The room was lit by what felt like deep amber, the only two lightsources were the lamps both on Yixing's desk and the table formally next to the armchairs. The room was warm and peaceful, quiet from the noise of city and work. It was his place and his place alone to simply think and breathe. It was the perfect study, a beautiful desk set up lay on the far right of the room, while an assorment of dark leather armchairs stand heavy over a rug made of brown fur; Yixing could not be sure of what animal the fur came from. The warmest part of all was the fireplace, almost always burning close to the chairs, warming the entirity of the room both through light and it's hungry flames. 

But the place felt cold at the moment, as if someone had all the oxygen and life from his world. It was here, same time, same place, every day. His torture was like clockwork, tick tock goes the clock. Tick tock, time was running out. He didn’t even want to open the letter, his knowledge of what the package contained already seared into his brain. It was the same thing every time, Yixing slowly sinking down into the chair of his desk; his heart never stopped quivering at this sight. It had been years already, but it still felt like the very first time.

Sitting in this same study Yixing sat in now nearly 4 years ago, he had just taken over for his father who had fallen gravely ill. Everyone was certain that he would not survive, Yixing forced to take charge of the family at the age of 20; he had been so young, so innocent. He had been so pure, no blood stained his hands until that point. But it would seem that in taking power, he was forced to take lives, as if that were his price for leading an army. This was the price he had to pay for his family, this is what he was fighting for. He would not only lead this army with power and intelligence, he would lead it for his diseased father.

But his father had not passed, making a full recovery within the next year; however, it was too late for both him and Yixing. The soldiers would no longer take commands from his father, they only followed Yixing now. His father could only regain power through his son’s death, or through Yixing stepping down. Though, he could not do that. Stepping down meant losing his only chance, the only chance he would ever get. If he had stepped down, he would have never regained that authority; he would have lost all the respect of his soldiers. It was no longer his father’s time.

“Sir-” Yixing’s reaction was quick at Jongin’s sudden voice, his chair thrown backwards from the force of his rapid motions. It was both jumbled and connected, his actions fluid while his mind was a mess. It didn’t help that he was still sober, it was never good to be sober.

“I told you to stay in your room!” He found his arm already throwing his desk lamp before he could stop it, watching it sail past the Jongin’s head. He was suffering, he was sober, and he had just received the package. It came every month, for the past four years, and yet he still could not handle the pain. He knew that if he looked into that package, he would find two locks of soft, black hair; innocence shining off every singular strand. Proof of life, proof that Yixing was chained to his blackmailer’s whims. It was so much to handle, the pressures have only been building; it was all just too much. ‘I just want them back, just, please.’ His mind pleaded with its shackles, desperate to be free of it all. He couldn’t let Jongin see him like this.

“Sir, what’s wrong?” Jongin took a couple rapid steps forward, completely disregarding the desk lamp that had just sailed by him; it had been inches from his temple. Yixing did not answer, his eyes staring at the settling shards of glass and bent metal, it was almost as broken as he was. It was his broken state that broke the lamp, it was his emotions; ‘it’s not my fault.’. Yixing attempted to reason with himself, straightening his shoulders and staring at his bodyguard; he was angry now. But he knew from that small voice that he always silenced, though could never kill, he wasn’t angry at Jongin.

He was angry at the fact that everyday, every time his mind was in clarity, he lied to himself. He told himself that it wasn’t his fault, when in fact, it was. He had let this happen, intentionally or not. He had let himself do such horrible things, all in hopes of fixing the past. It would only ever get worse and worse, the tragedies and horrors piling up by the day; he was still lying to himself. It would never be alright, it would never get any better; ‘it is my fault’ That tiny voice braved, and for the first time in a long time, Yixing felt like crying.

“What do you think you’re doing in here?” Yixing barked, closing the distance between him and Jongin, feeling the need to restrain his own hands by clenching them. “This is my private study, how dare you come in here.” He threw out as a second thought, his mind incoherent and busy; it was weakness. This job tolerates no weakness.

“You’ve been locked in here for so long, I thought that I would bring you something to eat and see if I could help you with anything else.” He spoke quickly, rising a tray of food up as if to help emphasise what he was saying. Yixing hadn’t even noticed the food that Jongin had been carrying, his mind couldn’t seen to focus on anything physical. For instance, he only just now noticed that his bodyguard was still wearing the same shirt and black slacks as the day he had met him. Black silk, soft and notably elegant on his torso; it still didn’t feel quite right though. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing his nicely toned arms, a hint of a tattoo peeking out from beneath the sleeve of his right arm. Yixing only had a moment to contemplate it.

His mind couldn't comprehend words, his eyes too busy focusing on everything that they had just missed in the swiftly fleeting moments. Though Jongin’s clothes were not quite up to his standards, Yixing could hardly speak for himself. He stood in a black pair of jeans, a white t-shirt hidden underneath his black sleeved, grey cardigan sweater; the hood hung heavy on his back. It was his day off, it was his day that no one ever bothered him. He had no desires to dress himself past this.

“I don’t need food,” Yixing snapped, feeling his body whirl around faster than he thought he could manage, considering how heavy his emotions felt, “I don’t even need you.” He finished speaking through the haze in his mind. Apparently his body was stronger than his mind, carrying him back to his desk. He didn’t know what else to do, staring at the hard wood surface, placing his hands on the glossy top to support himself. He needed to think, he needed to contemplate, he just needed to do something.

“You don’t trust me.” Jongin spoke up from behind him, Yixing a little startled to realize that he had walked closer; he could practically feel the man’s presence creeping up his spine. Though, his words did not surprise him at all, he was speaking the obvious. How could he trust a man that he had just met? Especially with such a questionable background? “What could I possibly do to earn your trust? Because so far, you haven’t given me much of a chance to prove myself. I can’t protect you if you don’t trust me.” That was the last straw, it had finally cleared the haze in his mind. Yixing turned his anger to the boy.

“Trust you? Boy, I think you should worry less about me and more about yourself. You’re already walking a very fine line, adding your questionable nature and attitude, you’re lucky I haven’t killed you yet simply for being a pest.” Yixing whipped around once more, giving a small thought as to how he was not dizzy from spinning around so much. He knew that he couldn’t kill the boy, he never killed without reason, but who was he if not the leader? A leader must make a point, a leader must do what they can to maintain and assert their authority and strategies. If his soldiers knew how easily he was letting his bodyguard get away with things, he would certainly lose all respect.

“You hired me for protection, I just happen to come with a bonus package of sass and sarcasm.” Jongin’s smile was almost infectious, but the glitter of mischief and lack of fearful respect was irritating. “I just want to help though, please, eat.” Jongin’s mood flipped rather fast, offering the tray out once more; he was serious.

“I did not hire you, boy. My father did, I have little intentions of following your orders or requests.” Yixing replied, gently pushing the tray aside, raising an eyebrow at the boy. “I will not eat your food, and if you ever want to be able to eat again, you’ll leave. Now.” He emphasized his words by pointing to the door, his jaw set and his lips twisting into an angry grimace.

“I just want to help.” The reply was persistent, it was annoying.

“What part of no is not understood by you, boy?” Yixing finally yelled, his voice louder than he had intended it to be. If he was too loud, someone else would come up to check on him. He didn’t want that.

“My job is to-” Cut off, the boy was no longer given the chance to speak.

“Your job is to do as you’re told!” Lay took the finger pointed at the door and jabbed it into Jongin’s chest, he was sure that he could feel the air huff out of him.

“My job is to protect you, to keep you safe. If that means I have to forcibly shove food down your throat, then I will.” Jongin was as set on his side as Yixing was on his, both of them grinding their teeth and glowering at the other. “You can’t get rid of me, so you may as well get used to my ways.” He added, walking past Yixing, bravely and stupidly bumping shoulders with him. He slammed the food down onto the desk, a simple meal for a simple task; but Yixing was not concerned with what was on the tray.

This time, Yixing’s body was moving of his own control and prethought, his arms grabbing the shoulders of jongin. Pulling him from the desk and the tray, Yixing barely registered the sound of his glass pen holder shattering on the ground as Jongin accidentally kicked the desk. Spinning the boy around, he slammed him into the wall of his study, his arm automatically finding his neck and applying pressure. It was all he could do to not press further into his windpipe, to cut off his breathing.

“You listen here, boy. I can handle the sass, I can almost handle the disrespect, but don’t you dare ever lay a hand on me. You are never to touch me, ever.” Yixing spat in his face, his teeth bared in a snarl; he was angry, but at least it took his mind off the letter still sitting on the desk. “You are more expendable than you think.”

“You can’t harm me, I’m under both your father’s protection and Mr. Park’s. Get rid of me and you’ll have to face them.” The boy’s lack of fear and own spitting words were almost enough to drive Yixing over the edge, his arm pressing deeper into Jongin’s neck. He could hear his small choking sound, he could feel his pulse beating heavy in his entire body; his wrist almost hurt at the force of his pulse. Though as much as the words had added fuel to his already enraged body, he could barely hear them over the blood in his ears. He could barely even see the boy, his vision tunneled and distorted by his anger. It was strange that someone could make him feel something other than sadness, let alone something this strong. Even though it was anger, he enjoyed it.

“Accidents happen.” Yixing retorted, enjoying the confrontation now. Though, sadly, it would seem as though Jongin was enjoying the confrontation just as much as he was. Both of them were fired up, Yixing able to see the flared nostrils and strained neck in Jongin. They were both under the stress of anger.

“I’m not as easy to kill as you’d think, I know more about you than you know about me. I’d be careful if I were you.” Jongin spat, his voice lowered and constricted by Yixing’s unforgiving arm. His arms rose to meet Yixing’s shoulders, he couldn’t be sure if he was just centering himself or proving his boldness.

“You think that you could possibly defy me? That you could survive?” Yixing laughed, sarcasm and venom dripping off of every wavelength; there was simply no way. But his laugh was cut off when Jongin shoved Yixing back, freeing his neck and torso. The arm that had been previously restricting his airflow was locked in an iron grip, Yixing was swung against the wall himself, left a little breathless as a huff was knocked out of him. Blinking with a gasp, his surprised face quickly turned the anger; though he could not wipe the shock from his face. Yixing had to admit, even if he did not want to, the boy had stupid amounts of bravery.

“You doubt me too much, I’m capable of many things. I can make any man do anything I want,” he paused with a cocky tilt of his head, his face mere inches from Yixing’s as he spoke, the two sharing angry pants, “including you.” His breath tasted sweet and felt heavy with heat, Yixing resisting a swallow and twisting his lips. He was unfamiliar with the feeling twisting in his gut as his eyes followed the contours of Jongin’s neck and cheekbones; eventually resting on the slight sweat resting at his lips. It was then that Yixing realized that they were both sweating, though he wasn’t sure why.

“I doubt that.” Yixing managed to breathe out, attempting to push himself off of the wall, only to be shoved back once again. With his arm pinned to the wall, his other hanging free, Yixing was met with the same fate Jongin had experienced moments ago. His so called ‘bodyguard’ had rested his own arm on Yixing’s neck, though not so hard as to restrict airflow, he was essentially immobilized. All he could do was stare back at the man with what he had hoped was a mixture of anger, authority and defiance. He was in charge here, but he was beginning to feel as though Jongin did not quite think so. Jongin didn’t take orders from him.

“Want me to prove it?” Jongin all but whispered, his breath billowing onto Yixing’s face, warming his own lips and cheeks. Yixing could no longer call him a boy, he had proven his strength as a man; though he would never admit it out loud. The newly found man did not seem angry anymore, he seemed more playful and mischievous than angry; though rage had obviously not yet left the man’s body. Yixing could feel the man’s finger slowly and carefully caressing his pulse on his pinned wrist, teasing and gauging. It was obvious that he was just trying to get a rise out of Yixing; it had worked to some extent, igniting some fire of fear in his stomach. He wasn’t scared of pain, he wasn’t scared of torture, but Yixing could not place the fear. Something the man did scared him, be it the close proximity between them, or the hand resting on his wrist- he was afraid.

“I would much rather you didn’t.” Yixing snarled, resisting the urge to spit in Jongin’s face only due to the slight added pressure to his neck. Jongin made a small clicking sound with his tongue, as if contemplating his next move with pleasure.

“That’s no fun,” he paused, his head moving closer to Yixing’s right ear, “how else am I to prove myself to you?” Jongin whispered, Yixing forced to resist the urge to shudder at the hot breath billowing into his ear. He could practically feel the moisture from his breath, he could almost feel it collect on his skin and mix with his own already present sweat. It was torture, the unknown feelings in his stomach and head were confusing and disorientating.

“You want to prove your capabilities to me so badly, look at the letter on the desk.” Yixing dared to breathe, his eyes drifting to the ceiling as his head tilted backwards, submitting to whatever would get the man away from him. Jongin did not move nor speak for a couple of moments, his breath gentle and persistent on his ear. But eventually he pushed off of Yixing and walked towards the desk in one simple and fluid motion. He picked up the letter, carefully examining it in what light was available from Yixing's desk lamp. He turned back to Yixing and rose an eyebrow, holding the letter up between two fingers as he returned to close proximity with him.

“What is it?” He asked, Yixing crossing his arms with his back still rested against the wall behind him; pushing his emotions down once more. He did not want to move, afraid of doing so.

“What is in it is not important, what is important is that you find who is sending them to me. I receive them once a month, same time, same place. Find who is sending them to me and you will have my trust and faith.” Yixing snapped, still finding it hard to believe that he had been forced into submitting to Jongin; though, he hadn’t truly done something to force his hand. But Yixing was far too confused to question his submission.

“Fine, but I’m telling you, it would have been more fun to prove myself to you,” Jongin paused, leaning closer again as he twisted the letter between his fingers, “another way.” He finished, taking a few steps back as he slowly made his exit. But he stopped halfway, stopping to sit on the arm of a brown leather armchair. His chiseled features were lit by the lamp on the small table next to him, it was both ominous and alluring. Yixing shook his head, physically stomping his foot and asserting his authority.

“Leave!” Yixing shouted, his breathing a little heavy even as his eyes were unable to leave Jongin’s face.

“Sure, boss.” He spoke the word ‘boss’ as if it were a toy, instead of a formality. He was just playing with Yixing.

‘This man will be the death of me.’ Yixing thought morbidly at the completed exit of Jongin.

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Sorry for my tardiness on this, everyone (and for any serious errors, had to type on my phone and I more or less did it at 11-midnight. ;; ) ! I ended up changing this chapter a lot, I had so many troubles deciding where I wanted to go with it. But I guess I’m happy with it now, gotta build that tension~~.

Hope you enjoyed the chapter and will stay tuned for the next! ^^ Please feel free to leave any comments or input as usual! Love you all!
 

~SnobbyCoffeeAsian