite of eggs and mumbled through it, “So, was it round three that someone
wailed? Or four?”
“Kyle!”

Mr. Riegrow stood up abruptly. “I’m going to the library.”

Mrs. Riegrow beamed at Taeui. “Would you like more juice, sweetheart?”

“I would like to be erased from existence, thank you.”

Ilay, finally, leaned in just enough to murmur, “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure the door is locked
tonight.”

Taeui smacked his arm with a piece of toast.

 Second Visit
Chapter Summary

"Um. Should I be here for this?”

Ilay glanced at him sideways, expression unreadable. “You’re the reason for this,
remember?”

“Thanks, that’s comforting,” Taeui muttered, eyes darting between his uncle and Ilay’s
mother.

“Seriously, I just came here for a drink.”

It’d been a few days since that breakfast.

Taeui had recovered physically, mostly. But his mental state? That was still a minefield.

Because Ilay… had gotten clingy.

Not sweet, cuddly, or clingy. No. Ilay’s brand of affection was... intense. Purposeful.
Devastating.

He didn’t let Taeui rest—not really.

If Ilay was home, Taeui was either being pinned to a wall, stretched over a desk, or sprawled
half-conscious across their bed, wondering why God invented legs. He swore Ilay was timing
his own arrivals to the exact minute Taeui finished showering.

At first, Taeui complained. He was tired. He couldn’t walk. Ilay was too big.
And yet… give it twenty minutes, and he’d be the one clawing at Ilay’s shirt, sobbing for
more.

“I hate you,” Taeui muttered one evening, curled like a soggy pretzel under the sheets, chest
still rising fast.

Ilay, wiping him down with a towel, smirked. Just kissed his forehead. "And yet you begged
for more."

That night, as Ilay finally dozed off, Taeui stared at the ceiling.

Sleep wouldn’t come.

Not because of the soreness—he was used to that by now—but because something had been
scratching at the back of his head for days.

And tonight, it finally bubbled up.

A memory. Fuzzy. Slanted.

It happened a few years ago—maybe three? four? Sitting in a too-bright room that smelled
like leather and something sterile.

Across from him sat a man he didn’t like. A man he thought he didn’t like. That was what his
feelings told him.

Dark hair.

Sharp eyes.

Smiling in that way that was friendly, but wasn’t actually friendly.
He thought he didn’t like that smile.

Chang-in.

He couldn’t remember why, but the name soured his stomach.

In the memory, Chang-in was saying something about someone.

He needed help. Or company. Or something.

Taeui couldn’t recall the words—only that he didn’t want to help.

Didn’t want to be there. The man annoyed him. And another person’s name was eventually
brought up…

Jaeui?

He frowned.

Jaeui was... Chang-in’s cousin? Or... son?

Whatever. Didn’t matter.

All Taeui knew was that he hadn’t liked either of them very much.

Or maybe he did like Jaeui before…

The whole memory felt fake. Staged. Like he’d been a prop in someone else’s favor trade.

He turned to the side and whispered, “Hey. Ilay.”

A pause.

A hand slid around his waist. “What is it?”

“I remembered something.”

A murmur of interest. Taeui kept going.

“There was this guy. Chang-in. That man who visited the hospital last time. He was… I don’t
know… someone I probably disliked in the past, but still respected?”

Ilay was still.

“And there was this other person. His cousin? Son? I think his name was Jaeui.” Taeui
huffed.

“It seemed I didn’t like him much either. Looked like me. So we must be relatives. But he
was… quite cold. He said he wanted to cut ties with me…then he was gone.”

Another beat of silence.

Taeui rolled onto his back. “I think Chang-in wanted me to befriend him. Babysit him or
something. I don’t know why I hated it so much, I just—ugh, the whole thing felt slimy.”
Ilay kissed the side of his neck. No comment.

“You’re not saying anything,” Taeui muttered, eyes narrowing.

Ilay just hummed.

“What, do you agree?”

Ilay’s voice was soft. “I think you should trust your instincts.”

Taeui blinked. That wasn’t an answer. That was a deflection.

He opened his mouth to probe further, but Ilay shifted close—pressed a warm kiss just below
his jaw.

And just like that, Taeui forgot what he was about to say.

Ilay knew exactly what he was doing.

And he wasn’t correcting anything.

More days passed.

Taeui didn’t speak of every memory. Some returned in flickers, vague images during showers
or naps—snippets of laughter, textbooks open on polished desks, street food eaten in the rain.
Other memories returned in full, heavy and unavoidable.

He saw a small hand gripping another in a school hallway. Heard Jaeui’s voice calling his
name.
He remembered a rooftop. Two pairs of shoes. Jaeui beside him. A sky colored in soft
orange.

He remembered their little arguments. Quiet tension. A kind of invisible line between them.
They were always around each other, but something about them always felt…fragile.

And Chang-in… he didn’t remember much.

In the memories that came back, Chang-in was kind, but calculating. Only reaching out when
Jaeui got into trouble, or when someone needed a “favor.” He looked too young to be
anyone’s father, but there was a resemblance. Same sharp eyes. Same crooked smirk. Jaeui
must’ve inherited it.

Taeui frowned one evening as he leaned against Ilay on the couch.

A beer bottle dangled from his hand, almost empty. The room was warm. Dim. Safe.

“Schultheiss is so good,” he sighed, tapping the glass against his lips.

Ilay hummed in agreement, watching him with lazy eyes.

Another sip. A beat.

“I think I figured something out,” Taeui muttered, eyes still on the bottle label.

“Oh?” Ilay raised an eyebrow.

“Jaeui must’ve been my cousin,” Taeui said slowly.

“And Chang-in… his father. So, my uncle. Makes sense, right?”

Ilay tilted his head, smirking slightly, but didn’t interrupt.

“We were close, I think,” Taeui went on. “Before he went abroad. Must’ve been for work or
studies. And then I… I probably joined the military.”

He leaned back with a soft grunt. “God. I remember that. Not the whole thing, but the
exhaustion. Waking up to freezing mornings, drills before sunrise…”

He made a face. “Awful. But kind of beautiful, too.”

Ilay just kept listening, that same knowing gleam in his eye.

“And Jaeui was always with a book,” Taeui continued, chuckling into his drink. “He was
always too mature. Like, even as a teenager, he was already forty.”

Ilay’s lips twitched.

“And Chang-in…” Taeui squinted at the ceiling. “He must’ve only shown up when he had to.
Never really affectionate. I must’ve hated him a little for that. But I guess... family’s family.”

Ilay let out a low hum, eyes unreadable.

Taeui smiled and leaned his head on Ilay’s shoulder, the beer cool against his leg.

“It’s weird, isn’t it? Memories coming back in pieces like that. Like trying to do a puzzle with
the wrong box cover.”
Ilay just hummed. Amusement flickered in his eyes.

He didn’t correct him.

Didn’t mention the way Taeui’s entire family tree was slightly off.

It was a cold morning when Chang-in arrived.

He stepped through the gates of the Riegrow estate with the casual ease of someone who’d
been here before, though years had passed.

His coat was expensive, his eyes sharp, and in one hand he held a wrapped parcel—the
supposed gift: a rare, out-of-print military memoir Kyle had been hunting for.

Ilay hadn’t been the one to greet him.

Of course not.

“Still refusing to answer my calls?” Chang-in asked Kyle as they walked through the marble
hallways toward the drawing room.

His tone was light, but there was a faint irritation beneath.

Kyle smiled thinly. “You know how Rick is.”

“I know.” A pause. “That’s why I’m here.”

When Chang-in stepped into the sunlit room and found Taeui seated on the leather couch,
barefoot, half-drinking from a bottle of Schultheiss, he stopped.

“Taeui.”

The younger man looked up lazily. “Uncle.”

It wasn’t cold, not exactly. But there was no affection in the word.

No joy or surprise. Just a simple recognition, as though naming an object in a painting.

Chang-in’s smile didn’t waver, but something in his gaze flickered.

“You’ve been drinking before noon,” he commented lightly.

“Breakfast of champions,” Taeui muttered, then gestured toward the couch. “You want a
beer?”

“No, thanks,” Chang-in said, setting the book down beside Kyle. “Just thought I’d check in.”

Taeui raised a brow. “You came all the way from Hong Kong for that?”

“Partly.” His eyes drifted to Ilay, lounging on the adjacent armchair, sleeves rolled, gaze
impassive. “Also, to ask Rick if he’s still refusing to return to the UNHRDO.”

Ilay gave a soft scoff. “I thought the silence spoke volumes.”

“It did,” Chang-in replied dryly, then returned his gaze to Taeui. “Jaeui will be happy to hear
you’re getting better. He was worried.”
Taeui blinked.

“Ahh... I didn’t know my cousin was concerned.”

Silence.

Just a beat, but long enough.

Chang-in’s breath caught slightly. “...Cousin?”

Taeui tilted his head. “Yeah. Weren’t we? I mean, you’re his dad, and you’re my uncle. That
tracks.”

His voice was light, almost amused, but not playful. Detached. As though recalling a half-
remembered story he no longer cared much for.

Chang-in glanced at Ilay.

Ilay was already watching him, elbows resting on the arm of his chair, his expression the
picture of smugness.

He raised his eyebrows as if to say, Well?

Chang-in turned back to Taeui, and his smile returned—smaller now, tighter.

“Right,” he said. “Cousins.”

He sat down beside Kyle and folded his hands together. “It’s good to see you lucid again.”

“Is it?” Taeui asked and finished his beer.

Something quiet settled in the room.

Ilay didn’t speak. Kyle looked between them with an expression caught somewhere between
sympathy and boredom.

And Chang-in… just watched Taeui for a moment longer, as if searching for something
familiar in a stranger’s eyes.

But the boy he once knew wasn’t quite there.

“So,” Kyle said, breaking the silence with a sigh as he opened the rare book with deliberate
care, “aside from concern for your dear nephew, what else brings you here?”

Chang-in’s lips curled faintly. “The European branch of the UNHRDO has been persistent.
They want to know if Rick is planning to come back anytime soon.”
Ilay didn’t even blink. He leaned forward, took a sip from Taeui’s open beer bottle without
asking, and said flatly, “I’ll return soon.”

Chang-in raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been saying that for months.”

Ilay only smiled.

“Do the higher-ups know that soon could mean anything from a week to a year with you?”

“They should,” Ilay said. “They hired me.”

Kyle let out a soft laugh. “He’s got you there.”

Chang-in shook his head, exasperated. “You’re still listed as an instructor. The training
officers are burning out trying to cover for you. You're not exactly easy to replace.”

Ilay didn’t answer immediately, but his gaze slid to Taeui.

Taeui, who had been listening quietly, swirled the remaining beer in the bottle before
speaking. “If you need to go, you should.”

Everyone looked at him.

Taeui didn’t flinch. “You used to leave a lot, didn’t you? Week-long missions, sometimes
more.”
He glanced at Ilay. “You’d vanish without warning. And when you came back, you’d… well
—”

His words cut off.

He remembered—vividly—the heat of Ilay’s return. The way the man would press him to the
wall before he could take off his boots.

How Ilay’s intensity felt like starvation.

Desperate, wordless, as if every second apart needed to be erased through flesh and breath.

Taeui looked away quickly, ears reddening.

Ilay’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes gleamed—dangerously

entertained.

“As long as you come back from time to time,” Taeui added quietly, his tone almost
defensive now. “I don’t mind.”

Ilay chuckled softly. “That’s generous of you.”

Taeui tried to look annoyed, but the blush betrayed him. He snatched the bottle back from
Ilay’s hand and drank to cover his embarrassment.
Kyle raised a brow at Chang-in, murmuring under his breath, “So much for him not
remembering.”

Chang-in didn’t respond immediately. His gaze lingered on Taeui—on the delicate flickers of
memory returning, resurfacing out of nowhere.

He wondered which parts Taeui remembered and which remained blurred. He wondered if,
when Taeui finally remembered everything, he would still want to stay.

“I’ll tell the European branch to be patient,” Chang-in said eventually, leaning back. “It’s not
like anyone can really make Rick do anything.”

Ilay tilted his head slightly, smiling as if to say Exactly.

The sound of heels echoed softly against the marble floors—sharp, measured, and deliberate.

Mrs. Riegrow had returned.

Her presence, as always, was regal. Draped in a tailored slate-blue coat that hugged her tall
frame, with her silver-streaked hair swept into a chignon, she looked like she had just stepped
off a private plane from Geneva or Vienna, where the air itself bowed to wealth and
influence.

“Mother,” Kyle stood and greeted her with a kiss to the cheek. “Back earlier than expected.”

“There was nothing left to do in Brussels,” she said with a faint sigh, her eyes sweeping the
room. “And I missed my own drawing room.”
Her gaze landed on the unfamiliar man beside Kyle.

“Ah,” Kyle gestured. “Mother, allow me to introduce Instructor Jeong Chang-in. A longtime
colleague. We’ve worked together for years, on and off.”

“And a relative of Taeui’s,” Kyle added after a pause. “His uncle.”

There was the faintest glint in her eyes.

“I see,” she said smoothly.

Her gaze slid to Chang-in, her expression unreadable. Then she smiled—warm, slow,
cultivated.

She extended her hand with the graceful weight of someone who had never once needed to
rush a thing in her life.

“It’s a pleasure, Instructor. We’ve heard your name here and there,” she said as he shook her
hand politely.

“Likewise, Madame,” Chang-in replied, voice steady but cautious.

Her eyes lingered on him just a second too long.

“Ilay mentioned you,” she said lightly, as if recalling a conversation about the weather. “Back
when Taeui was still at the hospital.”

Chang-in’s brow lifted slightly. “Did he.”

“Yes.” She smiled again. “He mentioned that you’re quite involved in… international affairs.
Your reputation precedes you.”

Chang-in gave a slight bow of his head. “I try to keep a low profile.”

“Oh, I imagine you must,” she replied with a faint, knowing laugh. “But it’s difficult to stay
unnoticed in this world when you’re… how should I put it… close to people of importance.”

There was a pause.

Then she turned, her eyes settling on Taeui, who had just stepped into the hallway, back from
the kitchen, with a half-empty beer bottle and a confused expression. He froze when he saw
her.

“Ah, there he is,” she said, her tone warming with an almost maternal fondness. “You’ve
grown used to this place, haven’t you, Taeui?”

Taeui blinked. “Oh—uh, yes. I suppose so.”

She smiled at him. “You belong here. You’ve always brought a lightness to this old house.
It’s quite rare, you know.”

Taeui gave a sheepish smile and scratched the back of his neck, unsure how to respond.

Then Mrs. Riegrow turned her gaze back to Chang-in.

“I do hope you’ve seen for yourself how well he’s doing,” she said, her voice soft, her words
laced with velvet steel.

“Happier than I imagine he’s been in a long while.”

Chang-in’s face didn’t change, but the silence between them did.

She didn’t need to say more.

It wasn’t an accusation. Just a simple, factual observation.

He’s better here. Without you.

“I can see that,” Chang-in replied calmly, his eyes meeting hers.

“Though happiness isn’t always what it seems.”

Mrs. Riegrow’s smile didn’t falter.

“No,” she said. “But it’s the only thing worth holding onto, don’t you think?”

The silence that followed Mrs. Riegrow’s remark was soft but loaded, like the held breath
before a winter storm.

Chang-in’s eyes remained on her, calm but sharpened now, as though he’d finally
remembered the rules of this particular aristocratic game. He’d played it before—with
generals and ministers, behind diplomatic curtains and bulletproof glass.

This wasn’t so different. Just quieter. More personal.

“I imagine it’s comforting,” he said slowly, “knowing that your son found someone who
could calm the chaos he causes.”

A flicker crossed her face. Barely there.

“He’s not the easiest person,” Chang-in continued, his tone still light, still polite, “though I
suppose you know that better than anyone.”

Ilay, seated at the other end of the long settee, raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking to Taeui
beside him.

Taeui was already sipping his beer, watching with the faint unease of someone who’d
stumbled into a chess match between lions.

Mrs. Riegrow tilted her head gracefully.

“My son is intense. Passionate. But loyal. And Taeui seems to thrive under that sort of…
unwavering attention.”

“Unwavering is one word for it,” Chang-in replied, casually crossing one leg over the other.

“Obsessive is another. Some would call it dangerous.”

Another pause.

Kyle shifted his weight behind her, his lips pressing into a thin line.

He looked between them—his mother and Chang-in—with visible hesitation.

His hand twitched, like he was ready to jump in. But he didn’t.

Mrs. Riegrow’s smile didn’t budge.

Her voice remained perfectly smooth.

“We all carry our flaws, Professor Jeong. And our affections manifest in… unique ways. But
here, Taeui is seen. Valued. Cared for.”

“Cared for,” Chang-in echoed. “Yes, I’ve seen Rick's version of ‘care.’ It leaves scars. Some
visible. Some not.”

A breath caught somewhere in the room.

Taeui’s hand on the beer bottle paused mid-lift.

Ilay’s lips parted slightly, but his eyes narrowed.

Mrs. Riegrow remained still. But her gaze turned colder.

“I understand your concern,” she said, still cordial. “It must be difficult. Watching from the
outside. No longer having the same place in his life.”

Chang-in gave a soft laugh, but there was no humor in it.

“You misunderstand. I’m not concerned for myself. I’m concerned for him,” he nodded
slightly toward Taeui, who looked at him now with a startled blink.
“The last time he was under your family’s protection, he ended up hospitalized, confused,
and clinging to a man who once nearly got him killed.”

Ilay’s jaw tightened. He didn’t move closer, but his presence suddenly felt much more there.

Mrs. Riegrow’s smile faltered for the first time. Her voice cooled another degree.

“You speak as if we’re the danger, Professor.”

“Am I wrong?”

A beat of silence.

Then Taeui—who had been nursing the same bottle of beer with mild concern—cleared his
throat lightly.

“Um. Should I be here for this?”

Ilay glanced at him sideways, expression unreadable. “You’re the reason for this,
remember?”

“Thanks, that’s comforting,” Taeui muttered, eyes darting between his uncle and Ilay’s
mother.

“Seriously, I just came here for a drink.”

Mrs. Riegrow folded her hands in front of her. Her posture, her elegance, all remained intact,
but her eyes were harder now.

“Professor Jeong,” she said. “You are, of course, welcome to visit. But I do hope you’re not
here to reclaim something that no longer belongs to you.”

It was said so gently that it almost sounded like hospitality.

Chang-in stood, slowly. No anger. No rush.

“I don’t want to reclaim anything,” he said, adjusting the sleeve of his coat. “Just making sure
the house that claims to ‘care’ for him knows how fragile he actually is.”

A silence fell again. This time, thicker, heavier.

Kyle finally spoke up, his voice firm but low. “Perhaps we could all take a step back. This
isn’t the place for—”

“No,” Mrs. Riegrow said, with a smile so composed it was nearly saintly. “It is exactly the
place.”

Then she turned to Taeui again, her tone warmer. “Enjoy your evening, dear. You really do
light up this home.”

With that, she left, her heels tapping away like a closing gavel in a courtroom no one wanted
to be summoned to.
Chang-in didn’t linger.

With one last glance at Taeui—a flicker of warmth beneath all that restrained worry—he
offered a short nod and turned to leave.

He walked past Kyle, who looked like he was still trying to decide whether to chase after him
or his own thoughts, and didn’t stop.

The sound of the front door closing behind him was soft, but it echoed.

No one spoke for a while.

 Father
Chapter Summary

“You’re a fast learner.”

“I had a decent teacher.”

There was a pause. Then Mr. Riegrow, without looking at him, said, almost casually:

“You should start calling me Father.”

Days passed.

Like the slow dripping of a cracked faucet, memories began trickling back into Taeui’s head.
Some arrived gently—half-dreams or flickers in the morning. Others were more brutal:
flashes during conversations, sudden dizziness in the middle of hallways, the back of his
throat tightening for no reason.

And then one afternoon, it struck.

He’d been walking in the estate’s garden when the smell of burning wood hit him. A memory
rushed forward, sharp and blinding.

The forest. The flames. Ilay standing there, eyes wild, expression unreadable. The
wreckage of trees and smoke curling around the anti-tank gun like it was a toy left in
the sandbox of war.

Taeui’s breath caught.

He turned and marched back into the mansion without even knowing what his body was
planning.
Ilay was alone in the drawing room, reading something by the window. Taeui stormed in—no
warning—and without a word, punched him clean across the face.

It wasn’t elegant. Taeui’s form wasn’t trained. It was a swing powered by rage, memory, and
disbelief.

Ilay’s head turned with the impact, hair falling loose from where it had been tucked back. A
bead of blood slid from the corner of his mouth down his chin.

He stared at Taeui, stunned. Not angry—just stunned. Like a god who didn’t understand how
a mortal could reach him.

“That’s for the anti-tank gun,” Taeui snapped, “and for committing arson, you psycho!”

The room stilled.

Ilay still didn’t say anything. He raised a hand, touched his lip, and looked at the blood. His
eyes were unreadable.

Taeui, catching his breath, suddenly blinked and seemed to realize what he’d just done.

“Oh—oh no,” he mumbled. “I’m—sorry. Shit.”

Ilay didn’t move. He didn’t even wipe the blood away. He just watched Taeui, like he was
memorizing the shape of his anger.

But then—a voice from behind them:

“Well struck.”
Taeui flinched and turned to see Mr. Riegrow standing in the hallway arch, arms crossed,
clearly having witnessed the entire thing. His expression was unreadable, except for the
faintest trace of… was that amusement?

Taeui opened his mouth, already halfway into a panic.

“Uh—sir—I didn’t mean to—he burned a forest, and—”

Mr. Riegrow gave him a single, slow nod.

“Next time,” he said, his voice calm, “punch harder.”

Then he turned and walked away like he’d simply commented on the weather.

Ilay finally spoke, voice low and slightly hoarse.

“I didn’t expect you to remember that part.”

Taeui stared at him, fists still clenched. “I didn’t either.”

A beat passed.

“...There’s more, isn’t there?”

Ilay said nothing. But that silence said yes.

It started with a simple invitation over breakfast.

Mr. Riegrow, standing tall and well-composed in his pressed shirt and gloves, approached
Taeui, who was midway through his third piece of toast, and asked, “Would you care to
accompany me today?”
Taeui blinked, surprised, a bit of marmalade on the corner of his mouth. “Uh. Sure…?”

No one really said no to Mr. Riegrow. Not because he was threatening, but because he rarely
asked twice.

They drove in silence for a while, the countryside shifting past the tinted windows. Mr.
Riegrow made no small talk, and Taeui didn’t feel the need to fill in either. The air between
them was calm. Strangely comfortable.

Their first stop was one of the Riegrow family’s secured facilities—low buildings with
concrete walls, the kind of place you’d miss unless you knew it was there. Inside was a
pristine and immaculately kept showroom.

Firearms lined the walls in glass casings. Pistols, assault rifles, sniper rifles. German
engineering gleamed under the lights—sleek, efficient, lethal.

“This is where we do most of our final inspections and advanced modifications,” Mr.
Riegrow said, hands clasped behind his back as he walked. “Some of these weapons never go
to market. Others are… tailored. For very specific clients.”

Taeui followed, curious despite himself.

His eyes caught something familiar—an old G36 variant. “I used that before. Well—one like
it.”

Mr. Riegrow glanced at him, a flicker of approval in his eyes. “And? Your opinion?”

“Good handling. A bit stiff on the recoil after a while, but decent trigger response.”

“Hm,” Mr. Riegrow said, then walked further, stopping before a locked case. He input a code.
The case opened with a faint hiss.
Inside was a long, matte-black precision rifle. “Now this,” he said, his tone shifting into
something closer to fondness, “is a personal favorite. Modified Mauser 86 system. Used it
during my younger years—back when I still field-tested for the company. Back when we
weren’t as… corporate.”

“You used to be in the field?” Taeui asked, wide-eyed.

“Of course,” Mr. Riegrow replied simply, like it was obvious. “We didn’t build empires from
behind desks.”

Their next destination was a private outdoor firing range.

The sun was low in the sky, casting golden light across the gravel and long rows of targets in
the distance. The place was empty, quiet except for the rustle of trees and the distant sound of
crows.

Taeui took position with a standard service rifle. His form was correct, if not particularly
impressive. He hit the targets, but rarely centered them. Steady hands, but not precise.
Competent.

Mr. Riegrow watched silently for a while, then motioned for him to step aside.

“I suppose it’s time I showed off,” he said, a hint of dry humor beneath his words.

He selected a sleek bolt-action rifle, loaded it with almost ceremonial grace, and without
adjusting his coat or gloves, raised it to his shoulder.

Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
Three shots. Three perfect bullseyes.

He lowered the rifle and looked over at Taeui.

“Once,” he said softly, “I could shoot the wings off a fly.”

Taeui couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. And honestly, he didn’t want to know.

“Ilay takes after his mother in temperament,” Mr. Riegrow continued, calmly reloading. “But
in this, he takes after me.”

Taeui leaned against the bench, still holding his ear protectors. “Have you ever taught him?”

“I tried,” he said. “But Ilay doesn’t learn from instruction. He learns from… instinct.
Obsession. It’s what makes him brilliant. And dangerous.”

Taeui glanced down at his own hands. “And what about me?”

Mr. Riegrow looked at him directly then. Not unkindly.

“You’re the only one I’ve ever brought here.”

Taeui stared at him, unsure how to respond to that.

They fired more rounds in silence, the sun dipping lower, casting long shadows across the
range.
After that first outing, it became a pattern.

Mr. Riegrow never announced it. No schedule, no grand invitations. But every few days, he
would appear by Taeui’s side—sometimes in the hallway, sometimes just outside the kitchen
—and say, “Bring your coat. We’re leaving.”

It was never a question. Taeui never refused.

They returned to the firing range. Again and again. Sometimes they stopped at the facility
first to pick a new weapon. Sometimes they stayed in the range until the sun went down, and
the targets were only shadows in the fading light.

Mr. Riegrow taught with precision, not praise.

“Adjust your stance—knees slightly bent, feet shoulder-width.”

“Don’t over-correct for the recoil. Let the rifle return to you.”
“Follow-through, Taeui. Always follow through.”

There was no shouting. No judgment. Just constant correction, and the occasional quiet,
“Better.”

At first, Taeui felt like a kid being scolded by his strict homeroom teacher. But soon, his
posture improved. His grip steadied. His shots got tighter. The sound of the gun, the weight
of the metal, the smell of gunpowder—he began to understand them again, not as tools of war
but… language. Rhythm. Memory.

They talked, too.

About weapons. History. War.

Mr. Riegrow once handed him an old Luger pistol—polished, pristine, kept in a velvet-lined
case.

“This one belonged to my grandfather,” he said, almost reverently. “He had a matching one
for his twin brother. One of them didn’t return from the Eastern Front.”

Taeui turned it in his hands carefully. “Heavy for something so elegant.”

“All real things are.”

Another day, they debated weapon systems.

“Modern rifles have no soul,” Mr. Riegrow grumbled once, adjusting Taeui’s sight alignment.
“They’re too modular. Everything is replaceable. Discarded.”

Taeui laughed. “I thought that was the point of modern combat?”

“Efficiency kills romance,” Mr. Riegrow replied.

“Didn’t peg you for a romantic.”

Mr. Riegrow only smiled faintly. “You’d be surprised.”

Weeks passed.

Taeui hit center mass. Then headshots. Then double taps within a second. The scatter
narrowed. His reloads got faster. He wasn’t Ilay-level insane, but he was no longer “just
average.”

Mr. Riegrow didn’t compliment him directly. But one afternoon, after Taeui put five clean
shots through a tight group at seventy meters, the old man simply said, “Ilay would never
have had the patience for this kind of training.”

Taeui looked at him. “Is that… a compliment?”

Mr. Riegrow raised a brow. “Take it however you like.”

They sat in the shade afterward, sharing a bottle of water. Mr. Riegrow removed his gloves to
stretch his fingers, and for the first time, Taeui noticed the calluses. Scars, faint but old—
between the knuckles, across the palm.

“You really were a field man, huh?”

“I’ve buried more men than I care to remember,” Mr. Riegrow replied, eyes not entirely here.
“I know what it means to hold a weapon and wish you didn’t need it.”

They were quiet for a while.

Then Taeui said softly, “I didn’t punch him that hard, you know.”

A pause. Then, a rare chuckle. Dry. Short. But real.

“You should have. He deserved worse.”

“You’ve improved,” Mr. Riegrow remarked, inspecting the tight grouping on Taeui’s latest
target. “But improvement doesn’t mean you’re better than me.”

Taeui raised a brow, grinning. “Is that a challenge, sir?”

Mr. Riegrow’s lips quirked. “A lesson.”

The range was cleared. Just the two of them now, standing side by side. Identical firearms,
identical targets—set at different distances, each more difficult than the last. Wind picked up,
tugging at Taeui’s hair. The sun had begun to set behind the trees, casting gold across the
concrete.

They went shot for shot.

Taeui held his own in the beginning—tight aim, decent reload time, calm breath.

But Mr. Riegrow?

He moved like a man whose body remembered. Each shot was clean, deliberate. His stance
never shifted, his line never wavered. He didn’t shoot faster, just more certain. His last round
hit the bullseye at one hundred meters without hesitation.

Taeui exhaled, setting down his gun. “Alright, alright. You win, Old Man.”

“I always do.”

“Arrogant.”

“Accurate.”

They laughed—something real, something surprisingly easy. The tension that used to crawl
down Taeui’s back whenever Mr. Riegrow was around had… changed. It didn’t vanish, but it
had reshaped into something else. Respect, maybe. Or… something warmer.

As they packed up, Mr. Riegrow glanced over.

“You’re a fast learner.”

“I had a decent teacher.”

There was a pause. Then Mr. Riegrow, without looking at him, said, almost casually:
“You should start calling me Father.”

The world didn’t stop. No thunder cracked. But Taeui’s heart did this odd little stutter.

He looked up, blinking.

Mr. Riegrow was already focused on the rifle case. He didn’t explain. Didn’t elaborate. Just
continued locking things into place as if he hadn’t just dropped something massive and
irrevocable into the air.

Taeui didn’t say anything back. Not yet.

Later, in his room, he sat by the window with a half-empty bottle of beer and thought about
it.

Not the word itself.

But the feeling.

Being called “son” before, by strangers or by men who thought it was friendly—it never
stuck. But this wasn’t that. This wasn’t some empty gesture. This was the man who saw him
not as an intruder, or even as Ilay’s precious obsession, but as someone who could belong
here. Who earned his place.

And Taeui—he hated to admit it, but the warmth spreading in his chest wasn’t entirely
discomforting.

There was something unspeakably grounding about it.

Like the echo of a childhood he never really had.

Like a glimpse of something quietly sacred.

Like finally knowing what it meant—to have a father.

 Collecting Dues
Chapter Summary

Ilay’s lips curled upward slightly. “And you love me.”

“…Shut up.”

He didn’t deny it.

He was too young to die like this. And so sore. So incredibly sore.

Taeui crouched behind a tall decorative cabinet on the third floor, wedged between a marble
pillar and a suspiciously lifelike statue of some ancient Riegrow ancestor glaring down at him
in disapproval. He glared back.

“Don’t judge me,” he whispered, adjusting his weight with a wince. “You’d be hiding too if
your boyfriend was built like a tank with abandonment issues.”

The coast was clear for now.

He’d made it through two hallways, one servant passage, and a close call by the upstairs
study, where Ilay had appeared out of nowhere like a cursed boss in a horror game. Taeui had
ducked behind a curtain so fast he almost dislocated his shoulder.

He was not ashamed.

Well, okay, he was a little ashamed—but mostly terrified. The ache in his lower back was the
kind of ache that whispered, “You’ve made poor life choices.”

It had all started innocently enough. Just a nice outing with Mr. Riegrow. Some more
shooting, weapon lectures, and even—dare he say it—bonding. Taeui had returned late that
night, arms full of gun cleaning kits and his heart feeling kind of full.

Ilay, however, was not feeling full. He was feeling neglected.

Taeui had barely stepped into the foyer when Ilay had cornered him like a panther, eyes
unreadable, hands firm. Taeui had said, "Hi, Ilay!" and Ilay had said, "You made me lonely."

Which was apparently code for: “I am now going to rearrange your spinal alignment over the
next four hours.”

And when Taeui had cried (yes, cried, thank you very much), “It’s not my fault!” Ilay had
calmly murmured in his ear, “I’m just collecting my dues.”
“What dues?!” Taeui whispered aloud now, still hiding behind the cabinet. “Is there a ledger I
don’t know about? Am I being invoiced in orgasms??”

He covered his face, slumping. Even the thought of walking made his knees wobble. These
days, he moves like a 90-year-old man who lost a fight with gravity. There was a permanent
heat to his hips, and not the sexy kind.

A soft sound echoed down the hall.

His body stiffened.

Footsteps. Slow. Steady. Familiar.

No. No no no.

He held his breath. Closed his eyes.

“Jeong Taeui,” came a velvet drawl, dangerously close.

Shit!

Ilay’s voice was calm. Too calm.

“Come out.”

Taeui clutched the base of the statue like it was a holy relic. I’m not ready to forget how to
walk again!

There was a pause. Then—

“Fine. I’ll just carry you again.”

Oh God he’ll do it. Taeui had been carried like a sack of rice through the halls before. Last
time, a butler had bowed in respect while clearly trying not to laugh.

Suddenly a chill ran up his spine. A presence.

He turned.

Ilay was already standing behind him.

“…How do you DO that?” Taeui squeaked.

Ilay smiled, slow and cruelly sweet.

“You’ve been gone long enough.”

Taeui raised both hands like a man caught in a bank robbery.

“Wait, wait, Ilay, listen—let’s be reasonable adults here. I just need a little break. A timeout.
A ceasefire. A UN-sanctioned truce, maybe?”
Ilay took a step closer.

Taeui took a step back. “Look, I have a spine. It’s fragile. It has hopes and dreams. It wants to
live.”

Ilay said nothing. He only tilted his head, lips curling into a smile so wide and so eerie it
belonged in a horror film. All he needed was dramatic lighting and thunder.

“Why are you smiling like that?! That’s not a ‘you’re spared’ smile, that’s a ‘you’re already
dead’ smile!”

Ilay didn’t answer. He just slowly reached out a hand, and Taeui instinctively yelped,
“Noooo!” and scrambled the other way.

Too late.

An arm caught him around the waist and hoisted him up like he weighed nothing. Taeui
flailed helplessly, carried bridal-style with zero dignity as he wailed, “My ancestors, please…
I’m too young to become a cautionary tale!”

Ilay only chuckled, dark and satisfied.

Taeui’s eyes were wet—again. He couldn’t tell if it was from the ache, the pleasure, or sheer
emotional exhaustion.

Ilay moved above him with a fast, deliberate rhythm, every thrust making Taeui’s arms
tighten desperately around his neck.

“Ilay—” His voice broke into a sob. “I-I said I needed a break…”

“You did,” Ilay whispered against his ear. “But your body keeps asking for more.”

It was maddening how right he was.

Even now, even as tears pricked his eyes, Taeui couldn’t push him away. Instead, his legs
wrapped tighter around Ilay’s waist. His fingers dug into his back. His breath caught in
ragged little hiccups, but he didn’t let go.

Ilay pressed a kiss to his cheek—almost tender. But his movements didn’t stop. He was
relentless. Possessive. Patient in the way a storm is patient—slow only so it could destroy
properly.

“I hate you,” Taeui whimpered.

“You don’t,” Ilay murmured, brushing their noses together.

Taeui choked on a sob-laugh and clung tighter. “You’re going to ruin me.”

“You already belong to me,” Ilay said, voice low and pleased, “every part of you knows it.”

He was right.

Taeui could cry, beg, swear he wanted to escape—but when it came down to it, he never
stopped holding on. Never stopped wanting. He didn’t know how to say no, not when it was
Ilay.

As pleasure built again and the room blurred into soft sound and shadow, Taeui’s last
coherent thought was:

I really won’t be able to walk tomorrow…

Taeui had exactly three thoughts upon waking:

1. He was alive.
2. He was sore.
3. He couldn’t move a single muscle below the waist.

“I hate this,” he muttered, face down into the pillow.

“You’ll live,” Ilay said calmly as he adjusted Taeui’s wrinkled nightshirt and scooped him up
like he weighed as much as a throw pillow.

“No—put me down—” Taeui flailed weakly. “I can crawl! Just leave me here! Let me rot like
a respectable corpse!”

“You’re being dramatic,” Ilay said, entirely unaffected, carrying him down the hallway like it
was a casual Tuesday.

By the time they reached the dining room, Taeui had gone limp in defeat. He closed his eyes
and pretended to be unconscious. Maybe if he stayed perfectly still, the rest of the Riegrows
would pretend he didn’t exist.

They didn’t.

But they did politely pretend they hadn’t noticed him being carried in bridal style, which
somehow made it worse.

Kyle sipped his tea like it was any other day. Mr. Riegrow didn’t even look up from the
newspaper. Mrs. Riegrow, however, lit up like a chandelier when they entered.
“Good morning, my dearest Taeui,” she said, eyes gleaming with both charm and too much
knowledge. “You look… well-loved.”

Taeui gave her a haunted look.

Ilay settled him carefully into his seat like one would a broken doll. Taeui’s entire spine
locked with pain. “My ancestors,” he whispered, gripping the edge of the table.

“I thought you might appreciate a small token today.” Mrs. Riegrow gestured gracefully, and
a silver-wrapped box was placed before him, tied with pale lavender silk. “You’ve been
through so much lately. You deserve only the finest care.”

Taeui eyed the box like it might explode.

“I… really don’t need anything, Mom, but thank you…”

“Nonsense,” she said warmly. “Open it.”

Kyle reached for the butter. Mr. Riegrow read the financials. No one blinked.

With shaking hands, Taeui undid the ribbon, cautiously lifting the lid.

Inside, nestled in velvet lining, was a collection of premium deluxe ointments, high-grade
healing balms, restorative potions, and imported herbal supplements—all labeled for “muscle
recovery” and “tissue repair.”

Specifically labeled for that kind of ache.

There was even a discreet card that read in elegant cursive:

“For our beloved Taeui. May your next battles be less… debilitating.”

He made a high-pitched noise in his throat and looked up to see Mrs. Riegrow smiling
sweetly like she’d just gifted him a new scarf.

Ilay, seated beside him now, picked up one of the jars and examined it. “This one’s good,” he
said casually. “I’ll help you apply it later.”

Taeui died inside.

Right then and there.

If you looked closely enough, you could see the ghost of Jeong Taeui’s dignity leaving his
body through his ears.

“Th-thank you…” He said faintly, bowing his head to Mrs. Riegrow while sliding the box an
inch away with shaking hands.

“You’re very welcome,” she said, the picture of grace.

Across the table, Kyle muttered under his breath, “At least she’s not giving you aphrodisiacs
this time.”

Taeui choked on his juice.

Taeui lay facedown on their bed again, arms spread dramatically across the sheets like a
defeated soldier returning from war. His dignity had taken critical damage at breakfast. His
body felt like it had been flattened by a rampaging magical rhino. He was sore in places that
shouldn’t even exist.

And now… came the ointments.

“I can do it myself,” he mumbled into the pillow, though his arms made no move to reach for
anything.

Ilay, seated beside him on the bed with sleeves rolled up, just let out a quiet hum and
uncapped one of the jars.

“No,” he said simply. “Let me.”

A shiver ran down Taeui’s spine, though whether it was from dread or anticipation, even he
didn’t know. Ilay’s hands were warm—steady, practiced, frighteningly familiar. Taeui winced
when the ointment touched his skin, but Ilay worked in gentle motions, palms pressing down,
thumbs drawing circles into his lower back, then further down.

“Still hurts?” Ilay asked, voice low and calm.

“Is that a real question?” Taeui groaned, grabbing a pillow and biting it for dramatic
emphasis.

He heard Ilay chuckle faintly.

Beast. Total beast. Merciless, possessive, emotionally constipated beast.

But…

As Ilay continued the massage, careful to ease every ache, every sore knot of muscle, Taeui
let himself relax into it. This was… weirdly nice. Painfully intimate. Soft, even. He hated
how good Ilay was at this.

And the worst part? Ilay always did this.

After everything—after all the manhandling, the biting, the clawing possessiveness that left
him unable to sit like a human—Ilay never left. He stayed. He wrapped him in warm towels.
He held him when he cried from exhaustion. He made him soup. He never mocked him for
being overwhelmed, never looked at him like he was weak.
He always stayed.

A memory surfaced, uninvited. A cold one.

Someone—Kyle?—once mentioned it in passing. Offhandedly. A warning Taeui hadn’t

wanted to hear but had never quite forgotten:

“You're the only one he does that for, you know. The others never got this. Not even close.
One ended up in the ICU. One—well. You don’t want to know. But Rick never looked back
at them after he was done.”

Taeui’s breath caught.

He blinked, eyes growing suspiciously wet. It wasn’t just about how Ilay touched him—it
was why. This tenderness, this quiet care… was his alone.

Only him.

Ilay leaned in, brushing a kiss against the back of his neck. “There,” he murmured. “You’ll
feel better in a few hours.”

Taeui made a quiet noise and turned his face toward him, cheek squished against the mattress.
“You’re such a bastard.”

Ilay’s lips curled upward slightly. “And you love me.”

“…Shut up.”

He didn’t deny it.

 Interlude 1: Mother Knows Best
Chapter Summary

A collection of Mama Riegrow’s wonderful gifts for her boys.

(Can stand alone as a one-shot.)

Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

“For When You’re Feeling Adventurous”

Taeui had long since learned to brace himself whenever Mrs. Riegrow uttered the words “I
found something delightful and simply had to get it for you two.” Still, no amount of
preparation could dull the edge of what came next.

The gift box was hand-delivered during tea—wrapped in forest green velvet, sealed with a
satin ribbon, and perched atop a silver tray carried by one of the staff. The presentation alone
screamed exquisite sin.

“Oh, don’t look so alarmed,” Mrs. Riegrow said, taking a delicate sip from her teacup.
“You’re both young and married in all but paper. It’s good for passion to stay... dynamic.”

Ilay, seated calmly beside Taeui on the loveseat, accepted the box without hesitation. Taeui
shot him a warning glance. Ilay’s lips twitched.

He pulled the ribbon loose.

Inside, nestled like jewels in custom velvet cutouts, were two crystal dice—each face etched
with gold letters. One bore body parts (thighs, neck, hips, mouth) and the other, a list of
activities that made Taeui’s ears instantly burn.
Beneath them sat a selection of erotica novels, all first editions, bound in leather with gold-
trimmed pages. A card lay tucked between the books.

“For when you’re feeling adventurous.

Or bored. Whichever comes first.

Love,

Mom.”

Taeui let out a breath that was too close to a strangled laugh. “She gift-wrapped sex dice.”

Ilay flipped one of them lazily between his fingers, inspecting it like a chess piece. “Hand-
engraved. French craftsmanship.”

“That doesn’t make it better,” Taeui hissed under his breath, trying—and failing—not to look
at the titles of the books.

Ilay turned to him, deadpan. “You want to roll them now or after dinner?”

Taeui made a noise of protest so inelegant even the tea set rattled.

Mrs. Riegrow, unbothered, smiled behind her teacup. “You may thank me later. The one with
the librarian and the dungeon gets particularly creative by Chapter Twelve.”

“I am going to—” Taeui began, but clamped his mouth shut.

Mrs. Riegrow tilted her head with a maternal sort of smugness. “Blush all you want, darling,
but if you’d rather pretend my son isn’t a walking appetite with a gun license, you’re in
deeper denial than I thought.”
Ilay reached over and placed a soothing hand on Taeui’s knee.

“Shall I have them displayed in our bedroom?” he asked too casually.

Taeui covered his face with both hands.

“Don’t you dare.”

~~

It had been a few days since the infamous tea gift, and the dice remained untouched, mocking
Taeui from the nightstand like cursed artifacts. Every time he reached for a book or set down
his glasses, the glittering cubes would catch the light, winking at him with sinful promises.

Ilay had said nothing. He never rushed. Just waited.

Which, of course, was worse.

That night, Taeui sighed deeply and turned toward him, arms crossed.

“…Alright.”

Ilay didn’t look up from his tablet. “Hm?”

“Just once. We roll them once.” Taeui’s voice was firmer than it had any right to be for
someone already half-regretting it.
Now Ilay looked up.

And smiled.

Ilay retrieved the dice with that same predator-calm grace he reserved for missions and
foreplay. He placed them between them on the bed, flicked his wrist—

“Neck” + “Bite.”

Taeui blinked.

“That’s not too bad.”

Ilay had already leaned in.

A moment later, Taeui was flat on his back, shirt collar yanked open, and Ilay’s teeth were
very enthusiastically engaged in the task.

“Ow—! Ilay—gentle!”

“I am gentle. This is the ‘gentle’ setting.”

“Your gentle setting is a war crime—”

“Roll again.”
“We said once!”

Ilay raised a brow. “Now you’re just being selfish.”

Two rounds later, Taeui was breathless and flushed, shirt half-off, lips tinged pink from too
many kisses.

“You look good like this,” Ilay said, voice low. “Disheveled and pretending to protest.”

“I am protesting,” Taeui snapped, trying to pull his trousers back up. “This is supposed to be
a game, not a hostage situation.”

Ilay rolled the dice one more time.

Taeui made a noise that could only be described as a high-pitched squeak when the
combination landed on “Mouth” + “Ride.”

He yanked the bedsheets over his head. “I’m going to kill your mother.”

“You still have to do that first.”

“To Keep Things Exciting, Dear.”

The box was huge.

Taeui eyed it suspiciously the moment the butler wheeled it into the drawing room. Velvet-
lined. Ribboned. Embossed with the Riegrow family crest, like it contained something
sacred.

It did not.

“Oh no,” Taeui whispered.

Ilay, ever serene, merely set his tea down. “You open it.”

“I opened the last one.”

“You still had fun.”

“That’s debatable.”

But Taeui already knew resistance was futile. So he untied the ribbon, lifted the lid—
—and immediately slammed it shut again.

“Nope. No. Returning to sender.”

Ilay arched a brow. “What was it?”

Taeui, red to his ears, hissed, “It’s a remote-controlled couples stimulator! With—get this—
matching engraved control rings. Mine says ‘Mister of Mischief,’ and yours says ‘Emperor of
Eros.’”

Ilay tilted his head, amused. “Wonderful.”

“Arghh!!”

Mrs. Riegrow swept into the room not five minutes later, glowing with the kind of pride only
a mother who has given adult toys to her grown son and his boyfriend can possess.

“I hope you boys like it! Very exclusive. Handcrafted in Switzerland.”

Taeui pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course it’s Swiss.”

“Remote-controlled too—perfect for dinner parties! Adds a bit of spice to the hors
d’oeuvres.”

Ilay looked far too entertained. “We don’t attend dinner parties.”

“Well then, host one! Or go to Parliament. I hear the seats are terribly dull—this’ll liven
things up!”

Taeui stared at her. “You’re dangerous.”

“Nonsense, dear. I’m generous.”

That night, Taeui buried the box in the bottom drawer of his wardrobe under a pile of
mismatched socks.

The next morning, it was back on the nightstand.

Ilay didn’t say a word. But the ring was already on his finger.
Taeui knew something was off the moment Ilay smiled too calmly.

That was always the warning sign.

“I see you’ve found the ring,” Ilay said, cutting his toast.

“I did. I also found your threat note.” Taeui sipped his coffee with narrowed eyes. “Wear it or
I’ll use the leash next time? You’re very romantic.”

Ilay only quirked a brow. “You’re wearing it.”

Taeui grumbled and tugged his sleeve down. The sleek control ring glinted faintly on his
finger, its paired device discreetly in place—thanks to Ilay, who had locked it on while Taeui
was brushing his teeth.

Hours later, the Riegrow drawing room was bathed in late-morning sunlight, the air thick
with the scent of imported Darjeeling. A visiting business partner sat across from them—
middle-aged, stiff, the kind of man who pronounced "charming" with four syllables.

Taeui sat beside Ilay, posture perfect, smile polite.

And then—
Buzz.

Taeui jolted so hard his teacup rattled on its saucer.

The businessman looked up. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no—just… warm tea,” Taeui choked, glaring sideways. Ilay didn't even blink.
Buzz. Buzz.

Longer. Deeper. Taeui's knees knocked under the table.

He grabbed Ilay’s wrist under the linen-draped tablecloth. “Stop it.”

Ilay sipped his tea. “Is your tea too strong?”

“I will strangle you with that tie.”

The businessman droned on about regional trade tariffs. Taeui tried not to shift—or moan—
when the setting intensified.

“Are you certain you’re all right?” the businessman asked again.

Taeui's voice pitched slightly. “Fine! Just a… very passionate stance on… export tariffs.”

Ilay leaned in smoothly, brushing his lips against Taeui’s ear. “You’re doing so well. I’ll
reward you later.”

“Ilay. I swear to God.”

Then, pulse, pulse, pulse.

Taeui’s eyes rolled slightly. His knuckles went white on his teacup.
“Excuse me,” he said hoarsely, abruptly rising to his feet. “I need to… review some trade
documents.”

Ilay glanced up innocently. “Need any help?”

Taeui didn’t answer. He just fled the room.

The businessman blinked. “Your partner is very… expressive.”

Ilay nodded serenely. “He’s passionate about his work.”

Later that night, Taeui tackled Ilay onto the bed and shoved a pillow into his face.

“You pervert!”

Ilay just laughed—and didn’t take off the ring.

The Riegrow-Inspired Kama Sutra

It arrived in a velvet-lined mahogany box, sealed with a wax crest and tied with an ivory
ribbon—of course it did. Taeui eyed the parcel with the same suspicion one might reserve for
a ticking package from a known lunatic. Which, to be fair, his mother-in-law kind of was.

Inside: a handcrafted leather-bound book titled The Art of Passion: A Riegrow Edition,
embossed in gold. Taeui already regretted opening it. Then he flipped the first page.

Illustrations.
Highly detailed, gold-leaf-accented illustrations.

Each page featured gorgeously inked scenes of couples in progressively more inventive and
impossible poses. The kicker? The models were clearly based on Ilay and someone
disturbingly Taeui-shaped—complete with matching eye and hair colors. Some even had
captions like:

“Chapter VI: The Binding Vow – To be performed only on antique chaise longues, preferably
pre-WWI.”

“Oh my god,” Taeui whispered. “She custom-commissioned erotica.”

Ilay, entirely unbothered, flipped a few pages. “This one is physically impossible unless you
have three knees.”

“She annotated the margins,” Taeui hissed, pointing. “Look—‘Try this one after a protein-
heavy dinner.’ Who writes that?!”

Ilay tilted his head, amused. “There’s an appendix.”

“NO.”

Ilay calmly pulled it out. It was a map. A literal map of the Riegrow mansion with
recommended locations labeled by mood.

“Library – Quiet Power,” he read aloud. “Solarium – Post-coital glow suggested. Garage –
Do not attempt again. Dangerous.”

Taeui was ready to commit arson.

“Luxury,” Mrs. Riegrow had said, later at dinner. “But practical. You two are such sensual
beings.”
Taeui stuffed his mouth with potatoes and stared at the gravy.

He was almost used to it by now.

Almost.

The Riegrow Intimacy Development Log

It looked like something straight out of a CEO’s desk: black leather-bound, gold-trimmed,
and embossed with “For Your Most Personal Achievements”. Taeui assumed it was a
planner. A beautifully made, over-the-top, uselessly expensive planner.

It was not.

Ilay opened it first. Then chuckled. “She made us a sex journal.”

“A what—?”

“A guided journal,” Ilay clarified, flipping through the contents. “It has prompts.”

Taeui yanked it out of his hands and stared. Each page was labeled by date, then followed by
fields like:

Emotional Climate: (Tender? Ferocious? Apocalyptic?)

Position(s) of Note:
Furniture Integrity Report:
Rating (1–10 flames):
 Partner’s Commentary:
Lessons Learned & Future Ambitions:

“Oh my god,” Taeui muttered.

There were sections dedicated to tracking frequency, flexibility, duration, and—of course—an
entire quarterly review system marked “Seasonal Spiciness Goals”.

One page had glittering gold calligraphy that read:

“Remember: A good relationship is built on communication, commitment… and cardio. Don’t

neglect your thighs.”

There was even a graph. A graph. With hearts plotted across axes labeled “Performance” and
“Passion.”

“She thinks we’re training for the Olympics,” Taeui said, horrified.

“And failing to meet Q1 goals,” Ilay deadpanned, tracing the red line she must have drawn as
their “target trajectory.”

Taeui slapped the book closed. “We are never writing in this.”

Ilay, of course, wrote in it that night. In a fountain pen.

Taeui saw the page later.

April 22 – Garden bench. Sturdy. Improved synchronization. Partner said “holy sh—” 3
times. Potential for hammock trial next.
It was signed:
– Ilay Riegrow (with professional pride)

Taeui buried his face in a pillow and screamed.

The Riegrow Vitality Vault

It arrived in a rosewood box, polished to a mirror shine, with T&I engraved on the lid in
cursive gold. Taeui, already cautious from past surprises, eyed it like it might explode.

Or vibrate.

Ilay opened it with the same calm he applied to war reports. Inside: a meticulously arranged
collection that looked like a royal apothecary's starter kit.

“What is this?” Taeui asked.

Ilay lifted a small velvet-lined card and read aloud:

“To support stamina, energy, and continued romantic excellence.”

– With love, always, Mom.

Inside were—

Italian-brand herbal vitality capsules, sourced from some obscure mountain and
“endorsed by three Olympic athletes and one former adult film star.”
 Performance-enhancing teas in flavors like “Smoldering Cinnamon” and “Stamina
Sage.”
Custom magnesium-infused massage oil, labeled “for pre- or post-exertion
recovery.”
A crystal timer engraved with “Don’t stop now.”
And worst of all—silk-lined gloves with tiny weighted beads “to build hand
endurance.”

Taeui stared, speechless.

“She thinks we’re running a marathon every night,” he muttered.

“You are,” Ilay said with a smirk, picking up a tea sachet. “But you’re the finish line.”

Taeui threw a pillow at him.

Then he spotted the booklet tucked in the lid:

“Your Path to Peak Pleasure: A 30-Day Intimacy Fitness Plan”

Includes cardio drills, core strength routines, and breathing exercises for synchronized
climaxing.

He nearly fell off the couch.

The Synchronization Suite

It was delivered in a sleek matte-black trunk that looked like it belonged to a Formula One
team. Taeui found it in their bedroom, already unlatched, with a bow the size of a watermelon
and a silver envelope perched on top.

Ilay, suspiciously innocent, was nowhere to be found.

Taeui opened the envelope first.

"My darlings,
For couples as intense as you two, I’ve acquired something cutting-edge. Think of it as the
Tesla of intimacy. Stay connected. Literally.
— Mom”

Taeui opened the trunk and nearly dropped the lid.

Inside:

A pair of smart rings embedded with sensors, meant to “track arousal levels and sync
heartbeats for shared climaxes.”
Matching biometric harnesses, adjustable, that could “gently stimulate nerve points
and adapt to real-time pleasure feedback.”
A sleek app-controlled rhythm wand, advertised as “Perfect for couples in long-
distance or just different moods.”
And the pièce de résistance: a VR headset preloaded with “romantic visual
simulations” based on memory input. The first file? Titled: “Ilay’s Obsessive Worship
Mode – Custom AI Build.”

Taeui stared.

He wasn’t even mad. Just… stunned.

He looked up just as Ilay walked in, two mugs of tea in hand.

“She did not,” Taeui whispered.

“She did,” Ilay said calmly, setting the mugs down. “And it’s all calibrated to your biometrics
already. I helped her with the settings.”
 “You what—”

Ilay leaned in, brushing his lips against Taeui’s ear. “You moan the loudest when your heart
rate peaks at 140. Now we’ll never waste time guessing.”

Taeui didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or throw the VR headset out the window.

Alone in her drawing room, Mrs. Riegrow calmly hums to herself as she reads her nth BL
novel.

It’s a shame she can’t have a grandchild from those two, but she’s quite certain modern
medical science can fix that. After all, money has never been an issue.

Chapter End Notes

Let's have a little interlude before continuing the story.

Will post more soon... maybe.

If you have reached this point, thank you so much, my dears.

XOXO
C.A.
 Missing Piece
Chapter Summary

Taeui stilled. “I want to see him.”

“…tsk,” Ilay said. “...we’ll talk when I’m back.”

And just like that, the line was silent again.

Taeui stared at his phone, thumb hovering over the screen

He leaned back, closed his eyes, and let the rush of feeling wash over him—relief, guilt,
love, longing. Family.

There was a time Taeui would’ve told anyone who asked that Ilay was a sex-crazed lunatic.
He said it to his face more than once, in fact—usually when Ilay was grinding against him
with that god-awful smirk, completely unbothered by the idea of being overheard. But when
he thought about it now, really thought about it, that wasn’t entirely fair. Ilay had his
moments. Not often, and never with fanfare. But they existed, quiet and tucked away like
secrets he didn’t know how to say aloud.

Like the nights they just… read. No touching, no teasing—just Ilay on one end of the couch,
Taeui on the other, their legs tangled like ivy, spines of books open in their laps. And when
Taeui’s knee ached, which it still did on rainy days, Ilay never said a word. He just pulled
Taeui’s leg onto his lap and massaged it slowly, thumb pressing carefully over the joint until
the pain dulled. No sighs. No softness in his voice. Just methodical care, like Ilay was trying
to memorize where it hurt and make it go away one muscle fiber at a time.

He didn’t always want sex either. Sometimes Taeui came home too tired to do anything but
melt into bed, and instead of pulling him into something obscene, Ilay would rub his
shoulders until he fell asleep. Taeui used to think that was suspicious—Ilay, not touching
him?—but now he saw it for what it was: restraint. Understanding. Love, probably. Though
Ilay would never call it that.

So now, with most of his memories intact, he thought: Why not start over?
He remembered he liked working with parts. Breaking them down. Putting them back
together. There was something meditative about it. Comforting. So he chose a new path,
something he didn’t need to remember to be good at: Mechatronics Engineering, a course
offered at one of the top universities in Germany. Robots, machines, design—it felt right.
Grounded. Something to build his future on, piece by piece.

Ilay agreed immediately. Mrs. Riegrow was more than delighted; she even offered to buy him
a condominium near the university. If it was within a two-hour drive from Berlin, he could
stay at the mansion and commute. But if it was farther, he’d live in the condo.

It made him feel strange, how supported he was. He wasn’t used to this kind of ease—wasn’t
sure he deserved it. But Ilay… Ilay never made him feel like he had to prove his worth. That,
more than anything, was what made Taeui realize: maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe Ilay
wasn’t incapable of love. Maybe he just didn’t know how to name it.

And maybe that was okay.

***

More days had passed.

By some twist of fate—or suspicious luck, if he were being honest—he was accepted into
Technische Universität München, one of the most prestigious technical universities in
Germany. Bachelor’s in Mechatronics. Taeui wasn’t entirely convinced it was pure merit;
Mrs. Riegrow had looked too pleased when he told her his application status was still
pending, and her reaction to the acceptance was too smooth. Still, he chose to believe he
earned it. Ilay certainly didn’t question it, only ruffled his hair and told him to “go build
something dangerous.”

Since Munich was far from Berlin, he eventually accepted Mrs. Riegrow’s offer to buy him a
condominium near the university. He had one condition: absolutely no servants. He couldn’t
stomach being waited on, not there, not when he wanted to feel like he’d carved this out
himself. After a bit of negotiation, he was sure she only relented because Ilay privately
stepped in, and she agreed. She did, however, send what she called a “heartfelt” letter to the
condominium management, ensuring the place had top-level security. Taeui never saw the
letter, but he knew better than to ask.
Now in his third month of the first semester, he was juggling an ever-increasing load of
lectures, lab work, and research projects. TUM wasn’t easy—far from it. It was rigorous,
competitive, and exhausting. But he liked it. He liked the pressure, the discipline, the
satisfaction of making things move with his hands. There was something about taking apart
machines and putting them back together that felt reassuring. Machines made sense. They
didn’t forget people’s names. They didn’t stammer in front of memories they couldn’t quite
grasp. They followed logic and code—something he could rely on.

Ilay had returned to the UNHRDO by the time he started school, which meant their time
together had become irregular, stolen during weekend visits or sudden drop-ins.

He remembered one night when he admitted, half-embarrassed, that he wanted to take care of
Ilay someday—not because Ilay lacked anything, but because he needed to give something
back. He needed to be more than the man Ilay protected. He wanted to earn his place by his
side. “I can’t just be someone your family shelters,” he’d said. “I need to do something for
me, and for you.” Ilay had only nodded, then said: ‘Sure. Let me know what you want to do.’
Simple. Direct. Like it was obvious that anything Taeui wanted was already his.

And maybe that’s what stuck with him the most. Ilay never stopped him. Never questioned
his choices. Never tried to hold him back, even if he clearly hated the idea of Taeui being too
far away. He never said I love you. He never even hinted at it. But in those quiet acts—the
gentle rub of his knee, the packed lunches he never mentioned making, the way he installed a
backup generator in the condo without telling him—Taeui understood.

This was what Ilay’s love looked like. Not flowers or grand declarations. But presence.
Permission. Quiet devotion, written into every silence they shared.

And Taeui? He was finally doing something for himself, and for the man who never asked
him to, but believed in him anyway.

The soft hum of his laptop was the only sound in the room, save for the occasional clink of
tools on metal. His fingers, smudged with graphite and dust, hovered above a half-assembled
component—something for his mechanics class, though he’d long stopped paying attention to
what it was supposed to do. His beer sat untouched on the side table, already half-warm. The
dim light from his desk lamp cast long shadows on the blueprint he was supposed to be
revising, but his eyes weren’t really seeing the lines.

His mind was elsewhere. Or maybe not “elsewhere,” but slowly peeling back layers of fog.

He’d been trying to stay focused all evening—he really had. But a sudden ache had settled
behind his sternum, inexplicable and unshakable. Like he was missing something. Or
someone.

And then it came—not in a rush, but a soft unraveling. A flicker, a memory. A voice.
“Hyung.”

He blinked, hard. The word echoed in his head like it had never left him. Hyung. Not cousin.
Not an acquaintance.

Twin.

“Hyung,” he whispered out loud, the syllable unfamiliar on his tongue, yet warm. Like a
heartbeat, he hadn’t noticed was there all along.

Jaeui wasn’t his cousin. He was his twin. His other half. His first friend, his mirror, his—

God. How long had it been?

He hadn’t contacted him. Not once. Not in all these months. That knowledge hit him like a
cold wind, a sharp breath against his ribs. And worse, Jaeui hadn’t contacted him either. But
somehow, that didn’t sting the way it should. No, he understood. It was hyung. His Jaeui-
hyung. The one who never rushed him, never forced his hand. He's just like that.

Taeui sat back on the couch, dazed. He rubbed his temples, heart drumming against the inside
of his chest. The weight of finally remembering someone he loved—it was almost too much.
Like discovering he'd been walking with one lung this whole time.

Without thinking, he grabbed his phone and tapped Ilay’s contact.

The line rang twice before it clicked.

“Ilay,” he said, voice still caught somewhere between disbelief and awe. “I remembered
something. About my family.”

A pause. Then a quiet hum, low and unreadable.

“I remembered... Jaeui. My hyung. He’s my twin. Not my cousin.” He laughed under his
breath, a little helplessly. “I can’t believe I forgot him. I haven’t called him. I haven’t done
anything—God, I should’ve called—”

“We’ll talk about it when I get back,” Ilay said, cutting through gently but firmly. His tone
was steady, almost too calm.

Taeui stilled. “I want to see him.”

“…tsk,” Ilay said. “...we’ll talk when I’m back.”

And just like that, the line was silent again.

Taeui stared at his phone, thumb hovering over the screen

He leaned back, closed his eyes, and let the rush of feeling wash over him—relief, guilt, love,
longing. Family.

He finally remembered his family.

And now he just had to figure out what to do with it.

 Call
Chapter Summary

“N-no,” he said, voice suddenly a little shy. “It’s not like that. Actually… I really like it
here.”

He set the book aside, hugging a pillow to his chest. “Ilay’s family… they’ve been kind
to me. Really kind. His mother makes me tea and tells me gossip, gives me g-gifts, and
his father trains me to shoot targets with one eye closed. Even Kyle is very
accommodating, and we can talk about books. I… It's like I have a family here."

Ilay returned to their condo that weekend. Taeui greeted him with his usual smile, but his
words were more careful than usual. “Ilay,” he began, trailing behind him into the living
room, “I’ve been thinking… I want to talk to Jaeui hyung. Or at least see him.”

Ilay didn’t answer at first. He simply turned to stare at him—expression unreadable, but
unmistakably displeased.

Taeui didn’t back down. Finally, Ilay sighed and pulled out a folded paper from his wallet.
“Fine,” he muttered. “This is the number. But call at the right time—Germany is five hours
behind the Middle East now. Don't even think of running away.”

Taeui nodded, gripping the paper tightly, disregarding Ilay’s last remark.

When the time difference made it acceptable to call, Taeui sat alone in his room and dialed.

The first ring passed. No answer. He pressed redial, heartbeat a little faster this time.

The second ring.

Click.

“Marhaban?” came a smooth, deep voice—rich and velvety, as if poured over ice. Arabic.

Taeui froze, unsure how to proceed.

Taeui cleared his throat. “Ahm... I’m calling for Jeong Jaeui. Is he there?”

There was a pause, then a shift in tone. The voice continued in English, tinged with a soft
British accent, though the disdain was hard to miss.

“Ah, it’s you. Mr. Jeong Taeui.”

“Yes, that’s me.”

A sigh drifted through the receiver.

“I never liked you. You’re the reason why Jaeui collapsed back then. He’s been sickly quite
often lately… because of you.”

Taeui’s brows lifted slightly. The gall of this man. And yet—strangely—he didn’t like him
either. Then a memory clicked into place, sharp and unpleasant.

“Ah. Rahman,” he said, voice flatter now. “I can say likewise.”

“I want to talk to Jaeui hyung.”

“He’s resting. You should not interrupt him.”

“Can’t I just say hello once?”

“I’d rather you not disturb his peace anymore. Let him live a peaceful life.”

There was a long pause.

Taeui’s lips thinned. Then he recalled what Mrs. Riegrow had once taught him—how to
speak to aristocrats, how to thread kindness with veiled menace. A smile that was not a smile
curled on his lips.

“Well,” he said lightly, “if I can’t talk to him… maybe one day I’ll just show up there?”

Silence.

“...Without telling Ilay.”

Another long pause.

The kind that measured consequences.

Taeui leaned back, his voice softer, as if recalling a daydream. “I vaguely remember the last
time… Syringe, wasn’t it?”

The line went dead quiet.

It was the villa Ilay had once bombed to save them both. The event had branded them
international terrorists.

At last, Rahman spoke, clipped and controlled. “I will inform him that you called.”

Click.

“ This guy!! Tsk!” he exclaimed, annoyed, staring at his phone.

The next day

Taeui was curled on the corner of the sofa, legs tucked under him, a well-worn copy of
Mechatronics: Principles and Applications balanced in one hand. The diagrams were a bit
heavy, but he found comfort in the intricacy of systems and balance—it reminded him oddly
of people.

Across from him, Ilay lounged on the opposite couch, completely silent, a hardcover of The
Master and Margarita open in his lap. His eyes skimmed the lines quickly, though he paused
every now and then to glance up at Taeui, always discreet, always watching.

The condo was quiet except for the soft rustle of pages—until Taeui’s phone buzzed beside
him. He glanced at the screen. No name, just an international number. But he knew.

He answered quickly. “Hello?”

There was no reply at first, just a breath, soft and unmistakably familiar.

Taeui sat up straighter, eyes brightening. “Hyung?”

“…Taeui,” came the soft reply, a little breathless, a little hesitant.

A wide grin broke across Taeui’s face. “Hyung! You finally called! Are you okay? I’ve been
waiting forever, you know. I thought Rahman locked you up in a golden cage or something.”

Jaeui’s chuckle was quiet, almost sheepish. “I’m sorry I haven’t visited or called. Things
have been… busy. But I was worried. I heard how serious your injury was. The head
trauma…”

Taeui waved it off, even though Jaeui couldn’t see. “Oh, that? I’m totally fine now. Really.
You don’t have to worry so much. I’m not that fragile.”

There was a pause on the other line. Then Jaeui’s voice again, gentle. “Still, I was scared.
When I found out… I didn’t know what to do.”

Taeui softened, his fingers curling slightly around the edge of his book. “Hyung…”
Ilay glanced up then, sensing the change in tone, but said nothing.

Taeui perked up again. “So? How’s your life over there? Is Rahman treating you well?”

“Yes,” Jaeui said, tone neutral but truthful. “He’s… considerate. A gentleman. He gives me
what I need. He does whatever I ask.”

“Wow,” Taeui replied, tone immediately dramatic. “Good for you! Because that man hates
me. I swear, Hyung, you should scold him for me!”

Jaeui chuckled again, the smile audible in his tone.

Taeui continued with theatrical indignation, “He made me an international terrorist! Me! I
didn’t even do anything. Ilay was the one who bombed his villa, but somehow I got the title
too! Honestly, if Kyle’s mansion wasn’t a safe haven, I’d probably be writing you from a
prison cell right now.”

Another beat of laughter from Jaeui. “Do you need to hide from Riegrow? You can come stay
with me.”

Taeui’s face flushed slightly as he glanced toward Ilay, who was still pretending to read.

“N-no,” he said, voice suddenly a little shy. “It’s not like that. Actually… I really like it
here.”

He set the book aside, hugging a pillow to his chest. “Ilay’s family… they’ve been kind to
me. Really kind. His mother makes me tea and tells me gossip, gives me g-gifts, and his
father trains me to shoot targets with one eye closed. Even Kyle is very accommodating, and
we can talk about books. I… It's like I have a family here."
There was a long pause.

Then, quietly, “I’m glad.”

Taeui smiled again. “So don’t worry about me, okay? Just take care of yourself. And next
time you call, don’t make me wait so long.”

“I won’t.”

Taeui let out a soft chuckle as he shifted his weight on the couch, the thick book momentarily
forgotten on his lap. His fingers absentmindedly played with the corner of the cover as Jaeui's
familiar, quiet voice hummed softly from the other end of the call.

"Hyung," Taeui said, still smiling from their earlier banter. "Can I tell you something?"

There was a slight pause before Jaeui replied, "Of course."

"Thinking about what I should do next, I could still go back to the UNHRDO if I wanted to.
Perhaps pick up where I left off..." He glanced toward Ilay, who was still buried in a book on
the opposite sofa, his expression unreadable but peaceful. "I could. But even I know that’s a
bad idea."

A quiet hum of acknowledgement from Jaeui urged him to continue.

"It's not safe, Hyung. Not when I just got my head stitched back together less than a year
ago," he said lightly, trying not to weigh the conversation down. "And honestly… I think I’ve
had enough of all the chaos that place has. I’ve been thinking a lot lately, and I realized—
there’s something I’ve always wanted to do, but never had the time to try."

"You’re changing paths?" Jaeui asked gently, seemingly understanding where the
conversation was going.
Taeui nodded, even though his brother couldn't see it. "Yeah. I don’t really remember much
about my old diploma anyway," he added with a wry smile. "So I thought, why not study
again? From scratch. This time, something I actually like. I’ve already gotten into programs
related to robotics and mechatronics. Stuff that blends mechanics, electronics, and design."

He glanced at the textbook again, eyes softening. “Hyung, I want to create things that help
people. Real things. I don’t know exactly what yet, but... something like a prosthetic, maybe.
Or a rescue drone. Something useful. Something that saves people without needing to hold a
gun."

There was a soft sound from Jaeui’s end. “You’d be good at that,” he said finally, and Taeui
could tell it wasn’t just him being kind—Jaeui meant it. “You’ve always been the type to
throw yourself into anything you care about. If this makes you happy, Taeui, then I’m proud
of you.”

Taeui grinned, eyes glinting with warmth. “Hyung… you’re gonna make me cry.”

“I’m not saying anything dramatic,” Jaeui replied, voice soft but affectionate. “Just the
truth.”

"And you better be there for my graduation. I’ll hunt you down otherwise,” Taeui teased.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Jaeui said, almost smiling. "Not even if Rahman tries to stop me."

Taeui let out a laugh, curling more comfortably into the couch, his heart lighter than it had
been in days.

After a while, the call ended with soft chuckles and pleasant hearts. The room settled into a
peaceful silence again, the kind that only existed between people who didn’t need to fill
every space with words. Taeui stretched his arms above his head with a groan, only to find
Ilay watching him with an expression that was part fondness, part quiet amusement.
"...Why are you looking at me like that?" Taeui narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

Ilay’s lips twitched ever so slightly. “It’s funny.”

“What is?”

“You and your brother,” he said, tone lazy, but eyes sharp with interest. “Jaeui—the genius
twin—spends years building weapons designed to kill people. And now the younger twin is
studying to create things that save them. The contradiction is... amusing.”

Taeui snorted and rolled his eyes. “Well, it’s not like Jaeui wanted to develop those things.
Uncle definitely had something to do with it. You know how he is—‘progress through
pragmatism,’ or whatever he calls it.”

Ilay hummed, his gaze shifting into something else—something unreadable.

Taeui blinked. “…What is it this time?”

Ilay didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stood, moving with that slow, deliberate pace that
always made Taeui feel like a deer watching a predator stretch. “I just remembered,” Ilay
said, voice now tinged with a bit more seriousness. “What did you say to Rahman about
going to his place without telling me?”

Taeui froze. “Hey! I—Ilay! That was a joke! I was kidding! Wait—!”

But Ilay was already in front of him, ignoring his protests as he sat back down on the sofa
and, with practiced ease, pulled Taeui onto his lap. Taeui squirmed, but Ilay’s arms wrapped
around him tightly, possessive as ever.

“You know the drill,” Ilay murmured into his ear, voice smooth and low.
“Huh?” Taeui blinked, confused—until Ilay gently took his hand, opened his palm, and
placed something cold and familiar in it.

The infamous sex dice.

Taeui stared at them in horror. “Wh—Ilay! I have to go to uni tomorrow! Early! My robotics
lab is at eight—EIGHT!”

Ilay didn’t respond. He just rested his chin on Taeui’s shoulder, calm and unmoved, as if
Taeui’s impending academic obligations were as trivial as a change in the weather.

“You’re unbelievable,” Taeui groaned, already bracing himself for whatever ridiculous
outcome the dice would decide.

Ilay’s smirk was quiet and dangerous.

 Reunion
Chapter Summary

He had brought the twins here to rest, to recover. But tonight, as he watched them under
the stars, he realized they were doing more than healing. They were remembering—
rebuilding.

And somehow, in the deepest part of his heart, after all he had done, he wonders if he
could ever return to being a part of their lives.

Seollal, February 20XX

The dining room was warm with the soft clatter of porcelain and the steam of freshly cooked
food drifting up like a gentle haze. The long table was set with the familiar spread of Seollal
—golden brown jeon, neatly arranged tteokguk steaming in silver-rimmed bowls, stacks of
galbijjim, namul side dishes in small plates fanning around the centerpiece of rice cakes and
fruits. Everything was just as it used to be, or close enough that it tugged at something buried
in the chest.

Chang-in smiled, setting down the last bowl with practiced care. “There we go,” he said,
glancing across the table at the two young men sitting there. “The first time the three of us
celebrate Seollal together in… how many years?”

“Six,” Jaeui answered quietly, giving a polite smile, the kind he wore with colleagues and
strangers.

Taeui leaned back in his chair, grinning lightly. “We’ve all been busy, haven’t we?”

“Mmm,” Chang-in replied, folding himself into the seat across from them, pouring tea with
steady hands.
“Still, it’s strange. You used to be this big—” he held up his hand, palm flat, gesturing to a
memory that felt more vivid than it should, “chasing each other around the courtyard. Jaeui
with his books, Taeui with his scraped knees and frog collections. And now…”

Now they had grown. Proper adults. Jaeui, sharp-eyed and quiet, hair styled with precision, a
professor’s posture even when he relaxed. And Taeui—messy-haired and vibrant, but with a
calmness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. A little older, a little less reckless. A little
more tired in ways he wouldn’t say aloud.

They were different men now, scattered across the world. Jaeui buried himself in some
unnamed research. Taeui, back in school—third year already—and was in love with a man as
crazy as Rick. Until now, he doesn't know what his nephew is thinking.

“Feels like I blinked,” Chang-in added with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “and you
both disappeared.”

Jaeui only nodded, his expression unreadable.

Taeui offered a small shrug, casual but kind. “It’s the way things go. You had work. We had...
growing up to do.”

He didn’t say it cruelly. There was no bitterness in his tone. That was what made it worse.

Chang-in picked up his chopsticks and gave a short laugh. “You make it sound like I’ve been
on another planet.”

“Pretty much,” Taeui replied, chuckling as he reached for a piece of jeon.

That made Chang-in laugh, but something snagged beneath the sound because he knew the
truth behind that joke. Knew that the space between them hadn’t come out of nowhere. Jaeui,
once always within arm’s reach, now flinched from casual touch. Taeui, once constantly
chatting or asking questions or complaining about school, now gave him measured glances
like someone recalibrating an old map.

He had missed too much. That was the truth of it.

It was a rare vacation for him, this break. A gift, really. Or maybe a second chance. He
watched the twins talk and tease each other over dinner, slipping into old rhythms with faint
traces of rust, and he allowed himself to bask in it just a little.

Four days until Ilay arrived. He's currently on a mission somewhere in the United States.

Four days until the table would feel even smaller. For now, this was enough.

Chang-in placed a slice of jeon on his plate, the golden edge still warm from the pan, and
glanced across the low dining table. The room was fragrant with the familiar mix of tteokguk,
simmering short ribs, and a dozen side dishes artfully arranged in porcelain bowls. Rice cakes
stacked in sweet layers. Soft murmurs of traditional music played in the background. It was,
by all appearances, a typical Korean New Year celebration.

But it wasn’t. Not really.

He set down his chopsticks with a casual smile and turned to Taeui, who was lounging back
slightly, sleeves pushed up, mouth still carrying the glint of sauce from grilled meat. “I heard
about your project,” he began, tone light but sincere. “Congratulations on the award. Second
prize, huh? That’s impressive.”

Taeui blinked, surprised, then gave a sheepish grin. “It was a group effort. Still can’t believe
the prototype worked during the demo.”

“The Autonomous Explosive Neutralizer, right?” Chang-in leaned forward, propping one
elbow against the table. “Spider-like robot that can crawl through debris, detect explosives
with non-invasive sensing… and even self-destructs in a controlled way if it needs to?”
Taeui gave a modest nod. “Yeah. It uses magnetic and radar sensors. The self-destruction part
only activates if there's no other option—it’s meant to shield soldiers nearby. We didn’t think
the judges would go for it.”

“Well, they did,” Chang-in said, chuckling softly. “And from what I heard, a few people
higher up in UNHRDO are… quite curious about it.”

Jaeui’s head snapped up from where he’d been scooping namul onto his rice. His gaze on
Chang-in was sharp, unreadable. “Why would they be interested?”

Chang-in didn’t flinch. He smiled easily, as if they were talking about the weather. “Because
it’s a good design. Effective. But don’t worry,” he added, still smiling but letting a faint
thread of something more serious slip in, “I don’t plan to force Taeui into anything. That’s not
why I brought it up.”

There was a beat of silence. The air between them tightened, just slightly, like an invisible
thread being tugged. Jaeui’s shoulders relaxed, but his eyes remained on his uncle, steady and
mistrustful.

“It’s… good to know,” Jaeui said eventually, voice neutral. “Still, I hope the interest stays
professional.”

“It will,” Chang-in said. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, “Besides, if anyone’s going to
handle negotiations, I’d expect you to step in first.”

That earned the tiniest twitch of a smile from Jaeui.

Taeui, ever the peacekeeper, gave a small shrug. “Thanks. Honestly, I’m just glad it’s over.
But I’m already stressing over my next one.”
“Oh?” Chang-in asked, sipping his sikhye.

“For finals next year. It’s supposed to be the ‘determine-if-you-graduate’ type of project. I
want to build something again, but this time it’s heavier on programming. Which…” He
trailed off, giving an exaggerated grimace. “Isn’t my thing.”

“I can help,” Jaeui said, without looking up. “If you want.”

That surprised Chang-in. For a moment, he looked at the two of them—one pouring tea with
loose, easy movements, the other already leaning toward him with that familiar intensity.
They were older now, taller, smarter, hardened by different lives in different places. But the
thread between them hadn’t broken.

“You two,” he murmured, the smile returning despite the dull ache in his chest, “still the
same in some ways. One builds. The other codes. It's like watching the same rhythm from
when you were kids.”

But Taeui only waved a hand, smiling faintly. “I might ask someone in the programming
department instead. I don’t want to bother Jaeui hyung with my last-minute panic.”

“It wouldn’t be a bother,” Jaeui said automatically, but didn’t push further.

Chang-in sat back, watching them. The dining room was warm with oil and spice, and family.
And yet—he couldn’t ignore the way Jaeui’s tone had shifted over the years, or the faint
distance in Taeui’s gaze when their eyes met. He remembered when the twins would run to
him after school, holding up bent sketches and broken toy circuits. Now, they were men.
Grown, distant. Changed.

His fault. All of it, really.

But he didn’t let it show. He only smiled again, charming as always, and reached for another
piece of galbijjim.
“Still,” he said lightly, “don’t forget to take a break. It’s Seollal. I’m lucky to see both of you
in one place again. Feels like it’s been years.”

Because it had been. Not physically, no—they’d crossed paths here and there. But this—this
quiet, lingering moment of shared food and laughter and bickering—this was the first time in
a long while. And possibly the last for another long while.

“Let’s enjoy it.”

Later that evening

The cicadas hummed softly in the summer night, their steady song merging with the rustle of
leaves stirred by a light breeze. Chang-in stepped out of the old hanok’s side room, slipping
his phone back into his pocket after a brief call with someone in the Seoul office. The
conversation had been about security clearances—routine, but mentally draining.

He wandered to the wooden porch that wrapped around the traditional house, the cool air
brushing against his skin. He was about to sit when he caught the sound of quiet voices—
familiar, soft, and unguarded.

The twins were in the courtyard garden, where a small stone lantern flickered faintly near the
azalea bushes. They sat on an old straw mat laid over the ground, backs turned to him, heads
tilted up toward the night sky.

Taeui’s voice reached him first. “I don’t remember everything exactly… what we did as kids.
But I remember being happy. That’s the part that stuck.”

Jaeui gave a small laugh. “You used to cry when you lost at rock-paper-scissors.”
“And you used to cheat,” Taeui replied with a grin in his voice. “Your ‘rock’ always became
‘scissors’ mid-throw.”

More quiet laughter passed between them, like echoes from a distant, simpler time. Then
Taeui’s tone shifted—gentler, more hesitant.

“I wanted to say sorry,” he said. “There was a time after I started remembering, when I
thought we were just cousins. That was all I had. And when I found out we were actually
twins again… I didn’t know how to feel. I got upset.”

Jaeui was quiet, his silhouette unmoving under the glow of the paper lantern nearby.

“It’s not like I hated you,” Taeui added quickly. “You’ve always been my brother—my
beloved brother. But I remembered you working at UNHRDO, and the weapons, and… I
didn’t know how to process that. I think I hated what you did. Just for a moment.”

He paused. The cicadas continued their song, indifferent.

“But I understand now. You had your reasons. I might not agree with them, but… I get it.”

Jaeui turned slightly, his profile catching the lantern’s soft light. “You’re important to me
too,” he said simply, his voice low.

Chang-in stood still on the wooden floor of the porch, hands in his pockets. He exhaled
quietly. The faint scent of pine and warm soil lingered in the air—memories soaked into
every grain of the house.

He had brought the twins here to rest, to recover. But tonight, as he watched them under the
stars, he realized they were doing more than healing. They were remembering—rebuilding.
And somehow, in the deepest part of his heart, after all he had done, he wonders if he could
ever return to being a part of their lives.
 Vacation
Chapter Summary

Chang-in simply said, “Congratulations on surviving.”

“Uncle!”

They exited the hotel as a group—two composed professionals, one terrifying German
man, and a deeply violated Korean ex-soldier trying not to cry every time he stepped off
a curb.

Four days, Ilay had said.

So exactly four days later, at the ungodly hour of 7:03 AM, the doorbell rang. There he stood
—Ilay Riegrow, tall, sharp, and suspiciously awake for someone who should’ve been halfway
across the globe. He didn’t even ask for the address. Taeui was half-convinced Ilay had
installed a tracking chip on him. Probably in his toothbrush.

Still in his pajamas, Taeui stared at him through the door, blinking. “How—?”

“You smell like peppermint,” Ilay said in place of a greeting. “And breakfast.”

That was how it began. Now, two days into Ilay’s "vacation," Taeui found himself in the
middle of a textbook-level internal crisis. He wanted to spend more time with Jaeui—make
up for the quiet years and, well, the part where he forgot they were twins. Also, Chang-in had
somehow softened lately, and Taeui… kind of liked being near him too. It felt like they were
a real family. Or a mildly functional one.

But then there was Ilay.

Ilay, who had the personality of a well-dressed hurricane with trust issues. Ilay, who had
made zero effort to hide his dislike for Jaeui. And Taeui could already sense the intensity
bubbling every time his brother opened his mouth.

So yes. The dilemma.

“Do I ditch my lover for brother-bonding?” Taeui muttered to himself as he packed a day
bag. “Or do I drag my emotionally constipated German around like a tourist puppy and risk
another international crime?”

Ilay appeared behind him, holding a mug of barley tea that Chang-in had graciously brewed.
“Are you talking to yourself again?”

Taeui gave a nervous laugh. “Nope. Practicing a monologue.”

Chang-in, who seemed to exist in a permanent state of observant calm, casually suggested
over breakfast, “You all should just spend the rest of your time sightseeing. It’s rare
everyone’s in the same country, let alone the same house.”

And so, it was settled. Operation: Peaceful-ish Vacation began.

Their itinerary was chaotic in the best way. They climbed Namsan Tower and stuck heart-
shaped locks on the fence, much to Ilay’s visible confusion. (“Is this meant to secure your
emotions to infrastructure?”) They strolled through Bukchon Hanok Village, where Taeui
insisted on renting hanbok for the full tourist effect—Jaeui looked scholarly, Taeui looked
adorable, and Ilay looked like a very confused but strangely majestic nobleman. He secretly
got hard at the sight. Fashion really is all in the face.

They visited Gyeongbokgung Palace, where Ilay quietly held Taeui’s bag like a very
dignified luggage rack while Taeui bought souvenirs shaped like traditional masks. In
Myeongdong, Taeui dragged them into skincare shops and made Ilay test lip tints ("You’d
look good in coral!"), while Jaeui pretended not to know them.
Jeju Island was next—beaches, Hallasan hikes, and enough seafood to make Ilay suspicious
of everything on his plate. “This octopus is still looking at me,” he said.

Throughout the trip, the formation rarely changed: Taeui excitedly leading the way with Jaeui
beside him, narrating facts from a guidebook like a walking encyclopedia. Behind them, Ilay
and Chang-in strolled like two unbothered bodyguards. Ilay never complained. He just
carried Taeui’s stuff, occasionally adjusted his pace to match his, and looked at him like he
was the only thing that mattered in the entire damn country. He didn’t want to think too much
about it. He didn’t want to risk another random boner.

From time to time, Taeui made sure to loop Ilay into their conversations, asking his opinions
on food, showing him odd street signs, and pointing out absurd tourist slogans. Ilay answered
in clipped but attentive replies, always looking at Taeui first before saying anything else.

And weirdly enough, even with the subtle tension simmering under the surface, it worked.

Sort of.

Their short trip wasn’t exactly full of fluff and stuff.

Because if Jaeui has insane luck, Taeui seems to be the opposite.

It started with a missed turn. Or maybe it was the irresistible scent of grilled sweet potatoes
from a vendor stall that pulled Taeui away. Either way, he’d strayed from the group
somewhere near the Bukchon Hanok Village, promising to meet them at the next spot. The
sun was high, the tourists plenty, and Taeui had just unwrapped his second hotteok when
someone called his name—smooth, surprised, and unmistakably nostalgic.
“Taeui? Jeong Taeui?”

He turned. And nearly choked on his hotteok.

There stood Ryu Seonghwan, his old university classmate, in all his absurdly handsome,
glass-skin, tousled-hair glory. The man hadn’t changed a bit—if anything, he’d gotten better
looking. Still lean, still tall, still glowing like he’d walked out of a luxury brand photoshoot.

“Oh man, Seonghwan?” Taeui grinned, brushing powdered sugar off his cheek. “Wow, it’s
been—what? 7 years?”

“At least. You look great.” Seonghwan leaned in for a hug, a hand lingering casually on
Taeui’s shoulder a moment too long. “I can’t believe you’re still single. Unless…?”

Taeui laughed, a little too brightly. “Oh, I—uh—well, it's complicated.”

Meanwhile, Ilay had caught sight of them from a distance.

From where he stood with Chang-in, he could clearly see Taeui’s bright smile, the stranger’s
confident lean, and—unfortunately—the way the man was looking at Taeui like he’d just
stumbled upon a long-lost treasure chest. Ilay's jaw twitched slightly. His arms, previously
relaxed at his sides, crossed stiffly. In his left hand was Taeui’s shopping bag, holding two
mugs with silly matching designs and an unnecessarily large plush toy from the last souvenir
shop.

Chang-in, sensing the sudden drop in atmospheric temperature, side-eyed him. “Don’t kill
anyone... in public, Rick.”

Ilay said nothing. His eyes didn’t leave the scene.

Taeui, oblivious as usual, was currently laughing at something Seonghwan said, which
seemed to involve a lot of dramatic hand gestures and light shoulder touches. Taeui slapped
his arm in mock protest—again, a little too friendly.

“I used to think you were a heartbreaker, you know,” Seonghwan said with a grin. “Still
charming as ever. Are you sure you’re not just traveling solo to rekindle old flames?”
Taeui blinked, realizing a beat too late what Seonghwan meant.

“Ah—no, no,” Taeui stammered, half-glancing over his shoulder. “Actually, I’m here with
—”

“—me,” came a voice as cold as winter air.

Ilay was suddenly standing beside them, his hand resting possessively on the small of Taeui’s
back. He gave Seonghwan an oh so sweet smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Taeui, you wandered off.”

Taeui flinched. “Right, sorry. Seonghwan, this is my companion—”

“Riegrow,” Ilay corrected smoothly, extending a hand that looked more like a threat than a
greeting. “His husband.”

Seonghwan, to his credit, didn’t back down. He shook Ilay’s hand and gave Taeui a knowing
smile. “Husband, huh? Well… lucky you.”

“Yes,” Ilay said, voice flat. “I am.”

Chang-in arrived just in time to slap a casual hand on Ilay’s shoulder and guide him back
toward the group. “Alright, lovebirds, let’s move. We still have a palace or two to desecrate
with your public affection.”

As they walked away, Taeui laughed awkwardly, trying to ease the tension. “Ilay, were you—
uh—jealous just now?”
Ilay didn’t answer, but he did tighten his grip on Taeui’s hand.

“...That’s a yes,” Chang-in muttered with a smirk, sipping from his travel mug. “Let’s just
hope we don’t run into any exes.”

“You’re saying something outrageous, uncle.” Taeui huffed.

The three of them stared at him.

“…Okay, valid.”

The next run-in was almost statistically impressive.

They’d just finished strolling through Gyeongbokgung Palace when Taeui veered off to buy a
cold drink from a nearby cart. He was halfway through sipping a melon-flavored slushie
when a high-pitched gasp broke through the crowd.

“Taeui hyung?! Is that you?!”

Taeui looked up. A smaller, soft-faced man with big eyes and rounded cheeks—like someone
permanently stuck in a webtoon filter—was bounding toward him with all the energy of a
golden retriever. He practically sparkled.

“Oh my god, Jiwon?” Taeui blinked, then laughed as he got pulled into a quick, bouncy hug.
“Wow, it’s been forever!”
Min Jiwon stepped back, beaming, his hands lightly resting on Taeui’s arms. “You still look
exactly the same! Hyung, I was just telling my friend the other day about that time you
carried me back to the dorm when I twisted my ankle during gym class!”

Taeui snorted. “You cried like it was the end of the world. I was terrified the nurse would
think I broke you.”

Jiwon giggled and swayed slightly on his feet. “You were always so kind to me. I really
thought I had a chance back then…”

That’s when Taeui blinked and remembered, yes—Min Jiwon. That clingy junior from high
school who had once baked him animal-shaped cookies every week and confessed to using a
hand-drawn comic strip. It had been a weird semester.

Meanwhile, from across the plaza, Ilay turned his head slowly.

“Taeui’s just running a social experiment,” Jaeui said, folding his arms. “Like, testing the
limits of your jealousy tolerance. I think I need to take note.”

Ilay said nothing, eyes narrowing.

Chang-in just sighed.

Back at the cart, Taeui was laughing, completely oblivious to the eyes drilling holes into his
back.

“You know,” Jiwon said in Korean, tapping his chin thoughtfully, “I still sometimes wonder
what would’ve happened if we ended up dating. I mean, we had good chemistry, right?”

Ilay, who had been silently standing behind Taeui for five full seconds, tilted his head.
Taeui flinched at the sudden presence. “Ah—Ilay! You startled me.”

Jiwon blinked up at the tall, cold stranger. “Oh—hello! Are you a friend of Taeui hyung?”

“No,” Ilay replied, also in Korean. “I’m the man who sleeps beside him, and the man who
sleeps with him.”

Did Ilay just speak Korean? Taeui’s eyes widen. That was even perfect pronunciation.

Jiwon blinked. “Oh! …Oh.”

Jiwon gave an awkward laugh, waving his hands. “Ah—I didn’t mean anything weird just
now! I was just joking!”

Ilay simply nodded, gaze unblinking.

“I should… get going,” Jiwon squeaked, bowing slightly before practically scampering away.

Taeui turned to Ilay, squinting. “You’ve been studying Korean?”

Ilay handed him his own drink, as if that answered the question. “You said I’d never
understand the way you flirt.”

Behind them, Jaeui is silently impressed. “That guy is lucky to get away, alive.”

Chang-in patted Taeui’s back as they walked. “Still better than how he dealt with rivals five
years ago. Back then, we needed body bags.”
Taeui groaned. “This trip was supposed to be relaxing.”

“Then stop accidentally triggering your boyfriend’s murder instincts,” Jaeui deadpanned.
“Please.”

By now, Taeui was starting to believe he was cursed.

They’d only stopped by a quiet bookstore café because Ilay said he wanted “something
peaceful.” Taeui had just taken his first sip of his vanilla latte when he heard a familiar,
drawling voice behind him.

“Well, well. Is that my dear little hoobae?”

Taeui choked.

He slowly turned around and came face-to-face with Park Hamin—his ex from university,
tall and handsome, gone were the soft edges, but still dressed like he taught a philosophy
class no one asked for.

“Hamin-sunbaenim,” Taeui managed with a tight smile. “Wow. Long time no see.”

Hamin grinned, eyes flicking briefly to Ilay beside him. “And I see you’re not alone. Very
impressive. You finally landed a man, huh?”

Taeui chuckled nervously. “Haha… yeah. This is Ilay.”

Ilay nodded silently, offering only the faintest of smiles. Hamin didn’t seem to register the
chill in the air, nor the faint twitch in Ilay’s jaw.

Hamin clapped Taeui on the shoulder, way too familiar. “You know, I still remember when we
tried to do the deed back in college. You were so stiff—pun intended—because you didn’t
want to be the bottom.” He laughed. “Looks like you got over that, huh?”

There was a second of absolute silence.

Taeui's soul left his body.

He forgot how to breathe. His ears rang. He could feel Ilay shift beside him, and suddenly the
entire café felt five degrees colder.

Jaeui, sitting two tables over, immediately looked up from his iced americano. “Oh no,” he
muttered.

Chang-in, chewing on a cookie, murmured, “This is it. I should probably make a call now,
just in case. ”

Hamin, blissfully unaware, leaned closer to Taeui and said—still in Korean, of course—“I
mean, good for you, really. You’ve always thought you were better a top... I just caught you at
the wrong time. A shame."

Ilay tilted his head. “Pardon me,” he said, in perfect Korean. “Could you repeat that?”

Hamin blinked. “Oh. You… speak Korean?”

Ilay smiled politely. “Fluently. I like to know when someone’s talking about my partner’s
bedroom preferences in public.”
Hamin’s face paled.

“I also like to know,” Ilay continued smoothly, “what a man’s last words will be before he
vanishes without a trace.”

Taeui lunged forward. “Okay! Okay! Let’s go, Ilay! Haha, coffee’s done, time to gooooo—!”

Ilay’s hand was already halfway to reaching for something under his coat, but Taeui grabbed
both his arms and started dragging him toward the exit like a bouncer at closing time.

Behind them, Hamin remained frozen in place, blinking like a man who had just been told the
devil moonlighted as someone’s boyfriend.

As they exited, Jaeui calmly took a photo of Hamin's expression. “For the scrapbook,” he
said.

Chang-in sighed, “It’s lucky no one died yet. Really.”

Outside, Taeui was still dragging Ilay down the street.

“You don’t need to kill him,” Taeui pleaded. “He’s not worth it.”

Ilay didn’t reply, but his hand did casually rest on Taeui’s waist. Possessively. A little too
tight.

“You’re scaring me,” Taeui whined.

Ilay leaned down and whispered in his ear. “A top, huh?”

Taeui turned red instantly. “That man has brain damage.”

Ilay smirked. “Well, now he might.”

That Night

Taeui knew he was in trouble the second Ilay slid the door shut behind them. The suite was
massive—top floor, corner view of the city, luxury everywhere. But all Taeui could focus on
was the look in Ilay’s eyes.

He was quiet. Too quiet.

Ilay never raised his voice. He didn’t need to. The man could burn down nations with a look,
and tonight, that look was entirely his.

“Ilay—” Taeui began, backing up slightly. “I can explain.”

Ilay stepped closer. “No need.”

There was a familiar glint in his eyes—sharp, possessive, electric.

And Taeui realized with full-body dread and anticipation: he wasn’t getting out of this room
unscarred.
Ilay didn’t ask questions. He didn’t demand answers. He just took.

His hands, his mouth, his breath—all of it relentless, consuming. Taeui couldn’t speak,
couldn’t think. Every time he gasped, Ilay kissed it out of him. Every time he tried to beg for
a break, Ilay responded with a low, almost amused, “Oh? You didn’t want to be the bottom
back then either?”

Taeui might’ve sobbed. Once. Maybe twice.

Ilay’s obsession, already terrifying in public, was another beast in private. That night, Ilay
claimed him in every way that could be physically, emotionally, and metaphorically
interpreted. Taeui lost count of the hours. Time blurred. Logic ceased. At one point, he briefly
considered praying, but then Ilay bit his collarbone and he forgot what God was.

By the time they collapsed on the bed, dawn was creeping in. Taeui was sore, breathless, and
completely ruined.

“…I hate that man,” Taeui mumbled into the pillow.

Ilay’s voice was low beside him. “What man?”

“…Exactly.”

The Next Morning

Taeui limped into the hotel lobby like a war survivor. Every step was a new regret. Ilay,
naturally, looked immaculate—shirt buttoned, coat crisp—and was politely, supportively
holding Taeui by the waist like the world's most attentive lover.

“Please,” Taeui whispered. “Stop touching me. It’s not romantic when you’re the reason I’m
walking like this.”
Ilay’s lips curled. “You didn’t mind last night.”

“Last night I was in a hormonal coma. This is real life.”

Ahead of them, Chang-in and Jaeui stood waiting with their bags. Both glanced at Taeui’s
state—rumpled clothes, wobbly gait, the subtle wince every time he adjusted his weight.

Neither said a word.

Not even a smirk.

Profession als.

“Morning,” Jaeui said, voice perfectly neutral.

“Did you two sleep well?” Chang-in added, smiling at them.

Taeui opened his mouth, but Ilay tightened his hold slightly, and Taeui made a sound like a
dying animal.

“Fine,” Ilay replied smoothly. “Taeui needed some… reassurance.”

Jaeui blinked once, twice, then muttered, “I won’t be coming back to this country anytime
soon.”

Chang-in simply said, “Congratulations on surviving.”

“Uncle!”

They exited the hotel as a group—two composed professionals, one terrifying German man,
and a deeply violated Korean ex-soldier trying not to cry every time he stepped off a curb.
 Assault
Chapter Summary

He pressed Taeui’s head to his chest, voice barely more than a whisper.

“I'm here. You're safe now.”

Munich, Germany 20XX

Ilay stepped into the foyer of their top-floor Munich condo—an address prestigious enough
that the doorman still called him “Mr. Riegrow.” The door clicked shut behind him before he
even noticed; he’d slipped in long before Taeui expected him home. Four years of routines
like this: Ilay coming and going on missions or UNHRDO lectures, Taeui buried in studies,
the condo their quiet refuge.

He dropped his keys in the catchall bowl and paused, listening for signs of life. Nothing but
the soft hum of the air conditioner. Taeui’s phone had pinged him earlier—a text about
meeting university friends at a pub. Ilay hadn’t bothered replying. Taeui always informed him
where he was going. And if he didn’t, Ilay’s tracker app would.

He sank onto the sofa. On the coffee table, his open laptop displayed Taeui’s GPS
breadcrumb trail: a steady dot now paused two blocks away at “Zum Alten Wirt” pub. Safe.
Predictable.

Ilay let his gaze roam the room. This was theirs—his and Taeui’s—though most would call it
“Ilay’s luxury pied-à-terre.” Floor-to-ceiling windows, pale oak floors, minimalist
furnishings softened by warm textiles. A wall of bookshelves held everything from classic
novels to Taeui’s mechatronics textbooks, interspersed with small sculptures and a scattering
of toolkits near Taeui’s workstation in the corner.

He stood and walked slowly through the condo, running a finger along the smooth leather
spine of a law journal, pausing at Taeui’s drafting table where a half-assembled robot limb
lay beside a precision screwdriver. The metal catch of the joint gleamed under the desk lamp
—Taeui’s current obsession, Ilay knew, though the design remained a mystery.
Above the sofa hung their framed photographs. On the left, a spontaneous snapshot of Taeui
and Jaeui in hanbok beneath Gyeongbokgung’s eaves during last year’s Seollal visit—bright
smiles, arms draped around each other. Centered above it was the largest print: Ilay, Taeui,
Jaeui, and Chang-in on that same trip, the winter palace behind them, breath visible in the
cold air. To the right, smaller frames captured quiet moments—Taeui laughing with Kyle
over a beer, his father teaching Taeui to shoot at a private range, the twins alone in Chang-
in’s countryside retreat.

Ilay paused before that centerpiece. He couldn’t have articulated why, but seeing it calmed
something in him. All those faces: family by blood, family by choice. The memory of their
laughter, jangling like bells in his mind, made him aware of how profoundly domestic this
life felt—even for him, the man made for violence and precision.

He let out a slow exhale, half-smile touching his lips. Four years ago, he’d never have
pictured this: a quiet condo, afternoon sunlight on pale wood, the soft click of Taeui’s laptop
closing somewhere down the hall. A place where he didn’t have to be the “Crazy Rick” or
“second son of Riegrow,” but simply Ilay—and Taeui’s.

Ilay’s phone buzzed against the leather arm of the sofa. He glanced down at the screen: a
push-notification from the GPS tracker on Taeui’s phone.

“Location update: Hotel Altstadt München.”

His eyes narrowed. That wasn’t right.

Zum Alten Wirt was a five-minute walk from their condo. Hotel Altstadt München was on the
far side of the district—at least twenty minutes on foot, and completely off the route home.

Taeui shouldn’t be there. Even drunk, he always pinged Ilay: “I’m here, Ilay,” or “Heading
back,” or “Car broke down, send help.” Always.

He recalled an incident two years ago.

Taeui had celebrated a major project win with his classmates. Ilay was home, pacing the
condo’s kitchen while going over mission reports. At 2 AM, his phone rang.

“Ilayyy…” Taeui’s voice, slurred and laughing, crackled through. “I’m…drunk. Come get
me.”

Behind the laughter, club music pulsed.

Ilay didn’t hesitate. He drove through the night, pulling up in front of a private club entrance.
Inside, students from affluent families and top-tier universities toasted champagne. Ilay
scanned the room until he saw Taeui: cheeks flushed, eyes bright, giggling at a joke from a
friend.

The moment Taeui spotted him, he launched himself forward like a puppy. Ilay caught him
easily. Taeui’s lips found Ilay’s face in a flurry of sloppy kisses, wobbly arms clinging to his
neck.

“Alle, das ist mein Ehemann!” Taeui slurred in German—“Everyone, this is my husband!”

The table went silent.

Then laughter—teasing, delighted. Ilay only smiled, brushing Taeui’s hair back from his
forehead, savoring the moment.

Back to present

He drove so quickly that he made it there in barely 10 minutes.

At Hotel Altstadt München, Ilay stepped out and strode toward the entrance. The concierge
gave him a polite nod; Ilay’s presence was hardly unusual in this part of town.

He bypassed the lobby and headed for the elevators. The tracker showed Taeui’s dot on the
third floor. Ilay’s jaw set.

Ilay’s hand tightened on the doorknob as he stepped into the dim corridor. The hotel
management—prompted by his single call—had discreetly cleared the floor. Now every door
was silent. He didn’t need the tracker; he already knew he was at the right room.

He paused outside Room 312.

A faint thump—no, a groan—came from inside. Ilay drew in a slow breath, then pushed the
door open.

What he saw made his blood run cold.

Three figures lay unconscious on the floor in various states of undress.

One was sprawled on his back, arms splayed; another face-down with a twisted leg; the third
half-hidden beneath a toppled chair, head lolling at an unnatural angle.

The air was thick with the scent of sweat and something metallic.

On the king-size bed lay a fourth man—a young Asian student, naked, face pressed into the
mattress, hips raised. He wasn’t moving.

And in the far corner, slumped against the wall, was Taeui. Topless, slacks stained dark at the
knee. His lips were split and swollen. Bruises bloomed along his jaw and temple. His eyes
were closed, as if he were merely sleeping, but the curve of his body and the shallow rise of
his chest told Ilay otherwise.

Ilay’s heart hammered. His gaze snapped from Taeui to the others and back again, piecing
together the horror in an instant.
Whoever these men were, whatever they’d planned, it had gone terribly wrong.

Without closing the door, he crossed the room in three long strides. He crouched beside
Taeui, his voice a low growl.

“JeongTaeui.”

Taeui’s eyelids fluttered. He forced them open, blinking up at Ilay through swollen lashes.
Confusion flared in his gaze—and then fear, when he recognized Ilay’s expression.

Ilay’s fist clenched at his side. “What happened?”

Taeui’s lips parted, but no sound came. He tried to lift a hand—rocked on the balls of his feet
—and Ilay caught him, supporting his weight.

Behind them, the broken pieces of a nightmare lay strewn across the carpet.

Ilay’s jaw set. His mind raced: whoever the culprits were, would no longer see the daylight.

He pressed Taeui’s head to his chest, voice barely more than a whisper.

“I'm here. You're safe now.”

Taeui’s fingers flexed against Ilay’s shirt. Blood shimmered at his lip. He nodded once, eyes
closing again.

Ilay stood, gingerly lifting Taeui into his arms. The unconscious student on the bed, the
bodies on the floor, the overturned furniture—all vanished behind the solid door he closed
with finality.

He carried Taeui out into the silent corridor, every step measured, every muscle coiled for the
reckoning he would unleash.
Because whoever had done this would discover exactly what it meant to hurt Jeong Taeui—
and to face the wrath of Ilay Riegrow.
 Fury
Chapter Summary

He knew without a shred of doubt.

He would have set the whole city on fire.

He would have painted the streets red with their blood.

He would have torn the world apart with his bare hands and smiled while doing it.

Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

***Trigger warning for mention/description of sexual assault. Reader discretion is

advised.***

Taeui woke to a dull, throbbing ache that gnawed at his bones.

He groaned softly, shifting on the bed, but the small movement sent a fresh wave of pain
through him—not the satisfying soreness he sometimes woke up to after a night tangled with
Ilay, but something sharper, unfamiliar, and wrong. His hands prickled and tingled numbly.

Frowning, he tried to raise them—and noticed the neat white bandages wrapping both hands.

His foggy mind struggled to piece together why.

It took a moment for him to realize he wasn't alone.

Sitting rigidly on a chair next to the bed was Ilay, dressed in dark clothes, his face set like
carved stone. His pale eyes were locked onto him, sharp and unreadable.

Taeui blinked, trying to shake the haze from his mind. He opened his mouth to say something
—Ilay’s name, maybe—but the moment his lips parted, it crashed back into him: fragmented
flashes of a night gone wrong.
The pub. Laughter.

Jinho stumbling toward the bathroom.

Taeui following, concerned.

A shadow. A hand gripping his arm.

A prick against his skin.

His body betraying him, growing weak.

Hands. Voices he didn’t recognize.

The memories tore through him like broken glass. His body trembled violently, and before he
could stop it, tears blurred his vision, warm and silent, falling down his cheeks.

Ilay was on his feet in an instant.

“Jeong Taeui!” he called, voice sharp with alarm.

The next thing Taeui knew, strong arms were around him, pulling him into the solid, familiar
warmth of Ilay’s chest. He was cradled tightly, as if Ilay thought he might shatter apart if he
let go.

“It’s okay. Don’t cry, Taeui. It’s okay. Everything’s okay now,” Ilay murmured into his hair,
rocking him gently, voice thick with something almost like panic.

Taeui sobbed quietly into Ilay’s shirt. It wasn’t fear, not exactly. It was something uglier—
anger at himself, and a raw, sickening regret he couldn’t name. His fingers gripped the fabric
tightly, as if holding onto Ilay could somehow erase the helplessness lodged deep in his chest.
Later, Ilay would tell him what he had found.

While Taeui was drinking with his classmates, Jinho had gone to the bathroom feeling dizzy.
Taeui, worried, had followed—but he had arrived just in time to see his friend being dragged
away by three men. They didn’t look suspicious at a glance—young, dressed like university
students. Normal. Harmless.

But when Taeui had approached, trying to intervene, they had seen him. A witness.

Before he could shout, something sharp had pierced his skin—a needle, fast and deliberate—
and his body had turned sluggish, his knees giving way. He hadn’t even managed to scream
before he was dragged into the night alongside Jinho.

What happened after that remained a fractured blur in Taeui’s mind, the pieces too sharp to
touch.

Ilay held him closer, whispering fiercely, “You’re safe now. I swear it, Taeui. No one will
ever hurt you again.”

Taeui squeezed his eyes shut, clutching Ilay tighter, as the nightmare clung stubbornly to the
corners of his mind.

His breath hitched painfully in his throat as he tried to speak, tried to drag the nightmare out
of him and share it with Ilay, even though every word felt like tearing open a fresh wound.

“I… I remember...” he choked out, voice raw and broken.

Ilay stayed silent, just tightening his arms around him, as if silently promising he could say it
all, no matter how terrible it was.
Taeui swallowed hard.

His hands, bandaged and trembling, clutched Ilay’s shirt desperately as he forced the words
to come.

“They dumped me on a chair... like garbage,” he whispered hoarsely, his eyes staring
somewhere far beyond the room, far beyond the safety of Ilay’s embrace.

“My body... I couldn’t move. My mind was so fuzzy… Everything was so slow.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, but the memories only rushed in clearer, crueler.

“I heard them first… laughing.” His voice broke into a small sob.

“I didn’t understand what they were saying… but they were laughing. Mocking. Like... like
it was all a game to them.”

Ilay's grip on him turned almost painful, but Taeui clung tighter, needing to finish, needing
him to know.

“My head dropped again. I think I blacked out for a second. But when I opened my eyes—”
A shudder ripped through his body. “I saw… Jinho.”

Taeui’s voice cracked entirely then, a keening sound he tried and failed to muffle against
Ilay’s chest.

“He was naked... on the bed...” He gasped for air. “And those bastards... they were all over
him.”

The memory was a blade twisting inside him. Taeui pressed his forehead hard against Ilay, as
if he could erase the sight, but it was seared into him, brutal and vivid—the sound of skin
slapping against skin, the sickening squelch, the grunts of men who didn’t even see Jinho as a
person.
“I couldn’t move. I just watched it happen,” Taeui sobbed helplessly.

“I just sat there, like a piece of furniture, while they—while they...”

Ilay was trembling too now, but not from fear—from the depth of his rage. Still, he said
nothing, because this wasn’t about him. Taeui had to speak.

“And then…” Taeui whimpered, flinching at the memory. “One of them... he looked at me.”

In Taeui’s mind, he could still see that sneer. The way the man’s eyes roamed over him like
he was some toy to be broken next.

“They talked... I didn’t understand. But then he came to me... he grabbed me. He tore my
shirt—” Taeui gasped, the terror swelling in him again as if it were happening all over.

“And I knew. I knew what he was about to do.”

His heart felt like it was going to explode from the memory alone.

“For a second… I thought I was going to die there,” he whispered, broken. “But... I thought
of you.”

A small, bitter laugh escaped him, full of pain. “Your face. You were so angry. So... hurt. And
I didn’t want you to see me like that. I didn’t want you to find me like that.”

Taeui’s fists curled weakly into Ilay’s shirt.

“Somehow... somehow, I moved. I punched him. I fought them. I didn’t even think. I just
moved. They hit me... I hit back. I don’t know how long... but I knocked them out.”

He was sobbing uncontrollably now, every word pulled from him like pieces of himself.

“And after that... I just... I couldn’t anymore. I slumped against the wall and... and I thought...
I have to call Ilay... I have to…”

Taeui buried his face in Ilay’s chest, the sobs racking through him now, leaving him gasping
for breath, for air, for anything to anchor him.

"I’m so angry, Ilay! Why couldn’t I move quickly? Why was I so useless? I can’t forget… I
can’t forget the sight… of Jiho… of that man’s eyes looking at me," he continued to wail.

Ilay sat frozen, listening as Taeui’s broken voice struggled to pull the horrors out of his chest.

Every word was a blade, cutting deep into Ilay’s mind, into his very soul.

He kept his face still, because Taeui needed calm. Needed warmth.

But inside, Ilay was a roaring inferno. His blood howled for vengeance, so loud he could
hardly breathe.

Taeui’s trembling, his sobs, the way he clutched at him like a man drowning—every small,
wounded sound tore him apart.

They touched him.

They hurt him.

They dared to even think about claiming what was his.

Ilay’s fists twitched at his sides, aching to grab the nearest thing and crush it into dust.

Those bastards—those worthless animals—were currently rotting in a safehouse he owned,

guarded by his men. Hidden from the police. Hidden from the world. No one would find
them. Not until Ilay decided exactly how they would be erased from existence.

They would scream.

They would beg.

And Ilay would not forgive a single breath of it.

He had made sure Jinho was sent quietly to the hospital before locking the others away. One
quick glance told him Jinho wasn’t an accomplice—just another victim. That man would be
safe now. He would live.

But those three?

Their lives were already over the moment they laid hands on Jeong Taeui.

Ilay’s jaw clenched so tightly it ached, remembering when he had carried Taeui into the
condo, half-conscious and limp against his chest. How he had stripped off the torn clothing
and cleaned the blood and grime from his lover’s body, his hands careful but shaking.

He had checked everything.

Every wound. Every bruise. Every scratch.

His heart had stopped when he found the marks along Taeui’s wrists, the scratches on his
torso, the torn skin. Proof of struggle. Proof of what almost happened.
If Taeui hadn’t fought…

If Taeui hadn’t managed to punch and claw and survive...

Ilay swallowed the bile rising in his throat.

If he had walked into that room and found Taeui on the bed instead—broken, defiled—he
knew.

He knew without a shred of doubt.

He would have set the whole city on fire.

He would have painted the streets red with their blood.

He would have torn the world apart with his bare hands and smiled while doing it.

Taeui was still crying against him, and Ilay closed his eyes, breathing deeply through the
hurricane raging inside.

Not now.

Now wasn’t the time to destroy.

Now was the time to protect. To hold. To piece Taeui back together.
Chapter End Notes

My dear readers,

Stay Vigilant in Social Settings.

When visiting clubs, pubs, or any social venues, always remain aware of your
surroundings and the people you interact with. While nights out are meant to be
enjoyable, it's important to remember that anyone, regardless of gender or background,
can become a victim of sex doping (the use of drugs to impair or exploit others without
their consent).

Always watch your drink, never leave it unattended, and avoid accepting beverages
from strangers or newly met acquaintances. Trust your instincts — if something feels
off, prioritize your safety and remove yourself from the situation. Stay with trusted
friends when possible, and don't hesitate to seek help if needed. Your safety must always
come first.

Note: No one around me has experienced this, but I've read numerous news reports
about it happening around the globe. So, let me use this platform to spread awareness.

Enjoy while staying safe!

XOXO
C.A.
 Cat's Gift
Chapter Summary

Taeui sighed.

Somehow, somehow, he found himself smiling too.

Because this was Ilay’s love.

Terrifying. Messy. Uncompromising.

And absolutely, irrevocably his.

The weekend passed in a slow, heavy haze.

Ilay never left Taeui’s side.

He watched over him with the patience of a predator, ready to snap at anything that dared
approach too closely.

Taeui—his Taeui—was someone who could fall and stand back up with that careless, foolish
little smile, as if pain was just a bad dream.

Even now.

When Saturday morning bled into the room, golden and soft, Taeui finally stirred.
It was almost noon. Ilay hadn’t woken him. He wanted him to sleep as long as he could.

Taeui’s body shifted under the covers, sluggish, bruised, fragile in a way that made Ilay’s
heart squeeze painfully.

But when those drowsy dark eyes blinked up at him, Taeui smiled.
Small. Crooked. As if to say, “I’m okay now."

Ilay set aside the book he was reading and came closer, sitting at the edge of the bed.

"Jinho?" Taeui rasped, his voice hoarse from disuse.

Ilay brushed Taeui’s hair back gently. "He’s in the hospital," he said. "He’ll be fine."

Taeui nodded slowly, his hand finding Ilay’s wrist, holding on loosely. Like he needed
something real to anchor himself to.

Ilay stayed with him the entire day, feeding him, making sure he took his medicine, keeping
the world outside.

Taeui didn’t talk much. He didn’t need to.

Ilay understood him even in silence.

Later that night, around two in the morning, while Taeui finally slipped into a deeper sleep
beside him, Taeui’s phone buzzed.

It was Jeong Jaeui.

Ilay moved to the balcony to answer, glancing once at the sleeping figure curled in the bed.

"Taeui?" Jaeui’s voice was sharp, tight. Even half a world away, he must have felt something
was wrong through that strange bond the twins shared.

"He’s asleep," Ilay said, voice cold but not unkind.

"Did something happen?" Jaeui pressed, suspicion bleeding through the line.

Ilay exhaled, his gaze falling back on Taeui’s still form. "He’ll tell you if he wants to."

Silence.

Then, reluctantly, Jaeui accepted it. "Take care of him," he said simply before hanging up.
Ilay tucked the phone into his pocket and returned to the bed, sliding under the covers.
He curled himself around Taeui’s body, shielding him from the world even in sleep.

It wasn’t until the first whisper of dawn that his second phone buzzed—a line only his men
had access to.

The report was short but thorough.

Those three bastards—two Polish, one American—were indeed students from Taeui’s
university. Seniors from a different department. Foreigners from wealthy families, used to
getting away with things because of the shields their names provided.

Jinho had woken up at the hospital, terrified. Ilay’s men reported that he refused to press
charges. He knew what would happen. He’d be crushed before the case even reached court.

Ilay’s fingers drummed absently against the bedside table as he listened.

There was no news yet. No police investigation.

But their families were beginning to stir. Money could find the missing sons quickly.

Ilay didn’t care.

He had them.

He owned them now.

And they would rot quietly, painfully, while he decided exactly how to erase them from this
world.

Apparently, those bastards had a pattern—targeting small, fair-skinned men and women.
Maybe that was why they hadn’t gone after Taeui right away.

Maybe.

But it didn’t matter.

They still looked at Taeui.

Still touched him.

And for that, death was too kind.

Ilay turned back to Taeui and pulled him closer against his chest.
Taeui sighed in his sleep, his fingers curling into the fabric of Ilay’s shirt.

Ilay closed his eyes, resting his forehead against Taeui’s temple.

By Monday, Taeui insisted he was fine.

Ilay watched him as he tugged on his jacket, stubborn as ever, a faint limp still in his step,
bruises hidden beneath his clothes. His face was clear, and his eyes were determined. He
wanted to return to university to finish his project and check on Jinho.

Ilay said nothing at first, only stared at him, weighing the risks, calculating the odds, fighting
the vicious urge to chain him to the bed and never let him out of his sight again.
But in the end, he relented.

Barely.

The tracker hidden in Taeui’s watch had been upgraded.

Now, Ilay would receive immediate notifications the moment Taeui’s location shifted.
No more fifteen-minute windows for disaster to creep in.

Never again—not like that night in the hospital four years ago, when he left Taeui alone for a
mere fifteen minutes and nearly lost everything.

Ilay’s jaw clenched at the memory, the old rage simmering anew.

He had also stationed men discreetly to monitor Taeui’s surroundings.

Not to interfere, not to cage him. Simply to protect.

Meanwhile, far from Taeui’s soft world of lectures and gentle smiles, in a forgotten basement,
the three bastards still clung to life. If one could call it living.

They hung pinned to the wall—modern crucifixions of bone and blood and agony.
Naked, vulnerable, broken.

Not as martyrs.

No.

Their blood was not redemption.

It was payment.

A pitiful, insufficient offering for the sin of touching what belonged to him.

Ilay didn’t grant them death.

That would be mercy.

And he was not merciful.

Every hour, every second of their continued breathing, they suffered a little more.
Bones cracked, skin split, nerves burned.

And still, Ilay wasn’t satisfied.

Not until every ounce of terror they made Taeui feel was repaid tenfold.

Not until they truly understood what it meant to trespass into his world.

Not until they begged for death—and he refused them.

Ilay adjusted Taeui’s scarf gently, brushing his fingers along the his jaw.

"Be careful," he said, voice low.

Taeui smiled, bright and foolish. "I will."

Ilay watched him walk away, every instinct screaming to drag him back.
But he let him go.

Because Taeui deserved to live without fear.

Because Ilay would carry all the fear—and all the blood—on his behalf.

By Tuesday afternoon, Ilay’s phone rang.

He didn’t need to look at the screen to know who it was.

He answered without hesitation.

“Did they suffer?” his mother’s voice came through, calm, direct, almost casual.

“They still are,” he replied, just as plainly.

A small, pleased hum came from the other end of the line.

The news had already spread like wildfire by then—three foreign students missing, last seen
near the hotel. Their families, as expected, were throwing obscene amounts of money to find
them, using all the connections their wealth could buy.

It didn’t take long before Ilay’s name floated to the surface.

He had been seen leaving the hotel minutes after the men disappeared.

No proof, no witnesses, nothing concrete.

Just a heavy, unspoken suspicion.

It didn’t matter.

Kyle was handling the legal matters, unusually willing this time.

Ilay had told him—briefly, grimly—what had happened to Taeui.

Not all the details, because even speaking it aloud made Ilay’s blood boil again.
But enough.

Enough for Kyle’s face to turn cold, his voice clipped and professional as he moved to bury
any trail leading back to them.

Their parents, now back in Switzerland, were inevitably alerted once Kyle paid the necessary
people to cover their tracks.

And of course, his mother, who adored Taeui almost as much as Ilay did in her own way,
decided she wouldn’t simply sit back.
“I didn’t expect anything less from you,” she said approvingly.
“Please give my regards to Taeui. We will return to Berlin during his semester break.”

And with that, she ended the call without waiting for a reply.

Later, Ilay would learn the full extent of her involvement.

She hadn’t just pulled a few discreet strings—She had ripped whole puppet shows apart.

Business deals collapsed.

Clients disappeared.

Licenses were suspended.

The families of the missing bastards were now frantically trying to find their sons while
simultaneously fighting to save their crumbling empires.

It was almost poetic.

They wanted to know who dared to touch their precious heirs.

Ilay smiled coldly to himself.

Let them drown in the ruins their sons brought upon them.

And this was still mercy—only because Taeui didn’t like blood on the streets.

Otherwise, Ilay would have buried the whole lineage with his bare hands.
Ilay stayed in the condo, his laptop open but half-forgotten on the desk, muted calls flashing
across the screen.

He had no intention of returning to the office this week.

Officially, he was on sick leave—unofficially, he was plotting slow ruin.

The higher-ups had initially resisted his request, but after a short, grim conversation with
Chang-in, delivered with the same sparse details he had given Kyle, the wheels moved faster.

Chang-in, of all people, had pushed it through.

"If there’s anything you need for my beloved nephew, inform me," he said.

Ilay almost laughed at that.

Chang-in’s attempt to rebuild his bond with the twins was clumsy and late, but Ilay didn’t
care.
Let him grasp at straws.

Ilay would protect Taeui, with or without their help.

The real work—the real justice—was already unfolding quietly under his command.

By Thursday afternoon, Taeui came home from university, his steps lighter but still not the
same.

Ilay noticed it instantly.

His Taeui, who always bounced into rooms with the energy of sunlight, now moved carefully,
making Ilay's chest ache.
Still, he smiled—Taeui's invincible, stubborn smile—and dropped his bag by the door.

“I brought you something,” Ilay said casually, lifting a large, polished wooden box onto the
dining table.

Taeui eyed it warily.

The box looked innocent enough, but coming from Ilay, he approached it like it might
explode.

Slowly, almost comically cautious, Taeui flipped the latch and opened it.

Inside, packed neatly on dry ice, were severed human fingers.

Several of them.

Taeui stared.

And stared.

He didn’t ask. He didn’t need to.

His gaze shifted from the grim offering back to Ilay, wide-eyed, lost somewhere between
horror and exasperated affection.

Ilay only smiled, the corners of his mouth lifting like a pleased cat who had deposited a
bloody bird at his owner's feet.

He leaned in and kissed Taeui’s forehead gently, like it was the most natural thing in the
world.

Taeui sighed.

Somehow, somehow, he found himself smiling too.

Because this was Ilay’s love.

Terrifying. Messy. Uncompromising.

And absolutely, irrevocably his.

 Jaeui
Chapter Summary

And Jeong Jaeui had promised himself long ago—if Taeui ever called him again, truly
called—he’d be there.

And this time, he would be.

No matter what it costs.

Sometimes, Jeong Jaeui wondered if he was born first so that he could spend the rest of his
life looking after the one who followed.

Taeui, his beloved younger twin by just seven minutes, had always been the source of his
warmth.

They were opposites in many ways—Taeui, all sunshine and mischief, and he, the quiet,
rational one.

But where others saw contrast, Jaeui saw balance.

It was always easy with him.

Always home.

He remembered the guilt when he left, when he resigned and disappeared from his uncle’s
radar, far away from his brother, without means of contact.

He hadn’t told Taeui the truth, that he needed to get away, that he couldn’t stand being around
their uncle anymore.
He feared what Taeui might think if he knew Jaeui was helping build weapons—things that
hurt, things that destroyed.

Taeui, who dreamed of peace and rebuilding, would never understand.

Or worse, he would forgive him too easily.

And Jaeui didn’t want that. Didn’t want to taint the way Taeui looked at him.

So he left. With just simple words that he would cut their ties to find himself.

Then the coma hit.

It was a blur, but he remembered the pain before blacking out.

He’d collapsed in his room in Riyadh—Rahman’s mansion, a gilded cage that had become
his quiet retreat—and when he woke up three weeks later, the entire house was changed.

Maids whispered about how furious Rahman had been, how many staff members lost their
jobs when no one could explain the cause.

But Jaeui didn’t care about any of that.

The first thing he asked about was Taeui.

And the answer nearly destroyed him: Taeui had been attacked and was also in a coma.

At the same time.

As if some invisible thread between them had snapped.

As if their souls couldn’t bear the weight of separation anymore.

Such was the price of his fortune: as if the gods themselves had entrusted him with the care
of this living sun.

His luck was the reward—but should harm befall this radiant light, his suffering would be the
cruel toll exacted.
He’d tried to get up, still weak, to find a way to him, but then Uncle Chang-in called.

Their ever-calm uncle, who dropped the bomb like it was weather.
"He doesn't remember much. Some amnesia. But he’s doing fine otherwise."

Amnesia.

The word clawed at Jaeui’s chest like a curse.

Taeui might not even remember him.

His twin.

His other half.

The one who shared everything.

He didn’t call. Couldn’t.

He feared hearing that unfamiliar voice.

Feared Taeui’s silence.

So he let the months pass, suffocated by the weight of his cowardice.

Then, one evening, Rahman came to him with a strange look.

"Your brother called today," he said, carefully.

Something in Jaeui’s heart jolted alive.

He didn’t even remember what Rahman said next, only that his hands shook as he reached for
the phone on his nightstand.

He didn’t call that night.

He didn’t want to do it with someone watching.

Not even Rahman, who had quietly stayed by his side all these years, never asked for more
than Jaeui could give.

Rahman had confessed that he loved him.

Jaeui had said nothing in return.

Not now.

Because how could he offer someone his heart when half of it still belonged to his twin?

And then last week… he felt it again.

That connection.

That sickening drop in his gut.

Something had happened.

Something bad.

Worse than anything he could name.

So he called.
Ilay picked up.

It was strange to hear that cold voice again, like metal scraping ice, but Jaeui didn’t care.

He asked about Taeui, and Ilay only said:

"He’ll tell you if he wants."

For a while, Jaeui sat there in silence, holding the dead line to his ear.

Three days passed.

And then, finally, Taeui called.

"Hyung..."

That voice.

It cracked.

He had never heard Taeui like that.

Not even during their parents’ funeral, when Taeui cried into his chest until he fell asleep.

Not even when they fought. The pain now was quieter.

Heavier.

But even as he sobbed, Taeui still tried to reassure him.

Tried to act like it was fine.

Still laced his sentences with that sing-song tone he’d always used to comfort Jaeui when
they were kids.
And Jaeui’s heart broke all over again.

He asked Rahman if he could return to Berlin—just for a short time.

Rahman agreed, as he always did, without question.

He even offered to arrange the travel himself.

Taeui said he didn’t have to come.

That he was okay.

His twin had always been strong.

But strength didn’t mean he didn’t hurt.

And Jeong Jaeui had promised himself long ago—if Taeui ever called him again, truly called
—he’d be there.

And this time, he would be.

No matter what it costs.

 Jaeui Part 2
Chapter Summary

Taeui, his beloved younger brother, was just as brilliant.

He simply chose to hide it.

And Jaeui wondered if Taeui had also forgotten that he was hiding.

Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

The flight to Berlin had been uneventful, quiet in the kind of way that gave too much room
for thoughts.

Jaeui’s fingers lingered near his phone more than once, wondering if he should text Taeui that
he’d arrived—but he didn’t.

His brother was still at university, and he didn’t want to distract him. More truthfully, he
didn’t want to rush their meeting.

Instead, he arranged to meet with Kyle first.

It was less about conversation and more about logistics; he would be staying at the Riegrow
mansion while in Berlin.

It felt wrong to impose on Taeui and Ilay’s condo in Munich, even though he knew Taeui
would argue about it if he had the chance.

But Jaeui needed the distance. Needed to steady himself before facing his brother—and Ilay.

The mansion hadn’t changed. Cold, grand, too pristine.

Kyle greeted him politely, as always, but he didn’t offer much. Jaeui hadn’t expected him to
—he knew how tight-lipped Ilay could be.

Still, what Kyle did say was enough. Taeui hadn’t been touched, physically. But there had
been a moment—an almost—that no one could take back.
That single thread of implication was enough to chill him to the bone.

By the time Saturday morning came, Jaeui was already awake when he heard footsteps
outside. He stood before the door even knocked.

Taeui’s voice rang out with that familiar energy.

“Hyung! It’s been a while! How have you been?”

He looked the same. Still too skinny, still grinning like he hadn’t just brushed with hell weeks
ago.

But Jaeui saw past it—saw it in his eyes. That careful shine, like stained glass barely holding
against a storm.

“I’ve been good,” Jaeui said, smiling softly. But then his tone shifted. “Taeui… talk to me.”

And just like that, the air grew still. Taeui’s smile didn’t drop right away—it tugged
awkwardly, as if unsure whether to stay or flee.

“Come on,” Jaeui added gently. “Let’s go to the library.”

The Riegrow mansion’s library was like a sanctuary—high-ceilinged, warmly lit, with that
familiar scent of aged paper and polished wood.

It reminded Jaeui of their childhood, of dog-eared books and quiet afternoons sprawled
across beanbags, arguing over who loved which character more.

“Oh! I didn’t know they have acquired this series!” Taeui said, his tone brightening as he
browsed the shelves.

He touched the spines with a reverence Jaeui knew too well. It was his way of grounding
himself—books had always been his escape. Jaeui didn’t say anything.

He just watched.

And then, just like that, the brightness dimmed.

Taeui’s fingers paused on a hardcover, and the smile he turned back with was too small, too
brittle.

He came over and sat across from Jaeui at the wide reading table.

And then he spoke.

The story unraveled slowly, between pauses, between quick laughs and longer silences.

Taeui’s voice cracked once, maybe twice, but he forced it steady again every time. Jaeui
listened without interrupting.

Every detail settled into his chest like ice. There was a moment he had to grip the edge of the
table, just to steady himself.

But he didn’t let it show. Because Taeui needed calm right now, not rage.

When it was over, Jaeui exhaled.

“Taeui,” he said quietly, “you have always been strong. Stronger between the two of us. I
can’t promise you anything more than what Rick can do… but as your brother, you can
always come to me when you need me.”

Taeui laughed then, a broken sound that curled into something fond as he wiped at his eyes
like it was nothing.

“Well, I guess you make sure Rahman won’t get in the way then,” he teased.

Jaeui smiled.

Yes. His brother was still here. Wounded, but here. Smiling.
May the gods keep that smile, he prayed silently.

Jaeui stayed in Berlin the entire weekend, rarely leaving the mansion except for walks in the
garden with Taeui.

It had been years since they spent this much uninterrupted time together—quiet conversations
over tea, nostalgic arguments over old books, even moments of comfortable silence that
needed no filling.

Surprisingly, Ilay wasn’t around. He was away on some mission, according to Taeui, though
Jaeui could never quite tell how much his brother truly knew about Ilay’s work.

Either way, it made things easier. No hovering, no cold stares from across the room, no
territorial presence. Just him and Taeui. Just as it used to be, before everything grew
complicated.

Well—almost no interruptions.

Saturday evening, just as they were deciding on dinner, Ilay’s face appeared on Taeui’s phone
screen.

Jaeui watched the way Taeui blinked at it, smiled too quickly, and picked it up with a
cheerful, “Hey, Ilay.”

He then excused himself to his bedroom with a laugh and a small wave.

He didn’t come out until Sunday morning.

Jaeui had rolled his eyes, muttered a soft “unbelievable,” but didn’t press.

He knew how tight the grip Ilay had on his brother’s life was. How much Taeui had willingly
allowed it, too.

Still, it frustrated him sometimes, how easily Taeui folded for Ilay. But that wasn’t a battle
Jaeui could—or wanted to—fight. Not anymore.

They spent Sunday like the day before—quiet, warm, and heavy with unspoken
understanding.
When Monday came, Taeui packed his things early to drive back to Munich.

“Call me when you arrive,” he said as Taeui got into his car.

“Sure,” Taeui smiled, lifting his hand in a wave before driving off.

Jaeui stood there for a moment longer than necessary, letting the cold Berlin wind cut through
the silence.

Then he turned and made his way to the airport. Riyadh was waiting.

Maybe next time, Taeui could be the one to visit.

He should talk to Rahman. Jaeui had a feeling the man would agree, and if Rahman had a
chance to quietly prove himself a little, well… Jaeui wouldn’t stop him.

And if Taeui came to Riyadh—Jaeui would make sure he was safe, free, and laughing like he
used to.

At least for a while.

It hadn’t even been two months, and here he was again—back in Germany.

Jaeui leaned back in his plane seat, glancing out the window.

He should’ve been annoyed by the sudden travel, the rearranged meetings in Riyadh, the
stack of blueprints he left unfinished on his desk. But when it came to his brother, irritation
was a luxury he rarely indulged in.

This time, it was about Taeui’s final project.

He remembered the call just a few days ago, his tablet still open with schematics when
Taeui’s name popped up.

As usual, his brother sounded excited—too excited, in hindsight.

“I found someone really good at programming,” Taeui had said. “He’s a third-year, a bit
quirky but super skilled. We’re gonna work on the AI pathfinding module together.”
Jaeui remembered blinking, arching a brow. “You got Rick to agree?”

There was a pause.

A sheepish laugh. “Yeah… sort of. I had to convince him for days, but I told him it’s strictly
academic. Nothing weird.”

Jaeui didn’t say anything then, but he did wonder—since when did Taeui need Ilay’s
permission for things like this?

It wasn’t a new realization, not really, but it unsettled him every time he was reminded just
how tightly Ilay was embedded into his brother’s life.

How small Taeui’s world had become, filtered through Ilay’s presence.

Still, he let it go. Taeui sounded happy. That was enough. Or so he thought.

It wasn’t long after that when things went sideways.

Apparently, the student—who was, according to Taeui, “a bit too friendly”—had started
flirting.

Not blatantly, not enough for others to notice, but it was there. Subtle touches, prolonged
glances, casual invitations that had nothing to do with coding.

Taeui, ever the gentle one, tried to let him down kindly. “I told him I have a partner. Basically
married without the paper,” he’d said with a chuckle. “Didn’t work.”

And Ilay… Ilay found out.

Jaeui didn’t know if it was the tracker, the cameras, or just Ilay’s uncanny intuition—but the
next thing Taeui told him was that Ilay showed up at the programming lab and nearly beat the
poor student into a coma.
“He didn’t even yell,” Taeui had said quietly. “He just walked in, saw him, and… snapped. I
think it was worse than yelling.”

If Taeui hadn’t arrived when he did, it would’ve been blood on linoleum.

Jaeui had sighed then.

Not because he was surprised, but because he wasn’t. Ilay had always been possessive, but
lately—after what happened weeks ago—he was something else entirely. Feral, maybe.
Unforgiving. A creature that didn’t just protect, but devoured anything that even thought of
threatening Taeui.

He couldn’t really blame him.

Still, that left Taeui without a programming partner.

And since trusting anyone else might lead to another hospital visit, the only safe option left…
was him.

So here he was. Again.

The quiet click of the lock greeted him as he slid the keycard through and stepped into the
condo.

The door swung open with a smooth hush, revealing the private space his twin now called
home.

Taeui and Ilay’s condo in Munich.

The air inside smelled faintly of coffee, leather, and something floral—probably whatever
candle Taeui favored lately.
It was too tidy for a space shared by two people, which made Jaeui wonder how much of that
was Taeui and how much was Ilay’s obsessive order.

He slipped off his shoes and walked further in, eyes scanning the minimalist yet warm
interior.

Despite the muted elegance, there were little hints of his brother everywhere: the crooked
stack of worn philosophy books by the window seat, a plush duck keychain hanging off the
lamp, the blanket that didn’t match the expensive couch but clearly did not care.

This was Taeui’s space.

And for the first time in a long while, Jaeui felt like he was intruding—not as a guest, but as
someone who had once known every inch of his twin’s world and now was walking through
something built without him.

Still, he smiled.

He made his way toward the workstation near the far end of the living room, its surface
cluttered with notes, digital tablets, coffee-stained papers, and snack wrappers. A chaos that
somehow worked. Taeui always had a way of creating order within disorder.

Jaeui reached out and picked up one of the schematics. It was a draft of the AI core Taeui had
mentioned—a hybrid model utilizing environment-adaptive algorithms he’d only seen in
high-level defense systems. Something far beyond the scope of an undergrad project.

He already had the full blueprint, emailed in advance, but seeing it here, tangible and lived-
in, gave it new weight.

“Still amazing,” he murmured, eyes narrowing at one particularly elegant function loop.
Everyone always assumed he was the genius. He was the one sent to science fairs, the one
praised by professors, the one noticed by their uncle.

But what no one knew—not their parents, not Uncle Chang-in, not even Ilay Riegrow with
all his resources—was that Taeui was a genius too.

This truth belonged only to him.

He could still remember that summer day when they were children. He had just scrawled a
long series of equations on the porch whiteboard, deep in one of his hyperfixations.

Taeui had come in, cheeks flushed from playing outside, glanced at the board and said, “That
looks cool.”

It hadn’t meant much to him at the time. Until Taeui began asking the right questions—
pointed ones, layered, with the kind of logic that wasn’t normal for a child.

He’d explained the equations out of habit, expecting half-listening. But Taeui understood
everything he said. Without hesitation. Without the need to repeat. His twin didn’t just hear
—he absorbed.

Then there was the time in Korea, years later. He had left his laptop on the kitchen counter,
part of a weapons code for UNHRDO still open.

Just raw data, numbers, loops. Harmless-looking.

When he came back, Taeui stood there, staring at it silently.

“…This is quite dangerous. Hyung wouldn’t be developing something like this, right?”

There had been no labels. No context. No cues. Just pure pattern recognition. And worry in
his brother’s voice.
 That was the day Jaeui understood: Taeui had recognized his work for what it was, instantly.

He confronted Taeui about it once, asked why he never showed this side to anyone.

“If both of us are targeted,” Taeui had said softly, “I couldn’t protect you. So, it’s better for
me not to learn more.”

Jaeui never asked again.

Even now, looking at the beautiful code and the sheer complexity of the AI architecture
sprawled across Taeui’s desk, he felt a deep sense of pride—and protectiveness.

Taeui, his beloved younger brother, was just as brilliant.

He simply chose to hide it.

And Jaeui wondered if Taeui had also forgotten that he was hiding.

Chapter End Notes

Hello dears! How are you all?

I was so busy reading others' works that I forgot I also have my own series to finish.
Oops?
Anyway, there were many posts/updates in this fandom that I couldn't help myself.
I'll try to update a few multi-tasking with my work. No promises tho. hehe

XOXO
C.A.
 Interlude 2: The Journal
Chapter Summary

The skeptic in him had always wondered—was his twin simply swept up, caught in
Ilay’s gravity? But no.

The pages told a different story, in ink and impulse, in longing and laughter.

This wasn’t a one-sided obsession—it was mutual, intentional. Voluntary.

After Jaeui finished scanning the code, his gaze drifted—and there, at the far left corner of
the table, sat a book placed a little too innocently.

It looked far too luxurious to be just a work journal.

Assuming it was another set of project notes, he opened it.

A few pages in, his expression shifted.

With quiet finality, he closed it.

This book didn’t belong here—of that, he was certain.

He hesitated for a breath, maybe ten seconds at most, before giving in and opening the book
once more.

If Jaeui had a singular weakness, it was his morbid curiosity—persistent, inconvenient, and
terribly persuasive.

He knew he shouldn’t be reading it. It was clearly personal, possibly forbidden.

But curiosity clawed louder than caution.

Besides, he reasoned, this could easily fall under the umbrella of scientific inquiry.
For science, he told himself—half amused, half guilty.

On one page, written in Ilay’s elegant, almost painfully precise handwriting were:

"May 5 – Taeui bit my shoulder. Drew blood. Looked very guilty for three seconds. I consider
it a love mark."

"May 19 – Taeui challenged me to a 'who can stay silent longer' game. He lost in 3 minutes.
Record to beat: 2 minutes 46 seconds."

"June 8 – Accidentally knocked over a lamp. Taeui insisted it was 'modern art.' I agreed.
Bought a new one, identical, for future accidents."

"July 15 – Initiated in the laundry room. Laundry is now delayed. Worth it."

"August 3 – Taeui locked me out of the bedroom as 'punishment.' Picked the lock. Found him
asleep with my shirt. Forgiven."

"August 12 – Found Taeui practicing 'sexy poses' in front of the mirror. He screamed when he
noticed me. 11/10. Would secretly record next time."

Then written in a different, messier handwriting, obviously Taeui’s were:

"September 10 – Ilay talks in his sleep sometimes. Once mumbled 'Taeui, mine.' Might have
kicked him off the bed. Accidentally."

"September 27 – Ilay tried to seduce me while I was watching a documentary about frogs.
Very conflicting experience."

"October 5 – Ilay says 'you’re edible' at least once a week. Concerned he might be a
cannibal. Monitoring situation."
Jaeui snorted, the sound sharp in the quiet room as he read through the entries.

With a sigh that was equal parts exasperation and intrigue, Jaeui flipped to a random page,
the paper whispering secrets as it turned.

He didn’t know what he expected—another obsession cataloged, perhaps.

Weird Location Achievements ☆

(Ilay wrote the title with a little gold star doodle.)

Greenhouse – Berlin Mansion

Achievement Unlocked: "Botanical Bonanza"
Notes: Minor accident. Knocked over mom’s prized orchid. Apologized profusely. Replanted
together half-naked.
Taeui's comment: "RIP to the orchid. You were a witness to great sin."

Library – Munich Condo

Achievement Unlocked: "Silent Study Session"
Notes: 98% success at staying quiet. 2% consisted of Taeui knocking over a stack of books.
Taeui's comment: "Technically, books don't count as me making noise."

Storage Room – Berlin Mansion

Achievement Unlocked: "Dust Bunny Disaster"
Notes: Overwhelming dust. Sneezed mid-kiss. Momentarily killed the mood. Resumed after
tactical relocation to cleaner box area.
Taeui's comment: "Sexy time but make it asthmatic."

Ilay’s Office – Munich Condo

Achievement Unlocked: "Unauthorized Overtime"
Notes: Important documents may or may not have coffee stains now. No regrets.
Taeui's comment: "If someone important asks, tell them I was ‘boosting employee morale.’"

Private Elevator – Random Hotel

Achievement Unlocked: "Going Up... and Up..."
Notes: Elevator dinged loudly mid-action. Barely zipped up pants in time before doors
opened. Elderly couple looked suspicious.
Taeui's comment: "Trauma Level: Moderate. Still laughed all the way to our room."

Garden Shed – Berlin Mansion

Achievement Unlocked: "Fertilizing Love"
Notes: Narrow space. Tools everywhere. Risk of impalement (non-sexy version).
Taeui's comment: "Survived without tetanus. Award please."

Rooftop – Munich Condo

Achievement Unlocked: "Under the Stars"
Notes: Beautiful view. Cold breeze. Taeui wore my jacket afterward and looked unfairly
adorable.
Taeui's comment: "Would rate 10/10 if I wasn't freezing my balls off."

Ilay’s Final Annotation:

"Further locations currently under scouting. Mission: Total World Domination (of Taeui)."

Public but Not Caught Achievements 🥷

(Ilay drew a tiny ninja doodle next to the title.)

Park Bench – Berlin

Achievement Unlocked: "Civic Duty (in moderation)"
Notes: Early morning. Empty park. Minor activities. Hand stuff under coat. Successful
stealth operation.
Taeui’s comment: "This is how you get banned from public parks, Ilay."

Private Booth – Fancy Restaurant

Achievement Unlocked: "Appetizer Before Main Course"
Notes: Five-star Michelin experience. Taeui wore tight pants. Bad idea. (Or best idea.)
Taeui’s comment: "Best soufflé of my life, 8/10 — lost points for 'surprise assault' under
table."
Empty Lecture Hall – Munich University
Achievement Unlocked: "Honorary Degrees in Sin"
Notes: Mid-vacation. No witnesses. Whiteboard still had equations from last class.
Taeui’s comment: "Ilay wrote ‘Taeui is mine’ under all the calculus. Nerd."

Train Compartment – Night Ride to Berlin

Achievement Unlocked: "Chugga Chugga Woo-Woo"
Notes: Private compartment. Dim lights. Rocking motion was... helpful.
Taeui’s comment: "Conductor was suspicious. Pretended to be asleep. 10/10 acting."

Hotel Pool – After Hours

Achievement Unlocked: "Underwater Missions"
Notes: Minor drowning risk. High success rate. Chlorine burn later.
Taeui’s comment: "Wouldn't recommend. Sexy in theory, messy in practice."

Challenge Goals [REJECTED]

(Big red “REJECTED” stamp drawn by Taeui next to it.)

Airplane Bathroom – International Flight

Ilay’s proposal: "High Altitude Mile-High Achievement!"
Taeui’s response: "NO. I’m not getting deported in handcuffs."

Public Library – Berlin

Ilay’s proposal: "Knowledge is Power. Let’s ‘study’."
Taeui’s response: "Respect books or I’m breaking up with you."

Ski Lift – Switzerland Trip

Ilay’s proposal: "Frozen Fantasy – Quickie Challenge."
Taeui’s response: "I value my spine. No."

Balcony – Munich Condo, Christmas Eve

Ilay’s proposal: "Festive Frolicking!"
Taeui’s response: "Our neighbors are literally at their windows. Stop."
Taeui’s Final Note at the bottom:
"This man has no shame. No dignity. Only one braincell and it’s horny."

MY JOURNAL ⊘

(Ilay don't peek!)

First Night at the Condo – Munich

Achievement Unlocked: "First Official Sleepover (with benefits)"
Notes: I was so nervous I accidentally elbowed Ilay in the face. He still kissed me.
Private Thought: "I think I’m really in love with him."

Rainy Morning – Berlin Mansion

Achievement Unlocked: "Lazy Morning Missions"
Notes: We didn’t even leave the bed. He kept mumbling in German. (Dirty words, probably.)
Private Thought: "I hope he keeps mumbling them forever."

Christmas Eve – Balcony Cuddles (No sex! For once!)

Achievement Unlocked: "Festive Freeze"
Notes: He gave me a kiss under the stars. No funny business. Just a kiss.
Private Thought: "He looks cold but he’s the warmest thing I have."

After a Fight – Quiet Make-up Session

Achievement Unlocked: "Silent Apologies"
Notes: No words, just holding. It meant more than anything.
Private Thought: "Even when he’s scary, he’s still mine."

Taeui’s Birthday – Surprise Gift

Achievement Unlocked: "Spoiled Rotten"
Notes: He decorated the condo alone while pretending he was ‘too busy.’
Private Thought: "I’m really scared. If he ever leaves, I’ll be broken."

Random Afternoon – Sitting on the Couch

Achievement Unlocked: "Doing Nothing Together"
Notes: Literally just sitting. I fell asleep on his shoulder.
Private Thought: "Maybe this is what forever feels like."

(At the very bottom, a tiny scribbled note Taeui probably didn’t mean for Ilay to see:)

"Ilay Riegrow, you stupid, wonderful man, you’re stuck with me now. ❤"

This time, Jaeui closed the book slowly, almost reverently, and placed it back where he found
it.

He sat there for a moment, letting silence settle like dust. Oddly enough, he felt... reassured.

The skeptic in him had always wondered—was his twin simply swept up, caught in Ilay’s
gravity? But no.

The pages told a different story, in ink and impulse, in longing and laughter.

This wasn’t a one-sided obsession—it was mutual, intentional. Voluntary.

And while it was admittedly absurd to find comfort in what was, quite blatantly, a sex
journal, he couldn’t help the faint curl of amusement at the edge of his mouth.

Love, it seemed, came in all fonts—even Ilay’s painfully tidy one.

 Obviously In Love
Chapter Summary

For the first time in a long while, Jaeui allowed himself to believe: maybe, just maybe,
his twin was going to be okay.

And he didn’t have to protect him from this love.

Because this love, fierce and obsessive as it was, cradled his brother like glass.

The lock clicked again, and this time, the door opened to the soft murmur of Taeui’s voice,
“Do you think the cheese will survive until Tuesday?”
“No,” came Ilay’s dry reply behind him. “You’ll eat it tonight.”

Taeui stepped in first, grocery tote slung over one shoulder like he was returning from an
overly peaceful battlefield.

When he saw Jaeui standing in the living room, his whole face lit up like a kid catching sight
of a claw machine stocked entirely with beer cans.

“Hyung! You’re here!” he chirped, immediately dropping his bag onto the sofa with all the
grace of a gremlin in a hurry.

Ilay followed behind, arms full of neatly organized grocery bags, and gave Jaeui a short,
almost military nod before disappearing into the kitchen like a judgmental ghost.

“Taeui, Rick,” Jaeui greeted coolly, nodding at them both. It was the exact tone he used when
briefing a weapons tech team at 6 a.m. and had not yet forgiven them for existing.

Then it happened.

Taeui’s gaze drifted to the table.

And froze.

The color drained from his face so dramatically it was as if someone had just told him the
beer store was closed for the next fiscal year.

There, sitting openly and obscenely atop the stack of AI schematics was The journal.

The cover was unassuming—just plain black leather—but Taeui looked at it as though it had
grown fangs and was preparing to recite his deepest secrets aloud in iambic pentameter.

He bolted.

“Why is this here? I hid this! I definitely hid this!”

With a gasp that would’ve impressed an opera singer, he snatched the journal and whipped
his head toward the kitchen. “Ilay!”

From his spot at the fridge, Ilay didn’t even turn around.

He just smirked—sharp and satisfied—and kept unloading vegetables with the smugness of a
man who’d just checkmated someone three turns ago.

“Oh my God,” Taeui muttered, blushing so furiously it looked like someone had replaced his
blood with rosé.

Clutching the book to his chest like a scandalized Victorian maiden, he bolted into the
hallway.

A door slammed.

Silence fell, broken only by the sound of Ilay casually placing tomatoes into a bowl like this
was just another Tuesday.

Ilay raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised Rahman allowed you to be here.”

“He listens to me when I ask for things.” A pause. “Besides, I didn’t think I'd stay long.”

The unspoken addition—You wouldn’t probably allow it—lingered in the air like static.

Ilay just hummed and went back to what he was doing.

Jaeui folded his arms and continued watching Ilay arrange lettuce like it had insulted his
ancestry.

Moments later, Taeui re-emerged, now dressed in clean clothes, cheeks still flushed but
posture calm—as if the entire journal episode had been a collective fever dream.

“So,” he said brightly, clapping his hands. “What are we making for dinner?”

Ilay handed him a head of cabbage without a word.

Taeui blinked at it. “...Wow. Romance really is dead.”

Dinner, to Taeui’s despair, was suspiciously green.

A parade of leafy vegetables, citrus slices, and tea so floral it could file a petition for perfume
status.

No meat. No beer. Just disappointment on a plate.

He poked at a smug-looking cucumber ribbon. “This feels like a hate crime.”

Ilay, slicing apples with the kind of precision that hinted he once used knives professionally
(because he did), didn’t look up.

“Eat.”

They ate mostly in silence—Taeui sighing dramatically every few minutes, Ilay ignoring him
like a Zen monk ignoring mortal temptation, and Jaeui sipping tea with the practiced
neutrality of someone who’s had years of twin drama training.

Then came the act of rebellion.

“Can’t I have just one beer? One tiny can, please?” Taeui whispered, clutching his teacup
with the tragic gravitas of a man denied his soulmate.

“No more beer. You already had one this morning,” Ilay replied, tone patient but final—like a
bouncer at a very exclusive nightclub for livers.

“But I even agreed to no meat for dinner.”

“No.”

Ilay met his gaze with that unnervingly calm stare—the one that promised unspoken
consequences and no escape. Taeui pouted, sighed, and drank his tea like it personally
betrayed him.

“Tsk.”

Later, they migrated to Taeui’s work station.

The space was a comfortable chaos—dual monitors, piles of notes, and a half-eaten cookie
with bite marks suspiciously shaped like Taeui’s frustration.

Jaeui leaned over the monitor, scrolling through lines of code, while Taeui animatedly
explained his neural routing model with the kind of energy usually reserved for late-night
beer rants and duck plushie rankings.

But honestly, there wasn’t much to fix.

The more Jaeui read, the more impressed he became.

The project was elegant. Complete. The kind of near-perfect system that didn’t just speak of
intelligence—it whispered devotion.
Juggernaut Adaptive Yield (J.A.Y.)

The name flashed on the header.

Oh.

Jaeui stared at it, and then at his brother.

The exosuit wasn’t just impressive—it was overengineered with concern.

A lightweight, AI-integrated system that boosted agility, endurance, and strength.

Real-time vitals tracking. Auto-injectors for stabilizing drugs. Joint-locking to prevent

overextension.

Environmental alerts for hazards like radiation or poison gas.

It was a weapon, yes—but also a shield.

A bodyguard built into a second skin.

Taeui didn’t need to say it.

He made it for Ilay.

Everything about it screamed Please survive. Come back safe.

And the name—Jay—was a silent echo of Jaeui.

Like Taeui was still carrying his twin somewhere in this creation too.

Years ago, Jaeui had quietly named a weapon system “Tay.”

Just a few letters. Nothing obvious. A private nod to his beloved brother.

Now here was Taeui, making a military-grade exosuit and calling it Jay.

Jaeui couldn’t help but chuckle, softly. “We’re such idiots.”

“Huh?” Taeui blinked at him.

“Nothing.” He waved it off, the fondness sneaking into his smirk.

They really were twins.

Different in almost every way, and yet cut from the same strange, protective cloth.

One made weapons, the other made armor.

And neither said what they felt directly—but it was all there. Buried in acronyms and code
and secret little nods only the other would understand.

Jaeui adjusted the final settings with a thoughtful tap of the keyboard.

His brow furrowed just slightly—not out of concern, but focus.

The AI component of Taeui’s exosuit was solid, incredibly so, but Jaeui couldn’t help adding
extra layers.
A web of encryption, authentication firewalls, and a few hidden backdoors only he and Taeui
would understand.

It wasn’t paranoia. It was foresight.

In a world obsessed with military tech, something this good wouldn’t stay unnoticed.

Eventually, someone would try to copy it, reverse-engineer it, maybe even market their own
inferior version.

Let them try.

They wouldn’t even scratch the surface.

He glanced sideways at his twin, who was tinkering with a mechanical joint on the desk with
a precision that looked more like an artist than an engineer.

There was a soft smile on Taeui’s lips—focused, proud, a little sleepy. When he’d told Jaeui
he had built this himself, piecing it together back in the quiet corners of the university lab,
Jaeui had almost scoffed.

Not because he doubted him.

But because it was so like Taeui to quietly invent something revolutionary and never breathe
a word of it.

What surprised him more was that Ilay didn’t know the full picture.

Apparently, Taeui had kept the details under wraps—told Ilay it was “just a school project,”
vague and unassuming.

And Ilay, surprisingly, didn’t press. He only supported. Quietly. Steadily. Providing rare
alloys, high-performance components, anything Taeui requested.

That kind of trust—it was rare.

And not at all what Jaeui would have expected from someone with Ilay Riegrow’s reputation.
They decided they’d test the suit later, once Taeui had done his final touch-ups.

Just a few weeks left before he had to present everything. The deadline was close, but Jaeui
had no doubt: Taeui would pass.

The kind of pass that makes professors reevaluate their careers.

They called it a night soon after. Sleep came easily, for once.

The next morning, Jaeui woke early. Habit, mostly. The digital clock beside the bed blinked
6:08.

He shuffled out of the guest room quietly and found Ilay already in the kitchen, sleeves rolled
up, flipping something on a skillet with practiced ease.

The man looked like a paradox in motion—assassin’s shoulders, Sunday-morning

movements.

“Good morning,” Jaeui murmured, his voice still rough with sleep.

Ilay only nodded. “Morning.”

Jaeui made his way to the coffee machine and soon claimed the sofa with a steaming mug
and a book he'd found lying nearby—some dense military memoir with notes in the margins.
Probably Ilay’s. Or Taeui’s. Hard to tell.

A few minutes passed.

Then the soft shuffle of sleepy feet.

Taeui emerged from the hallway like a dream caught in static—bed hair defying gravity, half-
lidded eyes, wearing one of Ilay’s enormous shirts that hung off his shoulders like a cape.
From the way it swayed, he was probably wearing nothing underneath but underwear and
pure audacity.

He didn’t say anything.

Just walked straight to Ilay and wrapped himself around him like a koala.

Head resting on Ilay’s shoulder.

Arms around his waist. A quiet murmur—sleepy, unintelligible.

Ilay didn’t flinch.

He simply leaned back into him slightly, adjusting the heat on the stove with one hand, the
other absently brushing against Taeui’s wrist in a silent greeting.

Jaeui couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he didn’t need to.

He could feel it.

He watched from the sofa, book still open in his lap, as the moment unfolded naturally—two
people in the rhythm of their own quiet morning routine.

One of them was his little brother, who used to cry over scraped knees and hide candy
wrappers under his bed.

The other was a man feared by governments and armed forces alike.

But here, in this quiet condo in Munich, they were just Taeui and Ilay.

Sleepy and in love. Warm and domestic.

Jaeui sipped his coffee slowly, not looking away.

His brother had been through hell—abductions, hospitals, silence and loss. He had lived in
the shadows of other people’s wars.

But now, Taeui looked at peace. Grounded.

Softened but not broken.

And Ilay—whatever monster the world saw in him—only ever looked at Taeui like he was
made of stars and prayers.

It was strange. Warm. Comforting, even.

For the first time in a long while, Jaeui allowed himself to believe: maybe, just maybe, his
twin was going to be okay.

And he didn’t have to protect him from this love.

Because this love, fierce and obsessive as it was, cradled his brother like glass.
 Operation Rescue Sunbeam
Chapter Summary

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “You don’t have to explain. You’re not alone.”

“Leonie—seriously, it’s not—wait, do you think Ilay’s hurting me?” Taeui stared,
horrified.

She gave him a solemn, pained nod. “You don’t have to pretend anymore.”

Leonie Sierra Engel had survived worse nights—mandatory rucksack marches through
alpine rain, three-day leadership drills with no caffeine, and once, tragically, a date with a boy
who argued that “emotional intelligence was a scam.”

So really, a Friday night at the university club with her classmates wasn't too bad. She had
beer.

She had mediocre nachos. She had the comforting sound of political science students
overanalyzing Taylor Swift lyrics in the background.

Life was fine.

Until Ilay Riegrow walked in.

She almost didn’t notice him at first.

The lights were dim, and she was mid-eye roll at a friend’s theory about dating apps and soft
power dynamics.

But then the room shifted—like a ripple in atmosphere. Conversations quieted a notch. Heads
turned.

Leonie looked up and felt her pulse stumble.

There he was.
Crazy Rick.

In the flesh. All six-foot-plus of him, striding through the crowd like a man very used to
dangerous rooms—and very unimpressed by disco lighting.

Dressed in black, hair slicked back, that same expression she’d seen in her grandfather’s
office photos: cold, unreadable, like someone who knew exactly how many exits a room had
and how to make you regret choosing the wrong one.

Her grandfather’s voice echoed in her memory:

"Leonie, if you ever cross paths with Riegrow, don’t. Just don’t."

But then, right as that haunting mental PSA played in her brain, a voice rang out from
somewhere in the back.

Loud. Joyful. Slightly slurred.

“Alle, das ist mein Ehemann!”

The club went still.

Leonie’s eyes darted toward the source—and there he was.

The same Asian guy she’d noticed earlier in the night. Shorter than the others, clearly tipsy,
radiating chaotic warmth like a sun with too many Red Bulls.

He was grinning ear to ear, arms thrown out dramatically as if presenting a royal guest.

People turned to look. Some laughed. Someone dropped a shot glass.

And Ilay… actually smiled.

He made his way over to the man—his husband? Leonie thought, reeling—without a word,
just a hand gently resting on the small of his back.

A grounding touch. He didn’t say anything, didn’t have to. The moment he arrived, the room
no longer mattered.

The shorter man—Taeui, as she would later learn—beamed up at him, unbothered,

unashamed.

He looked at Ilay like he’d just been rescued from a world of mortal boredom.

Ilay looked down at him like he was the only living thing worth protecting.

Leonie stared. Her brain—trained to break down defense policy and psychological warfare—
completely blanked.

This? This was the monster her grandfather complained about over schnitzel?

The man who once allegedly broke a guy’s rib for touching his gloves?

The same one who made grown UNHRDO agents flinch with just a look?

And here he was, being introduced like someone’s precious husband in the middle of a
university club, while said husband was three sips away from reenacting a musical number.

Ilay leaned down and said something quietly.

Taeui laughed, leaned into him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Then, casually, the two of them began heading out—Ilay clearing a path through the crowd
without effort, and Taeui waving goodbye like a crowned prince on tour.

As they disappeared into the night, Leonie remained frozen in place, beer untouched.
More days passed, and Leonie became something of an unofficial Taeui-spotting expert.

Not because she was a stalker, obviously.

She was simply... concerned. Hyper-vigilant. Observant.

As any good former cadet and future savior of emotionally battered citizens ought to be.

At first, she noticed him by accident—in the labs, the library, the cafeteria.

But the more she saw him, the more concerned she became.

Jeong Taeui was sunshine personified.

He greeted everyone.

Complimented the janitor’s haircut. Offered his last cookie to someone crying over a botched
AI exam. He radiated good. Too much good.

And what does pure sunshine attract?

Storms.

In this case: Ilay Riegrow.

A.K.A. "Crazy Rick." A man so dangerous her grandfather still grumbled about him during
Sunday stews. "The lunatic killed someone. Again. Self-defense my ass!" "He dragged a
trainee through a fountain." "I don’t care how good he is, he’s a walking HR nightmare."

Leonie had seen the pictures.

He was pretty. Too pretty, in that brooding-I’ll-snap-your-spine-but-make-it-sexy kind of
way. Which made it all the more terrifying.

So imagine her horror when she connected the dots and realized:

Taeui was living with him.

She didn't want to believe it.

Not at first.

But then the signs started appearing—clearly visible to someone with tactical training and
excellent emotional instincts.

First: the limp.

Always subtle.

Always brushed off.

But it was consistent, especially on Mondays.

What happened on weekends? Why was he always limping on Mondays?

Then came the hoodies.

Even on warm days.

Pulled tight. Hunched posture. And once, when Taeui bent over to pick something up, she
caught a glimpse of something near his neck.

A faint mark. A bruise.

Leonie gasped into her iced coffee.

The man was hiding the bruises. He was hiding everything.

But the final confirmation came when whispers spread about Jinho—another student from
engineering—being mysteriously assaulted.

No one said what happened, but everyone knew. Jinho looked... haunted.

Then: three students disappeared.

No trace. No clue. Just gone

And in the shadows of campus gossip, one name kept surfacing like Voldemort’s evil cousin:

Ilay Riegrow.

Leonie pieced it together in her notes app, code-named Operation Rescue Sunbeam.

🟡 Taeui limps on Mondays.

🔴 Covers bruises with hoodies.
🟠 Suspiciously quiet post-weekend.
🟢 Still kind to everyone (a coping mechanism?).
⚫
🔴 Jinho: assaulted.
Lives with Ilay.
🔴
⚠️ 3“Crazy
students: missing.
Rick” = likely culprit.

And then—just to add icing to this tragic cake—she spotted Taeui one morning, sitting alone
outside the café.

Laptop open, untouched tea beside him. He tried to smile at a passerby, but the smile faltered.

He looked... tired.

Faded.

Like someone clinging to a fragile peace before the storm returns home.

Leonie stared, heart pounding. How had no one else noticed? How was she the only one
seeing the truth?

Maybe… maybe he doesn’t know it’s abuse, she reasoned.

Maybe he thinks this is normal. Maybe he thinks he deserves it. Poor thing. He probably
thanks Rick for not snapping his ribs that day.

It was textbook trauma-bonding.

Classic manipulation.

But not on her watch.

No, sir.
She would help him. Even if it meant befriending him slowly. Gaining his trust. Leaving
coded Post-its in the lab with motivational quotes. Offering quiet support. Operation Rescue
Sunbeam was go.

After all, she’d been trained for this.

She would save Taeui from the arms of a monster.

…Even if said “monster” sometimes showed up at school with fresh-cut flowers, made lunch
deliveries, and was once spotted picking up a dropped pen for Taeui like a strangely polite
thundercloud.

But love-bombing was part of the cycle. She’d read the books.

She steeled herself.

“Hang in there, Taeui,” she whispered from behind her laptop. “I see you.”

It was a bright Wednesday afternoon, birds chirping, flowers blooming, and Leonie positively
vibrating with purpose. She had rehearsed this. In her mirror. In the shower.

Once in the elevator with a very confused delivery man.

Today was the day.

She spotted him in the campus courtyard, sitting cross-legged on the grass under a tree,
earbuds in, lazily flipping through his notes while sipping from a cup of—was that taro
bubble tea? Cute.

Target acquired.

She approached casually, the way normal, non-dramatic people do when they’re definitely
not planning a makeshift intervention.

“Hey,” she said, clearing her throat.

Taeui blinked up, pulling out one earbud. “Hm? Oh—hi!”

He smiled.

And wow, his smile was really something.

Warm. Blinding. Slightly too powerful. She had to steel herself.

“Leonie, right? From Social Sciences. We had that interdepartmental club together a while
back?”

“Yes! That’s me,” she said, a little too fast. “Mind if I sit?”

“Not at all!” he chirped, patting the grass beside him.

She sat. Right. Here it goes.

“So…” she began carefully, “how… how are you?”

“I’m good,” Taeui said brightly, biting into a straw sticking out from his bubble tea. “Got
three hours of sleep, so you know, amazing by uni standards.”

“Only three hours?” she frowned, leaning in slightly. “Are you… safe at home?”

He blinked. “Huh? Oh, yeah. I mean, not emotionally from my project deadline, but yeah.”
Leonie nodded gravely. Textbook minimization.

“And… your lover?” she asked delicately, voice lowering. “Is he… treating you well?”

Taeui paused. “Ilay?” He tilted his head. “Yeah, why?”

She inhaled. “Taeui, listen. You don’t have to hide it. I know.”

He blinked. “Hide what?”

“You can talk to me. If you need help.” She leaned in, gently patting his arm. “I’ve seen the
bruises.”

Taeui turned bright red. “W-what bruises?”

“The ones on your neck,” she said gently. “And the limp.”

His ears turned a vivid shade of pink. “Wait—wait, no! That’s not—”

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “You don’t have to explain. You’re not alone.”

“Leonie—seriously, it’s not—wait, do you think Ilay’s hurting me?” Taeui stared, horrified.

She gave him a solemn, pained nod. “You don’t have to pretend anymore.”

Taeui’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again.

And then he burst out laughing.

Like, full-body, shoulders-shaking, almost-spills-his-bubble-tea kind of laughing.

Leonie blinked. “I—I’m sorry, what’s funny?”

“I’m not limping because of violence, Leonie,” he said, wiping a tear.

“I limp because we… um… sometimes get carried away over the weekend.”

She blinked. “What—wait—carried away like—”

“Yeah.” He looked awkward now, but still amused. “You know. Fun.”

She stared at him.

Her entire rescue mission… was based on post-coital soreness?

“And the bruises—”

“...He gets a little enthusiastic,” Taeui muttered, face now redder than a ripe tomato.

“And I forget to check the mirror before class.”

Leonie sat in stunned silence. Her entire investigative portfolio now sounded like the plot of a
badly written romantic comedy.

"Operation Rescue Sunbeam" was, apparently, Operation Mistaken Kinks.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “I tried to stage an intervention for foreplay bruises.”

Taeui patted her shoulder gently, still laughing. “It’s sweet, though. Thank you for worrying.”

She groaned and covered her face. “I’m transferring. To another continent. Possibly the
moon.”

Taeui just chuckled and offered her a sip of his bubble tea. “Welcome to our domestic disaster
zone. We come with snacks.”

It was late afternoon when Ilay got the report.

He was sitting in his office at UNHRDO, reading a dossier in three languages at once,
sipping his aggressively strong black coffee, when his encrypted phone buzzed. It was a
message from one of the ghosts—his quiet, untraceable eyes on campus.

“Subject Taeui engaged in conversation with female student Leonie S.—appeared to be… an
intervention attempt?”

Ilay squinted.

Intervention?
He opened the attached footage and pressed play.

It was grainy, captured from a hidden angle, but the audio was clear.

“Are you… safe at home?”

Ilay froze mid-sip.

Then came: “You can talk to me. If you need help.”

And: “I’ve seen the bruises.”

His grip on the cup tightened so hard it cracked.

The next clip showed Taeui, horrified, then mortified, then—

Laughing.

Uncontrollably.

And explaining.

Badly.

“…He gets a little enthusiastic.”

Ilay paused the video.

The silence in his office was deafening. He stared at the screen for a moment, the corner of
one eye twitching slightly.

“Enthusiastic?” he repeated slowly.

He leaned back in his chair. Stared at the ceiling. Took a deep breath through his nose.

“…So this girl thinks I’m a domestic abuser,” he muttered.

Then added flatly, “Because I’m too good in bed.”

He picked up his phone and dialed.

Taeui answered on the third ring, voice bright as ever. “Hi, Ilay—what’s up?”

“You were approached today,” Ilay said, calm and cool as steel.

Taeui froze. “...Oh. You found out?”

Ilay smiled, but it was the kind of smile that made criminals confess to things they didn’t do.

“Of course I found out. Leonie S., granddaughter of General Arthur McCarthy, third year,
social sciences, 23, sits in the northeast corner of the library, drinks too much coffee, allergic
to shellfish. She thinks I beat you.”

Taeui winced. “Yeah… about that—”

“She thinks the bruises are from violence, Taeui.”

“Well, technically it’s violent cuddling?”

“…I’ve killed people for less than that sentence,” Ilay deadpanned.

Taeui groaned. “Look, I cleared it up! I even offered her bubble tea!”

“Oh yes, I saw. I saw you laugh.”

“You’d rather I cry?”

Ilay pinched the bridge of his nose.

“No. I’d rather she didn’t imagine me beating you into a limp every Monday like a cartoon
villain.”

There was a short pause, then Taeui said with a grin in his voice, “...You’re jealous.”

“I’m pissed,” Ilay snapped.

“My reputation is supposed to be terrifying, not pitiful. ‘Oh, poor Mr. Rick, so aggressive
with his delicate sunshine husband’—no.”

“Wait—do you care what she thinks?”

“No. I care that she’s talking to you,” Ilay said darkly.

“Ohhh,” Taeui drawled. “There it is.”

Ilay sighed. “Do not engage in solo bubble-tea diplomacy with strange women again.
Especially not ones who might try to ‘save’ you.”

“I wasn’t exactly planning it—”

“I will be escorting you to class tomorrow.”

“You already have people watching me!”

“They’re not armed,” Ilay said. “I’m bringing the carbine.”

“Ilay.”

“What.”

“She said I’m too good for you.”

Ilay was quiet.

Then: “…Give me her full name again. I want to send her a fruit basket. With poison.”

It was nearing midnight when the doorbell rang.

Leonie, in her pajama shorts and hoodie, blinked blearily from her desk where she’d been
doomscrolling forums about covert escape plans and “how to report someone to INTERPOL
anonymously.”

She shuffled to the door, peeked through the peephole—and froze.

No one.
Just a basket on her doormat.

A large, expensive-looking fruit basket.

Her stomach dropped.

She opened the door very slowly, as if the pineapple inside might detonate. The card attached
was simple. Plain white, elegant script. No envelope.

It read:

“For your… concern.

– R.”

She dropped the note like it had burned her fingers. Her mouth went dry.

R.

R as in Rick.
R as in Riegrow.
R as in Run, Leonie, Run.

Leonie stared at the fruit basket. It was pristine. Gorgeous even. Glossy apples. Plump
grapes. Pears that looked like they came from a royal orchard.

And nestled among them… a single durian.

She flinched.

She knew that wasn’t a mistake.

That was a statement. That was a threat shaped like a fruit.

Hands trembling, she scooped the entire basket into a trash bag, double-knotted it like it was
cursed, and yeeted it down the garbage chute.

Then she lit incense, whispered an apology to the gods of misunderstandings, and prayed.

Not to live long. Just long enough to finish the semester.

And maybe transfer to another university. Preferably on another continent.

 Crash
Chapter Summary

For the first time, something fell from his eyes—and whether it was rain or tears, not
even the sky could tell.

Ilay had grown used to the quiet lately.

A little too used to it.

They'd spent the weekend at the Berlin mansion, basking in one of Mrs. Riegrow’s elaborate
family weekends.

She called on Thursday saying she was visiting Berlin.

Taeui was spoiled with tea, cake, and unsolicited stories about Ilay’s childhood.

Ilay mostly kept to himself, watching from a corner as his mother cooed over her “favorite
son-in-law,” making it clear—again—that she liked Taeui far more than her own biological
children. Ilay didn’t mind.

He liked seeing Taeui happy.

At peace.

Now it was Monday.

Rain had been falling steadily across Bavaria, soft and gray, as if the entire country had
exhaled into a sigh.

Taeui was back at university, Ilay at UNHRDO headquarters.

Routine resumed.

Too mundane.

He tried to focus on work, but his fingers kept drifting to the screen beside him—where a live
GPS feed tracked Taeui’s Bentley Continental GT.

Ilay had gifted him that car on a whim: matte black, sleek, nearly silent.

He liked knowing it would keep Taeui safe.

He also liked knowing where it was.

Taeui had called after lunch, his voice cheery.

“I left my project notes in Berlin,” he said.

“I’ll just drive there and back tonight. I know, I know, long trip, but I promise I’ll be careful.
See you.”

Ilay had hesitated, then nodded. “Text me when you get there.”

"Yes, and... I love you."

Ilay froze.

Before he could summon a response, the line went dead. Silence followed—but then, a soft
chuckle escaped him, half-shocked, half-dazed.
He covered his mouth instinctively, as if to catch the warmth spilling from it. His ears flushed
pink. It was the first time Taeui had said those words aloud.

A five-and-a-half hour drive, maybe less if Taeui got cocky.

Ilay returned to his documents.

Checked the GPS.

Nothing odd—Taeui was halfway there.

The map blinked.

Bayreuth.

Just passing through.

Then—
BLIP.

Ilay frowned.

The green dot flickered once.

Then vanished.

A second later, a quiet ping from his phone.

ALERT: Connection to GPS device lost. Signal disabled or obstructed.

Ilay stared at it.

Not unusual. There were tunnels along the A9. Spotty signals.

Still—he called Taeui.

No answer.

Called again.

Still nothing.

He told himself it was fine.

Probably a dead zone.

Or maybe Taeui's phone died.

Or maybe—maybe.

The itch in his spine said otherwise.

Ilay stood up.

Walked to the window.

Rain smudged the city into watercolors.

In his reflection, his own face looked oddly blank.

He tried calling again after a few minutes, probably Taeui had reception now.

Still nothing.

He returned to his desk.

Pulled up the last coordinates.

Tried to access traffic cams in the area.

A flicker. Then a frozen feed.

The exact location where Taeui’s GPS had cut off: a narrow curve just past Bayreuth, near a
forested area with no service towers.

No police report yet.

No updates.
The feed refused to refresh.

Ilay’s stomach twisted.

He didn’t panic.

He didn’t breathe faster.

But his body moved on its own.

“Prep the helicopter,” he said into his comm.

“Now. Notify central command. Activate sleeper teams 3, 4, and 7. Immediate recon on
Bayreuth quadrant.”

“Sir? Is there an—?”

Ilay cut the line.

He was already halfway out the door.

He didn’t stop walking until he was on the helipad, rain soaking through his coat. The blades
of the helicopter sliced the storm above.
Something was wrong.

He didn’t know what.

But Taeui was out there.

And Ilay couldn’t find him.

And when Ilay couldn’t find something?

He burned everything in the way until he did.

The helicopter hadn’t even touched the ground when Ilay was already halfway out the door.

The pilot shouted something—procedure, protocol—but Ilay didn’t hear a word.

The world had narrowed down to the red smoke curling into the sky.

It rose from the tree line like a warning flare from hell.

He landed in a flat clearing just outside Bayreuth, a stretch of grass now slick with rain and
mud.

The air stank of wet leaves and burning rubber. Sirens howled distantly, somewhere deeper
into the woods.
Ilay ran.

He didn’t think.

Didn’t breathe.

The path was barely a trail, gnarled with tree roots and brush.

Rain had turned the soil to sludge, grabbing at his boots.

But he ran—sprinting like a man possessed.

Like a man who knew what kind of horror waited at the end of that trail.

And then he saw it.

Through the trees, past the blinking lights of local responders, past the bright yellow line that
dared to separate the living from the wreckage—

It was burning.

A Bentley Continental.

Or what remained of it.

Fire had already devoured most of the frame, but the flames were weak now.

Tired. Dying. Like they’d already eaten their fill.

And the license plate—T27-EUI.

Still intact. Mockingly intact.

Ilay’s heart stopped.

Or maybe it shattered so violently it simply ceased to function.

No. No. No no no.

He didn’t realize he’d said it aloud until a paramedic turned to look at him, startled.

Someone tried to hold him back, a hand on his arm, a voice saying something about staying
behind the line, the fire’s not fully out yet, there’s nothing to identify yet—

He didn’t hear any of it.

His feet wouldn’t move.

His lungs wouldn’t work.

He stood there, soaked from the rain, frozen as if his spine had turned to ice.

Blood roared in his ears.

He couldn’t tell if it was the fire crackling or something inside him tearing apart.

This couldn’t be happening.

This wasn’t real.

Not Taeui. Not his Taeui. His light. His lover. His everything.

The fire gave one last hiss, smoke curling upward like a soul being dragged out of a body.

Not again.

At times, Ilay thinks of tragedy as a twisted echo of history—forever looping, but each time
sharper, crueler, more precise in its devastation.
It does not forget, nor does it forgive.

It returns with new faces, old wounds, and no sense of justice.

He wonders, in these moments, if this is the shape of his karma—some ancient debt etched
into his bones.

But if that is so, then what a monstrous kind of fate it is, to let the punishment fall upon
someone else.

To force him to watch, unblinking, as chains tighten around a heart not his own.

To bear witness, powerless, while suffering blooms where love once tried to root.

For the first time, something fell from his eyes—and whether it was rain or tears, not even
the sky could tell.
 Worse than Grief
Chapter Summary

He would avenge Taeui.

And then, he would follow him.

That was the only future Ilay could bear to imagine.

The rain poured harder now—icy, punishing, seeping through Ilay’s coat and into his bones.

But he didn’t feel the cold.

He only felt the fire in his chest.

He stood at the edge of the crash site, boots soaked in mud and ash, eyes locked on the
twisted, blackened skeleton of the Bentley.

The plate number was unmistakable.

It was his Bentley. The one he gave Taeui.

The one Taeui had driven so many times between Munich and Berlin like it was second
nature.

The same car he'd watched blip on the GPS tracker a dozen times this year.

It was that car.

Now almost nothing but metal and soot.

Ilay didn’t move. He couldn’t. He was frozen, but not with fear—with fury.

The kind that built slowly, quietly, from somewhere deep beneath the ribs, where love and
grief and rage became indistinguishable.
His ears rang. He barely registered the voices around him—first responders, UNHRDO
agents, local police. Their words felt like distant echoes through water. Unintelligible.
Pointless.

But he heard enough.

“Could be a hydroplane—”

“Bentley’s don’t just ignite—”

“Road’s dangerous in rain but this? This isn’t normal—”

Ilay’s fists clenched at his sides.

Of course it wasn’t normal. Taeui was meticulous with that car.

He never sped. Never skimped on safety. The man nagged Ilay over the tiniest scratches.

He'd driven this route too many times for this to be a fluke.

Then he remembered it—clear as day.

"Yes, and... I love you."

Their last call, just hours ago. Taeui’s voice soft, a little playful. Happy.

Ilay hadn’t said it back.

Not because he didn’t mean it—he always meant it—but because he’d assumed there’d be
time.

He assumed he’d say it later, after dinner, when they were curled up on the sofa and Taeui
was rambling about potato chips or the scent of Ilay’s soap or some nonsense.

Later.

There is no later.

He exhaled sharply, as if trying to force the pain out with his breath.

Another agent approached. Drenched. Grim.

“Sir. We have a witness.”

Ilay’s eyes turned to him, sharp and burning.

The man swallowed and continued. “Someone driving through said they saw the car crash—
into a tree. Then two figures approached. Armed. Broke the windows. They threw something
in. Then the explosion.”

Silence.

Only the rain.

The smoke.

The smell of scorched rubber and oil and something else Ilay refused to name.

“Not spontaneous combustion,” the agent added quietly. “This was done on purpose.”

Ilay’s voice was low, guttural. “Was the body recovered?”

The agent hesitated. “They’re still... searching. It’s hard to tell. The fire... it was too intense.”

Ilay felt something twist inside him.

So there was no body.

But there might have been.

He wasn’t sure which was worse—the thought of Taeui gone in a burst of flame, or the not
knowing.

Because right now, all he could do was stand here and not know.

The agent said something else about traffic cams. About a dark SUV trailing behind Taeui’s
car.

About no license plate. About how it all seemed to match up too cleanly for coincidence.
Ilay barely heard it.

He was staring at the wreckage. Staring at the place where Taeui might’ve died—alone,
terrified, in agony.

No. No, he wouldn’t have been scared.

He was strong. Braver than anyone Ilay had ever known.

But that didn’t make it better.

Ilay’s fists shook. The storm inside him swelled.

Someone had orchestrated this. Someone had waited for the right moment, picked the right
road, chosen the right time. They hadn’t even needed to take Taeui.

They just had to make it look like he was gone.

And maybe he was.

Ilay’s breath came slow and ragged.

He stood there in the rain, letting it wash the ash and the smoke and the pain down his face—
but it couldn’t touch the fire spreading beneath his skin.
If Taeui was dead—

If they had taken his light—

Then the world was about to learn what true darkness looked like.

He turned to the agent, voice like steel.

“Start hunting.”

The man hesitated. “Sir—”

“I don’t care what it takes. I want names. Faces. Connections. I want to know every person
who knew he was driving today. Every eye on that route. Every camera. Every traffic report.
Now.”

The agent rushed off.

Ilay stood, gaze locked on the distant blaze and smoke.

They said there are five stages of grief. Ilay knew them well.

Memorized them like a doctrine. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.

But standing in the pouring rain, staring at what was left of Taeui’s car—mangled steel and
soot, no fire left to speak of, just smoke curling from a grave—it didn’t feel like any of those.

There was no denial. That would have been kinder.

The plate number was unmistakable. The color, the custom parts. Even the faint scent left
behind, somehow.
That was his car. Taeui’s car. The car he had picked himself and handed Taeui the keys to,
saying, “Don’t crash it. Or do. I’ll buy you another.”

There was no anger, not in the usual sense.

There was fury. Something older and colder.

It started in his fingertips and clawed up his spine. His jaw clenched so tightly that his teeth
ached. Every breath was a negotiation not to scream. It didn’t work.

Not really.

There was no bargaining. Not the kind where one pleads with gods or ghosts.

He’d never been good at that. He didn’t beg. Ilay Riegrow never begged.

But the part of him that had whispered promises in the dark—to keep Taeui safe, to build a
future, to keep the monsters at bay—was now snapping apart. And if monsters had come for
his sunshine, he would show them what hell looked like up close.

Depression? No. Depression was too human.

This wasn’t a sadness he could drink or sleep away. It wasn’t drowning.

It was standing at the bottom of the ocean, no air, no sound, just pressure. Crushing, silent,
endless.

Acceptance? Never. Ilay would never accept this. He couldn’t.

Taeui wasn’t someone you just "accept" losing. Not when he was your gravity. Not when he
called you Ilay in that soft voice. Not when he smiled like he didn’t know you were a broken
man and kissed you like he didn’t care.

He didn’t even get to say it back. “I love you.”

He hadn’t said it back.

The words rang again in his ears, now ghostlike, hollow.

Echoes of what he’d never return.

That memory would rot him from the inside out.

And so he stood, soaked, still, watching as responders finished marking the site.

No body was pulled out. Not yet. But they spoke in terms of probability.

DNA tests. Dental records. The odds. Ilay knew how these things worked. He had seen a
thousand scenes like this.

But never one that held his world in its ashes.

He would avenge Taeui.

And then, he would follow him.

That was the only future Ilay could bear to imagine.

The sky cracked with thunder, loud enough to shake the ground beneath his boots.

Somewhere behind him, someone called his name. He didn’t turn.

His sunshine was gone. The world could burn with him.
 Human
Chapter Summary

"Jeong Taeui!" he growled, voice cracking from too many emotions at once. Fury.
Relief. Desperation. All jumbled in a single name.

Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

The rain was still falling—slow, steady, like the sky itself mourned.

A dull gray haze wrapped the charred forest clearing in silence.

Smoke rose like wisps of grief from the remains of the car, curling upward as if carrying
someone's soul to the clouds.

Ilay hadn’t moved.

He stood there like a monument to devastation, soaked through to his bones, eyes locked on
the blackened shell of the Bentley.

He was meant to turn.

He knew that.

The moment had long passed where protocol demanded action—surveillance checks, pursuit
orders, field interrogations.

His men were waiting, still stationed along the perimeter, waiting for him to breathe the next
command.

But he couldn’t turn.

Because if he turned his back, it would mean he was walking away.

Leaving Taeui here.

In this damp, isolated forest road where no one should have died.

It felt like betrayal.

Like abandonment.

Taeui, who hated being alone, who filled every room with laughter, who charmed strangers
and made friends in places Ilay couldn’t even stand—how could Ilay just walk away now,
and leave him in the dirt and smoke?

His legs wouldn’t move.

His body defied him.

Ilay Riegrow—infamous, lethal, cold-blooded—was now just a man rooted in grief, too
paralyzed by the thought of his sunshine fading into ash.

A few crime scene responders had started to pack up.

The chatter of radios, the murmur of theories—“wet road,” “sabotage,” “explosive

device”—filtered through the rain but didn’t pierce him.

Not truly.

Not when the only noise that mattered was in his chest.

The thunder of his own heart refusing to believe this was the end.

The UNHRDO agents kept their distance.

They had orders.

They always did. But no one wanted to approach him now.

Not with that expression carved into his face. Cold. Dead. Unreachable.

Like a statue waiting for the wrong move to justify snapping a neck with bare hands.

No one wanted to be the spark that set Rick ablaze.

Then—

A voice.

Faint. From behind, blurred by the weather and the wind.

A voice calling his name.

“Ilay!”

He didn’t react. Not really.

It could be anyone.

A foolish agent.

A local responder.
The voice again.

Nearer this time.

Closer than anyone dared come.

“Ilay?”

His hand twitched.

Who?

Who had the death wish to interrupt this moment?

He clenched his fists, teeth grinding.

The kind of fury that didn't ignite—it seeped, it simmered. If they dared cross the line—

“…Hey, Ilay.”

That voice.

Soft. Familiar. Inescapably so.

Ilay’s lungs stuttered.

He didn’t breathe.

He couldn’t.

His mind spun—was this it?

Had he finally broken?

Was this the moment grief tipped into madness?

He turned.

Slowly.

The air was thick, heavy.

The rain blurred the world around him, but not enough.
Not enough to hide the figure now just a few feet behind him.

Ilay’s eyes widened.

He opened his mouth—but no sound came out.

It wasn’t possible.

It couldn’t be—

And yet—

There he stood.

Dripping wet.

Breathing.
Alive.

“Ilay,” he said again, voice quiet, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to speak louder.

The air went still.

And in that breathless, broken second, the world held its breath with him.

There he stood.

Taeui.

Ilay’s Taeui.

Soaked from the rain, trembling slightly, but undeniably—undeniably—alive.

He was dressed in an ill-fitting cardigan and faded slacks, the kind one might find forgotten
in an old countryside wardrobe.

A crude bandage sat askew on his right temple.

There were visible bruises on his arm, purple and ugly against his skin.
He looked lost, concerned—haunted, even—but he was breathing. Standing.

Looking back at Ilay.

Ilay's world—once shattered—shifted violently back into orbit.

His breath hitched.

"Jeong Taeui!" he growled, voice cracking from too many emotions at once. Fury. Relief.
Desperation. All jumbled in a single name.

Taeui flinched, shoulders twitching, but didn’t step away.

Instead, he moved forward in cautious increments—like someone trying to calm a wild

animal with nothing but soft words and bare hands.

"H-Hey, Ilay," he said, his voice tentative, “I’m… I’m sorry about the car—I—”

He stopped mid-sentence.

Ilay’s face… there was something on it that stopped him cold.

A look Taeui hadn’t seen in years.

Or maybe… just once. That same expression Ilay wore back in the hospital, when someone
tried to kill Taeui and Ilay went ballistic, still—like all the horror in the world had
concentrated behind his eyes.

But this was worse.

Now, Ilay wasn’t just still—he was trembling.

He reached out slowly, hesitantly—as if touching a ghost.

His fingers brushed Taeui’s cheek before both hands cupped his face, firmly, reverently, like
holding something too sacred to let go.

"Taeui," Ilay whispered.

A breath.

"Taeui."

He said it again, voice cracked but tender.

A prayer. A plea. A vow.

Ilay’s thumbs traced the familiar lines of his face—the arch of his brows, the curve of his
nose, the corner of his lips.

As if memorizing every detail again, anchoring himself to proof that this wasn't a dream born
from despair.

“Ilay?” Taeui whispered, his own voice barely there, soft with worry and wonder.

“Jeong Taeui,” Ilay said again, almost brokenly.

As though that name alone was the only thing tethering him to this Earth.
Taeui’s expression crumbled into tenderness.

His eyes shimmered in the mist.

“Ilay. I’m here.” He raised his arms slowly, an offering, asking—begging—to be held.

And Ilay did.

He stepped forward into Taeui’s embrace, tentative at first—hands ghosting over his back,
afraid this fragile reality might disappear.

But then, all at once, he crushed Taeui against him, arms tightening, head bowed into his
shoulder, fingers clawing at his cardigan like he could physically anchor him there, forever.

The rain kept falling.

“What have you done to me, Jeong Taeui?” Ilay whispered into the damp fabric.

“You’ve become my weakness. I’ve killed people without blinking. I’ve destroyed
homes, burned cities, been shot, stabbed, hunted. I survived war and death without fear.
But you—”

His grip tightened.

“You make me weak. And I hate it.”

Taeui’s breath caught.

He could feel the quake in Ilay’s body, the rawness in his voice, the truth that cut deeper than
any blade.
“But I hate it even more,” Ilay continued, “seeing you hurt. Knowing I almost lost you.
Taeui, you are mine. Mine.”

There was no threat in his voice—only a broken, agonized reverence.

A claim not of possession, but of soul-deep devastation.

Taeui’s arms came up around him fully now, returning the embrace.

His own chest tight, throat stinging with unshed emotion. Because he understood.

He finally understood.

This was the price of loving Ilay Riegrow.

Not roses and candlelight.

But fire and death and desperate prayers in the rain.

And still—he chose it. Chose him.

“I’m here,” Taeui whispered against Ilay’s ear, voice cracked but sure. “I’m here.”

The rain had long since stopped, but the storm hadn’t yet passed—not in Ilay’s chest, not in
the mansion walls, not in the weight of the day still clinging to their skin like smoke.
They were back in Berlin now.

The Riegrow family mansion loomed with its usual gothic quiet, but for once, its old stone
walls didn’t feel so cold.

Not with Taeui breathing gently against Ilay’s chest, wrapped in the sanctuary of the west
wing bedroom.

Ilay lay awake, his fingers running mindlessly through Taeui’s damp hair.

He hadn't let go since they left Bayreuth, not during the helicopter ride, not during the
security sweep, not even during the debrief.

And certainly not now.

He’d helped him shower, helped him undress with such tender precision it bordered on
reverence.

Ilay inspected every bruise, every scrape with the same intensity he once reserved for
blueprints of assassinations.

His touch—normally brutal, calculating—was featherlight when it came to applying

antiseptic, wrapping gauze, fastening buttons.

Taeui, ever the optimist, had offered a sleepy smile and mumbled something about how he
still looked decent despite everything.

Ilay didn’t laugh. He couldn’t.

Taeui had nearly died. Again.

And this time, Ilay had almost believed it.

Earlier, in the grand study where the fire crackled softly, Taeui sat curled up in one of the
armchairs with a thick wool blanket over his shoulders, recounting what happened with Kyle
quietly listening beside them, his usually jovial expression sobered.
“It started in Nuremberg,” Taeui had said. “I noticed a car behind me—kept trailing too close,
for too long. It felt wrong. Off.”

Ilay’s jaw clenched with every word. He’d kept his silence only because he couldn’t trust his
voice not to shake.

“So I sped up a bit once I passed into Bayreuth. Thought maybe I was just paranoid. But
when I saw the guy in the backseat reaching for something—I knew.” Taeui paused then,
glancing at Ilay before continuing.

“I gunned it. Took the bend a little fast, but managed to lose them—briefly. That’s when I
jumped.”

“Jumped?” Kyle had echoed, incredulous.

“Out the passenger side. Into a field of tall grass.” Taeui gave a crooked smile. “It didn't
really hurt a lot, and it saved me.”

Ilay had gripped the armrest so hard the wood groaned beneath his fingers.

Taeui went on, describing how the grass cushioned his fall, hid him from view.

How the car, still in drive, kept going, crashed into a tree just ahead. How two figures—faces
hidden—arrived moments later, shot at the wreck like they needed confirmation of death, and
then torched it without hesitation.

“I stayed down until I was sure they were gone. No phone on me. No way to call for help.”
His smile faltered.

“Thought I’d have to walk barefoot into town.”

But fate—finally—had mercy.

An elderly couple, whose land the field bordered, happened to pass by in their old farm truck.

Startled by Taeui’s disheveled appearance and clear injuries, they’d taken him to their cottage
just minutes from the crash site.

They cleaned his wounds, wrapped his head, and lent him the old man’s clothes—baggy,
outdated, smelling faintly of pipe smoke and peppermint.

“They didn’t have cell service,” Taeui said with a sheepish shrug.

“Or internet. Not even a landline that worked. But when I saw the responders near the road—
and then the chopper overhead—I knew Ilay would be there.”

Kyle had simply nodded after, muttering, “We’re going to find whoever did this. And I’m
going to personally reward that couple for saving you.”

He clapped Taeui on the shoulder gently and left, understanding Ilay didn’t want anyone else
near for the night.

Now, in the quiet dark of their bedroom, Ilay felt the rise and fall of Taeui’s breath against
him. Steady. Real. Alive.

Ilay hadn’t moved in hours. He didn’t dare.

He was afraid—truly afraid—that if he loosened his grip, even for a second, Taeui would
vanish like a figment, like a cruel mirage sent to torment him after the agony of that firelit
scene.

But now, here, with Taeui safe and warm in his arms, the fear had shifted into something else.

Something deeper.
He’d survived war, betrayal, bullet wounds—but nothing had ever gutted him like the
thought of living without this man.

Taeui stirred a little, murmuring sleepily, “Sorry... about the car.”

Ilay let out a quiet, shaky breath. That damn car again.

“I don’t care about the car,” he whispered, brushing his knuckles gently along Taeui’s cheek.
“I’d burn every car in Berlin if it meant getting you back.”

A pause, then softly—so softly—it almost didn’t register over the quiet hum of the night:
“I love you.”

Taeui blinked slowly against his chest, the words gently pulling him from the edge of sleep.

He tilted his head up, gaze dazed at first, then sharpened with wonder.

He stared.

“…Say that again,” Taeui whispered, his voice suddenly steady, alert, awake in the most
heartbreaking way.
Ilay looked down at him, and in the low lamplight, something inside him cracked wide open.

He leaned in, cupping Taeui’s jaw with both hands, and kissed his forehead first.

“I love you,” he repeated, voice hoarse with reverence. “Jeong Taeui… I love you.”

A tear slipped down Taeui’s cheek, but he was smiling now—soft and radiant, as if
something sacred had been restored in the universe.

He lifted his head and kissed Ilay on the lips, gently. Just a brush of lips. A sweet, innocent
seal.

But Ilay couldn’t let it end there. Not tonight.

Not after the fire.

Not after the blood.

Not after standing over that wreckage thinking he’d lost him forever.

So when Taeui leaned in again, Ilay deepened the kiss with a hunger that wasn’t just desire—
it was desperation, it was relief, it was love.

He kissed him like a man who had seen death and been given one last miracle.
His hands cradled Taeui’s face, then moved down, memorizing the shape of him all over
again.

Taeui didn’t pull back.

He welcomed it, every trembling breath, every touch, every frantic, tender movement.

He met Ilay's passion with open arms, pulling him closer, letting Ilay press him down into the
bed as though their hearts could finally beat in time again.

There were no games between them tonight. No teasing. No playful comments. Just
breathless murmurs and whispered names.

Ilay moved as if he were trying to carve this moment into time itself—slow, aching, reverent
—then fast and desperate, like he couldn’t get close enough no matter how hard he tried.

And Taeui… Taeui gave him everything. His trust. His warmth. His body, his tears, his love.
He clung to Ilay, letting the intensity wash over them both, not afraid of being consumed.

They moved like that for hours, tangled in each other beneath the thick duvet, stripped bare in
every way—physically, emotionally, spiritually.

There was nothing left of the walls between them, only the truth that had always been there,
fragile and blinding.

When they finally stilled, tangled together, their skin damp with sweat and tears, Taeui buried
his face into Ilay’s neck.

“Don’t ever stop saying it,” he whispered.

Ilay kissed the top of his head, tightening his arms once more around the man who had
brought him back from the edge.

“I won’t,” he murmured into his hair.

And for the first time in what felt like years, the night passed quietly.

With love. With peace. With Ilay holding his whole world in his arms.

Ilay—who had finally become human to him.

**End of Part 2**

~~~~***~~~~

Coming up next:

Ilay’s slipping on his gloves—someone hurt Taeui, and now the hunt begins.

Old ghosts or new threats? Whoever they are, they clearly missed the memo: you don’t touch
what Ilay calls his.

Meanwhile, Taeui is just trying to survive his final project, pass university, and maybe not get
emotionally wrecked again.

But peace?

That must’ve taken an extended vacation, because life just dumped chaos in his lap, waved a
sparkly middle finger, and vanished into the fog.
 The roles may reverse, the stakes are rising, and somewhere between vengeance and
graduation, the question remains: how much more can love endure when the world keeps
setting it on fire?

Find out next week.

Chapter End Notes

Hello dearest readers,

Thank you so much for reading and supporting this story—it really means a lot to me.
I’ve loved seeing your comments and reactions along the way; they honestly keep me
going. I hope to see you again in the next part, and fingers crossed we’ll keep seeing
more amazing works pop up in this fandom too. I enjoy reading others’ stories just as

💛
much as I enjoy writing mine. Until then, take care, stay creative, and may your favorite
ships sail smoothly (or at least dramatically).

Love,
C.A.
Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!