''~°.HIDE AND SEEK.°~'' | YEONGYU

THE NOTE

The door shut behind them with a dull thud, muting the sound of rain but not the unease that came with it.

Yeonjun tossed his jacket onto the couch, the napkin still burning in his pocket like a live wire. The room felt too quiet. The ticking of the clock on the wall sounded almost accusatory.

Beomgyu lingered near the doorway, dripping water onto the floor. His eyes hadn't left Yeonjun since they stepped inside.

"Jun..." he started carefully. "That note—"

Yeonjun didn't look up. "Forget it..."

"I can't." Beomgyu's voice was soft, careful enough to stop Yeonjun mid-step. "You knew that handwriting. You froze. It wasn't just anyone, was it?"

Yeonjun's hand twitched. For a second, he thought about lying...saying it was nothing, saying he was mistaken. But Beomgyu's gaze was too steady, too knowing in its own timid way.

He sighed and ran a hand through his wet hair. "It was from my family."

Beomgyu blinked, unsure. "Your family? But...your mom's—"

"Dead." Yeonjun's tone was flat, final. "She's been gone for years, Gyu. I meant my Father."

Well, in Beomgyu's defence, Yeonjun never exactly called his father 'family', though he never knew why.

Beomgyu hesitated, the air between them thickening. "I didn't mean—"

"I know..i know you didn't." Yeonjun's jaw flexed. He finally met Beomgyu's eyes, and there was something sharp in his...anger, but not at him.

At something deeper. "He's not the kind of man who should be anywhere near me. Or anyone."

Beomgyu's brows knit. "Did he...do something?"

Yeonjun gave a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "He always did something. That was his talent."He turned away, pacing once toward the window. "He likes control. Likes watching people fold under it. I stopped letting him control me, and that didn't sit well."

He went silent after that, staring out at the rain that streaked down the glass.

Beomgyu took a slow step closer. "So...if that note really was from him—"

"Then we're being watched." Yeonjun's voice dropped, tight with something between fury and disbelief. "Or someone's pretending to be him. Either way, it's not good."

Beomgyu's eyes flicked toward the window, unease crawling back. "You think it's connected to the murder?"

Yeonjun didn't answer immediately. His reflection in the glass looked back at him...haunted, uncertain.

"I don't know," he said finally. "But if it is...then we're in deeper than I initially thought."

Silence hung between them. Only the rain filled it.

Then, almost under his breath, Beomgyu said, "You really hate him, don't you?"

Yeonjun's shoulders stiffened. "You don't get it, Beomgyu. Hate isn't even the right word."

He continued, "It's more like...I spent years wishing he'd just leave me alone. And somehow, he still manages to ruin things even when he's not around."

The confession lingered there, raw and heavy.

Beomgyu didn't speak again. He just nodded faintly, eyes soft but full of questions he didn't dare ask.

And Yeonjun, still staring out into the rain, felt the sharp sting of doubt...about his father, about the note, about what was truly waiting for them outside those walls. He hated that feeling.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The sound of rain blurred against the windows, the ticking clock marking seconds that felt stretched too thin.

Yeonjun still stood by the window, shoulders rigid. His reflection looked fractured in the glass.

Behind him, Beomgyu shifted. "Control..." he murmured, almost to himself.

Yeonjun glanced back. "What?"

Beomgyu hesitated. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve, twisting it tighter and tighter. "You said he liked control."

Yeonjun nodded warily. "Yeah."

Beomgyu's eyes unfocused, gaze distant. "Mine did too."

Yeonjun's chest tightened. "Your parents?"

A dry laugh escaped Beomgyu, brittle and humorless. "Yeah. The perfect couple, right? Everyone loved them. Kind, polite, charitable. People used to say they were the heart of the neighborhood."

He paused, his expression hollowing. "They made sure everyone thought that."

Yeonjun stayed silent. Beomgyu kept talking, voice low, like the words had been waiting too long to come out.

"They always wanted a daughter. A perfect little girl they could dress up and show off. Then I happened instead." He smiled, but it was the kind that hurt to look at. "Guess I was a big disappointment."

The words cracked softly at the edges.

"They'd smile when people visited. Hug me, call me 'sweet boy.' Then when the door shut..." His hands clenched.

"It was like someone flipped a switch. Suddenly everything I did was wrong. Too loud, too quiet, too slow, too much."

Beomgyu's voice grew smaller. "If I forgot to say goodnight, I'd go to bed hungry. If I spilled something, I'd...pay for it. Sometimes they wouldn't even need a reason. They just needed to make sure I remembered who was incharge."

Yeonjun's jaw locked. He wanted to reach out, to stop him from going further...but something in Beomgyu's tone said he needed to say it.

"I used to count the bruises. Like a game. If I could make it a number, it wouldn't feel as bad." His voice trembled.

"Sometimes I thought maybe if I was quieter, smaller, better...they'd finally look at me like they used to look at their friends' daughters."

The silence after that was suffocating.

Yeonjun finally stepped closer, his voice low but steady. "Beomgyu..."

But Beomgyu just shook his head, eyes glassy. "That's why when people say they were perfect, I don't even try to argue. No one would believe me anyway."

Yeonjun's hands curled into fists at his sides. He could feel the pulse in his throat, loud and angry.

"You didn't deserve that," he said quietly. "None of it."

Beomgyu gave a small, bitter smile. "Guess it's not about what we deserve, is it?"

For a long moment, neither of them moved.