Archive of Our Own ^beta

Alan, a sharp-eyed operative working in the same elite unit as Ilay, had seen enough over the years to recognize the patterns others missed. Surveillance loops that didn’t match. Names that shouldn't be connected showing up in encrypted chatter. A mission that was being prepped with far too much secrecy for something supposedly "routine."

And at the center of it all—Ilay.

Ilay, who had earned both a reputation and a target on his back. Cold, calculated, and efficient, he had carried out missions for politicians, CEOs, and power brokers across Europe with brutal precision. He wasn’t just respected—he was feared. And that made enemies. The kind of enemies who don’t forgive, and never forget.

Alan knew better than to confront Ilay directly. No one told Ilay what to do. Especially not when he believed he was in control. Especially not when he was walking straight into what looked like a carefully laid trap.

So instead, Alan turned to someone else. Someone Ilay would never suspect. Someone who had a way of breaking past his walls—not through strategy or power, but through warmth.

Tae.

Tae was many things—former soldier, current UNHRDO operative, twin brother, nephew, partner. But above all, he was kind. He believed in good. In people. In helping. He had a brightness to him that contrasted everything about Ilay’s world—a clumsy, charming sort of chaos that had once annoyed Ilay... until it didn't. Until it fascinated him.

Born and raised in South Korea, Tae had followed a completely different path than most who entered the shadows of international intelligence. His decision to work for the UNHRDO wasn’t driven by ambition or politics, but by family—his uncle had dedicated his life to the organization, and Tae admired that kind of quiet, stubborn loyalty.

He now lived in Berlin with Ilay, their relationship a strange, fragile thing neither of them spoke about too openly. Ilay wasn't the type to say "I love you," and Tae didn't ask him to. They understood each other in silences, in small gestures, in the space where danger ended and safety—brief and delicate—began.

When Alan came to Tae, it wasn’t with official documents or orders. It was a quiet conversation, late at night, away from cameras or records. He laid out what he’d found. A mission—undisclosed, high-priority, and completely off the books. And it had Ilay’s name all over it.

"It’s a setup," Alan said. "Someone’s coming for him. And he won’t see it until it’s too late."

Tae didn’t hesitate. He never did when it came to Ilay. He agreed to help—not just to uncover the truth, but to dismantle the trap before it could close around the man he loved.

But he had to be careful. Ilay was in Algeria on assignment, and if he suspected anything, he’d either take control—or shut Tae out entirely.

So Tae came up with a lie. A small one. Harmless, he hoped.

He called Ilay late that night, trying to sound casual, like someone who had just been feeling restless.

“I was thinking I might take a little trip,” he said, voice light. “Just to get away for a bit. Clear my head.”

There was silence on the other end. Then, Ilay’s low voice—calm, unreadable as always. “Since when do you like traveling alone?”

Tae laughed nervously. “I don’t know. Maybe I just need… space. A change.”

Ilay didn’t argue. Not directly. But his silence lingered too long. His suspicion was obvious, even over the phone.

He eventually agreed, reluctantly. But Tae could hear it in his tone—Ilay didn’t believe him.

He was already watching.

And yet, Tae had no choice but to go. If he waited too long, if he second-guessed himself now, Ilay would walk into that mission blind.

So Tae packed his things. Said his temporary goodbyes. And disappeared into the shadows, chasing a threat no one else could touch.

The clock was ticking.
And love, in this world, was never safe.

---

The air in Stavanger was sharp with salt and cold, a stillness that didn’t quite feel peaceful. Tae stepped out of the airport terminal with his bag slung over one shoulder and his hood pulled up against the wind. He didn’t speak, and neither did the man beside him—Andreas, Alan’s trusted contact.

They moved like two strangers sharing nothing but destination.

According to the brief Alan had provided, the mission was straightforward: travel to Stavanger, check into the designated hotel under a fake name, wait for the client, and hand off the USB. No weapons, no conversation, no direct contact beyond the exchange. The target—the one who had orchestrated the mission—had wanted Ilay. But Ilay wasn’t here.

Tae was.

And that made all the difference.

He wasn't a threat. Not to them. That’s what Alan was betting on. That Tae’s unfamiliar face would be enough to avoid setting off the trap meant for Ilay.

As they approached the sleek, modern hotel tucked near the quiet harbor, Tae could feel the tension buzzing beneath his skin. He hated pretending to be relaxed when everything in him screamed to be alert. But this wasn’t a military operation. It was diplomacy under the table—quiet, calm, invisible.

And dangerous.

The lobby was warm and empty, with dim lighting and expensive silence. Tae gave the fake name—“Daniel L. Hahn”—and received his room key without issue. The staff didn’t ask questions. They weren’t paid to.

Andreas didn’t follow him upstairs. He stayed behind, blending into the shadows near the exit.

Room 804. Top floor. Corner suite.

Tae unlocked the door and stepped inside. It was too nice for someone on a casual trip—leather chairs, blackout curtains, a bottle of unopened wine on the table. Another reminder that none of this was real. It was all a stage.

The USB sat in his jacket pocket. Unmarked. Cold against his palm.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Twenty minutes after he arrived, a soft knock came at the door. Two short, one long.

Exactly as Alan had said.

Tae opened it.

The man standing there didn’t look threatening—average height, dark coat, gray eyes. No visible weapon. No emotion. Just a quiet professionalism that reminded Tae, uncomfortably, of Ilay.

The man stepped inside without waiting for an invitation.

"You’re not him," he said, after one look at Tae.

"No," Tae replied evenly. "And that’s why you’re still standing here."

A flicker of something passed over the man’s face. Amusement, maybe. Or respect. It was gone before Tae could place it.

He held out the USB.

The man took it wordlessly and slipped it into his pocket. No questions. No confirmation. Just trust—or the illusion of it.

Then he turned to leave.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Tae stood alone in the silence of the suite, pulse steady, mind racing.

The message wasn’t just for Ilay.

It was a warning.

---

---

Tae let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

For the first time since arriving in Stavanger, the tension in his shoulders eased. The USB was gone. The client had taken it without incident. No threats, no backup team, no last-minute twist. It was over.

And nothing had exploded.
That alone felt like a miracle.

He sank into the armchair near the window of his hotel room, tugging off his coat and tossing it across the nearby sofa. The thick Norwegian silence outside felt less heavy now—like the city itself had exhaled with him.

“I can’t believe that actually worked,” he muttered, staring at the ceiling with a half-laugh.

Across from him, Andreas was much calmer, seated straight-backed in the chair near the small table, his expression unreadable as always. But even he looked a little less stiff now.

“You were expecting bullets?” Andreas asked dryly.

Tae shot him a look. “Honestly? I always expect bullets.”

Andreas gave the smallest smile—so small Tae wasn’t sure if he imagined it.

A few minutes later, they sat quietly over cups of steaming tea—hotel-brand, slightly bitter, but comforting in the way only warm drinks could be after a long day.

There was a peaceful stillness between them for a while—no ticking clocks, no urgent calls, no coded messages. Just two men who had walked through something dangerous and, for once, made it out the other side without bleeding.

Tae leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting to the window where snowflakes had begun to fall, light and slow.

It felt… quiet. Calm. Maybe even safe.

And for Tae, that was rare.

But somewhere deep down, a part of him still didn’t trust it.
Not fully.

Because peace, in his world, never lasted.

---

Ilay knew Tae was hiding something.

He didn’t need proof. He didn’t need to search rooms or trace calls or break into a terminal. He simply knew. Because that’s what Ilay did—he noticed things others ignored. And with Tae, nothing went unnoticed.

The way his voice tightened ever so slightly when he asked for space.
The pause before he said where he was going.
The overly casual smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Tae never asked for time away. He hated being alone, especially when Ilay was away on missions. He filled space with presence, with warmth, with his clumsy affection that clung like sunlight. And suddenly, he wanted distance?

It didn’t make sense.

But Ilay didn’t say anything. He told him it was okay. Told him, “Go. If you need to.”

Let him lie.

Because Ilay didn’t need to force the truth. It always found its way back. People like Tae weren’t made for deception. Sooner or later, it would unravel on its own.

Still, the silence back home was louder than it should’ve been.

Ilay returned from Algeria earlier than planned, driven by a tension he couldn’t quite name. The mission had gone well. Clean, quick, efficient. But even while pulling the trigger, his thoughts kept drifting to Tae—what he was doing, where he really was, and why he was lying.

Ilay wasn’t the emotional type. He didn’t panic. He didn’t beg. But this—whatever Tae was keeping from him—scratched at something old and quiet inside him. A warning.

By the time he made the call to check Tae’s flight logs, he already knew he wouldn’t see “Malta” on the screen.

And he didn’t.

Stavanger, Norway.

Ilay stared at the destination for a long moment. A quiet city on the edge of frozen water. Not a place Tae would choose. Not unless he had a reason.

He closed the laptop and stood slowly.

He wasn’t angry. Not yet.

But he was going to find him.

And when he did, Tae was going to tell him everything.

---

Something wasn’t right.
Ilay could feel it pressing behind his eyes like a storm waiting to break.

He stood in the doorway of Tae’s bedroom. Still. Silent.

Nothing had been touched.

The bed was made. The closet, full. Every shirt, every sweater Tae loved to steal from Ilay’s side of the wardrobe—still there. His watch, the one he wore on every trip, sat on the dresser. And the books—

Ilay’s eyes narrowed as he crossed the room.

Tae never traveled without books. Never.

Whether it was a two-hour train ride or a week-long vacation, Tae always packed a stack—four, sometimes five. The kind he said “made the world feel slower.”

The bookshelf was untouched. Neat. Overly neat.

Ilay crouched beside the drawer where Tae usually hid the books he planned to take with him. Nothing. Still full.

His fingers paused on the corner of the wooden frame, jaw clenched.

This wasn’t a vacation.

It was a cover.

He stepped out of the room with purpose, heading down the hall. The house was quiet—only the distant ticking of a clock echoed in the background. In the kitchen, he found Rita preparing afternoon tea, her usual calm presence like a lighthouse in a storm.

“Rita,” he said, his voice low. “When Tae left… did he take anything with him?”

She looked up, thoughtful. “Just a small backpack, sir. No suitcase. No trunk. Nothing else.”

“No books?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“No, sir,” she said, with honest certainty. “And no change of clothes either, as far as I saw. He left quickly.”

Ilay didn’t speak.

He didn’t have to.

He turned away and walked back toward his office, movements precise, calculated—but inside, every inch of him was bracing for impact.

Tae didn’t go to Norway for rest.
He wasn’t wandering streets with a cup of hot chocolate and a novel in hand.

He was in the middle of something.
Something he didn’t want Ilay to know.

And now… Ilay needed to find out who put him there.

And why Tae thought he had to do it alone.

---

Ilay arrived in Stavanger under heavy skies and heavier thoughts.

The cold bit at his skin, but he didn’t notice. His mind was already elsewhere—circling, calculating, watching every step Tae might’ve taken.

He had connections here. He didn’t need to ask twice to get flight logs, surveillance, movement data. Tae’s face was easy to trace—so familiar, so bright it lit up even the grayest corner of this frozen city.

But something unexpected surfaced in the records.

Tae hadn’t traveled alone.

A man had accompanied him. They checked in together. Boarded together. Passed through customs side by side.

Ilay paused, staring at the monitor. Zoomed in.

He didn’t know that face.

His fingers clenched into fists at his sides, slow and tight.

Whoever this man was, he wasn’t military. He wasn’t anyone from Tae’s world—or Ilay’s. And he sure as hell wasn’t someone Ilay had approved to be anywhere near him.

A quiet, low fury curled in Ilay’s chest. Not the explosive kind. No—Ilay didn’t burn like fire.

He corroded.

Ilay could kill without blinking. He had, countless times. But only one person had ever made him feel something close to chaos.

Tae.

And Tae was his.

His to touch.
His to protect.
His to keep.

He had marked him—mind and body. Whispered “You’re mine” into the softness of his skin more times than he could count. He didn’t need chains to bind Tae; he’d carved his name into him far deeper than steel ever could.

Tae knew that.

Tae wouldn’t betray that.

He wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t careless.

And yet… Ilay kept seeing the stranger’s face over and over again, flashing in his mind like a bad omen. Jealousy wasn’t even the word. It was something sharper. Something raw. The kind of hunger that tasted like blood and ash and obsession.

د

But underneath all of that—the rage, the heat, the possessiveness—there was something worse:

Fear.

ilay was scared... he knew feelings don't last forever. Jeongtae was ilay's first, everyone knew ilay treated tae very special, it was evident in their relationship.

But for tae, he wasn't the first. He didn't change for ilay, tae was showing ilay what he showed others. ilay was just like everyone else, there were many who fell for tae (even though tae didn't realize it) but ilay wasn't special. He was like everyone else who understood tae's charm.

That's why Ilay was scared...the idea that Tae might fall in love with someone else....

was scary.

The room was quiet.

Too quiet.

Tae had just started to smile, his shoulders finally relaxing into the soft cushions of the hotel armchair. The teacup in his hands was warm. Andreas sat across from him, legs crossed, head tilted back slightly in tired relief.

They had done it.
The mission was over. No danger. No chaos.
For once, Tae believed it might actually stay that way.

Then—

The door didn’t knock. It exploded.

Not from the hinges, but from the lock.
A single gunshot shattered the mechanism, followed by the heavy crash of a boot kicking it open.

Tae flinched hard, nearly spilling his tea as he jolted upright.

Smoke still curled from the barrel of the gun held by the man standing in the doorway.

Ilay.

His face was unreadable. His steps were calm.
Too calm.

Tae opened his mouth, voice caught in his throat. “Ilay—”

Bang.

The bullet hit Andreas in the forehead.

Dead center.

His head jerked back. His body collapsed instantly, lifeless, a puppet with strings cut.

Tae screamed, stumbling back, frozen, lips trembling but unable to form words. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, but the room had fallen into a cold, unnatural silence—like time had stopped moving forward.

Ilay took a step forward.

Tae didn’t move.

Then Ilay raised the gun again—

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Three more shots. Into Andreas’s chest. Then another. And another.

Tae choked out, “Ilay, stop—!”

But he didn’t.
Not until the clip was empty.

Only then did Ilay lower the weapon slowly, smoke rising gently from the barrel like breath on cold glass. His eyes finally turned to Tae.

Still calm. Still quiet.

But behind them—something broken. Something furious.

“Tae,” he said, voice like ice, “Do you know how long I’ve trusted you?”

Tae couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. His legs felt like stone.

Ilay walked toward him.

“One man. In a quiet city. A private hotel suite. A lie about a vacation.” He tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable. “What was I supposed to think?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Tae whispered, barely able to get the words out.

“You let him touch you?” Ilay asked, almost gently.

“I didn’t—he didn’t—he was just helping—Alan—Alan sent him—”

Ilay’s hand came up. He brushed a fingertip against Tae’s cheek. It was cold.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “And no one touches what’s mine.”

Tae’s breath caught.

Because in that moment, he remembered:

Ilay wasn’t like other people.
Ilay loved like a blade.
And Tae was bleeding slowly without even realizing it.

---
Silence lingered like smoke.

Blood pooled around the still form of Andreas.
Tae’s eyes hadn’t left it—wide, glassy, and locked on the mess of red soaking into the rug.

He didn’t flinch when Ilay reached for him.
Only blinked slowly, as if his brain were struggling to register reality.

Ilay brushed his fingers through Tae’s hair with unnatural gentleness.
As if he were soothing a frightened animal.

“Tae,” he said softly, “have I been too kind lately?”

Tae said nothing. His mouth trembled, but no words came.
He was paralyzed—not by pain, not yet—but by shock so deep it ran like ice through his veins.

Ilay continued, his tone thoughtful. “Too affectionate, maybe. Too soft.”

He leaned in, lips almost brushing Tae’s ear.

“Seems I gave you the wrong impression.”

The click of metal filled the air—cold, sharp, final—as Ilay reloaded the gun with practiced ease.

Tae still didn’t move.

Ilay lowered the barrel slowly—deliberately—until it hovered just above Tae’s right knee.

The same knee that had never fully healed from that fight years ago.
The same one Ilay used to wrap in warm cloth, kissing the scar with whispered jokes.

“I told you once,” Ilay murmured, voice dangerously calm, “I’d eat the foot that tries to run from me.”

A shiver ran through Tae.
And finally—he spoke.

Brokenly.

“I… I didn’t… run…”

His voice cracked halfway, his pupils unfocused, drowning in the moment.

Ilay laughed.

It was soft. Dry.
Like the cracking of old bone.

“I know,” he said. “You called. You asked my permission. You played nice.”

He pulled back slightly, tilting his head to look Tae in the eyes.

“But I didn’t think you’d spread this leg for another man.”

Tae’s mouth opened, trying—desperately—to speak, to explain, to beg.

But it was too late.

Bang.

The bullet tore through flesh and bone.
Tae screamed—sharp, raw, and unfiltered.
He collapsed sideways, clutching his knee, blood pouring between his fingers.

Ilay crouched next to him, the barrel still warm in his hand, watching.

No regret.

Just... clarity.

“I’m reminding you,” he whispered. “You’re mine

Tae screamed.

Not the kind of scream meant for help.
It was raw—animal—dragged from somewhere deep and wounded.

He collapsed onto the cold floor, hands clutching his bleeding knee.
The blood ran fast, dark, pooling beneath him.
His cries turned to choking sobs, his breath coming in harsh, broken gasps.

Ilay didn’t blink.

He crouched beside him, calm, serene—as if he hadn’t just shattered bone and trust.

And then, like a switch had flipped in his mind, Ilay moved with sudden gentleness.

He reached for Tae.

Arms slid beneath him, lifting his trembling body like he weighed nothing.
Tae writhed in his grip, crying harder, fingers weakly trying to push away.

But Ilay only held him closer.

“Shhh,” he whispered against Tae’s hair, voice like silk on broken glass. “Shhh, Tae… don’t cry.”

Tae’s forehead pressed against Ilay’s shoulder, breath hitching painfully with every sob.

Ilay rocked him slightly, one hand stroking his back, the other cupping the back of his head.

“I’ve got you now,” he said, pressing a kiss to Tae’s temple.
“You’re alright.”

He rose to his feet, carrying Tae as if he were a child who’d scraped his knee during a game, not a man who’d just been shot.

Blood dripped from Tae’s leg, trailing across the expensive carpet and down Ilay’s arm.

Tae gasped again, crying out as pain ripped through him anew.

Ilay’s lips brushed his ear.

“I'm taking you to the hospital,” he said soothingly

He smiled, small and loving, as though nothing had broken.

As though this wasn’t madness—but mercy.

Tae stirred.

His body was heavy, weighed down by painkillers and exhaustion.
His knee pulsed dully beneath layers of gauze and bandages.

His eyes blinked open, unfocused at first—then slowly adjusted to the room’s dim light.
He was in a hospital.

Alive.

That alone felt surreal.

But what truly froze his blood—

—was the man sitting quietly beside him.

Ilay.

Calm.
Poised.
Peeling an apple.

The knife in his hand moved smoothly, stripping away thin curls of red skin in a perfect spiral. A small bowl of neatly sliced fruit sat beside him.

He hadn’t noticed Tae was awake yet. Or maybe… he had.

Ilay always noticed everything.

Tae’s breath caught.

Ilay finally looked up. His eyes were soft. Warm, even. Like the man from another life.
He smiled.

“You’re awake,” he said gently. “You made it.”

Tae opened his mouth, but no sound came. Just a small, broken exhale.

Ilay reached forward, placing a slice of apple on a napkin and holding it out. “Want a bite?”

Tae flinched.

Ilay’s hand paused midair. His smile didn’t waver.

“You’re still in pain. I told the nurse to be careful with your meds.” His voice was soothing, as if nothing had happened. As if the bullet wasn’t his. As if the blood hadn’t been real.

“You’re lucky,” Ilay continued, brushing a strand of hair from Tae’s forehead. “The doctors said you could’ve lost the leg if it had hit a little higher.”

Tae trembled.

Still speechless.
Still trying to reconcile the man peeling fruit from the one who had pulled the trigger.

Ilay tilted his head, watching him like a puzzle he already knew how to solve.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. “I told you before, didn’t I? You belong to me.”

Tae’s eyes trembled.

Wide, shaken. Unbelieving.

He stared at Ilay’s face—so calm, smiling gently like a lover waiting to be thanked.

Then, his gaze dropped… to that hand.

That pale, beautiful, terrifying hand.

The one holding the peeled apple. Fingers delicate. The blade gone. Just the sweetness of fruit now. Sliced, perfect. Loving.

Tae felt it suddenly.

The rot in his throat.

A sickness rising from his gut like poison.

It wasn’t the wound.
It wasn’t the pain.

It was him.

Tae covered his mouth, nausea clawing its way up. He turned sharply, stumbled off the hospital bed. The cold floor slammed against his knees—his injured leg screamed in agony. But he didn’t stop.

He crawled.

Desperate.

In his flimsy hospital gown, shivering from pain and disgust, he dragged himself toward the bathroom attached to the private room. One elbow, then the next. Breath shallow. Chest heaving.

Ilay didn’t move.

He just watched. Eyes tender. As if this was all part of something expected. Something natural.

Tae made it to the toilet just in time.

His stomach emptied in violent, retching spasms. His arms trembled against the porcelain rim, holding on like it was the last solid thing in his world.

Behind him, footsteps.

Soft.

Measured.

Then a touch.

A hand—his hand—cupped Tae’s face gently, wiping sweat and bile with a warm cloth.

“There, there,” Ilay murmured. “Let it out, sweetheart.”

Tae couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t move.

Ilay’s arms wrapped around him again, lifting him as if he weighed nothing. Cradled him like a lover rescuing someone fragile from the world.

He set Tae gently back onto the bed, adjusting the sheets around him like nothing had happened.

“You should be careful,” Ilay whispered, brushing hair from Tae’s damp forehead. “You just had surgery a few hours ago. That wasn’t very smart.”

Tae stared at him—eyes burning, jaw clenched.

Then, with a broken gasp, he shoved Ilay hard in the chest. “Y-you… are you kidding me?!”

He collapsed back against the mattress, too weak to sit up.

---

The smile vanished from Ilay’s face.

Just like that.

Gone.

In its place, a cold stillness.
His black eyes, once playful, now hollow and piercing—like a blade dipped in frost.
They stared into Tae’s soul, searching. Judging. Hunting.

His voice dropped, quiet but sharp.

“Was he someone precious?” he asked. “Or just a random man you met?”

The question dropped like ice in Tae’s stomach.

He froze. His gaze fell, unable to meet those eyes.

In that moment, Tae realized—too late—what was really happening.

Ilay had doubted him.
Had truly, deeply believed… that Tae could betray him.

That simple truth struck harder than the bullet ever could.

Tae’s chest tightened. His breath faltered.
Not from fear.
But from heartbreak.

He had risked everything to protect Ilay.

He had lied to keep him safe.
He had bled for him—literally.
And this was the result.

Ilay, with his endless jealousy, his possessive madness…
He hadn’t believed in Tae.

Even after everything.
After all the years.
All the love.
All the scars.

Tae’s heart whispered a single question, quiet and cracked:
Was I never enough for him to trust?

He had forgiven Ilay for so much.
For his cruelty, his obsession, his sharp edges and sharp words.
Because beneath it all, Ilay loved him—raw and violently, but honestly.

Or so Tae thought.

He believed that answering love with love would be enough.
That if he stayed, and endured, and gave everything he had—Ilay would one day understand.

But he never did.

And now a man was dead.
And Tae was bleeding.
And Ilay… had believed the worst.

That could not be forgiven.

Not this time.

Something in Tae’s mind… snapped.

A clean, cold break.

He lifted his head slowly.

His eyes—once soft—were now cold. Still. Unreadable.

He stared into Ilay’s eyes with a blankness that made even Ilay pause.

And then he spoke.
Quiet. Icy. Detached.

“…He was just a random man.”

---

Tae had wanted to explain.

He had been ready to tell Ilay everything.

Why he left.
Why he lied.
Why a stranger had been by his side in that hotel room.

But now?

Now, there was no point.

Ilay had already passed his judgment.
He had believed the worst.
And Tae no longer had the strength—or the will—to fight against that.

So instead, Tae stared straight at him.

Calm.

Unblinking.

And said, “He was just a random man. We met a few days ago. Traveled together. Flirted here and there. Ended up in a hotel.”

His voice was flat.
Smooth.
So steady it was unsettling.

Ilay’s eyes darkened further, if that was even possible.

The silence between them cracked with tension.
He stood up, slowly, breathing deep—trying to stay composed.

He walked toward the window.
Opened it for air.

But the calm didn’t last.

Suddenly, his fist slammed into the glass.

Shatter.

Fragments exploded around him.
Blood dripped freely down his knuckles, painting his pale skin red.

Tae didn’t flinch.

He only watched.

Coldly.

Detached.

He let the silence hang a moment before speaking again.

“Good,” he said quietly. “It’s better to break things than people. If you'd fired another bullet at me, I might not be here to mock you.”

Ilay turned slightly—his bleeding hand trembling, still clenched.

Tae's gaze dropped to it.
That hand… the one he used to kiss.
The one that used to trace his skin in the dark.

Once, it was beautiful to him.

Now?

Now it was just a weapon.

A disgusting, terrifying thing that killed without hesitation.

Tae’s eyes returned to Ilay’s face.

And for the first time, he didn’t see the man he loved.

He saw a stranger.

---

Days had passed.

The air in Berlin was colder than usual—too still, too silent.

Tae returned to the city in a wheelchair. His leg, wrapped in a thick medical brace, didn’t touch the ground once as Ilay wheeled him through the grand halls of the Reigro family estate.

Only Kyle asked for answers.

In his office—walls lined with ancient books and shelves of antique weaponry—he sat behind his desk, arms folded tightly across his chest. His usual calm was gone, replaced by a rare intensity.

Ilay stood before him, composed as ever, dressed in black, his wounded hand wrapped in fresh gauze.

Kyle’s voice broke the silence, sharp and furious.
“Have you completely lost your mind, Ilay? You shot his knee? His already-injured knee?”

Ilay didn’t flinch. He only stared back at his brother with that same cold detachment.

“I’ve told Tae countless times that he belongs to me,” he said flatly. “If he refuses to accept that, he should be grateful I didn’t take both his legs.”

Kyle stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly behind him.
His jaw clenched.

There was a silence between them, loud with unspoken rage.

Kyle didn’t know the details. He didn’t know who the man in Norway was, or why Tae had lied, or what had really happened in that hotel room.

But he knew Tae.
And he knew that boy could never betray someone he loved.
Especially not Ilay.

Kyle narrowed his eyes. “You used to love him. I thought, out of all the things you’ve ruined, at least Tae would be the one you’d protect.”

Ilay’s gaze didn’t change.

“I still love him,” he replied. “That’s why he’s still breathing.”

The words hung heavy in the room.

Kyle’s fists clenched at his sides.

There was nothing left to say.

He had always known his brother was dangerous.

He just hadn’t realized how far that danger would go when love turned into possession.

---

The family doctor had left an hour ago.

His verdict was simple: Tae would recover—but slowly. With care. With time.

And no more trauma.

Too bad no one in this house knew how to promise that.

Later that day, Kyle made his way to Tae’s room. The scent of antiseptic lingered in the air, and the room was dim, quiet but not peaceful. Tae sat near the window in his wheelchair, sunlight pooling on the floor beneath his bare feet. He looked calm—too calm.

Kyle had always seen Tae as a younger brother. Tae was warm, gentle, and smarter than he let on. And Kyle, who knew how possessive Ilay could be, had often wished they’d never fallen in love.

That kind of love… was a trap.

Kyle cleared his throat, stepping closer.
“Tae… are you okay?” he asked, voice soft and worried.

Tae turned his head slightly, a weak smirk forming on his lips.
“Your brother shot my knee, Kyle. I’m definitely not okay.”

Kyle tried to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
He dropped to one knee in front of Tae, leveling his gaze with him.

“Tae,” he said more quietly, “what happened? Did Ilay… did he think you were trying to run away?”

For a second, Tae said nothing. His eyes, those usually clear brown eyes, clouded with something darker. Rage. Sorrow. Something heavy.

His throat tightened.

It wasn’t the physical pain that choked him—it was the betrayal.

The realization that Ilay didn’t believe him. Didn’t trust him.

Before he could speak—before he could explain what Ilay had done and what Tae had felt—

A voice cut through the air.

“I told you, Kyle,” Ilay said as he stepped into the room. “It’s over. There’s no point in talking to him anymore.”

Tae didn’t turn to look.

His shoulders remained still.

But Kyle did.

And what he saw in Ilay’s eyes wasn’t just possessiveness.

It was ownership.

And something even darker behind it.

The door creaked as Ilay stepped inside, the faint clink of porcelain echoing with each measured step. In his hands, he carried a tray—tea, biscuits, and a kind of domestic peace offering that felt wrong in its softness.

He placed the tray on the small table between Tae and himself with the precision of someone who had done this before—who knew exactly how Tae liked his tea, how many biscuits he usually took, how much sugar he’d never add.

Ilay didn’t look at Tae.
Instead, his eyes flicked coldly to Kyle.

“I told you the matter is over,” Ilay said flatly. “Stop bothering him.”

Kyle looked at Tae, searching for something in his expression—anger, resistance, anything—but all he saw was a hollow blankness. Tae’s eyes were empty. He didn’t flinch, didn’t argue, didn’t react. He simply turned the page of the book in his lap with the same slow grace he always had.

As if Ilay hadn’t pulled the trigger.

As if Tae’s knee wasn’t shattered beneath the blanket.

Ilay took the seat across from him, unfolding the day’s newspaper, the soft rustle of pages blending with the silence. He didn’t speak. He didn’t even glance at Tae.

Tae didn’t acknowledge him either.

He read, or at least pretended to.

Kyle stood frozen for a long moment, his chest tight with frustration and helplessness. The atmosphere was suffocating—two people sharing space but worlds apart, separated by a silence so cold it burned.

He finally turned away.
He understood now.

Tae wouldn’t speak.

Not to him.
Maybe not to anyone.

Something between them had broken—something deeper than flesh and blood.

As he walked out and gently shut the door behind him, Kyle could only hope that whatever storm had fallen between them would pass… before it destroyed them both completely.

Only two days had passed since Ilay and Tae returned to Berlin.

But peace hadn’t returned with them.

It was early in the afternoon when the heavy front doors of the estate were thrown open, echoing through the halls like a warning bell. Alan stormed in, ignoring every attempt by the staff to stop him, and barged straight into Kyle’s office.

"Tell me Ilay didn’t kill Jeong Tae!" Alan’s voice cracked as he shouted.

Kyle, seated behind his desk, stood up at once. "What?! No — Ilay didn’t kill him, but… he shot him. In the knee."

Alan’s face drained of all color. "What?!"

He stepped forward and grabbed Kyle’s shoulders, shaking him with a desperation that was rare for a man like him. "Where is he?! Where is Ilay?! I need to speak to him now!"

Before Kyle could answer, the cold, composed voice of Ilay came from behind them.

"What do you need to say to me, Alan?"

Ilay stood in the doorway, posture calm, face unreadable — but his presence was like a storm about to break.

Alan turned slowly. The look in his eyes wasn’t one of guilt, but urgency — panic.

"I’m the one who sent Tae to Norway," Alan said, voice rough.

Kyle stared. "What...?"

Ilay didn't move, but the tension in his jaw tightened.

Alan stepped forward, words tumbling out. "There was a mission. A delicate one. But the client involved… he despises you, Ilay. Personally. If he found out you were on the case, he would’ve scrapped the whole operation. You would've refused to let that happen — I know you. So I asked Tae to go instead."

He looked between the two brothers, pleading.

"Tae didn’t want to lie to you. He told me he'd ask for your permission. He didn’t want to deceive you — he never wanted that."

Ilay’s expression didn’t change — not on the surface. But his eyes… they flickered. A crack in the mask.

Alan’s voice dropped, quieter now. "And Andreas? He was just support. Just backup. That’s it."

Silence stretched long and tense.

Ilay lowered his gaze for a moment. Then, slowly, he sank into the nearest chair like his knees were failing him. His hands rested on his thighs, pale, tense.

He spoke softly.

"He asked me. I gave him permission."
A pause.
"But I didn’t know the full story."

His voice grew colder, bitter.
"And when I didn’t know… I assumed."

He closed his eyes for a moment, a shadow falling over his face.

"I thought he betrayed me. I thought he gave himself to someone else. I—" he stopped himself.

Kyle watched his brother closely. He’d seen Ilay angry, cruel, merciless. But never like this. Never… ashamed.

Ilay opened his eyes, and for the first time in a long time — they were filled with something deeper than fury.

Regret.

"I shot him,"

Ilay stood still, the heavy silence wrapping around him like a second skin.
He looked down at his hand — covered in a sleek black glove.

That hand… once elegant, refined, controlled.

Now, all he could see was brutality.

And then, it hit him —
That moment at the hospital.
Tae had vomited the moment his eyes landed on Ilay’s hand.
He had looked at him like he was repulsive.
Like he was disgusting.

Something twisted deep in Ilay’s chest.

Then he laughed.

It came out of nowhere — loud, wild, cracked with something dark underneath.
The sound echoed through the room like shattering glass.

Alan and Kyle both startled, staring at him in alarm.

Ilay clutched his stomach, laughing harder now, madness curling at the edges of his voice.

"I shot him!" he barked out between fits of laughter.
"He was trying to help me… and I shot him!"

The truth tasted bitter in his mouth.

He thought back to the boy who had looked up at him with unwavering trust for years.
Tae — who always believed in him.
Tae — who called before he traveled.
Tae — who never lied, even when it was inconvenient.

And Ilay?
He doubted him.
He accused him.
He brutalized him.

He thought Tae had betrayed him…
When all Tae did was try to protect him from a mission Ilay would’ve never refused.

His laughter died down, replaced by an empty breath.
Ilay stared at the floor, the silence now suffocating.

“Tae…” he murmured the name like a ghost.

And then he smiled — not with joy, but with a bitter twist of his lips.

"He’s  kind… and I broke his kindness too ”

He whispered to himself, almost lovingly, almost cruelly:
“I’ve ruined him completely this time.”

He wasn’t talking about Tae’s knee.
He was talking about his soul.

Because Ilay knew… this time, he didn’t just hurt the person he loved.

He shattered him.

Alan left.

He had expected the worst — a bullet to the head, maybe.
He had involved Tae in a mission behind Ilay’s back.
A dangerous one.
A personal one.

But Ilay let him go.

Without a word.

Without a gun raised.

Just silence.

---

Later that evening, Ilay climbed the stairs, each step slower than the last.

He stopped in front of Tae’s door.
His hand hovered over the doorknob.

The same room that once felt warm… now felt cold even before he entered.

He opened it gently.

Tae was on his bed — a blanket over his legs, a book in hand.
A plate with half-eaten pastries sat beside him — Reta’s homemade pie biscuits.

He didn’t look up.

Ilay stepped in, quiet as a ghost, and sat on the chair across from him.

He spoke, his voice soft — almost pleading, almost drowning.

“Tae…”

He didn’t sound like himself.
He sounded like a man asking for mercy without knowing how to beg.

Tae didn’t look at him.
He turned a page of his book calmly, expression unreadable.

His voice, when it came, was cold and flat.

“Was that Alan?”

No affection. No emotion.

Just distance.

Like Ilay was nothing but a shadow in the room.

Ilay spoke in a steady voice, but it carried the weight of someone lost —
a man who no longer knew what to say, or what to do.

“Tae… what should I do?”

His question hung in the air like fog.

Tae finally looked at him — not with love, not with pain… but indifference.
An emptiness that Ilay had never seen before.

Tae no longer cared.
Not about Ilay’s anger.
Not about his regret.
Not about the shattered pieces of guilt scattered between them.

If Tae had betrayed Ilay — truly betrayed him —
Ilay would have forgiven him with a bullet.

But Tae?

Tae couldn’t forgive a man who didn’t trust him.

Not even if Ilay carved out his own heart and laid it at his feet.

The conversation lingered in the silence, neither of them moving at first. Then, Tae’s eyes returned to his book as if nothing had happened. His voice was flat, indifferent.

“If guilt’s keeping you up at night, try taking a bullet. It helps you sleep.”

Ilay flinched at the words — not because they were loud, but because they were painfully true.

He reached forward, his large hand wrapping tightly around Tae’s. Ilay didn’t know what exactly he was begging for — forgiveness, punishment, a sign that he hadn’t completely lost Tae — but his eyes were unreadable as he clung to him.

“Shoot me,” he said quietly.
“If it’ll make you feel better, even a little… then do it. I don’t mind.”

Ilay pulled a loaded gun from under his coat, clicked it into readiness, and handed it to Tae without hesitation.

Tae stared at the weapon, barely blinking. There was no emotion in his expression — not anger, not revenge. Just a cold, bored resolve. Maybe if he followed Ilay’s suggestion, Ilay would finally leave him alone.

He raised the gun slowly, leveled it at Ilay’s shoulder — the same side where his hand had once gently held him so many times — and, without a single word or flicker of hesitation…

He pulled the trigger.

The room was silent, save for the soft dripping of blood onto the floor.

Ilay stood still, his shoulder bleeding freely from the shot. He stared down at the wound, watching the crimson soak into his shirt, as if trying to understand what had just happened.

He lifted his gaze toward Tae.

But Tae only gave him a glance — one filled not with anger or fear, but pure boredom. As if Ilay were nothing more than a mild inconvenience now.

Tae placed the gun back in the drawer beside his bed and spoke calmly, with cool detachment.

"Go tend to your wound. The room will start to stink of blood."

Ilay didn’t argue. His mind was a fog, heavy and slow. He turned silently, moving toward the door with numb steps.

But before he could leave, the door burst open with a bang.

Kyle rushed in, breathless and alarmed, followed closely by Rita.

Kyle’s eyes immediately locked onto Ilay’s bleeding shoulder. Then he turned his attention to Tae — who sat on the bed, yawning, flipping a page in his book with absolute nonchalance.

Kyle didn’t know exactly what had happened…
But he knew one thing for sure:

Tae hadn’t forgiven Ilay.

The silence hung heavy in the room until Rita stepped forward, breaking it gently with her voice.

"Young Master," she said to Ilay, her tone calm but firm, "please, let us tend to your wound. You'll get an infection like that."

It had been five days since Ilay learned the truth—five long days of silence, guilt, and suffocating tension.

Tae, surprisingly, didn’t show the signs Ilay had expected. He wasn't angry. He wasn’t screaming or throwing accusations. In fact, he wasn’t doing much of anything when it came to Ilay. His knee was injured, yes, but emotionally... he seemed untouched.

That was what tormented Ilay the most.

Tae acted perfectly normal with everyone else. He joked with Rita while she prepared breakfast, asked about her sister’s wedding plans. He greeted Kyle’s guests with his usual polite charm. He borrowed books from Kyle’s study, read in the garden during sunny afternoons, and even helped James, Kyle’s secretary, sort through tedious paperwork.

He was lively. Calm. Functional.

But when Ilay entered a room, it was like Tae’s senses dulled. He didn’t flinch, didn’t glance his way, didn’t speak unless spoken to — and even then, his words were neutral. Not cold. Not cruel. Just… indifferent. Like Ilay was part of the wallpaper.

It was maddening.

Ilay watched him from afar, haunted by every limp in Tae’s step, by the soft thud of the cane against the hardwood floor. He remembered clearly how that same leg had once wrapped around him when they kissed in secret, or how Tae used to pull him close with it when he wanted more time in bed.

Now, that leg was bandaged. Bruised. Damaged — by his own hand.

Ilay’s guilt festered like a wound that wouldn’t close. He found himself gripping the edge of the sink until his knuckles turned white. He’d stare at his own reflection, asking himself the same question every night:

"Why didn’t I believe him?"

The silence from Tae hurt more than any punch or scream would have. It was worse than hatred. Hatred at least meant you mattered. But indifference? That was annihilation.

The heavy oak doors of the Rigrow estate swung open with a loud creak, and a figure stepped in—sharp, fast, determined.

Chris Tarten.

He had just returned from his mission in Saudi. The moment he heard what happened—what Ilay had done to Tae—he didn’t bother to rest. He came straight to the Riguero estate, jaw clenched, rage simmering in his eyes.

The rumors were true.

Ilay had shot Tae. In the knee. A brutal, cold punishment from a man blinded by jealousy and pride.

Chris stormed through the marble halls, barely acknowledging the servants that bowed as he passed. He didn’t care about formalities, not now. His chest was tight with disbelief, and somewhere beneath that, a sick twist of fear.

Tae had been his friend.

Tae was too warm, too soft-spoken, too open. But somehow, Tae had slipped past the cracks in his armor. His sincerity, his stubborn kindness, the way he respected Chris’s boundaries without ever making him feel strange for them…

For the first time in years, Chris had started to feel something close to peace.

He remembered how he used to flinch away from any form of contact, how his skin would crawl even with a handshake. But with Tae... it had been different. Tae never pushed. He waited. Gave space. And over time, Chris had let him in.

And now Ilay — that possessive, ruthless bastard — had shattered the one person who brought Chris a sense of normalcy.

When Chris entered the grand sitting room, Kyle was already waiting, having heard from the guards who had just let him in. Chris didn’t waste time.

“Where is he?” His voice was low, tight, dangerously calm.

Kyle sighed. “If you mean Tae, he’s in the study. Reading. He’s… okay. Mostly.”

“Mostly?” Chris echoed bitterly. “Ilay shot him.”

“I know,” Kyle replied. “But Tae’s… handling it in his own way.”

Chris didn’t respond. He didn’t trust his voice not to crack from the quiet fury building inside.

He turned toward the hallway, but Kyle called after him.

“Don’t hurt him, Chris.”

Chris paused. “Tae?”

Kyle shook his head. “Ilay.”

Chris’s laugh was dry, sharp. “I won’t touch Ilay,” he said over his shoulder. “Unless he tries to touch me first.”

And with that, he disappeared down the corridor, toward the only person in this cursed estate he truly wanted to see.

Tae.

Chris finally found him in the study.

Just like Kyle had said—Tae looked fine, at least on the surface. He was seated on a couch by the window, his injured leg resting gently atop a small ottoman, a thick book in his hands and a calm expression on his face. The sunlight poured in from the window beside him, making the room feel almost peaceful.

But Chris knew better.

There was something wrong. Something deeply off about the way Tae smiled at the pages, too composed, too calm. No one could be okay after what happened. Not really.

Still, Chris tried to play it cool—like he always did. He slipped into the seat across from Tae, leaned back like it was just another casual visit, masking the tension in his shoulders.

With a faint smirk, Chris said, “I thought it was something serious. But look at you—you seem perfectly fine.”

Tae let out a soft laugh, the kind that felt a little too light, too rehearsed. “My brother said he was going to visit too. Maybe getting shot was the trick to finally getting some surprise visitors.”

Chris didn’t laugh.

He looked at Tae for a moment, quietly. The way he held his book with both hands like it grounded him. The small wince that crossed his face when he shifted his leg. The slight hollowness behind his eyes despite the smile.

Tae was pretending.

Chris hated that he was good at pretending too—good enough that almost anyone else might’ve believed him.

But Chris knew.

After spending some time talking with Tae, Chris stood up, brushing off his jacket.

“I should head back to the Tarten” he said casually.

Tae nodded, offering a polite smile, and Chris left after a short goodbye.

But Chris didn’t actually leave the estate.

He went looking for Ilay.

There was a storm of anger boiling inside Chris—he hadn’t let it show in front of Tae, but now it was ready to explode. He didn’t care if Ilay was the heir of the Rigrow family. He didn’t care if he got in trouble for it.

He was ready to knock him out.

When Chris finally found Ilay, he stopped.

Ilay was outside, leaning against the garden wall, a cigarette between his fingers. His eyes were sunken, his posture exhausted. His suit looked sharp, as always, but there was something off—something broken. It was the first time Chris had ever seen Ilay like that.

But Chris didn’t feel pity.

He didn’t soften.

The second their eyes met, Chris didn’t say a word. He walked straight up to Ilay—

—and punched him hard across the face.

Ilay stumbled, the cigarette falling to the ground.

Chris grabbed him by the collar, his voice low and furious.

“You shot him,” Chris hissed. “You looked him in the eye and pulled the trigger.”

Ilay didn’t say anything.

He didn’t even try to fight back.

And for a brief second, that silence made Chris even angrier.

Ilay didn’t move.
He didn’t raise his hand.
He didn’t defend himself.

Chris stood in front of him, chest heaving, knuckles still tight from the punch.

“You’re sick,” Chris spat. “You’re twisted. You always have been, but I never thought you’d actually cross that line.”

Ilay’s eyes, dark and empty, barely blinked.

Chris stepped closer, his voice sharp like a blade.

“Tae trusted you. He believed in you when no one else did. And you—you didn’t just hurt him. You broke him. You looked at him, and you saw a lie instead of loyalty.”

Ilay didn’t speak. His silence was louder than any excuse.

Chris scoffed, eyes burning.
“Do you know what I saw in his eyes?” he said. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Because whatever he felt for you—it’s gone. You killed it.”

Ilay looked away, jaw clenched.

But Chris wasn’t done.

“You don’t deserve his forgiveness. Hell, you don’t even deserve his silence. You’re lucky he didn’t shoot you in the heart.”

Ilay finally looked back at Chris, lips parted—but the words wouldn’t come. His voice had been buried under the weight of guilt for days now.

And Chris, breathing heavily, let out one last bitter sentence before walking away.

He turned and left, leaving Ilay alone in the garden, staring at the blood on his lip and the truth ringing in his ears.

Despite everything, Ilay still took care of Tae.

Every morning, he would help him out of bed, gently supporting his injured knee. He’d hold him steady in the shower, his hands firm but cautious, careful not to let Tae slip—careful not to look too long at the skin he once kissed with devotion.

When Tae needed to go downstairs, Ilay was there without asking. He'd offer his arm, sometimes crouch down to carry him when the pain became too much. And Tae never refused.

That was the hardest part.

Tae didn’t flinch.
Didn’t resist.
Didn’t push him away.
But he also didn’t look at him the same way.

There was no warmth. No softness in his gaze.
Just calm, polite acceptance—like Ilay was a nurse, or a stranger offering help.

Ilay would have preferred anger. Even hate.
But this quiet, distant kindness?
It was unbearable.

Once, as he helped Tae put on a shirt, Ilay caught a glimpse of the scarred edge of his own gunshot wound—the one Tae had given him. The irony wasn’t lost on him.

He swallowed hard and asked, his voice low, “Do you want me to stop… helping you?”

Tae looked at him for a second. Then simply said, “If I needed you to stop, I would’ve said it.”

And that was it.
No thanks. No emotion. Just facts.

Ilay nodded, silently resuming his task.
His hands moved, but his mind spiraled.

He was still by Tae’s side every day.
But it felt like he was a million miles away.

It was a cold night.
Rain poured heavily, drumming against the windows with relentless force.

The cold always made Tae’s injury worse—but tonight, the pain was unbearable. His knee throbbed with every heartbeat, swollen and burning under the pressure of the storm outside.

Ilay noticed him curled on the couch, eyes clenched shut, trembling and soaked in sweat despite the chill. Without a word, Ilay scooped Tae into his arms.

Tae didn’t protest.
He couldn’t.

Ilay carried him to his bedroom, his jaw clenched, trying not to panic at the heat radiating from Tae’s skin. He laid him gently on the bed, brushing damp hair from his forehead.

Tae groaned in pain, his breaths sharp and uneven.

Ilay knelt beside the bed and held Tae’s injured knee in his hands. His touch was delicate—almost afraid.

His lips pressed a faint kiss against the bandaged joint.

A trembling, broken whisper followed.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

He wasn’t even sure what he was apologizing for anymore. For the bullet. For the doubt. For the silence. For the way Tae now looked at him like a ghost of someone he used to love.

Tae didn’t answer.
Maybe he was half asleep.
Maybe he didn’t want to hear it.

But Ilay stayed there, his forehead resting on the edge of the bed, his hand still gently holding Tae’s knee.
Soaking in the guilt.
Soaking in the rain.

Jeong Jae.
Tae’s older twin brother—older by only a few minutes.

Jae has been living in Riyadh for about two years... with his boyfriend. immersed in quiet work and a life far away from the chaos his younger twin often found himself in.

Normally, Jae wouldn't bother flying across countries for an injury. Tae had reassured him over the phone, told him it wasn’t serious, that everything was under control.

But Jae wasn’t convinced.
There was something in Tae’s voice—too calm, too detached.

So Jae booked the first flight out.

---

Jae was a quiet man.
Sharp-minded. Lucky in ways most weren’t, but never arrogant about it. He carried himself with a calm dignity, humble despite his brilliance.

And he hated Ilay.
It wasn’t a loud, dramatic hatred—just a quiet, firm distaste.

It was simple.
Ilay was Tae’s lover.
That alone was reason enough.

And Ilay hated Jae in return, perhaps just as much—because Jae was Tae’s brother. The ever-present reminder of where Tae’s heart might run if it ever tried to escape.

Their animosity had always been subtle. Not violent. Just sharp glances. Cold silences.

But this time, Jae wasn’t coming as a protective brother.
He was coming as someone who knew something was deeply wrong.

Jae had arrived a day and a half ago.

He’d already seen Tae.

And the situation was far worse than he imagined.
He didn’t know the full story—why Tae was injured, or why Ilay had shot him of all things.

But the moment he arrived, he grabbed Tae’s hand and said in a sharp voice that broke his usual calm,
"Tae-ui, come with me."

Jae’s tone was firm. His words clearer than ever.
"I’m not leaving you here with that lunatic. I don’t care what you did—nothing gives him the right to do this to you."

Tae was surprised by his brother’s sudden intensity.
Jae was rarely shaken, rarely loud.

But Tae smiled, as he always did. Gently. Unbothered.

He held Jae’s hands tightly and said,
"Hyung, I’m really fine. There’s no need to overreact, okay? It’s just an injury. The doctor said it’ll heal with time… don’t worry."

Tae sat quietly on a chair by the pool, a soft breeze brushing against his hair.
Next to him, his twin brother Jae was seated, holding a book in his lap, though he hadn’t turned a page in minutes.
They were supposed to be reading together, like old times.
But for Jae, the words on the page blurred into a mess of ink—his mind too loud to focus.

He had been here for over a day now, and still, Tae refused to leave.
Refused to come back with him.
Refused to admit how much pain he was in.

Jae had tried to stay calm, rational, patient.
But nothing could erase the image of Tae’s injured leg,
or the quiet, almost eerie stillness in his brother’s eyes when he smiled and said,
“I’m fine.”

Because he wasn’t.

And Jae knew that no one could be fine after being shot by someone they loved.

Especially not Tae.

The more time passed, the more Jae’s hatred for Ilay burned.
It wasn’t just protective anger anymore.
It was betrayal, disgust, disbelief.
He had never liked Ilay to begin with—but now, he couldn't understand how Tae could still stay under the same roof as him.

And yet, the strangest part—the part that made Jae’s chest twist—
was how calm Tae remained.
He didn’t scream.
He didn’t cry.
He didn’t even talk about what had happened unless asked.

But Jae could feel it.
Something colder than hate.
A detachment that frightened him more than any outburst could.

Then, in the quiet of the garden, Jae finally spoke.
His voice was low, but firm—meant to be heard, meant to reach.
“It must hurt… to be hated and looked at with disgust by someone you love.”

Tae’s fingers stilled over the edge of his book.
He closed it gently, as if not surprised by the words.
He looked at Jae, his eyes unreadable,
but not empty.

“Hyung…” he said softly.
“If someone crushed your trust…
If they took all the loyalty and love you gave them and threw it away like it meant nothing…
And it was someone you cared for with your whole heart—
What would you do?”

Jae looked away.
He tilted his head toward the sky, as if searching the clouds for an answer.
But no answer came.
Because he didn’t know.
And maybe… he didn’t want to know.

Tae’s voice returned, quieter this time, but filled with something heavier.
“You’re lucky, hyung. The person you chose is careful with you.
He protects you.
He never lets himself go far enough to hurt you like that.
That’s not something everyone gets.”

He opened his book again, eyes scanning the page like nothing had happened.
Like his heart hadn’t just cracked a little more.

Jae sat in silence, his chest tight,
realizing that Tae’s pain was much deeper than anything he could fix.

Jae stayed for nearly a week.

He kept a close eye on Tae the entire time, watching, waiting—hoping for a sign that his brother was truly okay.
Physically, Tae had improved. He could walk with a cane now, a bit steadier every day.
He ate well, read often, and spoke politely to everyone around him.

Even Ilay.

That was perhaps what unsettled Jae the most.

Tae didn’t ignore Ilay.
He answered when spoken to.
He let Ilay help him when necessary.
He didn’t flinch or look at him coldly.

But it wasn’t kindness.
It wasn’t warmth.
It was distance—so subtle, yet sharp like glass between them.

Tae treated Ilay like he was…
a stranger.
A stranger offering occasional help.
Not the man who once held his heart.

Ilay, for his part, remained quietly devoted.
He never forced conversation.
He never asked for more than Tae was willing to give.
But Jae could see the weight he carried.
The regret in his eyes every time Tae looked away.
The way his hand would tremble slightly when Tae brushed past him without a second glance.

Jae didn’t think it was right to leave Tae like this.
He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was still broken—that his brother was holding everything in too tightly.
He expressed his concerns to their uncle, hoping for backup.

But the older man simply sighed and said,
“Tae’s heart isn’t shallow. He won’t break from this.”

It wasn’t the reassurance Jae had wanted.
But maybe… it was enough.

So on the final morning, Jae stood in the guest room packing his things.
He folded each shirt carefully, his mind still half with his brother.
When it was time to leave, he found Tae sitting in the hallway near the garden window, reading once more.

Jae knelt beside him and placed a hand gently on his shoulder.

“I’m heading out.”

Tae looked up, offering him that calm, tired smile.

“Thanks for coming, hyung.”

Jae hesitated… then nodded.
“Just… don’t let that pain eat away at you, okay?”

Tae’s smile didn’t waver, but his eyes said more than words ever could.

“I won’t.”

It wasn’t quite a promise.
But it was all Jae would get.

So he left—his chest heavy,
and his heart still not entirely convinced that Tae would be okay.

The silence in the manor was the kind that echoed—
not through the halls,
but through Ilay’s chest.

Jae had finally left.
And for some reason, that made everything feel worse.

Tae had smiled at his brother.
Talked with him.
Laughed, even.

Ilay saw it from afar.
And it stung like hell.

He hadn’t heard Tae laugh like that in weeks.
Not since the day his own bullet shattered that knee—
shattered more than just bone.

Ilay sat on the edge of his bed, cigarette burning slowly between his fingers,
his eyes on the rain-speckled window.
He hadn’t smoked like this in years.
It was one of those old habits—ugly, poisonous—but it helped slow the thoughts.
Sometimes.

He hated this.
The not-knowing.
The guilt.
The way Tae looked through him like he was nothing more than air.

Not cruel.
Not cold.
Just… indifferent.

That was worse.

If Tae had screamed, cursed him, hit him—
it would’ve been easier.
Ilay could’ve taken the punishment.

But this?

This quiet rejection.

It gnawed at him.

Every day, he helped Tae.
Helped him walk.
Helped him bathe, dress, even eat on the bad days.

And Tae let him.

He didn’t push him away.
Didn’t accuse him.

But he also never said thank you.
Never looked him in the eyes.

It was like Ilay had become just another chair in the room—useful, maybe, but invisible.

He deserved that.
He knew it.

He was the one who didn’t trust.
The one who doubted the man he claimed to love.
The one who—without a second thought—pulled the trigger.

What had Tae said?
“Try getting shot if you can’t sleep.”

Ilay had laughed bitterly that night,
not because it was funny—
but because it was true.

He still couldn’t sleep.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Tae’s face twisted in pain.
He saw the blood.
He saw himself—unfeeling, blind with jealousy.

He brought the cigarette to his lips again,
then stopped.

He pressed the glowing end into the ashtray instead,
his jaw tight.

This wasn’t enough.

Helping Tae physically—
it meant nothing if he couldn’t reach him where it mattered.

In his heart.

And Ilay…
Ilay wasn’t sure if he even had the right to try.

But he knew one thing:

He couldn’t keep living like this.

He had to do something.

Something real.

Even if it meant letting go.

Even if it meant losing him forever.

The hallway outside Tae’s room was quiet.
Too quiet.
The kind that makes every step feel louder than it should be.
Ilay stood there for a few seconds, staring at the door.
His hand hovered in the air—hesitating.

What could he even say?

"I’m sorry"?
He’s said that already.
It wasn’t enough.
It would never be enough.

But tonight… tonight, Ilay didn’t come with apologies.
He came with truth.

He knocked gently.
Once.
Then pushed the door open.

Tae was by the window, crutch resting against the frame, a book in his hand.
He didn’t turn.

"I can’t sleep," Ilay said, voice low.
Tae didn’t respond.
Just flipped a page.

Ilay stepped in. Closed the door softly behind him.
He didn’t walk all the way—stopped halfway across the room.

"...I’ve been thinking," he continued, quieter. "About the kind of man I became."

Still, no answer.

"I didn’t pull the trigger because you lied.
I did it because I was scared.
Because somewhere along the way, I convinced myself I wasn’t enough for you.
That you’d leave. That I had to protect myself first, even from you."

Tae’s hands paused on the next page.

Ilay took a breath, stepped closer.

"You’re not the one who broke this, Tae.
I was."

Finally, Tae turned his head a little. Just enough to glance at him. His expression was unreadable.

Ilay kept going. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I don’t even expect it.
But I just… I need you to know.
That every day since then—
every breath I take without hearing your voice, without feeling your hand in mine—
it feels like punishment."

Silence.

The rain tapped gently against the window.

"You didn’t destroy us," Ilay whispered.
"I did."

Tae closed his book slowly and finally turned around.

"I know," he said simply.

Ilay blinked, caught off guard.

"And I don’t hate you," Tae added, leaning on the crutch as he walked past him toward the bed.
"But I also don’t know who you are anymore, Ilay.
The man I loved… trusted me.
He never would’ve done that."

Ilay swallowed hard.

"Then let me earn him back," he said.
"Even if it takes years."

Tae sat down, exhausted, his eyes closing for a moment.

"You can’t earn people back like they’re trophies, Ilay.
But..."
he opened his eyes again—calm, tired, but not cold—
"...you can stay.
And we’ll see."

Just those words—"you can stay"—
they weren’t forgiveness.
They weren’t love.

But they were something.
And for Ilay, that was enough to keep breathing.

For now.

Tae sat on the edge of the large bed, slowly peeling off his soft, knitted sweater. His movements were quiet, precise—almost distant. The room was warm, but the silence between them was colder than the rain tapping on the window.

Ilay sat on the other end of the bed. He didn’t move closer. He didn’t speak.

This wasn’t the first time they shared this bed.
Ilay had sat there countless nights beside Tae.
He had read books here with him, tangled their legs under the same blanket, whispered stories into the dark.
He had kissed him here, touched him with reverence, and held him through storms both inside and out.

This bed had once been filled with laughter, quiet confessions, sleepy glances, the scent of tea and cologne and skin.

But tonight, the space between them felt like miles.

Ilay’s eyes scanned the shape of Tae’s back, the bare line of his shoulder under the warm light. There was no hatred there. No anger. Just… stillness.

And that stillness was unbearable.

He remembered how Tae used to lean into him naturally, like gravity pulled them together. Now he sat upright, composed, untouchable.

Ilay lowered his gaze, fingers curling slightly into the blanket.
His throat burned with words he couldn’t say.
He had been here before—but never as a stranger.

And for Ilay—
That silence, that bitter silence—
Was the only permission he needed to stay.

Even if it wasn’t the kind of staying he used to know.

For the first time in almost a month, Ilay slept.

Not the restless kind where his body shut down but his mind screamed—
but real sleep.
Heavy. Deep. Quiet.

It was the scent that did it.
The soft, familiar scent of Tae’s skin, the warmth of his presence beside him on the bed.
It wrapped around Ilay like a balm, melting the sharp edges of his guilt and letting exhaustion pull him under.

When Ilay opened his eyes, it was still dark.
A quiet dawn just beginning to stir behind the curtains.

Tae lay beside him, breathing softly. Peaceful.
He looked so close, yet so distant.
Like a dream Ilay wasn’t sure he had permission to reach for.

He didn’t dare touch him.
Not even his hand.

Ilay watched him for a moment longer.
Every freckle. Every rise and fall of his chest.
His heart ached with a thousand things he couldn’t say.

Carefully, quietly, Ilay rose from the bed.
He moved without a sound—
like someone slipping out of a sacred place they weren’t meant to enter.

And he left the room—
still carrying the warmth of Tae’s presence in his lungs,
like it might be the last thing that could keep him breathing.

Ilay couldn’t bear it any longer.

He knew it now—if there was anything keeping Tae from leaving, it was him.
And he couldn’t allow that. Not anymore.

Tae didn’t deserve to be tethered to the remnants of Ilay’s guilt.

So he searched the garden, finding him where he usually did these days—under the shaded pergola, a plate of cake in hand, chatting softly with Peter.

Ilay’s steps were heavy with resolve.
He approached with a sharpness in his voice that made Peter fall silent.

“Peter. Leave us.”

Peter hesitated, glanced between them, then stood and quietly walked away.

Tae looked up at Ilay, unfazed as always. He stood slowly with his crutch, wincing only slightly as he adjusted his balance. His smile, as gentle as ever, didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Ilay’s gaze was hard to read. Guarded. Tormented.

“You can leave, Tae,” he said, his voice low, almost steady.

Tae blinked—his eyes widening in visible shock. He hadn’t expected that.

Ilay continued, trying not to falter.
“You can go. You don’t have to stay here anymore. Even if you leave, I won’t do anything. I promise… you’re free.”

There was silence. A quiet, almost cruel kind.

Tae stared at him, searching his face for something—for sincerity, for trickery, maybe for a reason to stay.

Then slowly, Tae lowered his gaze and nodded.

“…Okay,” he said, voice soft. “Thank you.”

He began to turn, leaning on his crutch, each step slow but sure.

“Then… I’d be grateful if you could help me book a ticket back to Korea.”

Ilay said nothing.
He just stood there as Tae walked away—
each click of the crutch against stone echoing like thunder in his chest.

Tae returned to his room.

This time, for the first time in weeks, the emotions on his face could not be masked. There was no detached smile, no practiced calm. Just something fragile… quiet urgency in every step.

He walked straight to his closet, pulled out a medium-sized travel bag, and began packing.

Each fold of a shirt, each tucked-away item felt strangely final. His hands moved quickly, deliberately—because if he stopped to think, he might stop altogether.

Rita, having noticed the flicker of tension on his face earlier when he passed her in the hallway, came to check on him. She found him crouched on the floor, closing the zipper of his bag.

She didn’t speak right away.

Tae looked over his shoulder, surprised to see her, but smiled anyway. It was a warm smile—genuine, yet quietly sad.

“I can finally leave,” he said, as if it were a small victory. “Ilay said he won’t chase after me if I go. That’s good news, right?”

Rita didn’t respond. Her silence said more than words.

Tae caught the look on her face—the tight line of her lips, the sadness in her eyes.

He chuckled, a little awkwardly, and added with fake cheer, “Don’t worry. I’ll visit. I promise.”

Rita helped him carry the bag downstairs. Neither of them spoke much.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Ilay was already there, waiting. Standing in his usual calm, collected way, as if he hadn’t been pacing for an hour before Tae arrived.

Ilay’s expression was unreadable. But his eyes followed every move Tae made.

“I talked to the pilot,” Ilay said in his usual voice—low, quiet, familiar. “The plane is ready. No need to book a ticket.”

Tae gave a small nod, holding back the pressure in his throat.

They walked outside together, the late afternoon air brushing gently against their skin. Ilay helped Tae into the car, wordless and careful, as he had done a hundred times before—but this time felt different.

It felt final.

When they reached the private hangar, the strip was empty, quiet. Just the jet waiting with its engines still, and the open sky above it.

Tae stood, holding his crutch, his bag beside him.

Ilay stayed a step away, hands in his pockets, as if unsure whether to reach out or let go.

Tae turned to him.

“…Take care of yourself,” he said softly.

Ilay’s throat tightened. “You too.”

Neither smiled. Neither cried.

It was a goodbye spoken in silence, in glances, in the weight of all that remained unsaid.

And then Tae walked toward the plane, slowly, without looking back.

Tae walked slowly but steadily toward the jet. Every step was calculated, every breath heavier than the last. The wind brushed his cheeks like a quiet warning—one that whispered: “Are you really going to leave him behind?”

But Tae didn’t stop.

His heart ached with something deeper than pain. A quiet, gnawing heaviness that words couldn’t quite reach. He never thought Ilay would be the one to ask him to leave. Not him. Not the man who once held onto him so tightly, with a kind of obsession that blurred love and madness.

Tae had never feared Ilay. Not really.

If there had been no love between them, he would’ve taken the risk and left long ago. But it was because he loved Ilay that he stayed—because some part of him always believed… that no matter what, Ilay wouldn’t let him go.

So he kept walking. Without looking back.

He didn’t want to see. Didn’t want to know if Ilay had turned around or was already gone.

But then—

A hand grasped his shoulder.

Tae froze in place. The contact was warm, trembling. He turned his head slowly.

Ilay stood behind him.

His eyes—usually cold, unreadable—were wide, wet, and full of desperation. There was no mask, no pride left to hold. Only fear.

Ilay sank to his knees on the tarmac, ignoring the dust, the cold, the shame. His hands reached up and took both of Tae’s in his own.

“Tae… don’t leave.”

The words cracked in his throat. As if it hurt him to say them. As if they were being pulled from somewhere deep—somewhere broken.

Tae stared down at him, stunned.

For all his time with Ilay, through all the quiet gestures, the passion, the cruelty, the comfort… Tae had never seen him like this. Not truly.

Ilay’s grip tightened. “I’m not asking for forgiveness. I know I lost it.... but... don't leave me"

The jet’s engines remained silent. The world around them blurred into nothing.

Just two figures on the edge of a goodbye neither of them truly wanted.

Tae didn’t speak. Not yet.

He just looked at the man on his knees.

And for the first time in weeks, his heart moved.

Tae stood frozen, his back facing Ilay, the weight of the last few months pressing heavily on his shoulders. He had made up his mind. He was going to walk away—finally, painfully—but without turning back.

That was until Ilay’s hand grabbed his shoulder.

Tae stopped, his heart thudding so loud it almost drowned out the dull hum of the private jet engines in the distance. Slowly, hesitantly, he turned around.

Ilay was on his knees.

Tae’s breath hitched.

Ilay’s eyes were wide and terrified, his hands wrapped around Tae’s like he was holding on to the last thread of hope.

"Please… Tae,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Don’t go.”

For a moment, everything stood still.

Then the emotions Tae had buried under layers of control surged to the surface. His chest tightened painfully, and his voice came out rough and trembling.

“You think just asking me to stay is enough?”

Ilay flinched.

Tae’s eyes welled with unshed tears as his voice cracked with something between heartbreak and anger.

“If you don’t fight for me—if you don’t beg me to stay with you—who will?”

His hands shook as he pulled them from Ilay’s grip, stepping back just enough to breathe.

“Who else is going to tell me I matter? That I’m not just another person you can break and walk away from?!”

His tears finally spilled, slow and silent.

Ilay stood there, stunned—like a child who’d just been scolded and didn’t quite know what to do with the shame blooming inside his chest. Tae’s words still echoed in his mind, raw and piercing, a knife through the layers of pride and guilt he’d built around his heart.

In front of him, Tae lowered his head, shoulders trembling as he wept silently. The sight shattered something in Ilay.

Without thinking, Ilay stepped forward and wrapped his arms tightly around Tae’s shaking body.

It was instinct—desperate, aching instinct.

For a moment, he expected Tae to push him away, to resist as he had done so many times over the past weeks.

But he didn’t.

Tae leaned into the embrace, weak and trembling, and slowly lifted his arms to hold Ilay back, clinging to him with the kind of fragility that broke Ilay’s heart in a thousand new ways.

The silence between them was no longer cold—it was warm with shared pain, heavy with unspoken words and forgotten tenderness.

Ilay closed his eyes, burying his face in Tae’s shoulder, breathing him in like it was the first time after a long war.

In that moment, Ilay remembered something he had allowed guilt to erase—something that used to be so simple and absolute.

Tae was his.

Not in the sense of possession or control.

But in the way the sun belongs to the morning, in the way his heartbeat always found rhythm in Tae’s laughter, in the way Tae used to look at him like he was home.

He had forgotten that.

And worst of all… he had asked him to leave.

He had tried to let go of the one person who was never meant to be let go.

Ilay tightened his arms around Tae, voice barely a whisper against his ear.

“I’m sorry I forgot who you are to me.”

He pulled back slightly, enough to look into Tae’s red, teary eyes. There was no more pride in Ilay’s face—only quiet desperation and clarity.

“If you need me to beg… I will.”

“If you need me to fight for you, cry for you, fall on my knees a hundred times—I will.”

A beat of silence.

“But please… don’t go.”

And for the first time in a long time, Tae didn’t look away.

He just closed his eyes and let Ilay hold him a little longer.

Tae’s arms tightened around Ilay, suddenly and fiercely, as if something in him finally broke free.

He clung to Ilay’s neck, buried his face in the curve of it like it was the only place he could breathe. His fingers dug into Ilay’s shirt, and his chest rose and fell with deep, shaky breaths.

For the first time since the gunshot, since the pain and the betrayal—Tae’s heart felt something close to peace.

Not forgiveness.
Not yet.

But relief. A fragile sense of safety in the arms of the one who hurt him most.

Ilay held him just as tightly, grounding him, anchoring him to the moment.

Tae hadn’t forgotten the wound—the betrayal of not being believed, of not being trusted by the person who once promised to choose him above all else.

That pain hadn’t vanished.

But Tae wasn’t heartless. He couldn’t ignore the desperation in Ilay’s voice, the trembling in his hands, the way his eyes searched Tae’s like he was still afraid he’d vanish.

Ilay still loved him.

And Tae… he loved Ilay too.

He had always loved him.

But love wasn’t enough—not anymore.

He would make Ilay feel every ache he had buried, every sleepless night, every moment of silent agony.

Ilay would apologize a hundred times, a thousand times.

He would earn back every piece of Tae’s shattered trust.

Tae would make sure of it.

But he wasn’t going to leave.

Not now. Not like this.

With his face still pressed against Ilay’s neck, Tae whispered, his voice muffled but clear enough to cut through the silence.

“…You don’t get to tell me to go, Ilay.”

Ilay’s arms tightened around him, but he didn’t respond—he couldn’t. His throat was thick with emotion.

Tae leaned back just enough to look into his eyes, his own gaze fierce despite the traces of tears still clinging to his lashes.

“You broke something in me,” he said quietly, “but I’m still here.”

He reached up and gently touched Ilay’s face.

“And I’ll stay.”

A pause, a bitter smile playing on his lips.

“But you’ll suffer for it. Every day, until I’m whole again.”

And with that, he kissed Ilay’s cheek softly, as if sealing a quiet promise.

Not a reconciliation.

Not yet.

But the beginning of something،

maybe, —healing.

Tae didn’t leave.

And Ilay never stopped being afraid that he would.

But what Ilay didn’t expect—what he couldn’t even allow himself to hope for—was how naturally Tae fell back into him.

Tae still laughed at his dry jokes. Still leaned his head on Ilay’s shoulder when they watched movies. Still reached for his hand in the dark, as if nothing had ever broken between them.

The warmth was there. The intimacy. The love.

It never left.

But something had changed.

Ilay felt it in the way Tae sometimes paused before answering.
In the way his eyes softened, but never quite dropped their guard.
In the way he kissed him with the same hunger, but pulled away first—just a second too soon.

Ilay knew that he’d lost something that night.
Not Tae’s love—never that.
But the complete, unquestioned trust Tae once gave so easily… That was gone.

And Tae didn’t pretend otherwise.

One night, as they laid in bed—Ilay curled around Tae like he was afraid he’d vanish—Tae spoke softly into the darkness:

> “I still love you.”

Ilay’s breath caught in his chest.

> “I know,” he whispered.

> “But I haven’t forgotten,” Tae added, voice calm.

Ilay tightened his hold.

> “You don’t have to forget,” he murmured.
“Just… let me proving it won’t happen again.”

Tae turned, faced him, eyes filled with something deep and old—love wrapped in scars.