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Thirteen promises

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Despite those tense moments, time seemed to pass too quickly when Hansol was with the clan, and the number of fascinating situations far exceeded those in which he didn’t know how to act. Even when wrapped up in the routine of classes and everything else, his partners made everything special. Each of his birthdays, or even spontaneous celebrations for achievements, was utterly unique.

One of them revolved around Hansol’s first encounter with alcohol and desire. He had never been a fan of intoxicating his body only to wake up hungover the next day, but after countless times of watching his clan indulge, it became inevitable to accept his fate and go with the flow.

“This tastes horrible,” were his first words after taking his first shot of soju. The bottle had a pink sticker that in no way matched its taste—it was almost repulsive.

“Take two more, and you won’t even feel any flavor anymore,” Mingyu said, sliding another small glass across the table, while Jihoon placed a hand on his neck in his own way of cheering him on.

Although it didn’t seem possible, by the fifth drink, distinguishing any flavor beyond the meat grilling on the barbecue was an impossible task. Seungcheol’s hands on his knee and thigh were barely noticeable, and even the two pairs of hands on his waist, helping him stand, didn’t feel real. However, it was 11 p.m., and they all had to get home no matter what.

“Hyung, you’re so strong,” Hansol muttered as he leaned against Mingyu, as if they weren’t dragging him along the street. His words stumbling as much as his feet. 

“I never thought you’d be so adorable drinking, Nonnie,” Seungcheol whispered behind his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. He was so close that Hansol could feel his breath against his neck, as well as the alcohol-laden scent.

“I’m not adorable; I’m embarrassing,” he mumbled as they all managed to pile into the last subway car, where they were alone except for a couple of guys in the front seats. The half-American clung to the biceps of the men who had carried him, wanting them to stay by his side as he felt the ride begin.

“We need to give him lots of water as soon as we get home, or he’ll feel awful tomorrow,” Seungkwan’s voice drifted to him, and when Hansol opened his eyes, the other was smiling widely at him.

“Can we sleep together tonight?” Hansol blurted out suddenly, his eyes darting to the other nine guys. There were three of them that didn't go out that night, as they couldn't drink—he knew there was a reason for that, but he couldn’t remember it all of a sudden.

“Aigoo, Sollie, I think you’ll feel better in your room, but we can stay with you until you fall asleep,” Jun, who wasn’t in much better shape, suggested from the front of the subway car. Hansol sighed and stubbornly closed his eyes.

“No, I want to be with you.” Suddenly, the younger man’s hand traveled to the tallest one’s abdomen, stroking it gently. His body was burning, but he assumed it was because of the alcohol.

“Are you feeling…different, puppy?” Soonyoung teased, seemingly amused by the idea, though the youngest didn’t understand why—especially when his head was rested on a comforting shoulder.

“I want a kiss,” was all he dared to say, his hands wandering again—this time to Mingyu’s hips, sliding down to his thighs as he tried to distract himself. He didn’t just want a kiss; being this close to them was dangerous. As dangerous as himself, unrestrained.

Suddenly, a hand rested on the back of his neck, agile fingers tangling in his hair, effortlessly making him lift his head to look at their owner. Wonwoo was watching him with a calm smile, as though he hadn’t just ignited a fire in Hansol’s chest.

Hansol tried to take a deep breath until their lips collided. The dampness felt slightly different when he wasn’t in full control of his senses, but the feeling of giving and receiving remained the same. Wonwoo’s tongue moved against his with expertise caressing againts his with want, even if he had tried, Hansol wouldn’t have been able to control the contact.

As they parted, a thin thread of saliva weakly connected them. The youngest could see the older’s dilated pupils, his heavy breaths coming through his mouth, and the firm grip of his hand in Hansol’s hair was still there.

Discreetly, Hansol glanced at the others. All of them had their eyes fixed on the pair, as if expecting something more, as if needing something more. Seungkwan sat at the front, his head tilted and hands clasping Jihoon’s. Beside them, Jeonghan leaned back with his arms on his thighs, attempting to hide the pink flush on his cheeks with his hands.

Junhui and Soonyoung broke eye contact to look at each other, as if speaking in a code Hansol could never decipher. Minghao, meanwhile, was giving the youngest a dazzling smile, showing off his perfect teeth and a relaxed posture that seemed inviting. The half-American couldn’t help but want to obey, wanting to kneel between his legs and be good for him. 

“Well, that was hot, but this is our stop,” Mingyu’s voice broke the tension in the room, prompting everyone to start moving out of the subway car. Mingyu and Seungcheol helped Hansol stand to walk out before the doors closed again.

Once they exited, a small laugh came from in front of them. Jeonghan wore that mischievous look that made it seem like he knew more than he should.

“Do you still want to sleep with us, puppy?” the second eldest teased, his gaze dropping below Hansol’s waist. The youngest didn’t need to look down to know what Jeonghan had noticed; it only took a couple of steps to feel the discomfort and rigidity in his lower body.

“Maybe I should sleep alone.”

 

And so it was that over the next six months, besides reinforcing established boundaries, Hansol began to understand what Jeonghan had meant about truly knowing and learning about each of his partners. Even though they frequently wrote and voiced what they wanted and disliked, there were things they weren’t even aware of themselves—things only someone who loved them could understand.

The brunette wanted to understand and be understood. As a result, the initial caution wasn’t just theirs anymore—it became his too. Every touch, question, kiss, or gesture was intentional when it came to them. It wasn’t exhausting, as some of his friends thought at first, because making the people he cared about feel good gave him incredible, insatiable satisfaction.

Giving them what they needed felt natural, even when he had gone above and beyond to preserve the serenity they had managed to achieve. Yet some situations found Hansol before he could even address them.

After a long day of classes and a quick ice cream outing with his new friend Jimin, Hansol returned home around five in the evening. He greeted Junhui with a kiss on the cheek and Wonwoo with a brief hug before announcing he’d take a shower to be more comfortable for dinner.

The trip up the stairs was uneventful as he scrolled through photos Jimin had tagged him in, some so silly that he was sure Chan or Minghao would make fun of him about them.

Distracted, he reached the third floor, where a recurring thudding noise caught his attention. It sounded like a rhythmic, forceful collision coming from Seokmin’s room. It was strange; he had never heard anything like it before. Intrigue consumed him as he approached the closed door silently, freezing when he recognized the hushed voices of Soonyoung, Minghao, and Seokmin.

“Are you sure it doesn’t hurt?” the oldest of the three asked, his voice barely audible through the walls.

“Just a little, but this should be the last time it needs adjusting,” Seokmin replied, his tone strained as if he were in pain and struggling to breathe.

“It’ll be over soon, and then you won’t have to do this for another ten years,” Minghao said in a tone that was unusually optimistic for someone so grounded and realistic.

Unable to name what was happening, Hansol leaned closer to the crack in the door, trying to spy on their actions. From the narrow opening, he could only see Seokmin’s back—his upper body bare—and the other two staring at his chest with analytical, concerned expressions.

Soonyoung held a transparent tube connected to a machine Hansol didn’t recognize. The situation grew stranger when the noise resumed, and Minghao appeared to press Seokmin’s left pectoral sharply.

How could it not hurt if he’d recently had open-heart surgery? Was this a medical procedure? Were they hurting him?

And then it happened. Just as Seungcheol’s voice echoed from the stairs, calling everyone to the living room, Hansol’s view of Seokmin shifted through the crack in the door.

Hansol stumbled back, utterly shocked by the scene that refused to settle in his mind. Acting on pure instinct, he scrambled to his feet as he heard Seungkwan’s steps descending the stairs and the others moving behind the door.

What had he seen? What had he seen? What the hell had he just seen?

Moving automatically, Hansol rushed two floors down, his body responding to the leader’s command without him fully comprehending why or when he had come home. 

“Han, are you okay? You look pale.” Joshua’s voice greeted him when he reached the living room, but Hansol couldn’t focus on anything besides the two policemen sitting there.

Joshua tried to touch his shoulder, but Hansol flinched away, bumping into Chan, who was standing beside him with an equally uneasy expression.

“Guys, the police are here for a surprise check. Let’s all sit down with them,” Seungcheol announced, emerging from the kitchen with two glasses of water, which he set down in front of the officers.

“Sol, does something hurt? Why won’t you let us touch you?” Soonyoung’s blurry hands appeared in front of him, but Hansol could only hear the pounding of his own pulse in his ears.

“I’m fine. L-let’s go,” he managed to stammer, realizing all eyes were on him. With unsteady steps, he sat in the corner of the largest couch, facing the policemen, who seemed to be reviewing everyone’s files.

When he looked up, the clan leader was already watching him, as if he knew exactly what Hansol had just seen. Seungcheol's nervousness and the sweat gathering between his nose and mouth were impossible to miss.

He knew. They all knew. The inconsistencies in the records, the medical reports, the number of members listed under the clan on the global site, the fake ID Hansol had been given months after joining—all to maintain their lies.

And the image of Seokmin’s chest, now seared into his memory. Hansol was such as fool for ignoring it so long, it was too late now. 

Once everyone was gathered, Officer Kim directed his questions straight at the half-American, stating, “Since you’re the newest member to join the clan, we need to confirm you’re on the same page as everyone else. I’ll ask you to answer personally, without input from anyone else. Understood?” Hansol nodded, lowering his gaze to the floor to hide the heat rushing to his face.

Especially when the next question made his heart sink.

“Now tell me, Hansol: there are 10 registered members under the Choi clan and three personal assistance prototypes. Is this information correct?”

One word. Just one word and they would be in so much trouble. Hansol wished he wasn't such a coward.