MY FANFIC SETTLEMENT

know your enemy

Jeongguk wakes up in cold sweat, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. It takes him a couple of minutes to calm down and even out his breathing and he rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm — as if he's physically trying to push sleep away. "Fuck," he mutters as his phone screen lights up the room, display showing it's super early in the morning.

Jet lag has been messing him up pretty badly but also, Jeongguk couldn't stop thinking about the case. Or worse — he couldn't stop thinking about a certain lawyer representing his father's wife. Jeongguk shakes his head and straightens up in his bed. His throat feels dry and he sighs, debating whether he's really going to get up and go to the kitchen to get a glass of water. He vaguely registers the rain that pounds against his window as he decides to get up and look for his slippers with the flashlight of his phone. Unable to find them, Jeongguk puts his fuzzy socks on instead, shivering a little once he completely throws the blankets off of himself and leaves his bed.

Oddly — Jeongguk feels kinda like he did when he was little, sneaking out of his room in the middle of the night so he could play with his PlayStation on the huge living room flat screen with the volume turned all the way down so he wouldn't wake up his parents.

There's no need for him to sneak around the house now, and if he's learned anything, it's that his father would sleep through a nuclear war. Still, he's extremely quiet when he leaves his room, soft thuds of his footsteps echoing against the marble floor as he walks through the living room towards the kitchen, trying to be as quiet as possible. The rain is louder in the living room as it hits against the large windows and Jeongguk sighs — autumn in Seoul was probably just as bad as it was in London. He was used to it, but he wasn't a fan.

Jeongguk's stomach twists at the yellow tones popping up everywhere, visible even through the foggy 5am morning light. It looks nothing like his old apartment and it makes him so angry and devastated all at the same time, and even when the designer returns everything the way it was — it's still not going to be the same as it was when his mother had done the design. It's not going to  _ feel  _ the same.

Jeongguk takes a water bottle from the refrigerator and leans against the counter as he looks around and sips on it in the dark, nose scrunching at the white wood of the cabinets that used to be grey with black marble countertops. He's never been the one to like bright colors, and he was never sure if it was because of his mother's taste — but even when dressing, Jeongguk preferred the colors to be dark and minimal. This whole aesthetic — this apartment right now, did nothing but make him uncomfortable. If his room still wasn't the exact same as he had left it, he would have probably been sleeping in a hotel by now. Jeongguk finishes the water bottle and proceeds to make his way back into his room, scoffing while he passes by the large couch filled with green and yellow cushions. He stops by it and picks one up, debating whether or not to throw it into the fire place and let it catch on fire.

Shaking his head as he decides against it, Jeongguk freezes and quickly turns over his shoulder towards the direction of his father's room — almost certain he's heard some type of noise. It's muffled and barely audible, almost kind of sounds like a giggle. Jeongguk tilts his head and takes a few steps towards the hallway where the master bedroom is at, focusing all of his attention on trying to make out the sounds over the loud sounds of rain hitting against the window. He stands there for a couple of minutes and after a while, he's not even sure if he'd imagined it, or if it's just the rain hitting against the roof and the windows, making odd squeaky noises.

To be fair, it might be the air purifier in his father's room but he isn't entirely sure — he hasn't been in there since he arrived back in Seoul. Master bedroom used to be one of his favorite rooms in the house, and before his father first remarried when Jeongguk was seventeen, he often used to sleep in that bed — even before his mother died. Later, it just didn't feel the same anymore, not after so many women had slept in it too. Now, Jeongguk didn't even want to take a peek inside of that room. The bed probably wasn't even the same. The thought makes his stomach turn.