the candlelight flickers against the damp stone walls, casting long shadows as you step deeper into the underground lair. the boat glides across the still water, guided by sunghoon’s steady hand. his mask hides half his face, but his dark eyes never leave you.

"you shouldn’t be here," he murmurs, though he was the one who brought you.

your breath is unsteady. "why did you bring me, then?"

his fingers twitch at his side. he wants to touch you. he doesn’t. "because you sang my music," he says, almost reverent. "and now, you must stay."

your heart pounds. fear and something else — something more dangerous — clash inside you. he moves like a ghost, silent, graceful, yet there’s fire in him. the same fire that burns in your chest when you sing.

"you’re my angel of music," he whispers, leading you toward the grand organ. sheets of unfinished compositions scatter across the table. "sing for me."

you don’t know why you obey. but you do.

your voice fills the cavern, and his shoulders tremble. he closes his eyes as if in pain, or maybe bliss.

then, suddenly, he turns away. "leave."

you hesitate. "sunghoon-"

"leave before i can’t let you go."

you should run. escape. yet your feet remain rooted. because behind the mask, beneath the fearsome phantom, there is a man who loves music, who loves you. and that terrifies you more than anything.