・❥・ʙᴏᴏᴋ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ᴏꜰ ʙʟᴜꜱʜ ʙᴏʏ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ. Happily married and eagerly awaiting San's return from his mandatory military service, Wooyoung busies himself building their home and nurturing their dreams. Just as everything seems to be going perfectly, unexpec...
Joon's demeanor was unsettling; he seemed to relish the discomfort and chaos his presence had stirred up. As he scanned the room, his eyes finally landed on me. Noticing my work uniform, his expression shifted into a playful, yet disconcerting smile. He stood up with a dramatic sigh that seemed to underscore his flair for theatrics—a trait that hadn't diminished despite the years.
"How's Wooyoung? Heard he has a son," Joon asked casually, as if he were making idle conversation about an old acquaintance rather than prying into the life of someone he'd once obsessed over dangerously.
His question, seemingly innocent, sent a wave of protectiveness through me. My immediate reaction was a mix of anger and disgust, manifested in a grimace. "You can forget that person existed," I retorted sharply, my tone laced with venom. "I heard he is married happily now that San is back," I added, the smirk on my face deliberate, intended to cut deep and remind Joon that his past actions had no place in Wooyoung's present life.
The air in the room thickened with tension as Joon processed my words. His smile faltered slightly, the impact of my pointed comment not lost on him. Despite this, he quickly masked any sign of annoyance or pain, regaining his composure with practiced ease.
"Oh, is that so?" Joon replied, his voice smooth yet there was a slight edge to it now, a hint of the darkness that we all knew lurked beneath his calm exterior. "Well, good for him. Everyone deserves happiness, don't they?" His question, rhetorical and tinged with a dark irony, hung in the air, a reminder of the twisted perspective he held on relationships and personal boundaries.
"He deserves to be happy with you being dead—like you're supposed to be. You don't deserve to walk free with the amount of hurt you caused," I growled, unable to contain the rage that had been simmering since I learned the truth. My words were a raw, unfiltered expression of the anger and resentment I felt toward Joon.
In response, Joon chuckled darkly, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. He began to clap his hands slowly, a mocking applause that only fueled my anger. "We all know who's the favorite here. You're all bought like puppets. I'm the real son, don't forget," Joon sneered, his eyes glinting with malicious satisfaction.
His words hit a nerve, and I felt my jaw clench involuntarily. The implication that we were somehow lesser, that our father's love and actions had been mere transactions, was deeply insulting. Yet, there was an unsettling truth in Joon's assertion of being the "real" son—his bond with our father, toxic as it might be, was something that had always overshadowed the rest of us.
Hyuk, who had been struggling to keep his composure, finally snapped. "Enough, Joon! This isn't about who's the favorite or who's the 'real' son. It's about the fact that you've caused so much pain and chaos, and now you're back expecting everything to be forgiven and forgotten. It doesn't work that way!"
