House Of Cards || NCT Mafia

Chapter seventy-two : Drunk confessions

Taeyong's eyes were piercing through her soul and she felt vulnerable under his gaze.

"Taeyong, you're hurting me," she spoke. The sound of her voice seemed to snap him out of his trance and he suddenly let go of her wrists. As soon as he did, she rubbed them to ease the pain, and realized that Taeyong's grip had left red marks around them.

He didn't apologize, but he cleared his throat and took a step back. Iseul seemed to breathe better once he wasn't as close to her.

Taeyong turned around and opened the window that led to the balcony. Once he put a foot outside, he welcomed the fresh air in his lungs, and he leaned on the ledge, observing the night sky. It always calmed him for some reason.

Iseul stepped on the balcony too, careful not to rush him. She leaned on the ledge next to the man, supporting her head with a hand on her chin. For a few moments, they stood there, in silence, enjoying the calmness of the night.

"My sister," Taeyong broke the silence with a hoarse voice.

Iseul turned her head to look at him. His pale skin glowed under the moonlight, and for a second, he didn't look as scary as before. More like... troubled. She chose not to reply; letting him take his time to speak.

"The girl on the picture is my older sister, she died a few years ago."

At the statement, Iseul felt her heart clench. She couldn't imagine the pain of losing a sibling. And judging by Taeyong's shaky voice, he hadn't overcome it yet. But could you ever really overcome the sorrow, the pain of such a tragedy? She wasn't so sure.

His heart throbbing, Taeyong continued, "She died in a fire. The attack wasn't meant for her, and yet she's the only one who didn't make it."

His voice was mixed with tiredness, like he was emotionally exhausted just to think about that part of his past again. His mind was tricky, and once in a while, the memories would flood back in his head without him wanting them too, and each time, he was surprised he didn't drown in them.

"It wasn't an accident?" Iseul asked with a faint voice.

Taeyong shook his head, "No, it wasn't." This time, his voice was harsher, and his eyes were now burning with rage. His grip was firm on the cold stone of the balcony ledge, and Iseul watched as his entire body tensed up, expressing his feelings.

"It was a strike against me," he said. "She shouldn't have been there, she wasn't supposed to," his voice now became a whisper, and Iseul almost couldn't hear the end of his sentence. He marked a pause, taking a deep breath.

"I was out on a mission, and my house was empty. She didn't tell me she was coming, I didn't know," his heartrate accelerated when he reenacted the scene in his mind. "They saw the lights and thought it was me," his breath itched, and he had difficulty breathing.

"When I came back, my house was burnt down to the ground, nothing was left. The flames had destroyed everything, and she... she..."

His voice became inaudible, and he couldn't get rid of the lump in his throat. Iseul had listened carefully, not speaking or interrupting once. It was the first time he had an actual conversation with her, and she wasn't sure as to why he would tell her about such personal things. But Iseul guessed he must be exhausted of always having to put on a strong face for his members, forgetting about his own feelings. She was grateful he opened up to her, even though she was pretty sure that the alcohol in his veins must have helped a bit.

She tried to put a comforting hand on his, but he put it away so fast she jumped a little. Taeyong looked at his hand, as if her slight touch had burnt him.