The trio did not speak as they entered their home. A heavy, solemn silence enveloped the entire atmosphere, glueing their throats shut and ensuring no sound escaped, as they took off their shoes, and hung up their coats. Their faces were grim and their movements weighed down by a thousand thoughts, as they tried to pick up the shards of their life and piece them back into some semblance of normality.

San was the first to speak up, his guilty conscience unable to hold it any longer.

"Hongjoongie-hyung, you didn't need to do that for me..." he muttered, curling up on the sofa. "I could—I could handle it..."

"No. You couldn't," Seonghwa said sharply, all of a sudden. "You haven't been through what he does to you. You wouldn't be able to handle it."

"But what about Hongjoongie-hyung? Can he handle it?" San snapped back. "Why didn't you do anything back there, hyung? You could have done something," he demanded, almost accusingly, getting up. "You could have stopped this from happening!" A pink flare swept through the room, dissipating before San could notice.

"I'm not in the mood to argue, San," Seonghwa said, sighing as his voice softened a tone. "Let's just go to bed and try to forget this ever happened."

"No, but I can't forget!" San said, his voice rising as his emotions bubbled over. "Because I'm the villain of this whole situation! If I hadn't gone and gotten myself caught like that—"

San suddenly doubled over, sobbing.

"It's all my fault," he sobbed, head in his hands.

"It's—it's not your fault," Hongjoong said softly, speaking up for the first time since he'd given up his freedom for the sake of San's. "If anything, it's mine. I brought this upon myself, so I don't want either of you to blame yourselves. Go to bed, both of you. It's been a long day."

San managed to stop his crying and hiccuped, then nodded, and headed over to his room. Seonghwa bowed his head, not making eye contact with either of the two.

* * *

The assassin lifted the steaming cup to his lips, rain pitter-pattering on the windows. The time on the clock read 00:03 – signalling another sleepless night. After that nasty reminder of his past actions and what he had done to Yoona, he hadn't dared to even go near those sleep tablets, and had reverted to taking Aronica tablets daily. He didn't want to relive those memories ever again.

But another sort of memory seemed to be slowly floating up in his conscious, and he wasn't quite sure what they meant. He wasn't quite sure if they even were memories.

Two adults always seemed to be the central theme for them, along with grey walls splattered with blood, and a constant feeling of fear, anxiety and uncertainty.

He recognised those two adults, but he didn't want to acknowledge it. Because there was another memory, one he definitely knew he had, that he associated with that horrible grey room. And just the thought of it made him sick.

Suddenly, he doubled over in pain, clutching his side. The cup of tea clattered to the floor and smashed as a piercing agony shot through Seonghwa's abdomen.

Even two weeks later, the Crimson Blade was still alive – in his injuries. Whatever advanced type of Dark Magik he had used on Seonghwa, seemed to be long-term. The aches and pains from the fight had all disappeared by now, but every now and then an unbearable pain would start up in his side, or perhaps his leg, though the pain was starting to lessen each time, little by little.

Big Grey caused all this, and now he's going to put Hongjoong through it too, his mind told him. A little guilty string threaded itself through Seonghwa's mind, scolding him for thinking of himself when his friend had just subjected himself to unimaginable amounts of mental torment.

The more he thought about it, the more he realised what his friend had roped himself into.

A low rumble of thunder – almost a warning – growled all around him.

"Seonghwa?" came a worried whisper as Hongjoong's door opened and he rushed through. "Are you okay? What happened?"

Seonghwa's suffocating grip on the table loosened, as the pain slowly subsided.

"I'm fine," he said, as he straightened, and picked up the smashed teacup. "I can't say the same for the cup, though."

Hongjoong chuckled nervously, and sat down on the seat opposite Seonghwa.

"You shouldn't have done that," Seonghwa said, placing the ruined ceramic mess into a plastic bag. "Accept Big Grey's offer, I mean."

"But there was nothing I could have done in that situation," Hongjoong said simply, staring down at his fingers.

"There had to have been something I could have done," Seonghwa said, remembering San's accusations as he sat back down.

"And risk your job in Cherries? Risk making Big Grey our enemy?"

"Hongjoong—You're—" Seonghwa's voice was strained, and he sighed, the tapping on the table ceasing. "You're throwing away your dreams."

"What do you mean, Seonghwa?" Hongjoong asked sharply.

"Think of it. Before, you could have just walked away – you had almost to no affiliation with Cherries, apart from being friends with me. But now Big Grey has you in his clutches. He won't let you just walk away."

"So what are you saying?" Hongjoong snapped. "That I should have walked away and left you and San? To live in this hellhole?"

"You could've taken San and lived out your dream."

"Listen – I love you two a lot, you know. Even if we haven't known each other for that long. You're the first friend I've had in ages – everyone else—everyone else, they'd call my dreams madness," Hongjoong said, his voice, his words, and his actions getting more heated as he spoke. "And you're saying, that I should just leave you here?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Seonghwa shot back. "I have no purpose. I have no dreams. But you do. You shouldn't have risked it all for that."

"This isn't about you, Seonghwa!" Hongjoong suddenly yelled, flying out of his seat. "San, our Sannie was almost recruited into Cherries, and that's why I did what I did! Not you, not for myself, not to throw away my goddamn dream!"

"Then why did you do it?! There's no walking away from this bloody cycle of self-destruction!" Seonghwa said, getting from his seat as well as he was swept up in the heat of the moment. "You'll never achieve your dream if you're a Red in Cherries."

Hongjoong seemed to back off a little, flinching as he heard the harshness of Seonghwa's truth. Only then, did realisation of what he had pulled himself into dawned on him. There was no walking away from this bloody cycle of self-destruction.

Hongjoong collapsed onto the floor.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, a dull thudding starting up in his head. "I shouldn't have said those things to you."

"No," Seonghwa replied, almost coolly. "You're right. I was acting a little self-centred there."

"But still—"

"No," Seonghwa repeated firmly, rediscovering his empathy. "No blaming yourself. We're not having any more of that, okay? It's bad enough dealing with myself blaming myself as it is."

Seonghwa bent his knees, bringing himself to Hongjoong's level. He looked earnestly into his friend's eyes.

"We'll find a way, okay?" he said gently. "Let's think positively. We'll find a way out of this – I promise you."

* * *

"What are you going to wear tonight, Seonghwa?" Hongjoong asked the next morning. After a night (or morning, if you were looking at it more technically) of his friend's much-needed comfort, he was feeling much more light-hearted about the whole situation.

"I have a suit," Seonghwa mumbled.

That night, a big ball, party, meeting – whatever you'd like to call it – was being held at none other than the Cherries headquarters itself, hosted by Big Grey. All Reds were invited, and required to attend.

"Oh really? Can I have a look?"

Seonghwa shuffled towards his bedroom and returned holding a clothes hanger. He handed it to Hongjoong, who studied it with sharp fashionista's eyes. After a second more of inspection, with a frown, he handed it back to its owner.

"You said this is the first all-Red event in ages?"

Seonghwa nodded, and Hongjoong's frown grew deeper.

"No, no," Hongjoong muttered, shaking his head. "This won't do."

Seonghwa cocked his head to one side.

"What do you mean? There can't be anything wrong with it – I've always worn it to formal meetings."

"But this is a special occasion," Hongjoong said, turning to his friend. "This, er, thing, is too drab. We need to make you look stylish! Who would wear something as boring as this to a party?" Hongjoong seemed pretty excited at the prospect of buying new clothes, and for his friend on top of that, so Seonghwa let himself be swept up in his antics. "Come on, we're going to have to buy you something new – I have to buy some stuff for myself anyway – so let's go!"

Hongjoong grabbed Seonghwa's arm and dragged him over to the room.

"See you in a bit, San! We're just going to go shopping, we'll be back soon!"

"Have fun, hyungs!" San called after them, putting up his hand in a wave in the middle of a pushup.

* * *

Hongjoong breathed in, fresh air hitting his lungs. He took a moment to twirl, taking in his surroundings, before turning to Seonghwa, his face flushed a bright pink.

"Come on," he said, grabbing Seonghwa's hand, this time. "Let's go!"

Soon enough, the city's finest tailor's shop grew near, and the bell atop the glass door jingled as it swung open and the two stepped in.

The inside was shabby, not at all the expected visuals of the best tailor's shop in the city. Faded red lined the walls, and little clouds of dust would arise at every footstep from the darker, but still faded, crimson carpet. A tape measure hung from a nail stabbed hastily into the wall, and mannequins, all covered with a fine layer of dust, lined the walls, all wearing various different types of outfit and creating a rather claustrophobic effect. Seonghwa sucked in sharply, wanting nothing more than to finish their business here and get out of the place as fast as possible.

"Welcome, welcome," came a reedy, thin voice from behind the counter. An old man, wrinkles adorning every inch of his skin, wearing silver-rimmed glasses and sporting warm grey eyes and pointed ears came tottering towards them. "What can I do for you?"

"Hello," Hongjoong said, greeting the tailor with a warm smile. "I was wondering if I could have some formal outfits tailored for me and my friend?"

"Oh, yes, of course," the man said, looking around for his tape measure. He grabbed it from its place, and returned to facing the two young demons. "What kind of style are you going for?"

"We're going to a formal party, of sorts, tonight. I'm not really an expert on formal wear, so I was wondering if you could perhaps help?"

"Of course, of course," the man muttered. He spoke swiftly and quietly, though the suffocating silence of the dust coating everything around them did help in letting him be heard. "Let me have a look at both of you."

He took a step backwards, squinting and adjusting his glasses.

"Yes, yes," he muttered to himself. "Both of you have quite exquisite bodies. Yes, my style of formal dress will suit you both well."

"That's great!" Hongjoong smiled.

The tailor held up his tape measure.

"Do you mind if I...?"

"Of course not."

The tailor set to measuring Hongjoong, carefully winding his tape measure around Hongjoong's waist, along his arms, and down his legs. He recorded these measurements with a precise concentration, before moving onto Seonghwa.

As he finished, he grabbed a gnarled old stick from the cluttered counter. He pointed it at the door, ajar and leading to some back room, and two wisps of faded red Magik – resembling the man himself in posture and appearance – made its way out of the stick and disappeared into the room. A moment later, it returned, swirling around two mannequins that were suspended in mid-air.

The tailor – whom Hongjoong and Seonghwa could safely assume to be a fairy by now – twirled his wand in one swift, experienced swooping motion, and the entire room came to life.

Bits of cloth and gold-edged pins, all with faded vermillion wisps surrounding them, flew from their places, swirling around the mannequins and attaching themselves to them when prompted to by the tailor. Needles threaded themselves and weaved the fabric with intricate patterns and stitches, until the pins were no longer needed to hold it all together. The once silent and still room bustled with a lively energy as two complete outfits were formed.

Minutes later, everything came to a standstill, and the tailor took a step backwards, admiring his work.

"What do you think?" he asked with a grin, before launching into an explanation for each choice he made, each tailored specifically for their bodies.

A white dress shirt with frilled sleeve endings, along with a vermillion cloth with a garnet fitted snugly into the centre of it as a replacement for a tie; a jet-black belt with a golden buckle and simple black trousers for Hongjoong. For Seonghwa, also a white dress shirt but this time decorated with a piece of white ruffled cloth running down the front, a simple grey pair of trousers and...

"...and a corset, for you, young man. It would suit you splendidly," the tailor said proudly.

"But aren't corsets usually for women?" Seonghwa asked.

Both Hongjoong and the tailor exchanged a chuckle.

"For women with certain body types, yes. And the same goes for men, as well," the tailor said. "And you, young man, have that exact body type; tall, with a skinny waist but broad shoulders. There couldn't be anyone better suited to corsets than you."

Seonghwa blushed in embarrassment.

"Thank you for your help," Hongjoong smiled.

"Now then, how about you two young men go try them on?"

"Of course."

The tailor, with another proud grin, used his wand to remove the clothes from the mannequins, and handed them to the two friends. Hongjoong thanked him once again, and the two headed off to the dressing rooms.

A while later, they emerged, fully dressed in their new clothes. The tailor tottered over with a dusty old full-length mirror, and plopped it down in front of them. Hongjoong breathed out in awe as he stared at himself in the mirror. The clothes had looked beautiful on those mannequins, but now that he was wearing them – the one they had been especially created for – the clothes looked breathtaking.

He turned to Seonghwa.

"You look amazing," he said, smiling. "The tailor was right – corsets really do suit you – you look so good!"

Seonghwa blushed once again.

"So how much is all of this?" Hongjoong asked, turning back to the tailor.

"Hmm..." The tailor took a step closer, examining the fabric and intricacy of the stitching. He drew back, knitting his eyebrows together as he seemed to go through a number of mental calculations. "Altogether, around 6300 lykr."

"Woah," Hongjoong uttered, blown away.

"There's extra costs for the corset," the tailor said matter-of-factly. "It did take a lot of effort to make, you know."

Seonghwa looked worriedly at Hongjoong.

"I don't need the corset if it costs too much," he said.

"No, no," Hongjoong said, brushing Seonghwa away. "It's fine. I want you to look nice tonight. Besides, it's nothing I can't pay for." Hongjoong shrugged, and turned back to the tailor. "We'll just get changed back into our regular clothes, and we'll pay afterwards, if that's okay?"

"Of course," the tailor smiled, his wrinkles creasing. "You couldn't run away with my clothes even if you wanted to – there's no window nor door in the back."

A moment later, the two returned in their normal clothes, their new ones hanging over their arms. With a crimson flash, they were holding two bags with the attire tucked neatly inside. The tailor grinned as he moved his wand away from them.

Hongjoong fumbled around in his pockets for his wallet, and the tailor summoned the reader with his wand. Hongjoong swiped his card across it as it floated lazily in front of him, and it beeped green in confirmation.

Seonghwa felt a buzz come from his pocket, and he pulled out his phone.

Nice to see the two of you bonding and buying new clothes, a text from Dongju read. Of course Big Grey had placed tabs on them. Seonghwa would have to watch what he said around Hongjoong. Just a reminder – I'm sure you've remembered – that Hongjoong needs to get his tattoo today. I've already booked in with our tattooist, don't you worry. All you two have to do is show up.

Seonghwa frowned. Of course. Hongjoong was an official member of Cherries now. And that tattoo would seal the deal. The assassin sighed, but it wasn't like he could refuse Dongju's orders; he was Big Grey's right-hand man, and probably the most powerful of the gang members. There was nothing Seonghwa could physically do.

"Thank you so much for everything," Hongjoong said to the tailor. Seonghwa bowed his head awkwardly. The tailor seemed to understand his intentions, though, and smiled warmly.

The two headed out of the shabby shop.

"Hongjoong," Seonghwa said, once the door jingled shut behind them.

"Mhm?"

"Before we go home, we have to go to the tattooist's."

"Why?" Hongjoong asked, before he realised. "Oh."

Seonghwa nodded grimly.

"Come on, it's better to get it over and done with."

Hongjoong nodded uncertainly, but still followed Seonghwa, who began to weave through the crowded streets to a place he hadn't been to in years.

* * *

The interior of the tattooist's place was pretty much the same as Seonghwa remembered. Bits of laminated paper decorated with all sorts of different tattoo designs adorned the walls, whilst the bin was overflowing with scrunched up pieces of paper that weren't worthy enough for the wall of fame.

"Oh. You're here," the young female tattooist said, her voice just as bored and uninterested as ever. She looked more or less the same – orange hair long, loose and tucked behind her pointed elf-ears, coal-black eyes framed in a dark eyeshadow and smothered with thick mascara. Seonghwa almost got a sense of deja vu – if it weren't for the warm presence of his friend beside him.

"Hello," Hongjoong said stiffly.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Sit down, I haven't got all day. I have an appointment later today and it's a very important one. I have to finish up with you until then."

Hongjoong bristled at her rudeness, but kept quiet as he sat down on one of the provided seats and rolled up his sleeve. He yelped as he felt a sudden pricking sensation in his arm.

"Stay still," growled the tattooist, gripping Hongjoong's shoulder rather harshly, and began her work.

* * *

After an hour of a careful and precise ink-coated needle being poked in and out of his outer shoulder, Hongjoong's deal with Cherries had been sealed.

He looked down at his aching shoulder, at the stark, fresh tattoo on his arm. It was a strange feeling, seeing it on his own arm, after seeing it on so many Cherries executives, on Big Grey, Dongju, Kangmin, even Seonghwa himself. It was like he was sealing his fate, and letting the gods – which, in this case were Big Grey and perhaps Dongju – take over.

The tattooist pulled out some bandages and wrapped them around his