just pretend.

27.

His first thought upon waking was of Minho. Still half-asleep, Jisung instinctively reached for his phone beneath the blanket, fingers fumbling across the sheets until they found the cool metal. The last thing he remembered was sending another message to Minho late into the night, offering once more that Minho could stay with him to avoid facing everything alone. He stared at the screen now, his eyes narrowing in disappointment as he saw that his message remained unread, unanswered. Frustrated, he let out a groan, tossing the phone to the side as he swung his legs out of bed, unable to shake the knot of worry twisting in his stomach. As he dialed Minho’s number, Jisung paced back and forth, the rhythmic tapping of his fingers against his thigh matching the rings on the other end. But there was no response – just Minho’s familiar voice redirecting him to the mailbox. Another groan escaped him as he hung up, running a hand through his hair. He knew himself too well to pretend he wouldn’t spend the day haunted by the silence, anxiety gripping him tighter with every passing hour until Minho resurfaced. Shaking himself out of his worry, he jumped into a quick shower, letting the water run over him in hopes it would ease the tension building in his chest. Once dressed, he forced himself to eat, though his appetite was nonexistent. He managed a few bites of scrambled eggs, a slightly burnt slice of toast, and half-heartedly crunched on an apple. His mind was a mess of thoughts, every one circling back to Minho. Protecting him felt like the only thing he cared about at that moment, yet he felt helpless, the walls closing in as he racked his brain for solutions. The sound of his father’s voice drifted through his mind again, cold and unfeeling, and for the first time in his life, it truly unsettled him. He had grown up accustomed to hearing that icy tone directed toward employees or clients, but never toward someone he loved. Not toward someone as kind and genuine as Minho. It made him feel small and uncertain, like a child all over again. He couldn’t stop himself from wondering if he held any leverage, any scrap of value in his parents' eyes that might be enough to sway them. He thought back to all the times they had brushed him aside when it came to their business, leaving him to feel like an outsider, a bystander to their cutthroat world. But if they had even an ounce of regard left for him, he had to try. He shook his head, taking a shaky breath as he wrestled with his thoughts. Maybe if he could convince them of Minho’s innocence, or even persuade them that they would win this case as they always did, they’d relent. There had to be something he could say that would reach them, some argument that would ease their relentless pursuit. He sighed, knowing how unlikely it felt, but with nothing else left to try, he forced himself to his feet, slipped on his shoes, and grabbed his car keys. The drive to his parents' house felt longer than usual, the road stretching endlessly before him. Each turn, each familiar landmark only heightened his anxiety, the weight of his mission pressing down on his shoulders. As he pulled up to the large, stately house, a mixture of dread and determination settled in his chest. He could almost hear his father’s voice in his head, commanding and uncompromising, and it took all of his resolve to push back his fear. One thought kept him steady: Minho’s safety was worth any risk, any cost, even if that meant standing up to the people who had always felt untouchable. Taking a deep breath, he straightened his shoulders and stepped out of the car, ready to face whatever came next.

“We didn’t think that we would see you again”, his father said, his voice laced with amusement, a smug, satisfied smile creeping onto his face as if he’d been expecting Jisung to come crawling back. The sight made Jisung's heart hammer wildly against his chest, each beat echoing like a warning. His father leaned back in his chair, his gaze unyielding, with that same twisted amusement flickering behind his eyes. “You changed your courses?”, he continued, his words sharp and probing, making Jisung’s throat tighten. “I did”, Jisung managed, swallowing hard as he leaned against the doorframe to steady himself, feeling as if the floor might break open beneath him if he dared to move. He let his gaze drift to his father, noting how the man looked nearly identical to the last time he’d seen him – entrenched in his armchair, every part of him exuding confidence and control. Jisung could hear the faint clattering from the kitchen where his mother was preparing lunch, a bitter reminder of the comfortable domesticity that he could no longer trust. “Why are you throwing away your life?”, his father sneered, his voice laced with contempt as he took a slow drag from his cigarillo, coughing immediately afterward but still managing to look unfazed. “A life your mother and I built so carefully, efficiently, and with hard work. A life you built under our regime”, he continued, his words pressing down on Jisung like an iron weight, the scent of smoke thickening the air. He forced himself to stand straighter, his arms crossing protectively over his chest as he steadied his gaze on the man he had once wanted to make proud. “Why are you here, son?”, his father asked, raising an eyebrow, his scrutinizing gaze piercing through him. There was a gleam of challenge in his eyes, and Jisung could feel the carefully crafted walls of his own composure beginning to strain. He took a visible breath, forcing himself to cross the room and sit on the couch in front of the armchair, every muscle in his body tensing. The house didn’t feel like his home anymore, and even the familiar decor felt alien, each picture and piece of furniture a reminder of a past he could no longer relate to. He looked up briefly at the pictures of his younger brother, whose carefree smiles and laughter seemed frozen in time, a painful reminder of the innocence he once shared in this space. “Why do you want revenge on Minho if you're going to win the case anyway?”, he asked finally, his voice steady, forcing himself to meet his father’s hardened, calculating gaze. His father took a final drag, the faint tremor of age in his hands as he coughed, the green of his eyes dimming, their once-bright hue fading with time. Seeing this made Jisung almost pity him. Almost. But as his father continued to scrutinize him, Jisung’s pity was replaced by a deep, unshakable anger. “They closed our business temporarily. We’re losing clients, employees, and money. They'll drag us through court, and even if we win, there will be nothing left to rebuild from the ashes”, his father replied, his voice a low, simmering anger that made Jisung’s stomach churn. A shiver ran down his spine as he listened, feeling like a stranger to this man who seemed willing to destroy everything in a desperate attempt to salvage his reputation. “So you want to send someone after him?”, Jisung pressed, his tone sharp as he watched his father's face twist into a self-satisfied smirk. It was like a punch to the chest, the realization hitting him all at once. “You already have”, he whispered, nausea rising as the pieces clicked into place. He should have known – he should have seen this coming. His father would never wait, never bide his time, not when there was someone he deemed an enemy. His father leaned forward, his face calm but his eyes glinting with a quiet, cruel delight. “I hope you had one last conversation with him, son”, he said, his tone mocking, as if savoring Jisung's reaction. “I hope he told you why he really broke up with you. That poor kid didn’t have a choice, right, darling?”, he added, glancing towards the kitchen where Jisung's mother appeared with a tray of tea and biscuits, placing it carefully on the coffee table. Her tired, sorrowful gaze met his, but her compliance with his father’s actions spoke volumes. “What?”, Jisung managed, his voice hollow as he stared at her, trying to process her quiet nod, the look in her eyes confirming his father’s twisted claim. The betrayal cut deeper than he could have imagined, searing through him. His father leaned his left elbow against the armrest, leaning forward with a predatory intensity as he locked eyes with Jisung. “This time Wooyoung is not going to be so nice to him”, he said, his voice smooth, almost casual, as if discussing the weather. He leaned back, a malicious smile curving his lips as he watched Jisung’s reaction with satisfaction. Every word felt like a calculated blow, the confirmation hitting him with the force of a physical assault. “Your bodyguard?”, Jisung forced himself to ask, dread tightening in his chest as he thought of the man his father had used as a personal enforcer for years, the kind of man who didn’t ask questions and left no loose ends. Silence stretched in the room, his father’s smile the only answer he got, and it was enough.