Chapter 42
The ride to the penthouse was a suffocating vacuum. Haru had sunk so deep into the leather passenger seat that he felt as though he might disappear into the upholstery. He kept his forehead pressed against the cool glass of the window, watching the blurred neon of Seoul streak past like distorted memories.
His mind was a battlefield. He hadn't expected the visceral, bone-deep fear that had seized him in that warehouse. He wondered, with a sickening pang of empathy, if this was the same terror the original Haru had carried in his chest every time he was summoned to that dark room.
He hadn't realized his hands were trembling - a violent, rhythmic shaking of his fingers - until he felt a steady warmth envelope them. He looked down. Raiven's hand, large and calloused from years of dance, training and guitar, had cupped both of his, pinning the tremors against the console.
The memory of the warehouse door crashing open surfaced in Haru's mind. He wanted to ask a thousand questions: How did you find me? How did you get there so fast? But the weight of the night had settled into his bones, leaving him too exhausted to form the words. He only bit his lip, a nervous habit that surfaced whenever the world became too much for him to handle.
He stole a glance at the man beside him. For the first time, Raiven looked like a stranger. He had known Kang Min-hyuk. Not just known of him - he had spoken to him with a familiarity that suggested a history. What was their relationship? What kind of world did Raiven inhabit when the stage lights went out? Haru felt his heart sink; he was terrified that the answer would shatter the image he had built of the polished, meticulous idol.
But he wasn't afraid of Raiven. Raiven had saved him.
The "what-ifs" began to circle like vultures. What if Raiven hadn't arrived? What if Min-hyuk had finished what he started?
Surrounded by lackeys, he knew that even with his grit, he wouldn't have made it a block. The room began to spin. The scent of the expensive car, the lingering tobacco on his own clothes, and the adrenaline crash combined into a sudden, violent wave of nausea.
"Stop the car," Haru whispered, his hand clutching his chest.
Raiven didn't hesitate. He swerved the car to the shoulder with a screech of tires. Haru scrambled out before the vehicle had even fully stopped, his boots hitting the gravel as he doubled over. He heaved over the side of the road, his body wracked with tremors, but nothing came out but ragged, painful gasps for air.
He felt a hand softly brush his back, a steadying presence in the dark. As the last of the adrenaline drained away, Haru's legs simply gave out. He collapsed onto the dirt, staring blankly at his hands. In the moonlight, the raw, red welts where the zip-ties had flayed his skin looked like angry brandings.
He hated this. He hated being weak. He hadn't been weak as Sunghoon, and he had promised himself he wouldn't be weak as Haru. But his body refused to obey.
Before he could hit the ground, a strong arm wrapped around his waist, hoisting him back up and locking him against a firm chest. Haru looked up, and for the first time, he saw raw, unadulterated pain racing through Raiven's eyes.
"I am sorry," Raiven whispered, his voice cracking.
Haru's brow furrowed. Why are you apologizing? Raiven hadn't drugged him. Raiven hadn't been the one hovering over him on that grimy couch. Haru wanted to speak, to tell him it wasn't his fault, but his throat felt like it was coated in dust.
They eventually got back into the car and completed the silent trek to the penthouse. Once inside, Raiven sat him down on the sofa and vanished, returning moments later with a professional-grade first aid kit. He knelt on the floor between Haru's knees, meticulously cleaning the cuts on Haru's wrists with antiseptic.
"You knew him," Haru whispered, his voice finally returning, though it sounded frail.
Raiven's hands froze for a split second, the cotton swab hovering over a particularly deep cut. He didn't look up, but his jaw tightened until the bone jumped. He returned to his work, his movements now carrying a clinical, focused intensity.
"I will take care of it," Raiven said simply. The tone wasn't comforting; it was a threat aimed at a ghost.
"How do you know him, Raiven?" Haru pressed. He needed the truth. He needed to know if the person he was beginning to rely on was who he thought.
Raiven looked up then, his lips pursed into a thin line of conflict. "Haru…" he whispered. It was a plea. He was begging Haru not to dig into the shadows he worked so hard to keep hidden.
Haru didn't push further. He looked away, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the glittering, indifferent lights of the Seoul skyline. The silence stretched until Raiven set the medical supplies aside and did something unexpected. He leaned forward and enveloped Haru in a hug.
This was the second time Haru had let himself sink into Raiven's embrace. It was warm , unnervingly warm ,and it smelled of expensive soap and the cold night air. Haru felt his conflicted feelings warring in his chest, but as Raiven's grip tightened, the fear from the warehouse finally began to recede.
"I promise," Raiven whispered into his ear, his voice hard as iron, "it won't ever happen again."
"I'm not weak," Haru said, his voice sounding hollow even to his own ears. It was like he was trying to reasure himself.
"I know," Raiven whispered back, tucking Haru's head against his shoulder. "I know you're not."