Chapter Text
It takes him a moment to process what he says. By the time he finally has his head wrapped around it, he barely has enough strength to cling helplessly to Minho’s navy blue vest.
“No,” he whispers, his voice cracked and shaky with exhaustion, “please.”
“My deepest apologies, Hyunjin,” Minho says, his smile unreadable.
Something akin to guilt flickers in his eyes, and his stomach weakly flips. He must know something. Anything.
“Here we are,” Minho purrs, stopping in front of a pair of doors similar to the ones at the entrance of the manor.
“Do you think you can walk?” Minho asks.
He lets out a strangled noise at the idea of even standing. However, he nods weakly.
Minho shifts him in his arms, mumbling, “poor you. So frail and light.”
He then braces his hands under Hyunjin’s arms, and slowly lowers him. The moment his feet press against the floor and Minho’s grip goes a little slack, his legs crumble.
Hyunjin cries out as his feet try desperately to hold him up, his shins screaming under the pressure.
Minho clicks his tongue, quickly pulling him back up into his arms as if his weight was nothing.
Oh.
Right.
He’s been asleep for nearly two weeks.
Without food.
Or water.
“Apparently not,” Minho muses, glancing at Hyunjin’s now shaky legs.
Minho slowly turns the golden handle, the door opening with a faint creak.
The room is beautiful, a queen sized bed up against the right wall. Shelves full of thick books line the walls, a desk and chair perched by the window. A pretty rug similar to the one at the entrance to the manor lies by the edge of the bed.
As Minho enters the room, he notices that they come to the double doors by the tall dresser. He opens the door, revealing an even more pristine washroom, dark blues and blacks catching his eyes. Whites and silvers and pearly golds adorn the sinks and crystal lights.
A large golden and silver chandelier hangs above a large, primrose white bathtub.
“Jisung should be in here to clean you up soon,” Minho says, setting him gently into a chair by the bathtub.
“Who,” he rasps, his voice still shaky, “who is Jisung?”
Minho looks at him sideways before groaning softly.
“Did he not introduce himself this morning?”
Hyunjin shakes his head slowly. Maybe he did, or maybe he didn’t. Either way, he was only awake and responding at the arrival of Minho.
“Well then, I’ll be off,” Minho says, waltzing to the doors.
He then pauses, turning and looking at him once more.
“And do try not to hiss and scratch at Jisung. He’s very kind once you get to know him. Let alone sensitive,” Minho chuckles.
When the doors finally close, Hyunjin tries to calm himself down.
He was simply delivering a parcel, and here he is, trapped in Prince Christopher’s manor. He doesn't even know why.
Hyunjin tries to steady his breathing, only to end up choking on what little saliva has produced at the back of his throat.
He can’t be stuck here. He really can’t.
His boyfriend is expecting dinner.
Hyunjin’s eyes blow wide when he realizes that his boyfriend must be pissed. He was never supposed to be gone for this long. If he finds Hyunjin, he might get beaten again.
Hyunjin struggles weakly in his chair, trying to wiggle off of the comfy cushion.
The only thing he can think about is the pain he’ll have to endure if his boyfriend waits any longer. God he should have broken up with him months ago when he lost feelings.
Hyunjin is too busy trying to get up painlessly that he almost misses the sound of the door opening.
Hyunjin freezes, his heart beginning to flutter in his chest again.
“Excuse me,” a soft, higher pitched voice carries through the room, “I’m sorry I’m late.”
Hyunjin turns his head, eyes locking on a man with big brown doe eyes, light brown hair, and a slim waist.
He opens his mouth, croaking, “y-you’re Jisung?”
The man nods, stepping into the room and closing the door.
He turns to Hyunjin and smiles, “what’s your name?”
Hyunjin slowly responds, “Hwang Hyunjin.”
Jisung nods.
“Well, I suppose if you’re to attend dinner this evening, I should get you cleaned up,” Jisung muses, taking quick steps towards Hyunjin.
Hyunjin gasps hoarsely, pulling his limbs closer to his center to escape Jisung.
He’s so, so very scared. Of Jisung, of Minho, of his surroundings.
But he’s also scared of going home. Of his boyfriend.
Jisung stops moving, letting his eyes rake over Hyunjin’s shaking body. His brows furrow at the sight of Hyunjin’s bloody wrists.
“Dear lord, I told him not to tighten them so tight,” Jisung whispers.
Hyunjin blinks, still not quite ready for Jisung to get any closer.
Jisung does anyway.
He takes a few steps towards Hyunjin, getting down on his knees to come just under Hyunjin’s line of sight.
“I’m telling you right now, I’m going to be the closest thing to a friend tonight,” Jisung insists.
“I won’t hurt you.”
Tears prickle at the corner of Hyunjin’s eyes, his waterline soon flooding with salty tears. They run down his dry skin, coating it with moisture. His head begins to spiral, and his bottom lip starts quivering as he shakily intakes rough breaths of air.
“N-No, I don’t- I can’t believe those,” Hyunjin stutters, a wet sob breaking through, “w-words anymore!”
“G-Get away!” Hyunjin protests, his voice cracking under the strain.
However, when Hyunjin looks at Jisung, he notices that his face is contoured with worry. He lets himself calm down a little, still keeping his wet, wide eyes on the man crouched at his feet.
“Oh, you poor thing,” Jisung whispers, standing up slowly, “what happened to you?”
Jisung moves around the chair, causing Hyunjin to follow him with his eyes.
Jisung lays a hand on the handle of the bathtub, turning it.
Crystal, pristine water shoots out of the nozzle, hitting the bottom of the tub. It begins to swirl at the bottom by the drain, and Jisung reaches a hand down to press on the plug.
Hyunjin almost misses his next words, “please, tell me all about it while you bathe.”
Jisung steps back in front of him, crouching once again. This time, his hands hover slightly over Hyunjin’s hands.
Hyunjin’s breath catches in his throat, and he watches carefully.
Jisung reaches forward, catching Hyunjin’s trembling hands in his own.
Jisung pulls Hyunjin’s hands away from his chest, moving them to rest on the blue vest covering his shoulders. He then reaches forward and begins to unbutton his shirt.
Hyunjin swallows roughly, gripping Jisung’s shoulders tighter.
Cool air seeps into his skin as his shirt is peeled off his shoulders.
“You have horrible bruises on your ribs,” Jisung comments, “how did those get there?”
Hyunjin’s mouth goes dry at the memory. He hates it.
“You know what? Tell me while you bathe.”
Hyunjin looks into Jisung’s eyes, seeing kindness in them. He nods slowly, letting Jisung get back to what he’s doing.
Soon, Hyunjin’s shirt is being folded and set on the floor.
Jisung looks up at Hyunjin, a small smile creasing his lips.
“Time to stand up, yeah?” Jisung asks carefully.
Hyunjin swallows, hesitantly nodding.
Jisung takes Hyunjin’s hands into his own and helps him stand slowly.
Hyunjin’s muscles burn and scream at him, and he whimpers shakily.
“I got you,” Jisung reassures him, “I’ll be quick.”
Hyunjin watches as Jisung moves to tug at his trousers, pulling them off gently.
Then his socks.
Now, Hyunjin is standing in his underwear.
Jisung looks at Hyunjin with sympathy.
“I’ll let you take those off on your own, but first,” Jisung motions to the bathtub, which is still filling, “let’s get you in the water.”
Hyunjin nods, holding on to Jisung as he tries to wobble to the bathtub. With each small step, his legs feel like crumbling and setting on fire all at once. However, he’s standing right at the edge of the bathtub, and he can climb in.
“Um, would you mind?” Hyunjin whispers, turning to Jisung.
“Of course not.” Jisung says, turning his head away, but extending his arm to turn off the running water and to help Hyunjin stand.
Hyunjin removes his boxers, folding them and setting them onto the pile of clothing.
Inching closer, he settles into the warm water easily, a shiver running up his spine as he sinks down into the depths of the liquid.
“Better?”
Hyunjin looks up at Jisung, who has planted himself in the chair by the bathtub.
He nods slowly.
“Great,” Jisung says, “then let’s get moving!”
Hyunjin flinches when Jisung reaches over his head, producing a small glass bottle. In dark blue, an “S” is painted on the top of the stopper.
He watches curiously as Jisung opens the bottle, the stopper coming out with a pop. Jisung sets the bottle aside and rolls up his sleeves.
“Is that shampoo?” Hyunjin asks.
Jisung looks up, a look of bewilderment on his face.
“Yes, of course,” he pauses, “you do know what it is, right?”
Hyunjin fumbles quickly, “yes! Yes, mine is just in a plastic bottle, so I didn’t know.”
Jisung smiles as he tips the glass bottle into his palm. A cool, opaque white liquid pools in the palm of his hand.
“You seem talkative now,” Jisung teases.
Hyunjin blinks, looking away shyly.
“That’s okay!” Jisung gushes.
“I was just wondering that if you were ready to talk, you could tell me about the bruises on your ribs. And about why you can’t believe the words, I won't hurt you.”
Hyunjin wrings his hands under the water, his skin suddenly beginning to feel itchy.
“It’s okay if you don’t, but if you want to, please share,” Jisung soothes.
Hyunjin has little time to respond when soft, warm hands press into his hair. He immediately expects them to tug and rip, but instead, they curl and massage his scalp.
He sighs deeply, focusing on the soap lathering onto the top of his head. He can hear Jisung chuckle behind him, but he pays it no mind.
Hyunjin feels something akin to trust with Jisung. Jisung has been kind to him. He deserves some answers.
As Jisung continues to wash his hair, Hyunjin begins to speak.
“When you told me that you wouldn’t hurt me, I couldn’t believe you because,” Hyunjin hesitates, swallowing heavily, “my boyfriend, Damian, last month he started saying that to me whenever I didn’t want to have sex with him.”
The hands in his hair faltered for a moment.
“Then, every time I finally gave in and agreed,” Hyunjin shivers, “he would start and never stop. It was immediate. Even when I was screaming and crying, clawing at the sheets, begging him to stop, he would just laugh and say the same thing. I won’t hurt you. No preparation or foreplay. He stopped doing either three months ago. And when I finally passed out and went limp, he would stop. Pull out and leave me in our room so he could go to the pub and meet his friends.”
The hands in Hyunjin’s hair have stopped, and he begins to feel awkward for sharing so much.
“I’m so sorry to hear that, Hyunjin,” Jisung says, his voice soft with sympathy.
Hyunjin nods, looking down into the soapy water at his thin, frail figure. His eyes hover over his ribs, bruised with purple, blue, red, green, and yellow spots.
“My ribs,” Hyunjin sighs, pushing through the tears that threaten to spill over his eyes, “Damian did that too.”
Jisung picks up a cup of water and begins to rinse Hyunjin’s hair softly.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Jisung whispers.
“I want to,” Hyunjin whispers back.
“Tell me then.”
Hyunjin closes his eyes, easing into Jisung’s touch. It is trust. He trusts Jisung. It was quick, sure, but something about him makes Hyunjin feel safe.
“Damian came home a day or two before I had delivered the package to Minho, and he was drunk, upset, and horny. He told me to ride him, or he would put a bullet into my head. So I did.”
Hyunjin feels Jisung begin to massage his shoulders with soap, the smooth liquid gliding down his chest and into the frothy water.
“But as I was riding him, he got upset again and,” Hyunjin stops, trying desperately not to relive the memory, “he started using me as a punching bag.”
Jisung gasps from behind him, and Hyunjin sinks further into the water.
Suddenly, he’s being hauled out of the water and wrapped in a warm towel.
Hyunjin blinks, seeing Jisung’s furrowed brow.
Jisung smoothes his hands down the sides of Hyunjin’s towel-covered arms.
“I’m truly sorry, Hyunjin. But I can’t say tomorrow will be any better for you,” Jisung says, his eyes straying away from Hyunjin’s.
His heart presses against his stomach.
That sinking feeling.
Jisung is hiding something.
“What?” Hyunjin whispers.
Jisung opens his mouth, words flooding out as if his life relied on it, “Prince Christopher has seen you in town a time or two and you caught his eye, so he figured out where you worked, and ordered package after package until it was you who delivered it. He gave us certain instructions. If it was our turn on the guard shift and you entered the property, we were ordered to take you prisoner. You see, he sent out invitations into the town for a dangerous manhunt that starts tomorrow. A manhunt where the last one standing gets to reside in the manor forever. He got five participants. Four willing, and one unwilling. That one unwilling,” Jisung hesitates.
“Is you.”
Hyunjin can’t find the words to speak. His lungs are constricting on him. He’s losing sight of Jisung, the feel of his fingers are dimming.
He was captured for fun. So the crazy prince of his kingdom could get some enjoyment out of watching him die. The prince who killed his own parents, and who will probably kill him too.
Just as a hazy veil begins to cloud his vision, a warmth envelops his core, spreading to wrap around his shoulders.
Jisung is hugging him.
Hyunjin reaches his now shaking hands up to clutch at the back of Jisung’s dark blue vest and rest his face in his neck.
“Hyunjin, I never wanted to do this to anyone, but Prince Christopher wanted this,” Jisung whispers, his voice cracking in the middle.
“He wanted you,” Jisung sniffles, “I’m so sorry. I’m a good person, I really am. Please forgive me.”
Hyunjin cries with Jisung, his panic settling a bit. Jisung feels bad about it. He feels horrible. Jisung is a pure person at heart.
“I forgive you, Jisung,” Hyunjin sobs.
He lets himself hang onto Jisung for a little longer before pulling away and snuggling into his towel even more.
“What now?” Hyunjin asks warily.
Jisung wipes at his eyes, brushing down his vest.
“Dinner,” he chirps.