"We would like to interrogate you, would you follow me?" he gestures me to leave my seat, so I peek at Haneul, and he smiles at me to make me understand I can go. I let go of his hand and move towards him.

The man who called my name leads me to the room that he left, but some tension spreads through my body once I step into the darker room. He kindly tells me to get on a chair that already faces one man, and I sit down, so he does so next to his colleague.

"You're y/n, right?" the one that I don't know asks me, and I nod, feeling nervous in front of these two men that I don't know. "Okay, we're just going to ask you a few questions concerning your dad's situation. He already talked to us, so we know that he's not your biological father, and we know about everything else, okay?"

I nod again, not saying a word out of apprehension. The one that brought me here focuses on the laptop before him, and the other one keeps his eyes on me. "So, can you tell us how old you are?"

"I'm seventeen," I answer in a small voice, and the man on the left already starts to type on the keyboard. "When did you first meet Mister Sang?"

"When I celebrated my fifteenth birthday..." I join my hands on my thighs, toying with my fingers to find a way to cope with the anxiousness. "Do you remember how you felt on that day? And why you felt like that?"

"Yes..." I remind myself of this important event, probably the best one that happened to me. "I was...scared at first because...I didn't know what it was to have parents...since mine abandoned me, then until then, I stayed in an orphanage...so...I was nervous about living with a man in the same house..."

"Why were you scared?" he goes deeper into this, but since I know I have to tell the truth, I let it out. "Because...I still remember what my biological father did...and back then...I didn't know how Mister Sang was, so...I wasn't sure that he wouldn't hurt me and be like him..."

"Can you talk about what your biological father did to you? How old were you when that happened?" his questions slowly become more difficult to answer, so I look down to not have his eyes on me anymore. "I was around four when my mother abandoned me...but I can still see my father in my dreams...when he would hurt me or my mother, especially when he would shout at her..." I squeeze my fingers without even realizing, hating the memories I wish could be erased. "Okay, and does that have a certain impact on your daily life? You mentioned your dreams, do you sometimes wake up in the middle of the night because of them or do you have trouble sleeping?"

"I have panic attacks in my sleep..." I tell him but cannot dare to look up at them both, hearing the sound of the keyboard, and nothing else. "What happens when you have them?"

"I don't know...I feel like fainting but also...like I can't breathe anymore, and I sometimes can still hear or see what's around me, but I cannot do anything, I'm paralyzed and terrified. When that happens, only my dad is there to help me..." I never mention the woman that has never been there to save me from those nightmares. "Only your dad?"

"Yes. I once ended in the hospital because my heart...my heart stopped beating, and my dad was the only one there..." I do everything possible to not have the images of that moment in my head, feeling hurt while talking about it. "All right," his voice lowers, so I peek up at him but only put my eyes on his masculine hands, one of them holding a pencil. "Does your father often sleep in your bed at night to help you to not be scared?"

"He doesn't sleep in my bed," I shake my head and stop him right away. I know what he's trying to do with this question, I'm not dumb. "He only stays close to me, but he never sleeps with me."

"Are you sure? You know you can tell us the truth, what you say will not leave this—"

"Yes, I am very sure," I assert myself, making him not come back on this question. "Okay, but when you sleep with him close to you, has something already happened when you woke up?"

"No..." I frown, not really understanding what he means by that. "So you never woke up to something unusual?"

"I don't understand your question..." I sigh and glance down at my thighs, not liking the way this is taking. "What I mean by this, I want you to tell us if you already woke up, on this type of night, to him being closer? Has he already changed of spot? Have you already been woken up by his touch, a hug from him?"

"No," I shake my head, hating what they are implying. "Never?" he insists, so I set my eyes on him and repeat. "No, never."

He stares at me as if I was telling lies, causing some unbearable unease. "Does your father like to hug you a lot? Or do you like to hug him?"

"I like to hug him because he makes me feel safe..." I shrug but discern on his face that my answer is not enough. "What about him? Who initiates those hugs the most?"

"Me," I clear my throat. "And when you hug him, what do you get from him? Does he keep you close? Do you feel that he gets some comfort from it as well?"

"I don't know...he just hugs me back, but I don't know how he feels exactly," I bring one hand up to my face to rub my eye, feeling like I need to be careful with my words in order for them to not twist any of them. "Is there a position that you like the most when he hugs you? Maybe from behind or something like that?"

"I don't care what type of hug it is as long as I hug him," I do not give a clear answer as he's waiting for me to do, and once again, he goes further with this. "So he never told you to turn around when you face him so that he can give you a back hug?"

"No," I say once more. I feel like this is going to be very long. "And does he hold your hands when he does it, or he puts them on your back, or somewhere else?"

"I don't know, why are you asking that?" I look into his eyes, not standing it anymore since I know what he wants to hear from me. "I just like hugs, I do not think about all that stuff. He just hugs me like a real, caring father would, and that's all."

"We just want to ask you some questions, y/n. It's to help your father," he mentions him, making me wonder where he is now. "We're not forcing you to tell us anything, but we're just doing this for your father, so we only want the truth."

I do not say anything, fearing he could get angry if I show some annoyance. "Now, we're going to continue, but take the time you need to answer, and if one question makes you feel uncomfortable, tell us, okay?"

I agree, but only to make this end quickly.

"Fine. We talked to your father earlier, and he told us that you like to sleep in his arms when he watches TV at night, is that true?" he goes back to it, doing everything more calmly than expected. "Yes, it is."

"So he hugs you until you fall asleep, is that right?" he asks for confirmation, and I give it to him. "Yes, it is."

"So when that happens, you both are close, aren't you? That offers you some comfort and makes you feel safe enough to not have a panic attack in your sleep?" he continues to formulate his questions as if my father had already told them that, so I think twice before speaking and make sure I'm doing it right. "Yes...because that's the only way for me to make sure I do not have them when I sleep..."

"And when you wake up, you're still in his arms, right?" he tilts his head to interrogate me more. "Yeah..." I pass my hands between my thighs, feeling like I'm doing something wrong by answering with the truth. "Has he already told you that he likes this type of night with you because he knows you're not going to risk anything?"

"Not really...he just asks me if I slept well..." I gulp down and peek at the man on the left, this one who does not take his eyes off of the screen. "How did he manage to make you feel that way as a man? Did this take some time for you to be comfortable around him and not fear anything?"

"Yes...he just managed to make me feel like I'm safe with him by being natural and kind like no other man ever did before with me, I know he protects me, he never hurt me, and he always makes sure no one does either. He understands me, never gets mad at me," I try to explain with the right words, and he moves his head up and down. "All right. That's great then. You must be happy with him, aren't you?"

"I am," I say with no doubt. "I heard that you and your mom aren't on good terms, that you don't feel loved by her, is that true?"

"That is true," I struggle to reply since the subject now bothers me. "And why is that? Is your father the only one able to make you feel good?"

"Yes. I don't know why she hates me...I never did anything wrong...I always tried my best to be a good daughter, to make her happy and proud...but I think she just doesn't like the fact that he takes care of me and pays a lot more attention to me since he got to know about the panic attacks..." I barely find the words to answer him since this woman has a serious problem, and that she never took care of me like a good mother would. She's just worse than my biological one.

"Hm, I see," he pretends to understand me when I know he does not. "I want you to be honest with us now, all right?"

"I am," I state, looking at him but worth lack of confidence. "You know what happens when a man loves what a woman or girl does to him, right? You know what happens to his body, don't you?"

"I do..." I barely believe in my reply but let him carry on, understanding but not being ready to hear the rest of his question. "Have you already seen him have this type of reaction because of you? When you kiss or hug?"

"No," the thought of it disgusts me, feeling some extreme discomfort. "You never felt anything strange on his body when you're on his lap, when you sleep on him?"

"No..." I affirm for the second time, letting the least words possible. "And when you sit on his lap, what does he do? Does he ask you to stay once you want to go away? Does he touch some particular spots on your body? Or does he ask you to be in a certain position?"

"No, he just hugs me, and he's always the one who tells me to stand up," my dry throat begins to complicate this, so I clear my throat and swallow the poor amount of saliva in my mouth. "Has he already told you why he does this? Do you think he feels uncomfortable because of your body?"

"I don't know..." I shrug, now thinking about this more deeply. I never really wondered if I made him uncomfortable because of all the physical attention I ask for. "Maybe I annoy him because I'm clingy, he always tells me otherwise, but I guess he just doesn't want to hurt me."

"Really? What does he tell you?" as anticipated, he doesn't let this detail slip away. "When I ask him if I annoy him, he tells me that I don't."

"All right," he shakes his head up and down for the hundredth time already, but he takes a look at the laptop that is probably transcribing all the words that are being said. "I see that you're wearing a lot of pink right now, do you like this color?" he smiles at me. "Yeah...I do."

"You don't have to answer me if you don't want to, but do you often wear pink?" he does not mention my dad anymore, making me feel something unwanted is coming. "I do...this is my favorite color."

"Ah, my daughter's favorite color is pink as well," he includes me in his personal life, trying hard to make me feel at ease with them. "But she's only seven, so whenever we're home and that she doesn't have school, she spends her day in cute onesies. Do you know this type of clothing?"

"Yes..." I nod, waiting for the real question to come. "Do you wear them when you're home? When you sleep? Or do you like another type of clothing that makes you feel more comfortable?"

"I don't know, I wear different things...sometimes onesies...sometimes pajamas...it depends..." I breathe out heavily, not feeling pretty good the more this interrogation is lingering. "Oh, do you sometimes wear something like a simple clothing over your underwear, a nightdress at night?"

"I don't feel comfortable telling you..." I avert my eyes from him, not willing to answer this. "It's fine, I understand. I assume that you're father compliments you a lot?" he never gives me a break to think about something else. "You know, I personally have to often remind my daughter that she's pretty and perfect the way she is because some boys at school tell her she's not. Does that happen to you too?"

"Yes," I admit. "And why does he tell you exactly?" he puts his pencil down on the table, his courage exhaling sharply. "That I'm beautiful and that I should never listen to the ones who tell me otherwise..."

"That must make you feel better and more confident," he smiles again but does not manage to make me feel comfortable at all. This just looks fake. "When you feel a bit down, does your father helps you to change your mind? Is there something special that gets the worries away?"

"I don't know..." I lose my mind, feeling exhausted when this has not even been one hour. "I just like to be with him."

"You mentioned some kisses earlier, and I guess that they make you feel way better when you get them from him, but do you have a favorite kind of kiss? On the cheek, the forehead, the lips?"

"The forehead," I pick, not even reacting to the 'lips' one that never happens. "What about the ones on the lips, does he give them to you in certain situations only?"

"He never kisses me on the lips," I gaze down at the grey ground, squeezing my hands between my thighs. "Really? And why? Does he like them somewhere else?"

"No, he just said no to those kisses," I don't give him more explanations, fearing this could be misinterpreted. "What about the neck? He must like when you kiss him there, doesn't he?"

"I never kiss him on the neck," I press my lips together,  attempting to erase the sound of the keyboard that gives me anxiety more than I already have. "So you're telling me that he never asks you to kiss him, touch him, or hug him because he feels good with you?"

"He never does," I glance up at him. "Can I have something to drink, please? I'm not feeling good..." I take this small opportunity to give myself a break and they both look at each other before answering me. "Yes, I'm coming back with some water," the one who hasn't stopped questioning me rises from his chair, asks he leaves the room, allowing me to breathe out and feel less tension in my lungs.

The man that brought me here keeps quiet and finally stops typing, causing a heavy silence. I do not even complain at this point, this helps me to calm down a little.

"Can I talk to my dad?" I dare to ask, even though the reply might not brighten up my mood. "Not yet, but the more information you give us, and the better it is for him. That will permit him to leave this place sooner."

I don't hide my discontent but glance away to not have to deal with his face. "Where is he? Is he still being interrogated?"

"No, he's just in a room. We'll let him go once this is over," he answered with a hint of coldness that I cannot even stand, so I stop asking questions. My heart keeps beating hard, and I'm scared this could not end well if it doesn't slow down.

"Can I ask you something?"