Chapter Text
The day had barely begun, and Seonghwa already wanted to crawl back into bed and pretend it hadn’t.
The dull light from the sky was leaking in through the shop windows, feeling too harsh, Seonghwa’s brain screaming at him for being awake instead of sleeping in. He was normally good about his beauty sleep. This time, however, Seonghwa kept tossing and turning, vague nightmares of the man in the mask hunting him down haunted him the entire night.
Coffee helped, but only in the way a single sponge might help soak a flood.
Groaning, he forced himself to take another sip, when the bell above the door let out its shrill, too-cheerful ring. The sound stabbed straight through his skull.
“Good morning.” Seonghwa greeted, not looking up right away, nursing his coffee as though he had a hangover and rubbing his temple.
Silence answered him.
He lifted his head, faltering as his gaze took in the man standing there. He was tall, fitted in a button-up that fit too perfectly, tailored to his lean figure. His polished shoes, the faint gleam of a watch that probably cost more than Seonghwa’s entire month’s rent, hair slicked back perfectly with a few stray strands falling over his forehead perfectly, an expensive blazer hung over his arm -all of it was proof this man did not come from the Old Quarter.
Then Seonghwa’s gaze fell over the stranger’s features and he was straightening up immediately, headache be damned. He recognized those eyes. Even without the mask, those eyes haunted his dreams all night. How could he forget?
“C-can I help you?” Seonghwa gulped.
Was he here to kill him?
The stranger smiled faintly, “Yoo Seonghwa.” his voice was smooth, deep, just as Seonghwa remembered it from the night before. “Owner of The Fable’s End.”
He wasn’t asking; he had done his research.
Though, clearly not enough to know Yoo was not Seonghwa’s surname. But that worked in his favor.
“...Yes?”
“I am Jeong Yunho,” he introduced, moving towards the counter, towering over Seonghwa despite the space between them. “from the Black Crown. And I am here with an offer.”
Seonghwa blinked rapidly, then, without thinking, blurted out, “I- Well, the store is running a buy-one-get-one on romance paperbacks. Is that the offer you mean?”
The man, Yunho, raised an eyebrow. “I’m not here for books. I’m sure you’re aware of that.” He slid one gloved hand into the pocket of the blazer, “I’m here for the building. This shop, this street; the Black Crown has decided to invest in it. Our territory in the Old Quarter is small, we’re wanting to expand. Starting with this street.” He took out an envelope, placing it upon the counter.
The words had Seonghwa freezing, ice cold running through his veins. He stared down at the envelope as though it may explode. Then he pushed the envelope back to the man. “I’m not for sale- I mean, the store. The store isn’t for sale.” He thought for a second, then, just so his words weren’t mistaken, “and, yeah, neither am I.’
“You haven’t even looked at the cheque. The number might have you changing your mind. Though it is unfortunate you aren’t for sale either, I would have paid a pretty sum.” Yunho answered calmly, patiently, the tone in his voice and the look in his eyes showed he was not kidding at all.
Seonghwa squinted at the man. The audacity . “I…don’t care. Also, no, you can’t just buy people, that’s…not nice.”
“‘Not nice?’’ Yunho repeated, “You do realize that’s part of what the Black Crown does, right?”
Seonghwa didn’t have a rebuttal for that. He had to squish down the part of him that was vaguely flattered the man would pay a hefty sum for him. Cause that was a stupid thing to feel flattered over. “Look, I’m not selling, okay? And I’m sure the other stores won’t either, the Old Quarter is to be preserved, not bought by…you people.”
Yunho cleared his throat, pushing the envelope back towards Seonghwa over the counter, “Actually, quite a few of them have already signed. And I don’t think you understand. I’m buying this street. Every unit. One by one, or all at once. Sooner or later, this store will belong to me.”
“Then it’ll have to be later,” Seonghwa blurted out in a stupid sense of bravery, sliding the envelope back. “This place was built with love and care, and was given to me. Gifted, even. I’m not selling, to anyone, ever. No matter the price.”
Yunho’s expression didn’t flicker, though something dangerous glinted in his eyes, any speck of amusement gone. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice until it wrapped around Seonghwa, suffocating, “You’re stubborn. I like that.”
Seonghwa stiffened.
Yunho studied him the way one might study a puzzle -or prey. His gaze traced over Seonghwa’s features with deliberate slowness, lingering just a fraction too long. Then he straightened up and took the envelope back, but in its place, he set down something else; a card, black as ink, the edges trimmed in metallic gold. On one side, only two words in raised gold lettering;
BLACK CROWN
“Think it over,” Yunho said smoothly, stepping back. “I hope to hear from you soon, Seonghwa.”
Then the bell chimed and he was out the door.
Seonghwa stared at the card, then picked it up, turning it around. In the same gold lettering as the front was written:
THE VAULT
And beneath it, was a phone number.
Seonghwa itched to throw it away, to burn it, destroy it. But he didn’t move.
He set it back on the counter and buried his head in his hands, groaning.
“Fuck, I need another coffee…”
Yunho’s office occupied the top floor of one of Greystone’s newest high-rises; glass walls ad black steel, looming above the city’s skyline like a crown of its own. From here, The Core stretched out in clean lines and glittering lights, businesses bustling from luxury brands to towering office buildings.
Inside, the contrast was stark. The office was spare, deliberate. A wide desk of dark wood dominated the room, its surface polished to a sheen, the only clutter a neat stack of documents spread in perfect alignment. The numbers written upon these documents weren’t just for show. As The Vault of Black Crown, every dollar, shipment, and silent transaction passed through his oversight.
In the legitimate world, Yunho was the Chief Financial Officer of Corvus Capital Group, an international investment firm with a reputation for turning even the riskiest ventures into gold. In the underworld, however, he was something sharper.
Being The Vault meant he was the head of Black Crown’s financial arm, a shadow conglomerate of shell corporations, offshore accounts, and silent partnerships. Every illicit dollar passed through his hands, cleaned, multiplied, and locked away so deep, no authority could touch it.
The phone on his desk buzzed.
Not the office line.
His personal one.
The device was unremarkable at a glance; matte black, titanium casing, edges smooth and unbroken. No logos, no branding. Only a faint engraving caught the light when turned just so -a crown split by a dagger. The mark of the Black Crown’s innermost circle.
The screen flickered on.
Yunho felt his breath hitch, wondering if it was the pretty bookstore owner who was calling him back.
He turned it on, fingerprint allowing him access. Only to see that it was his accountant calling.
Yunho exhaled through his nose, rejected the call, then set the phone down. He forced himself back to the papers, checked another column, ran another sum.
But every few minutes his gaze slid back to that phone, thumb tapping the desk, waiting for it to buzz again.
It didn’t.
Maybe the pretty bookstore owner needed more time to come to the right decision.
The decision to be in Yunho’s clutches.
Because Yunho had already made his own decision the moment he saw him.
He’d been expecting dust and wasted square footage when he walked into that crumbling shop in the Old Quarter. Instead, he found Seonghwa. Delicate, precise, cautious in the way he moved, like a man who knew how to survive in a city that devoured softness.
Seonghwa didn’t belong in Greystone. That much was obvious. He was light trapped in rusted iron, holding himself apart from the filth without ever realizing the danger of shining so openly.
And Yunho couldn’t allow that.
So he’d made his choice. He would corner him. Buy the block, strangle his options, force him closer until Seonghwa had nowhere else to go but where Yunho wanted him.
Others might call it ruthless. To Yunho, it was inevitable.
The city was a predator, and Yunho knew its teeth better than anyone. If he didn’t claim Seonghwa, someone else would.
And that, Yunho thought as his gaze slid once more to the silent phone, would never be allowed to happen.
By the sixth time he checked, Yunho let out a low, humorless laugh, leaning back in his chair. “Pathetic,” he muttered under his breath. He was The Vault. He didn’t wait for anyone to call.
“You’re right,” a silken voice cut in from the shadows, “It is pathetic.”
Yunho didn’t startle. But his eyes flicked toward the corner of the room where The Phantom was already perched, long legs draped over the arm of a chair like he’d been there all along.
The Phantom smiled, lazy and sharp.
“Yeosang.” Yunho’s tone was even. “How long have you been here?”
“Long enough.” Yeosang rose smoothly, moving with liquid grace across the office. He never made a sound, not even on marble floors. His gaze dropped to the desk, the black phone still resting where Yunho had left it. “Strange. I didn’t think you gave that number out so freely.”
Yunho’s jaw tightened, though the rest of his expression stayed neutral. “It’s business.”
Yeosang hummed, drawing closer until he leaned on the desk with both palms, peering at Yunho with dark, unreadable eyes. “Business at The Fable’s End? ” His voice dripped sweetness, almost mocking. “Tell me, Yunho…what business could you possibly have in a dusty old bookstore?”
Silence. Yunho’s face remained a mask of composure.
The Phantom tilted his head, smile curling into something that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re buying the whole block. That’s bold, even for you. The Old Quarter doesn’t exactly scream profit.” His voice sharpened, cutting beneath the sweetness. “Unless profit wasn’t the point.”
Yunho didn’t answer. He simply stacked his papers, aligning the corners with meticulous precision.
Yeosang’s smile widened, his tone honey-sweet but barbed. “You wouldn’t mind if I…checked it out, then? Just to see what’s got The Vault sniffing around a bookshop.”
Something shifted in the air. Yunho finally lifted his gaze, calm as ever, but in the depths of his dark eyes, rage simmered.
“You won’t,” he said quietly.
For a moment, the two men held each other’s stare. Yeosang’s grin faltered, just a shade, though the amusement never fully left his features.
Then, with a lazy shrug, he pushed off the desk and melted back into the room’s shadows. “As you wish, Vault.”
When the door shut behind him, Yunho’s composure cracked only for a second. His fingers curled against the edge of the desk, knuckles white, before he forced himself to let go.
He looked at the phone again. Still silent. Still dark.
And it enraged him.
The business card sat on the counter like it was mocking him.
Seonghwa had been staring at it on and off all morning, fingertips tracing the embossed crown split by a dagger. Heavy cardstock, pristine edges, the kind of card no ordinary businessman would carry. Yunho’s voice still echoed in his head -low, certain, absolute. An offer dressed as a trap.
He turned the card over again.
Thought about tearing it in half.
Thought about calling.
Did nothing.
The bell above the door chimed.
Seonghwa startled, nearly dropping the card. He slipped it under a stack of receipts just as the man walked in.
He didn’t look like the Old Quarter. He was slender yet muscled, poised, the drape of his coat effortless, his stride more glide than walk. The overhead light caught on the sharp line of his jaw, the faint curve of a smirk tugging at his mouth.
Beautiful . That was Seonghwa’s first thought. Too beautiful for the chipped floorboards and dusty shelves of a secondhand bookstore.
His second thought was that he should stop staring.
“Morning,” Seonghwa managed with a shy smile, throat suddenly dry.
The man’s gaze swept over the shop before landing back on him, deliberate and lingering. “I’m looking for a book. A recommendation, maybe. A friend and I are running a little book club.” His voice was smooth, a low drawl, the kind that felt like it was meant to be listened to in private. “We’re very into crime these days.”
Seonghwa blinked, pulling himself together. “Crime fiction?” His words came out softer than intended, almost shy. He cleared his throat. “I- uh- I have a few titles that might work. Agatha Christie and Raymond Chandler are personal favourites.”
He moved quickly, almost grateful for the excuse to duck behind the counter, to turn his back long enough to compose himself. His hands found a copy of The Big Sleep, the spine worn but sturdy. He dusted it off and slid it across the counter with what he hoped was a professional smile. “This one’s…popular. Really good for discussion. It's from 1939, more on the informative side and a little bit complicated, but there’s so much depth to it and definitely worth it for a book club. Unfortunately, that is our only copy.”
The man took it without looking at the cover. His fingers brushed Seonghwa’s, and though the touch was fleeting, deliberate or not, it left heat behind. The stranger’s eyes stayed fixed on him, unblinking, like he was studying something more intricate than a book recommendation.
“Doesn’t matter. It’s perfect,” he murmured, finally glancing at the title. He reached into his coat for cash, crisp bills folded neatly, no hesitation as he laid them down.
Seonghwa rang it up, the register dinging, cutting through the heavy silence between them.
He slid the book into a small paper bag. “Do you want-”
The man leaned forward, resting one elbow on the counter, close enough that Seonghwa could catch the faintest trace of cologne, clean and expensive. His voice dropped, velvet edged in steel. “You know, I didn’t actually come here for literature.”
The words landed like a stone in his stomach.
Seonghwa forced a small, polite laugh. “Oh? Then what brings you in?”
The man’s smile curved sharper. “Curiosity. To see what caught Yunho’s attention. He doesn’t…waste time on random people.”
The air seemed to thin. Seonghwa’s fingers curled against the wood of the counter, his pulse quickening. “So you’re…with him?”
“Well, I’m not against him,” The stranger drawled, deliberately evasive. “I’m Yeosang.” He introduced.
Seonghwa could only stare, blinking, wondering what he had gotten himself into.
The man -Yeosang- tapped the book bag with one finger, almost absentmindedly. “If you’re smart, you won’t give him everything. Don’t give up all your control. If you’re going to step into our world, make him agree to your terms. A contract could work.”
Seonghwa swallowed, barely finding his voice. “Why…why are you telling me this?”
For the first time, Yeosang’s smile reached his eyes, though it wasn’t kind. “Because you’re cute. And I’d hate to see you lose that spark of yours in our world.” He straightened, adjusting his coat. Then, as he turned toward the door, he glanced back over his shoulder, eyes glinting with mischief. “Plus, I really want to piss him off.”
The bell chimed as he left, the shop falling silent again.
Seonghwa exhaled slowly, his grip loosening on the counter. He didn’t know if Yeosang had just offered him a lifeline or shoved him closer to the fire.
He looked down at the counter as his gaze caught something.
The same black card. Except when he turned it around, this time it named:
THE PHANTOM
Seonghwa faceplanted the counter.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Customers came and went, coins clinked, the bell above the door chimed, but Seonghwa’s mind stayed snagged on one sentence: Don’t give up all your control.
By the time the shop emptied out close to the evening, he’d pulled his phone onto the counter and started searching.
‘Basic contract structures.’
‘Partnership agreements.’
‘Independent contractor terms.’
The articles were dry, filled with legal jargon that made his head ache, but he read them anyway, screen brightness turned low as though someone might peer over his shoulder.
He scribbled notes into the margins of a half-used notebook, his handwriting growing smaller and tighter with each line. Boundaries. Duration. Exit clauses. Words he never thought he’d apply to anything but booksellers’ agreements or delivery schedules.
But the more he wrote, the more his thoughts steadied. He could see it -at least the outline of a way to protect himself. If Yunho wanted him so badly, then let him prove it on paper. Put his devotion where his mouth was.
Time slipped past. His tea went cold beside him. The notebook pages filled with careful, slanted handwriting, some lines scratched out, others underlined twice. A rough draft was forming, uneven and flawed, but it was his .
By closing time, Seonghwa sat back and looked at what he’d made.
A contract.
Not a perfect one, but a beginning.
His stomach fluttered with nerves. Yunho might laugh in his face, might rip the pages to shreds the moment he touched them.
But at least this way…he wouldn’t walk into the fire empty-handed.
The phone buzzed on Yunho’s desk.
For a split second, he thought he imagined it. He had stared at the damned thing so long yesterday, willing it to light up with the pretty bookstore owner’s name, that his brain had almost tricked him into hallucinations.
But no. This was real.
Yunho leaned back in his chair, cool as ice, and let it buzz twice more before he swiped to answer.
“Jung Yunho.” His voice was smooth, controlled, as if he hadn’t been waiting all night for this exact moment.
On the other end, silence stretched-too long. Then, a throat clearing. “H-hello. It’s, um…it’s Seonghwa. From…the Fable’s End.”
Yunho’s lips twitched. Like he could ever mistake him. “I know who you are.” He let the pause hang. “What made you call?”
There was a rustle of paper in the background, a nervous inhale. “I, uh- I’ve been thinking about your…offer.” The words sounded foreign on Seonghwa’s tongue, as though he’d rehearsed them and they still came out clumsy. “I think…I might be willing to agree. But- but under some terms.”
Yunho’s chest warmed, though his tone stayed flat, businesslike. “Terms.”
“Yes. I…I’d like to- to show you something. Something I wrote.”
If anyone else dared to stammer like that at him, Yunho would’ve hung up by now. But Seonghwa’s voice -soft, unsure, like he was stepping somewhere dangerous with shaking hands- only sharpened the hook already buried deep in Yunho’s chest.
“Interesting,” Yunho said. “I’ll hear you out. Where and when?”
“I’d rather…at the shop. Tomorrow evening?”
“Done.” Yunho didn’t hesitate. “I’ll be there.”
Another beat of silence. Seonghwa almost sounded surprised, as if he hadn’t expected Yunho to agree so easily. “…Alright.” A breath. “Then…tomorrow.”
When the line clicked dead, Yunho finally allowed the grin tugging at his mouth to spread, slow and feral.
Awkward, stuttering, trying so hard to hold onto his control; Seonghwa didn’t even realize how much that endeared him. Yunho wanted to hear him stumble over his words a thousand more times, wanted to peel back those careful layers until he found the raw, unguarded core beneath.
And tomorrow…he’d get one step closer.
***
Yunho left his office with that rare, buzzing satisfaction still coiled low in his chest. The call had been short, but it was enough. Seonghwa had broken the silence. He had agreed. Yunho could practically taste the moment when he would walk into that quiet little shop and see the pretty bookseller waiting for him.
He pulled his phone out as the elevator doors slid shut. Thumb hovered over his driver’s number.
“Going somewhere special?”
The voice was light, casual, but it sank into Yunho’s spine like a blade.
He turned his head just enough to see Yeosang leaning against the elevator wall, arms folded, eyes unreadable. His hair fell just so, sharp cheekbones catching the fluorescent light, and that lazy smirk tugging at his lips like he knew everything Yunho would rather keep buried.
“Business,” Yunho replied, pocketing his phone. His tone was flat, final.
Yeosang hummed, gaze drifting toward the floor numbers ticking down. “Hm. Must be important. You almost look…eager.”
Yunho glared as a thought clicked into place in his mind. “The contract. Your idea?” There was no way Seonghwa had thought of it on his own. If he had, he would’ve presented the idea earlier.
Yeosang just shrugged.
Yunho’s jaw flexed, trying to stay calm. “Don’t you have your own errands to run?” He questioned.
“Oh, I do,” Yeosang answered smoothly. “But it’s funny, I suddenly have a little time to spare. Maybe I’ll tag along. Watch this ‘business’ of yours.”
The other man shot him a sharp look. “You won’t.”
Yeosang only tilted his head, smirk deepening. “Wouldn’t dream of interfering. I’m just curious what has our cold, ruthless Vault acting like a schoolboy waiting for a love letter.”
The elevator dinged. Doors slid open.
Yunho stepped out, already calling his driver. “You’re not coming.”
But Yeosang’s shoes clicked on the marble right behind him, his calm voice following like smoke. “Relax. I’ll keep my distance. Consider me…insurance. Wouldn’t want you doing something reckless, would we?”
Yunho didn’t answer, jaw tight, phone pressed to his ear.
He hated sharing.
The backroom wasn’t much, but Seonghwa had done what he could. He’d cleared a small space on the table, stacked boxes neatly to the side, even set out two chipped mugs of coffee and a paper bag of pastries from the cafe down the street. It wasn’t professional, not really, but it felt like…an effort. Like he had some say in what was about to happen.
The bell over the shop door chimed.
“I’m in the back!” Seonghwa called, smoothing the papers one last time.
When the door opened, he looked up, and blinked.
Yunho filled the doorway in his sharp black coat, eyes burning with something unreadable. But right beside him, lounging as though he owned the place, was Yeosang.
Seonghwa’s eyebrows furrowed. “…You brought him along?”
Yunho side-eyed his companion. “Ignore him.”
Yeosang only smirked, plucking a pastry from the bag before making himself comfortable on one of the stacked boxes. He bit into it leisurely, licking sugar from his thumb. “Don’t mind me. I’m just here for the entertainment.”
Seonghwa hesitated, lips pressing together, then turned back to Yunho. “Alright, let's sit then.”
They settled across from each other at the little table, knees almost brushing. Yunho leaned back in his chair, but his eyes never strayed from Seonghwa’s face, watching every movement with unsettling intensity.
Seonghwa cleared his throat. “I…I thought about what you said. About your proposal.” His fingers smoothed the paper in front of him, more to steady himself than anything else. “And I decided, if this is going to happen, it’ll be on terms we both agree to.”
He slid the document across the table; crisp white paper, carefully typed, but still clearly homemade and printed.
“A contract,” Yunho muttered, the word rolling off his tongue like it amused him.
Seonghwa bit his bottom lip before speaking, “You don’t get everything just because you ask for it. If you want me involved, there are rules. My rules. I-” He faltered, but then forced himself to look Yunho in the eye. “I need boundaries. This is the only way I’ll even consider it.”
Yunho picked up the papers, leafing through them slowly. His face was unreadable, but the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed something -something dangerously close to a smile.
Behind them, Yeosang let out a low, entertained hum. “Well, well. The kitten has claws.”
Seonghwa’s cheeks burned, but he didn’t look away. He wasn’t going to.
And Yunho, for all his carefully maintained composure, couldn’t quite disguise the flicker of admiration in his eyes.
He turned the first page, eyes scanning the lines. He read in silence for a moment, then let his low voice fill the room, “‘No unannounced visits to my apartment.’” His brow arched as he glanced up. “What if I want to surprise you?”
“You won’t,” Seonghwa defended, steady but quiet. “You can call. If I don’t pick up, that means no.”
Yunho’s thumb dragged over the corner of the paper. A muscle in his jaw flexed. “You’re setting boundaries before I’ve even stepped through the door.”
“That’s the point.”
Yunho chuckled under his breath, shaking his head, then flipped to the next section. “‘No interference with my business. The shop stays mine.’” His eyes flickered toward the walls of books just beyond the doorway. “What if I want to invest?”
“You don’t. And you won’t.” Seonghwa narrowed his eyes. “This store is the one thing in this world that’s mine. You don’t touch it.”
For a heartbeat, Yunho only stared at him. Then -a smirk . Small, sharp. “Protective. Cute.”
From his perch on the boxes, Yeosang broke into a grin around his half-eaten pastry. “Careful, Yunho. He bites.”
Yunho ignored him, flipping another page. “‘No orders without consent. No demands beyond the agreement of this contract without discussing with me.’” He leaned forward now, forearms braced on the table, voice dipping lower. “That one’s ambitious.”
Seonghwa held his ground, pulse thrumming hard under his skin. “That one’s non-negotiable.”
Yunho’s gaze burned into him for a long, heavy moment. It would have been easy to laugh, to tear up the paper, to remind Seonghwa of exactly who he was dealing with. But instead, Yunho leaned back again, chair creaking, and read further.
“‘Communication must be clear. No secrets, no half-truths if it directly concerns me.’” His lips curved, slow and dangerous. “Darling, I live on secrets. That’s how I breathe.”
“Then you hold your breath when it comes to me.”
Yunho tilted his head, studying him, and then -unexpectedly- let out a low laugh. Not cruel. Genuinely amused.
“You won’t let me change a single line, will you?”
Seonghwa reached out, tapped the stack of papers with his fingertip. “Absolutely not. You either agree or disagree.”
Silence stretched. Yunho’s eyes softened, barely, though his voice stayed cool. “…You’re bold, Seonghwa.”
“I have to be,” Seonghwa murmured. “With people like you.”
Yunho sat back again, lips curling. He didn’t agree. He didn’t sign. But he didn’t walk away either. And that, Seonghwa realized, was its own kind of victory.
Yunho flipped through the last page again, slow, deliberate, before setting the papers back down. His eyes skimmed the neat lines of print, then flicked up to Seonghwa.
“Doesn’t seem like my end of the deal is any good.”
Seonghwa shifted in his chair, hands folding and unfolding. “Well- you’d have…access. To the shop. A quiet place. Coffee, books. I could, um, I could keep things stocked for you, if you like to read, or-”
Yunho raised a brow, unmoved.
“Alright, not that, but…you’d know I was safe. Isn’t that worth something? I wouldn’t…get in the way, or make trouble. You wouldn’t have to worry about me. I’d…I’d listen.” His voice strained, just shy of a whine, like he was trying so hard to conjure something valuable enough to match what Yunho was offering. “I could- hell, I could even-”
“Seonghwa.” Yunho’s voice cut clean through the rambling.
Seonghwa stilled, breath caught, eyes wide as Yunho leaned forward over the table.
“I don’t want coffee. I don’t even want your damn bookstore. I don’t want you to sit pretty and behave just so I don’t worry.” His gaze burned, sharp enough to pin Seonghwa to his seat.
“I want you .”
The words landed like a strike. Low. Certain. Possessive.
Seonghwa’s mouth parted, but no sound came out. His fingers twisted against each other under the table, face coloring as Yunho’s stare stayed unbroken.
From his perch on the boxes, Yeosang let out a soft, amused hum, like a spectator watching a chess match tip into checkmate.
But Yunho didn’t move, didn’t blink. He just let the silence stretch until Seonghwa had to swallow around it, until the truth of those words settled deep into his chest.
Seonghwa’s throat worked, but nothing came out.
Yunho leaned back in his chair, casual in the way only someone who already knew the outcome could be. “You still don’t get it. All these neat little clauses, all this paper- none of it matters if you can’t face what I actually want.”
Seonghwa’s fingers curled tight against the table. “You’re twisting this. It’s about boundaries-”
“No.” Yunho’s interruption was quiet but final, slicing through the air. “It’s about you . You want me to sign? Say it.”
Heat crept up Seonghwa’s neck. His lips parted, but his voice faltered. Yunho’s stare pinned him in place, steady and merciless, until the silence felt unbearable.
Yeosang smirked from his perch on the box, licking his lips of leftover sugar. “Might as well give him what he wants, kitten. He doesn’t blink.”
Seonghwa shot him a glare, but his chest was tight, pulse racing. He swallowed, forcing the words out, shaky and soft. “You…you want me.”
Yunho’s gaze sharpened. His mouth curved, deliberate and slow. “Louder, baby.”
The petname punched the air from Seonghwa’s lungs. His stomach twisted, his face hot -every instinct screamed at him to look away, to resist- but his body betrayed him with the tiniest flutter in his chest.
He tried again, firmer this time. “You want me.”
“And?”
“You can have me.”
Only then did Yunho’s expression ease into satisfaction. He picked up the pen and dragged his signature across the paper, bold and deliberate.
When he set the pen down, his eyes never left Seonghwa’s. His voice dipped low, heavy with promise.
“A deal’s a deal.”
Seonghwa’s heart stuttered hard, torn between indignation and the reluctant, dangerous pull that Yunho’s words left behind.
Yeosang stretched, brushing crumbs off his lap, and stood with leisurely grace. “Well, this was fun,” he drawled, adjusting his jacket. “But I have things to do. Try not to eat him alive, Yunho.”
Seonghwa blinked, startled, as Yeosang slipped out the back door without another word.
Silence settled, heavy and awkward. Yunho pushed his chair back, rising to his full height, his presence immediately filling the cramped staff room. Seonghwa scrambled to his feet too, hugging the contract to his chest like it might shield him.
“So…” he started, hesitant. “The buying of the street, threatening to take my store-was that all…to get me?”
Yunho adjusted his cufflinks, casual as if he were talking about the weather. “Yeah. Needed a foolproof way to make sure you never escape me.”
Seonghwa’s jaw dropped. “That’s not healthy.”
“I’m literally a mobster, baby,” Yunho said smoothly, his lips quirking. “There’s nothing about my life that’s healthy.”
“Maybe try therapy?” Seonghwa shot back before he could stop himself.
Yunho leveled him with an unimpressed stare.
“Oooor maybe not,” Seonghwa backpedaled, grimacing. “Okay, look, honestly- you really didn’t have to do all this to get my attention. I’m so touch-starved, all you would’ve had to do was come say hi.”
That actually made Yunho pause. His head tilted. “Really? Doesn’t matter that I’m a criminal?”
“I meaaannn…” Seonghwa shrugged. “It’s Greystone.”
That drew a rare smirk from Yunho. He reached out suddenly, ruffling Seonghwa’s hair like he’d done it a hundred times before. The casual intimacy sent Seonghwa’s heart lurching.
“It was good doing business with you, baby,” Yunho murmured, voice low. “I’ll be checking in. Daily.”
Seonghwa’s cheeks flushed hot. “Oh, uh…okay? And uh, do I pay you rent for the store?”
“Don’t worry about rent.”
“I don’t like that,” Seonghwa muttered.
“Just don’t try to escape, and you’re all good.”
“…Okay…”
“And don’t talk to Yeosang again.”
Seonghwa lifted a brow. “But what if I do?”
“I can’t stop you,” Yunho admitted. “If I try, he’ll retaliate. But I hope you don’t. I’m a jealous man.”
That made Seonghwa slowly grin despite himself. He had Yeosang’s number tucked safe in his phone.
Yunho caught the grin, sighed heavily. “Why do I feel like this is gonna go badly for me?”
Seonghwa widened his eyes in mock innocence. “Whatever do you mean?”
Yunho gave him a long, flat look. Then, straightening his jacket, he sighed. “I must take my leave now. Duty calls.”
Seonghwa feigned a pout. “Already? When I was just getting along with my new owner?”
Yunho rolled his eyes.
“I was having such a good time,” Seonghwa continued sweetly, “I was gonna ask you to bed so we could fornicate.”
Yunho inhaled sharply, nearly choking. His composure cracked for the first time that day, and Seonghwa bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.
It was the tiniest victory -but gods , it felt good.
The door clicked shut behind Yunho, leaving the bookstore bathed in soft afternoon light.
Seonghwa sagged into the worn reading chair by the shelves, the stack of books and the contract forgotten.
He pressed his fingers to his temples and let out a long, shaky exhale. His heart was still racing from the encounter, his chest still warm from the ruffling of his hair, the petname, the impossibly infuriating -but magnetic- smirk.
“What…is my life?” he whispered to himself.
He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling, letting the hum of the city outside drift in through the cracked window. A part of him wanted to laugh at how ridiculous today had been; another part of him wanted to curl up and hide forever from it.
The contract sat upon his lap, a small stack of rules and boundaries, but it felt like so much more than paper. It was the start of something he didn’t fully understand yet.
Seonghwa’s fingers traced the edge of the chair’s arm, restless. His mind raced with questions, doubts, and a spark of something he couldn’t quite name. One thing was certain; nothing in his life was ever going to be normal again.
And somehow, part of him -however stubborn, however wary- wasn’t entirely mad about it.