𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 - 𝐛.𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧

eight

The next morning, Chan had cancelled whatever plans that he had with Minho, deciding that the two of us were to spend the day together. He leaned against the island kitchen, watching as I bustled around making coffee and some French toast.

"You're good at cooking," He commented, taking a bite of the meal I had prepared. "I'd have thought that maids cooked for you,"

"They did," I admitted, taking a seat at the dining table. "But I wanted to learn how to bake. Eventually, that led me to learning how to cook food. But I can't do fancy things, so don't expect a Michelin star meal,"

A smile tugged at his lips as he took a sip of his coffee.

"What about you?" I asked. "Do you know how to cook?"

Chan nodded, and that surprised me a bit. "I like food, and I wanted to learn how to make meals. And it came in pretty useful when we were on the run,"

"You were on the run?" I tilted my head. As far as I knew, Chan had fought to get his birthright, his territory back. I hadn't been told about him hiding from his father.

"After I came back from Australia, my father wasn't exactly thrilled to have me back. He tried to kill me," Horror made its way onto my face. What sort of parent tried to kill their own child? "I was only thirteen at that point, and once I knew what he was trying to do, I escaped and kept out of his reach for around three years,"

"Where did you go? I'm sure the other families weren't keen on hiding the son of Daegu in their cities," I very much doubted that Busan would have tried to help Chan, and I knew for a fact that Seoul would never have reached out.

"I never stayed in one place for too long. I kept shifting between cities, and there were times where I went through Busan and Seoul," He grinned. "And they never even knew. Whilst I was on the run, I was plotting my father's downfall. I would take back what was rightfully mine,"

"That must have been terrible," I mumbled. "You were so young, just a boy. All on your own,"

My husband shook his head in disagreement. "I was a Made Man by the time I was eleven, that was when I'd made my first kill. And I wasn't alone, I had the boys with me,"

My mind flitted back to what Manseok had said before I had been wed to Chan, how the people closest to him weren't his blood family.

"Anyway," He changed the subject. "What do you want to do today?"

I hummed thoughtfully. Shopping didn't appeal to me, and I wanted to do something productive, something useful. An idea came into my mind. "We could go to the gym together?" I suggested. "You could teach me how to fight, how to defend myself against an attack,"

"I will always protect you," My heart pounded at the statement. I knew he wouldn't let anything happen to me, but I had another reasoning.

"I know that, but we have enemies, Chan, and they won't care that your my husband," I peered up at him. "It'll be good,"

He nodded. "Alright, we'll go to the gym,"

...

Twenty minutes later, we had driven to the gym where most of the men in the Daegu family came to train and practice. Chan carried our bags and we passed through a steel door, into what looked like a reception. The man at the desk nodded at my husband and when he spotted me, his eyes widened by a fraction, but he said nothing.

Chan's hand remained on the small of my back as we passed through a long hallway and into a wide arena, filled with different sorts of equipment, with a boxing ring in the middle. 

Men were sparring with each other, attacking dummies and wielding both knives and other sorts of weapons. I was the only woman in the room.

"There's not exactly a female changing room," Chan muttered, glancing towards the doors.

"You'll make sure that I won't be spied on,"

"I definitely will," I chuckled as he moved into the changing room to see if anyone was in there before coming back out, shaking his head. "Come on,"

I followed him in, scrunching my nose slightly at the smell of sweat. He set our bags down, and pulled off his t-shirt, making me look away, cheeks flushed. It wasn't getting surprising anymore, but I still wasn't used to it.

Cautiously, I began to remove my own clothing, quickly getting dressed into the leggings and a rather figure-hugging top that showed a small strip of my stomach.

I swallowed when I'd turned around, finding Chan's gaze on me, looking with such burning intensity and desire that I wanted to run right back outside.

"Let's go," He muttered, and led me to the main workout area. We headed towards the mats, a selection of knives glaring at us. The men had all moved away, pointedly avoiding my eyes and instead remained trained on each other.

Chan took a small blade, passed it to me and then positioned himself across from me. "Try to cut me," He said simply. "But don't cut yourself,"

"You want me to cut you?"

"It won't hurt," I knew everyone in the room was watching us, and I also knew that my husband was putting on a show for the sake of it. "If you manage to cut me, even just a little bit, then you win,"

Gripping the handle a little more, I dashed towards him, aiming for his bicep, but he was too quick, grabbing my waist, spinning me firmly so that my back met his chest. "Predictable," He whispered.

I tried a few more times, but each and every time, Chan had managed to stop me, gently pushing me onto the mat, where I leaned against the wall, out of breath. 

"Are you okay?" He seemed genuinely concerned.

"I'm fine, just a little tired," I scanned the room. "Please tell me you have a soldier who's shorter, and maybe younger and is terrified of the slightest thing. I would probably only be able to win against them,"

"My men aren't afraid of anything or anyone," Chan spoke loudly, and the men in the room puffed themselves up with pride. "Who wants to fight my wife?"

Not suprisingly, nobody in the room offered themselves forwards. They knew Chan would burn them alive, and a few let out a little laughter.

My husband turned to me once more, with a smirk on his face, and I regained my composure, attacking a couple more times. The final attempt had been slightly successful as I'd managed to get the knife to his arm, and just about scratch the surface of his skin, but not enough to draw blood.

"Maybe with more practice, you will get better," He threw an arm around my shoulders as we returned to the changing rooms.

"With you teaching me, I will,"

...

That night we were on the bed, his hands in my hair as he kissed me, demanding, wanting, and I let him, enjoying it all a little too much. I loved it when he kissed me, I often felt giddy and it was a melting feeling.

We lay beside each other, my leg tangled in his, and his arm thrown over my waist, my own hugging him. Maybe this marriage really would work out.