Chapter Text
The hall smelled of lilies and expensive wine, laughter echoing through gilded chandeliers, but Seokmin felt none of it. His jaw was locked tight, his hands shoved into the pockets of his perfectly tailored suit as guests whispered and smiled at the so-called “union of two prestigious families.”
His parents looked proud. His grandfather’s will had become reality, after all. Seokmin was married to someone he didn’t even want— Joshua Hong.
Joshua stood beside him, pale as porcelain, his slim fingers trembling slightly against the bouquet he held. He hadn’t smiled once the entire day, not when the priest pronounced them, not when relatives congratulated them, not even when cameras flashed to capture the “happiest day of their lives.”
Seokmin noticed none of it—at least, not consciously. He was too busy fuming, glaring at the floor, refusing to look at his new spouse.
When the time came to leave for his house, he didn’t offer Joshua a hand into the car. Instead, he walked ahead, leaving the younger to follow quietly behind.
The ride was silent. Seokmin’s fingers tapped against the steering wheel in irritation, his lips pressed into a hard line. Joshua sat rigidly in the passenger seat, his gaze fixed on his lap. Every small movement—Seokmin’s sudden gear shift, a sigh, the sound of his hand tightening on the steering wheel—made Joshua flinch imperceptibly.
But Seokmin didn’t notice. Or maybe, he didn’t care.
---
The house was big, too big for two people who didn’t even want to share a space.
Seokmin tossed his coat onto the couch carelessly, muttering, “You can take the guest room. Don’t touch my things.”
Joshua nodded silently, clutching the strap of his small bag. His eyes flickered around the room, trying to memorize the corners, the escape routes, the way the light from the chandelier cast sharp shadows against the wall.
“Did you hear me?” Seokmin’s voice rose sharply.
Joshua startled, shoulders jerking as if struck, before nodding quickly. “Y-yes.” His voice was quiet, fragile, barely audible.
Seokmin scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “Great. Just… stay out of my way.” He stomped upstairs, slamming his bedroom door behind him.
The echo of the slam made Joshua’s chest tighten. He let out a shaky breath, setting his bag down on the guest bed. His fingers brushed over the sheets—soft, clean, smelling faintly of detergent—and for some reason, it made his throat ache.
He curled up on the edge of the mattress, pulling his knees close. It wasn’t new—living in a house filled with shouting, filled with anger. But it was different. This wasn’t his father. This was his husband.
And that made the silence feel even heavier.
The first week blurred into a suffocating rhythm.
Seokmin came home late, his mood sour from work or from simply existing in a situation he hadn’t chosen. Joshua tiptoed around the house like a ghost, cooking meals he wasn’t sure Seokmin would eat, cleaning quietly, never daring to ask questions.
But the anger always found its way out.
One evening, Seokmin threw his tie across the living room and slammed his briefcase onto the floor. Joshua was sitting at the dining table, fingers nervously tracing the rim of his untouched glass of water.
“You call this dinner?” Seokmin’s voice was sharp as a blade. He lifted the lid off the casserole dish, scowling. “It’s cold.”
“I–I’m sorry,” Joshua stammered, already standing, his chair scraping against the floor. “I can reheat it—”
“Forget it!” Seokmin snapped, pushing the dish away so hard it clattered against the table’s edge. The crash of glass followed—Joshua’s water spilling, the glass shattering across the hardwood floor.
Joshua froze. His breath caught, his hands trembling violently.
The sound of breaking glass always did this—pulling him backward, into memories he didn’t want to remember.
He crouched down quickly, gathering shards with bare hands, ignoring the sting when one piece sliced his finger.
“For god’s sake, leave it!” Seokmin barked, storming off toward the stairs. His footsteps pounded like thunder. “You’re so—” he didn’t finish, just slammed his door shut.
The echo reverberated through the walls.
Joshua’s hands shook harder. The cut bled, crimson dripping onto the floor, but he didn’t notice. His chest felt too tight, his vision blurring. He pressed his forehead against his knees, curling into himself.
The broken glass sparkled under the light, like sharp stars scattered around him.
---
Joshua was ten the first time he learned silence was safer than words.
His father’s voice had been thunder that night, booming through the house. The mistake had been small—Joshua spilled ink on his homework, the neat lines ruined. His father stormed in, belt already in hand.
“Useless boy,” the man snarled, striking without hesitation. Joshua had cried out once, just once—before realizing that crying only made it worse. So he bit down on his sleeve, muffling the sound as the leather lashed against his skin.
His mother had stood in the doorway, frozen, lips pressed tight but saying nothing. Not protecting him. Not looking at him.
Afterward, Joshua had curled up in his bed, clutching his little stuffed bear, whispering apologies into its fur. Apologies for being clumsy. Apologies for existing.
The years had only sharpened the cycle. Every “mistake”—a dropped dish, a wrong word, a glance at the wrong time—was met with blows, shouts, and the same refrain: “You’re useless. Can’t do anything right.”
Even now, at twenty-two, the words echoed like ghosts.
So when Seokmin shouted, when glass shattered, when doors slammed—his body remembered. His hands shook, his breath caught, and he folded inward.
Because that was the only way he knew how to survive.
The second week of their marriage was no easier than the first.
Joshua had started ironing Seokmin’s clothes in the mornings because it felt like the only way to be useful. He didn’t want to annoy him, didn’t want to be a burden.
One evening, Seokmin came downstairs, tugging at his collar with irritation. “This shirt,” he growled, holding the sleeve out toward Joshua, “look at these creases. Do you even know how to iron properly?”
Joshua froze halfway through wiping down the dining table. His lips parted, but no sound came out.
“I said look,” Seokmin barked, tossing the shirt onto the table. The sudden motion made Joshua flinch back instinctively, his knuckles whitening around the cloth he held.
“I-I’m sorry,” Joshua whispered, bowing his head quickly. “I’ll fix it right away.”
“Don’t bother,” Seokmin snapped, already getting another shirt from the closet. “I don’t need half-assed help. Just… stay out of my way.”
The words were sharp, final, dismissive.
Joshua stood in silence, staring at the wrinkled fabric crumpled on the table. His throat burned, but he swallowed it down. Quiet was safer. Quiet meant fewer shouts, fewer slammed doors.
So he picked up the shirt gently, folded it with trembling hands, and tucked it away. As if erasing evidence of his failure.
---
Seokmin’s anger didn’t stop at home.
In the office, his voice carried down the polished hallways, sharp enough to make interns freeze mid-step. “How many times do I have to tell you? This report was due yesterday!” he shouted, slamming a folder onto his desk.
The junior employee stammered, trying to explain, but Seokmin cut him off with a glare that could slice steel. “Excuses won’t save this company. Get out before I fire you.”
The young man scrambled away, pale and trembling.
The office door swung open almost immediately after—this time not with a nervous subordinate, but with Seungcheol. Calm, authoritative, every inch the eldest brother. Behind him followed Wonwoo, quiet as usual, but his eyes sharp with disappointment.
“Seokmin.” Seungcheol’s voice was steady, but there was an edge beneath it. “What the hell are you doing? Half the staff looks like they’re walking on glass around you.”
Seokmin scowled, leaning back in his chair. “Maybe if they actually did their jobs, I wouldn’t have to raise my voice.”
Wonwoo crossed his arms, stepping closer. “Or maybe if you controlled your temper, people would actually want to work with you.” His tone was quiet, but it cut deeper than shouting.
Seokmin clicked his tongue, looking away. “You two don’t get it. I never wanted to be here in the first place. Or in that damned marriage either. I’m just—”
“—taking it out on everyone else,” Seungcheol finished for him. His gaze was firm, unrelenting. “Including your own husband.”
The words hit harder than Seokmin expected. He clenched his jaw, refusing to respond.
Wonwoo sighed. “You can hate the situation all you want, but don’t make Joshua the target of it. He’s not the enemy.”
For a flicker of a second, something twisted in Seokmin’s chest at the name. But he buried it, muttering, “You two sound just like our parents.”
Seungcheol didn’t reply right away—he just gave him that steady, older-brother stare. The kind that said You’re better than this, even if you don’t see it yet.
And Seokmin hated how much it unsettled him.
The rain poured heavy that night, drumming against the windows like a relentless heartbeat. Joshua sat on the couch, knees tucked close, a book open but unread in his lap. He glanced at the clock, it was past midnight.
The front door slammed open. Seokmin stumbled in, tossing his umbrella into the corner without care, his shoulders drenched.
“Why’s the house so damn dark?” he barked, yanking his jacket off. “What, you couldn’t turn on a light?”
Joshua flinched at the volume, quickly setting his book aside. “I-I thought you weren’t coming home yet, so—”
“So you just sit here like a ghost?” Seokmin cut him off, dragging a hand down his face. His voice was harsh, exhausted. “God, this marriage is a nightmare.”
The words landed like stones in Joshua’s chest. He bowed his head, his lips pressing tight together. He wanted to say I’m sorry—though he didn’t know what for but his throat closed up.
Seokmin didn’t wait for an answer. He brushed past him, heading upstairs, the sound of his heavy footsteps echoing through the hall.
Joshua stared after him, heart pounding. The storm outside raged on, but inside, the silence felt louder.
---
The silence reminded Joshua of when he was seven.
It had been raining then, too. He remembered dropping a glass in the kitchen, the shards scattering across the floor. His father’s face twisted in rage, his voice roaring through the house.
Joshua had tried to say he was sorry, tried to pick up the pieces quickly. But before he could, a rough hand shoved him hard into the hall closet.
“Stay there until you learn not to be useless,” his father had spat, slamming the door shut.
Joshua had sat in the pitch black, the smell of mothballs and dust suffocating him, listening to the storm outside. He had counted raindrops in his head, tried to imagine he was somewhere else—anywhere else.
He had promised himself, back then, that one day he’d leave. That he wouldn’t be trapped forever.
But sitting on Seokmin’s couch now, with rain hammering at the windows and the words “this marriage is a nightmare” ringing in his ears, he felt like that same boy again. Trapped in silence.
The next evening, Joshua set the table carefully—two plates, two glasses, the meal laid out neatly. He had spent hours cooking, hoping maybe tonight things would be different.
Seokmin walked in, loosened his tie, and glanced at the spread. “You’re kidding,” he muttered, dropping into his chair. “Soup and rice again? Don’t you know how to cook anything else?”
Joshua’s shoulders tensed. “I-I can make something different tomorrow—”
“Forget it,” Seokmin interrupted, grabbing the spoon. “Not like I eat at home much anyway.”
Joshua lowered his gaze, his appetite gone. He sat quietly across from him, his hands folded neatly in his lap, pretending he didn’t hear.
But inside, his chest ached with every word.
---
When Joshua was thirteen, his school music teacher had praised him for his piano recital. It was the first time someone had told him he was good at something. He came home glowing, clutching his sheet music.
His father had been sitting at the table, drinking. “Music? That’s what you’re proud of? A useless hobby for a useless boy.”
The sheet music had been ripped from his hands, torn in half before his eyes.
Joshua had cried that night, silently into his pillow. The next day, he stopped playing piano altogether.
He never told anyone how much he had loved it.
Seokmin never saw the way Joshua’s hands twitched when he walked past the old piano in the living room. Never noticed how Joshua’s eyes lingered on it, before looking quickly away.
The house was quiet, except for the faint hum of the air conditioner. Joshua sat curled on the edge of the couch, folding laundry in neat, precise stacks. He always folded carefully, it was one of the few things he knew he couldn’t “get wrong.”
The front door clicked open. Seokmin walked in, shoulders heavy with frustration, tie loosened, his expression dark. He didn’t greet Joshua. He rarely did.
He tossed his keys onto the table with a sharp clatter and dropped into the armchair opposite him. For a long moment, he just sat there, rubbing at his temples, the silence pressing down between them.
Then, suddenly, he looked up. His gaze was sharp, his voice low but firm.
“Joshua.”
Joshua startled at the sound of his name, hands freezing over the laundry. “Y-yes?”
Seokmin leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “This isn’t working. You and I both know it.”
Joshua blinked, lips parting, but no words came. His chest tightened, a familiar dread curling in his stomach.
Seokmin sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I never wanted this marriage. My parents forced it, my grandfather’s will forced it. And I’ve had enough of living like this—angry all the damn time, trapped in something I didn’t choose. It's been a god-damned month."
Joshua’s fingers twisted in the fabric of a shirt, knuckles whitening. He lowered his gaze quickly, hiding the flicker of pain that crossed his face.
“I want a divorce,” Seokmin said plainly. “But my parents won’t listen to me. They’ll listen to you.”
Joshua’s breath caught. “M-me?” His voice was small, thin.
“You’re the one suffering through this too, aren’t you?” Seokmin snapped, then softened slightly, as if realizing how harsh it sounded. “Just… talk to your father. Tell him you don’t want this. He’ll agree. He hates me anyway.”
The mention of his father made Joshua’s stomach twist violently. Memories slammed into him—raised voices, bruises, chains of words like useless, worthless, can’t do anything right.
He swallowed hard, forcing down the rising panic. His voice trembled as he whispered, “If… if that’s what you want, I’ll talk to him.”
Seokmin leaned back, exhaling in relief. “Good. The sooner this ends, the better.”
Joshua nodded quickly, hiding the way his hands shook as he folded the last shirt.
Inside, though, his chest felt hollow. He had always known he wasn’t wanted. But hearing it confirmed—spoken so clearly by his husband—made the words echo in the darkest corners of his heart.
-----
That night, Joshua lay awake in the guest room, the sheets tangled around his legs. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, each second stretching longer than the last.
Tomorrow.
He had promised Seokmin he would go to his father. The thought made his chest tighten, breath shallow. He tried to steady himself, tried to imagine what he would say—how he would explain that the marriage wasn’t working, that Seokmin wanted out, that he wanted out too.
But every version of the conversation ended the same way: with his father’s face twisting in disgust, with harsh words tearing through him, with pain.
Joshua curled into himself, hugging his knees. His body trembled with memories. He hadn’t lived with his father for a month now, but even so, the man’s shadow still hung over him like a chain.
He closed his eyes, whispering a quiet prayer into the dark. Not for freedom, not for love. Just for tomorrow to be quick.
---
The next evening, Joshua stood at the door of his childhood home. His knuckles hovered above the wood before finally knocking, soft and hesitant.
The door swung open, and his father stood there—broad-shouldered, eyes cold.
“Well, well,” he sneered. “The useless boy finally shows his face.”
Joshua lowered his gaze immediately, bowing his head slightly. “F-Father, I… I came to talk.”
“Talk?” The older man scoffed, stepping aside. “Fine. Come in and waste more of my time.”
The house smelled the same—cigarettes, stale alcohol, and something bitter underneath. Joshua’s hands clenched at his sides as he stepped inside.
In the living room, he stood stiffly, wringing his fingers together. “I… I wanted to ask about my marriage.”
His father raised a brow, settling into the armchair. “What about it?”
Joshua’s throat felt dry. “It… it isn’t working. Seokmin—he… he doesn’t want this marriage. I thought maybe… if you agreed…” His voice trailed off under the weight of his father’s stare.
“Pathetic.” The word cut like a whip.
Joshua blinked, startled.
“You can’t even keep a marriage. Just like I said, you’re useless. Worthless. Can’t do a single damn thing right.”
Joshua flinched as if struck. His lips trembled, but no defense came.
His father’s eyes narrowed. “You want freedom? Fine. But you’ll learn what real chains feel like first.”
Before Joshua could react, his father’s hand gripped his arm like iron, yanking him toward the stairs. His knees scraped against the floor as he stumbled, struggling to keep balance.
“F-Father, please—”
“Shut up.”
He was dragged into the bedroom. Metal clinked sharply, and before Joshua understood, cold chains were being locked around his wrists, his ankles, fastening him to the bedframe.
Panic exploded in his chest. “No—please, don’t—”
The slap came hard and fast, leaving his cheek burning. His father leaned close, voice a venomous hiss.
“You’ll stay here until you learn what it means to be worth something.”
The door slammed shut, leaving Joshua in suffocating silence. His chest heaved, tears stinging his eyes as he tugged helplessly at the chains. They didn’t budge.
For the first time in years, Joshua felt truly trapped again—like that little boy locked in the closet, counting raindrops, waiting for someone who would never come.
He wasn’t sure if anyone even noticed he was gone.
Two days after Joshua had gone to his father’s house, Seokmin sat at his desk, tapping his pen against a report he wasn’t reading. He frowned at his phone, scrolling back through the texts.
He had messaged Joshua that morning:
> Seokmin: Did you talk to him yet?
The reply had come almost instantly, which already felt strange.
> Joshua: Yes. Everything fine. I stay few more days.
Seokmin squinted. Everything fine. I stay few more days.
Joshua never texted like that. His messages were hesitant, careful, polite, full words typed out with nervous precision. He never skipped any words or phrased things oddly.
Suspicion twisted in Seokmin’s chest.
He typed again:
> Seokmin: What about dinner tonight?
The reply came too fast.
> Joshua: Don’t wait. I eat here.
Seokmin’s frown deepened. Joshua had never once said “I eat here.” He usually wrote “I’ll eat at home” or “don’t worry, I already ate.”
Something was wrong. He could feel it in his gut.
---
That evening, he sat with Seungcheol and Wonwoo in the company conference room, the heavy air of a late meeting still lingering. Their husbands—Jeonghan and Mingyu—were there too, perched comfortably on the side chairs.
Seokmin finally broke the silence. “Something’s not right with Joshua.”
Seungcheol raised a brow. “Not right how?”
Seokmin slid his phone across the table, showing the texts. “He doesn’t write like this. He never replies this fast. And he hasn’t been home for two days.”
Mingyu leaned over, scanning the screen. “Yeah, that seems odd."
Wonwoo’s eyes sharpened. “You think someone else is replying?”
A muscle in Seokmin’s jaw ticked. “…His father.”
The room went quiet. Jeonghan was the first to speak, voice low but firm. “That man always looks suspicious to me.”
Seungcheol leaned back, arms crossed. “You’ve suspected this for two days?”
Seokmin bristled at the edge in his tone. “I wasn’t sure! I thought maybe I was imagining it. But—” His hand tightened into a fist. “My gut says he’s in trouble.”
Wonwoo’s voice was calm but serious. “Then we don’t waste time. We go check on him.”
Seungcheol nodded slowly, though his gaze lingered on Seokmin. “You realize if you’re right, Joshua’s been suffering while you were too busy being angry to see it.”
The words hit harder than Seokmin expected. He looked away, guilt gnawing quietly in his chest.
---
Meanwhile, Joshua lay curled on the floor beside the bed, the chains clinking softly whenever he shifted. His wrists were raw where the metal bit into skin, his lips dry from lack of water.
The curtains were drawn, the room heavy with darkness. He had lost track of time, day and night blurred together into an endless fog.
Sometimes his father came in, leaving food he could barely touch. More often, he came with words sharper than any blow.
“Useless. Can’t even convince your husband to stay. You embarrass me.”
Joshua flinched at every word, lowering his head, whispering apologies he didn’t even believe in anymore.
At night, he stared at the ceiling, tears slipping silently down his cheeks. He wondered if Seokmin had already filed for divorce, if he would even notice he was gone.
A part of him thought—hoped—that maybe this was the end. That maybe it would be easier to just disappear.
But another, quieter part—the part that remembered the way Seokmin had said his name once, not in anger but almost gently. He ached for him to come. To see him. To notice.
Joshua shut his eyes tightly, ashamed of the thought.
.
The house was dark, too quiet, the kind of silence that didn’t feel natural. Seokmin’s jaw was set so tight that his teeth hurt. He didn’t even wait for Seungcheol and Mingyu to keep up, he shoved the front door open with one hard kick.
“Joshua!” His voice thundered through the hall, the anger in it masking the sharp undertone of panic he didn’t yet want to acknowledge.
No response.
The house was dead silent.
Seokmin’s chest tightened. He moved, fast—past the hallway where framed pictures of Joshua’s father in business suits stared down with smug pride, past the living room where the faint smell of alcohol hung thick, searching the rooms.
The door to the master bedroom was locked. He kicked again. Wood cracked, hinges groaned, and the lock snapped open with the third hit.
And then he froze.
Joshua was there. On the floor beside the bed, wrists and ankles bound with metal chains that clinked softly when he moved—if it could even be called moving. His head lolled to the side, eyes shut, his skin pale, lips cracked.
For a second, Seokmin couldn’t breathe. All the anger that had been simmering inside him over the weeks—the irritation, the shouting, the cold glares—it all crumbled in an instant, replaced by something far heavier.
“Joshua…” His voice broke, raw and low. He rushed forward, knees hitting the floor beside him. He reached out, hands trembling, brushing the hair back from Joshua’s face. The younger boy flinched weakly even in his unconscious state.
Seokmin’s heart twisted painfully. God, how many times has he flinched like this… because of me?
“WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING IN MY HOUSE?”
The roar came from the doorway. Joshua’s father staggered in, reeking of liquor, his face twisted in fury.
Before Seokmin could even stand, Seungcheol was already there, gripping the man by the collar and slamming him against the wall. “You sick bastard!” His fist collided with the man’s jaw in a sharp crack. “Tying up your own son? Beating him?!”
Mingyu, usually the calm one, was pale with rage. He grabbed the father’s wrist before he could reach for anything, twisting it until the man cried out. “You don’t even deserve to call yourself a father.”
Seokmin rose slowly, carefully laying Joshua’s head back on the floor. His eyes, dark and stormy, locked on the older man. He didn’t think, he just moved. His fist drove straight into the man’s stomach, hard enough to knock the breath out of him.
“You’ll rot in jail for this,” Seokmin hissed, voice shaking with fury. “If you ever come near Joshua again—if you even breathe in his direction—I’ll make sure you don’t walk away.”
Another punch landed square on the man’s cheek before Seungcheol dragged Seokmin back. “Enough. We need to focus on Joshua.”
Wonwoo, who had been scanning the room with a calculating eye, found the key near the nightstand. His hands were steady as he crouched down and unlocked the chains one by one, muttering under his breath, “Monstrous… absolutely monstrous.”
The moment the chains clattered to the floor, Seokmin scooped Joshua up into his arms. He was frighteningly light, his body limp, his breath shallow against Seokmin’s chest.
“Hospital. Now.” Seokmin’s voice was sharp, commanding.
Mingyu was already dialing emergency services as they rushed out. Behind them, Joshua’s father crumpled to the floor, clutching his jaw and gasping for air. Seungcheol bent down, glaring at him with cold disgust.
“You’re finished,” he said, voice like ice. “Every last connection you’ve ever had, every scrap of power—you’re going to lose it all. And then you’re going to prison. Count on it.”
The sterile white lights buzzed faintly as Joshua was wheeled away into the emergency room. Seokmin stood frozen in the corridor, his fists still clenched, blood smeared faintly on his knuckles. His heart hadn’t stopped racing since he first saw Joshua on that floor.
Jeonghan arrived first, Seungcheol’s husband. He took one look at Seokmin’s face, then pulled him down into a firm embrace. “He’ll be okay. He has to be.”
Seokmin didn’t respond. His throat burned. All he could see in his mind was Joshua’s face—too pale, too still.
Mingyu sank onto one of the chairs, dragging a hand down his face. “I… I’ve seen a lot of ugly things, but that? I can’t even—how long has he been living like that?”
Wonwoo sat beside him, rubbing his back to calm him. “Too long. And none of us knew.” His eyes flickered toward Seokmin. “But we know now. And we’re not letting him go back there. Ever.”
Seungcheol came back from making a call, his tone grim. “Police are already on their way to arrest him. I called our lawyer too. He won’t be able to worm his way out of this.”
Finally, Seokmin spoke. His voice was low, hoarse. “I didn’t see it. He was right in front of me for weeks, and I didn’t see any of it. I shouted at him, threw things, treated him like he was nothing. And he still…” He swallowed hard, eyes burning. “He still tried to hold everything together.”
Jeonghan squeezed his shoulder, gentle but firm. “Then make it right now. Don’t waste time on guilt. He needs you to be different, not broken.”
The doors of the emergency room swung open just then, and the doctor stepped out. Everyone froze.
-----
The air inside the private hospital room was heavy, sterile, and far too quiet. Joshua lay on the bed, pale and frail, his wrists bruised where the chains had cut into him. His body looked smaller against the white sheets, a faint line of dried blood visible near his temple. The monitor beeped steadily, the only proof that he was still alive.
Seokmin sat beside the bed, his fists clenched tightly, knuckles white. He hadn’t left the room since they brought Joshua here four hours ago, not even for food. Seungcheol had to force him to drink water. His shirt was still wrinkled from the night, sleeves rolled up carelessly, a mess compared to his usual image. His eyes were bloodshot from sheer exhaustion and guilt.
The door creaked open. Dr. Han entered, flipping through a chart. Behind him, Seungcheol and Wonwoo quietly stepped in with Mingyu and Jeonghan.
Dr. Han’s voice was low, careful, as if he didn’t want to break the fragile silence.
“His condition is stable now. But…” he paused, eyes lifting to Seokmin, “…he has multiple untreated injuries, some of them old. Bruised ribs, malnutrition signs. And from the bruises around his wrists and ankles, I assume this wasn’t a one-time incident.”
Seokmin’s jaw tightened. He lowered his head, pressing his thumb hard into his palm as if to keep himself from exploding. Old injuries? He’s been living like this… all this time? And I never even noticed.
Jeonghan frowned, his voice trembling with restrained fury. “How could his own father do this to him? How could—” His hand clenched around Seungcheol’s arm, and Seungcheol gently squeezed it, grounding him.
Dr. Han continued, “The psychological trauma will take longer to heal. Judging from his physical reactions—flinching even in unconsciousness—he has severe anxiety, likely from years of abuse. He’ll need patience, stability, and… kindness.” His words lingered, deliberate. “The body may recover. The mind takes longer.”
Seokmin’s throat burned. Patience. Stability. Kindness. All the things he had failed to give Joshua since day one.
The doctor left, giving the family a respectful bow. The room fell into a tense silence.
Wonwoo, always calm and rational, finally broke it. He turned to Seokmin, voice sharp but not unkind.
“You need to understand, Seokmin. You can’t shout at him, can’t treat him like you treat everyone else when you’re angry. You’ve already done enough damage without even knowing it.”
Mingyu, who rarely looked serious, added quietly, “We all saw it. How he flinched whenever you raised your voice. You didn’t notice because you didn’t care enough to look.”
Seokmin dragged a hand over his face. His chest felt heavy, shame twisting like a knife. “I know,” he muttered, voice raw. “I know I was a jerk. I just… I thought he was another burden forced onto me. I didn’t know…” His gaze drifted to Joshua’s still body. “…I didn’t know he was already carrying hell with him.”
Seungcheol stepped forward, resting a firm hand on Seokmin’s shoulder. His voice was steady, the tone of an older brother who had scolded Seokmin countless times but still cared.
“Listen to me. This is your chance to make it right. No one’s saying it will be easy, but if you’re going to keep him in your life… you protect him. You treat him better. You choose him, every day, until he believes he’s worth choosing.”
Seokmin swallowed hard, his throat thick with emotion. For once, he didn’t argue back. He just nodded.
Two days later.
The morning sunlight filtered weakly through the curtains, casting a soft glow on Joshua’s pale face. His eyelids fluttered, lashes trembling. The beeping of the heart monitor quickened just slightly.
Seokmin, who had been dozing off in the chair beside him, jerked awake at the movement. His heart leapt, and he leaned forward instantly.
“Joshua…?” His voice was low, careful, as though he were afraid of scaring him back into unconsciousness.
Joshua’s eyes slowly opened, hazy with confusion. The ceiling above him was unfamiliar. The smell was too clean, too cold. His chest tightened with panic. He tried to sit up, but his body was too weak. His eyes darted around until they landed on Seokmin.
And the panic deepened.
Joshua flinched, his lips parting in a soundless gasp. He pressed himself back against the pillows as much as his trembling body would allow, eyes wide and glassy with fear. The memory of Seokmin’s shouts, his anger, his coldness—all of it flashed in his mind. His breathing quickened, shallow and uneven.
Seokmin’s heart shattered at the sight. He raised his hands slightly, palms open, his voice gentle in a way he had never spoken before.
“Hey, hey… it’s okay. Don’t be scared. I’m not going to hurt you.” His tone was pleading, softer than silk.
Joshua’s lips trembled. He didn’t speak. His hands clutched at the blanket like a shield.
Seokmin leaned back a little to give him space, forcing his voice to remain steady.
“You’re in the hospital. You… you fainted. But you’re safe now. I promise.” He paused, his chest aching at how fragile Joshua looked. “…I’ll make sure you’re safe from now on.”
Joshua blinked, tears welling in his eyes. He didn’t fully believe him—how could he? Not after weeks of cruelty. Not after years of abuse. But Seokmin didn’t rush him, didn’t reach out without permission. He just sat there, eyes soft and voice low.
“If you don’t want me here, I’ll step out. Just… just don’t think you’re alone anymore, okay?”
For a long moment, Joshua said nothing. Then, in the smallest, hoarse whisper, he asked,
“Why… why are you being… nice now?”
The question broke something inside Seokmin. His eyes stung. He leaned forward just enough for Joshua to hear the sincerity in his tone.
“Because I was blind before. And I don’t ever want to make you feel small again.”
Joshua looked at him with wide, watery eyes. He still shook with fear, but for the first time… something in Seokmin’s voice made his chest loosen, just a little.
-----
The steady beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound in the quiet hospital room. Joshua had been awake for a few hours now, drifting in and out of sleep, but every time he opened his eyes, his gaze would flicker nervously to Seokmin, sitting silently on the chair beside the bed.
Seokmin hadn’t left the room once. His suit jacket was draped over the back of the chair, his tie loosened, and his usually sharp expression softened with something unfamiliar—guilt. His elbows rested on his knees, hands clasped together as if in prayer.
When Joshua stirred, shifting weakly under the thin blanket, Seokmin immediately sat up straighter.
“Hey,” his voice came out low, cautious, like he was afraid any sudden noise might scare him. “You need some water?”
Joshua blinked at him, wide-eyed, his throat moving as if he wanted to answer but couldn’t bring himself to. He flinched slightly when Seokmin leaned closer, and that tiny movement made Seokmin freeze.
God. That one flinch felt sharper than any blade.
“I won’t touch you unless you want me to,” Seokmin said quickly, his voice breaking into something he never let anyone hear—fragility. “Just… nod if you’re thirsty.”
Joshua hesitated, then gave the faintest nod.
Seokmin poured water into the cup the nurse had left and carefully placed the straw at Joshua’s lips. His hand trembled, not from anger this time, but from the weight of the moment. Joshua took small, tentative sips, all the while keeping his guarded eyes on him.
Seokmin swallowed hard. You idiot. You monster.
After setting the cup down, he leaned back, rubbing his palms against his thighs as if to wipe away his guilt.
“Joshua…” His voice was rough, but low. “I need to say this before anything else. I was cruel to you. Rude. Loud. Angry—for no reason. I didn’t even stop to think about what you were going through.” His eyes dropped to the floor, shame tightening his chest. “And because of that, I didn’t see. I didn’t notice the way you flinched every time I raised my voice. I didn’t notice how quiet you were, how much you were hurting.”
Joshua blinked at him, lips parting slightly. His fingers clutched the blanket like it was the only safe thing in the room.
Seokmin forced himself to meet his gaze, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I should’ve protected you. Instead, I made things worse. And for that, Joshua, I’m sorry. I am so damn sorry.”
For a moment, silence stretched between them, heavy with all the words Joshua couldn’t speak. His chest rose and fell unevenly, and his eyes shimmered—not just with fear, but with years of unspoken pain.
“I know you don’t trust me right now,” Seokmin continued, softer now. “And maybe you never will. But I’m not going to shout at you again. Not ever. You don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve any of this.” His hand hovered above the bed, trembling slightly, before pulling back. “If you let me… I’ll take care of you. Properly, this time.”
Joshua’s lips quivered as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t force the sound out. Instead, a single tear slipped down his cheek.
Seokmin’s heart cracked. Without thinking, he grabbed the tissue box and carefully held one out, not touching him, just waiting. Slowly, Joshua’s hand lifted and took it, wiping his own tears away.
That small acceptance felt like sunlight breaking through the storm.
Seokmin exhaled shakily. His voice lowered, almost breaking. “I’ll be patient. I’ll wait as long as you need. Just… don’t give up on me yet.”
Joshua closed his eyes, exhaustion pulling him back into fragile sleep. But just before he drifted off, Seokmin swore he saw his lips move ever so faintly, as though whispering something—maybe not forgiveness yet, but not rejection either.
Seokmin stayed by his side, his hand resting on the edge of the bed, close enough that Joshua could reach if he ever wanted to.
For the first time, Seokmin wasn’t just sitting there out of obligation—he was there because he wanted to be, because his heart wouldn’t let him be anywhere else.
The drive from the hospital was quiet. Joshua sat in the back seat, his thin frame hidden beneath the oversized cardigan Seokmin had draped over him that morning. He kept his head bowed, eyes fixed on the window as the world outside blurred by. His hands rested in his lap, fingers fidgeting nervously with the hem of the sleeve.
Seokmin sat beside him, unusually quiet. He wasn’t scowling, wasn’t sighing impatiently, wasn’t throwing sharp words like daggers. Instead, his gaze kept flicking to Joshua, as if making sure he was still breathing, still upright. His hands clenched into fists against his knees every time Joshua shifted uncomfortably, as though restraining the urge to reach out and help.
The silence carried them into the house.
Joshua froze at the doorway, his lips parted faintly, as if the simple act of crossing the threshold demanded courage he didn’t have. The place smelled faintly of lavender, different from when he left. His eyes flicked up in brief surprise, and Seokmin cleared his throat.
“I… had the house cleaned,” Seokmin muttered, looking away. “Figured you wouldn’t want to come back to a mess.”
Joshua nodded faintly, though his expression didn’t soften. His steps were slow, hesitant, as though he wasn’t sure he was allowed to exist in this space anymore.
When Seokmin followed him in, his gaze fell to the faint tremor in Joshua’s hands. He remembered the past week—
Joshua lying pale in the hospital bed, tubes tangled around his wrist.
How the nurse had asked if he wanted to leave for the night, and he’d snapped, “I’m not going anywhere.”
The way he had stayed by the bedside, nights with his head slumped on the armrest, just watching Joshua breathe.
How, when Joshua had whimpered in his sleep, his whole body flinching, Seokmin had reached out without thinking, brushing trembling hair off his clammy forehead.
Back then, Joshua had been unconscious. Now, awake, his flinches were worse.
Seokmin exhaled slowly. “Sit down. You shouldn’t… push yourself.”
Joshua blinked at him, hesitated, then carefully lowered himself onto the sofa. His eyes darted nervously as if expecting a blow at any moment.
The sight twisted Seokmin’s chest. He crouched down to Joshua’s level, his movements slow, almost tentative.
“I know… I don’t deserve to ask this yet,” Seokmin said quietly, “but will you let me take care of you?”
Joshua’s lips parted, but no sound came out. His eyes darted downward, fingers tugging harder at the sleeve hem. He didn’t nod, but he didn’t refuse either.
That was enough for now.
Seokmin stood, masking the lump in his throat with a deep breath. “You should rest. I’ll bring you some tea—something light. Doctor said to keep you hydrated.”
As he turned toward the kitchen, Joshua’s gaze lingered on his retreating figure. His chest tightened with something unfamiliar—a hesitation, a fear—but also the faintest spark of wonder.
Because for the first time since their marriage… Seokmin’s voice hadn’t sounded sharp. It sounded careful.
Few days later at night, the house was unusually quiet, the only sounds the distant hum of the city through the windows and the soft rustling of sheets from the other bedroom. Seokmin, sitting at the edge of his bed with a half-read book, had been trying to force himself to focus on the words. But then, he heard it again.
A muffled sound.
A whimper.
His heart squeezed. He set the book down slowly, listening harder. The sound came from Joshua’s room.
For the past few days, Joshua had been quiet, almost silent, keeping distance between them like a fragile glass wall that could shatter if touched too harshly. Seokmin had respected that wall. But tonight… that soft, broken whimper went straight through it.
He got up carefully, his footsteps light against the floor, and pushed open Joshua’s door with slow hesitation.
The sight nearly knocked the breath out of him.
Joshua was curled up on the bed, his back trembling as though every inhale rattled his ribs. His fists were clenched tight against his chest, his lips moving in incoherent whispers. The sheet was twisted around his legs as though he had been thrashing in his sleep.
“Joshua…” Seokmin’s voice was barely above a whisper.
Joshua didn’t stir, his trembling only worsened.
Seokmin took a careful step closer, crouching at the side of the bed, his own chest tightening with guilt and worry. He wanted to touch him, hold him, soothe him—but he had promised himself never to invade Joshua’s space without permission again.
“Joshua, it’s me… Seokmin,” he whispered gently. “You’re dreaming. You’re safe.”
Still no response. Joshua’s breathing came faster now, shallow and uneven, his back trembling like a leaf caught in the wind.
Seokmin hesitated for one breath, then spoke again softly, firmly, as if asking for consent even though Joshua was half-trapped in sleep.
“Joshua… I’m going to hold you now, okay? Just so you don’t feel alone. If you don’t want me to, just push me away when you want”
He waited a beat, then slipped onto the bed carefully.
One arm slid under Joshua’s neck, curving around until his palm rested flat against Joshua’s chest—right over his pounding heart. The other arm wound slowly around Joshua’s waist, steady but not suffocating, pulling him gently back against his own chest.
The moment their bodies touched, Joshua jerked slightly—then froze. His trembling deepened for a second, as though torn between fear and need. Seokmin pressed his cheek softly against Joshua’s, whispering low and steady.
“It’s okay. It’s just me. You’re safe, Joshua. I’ve got you.”
Joshua’s rapid breaths hitched, faltered. His fists loosened slightly, though his body remained taut. Seokmin’s hold tightened—not crushing, but grounding, like an anchor keeping him from drifting away.
He began to talk. Not about the nightmare. Not about pain. Just… words. Soft, meandering words meant to pull Joshua out of the shadows in his mind.
“Did I ever tell you,” Seokmin murmured, “about when Seungcheol-hyung tried to teach me how to cook rice? He said it was ‘idiot-proof.’ I ended up burning the bottom so badly the pot turned black. We had to throw it away. He still doesn’t let me forget it.”
Joshua’s breathing stuttered—still uneven, but slowing.
Encouraged, Seokmin continued.
“And Wonwoo-hyung? He just sat there eating the burned bits like it was normal. I asked him why and he said, ‘It tastes like… effort.’” He chuckled softly against Joshua’s temple. “That’s how weird my family is.”
The tension in Joshua’s back began to ease little by little. His trembling dulled, though every now and then a shiver still ran through him.
Seokmin kept talking—about his brothers, about the time he lost a bet and had to sing in a ridiculous costume, about small, harmless memories that carried warmth instead of fear. His voice was steady, soothing, a low hum against Joshua’s skin.
Then, after several minutes of silence, a small voice broke through.
“…Why did Wonwoo hyung eat it?” Joshua whispered hoarsely, still half-buried in Seokmin’s arms.
Seokmin’s lips curved faintly, relief washing over him. Joshua was back. He shifted just enough to nuzzle his cheek against Joshua’s, keeping the embrace steady.
“Because he’s Wonwoo. He thinks being strange makes him interesting. I think he just wanted me to feel better.”
Joshua gave the smallest huff, something between a sigh and the ghost of a laugh. His fingers twitched against the sheets, brushing Seokmin’s arm unconsciously.
Seokmin’s heart ached at the tiny crack of light breaking through Joshua’s fear. He held him a little tighter, his own voice softening further.
“Whenever the nightmares come back, just… let me do this, okay? Let me talk to you until you fall asleep again. You don’t have to fight them alone anymore.”
Joshua didn’t answer right away. But after a long pause, his hand—still hesitant, still fragile—moved to rest lightly over Seokmin’s on his chest.
And Seokmin stayed there all night, cheek-to-cheek, heart-to-heart, whispering quiet stories until Joshua’s trembling finally faded into steady breaths.
----
The pale light of dawn spilled faintly through the curtains, washing the room in muted shades of gray-blue. Seokmin stirred first, his body still curled protectively around Joshua. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, careful not to move too suddenly. Joshua was still pressed against him—back snug to his chest, their hands entwined at Joshua’s heart where Seokmin had kept it through the night.
Joshua’s breathing was steadier than it had been hours ago, no longer broken by gasps or trembling shivers. His lashes lay still against his pale skin, lips parted just slightly. He looked younger like this, fragile in a way that made Seokmin’s chest ache.
Seokmin shifted carefully, trying not to startle him. His hand still resting over Joshua’s heart, gave the gentlest squeeze. “Morning…” he whispered, voice almost inaudible. He didn’t expect an answer, but Joshua’s fingers twitched faintly against his own.
Joshua woke slowly, eyes fluttering open. The weight of Seokmin’s arm around him made him tense instinctively, muscles tightening as though he were ready to recoil. Seokmin felt it immediately and loosened his hold, whispering softly into his ear:
“I’m here… it’s just me. Do you want me to move back?”
Joshua didn’t answer at first. He blinked a few times, trying to gather himself. His lips pressed together as though he were weighing his words. Finally, in a voice hoarse from sleep, he murmured, “No… don’t… not yet.”
Seokmin’s chest tightened, relief and heartache tangling together. He nodded against Joshua’s hair. “Okay. I won’t.”
For a few minutes, they simply lay there. The silence wasn’t heavy like it used to be—it was softer, almost tentative. Joshua stared at the ceiling, still processing, while Seokmin’s thumb brushed gentle circles over the back of his hand.
When Joshua finally shifted, rolling slightly to peek over his shoulder, Seokmin met his gaze. Their cheeks brushed—warm skin to warm skin—like the night before.
“Did you… really stay the whole night?” Joshua asked quietly, his eyes narrowing slightly, like he couldn’t believe it.
Seokmin smiled faintly, almost sheepishly. “Of course. I wasn’t going anywhere.” He hesitated, then added carefully, “I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”
Joshua looked at him for a long moment, unreadable. But his fingers squeezed Seokmin’s hand just once, a subtle acknowledgment before he whispered, “...Thank you.”
It was the first time he’d ever thanked him since their marriage. The words were soft, fragile, but they clung to Seokmin’s heart like sunlight after endless rain.
----
Later that day, when the house had grown hushed again, Seokmin found Joshua sitting stiffly on the edge of the bed. He looked pale, shoulders tense, one hand pressed to his temple as though the dull ache in his forehead hadn’t quite left him.
Seokmin approached slowly, crouching down so he was level with him. His voice was low, gentle.
“Josh… can I take a look at your injuries?”
Joshua’s eyes flickered, guarded as always, but he didn’t protest. That in itself was permission enough.
Seokmin disappeared for a moment and returned with a small first aid kit. He set it down on the blanket, fingers brushing lightly against Joshua’s as if asking once more.
“May I?”
Joshua nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line.
The first thing Seokmin did was clean the cut on his forehead. His touch was deliberate, slow, not once pressing too hard. He dabbed the antiseptic with such care it was almost reverent. Joshua winced slightly, and Seokmin immediately blew softly against the sting, the way he used to do for his cousins when they were kids.
Joshua’s eyes flicked to him at that—briefly startled, then softening, though he said nothing.
“There we go,” Seokmin whispered, securing a small bandage over the cut. “Now… let me check the rest.”
Joshua hesitated, then gave a small nod. He unbuttoned his shirt partway, revealing bruises along his ribs and faint scrapes across his side. Seokmin’s heart clenched at the sight.
He didn’t comment—didn’t want to risk Joshua pulling away—but his hands trembled slightly as he soaked cotton with antiseptic. Carefully, he pressed it against the bruised skin.
Joshua hissed through his teeth. Instinctively, Seokmin’s free hand went to his, lacing their fingers.
“Sorry—sorry… I’ll be quick. Just hold on to me.”
Joshua did. His grip was surprisingly firm, grounding.
Seokmin worked in silence, cleaning every scrape and gently smoothing ointment over the worst bruises. Each time Joshua winced, Seokmin would murmur small reassurances: “Almost done.” “You’re doing great.” “Tell me if you need me to stop.”
By the time he finished, Joshua’s shoulders had dropped ever so slightly, his body no longer wound tight like a bowstring. Seokmin packed away the supplies, but before moving, he sat back on his heels and studied Joshua quietly.
“You shouldn’t have to endure this alone,” Seokmin said softly, almost more to himself than to Joshua. “Let me… help carry it, even if it’s just like this.”
Joshua didn’t reply, but his eyes lingered on Seokmin for a long time. His expression unreadable, but not cold—not dismissive. When Seokmin reached up to brush the strands of hair from Joshua’s forehead, Joshua didn’t flinch away.
That was enough.
The next day, the evening was quiet, the kind of silence that made every sound echo just a little more. Joshua was curled up on the couch, his legs pulled slightly under him, one hand holding the hem of his sleeve like it anchored him. He had gotten better at staying in the same room with Seokmin, but every shift of his weight, every faint twitch of his body still screamed of unease.
Seokmin, sitting across from him with a book open but unread, let his eyes wander—observing, not prying. That’s when he noticed it: the faint tension in Joshua’s jaw every time his feet brushed the floor. He’d shift positions often, avoiding putting too much pressure on his ankles, almost as if the floor itself burned. Seokmin’s heart clenched.
He waited a little before gently breaking the silence.
“Joshua… are your ankles hurting?”
Joshua stilled, his knuckles tightening on the fabric of his sleeve. His gaze lowered, refusing to meet Seokmin’s. “I’m fine.”
It wasn’t convincing. It never was.
Seokmin leaned forward, voice soft, careful not to push too quickly.
“Can I… can I check them? I won’t touch unless you say it’s okay.”
The hesitation lingered in the room, thick and heavy. Finally, Joshua gave the faintest nod, his lips pressing into a thin line.
Seokmin moved slowly, deliberately like approaching a frightened bird. He crouched in front of Joshua, waiting until he saw no sign of panic before gently pulling the blanket back. His chest tightened when he saw the faint bruises circling Joshua’s ankles—dark traces left by chains, skin still faintly swollen from strain.
His throat tightened. He forced his voice to stay steady.
“Joshua… I’m going to touch your ankle now, okay? Just… to see how bad it is.”
Joshua’s lips parted, then closed again before he gave a small, reluctant whisper. “…Okay.”
Seokmin’s fingers, warm and featherlight, brushed against the bruised skin. He didn’t grip, didn’t prod—just rested them there for a moment, like a silent promise. “Does it hurt here?” he asked softly, pressing barely any pressure.
Joshua flinched, then shook his head, though the tiny crease in his brow betrayed him.
Seokmin gave a faint smile, more for Joshua’s reassurance than his own. “I can… massage them a little. It might help with the swelling. Only if you want me to.”
There was silence. Then, slowly, Joshua whispered, “Just… not too hard.”
That was all the permission Seokmin needed. His touch was unbearably gentle, as though afraid Joshua would break under his hands. He traced small, careful circles around the bruised skin, easing the tension in the muscles, never applying pressure directly where it was sore. The pads of his thumbs moved with patience, coaxing comfort rather than forcing it.
Joshua sat rigid at first, back stiff, every nerve alert. But gradually—so gradually it almost went unnoticed—his shoulders dropped, his breathing slowed. His toes curled faintly, not from pain but from the strange, reluctant relief spreading through his legs.
“…Does it feel a little better?” Seokmin asked quietly.
Joshua hesitated, then gave a faint nod. His voice was fragile, but sincere. “Yeah… a bit.”
Seokmin smiled, ducking his head so Joshua wouldn’t see how misty his eyes had gotten. He continued until he felt the muscles loosen under his touch, then carefully pulled the blanket back over Joshua’s legs. “I’ll get something to help with the swelling tomorrow.”
And he did.
The very next afternoon, Seokmin returned with a small box tucked under his arm. He placed it on the table in front of Joshua, who blinked at him in confusion. “What’s that?”
“Open it,” Seokmin said with a small smile.
Inside, cushioned in soft paper, was a pair of sandals. Simple, but soft-soled, the straps padded so they wouldn’t rub against tender skin. Joshua blinked down at them, his lips parting soundlessly.
“I… thought maybe these would be more comfortable,” Seokmin explained, suddenly nervous. “So it won’t hurt when you walk. You don’t have to wear them if you don’t want to.”
Joshua stared at the sandals for a long moment. Then, quietly, almost shyly, he said, “…Thank you.”
It was the first time Seokmin saw something faint, something fragile in Joshua’s face—not a smile, not yet, but a softening. His chest tightened with hope.
The first week back home was quiet. Seokmin made sure of it. No loud voices, no sudden movements — just steady, gentle presence.
On the second morning, when Joshua came down to the kitchen, he found the table already set with porridge, lightly seasoned, and a few side dishes that weren’t overwhelming in smell or taste. Seokmin, who had been moving about quietly, set down the bowl in front of him.
“I made it light,” he said softly, watching Joshua hesitate. “You don’t have to finish it. Just… try a little.”
Joshua glanced at him, wary, but the warmth in Seokmin’s eyes made him pick up the spoon.
By the third day, Seokmin had switched it up — steamed fish, soft rice, a bit of soup. He’d been paying close attention to what Joshua ate without frowning or pushing the plate away. Every time Joshua finished even half a portion, Seokmin’s chest loosened with relief.
It was the fourth day when Seokmin noticed it. He had placed a small bowl of cut fruits on the table, among them slices of apple, orange, and a few strawberries. Joshua reached for one strawberry first, almost absentmindedly, then another. The corner of Seokmin’s mouth twitched upward. He didn’t say anything then, but he stored the observation away like something precious.
The very next morning, Joshua came down to find the usual porridge… and a little glass bowl beside it, filled only with washed, bright strawberries.
Joshua blinked, his lips parting. “You… bought these?”
Seokmin pretended to fuss with the pot on the stove. “Mm. The store had fresh ones.” He cleared his throat softly before adding, “You like them, right?”
Joshua froze for a beat, the berry halfway to his lips. Then he gave the smallest nod. “…Yeah.”
By the fifth and sixth day, it had become a quiet ritual. Breakfast was always gentle, easy on Joshua’s stomach — soups, soft vegetables, warm bread. And always, always, a small bowl of strawberries somewhere on the table. Sometimes Joshua would eat them first, sometimes last, but Seokmin never missed the way a shadow of ease would pass across his face with the first bite.
On the seventh day, Seokmin came home carrying two bags, one with groceries and the other heavier with strawberries. He carefully placed them in the fridge, and later, when Joshua wandered into the kitchen, he found the counter filled with little glass jars. Homemade strawberry jam, freshly sealed.
Seokmin rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “I thought… maybe you’d like it on bread, or with tea. It’ll last longer than the fresh ones.”
Joshua stared at the jars for a long moment, then at Seokmin. His lips trembled like he might smile, but instead he whispered, “You didn’t have to…”
“I wanted to,” Seokmin interrupted gently, meeting his gaze with a quiet sincerity. “If it makes you eat a little more, or… makes you feel even a little better, then I want to.”
And for the first time since they’d come back home, Joshua didn’t look away immediately. He lowered his eyes instead, plucking a strawberry from the bowl, and ate it in silence. But Seokmin caught it — the faintest, fleeting curl at the edge of his lips.
The nights still were hard for Joshua. One night, the house was still except for the sound of the rain ticking against the windows. Seokmin lay awake in the dimness of his room, the day’s worries swirling faintly in his mind. He’d just begun to drift when he heard it—muffled, broken sounds carrying from down the hall.
Joshua’s room.
Seokmin sat up immediately, heart in his throat. He hesitated only a moment before padding quietly across the floor. The door wasn’t locked.
Inside, the lamp on the bedside table threw a weak golden glow. Joshua was curled on his side, sheets tangled around his legs, his face pale and twisted in distress. His lips parted on words that wouldn’t come, small, desperate noises escaping instead. His fists clenched at the sheets as though he were trying to hold something back.
“Joshua,” Seokmin whispered, stepping closer. His chest ached at the sight. He crouched beside the bed and reached out but stopped just shy of touching his shoulder. Instead, he called again, a little firmer. “It’s okay. You’re safe. Wake up.”
Joshua’s eyes flew open with a sharp inhale, his chest heaving. For a second, his gaze darted around the room wildly, like he couldn’t place where he was.
“It’s me,” Seokmin said quickly, keeping his voice low, steady. “You’re at home. It’s alright.”
Joshua blinked at him, disoriented, his breaths shallow. His hand trembled where it clutched the sheet. Seokmin wanted nothing more than to pull him into his arms, but he held back, afraid of pushing too far.
So he did something smaller. Gentler. He slowly offered his hand, palm open on the edge of the bed. “You don’t have to talk. Just…” He let his voice trail into the quiet hum of rain.
For a long beat, Joshua only stared. His eyes were glassy, wet in the corners, his throat bobbing with a swallow. Then, hesitantly, almost like testing the weight of the world, he reached out. His fingers brushed Seokmin’s palm before curling into it, clutching with more strength than Seokmin expected.
Seokmin squeezed back instantly, grounding him. His thumb brushed lightly over the back of Joshua’s hand, a steady rhythm, like saying I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.
Joshua exhaled shakily and let his forehead drop against his pillow, still clutching Seokmin’s hand like a lifeline. His breathing evened out slowly, the tension in his shoulders unwinding inch by inch.
Seokmin stayed crouched by the bed, refusing to let go even when his legs began to cramp. He just watched the way Joshua’s lashes fluttered closed again, listened to the soft sound of his breath against the rain outside.
When Joshua finally slipped back into sleep, it was calmer, his grip still locked with Seokmin’s. And Seokmin didn’t dare move. His heart ached with something heavy and tender all at once, but for the first time in days, he let himself smile faintly into the dim light.
---
The first light of morning slipped past the curtains, painting pale stripes across the room. Joshua stirred slowly, eyelids heavy from the restless night before. For a moment, he didn’t remember why his body felt lighter, why the shadows in his dreams hadn’t swallowed him whole this time.
Then he noticed the warmth.
His fingers were still curled around something solid, something steady. Blinking, he turned his head just enough to see Seokmin.
He was half-asleep on the floor close to the bed, cheek pressed against his bed. His other hand rested limp in Joshua’s grasp, but it hadn’t moved. The faint marks of exhaustion were clear under his eyes, his posture stiff from the uncomfortable position, yet he hadn’t shifted away once through the night.
Joshua’s throat tightened. He glanced at their joined hands again, the way Seokmin’s thumb must have been brushing over his knuckles until sleep took him. The gesture was still there, even frozen in slumber—a quiet promise.
Joshua flexed his fingers experimentally. The hold tightened instinctively, as if even in dreams Seokmin couldn’t let him go.
It was such a small thing, but it made Joshua’s chest ache in a way he couldn’t name. He should’ve pulled away, he thought. Should’ve built that wall back up before Seokmin got too close. But he couldn’t. Not when his body felt… safe, like it hadn’t in years.
Seokmin stirred at last, eyelashes fluttering as he blinked awake. His gaze found Joshua’s instantly, hazy with sleep but soft in a way that stole Joshua’s breath.
“Morning,” Seokmin murmured, voice rough with drowsiness. He didn’t even seem to realize he was still holding on.
Joshua swallowed, words sticking in his throat. He looked down at their hands, then back up. “…You stayed.”
“Of course I did,” Seokmin said, so matter-of-fact it left Joshua stunned. He rubbed his thumb lightly over Joshua’s knuckles again, this time fully awake. “You looked like you needed someone.”
Joshua bit the inside of his cheek, unsure if he wanted to laugh bitterly or… lean into that warmth. Instead, he muttered, almost too soft to hear, “You’re ridiculous.”
Seokmin smiled faintly, the kind that carried no pressure, only quiet reassurance. “Maybe. But I meant it.”
Joshua looked away, but he didn’t pull his hand back. Not yet.
The rain had stopped, the house filling with the sounds of a new day. But for a little while longer, they just sat there—hands still linked, silence saying everything their words couldn’t.
It had been more than a week since Joshua came home, and Seokmin had slowly changed his rhythm around him—changes so quiet that Joshua didn’t notice at first.
Seokmin had always been passionate, his voice rising naturally when he spoke, when he laughed, or when he got frustrated. But now, with Joshua flinching at even the sound of cutlery clattering, Seokmin became… softer.
One evening, Joshua was sitting at the kitchen table, absently stirring the soup Seokmin had made. His eyes were lowered, distant. A small sound—the accidental thud of a dropped ladle—made Joshua jolt. He quickly composed himself, pretending it hadn’t happened, but Seokmin had noticed.
That night, when he came into the room, Seokmin deliberately closed the door with the gentlest click.
“Joshua…” he called quietly, his tone so low it was almost a whisper.
Joshua blinked up, caught off guard by the calmness. “...Yes?”
“I, uh—just wanted to say I’ll be reheating the tea. If you want it warmer.” He rubbed the back of his neck, almost sheepish. Normally, he’d have barked across the hall or muttered something under his breath. But now, he spoke like he was afraid his words themselves might bruise Joshua.
Over the next days, Joshua noticed it happening again and again.
Seokmin never slammed doors anymore. He closed them softly, with care.
He didn’t let his voice rise in irritation; even when a servant made a mistake, he dismissed it with a quiet sigh instead of anger.
When speaking directly to Joshua, his tone was always low, measured, gentle—as though each word was first tested to make sure it wouldn’t scare him.
One afternoon, Joshua caught him doing it consciously. Seokmin had been reading a letter in his study and muttered something under his breath, annoyed. His voice spiked for a second but then his gaze flicked to Joshua, who sat curled on the armchair. Joshua’s shoulders had tensed.
Seokmin immediately lowered his voice, forced his expression into something calm, and said softly, “Sorry, love. Not at you. Never at you.”
Joshua swallowed, his eyes darting away, but for the first time, something flickered across his face—relief. A small sign that he was beginning to notice the effort.
The morning was soft and golden, the kind of morning that seemed to invite a beginning. Seokmin had been watching Joshua for weeks—how he stayed indoors, hovering near windows but never daring to step outside. His ankles were healing, his appetite was returning little by little, but something in his eyes still carried the fear of walls, the unease of being confined.
So that morning, Seokmin simply said, “Come with me, Joshua.”
Joshua looked up from the chair, surprised. “Where?”
“Outside,” Seokmin replied simply, his tone calm but firm. “You need the sun. The fresh air. It’ll help you breathe easier.”
Joshua hesitated, his fingers brushing the edge of his sleeve. But the gentle persistence in Seokmin’s gaze convinced him. He nodded once.
---
Seokmin's family mansion was vast, stretching with courtyards and gardens, the air smelling faintly of roses and trimmed hedges. Joshua’s first steps outside were cautious, as though the earth itself might reject him. Seokmin walked close, almost too close, his hand hovering at Joshua’s back without quite touching.
Every few steps, Seokmin glanced down at him.
“You okay?”
Joshua gave a small nod.
When they reached the garden, Joshua’s eyes softened, widening slightly at the sight of a butterfly landing on a lavender bush. For the first time in weeks, something like wonder replaced the guardedness on his face.
Seokmin’s chest tightened at the sight.
---
Inside the veranda, his brothers and their husbands were already gathered for morning tea. They looked up when Seokmin entered with Joshua at his side.
Joshua dipped his head politely, though his body was tense. Seokmin placed a steadying hand at the small of his back, a subtle, grounding touch. He guided Joshua to sit beside him, pulling out the chair for him first before taking his own.
Throughout the conversation, Seokmin’s protectiveness was impossible to miss:
When the server poured tea, Seokmin quietly tested the cup first before sliding Joshua’s closer.
He kept his voice soft, leaning just enough so Joshua wouldn’t feel left out of the conversations.
When Joshua hesitated to eat the pastries, Seokmin nudged the strawberry tart toward him, saying lightly, “This one’s good. Try it.”
Joshua’s lips curved—barely, but enough to be noticed. He took a bite.
Across the table, his brothers exchanged quiet glances. One of them smiled knowingly, watching how Seokmin’s every gesture circled around Joshua without being overbearing. Another leaned back, amused at how uncharacteristically gentle Seokmin had become.
No words were spoken, but the silent acknowledgment was there. They saw how Seokmin’s sharp edges had dulled for this one person, how his eyes never strayed from checking Joshua’s comfort.
And Joshua—though still shy, though still hesitant—began to relax under that steady protection, his hand brushing against Seokmin’s under the table. Not holding, not yet. But close.
Seokmin felt it, and for a moment, his heart nearly stumbled.
---
After tea, Seokmin rose from his chair and offered his hand to Joshua.
“Come,” he said simply.
Joshua blinked at the gesture, hesitating for a heartbeat before placing his hand in Seokmin’s. His palm was warm, firm but not forceful, guiding him with a gentleness Joshua hadn’t expected from someone once known for sharp commands and unrelenting authority.
They stepped out into the gardens, sunlight spilling across the paths. Joshua squinted slightly, unused to the brightness, and Seokmin immediately tilted his body just enough to block the harsh glare from his face. It was such a small act, but Joshua noticed. His lips parted as though to speak, then closed again. Silence filling the space where gratitude trembled unspoken.
---
They strolled slowly, Seokmin shortening his stride to match Joshua’s tentative steps. His eyes flickered constantly—down to Joshua’s feet, then forward, scanning the path as though searching for stones or uneven ground that might trip him.
At one point, a gardener passed by, carrying tools. Joshua stiffened instinctively, but Seokmin’s hand squeezed his, grounding him.
“It’s fine,” he murmured softly. “They’re not here to hurt you.”
Joshua’s shoulders eased, and he allowed himself to look again at the sprawling roses, their petals blushing in full bloom.
---
They reached a small fountain where koi swam lazily beneath the water’s surface. Seokmin guided Joshua to the stone bench, brushing off imaginary dust before letting him sit. Then, instead of sitting beside him right away, Seokmin crouched in front of him, checking the bandage on his ankle with practiced care.
“It’s healing well,” Seokmin said, voice low, as though the quiet mattered. “But don’t push it. If it hurts, tell me.”
Joshua watched him for a long moment, something unreadable in his gaze.
“You… weren’t like this before,” he said finally.
Seokmin looked up, caught in those words. His lips parted, then curved faintly—not a smile, but a softened line. “You weren’t mine to protect before.”
Joshua’s breath caught, heat brushing his cheeks. He looked away, staring instead at the rippling water of the fountain.
---
Later, they walked beneath rows of tall trees, their branches swaying gently. A gust of wind rustled leaves overhead, and a petal drifted down, landing lightly in Joshua’s hair. Seokmin reached forward without thinking, brushing it away with fingers that lingered a little too long against Joshua’s temple.
Joshua froze at the touch, then tilted his head slightly into the hand before pulling back—just enough to keep his pride. But his ears burned faintly red.
---
From the balcony of the mansion, Seokmin’s brothers and their husbands stood watching. They didn’t interrupt, didn’t call out, but their quiet smiles spoke volumes. They saw the way Seokmin’s gaze never left Joshua, how his steps slowed, his edges dulled, his voice softened.
And they saw Joshua beginning to breathe again.