kidnapper's protection | seongjoong

1

Seonghwa stood in front of the mirror, combing through his long black hair with deliberate strokes. It cascaded down his neck like silk, brushing just above his shoulders. The soft hem of his crop top—navy with delicate lace trim—hovered above his toned stomach, showing just enough skin to make a statement without meaning to. He tucked a stray lock behind his ear, letting the silver rings looped along the edge catch the morning light. His baggy jeans fit snugly, and he slipped into his favorite sneakers, giving himself one last look before heading out.

He knew what waited outside the door, but it didn't matter. He never wore what his parents wanted him to—button-up shirts, sensible pants, and hair cropped neatly above the ears. That version of himself had never existed, and he wasn't going to create it now. Not for them.

As expected, the moment he stepped into the kitchen, the air thickened with disapproval. His mother stood by the stove, stirring the soup without looking up, her silence sharper than any insult. His father, seated at the dining table, gave him a once-over and exhaled through his nose. It was an exhale loaded with all the contempt a person could muster.

"You're still not going to change?" His father's voice was low, controlled, but filled with a tired resentment. "Every morning, it's this...ridiculous nonsense."

Seonghwa picked up a cup of water from the counter and took a sip, ignoring the question entirely.

"Why can't you wear something normal for once?" his mother muttered, her eyes still fixed on the pot as if even looking at him was exhausting. "Do you know what people will think if they see you dressed like that? Do you ever care about how we feel? What they say about us?"

Seonghwa swallowed his water and leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold like a rerun of a show he hated. He'd heard the same script a thousand times.

"You've got everything going for you—a law degree, good grades. If only you could just..." His father gestured vaguely toward him, as if words failed to encapsulate the absurdity of his son. "Be normal."

"Is it really that hard to cut your hair?" his mother snapped. "Wear a damn T-shirt like everyone else?"

Seonghwa said nothing. It was pointless. Even on the rare days he dressed down in something less feminine, the criticism shifted but never disappeared. They found something else to nitpick—his earrings, his walk, the softness in his voice. It was as if they resented not just the way he dressed but the essence of who he was. And he knew, deep down, that no matter what he did, he would never be enough.

The hardest part wasn't the yelling—it was the quiet moments like these. The slow, simmering disappointment. The way they made him feel like an unwelcome guest in his own home.

"At this rate, we should've just—" his mother began, but she cut herself off, biting down on the words. She didn't need to say it. Seonghwa knew what she was thinking. He'd heard it before.

We should've disowned you already.

It didn't sting anymore—not the way it used to. Now, it was just another thing to file under "things to ignore."

He set the empty cup down and walked out of the kitchen without a word.

As soon as Seonghwa stepped outside and felt the cool autumn breeze on his skin, he allowed himself to exhale. The crisp air smelled faintly of fallen leaves and cinnamon from a nearby café. It was the kind of morning that made him wish he could stay outside forever, far away from his parents' suffocating judgment.

He pulled his jacket tighter around his shoulders and headed to the nearby park, where he knew Wooyoung would already be waiting.

Sure enough, there he was—Wooyoung, perched on a bench, kicking his legs as he munched on a bag of chocolate chips. His face lit up the moment he saw Seonghwa approaching.

"Hyung!" Wooyoung called, waving enthusiastically. "Over here!"

Seonghwa smiled, feeling the heaviness from earlier lift slightly. With Wooyoung, things always felt easier—lighter, somehow.

"You're late," Wooyoung teased as Seonghwa sat beside him. "I was just about to leave and never speak to you again."

Seonghwa gave him a look, one brow raised. "Dramatic ass."

"You still love me," Wooyoung shot back, grinning as he stuffed more chocolate chips into his mouth. "Anyway, listen to this—I've been meaning to tell you! You won't believe what happened this morning. Mingi tried to make pancakes and set his stove on fire. Like, literal fire, Seonghwa. I had to put it out with a bucket."

Seonghwa chuckled softly. He could listen to Wooyoung rant about nothing all day, and it would still be more comforting than anything else in his life.

"And guess what? Mingi just stood there, staring at the flames like, 'Oh no, not again.' Like it's a normal Tuesday for him. And then Yunho had to eventually stop him. Can you believe it?"

Wooyoung kept talking, bouncing from topic to topic with the ease of someone who knew exactly how to fill silence. Seonghwa let him talk, not offering much in return but nods and occasional smiles. Wooyoung didn't mind—he never expected much from Seonghwa, just his company.

For a while, they just sat there, talking about nothing and everything, as the world moved quietly around them. It wasn't much, but for now, it was enough.

As Wooyoung rambled on about Mingi's chaos with Yunho, his words abruptly trailed off. His gaze snapped to a figure passing by the park bench—a tall guy with broad shoulders, dark hair swept effortlessly back, and the kind of face that seemed to make time slow down. He wore a leather jacket slung lazily over a black hoodie, hands shoved into his pockets, exuding a cool, effortless charm.

Wooyoung's entire focus shifted, eyes practically sparkling as he tracked the guy's every movement. It was as if the rest of the world melted away.

Seonghwa caught the look and smirked knowingly, resting his chin on his hand. "And who exactly is that?" he teased, nudging Wooyoung's arm with his elbow. "Someone's hella interested."

Wooyoung tore his gaze away, cheeks dusted with a faint pink. "Shut the fuck up," he muttered, failing to suppress the giddy smile creeping onto his face.

"Oh no, I need details." Seonghwa leaned in with a grin. "Who's the lucky guy?"

Wooyoung let out a dreamy sigh, twisting the chocolate chip bag in his hands. "His name's San. Isn't he gorgeous? I swear, hyung, the man looks like he walked out of a fucking romance drama."

Seonghwa arched a brow, amused. "Since when do you get crushes this bad?"

"Since him," Wooyoung admitted with a groan, tilting his head back dramatically. "I think I'm actually losing it. He's perfect—smart, insanely hot, probably smells like expensive cologne—and when he walks by, I feel like my heart is going to explode."

"Wow. Sounds serious." Seonghwa grinned, clearly enjoying Wooyoung's torment. "So when are you proposing? Or is it the other way around?"

"Ugh," Wooyoung deadpanned, though the way his smile lingered said otherwise. "Mark my words, Hwa. One day, I'll make him fall for me."

"Can't wait to see how that plays out," Seonghwa chuckled.

Wooyoung puffed out his chest, determined. "Oh, it's happening. Just watch."