pairing: kang younghyun x f!reader
genre: arranged marriage, fluff, romance
wc: 1.8k
synopsis: you've never pictured yourself falling in love with brian kang, much less as deeply as this. you were ice, he was warmth, and despite the season's first snow settling over your shared roof, you realise your heart melts into something softer with him around.
an: this was supposed to go out on kangbra's birthday but aaahh i got home an hour too late!!!!! 😭 nevertheless, hope you enjoy this one! really missed writing this two. 🩵
Decembers have always been difficult. Tiring.
It’s when deadlines start to pile up at work, with tasks being forced to be rushed out before Christmas break. Barely anyone is even in during this time, which means even more stress for Brian, as though he doesn’t have performance reviews and the company’s yearly audit to worry about on top of the million and one other things he already has on his plate.
But somehow… Brian thinks he’s fine. At least, when he’s away from the office and back home with you, he is. Because even if he has to bring work home and lose sleep every night just to get shit done, somehow, it doesn’t feel all that bad if you’re by his side.
Tonight, it’s the same; he’s working late again, the same way he has been since the month started two weeks ago. But Brian isn’t in his study— he’s in bed, comforter bunched around his waist as he rests against the headboard, laptop on his lap. You’re next to him, sound asleep.
Brian smiles faintly.
He’d only lasted two late nights in the home office before you’d shown up at the door, cranky and half-awake, asking him to come back to bed because you couldn’t sleep without his arms around you— and in your words, to type with one hand if he has to.
How could he say no to that?
You hadn’t really demanded much of his attention tonight— just your fingers wrapped loosely around his wrist while he worked, until the brightness of his screen got too much and you’re tilting up to murmur a goodnight against his jaw before turning the other way.
Truthfully, Brian feels guilty— he hasn’t really got to spend much time with you lately, work having eaten up most of his nights, and he’s even guiltier that you understand.
When he’d come home way past dinner, you’d be there, waiting, steaming mug of tea just the way he likes it in your hands. On weekends, when he’d allow himself a few extra hours to sleep in, you’d let him, and by the time he wakes up, a full meal would be waiting for him on the dining table, as though you know he hasn’t been eating properly at work.
You don’t call him out for it. You just take care of him in your own, quiet, way— the only way you know how to show you love him. And the few moments he has before he’d have to retire to his study, you’d pull him to the couch, letting him hug you extra tight while the television hums quietly in the background.
Brian sighs as he shuts his laptop, setting it gently on the bedside table before shifting under the covers. He rests his weight on his elbow to peer over you, to properly look at you— because he feels like he hasn’t gotten the chance to do so lately— before leaning over to press a kiss to your cheek. Once, then twice.
You stir, brows scrunching like you’re annoyed at the sudden disturbance, before turning to face him.
“Done with work?” You mumble, eyes still closed.
“Yeah, baby,” he whispers, and because he couldn’t help himself now that he can see your full face, bends down to place another kiss on your forehead. “Sorry. Go back to sleep.”
You inhale deeply, shaking your head as you nuzzle into his neck, hand blindly reaching for his waist to pull him closer towards you. “M’not asleep.”
“Yeah?” Brian hums, amused, because clearly you aren’t awake enough, if not at all. “Were you waiting for me?”
You nod, before finally— your eyes open.
His smile softens. “Hi.”
You shift under his weight, craning to your left to look at the clock on your bedside table.
Midnight.
You turn back to him, and Brian’s still looking at you the way he always does— like you hung the moon.
It used to scare you, but it’s gotten easier to accept it now. Maybe because now, you know you look at him the same way.
You lean forward to kiss him, just shy of his lips. “Happy birthday, Brian,” you whisper.
His brows shoot up in surprise, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’d kissed him first, or the fact that he’d forgotten about his own birthday entirely.
His eyes glance to the clock before they meet yours again, a warm smile lighting up his features as he leans closer, if it’s even possible.
“Guess it is my birthday, huh?” He murmurs, lips brushing against yours. “Thank you, baby.”
“And-” You pat his chest before he could get carried away, prompting him to give you space.
Brian lets you sit up, and you reach for the drawer next to you to take out an envelope.
“What’s this?” He asks when you hand it to him.
You shrug as nonchalantly as you could. “Open it.”
When he does, two pieces of paper slip out: air tickets. To Jeju.
“You’ve been working hard lately,” you say quietly. “And you said you wanted to see the sea. So I thought- you know.”
Brian laughs, eyes still trained on the gift you gave him. Soft, and kind of hopeless. “You did this for me?”
“Don’t make it a big deal,” you mutter. “We still have a few months to go, anyway. No use going to the beach in the winter.”
“I know. But still.” Brian reaches out to brush your cheek with his knuckles. “You thought of me. That’s all I could ever ask for. Thank you.”
You bite your lip, averting your gaze— even after all this time, you could never get used to how… soft, he is.
“There’s something else,” you mumble, nodding towards the envelope.
Brian grins, excited, and he peeks into the open envelope before taking out the last piece of paper.
It’s small, smaller than the air tickets you gave him, though thicker in material. And on it, unmistakably in your writing:
Wish Voucher.
Redeemable for any wish.
One time use only.
He chuckles again, though this time when he looks at you, it’s teasing. “Anything?”
You burn. “N-Nothing weird!” You smack his arm.
He’s still laughing as he reaches over for his wallet. “This is the sweetest gift anyone’s given me.” Brian smiles fondly at the voucher before slipping it in the slot with your photograph in it, careful not to cover your face like it’s something equally precious.
You weren’t even aware that he kept your picture in his wallet.
“I got you a trip to Jeju, and this is the best one?” you murmur, letting him pull you towards him and tucking you against his side.
“Well, yeah. Because you’re sweet,” Brian says simply, pressing a kiss to the crown of your forehead. “Promise I’ll use it wisely, baby. I’ll use it for something that brings me back to you.”
“Don’t say it like that,” you whisper, tucking your face in his neck. “I’m already here.”
Brian doesn’t say anything to that, but you feel him smile against your hairline. He gently guides you to lie down, your head on his chest with his arms still around you. Naturally, your palm finds its way to the spot above his heart, right where the steady rhythm of his heartbeat thrums the loudest; right where he could lay his hand over yours like he too needs to feel you there to be able to breathe.
“You always do that,” you mumble when you feel him brush his thumb over the ring on your finger. You’re not sure when it started, but the way he does it— just a touch that’s feather-light and barely-there, you think that maybe, you were never meant to notice it at all.
You do, anyway.
“I’ve just been thinking,” Brian admits, voice quiet, like he’s afraid to break the fragile silence that’s settled between the two of you. “About… us. About how different things would’ve been if we had met on our terms. Fell in love on our terms.”
You shift slightly, but you don’t look up at him, prompting him to continue.
He grazes your knuckles again, but this time, he catches your hand, lifting it slightly to take a proper look at the rock on your finger. Diamond, three carats, pear cut. Chosen not by you, but by your mother.
“What kind would you have gone with?”
You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter, Bri. It’s just a ring. Doesn’t make me love you any less.”
“I know.” He smiles then, because the admission’s made him kind of giddy. It’s rare to hear you say it like that. “Tell me anyway?”
You hum as you think of an answer. “Simple,” you say eventually. “A thinner band, maybe. Nothing flashy. Something that matches yours.”
Brian huffs out a soft chuckle. “You’re into that? I thought I was supposed to be the cheesy one?”
You tsk, swatting his chest lightly.
He laughs, bringing your fingers to his lips for an apology kiss. And then, he’s tilting your chin to make you look at him, lips still set in a soft smile even though his eyes tell you he’s already halfway to dozing off.
“And a wedding? What kind?” He prompts, voice drowsy, but for some reason still adamant on keeping the conversation going. You think it’s because it’s been a while since you’ve gotten the chance to talk like this; he misses you, and for that, you decide to humour him. Because you miss him too.
“I’ve always… liked outdoor weddings,” you admit. You’ve never told this to anyone before, and it wasn’t like it was a fantasy anyway— more like a fleeting thought you once had in your mid-twenties, quick to be buried and forgotten when the idea of getting married to someone you could genuinely love seemed too farfetched; until now, that is.
“A beach. Or a garden. Something intimate— but, oh, that would mean the public would be able to see us. That’s embarrassing.” You scrunch your nose, instantly filing that idea away. “Just a small one then, with close friends and family. It shouldn’t be too short, but not long enough for my parents to be able to start something.”
Brian hums, his arms tightening slightly around you. “And then what?”
“And then…” you trail off, only realising belatedly that you’d rambled, leaving you with nothing more to say. At least, nothing that could embarrass you even further, but Brian doesn’t seem to mind.
If anything, it seems like he’s already slipped away into unconsciousness, breathing steady, eyelashes resting against the apples of his cheeks.
You take the time to admire your husband, though right now, all you could think about is how lucky you are to have him.
“Then, we’ll go home,” you whisper. “And every night, especially ones like this, I’ll tell you just how much I love you, Brian Kang.”
His answer comes in the form of a soft snore, and you smile to yourself.
“Happy birthday, my love." You lean forward, pressing a careful kiss to the corner of his mouth. "You’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”
someone please write a fic based off the drama ‘dear x’ with seonghwa and jongho as the main leads. i feel like seonghwa would be jaeoh and jongho would be junseo. i just finished it and it was so good😭
showing affection in public — kang younghyun (requested)
a/n: slightly suggestive! to anon who requested this i hope you don't mind that i kinda tweaked your prompt a lil bit, i only realised that maybe you wanted something more cutesy after i finished writing haha. T_T apologiessss if it's not what you envisioned 🙏
You’ve never been a stranger to attending galas. In fact, growing up, it was all you knew.
While the other little girls in school were having tea parties, you were attending real, adult ones, sat in between your parents while they had adult conversations six-year old you could barely comprehend.
When you reached high school and all your classmates talked about was what dress to wear to prom, you were, too, except it wasn’t prom you were attending, but another one of your parents’ charity events you couldn’t care less about.
Hell, it was so beyond inescapable that it was also where you found you were getting married.
You haven’t been to an event since— not until tonight, that is— and even though it’s been a while, it’s nothing you’re not used to. The only difference is that you’re here as Brian’s plus-one now, and though you’re relieved that you could just stand there and sip on your champagne while he does the talking, there’s one thing you haven’t expected to have to account for.
Brian’s conversation with one of his associates blur into the background when your eyes land on something— rather, someone. A lady, one you don’t recognise, a few tables away from you, champagne flute in hand as she talks, red lips pulled into a smirk. But her eyes aren’t on her friend, they’re on… Brian.
Your Brian.
You take a sip from your own drink, studying her through the rim of your glass. What the hell is this girl’s deal?
Subconsciously, you find yourself leaning towards him, your shoulder now brushing his arm. Brian glances at you, lips still moving, but you don’t look up as you fiddle with your glass. You know he’s surprised— it isn’t like you to initiate touch at all, let alone in public.
Slowly, he brings a hand to rest on your lower back, barely-there, but firm enough for you to feel the heat of his palm seep through the silk of your dress as he wraps up his conversation.
And when his acquaintance finally excuses himself—
“You okay?” Brian bends down to whisper in your ear.
You turn to him. His eyes sweep across your features as he waits for your reply, as though to really check if anything’s wrong. He’s standing close, close enough for his cologne to warp your senses, and because you could practically feel that woman’s eyes still zeroed on him— your husband— you do the one thing you never would’ve expected yourself to do in public.
You tilt your chin to place a kiss on his jaw.
You don’t pull away immediately, and when you do, the red of your lipstick remains on his skin.
And that leaves Brian stunned, his brows shooting upwards, but he quickly recovers as he pulls you closer to him, a small smile on his lips. “Hm? What’re you doing, baby?”
You hum, non-committal, bringing a thumb to the stain you left. Not to rub it off, but merely just to touch.
“Nothing.”
Brian looks like he’s about to say something else, but before he could, a shrill voice snaps the both of you out of your bubble.
“Younghyun? Kang Younghyun?”
You turn, and the lady from earlier now stands before you, a cheshire grin on her lips. Instantly, you note the way her eyes study Brian— your Brian— from head to toe, like a predator canvassing its prey.
You don’t like it one bit. But with the way Brian’s still holding you, one arm around your waist and the other resting on the cocktail table, hand enveloping yours, you can’t help but to let the small feeling of satisfaction bloom in your chest.
Because no one gets to look at your husband like that— especially not this woman who looks like she’s undressing him with her eyes alone.
“Yumi, hey. How are you?” Brian greets politely, the way he’s been doing to everyone here the entire night.
“I’ve been well. Landed just this morning, actually. Then my parents told me there was a gala tonight, so I decided, why not?” She flips her hair. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I see you’re doing good.”
Finally, her sharp eyes turn to you, and you match her scrutiny with a glare of your own.
“I heard you got married. Congratulations.” She continues, hawk eyes not leaving yours. Her lips tug at the corners, like she knows something you don’t. “She looks like… she takes care of you well.”
You feel Brian tense. “Yumi-”
“I do,” you cut him off brusquely, before plastering on a smile that matches hers. “Every night, without fail, actually. He never has a reason to complain. Do you, baby?” You murmur as you turn to him, fingers brushing the ring on his finger.
Brian’s staring at you, and you recognise the look in his eyes. It’s how he looks at you when you’re the one leaning in first; when you forget to be shy. It’s how he looks at you when you stop holding back, when you decide you want him just as much as he’s always wanted you. It’s a look between restraint and want, with you being the only thing he sees while also being the one who makes it hard to breathe.
Your hand finds his face again, though this time you do swipe the lipstick away. Not all, though, making sure to leave just enough for that woman to see. You simper up at him sweetly.
She scoffs. “Well, you’ve always been easy to please. I’ll tell my parents you said hi.” She smiles tersely, giving Brian one last look before stalking off.
He exhales like he’s been holding his breath, while a humourless chuckle leaves your lips. “What a bitch, your ex-girlfriend is.”
Brian’s arm tightens around you, and when you look at him, his jaw is clenched, eyes still trained on you. “She’s not my ex,” he mutters.
“Regardless.” You shrug flippantly as you look down to your conjoined hands, mostly to break away from his intense gaze. You figure you’d been too caught up in your emotions earlier to notice how he’s looking at you, but with that woman now gone, it’s all you’re aware of.
“She’s had to mean something to you, right?” Against your better judgement, the words slip out under your breath. Your words are dry, but if there’s anyone who could make out the edge in your voice no matter how subtle, then it’d be Brian.
He inhales sharply. “Let’s go home.”
You look up, brows furrowing. “Weren’t you supposed to meet-”
“I’ll just call him tomorrow. Just- let’s go home, baby. Yeah?”
The urgency in his voice causes you to nod, though you’re still slightly confused at the sudden shift in mood. You don’t think he’s angry at you given he’s still calling you baby, but the knit in his brows and tick in his jaw tells you that something’s definitely up.
Maybe you’d crossed a line without meaning to. You were never one to be so crass— at least not after marrying him anyway— but you did call his ex— or whoever that woman is— a bitch. And bragged about your sex life like it was something to be proud of.
Or maybe it was because you’d kissed him in public. The faint red still stains his skin, catching in the streetlights during the drive home, a reminder of your temporary lapse in judgement when you’d decided it was a good idea to mark him like some kind of wild animal.
And suddenly, you feel shame wash all over you, and you quickly turn your head to the window. Did he not like it? Did you misjudge the look in his eyes after you told that woman off?
Did you… embarrass him?
You’re racking your brain to blurt out some sort of apology when you reach home, trailing behind him as he unlocks the door.
But the moment you enter, it barely clicks shut before he’s on you.
You gasp when your back hits the wall, Brian’s arms already finding your waist. He kisses you like he’s been holding his breath the entire way home— urgent, hungry, but still impossibly gentle when it comes to you.
“Brian-” you try, only to gasp when his lips move to your jaw.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he murmurs against your skin, words half sigh, half groan. “Do you know what that did to me? Looking at me like that- touching me like that, and I couldn’t even-” he stops short, forehead dropping to your shoulder.
You shiver under his touch. “I thought you were mad,” you manage to whisper, clutching onto the lapels of his suit like it’s the only thing that can hold you upright.
“Mad?” Brian lifts his head to look at you, eyes glassy, and you can feel how hard he’s trying to steady himself. “Never. Never at you.” He lets his lips brush yours, and he smiles weakly. “Were you jealous, baby?”
Your breath hitches. “N-No.”
“No?” He echoes, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Then why’d you look at me like that?”
You shake your head, breathless. “I wasn’t-”
He hums. Another kiss. “Say it,” he murmurs. “Say you were jealous. I want to hear it.”
“Brian,” you whine, eyes fluttering shut as you pull him closer in hopes that he’d drop the teasing and just take you already.
But he doesn’t, his breath still fanning your lips, as though he won’t do anything until you answer him.
“You hated it, didn’t you?” He asks. “When she called me Younghyun.”
This time, you nod, partly because there’s no use lying anymore, but mostly because your resolve is rapidly breaking with the feeling of his chest against yours, and his hot breath against your skin. You can't lie anymore— not to yourself, and not to him. So you decide to give it to him. You want to give him everything.
“I was so fucking jealous, Younghyun,” you breathe.
“There she is.” He smiles against your mouth, and when he finally kisses you properly— slower, deeper— you stop fighting it. You stop pretending you don’t want him, and just let yourself fall.
❑ the members of day6 react to you calling them husband
❑ warnings — just cuteness lol that's all
❑ notes — this is just a cute little piece. no special notes or anything lol thank you for reading and please reblog to show your support!
ⓘ DISCLAIMER: for entertainment purposes only. these are fictional characters based on the very real members of day6. these fake texts in no way represent or reflect their irl personalities
main masterlist || day masterlist || taglist
minors do not interact with nsfw content!
ageless & blank blogs will be blocked!
pairings ✃ individual! mafia! ateez ot8 x fem! reader
genre ✃ mafia au, one-shots, angst + hurt/comfort here and there, romance, potential yandere behaviour, romance
details ✃ a collection of (unique…?) mafia one-shots WITH NO SMUTTTT created by yours truly. (all are standalone)
۶ blood in the clouds ৎ
[mafia leader! hongjoong x flight attendant! fem! reader]
it’s finally your last day as a flight attendant. you wanted nothing more than to laze on your couch and watch netflix - just to find out that one of your passengers blew out the brains of your pilot with a gun.
in which hongjoong hijacks a plane that his rival’s daughter is on.
poll | deleted scenes
۶ sugar and sin ৎ
[mafia! seonghwa x fem! reader]
seonghwa goes above and beyond to eliminate his targets: going undercover in places they go to most. when you happen to spend your time in a secluded bakery, seonghwa decides to bake your treats with doses of poison - yet somehow, you keep surviving.
in which you thought you made a new friend in your local bakery, when in reality - your ‘baker’ keeps mistaking laxatives for poison.
deleted scenes
۶ marathon extravaganza ৎ
[mafia! yunho x rival! fem! reader]
yunho has been a professional shooter for all of his life. he’s killed lawyers, federal agents and even highly-protected politicians. so why does his shots keep missing you?
in which you and yunho become obsessed in a game of cat and mouse.
deleted scenes
۶ under the hood ৎ
[mafia! yeosang x car mechanic! fem! reader]
as a mechanic, you tend to see clients on the daily - some new, some old. but when one of your regulars leave a $100,000 bag of cash on your counter, it seems like you’ve turned from ordinary citizen to wanted criminal.
in which yeosang accidentally gave you the bag of money he stole instead of a ten dollar tip.
۶ fries in the bag ৎ
[mafia! san x fast food employee! fem! reader]
san’s most effective method of killing is by using his looks to lure his enemies - making many powerful women (and men) fall for him. but when a regular person seems to be unfazed by his charms, san decides to do anything to make you fall in love with him.
in which you finally got through your 2am shift, only to find the severed head of your abusive manager at your doorstep.
۶ voice of crime ৎ
[mafia! mingi x anime VA! fem! reader]
when you entered the voice acting industry, you knew that there would be people that either loved you or hated you. but what you didn’t expect was to get shot at an anime convention by a weeb in cosplay.
in which mingi accidentally shoots his favourite voice actress instead of her boyfriend that was beside her.
۶ money makers ৎ
[mafia! wooyoung x fem! reader]
day and night, you work in a shitty multi-million dollar corporation that doesn’t care about you. and to make matters worse, you had to find out that the whole company is in debt to a mafia gang by getting kidnapped during office hours.
in which wooyoung tries to torture information out of you, only to realise that he’s found his kryptonite: a suicidal intern.
۶ siren’s call ৎ
[mafia! jongho x jazz singer! fem! reader]
as the newest addition to the mafia, jongho got assigned to the boring task of scoping out a random bar in town. annoyed, he decided to leave early. or so he tried. when the singer stepped on stage and sang into the mic, her voice pulled jongho further into the bar than out.
in which you begin to notice a regular in your gigs, though you can't ignore that your male audience seems to be disappearing one by one.
hi yall! i initially only wanted to make one hongjoong oneshot until i realised how much i love mafia aus. there will be no smut in these stories and at most, there will be a detailed kissing scene. also do not expect regular updates!
if you want to be added to the taglist, feel free to ask!
pairings ✃ individual! mafia! ateez ot8 x fem! reader
genre ✃ mafia au, one-shots, angst + hurt/comfort here and there, romance, potential yandere behaviour, romance
details ✃ a collection of (unique…?) mafia one-shots WITH NO SMUTTTT created by yours truly. (all are standalone)
۶ blood in the clouds ৎ
[mafia leader! hongjoong x flight attendant! fem! reader]
it’s finally your last day as a flight attendant. you wanted nothing more than to laze on your couch and watch netflix - just to find out that one of your passengers blew out the brains of your pilot with a gun.
in which hongjoong hijacks a plane that his rival’s daughter is on.
poll | deleted scenes
۶ sugar and sin ৎ
[mafia! seonghwa x fem! reader]
seonghwa goes above and beyond to eliminate his targets: going undercover in places they go to most. when you happen to spend your time in a secluded bakery, seonghwa decides to bake your treats with doses of poison - yet somehow, you keep surviving.
in which you thought you made a new friend in your local bakery, when in reality - your ‘baker’ keeps mistaking laxatives for poison.
deleted scenes
۶ marathon extravaganza ৎ
[mafia! yunho x rival! fem! reader]
yunho has been a professional shooter for all of his life. he’s killed lawyers, federal agents and even highly-protected politicians. so why does his shots keep missing you?
in which you and yunho become obsessed in a game of cat and mouse.
deleted scenes
۶ under the hood ৎ
[mafia! yeosang x car mechanic! fem! reader]
as a mechanic, you tend to see clients on the daily - some new, some old. but when one of your regulars leave a $100,000 bag of cash on your counter, it seems like you’ve turned from ordinary citizen to wanted criminal.
in which yeosang accidentally gave you the bag of money he stole instead of a ten dollar tip.
۶ fries in the bag ৎ
[mafia! san x fast food employee! fem! reader]
san’s most effective method of killing is by using his looks to lure his enemies - making many powerful women (and men) fall for him. but when a regular person seems to be unfazed by his charms, san decides to do anything to make you fall in love with him.
in which you finally got through your 2am shift, only to find the severed head of your abusive manager at your doorstep.
۶ voice of crime ৎ
[mafia! mingi x anime VA! fem! reader]
when you entered the voice acting industry, you knew that there would be people that either loved you or hated you. but what you didn’t expect was to get shot at an anime convention by a weeb in cosplay.
in which mingi accidentally shoots his favourite voice actress instead of her boyfriend that was beside her.
۶ money makers ৎ
[mafia! wooyoung x fem! reader]
day and night, you work in a shitty multi-million dollar corporation that doesn’t care about you. and to make matters worse, you had to find out that the whole company is in debt to a mafia gang by getting kidnapped during office hours.
in which wooyoung tries to torture information out of you, only to realise that he’s found his kryptonite: a suicidal intern.
۶ siren’s call ৎ
[mafia! jongho x jazz singer! fem! reader]
as the newest addition to the mafia, jongho got assigned to the boring task of scoping out a random bar in town. annoyed, he decided to leave early. or so he tried. when the singer stepped on stage and sang into the mic, her voice pulled jongho further into the bar than out.
in which you begin to notice a regular in your gigs, though you can't ignore that your male audience seems to be disappearing one by one.
hi yall! i initially only wanted to make one hongjoong oneshot until i realised how much i love mafia aus. there will be no smut in these stories and at most, there will be a detailed kissing scene. also do not expect regular updates!
if you want to be added to the taglist, feel free to ask!
pairing: kang younghyun x f!reader
genre: single dad au, boss x secretary, mutual pining, found family, fluff, slight angst, romance
wc: 14.6k
synopsis: professional boundaries are easy enough to keep with brian kang, but his daughter, mirae, makes it slightly impossible. when your boss asks you to teach him how to bake a cake for his little girl’s birthday, you find yourself becoming a part of their world, and what starts off as a simple baking arrangement turns into something far more complicated. as you try to navigate between matters of the heart and mind, you discover that love— like baking— is best when you take it one step at a time.
an: SURPRISE!!! lol i know i said wonpil was coming next but i got carried away with this one and ended up finishing it first, so... 😄 to my girldad!yonk enthusiasts, this one's for u 🩵
In the silence of the floor, the only sound that fills your ears is the ticking of the clock and the incessant tapping of your heels under your desk. You’re gnawing on your fingernails as you glance at the elevator to your right every so often, as though doing so would make your boss magically appear out of thin air.
And much to your surprise, he does.
The doors open with a ding, and out walks Brian Kang, briefcase in one hand, daughter in his other arm, her face buried in his neck like she’s asleep.
Oh. So that’s why he’s late.
You quickly stand up, crossing over to him with your tablet in hand, ready to greet him as you usually do and brief him on his agendas of the day.
But before you could utter a word, Mr. Kang beats you to it.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says almost breathlessly, and you fall in step next to him as he heads towards the meeting room. “Someone here decided to throw a tantrum in the morning and didn’t want to go to school.”
You bite back a smile at that. Mirae has always been a bright kid, but it’s days like these that remind you she’s still a three-year old after all.
You unlock your tablet. “No worries, sir. You have a quarterly review with the board of directors at 8:30, which is in, uh, T-minus negative twelve minutes. They’re already waiting inside, and President Kim does not look too happy,” you utter. “Mr. Park has a last minute conference to attend today so he won’t be able to make it for your 3:00. You have a free slot tomorrow at 4:30 if you’d like me to move it to then?”
“I promised Mirae I’d bring her to the aquarium tomorrow, so no. Tell him I’ll contact him when I’m free.”
You nod, and the two of you stop right before the meeting room.
“I really hate to ask you this, but could you…” Mr. Kang nods towards the toddler in his hold.
You smile. “Of course, sir.”
Your boss lets out a short breath of relief as he slowly sets her down, though it doesn’t seem like she’s planning on letting go of him any time soon with the way her face is still buried in his chest, arms wrapped tightly around his neck.
“Mirae, Daddy has to go to work now. Would you be a good girl and wait outside with Aunty Secretary?” He asks gently, to which she replies with a firm shake of her head.
Mr. Kang sighs. “Mirae…”
“I got it, sir,” you tell him, and he nods, probably willing to do anything at this point.
You crouch down. “Hi, sunshine,” you say softly, but not reaching out to her yet. “Guess what? I brought cookies today. Remember the ones you said you liked?”
At this, the little girl shifts just enough to peer at you shyly.
“I think I saw one with extra chocolate chips,” you whisper like it’s a secret. “But since nobody wants to have it, I guess I’ll have to eat it myself…”
“No!” Mirae suddenly yelps as she stumbles towards you, like she wasn’t just fixed on staying with her father a few seconds ago. “I’ll eat it! Please?”
You grin as you stand back up, taking her small hand in yours.
“I don’t know how you do it,” Mr. Kang mumbles, to which you reply with a proud grin.
“Food is the best way to a girl’s heart. Good luck for your meeting, sir.”
You wait for him to enter before you set off, stopping by the pantry to get Mirae her cookie as promised before bringing her over to the lounge. It’s become something like an unofficial childcare zone at this point, a place you’ve found yourself in more and more since Mirae started warming up to you. Of course, you hadn’t expected for babysitting to be a part of your job scope when you started working here a little over a year ago, but you couldn’t say that you minded.
You help Mirae up on the couch as she nibbles on her cookie, before moving to one of the drawers to take out a bunny plush toy you keep there for days like these. The little girl lights up upon seeing it, her free hand reaching out for before hugging it close to her chest.
“I didn’t want to go to school today,” she states absently after a few beats of silence, small legs kicking the couch as she swings them back and forth.
“Yeah? Your dad said that. Wanna tell me why?” You prompt gently.
Mirae fiddles with the ear of the bunny. “My friends… my friends say my family is weird,” she mumbles, voice suddenly small. “They all have drawings with three people. Mummy, Daddy, and them. But I only have me and Daddy. They said maybe I’m not good enough so my mummy ran away.”
“Oh, baby,” you murmur, moving to sit next to her. “Sometimes, kids say a lot of silly things when they don’t understand something.” You stroke her hair. “Not everybody’s family looks the same, and that’s okay. That doesn’t make you weird. It makes you special.”
Mirae peers up at you, eyes glassy. “Special?”
You nod, smiling warmly at her. “You have a dad who loves you so much, he brought you to a boring grown-up building just to make sure you felt safe today.”
Mirae giggles at that, wiping her nose with her sleeve. “Daddy tells me he loves me every night before I go to sleep. But he doesn’t like it when I ask him about my mummy.”
You don’t say anything to that. As much as people around the office love to engage in cheap gossip about your boss’ life, you try to stray away from it. It isn’t any of your business, and you couldn’t see how it mattered— not when his daughter is safe and loved, the only thing that should matter.
“But that’s okay! Because I like you, Aunty Seki!”
“Mirae,” Mr. Kang sighs at the door, seemingly having stepped out of his meeting. You quickly put on a smile as you stand up, hoping he hadn’t heard your prior conversation.
“It’s secretary, not seki. I told you not to call her that.”
You chuckle. “It’s fine, sir.”
He turns to you with a raised brow. “You do know what it sounds like, right?”
“Mhm.” You grin as you help Mirae off the couch, dusting the crumbs off her skirt. “It doesn’t bother me.”
“What would people think of me if they knew I let my child call you a bad word?”
“It’s not a bad word if it’s said with love. Isn’t that right, Mirae?” You smile sweetly, to which she returns with an enthusiastic nod.
Mr. Kang chuckles, shaking his head before offering his hand out to his daughter. “Grandma is waiting for you downstairs, sweetheart. Let’s go.”
Mirae turns to hug your legs, chin tilted upwards to beam at you. “See you tomorrow, Aunty Seki!”
“Nope. You’re going to school tomorrow, little lady. Go on.” Mr. Kang ushers her to the elevator, but not before turning to mouth a thank you at you.
You laugh. And somehow, you find it difficult to wipe the smile off your face even after you’ve returned to your desk.
The afternoon sun beats down on you through the windows of Mr. Kang’s car. It’s quiet for the most part, only the low hum of a 90’s pop song humming through his stereo filling the air between the both of you.
It isn’t rare for you to join Mr. Kang on client meetings outside. According to him, he’s bad with jotting down meeting minutes and even worse with remembering the finer details, so having you there would at least help him with that. Though sometimes, you wonder if he just prefers having someone to shoulder the note-taking while he talks.
“I need to pick Mirae up from school before we head back. She ends early today. Hope you don’t mind,” he tells you casually.
“Of course not,” you tell him.
If there’s one piece of office gossip that you do entertain and believe in— but only because you’ve witnessed it one too many times before— is that Brian Kang flat out refuses to get a babysitter for his daughter. There was a time when he’d gotten you to cancel a week’s worth of meetings when Mirae had fallen sick and refused to be with anybody but him; a few days into his leave, he’d returned to the office with the little girl in his arms, bundled in blankets and a cool pack on her forehead, just so he could resume working while taking care of her. There was also a time when he’d passed up on a potential client because they were unwilling to reschedule their meeting which clashed with Mirae’s show-and-tell at school.
And between it all, somehow, he makes it work. As much as you know how much of a workaholic your boss is, you also know he would never put his work before his daughter, and that’s something you admire about him. More than you’d like to admit.
“I’ll be just a second. You can wait in the car,” Mr. Kang says as he unbuckles his seatbelt.
You’re only realising that you’re already parked by Mirae’s school. Before you could get a word out, he’s already out of the car, leaving you to sit awkwardly in the passenger seat. And because it feels far too weird, sitting alone in your boss’ car like you’re the higher-up, you step out as well, stretching your limbs while you’re at it.
It isn’t long before Mr. Kang reappears, a pink princess bag over one shoulder with Mirae in his arms. She doesn’t see you yet, far too busy chattering to him about something as he listens attentively, a small smile playing on his lips.
You look away.
“Aunty Seki!” Mirae squeals when they approach you, earning a small sigh from your boss.
You chuckle, giving her a small wave. “Hi, sweetheart.”
You’re glad to see that she’s happier today, the little girl still babbling animatedly as Mr. Kang buckles her in her carseat. You wait for him to be done before you enter the car again.
“How was school today, baby?” Mr. Kang asks as he pulls out of the parking space.
“Teacher gave me a gold sticker for my drawing!”
“Yeah?” A proud smile tugs on his lips. “What did you draw?”
“I drawed Muffy! Like the one I want for my birthday!” You see her turn to you through the rearview mirror. “Aunty Seki, did you know that Daddy is going to bake me a cake? I’m turning four years old!”
You have no idea what (or who) Muffy is, but still, you humour her. “Is that so?”
Mirae nods enthusiastically.
Mr. Kang scoffs dryly. “I also told you I have no idea what I’ll be doing, baby, but I promised you I’d try, didn’t I?”
“Aunty, can you bring cookies to my party?” She asks you, ignoring her father completely.
“Oh, uh-” you glance at Mr. Kang, unsure of what to say. Mirae’s birthday party is clearly a family affair, and you didn’t want to promise her anything if you know you’re not going to be there.
“Mirae, you can't just ask for presents like that. It’s not nice,” he chides gently.
The little girl pouts. “I’m not asking for presents. I want Aunty to come to my party,” she mumbles.
“Then maybe you should ask her nicely, sweetheart,” Mr. Kang replies, sparing you a glance that tells you to just go along with it.
“Aunty Seki? Will you come to my birthday party?” She asks, almost shyly.
You smile. “Sure, honey. I’ll be there.”
And just like that, all her bashfulness is replaced with pure, contagious excitement. “With cookies!”
You nod, turning around to look at her. “With cookies.”
✦ ✦ ✦
At 5pm, Brian manages to catch you just as you’re about to leave for the day.
“Hey, I’m sorry about earlier. I wasn’t expecting her to… you know. Spring that on you like that.”
You shake your head, giving him your usual polite smile. “It’s alright, sir. I’m more than happy to make her a batch.”
A pause. Then,
“I’m not talking about the cookies.”
You tilt your head, prompting him to continue.
“The party,” he starts tentatively. “I’d really appreciate it if you could come. You don’t have to stay long, but… just know she’ll be looking for you.”
You stay silent, and somehow, that is what causes Brian’s pulse to accelerate. He never gets this nervous during presentations, or when meeting clients, but somehow, your answer matters more than all of that combined. Maybe it's because of the way Mirae lights up whenever you’re around, and the thought of letting her down is just unbearable.
“Consider this a formal invite,” he adds. “I’ll pay you for your time.”
“Oh, sir- no. You don’t have to pay me, really,” you quickly say.
He raises a brow. “I’m making you give up your weekend.”
“You’re not making me give up anything,” you assure him with a smile, one that admittedly is not helping ease his nerves at all. If anything, it only makes his heart beat faster, and Brian wonders why.
“I’d do it for Mirae anyway.”
And that only sends his already-quick heartbeat into overdrive.
Brian has never been good at cooking.
Still, he tries.
Every Saturday morning is spent in his kitchen, phone propped against his kitchen roll holder as he follows a YouTube tutorial on what his little lady boss wants to eat for the day.
He wants to believe he’s getting better, but some days do end up with him going to his mother’s house to take home some side dishes.
Today, however, he’s combating a totally different problem.
Mirae is sitting on her high chair as usual, munching on some apple slices he’d cut for her, while he’s standing at the counter, eyes squinted on the measuring spoon in his hand as he very carefully pours out from a box of baking powder. The lady in the video isn’t even using a spoon, but Brian knows better than to do that now (the last time he tried, his cake ended up exploding in the oven, and Brian is set on not wanting that to happen again).
“Daddy?”
“Yes, my girl?” He mumbles distractedly.
“You’ll make my cake look like Muffy, right?”
At this, Brian glances at her, Mirae already looking at him with hopeful eyes as she clings onto her soft toy. He’d gotten her the birthday cake Jellycat when she turned three last year, and she’d been inseparable from it since. She’d been talking about wanting a cake that looked like it for a while now, and of course, Brian didn’t have it in him to say no.
He smiles, reaching for an egg. “I’ll try, baby. It’s why Daddy is practicing now, so you can have the best cake among all your friends.”
A few beats of silence pass.
“Daddy?” Mirae calls out again.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Am I weird for not having a mummy?”
At this, Brian finally turns to her fully. It isn’t the first time Mirae would ask her about her mother, and it seems that she’s been getting more curious since she started school. He knows it's inevitable and that he’d have to have a serious conversation about her one day— not today, though.
“Who told you that?”
“My friends.” Mirae shrugs like it’s nothing, her legs swinging in the air.
Brian puts down his whisk, stepping towards her. “What did I tell you, Mirae?”
“That families can look different,” she mumbles as she looks down, as though aware of the sudden shift in the air.
“That’s right. Some families have one mummy. Some have two, and some have none at all. You have me, but that doesn’t make you any less loved, does it?”
Mirae peers at him through her lashes, shaking her head.
“Then… can I get a new mummy?”
Brian laughs as he returns to his batter. “Like who, baby?”
“Like Aunty Seki!”
He chokes.
Mirae continues rambling, completely unaware. “She’s nice, and she’s sooo pretty, and she loves me!”
Of course. It’s not like Brian hasn’t noticed how kind you are. Or how pretty you are. Or how good you are to Mirae. Because he has. But you’re his secretary, and he’s your boss, so he’s never dared to entertain his thoughts any further than that.
Still, it’s difficult to forget the time he'd first met you in person— how you’d walked into his office with that bright, polite smile you still wear to this day. There wasn’t a hint of nerves in your voice as you introduced yourself, nor did you crack when you were handed a pile of paperwork that even he deemed too much for someone new to the job.
And when Mirae peeked from behind him to look at you, you’d crouched down instantly like you’ve known her forever. By the time he realised you’d handed his daughter a tiny origami crane you’d folded from a sticky note, you’d already gone back to your desk.
Brian clears his throat. “Secretary, Mirae. Not seki.”
“Se-tree-ca-ry.”
He sighs. “You know, I’m sure she’d be happy if you just called her by her actual name.”
“But you said real names are only for family! Grandma calls you Younghyun but everyone else calls you Bwian.”
“Not what I meant,” he mutters. “Also, it’s Brian, Mirae, not Bwian. Roll your Rs, please.”
Mirae hums as she busies herself with pronouncing his name properly, but now, thanks to her, he’s left thinking of you. Even the first cake in the oven that doesn’t seem to be rising reminds him of you, how you’d occasionally come in the mornings with a freshly-made batch of bakes in your hands for the office pantry—
And that’s when it clicks.
You’re already at your desk by the time Brian walks in.
“Good morning, sir!” You greet him politely, tablet in hand as you walk with him to his office.
“You’ve got a meeting with the design team in 10 minutes, a call with the Tokyo office at 11:00, and then lunch with Mr. Han at The Ginger at 1:00. There’s a reminder here for Mirae’s parent-teacher conference at 5:30, so I’ve pushed up the financial report discussion to 3:30,” you list as he settles in at his desk.
“Sounds good.”
You nod, locking your tablet. “Have a good day today, sir!”
You turn to leave, but Brian finds himself calling out your name before you could do so.
“Yes?”
“About Mirae’s party,” he starts tentatively, causing you to tilt your head in question. “I, uh… tried baking over the weekend. Thrice. All three cakes ended up in the trash.”
You feel your lips tug up into a ghost of a smile, but you don’t say anything yet. Just the thought of Brian Kang, all cool and composed with his crisp dress shirt and not a single hair out of place, losing to a cake is almost too much to handle.
Mr. Kang clears his throat. “As you already know, Mirae wants me to bake a cake for her birthday. The only problem is that- I’m not good at it. So I wanted to ask… if you’d be able to teach me how. Since- you know- you’re good at baking and all that.”
If you weren’t already staring at him so intently, you would’ve missed the pink creeping up his neck and ears. You’d never thought there’d come the day when you’d see your boss this flustered— but at the same time, this wasn’t at all where you’d expected this conversation to be going.
You thought he was going to ask for your help to outsource it from somewhere else— maybe even bake it for him— but you realise now that he’s serious about wanting to be the one to make the cake for his daughter.
It’s… sweet.
“You don’t have to give me an answer now. Take until the end of the day to think about it,” he continues coolly, though you could tell he’s a little embarrassed. “Of course, if you do decide to take on this offer, I’ll pay for the ingredients and your time.”
A laugh escapes your lips before you could stop it, though it isn’t mocking— just amused, and also because you find it endearing.
“I’ll be happy to help, sir. I’ll bring in some recipes tomorrow,” you tell him. “And no need for overtime.”
Today, you find yourself looking forward to work a little more than usual.
Your eyes still dart to the elevator every so often as you wait for Mr. Kang to come in, but not because he’s running late, or anything— oddly, you think it has something to do with the blue notebook tucked beneath your work tablet, its contents just waiting to be shared.
And when he does come in and you’re done listing him his agendas for the day, you lock your tablet, hugging it to your chest before placing the book on his desk. “As promised, sir.”
Mr. Kang raises a brow, but only for a split second as he registers what it is that you’ve given him.
“There are a few recipes in there, so you can look through and let me know which one Mirae would like. Or whichever you think is easiest.” You grin.
At that, he laughs, and for the first time, you realise how much younger he looks when he smiles— dimples forming, and eyes crinkling in a way that makes him seem almost… boyish.
“I trust your judgement.”
And when your name slips at the end of his sentence, something feels… different. There’s an unfamiliar feeling in your chest, a feeling you can’t quite place, but know for sure that it’d linger in your mind.
You quickly shake the thoughts from your head.
“I’ll go on a grocery run later before fetching Mirae. Oh, but I ought to show you what cake she wants. It’s very specific, and I don’t know if we’re going to need any extra ingredients for that.”
He unlocks his phone to go to his gallery, and the screen flashes a photo of him and Mirae.
She looks younger here, her hair shorter, and she’s hugging a Jellycat plush toy shaped like a cake, soft layers of sponge topped with frosting and felt strawberries with a candle in the middle.
But your gaze soon drifts to your boss instead, dressed simply in a casual button-up, unstyled hair falling loosely across his forehead. Outside of his usual suit and tie ensemble, Brian Kang looks younger. More carefree, like the sharp lines of his work persona has softened. And there it is again— that smile.
“I got this for her birthday last year. She’s been inseparable from it since,” he muses, as though reminiscing the memory.
“That’s adorable,” you say when you finally find your voice. You clear your throat. “We’re going to need frosting and a few dyes. If you’d like… I can come with you later.”
Mr. Kang nods, exhaling as he leans into his chair. “Good. Because I have no idea what I’m doing,” he mutters. “We leave at 5:30.”
✦ ✦ ✦
The supermarket’s fluorescent lights hum softly overhead as Mr. Kang steers the shopping cart, you next to him with your recipe book in hand.
“Vanilla essence,” you murmur, more to yourself as you stop by one of the aisles, eyes scanning through the array of glass bottles arranged neatly on the shelves.
Mr. Kang hums in acknowledgement as he picks up a random one. He no longer has his suit jacket on, his tie loosened, but there’s still something so precise about the way he reads the label like its fine print.
“Which one do you usually get?” He asks, and you turn to him.
It’s rare for your boss to ask for your opinion— not like it’s a bad thing. Making decisions is part of his job anyway, but somehow, you tend to forget that outside the office, he’s not always the man in the crisp suit calling all the shots.
“This one.” You pick your regular from the shelf. “It’s organic, and the flavour’s a little more mellow, so your cake won’t turn out as sweet.”
Mr. Kang nods. “We’ll get that one, then.”
And that’s how it goes for the rest of the trip— quiet, but not exactly awkward. If anything, it feels like any regular workday. But every now and then, when your fingers would accidentally brush his over the cart handle, or when you would catch him watching you from your peripheral vision as you compare chocolate brands, you’re reminded that maybe… this is a little different.
The thought lingers right up until you’re back in his car, pulling up into an unfamiliar neighbourhood to pick Mirae up from his mother’s house— and suddenly, it feels like you’ve just been let in on a part of Brian Kang’s personal life that not many people get to see.
Mirae is already asleep by the time Mr. Kang reappears, the girl slumped over his shoulder. You help him with the car seat, him muttering out a small thanks as he carefully buckles his daughter in, careful not to wake her up.
“We can always reschedule to tomorrow if you’d like?” You offer as he drives down the familiar streets back to the office. He’d suggested using the communal pantry earlier since it had an oven (and it worked in helping avoid any awkward talk about whose kitchen to use), but with Mirae now asleep, you’re not sure if doing so would make things any more convenient.
“No, it’s fine,” he mutters, eyes trained on the road. “Sorry. Mirae doesn’t like spending the night at her grandma’s, so it probably won’t be long until she wakes up and realises I’m not there with her, anyway.”
Something in your chest tugs at his words, warm and unexpected. You don’t say anything after, turning your gaze to the window before you could linger on the thought for too long.
Even when you’ve both arrived at the office, Mr. Kang setting his daughter on one of the lounge couches where he could see her from the pantry, you try not to dwell on the fact that maybe, this feels far too personal for it to be just a work thing… and the worst part?
You don’t think you mind. At all.
“Let’s start with the basics of making a cake,” you tell him with a smile, though it’s mostly to ward off your own jitters. “Once you get the hang of this, we can move on to assembly on another day.”
“Sure, sounds good.” Mr. Kang nods, rolling up his sleeves.
“What do you mostly struggle with?” You ask as you unpack the ingredients on the table.
“Some days, it doesn’t rise. Other days it’s… completely raw.”
You smile, amused. “It’s important to set your oven to the right temperature before you start. The size matters too, so if your oven’s too small but the heat is on too high, you might burn the outside of the cake before the inside cooks. Too big, and the heat might not be consistent enough for it to rise fully.”
“Yeah, they don’t say that in the tutorials,” he mutters.
You laugh softly, stepping towards the oven. “My recipe says to put it on 175 degrees, but since this oven’s quite small, we can do maybe around… 160?” You adjust the dial. “We’ll check the doneness a little earlier too, just to make sure it doesn’t burn.”
You turn to your boss with a grin. “Are you ready to bake, sir?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he answers dryly.
As it turns out, Mr. Kang isn’t all too bad with preparing the cake batter, and you assume it’s because he’s done it before. Though, you find that he can be a little clumsy at times— like how he’d accidentally knock over your measuring cups or spill flour all over the counter.
Still, the tight knit of his eyebrows as he focuses tells you that he’s trying, and that’s really all that matters.
Even after you’ve popped the cake in the oven and he’s wiping the table beside you, the quiet look of determination lingers, like he’s still running through each step in his head.
“Coffee?” He asks eventually.
You nod, already stepping towards the coffee machine. “Sure. I’ll get it.”
“No. You sit,” he says, almost absently as he reaches for two mugs. “It’s the least I could do after making you stay late to teach me how to use an oven properly.”
You don’t register his teasing tone until a few seconds later, making you realise that this might be the first time your boss has actually joked around with you.
You chuckle. “It’s really not a problem, sir.”
He sets down a mug before you, steam curling from the chocolate-coloured liquid. You pause for a beat, the familiar aroma making you wonder how— and when— exactly he learned how you take your coffee.
You try not to dwell on it, even when the minutes leading up to the cake being done feel prolonged, and even when you’re growing too aware of him sitting on the stool next to you, shoulders almost brushing as he sips on his coffee.
What is going on?
The oven eventually dings, and you’re the first out of your stool to retrieve the cake.
“Looks like it’s done.” You poke the middle of the cake with a toothpick, and it comes out clean. “Well done, sir. Your first successful cake!” You turn to him with a grin, handing him a knife. “Want to do the honours?”
He chuckles, cutting out two slices while you grab the plates and forks. Mr. Kang doesn’t even wait for it to cool down, only blowing on it slightly before he takes his first bite, and you note the way his eyes widen.
“So…?”
He turns to you. “Best cake I’ve ever tasted in my life.”
You laugh, relieved.
“She’d love this,” he murmurs as he takes another bite, eyes finding his daughter as she snoozes on the couch.
“Mirae’s really lucky,” the words slip out of your lips before you could think twice, and it’s only when Mr. Kang looks at you do you realise what you’d just said.
You clear your throat. “To have a father like you, I mean,” you add, knowing it’s too late to backtrack on your words now as you avert your gaze to your plate. “My mum raised me and my brother alone, too. She was a nurse so a lot of times, it was only the two of us at home. I had to learn how to cook at 10 years old.”
His lips quirk. “‘That how you learned how to bake?”
“Yes, actually,” you chuckle. “It started off with microwave cakes, then instant cake mix… a lot of trial and error.” You smile at the memory. “I don’t think people realise how difficult it is to raise a child on their own.”
There’s a pause before you continue.
“I mean, my mum did what she had to do to keep a roof over our heads. To keep food on the table. But she wasn’t around much. But you… you’re able to juggle both work and the being-there part so well. I don’t think you give yourself enough credit for that.”
Mr. Kang is silent, and you quickly turn to him. “I-I’m really sorry. That wasn’t any of my business-”
“No,” he cuts you off. “You’re right. I think I really needed to hear that, actually.”
Your heart catches in your throat, but before you could reply, a soft cry comes from the lounge.
Mr. Kang is out of his seat in a second, instantly scooping Mirae in his arms as he calms her down.
You glance at the time, deciding it’s best to leave soon, anyway. You busy yourself with clearing the remaining dishes, though you know it’s mostly to distract yourself from the unfamiliar feeling that’s starting to make home in your chest.
“Aunty Seki?” A quiet mumble comes from behind you, and you turn to see Mirae, face half-buried in her father’s neck as she peers as you through wet lashes.
“Hi, sweetheart. You okay?”
“I had a bad dream,” she sniffs, voice shaking at the end.
“I’m here, baby,” Mr. Kang mumbles, placing a kiss on the crown of her head before turning to you. “Let’s pack up? I’ll drop you off.”
“Oh- it’s really okay, sir, I’ll just take a cab. You should bring Mirae home straight.”
“No, it’s late. I don’t want you going home by yourself at this time,” he says in a tone that tells you it’s non-negotiable.
“... Okay. Thank you,” you reply, a little awkward. “Should I pack the cake for you?”
“No, leave it. The staff can have it tomorrow morning,” he mutters mindlessly as he adjusts Mirae on his hip. “Ready to go?”
You nod, carefully placing the cake on a serving stand before covering it with a lid. Grabbing a pen, you scribble on a post-it before pasting it on the glass.
Baked fresh from last night. Feel free to take a slice!
The next morning passes in a blur of emails and spreadsheets, and by lunch you could feel your eyes drying behind your reading glasses. You blink blearily, trying to make sense of the illegible streak of words on your screen, until someone clears their throat and cuts you out of your haze, causing you to jump in your seat.
“Woah! Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” the voice laughs lightly, and you realise that it’s Jaehyung from marketing.
“Hey, Jaehyung. It’s alright, I didn’t see you there,” a small chuckle leaves your lips as you remove your glasses. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Kang isn’t in right now. Do you need me to leave a message?”
Jaehyung raises his brows, almost in confusion before he shakes his head. “Oh- no, I’m not here for him.” He smiles, albeit shyly. “Um, I just wanted to say, the cake you left in the pantry? It was a hit. Everyone loved it! Seriously, you might just be the office hero right now. I mean, not like you haven’t already been, but yeah.”
“Oh?” You tilt your head slightly, having not expected to hear that at all.
Sure, Jaehyung has always been vocal about his compliments on your baking, but technically, this one wasn't even baked by you. Still, you choose not to say anything; as much as you and Mr. Kang haven't discussed on whether your baking lessons are to be kept secret, you wouldn't want rumours to spread should you say the wrong thing.
“Well, I’m glad. Nothing wrong with a little sweet treat to begin your mornings, right?”
“Spot on!” He grins, eyes crinkling behind his circular glasses. “But, speaking of sweet treats…” Jaehyung places a drink on your table. You recognise the logo on the cup to be from the café next door. “I was just out on a coffee run so I figured…” he motions to the cup. “As a thank you. I hope you like americanos?”
“Oh.” You’re surprised, again.
You don't know Jaehyung very well, apart from the occasional crossing of paths in the mornings at the elevator lobby or in the pantry.
But that was about it. He’s never visited your desk before— never had a reason to. The marketing team sits at the far end of the floor along with the rest of the departments, and your desk outside of Mr. Kang’s office is slightly isolated from the main floor traffic. It’s rare for you to get visitors unless they had appointments with your boss… which in Jaehyung’s case, has never happened. Until now.
Before you could answer— maybe even utter out a thanks— the elevator doors slide open with a ding, and out steps Mr. Kang.
You perk up instantly. “Afternoon, sir!”
He nods in reply before his eyes land on Jaehyung, brows raising ever so slightly.
Jaehyung quickly bows as a greeting before turning back to you. “Well, I’ll see you around!” He chirps before leaving.
“It’s rare for people to be here but not for me,” Brian mutters as he places a file on your desk. “Did he need anything?”
“No, sir. He just wanted to say everyone really loved the cake.”
Brian scoffs under his breath. “Could’ve been an email.”
“What was that, sir?”
“Nothing.” He clears his throat. “I need you to review these and finalise the contract documents before our meeting with Legal.”
“Got it.” You take the file into your hands. “I’m in the process of cross-checking the paperwork, so I’ll get all of it to you before 3:00.”
He nods, not saying anything else as he walks to his office— only to stop, turning to look at you again.
You look at him expectantly, as though waiting for him to say something, but the words catch in his throat.
“Good work today,” he says stiffly, not waiting for your reply before leaving.
It’s only when he’s finally in his office does he let out a long exhale, leaning against his chair as he tugs on his tie that suddenly feels all too tight. “What the hell was that?” He mutters to himself.
Since last night, Brian’s been feeling kind of… weird. He doesn’t know what it is, but there’s definitely something. Something… about you that’s been harder to ignore. It didn’t help that the memories of yesterday kept resurfacing during his meeting with a client earlier, as though his brain couldn’t pick any other time but that moment specifically to think about you; the way you laughed quietly under your breath as though you didn’t want to offend him when he spilled some batter on the table, or the way you smiled at him through the rim of your coffee mug.
It was all… foreign.
And so when the first thing he saw upon reaching the office was seeing that guy— Jaehyun? Jaehyung? leaning against your desk and chatting you up like he didn’t have anything better to do, it’d caught Brian off-guard.
But it wasn’t like he was annoyed, or anything. Why would he be? It’s not like he cares who you talk to. Then again, Park Jaehyung had no business being anywhere near you during office hours. None at all.
It was just… odd. That’s all. And Jaehyung had been really close to your desk.
Brian looks up, glancing at the small glass pane of his door where he could see you. You’re picking up the cup from your desk— the cup he saw Jaehyung leave for you— before taking a tentative sip, only for your nose to scrunch up at the bitterness.
Brian scoffs to himself. If Park Jaehyung knew anything about you, he would’ve gotten you a latte instead.
The pantry smells like vanilla and sugar once again. Two sponge cakes rest on a cooling rack— finally unburnt, and finally risen to perfection.
But as proud as Brian is about finally getting it right, he doesn’t want to gloat just yet. Not when he’s faced with his next challenge, which could potentially make or break Mirae’s birthday for good.
“Hold it like this,” you instruct gently, fingers brushing his slightly as you adjust the piping bag in his hands.
He tries to focus on the task at hand, but it’s damn near impossible when you’re standing so close, the lack of distance for some reason making his chest tighten.
It’s ridiculous, truly. It’s just frosting. Just instruction.
So why the hell is his heart beating so fast?
Brian clears his throat. “Like this?”
“Not so much pressure. Hold it gently, and…” you squeeze your own bag, a neat dollop of cream forming on the tray. “Like that.”
Brian stares at the bag in his hands like he has a personal grudge against it before he copies you— rather, attempts to.
The bag sputters pathetically, cream blobbing messily next to your perfect one.
You let out a laugh, soft but unguarded, and the sound goes straight to his stomach. “Okay… maybe not like that.”
Brian chuckles under his breath. “I figured.”
Still, he tries again, because your encouragement makes him want to do well— makes him want to do it until he gets it right. Though at this point, it’s less about the cake and more about how focused you look when you tilt your head to examine his work, the faint crinkle in your eyes when you smile, and the quiet patience you always give him, both in the office and here.
And when you finally say “there! Perfect,” with a grin that reaches your eyes, Brian doesn’t bother stopping the thundering in his chest, because finally, he’s ready to admit that he’s falling— fast.
✦ ✦ ✦
“Should I pack this for you?” You ask, already unfolding the cake box you remembered to bring with you just now morning.
Mr. Kang shakes his head. “Leave it. I wouldn’t want Mirae to see this before her birthday, anyways,” he says as he starts on the dishes. “You should pack yourself a slice.”
“I think I’ve eaten enough cakes to last me a lifetime,” you laugh as you lift the cake onto the glass serving tray, covering it with the dome lid.
You can’t help but to smile at it fondly. It’s not perfect; some of the frosting leans uneven, and one of the strawberries at the top looks like it’s about to fall off. The resemblance to the actual Jellycat is loose at best, and the simple attempt at the two dots for eyes and curve for a mouth along with the clumsily-piped shoes at the base makes you laugh, but it still looks like a cake. A real one, and that alone makes the ridiculous amount of effort worth it.
“It’s late,” Mr. Kang murmurs as he dries his hands on the dish rag. “I’ll drop you off before picking Mirae up.”
“Oh- sir, you don’t have to-”
Mr. Kang cuts you off with your name, and you blink.
For some reason, the way he says it makes you falter— you don’t know why. He calls you by your name all the time, if not Miss Secretary, but something about it this one feels… unfamiliar. Quieter, like it carries more weight than it should. Like it means something you don’t quite dare to name.
“It’s late,” he adds upon your silence. “Please?”
You nod, not quite trusting your mouth to do the talking.
You keep the cake in the fridge while Mr. Kang turns off all the lights, and soon you’re standing side by side as you wait for the elevator. Neither of you say anything, and for the first time, the silence that would often settle between the two you feels too loud.
The doors slide open, and you lift your gaze from your shoes to step in— only to find a familiar face already inside.
“Oh- hey!” Jaehyung seems just as surprised as you are, but quickly recovers as his lips settle into a boyish grin. He turns to Mr. Kang as the both of you step in. “Late night, boss?”
“You can say that.” Mr. Kang gives him a brief smile, tone clipped before facing the doors.
Jaehyung turns to you. “Hi.”
“Hey.” You smile warmly. “What are you still doing here?”
“Had to sort out some paperwork. And then had to get the big printer upstairs to work. Do you think printers can smell fear, or is it just me?”
You laugh, and Jaehyung’s grin widens. “Anyway, lucky coincidence! You need a lift? I could give you a ride.”
“Oh, uh…” You glance at Mr. Kang who doesn’t say anything, but even from the side you could see the way his shoulders tense.
But the doors soon open and he walks out first, and you’re left wondering if it was merely a part of your imagination.
“It’s really fine, Jaehyung. I wouldn’t want you to go out of your way…” you attempt weakly.
It’s not like you have anything against Jaehyung— maybe you would’ve accepted his offer on another day— but tonight, it somehow feels… different.
“Nonsense! I offered, didn’t I?” Jaehyung takes out his keys, twirling it around his index finger. “So? I mean- no pressure, though! Only if you want.” His eyes flicker to Mr. Kang beside you, as though only now realising that he’s still here, and as though aware that maybe, he’d complicated things without meaning to.
You glance at your boss, only to find that he’s also looking at you. But his gaze is quieter, heavier, like he’s waiting for your answer more than Jaehyung is.
Something tugs in your chest. It’s probably because of how tired he looks, the dark bags under his eyes now more evident under the fluorescent lights of the basement. Your mind goes back to the other day when he’d mentioned offhandedly how Mirae doesn’t like sleeping over at her grandma’s house, and quickly, the answer becomes clear to you.
Even if it’s not necessarily the one you want.
So you look back to your colleague, forcing a smile. “Sure. Thanks, Jaehyung.”
If Jaehyung notices, he doesn’t say anything.
You turn to Mr. Kang to bow. “Have a good night, sir. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He nods once, eyes glancing at Jaehyung for a beat longer before walking away.
You try to ignore the sudden shift in the air as you follow Jaehyung to his car.
Suddenly, you’re not so sure if you’d made the right call.
Brian finds himself not being able to focus.
He’d downed three cups of coffee before lunch alone, and even maximised his to-do list on his monitor so he could stay focused. But it doesn’t work— not when his eyes would flick every so often towards the window pane that separates his office from your desk outside.
You’re just… there, completely unaware that he’s studying you like a creep, gaze trained on your monitor as you focus on your work, as though last night didn’t happen. As though Jaehyung didn’t stand beside you in that damn elevator. As though you didn’t accept his damn offer just because you felt bad.
Yes, he knows. Knows you well enough— probably more than that damn Park Jaehyung ever will— to see right through you. And while that should make Brian feel better… it doesn’t. Because deep down, he knows Jaehyung has more of a chance than he ever will.
He lets out a frustrated grunt as he stands up. Maybe another cup of coffee would help.
He tries not to look at you as he walks past your desk, but of course— his own gaze betrays him.
You meet his eyes, and as much as he’d expected you to give him your usual smile, you stand up instead, and that causes him to halt in his tracks, brows raised.
“Sorry,” you apologise meekly, realising that you’d surprised him. “Um, I just saw my account earlier, and, uh…” you trail off, not really knowing how to piece your words. “I was serious about not wanting overtime.”
Brian sighs, partly in relief that it wasn’t something else.
“I know,” he replies coolly. “Take it as a token of appreciation.”
You hesitate before nodding, bowling slightly. “Thank you, sir.”
Somehow, that name causes his throat to tighten in a way it’s never done before. He thinks it could be because of how easily Jaehyung’s name slips from your lips, but not his.
What the hell is going on?
“Take the afternoon off,” he blurts, and you perk up.
“I’m sorry?”
Brian clears his throat. “The party starts early tomorrow. You’re going to need time to bake those cookies Mirae asked for.”
“I shouldn’t… it’s really not a problem, sir.”
“You know, you’re the only person I know who refuses to take overtime pay and a free day off, Miss Secretary,” he muses, quirking a brow.
At this, you laugh softly, and as much as the sight causes his heart to thump loudly, it also makes him feel relieved. Like yesterday never happened, and things between the two of you are normal again.
“Okay.” You nod. “Thank you, sir. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
At this point, Brian can’t even deny that he’s looking forward to it.
Your hand twitches at your side as Mr. Kang’s front door looms before you.
For some reason, your brain has decided for this to be the right time for you to second-guess everything. Are you too early? Did you bake enough cookies? Are you severely underdressed- is it normal for you, a secretary, to be at your boss’ house?!
The door suddenly swings open, and you inhale sharply in surprise. There Mr. Kang stands, and… oh. He looks…
Good. A little too good.
He’s in a striped button-up, sleeves rolled up to his elbows with the first few buttons undone, tucked in a pair of dark-washed jeans. His hair is gelled, but not in the style he usually wears to office— this one looks more casual, his locks parted in the middle and loosely framing the sides of his face.
You think he looks more youthful this way. More boyish, and more… handsome.
You swallow.
“I hope I’m not too early,” you blurt, and Mr. Kang blinks, as though he too is only now realising the prolonged silence.
“Uh- no. No, of course not. You came at the right time. Come on in.” You barely even notice him stumbling over his words as he opens the door wider to let you in. “Party’s out in the yard. I’ll be taking out the cake in a bit.”
You nod mindlessly, taking in the warmth that strikes you almost immediately— not in temperature, but in atmosphere.
Warm lighting spills over the living room, casting it in a glow that softens the edges of the slightly cluttered space. It isn’t messy by any means— just lived in.
On the floor is a basket filled to the brim with Mirae’s toys, some stranded on the floor as though she’d just been playing with them only moments before.
The walls are lined with photo frames, showing glimpses of their life together. Mirae grinning at the camera with chocolate on her face, Mirae on her first day of school with Mr. Kang crouched next to her with his tie slightly askew. There’s even one of her as a little baby sleeping in his arms.
They’re not the posed portraits that you’d expect from a man like your boss, but real, unguarded moments captured in time; snapshots of the life he tries to build for her.
“Thank you for the cookies,” Mr. Kang’s voice snaps you out of your reverie, and you quickly recover as you turn to him with a smile.
“It’s my pleasure, sir. Should I bring this outside?”
“Please.” He nods, motioning to the patio door, and just as you’re about to walk past him, he calls out your name.
“You don’t…” Brian trails off. “You don’t have to call me that today. We’re not at work, and… it’s kind of weird hearing it outside the office.”
“Oh.” You blink. “Um, what do you prefer I call you, then?”
“Brian’s fine,” he says, and he isn’t sure why it feels strange, hearing his own name tumble out of his lips like that. Heavier, almost, like he’s letting you step past a threshold he doesn’t usually let people cross; both figuratively and literally.
There’s a pause, and Brian could see your hesitance in the way your lips part, as though torn between wanting to test his name on your tongue, or keeping within that boundary the way you always do.
“I-”
“Aunty Seki!” A shrill voice calls out before you could utter out a response, and you see that it’s Mirae running towards you, a pink party hat sitting atop her head.
“If it isn’t the birthday girl!” You coo, your shy demeanor instantly replaced with fondness as you crouch down to meet her height. “Happy birthday, angel. You look so pretty!”
Mirae nods enthusiastically. “Grandma bought this dress for me! Everyone! This is my Aunty Seki from Daddy’s work!” She’s already dragging you away before Brian could tell her to stop calling you that, and you turn around to give him a meek smile as you let her lead you into the yard.
Brian exhales sharply, staying rooted to his spot as he stares at your retreating figure.
“Is this the girl Mirae’s been talking about?”
Brian blinks, slowly turning to look at his mother. “Huh?”
She nods towards you in the distance, a party hat already on your head as you distribute your cookies to Mirae’s friends. “Mirae says there’s someone at work who makes her cookies and plays with her. It’s her, right?”
“Oh. Yeah,” Brian answers stiffly. “She’s… she’s my secretary.”
His mother hums. “She’s pretty.”
Brian groans. “Ma…”
“What? I’m just saying,” she laughs lightly. There’s a pause before she asks,
“Do you like her?”
He swallows.
Yes. Yes, he does.
How could he not? How could Brian not like you, when you’re so good with his daughter that it makes his chest ache? How you’re so patient with him even on his worst days, and how you’re so kind, always kind. Pretty, too, on both the inside and the outside, though that word doesn’t even begin to cover it.
Brian’s liked you for a while now. He was just never brave enough to admit it.
“She likes someone else. I think,” he ends up saying instead, the thought of Jaehyung suddenly popping in his head.
“Don’t be stupid, Younghyun,” his mother mutters. “No woman would willingly spend time with a man’s daughter if she didn’t care for him as well.”
“Does she really have a choice if I’m paying her?” He argues weakly.
“Even then, look at Mirae. She loves her. And you know kids are never wrong about stuff like this.” His mother shakes her head. “You shouldn’t let Mirae get too attached if you’re not planning on pursuing her,” she then continues quietly. “It’s easy to give a child— or a lady— the wrong idea without meaning to.”
Brian inhales sharply. “It’s not like I’ve… encouraged anything.”
“You’ve let her into your home, your life, and into your daughter’s heart. That’s encouragement enough.”
He goes quiet— because she’s right. And he doesn’t have anything else to say to that.
“I should go take out the cake,” he mutters, excusing himself to go to the kitchen. Whatever this is— he’ll deal with it later.
By the time Brian steps out into the yard, everyone is already gathered around the picnic table, and he tries not to look at you, Mirae tucked to your side as she grins widely at the sight of her cake.
And so, despite his inner turmoil, he’s reminded of why he’s doing all of this in the first place.
All those late nights of baking and piping, leading up to this one special moment alone. He could practically see the awe in his daughter’s eyes as he nears the table, setting her cake gently before her.
As he lights the lone candle with a lighter and the crowd starts to break out into song, Mirae leaps towards him as she wraps her tiny arms around her neck, practically buzzing with excitement.
“Make a wish, baby,” Brian mumbles through a smile, and Mirae closes her eyes before blowing out the flame, everyone else breaking out into applause.
“This is the best cake ever!” She cheers gleefully, cheek still glued to his before turning her head, kissing his jaw. “I love you so much, Daddy!”
And then it’s a blur of unwrapping presents, and running around with bubbles and streamers, and Brian’s finally given a bit of downtime as he retreats to the kitchen to clear some dishes.
It’s only when he senses a presence does Brian glance over his shoulder, and he sees that it’s you. He turns to you fully, wiping his hands on a rag. “Hey. You’re leaving already?”
You nod with a small smile, hands holding your purse clasped in front of you. Always so polite. “Yeah. I should, uh…” you trail off, averting his gaze as you clear his throat. “You did really well on the cake. I’m glad Mirae really likes it.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you.”
His words make you blush, and you duck to cover your burning cheeks with your hair. “It’s all my pleasure, sir.”
He raises a brow at your slip-up, and you laugh softly, shaking your head.
“Sorry. I know you told me to call you by your name, but… it’s weird. You’re still my boss,” you say quietly, and it finally feels like the both of you are meeting halfway; finally addressing the giant elephant in the room.
“I know,” he answers, though his throat feels tight. “I didn’t… did I make you uncomfortable?”
You exhale lightly. “No, sir. Not at all. It’s just…”
“I know this is strange,” he quickly adds. “Mirae’s never been this comfortable with my past assistants as she is with you, and I realise I may have blurred some lines when my mind has been so set on wanting to make her happy. So if I ever make you uncomfortable…” he steadies his gaze on you. “I need you to tell me, okay?”
“Sir, I’m not doing this because you’re my boss,” you counter carefully. “Mirae’s a wonderful kid. And I genuinely like spending time with her.”
“See, I think that’s the problem, Miss Secretary,” he chuckles dryly under his breath. “You can’t be so at ease with my daughter but still walk on eggshells around me.”
“Maybe because Mirae makes it easy.” The words slip out before you could think twice.
Mr. Kang moves closer towards you. “And me?”
You make me nervous. You make my heart ache in a way like it’s never been before. You… make me feel things a secretary should never feel for her boss.
“You make things complicated,” you say quietly.
Your words hang heavy in the air, and the moment they leave your lips, you wish you could take it back. “Sir, I didn’t mean-”
“Right,” he says curtly, tone clipped in a way you’ve never heard before. “Yeah, sorry. I’ll… I’ll keep that in mind.” He nods stiffly as he steps back, and even though he’s still standing in front of you, it somehow feels like the space between you two has stretched impossibly wide.
It’s been around a week since Mirae’s party, but the air in the office hasn’t felt any less tense. The words you’d said has been playing in your head again and again like a broken record, and as much as you’ve been trying to apologise, you just haven’t gotten the chance to do so. If anything, it almost feels like Mr. Kang is… avoiding you.
He still talks to you, of course. Clipped sentences that never really go beyond meeting reminders and acknowledgements that feel more like obligations than conversation. But somehow, it feels like you’ve been seeing him a lot less, feeling his presence a lot less, and you don’t know if this is just the product of your overthinking combined with your guilty conscience talking.
“Aunty Seki!”
You would’ve thought you were hearing things if you hadn’t turned to the elevator, and sure enough, there Mirae is, skipping towards you with a wide grin on her face, pastel-coloured backpack bouncing on her back with each step until she’s resting her arms on your lap and peering up at you.
“Hi, sunshine.” You smile, stroking her hair before faking a gasp. “What a pretty backpack! Did someone get it for you for your birthday?”
“You did!” She giggles. “I played at the playground just now and Daddy pushed me on the swing!”
“Is that so? Sounds like you had a lot of fun.”
The little girl nods enthusiastically, but before she could say anything else—
“Mirae? Come in with Daddy, darling.”
You look up at Mr. Kang, who isn’t looking at you but at his daughter as he beckons for her to follow him into his office.
Mirae pouts. “But I want to sit with Aunty Seki!”
“She's busy, sweetheart. Let's not disturb her, alright?” He says gently, though firm.
While he’d usually let her sit with you while you work, that clearly isn’t the case today. You try not to dwell on it.
“Mirae, listen to your Daddy, okay? You can come sit with me before you go home,” you say to her, to which she nods hesitantly.
“Okay…”
You send her off with another pat to her head, trying not to let your gaze linger through the window where you can see your boss, already settled in his chair as he tugs on his tie. He looks tired, drained, and the nagging voice at the back of your head returns.
You can’t help but think that this is all your fault.
✦ ✦ ✦
You’re still at your desk by the time Brian steps out of his office, Mirae already asleep on his shoulder.
He feels your gaze on him, and you don’t say your usual line immediately; like you have to think twice before doing so.
Until eventually, right as he’s about to walk past your desk: “Have a good night, sir.”
Brian wants to ask why you’re still here, why the mountain of paperwork on your desk hasn't seemed to be getting smaller since he last saw it in the morning. He wonders if he’d been giving you too much work without him realising, even though you’ve never had a problem with it in the past.
He should tell you to go home, to settle it tomorrow, but he bites his tongue. Because showing that he cares would be crossing a line— a line you so clearly don’t want to cross, and the last thing he wants is to complicate things.
So he settles with a curt nod. “You too.”
But Brian should’ve known that he’s never been good at sticking with rules, especially ones he deems ridiculous. Because the moment he pulls out of the basement, the sky starts to roar with thunder, and soon the clouds begin to weep heavily.
He tries to ignore it. He really does. Especially with how much Mirae hates rain, he knows he should go home straight.
But it’s hard to ignore the nagging voice at the back of his head, wondering if you have an umbrella, and if it’s even enough to shield you from a downpour as heavy as this. Knowing you, you’d probably just wait in the office until it recedes, and Brian doesn’t even know if that makes it any better.
“Fuck it,” he mutters under his breath as he makes a U-turn, heading back towards the office district, and that’s where he finds you— already drenched, your too-thin cardigan doing nothing to stop you from freezing as you seek shelter under the bus stop.
Stupid, stupid, girl.
He rolls down the window. “Get in.”
Your eyes are wide when you notice him. “Sir-”
“Just get in. Please,” he sighs tiredly.
You nod.
Mr. Kang turns up the heater as soon as you enter his car, drenching the seat almost immediately.
You swallow. “I’m so-”
“Don’t. Seriously.” He doesn’t look at you as he says it, jaw clenched as he keeps his eyes on the road.
So you don’t say anything. Not even when he pulls up to your residence, and the two of you are left sitting in silence, as though waiting for the other to speak first.
Eventually, he does.
“I don’t think I can continue pretending that I’m only doing this for Mirae.”
You inhale sharply. “Sir…”
“See?” He laughs dryly, finally turning to look at you, pained. “Even now you’re still calling me that. And yet, you show up at my house for my daughter’s birthday. Make cookies for her just because. Mirae asks about you when we’re home, and I don’t-” he pauses to catch his breath. “I don’t know how to tell her you’re just my secretary. Someone who works for me. Because it doesn’t feel like that anymore.”
You swallow. “I’m really sorry if I crossed a line-”
“You still don’t get it, do you?” He asks, almost exasperatedly. “This- line, has been long crossed since Mirae got attached to you. I didn’t think much of it at first. How good you are with her. How you make things easier for me without even trying. But then I see you with Park Jaehyung and I realised- I realised it’s a lot more than that.”
You’re stunned, because that was the last thing you’d ever expected to come out of his mouth; that he was jealous. Of Jaehyung, of all people.
“I don’t like Jaehyung,” you say coarsely, and you see the glint of hopefulness in his eyes, like saying that alone was enough for him.
You swallow, continuing, “but I’m your secretary. And you’re my boss. It shouldn’t be this complicated.”
“It’s been complicated for a while,” he counters.
“I can’t afford to make a mistake.” You shake your head, averting your gaze. “I- I need this job, and I need you to stop- whatever this is.”
“You mean stop liking you.”
His words hang in the air. You think you’ve known for a while now— felt it, for a while now— but hearing it so explicitly still makes your heart thunder nonetheless.
Because you like him too. Gosh, you like him. So much. But is letting matters of your heart worth the risk of losing your job?
You stay silent, and that was all Brian had to hear.
“Understood,” he says, voice slightly hoarse. “I’ll back off.”
You nod stiffly. “Thank you for the ride, sir.”
And then, you’re gone. Brian couldn’t help but wish you’d turn back, just to make sure he wasn’t seeing things, imagining things. Because if he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought that all the warmth, the stolen glances, and the way you make him feel like he’s more than just your boss was merely all in his head.
“Need this done by Monday.” Mr. Kang drops a file on your desk, not quite meeting your gaze.
You nod stiffly. “Sure, sir. I’ll get it to you by lunch.”
“I have a meeting with a client at 10:00, so I’m going to need this before then.”
You stay silent.
Since that night in his car, things have turned… strange, for obvious reasons. As much as you try not to let it get to you, especially not at work, you still couldn’t stop thinking about it. About him.
How could you? How could you just forget about it when he told you he liked you?
And now, you sort of wish you could take it all back. Because now, every little thing he does makes you believe that it’s because you’d ruined everything.
“Is there a problem?” Mr. Kang asks at your lack of response.
“I don’t like this,” you blurt, only for your breath to catch in your throat after.
He tilts his head, a brow arched, and you know it’s too late to go back on your words now.
“Us, I mean,” you continue. “Ever since that night, I just feel like you’re mad at me.” You dare to meet his gaze, and he’s still looking at you, wordlessly.
“It’s just- you’ve been giving me things last minute when that doesn’t usually happen. And I know how ridiculous this sounds because it’s not like it isn’t my job to do it, because it is, but I guess it just feels different lately, and I-” you stop yourself before you could go any further. Before you could ruin things any further. “Nevermind. I’m sorry.”
Mr. Kang clenches his jaw. “Why do you keep doing that?”
You blink. “Doing what?”
“That. Apologising. Backing out of whatever you were going to say. Tiptoeing around me.” He maintains his gaze, icy. “If you want to say something, just say it. Don’t just sit there and pretend like everything’s fine when it’s clearly not.”
You feel your eyes start to burn with tears, and you try to swallow them harshly. You are not about to cry at work. “I just… don’t understand what changed. You barely bring Mirae around anymore. You don’t talk to me unless it’s about work, and it feels like- it feels like I’m just another employee to you.”
There it is.
The words sound foreign as they leave your lips, like you hadn’t planned on saying them at all. You’ve always known that deep down, that was how you truly felt, but hearing your thoughts materialise so loudly makes everything feel more… real.
“Isn’t that what you wanted?” He asks, and you don’t miss the pain in his tone. “To keep things professional? I think you made that very clear-”
“And I think I also made it very clear that I like you too, Brian Kang!” You exclaim as you stand up, breathing heavily.
He only stares at you, letting a few beats pass before asking quietly,
“Then what the hell are we doing?”
You exhale, shaking your head. “That wasn’t supposed to-”
“No. Stop avoiding the topic and look at me.”
You do.
“I’m scared,” you admit.
“Of what?”
“Of… this. Of crossing the line. Of losing my job. Of… losing whatever we already have.” You stare at Brian helplessly, eyes glassy. “I don’t want to mess things up. Not for me, not for you, not for Mirae-”
“You think I haven’t thought about that?” He cuts you off, almost pleading. “But the thing is, we’ve long crossed that line. And I don’t want to go back.”
Mr. Kang steps closer, and you look away.
“One chance,” he whispers. “Let me prove to you that I can make this work. That I can make us work.”
You dare yourself to meet his gaze again.
“And if it doesn’t, I’ll let you walk away. No hard feelings. I promise.”
For the first time, you let yourself believe him. So you nod.
“Okay,” you whisper. “I’ll think about it.”
And then, he smiles, really smiles, and it’s the same one you hadn't realised you missed until now. The one he reserves for Mirae whenever she makes him laugh, and the one you’d gotten glimpses of during your late-night baking sessions. It looks warm, unguarded and just so… him.
You realise, maybe this could all be worth it.
“Need you to sign off on this by 5:00.” Mr. Kang sets the file down with his usual, measured tone.
“Yes, sir.” You nod automatically, and he doesn’t wait for you to say anything else before retreating back to his office.
You pick up your pen, taking the blue folder in your other hand as you flip it open, ready to read through its contents— only for it to be… empty?
Well, sort of.
In the middle is a small, matte cardstock, gold lettering embossed right at the top, and it takes you a few seconds to realise…
It’s a dinner reservation. Saturday, 7:30pm. Two seats. The kind of restaurant you’ve only ever seen in glossy magazines.
You look up, and you can see Mr. Kang through the glass pane, and by the small upwards tug of his lips, you know he knows you’re looking at him. But he keeps his gaze on his screen, refusing to meet your gaze.
You let out a scoff, though you can’t hide the way your heart beats loudly in your chest.
When the clock hits 4:57, you make your way to his office.
“All signed, sir.” You place the folder on his desk, and Mr. Kang stops typing to look at you. “I’ll be there,” you add, softer, and a slow smile spreads on his face.
“Good.” He clears his throat, eyes darting back to the screen as though fighting the same heat in his cheeks as you are. “Don’t be late.”
You’re pretty sure the both of you leave the office that day with the same, ridiculous, goofy smile on your faces.
You arrive exactly at 7:30. Mr. Kang— or Brian, as you figure you should start calling him— is already there, adjusting his cuff links like he’s nervous and needs something to do with his hands.
But when he turns to you, a warm smile blooms on his lips, like he already doesn’t see you as his secretary, but you. Just you.
“You’re right on time.”
You shrug, fighting back a bashful smile. “You told me not to be late.”
Inside, the lighting is golden and low. Your server leads you past rows of tables, buzzing lightly with chatter, and just as you think you’re about to be seated, you end up being brought to a corridor instead, where your server finally stops before a sliding door. He bows politely before ushering the two of you inside.
It’s… a private room. Cozy, warm, and void of the noise you hear outside. No clinking of glasses or laughter from the main dining hall— just the low hum of the jazz music playing in the background.
Brian pulls out a chair for you, and you bite back a smile at his slight stiffness; it's clear to you that this isn’t his usual thing either.
“You booked a private room? Don’t tell me you had to pay extra for this.”
Brian laughs as he settles in his own chair opposite you. “I did, yeah.”
You gape. “Why?”
He shrugs, almost sheepish. “Because we sit at tables every day. In meeting rooms, at my desk, all for people to see. And… I don’t want tonight to feel like that.”
You smile. “What did you want tonight to feel like, then?”
Brian meets your gaze then. “Like it’s just us,” he answers, sounding more sure.
Your throat tightens, but this time, you don’t stop your smile from blooming fully.
Brian tells you to order whatever you want, and the next few minutes while waiting for your food is filled with safe, polite topics. Work. The weather. He talks about how Mirae’s been insisting he braid her dolls’ hair before bed, while you admit how you’ve always wanted to open a bakery.
But as soon as your server brings you your drinks, the air starts to feel lighter, like the both of you are finally allowing yourselves to breathe. Like this isn’t a work dinner between a boss and his secretary, but just… Brian, and you.
“I’m serious, by the way,” he mutters as you near the end of your dinner. “About this. About you. And I really want to make this work.”
“I know. Me too,” you say softly. “Which is why-” you pause for a beat. “I think we should set some ground rules.”
Brian arches a brow, though the mirth in his eyes is obvious. “Ground rules?”
“Yeah. Like… no one from work can find out. We only tell HR once we’re ready.”
“You’re unbelievable,” Brian laughs under his breath, but not unkindly. “Even on our date, you’re so… proper.”
“Well, isn’t that why you hired me?” You shoot back, though slightly embarrassed. “And no flirting at work!”
Brian tilts his head, the small smirk still playing on his lips. “What if I can’t help myself?”
“Then… at least close the blinds first,” your mumble.
He laughs heartily. “My turn. From now on, you’re only allowed to call me Brian. No exceptions.”
Your eyes waver. “Even at work? But… you’re still my boss.”
He leans in with a teasing smile. “And are we not seeing each other, Miss Secretary?”
Your cheeks burn. “No calling me Miss Secretary!”
Brian laughs again, leaning back in his seat. “Is that all?”
“Nothing else from me,” your murmur. “You?”
“Yeah, I got one,” he says, softer now, all humour gone from his voice. “Whatever happens… let’s be honest with each other, okay?”
You stay silent, prompting him to continue.
“I want honesty. From the both of us. That means no pretending how we feel, no more half-truths. If everything starts to feel too much… you tell me, alright?”
You nod, heart thudding. “Okay.”
Brian smiles at you then, and he reaches across the table for your hand. Tentatively, like he’s testing the waters, before he lets his palm envelop yours as a whole.
You don’t pull away.
Work has gone back to normal now.
At least, for the most part.
“Mr. Lee from the Busan office wants to have a call with you at 12:00, but you have lunch with the Japanese investors then. Would you like me to schedule it to after…?” You trail off when you realise Brian isn’t listening, but staring at you. Just staring, lips tugged into a small smile and chin resting on his hand.
You clear your throat. “Brian.”
“Hm?”
You exhale. “Brian, you’re not listening.”
“I am, though.”
“What did I just say, then?”
He purses his lips before he moves slowly, stretching his limbs like a cat, almost as if to buy time. “Mr. Lee from Busan… wants to have lunch with me?”
You sigh, locking your tablet before letting your hand drop to your side. “I thought we agreed on not letting this get in the way of work.”
“Okay, okay. I hear you. I’m sorry.” He moves from his seat to stand before you, leaning against his desk behind him. He’s close, close enough to take your hands if he wanted to, but doesn’t. “Go on.”
You nod, continuing with listing down his agendas from the top. To his credit, Brian does listen this time, though his gaze on you remains unwavering.
“And that’s all.” You hug your tablet to your chest, finally giving him a smile. “Good luck for your meeting later, Mr. Kang.”
Brian arches a brow, his hands slowly reaching for yours before gently intertwining your fingers, pulling you closer towards him. “Hm? What was that?”
You stiffen, glancing over your shoulder to check if anyone is around. Of course, you’re aware that it’s only the two of you in his office, but still. “Brian.”
“What? Tit for tat.”
You huff, though you can’t stop the smile that’s already tugging on your lips. “You’re impossible.”
He tilts his head, looking at you with an amused grin, but his eyes are fond. Soft. “You still like me though, right?”
You think you’d be crazy not to.
You slowly pack your things, eyes glancing at the clock every so often as you wait for it to hit 5:30.
Brian had invited you over for dinner today, and you’re equal parts nervous and excited.
Nervous, because you’re finally telling Mirae the news today— that you and her father are… dating.
It still feels weird to say that.
It's already been a month— a month of secret touches beneath his desk when you'd brief him on his agendas for the day. A month of him leaning too close when you'd pass him a file. A month of pretending that all the rules you'd set for yourselves didn't exist.
After hours, it's been quiet dinners in his kitchen after Mirae's gone too bed. Long drives home where he'd never let go of your hand once, and stolen kisses in the safety of his living room. A month of learning what it feels to belong— not just to him, but to the little family you're slowly becoming a part of.
But of course, there's still that fear that makes you wonder if it would change things— what if Mirae feels replaced? What if she thinks you’re taking Brian away from her?
Brian had assured you that it’d be fine seeing as she already loves you anyway, and you could only hope that he's right— because gosh, just how much you want this to work.
You feel someone approach your desk, and you think that it’s Brian telling you he’s ready to go, but when you look up, you’re met with Jaehyung instead.
He greets you with an easy grin. “Hey.”
You smile politely. “Hi, Jaehyung. Clocking out?”
“Yeah. Early, for once,” he exhales. “So listen, there’s this new restaurant across the street that I’ve been meaning to try. I was wondering… maybe you’d like to come with me?”
Your breath catches in your throat, but you try to school your expression. You know that Jaehyung’s been harbouring feelings for you— it’s been obvious since the day he sent you home. You’d kind of been hoping he’d leave it at that, but you should’ve known you’d have to deal with this eventually, should he choose to ask you out.
And as much as you hate letting people down…
“I’m really sorry, Jaehyung. I’m already seeing someone,” you say, polite but firm.
“Oh.” His brows raise in surprise. “Well… that’s okay. I’ll see you around!” He smiles again, and even though you feel bad, you’re glad he’s nice enough not to push.
“Ready to go?”
You hadn’t even noticed Brian standing there, leaning against the threshold of his office as he waits for you. You wonder if he’d heard your conversation with Jaehyung.
“Oh- yeah. Let me just-” you quickly turn off your computer before taking your bag, and Brian smiles at you softly as you walk to the elevator.
“So,” he says when you step inside. “You’re seeing someone, huh?”
Your pulse stutters, and you try to bite back a smile. “Apparently.”
“Apparently?” Brian turns to you. “Guess I should meet him. Make sure he’s good enough for you.”
You laugh under your breath, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m serious,” he says, all humour suddenly dropping from his voice. “Is he?”
You turn to him, and Brian’s already staring at you. Not exactly hopeful, but more like he genuinely wants to know.
You don’t think twice before getting on your tiptoes, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. At this point— to hell with the rules you’d set for yourselves.
“He is,” you whisper, soft but sure.
And when he smiles at you like you’d hung up all the stars in the sky, you know that every risk is worth taking if it’s with him.
✦ ✦ ✦
Mirae had been more than thrilled to have you over, and dinner had gone by smoothly. There was a lot of laughter, a lot of teasing, and for a moment you let yourself wonder if this is what it feels like to have a family of your own.
After dessert, you offer to wipe down the counter while Brian gets started on the dishes, Mirae still in her high chair as she munches on some fruit puffs.
“Here you go, baby,” Brian mutters under his breath as he passes you a wet cloth, his other hand grazing the small of your back.
You freeze. At both the name, and his touch. But touch aside—
Baby. He’d said it so softly that maybe, you think you’d imagined it. You had to have, right?
Until Mirae lets out a loud giggle.
“Daddy, you’re silly! Aunty Seki’s not a baby. That’s what you call me!”
Brian freezes too.
He glances at you, almost helplessly as you try to hold back your own nervous laughter.
Guess we’re doing this now.
“Well, you’re right, baby,” Brian starts tentatively, crouching next to his daughter. “But… Aunty is kind of Daddy’s baby, too. Only, in a different way.”
You don’t know whether to laugh or blush at his choice of wording. Clearly, Brian is inexperienced with this just as much as you are. But when he looks at you again, as though to gauge whether you’re okay with it, you don’t hesitate to give him a sure nod.
Mirae gasps loudly before turning to you. “Are you and Daddy boyfriend and girlfriend?” She whispers loudly, and you hear Brian’s poorly-suppressed snort as he stands back up.
You smile. “Yes, sweetheart. But only if you’re okay with that, of course.”
“I’m okay with that!” Mirae squeals, clapping her hands. “Now I can finally draw three people!”
The room goes silent for a beat as the both of you register her words, and your eyes quickly pool with tears.
You turn to Brian, and he’s watching his daughter with misty eyes before he turns to you, his smile soft and fond, vulnerable in a way he’s only starting to show more often.
And when his hand find yours, you know that this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.
EPILOGUE
You’re sweeping the floors when the bell behind you chimes, and just as you’re about to tell the customer you’re closed for the day-
“Aunty Seki!”
Your lips part in surprise before you chuckle, letting the broom drop to the floor as you crouch down, opening up your arms for Mirae who’s already running towards you at full speed.
“Sweetheart, slow down,” Brian utters half-heartedly, strolling in after her with her bag on his shoulder.
“I thought you said you were working late?” You ask as you carry Mirae up, balancing her on your hip.
“Mm, I did, but then I decided I missed my girlfriend more, and I think she deserves a little pick-me-up after working so hard lately,” he murmurs as he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Hi, baby.”
You close your eyes at the contact, a smile forming on your lips.
It’s been almost eight months since you quit your job at Brian’s firm, deciding it was time for you to pursue what you’ve always been wanting to do— running your own bakery.
It’d taken a while for you to come to a decision, mostly because the thought of beginning from scratch sounds daunting, but Brian was with you every step of the way. Of course, he’d even offered you the funds as a kickstarter, to which you rejected, insisting that it was your dream and you wanted to earn it on your own.
The day you’d finally cut the ribbon, Brian had surprised you with a home-cooked dinner at his house that night, to celebrate you and to tell you how proud he was of you for taking that step.
And when it was just the two of you alone, cleaning up in his kitchen with Mirae already fast asleep in her room, he’d pulled you in for a kiss that meant everything he’s been wanting to say since he fell in love with you.
“I love you, Brian,” you’d murmured against his lips then, beating him to it. “Gosh, I love you.”
He smiles, and for the first time, it doesn’t feel like a risk, or a fleeting moment— it feels like home.
Summary: You become the personal assistant of Seoul’s most demanding fashion designer. What starts as a professional relationship filled with impossible standards and expensive gifts transforms into something deeper.
Fandom: ATEEZ
Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x Reader
Genre: Romance, Workplace Romance, Sugar Daddy Elements (unintentional)
Warnings: Workplace power dynamics, excessive gift giving, mentions of exhaustion/overwork, alcohol consumption
====================================
The glass towers of Seoul’s fashion district gleamed in the morning sun as you stood outside the headquarters of Kim Hongjoong’s design empire. Your resume felt woefully inadequate in your sweaty palm, despite your fashion management degree and internship experience. Kim Hongjoong; the enfant terrible of Korean fashion, the man who’d taken Paris Fashion Week by storm at twenty three, whose collaborations with luxury brands were the stuff of legend.
And apparently, he was impossible to work with.
“Three assistants in two months,” your friend's voice rang in your ears. “The last one lasted exactly twelve days.”
The receptionist, immaculately dressed in what you recognized as Hongjoong’s latest collection, led you to a minimalist office that screamed expensive taste. Floor to ceiling windows, a desk that probably cost more than your rent, and racks of stunning garments that made your heart race with their artistry.
“You’re late,” came a crisp voice from behind a fabric screen.
You checked your phone. 7:58 AM. “I’m actually two minutes early-”
“You should have arrived at 7:55.” Kim Hongjoong emerged from behind the screen, and despite your preparation, you weren’t ready for the reality of him. Smaller than you’d expected but with a presence that filled the room, reddish-brown hair styled perfectly, wearing a deconstructed blazer that probably cost more than your car. His dark eyes scanned you with the intensity of someone evaluating fabric quality.
“I don’t have time for people who can’t follow simple instructions,” he continued, settling behind his desk with feline grace. “Why should I hire you when you can’t even arrive on time?”
You straightened your shoulders. “Because I’m the first candidate who’s bothered to research your actual design process instead of just your Instagram following. I know you start your creative sessions at 6 AM, that you prefer natural lighting for color matching, and that you’ve been looking for someone who understands both the business and artistic sides of fashion. Also,” you pulled out your tablet, “I’ve prepared a preliminary schedule optimization that could save you approximately three hours per week. According to the data I've been sent for my trial process”
For the first time, Hongjoong looked genuinely interested. “Show me.”
====================================
Three weeks in, you understood why his previous assistants had fled.
“The coffee is wrong,” Hongjoong announced, not looking up from his sketches.
You glanced at the cup you’d just placed on his desk. The exact order from his usual café, delivered at precisely the temperature he preferred. “What’s wrong with it?”
“It tastes different.”
You bit back your first three responses and walked back to the café. The barista, recognizing you, immediately started preparing another cup.
“Rough day with the boss?” she asked sympathetically.
“He said the coffee tastes different.”
She winced. “It’s the same beans, same recipe. But it’s raining today, barometric pressure can affect taste perception. Some people are really sensitive to it.”
You stared at her. “You’re telling me he can taste the weather?”
When you returned with a cup made with beans from a different batch, Hongjoong took a sip and nodded approvingly. “Better. Also, move my 3 PM meeting to 3:30. The lighting in the conference room is better at that hour.”
You wanted to scream. Instead, you made the adjustment and wondered if your health insurance covered stress related breakdowns.
But then there were moments that caught you off guard. Like when he noticed you shivering in the over air conditioned office and wordlessly adjusted the temperature. Or when he had lunch delivered for you without being asked, somehow knowing you’d been too busy to eat.
“You can’t assist me properly if you’re malnourished,” he’d said dismissively when you thanked him, but you caught the slight flush on his cheeks.
====================================
The fashion show was in two weeks, and Hongjoong was in full perfectionist mode. You’d been working fourteen hour a day, surviving on coffee and determination. Tonight was no different. It was past midnight, and you were updating vendor contacts while Hongjoong worked on final alterations.
The soft sound of fabric rustling was oddly soothing, and the warmth of the office after the cold Seoul night made your eyelids heavy. Just for a moment, you told yourself, resting your head on your arms at the small table where you’d spread out your work.
You woke up to the feeling of something soft being draped over your shoulders. In your half conscious state, you were aware of gentle hands adjusting the fabric, careful not to disturb you. A familiar scent, citrus surrounded you.
“Stubborn,” you heard Hongjoong murmur quietly. “I told you to go home hours ago.”
You felt the brush of fingers against your forehead, pushing away a strand of hair with surprising tenderness. “Can’t have you getting sick before the show. You’re the only assistant who’s actually useful.”
When you woke up properly in the morning, you were covered with what you realized was his jacket, the expensive one he’d worn to yesterday’s meeting. Hongjoong was already at his desk with fresh coffee, looking like he’d slept a full eight hours instead of maybe two.
“You drool when you sleep,” he said without looking up, but you caught the hint of a smile.
Your face burned. “I’ll dry clean your jacket-”
“Keep it. It-” He paused in his sketching. “There’s breakfast on the side table. Eat before you pass out again.”
You looked over to find your favorite pastries from the café downstairs, items you’d mentioned liking once in passing weeks ago. Your heart did something complicated in your chest.
====================================
The fashion show was a triumph. Models glided down the runway in Hongjoong’s latest collection while celebrities and fashion editors watched in rapt attention. You coordinated everything from backstage, wearing the emergency headset and the jacket he’d given you, which had somehow become a permanent part of your wardrobe.
“Flawless execution,” Hongjoong said afterward, finding you in the chaos of the after party. He looked radiant in his victory, champagne flute in hand, surrounded by admirers. But he’d sought you out.
“It was all your designs,” you replied. “I just kept the schedule running.”
“Don’t be modest. It doesn’t suit you.” He studied you for a moment. “You look tired.”
You were exhausted, but there was still cleanup to coordinate, vendors to pay, a dozen loose ends to tie up. “I’m fine-”
“Go home.” It wasn’t a request. “Car service is waiting outside. Everything else can wait until tomorrow.”
“But the invoices-”
“Will still be there in the morning. Go.”
As you gathered your things, you overheard him talking to his finance manager about bonuses for the team. The amount he mentioned for you was generous- more than generous. It was enough to pay off your student loans and then some.
When you tried to thank him the next day, he waved you off. “Good work deserves fair compensation. It’s just business.”
But the way he avoided your eyes suggested it was anything but.
====================================
The gifts started small. A coffee maker for the office (“so you stop wasting time going downstairs”). New software for your tablet (“the old version was inefficient”). An ergonomic office chair (“your posture is terrible”).
Then they escalated. A designer bag of his (“you can’t represent my brand carrying that thing”). A laptop upgrade (“how do you work on such an ancient machine?”). Professional wardrobe additions (“dress codes exist for a reason”).
Each gift came with a practical excuse, delivered with Hongjoong’s trademark dismissive tone. But his eyes always lingered to see your reaction, and you noticed he seemed particularly pleased when you used or wore his gifts.
Your friends noticed too.
“Girl, he’s totally sugar daddying you,” your best friend announced over drinks. “Designer everything, pays you way above market rate, and you said he sends you home in car services?”
“It’s not like that,” you protested. “He’s just… particular about professional standards.”
“Professional standards don’t include gifting you a bag that he himself designed.”
You nearly choked on your wine. “How did you know that?”
“Because I looked it up after you sent that photo. Do you know how much his bags costs?”
You didn’t, actually. You’d never asked, and Hongjoong had presented it so matter of factly that you’d assumed it was reasonably priced. Now, looking it up on your phone, you felt faint.
“I have to give it back,” you whispered.
“Are you insane? He gave it to you! And honey, looking at your social media, that’s not the only expensive thing he’s bought you. That jacket you’re always wearing? Those shoes? The jewelry?”
You looked down at the delicate necklace you’d worn every day since Hongjoong had given it to you, claiming it was “on brand” for company events. The reality of the situation began to sink in.
Two days after your friend’s revelation about the gifts, you were at a company networking event, trying to act normal while hyperaware of every expensive item Hongjoong had given you. The delicate necklace felt heavy around your throat, and you kept fidgeting with the designer jacket on you.
“You look like you’re about to bolt,” came an amused voice behind you. You turned to find Jeong Yunho, one of the top models who frequently walked for Hongjoong’s shows. Tall, gorgeous, and surprisingly down to earth, he’d become a friend over the months you’d worked together.
“Just tired,” you said, accepting the champagne he offered. “Long week.”
“Tell me about it. Hongjoong had me do seventeen takes for that campaign shoot yesterday. Seventeen! For one pose!” Yunho rolled his eyes dramatically. “Sometimes I think he’s actually insane.”
You laughed despite yourself. “Only sometimes?”
“See, this is why I like you. You get it.” Yunho grinned, moving closer so he could be heard over the music. “Most people are too intimidated by him to see how ridiculous he can be. Remember last month when he made the entire styling team redo a shoot because the model’s nail polish was the wrong shade of nude?”
“It was a three hour reshoot for nail polish,” you giggled, the champagne making you more relaxed than you’d felt all week.
“Exactly!"
"And don’t get me started on his coffee thing. I swear he can taste when the barista is having a bad day.” Yunho leaned against the wall beside you, his shoulder brushing yours companionably. “How do you deal with him every day without losing your mind?”
From across the room, you felt eyes on you. Glancing over, you saw Hongjoong watching your conversation with an expression you couldn’t quite read. He was surrounded by fashion editors and buyers, but his attention was fixed on you and Yunho.
“He’s not that bad,” you found yourself saying, still watching Hongjoong. “He’s just… particular.”
“Particular is one word for it.” Yunho followed your gaze and grinned. “Oh, interesting.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Just… your boss looks like he wants to murder me right now.”
You looked back at Hongjoong, who had indeed developed a rather stormy expression. As you watched, he excused himself from his group and started walking toward you with purposeful strides.
“Yunho,” Hongjoong’s voice was crisp as he joined you. “Shouldn’t you be networking with potential photographers? I heard Vogue is looking for fresh faces.”
“Already talked to them,” Yunho replied cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to the tension. “They loved the portfolio you helped me put together, actually. Thanks for that.”
Hongjoong’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Good. Y/N, I need to speak with you about tomorrow’s schedule.”
“Can’t it wait until-” Yunho started.
“No.” Hongjoong’s tone brooked no argument. “It’s urgent.”
Yunho raised his eyebrows but smiled good-naturedly. “I can take a hint. See you later, Y/N. Thanks for the chat.” He squeezed your shoulder gently before walking away.
The moment he was gone, Hongjoong stepped closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming. “What was that about?”
“What was what about? We were just talking.”
“You were laughing. A lot.” His voice was carefully controlled, but you caught the edge underneath.
“Friends do that sometimes, Hongjoong. They laugh together.”
“Friends.” He repeated the word like it tasted bitter. “Is that what you are?”
You stared at him, sudden understanding dawning. “Are you… jealous?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” But the flush creeping up his neck betrayed him.
“You are!” The realization was both thrilling and bewildering. “You’re jealous of Yunho.”
“I’m not jealous of anyone,” Hongjoong said stiffly. “I just don’t appreciate my assistant being distracted during work events.”
“This isn’t work, this is a party. And I wasn’t being distracted, I was being friendly. You know, that thing normal people do at social gatherings?”
His facade cracked slightly. “He was touching you.”
“He only touched my shoulder, Hongjoong. It’s called friendly contact.”
“I don’t like it.” The admission seemed to surprise him as much as it did you.
Your heart started beating faster. “Why?”
For a moment, he looked like he might retreat behind his usual professional mask. Then something in his expression shifted, became raw and honest in a way you’d never seen before.
“Because you’re mine,” he said quietly, the words seeming to surprise him even as he said them. “Because I watch you laugh with him and I want to be the one making you smile like that. Because the thought of anyone else having your attention, your time, your…” He stopped, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. “This is insane. You work for me. I shouldn’t be feeling-”
“What?” you stepped closer, emboldened by his vulnerability. “What shouldn’t you be feeling?”
“Like I want to give you everything. Like seeing you wear the things I bought you is the best part of my day. Like I’m completely, pathetically in love with you and I don’t know how to handle it.”
The words hung in the air between you, charged with months of unspoken tension. Around you, the party continued, but it felt like you were in a bubble, just the two of you and this moment.
“Hongjoong,” you whispered, reaching up to touch his face gently. “You’re not pathetic. And you’re not insane.”
He leaned into your touch despite himself. “I buy you things because I don’t know how else to show you. I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. I don’t know the rules.”
“You tuck me in when I fall asleep at work,” you said softly. “You remember how I like my coffee and my favorite pastries. You adjust the temperature when I’m cold. You don’t need to buy me anything- you take care of me every day in a hundred small ways.”
He stared at you. “I didn't know you noticed.”
“How could I not notice? You’re not as subtle as you think.” You stepped closer. “I care about you too. More than I should, probably. More than what is professional.”
“Screw professional,” Hongjoong said, reaching for you. “I’m terrible at this, at relationships, at being vulnerable. I’ll probably drive you crazy.”
“You already drive me crazy,” you admitted, letting him pull you closer. “But I wouldn’t want to work for anyone else. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”
“Even when I’m being impossible?”
“Especially then. Someone has to keep you in line.”
He smiled. The first real, unguarded smile you’d ever seen from him. “Keep my gifts. And everything else. Not because you have to, but because I want you to have them. Because you deserve beautiful things.”
“Okay,” you whispered. “But I’m keeping them because they’re from you, not because of what they cost.”
“I can live with that.” He cupped your face gently, thumb brushing across your cheek. “Can I kiss you? I’ve been wanting to for months.”
You answered by standing on your tiptoes and meeting him halfway.
Later, After dealing with the party. Wrapped in his arms on the office couch, you murmured against his chest, “So are we going to talk about how you basically accidentally became my sugar daddy?”
Hongjoong groaned. “Please don’t call it that.”
“What should I call it then?”
“How about calling it what it is?” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Me being hopelessly in love with my assistant.”
“I prefer ‘hopelessly in love with your girlfriend,’” you corrected.
“I like the sound of that better too.”
And if he still bought you ridiculously expensive things and took care of you in every way imaginable, well- that was just Kim Hongjoong loving you the only way he knew how. Completely, protectively, and with absolutely no regard for practicality.
Just the way you loved him back. Even if he was still an annoying prick at the job, at least he was yours.
THE END
====================================
A/N: CAPTAIN IN FASHION SCENE I REPEAT CAPTAIN IN FASHION SCENE!! *starts barking* Hongjoong was going to say the 'It looks better on you anyway' word but stopped since he is too emotionally constipated to actually say it.
synopsis : Even when the mind forgets, the heart remembers — even if it's only for a moment.
genre : slice of life, fluff, friends to lovers, soft romance
warnings : none
author’s note : cute lil oneshot 🙈
word count : 1k
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
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You met Jongho on the second day of university, right outside the music building, where you’re both hopelessly lost and trying not to show it.
You’re squinting at a confusing campus map.
He’s standing beside you with a banana milk in one hand and a look of quiet panic in his eyes.
You’re the first to laugh. “Please tell me you also have no idea where Room B305 is.”
He blinks. “Not a clue.”
You grin. “Cool. Let’s get lost together then.”
That’s how it starts.
Not with fireworks, but with shared confusion, easy conversation, and the kind of comfort that sneaks up on you.
Friendship with Jongho is quiet, but full.
You learn his favorite snacks. He learns the exact way you like your coffee.
You fall into step beside him without meaning to. He holds your bag without asking.
It becomes a rhythm—one you don’t question.
Study dates. Shared playlists.
Laughing at inside jokes no one else understands.
Texting him when you’re sad, and him showing up with strawberry milk and your favorite chips.
You always say you’re just friends.
Everyone around you disagrees.
Your friends call him your “fake boyfriend.”
Jongho just shrugs and smiles.
You laugh it off.
You try not to wonder why the thought doesn’t feel fake at all.
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
Everything changes on a Saturday night.
A mutual friend hosts a game night. The room is packed with friends, snacks, blankets, and someone pulls out a deck of “Couples Charades.”
“Pass,” you say instantly. “Jongho and I aren’t—”
“Oh, come on,” someone interrupts, “you two act more married than half the couples I know.”
Before you can argue, Jongho throws an arm around your shoulder and says easily,
“Guess I’m her husband tonight.”
Your heart stutters.
But you smile. Pretend. Play the part.
You act out “laundry day.” He mimes folding your clothes and sniffs an invisible hoodie.
“This one smells like you,” he says with a smirk.
You pretend to gag. But you’re laughing.
You fake a grocery shop. Fake bake cookies. Fake argue about cereal.
Except it starts to feel like it’s not fake at all.
There’s a moment—just a heartbeat—when he looks at you mid-laugh, soft and unguarded, and your breath catches.
It hits you then.
You’ve been pretending for a long time. But not about your feelings.
You’ve just been pretending they didn’t exist.
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
That night, he walks you home like always.
The streetlights are warm. The world is quiet.
You don’t want him to leave. You don’t want the feeling to go.
So you say: “Come up. I’ll make tea.”
He says: “Okay,” like he was already hoping you’d ask.
You fold laundry together on your living room floor.
He’s in his hoodie and socks. You’re wrapped in your blanket.
A quiet playlist hums in the background.
He folds your shirts like he’s done it a hundred times.
“You know,” you say softly, “we were a little too good at that game.”
He hums, folding a towel. “Yeah.”
“That didn’t feel like pretending.”
Jongho pauses. Looks at you.
Then says it—barely above a whisper:
“Because it wasn’t.”
You go very still.
He fidgets with the fabric in his hands. “I mean—at least, not for me. I think I’ve been pretending not to love you for a while now.”
Your throat tightens. “Jongho…”
He shakes his head like he’s bracing for rejection. “You don’t have to say anything. I just—I didn’t want to keep pretending if you didn’t want to.”
So you take the shirt from his hands.
Set it aside.
And say the only thing that matters.
“I don’t want to pretend either.”
Hesitant. Like you’re both afraid to move too fast and ruin it.
But when he touches your cheek, and you lean in closer, everything clicks into place—like you’ve been leading up to this moment your whole life.
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
You fall asleep on the couch together. Limbs tangled. His hand in your hair. Your face against his chest.
And when you wake up, sunlight pouring in through your window, he’s still there—warm, solid, breathing slowly.
“You drooled on me,” he mumbles, voice still sleepy.
You smack his arm without lifting your head. “You liked it.”
He grins. “I kind of did.”
That morning, you made breakfast together.
He burns the toast. You pretend it’s gourmet.
He steals a bite of your eggs. You threaten him with the spatula.
He kisses your cheek in response and says,“Worth it.”
And somehow, without saying anything, he stays.
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
Over the next few weeks, the pretending fades.
Naturally.
Jongho’s toothbrush ends up next to yours. His hoodies live on your chair. He shows up after work with groceries and says, “I saw your fridge and panicked.”
You make dinner while he hums from behind you, arms wrapped lazily around your waist. You fold his socks into neat pairs while he brushes his teeth and sings off-key in the background.
It’s easy. Gentle. Yours.
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
One night, curled up beside him, you ask quietly:
“Is this… love?”
Jongho presses a kiss to your temple. “If it’s not, I don’t want anything else.”
You turn to face him. “You were always home to me. Even before I realized it.”
He brushes his thumb across your cheek. “Then let’s stay home. Forever.”
You fall asleep with his hoodie wrapped around you and his arms around your waist.
hi guys. I just want to come on here to let u guys know i’ll be on a hiatus for a bit. with everything going on in America. specially california, where I live. I haven’t been able to calm my nerves and anxiety that my parents won’t make it home at the end of the day. i’ve tried to still write but it makes me physically sick. please understand and I promise once things aren’t so bad i’ll be back to updating weekly. I have some submissions in my inbox that I promise i’ll get to and feel free to keep submitting them!! I just need some time away and I appreciate everyone’s support on my smaus and one shots. please guys be safe with everything going on right now. it doesn’t matter if ur undocumented or not. if u have the appearance they don’t care. i’m going to link some resources and put information if you know anyone that needs it PLEASE. send them these resources. if you took the time to read this thank you and I genuinely appreciate you.
REPORT LIVE ICE SIGHTINGS !!!
this website tracks and updates live for any ice sightings. please send it to anyone who may need it.
pairing: kang younghyun x f!reader
genre: slice of life, village boy x city girl, childhood friends (to enemies) to lovers, fluff, angst, romance, slow burn
wc: 14.1k
synopsis: after being let go from your job, you return to your grandparents' village of pyoseon to figure things out. you had come in hopes of finding peace, but instead, you're faced with unexpected reunions, a whole lot of unresolved feelings, and far too many what-ifs. thirty was supposed to be a restart, but now... it feels more like a rewind— and standing in the middle of it all, is kang younghyun. as much as the man gets on your nerves, you soon start to realise that maybe, home isn't where you go— it's who you go back to.
A little over a month ago, you would’ve thought you’d be spending the beginning of your thirties in the best way possible— sipping on cocktails in Copacabana, basking in the glow of the Paris lights… maybe even celebrating in first class with a glass of champagne.
Instead, here you are, in a sun-scorched field in the middle of nowhere, wearing overalls two sizes too big and your hair sticking to your nape in a sweaty mess.
And to top it off, you’re completely covered in cow dung. From head to toe.
You glower at the absolute menace before you, the one responsible for the situation you’re in. The asshole even has the audacity to look amused, his shoulders shaking as he tries to stifle his laughter.
“Kang Younghyun,” you mutter lowly, your gloved fingers already fisting the mud around you. “You have five seconds to run.”
He coughs to conceal his chuckle. “I mean-“
“Five.”
Younghyun yelps before he bolts away, and you immediately take off after him. “You coward! Come back here!”
The sound of his boisterous laughter as he sprints down the road is mocking, and you’re left screaming his name while simultaneously hoping that he’d trip over a rock and plant his stupid, handsome face to the ground.
Thirty was supposed to treat you well, but instead, you got… whatever the hell this is— the pitiful remnants of your live served to you in a dog bowl, with a side of Kang Younghyun.
You don’t think you could ever recover from this.
I. [YOU, THIRTY SECONDS AWAY FROM A MELTDOWN]
You’ve been told that hitting the big three would be a bit like being reborn, a chance to get a fresh start and to leave your past self behind in your twenties… or at least, according to Wonpil, it was. He wasn’t exactly a wild child back in the day, so you weren’t sure where all of this was coming from, but regardless you still decided to take his advice with a spoonful of trust— not only because he’s your best friend, but because you believed in his mantra too.
There’s been some talk going around about a promotion, and with you having worked for this airline for a good seven years now, you know the title of Senior Flight Attendant is practically within reach. You’re ready to enter your thirties with a clean slate, a sharper uniform, and the kind of certainty that maybe, everything was finally falling into place—
Except it isn’t.
“We’re letting you off.”
The smile fades from your lips slightly, and the room settles in a pin-drop silence as you process the words that left your supervisor’s lips.
“I’m sorry?”
“The airline is going through some budget cuts, so we’ve got no choice but to let some people go,” he explains robotically, as though he’s reading off a script. Your heart starts to thump in your ears as the weight of the situation finally settles in, and your smile wipes off completely. “This has nothing to do with you, obviously. You’ve been a great worker and contributed much to the company-“
“So you’re firing me?”
Your supervisor stutters. “Well- you will be getting severance pay. And some additional farewell benefits as compensation. That aside, we’re extremely sorry to let you go. We wish you the best in your future endeavours.”
He bows slightly, and you don’t stop the humourless chuckle that escapes your lips.
Even as you step out of his office, your termination letter already crumpled under the tight grip of your hand, you refuse to fully acknowledge the dread in the pit of your stomach— not until you reach home, and you’re dialling for the one person who could help you make sense of this entire situation.
As usual, Wonpil is all smiles as he picks up, but it instantly disappears when he sees your face. “Wow. Did you get fired or something?”
You flop onto your couch, tossing your blazer aside. “That obvious?”
Your best friend gapes, but he quickly recovers. “Wha- are you serious? What happened?”
“Said the company’s downsizing… or whatever.” You shrug as you stare blankly at the ceiling, and you sense Wonpil shift through the screen. With it being a weekday afternoon, he’s probably still at work, but you couldn’t find it in you to care for disturbing him. “What should I do, Pil?”
“Hey, don’t worry too much. You’ll find a new job in no time! You’ve got the experience and the skillset. Just take this as a stepping stone towards a better opportunity. A silver lining, you know?”
You glance at your phone, and Wonpil is already grinning at you through the screen. You know that’s just the teacher in him talking, and right now, you feel like one of his students after failing a test. Wonpil has always been supportive, so despite your own dejection, you find it in you to smile at him weakly. “Thanks, Pil.”
And even though you’re not really confident in his words, you’re still grateful for his optimism, and maybe some of that is just what you need.
II. IT’S YOUR THIRTIETH DAY OF REJECTION.
You don’t think being optimistic could help you out of this rut.
You’ve been applying to countless of other airlines, only to be rejected by most of them— the rest hadn’t even bothered to reply.
You know what it is, and it’s the harsh truth you’re only beginning to swallow. Age bias has always been prevalent in your industry, and even though you know you’re nowhere near being a grandma, it’s likely the reason why you aren’t getting any offers.
Wonpil has been by your side throughout, though it’s mostly just been you pathetically moping around while he tries to talk you into trying something else— like a job at the airport lounge (seeing your ex-colleagues would only make you miserable) or concierge at a hotel (serving foreign pilots and flight attendants would make you even more).
Which is why, after much debating (not like you were left with much of a choice whatsoever), you landed yourself a job at a café. Basic, but simple, and safe.
The only problem is that you hate it.
It’s only been a few shifts, and you know you wouldn't be able to last any longer. Even though serving people coffee is technically still a customer service job, there’s just something about the mind-numbing repetition of it that makes you itch to walk out the door.
And so, you do.
“Are you serious?” Wonpil scoffs. “You’ve dealt with entitled businessmen and screaming toddlers thousands of feet in the air, but a little coffee spill is where you draw the line?”
“You think I want this to happen?” You grumble in frustration, avoiding his gaze as you busy yourself with the loose thread on your sleeve. “I just can’t, Pil, okay? Gosh, maybe what I need is a break.”
“You know, that’s not a bad idea. You could use the tickets the airline gave you to go somewhere. Figure things out," he suggests.
“Please,” you scoff. “That pathetic thing they call a severance package barely does me any good. You think I’d have a good time overseas knowing my wallet is shrinking?”
“Then maybe you should visit your grandparents, or something.”
A few beats pass as you let his words hang in the air, and your eyes widen with sudden realisation. “Wonpil, you’re a genius,” you whisper before turning back to him, and he only furrows his brows in confusion. “I could rent out my apartment for a few months while I stay in Jeju— to figure things out, like you said. That way I could make money without actually having to work!”
“I mean, I guess…” Unlike what you’ve been expecting, your best friend looks uneasy with your idea, and before you could ask him why, Wonpil continues, “it’s just- if you’re planning on staying there for that long, are you sure you could actually do it? I mean, village life. It’s no joke for city people like us.”
You roll your eyes. “Relax. I visited my grandparents a lot when I was little. And like you said— if I could deal with entitled businessmen and screaming toddlers in the air, a little sun and farming wouldn’t hurt me.”
“What if someone spills coffee on you?”
You nod solemnly. “Then I’ll know for sure that I was never meant to work a day in my life.”
III. THE WEATHER SAYS IT’S THIRTY DEGREES OUTSIDE.
The humidity of Jeju-do is quick to catch up to you the moment you step off the plane, and by the time you manage to drag your bags to the taxi stand outside the airport, you're already slick with sweat, with your hair stuck to your neck and makeup halfway down your face.
And because the universe seems to hate you (you haven't gotten a single stroke of good luck since the day you got sacked), there aren't any taxis around.
Not a single one. Of course.
You take in a deep breath before trudging towards the bus stop, the wheels of your luggage squeaking pathetically behind you. No matter— you aren't about to let a little hiccup get in the way of your retreat when it's barely just started. Even if it would take around another two hours for you to reach Pyoseon-ri by bus, and even if the smell of manure in the air is beginning to cloud your judgement and make you wonder if moving on impulse was a good idea to begin with.
Still, you're adamant on not letting up so soon. You make sure to greet the driver when you board the bus, make sure to smile at the other passengers apologetically as you struggle to haul your luggage up the steps.
The driver doesn't wait for you before he floors the pedal, and that sends you crashing into a random stranger's shoulder. No one reacts. The stranger doesn't even blink.
You let out a slow exhale. Maybe Wonpil did have a point.
✦ ✦ ✦
By the time the bus wheezes to a stop, you're exhausted and completely out of it. Still, you can't help but to marvel at the sights around you as you alight, and it brings a certain warmth to your chest.
Pyoseon looks exactly like how you remember it, with its stone-lined streets that stretches on for miles on end and clear, vast skies you don't get to appreciate in Seoul. The old convenience store you used to frequent still stands, painted walls still chipped and red sign still faded. You spot the tiny, two-room clinic at the corner where you once cried over a scraped knee. It's also the same place you brought in an injured baby chick you found at the side of the road.
You pause for a moment, just standing there as you take in the village. Barely nothing has changed, and you think that's what throws you off the most. After years of chasing new cities, new skies, new routines... it's disorienting to return to a place seemingly still frozen in time.
You grip the handle of your bag tighter before making your way to the village hall. With your grandfather being the village chief, it's the place he'd most likely be at, and at this timing, you figure he'd probably be doing something... mayor-y. Whatever that meant.
The gravel crunches under your shoes as you trudge down the narrow path, and you're becoming increasingly aware of the curious glances and murmurs thrown your way as you near the village hall. You're not sure if people remember you, but one thing's for sure is that you hadn't prepared yourself for any kind of attention at all.
You let out a soft sigh of relief when the familiar one-story building comes into view, and there's loud chatter coming from somewhere behind it— probably the other village elders lounging around on the pyeongsang under the big zelkova tree. The thought of making a sudden appearance sounds awkward— another thing you hadn't accounted for— but when you hear the undeniable sound of your grandfather's laughter echoing in the air, you know you're not really left with any other option.
So you round the corner— and that's when it happens.
SPLASH!
A torrent of water hits you square in the chest, soaking you from the neck down. You don't even register your luggage tipping over as you stand there, dripping, jaw on the floor.
"Oh, crap, I'm so-"
The voice pauses, and you look up at the culprit: a too-tall, too-familiar guy with a bucket still dangling from one hand. You only barely manage to catch the panic on his features before he's squinting at you, and that's when you finally realise—
"Peach?"
"Younghyun?!"
You say at the same time.
He laughs, his hand lowering to his side. "No way. It's really you, huh? The princess of Seoul who swore she'd never come back. Welcome home, Your Highness."
You chuckle humourlessly. "That's rich, coming from you. Not everyone gets to run away to Europe and come crawling back like they never left."
Despite your blatant jab, he grins in response, shameless and insufferable as ever.
And yet another thing you hadn't accounted for— freaking Kang Younghyun. If you'd told Wonpil just how unprepared you are for this trip, you're sure he'd have a heart attack.
The last time you saw the village boy had to be almost ten years ago, before your visits to Jeju started to grow less frequent as you got older and busier. Last you heard, he'd stayed, all up until the last couple of times you visited and he wasn't around. Your grandfather had said something about him working on his masters overseas, and you'd scoffed at that— mainly because of how ironic it was. Kang Younghyun, the boy who used to tease you relentlessly for being too "city-fied" had gone off and did the most city thing of all. Left for a higher education. Abroad.
And now he's back. And so are you.
He's still the same as you remember, with mischief tucked into the curve of his smile and a teasing glint in his eyes. He still has the same thick eyebrows you used to make fun of, and dimples that would appear on both cheeks whenever he smiled too wide, but something about him feels different too.
He's gotten taller. Broader. The sharp lines of his jaw are more defined now, with cheekbones you don't remember being that sharp. You hate that you even notice the glint of sweat on his sun-kissed skin, and you're quick to dispose that thought. Because you hate Kang Younghyun, and you'd rather not admit that he's gotten kind of... stupidly good looking.
"There you are!"
Grandpa appears behind Younghyun, waving as though nothing is amiss. He barely even glances at your drenched state, patting Younghyun on his back.
You scowl. Your first day here, and your own blood is already favouring that smug asshole over you.
"Younghyun-ah, be a dear and give her a ride back home, would you? She must be tired from the journey."
You gape. "Wha- Grandpa, I'm drenched."
"Mm, you'll dry. Help yourself to the food in the fridge and come back here once you're rested, okay? Your grandma will be thrilled to see you once she returns from the district's women's council meeting." The old man is already walking back towards the village hall, but not before patting your head on the way. He glances over his shoulder. "Bicycle's around the back!"
You stand there in stunned silence before turning back to Younghyun, who's already grinning at you like an idiot. He gestures towards the tree behind him, where an old, rusted bicycle leans against the bark.
"Oh, no." You almost laugh at how absurd the situation you're in. "Oh, no, no."
"You heard the man, Peach," Younghyun adds cheekily. "Hop on."
You glower at him. "I'd rather walk barefoot through cactus than get on that thing with you."
Younghyun only laughs, like he knows you're playing a losing game. And he's right, because five minutes later you're clinging to the back of the bicycle, left hand gripping onto the handle of your luggage tightly as you let it drag along the gravel, while Younghyun pedals lazily like it's the most amusing thing that's happened to him all week. You don't even need to look at his face to know that he's grinning widely.
"So, still sweet on peaches?" He asks casually. You can practically hear the smirk in his tone.
"Shut up."
He laughs again.
IV. EVERYTHING IS ABSOLUTELY PEACHY... NOT.
You return to the village hall later that night in an old t-shirt and a pair of floral pants you snagged from your grandmother’s wardrobe. You figure if you’re going to be staying in the countryside, you might as well look the part, though you find that it did little to help ease the turmoil in your heart. You think it has something to do with Pyoseon and everything to do with yourself— and annoyingly, maybe just a little to do with Kang Younghyun’s smug face greeting you at every turn.
You scowl at him before he could say anything, shoving past him by the door and into the living area where some of the village elders are lounging. You instantly spot your grandmother, mid-conversation before her eyes land on you, and she immediately beams.
“My granddaughter!” She immediately stands up to engulf you in a hug, and despite yourself you find yourself smiling. Grandma has always been one to dote on you, and after the terrible first-half of the day you just had, a little comfort is just what you need.
She pulls back just enough to study your face. “Oh, look at you! Have you not been eating? Sleeping? Aish, I keep telling you to take care of yourself! Whatever it is, I’m glad you’re here to stay now, sweetheart. You need some real food in your system to make up for all those years of flying around.”
Someone snickers in the background, and you turn to see Younghyun, leaning against the doorframe casually with his arms crossed.
You narrow your eyes at him. “Something funny?”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “No, no. It’s just- you’d think a city girl would’ve upgraded her diet by now. Still running on iced tea and whatever’s closest to the microwave?”
You laugh sharply. “Stop acting like you know me, Younghyun.”
“Oh, but he does, doesn’t he? You two used to be so close!” Grandma pipes in unhelpfully, and you turn back to her with warning eyes. Not like she noticed whatsoever. “How much I struggled to keep you at home because you’re always running off with this boy doing God knows what. And that peach orchard you kids used to frequent so much-"
“Okay, Grandma.” You force out a smile through clenched teeth, easing yourself out from her hold as you join the other elders on the floor, face burning for some reason.
“Ignore him. He’s just messing with you.” One of the elders pats your hand mindlessly before turning back to the group. “But enough talk about that. Where were we?”
“Ah, yes. The signboards! We need to retrieve them from storage to get them painted. The tent materials can wait until we’re done with housekeeping, so until then, let’s focus on cleaning up the area.”
You blink before whispering to the old lady. “What are we talking about?”
“The annual harvest festival, my dear! You remember, don’t you? We’re doing a big event this year— food stalls, performances. The whole village is coming together!”
Your lips part as you nod. After all these years, you’d forgotten about the harvest festival that takes place in the summer every year. You’d attended a couple of times back when you were younger, but your visits were never long enough where you actually got to help with the preparations beforehand.
There were a lot of food, and lanterns, and dancing— that much you could recall, and you vaguely remember failing miserably at ring toss while Younghyun laughed at you. Subconsciously, you glance at him, only to find him already looking at you with a lopsided grin on his lips.
You turn away.
“Well, now that we have an extra pair of hands, it seems that we have nothing to worry about this year, do we?” Grandpa appears from the kitchen. “Don’t underestimate my granddaughter. She may be a city girl but she’s a tough one.” He grins at you, and the compliment makes you smile.
“Good! Then you and Younghyun can get started on washing the sheets tomorrow.”
Your smile instantly drops. “Me and who now.”
Grandma ignores you. “Our machines aren’t able to handle the load, so you’d have to do it by hand. Don’t worry, Younghyun will guide you through it!”
“That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” you mutter, though it falls on deaf ears.
The elders are quick to move on, chattering about what needs to be done for the festival preparations. You lean on your hands with a sigh, until you feel someone settle in the empty space next to you.
“So, looks like it’s me and you tomorrow, Peach.”
You don’t even need to look at him to know that he’s smirking. Younghyun slides something towards you, and you glance down to see that it’s a bottle of peach tea. You narrow your eyes at it suspiciously, and he laughs.
“Relax. It’s not like I poisoned it. Consider this a peace offering for earlier. Plus, thought it suited you.”
You turn to smile pleasantly at him, purposely batting your eyelashes. “Because I’m sweet?”
Younghyun leans in, his voice teasing. “Because you bruise easy.”
You instantly scowl, and Younghyun laughs heartily as he stands up. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Princess. If we finish on time, we could even go disturb Grandpa Han at his orchard like we used to.”
“I hope you choke.”
"That's the spirit," he coos, patting your head before whistling his way out.
You don’t think you’ve ever hated a person more.
V. PEACHY CLEAN! OR SO YOU THOUGHT.
The sun is high by the time you reach the courtyard of the village hall, shades resting on the bridge of your nose and a popsicle in hand. You don't stop the pleased smile that graces your lips when your eyes land on Younghyun, looking pathetic with his back to you as he hunches over a large basin, elbow-deep in soapy water.
"You seem to be hard at work."
He only spares you a glance over his shoulder. "You see, I am a man of my word. Unlike somebody over here."
You roll your eyes wordlessly, finishing the last of your popsicle before squatting down next to him. You've never washed a whole bedsheet with your hands before— not like Younghyun needed to know, obviously. All you had to do was spin it around in soap a few times before washing it out with water. Can't be that hard, right?
"Fill this one with water so I can rinse it out," he instructs, nodding towards the red basin to his left. You decide to swallow down your complaint about how you'd just squatted down, getting back on your feet to step to the faucet begrudgingly. You pick up the hose lazily, angling it to the basin next to Younghyun before turning the tap on. If you're being completely honest, this seems like a one-person job, one Younghyun looks totally capable of doing on his own, but you wouldn't be surprised if the only reason you're here is because he wants to see you miserable.
You squint at his back, the man clearly unaware of you throwing daggers at him as he continues to scrub the bedsheets with his hands. You note the way his brows furrow in concentration, the flex of his muscles with every wring, and the droplet of sweat formed on his temple...
You smirk.
"Say, Younghyun?"
"Hm?" He hums in reply, clearly too distracted to catch your overly-sweet tone.
You don't say anything as you flick your wrist, and in an instant the water from the hose arcs through the air, hitting him square in the back and soaking the fabric of his shirt.
Your grin grows wider. "Oops."
Younghyun freezes, far too long for it to be comfortable than you'd like to admit, before he lets out a low chuckle. He stands up slowly, but he doesn't face you yet.
"Peach."
Your smile falters slightly, but you tilt your chin upwards. "What?"
He finally turns to you, jaw tight and face devoid of any humour. He's dripping from the neck down, similar to how you were yesterday, and you can't help the satisfaction that blooms in your chest. Even if it's at the expense of you potentially getting killed by Kang Younghyun in the next five seconds.
He takes a step forward, and you don't wait for him to say anything else before you drop the hose, making a run for it. Unfortunately for you, Younghyun is fast— of course he is— because the next thing you know, you feel yourself get yanked backwards harshly towards his chest, and he doesn't even hesitate before drenching you with the hose.
"Let go of me, you freak!" You shriek as the ice-cold water hits you, thrashing against his hold.
Younghyun laughs— completely loud and completely unbothered— the running hose still in one hand while the other grips on to your waist tightly.
"Should've thought of that before you decided to mess with me, Princess."
"You splashed me first, asshole!"
“To which I gave you a peace offering! A peach offering, if you will-"
"Yah! What are you two doing?”
The both of you freeze. Younghyun is the first to let you go, and you slip slightly on the wet ground. He steadies you by the wrist.
“Didn't I tell you these needed to be done before noon, boy?” One of the elders squint at you and Younghyun from afar. “And you still have to collect the signboards from the old storage hut, remember? Now you’re behind!”
You tense, parting your lips to utter out an apology (since this was clearly a two-man disaster), but Younghyun beats you to it.
“Sorry, Grandpa. That’s on me. I’ll get it done.” He bows his head, water still dripping from his bangs.
The old man grumbles under his breath before walking off.
You let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, glancing at Younghyun awkwardly. “I-“
"You should go dry off,” he mutters, almost casually as he wrings his own shirt. "Before you catch a cold and blame me for the rest of your life."
You’re still stunned, but you still find it in you to scoff. “What, so you’re kicking me off sheet duty now?”
"Peach, I'm serious." Younghyun finally looks at you, and it's an expression you're not quite familiar with. He hands you a towel from one of the baskets. “Go. I'll finish the rest, okay?"
You want to make a sarcastic remark about him caring for you, but you bite your tongue, accepting the towel wordlessly instead. Younghyun goes back to tending to the sheets (but not before shooting you a wink, of course; that idiot), and you’re left staring at his back while your heart thumps wildly in your chest.
You’re not sure what this feeling is. Some of it has to be guilt, you believe. A small part of you is grateful, and the rest…
The rest, you think you’d rather not acknowledge.
VI. IF ONLY YOUR PAST IS AS FUZZY AS YOU FEEL.
You lean against the windowsill of the village hall, phone tucked between your ear and your shoulder as you watch the quiet afternoon roll by. Chickens cluck in the distance, the occasional breeze rustles the trees, and the scent of freshly-cut grass wafts lazily in.
“I mean, I’m pretty sure I’ve developed a healthy loathing for dirt and manual labour. And the fact that freaking Kang Younghyun insists on making my life a living hell every single day, but apart from that it’s not all bad, I guess,” you mutter. “Better than being jobless in Seoul.”
“You? Hating manual labour? Shocking,” Wonpil chuckles. “You know, I still don’t know what happened between you and that guy. I mean, didn’t you have a crush on him for like, half your life-“
“Shut up,” you hiss, glancing around to make sure no one had heard. Fortunately, nobody else is in the kitchen besides you, the elders all gathered in living room. “I was young and stupid, okay?”
“You were twenty.”
You don’t respond immediately. Speak of the Devil— your eyes fleet to Younghyun’s figure outside as he hauls some crates onto the back of a small truck, his hair swept back messily and shirt clinging to his back with sweat.
Still irritatingly attractive, unfortunately.
“It’s… it’s stupid,” you mumble, looking away. “We were good friends. Until we weren’t.”
Wonpil is quiet for a beat. “He broke your heart?”
You inhale sharply, your mind instantly going back to that one fateful night, many summers ago. It’s been ten years, yet the memory still plays fresh in your mind like it’s just happened yesterday.
“I can’t believe you’re leaving tomorrow,” Younghyun mutters, hands stuffed in his pockets as you walk side by side. It’s dark, the two of you having spent the whole day outside, and now he’s walking you home. You don’t know how to tell him that you don’t want to go back.
“Uni starts in a week. I have to prepare,” you reply just as quietly, as though going any louder would contribute to the growing tension in the air between you two.
“Yeah, but-“ Younghyun stops walking suddenly, moving to stand in front of you. “Couldn’t you- I don’t know- stay till then? Your parents have to be okay with that, right? Hey, maybe if I talk to them, they’d give in.”
He grins down at you boyishly, but you could still make out the hopefulness in his voice. Stupid Kang Younghyun. If only he knew how the sight of his smile alone is already enough to convince you to stay. Hell, even his stupid beach blond dyed hair that’s constantly unkempt and constantly needed to be held back with that stupid bandanna of his is making you reluctant to leave, no matter how much you make fun of him for it.
You think that’s just because you’re hopelessly in love with him.
"I'll come visit. I promise."
His smile grows softer, and he raises a hand to tuck a loose hair behind your ear. "I know, Peach."
You bite your inner lip, your heart thumping erratically at the nickname. You've always called him out for it, you think it's stupid and childish, but Younghyun has never agreed to let down. "You've made me climb peach trees for you since we were kids, and your cheeks always grow pink when I call you that. What else should I call you if not Peach?" He'd say, and that'd shut you up every time.
Tonight, however, you can't help but feel like there's more to it. Like a certain weight neither of you is willing to acknowledge.
His fingers linger on your skin, and you don't miss the way his eyes fleet to your lips. It makes your breath hitch, the way it always does when you catch him staring at you for too long but not doing anything about it.
So right now, you do. You lean in first, pressing a hesitant kiss to his lips. It's clumsy, but it's soft, and just as you think he's about to meet you halfway, Younghyun pulls away.
“I- we shouldn't have done that," he mutters, just before you could say anything. He avoids your gaze as he runs a hand through his hair, and you scoff softly.
"Really?" You whisper, taking a step back. "Seriously, Younghyun, why do you keep doing that?"
He finally looks at you, his expression passive and not at all like the boy you thought you knew.
"You think I don't see the way you look at me? Like- like I'm the only girl in the world that's worth your time? You think I don't notice whenever you want to kiss me, only to hold yourself back at the last second because you're scared?"
His words hit you like a slap, and anger courses through your veins. "What- so you're telling me none of these ever mattered to you? That I don't mean anything to you?"
"I never said that," Younghyun cuts you off, his voice low. "You don't get to do that, okay? You don't get to leave, only to come back and pretend like nothing's changed. I'm not about to be a chapter you come back to when things get boring."
"Is that really what you think of me?" You ask, voice trembling slightly. Younghyun stays quiet, and that's about all the answers you needed.
"Fuck you, Younghyun," you laugh slightly, wiping the tears that are already streaming down your cheeks. "You know, just because you're mad that some people can make it in the city and you can't, doesn't mean you get to take it out on me. You asshole."
You meant to hurt him, and you know you did, with the way he clenches his jaw at your words. Still, he scoffs humourlessly as he takes a step back, and in that moment, you know you're about to lose him.
"Then I guess we were never meant to be in the first place."
"Yikes."
"Yeah. But it's whatever. I'm over it."
"Really? Because it sounds like there's still some pent-up resentment-"
"I'm over it, Pil."
Wonpil pauses. "Alright, fine, yeah. Anyway, your birthday's in a few days. Thirty's supposed to be a fresh start, remember? Do you have anything planned yet?"
You scoff. "Maybe I'll go down to the farm and smear myself with cow dung."
"You're gonna jinx yourself."
"Whatever," you mutter, turning around as you push yourself off the wall, only to still when your eyes land on Younghyun, already looking at you with a brow raised.
"Hello?"
"I'll call you back," you mumble before ending the call. You clear your throat, crossing your arms as nonchalantly as you could. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough to hear you want to smear yourself with cow shit. I didn't know you were into that kind of thing, Peach."
"Shut up." Your cheeks burn as you move to leave, but Younghyun blocks your path.
You look up to glare at him. "What?"
"I have to go to the local market to deliver some crates." He shrugs. "Wanna go for a drive?"
You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. "What's the catch?"
He chuckles. "Seriously, how low do you think of me?"
"Can't blame me for thinking that now, can you?" You blurt, and a flicker of something flashes across Younghyun's face. Before he could say anything, you beat him to it. "Fine. Lead the way."
You're surprised that he remains quiet after that, and for a moment you let yourself dwell on the possibility that maybe, he remembers that night just as vividly as you do.
Younghyun swings the door of his truck open for you, which you respond with a glare.
He grins at you cheekily. ”Knew you liked my company, Peach."
And just like that, the moment is ruined.
✦ ✦ ✦
It's a short drive to the market. You'd tried not to enjoy the scenery too much— you knew Younghyun would be smug about it— but it was nice nonetheless. It reminded you of the drives you used to take with Grandpa when you'd follow him around to run errands, though most of the time you'd stay inside his truck to admire the stretches of farmland and clusters of wildflowers along the road.
The locals wave at Younghyun as he backs up into the unloading area, and you hop off as soon as he puts the truck in park. You don't wait for him to tell you to unload the crates (you're not really keen on a repeat of the bedsheet incident), greeting the uncle at the delivery bay as you get to work.
"Hey- what are you doing? Let me do it." Younghyun appears beside you, taking the crate from your hands effortlessly before he sets it on the ground.
You raise your brows. "Isn't that why I'm here?"
"No. I only asked you if you wanted to tag along, not to get you to do manual labour. These are heavy, Peach."
You huff, crossing your arms. "What, just because I'm a woman-"
"Princess," Younghyun sighs, turning to face you. "I asked you to come because I wanted your company, not because I needed a second pair of arms. So just... sit there and look pretty, okay?"
Your mouth falls open in disbelief, though you can't fight the heat that's beginning to creep up your neck. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." He grins, already turning back to unload the rest of the crates. "Pretty privilege. Take advantage of it."
"You're actually insufferable."
"So I've heard."
"Aigoo, I've always known you two would get together eventually," the uncle muses as he helps Younghyun. "Only took a couple of years, huh boy?"
"I- we're not together," you utter stiffly.
"Really? Then why don't you go do something about it?" The uncle smacks the back of Younghyun's head lightly before he turns to you. "Do you know how grumpy this boy's been since you left town? I haven't seen him smile this widely in years."
"Uncle," Younghyun groans as he rubs his head. "I'm not gonna deliver your fish for you anymore. I don't want to."
"Quit sulking, boy. It's not cute." The older man rolls his eyes. "But, little lady, since you're here, Grandpa Han just delivered a fresh batch of peaches earlier. Go get some for the drive back, okay?”
You don't know whether to be impressed or embarrassed that practically everybody remembers of your little... obsession, with the fruit, but you nod and thank him regardless. You don't wait to see if Younghyun follows you before you wander into the market, mostly keen on getting away from him before he could notice the rising blush on your cheeks.
The marketplace is bustling with people, but not in a way that overwhelms you. If anything, the crowd kind of reminds you of home, except here, everybody seems to know who you are.
“Isn’t that the chief’s granddaughter?” Someone murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear as you pass.
“Oh, you’ve grown so pretty! Just like your mother.” One aunty beams, stopping you as she reaches out to squeeze your arm affectionately. “I’m sure your grandparents must be so happy you’re back for good!”
“Um, I-“
“Excuse us, Aunty, sorry. We’ve got a delivery schedule to keep.” Younghyun suddenly appears next to you, his hand finding the small of your back as he gives the lady a polite smile.
“Oh, Younghyun-ah! Don’t forget, I need you to fix my gate for me!”
“Will do!” He calls out over his shoulder as he gently steers you away, and you could only afford to blink.
“Quite the talk of the town, aren’t you?” He bends down to whisper teasingly in your ear, to which you quickly shove him away.
“Shut up,” you mutter. You try not to notice the warmth that disappears from your back when he drops his hand.
You spot the fruit vendor at the end of the market, but just as you’re about to head towards it, a small stall tucked between two others catches your eye first. You find yourself making a beeline towards it instead.
The table set up is filled with handmade trinkets and an assortment of dried tea leaf pouches— basically stupidly cute handmade stuff you rarely ever see in the city. You don’t stop the soft smile that makes its way to your lips as you pick one up— a small hand-sewn pouch stamped with tiny peaches.
“If you buy one of these necklaces, I’ll give you the pouch for free.”
You smile at the uncle as your eyes fleet across the jewellery display, all dainty chains with pressed flowers encased in resin as charms.
“They’re all so beautiful,” you murmur.
“Each one has their own meaning. Like this one.” He picks one up. “The chrysanthemum symbolises health and good fortune. Or if you’re looking to get a gift for a friend, the sunflower would be a good pick,” the uncle explains before he looks at someone next to you, and that’s when you notice Younghyun’s been there all along. “What about you, son? Looking for something?”
Younghyun gives him a dimpled smile, shaking his head. “Just looking around.”
You thank the uncle, telling him you’ll come back another time. It’s almost lunchtime, and you figure you should probably get back soon to help Grandma get started on food prep.
You don’t realise that Younghyun’s stayed rooted to his spot as you wander off towards the fruit stall, his gaze fixed on your back.
“You sure you’re not looking for anything?” The uncle muses knowingly.
Younghyun turns to him, a small chuckle escaping his lips. His gaze drops down to the display again, scanning each charm carefully until one in particular catches his eye.
“This one.” He points towards the purple one, neatly pressed with its petals still intact. “What does it mean?”
“Ah, the lilac.” The uncle nods as he picks the chain up. “This one’s for first love.”
There’s a pause. Younghyun’s eyes flick to you once again, blissfully unaware, talking to the fruit stall vendors as you carefully pick out your peaches.
A faint smile touches his lips as he nods.
“Wrap it, please,” he tells the uncle, softer this time as he takes out his wallet. He makes sure the necklace is packed safely in the peach-patterned pouch he saw you eyeing earlier before pocketing it.
It’s just a small thing, Younghyun tells himself. A mindless gesture. A gift for your upcoming birthday which he still remembers after all these years. Or, if he wants to be honest with himself— a silent apology for all the things he’d left unsaid. For the way he hurt you on purpose before you left.
Maybe it’s foolish. Hell, maybe it’s even too late.
But if a flower could say what he never could, he figures it’s a start.
VII. THIRTY, FLIRTY DIRTY, AND… NOT THRIVING.
It's your birthday.
Grandpa had also tasked you to work at the farm today.
He'd said something about cleaning out the cowshed, as the farmer was down with a flu. What he failed to mention was that you'd be working with Younghyun— though at this point, you're not even surprised anymore.
So that is how you find yourself at the farm at the far end of Pyoseon, arms folded across your chest as you wait for Younghyun to lead all the cows out into the pasture. You narrow your eyes at him as he works, looking far too chipper for someone who’s about to be surrounded by animal shit.
You don’t like how the sight of his grin is making your heart accelerate.
Wanting something else to do, you quickly grab the shovel leaning by the wall before stepping into the shed. Your nose scrunches at the smell— it’s warm, earthy, and a little too natural for your liking. Not like you’re left with a choice, anyway. You hesitate slightly before stepping into the first stall, the floor caked with straw, mud, and… well, the obvious.
You clench your teeth as you slowly manoeuvre between the piles, the mud squelching with every step you take. The sound makes you cringe.
And as if you’re not overstimulated enough, the straps of Grandpa’s overalls he’d loaned you keeps sliding off one shoulder, and his old rubber boots which are at least two sizes too big feel like they’re actively plotting against you.
You groan, pausing to hitch the fabric higher while you adjust your foot in the boot, all while hoping you could make it out of here unscathed.
You don’t hear him approach.
“Boo.”
You scream. And promptly lose your footing.
And the next thing you know, you’re on your butt, right in the middle of a particularly wet patch of cow dung. A few beats passes as you process the situation, and you look up to glower at the absolute menace before you. The asshole even has the audacity to look amused, his shoulders shaking as he tries to stifle his laughter.
“Kang Younghyun,” you mutter lowly, your gloved fingers already fisting the mud around you. “You have five seconds to run.”
He coughs to conceal his chuckle. “I mean-“
“Five.”
Younghyun yelps before he bolts away, and you immediately take off after him. “You coward! Come back here!”
The sound of his boisterous laughter as he sprints down the road is mocking, and you’re left screaming his name while simultaneously hoping that he’d trip over a rock and plant his stupid, handsome face to the ground.
You slip a little in your boots as you chase him, but you think it’s the pure fury that fuels you to catch up to him. Younghyun is fast— damn him— but you’re faster when you’re angry.
You soon catch up to him, and with a warrior’s scream you launch yourself onto his back.
“Wha-?”
Somehow, by some ungodly miracle, Younghyun doesn’t fall. He does stumble once, but he quickly recovers as he readjusts his grip on your legs, all while he continues to run for his life— with you clinging on to his back like a koala. The asshole’s still laughing, the sound much closer to your ears now that you’re on him, and for some reason, you can’t stop the incredulous, yet amused scoff that escapes your lips.
“I hate you!” You shriek despite yourself, punching his shoulder repeatedly with one hand while your other arm clings around his neck.
“I noticed!” Younghyun is grinning from ear to ear as he glances behind at you. “Did you eat bricks, or something?”
You gape. “Put me down, then!”
“Never,” he replies, almost sing-songy as he slows down, only to start spinning you around like some deranged carnival ride. You squeak, squeezing your eyes shut as your arms tighten around his neck, while your chin finds his shoulder as you will yourself not to fall.
His laughter eases into something softer then, just as he turns his head to meet your eyes. You gasp softly at the sudden lack of distance between you both. You’re close— so close, that if you were to just lean forward, your noses would touch. You could make out the specks of brown that dances in his irises, though they’re no longer filled with the mirth you’ve gotten used to since you arrived a week ago.
No— because right now, Kang Younghyun is looking at you the way he did back then, with that quiet, unspoken tenderness that always made you wonder if he loved you.
“You okay?” He asks, quieter now.
You don’t answer immediately, only now realising that you’re not even spinning anymore. You loosen your grip on him, letting yourself slide down his back.
“What do you think?” You mutter. “I smell like actual shit.”
Younghyun chuckles, but he doesn’t tease. He stares at you for a moment before he reaches towards you, like he wants to move a stray hair off your face.
Like the way he used to.
But he pauses at the last second, and you see the way his jaw ticks before he drops his hand. And just like that— the easy smile makes its way back to his lips. Like nothing’s ever happened.
You don’t dwell long enough to wonder if he’s faking it or not.
“We should probably get back to work if we don’t want to get yelled at again.”
You narrow your eyes at him, talking as if this whole thing isn’t his fault to begin with. You opt to bite your tongue, glancing towards the shed instead.
You turn back to him. “Last one to reach the stalls scrapes cow poop off the wall.”
Younghyun startles. “Wait, what wall-“
But you’re already gone, kicking up mud in your wake.
You hear him shout out your name, that stupid nickname you claim to loathe so much, before his footsteps follow after you, deliberate and teasing. He’s not even trying to catch up to you, and you know it.
And for the first time since you’ve arrived here, you don’t stop the laughter that bubbles out of your chest.
✦ ✦ ✦
It takes a few showers to completely get the smell off of you, and by the time you’re done, you’re starving.
The house is empty, just like you had expected, but what you didn’t expect was for there to be no food under the food cover on the table.
You frown as you turn to the fridge, where a particular note catches your eye.
Preparing for festival. Come to the village hall if you’re hungry.
You’re seriously considering having sleep for dinner given how tired you are, but you’re also really famished, so that’s what eventually makes you drag your feet outside, not bothering to remove the towel from your neck as you trudge lazily towards the building a few houses down.
The village hall is dark as you near it, and you figure nobody’s inside and there’s probably just some leftovers for you in the communal fridge. You push the door open, and—
“Surprise!”
You nearly drop your towel.
The light in the living room flickers on, and you’re met with a crowd of familiar faces— including Younghyun who stands right in the middle, looking stupid with a party hat that’s far too small for him on top of his head. Someone sets a party popper too late, and the speaker screeches before blasting birthday trot music loudly. There’s even a banner with your name and a collage of your photos from when you were young to right before you left for university. And along the wall leading to the kitchen, is a long table packed with all your favourite dishes.
You blink, stunned. “I- what is this-“
“Your party, silly!” Grandma steps forward as she takes your hands into hers, smiling at you fondly. “Did you really think we’d forget our favourite granddaughter’s birthday?”
The tears are quick to pool in your eyes. “I’m your only granddaughter,” you manage to chuckle through a sob.
“Yes, but we’re not your only grandparents, are we now?” She motions to the elders behind her. “Go on.”
You barely have time to protest before you’re ushered away, pulled into a flurry of hugs and too many plates of food. You’re quick to get lost in the warmth of it all, though every so often, you still find yourself searching for the one person who demands your attention even in a room full of people.
And every time your eyes would meet across the room, he’d give you that same soft smile— the one that admittedly makes your chest twist a little.
It isn’t until much later when the laughter starts to die down and the crowd starts to thin do you slip outside the back door for some fresh air. It wasn’t like you were looking for him, but you’re still grateful to find him there, sitting on the steps, staring into the distance with a bottled drink in his hand.
Younghyun looks up, lips settling into an easy smile when he sees you. “If it isn’t the birthday girl.”
You don’t reply immediately as you sit next to him. “I didn’t think anyone remembered.”
He’s silent for a while before he replies softly, “I never forgot.”
Your breath hitches at his words. Younghyun chuckles under his breath before he inhales, looking at you. “Well, it’s not every day you turn thirty, huh? I know it’s probably different than how you would’ve done it in Seoul, but we make do.”
“I don’t think I would’ve enjoyed it in the city anyway.” You smile faintly, wrapping your arms around your knees as you hug them to your chest. You know Younghyun’s still staring at you, but you don’t look at him— not yet. “I … lost my job. Spent years flying all over the world, only to be grounded by age in the end. If you’d asked me a month ago, I would’ve told you I was miserable. But now that I’m here…” you pause to take a breath. “I guess thirty isn’t so bad when you’re surrounded by an ageing community.”
Younghyun laughs, even despite your poor attempt at a joke. It’s quiet for a while, but not the uncomfortable kind, until you feel him shift beside you.
You look at him as he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small bag.
You recognise it instantly from the small stall at the market a few days back.
“Happy birthday, Peach,” he says, handing it to you.
You’re stunned, and it takes you a while to accept it. The fabric is delicate in your fingers, and as you pull apart the string to open the bag, a necklace drops onto your palm, the delicate lilac charm catching in the moonlight.
“It’s really pretty…” You feel your throat begin to tighten, but you don’t cry yet. “What does this one mean?”
Younghyun laughs under his breath, looking back to the view. “You’ll figure it out.”
You scrunch your brows at his obscure answer, but before you could press, he’s already handing something else to you. “Here.”
It’s a book— a planner, it seems— the numbers 2015 embossed on the cover.
You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion as you flip it open. Inside the front cover, scrawled in fading ink is a small note:
For all the stories you’ll live out there. Write them down and don’t forget about here.
Don’t forget about me.
— Younghyun
“I was supposed to give this to you back then. Before- you know,” he trails off.
You blink, only for a single tear to drop on the page, right next to the words he’d written for you.
“I was stupid,” Younghyun continues quietly. “I thought hurting you would make it easier to let you go. But it didn’t,” he chuckles. “It only hurt me even more.”
You shut the book. “God,” you mutter, biting your lip to stop it from trembling. “God, you suck, Younghyun.”
“Yeah,” he chuckles breathlessly, reaching out to brush his thumb gently against the moisture on your cheek. “I know, Peach.”
You laugh, but it comes out as watery. “You made me cry on my birthday,” you sniff, looking at him through your bleary vision. “You ass.”
Younghyun’s smile softens, and he shifts a bit closer. His hand lingers on your skin, like he’s afraid to let go.
You don’t want him to.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, quieter now. “I’m so sorry, Princess.”
You didn’t need him to say more— not when the tremble in his voice is evident, like its holding the weight of the ache you’ve shared over the last ten years. For every silence, and for every what-could’ve-been.
And as you lean on his shoulder, his arm coming up to wrap around you, you start to feel at home again.
VIII. THINGS ARE SWEET LIKE SUMMER FRUIT.
The next morning, the air feels different.
Not drastically so. Younghyun still teases you when you trip over the uneven path outside your grandparents’ house. You still threaten to hit him with your sandal every few minutes. But there’s something between the both of you, something soft and unspoken, unsaid but understood.
You’re sitting on the pyeongsang behind the village hall, a stack of signboards between your legs as you work on painting the one on top. You’re relieved to get a bit of downtime after being roped off to help with harvesting earlier, while Younghyun had gone off the collect the tarps and poles from the old storage hut.
You haven’t seen him since then, though you’re sure he’s probably just around the back where the tents are being set up. You’re almost tempted to go take a look, bother him for no reason, maybe even trick him into getting you an ice cream from the convenience store.
You don’t even realise you’re smiling to yourself like an idiot until Grandpa appears.
“There you are!”
You look up, brows furrowing slightly to see that he isn’t alone. You don’t recognise the man next to him, but the thing that catches your attention instead is his suitcase, attached to it a tag with the words: FLIGHT CREW.
And judging based on the white dress shirt he dons, the shoulder tabs empty where a pair of epaulettes should be, you know who— or rather, what, he is—
“You’re a pilot,” you blurt.
The man laughs, though you could tell he’s slightly taken aback by your words. “I… yeah. Wow. I actually wasn’t expecting anyone to catch on.” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.
“I work as a flight attendant. Well, used to,” you quickly correct yourself. You wipe your hands on your pants before standing up, muttering out an apology for your lack of manners before introducing yourself meekly.
“This is Sungjin,” Grandpa says. “He’ll be staying over at the inn for a while. Thought I’d introduce you both since, you know, you have something in common.” Grandpa turns to him, patting his back. “You came at the right time, son! The harvest festival is taking place in a few days. I’m sure you’d enjoy it.”
Sungjin smiles, bowing his head politely. “If you need help with anything, please, let me know.”
“Ah, don’t be silly. You’re a guest! Though I’m sure my granddaughter would be more than happy to show you around, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?”
“I- of course!” You stutter slightly, not expecting for the conversation to be thrown back to you. “I do need to go to the market later. Why don’t you tag along?”
“That sounds great, actually.” Sungjin nods. “I’ll see you later?”
“Yeah.” You bite your inner lip to suppress a smile, though you don’t think it’s working very much.
Sungjin’s really handsome, and even from the short conversation you’ve had with him, you already know he’s effortlessly charming. It’s rare for Pyoseon-ri to receive visitors, let alone someone with a noble job like his.
“What’s got you smiling so prettily?” A new voice asks a few moments later, and you turn to see that it’s Younghyun.
“No one,” you mutter, before clearing your throat. “I mean, nothing. Are you done with setting up the tents?”
Younghyun shrugs, hands gripping the towel slung around his neck. “We’re putting up the lanterns tonight. Wanna come with me to the market?”
You gasp, a smile making its way to your lips as you set down your paintbrush, standing up eagerly. “Actually, yeah. There’s someone I want you to meet— I'll introduce you to him later. Pick me up at the inn in an hour, okay?”
“Him?” Younghyun echoes, but you’re already skipping back towards the village hall, blissfully unaware.
He watches you go, the warmth of your smile lingering even after you’re long gone. He exhales softly before turning back to the shed, though for some reason, he can't shake off the feeling of unease that’s beginning to bloom in his chest.
✦ ✦ ✦
Younghyun tightens his grip around the steering wheel.
You’re seated right next to him, knee bumping into his every time his truck goes over a hump, but even despite the lack of distance between you both, your attention isn’t on him.
It’s on Park Sungjin.
Younghyun hasn’t said a single word since he picked you and your new pilot friend up in his truck; he couldn’t, even if he wanted to. There’s an ease between the two of you— shared lingo, familiar gripes, jokes only people in the aviation industry would understand. It’s comfortable, natural.
And in the driver’s seat, Younghyun is anything but.
You’re laughing at something Sungjin had said, and the sound causes him to inhale sharply— not like he had meant to. But that must've caught the pilot’s attention, because he soon turns to him.
“What about you, Younghyun? Have you always been at the village?”
He could tell the question is genuine, but his lips still twitch in irritation. “Yeah,” he utters, keeping his voice level. “I did leave for a few years to do my masters, but now here I am.”
“You know, you never told me what you studied,” you pause before an excited gasp leaves your lips. “Was it music? You know, Younghyun’s really good with instruments.” You turn back to Sungjin. “Back when we were younger, he’d always have his guitar with him, even if it was just to go to the convenience store. It was so annoying-“ you laugh before your voice grows softer, “but everybody always looked forward to hear him play.”
Younghyun’s breath hitches at your words, though he’s not quite sure if it’s because you’d remembered, or the fact that he hasn’t heard you this animated since you came here.
You’re still turned towards Sungjin, cheeks flushed with laughter, and he watches the way you light up in a way he hasn’t seen— not for him, at least. Not like you did last time.
A flicker of something bitter coils in his chest.
“It was environmental law,” he utters curtly, knuckles paling as he squeezes the steering wheel again.
“Wow, really?” You sound genuinely surprised.
He chuckles dryly. “Why? Didn’t think I had it in me?”
“No.” You frown. “I just- wasn’t expecting that.” You’re quiet for a few seconds before you continue, “then… why did you stay?” You ask tentatively, as though unsure on whether your question would be deemed offensive or not.
Younghyun takes a beat to reply, but his words are sure. “Because Pyoseon’s my home.”
The ride is silent after that.
IX. YOUNGHYUN IS IN A BIT OF A JAM.
It seems like the harvest festival has gotten everyone’s hands on deck, because Younghyun hasn’t spoken to you in days. He’s seen you, of course, but most of the time you’re either busy helping out the grandmas in the communal kitchen, or out in the fields harvesting fruit as you giggle with Sungjin about God knows what.
Younghyun strikes down his axe with a little more force than necessary, the wood log splitting into two in one go. He just doesn’t get why Sungjin has to linger around, offering to help, but more importantly— why did he have to stick with you?
“Need help?”
Younghyun pauses, glancing over his shoulder to see that it’s the man himself, two cans of beer in his hands. He offers one— and because Younghyun doesn’t want to seem like an asshole— he accepts.
“So, is the harvest festival a big thing you guys do every year? Seems like everybody is involved.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Younghyun utters, tapping his fingers mindlessly on the rim before cracking the tab open. “It’s mostly out of tradition, not money. The elders have been doing it for years now.”
“I see. I like it, though.” Sungjin smiles wistfully. “The village spirit, I mean. You don’t really get to see that elsewhere.”
Younghyun hums, taking a sip of his beer for the mere sake of needing something to do. It’s not like he has anything against small talk, but it’s obvious from the get-go that him and Sungjin are worlds apart. That, and—
“You don’t like me very much, do you?”
Younghyun raises a brow before he chuckles, though he’s sure it comes off more sarcastic than amused. “What makes you think that?”
“Well, for starters, you always look less than thrilled every time I’m around. Even now, you’re gripping on to that can like you have a personal grudge against it.” Sungjin nods towards the can in his hand, which, true to his words, is being held in an iron grip. Younghyun relaxes his fingers.
“I’m just not too keen on newcomers,” Younghyun mutters under his breath, taking another swig from his drink.
“No.” Sungjin pushes himself off the wall behind him. “You’re just not too keen on me.”
Younghyun laughs humourlessly. To think that he thought he was being stupid for not liking the dude when he hasn’t done anything wrong— scratch that. He thinks he might actually hate the guy now.
“And it’s all because of a certain someone, isn’t it?”
He didn’t even need to say your name. The knowing glint in his eyes is enough.
“Well, I don’t blame you,” Sungjin continues lightly. He takes a slow sip of his beer, eyes still on Younghyun. “She’s easy to like.”
Younghyun’s jaw tightens.
Oh, he’s really starting to hate this guy.
“There you are!”
The sound of your voice causes Younghyun to look away first, breaking whatever staring contest he was having with Sungjin. You approach them with a smile, clearly unaware of the tension in the air.
“Can somebody help me lift the fruit crates? They’re heavier than they look,” you huff, brushing your hair behind your ear while your other hand stays on your hip.
You’re sure you’re looking a mess right now, your skin flushed pink due to the heat and your shirt clinging to your body with sweat. You’ve been on your feet since daybreak, and you think your limbs might just fall off if you so much try to carry something with your arms.
“I got it.”
“I’ll help.”
Both men say at the same time, and your eyes widen before you let out a chuckle. “Okay. Didn’t know I was so in-demand,” you attempt at a joke, but only Sungjin laughs.
“What can I say? It must be your lucky day.”
Your smile drops a fraction as you glance at Younghyun, who only looks away when your eyes meet.
He still hasn’t looked at you properly since your conversation with him in his truck, and you’re stuck wondering if he’s mad at you— that you’d crossed a line without meaning to.
You thought things were better now— they were supposed to be, because what the hell was that night on your birthday, then? Or that little moment you had at the farm?
Maybe you’re wrong. Maybe you’d been looking too much into it.
Or maybe, Kang Younghyun's still the same boy you knew from ten years ago— bad with words, and even worst with emotions.
✦ ✦ ✦
The three of you end up working side by side, but even then, you can't stop your eyes from drifting to Younghyun every now and then.
He's quiet, mostly keeping his focus on the task at hand and barely speaking unless he has to.
Now you know that something's definitely up.
You wait until Sungjin excuses himself to take a call before stepping closer. "Hey," you say softly, tentatively. "Can we talk?"
Younghyun glances over his shoulder. "Sure," he exhales before facing you completely, wiping his palms on his pants. "You okay?"
"Yeah. I just..." you trail off, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve as you think of your next words. "The other day? In your truck. I'm sorry if I said something out of line. I never meant to make you feel like your choice wasn't good enough."
Younghyun tilts his head, almost in confusion as his brows furrow. "Wha- Peach," he sighs as he steps closer. "You didn't say anything wrong. Did I really make you feel that way?"
"I don't know." You shrug, averting your gaze. "I guess I just thought you were mad at me."
"I'm not mad at you. I could never be mad at you, Princess," he murmurs. "I'm so sorry. I worried you, didn't I?"
You meet his gaze again, and for the first time in days, it feels like he's really looking at you.
You bite your inner lip, and Younghyun's gaze softens. He doesn't hesitate before bringing his palm to your cheek, caressing your skin gently. "I'm just... figuring things out," he says quietly. "Don't think about it too much, okay?"
You're not convinced, and you're sure he could see through you, but Younghyun settles for a smile— soft, genuine, and unlike the teasing smirks he'd always shoot your way. You can't help but wonder if things really are changing between the both of you.
"Tomorrow," he continues softly. "Would you make some time for me? During the festival?"
You don't know why he even felt the need to ask. "Of course, Younghyun."
His smile grows wider then, but it still doesn't reach his eyes. "Then that's enough consolation for me."
You don't know what he means by that, but you decide to let it be for now.
Because maybe, you were wrong. As much as Kang Younghyun is still bad with handling his emotions, it didn't mean that he's still the same boy you left ten years ago.
Because this time, he's not pushing you away.
This time, he's finally trying.
And you're not going to let the same thing from before happen again.
X. BEFORE THE STORM IN THE PIT OF YOUR STOMACH...
Lanterns glow overhead, casting the village in a warm haze. The air smells of sweet teok and grilled seafood, and as much as you’re tempted to help yourself to another round, the fireworks show is about to start, and you’re still yet to find the one person you’ve been looking for since the festival started.
You’re breathless by the time you spot Younghyun, over at the game booths where he’s currently competing in ball toss with one of the village kids. He’s looking far too engrossed and far too set on winning that he doesn’t even notice you, only doing so when the game ends and he turns to give the kid a high-five. The bright smile on his face grows softer then, and you step towards him.
“You couldn’t have let him win?”
Younghyun chuckles. “He’s twelve. He’ll be fine. You didn’t see me give him my prize?”
“I did. I just wanted to tease you.”
The soft smile is still etched on his lips as he gazes at you. Quietly, he says, “come. I want to show you something.”
You nod, letting him lead the way. The chatter and laughter of the crowd grow more distant the further you set out, and soon you’re surrounded by nothing but the occasional chirping of crickets and the sound of your own footsteps.
“You’re not kidnapping me, are you?” You ask warily. “At least let me watch the fireworks first.”
Younghyun laughs as he glances over his shoulder. “You’ll get your fireworks, Peach. I’m not that cruel.”
You roll your eyes, though it lacks any real bite. It’s dark out, making it difficult for you to actually tell where you are— that is, until the path you’re on starts looking a little too familiar, and you realise—
“The peach orchard?”
Younghyun nods with a proud grin. “I just thought it was weird we haven’t been here since you arrived. So I figured, why not tonight? For old time’s sake.”
You let out a short laugh as you step forward, taking in the scene before you. It’s still the same as you remember, with the four-seater swing under the oldest tree where you used to spend too much time eating peaches on, and the solar-powered garden lanterns that would only turn on at night lined along the pathway.
You turn to Younghyun to say something— anything, at that point— but the sudden series of whistles and crackles in the sky cause you to look up instead.
You marvel at the explosion of colours, streaks of red and gold sizzling at the edges before dissapearing into smoke.
“So pretty,” you murmur, mostly to yourself.
“The prettiest,” Younghyun replies just as quietly, and you turn to see that he’s already looking at you.
His gaze doesn't waver, not when the sky lights up again, not when the boom rattles around you. You wonder how long he's been watching you instead of the fireworks.
"You haven't changed," he continues. "You still light up like that when you're happy."
You heart thunders in your chest. "I- what do you mean?”
Younghyun smiles faintly. "Your birthday. The day at the farm. This moment right now," he exhales. "I've been holding myself back from saying it all this while, but I don't think I can keep doing that anymore."
Another burst of light reflects in his eyes when he finally turns to you fully.
"I never stopped loving you, Peach.”
Your breath hitches in your throat, and when you see the way his eyes flicker to your lips, you’re sure you stop breathing completely.
Slowly, Younghyun leans in, his fingers reaching up to brush against your cheek. You don’t pull away, and the moment his breath hits your skin, you close your eyes.
But just as his lips are about to touch yours—
Your phone pings.
You flinch, hands fumbling to silence it. But Younghyun’s already glanced down, catching the name on your screen.
Sungjin.
He inhales sharply. It’s quiet, but you catch it anyway.
“We should head back,” he mutters, taking a step back. “Before somebody else notices you’re gone.”
“Younghyun, don’t do that,” you whisper, shaking your head. “I’m not letting you push me away. Not again.”
“I’m not pushing you away, I just-“ he pauses to sigh. “He likes you too, you know?”
“So?” You scoff. “Sungjin’s just a friend, and he’s literally leaving next week. It’s not like he’s staying here forever.”
“And you are?”
His question sounds simple, but it carries a certain weight you’ve been dead set on avoiding. You look away.
“I don’t know.” It’s silent for a while before you sigh. “He told me there’s an opening at his airline. I- I haven’t said yes yet, but-“
“But you’re thinking about it.”
You nod slowly. “It’s a good opportunity.”
“If it’s something you want.“ His eyes drift to the sky. “Then you should go for it.”
You remain silent as you search his face, trying to find a hint of sincerity. But his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and that tells you all you need to know.
“Do you want me to?”
“If it makes you happy,” Younghyun quips simply, like that in itself is enough— it isn’t.
You step closer towards him. “That’s not what I asked.”
“It’s what matters,” he corrects you, and your heart twists. Because as much as he’s saying all the right things, you can see right through him— the ache he’s trying to swallow down.
And suddenly, it feels like you’re staring at twenty-two year old Kang Younghyun again, only this time, he’s not just letting you go— he’s bracing for it.
XI. PEACH BETTER HAVE MY HEART.
You ended up taking the job.
You didn’t tell Younghyun, but he found out anyway. Word spreads fast in the small village of Pyoseon— that, and that Sungjin had already told him, the day he was set to leave.
"I don't know what happened between you two, but I think you fucked up, dude," Sungjin muttered as he loaded his bags into the taxi. He turned to Younghyun. "But anyway, she already said no to me. Do what you will with that info." He smiled briefly, patting him on the shoulder. "I don't suppose you'd be up for a drink the next time I come here?"
Younghyun chuckled, and for the first time, there wasn't any hint of malice in it. "Have a safe journey, man."
And that led him to now, in his room, lying down on his bed as he stares at the ceiling blankly.
Younghyun knows he's in no place to blame you for not letting him know. After all, it was him who had run away like a coward— all because he was far too afraid to tell you that he wanted you to stay. Needed you to stay.
But who is he to do that? Who is he to stop you from chasing your own happiness? You'd left ten years ago and managed to make a name for yourself— that alone was evidence at how well you could thrive without having anything holding you back. Meanwhile, his masters degree is collecting dust somewhere in his drawer, all because he couldn't bear to leave the village and the people he calls home.
Maybe this is what it means to love someone. Wanting you to be happy, even if it doesn't include him.
But of course, what he doesn't know is that he's missed the point entirely— because there's no damn way you could be happy without him.
You stare out of the window blankly, the fields passing you by. You don't notice the way Grandpa keeps stealing glances at you as he drives, far too caught up in your own thoughts.
"He'll show up. Don't worry."
You turn to look at him. "Huh?"
"Younghyun."
You scoff humourlessly. "I highly doubt it."
"Even then, what seems to be the issue? You're finally getting back on your feet. Soon you'll be flying again, and you won't even remember it happened."
"I don't think I could ever forget him," you say quietly. "I never did. Even when I left ten years ago. Even when I kept coming back to visit and he wasn't around. Even when-" you pause, fiddling with your fingers. "Even when he hurt me. Pushed me away."
Grandpa sighs. "Did he ever tell you why he left?"
"Yeah? To get his masters."
"No," Grandpa chuckles. "Well, he did, but that wasn't all to it. Said he wanted to give it a try— do something new. Just like you did." He smiles wistfully. "So he took on environmental law. And he was good at it, you know? Until he came back and said it wasn't for him."
He shakes his head. "But I knew it wasn't his job he disliked— it was the system. He realised he'd be spending more time fighting paperwork than actually making a change, so... he left. Because in this day and age, where everyone wants to sell and modernise, someone has to stay behind and say no."
You swallow harshly. "I didn't know that."
"He never stopped talking about you, you know?" Grandpa glances at you softly. "About how much he admired you for going out there, living life in a way he never could've imagined himself to do."
You remain wordless, though your heart rings loudly in your ears.
He sighs then. "He never wanted to hold you back. A quiet life in a quiet town? That's Younghyun. But it isn't you, is it?"
"I could be." The words tumble out of your mouth before you could stop them, and when you turn to Grandpa, wide-eyed, he's already smiling at you softly.
"What's stopping you, then?"
Your pulse beats faster now, louder, and though your next words come out in a hushed whisper, you've never been more sure.
"Turn back around, Grandpa. Please."
✦ ✦ ✦
Younghyun isn't home by the time you reach his place. Grandpa's already left, and so that leaves you with no choice but to sit at his front doorstep— not like you even wanted to leave, anyway. You'd wait all night for him if you have to, just so you could scream at his face and call him stupid and then kiss him senseless. In that order exactly.
You don't notice how much time had passed— definitely far too long, that's for sure— as you tremble in the cold, fiddling with the charm of the necklace he gifted you; like doing so would give you some semblance of hope that he'd return.
And he does, hours later, his hair unkempt like he's brushed his hand through it one too many times, face sullen and eyes red like he'd been crying.
He spots you the same time you look up, and Younghyun stops in his tracks, lips parting.
"Peach-"
"You weren't even going to say goodbye?" You whisper harshly, getting to your feet as you step towards him until you were toe to toe. "I waited for you." Your voice trembles, and you know you're about to start crying. "I waited for you and risked almost missing my flight, but you never came. And then Grandpa told me we had to go, and I did, and then I told him I couldn't do it and asked him to turn back around and- and you weren't even home!"
Younghyun gazes at you silently before he looks to his shoes, exhaling shakily. "I went to the airport," he murmurs as he clenches his fists, knuckles turning white. "I thought- I thought you left. That I was too late. That I missed my chance to fix things again-"
"Then why do you keep doing that?" You question him exasperatedly. "After everything! My birthday, the fireworks— you told me you never stopped loving me. And you were just going to let me leave?"
"Because I knew you'd stay," he fires back, voice cracking. "And I didn't want you to drop everything just because I asked you to."
"God, Younghyun," you chuckle bitterly. "That isn't your choice to make!"
"You think I don't know that?" He exclaims, frustrated. "You think I haven't kicked myself for every second I spent not running after you?"
Younghyun clenches his jaw as he turns away, tears pooling in his eyes. "Ten years ago, I let you go because I was scared— scared that loving you from halfway across the country would wreck me. And maybe it would have. But watching you leave again, not because you wanted to, but because you thought I didn't care— that broke me worse."
You're quiet as you let your first tear fall.
"I didn't let you go because I didn't love you," Younghyun whispers, meeting your gaze again. "I let you go because I did. So much. And I didn't know how to hold on to someone whose dreams would always take her to anywhere else."
"That's why you didn't fight for me?" You ask quietly, shakily.
A humourless scoff escapes his lips. "I didn't think I deserved to."
"Idiot." A choked sob escapes your lips, followed by a short laugh as you wipe your cheek with the back of your hand. "I love you too, you know?"
Younghyun gazes at you sadly through his own tears.
"Grandpa told me everything," you continue, lips still trembling. "The actual reason you stayed. And if you'd just told me—" you hiccup. "We could've figured something out. Anything. Because I don't think I'd be able to leave a second time knowing I'm not the only one still holding on," you pause. "Am I?"
"God, no." Younghyun runs a hand through his face. "Never."
"Then let's take this chance," you whisper, taking his hands into yours. "We've lost ten years already, so don't you dare push me away because you think you're not enough. Let me decide if it's worth it."
Younghyun chuckles softly, and he lets you reach up to wipe the moisture from his cheeks, still staring at you like you're the only thing that matters in his world. You are.
"I'm not staying for you, Younghyun. I'm staying with you. Remember that."
Finally, he pulls you in, and this time, Younghyun holds you like he's afraid you'd slip through his fingers again. You let him, clutching the back of his shirt like it's the only thing anchoring you to the ground.
"Okay," he murmurs, his lips brushing the crown of your forehead. "I don't want to run anymore. Not if you'd still have me."
"Stupid. Of course I'll still have you," you mumble against his chest before pulling back to look at him. "But you'd have to spend the rest of your life making it up to me."
He smiles, thumbs brushing the sides of your face. "I wouldn't dare think of doing otherwise."
And then, he kisses you, and it feels like a new life has been breathed into you once again.
It isn't loud, or overwhelming— just the steady beat of two hearts finally catching up to one another.
SUMMARY: When “Space Ace” Jeong Yunho, renowned for his brilliance both on Earth and beyond, crosses paths with you, a resolute journalist whose heart is as fierce as her curiosity, sparks fly. Your journey together unfolds amid cosmic challenges and earthly dilemmas, crafting a love that echoes across the stars and transcends time and space itself.
Inspired by the songs Die With A Smile and Next To You.
⚠ WARNING/S: suggestive themes (making out, allusions to sex; no smut as usual), very very fluffy at first only to have heavy angst midway through, character death, pregnancy, scenes showcasing anxiety, hyperventilation, and grief
THEME/S: astronaut!yunho, journalist/anchor!reader, also a parent au; dad!yunho and mom!reader. jake (en—) cameo! en-tinys riseee
It all began after a mission to Mars.
Operation Red Dawn was a turning point for humanity. As Earth's climate deteriorated, scientists and researchers turned their gaze to Mars, seeking a new frontier. Mars, with its stable environment and potential for terraforming, became the focus of this ambitious mission. The goal was to deploy the first automated weather station on its surface— a small but crucial step in unraveling the mysteries of its atmosphere. The data gathered would lay the groundwork for future colonization efforts, offering a glimmer of hope for a new beginning where Earth was faltering.
The mission was an undeniable triumph, largely due to the leadership of AstraTech's best set of mission specialists— the Aurora Taskforce for Elite Extra-terrestrial Zenith Unit.
And of course, at the helm of this mission was none other than Commander Jeong Yunho, AstraTech’s golden boy.
Even from a young age, Yunho's brilliance was undeniable— an exceptional child who became an even more exceptional man. His early spark only grew stronger as he navigated through high school, college, and beyond, consistently outshining expectations.
Sure, Yunho was stellar on Earth, but it wasn’t until he became an astronaut that he expanded his abilities to— quite literally— outer space. Thus, gaining the nickname, Space Ace.
Now, he led missions as a commander, his reputation solidifying with each successful venture. Operation Red Dawn was just another testament to his capabilities, another legacy to leave behind.
The excitement surrounding the mission has already been palpable; and coupled further with AstraTech announcing the crew's first public appearance since the mission drew massive attention, media outlets buzzed with anticipation.
You knew everyone was eager to cover the story, but it wasn’t until you arrived outside the venue that you realized the true scale of the frenzy.
The event has drawn a global audience, with news stations from every corner of the world converging on the event. What was once an orderly press area has turned into a chaotic sea of cameras, microphones, and people eager to get any form of statement. The sun beats down mercilessly, its heat reflecting off the concrete and making the air shimmer. You stand among a throng of reporters; a mix of seasoned journalists and fresh faces, each waiting in the oppressive heat for the chance to get a word with the infamous crew, or by any chance— with its Commander, Jeong Yunho himself.
“Can you believe the turnout?” one reporter asks from the crowd, his face flushed and sweaty. “It’s like every news outlet on the planet decided to cover this.”
“Yeah, it’s overwhelming,” another replies, fanning herself with a notebook. “And don’t even get me started on the international teams. They’re everywhere.”
You shift your weight, trying to find a sliver of shade, but the heat is relentless. Sweat trickles down your neck, but you hardly notice. This isn’t just about getting the story first—it’s about your passion. Ever since you were young, you’ve wanted to be a journalist, someone who uncovers the truth and reflects it back to the world. Being here, witnessing this moment, feels like a step closer to that dream. Covering a historic event like this, a mission to Mars under Commander Jeong’s leadership, is more than just reporting; it’s documenting a monumental leap for humanity, a crucial effort to address Earth’s deteriorating climate.
Just then, the doors suddenly swing open, and the crowd surges forward with renewed energy. A cacophony of voices rises in unison, punctuated by the flash of camera lights. Amid the chaos, you catch sight of the crew making their way through the throng. You spot him instantly— Commander Jeong— looking relaxed, calm amidst the chaos; a picture-perfect representation of a commander who’s just returned from a history-making mission.
As he approaches near your side of the mob, you can feel the anticipation in the air. He stops for a moment, his eyes scanning the sea of reporters, and then he begins answering questions with his trademark poise.
“Commander, how do you feel about Operation Red Dawn's success?” a voice shouts above the clangor.
Yunho’s response is measured and thoughtful. “It’s a monumental step forward for all of us, but this is just the beginning. There are other and bigger things that we can accomplish given time and more resources.”
Clutching your notebook and recorder, you scan the scene, searching for an opening amidst the chaos. However, it’s hard to do so when reporters around you are hurling questions like bullets, trying to make an impactful statement and get some answers. The scene is a chaotic whirl of voices and camera flashes, making it nearly impossible to understand anything. Even Yunho begins to struggle— squinting against the blinding lights and trying to stay balanced as the crowd presses in on him, their desperation creating a disorienting push.
Annoyed from all the mobbing, you call out with a hint of sarcasm, “You’d think after a long journey to Mars, you would give him a little personal space!”
The comment creates a brief, surprised pause among the crowd. Even the other crew members stop talking, turning their attentions towards you— some holding back a laugh, while others too stunned to react. Yunho’s eyes, sharp yet amused, lock onto yours. Despite being under his naturally commanding gaze, you don’t waver; the look on your face as unrelenting— unapologetic. A small, almost imperceptible smirk tugs at Yunho’s lips as he nods toward you.
“You got a question, journalist?”
You raise an eyebrow, standing firm in the face of his commanding presence. “Plenty. But let’s start with the big one: What’s next for the Space Ace now that Mars is behind him?”
The crowd hushes, surprised by the sudden interaction. Yunho, equally intrigued by your boldness, chuckles.
“Well, I guess I’m looking for my next adventure… back here on Earth.”
A few weeks later, you find yourself at an exclusive gala, one you almost didn’t attend because frankly, these events were more pomp than substance.
But this gala, celebrating AstraTech’s recent success, had a guest list that was impossible to ignore, and as always, your job came first.
The ballroom is glamorous, with chandeliers glittering above and soft music playing in the background. You weave through the crowd of high-profile guests, balancing a glass of champagne as you survey the scene. Journalists like you are scattered around, each trying to look casual while hoping for a chance to corner someone important.
You spot him instantly.
Jeong Yunho.
Standing by a window with his hands tucked casually in his pockets, he’s deep in conversation with another member of his crew. He looks different from the last time you saw him— gone is the space suit, replaced by a sharp tuxedo that fits him almost too perfectly. Yet, even in this sea of formality, his calm and composed energy stands out, and it annoys you how effortlessly charming he seems.
You debate whether to approach him, but before you can decide, he catches you staring. His gaze meets yours across the room, and to your surprise, he grins.
Suddenly, you feel heat rising to your cheeks, but you shake it off, raising your glass slightly in acknowledgment. He gives a slight nod in return, but doesn’t move to approach you.
Fine.
If he isn’t going to make the first move, you will.
With purposeful steps, you close the distance.
“I see you’ve decided not to hide from the press tonight,” you tease, sipping your champagne as you come to stand beside him.
He chuckles, his eyes glimmering with amusement. “I’m not sure that’s possible with you around.”
You roll your eyes, but can’t suppress a grin.
“Fair enough. Seems like I’m the only one with enough guts to get you talking.”
He tilts his head, clearly entertained by your confidence. “It’s not that. You’re just... interesting.”
You blink, not expecting that. “Interesting?”
He leans slightly closer, his voice lowering just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “You don't take the obvious route. Most people would've asked me a dozen questions about Mars by now. You haven't even mentioned it.”
You shrug, trying to keep your composure. “Maybe because Mars isn’t the most interesting thing here tonight.”
His smile widens, and you feel the tension in the air shift. There’s a playful glint in his eyes now, a clear sign that you’ve piqued his interest.
“And what is?”
You give him a cheeky smile, “Well, you’ll have to stick around and find out.”
For a moment, neither of you speaks, the weight of your words hanging in the air like a challenge. Then, Yunho extends his hand, his expression softer but still carrying that hint of amusement.
“I suppose we should officially introduce ourselves then. Jeong Yunho.”
You shake his hand, your grip firm. “Y/N.”
His grip lingers just a second longer than necessary, and when you both pull away, there’s an unspoken agreement that this is just the beginning. He smiles, warm and disarming.
“It’s a pleasure, Y/N. I’m looking forward to whatever happens next.”
Months have passed since your interactions with Yunho became a regular occurrence. There’s no strict label on whatever this thing between you is, but there’s an undeniable shift. The playful teasing and shared glances are starting to feel more charged, more meaningful, no matter under which circumstance you find yourselves bumping into each other.
You’re at the AstraTech headquarters today, this time exclusively invited to cover the impending launch of a new rocket— a huge milestone for the space program. As you make your way through the hallway, checking your notes for the coverage, you’re not paying much attention to your surroundings. That is, until you round a corner a little too quickly— and collide with someone solid.
You stumble slightly, but a steady hand grabs your arm before you can lose your balance. “Easy there.”
You look up.
Of course, it has to be Yunho.
He’s dressed casually, wearing an AstraTech ID around his neck, his usual calm smile on his face. His hand lingers on your arm just long enough to make your heart skip a beat before he lets go.
“You really do have a habit of sneaking up on me,” Yunho quips, raising an eyebrow as you straighten up.
“You’re the one who almost ran me over this time,” You say, brushing off the embarrassment, “You shouldn’t stand in the way of a woman on a mission.”
Yunho gives you that look— half amused, half intrigued. “And what mission would that be today, journalist?”
“Getting an exclusive on the new rocket you guys have,” you reply, eyes narrowing playfully. “Or, you know, not getting trampled by an astronaut.”
He laughs, the sound rich and warm. "Are you sure your mission isn’t to fly the rocket yourself?"
You roll your eyes playfully. “I’m not exactly part of the space crew, am I?”
“Maybe you should be. You’ve already got the guts for it.”
“Yeah, sure,” you smirk, meeting his eyes, “Because covering your every move wasn’t enough of an adventure already.”
Yunho laughs softly, his gaze lingering on you for a beat longer than usual.
“You really make things a lot more interesting,” His tone is low, and there’s something in his voice that makes your heart skip. You tilt your head, your voice playful but edged with curiosity.
“Oh? And what exactly makes me so interesting?”
He leans in closer, the teasing smile still on his lips, but there’s a serious undertone to the way he’s watching you now. “Maybe it’s how you don’t back down, even when I expect you to. Or maybe it’s how you talk to me like… I’m just Yunho. Not ‘Space Ace’ or anything else.”
Your breath hitches, and you feel the room around you dim as everything focuses in on him. You were always good at playing it cool, but this— this was different. There’s something raw about the way he’s speaking, something that stirs your heart.
You meet his gaze, your voice quieter but firm. “Maybe it’s because I see the real you.”
Yunho blinks, clearly taken aback, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, a warm, genuine smile spreads across his face, and there’s no teasing in his expression anymore— just pure affection.
“I like that.”
For a moment, the noise of the room fades. You’re both so close now that you can see the faint reflection of the light in his eyes. You can feel the warmth radiating off him, and suddenly, the playful back-and-forth that always defined your interactions feels like it’s building up to something bigger.
He steps closer, just enough that the space between you feels deliberate.
“Why do you always seem to find me in the busiest places?” he comments lightly, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips, “It’s a shame, really. I’d hoped we could do a lot more talking.”
You tilt your head, matching his playful energy, “Maybe you’re just easy to find. You do stand out, Commander.”
“Or maybe you just can’t resist checking up on me,” Yunho grins, his posture relaxing as he leans against the wall beside you.
You chuckle, “I’m a journalist. It’s literally my job.”
“Hm, is that all this is? Just work?” He says, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
His words catch you off guard, and you feel a mix of emotions swell inside. The banter, the teasing— it had always been your way of dancing around the unspoken. Now, though, it feels like he's asking for more.
“Maybe it’s more than that,” you admit, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest.
Yunho leans in a fraction closer, his voice lower now, “More, how?”
Your breath hitches, and you feel the tension building between you both. It’s like the entire bustling headquarters fades away, leaving just the two of you standing here in this quiet corner.
“I don’t know,” you say softly, your confidence wavering for just a second under the weight of his gaze, “you tell me.”
Yunho’s smile softens, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he gently reaches out, his fingers brushing against a few stray strands of your hair. The touch is light, but it’s enough to make your heart thud in your chest.
“I think we both know what this is,” he says quietly, his tone more serious now. “And I don’t think it’s just work.”
He moves the stray strands of hair from your face, tucking them behind your ear in a way that feels both natural and electrifying at the same time.
“I guess we’ve been dancing around this for a while,” Yunho adds, his thumb lightly brushing over your cheek as he retracts his hand.
“So what are you suggesting, Commander?”
He smiles, that same teasing glint in his eyes, “Maybe we stop pretending it’s just friendly banter.”
You hold his gaze, waiting for him to continue. Yunho steps closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “How about something a little more... official?”
You can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips, “Are you asking me to cover your next mission or something else?”
His laughter is soft, but his gaze never wavers.
“Definitely something else.”
There’s a moment of silence, the two of you standing close; a little too close to just be another public figure and journalist working together. You can feel the shift between you, the playful banter giving way to something deeper.
“How does a date after duty sound?” His grin widens, and he leans in just enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him.
“Are you ready for that?” Yunho asks, his voice barely above a whisper now.
You meet his gaze with a quiet smile.
“I think I’ve been ready for a while.”
And just like that, the unspoken understanding between you solidifies, a silent agreement that this is something real. Something you’re both ready to explore, beyond the teasing remarks and shared glances. The look you share says it all— you’re in this together.
Whatever “this” may be.
The night sky stretches above, stars flickering like tiny, distant lanterns. You and Yunho lie side by side on an old blanket, tucked away from the rest of the world. It’s become one of your unspoken rituals: escaping under the stars, where everything feels lighter, where the weight of everyday life melts into the quiet hum of the night.
"Well, here we are again," Yunho says, breaking the silence with a grin as he laces his fingers with yours. "Aren't you tired of stargazing yet?"
You chuckle, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. "Not when it’s with you, Space Ace."
He laughs at the nickname, rolling onto his side to face you. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
You stretch your arms over your head, gazing up at the stars with a contented sigh.
"It’s not flattery if it’s true. Besides, don’t you feel like you belong up there?"
Yunho props himself up on one elbow, looking at you curiously. “Up where?”
"Among the stars," you say, turning to meet his eyes. "You’ve always been a little too stellar for Earth."
He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up.
“Stellar, huh? I’ll take that.” He taps your nose lightly. “You know, some of the crew believe in this old myth that when you die, you become a star.”
You let out a soft laugh. “Oh yeah? What would you be? A twinkling little dot or something more dramatic?”
He leans in a little closer, his voice low and serious but with that mischievous spark.
“If I go, I’ll be the brightest one up there, so you can always find me.”
You roll your eyes playfully.
“So humble, Jeong Yunho.”
“I’m serious!” He chuckles, though there’s a softness to his tone. “When I’m gone—hopefully not anytime soon—I’ll be up there, keeping an eye on you.”
You snort, trying to keep the mood light despite the tenderness of the moment.
“Okay, well, what if I don’t want to be watched 24/7? Stars don’t have to do that, you know.”
He gives you a mock scandalized look, “Wow, rejecting my eternal star-watching service already? Harsh.”
“Well, I like having you down here better anyway,” you say, leaning closer to rest your head against his shoulder. “If the world ends, I’d rather you were next to me, not twinkling up in the sky.”
Yunho smiles at that, pulling you into a warm embrace.
“If the world ends? It’s just you and me, starlight. Who cares about the stars?”
You laugh, though there’s a tenderness in your voice. "And what if the Earth rumbles and I’m stuck here, and you're in space doing your astronaut thing? Then what?”
Yunho gives you a dramatic sigh, wrapping his arms tighter around you. “If I have to, I’ll commandeer a rocket, burst through the atmosphere, and fly straight back here. Even if it’s the middle of a mission.”
You burst out laughing, imagining Yunho casually hijacking a rocket mid-spacewalk.
“Please don’t get fired for me.”
He chuckles, brushing a stray hair from your face.
“Hey, they don’t call me Space Ace for nothing. I’ll manage.”
You look up at him, grinning. “Of course you will. You’re the Commander Jeong “Space Ace” Yunho, the guy who makes impossible things happen.”
He raises an eyebrow, pretending to consider your words.
“Like getting you to go out with me? That was pretty impossible.”
You roll your eyes, nudging him again. “Hey, I was totally charmed.”
“I know you were,” he teases, but his voice softens. “But in all seriousness, no matter where I am—here, up there—there’s no place I’d rather be than with you.”
You reach out, pinching his cheek with a playful grin. “And what if I end up becoming the star first? Will you still find me?”
Yunho leans in, pressing his forehead against yours, placing a quick peck on your lips before his voice lowers into a whisper.
“Always, starlight.”
“So, how many children do you want?”
Yunho cocks an eyebrow at your query, glancing at you with amusement.
“That quick?” He grins, his eyes sparkling mischievously as he leans in a little closer.
“We’ve literally been together for three years,” you point out, moving around to sit more comfortably. “And we just got married.”
Yunho can’t help but chuckle at your cheekiness.
The soft glow of the bedside lamp bathes the room in a warm light as you and Yunho sit side by side on the bed, still dressed in the remnants of your wedding day. His tie hangs loosely around his neck, his sleeves rolled up as he stretches out, leaning against the headboard with a contented sigh. You can’t help but smile as you watch him, your heart swelling with joy at the realization that he is, finally and officially, your husband.
“True, but the correct question is how many children you want, starlight,” Yunho counters, “I’m not the one who’s going to carry a child in my belly, after all. It’s your body, so you decide.”
You quirk an eyebrow, pretending to be deep in thought.
“Hmm… Then… What if I tell you I don’t want any children?” you tease, testing the waters.
“Absolutely fine by me,” he replies without missing a beat, his tone soft but sure. “I can get a vasectomy too, so we can steer clear of any accidents.”
You burst out laughing at his serious yet laid-back response. The thought of spending the rest of your life with him already fills you with an overwhelming sense of warmth and love.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” You chuckle, slipping your hand into his, “I want… hmm… A boy first, and then a girl. And then we’ll name them—”
Your words hang in the air, and you both look at each other as the abrupt silence comes. You can’t help but laugh after a few moments, the warmth between you growing even stronger. The room feels small and intimate, just for the two of you, as if the world outside has faded away. In this shared moment, all that matters is the bond you share and the dreams you’re building together.
“—Any names in mind?” You ask, raising an eyebrow.
Yunho shakes his head, “None. You?”
“Nu-uh.”
“Well then,” Yunho says with a mischievous glint in his eye, “should we just concentrate on trying to make one first?”
“Jeong Yunho—!” you exclaim, your cheeks flushing at your own boldness.
“You started it, Jeong Y/N,” he responds as he crawls over to hover over you slightly with a fond smile on his face. For a moment, you’re stunned, and the sound of your new name rolling off his lips sends butterflies erupting in your stomach.
“Can you believe it?” Yunho says after a beat, his voice softening as he reaches out to take your hand in his, his thumb gently caressing the back of it.
You shake your head, a smile tugging at your lips. “It hasn’t sunk in completely yet,” you admit, your voice barely a whisper as you look at him, overwhelmed by the tenderness in his gaze.
Yunho shifts closer, his hand cupping your cheek as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.
“I love you, my starlight,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “And I am so happy to be married to you.”
“I love you too, honey,” you whisper back, your heart swelling with love as you gaze into his eyes. “To outer space and beyond.”
He smiles, a soft chuckle escaping him as he pulls you into his arms. “To outer space and beyond,” he echoes, his voice full of promise and love.
As you lie there in his embrace, the world quiets around you. You feel his heartbeat against your chest, steady and reassuring, and the weight of the day finally begins to sink in.
You’re married. You’re his, and he’s yours.
And as you close your eyes, the stars outside twinkle faintly, as if aligning just for the two of you. In that moment, everything feels perfect. The universe, vast and infinite, has never felt smaller— because now, in Yunho’s arms, you have everything you’ve ever dreamed of.
Jeong Junho is like a Supernova, Yunho says; birthed by two binaries orbiting so close when they merged into a single star, that he likes to refer to as the two of you.
He is the spitting image of Yunho, though his eyes hold a certain spark that feels entirely his own. He’s only four, but in those brief years, he’s managed to fill your life with more joy, chaos, and love than you ever thought possible.
The afternoon sun casts a warm, golden hue over the grassy hill where you, Yunho, and little Junho have spread out a picnic blanket. You and Yunho are sprawled out on it, the basket between you filled with all the snacks your son had insisted on bringing. Junho’s laughter echoes through the open air as he runs around, his small legs moving as fast as they can in his excitement.
Yunho watches with a soft smile, his eyes twinkling as he looks from your son to you.
“He’s got your energy, you know,” he says, nudging you playfully. “I thought I was prepared for it, but…” He trails off, shaking his head with a chuckle.
You smirk back, leaning on your elbow. “Oh, please. He’s all you, Commander. I’m just the one who manages to keep up.”
Junho, hearing his name in conversation, runs back to the blanket with a dandelion clutched tightly in his hand.
“Look! A wish flower!” His eyes are wide, full of wonder. He blows on it, the seeds floating into the breeze, scattering around you like tiny stars.
“What did you wish for, buddy?” Yunho asks, pulling Junho into his lap as he settles down next to you.
Junho’s face scrunches up in thought, as if deciding whether or not to share his wish. Then he grins.
“I wished that we could do this every day!” He looks between you and Yunho, his little face glowing with happiness. “And maybe… get a puppy?”
You and Yunho exchange a look, both trying to stifle your laughter. “A puppy, huh?” you say, ruffling Junho’s hair. “That’s a big wish.”
Yunho tilts his head, pretending to consider it seriously. “Well, if you’re good, maybe we can talk about it.”
Junho beams, satisfied with the response, before bouncing off to chase more dandelions. You watch him, heart swelling at how carefree and joyful he is.
“I’m starting to think we’re going to have to actually get a puppy,” you murmur, leaning into Yunho’s shoulder. His arm wraps around you instinctively, pulling you closer.
“Hmm, I don’t mind.” Yunho smiles, his voice warm. “As long as he’s this happy, I’ll consider it.”
The two of you sit there, wrapped up in each other, watching Junho dart around with endless energy. There’s a deep sense of contentment in your chest—a feeling that everything, in this moment, is exactly as it should be.
Yunho presses a kiss to your temple, his hand resting on yours.
“You know,” he starts, his voice soft, “I didn’t think I could love moments like these so much. But with you… and Junho…” He glances at you, his eyes filled with warmth. “You make life more beautiful than I ever imagined.”
You feel your heart flutter at his words, a rush of warmth spreading through you.
“I feel the same way,” you whisper, looking up at him. “Every moment with you two is a gift.”
Just then, Junho comes barreling back toward the blanket, plopping himself down between you and Yunho, tugging on both your arms to pull you into a group hug.
“Family sandwich!” he declares, giggling as he squeezes himself between you.
You and Yunho laugh, letting yourselves be squished together, your arms wrapping around each other and Junho. It’s messy and fun, filled with the kind of lightheartedness that only comes when you’re surrounded by the people you love most.
As the sun begins to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, you all lay back on the blanket, staring up at the fading light. Junho’s tiny hand slips into yours, and Yunho’s fingers entwine with yours on the other side. You’re all connected, and it feels perfect.
“This is what I always wished for,” you say softly, glancing at Yunho, who looks back at you with the same soft, loving gaze.
“Me too,” he replies, leaning in to kiss you gently on the forehead. “Me too.”
And with that, the three of you stay there, watching the sky darken, the stars slowly emerging, twinkling down at the little family that feels more magical and complete every passing day.
The mood inside AstraTech’s central operations room is tense, the air charged with a mix of anticipation and dread.
Every movement, every breath, feels exaggerated in the thick silence that blankets the space. The lights are dimmed, except for the glow of screens that display a chaotic blur of numbers, charts, and trajectories.
Yunho sits alongside his crew: Jongho, San, Mingi, and Wooyoung. Each man wears an expression of grim determination. Across the room, the scientists—Hongjoong, Yeosang, and Seonghwa—stand at the front, their usual calm replaced with an edge of urgency.
“This is it,” Yeosang begins, the tension in his voice betraying the magnitude of what they’re facing. A holographic image flickers to life in the center of the room. It's the asteroid. Cold, jagged, and terrifyingly massive, it spins slowly, a silent harbinger of doom.
“This is the anomaly at 1648,” he says, his tone heavy. “It’s the size of Texas, coming toward us at 22,000 miles per hour.”
San, who’s rarely shaken by anything, leans forward in his seat, eyes narrowing as he studies the hologram. “So, what are we talking? An extinction-level event?”
Yeosang hesitates for a split second before nodding. “Yes. If we don’t stop it, the impact will wipe out life on Earth as we know it.”
Mingi’s jaw tightens, his usual carefree demeanor long gone. “What kind of damage are we looking at?”
The room goes even quieter. Hongjoong takes over, his voice cool and analytical despite the weight of his words. “Complete destruction. This asteroid isn’t just going to cause a localized impact. This is a global killer. It hits the ocean, the resulting wave will be three miles high, traveling at 1,000 miles per hour. California? Gone. Japan? Gone.”
He lets the silence hang before continuing. “Half the planet will be obliterated by the heat blast alone. The rest will freeze to death during the nuclear winter that follows.”
Yunho’s fingers tighten around the edge of the table. He steals a glance at his pilot, Jongho, who meets his gaze with an unspoken question: Can we really do this?
“How long?” Yunho asks, his voice steady despite the tremor of unease creeping up his spine.
Yeosang glances down at his tablet before answering. “We have 18 days before impact.”
“Eighteen days,” Wooyoung echoes, his usual playful tone replaced with disbelief. “That’s not a lot of time.”
“No,” Seonghwa steps in, clearing his throat, “which is why we’re calling in every favor, every resource we have. We need a plan, and we need it now.”
San leans back, crossing his arms. “So, what’s the plan? We shoot a bunch of nukes at it, hope for the best?”
Hongjoong shakes his head. “Nukes won’t work. The asteroid is too big and moving too fast. Any attempt to break it apart would just result in multiple catastrophic impacts instead of one.”
Yeosang pulls up another hologram, this time of a conceptual drilling rig attached to a rocket.
“We’ve been working on something else. This is the Helios Drill. This is a feat of engineering designed by AstraTech to handle the asteroid's unique conditions, puncturing beyond its rocky surface. We need to use this to drill into the asteroid, plant a nuclear device deep within its core, and detonate it. The explosion will alter its trajectory just enough to miss Earth.”
Mingi raises an eyebrow. “Drill into it? While it’s moving at 22,000 miles per hour?”
“Exactly,” Hongjoong confirms. “It’s risky, but it’s our best shot.”
A heavy silence settles over the room as the enormity of the task begins to sink in. It sounds like something out of a nightmare.
Jongho breaks the silence with a pragmatic tone. “So, who’s going to handle the drilling?”
Yeosang exchanges a glance with Seonghwa before speaking.
“We don’t have a crew in place yet, but we do have a new small group of young pioneers who’ve been training for deep space drilling missions. We started having them around two months ago. They have the expertise to operate the drilling systems we have specially made for missions like this and manage the warhead deployment as well. They’re not astronauts, but they are the best we can get for this task. Talk about timing."
Seonghwa nods, "We'll handpick the best one we have yet, and train him further. We’ll integrate him with your team and ensure he's fully briefed and trained for this mission.”
Wooyoung, usually quick with humor, remains somber. “So, we’re sending some young pioneers and astronauts into space to save the world?”
Yunho leans back, running a hand through his hair. “We’re sending the best team we have because the alternative is unthinkable.”
Mingi smirks, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, I’ve always wanted to intimidate some juniors. Add that to the bucket list.”
But no one laughs. The weight of the mission crushes any attempt at humor.
“We’ll train them,” Hongjoong adds, his tone all business. “And we’re counting on you all to make this work. You’re the best team we’ve got.”
Yunho straightens, nodding. The room buzzes with quiet resolve. There’s no option but success.
“Alright,” Jongho speaks up, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “We’ve done the impossible before. Let’s do it again.”
Yunho, San, Mingi, Wooyoung, and Jongho exchange determined glances, while the lead scientists continue to strategize. They know the stakes. This mission isn’t just about saving themselves— it’s about saving everyone.
And just like that, the mission is no longer just an idea on a hologram. It’s real. It’s happening. And there’s no turning back.
“We’re going to need more than just luck on this one,” Yunho murmurs, standing and facing his crew.
“But we’ve done this before. It’ll all be alright.”
He says, but the promise is as loud and clear as any battle cry.
Yunho stands quietly in the doorway of Junho's room, the soft glow of a star-shaped nightlight casting gentle shadows across the room. His son is fast asleep, his small body curled beneath a blanket patterned with stars, clutching his favorite stuffed animal tightly to his chest. For a moment, the world outside seems to fall away—no asteroid, no looming mission. Just the steady rise and fall of Junho’s breathing, calm and undisturbed.
Yunho moves closer, kneeling beside the bed as his heart swells with both love and heartache. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to Junho’s forehead, careful not to wake him.
“Sleep well, buddy,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. His fingertips linger on the edge of Junho’s blanket, as if trying to memorize this moment—something to hold onto when he’s out in the cold, vast emptiness of space.
As he stands, Yunho’s gaze drifts toward a framed drawing sitting on the nightstand—a picture Junho had drawn not long ago. It’s simple, childlike: a family of three holding hands beneath a big yellow sun. Mom, Dad, and Junho, written in wobbly letters across the top. Yunho smiles softly, his chest tightening as he takes in the small details— how Junho drew him with a cape, like a superhero, and how he gave you a crown, as if you were royalty.
With a deep sigh, he turns and walks down the hallway toward your shared bedroom. The house feels quieter than usual, and yet Yunho’s mind is louder than ever. He steps inside the room, where you lie peacefully under the covers, your hair slightly tousled against the pillow. His eyes linger on you for a moment— so calm, so beautiful, so utterly unaware of the weight the world's about to bestow onto the both of you. A part of him wishes he could crawl into bed, hold you close, and pretend like tomorrow wasn’t coming.
Yunho carefully sits on the edge of the bed, trying not to disturb your sleep. He glances toward the bathroom, but hesitates. Instead, his eyes sweep across the room—your shared space, filled with memories.
The picture frame on the dresser from your honeymoon, the small vase of dried flowers he bought you years ago, and the little notes you sometimes leave for him tucked in odd places, like his jacket pocket or inside his lunch bag. Each one a reminder of the life you’ve built together, a life he never imagined he would have.
He remembers the early days, back when you were just a journalist who had caught his eye. He used to admire you from afar, watching as you passionately pursued the truth, fearlessly asking questions that others wouldn’t. Back then, he hadn’t thought much about marriage, let alone having a family. But here he is now, years later, with a home, a son, and you— his world. The thought of leaving it all behind, even for a mission as critical as this one, weighs heavily on him.
The mission is about survival. It’s about making sure that Earth is still there for you to continue smiling, for Junho to continue growing. But it feels impossible not to think about what he’s risking— what he’s leaving behind.
He stands up slowly and heads to the bathroom, the rush of water breaking the silence as he steps into the shower. The warm droplets cascade over his skin, but they do little to wash away the tension building in his chest. Yunho leans his head against the cool tiles, eyes closing as he lets the water run over him, thoughts of you and Junho swirling in his mind.
A future without Earth... without the laughter that fills your home, the warmth of your touch, the joy of watching Junho grow— he can’t let that happen. He won’t let that happen. He has to ensure that Earth survives. Not for himself, but for you, for Junho, for everyone.
When he finally steps out of the shower, toweling off, he feels a strange sense of clarity. Yunho knows the mission is dangerous— potentially fatal— but his resolve is firmer than ever. He’ll do whatever it takes to make sure there’s a tomorrow, a world for his family to live in.
Unbeknownst to him, you’ve stirred from your slumber from the few moments he has his back turned. The first sign of your presence is the gentle embrace of your arms wrapping around his waist, a comforting reminder of your closeness in the quiet of the night.
“Hi, honey. Welcome home,” you murmur softly, your voice barely audible as you cling to his back, your arms wrapped around his waist. There’s a gentle warmth between you, a quiet exchange of comfort that only comes from years of intimacy.
Yunho turns slowly, careful not to startle you in your half-asleep state. The sight of you, drowsy and soft in the low glow of the bedside lamp, tugs at something deep inside him. His expression softens immediately, and he leans down slightly to meet your tired gaze.
“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Your voice is a sleepy murmur, barely above a whisper, but laced with concern. You rest your chin on his chest, rubbing your eyes as the haze of sleep slowly fades from your features.
His hand instinctively comes to rest at the back of your head, his fingers threading gently through your hair.
“You were sleeping so soundly,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“You should wake me up whenever you come home,” you insist, a small frown tugging at your lips. The worry in your eyes is unmistakable, a reflection of the long nights you’ve spent waiting for him, knowing the dangers that linger with his every mission. “I want to see you, talk to you about your day.”
Yunho’s lips curl into a tender smile, though there’s an underlying heaviness to it. He takes in your features—every curve, every soft line etched into his memory—before he speaks. “I want to talk to you too,” he admits, his voice quiet. “I just didn’t want to intrude on your rest.”
Your expression softens, but you’re not ready to let the moment go. “Well,” you start, nestling your head against his chest, even as he reaches for his shirt. “Now that we’re both awake... talk to me, hm?”
Yunho chuckles softly, the sound a balm to the lingering tension in the room. You poke your head through the fabric of his shirt, making him laugh as you interrupt the task. He cups your cheeks, his large hands gentle as he leans down to kiss your lips—lightly at first, then a little firmer when you don’t pull away.
“Of course, starlight,” he murmurs against your lips, a familiar term of endearment that never loses its magic. “Come now.”
With a soft shuffle, Yunho guides you both back to bed, pulling the covers up over your bodies until the weight of the world feels just a little less crushing. He wraps his arms around you, drawing you close until your back rests securely against his chest. His face buries itself into the crook of your neck, where the soft, lingering scent of vanilla greets him.
For a few moments, there’s only the sound of his breathing and the gentle rise and fall of your chest. The peace you’ve created together— a quiet cocoon from the chaos outside— should feel comforting. But you sense the tension in his embrace, the subtle hitch in his breathing. It’s enough to know that his mind is far from at ease.
“You smell like vanilla,” Yunho finally says, his voice soft and muffled against your skin. “Is that your new perfume, or did Junho convince you to bake cookies again?”
You smile, the heaviness in the room easing slightly. “Both,” you reply, a playful lilt in your voice.
Yunho chuckles quietly, his breath warm against your neck. “I like it,” he murmurs, placing a soft kiss on the curve of your shoulder. But behind that tenderness is something deeper, a weight he hasn’t yet shared. His hold on you tightens ever so slightly, as if he’s trying to memorize the feel of you, to hold onto this moment a little longer before everything changes.
And you, knowing him so well, hold him back just as tightly.
A few moments pass, and just as you begin to think that he’s fallen fast asleep, you feel him pepper kisses against your neck, his hands caressing the skin of your stomach where your shirt had ridden up.
“You’re still awake?” You say, voice hushed as you chuckle at his antics, which he continues to do even as you’ve turned to fully face him. You watch him— your hand in his, raised to his lips as he places soft kisses on your knuckles, lashes fluttering prettily against his cheek before he looks up at you from under them.
The thing about being intimate with Yunho is that it’s all very much natural. From the way he kisses the tip of your ring finger— adorned in your matching gold bands, to the way he lets go just enough for the tip of your finger to glide against his lips, to the way he catches it between his teeth just enough for you to feel a little sting.
It’s natural; the way you gravitate to him, a hand on his jaw, pulling him close to kiss him with fervor— the way he grabs you tight, pulls you onto his lap as he backs further into the headboard, and tugs you flush against his chest to feel you impossibly closer to him.
“Mmh… Yun—” You’re cut off with a gasp, the feeling of his large hands caressing you gently but desperately, as if he’s looking for something to hold on to. One hand steadies the back of your head, the other gripping the skin of your waist.
The kiss is electric, charged with a fiery blend of love, longing, and an unspoken desperation. His lips move against yours with an urgency that leaves you breathless, your hands tangled in his hair as his skin presses against yours, heartbeat in sync with your own. For a moment, it feels like nothing else exists— just the two of you, suspended in time, hearts beating as one.
But beneath that intensity, there’s something else. Something you can’t ignore. It gnaws at you, a quiet unease building in the pit of your stomach, whispering that something is wrong. You try to shake it off, but the feeling lingers, insistent.
Then, as his lips move down your jaw, trailing across your skin, you feel it— the wetness on his cheek, mingling with your own heated skin. It’s subtle at first, just a hint of moisture, but when his lips return to yours, you taste the unmistakable saltiness.
Tears.
He’s crying.
“Yunho,” you whisper softly against his lips, your voice a mix of concern and disbelief. Your hand moves to cradle the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair in a gentle attempt to ground him. But he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he clings to you even more tightly, his kisses growing more fervent, more desperate, as if he’s trying to lose himself in the feel of you.
You can feel his heart pounding against yours, faster than usual. His breath hitches, a ragged sound, as he continues to press kisses along your collarbone, his hands gripping you like he’s afraid you might slip away.
“Yunho,” you murmur again, more firmly this time, gently guiding his face away from your skin. Your eyes meet his, and the sight nearly breaks you. The touch snaps him out of his daze, eyes wide as his hands come up to wipe the wetness on his cheeks— surprise evident on his face as he realizes that he’d been tearing up unintentionally.
His face is streaked with tears, his usually bright eyes clouded with something deeper— something heavier. Your heart clenches at the sight of him, the image of his tear-streaked face a painful reminder of how much he’s carrying. It’s clear that something is weighing on him heavily, something beyond his usual strength.
“What’s wrong?” you ask softly, your voice trembling slightly with concern. The depth of his distress is evident, and it cuts through you like a knife.
The silence that follows is thick and heavy, wrapping around you both like a suffocating blanket. You can feel the shift in the atmosphere, the unspoken fears and worries hanging palpably between you. Your heart races, a tightening knot of anxiety as you wait for him to speak.
He looks at you like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to this world, but also like he’s already mourning something he hasn’t said out loud. His lips tremble as he opens his mouth, but no words come out. Instead, he lowers his forehead to yours, his breath shaky against your skin as his tears fall silently between you.
“Yunho, please, talk to me,” you implore, your voice barely above a whisper. The urgency in your tone reflects the desperation you feel, wanting to bridge the gap of silence that seems to grow wider with every passing second.
He slowly sits up, his movements slow and deliberate, as if every action is weighed down by the burden he carries. You mirror his actions, pushing yourself off of his lap to sit next to him, your gaze fixed on his face as he struggles to find the right words. The seconds stretch into an eternity, each moment heavy with the anticipation of what he might reveal.
The look in his eyes is one of intense inner conflict, as if he’s grappling with how to convey the depth of his anguish. His hesitation is palpable, the silence growing thicker as he searches for a way to articulate what’s troubling him. You hold your breath, feeling the weight of the moment, as every passing second seems to stretch into infinity.
Finally, Yunho takes a deep breath, the decision to share his burden evident in the way he grips your hand. The moment is tender yet heavy with unspoken fears, a reminder of how deeply connected you both are, even in the face of uncertainty.
“I and the rest of the crew are to be deployed in a week. It’s an important mission. Confidential, actually. I was going to talk to you about it in the morning.”
The words hit you like a sudden jolt, your heart skipping a beat at the gravity of his announcement. Despite his attempt at nonchalance, the undercurrent of dread in his voice is palpable.
“Is it dangerous?” your words come out as a whisper, your voice trembling slightly as you grapple with the fear rising in your chest.
“It is,” he admits, his tone heavy with the weight of reality. “But it’s something we have to do.”
The fear in your heart intensifies, a cold, clenching sensation that threatens to overwhelm you. It’s the first time Yunho has ever admitted to the danger of a mission in such a manner, and it does nothing to the heaviness that begins to build up in your chest.
“Can’t you say no?” you plead, your voice strained as you struggle to keep the tremor out of it. Your mind races with the terrifying thought of him facing danger, and the possibility of losing him seems almost too much to bear.
Yunho shakes his head, his gaze unwavering. “We have some trained pioneers to help us with it, but they need the best crew for this. It’s the world at stake.”
The gravity of his words hangs in the air, a stark reminder of the enormity of the situation. You try to voice your concerns, your words catching in your throat as you fight against the suffocating grip of fear. The thought of him being in harm’s way is a crushing weight that makes it hard to breathe.
“It’s going to be difficult but I’ll be back,” Yunho says gently, his voice laced with a soothing promise as he squeezes your hand. “I promise.”
The promise is both a balm and a burden, a small beacon of hope amidst the sea of uncertainty. Yunho pulls you into his arms, his warmth enveloping you in a cocoon of comfort. You bury your face against his chest, drawing solace from his presence as you let the tears fall. His embrace is a fragile sanctuary in the midst of the storm of emotions that threatens to consume you.
“Are you mad?” Yunho asks softly, his tone tender as he brushes a strand of hair from your face. The gentle query is tinged with concern, an effort to ease the emotional tumult between you.
“No,” you reply, though the unease in your voice betrays your true feelings. The words feel inadequate, mere whispers against the roar of your fear.
“I think you are, starlight,” Yunho says with a sad, knowing smile. “We promised to be honest about our feelings, remember?”
“I don’t want you to go,” you admit, your voice wavering as you cling to him, your hands gripping his shirt as if trying to hold onto him as tightly as you can. “What if I lose you, Yun?”
The question lingers in the air, a heavy, haunting echo of the fear you can barely contain. The uncertainty of his departure looms over you like a dark cloud, and the thought of losing him feels almost too unbearable to confront.
“You’ll always have me,” Yunho says, his voice filled with unwavering conviction. He holds you tighter, his embrace a firm promise against the fears that plague your mind. “No matter what happens, I’ll always be with you.”
“I know,” you whisper, your voice breaking through the tension that fills the cramped room. The dim lighting casts long shadows, making the space feel even smaller, as if closing in around the weight of the conversation.
“But that’s not a real answer to the situation right now. You said it yourself. You have experts for this. They’re trained for it,” you continue, your heart aching with the desperation of trying to grasp a solution. “Why do you need to go?”
Yunho’s face is etched with a mix of anguish and resolve, his normally calm demeanor slipping away under the pressure of your words. He looks down, his eyes clouded with uncertainty, as he struggles to articulate the depth of his reasoning.
“Because… because it’s not just about the mission,” he finally says, his voice low and strained, “It’s about ensuring there’s a chance. Making sure everything is done right.”
His words hang in the air, heavy with meaning and unspoken fears. The reality of the situation crashes over you like a tidal wave. You see the determination in his eyes, a fierce commitment to his duty that you have always admired, but the thought of him facing such imminent danger fills you with a dread that is almost paralyzing. You can’t summon anger— only a deep, hollow ache that makes it hard to breathe.
“Don’t cry, please…” Yunho’s voice is tender, his hands reaching out to gently brush away the tears that streak down your cheeks. His touch is both soothing and heart-wrenching, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions raging inside you. His own eyes glisten with unshed tears, reflecting the profound sadness that fills the room.
“Just… promise me you’ll come back to me,” you plead, your voice trembling as you clutch at the fabric of his shirt. Your fingers dig into the material, seeking any semblance of comfort as you make your desperate request. The weight of the promise hangs between you, a fragile thread connecting your hearts.
Yunho’s expression softens, a blend of sorrow and resolve in his eyes. He leans in, his breath warm against your skin as he presses a gentle kiss to your cheek.
“I will, starlight,” he whispers against your ear, cheek pressed against your as he hugs you close to him, his voice barely above a murmur. “I always do.”
You nod, your throat tight with emotion as you try to steady your breathing. “Okay,” you manage to say, your voice breaking as you snuffle and gulp to regain control. “Okay.”
Yunho pulls away slightly to cup your cheek, his touch both comforting and bittersweet. His eyes search yours, trying to convey the depth of his feelings in this fleeting moment. As you begin to wipe away your tears, he moves in closer, his lips meeting yours in a tender, lingering kiss. The kiss is a mix of passion and sadness, a final, intimate connection before the uncertainty of his departure.
You close your eyes, allowing yourself to lose yourself in it, letting the last few drops of your tears fall as you savor the warmth of his embrace. The kiss deepens, fueled by the intensity of your emotions and the urgency of the moment. You cling to him, pouring all your love and fear into the kiss, trying to imprint this moment into your memory.
Yunho’s hands are steady on your waist, holding you close as if he never wants to let go. His touch is firm yet gentle, a silent promise that he will carry your love with him wherever he goes.
As you pull away slightly, your breaths come in shallow, ragged gasps. Yunho’s eyes meet yours, filled with a mixture of tenderness and apology. He gazes at you with a deep, almost aching love, as if trying to memorize every detail of your face before the inevitable parting. You hold onto him, your fists clenched against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingers.
Without a warning, you swoop back in, kissing him with more fervor. Yunho’s taken aback for a quick moment, his hands coming up to hold you steady by the waist as you fidget on his lap. He’s quick to return the passion, pouring his heart and emotions into the kiss you share. Your hands begin to find the buttons of his dress shirt, undoing them as quick as you can— as if time’s ticking half as fast as usual.
Because you feel like it is.
Yunho slips out of his shirt, parting from the kiss just to remove yours from your body as well. He flips you over, laying you on your back, wanting to be as close to you as he could. You welcome his warmth wholeheartedly, clutching onto him as if your life depends on it. As if you’re about to lose it if you don’t.
For a moment, the rest of the world seems to disappear. The looming storm of his departure is pushed aside by the intensity of your connection. Yunho’s fingers gently brush against your skin amidst the rush of the moment, his touch a soothing balm against the ache in your heart.
As he cages you in his arms and one thing leads to the other, you feel the profound weight of his impending departure, the crushing finality of his decision.
But in this fleeting, bittersweet interlude, you find a small measure of peace, clinging to the hope that somehow, against all odds, he will return to you.
The morning air feels thick with unspoken tension as you and Junho accompany Yunho to the launch facility. The enormity of the moment presses on your chest, but you try to remain strong for both of them. Junho clutches his star-shaped plushie tightly, a small token of comfort, as he walks beside Yunho, trying to match his father’s long strides with his tiny legs. When you arrive at the departure point, Yunho squats down, ruffling Junho’s hair gently.
“Hey, buddy,” he says softly, his voice catching in his throat. “You’re gonna be a good boy while I’m gone, right?”
Junho nods, his little face serious as he hugs his father tightly, burying his face into Yunho’s neck.
“I’ll be good, Papa. Come back soon, okay?”
Yunho squeezes him harder, eyes glistening with emotions he keeps locked away for times like this.
“I will. I promise.”
When Yunho finally stands, his gaze shifts to you. Your heart aches as he reaches up to gently caress your cheek, the warmth of his touch grounding you in a moment that feels like it’s slipping away too quickly. The worry you’ve tried so hard to hide is all too evident, and he sees right through it.
“You’ll be fine without me,” he says with a small, reassuring smile, but you can hear the crack in his usually calm voice.
You don’t speak, because you know if you do, the dam will break. Instead, you throw your arms around him, hugging him tightly, breathing in the familiar scent of him, hoping it lingers long after he’s gone. When you finally let go, he turns to leave, but your hand instinctively tugs at his arm.
Without hesitation, you pull him into a deep kiss, one that speaks of fear, longing, and all the words you couldn’t say. His lips press back against yours, equally passionate and filled with the same bittersweet mixture of love and inevitable departure. It’s a goodbye neither of you wants to acknowledge, but both know is necessary.
When you finally release him, Yunho smiles softly, his thumb brushing gentle, reassuring circles against the skin of your cheek. It’s a touch meant to soothe, but all it does is make you cling to the moment, unwilling to let him go.
“Come back to me, okay?” Your voice cracks, the tears you’ve been holding in finally spilling over. “You have to.”
His lips hover near yours, the warmth of his breath mingling with your own as he whispers, “I’ll always come back to you, starlight.”
You had always been the one who brought him warmth and hope, even in the darkest of times.
Without you, he would have been lost in the void. His fame and success might make him a "star" in the eyes of the world, but it's your love that makes him feel truly seen, grounded, and understood.
Yunho believes that no matter how far away he is, even in the deepest reaches of space, it's you that will always lead him home. So while the universe may see him as the star, he knows that his light is just a reflection of the love you've always given him. To him, you will always be the true starlight— the light that gives his existence meaning, even as he shines.
He presses a final, fleeting kiss on your lips— short, yet filled with the depth of everything he can’t put into words.
With a heavy heart, Yunho pulls away, and you can feel the shift, the inevitability of time drawing him farther from you with every second. He gives you and Junho one last, lingering look, his smile soft but full of emotion.
“I love you both,” he says, his voice thick with sincerity. “So, so much.”
And then he’s gone, disappearing into the flurry of technicians and AstraTech officials, his towering figure blending into the sea of mission personnel. The distance feels immediate, as though the space between you has already widened to the vastness of galaxies.
The launch facility hums with tense energy as the final preparations unfold. Inside, Yunho walks into the mission briefing room, the shift in atmosphere stark. The team is assembled, each member’s face a mixture of steely resolve and hidden apprehension. This is no ordinary mission— this is a critical leap for humanity’s future, and everyone feels the weight of it.
Yunho, now fully suited up in his space gear, stands at the head of the table, his eyes scanning the room. The weight of what he’s leaving behind presses against his chest, but he steels himself. There’s no room for distraction now.
As Yunho surveys the scene, his eyes settle on Sim Jaeyun, the young deep space drilling pioneer brought in for this mission. Despite his youth, Jaeyun was chosen for a reason. Aside from his notable performance among the trainees, his years of experience in his family’s oil drilling business had honed his skills and familiarity prior with critical devices and processes. His expertise was crucial for the success of their plan.
Yunho observes Jaeyun meticulously conducting his equipment checks. The young man’s hands move with precision, but Yunho catches the subtle tremor in his grip, a sign of his nerves. Yunho approaches and gently taps Jaeyun’s shoulder to get his attention.
“Oh— Commander Jeong!” Jaeyun startles, bowing deeply and accidentally dropping some of his equipment. Among the scattered items, Yunho notices a family photo that has fallen to the floor.
“At ease, Sim,” Yunho says with a reassuring smile, recognizing a bit of his younger self in the young man before him. He helps Jaeyun gather the equipment, and Jaeyun returns a grateful, sheepish smile.
Yunho smiles, reminded of the bashful look on Junho’s face everytime he would catch him talking to his toys.
“You’ve got a family?” Yunho inquires, his tone gentle but firm. The family photo had caught his eye, reminding him of the sendoff where he’d seen Jaeyun standing with a woman and a small child. The image of Jaeyun kissing them goodbye had stayed with him amidst the crowd of families bidding farewell at the launch facility.
Jaeyun looks up from his work, his expression steady but revealing the weight of the mission ahead.
“Yes, sir,” he replies, “My wife and I had our son not long ago. We haven’t been married long either. We were young and, well, didn’t always make the best choices. But they’re my biggest blessings.”
“A newborn?” Yunho asks, his curiosity tinged with empathy.
Jaeyun nods, a faint smile touching his lips. “Yes, sir. A boy.”
Yunho's expression softens. He knows exactly how Jaeyun feels— the tight knot of fear and hope that comes with leaving behind a family for something bigger than yourself. He had felt the same before his first mission after marrying you. After Junho was born, that feeling had only intensified.
“I know what it’s like, having someone waiting for you,” Yunho says, his voice low but filled with understanding. “It’s hard, but you’ve got to keep your head clear. Stay sharp. We’re counting on you.”
Jaeyun holds his gaze, the flicker of anxiety in his eyes slowly replaced by determination.
“Yes, sir,” he replies, his resolve settling in. He grips his tools a little tighter, focusing on the task at hand.
Yunho pats his shoulder, offering one last reassuring look before stepping back. They both knew the stakes, and they both had people counting on them.
The mission briefing concludes in a brisk, no-nonsense manner, and the team scatters to their stations with practiced precision. As they prepare, the spacecraft rests in eerie stillness on the launch pad. The last slivers of sunlight cast a golden glow across its metallic surface, while the asteroid looms in the distance like a shadow, massive and indifferent, a reminder of the stakes they face.
The air in the command center is thick with tension, though not a word is spoken. It’s a calm that comes with familiarity, the team having rehearsed these steps a thousand times. This time, however, everything feels heavier—the weight of Earth's fate resting squarely on their shoulders.
Yunho stands at the forefront of it all, his face set in an expression of quiet determination. His gaze sweeps over the control panel, watching as systems blink to life.
“All crew, roll call,” Yunho's voice comes through the comms, steady and composed, despite the gravity of the situation.
"Orion, standing by," replies Jongho, his voice clipped and focused. From his station, he methodically runs through the spacecraft’s navigation systems.
"Vega, systems green across the board. Engines at optimal levels," reports San, his hands already working across the ship’s internal systems, fingers tapping at the console as he monitors for any sign of malfunction.
"Luna, comms clear," Wooyoung’s voice filters in, light but precise. He sits at his console, ensuring a steady flow of communication between the spacecraft and ground control. His fingers twitch occasionally, a sure sign that beneath his calm tone, there’s a swirl of nervous energy.
"Nebula, all tech systems functional," Mingi adds, voice tinged with that signature calm as he works on ensuring the advanced equipment is prepped for whatever the asteroid throws at them.
"Atlas, ready on drilling equipment," Jaeyun says, his voice steady, completing the final check-in.
Yunho takes a breath, letting the quiet hum of the engines ground him. Every part of the ship, every person on board is in sync. It’s all come down to this moment. They're ready.
“Copy that,” Yunho responds, eyes locking on the asteroid growing larger in the viewport. His heart pounds, but his voice remains steady as the countdown begins.
“T-minus 10... 9... 8...”
The engines start to roar, vibrating through the ship, a force that everyone feels down to their bones.
“7… 6… 5…”
They know what’s at stake. Each of them has a role to play, and they’ve trained endlessly for this. Still, the uncertainty hangs like a storm cloud on the horizon.
“4… 3… 2…”
For just a moment, Yunho’s mind flashes to the stars, to the nights spent gazing at them with you by his side. He can almost hear your voice, the warmth of your presence grounding him in the chaos. He grips the armrests of his chair, letting the thought of you push him forward.
“1.”
The spacecraft launches, a deafening roar echoing through the command center as it breaks free from the Earth, surging into the dark void where nothing is certain except the mission. The rocket’s engines blaze against the darkening sky, leaving a trail of fire and smoke. As the vehicle ascends, the team inside adjusts to the weightlessness of space, their focus sharpening as they approach their target.
The spacecraft continues its journey, navigating the cold, uncharted reaches of space with precision and care. The asteroid, now a prominent feature on their instruments, draws closer, its massive presence commanding the attention of the crew. The atmosphere inside the spacecraft shifts from the initial exhilaration of launch to the tense anticipation of the task ahead. Every maneuver, every adjustment, is executed with meticulous accuracy.
The spacecraft hovers in position above the asteroid, the vast expanse of space stretching out in every direction. Inside, the crew is methodically checking their systems. Yunho stands at the control panel, his gaze sweeping over the array of monitors.
“Orion, status report,” Yunho calls out.
“Navigation systems are calibrated and ready,” Jongho replies from his station, his focus sharp.
“Vega, how’s the engine?” Yunho asks.
“All systems green,” San responds, his fingers flying over the console.
With systems confirmed, the team prepares for the next phase: drilling into the asteroid to secure the nuclear warhead.
“Helios Drill, ready for deployment,” Jaeyun reports, his voice steadier than before.
Yunho moves to his side, scanning the monitors. “Proceed.”
The Helios Drill extends from the belly of the spacecraft, its metallic arms reaching out like the claws of a massive beast, designed to pierce the asteroid’s unyielding surface. As it makes contact, the drill's pointed bit begins its rotation, slowly burrowing into the asteroid’s rock-hard shell.
Inside the ship, the rhythmic thrum of the drill vibrates through the walls, a constant reminder of the tension outside. The asteroid's composition is dense— tougher than expected. Yunho can feel it, the slight resistance shaking through the control panels as he monitors the progress.
“Depth check,” Yunho orders.
“We’re making steady progress, Commander. About thirty percent into the required depth,” Jaeyun responds, his eyes glued to the data streaming across his screen.
The asteroid’s surface begins to push back— an indication of unstable rock layers. The ship shudders slightly as the drill struggles against the resistance. Jaeyun’s fingers fly over the controls, adjusting the drill’s settings, compensating for the erratic pressure.
“Hold steady,” Yunho says, his voice calm despite the rising tension. The asteroid is a ticking time bomb, and the drill has to reach the target depth to plant the nuclear warhead securely. Failure isn’t an option.
Jaeyun grits his teeth, sweat forming on his brow. “Adjusting rotation speed. This layer’s denser than we expected.”
The vibrations intensify, and suddenly, a red light flashes on Jaeyun’s console. His breath hitches. “Commander, we’ve hit a critical pressure point. The drill’s power feed is fluctuating. If we push too hard, we risk overloading the system.”
Yunho’s eyes narrow, weighing the options. They’re running out of time, but overloading the drill could cause catastrophic damage to the ship or the mission itself.
“Can we reroute power from auxiliary systems?” Yunho asks, already scanning the control panel.
Jaeyun’s hands are shaking, but his mind is sharp. “I can try, but we’ll lose some engine capacity. It’s risky.”
Yunho makes the call. “Do it. We need that depth.”
Jaeyun nods, his fingers moving in rapid succession across the console. The ship hums as power reroutes, and the drill stabilizes, resuming its steady descent into the asteroid.
Minutes stretch into an agonizing eternity. Every meter the drill descends feels like a victory, but the clock is ticking. Finally, after what seems like hours, the drill reaches the required depth. The monitor blinks green.
“We’re in,” Jaeyun announces, letting out a breath of relief. “Ready for warhead deployment.”
Yunho gives the signal, and Jaeyun activates the release mechanism. The warhead, nestled securely within its casing, lowers into the freshly drilled cavity. But just as the warhead begins to descend, alarms blare— a sharp, shrill sound that freezes the crew.
“Warning: deployment mechanism malfunction,” the system’s voice drones, emotionless but dire.
Yunho’s stomach drops. “Status report!”
Jaeyun’s face pales. “The release system’s jammed. It won’t deploy remotely.”
Yunho curses under his breath. “Can we fix it?”
San’s voice crackles over the comms. “Backup systems are failing too. We’re experiencing irregular pressure fluctuations, Commander. We’ll need to deploy it manually.”
The words hang heavy in the air. Manual deployment means suiting up and stepping onto the asteroid’s surface— a dangerous and potentially lethal task, but there’s no other option.
Yunho’s jaw tightens. “Prep for Extravehicular Activity. I’m going.”
Jaeyun looks up, eyes wide. “Commander, let me come with you. This is my system. I know how to fix it.”
Yunho meets his gaze, a mix of admiration and concern. He knows Jaeyun is capable, but the risks are astronomical. Still, they don’t have time to argue. He nods.
“Suit up. You’ve got five minutes.”
The office buzzes with its usual frenetic energy—phones ringing incessantly, papers shuffling, and the low hum of conversations creating a familiar rhythm. You’ve grown accustomed to the chaos, the deadlines, and the high-stakes pressure of being an anchor. But today, amidst it all, something feels different. There’s a weight on your chest that you can’t quite shake, though you try to push through, focusing on the endless stream of news updates flashing on your screen.
Just as you start to type up a report, your phone vibrates on the desk. A call from a number you don’t recognize. Despite the uncertainty, a surge of anticipation compels you to answer, driven by a lingering hope that, against all odds, it might be Yunho reaching out.
“Hello? Y/N speaking,” you answer, keeping your voice steady, professional, despite the noise around you. But before you can settle back into work, the intercom crackles to life.
“Hello, Mrs. Jeong. This is AstraTech HQ. Commander Jeong has asked to be connected to you through a call. This call will only last for five minutes. I’ll be putting him on the line now.”
Before you can react, A brief click resonates through the receiver, and then Yunho’s voice, warm and familiar, fills your ear.
“Hi, starlight,” he says, his tone a comforting balm amidst the clamor. “Can you step out of the office for a moment?”
The shift in your mood is immediate and profound. Your heart races, a flutter of hope and anxiety intertwining as you clutch the phone tighter.
“Are you home?” you ask, your voice betraying the excitement and worry surging through you, your hands instinctively grasping the phone tighter. “Honey, are you home?”
Yunho laughs. You can almost see that cheeky smile of his.
“Just do as I say, will you?”
Confused but eager, you rush out of the office, weaving through cubicles and past colleagues who look up in curiosity. Your mind races with thoughts of Yunho finally being back, and you burst into the fresh air of the street, scanning ahead.
“Okay, okay! I’m out of the office. Where are you?”
“Wave at the sky.”
You laugh nervously, glancing around as if expecting to see him somehow materialize in the sky. “What?”
“Wave at the sky.”
“Yunho, what kind of prank is this?”
“Are you waving?”
You raise your hand, waving in the general direction of the sky. “I am.”
You can feel him smiling even if you don’t see him, “I’m currently waving back at you from space.”
“Honey—”
“I just missed you, starlight,” Yunho says softly, the warmth in his voice cutting through the static. “Will you promise to come and greet me every day and every night?”
Your heart aches at the tenderness in his voice, and you nod, even though he can’t see you. “Of course.”
“Alright, you better,” Yunho chuckles, and you can almost picture the smile on his face. But then his tone shifts, becoming more somber.
“Now, listen carefully. On my computer… you know the password, right? Just so we’re clear, it’s still hotteok23, capital letter H, and your face recognition works too. The same goes with my cards and bank accounts; mine, yours, and Junho’s day of birth. The insurance and all of the other important files are stored in the folder named space poop, and I know, it sounds ridiculous, but it’s all there. You’ll know what to do with everything in the folder once you open it.”
“Why are you telling me this now?” you say, the unease in your voice unmistakable. Your heart sinks as the unsettling weight of his words begins to settle in. “Yunho, what’s going on?”
His silence speaks volumes, and the weight of his words begins to settle in, thick and suffocating.
“I just wanted to make sure... that you hear it from me.”
The air feels heavier, each second ticking louder in the silence between you.
“What’s going on, please…” Your voice cracks, a tremor of fear lacing through it, but before Yunho can respond, you feel a tug on your sleeve.
“Is that Papa?” Junho’s small voice cuts through the tension, his wide eyes filled with hope. You swallow hard, trying to keep the tears at bay as you nod.
“Yes, sweetheart, it’s Papa,” you whisper, and Junho beams up at you. “Do you want to talk to him?”
Junho eagerly takes the phone, and you watch, heart aching, as his innocent joy fills the moment with bittersweet warmth.
“Hi, Papa! Guess what? I got five stars at school today!”
Yunho’s laughter is warm, but tinged with something deeper. “That’s amazing, buddy. Can you wave at me?”
Junho giggles, glancing up at the sky. “I can’t see you, Papa!”
“But I can see you,” Yunho replies softly. “I’m waving from up here. Are you waving back?”
Junho waves enthusiastically, his small hand outstretched to the sky. “I am!”
You can’t hold it in anymore. Silent tears spill down your cheeks as you watch your son, his innocence a sharp contrast to the heaviness weighing you down. Your heart feels as though it’s breaking, and when Junho notices, his brow furrows in confusion.
“Mama’s crying,” he whispers into the phone, glancing up at you with concern.
There’s a pause, then Yunho’s voice returns, gentle but steady. “Junho, listen to me. Can I trust you with something?”
“Of course, Papa,” He says in a small voice, nodding as if Yunho can see him at the moment.
“Whenever mama cries, I need you to kiss her tears away, okay? Be a good boy and take care of her for me. Promise?”
Junho nods earnestly, pressing a kiss to your cheek before whispering, “I promise.”
The moment stretches, thick with emotion, as Junho hands the phone back to you. His little fingers cling to your skirt, eyes filled with innocent worry. You take the phone, your hand trembling.
“Yunho,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “You promised.”
“I know,” he murmurs, his voice raw with emotion. “I’m trying. I’m doing everything I can.”
You know he is.
Yunho always pours his heart into everything he does. He’s always said he wants to do his best rather than be the best, and it's that very mindset that has made him excel in every challenge he’s faced.
You just never imagined you’d find yourself hoping, just this once, that he wasn’t the most capable person for this mission.
“I miss you both. So much.” His voice falters slightly, as if he’s trying to find the right words. “I know the mission’s... difficult. But it’s something I have to do. For you. For Junho.”
You close your eyes, clutching the phone as if it could tether you to him, as if it could make everything alright.
“I love you,” you whisper, the words fragile and aching.
“I love you too, starlight,” Yunho says, his voice soft but resolute. “To outer space, and beyond.”
“Yunho.” Mingi’s voice is strained, his concern palpable as he pulls the commander aside. In a quiet corner, away from the chaos, he leans in, his tone low but urgent. “You don’t have to do this. It’s the kid’s responsibility to handle the task. If you go with him, we risk losing both of you.”
Yunho, though visibly listening, continues to prepare his equipment with a focused determination.
“He has a newborn waiting for him at home. I can’t stand by and let him face this alone.”
Mingi shakes his head, frustration mixing with his worry. “And what about you? You have a family too. He’s here to support us; he knew what he was signing up for.”
“Jaeyun was trained for this, but this mission is beyond anything he’s faced. The asteroid’s interference is severe, and he’s already under immense stress. If anything goes wrong, he won’t have the expertise to fix it alone. I need to be there to ensure it’s done right. Knowledge of outer space or not, it’s safer if I’m there with him.” Yunho replies firmly, his resolve unyielding. The flicker of fear in his eyes is evident, but his decision is resolute.
At his next words, his voice turns softer, and there’s a more somber look in his eyes, “If there’s a chance I can keep him safe and ensure the mission’s success, I have to take it.”
Mingi sighs, letting the silence linger for a while as he forces himself to relent, “Come back in one piece, commander. We need you back here.”
Yunho meets Mingi’s gaze, the weight of his commitment clear. He nods, though the uncertainty of the mission hangs heavy in the air.
“Do you think we might die, Commander?” Jaeyun's voice trembles, barely above a whisper. He clutches the manual deployment device to his chest, his eyes wide with raw fear just as he stands next to Yunho, preparing for descent.
“I keep thinking about my family. I don’t know if I said goodbye right. I should have taken more pictures with my son. He’s so little... and my wife... I told her I—” His voice cracks, a sob escaping despite the pained smile on his face, “I told her I’d be back. I promised I’d come home. I— I should have done more. I didn’t—”
His words dissolve into a heart-wrenching silence, his face contorted with anguish as he struggles to control his trembling hands.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, kid. Calm down,” Yunho says, his voice steady as he grabs Jaeyun by the shoulders. “You’re not going to die, okay? You're going to see your son grow, and you're going to come home to your wife.”
“Sir—”
“For now, focus on the task at hand. If we fail to see this through, you risk losing your family,” Yunho interrupts, his tone firm just as Jaeyun’s breathing stabilizes. “You're going to be okay. I’ll be right with you, I promise.”
Jaeyun nods despite the tears threatening to fall from his eyes, feeling a sense of security from Yunho's words alone, not because he's the world's greatest commander, but because something in the way Yunho looked at him told him he meant everything he said.
With that, the airlock hisses open, and they step into the void, tethered to the spacecraft by a thin lifeline. Below them, the asteroid’s jagged surface looms, indifferent to the lives it threatens. Yunho and Jaeyun descend together onto the asteroid’s unstable surface, both tethered securely to the spacecraft. The gravity here feels strange, a tug that’s neither Earth nor space, and the asteroid’s jagged terrain shifts uneasily beneath their boots.
As they approach the asteroid’s surface, Yunho and Jaeyun struggle against high gravity and increasing debris. Their suit’s shielding system is designed to deflect such impacts, but the constant barrage takes a toll. The heat from the asteroid’s surface is another challenge, with temperature fluctuations causing additional strain on the suit’s thermal control systems. Their suits’ alarms blare intermittently, warning of rising temperatures and pressure imbalances, visor fogging up as sweat beads form, making it harder to see. Despite these challenges, they remain focused on the task at hand.
The warhead casing looms ahead, half-buried in the asteroid's crumbling exterior. Jaeyun moves with practiced precision, his gaze flicking between his tools and the volatile surface, while Yunho scans the surroundings, ever-watchful for signs of instability.
"Stay close," Yunho instructs, his voice calm despite the ticking clock in his mind. He knows they’re working against time—against fate, even.
“Commander, do you have a status update?” Wooyoung’s voice comes through the comms, strained but hopeful.
“Atlas is securing the warhead now,” Yunho replies, his voice steady. “The surface is unstable.”
Jaeyun nods, focused on his task. “I’ve almost got it. Just need to bypass this last circuit.”
As he works, the asteroid groans ominously. Beneath their feet, the ground shifts—subtle, but enough to make Yunho’s heart jump in his chest. He kneels next to Jaeyun, his eyes narrowing as he watches the younger engineer deftly reroute the damaged deployment mechanism.
A minute passes. Then two. Everything seems to be under control—until it isn’t.
Without warning, the ground trembles violently. Cracks spiderweb across the asteroid’s surface, and Yunho feels a sickening lurch in his gut.
"Commander—!" Jaeyun shouts, scrambling to keep his balance as the asteroid shakes.
Yunho’s hand shoots out, grabbing Jaeyun’s suit to steady him. His eyes sweep across the scene—the warhead is almost ready, but the asteroid is crumbling faster than anticipated. Dust and debris kick up around them, and the tremors grow worse by the second.
But as the ground beneath them trembles, Yunho’s instincts scream. Something's wrong. The asteroid’s unstable surface shifts again, a violent quake that rattles their footing. Dust and debris swirl in the weightless vacuum, and Yunho grabs Jaeyun by the arm, steadying him.
The surface cracks and groans, the tremors growing worse. Yunho’s eyes dart to the warhead, still not fully deployed. It’s too slow. They’re running out of time.
Yunho’s mind races, analyzing the situation. The mechanism is malfunctioning—there’s no way they can finish the automated sequence before the asteroid crumbles. The warhead has to be detonated manually.
He grips Jaeyun’s arm tighter, eyes locking with his. “Atlas, pull back.”
Jaeyun’s eyes widen in shock. “No! Commander, if I leave, it won’t deploy! We can still fix this!”
“Jaeyun.” Yunho’s voice hardens. “It’s not going to hold. I’ll stay and deploy it manually. You need to get back to the ship.”
Jaeyun’s breathing hitches, his mind whirling. He looks at the warhead, at the rapidly deteriorating asteroid, and then back at Yunho. And he knows—Yunho is right. But that doesn’t make it any easier.
“But—”
“This is the only way,” Yunho says quietly, but with finality. “You know it is.”
The devastation in Jaeyun’s eyes mirrors the dread in Yunho’s heart, but there’s no other choice. He’s made his decision. The mission has to succeed, and Jaeyun has to survive.
Jaeyun swallows hard, his voice trembling. “I’m not leaving you here.”
Yunho's voice softens, but his grip is firm as he guides Jaeyun toward the tether leading back to the ship.
“You have to. That’s an order.”
Jaeyun’s hand trembles as he grips the tether, his heart hammering in his chest. He hesitates for one last second, looking back at Yunho, desperation etched into every line of his face.
“Copy that, sir.”
With that, Jaeyun pulls himself away, the tether drawing him back toward the spacecraft. Every inch feels like a betrayal, leaving Yunho behind. But he knows he has to. Yunho gave him no choice.
Yunho watches Jaeyun retreat, his heart burdened by the gravity of his choice, despite it being conscious. The emptiness of space seems to mirror the void inside him.
Yunho has lived fully, loved deeply, and built a life worth coming back to. Yet, as a tear trickles down his cheek, he realizes that he is leaving behind so much more— a future brimming with moments and memories waiting to be shared. But, deep down he knows that if he doesn’t see this mission through, there will be nothing left to return to. His grip on the deployment device tightens, a silent promise to safeguard the lives that depend on him.
“ATEEZ Unit,” Yunho’s voice crackles through the comms, his heart heavy. “Move to a safe distance and prepare for detonation. I’m staying behind to ensure the warhead deploys.”
Silence follows—thick and suffocating, as if the crew hasn’t yet processed the weight of his words. But when they do, the comms erupt in disbelief, the static barely masking their shock.
“Commander, is there truly no other way?” Mingi’s voice breaks through, strained, clinging to a desperate hope.
Jongho cuts in, his usual composure faltering.
“There has to be something else. We can’t leave you here without exhausting all the options we have.”
Yunho closes his eyes, taking a breath to steady himself. His voice remains calm, but the inevitability in his tone is undeniable.
“I’ve gone through every alternative. This is the only way to guarantee the mission’s success and keep everyone safe back home. We’re out of time.”
A long, heavy silence follows. Yunho can feel their resistance slipping away as the reality sinks in.
Wooyoung’s voice comes through, controlled but filled with grief.
“Understood, Commander. If this is your call, we’ll follow it. We trust you.”
San’s response comes next, quieter but no less heartfelt. “We’re moving to a safe distance now. You’ve led us with everything you have, and we know you made this decision with that same integrity.”
The spacecraft’s engines rumbles to life, their hum reverberating faintly through Yunho’s suit. He feels the vibrations as the ship began to pull away, the distance between them growing with every passing second. The soft glow of the ship’s lights grows smaller, swallowed by the infinite black of space..
The silence is deafening as Yunho turns back to the warhead, now alone. The ground trembles beneath him, cracks growing wider, the asteroid collapsing faster. He moves quickly, fingers flying over the manual controls. The countdown sequence begins.
He thinks of Junho, his bright smile, his innocent questions about space... Yunho had promised he would come home, that he would stand by his side as the boy grew, guiding him through life’s hurdles. But now, here he is, on the edge of everything, poised to break that promise.
Could he have been selfish? He wonders, thinking about Jaeyun, knowing the young man would have followed orders to execute this himself if Yunho had commanded, despite his own fears. Yunho had the chance to step back, to delegate. Jaeyun could have taken the risk alone.
Would Junho hate him for this? The thought stung. He knows that there’s a sliver of a chance that Junho might never understand why Papa chose the stars over a safe return home.
And then, there’s you. The thought of your face— strong, fierce, and full of love— pierces him in the chest. You had always been the anchor, the one who grounded him when he lost his way in the cosmos. Yunho thinks of your voice, the way it cracked when you laughed, how it could soothe him even when words were unnecessary. He thinks of the way your eyes sparkled when you talked about dreams for the future, a future Yunho was threatening to leave behind.
Would you forgive him for this choice?
The question weighs on him, pressing into his chest like the asteroid’s gravity. You deserve more than this fleeting goodbye. The two of you had built a life together, created a family— a family he’s now at risk of abandoning. The image of you sitting at the kitchen table with Junho, waiting for him to come home, flashes in his mind. The weight of it all presses harder, but there's no turning back.
Yunho stares up into the endless black expanse of space. He imagines the stars above, far away from the chaos and destruction. The cold of space seeps into his bones, but it’s nothing compared to the warmth of his memories.
For a fleeting moment, doubt creeps in. He could have gone back. He could have handed this over to someone else, saved himself for a future with you and Junho. But deep down, he knows.
He couldn’t have left this to anyone else. He had to be the one to make sure they all stayed safe. His family. His crew.
Yunho presses the button, the countdown echoing in his ears.
Five.
He exhales slowly, his breath shaky.
Four.
Your face flashes before his eyes. That smile. That love.
Three.
Junho, laughing, waving at the stars.
Two.
His chest tightens. His heart is ready.
And then, with a quiet, tear-streaked smile, Yunho whispers into the comms for the final time.
“Hey. Look up for me, yeah?”
“Is the report in?” you ask, trying to mask the anxiety in your voice.
The studio buzzes with last-minute preparations, the air thick with tension. You sit at the news desk, your hands clasped tightly as you await the signal. The flickering lights cast a soft glow on the desk, where the prompter's script waits for you.
“Yes, we’re about to go live,” comes the reply.
The director gives a nod, and the red recording light on the camera blinks on. You adjust your posture and take a deep breath, glancing at the prompter as it begins to scroll.
The screen behind you fades from the Global News Network logo to your somber face. You clear your throat and begin to read, each word a new revelation.
“Good evening,” you start, your voice steady but strained. “This is Jeong Y/N from Global News Network, reporting a critical update on Operation Starfall. On September 1, 2024, the world watched with anticipation as the renowned Aurora Taskforce for Elite Extra-terrestrial Zenith Unit undertook a high-stakes mission to intercept an asteroid on a collision course with Earth.”
You pause, your eyes skimming over the next line, feeling a knot tighten in your stomach.
“We have just received confirmation that the mission was a resounding success. The warhead planted on the asteroid to alter its trajectory was successfully detonated, averting what could have been a global catastrophe.” You take a shallow breath.
“However, amidst the triumph, one of the 6 crew members deployed for the mission has been reported dead.”
Your heart sinks as you read the next line, the weight of the news hitting you hard.
“Commander Jeong Yunho, displaying exceptional bravery and selflessness, reportedly made the ultimate sacrifice during the mission. He remained behind to manually deploy the nuclear warhead, tragically losing his life in the process.”
The words feel heavy on your tongue, each syllable a painful reminder of the reality you’re grappling with. You try to maintain your composure, but the emotional weight is nearly unbearable.
“This is a moment of deep reflection for us all,” you continue, struggling to keep your voice steady.
“The world mourns the loss of a hero who embodied courage and dedication.” you continue, your voice trembling despite your efforts to stay professional.
“Stay tuned to Global News Network for comprehensive coverage and updates on Operation Starfall,” you say, your voice breaking, the world seemingly spinning even slower as you say your last line.
“This has been… Anchor Jeong Y/N… reporting live.”
The camera's red light blinks off, and the studio falls into a heavy silence. The studio lights burn bright, searing through the haze of your emotional turmoil. As you conclude the broadcast, the final words escaping your lips feel like a leaden weight, dragging you down. The prompter’s words fade into a blur, and your vision swims with tears. You take a step back from the desk, feeling the ground tilt beneath you.
The studio, once a controlled environment, now seems disorientingly distant. The room spins as the reality of Yunho’s sacrifice crashes over you like a tidal wave. You sway unsteadily, your legs buckling beneath you.
Before you can collapse, a concerned murmur erupts from the crew. The studio’s bustling energy shifts into urgent activity as crew members rush towards you. Hands steady your arms, guiding you gently to the floor. The world around you becomes a whirlwind of voices and faces, their worry palpable.
“Y/N, are you okay?” one voice asks, but it seems muffled through a veil of dizziness.
“Someone get her some water!” another calls out, the words blending into a distant echo.
You struggle to focus, but all you can see is Yunho’s face— his smile, his eyes filled with warmth and love. In this moment of intense emotion, all thoughts of the studio, the broadcast, and the world around you dissolve into a singular memory of him. His laughter, his touch, his unwavering commitment— everything you loved and lost intertwines with the darkness encroaching on your vision.
As you sink into the floor, your breathing comes in shallow, uneven gasps. The hands around you offer comfort, but they are faint compared to the vivid memories of Yunho. You see his smile, hear his voice, and feel his presence as if he’s reaching out from beyond the stars.
In this final, poignant moment, as consciousness begins to slip away, the only thing that remains clear in your mind is a haunting sense of his eternal presence.
The last thing you remember before the world fades to black is the feeling of being wrapped in the warmth of his love, transcending the distance of space and time.
You don’t have anything left of Yunho.
Not his body, not his ash, not a single strand of his hair.
All you have is Junho and the memory of him in your head.
There were plenty of comments online, some sending condolences and others expressing admiration for your strength. Everybody knew the story— the dreamy romance between the legendary astronaut and the fastidious journalist. It felt like a fairy tale until it wasn’t. Some even criticized your station for having you report on what had happened to your own husband, but at the time, there wasn’t a choice. It had to be done, and you were the only one capable of telling his story.
Still, time had been nothing but cruel to you and Yunho, and the world had witnessed every agonizing second.
At that, you just can’t help but wonder. Did he know?
Did Yunho realize he would have to sacrifice himself before he even left? What was he thinking in his last moments? Was he alone? Was he scared?
The questions cut deep, each one like a fresh wound, but the last one hurts the most.
Yunho was never afraid of anything.
But now, the thought of him being scared in his final moments shatters you in ways you weren’t sure you could survive. Your broken heart breaks all over again.
San approaches you quietly, his expression heavy with grief as he gently pulls you into a hug. “He was a very, very brave man, Y/N. We have him to thank for everything.”
You nod into his chest, unable to find words. “Thank you, San,” you manage to whisper, pulling back. “But it doesn’t change the fact that he’s gone.”
“If not for him, the world would be gone too,” He reminds you softly.
His words hang in the air, repeating in your head.
The world is alive because of him.
Yunho had always been sure of that— always sure of his capabilities, sure of his team, sure that whatever happened, he could handle it.
Still, he had to make sure Earth would go on, that you and Junho would have a place to live, and time to live the rest of your lives.
But how are you supposed to live from here on, knowing he’s no longer right next you?
The weight of it all presses down on you, so heavy it feels like you might break under it. The air feels too thick to breathe, and your chest tightens as if your very soul is being squeezed, piece by piece. It’s an ache that starts deep inside— one that no amount of comforting words or empty sympathies can heal.
You stumble outside, away from the stifling formality of the ceremony and the well-meaning people who don’t understand how hollow their condolences sound. The night air is cold against your skin, but it does nothing to calm the storm raging inside you. With every step, your legs feel weaker, as if the ground beneath you might give way at any moment. Finally, you collapse onto a bench, your hands gripping the edge so tightly your knuckles turn white.
And then, the sobs come.
They burst out of you, uncontrollable and raw, like a flood breaking through a dam. The tears blur your vision, and for a moment, it feels like the world around you is as shattered as you are. The sound of your own crying is the only thing you can hear— a harsh, aching noise that fills the emptiness around you. You want to scream, to let the whole universe know how unfair it all is. How Yunho didn’t deserve this. How you didn’t deserve this.
You should’ve been planning a future together, growing old together, watching Junho grow up with his father by his side. But instead, you’re here, alone, trying to pick up the pieces of a life that no longer makes sense.
The sobs wrack your body, echoing into the quiet night, filling the emptiness with the sound of your grief.
And then, a voice— soft, hesitant— breaks through the sorrow.
“Mrs. Jeong?”
You look up, your vision blurred by tears, hastily wiping your face with trembling hands. As your eyes clear, you see a young man standing nearby. His face is pale, his chest heaving as though he’s been running— not just physically, but running from something deeper, something he can’t quite face.
He walks toward you with awkward, hesitant steps, his posture stiff as he tries to hold himself together. You can see it in his eyes— the guilt, the grief, the way it weighs down on him like it’s too much for one person to bear. His breath is uneven, shaky, and the rise and fall of his chest betrays the calm he’s struggling to maintain.
As he reaches you, he pauses, standing just a step away. His hands fidget nervously, fingers twisting together as though they’re searching for something to hold onto, something solid to keep him from breaking apart. For a long moment, he just stands there, his lips trembling as if he wants to say something but can’t find the words.
Then, finally, with a voice heavy with remorse, he speaks.
“I… I’m Sim Jaeyun. Code name Atlas. I was the driller who worked with Commander Jeong,” His words hang in the air, raw and tentative. He doesn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on the ground as if he can’t bear to meet your eyes.
He takes a shaky breath, his voice faltering as he continues, “I just… I want to say…” He chokes on the words, his shoulders shaking as he forces himself to speak.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Jeong. He died because of me. I— I was a coward, I didn’t have the guts to see my job through to the end, and he… h-he was too full of heart to force me to do it. It should’ve been me.”
His voice breaks completely, tears falling freely down his face as he falls to his knees right in front of you. “It should’ve been me, not him. If I didn't cower before him, he wouldn't have taken the fall for me. I could have convinced him better.”
For a moment, all you feel is the familiar pang of anger— not at Jaeyun, but at Yunho’s unwavering sense of duty, at his martyrdom. He could have taken a lesser mission, something with lower stakes. But Yunho chose Starfall because he knew, that if anything went wrong, he’d be the one to sacrifice himself even if it was not his place to.
One life for the sake of humanity.
For the sake of you and Junho.
As much as it infuriates you, you know that’s who Yunho was. That’s what made him the world’s Space Ace, the hero who saved Earth.
That’s what made him yours.
The silence between you stretches, thick with grief and unspoken words. Jaeyun stays sobbing on his knees, his chest still heaving, but slower now, like he’s trying to get control of himself. You can feel the weight of his guilt pressing down, just as heavy as your own sorrow. He fiddles with his fingers, twisting them together as if he’s bracing for the worst.
Finally, you break the silence, your voice quiet but steady, the words coming out softer than you expected.
“Yunho would’ve done it either way,” you say, knowing it to be true with every part of you. Jaeyun flinches at the sound of Yunho’s name, but you keep going, your tone gentle as if trying to soothe him.
“Come sit down. You’re getting soot on your slacks, and Yunho hates that.”
For a moment, Jaeyun hesitates, as if he’s not sure he deserves the seat beside you. His eyes are still wet with tears, and his lip quivers, but he nods, sniffling quietly as he wipes his face with the back of his hand. Slowly, he moves toward the bench and sits down next to you, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He keeps his gaze low, still fiddling nervously with the soot on his pants, brushing it off as though it’s something he can fix.
You watch him for a moment, the way he looks so lost and vulnerable, his fingers trembling slightly as he wipes at the smudges. A weak chuckle escapes your lips, though it feels foreign in your throat.
“He’d probably send a rock down from the sky just to make sure you showed up to his wake with clean clothes.”
The faint humor is like a balm in the thick air, and you see the corners of Jaeyun’s mouth twitch slightly. It’s a small, tearful smile, barely there, but it softens the hard edges of his sorrow. His red-rimmed eyes flicker to yours, gratitude mingled with his grief, and for a moment, the two of you share a brief sense of understanding— different burdens, but the same pain.
Jaeyun’s fingers still for the first time since he sat down, and you both fall into a gentle, almost peaceful silence. The night air is cool, a contrast to the raw ache in your chest, and for just a moment, the world outside feels a little farther away.
“Before he…” He pauses, sniffling, “Before the warhead detonated, he told us, look up for me, yeah?”
Jaeyun says, his gaze distant, staring up at the night sky.
“Back then,” he starts, voice barely above a whisper, “I thought it simply meant he was asking us to remember him. But now… I’ve realized it could’ve meant so much more.”
His lip trembles, and he grips his knees, grounding himself as the emotions wash over him.
“I thought about it when you said he wanted to be reincarnated as a star during your eulogy.”
The mention of the eulogy stirs a fresh wave of pain in your chest. You remember standing there, the words falling from your lips like fragile glass, trying to make sense of the immense loss. You had said Yunho was the brightest star in the universe, and if there was any justice in the world, he’d return as one— forever watching over you and Junho. But the void he left was suffocating.
Jaeyun shifts again, looking down at his fingers, as if the soot he’s brushing away will somehow make sense of everything. His voice cracks as he continues, “I thought maybe he wanted to be remembered as the man who saved the Earth. Or the man brave enough to give his life up for the world.” He laughs bitterly, his fingers trembling more violently now. “That’s what everyone says, right? He’s a hero, the one who saved us all.”
You look at him, feeling the heaviness in his words. He’s struggling, drowning in guilt and grief, the weight of Yunho’s sacrifice pressing down on him. And in his eyes, you see a reflection of your own heartache. But it’s his next words that nearly shatter you.
“But in the end,” Jaeyun whispers, his voice barely audible now, “all he wants is to remind us that he’ll always be here, after all. We just have to look up.”
It’s too much.
The rawness of his words cuts deep, and you feel the tears threatening to fall again, the ache in your chest tightening until it’s unbearable.
“He’s always here. That’s what he wanted us to know,” Jaeyun repeats softly, his gaze following yours to the sky. “That’s what he wanted you to know.”
The tears you’ve been holding back spill over, hot and relentless, burning down your cheeks as you struggle to keep your sobs quiet. You press a hand to your chest, as if that could somehow stop the pieces of your broken heart from scattering any further.
Jaeyun glances at you, his eyes brimming with his own tears again, and there’s a moment of shared grief between you— two people who admired Yunho, in different ways, but both devastated by his loss.
But in some small, heartbreaking way, Jaeyun is right. Yunho is still here. Not in the way you want, not in the way you need, but in the quiet moments, in the stars above, in the memory of his love.
And that’s all you have left to hold onto.
You and Jaeyun share a few brief moments of silence before he asks permission, saying he’s to go back inside and take care of his post at the guest seating for Yunho’s wake. You thank him for his efforts, and ask that he deliver your thanks to the rest of the crew as well.
The silence Jaeyun leaves behind is fragile, almost suffocating. You sit there, lost in the echo of his words, staring up at the dark sky as if searching for a glimpse of the star Yunho might have become. The photo of Yunho feels heavy in your hands, the edges worn from being held too much.
Before the loneliness can fully settle, you feel a gentle tug on your sleeve. Junho quietly climbs onto the bench beside you, wrapping his small arms around your waist. He says nothing at first, just leans into you, staring at the picture in your hands. The quiet companionship in his presence makes your heart ache in a different way— bittersweet and tender.
“Is Papa really a star now, Mom?” Junho’s voice is soft, barely above a whisper. His eyes are wide and curious, still too young to fully understand, but old enough to know something’s missing.
You smile weakly, brushing a hand through his soft hair. “Yeah, sweetheart. He’s up there, watching over us.”
Junho’s gaze shifts from the photo to the night sky, his little face scrunching up in thought. “Do you think he’s smiling at us? Like in this picture?”
Your throat tightens, but you nod. “I think so. He’s probably smiling that big, bright smile of his, just like he always did.”
Junho pulls away slightly, sitting back to look at the sky, his small hand resting on your belly— on the life that grows there. “Do you think he can see Yunhee, too? Even though she’s still in your tummy?”
The mention of Yunhee tugs at your heartstrings, and your hand instinctively moves to cover Junho’s.
“I think he can,” you murmur, your voice barely steady. “I think he’s looking out for all of us. He’ll be there when she’s born. He’ll make sure she knows how much he loves her.”
Junho is quiet for a moment, still gazing up at the sky. Then, almost as if on cue, you feel a gentle flutter in your belly— Yunhee’s little kick, as if she’s responding to her brother’s words. It’s subtle, but enough to catch your breath. You place your other hand on your stomach, feeling the soft, almost reassuring movement.
Junho gasps, eyes wide with wonder. “Did she kick? Is she listening?”
“She is,” you whisper, a smile breaking through the sadness. “She knows her big brother is talking to her.”
Junho grins, leaning down to press his cheek against your belly. “Are you looking, Yunhee?” he whispers, his voice full of innocent hope. “That’s our papa. He loves us very much. He saved the world for us, so you could be here.”
The words, so simple and pure, nearly undo you. Tears well up in your eyes, but this time they’re softer, more gentle. Junho’s small, earnest voice cuts through the overwhelming grief, reminding you that even in loss, there’s still love— still life.
You look back up at the sky, and for a moment, you can almost believe Yunho is there, watching over his family, smiling that big, bright smile.
“Yunhee’s lucky to have you as her brother,” you say, your voice thick with emotion, but warm. “And we’re both so lucky to have him.”
Junho lifts his head, looking up at you with wide eyes full of innocence. “Do you think Papa misses us too?”
You nod, unable to speak for a moment as you swallow the lump in your throat. “I think he misses us every day,” you whisper. “But he’s always with us, Junho. He’ll always be with us.”
Junho nestles closer into your side, resting his head against your shoulder, and the weight of his small body grounds you, keeping you tethered to this moment. The sadness lingers, but beneath it, there’s a quiet warmth; an unshakable bond that holds you together, even when the person who was the heart of it is no longer here. Junho’s soft breaths mingle with the cool night air, and despite the tears that blur your vision, you find yourself gazing up at the sky.
Amid the vast expanse of darkness, a single star twinkles— faint, but unmistakably bright. You don’t know if it’s Yunho, if such things even exist beyond the stories we tell ourselves to cope. But right now, you need to believe.
Your hand trembles as you lift it, the gesture instinctive, as if reaching out to someone you can no longer touch. Your fingers hover in the air, stretching toward that single star.
“Hi, honey,” you whisper, voice cracking under the weight of all the things you wish you could say.
The tears fall freely now, unstoppable, but for the first time in a long while, they don’t feel quite so heavy. There’s something else mixed in with the grief— an acceptance, a love so deep it transcends the loss. You can feel it in the way Junho clings to you, in the soft flutter of Yunhee beneath your hand. And you can feel it in the silent connection between you and that faraway star.
So you wave.
It’s a small, simple gesture, but it carries everything— every goodbye, every memory, every moment of love that will never fade, even in the absence of the man who was its center.
The star flickers, as if in response.
And in that fleeting moment, with the night sky above you and your children beside you, you let yourself believe that somehow, Yunho is waving back.
KIA’S NOTE: Phew. This was a heavy one. This fic was inspired by the songs Next to You by Chris Brown & JB + Die With a Smile by Bruno Mars and Lady Gaga, as well as the movie Armageddon and an episode from 911 Lone Call.
DISCLAIMER! Despite this being fictional, I tried to make it realistic and also did some research on the details but obviously, the events in this fic are more fictional than real, so please don't take them too seriously. Most of the events, devices, and ops were made up to tailor to the plot. I am also, in no way, an expert in Astronomy, hence what I wrote does not entirely reflect real-life operations.
Still, I hope you enjoyed reading this one as much as I enjoyed writing it; it was definitely new and challenging for me, so I'd love it if you guys lmk what you think!
P.S. I am in Yunho brainrot, so forgive me for posting so much Yuyu fics 😭 I’m going to try my best to put out new works for the other members soon too!