l. Heavy Questions & Empty Answers 

Why him: a question you didn’t bother asking. What else: a question that had you staring at him as soon as he dragged himself back into the house at five o’ clock in the morning. He tripped over his own feet as he sauntered into the living room, crashing down onto the couch beside you. You turned down the volume of the television, meaning to say something. Ending up not saying anything. 

You hadn’t slept a wink since your confession to his unconscious state. 

The television in the living room kept you company; the bodies of what looked like Kyung, Sungjong, and Hoya scattered across the floor before you. Everyone had dispersed themselves around the house in such a manner, seizing their opportunity to catch the ever evasive entity of sleep as soon as midnight had passed. You couldn’t afford to take the chance they had. If you did, who knows what you’d dream of.

Probably Kim Myungsoo. 

Most definitely Kim Myungsoo. 

And you had had enough of him haunting your every thought for the past three hours to validate stopping yourself from willingly giving into the fancies of your, most definitely, Myungsoo-filled dreams. Imagining the possibilities embarrassed you enough to have you actually entertain the idea of habitually drinking coffee for, at the very least, the next month or so — despite your aversion to everything but the smell. While all you wanted was to crawl into a hole somewhere and hibernate until the winter, it was kind of hard to when you heard him begin to snore loudly beside you.

He mumbled a few things, his hand palming at his stomach, before flopping sideways onto the couch, eyes clenched — like a child. He was the embodiment of a child as he wormed further into the warmth of the fabric underneath him, fingers gripping down onto a plush, gray pillow near his face. 

You turned back to the television, adding one more thing to the list of things you liked: a sleeping Kim Myungsoo. Followed up by a transformed Kim Myungsoo. Both didn’t talk. Both didn’t need to talk. Both were superseded by Kim Myungsoo himself. 

Foregoing the comforts of your pit of shame, deciding to stick around while you could, you wondered what he was dreaming of. 

Probably his family.

Most definitely his family.

Because not talking about them doesn’t equate to not dreaming about them. 

“If it’s any consolation, you look pretty cool.”

“Kind of like tribal marks or something.” Minah added, having showed up this morning to defend you from what she called “a pack of wolves” — and she had no idea how right she was.

“Yeah, it’s exotic.” You agreed, the two of you nodding together in perfect sync. 

“If it were you, I would’ve at least given you a pillow to lay down on.” Hoya remarked begrudgingly, using the spoon he’d stirred his tea with to gaze on at the imprints of carpet that covered the entire right side of his face. 

“I tried.” You argued, feeling Minah tug your mug from your hands in order to take a sip — as there were no more cups left in the cupboard after the, surprisingly docile, house party you’d hosted last night. “Your head weighs a ton.”

Hoya’s frown disappeared at that, as he had no doubt it probably felt like it did. Besides, he couldn’t not smile stupidly at your following comment.

“Must be that big brain its housing.” 

“I’m sorry, excuse her idiotic compliments. It’s a little too early for her own brain to be awake quite yet.” Minah defended you, threading her arm through yours, giving you a small tug to remind you that no matter how comfortable you were with males in general, you still had a duty to remain demure. 

You’re still a girl, after all.

Minah was still a girl, after all, so she had no choice but to be polite to the boy who’d been imposing himself into her life quite often as of late. 

“Can I have a sip?” Sungjong asked as he approached her, head a bird’s nest, eyes drooping tiredly, shirt riding up his hips to reveal, a blue waistband peaking out from the top of his sweats. Minah passed what was once your tea over to him without a single word, not deeming it appropriate to even look at him in his current state. 

You tugged her arm right back, making her frozen self go tumbling into your side. 

And you didn’t need to ask Hoya what he was implying by the glance he’d given you then, smiling like the idiot you were even if you’d get an earful from Minah later for it.

“Good morning.” 

Myungsoo greeted as he entered the kitchen, eyes staring straight forward at the refrigerator. Maybe he was dreaming about food then, as he palmed his stomach in his sleep. 

“Morning.” You returned the greeting, following him with your eyes. It was an innocent stare, not worthy of mentioning, most certainly not different from any one you had given him before — in your mind, anyway. 

Still, you felt Hoya’s glance on you now, his expression blurry as you avoided meeting his gaze, clearing you throat before diverting his attention from you as seamlessly as possible, “Who’s up for pancakes?”

Myungsoo’s head sprung out of the fridge, eyes completely alert. 

“Are you making them?” Minah asked slowly, pulling your attention away from him. Her experience with your cooking wasn’t anything to brag about. In her words, she called it “A tasteless wonder.” Because, somehow, no matter how many ingredients you put in, it always ended up tasting like nothing.

You scoffed, sliding your keys across the breakfast table, “Hell no.”

“Hell yeah!” Jiyeon’s voice yelled from the foyer, her footsteps echoing down the stairs before she bolted out the door within mere seconds. 

Another pair of feet was close behind her, throwing you all a grin and a wave as he passed. They’d returned to your house as soon as the sun peaked over the horizon, Sunggyu’s presence apparently all that was needed to solve the problem back at their own home. And, shamelessly, they arrived with an almost palpable sickeningly sweet aroma wafting off of them, hearts flying this way and that.

At this point, you were convinced those two, Jiyeon and P.O, were meant for each other. Firstly, they both had the appetites of full grown boars and they weren’t in the least bit ashamed of it.

Secondly, they both adored each other. 

“Makes you jealous, doesn’t it?” Minah nudged you with her shoulder, smiling wide. 

“Yeah.” You agreed, having to dig deep, deep, deep down into the very pits of your being in order to stop yourself from glancing at Myungsoo again.

Because hawk eye Hoya was always watching.

“Cha Hakyeon.” 

Sunggyu repeated emptily, chasing after something so small, an event so minuscule, he couldn’t pinpoint its exact location at the moment. Zico locked eyes with him through the rear view mirror questioningly. Fiercely. Angered by the name despite having heard it for the first time only a handful of minutes ago. Sunggyu didn’t blame him, however, not after what you’d just related to them about this mystery boy: a tale of a promise made long ago, details sparse and lacking overall.

“His name sounds familiar, is all.”

Sunggyu explained himself after you’d just finished your own share of excuses. At least, that’s what it sounded like. Just another excuse to go running away from Springfield. Another excuse to leave them for an unspecified amount of time, the effect the first had on them easily remedied because it was Sungyeol then. It was Sungyeol you were going to then. 

Their friend. Their brethren. Their family. 

Now, it was someone not a one of them had even heard of before. 

“Who’s this guy anyway?” Zico asked, on the brink of losing it right there. When his heart was wavering as it was already, your thoughtless actions didn’t help him from straying onto other, more welcoming, paths. 

“A friend.” You pathetically spouted another excuse for the so-called “promise” you’d made. 

“Library boy?” Jiyeon questioned, spinning around in her seat to face you, having called dibs on shotgun in Sunggyu’s new, Elite-sponsored, black leathered-interior, four-door Infiniti for the ride back to your place from the local diner. 

“Library boy?” Zico mimicked, jeering so thickly, so deeply, Sunggyu thought he’d pressed a bit too hard on the brake as he turned right at the intersection — he’d gotten his license with an excruciating amount of difficulty not long ago.

“How’d you even remember that?” You gaped at Jiyeon, recalling the time you were packing for Italy.

“Well, when you said his name, you made the same face you always do when,” Jiyeon began, only to pause, only to correct herself, because your girlfriend had your back no matter the circumstances, “you’re just obvious.”

And you didn’t need her to fill the empty gap anymore. You knew exactly what she was going to say. You had done it on accident, of course. You hadn’t meant to look at the two of them in the same manner. There was no reason to project your feelings for Hakyeon onto him.

Onto Myungsoo.

Yet, there was no helping the slight crease in your brow and the frown that etched itself on your face whenever you thought about the two of them. About family separated by a set of clouded circumstances. You were only thankful you hadn’t talked to Jiyeon about your father, lest she draw even more connections that shouldn’t be shouted to the world under any circumstances — no matter the nature. 

“We certainly can’t stop you.” Sunggyu gave in through his words, his hands gripping so tightly around the steering wheel he could feel it giving way underneath his hold. Before Zico could rip his seatbelt off and effectively damage another part of Sunggyu’s new car, he managed to remain calm, to at the very least sound calm, as he asked, “Though if you might sate our curiosity, what are you going for, Hyunjoo?”

What where you going for? In essence, why were you going to Thailand with Cha Hakyeon? Why did he ask you to make such a promise in return for removing the one trinket seemingly every hunter who’d invaded Springfield came for in the first place — a fact you hadn’t enlightened the three currently in the car with you about? What exactly did he want from you?

You only had the answer he’d given you this morning via text when you’d asked him the same, exact thing, “It’s a Family Reunion.” 

Myungsoo was in the living room when you entered. He was sitting on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table. His right side was occupied by a half-unconscious, pancake-induced comatose U-kwon. You walked over, taking the space on his left side without a single word. His eyes only drifted towards you, throwing you a fleeting glance, before returning to the television screen. 

The weatherman inside of the flat box droned on and on about the heat wave that would be waving anywhere but Springfield. How this was in the least bit interesting or worthy of interest was beyond you. Still, you sat and watched it. For a good five minutes, you succeeded in even breathing and blinking while barely moving the tiniest of muscles. You had made a game out of it, in a sense. 

How long would it take until Myungsoo looked at you?

Until he asked you, sharing your sentiment of, “Isn’t this the most redundant thing you’ve ever seen?”

How long would it take until you finally knew what to say to him?

There was option 1, of course. You could blurt, seemingly out of nowhere, “I like you, you dense fool.” Though, that seemed a bit on the hypocritical side. Though, there’s no way you could say that and then proceed to say option 2. 

Option 2 was the one you liked the least. Option 2 would mean making a confession quite different from your previous option. Option 2 meant admitting to him, “I basically made a deal with the devil — your biological brother, by the way —  in March and now I have to keep it by flying to yet another foreign country where who knows how impulsive I may become?” 

Suffice it to say, both options . 

So, you settled for option 3: aka looking like an idiot.

“Myungsoo, do you like hats?”

He answered back without missing a beat, half-lidded eyes staring intently at the weather forecast you wouldn’t be there to experience firsthand, “I don’t hate hats.”

“Cool,” you responded, nodding your head — perhaps liking his nonchalant, dodgy answer a lot more than you should have. 

And that was that. 

That was the conversation you had with, quite possibly, the first guy you ever sincerely liked before you flew hundreds, maybe even thousands, of miles away from him. 

At the very least, you bought yourself some time to answer the question of, “How does one romance?”

It all seemed so much easier when you weren’t the one doing the chasing. 

And yet, you didn’t mind it in the least.

While you’d grown used to a large range of whacky hair experiments from your friends of the werewolf persuasion — colors like hot pink and cherry red no longer out of the norm — you couldn’t help but stare when you opened the door early the next morning. Just stare at that plume of neon blue. Wild and untamed atop his head. In complete and utter contrast with his tall frame, squared and tight in all the right places. 

Before he even opened his mouth, you imagined him to be polite and well-bred. 

The gentleman type.

And he didn’t disappoint.

“I’m here to you to the airport, Mistress Song.” He announced, hands gathered together in front of him, dressed in a navy blue suit that had you sweating buckets just looking at him.

“Lemme guess, Hakyeon sent you?”

There was no other reason such a man would appear on your doorstep, no matter how abnormal your usual Saturday’s were. From the lack of a single hitch in his expression, neither of rejection nor confusion regarding your question, you had guessed right. With a shake of his head, his baritone voice shook you to the core.

“No, I came of my own accord.” He paused momentarily before adding, without an ounce of disdain, “Though he did bring the idea up initially.”

You couldn’t help but manage a laugh at that, “He can be quite persuasive, can’t he?”

He, however, looked past the sarcasm of your words, clearly telling you — for the first of many times to come — with subtext alone exactly who he cared for the most, “He asked me to keep note of any compliments you delivered him. May I take that out of context for his own benefit?”

“If you don’t, I’m sure he’d like it even more.”

“I’m sure he would.” He agreed, seeming to make a mental note of it. You’d soon learn they were akin to nothing short of back logs of evidence for future blackmailing purposes. His memory was so good it was scary, the effects of it borderline life-threatening. 

Breathing a heavy sigh, unbeknownst to anything at that singular point in time, you asked, “So, before I bid goodbye to my mother and we fly off to a country I know nothing about except the name of its capital, will you deem me important enough to know the name of my ?”

His posture straightened. His jaw locked in place. His lips set into a firm line. And his eyes didn’t tremble in the least. Feet together, hands clasped, suit and tie ironed to perfection, his memory was so good he scared himself, the effects of him ever forgetting undeniably life-ending.

“My name is Ravi.”

He recited like he’d practiced it for years now, along with the title his following statement ended in.

“And you’re more important than you know, Mistress Song Hyunjoo.”

A/N:

All these fast updates are pretty cool, huh? Yeah, I know. Not just pretty cool. Super cool. The coolest, even! From here on out, we'll be entering the Thailand Arc. I can't promise paradise, but I can promise a good number of your questions'll be getting answered. Three cheers for that, ey? Three more cheers for Springfield's second anniversary coming up soon! Click here regarding that. 

Sidenote: The term "Mistress" Ravi uses in this chapter has the denotation of: "a woman in a position of authority or control."

Let's see, am I forgetting anything? Hmm, I don't think so. Elipses. Oh! I remember now! I want to thank everyone who commented on the last chapter as well as those readers of mine who've read and responded to this. Your support keeps me going, and I hope I can keep going for a lifetime. Sincerely and truly, thank you.
 

Happy 4 years with Infinite!

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