𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄

Bliss. Utter bliss.

Seungmin has nowhere to go, no friends to visit, no home to go to. All of his contacts were cut off the moment he graduated from college, and the moment he agreed to move in with Yonsu. But Seungmin would rather be homeless then go back to Yonsu's apartment.

That being said, Minho takes him in.Most people who are abused would never even consider moving in with another male alpha after the horrible experience they had with an abuser.

But Seungmin, once again, had always had a strong mental. And has always been very self aware. He's all too educated on the fact that the best way to believe there's good in the world is to be the good in the world, and that not every person is the same.

With that, he also knows that not every man is like Yonsu. Not every alpha, not every person. And Minho is one of the greatest examples. His apartment, unlike Yonsu's, is a safe space. It's a getaway. It's bliss.

Seungmin's omega was everything that is dead and lifeless within Yonsu's apartment, the four walls of the penthouse loft being nothing short of a prison instead of a home.But Minho's wasn't like that.

When Seungmin was with Minho, his hands didn't tremble, his voice didn't break, his skin didn't bruise. He was cherished and taken care of, held softly with a considerate hands and vengeless reach.

Seungmin knows from months of becoming familiar that Minho isn't a clingy or affectionate person by nature, physically at least. Minho's affection, the way it's shown, is based completely on the other person, and what they need.

He likes to tease, to mess with you as a love language, but his overall expression is based on mutual interest and chemistry. He adjusts, he supplies what you seek out, and what you respond best to.

With Seungmin, some days, he flinches at every movement in his vicinity, crying in the makeshift nest he's began to form in the living room of Minho's loft. The result of so many years of being mistreated; so Minho will move slowly and hold him like he's important.

Other days he feels bratty, a deep itch within himself that can only be described as the need to ragebait the older man, and in turn get body slammed onto the couch or threatened with sharp objects.

Either way, left, right, up, down. It doesn't matter. Minho takes care of him. So in turn, he does what he knows how to do, he takes care of Minho. He falls into a habitual cycle of welcoming Minho home, feeding and brushing the cats, cleaning their paws and bathing them.

He runs Minho baths, then lets it get cold to tease, only to have it reheated before the alpha can get naked and pout at the disintegrated bubbles in the tub. He cooks Minho meals, he washes clothes, he cleans the apartment.

When Minho notices the habits coming back into play, he assures Seungmin that he doesn't have to force himself into the house husband role, that it's not his life or his responsibility to take care of an insecure alpha, that it never was.

But Seungmin assures him that it isn't a trauma response or a form of ptsd that's overtaking him, there's power in the way he takes care of Minho and his home, because its his choice. The definition, the difference, is in his decision to be someone Minho can rely on and allow himself to be taken care of.

Because despite the years of being stuck in the role forcibly, there's a reason Yonsu had decided Seungmin was a good victim upon meeting him.

He leaves this part out when he assures Minho he doesn't feel forced into taking care of him, but after college and even after his bad experiences, he wants to be an eomma. He wants to have pups, have a home he built, make a home he and his family can feel comfortable with.

With Yonsu, his role as a houseboyfriend was a state of imprisonment. It was a bad spotlight, submissive because Seungmin wasn't seen as anything more than a silent punching bag and a warm hole to end the alphas night, to make him feel better.

Yonsu was a guard in a maximum security prison, keeping Seungmin caged cause he was so afraid the only thing keeping his ego and power afloat was the fact that his home was kept by someone who respected him.

But it wasn't respect, it was fear. It was a lack of power, which Yonsu fed off of because they looked alike. Because it was all associated with one another, fitting together like puzzle pieces.

Though he would only admit it out loud on a rare occasion, Seungmin respected Minho. Seungmin had a respect for Minho that Yonsu could only dream of being on the receiving end of. Because what Seungmin had with Minho was built, earned, not forced.

So no, Seungmin didn't feel the need to feed Minho's cats and take care of them because he was scared not to, he did it because he wanted to. Because he was given that option.

Because he was forwarded the security and comfort he needed from a good, considerate alpha, and made happy enough to want to fall naturally into that role.

Minho takes care of Seungmin, buys him new clothes so he doesn't have to wear Yonsu's shame, holds him while he trembles in his sleep, and never initiates first for the sake of his comfort. Seungmin takes care of Minho, makes his home, makes his days at his loft easier.

He doesn't hit Seungmin, lets him go non verbal when he wants to, let's him cook what meals he actually likes to eat, let's him write to his hearts content and take the steps to becoming a professional author.

He doesn't touch Seungmin in a way that screams horrifying variations of the words 'I own you.' Nor does he touch him like he's something less than a human being with a bad experience.

Instead, he touches his face like it was something precious—not broken.

With the influence of a caring, careful, mindful alpha conditioning Seungmin and healing him through simple gestures and considerate actions—his abuser somewhere walking because of his trusty connections in the system—Seungmin's pheromones begin to even out over time, healing.

But it's not enough, it doesn't work fast enough, not after 2 years of suppression, because peace had never sat right in Seungmin's bones. Even now, with Minho up the stairs, a room away, Seungmin couldn't ignore the hollow ache burrowing deeper in his gut, a sleeping Dori stirring in his lap above where he's rereading a romance novel.

It wasn't fear. Not this time. It was something else. Something darker. More physical. A pull under his skin, too hot and too sharp to ignore.

His breathing stuttered.His hands were clammy.His scent—wrong. Too strong. Too sour. It was bleeding out of him.

He sat up slowly, pressing a hand to his forehead. He could feel it happening again—his body losing control. It wasn't a heat, not a real one, but it was close. The way his pheromones spun out in erratic waves, muddled and intense. He could barely think through the haze. His pulse jumped.

The regulator.Shit.He didn't have it.

It was still at the apartment. Yonsu's apartment.

The apartment where he'd nearly died.

Panic twisted its claws into his chest.

Without the regulator, his pheromone levels would spiral. He knew what came next—emotional instability, sensory flooding, migraines, nausea, eventually collapse, and seizing. Heats are a part of an omegas biology, without them, omegas are completely unregulated and unstable.

He'd only just found this sliver of peace.

And now it was already slipping from between his fingers. Here he is, near a seizing state because he's less than omega, because his stupid fucking ex had to fuck him over so badly that he shattered Seungmin's sub gender into a million pieces, making his life harder, even after he's been out of it for whats nearly 2 months.

Now, in his moments of vulnerability, a bastard voice rings in his head again, not the first time, not the last, but always the same amount of painful, and bothersome.

"YOU, YOU AIN'T WORTH NOBODY'S TIME, MIN. YOUR ALWAYS GOING TO BE A USELESS, DEFENSELESS OMEGAN BITCH.

Seungmin whimpers, he can hear Dori meowing somewhere in the background, but it's not like it can do much for him. Not when his hormones are out of wack, and he can't fucking breath. The room spasms around him, he doesn't hear Minho drop his glass in the kitchen, or account for his footsteps as he darts across the space to Seungmin's side.

"Seungminnie?!"

Minho's voice cuts sharp through the static, a crash echoing in its wake as he practically vaults over the coffee table. Dori bolts under the couch, yowling.

By the time Minho drops to his knees at the edge of the nest, Seungmin's gone stiff. His back's arched, fingers curled at unnatural angles, eyes wide but unseeing—glass marbles reflecting nothing but pain. The tremors start in his shoulders, violent, jarring.

"Come on, baby. Work with me, breath." Minho holds his breath as Seungmin seizes violently in his hold. "No, no, no—" Minho mutters, heart dropping like a stone in his chest. He moves in carefully, trying not to jostle him too much, cupping the back of Seungmin's head and easing him down more into the pile of blankets. He's seizing hard now, body jerking in sharp waves.

Minho swears under his breath, forcing himself to stay calm even as panic claws at the back of his throat. He knows this. He's seen it before. Not just in police work—but in omegas who've gone too long without regulation, without real care. His hand hovers, then steadies at Seungmin's chest, not pressing down—just there, solid, grounding.

"Seungmo, baby, come on. It's me. You're safe. You're safe," he says in a soft, even tone, again and again, trying to reach whatever part of Seungmin might still be listening. He adjusts the nest around him, shielding the worst of the light, dimming the room with a click to the remote in the nest. He opens a vent nearby to clear the pheromone-heavy air, but it's already so thick it coats his tongue like syrup.

Seungmin convulses again. A gasp rips out of him, and then—finally—a ragged inhale.

"Good boy," Minho whispers, brushing damp hair back from his forehead, fingers trembling as they pass over burning skin. "Come on back. Just breathe. You're doing so good."

A few more minutes pass before the spasms begin to ebb, leaving Seungmin boneless, panting, soaked in cold sweat. His fingers twitch where they rest at his sides, and Minho doesn't hesitate to wrap them up in his own.

"Don't talk yet," Minho says, his voice quieter now, eyes scanning every inch of him. "Just breathe, okay? You scared the shit out of me."

He doesn't say it, but the truth burns behind his teeth—if he'd been just a minute later, if Seungmin had been alone, if they hadn't made the nest in the living room where Minho could see him from the kitchen—

He doesn't finish the thought.

Instead, he gathers Seungmin gently into his arms, holding him close, tighter than before.

And this time, when Seungmin shakes, Minho is right there to anchor him through it."Alright baby, I have to make a call, just hang in there." Minho strokes a hand over Seungmin's sweaty forehead while he fishes his phone out of his pocket, Seungmin watches him, sweat soaked, flat in his nest like a sad piece of paper.

In just a few short minutes, there's a knock at the door, quick and deliberate—no hesitation. Minho doesn't even check the peephole. He knows that knock.

Chan barrels in the second it opens, dressed in joggers and a hoodie, hair still damp from the shower, med duffel slung over his shoulder. He takes one look at Minho's face and doesn't bother with greetings.

"Where is he?"

Minho gestures toward the living room. Chan's already moving, dropping to his knees beside the nest with a soft expression that contrasts his swift, military movements. Seungmin blinks up at him, pale and disoriented, pupils still blown wide from the seizure.

"Hey, sweetheart," Chan murmurs gently, kneeling low so he's not looming. "I'm Chan, a friend of Minho's. You gave us a scare."

Seungmin swallows hard, nodding as much as he can manage without a headache knocking on his skull like a bongo drum. He can't find the words yet, but he doesn't pull away when Chan checks his pulse, his temperature, and lightly brushes trembling fingers across his wrist.

"His system's still in shock," Chan mutters to Minho under his breath, then looks back to Seungmin, voice warm but direct. "What happened wasn't your fault. Your body's doing what it has to do to stay alive—but it's struggling."

Seungmin's brows twitch. His lips part like he wants to speak, but they barely move.

"It's your regulation, love," Chan explains, taking a seat beside the nest with a careful exhale. "Your body's trying to adjust to being without balance after being suppressed too long. Do you have some type of medicine or device or anything that helps you with—"

"My regulator." Seungmin's provides, cause he already knows where this is going. Chan lights up with recognition.

"Yes, good, such a good job love. A regulator, I've heard of them but heatless omegas are rare so I've only ever met a couple people who actually use one. But I do know that they're crucial for people who need them to function. Without one—and without a proper heat cycle—your hormones have nowhere to go but into chaos. And it's more or less blowing you up from the inside. Where's yours, sweetheart?" The alpha asks while checking the balance of his pulse again, it's slowed down, good.

The man would hate to use such fatal semantics, but this is a serious situation, a delicate one too. It's important they all know how grave every second and every symptom is.

Seungmin looks away, shame curling deep behind his eyes. Minho is already close again, brushing his knuckles down Seungmin's arm, a subtle tether to keep him grounded. His own dark chocolate and Chan's coffee fill the loft, reflexively as a response to an omega in distress. It makes Seungmin dizzy, in a good way. With his pheromones out of wack—spitting out of him like an empty soda machine after the reason for his suppression has faded into memory— his own scent —as well as the detection of the ones around him— is stronger than usual.

"I don't have one," Seungmin says, his voice hoarse and broken at the edges. "Not anymore."

Chan frowns. "Okay, that's alright. We'll get you one, alright? No big—"

"I can't," Seungmin interrupts, more forcefully this time. "It's... at Yonsu's apartment. He paid for it, and had it made. He knows I need it."Minho stiffens beside him. Chan's expression darkens.

"It's still under his name," Seungmin continues bitterly. "Another reason I never left.. because I couldn't. That regulator isn't just a help—it's my fucking lifeline. And he knows it. He's always known it." Silence falls, sharp and furious.

Chan exhales slowly, pulling a hand over his jaw. "That son of a bitch—" Minho cuts in, teeth grit. Chan shakes his head, disbelieving. "He's using it as leverage. He knew exactly what he was doing."

"Let me knock the bastards teeth in then. He can't stop me from getting to the regulator if it's needed to save someone's life. That's murder.""Maybe not, but no law requires him to tell you where it is, Min. You have to think about this. 2 years he's kept Seungmin locked in that apartment, no collar, no security measures. He knows what he's doing. He knows how to get around the law, he's a lawyer for crying out loud."

Seungmin gives a small, bitter laugh. "It was the only thing he ever locked up. He had to. I was too scared to leave without it." Chan and Minho share a look, Minho can already tell what he's thinking by his expression.

"We're not asking him for shit," Minho snaps. "We'll buy it. I don't care what it costs." Chan nods, eyes hard. "I'll pull strings. I've got contacts in med tech—off-grid options too. Might not be pretty, but we'll find something to stabilize him. You'll have it by the end of the week."

Except, they might not have till the end of the week, Seungmin thinks. Hormones are dangerous. Being without a heat every couple months is too.

Chan stands abruptly, pacing now. "A top-grade hormonal regulator like that? It's got to be registered. Serial tracked. I can find the manufacturer, but it's going to be a bitch getting another one without insurance—or going through his approval again."

Minho presses his forehead to Seungmin's temple for a heartbeat, his voice low and firm. "You're not dying for that asshole's power trip. Not when you've already survived him."

Chan nods fiercely, already pulling out his phone. "You're one of us now, Seungmin. And no one touches what's ours."

Seungmin's hand tightens around the blanket. His breathing is shaky, but something flickers in his expression for the first time in hours as tears roll out of his eyes—hope. Small, bruised, but real.

It's bliss, it's the care he's been denied for the past near 3 years, it's another reason to keep fighting. It's a positive thing in such a dark time.

But it doesn't last long, Seungmin begins seizing regularly so much to the point Minho begins staying home to take care of him. It's not only seizures either, it's hormones, out of control scent, unconsciousness, fever, near strokes, fatigue. And it only grows worse by the day.

To make it all worse? Yonsu had been allowed to walk.

All because Chan refused to remove Minho from active duty that week they had Yonsu in custody. The warning had come fast, loud, and from high up—some faceless, overreaching hand in the government, cloaked by connections and corruption, threatening to sue the entire precinct for what they labeled misconduct in investigation and negligent supervision.

On what grounds?

That Minho, an alpha involved with the victim, had continued participating in the questioning and investigative efforts surrounding Yonsu's abuse case. They cited conflict of interest, like it was some kind of smoking gun.

As if Minho had rigged the system in Seungmin's favor. As if his proximity to the case invalidated the bruises, the trauma, the suffering. As if the victim being loved now somehow meant the abuser was innocent.

It was total bullshit. But in the end, Yonsu walked.

No arrest. No consequences. No ankle monitor. Just, gone.

He hadn't shown up since. Not once. Not at the loft, not in the street, not even to stir up some pity in court. Seungmin hadn't heard a whisper of him in over two weeks.

And he knew exactly what that meant.

Yonsu was baiting him.

The silence wasn't mercy, or caution. It was a strategy. Yonsu was waiting for Seungmin to get comfortable—waiting for him to let his guard down. Waiting to prove his favorite theory right: that Seungmin was some useless, desperate omega who would always need him.

But this wasn't about Yonsu.

Not anymore.

Not after Seungmin had barely survived another seizure, alone in Minho's living room in his nest. Curled up in a blanket soaked with sweat and shame, his limbs twitching, vision blurring, the scent of his own pheromones sharp like acid.

He'd nearly bit his own tongue in half this time. It had taken an hour just to sit upright again. And Minho hadn't even gone for long, he'd just gone to meet with Chan, chasing down any possible lead for a new regulator despite his deep reluctance to leave Seungmin alone even for a second. There was no time to hire a caretaker, no hospital they could trust.

But it didn't matter. Because every second without regulation was a second closer to collapse.

And something inside Seungmin—maybe the most stubborn, defiant part of him that still wanted to live—had snapped.

He needed his regulator.

Now.

Maybe it was brain fog from the seizure. Maybe it was the chronic state of panic and overstimulation, the layers of pheromone imbalance and suppressed heats messing with his judgment. Maybe it was just hope— that Yonsu really was at work, like the calendar on the fridge had always promised.

Whatever it was, Seungmin found himself outside Yonsu's apartment door. The place where he almost died.The place that never felt like home, now reeking of past violence even from the outside.

His fingers trembled as he punched in the door code. Muscle memory. A remnant of who he used to be. The beep was too loud, the lock too slow. His omega was screaming at him—panicking in his chest, running in frantic circles. This was a mistake. This was too soon.

But Seungmin was already inside.

The apartment smelled like disturbed chai tea and expensive cologne. Messy, without an omega here to clean it up. Seungmin's heart thudded in his ears as he tiptoed through the open space, careful not to disturb the silence. The absence of three sassy felines pressed down on him like a weight. There was no warmth here. Seungmin hates this place.

But even then, he knew exactly where to go.

Up the stairs. Past the wine rack. Around the island. Third drawer next to the fridge.

That's where it had been last time. That's where he'd seen Yonsu slip it in, like it was nothing. A high-end, red-stitched regulator, even though Seungmin liked purple—custom-built, laced with suppressant compatibility, the kind of thing only alphas with money and cruelty could afford to lock behind glass.

But the drawer was empty.

Of course it was.

Seungmin stared at the space for too long, his fingers curling around the handle like they could pull out a different answer. It wasn't there. The regulator wasn't there.

He swallowed thickly.

He had two options. Creep around and tear the place apart trying to find his lifeline—his freedom—or go back to Minho's place and risk another day of seizures, of blackouts, of his body betraying him piece by piece, day by day, losing his mind while intact with a brain and body that worked against him.

Seungmin turned around, and a flash of red, a rush of air. The sickening crack of glass colliding with flesh.

An expensive wine glass slammed right into the center of his face, exploding against his nose, shattering over his skin. The force of it knocked him out without a moment to even scream, everything going black in a seconds notice.

The world spins uncontrollably when Seungmin finds some sense of identity, taking multiple minutes to fully come back into consciousness.

"Hey, Min." hears a familiar, horrifying voice call in front of him.When Seungmin's view comes into focus, he makes out Yonsu sitting on the coffee table in front of him, forward leaning with a handgun in his grip, safety on.

"I knew you'd come back baby, it was only a matter of time." Yonsu chuckles, Seungmin is not amused. He snarls, gaze venomous, because he's done playing games with Yonsu,

trying to fit into this small, weak role the man has forced him into playing for 3 years.

"Aw, come on Min. You're so pretty usually, you're definitely not when you're making such an unappealing face, such a defying attitude like that."

"Yeah, maybe my attitude is the problem. What's your excuse?"

Yonsu's gaze narrows, and his hand twitches for a moment, Seungmin knows it's because he wants to hit him, but he doesn't. Geez, had Seungmin surprised him so much in their little tussle that he wouldn't even reach for him while he was conscious?

"Pussy." the omega accidentally says out loud, but he doesn't take it back."Says the fucking bitch who went crying to the first man who would listen, whore.""Unlike you, son of a bitch, I'm not a two timer at heart. Minho was just in the right place at the right time."

This is near the type of fake banter he fed Seungmin when they had first met, hiding his tender ego away from the omega so he didn't flee from him at the first sign of a red flag.

Yonsu scoffs, he clearly is conflicted, not hitting Seungmin though he so obviously wants to. How peculiar. The man chuckles darkly, hysterical, irritated.

"Listen, Min, we don't have to keep doing this shit. You've got your petty little revenge, it's about time you give this shit up, don't you think? We've played these games before. You call the police, I come home, we argue–""You mean, you beat me and throw me around till I'm black and blue, ass wipe." Seungmin corrects.

"Tch," the alpha huffs. "Minor inconvenience, minor issues. All couples have got em, and you sent me to jail, tested my patience, I was in a cell while you slept on a soft bed, at peace while detectives are in my face. I had to call my fucking father to get me out."

It's Seungmin's turn to scoff.

"Your really fucking insane. You spoiled, idiotic, predatorial dickwad! Your so fucking pitiful and incorrect the world won't miss you when somebody finally pops a cap in your ass!" Seungmin is enraged, horribly enraged. Yonsu only scoffs again, irritated like he's the one tied up, being lied to. Playing dumb even when they both know where the blame lies.

His chest is heaving. Rage rolls off him in waves, white-hot and violent. He's trembling, but it's not from fear—it's exhaustion, sickness, withdrawal, grief. And Yonsu, of course, has the audacity to scoff. Like he's the one tied up. Like he's the one being hunted in his own skin.

Like he doesn't already know the truth.

They both know where the blame lies—but Yonsu keeps pretending. Keeps playing dumb. Keeps acting like he still has control.

"We don't have to keep doing this, Min," the alpha mutters, exasperated, like he's discussing traffic or weather and not the aftermath of years of torment. "Like I said before, this is all bullshit. A real inconvenience, honestly. You're being reckless with your words, clearly unaware of who's actually in charge here."

"The only one unaware is you," Seungmin snarls. "I'm not feeding your ego anymore. I've done enough of that. Too much. I'm done pretending you're anything but a monster."

Something breaks.

Yonsu lunges. Swift, silent, brutal. Seungmin barely has time to flinch before the cold steel of a handgun is jammed between his lips, bruising the soft flesh of his throat, choking off breath and voice in one vicious motion. The alpha's hand is shaking—just barely—but it's enough to make the barrel twitch.

Enough to remind Seungmin how close death is now.

"You sure about that, darling?" Yonsu hisses, pressing closer, his breath foul against Seungmin's skin. "Because I'm only giving you two options."

He retracts the weapon slowly, dragging the muzzle across Seungmin's cheek, then trailing it down the delicate slope of his neck like it's a lover's hand, not a murder weapon. Then he sits back on the coffee table, calm again, collected, like violence never happened. Like he's in control.

Option A.

"You go to your little detective boy toy and tell him the investigation's off. Tell him the court dates are canceled. Tell him you changed your mind. It's not like all of this bullshit is going to amount to anything anyways, kind of like you." His voice is sugar and poison. "And tell him you're coming home."

From the drawer beneath him, he retrieves something gleaming and familiar—Seungmin's regulator. Sleek, custom-built, his only means of stabilizing. His lifeline. Yonsu holds it between his fingers like a prize.

"I'll even give you a dose," he says. "Your hands are shaking. I know the symptoms, Min. You're falling apart. But we can fix this. We can forget all of this ever happened. It was never supposed to be this way."

His smile is gentle. Fake. Seungmin has seen that smile in nightmares. He knows better now. It's a trap. A lie. A noose made of kindness.

He would rather die than take another step back into that cage. Yonsu watches him, eyes narrowing when Seungmin doesn't move, doesn't crumble. Resistance. Still standing. Still fighting. So he gives him Option B.

"Or..." The word drips from his lips like oil. "I can put a bullet through your skull right here and now. Say it was self-defense. You're in my apartment, after all. Weeks after we broke up. An omega, with nowhere to go, no money, no stability, sneaking back into the home of the alpha who tried to love him. Who gave him everything. And what did he do?"

Yonsu tilts his head mockingly. "He cheated. On his providing alpha. Broke in. Got violent. Unstable. And when they do a kit on your corpse, I'm sure they'll find your little detective's DNA all over you." Seungmin's jaw clenches.

Yonsu leans forward, voice dropping to a whisper now. It's intimate. Vile. "And after that, I'll go pay your man a visit. Let him know you're waiting for him in hell. Because there's only one way you're leaving me, Min. And it's not the way you're hoping."

A pause.

"God knows—baby. I always get what I want."

There it is. The threat, unveiled. Dressed in the same greasy charm that used to say I love you. The same voice that used to whisper forever. But now, all Seungmin hears is desperation. Not control. Not power. Not love.

Just a predator, cornered and snarling. A god stripped of his altar, still clinging to the illusion of divinity. His vision is blurring. His pulse is too fast. His body aches, still recovering from the seizure, but he refuses to bow.

Even through the tremble of his limbs—he stands taller. Because this ends tonight. Seungmin didn't flinch. Not out of faith. Out of fact. It was the bringing up of Minho that caught his attention.

Minho?

The idea that Yonsu could even reach him was laughable. Minho could break him in half without disturbing stride—and that wasn't even what made the threat pathetic. It was who Minho was. The kind of man Yonsu could never be.

Steady. Unshaken. Good. Earning, deserving. And Yonsu—A bitter, rotting asshole gnashing its teeth at a sky it couldn't touch.

'Don't put his name in your mouth,' Seungmin thought, jaw clenched. 'He's everything you'll never be, and it drives you insane.' Minho chose to protect him. Minho saw him.That Minho never had to raise a fist at someone weaker to make him feel better about himself. Yonsu could threaten all he wanted. He was still less than.

And Seungmin? He was done kneeling to ghosts.

Let Yonsu keep barking. He'd already started writing his name in blood.

Seungmin scoffs, shaking his head. What a coincidence, his disloyal partner talking about positive tests after the thing that triggered this whole situation in the first place.

"I'm sure that STD you've got from cheating on me every night will tell them I wasn't the only one creeping during our 'healthy relationship' Yonsu. How's that itching coming, darling? Did they put you on antibiotics?

The immediate hardening of Yonsu's face is comical, and it brings a momentary feeling of satisfaction to Seungmin before he forgets his situation, unfortunately not with the upper hand at this time.

"A whole three years of me beating manners into you and you still haven't figured out who's in charge here, fucking bitch." he scoffs, standing and placing the handgun on the table. Seungmin doesn't care for the pain he's about to feel, his attention follows the weapon.

"You'll figure it out. I'll make sure you do, Min! You belong to me! And nobody else. If you feel like you belong somewhere else or with somebody else, I'll show you just how little you belong anywhere. How quick and easy it is to end that inner conflict for you. Nobody will ever love you like I do, nobody will ever care. I am the only one who gives a damn about you, Seungmin! Fucking omega, you autta be grateful."

Yonsu grabs Seungmin by his hair, dragging him across the space while the omega thrashes and cries, hands and feet trying desperately to get out of their restrictions. Yonsu doesn't let go, he ragdolls the smaller man to the hall closet of the loft, swinging him inside, watching as Seungmin hits the ground, standing over him in the doorway.

"You, and that son of a bitch cop you're boning, are as good as dead. Actually, I might just let the cops come deal with you. Let you see how it feels to rot in a cell—demonized, humiliated, stripped of every ounce of your dignity."

The words are a snarl, a threat spat like venom. By the time Seungmin manages to shift and turn toward the voice, the door is already swinging shut, steel meeting frame with a brutal, echoing finality.

He doesn't scream. He doesn't cry. He just lays there—crumpled in the dust-coated dark, head throbbing and breath shallow—listening as the lock clicks into place, sealing him in.

This space has no name, but it has a soul—cold, merciless, a tomb dressed up as a closet. The scent of stale breath, sweat, and damp rot curls around his nose like a chokehold. There are scratches in the wall. One of them is from his fingernails, dulled and broken. Another from a shoe heel. A third from the edge of a burner phone he once wasn't supposed to have.

They say abusers have good days and bad days.

But for Seungmin, the bad days never really end. They just... shift in intensity. Some days, Yonsu is all charm and apologies. Other days, he's fists and locked doors and the quiet threat of silence stretched out like a noose.

And when it's one of the worst days, it always ends here.

In this suffocating dark, with his knees pressed to his chest and no one coming to help.

But Yonsu made a mistake.

He watered Seungmin down for so long—broke him in, hollowed him out, poured his poison in by the gallon—that he didn't realize the cracks left behind were filling with fire.

Because even in ruin, Seungmin watched. He learned. He mapped every twitch of Yonsu's face, every switch in tone, every pattern of footsteps in the hallway. He counted seconds between outbursts. Measured the weight of silence before a storm.

He learned when to be quiet. When to listen. When to lie.

Yonsu is older, louder, bigger. He has the bank account, the badge, the reputation. He's fury dressed up in tailored suits. But that doesn't make him clever.

Seungmin is none of those things. Not loud. Not violent. Not known.

But he's always been smart. Painfully, quietly, devastatingly smart.

Smarter than Yonsu ever gave him credit for. Smarter than most people realize—because it was safer to play the part of the trembling, obedient omega. Safer to keep his thoughts hidden, tucked behind bitten lips and glassy eyes.

But he sees the signs now.

The rope is burning at both ends. Yonsu's fuse has been lit for months. Seungmin's been listening to the ticking, counting the seconds, waiting for the blow.

He isn't helpless anymore. Not really.

Because while Yonsu spent years trying to erase him, Seungmin was rebuilding himself in secret—brick by broken brick. And when the fire comes, he'll be the one left standing. Even if he has to crawl through hell to do it.

So weeks ago, before Seungmin had slept with Minho, before Yonsu began moving in silence and building aggression, before his pheromones began going haywire, he'd prepared. Then again, he'd started doing that a long time ago, hadn't he?

When he jokingly yet seriously told Yonsu to add him to his will if he wanted him to move in.When he'd allowed Minho to take pictures of all of his injuries and when he'd gotten them, as well as how.When he'd went out and bought a burner phone with cash, programming it and hiding it in the wall behind the broken socket in the closet. When he'd rummaged through Yonsu's safes and cherishables, finding the keys to the locks on the door the man shuts him behind for hours at a time.

It had all been intentional, purposeful. Seungmin feels around on the wall, where he knows the socket is, quietly peeling the case off of it with trembling hands. He reaches in, silent as a mouse in the dark of the space, grabbing something from within the wall.

When he removes the device, he dials a number. His favorite couple, attached at the hip, what used to be his lifeline during college exam weeks and heartbreaks, before his stability depended on handsome detectives and regulators. Before it was riding on the emotions of dangerous alphas.

It rings, 3, 4, 5 times before someone picks up, a familiar deep voice coming in through the receiver that makes Seungmin melt. "Hello?"

Oh. Felix. And that damn accent, Seungmin almost sobs at the sound."Bokkie.." Seungmin whispers into the device, he's positive he hears the man drop his cellular, fumbling on the other side of the line.

"Seungmin?!"

The omega whimpers, oh how he missed his dear Yongbok, his sweet, bubbly personality, and days he's spent sitting on his bed in his dorm, cuddling with Jisung and watching stupid cartoons while they ate Felix's pastries.

His voice is shredded. Raw. Like it's the first time he's spoken in years. It certainly was the first time he's spoken to Felix in years, it was so great to hear his voice.

He hears the gasp through the receiver. The chaos on the other end as the phone shifts hands, as someone shouts, "Min– MINNIE?!" Jisung's voice cuts in, trembling with disbelief and immediate tears. So dramatic, so animated, like he always has been."Holy shit—holy shit, Seungmin? Is it really you? Are you okay?!"

"I don't know if I will be," Seungmin says, trying to laugh but it breaks into a sob. "I just—I needed to call. I needed to hear your voices. Just once." Felix's breath hitches, shaky and desperate. "What happened to you? You disappeared. You stopped replying. We looked for you—we fucking looked, Min, we didn't stop—"

Seungmin had been too scared to call while he was at Minho's, pacing, thinking he had time. But he was prepared just in case it ran out without warning.

"I know." Seungmin shuts his eyes, head falling back against the wall. The pain radiates through his skull, down his spine, through his pulse. His body is barely keeping it together, heat still crawling under his skin, blood dried under his nose, it's still running like it's fresh, Seungmin is starting to get dizzy.

"I'm sorry," he chokes out. "I missed you both so much. I just—he wouldn't let me go. He made me believe you forgot me, cause he knew I'd never let go of you."

"We never forgot you," Jisung cries. "We thought you moved on. We thought maybe we were the ones who did something wrong—Min, where are you? We'll come to you, we'll get you out—""I'm not getting out," Seungmin says softly. "Not this time." There's a pause. Silence so heavy it nearly breaks the line."Seungminnie, what do you mean?" Felix asks, voice small. "I'm ending it." A sharp inhale. A sniffle."What?? Minnie whatever your thinking of doing, please—""Not like that," Seungmin interrupts. "I'm not dying, Lix. Not today. But that's just it though. I can't let him hurt me anymore. I can't let him live. If I leave this place and he's still walking the streets I might as well have of let him kill me when he had me pinned."

Felix is shaking on the other end. He hears Jisung sobbing now too, the line quiet except for their crying."I wanted to tell you both that I love you. That you were the best thing, that I miss you, and that I think about you everyday. That I wish I'd left Yonsu when I had the chance, and that I'd never forget about you. I wish I could have contacted you sooner."

"Minnie, don't do anything stupid!" Felix yells. "We'll help you, just walk out, just leave him—please, you don't have to do this—""I do," Seungmin says. "He'll keep coming. He won't stop. You don't know what he's done to me. You don't know how many times I've almost died. If I let him live, I'll never stop running. And he'll find some other weaker person to make miserable."

"You don't have to run anymore, Seungmin," Jisung whispers through a sob. "We're in Australia right now– but.. But we'll be on the next flight. We're coming. We'll fix this. Please." "I'm so sorry," Seungmin murmurs. "If I go to jail, or don't make it out.. Just.." the omega holds back a sob. "Tell each other you love each other a lot, okay?" "MIN—!"

Seungmin ends the call, burner phones eat battery like hot pot. He dials his next number quickly, it rings as he repositions the gun in his grip, untaping the spare key from the back of the socket cover.

This ends now, today. It's only a matter of time till Yonsu notices his gun gone from the table where he placed it before dragging Seungmin away.

"Minho." he sniffs, whispering. "Minnie?? Are you okay?? Where the hell are you?" Minho is quick about getting to business. Seungmin is so grateful, because he knows it means he's cared for. And really, that's all he ever asked for."Yonsu's apartment, he's shoved me in the hole in the wall again."

Seungmin hears something shift on the other side of the line, then, no questions asked: "I'm almost home. Hang in there Seungmo, you hear me? What'd I tell you?"

"I choose when it's time to stop being a victim." Seungmin repeats, voice broken, hands clammy."That's right, baby. You're gonna be alright. Fight."

"Fight." Seungmin repeats, just hearing Minho's voice gives him a whole new sea of confidence, of motivation, he considers not saying his next words for a moment. But then, he decides, it's better safe than sorry.

"Minho, if this doesn't go as planned, I want you to know I love you." Seungmin knows Minho is emotional on the opposite end of the line, huffing and sniffling heard from the receiver. If they weren't in such a situation, Seungmin would make fun of the man for being such a big softy. But now isn't the time.

"Don't say bullshit like that, Seungminnie. Dammit..But–" he hears Minho huff, an exhale full of fear and worry. He cares, so much. And it's more than enough reason for Seungmin to keep fighting, even if he hadn't already decided he was ending this shit right here.

"I love you too, baby. So please, stay alive."

"Mm." Seungmin nods, exhaling a shaky breath. He hangs up, dropping the phone in the pile of dusty blankets. With the help of the light from it, and his mock keys, he clicks the locks open, as silently as possible.

Yonsu doesn't hear the closet creak open. Doesn't notice the careful footsteps behind him, soft over the fancy floors of the penthouse.

But the click of the safety being turned off on a stolen gun?That, he hears.

He turns his head lazily, like he's expecting to see Seungmin standing there with one of his temper tantrums, ready to be smacked quiet again.

Instead, he sees the barrel of a gun. And behind it—Seungmin. Steady. Silent. Watching him is like something foreign. Something wild.

Yonsu lets out a low breath, eyebrows lifting like he's mildly impressed. "Seriously?" he says, almost amused. "Your stealing firearms now?" Seungmin doesn't answer. Just keeps the gun aimed square at his forehead.

"You're shaking," Yonsu notes, voice measured. "You're not built for this. We both know that." Seungmin cocks the gun. Click. "Because I need my regulator, not because I'm scared of you. But you know that."

Yonsu's amusement fades just enough to shift into warning. He raises his hands slowly, carefully. "Alright. Listen to me, Min. I get it, you're upset. You want to feel powerful for once, right? I pushed too far. I'll admit that. But this isn't the way."

A pause. "You shoot me, you go to prison. You're not ready for that life.""I wasn't ready for this one, either," Seungmin says.Yonsu tilts his head. He smiles, but it's forced now. "I know you, darling. You're not a killer."

"No," Seungmin agrees, calmly. "But you've forced me into being one." The grin falters.

Yonsu steps forward, inching toward him with slow, deliberate care. Seungmin steps back. "Put it down. You're angry now, but this? This is forever. You shoot me, and I swear to God, Seungmin, they'll never let you live a normal life again. You think you're gonna just walk out of here? You're not walking away from this."

"I am," Seungmin says, "because you're not going to stop me."

Yonsu swallows. His tone changes again—smooth, sweetened with poison. "You don't want to do this. You're scared. You always were. Remember when you used to cry into my shirt? Remember how I'd hold you after you got all worked up? I know you better than anyone, Min. You need me."

Seungmin's heart doesn't stutter. His finger doesn't spasm. His eyes don't blink, but his nostrils flare, eye twitching with irritation.

"Oh fucking stop, Yonsu. You never cared about me, you were all that was ever relevant. And I certainly never needed you. That's why you kept kicking me down, cause you knew I was more than you were making me out to be. You shrunk the space I had to grow because you knew I had the potential to be better than you. You're nothing but an anchor to me, a son of a bitch who shrinks me down to make yourself feel bigger."

Yonsu finally frowns. "Seungmin," he tries again, more forceful, more irritated now that begging isn't working. "Put the fucking gun down. You're not gonna shoot me. You never listen when I tell you to, but you will now."

"No," Seungmin says softly, "I won't. Not now. Not ever again. I'm sure you know that I was never a great listener. That's why you locked me up and used me as a hole and a punching bag. Your fucking worthless, and your reign is so, so fucking over. It ends here, now, with me."

Most domestic abuse cases end in 1 of 4 ways:

1: The victim finds an outing, someone to rely on and somewhere to go and the cycle ends with the abuser in jail.

2: The victim waits too long to leave and lets the cycle repeat, over and over until the abuser finally ends their life.

3: The abuser becomes bored with their victim and leaves willingly, oftentimes abusers do what they do for a sense of power and control, when they feel they've broken you, they find someone else to rule over, bored with someone they've long since won against.

4: The victim is pushed to the edge. With nowhere to go and nothing else to do, they have a choice to make. The world fails the victim, so they take matters into their own hands, trumping their situation.

"This is for all the blood I shed. You.." Seungmin pauses, broiling with hatred.

He was gonna live. He was going to win. He refused to be a victim any longer.

"Your already dead to me."

Yonsu looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn't have the time. He lunges towards Seungmin hard and fast, Seungmin's eyes widen as he moves.

4: The victim turns the tables, and ends their abusers life before the abuser can end theirs.

He doesn't tremble with fear, he doesn't hesitate. Without another thought, he pulls the trigger, the firearm blasting with a deafening pow up into the air of the cold, miserable apartment Seungmin would never call a home.

"And now you're dead to the rest of the world too."

He pulls the trigger twice, three times, over and over again until it starts clicking. Even then, he keeps squeezing. It isn't enough that Yonsu's brains are all over the walls, he has to make sure that mother fucker has no brains left for the maggots to salvage in his casket.

Whatever velvet, plush, coffin his family burries him in.

Just as Seungmin is debating on dropping the gun, ready to turn around and raid the apartment for his regulator, the door is kicked open, and the police bust in with their own guns pointed straight at Seungmin, like he'd been the one making Yonsu's life a living hell for god knows how long.

"Hands in the air!"

They take a look at the gun in Seungmin's hands, the dead body laying on the ground, and they run with it. Fucking cops.

"YOU ARE UNDER ARREST FOR MURDER, YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO REMAIN SILENT."

It infuriates Seungmin like nothing ever has, the audacity to jump to such a conclusion and say something so wrong and incorrect to Seungmin, a fucking survivor, and tell him to get on the ground for ridding the world of scum like Yonsu.

A rapist. A predator. An abuser, a fucking narcisist on a level so unreachable he could probably fuck with the head of the devil himself if you put them in a room together. Seungmin can't help it, he screams back.

"No, I had the right to stay alive!"

"Shut up! Hands behind your head!"

"Fuck you! You haven't got a clue what I went through! You can go to hell with him! I'd do it again, fucking– ouch!"

The arresting officer tightens the cuffs around his wrist. Seungmin thinks to himself, is this really how he goes out? Rotting in a cell for defending his life against a man who hasn't cared about his safety since the moment they locked eyes? Seungmin sobs where the officers pins him to the ground, for so many reasons. Exhaustion, relief, anything and everything but regret.

"Stop it! Call me guilty if you want to but you have no idea what I've gone through! He would've killed me before I killed him! I'd be the one dead if I didn't pull that trigger!"

They don't understand, they don't get it. They never could. Until you've been in it, like Seungmin. Or you've seen it everyday.. like..

Until you've seen it everyday—- like–

"Detective Lee Minho!" A voice pierces through the chaos, Seungmin abruptly struggling beneath the officer on his back as the man pushes past the ones in the doorway.

"This man is a victim, remove those cuffs this instant."

The officer is shocked, but Seungmin can't see it with his body pressed against the floor forcibly, devastatingly familiar.

"But he's not the one who called–"

"You heard him." Comes Chan's voice, right behind Minho's. "Remove those cuffs. Now."

The arresting officer seems panicked, torn, but who is he to question Lieutenant Christopher Bahng? He takes out his key, unlocking the cuffs and allowing Seungmin up from the ground.

Immediately, Minho is on him, crouching low like Seungmin might vanish if he blinked too long. His hands don't touch yet. Not until Seungmin lifts his head, red blooming along his temple, lip split and trembling, eyes wide with panic but trying so hard to stay good. Controlled. Predictable. Even when his own and someone else's blood all over him.

Minho's chest caves at the sight.

"You're okay," he breathes, steady and quiet, though his hands shake as he reaches to cradle Seungmin's shoulders, helping him sit up slow. "I've got you now. You did great, Seungminnie. No one's going to touch you again, you hear me?"

Seungmin blinks hard, lashes sticky with sweat and blood. His body is tense, coiled so tight it looks like it might snap. He doesn't speak, doesn't nod. He just stares like he doesn't believe it yet.

"Easy," Minho whispers again, tilting Seungmin's chin gently, inspecting the bruise blooming across his cheekbone, the dampness under his eye, the almost invisible tremor in his jaw. "You did it. It's over."

Behind them, Chan steps in, voice sharp and clipped as he addresses the arresting officer.

"What part of secure the scene made you think tackling a bleeding civilian was procedure?" he growls.

The officer stammers something. He looks armed, we didn't know, he didn't say anything, he might be thinking. But Chan silences him with a look.

Not a single word back.

Chan pushes past the frozen officer who had cuffed Seungmin moments ago, his scent of sharp, bitter coffee cutting clean through the blood-tinged air. It forces the others to clear space, deference instinctive. A dominant alpha in control of the room.

The officer doesn't argue this time. Seungmin barely has time to register the change before he's being hauled gently off the floor, Chan crouches to help, gaze flicking over Seungmin's face like he's cataloging every injury. A quick scan of motor response, pupil dilation, blood loss.

Minho and Chan place him on the counter, Chan checking over him, talking while Minho holds his hand. "Ok. Sooo, I can treat what needs to be treated right now, but we have to make a choice." Chan turns to Seungmin, a grounding hand on his thigh, voice hushed.

"Minnie, your statement needs to come before the hospital, if we want any shot at controlling the narrative. Once your stabilized in a that bed, the timeline's out of our hands. Legals get involved. The press starts digging. The scent degradation alone could be used against him if they think he was feral or unstable."

Seungmin flinches at the word unstable—his scent twists tighter, sour-sweet and desperate. "I'm not—I wasn't—" he croaks. "No, hey," Minho cuts in fast, firm but gentle, "you were brilliant, Seungminnie. You did exactly what you needed to. You survived. But now we have to move carefully."

Chan's hand presses to Seungmin's pulse point, the touch more clinical than soothing. "He's not bleeding out," he confirms. "Not too much cranial swelling that I can see. If we go now, we'll make it. If we wait, they'll say his scent was compromised, that he was feral or unstable. They'll try to make it sound like premeditated vengeance or an omega break. We get ahead of it now, or we risk losing control."

He softens again, turning back to Seungmin. "This has to come from you. It's your life. Your freedom. You tell us."

Seungmin's gaze flickers between them, his mouth trembling. His whole body aches. He smells like survival, raw and unraveling. But somewhere in the fear, there's a pulse of something else. Clarity. Resolve.

"We prepared for this," he whispers, voice barely audible. "We knew they'd... we knew they'd look for anything to twist it. I can do it. I remember."

Minho's breath stutters out. He squeezes for Seungmin's hand comfortingly.

Chan is already turning, signaling to the outer officers. "We're taking him to the station. Non-custodial transport. No restraints. Anyone interferes, they answer to me."

The medics pause just outside the door, looking confused as Chan approaches with quick instructions. "Vitals to be monitored en route, stabilize in place. No flashing lights. No fanfare.

Minho and Chan help Seungmin off the counter, slowly. The moment Seungmin sways, Minho is there, not bothering for further signs of struggle before sweeping up him into his arms in a princess carry. Seungmin leans into the detective, head and arm over his shoulder, guard lowered knowing that in exchange for a shitty one, he got two capable, wonderful alphas. They follow behind Chan as he leads them through the crowd and out the building

"You're doing so good," Minho says, just for him. "One more stretch, and you're out. That's all." As they make their way to the ambulance escort, Seungmin doesn't look back at the body on the floor. He doesn't have to.

Yonsu is gone.

And for the first time in years, Seungmin does not flinch when he turns away from the man.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

"So, Seungmin, self defense is what your using as justification, yes?" Chan ask's. The camera is rolling, everything is in position. Seungmin doesn't have to lie, or fret on the topic. Yonsu's poured the gasoline, Seungmin is only lighting the flame. However hot or fast this all burns to ashes is and always has been Yonsu's own doing.

Yonsu directed a nightmare, and Seungmin was turning it into his broadway debut.

"Yes." the omega answers simply. He's exhausted, bones aching and body sore from fighting against bastard boyfriends and seizures. He just wants to go home and get in his nest after a nice, long, hot bath. It's been a long night.

"I don't want to keep you here long, Minnie– Uh– Mr Kim." Chan corrects, Seungminn chuckles dryly, just a bit, it helps loosen him up a little. "Okay. What do you want to know?""Everything. Give me a nice, raw breakdown of what happened tonight, and what led up to it. About you, about your relationship with Yonsu. Lay it all out. If you're telling enough, your speech can mean you get to go home tonight. Enough evidence means you can walk away from this."

In the observation room sits Changbin and Minho, arms crossed and bodies tense. Changbin angry, Minho proud but concerned. Seungmin has been through a lot tonight, but they practiced, prepared and made him rock hard for when he needs to be, so nobody is going to stand between Seungmin and freedom ever again.

"Alright. Well.." Seungmin sighs, collecting his thoughts. He had Minho and Chan lead him to do his interrogation before they went to the hospital, so there were no detectives nagging him for details, or police officers trying to arrest him while the nurses and doctors made sure he didn't have a broken nose or concussion.

The omegas demeanor hardens, his face stone cold and solid. "It's plain and simple really. No overly intimate complications to get into. So I can give it to you straight. Choi Yonsu was my boyfriend, up until I shot him 12 times in his head 30 minutes ago."

The space is still, nobody says a word. The only sound within those four bare, cold walls was the air conditioning humming in the background, and the sound of Chan's heartbeat in his own ears. What a way to start a defense.

"Okay, so the murder was intentional?" Chan would hate to press the detail and make it worse, but if he doesn't, anybody watching the recording could consider him as being biased.

"Of course." Seungmin answers, Changbin and Chan stiffen. He's really not being careful about this.

"If killing Choi Yonsu was wrong, call me guilty. I contemplated while I was in the closet he constantly locked me in, for hours, days, sometimes. There wasn't much else for me to think about, not when he neglected to feed me, or even let me use the bathroom while I was in there."

Chan swallows, holding himself together. He's a professional, he's the chief. He hears about things like this every day. But you never get over it. The trick is to hang onto the knowledge you have about how evil the world is, and use it as motivation to keep being the good.

"And it's not like when he finally lets me out that he's gonna clean up the closet for me." the omega continues, Changbin and Minho cringe outside the room, irritated, disturbed.

"Time and time again, I'd clean out my own prison cell, he wouldn't even acknowledge me, but he never failed to make sure I never made a peep while I cried, on my hands and knees, in a mess that was never meant to be made in the first place."

Seungmin plays with his fingers, he looks down at his clothes, taking into consideration how much of a mess he was in the moment. His pretty, brand new cream colored, floor length skirt and soft grey sweater have blood on them. It had run down from his nose and the cuts on his delicate skin, ruining the clothes Minho bought him.

His whole body is covered in residue from the multiple bullets he put in Yonsu's head, all blood and whatever other bodily system burst out of him while Seungmin emptied the clip on his ass. Seungmin chuckles, quick and dry at the reminder.

"I used to think, hope, pray that Yonsu was just a good guy who did a bad thing. I know it hard to believe, but I never wanted us to end up this way. But after it kept happening, over and over again, I knew it was just wishful thinking. It went from him crying on his knees begging for another chance, telling me he was sorry and would never do it again, to him beating me on and off for hours, claiming I should learn not to talk back, or say no, or do whatever small crime I committed that pissed him off that day."

Minho's heard this before, when they first began acknowledging the elephant in whatever room they were in, read: the ptsd Seungmin had from only being near Yonsu for so long. The flinching, the bruises, the pheromones that always seemed out of wack.

But even so, it doesn't get easier to listen to.

Despite that, he swallows and opens his ears.

"I called the police, 2 or 3 occasions in the beginning, I think. I watched him get arrested time and time again, only for him to come home the next morning and kick my ass again, telling me I wasn't going to get away from him. That if I went anywhere the last thing I'd have to be worried about would be a few instances where I was 'slapped around.'"

Seungmin remembers it all so terrifyingly vividly, the threats he made to Seungmin's life, to his friends, to his health. Like all he knew was violence and hatred.

"I've got photos of every bruise he's given me over the 6 months, the memory of every threat to my safety, timestamps of every time he'd locked me in that closet, diary entries from each time he'd hit me, or tell me I was worthless and that I would never be anything more than his bitch, and his housewife."

Seungmins gaze lifts from the table to Chan, who looks as pissed as Minho probably does in the observation room. Seungmin can tell he's trying to breathe through the rage he has, and he softens just a bit. The timing might be odd, but what can he say? It feels good to be cared about.

"My phone, my ipad, my laptop. He burned them right in front of me, one of the times I called the police on him. Then he gave me a computer and phone on a children's setting, so he could keep track of everything I did. He puts time limits on the landline, has surveillance on every purchase I make with his card, everything I buy, everywhere I go. Because I wasn't allowed to work. Or allowed to have my location off."

Silence once again, Seungmin sits, angry from the inside out, but he doesn't scream, or growl. He cries. It was suffocating to be put in such a spot for such a long time. And the recollection of it so soon, too soon, makes him sick.

"I eat what he wants or don't eat at all. I make what he wants or spend hours regretting it, starving in my own waste for however long he sees fit. I buy his groceries, I cook his dinner, clean his car, shut up and sit on his lap when he calls me over, like a dog. But nothing is good enough to make him treat me like a fucking human being. All that ever mattered was his satisfaction, what he wanted."

Seungmin is sobbing, gritting his teeth through his words now. Blood mixes with tears, past mixes with present, Chan allows him a moment before he continues, not rushing.

"So yes. I killed him. And I would do it again. He would have killed me first if I didn't. I didn't have a choice. Getting that gun was the only way I was gonna get out of there alive. And I do, I want to be alive. To live. I don't want to be some emotionless, obedient circus animal my whole life. I wanted to be a writer, an eomma. He took that from me!...So I took his life! Since that son of a bitch was always so ready to take mine."

Seungmin takes a moment to exhale, shaky, unsteady, but grounding. He shouldn't have to sit here still suffering, even after his bastard of a boyfriend is being scraped off of his apartment wall.

"I went to his place tonight for my only hope at living, my regulator. He kept my regulator from me, held it in his grasp and waited next to it for me to show up, tired of not knowing if the next seizure I had was going to kill me, or if my next breath would be my last because of his mistreatment."

"I just wanted to live. That's all. And I have the right to do that, don't I? To live? To be somebody? I know the truth, but all that matters was that Yonsu didn't think so. That was his issue. But what's funny is I'm the one sitting here, alive. Breathing. No round of ammo pinning my brains to the walls that trapped and tormented somebody I was supposed to love."

A feeling of triumph washes over Seungmin. The memory of Yonsu's body going limp as blood splatters out the opposite side of his head. Now that's justice. Seungmin is not sorry, and he will never again pretend to be in his life.

"I didn't plan what happened tonight. But he did. It simply didn't go the way he wanted it to. He fucked with the wrong omega, and his years of tormenting me have finally caught up to him."

Seungmin let's it all marinate in the air for a moment, so his cold hands and blood covered can be focused on. So whatever sorry, selfish bastard who is wants to defend Yonsu even after his death can truly consider the situation.

"You know what's funny? I could have shot him someplace nonlethal, not gone for the head. But I didn't, even though he deserved to suffer. I ended it right there. That's the real reason he lost, isn't it? Because he drew out my downfall, played in my face and postponed trying to kill me for so long I had time to bounce back after my spirit was shattered, time and time again. Isn't it so crazy how I afforded him mercy, even if it was just because I wanted it all to end?"

Chan doesn't answer, he can't, but he can applaud Seungmin's strength from the safety of his head.

"How ironic, isn't it? The constellations shift, persistent and unpredictable, so much so that even someone with the trained eye couldn't see where they ended up. I think that was me and Yonsu. He learned my habits, my schedule, my connections; all so he could safely assume I'd be a good fit as his victim. And somehow he still was the one who ended up dead."

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

The door to the precinct office slams open with a gust of heavy wind behind it, and the second Minho steps inside, the air changes.

There's a tension to him — not panic, not fear. Just urgency, iron-edged and cold-blooded, burning beneath the surface of his skin like the same flame he's kept stoked for the last six months. Ever since he, Seungmin and Chan started laying this groundwork. Ever since they both agreed, without saying it aloud, that this would be the only way out if the worst ever came.

Minho doesn't pause at anyone's desk. Doesn't make eye contact with any of the officers watching him stalk through the hallways like a man on borrowed time.

He doesn't stop until he's in front of Chan's door. The old wood creaks as he pushes it open without knocking. Chan's already on his feet. Their eyes meet, and that's all the exchange they need.

Minho strides forward and drops the thick file onto Chan's desk with finality. Not with violence. Not with drama. Just certainty. "That's it," Minho says, breath steady, jaw tight. "Everything."

Chan doesn't move at first. Then he lowers himself slowly into the chair behind his desk, like the weight of this moment is heavier than he expected.

His fingers drift across the black cover before he opens it.

The same file Chan and Minho started building half a year ago, when they realized how deep Yonsu's control over Seungmin ran. When it became clear that if the law wouldn't get there fast enough to save him — they would.

It had started quiet. A few logs. A few whispered conversations. The faintest tremble in Seungmin's voice that told Minho everything he needed to know. And then: therapists. Private medical consults. Surveillance. Written accounts. Time-stamped photos.

Chan flips through it now, page after page. Hospital records, dated and verified. Psychological evaluations. Internal police memos. Audio logs of Seungmin calling the emergency line and hanging up with a shaky breath. Witness testimonies from neighbors. And then — stapled to the last page — a transcript from today's recorded statement.

Seungmin, sitting in the interrogation room no more than a hundred feet away, pale and still and exhausted, speaking in a soft voice as he recounted every twist and turn that led him to pulling that trigger with a lawyer Chris paid for.

Chan leans back in his chair, looking older than usual. Like the weight of all the months they spent hoping this day wouldn't come is finally catching up to him.

But beneath that weariness is relief.

"Tell me the plan for him."

Minho doesn't miss a beat. "Get him out of here tonight. He needs a hospital, Channie, badly. His body's been in suppressive heat for weeks without regulation, and now his nervous system's collapsing from shock."

Chan's eyes close for just a moment, jaw tightening. "Of course. The faster he's stabilized, the better."

"He doesn't belong in a cell," Minho says, a rare flicker of raw emotion cracking through his otherwise even tone. "We both know this wasn't murder. We knew it wouldn't be if it ever came down to this."

"Yeah," Chan murmurs. "We did." They're quiet for a second.

Chan's voice softens when he adds, "You did everything right, Minho. You kept your hands clean. You got the evidence. You made sure he had options." Minho exhales, long and hard. "I just want to bring him home."

Chan gives a short nod and reaches for the file. "I'll push it through now. You'll have my signature and an escort out in ten minutes." Minho watches him stand, the thick folder cradled like something precious. Something alive. Something worth saving. And maybe that's what Seungmin is to both of them now, not a case, not a number, not even a survivor. A boy they both loved too much to watch die in a system that would've failed him like it failed so many others. One they're making better, day by day.

"I'll check in on you, both of you, when I wrap up here." Chan says as he walks toward the door. "Not as your captain. As your family." Minho nods. "We'd like that." Chan leaves with the file. And Minho takes a deep breath, one he hasn't truly been able to savor for a long time.

The station feels too quiet now. Just humming lights, low voices behind glass, the distant echo of phones ringing for someone else's emergency. But here, for once, no one is asking Seungmin to explain himself. No one is demanding apologies or silence.

Minho reaches out, brushing their shoulders together. "Ready?"

Seungmin doesn't answer right away. He looks down at his hands, not shaking anymore even though he's unstable. They're not clenched, not bloody, they're just there. He breathes out, grounding.

"Yeah. I think so."

They walk side by side toward the exit, fluorescent lights giving way to morning, Minho's arm around his waist. It's still dark outside, but not the same kind of dark he's become so used to. This one has a horizon in it. A sunrise with orange and blues and pinks.

Maybe he won't sleep for a while. Maybe the hospital will hurt. Maybe tomorrow he'll be scared all over again.

But today, he's walking forward, and no one is dragging him. That's something.

No more secrets, no more lies. No more closets with rusty locks. Just the sound of his own footsteps barely keeping pace with someone who stayed. The feeling of being around people who care for more than their own well being. And the security that reinforces when Seungmin trips, and Minho sweeps him up off the ground again, because he's reliable like that.

Seungmin doesn't look back. He doesn't need to. He's not someone's victim anymore. And Yonsu wasn't alive to make himself another one. He's just Seungmin. And in reality, that's enough.

Seungmin's story is indeed no fairytale, but that doesn't mean he isn't allowed a happy ending. Bloody nose and all.