Chapter 92
"EVERYONE PLEASE CALM THE FUCK DOWN!!"
The roar that ripped from Raiven's throat wasn't just loud; it was jagged, vibrating with a primal fury that seemed to physically push the crowd back. For a heartbeat that felt like an eternity, the arrivals hall at Incheon went deathly silent. This was the first time Raiven had truly shown raw, unvarnished anger and cursed in front of the cameras.
He didn't care, the years of media training, the carefully cultivated image of the stoic, untouchable idol , it all vanished the second he realized Haru's hand was no longer in his.
His mind was racing, a frantic loop of where is he, where is he, where is he, and the sea of bodies in front of him felt like an enemy territory he needed to raze to the ground. He knew this outburst would cause a massive ruckus later; he knew the headlines were already being written in the minds of the reporters clicking their shutters. He didn't care about the scandal. He only cared about the person he had lost in the crush.
The crowd stood frozen, stunned into submission. Raiven had earned his nickname for a reason; nothing ever seemed to faze him. Even when faced with the rudest of sasaengs or the most grueling schedules, he handled it with a cold, tactful grace. To see him snap, to hear him scream a profanity that echoed off the high ceilings, was like watching a statue bleed.
Finally, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, the airport security was able to bull their way through to Raiven and Manager Li. The fans, now unconsciously making a path out of a sudden shock of the man standing in the center of the storm, retreated.
Raiven tore off his mask, feeling like it was suffocating him, his breath coming in sharp, ragged heaves. His eyes scanned the floor, searching for a familiar hoodie, a familiar frame.
Then, he saw him.
Haru was slowly standing up in the middle of the crowd. He wasn't short; they were almost the same height, which made it easier for Raiven to spot the top of his head as he straightened his spine. Raiven let out a ragged sigh of relief that felt like it took half his soul with it. He began moving toward Haru instantly, his pace frantic, the security guards acting as a human prow to clear his way as they urged the remaining stragglers to move.
When Raiven finally reached him, the relief was short-lived. It was instantly replaced by a cold, sharp dread as he saw Haru's face knotted in a grimace of pain.
Haru was clutching his left arm, his knuckles white, his breath hitching. When Raiven reached out, instinctively trying to take hold of him to pull him close, Haru winced so sharply that Raiven recoiled as if he'd been burned.
"Let's go," Haru hissed through gritted teeth. He didn't want to stay a second longer. He could feel the prying eyes of the news outlets and the fans, the lenses zooming in on the way Raiven was looking at him. Haru's arm was screaming in pain, but his brain was still functioning as an actor's.
Even in his agony, Haru's mind was working. He could see the news outlets circling like vultures. He could see the fans' cameras recording every micro-expression on Raiven's face. He knew that the look Raiven was giving him right now - that look of shattered, soul-deep terror , wasn't something you held for a "close friend". If they stayed another minute, the whole world would see the truth written in the lines of Raiven's face.
The security detail helped them through the remaining crowd, which was now much more peaceful , cowed by the sheer weight of the tension radiating from the two men. Raiven gave a stiff, distracted nod of thanks as they were ushered into a waiting company car.
The door slammed shut, cutting off the noise of the terminal, but the silence inside the vehicle was even louder. Raiven was vibrating with a quiet, lethal anger. He had specifically instructed Manager Kim to leak a false arrival time - a decoy to keep the "Sasaengs" and the press at bay. The fact that they had been ambushed meant someone in the inner circle had talked.
Haru tried to shift his position to get comfortable, but even the slightest movement made him wince.
Raiven's hand hovered over Haru's arm, trembling. He wanted to touch him, to heal him, but he was terrified that even a feather-light brush would make the injury worse. The skin on Haru's forearm was already beginning to swell, a nasty, dark bruise forming where the heavy boot had crushed the soft tissue against the bone.
"Let's go to the hospital," Raiven said, his voice sounding brittle.
"It's fine," Haru replied, though his voice lacked its usual strength.
"Are you serious?" Raiven snapped, looking up at him in utter disbelief. "Haru, you were stepped on by a crowd. Your arm looks like a piece of bruised fruit."
"It'll be fine by morning," Haru insisted, his stubbornness, a relic of his years as Sunghoon, where you worked through every injury, flaring up.
Raiven would have laughed if he wasn't so close to a breakdown. He couldn't tell if Haru was joking or if he truly possessed that little self-regard. "We don't know that. We are going to the ER, you are getting an examination, and the doctor will determine what is 'fine.'"
Haru opened one eye, seeing the iron-clad resolve in Raiven's expression. He realized this wasn't a fight he was going to win. He gave a small, defeated nod, sinking back into the leather seat.
At the ER, the sterile smell of antiseptic and the bright fluorescent lights did nothing to calm the mood. Haru sat on the examination bed, reciting the personal information he had painstakingly memorized when he first "woke up" as Haru. Beside him, Raiven hovered , his anxiety so palpable it felt like a third person in the room. It was ironic; to any outsider, it looked like Raiven was the one whose arm had been crushed.
"Calm down," Haru whispered as they waited for the x-ray results.
Raiven tried to take a breath, tried to settle his racing heart, but he failed miserably. He kept looking at the swelling on Haru's arm as if he could take the pain into his own body through sheer willpower.
After the X-rays were developed, they were called into a small consultation room. The doctor, a weary-looking man who seemed unimpressed by Raiven's celebrity status, looked over the films.
"You're lucky," the doctor said, pointing to the shadows on the screen. "Nothing is broken. It's a severe bone bruise and soft tissue trauma. But," he added, looking at Haru over his glasses, "You're lucky. nothing is broken. However, you've put a lot of strain on the tendons."
He helped Haru into a temporary black medical cast—a sleek, rigid brace designed to keep the wrist immobilized. "Two weeks," the doctor commanded. "No lifting, no strenuous movement. Then come back for a follow-up."
As they walked back to the car, Raiven was clutching the bag of prescribed drugs as if they were made of gold, watching Haru's every step like a hawk.
"See? I told you," Haru said, trying to lighten the mood as the driver began the trek toward Raiven's penthouse. Haru had insisted on releasing Manager Li earlier, telling her to go home and rest; the poor woman looked like she was about to have a heart attack of her own.
"It wasn't 'nothing' either," Raiven grumbled under his breath, his eyes fixed on the black cast.
Haru smiled. There was something incredibly endearing about Raiven's overprotectiveness. It felt like a warm blanket after the cold chaos of the airport.
They finally arrived at the penthouse. Haru hadn't been here since before the world tour began, and stepping into the sleek, modern space felt strangely nostalgic. It was a sanctuary.
As Raiven began the frantic task of unpacking their bags and organizing the medications, Haru's phone started to vibrate.
It was Alice. She was frantic, her voice coming through the speaker so loudly that Raiven could hear it from across the room. She scolded him for not telling her to pick him up, her words a mix of sisterly love and genuine terror. Haru spent ten minutes reassuring her that he was in safe hands, that he was at Raiven's, and that he was mostly , okay.
The next call was Se-hee. She was calm, which Haru knew was the most dangerous state for her. After he explained the situation, she remained silent for a beat before letting out a string of shouts that made Haru pull the phone away from his ear. He let out a sigh of relief when she finished; he didn't think he would ever get used to a soft-spoken Se-hee. It meant she was actually worried.
Once the calls ended, Haru stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the lights of Seoul sprawl out like a circuit board below. He heard a soft sound behind him and turned.
Raiven was leaning against the doorpost of the master bedroom, his arms folded across his chest. Even with the dark circles under his eyes and the visible exhaustion of the tour, he looked breathtaking. The moonlight caught the sharp line of his jaw and the messy fringe of his hair.
Haru felt a sudden, familiar pull in his gut. If we weren't so exhausted , he thought with a flick of his old Sunghoon charm, I wouldn't mind going another round just for the sake of it.
Raiven had a month-long break from group activities coming up, though his schedule was still peppered with brand promotions. But for now, he was just a man watching his partner. He watched Haru place his phone on the table and walk toward him. There was a look of pure, quiet wonder on Raiven's face, as if he still couldn't believe Haru had said "yes" to coming here. That he had someone real to walk toward him at the end of the day.
Haru walked past him into the bedroom. It was his first time truly entering Raiven's personal space; during previous visits, usually, he opted for the guest room to maintain some semblance of " distance." This room was a different world. It was vast, with a walk-in closet that could house a small boutique and a bed set on a raised podium that looked like a cloud made of silk.
He saw that Raiven had already laid out a set of fresh clothes on the foot of the bed.
"Why do you like giving me your clothes so much?" Haru asked, turning back to face him. He didn't realize Raiven had followed him so closely; he nearly bumped into his chest.
"I like it when you smell like me," Raiven said, his voice dropping to a low, shameless register.
Haru scoffed, a flush creeping up his neck. He picked up the folded shirt and tossed it playfully at Raiven's chest.
He tried to sidestep Raiven to get to his own bag, but Raiven's hands moved with lightning speed. He caught Haru by the waist,carefully, mindfully avoiding the injured arm, and gently guided him back until Haru's knees hit the edge of the mattress. Haru tumbled back onto the soft duvet, Raiven hovering over him immediately.
"Is that why you wore my hoodie at the airport?" Raiven teased, his eyes dancing with a bit of his old spark.
Haru looked down at the oversized black fabric. He truly hadn't noticed it was Raiven's. In the rush of the Hong Kong hotel, he had just grabbed the first clean, warm thing he saw. "You are so full of yourself," Haru cooed, relaxing into the mattress.
He looked up, expecting a witty comeback, but Raiven's expression had shifted again. The playfulness died out, replaced by that same haunted look from the airport. His mind was clearly back in that moment of separation, back in the silence when he couldn't find Haru's hand.
"Raiven?" Haru called out, reaching his good hand up to touch Raiven's cheek.
Raiven blinked, breaking out of his daze. He leaned into the touch, his eyes closing for a brief second.
"Don't scare me like that again," Raiven whispered, the words raw and etched with a lingering, visceral fear.