Fugitive
You're kidnapped by a desperate man and you can't see a way that this is going to end well, for either of you.
Pairing: Yoongi x f! reader
Word count: 10k
Genre: Escaped criminal, convict Yoongi
Rating: 18+
Warnings: Sex, swearing, mentions of a gun, threat of gun violence
Author note: This story is based on the romance novel Perfect by Judith McNaught. I've taken a few liberties with the plot and characters.
The coffee at this mountainside diner is good, warming your belly as you frown at the snow outside.
All the weather reports say there’s a storm coming from the east, but it doesn’t take a trooper to know that.
Even a city girl like you can see how the sky’s darkening, how the wind’s relentless, how the temperature is rapidly dropping.
You’ve got snow tires on, four wheel drive, emergency supplies in your trunk, but you think you won’t need them, you’re heading west and you’ve made good time on your way to visit your sister and her newborn.
Like your dad used to say, your family’s full of grit.
You swallow your smile when you see the man standing just outside the diner looking straight at you.
Did he think you were smiling at him?
You look down hastily.
The waitress comes round with the check you signalled for, you put money on the little acrylic tray and get ready to go.
By the time you step outside, the wind’s picked up even more, snow swirling, making your eyes want to screw shut under your beanie.
You don’t hear him until he’s almost on top of you.
He’s not a lot taller than you, and he’s not particularly dressed for the weather, in denim on denim, a parka. No hat or gloves.
His hair is dark, as are his eyes, and his skin is pale, like he doesn’t get a lot of sun.
He looks vaguely familiar but you can’t really place him.
‘You have a flat,’ he says, pointing to one of your front tyres.
You look down in dismay only to see that he’s right.
sh*t!
‘I can help you change it, if you’ve got a spare,’ he offers.
‘Would you?’ you ask, grateful.
‘Yeah, not a problem.’
You show him where the spare and tools are, and as he crouches by the tyre, you’re very aware of how, unlike you, he doesn’t have gloves on.
You feel a surge of guilt.
‘Hey,’ you offer, ‘whilst you’re doing that, can I get you a hot drink or something?’
He looks up at you, hands braced on the flat.
‘I wouldn’t mind a coffee, if it’s not too much trouble.’
‘Of course,’ you say, relieved that he’s not too polite to take you up on your offer. ‘I’ll be right back.’
You hurry back into the diner to get him a coffee. As you wait you wonder if he might want a sandwich too, and impulsively, you order him a hot sandwich.
He can always say no if he doesn’t want it, you reason.
By the time you come out, he’s putting the flat in your trunk, tidying up the tools he used.
‘Thank you,’ you tell him, passing him the drink.
‘No problem,’ he says.
A little awkwardly, you hold out the wrapped sandwich. ‘I got you a sandwich too, if you want it. It’s turkey.’
He accepts with another murmured ‘thank you.’
You’re wondering if you should offer him money for his kindness when he says, hesitant, ‘I could use a lift, if you’re heading west. I’ve got a job interview I’m hoping to make it to.’
Now you’re the hesitant one. He’s shown you nothing but kindness, but he is still a total stranger.
He waits without looking at you, sipping his coffee, keeping his distance.
You think about his lack of warm clothes, and as you’re looking at him, you notice the crispness of the creases in his clothing, remnants of how they must have been folded when he bought them.
You think about his calloused palms and how he accepted the sandwich without hesitation.
‘Hey, it’s ok,’ he starts to say, and it’s that, more than anything else, that spurs you on to reply.
‘It’s fine,’ you say. ‘I’ll take you as far as I’m heading.’
***
He gets into the passenger seat, and from the sigh that passes his lips you realise that he really was as cold as you thought he might be.
You start the engine, and warm air starts to blow through your A/C vents.
You check that the GPS is still set and glance over at him.
‘You ready?’
You’re a mile or so out of the diner, listening to the radio, when it occurs to you to ask him his name.
‘I’m Y/N,’ you say.
‘Yoongi,’ comes the reply.
In here, away from the whistling wind, you can hear the gravel in his voice.
‘What job are you going for?’ you ask.
‘Just some construction job my friend’s lined up for me near Maisan,’ Yoongi says.
He glances in the rearview mirror.
‘I hope you get it,’ you tell him. ‘Do you live around there?’
He seems to hesitate.
‘I don’t mean to pry,’ you say, quickly.
To bridge the sudden silence, you say, ‘I’m going to see my sister and her new baby. She chose a good time to have him, right before a storm.’
You notice movement up ahead, a police roadblock.
Beside you, your new acquaintance sits up.
‘Nice and easy,’ he says, and you look at him, confused, until you notice that he has a gun in his hand.
Pointed right at you.
You straighten up so quickly your neck cracks.
‘What —-‘
‘Nice and easy,’ Yoongi says again, a hardness to his voice you haven’t heard up until now.
‘There are six shots in this gun, but I’ll only need one to hurt you,’ he continues.
Your hands tighten on the wheel, and your lips clamp together, trying to stifle the squeak of terror that threatens to slip out.
‘I just want you to know that I will hurt you if you try anything,’ Yoongi says. There’s a seriousness in his voice that makes your blood chill. ‘So nice and easy, get us past this roadblock.’
You’ve slowed automatically as you approach the uniformed policemen, your years of driving making your body do the expected things despite the way your head is reeling.
Yoongi has a gun, and he seems perfectly capable of using it on you.
The fear crystallises into a single sob before your throat closes completely. Your breathing quickens but you know you’ll need to look normal, unsuspicious, to get you and Yoongi past the police.
‘Are they looking for you?’ you ask. Your voice is shuddery, you’re trembling so hard.
In response, Yoongi jams the barrel of the gun against you, high up, against your ribs, so hard it’s like he’s impaled you.
‘Shut up and get us through this,’ he snarls.
Your lips snap together again, and you make a conscious effort to pull yourself together.
Just before you stop, Yoongi says, ‘If you try anything, I won’t just be trying to hurt you. I’ll kill you.’
His tone is low, and another shiver runs through you.
You roll down the window.
The police trooper leans in. ‘Where are you headed?’
‘We’re going to see my sister in Maisan,’ you say, grateful at least, that your voice is steady.
Beside you, Yoongi’s sitting perfectly still.
‘You’ve not picked a good time to go,’ says the trooper.
This time, it’s Yoongi who answers. ‘I did say we should wait, but my girlfriend’s been looking forward to seeing her new nephew.’
He shrugs, a picture of indulgent exasperation.
The trooper laughs along with Yoongi even as you try to make desperate eye contact with him.
‘Better carry on then, hopefully you’ll make it before the storm hits.’
Then he’s waving you off, and you have a split second of panic, a moment where you consider screaming, before Yoongi’s gun jabs into your ribs again.
Again, your body responds before you do, driving you away from your last chance to seek help.
***
Twenty miles out from the diner, Yoongi tosses your phone out of the window.
Forty miles out, he programs a different address into your GPS.
It’s another ten miles before you find your voice again.
‘You can take the car, you know, and leave me here. I can’t call anyone.’
Yoongi almost looks like he’s considering it.
‘I can’t leave you here out in the mountains in the middle of nowhere,’ he tells you. ‘You’ll die of exposure, especially if you can’t call for help.’
‘Also,’ he adds, almost as if it’s an afterthought, ‘you know the address of where we’re going.’
‘I didn’t see it,’ you say, too quickly.
Yoongi’s silent.
Finally, he says, ‘Just keep driving.’
‘Please,’ you plead. ‘Just let me go. I won’t tell the police where you’re heading.’
Yoongi’s grasp on the gun, still in his lap, tightens.
‘You’re a f*cking idiot. Why the hell would you give a ride to a strange man you’ve just met?’
You don’t have a good answer to that.
‘You changed my tyre,’ you say. ‘I thought —‘
‘I slashed your tyre,’ he says, low, cold. ‘I was hanging around outside the diner, I saw you pull up, saw you were alone.’
His admission chills you.
Tears start to spill down your cheeks when you realise what a fool you were to trust him.
‘I just wanted to help you out,’ you tell him. ‘You seemed hungry and down on your luck, and you didn’t even have any warm c-c-clothes!’
You swipe at your cheeks furiously.
‘Didn’t have any warm clothes,’ Yoongi repeats, incredulous, scornful. ‘You’re some f*cking good Samaritan.’
You’re crying quietly now, despairing over your naivety.
Yoongi doesn’t say anything for a good long while, and neither do you.
***
By the time you reach your destination, it’s snowing so hard you can barely see six feet in front of your car.
Snowy walls close in either side of you, buffeting you from the wind but heightening your sense of claustrophobia.
The clearing’s upon you before you quite realise it, and you end up stopping in front of a huge structure in the woods.
It’s more than a cabin, it looks like a proper house, from what you can make out, with a shed and a carport.
Yoongi reaches out and takes your car keys.
‘Wait until I come round to your side.’
He doesn’t point the gun at you, but you don’t need reminding.
He gets out, walks around to your side, pulls open the door, pushes you in front of him.
You try to take note of your surroundings, landmarks, but all you can see is snow.
Your boots clomp on the concrete as you approach the front door.
Behind you, you can hear Yoongi rustling, glancing at his phone before he punches numbers into the keypad discreetly placed by the door.
He cups a hand over the keypad, you don’t see a thing.
He pulls you in as he enters, and you’re initially just grateful to be out of the snow.
Yoongi says, ‘Take your coat off.’
He makes a move as if to do it for you when you don’t react quickly enough, and you snap into action, pulling the snaps apart, unzipping hastily.
He takes your coat, tosses it carelessly to one side, grasps your wrist, tight.
You flinch as he tightens a cable tie around your wrist and attaches you to the steel flap of a radiator by the entrance hall of the house.
‘I can’t trust you not to try to run,’ he tells you. ‘I won’t hurt you, but I can’t afford for you to interfere with my plans, not now.’
You’re barely listening at this point.
The terror of the last few hours has drained most of your energy.
Yoongi stands over you for a few moments, as if to make sure you aren’t going to bolt, and then he heads further into the house.
***
Time passes, you’re disorientated by the darkness brought on by the storm outside and your own sense of disjointedness.
It doesn’t seem like that long ago since you loaded your things into your trunk and set off from home, and yet, it seems like forever.
Gradually, you become aware of the hardwood floor under your salopes. The entry hall you’re being held captive in gives you the impression that this is a nice house.
Whoever had this built has money.
The ceilings are high, the wood panelling rich and beautifully rendered.
The radiator beside you has started heating up, the steel flaps burning you whenever you let your hand move too close.
Your snow boots have made puddles on the hardwood.
Where the hell are you? Who owns this place? Why did Yoongi have the code for the door?
If he has friends this rich willing to let him use their house why the hell did he need you to drive him?
Your mind swirling with thoughts you can’t reconcile, you pull your knees into your chest and tuck your chin in, wrapping your arms around yourself.
You fall into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.
***
You wake to complete darkness and a searing pain in your hand where you’ve let it fall against the radiator.
It all comes back to you in a flash.
The diner. The state trooper. The house. Yoongi.
Your hand hurts, badly, but it’s too dark to see.
As you straighten your legs, your foot hits something that falls with a soft thud, then rolls.
A water bottle.
You’re suddenly aware of how dry your throat is.
You reach for the bottle, but maddeningly, it rolls out of your reach.
There are tears on your face but you’re not crying, not really.
Maybe you are.
***
When you next wake, the cold thin grey light filtering in through the windows tells you it’s morning, or early.
You look up to see your captor standing over you.
You look at each other wordlessly.
Yoongi crouches next to you.
‘Do you need the bathroom?’ he asks.
You nod.
He reaches down to detach you from the radiator.
Your hand.
You can see it clearly now, the blistered, reddened side of your palm, the thin line of blood where the cable tie’s cut into your wrist.
You say nothing. You don’t know if you can form any words.
You get up carefully, follow Yoongi down the hall to a small bathroom.
‘I’ll give you five minutes,’ Yoongi says.
You take care of business, trying not to sob at the pain in your burnt hand and wrist.
The window to the bathroom doesn’t open, and there’s nothing that you can use to break it.
There’s a knock at the door, you feel a surge of hysterical laughter threatening to come out.
He’s kidnapped you, locked you to a radiator, and he’s knocking because he cares about your privacy?
The door opens, and Yoongi comes in.
You stare at the scissors in his hand.
‘Your wrist,’ he says.
You watch, detached, as he cuts the cable tie. It falls to the floor, and you instinctively raise your hand to your chest to rub at your wrist.
Yoongi says. ‘I have food for you.’
He takes you down another hallway, to a huge kitchen full of windows. The early morning sun filters in, bright and blinding, adding more of a sense of unreality to the situation you now find yourself in.
Yoongi gestures to a seat at the kitchen island, sets a plate in front of you, like he’s made you breakfast.
You stare in disbelief at the food.
‘The car’s coming for me in two days, I’ll let you go then,’ Yoongi tells you, like you’re making plans together.
Like you’re just two people who know each other, discussing plans over breakfast, instead of captor and captive.
Now you’re staring at him.
‘You’ll let me go?’ you ask. Your voice comes out in a rasp, you have a vague recollection of trying to drink water but being unable to reach.
Yoongi winces a little, pours out a glass of water that you gulp down.
‘You should have told me you wanted water,’ he says.
‘You took my phone so I couldn’t text you,’ you say, the snark coming out of your mouth surprising you.
His brow lifts. ‘You don’t have my number anyway.’
‘Don’t need it,’ you snap, gulping down your refill. ‘We’re not going on a second date.’
Now it’s his turn to stare at you.
‘You’re not my type anyway,’ he snaps back. ‘Eat your food.’
For a moment you contemplate going on a hunger strike but you suspect he wouldn’t give a sh*t anyway so you examine your plate.
You fork up some eggs and chew cautiously.
They’re good. Better than you expected. Your stomach growls as you eat.
The food’s doing wonders for your energy levels.
‘Why are you running from the police?’ you ask. ‘What did you do?’
‘I was convicted of murder,’ he tells you, cold.
‘Did you do it?’ you ask, unimpressed.
‘I didn’t, as a matter of fact,’ he replies, flat.
‘Wait. Were you in prison?’
‘I escaped,’ he tells you. ‘With a little help from my friends.’
You mull this over as you finish the last of your eggs.
‘You have friends?’
Yoongi gives you a look that makes your chest tighten a little.
‘Hard to believe, isn’t it?’ he agrees.
He takes your plate, gathers up your cutlery, turns his back to put them in the sink.
‘Don’t even think about throwing your glass at me,’ he says, back still to you.
Your hand stills on the counter.
You change the subject.
‘This is a nice house. Do your friends know they’re harbouring a fugitive from the law?’
‘My friends have nothing to do with anything,’ Yoongi tells you, giving you a hard look.
He sets out a bandage and some ointment on the kitchen island in front of you.
‘Your hand,’ he prompts impatiently, when you don’t make a move to take them.
You’re about to reach for them when he sighs, unscrews the top of the tube, drops a dollop on your burnt palm.
You stifle a hiss of pain as he rubs the ointment in.
‘I’m sorry,’ Yoongi says quietly.
He’s close to you now, so close you catch a whiff of the freshness of his shampoo.
‘You should be sorry,’ you say. ‘I thought you were just some guy who was down on his luck who needed a break, and next thing you’re waving a gun in my face and threatening to kill me.’
You can feel the tears threatening to rise again, but you blink them back.
Yoongi’s touch is gentle on your sore hand.
‘I am sorry. Believe me, if there were any other way I would have taken it. I promise, I’ll let you go. I have no intention of hurting you.’
He says the words with conviction but you know you can’t believe anything he says.
Trusting him is what got you into this in the first place.
You let him bandage your hand.
‘Which radiator next?’ you ask, resigned.
‘I won’t tie you up again, but I’ll have to keep an eye on you,’ Yoongi says, surprising you. ‘There’s a den we can sit in, if you want.’
You don’t see that you have any better options.
***
You start off in the furthest corner of the den from him, back to the wall, wary.
Yoongi ignores you completely as he turns on the TV, scrolls to the news.
You glance over the books on the bookshelf along one wall, but the TV catches your attention.
‘The search continues for Min Yoongi, the disgraced former rapper who was convicted of the murder of Han Jisung three years ago.’
Your gaze snaps to Yoongi, but he’s not looking at you, attention fully on the screen as an old media clip of him rapping plays.
‘The federal police are looking into several leads, and members of the public can contact the number onscreen if they have any information as to his whereabouts.’
The next story flashes up, and Yoongi sits back. You can see the tension leaving his body.
He catches the way you’re still gaping at him.
You blink, clear your throat.
‘So, you used to rap?’
Yoongi’s expression morphs into one of incredulity. ‘That’s your take-home from all that?’
You try again. ‘Too bad I don’t have my phone to call the number. Do you think there’s a reward?’
Yoongi stares at you.
‘I didn’t kill Han Jisung,’ he says.
He refuses to be drawn into any further discussion about it, and finally, you give up and pick up one of the books from the shelf.
***
Lunch is a sombre affair, sandwiches that you eat mechanically while looking at the grey outside.
The storm’s upon you, you doubt your snow tires would be up to the challenge even if you could get your car keys off Yoongi.
There’s no visibility at all, and if the wall of ice that’s forming around the glass of the floor to ceiling windows of the house wasn’t enough to deter you, the fact that you have no idea where your parka is certainly helps put you off.
You grew up in a mountainous area like this, and you’ve got a healthy respect for the weather conditions when it's like this.
You wonder how your sister’s doing, and your new nephew, if they’ve noticed you’re missing yet.
Maybe they think you’ve stopped to seek shelter and are waiting for the storm to pass before you continue on your journey.
You wonder if they’ve put your lack of communication down to a signal failure.
You wonder if anyone will notice you’re missing.
Your thoughts drift to Seokjin, the man you’ve recently had a few dates with.
He’s a good looking guy, outmatching you in looks if you’re being honest about what you think, but he seems to like the way you look, and to enjoy spending time with you.
You realise that Yoongi’s talking to you.
‘Are you all right?’ he asks, nodding to your half eaten sandwich.
‘I’m fine,’ you answer. You pull a face. ‘Well apart from being held captive against my will.’
Yoongi looks like he’s resisting the urge to roll his eyes.
‘Were you really going to see your sister?’ he asks. ‘Will she notice you’re missing?’
You eye him narrowly. ‘I don’t think anyone’s sending out a search party for me just yet, if that’s what you’re asking.’
Yoongi says, unexpectedly, ‘Why not? You’re pretty, you’d catch attention on the front page of the newspapers.’
You say, incredulously, ‘I bet dozens of women go missing every single day.’
‘They probably do,’ Yoongi agrees.
‘How did you get put in prison if you didn’t kill that guy?’ you ask, changing the subject. ‘I’m sure you could afford a good legal team.’
Yoongi takes a while to answer.
‘I was f*cking Han Jisung’s fiancee.’
You raise a sceptical brow at him. ‘And?’
‘I think his half-brother set me up.’
You mull this over.
‘So what’s the plan? You escape from prison and leave the country?’
Yoongi shrugs, but his gaze is hard.
‘I stay on the run until I get enough evidence for a re-trial. Prove my innocence.’
‘Seems a long shot,’ you say, but you have no desire to piss him off, at least not while he’s got a gun in his possession.
‘I have influential friends who are willing to help,’ Yoongi says, simply.
You say nothing.
‘Do you know what it’s like to be put away for life for something you didn’t do?’ Yoongi asks, suddenly. ‘I’ve lost three years of my life to this, there’s no chance of parole for another 7 years.’
His voice rings with anger and frustration.
‘I’m sorry,’ you say.
You have no idea if he’s telling you the truth, but you’re convinced of one thing. He believes it.
If he’s telling the truth, you can’t think of anything more awful.
‘Some say I brought this on myself,’ Yoongi says.
He shakes his head. ‘I don’t blame them. I was an asshole and a womaniser.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ you retort.
Yoongi looks at you, momentarily speechless with surprise.
Then he laughs.
‘Has no one ever taught you not to make fun of a man with a gun?’
You look at him seriously. ‘You promised you’d let me go in two days. Was that a lie?’
‘No,’ he answers. His eyes meet yours, gaze steady and unwavering. ‘I’ll keep my word.’
With him looking at you like this, you almost believe him.
***
Night’s falling, or so you think, it’s been dark all day but you get the sense that daylight’s fading fast.
Yoongi gets up, says, ‘Come on, I’m going to bed.’
‘You want a bedtime story?’ you ask, tetchy.
He just waits patiently by the entrance of the den for you to join him.
‘Any chance I could take a shower?’ you ask.
You’ve been in the same clothes for a day and a half, and you feel pretty grimy.
‘Sure,’ Yoongi says, surprising you. ‘Need clothes?’
Yoongi takes you to what looks like a pretty impressive master bedroom, with an equally luxurious looking bathroom.
He rummages in a drawer, hands you a set of grey sweats.
He says, the faintest note of embarrassment in his voice, ‘There’s no women’s clothes here.’
You accept the clothes with a murmured ‘thanks.’
Yoongi says, ‘the door doesn’t lock, but I won’t walk in on you. The window’s too high to jump from.’
You eye him.
‘I have no interest in walking through this snowstorm without a coat.’
You raise an eyebrow. ‘Unless you want to give me the car keys?’
Yoongi chooses not to answer, steps back so you can close the bathroom door.
You get undressed quickly, step under a shower of water so hot it feels like heaven after you’ve been cold most of the day.
There’s toiletries that you avail yourself of, and by the time you get redressed, you feel practically human again, burnt hand and sore wrist notwithstanding.
You wrap a towel around your hair, step out to see Yoongi sitting on an armchair by the bed.
His gaze flicks over you once, his expression unreadable.
‘I don’t want to tie you to another radiator,’ he says.
You wait to hear where he’s going with this.
‘I’m going to lock the bedroom door. You can share the bed with me, or there’s that couch.’
‘I’ll take the couch,’ you say.
You get onto the couch, pull a blanket over your head, and you must be more tired that you thought, because you’re thinking of everything Yoongi’s told you, and then you’re not thinking of anything at all.
***
You wake in complete darkness, quiet save for your own breathing.
As your eyes adjust, you realise that the lump near the window is Yoongi.
He’s looking out, facing away from you.
‘What time is it?’ you ask.
Yoongi inhales, keeps looking out.
‘Sometime after midnight,’ he says. ‘Does it matter?’
You sit up, curl your legs under you.
His profile is strangely lovely, the slope of his brow, the high bridge of his nose, his jaw.
‘What are you going to do if you manage to prove your innocence?’ you ask.
It’s a clumsy question, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind.
‘I’d like to live near a beach,’ he says. ‘Make music. Be away from people for a bit.’
You guess there’s not a whole lot of privacy in prison.
‘I have a beach hut,’ you say. ‘We used to spend summers at the seaside. When my parents died, my sister and I inherited it.’
‘Yeah?’ Yoongi asks, turning towards you.
‘Yeah. We swam a lot. Explored caves. Did some rockpooling.’
‘Sounds fun,’ Yoongi says. ‘When I was a kid I spent summers trying to earn money.’
‘Yeah?’
‘I did a lot of gigs, trying to get exposure. I had my own crew though.’ He sounds wistful. ‘We busted our asses.’
He laughs. ‘When I signed my first record deal I got a house so my crew would always have a roof over their heads.’
‘No diamond encrusted chains?’ you tease.
‘Baby, that was after I got my first platinum record,’ he shoots back.
You laugh, and after a moment, he does too.
‘You got a job?’
You look up at the ceiling.
‘I teach,’ you tell him. ‘Grade school. I’ve got a class of seven year olds.’
‘You do have that whole teacher vibe,’ Yoongi remarks.
You’re amused.
‘What whole teacher vibe?’
‘You know. Responsible, prepared for everything. I mean, I saw the supplies in your trunk.’
You can’t argue.
‘You’re too soft,’ Yoongi continues. He’s still turned towards you. ‘You shouldn’t have offered me a ride.’
‘Like I said,’ you reply. ‘You looked like you needed help.’
He scoffs. ‘If I were your man I’d teach you to make any man regret even thinking about messing with you.’
‘I don’t need a man to teach me that,’ you say.
Yoongi shrugs, a rustle of his sweatshirt.
‘All I’m saying is you should work on looking less sweet and harmless.’
You toss a couch cushion in his direction.
‘I’ll show you how to crush a trachea tomorrow if you want,’ Yoongi volunteers.
‘Can I practise on you?’ you mutter, disgruntled.
Yoongi just laughs.
He turns back to the window.
It’s too dark to tell if the snow’s still falling but it doesn’t make a difference to you, because soon enough, you’re asleep again.
***
Yoongi’s quiet today, prepping breakfast with a distracted concentration that makes you wonder what’s on his mind.
You’re fixing coffee, looking for filters.
You pull open a drawer and freeze.
Out of the corner of your eye you can see the way Yoongi’s back stiffens.
There’s a revolver in the drawer. The same gun Yoongi used on you that first day.
Yoongi turns around slowly, and your eyes lock.
He’s too far away to have any chance of getting to it before you.
Yoongi tilts his head.
‘It’s fully loaded,’ he says. ‘You co*ck the trigger to arm it. Point and shoot. It’s reliable. It doesn’t jam.’
You blink at him.
‘The car keys are in my pocket. The snow’s still a little crazy but if you wait a few hours it might settle. It’s safer to go tomorrow.’
Thoughts swirl in your head, too much for you to process.
Finally, you reach out, and close the drawer wordlessly.
‘You’ll let me go tomorrow?’ you ask, wondering if you’ve just made the most stupid decision of your life.
‘I’ll let you go tomorrow, I promise you. Even if my friend doesn’t come through.’
You can’t look at him.
You can hear him approaching, but instead of heading for the drawer, he heads for you.
‘Thank you,’ he says.
You look over.
His eyes are serious. ‘It’s been a while since anyone who didn’t know me before trusted me.’
‘Like you said, I’m dumb and soft,’ you reply. There’s a wobble in your voice that belies the snarky tone you were going for.
His hand lands on your shoulder. It’s gentle.
‘You’d be eaten alive where I come from,’ he agrees, when you look his way again. ‘But that’s never going to happen, if I have anything to do with it.’
He squeezes your shoulder, reassuring. ‘Forget the coffee. I’ll make it. Go and eat.’
***
The unfamiliar sound from overhead is making the wineglasses rattle.
You glance at Yoongi.
He’s quicker than you, mouth set in a straight line, heading for the window in the lounge.
‘What is it?’ you ask, but a moment later, you know.
It’s a chopper, flying directly overhead.
Yoongi turns to you.
‘If that’s the police, stay inside, hands up, away from the windows whilst I turn myself in.’
You’re staring at him, again feeling like you’re three steps behind.
‘It’s the way that it’s safest for you,’ he says, patient. ‘They’ll want you to come in for questioning once they take me in. Just tell the truth, don’t try to hide anything.’
Your throat feels like it’s filled with cotton, your heart’s pounding in your ears.
‘They won’t hurt you, will they?’
‘There are other ways to hurt a man than shooting him on sight,’ Yoongi replies. The bitterness is back in his voice again.
There’s a truth to his words you can’t deny.
Overhead, the noise intensifies, until finally, it starts fading away.
You don’t know if it’s just wishful thinking at first, but eventually it becomes clear that the chopper’s becoming more distant.
Yoongi hasn’t moved from his spot by the window.
‘They’re not here for you,’ you say, unnecessary, but the silence is so loaded you have to fill it with something, anything.
‘Not this time,’ Yoongi agrees.
***
Around mid-day, Yoongi switches on the news in the den.
You don’t have to wait long for an update.
‘The search for convicted murderer Min Yoongi intensifies. CCTV footage from a mountainside diner near east of Maisan suggests that he was aided in his journey by an unidentified female driving a 2004 Grand Cherokee Jeep.’
You watch, your heart in your stomach as grainy footage of Yoongi getting into your car is played.
The clip is less than 10 seconds, and your face is barely visible, but it’s definitely you.
The same information about how to get in touch with the police flashes up, but you’re beyond listening.
You get up shakily, rush to the bathroom, and throw up the partially digested remains of your breakfast.
By the time you emerge from the bathroom, Yoongi’s waiting outside.
‘Are you ok?’ he asks. He’s holding out a glass of water that you accept automatically.
‘Yeah,’ you say. You take a big gulp, swipe at your face. ‘Am I in trouble, Yoongi?’
‘You’ll have to make a statement when you get to your sister’s,’ Yoongi tells you. ‘Tell them I forced you at gunpoint.’
You think of the gun you had the opportunity to take this morning.
‘I offered you a ride voluntarily,’ you say.
‘I don’t give a f*ck,’ Yoongi says, harshly. He steps forward. ‘And they won’t give a f*ck, either. This won’t affect me, I’m already a convicted murderer. But it’ll affect you if they think you helped me.’
He slams his open hand against the wall next to him, startling you.
‘You need to wise up. I don’t care if you throw me under the bus, and it won’t make a difference to the charges against me. But this could affect your future, so you need to do whatever it takes to make sure you come away clean from this.’
What he’s saying makes sense, but he doesn’t know you.
‘I promised them,’ you burst out.
Yoongi stops dead. ‘What?’
‘I was adopted, when I was eight,’ you say. The words are coming out in a rush now, garbled, and you’re not sure if you can make him understand but you need to say it all.
‘I promised my adoptive parents I’d never lie again. I was some dumb kid when they adopted me, I’d been in and out of foster homes. I’d developed a thing for taking things I wanted.’
Stealing, your inner voice says, accurately.
‘And when my parents adopted me, I promised them I’d never lie again.’
Yoongi’s staring at you now, incredulous.
‘I’ll tell the police the truth,’ you tell him. ‘But I’m not going to ‘throw you under the bus’.’
Yoongi lets out a long breath. ‘f*cking hell.’
He shakes his head. ‘I wish I’d never got in your car.’
You kind of wish the same thing.
***
Yoongi’s cracked open a couple of beers with your dinner.
‘Be careful when you’re crossing the stream tomorrow – the bridge is hard to see at the best of times, and I don’t think the snow’s made it any easier.’
‘Yes, dad,’ you say, rolling your eyes.
You’d listened the first time he said it, but he’s repeated himself a few times now.
He’s acting like he’s more worried about you getting to your sister safely than himself evading the entire manhunt that’s looking for him.
‘I did survive an entire adulthood without you, you know,’ you say, teasing.
He ignores you.
‘There’s an SOS box two miles west when you get to the main road —’
‘Yes, I know how that works,’ you say, cutting him off.
‘And if any man sends you dick pics you should block him right off the bat,’ Yoongi finishes.
You stop, processing his words, then realise he’s joking.
Your laughter makes the frown line between his brows disappear.
‘And you don’t owe any man anything even if he makes you come,’ Yoongi continues.
You raise an eyebrow at him. ‘Should I be writing this wisdom down?’
Yoongi frowns. ‘I just don’t want anyone to take advantage of you.’
‘Show me how to crush a trachea,’ you suggest.
Yoongi swigs his beer.
‘Yeah, good idea.’
He gets up, pushes his sleeves back.
You catch a glimpse of a tattoo on his upper arm.
‘If any asshole tries anything with you, you should go for all his weak spots.’
He points to his own neck, the hollow between his collarbones. ‘Jab them right here, elbow up into his nose, knee into his balls. Then, f*cking run.’
He holds out his hands. ‘Come on, try me.’
You look at him uncertainly. ‘You want me to hit you?’
Yoongi says, patient, ‘Hit me now so when you hit the next asshole you’ll know how to do it right.’
‘Who are all these assholes that I’m meeting?’ you ask, but you comply anyway.
Yoongi rolls his eyes as you jab your fingers into his neck.
‘Harder,’ he says, grabbing your hand.
‘I don’t want to hurt you —’
‘Hit me as hard as I shoved that gun into your ribs,’ Yoongi says.
The memory makes you wince, and you redouble your efforts with the next jab.
When he coughs and splutters, you jerk your elbow up, straight into his nose.
He’s doubled over now, but there’s one last move he’s asked you to do.
You knee him in the balls, and he grabs your thigh at the last second so hold off the blow.
You wrench his hand off and take two steps back.
‘f*ck,’ Yoongi swears.
He folds over onto the kitchen floor, still coughing, eyes watering.
‘You’re supposed to run now,’ he wheezes out.
‘Do you — do you want some water or something?’ you offer.
He shakes his head. ‘I think you’re good. You’re pretty damn quick.’
‘Sorr—’
Yoongi fixes you with a glare. ‘Don’t even think about apologising,’ he scolds. ‘You f*ck the asshole up, and then you run. You did it perfectly.’
‘Can I practice it again?’ you ask, sweetly.
Yoongi says, ‘Yeah —’
It takes him a moment to realise you’re joking.
***
Yoongi steps out of the shower, fully dressed, his hair still wet, making little trails of wet course down the neck of his sweatshirt.
You’re already on the couch, covered in a fluffy duvet.
‘You can take the bed if you want,’ he offers. ‘I’ll take the couch.’
‘I’m fine,’ you tell him.
He sits on the edge of the bed, towel drying his hair.
You don’t realise you’re staring at him until he asks, voice dry, ‘Something on my face?’
‘Nothing,’ you answer, startled. ‘You look good clean.’
His laughter is deep, gravelly. ‘I’d have taken a shower earlier if I’d known you preferred me clean.’
‘You should get clean for yourself,’ you answer, primly, but your lips are curving in a smile anyway.
‘Your hair looks pretty like this,’ he says.
You tug at a lock of hair, self-conscious.
‘I’m surprised you’re not better at handling compliments,’ Yoongi continues. He’s looking at you now, teasing in his voice. ‘Given how pretty you are.’
You bury your face in your duvet.
‘Stop teasing me,’ you say, muffled.
He seems to hear you just fine.
‘I’m not teasing,’ he says. ‘I’m just telling you what I think.’
‘Just turn the lights off,’ you grumble.
Yoongi laughs again. ‘You’re not the first woman to tell me to shut up, to be fair.’
He gets up, turns the lights out.
***
You wake in the middle of the night to Yoongi groaning, tossing and turning in bed.
‘Yoongi?’ you call, sitting up to look at him.
He doesn’t answer, but his groaning intensifies.
You get up and pad across the room to him.
He’s drenched in sweat, thrashing in the sheets, holding out his hands.
He’s having a nightmare.
‘Hey,’ you say, grasping his hand.
He sits up abruptly, looking around in the dark, bewildered, disoriented.
You don’t have to think about it.
You pull him in a hug, wrapping your arms tight around him. ‘You’re fine. It was a nightmare.’
You don’t think he’s really listening, but he holds you back.
His heart’s thumping so hard you can feel it under your arm.
‘You’re fine,’ you tell him again.
Eventually his grip loosens, and he pulls back a little.
‘That was some bad dream,’ you say, breathless from how tightly he’s been holding you.
He doesn’t answer, and you realise he’s staring at your lips.
His kiss takes you by surprise, but you don’t pull away.
His lips are soft and warm. When he licks into your mouth you can’t help the whine that falls from your lips.
Your hand fists in the material of his sweatshirt as he kisses you again and again, pulling you into a haze of pleasure so deep it takes you a moment to realise he’s stopped, his hand on your side, on your bare skin, under your top.
He says your name.
‘Do you want this?’ he asks. ‘We don’t have to do this if it’s not what you want.’
‘This?’ you ask. ‘You mean us kissing like this?’
You run your hand along his chest, stopping when you get to the waistband of his sweats.
‘You mean touching each other like this?’
Your hand delves lower, and he lets out a low groan as you wrap your fingers around his hardness.
‘Like this?’
‘I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do,’ Yoongi says, his hand closing over yours.
‘I want to do this with you,’ you tell him.
He groans again, pulls you fully onto the bed, helps you tug your sweatshirt over your head.
His warm hands slide up from your waist, making slow passes over your sides, and by the time he cups your breasts, your nipples are fully hard.
‘Don’t tease, Yoongi,’ you say, trying not to moan as he rolls a nipple under his thumb.
‘Not teasing,’ he says, voice low, thick. ‘I just — f*ck, you’re so pretty–’
He dips his head, and at the first flick of his tongue against the tip of your breast, you moan.
‘Yoongi,’ you plead.
‘I’ve got it,’ he tells you, lifting off your breast. ‘I’ve got you.’
Yoongi mouths at your breasts until your hips are writhing under him.
‘Please, please,’ you plead.
He tugs at your sweatpants, and when you raise your hips to help him get them off, he leans down and presses a warm kiss to the bare skin over your hipbone.
‘Wanna taste you,’ he tells you.
He pushes your thighs apart, stops with his face over your core for a split second, breathing you in.
Then he kisses you, open-mouthed, tongue delving into your c*nt like he’s starving for you.
Your moan changes into a cry of pleasure as he licks at you, nose nudging your cl*t.
You reach out for something to grab, fisting the sheets, and Yoongi’s hand grips the flesh of your thigh, firm.
‘sh*t,’ he says, ‘ you’re so wet you’re gonna make me come.’
The idea of him coming before he gets inside you could make you cry.
‘Get inside, Yoongi,’ you moan.
‘Not gonna last, not with you like this,’ Yoongi tells you. He strokes between your legs, presses his thumb in firm strokes over your cl*t, licks into your c*nt again, and you cry his name as you come.
‘f*ck, that’s my good girl,’ Yoongi grunts. ‘Can you take me now?’
He slides his co*ck into you, hard, thick, whilst you’re still pulsing from your org*sm, and you keen with the pleasure of it.
He’s breathless, head thrown back, eyes shut as he moves, f*cking you deep.
You kiss along his bared throat, and he swears. ‘f*ck, baby, stop – I can’t —’
He pulls out suddenly, and a moment later you feel the warmth of his cum spurting on your belly.
‘C’mere,’ he says, pulling you close, kissing you deep. ‘Stay.’
***
You wait on the porch whilst Yoongi drives your car out of the carport. He pulls up in front of the porch, gets out.
‘Remember what you have to do?’ Yoongi asks.
‘Yeah,’ you say.
You’ve talked about it so much you don’t think you can bear to go over it again.
‘Drive safe, ok?’ Yoongi says. He’s looking at you, intently. ‘And thank you, for everything.’
‘Good luck with being exonerated,’ you say.
It sounds stupid, you sound stupid, but you don’t know what else to say.
Yoongi walks you over to your car, waits until your seatbelt’s buckled.
‘I’ll see you, Yoongi,’ you say.
‘Take this,’ he says.
You look at the phone number he’s got scribbled down on a scrap of paper.
‘It’s a burner phone. I can’t check it all the time but do you think you could —’
He breaks off mid-sentence, then pushes on. ‘Do you think you could text me when you get to your sister’s? I just want to know you’re safe.’
‘Sure,’ you say. You slide the scrap of paper into the pocket of your salopes, zip it up.
‘Good,’ Yoongi says.
You reach out, tug the collar of his parka.
His kiss is as good a way to say goodbye as any, you think.
Yoongi closes the door, waits on the porch as you drive away.
He gets smaller and smaller in the distance, and eventually, you can’t see him at all.
***
It’s been nearly a month since you left Yoongi at the house.
You’d pulled up at your sister’s house to find out she’d just filed a missing persons report on you.
You’d had an emotional reunion with your sister, an equally emotional introduction to your new baby nephew, and one meal and one hot shower later, you’d found yourself at the police station, being questioned by a couple of detectives who’d regarded you with suspicion so strong it was a short step from open accusation.
You’d been questioned for hours but had eventually been allowed home. You’d been truthful, as you’d told Yoongi you would be, apart from one thing.
It was only later, when you were on your bed in your sister’s spare room, that you’d picked up your phone and scrolled to the name you’d saved Yoongi’s number under.
You’d typed out a text, two words, unincriminating, you’d thought.
I’m safe.
The next morning, there was a text back, similar to yours in brevity.
I’m glad.
You’d refrained from texting again, or calling, not wishing to put Yoongi at risk in case anyone looked into your phone records.
You’d been called in again for questioning on two separate occasions after the initial interview, once by people who’d introduced themselves as federal agents.
You’d thought that was the end of it until the media got hold of your identity.
There was a week or so of reporters stopping you outside your house, waiting for you in the school car park, until eventually something more newsworthy came along.
You’d been photographed more times in that week than you’d even been in your life.
You’ve taken to watching the evening news every night, but as time stretches on and Min Yoongi hasn’t been found, he’s been dropping down the list of top stories, barely scraping a mention.
You’re glad.
You hope he’s closer to getting what he wished for.
***
‘Y/N,’ says Bora, your head of department. ‘Mr Lee wants to see you.’
You look up from your grading, a little surprised. ‘Did he say what it was about?’
‘Nope, just that he’s free now.’
You pocket your phone, straighten your ID badge and get up.
Mr Lee is the school principal, and you’d organised a meeting with him when the media frenzy over your involvement with Min Yoongi was at its peak, but you’ve not seen him since.
Mrs Choi, his PA, waves you in.
‘Mr Lee,’ you say in greeting. ‘Did you want to see me?’
‘Yes, please come in and have a seat,’ Mr Lee says.
He’s a serious man in his mid forties, and as far as principals go, you know he’s got a good reputation.
‘There’s been a complaint put in about you,’ Mr Lee says, sparing you any preamble.
Your stomach drops.
‘What about?’ you ask.
‘I know the media furore has died off over Min Yoongi, but the PTA has fielded a number of concerns raised by worried parents over your involvement in the case.’
You’re taken aback. ‘A number of concerns? It’s not just one —’
‘I’m sorry,’ says Mr Lee, and to his credit, he does seem genuinely upset. ‘I’m going to have to ask if you can take a few weeks off.’
‘Off?’ you ask, worried.
‘It’s not a suspension,’ Mr Lee says, somehow giving the impression that a suspension is exactly what it is. ‘You’ll be paid, and at the end of four weeks we’ll meet again to discuss what your future is at this school.’
You’re trying to make sense of this. ‘My future at this school?’
Mr Lee gets up, moves to take the seat next to you. ‘I’m hoping that having you off teaching for a month will give enough time for these parents to realise that you’re not a bad influence on their kids.’
‘And if they don’t?’ you ask.
‘I’m hoping they will.’
You swallow, and to your horror, tears prick the back of your eyelids.
You blink them back.
‘Should I look for another job, Mr Lee?’
‘It doesn’t hurt to keep your options open,’ Mr Lee says gently.
You suppose that’s that.
***
You wake to a dozen missed calls and texts from your sister.
You blink blearily at your phone and swipe to answer.
‘Yeah?’ you grunt. ‘Is everything ok?’
‘It’s Min Yoongi,’ your sister says. ‘He’s all over the news.’
You sit up abruptly. ‘Is he ok?’
Your sister, who’s heard all about your time with Yoongi, barring the details of your one-night stand, laughs.
‘He’s more than ok. Get online, sis. There’s a press statement you might want to watch.’
You’re still a little drowsy, but by the time you’ve got your laptop open and made yourself coffee, you’re wide awake.
Your phone rings again whilst you’re reading about how new evidence and a new witness was brought forward, resulting in a swift retrial.
Distractedly, you swipe to answer.
His voice makes you stop in your tracks.
It’s gravelly, low, with the distinct mix of sardonic and soft that brings you back to the house in the woods, over a month ago now.
‘Hey,’ he says. ‘How’re you keeping?’
You close your eyes, suck in a breath.
‘Jeez, you telemarketers are getting a little personal, aren’t you?’ you ask.
His laughter makes you feel warm inside.
‘I just wondered if you wanted to go get dinner with me sometime.’
‘Depends,’ you answer. ‘Are we going to have to avoid the police?’
‘Always,’ he says, making you smile. ‘But I’m a free man now, I guess you haven’t heard.’
‘Your friends came through, huh?’
‘All of them,’ he says, the warmth in his voice palpable even through the line. ‘Including you.’
***
You’re a little nervous as you wait for Yoongi at the restaurant he picked. It’s a little out of the way for you, but at least it’s not snowing.
He’s dressed in black, a cashmere sweater that sets off the glow in his skin, his hair styled back.
The rings in his fingers, the earrings in his ears gleam in the golden light.
He’s so beautiful you can’t quite believe he’s real.
Yet it’s him who stops in front of you, gaze flickering over you with a flattering intensity.
‘How can you be even prettier than I remember?’ he asks, tilting his head.
‘Guess you have a bad memory,’ you say. You’re smiling so hard your cheeks are hurting, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind.
‘I’ve thought about you a lot,’ he says.
‘Yeah?’
Yoongi pulls out your chair for you.
‘Yeah. I saw the footage of those reporters hounding you.’
‘They got bored after a while,’ you tell him.
‘I’m glad you’re all right,’ Yoongi says.
Over dinner he tells you about how the retrial resulted in all charges against him being overturned, how he’s been back home resting.
‘Been to the beach yet?’ you ask.
Yoongi looks at you over his wine glass. ‘You inviting me? You’re the one with a beach hut.’
‘We can go,’ you say. ‘I’ve been informally suspended from my job.’
This is news to him.
‘Is it to do with me?’ he asks quietly.
You shrug. ‘I’m hoping it’ll die down, especially since everyone knows you’re an innocent man now.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he says.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ you tell him.
He frowns a little, but lets the subject slide.
After dinner he walks you to your car.
‘Can I take you out again?’ he asks.
‘I’d like that,’ you tell him.
He leans close, brushes a kiss against your cheek that sends a thrill all the way to your toes.
‘I live about a half hour drive from here,’ you tell him, when he pulls away.
‘Maybe I can drive us this time,’ he says.
***
Yoongi slips his hand into yours as he walks up the front driveway to your house with you. You look over at him in surprise.
‘What?’ he teases. ‘Don’t you want to hold my hand?’
You stick your key in the lock, push open your front door.
‘Baby, I want to hold more than that,’ you tell him.
Yoongi’s eyes darken, and he lets you push him against the door.
He’s already leaning down, lips seeking yours. He kisses you hungrily, his large hand slipping behind your neck to deepen the kiss, tongue slipping into your mouth.
‘I’ve f*cking missed you,’ he murmurs. ‘sh*t, I’m so hard it’s embarrassing.’
‘Been deprived, huh?’ you tease, breathlessly.
‘Nah. Just you.’
He kisses a fiery path down your neck, into the hollow between your collarbones.
His hands slide down into the small of your back, cup your ass to pull you against him.
You can feel the ridge of his co*ck against your belly, and you roll your hips, trying to get closer.
‘Pull these down,’ Yoongi says, thumb looped in the band of your lacy panties.
They’re stuck to you, the wetness between your legs trails a path down your bare thighs that Yoongi’s only too happy to lick off.
‘I wanted to wait,’ he tells you, lifting the skirt of your dress, unzipping his trousers.
‘Wait next time,’ you tell him. ‘Want you now.’
‘You’ve got me,’ he tells you.
There’s the rustle of foil, the snick of elastic, then Yoongi’s parting your legs, sliding inside you with a groan deep in his chest.
Just like before, he fills you perfectly.
Yoongi kisses you again, slow though you can feel his heart thudding wildly in his chest.
‘Feels so good, every time,’ he tells you.
He starts to move then, doesn’t stop when you part your thighs to take him deeper, doesn’t stop when you cross your ankles behind his back and cry his name, doesn’t stop until you’re panting, sticky with your release, clutching him tight.
It’s only then that his thrusts start to become erratic, speeding up then slowing as he reaches his peak. He comes with a shout of your name, buried deep inside you, hips still moving like he, too, can’t get enough.
***
When you wake in the morning, it’s with Yoongi’s finger tracing a lazy path down your spine, his fingertip warm on your bare skin.
‘More, Yoongi?’ you ask, sleepy.
He presses a kiss to your forehead, you can hear the rumble in his chest as he suppresses a laugh.
‘Tapping out on me so soon, my love?’ he asks.
After the first time when you hadn’t made it to your bed, you’d f*cked three more times before you’d finally collapsed in a tangled heap.
You’d woken once, to see him flat on his back, looking out the window, fingers intertwined with yours.
‘Can’t sleep?’ you’d asked.
He’d turned to you, pressed a kiss to your forehead. ‘Just thinking how lucky I am. I’d thought being wrongly imprisoned was the worst thing that had happened to me. And here I am.’
‘Here you are, you lucky sonofabitch,’ you’d laughed, squealing as he’d pinned your hands to the bed and half-heartedly climbed on top of you again.
‘I am lucky,’ he’d said, his free hand sliding under your ass, squeezing. You’d have f*cked him again if he’d wanted, despite the soreness between your legs, but he’d wrapped you in his arms instead. ‘Sleep, baby.’
So you had.
Now your phone rings, distracting you from Yoongi’s wandering hands, just about.
‘sh*t, it’s Mr Lee,’ you say, sitting up straight.
Yoongi co*cks a brow at you as you take the call.
‘Y/N, I wanted to let you know that the school board have voted to have you back taking your regular classes, at your earliest convenience. If you’ll have us.’
You frown. ‘I hadn’t realised there was a vote?’
‘An emergency meeting was convened last night,’ Mr Lee says. ‘You don’t have to let me know now, but we’d love to have you back.’
You hang up, thoroughly confused.
‘I guess I’m not informally suspended any more,’ you tell Yoongi.
‘For a new gym with a fully functional basketball court, and a grant for gym equipment, they’d better be giving you a raise too,’ drawls Yoongi.
‘You did this?’
‘What? You thought I was some deadbeat who held you at gunpoint and wasn’t going to repay everything you did for me?’
‘I never thought you were a deadbeat,’ you say.
‘I know,’ Yoongi agrees. ‘You’re an idiot.’
You swat at him, outraged.
‘You’re my idiot,’ Yoongi says, deflecting your blows easily. ‘And I’m going to make sure no one takes advantage of you ever again.’
He hesitates. ‘If — if you’ll have me.’
You pretend to think about it. ‘Well, you’re not perfect,’ you say, ‘but I guess you’ll do.’
©hamsterclaw 2023
