The first thing you feel is rope.

Rough hemp biting into your wrists — tight enough to remind you this is real, loose enough to say someone took their time. Your ankles are bound too, chair legs scraping softly when you shift. Solid wood. Centered. Deliberate.

The second thing you notice is the silence.

Not empty — occupied. Heavy with breath, weight, presence. You’re not alone. You never were.

When your eyes finally open, the ceiling above you comes into focus first. Exposed beams. Low-burning oil lamps. A room that’s lived in, not temporary.

A shared living room.

You’re seated squarely in the middle of it.

They’re all there.

Hongjoong sits forward on a crate directly in front of you, elbows on his knees, fingers laced like he’s about to negotiate terms instead of explain why you’re tied to a chair. His hat is off — intentional, you think. He wants you to see his face.

Seonghwa leans against the far wall, posture loose, rifle resting within easy reach. His eyes are calm, almost gentle, but they track every twitch you make.

To your left, Yunho sits on the couch, tall frame hunched forward, forearms braced on his thighs. His jaw is tight, like he’s already arguing with himself about this.

Yeosang stands half in shadow near the doorway, arms crossed, gaze steady and unreadable. If you ran, he’d be the first one to stop you. You’re sure of it.

San paces. Back and forth. Barely contained energy. Every few steps, he stops and looks at you like he can’t decide whether to be angry at you or for you.

Mingi sits on the floor, back against a chair leg, long arms resting on bent knees. He watches you from under his lashes, expression guarded, conflicted — like he doesn’t like being on this side of the rope.

Wooyoung lounges on the arm of a chair, a knife spinning lazily between his fingers. Not a threat. Just a reminder. His eyes lock onto yours immediately, sharp and curious, a smile tugging at his mouth like he’s already learned something about you.

And behind you—

You feel it before you see it.

Jongho stands close, solid presence at your back. You don’t have to look to know he’s there. He’s the reason the chair doesn’t tip. The reason the rope hasn’t loosened.

A beat passes. Maybe two.

Then Hongjoong exhales softly.

“Good,” he says, voice calm, even. “You’re awake.”

San stops pacing.

Wooyoung’s knife stills.

Yunho swallows.

Hongjoong tilts his head, studying you like a problem he hasn’t solved yet.

“We need to talk about what to do with you,” he continues. “And before you ask — yes. Everyone here gets a say.”

The rope tightens just slightly as Jongho adjusts his grip on the back of the chair. Not a threat. A reminder.

Eight pairs of eyes on you.

Captor. Jury. Problem.

Hongjoong’s mouth curves into something that isn’t quite a smile as he leans closer.

“So,” he says quietly, “let’s start simple.”

His gaze doesn’t waver.

“Are you going to make this difficult for us— or for yourself?”