In Chains and Shadows || Heehoon

Angel

The mansion had never felt more empty than it did now. Sunghoon stood in front of the large, grand window in Heeseung's private study, watching the rain drizzle down in a constant gray haze. The steady patter of droplets against the glass was oddly calming, but it did nothing to quell the tightness that had settled in his chest over the past few days. It was a familiar ache, one that had taken root when he first realized how isolated he truly was.

For weeks, Heeseung had kept him confined to this luxurious prison, showering him with attention and care, even providing him with the freedom of a few quiet spaces. But as the days passed, Sunghoon realized that none of that mattered if he couldn't see his friends, couldn't pursue his passions, couldn't go back to the life he once had. He had grown used to Heeseung's teasing, his stubbornness, the small moments of care that had begun to build a strange connection between them, but all of that couldn't replace what he truly missed: his freedom.

He bit his lip and clenched his fists, fighting the rising tide of frustration that threatened to overwhelm him. It wasn't just that he missed his old life; it was that this situation made him feel like a part of him was dying. A part of him that he couldn't recognize anymore. He had never been a prisoner before, not really. But now? Now, he was trapped. Stuck in a gilded cage with no escape in sight.

-

Heeseung stepped into the room quietly, like a shadow, before his presence fully registered with Sunghoon. The older man didn't announce himself—he never did—but Sunghoon knew. He could always tell when Heeseung was near.

"Sunghoon," Heeseung said gently, his voice a low rumble. His tone had a certain softness to it, though it was clear he was careful not to provoke another argument. "Are you feeling better?"

Sunghoon didn't respond. He barely even acknowledged Heeseung's presence as his gaze remained fixed on the rain. The tension in the air was thick, laden with unspoken words and simmering frustrations that neither of them had the courage to fully confront.

Heeseung stood by the door for a moment, watching Sunghoon, his expression unreadable. After a few seconds, he sighed, stepping further into the room. "Come on, Hoon. You haven't said a word in days. Don't you want to talk?"

Sunghoon's lips pressed into a thin line, but still, he said nothing. His mind was too clouded with anger, bitterness, and a profound sense of longing for something that wasn't here—his old life, his friends, his purpose.

"I'm fine," Sunghoon muttered under his breath, though it was a lie. He wasn't fine. He was far from fine. But he wouldn't admit it. Not to Heeseung.

Heeseung's patience was running thin, but his instinct told him to approach Sunghoon cautiously. The younger man was angry—he could see that now. But more than angry, he was hurting. And Heeseung understood that pain, perhaps better than Sunghoon could know.

"Sunghoon," Heeseung said, taking a few slow steps forward. "Please, look at me."

Sunghoon didn't move, and for a moment, Heeseung thought he might lose him entirely—lose whatever fragile connection they had built over the past weeks. But then, finally, Sunghoon turned his head just enough that their eyes met.

There was something in Sunghoon's eyes that made Heeseung pause. There was sadness there, raw and exposed, something deeper than the anger Sunghoon had been showing. It was a look Heeseung knew all too well—the look of someone who had been broken down and left with only frustration as their shield.

Heeseung walked toward him slowly, deliberately, his voice softer now. "You don't have to be like this."

Sunghoon met his gaze fully now, his jaw tight. "I don't have to be like this?" he repeated, his voice laced with sarcasm. "You think I chose this? You think I chose to be here?"