Archive of Our Own ^beta

THERE WERE ONLY SO MANY smiles in your arsenal per day. At this rate, you were depleting your lifetime supply.

“I am so sorry, Mr. Suh, but Phoenix is no longer in the building.”

Johnny Suh was a giant of a reporter—both physically and reputation-wise. As one of the most reputable (honest) and persistent journalists in the city for one of the nation's leading news outlets, he was well respected and almost always got the questions he had answered. Almost.

You didn't even need to save a smile for him. With a nose that could sniff bullshit five miles away, you were better served saving it for someone else.

He leaned against the wall by the elevators in the penthouse suite, a press pass hanging from his neck (not that he needed one) with a leather jacket over his broad shoulders and an old fashioned pen and paper pad in his hands. He chuckled, an incredulous sound, as he glanced away for a moment. “C'mon, Yn. Now I know he's blowin’ me off.”

There was one word that could properly describe the heat swarming to the surface of your skin: embarrassment. “He's not doing it on purpose,” you insisted. “You know that Chan is called away spontaneously. Crime doesn't sleep.”

“I should be interviewing you, at this point,” Johnny said with a shake of his head. He pointed the tip of his pencil at you. “That's quite the one-liner, actually—”

“Oh, no,” you cut in, holding your palms out in front of you. “Absolutely not. I don't do interviews.” You huffed out a sigh, not even bothering to hide the stress in the breath because Johnny had been through this situation with you more than once. You tugged your phone out. “Listen, I'm guaranteed to speak with him sometime tonight, so I'll talk to him about it then and make sure he sits down with you sometime this week.”

“Tomorrow.”

Your brows furrowed as you glanced up at him from your calendar app, the days striped in a rainbow blockade of meetings and events. “Tomorrow? Johnny, you know—”

“I’ve got deadlines, Yn,” he told you firmly. “Can you really guarantee that you'll speak to him tonight? I thought crime never sleeps?”

Your mouth snapped shut.

That was all the confirmation he needed. “Kid, I know you're just doin’ your job. I get it, but Boy Wonder used to be real good about answerin’ my calls.”

Yeah, you thought to yourself as you stared down at your phone calendar, before he hired me to be his excuse-maker. “I'll see what I can do,” you said and stepped forward to call the elevator.

“That's all I'm askin’.” He lifted his hands in innocence as he sent you one last look, before disappearing in the elevator.

As soon as the gilded doors closed and you were left alone in your employer's penthouse apartment, you let out the loudest sigh ever known to man. The sound reverberated against the walls and lofted ceilings; you wouldn't even be surprised if the city beyond these massive windows could hear you.

Johnny Suh didn't need to make threats. You knew that if you didn't squeeze him into Chan's schedule tomorrow, Johnny would use his magical way with words to pen something less than favorable in the paper about the city's favorite superhero. You couldn't even blame him, at this point; Chan had pretty much been avoiding you, too.

You glanced down at your phone and skimmed through the notifications blowing up onscreen. But none of them were from the one person you needed to hear back from.

There were still a dozen other events he had scheduled for the day: a library opening, a meeting with the city's press team, so on and so forth… It only meant that you either needed to rein in your Super employer, or you needed to suddenly gain a couple dozen new excuses to gab to people. There were only so many times people would be okay with the “saving lives” thing, especially if they were a person in power.

Bang Chan—your employer and the famed superhero Phoenix—was a fan favorite of the city. He was smiley, dimpled, and had a heart of gold that burned like the fiery wings he spirited from his back; he never failed to capture civilian hearts by rescuing children from burning buildings or stopping dangerous bank robberies. He was your city's biggest celebrity, and was treated as such with red carpet invitations, banquets held in his name, and even owning a key to the city. It was a stroke of luck that you even stumbled into his employ, but it was because you believed in him and his cause.

He wanted to help people in the best way he knew how. Who were you to stop him?

“Except that it's your fucking job to stop him,” you muttered to yourself as you trudged into his kitchen to make yourself lunch. By booking him for all of these things, it meant he had to choose between meetings and spontaneously running out of the room to save someone's life. And when those whose meetings he ran out on came calling unfairness, you were the person they yelled at.

You didn't and couldn't control Chan, and you weren't about to try and leash him. But it didn't mean you wouldn't stop trying to do your job, the one he paid you to do.

You tapped on his contact, setting the call on speaker mode as you rummaged through his fridge. The ringing echoed against the polished wood and marble surfaces, only to be met with his voicemail.

“Come on, pick up,” you chanted to yourself, barely paying attention to the food selections in front of you.

“Hey, it's Chan! Sorry I couldn't answer your call, but if it's urgent and it's business, you can call my assistant Yn at—”

You reached over to hit the end button with a huff. Whatever.

—

If there was one good thing about moving into the city proper, it was discovering little joints like Bluenote. Bluenote was a cozy bistro a few blocks from Broadway, with live entertainment and a warm atmosphere, and it had become one of your favorite places to take people. Every time your folks were in town, you had a friend visiting, or even if your employer finally had two minutes to sit down with you—Bluenote was your go-to.

Lately, you hadn't been back in what felt like forever. It was only right that when you and the guy you'd been seeing for a couple weeks now needed another place to meet, you jumped at the opportunity.

“You're still hanging out with this Mark guy?” your friend Karina groaned into your ear. She was overseas earning her PhD, but she always had time for you and your life updates.

The sounds of the city wailed loudly in the background—the metal pipes moaning, the cats screeching, the cars honking. This cacophony of sounds was simply what most called an urban symphony. It was what you worked to, what you slept to, what you lived to.

You tugged the dark cardigan over your shoulders tighter around you as a rogue breeze swept past and raised goosebumps over your skin. “'Hanging out with?’” you parroted with a deadpan, even though she wouldn't see it. “You say that like I'm not dating the guy.”

“Well that's just my point! You're barely dating him,” she said. “He has to dip at the last minute nearly three quarters of the time for some unknown reason.”

“Okay but—”

“He's married. He's gotta be married!”

You made a face. “Jimin, he is not married.”

“That’s exactly what he wants you to think!”

A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips, even as you rolled your eyes and huffed out a light laugh. Mark Lee was not married, that was one thing you knew for certain. It would make your overthinking brain run a little less hot though if he was; the only problem with cute, dorky Mark Lee from the NeoNet news outlet was that he had a penchant for being a total flake. It had only been two weeks since you started seeing each other, and he was sweet, but half the time you wondered if he was some secret superhero or something with the way he made up excuses for not making it.

Karina told you to dump him twelve days ago, and she was probably right, but you couldn't confront the idea that maybe he just didn't think you were a high priority. When you and Mark did finally get to hang out, you were great together. And maybe, at some point, you'd gotten used to being flaked on to the point that you could stomach it. It wasn't like you weren't super busy either.

(It wasn't healthy, of course, but what adult in this city was healthy?)

You hit the crosswalk button one block away from Bluenote and leaned against the traffic light pole. “I think I'm fine with it, y'know? It's casual—”

A ringing next to your ear interjected your words, and you pulled the phone away to see the screen. Your eyes lit up at the same time as a groan slipped from your mouth. “Shit.”

“What? Did he make up another lame excuse again?”

“No” —you squeezed your eyes shut and shook your fist instead of punching the metal pole— “it's Chan. He's finally calling me back. I'm so sorry, Rina—”

“No, it's all good, girl! I totally understand. Go rip him a new one.”

As the walk sign flickered on in front of you, you stepped out onto the street. “If only… anyways, love you, and talk soon.” After hearing those sentiments reciprocated, you hung up from the call with Karina to switch onto a line with Bang Chan. “Chan.”

A grimacing hiss flew into your ear as you slapped your phone against it. “I know what you're gonna say, and I'm really sorry—”

“Johnny Suh is the person you should be apologizing to at this point,” you cut in. “C'mon Chan, you know how important an interview with him is, and you've been dodging both mine and his calls!”

You heard clattering around in the background and you recognized the familiar sounds of him making himself something to eat. Something awfully like guilt twisted in your stomach. He probably hadn't eaten all day.

“I'll make it up to him.”

“He wants an interview tomorrow,” you replied. You stopped short of the doors into Bluenote, stepping out of the walkway so you could consult the phone calendar once again.

Chk-chk-whoosh, went the stove on the other end. “Okay, then I'll meet with him tomorrow.”

“It’s really not that simple.”

“Well then, what do I have tomorrow?”

Despite knowing this calendar like the back of your hand, you continued to scour it as if it was your personal fortune teller. “The only remotely viable space would be early in the morning.” Your mouth flattened into a line; it was important that Chan still got time to rest, or maybe even sleep. You were hesitant to even bring up this time slot to him, as if you already knew where his brain was going.

“How early?” he asked. Just as you suspected.

Your eyes lifted to absentmindedly stare out into the busy street of traffic before you, the neon lights and fast cars whizzing past in a blur. “Like almost 7AM. That early.”

A beat passed. “Okay, yeah. I'll do it if he can wake up that early.”

You had given up trying to parent him long ago. After working for him for this long, you'd learned the long and tedious way that attempting to wrestle him into a healthier lifestyle was like trying to blow out a fire—useless. “As long as you can, too,” you said, already opening a chat with Johnny to let him know the updated time. “Anyways, I won't keep you any longer. You need to eat and sleep.”

“So do you,” he shot back. For a moment, there was only the sound of something frying on the other side, or maybe that was boiling. “Hey, I appreciate you, by the way.”

The smile that wormed itself on your face was unsuppressable. Was this what made you such a doormat? “And you stress me out, boss man.”

A bright chuckle met your ear. “I apologize for that. Have a good night, Yn! See you bright and early tomorrow.”

When you hung up the phone, you let a sharp exhale fall from your mouth. You brushed a hand roughly over your hair, pausing when you remembered that you were wearing makeup and you should not drag that same hand down your face. Once you had made the corresponding updates to your records, you tucked your phone away and finally turned into Bluenote.

The establishment could be described as the epitome of warmth and bubbliness. The laughter and chatter that floated in the air danced in time to the bassist plucking his solo onstage. Bluenote was built and designed to reflect the aesthetic and atmosphere of a jazzy speakeasy complete with wooden walls and floors for acoustics, a dimly lit bar hugging the side wall, and a floor that descended gradually to the stage.

You could already feel the stress melt away as you strolled up to the hostess stand and smiled all too easily. “Hi, reservation for Yn.”

The hostess nodded her head, tapping away on her tablet. “For two correct?” At your affirmation, she gestured to her left with an elegant hand, palm toward the ceiling. “If you'd please follow me, Miss.”

You clutched your purse in front of you as the pair of you weaved through the low booths and tables toward the small steps that led to the next platform down. There was a table for two tucked away just by the railing, out of direct view of anyone coming by, because their eyes would be toward the musicians onstage rather than you and your date.

“Thank you,” you said to her, as you settled into your seat.

Just as the hostess left to return to her post, a waiter in a sharp vest and bow tie appeared from your periphery. “Welcome to Bluenote,” he greeted in quiet cordiality. He set a drink napkin in front of you, then hovered over the second seat. “Are we waiting on someone else tonight?”

You nodded. “Yes, he'll be here soon.”

“Excellent.” A second napkin was placed. “Can I get you started with something to drink?”

“An apple martini, please,” you replied, flashing him a smile in thanks. You peeled the cardigan from your shoulders and draped it over the back of your chair, a sigh falling from your mouth. Once you were settled, you retrieved your phone to check if Mark was on his way.

You weren't even surprised by your newest notifications.

mark lee: heeeeey… i'm gonna sound like the WORST broken record ever, but i have to take a raincheck 😓😓

mark lee: I'M SO SO SO SO SORRY YN I'LL MAKE IT UP TO U I SWEAR

There wasn't much you could do, but the thought of having this table to yourself didn't sound too terrible. At least this was a place you were comfortable in, and not some stuffy restaurant with four dollar signs. It's all good! We'll just have to do this some other time, you answered.

mark lee: it's something w my aunt, i promise i'm not flaking on purpose… it's just… complicated

your phone: dude, seriously, it's okay. do what u gotta do!

your phone: bluenote isn't going anywhere anytime soon

mark lee: ur an angel 😭 hope u have a good night yn

You swiftly texted back a message along the lines of wishing him and his aunt well before you tucked your phone away and out of sight. If you respected yourself, you would have dropped him already. At this point, the two of you were barely friends, let alone dating. Had Karina been here, she would have argued how his so-called aunt was just a code word for his wife.

“She's right, you know.”

You stared absently at the pianist onstage. “Yeah, but who am I to—” You stopped yourself short of finishing. Who said that?

You whirled around, your heart stuttering at the sight of a familiar man standing by your table. His dark hair was swept out of his face, leaving only a single lock curled over his forehead; he wore a sharp-looking suit that could be both casual and dressy, paired with a set of warm-tinted sunglasses perched on his nose. Only a man with his audacity could pull off something like this.

Immediately, your expression soured, even if your pulse continued to pound relentlessly against your throat. “You've got to be kidding me.”

Could this day, night, life get any worse?

Kim Hongjoong grinned down at you from over the rim of his glasses. “This has to be fate.”

You turned your head back to the front, resisting the urge to drag your hand down your face and smudge your makeup. “Do I need to file a restraining order?”

“Why file one when you could just restrain me yourself?” he all but purred, eyes never leaving you as he stepped toward the one other open seat at the table, across from you—Mark’s ex-seat.

“Don't” —you whipped your head around and raised your hand, but to no avail. Your face fell into a flat look as he helped himself to the seat. “Whatever.”

Hongjoong made himself comfortable as he crossed one leg over the other and picked up the slim menu card left on the table. “Sorry, I'm late, by the way,” he drawled as his eyes lazily skimmed over his options. “Midtown traffic is absolutely abhorrent during rush hour. Didn't mean to keep you waiting, darling.”

You set your palm on the table, leaning toward him with as much menace in your eyes as you could muster. “Are you stalking me or something? You know who I work for, don't you?”

At the mention of your employer, he cocked a brow. “One, I'm not stalking you; you know how I know.” He tapped the side of his head, wagged his brows—mind reader, he mouthed, then giggled. As if you needed a reminder. “Two, the only reason I'm here is because of who you work for, Yn, I thought we established that during our first date.”

“That was not a date.”

“Catching you on the Treasure Island bridge overlooking Aurora Cove at sunset wasn't a date to you?” He set the menu down and pressed his hand to his chest, adding a gasp for dramatic effect.

You pinched the place between your eyes. “Are all villains as dramatic as you are?” you grumbled.

“I guess I'm just not courting you enough,” he said. His head tilted upward as the waiter returned to deliver your drink. “Could I just get a whiskey on the rocks, please?”

As you accepted your own martini with a thanks, you couldn't help but note how polite the man across from you was. You always pictured supervillains to be rude and entitled, or plain stupid. But every time you'd had a “curated” meeting with him, he'd acted like any other stand-up guy, never drawing too much attention to himself besides through his charisma and good looks. (Not that you would ever admit that to his face or out loud.)

“Why are you here?” you asked once the waiter was out of earshot.

Hongjoong folded his arms loosely over his chest. “Well, replacing your sorry excuse for a date, for one.”

Something needled at your chest. “He's a nice guy—”

“Nice guys don't ditch their dates half the time,” he said with a raised brow. He then sat up to lean his forearms over the table. “I mean, darling, you're dolled up so pretty and you picked a beautiful place” —he gestured to the venue around you— “it’s a perfect evening, and he asks you for a raincheck?”

Your nostrils flared, heat swarming to the surface of your skin. “Stop listening in, Hongjoong.”

“I don't need to ‘listen in’ to know why he's not here,” Hongjoong quipped.

There was that gross, sticky feeling in your stomach again. It spread around your shoulders this time, making you long to hide yourself—from embarrassment, humiliation, and the fact that he was right. “And I don't need dating advice,” you muttered, staring him straight in the eye, “from a supervillain.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Fine, have it your way.”

The two of you fell into a momentary lapse of silence, where the only sounds came from the life around you—the soft jazz floating in the background, the muted chatter. Your table's waiter came back to hand Hongjoong his poison of choice for the evening, and that seemed to remind you that you had your own drink to sip.

He took a sip at the same time you did, only yours was much longer. Watching you from over his glass, he asked, “So have you thought about it?”

“Thought about what?”

“My offer,” he replied. He set his drink down onto its napkin, then leaned the side of his head against his fist.

Oh, that? “You're funny,” you muttered into your glass, glancing away from him and at the jazz band playing. This evening had run far off the rails as it was. You couldn't believe he was still asking you to turn your back on Chan.

Hongjoong hummed to himself. “I know I am, but I'm being serious.”

“I'm his assistant. You need an assistant?” you blurted out, shooting him an incredulous look.

He shrugged. “I could,” he said. He leaned forward to say, “But it's not about whether or not I need an assistant—it’s the meaning behind the action.”

“You mean the implications of you successfully poaching me?” Why were you still entertaining this guy? Oh yeah, because you couldn't prove any of this to anyone. Plus, the most harm he had ever mentioned or committed in front of you was this stupid notion of becoming his employee.

“Well, yes.” Hongjoong reached for his drink and drained the glass to its icy bottom. “So? What say you?”

You swirled the remaining dregs of your martini in the cup, the liquid sloshing precariously close to the edge. “If you can read minds, Kim, why are you still asking me?”

“Sue me for liking the sound of your voice,” he said, throwing his hands up in the air with melodrama. A slow smile curled onto his face. “I do prefer verbal confirmation. I'm sure you don't enjoy the thought of me intruding into your safe, mental space.” He idly examined his nails, some of them painted with a chipped black color.

“You can't seriously expect me to believe that you purposefully try not to read my mind,” you scoffed.

“Then don't,” he stated. “But sometimes your thoughts are loud.”

Your mouth dropped open and you had to consciously tell yourself to snap it shut. A giggle bubbled out of your counterpart, the back of his hand pressing to his mouth. There was a twinkle in his eye, a satisfied sort of smirk leftover.

Why I oughta—

Hongjoong suddenly rose from his seat, the chair legs scratching lowly against the floor. “Alright, I think that's my cue to go.” He was already tugging out a bill from his wallet before you could process. “It was wonderful seeing you again,” he said as he dropped the money by his drink glass. “You clean up nice.”

You leveled a glare at him. “I will turn you in some day.”

“No, you won't.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Hongjoong pushed his chair in, leaned over the back of it. With an easy grin, he replied, “Because you haven't yet.”

—

To the rest of the world, Kim Hongjoong didn't exist. It wasn't that ‘Kim Hongjoong’ was a made-up identity. In fact, he was a real person. The only problem was that he was supposed to be dead.

The next morning, you were perched atop a stool at your kitchen counter, the sleep from your eyes having been fully replaced by the dull buzz of caffeine. You absentmindedly raised your mug of coffee (a porcelain piece that had Phoenix's winged logo emblazoned on it—free merchandise that came with the job) to your lips as you devoured the article on your phone screen.

It was your sixth article this morning surrounding the subject matter of a tragic incident that occurred five years ago. Back then, Phoenix was nothing but a young man attempting to tame his own pyrokinesis, a grade-A menace to society. These articles weren't new to you either, but ever since you met Kim Hongjoong, you never looked at them the same ever again.

“EDENARY UNIVERSITY STUDENT DIES IN FATAL LABORATORY ACCIDENT,” was what this one's headline read. Accompanied with it was a high definition photograph of the university's laboratory caught on fire and burning to the ground.

There was no way to save anyone from the building, let alone Kim Hongjoong, the student caught at the very epicenter of the blast. It was unknown why an economics student was in a restricted biochemistry laboratory in the first place, and you had yet to ask the not-so-dead economics student himself.

But something happened to force him or convince him to fake his own death. Something had to push him toward the path he went down now as a metahuman with telepathic and telekinetic capabilities.

Out of all things, why did one choose to become a supervillain?

Biting your lip, you swiped out of this article and tapped into another one. This wielded a far different tone than the last. The headline read: MASTERMIND—A SERIES OF SILENT REBELLIONS. The article summarized the so-called greatest hits of a supervillain with telekinetic powers, namely one Kim Hongjoong. To the public, he went by many names—Mastermind, Maestro, Magician—but the one that tended to stick the most was the Captain.

He could captain just about anything with his powers; thus, gracing him with that very title. His introduction to the city had been a few years ago, and it hadn't been with the usual sorts of villainy like robbing the federal reserve.

That year, the government had announced the banning of several dystopian novels. The next morning, the streets were littered with painted words from each book, skyscraper faces wallpapered in life-sized pages.

(Eye witness reports and security camera footage showed only tools and materials, like paintbrushes, moving on their own as if by phantom hands.)

You still remembered the deep-seated awe in your chest. It remained there, buried, because if anyone knew what you really thought of that act, you'd probably be far beyond being out of a job.

Though the Captain never made physical, theatrical appearances to claim his work, one would always know it was him at the helm of a scheme. Perhaps he had begun with vandalism, but his acts only continued to grow in criminal magnitude since.

(Suffice to say, there was an active warrant out for his arrest, despite the government being oblivious to what he actually looked like.)

As you glanced down at your phone again, a notification appeared at the top of the screen: OMW home for the exclusive with Suh. Can I give you a lift?

The message was from Chan, and you instinctively lifted your head up to peer out the window. It was nearly seven in the morning, but as you'd postulated before, crime never slept. You weren't surprised that Chan wasn't home at this hour.

your phone: sure, glad i'm not wearing a skirt today

boss man 🔥🦅: haha fs i'll c u in five

“Five minutes, it is,” you muttered aloud as you slid off the stool to place the coffee mug in the sink for later. Chan's generous offer was going to save you a dull drive through midtown morning traffic. If there was one true perk to working for a superhuman who could fly, it was all the gas money you were saving.

As he said, Chan appeared outside your living room window five minutes later with a jovial grin. He didn't seem any worse for wear with no outward appearances of injuries; and he only wore a fitted, flame-retardant tank and pants, rather than the full suit. It was the equivalent to him going out for a morning jog, if said morning jog consisted of stopping early morning robberies and the like.

He eagerly waved his hand at you as you wrestled the window up. The sounds and smells of the city poured in—all the smog, car honks, and early sirens. You stuck your head out and shoved your bag strap over your arm. “Am I gonna need a harness this time?” you jested with a wrinkled nose, peering up at him.

“Well, if you hold on tight like I always tell you to,” he teased back with a mirthful twinkle in his eyes, “then you won't need one. Now, c'mon. Let's not be late.”

“I'm never the late one,” you quipped. You had only ever taken the Chan Express a few times, so you still felt your stomach drop as you carefully lifted one leg out onto the fire escape, then the next.

The flames of his fiery wings blew gently with the breeze at his back. He once told you it had taken him months to control the flames in a way not only to keep their shape when flying, but to a temperature that wouldn't hurt whomever he was carrying. It was really quite the feat.

Chan was swift to scoop you up and you held your breath as you scrambled to cling onto his shoulders. Even if you only lived on the third floor, there was still a long fall before you splattered on the ground.

“Hold on tight, Yn—I mean it!” he chuckled, before taking off into the sky.

Once you and Chan reached the terrace of his penthouse apartment, you fixed up your appearance and went straight to work. You got a pot of coffee running and quickly made Chan a breakfast that he scarfed down in seconds. It wasn't that you were his caretaker, or god forbid, mom, but you knew this guy took on his role as “hero” a little too intensely sometimes.

It gave him tunnel vision. He saved the world, but who saved him?

“I can wash the dishes and things,” Chan assured you, crowding you out of the kitchen.

“Yeah, yeah.” You waved a hand at him absentmindedly, your focus on your phone again. You had just received a new notification and you plugged your earbuds in to take the incoming call.

“Good morning, sunshine,” you mused as you stepped into the back hallway for some privacy. “Or should I say good evening instead?”

The sound of shuffling, like the fabric of a comforter, met your ears. “Hrmph,” the caller grumbled on the other side. “Ha ha, very funny.”

Jeong Yunho was a friend of yours from several years back, when you met him in your last year of university at Sector 1 College. The man was a savant with the way he could understand and manipulate technology to his very whim. He was intelligent and competitive, but one of the sweetest guys you knew. Now, he worked at a massive cybersecurity firm located in one of the city's high-rises.

Occasionally, you checked in on him under the guise of lunch or coffee—lord knew he needed to get out of his damn gaming chair every once in a while to see the sun.

“I got your text,” he said through a yawn. There were more sounds on his end—sitting up in bed, or wherever he had fallen asleep. “Sorry, I was… definitely not up playing Val last night.”

You made a face and gazed out the window closest to you at the city beyond. “Uh-huh sure, I believe you. But it's fine, I didn't really need an answer right away.”

After you'd come home last night from Bluenote, it had taken a very hot shower, an additional glass of wine, and three hours of overthinking before reaching out to your tech-whisperer friend. If anyone could find anything on Kim Hongjoong, it would be Yunho.

“Let me just get my ass to my computer.”

You laughed. “Take your time.”

Distantly, you heard the sound of the elevator. Johnny Suh had arrived to get that exclusive he was promised.

“So um,” Yunho started to the sound of keyboard clacking in the background, “who’s this Kim Hongjoong guy anyway? You stalking a potential Tinder match or something?”

You nearly choked on your own air. “Uhm no,” you replied firmly. “I wouldn't do that—”

“You definitely would,” he sang.

“—and I don't have Tinder.”

Yunho clicked his tongue, and you could already imagine the impish, little grin on his face as he shook his head at your caller ID. “A shame,” was all he said. “I'm just messing with you. So who is he?”

You pursed your lips. How much should you divulge to Yunho? There was certainly a moment you realized that telling others could potentially put them in danger, too. There had to be a reason why Hongjoong felt that your knowing his identity was okay—but then again, he had never directly confirmed that he was the Captain.

“He's,” you pulled out of thin air, gesticulating as you went, “a person of interest.” Lame. Now it sounded even more like he was a potential Tinder match.

A snort from your counterpart. “I can say for certain that he shouldn't be interesting to you.”

You straightened. “Why?”

“Because he's dead, Yn,” he said in a tone that sounded a whole lot like ‘Duh.’

Oh. You couldn't stop your shoulders from falling. “Okay, but,” you stammered, “there has to be something more, right? Like maybe something about the Biochem building the explosion was in—what was that lab working on—”

“Yn.”

Something in his tone brought you to a screeching halt. Yunho was the classic Golden Retriever type; you never heard him so much as raise his voice at you, only at his computer screen. But there was actual steel in his voice then, something terse and tender at once.

Like he was being defensive.

“I think we should leave it.”

You gathered your words and found your voice again. “I know it's not right to dig around someone's personal life, especially when they're dead, but Yunho—”

“I'm sorry, Yn. I'm just—I’m not touching that case with a ten foot pole.” You could hear him push away from his desk then, the dull sounds of wheels rolling against a wood floor carrying through. He sighed, “I transferred into Sector 1 College from Edenary.”

Oh… shit. “Yunho, I'm sorry, I didn't know.” Your fingers lightly grazed over your temple, wishing greatly to smack your forehead instead.

“I know you didn't, and it's okay. I just… I don't want to look at that stuff.”

You swallowed and started nodding. “Of course,” you said. “Thanks anyway.”

The two of you exchanged quiet goodbyes, along with brief assurances that everything was fine (when they certainly were not). You hung up the phone before leaning back against a wall. How could you not know Yunho went to Edenary University before transferring to your college?

You bit your lip, thumbs hovering over your keyboard as you contemplated a text message to your friend.

your phone: hey yun, again i'm so sorry abt_|

You hit the backspace and deleted the message. Give it a couple hours, you thought to yourself. As you began weaving your way back to the front room where Chan was being interviewed, you already started mentally drafting another text message.

—

Jeong Yunho didn't like to think of himself as a liar. He was simply revealing only portions of the truth. He was skilled at that part—it didn't mean he felt good about doing it.

He glanced down at his phone screen, your caller ID and “Call Ended” glaring in his face. With a rough sigh, he tossed the phone onto his bed, leaning back in his chair to stretch his limbs. “I hate this, Joong,” he voiced aloud before dragging his hands down his face and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

A ways behind him, leaning against the room's doorjamb, was Kim Hongjoong; strands of his hair hung in his eyes, body clad in a T-shirt and sweatpants for sleep. He crossed his arms over his chest, digging his teeth into his lip. “I know,” he said lowly.

He'd come into the room when he heard Yunho wake up, and listened in when he was calling you. After the text you sent Yunho last night, the two of them discussed what exactly Yunho should respond to you with. (The comment about playing Valorant was only partly true.)

“I can lie to other people,” Yunho exclaimed as he turned his chair around to face his friend. He threw his hands up in the air for increased impact. “But lying to Yn like this—I don't know, it just feels wrong.”

“But you're not lying to her,” Hongjoong pointed out. “And this is for your safety and hers.”

Yunho knew that. Of course, he knew that. He wouldn't even be here—knowing Hongjoong was alive, who he was, and harboring him in his apartment—if he hadn't followed his own instincts and investigated Hongjoong's “death.” There was a reason why Kim Hongjoong from the past needed to stay dead to the world.

Yunho shook his head, leaning his cheek against his hand. “I'm convinced she's not complicit. Whatever her hero trash of a boss knows about the Answer Project, she doesn't. She can't!”

He refused to believe that his very normal friend from college was in any way associated with the bastards who were holding his fellow metahumans captive, experimenting on them, and attempting to silence (execute) people if they knew too much. It didn't fit with the vision of you he had in his mind, but was he giving you too much grace? It had to mean something that you had yet to tell Phoenix who you suspected Hongjoong to be.

Hongjoong lifted a hand in understanding. “I have a gut feeling, too; but even if she knows nothing about Answer, her knowing your involvement with me or that you know about Answer could get you both in trouble.”

It wasn't like gut feeling was all Hongjoong had either. He didn't enjoy purposely becoming a fly on the wall in someone's head, but when one was paranoid, measures were taken.

His mind drifted to last night when he had slipped into your date's chair at the jazz restaurant. He didn't know why he continued to pursue you and reach out—perhaps in the beginning, it was to get an edge on Chan/Phoenix and even the Answer Project, but now…

Well, he'd just say he wasn't lying when he told you how nice you cleaned up.

(Who would skip the chance to take you out on a night on the town? You knew your own worth, didn't you?)

“She probably thinks I'm mad at her,” Yunho muttered, staring at the ground with a pensive look on his face. “I should text her.”

Hongjoong lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “You could. Though, something tells me she wants to give you space.”

“And by something, you mean her own thoughts,” Yunho mused and cocked a brow at him.

“I'm not listening to her thoughts. Y'know, sometimes, it's just intuition and emotional intelligence.” Hongjoong turned on his heel and began walking out toward the living room and kitchen spaces. “But since you're awake now, we've got work to do.”

A groan emitted from within Yunho's cavern (bedroom). “I forgot that it was tomorrow.”

“Better believe it.” Hongjoong grinned to himself. Tomorrow the live meeting of the nation's Climate Council was to be hosted in this city. There were plenty of members on that panel whom Hongjoong itched to give a piece of his mind to. But before the day arrived, there was still a load of preparations left.

It would be a Climate Council meeting that no one would forget.

—

You were three seconds from nodding off. At this point, even your soul had unbuckled itself from your spine and taken a hike. Climate issues were important, sure, but the way these shmoes talked about them made you want to drill a hole through your skull.

As Phoenix's personal assistant, you were granted the seat directly behind him against the back wall of the room. The council was being hosted in a large conference room within the city's town hall, outfitted with a long table curved in a crescent moon facing inward. An audience of press and lower dignitaries, politicians, and graduated students made up the sea of people across from the table. Flashes of camera shutters occasionally popped and flickered, blinding you.

“We are working hand-in-hand with our city's own Phoenix to ensure that all of our industrial operations continue to adhere to—”

As your eyes lazily opened from another slow, torturous blink, you felt a light nudge from your side.

Jerking slightly, you turned your head to your right.

“Sorry,” whispered the man next to you, a look of pure sheepishness radiating from behind his thick-framed glasses. He nudged those very frames up his sculpted nose, teeth pressed into an awkward grin. He wore a standard suit and tie, along with a blue lanyard with an ID badge attached that read: PARK SEONGHWA, PhD and D.O.H. “I just don't want you to get caught in the background of a picture with your eyes half closed.”

That at least made you crack a smile. “Thanks for the assist,” you said back quietly. You extended your hand to him as subtly as possible. “Ln Yn, by the way. You work for the Department of Health?”

He nodded and shook your hand. “Yes. It's nice to meet you Ms. Ln. I'm Dr. Park.”

“You're not on the panel, Doctor?”

“Dear god, no.” He glanced at the panel of speakers seated only several feet in front of you, including your own boss. His trademark wings were out of sight for the time being. “I’m only filling in for a colleague who couldn't make it. They filled me in on any necessary information should the Director” —he inclined his chin to the man he corresponded to— “need it.”

Ah, that made sense. You had only attended one other Climate Council before and you didn't recall ever seeing Dr. Park there. Though, the Department of Health was certainly staffed with a large number of people.

“Well, at least that gives you cause to stay awake,” you joked. “I'm never needed, but my attendance is required.”

Seonghwa shot you a playful grimace. “The only staff member to a very busy public figure? I couldn't imagine.”

You smiled, shrugging your shoulders. “I get the job done.” Sometimes. Your track record of wrangling the city's favorite firebird as of late was shoddy.

“And that's all that matters.”

“So what is it that you do for the D.O.H. if not climate-related things?”

He raised a brow at you, the corner of his mouth curving upward. “Who said I didn't work on climate-related things?” Before you could reply, he gave a small smile with that sort of awkward boyishness to it. “Sorry, I was trying to say something cool. Heard that in a movie.”

If you weren't at a public, broadcasted event, you might have laughed a little. He was charming—in that dorky kind of way.

Seonghwa continued, “I actually work with researching vaccinations for diseases. We work closely with the Climate Impact group under the umbrella of the Public Health division.”

Your lips parted in respect and understanding. Well, even if he wasn't working in Climate Impact, you could understand where his knowledge came from. It became a unique perspective.

“That's really co—”

A loud whirring sound reverberated as all the lights in the hall went dark. A loud gasp followed by exclamations of confusion and panic erupted soon after.

You immediately whipped your head over to Chan, who had stood up and materialized a small ball of fire in his palm, the orangey glow illuminating wavering shadows over the planes of his face.

Seonghwa leaned forward, eyes darting around the room. “What's going on?”

“I don't know,” you murmured as you watched Chan raise his hands to attempt to capture everyone's attention. You glanced over at the press in the audience, their focus flickering between the superhero and their own screens. “It looks like only the building's power has been cut, though.”

“Everyone!” Chan hollered, lifting his fiery palm toward the ceiling. “Please remain calm. I'm sure it was just a hiccup in the electricity; this building has backup generators. There is no need to worry.”

As if on cue, the monitor screens around the walls of the room flickered to life. Their faces blasted a glaring blue light, terribly eerie, washing the room in cobalt.

A shiver crackled down your spine and you couldn't help but look over at Chan again. There was a crease between his brows now, his mouth pressed into a line. He returned your glance, a knowing look.

This wasn't just an unlucky power outage.

The room stood stalk-still as all eyes remained glued to the screens. Words appeared in bold letters, one at a time: LIES. CONTROL. SELFISHNESS.

The screens shuttered, the words and blue screens replaced with footage. It was filmed from a high angle, likely a security camera in what appeared to be a large control room. There were several rows of monitors, staggered in height, as they overlooked a panoramic screen with statistics and alerts.

At the top of the arena were two men, one seated at a monitor while the other man towered over his shoulder.

The audio crackled to life, muffled yet somehow clear as day.

“The backups aren't working, sir,” said the man in the chair. “The water levels are too low and the generators are way too hot.”

Your ears perked up at the sound of the second man's voice. He grunted in reply, “I thought you scientists were supposed to be intelligent. Isn't there an abundance of water in the ocean? We're right next to it, goddamn it.” Wasn't that… Lee Taeyoon, the president of HiveTech?

You couldn't make out any visible logos in the video, but if this really was footage from HiveTech, this was about to break the entire council.

The first man shrunk in his seat. “We’ve already been put on alert by the Pollution Watchlist, sir. And, with all due respect, you signed the agreement with the city's Public Health board to contain water usage to below ten million liters per day. Siphoning water from the ocean will breach that contract, as well as increase the amount of toxins released into the—”

“I don't care—just access the ocean line. The pipeline was already built, so we should use it,” President Taeyoon said, straightening and flicking his wrist in dismissal. “Wu from the Public Health board owes me one, so he'll turn a blind eye.”

You just knew Johnny Suh was kicking himself for not getting this story out first.

Your soul nearly jolted out of your seat as a single light from the ceiling above beamed down to illuminate one section of the audience.

There, as if it was his solo onstage, was President Lee Taeyoon of HiveTech. He sat still as a statue, eyes narrowed and hands balled into fists on his lap.

“Wireframe Publishings” —everyone’s heads whipped up at the sound of a voice echoing from above—no, around? It was everywhere, surrounding you, and it was so awfully familiar— “calls President Lee of HiveTech the 'greatest mind since the invention of the lightbulb. Lee will take us into the future with his brilliant, new artificial intelligence, his… HiveMind.’”

The last few words were dragged out, long and sarcastic.

Your stomach twisted violently. You knew exactly why the voice sounded familiar.

The disembodied voice continued, “My friends, my enemies… Phoenix.”

You glanced over at your boss who seemed at a loss. There was nothing to fight, nothing to burn without a body.

“Now that you know the truth, will you continue to praise and protect this pathetic loser?”

A long, heavy silence washed over the room. You could feel your heartbeat physically thrashing against your chest, the tick-tocking of a timed bomb. Everyone looked at everyone, and everyone looked at Chan. You felt awful at such a feeling of helplessness, so you couldn't imagine what he felt like.

The Captain—because you damn well knew who was at the helm of this scheme—clicked his tongue. “Truly, how disappointing. Politics really are the people's enemy, aren't they?”

“What do you want from us?” Chan finally called out into the ether, a muscle twitching in his brow.

There was a pause, then a small chuckle that followed.

The hero curled his lip. “You think this is funny?”

“Hilarious, actually,” the Captain said. The mental image of Hongjoong laying on his stomach in bed and kicking his feet up behind him just materialized in your head. “Do you always speak like you're in an action film, Phoenix? It's so… I'd say entertaining, but I think even I would shut the TV off by this point.”

If this wasn't a serious situation, you would have rolled your eyes. All of this flak coming from the diva himself?

“You didn't answer my question: what do you want?”

“Isn't it obvious?”

The television screens flickered. The footage switched from the control room to what looked like one of the aisles of a data center. There were black box-like shapes taking up the frame, blue and red lights twitching on their panels.

You took a wild guess as to where this was.

“Notice how no one has left the room yet,” he continued. “None of you are trapped here, but you all want to see what comes next.”

A few heads turned to the doors on the furthest side of the council hall. And yet, no one moved a muscle.

SCREEEEEECH—audible grimaces filled the room, people slapped their palms to their ears. The scratching sound grated on your bones, nails on a chalkboard. It was like metal was being torn open with someone's giant, bare hands. The video screen seemed to brighten, but not before a strange whooshing sound began to grow louder in the background.

Shhhh swiftly became a raging roar.

It clicked in your head the same time it did in President Taeyoon's because the man jumped out of his seat and dashed to the nearest monitor. “NOOO!” he thundered, banging his fist against the screen hard enough to shatter its face.

The screen only continued to display the rush of ocean water that rampaged through the HiveTech data center, devastating all of the contents within.

A borderline lovesick sigh filled the room. “Ah, don't you love the sweet sound of justice?”

“JUSTICE?” Taeyoon staggered to his feet with something monstrous contorting his features. He threw his fists up toward the ceiling. “YOU CALL THAT JUSTICE?”

The Captain snickered. “You don't? Well, I guess you could also call it karma.”

“Phoenix!” —a voice from the corner of the room, some security team member— “I've got a location hit on the IP address hacking our system!”

Phoenix stumbled over chairs and mumbled harried sorries as he tripped over feet toward the exit. “WHERE?”

“He’s at the waterfront. Dock 1117—”

Whoosh. A few yelps cropped up in the crowd as Phoenix flicked out a pair of blazing wings from his back and soared over heads to reach the nearest window. A stream of pure, blue flame shot forth from his palms, melting a hole clean through the glass.

In the blink of an eye, he disappeared into the world outside.

The press in the room didn't wait to see what came next; they all scrambled to their feet and grabbed their equipment to reach the data center in time to get the live action scoop.

“This should be fun,” were Hongjoong's last words from the speaker system before all the lights came back on and the screens returned to their previous media.

You stood up from your chair, lips still parted in shock. Did that really just happen? Was it faked or was the entire HiveTech data center just destroyed?

In the corner of the room, Lee Taeyoon hunched over in devastation, shoulders trembling in rage or from crying—you couldn't quite tell. The other attendants of the meeting glanced among each other and traded their concern, all illustrated on their faces. There were some remaining members of the audience who frantically made calls to others, likely ordering more security for their own corporations and their properties.

What was going to happen now?

With the screens returned to normal, there was no way to know what occurred at the docks until it was over. How did Hongjoong even manipulate all of this technology? He was a telepath, not a cyberpath.

“That was,” you voiced out loud, “a lot.” You attempted to force a bit of lightheartedness into your tone, but when you glanced over at Doctor Park, your shaky smile dropped.

Dr. Park Seonghwa was bracing himself on his knees, eyes wide as twin saucers behind his glasses as he stared at seemingly nothing. His skin had blanched considerably, almost sickly in color. You swore you could hear his rapid and shallow breaths—dear god, was he going to faint?

You instantly fell back into your seat beside him and lifted your hand slowly, before placing it on his shoulder. “Dr. Park… Doctor? Doctor, are you alright?”

His lip trembled. “I—I need some air, I think.”

“Of course,” you said swiftly, nodding with vigor.

You gently took him by the crook of his arm and helped him to his feet. He grappled onto your own arm as a crutch, and the two of you carefully picked your way across the meeting room with slow, measured steps.

The few times (several times) you stole a glance at him, the man had his dark hair hanging over his eyes as he glued his stare to something far off in the distance. It was almost like this was a response to something; it could be that this entire ordeal struck a nerve in him, possibly mirroring a past trauma of his.

That seemed to quell your thoughts for the meantime. You didn't want to pry into his private life.

When you and Dr. Park broke out into the outside world's sun-soaked glory, you could feel him relax a little beside you. Sirens sang their song far off in the distance, out east toward the marina.

Out here in the light, though, you caught the silvery glint pooling in Seonghwa's eyes. You thought it was a trick of the sun, but that tremble in his bottom lip was still there.

This… this poor man.

You walked Dr. Park to the front of the building, closer to the outer road. “Let me call you a cab,” you murmured to him while patting his arm.

Your eyes scanned the busy streams of traffic for a blur of familiar yellow. When you spied your target vehicle chugging toward your direction, you raised two fingers to your lips and released a shrill whistle into the wind. That, accompanied by you waving your free hand around like a maniac, successfully brought the taxi to yours and Seonghwa's curbside.

“Thank you,” he said to you, the volume barely audible above the sounds of the city, but loud enough to you.

You nodded, shooting him a strong smile, as he lowered himself into the car. “Take care of yourself, Doctor. It's going to be alright.”

He wasn't able to muster up a smile, but he did lift his fingers in a brief wave before closing the door. You watched the cab merge into oncoming traffic and didn't leave until you could no longer make out the letters of the license plate on the back.

—

You had dodged dozens of calls from Lee Taeyoon, the Climate Council members, and other notable individuals by the time Chan touched down in his own home.

Ever since yesterday's fiasco at the televised Climate Council meeting, your phone (nor you) knew a moment of quiet. Every waking moment was spent desperately attempting to placate people of the safety of their properties from scheming, telepathic metahumans; as well as managing the tsunami of requests for interviews from every goddamn news outlet in this city.

Lee Taeyoon and HiveTech was a big fucking fish to fry, was the moral of the story here.

That, as well as the fact that the Phoenix failed to apprehend the culprit behind yesterday's attack. Yeah, the Captain remained free as a bird, and there were no leads or evidence pointing to his whereabouts.

“Chan,” you exhaled out of your mouth, shooting to your feet from your nervous perch on his coffee table (not the couch). You beelined for him, noting the shadows under his eyes and the tension in his shoulders as he stalked into the apartment. “We need to talk about what's going on.”

He brushed past you, but you clung to his heels, following him into the kitchen. “Not now, Yn,” he said through a sigh. “I need to get something to eat before I have to go out again. Titano had to choose this week to throw a fucking tantrum.”

You could understand. Really, you could understand.

“The mayor wants to meet with you and put out a joint statement, and the head of the Department of Security keeps calling—”

Chan ripped the fridge door open. “Can't you tell them I'm busy?”

You leaned against the counter, arms folded over your chest. “That's what I'm doing,” you quipped. Pursing your lips, you suppressed the urge to talk even more about all of the things on your plate when he had his own shit. “Chan, I'm on your side. You know this.”

“Do I?” He slammed the refrigerator shut and moved to one of the cabinets instead. “You want something from me, the city wants something from me, the news wants things from me. I can't catch a fuckin’ break right now.”

He hadn't cursed this much in a long time. Frankly, Chan didn't lose his shit in front of you ever.

Guilt twisted in your stomach. “I already gave them statements to get off your back. I'm not here to tell you to attend any more meetings or interviews; I wanted to talk about if you were okay.” Because you damn well cared about the guy!

You believed in him—his cause, too, but mostly him. That was one of the reasons why you were still here.

Chan took out a package of ramen and let his arm fall to his side, head hanging.

There. In the beat of silence, you ventured a step closer. “What happened with HiveTech—”

“Was a fucking disaster,” he interjected, whipping toward the stove to find a pot somewhere.

Your eyes shuddered, and you sucked in a breath. Great going, Yn. “—was not your fault,” you corrected firmly.

What was bothering him so much about HiveTech? It wasn't as if he didn't have other, worse moments in his superhero career. So why the hell was this one so different?

Chan threw you a dry look, but it was far from any joking deadpan he'd sent before. You could feel the cold breeze brush past your arm. It was strange, really, how someone so naturally warm could be capable of such frigidity.

He didn't say anything after that, just put the ramen packet down on the counter and whisked himself out of the room. You slipped after him, and didn't bother stopping him as he completely dismissed his break to fly out of the apartment again.

“Super job,” you muttered to yourself. “That went over so well.”

It didn't make sense to you why this one instance wounded his pride more than the others. Maybe he was getting more flak than you were realizing; but where and how, if all outside communication went through you?

You collapsed onto the couch in the living room and pulled out your phone.

Unsurprisingly, there were another couple dozen missed calls, and nearly a hundred other notifications. There was one in particular that caught your eye though.

While you freely ignored everyone else, you tapped straight into your newly-made text chain with Dr. Park Seonghwa.

dr. park: hi yn, thank you for reaching out — it was really thoughtful of you, both what you did for me yesterday after the meeting and for checking up on me. i'm doing better today, but i suppose i'm still a little shaken. how are you?

In an effort to distract yourself from your own work, last night you had gone home and worried yourself silly about Dr. Park instead. You found his phone number on one of the staff directories for the Department of Health, and shot him a text inquiring after his well-being. You hadn't expected an immediate response, but you were glad to finally hear back from him.

your phone: it's completely okay to be shaken still, doctor. as for me, i fear that i'm too stressed to be worried about anything 😅

dr. park: ahh understood. i hope you'll attempt to take care of yourself though, despite it all.

You bit the inside of your cheek as you read his message. It was difficult to even envision yourself making attempts at self care during this time, but if you wanted him to try, then so should you. I'll try my best, you typed back. It seems like we both need a breather from reality, you said in partial jest. Another attempt to lighten the mood.

dr. park: true! it was very nice meeting you yesterday, though, all things considered. i wish we were able to chat more

your phone: i'm not sure if our schedules will allow, but maybe we could get a meal together sometime to chat? i think getting to know a new friend would give me something to look forward to

dr. park: i think i can definitely make room for a new friend :))

A smile curled onto your face—the first one in the last twenty-four hours.

—

Along the 2nd Street Promenade that overlooked Aurora Cove and the Treasure Island bridge sat a local fish fry that had been open since as long as this city lived. It was owned by a man and woman who boarded up just above the restaurant in the apartment upstairs. Though prices had increased slightly as the years went by, the taste and quality remained one of the highest in the city.

“How are you feeling today, Doctor?” you asked Park Seonghwa who sat across the table from you. The two of you had just placed your orders up at the counter, and were settled with two cups of water and a plastic number card.

The young doctor nudged his frames up the slope of his nose, smiling slightly. Saying he looked far better than a couple days ago was an understatement. The image of his sickly appearance, the watery glint in his eyes… he had been close to falling over, or maybe even throwing up his lunch. “I'm much better now, thank you,” he said. “And please, you can call me Seonghwa.”

“Then you can call me Yn,” you replied good-naturedly. “I'm glad you're feeling much better, though. What we went through was—it was upsetting.”

There was some real fear that struck your heart that day. You didn't know how far Hongjoong/the Captain would go to make his points. You didn't truly know him at all.

“Yeah,” he mumbled in agreement, reaching for his water cup. After a small sip, he said to you, “I guess I'm just a little… thrown off. I'm not sure if that's the word.”

You nodded, brows furrowing as you leaned forward to show that you were listening. “Sure. That makes sense.”

“Not because of the information that was exposed or even the damage being done to the HiveTech server center.”

You tilted your head, confused.

Seonghwa waved his hand absentmindedly. “It's just that,” he continued, “I feel that I…” he paused. There was a flicker of conflict in his expression before he overcame it. “I think I recognized the voice.”

Your heart dropped clean into the pit of your stomach. What? “The voice?” you asked slowly, uncertainly.

“Yes, the voice over the speakers. The one who was confirmed as the Captain—or the Mastermind or Maestro or whatever he's called.”

Well, this was an interesting turn of events. You busied your hands with taking your water cup, hoping he didn't see them shake slightly. “Is that so?” you queried while forcing the tremor out of your voice. “Who did it sound like?”

Seonghwa paused again. He stared at you for what felt like an eternity. Could he see right through you? Despite the poker face you wore, you were convinced you had your guilt scribbled all over your face right now. “I don't want to get anyone in trouble,” he finally said with slow and measured words. “But it probably wouldn't matter anyways.”

Your heartbeat slowed only a little. Right, you nearly forgot you were actually the assistant to a superhero who wanted to find the Captain. “Why—uhm, why not?”

Your counterpart stared into his water for a moment, then glanced back up at you. “Because he's dead.”

This is just getting better and better, you thought to yourself. You feigned confusion and formed a furrow between your brows. “Dead? What do you mean? Who did it sound like to you?”

“It sounded like an old friend of mine from college,” he replied. His head turned to gaze out at the yolky sun sinking into the bay. Perhaps it was simply the golden hour light, but you swore there was a hint of nostalgia, grief, painted softly over his features. “He died in that explosion—the one at Edenary University five years ago.”

You wished you could put your head in your hands. Unfortunately, Seonghwa had recognized the correct voice. Despite the spike of panic in your heart, there was an ocean's load of melancholy weighing down your chest, too.

To believe you were hearing the voice of an old friend, long gone—one might think you were hallucinating. How agonizing. Did Hongjoong know Seonghwa was going to be present in that room? He must have. So what did that say about Hongjoong?

“I'm so sorry, Seonghwa,” you said quietly.

His head turned back to you and his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. “Not at all—I mean, you have nothing to be sorry for. I suppose I'm just,” he chuckled, “hearing things or something.”

You aren't though, you thought with a frown. Maybe you could tell him—

He cleared his throat before you could even attempt to salvage this conversation. “That's enough about me. How have you been since? I imagine the blow back afterward was… not fantastic.”

Immediately, you felt reality rush back into you like the oncoming tide up a shoreline.

Your face must have been answer enough for him. Seonghwa sent you a grimace. “That bad?”

You let out a strained laugh, leaning the side of your head against your fist. “You've seen the news, right?” you answered jokingly… kind of. It was an utter nightmare.

When Phoenix had failed to apprehend the hacker from the broad-casted council meeting and the perpetrator of HiveTech's physical and metaphysical ruin, he received all the criticism. There were some activist groups who were glad Phoenix had failed, though—after all that was revealed about President Taeyoon's actions and true, malicious intentions, they agreed with the Captain in his indictment of Lee.

Tech giants around the city and nation were, undoubtedly, distraught and outraged at the public display of destruction of private property. You could understand that they felt threatened by the Captain, and what he might do next. It was no longer the government he showed malice against; private corporations were next on the chopping block.

Not to mention, the metahuman Titano continued to rampage across the city’s financial institutions with no signs of stopping.

Suffice to say, your boss had a lot riding on him for a win.

“Yeah,” Seonghwa admitted with a wince. “I'm sure it's very overwhelming for you, too though, right? You have to deal with everyone who wants a piece of Phoenix, whether they're on his side or not.”

That was true. You were still getting calls left and right, even out of business hours, attempting to hassle you into a reply from Phoenix. Your dear old friend Johnny Suh had run back to your inbox again, as well. It had gotten to a point where you were forced to silence your cell phone as soon as you clocked out of work.

You gave a half-hearted shrug. “You're right on all accounts, but it is what he pays me to do. I am the wolf wrangler.”

That at least got a snort out of him. “I admire your strength,” he mused. “I hope he pays you well.”

“I'd be gone if he didn't,” you laughed.

As the sun slipped deep beneath her covers, and night filled the sky in her place, you and Seonghwa finished your meal. Yours and his combined laughs trailed with you as you pushed your way out of the eatery and onto the marina walkway. Though life had been stressful as of late, you were glad you had put a pause on all of the work to have this little bit of joy.

Seonghwa grasped his hands in front of him with a soft, boyish smile. “I'm a little hesitant to leave now,” he admitted, “but unfortunately, duty calls.” He inclined his chin in the direction of the parking lot.

“Work at this hour?” you queried.

He shrugged, as if he couldn't help it, but there was a sheepishness still present. “My colleagues and I have all been working overtime to prepare for some clinical trials. I should—really get back, but this… tonight was much needed.”

You broke into a smile, nodding. “Same here,” you laughed. “Thanks for hanging out with me.”

“Thank you for reaching out in the first place.” He sent you a little wave as he began slowly walking backward toward his destination. “When things slow down, you should come by the office for a tour!”

“I'd love to.”

His grin widened. “Have a good night, Yn!”

“Good night, Seonghwa.”

You watched as he left, and only turned back toward the bay when he had also turned around. A small sigh fell from your mouth, not tired but content. You had been so used to being flaked on recently, that going through with a foolproof night was almost foreign to you.

Seonghwa was a good person, as well. You were glad he was doing better, but you wondered if you should have told him the truth about Hongjoong.

A breeze drifted across the marina and you started walking closer toward the water. The sun had completely disappeared into the silken skyline, but the night was comforting on your shoulders.

You settled on a bench that overlooked the bay. It wouldn't hurt to linger here for a moment longer.

Across the bay, you watched as flame met pure steel. Embers ricocheted as sparks, miniature fireworks, before being concentrated into a ray of power that could rival hot lava. In the distance, sirens crooned their citywide warning as they headed for the scene of the fight.

You resisted the urge to check your phone for the current news. It was being played out in front of you anyway: 'Phoenix Battles Titano on the Rooftop of Metro Bank.’ Who needed a newspaper when you knew the real deal?

You sank against the bench, unable to tear your blank stare away from the battle scene. Being physically removed made it so easy to forget that this was reality, that people's lives and welfare could hang in the balance. To you, across the bay, this was a scene from a movie—that was someone else's problem, not yours.

After all, what could a person like you possibly do to help in that scenario?

Footsteps tapped lightly against the wharf, and then you felt his presence.

Kim Hongjoong had his hands tucked into his jacket pockets as he sat down on the far end of the bench, eyes gazing out at the same scene as you, a sigh materializing in your ears far louder than any of the emergency sirens. “Nice night?”

For a pregnant moment, you entertained the idea of ignoring him; but there were too many things on your mind to do such a thing. “Is this all a joke to you?”

When you turned your head to look at him, he mimicked your movement toward you. There was a small twitch in his brows, but otherwise, you were unable to read him. How unfair it was that he could skim your mind like some cheat sheet and you couldn't even make out an intention from his expression.

“So is that what you think of me?” he asked you. His tone and pacing were as if he'd plucked the words carefully and maneuvered them into place on a Scrabble board—certain, but still cautious.

“That was you a couple days ago, wasn't it?” you threw back instead. “With HiveTech and the Climate Council.”

Hongjoong rotated himself back in the direction of the bay. “Lee got what he deserved,” he said, “and if you listened to anything in that security tape, you would agree with me.”

You were at a loss for words. Were you supposed to be mad about that? “No,” you sputtered, facial features wrinkling in disgruntlement. “I” —you scooted the tiniest bit closer, knees knocking against the wood of the bench to face him— “You had a friend in college named Park Seonghwa, and he recognized your voice in there.”

There was a shift in his demeanor as soon as you said the doctor's name. It was impossible to put a label to it now, but you hoped for Hongjoong's own humanity, that his own heart hurt as much as Seonghwa's probably did.

You didn't know where the red, hot flame inside you started to grow, but it became the heat beneath your skin that boiled your blood. “I'm sure you're a meticulous person,” you continued on, “and you would have known he was going to be in that room. You should have seen him, Hongjoong. He could've fucking fainted by the end of it.”

A muscle feathered in the side of his jaw as it clenched. “I didn't know he was going to be there.”

“Bullshit.”

“I didn't.” He looked at you then, and the utter wall of stone in his expression made your spine snap straight. It staunched the thrumming of your blood, the fiery advocation you were cranking up. He wasn't lying; you realized that much. “Do you think so lowly of me as to believe that I would purposely try to retraumatize someone I cherished in my past?”

You stupidly had nothing to say. The words had spilled out of you without thinking, and you believed him. Maybe you were just trying to find something to blame him for, to convince yourself that he truly was worthy of being labeled a villain.

Hongjoong shook his head. “He wasn't supposed to be there,” he said. “No one from my past life was supposed to know that I'm still alive, but—” He stopped himself short, shaking his head again. “Was that why you were meeting him tonight?”

“Partly.” You fiddled with the end of your blouse, shifting your body to no longer have your knees pointed at him like an accusation. You casted a glance at him, saying, “He was in poor shape after everything happened. I found his number in a staff directory after I helped him get a cab home, and we agreed to grab a meal together to have a proper conversation.”

He nodded quietly. “Thank you.”

You swallowed. “Don't. I'm… sorry for what I said earlier. I just assumed.” And wasn't that the problem?

“I understand your line of thinking,” he said, crossing one leg over the other to lean back against the bench. “So—nice night?”

Ah, there it was again. He was moving on for you. You pursed your lips, head instinctively turning toward the bay once more, only to find your face illuminated by a massive wave of flames in the distance.

Hongjoong let out a low whistle.

You replied, “Answer enough for you?” You extended your legs out in front of you and began to swing them absentmindedly. “I feel like I'm desensitized to all this now. Your friend was good company though... That's how my night's going.”

He raised his brows at you. “I'm not about to be replaced, am I?”

Your eyebrows wrinkled together. “Replaced?”

“As your date!” he scoffed.

Oh my god. You didn't even try to fight the deadpan off your face. “I've only shared one meal with this guy and you're already threatened?” Plus, there wasn't anything beyond platonic that sparked for you between yourself and Seonghwa. He was handsome, sure; but he wasn't someone you could imagine in that light, at least for yourself. (Something else Hongjoong was never going to hear from your lips.)

Hongjoong draped one of his arms over the back of the bench, his hand within brushing distance of you. “Well, yes,” he lamented. “I knew Park Seonghwa, if you remember, darling. I know competition when I see it.”

You rolled your eyes hard enough to give you a headache. “You're insufferable.”

His mouth pulled into an easy grin. “I prefer 'passionate’,” he chirped. “Have you thought about my offer?”

The audacity and timing made you sputter out a hearty laugh. “I know you said it was just for the symbolism, but why would you want me as your assistant? I'm sure there are plenty of competent people out there.”

“Do you not think you do a good job at it now?”

You opened your mouth to give a snarky answer, but the words died on your tongue when your thoughts hit a wall. Did you think you were doing a good job? The question simmered in your head for a moment, and a replay of the past several months whizzed by in your mind's eye. You settled for huffing out a laugh. “To be honest? Sometimes I wonder why he even needed an assistant in the first place. I thought he was doing fine with choosing people to speak with on his own.”

Hongjoong considered you for a moment. “Not necessarily,” he replied. “He… became a celebrity, essentially, and suddenly was expected to attend to everyone who was considered important; while also juggling his need to be a hero still. You help him organize the celebrity portion of his life.”

Well, that certainly was a succinct way of putting it, you had to admit. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip and you glanced back over the bay. Phoenix's pyrokinesis ceased to set the night sky aflame, and the blue and red lights seemed to drown out the orange tint of his wings.

“I don't think it's that important of a role,” you pondered aloud. “Considering what he does as a superhero” —you nodded to the scene ahead, undoubtedly where Titano was being shipped off to Strictisle, the alleged island prison for metahuman criminals— “conforming to being a 'celebrity’ or whatever should be the least of his concerns.”

Something tightened in Hongjoong's expression. “Do you really believe what he's doing is helping? That he is the answer?” His voice was quiet, but not weak, eyes trained on you and your reaction. (If he spoke any louder, it would be far too easy to unleash every bit of rage he kept under lock and key for all these years.)

You met his gaze and started at the intensity there, the fire. “I don't believe metahumans are the villains.”

“Interesting, but that wasn't my question.”

You had always believed in Phoenix/Chan. The former was a symbol of light and hope, and the latter was a reminder of his humanity, where the fire had been born. He saved children from burning buildings and stopped dangerous bank robberies. Of course, you believed in his cause.

There was no reason to doubt him yet. So why did Hongjoong continue to question you?

“Yet.”

A question mark formed in your head, until it clicked for you.

Hongjoong leaned forward. “Yet. There's no reason to doubt him yet; so what is giving you reason to believe now that there might be one in the future?”

You stood abruptly from the bench. “Stop reading my mind, Hongjoong,” you nearly snarled at him. God, no matter what he claimed about not liking reading your mind or however goddamn loud your thoughts were—it was awful in itself that your private thoughts weren't necessarily private anymore.

“You doubt him, Yn,” he shot back with equal ferocity. “Maybe it's only a hairline fracture, but you cannot deny that it's there.”

“You're so fucking full of it.”

Hongjoong tilted his head, smiled. “Am I getting in your head, darling? Does that bother you?”

A nasty, hot flame curled in your stomach, and you physically suppressed any outward reactions to his provocation. “I don't have to deal with this,” you huffed and began to round the bench in the direction of the outer road. “It's been a long week, no thanks to you.”

You tucked your hands beneath your armpits as you continued walking away. It really had been a long week: first, there was dealing with the fallout from the council meeting; then, Chan practically snapped at you; and now, Hongjoong continued to wear down your defenses by making you overthink everything.

Life was so much simpler before he came along.

“Hey Yn.”

You slowed slightly at the sound of his voice calling your name from back at the bench. With a glance over your shoulder, you saw that he had stood up and stared on after you, but didn't make any moves in your direction. The glow from the nearby restaurants painted over his face and casted a shadow over the other half.

His mouth was pressed into a grave line. “He doesn't deserve your loyalty.”

[You know your worth, don't you? Wake up.]

You startled then, footsteps tripping over yourself as if there was a crack in the sidewalk.

Who's voice was that in your head…?

You caught his face again, something fierce in the salt-breeze night. When that second realization hit you tonight, you turned tail swiftly and hauled ass home.

—

rina!! 💖: but ur alright??? ur not hurt or anything?

The light from your phone glared into your face, illuminating the darkness of your room with its blinding glow. You turned onto your side to send Karina a text message back. You'd just updated her on everything that had happened lately, minus your recent interaction with Hongjoong. She didn't need to know, not when it could potentially get her into trouble.

your phone: yeah, i'm fine

your phone: just super stressed ngl :/ i need u back here asap i've been around too much testosterone lately

your phone: missed u sm

After the last message sent, you turned your phone off and shifted in bed to find another comfortable position. For a moment, as you listened to the muffled sound of the city's cacophonous symphony, you thought about the Captain's takeover—really thought about it.

The basic fact of the matter was that President Taeyoon of HiveTech was breaching his contracts and agreements with the city for the benefit of his HiveMind program. He chose his own technology over the well-being of the population and the environment.

By some metrics, what Hongjoong did was justice.

Maybe his way damaged billions of dollars in private property, but it got people's attention. Would the government really have taken action if he had only shown that security tape?

(You didn't want to admit that Hongjoong had some justification for all that he did. You didn't want to admit that, if you weren't working for Phoenix, you might have started rooting for the Captain a long time ago instead.)

—

“Have you ever been to Strictisle?”

You never thought you would see the day you and Johnny Suh shared a cab. Instead of taking Phoenix Airlines to the marina, you opted to hop into the car with Johnny so that Phoenix could ensure the armored car transporting Titano got to its destination safely.

You pulled your gaze from the car window, turning toward the passenger seat where Johnny was. “Me personally? No.”

Johnny had twisted around in his seat so he could have a proper conversation with you. “Bummer,” he said, clicking his tongue. “You think Phoenix would do me a solid and let me see it just once?”

“If he refuses to take me, he'll refuse to take you, too,” you chuckled. Not that you wanted to visit Strictisle…

From what Chan mentioned about the island prison, it wasn't an ideal place for any civilian to be. It was a place where only the worst metahuman criminals were shipped off to for their prison sentence. No one except for certain government officials, Phoenix, and those sentenced there had ever seen the island in person. It dwelled in the thick fog, far beyond the view of the naked eye, and the waters surrounding the isle were allegedly surrounded with naval guards to prevent any civilian or merchant boats from passing through.

“You don't think it's strange?”

You hummed with a high intonation at the end, a question.

Johnny cocked a brow at you. “You don't think it's strange that not even fishing boats have seen anything? Or that no one has been allowed to even visit the island unless you have high enough security clearance—whatever that bullshit is.”

Your lips pursed into a slight frown. “It's for our safety, Johnny,” you said. “I mean, you've seen what people like Kang Seulgi and Lee Taeyong are capable of. And now Titano.”

Kang Seulgi and Lee Taeyong were just two of the alleged prisoners on Strictisle. They were arrested by Phoenix around four years ago, near the beginning of his career. Seulgi wielded the power of hematokinesis, and used her powers to implode her victims through exploding their blood vessels; whereas Taeyong was a shapeshifter whose trademark emerald-colored serpent rampaged through downtown for an entire week.

“But does it give the government the right to hide this alleged prison island from the general public?”

You pressed your lips together and sighed inwardly. No. “Does the general public want to see the prison?”

He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Touché. But how do we know these people are being treated humanely? What if they are being forbidden from seeing visitors, getting food, or other basic life necessities?”

A lesson to never share a cab with a reporter, you thought to yourself. You really needed to watch what you said around Johnny. “Touché,” you replied back quietly. You glanced back out the window. “I’ll ask Phoenix.”

Johnny sent you a look that you caught out of the corner of your eye, and for a second, you thought the journalist looked surprised, of all things. “'preciate it,” he chirped, then turned back around in his seat.

The street just outside the marina was packed as if the city were hosting Nationals for sailboat racing today. Even if they were hosting a street fair, you had never seen so many people packed shoulder to shoulder in this area at once. It seemed like everyone wanted to be present for Titano's sendoff to Strictisle. Being sentenced to Strictisle didn't happen as often as one might think—most metahuman criminals didn't commit heinous or serial crimes, or if they did, they managed to evade capture.

The cab gave up on pushing through people, so you and Johnny hopped out before it could make it to the front.

If there was one good thing about practically being escorted by a 6-foot-2 reporter giant, it was having a tower to get you through the crowd.

“‘SCUSE ME! PRESS, COMIN’ THROUGH!” he bellowed with his impressive lungs as he shoved past people and waved his press pass around in the air. His presence in front of you allowed you to slip right past, and you didn't need to find Chan himself to get yourself through. There were usually security guards or officials stationed at these events who recognized you as Phoenix's assistant to let you through, but having Johnny saved some time.

When you and Johnny finally broke through at the front of the crowd, you settled at the edge of the barricade to monitor the event. Johnny already had his recording device on and pointed toward the mayor, who stood upon a wooden podium erected by the dock that led to the secure boat. Titano was restrained in tungsten cuffs and chains, body movement subdued by being pinned in place to a large, wheeled platform.

Phoenix and other members of the police force stood surrounding Titano and the mayor. The former caught your eyes in the crowd and flashed you a grin of acknowledgement.

Mayor Song tapped the microphone once to test it. “Hello, everyone,” he addressed the crowd. “I'm pleased to see that so many of you have come out to see Titano's departure to Strictisle. As I am certain you are all aware, the villain we call Titano spent several days in the past week terrorizing our local financial institutions. His actions have caused panic for many civilians, such as yourselves, and made you worry about your presents and futures. But thanks to the tireless efforts of Phoenix” —he gestured with an arm out toward your employer, to which he smiled graciously at the crowd's applause— “the people of this city can sleep soundly—”

“Fuck you!” someone jeered from the crowd. “Fuck you and that hundred-degree chicken you call a 'hero!’”

Heads began to turn as more heckling arose.

“How much longer are you people going to let them mistreat metahumans?”

You couldn't locate the source of the voice, but Johnny had turned his recorder in that general direction, craning his head to see above the crowd.

The mayor's brows furrowed. “I'm not sure who the person or persons speaking are, but you are sorely mistaken—”

A large shadow passed over your head, and you barely had time to think before an orange-tinged blur shot into the sky and blasted the object away.

The crowd gasped, then scattered like zebras.

You realized far too late that Phoenix had just stopped a car from hitting the mayor. A car—a car that exploded in a fury of violet light once it hit the water instead.

Johnny grabbed your forearm and tugged you toward the left. “C'mon Yn, time to find some shelter!”

If Johnny, investigative journalist extraordinaire, was running, you bet that you were hauling ass out of there.

Your legs leapt into action and you channeled all the energy in your body into not tripping over gaps in the sidewalk to keep up with Johnny's long strides. From behind you, you could hear the pandemonium mounting: harried shouts from the mayor's security team, orders to get Titano to the boat, more explosions rattling the literal ground you scrambled upon.

Johnny ducked beneath the awning of a nearby storefront and tucked himself in the threshold of the front door. He kept his recorder out and held his phone in his other hand, video taping the scene while grabbing crisp audio simultaneously.

You attempted to soak in everything that was happening.

“That's Uchinaga Aeri, isn't it?” you voiced aloud, eyes dating from one thing to another person as fast as your brain could handle.

Aeri was a metahuman who could charge anything she touched with an explosive amount of kinetic energy. That power manifested in a violet-colored light, as seen with the flying car from earlier. Her weapon of choice was a deck of playing cards, an abundant item that could be charged into and thrown as a deadly projectile.

Over the course of you knowing Phoenix, you'd learned how fire reacted with a myriad of things.

You yelled 'Duck!’ to Johnny just as a beam of fire collided into a flying, charged card. The resulting impact created a wave of power that nearly had you toppling over if you hadn't ducked behind a patio table.

“Yeah,” Johnny huffed from your side. “Goes by the alias Wildcard. It's kind of a metal name, actually.”

“Dude,” you huffed a laugh.

He sent you a shameless sort of grin, before his eyes whipped up to something in the distance. “Shit,” he swore, raising his phone up and furiously zooming in with his fingers.

Your head turned in that direction.

For a moment, you didn't know what Johnny had spotted, but your gaze wandered over to where Titano was being watched over by several guards. As the wave of power radiated toward their spot, it caused something to waver in midair—a body. For a split second, a body manifested physically, before wavering out of view again.

The person was headed for Titano.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, “we have to warn him.”

“Well, you can't just yell it,” Johnny said, “you'll give it away.”

“I'm trying to think,” you shot back. It was bad enough that Phoenix was fighting against Wildcard of all people; but for someone like Kang Yeosang to show up, as well? You supposed it made sense that Aeri was just the distraction.

You didn't know what to do in this situation. Chan was busy and there was no other backup in sight.

As if the universe heard your pleas, the body of one firebird superhero came careening past your place of hiding. His fiery wings sputtered out as his body skidded against the cement, his face scrunched up in pain.

You grimaced to yourself, but with Chan only a few feet away, this was your chance. “Hey!” you hissed desperately. “Kang Yeosang is headed for Titano.”

Phoenix's head perked up and he grunted as he pushed himself to his feet. “Fuck,” he groaned under his breath. “I'll handle it. Just get out of here, Yn!”

He thrust his arm out in the direction of Titano and the pier, a thick beam of fire curling around itself. You ducked back into hiding when Chan's wings flung back out and he rocketed himself in that same direction.

“Shit—”

The sound came from Aeri, who had a card lifted between two fingers, eyes flickering back and forth as if deciding where to aim it. Did she hit Phoenix? But what if Yeosang was standing in the way without her knowledge? How could she possibly give her partner in crime the window to rescue Titano…

Your heart dropped into your stomach when Aeri's head cocked to the side and made direct eye contact with you.

Johnny's swear was the last thing you heard before you moved. “Oh fuc—”

As the card exploded the awning above your head, Johnny ducked into the shop, and you dove for the space beyond it.

You felt your hands and knees scrape and burn against the cement, but adrenaline continued to pound through your bloodstream as you scrambled to your feet. Debris laid just behind you, and you had no time to look back and see if Johnny was alright.

“Come here, you little rat,” came Aeri's snarl. “Do you think he cares more about you dying or my friend going to prison, huh?”

Through your panting, you glanced over your shoulder and shrieked as a card flew straight for you. You threw yourself back toward the ground and out of the explosion range. You slapped your hands over your ears so your eardrums wouldn't burst.

Then it was back to your feet—running.

“Chan!” you screeched at the top of your lungs. There was a sickly twisting feeling in your stomach—Chan needed to worry about Titano escaping. There was only one of him and two of them—

Something hit the bottom of your shoe.

There was a blur of violet in your periphery. You went flying—heels over head over heels, the world spun, and you screwed your eyes shut and stuck your hands out in front of you to cushion the fall.

You didn't feel the sickening hardness of cement. There was only air, before your hands gently laid on the ground.

Your eyes fluttered open. What the fuck…?

It was almost as if something had caught you in midair and set you down on the ground… not something, but someone.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Aeri said, charging two more cards. “I know you're here, you fucking bastard!”

You raised your head up and caught movement at the mouth of the alleyway ahead of you. Your eyes shuddered for a second; you couldn't believe who you were seeing.

Kim Hongjoong's face was dark with a storm you'd never seen before, mouth pressed into a line that kept threatening to curl back to bare his teeth. He wore a pair of glasses with a crossbody bag hanging over his chest like he was just some regular samaritan who came to watch Titano's sendoff.

“We had a deal, Aeri,” he drawled icily. “No casualties. You rescue Titano, and get the hell out of here.”

Too many questions—what was going on? Was Hongjoong a part of this? And did he just… save you?

Aeri wrinkled her nose up. “You've gone soft, Hongjoong. She gave Yeosang away!”

“No, that was a result of your carelessness.” Hongjoong's gaze fixed upon you. “What're you waiting for? Run.”

He didn't have to tell you twice.

Aeri's mouth tightened. “I'm not just letting her go,” she exclaimed and flung the two cards out. “She's complicit, too!”

Complicit in what? You were about to roll out of the way again, hands held over your face, when—

“I told you my one condition.”

You couldn't register what was happening. The cards were flying back at Aeri now; Hongjoong had stopped them from hitting you and played them against their own sender.

His hands, delicate and vicious in subtle movement, pushed each card Aeri fired back onto herself.

He was giving you a way out and fighting against his own ally. What in the world?

You scrambled to your feet and pounded pavement. Only when you believed you were safely out of bounds did you finally stop to breathe. You leaned against the nearest wall and screwed your eyes shut, tilted your head back to the sky. When you opened your eyes, you assessed the angry reddened scrapes on your palms; you could still hear the battle happening about a block away.

“Miss! Miss, are you alright?”

From down the street, a couple of emergency responders had spotted you and jogged over.

You nodded, raising your palms. “Just a couple of scrapes and bruises,” you said as one of them directed you back over to one of the ambulances. “There's a journalist still back there—”

“Don't worry, Phoenix has it handled,” they assured you. “We've been instructed to form a perimeter and tend to those who make it out.”

Phoenix has it handled? You bet he didn't even know that Johnny was still there. You wanted to go back; you knew where Johnny was hiding out.

Does Hongjoong know where he is?

As you perched on the back of the ambulance while an EMT cleaned your hands, you couldn't shake the look in Hongjoong's eyes, the steel in his tone as he spoke to Aeri. The two of them undoubtedly knew each other. In fact, it sounded like Hongjoong was in on the whole scheme—

Wait, was the car at the beginning his doing? Wildcard could charge the car to explode, but neither she nor Yeosang had the ability to send it soaring over a crowd of people.

That was Hongjoong. He was part of the distraction.

“Miss, are you hurt anywhere else?” the voice snapped you out of your daze.

You nodded and lifted the hem of your pants up to show them the scrapes and bruises that were freshly formed on your knees and shins.

You turned your stare in the direction of the marina. All you could do now was wait.

[It'll be over soon.]

You paused. That wasn't your voice in your head.

[Yes, it's me. Are you okay?]

A wave of déjà vu racked through you. Just because you saved my life, you thought, doesn't give you permission into my head.

The paramedic finished up with your legs, and you thanked him. You grasped their hand as they helped you down from the truck.

[I'm only here to say I'm sorry about Aeri, okay? That wasn't meant to happen. You weren't meant to get involved.]

You wanted to roll your eyes. You spotted an open bench nearby to sit and wait it out. Oh, you mean you didn't foresee a dangerous metahuman putting people in danger? With a sigh, you leaned back on the bench and tilted your head up to stare at the sky. The sounds of explosions and the fight were still present in the distance, but more muted. So you were here to help them break Titano out? I should report you.

[So why haven't you?]

You bit your cheek. Johnny probably saw you anyway. Maybe even Chan.

[Actually, both of them did. So I guess I'm here to also warn you that they'll have questions.]

Fantastic. You raised your bandaged hands up to your face and contemplated digging a hole in the ground and never coming out. A soft laugh echoed in your ears, and you realized that it was Hongjoong's. He could see the mental image plastered in your mind.

I hate you.

A slightly louder laugh. [Oh, you want me so bad.]

This time, you didn't bother suppressing an eye roll. More like I want you so dead.

[Stop it. I'm blushing.]

You rolled your eyes again, but if anyone asked, the corner of your mouth definitely did not almost curl into a smile.

[Take care of yourself.] He didn't say anything else afterward.

—

You heard Chan before you saw him, which was a first since one usually could not miss the glowing ball of fire barrelling across the night sky.

Not even a moment passed after he landed in his own penthouse, that he marched over to you. “Who was he, Yn? What the hell happened out there?”

You couldn't tell if your rapid heartbeat was from anger at his tone or fear. You launched to your feet. “I’m fine, by the way. How are you?” you shot back, arms folded over your chest. It was only right by yourself to be defensive after being accused—why was he asking what happened out there to you?

His expression shuddered, and he dragged a hand down his face. “I'm sorry,” he said whilst taking a breath. “Are you alright? Really.”

“As I said, I'm fine.” You sat back down onto the edge of his couch, phone dangling from your hand absentmindedly. “What happened with Titano and the others?”

Chan paced the floor in front of you in slow steps with his hand pressed to his forehead, a crease between his brows. “Wildcard got away, but I managed to subdue Kang Yeosang long enough for backup to come.”

You'd been too on-edge all day to check the live news feed. You didn't even know if Johnny made it out, but if Hongjoong had been so adamant about no casualties, as he said, then perhaps there was hope for Johnny yet.

“Now, about the metahuman who helped you get away…”

You sank your teeth into your bottom lip, glancing up at Chan once when he lowered himself onto the couch cushion beside you. What were you supposed to say? You liked to talk a big game to Hongjoong about turning him in, but facing that decision was something far different.

Maybe you were still tense from how Chan came storming in here… yeah, that must have been it. You'd been turning over much of what happened today, as well, everything from your conversation with Johnny, to Aeri claiming that you were complicit. What were you complicit in? Metahuman injustice?

Chan let out a small sigh. “I—have a feeling about who he is. I mean, he used telekinesis of all things to fight back against Wildcard,” he said with a chuckle, as if trying to ease the tension. “He was the Captain, wasn't he?”

“How would I know?” you queried back, quietly, apprehensively. “No one's ever seen him before.”

“Yn,” he replied firmly, “you looked at him like you knew him. Like you recognized him.”

Your thoughts became muddled at the thrumming of blood pounding in your eardrums. Chan was calling you out, and you could feel the ice run through your veins, chilling your fingers.

When you remained quiet, he leaned in closer, trying to make eye contact with you. “It's okay,” he said quietly. “He can't hurt you—”

What?

“—you don't have to keep any secrets about his identity. The authorities will find out sooner or later.” His voice was soft, like a comforting hand on your shoulder, but his words were anything but. “Has he contacted you before? Is that why you recognized him?”

Hongjoong's words from a week before echoed in your head, 'He doesn't deserve your loyalty.’ So who did?

“He's,” you began to say slowly, carefully, “contacted me before, yes.”

Chan's shoulders shifted and the furrow between his brow deepened like he cared. “Has he threatened you?”

No. “He's not a—”

“You don't have to defend him. He can't hear you, Yn. It's alright.”

That's where you're wrong. You didn't quite know how to feel having the kind of information that Chan didn't; it was information that could help or hurt one side, and you couldn't believe that you were hesitating.

There was a part of you that clung onto the safety of working under Chan—he was the city's favorite superhero, the guiding light people idolised, the firebird who rescued children from burning buildings and halted dangerous bank robberies.

The person who Chan and Phoenix made themselves out to be was so starkly different from Hongjoong and the Captain. Where Chan was bold and bright, unable to be ignored; Hongjoong lingered in the darkest parts of one's mind, puppeteering the machinations of the world from the shadows. He'd pretended to be dead all these years, isolated himself from the people he knew all his life—to what end?

You knew to some extent based on his work, but there were so many missing pieces.

“I know it must be hard to think about today,” Chan finally said when you continued to stay quiet. He patted you on the shoulder in a reassuring gesture, then leaned his arms onto his knees. “But just know that nothing will happen to you, Yn. I'll make sure of it. Not any other villain or the Captain will touch you.”

The problem with that was the Captain was the one who saved you today, not Phoenix.

You found yourself nodding though. “Thanks, Chan,” you murmured, sending him a small smile that didn't quite reach your eyes.

Chan smiled back at you, dimples pressed into his cheeks, satisfied.

Before he could walk away, you gathered up your courage to ask something needling at the back of your mind. “Johnny and I were talking in the cab on the way over to the marina earlier.”

He bobbed his head. “Right. What about?”

Your teeth scraped against the inside of your cheek. “Would you… ever consider taking me to visit Strictisle?”

“Strictisle?” he blubbered, dumbfounded. His expression flickered and he shifted away from you slightly, features contorting into an awkward confusion. “Why would you think of something as silly as that?” he joked.

Silly. Right. “Oh, y'know,” you let out an equally awkward laugh, “he was just saying that it was strange that no one's even seen the island from afar. He was doing what he usually does—prodding and asking questions—”

“Well, you know better than to give into journalists like that, Yn-ie,” he chirped, grinning as he playfully nudged your arm with the back of his hand. “Johnny Suh, especially. He can be pushy if he has a spin on a story.”

You blinked at him. “So Strictisle is real?”

He sucked in a breath, and it was the first time he truly hesitated during this conversation. “It's—there is a holding facility for metahuman prisoners, but it's not an island. That's just so civilians feel safer.”

“Wait, we can't lie to the general public about this,” you sputtered out.

“You're not lying to anyone about anything,” Chan said firmly. “Please don't tell anyone about this. It's for your own good.”

Your eyebrows scrunched up together. For your own good? The seed of doubt that Johnny had planted earlier was slowly taking shape in your stomach, and it curled around your viscera in a way that made you sit uncomfortably next to the hero.

He grabbed your shoulders and looked you in the eyes. “Yn,” he enunciated, “promise me.”

You didn't know what else to do but nod. “I promise,” you croaked out.

Chan didn't let go for a beat of silence, as if searching for something in your expression. When he pulled away, you let air flow back into your lungs.

You rose to your feet again, flashing your phone screen at your face. “It's getting rather late,” you muttered. “I think I should head home and take a long, hot shower.”

“Oh, let me give you a lift—”

You shook your head and assumed a mask of ease, a smile that he was used to seeing from you—his assistant, the one who wasn't ever supposed to know this much. “No, that's okay. I drove here this morning, so I need to take my car back anyway.”

Chan nodded knowingly. “Ah, gotcha. Well, I'll see you tomorrow then. Sleep well, Yn.”

You sent him a wave over your shoulder, pressing the button to call the elevator, and busied yourself with going through your recent notifications. “G'night, Chan.”

You felt a crease form between your brows as you found a series of new text messages from Seonghwa on your phone. Shit, you'd nearly forgotten. He would have seen the footage from today's incident—shit.

“Everything alright?”

You jolted as you stepped into the elevator. “Yep! Just Karina updating me on something,” you dismissed.

Chan watched as you disappeared behind the elevator doors, the easygoing smile on his face remaining until he was certain the carriage had sent you down to the ground floor. His expression dropped into a blankness that you would have found so foreign on his face, so unnerving.

He brought his phone out and dialled one of the numbers buried in his contacts. When the receiver picked up the line, he said gravely, “We've got a problem.”

—

The last thing you expected Seonghwa to confront you with after today's debacle was not a confidential file.

doc hwa: we should talk abt hongjoong, but that's not the most pressing thing at the moment

doc hwa: *sent a file*

doc hwa: i found this on my desk — but pretty sure it was supposed to go to my superior's desk instead

doc hwa: do u know anything about this??

As the numbers at the top of the elevator descended at a constant rate, you opened up the file he sent and skimmed what was left. The majority of the file was blacked out to maintain confidentiality, but a couple of the key words leftover were enough to catch anyone's attention.

Strictisle and Phoenix particularly stood out to you.

But curiously, at the top of the file, the word ANSWER was written out like a title—or a project name. Regardless, you weren't sure what to make of it, but it was curiously-timed.

You hurriedly sent a text back. Not sure what I'm looking at, to be honest. Are you allowed to be showing me this?

doc hwa: i'm not even allowed to be seeing this, but something abt it feels off, so i figured u might be the next best person to ask

your phone: i wish i could help :/

your phone: wait. but this was supposed to go to your superior?? what does strictisle or my boss have anything to do w public health and diseases

The elevator reached the ground floor, and you shoved out of the building's lobby doors to head for your car. It was parked out on the street, tucked close to the back alleyway that housed the building's dumpsters. You stood beneath the glow of the nearby lamppost, digging around your purse for your car keys when you heard another text come in.

doc hwa: doesn't phoenix donate a lot of blood to research?

You paused just as your fingers enclosed around your key fob. You're right, you typed back. But that still didn't explain the connection to Strictisle.

With a tired sigh, you unlocked your car door with a loud chirp. You swung the keyring around your finger once to mindlessly grab the key fob and whip out the key.

A muffled scream tore out of you as a bag was shoved over your head, the fabric yanking back to rock you off balance.

Pure panic raced through your body as you flailed your arms. If you could just hit or kick your assailant—your breathing became short and frantic within the darkness of the bag, elbow digging into the arm of whoever was dragging you backward.

“HELP!” you screeched, voice ripping at your larynx like it was clawing its way out.

“Be quiet,” a voice hissed.

Your head went fuzzy when you felt something hit the side of your temple. Your movements became more sluggish, but the adrenaline remained.

With a spike of energy, you whipped your dominant hand back—the one with the car key primed and ready—into your kidnapper's face.

“Gaaah!”

He dropped you like dead weight, and you wasted no time scrambling blindly toward your car. You ripped the bag off your head and locked yourself in the vehicle just as his fists collided with the window.

A terrified half-scream, half-sob choked its way out of your throat. You jammed the key into the ignition and tore out onto the main street.

“What the hell?” You huffed and puffed, eyes flickering back into the rearview mirror, before returning to the road ahead. The streets were practically empty from the fear that earlier events in the day had brought. You couldn't blame people.

But of all the places, it happened right outside Chan's apartment building?

A million and one scenarios raced through your head. You couldn't simply sort through them and pick the best option. You needed to ensure you weren't followed home, that they didn't already know where you lived—it just…

Your heart sank as you glanced back into the rearview again.

There was a white van—how fucking on the nose—gaining on you. When you made a left turn, it careened left. When you made a sudden right turn, its tires skidded against the road as it turned right.

What now what now what now—

[Make a left here.]

What in the… you really couldn't be surprised anymore. Out of all the moments, you would accept this once for Hongjoong to magically appear in your head.

You made a sharp left turn at the light and floored the gas.

I need help, you practically screamed in your head. HELP ME.

[That's what I'm trying to do, darling. Now run the red light.]

Your eyes widened at the sight of the glaring crimson in front of you. But between the kidnapper's van and a possible traffic violation, you really couldn't give a damn.

Channeling the energy of a Grand Prix speedway, you dug the ball of your foot into the gas pedal. You didn't know where you were going as Hongjoong instructed you on how to zigzag through the streets, but you didn't know what else to do.

You hadn't even thought to call Chan—but there was something in your gut that kept you glued to Hongjoong's directions.

Where are we going? you asked after nearly a dozen additional turns. The van still remained chained to your six o'clock; there was no losing this guy.

[You're almost there.]

Maybe you shouldn't even ask.

You glanced back in the rearview for the thousandth time, just as you passed by the city library's steps.

One second, the van was still following you. The next, it wasn't. Like some invisible hand shoved it over, the van went flying, tumbling through the air before you heard the crash somewhere behind you.

What just happened? you asked him. The wheels of your car squealed as you swung it into park along the curb.

[Uhm, I just saved your ass? Now, let's go!]

Something compelled you to look up out of your window, and in the shadows of the city library, you spotted his figure. He looked the same as he did earlier today—glasses, bag, bomber jacket—and he waved his hand at you with extreme urgency.

You grabbed your purse and clambered out of your car. Who cared if it got stolen now when you were about to get snatched off the street five minutes ago?

With the road practically barren, you sprinted for the other side of the street. You glanced back at the wreckage of the van, the vehicle turned on its backside like an overturned turtle.

He did that, right? That was Hongjoong's doing, and he didn't even touch the damn thing.

“Yn!” Hongjoong's voice called out to you. “Come on!”

When you reached the curb, he met you there and ushered you into the nearby parking lot. The street lights dotting the area were few and far between, their glows dim, weak; whether they were giving you the secrecy to operate beneath or giving you more shadows to run from, you couldn't decide.

Your feet skidded to a halt, several meters from the car Hongjoong stopped next to.

“What? What's wrong?” he asked you out loud as he wrestled his car keys out from his pocket. For a moment, he stared at you, and you could imagine him rifling through your thoughts like the stack of papers on a secretary's desk.

This could all be an elaborate ruse, couldn't it? Establishing rapport, getting you out of your car, having you get into a new car willingly—

Hongjoong stepped back toward you. “I know you're scared, but this is not the time to be standing out here in the open and overthinking.”

“I don't even really know you,” you told him, planting your feet. You couldn't knock the tremor from your voice, couldn't stop thinking that maybe you've been stupid this whole time.

He pressed his lips together and considered you again. “Whatever you're thinking—”

“You know exactly what I'm thinking.”

“Okay, fine. Yes, I do,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, then walking up to you with slow steps. “But this is not some elaborate ruse to kidnap you. You are free to go anywhere you'd like right now, but you were screaming for help, and I wasn't about to leave you for dead!”

You swallowed. Even if you couldn't read minds, your gut feeling was difficult to ignore. He had so many opportunities before to take you if he wanted to, so it wouldn't make sense now.

It had to be another villain, some other enemy of Chan's maybe. You didn't know what to do, didn't know who to turn to.

At that moment, your phone rang in your hand, and you nearly jumped clean out of your skin. You fumbled with the phone and your face contorted into confusion at the sight of Yunho's caller ID staring up at you.

You answered the call and pressed the device to your ear. “Hello?”

There was an awkward sort of drawl to his voice, “Hey, uhm, you're with Hongjoong, right?”

You paused as your brain caught up. Your mouth opened and you looked over at Hongjoong, who only waited. “How the hell could you possibly know that? Just a few weeks ago, you refused to even tell me about—wait, you know he's alive?”

He laughed, and you could hear the audible grimace. “We have a lot to talk about.”

“Yeah, we do.” You hung up the phone and exhaled sharply. “Lead the way, Captain,” you muttered. You couldn't believe this was happening.

Hongjoong only nodded and unlocked his car doors for you.

You settled into the passenger's side, closing the door and inhaling the smell of his cologne. There was nothing special about the car itself, but it was somehow very him. It was humble with its older interface and model, the old coffee cup sitting in the cup holder. It was so jarringly normal.

He started up the car after throwing his bag into the back seat, and pulled out of the sparsely-populated parking lot.

When his phone's music connected to the radio, he reached over to lower the volume. He glanced over at you, light bouncing off his glasses lens. “Are you okay?” he asked softly. “I could only, y'know, hear your thoughts, so I don't know exactly what happened but I just…” He sighed, as if searching for the words to say. “I know you're scared and that this is scary.”

You leaned your head back against the headrest. You couldn't label Hongjoong as a “nice guy” by any means, but there was something good left in him. If you thought about it, wasn't the only reason why he was a “bad guy” in your mind that he was against the system in power?

“Yeah, it is scary,” you agreed. “My head's a little woozy, but that's the only physical injury I have.”

He threw another glance over at you, teeth digging into his bottom lip.

“You know, you were right,” you said, and saw him stiffen out of the corner of your eye. “He did ask me about you. He thought that you were threatening me or something.” Had there been a moment where real fear pierced you in the chest back in the penthouse? You were uncomfortable—had you ever been that uncomfortable around him before? You let out a little, incredulous scoff then, shaking your head. “There's something different about him.”

“Or maybe he was never the man you thought he was.”

You looked over at him when he said that. That glint in his eyes was unflinching, but not unsympathetic. It was just knowing.

—

When Hongjoong drove you to Yunho's apartment last night, you decided you were too exhausted to get Yunho's entire explanation. He'd gotten off the hook for the time being, but you promised that when morning came, you expected a full report and apology for basic, emotional gaslighting.

But your eyes fluttered open to the sound of murmurs. They were low, but harried, drifting into your ears from the bedroom down the hall.

Hongjoong and Yunho had set you up on the pull-out couch—the place you assumed Hongjoong had been sleeping before he tore off the sheets and hid his sleepwear somewhere out of your view. You woke up to the typical sounds of the city and an aggressive ray of sunlight pouring into your eyes.

You breathed in deeply and rolled over. If you shut your eyes now, you could drift off and delay facing your waking reality for another hour or so.

“Yn.” A bony finger poked your cheek.

Somebody made a noise of disapproval. “Yah, I told you to leave her alone.”

“But you also said that we need to talk about this. You know better than me that she's awake.”

You frowned, but kept your eyes closed. “Well, now I'm definitely awake,” you grumbled. You opened your eyes again, only to find your two hosts loitering by you—your tall, beanpole of a friend leaning over you and Hongjoong standing by with his arms crossed over his chest and worry creased between his brows.

Oh. “What's going on?” you asked through a yawn, wrestling yourself into an upright position. Having a thorough talk about Yunho lying to you was on the docket but you didn't realize he would be this eager to repent for his sins.

The two men exchanged glances.

Your eyes narrowed. “What's going on?” you repeated.

Hongjoong grabbed something off the side table and sat down on the edge of the pullout. It was a tablet, something slim and standard, but he swiped through a couple of pages before handing it to you.

It was your face. Your picture was plastered on some news site, accompanied by a big, ugly headline that read: PHOENIX'S “ASSISTANT” IS REALLY HIS CONTROLLER?

What? You furiously began reading the article, heartbeat catapulting in your chest the more you skimmed. Every accusatory word hit you in the temple where it hurt.

You went to the search bar and typed in your name.

It got worse. It was only ten in the morning, but it felt like every major and minor news outlet had something to say about your alleged manipulation and handling of your own boss.

You clicked into another article and slowed at the pictures in this one. Someone had pulled security camera footage of every time you were ever with Hongjoong. From the first time at the Treasure Island bridge, to the last one when he tipped over a car to help you escape.

Ln Yn appeared to the public as the definition of a normal, hard-working citizen. But this only proves that we cannot truly know someone from afar, or as it turns out, from close by either.

Phoenix himself, in a statement given to the Daily Star, revealed he was shocked to uncover her affiliation with this unknown man—a man we now know as the notorious villain the Captain. When he had hired her over a year ago, he had no clue as to her intentions to subtly manipulate his actions and—

You set the tablet in your lap and covered your mouth with your hand.

Chan gave them a statement? He claimed that you were affiliated with Hongjoong and wasn't denying that you had malicious intentions.

He knew you, for fuck's sake!

A hand warmed your shoulder and the tablet was carefully slid out from your lap. “Yn,” Hongjoong said lowly, almost soothingly. But there was still that edge there—a promise. “You need to breathe, okay? Just give yourself a minute—”

“I need to—I need to call him,” you stammered. Your voice was shaky and you couldn't stop your fingers from trembling as you searched around for your phone.

Panic was clawing itself up your throat and you choked on it. It welled up as tears in your eyes, the unknown staring you down the barrel of a gun.

Hongjoong stayed with you as you dialled his phone number, only to be met with, “The person you are trying to reach is unavailable.”

You dropped the phone into your lap. Yunho muttered about going to do something about the shit online, but you couldn't hear it over the blood thrashing in your ears.

“He,” you managed to say, “blocked me.”

“Yn, I'm sorry.” The man beside you bent his head slightly to catch your eyes, his own blown wide in an emotion you didn't have the heart to identify. “We're going to clear your name, I promise.”

You nodded, but the motion was thoughtless, empty. You didn't know where else to turn or who else would believe you. How could they when the city's champion just turned their back on you?

This couldn't be happening, this couldn't—it just came out of nowhere.

His hand brushed the hair from your eyes and gently tilted your head to look at him. “I'm sorry,” he whispered again.

You didn't know what he was sorry for, but his own words echoed in your head—you couldn't tell if it was his voice in the moment or your memory of the past: he never deserved your loyalty.