That same night
Far from the chaos at the riverbank, in a sleek, silent mansion lit with cold chandeliers, Hyunwoo sat alone in his dimly lit room. The house stretched around him like a mausoleum—all marble and emptiness, the kind of silence only blood money could buy. Every surface gleamed with polish that reflected nothing but loneliness.
Hyunwoo's fingers trembled as he scrolled through Instagram, the blue light casting harsh shadows across his face. His thumb stopped on a photo—Jiho smiling at the camera, taken just a few days ago. The caption was something cheerful about trying a new café.
"Why did you jump, idiot?" he whispered to the photo, his voice splintering in the empty room.
His chest tightened. He knew why. He'd seen that look in Jiho's eyes before—the same dead stare he wore when his father came home.
A soft knock interrupted his thoughts.
"Young Master," the maid's gentle voice called from behind the door, "dinner is ready. Please come eat before it gets cold."
"I'm not hungry," Hyunwoo replied flatly, not looking away from the screen.
Silence stretched between them. Then, quieter, more worried: "Your father is coming home tonight... please, Young Master. I don't want to see you get hurt again."
The words hit him like ice water. His phone slipped from his hands, clattering onto the hardwood floor.
He slowly stood, joints creaking like an old man's despite being barely eighteen. The maid stepped aside quickly, eyes downcast, hands folded in that practiced way servants learned to make themselves invisible.
The dining hall yawned before him—a cathedral of loneliness with its impossibly long table set for a family that had never existed. Crystal glasses caught the chandelier light like frozen tears. He took his usual seat at the far end, picking up the silverware with mechanical precision.
"You're the only person who cares about me," Hyunwoo said suddenly, his voice cutting through the suffocating quiet. "My own family... they don't give a damn about anything but appearances."
The maid's hands stilled as she poured soup into his bowl. Her eyes glistened, but she simply bowed deeper, as if his pain was too sacred to acknowledge.
The grandfather clock in the corner marked each second with the weight of a funeral bell.
Then—
The front door exploded open. Sharp footsteps clicked against marble like gunshots, each one making Hyunwoo's shoulders tense higher.
His body went rigid, every muscle coiled like a spring about to snap.
Chairman Jang Dae-hyun entered like a storm given human form. His presence sucked the air from the room, his tailored suit sharp enough to cut glass. Cold eyes swept the dining room before landing on his son with the intensity of a predator sizing up prey.
He didn't speak. Didn't need to. The silence was louder than screaming.
He walked straight to Hyunwoo with measured steps.
CRACK.
The slap echoed through the marble halls like thunder. Hyunwoo's head snapped to the side, but he didn't flinch. Didn't cry out. He'd learned long ago that showing pain only made it worse.
"You worthless piece of shit," Chairman Jang's voice was deadly quiet, more terrifying than any shout. "What the hell were you thinking? Pushing a kid into the river?! Are you completely insane?!"
Hyunwoo's jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached, but he stared straight ahead with eyes as empty as the mansion around them.
"I told you a thousand times to behave yourself. You're a Jang. Not some street thug looking for attention!" The Chairman's fist slammed against the table, making the crystal sing. "Do you have any idea what this could do to our reputation? To our business?"
The air felt razor-thin, ready to shatter with one wrong breath.
Hyunwoo finally looked up, meeting his father's gaze with a smile that was all teeth and no warmth.
"You told me to act perfect," he said, voice barely above a whisper but sharp as broken glass. "But you never asked if I wanted to be a monster like you."
Chairman Jang's eyes narrowed to deadly slits. "Watch your mouth, boy."
Hyunwoo's smirk widened, blood trickling from his split lip. "Why? It's the only thing I still control in this house."
The Chairman turned away in disgust, straightening his tie with violent precision. "Clean yourself up. I have a meeting with the mayor tomorrow. I don't want anyone seeing my son looking like a beaten dog."
He walked away without another glance, his footsteps fading into the maze of empty hallways.
The maid rushed forward, hands shaking as she dabbed at the blood near Hyunwoo's mouth with a napkin. But he just sat back down, picked up his spoon with steady hands, and resumed eating like nothing had happened.
Because to him—it hadn't.
This was family.
This was love, Jang family style.
---
The next morning
Jiho stirred, consciousness creeping back like sunlight through curtains. For a confused moment, he forgot where he was—until he felt the heavy warmth of Minjae's arm draped around him like a possessive blanket.
He froze completely.
They were still tangled on the couch like two cats who'd fallen asleep in a sunbeam. Minjae's face was buried in his shoulder, hair sticking up in seventeen different directions, breathing deep and even against his neck. Each exhale sent shivers down Jiho's spine.
His face turned bright red.
"Oh god," he whispered, trying to carefully extract himself without waking the human octopus currently using him as a pillow.
But the moment he shifted, Minjae's grip tightened like a vice.
"Don't move," Minjae grumbled into his collarbone, voice thick with sleep. "Too early."
"I need to pee," Jiho hissed, squirming.
"No," Minjae protested, pulling him back down. "Sleep more."
"You're literally crushing me. I can't breathe."
"You're breathing fine. I can feel it."
"Let go or I'll scream."
"Go ahead. I live alone. Scream all you want."
Jiho groaned in frustration. "Why are you like this?! It's called personal space!"
"Personal space is for people who aren't adorable," Minjae mumbled, still half-asleep but grinning. "You're too cute to let go."
"I'm not cute, I'm dying!"
"Cute and dramatic."
Minjae finally loosened his grip, laughing as Jiho scrambled to his feet like a startled deer. His hair defied gravity in every direction, and the sleeves of Minjae's hoodie hung over his hands like oversized mittens.
"You look like a disaster wrapped in cotton candy," Minjae said, sitting up and running a hand through his messy hair. "It's disgustingly adorable."
"I hate you," Jiho muttered, shuffling toward the bathroom and immediately tripping over the hem of the sweatpants. He windmilled his arms wildly before catching himself against the wall.
Minjae burst out laughing. "Smooth! Really graceful!"
"SHUT UP!" Jiho yelled, disappearing into the bathroom and slamming the door hard enough to rattle the walls.
Minjae leaned back against the couch cushions, hands behind his head, but his smile gradually faded. The words he couldn't say last night pressed against his chest like broken glass.
Maybe it had started as pretend.
But looking at Jiho stumbling around in his clothes, hair messy from sleep, cheeks flushed with embarrassment...
Nothing about this felt fake anymore.
And that terrified him more than he wanted to admit.
---