At the Lee Estate, the door to their bedroom was a barrier between them and the rest of the house, but it couldn't block out the tension that hung thick in the air. Eunjae stood by the window, his arms crossed, staring out at the dark gardens. The humiliation of kneeling still burned on his skin.
Daon stood near the bed, having shed his suit jacket. The silence was heavy, unbearable. He was the one to break it, his voice quiet, tired.
"Eunjae... can we just... be done with this?" he asked, not looking at him. "I want peace. I want things to go back to normal."
Eunjae turned, his expression a mix of anger and hurt. "Go back to normal? You mean you want me to go back to pretending your father didn't just make me kneel for a lie? You want to go back to you not believing me?"
"I didn't say that," Daon said, though the protest was weak. He ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, a rare sign of agitation. "I just... I want the fighting to stop. I want us to be okay."
This was their pattern. After every clash with his family, Daon would seek this—a tense, fragile truce. He wouldn't fully acknowledge the wrong, wouldn't confront the source, but would plead for a return to calm. He believed he was being the rational one, the peacemaker. He didn't see it as cowardice; he saw it as maintaining order, preventing a total collapse.
Eunjae watched him, and for the first time, he didn't just see a stubborn husband. He saw a deeply, terribly afraid man. The realization was like a cold splash of water.
Daon wasn't just choosing his father over him. He was paralyzed.
He was a man who had spent his entire life sculpting himself into flawless perfection, not for himself, but for a shred of approval from a man who doled it out like a scarce resource. He had lived content in Taekyun's shadow because stepping out meant risking failure, criticism, and his father's wrath. He followed every rule, met every expectation, because the alternative—disappointment, anger, rejection—was his greatest terror.
He had fallen in love with Eunjae's fire, his defiance, his ability to live without seeking permission. But now that love was forcing him to choose, and Daon was terrified of choosing wrong. He was terrified of losing his father's precarious approval. But he was also, desperately, afraid of losing Eunjae and being left utterly alone.
"Daon," Eunjae said, his anger softening into a painful sort of pity. "What are you so afraid of?"
Daon looked up, startled by the question. "I'm not afraid. I just want what's best for this family. For us."
"That's not true," Eunjae said softly, taking a step closer. "You're afraid of him. You're afraid of making him angry. You're afraid that if you stand up for me, for us, you'll lose everything."
Daon flinched as if struck. The accusation, spoken aloud, was too close to the truth he refused to acknowledge. "You don't understand the pressure—"
"I understand that you'd rather force me to my knees than face your father's disapproval!" Eunjae's voice rose again, but it was laced with frustration, not just for himself, but for the man he loved. "You'd rather believe a lie than risk a truth that might cause conflict! You're not protecting us, Daon. You're just... hiding."
Daon stared at him, his carefully constructed composure finally cracking. Eunjae could see the raw fear in his eyes—the fear of being seen, of being known as the coward he believed himself to be. He didn't have an answer. Because Eunjae was right. He was a prisoner of his own need for approval, and he was dragging the man he loved down into the cage with him.
Eunjae looked at him, and the fight went out of him. He couldn't argue with a fear so deeply ingrained it was part of Daon's DNA. He turned away, the distance between them feeling more vast than ever. He loved a man who was too afraid to love him back completely, and he didn't know if that was something they could ever fix.
The escape from the Park estate was a blur of shadows and held breaths. Juwon, with the silent, terrified help of his mother's most trusted servant, had half-carried, half-dragged a barely conscious Taemin through the back passages of the mansion, avoiding the main guards. His mother, a silent sentinel in her wheelchair, had watched them go, her face a mask of fear and fierce resolve, knowing the cataclysmic consequences if they were caught.
Now, outside the high walls, the cold night air hit them. A sleek, dark car was idling a hundred yards away, its lights off, precisely where Juwon had instructed it to wait, far from the estate's watchful CCTV eyes. This was Mingyu, Taemin's best friend and partner in countless escapades. He was leaning against the driver's side door, his usual playful demeanor replaced by a grim, worried tension.
"Over here!" Mingyu whispered urgently, spotting them emerge from the shadows.
Juwon gritted his teeth, adjusting his grip on Taemin, whose every step was a muffled gasp of pain. They stumbled towards the car. Mingyu rushed to open the back door, his eyes widening at the sight of Taemin's battered state.
"Hyung, what the hell did they do to you?" he breathed out, horror-struck.
Juwon didn't answer. He focused all his strength on gently maneuvering Taemin onto the plush back seat. Taemin collapsed against the leather with a low groan, his body finally giving out.
"It's okay, you're safe now. Mingyu will take care of you," Juwon said, his voice thick with emotion. He started to pull back, to close the door and let them drive away to safety.
A hand shot out, faster than should have been possible for someone so injured. Taemin's fingers closed around Juwon's wrist with a surprising, desperate strength.
"Juwon..." Taemin's voice was a ragged, pained whisper. His eyes, glassy with pain and fear, were locked on him.
Juwon froze, his heart clenching. "Taemin, you have to go. You need a doctor."
"No..." Taemiin pleaded, his grip tightening. "Don't... don't go back. Come with me." The words were laced with a raw terror that had nothing to do with his physical wounds. It was the fear of abandonment, of losing him again, this time for good.
Juwon looked down at the hand on his wrist, then back at Taemin's desperate face. His own resolve began to crumble. He wanted nothing more than to climb into that car and never look back.
But then he looked over his shoulder. Back towards the imposing gates of the estate. His mother was still in there. Alone. She had risked everything for him tonight. If he left, his father's wrath would fall on her alone. The image of her, frail and helpless in her wheelchair, facing his father's unchecked fury, was a chain he couldn't break.
He tried to gently pry Taemin's fingers loose. "I can't... My mother..."
The attempt to free himself made Taemin cry out—a sharp, broken sound of pure anguish that was more emotional than physical. "Please!" he begged, tears finally spilling over and cutting tracks through the dirt and blood on his cheeks. "Please, Juwon... don't leave me. I can't... I can't lose you again."
The raw plea hung in the cold night air. Juwon was torn in two, standing on the precipice between the boy he loved, broken and begging him to stay, and the mother who had given him everything, waiting for him in the lion's den. Mingyu watched, helpless, the car engine purring softly, a getaway vehicle stuck in a moment of impossible choice.
Juwon's mother, watching from the shadows near the gate, saw it all. She saw the desperate grip Taemin had on her son's wrist, the way Juwon's body was angled towards the car, yearning to escape, but his head was turned back toward the estate—toward her. She saw the agony of his indecision, a pain she knew all too well.
She couldn't let his life be like hers. She couldn't let this house become his prison, too.
With a strength that defied her frail body, she raised a hand. Not a frantic wave, but a slow, deliberate gesture. She caught Juwon's eye and, with a firm, unwavering motion, she gestured for him to go. Leave. Her expression, even from a distance, was clear: a mother's final, selfless act of love. It was a command to save himself.
Juwon saw it. His breath hitched. The last chain of duty, the one binding him to his mother, was being broken by her own hand. The sacrifice in that simple gesture shattered his hesitation.
He clenched his jaw, a single, determined tear escaping as he made his choice. He gave his mother one last, long look—a silent promise, a thank you, a goodbye—then turned back to the car.
"Move over," he said to Mingyu, his voice suddenly steady.
Without another word, he climbed into the back seat, sliding in beside Taemin. Gently, he lifted Taemin's head and placed it on his lap, his fingers immediately moving to brush the hair from his bruised forehead. Taemin's grip on his wrist finally loosened, not in release, but in relief, his hand now resting trustingly in Juwon's.
Mingyu didn't need to be told twice. He slammed the driver's door shut, put the car in gear, and pulled away from the curb. The tires whispered against the asphalt, carrying them away from the oppressive darkness of the Park estate and into the uncertain night.
Juwon didn't look back. He kept his eyes on Taemin, holding him close, finally choosing the path of his own heart, guided by the courageous wave of a mother who loved him enough to let him go.
The first light of dawn had barely touched the mountaintop, painting the sky in soft hues of lavender and grey. The shrine was steeped in a profound, peaceful silence. Master Hwang, beginning his morning rounds, expected to be the only one awake.
But as he passed the inner courtyard, he stopped. A figure was already there, sitting perfectly still on the wooden deck, facing the awakening east.
It was Rinwoo.
And he was smiling. A soft, serene smile was placed gently on his lips as he watched the sun begin its ascent. It was a picture of tranquility.
Master Hwang's old heart, however, did not settle. He moved closer, his steps silent on the dew-dampened wood. The closer he got, the more the dissonance sharpened.
The smile was there, yes. But in the clear, early light, Master Hwang could see the truth etched beneath it. The shadows under Rinwoo's eyes were not just traces of a poor night's sleep; they were deep, bruise-like smudges, a stark purple against the alarming pallor of his skin. The smile seemed painted on, a fragile mask stretched over a face that was visibly thinner, more drawn than it had been just the day before.
It was the smile of someone who had decided to stop fighting the pain, not because it was gone, but because they no longer had the strength to resist it. It was the calm of surrender.
Master Hwang stood a few feet away, his wise, ancient eyes seeing not the peaceful young man, but the profound and accelerating erosion happening within. The cheerful request for spicy hot pot, the early morning vigil—they weren't signs of recovery. They were the desperate, final performances of a soul trying to convince itself, and everyone else, that it wasn't shattering. And the cracks were becoming impossible to hide.
Master Hwang approached slowly, the wooden planks of the deck creaking softly under his weight. He came to a stop beside Rinwoo, following his gaze to the rising sun.
"The morning is very peaceful," the old monk began, his voice a gentle rumble. "But the air around you is not, my boy. Did you rest at all?"
Rinwoo's serene smile didn't falter, but it became a little fixed, a little tight at the edges. "The sunrise was too beautiful to miss, Grandfather," he said, his voice light. Too light. "I feel very clear-headed this morning."
Master Hwang's eyes, sharp and perceptive, lingered on the dark circles that looked like they had been painted on with ash. "Your body needs more than a beautiful sunrise to heal, Rinwoo. You look... tired."
"Oh, this?" Rinwoo gave a small, dismissive wave of his hand, finally turning to look at Master Hwang. The movement was quick, as if he were afraid of holding eye contact for too long. "I was just reading late last night. Got lost in a book." It was a flimsy excuse, and they both knew it. The shrine had no such books.
Before Master Hwang could press further, Rinwoo smoothly rose to his feet, brushing non-existent dust from his robes. "I'm feeling quite hungry, though! I'll make breakfast today. You and Beom Seok should rest."
He was already moving toward the kitchen, his steps a little too brisk, a little too eager to escape the conversation. "I was thinking... maybe some porridge? Something warm and simple," he called over his shoulder, the cheerful tone ringing hollow in the quiet morning air.
Master Hwang stood alone on the deck, watching him go. The attempt to divert the conversation was more telling than any confession. Rinwoo wasn't just hiding his pain; he was actively building a wall of normalcy around it, brick by brick, with forced smiles and offers to make porridge. And the old monk felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. The more desperately Rinwoo pretended everything was fine, the closer he was to completely breaking.
The Lee family breakfast table was a landscape of silent warfare. The clink of fine china was the only sound, each touch of silverware echoing in the thick tension. Mr. Lee, looking robust and smug after his "recovery," sat at the head, his presence a dark sun around which the others orbited. Taekyun sat stiffly in his usual seat, present only out of a hollow sense of duty, pushing food around his plate. Across from him, Daon and Eunjae ate in silence, the chasm between them visible in the careful inches they kept between their chairs.
The silence was finally broken by Mr. Lee. "Where is Taemin?" he asked, his voice cutting through the air. "He's late."
Daon hesitated, setting down his fork. "He... he hasn't returned since yesterday afternoon, Father. After the shopping with Nayeon."
Mr. Lee's eyes widened, his feigned calm evaporating instantly. "He WHAT?" he roared, slamming a hand on the table, making the dishes jump. "None of you thought to check on him? To track his phone? He's your brother! This family is falling apart because of your carelessness! No discipline! No respect!"
The yelling was like a drill directly into Taekyun's skull. A familiar, throbbing pain began to pulse behind his eyes, a relentless drumbeat matching his father's rising voice. He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his temples, trying to block it out. He couldn't take it. Not today.
He abruptly pushed his chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the floor. "I'm going to work," he muttered, not looking at anyone.
This only redirected Mr. Lee's fury. "Look at you!" he sneered, his glare sweeping over Taekyun's disheveled appearance, the shadows under his eyes. "Running away. You're a mess! Ever since that worthless Rinwoo left, you've been useless! Moping around like a lost puppy over a nobody who was never good enough for this family in the first place! A simple, common—"
That was it for Eunjae. His head snapped up, his eyes blazing. He opened his mouth, a sharp retort on his lips to defend his friend.
But he never got to speak.
"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?"
The voice was not a shout. It was low, cold, and razor-sharp, slicing through his father's tirade. Everyone froze. Taekyun was standing now, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists at his sides. He wasn't looking at Eunjae or Daon. His entire, furious focus was on his father.
"I go to work. I sit at this table. I do everything you have ever demanded," Taekyun continued, his voice trembling with a rage so controlled it was terrifying. "And it is never enough. Nothing is ever enough for you."
He took a step toward the head of the table, his eyes deadlocked with his father's. "You insult Rinwoo? You, who drove him out with your expectations and your games? You have no idea. You have no right."
The throbbing in his head was forgotten, consumed by a lifetime of suppressed anger finally boiling over. "You want a perfect heir? A perfect family? Look around! You've broken all of us trying to get it! So tell me, Father, what is it you actually want? Because I have nothing left to give."
The dining hall was utterly silent. The air crackled with the shock of Taekyun's outburst. For the first time, Mr. Lee was speechless, staring at his eldest son as if seeing a stranger. The carefully maintained order of the Lee household had just been shattered by the one person who was supposed to uphold it above all others.
Taekyun's words hung in the air, a shocking, unprecedented challenge to his father's absolute authority. The dining hall was frozen in a tableau of stunned silence. Mr. Lee's mouth was slightly agape, his face a mixture of fury and utter disbelief. Daon stared at his brother as if he'd grown a second head. Eunjae felt a fierce, vindicated pride surge through him. Finally, someone had said it.
But the victory was short-lived.
A spasm of agony, sharp and electric, lanced through Taekyun's skull. It was worse than any before—a white-hot bolt that short-circuited his rage. His defiant stance broke. He stumbled backward, his hand flying to his temple with a choked gasp. All the color drained from his face, leaving him ashen.
The moment of power was gone, replaced by a visible, physical collapse. He didn't look at any of them. Without another word, he turned and staggered out of the dining room, one hand braced against the wall for support, leaving behind a silence even more profound than before.
Eunjae watched him go, the proud smile dying on his lips. The sight of Taekyun's sudden, debilitating pain was deeply unsettling. It wasn't just stress; it was something more. His feelings were a tangled knot—he was thrilled that Taekyun had confronted the tyrant, but concerned by the obvious evidence that the man was genuinely, physically unwell. Was this a victory, or was it watching someone self-destruct?
His eyes shifted to Daon. Daon was still processing the earthquake. He looked from the empty doorway where his brother had vanished, to his father, who was now slowly sinking back into his chair, a storm of humiliation and rage brewing on his face. Then, Daon's gaze finally found Eunjae's.
In that look, Eunjae saw a whirlwind of emotions. There was shock at Taekyun's outburst. There was fear of their father's impending reaction. But there was also something else—a flicker of something like respect, or perhaps confusion, directed at Eunjae. It was as if Daon was silently asking, Were you right? Is this what we've become?
The breakfast table was now a wreckage of uneaten food and shattered family dynamics. The confrontation was over, but the aftershocks had only just begun. Eunjae felt no triumph, only a heavy sense of foreboding. The strongest pillar of the Lee family was cracking, and no one knew what would collapse when it finally broke.
The hospital room was quiet, bathed in the sterile, pale light of morning. Taemin lay in the bed, asleep. The deep bruises and cuts had been cleaned and bandaged, and a sedative had pulled him into a heavy, painless slumber. He looked young and vulnerable, a stark contrast to the defiant, reckless boy who had crashed the Park estate.
In a chair pulled up close to the bedside, Juwon sat vigil. He hadn't moved all night. His clothes were still the same ones from the previous night's ordeal, rumpled and stained. Dark circles rivaling Taemin's bruises hung under his eyes, but they were eyes wide with a desperate, vigilant wakefulness. He held one of Taemin's hands gently in both of his, as if afraid he would vanish if he let go.
The door opened softly, and Mingyu slipped back in, holding a paper bag from a nearby convenience store. He took in the scene: his best friend broken in the bed, and the Park heir, the source of so much drama, looking like a ghost keeping watch. It was profoundly awkward. He knew of Juwon, of course—Taemin never shut up about him—but they'd never actually spoken.
"Hey," Mingyu said, his voice unusually quiet. He held out the bag. "I got some kimbap and coffee. You should eat something."
Juwon didn't even look away from Taemin's face. "I'm not hungry," he murmured, his voice hoarse.
Mingyu sighed, setting the bag on a small table. "Look, man. You've been sitting here all night. You're going to collapse. At least go splash some water on your face. I'll stay with him."
Juwon just shook his head, his grip on Taemin's hand tightening slightly. "I'm not leaving him."
Mingyu was about to insist when his phone buzzed loudly in his pocket, shattering the quiet. He flinched, pulling it out. The screen lit up with a name that made his blood run cold: Eunjae.
He looked from the phone to Juwon, then to the sleeping Taemin. He knew it. The Lee family was looking for their missing youngest. He couldn't lie, and he knew Taemin would want Eunjae to know. Eunjae was the only one in that house he halfway trusted.
Taking a deep breath, Mingyu answered. "Hello?"
The voice on the other end was tense, worried. Mingyu listened for a moment, his eyes fixed on Taemin. "Yeah... yeah, he's with me," he said cautiously. He paused, then made a decision. "It's... it's not good. You should just come. I'll tell you everything when you get here." He quickly gave the name of the hospital and the room number.
He ended the call and looked at Juwon, who was now watching him, a flicker of anxiety in his exhausted eyes.
"That was Eunjae. Taemin's brother-in-law," Mingyu explained. "He's... he's one of the good ones. Taemin would want him to know."
Juwon gave a slow, weary nod. He didn't have the energy to protest or to fear what this would mean. The secret was out. The walls between their two warring families were crumbling right there in that hospital room, built on the broken body of the boy they both loved. The waiting was now for Eunjae, and for the next, inevitable wave of consequences.
Back at the Park estate, a different kind of storm was raging. The opulent mansion, usually a picture of controlled power, was in chaos. Mr. Park's fury was a tangible force, his roars echoing off the marble walls as he stalked through the halls.
"TEAR THE CITY APART!" he bellowed at a cluster of terrified guards. "Check every hotel, every private clinic! I want my son found! And bring me that Lee brat's head! NOW!"
The guards scrambled to obey, their faces pale. The carefully maintained order of the household had disintegrated into pandemonium.
Mr. Park's rage, however, had a specific, cold focus. He knew who had the key. He knew who had enabled the escape. He stormed into the secluded, sunlit suite where his wife spent her days. The air here was always still and faintly medicinal, a world away from the turmoil he had just unleashed.
Mrs. Park sat in her wheelchair by the window, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She didn't flinch when he burst in. She had been expecting him.
Mr. Park didn't shout here. The anger condensed into something colder, more menacing. He crossed the room and, in a gesture that was both shocking and deeply calculated, he knelt on one knee before her wheelchair. It wasn't a gesture of supplication; it was an invasion of her quiet space, a demand for submission.
"Where did they go?" he asked, his voice a low, controlled rasp. He looked up at her, his eyes burning with intensity. "You helped him. You know where he is. Tell me."
Mrs. Park met his gaze. Their marriage had long been a contract of mutual respect born from necessity, not affection. They coexisted, they upheld the family name, but there was a chasm of silence between them. In that chasm, her love for her son had grown, fierce and protective.
She held her husband's stare, her own expression serene but unyielding. "I do not know," she said, her voice quiet but firm. It was a lie, and they both knew it.
His jaw tightened. "Do not protect him from this," he insisted, his voice hardening. "That Lee boy is a disease. He will ruin Juwon, he will ruin this family. You must see that. Tell me where they are."
She slowly shook her head. "I have nothing to tell you." She would not betray her son's chance at happiness, not even for the man she was bound to for life. Her silence was her rebellion, the only weapon she had left.
Mr. Park rose to his feet, the brief, false humility gone, replaced by a frigid contempt. Her refusal was a defiance he had not anticipated. The search would have to continue without her. But the battle lines within the Park household had now been drawn, not between rivals, but between a father's control and a mother's silent, desperate love.
The hospital room door swung open, and Eunjae stood there, his face a mask of frantic worry. His eyes scanned the room, landing first on Mingyu, who gave him a grim nod, and then on the hospital bed.
His breath hitched. "Taemin!" he gasped, rushing forward. But he stopped short a few feet from the bed.
Because standing between him and Taemin was a young man he'd never formally met but recognized instantly from society pages and his brother-in-law's bitter rants: Park Juwon.
Juwon had shot up from his chair the moment the door opened, positioning himself like a human shield in front of the sleeping Taemin. His posture was rigid, his eyes wide with a mixture of exhaustion and pure, unadulterated fear. He looked like a cornered animal ready to defend its wounded mate.
Eunjae froze, his brain trying to process the scene. Park Juwon? Why is he here? The rivalry between their families was legendary. It made no sense.
"Stay back," Juwon said, his voice hoarse but firm. The command was instinctual, protective.
Eunjae held up his hands in a placating gesture, his mind racing. "I'm not here to cause trouble," he said carefully, his eyes darting from Juwon's defensive stance to Taemin's battered form. "Mingyu called me. What happened? Why is... why are you here?" The last question was laced with complete confusion.
He knew of Park Juwon. He knew he was the son of his father-in-law's bitter rival. He knew he was supposed to be the enemy. But the raw, terrified protectiveness in Juwon's eyes as he stood guard over Taemin didn't speak of enmity. It spoke of something else entirely—something deep, personal, and fiercely possessive.
Eunjae's gaze shifted back to Taemin, then to Juwon's hand, which had unconsciously reached back to rest on the bed near Taemin's arm. The pieces, unbelievable as they were, began to click into place. The secret outings Taemin had been so evasive about. His strange, defiant mood lately. His disappearance.
The shocking, impossible truth dawned on Eunjae. This wasn't a coincidence. This was the reason.
His worry for Taemin suddenly became entangled with the staggering realization of a secret that could ignite a war between their families. He was no longer just looking at an injured brother-in-law; he was looking at a secret that had just blown wide open, with Park Juwon standing squarely in the center of the blast zone.
The tension in the room was a live wire. Juwon stood his ground, trembling slightly from adrenaline and exhaustion, his entire being focused on shielding Taemin. Mingyu stepped forward, placing a calming hand on Juwon's arm.
"Hey, it's okay," Mingyu said softly. "This is Eunjae. Taemin's brother-in-law. He's one of the good guys, I promise."
Eunjae nodded, his hands still raised. "I'm just here to help Taemin. I want to know what happened to him." He kept his voice low and even, trying to project trustworthiness.
But Juwon was too far gone into protective mode. He shook his head, a barely perceptible movement, his eyes wide and distrustful. He wasn't letting anyone from that family near Taemin, not after what his own father had done.
The standoff was broken by a small, groggy sound from the bed.
"Mmh... Juwon... too loud..." Taemin mumbled, his voice thick with sleep and painkillers. His eyes fluttered open, squinting against the light. He seemed oblivious to the tension, his focus solely on the familiar presence beside him. With a weak, complaining pout, he reached out and clumsily grabbed a handful of Juwon's shirt, trying to pull him closer. "Stop yelling... my head hurts..."
The gesture was so instinctively intimate, so domestic, that Mingyu couldn't help but let out a soft, relieved chuckle, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all.
Juwon froze, the fight draining out of him at Taemin's touch. He looked from Taemin's groggy, complaining face to Eunjae's stunned expression. The secret was utterly, completely blown.
"Taemin-ah," Juwon said softly, his voice cracking. He gently pried Taemin's fingers from his shirt and instead held his hand. "Your... your brother-in-law is here. Eunjae. He came to see you."
He helped Taemin sit up slightly, propping pillows behind him. Taemin blinked slowly, his gaze clearing as it landed on Eunjae. A flicker of recognition, then confusion, then a dawning wariness crossed his face.
Eunjae, seeing Taemin was coherent, finally stepped closer, his heart aching at the sight of the bruises. He shook his head, his voice a mixture of concern and sheer disbelief.
"Taemin," Eunjae said, his eyes sweeping over his injuries before locking with his. "What in the world happened? And... what is this?" He gestured vaguely between Taemin and Juwon, the question hanging heavy in the sterile air. The "this" was everything: the injuries, the secret relationship, the Park heir standing guard like a loyal knight. The carefully constructed walls between their two worlds had not just cracked; they had been demolished in this hospital room.
Taemin, buoyed by painkillers and the relief of having Juwon by his side, launched into an explanation that was more action movie than brutal reality. "So, see, I went to the Park fortress—totally infiltrated, by the way—but the guards were these big, grumpy guys... and then there was a little scuffle, a few punches were thrown, no big deal..." He waved a bandaged hand dismissively, as if describing a minor inconvenience.
Eunjae listened, his concern deepening with every flippant word. "Taemin, this isn't a game," he interrupted, his voice gentle but serious. "Why didn't you tell anyone? About... about you and Juwon?"
Taemin gave a lazy shrug. "I did tell someone. I told Rinwoo hyung everything." He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Eunjae sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Okay, but... we're in big trouble. You know your wedd—" He cut himself off abruptly, his eyes flicking to Juwon, who had gone very still, his face pale. Eunjae looked away, unable to finish the sentence. "What are we going to tell Father?"
Taemin actually chuckled, as if Eunjae had asked a silly question. "Easy. I got into a fight. That's it. End of story." He seemed utterly, dangerously carefree about the cataclysm he had triggered.
Seeing the conversation was going in circles, Eunjae pulled out his phone. "I have to call Daon. He's probably losing his mind." He stepped slightly away, speaking in low, reassuring tones to his husband.
Meanwhile, Taemin turned his full attention back to Juwon. "It really hurts here," he whined, holding up his bandaged wrist and pouting exaggeratedly. "Kiss it better."
Juwon, still looking shell-shocked by the mention of the wedding, hesitated for a second before gently bringing Taemin's wrist to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to the bandage.
Mingyu, who had been watching the entire scene with a mix of worry and amusement, fake-gagged. "Yah, you two are so cringe. I'm going to get diabetes."
Taemin just rolled his eyes, unaffected. "Jealous," he shot back, and snuggled closer to Juwon, who wrapped a protective arm around him, the reality of their situation momentarily forgotten in their little bubble. Eunjae hung up the phone, watching them. He had told Daon everything was "fine," but looking at the two boys clinging to each other in a hospital bed, surrounded by the wreckage of their families' feud, he knew nothing was fine at all. It was a disaster waiting to explode.