[title song: goodbye - echosmith]
[~5k]

Chapter Four.

Dasom finds herself staring at the backroom door for a long, long time, long after Jihyo flips the open sign to closed and throws Dasom the keys (“If you’re not coming in, then lock the door before you leave,” She says over her shoulder in tone that makes it clear that Jihyo doesn’t think Dasom will be leaving) before disappearing behind it.

She really hates Jihyo, hates the curiosity burning at the back of her mind the longer she stares at the back room door.

She hates how, despite these plans of rebellion being the opposite of what Dasom stands for, she’s still curious. She still wants to know Jihyo’s plans.

(She thinks, maybe, she still wants to make sure Jihyo doesn’t plan anything stupid, doesn’t do anything that’ll get her killed, because even if the very idea of rebellion is a death sentence in itself, Dasom doesn’t know what she’ll do if Jihyo actually dies. They’re not friends, by any means, but they are close acquaintances and Dasom—she can’t imagine what she’ll do if Jihyo is dead and gone.

She can’t stand the thought of rebellion because rebellion causes death. She doesn’t want Jihyo to die, doesn’t want the other kids on the streets dead.

Because that’s all she associates with rebellion.

Death.)

And death—well, the very idea of it terrifies her the most. Maybe that makes her a contradiction, an anomaly to her core, because she is a human girl who voluntarily fights in a no-rules underground pit against horrifying monsters daily, yet, here she is, absolutely terrified of death. Werewolves with sharp teeth and sharp yellow eyes who only want to tear out? No problem! She’s not even fazed by wendigoes with drool dripping from their mouths, lolling tongues, hungry eyes, and human-like features that seem to be some kind of satirical caricature of the people she knows so well or vampires with blood red eyes who can her dry if she doesn’t concentrate at one hundred and ten percent at all times, but death—the very idea of death, leaves her quivering, frightened beyond belief.

The way Baekhyun had said “So?” so concisely, so sharply, as if the concept of death was nothing to him was something that scared her even more.

She just wants to stay alive, survive.

That’s not living, he had said, with biting precision.

(She had never thought about the differentiation between staying alive and living. She never really thought there was a difference.)

Curiosity, anger, annoyance, it all courses through her, and it’s so damn irritating because she had thought she was over it, over extreme emotions that would range outside of the neutral zone. She had gotten used to being numb to it all because it had helped her stay alive, to survive.

She thinks of the sunset, hidden behind their town’s stone cage walls, and anger blazes, because she’s never thought they deserved anything else but freedom, but she’s seen the results of the last rebellion.

When she thinks rebellion she hears breathe breathe breathe and giant, spiked wheels crunching through gravel. She thinks sitting alone in her home for days, stomach grumbling and tears drying, and waiting, waiting, waiting.

When she thinks rebellion she thinks death and—

Dasom jolts out of her thoughts, pressing her shaking palm over her chest, breathing heavily as the panic slowly subsides, her chest tight. She takes a deep, deep breath.

Her eyes are still on the door.

“.” She mutters as she closes her eyes, rubbing her throbbing temples.

Curiosity and something else courses through her, something she can’t place.

(Something she later realizes was responsibility.)

But she just tugs her tattered cloak closer and yanks the hood over her eyes, ignoring her gut, before she swivels on her heels and reaches for the door.

She swings it open a little too roughly, since it slams against the wall, the bells at the top colliding loud enough for the back room to hear. She’s staring at the ground, her eyes widening when she sees a pair of shiny, slightly scuffed shoes.

She looks up, her heart pumping in her chest.

Jongdae is staring back at her, his hair slicked back and his ears tucked against his head, twitching slightly. His jaw, she notices, clenches, and his yellow cat-like eyes narrow in instant recognition, despite the fact that half her face is covered by her hood.

There are three cops behind him, one of them a new face she’s never seen before. He’s tall and ethereal in his beauty, his eyes dark and his face sickly pale. She instantly feels that familiar, instinctual push and pull when she looks at him, the feeling that she is a prey under his gaze, but her instincts are confused because his beauty is like a magnet and, despite everything, it only makes her want to get closer. His beauty is his weapon, the predator’s pull, and she instantly tenses at the vampire’s presence. Her assumption—that he’s a vampire—is solidified by the rigid postures of the two officers behind him, both well-known and awfully corrupt werewolf cops. Despite werewolves and vampires working together in the royal council, they have a long history of hatred for each other. Dasom doesn’t know how or why they’ve resolved to work together after centuries of fighting, mostly because humans aren’t taught about history, neither theirs nor the other creature’s. Though the hatred has long devolved into petty competition and annoyance with how the other smells rather than the bloody vengeance it used to be, the dislike and uncomfortableness is still there and it’s entirely detectable if one knows where to look. The werewolves can’t hide their wrinkled noses or the way they won’t necessarily look at the vampire cop. They can’t hide the extra foot of space they’ve left between themselves and the vampire cop right at Jongdae’s shoulder. It’s hard to hide tension, especially when she knows where to look.

The vampire cop’s eyes flash red when she meets them for a split second when she peers out from beneath the hem of her hood.

She tries to keep her reaction subtle, but she’s sure he can hear the way her heart starts racing in her chest. She’s sure they can all hear it, except maybe Jongdae. She’s never learned the true extent of Jongdae’s abilities as a cat hybrid, partly because she’s never fought a cat hybrid, but mostly because learning how to fight a cat hybrid feels entirely like learning how to fight Jongdae and it rubs her the wrong way.

The vampire cop speaks, his voice low and smooth, though there’s something there that instantly makes the hairs at the back of her neck stand on end, “Where are you going?” He asks, his voice dripping with suspicion, strangely enough.

Dasom looks up, this time, her eyes flickering off of Jongdae’s face—his eyes don’t quite meet hers, she notices, and his lips are pressed down into a thin, unamused line, reminding her that she wasn’t supposed to leave her house today—and they land on the vampire cop for just a moment. “Home.” She says, shortly.

She may be nervous, but she’s well aware of what’s happening in the back room of the bar. Perhaps, the cops aren’t here for that, because they’ve brought Jongdae of all people and she can’t quite wrap her head around why Jongdae could possibly be here, with them, but she’s still aware of the back room of the bar. She’s aware that she is standing in front of cops, one of whom she’s never seen before, which isn’t a good sign because she and her people make a point of diligently keeping track of their town’s police force’s identities, just in case. It’s extra critical because this isn’t just some hybrid cop, like most of the police force in their town, or one of the very few eccentric werewolves on the force; this is a vampire.

Vampires barely live in their rundown, factory town. The few vampires she has fought are usually humans-turned-vampires, the kind of vampires that other vampires look down on and regulate. She’s heard rumors that they’re forced to drink animal blood, shipped in from beyond the wall, and the handful of them that do exist in their town join the fights specifically so they can have a taste of human blood. The one thing Dasom’s noticed about the humans-turned-vampires in their town is that they always disappear. They go mad and then they disappear and nobody knows what happens to them, why their numbers suddenly dwindle.

Jihyo had told her once, a long time ago, that vampires have a bizarre and incredibly rigid class system based on blood purity. The more human blood a vampire has in them, the lower they are in status and the harder it is to receive certain privileges, like not living in a ty, rundown, factory town filled with hybrids and humans, werewolves who are either dirt poor and weird or ridiculously rich, and the occasional wendigo or faerie.

(“True born vampires hate changed vampires,” Jihyo had said once, while the two of them perused through a bunch of books on vampires that Jihyo had swiped from her rich merchant, “They call it impure and they make them drink animal blood because the true-born don’t believe changed vampires deserve human blood.”

Jihyo’s expression had been dark, livid, and, for a moment, Dasom had felt something in her chest, something akin to anger, bubbling up within the depths of her heart.)

The only privilege every supernatural creature gets is the privilege to travel between cities, even the lowest classed, most impure vampire can travel to different towns and cities, though rumor has it that the capitol, where the Royal Council lives and rules, is off-limits to everyone except for the very wealthy and powerful, including low-class vampires. Traveling between cities is expensive and includes plenty of bribes, but some vampires, wendigoes, faeries, with a particular taste for experiencing something new, Dasom has heard, come to this ty town for the sole purpose of watching or participating in the underground fights. Dasom figures they just want to amuse themselves and play at broke and struggling before going back home, perhaps even tasting human flesh for free while they’re at it. Dasom’s glad she’s gotten to punch the faces of these particular types into brick walls quite a few times.

Jihyo had mentioned, once, that the pits in their town are infamous outside the walls. Dasom wouldn’t know, because humans can’t travel without an approved and, sometimes, certain breeds of hybrids can’t travel either. She isn’t quite sure when or why that particular rule was made up, but some supernatural creatures dislike certain breeds of hybrids just as much as humans and passage between city gates all depends on the supernatural creature guarding the gates that day and their mood. Jongdae, as a cat hybrid, has never left town before.

(“I don’t have anywhere I’d like to go.” Jongdae had told her, with a crooked smile as he shrugged one shoulder and picked at his bread with soft, distant eyes, his legs crossed beneath him.

“Well,” She’s sprawled out on the rooftop, her head resting on his thigh as she stares at the hazy sky, filled with more factory smoke than usual due to production deadlines coming up. “If you asked, would they let you?”

She had looked up at him, straining her neck, and the upside down image of him eating his bread slowly had made her smile, shaking her head, “I mean, your father is a part of the town council, isn’t he?”

Jongdae had shrugged, again, blinking down at her with his yellow eyes. Sometimes, the brightness of his eyes would unsettle her, despite knowing him for so long. “Yeah, but he’s not important enough.”

She remembered seeing a wistful look in his eyes. She closed her eyes, “You’re a hybrid.” She had said, “How are you not important enough to do what you want? You’re not human.”

“No,” Jongdae had shaken his head, “But we’re pretty damn close.” She had to her stomach, chin resting on his knee, but he had shaken his head, curly lips pressed into a thin line, before he had handed her his bread, “Eat it. I’m not hungry.”

She had never been one to ask questions, even back then. Maybe she should have asked, then.)

This cop is a vampire that is clearly not devolving into a mad mess, the same way she caught glimpses of a few vampires from the pits becoming within the span of a few months, or even within the span of a few minutes during their fights. He is higher up in status, she can tell by the way he’s dressed, his clothes shinier, his face sharper, his aura stronger, more predator-like than the vampires she had met in the pits.

The only reason a creature of higher status would become a cop and enter their factory town was if the Royal Council sent them here. There’s no other reason than that, she’s sure of it, because this place has nothing else to offer.

She’s hyperaware, suddenly, of the vampire and what his presence entails for both her and Jihyo’s people in the back room. So she speaks out the single, clipped word loudly, loud enough, she hopes, for her words to drift into the back room and give them some kind of warning. Usually, werewolves and vampires have extremely good hearing, even Jongdae’s ability to hear is enhanced beyond human capabilities and, in a normal bar, they would have been able to hear everything that’s going on in the back room of the bar perfectly from where they’re standing, possibly even further out.

(But Jihyo’s rich werewolf merchant had wanted the bar to be a “comfortable” place for the humans he wanted Jihyo to serve, where they’d be able “to let their guards down.”

When Jihyo had told her as much while they both sat cross-legged against a work-wagon, Jihyo overseeing the reconstruction of the building housing the bar while Dasom just watched, Dasom had looked at her funny, her natural suspicion taking over.

“And why exactly does he want our guards to be down?”

Jihyo had shrugged, “Maybe he just wants everyone relaxed so they’ll spend more of their money. He loves money.”

Dasom remembered thinking of how greedy the bastard was, remembered the way Jihyo had stared at the work being done with an intense gaze Dasom had found a bit unsettling, but had chalked it up to being away with her rich merchant werewolf for longer than usual this time around.)

The walls of the bar were rebuilt with supernatural hearing in mind, unlike many of the buildings in this town including the factory. Apparently, according to Jongdae the one time she asked him about it, from the outside, the louder voices within the bar sounded muffled while the quieter voices weren’t even audible. It’s the perfect place for Jihyo’s rebellion planning.

(For a moment, she thinks it’s too perfect.)

But then the vampire cop says, “Are you the owner of this…fine establishment?” His tone tells her that he thinks it’s the opposite of fine, his accent sounds rich to her, snide and snooty, and it instantly reveals that he’s really not from here.

Dasom’s first instinct is to say no and disassociate herself from Jihyo and Baekhyun and whatever is being whispered in the back room. To just survive.

Her instincts tell her to say no, they shout no no no run run run over and over again, until the silence stretches on and on for much too long.

Dasom can’t stand it. Because right then and there, that feeling she had, when that surge of protectiveness washed over her before she decided to Baekhyun to Jihyo herself, that feeling she gets when she stores away extra bread for the younger kids, much the same way Seungcheol did, because she can’t stand to see kids, babies, starve to death, not if she can help it, that feeling she gets whenever she tells herself that the best way to survive is to keep to herself, to mind her own damn business, only to have it overridden by her sudden, spontaneous desire to do quite the opposite. She can’t stand that feeling, because she knows that she’s incapable of ignoring it, of surviving for herself and only herself. She can’t help but protect, even if she knows it’ll most likely have her killed, sooner rather than later.

(Perhaps, it makes sense, though, because the only reason she stayed alive on the streets was because the other kids had taken pity on her and helped teach her how to take care of herself, after her parents left. The only reason she didn’t starve to death was because of Jongdae’s baskets of food. The only reason she didn’t decide to just let herself die was because of Jongdae’s friendship, his warmth, because of Jihyo’s irritating tendency to get under her skin. This stupid, annoying, meddling feeling was why she survived this long in the first place.

Besides, she thinks she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she just walked away now. She trusts Jongdae to keep Jihyo out of harm’s way, for her sake, but Dasom doesn’t know who else is in the back room. What will happen to them? Baekhyun’s not even from this town, apparently. What will happen to him? Who will she be if she doesn’t allow her own people, friend or not, a chance to survive?)

The silence stretches on long enough that Jongdae turns his head to look at the vampire cop, “I don’t think she runs this place.”

She tries not to look surprised at the way Jongdae doesn’t quite look at her, at the way he pretends like he doesn’t even know her. Perhaps, he’s doing this for her safety, or maybe it’s for his own benefit, either way she pretends like it doesn’t bug her, although it does.

“And how would you know that? Do you know her, Mr. Kim?” The vampire cop is all snappy questions and stilted, double edged words.

Jongdae’s expression hardens and she catches the slight furrow of his brows. The werewolf cops in the back both exchange a look, because the couple times she’s been taken into custody by the cops, just because, Jongdae had always been the one to bail her out before anything other than being pushed around, spat at, and cursed at could happen. The entire force is very, very aware that she and Jongdae are friends.

But this vampire—he doesn’t.

And no one tells him.

“This place is owned by the Merchant.” Jongdae completely ignores the vampire’s question, his jaw clenching.

Before the vampire can respond, Dasom interrupts, blurts out really, her voice loud, “It’s run by my friend. She works for the Merchant. But, she’s not feeling well, so I offered to close up for her.”

The lie comes out smoothly, her heart beat retaining the same slightly panicked rhythm it’s been beating away at for the past five minutes since the cops showed up—which she’s sure they’ve chalked up to nervousness, as a weak human in the presence of four supernatural creatures. Her lie comes out smooth enough that the vampire cop and the werewolf cops seem to buy it instantly. But Jongdae just raises a brow, a tiny, minuscule, barely there movement she wouldn’t have caught if she hadn’t known him so damn well. She ignores him, because honestly if anyone deserves to be giving the other a what the hell are you doing look, it’s her because why the hell is Jongdae with the cops in the first place?

(A tiny voice, deep, deep within her head, tells her, You know the answer to that question. And, perhaps, she does, what with all the disappearing Jongdae has started doing. The amount of respectability his presence has begun to garner, the few times they’ve managed to go out together in the past year. The clean clothes and shiny shoes. The reason why he’s here with the police force and this new vampire police officer.)

“You two.” The vampire looks over his shoulder, at the two werewolves behind him, who both look highly offended at being addressed as just ‘you two’, “Go to the Merchant and figure out why he made this place soundproof. It reeks of humans and I want an explanation for it. Why would he sound proof a ty bar made for humans?”

The last question seems to be more unconscious, as if he’s asking himself that question more than anything. Despite the low grumbling that the werewolf cops are clearly not trying to hide, they disappear, running off to find the Merchant.

“And you.” The vampire turns his intense gaze on her, “You won’t mind if we look around, will you?”

She blinks at him, frowning before she shakes her head, voice still louder than usual, “I’m supposed to close up. That’s all. Besides, I don’t even know why you want to look around.”

There’s a long, long pause, where the vampire just stares at her, his dark gaze so utterly intense that it feels like he can see straight into her head. It’s disconcerting and she finds herself glancing at Jongdae, whose jaw is clenched, a strange tension sprung through his entire body, right down to his tail.

And then she’s pushed through the air, her back hitting the wall so hard that the air is knocked out of her lungs completely. It feels like the air was out of her by a vacuum almost instantly, without notice, and the only reason she doesn’t smash the back of her head against the wall is because there are pale fingers curled around the hood of her jacket, the grip so tight that it pulls at strands of her hair. It hurts, she belatedly realizes, as she gasps for air that doesn’t quite come, because it’s left her so fast.

She opens her eyes—she hadn’t even realized she had closed it—and the vampire cop is right there, centimeters from her face, eyes flashing blood red and sharp teeth protruding ever-so-slightly from beneath the folds of his lips. Her back hurts from the impact against the wall, though it’s clear that the vampire cop had kept his grip on her just right so she’d feel the pain but she wouldn’t break anything. At least, not yet.

She lets out a deep, staggering breath, panic settling in her chest as she tries to seem as fearless as possible. The vampire cop lets go of her hood then, throwing her head back hard enough for it to knock against the wall behind her with a decent thud and she groans at the impact, the pain trickling through her head because he had pushed her head into the wall hard enough for it to bruise.

Her fingers itch for the gloves at her waist.

She watches, warily, as the vampire places a single, pointer finger right in the middle of her forehead and places enough pressure for her neck to bend at a strange angle as the back of her head, where the bruise-like bump is likely beginning to form, is nearly flush against the wall. She thinks that with the slightest adjustment to his strength, he could push her inches into the wall without breaking a sweat. The strain on her neck, the pressure on her back, and the throbbing pain at the back of her neck has her staring widely at the vampire cop.

(For a moment, she wonders why she even thought it’d be a good idea to argue with a damn cop. Arguments with the cops never end well and she should know better by now. She’ll be lucky if she doesn’t end up dead.)

“Is that,” The pressure from his finger gets stronger and Dasom lets out a loud gasp of pain as she feels the stone wall behind her splinter a bit, tiny shards of rock pressing into her, a couple catching on her tattered cloak. “Any way to talk to your new Chief of Police?”

There’s a look in his eyes, as she strains to not indicate how painful the pressure is, that tells her that he wants an answer, so she murmurs no, ignoring the wave of humiliation and anger crashing through her.

(Her eyes flicker to Jongdae and Jongdae looks conflicted, but—but he’s not moving. He’s not doing a thing.)

“Now, let me ask again.” The vampire cop speaks in a low, amused voice that makes her want to smash his face in with one of her spiked gloves, “Do you mind if we look around?”

“Go…ahead.” She bites out through gritted teeth.

The vampire doesn’t let up on the pressure, doesn’t let up on his grip, and the rocks slice at skin through her shirt, minuscule scratches that sting for her, but clearly draw enough blood to make the vampire’s eyes flash a blood red.

Dasom’s heart pumps in her chest, her eyes closing because god she’s going to die, isn’t she?

All she can think is how pathetic dying like this is, when she could have easily died in the pits and gone down fighting or something, instead of being pinned up against a wall by a measly pointer finger.

But then, Jongdae’s voice cuts through the tension, clipped and sharp, “Kris, you have a job to do, remember? Leave her alone and get to work.”

The vampire—Kris—lets go of her, turning his glare and flashing red eyes on Jongdae. Surprisingly, Jongdae doesn’t even look phased, his expression stern, stoic, as he jabs a thumb behind him, towards the empty bar room. Kris gives Jongdae a look, as if he can see into Jongdae’s mind. “You’re right.” Kris grins, all gum and sharp, sharp teeth that make the hairs at the back of Dasom’s neck stand on end, “But you’d better remember your place, too, Jongdae.”

Dasom watches as Kris steps past Jongdae, knocking his shoulder hard against Jongdae’s, making Jongdae step back a little because Jongdae’s cat hybrid strength is strong, but not strong enough when it comes to a vampire. She watches them exchange a long, long look, Jongdae’s jaw ticking and his tail is puffed up and pointed downwards, clearly displaying his anger as it wags back and forth.

Before Dasom can really move, Jongdae breaks eye contact first, just as Kris makes his way to the back room.

Dasom locks eyes with Jongdae’s yellow eyes, and Jongdae’s expression is completely void of emotion. The only reason she can tell that he’s irritated is because of the way his tail sways behind him, wagging almost.

“Go home.” Jongdae says, exhaustion filling his voice to the brim.

She blinks at him.

For the first time in a long while, she wants ask him, why.

She wants to ask him, what’s wrong? What’s happening?

Why are you with him? She wants to ask.

“Just go.” His voice is quiet, so quiet she almost misses it; quiet enough, she realizes, for Kris not to hear, not when he’s preoccupied with the back room door.

(Her heartbeat jumps in her chest, lodges in . She doesn’t miss the way Kris looks over his shoulder, right at her, the moment her heart beat quickens.)

She nods to Jongdae and Jongdae turns away from her, staring at Kris’s movements.

He kicks open the back room door and the door flies off its hinges, slamming into wooden cases of wine stacked at the other side of the room, a deafening bang that makes her jump in her spot.

It’s funny, how emotions can mix, how polar opposite emotions can tumble into a single, convoluted mess. She’s both anxious (because of Jongdae’s tone, his words, and his entire demeanor) and relieved (because the back room is dark and there’s no one there).

She’s moving, then, slipping out the door, and thank god Kris doesn’t stop her. Kris doesn’t stop her and she’s pulling her cloak around her as she runs through the streets, weaves past people heading home from the factory, late heading home because of those stupid, mandatory whippings.

She doesn’t have a destination in mind, her legs just run on autopilot. She grabs the side of a building, using the momentum to propel her east and she sprints down the narrow alleyways, not quite thinking, until she stops to catch her breath and realizes that she’s back in the alleys she and the other kids on the street used to hide away in, before they found places to live. She breathes heavily, her chest rising and falling with each heavy breath, before her eyes zone in on the overflowing dumpster in the corner against a high wall and a building. She takes a deep, deep breath, ignoring the burning in her lungs, before she jogs at the dumpster, using the momentum to pull herself up onto it before propelling herself onto the high wall. She turns, the movements coming back to her like second nature, and jumps up onto the broken fire escape ladder hidden behind the other side of the wall. She climbs and climbs until she collapses over the ledge, at the rooftop she and Jihyo always used to hang out on, when they’d need a break, a place away from everything and everyone. It’s the rooftop she had brought Jongdae to a couple of times. It’s the rooftop where she could escape, and perhaps that’s why her body had automatically brought her here in the first place.

(Because, deep down, she knows there’s something off. The Chief of Police shouldn’t be a vampire sent here by the Royal Council. The bar should never have been soundproofed against the supernatural—let alone soundproofed by Jihyo’s rich werewolf merchant. Jongdae shouldn’t—he’s never sounded like that before, he’s never sounded so bone-deep exhausted, so resigned.)

She’s on her hands and knees, breathing hard as she looks up.

She’s not even surprised to see Jihyo sitting there, her hood slipping from her hair and revealing her big brown eyes. She’s not surprised to see Baekhyun crouched beside her, the moonlight casting strange shadows over his eyes, nor is she surprised to see the four other people crouched around them, two of whom she recognizes as Tzuyu and Dahyun, two pretty, young girls from the other side of town with a knack for twisting their words in order to twist people, creatures, anyone, around their little fingers. She doesn’t recognize the other two, both tall boys, though one is tan with a wide, welcoming smile, despite every else’s wariness, and the other is pale with a single earring dangling from one of his ears.

(Perhaps, her body had unconsciously driven her here because she already knew Jihyo would be here.)

Perhaps, that’s why Jihyo looks just as unsurprised as Dasom feels.

Baekhyun just blinks at her, his brown eyes boring into her. There’s a strange sort of understanding in his eyes, mixed with the same wary caution Tzuyu, Dahyun, and the other two people—kids, she realizes after a moment, teenagers nearing adulthood, but still kids—have as they look at her, fists clenched. Baekhyun tugs at his red scarf.

Dasom just falls back onto her , her legs spread as she tries to catch her breath, tries to quell the anxiety burning in her veins, “Why—what’s happening?” Dasom asks, eventually, when the silence stretches on too long. Dasom meets Jihyo’s eyes and finally says, “Something was—something is off, Jihyo.”

Jihyo just sighs and Dasom’s stomach churns.

a/n: wow I'm on a roll??? also, I'm loving mullet baekhyun a lot I can't believe Baekhyun did this to me, I feel betrayed :/

also I had to research cat body language/behavior for this fic and honestly? best research i've ever done

anyways, thank you all for the love and I adore yall so much!!!! as always, comment down below, and i LOVE YOU!

xoxo