Forever Waiting, Forever Hoping - A HanJay AU

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The basement air hangs thick with the metallic tang of fear. Hannie's pulse hammers against his ribs as Grandpa Jaesuk's words echo in his skull—a death sentence wrapped in static.

The nightmare was knocking. Every second of hesitation is a gamble with their lives. 

They're out of time. Out of options.

And the real nightmare hasn't even begun.

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The basement was thick with tension, the kind of silence that pressed against eardrums like a physical weight. The abrupt end to Grandpa Jaesuk's call had left them all stranded in their own heads, minds racing through possibilities, threats, and half-formed plans. The air itself felt charged, as if the walls were holding their breath alongside them.

Hannie stood rigid, his fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white with the effort of restraint. His face was a mask of barely contained fury—eyes dark, lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. Every muscle in his body was coiled tight, screaming for release, for the satisfying crunch of his fist meeting something solid. But there was no outlet, no target. Just the gnawing, relentless frustration of a situation slipping further out of his grasp. This is getting worse by the second. And the more we scramble, the more danger we're dragging everyone into.

Across the room, Kyungho paced like a caged animal, his usual composure fraying at the edges. He dragged a hand through his hair, fingers tightening in frustration before he finally broke the silence with a low, venomous curse. "Who the hell are these bastards? What do they even want?" His voice was rough, edged with something dangerous. "Is JL some kind of loose end they're trying to tie up? Or is there something bigger here—something we're not seeing?"

Hannie exhaled sharply, the sound almost lost in the heavy quiet. "I've got my own questions. And right now, none of the answers are good." His gaze flicked to him, calculating. "If this is the kind of fire we're playing with, then our current plan isn't enough. We need more manpower. What can Hanseo and Chih En spare?"

Kyungho stopped pacing, arms crossing over his chest. "We've got bodies, but bodies aren't enough. Not against whatever this is. Grandpa stepping in would buy us some leverage." He hesitated, then added carefully, "And... we might need to call in your father. His reach goes deeper than ours."

Hannie's expression didn't so much as flicker, but the air around him went colder. "No." The word was final, a blade slicing through the suggestion. "That old man hasn't lifted a finger for anyone but himself in years. And he sure as hell won't start now—not after my mother's inheritance cut his pride in half." His voice was flat, but beneath it simmered something darker, something older. A history that left no room for negotiation.

Kyungho held his gaze for a beat, then nodded once. No further argument. Some lines couldn't be crossed.

A suffocating stillness descended upon them, more oppressive than before. Time itself seemed to accelerate, each relentless tick of the clock amplifying their peril. Every moment spent frozen in deliberation, every second of hesitation, was a gift to their adversaries—an opening they couldn't afford to give.

Then, a sharp trill shattered the quiet. Hannie didn't even glance at the caller ID before snapping the phone to his ear.

Grandpa Jaesuk's voice crackled through, commanding and urgent. "Don't interrupt—I don't know how long this line will hold." His words were clipped, leaving no room for debate. "Listen carefully."