Hostage Handbook

Chapter Twenty-Seven | We

Trigger Warning: This chapter entails repeated descriptions and mentions of suicide, unsuccessful suicide and suicidal thoughts.

JUNGKOOK

After three days, the cold leaves Yeoreum, taking away most of her hostility. She warms up to me in a way I don't think she is conscious of fully. She leans against me, laughs with me and even asks me for sex (once, but it still meant a lot). The last one hasn't happened since her first escape attempt.

Yeoreum poked me at midnight and monotonously said, "Can you fuck me?"

Yeoreum's straightforwardness didn't turn me off. If anything, her straightforwardness is what turned me on. I slipped my fingers into her soft folds to notice the dampness that had already soaked her underwear. She leaned her forehead against my shoulder and rubbed her hand up my abdomen when my fingers entered her body.

Yeoreum mumbled such sweet words I thought I would never hear from her again. We made love that entire night.

My mind wants me to believe Yeoreum has some feelings for me, but I am afraid to think over that idea too deeply. Even if Yeoreum does, that feeling is a delicate bubble that can easily burst into my worst nightmare.

I don't want to acknowledge it because I don't want Yeoreum to notice. Her realisation is a needle that'll shred the modicum of hope between us asunder. Our relationship has been steering in and out of dead ends since it started, so I have to be cautious about maintaining this fragile happiness.

The spring breeze blows a fresh breath of joy into the castle. Yeoreum wakes up early and pesters Ms Kim into teaching her a simple French crepe recipe for breakfast. I can tell Ms Kim is growing to like Yeoreum. It is a very subtle change in her eyes I would've missed if it wasn't about Yeoreum.

Ms Kim puts up a brief fight against Yeoreum's idea before finally agreeing with a faint smile. I am not surprised by Ms Kim's change. Yeoreum's name means summer, but the warmth she exhibits doesn't carry any of the summer season's harshness. Instead, it feels more like the springtime sunshine peeping through the curtains now. Benign, gentle, but heart-warming.

I hover over the kitchen doorframe to watch Yeoreum use the egg whisk. Her mid-length hair is pulled back into a low ponytail that itches to fall out any second. I watch her dark brown locks sway from side to side. Every flutter brings the velvet scrunchie closer to the ground.

If I were to question Yeoreum about her hairstyling techniques, she would tell me she purposely did a slack job to prevent the hair tie from rubbing harshly against her hair. She can justify anything with perfectly worded sentences she wings on the spot.

Yeoreum's shriek emerges from the corner of the kitchen. I run to her without caring that my footsteps will expose my lurking. I clasp Yeoreum's shoulders and suck her index finger, which is red from a small burn.

A complicated look briefly flickers across Yeoreum's eyes, but she quickly conceals it with a girlish pout.

"I thought I told you to focus on your work?" Yeoreum whines.

"I can't focus on my work when you're in here hurting yourself." I motion to tug Yeoreum away from the crepe maker. "Cooking is too dangerous for you, Yeoreumie. Let's go."

Yeoreum drags my hand towards her with a sly smile I know too well.

"Eating also has the danger of choking. Are you going to starve yourself because of that?"

"Yeoreum, you said you're not talented at cooking, so—"

"Are you finally admitting I'm not talented at cooking? Was your love for my kimchi stew an Oscar-worthy act?"