❅ 𝗙𝗔𝗡 𝗙𝗜𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 ❅
As he saw the helpless man weeping for the love of his family, Namjoon asked himself, "So who is to blame now?" He had also lost the person he called home after all. His mother and sister did too.
But when his mind drifted...
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"Life sucks!" A loud, frustrated shriek yanked Namjoon awake from where he was sprawled on the couch.
For a moment, he was bewildered, struggling to piece together what was happening, where he was, or if he was still stuck in that nightmare of chasing down Eunha's mischievous antics.
All he'd wanted was a quiet moment to drift off, maybe imagine himself in a heavenly, cloud-like bed—a feathery duvet wrapped around him, pillows soft as cotton beneath his head, another snuggled close, catching the drool slipping down his lips.
But reality had other plans.
Babysitting Eunha had become a reluctant side job for him, on top of pulling all-nighters for work and studies. He understood her intentions were pure, maybe even angelic, as she liked to claim. But he wasn't sold on the "innocent eyes" act she threw his way. Years of handling her antics had trained him to see through that charm, brushing off her pleas like a seasoned ninja.
Bleary-eyed, he stretched, trying to shake off the ache from his uncomfortable sleeping position and the sudden jolt that had woken him. Then, hearing more grumbling and irritated yells echoing through the house, he muttered, "Shit." The nightmare was real—and he'd have to do something about it. Now.
If this were any other scenario, maybe he'd imagine charging downstairs heroically to save Eunha from a midnight intruder. But no, reality proved she was the very "intruder" he had to protect the household from, specifically the poor child who often found himself a target of her creative outbursts. To be fair, the thirteen-year-old had his own ways of provoking her.
Sometimes Namjoon questioned how the two of them, with their constant bickering and peanut-sized patience for each other, were even related. The last argument? Whether to pour cereal before milk or milk before cereal. He thanked his sanity for choosing coffee instead.
Yawning, he steadied himself and made his way downstairs, navigating the suitcases he'd packed late into the night. He leaned against the handrail as he descended, not entirely sure what fresh chaos awaited him but entirely sure it involved Eunha.
"Where are you?" he called out, his voice heavy with sleep. Her voice echoed from the kitchen, and he followed, bracing himself.
An unpleasant smell hit his nostrils, making him pause. The sight before him solidified his horror.
Eunha stood there, wide-eyed, in front of what could only be described as a kitchen massacre.
"Namjoon, I. . . ," she began.
"You what?" he pressed, crossing his arms. The chaos had stolen his sleep entirely, and now he was wide awake.
