You stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped tightly around you, just as the flip-phone vibrated quietly on the counter. Condensation clung to every surface in the room; mirror, floor, your skin. Cracking the window open with one hand, you scanned over the text conversation with Namjoon as the heat and wet air dissipated slowly out of the room
Y/n: Going fine so far. Dad isn't here.
NJ: Good. We don't have eyes on him right now, so don't do any digging anywhere he could walk in. Lay low, Y/n.
Dragging yourself back into your bedroom, you sighed deeply. No searching today, then. It was just as well; although you hadn't missed this house, in all its imposing, lavish glory, you had missed the familiar comfort of your own bed.
You ran a hairdryer over your sopping head, keeping the hair clip sat on the dresser just in front of you. It began to vibrate slightly, moving with the motion of heavy footsteps ascending the staircase.
You shoved the phone into a drawer a split second before a knock resounded.
"Yes?" You said, fingers running through your now dry hair.
"Y/n?" Came your father's voice from the other side, painfully familiar and painfully worried. "Are you dressed?" Standing from the softness of the bed, you plastered on a brilliantly sad expression as you ran to the door, flinging it open.
"Dad!" Burying your head in his chest, your nose filled with the heady scent of expensive cologne and expensive cigars. His thick hands came around you, holding you tightly.
"I was so worried about you." To give the guy credit, he did sound genuinely sad. Then again, he was obviously well acquainted with lying straight through his teeth. "Oh, my baby girl," he said, hand stroking over your head gently. "Are you feeling okay?"
"Yeah, Dad," you said, voice quavering slightly. You were getting better and better at this every second. "I'm just so glad to be home." He nodded down, face pulled into a frown.
"Mom says the food is ready." His frown became deeper as you backed slightly away from him. Smiling sheepishly, you cocked a thumb over your shoulder.
"Okay," heading back to the dresser, you grabbed a hoodie and used the excuse to shove the phone deeper, under socks and t-shirts. Holding the black sweater up to show him, you swiped the hair clip off to top. "Just grabbing this."
His ebony eyes watched you from the doorway. You noticed for the first time how cold they were. It wasn't that he looked at you differently than he had all the other 19 years of your life. No, it was just that you had seen true warmth. What it looked like to look at someone you really loved. You had seen it every day at their house; in the way they joked with one another, passed each other the salt and pepper during mealtimes. You had seen it between them.
On the walk back down to the kitchen, you tried to soothe the tension from your collarbones. You managed to, sort of, but it only returned when your father lay a protective arm around your shoulder. Feeling the way you froze up slightly under his touch, his gaze shot to you once more.
"Y/n..." he said quietly.
Crap. Crap. Crap. He's going to realise I know what he's been doing. It's all over. And it's barely even started.
"..what happened to you?"
The sigh of relief escaped you before you could hold it back. Taking your silence as meaning that you didn't want to talk about it, your Father fell quiet once more, steering you gently into the kitchen.
Your Mom lay the noodle dish out in front of you, steam curling gently up from the plate.
"It looks delicious, Mom," you said, trying to muster a bit of normalcy. None of this would work if you had your parents watching you like hawks 24/7. "Thank you." Wolfing down the food, you slipped the hair clip sneakily back through your hair.
Or, maybe not as sneakily as you had thought.
Reaching out a hand toward the clip, your father spoke once again. "That's pretty, Y/n." Your mouth worked on overdrive as you scrambled to swallow the huge bite you had taken. "I haven't seen that before."
"You have, Dad," you said quickly, not missing how your mother's eyes landed on the clip as well. They both stared. "You have seen it. I've had it for years. Just haven't worn it, that's all." You looked to your mother, eyes expectant. "Right, mom?"
She seemed to think for a minute, lips pursed slightly. She shook her head as if clearing off an unwanted thought. You sent her a grin. "Did you forget too, mom?"
"Ah, I don't know honey. Must have slipped my mind." Her eyes lingered on it a moment longer before she swept another portion of food off the counter and laid it in front of your father. "I think I do recognise it, yes."
Thank you, God. You have answered my prayers.
The rest of the dinner passed in amicable silence, followed by a movie in the home theatre. Furtive glances at your parents told you that you were the only one feeling anxious. If nothing else, the light weight of the hair clip alleviated some of the worry you were feeling. You hoped someone was there, on the other end. Listening. Watching out for you.
———————
The ceiling was pitch black as you stared up at it. Huffing, you rolled over to glance at the clock. 2:46am.
Ah, the irony.
The house was silent around you once more, but you didn't even entertain the idea of escaping out to the log tonight. Even if the men-in-black weren't patrolling the grounds of your house like trigger-happy shadows, the log held no sentimental significance for you anymore. And so here you lay, staring up aimlessly above you. It was boring.
Then, like a beacon in the darkness, like a light switching on, a thought crossed your mind.
No, no.
Don't be silly.
Namjoon said not to do anything today.
But even as you tried to convince yourself otherwise, your body thrummed with nervous energy. You needed to do something. You were laying here like a sitting duck, doing nothing of use. Fingers falling around the hair clip on the bedside, you brought it to your mouth.
"I'm going to go to his office," you whispered. "They're asleep. It's a perfect opportunity."
The phone vibrated gently from beneath the pillow under your bed.
SJ: Are you sure?
Tapping out a swift reply, you tried not to linger too much on the thought that Jin was awake, at 3am, listening in for any action on your end.
"Yes," you breathed, voice almost loud in the eerie quiet. "I'll be quick."
And with that, you were off.
Feet padding down the hall, you took a curse inwardly at the fact that your Dad's office lay in the same part of the house as his bedroom. Directly across the hall, in fact.
But as you got closer, the extra worry dissipated. His snore was so loud that it shook the door slightly. The door to his office was unlocked, the handle one of those old-fashioned ones that you had to grip and turn like an tennis ball.
The metal bit weakly into your fingers. But there was no unearthly screech, no gentle whine as the door swung open on silent hinges.
This was one of the rooms you frequented the least, and one your father frequented the most. When he was home, that was.
It reminded you slightly of the library at the guys' house, but lacked the warmth that lay throughout each room there. No, this office was cold. Impersonal. The dark wood was almost black in the moonlight.
You kept your grip tight on the handle as you slid the door back into place, holding it so it wouldn't click. And then, you went straight for the desk.
A few plain sheets of paper, some pens and a laptop lay on the top.
The edge was lined with three thick, brass-handled drawers. You went for those first.
The first was filled with stationary; hole-punches and staplers and the like.
The second; more stacks of printer-paper. You flicked gently through them, but none had any writing on them. Nothing at all.
The rattle that the third let out as you tugged gently on the handle made you cringe inwardly, teeth grinding together.
Locked.
Moonlight caressed the curve of your hand where it rested on the handle. The stars outside twinkled, flitting in and out. The house remained silent.
You took a breath. You calmed your racing heartbeat. And then you flipped open the laptop screen.
It was unlocked. Unlocked, and on. As soon as you slid the lid open, you squeezed your eyes closed at the bright blue light that shone from the screen. A gentle buzz came from the pocket of your hoodie.
SJ: Everything okay? I can't hear anything.
Not wanting to risk whispering a response back into the hair clip, you let your fingers land deftly on the plastic buttons.
Y/n: All okay. There's a computer. Going to check it out and then leave.
Slipping the phone back into your pocket, you refocused on the other, larger screen.
The Home Screen was littered with folders titled vaguely. 'Engineering consult SKY', 'Consult list 2020', 'Accountancy'. Blowing a breath out between your lips, you admired your Dad's commitment to sticking with the plan. Opening the folder titled 'Accountancy', your stomach sank at the excel document that showed up. It was, literally, just accounts. And none of it was labelled, either, so any money your father was spending or earning could have been coming from anywhere.
Although you were willing to bed that his main sources of income were piles of cocaine and heroine, there was no way to prove it.
A soft click resounded as you pulled up the browser, an email webpage coming into view. The most recent ones were unopened, a couple of outreach emails from websites boasting about '10% OFF DEALS' and 'BUY ONE GET ONE FREE' offers.
The email below, however, piqued your interest.
The subject line was empty. It didn't mention engineering projects like the other opened emails that followed. It mentioned only one word.
Your name.
You didn't think you'd clicked on anything that fast before.
Eyes scanning furiously over the document, you grabbed the pen beside you, scribbling down the email the message was sent from on your palm. The text of the email was only two lines long, and ambiguous.
She's back.
Everything will go ahead as planned.
It was vague, and irritating, and perhaps completely useless. But you didn't have time to let your anger fire up, to stew at the email's futility.
Because your father's snoring had stopped.
And that was the soft purr of the carpet as the door across the hall slid open.
He was in the room so fast, bare feet heavy against the wooden floor, that you'd barely had time to close the browser and shut the computer before sliding under the desk. Yes, it was a crappy hiding place, but there was no time. You had had no time. No time to help them, no time to help yourself. And if your father walked around the desk to find you crouched beneath it, hand slapped over your mouth to soften the sound of your breathing, everything was about to come crashing down right in front of you.
It was like something out of a horror movie. You could only hear him moving around the room, and although you were grateful that the desk was made of thick wood that touched the floor all around you, it didn't help you figure out how close he was getting.
His breathing was heavy, and slow with sleep. Time seemed to move in slow motion.
From the corner of your eyes, you watched as his feet came into view, and got ready for everything to fall apart.
——————-