Arrange Devotion | SS

Chapter 2. The Unraveling

White pills for sleeping

Blue pills for anger control.

Seokmin runs a hand through his tousled hair, his jaw clenched tight as he glares at the blue pills with disdain. His sharp, dark eyes glint under the low lights of the kitchen, the shadows accentuating the sharp angles of his face.

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, dangerously seductive as he tosses the pills into the basin, the sound of them scattering like a dismissive whisper in the silent room.

With a bottle in hand, he saunters toward the living room, every step exuding a lethal grace. His broad shoulders and toned arms ripple with each movement, his muscles tense under the smooth fabric of his shirt.

The cold aircon brushes against his bare neck, sending a shiver down his spine, but it’s nothing compared to the fire simmering beneath his skin.

Seokmin's fingers dance over the bottle of white pills, his lips twisting in a mixture of frustration and defiance. He hates that he needs these to sleep, that he has to rely on something so weak when he is anything but weak.

The thought of succumbing to the pills, of letting them dictate his peace, is almost laughable. His grip tightens on the bottle, the veins in his hand standing out, making the sight all the more enticing.

There’s nothing more irresistible than a man on the edge, and Seokmin is teetering just there, dangerously close to losing control, and somehow, that makes him all the more intoxicating.

Seokmin stares at the pills in his hand, his expression hardening. He rolls them between his fingers, the tension in his body growing as he contemplates whether to take them or not. Sleep has been a rare luxury lately, but the idea of relying on these small tablets feels like admitting defeat.

With a frustrated sigh, he tosses the pills onto the coffee table. They scatter across the surface, the sound of them hitting the glass barely registering in his mind.

Seokmin leans back into the couch, closing his eyes as he runs a hand over his face. The silence of the room is suffocating, yet his mind is anything but quiet. Thoughts race, dark and restless, refusing to let him find peace.

He lets out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. "What a joke," he mutters to himself, the words carrying a sharp edge. He reaches for the bottle again, not sure whether he’s more tempted to take the pills or throw them across the room.

Just then, the shrill ring of his phone cuts through the silence, snapping Seokmin out of his thoughts. He reaches for the landline, muscles tensing as he leans back on the couch, pressing the phone between his ear and shoulder. “What?”

"Sir, how many bodyguards should be sent to Mr. Yoon's place tomorrow?" John's voice crackles through the receiver, but Seokmin's response is cold, almost bored.

"Am I the one marrying him?"

"No, sir..."

"Then ask Seungcheol," Seokmin bites out, his voice laced with irritation. There's a pause on the other end, heavy with John's hesitation.

“Boss isn’t picking up his phone,” John finally admits, his voice faltering.

Seokmin’s jaw clenches, a dangerous edge creeping into his tone. When exactly was Seungcheol going to stop acting like a child?

“Fine. Send the two Chinese men. And did you check with the club? The materials were supposed to arrive today.”

John stammers a response, but Seokmin’s focus has already shifted, his mind calculating, dark thoughts brewing as the conversation continues.