The Black rose (Minsung ff)

When boundaries blur

Jisung's head throbbed as consciousness slowly returned to him, his senses clouded with a heavy fog. He blinked, eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the black velvet curtains that lined the massive windows.

The room around him was opulent—overwhelmingly luxurious with dark tones of black and gold threading through every piece of furniture. The bed he was lying in felt soft, like sinking into clouds, but the deep black silk sheets were cold against his skin, reminding him of where he was.

As he tried to sit up, a sharp tug on his leg stopped him. He glanced down, and his heart sank at the sight of the thick, silver chain attached to his right ankle. It was anchored to the bedpost, restricting his movements. Panic flooded him again, but his body was too exhausted to fully act on it.

His throat felt dry, and his body ached. The events of the past days were a blur in his mind, but the fear was fresh. The reality was inescapable: he was Minho's. 

A soft knock on the door startled him. His eyes flicked to it just as two maids entered the room, heads bowed, holding trays of food. Jisung eyed them warily, his body tensing up as they approached the side of the bed.

"Sir, your food," the maids said softly as they set the tray on the table beside Jisung. He glanced at it briefly before shaking his head. "I'm not hungry, and I'm not eating. Please, take it back," he muttered, his voice firm despite the growing anxiety inside him.

"Please, sir, you must eat," one of them said softly, her voice low and cautious, as if trying not to startle him. The smell of the food was rich, savory, but it made Jisung's stomach churn. It made him sick.  He shook his head, his voice barely audible. "I'm not hungry."

The maids exchanged a glance, looking slightly nervous. They didn't push further, knowing better than to argue. With a bow, they silently left the room.
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The grand foyer of the mansion was eerily silent as Minho strode in, his coat slipping off his shoulders into the hands of one of the waiting staff. He had just returned from a meeting with his inner circle regarding a much smaller and weaker mafia boss who had information about a potential uprising threat that needed to be eliminated soon, But minhos thoughts were elsewhere—focused something else, or someone..

Han Jisung.

The nagging worry about the younger had never fully left his mind. Jisung had been brought to his mansion, safely secured, but he knew the boy. Knew how stubborn, how defiant he could be, even when scared.

That was part of why Minho liked him so much—Jisung wasn't like the others who crumbled easily. He had fire. But fire could burn if not handled properly, and Minho was well aware of that.As he made his way through the hallways, one of the head bodyguards approached him, bowing respectfully.

"Sir," the man began, hesitating slightly. "Sir refused to eat.""

Minho's steps faltered, his jaw tightening. A wave of concern washed over him, but he quickly masked it.

"He didn't eat?" Minho's voice came out cold, laced with urgency. He already knew the answer, but hearing it again made his heart race

. It wasn't defiance that worried him—he expected that from Jisung. But the boy needed to understand something: he wasn't in control anymore.

"No, sir," the guard replied, his tone steady but careful, acutely aware of the potential fallout from delivering such news.

Minho stood still for a moment, his gaze icy and calculating. "Send word to the guards outside his room. I'll handle it."

Without waiting for a reply, Minho strode down the hall toward Jisung's room, the weight of authority clinging to every step. He didn't knock when he reached the door; he simply pushed it open and stepped inside, his presence instantly filling the room with an intimidating air.

Jisung's eyes shot up to meet his, wide with fear but also stubbornness. Minho's gaze flicked to the untouched tray of food on the side table, and his heart sank.

"Jisung," he said softly, his voice steadying as he took a step closer. "You haven't eaten in four days. You need to eat something."

Jisung's lips pressed into a thin line. "I told them I wasn't hungry," he muttered, refusing to fully meet Minho's gaze. The chain around his ankle rattled slightly as he shifted uncomfortably.

Minho's eyes narrowed, a sense of urgency creeping into his demeanor. He stepped closer, towering over the bed as he looked down at Jisung, his heart aching at the sight of the younger boy's defiance. It was a brave front, but it only made Minho worry more.

His hand shot out, grabbing Jisung's chin and forcing the younger boy to meet his eyes. "Listen to me, princess," he said softly, but there was a warning laced in his tone. "When I tell you to eat, you eat. Understand?"

Jisung's heart raced, but he didn't back down. Fear mixed with anger simmered just beneath the surface, creating a turbulent wave of emotion. "I'm not your puppet," Jisung spat, yanking his face away from Minho's grip, though his body trembled slightly at the intensity of the moment.

Minho's lips curved into a cold smirk, but his eyes remained hard. "Oh, you're much more than that, sweetheart," he said, leaning closer until his breath ghosted against Jisung's cheek. "You're mine, whether you like it or not. And as long as you're mine, I'm going to make sure you're taken care of. That includes eating."

Jisung swallowed hard, feeling trapped not just physically but emotionally. He hated how Minho could make him feel so powerless with just a few words. It was infuriating and intoxicating at the same time. He hated even more how a small part of him, deep down, craved the attention.

Minho's hand moved from Jisung's chin to his hair, gently brushing through the strands in a gesture that was almost tender. It was a soft touch, Making the younger flustered, But still stubborn as he refused again.

"If you don't eat, I'll make sure you do," Minho warned, his voice softening but still carrying that deadly edge. "I'm not playing games with you, kitten." His concern for Jisung's well-being was palpable, even if he wrapped it in a facade of authority.

Jisung glared at him, but his resistance was crumbling under Minho's gaze. He could see the depth of care behind that icy exterior, and he knew he didn't have a choice.

Minho reached for the tray of food and placed it on Jisung's lap again, this time not leaving room for any further refusal. "Now eat," he commanded, his tone firm yet revealing the worry that lay beneath.

Jisung hesitated for a moment, his pride still battling with the reality of his situation. The food looked inviting, and the way Minho watched him with such intensity made his heart flutter uncomfortably. Finally, he picked up the fork and took a small bite, feeling Minho's eyes burn into him the entire time.

"That's better," Minho murmured, satisfaction evident in his tone as he leaned back, folding his arms while maintaining that watchful gaze. "You need to take care of yourself, Jisung. I won't tolerate you starving yourself. I care too much for you to let that happen."

Jisung felt a swell of emotion at Minho's words, the concern wrapped in a layer of possessiveness. The younger could feel himself getting more confident with the older, and also the strange connection growing between them—one that he couldn't quite understand but couldn't deny either.

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