MAL sighed heavily as she set the phone down on the kitchen counter, her fingers rubbing her temple in a failed attempt to soothe some of the tension there.

"It's done."

Jisung turned to face his best friend, a bowl of ramen in one of his hands and a pair of chopsticks in the other. "What's done?"

Seungmin rolled his eyes, setting a book that happened to be in his grip on the kitchen counter, right across from Mal.

"Dude," he began, his gaze fixated on the ramen bowl, "her friend has gone missing. Have some respect."

"Oh—"

Before Jisung could set the bowl down, Mal turned to the pair with a flash of distress.

"It's okay, just let him eat." Covering her face with her hands, she inhaled to gather her energy. "I just called my cousin. They just assigned him to the case of Millie's disappearance."

"Oh!" Seungmin replied. "That's good! Your cousin is a great detective."

Mal nodded her head, briefly looking up from her hands.

"Do you think he's going to find her?"

Seungmin nodded his head, sending his friend a side smile as to send her the least bit of reassurance.

"I'm sure he will." The younger glanced at Jisung, his forehead wrinkled in disgust at the slurping sounds he was making. "You should stop making that sound."

"Leave me the fuck alone," Jisung replied in a falsely threatening tone. "I was up all night because Lino couldn't sleep."

"Yeah, we could hear that." Mal's lips curved upwards into a smirk. "You should probably tone it down next time. Lucky for you, Felix slept just fine. Almost."

The two frowned at the last part of the sentence, already guessing at what might have happened to disturb Felix's sleep.

There was only one option. A nightmare, probably.

Lately, nightmares had been frequent in the once-peaceful household. Each member would get a nightmare, probably because of stress, and turn to other members for comfort. Including Mal, who was more than happy to give comfort to whoever needed it.

But, deep down, both Jisung and Seungmin knew that Felix had been getting a lot of nightmares. After all, it was his mind's coping mechanism for a traumatizing incident, such as what he recently went through.

"Is he okay?" Jisung asked, setting the bowl on the counter as a sensation of melancholy overwhelmed his entire body.

"I hope so, Jisung," Mal replied, her breath rigged at the image of her lover curling up into a ball beside her, flinching away from her touch in distress. "I hope so."

Echoes of footsteps traveled down the stairs, slowly making their way towards the kitchen, the noise growing louder and louder each moment. It didn't take long for a figure to make its way through the doorframe, and when the three friends' vision focused, they nodded their heads at the figure.

The familiar, slightly shorter figure of their friend, Changbin, made its way toward the four-doored fridge and opened one of its doors in one swift move.

"Why are you guys sitting like that?" Changbin asked, side-eyeing the three as he grabbed a small-sized bottle of strawberry milk.

"Mal is sad about her friend who went missing on the night of the ceremony." Jisung retorted, turning to their older friend with a mouth full of ramen. "So we're just sitting here. Care to provide some comfort, Your Highness?"

Changbin nodded his head without hesitation, his hand reaching inside the fridge to grab another bottle of strawberry milk before swinging his hip and shutting the refrigerator door in the process.

"Are you okay, Mal?" Changbin cooed, making a beeline to the stool beside Mal and quickly sitting on it. In that quick process, he slid the strawberry milk bottle in Mal's direction, who quickly stopped it from sliding further and turned to mutter words of gratitude towards the older friend.

"Not really." Mal sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder in an attempt to relax. "I'm just really worried about Millie. It was the first time she'd gone somewhere without telling anyone, and her not replying to any calls just made the matter worse. You know, because she's always on her phone?"

Changbin nodded his head, his muscular arm wrapping itself around her slim figure in a gentle embrace.

"She'll be back, I'm sure of it." He reassured, his voice soothing and gentle. "Please, do not worry. Millie is a grown woman and I'm sure she can take care of herself."

The thing was, Mal knew that Millie wasn't the cautious type.

Mal knew that Millie needed someone to take care of her.

Mal knew that most of the time, she was there for Millie when she needed to be taken care of.

But, on the night of the ceremony, all of them knew that they couldn't focus on anything. Mal herself couldn't focus on anything except Felix, and the fact that Griffin's mother had disappeared as well.

The distress Griffin was in was enough to take her mind off everything.

"The only thing I don't understand is," Jisung paused dramatically, rolling his eyes at Changbin, "why didn't you get strawberry milk for us too?"

Both Seungmin and Changbin rolled their eyes at their friend while Seungmin punched his fist against the book in front of him in pure annoyance.

"Jisung!"

. . .

The young man made his way towards the kitchen, his ears catching up with the faint, slowly growing noise of pots and pans hitting each other and making loud bangs.

As soon as he reached the doorframe and peeked inside the gigantic kitchen, spotting the familiar figure of his father in front of the modern dishwasher, his strong grip moving through the plates and pots with ease.

"Wow, finally cooking dinner?" His son retorted, his hands turning into fists of frustration. "Did we win the lottery or something?"

The father straightened his back and slowly turned to his son, his eyes red with mutual anger and exasperation.

"What the fuck do you want?" The man threateningly questioned, his tone low and menacing. If it wasn't for the anger rushing through the son's veins, he would've slowly backed out of the kitchen, returned to his room, and locked the door behind him.

However, that wasn't the case anymore.

"Weren't you just sick this morning?" The father's booming voice echoed through his ears once again. "Or does betrayal and claiming sickness run through your veins too, just like your mother?"

The question almost made the son open his mouth in shock.

Because how dare he?

How dare his father speak in that tone about his beloved mother?

"I mean, you would know." The son shot back, stepping further into the kitchen. "You're the one who killed her after all, didn't you?"

The father pushed the dishwasher back in its place with one swift move of his knee, then got up to take slow, threatening steps towards his son.

And it didn't take long for the pair to be standing across from each other. The father's eyebrows were furrowed and the veins in his forehead popped, his son almost imagining smoke coming out of his ears to suit the moment. The son, however, crossed his arms close to his chest and stared into his father's soul with a piercing gaze, despite his heart beating loudly in his ears in fear and anticipation.

Because even if he was terrified of his father's reaction, he needed to show everyone around him, including his father, that he was tough. That he wasn't the least bit scared of him.

But before he could react any further, a strong, powerful grip sneaked its way toward the sides of his neck, slowly tightening around his throat to choke him.

The son opened his eyes, a gasp escaping his mouth as his arms struggled against his father's grip. His eyes met his father's, and at that moment, he saw nothing but plain anger and a flash of betrayal, along with a glance of pure evil.

Deep down, he hoped that his father would let him go and go back to what he was doing. He hoped with his entire heart that his father wouldn't dare to hurt him.

Deep down, he hoped that his father would have the tiniest bit of mercy that wouldn't let him harm his son.

But, despite all the hope that he had inside him, he knew that his father must've had something to do with his mother's disappearance. He knew that his father must've killed his mother and buried her somewhere.

And even if he didn't murder the woman... Being repeatedly told that he was a murderer must've turned his subconscious into a criminal mind.

The son let out a few shocked gasps, both of his hands clutching his father's to somewhat ease the tension on his neck. It didn't help, nor did it provide him the tiniest bit of comfort.

He coughed a bit more, his throat tightened until air couldn't get inside his lungs anymore.

"D-D... Dad!" He choked out, his voice trembling along with his body. "S-S-St... S-Stop..."

Ignoring his choked, smothered sobs that escaped his mouth along with the tears that unconsciously ran down his face, the father continued to stare into his son's soul and tightening his grip around his neck, his mouth mumbling something his son could barely hear over the sound of his coughs.

"I didn't kill your damn mother," the father spoke, further cutting off his son's airway, "but I won't let you live another day to make sure of that."

And it didn't take long for his son to close his eyes and give in to the darkness.

Oh, sweet home.