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Free

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Inbox: 1:02 AM
From: parkshwa94@tmail.net
To: hjoongwrites@protonmail.com
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: (no subject)

I don't deserve you, Joongie... but... I'll hold on. For you.

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Inbox: 1:05 AM
From: hjoongwrites@protonmail.com
To: parkshwa94@tmail.net
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: (no subject)

You deserve everything, Hwa. And I'll make sure you get it. I promise.

Just hang in there. For me. For you. We'll figure this out together. Hold on just for a moment.

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The words feel like a heavy weight lifting off his chest. Seonghwa sighs softly, his fingers lingering over the keyboard before he shuts his laptop off.

He's not sure how he's going to survive tomorrow, or the day after, but in this moment, he knows that somehow, he's not alone.

When next morning comes the air in Seonghwa's house feels suffocating, thicker than usual, as if the walls are closing in on him. His parents' cold expectations weigh heavily on his shoulders, their harsh words echoing in his mind. Every step he takes is measured, every breath is calculated, each movement carefully avoiding their piercing stares. He knows the routine all too well—be the perfect son, the perfect student, the perfect picture of compliance.

But today, something is different.

And just as that feeling passed through him, an email popped on his laptop's screen. The sender had his heart stopping, quickly turning his head left and right to make sure no one was lurking nearby.

Opening the mail his breath hitched. It was just three words, barely a sentence, but the meaning behind it was huge.

'pack your stuff'

His heart beat quickened, but he obeyed. He pulled one of the duffel bags he used when he was staying in campus.

Every loud step had him paranoid, fearing that his parents would come in any time and catch him on the act. But they had forced him to take an exam they prepared and he still had 45 minutes until they'd come to collect the papers.

A few hours later, Hongjoong stands at the door of Seonghwa's house, his figure steady, unwavering. His jaw clenched, his hands at his sides, and a fire in his eyes that speaks of the depths he's willing to go to for the person he cares about.

Seonghwa is already trembling by the time he opens the door, the sound of heavy footsteps behind him alerting him to his parents' presence.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Seonghwa's father growls, his eyes narrowing. "What's this all about?"

Hongjoong stands tall, meeting the older man's gaze without flinching. "I'm here to take Seonghwa with me," he says, his voice calm but sharp. There's no question in his tone, no negotiation. His words hang in the air like an unshakable truth.

"Absolutely not," Seonghwa's mother snaps, her arms folding over her chest as she takes a step forward. "He's our son. He stays here. You don't get to make decisions for him."

"I don't need permission to protect him," Hongjoong responds, his tone growing darker. His gaze flicks over to Seonghwa's father. "And you don't get to control him anymore."

Seonghwa's mother scoffs, clearly trying to regain control of the situation. "You think you can just waltz in here and take him away? You have no right—"

"I do have a right," Hongjoong interrupts, stepping forward, his voice low and dangerous. "The right to expose you for who you really are. You've been mentally abusing your son, manipulating him, treating him like a project instead of a person. And I have the evidence to prove it."