Hana

“Can we talk?”

“We could talk over the phone, but sure,” Lay opens the door wider, letting me in. He was holding a heating pack to his back, and was walking slowly. I hook an arm around his waist and help him sit down.

“I wanted to apologize, and to ask for the biggest favor that I would ever ask from you.”

His eyebrows quirk up, “Wouldn’t some call the first part buttering me up?”

“Maybe, but I really do owe you one, and I’m sorry for always being so cynical toward you even though you’ve proven time and time again that I shouldn’t.”

“I’m listening.”

“Lay, you’re one of the people I can trust, other than Chanyeol and the other three—”

“I don’t know why you say that, when I don’t think you trust Jungkook anymore.”

I freeze at that statement, because he just hit the bulls-eye with his eyes closed. I had really not seen that coming, “He came on to me the night after the Christmas Gala, and he’s also hiding something from me.”

Lay leans forward, and I reach a hand out and push him back so he wouldn’t hurt himself further. He runs his tongue over his teeth, “He came on to you?”

“He was also incredibly drunk, but yes and even though we had to keep up appearances after at the New Year’s party, we haven’t really talked since then.”

“What instigated him drinking?”

My voice lowers to a murmur, “Me leaving the Christmas Gala without him.”

“You’re joking.”

And so I open my mouth and explain. I start from the car accident and talk about how I got roped in with Min Yoongi, and how we had been visiting the girl in the hospital and how I had found out a few days ago that she could be Lu Han’s kid. It all comes pouring out, and it feels so good to finally tell the entire story because Jimin was the only one who knew. I hadn’t even finished telling Chanyeol yet.

And when I finish, Lay is looking at me, blinking and he doesn’t speak.

“Well?”

“I think I need to warm up my heating pad again.”

I get up, and he hands me the heating pad. I stick it in the microwave, letting it turn as I continue, “Lay, how do you feel about kids?”

“Cute. Maybe eventually.”

“What about now?”

“Nope, sorry. I use condoms and you’re engaged.”

I roll my eyes at his joke, and he grins cheekily, his dimple popping out. The microwave dings and I gingerly pick up the heating pad, slipping it behind Lay’s back.

“Yixing—”

“Oh no, you’re using my real name.”

“Do you think you could take care of her for a while?” I ask, handing him the papers that Namjoon had scanned to me. I had stopped by the library to print them out on the way to Lay’s place.

He flips through the file, eyes widening at the print, “You’re asking me to adopt her.”

“Yes,” I whisper meekly. “It’s the only way that’s legally allowed by the government.”

“You’re insane. Hana, I’m not ready to have kids, I’m—”

“It would only be until Lu Han comes back and he can resume guardianship through the fact that he’s the father,” I plead. “She has nowhere to go and if she really is Lu Han’s kid, there would be nowhere safer for her.”

“And if he never comes back?”

“Then in a year, I assume guardianship myself,” I whisper, knowing that was the only way. I didn’t want to cut off Yoongi, but if I had to move out of the villa to make it work, I would.

“And why can’t you do it now?”

“Because no one knows about her other than Jimin,” I admit, and I shakily fall to my knees on the carpet in front of the couch, grabbing on to one of Lay’s hands. My pride was on the carpet around me, shattered into invisible slivers. “Yixing, please. She’s just a child.”

“Do you have any idea how risky this is? I’m a double agent for you, but Yoongi is going to want to see her too after he finds out who you came to. It doesn’t help that Chanyeol is a cripple-”

“He a what?”

Lay’s face pales, and he swallows, eyes not meeting mine. My heart drops to my stomach. A hand shoots out, squeezing Lay’s wrist, and his voice is hoarse, “He didn’t tell you.”

“Explain.”

With his free hand, he covers his eyes, “He can’t use his legs.”

“He was completely fine when I visited him!” I protest, heart racing in my chest.

“And did he get up from his bed?”

The truth sinks in, and I shake my head, guilt instantly churning in the pit of my stomach and I felt like puking. Chanyeol was a victim, and nearly paid with his life. Instead, he paid with his legs. And he did it for me and Jimin.

I let go of Lay’s wrist, struggling to draw in air. I should have known.

“He didn’t want to tell you,” Lay murmurs. “The doctors say that it's too soon to know if it's permanent.”