Summary: After discovering that the old brewing machine he had just purchased allowed him to travel back in time, he tried to fix his relationship with you.
Seokmin had already visited the past three times this week. If he told his best friends, Mingyu and Myungho, they wouldn’t believe him. As always, they would tell him to stop being delusional. But hey, being delusional had led him to run a successful café in a prime location in Hongdae!
This time, Seokmin found himself back on the same day—the day he decided to quit his managerial job. That familiar knot of anxiety settled in his stomach as he stepped into the office. But something was different. Something stronger. He wasn’t the same nervous wreck he had been years ago. No. He was ready for this.
He handed in his resignation letter the same way he had back then—hand outstretched, a nervous smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His boss took it, eyes scanning the paper. And then the magic moment arrived.
Seokmin cleared his throat. "You gave me plenty of chances to grow, and I’m grateful for that," he said, voice smooth, not a quiver in sight. Who was this confident guy? Oh right, it was him. "But you're wrong. You are wrong to say I won’t succeed without this company."
Those words—he had swallowed them down so many times, had watched them burn in his throat, unsaid. But now? Now they slid out like butter. The tension he didn’t even know he was carrying was gone, evaporating into thin air, leaving only the crisp taste of freedom.
His boss blinked, clearly startled. Good.
The silence between them stretched on, but Seokmin didn’t even flinch. He was done. He had finally spoken up.
And then, just like that, the weight he didn’t know he’d been carrying started to lift. He walked out of the building with his box, each step feeling lighter than the last. The door closed behind him with a soft whoosh, as though it were sealing away everything he no longer needed.
Outside, the air tasted different—fresher, like the world was offering him a second chance. He walked toward his car, a grin tugging at his lips. He wasn’t leaving something behind; he was heading somewhere, toward something.
He sat in the driver’s seat and gripped the steering wheel. The world seemed to pause around him. The weight of his past—all of it—felt distant now. Almost like someone else’s.
For the first time in forever, Seokmin wasn’t weighed down by the fear of what was to come. He wasn’t haunted by the what-ifs. No, now all he could feel was that little spark of satisfaction deep in his chest. He had finally done it. He had stepped away from a life that had never felt quite right.
His chest felt lighter. His head felt clearer. And hey, wasn’t that the definition of freedom?
Seokmin let out a long breath, not realizing how much he had been holding in. "Finally," he murmured, glancing at his reflection in the rearview mirror.
For the first time in ages, he wasn’t looking back. He wasn’t looking at anything. He was just moving forward.
And that felt, well... pretty darn good.
"Now, I should go back to the present," he murmured to himself.
But—
Oh?
"Why am I still here?" he muttered in confusion.
Usually, he could return to the present whenever he wanted. But now? Something was stopping him. His fingers tightened around the wheel. Was it because he was in the car?
He quickly stepped out and stood under the warm afternoon sun.
Still here.
A wave of panic surged through him. What if he couldn’t return this time? He had worked so hard to build and manage his café for the past seven years. He couldn’t just be stuck in the past.
"Seokmin?"
The familiar voice made his heart skip a beat. He turned quickly, and there you were—walking with a group of colleagues before they left you to approach him.
"Are you leaving for somewhere?" you asked, tilting your head slightly.
Seokmin’s heart pounded in his chest at the sight of you. It had been so long since he last saw you with short hair. He had almost forgotten that you worked in the same building as him. He never expected to run into you while revisiting this moment in time.
"Y/n.. Hi…" he greeted, but his voice came out awkward.
You let out a soft chuckle. "Why are you acting so weird?"
Seokmin bit his lower lip. He just couldn’t tell you that in the future, you would date him, love him, and then break his heart after five years.
Shaking his head, he let out a small, nervous laugh. "It's just…" He hesitated, holding his breath. Could he say it? After a moment of deep thought, he exhaled and finally admitted, "I kinda miss you, I guess."
Your eyes widened slightly. "Sorry? You miss me?" you echoed, confused. "We literally saw each other this morning in the elevator."
You laughed, thinking he was joking. But Seokmin wasn’t. He might joke about a lot of things, but when it came to you? Never. You just didn’t know.
"Hey…" You stepped closer, your brows knitting together in concern. "Are you okay? You look a little red, Seokmin."
His breath hitched at your sudden closeness. Before he could react—
Darkness.
And then—
The familiar scent of coffee beans and the soft hum of a jazz tune playing in the background.
Seokmin found himself back in his dimly lit café, sitting at his usual spot. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he tried to process what had just happened.
He was back.
But for the first time since discovering his ability to travel through time, a strange, lingering feeling settled in his heart.
Seokmin took a deep breath before sighing heavily. Seeing you again—even if it was in the past—was harder than he had expected. He didn’t think his heart would race so much from reliving an old conversation.
He remembered that day vividly. The day he resigned. The day he first told you he was leaving the company. And, unknowingly, the day that sparked everything between you two. It had started as a simple chat, just two coworkers talking. But that conversation had brought you closer.
A series of rapid knocks pulled him back to reality. He blinked, turning toward the glass door, where Mingyu stood with a deep frown on his face.
"I was knocking like crazy while you just sat there daydreaming. Long day, man?" Mingyu asked, stepping inside as Seokmin unlocked the door for him.
Mingyu walked over to the table where Seokmin was sitting and set down a couple of plastic bags, the weight of them making a soft thud against the wood.
"Myungho's on his way with food," Mingyu added, already pulling out his phone and scrolling through it like the conversation was over.
Seokmin reached for the drinks Mingyu had brought. They were heavy, and judging by the labels, definitely on the expensive side. He raised an eyebrow.
"Are you planning to get wasted in my café tonight? In case you forgot, I have to open at seven in the morning," Seokmin said, eyeing his friend with mild exasperation.
Mingyu sighed dramatically, leaning back in his chair. "Relax, man. We'll take it slow. We won’t get wasted—you know me." He threw Seokmin a playful wink before turning his attention back to his phone.
As the three of them gathered, Mingyu immediately took charge, arranging the food and drinks with an excitement that had no real reason behind it. He always got overly invested in things like this. Meanwhile, Myungho—the calmest of the three—watched in silence as his two friends bickered over something as trivial as street food plating.
"Put the tteokbokki in a bowl, obviously," Seokmin argued, gesturing toward the steaming dish.
Mingyu scoffed. "No way, a plate makes it easier to pick up!"
"And the tangsuyuk sauce?" Myungho finally chimed in, sipping his drink. "Poured or dipped?"
Seokmin and Mingyu both turned to him at the same time.
"Dipped."
"Poured."
They glared at each other, neither willing to back down.
Classic.
But just as Seokmin prepared to defend his stance, Myungho’s voice cut through the playful atmosphere.
"Did you get the invitation?" he asked suddenly.
Seokmin turned to him, momentarily distracted. "What invitation?"
Mingyu let out a sigh, shaking his head as he watched Seokmin successfully pour all the sauce over the tangsuyuk. Defeated, he dropped his chopsticks and leaned back in his chair.
The three of them sat in a small circle, their laughter fading as the conversation shifted.
"So you really didn’t get it," Mingyu mumbled, nodding to himself.
Myungho pulled out his phone and turned the screen toward Seokmin, showing him a digital invitation.
You're getting married.
The words glowed against the screen, and as Seokmin scrolled through the details, the color drained from his face.
Mingyu and Myungho exchanged a quick glance, guilt settling over them. This gathering hadn’t just been a casual hangout. It had been arranged for one reason—to soften the blow, to distract Seokmin from the inevitable heartbreak.
Seokmin’s hands tightened around the phone before he slowly slid it back across the table. He looked at his friends, a chuckle escaping his lips, but there was no humor in it. Only disbelief.
"Woah…" His voice was quiet, but the betrayal in his eyes was evident. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Is it him? That guy?"
They knew exactly who he was talking about—the so-called "best friend" who had played a part in your breakup.
Mingyu shook his head. "Not that one."
Seokmin let out a bitter laugh, his grip on his drink tightening. "So it's another guy, huh? She's quick, though." His words were muttered, almost as if he was speaking more to himself than them.
A heavy silence fell over the table.
Myungho sighed before raising his glass. "Let’s not talk about other men," he said, his tone firm as he held his drink out for a toast.
Mingyu followed, clinking his glass against Myungho’s. They both waited for Seokmin.
For a long moment, Seokmin didn’t move. His heart pounded against his ribs, beating twice as fast, as if it was ready to burst.
Then, finally, he exhaled, forcing a small smirk onto his lips as he lifted his glass.
"Yeah," he murmured. "Screw that."
And with that, their drinks clinked together—a silent agreement that, for tonight, they would drink away the pain.
"I’M SERIOUS!!!"
"That machine has taken me back to the past four times already!" Seokmin slurred, his words tumbling over each other as he waved his hand toward the vintage brewing machine sitting proudly on the counter.
Mingyu let out a loud laugh, his own face slightly flushed from the alcohol. He might have been drunk, but not that drunk—not to the point where he’d start believing Seokmin’s wild claims. "Where the hell did you even get that?" he asked, barely able to stifle his laughter.
"From an old man across the road," Seokmin explained, his words slightly incoherent. "I was just trying to help him, but he insisted I buy it—for very cheap, I swear."
Myungho chuckled, clearly amused by the drunken storytelling. "Alright," he humored him, leaning back in his chair. "So where exactly did you travel to?"
Seokmin perked up, turning to Myungho with an appreciative look. At least one of his friends was paying attention.
"First," he began, raising a finger. "Remember our road trip to Busan after we graduated?"
Myungho nodded, recalling the memory.
"That was one. Then I visited the day I broke my mother’s vase when I was six." He sighed dramatically. "Got scolded all over again, by the way."
Mingyu scoffed, swirling the drink in his glass. "Wow, what a life-changing experience."
Seokmin ignored him. "And then, I went back to the time my sisters ganged up on me to tease me mercilessly." He shuddered at the memory, throwing a side glance at Mingyu, who was looking at him with pure judgment.
"And the last one," Seokmin continued, his voice growing softer, "was the day I resigned. Seven years ago."
Mingyu chuckled once Seokmin finished his tale. "I told you to stop daydreaming. You drank too much, now your brain’s broken." With that, he took another shot, shaking his head.
Seokmin was ready to throw a punch at Mingyu, but Myungho, ever the peacekeeper, reached out and held him back.
"Did you change anything?" Myungho asked instead.
Seokmin froze at the question, caught off guard. "I don’t know... I didn’t visit to change anything. So…"
"But is there something you want to change?" Myungho pressed, his voice quieter, more thoughtful. "I mean, isn't that the natural instinct? If you could go back, wouldn't you want to fix something?"
Seokmin fell silent.
Mingyu, ever the skeptic, mouthed to Myungho, You actually believe him?
Myungho simply giggled and shook his head. Mingyu covered his mouth, trying to suppress his laughter as Seokmin sat there, lost in deep thought.
Was there something he wanted to change? A regret so strong that he’d risk altering the past?
Then, after a long pause, Seokmin exhaled.
"There’s one thing," he admitted, his voice quieter now.
Both Mingyu and Myungho looked at him, their amusement fading slightly.
"There’s something I want to fix," Seokmin said, looking up at his friends with newfound determination.
And for the first time that night, neither of them laughed.
*
Seokmin was pacing around, his footsteps echoing in the quiet of his cafe. Today was one week before your wedding day. He could still see the date written on the elegant invitation in his mind. He sighed, a weight in his chest that he thought had long since lifted. But deep down, he knew he hadn’t moved on—not really. His heart still ached for you, even though you had broken it more times than he could count.
The cafe had just closed, a long day finally over. He had worked the after-lunch shift too, his staff shorthanded. After bidding them goodbye as they went home, Seokmin lingered by the counter, cleaning up the remnants of the day. His eyes, however, were drawn to the brewing machine sitting in the corner.
It had been a week since he last used it. The discovery that it could send him to the past had shaken him. After that morning, he’d told his staff to leave the machine alone, insisting it was just a decoration—something for the aesthetic. He couldn’t risk anyone else getting sucked into its mystery, let alone the confusion of being sent back to the past.
But tonight, it called to him.
With a resigned sigh, Seokmin walked over to the machine and began making his coffee. He didn’t know why—he wasn’t in the mood for it, not really. But it felt... right. He prepared the coffee the same way he always had, the routine grounding him. Once he was finished, he sat at a table, wrapping his hands around the warm mug.
Taking a deep breath, he let his mind wander, the way it often did when he needed an escape. Seokmin was always a dreamer, his thoughts effortlessly drifting toward places and moments he longed to revisit. His eyes fluttered closed as he imagined the soft, familiar surroundings of his old apartment. He could feel the weight lifting off his body as he let the image grow sharper, clearer.
Slowly, almost absentmindedly, he raised the mug to his lips and took a sip of the warm coffee. But when he opened his eyes, the world had shifted. The cafe was gone, and in its place was the worn wooden dining table of his old apartment. The warm glow of the lamplight bathed the room in a cozy, nostalgic hue. In his hands, the red mug had changed too, filled not with coffee but with hot chocolate—the one he always made for himself after a particularly long week at the cafe.
He remembered this moment, so clearly. It had been a quiet evening after an exhausting week, his body sore from hours spent on his feet. He had come home that night, craving comfort, craving something familiar. And here it was, as if the past had pulled him back in.
For a moment, Seokmin let himself just be there, soaking in the memory. But deep down, the question gnawed at him. Could he change anything if he stayed? Could he find a way to stop this—to stop you from marrying someone else?
"You're home."
He could hear your voice, and though he expected it, the familiar ache in his chest didn’t lessen. He had been here before, so he knew what was coming next.
A fight.
Arguments.
Yells.
Tears.
He remembered it all too well—the tension that always seemed to hang between them.
"You remember home today?" Your voice was laced with sarcasm as you leaned against the fridge, eyes locking with his.
In the past, he would’ve said, "Don't start it."
But now, when he thought about it, he realized it was always him who started it. All of your frustration, your anger—it had been triggered by his absence. He hadn’t been home for three days, choosing to stay at the cafe to pour himself into work for the five-year anniversary. His team was counting on him, but he had let that responsibility push you to the side.
"I'm sorry," Seokmin mumbled, his voice low, but sincere.
Your frown softened a little, though there was still a flicker of something in your eyes—a question, a need for something more than just the apology he had offered. You didn’t seem to fully believe it yet.
"Why are you home, then?" you asked, arms still crossed tightly over your chest, a guarded expression remaining on your face.
Seokmin paused, his old reflex kicking in. The Seokmin from before would have answered defensively, “Can’t I? It’s my house too. I pay the rent.”
But now, a more mature version of him stared back at you, a version that had grown, that had learned, that understood the weight of words and actions.
He gulped, swallowing the bitterness that tried to crawl up his throat, before answering, "Because... because I miss you." The words slipped out, almost painfully, and he could feel the lump in his throat. He fought the tears threatening to fall, but he could feel them—hot, sharp—and you seemed to notice.
Seokmin set the mug down on the table, his hands trembling slightly. He wiped his face quickly, trying to regain his composure, but it was no use. He had already cracked.
And before he knew it, you were there, pulling him into an embrace.
The warmth of your touch, your familiar scent—it hit him like a wave. He hadn’t expected to break down so quickly, but here he was, clinging to you as if he could somehow undo all the hurt he had caused, all the time lost between the two of you. He hadn’t come here for this, but it was happening anyway—this rush of emotions, this sudden rush of longing.
You pulled back just enough to brush a hand through his hair, your fingers gentle and soothing, sending a ripple of calm through him.
"You must have had a hard time preparing for the event," you murmured, your voice soft, understanding. Your touch was comforting, like a balm to the rawness he was feeling.
Seokmin pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with a desperate intensity. "I'm so sorry... Forgive me, please."
You looked at him with concern, cupping his cheeks with a tenderness that made his heart ache. "Hey, you don’t need to apologize this much. You know I'll forgive you..."
And then, you kissed him. Just a soft, fleeting kiss on his lips. The butterflies that erupted in his stomach were almost overwhelming. After a year without your touch, your kiss felt like a sweet, familiar melody, bringing him back to life in an instant.
"You know I’ll always forgive you," you whispered, and in that moment, Seokmin’s heart clenched painfully. He had forgotten what it felt like to hear those words from you. Had you always been this forgiving? He couldn’t remember, but right now, it felt like everything.
“Don’t cry, baby... I’m sorry too…”
Your words hit him like a wave. You were apologizing? He almost couldn’t believe it. You had always been the tough one, the one who hid your emotions beneath a hard exterior. You never apologized for the fights, not unless it was absolutely necessary, and even then, it was rare. But now, here you were, admitting you were sorry too. It was a side of you he hadn’t seen in so long.
"I'm sorry that I acted like that earlier," you added, your voice thick with emotion. "I was just... worried."
And just like that, the warmth of the moment began to slip away. Seokmin felt the coldness creep back into his bones, like a shadow settling over him. The sound of the jazz music he always played in the cafe swirled around him, pulling him back to reality.
He was back in the present.
This wasn’t the past.
And yet, somehow, this feeling—this hope—remained, flickering in his chest.
*
Seokmin was surprised when he saw your best friend walk into his cafe. He watched as your best friend placed his order while Seokmin was busy fulfilling other customers’ requests at the dessert counter. After a brief moment, your best friend found a table, sitting down with his phone in hand, seemingly lost in thought. Seokmin could feel a slight tension in the air, but he brushed it off as he prepared the order: an Americano and a slice of carrot cake.
He walked over to deliver the order, trying to maintain his usual calm demeanor. "Seungkwan, right?"
Seungkwan looked up in surprise, his gaze shifting around as he realized where he was. His eyes widened slightly at the realization that he was in Seokmin’s cafe—the cafe owned by his best friend’s ex.
"Oh, Seokmin. How are you?" Seungkwan asked, the air between them suddenly feeling awkward. Seokmin made an effort to ease the tension.
"I'm good. How about you? Still working in fashion editorial?" Seokmin asked, trying to be warmer to someone who, in the past, had felt like a potential threat to his relationship with you.
Seungkwan blinked, clearly taken aback by the question. "Actually, I haven’t worked in fashion for almost three years now. I’m in TV show production now," he said with a slight shrug.
Seokmin, embarrassed by not knowing, quickly took the business card Seungkwan offered. It had been a while since they had spoken, and Seokmin only remembered Seungkwan’s involvement with the fashion industry. He felt a little sheepish, but Seungkwan waved it off.
"It’s okay, no reason for you to know that. Anyway, your cafe is doing great," Seungkwan added, his eyes scanning the bustling space, clearly impressed.
The two of them sat at a table together, a rare moment where Seokmin found himself truly getting to know Seungkwan. He had always been your best friend since college, but the few interactions they had shared had never gone beyond awkward pleasantries. Seokmin now realized that he barely knew the person who had been by your side for so long.
In fact, he remembered the last time Seungkwan had been in his life. The memory stung, but he pushed it down as they continued their conversation, both men navigating the strange space between them.
“You ungrateful bastard.” Seungkwan’s words were sharp the last time they had ever saw each other.
Seokmin's eyes widened as he stepped into his apartment after a week of staying in the cafe. He had barely any clothes left there and needed to change. His mind was still trying to forget the argument that had taken place the last time he was home. It was like any other argument—filled with tension, unspoken words, and frustration.
There had been countless times Seungkwan was mentioned during arguments. Seokmin didn’t know him well—just that he was a friend of yours from university. Despite meeting him a few times, there had always been a lingering, uncomfortable atmosphere between Seokmin and Seungkwan, one that others could feel but no one would openly acknowledge.
But when he stepped into the bedroom, everything seemed to freeze. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and then stared again, certain that what he saw couldn’t be real. There, in his bed, was Seungkwan, your best friend, lying on his side of the bed.
It didn’t take long for the familiar anger to rise in Seokmin’s chest. His thoughts raced back to every argument, every moment Seungkwan had been mentioned, and the air of discomfort between him and Seungkwan.
He tried to shake it off, but the image of Seungkwan in his bed was burning into his brain, and the frustration, the years of pent-up tension, exploded.
“What is this?” His voice was thick with disbelief, his hands gripping the doorframe.
Your gaze flicked nervously from Seokmin to Seungkwan, and before Seokmin could react, you were moving towards him, pulling him out of the bedroom. “It’s not what it looks like,” you said quickly, but your voice trembled with uncertainty.
Seokmin’s eyes were wide, his heart pounding. “What do you mean ‘it’s not what it looks like’? Why is he in my bed?” His words were clipped, his frustration quickly building. He couldn’t wrap his head around what was happening.
You kept your voice low, trying to stay calm. “Seokmin, listen to me. It's a misunderstanding.”
“Misunderstanding?” Seokmin’s voice rose, unable to contain the anger. “What part of my bed being taken by him is a misunderstanding?”
You sighed deeply, stepping back slightly to avoid his fiery gaze. “He’s my best friend, Seokmin. He needed somewhere to sleep. We weren’t—” You cut yourself off, realizing how it sounded.
Seokmin’s face darkened. He laughed bitterly, the sound bitter on his tongue. “You think I’m stupid? You want me to believe you’re ‘just sleeping’?” He stepped closer to you, his voice shaking with emotion. “Are you cheating on me with him? Is that it? This whole time, while I’ve been working my ass off, you’ve been with him?”
You took a step back, stunned by his words. “No! I’m not cheating on you!” you pleaded, the frustration in your own voice rising. “Seungkwan’s my friend, my best friend. Why does it always have to be this way?”
Seokmin was pacing now, rubbing his hand over his face, trying to hold it together. His emotions were getting the best of him. “Because I saw it with my own eyes, Y/n. I saw him in my bed, sleeping next to you—” He swallowed hard, trying to get the words out. “What if I had walked in and seen something else? What if I had found you in the middle of... whatever it is you’ve been doing?”
Your eyes widened, and you shook your head frantically. “Seokmin, that’s not what’s happening!” You reached for him, trying to calm him, but he stepped back, avoiding your touch.
Seokmin let out a strained laugh, one filled with pain and betrayal. “Just sleeping? That’s your excuse? What do you expect me to believe? You’ve been so cold lately. So distant. And now this? I don’t know what to think anymore.”
“I’ve been distant?” you shot back, the words sharp. “You’ve been gone for days, Seokmin. Days! And now you come back here accusing me of—of what? Cheating?”
Seokmin’s fists clenched at his sides. He was shaking, his breath coming faster now. “Don’t act like this is my fault. You can’t even look at me the same anymore. Every time I try to come home, it feels like I’m stepping into a house full of secrets and lies. I don’t know who you are anymore.”
“I’m not the one who’s changed, Seokmin!” Your voice cracked, the weight of your words taking their toll. “You’ve pulled away. You’ve been gone, busy with the cafe. You didn’t even have time for me, for us. And now, you show up and this is what you do—accuse me of things that aren’t true!”
The argument grew louder, more intense. Words flew like daggers, each of you trying to hurt the other before the pain could sink too deep. Seokmin was on the verge of breaking down, but his anger was keeping him from seeing clearly. You were both caught in a whirlpool of hurt, accusations, and unsaid words.
Then, as if on cue, Seungkwan appeared in the doorway. His eyes were bleary from sleep, his head clearly pounding from the night before. He stepped out into the living room, rubbing his face and looking between the two of you.
“What’s going on?” Seungkwan’s voice was groggy, his confusion evident. He hadn’t expected to find a warzone when he came out of the room.
Seokmin whirled on him, his anger still burning hot. He grabbed Seungkwan’s shirt with both hands, his voice low and threatening. “What the hell are you doing in my bed with my girlfriend?”
Seungkwan blinked, still half asleep. “Relax, man... We were just sleeping.”
The words barely registered before Seokmin’s fist flew through the air, landing a punch on Seungkwan’s jaw. Seungkwan stumbled back, the shock of the hit taking him by surprise.
“Seokmin, stop!” You screamed, rushing forward, but in his anger, Seokmin pushed you aside, not realizing what he was doing.
You gasped as you hit the floor, but before Seokmin could even react, Seungkwan lunged, his fist connecting with Seokmin’s face. The force sent Seokmin stumbling backwards, his lip splitting from the impact.
“Get the hell out of here, you bastard!” Seungkwan shouted, his chest heaving with adrenaline as he shoved Seokmin toward the door.
Seokmin, dazed and bleeding, stood frozen for a moment. His heart pounded in his ears, the adrenaline still surging through his body. But as Seungkwan pushed him out, his own words haunted him.
“You ungrateful bastard.” Seungkwan’s words were sharp, final, as he slammed the door in Seokmin’s face, leaving him outside in the cold, heartbroken, and alone.
*
Seokmin took a sip of his coffee, the warmth spreading through his body, but as he opened his eyes, something felt... off. The familiar scent of freshly brewed espresso and sugar filled his senses, yet the details around him seemed different.
He wasn’t in his apartment, where he had specifically visualized it. Instead, he was in his café—a year ago.
The table in front of him was the same, scuffed in places where he had absentmindedly tapped his fingers while brainstorming new recipes. The dessert counter was still small, a far cry from what it had become over time. The soft hum of the café's old refrigerator buzzed in the background, a sound he had long since tuned out.
Seokmin’s brows furrowed. Why am I here?
Just then, his phone vibrated. A message.
Y/n: Can you come home? I have a really bad stomachache.
Seokmin stared at the screen, a strange sensation creeping up his spine. He knew this message. He had received it before—exactly one year ago.
Now he remembered.
That night, you had asked him to come home, but he hadn’t. He had stayed at the café, drowning himself in dessert recipes, convincing himself that work was more important. He had ignored your message, promising himself he’d check on you in the morning.
But the morning had come, and by then, something had already started to break between you.
Seokmin clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around his phone.
This was the moment. The turning point.
If he went home tonight, would it change anything between you?
He exhaled, forcing himself to think. Why had he chosen to stay at the café back then? What had been so important that he ignored you?
He had spent months after your breakup searching for answers—wondering why you had grown distant after five years together, why your warmth had slowly faded, why you had let someone else—Seungkwan—fill the space he had left empty.
Was that why you pulled away? Because you had already found someone else?
Seokmin shook his head. He had spent so much time blaming you, convincing himself that you had betrayed him. But deep down, he knew the truth—he had left you alone long before you ever looked elsewhere for comfort.
He stood abruptly, pushing his chair back.
He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
He wasn’t going to give another man the chance to take his place.
Wasn’t that why he had returned to the past in the first place? Because he didn’t want to lose you? Because he couldn’t bear to see you with someone else?
Without hesitation, Seokmin grabbed his keys and sprinted out of the café, the cold night air biting against his skin as he rushed toward your apartment.
"Y/n..." he called softly as he stepped inside, his heart hammering in his chest.
His breath caught when he saw you curled up on the couch, clutching your stomach. Your face was pale, and beads of cold sweat clung to your temple.
Seokmin crossed the room in long strides, kneeling in front of you.
“What’s wrong?” His voice was tight with worry as he reached out, scanning your expression. His fingers brushed against your forehead—it was damp, too cold.
You barely lifted your gaze to meet his. “I don’t know… It hurts so much…” Your voice was weak, barely a whisper.
Panic surged through him. He had no idea the pain had been this bad. Had you been suffering like this all night, alone?
Without another thought, Seokmin scooped you into his arms, holding you close.
“I’m taking you to the hospital,” he said firmly, his mind made up.
This time, he wouldn’t leave you waiting.
Seokmin sat in the cold, sterile hospital hallway, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles turned white. The scent of antiseptic burned his nose, the bright fluorescent lights overhead only worsening the pounding in his skull.
The image of you, unconscious on the hospital bed, your skin sickly pale, was burned into his mind. He hadn't realized it was this serious. Hadn't known you had been suffering like this while he was too caught up in his own world, his own ambitions.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
Please, just let her be okay.
The sound of footsteps made him lift his head, and he shot up when he saw the doctor approaching.
"How is she?" Seokmin asked immediately, his voice rough, desperate.
The doctor sighed, pulling down his mask before speaking. "She's stable now, but..."
Seokmin's heart pounded harder. The pause stretched too long. "But what?"
The doctor gave him a solemn look. "She was pregnant."
Seokmin felt the words hit him like a truck, his breath catching in his throat. Pregnant?
His vision blurred for a second, his mind racing back through time—had you known? Had you tried to tell him?
"But due to excessive stress and prolonged neglect of her symptoms," the doctor continued, "she suffered a miscarriage."
The word rang in his ears, shattering something deep inside him.
A miscarriage.
His legs felt weak, his hands trembled. His mouth opened, but no words came out.
There had been a baby. His baby. A life that had barely begun but was already gone.
Seokmin stumbled back onto the chair, his body cold, his mind reeling. He gripped his hair, exhaling shakily.
He had been so blind. So selfish.
All those times you had asked him to come home. All those moments when you had reached out, needing him. And he had ignored you, stayed at the café, convinced himself that his time, his dreams, his work mattered more.
And now, there was no going back.
His baby was gone.
And you—how were you supposed to handle this? How much pain had you endured alone while he had been too distracted, too distant to see it?
"Hey, do you know I'm never into women? I always have a boyfriend." Seungkwan’s words echoed in his mind, each syllable hitting him like a hammer to the chest.
Seokmin sat there, unmoving, the weight of those words settling deep in his bones. His breath hitched as the realization sank in—how wrong he had been.
All the accusations. The doubts. The fights.
All the times he had glared at Seungkwan, convinced that he was the reason for your distance, the reason you weren’t looking at him the way you used to. He had let his insecurities twist everything, had let jealousy consume him until all he saw was betrayal where there was none.
And while he had been drowning in his own delusions, you had been suffering in silence.
He pressed a hand over his face, his fingers trembling.
"I'm not cheating on you."
Your voice from that night played in his head, softer now, weaker. He could still see the way your face had crumpled at his accusations, the way you had begged him to believe you.
But he hadn’t.
He had let his pride win. He had let his anger control him.
And now, here he was—watching you lie in a hospital bed, pale and weak, after losing the baby he never even knew existed.
Guilt clawed at his throat, suffocating him.
"I should have been there."
But he wasn’t.
And now, it was too late.
*
Mingyu watched as Myungho sprinted down the hospital corridor, his breathing ragged, his face a mix of panic and frustration. Neither of them had expected to receive a message from one of Seokmin's staff, informing them that their friend had been found passed out in his café that morning—with ten empty espresso cups scattered around him.
Myungho raked a trembling hand through his hair, his voice sharp with disbelief. "Is it because of her wedding? Is that why he did something this stupid?" He turned to Mingyu, eyes desperate for an answer, but Mingyu looked just as lost, just as shaken.
Seokmin, their bright, ever-smiling friend, had nearly died of a heart attack.
Mingyu let out a heavy breath, rubbing his hands over his face as he sank onto one of the waiting chairs. His fingers fidgeted, betraying the unease thrumming through his body. "The wedding is tomorrow," he muttered, voice hollow.
Myungho stiffened at the words. He knew it. They both did. But hearing it out loud made it feel more real, made Seokmin’s pain more tangible.
Mingyu swallowed hard, his throat tight. "Doctor said if they hadn’t found him sooner, it could've been fatal."
Myungho clenched his fists. "That idiot," he cursed under his breath, his voice cracking. His eyes burned with unshed tears, the weight of almost losing Seokmin settling heavily on his chest.
Seokmin's eyelids fluttered open, the sterile white ceiling of the hospital room coming into focus. His body felt heavy, his head pounding as if a jackhammer was drilling into his skull. His mouth was dry, tasting faintly of bitter coffee and regret.
Before he could fully register his surroundings, a sharp gasp filled the room.
"Seokmin!"
Mingyu and Myungho rushed to his side, their expressions a mix of relief and frustration. Mingyu gripped his arm tightly, as if making sure he was real, while Myungho hovered nearby, his jaw clenched.
Seokmin blinked sluggishly, his throat constricting as he croaked out, "Where am I?"
Mingyu scoffed, shaking his head. "Where do you think? You're in the hospital, you dumbass." His voice wavered, trying to mask his emotions with irritation, but his grip on Seokmin’s arm gave him away. "You nearly died."
Seokmin groaned, attempting to sit up, but Myungho immediately pressed him back down with a firm hand on his chest. "Don’t even try. You drank ten cups of espresso in one go, Seokmin. Ten! Do you have a death wish?!"
Seokmin closed his eyes briefly, letting their words sink in. Then, in a hoarse whisper, he asked the only question that mattered to him.
"Did she get married?"
The room fell silent.
Mingyu and Myungho exchanged glances, their expressions darkening.
Seokmin's hands clenched the sheets, his breath growing unsteady. "Tell me," he pleaded, his voice cracking.
Myungho sighed, rubbing his temples. "Seokmin—"
"Did she or did she not get married?!" Seokmin's voice rose, desperate, raw.
Mingyu exhaled heavily, then finally muttered, "Not yet."
Seokmin's heart lurched. He wasn't too late. Not yet.
Ignoring the dizziness washing over him, he tried to push himself up again. "I need to see her."
"Are you insane?!" Myungho nearly shouted, pushing him back. "You almost died, and the first thing you want to do is chase after her?!"
Seokmin grabbed onto Myungho’s wrist, eyes wild with determination. "I have to stop it." His voice was barely above a whisper, but the conviction in it made both of his friends freeze.
Mingyu sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You don’t even know if she wants you to stop it, Seokmin."
Seokmin swallowed hard, his chest aching. He knew that. He knew he had no right to do this. But he also knew one thing for certain—
"I need to see her."
Mingyu let out a long breath, gripping his knees as he tried to process Seokmin’s words. Myungho, on the other hand, looked like he was on the verge of throwing something.
"Are you even listening to yourself?" Myungho snapped, glaring at Seokmin. "You just woke up from almost dying, and your first thought is running after her wedding? What the hell do you think is going to happen?"
Mingyu leaned forward, rubbing his temples. "Even if you do see her, then what? Do you expect her to come back to you just because you showed up? Do you think this is some kind of drama where the moment you say ‘don’t marry him,’ she’ll run into your arms?"
Seokmin’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out. His mind was clouded, tangled between desperation and the overwhelming guilt crushing his chest.
"This isn’t about what you want anymore, Seokmin," Myungho continued, his voice quieter but firm. "She’s about to start a new life. Whether or not she’s happy with it, that’s not something you get to decide."
Seokmin’s breathing became uneven, his heart pounding against his ribs. "But what if she’s making a mistake?" he murmured.
"And what if she isn’t?" Mingyu shot back. "What if she’s already moved on and you’re the only one stuck in the past?"
Seokmin’s fingers curled into the hospital blanket. That thought—her moving on, being happy without him—made his stomach twist painfully.
"I need to know," he whispered, voice barely holding together.
Mingyu ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "You’re being selfish, man. You don’t need to know. You want to know. And there’s a big difference."
Myungho sighed, looking away for a moment before turning back to Seokmin. "You think this is love, but it’s guilt eating you alive. You regret everything, and you think if you see her, if you stop her, maybe it’ll fix something in you. But it won’t."
Seokmin clenched his jaw. "I just—"
"You just can’t accept that you lost her."
The words cut deeper than Seokmin expected. His vision blurred slightly, his throat tightening.
Seokmin’s breath hitched, his shoulders trembling as he gripped the blanket beneath him. His head hung low, strands of hair falling over his eyes, but it did nothing to hide the way his body shook. A choked sound escaped his lips, something between a breathless laugh and a sob, as if he himself wasn’t sure whether to scream or cry.
Mingyu and Myungho exchanged a glance, their own expressions heavy with helplessness. Neither of them had an answer—because if moving on was easy, Seokmin wouldn’t be here, collapsing under the weight of what-ifs and regrets.
"I ruined everything," Seokmin whispered, his fingers pressing into his temples. "I should’ve come home that night. I should’ve listened. I should’ve believed her." His voice cracked at the last part, and his body folded in on itself.
He sucked in a sharp breath, but it did nothing to steady him. The dam he had been holding back for so long finally burst. A sob tore from his throat, raw and painful, his hands clutching at his chest as if trying to hold himself together.
"I thought I was doing the right thing." Another sob. "I thought I was protecting us." His words were barely coherent between gasps. "But I— I pushed her away. Over and over. And then when I finally—when I finally wanted to fix things, it was too late."
He pressed his fists against his eyes, trying to stop the flood of tears, but they kept coming. "She waited for me," he rasped. "And I never came."
Myungho, usually the colder one, exhaled and sat on the edge of the hospital bed. He placed a hand on Seokmin’s back, firm but gentle. "You can’t change the past, Seokmin," he murmured. "No matter how much you regret it. You can't change anything."
Seokmin let out a bitter, broken laugh through his tears. "Then what the hell am I supposed to do?"
Mingyu kneeled beside the bed, gripping Seokmin’s wrist, grounding him. "You grieve, man," he said softly. "And then, one day, you start again."
Seokmin squeezed his eyes shut, his body wrecked with sobs. He had spent so long running—running from his emotions, from his mistakes, from the truth. And now, there was nowhere left to run.
All that was left was the ache in his chest and the cruel reality that no matter how much he cried, no matter how much he wished, he could never turn back time.
*
"No one can change things but themselves."
Seokmin let out a quiet chuckle as he read the faded tagline on the back of the vintage brewing machine. He ran a hand over its worn surface, the once-polished metal now dulled with age.
He pulled it from the counter, his fingers tightening around the handle as he lifted it. There was a strange sense of finality in the action, as if he were physically removing a part of himself from the past. He exhaled slowly. It was time to say goodbye.
It had taken him a month to come to terms with the truth. No matter how much he wished otherwise, he couldn’t change the past. Even after experiencing what felt like a second chance, he realized that some things were simply meant to happen. His mistakes, your choices—they were both pieces of a larger story that he had no control over.
He couldn’t be selfish anymore. You had your own life, your own decisions. And he had to respect that.
After being discharged from the hospital, Myungho had insisted he move in with him, at least for a while. “You need someone to keep an eye on your dumbass,” Myungho had said, dragging him into his apartment without giving him a chance to protest. Mingyu had taken over managing the café in his absence, making sure everything ran smoothly while Seokmin recovered.
Their support had been the reason he didn’t completely fall apart.
And now, standing in his café once again, he felt something he hadn’t in a long time—strength. Not just physical strength, but the kind that came from acceptance.
He was back.
And this time, he was ready to move forward.
Seokmin froze for a moment as he spotted the old man standing across the road, watching him with a knowing look. The same old man who had sold him the vintage brewing machine all those months ago—the one who seemed to have known more than he let on. Seokmin blinked, still trying to process the bizarre turn of events.
The old man raised his hand and waved, an almost mischievous grin on his weathered face. Seokmin's heart skipped a beat.
He made his way over, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the quiet room. “You finished using it?” The old man asked, his voice gravelly, as if he'd been waiting for this moment. “Can I get it back?”
Seokmin hesitated for a second, the weight of everything that had happened still lingering in his chest. He glanced down at the machine in his hands, the one that had been his link to the past. "You know it too?" Seokmin asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "This machine... it can send anyone back in time?"
The old man’s smile widened, and he nodded knowingly. "I always knew," he said with quiet certainty. There was something in his eyes—a kind of ancient wisdom—that made Seokmin feel like he was standing before someone who had seen far more than he let on.
Without waiting for any further conversation, the old man reached out and took the machine from Seokmin’s arms. Despite his age, the man was surprisingly strong, and Seokmin couldn’t help but watch in awe as the old man effortlessly carried the machine.
For a moment, Seokmin stood there, frozen, as he watched the old man walk away, the heavy sound of his steps receding in the distance. It felt surreal—like the end of a chapter, yet Seokmin couldn't shake the feeling that it was only the beginning of something far more complex.
As Seokmin stood there, watching the old man walk away, he couldn’t shake the nagging question in his mind—the tagline he had read on the back of the brewing machine. It had been on his mind ever since he first set eyes on it, and now, with the machine being taken away, it felt like there was a final piece to the puzzle that was still missing.
"Hey," Seokmin called out, his voice catching the old man’s attention before he disappeared completely. The old man turned around, a knowing smile playing on his lips as if he had been expecting this.
“What’s the tagline about?” Seokmin asked, his voice tinged with curiosity. "The one that says, 'No one can change things but themselves.' What does that really mean?"
The old man chuckled softly, the sound a raspy yet warm laugh that seemed to carry the weight of countless untold stories. He looked at Seokmin with a glimmer of understanding in his eyes.
"It takes two for everything," the old man replied, his voice low and deliberate. "You couldn’t be the only one who wants it."
Seokmin stood in silence, the brewing machine now a distant memory in his hands, and the words of the old man echoed in his head. “It takes two for everything.” Was he truly ready to let go? To stop trying to control the outcome?
As the seconds ticked by, he realized that maybe, just maybe, the key wasn’t about turning back time, but about moving forward.
Seokmin’s phone buzzed with a new message. It was from Myungho.
Myungho: You're home already?
Seokmin frowned at the screen, his frustration rising. He quickly typed back:
Seokmin: Stop texting me like a creepy boyfriend!
Not even a minute later, his phone rang. It was Myungho calling this time. Seokmin groaned, rolling his eyes before answering.
“Why do you keep bothering me? What do you want, Myungho?” Seokmin grumbled as he headed back to the cafe, trying to shake off the exhaustion that clung to him.
“Mingyu texted me, saying he saw your cafe lights still on!” Myungho said with a teasing tone, clearly amused.
Seokmin, now annoyed, rubbed his temples. “I’m just done recycling, okay? What the heck, how does Mingyu know my lights are still on?”
There was a brief pause on the other end, and then Myungho’s voice came through, dripping with sarcasm. “CCTV?”
Seokmin froze mid-step, eyes widening in disbelief. “Ya! How dare you guys monitor me with my own CCTV?! We should’ve had a talk about this! You’re creepy, you know that?”
Myungho let out a laugh, clearly unfazed by Seokmin’s outburst. “Just get home already. I’ll text you in an hour!”
Seokmin scoffed, shaking his head in amusement as he made his way toward the cafe. “You guys are ridiculous.”
Before Seokmin could respond further, Myungho ended the call with a cheeky, “Don’t make me come over there and check on you myself!”
Seokmin chuckled in disbelief, muttering to himself. “As if I needed another reason to feel like I’m being watched…”
Seokmin woke up slowly, feeling the weight of Myungho's arm draped over his chest. His mind was still foggy as he tried to process the situation. Had Myungho come over last night? He had no memory of it, but the warm pressure on his chest was undeniable.
“Go away, Myungho,” he mumbled, trying to shift the arm off him and pull the blanket back over himself, desperate for more sleep.
But just as he was about to drift off again, a sharp slap landed on his cheek. His eyes snapped open in shock, his heart racing. He turned to see you standing by the bed, a frown plastered on your face, looking down at him with a mix of confusion and frustration.
“Myungho? You dream about your friend?” you asked, your tone biting.
Seokmin’s heart skipped a beat, his breath catching in his throat. His mind couldn’t keep up with what was happening. Y/n? His eyes blinked rapidly, still disoriented from sleep.
He quickly turned his head toward Myungho, expecting to see his friend there, only to find the bed next to him empty. His eyes darted back to you, wide with surprise.
“Y/n?” Seokmin whispered, his voice cracking with disbelief. “What are you doing here?”
You raised an eyebrow, still standing in the doorway. The shock on his face must’ve been evident because your expression softened slightly, your concern starting to show. “I should be asking you that,” you retorted, your arms crossed over your chest. “Why the heck were you thinking i'm Myungho? Were you two—”
“No!” Seokmin interrupted quickly, his face flushing red. He sat up straight, heart pounding. “No, it’s not like that. I… I thought it was Myungho… but it was you…” He trailed off, still struggling to make sense of the situation. “What are you doing here, Y/n?”
You stared at him for a moment, your gaze shifting from confusion to something softer, but still tinged with frustration. A small sigh escaped your lips before you spoke again.
“Why am I here?” you asked incredulously, a bemused look crossing your face. “What are you talking about? I'm your wife, Seokmin. This is my house!”
Seokmin’s breath hitched in his chest. His mind was reeling, unable to catch up with the rush of confusion, panic, and overwhelming guilt. He ran a hand through his hair, still stunned by the situation. His thoughts felt like they were slipping away from him, like he was in a dream, but everything was too real.
“Y/n…” Seokmin’s voice trailed off, still searching your face for some kind of explanation. “How did we— why did I—” He couldn’t find the right words. The mixture of emotions was overwhelming. Was this real? Had everything really led to this?
You shook your head slightly, your expression softening as you walked closer, sitting on the edge of the bed beside him. "Seokmin, what’s going on? Why are you acting like this?"
Seokmin stared at you, the words stuck in his throat. He could feel the weight of everything crashing down on him—everything he had been running from, everything he had tried to avoid. But in that moment, with you sitting so close to him, so real, it all felt too much. Too real to escape.
Seokmin blinked, his mind racing as he looked down at his own finger. He felt the weight of a wedding band there, the same one he saw on yours. His eyes widened, his heart pounding in his chest.
"We're married?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the words couldn't quite sink in. "How?"
You rolled your eyes, clearly frustrated by his confusion. "A month ago, Seokmin! Stop being ridiculous or you’re going to be late."
Seokmin could hardly process what you said. "Late for what?" His mind was still trying to catch up, the fog from his sleep mixing with a heavy sense of disbelief.
You stood up from the bed and walked toward the door, tossing over your shoulder, "Your branch cafe opening, of course. We’ve been planning it for weeks now."
His eyes followed you as you left the room, still reeling from the whirlwind of information that felt too surreal. A month ago? He ran a hand through his hair again, trying to piece together the puzzle. He couldn’t remember any of it—the wedding, the plans, none of it. Everything felt like it was slipping through his fingers, like he had missed an entire chapter of his own life.
Seokmin hurriedly followed you, still trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened. "But I didn’t… I didn’t drink any coffee, and I’m sure I didn’t return to the past," he muttered to himself, almost as if convincing himself.
You stopped in your tracks and glanced back at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Seokmin, you’ve been acting strange all morning. Maybe you should just focus on today, alright? You’ve got a cafe to open."
"But I—" He was cut off by the sound of his own phone buzzing in his pocket. The reality of the situation hit him like a ton of bricks. His mind had been clouded with confusion, but now it was clear—there was no going back.
"I know you're a newlywed, but please don't be late for today!" Mingyu's voice came through the phone, laced with frustration.
Seokmin froze, staring at his phone in disbelief. What was happening?
His thoughts were still spinning, trying to make sense of everything. Newlywed? A month ago? The cafe opening? The weight of it all was sinking in slowly, but it felt like his mind couldn’t keep up. His fingers tightened around the phone, and he felt a rush of panic creeping in.
"Mingyu… what’s going on?" Seokmin asked, his voice shaky as he stood in the hallway, still unsure of the reality he was facing.
On the other end, Mingyu sighed heavily. "Are you serious right now, Seokmin? You’re supposed to be here in an hour. Get it together."
Seokmin’s heart pounded in his chest as his mind raced. What did he mean, 'get it together'? Everything felt like a blur—like he had woken up in someone else’s life. The wedding ring, the cafe opening, your presence beside him—it was all too much to process.
Seokmin glanced over at you, still standing in the doorway, your arms crossed with a gentle but knowing expression on your face. You had your life figured out, but he… he was stuck in a whirlwind of confusion.
"Seokmin," Mingyu’s voice cut through his thoughts. "You need to snap out of it. You're really scaring me now."
Seokmin closed his eyes, trying to focus, but the weight of everything pressing on him was overwhelming. How could he have missed all of this? How could he have forgotten?
"Okay," Seokmin finally said, taking a deep breath and trying to steady his racing thoughts. "I’ll be there."
He hung up the phone and looked at you, the one person who seemed to know what was going on. "I—I don’t know what’s happening," he admitted, his voice softer now. "But I need to figure this out, Y/n."
You smiled slightly, the corner of your mouth lifting as you walked toward him. "One step at a time, Seokmin. Let’s get through today, and then we’ll talk."
Seokmin nodded, still in a daze, but he felt a strange sense of reassurance in your words. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as lost as he thought.
*
Seungkwan stepped into your place, drinks in hand, and immediately noticed something on the kitchen counter. "That's cool," he remarked, eyeing the vintage brewing machine with curiosity.
"I didn’t know you were into vintage stuff," he added, raising an eyebrow as he set the drinks down.
You rolled your eyes playfully, brushing him off as you arranged the coffee table in front of the couch, placing the food you had ordered earlier. "It's just for display," you said, trying to downplay it.
Seungkwan chuckled and sat down on the floor, pulling bottles out of the bag with a grin. "Is it really okay to drink here? Your boyfriend won’t be home, will he?"
You sighed, glancing at him as you adjusted the arrangement on the table. "I told you, he hasn’t been home for days. I don’t know what to do anymore," you admitted, the frustration in your voice barely concealed.
Seungkwan looked at you, concern flickering in his eyes. He set the bottle down and leaned forward, his tone softening. "Let’s forget about him for now, okay? Tonight’s about you. Let’s drink, relax, and leave all the stress behind."
His words, filled with sincerity, brought a small but genuine smile to your face. "Yeah," you said, finally letting yourself breathe a little easier. "Tonight, we forget about everything else."
"So, I went back to the past, where he came home, and I didn’t act like a crazy bitch asking where he was or what he was doing. I saw how hard he was working for our future," you said, your words slurring slightly, but there was an undeniable sincerity in your voice.
Seungkwan watched you closely, his gaze thoughtful. "Do you always know why he worked so hard on the cafe?" he asked, his tone soft but probing.
You nodded, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Yeah, it’s his romantic dream. I knew that all along, but I still acted like an asshole." Your voice faltered slightly, regret creeping in as you admitted your mistakes. "I let my insecurities get the best of me."
Seungkwan fell silent for a moment, processing your words. Then, almost as if he was speaking to himself, he muttered, "Maybe I’m just jealous... that I couldn’t make my dreams come true the way he did. He has something to fight for, something to believe in."
There was a quiet vulnerability in his voice, one that made you pause. You glanced at him, recognizing that his words weren’t just about your boyfriend. He, too, was struggling with his own battles, hidden beneath layers of laughter and bravado.
The day you found out you were pregnant, only to lose it in a heartbreaking miscarriage, felt like a cruel twist of fate. It was the morning where the two of you finally sat together, yet Seokmin was still letting you go, giving you space to breathe but also unintentionally distancing himself further. Maybe that’s how it was meant to be. Even after you returned to the past, even after you tried to fix things, it felt as if nothing would change. The bond you once had was slipping away, like sand through your fingers.
As you stood by the trash, about to dispose of the old brewing machine—the same one that had brought you back to the past—your thoughts were tangled with regret and confusion. That’s when you heard the soft shuffle of footsteps, and you looked up to find the old man, the one who had given you the machine, standing there near your place.
"Oh, you're here..." you murmured, surprised yet not entirely shocked.
The old man smiled faintly, as if he’d been expecting this moment. "Can I get it back?" he asked gently, his voice carrying a quiet understanding.
You nodded, the weight of his words from before still lingering in your mind as you handed the machine back to him. It felt as if he had been a silent witness to everything that had transpired.
Before he walked away, he turned to face you one last time, his gaze penetrating yet wise. "Do you know," he began, his voice a low murmur, "you can’t change someone unless they themselves want to change?"
His words hit you like a heavy realization. He was right. It shouldn’t just be you who wanted change; it had to be him too. It had to come from both sides. The problem had never been about fixing things alone—it was about the both of you, working through it together.
With that, the old man walked away, leaving you standing there, holding onto the truth he'd just given you. A truth you didn’t know you needed to hear.
bring your child to work | jeon wonwoo | a nothing new drabble
pairing: chaebol!husband!Wonwoo x chaebol!fem!reader
content: arranged marriage
read the rest of the series here
Wonwoo prides himself in the serious, intimidating face he puts on when he goes to work. His work persona if you will. He's not super friendly but still kind and respectful to his employees. He's outspoken but also a good listener. He has a sharp memory and doesn't need to write everything down. The connections he builds, the long hours he pours into his work. It's all worth it.
So on this fine winter morning, he strides past his employees with his cold serious face on.
And Jae in his arms.
Wonwoo prefers to keep his personal life separate from his work life. All those charity events and randoms balls and weird formals that you've attended with your husband are all for potential investors not his employees. Aside from the two frames on his desk- one of his wedding day and the other of his the three of you, his employees have not seen you or your son in person. They obviously know what you look like- having read numerous articles about your family and your marriage- anything to learn more about what you look like. You’re stunning, beauty incapable of being described with words and next to Wonwoo, the two of you make a very attractive pair. But other than that, they know nothing about you.
Needless to say, they've always been curious about what sane woman would marry a man like their boss.
Everyone turns to look at this small child in a furry bear onesie- a spitting image of their boss, gripping his usually slicked back hair, babbling all the way to his office.
-
The conference room is silent as everyone watches Wonwoo walk in with his ipad in one arm and his son in the other.
“Erm,” Wonwoo starts, staring at 15 curious faces.
"I hope you will excuse this. My wife got called into a big meeting last minute, my in-laws are on vacation, my parents live too far for me to get here on time, my housekeeper is sick, and Jeff is also sick so here we are," Wonwoo says all in one breath.
“My wife will stop by later to take him but for now my son will be joining us for our daily briefing.” He pauses. “Any questions before we begin?”
“How old is he?” Sarah asks. “2.”
“Can I hold him?” John asks. Wonwoo pauses and looks down at Jae who is currently gripping his tie. “Maybe next time- he’s been interested in pulling hair lately as you saw earlier and I don’t want him to ruin your hair.”
Everyone chuckles. Some of his employees come closer to touch Jae’s foot or arm and he giggles, enjoying all the attention.
Eventually the meeting begins without a hitch. Wonwoo presents his latest updates with Jae fast asleep on his shoulder. Wonwoo carries Jae back to his office when his meeting is over. Jae wakes up fussy and extremely hungry, clutching Wonwoo’s suit collar until he brings out a container with Jae’s breakfast.
Jae’s sitting on the floor with Mr. Bear when you make your way to Wonwoo’s office around lunchtime.
“Hi my love!” you coo as you pick up your son who looks extremely happy to see you. Wonwoo walks over to you, placing his hand around your waist, pressing his chest against your back to play with Jae’s foot.
Unbeknownst to the three of you, Wonwoo’s team is crowded together talking about you.
“She’s even prettier in person!”
“Her aura is incredible!”
“She’s such a good match for Wonwoo-si.”
Wonwoo presses a kiss to your temple and rests his head against yours with a sigh.
“He’s such a good toddler,” he says with a soft smile. “He slept throughout my whole meeting!” You gasp and pinch Jae’s cheek. “Were you a good boy for Appa?”
Jae buries his face in his shoulder and you and Wonwoo laugh.
You hope life is always as simple and happy as this.
pairing: kang younghyun x f!reader
genre: arranged marriage, (one-sided) enemies to lovers, fluff, angst, romance
wc: 12.6k
synopsis: marriage was never part of your plan— especially not to brian kang, a man as composed and unreadable as he is infuriating. used to calling the shots in your own life, you struggle to adapt to sharing a home, a name, and a future with someone the complete opposite of you. but as bickering turns into something dangerously close to understanding, you realise there’s one thing you hadn’t accounted for in this arrangement: falling for the husband you never wanted in the first place.
You should have known your parents had an agenda the day you were introduced to Kang Younghyun and his family.
You had brushed it off as just that; exchanging pleasantries at galas were second nature to you, and just like the countless other families you had been introduced to that evening, you knew that the Kangs would be nothing more than another name in a long, forgettable list.
Even when you were handed his card, the words Brian Kang, Vice-Chairman embossed on matte cardstock, you had thought nothing of it, the small, unassuming rectangle quickly making home in your purse where you would eventually forget about it for months.
And forget about it, you do, until tonight, almost a year after you first met Younghyun— or rather, Brian. You weren’t sure how to address him seeing as you never really had an actual reason to do so, so you settle for a tight-lipped smile as both his and your parents engage in conversation. You get a polite, dimpled one in return.
It is only when both of your families are settled in your seats, waiting for your first course to be served do you hear his voice for the first time that night. It’s the same as you last remember it— soft, gentle, and far too measured, as if every word is carefully curated to be agreeable.
And that’s when you remember why you hate Brian Kang.
Because no one is ever truly that nice— especially not people like you. The wealthy don’t do kindness without motive, and people only often act that way when they want something— your approval, a favour, or, God forbid, your hand in marriage.
And just as you take a sip of your wine, your mother clears her throat.
“It’s a wonder how Younghyun is stil single at his age, isn’t it?”
The comment is offhanded, but it still sends a wave of uneasiness down your spine. You know how your mother is— she’s the reason why you’re so wary of people like Brian to begin with. Because everything you assume about him? She’s already proven herself true.
Mr. Kang hums in agreement. “A man like him— steady, responsible. Any girl would be lucky to have him.”
The old man glances at you as he utters the last few words, and your grip tightens around your glass. Whatever it is that’s about to come next, you know you’re not going to like it.
“That’s why we’ve been thinking…” Now, it’s your father’s turn to speak. “It’s time you start considering a more suitable future for yourself. We’ve talked it over, and we believe Younghyun is the right match for you.”
A beat of silence passes by, as though everybody is waiting for you to react first. You even feel Brian’s steady gaze on you, and that’s when you realise— he knew. That asshole knew.
You don’t stop the chuckle that escapes your lips before it escalates into full-blown laughter, and if not for the tears in your eyes, you would’ve caught the awkward glances being exchanged across the table.
“Honey-“
“You-“ your voice comes off as hoarse. “You want me to marry him?”
“It’s a good match.” Your mother takes a bite of her steak, completely unfazed and completely dismissive of your slow descend into insanity.
“For who? For me? Or for your business connections?” You snap.
“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” your father cuts in, unimpressed.
You scoff, turning to him. “I’m dramatic? You’re literally selling me off in the middle of dinner and I’m dramatic?”
Your mother sighs, dabbing the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin. “Sweetheart, let’s be honest. You were never going to make a sensible choice on your own. We’re doing you a favour.”
Your stomach twists. You know what she’s hinting at. “Excuse me?”
“You’re wasting your time on a boy who barely has enough to pay for his own dinner, let alone yours. How do you expect us to trust your judgement?”
Of course. Of course, they’d bring up Wooshik. Your parents never took a liking to your boyfriend since you introduced him to them two years ago, and while that was an issue you’ve been putting off for a while now, always convincing yourself you’d cross that bridge when you got to it, you just never expected for it to catch up to you so soon.
Then again, you should have known. Your parents always play the long game.
You shake your head, your chair screeching against the marble tiles as you stand up. “You know what? I’m done.” You spare Brian a glare as you do so, the man infuriatingly calm as he watches the entire ordeal unfold ike he’s in a board meeting.
Oh, you hate him.
“And where do you think you’re going?” Your father calls out to you, his voice sharp.
You don’t bother to reply as your storm out of the dining hall, hailing down the first cab you see the moment you exit the country club. There’s only one person you want to see right now, one person who could make sense of this insanity. The one person who, despite what your parents think, chose you for you.
You arrive at Wooshik’s apartment in twelve minutes, your knuckles rapping loudly on his door. In hindsight, you should have given him a call first, knowing that he’s probably already asleep at this time, but in your frazzled state it seems that all sense has left you completely.
The door finally swings open after what feels like forever, but you’re met with someone who isn’t your boyfriend.
“Yes?” The girl greets you with an unimpressed stare. For a moment, you think you’re at the wrong apartment, until your gaze flickers to the number plate above the doorbell. Not that you even needed to; you’ve been here probably a thousand times. There’s no way you’d mistake your own boyfriend’s place, no matter how distressed.
And for the second time that night, your heart drops to the pit of your stomach, only for it to shred itself into little pieces when Wooshik appears, shirtless, eyes widening when they land on you.
“Baby-“
“Who is this?” You ask lowly, shakily, because even despite everything, you still have an inkling of hope that maybe, this is all just a huge misunderstanding. There’s no way that Kim Wooshik, your boyfriend of four whole years, would cheat on you, right?
But he only stays silent, and that was all you needed to hear.
Your heart pounds in your ribs, each beat louder than the last, but Wooshik still says nothing. He doesn’t deny it, doesn’t push past the girl in his doorway to get to you. He just… stands there.
And that’s when you realise— he’s not speechless because he’s guilty. He’s speechless because he doesn’t care.
“Oh, wow,” the girl hums, arms crossing over her chest as her eyes twinkles in amusement. “Took you this long to figure it out, huh?”
You turn to her slowly, fists clenched at your sides. “Excuse me?”
“I mean, c’mon,” she pauses to laugh, gesturing lazily to your boyfriend— if you could even call him that. “Look at him! What other reason could there be for someone like him to go for someone like you?”
When you don’t answer, she raises her hands, rubbing her middle finger against her thumb. As though you needed a reminder— tonight, of all nights— the only thing people truly cared about.
Money.
And it was a good thing you had loads of those too, because being broke sure as hell wouldn’t be able to get you out of what you did next.
You punched her.
You don’t register it until it happens, the loud crack that echoes in the hallway— your knuckles, her nose, you’re not entirely sure which. One thing for sure, you’re seeing red.
She stumbles back with a shriek, but you’re already turning to Wooshik.
“You bastard.”
Your fist collides with his jaw before he could even stammer out an excuse, and his back hits the door behind him upon impact.
“Are you insane?!” He yells, cupping his bruising cheek as he pants.
Maybe. But right now, you don’t care. Even when you feel the stinging of your scalp as the girl fists your hair and yanks you backwards, you recover fast, and you think it’s the pent-up rage from before that spurs you to continue, disregarding your broken nails as you claw blindly and ignoring the contents of your clutch spilling onto the floor as you use it as a makeshift weapon.
“Stop! Stop it- people are looking!“ Wooshik hisses as he grabs you from behind, pulling you away from his mistress. You yank yourself free, whipping your neck to look at him.
“Oh, now you want to care what people think?” You laugh sharply, ignoring the curious eyes of his neighbours as they watch through the cracks of their half-open doors.
Before he could reply, you’re interrupted by the sound of sirens.
Loud. Distinct. And definitely getting closer.
And as the red and blue lights spill through the corridors, it finally registers.
You’re screwed.
The police station is desolate at this time of night, and if it weren’t for the position you were in, you could even say that it’s peaceful.
You’re seated across an officer— Officer Jung, as the placard on his table suggests— who’s flipping through his notes.
“So, wanna tell us what happened?”
You don’t answer, exhaling sharply through your nose— this wasn’t how you imagined your night to end.
“Seeing as there are no serious injuries, we could let you off with a warning and fine. But, if Mr. Kim and Ms. Shin decide to press charges, well, you might have to deal with a court date at a later time. If you tell us what happened, we could help you— make things easier, at least.”
You scoff humourlessly as you keep your gaze on your lap— your bloodied fingers fiddling with your clutch you miraculously still have with you. It’s bent out of shape and not even able to lock properly anymore, leaving you to notice that some of your items are probably still left on the floor outside Wooshik’s apartment.
And then, you notice it— a familiar sleek, black card, hidden away in a tiny pocket on the wall of your purse.
You haven’t used this bag in a while— it’s been almost a year, you believe, but you instantly know to whom that card belongs.
You look at Officer Jung. “I want to make a phone call.”
He looks taken aback at your sudden request, but quickly recovers. “You’ll get your phone call, but talking now could make things easier for you, if you’d just cooperate, Miss.”
You don’t reply, and the officer sighs.
“Fine. One call.”
He pushes the telephone on his table towards you, and you pick up the receiver while you take out the namecard with your other hand. The phone rings thrice before he picks up.
“Brian Kang speaking.”
“I need you to come pick me up.”
A pause.
“Where are you?”
“Gangnam Police Station.”
Thirty minutes later, you hear his voice again, this time in person. Brian is speaking to the officer at the front desk before he’s handed something to sign, and soon he’s directed to where you’re seated at the waiting area.
You turn away, suddenly feeling conscious of your appearance. You’re sure your mascara is smudged and your hair is a hot mess, and while you really couldn’t care less of what anybody thinks of you— much less Brian— you figure there’s only so much humiliation you could take in one night.
“Ready to go?”
You peer at him through your eyelashes, the man only looking back at you patiently like you’re not at a police station and he isn’t here to bail you out. Brian Kang, with his hair styled to perfection and his black tie still in a neat Windsor knot despite it being close to midnight. The only indication that he’s even been through a day is his blazer being unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, but even then, he still manages to look presentable.
Oh, how infuriating. You hate him.
You don’t say anything, standing up and smoothing out your dress in the process. Not like it did much, whatsoever.
“Oh, wow. And who’s this?” A voice sounds from the other side of the room, and you turn to see that it’s Wooshik, a lazy smirk on his lips despite the bruise blooming on his jaw. “Guess I’m not the only one who’s been unfaithful, huh?”
Your blood boils. “You-“
You want to lunge towards him, but a firm grip around your wrist yanks you backwards, and you feel Brian’s chest against your back as he holds you firmly.
“No.” His voice is calm but absolute, his grip tightening when you struggle. “Not here.”
“Let me go,” you seethe, but Brian doesn’t budge.
“And what?” He answers smoothly, tilting his head towards the officers who are watching you intently. “Get yourself in more trouble?”
Wooshik snickers. “You hear that, babe? Keep proving to everyone what a slu-“
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Brian cuts in, his tone so sharp that Wooshik actually shuts up.
You take the opportunity to yank yourself free, and giving Wooshik one final glare, you march out of the station.
Brian is close behind you, as you could tell from the sound of his footsteps, and when you stop, he stands right beside you.
“Brian,” you utter without looking at him, keeping your gaze trained on the almost-empty parking lots in front of you. Your fist your hands tightly, unsure if the pain you feel is from your injuries or from the utter betrayal you’ve received from everyone tonight. “Let’s get married.”
He chuckles softly. “You shouldn’t say things you don’t mean.”
You clench your jaw as you turn to him, just in time for him to meet your gaze. There’s a twinkle of something in his eyes— mirth. Amusement. Almost as if he’s teasing you, and you hate that.
“You don’t think I’m serious?”
“I think you’re angry,” he corrects, now turning to face you fully. He places his hands in his pockets, casually, like you’re not on the brink of lashing out and him not on the receiving end. “And people say all sorts of things when they’re angry.”
You can’t help but to let out a humourless scoff at his tone. You’d think that he’d drop his fake-nice act now that it’s just the two of you, but if anything, it’s even more infuriating. Who the hell does he think he is, talking to you like you’re a child— like he’s trying to gentle parent you, at that? Even your own parents don’t do that!
“I don’t like you,” you say bluntly, earning a raised brow from Brian. “But right now, I think I hate my life even more. So, really— marrying you doesn’t even sound like the worst idea.”
Brian exhales a quiet laugh as he shakes his head. “You’re doing this out of spite.”
You jut your chin towards him. “Oh, what, so now you’re a mind reader?”
“No,” he quips as he lowers his head to meet your eye level, and his lips stretch out into a wide grin. “I just know you’d rather set yourself on fire than to admit defeat and let your parents say ‘I told you so’.”
You grit your teeth. “Go to hell.”
He chuckles. “Tempting, but I think I’ll stick around for a while.” Brian straightens up, finally giving you space to breathe as he adjusts his cuffs, acting like he’s having the most normal conversation in the world. “So, rings?”
You frown. “What?”
“For the wedding?” He adds, tilting his head. “Unless you’d rather wing it and let your mum pick them out?”
You roll your eyes wordlessly before shoving past him, the sound of his mocking laughter trailing behind you. You don’t even know where his car is, but you keep walking anyway, desperate to put some distance between you and that insufferable smirk.
Just what the hell did you get yourself into?
Your wedding with Brian was nothing short of excessive extravagance, as is the rock that now sits on your finger. As stunning as it is, a three-carat diamond ring with a pear cut and matching silver band that fits perfectly, it’s a reminder of your legal bind to the man, whom, even over the last couple of months, you found yourself to still despise.
It isn’t easy to live with someone like Brian when he’s the direct opposite of you. Precise, methodical, and annoyingly put-together— that’s him, and he’s everything you’re not. While you struggled to remember in which box you packed your toiletries prior to the move, he was already done with colour-coding his sock drawer. As you were cursing yourself for dropping one of your favourite scented candles, he was quick to appear beside you with a broom and dustpan, and by the time you were done being dramatic, there were no more glass shards for you to accidentally step on.
The only upside that came with your marriage was the fact that you’d never have to deal with your parents’ suffocating expectations again, even if it meant having to coexist with Brian and all his… Brian-ness.
There were no I-told-you-sos, (because you never bothered to disclose the ending of your relationship with your ex-boyfriend), no condescending lectures, just quiet, satisfied approval, because you had done exactly what they wanted— married a man they approved of, and moved into a life that was deemed respectable. In return, that got you out of a house you never really got to call home to begin with, and for a while, that was enough, until you realised that sharing a roof with Brian came with its own set of problems— like the way he insists on organising the kitchen cabinets like it’s a damn grocery aisle.
“That doesn’t go there.”
You glance over your shoulder to see Brian leaning against the kitchen island, arms crossed as he watches you place a mug in the cabinet.
You arch a brow. “It’s a cabinet. For mugs. Where else should it go?”
He exhales before nodding to somewhere beside you. “Top shelf. Left side. Next to the tall glasses.”
You scoff, turning to face him fully with the mug still in your hand. “Seriously, Brian, do you hear yourself when you speak? It’s a cup. A cup. Who cares where it goes? Are you running a five-star restaurant in here? Are the housekeepers going to judge my mug placement skills? Does the fate of the world depend on whether or not my mug sits next to your stupid tall glasses-“
In the midst of your rant, you don’t even even notice him stepping forward, plucking the mug out of your hands before placing it exactly where he wants it without so much as a word.
“There. Problem solved.” He dusts off his hands before looking down at you. “Also, it’s Younghyun. I told you, Brian is for business. I’m your husband.”
“And our marriage is purely transactional. I’ll call you whatever I want,” you bite back.
“Hm, fair. Should I start calling you sweetheart, then?”
You know he’s trying to rile you up on purpose, and oh, boy, is it working.
You glower. “You wouldn’t dare.”
He merely smiles— that infuriating, knowing smile— and you know he’s noticed the way your cheeks burn in anger. But, being the asshole that he is, he chooses not to say anything.
And somehow, that only makes it worse.
“Sweetheart, could you pass me the salt?”
Your fingers stiffen around your utensils as you slowly turn to him with a glare, Brian not even looking at you as he continues to cut his steak, like nothing ever happened. Like that damn word didn’t just escape his lips; like he’s been saying it for years instead of just now, in front of both of your families.
He only looks up when he realises your silence, and even has the audacity to raise his brows as though to ask: what’s wrong?
You grit your teeth.
“Oh, I absolutely adore what you’ve done with the house! You know, with a space this big, there’s only one way to truly make it feel like home.” Brian’s grandmother beams from across the table.
You don’t like where this is going, but Brian, the ever-perfect grandson, humours her. “And what would that be, Grandma?”
Grandma Kang claps her hands, grinning in a way that reminds you of Brian when he’s teasing you. Now you know where he got it from.
“Filling it with little feet, of course! A house this grand shouldn’t be put to waste— imagine how wonderful it would be to hear children running through these halls.”
Even though you saw it coming, you still find yourself choking on your food as her words hit you before you could process it.
You grasp for your water, but before you could, Brian beats you to it as he slides his own glass towards you, his fingers brushing yours as he does so.
“Careful, darling,” he says, his hand coming up to pat your back. You barely get to register the warmth in both his touch and his voice before it leaves you completely, and he’s back to sipping on his wine by the time you turn to him.
Like nothing ever happened.
“We’re still young, Grandma.” Brian returns to the conversation with an easy smile. “What’s the rush?”
“Yes, but I’m not getting any younger, son,” Grandma Kang hums disapprovingly. “I do want to see at least one of my great-grandchildren before I die. You two haven’t even gone on a honeymoon yet! That won’t do— newlyweds should take time to celebrate.”
“Don’t say that,” Brian chides gently. “You’ll be around to spoil a whole football team’s worth of great-grandkids.”
You kick his shin from under the table, to which Brian doesn’t react— of course he doesn’t.
“I hope you don’t feel like I’m pressuring you, dear.” She turns to you. “It’s just that, I want to see the both of you happy and settled while I can.”
You settle with an awkward smile, though you’re sure it comes off as more of a grimace.
Out of everybody in this room, the old lady seems to be the only one who doesn’t make you feel like you’re under a microscope. She’s warm, affectionate, and genuinely delighted to have you in the family, which is why you can’t find it in you to tell her the truth— that you’re not in love with her grandson, and you don’t think you ever will be.
“But, speaking of honeymoons.” Brian swallows his food. “I do have a work trip coming up. Maybe we could make something out of it. What do you think, love?” He turns to you with a boyish grin, and you swear, if you hear another one of his stupid nicknames leave his mouth, you might just combust.
In anger, of course.
You frown. “A work trip is not a honeymoon.”
“It is if we say it is.” He shrugs, nonchalant. “Especially if it’s in the city of love.”
“Ooh, Paris!” This time, your mother gushes. With the way both Brian’s parents and yours have been quiet throughout the entire duration of dinner, you’d almost forgotten that they were there to begin with. Of course, your mother wouldn’t be your mother if she has to stay silent for very long, and the moment her sharp eyes meet yours, you know that the decision is already made for you.
You’re going to Paris.
You haven’t had a good sleep in days.
With the new project at work and your trip coming up, your schedule is packed, and with the endless emails and phone calls that don’t seem to stop, you’re not given the time to breathe, let alone rest.
It’s nearing midnight, and you find yourself still in the living room, the chandelier dimmed and your only source of light as it accompanies you while you finish up your report. You’ve been at it for hours, and your eyes are starting to blur from the screen, but you force yourself to push through.
You barely even hear the sound of footsteps until Brian stops next to the television, leaning against the wall as he watches you.
“You’re still working?” He asks, his tone quiet and laced with something you can’t really put a finger on. A part of you has a hunch, but you don’t want to acknowledge it.
“Yeah. I just gotta finish this before we leave. I’ll be fine,” you mutter distractedly, not even bothering to spare him a glance.
Brian doesn’t say anything as he continues to watch you, and you continue typing, hoping he gets the hint and leaves you alone.
“You need to take a break,” he finally says, his voice uncharacteristically soft.
“What I need is to finish this report, Brian.” You finally look up to give him a glare, and you’re surprised to see that for once, he’s being serious, devoid of the usual teasing shit-eating grin he always wears. Still, you don’t waver. “You’re not exactly helping by being here.”
“I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. You haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. You need a break,” he repeats, his tone more firm this time. Still, there’s no real anger in it, only concern, and that’s the one thing you’ve been trying not to acknowledge. Your chest starts to twist uncomfortably, unfamiliar with this side of him.
You roll your eyes wordlessly, knowing starting an argument with him would only take up your time, and that’s the one thing you don’t have enough of right now.
You hear Brian sigh before he steps towards you, gently taking the laptop off your lap before placing it on the coffee table in front of you.
“Seriously-“ you scoff before getting to your feet, heart thumping erratically as your frustration finally bubbles over. “What’s it to you? Why do you keep acting like I’m helpless?” You snap. “I can handle this! I don’t need you to tell me what to do every five minutes!”
Brian doesn’t flinch. “I’m not telling you what to do, I’m telling you what’s good for you. And what’s good for you right now is to take a damn break.” Despite the tick of his jaw, his voice is calm, too calm. “You’re not fine,” he continues, a quiet challenge in his voice. “And you don’t have to pretend with me.”
That is what makes you crack.
You don’t know what it is, maybe it’s the exhaustion, mixed with anger— hell, it’s probably all the emotions you’ve been suppressing since you got cheated on and then getting married the following month— because the next thing you know, you’re crying uncontrollably with no signs of stopping.
You drop to the sofa, burying your face in your hands as you sob, your shoulders trembling with the weight of it all. You don’t even want to look at Brian; the last thing you need is his sympathy.
“Just go,” you croak, voice muffled behind your hands. “I’m fine. I’m just tired, okay?”
Brian doesn’t say anything, and for a moment, you think he actually left, until you feel him kneel down in front of you, gently prying your hands off your face.
For some reason, you let him.
He brings his hands to your face, cupping your cheeks gently as he wipes your tears. You shake your head to get him to stop, embarrassed, but he doesn’t move away, only holding you firmer.
“You’re not fine,” he murmurs, his voice a lot quieter now, but his tone is one you haven’t heard before. Soft. Almost tender. “And that’s okay. You don’t have to do this alone. Not as long as I’m here.”
His words catch you off-guard. You hadn’t realised just how much you needed to hear that, too used to carrying everything yourself, always being the strong one, so hearing Brian say that feels like a lifeline.
The fact that he’s actually there, not telling you to fix it or get over it, but simply… acknowledging it, makes everything feel a little less impossible, especially after he says:
“I’m not going anywhere, okay?”
You sniff before looking away. “You’re so annoying,” you mumble, taking his hands to remove them from your face, but you don’t let go as you let them rest on your lap.
Neither does he.
“You bring this up tomorrow, and I’ll kill you.”
Brian laughs, his eyes crinkling as he does so, and somehow, the sight doesn’t annoy you as much as you know it should.
“You’re joking,” you deadpan, fingers resting loosely on your luggage handle as you stare at the room before you. You turn to Brian. “One bed? Why the hell would you book a suite with a single bed?!”
“Grandma wanted to gift us. I couldn’t say no,” he utters with absolute indifference, like you’re both not standing before a king size bed with flower petals scattered all over it in the shape of a giant heart. The sight makes you shudder.
“It’s fine. I’ll just take the couch.”
“You better,” you murmur, too tired to deal with his nonchalance today. You had just gotten out of a fifteen hour flight— like that wasn’t already terrible enough. The fact that it was Brian Kang that you flew with made it all the more agonising.
He was the type of person who insisted on arriving at the airport way before necessary— which, in your case, meant that the three hours you thought you had to pack your luggage were cramped into a single, stress-filled one.
It didn’t help that Brian had a lot to say about your lack of preparation, chastising you for not packing earlier, which of course, then naturally spiralled into an argument that lasted twenty minutes (though, it was more of you yelling while he remained infuriatingly composed).
By the time you were good to go, you’re exhausted, out of breath, and completely over it. Meanwhile, Brian loaded both your luggages into the car with effortless ease like it was nothing.
Like the responsible adult he was, he had checked in for the both of you on time, and even went as far as to listen to the safety instructions in the plane intently like he was in a lecture. At that point, you wouldn’t even be surprised if he were to whip out a notepad and pen to jot down notes.
He was completely insufferable.
And now that you’re finally in Paris, some distance from Brian would do you good, you think— except, of course, he has plans.
While all you want is to sink into the ridiculously plush hotel bed and knock out for a few hours, Brian is already chattering on about his itinerary like he’s pitching a business proposal. Truthfully, you could barely even make out the places he’s listing with how lethargic you are, and he only stops when he realises you’re being weirdly unresponsive.
You’re fast asleep.
Younghyun scoffs to himself as he stares at the slow rise and fall of your back, your body curled up under the covers as you snore softly. Usually, he’d have something to say about how you shouldn’t be lying on the bed without changing out of your outside clothes first, about how you never listen to him when he tells you to get enough rest, maybe even tease you about how you always insist you won’t fall asleep right away, only for you to be knocked out cold the moment your head hits the pillow.
But for once, he lets it go.
Because despite how much you get on his nerves, and no matter how stubborn you are, he knows you’re exhausted. And maybe, he doesn’t mind giving in to you this time.
With a soft sigh, he gets up from the sofa and grabs his coat, making sure not to wake you up as he closes the door behind him softly. If you won’t take care of yourself, then he’d just have to do it for you. And if you’re too stubborn to go out to eat— well, maybe bringing something back would make it easier.
✦ ✦ ✦
By the time you stir awake, it’s dark, and you realise that you’re alone. You wonder if Brian actually did up and leave to go on that walk along the Seine he had been talking about earlier, and for a split second, you feel guilty. You quickly snap out of it, jolting up in the process.
“Am I going insane?” You laugh humourlessly to yourself, running a hand through your tangled hair. “Why the hell should I feel bad for him? He’s not my responsibility. He’s a grown man!” You try to justify, but deep down, there’s a feeling you can’t shake.
You didn’t even ask if he was okay, if he needed help, if he needed something. Nothing.
You groan fall back into the pillows, kicking your feet against the covers in frustration. Your hands find your head once again, and you tug on your hair. “Get out of my head, Brian Kang.”
“Why? Miss me already?”
You sit up again, this time twice as fast and almost falling off the bed in the process.
“I-I wasn’t talking about you,” you manage to sneer, to which Brian chuckles in response as he kicks off his shoes.
“Sure. Come eat.”
You frown, only now noticing the takeout bags he has in his hands before he places them on the coffee table in front of the sofa. As embarrassed as you are, you can’t deny that you’re hungry, so begrudgingly, you pad towards him.
You wait for Brian to shrug off his coat, his coat which you’re now noticing is damp and covered in little droplets. You didn’t even realise that it had been raining, and the same unfamiliar feeling tugs on your heart strings again.
“Really? You couldn’t just wait until the rain stopped?” You mumble, keeping your tone as casual as possible as you start unwrapping your food.
Brian shrugs. “It was just a little rain.”
“Yeah, well, don’t complain if you fall sick tonight and end up having to skip on your meeting tomorrow. I’m not gonna be the one staying awake to take care of you.”
Brian peers at you through his lashes with a knowing smile on his lips, and it only makes you realise how you may have sounded a little too concerned for your liking.
“I-I’m not worried about you, if that’s what you’re thinking. Stop looking at me like that,” you mutter, turning back to your food. You’re not sure if you can continue staring at him without turning yourself into a blubbering fool even more.
Brian laughs, but he doesn’t push it. “Speaking of tomorrow, do you have anywhere you want to visit? We can go after I’m done with work,” he answers breezily, placing a peeled shrimp in your container before resuming with his meal.
You, on the other hand, are frozen in your spot, still trying to process his gesture. You stare at the shrimp in confusion before glancing at him again, but Brian doesn’t even acknowledge you.
“Didn’t you already have a whole itinerary planned?” You ask when you finally find your voice.
“Yes, but seeing as we’re on a honeymoon, we should do things we both like, no?”
“This is not a honeymoon, Brian. Call it what it is, a work trip.”
“Younghyun.” His voice softens in a way that makes your heart tighten. “I know you’ve been working a lot lately, so this is your chance to enjoy Paris. We’ll make the most of it together.”
You want to argue, but somehow the words never come.You know what it is, and you’re finally ready to acknowledge it— the small pang of guilt that creeps into your chest.
“It’s fine,” you say with a sigh. “I don’t really have anything I want to do anyway.” You shrug as nonchalantly as you could, despite knowing that it’s a lie.
Of course, there are things you want to do while you’re here— things that you know Brian wouldn’t necessarily enjoy, and things that certainly wouldn’t fit in his structured itinerary. But you can’t find it in you to say anything, not after everything he’s done.
As much as you hate to admit it, and despite how infuriating and annoying you still think he is, he’s the only one who’s been doing everything while you’ve barely even contributed to the trip. Your mind goes back to his coat again, his stupid, damp coat, and the thought of him being caught in the rain all to get you some food just because you refused to go out today leaves an uncomfortable weight in the pit of your stomach.
So, you don’t say anything— for once, you’ll give in and agree to go along with his plans, even if it means having to drag your feet to the places you know won’t excite you.
Because the last thing you want to do is disappoint him.
✦ ✦ ✦
Brian is already asleep when you step out of the shower, the three-seater sofa only barely accommodating to his tall form. His legs are bent in a way that doesn’t look very comfortable, and he has his arm draped over his eyes to block out the street lights from the window next to him.
There it is again— the dreadful feeling of guilt that twists and turns in your stomach. It doesn’t help that the rain has gotten heavier now, the occasional sound of thunder a reminder that you won’t be getting a peaceful sleep tonight.
With a sigh, you trudge towards the bed, making sure to face the wall and not Brian as you get under the covers. Try as you might, sleep doesn’t come to you very easily, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’ve already had a nap earlier, the relentless rain outside, or purely the guilt from making Brian sleep on the couch. Maybe it’s all three.
You turn on your back, eyes wide open as you stare blankly at the ceiling.
“Are you asleep?” The question escapes you before you could stop it, and you cringe at how loud your voice sounded in the otherwise quiet room.
Surprisingly, Brian hums in reply, but he remains unmoving when you glance at him.
Before you could change your mind, you remove the extra pillow from behind your head, placing it to your right before you quickly turn back on your side.
“Just come here. But any funny business and you’re dead.”
It’s silent for a while, and you think that maybe Brian had gone back to sleep or is simply just ignoring you, until you feel the bed dip.
He exhales a small chuckle as he settles beside you, and even despite the grogginess in his voice, it’s laced with amusement.
“You say that like I’d even dare.”
It’s teasing, but he doesn’t push his luck. Instead, he shifts— just enough to get comfortable, but careful not to press too close. With the pillow now in between the both of you, it’s not like he could, anyway.
A beat passes before he adds, softer this time. “Go to sleep.”
You shut your eyes, opting not to reply him. While that had managed to clear up a little bit of your conscience, there’s still one issue you’re left with: the thunder.
It’s not like you’re necessarily scared of them. They just make you a little jumpy, is all.
Even now, when it booms and splits the dark in a second-long white glow, you yelp, only to bite your tongue right after and hoping Brian hadn’t heard you.
Silence stretches between you, until you feel him reach over to remove the pillow in the middle before it lands on the floor with a thud. You finally turn to peek over your shoulder, ready to ask him what the hell he’s doing.
But of course, Brian doesn’t say anything, eyes still shut like he’s already asleep. In the empty space between the two of you now lies his arm, outstretched, waiting, like a quiet invitation.
Just as you’re about to chide at him, another strike of thunder crashes through the sky, louder this time. So of course, naturally, you jolt.
Forward.
Right into him.
You gasp. “Bri-“
He shushes you. This asshole has the audacity to shush you as he wraps his other arm around your torso, pulling you impossibly closer.
He exhales, his voice low and laced with sleep. “You’re so jumpy.”
Your words get caught in your throat, so for a while, you don’t say anything. You can’t.
“Am not,” you huff, though it doesn’t really come out as convincing given you’re practically curled against his chest.
He hums, and you know he doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t argue. And when thunder strikes for the third time, you feel his arms tighten around you in silent consolation.
You shut your eyes tightly, though this time, it’s not out of fear anymore. No, right now, you’re trying to ignore his warmth that’s already seeping into yours, and the way his featherlight touches are making your throat go drier than a desert.
You think you might need a glass of water, but you don’t exactly want to leave your spot right now.
“One word about this, Brian, and I-“
“You’ll kill me. I know,” he chuckles, the vibration of his chest against yours making you all too aware of how close you are.
You scowl, though it lacks any real bite. Smug bastard.
Still, you don’t move away.
And neither does he.
You wake up to an empty bed.
As you sit up to rub the sleep from your eyes, you almost forget where you are, still disoriented by the warmth lingering on the sheets beside you.
But then you hear the faint rustling from the other side of the room, and that’s when you see Brian by the vanity, currently buttoning up his white dress shirt with his tie still undone and slung over his neck.
Your eyes widen, and you find yourself falling back to the mattress as you stare at the ceiling, breaths slightly laboured.
What the hell is going on? Why is your heart beating so fast? Are you having a heart attack?
You squeeze your eyes shut, even going as far as to press your palms against your cheeks as though doing that would magically erase the memory from your mind.
Nope. Didn’t work. You did not just get flustered over Brian Kang of all people.
No matter how much you try to will it away, the image is already burned in your head— the sharp lines of his collarbones, the way his fingers worked the buttons with ease, the single strand of hair that falls in his forehead despite his conscious effort to style it.
“You okay?”
Suddenly, his voice is way too near for comfort, and your eyes fly open to see Brian peering at you over the side of the bed, his brows knit in confusion.
Thankfully, his shirt is buttoned up all the way now, sparing you from details you don’t want to see (rather, details that you know could potentially cause you to short circuit).
You must have taken a while to answer, gaping at him like a deer in headlights, because you only finally snap out of it when you register him reaching out to you.
“I’m fine!” You blurt, your hand extending out just in time to catch his wrist, his palm already dangerously close to your head.
“You sure?” He asks, not the least bit convinced. “You’re all red. Are you down with a fever?”
“No. Are you?”
Brian only arches his brows at your response, and you finally let him go, scooting further to his side of the bed to put some distance between you two, avoiding his gaze.
“Alright…” he scoffs, a tinge of humour laced in his tone. “I’ll be back before lunch to pick you up, okay? We could go sightseeing if you’re up for that.”
“Yeah, whatever,” you mumble. You had expected him to leave, but he doesn’t, and you finally turn to him again. “What?”
Brian tilts his head slightly, studying you with the same expression that always gets under your skin. Then, without warning, he leans in— just a little, but enough for your breath to catch in your throat.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks again, lower this time, like he knows something is definitely up; like he knows exactly the reason behind why your face is burning and he’s just waiting for you to admit it.
You swallow, gripping the sheets. “I said I’m fine.”
Brian studies you for a second more before he hums, finally straightening up. You don’t miss the flicker of amusement in his eyes, and you know he’s not pushing you further solely because he doesn’t want to embarrass you— at least, more than you already did yourself.
“Okay. If you say so.” He grabs his coat, throwing it over his shoulder. “Get some rest. I’ll see you later, love.”
And with that, he finally turns to leave, just like nothing ever happened.
You exhale sharply, bringing the covers over your head.
You’re so doomed.
✦ ✦ ✦
Your plans after lunch started at the Louvre. It was where you found out that Brian was someone who enjoyed art and history— because why wouldn’t he, right? You thought the gallery was far too crowded and you didn’t see the point in staring at paint splattered on canvas, but seeing how focused he was on reading every single plaque and description, you decided to just let him be.
He’d talk to you about it, too— feed you with fun facts about the artist or history of the painting which really, you couldn’t care less about, but as you took in the way his features would light up whenever he saw a painting he recognised, or the way his lips would twitch into a satisfied smile whenever he shared about something he found interesting, you found yourself holding back on any complaints.
Instead, you nodded along, when in reality you were much more focused on the enthusiasm in his voice and the way his fox-like eyes would crinkle at the corners when he smiled, making him look impossibly more endearing.
That was a thought you were quick to dispose of, of course, because this is Brian Kang you’re talking about. There was no way you were going to admit to anybody that your heart was starting to beat a little too fast to your liking whenever you were around him.
He took you on a boat cruise on the Seine right after, and you did complain this time, bringing up the movie you saw recently about sharks under Paris and how there was no way in hell you were going to let yourself get eaten by one. You weren’t about to tell him that it was boat rides in general that made you uneasy, but it seemed that Brian knew that already without having to ask. He merely laughed and held your hand, and that kept you quiet for the remainder of the ride.
You reach your final destination just as the sun is about to retire for the day, a quiet spot in Champ de Mars facing the Eiffel Tower. Your legs are hurting from all the walking, and with your last meal being lunch a few hours ago, you’re starving.
It was a good thing Brian had half a mind to stop by a sandwich shop on the way here, because your dinner was devoured within minutes, and you’re now left marvelling over the pretty lights that glimmer on the lattice structure before you.
You had no complaints, and it seems that Brian doesn’t have anything to say as well as he too remains quiet, but what you don’t know is that he’s looking at you.
The golden glow of the Eiffel Tower bounces off your skin, catching in the delicate curves of your face. Younghyun might have spent the day at the Louvre, surrounded by centuries’ worth of masterpieces, but hell if you’re not the prettiest thing he’s laid his eyes on.
“Sweetheart.” The name gently rolls of his tongue like he’s been saying it for years, and you hum in reply, clearly distracted, until realisation sets in and your brows furrow ever so slightly as you catch your own slip up.
You turn to him with your signature frown, but Younghyun knows it lacks any real bite. “What?”
He exhales a quiet laugh before pursing his lips, inhaling softly. “I wish you would’ve just told me that you weren’t enjoying yourself today.”
Your expression wavers, but only for a second. “What are you talking about?” You mutter before turning away, like you always do when you’re flustered. “That’s not true. I had fun.”
“You get this look on your face when you’re forcing yourself to have fun,” he muses. “Like you’re watching a movie with a bad plot and you don’t want to admit that you didn’t like it.”
You only scoff, further confirming his assumptions.
“You don’t talk back like you always do. You held back on your complaints when usually, you’d jump at the first opportunity to argue with me. Every time I caught you zoning out, you weren’t looking at what I was showing you— you were looking at me.”
Your breath catches in your throat. Of course, he saw right through you.
“Maybe you just had something on your face.” You glance at him.
Brian laughs. “Even you don’t believe that.”
You roll your eyes, but he isn’t done.
“You should have said something,” he continues, softer this time. “I would’ve done anything you wanted, you know?”
“Even if I wanted to go bungee jumping?”
Brian stares at you softly, a hint of a smile on his face. “I’d tie a rope to my ankle and dive a hundred feet headfirst if it makes you happy.”
Something warm stirs in your chest, but you don’t acknowledge it. You don’t want to, because if you do, then you’d have to admit that this tightening feeling in your chest could be something dangerously close to fondness.
That night, you place your pillow next to you before turning on your side, your back to Brian as he finishes up his work on the sofa.
You feel the weight of his stare as he shuts his laptop, and slowly, cautiously, he gets under the covers next to you, almost like he’s testing the waters.
“Are you asleep?” He asks, voice soft.
You don’t answer right away, not wanting to break the fragile moment. “No.”
He waits for a few moments, almost as though expecting you to elaborate, but when you don’t, he asks, “why?”
You stay quiet again, biting your lip, unsure of what to say. You don’t really have an excuse as to why you’re still awake even after the day you’ve just had. It’s not like it’s raining outside, and it’s not like there’s thunder to keep you up.
It’s not like you were waiting for him.
But Brian doesn’t press. He only stays silent for a while longer before exhaling softly, and just like yesterday, he removes the pillow that separates the two of you before shifting closer, his arm finding your waist as he pulls you flush against his chest.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he murmurs, like he’s read your mind.
Again, you don’t respond, but you don’t pull away either. You turn in his hold, slipping your arm over his torso just as he pulls you closer, and you try to ignore the unfamiliar feeling that constricts your beating heart.
You should be telling him that it’s wrong, that you don’t need this, but you don’t, letting yourself melt in his embrace instead.
Because for the first time, something about the way he holds you feels right.
Paris was weird, so much so that you were relieved the moment you arrived back in Korea. Even if it meant going back to your routine and getting drowned in backlog at work, it was better than having nothing to do, because having time to yourself meant having time to think about Brian Kang, which you found yourself to do every night before you went to sleep.
At first, you blamed it on the jet lag, but even after a week has passed and you've both well settled back into your usual rhythm which consisted of sleeping in your own separate rooms, you still found yourself thinking about him as you lay in your bed, staring at the ceiling. You wondered if Brian thought about Paris just as much as you did, about how safe he made you feel as he wrapped you in his arms, about how the steady beat of his heart, as opposed to your erratic one, had lulled you to sleep even with the raging storm outside. You wondered if he missed your warmth the way you missed his, and how easy it was to fall asleep beside him, like your body has decided for you that his presence was something to seek comfort in.
You wanted to hate it. Because if you didn't, then you'd have to admit that it wasn't just his warmth that you missed— it was him.
And that was something you weren't ready to face, at least not yet.
So instead, you busied yourself with something— anything, to keep your mind off him. And somehow, that brought you here, standing in the kitchen with his grandmother, sleeves rolled up to your elbows and apron tied snugly around your torso as she guided you with a recipe.
You didn't even know how you got here. One second, you were staring blankly at your kitchen counter, contemplating on whether to make yourself some instant noodles, and the next you're on the phone with Grandma Kang— and trust that even the mere thought of this is enough to make you cringe— if she could teach you how to make one of his favourite dishes.
You don't know what it is. Was it guilt? Gratitude? Or maybe— no. You weren't going to entertain the thought that it was something more than that. Perhaps, you just wanted to do something nice for him, to repay him for putting up with you, even make him a celebratory meal for successfully closing a deal after his meeting in Paris.
That was all to it.
"So, how was Paris?" Grandma Kang asks as she stirs pot of kimchi stew.
The old lady, bless her, had arrived within minutes from your phone call, eager to spend time with her— and you quote— her favourite granddaughter.
She was the only who ever really checked in on you ever since you and Brian got married, constantly calling just to ask how you are and reminding you to eat if you haven't. She's just like Brian, and the love you felt from her was one you never really got from your parents. It's warm, unconditional— real.
Which is why you feel guilty.
Because whatever you have with Brian isn't, and all you're doing is deceiving her and letting her believe in something that isn't true.
You swallow, pretending to focus on slicing the vegetables. "It was... nice."
"Just nice?" She muses with a raised brow. "I haven't seen my grandson that happy in a long time, you know."
"He's always happy," you say lightly. "Nothing new there."
"No, dear. This was different."
You don't know how to respond to that, so you don't. You don't want to look too much into the reason behind Brian's unusually good mood, according to his own grandmother.
Grandma Kang sets the spoon down before turning to you.
"I know, you know."
Your grip tightens around hilt of the knife. "Know what?"
She smiles at you. "About you and Younghyun. It isn't real, is it?"
You stomach twists at her words. "Grandma, I-"
"You don't have to explain anything, my dear. I'm old, not blind," she chuckles, turning back to the pot. "My grandson has a lot of love to give," she says gently. "And he does it without expecting anything in return."
You exhale shakily, setting your knife down. "I know that."
She hums. "Then you should know that he's not trying to hurt you. He never has." She pauses to sigh. "Stupid boy. I know he only got married to appease me. His parents set him up with so many girls, you know? He was always polite to them, but his heart was never fully in it. Until you." Grandma Kang smiles at you softly. "It's scary, right? But that's also the beauty of falling in love."
"I don't-" you cut yourself off. Because what could you even say? That she's wrong? That you don't-
You can't. Because then you think you'd be lying.
"Grandma? I didn't know you were coming over." Brian appears in the kitchen, surprise etched on his features. He has his blazer draped over his shoulder, his tie loosened, and the sight makes your throat dry.
His eyes are quick to find yours, and you quickly turn away before he could notice the tears welling in your eyes— tears you're only now registering are there in the first place.
You don't even want to know why you're crying— you seem to be doing that a lot lately— but you may have a hunch.
"Ah, these damn onions, am I right?" Grandma Kang huffs, planting her hands on your shoulders as she moves you behind her; you're silently grateful for that. You take that time to dab your eyes dry, clearing your throat slightly and hoping your red face wouldn't give you away. "Why? Is there something wrong with me wanting to spend time with my favourite granddaughter?"
"Of course not, Grandma," Brian says gently, and you hate how the softness of his voice affects you. By the time you turn around, he's already peering at the dishes on the island, and he looks up at you with a grin on his face. "Did you make all of this?"
Somehow, his question makes your cheeks burn. You think it's embarrassment, having been caught doing something nice for a husband you never wanted in the first place.
You don't even know who you are anymore.
"With a little help," you answer, but your voice comes off as quiet. If Brian notices how uncharacteristically awkward you're being, he doesn't say anything.
"Give yourself a little more credit, dear! Younghyun, a lady who can cook this well? You better treat her right, or I'll come knock some sense into you myself."
Brian doesn't look at his grandma despite her chiding, still looking at you like you're the most valuable thing in the world. "Don't worry, Grandma." His gaze grows softer. "I don't plan on letting her go anytime soon."
✦ ✦ ✦
You find yourself wide awake again despite it being way past midnight. It's turned into a routine at this point, and you have no one else to blame but your housemate who's probably already fast asleep at the other side of the house.
You groan. You hate Brian for making you feel this way, and you really wish you meant it.
Knowing that staying in your room wouldn't do you any good, you decide to head to the kitchen— perhaps a hot drink could help ease the turmoil in your heart.
But alas, your heart only starts to thump faster when you realise the lights are already on, and you find Brian leaning against the counter as he nurses a mug of tea.
"Hey. Can't sleep?"
Your words catch in your throat, so you settle with a nod as you open the refrigerator for the mere sake of wanting something to do.
"You shouldn't be drinking something cold this late. Want me to make you some tea?" He offers, and despite yourself, you still find it in you to roll your eyes at his gentle nagging.
"No, I'm good."
"Milk?"
"I'm not a child."
"I'm afraid that's about all the options I have for you then, love," Brian chuckles before he stops, tone growing softer now. "What's the matter?"
You close the door, finally turning to him. "What are you talking about?"
"You just seem distracted lately."
"I'm fine," you mutter, and even though you know Brian isn't convinced, he doesn't push any further.
"Listen, if you're having trouble sleeping..." he trails off. "You can stay with me."
You blink at his words. "What?"
"If you want to." He pauses as though to gauge for your response, before adding, "would it help?"
You hesitate. You hate how easy the way he says it, so gentle and sincere, giving you an out like he knows how much you struggle with expressing your thoughts.
And as much as you still do, you know there's no use in hiding it anymore when he's already seen through you completely.
So you settle with a nod, a slight one, but one Brian manages to catch nonetheless.
His smile doesn't widen, and he doesn't gloat. Instead, he sets his mug in the sink before he takes your hand. "C'mon," he says softly. "Let's go to sleep."
The walk back to his room is a quiet one, and by the time you step inside, Brian lets go of your hand just long enough to pull back the covers.
"Go on," he says, nodding towards the bed.
You stall, but only for a moment, before slipping under the sheets. The mattress dips as he settles in beside you, and any distance between the two of you disappears in an instant.
Brian shifts slightly, turning on his side to face you. "Better?" He murmurs.
You still don't trust yourself to speak, so you only nod.
He smiles at you then, lips quirking up ever so slightly as he reaches over, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. The touch is fleeting, but it sends something through you.
"Good," he whispers, and like it's the most natural thing in the world, he wraps an arm around you and pulls you close— just close enough for you to hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat you missed.
And with your head resting just above his heart, you note the way his breaths even out as he falls asleep, and you know you should too, but your mind refuses to settle.
"Brian?" You call out softly, so softly you think you never meant for him to hear it at all. Maybe that's for the best.
"I think..." you swallow, gripping the fabric of shirt a little tighter. "I think I'm falling for you."
You let your words hang in the air, fragile yet certain, because you don't regret it at all.
And just like the first time Brian's held you in his arms, you feel like you could finally breathe again.
As it turns out, coming to terms with your feelings was more difficult than you thought, especially when every little thing Brian did seemed to mean something now.
The way his hand would find the small on your back when you crossed the street, the way he always ensured your coffee was the perfect temperature before handing it to you, even down to the way he looked at you— soft, knowing, like he could see right through every excuse you tried to make for yourself.
Still, you tried your best to brush it off. You're a grown woman, not some schoolgirl with a silly crush. You could handle this.
Or at least, that's what you told yourself.
Which is why, when you find yourself at his workplace, lunch bag in hand with a bento box specially prepared (a completely normal, thoughtful thing to do), you ignore the way your heart races at the thought of seeing him.
His receptionist greets you with a smile, telling you that he's inside his office, and you make the short walk down the hallway. For some reason, you're nervous, and while you'd usually blame it on your nerves, you should have known that it was something else this time.
Because there he is, smiling with another woman as she laughs at whatever he'd said. And Brian— that asshole— isn't doing anything to stop her either. He doesn't stop her when she bats her eyelashes at him, leaning in too close for comfort, and he doesn't stop her when she calls him Younghyun.
Younghyun, the one name that for some reason, you couldn't bring yourself to say, yet hated to hear from anybody else.
You left right then and there, slamming the bag on the receptionist's table on your way out.
"Tell him he can eat this if he wants," you mutter without turning back.
The poor receptionist stares at your retreating back before she hesitantly picks up the bag. You're obviously in a mood, and quite frankly, Eunji wanted no part of it. Not like she has a choice.
"Sir?" She knocks on Younghyun's door. "Your wife dropped this off."
Younghyun looks up from his paperwork, brows furrowed when he sees the bag in her hands. "I thought I told you to just let her in if she comes by."
"Well, yes." She tightens the grip on the bag. "I did send her to your office right away, sir, but she left not even a minute later."
Younghyun tilts his head as he stares at the bag. "And what time was this?"
"Five minutes ago, sir. She just left."
Younghyun takes in a breath before nodding. "Okay, just put in on the table. Thanks, Eunji."
Eunji nods before scurrying out, leaving Younghyun to lean against his chair, jaw tightening. This wasn't like you— it wasn't very often that you'd come by his office, only doing so when you started cooking, but the times that you do, you'd usually make him come down to get you, or at the very least, have a snarky remark at the ready as you handed him his food. But this? This was something else entirely.
Of course, the way you've been avoiding him recently wasn't lost on him, and Younghyun couldn't for the life of him figure out why.
He thought everything was fine— better than fine, even, now that you were sharing a bed, falling asleep in his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world, but somehow you felt more distant than ever.
He started noticing the little things at first— the way you still curled up next to him at night, but never reaching out to him first. He'd pull you close, only for you to stiffen for a moment before letting yourself melt in his embrace, as though you had to remind yourself that it was okay. The way you used to linger in the mornings, pretending to still be asleep so you wouldn't have to move away from him so soon, only to be the first to slip out of bed now. You barely meet his eyes when you talk to him, and you no longer found fault with him in the littlest things, be it the way he'd organise the fridge or how he'd double check his schedules multiple times even though nothing has changed.
And the worst part? You still made him coffee in the mornings, still took care of his meals, still made sure he had everything he needed— all except you, which was the one thing he actually did need.
The silence where your bickering used to be is almost worst than the distance. At least when you argued, it showed that you were paying attention to him.
Which is why now, when he finally finds you in the kitchen, awake and not pretending to be asleep to avoid him like you do, he decides to end this once and for all.
"You didn't tell me you dropped by earlier," he starts off, as casual as possible as he leans against the refrigerator, watching you do the dishes.
You don't even turn to him. "You seemed busy. Didn't want to interrupt."
"Busy? It was lunch time, love."
You don't answer, and Younghyun sighs. "Alright." He steps towards you before turning off the faucet, and you turn to him with a scowl on your face.
"Bri-"
"Are you gonna tell me what's wrong, or am I going to have to force it out of you?"
You waver slightly, not all used to this sight of Brian. He's isn't necessarily angry, but the edge in his voice as opposed to the usual gentleness that you're used to is enough to tell you that he's, at the very least, annoyed.
Still, you hold his stare. "Nothing's wrong."
"Don't lie to me." He clenches his jaw. "Why are you avoiding me?"
"I'm not avoiding you," you retort through gritted teeth before attempting to move past him, but Brian cages you in between his arms. You glower at him. "Let me go."
"Is this about earlier?" He asks.
Your fingers twitch. "What?"
"You saw me with her, didn't you?"
Of course. Of course, he's seen through you yet again. You let out a humourless scoff, not ready to admit it just yet.
"You think I'm jealous? I don't care what you do, or who you talk to, Brian. I don't care if you want to let other people call you Younghyun, or if you want to flirt, or-"
"Flirt? Youngji's my cousin! She was at our wedding? She's getting married next month."
You part your lips to reply, but nothing comes out. The room feels unbearably still, the weight of your own foolishness settling over you like a heavy blanket.
Brian exhales sharply as he runs a hand through his hair, and he finally takes a step back for you to breathe. "You don't even call me Younghyun," he mutters, scoffing humourlessly. "But you hate hearing it from anybody else."
You shut your eyes. "Younghyun, I-"
"Say that again."
You breath hitches, and when you open your eyes, he's already looking at you.
You lips quiver, and you don't know what possesses you to obey, but his name rolls of your tongue again in a hushed whisper. "Younghyun."
He smiles at you, and you now realise it isn't the same one you see him give to Youngji. It isn't the same as the polite, effortless ones he gives to strangers, or the one he gives to his family, full of warmth.
No, this one is different.
This one is just for you.
And for the first time since this whole mess started, you finally understand.
"Now tell me," he urges gently as he takes your hands into his. "Tell me why it bothered you so much."
It seems like he already knows, and he's purposely giving you the chance to say it.
"Because I want to be the one to make you smile like that," you say quietly, and Younghyun scoffs as he shakes his head.
"Baby, do you even see the way I look at you?" He asks, almost in exasperation as though he couldn't believe you aren't getting it yet. "You think I look at everyone like they hung up all the stars in the sky? You think I smile at everyone like they're the best damn thing that's ever happened to me?" His voice is quieter now, but no less intense. "Because I don't. It's just you. It's always just been you."
You don't stop the tears that roll down your cheeks, and Younghyun is quick to catch them as he cups your face gently before he leans his forehead against yours.
"Tell me," he murmurs. "Whatever it is that you've been holding back. Say it."
"Younghyun." Your lips quiver, and he reassures you with an equally teary smile. "I'm in love with you."
Relief flickers across his face, and despite his own emotions, his lips widen even more in a way that makes your heart ache.
"I knew I wanted you the moment you called me to bail you out of jail," he says softly, as though going any louder would break the moment. "So if you say you love me," he swallows, throat working as he lets his first tear fall, "just know that I've loved you for way longer."
You let out a shaky laugh, biting your inner lip as more tears slip free. He chuckles, wiping them away again as she shakes his head.
"Can't believe you thought I'd look at anyone the way I look at you."
You sniff. "Shut up."
But you don't pull away when Younghyun leans in, and you don't stop him when he finally kisses you— soft and slow, like you have all the time in the world.
tags: boyfriend! seungcheol x reader, just a little light-hearted fluff of seungcheol being a dramatic whiny baby when he’s sick, mentions of dry scalp and skin picking lol, seungcheol is very whiny | wc: 742
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a classic cough and cold combo paired with a side of fever-related aches and pains — that was the diagnosis, not the life-threatening illness seungcheol was sure he’d contracted. he’d tried convincing you it was fast-spreading. like really fast. like it has taken over his body and has been shutting down his organs one by one for the past 6 hours fast.
‘i’m going to die. it’s not a joke anymore. i seriously feel like i’m going to die’ he tugs at the hem of your t-shirt as you clear up the mountain of tissues on the left bedside table, and then tugs again while you’re clearing up a pile of dishes on the right.
you sigh, ignoring him, and disappear into the kitchen to reappear with a fresh bowl of hot chicken soup ‘seungcheol, we’ve been over this already. you’re not going to die’
‘forget it! just get me my will. i have to make some last-minute changes’ he asks for it dramatically, draping a limp arm over his eyes.
‘you don’t have a will’ you blow on the hot soup in quick bursts before feeding him a spoonful.
‘ugh, never mind. it’s fine’ the will talk is waved off with a quick fan of the hand to make way for what he says next ‘they give everything to the spouse anyway. wait, do they?’
‘i don’t know, and we’re not married’ you remind him, stirring the hot liquid so the shredded chicken, his favourite part, rises to the top.
‘god, you’re right’ he sits up a little straighter and grabs your free hand, suddenly somber ‘do you take choi seungcheol to be your lawf-’
you force-feed him another spoonful to shut him up, a bit of it spilling onto the quilted blanket. the soup must’ve still been too hot because he lets out a little cry, whining, though it’s entirely possible he’s overreacting.
‘you’re not taking this seriously, i’m actually dying’
‘you’re not’
‘what do you know! you’re not a doctor!’ he grumbles, taking a moment to tell you he really likes the soup and really really appreciates you making it for him before continuing to rant.
‘yeah, and what about the actual doctor we called who said you’re not?’
‘he doesn’t know anything either, that hack. the people on the internet’ he picks up his phone from the bed, showing you a screenshot from some site you’re pretty sure is for hypochondriacs to confirm each other’s delusions, and taps on the screen ‘have told me i have less than 24 hours left. 24. 24!’
‘seungcheol, i can’t have this conversation with you anymore. seriously. you need to go to sleep’ you put the empty bowl aside, straightening, and then pulling the blanket up to cover him.
‘no, no, don’t leave. i want lap time’ he pouts, baby-talking his way into his third one of the day. you sit back down on the bed with a sigh as he repositions himself to lay on your lap, wriggling his head around until he’s comfy. your fingers slowly comb through his hair, your nails scratching lightly against his scalp to soothe him. in a slightly gross but domestic act, you pick a few bits of flaky skin out of his unwashed hair, flicking them away. you should wash it for him later, you think. he’d like that.
seungcheol always found the sensation of you picking at his scalp strangely comforting, and surprisingly quite sleep-inducing. minutes pass without a single sound.
it’s quiet. finally. or so you think.
‘if i die, you can’t date anyone for the next 10 years. at least’
‘what?!’ you jerk your thighs up, pushing him off your lap ‘10 years? you’re crazy’
he can’t believe what he’s hearing.
‘i was just being nice. you shouldn’t date anyone ever, but ohmygod, i can’t believe you want to be with someone else’ he presses his fingers to his temples, suddenly coming down with a headache.
‘so let me get this straight’ he continues ‘you’re telling me when i die tomorrow-’
‘you won’t’
‘-when i die tomorrow, you’re going to bring some other man to my funeral?!’ his cheeks now hot with a shade of distressed pink.
you’re not sure where he’s got that from but you’ve had enough. you get up, grabbing the bowl, and look him straight in the eye, pinching his cute little cheeks ‘well, it’s a good thing you’re not dying then’
you walk out, leaving him right there on the bed, hot and most definitely cold.
Synopsis: a drabble in which mingyu is a blanket hog and a snore monster (kind of a sequel to this blurb).
Mingyu x gn! reader | fluff | 1.28k words | no warnings
A/n: written in the middle of the night because i couldn’t sleep. Not proof read.
Cold.
Cold?
Cold!!!
Why was it so cold?!?
When your brain finally registered that you were freezing, you were abruptly pulled out of your peaceful slumber. This was the fourth time this week you were rudely awakened, and it was only wednesday. With your eyes still closed, you reached out to pull your blanket up to your chin. But you were grabbing at nothing. Shivering and confused, you continued to pat the area surrounding your side of the bed. Alas, you felt nothing except the cool bed sheets against your fingertips.
Groaning, you reluctantly opened your eyes. As you groggily looked around for where your blanket was, your eyes fell on a large lumpy blob on the bed next to you.
You squinted at the blob, trying to make out what this horrifyingly large mound of fabric was doing on your bed. Since you were still sleepy, your brain was slow to process things. It didn’t occur to you what or more specifically who this blob could possibly be. You pensively raised a finger, poking the blob a few times. For all you know, this blob was some alien who decided to call your bed home.
It was only when the blob let out a whimper and a whine at your incessant poking that you realised this blob was your boyfriend wrapped up cozily within your shared blanket. Unconsciously, Mingyu had somehow managed to yank the blanket away from your body. If you weren’t so cold and feeling so sleep deprived, you were sure you would have laughed at how adorable Mingyu currently looked.
Despite being such a large man, he managed to curl up up inside of the blanket in a fetal position, making him seem very tiny. Honestly? He looked like a baby being swaddled. His whole body was covered by the blanket with the exception of his face. His bottom lip jutted out a little. Even when he was asleep, Mingyu still wore a small pout on his face. But he looked so content. When your poking ceased, he snuggled deeper into the blanket cocoon he made from himself. He looked so warm, cozy, and toasty in that cocoon.
Mmm yes, warmth. That was what you craved and needed so desperately. You felt your teeth start to chatter. So, while you felt a tiny pinch of guilt as you yanked the blanket over yourself (rather forcefully you might add), knowing that Mingyu might be woken up, you were seriously going to turn into an ice cube if you didn’t get warm soon. Besides, if Mingyu woke up, it was entirely his fault for being an insufferable loveable blanket hog.
Fortunately, Mingyu remained fast asleep. That man could sleep through almost anything. In fact, as you uncurled the blanket, it seemed that you took him along with it. Mingyu’s limbs uncurled along with the blanket, his arm and leg now draped over you as well.
You mentally shrugged your shoulders. This new situation wasn’t a completely unwelcome one. Mingyu was a huge cuddle bug so he usually had one or more of his appendages wrapped around your body. You were used to falling asleep in his embrace, likening the weight of his arm or leg across your body as a weird rip off weighted blanket. Of course, it also helped that Mingyu radiated warmth. He was practically a human heater which was perfect because you were still freezing.
You sighed in contentment, scooting closer to Mingyu’s body that was currently radiating all the heat you could ever need. Resting your head against his chest, you closed your eyes, ready to fall back to sleep.
For a while, it was peaceful. At this time of the night, it was quiet. Nothing could be heard except the whir of your air conditioner and the occasional car driving past your apartment building. Now, nicely warmed up, you started to drift off.
Sadly, just as you were about to be pulled into sleep’s welcome embrace, you were yanked from sleep’s arms once again by a soft snore cutting through the silence of the night. You felt the rumble in Mingyu’s chest as he snored softly above you. You paid his snores no attention. Mingyu always snored anyway.
But this time, Mingyu snored again. And again. And again. His snores getting progressively louder each time. Already sleep deprived and annoyed from the whole blanket ordeal, Mingyu’s snores were slowly getting on your nerves. He was breathing and snoring right above your head. To you, those sounds were grating as it felt like he was rattling your brain with his snores.
Still, you gritted your teeth and tried to go back to sleep. Sadly, your determination to sleep could not help you overcome Mingyu’s snoring.
Annoyed might be putting it lightly? But then again, you weren’t exactly annoyed at Mingyu’s unconscious actions though that did play a role in contributing to your foul mood. Instead, you were more disappointed and angry at yourself. Your patience was non-existent today. You were usually more tolerant of Mingyu’s snoring. Perhaps your nerves were just completely shot from having yet another abrupt awakening this week.
Huffing, you wiggled your way out from under Mingyu’s embrace as gently as possible. You made your way to the kitchen to grab a warm drink to calm your nerves before opting to settle on the couch for the night. At least it was quiet here, and you could have the fluffy throw blanket all to yourself. Ahh this was the life, you thought, as you finally managed to doze off.
“Baby? Baby!”
For the second time that night, and the fifth time this week, you were rudely shocked awake. This time however, you were being shaken gently by Mingyu. Although your eyes were still heavy from sleep, you pried them only to send a glare towards Mingyu for disturbing your slumber.
However, as you narrowed your eyes on Mingyu, you saw that he was towering over your form, sulking and pouting like a kicked puppy. You swore you could almost see his non-existent puppy ears droop in sadness. You softened immediately, raising your hand up to pull Mingyu onto the couch next to you.
Laying down next to you, Mingyu adjusted his body so he was the big spoon. He rested your head on one of his arms, and used his free hand to rub your back in a soothing, circular motion.
Mingyu’s lip quivered, “M’ sorry baby. I woke up and you weren’t there… then I came out and saw you on the couch. I did it again, didn't I?”
You hummed, too sleepy and comfortable to respond properly.
“M’ sorry. I know this isn’t the first time this week. Why didn’t you wake me up?”
You shook your head lightly, mumbling incoherently something along the lines of “you worked so hard this week and were tired. Didn’t wanna disturb you.”
Mingyu gazed at you lovingly, though he was guilt-ridden that he disturbed your sleep, “I didn’t understand a word you said baby. But I think I know what you were trying to say. Thank you.”
When you didn’t respond, your form rising and falling rhythmically, Mingyu knew you fell asleep. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, letting his lips linger on your skin a while longer. Mingyu snuggled closer to you, whispering, “You have no idea how much I love you. Rest well baby, see you when we wake up.”
Then, he let his eyes flutter shut, falling asleep once again right there next to you on the couch.
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