Monday Morning
Yawn.
Yu-han stirred awake, still half-asleep from the night before. He had spent all of it poring over clues, hoping something would finally click.
He lay there for a moment, trying to shake the fog from his mind. When his senses finally caught up, he blinked. His room… was clean.
The clothes that usually littered the floor were gone. Papers that once formed a chaotic pile were now stacked neatly on the desk. But more than that—Zhang was nowhere to be seen.
Clink. Clank.
Yu-han sat up, groaning as he rubbed his back. The noise was coming from the kitchen. He dragged himself toward it, voice still groggy."Hmmm… what are you doing?"
Zhang glanced over his shoulder, mid-fumble with a few plates and glasses. "Breakfast," he replied simply.
He turned around and handed Yu-han a plate with sunnyside-up eggs. It caught him off guard. A small smile tugged at the corners of Yu-han's mouth before he quickly wiped it away.
"Hm," he muttered, taking the plate. "Where'd you get the idea to make eggs?"
Their eyes met. There was something sharp in Zhang's gaze—focused, unreadable. And for the first time, Yu-han noticed how solid Zhang's build actually was.
"I thought you liked it," Zhang replied. Then he added with a small pause, "Little one."
Yu-han froze.
That name. Someone used to call him that.
It clicked. Wait…
"HEY! WHERE'S MY DIARY?!"
Zhang's lips curled into a wicked smirk. "What diary?"
Yu-han barely put the plate down before rushing to his desk, shoving things aside in a frenzy. "Ugh," he groaned, after failing to find it.
"Looking for this?"
Zhang held up a small black notebook.
"Heyyyy!" Yu-han lunged for it, trying to snatch it out of Zhang's hand. They stumbled and crashed to the floor with a thud.
"Ughhff…"
Silence fell.
Yu-han was now straddling Zhang, their faces inches apart. His breath caught in his throat. Zhang, too, stared up—realizing just how good Yu-han looked up close.
For a moment, neither of them said a word.
Yu-han blinked, suddenly very aware of the position they were in. Zhang's hands had instinctively caught his waist during the fall, and now neither of them seemed in a hurry to move.
They had only been living together for a week.
Just seven days—and yet here they were, tangled on the floor like something out of a bad drama.
Yu-han's heart thudded. He cleared his throat, but it came out more like a strangled squeak.
"I—uh…" He shifted awkwardly. "That's mine."
Zhang raised an eyebrow, his grip on the diary still firm. "You sure? I don't remember seeing your name on it."
Yu-han narrowed his eyes. "Give. It. Back."
Zhang smirked. "Make me."
That was it.
Yu-han lunged for the notebook again, but Zhang easily flipped them over, pinning Yu-han beneath him in one smooth motion. Now Zhang was on top, one arm pressing Yu-han's wrist to the floor, the other holding the diary just out of reach.
"You're awfully feisty for someone I've known for just a week," Zhang teased, flipping open a page. "'Entry 14: Zhang left his shirt in the bathroom again. I swear, that man has no concept of personal space—'"
"Zhang!" Yu-han hissed, cheeks burning. "That's private!"
Zhang chuckled, voice low and unbothered. "You write about me a lot for a roommate you barely know."
"I write about everything," Yu-han snapped. "It doesn't mean I like you."
Zhang raised a brow. "You sure about that? Because this doodle on page 27 tells a different story."
Yu-han's soul left his body.
"You didn't—!"
"Oh, I did." Zhang turned the page and held it just high enough for Yu-han to glimpse the sketch—him with devil horns and a smug grin, captioned: 'Zhang the Demon Roommate'. And beneath it, in slightly smaller handwriting: 'Why is he kinda hot though???'
Yu-han let out a pained sound and slammed his hands over his face. "I'm moving out."
"No, you're not."
"I'll burn that notebook."
"Then I'll redraw it and stick it to the fridge."
Yu-han groaned. "I hate you."
Zhang laughed and finally rolled off him, standing up. He offered a hand. "No, you don't."
Yu-han hesitated, then took it, letting Zhang pull him up. He snatched the diary back like it was a piece of his soul and hugged it to his chest.
Zhang walked back toward the kitchen and called over his shoulder, "Your eggs are getting cold."
Yu-han dragged himself to the table, still clutching the notebook.
"You're the worst."
Zhang shrugged. "And yet, here you are."
Yu-han plopped into the chair and stared at the plate. The eggs looked perfect. A long sigh escaped him as he picked up his fork.
"…Thanks, though," he mumbled.
Zhang didn't answer. But from across the kitchen, that small, smug smile appeared again—just a little softer this time.
Zhang may have been ordered to keep an eye on Yuhan's work—and make sure he didn't run away—but no order could control feelings.
The rest of breakfast passed in silence.
Later, they shared a shower, lounged on the couch watching TV, and for a while, it felt like a normal day. But eventually, Yuhan pulled himself back to focus—he still had a job to do. He needed answers. He needed to know more about the accident.
"Uh—" Yuhan broke the silence.
"Yeah?" Zhang glanced up from his phone.
"We need to be somewhere," Yuhan said, handing him a folded paper.
Zhang took it and scanned the printed details: a police report, the name of a journalist, contact info.
"We have to meet her," Yuhan added, his voice firmer now.
"Right. Okay."Zhang stood, already reaching for the car keys without another word.
Outside, the late morning sun gleamed off the body of a sleek BMW X6 parked just outside the apartment. Yuhan slowed to a stop, brow raised.
"…Wasn't it a different car the day I got kidnapped?"
Zhang smirked faintly as he opened the passenger door for him. "It was. Switched it out the next morning. Thought you'd notice sooner."
Yuhan climbed in, muttering, "Of course you did."
Zhang slid behind the wheel, starting the engine with a low purr.
"So," he said as they pulled into traffic, "you think we'll find her?"
Yuhan kept his gaze on the road ahead. "We better. She's the only lead we've got."
"hmmm", Zhang nodded as he got the car to start.
The BMW glided smoothly through the city streets, its engine a low hum beneath the calm between them. Yuhan's eyes were sharp, scanning every detail as if the answers were hiding just beyond the window.
Zhang glanced sideways, noticing the new edge to Yuhan's posture. "You don't have to carry this alone, you know."
Yuhan smirked, turning to meet Zhang's gaze with steady confidence. "I'm not carrying anything. I'm doing this because I have to—because if I don't, I'm not getting out of this mess anytime soon."
Zhang raised an eyebrow. "That mess being... stealing from Kai?"
Yuhan's smirk deepened. "Exactly. So yeah, I'm all in. No use pretending otherwise."
A brief silence passed before Zhang chuckled softly. "You've got guts, I'll give you that."
Yuhan shrugged. "It's either that or stay under Kai's thumb forever."
The BMW slowed, pulling up in front of the reporter's office. Zhang killed the engine and turned to Yuhan.
"Ready?"
Yuhan nodded firmly, the confidence in his eyes unwavering. "Let's get what we need—and get out."
Yuhan and Zhang stepped into the small, bustling office building, the scent of stale coffee and old papers hanging in the air. Yuhan unfolded the police report again, double-checking the address.
They approached the front desk, where a tired-looking receptionist glanced up. Yuhan cleared his throat.
"We're here to see Olivia Park, the reporter. She covered the accident a few years back."
The receptionist's eyes flicked to the report, then softened. "Olivia? She left this place three years ago. Moved out of state, last I heard."
Yuhan exchanged a quick look with Zhang, the weight of disappointment pressing in.
"Any idea where she went?" Yuhan pressed.
The receptionist shook her head. "No one's heard from her since. It was sudden—no warning."
Zhang muttered, "Figures. Nothing's ever simple."
Yuhan clenched his jaw but kept his voice steady. "Then we'll have to find her ourselves."
The silence between them was heavy, charged with frustration and the unspoken acknowledgment that their path was just getting harder.
Yet, somewhere beneath the tension, a shared resolve sparked—whatever it took, they weren't backing down.
"Well, the accident happened three years ago. Of course she ran away," Yuhan muttered, his voice low and edged with frustration. Without another word, he strode back to the car and slammed the door shut.
Inside, the leather seats absorbed the sharp sound as silence settled between them. Zhang started the engine, but neither spoke for a moment.
Finally, Zhang broke the quiet. "If she's been gone that long, why do you think she still has the answers we need?"
Yuhan's eyes narrowed, staring out the window at the passing cityscape. "Because whoever she is, she's the only one who ever got close to the truth. And I'm not about to let her disappear without a trace."
Zhang nodded slowly. "Then we find her. No matter what."
Yuhan just kept quite.
To Be Continued... ...