*SHK’s POV*

I wake up feeling a slight headache forming at either side of my head. I’m still a bit tired, but since it’s getting uncomfortable and I couldn’t sleep in this state, I roll over and massage my temples. With the pain still not going away, I then sit up with my eyes still closed, deciding to get a tablet of Tylenol from my medicine kit.

Slowly, my feet start searching for slippers at the side of the bed, however, they seem to be not there. Where could they be? Could they be under the bed? Ugh, what a hassle.

Scowling, I then open my eyes sleepily, annoyed that I have to bend down to search for my slippers when I notice something – my dresser is not where it should be, and wait, I don’t have brown colored cabinets. My eyes widen in alarm as I realize that this room isn’t mine.

I’m about to scream for help, thinking that I might have been abducted, when the everything comes crashing to me – the shooting, Agent Song driving me away from the scene then him taking me to a remote and unfamiliar place. Oh, I remember, he took me to his grandmother’s house, and this unfamiliar room that I’m in is his.

I sigh in relief as I remember what happened earlier then remind myself to think first before reacting next time. I tend to be impulsive with my emotions that I sometimes tend to react faultily. The moment he left and as soon as I finished torturing myself about how complicated my life is, I then decided to take a quick shower and change into clean clothes. The bathroom, indeed was small, but it’s decent and clean.

I then changed into the clothes he lent me, feeling refreshed. The shirt’s a bit huge, reaching my mid-thighs, but not that long for me to forgo wearing the sweatpants that came along with it. It’s a bit cold anyway and I wouldn’t want his grandmother to feel scandalized upon seeing me only wearing a shirt, even if it’s long enough to be considered a dress.

After such, I then grabbed a book from his bookshelf to pass the time, entitled Of Love and Evil by Anne Rice, noting his interest in sci-fi and gothic fiction. I was halfway through the second chapter when I started to feel sleepy but still continued to read on since the story was getting interesting. Maybe it was also in that chapter or the next when I finally dozed off, succumbing to my drowsiness.

Now fully awake and convinced that I wouldn’t be able to fall back into sleep, I check the clock, noting that it’s past 7:00 in the evening. I then grab the book and carefully put it back into where I got it, not wanting to cause a mess in his tidy and well-organized room.

I smile to myself as I realize how much this room resembles him. Tidy. Serious. Organized. Yup, that pretty well describes the Agent Song I know, excluding how he could be so contradicting at times. Speaking of him, where is he? It’s been a few hours since he told me he was going to take care of some things. Has he arrived yet?

Curious, and also in need of a drink, I tiptoe my way towards the kitchen. I just closed the door behind me when I hear voices coming from it, one womanly voice while the other’s deep and familiar.

So, he already came back.

The voices were still exchanging happy banters when I reach the kitchen and see Agent Song’s grandmother cooking something while he prepares the table, his back to me. He carefully places the plates then arranges the glasses effortlessly as if he has done such task for a thousand times already. He chuckles softly as his grandmother cracks a joke about the chickens in their backyard then mutters a comeback, earning a soft laugh from her while I find myself amused at seeing this carefree side of him which is a far cry from the serious façade he shows when he’s at work.

I’m still caught up at observing them when his grandmother looks up from her cooking and sees me standing near the door.

“Young miss. Oh, good that you’re awake,” she says, giving me a warm smile.

“Uh, yes. Sorry, I must’ve dozed off for a couple of hours,” I say, returning the smile and Agent Song turns to face me. He must be surprised to see me that he just looks at me silently, pausing from his task as if taken aback. He looks at my clothes, no his clothes that I’m wearing and I find myself getting a bit self-conscious. I fiddle with the hem of the shirt, unable to think of what to say next when his grandmother again gets my attention.

“No worries, dear. You must’ve been really tired. Anyway, have a seat. Dinner’s almost ready,” she says, gesturing me towards the table. Agent Song, on the other hand, seems to finally remember what to do and pulls a chair for me. I silently take a seat, observing the small dining area connected to the kitchen while he claims the chair across me.

“I hope you’re hungry,” she says and I give her a slight smile. “Joong Ki here told me that you liked the spread I made and asked me if I could cook you my specialty,” she adds and I turn to look at Agent Song, who’s bowing shyly beside me.

“You did?” I ask and he lifts his head slightly then clears his throat, avoiding my gaze.

“I didn’t want you to think that I was bluffing when I said Granny’s chicken porridge is the best,” he says matter-of-factly while I stare at him. “I figured this is the time to prove it to you.”

“Aigoo, you didn’t need to say that. I think you’re only praising me because I always cook for you,” his grandmother says.

“I’m telling the truth, Granny. You do cook the best porridge in town. And I think your customers would also attest to that. Otherwise, they wouldn’t keep coming back for it,” he protests and I find it cute that he’s acting like a little boy in front of his grandmother.

“Aish. You’re flattering an old woman like me. Anyway, let’s just let the young miss be the judge,” she says as she places a bowl of hot porridge in front of me. “I don’t use fancy ingredients like the ones the chefs in the Blue House use, young miss. But I hope it’s okay with you.”

“I don’t mind at all. Thank you, Mrs. uh…”

“Kang, dear. Mrs. Kim.”

“Kim?” I ask, confused. Isn’t she his grandmother? But don’t they have the last surnames? Is she his maternal grandmother, perhaps?

Seeming to read the confusion in my eyes, she offers an explanation.

“Joong Ki’s not really my grandson, although I already consider him as such. He came looking for a place to stay a few years ago and that’s when I took him in,” she kindly says and I nod slightly.

“Oh,” I only manage to say as I try to digest this new information.

“Anyway, you can just call me granny,” she offers. “I don’t really like being too formal,” she laughs softly.

“Okay, uh, granny,” I say, trying out the word. Not knowing what to say next, I then decide to try the porridge which Agent Song insists is the best dish in the world. My eyes light up as flavors explode in my mouth even just at the first spoonful. He’s right, it is really good.

At first, I was kind of hesitating, thinking that he might just be biased because it’s granny’s cooking, but now, I get what he means. The dish has just the right amount of flavor in it. Not too salty, not too creamy.

It’s savory with chunky slices of chicken in it, then topped with chives, chye poh and crispy pork lards.

“This is actually really delicious, granny,” I say, looking up from my bowl to meet her twinkling eyes.

“Really?” she asks, happy to hear what I just said and I nod.

“Yes, I like it,” I say and Agent Song turns to me.

“I told you, it’s delicious, Miss,” he says and I raise a brow at him.

“I never told you I didn’t think it was,” I say and granny laughs softly at us. We’re still laughing when Min Suk comes barging into the room.

“Granny, Hyung. I’m home!” he says, running towards the room, making some noise as he does and almost knocking a vase in the process, but luckily he manages to catch it.

“Aigoo! This careless boy. You didn’t need to rush,” granny says, scolding him.

“Sorry, I smelled something delicious and I’m starving,” he says cheekily then notices me. “Oh, Madam. You’re awake.”

Madam?

“Please excuse, my grandson, young miss. He could really forget his manners, sometimes,” granny says.

“Sorry, madam,” Min Suk says, bowing his head and I laugh softly.

“Madam?” I ask him.

“Uh, I guessed that that’s what I should call you since you’re the first daughter,” he answers shyly and I shake my head at him.

“That’s my mother,” I say, still smiling.

“Oh,” he says. “Then can I just call you noona? I’ve always wanted a big sister.”

“Min Suk,” Agent Song and Granny warn him at the same time and I wave them off.

“Yes, sure. That would be better,” I say, causing him to grin.

“Aigoo, look at him looking so happy,” granny comments. “Anyway, come and sit, Min Suk. Let’s have dinner,” she adds and Min Suk hurriedly takes the seat right next to me. Not that I mind, I’ve never had a brother and if I ever had, I guess he’d be just like him.

“Oh, did you get what I asked you?” Granny asks right in the middle of the meal.

“Yes, granny. I placed the persimmons at the table in the living room,” Min Suk answers, looking up from his bowl of porridge and garlic bread.

“Persimmons?” Joong Ki asks, confused.

“Yes. They’re for your grandpa Sung-ki. I forgot to tell you but we’ll be visiting him tomorrow. He hasn’t been feeling well these days,” she says and I turn to look at Agent Song, who seems to have no idea about this.

“Is he alright?” he asks, a bit of worry etched on his face.

“Yes. Don’t worry about him. Just a little cold. But he’s been asking for Mrs. Ahn’s persimmons that’s why I asked Min Suk to buy him some,” she says, smiling, but then it fades as she looks as if she just remembered something.

“Will you and the young miss be okay here? I didn’t know you’d be here. If I knew, I would’ve postponed our trip, but….”

“It’s fine, granny. We’ll be fine here. Don’t worry about us,” he says.

“Are you sure? I could call him and reschedule for a couple of days,” granny offers but he waves her off.

“No, don’t do that. We’ll be okay, granny. Just have a safe trip and send my regards to him,” he says and granny exhales a sigh.

“Anyway, what time will you be leaving?” he asks.

“We’ll take off in the afternoon. I still have to open the store in the morning,” she says, smiling briefly then turns towards me. “Anyway, young miss. Just feel right at home, here. Alright? I know we don’t have much, but I hope you treat this as your own. I’ll have Joong Ki and Min Suk take care of things to make you feel as comfortable as you can before we leave. We’ll be back in a few days.”

“It’s fine, granny. I don’t want to cause too much trouble. I’m really fine here,” I say, not wanting to sound ungrateful but she waves me off.

“No worries, dear. You’re a friend of Joong Ki. And any friend of his, I also treat as family. So, I hope you have a nice stay here,” she says, giving me a motherly smile and I smile in return though I’m not really sure if Agent Song and I really are friends.

“Thank you, granny. I appreciate it,” I say, showing my gratitude before returning to my meal, wondering how on earth I will be able to last a few days alone with this moody guy.

--- 

An hour later, I find myself back in Agent Song’s room, staring at my phone. I want to call my parents and ask if they’re alright, if they’re safe but I know I couldn’t. I shouldn’t. As what Agent Song said, the lines might be tapped and we might get traced if I make a call. Thus, I turned it off earlier, to stop my urge to call and also because I’m scared that those gunmen might have some sort of tracking device that could track us even without me making a call.

I’m still fiddling my phone when someone knocks at the door and in comes Agent Song. I immediately sit up on the bed to face him, curious of what he needs. He didn’t talk to me that much at dinner, avoiding eye contact with me almost the entire time and now he comes barging at my door? His door, actually, but whatever. I can’t ever get used to his mood swings.

“Sorry to disturb you, Miss,” he says and I want to tell him that he doesn’t look that sorry, but I stop myself. “Can I come in?” he asks from the door and I roll my eyes. What does he want now? And which side of him will he be showing me now? The friendly side or the cold one?

“Seeing that you’re already here, then you might as well come in. There’s no use sending you away,” I say. Well, if he keeps on letting me guess like this, I might as well play my part of the game. He’s not the only one of us who knows how to be moody, you know.

He enters the room, leaving the door slightly open behind him and I notice that he’s carrying a medium-sized paper bag. I wonder what’s inside.

Before I could even speculate further, he offers me the bag and I look at it first, then him questioningly.

“What’s this?” I ask, taking the bag, still not having any idea what it contains.

“Open it,” he says and I give him a face. Seeming to realize that I don’t have any intention to do what he just said, he takes the bag from me and opens it himself. I watch as he takes out a pair of slippers and kneels in front of me. I’m holding my breath as I wait for him to put them on my feet when I notice that he’s still not moving, his eyes fixed and staring at my left foot.

“What?” I ask, confused as to why he’s acting like that but he continues staring. I am starting to get conscious when he finally answers.

“You’re hurt,” he says and I ask myself whether I heard correctly or not.

“What?” I ask again, dumbfounded.

“Your foot. It’s bleeding,” he says, and confused, I follow his line of vision only to be stunned that it indeed has scratches in it, some bleeding only slightly. So, that’s why it stung earlier while I was taking a bath. I was too preoccupied with my thoughts to notice it and I must’ve scratched it when I lost my shoe then walked all the way here barefooted.

Without giving me the chance to respond, he unexpectedly stands up and heads toward the bathroom, taking me by surprise. A few seconds later, he comes back, carrying a small box which seems to be a first aid kit then again kneels in front of me, this time, placing my foot on his knee. My breath hitches a bit.

Slowly and carefully, then, he dabs the cotton with antiseptic on my wounds. I wince slightly at the contact and he pauses to look at me, looking pained.

“Uh, sorry. It’s cold,” I say, offering him an apologetic smile. He then looks at me as if asking permission to continue and I nod, embarrassed at my previous reaction. He returns to his task, looking focused as he gently cleans my wound and I watch as he does so.

He looks so concentrated that I find myself studying his features since I don’t really get to see him this close. His eyelashes softly kiss his cheeks as he blinks, his nose a perfect slope while his lips look soft and red. I hate to admit it, but he does kind of look cute.

With him looking angelic like that together with the feeling of his warm hand holding my foot, and our close proximity, I feel my heart starting to beat fast. I’m still trying to calm the pounding in my chest when he looks up and our eyes meet, immediately causing my heart to skip a beat.

Oh my goodness.

“There,” he says, smiling at me and I look down to find that he has finished tending to my wounds, and even wrapped a bandage on my foot.

“Uh, thanks,” I manage to say, snatching my foot, but he holds it firmly, catching me by surprise for the nth time this day. He then slips my foot on the slippers he just bought then looks up at me. With me unable to take my eyes off of him, we stare at each other silently for a few beats before he finally clears his throat and averts his eyes as if he’s also feeling a bit conscious.

He stands up and gets the paper bag from the table then give it to me.

“I, uh, also got you something to wear, Miss,” he says and I look at him, surprised. He did? Curious of what he got me, I open the paper bag and snatch 2 pieces of clothing, one in plain white while the other is light blue with white polka dots in it. I give him a questioning look before inspecting the white one first as he watches me as if anticipating my reaction.

I spread it out and couldn’t help but give a face as I stare at the tackiest dress I have ever seen, with layers and layers of laces in it. “What’s this??” I ask, horrified.

“It’s a dress,” he says as if I should already know that.

“I know, but why this?” I ask, wondering what on earth the designer was thinking when she made this.

“What’s wrong? It looks nice,” he says, defensive.

“This? Nice?!” I ask, scowling. “It looks like I’m about to attend a wedding or a funeral when I wear this. Oh no, I’m not wearing this,” I say and he pouts.

“I thought girls like to wear things like that?” he asks, looking hurt and I shake my head.

“No. Oh no, I won’t be caught wearing this. Nuh-uh,” I say. We may be hiding, but I’m not compromising my fashion sense. Over my dead body.

“But…” he tries to argue, but this is a closed case for me. No negotiation allowed.

“No.” I then move on to the next one only to have another face-palm kind of moment. “Seriously?!” I groan as cover my eyes to shield it from seeing the dress with lots of ruffles in it. In this case, I’d look like I’m about to fly when I wear it.

“What? What’s wrong now??”

“Agent Song, tell me honestly,” I say and he looks at me as if anticipating what I’m about to say. “Do you hate me so much that you want to punish me? Is this your idea of a revenge?” I ask and meet his confused expression.

“Of course not, Miss. Why would you think that?” he asks innocently and I again groan. He doesn’t even know what he did wrong.

“These,” I say, gesturing to the dresses. “I’m not wearing these.”

“Why not? I bought them for you,” he says, looking insulted.

“They’re, uh… they’re not that pleasing to the eyes,” I say, carefully choosing my words so as not to hurt him further, but I’m still firm on my decision of not wearing them.

“But…”

“No Way. And that’s final,” I say and he gives up, sighing as if he thinks I’m acting like a brat. Well, he can think whatever he wants but I’m never wearing clothes that look like those. I’d rather stick to his shirts and sweatpants, thank you.

“Fine! You don’t have to if you don’t want,” he sulks, and I fight my urge to laugh. It’s rare to see him acting like this but I don’t want him to think that I’m giving in. “But there’s still something else there, Miss.”

“What? You got me more?!” I ask, not believing it, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he watches as I dig my hand deeper until I find something soft. I pull it out and my eyes widen as I realize that he got me a bra and underwear. I look at him, more intrigued than mad as I note that he got me just the right size and in black color.

“How did you…”

“I, uh…” he clears his throat, obviously not comfortable talking about this. “I kind of remembered from when you went to that store, Miss,” he adds, looking uneasy and his ears turning red. “Anyway, I’ll let you rest, Miss. I’ll just be outside if you need anything. Good night,” he says and hurriedly goes out of the room, closing the door behind him before I could even open my mouth to question him further.

There he goes again baffling me with his actions, acting all thoughtful with buying me clothes no matter how tacky they look one minute then sprinting as if he just couldn’t wait to get away the next. And here I am, on the other hand, thinking what a confusing guy he is.

---

*SJK’s POV*

I lie awake on the couch in granny’s living room, thinking of what happened in the last 24 hours. Everything was so sudden, but it wasn’t unexpected. We, the security team and even the President, knew that something like this was bound to happen. We just didn’t know when.

Apparently his political enemies, albeit unknown, are serious in their aim of bringing him down. And they’re brutal enough to think that they can do that through putting the first family’s life in constant danger. We are suspecting that they are from the opposing party since who else would want him to back out from the elections?

I just hope that we can last a few days without getting traced. I reckon it will take 3-5 days for the Presidential security team to search the entire Blue House to make sure it’s clear and safe to come back to, then formulate a more stable and efficient safety plan. With threats like this happening, especially with the elections fast approaching, the first family’s safety should not be downplayed.

Anyway, I trust the chief when it comes to those. He is, after all, the best there is and he doesn’t like it when his ward is threatened. He would never let them lay a hand on the President as they would have to go through him first. That is his principle and that is exactly why I look up to him.

A man of his words. People like him are the reason why I decided to join the military in the first place. I hope that someday that I could be at least half the great man that he is, but for now, I should focus on my task in hand – which is to protect my ward. I could still remember how honored I felt when he chose to recommend me to lead the first daughter’s security team. And there and then, before I even made a promise to the President to keep his daughter safe, I promised myself to do my duties the best that I can, no matter how hard it could be.

Speaking of the first daughter, I hope she’s feeling comfortable. I know that she’s not really used to a how this small, especially to the life at the province, but this is the best option that we’ve got when security reasons are considered. As what I mentioned earlier, no one would suspect her to be in a place like this and it would take a lot of time for those gunmen to find us since if ever they get a hand on one member of the security team, they wouldn’t get an ounce of information. I tend to keep my personal life private and I don’t like it when i