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[thedensworld]

Great Pretender (Coming Home) | Y. Jh

Pairing: Player Jeonghan! x Chaebol Reader!

Genre: Elite Society AU, Political AU

Type: Slowburn, Healing Angst

Word Count: 16k

Summary: Jeonghan played a role he was never meant to keep. Until he finally found a place to call home—where the performance ended, and he could simply be himself..

Jeonghan was so fucked.

Completely, utterly, irreversibly fucked.

When he stepped out of the car, one he borrowed from Seungcheol, because no way was he pulling up to a charity event in his own, he expected something… intimate.

A modest gathering of well-dressed elites, or maybe… a quiet dinner with polite applause between speeches. That made sense. It fit the image he had pieced together of you—humble, grounded, refreshingly normal.

Oh, how wrong he was.

The moment he looked up at the grand entrance, lined with press and security, his stomach plummeted. Cameras flashed as reporters whispered among themselves. Then, right by the entrance, he spotted a display showcasing the event’s purpose—complete with a blown-up image of the host.

The prime minister.

Your father is the prime minister.

Jeonghan went rigid. The weight of realization crashed down on him like a damn tidal wave. His mind scrambled, trying to recall every conversation he had with you, every small clue he should have picked up on. The ease with which you carried yourself, your careful yet casual way of speaking, your quiet but unmistakable air of authority—it all made sense now.

Ji Y/n. Ji Jaekyung.

He should’ve connected the dots. He should’ve questioned why someone as well-educated and sophisticated as you chose to teach at a cram school. Instead, he had been too preoccupied judging your practical outfit and your unpretentious behavior during your first date. Now, he was standing in front of a nationally broadcasted event, fully aware that he had walked straight into the lion’s den.

And he still had time to run. He always ran.

Running was easy. It had saved him more times than he could count. But as his feet itched to turn back, he hesitated. Because now that he knew who you really were—now that he had seen you not as the prime minister’s daughter, but as someone warm, self-assured, and unexpectedly real—walking away felt... wrong.

He had promised you he’d come.

Jeonghan was no one. Just a man who navigated the world of the elite through charm and carefully crafted interactions. His life revolved around dating the daughters of the wealthy, women whose mothers he conveniently befriended in art and culinary classes. A charming conversation, a well-placed compliment, and he’d find himself indulging in designer gifts, chauffeured rides, and exclusive experiences. It was a delicate game—one he played flawlessly.

When the relationship inevitably fizzled out, he stayed just long enough to soak in whatever luxury he could before moving on. It wasn’t about love. It was about survival.

He had never met you before, only your mother, who had gushed about you during a cooking class.

"My daughter is really pretty! She's also a very intelligent woman. You two would get along well!"

And then that night, you stood before him—dressed in a crisp yet simple blouse and slacks. Your hair was slightly disheveled, and the faint sheen of sweat on your forehead suggested you had rushed to get here.

"Thanks for waiting," you said, a polite smile on your lips as you caught your breath. "The commute was a nightmare."

Jeonghan blinked. Commute? His past dates never commuted. They arrived in sleek black cars with drivers waiting outside.

With a deep breath, Jeonghan climbed the ballroom stairs, nodding at the suited staff by the door. He gave his name, expecting them to glance at a guest list and wave him through. Instead, they barely checked before stepping aside with smooth efficiency, as if he were someone important.

It wasn’t until he caught a glimpse of the guest registry that his breath hitched.

His name was written under the family list.

Not as a guest. Not as a friend.

Ji Y/n’s plus one.

A sudden weight settled onto his shoulders. His fingers twitched at his sides. He was no stranger to high society, but this was an entirely different league. A world of power, scrutiny, and unspoken rules.

He schooled his expression, squared his shoulders, and walked inside. If he was already in this deep, he might as well make it look like he belonged.

Your mother was the first to greet him, her poised smile barely masking the subtle scrutiny in her gaze. She wasted no time in informing him that you hadn’t arrived yet, her tone carrying a hint of exasperation as she sighed.

"That daughter of mine," she muttered, shaking her head. "Always prioritizing those students of hers over her father’s business. She should be here already."

Jeonghan hummed in response, unsure whether he should agree or defend you. He had barely opened his mouth when she looped her arm through his, effortlessly pulling him into the crowd.

Before he knew it, he was being paraded around the room, introduced to your mother’s circle of socialites. Wealthy figures, business moguls, and politicians—each one scanning him with polite curiosity, trying to place him in their world. Jeonghan smiled when necessary, nodded at the right moments, but his mind was elsewhere.

Then he saw you.

The moment you stepped through the entrance, the noise around him faded.

Gone was the casual, practical look from your date. Tonight, you carried yourself with quiet elegance, dressed in a modest but effortlessly stunning gown. The soft lighting of the ballroom caught the delicate shimmer of your makeup, accentuating the natural beauty he had already memorized.

For a second, Jeonghan forgot to breathe.

Because this—this poised, graceful version of you—was the one that belonged in this world. And he was just starting to realize how many time you had surprised him just by tonight

"Jeonghan," you called, your voice smooth yet carrying a warmth that was out of place in such a formal setting.

He straightened up instinctively, feeling more exposed than he ever had. You looked so different, so composed—so belonging in this world. And yet, your smile when you reached him felt exactly the same as the one from your date.

"You actually came," you said, tilting your head slightly, amusement flickering in your eyes.

"I did promise," Jeonghan replied, trying to appear unfazed. But the weight of his name being listed under your family’s guest list was still pressing down on him. "Though, I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting… all of this."

You laughed softly, leaning in just enough that only he could hear. "You thought it’d be a small charity gathering, didn’t you?"

He exhaled, shaking his head with a lopsided smirk. "I really should’ve done more research on you."

"Probably," you teased, then slipped your hand through his arm with ease, guiding him further into the event.

"Come on, my father would like to meet you."

Jeonghan stiffened. Meet your father?

Yeah, he was so, so screwed.

*

"Your dating game has officially reached Ji Jaekyung level."

Seungkwan slid a file across the café table with the kind of flourish that made Jeonghan’s stomach twist. He knew that look—pure mischief, the kind that ended with him either losing money or losing his dignity. Probably both.

Jeonghan didn’t touch the file. Instead, he took a slow sip of his coffee, giving Seungkwan a blank stare over the rim. "You couldn’t possibly be threatening me. I practically rescued you in college, remember?"

Seungkwan scoffed. "Rescue? Please. You groomed me, hyung."

Jeonghan choked on his drink. "Don’t say it like that, you little menace." He set his coffee down with a thunk, glaring. "That makes it sound illegal."

Seungkwan only grinned, completely unbothered. He tapped the file again. "Go on. Open it. I promise it won’t explode. Just a little light reading. Oh, and a delightful photo of a power couple moment.."

Jeonghan sighed but flipped it open anyway, already bracing himself.

There it was. A nightmare in high resolution.

A perfectly timed shot of him and you, walking arm-in-arm out of the event, looking like a picture-perfect elite couple. Elegant. Respectable. Utterly fabricated.

Jeonghan tapped his finger against the page, then flicked his gaze up to Seungkwan.

"This—"

"Yes?"

"Burn this before I burn your entire journalism career."

Seungkwan burst out laughing. "Hyung, you can’t even burn calories properly. What makes you think you can burn my career?"

Jeonghan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He hated that Seungkwan had a point.

"You know," Seungkwan continued, stirring his drink with exaggerated nonchalance, "people are very interested in the life of the mysterious son of Yoon Group. And now that you’re linked to the prime minister’s daughter? Oh, the clicks, the engagement, the public fascination—it’s all very compelling. The media lives for this kind of narrative, and you, my dear friend, are the perfect headline."

Jeonghan let out a long, suffering groan, rubbing his temple. "You are insufferable."

"But I’m employed, though," Seungkwan shot back with a smug grin.

Jeonghan scowled. He knew where this was going, and he already hated it.

Seungkwan leaned in, lowering his voice to something much more devious. "How about a deal?"

Jeonghan really didn’t like the way that sounded.

"Help me get some inside details on the election," Seungkwan said smoothly, "and I’ll make sure this never sees the light of day. I can be very discreet. Your name? Wiped clean. No suspicions. No drama."

He paused, letting his words settle before adding the final blow.

"Especially from your family."

Jeonghan stiffened. His fingers curled slightly on the table, the weight of the threat pressing down harder than he wanted to admit.

Seungkwan just smiled knowingly.

Jeonghan exhaled slowly, narrowing his eyes. "You think I’d trust you with something this sensitive?"

For the first time in the conversation, Seungkwan’s expression turned serious. He met Jeonghan’s gaze without his usual playfulness, leaning forward until their faces were inches apart. Then, with all the dramatics of a third-rate romance drama, he reached across the table and placed a hand over Jeonghan’s.

"You can trust me this time, hyung," he whispered, eyes glinting.

Jeonghan stared at him for a long moment.

Then, with a heavy sigh, he muttered, "I hate you so much."

Seungkwan beamed, squeezing his hand like they’d just exchanged vows. "Love you too," he chirped before casually swiping a fry from Jeonghan’s plate.

Jeonghan sighed, yanking his hand away from Seungkwan’s grip like he had just touched something contaminated. He picked up his coffee and took a long sip, as if the caffeine could somehow prepare him for the rest of this conversation.

“For the record,” he muttered, “I just found out about her father last night.”

Seungkwan blinked. “You just—hold on.” He set down his drink, looking utterly baffled. “You’ve dated the prime minister’s daughter and you just found out?”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes. “I don’t Google people before I date them, Seungkwan.”

“You should start.”

“Noted.”

Seungkwan leaned back, still trying to process it. “But, she's like… I don’t know, humble?”

Jeonghan huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “That’s because she is.”

Jeonghan exhaled slowly, staring into his coffee like it held all the answers to his problems. “I might have to end things with her.”

Seungkwan raised an eyebrow. “You want to end things without ghosting her?”

He tapped his fingers against his cup, gaze softening for just a second. “She’s not caught up in all of it. She teaches because she wants to, not because she has to. She doesn’t use her father’s name to get ahead, doesn’t expect special treatment. She’s just… her.”

Seungkwan eyed him, a slow smirk forming. “You sound suspiciously fond right now.”

Jeonghan shot him a look. “Shut up.”

“I won’t shut up,” Seungkwan said gleefully. “Because this—” he gestured between them, “—this is very interesting. Yoon Jeonghan, the guy who never gets emotionally involved, actually likes someone?”

Jeonghan groaned, rubbing his face. “I will burn your career.”

Seungkwan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “Alright, hyung. Let’s make this easy for you.”

Jeonghan narrowed his eyes. “I doubt that.”

"Stay with her for a little while," Seungkwan said, his tone almost too casual. "Just long enough to get some information about her father’s election plans. I mean, she’s his daughter—she must know something useful." He tapped the file on the table, the sound deliberate, calculated. "And in return, I’ll make sure this never sees the light of day. Your family stays blissfully unaware."

Jeonghan exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. This was getting way too complicated.

Seungkwan, ever perceptive, leaned in, resting his chin on his hand. "Come on, hyung. You’re already halfway in. Might as well make it worth your while."

Jeonghan shot him a look. "You make it sound so easy."

Seungkwan grinned. "Because it is easy. You charm people for a living. Just do what you do best—stick around, ask a few innocent questions, and when it’s over, you walk away. No harm, no foul."

No harm. No foul.

Jeonghan exhaled through his nose. “So you want me to spy for you?”

Seungkwan grinned. “Oh, spy is such an ugly word. I prefer exchanging favors.”

Jeonghan clicked his tongue. “You’re a little monster.”

“And you like it.” Seungkwan shrugged. “Look, you’re planning on leaving her anyway, right? Might as well get something out of it. Once you give me what I need, you can walk away, clean and easy. No drama, no messy emotional entanglements. Just another chapter closed.”

*

“You’re Yoon Jeonghan, right?”

After the meeting with Seungkwan, there had been no real conclusion—no agreement, no refusal—just Jeonghan leaving with the weight of a choice he wasn’t ready to make. Not yet, anyway.

Then fate, in its twisted sense of humor, shoved him a little closer.

He’d crossed paths again with your mother during one of his classes, her arrival as poised and deliberate as everything else about her. Without much preamble, she handed him a neatly wrapped package—an assortment of meticulously prepared, nutrient-balanced meals from the town’s most exclusive chef. The kind of thing that cost enough to pay someone’s monthly rent.

It wasn’t just food. It was… an opening.

At that moment, Jeonghan realized something dangerous—maybe, just maybe, he could make this work. Keep the charade alive for a while. At least two months, enough time to enjoy the perks before he quietly severed all ties.

So when your mother invited him to her birthday party—completely unprompted, with you blissfully unaware—he accepted without hesitation. He didn’t tell you, of course. This was no longer just about you. The connection was shifting, evolving into something more strategic… a mutually beneficial arrangement between him and your mother.

He told himself it was just another role to play. Another part in the game.

A game he controlled.

Or so he thought.

And then—

“Yoon Jeonghan! Long time no see!”

He froze.

That was Kim Jeni. Senior high school classmate.

And she was standing in the middle of your mother’s birthday party.

Why is she here? Is she related to you?

His mind raced through worst-case scenarios like flashcards. What if she remembered too much? What if she casually mentioned his less-than-polished past to the wrong person? What if she recognized that he didn’t exactly belong here?

And seriously—why did she have to remember him at all? It had been years. People were supposed to blur into the background after high school.

But no. Here she was, smiling like they were about to swap embarrassing memories over champagne.

And here he was, wondering if tonight was about to turn into a very public disaster.

Jeonghan’s first instinct was to look away, pretend he hadn’t heard.

But that was how amateurs got caught—by making the wrong move at the wrong time.

So instead, he smiled. The easy, slow kind of smile that said of course I remember you, even though in reality, he barely did.

“Kim Jeni,” he said smoothly, sliding into the familiar rhythm of a man who’d never been cornered in his life. “You look… exactly the same.”

Jeni laughed, touching her hair in the way people did when they weren’t sure if it was a compliment. “I should hope so. Although, I did finally grow out of my bangs phase.”

He chuckled like he remembered it perfectly. He didn’t.

“What brings you here? Are you…?” He gestured vaguely toward the crowd, buying time.

“Oh, my aunt is friends with Mrs. Ji,” she said, tilting her head toward your mother across the room. “I didn’t expect to see you here, though. Still in touch with our old classmates?”

Danger. That question was danger dressed in small talk.

“I move around a lot,” Jeonghan replied lightly. “Not much time to catch up.” Which was true, if “move around” meant hopping from one wealthy circle to another like a very well-dressed nomad.

Jeni’s gaze sharpened—not hostile, just curious. “And here I thought you’d left all this behind.”

His pulse ticked up. “All… what?”

She smirked. “The social scene. The handshakes, the networking, the pretending to care about canapés. You used to hate it.”

Jeonghan gave an easy shrug, as if the question amused him. “Hate’s a strong word. Let’s just say I’ve learned to… appreciate the art of it.”

Before she could dig deeper, your mother swept by with a glass of wine, laying a hand on Jeonghan’s arm.

“Darling, there you are! I want to introduce you to someone.”

Jeonghan flashed Jeni an apologetic smile. “Excuse me. Duty calls.”

And just like that, he was pulled back into the current, leaving Jeni in the eddies of polite conversation.

Still, he could feel her eyes on his back—curious, maybe suspicious.

One wrong move tonight, and she could turn from a harmless blast from the past into a problem he didn’t need.

Jeonghan hated mirrors at events like these.

Not because he disliked his reflection—he’d sculpted that image to perfection—but because they had a habit of showing the man beneath the polish. And tonight, his eyes betrayed him. They were restless.

When Jeni drifted away, her perfume fading into the hum of conversation, a shadow trailed behind her in his mind. She’d been there—at that party, the one after his graduation. The one that ended his place in the Yoon family like a guillotine blade.

It had been a warm June night.

The kind of evening where expensive champagne flowed like tap water, and music bled into the gardens. She was there—the woman—draped in pearls and wearing a smile that could make a man think dangerous thoughts. She was also the second wife of one of his father’s board members, the kind of man who wore power like a tailored suit.

He hadn’t meant to kiss her. Or maybe he had. The line blurred somewhere between flirtation and defiance. But there had been a camera. A flash.

And in a family where reputation was currency, one picture was enough to bankrupt him.

“Leave quietly,” his father had said, not even looking at him. “Before you take our name with you.”

That was six years ago.

Since then, the Yoon son became a ghost—spoken of in murmurs between wine sips. A scandal in a silk suit.

He learned to live by trading charm for survival. Socialites were his currency now. Wealthy, restless women who wanted a man to make them laugh between luncheons and look devastatingly good on their arm. In exchange, they gave him access—rooms he had no right to enter anymore, deals he could skim a percentage from, networks he could weave into a safety net.

And the first time he’d met you, he’d assumed you were naïve. A daughter shielded by privilege, unaware of the games her parents played. But he’d watched you—just a little—and realized that wasn’t it. You weren’t ignorant of this world. You simply refused to play by its rules.

He couldn’t decide if that made you foolish or dangerous.

It intrigued him, in a distant, intellectual way. Not attraction—Jeonghan had long outgrown such things—but curiosity. The same kind of curiosity that had once ruined him.

So when your mother had invited him tonight, he’d said yes out of calculation. A good connection, a potential ally, a well-placed woman with influence. You were a variable, but not a threat. Not yet.

Except now, as the evening unfolded, you were nowhere to be seen.

Guests murmured your name lightly—something about work, or disinterest, or perhaps distance between you and your parents—but no one seemed certain.

Jeonghan swirled the wine in his glass, watching the room’s glow blur through the deep red.

He didn’t look for you.

But he did wonder—what kind of daughter avoided her own mother’s birthday party?

For a man who’d spent years mastering the art of appearances, that question alone was enough to make him uneasy.

*

By the time the orchestra switched to slower jazz and most guests had migrated toward the dessert table, Jeonghan had already pieced together what he needed to know.

You weren’t coming.

It wasn’t just that you were late—your absence had settled into the air, quietly acknowledged, politely ignored. Your mother laughed too brightly whenever someone mentioned you, deflecting with graceful excuses about your “tight schedule.” The kind of lie polite people told when they were embarrassed.

Jeonghan understood that kind of silence.

He’d lived in it.

He took another sip of wine, watching the reflections ripple in his glass.

He didn’t care where you were. He told himself that twice, just to be sure. You were another variable, a missing piece in a puzzle that didn’t concern him.

And yet—somewhere deep down, under the weight of years and cynicism—Jeonghan wondered what could drive a daughter to abandon a mother who still smiled for her in front of a hundred people.

He stayed until the cake was cut, clapping when everyone else did, smiling at the right moments, before quietly excusing himself.

No one noticed him leave.

The next afternoon, the same corner café buzzed with weekend chatter, the scent of roasted beans lingering in the air. Jeonghan arrived first, as usual, claiming his preferred seat by the window. He liked the anonymity the place offered—dim lighting, a soft hum of conversation, nobody who cared enough to recognize him.

He was halfway through his espresso when Seungkwan arrived, slightly out of breath, a camera bag slung over his shoulder and the same smug grin plastered on his face.

“You look like you didn’t sleep,” Seungkwan said, sliding into the seat across from him.

“I didn’t,” Jeonghan replied, voice flat. He stirred his coffee idly. “You told me to keep an eye on her family. I did.”

Seungkwan’s grin faltered. “And?”

“She didn’t show.”

The journalist’s brows furrowed. “At all?”

“Not a glimpse,” Jeonghan confirmed. “Her mother covered for her all night. Smiled, laughed, pretended nothing was wrong. But people noticed. They just pretended not to.”

Seungkwan leaned back, rubbing his jaw. “Weird. Ji Y/n’s not exactly the rebellious type. At least, not publicly.”

Jeonghan arched a brow. “You’ve done your research.”

“I’m a journalist, hyung. I research before I blackmail.”

“Charming as always,” Jeonghan muttered, setting down his cup.

Seungkwan ignored the jab. “So, what do you think happened? Argument? Scandal? Secret boyfriend?”

Jeonghan scoffed softly. “You think I care about that?”

“Usually, no. But you’re the one who noticed her absence before anyone else.”

He hated when Seungkwan said things like that—too perceptive, too accurate.

Jeonghan leaned back, gaze drifting out the window. “Her parents—both of them—they move like people who can’t afford to blink wrong. Every word, every smile, measured. And then there’s her.”

Seungkwan tilted his head. “Her?”

“She doesn’t fit,” Jeonghan said simply. “She’s polite, grounded, but not… conditioned. You know? Like someone raised in that world but refused to be molded by it.”

Seungkwan studied him quietly. “You sound almost impressed.”

Jeonghan’s lips twitched faintly. “I’m curious, not impressed.”

“Curious,” Seungkwan echoed, dragging out the word like it was an accusation. “That’s how it always starts with you. You get curious, then suddenly you’re knee-deep in something you can’t crawl out of.”

Jeonghan met his gaze evenly. “Don’t romanticize it. I don’t get involved.”

Seungkwan smirked. “You say that now.”

They fell into a brief silence, broken only by the clinking of cutlery and low music playing in the background. Jeonghan’s phone buzzed once—an unread message from your mother, thanking him for attending the party. No mention of you.

He stared at it for a long moment before sliding it face-down on the table.

“Whatever’s going on,” Seungkwan said eventually, lowering his voice, “it’s not public yet. But it will be. If the prime minister’s daughter disappears from a major event, the press will dig. I can’t stop that.”

Jeonghan didn’t answer immediately. He swirled the last of his coffee, expression unreadable. “Then let them dig.”

Seungkwan frowned. “You’re not worried she’ll drag you into it?”

“She doesn’t even know I was there,” Jeonghan said with a shrug. “And I intend to keep it that way.”

Seungkwan hummed thoughtfully. “You’re playing with fire again, hyung.”

Jeonghan smirked, finally standing and reaching for his coat. “Fire’s warm, though.”

Seungkwan’s eyes narrowed. “You’re planning something.”

“I’m planning to stay out of trouble,” Jeonghan replied smoothly. “But if she keeps disappearing like that…” He trailed off, glancing out the window again. “…I might need to find out why. For safety. Yours, mine, and your precious headlines.”

Seungkwan’s grin returned, slow and knowing. “Sure, hyung. For safety.”

Jeonghan ignored him, dropping a few bills on the table before heading for the door.

But even as he left, that image lingered—the way your mother smiled too brightly, the way your name sat unspoken between everyone.

For a man who didn’t care, Jeonghan found himself thinking about it far too much.

*

By the time Jeonghan returned to his apartment that night, the city outside had quieted. The glow of streetlights painted long shadows across his floor, and the half-finished glass of whiskey on his counter had long since gone warm. He stared at his phone for a long while, thumb hovering over your contact.

He shouldn’t.

You hadn’t texted him since before the charity event. He’d already decided to stay detached, to play this role carefully until he could slip out clean.

But curiosity—it was always his undoing.

He finally typed,

“Are you free tomorrow?”

The message hung there for a moment before he hit send. No greeting, no context. He wanted it to sound casual, like a man with time to waste, not one caught between intrigue and necessity.

He set the phone down and exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

Because truthfully, he didn’t just want to see you—he needed to understand.

A daughter who skipped her mother’s birthday in a family built on image and influence? That wasn’t rebellion. That was strategy.

And strategy always came with motive.

His phone buzzed.

One unread message.

“Depends. Who’s asking?”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. You hadn’t changed—still sharp, still unbothered by his evasive way of speaking.

“The man who made it through your mother’s party alive.”

“You owe me coffee.”

A few seconds passed before your reply came through.

“I don’t remember owing you anything.

But sure. Tomorrow, 2 PM. Same café.”

Jeonghan set the phone aside, the small, humorless smile still lingering on his lips.

He told himself it was for Seungkwan.

For leverage. For the information that might keep his name out of a journalist’s headlines.

But beneath that, quieter and harder to ignore, was something else—an itch under his skin that demanded answers.

He glanced at the window, where the reflection of his tired face stared back at him.

“If there’s such a rumor like that in the prime minister’s family,” he murmured to himself, echoing Seungkwan’s earlier warning, “it’ll be lunch for the other party.”

And he couldn’t afford to be on the menu.

*

Jeonghan hadn’t meant to care about what he wore.

At least, that’s what he told himself as he buttoned the crisp white shirt that fit a little too perfectly across his shoulders. The navy trousers were pressed to a sharp line, his hair neatly styled back, and his wristwatch—an heirloom he rarely used—gleamed faintly in the café light.

He looked like a man who belonged somewhere better. Someone who hadn’t been exiled. Someone who still mattered.

The watch on his wrist pointed to ten minutes past the agreed time.

His other hand held his phone, thumb scrolling absently through old headlines, articles, and photos of you.

Ji Y/n — The Prime Minister’s Daughter Chooses a Life of Service

From Politics to Education: How Ji Y/n Stays Grounded Amid Power and Privilege

Each headline painted the same narrative: the ideal daughter, the humble prodigy, the perfect contrast to her family’s glittering political image.

Seungkwan was right. He needs to do some research before saying yes to a date.

Seungkwan’s voice echoed in his head.

“You’re too tempted by all the money and glory. You might be the most materialistic conglomerate son in the world.”

And Jeonghan had countered without hesitation.

“I was kicked out of the family, remember? I’m technically nobody’s son.”

It had shut Seungkwan up, but the words lingered even now—an echo of something he’d never quite recovered from.

The low hum of the café faded when he saw you.

You entered in a rush, phone pressed to your ear, brows furrowed, your expression tight with focus. You muttered something into the receiver, nearly colliding with a customer before catching yourself. The moment you hung up, you exhaled deeply—then your eyes found him.

Jeonghan stood automatically, hand lifting in a small wave. For a fleeting second, something unfamiliar flickered in his chest—relief, maybe. Or recognition.

You crossed the room quickly, still slightly out of breath.

“I’m so sorry, Jeonghan,” you said, sliding into the seat across from him. “One of my students fell from the stairs and broke his leg.”

Your voice carried that same calm warmth he remembered, even under stress. No embellishment, no dramatics. Just quiet concern.

Jeonghan’s brows lifted slightly. “Is he alright?”

You nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “He will be. I just came from the hospital.”

Of course you did. The prime minister’s daughter, tending to an injured student instead of attending a political luncheon. It didn’t make sense—and that’s exactly why Jeonghan found it so hard to look away.

He leaned back in his chair, studying you with the cool composure of a man who pretended not to care. “You’re quite dedicated, aren’t you?”

You smiled faintly, eyes weary but genuine. “Someone has to be.”

Jeonghan hummed, gaze dropping briefly to the faint ink smudge on your wrist, the kind teachers always had from grading papers. You didn’t belong to the world he’d seen in headlines. You didn’t fit the image. And that mismatch—it fascinated him.

He studied you a moment longer, curiosity tugging harder now. There was something in your tone—an edge beneath the politeness, a shadow behind the smile.

Jeonghan didn’t know yet if you were someone he could trust, or someone who could destroy him.

But for the first time in a long while, he wanted to find out.

The conversation had begun to flow more naturally than either expected. Between sips of coffee and light bites of cheesecake, Jeonghan found himself watching you more than he should—how your expression softened when you talked about teaching, how you smiled politely even when dodging questions about your family. You weren’t evasive, exactly. You just knew how to draw a line.

He liked that.

“You don’t talk much about politics,” Jeonghan remarked, stirring his coffee lazily. “That’s unusual for someone who grew up surrounded by it.”

You shrugged, lips curling slightly. “I prefer things I can actually change.”

A quiet laugh escaped him before he could stop it. “You sound idealistic.”

“I sound tired,” you corrected, smiling faintly.

Before Jeonghan could respond, a familiar perfume hit him—a sharp mix of jasmine and expensive regret.

“Jeonghan?”

The voice was sweet, practiced, and far too loud for the cozy café. Both of you looked up to see a woman in her forties approaching the table, dripping in luxury—diamond earrings, a glossy handbag that cost more than a small car, and a smile that belonged to someone who’d never been told no.

For a second, Jeonghan froze.

What should he call her?

A past companion?

A benefit from a darker time?

A victim of his own charm?

Whatever she was, she wasn’t supposed to be here.

“Wow,” she breathed, eyes raking him over with unhidden satisfaction. “You look more handsome than last year.”

You glanced between them, curiosity flickering behind your calm expression. Jeonghan straightened slightly, the easy mask sliding over his face. “Good to see you,” he said smoothly, voice stripped of warmth.

She leaned closer, manicured fingers brushing his shoulder. “I need to go, but call me if you need some entertainment, okay?”

Her wink was quick, practiced—too public to ignore, too intimate to explain.

Then she was gone, heels clicking like a punctuation mark on his past.

Jeonghan exhaled slowly, but before he could say a word, you let out a small, amused chuckle.

He looked at you, brows lifting. “What’s so funny?”

You shook your head, biting back a smile. “Nothing. It’s just… you didn’t strike me as someone who’d need entertainment.”

His mouth twitched. “I don’t.”

“Mm,” you hummed, unconvinced. “You just look like you used to.”

Her words, your tone—it all tangled somewhere in his chest. He leaned back, forcing a smirk to cover the discomfort. “You talk like you’ve known me longer than a week.”

You met his gaze evenly. “Maybe I’m just a good observer.”

That silenced him. For a moment, neither spoke—just the faint clink of spoons against porcelain, the quiet tension threading between curiosity and judgment.

And Jeonghan realized that for the first time in a long while, someone wasn’t dazzled or intimidated by him.

You were simply watching—reading him.

And that unsettled him more than any scandal ever could.

*

The relationship between you and Jeonghan had begun to bloom—unexpectedly, almost naturally. The two of you talked more often now, your texts weaving into his days like quiet background music. He wasn’t sure when it started, but he found himself looking forward to your messages.

It was ironic, really. Because when he wasn’t speaking to you, Jeonghan was living a life that couldn’t be further from yours.

His nights were spent drifting between yachts owned by bored socialites, women who craved charm more than truth. He knew exactly what they wanted and how to deliver it—a smile, a word, a presence. It was easy. Meaningless.

And yet, in between champagne laughter and the clinking of glass, his thoughts would always circle back to you.

What were you doing right now?

Had you eaten?

Were you still awake, reading, or lost in thought like you always were?

He hated how natural it felt to care.

“You look distracted, honey.”

A woman’s voice pulled him back. She was beautiful—of course she was—dressed in silk, her manicured fingers tracing the rim of her glass.

Jeonghan blinked, forcing a smirk. “Do I?”

She tilted her head. “You’re not feeling well?” she asked, recalling what he’d said last night about being under the weather—an excuse to avoid following her to her room.

The ocean breeze rolled over the yacht deck, soft but cold, brushing his hair and cooling the drink in his hand. He looked at her, sitting on his lap with the practiced ease of someone used to being wanted.

And suddenly, he felt sick.

Because in that flicker of a second, he imagined you there instead.

Crazy.

Absolutely insane.

You, with your clear eyes and deliberate words, would never set foot in this world. And even if you did, you would never look at him the same way again.

You were the Prime Minister’s only daughter—an emblem of grace, the family’s shining jewel.

And he…

He was the son who had been exiled.

Cast out after a scandal that nearly ruined his father’s reputation. He’d paid for it with his name, his home, and every shred of privilege he once had.

“How about going back to your family?” Seungkwan asked one night, his voice echoing through the line.

Jeonghan sighed, eyes fixed on the dark waves outside the yacht window. “It’s complicated.”

“Too complicated, or too cowardly?”

He chuckled dryly. “I’m still a man, Seungkwan.”

“Yeah?” Seungkwan shot back. “Then act like one. A man keeps his promises. You promised me a cup of tea and the full story about Prime Minister Ji.”

Jeonghan leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “And you promised to stop nagging me.”

“Not until you tell me why the Prime Minister’s daughter texts you at midnight.”

Jeonghan’s lips curved into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Because she doesn’t know who I really am.”

And maybe, he thought quietly, that was the only reason you still did.

The morning broke harshly—sunlight slicing through half-drawn curtains, the faint hum of the city seeping into the luxury suite he’d fallen asleep in. Jeonghan’s head ached faintly from the night before; too much noise, too much pretending.

His phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.

One call after another, a stream of names he didn’t want to see—women he barely remembered, old acquaintances from the club scene, and one from Seungkwan.

He rubbed his face, groaning. “What now…”

Then his screen lit up with a notification from a news outlet.

And his world stopped.

‘The Yoon’s Mysterious Son Revealed — Never Leaving the Scene: Living a Life Among Socialites’

The headline sat above a collage of photos—him on a yacht, laughing beside women in designer dresses, champagne in hand. The shots weren’t just candid—they were curated. Deliberate. Someone had been watching him for months.

The phone rang again.

“Jeonghan!” A familiar female voice burst through the line. It was one of the women from the article, her tone both scandalized and gleeful. “You didn’t tell me you were that Yoon! Do you have any idea how many reporters called me this morning?”

He hung up.

Another call came. Then another. Each voice brought the same mix of curiosity and accusation. His pulse quickened with every word, the weight of exposure sinking into his chest.

And then—Seungkwan’s name flashed on the screen.

Jeonghan answered immediately. “You wrote about me?” His voice was low but sharp, every word laced with accusation.

“What?” Seungkwan sounded genuinely startled. “No—Jeonghan, I would never!”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not!” Seungkwan’s voice cracked slightly, the sound of hurried typing in the background. “I just saw it too! It’s everywhere! Someone leaked your pictures. The article’s not even signed—it’s a ghost drop, probably from an independent outlet.”

Jeonghan stood up, pacing across the room, the floor cool beneath his bare feet. His thoughts spun faster than he could control.

He’d worked for years to stay off the radar. To bury the name Yoon Jeonghan under layers of half-truths and fleeting company.

And now, everything was out.

His hands clenched. “You told no one about me?”

“Of course not,” Seungkwan shot back, indignant. “You think I’d ruin my own source? Jeonghan, listen—this isn’t my doing. But someone knew where you were and who you were with. Someone’s feeding this.”

Jeonghan’s jaw tightened. He turned toward the window, the city sprawling beneath him, glittering and cold.

He hadn’t even finished processing the article when another call came through.

This time, the caller ID froze him mid-step.

“Secretary Min — Father’s Office.”

Jeonghan’s pulse kicked hard against his ribs. It had been years since anyone from that number dared to call him. For a moment, he considered letting it ring out, pretending he hadn’t seen it. But curiosity—or maybe masochism—won.

He answered.

“Kim— I mean, Jeonghan speaking.”

The secretary’s voice was clipped, businesslike, but there was a tremor beneath the tone.

“Mr. Yoon. The Chairman would like to have a word. It’s urgent.”

Jeonghan’s throat felt dry. “About what?”

There was a pause, then the quiet rustle of papers.

“About the news. Not only the one from this morning.”

His heart sank. “There’s another one?”

“Yes, sir,” the secretary replied. “Apparently, the Prime Minister’s daughter was mentioned. You were seen together at an event. The headline reads—”

Jeonghan could almost hear the man hesitate, as if choosing the least damaging way to say it.

‘Disgraced Yoon Heir Seen with Prime Minister Ji’s Daughter — A Scandal in the Making?’

He went still.

Completely still.

The ocean outside, the faint hum of the city, even his own breathing—all of it faded into a dull, buzzing silence.

“I see,” he said finally, his voice even, detached—like a man already used to ruin.

“The Chairman requests you come in immediately,” the secretary added, his words precise but cautious. “He said… if there’s even a grain of truth in this, it could cost both families dearly.”

A bitter laugh escaped before Jeonghan could stop it. “He cares about the family’s name now?”

“Sir, I’m just relaying the message.”

“Of course you are.”

He ended the call before the man could say another word. For a long moment, he stood in the middle of his room, the phone still in his hand.

It wasn’t just about him anymore.

Your name was in it.

You—who had nothing to do with his past, who had only shown him quiet kindness—were now tangled in his chaos.

And that realization hit harder than any headline ever could.

*

You swiped the incoming call from Jeonghan to the left without hesitation, the screen dimming just as your reflection caught in the polished surface of the dining table.

It wasn’t the first call you’d ignored tonight. Or this week.

You had done it deliberately, under Mrs. Ji’s strict orders.

“Don’t you dare mess this up,” she had said earlier, her voice carrying that cold, commanding edge she never let her socialite friends hear. The kind of tone that could freeze air.

Now, sitting across from her and the Prime Minister, you kept your hands neatly folded in your lap. You hadn’t touched the food. The clinking of silverware and the low hum of polite conversation between your parents filled the silence that wrapped tightly around you.

Mr. and Mrs. Ji looked perfectly composed, pleased even. They were savoring their dinner, their expressions calm and satisfied—the unmistakable faces of people whose plans had unfolded exactly as intended.

“With his son’s scandal, Yoon Daemun will never be able to enter politics,” Mr. Ji said, cutting through the air with calculated satisfaction. His tone was casual, but his words were sharp, deliberate. “The timing couldn’t be better.”

Mrs. Ji dabbed the corner of her lips with an embroidered napkin, her expression softening with the kind of smile she reserved for strategy. “We’ve prepared a statement for your response, Y/n. Make sure you show up in public looking… a little heartbroken, perhaps?”

You stared down at your untouched plate, the gleam of silver cutlery blurring in your vision.

‘Victim of manipulation.’ That was the phrase they’d chosen for you. The headline they had already fed to the press.

You—the fabricated daughter of the Prime Minister—were to be portrayed as the naïve woman deceived by Yoon Jeonghan, the disgraced heir.

It was all theater. Every word, every tear, every silence rehearsed. And just like every performance before, you would play your part. Because that was the role you had been chosen for.

It had been ten years since you first met Mr. and Mrs. Ji. Back then, Mr. Ji was merely a Seoul mayoral candidate, still polishing his image. They were looking for a bright, idealistic student from the National Seoul University to elevate their campaign—someone with a clean past, a sympathetic story, and a face the public could love.

They chose you.

A parentless girl raised in a foster home. No blood ties. No history. No one to ask questions. A perfect daughter for a perfect family.

“You’re Ji Jae Kyung's daughter? Woah…”

You could still remember the awe in their voices—the way their eyes gleamed with admiration. Compliments came easily, falling like confetti around you. Some went to him, the respectable politician who raised such a brilliant daughter with perfect manners and flawless grades. The rest went to you—the quiet, low-profile daughter of a man everyone wanted to impress.

But none of it was real.

It was all staged.

Every smile, every headline, every carefully constructed image.

And behind it all stood Ji Jaekyung and his wife—the masterminds who turned you into what the public wanted to see.

You were never their daughter.

You were the performance.

The story they wrote to complete their picture-perfect life.

Ten years later, the role still clung to you like a second skin. You’d played it so long, you weren’t sure where the lie ended—or where you began.

*

You were just about to put on your coat when a voice stopped you near the cram school gates.

“Excuse me—Miss Ji?”

You turned. A man you vaguely recognized from Jeonghan’s circle stood a few meters away, his expression unsure yet determined. The streetlight above flickered faintly, painting both of you in amber.

“I’m sorry for showing up like this,” he began, hands tucked into his coat pockets. “I’m Boo Seungkwan. I’m… Jeonghan’s friend.”

Your fingers tightened around the strap of your bag. “I know who you are.”

He nodded, a faint sigh escaping him. “Then I’ll be quick. I just—wanted to ask if what the news said about him was true.” His voice softened. “That he manipulated you. That he used you.”

You said nothing.

Seungkwan studied your face for a moment, as if searching for a flicker of the girl Jeonghan used to talk about—the one who laughed too easily, who didn’t care about names or titles.

“I don’t mean to be disrespectful,” he continued carefully, “but… Jeonghan doesn’t deserve this. He might have his flaws, but that’s not who he is.”

You looked down at your shoes, at the way the shadows of the streetlight split across the pavement. Every word he said pressed against the guilt you had tried to bury since dinner.

“He hasn’t been the same since the article came out,” Seungkwan said quietly. “He keeps saying it doesn’t matter, but we both know it does. That kind of lie—” He paused, catching himself. “Sorry. I shouldn’t assume it’s a lie.”

You finally met his gaze. His tone wasn’t accusing—just heavy with confusion and the quiet plea of someone who wanted to believe the best in his friend.

“I didn’t write it,” you murmured.

“I believe you,” Seungkwan replied almost immediately. “But maybe you can tell the truth. Even a little of it. It might help him stand again.”

His words lingered in the cold air long after he bowed politely and walked away. You stood there for a long while, watching his figure fade down the street, your throat tightening.

You wanted to tell him that it wasn’t Jeonghan who manipulated anyone.

It was you—

or at least, the version of you that the Jis had created.

You glanced at Seungkwan’s face — he looked too sincere, too out of place standing in front of a cram school after hours, holding nothing but good intentions. That made it worse.

“I think there’s a misunderstanding,” you said finally, voice calm but distant. “Jeonghan and I… we were just friends.”

Seungkwan blinked, as if trying to make sense of it. “Just friends?”

“Yes.” You tightened your scarf. “We met a few times, talked about work, shared coffee. That’s all.”

There was no tremor in your voice, but something in your eyes must have betrayed you, because Seungkwan’s expression shifted—disbelief shadowed with pity.

“I see,” he said slowly. “Then the pictures, the dinner, the event—”

“Coincidence,” you cut him off. “The press twisted it.”

He looked at you for a long moment, weighing whether to push further. But there was something in the way your gaze avoided his—composed, but fragile—that made him stop.

He exhaled softly. “I didn’t mean to bother you. It’s just… Jeonghan’s been through a lot. I wanted to understand what really happened.”

You froze for a fraction of a second.

But before he could say more, you bowed politely, murmured, “Good night, Mr. Boo,” and walked past him into the drizzle-soaked street.

He stood there for a while, watching as you disappeared into the blur of city lights. Something about your words didn’t match your expression—the kind of contradiction that Jeonghan had mentioned before.

When Seungkwan finally pulled out his phone, he hesitated before typing.

“She said you were just friends.”

*

The chauffeur’s eyes in the rearview mirror said everything Jeonghan didn’t need to hear. Pity. Disgust. Fear of being associated with the wrong Yoon. The mansion hadn’t changed — white pillars, too much marble, the smell of money and order. Yet when Jeonghan stepped inside, he could almost hear the echo of that night six years ago, the one that tore his name from the family register.

The housekeeper didn’t greet him. She bowed, eyes lowered, and walked away. In the dining room, his father was already seated, posture like a statue carved from ice.

Yoon Daemun, the man the country admired, the man Jeonghan could never please. “Sit,” his father said, without looking up from the newspaper.

The headline lay sprawled across the front page:

THE YOON HEIR SCANDAL CONTINUES — LINKED TO PRIME MINISTER’S FAMILY. Jeonghan took the seat across from him, his movements deliberate, controlled.

“So,” Daemun began, folding the paper neatly. “You managed to humiliate me again.”

Jeonghan’s lips quirked upward. “I’d say the timing was convenient for you. The Prime Minister’s name on the same line—good distraction for the party board, isn’t it?”

Daemun’s gaze sharpened, the kind that used to make Jeonghan feel twelve years old again. “Still the same. No shame. No sense of consequence.”

“You taught me that, didn’t you?” The silence that followed was heavy. Only the faint ticking of the antique clock filled the room.

His father finally leaned back. “Do you know what happens when your name appears next to a politician’s scandal?”

Jeonghan didn’t answer.

“It ruins both sides.” Daemun’s tone was calm, almost too calm. “But it’s not you they’ll remember. It’s me. The man who couldn’t control his own son.”

Jeonghan clenched his jaw. “I didn’t ask to come back.”

“No. You were summoned because I’m still cleaning up after you.” His father’s voice rose a fraction. “And this time, Jeonghan, there won’t be a next time. You’ve already cost this family enough.”

“I stopped being part of this family six years ago,” Jeonghan said quietly. “You made sure of that.”

Daemun stood. The air between them felt sharp enough to draw blood. “You’ll fix this,” he ordered. “You’ll meet with the press, issue a statement—say you lied, that it was all fabricated to harm the Prime Minister’s reputation. They’ll buy it if it comes from you.”

Jeonghan let out a humorless laugh. “You want me to destroy myself for your seat in Parliament?”

His father’s lips tightened. “For once in your life, do something useful.”

The words sank deep, the same as they always had.

When Jeonghan left the mansion, the night air hit him hard. He stood by the gate, hands trembling around a cigarette he didn’t light.

He had promised himself never to come back here again. And now, he realized, nothing had changed — not even the way his father still called him son only when it served a purpose.

Across the street, reporters were already gathering, their cameras flashing faintly in the dark. He straightened his collar, tucked his hands into his coat pockets, and walked away from the house without looking back. This time, he wouldn’t run. He would play the game his father started — but on his own terms.

*

An exclusive interview with Yoon Jeonghan appeared on the front page of The Daily Standard, written by none other than Boo Seungkwan — a name the political and corporate world had learned to both admire and fear.

The article was a masterpiece of restraint and precision. Seungkwan had fought tooth and nail with his editor-in-chief to have it published uncut. It wasn’t a defense piece, nor was it an attack. It was simply truth, stripped of bias — and that made it all the more dangerous.

“He was just a man looking for love one night,” the article began, “and somehow became a family scapegoat by morning.”

Through Seungkwan’s words, Jeonghan’s story unfolded not as a scandal, but as a slow dissection of how narratives were manufactured by power. The way a single whisper could become a headline. How a name could be tarnished to save another.

Every paragraph carried Seungkwan’s voice — calm, analytical, and sharp as glass. He wrote about Jeonghan’s fall from grace, about the exile that followed his first scandal, and how his father’s silence had been louder than public condemnation.

But what caught everyone’s attention wasn’t Jeonghan’s tragedy — it was the twist.

“Mrs. Ji herself had insisted Jeonghan meet her daughter,” Seungkwan wrote. “Even sent gifts, meals, and handwritten notes — tokens of gratitude, or perhaps, persuasion. Who does that for a stranger?”

It was phrased like a question, but the implication was clear. The spotlight had shifted — subtly, cleverly — from Jeonghan’s so-called manipulation to the Ji family’s orchestration.

By the second half of the article, Mrs. Ji was no longer the grieving mother of a deceived daughter; she was a woman who had played the public like a symphony.

The nation devoured the story. News anchors repeated excerpts with caution, as if afraid the words themselves might bite. Political commentators speculated whether Boo Seungkwan had overstepped, or whether he had just cracked open something no one dared to question.

And Jeonghan — sitting alone in his dim apartment with the paper spread across his coffee table — couldn’t decide how to feel.

The world was finally hearing his side of the story.

But the irony was, it didn’t feel like victory. It felt like standing in the eye of a storm that was only beginning to turn.

After the article, Jeonghan disappeared again — not in shame this time, but in pursuit of something real. For the first time in years, he stopped attending events with rich women's names printed on the invitation. No more charity galas where everyone smiled with their teeth clenched. No more private dinners where the wine was expensive but every conversation was a transaction.

He sold all of his luxury things and moved into a smaller apartment on the edge of Mapo. The windows were cracked, and the heater worked when it felt generous, but it was quiet. His kind of quiet.

He started from the bottom — as a project consultant for a small local architecture firm that took contracts no conglomerate would touch. His job wasn’t glamorous: long meetings, stubborn clients, coffee that tasted like burnt wood. But there was a strange comfort in it. Each blueprint, each rejected proposal, each late-night revision — it all belonged to him.

He refused to take calls from people who once claimed to be friends. When invitations from the “rich circle” arrived — networking parties, art auctions, political birthdays — he left them unopened. He no longer wanted to be someone’s favorite scandal, someone’s well-dressed pawn.

For months, Jeonghan worked in silence. He kept his hair shorter, his words simpler, his gaze level. He didn’t try to charm anyone anymore. He didn’t need to. People at work found him odd — polite, reserved, sometimes intimidatingly composed. They whispered about his past, about the man who once made headlines. But they couldn’t deny his efficiency. He had a way of solving problems others didn’t even see.

And when a construction site mishap almost cost the firm a major deal, Jeonghan was the one who stayed overnight, reorganizing the logistics report by hand. The next morning, his boss found him asleep on the office couch — tie loosened, pencil still in hand, a faint trace of graphite on his jaw.

For the first time, Jeonghan’s value wasn’t built on his last name. It was built on effort. Still, every now and then, he caught himself looking at the city skyline — the one his father’s empire had helped shape — and wondered if redemption meant cutting ties completely, or learning how to stand on his own without hating where he came from.

“Do you want to hear what I just found?”

Seungkwan’s voice came through the phone one quiet night. Jeonghan answered without much thought, assuming it was another late update — a joke, a story, something light to end the day.

But Seungkwan’s tone was different. Too steady. Too careful. “There was a report that Ji Jaekyung’s daughter had passed away.”

The words didn’t register at first. They hung in the air like smoke — shapeless, heavy, unreal. Jeonghan froze, the pen in his hand slipping onto the desk.

“What?” His chest tightened. His mind went blank — except for the image of you: laughing behind a cup of coffee, brushing your hair from your face, the way you used to hum when you thought no one was listening.

“Y/n… had passed away?” The words barely escaped his mouth, trembling, as if speaking them might make them true.

“It’s not what you think,” Seungkwan said quickly, his voice low. “It wasn’t her. Not Ji Y/n. The report says a girl — eighteen years old — died by suicide ten years ago. The attending physician confirmed it.”

Jeonghan’s pulse roared in his ears. “What are you trying to say, Seungkwan?” He spun in his chair, the room suddenly too small, too bright.

“I’m saying,” Seungkwan breathed out, almost afraid to finish, “Ji Y/n isn’t Ji Jaekyung’s real daughter.”

Silence. The world seemed to tilt — slow, then all at once. Jeonghan sat there, hearing nothing but the echo of that sentence. Every moment he’d spent with you — every glance, every half-truth, every piece of you he thought he knew — cracked open in his mind.

If you weren’t Ji Jaekyung’s daughter… then who were you?

*

“I wake up every day thinking I’m nobody’s child. Just myself, doing the things I’m best at — teaching, meeting my students, seeing my friends. That’s the real me.”

That’s the real you…

Jeonghan could still hear your voice — soft, certain, echoing in the quiet of his memory. It had started as a casual conversation, one of those late-night talks that drifted aimlessly until he’d asked, almost teasingly, “What’s it like to be Ji Jaekyung’s daughter?”

You laughed faintly before answering, “Whosever child you are won’t define you. Your own work will.”

Those words had stayed with him longer than he expected.

He’d spent years buried under the weight of his family name, letting it dictate who he was supposed to be. When the burden grew too heavy, he rebelled — escaping through decadence, luxury, and fleeting attention. Drowning himself in everything that dulled the ache of being a Yoon.

But none of it had ever defined him.

“Hyung, you’re one of the smartest, most quick-witted people I know,” Seungkwan once told him. “You just need to use it for yourself — not to prove anyone wrong.”

And that was what he finally did.

He started small — late nights, small contracts, learning the bones of the business from the ground up. Day by day, Jeonghan built his own name, one that carried no trace of his father’s shadow.

“This,” he murmured to himself one morning, staring at the blueprint on his desk, “this is what defines me.”

A few months later, his phone rang. It was Seungcheol.

“I need your help with a new building for our firm,” he said.

Jeonghan didn’t know it then, but that call would change everything — the first stone on the path that would carry his name further than his family ever imagined.

Katalk …

Seungkwan: You need to see this.

He frowned, clicking the link. The screen opened to a live stream — a press conference, crowded with reporters and flashing cameras. And there you were, standing behind the podium, composed but pale under the harsh light. The banner above you read:

“Prime Minister’s Daughter Addresses Identity Revelation.”

Jeonghan’s breath caught.

Your voice trembled at first, but you steadied yourself, eyes gliding across the sea of cameras.

“I was raised under the Ji family for ten years,” you began. “But I am not Ji Jaekyung’s biological daughter. The truth is—” you paused, swallowing hard, “the real Ji Y/n passed away ten years ago. I was… chosen to take her place.”

A low hum of whispers rippled through the room. Cameras clicked like rain. Jeonghan leaned forward, his heart pounding, his hand gripping the edge of the desk.

You exhaled shakily before continuing, “I was an orphan. I didn’t have a family or a name that mattered. I was offered a home, an education, a life that didn’t belong to me. And I was too young to understand what it truly meant.”

Reporters began raising their hands, their questions overlapping into chaos.

“Who orchestrated this?”

“Was the Prime Minister aware?”

“Why are you revealing this now?”

You didn’t flinch. “Because the lies have gone too far. And someone else has paid the price for them.”

Jeonghan could feel his chest tightening. You didn’t mention his name — but everyone knew who “someone else” was.

He could barely hear Seungkwan’s voice over the call when it came seconds later.

“She’s doing this for you, hyung.”

But Jeonghan couldn’t answer. His mind was spinning. You — the woman who once told him not to let his family name define him — were now standing in front of the world, tearing down the false identity that once defined you.

The screen flickered as the conference ended, replaced by a headline that felt like a scream in his chest:

“Prime Minister’s Daughter Admits to False Identity — Public Shock Ensues.”

The room was silent after the live broadcast ended.

Jeonghan sat still, staring at the frozen image on his screen — your bowed head, your shoulders straight despite the weight of everything you’d just confessed.

You didn’t defend yourself.

You didn’t accuse anyone.

You simply told the truth.

And somehow, that humility hit him harder than any scandal ever had.

He leaned back, running a hand through his hair, the city lights flickering against his tired eyes. For the first time, Jeonghan realized how small his own pride had been — all those years spent hiding behind charm, rebellion, and fleeting company. He’d called it freedom, but it was just fear wearing expensive clothes.

You, on the other hand, had stood in front of the nation stripped of everything — your name, your protection, your image — and yet you looked freer than he ever had.

“She doesn’t owe them anything,” he murmured under his breath. “And she still chose to be kind.”

It humbled him.

It changed something inside him that no lecture or consequence ever could.

That night, Jeonghan opened his window to the chill of the city air. The same wind that once carried gossip about his downfall now felt strangely cleansing. He poured himself a drink, not out of habit, but to think.

He replayed your words in his head, line by line.

“I’m just myself, doing what I’m best at.”

He understood it now.

It wasn’t about running away from a family name. It was about building a life so honest that no one could ever take it away again.

A small smile tugged at his lips. “You win, Y/n,” he whispered, half amused, half proud.

For the first time in years, Yoon Jeonghan didn’t feel like the son of anyone — not Daemun’s mistake, not society’s scandal. Just a man finally ready to start living right.

*

Jeonghan swore he wasn’t imagining things when his eyes landed on a woman he hadn’t seen in years, running across the school field with a group of children. His client—perhaps the principal, or maybe the chairman of the school foundation—kept talking, explaining how they wanted to preserve the school’s historical character.

“This school was founded before the war. We’d be grateful if your team could— Jeonghan-ssi?”

The two of them stopped walking. Jeonghan remained still, his gaze fixed on the field. His client probably assumed he was simply watching the children.

“Who’s that woman?” Jeonghan finally asked.

The chairman followed his gaze before smiling, seemingly misunderstanding the reason for the question.

“She’s new here. She moved from Seoul. Oh—aren’t you from Seoul as well?”

Jeonghan nodded absentmindedly. “Yes…” But he couldn’t tear his eyes away. He had seen it all unfold.

The media had talked about it relentlessly—and perhaps they still were. Ji Jaekyung had fallen from his political pedestal. It had become the nation’s biggest headline. Questions spread everywhere—from conversations between neighbors to comment sections and online forums.

How long had Ji Jaekyung replaced his real daughter with another girl to play the role of the perfect daughter?

Seungkwan had made sure to send Jeonghan countless articles and conspiracy theories. Some claimed the real daughter had been assassinated. Others insisted she had escaped years ago.

Jeonghan had eventually called him. “Isn’t a journalist supposed to be busy?” Seungkwan had stopped sending them. At least for a few days.

If Jeonghan was being truthful, he had been terrified for you. Proud—but terrified.

What you did was incredibly risky, especially so close to Ji Jaekyung’s election campaign. It wasn’t because you could ruin his chances of winning. It was because it could cost you your life. Ji Jaekyung had turned out to be a complete psycho—someone who wouldn’t even spare his daughter.

So Jeonghan had tried to find you. To contact you. Maybe offer whatever help he could. But he couldn’t. You had disappeared. And that frightened him even more. Because he had no idea whether you were safe or not.

Now, you were only a few strides away. Yet Jeonghan couldn't find the courage to walk over and say something as simple as hey.

Because hey was never simple when it came to you. It could never be, not after years of searching, asking around, following every lead he could find… And, perhaps, missing you.

Maybe Seungkwan had been right all along. Jeonghan really was a great pretender whenever your name came up.

"You know," Seungkwan had once said, "you deny it better when we talk about her than when your neighbor asks you to fix their toilet."

"She thought I was a handyman!" Jeonghan had shot back immediately. Another denial.

His phone rang while Jeonghan was driving home.

It was the grandmother from next door—the one who particularly adored, or perhaps nagged, him so much that he had started wondering whether she genuinely liked him or simply pitied him. Somehow, she had convinced herself he was a handyman with no real job, just a man who stayed home all day.

"Yes, Grandma?"

He was greeted by a suspiciously sweet voice. Too sweet. Not the usual one that told him to eat more or complained that he worked too slowly, but the gentle voice she reserved for her own grandchildren.

"There's a young woman who just moved in next door, and her gate isn't working properly. Could you help fix it?"

She continued, enthusiastically explaining what a reliable handyman he was.

For heaven's sake. He had studied engineering, not so his elderly neighbor could recruit him as the neighborhood repairman.

Jeonghan sighed. "I'll take a look. I'm on my way home anyway."

He heard her chuckle. She must be in a good mood, he thought. She had been oddly pushy yesterday while handing him containers of side dishes. Kind, as always—but with an unusual edge to it.

"Go check on her," she insisted. "She looked worried because the gate won't lock properly."

Very pushy.

By the time Jeonghan reached the house next door, he immediately crouched to inspect the gate. The lock was rusted beyond repair. It had needed replacing for quite some time. Pulling out his phone, he ordered a replacement lock online. He'd rather spend the money now than endure another week of the grandmother pestering him about it.

He was still standing by the gate, scrolling through the order confirmation, when the sound of footsteps behind him pulled his attention away from the screen. He turned, expecting to see the new homeowner. He was already rehearsing what to say—that the lock would hold for tonight, that he had arranged for someone to replace it in a few days, and that there was nothing to worry about.

But the words never came. His mouth went dry. His eyes widened. God really had a twisted sense of humor.

"...Jeonghan?”

*

After getting help from a very reliable lawyer, you finally received the compensation you had demanded from the Ji family.

It was finally time to find a place of your own instead of continuing to stay in the tiny studio apartment Minseo had generously lent you. You had been her unexpected roommate for almost three months now, and although she had never complained, you knew you couldn't impose forever.

Or maybe she didn't mind. Her boyfriend, on the other hand...

So, after weeks of searching, negotiating, and stretching your budget as far as it could go, you finally found a place at a reasonable price. A house, even. You can only afford a detached house in this economy if something's terribly wrong with it, you thought. The suspicion was confirmed the moment you saw it in person.

It definitely needed a lot of work.

...Or maybe your eyes needed fixing too, because standing in front of your new house was a figure you never expected to see again.

"Y/n?"

He sounded just as surprised as you were. Thank goodness.

"You're the handyman Grandma from next door was talking about?"

Jeonghan immediately shook his head. Then nodded Then shook it again, waving both hands in surrender.

"No—I mean... she thinks I'm a handyman."

You nodded thoughtfully. "That makes sense. She told me all about how you fix things around her house."

Jeonghan let out a defeated chuckle. He glanced between you and the old house before asking quietly, "So... you live here now?"

You stepped closer, following his gaze toward the weathered building. "Yeah." You sighed. "The listing forgot to mention it's one strong wind away from collapsing."

He studied the house for another moment, hands tucked into his pockets. "It's surprising someone actually bought this place."

"Because it's me, or because it's the house?"

The question escaped before you could stop it. The moment the words left your mouth, you wanted to take them back. Obviously because of the house. What a strange thing to ask.

Jeonghan looked at you. Then back at the house. Then at you again. "...Both." A beat passed. "But mostly because it's you.”

That night, your phone buzzed just as you were unpacking another box.

"Hello?"

It was your lawyer. Or rather, your old junior high school friend. Choi Seungcheol. He called to check on your settlement after the case had officially concluded, but mostly to give you an update on the Ji family's situation following the trial and the media storm.

"I'll send over the final documents," he said. "Legally, you're Choi Y/n now."

You laughed softly. "So... we share the same surname now."

"Hey, I don't mind." Seungcheol chuckled. "I told you before—it's an honor to handle your case. Having you share my surname? That's just a bonus."

Despite the joke, his voice carried genuine warmth. Seungcheol had been the first person to reach out after your televised confession. The moment he saw the broadcast, he called. The next day, he was standing at your door with a briefcase in one hand and coffee in the other.

"I'm taking your case."

There hadn't even been room to argue.

Known for his razor-sharp arguments and quick wit in court, Seungcheol had built quite a reputation as one of the country's most formidable young lawyers. And just as he had promised… He won.

You still weren't sure how to thank him properly.

"You helped me first," he said, as if reading your mind. "I'm just returning the favor."

Back in junior high, Seungcheol had been the stereotypical chaebol heir. Spoiled. Reckless. Completely convinced that money solved everything.

Until one afternoon, when a group of older students cornered him behind the gym.

You hadn't been strong enough to fight them. So you'd done the next best thing. You blasted a fake police siren from your phone. The bullies scattered before realizing it wasn't real. Seungcheol had laughed until he cried. Then he decided you were the coolest person he'd ever met.

"I also have a friend living near your new place," Seungcheol said, pulling you back to the present. "He's an architect."

"Oh?"

"Want me to introduce you?"

You glanced around the old house, where peeling wallpaper practically waved at you.

"He might actually faint when he sees this place."

"He'll probably renovate it for free."

You raised an eyebrow. "...For free?"

"Sure." His grin was audible through the phone. "If the two of you end up dating."

You sighed dramatically. "We both know I already have enough on my plate after everything that's happened."

"Fair point." His teasing faded, replaced by the quiet sincerity that had always made him such a dependable friend. "Then just focus on settling in."

You smiled to yourself. "I will."

"I have a feeling good things are waiting for you there."

*

Definitely not a good thing.

Seungcheol burst out laughing the moment he saw you and Jeonghan freeze like statues. His plan to visit his college friend, Jeonghan, and check in on his client, You, a week after you moved in had somehow turned into his favorite comedy show.

"How do you two know each other?" he asked, feigning innocence.

The moment Seungcheol had mentioned that his client lived nearby, Jeonghan's expression had changed ever so slightly. That was all Seungcheol needed.

Interesting.

He knew Jeonghan's history. He knew Jeonghan's "game." And judging by that reaction… Maybe you weren’t just another woman from Jeonghan's past.

Jeonghan let out a quiet sigh. "We met years ago."

"Yeah..." you echoed with a polite smile.

Neither of you elaborated.

Seungcheol looked from one to the other, a knowing grin slowly spreading across his face.

"Well then," he said, clapping his hands once. "Since we're all here, how about lunch?"

You smiled apologetically. "I'd love to, but I already promised to meet someone."

"No worries," Seungcheol replied easily.

After exchanging a few more polite words, you excused yourself and walked away. The moment you disappeared around the corner, Seungcheol slowly turned toward Jeonghan.

Then, with the biggest grin imaginable. "So..."

Jeonghan already knew what was coming.

"...Who was she to you, Yoon Jeonghan?"

He sighed so deeply it almost sounded painful before casually draping an arm over Seungcheol's shoulder.

"Let's get you something to eat first." He gently steered him toward the opposite direction. "You ask strange questions when you're hungry."

Seungcheol frowned in protest as he was dragged along.

"I do not."

"You do."

"I absolutely don't."

"You once asked a judge if he'd skipped breakfast."

"...He looked hungry."

Jeonghan laughed despite himself. "Exactly my point.”

Once the food arrived, the conversation drifted into comfortable silence. Jeonghan absentmindedly stirred his stew before finally speaking. "Do you remember lending me your car a few years ago?" he asked. "I told you I had to attend some political event."

Seungcheol frowned, trying to remember. "The one where you made me pick it up the next morning because you said you were 'emotionally exhausted'?"

Jeonghan let out a quiet laugh. "That one."

A beat passed.

"It was her."

Seungcheol froze, his chopsticks suspended halfway to his mouth. "...You're kidding."

Jeonghan shook his head. "I met her there. Mrs. Ji introduced us herself and invited me to the Prime Minister's event. I met her parents."

For a long second, Seungcheol simply stared at him. Then he slowly lowered his chopsticks onto the table. "Not her parents," he corrected quietly.

Jeonghan's smile faded. "I know." His gaze dropped to his bowl. "I only found out after everything was over."

A heavy silence settled between them.

Then Seungcheol's eyes widened as another thought struck him. "Wait..." He leaned forward. "So she was the woman from the scandal."

Jeonghan answered with nothing more than a small nod. He still remembered those headlines.

The photos of the two of you standing side by side. The articles that turned a few dinners and conversations into a fabricated romance. One picture after another, each one adding more fuel until the entire country caught fire.

"It didn't end well, then?" Seungcheol asked carefully.

Jeonghan gave a small shrug. "I don't even know if there was anything to end." He smiled bitterly. "Her mother was the one who insisted we meet in the first place."

Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, arms folding across his chest. "...That's strange."

Jeonghan looked up.

"What's strange?"

"I was her lawyer." His voice became noticeably more serious. "I know almost everything that happened inside that house."

He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Her relationship with Ji Jaekyung and his wife wasn't normal."

Jeonghan's brows slowly knit together.

"They forced her to become someone she wasn't."

"They dictated how she dressed, what she studied, who she met, what she said in public."

Jeonghan's fingers tightened around his spoon. The words lingered heavily between them. Neither spoke for a while. Finally, Seungcheol frowned, more to himself than to Jeonghan.

"Which is exactly why none of this makes sense."

Jeonghan looked at him.

"If Mrs. Ji controlled every aspect of Y/n's life, why was she so determined to introduce the two of you?"

Jeonghan replayed those evenings in his head. Mrs. Ji invited him to events. Mrs. Ji encouraged you to accompany him. Mrs. Ji smiled every time they talked. At the time, he had assumed she simply wanted her daughter to meet someone.

Now, that explanation felt too simple.

"There had to be a reason," Seungcheol murmured.

"A woman like Mrs. Ji never does anything without expecting something in return."

Jeonghan stared at the untouched food in front of him. For the first time in years, he wondered whether meeting you had ever been fate at all, or just another move in someone else's game.

*

“So,” Minseo began after swallowing a spoonful of soup, “your lawyer came to visit… and the ‘architect friend’ he mentioned turned out to be him?”

She calmly flipped a slice of beef on the grill as though this kind of ridiculous coincidence happened every Tuesday.

You nodded weakly. “Apparently.”

Living with Minseo for three months had stripped away every layer of privacy you once had. She wasn’t even your closest friend from university. Yet somehow, she’d become the one person who knew everything.

Minseo had been there the night you confessed the truth—not to the nation, but to her. That you weren’t Ji Jaekyung’s daughter. Never had been. Just an orphan the Ji family had paid to become one. You still remembered the way she’d stared at you, speechless, before quietly asking only one question.

“Where are you staying tonight?”

When you admitted you had nowhere to go, she’d answered without hesitation. “Pack your things. You’re staying with me.” No pity. No unnecessary questions. Just a spare key pressed into your palm.

“It isn’t supposed to be a big deal, is it?” Minseo said, pulling you back to the present. “Meeting him again, I mean.”

You rested your forehead against your palm, your elbow nearly knocking over your glass of water.

“I know…” You sighed.

“But I still can’t shake the guilt. I dragged him into all of this.”

Minseo looked at you for a moment before laughing softly.

“Girl, you told me he used to be a player with no direction in life.” She pointed at you with her chopsticks.

“And now? He’s an established architect. From everything you’ve told me, he rebuilt his entire life after the scandal.”

“If anything…congratulations?” She shrugged.

You stared at her. “What kind of conclusion is that?”

“My conclusion is that you accidentally gave the man a character-development arc.”

Despite yourself, a laugh escaped. Minseo smiled triumphantly. “There she is. You’ve been making that guilty face ever since the trial ended.”

The smile quickly faded from your lips. “I still ruined his life.”

Minseo shook her head. “No.”

She spoke so firmly that you looked up. “Your mother did. That woman intentionally introduced the two of you because she knew exactly who Yoon Jeonghan was.”

You lowered your gaze. “She was trying to get rid of his father.”

“Exactly.” Minseo pointed her chopsticks again, this time for emphasis.

“She leaked your photos together and controlled the narrative. She made him the villain. Every single step was planned.”

You quietly stirred your soup. The words settled between you.

“You weren’t the one calling the photographers.”

“You weren’t the one writing the headlines.”

“And you certainly weren’t the one trying to destroy a political rival.”

You remained silent. Minseo sighed before reaching across the table to nudge your bowl toward you.

“Eat.”

You obediently picked up your spoon. After a few bites, Minseo spoke again, much more gently.

“You know what I think? I think Mrs. Ji underestimated the two of you. She expected you to keep playing the perfect daughter forever.”

She smiled to herself. “But she never imagined her ‘perfect daughter’ would bring down an entire political dynasty with one press conference.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “She definitely didn’t see that coming.”

“No.” Minseo grinned. “And judging by the way you described your reunion… I don’t think she expected you two to become neighbors either.”

You groaned, dropping your head onto the table. “Please don’t remind me.”

Minseo laughed. “Oh, I’m absolutely reminding you.”

She raised her glass. “To the terrible house…and even more terrible coincidences.”

*

On his way home, Jeonghan noticed a few familiar faces working on your house. They were contractors he had hired before—people whose work he trusted enough to recommend without hesitation. Seeing them there, he couldn’t help wondering which developer you had chosen. Apparently, it was one he knew well.

The fact that the two of you still hadn’t spoken since Seungcheol’s visit last month proved just how hopeless you both were. Or perhaps it was just him.

Every morning, Jeonghan rehearsed countless conversations in his head. A greeting. A joke. Maybe even an apology. Yet the moment he saw you, all he managed was a polite bow and a small smile. Pathetic.

Night fell.

He had just finished dinner when rain began hammering against the windows. Within minutes, the entire neighborhood was swallowed by darkness as the power went out.

Jeonghan didn’t even have to think. He opened a kitchen drawer, took out a few candles, grabbed an umbrella, and stepped outside.

“Grandma? I brought some candles.”

The old woman shuffled carefully from her room to answer the door, smiling as she welcomed him inside. While Jeonghan lit the candles one by one, she complained nonstop about the blackout.

“Is it already the rainy season?” she grumbled. “Why didn’t they announce it on TV? If it rains this hard every day, I’ll go crazy!”

Jeonghan laughed quietly. “I think the TV is the least of your worries right now, Grandma.”

“Hmph. Easy for you to say.”

As she continued talking, his eyes drifted toward the window. Your house stood completely dark. Not a single light. He glanced down at the few candles still left in his hand.

“Grandma, you’re all set.” He picked up his umbrella again. “If you need anything else, just call me.”

The old woman nodded.

“Nari? Are you home?”

A few seconds later, the door opened. “Jeonghan?”

You blinked at the sight of him standing on your porch, rain dripping from the edge of his umbrella. “It’s pouring. What happened?”

He held up the candles in his hand. “I brought these.”

It took you a second to realize the entire house was dark. “Oh…” A sheepish smile crossed your face. “I completely forgot the power went out.”

Jeonghan chuckled quietly. “I noticed.”

You stepped aside, opening the door wider. “Come in before you catch a cold.”

He hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside, carefully folding his umbrella near the entrance.

Your house looked even older from the inside. Half-unpacked boxes lined the living room. Rolls of wallpaper leaned against one wall, while paint samples and renovation sketches covered the dining table. It was messy—but lived in.

“I’m sorry,” you said, noticing where his eyes wandered. “I’m still unpacking.”

“It’s fine.” His gaze settled on the exposed ceiling beams. “They’re in better condition than I expected.”

“You can tell just by looking?”

“I’m an architect.”

“…Right.”

The corner of his lips lifted.

“So…”

You rubbed the back of your neck. “I guess you’re not actually a handyman.”

He let out a laugh. “I’ve been trying to convince Grandma of that for years.”

You laughed too.

For the first time since meeting again, the silence between you no longer felt heavy.

You took one of the candles from his hand. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.”

He lit the candle with a lighter from his pocket, shielding the small flame with one hand until it steadied. The warm glow slowly spread across the room, softening the unfinished walls and the distance that had lingered between the two of you for weeks.

Rain continued to drum against the roof. Neither of you seemed in a hurry to break the quiet.

“You’ve done a lot already,” Jeonghan said after a while, glancing around the room.

“I’ve had help.”

“The contractors outside earlier?”

You nodded. “They’re good.”

“I know.”

You looked at him curiously. “You’ve worked with them before?”

“A few times.” A small pause followed. “I trust their work.”

You smiled. “Good.”

The room settled into silence once more, but it no longer felt empty.

Between you, the candle gave a small, wavering pulse of light, its flame bending whenever the wind pressed against the old windows. The glass panes gave a soft, uneven rattle in their frames, as if the house itself were listening in. Outside, rain moved steadily over the roof and down the eaves, a constant hush beneath the occasional sharper tap of a branch against the siding.

Jeonghan’s gaze drifted toward the windows, his expression thoughtful in the candlelight.

“You should replace those before winter.”

You followed his line of sight, watching the faint tremor in the glass.

“I know. I've been telling myself that for the past two weeks.” A sheepish smile touched your mouth, small and apologetic.

He let out a quiet chuckle, the sound low and warm in the dim room. “I can make you a list.”

“You’ll charge me, won’t you?”

“I thought I was the neighborhood handyman.”

“Right.”

You tipped your head, pretending to consider it, though the corner of your mouth was already giving you away. “So… free?”

Jeonghan laughed, a little more openly this time, and for a moment the tension in the room loosened with it. “I walked right into that one.”

The laughter faded as naturally as it had come, leaving behind something gentler. For the first time, the quiet between you didn’t feel strained or careful. It simply existed, soft and unhurried, the kind of silence shared by two people who had run out of things to say and found they didn’t mind. The rain filled the spaces around you, and the candlelight moved over the table in slow, trembling gold.

“You’ve changed,” you said at last, your voice quieter than you intended.

Jeonghan looked up from the candle, his eyes catching the light. “I have?”

“You smile differently.”

He blinked once, as if turning the words over in his mind.

“I used to think you smiled because you enjoyed teasing people.”

“And now?”

“Now…” You hesitated, searching his face for the right shape of the thought. “It feels quieter.”

His gaze dropped to the candle flame, and for a moment the light softened the line of his mouth. “I got older.”

“I suppose we both did.” A faint smile crossed your lips, brief but real.

“You still bow every morning.”

“You never miss returning it.”

Another pause settled between you, but this one carried no sharp edges.

“I wasn’t sure if I should talk to you.” The confession slipped out before either of you could stop it, and once it was spoken, it seemed to hang there in the warm, dim air.

Jeonghan lifted his eyes to yours. “…Neither was I.”

A small laugh escaped you, half relief and half disbelief. “So we’ve been greeting each other like strangers for an entire month.”

“Apparently.”

“That’s embarrassing.”

“It is.”

Outside, the rain thickened, drumming harder against the roof. Somewhere beyond the windows, the lights remained dark, the world reduced to weather and shadow. You traced the rim of your mug with your thumb, the ceramic cool beneath your skin.

“I thought you hated me.” The words came out so softly you almost wished the rain had swallowed them before they reached him.

Jeonghan didn’t answer right away. He looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable at first, then slowly shifting into something more honest, more tired.

Then he shook his head. “I did.”

You went still.

He seemed to notice your reaction and continued before the silence could harden into misunderstanding. “For a while.”

His fingers tightened slightly around the mug, the warmth of it lost beneath the tension in his hand. “I blamed you.”

“I blamed myself.” His eyes lowered for a second, then lifted again, steady and clear.

“It was easier than accepting I had no idea what had really happened.”

You swallowed, the weight of his words settling somewhere deep and quiet inside you. “I wanted to apologize.”

Jeonghan’s gaze sharpened, as if that had reached him more than anything else you’d said. “I looked for you.”

Your breath caught.

“I couldn’t find you. I asked people. I even asked Seungkwan if he’d heard anything. He worried too, you know.” A small, reluctant smile tugged at his lips, softened by memory.

The room fell silent again, but this time the quiet felt different. It wasn’t the silence of distance or uncertainty. It was the silence of two people standing at the edge of something old and painful, finally beginning to see it clearly from both sides. The candle burned lower between you, its flame smaller now, but steadier somehow, as if it had settled into the shape of the night.

Outside, thunder rolled across the sky in a long, distant rumble. Inside, neither of you seemed to notice that the candles had already burned halfway down.

*

The final school bell rang just as Jeonghan and the principal finished their last inspection of the newly restored building. Jeonghan couldn’t help but chuckle every time a fourth grader came running over to complain.

“The tiles near the stairs are too slippery!”

“The sink by the football field is too tall!”

The principal immediately shooed them away with a laugh. “Off to class. You can file your complaints later.”

Jeonghan watched the children disappear down the corridor before turning to the principal. “They’re definitely the toughest clients to please.”

“They always are.”

“Teacher Y/n.” At the principal’s call, Jeonghan turned.

You stepped out of your classroom, your bag slung over one shoulder, clearly finished for the day. You bowed politely to both of them before smiling at Jeonghan.

“Amazing work, Architect Yoon.”

The principal blinked in surprise. “Oh!” He laughed. “I was just about to introduce the two of you.”

He looked between you and Jeonghan. “So… you already know each other?”

Jeonghan smiled and nodded. “Yes, sir. We’ve known each other for years.” He glanced at you before adding, “We’re neighbors.”

The principal’s eyes widened. “Neighbors?” He looked genuinely delighted.

“Then the two of you should’ve been going home together this whole time! No need for Teacher Y/n to take the bus anymore.”

Jeonghan smiled. “That works for me.”

You nodded, unable to hide a small smile of your own. “Then let me grab my things from the teachers’ room first. Excuse me.”

As you walked away, the principal let out a quiet sigh of relief before turning to Jeonghan. “To be honest, I still don’t understand why someone like Teacher Y/n chose our little school.”

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow.

“Her résumé is remarkable,” the principal continued. “We’re lucky she even accepted our offer.”

Jeonghan smiled to himself. “She’s always been like that.” He remembered the woman who had once told him that a person’s work—not their family name—was what truly defined them.

The principal nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! She just came back from volunteering in Africa, and this was the very first school she applied to.”

He shook his head with an admiring smile. “Sometimes I wonder what kind of life she’s lived.”

Jeonghan watched as you disappeared down the hallway. A quiet smile settled on his face. “…An amazing one.”

The principal followed Jeonghan’s gaze before smiling to himself. “I suppose so.”

After parking the car, the two of you still had to walk another five hundred meters to the neighborhood. Jeonghan carried the box of materials you had brought home from school while you explained they were your students’ art projects.

For most of the walk, neither of you spoke. Then you turned to him. “I read it. Seungkwan did a good job.”

Jeonghan looked over and smiled. “He did almost too good of a job. My father must be pleased.”

“Your father is a good politician,” you murmured.

“He is.” A small smile lingered on his lips. “Not a very good father, though.”

You nodded. “That’s true.”

He looked ahead as the afternoon breeze rustled through the trees. “But… thanks.”

You turned to him.

“Because you were willing to tell the truth—even knowing how much it would cost you—my relationship with him finally got better.”

You smiled faintly. A month ago, Seungkwan had visited to ask for an exclusive interview for his feature, The Fall of Ji Jaekyung’s Legacy. It told the whole story. How the Ji family’s real daughter had been hidden. How you had been forced to take her place. How they had manipulated the media and used both you and Jeonghan in their attempt to bring down Yoon Daemun and several other political rivals.

“That was the least I could do,” you said quietly. “After everything I put you through.”

Jeonghan let out a small laugh. “Didn’t we agree to stop feeling guilty about that?”

You smiled apologetically.

“Besides,” he continued, “your mother was unbelievable.” He shook his head in disbelief. “How she even found out I was Daemun’s estranged son is still beyond me.”

You laughed. “I have no idea either. The whole family was… something else.”

Before either of you could continue, a familiar voice called from across the street.

“There you are!”

Grandma waved excitedly from her front yard. “I’ve been waiting for you two to come home!”

She pointed at Jeonghan. “Jeonghan! Help me with the plumbing. It stopped working again.”

Jeonghan groaned dramatically. “Grandma… I’m not a plumber.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

“I’m not a handyman either.”

Ignoring his protest entirely, Grandma grabbed his wrist and started pulling him toward the house.

You couldn’t hold back your laughter.

Jeonghan sighed in defeat before handing you his bag.

“Which pipe is it this time?”

As he rolled up his sleeves, Grandma happily led him inside.

“He complains every single time,” she whispered to you with a grin. “But he always fixes it.”

You smiled. “Grandma… He’s not a handyman. He’s an architect.”

Grandma blinked before breaking into a sheepish smile.

“I know.”

You looked at her in surprise.

She pointed toward the house next door. “There’s a big sign in front of his house.”

You laughed. “So you’ve known all along?”

Grandma simply shrugged. “Architects know how to fix things too.”

You glanced toward the kitchen window, where Jeonghan was already crouching beneath the sink, muttering to himself while trying to figure out the plumbing.

Maybe Grandma had been right after all. Some people didn’t just build houses. They made them feel like home.

End.

[jeonstudios]

dextrocardia | 25

Dextrocardia. Originally a medical term, but also a way to describe someone who's got their heart in the right place.

"She's been moved to another operation to help out. This pairing is necessary because you'll be undercover as spouses. I know you two can be professional about this."

"What?!" It's Jeongguk's upset voice that sounds, and for once, you share his displeased opinion.

Spouses.

pairing: cop!jk x f detective!reader

genre: undercover cops, fake marriage, e2l au, angst, fluff, smut

word count: 5.4k

warnings: feelings and sexual content

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 25

<previous | next>

this fic can not be modified, re-posted, or translated without my permission.

Someone's silent footsteps are what awakens you. Not coming toward you, but underneath you, your body already swaying softly above them. You turn your head, nose brushing against Jeongguk's throat. God, why does he always smell so good? Can someone smell 'safe' or have you just come to associate safety with him, and therefore also his smell?

"Can I sleep with you?" you mumble tiredly when you realize that he's in the middle of carrying you to your room.

"On the first date?" his low voice teases, and it's so close it makes goosebumps rise on your arms.

"Are you slut shaming me?"

"Yes. That's kinda dirty."

In contrast to his words, he changes course, walking past your bedroom and instead toward his.

Sleep hangs over you like a weighted blanket, and by the time Jeongguk lowers you onto his bed in the dark room, you're almost drifting off again. With only one eye open, and by a sliver at most, you lift your head to see Jeongguk head over to his closet, pulling out a big t-shirt and some shorts which he then turns around to lay on the bed.

Your heart skips a beat and your skin warms because… you have your own sleepwear. They're a few steps away, in a room with so many of your things and clothes, and there's literally no need for you to sleep in his clothes. You know that, and he knows it too.

Without a word, probably figuring you're halfway to the Night Garden already, Jeongguk approaches the door.

"Where are you going?" you mumble.

He pauses, peering back at you softly. "To blow out all the candles."

You nod, your eyes already closing again. But before you can comfortably fall asleep, you realize somewhere that you'd actually prefer to change. Even in your nearly comatose state, you manage to reach for the oversized black shirt and clumsily change into it—intentionally leaving the shorts untouched—and burrow further into the bed before Jeongguk returns. There were a lot of candles after all.

You don't think he realizes that you're still awake when he returns, but since he most likely doesn't care if you watch him undress, you don't feel bad for the way you observe him as he pulls the shirt over his head. Facing the closet, he gives you the perfect view of his broad, naked back. A certain kind of awe and even pride fills your chest. You're always impressed by him, but sometimes, it definitely hits differently.

"How do you even get those muscles?"

"Hm?" Jeongguk turns, his eyebrows raised slightly.

"Those," you nod lazily. "On your back. Like, low, almost on your side. No. Come here."

Still holding his shirt in his hands, he walks over to your side of the bed. You reach an arm out, touching his lower side, a little further back. It's so attractive how wide his back is and how it slowly tapers into his tiny little waist. "These."

"Those are called 'Latissimus Dorsi,'" he informs, clearly amused.

"Oh. The 'lats,'" you nod, recalling the name. You know a few; bicep, tricep, gluteus maximus, hamstring, lats…

"Right," Jeongguk smiles. "And these," he lowers his hand to just underneath. "Are called 'external obliques.'"

Well, you've definitely heard of those too. While you still visit the gym occasionally—or at least you did until a few months ago—you've never taken the rabbit hole down into the deeper knowledge. Or… scratched more than the very surface, really.

"You can train lats by doing any kind of pull-downs," he states, showing how he'd pull a bar or something down in front of him. And while there's no weight, you can see the muscles flex ever so slightly.

"And obliques, you train effectively by twisting. Weights or body weight or whatever. Easy."

You watch him demonstrate by holding some kind of invisible dumbbell in front of him while twisting his upper body. Again, you can't help but glance a little extra at the muscle and how it moves.

You grin lazily. "Oh, so you're a nerd nerd. Got it."

Rolling his eyes endearingly, Jeongguk steps back, grabbing the folded shorts and changing into them, himself. He doesn't mention that he knows you're pantless in his bed.

A second later, he's lifting the duvet to get under it, but if you thought he was just lying down, you were mistaken. Instead, he remains upright as he scoots closer and places one hand on either side of you, carefully leaning over you.

“So I did okay?”

Your heart beats heavily because he's clearly really wondering. Like it's important to him. So, you bring your hands to his sides, running your nails over his skin, and wrapping your arms around him loosely.

He's so warm and so firm, and he smells so, so nice. It's the hint of masculinity and safety again, something so contradicting to you but feeling so right when it comes to him.

There's hope and curiosity and maybe a trace of uncertainty in his dark eyes as he smiles down at you. Even his dimple makes a show-stealing appearance. Your gaze travels over all of him briefly, from the tattoos to the scar on his chest. Everything you can see.

“You did okay," you confirm even though it's the understatement of the century. "Thank you. I don't remember the last time I… I don't remember ever feeling like this."

You've never felt wanted like this. Desired. Like you could be special in any remotely positive way to someone. If ever singled out from a crowd, it's only ever been bad. Or neutral at best. Jeongguk's expression fills of understanding, softening further.

"But don’t… unless you happened to find the roses on the side of the road for close to free, that’s too many flowers.”

He shakes his head, opening his mouth to argue, but you're quicker.

“Yes," you say, nodding determinedly. "Once was okay, but you can’t waste that much money again.”

“It’s not a waste if it makes you feel good.”

“Yeah, it is a waste if you do it more than once. I’ll feel bad instead.”

He pouts, and it makes your already warm chest even warmer. Instinctively, you pull him closer, smiling dumbly to yourself. As if trying to convey your gratitude by more than words, your fingers knead his back, eliciting a surprised yet deep groan from him.

“Can I… is this okay?” you ask, just to make absolutely sure. If you've expected something from him, you want to give him the same kind of consideration in return.

He breathes in deeply, clearly enjoying your hands on his back. “You don’t have to ask. As long as you touch me cause you want to and not because you feel like you should or because I expect you to.”

"Okay," you say quietly, admiring him, high on the content sounds he makes as he closes his eyes. In another setting, they'd turn you on, but at this time, they only make your heart soar. "…You don't have to be scared to touch me either."

"I will not take that responsibility lightly."

And while you can tell by his light tone and closed eyes that he's keeping it… easy, you don't doubt that he's very much serious.

You move your hand to the back of his neck, feeling his black hair between your fingers. "Kiss me?"

The next morning is a lazy one. It starts with you waking up, head resting on Jeongguk's tattooed bicep, his chest moving calmly against your back, and his slow, deep breaths in your hair. His other arm hangs limp from your waist.

You're happy. Content. Not even the fact that your—his—shirt has ridden up, exposing your blue cotton panties, worries you. Sure, Jeongguk is very much asleep but you don't think he'd make a big deal out of it.

Maybe that's what you need the most? Not necessarily positive affirmations because while it's nice to hear him say that you're pretty—and you definitely needed to hear that first—letting him see you however vulnerable sometimes feels easiest when you're not expecting any kind of reaction.

You wonder if he realizes that or if he's just winging it; choosing his actions and reactions as they come. After all, he said he consciously didn't comment on your looks when you first came to live with him so that you wouldn't second-guess his motives.

You stay where you are, your left hand softly tracing the inked designs in front of your face. Jeongguk sleeps for a few more minutes, until you hear him yawn behind you. He happens to move at the same time you adjust, and your lower halves bump into each other.

"Sorry," he mumbles, moving back a little.

"No need to apologize."

You shut your eyes for a moment. Waking up hard is definitely not his fault, and although you appreciate his consideration, knowing exactly how he feels in your hand—big and hard—nearly has you turning around, offering to help.

You do roll over though, but only to look at his sleepy face. Although tired, you've at least had a few more minutes to wake up.

Jeongguk's dark hair is messy, endearingly sticking out in multiple directions, and you raise your hand to gently brush it out of his face.

Sighing deeply, he shuts his eyes again. "I dreamed about you."

"Hm?" you voice, amused.

"Not… It's not why I have a boner," he clarifies after realizing your logical conclusion. "I dreamed that Jihyo had a new mission for us, and I got to have you as my wife again. Well, at first, she insisted that Jimin go with you? As your husband? But I fought tooth and nail and told her how good we look as a couple, and she finally gave in."

"Sounds toxic."

"Mhm. Only for you."

"And she really let you go with me because we looked good as a couple?" You chuckle. "No other qualifications?"

"Yes. Dream logic."

"Right. I mean Jimin's a good looking guy as well."

Jeongguk opens one tired eye, staring at you in silent warning.

"What? He's not my type, but you can't say that he's even remotely ugly."

"No, you're right. He's handsome. But what's your type then?" Jeongguk asks, smirking… curiously?

As if thinking about it, you let your fingers trace his features. His eyebrows, his nose, his cheekbones and jaw. But you know that he sees the admiration you can't keep from your gaze as it moves over his face, and he closes his eyes for another moment, satisfied and happy.

He's so clearly your type, there's no need to say it. But you do anyway, heart beating. "You've always been my type. At least physically."

"But not enough to remember when we first met," he questions lazily.

You think back to those months. They were all very dark for you. "When was it? October? I knew who you were even before you came, but I probably just didn't recognize you. I was under a lot of stress back then."

"No, I know," he says, his voice losing its teasing tone. The hand he's kept hanging off your waist strokes your back.

"The first time I remember seeing you at the station, you were talking to the Chief outside his office. I was sitting at Sana's desk, and she had just gone to the bathroom."

It feels like three lifetimes ago, how you straightened your back to peer over the monitor in front of you to catch a careful glimpse of the new intimidatingly handsome officer.

"You were wearing your uniform, and I think you'd just come back from your first shift after transferring. I'd seen pictures of you, including after you won the Officer Olympics, but I remember thinking that even the pictures didn't do you justice. Then you looked around, and I ducked behind the monitor."

"I didn't see you," he concludes. "Do you… remember the second time we met? Like actually interacted?"

You lick your lips, revisiting another memory. "I think so. Like a week or so later? You were entering the station with Hoseong and Ryung a few steps behind me, and I slammed the door in Ryung's face? And you asked me what my problem was and told me to grow up?"

You smile a small smile. Knowing now that they'd just started slowly and carefully putting their claws into Jeongguk, you don't blame him.

"Yeah. Sorry about that. They'd just told me that you couldn't accept that Hoseong didn't want to date you. It sounded so unrealistic that you would've actually shot him—and they had to convince me for like a week straight not to bring it up to the chief—but when you seemed so angry, doing stuff like that, seemingly unprovoked? And then looking at me as if you were surprised I was daring to speak up, but then giving me the finger? I guess I started buying it."

You remember his face; frustration overflowing when neither Hoseong nor Ryung told you off for your 'unprovoked' attack. A show of innocence for the gallery, of course. And then more frustration when you flipped him off.

You trace his jaw with feather light fingers. "Honestly, it was a bit out of character for me because you and I hadn't really talked yet. But they'd been calling me from unknown prepaid sim cards, just breathing and not saying anything, for like five consecutive nights, and I was just so tired. And you were a man in law enforcement and clearly already friends with them, so why would I even bother giving you the benefit of the doubt?"

Despite knowing everything you'd been subjected to, maybe it feels different to hear your side actually intertwined with his because he pulls you closer, hugging you tightly. He's so warm against you, so strong.

"So while I wish you would've talked to me about it, I don't blame you for that," you continue.

You imagine him pulling you aside, alone. The thing is that you could tell that he wasn't… mocking or taunting you in any way when he called you out for slamming the door, but he was frustrated and agitated, and it didn't make enough of a difference. But if he had asked one or two questions that would've clued you in on the fact that he wasn't aware of the full story, the actual reason you shot Hoseong…

If he either would've asked in a calmer voice why you felt the need to slam that door, or even if he'd just outright questioned why you shot his new-found friend or if it even ask whether it was true that you had…

"I'm sorry," he mumbles into your hair.

"I know. But it turned out alright in the end anyway, right?"

"Did it?"

"I'd say so? I mean… I'm in your bed?" you chuckle.

"Imagine we got to go undercover now though? Or if we'd been… civil while we were? Maybe that was the reason for the boner. The dream."

You burst out laughing, leaning back to look at his face. "Because you got to play house again?"

Jeongguk grins happily. "Yes. I can't believe how out of my mind I was, not realizing the opportunity I had."

"Opportunity to do what, exactly?" you quirk an eyebrow.

"To make things right? Say we were shipped out now instead of then and told to pretend to be married? Would you not have an at least alright time?"

You choose not to misunderstand his words. "I would. Being undercover is always a bit nerve-racking, though."

"Yeah, but pretending to be married to me?"

"Not having to be scared you'd kill me?"

"Yes," he says, pulling you just a little closer again as if he can't help it.

"I would have a better time, yes. A good time, even. Do you think they'd believe us, though?"

"They already did?"

"Hoseok outright asked me if you were abusing me."

"Yes, but he was reading you, not me. You were scared, understandably, but I was never even thinking about hurting you in any way."

"Oh, so it was my fault that they didn't believe us?" you tease.

"No? Because I still think everyone but Hoseok and Yoongi bought it. I mean, even they bought that we were married. I'm also sorry for making you have that conversation with Eunha and Hyeji. At least they seemed to believe you, and I also thought it was very sweet the way you spoke about me."

You let out a loud, painful groan. "Do not remind me. You know what, I think I'm still angry at you for that. Wait—exactly what did you hear?"

Jeongguk snickers, and you both know you're very intentionally skipping the heavier side of the topic, how he essentially but unknowingly joked about your assault when you confronted him about the handcuffs.

"I heard you say that you got a uniform and cuffs for role playing since you enjoy, what was it… 'a man in uniform,'"

"Jeongguk, domestic abuse or not, I will pinch you."

He continues to laugh, pulling you even closer. "I beg your mercy. But I also heard you say that I wasn't only hot and intimidating but also sweet and kind and your best friend in the whole world. And I think that was sweet, and it was super smart of you because I wholeheartedly think they believed you were just a bit embarrassed."

"You know I wasn't talking about you, though? I didn't consider you sweet, kind, or a good friend in the slightest."

"I know," he says, putting his nose in your hair and breathing you in without any sort of shame.

It feels like you're moving together, like you've wordlessly agreed that you've addressed the deepest issues and can now instead talk about other aspects without always apologizing. It's progress you never expected until very recently, but it feels good.

"Should we get up? Have some cheesecake for breakfast?"

At that, he moves back, stretching his arms over his head. "Yeah."

But then he makes no effort to get up, just looks at you. It's like you so often find yourself looking at him. Dreamily.

"What?"

"You are insanely gorgeous."

"Stop," you say, cheeks heating embarrassingly as you wrestle your way out of the covers. Being complimented into embarrassment isn't something you thought you'd ever experience, but… you've never been this happy.

"Alright. Why don't you go and prepare some cheesecake? I'll be with you in a moment; I just have to decide what to do with… this," he explains, casually putting a pillow over his crotch.

You grin, understanding his dilemma and definitely not jealous regarding it. Waking up hard, just as a bodily reaction, and then talking about matters which won't exactly rile you up further. Do you rub one out if it persists or just let it die down?

It's definitely some kind of torture, cutting up slices of cheesecake while wondering what Jeongguk decided to do. The knife you're using is dull, good enough for cheesecake and the safest choice for your fingers when you can't stop thinking about his hands wrapped around his thick cock, muscles tense, and his eyes shut in pleasure. Did he stay in bed or is he in the shower?

As you wait so that you can eat together, you take the opportunity to send your mom a text, and you look through your unread emails, answering some. By the time you hear his footsteps, you're just finishing pouring two cups of coffee.

"Am I correct in thinking we're not really doing anything today? I'm waiting on a call, but other than that…"

You turn, spotting Jeongguk behind you, his hair a little tamer than before but partially in his eyes. Like a real couple, you're sharing an outfit; he's wearing the black sweatpants to your black shirt, his muscular chest bare. If he in any way stopped to admire your legs, naked from where the shirt ends at right underneath your butt, you didn't see.

"You're working tomorrow right?" you ask. "Patrol?"

"Yeah. Night shift, though. For the entire week if I'm not mistaken."

You meet his eyes, and you can tell that he shares your quiet disappointment. You'll be preparing for the preliminary hearing, so you'll barely see each other.

"Then I think doing nothing today would be really nice."

You don't do nothing.

The cheesecake is just as delicious as yesterday. First, you watch a short Youtube documentary about the possible reasons humans dream, which ends just as the cheesecake does. Not ready to leave the couch just yet, you do some traditional zapping, ending up on a channel showing 'Back to the Future.'

You pay attention for a whole ten minutes, Jeongguk's arm around you and you resting against him, a blanket over your laps. He's wearing a black t-shirt, having gone searching for it after the cheesecake because it was a little too chilly to remain shirtless. You, however, still only wear his shirt that you slept in, satisfied with the blanket's warmth.

While Jeongguk watches the movie, you think about him. His body, his voice, his face, his touch… How he talks to you and how he treats you… The roses are where you left them last night, bouquet after bouquet lining the walls and decorating the surfaces.

The more you look at them, and the more you think about Jeongguk, breathing his scent with every inhale, you fill with something. It's a blend of confidence and… need? Or a want, at least. A desire to be even closer and to show him how good and confident he makes you feel. How grateful you are for him.

Putting your hand on his chest, you glance up when you feel his soft gaze on you and his hand gently tuck your hair behind your ear.

That's it. Nervous, yet more determined than you've felt in quite a while, you crawl onto his lap, straddling him. His hands fall to your naked thighs on either side of his as he watches you curiously, eyebrows raised slightly as to ask what you're up to.

"I want to kiss you," you whisper, admiring him with your heart beating rapidly and butterflies fluttering their wings.

"I'd love it if you did," is what he says, smiling in that way that makes his dimple appear.

So you do. With one hand gripping his shirt and the other at the back of his neck, you lean down, pressing your lips against his.

It's so different this time around. You've been seated on his lap a few times, kissing him, and while you've always wanted to feel his lips against yours, you've been different degrees of terrified.

Undercover, when you kissed on the hammock, thinking that he was planning to kill you, and then after everything, when you merely feared that he was lying about his intentions and feelings, bound to hurt you in one way or another.

This time, you're nervous, yes, but in a different way. It's more biological, a natural reaction to wanting to fit in and not disappoint, rather than thinking he's just with you because he pities you. You can never prove that he feels the same kind of irresistible attraction you feel toward him, but he likes you. Jeongguk likes you.

His hands stay respectful, one on your lower thigh and the other moving to hold your waist. They're both warm because of course they are. He hums appreciatively into the kiss, and you lift your hand that was gripping his shirt to carefully hold his jaw instead, kissing him slowly. God, he's addictive in the best way, letting you explore this kind of affection without the overhanging threat of a border with no return.

Feeling cheeky, you pull the tiniest bit on the hair at the back of his neck, immensely satisfied when he lets out an unmistakably appreciative groan. Grinning against his lips, you do it again.

Despite his still hands, he's not passive. Although letting you lead, he follows enthusiastically, even nipping your bottom lip at one point. You're high on something, maybe the roses or just him and his sounds and his touch, and you're full of something else, that deep and warm want.

Adrenaline fills your veins and your pulse kicks into another gear as you lower your left hand from Jeongguk's jaw to his hand that's resting on your thigh. You take it, placing it between your breasts, right in the middle. Since you're only wearing his thin, black t-shirt, you wouldn't be surprised if he feels every single beat of your heart against his palm.

Slowly, while still kissing him, you lower his hand, just like he lowered yours that time in the shower. But he catches on, stopping just before your hands venture between your spread legs.

"Are you sure?" he mumbles against your lips.

"Yes," you whisper. "I want you to. If you want to."

"Of course, I want to. You know that. But it's up to you."

You nod, closing your eyes and kissing him again as you lower your hands further, in under the shirt but on top of your panties. Your heart beats heavy with anticipation and nerves when you feel his hand right there. At first, he caresses carefully, rubbing with gentle pressure over your slit and to your clit, and it makes you break the kiss, unable to focus.

He watches you, you know that even if your own eyes are closed. Drawing a shaky breath, you grip his shirt at his chest again.

"Okay?"

"Mhm," you bite your lip, almost flinching when he adds pressure to your clit, circling it over the fabric of your panties. They seem to annoy him a little, and next thing you know, he's pulling them to the side, running his fingers through your almost embarrassingly soaked folds.

"You're a literal dream," he states, his words breathy.

"Jeongguk," you whisper quietly into his ear.

"Does it feel good?"

Leaning forward, you nod against the side of his face, whimpering when he rubs your clit again, this time harder. He spreads his legs and in turn, yours, giving him unrestricted access. It's vulnerable, and you feel so exposed, but in a mostly exhilarating way.

"What did I do to deserve you, huh? So beautiful and gorgeous and sexy; you take my breath away."

If you weren't so preoccupied, you would've gladly clued him in, telling him that you're not this fond of him purely by chance. But you don't have nearly enough brain power, and honestly, you hope he already knows.

Slowly, gauging your reaction, he trails his middle finger lower, circling. When you nod in approval, he pushes it in. You're so wet already that it slips right in, and he immediately finds that spot, rubbing against it as he pumps his finger in and out.

"Jeongguk…" you repeat. It's like he already knows everything about you and your body.

He stops, his finger still deep inside you.

"Is this okay?" he asks, voice deep and calm.

"Mhm, keep going," you hum. "Please…"

Something about your breathy pleading makes him groan lightly, but he resumes, even adds another finger to pump in and out.

"You are so pretty like this," he says. "The prettiest. My pretty girl."

Your grip on his t-shirt tightens, and your eyes are one second away from tearing up, feeling him hit your sensitive nerves every time. His other hand warms your waist through the t-shirt, his hold on you gentle but firm.

Every ragged breath you take, his scent is there, clouding your brain. Him, him, him; he's all you feel and all you think about. His big body, his muscular arms and shoulders, the tattoos, veins, his warm, golden skin. And that's not even mentioning his dark, dark eyes, capable of conveying so much strength but also gentleness. Or his long fingers, currently fucking in and out of you at a quickening pace.

His phone rings.

You don't know who's calling, but you don't spare it too much thought, seeing as he doesn't stop. Two seconds is all he needs to decide his next action.

"Can you be quiet?" he asks lowly, pulling his wet fingers out of you to eliminate the worst sounds but keeping them on your clit instead.

You take a deep, shaky breath, nodding, still with your eyes closed and your forehead pressed against the side of his face.

"Hey," he answers the phone, sounding entirely normal.

It sounds like a man on the other end of the line, although you can't discern more than a single word here and there.

"Yeah, okay, good. That's great. Listen, can I call you back in a few minutes?"

You bite your lip, feeling him casually roll your clit between his fingers as he waits for an answer. To stop any sound from escaping your lips without permission, you press them against his warm neck.

"Mhm, okay, I'll call you back. Bye."

You hear the faint thud of his phone hitting the couch further away.

"Sorry, about that," he apologizes, and his genuine words and deep voice has you weaker in the knees than his hand between your legs.

"It's okay," you mumble, because you absolutely don't mind. He wouldn't have answered if it wasn't important.

However, your knees definitely feel even weaker when he puts in another gear, clearly enjoying it when the your thighs shake and your hips move seemingly on their own, trying to deal with the intensity of his touches. It's definitely not ruthless, but he's braver than he was at the start, rubbing both quicker and with more force, alternating the pattern and motion.

"So mesmerized by you," he says, and you grip at what you can reach of his back.

As you hold onto him, your breaths become shorter and shorter as the sharp pleasure builds inside you, threatening to spill over.

"Jeongguk."

"I know, baby," he encourages, turning to kiss your jaw.

It builds and builds and builds, until those shallow breaths become one that you hold, biting your lip while the electricity pulses through your entire body, and you drop your head to Jeongguk's shoulder.

His fingers continue a few seconds longer, softly and smoothly letting you ride out the orgasm before he removes them, your panties snapping back in place. Still keeping your head on his shoulder, you open your eyes just in time to see him casually wipe his fingers on his pants.

A quiet moment passes, a chance for you to catch your breath, Jeongguk stroking your back in the meantime.

"I'm gonna live a long time on that," he admits, making you chuckle. "How are you feeling?"

"Good," you say, sliding off him and to the side. Your skin is warm, both because of the nature of what you just did but also since he made you come in like, what, less than five minutes? "I guess two minutes is all I need," you joke, referencing his words from that day at the station when he desperately wanted you to listen to him.

"If you think that makes you less irresistible…" he comments, his round eyes surprised yet slightly… wild.

You just chuckle again. Sure, men usually only come once and 'premature ejaculation' is a different 'problem,' but it still feels embarrassing. To show your gratitude, mostly for his comforting words and how well he treats you in general, you grab a soft hold of his jaw, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on his cheek.

When you straighten up, he takes it as his sign, reaching for the phone.

"Well, I need to make a call," he states, slapping his thighs and standing up. "And then… definitely take care of something this time."

You snort, finding him so incredibly endearing and lovable. You didn't look for the boner, and you don't see it as he leaves the room, phone held up to his ear. What you do see, however, is how he brings the fingers he used to get you off to his mouth, casually licking them clean as he waits for whoever called to pick up.

<previous | next>

author's note: i hope you liked it!! was it what you expected post-date or not? <3

[epelletart]

hyde, jekyll, and me 𑣲 c. seungcheol

to think that your marriage has come to an end, you consider divorce as the only solution. that was until something seemed wrong with your husband. although you're not quite sure what it was, his sudden change forces you to put everything on hold. throughout the process, you find yourself falling in love all over again, remembering why you loved him in the first place.

pairing: choi seungcheol x f!reader

genre: drama, comedy, angst, fluff, smut (mdni)

warnings:  mature content, strong language, mental health themes, DID (dissociative identity disorder), split personality, marriage conflict, one-sided love, arranged marriage, avoidant attachment, emotional impermanence, anxious attachment, miscommunication between couples, mention of divorce (more detailed warnings in specific chapters).

add tags❤︎: established relationship, CEO! seungcheol, target audience: me, wife!reader, sun x moon dynamic, cheol is a little mean, she fell first he fell harder type of shii aye, grumpy x sunshine trope, second chance(?), attorney!jeonghan, secretary!mingyu, dr. jeon as moral and emotional support, therapist! joshua, i write tragedy, not sins. this is actually sad, but we are coping. third-person pov, kkuma cameo!

disclaimer: i am not a professional. therefore, i am aware that this story contains themes related to mental health, which will be written with care and respect. please expect upcoming chapters to include experiences inspired by real-life accounts. please read the warnings before proceeding and take care of yourself while reading. no self-harm will be mentioned, i can assure you of that. additionally, some mental health conditions and diagnoses may not be portrayed with complete accuracy, as experiences can vary greatly from person to person.

notes: phew, this is going to be a loooong ride. anyway, i feel like the banner and the genre tags are a little misleading bc there's nothing cute about this fic at all. but hey! i finally found the courage to post this, and i hope you guys will trust me with this one :D

main masterlist - taglist - inbox open!

Table of contents

Prologue

Chapter one: Dear, Cheol

Chapter Two: TBA

Chapter Three: TBA

Epilogue: TBA

Extra(?)

dividers by the lovely @designlikenonsense ❤

[back2bluesidex]

Behind The Lens - KTH & JJK [Masterlist]

Pairing: Idol, ex Jungkook X Fem, staff Reader X One night stand, photographer Taehyung

Theme: Drama, love triangle au, break up au, strangers to lovers au.

Summary:

Jeon Jungkook is the nation's golden boy. Most of his life is exposed in front of the camera. But as soon as the spot light goes out - you are the person he runs to. In quietness, you two fall in each other's arms offering a piece of solace. But your relationship goes through the ultimate fall when Jungkook's long time crush walks into the scene with the proposal of a collaboration.To deal with the heartbreak, you leave for a solo trip to Jeju. Guess what do you do there? heal? NO! you sleep with an unbearably handsome stranger two days in a row and then run away, wary of dealing with the consequences. One month later when the same stranger, Kim Taehyung, waltz in your life again - hellbent on making things work with you, you are considering to take a chance. The only problem is that Jungkook is not too happy with you moving towards someone that's not him.

Warnings: Will be mentioned in every update.

Masterlinks | Patreon (Early access)

A/N: This will be posted one chapter per month. for early access and weekly updates you can join my Patreon <3

Taglist request are open!

Chapter Index: -

Prologue - Euphoria

Ch. 1 - Begin

Ch. 2 - Somebody

Ch. 3 - Intermission - Monologue

Ch. 4 - Shot Glass of Tears [Patreon]

Ch. 5 - Slow Dancing [Patreon]

Ch. 6 - Blue [Patreon]

Ch. 7 - It's Definitely You [Patreon]

Ch. 8 - Decalcomania [Patreon]

Ch. 9 - FRI(END)S [Patreon]

Ch. 10 - Closer to You [Patreon]

Ch. 11 - Intermission - Jungkook's Monologue [Patreon]

Ch. 12 - Sweet Night [Patreon]

Ch. 13 - Hate You [Patreon]

Ch. 14 - For Us [Patreon]

Ch. 15 - Finale [Patreon]

Permanent Taglist:

@chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @chimmisbae @i-have-no-life-charlie @mikrokookiex @jjk174 @lallataegi @savageyoongi @jwnghyuns @parapiop7 @futuristicenemychaos @armystay89 @ryryvna @purple-realms @ssbb-22 @miniesjams32 @mar-lo-pap @granataepfelchen @karleereadssmut @amarawayne @magicshop96

Requested Tags: -

@calmyourtitts7 @rjsmochii @rinforu @nikkinit

[scarletwinterxx]

dark nights & daylight - choi seungcheol imagine

...

yes i know it's been a while. i really did try working on other stories, spin offs, maybe short aus but i just couldn't finish any of them🥺😭 most days i'm just too tired from work, some days i just can't find the inspiration.

then this one came in mind, call it an attempt at writing angst but you all already know i'm not good at that haha so yea this is a bit... sad but no worries it's still happy ending. you know hearts don't break around here

when i started this, there was one song that really really resonated with this. Daylight by Taylor Swift. hope you like it🤍

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(photos not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You don’t notice him at first, not really.

Just a broad-shouldered man in line ahead of you, sleeves rolled to his forearms, jaw tense like the weight of the world is sitting on it but when he receives his drink and turns a little, you catch his expression.

He looks like someone who hasn’t breathed all day. You don’t even think before you speak.

“Is it good?”

He blinks, faintly startled. His eyes flick to yours.

“…yeah. Good.”

You smile. Bright, uncomplicated, like he just told you something wonderful.

“Great. Then I’ll try the same.”

He just stares for a second, like he can’t tell if you’re serious, before stepping aside to let you order. You don’t notice the way his gaze lingers a little longer than necessary when you go past him, humming softly under your breath.

The second time it happens, you’re half convinced fate is bored. Same café chain, different branch, different day. Same man. Still serious. Still quiet. Still nursing what looks like the same drink.

“You again,” you say, amused.

He nods once in greeting. Reserved, cautious, but not dismissing you either.

“You try anything new today?”

“No,” he answers, the corners of his mouth tightening like he’s only barely stopping himself from smiling. “I liked what I had last time.”

You grin. “Creature of habit?”

“Something like that.”

You don’t realize you’re sunshine to him yet  but he notices the way your presence pulls the air a little lighter.

The third time is when you finally ask.

You’re walking in and nearly collide with him because he’s pushing the door open at the exact same moment. You stumble, he steadies you,  palm warm against your elbow, brows pinched in faint alarm.

You laugh, breathless. “At this point I’m starting to think you’re my barista-assigned guardian angel.”

He exhales through his nose, almost a laugh. Almost.

There’s a tiny beat, a pause that feels like an invitation you didn’t plan to take but somehow do anyway.

“So…” you say, tilting your head, “do I finally get a name? Or should I just keep calling you ‘serious coffee guy’ in my head?”

He hesitates. Then— “Seungcheol.”

You taste the name on your tongue.

“Seungcheol,” you repeat softly — like you’re pocketing it for safekeeping.  His gaze flickers.

“And you?” he asks.

Your name leaves your lips like sunshine spilling across a quiet morning. He doesn’t smile fully. Not yet but his shoulders drop half an inch, like the world got a little lighter.

The fourth time, it’s morning. Too early for coincidence, but you tell yourself sure, why not, fate can be an early riser too. You’re halfway through adjusting your scarf when you see him already at the counter, profile familiar now: straight shoulders, clean lines of a pressed coat, hair slightly mussed like he’d run his hand through it too many times on the walk over. Serious. Focused.

The same quiet gravity as always.

He turns just as you approach, and his eyes flicker—recognition first, then something softer, almost resigned amusement, like the universe really is determined to push you into his path.

“You again,” you say, smiling.

He huffs out a quiet breath. “…seems like it.”

You don’t see it, but his ears turn a shade pink when you stand beside him instead of behind him. You both wait for your drinks, standing side by side in that little gap between the counter and the pickup station. You’re fiddling with your phone, scrolling restaurant posts, chewing your lip thoughtfully.

You steal a glimpse at him. He looks like he actually lives here, you think. He probably knows so you do a brave thing you might have overthought on any other morning.

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

He turns to face you. “Sure.”

You take a tiny breath “…do you maybe know any good dinner places around here? I just moved here a month ago and I’m getting tired of convenience store ramen and trial-and-error google reviews.”

He raises a brow. “You moved here alone?”

You nod. “Yeah. Still figuring things out.”

His answer is immediate, tone flat—“Don’t go wandering into random places at night just because they look nice from the outside. This area has a few restaurants that only look decent on the surface.”

You blink. “…that sounded like a lecture.”

“That was a lecture,” he replies without hesitation.

You laugh, shoulders shaking. “You’re very—”

“Blunt?” he supplies.

“I was going to say intense,” you grin. “But sure. Blunt works too.”

He doesn’t smile, but there’s a small flicker in his eyes, like he’s recalibrating you

You look up at him again. “So? Recommendation?”

He doesn’t answer right away. You can see the moment he weighs whether this is a conversation he wants to open further and the second his jaw ticks, you know he’s made a choice.

“There’s a place two streets down. Quiet, traditional, not flashy. Food’s good. Not overpriced.”

Your drink is called out. His too.

You take yours, turning back to him with a little nod. “Okay. Two streets down. I’ll go tonight.”

He holds your gaze for a beat longer than necessary. “Don’t sit near the windows,” he adds, adjusting his coat.

You blink. “Why—?”

“Draft comes in. You’ll freeze.” It’s such a practical warning that your chest warms, not cools.

“You really observed everything, huh?” you tease.

He shrugs lightly. “I know this town.”

“And I’m new to it,” you say quietly.

“Clearly.”

You chuckle. “Thanks, Seungcheol.”

You start heading toward the door, waving your drink. “See you around?”

He doesn’t say yes. But he doesn’t say no either.

=

The place is exactly as he said it would be. quiet, traditional, the kind of restaurant that doesn’t bother competing for attention because it doesn’t need to. Paper lanterns hang low, gentle light pooled over neatly set tables. The smell of broth and simmered soy hits you the second you open the door.

“Ah, welcome,” the old man behind the counter greets, voice warm and unhurried.

You bow politely and take a seat closer to the back, away from the windows remembering his warning without meaning to. The room is calm. No flashy decor. Just the steady clinking of ceramic and the soft hum of a radio murmuring old trot music in the kitchen.

When the food arrives, piping hot, you taste it and think… he was right. Of course he was.

It should be a peaceful evening. But then your gaze drifts to the empty seat across from you. You were supposed to have a wedding dinner tasting last week.

Not… this.

You left behind reservations, dress fittings, wedding seat plans with your name already printed next to his. You left behind congratulations that now taste like ashes. And worst of all, you left behind people who kept asking what you did wrong, as if heartbreak required a confession.

He ran off with his coworker he told you not to worry about. So you moved cities because staying meant having every street corner remind you of what you almost had.

You breathe in slowly, forcing the sting down. This is supposed to be a clean beginning. A reset. 

A page turned.

When the old woman comes by to refill your tea, she studies you with eyes that have seen too many lives shift under their own weight.

“You’re a sweet girl,” she says softly in Korean, voice fond and unfiltered, “but you have sad eyes.”

You freeze then laugh. A small one, surprised out of you. Most people don’t look close enough to notice.

“Do I?” you ask lightly.

She doesn’t hesitate. “Mm. Like someone who just finished crying, but forgot to wipe it from the heart.”

The words hit somewhere you don’t let people reach. You swallow and smile, gentle, grateful.

“I’m… figuring things out,” you say quietly.

“That’s good,” she replies, patting your hand. “Sad eyes don’t stay sad forever. They just need time to remember light again.”

You nod, letting her walk away before your throat tightens too much. You didn’t tell anyone your story because you don’t want pity. You just want to exist without being defined by what broke.

But somehow, this old woman saw it anyway without diagnosis, without prying just a small truth placed gently in front of you.

You finish dinner slowly, letting your breathing match the rhythm of the quiet room. When you finally leave, you pause outside under the night air.

The city feels big again but for the first time it doesn’t feel like it’s trying to swallow you whole.

=

He hadn’t noticed at first. Three mornings pass.

No smile waiting at the pickup counter, no soft “good morning,” no bright curiosity poking at his self-contained world. He doesn’t look for you.

At least, that’s what he tells himself because his life is ruled by rhythm: gym, office, meetings, late nights, sleep, repeat. He assumes he’ll just bump into you again the way he always does.

Except he doesn’t.

And when a small part of him wonders why, he shuts the thought down. He doesn’t chase people. Life has taught him that if someone wants to show up, they will.

A few nights later, work runs late enough that he misses dinner. He doesn’t think twice before heading to the familiar restaurant. He’s been coming here long before habit became comfort. The old couple knows him, knows what he orders, knows he doesn’t make small talk unless he has to.

They welcome him the same way they always do. He sits. He loosens his coat. Silence lingers in the quiet way he prefers.

Halmeoni brings his tea and sets it down with her usual soft clink.

Then she says, half idly: “There’s a new girl living around here lately. Started coming by.”

Seungcheol glances up, only mildly curious. “Mm.”

“She’s polite. Sweet. But she walks like she’s trying to remind her feet they still belong to her.”

He says nothing, but a faint, unreadable shift passes through his expression.

“Pretty smile,” halmeoni adds, “but sad eyes. Same kind you used to have.”

That gets an actual reaction. A low, humorless chuckle escaping him before he can help it. He leans back slightly, gaze dropping to the table.

“…that obvious back then?” he murmurs.

“Oh, terribly,” she chides softly. “You came in every night pretending you weren’t grieving something. But hearts don’t listen to pride.”

He doesn’t reply at first because he remembers  vividly the version of himself she’s talking about. 

The ring burning a hole in his pocket. The rooftop proposal. The way his then-girlfriend looked at him when she said she couldn’t do it.

The silence after.

Worse than a fight. Worse than betrayal.

He exhales slowly, rubbing a thumb across the rim of his cup.

“A year already,” he mutters.

“Time doesn’t mean much to the heart,” halmeoni shrugs. “Only direction.”

He huffs softly. “You sound like a poet.”

“I’ve outlived enough heartbreak to collect metaphors,” she jokes lightly. Then she adds, more casually than she lets on:

“When I see her, I think of you. The way you looked before you remembered how to stand again.”

Something flickers behind his eyes. Not recognition but discomfort.

Because he knows exactly what she means and because he suddenly has a good idea who she’s talking about.

Sunshine girl. Bright voice. Hopeful smile. Eyes that lingered a little longer than strangers usually do.

He doesn’t comment. Just nods faintly and goes back to his food, pretending indifference while something inside him quietly shifts out of its resting place.

Not sympathy. Not attachment either. Just a kind of awareness  like the universe elbowed him once and whispered, look closer next time.

He runs into you again by accident  two days later, early morning. the exact kind of timing he would’ve brushed off as coincidence before.

This time, he sees you before you see him.

And it’s different now.

Before, you were “too bright” to him. all soft laughter and warm greetings and earnest energy he never knew how to meet halfway. A bit overwhelming, like sunlight through a window he wasn’t ready to open.

Back then, he saw only surface. Now he can’t unsee what halmeoni said.

Sad eyes.

It’s subtle. invisible to everyone else but he recognizes it instantly because he once carried the same look: a quiet heaviness sitting just behind the iris, tucked neatly under practiced gentleness. Pain that learned to fold itself down into something presentable.

You spot him and your smile lifts, instinctive.

“Morning,” you chirp softly.

He doesn’t know why it bothers him. Doesn’t know why his chest goes tight.

He nods. “Morning.”

You order your drink, chatting with the barista, shoulders loose and light  but he’s watching now, and he sees the second your expression dips when you look away, something flickering over your features before you tuck it neatly out of sight.

You shouldn’t remind him of himself. But you do and that unsettles him more than he wants to admit.

When you both wait by the counter again, you rock lightly on your feet, unaware of the shift in him.

“Not working today?” you ask

He glances down at you. “Meeting later.”

“Oh.” You nod, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Hope it goes well.”

It’s such a simple wish, small, unassuming, it nudges something in him. Most people make conversation out of obligation. You say things like you mean them.

And now he knows you’re saying them even while you’re hurting. 

He shouldn’t care. He doesn’t want to care. But he does.

Why? Because pain is familiar. Because you’re carrying it quietly the way he used to. Because something in him bristles at the thought of you going through it alone.

He finds himself asking before he thinks: “You eat at that place again?”

You blink, a touch surprised. “Ah — yes. I did. It was really good.”

“You went alone?” he asks.

Your smile softens but not in a happy way. More like you’re used to that question. “Yeah. I go alone a lot lately.”

There it is again. A flash of truth behind the brightness. He feels it like pressure in his chest.

You turn back to your cup when it’s handed over, bowing politely to the barista. He watches you thank her, then cradle the drink like warmth is a thing you’re still teaching back into your hands. 

Even after you disappear down the street, his eyes stay on the space where you used to be.

And to his annoyance a single, unwelcome thought settles quietly in his head:

She shouldn’t have to walk through that alone.

=

It’s one of those evenings where the apartment feels too quiet, too hollow, too much like an echo chamber for thoughts you don’t want.

So you go back to the little restaurant. Not because you’re hungry. Not really. Just because being around warmth feels better than being alone with silence.

You pick the same table in the corner not by habit, but because familiarity has started slipping its fingers around you. You wait for your food, phone untouched, elbows on the table as you stare down at the wooden grain like it might tell you how to breathe easier.

The bell over the door rings once.

You don’t look up. Not interested in company, not tonight. Then the empty seat in front of you shifts.

The chair slides out.

A coat folds over the backrest. A familiar silhouette lowers into the seat across from you. You blink, startled, lifting your gaze slowly.

Seungcheol.

He doesn’t say hi, doesn’t ask can I sit there? He just… does. Like the decision was already made by the time he walked through the door.

You open your mouth— “Oh—”

He cuts in, calm, matter-of-fact. “This table’s warmer than the ones near the front.”

“You come here a lot, huh?” you say softly, trying for lightness.

He nods once. “It’s quiet.”

You swallow. “Yeah. I… like that part, too.”

His eyes flick up then just briefly, catching the meaning you didn’t say out loud.. You expect him to change the subject, or retreat back into his stillness, or eat and go.

“I didn’t see it then,” he continues, voice low, steady, brutally honest the way only someone who’s lived through grief can be, “but I recognize it now.”

For a moment you forget how to build walls.

You should deflect. Make a joke. Smile through it. But nothing comes out.

He doesn’t pity you. He doesn’t look sorry for you. He just… sees you. And somehow, that is more disarming than any softness could’ve been.

You manage, after a beat, a quiet: “Is that why you sat here?”

His gaze doesn’t shift. “No,” he answers.

“Then… why?”

A long pause. Then, simply:

“Because no one should have to eat dinner alone when they look like they’re trying not to fall apart.”

The words land in your chest like something deep enough to unsettle the ground you’re standing on.

Your lips pull into a small, unsteady curve. A smile that looks like memory instead of joy.

“That bad?” you murmur, trying to joke but landing somewhere fragile instead. “I swear I’ve… been trying to get better.”

You laugh after you say it but it’s a brittle sound, thin like glass stretched too long. The kind of laugh people give when they’re holding themselves together with string. And he hates it.

Not you, not the vulnerability but the pretending. The way you’re trying to perform ‘fine’ for a world that doesn’t even deserve the act.

His jaw flexes very slightly “Not bad,” he says quietly. “Just… real.”

You blink, caught off guard.

“We feel what we feel,” he continues, voice low, grounded, patient in a way you didn’t expect from him. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

You just stare for a moment because this is not the man you thought you understood. The stoic, tightly sealed, no-syllable spared guy suddenly offering something that sounds like… room to feel. Permission, even.

You swallow. “I didn’t think you were the… comforting type.”

“I’m not,” he says immediately.

You almost laugh again  but this time it’s a softer sound, genuine enough to unwind some of the ache.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I’m just telling the truth,” he replies simply. And somehow that makes it feel even more sincere. No sugar-coating. No rehearsed sympathy. Just honesty — steady, unembellished.

“Still,” you murmur, voice easing into something a little smaller, “thank you.”

His eyes meet yours again “I didn’t do anything.”

“You sat,” you counter softly. “That’s… more than most people do.”

Another flicker crosses his expression, gone as quickly as it comes  like he heard you deeper than you meant it. The halmeoni arrives with your food then, setting down two bowls instead of one. You look up, surprised.

She smiles knowingly. “He’ll have dinner with you. Whether he admits it or not.”

You wrap your hands around the warm bowl, a little steadier now. For the first time in weeks, dinner doesn’t feel like a chore or a distraction. It feels like breathing.

You scoop a little broth, blow on it, then glance at him sideways with a tiny half-smile. “So… do you always sit with strangers who look emotionally constipated, or am I just special?”

He exhales, something between a scoff and a very reluctant laugh. “You’re chatty,” he mutters.

“I’ve been told,” you grin, undeterred.

“Frequently, I’m guessing.”

“Every report card from elementary school,” you reply dryly. “‘She’s bright, social, and talks too much.’”

“Sounds accurate.”

You squint at him. “Wow. Brutal.”

“You asked.” No apology. No hesitation.

You shake your head, amused and a little relieved that the heaviness from earlier has… loosened. For a few minutes, you just eat quietly. Then curiosity tugs at you again.

“So do you usually come alone?”

He doesn’t even blink. “Yes.”

“You prefer it that way?”

“I prefer not wasting time with people who talk to fill silence.”

You lift a brow.  “And yet you’re… here.”

His chopsticks pause mid-air. A beat of stillness. “…you don’t talk to fill silence,” he says finally, eyes flicking to you. “You talk like you’re trying to keep yourself standing.”

The words slip straight into your ribcage, deep and uncanny. You stare at him for a soft second. “…you really don’t miss,” you murmur.

“I don’t aim unless I mean to.” He really is the no-frills, straight-to-the-root-of-it type.

The conversation drifts after that, almost without permission — not heavy, not probing, just… easy. You talk about the neighborhood baker who puts too much sea salt in his cookies. He tells you it’s because his wife’s family runs a salt farm and he’s stubbornly loyal. You ramble about how confusing the subway map still feels.

He explains which lines to avoid at rush hour and which exits dump you into a shopping maze with no mercy. You joke that you’re directionally challenged.

He says, completely deadpan, “I assumed.” 

You talk about nothing and yet something in your chest loosens, loosens, loosens, like seams being unknotted carefully, not ripped open.

You take another sip of soup and smile into your bowl.

“This is the first normal conversation I’ve had in… a long time,” you admit without planning to.

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t dramatize it, doesn’t offer pity. He just nods once, like he gets it more than he’ll say aloud.

“Normal is underrated,” he says quietly.

“And rare,” you add.

His gaze holds yours across the small table, steady and unreadable — but warmer than before.

“Then don’t lose it,” he replies.

And somehow, it feels less like advice and more like a promise.

By the time your bowls are empty, your mood is lighter in a way you didn’t plan fo. Not happy, not fixed, but unburdened. Like someone helped you hold the weight for a little while, even if he never touched it.

You reach for your wallet. He reaches for his first. “Wait— no, I can pay for my own dinner,” you say quickly, already fumbling for bills.

“I know.” He’s already standing, already moving toward the counter. “I’m still paying.”

“But—” Halmeoni appears before you can chase after him, wiping her hands on her apron with a smile far too wise for the argument you’re about to stage.

“Let him,” she says sweetly, patting your arm. “He’s the man.”

Your mouth falls open a little. “That is… outdated logic,” you murmur, but she only chuckles and shuffles back toward the register.

You stand there, awkward and flustered, hovering like you might still win this battle — but you already know you won’t.

You stood outside, waiting for him while he pays. Halmeoni gives him his change, then tilts her head.

“You’re going to marry that girl one day,” she says casually, like she’s talking about tomorrow’s weather.

Seungcheol lets out an incredulous breath — half laugh, half scoff. “No.”

“Oh don’t you ‘no’ me,” she sniffs. “I knew before you did last time too, remember? And I knew when she wasn’t it.”

He gives her a dry look. “This is a dinner bill, not fortune telling.”

She folds her arms. “You’re laughing again. I haven’t seen that in a year. And you’re sitting with someone instead of eating like a lonely, stoic scarecrow in the corner.”

“You read too much into people.”

“I read what’s in front of me,” she counters, completely unfazed. “You look at her like someone who recognizes a wound  and wants to stand guard beside it.”

He freezes just half a second too long — a stillness only someone who knows him could spot.

“…it’s not like that,” he mutters.

“Mmhmm.” She waves him off like he’s a stubborn child. “I’ve seen seeds longer than you’ve been alive. Some sprout quiet.”

He sighs resigned, unamused, but not actually irritated. Mostly because she isn’t wrong and he knows it.

=

He pushes open the café door, same as always: same hour, same routine, same seat by the corner window.

He’s halfway through reaching for his card when the barista nudges the cup across the counter.

“Already paid for.”

He pauses. Slowly blinks. “…what?”

The barista grins like she’s been waiting for this exact moment. “Your coffee. The girl earlier covered it.”

He stares, brows pulling together. “What girl?”

“She didn’t leave a name,” the barista shrugs, “just said—” she holds up her fingers in air quotes, voice pitching up just slightly—  “‘That one scary guy who orders black coffee, yeah that one.’”

Silence.

The barista is smiling. The guy behind him in line is smiling. The world might as well be smiling. Seungcheol just stands there, card still in hand, processing. Then he exhales through his nose, the softest, most reluctant laugh.

He looks down at the lid of the cup like it’s suddenly foreign. He finds himself saying, quieter than he intended,

“…of course she did.”

He turns, taking his usual seat, but the coffee tastes different this morning, warmer than its temperature, sharper than its roast. 

Not pity. Not fate. Just… someone seeing him back. 

He glances toward the door, half-expecting you to walk through it again. He shakes his head at himself. Ridiculous.

But he’s smiling.

The next morning you don’t even get to order. The bell over the café door jingles, you step in with your usual sunny “hi” to the counter and the barista’s eyes immediately light up like she’s been waiting.

“Oh! You’re the girl.”

You blink. “…I’m the… which girl?”

She laughs like she knew that was coming. “The scary-guy coffee girl.”

Your face heats. “Oh God— I— okay maybe I am that girl.”

She leans forward on the counter, grinning. “Thought so. I’ve been waiting for you to come back.”

You don’t even have time to be embarrassed before she slides a drink your way.

“Your coffee’s already covered.”

Your brows lift. “What—?”

“Yup. He left instructions. Said—” she clears her throat and imitates his low tone, “‘If she comes back, put it on my tab.’”

Your heart thuds so loudly you’re sure everyone hears it.

“And…” She reaches behind the counter and plops an oversized, chocolate-chip cookie on top of a napkin “He said to give you this too.”

“…a cookie?” you breathe, completely caught off guard.

The barista nods, cheeks puffing as she tries not to outright beam. “‘Something sweet for someone who tries so hard to be.’ His exact words.”

You go red so fast you feel it in your ears. The girl behind you in line actually squeals, whispering harshly to her friend, “OH MY GOD HE’S LIKE A GRUMPY FAIRYTALE MALE LEAD.”

And you? You want to sink into the floor.

“He wasn’t even here today?” you ask softly.

The barista shakes her head. “Nope. Left it in advance. I think he figured if you paid his, he should… return the gesture?”

You’re quiet for a moment, fingers curling around the warm cup. You don’t have his number. You don’t know where he lives. You don’t know his schedule. But this, this strangely thoughtful, quietly tender thing? It sits right behind your ribs and refuses to move.

You mumble, barely audible, “…I don’t even know how to say thank you.”

The barista smiles knowingly. “Trust me — he’ll find you again.”

And as fate would have it, a few nights later. It’s late, too late for you to realistically be wandering the streets without a plan. The restaurant’s lights were off, chairs all stacked, door locked.

You waited a minute longer than you should have, then another, like maybe someone would suddenly appear and let you in. But no.

So you just kept walking.

Now it’s quiet, the kind of quiet that makes your footsteps sound lonely. Street lamps hum overhead. Your phone battery’s dying. You don’t even know where you’re going, just away from thinking.

You hug your coat tighter. Then headlights sweep across you as a car passes.

You don’t look up. Two seconds later those same headlights reappear, making a U-turn sharp enough to be intentional. The car slows. Stops. Driver’s door opens. And there he is.

Choi Seungcheol.

Still in his work shirt, tie loosened, jacket tossed in the passenger seat. Hair slightly mussed like he’s been running his hand through it all night. He doesn’t ask why you’re walking alone. He just approaches you with that steady, unreadable sort of calm and says,

“…You know it’s midnight, right?”

You blink up at him. “Is it?”

He gives you a look — the kind that’s both exasperation and concern threaded together.

He holds your gaze for a beat, hands in his pockets, shoulders squared. Then, without ceremony, without hesitation: “Come on. I’ll take you somewhere to eat.”

Your mouth opens — “Oh no, you don’t have to—”

“I’m not letting you wander around hungry at midnight,” he says flatly.  It leaves no room for argument.

He turns slightly toward the car. “Let’s go.”

“…You just decided that?”

He glances over his shoulder. “If you wanted gentle suggestions you befriended the wrong guy.”

Your lips twitch, a tiny smile despite everything. “Bossy.”

He starts walking again, a breath of a laugh escaping his nose.

“Hungry,” he corrects.

He takes you first to a tiny pojangmacha tucked behind a row of mechanic shops. Nothing fancy, plastic stools, steam rising from pots, an old ajusshi half-asleep behind the counter. You’d never have found it on your own.

He orders without even looking at the menu, clearly a regular.

You sit across from him, hands wrapped around the warm bowl, and slowly… your shoulders start to unclench. He doesn’t fill the silence, he doesn’t pry he just exists beside you, and somehow that’s more comforting than anything.

You talkabout small things, harmless things, nonsense things. He lets you go on, nods here and there, mouth tugging faintly upward at your tangents.

When you finish eating, he drives again. Not home. Somewhere further out by the river, quiet and nearly empty this late. A little lookout spot facing the city lights scattered across the water like constellations.

He leans back against the hood of his car, arms crossed loosely, and you stand beside him, sipping the canned drink he bought from a vending machine.

You glance at him sideways, and the question slips out before you can stop it. “…so who’s the girl?”

He nearly chokes, coughing once like he swallowed wrong. 

“—excuse me?”

You blink innocently. “I thought you don’t pull your punches. Did I hit a nerve?”

Your tone isn’t sharp or mocking just gentle curiosity wrapped in quiet empathy. He looks at you like he’s trying to decide if you’re bold, insane, or both.

“…that’s not—” he starts, rubbing his jaw. Then he scoffs faintly. “You really just ask things like that, huh?”

You lift a shoulder. “Better than guessing.”

He goes quiet. A breath. A long exhale through his nose. Then, low and measured:

“There was someone.”

“She left.” His voice is steady, but his thumb presses hard into the aluminum of his drink can.

“The night I proposed.”

You look down at the water, letting the silence sit without rushing to fill it.

After a moment, you say softly almost like you’re talking about yourself as much as him— “That kind of leaving feels like someone dying. Except there’s no funeral. Just… nowhere to put the grief.”

His eyes flick to you. He studies you. Really studies you. No bright mask, no chirpy shield just truth meeting truth in the dark.

“I was supposed to get married last week.”

He stills. You don’t look at him. If you do, you’ll fold.

“He called it off the night before the rehearsal dinner. Said he ‘realized his heart belonged to someone else’… which is poetic, I guess, until you realize ‘someone else’ was his coworker he swore I shouldn’t worry about.”

You keep going, not fragile, but raw.

“I spent months planning a life with someone who was planning an exit strategy. And then he left, everyone apologized for him like heartbreak had paperwork and signatures, and I got to stand there and watch people pity me like I was something someone dropped.”

A punch. Another. And you don’t even see them land  but Seungcheol does. You exhale, voice shaking but not cracking.

“So I packed a bag. I left the city, the apartment, all the places with ghosts. I figured maybe if I worked hard enough at… being okay, eventually I would be.” You give a small, humorless laugh.

“And I have been trying. I really have. But trying doesn’t stop quiet from getting loud.”

He looks at you like he’s hearing his own memories through your mouth.

“And I don’t tell people,” you finish softly, “because they always look at me like I broke wrong. Like I’m a vase they want to glue back together so they don’t have to stare at the cracks.”

That... that is the one that does something to him. His fingers tighten on the railing behind him. He’s not expressionless anymore; he’s fighting the urge to go find somebody by the collar.

He takes a slow breath before he speaks, voice lower than before.

“He threw away a whole future.”

You blink, turning to him. He’s not looking at you with pity. He’s looking at you like someone staring at a priceless thing left out in the rain.

“And he wasn’t worth the air it cost you to picture it,” he adds, firm, grounded, real.

He shifts, angling toward you slightly, gaze steady.

“You lost someone who didn’t choose you,” he says quietly, “but he lost someone who would have stayed. Someone who still opens her chest every morning and shows up in the world even when it aches.”

There it is again  that gentle truth he never dresses up, never sugars. It hits harder than comfort ever could. You don’t respond right away because if you do, your voice might break.

And he sees that too.

He doesn’t push. Doesn’t fill the silence. He just stays there, shoulder a breath away from yours, holding the space steady while you breathe through the weight of being truly seen.

After a long moment, he murmurs softer now, almost like he’s thinking aloud “…No wonder your smile looked tired.”

You close your eyes briefly. But when you open them, they’re a little clearer. You look at him and for the first time, you don’t feel small. You feel… understood.

Your tears fall quietly not dramatic, not breaking just the kind that finally escape when someone doesn’t look away. He shifts like his instinct is to reach out, to thumb them away, to steady your chin so you don’t have to hide your face but he stops himself.

Not because he doesn’t want to but because he understands touch can feel like collapse when a person is still learning how to hold themselves up again.

So he just stays there. Close enough to catch you if you fall, far enough to let you stand on your own.

You sniff lightly and laugh under your breath, embarrassed at how raw it feels.

“…this is the first time I’ve actually… said it out loud. “First time talking about it again. I thought if I don’t talk about it… it won’t be real.”

“Silence doesn’t make things unreal, It just makes you carry it alone.”

You breathe in, unsteady “I kept thinking if I just ignore it long enough, eventually I’d forget I ever—”

Your voice hitches, quiet but honest. “—that I ever wasn’t enough.”

That is the moment his jaw clenches. Not carelessly but visibly. Like someone said the unforgivable in front of him.

“Say it again,” he murmurs, eyes sharp, serious.

You blink, confused. “Say what?”

“That you weren’t enough.”

You freeze. He shakes his head once, firm.

“Because I want to make sure you hear how wrong it sounds.”

You stare at him, breath catching in your chest. He doesn’t soften the words. He doesn’t cushion them. He delivers truth like a drop of iron:

“Someone else failing to love you right doesn’t mean you were lacking. It means they were small.”

He looks away then, giving you space to feel without being watched. “But for a while,” he adds quietly, “we all think it was us. I know I did.”

There’s no pity in his voice. Just recognition, two wounds hearing each other in the dark.

The night breeze moves gently through your hair. The lights flicker across the river. And for the first time since it all fell apart, you don’t feel like you’re holding the pieces alone.

“I thought it was me too,” he says, voice low and steady. “For a long time.”

“She left the night I proposed. No warning. No fight. Just… gone.” His thumb runs along the edge of his drink can, “I spent weeks replaying every second of the years we spent together. Asking what I missed. What I wasn’t. What I could’ve fixed if I’d just—”

He exhales through his nose. “—been better.”

Your chest tightens because it is painfully familiar.

“I’d go to work. Pretend I was fine. Then come home and just… sit in the dark like maybe the silence would give me answers she didn’t.”

He laughs once — short, humorless — not looking at you, but not avoiding you either.

“Everyone said I dodged a bullet. But no one tells you that relief doesn’t erase grief. That losing someone by choice hurts a different way than losing someone to fate.”

He pauses

“It’s not just heartbreak. It’s… being rejected from a future you already started living in your head.”

“And eventually, I stopped asking why she left and started asking why I thought her leaving meant I wasn’t worth staying for.”

He turns then  slowly meeting your eyes under the streetlamp glow. “It took time. And a lot of nights like this. Sitting with the ache until it stopped being a wound and just became… a scar.”

His voice lowers. “Scars don’t disappear. But they don’t bleed anymore either.”

You swallow  because god, that is the first thing that has sounded like hope in months.

He watches you, gaze steady but warm. “I didn’t forget,” he admits. “I just… stopped letting it name me.”

You don’t speak for a moment you just breathe, letting his words settle in you like a weight you didn’t know you could put down for a second.

He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t rush you. Doesn’t fix. He simply stays and staying is the most gentle thing anyone has done for you in a long, long time.

=

You don’t heal overnight. Neither does he try to make you.

Instead your life just... shifts. Quietly. Gradually. Like sunrise sneaking up through the blinds.

Those “closet monsters”, the shadows of what should’ve been start losing their teeth. Day by day, you stop expecting ghosts behind every new thing. One morning you open your closet and there’s no grief waiting, just shirts. Just clothes. Just your life, not the ashes of an old one.

Some days still sting but the difference now is you don’t face them alone, even when you choose to stand alone.

If he’s there, you breathe easier. If he’s not, you’ve learned you still can. He becomes this steady constant never crowding, never assuming, just present. A place you can rest near without ever being asked to perform.

Sometimes it’s a text at 9 a.m.:

[Cheol]: museum by the station opened a night exhibit. you’ll like it.

Sometimes a photo of some street cat sprawled over a bookstore windowsill with:

[Cheol]: looks like your energy. chaotic & warm.

You pretend to be offended. You absolutely aren’t. And then there’s the weekends what halmeoni calls “your little adventures,” though neither of you has labeled them out loud.

No plans, no itinerary just: “hey, there’s a park by the river” or “heard about a rooftop garden downtown” or “you said you’ve never tried this place, get in the car.”

And you go.

A new café, a trail, an art exhibit tucked into some old building You take pictures of flowers, of sky, of street corners, and you always catch him smiling when you’re not looking.

Healing stops feeling like ripping bandages and starts feeling like breathing again. You exist without bracing for collapse.

And he watches all of it proud in that silent, understated way he keeps everything sacred. Somewhere along the way, it becomes easy. Natural. Like this friendship, this quiet tether between you, was always meant to exist. Two people orbiting the same wound, slowly teaching each other how to live past it.

And then one afternoon he drives you somewhere more remote than usual. No restaurants. No parks. Just trees, winding road, late sun filtering through branches.

And your heart beats different.

The road narrows into a small gravel lane, pine trees bowing overhead like a hushed archway. For a moment you think you must be lost until the path opens into a clearing.

A cottage.

Tiny, ivy-kissed walls, warm lamplight glowing through lace curtains, smoke curling from a chimney like a breath in winter. Not modern. Not polished. Lived-in. Cherished.

You stare for a long second. “It looks like something from a book,” you whisper.

He gives a small nod. “Found it by accident years ago.”

Inside, there are only a few tables. Old wooden floors, shelves of mismatched teacups, handwritten stories displayed between dried flowers. The air smells like roasted beans and soft vanilla.

You read one framed note by the window a little plaque about the cottage’s origins:

He built a home for the morning light,because she loved coffee at dawn.They never got their lifetime together,but this place is the life he still shared with her.

Your heart pinches. Before you can speak, he says quietly beside you,

“It’s not supposed to make you sad. I hope.”

You look up at him. Gentle eyes, thoughtful brow, hands tucked in his coat pockets.

“When I first heard their story,” he continues, gaze drifting toward the hearth, “I thought it was tragedy. Loving someone and never getting the time you should have had.” His voice softens, something old passing through it.

“But the owner told me — he didn’t build this to mourn her. He built it because he learned to love what life is without her, instead of grieving what it wasn’t. And look how beautiful it turned out, even without the ending he imagined.”

You take that in slowly. A life not defined by loss… but by what remains tender, even after. 

“It’s strange,” you breathe, barely above a whisper. “I thought places like this would feel like salt in the wound… but it doesn’t.”

He tilts his head, watching you. “What does it feel like?”

You think for a moment. Then:

“Proof.”

“Of?”

“That life keeps going… even when we don’t know how to “finish” it.”

He studies you. That quiet, unreadable Seungcheol gaze that sees more than you say. 

“…Yeah,” he murmurs. “Exactly.”

For a while, you just sit there the way sunlight sits on old wood, unhurried, real. You’re leaning close to the glass, palms lightly pressed to it, eyes sparkling at every tiny tart and mousse like you’ve just discovered treasure.

You’re not even deciding, you’re just letting yourself marvel. And him?

He doesn’t even try to look away. Hands inside his coat pockets, shoulder resting lazily against the wood beam, he just watches you that quiet, slow-blooming smile tugging at his mouth. The one no one really gets to see. The real one. 

The one that says I’m exactly where I’m meant to be — even if she doesn’t know it.

You mumble under your breath, “They’re all so cute I don’t even know which one to pick,” like you’re choosing life-altering decisions instead of pastries.

He huffs a soft laugh. “Pretty sure the lady behind the counter is afraid you’re about to adopt those cakes.”

You ignore him, pointing at another. “That one looks like a tiny garden. And that one has a little caramel flower— wait look at the bunny, oh my god that’s so precious—”

He doesn’t interrupt. He simply absorbs because somewhere in the middle of your pastry excitement, his brain just… settles. That restless ache he carries most days, the old wounds that never fully closed for a moment they quiet. 

You’re not doing anything extraordinary you’re just existing. And it feels like peace in motion.

He’s not falling fast. He’s falling steadily.

The kind of fall that builds roots.

When you finally look up at him you catch him staring, dead quiet, expression soft.

“…what?” you laugh, shy without knowing why.

He shakes his head lightly, voice low “Nothing. Just… you look happy. It suits you.”

You blink once, small, startled. Then you smile and he can practically feel the ground tilt a little beneath him.

And neither of you name it yet but it’s there.

=

It’s raining, jjust the kind that makes the whole world feel hushed and tucked in.

You’re standing under the small awning outside the kalguksu place, hood up but still a little damp at the edges, bouncing lightly on your heels with both hands wrapped around your phone.

He spots you the moment he turns the corner. And you don’t even see the way his shoulders drop in relief first. all you see is him striding up, hair dotted with rain, jacket half-zipped, breath a little rushed.

“Why are you out here?”  Half-scold, half-exhale.

You grin like it’s obvious. “Waiting for you.”

He gestures toward the door. “Inside is literally dry. And warm. And has chairs.”

You just shrug, eyes bright. “Yeah, but you weren’t inside.”

He stops. For a second, all that scolding just… dies quietly in his throat. He looks at you, something unbearably soft flickering across his face before he tries to cover it with a sigh.

“What am I gonna do with you…” he mutters, but he’s already sliding a warm hand to the top of your head to dust off the stray droplets, fingers lingering a beat too long.

You don’t move away. You don’t need to. Instead, you nudge his arm lightly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“C’mon. I’ve been thinking about this soup since lunchtime.”

Inside, the windows fog from the heat and he orders the dumplings without asking because he already knows you’ll want to steal some. You rest your hands around the warm cup of barley tea like it’s saving your whole soul from the cold, and he watches you with that same fondness he’s nowhere near ready to name.

No confessions. No lightning-strike epiphanies. Just rain, kalguksu, soft laughter, and two people learning that sometimes the heart doesn’t need fireworks to choose. It just needs someone who shows up.

Again and again.

He watches you practically hop your way to the nearest empty table while he’s still standing by the door, holding his half-damp jacket like a parent whose child just ran off in a grocery store.

By the time he catches up, you’re already half-seated, half-wiggling in your chair from excitement. He sets his jacket on the back of the other seat, still frowning, still wiping the lingering drops from your hair with the sleeve of his sweater.

“You’re way too chipper for this weather,” he mutters, brushing off your shoulders next.

You grin up at him like he’s absurd.

“Are you kidding? I love the rain.”

He huffs a little  not irritated, just baffled. Thumb sweeping one last stray bead of water from your cheekbone before he pulls back.

“Most people like blankets and roofs,” he deadpans “You like…. cloud leakage.”

You gasp, offended but dramatic on purpose “It’s romantic!”

“It’s wet,” he counters

“It smells nice.”

“It floods sidewalks.”

“It makes the streetlights pretty.”

“It gives you a cold.”

You narrow your eyes. “Why are you like this.”

His mouth twitches, that quiet almost-smile that means you’ve already won but he refuses to surrender out loud. Then he sits across from you, leaning back, arms folding loosely over his chest as he just… takes you in.

The flushed cheeks, the sparkling eyes, the damp hair you haven’t quite realized is still sticking to your temple all glowing with joy that’s so alive it almost feels contagious.

“So,” he finally says, calmer now, voice lower, gentler, “you dragged me through the rain because—”

“Kalguksu,” you answer immediately.

He blinks. “Kalguksu.”

“And dumplings.”

He laughs under his breath. The fond kind. The of course you did kind. On a different night, a different timeline, this would look like a date.

But here, now  it’s something softer, steadier. A ritual forming without either of you naming it.

He just sits there watching you glow under cheap fluorescent lighting, and thinks quietly 

Yeah. If this is where she wants to be, then so do I.

The food comes out tray after tray: banchan, extra banchan, side rolls, another small plate you definitely didn’t read on the menu but pointed at anyway because “it looked good.”

Seungcheol watches the server arrange it all on the table with this look that says:  …she is absolutely not finishing this.

And when the server leaves, he just slowly turns to you. “You’re aware we’re two people, right?”

You beam. “Yeah, I’m compensating for the weather.”

“It’s rain, not famine.”

You’re already picking up a roll. “Semantics.”

He sighs exaggerated  but his chopsticks are already in his hand because he knows how this goes. The first two bites: yours. The next thirty-seven: his.

You place the second half of the roll neatly into his bowl like you’ve done this a hundred times before automatic, unconscious and he just… accepts it. Doesn’t comment. Doesn’t pretend to protest.

But when the bowl of kalguksu arrives, the transformation is instant. You straighten in your seat like a soldier hearing a war drum. He almost wants to laugh.

You’re focused. Reverent. Chopsticks poised like you’ve entered some sacred realm of noodle devotion.

“This is my moment,” you whisper, unnecessarily dramatic.

“You’re ridiculous,” he murmurs back but he’s smiling and it slips out before he catches it

Dumplings follow and you’re suddenly in your own world  content, warm, rain drumming against the windows while you fill yourself with broth and soft laughter. You have noodles in your bowl and crumbs on your sleeve and your feet swinging lightly under the table like you forgot adults are supposed to keep them still.

He watches you shovel noodles with the kind of happiness he never uses words for. The kind that fills a room by just existing.

“You don’t even breathe between bites,” he mutters.

“I do,” you say around a dumpling, “…spiritually.”

He’s mid–bite chopsticks halfway to his mouth when you ask it. Not joking. Not in your usual babbling way. Soft. Real.

“Hey, Cheol.”

He hums barely looking up because he assumes you’re about to ask if you should also get dessert.

But then you ask, “Are you happy?”

He freezes.  Like something inside him pauses to listen. He looks at you then, properly, and you’re wearing the smallest smile, tentative, a little shy but clear. The first one he’s seen that didn’t look like you were performing being okay.

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, eyes dropping to your bowl.

“I am,” you say quietly.

“It’s… silly, maybe, to be happy over dumplings and too much food and rain and all this but—” You exhale, a tiny breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“—I am. I’m happy.” You lift your gaze again, gentle, uncertain.

“That’s okay, right?”

He should answer fast, he always has a quick answer but this time he doesn’t. Because something in his chest loosens. Because he remembers the girl with the sad eyes, and this is not her.

He doesn’t speak immediately so instead he reaches for your bowl, nudging it closer when your noodles start slipping dangerously over the edge.

Then, quiet, low, more sincere than anything he’s said in years, “It’s more than okay.”

You blink maybe surprised that he didn’t tease you, didn’t scoff and he watches your eyes soften a second time. He sets his chopsticks down.

“You’re allowed to be happy,” he adds, gaze steady “Even over dumplings. Especially over dumplings.”

There’s a tiny laugh from you and he feels it like a match striking inside his sternum. And because he still can’t help himself, he gently nudges your ankle under the table with his.

“You don’t need a reason,” he says “Happy is enough.”

And the surprising thing? It feels like he’s saying it to himself too.

The rain has stopped by the time you two step out and you’re rubbing your belly like you just finished a personal food war you absolutely won. He’s unlocking the car when you suddenly gasp.

“Ice cream.”

He pauses mid–motion. “Now?”

You nod earnestly, like this is a moral decision.

“I won’t survive another fifteen minutes in this weather without dessert.”

He just stares at you.

“You had two bowls of kalguksu.”

“And dumplings,” you remind him proudly.

“…and half the menu.”

You grin. “Balance.”

He mutters something under his breath that sounds dangerously like you’re unbelievable but three minutes later he’s parking near a tiny late-night ice cream stall anyway, because of course he is.

You’re licking your cone happily when curiosity slips out of you.

“So…” you say lightly, but your voice isn’t careless, “…what did you do with it? The ring?”

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t tense just exhales through his nose, a small huff of a laugh.

“Sold it,” he answers simply.

You blink. “Really?”

He nods. “Donated everything to a sanctuary outside the city. Figured something should come out of… all of that.”

It clicks. Not gradually all at once.

Your lips part. The sanctuary he took you to weeks ago. The day he barely spoke, letting you run around and take photos with little rescued animals and trees and flowers while he lingered at the back.

“You… donated it there,” you whisper.

He shrugs like it’s nothing, but nothing about it is nothing.

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t say that.”

“Why would I?” He glances at you sideways. “It’s not a story I like dragging around. I just… didn’t want the last thing tied to her to be sitting in a box. Better to put it somewhere it can breathe, do something useful.”

You stare at him. That’s why the caretaker hugged him. That’s why he stood there with that complicated look on his face. Not haunted, just… closing a door without slamming it.

And suddenly the whole day rewrites itself in your head.

“You were quiet,” you murmur “That day. I thought you just… knew them.”

His jaw softens. “I do now.”

 “You… turned something painful into a place that heals.”

He doesn’t answer at first just looks at the road ahead, eyes soft in the streetlight glow.

Then gently he says, “Some things don’t vanish, they just… become something else.”

You’re quiet for a moment, watching his profile the way he says heavy truths like weather reports, like he doesn’t realize the weight of them.

“And you took me there,” you whisper.

His thumb taps the steering wheel once. “I wanted you to see a place that didn’t stay broken.”

The breath you let out isn’t sadness it’s something closer to gratitude, something closer to knowing.

“Cheol?”

He hums the same soft, unthinking answer as earlier.

“Next time… let me buy the ice cream for your good deed.”

He huffs a tiny laugh.

“You already did,” he says.

You blink. “When?”

He glances at you, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“When you smiled walking out of there.”

You go quiet again for once  because there’s nothing to joke about, nothing to deflect. Just warmth filling the space between you. The streetlamp flickers, a car passes, and somewhere under all of it something shifts. Subtle, sure, and unhurried.

Not a confession. Just another door quietly opening. You make the joke without thinking, ice cream dripping dangerously close to your fingers.

“I should’ve kept mine, then. Could’ve bought a car. Or a trip to Disneyland. Maybe both if I pawned it at the right place.”

He snorts under his breath.

But then his head tilts slightly. “Why did you return it?” Not harsh just curious

You laugh but it comes out a little jagged.

“Return it?” you scoff lightly, shaking your head. “More like he asked for it back.”

His expression immediately darkens, just a fraction. You continue, eyes fixed on the street ahead.

“I think I threw it at him,” you say, a small huff of disbelief leaving you. “Then I walked out. I don’t… remember much after that.”

You lick your ice cream mechanically, not tasting it.

“It was like I was drowning. Everything was loud and far away at the same time. I kept thinking.. this can’t be happening but it was. And I remember looking at myself like… like I wasn’t even inside my own body anymore. Just watching some girl fall apart from outside the glass.”

A beat of silence. You exhale slowly.

“I think that’s why I don’t remember the ring,” you murmur “To me it wasn’t a thing I ‘gave back.’ It was just... gone. Same as everything else in that moment.”

He turns slightly in his seat, eyes on you instead of the windshield now.

“People call it heartbreak,” you add, voice soft, “but it doesn’t feel like breaking. It feels like… disappearing while your body keeps moving.”

There’s another quiet pause.

“I remember that feeling.”

The weight of it lands between you gently, not suffocating, just shared. LIke confirmation you weren’t crazy, that you didn’t imagine it, thatsomeone else has been to that drowning place too and came back breathing. And for the first time it doesn’t feel like reliving a wound, just healing.

=

He’s exhausted. The bone-deep kind. The kind that doesn’t go away with sleep. He grabbed takeout on autopilot, mind already half shut down as he drove home until he sees you.

At first he thought you’re out doing your midnight snack runs again. But there’s something in your posture that isn’t the bright version he’s used to.

He doesn’t even realize he’s pulled the car over until the engine is off.

You turn the corner into a small, dimly lit side street and he follows. Not calling out yet, keeping his distance. He’s about to say your name when he hears it. A sharp breath, a broken swallow then a small, muffled sob.

He freezes. Not because he doesn’t know what to do but because something in his chest drops, hard, like he just missed a step off a cliff.

You fold down to the sidewalk, knees drawn to your chest, arms wrapped tight around yourself like you’re trying to keep from falling apart faster than gravity can drag you down.

For a second, he can’t move.

You. The sunshine girl, all open smiles and gentle defiance against sadness. You’re shaking. And it feels like watching the sun flicker out.

He crosses the distance in seconds, footsteps rough on pavement, no hesitation left in him now.

“Hey—” his voice is softer than he intends, “…hey.”

You don’t look up right away. You swipe at your face, like embarrassment is faster than breath but your shoulders are trembling.

He crouches in front of you slowly, grounding himself before grounding you. He says your name quietly, steady, like an anchor thrown in deep water.

When you finally lift your head, your eyes are red and wet and furious and broken all at once.

Your voice cracks through the tears, “He called.”

That one sentence is enough to set something heavy in his jaw. You laugh a painful, stunned sound like you can’t believe you’re the one explaining.

“He wanted ‘closure.’” your fingers fist in the fabric of your jeans.

“Except closure apparently means telling me I made him feel small, and I pushed too hard, and I was… what was the word— demanding.” Your voice shatters halfway through the last syllable.

“I defended myself,” you say, wiping angrily at tears that keep coming. “I did. I’m proud of that. I didn’t let him spin it. I didn’t take it.”

Another breath, sharp, wounded.

“It’s just— I never thought I’d have to defend myself from someone I once picked as my home.”

That hits him. Deep. Ugly. True. Because he remembers the first time he realized love could also feel like betrayal from the exact person you built your shelter around.

You let out another choked breath, hugging your knees tighter, shrinking  not because you’re weak, but because pain still has muscle memory.

He hates it. He hates that you’re here alone on a cold pavement, carrying a hurt you didn’t deserve. He doesn’t touch you yet he’s careful but his voice shifts, lower, almost gravel as he tries to pull you back from that collapsing edge.

“Look at me.”

You do, eyes wet, expression raw, shaking with a pain you didn’t want anyone to see tonight.

He meets your gaze, steady, grounded, solid in all the places you’re breaking.

“You shouldn’t have had to defend yourself,” he says quietly “Not from someone who claimed to love you.”

“And the fact that you did — that you stood up for yourself —” his jaw tightens, not with anger directed at you, “that doesn’t make you weak.”

His voice softens. “It makes him the one who finally had to face himself and everything he lost”

Your breath comes out ragged like his words knock something loose in your chest. For a moment, you’re not alone on that sidewalk anymore.

For a moment, something in you remembers how to breathe again.

He watches you fight the next tremor in your chest, the one you’re trying to swallow down because you think if you crack again you won’t be able to stop and that’s when something in him clicks.

No second guessing. No careful distance.

He shifts forward, plants one knee to the ground, and opens his arms fully. Solid, steady, unmistakably there.

Soft voice, no room for doubt “Come here.”

It’s not pity. It’s not rescue. It’s permission to not be strong for one damn second.

You hesitate — half a heartbeat — then it breaks through you all at once and you’re in his arms before your mind even catches up. You hit his chest hard enough that he stumbles back a little, one hand bracing behind him on the pavement, but he doesn’t care. Not even remotely. He wraps both arms around you like he means to shelter each trembling breath.

He holds you tight, unwavering, like he doesn’t care if you come apart in pieces or melt entirely. Like there’s no version of you he will flinch away from.

And you cry. Not because of your ex. Not because of the hurt but because now finally you realize there is nothing left of that story to mourn.

The grief was for someone you don’t belong to anymore. The ache was for a home you outgrew long before it burned. You bury your face into his shoulder, and his palms move slowly up and down your back grounding, not soothing, as if saying you don’t have to make sense right now.

He doesn’t rush you. Doesn’t shush you. Doesn’t tell you you’re okay before you choose it. He just lets you be, shaking and breathing and unraveling everything you’ve carried alone.

You in his arms, finally letting go instead of holding on. And when your breathing evens his chin rests briefly atop your head, an unspoken vow tucked between heartbeats:

You don’t have to mourn what you survived.

Your eyes are puffy, lashes still damp, the tip of your nose pink from crying and cold  and when you finally pull back from him, the very first thing out of your mouth isn’t some profound reflection…

It’s a tiny, wobbling: “…can we get dumplings? And kalguksu?”

He just stares at you for a second part disbelief, part soft amusement, mostly affection that he doesn’t dare let slip too loudly. And he thinks how can he say no, and the truth:

There was never a universe where he would.

Now you’re seated across from him in a quiet corner booth of a tiny late-night noodle shop, a soft yellow lamp hanging overhead, steam from your bowl misting the air between you. Your cheeks are still blotchy, but your shoulders are loose again, your breathing steady. 

He doesn’t touch his own food much. Too busy just watching you rebuild yourself one bite at a time. Elbows on the table, fingers laced, thumb absentmindedly brushing his lower lip like he’s containing something unsaid.

When he finally speaks, his voice is low not stern, not possessive, just sure.

“Next time…”

He pauses, and you catch the little exhale through his nose. The kind a man lets out when he’s making sure emotion doesn’t outrun patience. 

His eyes lift to yours. “…if he so much as tries to contact you again—”

Another breath. Controlled. Measured. Protective to the bone.

“You don’t answer. You don’t give him room. You let me handle it.”

You blink at him, chopsticks halfway to your lips. He isn’t angry. He isn’t jealous. He isn’t threatened. He’s drawn a line around you: quiet, clean, absolute.

You swallow, small voice “You’re… serious.”

He nods once.

“Tired-serious,” he clarifies softly. “Of watching you flinch when you shouldn’t have to. Of someone who lost his place acting like he still has a right to knock.”

He leans forward then, elbows off the table, hands flat as if grounding the words between you. “You’re done paying emotional rent on something you don’t live in anymore.”

“And if he pushes,” he adds, voice lower now, almost a promise more than a warning, “I’ll make sure he understands exactly how unwelcome he is.”

No threat in his tone. Just certainty. A man who knows what he’ll protect, and what he won’t allow.

You look down at your bowl, cheeks warm, stirring your noodles with a soft little sniff.

“…you’re kind of bossy when you care,” you murmur.

He huffs a gentle laugh, soft smile tugging the corner of his mouth. “And you’re kind of oblivious to how cared for you are.”

You try to hide your face with another spoonful of broth. He lets you.

Because there under noodle shop lights and steam and quiet breathing is the first moment you aren’t looking backward anymore. Only forward and he’s sitting across from you when you do.

=

It doesn’t happen in a cinematic moment. There is no dramatic switch, no sunrise epiphany, no “now I’m healed.”

It’s slow. Unremarkable in the way real healing always is  hidden inside little days that feel ordinary until suddenly you look back and realize they were anything but.

The crying stops first. Then the flinching. Then the bracing-for-impact feeling you didn’t even know had become default.

Weeks slide into months, and the ache that used to live in your ribs becomes something smaller, softer. A ghost instead of an anchor.

And Seungcheol… remains. Some days he sits beside you in silence while you fold laundry or scroll aimlessly on your phone.

Some days he just texts “eat.” Some days it’s just a hand hovering near your lower back when the world gets too crowded. He never asks for anything back.

Never corners you with definitions. Never rushes you toward something he already decided he’d wait for. You don’t name it. Whatever this is. But it lives in the spaces between you anyway.

It lives in the way you show up with his exact coffee order without asking. The way he slows the car an extra second so you don’t have to walk alone to your door. The way his voice softens almost unconsciously when he says your name. The way he always leaves the last dumpling for you like it was never his to begin with. 

It’s the way you stop apologizing for needing things and he never once treats you like you’re too much for wanting them.

By the time a year passes, the city that once felt like a half-borrowed life becomes yours.

Somewhere in those months, you built a whole life without realizing you were building one.

New cafés you’re a regular at. Little markets where the owner already remembers your favorite jam.

Plants that somehow survived because you started watering them the way you started watering yourself. And then there’s your latest obsession: Sunday sourdough club.

You text him a picture of your first loaf. Lopsided and imperfect and yours and he swears you’ve never looked prouder of anything in your entire existence.

Then you bake one for him.

He pretends to taste-test it like a critic. Nose scrunched. Slow chew. Humming thoughtfully like he’s judging a Michelin plate but he finishes the slice too fast to play it off.

He doesn’t say you’re back, because the truth is you’re not you didn’t return to an old self. You became a new one. One that isn’t surviving anymore. One that chooses things. One that isn’t afraid of wanting.

And watching you, not guarded, not bracing, not stitched together by grief but stitched together by living that’s what gets him.

It’s the fact that you let yourself exist fully again. He loves it. He loves you in it.

He loves the way your world made room for him without either of you naming it.

You didn’t rebuild the life you lost. You built a life that finally fits.

He watches you talk. Hands moving, eyes shining, that soft little bounce in your voice when you’re excited and it hits him the way it always does.

This is his favorite version of you.

You’re sitting there rambling about some next Sunday thing. A pottery class? another bake? a greenhouse tour? you haven’t decided and he isn’t even really listening to which thing it is.

He’s listening to the way your voice lifts when you say “I wanna try—” because there was a time you didn’t try anything.

So he just lets you talk. Lets you glow.

Sometimes he tags along. Sometimes he sits on a bench outside with a coffee like the softest, quietest entourage. People pass by and assume he’s waiting for his girlfriend. Some assume he’s waiting for his wife.

And he never corrects them.

Because in his chest? That’s exactly what he’s doing. Not yet. But eventually.

=

He isn’t afraid of admitting it. That you’re the best part of his day, that he’s already in deep, that somewhere along the way he stopped watching over you and started choosing you.

The only thing holding him from saying it out loud is making sure you arrive at the feeling in your own timing, not because he rushed you there. He’s already on that page, farther down the chapter, if he’s honest but he waits.

The way a foundation waits for the house that will be built on top of it. When you lean forward animatedly describing this Sunday’s plan, he smiles without even realizing he’s doing it. That quiet, fond, slightly helpless kind of smile that only belongs to someone already yours.

You have no idea, and somehow he loves that too. Because he gets to love you in every quiet moment before you know you’re already loved.

Before it becomes official. Before definition. Before titles.

And he’ll stay right here, until you finally turn the page and find him already waiting on the next one.

You squint at him like you’re trying to telepathically drag the words out of his brain.

“…lights?”

“Lanterns, Cheol.”

He huffs a laugh through his nose and leans back in his chair like he wasn’t just staring at you for the last three minutes straight.

“You weren’t listening again,” you accuse, poking your straw at him like a weapon.

“I was,” he says, and the little tilt at the corner of his mouth betrays him, “you said something about… lights.”

You glare. He’s absolutely enjoying it.

“Lanterns. Lan-terns. There’s this lantern lighting thing, and we should go. I wanna go. Let’s go.”

All said in one breath, enthusiasm bundled right into the plea. He doesn’t miss a beat.

“When?”

“Saturday.”

He hums, like he’s checking a schedule he already knows he’ll clear. “…We’re going then.”

You brighten immediately like you were personally solar powered by being agreed with and go back to your drink, already talking about designs and wishes and floating lanterns across the water.

And he watches you again, just as distractingly, just as helplessly because you don’t even realize you just casually said “we” like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He doesn’t correct you.

If anything, he files it away like it’s going to live in his pocket for a long time.

Come Saturday evening, you’re standing in the middle of an open field. The lantern leaves both of your hands at the same time and it drifts upward through the crowd of glowing amber lights that slowly pepper the night sky.

People gasp and cheer around you. Kids are pointing, couples are holding hands, someone plays music off a portable speaker somewhere far off but Seungcheol doesn’t see any of it.

He just watches you, face bathed in warm lantern light, smiling like your heart has finally found a place to rest.

Your breaths puff out in soft white clouds in the cool air as you follow the lantern with wide eyes.

“You know what I wished for?” you say, voice quiet but somehow the loudest thing he’s ever heard.

He doesn’t even look away from you when he answers,  “You’re not supposed to say it, you know.”

You laugh soft, bright, unfiltered — and god, he feels it hit somewhere deep in his chest.

“I’m gonna say it anyways,” you murmur, still tracking the lantern as it floats higher with the others.

“I wished for more days like this… with you.”

He pauses. Like someone pressed a hand right to the center of his spine and told him stay here… feel this.

You’re still not looking at him, too busy watching the sky, completely unaware of how your words just reoriented his entire world. Then you breathe in, and the rest slips out of you like something that’s been waiting months to be spoken 

“You know what I think?”

Another lantern rises, the glow catching in your lashes.

“I think you’re the apology the universe sent me… for the bad things that happened to me.” Your throat works gently, but your smile doesn’t fade “Like — a correction. Like the universe went: ‘oops, sorry you didn’t deserve that. Here, this is actually what you deserve.’”

You don’t see it the way he breaks a little right then. Not in a painful way but in that aching, stunned, holy kind of way. The kind where a man who’s spent most of his life trying to stay soberly grounded suddenly realizes there are things worth floating away for.

He swallows once, eyes fixed on you like he’d lose something catastrophic if he ever let himself blink.

He thinks of the day he met you. That soft smile at a stranger who barely grunted a response. He thinks of dumplings and borrowed warmth and your first unfiltered laugh after months of hurting. He thinks about every time you showed up to your own life again, piece by piece, even when you didn't notice he was quietly rooting for you.

And his hand drops to rest against the small of your back, gentle, grounding, like he needs to touch you just to confirm this is real and not some afterimage his heart invented.

You finally turn toward him. The lanterns glow behind you like a halo.

“You really wished that?” he asks quietly voice lower, rougher than he intends

“I did.”  Your smile doesn’t shake this time. “More days like this. More… us.”

 You don’t notice the way he leans in just slightly like gravity changed directions and forgot the rules. 

He exhales before he speaks not out of hesitation, but because some truths deserve a steady landing.

“You know what I think?” His voice is low, warm, like the night has made room just for the two of you

You look up at him, curious, lantern light flickering along your cheek.

“You’re the one who finally made me forgive the world,” he says slowly, carefully, like each word is something he’s been holding in the palm of his hand for months.

“How was I supposed to keep resenting anything… when you’re here learning to live again? Choosing yourself even when it hurt? Trying, even on days that tried to break you?”

Something in your face softens. The kind that settles right behind the ribs and says oh. you see me. Fully. And before he can even finish processing the way your eyes shine, you move.

Two small steps forward. A shift of weight. The rise onto your toes and then your arms are around him.

Like all the gravity in the world is exactly where it should be.

He doesn’t even blink before he’s wrapping you up just as tightly, one hand splayed warm between your shoulder blades, the other settling around your waist like he was always meant to be holding you in a crowd full of light.

The lanterns keep floating above, the crowd keeps murmuring and laughing, but he feels there’s only one thing happening here:

A man who thought he’d been surviving on quiet, learning he’s allowed to live loudly again.

And you, on your tiptoes in his arms, finally letting yourself be held.

When you finally pull back slowly, reluctantly, like the world would be more reasonable if it just stayed still a little longer. He keeps his hands on you, thumbs brushing warmth through your coat.

You look up at him, eyes bright, cheeks still pink from the cold and the moment and he doesn’t even think before he leans in.

Not for your mouth — not yet — but a soft press of lips to the tip of your nose.

It startles a tiny breath out of you, that little surprised sound you make when you’re caught off guard by tenderness, and he feels it right down to the ribs.

You scrunch your nose at him, that same look you give him when you argue about who pays the bill,  or when you’re trying to convince him to get dessert, or when you’re too happy and can’t hide it and he smiles.

Actually smiles. The real one, the one that rounds his eyes and melts the edges of him.

You don’t move away. If anything, you lean closer. So he follows instinct. A soft kiss to your cheek, then the other, your temple, the spot just beside your brow.

Every touch light, careful, like he’s memorizing where joy lives on your face.

You laugh quiet, breathy, full and he can feel your smile against his jaw when he dips to kiss the curve of it.He pulls back just enough to see you again, framed in amber lantern glow, and you’re smiling bigger now. The kind that comes from getting something you didn’t know you were allowed to hope for.

Above you, lanterns drift like soft-burning constellations, but he can’t look away from the one thing that outshines all of them:

you, right here, choosing him back without even needing the words.

=

It’s late. The kind of late where the street outside is nearly empty and every shop light except this one has already flipped dark and Seungcheol is standing at the counter of the little restaurant with his hands in his coat pockets, waiting for a take-out bag that is… absolutely not for him.

Halmeoni is watching him like she’s been waiting a whole year for this exact moment. She doesn’t even bother to hide the smirk.

“Midnight craving again?” she asks, voice full of knowing.

He huffs a quiet laugh through his nose “Something like that.”

“She make the eyes at you over the phone?” The teasing in her tone is merciless.

His ears tint red betrayed by his own skin  “…She asked nicely.”

“Ah,” halmeoni nods slowly, pleased, “so she did make the eyes.”

He shakes his head, but he’s smiling, helpless.

She packs the dumplings into a paper bag and when she comes back she just… studies him for a second. Soft, but sharp in the way only elders who have seen too many lives can be.

“You know,” she says, handing it to him but not letting go just yet, “I told you the first time I saw her. The sadness was going to change, not stay. And you…”

She pats the back of his hand, “you were going to be part of that change.”

He meets her eyes and this time he doesn’t brush it off, doesn’t scoff, doesn’t pretend it was coincidence.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, “I know.”

She lets go of the bag. “And you still think I was wrong about the other thing?” she asks, smug smile blooming again.

He blinks once. “…What other—?”

“You’ll marry that girl.” She folds her arms “Still think I don’t know?”

He doesn’t answer at first. But it’s not denial. It’s the kind of pause a man takes when he realizes someone has said the thing his heart already knows — out loud.

His gaze flickers down, and without meaning to, a slow, undeniable smile pulls at the corner of his mouth.

“No,” he says softly, almost under his breath, “I don’t think you’re wrong.”

Halmeoni beams — the full victorious grin of a woman who has never missed.

“Good,” she nods, satisfied. “Then don’t be late. Warm food waits for no girl, even one that makes the sun jealous.”

He nods, tucking the bag carefully into his arm like it’s more important than anything else he could be holding.

As he turns to go, she calls after him “Tell her I said hello and next time bring her with you. I like seeing her happy. Makes you easier to look at too.”

He laughs and gives a small bow before heading out the door.

The night air is cold, the steam from the dumplings curling out the top of the bag, and all he can think, walking back to his car, is that there was a time he ate here alone and now he’s driving home to someone who will be waiting barefoot in the doorway for him, smiling like he’s the warmest thing she knows.

Halmeoni wasn’t making a guess. She was making a prophecy.

And he finally — finally — knows it’s coming true.

[scarletwinterxx]

backburner - choi seungcheol imagine part two final

andddd it's here🥺

i think this one is the most angsty fic i have ever written, i need to give myself a pat on the back. If you're new here or have been here for a while, i am not the best at writing angst but when i started writing this fic it clicked to me immediately. i'm so happy a lot of you like it🥺

hope you enjoy the rest of it🤍

alsoooooo quick note, the added donation link here if u want to give ur girl some coffee that would be greaaatlllyyyy appreciated. no pressure tho, your love for my fics is enough. okii byeee

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(pic not mine, credits to rightful owner)

The silence started bothering him at 7:12 a.m. Because by then, usually, there was already something. A complaint or a craving or a random observation. A message about your daughter moving too much at dawn like she personally hated sleep.

But that morning nothing.

Seungcheol checked again while pouring coffee. Still nothing.

By 8:03 he sent first.

Seungcheol: Morning. Want breakfast?

The reply took thirteen minutes. Long enough that he noticed.

You: No thanks

He stared at the screen. Then sent again later, trying casual.

Seungcheol: Lunch later? I can bring something.

This time the answer came faster.

You: No, Thanks. I’m good.

That period should not have mattered. It did. Because now every instinct he had built around you over months started lighting up at once.

You never answered like someone who was actually fine.

By noon he had read those two replies enough times that even Wonwoo noticed he had not touched half the paperwork in front of him.

“You’re reading punctuation like it insulted you”

“She’s quiet”

Wonwoo barely glanced up “So go check”

“I’m at work”

“You haven’t done work in twenty minutes”

That was enough. By early afternoon he was already driving. The entire way there his mind kept building possibilities he hated.

By the time he reached your apartment, his pulse had already climbed too high for how still the hallway looked.

You opened the door after the second knock and immediately something felt wrong. Your face looked composed in the deliberate way people wore when they had been trying very hard for too long.

“What happened”

“Nothing” That word again.

He looked around instinctively. No sign of vomiting. No visible mess. No emergency. But you were standing too straight, like even your shoulders were trying not to reveal anything.

“You didn’t text”

“I answered”

“You sent two words”

“I’m tired”

“You look like you cried”

That made your jaw tighten immediately “I’m fine”

There it was. The phrase he trusted least.

He softened his tone instinctively “Did something happen today?”

“No.”

“Did something hurt?” 

“No.”

“Did she move?” 

“Yes.”

“Did you eat?”

A pause “Yes.”

Lie. He knew because your eyes moved left when you lied badly so he stepped closer.

“I’ll make something”

“I said I’m fine”

“You haven’t eaten”

“I did” 

Something in you snapped a little at how easily he kept seeing through everything. Because that gentleness, the same gentleness that had comforted you for months felt unbearable today.

So when he reached for the kitchen as if this apartment belonged naturally to his care too you stopped him.

“Cheol”

He turned and your voice came sharper than intended.

“I said I’m fine”

“You’re not”

That should have comforted you. Instead, it hurt worse because the truth sitting ugly in your chest had become too tangled to separate now.

You heard him last night. You thought he was sacrificing too much. You thought someday you would become the reason he missed his own life.

And worse than all of that you now knew the ache inside you when imagining him with someone else was not friendship.

It had crossed quietly while you were too distracted surviving to notice.

And loving him now felt unforgivably selfish.

Because what right did you have? Pregnant. Broken. Carrying another man’s child. Already leaning too much. Already taking too much.

So when he took another step toward you, concern plain on his face you panicked.

And panic made cruel things come faster than thought.

“Just go, okay?”

He stopped completely but not because of the words, because of how they sounded. Still you kept going, even when the words hurts you twice back.

“I don’t need pity”

“This isn’t pity”

“I don’t need care either” Your voice cracked slightly now but still you forced it.

“I don’t need you.”

Silence. Absolute silence. The second the words left you, you knew they were false. So false they almost knocked the air from you yourself.

Because if there was one truth clearer than anything right now, it was the opposite. 

You did need him.

Too much.

And that was exactly why saying it felt safer than admitting anything real.

His eyes stayed on you. No anger. Only that quiet wounded stillness from someone hit somewhere unguarded.

And seeing that expression hurt you far deeper than it should have if this were only friendship.

That was the moment it arrived fully, undeniable:

You loved him.

Not slowly enough to soften. Not lightly enough to excuse.

Loved him selfishly enough that hurting him made your chest feel like it split open.

Loved him enough that seeing him with someone else in your mind had wrecked you before anything even happened.

And because of that realization, fear sharpened further.

So instead of taking the words back you pushed harder.

A lie over a wound “I’ve asked enough already.”

Still silence. Then finally he spoke, voice lower than usual.

“You think that’s what this is?”

You looked away because if you met his eyes, you would break.

“I think you should stop rearranging your life because of me”

Something flickered across his face, understanding almost, but incomplete.

He exhaled once through his nose and for one second it looked like he might say everything. Whatever he had buried. Whatever sat right behind his restraint. But your face stopped him.

So instead he only nodded once, like agreeing with you right now physically hurt.

“If you want space, I’ll go”

That gentleness broke something in you harder than anger would have.

He just moved toward the door and when it clicked shut behind him the apartment felt immediately unbearable.

You stood there exactly three seconds before your legs gave enough that you had to sit.

Then the first sob came, nothing graceful about it. And suddenly it hurt more than that night months ago when your world first split open because back then grief had a clear target.

Now the pain came from your own mouth, from words you did not mean.

From watching the one person who never failed to show up finally leave because you pushed him there yourself.

And for the first time in months, you cried with both hands over your face while your daughter moved quietly beneath your ribs like she felt everything too 

=

For almost two weeks, Seungcheol learned something ugly about silence:

It could become louder than any argument.

Every day without you became its own kind of noise. No morning texts. No random complaints. No messages about swollen feet. No annoyed updates about your daughter kicking at impossible hours.

Nothing.

And he hated how quickly his life still bent around checking anyway.

He told himself he was respecting what you asked for. Space. Distance. Whatever that conversation had become.

But respecting it did not stop the constant thought:

Did you eat? Did you nap? Did you try reaching something too high alone? Did you walk too long because no one was there to stop you?

The worst part was that last look on your face kept replaying.

Because your mouth had said I don’t need you but your eyes had looked devastated even before he left.

And Seungcheol knew you. Knew the way you lied when scared. Knew the way your voice sharpened when what you really wanted was the opposite.

He had wanted to believe anger would fade and you would call.

You didn’t. So by the time the second week ended, he had become restless in ways even work could not cover.

Wonwoo noticed it immediately. How could he not when Seungcheol was practically moping. 

“What’s wrong with you?”

Wonwoo asks when he sees his friend glaring, again, at his laptop. A common expression Cheol wears nowadays. 

“Nothing”

“Mhm, and I have 20/20 vision. Surely this is about Y/N”

Cheol visible tenses at the mention of your name, a reaction Wonwoo didn’t miss. 

“Did you two fight?” he asks

“No”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, taking a seat infront of Seungcheol’s desk. Determined to get some answers.

“Okay, let me rephrase that. Is she avoiding you? Because you’ve been staying after hours here which you havent done in like 8 months. So either she’s not answering you or you finally decided this one sided relationship isn’t workling”

Seungcheol looks up from his laptop to glare at his friend, making Wonwoo chuckle. 

“There it is, I’m guessing the first option then?”

“Don’t you have work?”

“Yes, but I’ve heard 3 people say they’re scared to approach you because you have this permanent scowl on. I had to see it for myself”

Cheol only rolls his eyes, “People need to get a life”

“And you need to grow a spine, what are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

Wonwoo gestures all over, “You, this, her. Don’t tell me you’re actually staying away when she needs you the most”

Silence. 

“So secrets and silent treatment. You’re really something you know that”

“You didn’t see the way she looked at me, she told me to go”

“And you did?”

For a second the two men just stared at each other, because Wonwoo could not believe that this is the same man who considered committing a crime the moment he heard about the cheating issue. 

The same man who hunts down sweet potatoes at midnight, buys candied grapes and goes to every doctor’s appointment. 

The same man who thought loving someone could be a burden to them so he’d rather suffer in silence. 

“You could have done that months ago, Cheol. But you didn’t. And whether or not you plan to admit it, you love her. Leaving was never an option for you, not back then so why now?”

Seungcheol can only stay silent because he didn’t have the answer to that. Or maybe he did, he just can’t admit it yet. 

“You’re taking away her freedom to decide her own feelings the same way you’re stopping yourself from feeling your own. Don’t destroy a good thing just because you’re scared”

That evening he was driving home after work, Wonwoo’s words from earlier still playing in his head. 

One hand loose on the wheel, exhaustion sitting heavy behind his eyes, and then your name lit up his dashboard.

Everything in him reacted instantly. He answered before the second ring.

“Hello?” Already expecting your voice.

Instead “Is this… Choi Seungcheol?” A stranger.

Immediate cold through his chest.

“Yes. Who is this?”

“I’m calling from the emergency contact listed on Ms. Y/L/N’s phone”

His grip tightened so hard his knuckles blanched. The car nearly drifted before he corrected sharply

“What happened?”

“She was brought in a little while ago. She collapsed.”

Everything after that came in fragments. Hospital name. Neighbor. Pale. Unresponsive briefly.

He did not even remember the drive fully afterward, red lights felt like an insult, hands shaking on the steering wheel.

The violent rhythm of one thought:

No. No. No.

By the time he reached the hospital, he was already halfway running.

Reception barely finished your name before he was asking where. A nurse met him outside the maternity ward.

“She’s stable right now” 

And still that wasn not enough to calm him.

“What happened?”

“She apparently went to a neighbor saying she felt dizzy. Then she collapsed before sitting down. They rushed her to the ER about an hour ago”

His jaw tightened “And the baby?”

The nurse glanced at the chart 

“There was fetal distress for a while. Her blood pressure dropped badly when she came in. We were concerned about early labor because contractions started briefly.”

His chest went cold “But they stopped?”

“For now.”

For now. Words he hated immediately.

“She’s severely exhausted. Dehydrated too.”

That one hit hardest because guilt arrived instantly, sharp and deserved.

The nurse continued gently “She needs proper monitoring tonight. Stress likely contributed”

Stress. He almost laughed bitterly because the source of that word felt too obvious.

Him leaving. You alone. Two weeks of pretending fine.

He looked through the glass before entering and the anger turned fully inward.

You looked small. Too small. Far too pale against white sheets. One hand resting weakly over the blanket near your stomach like even asleep your body stayed searching for reassurance.

The monitor beside you beeped steadily.

Your daughter’s heartbeat audible now. Soft, fast, alive. The sound nearly took his knees because for days he had imagined worse without permission.

Now hearing it made everything inside him loosen and tighten at once.

He stepped inside quietly. The chair beside your bed scraped softly when he pulled it close.

Your face looked thinner somehow in only two weeks or maybe guilt made everything harsher.

He sat then leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped tight enough to hurt.

He’s mad, mostly at himself because the memory came immediately. The lie in your eyes and he had still left because you asked.

He should have known better, should have ignored pride, should have checked anyway sooner. Should have come back the next morning, and the next, and the next.

Instead he gave distance to someone who never knew when to stop carrying too much alone.

A slight movement then your eyes opened slowly. It took two seconds before focus reached him.

Immediately the tears gathered before you even spoke.

“Don’t.” His voice came lower than intended as if stopping apology before it started

“Cheol…” the name came weak

And he hated how much relief that tiny sound gave him.

He stood immediately, leaning close

“Why didn’t you call?”

“I was fine” The lie was so automatic he nearly exhaled in disbelief.

He stared then softer, more broken than angry

“No, you weren’t.”

Your eyes filled fully now because of course that sentence hurt when spoken like that.

The monitor kept its steady rhythm. He looked once toward your stomach then back at you.

“The nurse said she was in distress”

That made your hand move instinctively to your belly, small panic in your face.

“She’s okay?” 

“She’s okay.”He said it immediately. 

You shut your eyes briefly in relief. One tear slipped anyway.

He saw it and something inside him gave way. All remaining anger dissolved into something rawer.

He reached without thinking. His hand covering yours where it rested over the blanket.

And your fingers trembled beneath his.

His voice lowered “You scared me.”

“I didn’t mean—” “I know.”

“But you don’t get to disappear and collapse alone because you’re trying to prove something.”

Your throat tightened “I wasn’t trying to prove anything.”

He looked at you for a long moment then finally said what had sat bitter for days

“Then why did you look at me like I was someone you had to lose before I even left?”

That silenced you completely.

Inside that small room, the distance of two weeks suddenly sat between both of you like something breathing.

And yet his hand never left yours.

Not even once.

And when your daughter kicked suddenly beneath his palm through the blanket, sharp enough both of you felt it, his jaw tightened unexpectedly, eyes lowering there.

A tiny reminder.

Alive.

Still fighting too.

He closed his fingers slightly over your hand.

And for the first time since arriving, his voice broke just enough to show how close panic had truly come.

“Don’t do that to me again.”

Because he already knew he would not survive another phone call like that.

By then you were sitting up slightly, pillows stacked behind your back, hospital blanket gathered around your lap, one hand still trembling where his had not left it.

Seungcheol stayed close, chair pulled near enough that his knees almost touched the bed. Still watching you like if he blinked too long you might disappear again.

You looked at him. Tears were already falling before words even came snd when you spoke, your voice sounded fragile enough that he straightened instantly

“You deserve more than this…”

His brows pulled together “What?”

More tears. You shook your head once, as if even saying it aloud hurt.

“More than me.”

Immediate confusion crossed his face, but before he could interrupt you kept going, words tumbling now because if you stopped you knew you would lose courage.

“You’re sacrificing too much of your life for me.”

He opened his mouth.

You kept speaking “For this baby…”

Your voice cracked harder there 

“For someone else’s—” “Don’t.” Sharp enough to stop you instantly.

Not angry. Just immediate. Firm.

“Don’t say that.”

His face had changed completely now. No hesitation, no caution, no polite restraint left. Only certainty.

“She’s yours,” he said, voice low but unwavering. “And that’s all that matters.”

His eyes held yours now in a way that gave you nowhere to hide.

“I don’t care about anything else.”

Then the words finally came, stripped clean and terrifyingly simple:

“I love you.”

And because truth once started rarely stopped neatly, he added softly 

“I love her too.” That did it.

Whatever fragile control you still had shattered completely.

You broke.

A sob escaped so suddenly it shook through your whole chest. Then another.

Then your shoulders were trembling hard enough he moved immediately, standing, leaning in, pulling you carefully into him without disturbing the monitors.

One arm around your back. One hand at the back of your head. Careful of every wire, every ache, every fragile part of you.

And you cried into him like something finally allowed to collapse after months of holding itself upright.

His voice dropped softer instantly “Hey… hey…”

The tone he always used when calming you. Only now it carried relief too and something almost trembling underneath.

Because he had said it. Finally. And you had not pushed him away.

He eased back just enough to see your face.

One hand lifting carefully, thumb brushing tears from your cheeks.

And somehow even like this you looked at him with something so raw it made his own expression soften further.

His smile came small. The kind smile he wore only when emotion hit him deeper than words.

“There’s this selfish part of my brain…”

He waited.

You looked down because admitting it felt shameful and impossible all at once.

“…that hates that”

His brows shifted “Hates what?”

“That she’s not yours”

The confession came broken ad once spoken, you forced yourself through the rest.

“That you’re so ready to love her… and some awful selfish part of me hates that she isn’t yours”

For a second he only stared. Then something almost warm—almost amused through emotion—touched his mouth.

Because of course even now you thought love obeyed blood first.

And he asked quietly “Who says she’s not mine?”

he leaned slightly closer still smiling, faint but certain now.

“Who says she isn’t mine?”

Your breath caught “Cheol…”

“I’m serious. I don’t care whose name is buried in biology.”

Your tears started again immediately because no one had ever said something that frighteningly gentle to you before.

No one had ever chosen this clearly.

He looked down briefly, hand moving to your stomach where your daughter rested beneath the blanket.

“She moves when I talk.” A tiny smile.

“She kicks hardest when you’re stubborn.” Another glance at you.

“I already worry when you skip one meal like the world is ending.”

Then back to your eyes.

“So tell me honestly—what part of this doesn’t already feel mine too?”

That was when your sob returned harder.

Because the answer was nothing.

Nothing about him had ever felt halfway.

He loved like it had already decided for him months ago.

“I’ve been trying so hard not to say this because I thought loving you while you were carrying someone else’s child was selfish.”

You stared. He gave one breath of humorless disbelief.

“But apparently I’m past pretending that matters.”

A tear slipped down his own face this time “I was ready long before today.”

You reached for him before thinking. Hands catching his shirt again, pulling him close because distance suddenly felt unbearable.

He came easily. Forehead against yours. Arms around you carefully.

And when your daughter kicked again between you, he laughed softly against your temple.

“There,” he murmured.

“She agrees.”

You cried and laughed at once, which only made him smile wider. Then he kissed your forehead. Kissed your cheeks, once, twice, making you smile. 

This time it didn’t looked forced or fake, just… you. 

You closed the distance between the two of you, kissing him softly. Like even now you’re unsure if you deserve this but of course he could read you. 

So he reached up, gently cupping for your face before kissing you deeply, fully. Like he meant everything, keeping them all as vows to you. 

And in that small hospital room, with monitors still humming and your body still weak and exhausted something quietly became whole.

Not perfect. Not easy.

But chosen.

Entirely chosen.

His hand never left your stomach after that.

As if he had already decided exactly where he belonged 

=

By 37 weeks, everything had started looking like a countdown.

In the nursery door that stayed half open because both of you kept wandering in just to look.

The folded blankets stacked too neatly, tiny bottles lined like careful soldiers.

The crib Seungcheol had assembled himself after refusing help, despite cursing quietly at the instruction manual for nearly an hour because apparently one screw had offended him personally.

and the fact that his car now carried a professionally installed infant seat he had checked so many times the straps practically knew his hands.

Seungcheol no longer moved through days casually. Everything now had purpose.

Routes to the hospital memorized. Fastest route at noon. Fastest route at night. Backup route if traffic stalled.

Hospital parking entrance. Emergency entrance. Even which convenience store nearby stayed open twenty-four hours.

He had catalogued it all silently like preparing for something sacred.

And because neither of you bothered pretending anymore, he was simply staying with you now.

His things had just begun appearing naturally. A charger by your bed, shirts folded in your laundry basket, toothbrush beside yours, his watch on your kitchen counter. 

And you did not mind.

Tonight the two of you sat cross-legged on the nursery floor, hospital bag open between you.

Tiny baby clothes spread like impossibly small evidence that very soon there would be an actual person here.

Your daughter.

A whole human.

And somehow that reality hit harder now than ever before.

You picked up one of the newborn shirts and just stared. It was absurdly tiny. The sleeves looked unreal. The neck opening looked like it belonged to a doll.

Your eyes immediately softened in that dangerous emotional way he had learned meant tears were near.

“Oh my God…”

Seungcheol looked up from where he was folding receiving blankets badly

“What”

You held up the shirt like proof of some impossible fact

“She’s supposed to fit in this?”

He glanced at it then at your face and smiled. 

There it was again, that expression lately where wonder and fear collided in you at the same time. You looked half amazed, half on the edge of crying.

“It’s so tiny.” Your voice had already gone softer

He reached beside him and picked up a white onesie. Held it by the shoulders.

The entire thing was barely longer than his forearm. He turned it slightly, disbelief finally showing in his face too.

“…That can’t be real.”

You laughed “It is real.”

He frowned lightly at the fabric like it personally challenged logic

“Our daughter fits inside this?”

“She’s supposed to”

He looked unconvinced then found one mitten from the pile. Held it in his palm completely flat. Tiny enough that it barely covered the center of his hand.

He stared for a full second. Then exhaled something halfway between disbelief and wonder.

“This is criminally small.”

That one tiny thing. Too small. Too delicate.

His eyes shifted back to you “Hey”

You wiped under one eye quickly

“I’m fine.”

“Liar.”

You smiled weakly  “I spent months imagining this and now suddenly… t feels terrifying”

He shifted closer automatically “Terrifying because?”

“What if I don’t know what I’m doing?” The honesty came quietly now

“What if she cries and I don’t know why? What if I do something wrong? What if—”

“You will”

That made you look up immediately. He smiled.

“You’ll do something wrong eventually”

“Cheol”

“So will I”

He set the mitten aside, reached for another tiny sock. Held it between his fingers.

“This small person is going to humble both of us”

That made your mouth twitch despite yourself.

He continued softer “We’ll still figure it out.”

You looked at him for a long second because he said things like that now so naturally, as if there had never been any doubt he belonged in every version of what came next.

He picked up the sock again

“She has feet small enough for this?”

You laughed through the last tear 

“She currently kicks like she has full adult legs.”

“That part I know.”

As if summoned by the conversation, your stomach shifted visibly. A kick. Then another.

He smiled down “See? Already violent.”

“She gets that from you.”

“Impossible.”

“You assembled a crib like it insulted your family.”

“The crib started it.”

You laughed properly this time.

=

It happened on the one night he finally slept.

Of course it did.

After days of living like a man waiting beside a fire alarm, exhaustion had finally caught him hard enough that sometime after midnight he dropped into real sleep. 

The kind he had been denying himself for nearly two weeks.

You noticed because for once his breathing stayed deep. A faint snore every now and then, soft enough it almost made you smile despite the hour.

One arm still draped over you automatically, heavy across your side even in sleep, palm resting near your stomach as if his body refused to fully let go even unconscious.

The room was dark except for the city light slipping through curtains.

Then you felt it. At first just tightening. A familiar hard pull across your abdomen.

Enough that your eyes opened.

Weeks of false alarms so you breathed through it, one hand automatically pressing low over your stomach.

Still half convinced this was nothing. Still telling yourself not to overreact.

You almost closed your eyes again.

Then another came and this time the pressure stayed longer.

A deeper ache blooming down your back.

You shifted carefully.

A clean pain that made your whole body jolt before you could stop it. Your hand grabbed the blanket instinctively.

You turned immediately. Seungcheol still asleep beside you. You almost hesitated because after days of no sleep he looked painfully tired.

Then another tightening built again. Stronger.

You nudged his shoulder

“Cheol” Nothing.

Another wave. Stronger now.

You nudged harder.

“Cheol”

Still half asleep, he made a low sound but did not wake fully then the pain sharpened enough that your voice changed.

“Cheol.” That did it. His eyes opened instantly.

“What?” Then he saw your face and every trace of sleep vanished.

“What happened?”

Your hand was gripping the blanket now

“I—” Another tightening interrupted you

His whole body straightened immediately

“Is it pain?” You nodded once

“How bad?”

“I don’t know—”

“When did it start?”

“A little while ago.”

His expression changed so fast it almost looked unreal. He pushed upright instantly, hand already on your arm.

“How long is a little while?”

“I thought it was normal”

He glanced immediately at the bedside clock. He was out of bed before you finished breathing.

Phone in hand. Lights on. The room suddenly bright.

“What are you doing?” you asked, still trying to sit up

“Timing.”

“Cheol—” “No, absolutely not, timing first.”

His phone is already open. Already kneeling beside the bed. Watching your face with terrifying focus.

“When it stops, tell me”

You almost laughed if it did not hurt because he looked exactly like someone waiting for an exam result.

Another wave passed. You exhaled.

“It stopped”

He checked the timer.

“How far apart was the first one?”

“I didn’t check” Of course you didn’t.

He inhaled through his nose once, fighting panic.

“Okay. Fine. Fine.”

Then another contraction started and your face changed enough that he saw it before you spoke. Immediately he reached for your hand.

“There?”

You squeezed hard “Yes”

He looked at the timer again like the seconds personally offended him. Then after it eased, he stared.

Thirty seconds. Too real now.

He looked at you. You looked back.

And for one suspended second both of you understood together:

This might actually be it.

Your voice came smaller now.

“Cheol…” And he hated how fear sat under your tone immediately.

So whatever panic existed inside him got shoved down fast. His voice softened. Very steady now, even if his pulse was chaos.

“Okay. Okay. We’re okay.”

Another breath.

“We’re just checking. No panic yet.”

You blinked because he said no panic while very clearly already panicking.

He stood, then immediately leaned back down and kissed your forehead. Quick. Grounding himself too.

“Can you stand?” You nodded.

He still helped carefully anyway, one arm around you like glass. The second your feet touched the floor another pressure came and he froze

“You sure you can walk?”

“Yes.”

“You look pale.”

“I’m pregnant.”

Twenty minutes later, the room no longer felt like the quiet apartment you had left.

Now everything smelled faintly clinical. White light overhead. Monitors humming. Footsteps beyond the hallway.

A nurse moving in and out with practiced calm that somehow made everything feel even more real.

And the contractions, those had fully announced themselves. Low, deep, wrapping around your entire middle and down your back until breathing became something you had to consciously fight for.

You were in the hospital bed but not really resting on it, half upright because staying still somehow felt worse, one hand gripping the railing hard enough your knuckles had gone pale.

Your other hand had not left Seungcheol’s once.

Another contraction built. Your grip crushed his hand.

“Breathe.”

You exhaled sharply through your teeth.

“You’re annoying.”

“That means you’re still functioning.”

Another wave climbed. You bent slightly forward, gripping the rail harder. Eyes squeezed shut.

The contraction sharpened hard enough that a frustrated sound left your throat.

And because pain stripped filters faster than anything you muttered through clenched teeth:

“I hate that I can’t even blame you right now.”

“You can blame me if it makes you feel better.”

You opened one eye enough to glare weakly

“Really?”

“Absolutely.”

Another pulse hit and your fingers nearly bent his hand backward. He did not react except to move closer so you had more of him to hold onto.

“This is entirely your fault,” you said through another breath

“I accept that”

“You’re way too calm”

“I am not calm”

And that was true. Only his face had learned how to lie better than his pulse. Because inside, he was nowhere near calm. Every time your expression tightened, something inside him tightened too.

Every time you inhaled sharply, his own breathing changed.

He hated that he could do so little beyond stay.

The nurse came, checked monitors, murmured something about progress, and left again. Then another contraction arrived before you had fully recovered from the last one.

This one stronger. Longer.

And when it eased enough for speech, you muttered with deadly seriousness:

“Next time…”

He already knew pain meant dangerous statements were coming. Still he smiled.

“What next time?”

You pointed weakly at him while still breathing hard.

“Pinch me if I say I want another kid.”

That made him laugh again, fuller now. A real laugh that softened immediately when another pain flickered through your face.

“You’re deciding this now?”

“Yes.”

“During active labor?”

“This is the clearest I’ve ever thought in my life.”

He leaned closer, brushing damp hair gently from your forehead.

“I’ll remember the exact quote.”

“Don’t let me romanticize anything later.”

“Noted.”

“Don’t try and change my mind with your stupid handsome face”

He only chuckles, rubbing your back soothingly. 

Then quieter, more tired now 

“This hurts so much.”

There it was. The honest sentence underneath all the humor. Immediately his expression softened completely. The smile faded into something gentler.

He leaned close enough his forehead brushed yours.

“I know.”

Not ‘I know’ because he understood pain because he didn’t. But ‘I know’ because he saw it.

Every second.

And hated every part he could not remove.

Another kiss to your forehead.

“You’re doing so well.”

You gave him a look that clearly said you did not feel well. Still, his hand stayed steady around yours.

Then his eyes flicked once toward the monitor, the rhythm of your daughter’s heartbeat.

And for a moment emotion hit him quietly enough that his next words came softer than before.

“She’s almost here.”

And then just like that after hours that felt endless and somehow too fast at once, after pain and breath and trembling hands and nurses moving around you and Seungcheol never once letting go—

the room changed.

A cry. Sharp. Small.

The kind of sound that split everything before it into before and after.

For one suspended second nobody moved inside Seungcheol’s chest because his whole body forgot how.

Then the cry came again.

Louder. Alive.

And suddenly the world narrowed to one impossible truth: your daughter was here.

He had imagined this moment for months and still nothing had prepared him for the first time he saw her.

So small she almost looked unreal. Wrapped carefully in a soft pink blanket. A tiny newborn beanie tied with a ribbon so oversized it looked absurdly precious, almost larger than the top of her head.

Her face—God.

That face.

Tiny nose. Eyes still squeezed shut. Cheeks soft and unmistakably yours. So unmistakably yours it made something in him ache instantly.

And when the nurse placed her briefly where he could see her properly, he felt it land all at once with absolute certainty.

Only one clean overwhelming fact… that he would love this little girl for the rest of his life with the same terrifying certainty he had for you.

Maybe because she came from you. Maybe because he had already been loving her before seeing her.

Maybe because the second she existed in front of him, something in him recognized her immediately.

The nurses moved gently around you while checking everything, murmuring soft instructions.

And because you needed those few moments to breathe they placed her in his arms.

Seungcheol took her like something sacred. Both hands instinctively careful. Broad arms suddenly impossibly gentle.

The weight startled him. Warm. Tiny. Fragile enough that he instinctively held his breath.

Her whole body fit against him like she had always belonged there.

Her little face tucked under the pink blanket, mouth opening slightly as if still deciding whether to protest existence again.

His voice, when it came, was softer than anyone in the room had probably ever heard it.

“Hi.”

The word barely above a whisper. Her tiny face twitched, one fist moved under the blanket.

He laughed softly through his nose, eyes already warmer than usual

“So…” a tiny pause “Nice to finally meet you.”

His thumb brushed lightly over the edge of the blanket near her cheek, careful not to disturb her.

She made another tiny sound.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, by the way.”

He shifted slightly in the chair beside your bed, angling her instinctively so she stayed supported perfectly.

“Mostly that you kick like you own every room you’re in.”

Another tiny movement. He looked almost fascinated.

“As of last month, you also apparently hated your mother sleeping.”

From the bed,  you watched through tired eyes, too exhausted to fully smile but unable not to.

Because seeing him like this, seeing the way his entire face had softened around her felt almost unreal. He continued quietly, like introducing himself mattered even if she understood none of it yet.

“I’m Seungcheol” His mouth twitched slightly at how formal that sounded.

Then softer, “I know you’ll probably figure that out later.”

One finger barely touched her hand through the blanket. Her tiny fingers shifted reflexively.

And when one curled around the edge of his finger… he went silent.

Completely.

Because that one tiny reflex nearly ruined him.

His throat moved once before he found words again.

“So that’s how it is.” He looked down like she had already personally negotiated terms.

“You hold on the first day and expect me to survive this?”

His voice had gone even quieter now. As if the room disappeared and it was only him and this tiny new person who had somehow arrived already rearranging him.

He glanced toward you then. Saw your eyes on him and whatever he felt deepened further because now both of you were here safe.

He looked back at her then continued like he was telling her secrets already.

“Your mother is stubborn” You made a weak, offended sound from the bed. He smiled without looking up

“She doesn’t eat on time unless someone watches her.”

Another tiny pause.

“She also pretends she doesn’t need help when she absolutely does.”

Your tired voice came soft “She can hear you.”

“I know.”

Then to your daughter again

“You’ll learn that quickly.”

His thumb brushed her cheek this time, impossibly gently.

“And you should know she’s the bravest person I know.”

He looked at your daughter as though already making promises she would not understand for years.

“I’m going to love you very well, okay?” His voice almost broke there, just enough that he cleared it quietly after.

“Both of you.”

The baby shifted again, mouth puckering. He leaned closer immediately like every tiny movement now mattered.

“No pressure. You just got here.”

And for the first time since the cry that changed everything. Seungcheol looked completely at peace.

Like all the routes memorized, sleepless nights, fear, waiting, hospital bags, tiny onesies. all of it had led precisely here. 

Your daughter had settled against him in that tiny pink blanket, ribbon tilted slightly now, one cheek pressed into the fold near his chest.

She looked impossibly small there. Like she belonged in a photograph more than real life.

And he kept looking at her like he still hadn’t fully accepted she existed outside imagination.

His thumb moved once along the blanket edge. Then stopped.

His eyes stayed on her tiny face when he said quietly

“One day…”

Another small pause.

“One day, when you think I deserve it…”

His voice lowered further.

“So I’ll earn it first” He swallowed once, barely noticeable

Then with that same quiet honesty that made every word land heavier:

“I can be your appa.”

The sentence sat in the room gently. Just simple truth offered like a promise he did not want to force into existence before she chose him herself.

He looked down at her tiny hand tucked near the blanket.

“For now…”

A faint smile touched his mouth, sad only because it carried too much tenderness.

“I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”

His finger adjusted the edge of the blanket under her chin.

“Whatever you need me to be, okay?”

The baby made a tiny sleepy sound, mouth twitching like she objected to being spoken to during important newborn business.

That made him smile properly again. A small breath of laughter left him.

“Very demanding already.”

He leaned closer, voice nearly a whisper now.

“So grow up well.”

Another pause.

“That’s all you have to do.”

He looked at her like he meant every word as contract, prayer, and vow all at once.

“Grow healthy.”

“Sleep properly.”

“Don’t scare your mother too much.”

From the bed your tired voice came hoarse but amused:

“Why is that the third thing?”

Without missing a beat he answered softly “Because I already know you’ll both team up against me.”

You almost smiled despite how exhausted every muscle felt then his eyes returned to the baby again.

And whatever humor had touched his mouth softened into something deeper.

“I’ll handle the rest.”

The kind of promise made without needing witness. He shifted slightly, careful to support her head better though she had barely moved.

Then continued, almost as if explaining the world to someone who had arrived late to it.

“You don’t have to hurry for anything. Take your time. No one’s waiting for you to become anything except yourself.”

A tiny breath from her. He watched even that like it mattered.

“And if you cry, cry.”

“If you’re stubborn…” his mouth twitched, “well, clearly that’s inherited.”

You made a weak sound of protest again.

“But if something hurts… tell me first.”

That one hit differently because it came from somewhere old. Something private. Something protective enough to sound almost fragile.

He lifted his gaze then—finally toward you. You had been watching him the entire time.

There was something almost shy in his face now, like he hadn’t expected you to hear all of it. But he did not look away.

Instead he glanced back down at her and added, quieter:

“Your mother worked hardest bringing you here.”

His thumb brushed the baby’s tiny shoulder through the blanket.

“So if you love anyone first, make it her.”

Of course that was what he chose to teach first.

Not himself.

You.

Then he leaned his head slightly toward the baby, voice almost conspiratorial now:

“But later, if you decide I’m acceptable…”

A faint smile.

“I’m very available.”

That tiny sleepy fist shifted again near his chest.

He stared like she had answered.

And for a long moment neither of you spoke.

Just watched him there, broad shoulders bent protectively around someone so tiny, face softer than you had ever seen it, every part of him already rearranged around fatherhood even before he dared fully claim the word.

=

Two years later, mornings had become their own kind of beautiful chaos.

The apartment no longer stayed neat for more than ten minutes. Soft blocks under the sofa. Picture books stacked crookedly near the living room rug. A stuffed rabbit face-down beside the hallway. Tiny socks appearing in places neither of you remembered putting them.

The dining table had permanently changed too.

One side still yours and his.

The other now occupied by a small boosted high chair strapped carefully into place, a pastel plate already waiting there, divided into tiny sections because apparently food touching each other had become a serious offense this month.

A matching pastel cup sat beside it with a bent straw. Half a banana already sliced. A tiny spoon with cartoon clouds.

The morning light poured through the kitchen window while you stood beside Seungcheol at the counter, hair clipped up lazily, still mid-sentence about groceries.

“I’m telling you, if we buy fruit from that other place it’s cheaper but somehow worse by the next day.” You were slicing strawberries while talking 

He stood beside you cracking eggs into a bowl with the kind of efficiency that had only come from two years of learning how to cook one-handed while carrying a child.

“Because you keep buying too much at once.”

“We have a child who eats strawberries like she’s funding the industry.”

“She eats three and then demands yogurt.”

“Yesterday she ate seven.”

“Yesterday she was negotiating.”

You laughed softly.

Because yes your daughter negotiated meals now. Negotiated bedtime. Negotiated socks. Negotiated whether the moon looked tired.

And somehow Seungcheol took every negotiation like he was speaking to a board member rather than a toddler.

Toys littered the floor behind him. Domestic evidence everywhere. 

Proof of two years. Proof of staying. Proof that somewhere between labor and sleepless nights and first fevers and first birthdays and first steps… this had quietly become home in every possible sense.

You were about to continue your story about nearly forgetting milk when it came. That small voice from down the hall.

Still sleepy, still carrying that little morning rasp toddlers had when they had only just woken up.

“Appaaaaaaa…” It floated down the hallway like a ritual now. Daily.

And still every single time it landed exactly the same.

Both of you paused because no matter how many mornings passed, that voice calling for him first always did something immediate.

You looked up first. He already had that expression. That automatic softness. That helpless almost-smile he had never learned to hide.

Again came the call, louder now, impatient because apparently one response delay of three seconds was unacceptable.

“Appaaaaaa—!” and then tiny footsteps. Unsteady only in the way toddlers still ran like their bodies slightly outran their balance.

Then she appeared.

Little Aera.

Little Choi Aera.

Hair wild from sleep, one side flattened, the other sticking out because she had clearly turned half the night. Pink pajamas wrinkled. Bare feet pattering against the floor. One hand rubbing her eye. The other clutching the ear of her stuffed rabbit by force rather than affection.

And the second she saw him arms lifted immediately. Without hesitation, without acknowledging you first because priorities remained offensively clear.

“Appa.” this one softer now

Seungcheol did not even pretend resistance. He put the whisk down immediately and bent to lift her, one smooth practiced motion like he had done this thousands of times which he had.

She landed against him automatically, head finding his shoulder like instinct.

Still half asleep. Still warm from bed and the second she settled there, one tiny hand patted his cheek as if confirming possession.

You leaned against the counter watching “Good morning to me too, apparently.”

Aera lifted her face just enough to look at you then smiled, tiny and mischievous already.

“Eomma.”

You narrowed your eyes “Oh, now I exist.”

“She’s strategic,” Seungcheol said, already rubbing her back lightly

Aera’s attention returned fully to him. Hair in his face now because she tucked closer.

And then with complete seriousness “Appa carry.”

He looked down at her, amused “I’m already carrying you.”

She considered that. Accepted it then pointed toward the stove.

“Egg.”

“You want egg?” A nod

“No green.”

You laughed immediately because yesterday’s spinach incident had apparently left scars.

“She remembers everything inconvenient.”

Aera ignored you both and simply stayed attached to him, one arm looped around his neck now while she blinked herself more awake.

And watching her there, small face still soft with babyhood despite how much toddler had arrived, it hit again, the quiet impossibility of time.

Because this was the same baby wrapped once in pink with a ribbon bigger than her head. The same tiny fist that curled around his finger before she understood anything.

The same little girl he had once whispered to:

Grow well.

And she had. God, she had.

She grew loud. Bright. Curious. Possessive over crayons. Demanding bedtime stories twice. Laughing with your eyes. Sulking with his mouth.

And somehow despite that night he once whispered love your mother first—this little girl had chosen her own order very early.

Because her first word had not been eomma. Not milk. Not ball.

It had been Appa.

Clear. Certain. Repeated endlessly ever since.

As if she had decided on her own that the man who once asked permission to deserve the title would simply have to accept he already belonged there.

Aera suddenly lifted her head again. One small palm on his cheek.

“Appa.”

“What?”

She whispered with deep toddler importance “Dream monster.”

You blinked “Oh no.”

Seungcheol instantly serious, because dream monsters were legal matters in this household.

“Still there?”

Aera nodded solemnly.

He looked toward the hallway like he might personally investigate.

“I’ll talk to it later.”

Satisfied, she leaned back down immediately. Problem solved.

You watched him kiss her hair absentmindedly while reaching one-handed to lower the stove heat.

So natural now. So far from the careful uncertainty of that hospital night.

And for a second you remembered his voice then. ‘One day, when you think I deserve it, I can be your appa.’

Meanwhile now your daughter refused breakfast unless he sat beside her. Demanded his shirt when upset. Called his name before fully opening her eyes.

And wore his acceptance of fatherhood like it had never once been in question.

Aera suddenly spotted the strawberries.

“Mine.”

You pointed at the chair “Sit first.”

“No.”

“Sit first.”

She turned to Seungcheol instantly, because appeals court existed.

“Appa.”

He tried not to laugh “Sit first.”

Her tiny face shifted into offended disbelief at united parenting then reluctantly he lowered her into the boosted chair.

She crossed her arms dramatically.

Miniature outrage. Exactly like him, unfortunately.

You slid her plate over.

She stared at it then announced “No green.”

“No green,” you repeated patiently, because yes, this would be today’s law again.

Seungcheol sat beside her, handing the tiny spoon over.

And Aera—still suspicious—finally accepted breakfast because her hand stayed touching his sleeve while eating. The way children touched people they trusted most without realizing they were doing it.

And across the table, you looked at them both. Your husband who once asked for permission to be called father, and little Choi Aera who had answered long ago by never calling him anything else. 

And there you thought quietly, she had grown exactly as asked. Well loved, well held, and entirely certain where home was.

=

It happened on a day so ordinary it almost felt insulting afterward.

Late afternoon sunlight.

Aera in one of her little cotton dresses, shoes already dirty because she had decided the sandbox and grass and pavement all deserved equal attention.

The park crowded enough to feel lively. Parents talking, strollers passing, children shrieking somewhere near the swings.

One of those normal days you had come to love because normal had once felt impossible.

Aera was a few steps away near the little climbing structure, fully focused on carrying three leaves and one pebble like they were priceless treasure.

Seungcheol had gone to the kiosk by the path because Aera had demanded juice and then changed her mind twice before he left.

You stayed near the bench, eyes always on her even while half distracted by your phone.

Then someone stopped in front of you.

At first, it was only a shadow then a voice you had not heard in years.

Your name.

Everything in your body tightened before your mind fully caught up.

You looked up.

And there he was.

Older. Slightly rougher around the face. Still carrying that same expression that once made excuses sound convincing until it no longer did.

Your ex.

The man who had disappeared when consequences became real.

The man who had known about the pregnancy, the man who had known exactly what he was walking away from.

And still walked.

For one second your throat closed.

Not fear. Not anymore.

Just disgust sharp enough to feel physical.

His eyes shifted immediately past you… to Aera.

And that alone made something cold move through your spine, the way he looked at her was not earned. Not after years. Not after absence.

“She’s…” He almost smiled like he had some right to recognition

“She’s mine, isn’t she?”

The sentence barely finished because another body stepped between you before you even stood, fast enough that you almost startled.

Seungcheol.

He must have seen him from the path. Juice still in one hand, the other already free. His whole body placed squarely in front of you before any thought even finished forming.

Protective in the most immediate, instinctive way.

When he spoke, his voice came low and flat enough that even you felt the warning in it.

“Leave.” Sharp enough that it landed harder than shouting.

Your ex looked irritated immediately like he believs old entitlement would work

“I’m talking to—” “Leave.”

Still frighteningly calm. And that calm was exactly what meant danger because Seungcheol angry rarely looked explosive at first.

It looked quiet.

Your ex looked past him toward Aera again and that was the mistake.

“That’s my d—”

“My daughter.” Seungcheol cut him off so cleanly the words barely survived

Not louder just absolute. He stepped half a fraction closer, enough that the distance vanished.

“Mine.”

Your ex opened his mouth again, offended now.

Biology ready on his tongue like a weapon he thought still mattered.

But Seungcheol did not let him reach it

“She was never yours.”

Each word landed colder now.

“The moment you cheated on her mother. The moment you walked away.”

Still not raising his voice and somehow harsher because of it.

“You do not get to disappear for years and suddenly show up because you saw a child in a park.”

The juice box in his hand crinkled slightly under pressure

“You don’t deserve shit”

Your ex gave a humorless laugh, defensive now “You can’t erase what she is”

“No,” Seungcheol said “But I can make sure she never knows disappointment wearing your face”

That sentence made even your breathing pause. The exact line between anger and promise.

And your ex heard it too and the arrogance thinned.

Still, tension climbed another step, and that was when you moved.

Not because Seungcheol was wrong or not because you disagreed but because Aera was ten feet away laughing to herself over a leaf crown and did not deserve this atmosphere attaching itself to her afternoon.

You touched Seungcheol’s arm.

“Cheol”

He did not move immediately.

You squeezed once more this time softer.

“Aera.” That worked.

Always her.

His eyes shifted instantly toward your daughter. Still oblivious. Still innocent in the way only children could be while adults dragged old damage into open air.

His shoulders stayed tight another second then loosened just enough.

Your ex noticed so he tried again “You never even told me—”

“I didn’t owe you anything.” this time you answered. Your own voice surprised even you.

No apology.

“You made your choice before she was even born”

He looked at you as if expecting softness that no longer existed.

“She should know who—”

“She knows exactly who her father is.”

You did not need to look at Seungcheol when you said it.

Because the truth stood beside you already.

Visible. Proven.

At scraped knees. At midnight fevers.At first words. At hospital beds.

Your ex’s mouth tightened.

Then a tiny voice cut through all of it.

“Appa!” Aera running now. Tiny shoes hitting pavement fast, straight toward Seungcheol.

No hesitation. No uncertainty. No confusion about where safety lived.

He bent automatically before she even reached him. Lifted her one-handed when she collided into his legs. She wrapped both arms around his neck instantly.

Still smiling “Juice?”

He took one breath.

By the time he answered her, his voice had completely changed. Warm again.

“Here, princess”

She noticed another person then, looked over his shoulder curiously at the stranger.

No recognition. Of course none.

Then she buried her face against Seungcheol’s shoulder instead. Choosing disinterest. Choosing home.

Your ex watched that and maybe for the first time understood there was nothing here available to reclaim.

No gap.

No vacancy.

No place where his absence had left room waiting.

Because another man had filled every inch of fatherhood so completely that even blood had become irrelevant.

Seungcheol adjusted Aera higher against him.

Then looked at him once more.

Final now.

“You heard her.”

A pause.

“Leave before she remembers your face.”

And that was what ended it because there was nothing left to argue against after that. Not when the child in question already had her arms around the man who had stayed.

Your ex lingered one second too long.

Then stepped back.

Turned.

Walked away.

No apology.

No redemption.

Just departure which suited him, really.

Aera lifted her head the second he disappeared.

Completely unconcerned.

“Juice now.”

You almost laughed from the absurd whiplash of it. Seungcheol finally exhaled properly.

You touched his wrist lightly.

“I’m okay”

Aera meanwhile had already taken the straw out herself badly and announced

“Appa mad?”

He blinked once then kissed her forehead.

“No.”

Tiny suspicious eyes “Little mad”

That made you laugh despite everything. And finally even he gave in, a short breath of laughter against her hair

“Little”

Then she nodded like that was acceptable, took her juice, and leaned against his shoulder again, entirely certain the world remained exactly as it should.

And whatever tension adults carried fading outside the borders of her small safe afternoon.

The tension didn’t disappear immediately.

It lingered the way difficult things always did. You could still feel it in the way Seungcheol sat a little too still when you returned to the bench.

But Aera, entirely untouched by adult history, climbed into his lap like the world had never shifted at all.

Juice box first. Then herself. One tiny knee planted on the bench.

Then a determined little wiggle until she settled sideways against his chest, perfectly comfortable. She tucked herself there automatically, like she had done it a thousand times.

Because she had.

Her straw between her lips. Juice held with both hands for exactly three seconds before one hand abandoned it to find him.

Always him. 

Tiny fingers reaching without looking until they caught one of his. Then that familiar habit, her whole fist wrapping around a single finger of his like she genuinely believed that was enough to anchor him permanently in place.

Her tiny hand absurdly small against his.

She had done that since she was small enough to fit against one forearm.

Even now, older, heavier, taller still the same instinct. When she sat on his lap. When she got sleepy. When they sat in the car.

One hand always finding his finger.

Holding him there.

Seungcheol looked down at her hand too.

And you saw it happen that exact second his anger finally broke.

Melted cleanly.

Because she looked up right then, cheeks round from the straw still in her mouth, and pointed dramatically toward the path.

“Appa, see dog” A tiny white dog trotted past

He followed her gaze obediently

“I see.”

Another sip then instantly

“Appa look flower.” A crooked yellow flower near the bench

“I see that too”

Then she leaned back against him harder, still holding his finger hostage

“Appa hug”

She said it casually this time, not even asking just declaring what should happen. And immediately his free arm tightened around her middle, pulling her closer until her back rested fully against his chest.

You watched the transformation happen in real time.

The same man who minutes ago had looked capable of frightening grown men into silence now sat entirely dismantled by a child clutching one finger and narrating flowers and dogs.

“Appa.”

“What?”

She held up her juice proudly “Mine.”

“Clearly.”

You sat beside them watching quietly, and something inside your chest settled too.

In Aera’s world there had never been confusion, no complicated definitions, no bloodline questions. no late arrivals from old mistakes.

In her language, father had always sounded like one name.

One face. One lap. One hand big enough for her entire fist.

Every sentence began there naturally.

Appa this. Appa that. Appa look. Appa come. Appa hug.

As though no other possibility had ever existed. And truly for her, it hadn’t.

The man from earlier had been a stranger in the park and nothing more. 

Because love repeated daily becomes identity stronger than biology ever can.

And Seungcheol had repeated it every day until it became the most natural fact in her life.

=

Ever since that day—and truthfully, long before it—Seungcheol had become something you sometimes still struggled to explain properly because the word partner often felt too small for what he actually was.

He had become the person your life leaned toward naturally. In ways that only became obvious when you looked back and realized how much of daily life now rested on the quiet certainty of him being there.

Yes, he was a remarkable father to Aera. That much everyone saw easily.

The patience. The consistency.

The way he remembered tiny preferences no one else noticed.

How she only liked strawberries sliced a certain way, how she wanted the blue cup in the morning but forgot by lunch, how bedtime stories had to include unnecessary voices or she would protest.

The way he never treated care as help, but simply responsibility that belonged to him too.

Forms signed before you remembered they existed, medicine stocked before bottles emptied, tiny socks folded because apparently he believed there was a correct way to fold socks small enough to fit in one hand.

And more than that, the way he never once behaved as though fatherhood had been borrowed.

There was nothing performative in it.

Nothing temporary.

Just complete belonging.

But somehow, even while being all that for Aera, he had also become the place your own tiredness went first.

Your constant support in ways you had not realized you once lacked until you had it every day.

The person who noticed before you admitted exhaustion.

Someone who knew when your silence meant overstimulation and when it meant sadness, someone who handed you water before headaches started, and someone who learned exactly how your face changed when your patience ran thin and quietly took over before you had to ask.

Years together had not dulled that attentiveness.

If anything, it had sharpened.

Like tonight.

Aera finally asleep after an unnecessarily dramatic bedtime involving two stories, one rejected blanket, one accepted blanket, and a final debate over whether stuffed rabbits required water.

The apartment quiet now.

The day long enough that both of you carried that particular adult fatigue where conversation slowed. You stood in the kitchen rinsing the last cup.

Hair tied carelessly.

One of his shirts on because at some point your own clothes had become mixed so deeply with his that ownership stopped mattering.

And without warning warm hands settled at your waist from behind.

Close enough that his chest touched your back. His chin briefly resting near your shoulder.

“You missed one” His voice low, amused

You glanced downm, one spoon still in the sink

“I was getting there”

“Clearly”

He reached around you, turned off the tap, then stayed there anyway.

His hands stayed where they were. Warm. The kind of touch years never made ordinary.

You leaned back into him automatically.

Then, as naturally as breathing, he pressed a kiss just behind your ear. One that lingered just enough to make heat climb your neck anyway.

Even now. After years.

After hospital nights and grocery lists and shared bills and school schedules and arguments over whose turn it was to buy detergent.

Somehow simple affection still caught you off guard.

You exhaled quietly

“That still works?” His mouth curved against your skin.

“You tell me”

Another kiss this one lower. Near your neck. And ridiculous as it felt, you could already feel yourself blushing which he noticed immediately because of course he did.

A soft laugh “Years later and still.”

“Stop sounding proud”

“I am proud”

He turned you gently then until your back rested against the counter and he stood between your knees.

The same ease of someone who had always believed this space beside you belonged naturally to him.

Like a habit formed by love and time. And the truth was that space had become his.

Not because he claimed it.

His thumb brushed your cheek once.

“You’re tired.”

“So are you.”

“Mm.”

Then another kiss. This one properly yours. The kind reserved only for late nights after ordinary days.

When he pulled back, only slightly, you stayed close enough to feel his breath.

“You know,” you murmured, “you’ve ruined men for me permanently”

That earned a quiet grin “A little late to compare now”

“I’m serious”

“I know” Because he did know.

You had told him before in different words.

That he had raised your standards so high they now existed somewhere unreasonable.

That after him, love no longer looked like grand effort but steady presence.

That after him, affection meant someone who noticed.

Someone who stayed. Someone who kissed your forehead while reheating leftovers. Someone who knew exactly when to say nothing and simply stand near.

His hand slipped lower again, settling at your waist

“And yet,” he said softly, “you still blush like I’m doing something impressive”

“You say that like you’re not fully aware what you’re doing”

“I am”

That honesty made you laugh.

Of course he was aware.

He had learned exactly how to undo you in the smallest ways.

A kiss to the temple while passing by. A hand at your lower back in crowded rooms.

The way he always sat close enough that knees touched if space allowed.

How every shared couch somehow ended with your legs across him.

And always those kisses reserved differently when Aera was asleep, gentler, quieter, deliberate in a way that reminded you beneath parenthood and routines, he still saw you first too.

From the hallway came a tiny sleepy voice

“Appaaaa…”

Both of you froze then immediately laughed.

He kissed you once more quickly before stepping back.

Duty calling.

But not before murmuring against your mouth

“Save my spot”

Like there had ever been doubt. Like the place beside you had not already belonged there for years.

Claiming the place that was only ever his.

[junniesoleilkth]

I NEED HIM AND IM NOT JOKING HE IS A MANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN, FATHER, HUSBANDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD I WOULD BE ASKING TO HAVE MORE OF HIS CHILDREN LIKE FRRRR

[scarletwinterxx]

backburner - choi seungcheol imagine part two final

andddd it's here🥺

i think this one is the most angsty fic i have ever written, i need to give myself a pat on the back. If you're new here or have been here for a while, i am not the best at writing angst but when i started writing this fic it clicked to me immediately. i'm so happy a lot of you like it🥺

hope you enjoy the rest of it🤍

alsoooooo quick note, the added donation link here if u want to give ur girl some coffee that would be greaaatlllyyyy appreciated. no pressure tho, your love for my fics is enough. okii byeee

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All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2026 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pic not mine, credits to rightful owner)

The silence started bothering him at 7:12 a.m. Because by then, usually, there was already something. A complaint or a craving or a random observation. A message about your daughter moving too much at dawn like she personally hated sleep.

But that morning nothing.

Seungcheol checked again while pouring coffee. Still nothing.

By 8:03 he sent first.

Seungcheol: Morning. Want breakfast?

The reply took thirteen minutes. Long enough that he noticed.

You: No thanks

He stared at the screen. Then sent again later, trying casual.

Seungcheol: Lunch later? I can bring something.

This time the answer came faster.

You: No, Thanks. I’m good.

That period should not have mattered. It did. Because now every instinct he had built around you over months started lighting up at once.

You never answered like someone who was actually fine.

By noon he had read those two replies enough times that even Wonwoo noticed he had not touched half the paperwork in front of him.

“You’re reading punctuation like it insulted you”

“She’s quiet”

Wonwoo barely glanced up “So go check”

“I’m at work”

“You haven’t done work in twenty minutes”

That was enough. By early afternoon he was already driving. The entire way there his mind kept building possibilities he hated.

By the time he reached your apartment, his pulse had already climbed too high for how still the hallway looked.

You opened the door after the second knock and immediately something felt wrong. Your face looked composed in the deliberate way people wore when they had been trying very hard for too long.

“What happened”

“Nothing” That word again.

He looked around instinctively. No sign of vomiting. No visible mess. No emergency. But you were standing too straight, like even your shoulders were trying not to reveal anything.

“You didn’t text”

“I answered”

“You sent two words”

“I’m tired”

“You look like you cried”

That made your jaw tighten immediately “I’m fine”

There it was. The phrase he trusted least.

He softened his tone instinctively “Did something happen today?”

“No.”

“Did something hurt?” 

“No.”

“Did she move?” 

“Yes.”

“Did you eat?”

A pause “Yes.”

Lie. He knew because your eyes moved left when you lied badly so he stepped closer.

“I’ll make something”

“I said I’m fine”

“You haven’t eaten”

“I did” 

Something in you snapped a little at how easily he kept seeing through everything. Because that gentleness, the same gentleness that had comforted you for months felt unbearable today.

So when he reached for the kitchen as if this apartment belonged naturally to his care too you stopped him.

“Cheol”

He turned and your voice came sharper than intended.

“I said I’m fine”

“You’re not”

That should have comforted you. Instead, it hurt worse because the truth sitting ugly in your chest had become too tangled to separate now.

You heard him last night. You thought he was sacrificing too much. You thought someday you would become the reason he missed his own life.

And worse than all of that you now knew the ache inside you when imagining him with someone else was not friendship.

It had crossed quietly while you were too distracted surviving to notice.

And loving him now felt unforgivably selfish.

Because what right did you have? Pregnant. Broken. Carrying another man’s child. Already leaning too much. Already taking too much.

So when he took another step toward you, concern plain on his face you panicked.

And panic made cruel things come faster than thought.

“Just go, okay?”

He stopped completely but not because of the words, because of how they sounded. Still you kept going, even when the words hurts you twice back.

“I don’t need pity”

“This isn’t pity”

“I don’t need care either” Your voice cracked slightly now but still you forced it.

“I don’t need you.”

Silence. Absolute silence. The second the words left you, you knew they were false. So false they almost knocked the air from you yourself.

Because if there was one truth clearer than anything right now, it was the opposite. 

You did need him.

Too much.

And that was exactly why saying it felt safer than admitting anything real.

His eyes stayed on you. No anger. Only that quiet wounded stillness from someone hit somewhere unguarded.

And seeing that expression hurt you far deeper than it should have if this were only friendship.

That was the moment it arrived fully, undeniable:

You loved him.

Not slowly enough to soften. Not lightly enough to excuse.

Loved him selfishly enough that hurting him made your chest feel like it split open.

Loved him enough that seeing him with someone else in your mind had wrecked you before anything even happened.

And because of that realization, fear sharpened further.

So instead of taking the words back you pushed harder.

A lie over a wound “I’ve asked enough already.”

Still silence. Then finally he spoke, voice lower than usual.

“You think that’s what this is?”

You looked away because if you met his eyes, you would break.

“I think you should stop rearranging your life because of me”

Something flickered across his face, understanding almost, but incomplete.

He exhaled once through his nose and for one second it looked like he might say everything. Whatever he had buried. Whatever sat right behind his restraint. But your face stopped him.

So instead he only nodded once, like agreeing with you right now physically hurt.

“If you want space, I’ll go”

That gentleness broke something in you harder than anger would have.

He just moved toward the door and when it clicked shut behind him the apartment felt immediately unbearable.

You stood there exactly three seconds before your legs gave enough that you had to sit.

Then the first sob came, nothing graceful about it. And suddenly it hurt more than that night months ago when your world first split open because back then grief had a clear target.

Now the pain came from your own mouth, from words you did not mean.

From watching the one person who never failed to show up finally leave because you pushed him there yourself.

And for the first time in months, you cried with both hands over your face while your daughter moved quietly beneath your ribs like she felt everything too 

=

For almost two weeks, Seungcheol learned something ugly about silence:

It could become louder than any argument.

Every day without you became its own kind of noise. No morning texts. No random complaints. No messages about swollen feet. No annoyed updates about your daughter kicking at impossible hours.

Nothing.

And he hated how quickly his life still bent around checking anyway.

He told himself he was respecting what you asked for. Space. Distance. Whatever that conversation had become.

But respecting it did not stop the constant thought:

Did you eat? Did you nap? Did you try reaching something too high alone? Did you walk too long because no one was there to stop you?

The worst part was that last look on your face kept replaying.

Because your mouth had said I don’t need you but your eyes had looked devastated even before he left.

And Seungcheol knew you. Knew the way you lied when scared. Knew the way your voice sharpened when what you really wanted was the opposite.

He had wanted to believe anger would fade and you would call.

You didn’t. So by the time the second week ended, he had become restless in ways even work could not cover.

Wonwoo noticed it immediately. How could he not when Seungcheol was practically moping. 

“What’s wrong with you?”

Wonwoo asks when he sees his friend glaring, again, at his laptop. A common expression Cheol wears nowadays. 

“Nothing”

“Mhm, and I have 20/20 vision. Surely this is about Y/N”

Cheol visible tenses at the mention of your name, a reaction Wonwoo didn’t miss. 

“Did you two fight?” he asks

“No”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, taking a seat infront of Seungcheol’s desk. Determined to get some answers.

“Okay, let me rephrase that. Is she avoiding you? Because you’ve been staying after hours here which you havent done in like 8 months. So either she’s not answering you or you finally decided this one sided relationship isn’t workling”

Seungcheol looks up from his laptop to glare at his friend, making Wonwoo chuckle. 

“There it is, I’m guessing the first option then?”

“Don’t you have work?”

“Yes, but I’ve heard 3 people say they’re scared to approach you because you have this permanent scowl on. I had to see it for myself”

Cheol only rolls his eyes, “People need to get a life”

“And you need to grow a spine, what are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

Wonwoo gestures all over, “You, this, her. Don’t tell me you’re actually staying away when she needs you the most”

Silence. 

“So secrets and silent treatment. You’re really something you know that”

“You didn’t see the way she looked at me, she told me to go”

“And you did?”

For a second the two men just stared at each other, because Wonwoo could not believe that this is the same man who considered committing a crime the moment he heard about the cheating issue. 

The same man who hunts down sweet potatoes at midnight, buys candied grapes and goes to every doctor’s appointment. 

The same man who thought loving someone could be a burden to them so he’d rather suffer in silence. 

“You could have done that months ago, Cheol. But you didn’t. And whether or not you plan to admit it, you love her. Leaving was never an option for you, not back then so why now?”

Seungcheol can only stay silent because he didn’t have the answer to that. Or maybe he did, he just can’t admit it yet. 

“You’re taking away her freedom to decide her own feelings the same way you’re stopping yourself from feeling your own. Don’t destroy a good thing just because you’re scared”

That evening he was driving home after work, Wonwoo’s words from earlier still playing in his head. 

One hand loose on the wheel, exhaustion sitting heavy behind his eyes, and then your name lit up his dashboard.

Everything in him reacted instantly. He answered before the second ring.

“Hello?” Already expecting your voice.

Instead “Is this… Choi Seungcheol?” A stranger.

Immediate cold through his chest.

“Yes. Who is this?”

“I’m calling from the emergency contact listed on Ms. Y/L/N’s phone”

His grip tightened so hard his knuckles blanched. The car nearly drifted before he corrected sharply

“What happened?”

“She was brought in a little while ago. She collapsed.”

Everything after that came in fragments. Hospital name. Neighbor. Pale. Unresponsive briefly.

He did not even remember the drive fully afterward, red lights felt like an insult, hands shaking on the steering wheel.

The violent rhythm of one thought:

No. No. No.

By the time he reached the hospital, he was already halfway running.

Reception barely finished your name before he was asking where. A nurse met him outside the maternity ward.

“She’s stable right now” 

And still that wasn not enough to calm him.

“What happened?”

“She apparently went to a neighbor saying she felt dizzy. Then she collapsed before sitting down. They rushed her to the ER about an hour ago”

His jaw tightened “And the baby?”

The nurse glanced at the chart 

“There was fetal distress for a while. Her blood pressure dropped badly when she came in. We were concerned about early labor because contractions started briefly.”

His chest went cold “But they stopped?”

“For now.”

For now. Words he hated immediately.

“She’s severely exhausted. Dehydrated too.”

That one hit hardest because guilt arrived instantly, sharp and deserved.

The nurse continued gently “She needs proper monitoring tonight. Stress likely contributed”

Stress. He almost laughed bitterly because the source of that word felt too obvious.

Him leaving. You alone. Two weeks of pretending fine.

He looked through the glass before entering and the anger turned fully inward.

You looked small. Too small. Far too pale against white sheets. One hand resting weakly over the blanket near your stomach like even asleep your body stayed searching for reassurance.

The monitor beside you beeped steadily.

Your daughter’s heartbeat audible now. Soft, fast, alive. The sound nearly took his knees because for days he had imagined worse without permission.

Now hearing it made everything inside him loosen and tighten at once.

He stepped inside quietly. The chair beside your bed scraped softly when he pulled it close.

Your face looked thinner somehow in only two weeks or maybe guilt made everything harsher.

He sat then leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped tight enough to hurt.

He’s mad, mostly at himself because the memory came immediately. The lie in your eyes and he had still left because you asked.

He should have known better, should have ignored pride, should have checked anyway sooner. Should have come back the next morning, and the next, and the next.

Instead he gave distance to someone who never knew when to stop carrying too much alone.

A slight movement then your eyes opened slowly. It took two seconds before focus reached him.

Immediately the tears gathered before you even spoke.

“Don’t.” His voice came lower than intended as if stopping apology before it started

“Cheol…” the name came weak

And he hated how much relief that tiny sound gave him.

He stood immediately, leaning close

“Why didn’t you call?”

“I was fine” The lie was so automatic he nearly exhaled in disbelief.

He stared then softer, more broken than angry

“No, you weren’t.”

Your eyes filled fully now because of course that sentence hurt when spoken like that.

The monitor kept its steady rhythm. He looked once toward your stomach then back at you.

“The nurse said she was in distress”

That made your hand move instinctively to your belly, small panic in your face.

“She’s okay?” 

“She’s okay.”He said it immediately. 

You shut your eyes briefly in relief. One tear slipped anyway.

He saw it and something inside him gave way. All remaining anger dissolved into something rawer.

He reached without thinking. His hand covering yours where it rested over the blanket.

And your fingers trembled beneath his.

His voice lowered “You scared me.”

“I didn’t mean—” “I know.”

“But you don’t get to disappear and collapse alone because you’re trying to prove something.”

Your throat tightened “I wasn’t trying to prove anything.”

He looked at you for a long moment then finally said what had sat bitter for days

“Then why did you look at me like I was someone you had to lose before I even left?”

That silenced you completely.

Inside that small room, the distance of two weeks suddenly sat between both of you like something breathing.

And yet his hand never left yours.

Not even once.

And when your daughter kicked suddenly beneath his palm through the blanket, sharp enough both of you felt it, his jaw tightened unexpectedly, eyes lowering there.

A tiny reminder.

Alive.

Still fighting too.

He closed his fingers slightly over your hand.

And for the first time since arriving, his voice broke just enough to show how close panic had truly come.

“Don’t do that to me again.”

Because he already knew he would not survive another phone call like that.

By then you were sitting up slightly, pillows stacked behind your back, hospital blanket gathered around your lap, one hand still trembling where his had not left it.

Seungcheol stayed close, chair pulled near enough that his knees almost touched the bed. Still watching you like if he blinked too long you might disappear again.

You looked at him. Tears were already falling before words even came snd when you spoke, your voice sounded fragile enough that he straightened instantly

“You deserve more than this…”

His brows pulled together “What?”

More tears. You shook your head once, as if even saying it aloud hurt.

“More than me.”

Immediate confusion crossed his face, but before he could interrupt you kept going, words tumbling now because if you stopped you knew you would lose courage.

“You’re sacrificing too much of your life for me.”

He opened his mouth.

You kept speaking “For this baby…”

Your voice cracked harder there 

“For someone else’s—” “Don’t.” Sharp enough to stop you instantly.

Not angry. Just immediate. Firm.

“Don’t say that.”

His face had changed completely now. No hesitation, no caution, no polite restraint left. Only certainty.

“She’s yours,” he said, voice low but unwavering. “And that’s all that matters.”

His eyes held yours now in a way that gave you nowhere to hide.

“I don’t care about anything else.”

Then the words finally came, stripped clean and terrifyingly simple:

“I love you.”

And because truth once started rarely stopped neatly, he added softly 

“I love her too.” That did it.

Whatever fragile control you still had shattered completely.

You broke.

A sob escaped so suddenly it shook through your whole chest. Then another.

Then your shoulders were trembling hard enough he moved immediately, standing, leaning in, pulling you carefully into him without disturbing the monitors.

One arm around your back. One hand at the back of your head. Careful of every wire, every ache, every fragile part of you.

And you cried into him like something finally allowed to collapse after months of holding itself upright.

His voice dropped softer instantly “Hey… hey…”

The tone he always used when calming you. Only now it carried relief too and something almost trembling underneath.

Because he had said it. Finally. And you had not pushed him away.

He eased back just enough to see your face.

One hand lifting carefully, thumb brushing tears from your cheeks.

And somehow even like this you looked at him with something so raw it made his own expression soften further.

His smile came small. The kind smile he wore only when emotion hit him deeper than words.

“There’s this selfish part of my brain…”

He waited.

You looked down because admitting it felt shameful and impossible all at once.

“…that hates that”

His brows shifted “Hates what?”

“That she’s not yours”

The confession came broken ad once spoken, you forced yourself through the rest.

“That you’re so ready to love her… and some awful selfish part of me hates that she isn’t yours”

For a second he only stared. Then something almost warm—almost amused through emotion—touched his mouth.

Because of course even now you thought love obeyed blood first.

And he asked quietly “Who says she’s not mine?”

he leaned slightly closer still smiling, faint but certain now.

“Who says she isn’t mine?”

Your breath caught “Cheol…”

“I’m serious. I don’t care whose name is buried in biology.”

Your tears started again immediately because no one had ever said something that frighteningly gentle to you before.

No one had ever chosen this clearly.

He looked down briefly, hand moving to your stomach where your daughter rested beneath the blanket.

“She moves when I talk.” A tiny smile.

“She kicks hardest when you’re stubborn.” Another glance at you.

“I already worry when you skip one meal like the world is ending.”

Then back to your eyes.

“So tell me honestly—what part of this doesn’t already feel mine too?”

That was when your sob returned harder.

Because the answer was nothing.

Nothing about him had ever felt halfway.

He loved like it had already decided for him months ago.

“I’ve been trying so hard not to say this because I thought loving you while you were carrying someone else’s child was selfish.”

You stared. He gave one breath of humorless disbelief.

“But apparently I’m past pretending that matters.”

A tear slipped down his own face this time “I was ready long before today.”

You reached for him before thinking. Hands catching his shirt again, pulling him close because distance suddenly felt unbearable.

He came easily. Forehead against yours. Arms around you carefully.

And when your daughter kicked again between you, he laughed softly against your temple.

“There,” he murmured.

“She agrees.”

You cried and laughed at once, which only made him smile wider. Then he kissed your forehead. Kissed your cheeks, once, twice, making you smile. 

This time it didn’t looked forced or fake, just… you. 

You closed the distance between the two of you, kissing him softly. Like even now you’re unsure if you deserve this but of course he could read you. 

So he reached up, gently cupping for your face before kissing you deeply, fully. Like he meant everything, keeping them all as vows to you. 

And in that small hospital room, with monitors still humming and your body still weak and exhausted something quietly became whole.

Not perfect. Not easy.

But chosen.

Entirely chosen.

His hand never left your stomach after that.

As if he had already decided exactly where he belonged 

=

By 37 weeks, everything had started looking like a countdown.

In the nursery door that stayed half open because both of you kept wandering in just to look.

The folded blankets stacked too neatly, tiny bottles lined like careful soldiers.

The crib Seungcheol had assembled himself after refusing help, despite cursing quietly at the instruction manual for nearly an hour because apparently one screw had offended him personally.

and the fact that his car now carried a professionally installed infant seat he had checked so many times the straps practically knew his hands.

Seungcheol no longer moved through days casually. Everything now had purpose.

Routes to the hospital memorized. Fastest route at noon. Fastest route at night. Backup route if traffic stalled.

Hospital parking entrance. Emergency entrance. Even which convenience store nearby stayed open twenty-four hours.

He had catalogued it all silently like preparing for something sacred.

And because neither of you bothered pretending anymore, he was simply staying with you now.

His things had just begun appearing naturally. A charger by your bed, shirts folded in your laundry basket, toothbrush beside yours, his watch on your kitchen counter. 

And you did not mind.

Tonight the two of you sat cross-legged on the nursery floor, hospital bag open between you.

Tiny baby clothes spread like impossibly small evidence that very soon there would be an actual person here.

Your daughter.

A whole human.

And somehow that reality hit harder now than ever before.

You picked up one of the newborn shirts and just stared. It was absurdly tiny. The sleeves looked unreal. The neck opening looked like it belonged to a doll.

Your eyes immediately softened in that dangerous emotional way he had learned meant tears were near.

“Oh my God…”

Seungcheol looked up from where he was folding receiving blankets badly

“What”

You held up the shirt like proof of some impossible fact

“She’s supposed to fit in this?”

He glanced at it then at your face and smiled. 

There it was again, that expression lately where wonder and fear collided in you at the same time. You looked half amazed, half on the edge of crying.

“It’s so tiny.” Your voice had already gone softer

He reached beside him and picked up a white onesie. Held it by the shoulders.

The entire thing was barely longer than his forearm. He turned it slightly, disbelief finally showing in his face too.

“…That can’t be real.”

You laughed “It is real.”

He frowned lightly at the fabric like it personally challenged logic

“Our daughter fits inside this?”

“She’s supposed to”

He looked unconvinced then found one mitten from the pile. Held it in his palm completely flat. Tiny enough that it barely covered the center of his hand.

He stared for a full second. Then exhaled something halfway between disbelief and wonder.

“This is criminally small.”

That one tiny thing. Too small. Too delicate.

His eyes shifted back to you “Hey”

You wiped under one eye quickly

“I’m fine.”

“Liar.”

You smiled weakly  “I spent months imagining this and now suddenly… t feels terrifying”

He shifted closer automatically “Terrifying because?”

“What if I don’t know what I’m doing?” The honesty came quietly now

“What if she cries and I don’t know why? What if I do something wrong? What if—”

“You will”

That made you look up immediately. He smiled.

“You’ll do something wrong eventually”

“Cheol”

“So will I”

He set the mitten aside, reached for another tiny sock. Held it between his fingers.

“This small person is going to humble both of us”

That made your mouth twitch despite yourself.

He continued softer “We’ll still figure it out.”

You looked at him for a long second because he said things like that now so naturally, as if there had never been any doubt he belonged in every version of what came next.

He picked up the sock again

“She has feet small enough for this?”

You laughed through the last tear 

“She currently kicks like she has full adult legs.”

“That part I know.”

As if summoned by the conversation, your stomach shifted visibly. A kick. Then another.

He smiled down “See? Already violent.”

“She gets that from you.”

“Impossible.”

“You assembled a crib like it insulted your family.”

“The crib started it.”

You laughed properly this time.

=

It happened on the one night he finally slept.

Of course it did.

After days of living like a man waiting beside a fire alarm, exhaustion had finally caught him hard enough that sometime after midnight he dropped into real sleep. 

The kind he had been denying himself for nearly two weeks.

You noticed because for once his breathing stayed deep. A faint snore every now and then, soft enough it almost made you smile despite the hour.

One arm still draped over you automatically, heavy across your side even in sleep, palm resting near your stomach as if his body refused to fully let go even unconscious.

The room was dark except for the city light slipping through curtains.

Then you felt it. At first just tightening. A familiar hard pull across your abdomen.

Enough that your eyes opened.

Weeks of false alarms so you breathed through it, one hand automatically pressing low over your stomach.

Still half convinced this was nothing. Still telling yourself not to overreact.

You almost closed your eyes again.

Then another came and this time the pressure stayed longer.

A deeper ache blooming down your back.

You shifted carefully.

A clean pain that made your whole body jolt before you could stop it. Your hand grabbed the blanket instinctively.

You turned immediately. Seungcheol still asleep beside you. You almost hesitated because after days of no sleep he looked painfully tired.

Then another tightening built again. Stronger.

You nudged his shoulder

“Cheol” Nothing.

Another wave. Stronger now.

You nudged harder.

“Cheol”

Still half asleep, he made a low sound but did not wake fully then the pain sharpened enough that your voice changed.

“Cheol.” That did it. His eyes opened instantly.

“What?” Then he saw your face and every trace of sleep vanished.

“What happened?”

Your hand was gripping the blanket now

“I—” Another tightening interrupted you

His whole body straightened immediately

“Is it pain?” You nodded once

“How bad?”

“I don’t know—”

“When did it start?”

“A little while ago.”

His expression changed so fast it almost looked unreal. He pushed upright instantly, hand already on your arm.

“How long is a little while?”

“I thought it was normal”

He glanced immediately at the bedside clock. He was out of bed before you finished breathing.

Phone in hand. Lights on. The room suddenly bright.

“What are you doing?” you asked, still trying to sit up

“Timing.”

“Cheol—” “No, absolutely not, timing first.”

His phone is already open. Already kneeling beside the bed. Watching your face with terrifying focus.

“When it stops, tell me”

You almost laughed if it did not hurt because he looked exactly like someone waiting for an exam result.

Another wave passed. You exhaled.

“It stopped”

He checked the timer.

“How far apart was the first one?”

“I didn’t check” Of course you didn’t.

He inhaled through his nose once, fighting panic.

“Okay. Fine. Fine.”

Then another contraction started and your face changed enough that he saw it before you spoke. Immediately he reached for your hand.

“There?”

You squeezed hard “Yes”

He looked at the timer again like the seconds personally offended him. Then after it eased, he stared.

Thirty seconds. Too real now.

He looked at you. You looked back.

And for one suspended second both of you understood together:

This might actually be it.

Your voice came smaller now.

“Cheol…” And he hated how fear sat under your tone immediately.

So whatever panic existed inside him got shoved down fast. His voice softened. Very steady now, even if his pulse was chaos.

“Okay. Okay. We’re okay.”

Another breath.

“We’re just checking. No panic yet.”

You blinked because he said no panic while very clearly already panicking.

He stood, then immediately leaned back down and kissed your forehead. Quick. Grounding himself too.

“Can you stand?” You nodded.

He still helped carefully anyway, one arm around you like glass. The second your feet touched the floor another pressure came and he froze

“You sure you can walk?”

“Yes.”

“You look pale.”

“I’m pregnant.”

Twenty minutes later, the room no longer felt like the quiet apartment you had left.

Now everything smelled faintly clinical. White light overhead. Monitors humming. Footsteps beyond the hallway.

A nurse moving in and out with practiced calm that somehow made everything feel even more real.

And the contractions, those had fully announced themselves. Low, deep, wrapping around your entire middle and down your back until breathing became something you had to consciously fight for.

You were in the hospital bed but not really resting on it, half upright because staying still somehow felt worse, one hand gripping the railing hard enough your knuckles had gone pale.

Your other hand had not left Seungcheol’s once.

Another contraction built. Your grip crushed his hand.

“Breathe.”

You exhaled sharply through your teeth.

“You’re annoying.”

“That means you’re still functioning.”

Another wave climbed. You bent slightly forward, gripping the rail harder. Eyes squeezed shut.

The contraction sharpened hard enough that a frustrated sound left your throat.

And because pain stripped filters faster than anything you muttered through clenched teeth:

“I hate that I can’t even blame you right now.”

“You can blame me if it makes you feel better.”

You opened one eye enough to glare weakly

“Really?”

“Absolutely.”

Another pulse hit and your fingers nearly bent his hand backward. He did not react except to move closer so you had more of him to hold onto.

“This is entirely your fault,” you said through another breath

“I accept that”

“You’re way too calm”

“I am not calm”

And that was true. Only his face had learned how to lie better than his pulse. Because inside, he was nowhere near calm. Every time your expression tightened, something inside him tightened too.

Every time you inhaled sharply, his own breathing changed.

He hated that he could do so little beyond stay.

The nurse came, checked monitors, murmured something about progress, and left again. Then another contraction arrived before you had fully recovered from the last one.

This one stronger. Longer.

And when it eased enough for speech, you muttered with deadly seriousness:

“Next time…”

He already knew pain meant dangerous statements were coming. Still he smiled.

“What next time?”

You pointed weakly at him while still breathing hard.

“Pinch me if I say I want another kid.”

That made him laugh again, fuller now. A real laugh that softened immediately when another pain flickered through your face.

“You’re deciding this now?”

“Yes.”

“During active labor?”

“This is the clearest I’ve ever thought in my life.”

He leaned closer, brushing damp hair gently from your forehead.

“I’ll remember the exact quote.”

“Don’t let me romanticize anything later.”

“Noted.”

“Don’t try and change my mind with your stupid handsome face”

He only chuckles, rubbing your back soothingly. 

Then quieter, more tired now 

“This hurts so much.”

There it was. The honest sentence underneath all the humor. Immediately his expression softened completely. The smile faded into something gentler.

He leaned close enough his forehead brushed yours.

“I know.”

Not ‘I know’ because he understood pain because he didn’t. But ‘I know’ because he saw it.

Every second.

And hated every part he could not remove.

Another kiss to your forehead.

“You’re doing so well.”

You gave him a look that clearly said you did not feel well. Still, his hand stayed steady around yours.

Then his eyes flicked once toward the monitor, the rhythm of your daughter’s heartbeat.

And for a moment emotion hit him quietly enough that his next words came softer than before.

“She’s almost here.”

And then just like that after hours that felt endless and somehow too fast at once, after pain and breath and trembling hands and nurses moving around you and Seungcheol never once letting go—

the room changed.

A cry. Sharp. Small.

The kind of sound that split everything before it into before and after.

For one suspended second nobody moved inside Seungcheol’s chest because his whole body forgot how.

Then the cry came again.

Louder. Alive.

And suddenly the world narrowed to one impossible truth: your daughter was here.

He had imagined this moment for months and still nothing had prepared him for the first time he saw her.

So small she almost looked unreal. Wrapped carefully in a soft pink blanket. A tiny newborn beanie tied with a ribbon so oversized it looked absurdly precious, almost larger than the top of her head.

Her face—God.

That face.

Tiny nose. Eyes still squeezed shut. Cheeks soft and unmistakably yours. So unmistakably yours it made something in him ache instantly.

And when the nurse placed her briefly where he could see her properly, he felt it land all at once with absolute certainty.

Only one clean overwhelming fact… that he would love this little girl for the rest of his life with the same terrifying certainty he had for you.

Maybe because she came from you. Maybe because he had already been loving her before seeing her.

Maybe because the second she existed in front of him, something in him recognized her immediately.

The nurses moved gently around you while checking everything, murmuring soft instructions.

And because you needed those few moments to breathe they placed her in his arms.

Seungcheol took her like something sacred. Both hands instinctively careful. Broad arms suddenly impossibly gentle.

The weight startled him. Warm. Tiny. Fragile enough that he instinctively held his breath.

Her whole body fit against him like she had always belonged there.

Her little face tucked under the pink blanket, mouth opening slightly as if still deciding whether to protest existence again.

His voice, when it came, was softer than anyone in the room had probably ever heard it.

“Hi.”

The word barely above a whisper. Her tiny face twitched, one fist moved under the blanket.

He laughed softly through his nose, eyes already warmer than usual

“So…” a tiny pause “Nice to finally meet you.”

His thumb brushed lightly over the edge of the blanket near her cheek, careful not to disturb her.

She made another tiny sound.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, by the way.”

He shifted slightly in the chair beside your bed, angling her instinctively so she stayed supported perfectly.

“Mostly that you kick like you own every room you’re in.”

Another tiny movement. He looked almost fascinated.

“As of last month, you also apparently hated your mother sleeping.”

From the bed,  you watched through tired eyes, too exhausted to fully smile but unable not to.

Because seeing him like this, seeing the way his entire face had softened around her felt almost unreal. He continued quietly, like introducing himself mattered even if she understood none of it yet.

“I’m Seungcheol” His mouth twitched slightly at how formal that sounded.

Then softer, “I know you’ll probably figure that out later.”

One finger barely touched her hand through the blanket. Her tiny fingers shifted reflexively.

And when one curled around the edge of his finger… he went silent.

Completely.

Because that one tiny reflex nearly ruined him.

His throat moved once before he found words again.

“So that’s how it is.” He looked down like she had already personally negotiated terms.

“You hold on the first day and expect me to survive this?”

His voice had gone even quieter now. As if the room disappeared and it was only him and this tiny new person who had somehow arrived already rearranging him.

He glanced toward you then. Saw your eyes on him and whatever he felt deepened further because now both of you were here safe.

He looked back at her then continued like he was telling her secrets already.

“Your mother is stubborn” You made a weak, offended sound from the bed. He smiled without looking up

“She doesn’t eat on time unless someone watches her.”

Another tiny pause.

“She also pretends she doesn’t need help when she absolutely does.”

Your tired voice came soft “She can hear you.”

“I know.”

Then to your daughter again

“You’ll learn that quickly.”

His thumb brushed her cheek this time, impossibly gently.

“And you should know she’s the bravest person I know.”

He looked at your daughter as though already making promises she would not understand for years.

“I’m going to love you very well, okay?” His voice almost broke there, just enough that he cleared it quietly after.

“Both of you.”

The baby shifted again, mouth puckering. He leaned closer immediately like every tiny movement now mattered.

“No pressure. You just got here.”

And for the first time since the cry that changed everything. Seungcheol looked completely at peace.

Like all the routes memorized, sleepless nights, fear, waiting, hospital bags, tiny onesies. all of it had led precisely here. 

Your daughter had settled against him in that tiny pink blanket, ribbon tilted slightly now, one cheek pressed into the fold near his chest.

She looked impossibly small there. Like she belonged in a photograph more than real life.

And he kept looking at her like he still hadn’t fully accepted she existed outside imagination.

His thumb moved once along the blanket edge. Then stopped.

His eyes stayed on her tiny face when he said quietly

“One day…”

Another small pause.

“One day, when you think I deserve it…”

His voice lowered further.

“So I’ll earn it first” He swallowed once, barely noticeable

Then with that same quiet honesty that made every word land heavier:

“I can be your appa.”

The sentence sat in the room gently. Just simple truth offered like a promise he did not want to force into existence before she chose him herself.

He looked down at her tiny hand tucked near the blanket.

“For now…”

A faint smile touched his mouth, sad only because it carried too much tenderness.

“I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”

His finger adjusted the edge of the blanket under her chin.

“Whatever you need me to be, okay?”

The baby made a tiny sleepy sound, mouth twitching like she objected to being spoken to during important newborn business.

That made him smile properly again. A small breath of laughter left him.

“Very demanding already.”

He leaned closer, voice nearly a whisper now.

“So grow up well.”

Another pause.

“That’s all you have to do.”

He looked at her like he meant every word as contract, prayer, and vow all at once.

“Grow healthy.”

“Sleep properly.”

“Don’t scare your mother too much.”

From the bed your tired voice came hoarse but amused:

“Why is that the third thing?”

Without missing a beat he answered softly “Because I already know you’ll both team up against me.”

You almost smiled despite how exhausted every muscle felt then his eyes returned to the baby again.

And whatever humor had touched his mouth softened into something deeper.

“I’ll handle the rest.”

The kind of promise made without needing witness. He shifted slightly, careful to support her head better though she had barely moved.

Then continued, almost as if explaining the world to someone who had arrived late to it.

“You don’t have to hurry for anything. Take your time. No one’s waiting for you to become anything except yourself.”

A tiny breath from her. He watched even that like it mattered.

“And if you cry, cry.”

“If you’re stubborn…” his mouth twitched, “well, clearly that’s inherited.”

You made a weak sound of protest again.

“But if something hurts… tell me first.”

That one hit differently because it came from somewhere old. Something private. Something protective enough to sound almost fragile.

He lifted his gaze then—finally toward you. You had been watching him the entire time.

There was something almost shy in his face now, like he hadn’t expected you to hear all of it. But he did not look away.

Instead he glanced back down at her and added, quieter:

“Your mother worked hardest bringing you here.”

His thumb brushed the baby’s tiny shoulder through the blanket.

“So if you love anyone first, make it her.”

Of course that was what he chose to teach first.

Not himself.

You.

Then he leaned his head slightly toward the baby, voice almost conspiratorial now:

“But later, if you decide I’m acceptable…”

A faint smile.

“I’m very available.”

That tiny sleepy fist shifted again near his chest.

He stared like she had answered.

And for a long moment neither of you spoke.

Just watched him there, broad shoulders bent protectively around someone so tiny, face softer than you had ever seen it, every part of him already rearranged around fatherhood even before he dared fully claim the word.

=

Two years later, mornings had become their own kind of beautiful chaos.

The apartment no longer stayed neat for more than ten minutes. Soft blocks under the sofa. Picture books stacked crookedly near the living room rug. A stuffed rabbit face-down beside the hallway. Tiny socks appearing in places neither of you remembered putting them.

The dining table had permanently changed too.

One side still yours and his.

The other now occupied by a small boosted high chair strapped carefully into place, a pastel plate already waiting there, divided into tiny sections because apparently food touching each other had become a serious offense this month.

A matching pastel cup sat beside it with a bent straw. Half a banana already sliced. A tiny spoon with cartoon clouds.

The morning light poured through the kitchen window while you stood beside Seungcheol at the counter, hair clipped up lazily, still mid-sentence about groceries.

“I’m telling you, if we buy fruit from that other place it’s cheaper but somehow worse by the next day.” You were slicing strawberries while talking 

He stood beside you cracking eggs into a bowl with the kind of efficiency that had only come from two years of learning how to cook one-handed while carrying a child.

“Because you keep buying too much at once.”

“We have a child who eats strawberries like she’s funding the industry.”

“She eats three and then demands yogurt.”

“Yesterday she ate seven.”

“Yesterday she was negotiating.”

You laughed softly.

Because yes your daughter negotiated meals now. Negotiated bedtime. Negotiated socks. Negotiated whether the moon looked tired.

And somehow Seungcheol took every negotiation like he was speaking to a board member rather than a toddler.

Toys littered the floor behind him. Domestic evidence everywhere. 

Proof of two years. Proof of staying. Proof that somewhere between labor and sleepless nights and first fevers and first birthdays and first steps… this had quietly become home in every possible sense.

You were about to continue your story about nearly forgetting milk when it came. That small voice from down the hall.

Still sleepy, still carrying that little morning rasp toddlers had when they had only just woken up.

“Appaaaaaaa…” It floated down the hallway like a ritual now. Daily.

And still every single time it landed exactly the same.

Both of you paused because no matter how many mornings passed, that voice calling for him first always did something immediate.

You looked up first. He already had that expression. That automatic softness. That helpless almost-smile he had never learned to hide.

Again came the call, louder now, impatient because apparently one response delay of three seconds was unacceptable.

“Appaaaaaa—!” and then tiny footsteps. Unsteady only in the way toddlers still ran like their bodies slightly outran their balance.

Then she appeared.

Little Aera.

Little Choi Aera.

Hair wild from sleep, one side flattened, the other sticking out because she had clearly turned half the night. Pink pajamas wrinkled. Bare feet pattering against the floor. One hand rubbing her eye. The other clutching the ear of her stuffed rabbit by force rather than affection.

And the second she saw him arms lifted immediately. Without hesitation, without acknowledging you first because priorities remained offensively clear.

“Appa.” this one softer now

Seungcheol did not even pretend resistance. He put the whisk down immediately and bent to lift her, one smooth practiced motion like he had done this thousands of times which he had.

She landed against him automatically, head finding his shoulder like instinct.

Still half asleep. Still warm from bed and the second she settled there, one tiny hand patted his cheek as if confirming possession.

You leaned against the counter watching “Good morning to me too, apparently.”

Aera lifted her face just enough to look at you then smiled, tiny and mischievous already.

“Eomma.”

You narrowed your eyes “Oh, now I exist.”

“She’s strategic,” Seungcheol said, already rubbing her back lightly

Aera’s attention returned fully to him. Hair in his face now because she tucked closer.

And then with complete seriousness “Appa carry.”

He looked down at her, amused “I’m already carrying you.”

She considered that. Accepted it then pointed toward the stove.

“Egg.”

“You want egg?” A nod

“No green.”

You laughed immediately because yesterday’s spinach incident had apparently left scars.

“She remembers everything inconvenient.”

Aera ignored you both and simply stayed attached to him, one arm looped around his neck now while she blinked herself more awake.

And watching her there, small face still soft with babyhood despite how much toddler had arrived, it hit again, the quiet impossibility of time.

Because this was the same baby wrapped once in pink with a ribbon bigger than her head. The same tiny fist that curled around his finger before she understood anything.

The same little girl he had once whispered to:

Grow well.

And she had. God, she had.

She grew loud. Bright. Curious. Possessive over crayons. Demanding bedtime stories twice. Laughing with your eyes. Sulking with his mouth.

And somehow despite that night he once whispered love your mother first—this little girl had chosen her own order very early.

Because her first word had not been eomma. Not milk. Not ball.

It had been Appa.

Clear. Certain. Repeated endlessly ever since.

As if she had decided on her own that the man who once asked permission to deserve the title would simply have to accept he already belonged there.

Aera suddenly lifted her head again. One small palm on his cheek.

“Appa.”

“What?”

She whispered with deep toddler importance “Dream monster.”

You blinked “Oh no.”

Seungcheol instantly serious, because dream monsters were legal matters in this household.

“Still there?”

Aera nodded solemnly.

He looked toward the hallway like he might personally investigate.

“I’ll talk to it later.”

Satisfied, she leaned back down immediately. Problem solved.

You watched him kiss her hair absentmindedly while reaching one-handed to lower the stove heat.

So natural now. So far from the careful uncertainty of that hospital night.

And for a second you remembered his voice then. ‘One day, when you think I deserve it, I can be your appa.’

Meanwhile now your daughter refused breakfast unless he sat beside her. Demanded his shirt when upset. Called his name before fully opening her eyes.

And wore his acceptance of fatherhood like it had never once been in question.

Aera suddenly spotted the strawberries.

“Mine.”

You pointed at the chair “Sit first.”

“No.”

“Sit first.”

She turned to Seungcheol instantly, because appeals court existed.

“Appa.”

He tried not to laugh “Sit first.”

Her tiny face shifted into offended disbelief at united parenting then reluctantly he lowered her into the boosted chair.

She crossed her arms dramatically.

Miniature outrage. Exactly like him, unfortunately.

You slid her plate over.

She stared at it then announced “No green.”

“No green,” you repeated patiently, because yes, this would be today’s law again.

Seungcheol sat beside her, handing the tiny spoon over.

And Aera—still suspicious—finally accepted breakfast because her hand stayed touching his sleeve while eating. The way children touched people they trusted most without realizing they were doing it.

And across the table, you looked at them both. Your husband who once asked for permission to be called father, and little Choi Aera who had answered long ago by never calling him anything else. 

And there you thought quietly, she had grown exactly as asked. Well loved, well held, and entirely certain where home was.

=

It happened on a day so ordinary it almost felt insulting afterward.

Late afternoon sunlight.

Aera in one of her little cotton dresses, shoes already dirty because she had decided the sandbox and grass and pavement all deserved equal attention.

The park crowded enough to feel lively. Parents talking, strollers passing, children shrieking somewhere near the swings.

One of those normal days you had come to love because normal had once felt impossible.

Aera was a few steps away near the little climbing structure, fully focused on carrying three leaves and one pebble like they were priceless treasure.

Seungcheol had gone to the kiosk by the path because Aera had demanded juice and then changed her mind twice before he left.

You stayed near the bench, eyes always on her even while half distracted by your phone.

Then someone stopped in front of you.

At first, it was only a shadow then a voice you had not heard in years.

Your name.

Everything in your body tightened before your mind fully caught up.

You looked up.

And there he was.

Older. Slightly rougher around the face. Still carrying that same expression that once made excuses sound convincing until it no longer did.

Your ex.

The man who had disappeared when consequences became real.

The man who had known about the pregnancy, the man who had known exactly what he was walking away from.

And still walked.

For one second your throat closed.

Not fear. Not anymore.

Just disgust sharp enough to feel physical.

His eyes shifted immediately past you… to Aera.

And that alone made something cold move through your spine, the way he looked at her was not earned. Not after years. Not after absence.

“She’s…” He almost smiled like he had some right to recognition

“She’s mine, isn’t she?”

The sentence barely finished because another body stepped between you before you even stood, fast enough that you almost startled.

Seungcheol.

He must have seen him from the path. Juice still in one hand, the other already free. His whole body placed squarely in front of you before any thought even finished forming.

Protective in the most immediate, instinctive way.

When he spoke, his voice came low and flat enough that even you felt the warning in it.

“Leave.” Sharp enough that it landed harder than shouting.

Your ex looked irritated immediately like he believs old entitlement would work

“I’m talking to—” “Leave.”

Still frighteningly calm. And that calm was exactly what meant danger because Seungcheol angry rarely looked explosive at first.

It looked quiet.

Your ex looked past him toward Aera again and that was the mistake.

“That’s my d—”

“My daughter.” Seungcheol cut him off so cleanly the words barely survived

Not louder just absolute. He stepped half a fraction closer, enough that the distance vanished.

“Mine.”

Your ex opened his mouth again, offended now.

Biology ready on his tongue like a weapon he thought still mattered.

But Seungcheol did not let him reach it

“She was never yours.”

Each word landed colder now.

“The moment you cheated on her mother. The moment you walked away.”

Still not raising his voice and somehow harsher because of it.

“You do not get to disappear for years and suddenly show up because you saw a child in a park.”

The juice box in his hand crinkled slightly under pressure

“You don’t deserve shit”

Your ex gave a humorless laugh, defensive now “You can’t erase what she is”

“No,” Seungcheol said “But I can make sure she never knows disappointment wearing your face”

That sentence made even your breathing pause. The exact line between anger and promise.

And your ex heard it too and the arrogance thinned.

Still, tension climbed another step, and that was when you moved.

Not because Seungcheol was wrong or not because you disagreed but because Aera was ten feet away laughing to herself over a leaf crown and did not deserve this atmosphere attaching itself to her afternoon.

You touched Seungcheol’s arm.

“Cheol”

He did not move immediately.

You squeezed once more this time softer.

“Aera.” That worked.

Always her.

His eyes shifted instantly toward your daughter. Still oblivious. Still innocent in the way only children could be while adults dragged old damage into open air.

His shoulders stayed tight another second then loosened just enough.

Your ex noticed so he tried again “You never even told me—”

“I didn’t owe you anything.” this time you answered. Your own voice surprised even you.

No apology.

“You made your choice before she was even born”

He looked at you as if expecting softness that no longer existed.

“She should know who—”

“She knows exactly who her father is.”

You did not need to look at Seungcheol when you said it.

Because the truth stood beside you already.

Visible. Proven.

At scraped knees. At midnight fevers.At first words. At hospital beds.

Your ex’s mouth tightened.

Then a tiny voice cut through all of it.

“Appa!” Aera running now. Tiny shoes hitting pavement fast, straight toward Seungcheol.

No hesitation. No uncertainty. No confusion about where safety lived.

He bent automatically before she even reached him. Lifted her one-handed when she collided into his legs. She wrapped both arms around his neck instantly.

Still smiling “Juice?”

He took one breath.

By the time he answered her, his voice had completely changed. Warm again.

“Here, princess”

She noticed another person then, looked over his shoulder curiously at the stranger.

No recognition. Of course none.

Then she buried her face against Seungcheol’s shoulder instead. Choosing disinterest. Choosing home.

Your ex watched that and maybe for the first time understood there was nothing here available to reclaim.

No gap.

No vacancy.

No place where his absence had left room waiting.

Because another man had filled every inch of fatherhood so completely that even blood had become irrelevant.

Seungcheol adjusted Aera higher against him.

Then looked at him once more.

Final now.

“You heard her.”

A pause.

“Leave before she remembers your face.”

And that was what ended it because there was nothing left to argue against after that. Not when the child in question already had her arms around the man who had stayed.

Your ex lingered one second too long.

Then stepped back.

Turned.

Walked away.

No apology.

No redemption.

Just departure which suited him, really.

Aera lifted her head the second he disappeared.

Completely unconcerned.

“Juice now.”

You almost laughed from the absurd whiplash of it. Seungcheol finally exhaled properly.

You touched his wrist lightly.

“I’m okay”

Aera meanwhile had already taken the straw out herself badly and announced

“Appa mad?”

He blinked once then kissed her forehead.

“No.”

Tiny suspicious eyes “Little mad”

That made you laugh despite everything. And finally even he gave in, a short breath of laughter against her hair

“Little”

Then she nodded like that was acceptable, took her juice, and leaned against his shoulder again, entirely certain the world remained exactly as it should.

And whatever tension adults carried fading outside the borders of her small safe afternoon.

The tension didn’t disappear immediately.

It lingered the way difficult things always did. You could still feel it in the way Seungcheol sat a little too still when you returned to the bench.

But Aera, entirely untouched by adult history, climbed into his lap like the world had never shifted at all.

Juice box first. Then herself. One tiny knee planted on the bench.

Then a determined little wiggle until she settled sideways against his chest, perfectly comfortable. She tucked herself there automatically, like she had done it a thousand times.

Because she had.

Her straw between her lips. Juice held with both hands for exactly three seconds before one hand abandoned it to find him.

Always him. 

Tiny fingers reaching without looking until they caught one of his. Then that familiar habit, her whole fist wrapping around a single finger of his like she genuinely believed that was enough to anchor him permanently in place.

Her tiny hand absurdly small against his.

She had done that since she was small enough to fit against one forearm.

Even now, older, heavier, taller still the same instinct. When she sat on his lap. When she got sleepy. When they sat in the car.

One hand always finding his finger.

Holding him there.

Seungcheol looked down at her hand too.

And you saw it happen that exact second his anger finally broke.

Melted cleanly.

Because she looked up right then, cheeks round from the straw still in her mouth, and pointed dramatically toward the path.

“Appa, see dog” A tiny white dog trotted past

He followed her gaze obediently

“I see.”

Another sip then instantly

“Appa look flower.” A crooked yellow flower near the bench

“I see that too”

Then she leaned back against him harder, still holding his finger hostage

“Appa hug”

She said it casually this time, not even asking just declaring what should happen. And immediately his free arm tightened around her middle, pulling her closer until her back rested fully against his chest.

You watched the transformation happen in real time.

The same man who minutes ago had looked capable of frightening grown men into silence now sat entirely dismantled by a child clutching one finger and narrating flowers and dogs.

“Appa.”

“What?”

She held up her juice proudly “Mine.”

“Clearly.”

You sat beside them watching quietly, and something inside your chest settled too.

In Aera’s world there had never been confusion, no complicated definitions, no bloodline questions. no late arrivals from old mistakes.

In her language, father had always sounded like one name.

One face. One lap. One hand big enough for her entire fist.

Every sentence began there naturally.

Appa this. Appa that. Appa look. Appa come. Appa hug.

As though no other possibility had ever existed. And truly for her, it hadn’t.

The man from earlier had been a stranger in the park and nothing more. 

Because love repeated daily becomes identity stronger than biology ever can.

And Seungcheol had repeated it every day until it became the most natural fact in her life.

=

Ever since that day—and truthfully, long before it—Seungcheol had become something you sometimes still struggled to explain properly because the word partner often felt too small for what he actually was.

He had become the person your life leaned toward naturally. In ways that only became obvious when you looked back and realized how much of daily life now rested on the quiet certainty of him being there.

Yes, he was a remarkable father to Aera. That much everyone saw easily.

The patience. The consistency.

The way he remembered tiny preferences no one else noticed.

How she only liked strawberries sliced a certain way, how she wanted the blue cup in the morning but forgot by lunch, how bedtime stories had to include unnecessary voices or she would protest.

The way he never treated care as help, but simply responsibility that belonged to him too.

Forms signed before you remembered they existed, medicine stocked before bottles emptied, tiny socks folded because apparently he believed there was a correct way to fold socks small enough to fit in one hand.

And more than that, the way he never once behaved as though fatherhood had been borrowed.

There was nothing performative in it.

Nothing temporary.

Just complete belonging.

But somehow, even while being all that for Aera, he had also become the place your own tiredness went first.

Your constant support in ways you had not realized you once lacked until you had it every day.

The person who noticed before you admitted exhaustion.

Someone who knew when your silence meant overstimulation and when it meant sadness, someone who handed you water before headaches started, and someone who learned exactly how your face changed when your patience ran thin and quietly took over before you had to ask.

Years together had not dulled that attentiveness.

If anything, it had sharpened.

Like tonight.

Aera finally asleep after an unnecessarily dramatic bedtime involving two stories, one rejected blanket, one accepted blanket, and a final debate over whether stuffed rabbits required water.

The apartment quiet now.

The day long enough that both of you carried that particular adult fatigue where conversation slowed. You stood in the kitchen rinsing the last cup.

Hair tied carelessly.

One of his shirts on because at some point your own clothes had become mixed so deeply with his that ownership stopped mattering.

And without warning warm hands settled at your waist from behind.

Close enough that his chest touched your back. His chin briefly resting near your shoulder.

“You missed one” His voice low, amused

You glanced downm, one spoon still in the sink

“I was getting there”

“Clearly”

He reached around you, turned off the tap, then stayed there anyway.

His hands stayed where they were. Warm. The kind of touch years never made ordinary.

You leaned back into him automatically.

Then, as naturally as breathing, he pressed a kiss just behind your ear. One that lingered just enough to make heat climb your neck anyway.

Even now. After years.

After hospital nights and grocery lists and shared bills and school schedules and arguments over whose turn it was to buy detergent.

Somehow simple affection still caught you off guard.

You exhaled quietly

“That still works?” His mouth curved against your skin.

“You tell me”

Another kiss this one lower. Near your neck. And ridiculous as it felt, you could already feel yourself blushing which he noticed immediately because of course he did.

A soft laugh “Years later and still.”

“Stop sounding proud”

“I am proud”

He turned you gently then until your back rested against the counter and he stood between your knees.

The same ease of someone who had always believed this space beside you belonged naturally to him.

Like a habit formed by love and time. And the truth was that space had become his.

Not because he claimed it.

His thumb brushed your cheek once.

“You’re tired.”

“So are you.”

“Mm.”

Then another kiss. This one properly yours. The kind reserved only for late nights after ordinary days.

When he pulled back, only slightly, you stayed close enough to feel his breath.

“You know,” you murmured, “you’ve ruined men for me permanently”

That earned a quiet grin “A little late to compare now”

“I’m serious”

“I know” Because he did know.

You had told him before in different words.

That he had raised your standards so high they now existed somewhere unreasonable.

That after him, love no longer looked like grand effort but steady presence.

That after him, affection meant someone who noticed.

Someone who stayed. Someone who kissed your forehead while reheating leftovers. Someone who knew exactly when to say nothing and simply stand near.

His hand slipped lower again, settling at your waist

“And yet,” he said softly, “you still blush like I’m doing something impressive”

“You say that like you’re not fully aware what you’re doing”

“I am”

That honesty made you laugh.

Of course he was aware.

He had learned exactly how to undo you in the smallest ways.

A kiss to the temple while passing by. A hand at your lower back in crowded rooms.

The way he always sat close enough that knees touched if space allowed.

How every shared couch somehow ended with your legs across him.

And always those kisses reserved differently when Aera was asleep, gentler, quieter, deliberate in a way that reminded you beneath parenthood and routines, he still saw you first too.

From the hallway came a tiny sleepy voice

“Appaaaa…”

Both of you froze then immediately laughed.

He kissed you once more quickly before stepping back.

Duty calling.

But not before murmuring against your mouth

“Save my spot”

Like there had ever been doubt. Like the place beside you had not already belonged there for years.

Claiming the place that was only ever his.

[scarletwinterxx]

backburner - choi seungcheol imagine part one

hello~ this was supposed to be only one part but i cannnnooot make it fit into one post without deleting too many scenes so i hope y'all don't mind it's by parts again😭 i tried but i didn't want to sacrifice the plot for the sake of making it shorter.

also a quick explanation why it's called backburner. it came to me while i was editing it, OC isn't the backburner.... cheol is. in a way he's fine being not her first choice, he didn't mind loving her in silence if it meant keeping her🥺 i hope it will make sense when you read this. enjoy🤍

PART TWO HERE

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All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2026 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pic not mine, credits to rightful owner)

The door clicked shut behind him with the familiar sound of keys against metal, followed by the quiet thud of shoes being pushed aside near the entrance.

“Hey,” Seungcheol called automatically, voice warm, already shrugging off his jacket as he stepped inside your apartment

“I brought—” he stopped. No answer.

Usually, even on your worst days, you answered him somehow, sometimes half asleep from the couch, wrapped in a blanket, or from the kitchen telling him to come in but tonight the apartment was dim, silent except for one thing.

A sharp, painful sound from deeper inside. Then another. He froze for half a second before recognizing it.

Vomiting.

His expression changed immediately “...Shit.”

The grocery bag in his hand hit the counter almost carelessly before he moved fast down the short hallway, guided by the sound until he reached the bathroom door half-open.

You were kneeling on the floor. One hand gripping the toilet seat, the other braced weakly against the tiles, shoulders trembling as another wave hit you hard enough that your whole body folded forward.

Seungcheol was beside you in an instant. One hand gathered your hair away from your face, the other pressed flat between your shoulder blades, rubbing slowly, steadily.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he said quietly, voice lower now, softer, the kind of voice he only used when he knew you were hanging by a thread “I’m here.”

You didn’t answer because you couldn’t.

Another dry heave wracked through you, harsher this time, leaving almost nothing but pain behind. By the time it eased, tears had collected at the corners of your eyes—not from crying, just exhaustion, the strain of it all.

You stayed there breathing hard, forehead nearly touching the toilet seat.

Seungcheol didn’t move his hand.

He just kept rubbing slow circles into your back.

“When was the last time you kept anything down?” he asked after a moment

Your answer came weak “Half a cracker”

He looked at you “Today?”

You gave the tiniest nod. It had been like this for days now. Ever since the nausea had fully hit, mornings were bad, afternoons were worse, and nights somehow became unbearable.

At nine weeks, your body had decided mercy wasn’t part of the plan. And because life apparently wasn’t cruel enough, you were doing it while nursing a heartbreak that still sat fresh under your skin.

The ex-boyfriend who got you pregnant had left more damage behind than just betrayal.

You had found out about the cheating first. The girl from work. Messages. Pictures. Late nights that suddenly made sense. Promises that turned into excuses.

Then the breakup.

Then weeks later, two pink lines you had stared at in silence until your hands shook so badly you nearly dropped the test.

You hadn’t even told many people. Just Seungcheol. And once he knew, he simply… stayed.

Every day after work. Every grocery run.Every doctor appointment. Every time you insisted you were fine and clearly weren’t.

Now he crouched beside you in his office clothes, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, looking like he belonged nowhere near a bathroom floor and yet acting like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

He reached for the cup near the sink, filled it with water, and brought it to your lips.

“Rinse first”

You obeyed because arguing took too much strength. Afterward, he helped you sit back against the wall.

Your skin looked pale. His brows drew together as he pressed the back of his hand lightly to your forehead.

“You’re freezing”

“I’m fine”

“You say that every day”

“I mean it differently every day”

That actually pulled the smallest breath of a laugh from him then his face softened again.

“You should’ve called me earlier”

“You were working”

“And?”

You didn’t answer because there was no answer he would accept.

Seungcheol leaned his shoulder against the wall beside you, still close enough that if another wave came, he’d catch you before you fell forward again.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then you whispered, voice rough, “I hate this.”

Not the pregnancy, not exactly. The helplessness. The nausea. The loneliness that sometimes hits harder than the sickness itself.

“I know”

“I throw up and then I cry because I’m hungry, then I try eating and throw up again.”

He nodded like this was a serious medical report “Terrible system”

“Very bad design”

“We should file a complaint” that made you smile faintly despite yourself.

A weak thing, but real. Seungcheol noticed because his own expression softened immediately, relief flickering there like he had been waiting for even that much.

Then your face changed again. Another wave. He reacted before you even bent forward, hair already gathered, hand steady on your back while your body tensed again.

This one lasted longer. When it ended, you were shaking.

“Okay,” he said firmly, decision already made “No more bathroom floor”

“I live here now”

“Not tonight”

Before you could protest, he stood, reached down, and slid one arm behind your back, the other under your knees.

“Seungcheol—” He lifted you easily, you barely had strength to resist anyway

“I can walk”

“You nearly tipped sideways five seconds ago”

“I had balance”

“You were hugging a toilet”

“That counts”

He laid you gently onto the couch, arranged the blanket over you, then disappeared into the kitchen. You heard cabinets opening, the sound of something being unwrapped. He returned with ginger tea, plain crackers, and that same look he’d been wearing more and more lately.

Concern sharpened into quiet determination.

“Tiny sip,” he instructed

You obeyed because again, arguing required energy you did not possess. He waited while you drank then handed you half a cracker.

“Slow”

You took a bite. After a minute, he exhaled quietly. You leaned back, exhausted. He sat beside you but not too close, giving you space while still staying within reach.

Your voice came small after a while “You don’t have to keep doing this every day”

He didn’t even look at you when he answered

“Yes, I do”

“No, you don’t”

That made him finally turn. His eyes held yours steadily.

“Yes,” he repeated, gentler now, “I do.”

Because underneath all his calm, there was something else there. Something he never forced into words.

Not now. Maybe not yet.

But it existed in every grocery bag he brought, every pharmacy receipt tucked into his wallet, every hour spent sitting beside your bathroom floor after work like it was the most natural place in the world for him to be.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured

“For what?”

“For being… like this.”

That answer made his expression harden.

“You’re growing a whole person while surviving heartbreak and barely sleeping. You’re allowed to throw up and be miserable.”

A tear slipped before you could stop it. You wiped it quickly but he had already seen. And because Seungcheol had always known exactly what to do when you were one breath away from breaking, he simply reached over and wiped the next tear before it fell.

“No apologizing tonight” he said quietly

You swallowed hard then another whisper “I didn’t think it would feel this lonely”

That finally cracked something in his face, because that, more than anything, was what he hated. How you kept carrying pain like it belonged only to you.

His voice lowered, “You’re not alone”

Simple. Certain. No hesitation. The kind of promise that sounded dangerous only because he meant it completely.

And sitting there, wrapped in a blanket, stomach unsettled, body exhausted, heart still bruised—you believed him.

Because every day since everything fell apart, he had shown up. Without fail. Without complaint. Without asking for anything back.

=

The office was loud in the usual end-of-day way—keyboards clacking, muted conversations near the glass meeting room, someone laughing too hard at something near the pantry.

Seungcheol barely noticed any of it.   His attention stayed fixed on the phone lying beside his keyboard. Screen dark. No new message.

He tapped it awake for what had to be the fifth time in ten minutes.

Still nothing from you.

His brows pulled together. You had texted earlier that morning that you needed to go out for a few hours—something about work paperwork you couldn’t delay anymore and he had replied immediately

Cheol: Text me when you get there. Text me when you leave. Call if you feel sick.

You had sent a thumbs up but that had been hours ago. He checked the time again. Then your chat.

Then the time again.

“Still playing baby daddy?” The voice came from his left. Lazy. Amused. Entirely too entertained. Seungcheol didn’t even need to look up to know who it was.

Wonwoo leaned one shoulder against the divider of his desk, coffee in hand, glasses low on his nose, wearing the exact expression of a man arriving solely to be annoying.

Seungcheol finally lifted his eyes. The glare he gave him was immediate.

Wonwoo looked delighted by it “That look means yes”

“It means leave”

“But if I leave, who’s going to listen to you pretend you’re not one text away from driving across the city because she hasn’t replied in two hours?”

Seungcheol glanced down at his phone again before he could stop himself and Wonwoo caught it instantly smirking wider.

Wonwoo took a slow sip of coffee “You know, from an outside perspective, this is fascinating”

Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, jaw tight “Do you have work?”

“Yes. But this is more interesting”

His thumb hovered near your contact before locking the screen again and Wonwoo watched the whole thing like a nature documentary.

“There it is again,” he murmured “That face”

“What face”

“The one where you look like you’re calculating whether calling her would be supportive or overbearing”

Seungcheol finally looked up “Why are you here?”

Wonwoo ignored that “You’ve been doing this every day for weeks now”

“She’s sick”

“She’s pregnant,” Wonwoo corrected mildly “And you are acting like an expectant husband in a medical drama”

“She lives alone”

“And?”

“And she needs help”

Wonwoo gave him a long look then deliberately sat on the edge of the desk

“You know what I enjoy most?”

“I’m not interested.”

“The fact that after all these years, you still think nobody can tell.”

Wonwoo had watched the entire thing happen in slow motion. Watched Seungcheol fall quietly and permanently long before anyone said it aloud. Watched him keep it to himself because timing never lined up, because friendship mattered more, because you smiled at someone else first.

And then you dated someone else. Seungcheol had stepped back exactly the way he should have.

No crossing lines. Just distance. Respectful.

Even when Wonwoo knew every time your name came up, something changed in Seungcheol’s face. Then the breakup happened. The cheating. The office girl. And Wonwoo also still remembered that night clearly because he had been there when Seungcheol found out.

The way Seungcheol stood so suddenly his chair nearly hit the floor. The look on his face that had made Wonwoo genuinely wonder whether he needed to physically stop him from doing something illegal.

“I’m going to kill him.” Direct. Calm. Which somehow sounded worse.

Wonwoo grabbed his sleeve immediately and said, “Prison is inconvenient”

“He cheated on her.”

“Yes, and murder remains dramatic”

“He cheated on her” Seungcheol repeated, voice lower, angrier.

Wonwoo had almost believed he would actually do it.

“You know,” he said lightly, “if someone didn’t know better, they’d think you’ve been waiting for this your whole life”

Seungcheol’s jaw flexed, “Be careful”

“See? Threatening. Very paternal.”

Another glare. Wonwoo smiled behind his coffee cup. Then his gaze dropped when Seungcheol’s phone lit up.

Seungcheol snatched it up. Wonwoo laughed under his breath because of course he did.

You: Sorry. Threw up in the clinic bathroom. Phone was in my bag. I’m okay now. Going home soon.

The tightness in Seungcheol’s shoulders eased but only slightly.

His fingers were already typing

Cheol: Clinic? Why clinic? Are you alone? Did you eat? Send location. I’m coming.

Wonwoo leaned enough to catch the edge of the screen then sighed dramatically.

Seungcheol stood, already grabbing his jacket.

“You’re leaving?”

“She’s at a clinic.”

“She said she’s okay.”

“She threw up in public.”

Wonwoo spread his hands “Right. Obviously life-threatening”

Seungcheol shoved his phone into his pocket “Do your work”

Wonwoo watched him move around the desk. Then added, because he truly could not resist, “If she ever realizes you’ve loved her since forever, I expect front-row seats.”

Just enough that Wonwoo caught the warning in his face. But also the truth.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, voice less teasing now, “I think she already trusts you more than anyone.”

Then his phone buzzed again. Your location. And another message

You: Don’t panic. I’m just tired.

Too late. He was already walking.

“Tell HR I left.”

Wonwoo called after him, grin returning “Should I also tell them parental leave is approaching?”

This time Seungcheol didn’t even bother answering.

Just lifted one hand without looking back—half warning, half dismissal—while already dialing your number the second he reached the elevator 

By the time Seungcheol reached the clinic, the evening traffic of Seoul had already thickened into slow-moving lines of headlights and brake lights stretching along the road.

He barely noticed any of it. The moment he turned into the curbside lane, his eyes found you immediately.

Sitting alone on a bench just outside the clinic entrance. One hand resting near your stomach without thinking, shoulders slightly hunched, looking tired in the way that had become too familiar lately—like your body was spending energy faster than you could recover it.

The second he saw you, he parked badly enough that another driver honked.

He ignored it, already crossing toward you.

Your head lifted at the sound of hurried footsteps, and before you could even greet him, he was standing there, brows drawn tight, scanning your face like he expected to find evidence you hadn’t mentioned.

“Why are you sitting outside?” he asked immediately

You blinked up at him “Because I was waiting.”

“You could’ve waited inside.”

“I wanted air”

“You threw up again?”

“A little”

“A little,” he repeated flatly, like the phrase personally offended him. You almost smiled.

He crouched just enough to meet your eyes properly “Are you dizzy?”

“No.”

“Headache?” “No.”

“Can you stand?”

That one made you laugh softly, tired but real “Yes, Seungcheol.”

Still, he took your bag before you could reach for it, then offered his hand like he didn’t fully trust your answer. And because arguing with him in this mood never worked, you let him help you up.

The walk to the car was slow. Not because you couldn’t manage, but because he kept adjusting his pace to yours so precisely it was impossible not to notice. At the passenger side, he opened the door first. Waited until you sat. Then leaned in, buckled your seatbelt himself, checking that it sat comfortably before closing the door gently.

By the time he got into the driver’s seat, you were already watching him with that quiet look that always made him pretend not to notice.

He started the engine. Only pulled away once he was sure you were settled.

For a few minutes, the car filled with soft heater air and city lights sliding past the windows.

Then he glanced at you.

“So.”

You leaned your head lightly against the seat “So?”

“What did the doctor say?”

You exhaled slowly “That apparently I’m dramatic”

He looked over immediately “She said that?”

“No,” you said, deadpan. “She said what I think is excessive nausea is apparently normal.”

His mouth tightened “Throwing up all day is normal?”

“Unfortunately, yes”

“That seems poorly designed”

“I told you.”

“What else?”

You looked out the window for a second, replaying the appointment

“I told her I can barely keep food down some days. She said small meals, bland food, ginger, rest… and she said if it gets worse, I might need fluids.”

“You didn’t tell me that part in the text.”

“Because I’m not at the fluids part”

“You still should’ve said it”

You looked at him sideways “You were already panicking.”

“I was not panicking”

“You left work in ten minutes”

“That’s efficiency”

That got the faintest smile from you.Traffic slowed at a light. He used the pause to glance over again.

“What else did you do today?”

“Two client meetings”

“You went to both?”

“I’m still employed”

“You looked exhausted yesterday”

“I looked exhausted because your tea tastes like boiled sadness”

He finally made a quiet sound that almost counted as laughter.

“It kept your crackers down.”

“Barely.”

You continued, voice softer now, tired enough that words came slower.

“First meeting was okay. Second one I almost had to excuse myself because someone opened tuna kimbap in the room.”

His face changed immediately. “You almost threw up there?”

“I survived.”

“That is not surviving.”

“I survived enough.”

Another pause. Then you added, almost absentmindedly, gaze still out the window:

“On the way here I passed a street cart.”

“Hm?”

“The egg bread one.”

He glanced at you, you were still looking outside.

“It smelled so good,” you murmured, almost to yourself. “I’ve been craving it for days.”

That finally made him turn his head slightly.

“Egg bread?”

You shrugged like it didn’t matter “The little ones from street vendors.”

“Why didn’t you buy some?”

You gave him a look “Because five minutes later I threw up in a clinic bathroom.”

A fair answer but he had already heard the important part.

Craving.

And unlike most people, Seungcheol treated any food you wanted lately like urgent medical information. Especially because wanting food and keeping food down were two very different things, and when your body asked for something specific, he paid attention.

He said nothing for the next minute. Just drove. Then suddenly signaled right. You noticed immediately.

“Why are we turning?” No answer.

“Seungcheol.” Still nothing.

“You’re not—”

He pulled over near a corner lined with evening vendors, warm lights glowing beneath small carts where steam rose into the cold air.

And there it was. The smell reached even the car. Fresh bread and egg.

He parked. Unbuckled.

“You cannot be serious.”

He already had one hand on the door.

“You wanted it.”

“That was not a request.”

“It sounded medically important.”

“It absolutely did not.”

But he was already out.

You watched through the windshield as he crossed toward the cart without hesitation, speaking briefly with the vendor, hands in his coat pocket while waiting.

Streetlight caught against his profile. Hair slightly messy from rushing out of work. The kind of scene that should not have made your chest tighten the way it did.

But lately everything he did landed somewhere you were trying very hard not to examine too closely.

Because there was something dangerous about kindness when you were already fragile.

And Seungcheol had been too kind for too long.

A few minutes later he came back carrying a warm paper bag.

The smell filled the car instantly the second he opened the door. He handed it over carefully.

“Small bites first"

You looked at the bag, then at him “You really stopped"

“You wanted it"

“I mentioned it”

“You mentioned it twice”

“I did not”

“You did in your head loud enough” Despite yourself, you smiled.

A real one this time. Small, but enough that something in his face softened immediately, almost unconsciously.

You took one careful bite, for the first time all day, your expression changed into something close to relief.

He noticed instantly “Well?”

You chewed slowly “It’s good.”

“Stay there,” he said immediately, eyes still on you like he expected a sudden reaction. “Don’t eat fast.”

You laughed softly through the second bite.

He finally started driving again, slower now, one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift while occasionally glancing over to make sure you were still okay.

=

By week eleven, the nausea had not disappeared but it had changed shape. Less violent some days, more unpredictable on others.

One morning you could keep toast down. That same afternoon the smell of rice nearly sent you running to the sink.

And the cravings. those had become something else entirely.

At first they came quietly. A specific food sounding nice. Something easy enough to ignore. But lately, they arrived like full emotional emergencies. Ridiculous in how urgent they felt.

And tonight was worse because it had started small—just a passing memory of roasted sweet potatoes from a street cart earlier that week.

The smell of caramelized sweetness in cold air. Soft steam rising when broken apart. Then your brain had decided that was now the only thing in the world that mattered.

By eleven-thirty, you were still trying to reason with yourself.

You drank water, ate half a cracker. You told yourself normal people did not call someone near midnight because of sweet potatoes.

By eleven-fifty, your eyes were burning.

By eleven-fifty-six, you were sitting cross-legged on your bed staring at your phone like it had personally offended you.

This was absurd. He had already come by earlier.

And now here you were.

Hovering over his name. Your rational mind said wait until morning, the craving said absolutely not.

Your thumb pressed call before dignity could intervene.

The ring barely lasted long enough for regret to settle. He answered immediately.

“Hey.” His voice came low, rougher than usual, like he had been lying down but not asleep yet.

And immediately sharper after half a beat 

“What happened?”

Because you never called this late not unless something was wrong.

You opened your mouth but nothing came out at first because suddenly saying it aloud felt embarrassingly childish.

He waited exactly one second “Are you sick?”

“No.”

“Did you throw up?”

“No.”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

“Are you crying?”

That made you blink because your voice had betrayed you that fast.

“No.”

A pause.

“That sounded suspicious.”

You covered your face with one hand “This is stupid.”

“Okay,” he said, already sounding like he was sitting up “Tell me the stupid thing.”

You almost hung up, like actually considered it but the craving had already won and apparently pregnancy removed all remaining pride.

“I want roasted sweet potatoes.”

For a moment it was just silent, then he speaks again

“What?”

Your eyes squeezed shut “I want roasted sweet potatoes.”

Another silence but thhis one shorter “Right now?”

Your voice dropped into a miserable mumble.

“Yes.”

“It’s midnight.”

“I know.”

“You called me because of sweet potatoes.”

The shame deepened “Yes.”

Then the worst possible thing happened. He laughed. Not mocking. Just sudden, warm laughter he clearly failed to stop in time.

Your offended voice came immediately “Don’t laugh.”

“I’m trying not to.”

“You are laughing.”

“I’m failing.”

“You’re horrible.”

That only made him laugh quieter, softer, like he was smiling now and somehow that made it worse because now you were genuinely close to tears again.

“Forget it,” you muttered. “Go back to sleep.”

That changed his tone instantly “Hey.”

You stayed quiet. He heard the shift anyway and when he spoke again, his voice softened.

“You’re really upset.”

“It’s hormones,” you said, hating how fragile that sounded. “And I can’t stop thinking about it.”

A pause.

“I tried not to call.”

That did something to him, enough that the smile left his voice completely. Because he could picture it too easily, you alone in your apartment, trying to be reasonable while your body and emotions ignored reason entirely.

He looked at the clock beside his bed.

11:58 PM. Weekend. No meetings tomorrow.

Decision made instantly.

“Stay there.”

You frowned “What?”

“I’m coming.”

“No.”

“I’m already getting up.”

“Seungcheol, no, that’s insane.”

“You called me at midnight sounding like you might cry over a sweet potato.”

You heard movement already.

“Do you know how many street vendors are still open right now?” you asked weakly

“I’m about to find out.”

“You should sleep.”

“You should stop sounding like this over root vegetables.”

You made a noise halfway between protest and embarrassment but he ignored it.

“Unlock your door.”

“Cheol—”

“Unlock it.”

The first thing Seungcheol realized after getting into the car was that midnight in Seoul made cravings significantly harder to solve than cravings at six in the evening.

The second thing he realized was that you had sounded genuinely close to tears over roasted sweet potatoes which meant turning around and going back to bed had never been an option.

The roads were quieter than usual, city lights stretched long against the windshield, convenience stores glowing at corners while most street vendors had already disappeared for the night.

His phone sat mounted near the dashboard, screen still lit from your last message:

You: Drive safe. If you can’t find any, it’s okay.

He had not answered because he already knew that if he texted back, you would tell him to forget it and he was not forgetting it.

Not after the way your voice cracked around I tried not to call.

His fingers tapped once against the steering wheel while he slowed near another corner where a vendor usually parked during colder nights.

Empty so he kept driving. Another block and still nothing. A third turn near the station, still nothing except closed shutters and a delivery scooter disappearing down an alley.

He exhaled through his nose.

This was ridiculous.

Entirely ridiculous.

And yet he was still scanning every side street like finding one specific roasted sweet potato cart determined the outcome of the night because if there was one thing he had learned these past weeks, it was that pregnancy ignored dignity, schedules, and logic equally.

One minute you were insisting you were fine the next minute egg bread became urgent enough to reroute traffic.

Tonight apparently sweet potatoes had won.

He checked the time.

12:11 AM.

Then finally, near the far side of the station entrance, he saw the faint orange glow of a small cart tucked beside a closed newspaper stand.

Steam rose under a yellow light.

A woman in a padded jacket sat behind it, peeling foil from freshly roasted sweet potatoes.

Relief hit harder than expected. He pulled over immediately. The cold hit the second he stepped out, but he barely noticed, already crossing toward the cart.

The woman looked up when he approached. Older, sharp-eyed, the kind who missed nothing.

“You’re lucky,” she said before he even spoke “I’m closing.”

“How many do you have left?”

She lifted the foil lid, revealing a few still warm inside “Enough if you’re quick.”

“I’ll take four.”

That earned him a glance “Four?”

He nodded “Big ones.”

She began wrapping them carefully, hands practiced and quick. At this hour the street was almost silent except for distant traffic and the soft crackle of heat from the cart.

Then she asked casually, like it was obvious conversation 

“Your wife sent you out this late?” the question landed without warning.

He should have corrected it immediately. Normally he would have. Instead, because his mind was still partly on you sitting alone at home trying not to cry over food, he answered without thinking.

“Craving.”

The woman looked up again, smile already forming.

“Ah.” One knowing sound “Pregnancy cravings?”

He hesitated only half a second then nodded once.

“...Yes.”

Her smile widened instantly, amused in that particular way older women often were when they believed they understood a story before you explained it.

“Aigo, then the wife won tonight.”

His hand paused halfway to his wallet. The wife.

Simple words. Ordinary. Harmless. And yet something about hearing it in relation to you landed strangely deep—so sudden that for a brief second he forgot to answer at all.

Because the image came too easily. Too naturally.

You at home in oversized sleep clothes, probably sitting on the couch waiting.

Half annoyed at yourself for calling. Half relieved he came. Your tired face lighting slightly the moment he handed you what you wanted.

And against all reason, the woman’s sentence fit that picture too neatly.

As if it had always been waiting somewhere in the background, dangerous only because he had spent years refusing to let his mind stay there too long.

He paid. The woman handed over the paper bag, sttill warm.

“First child?” she asked casually. 

The answer should have been complicated. Impossible, even.

But what came out was quieter than expected.

“...yes”

He bowed politely, took the bag, and turned back toward the car.

Cold air again. Warm paper in his hand. Inside the car, the smell of roasted sweet potato filled the space almost immediately.

He sat there for one second longer than necessary before starting the engine.

The woman’s words still annoyingly present.

The wife won tonight.

And worse, the fact that he had not corrected her, but not because explaining felt inconvenient, not because it was late.

But because for one selfish second, hearing it had felt... good.

Too good.

His fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel. He knew exactly where lines existed.

You were vulnerable. Pregnant. Recently hurt and he had spent years learning how to put what he felt in a locked place where it would never burden you.

That had not changed, would not change. 

=

By twelve weeks, Seungcheol had accepted two things as fact.

First: pregnancy cravings did not obey logic.

Second: once you wanted something, pretending you didn’t usually ended badly—for you, for your stomach, and for whatever fragile patience he still had left watching you suffer through it.

Which was exactly why, three days after the midnight sweet potato incident, he had stood in your kitchen with both arms crossed and told you in a tone so unnecessarily strict that you had nearly laughed in his face:

“If you want something, call me.”

You had leaned against the counter, chewing slowly on toast

“It was midnight.”

“I don’t care.”

“It was a sweet potato.”

“I still don’t care.”

“You looked personally offended.”

“I was.” That had earned a full laugh from you. When you laughed harder, he only narrowed his eyes.

“I mean it.”

“You’re making cravings sound like emergencies.”

“They become emergencies when you wait until you’re almost crying.”

That shut you up faster than expected.

Because unfortunately, he was right.

And Seungcheol, noticing your silence, softened only slightly.

“It’s better to see you eat than hear you throwing up all day.”

Simple sentence. Matter-of-fact.

So from then on, you tried. now and then, he’d get random messages that made absolutely no sense without context. Which was exactly why, during lunch with Wonwoo, his phone buzzing on the table immediately pulled his attention.

Wonwoo noticed because Seungcheol always looked first when your name appeared.

Your message was short:

You: Do grapes that taste like cotton candy actually exist or is that internet lying again.

You: Because if they exist I suddenly need them

Seungcheol stared for half a second then typed back without hesitation.

Cheol: They exist. I’ll stop by after lunch and bring some.

Send. Phone down. He reached for his water again like nothing happened.

Across from him, Wonwoo had watched the entire exchange with zero shame.

Then slowly put his chopsticks down “No.”

Seungcheol ignored him.

“No,” Wonwoo repeated, leaning back now, deeply entertained. “Absolutely not.”

“You didn’t even ask if she’s joking.”

“She’s not joking.”

“You answered in under five seconds.”

“She wants grapes.”

“Cotton candy grapes,” he said, “You’re really leaving lunch to hunt specialty fruit because she texted two lines.”

“I said after lunch.”

“That changes nothing.”

“It changes timing.”

Wonwoo gave him a long look Then, with complete seriousness:

“That kid is going to look like you.”

Seungcheol finally looked up. Flat stare.

“No.”

“Genetics be damned,” Wonwoo continued, fully committed now. “At this point the universe owes you resemblance.”

“That is not how biology works.”

“No, but emotional investment should count for something.”

Seungcheol went back to eating Which only encouraged him.

“Imagine the baby comes out with your glare.”

“Eat your lunch.”

“Or your stubbornness.”

“Wonwoo.”

“Tiny angry eyebrows.”

That finally pulled the smallest exhale through Seungcheol’s nose—the closest thing to amusement he would allow.

Later he dropped by the store quickly, getting 2 bags of grapes before going to your place. The moment you opened the door wearing that unmistakable expression. Slight scowl, tired eyes, brows drawn together like the day had personally offended you.

“You took long.” that was your greeting. Just immediate complaint but he only chuckled. 

Seungcheol held up the paper bag “You asked for specialty grapes.”

“You said after lunch.”

“It is after lunch.”

“You still took long.” But even while saying it, your eyes were already on the bag. And he knew that look now.

The exact moment irritation started losing against curiosity.

He stepped inside without comment, slipped off his shoes, and handed the bag over.

You took it immediately, opened it standing right there near the entryway. Plucked one grape, bit into it and right before his eyes, the entire mood changed.

A complete, absurd one-eighty.

The scowl vanished. Brows relaxed. Then came that small hum—soft, involuntary, pleased enough that it almost sounded like you forgot he was there.

He stared for half a second then laughed under his breath because honestly, there it was again—that strange little victory he kept collecting lately whenever food stayed down and made you smile instead of grimace.

By the time he finished washing his hands and stepped toward the living room, you were already curled into the couch with the bowl in your lap, eating one grape at a time like you had discovered treasure.

Another quiet hum.

He leaned one shoulder against the kitchen doorway, watching.

“It’s good?”

You looked up, cheeks slightly full, and nodded immediately. Too happy to even answer properly.

He chuckled.

Your expression made it impossible not to.

“Internet didn’t lie,” he added.

Another nod. Then a tiny, almost suspiciously satisfied

“They actually taste like cotton candy.”

“Mm.”

You reached for another grape. Mood entirely restored.

And it struck him again how dramatic the shifts had become lately, how fifteen minutes ago you had looked ready to reject human interaction, and now one bowl of grapes had apparently repaired the universe.

He moved into the kitchen, setting down the extra pack he had bought because Wonwoo had unfortunately been right.

Behind him he could still hear occasional soft sounds of approval every few bites.

He was rinsing a glass when your voice came again.

“Hey, Cheol.”

Something in the tone made him look over immediately. You were no longer smiling quite the same way but still holding the bowl, fingers slower now, thoughtful.

He stayed where he was.

“Yeah?”

You hesitated “I have a scan next week.”

He turned fully “What kind?”

“The one where they might tell me the gender.”

Then your eyes dropped to the grapes again.

“I don’t want to go alone.”

That was all it took.

He was moving before you even looked up again.

Kitchen forgotten. By the time your gaze lifted, he was already crouching in front of the couch, one hand resting lightly against the edge near your knee, face level with yours.

Close enough that his attention felt immediate, complete.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, absurdly, he could already hear Wonwoo’s voice:

Look at you. One sentence and you’re kneeling like a proposal scene.

Which was annoying because from the outside, maybe it did look painfully obvious.

He ignored that thought.

“What day?” he asked first

You blinked, slightly caught off guard by how fast he answered.

“Thursday.”

“What time?”

“Eleven-thirty.”

“Which clinic? Same one?”

You nodded slowly. He repeated it once under his breath, already memorizing.

Then his expression softened. That steady, reassuring smile he used only when he knew you were asking for something that cost you more courage than it should have.

“I’ll come if you want me to.” No hesitation

“You’re not busy?” The pout appeared too—small, tired, almost guilty.

As if asking already felt like asking too much and that expression did something dangerous to his chest every single time.

Because you still asked like he might say no. Still asked like you hadn’t learned yet that if it involved you lately, he rearranged things before considering inconvenience.

His smile deepened just slightly.

“I can move anything.”

“You don’t even know what you have that day.”

“I know what matters first.”

The words came too naturally. Too honest.

He noticed it right after saying them. So did you, judging by the way your eyes stayed on him a second longer than usual.

He added more lightly, “It’s one appointment.”

You looked down again, picking another grape but not eating it yet.

“I just…” A pause “I don’t want to sit there by myself if they tell me.”

He understood immediately. Not the scan itself. The moment. The weight of hearing something important and having nobody beside you to look at first.

Nobody to share the first reaction with.

And suddenly crouching there, looking up at you from the floor, he felt that familiar sharp pull again—that impossible mixture of tenderness and restraint that had defined nearly every day lately.

Because it would have been so easy to reach for your hand right then.

Too easy.

Instead he kept his voice steady.

“You won’t be alone.”

That made you finally eat the grape still in your fingers.

Slowly.

Then after swallowing, quieter:

“Okay.”

He stayed there another second longer than necessary. Just because your face had softened again. Because relief looked gentler on you than exhaustion ever did.

Because this close, with afternoon light catching across the couch and the bowl of ridiculous grapes in your lap, he understood exactly why Wonwoo never stopped teasing him.

It probably was obvious.

Painfully obvious.

Especially now—him crouched in front of you like your next sentence might determine his entire week.

Still, he didn’t move until you looked at him again and asked:

“Did you buy only one pack?”

He blinked. Then almost laughed.

“Check the kitchen.”

That earned the smallest smile.

A real one.

And when you smiled like that, even something as ordinary as buying extra grapes somehow felt absurdly worth it 

=

By the time Thursday came, Seungcheol already knew two things before you even said a word.

First—you had barely eaten breakfast.

Second—you were nervous enough that your silence felt louder than usual.

The drive through morning traffic in Seoul had been mostly quiet, not uncomfortable, just filled with that specific kind of tension he had started recognizing in you lately.

You answered when he asked simple things. Short replies. Small nods. 

But your fingers kept moving. Twisting the edge of your sleeve. Checking your phone without reading anything.

Looking out the window, then away again.

And by the time the two of you sat in the clinic waiting area, that nervous energy had settled fully into your body.

Your knee bounced fast enough to shake the chair slightly.

One hand kept drifting to your nails. Picking.

Tiny repeated motions.

He noticed immediately. He had seen that habit before, long before pregnancy, long before heartbreak—always the same when your thoughts got too loud.

And always bad enough that if nobody stopped you, you’d keep going until skin broke.

You probably didn’t even realize you were doing it.

He watched for half a minute. Then without ceremony, he reached over and took your hand. Warm fingers wrapping gently but firmly around yours before your nails could catch skin again.

The motion startled you enough that your head turned instantly.

Eyes lifting to him, already ready to protest and he knew that look too.

So before you could say anything, he answered casually, voice low enough not to draw attention.

“You pick at your nails when you’re nervous until it bleeds.”

You blinked. Your mouth opened then closed.

Then came the small, almost defensive mumble “I don’t do it that much.”

He gave you a look. You knew better than to argue with that look ecause both of you knew he was right.

Still, he didn’t let go. And this time—you didn’t pull away. Your hand stayed where it was in his.

At first maybe because you were distracted. Then because, little by little, the warmth helped more than you wanted to admit.

Your knee slowed too.

Around you, the waiting room stayed busy in quiet clinic ways—soft footsteps, low voices, pages turning.

From anyone sitting across the room, the picture likely looked obvious.

A couple waiting for an appointment.

Because there you were: seated close enough that your shoulder occasionally brushed his arm, your bag resting on his lap because he had taken it from you the second you tried carrying it yourself, and your fingers still loosely caught in his hand like neither of you had properly acknowledged it.

At one point you leaned slightly toward him.

Not fully just enough that your shoulder settled against his arm.

Then tugged lightly at the side of his sleeve.

“Did you check if parking expires?”

He looked down “Two hours.”

“You checked?”

“Before we came in.”

You nodded like that answered something important.

And somewhere in another version of this morning, if Wonwoo had witnessed any of it, Seungcheol knew exactly what expression he would wear:

Hopeless. Completely hopeless.

Because yes, from the outside it looked obvious. From the inside too, if he was being honest.

The dangerous part was how natural it felt. Holding your hand. Carrying your bag. Watching every little nervous movement like it mattered as if his body had already learned its role before his mind allowed it.

Then the nurse called your name imediately your fingers tightened around his.

He only stood, still holding your hand until you were fully on your feet. Then picked up your bag too.

Inside the scan room, the light dimmed. You climbed onto the bed slowly, still visibly tense. He stood near your side, bag set aside, hands in his pockets now only because he needed somewhere to put them.

The technician smiled politely, professional and calm, beginning routine questions before applying gel across your stomach. Cold enough that you startled.

Seungcheol immediately looked over “You okay?”

“It’s cold”

The technician laughed softly “Always cold”

Then the screen flickered. Shapes appeared. Movement. That strange grainy image that somehow still made everything feel impossibly real.

For a second, nobody spoke. The technician focused. Measured. Clicked through angles.

And Seungcheol, who had come here prepared to simply sit quietly and support you, felt something shift unexpectedly when he saw movement on the screen.

A tiny shape. Small but real.

His chest tightened before he had words for why. Beside him, your hand found the edge of his sleeve again. Without looking, you tugged lightly. A nervous habit.

Then the technician smiled slightly. “Well…” A pause. Another angle.

“It looks like a girl.” The room went quiet. Just long enough for the sentence to land fully.

A girl.

You blinked first. Eyes fixed on the screen.

“...A girl?”

The technician nodded, still smiling “Yes. Very likely.”

And suddenly your face changed. All the tension from earlier loosened at once into something softer—something caught between disbelief and emotion.

A tiny breath left you that sounded dangerously close to tears. Beside you, Seungcheol forgot entirely that he was supposed to stay detached from moments that did not belong to him.

Because hearing girl hit him harder than expected too.

Not his child. Not his place. And yet standing there, watching your eyes shine while staring at that screen, all he could think was how impossibly small she still was.

How fiercely you had already fought through weeks of nausea and exhaustion for someone not even born yet.

And before he realized it, he smiled.

You turned your head then, finally looking at him instead of the screen. And because emotion made honesty simpler than usual, you whispered

“A girl” Like you needed to hear it again from someone beside you.

His eyes met yours “A girl,” he repeated gently.

Your fingers tightened once more around his sleeve and this time neither of you let go because for one suspended moment it felt less like surviving another appointment and more like something tender neither of you quite knew how to name yet 

=

By twenty-one weeks, asking Seungcheol for help no longer felt like crossing some line you had once drawn out of guilt.

At first, every favor came with hesitation. Every request felt heavier than it should have, because somewhere in your mind you still heard yourself saying he has his own life, he shouldn’t have to keep doing this, you cannot keep leaning this much.

But time had a way of softening resistance when someone showed up often enough that their presence stopped feeling borrowed.

He still came after work. Still checked if you had eaten. Still carried things you could absolutely carry yourself and ignored every complaint about it.

And somewhere between week twelve and now, the guilt had thinned into something harder to define. Not gone. Just quieter.

Because lately his presence had become... natural. The kind of natural that only became noticeable when you caught yourself expecting him before he arrived. Or when your first instinct at seeing something funny, annoying, exhausting, or strange became I should tell Cheol.

That should have felt ordinary—he had always been your best friend but lately you noticed things you had spent years deliberately not naming.

Things that became harder to ignore now that he stayed so close to your daily life. Like how absurdly unfair it was that someone built like him moved so carefully around you.

Broad shoulders. Tall enough that in crowded places people stepped aside without thinking. That serious expression strangers always mistook for coldness. The glare that made people straighten immediately when aimed their way.

And yet the moment you spoke, even mid-sentence, something changed.

His brows eased. His mouth softened slightly. His attention sharpened in that complete way that made the rest of the world look temporarily unimportant.

You had told yourself for weeks that it was simply kindness. Because that was safer.

Kindness fit. Kindness explained midnight sweet potatoes, clinic visits, grapes that tasted like cotton candy, carrying your bag, waiting through appointments, remembering what food stayed down and what smell made you nauseous.

Something else… that was harder. So you kept choosing kindness.

Even while lately, more and more often, you caught yourself noticing things that made the explanation thinner.

Seungcheol picked you up earlier than usual under the excuse that he had things to do at home anyway and you might as well stay there instead of being alone all day.

You had argued, naturally

“I’ll be fine at my apartment”

“You said that last week and then forgot lunch because you fell asleep sitting up.”

“That happened once”

“You threw up twice before noon”

“That is unrelated”

“It is exactly related”

And somehow, as always, you ended up in his car anyway.

Now his apartment looked suspiciously prepared for your arrival. Extra pillows stacked on one side of the couch. A folded blanket already placed within reach. Water bottle on the coffee table. Snacks lined neatly beside it.

You also chose not to comment because if you did, he would shrug like it meant nothing so instead you settled into the couch, one leg tucked carefully under the other, phone in hand, while he moved around the apartment doing errands he claimed he had ignored for too long.

Laundry first. Then something in the kitchen. Then you heard drawers opening somewhere deeper inside. And because apparently distance no longer stopped either of you from continuing conversations, he texted you even when he’s just in the other room

Seungcheol: Why is your hand inside the snack bowl but you’re not eating?

You: Are you spying on me?

Seungcheol: Reflection from the TV

You looked up instinctively toward the blank television and narrowed your eyes.

“Creepy”

From the other room, his voice came back calm “Eat.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. Your shirt had ridden slightly upward from how you were sitting, exposing the soft curve of your stomach. One hand rested there absentmindedly, fingertips moving without thought the way they had lately whenever you sat still too long.

You were halfway through typing another complaint about his hoodie collection when the apartment door opened. You barely registered it.

A click. Then footsteps.

Jeon Wonwoo appears with one iced coffee in hand, clearly meant for Seungcheol, and had already stepped fully inside before his eyes landed on the couch.

Then stopped. Because from his angle, what he saw was: You stretched comfortably across Seungcheol’s couch. Pillows arranged around you like someone had built a nest. Snacks spread on the table. Your hand resting over your stomach. Your shirt slightly lifted enough to make the pregnancy obvious.

And the overall atmosphere of someone entirely at ease in another person’s home.

Wonwoo blinked once. The amusement arrived first. Then confusion. Then dangerous understanding.

Seungcheol, unfortunately, caught that exact expression immediately and the glare he shot him could have stopped traffic.

A very clear: Don’t you dare.

Wonwoo looked delighted “Ah.”

That one syllable alone sounded criminal. You finally looked up.

“Oh. Hi.”

Wonwoo lifted the coffee slightly like proof he came peacefully.

“Hi”

Seungcheol spoke first, voice flat “You’re early”

“I can leave,” Wonwoo said, not sounding like he meant it at all

“You should”

“But then I’d miss whatever this is”

You frowned faintly “What do you mean, whatever this is?”

Wonwoo looked at you. Then very deliberately at Seungcheol. Then back at you.

“This looks… domestic”

Seungcheol immediately moved forward, taking the coffee from his hand harder than necessary.

“It looks like she’s resting”

“It looks,” Wonwoo corrected mildly, “like you kidnapped a pregnant woman and built her a comfort station”

You almost laughed. Seungcheol did not.

“She didn’t want to stay alone.”

“Mm” Wonwoo’s gaze dropped to the table again

“Sit down or leave”

You looked slowly toward Seungcheol. He refused eye contact immediately, suddenly very interested in placing coffee on the counter.

Wonwoo saw your expression shift and nearly smiled to himself. So naturally he stepped deeper into it. He sat in the armchair opposite the couch like he had arrived specifically for entertainment.

“You want coffee too?” Seungcheol asked you immediately, changing subject

“No”

“Tea?” “No”

“Fruit?” “I’m not a zoo animal”

Wonwoo leaned back “He asks like that every ten minutes?”

“Yes” you answered before Seungcheol could stop you

“Because she forgets to eat”

“Because he acts like I’ll vanish if unsupervised”

Wonwoo looked at Seungcheol again, slow and deeply entertained.

“You know, if anyone walked in right now, they’d assume this is his wife.”

Silence. Immediate silence. Your eyes widened just slightly. Seungcheol looked ready to physically remove him.

Wonwoo, sensing impact, added calmly “Especially with the hand on the stomach.”

You looked down instinctively, your palm still rested there. You pulled your shirt down at once.

Seungcheol’s jaw tightened, not because of you, but because Wonwoo had noticed the exact thing he had spent all morning pretending not to stare at.

Then, suddenly a small movement under your palm.

You froze. The shift came again. Tiny but unmistakable.

Your breath caught “Wait”

Everything changed instantly. Both men looked at you. You stared down, hand pressing lightly. There it is again.

You looked up too fast, eyes wide.

“I think—” Seungcheol was beside the couch before you finished. All annoyance gone. Wonwoo forgotten.

“What?”

“She moved”

His expression changed in real time. Softened so quickly it almost hurt to look at.

“Now?” Y

Y&ou nodded. He crouched immediately in front of you, instinctive, like every serious thing involving you now pulled him lower, closer, gentler.

“Again?”

“I don’t know, wait—” You inhaled sharply and without thinking, your hand caught his wrist and placed it there. Right over the curve.

For one suspended second no one moved. Seungcheol went absolutely still his large hand under yours. Then… another tiny movement. Barely there but enough.

His eyes lifted slowly to yours and whatever he felt in that moment showed too clearly.

Wonwoo, for once in his life, did something rare. He stayed quiet. No teasing. No smug I knew it expression spoken aloud, even though it absolutely lived in his eyes. He only leaned back deeper into the chair, coffee untouched in his hand, watching the two of you as if instinct told him this was not a moment to break.

Your entire focus stayed on the small place beneath your palm. And Seungcheol’s hand remained there too, large and impossibly careful under yours, like even breathing too hard might disturb something fragile.

Then another tiny movement. Your whole face changed instantly. Mouth parting into that smile he had come to recognize as the dangerous kind, the kind that hit him directly in the chest because it appeared without effort, pure and unguarded.

“That’s so weird,” you whispered. Then softer “But also… she’s alive.”

Your hand stayed over his and now you were smiling fully, looking down at your stomach like you had just met something miraculous and ordinary at once.

Seungcheol looked at you instead bcause this expression was worth every sleepless midnight run, every worried clinic wait, every swallowed anger from months ago he refused to revisit.

For a dangerous second, he forgot Wonwoo existed entirely yhen Wonwoo finally spoke, voice light enough not to shatter the softness.

“Oh—it’s a girl? Congrats.” The word landed like a pin through a bubble. Instantly both you and Seungcheol looked up.

The moment broke just enough for awareness to return. You realized your hand was still over his. Realized how close he was crouched between your knees.

Realized Wonwoo had watched the entire thing. Heat rushed straight into your face.

Seungcheol cleared his throat first and stood up immediately, too quickly almost, like distance would fix whatever had suddenly become obvious.

“Yeah,” you answered, voice smaller than before “A girl.”

He busied himself with the pillows which did not need fixing, then the blanket folded even though it had already been folded.

Wonwoo watched this performance with enormous internal satisfaction. He said nothing but the smile he bit back was criminal.

“You found out recently?” Wonwoo asked, shifting attention to you because clearly Seungcheol needed several seconds to remember how normal people behaved

“A few days ago”

“How are you feeling?”

You shrugged “Hungry half the time. Sick the other half. Emotional for no reason.”

“Not no reason,” Wonwoo said mildly

“Yesterday I almost cried because my toast was uneven.”

“That sounds valid”

And just like that, conversation settled easier. You asked about work. Wonwoo told you stories—mostly exaggerated, likely to annoy Seungcheol, which worked because every third sentence from the kitchen came with corrections.

You laugh at Wonwoo’s stories, the sound carried through the apartment easily.

And each time it did, Seungcheo who was pretending to do anything except stand there listening, felt that quiet shift inside him he no longer knew how to control.

Because hearing you laugh here, in his place, had started to feel far too right.

Dangerously right.

=

If there was one thing Seungcheol noticed more clearly once you reached twenty-eight weeks, it was exhaustion. Just constant in small ways that added up enough for him to track without meaning to.

You moved slower now, sat down more often mid-conversation. Paused before stairs like your body negotiated whether the effort was worth it. And lately, no matter how much sleep you got, there was always that same heaviness behind your eyes by late afternoon.

Which naturally meant he adjusted around it without announcing he was doing so. If you had somewhere to go, he checked the time you’d finish. If you needed errands, he offered to drive. If you said you could take a cab, he ignored that entirely.

And tonight was no different.

You had gone out with friends for dinner. Something he had actually encouraged because lately your world had become too clinic-home-work-repeat and he knew you needed voices other than his around you.

Still, he parked nearby before your agreed pickup time anyway because he also knew how quickly your energy dropped now once evening came.

When you finally came out, two shopping bags hung from your wrist and your face already carried that unmistakable tired softness.

He was out of the car immediately

“Why are you carrying those”

“I have hands”

“You also have a back that complained yesterday”

He took the bags before you could argue. You got into the passenger seat muttering something about him being dramatic, but your voice lacked force.

By the time your seatbelt clicked in, he already knew you were exhausted.

The drive started with your usual attempt to stay awake. You talked while staring half at the window, half at the bags now in the backseat.

“They bought so much,” you murmured

“What did they get?”

“One bought tiny dresses”

“Mm.”

“And socks. More socks. So many socks”

You continued, words slower now “One bought this rabbit blanket…”

A pause “And this weird plush thing that plays music”

“What kind of music?”

“I think lullabies? Or maybe forest sounds. It sounded expensive.”

Another pause “And someone gave diapers which honestly felt the most practical.”

Your speech had begun to blur slightly between thoughts he noticed immediately. You kept talking anyway, stubbornly.

“They kept saying she’ll be spoiled already and she’s not even here yet…”

A small yawn interrupted you then another. Your hand moved over your stomach automatically.

“She kicked after dinner too much. Maybe she liked noodles.”

Silence lasted a few seconds then nothing after that. He glanced sideways. Your head had tipped slightly toward the window. Eyes closed. Asleep.

The city outside kept moving, headlights streaking softly over the windshield, but inside the car everything quieted instantly.

And for a moment he kept driving the route toward your apartment by habit.

One turn then another. Then at the next intersection, his hands stayed on the wheel while his mind ran through the practical facts he had already lost to.

You were asleep. deep enough that waking you meant making you walk upstairs. Your apartment meant stairs from parking to lobby because the elevator on your floor had been unreliable this week.

His apartment was closer from here. Fewer stairs. Softer couch. Extra pillows already there because somehow they had never really left after last time.

He exhaled once. Then took the turn toward his building.

Just for tonight, he told himself. For you and the baby.

Nothing else. Not because seeing you asleep beside him made something dangerous settle too naturally inside the silence or because your hand remained loosely over your stomach in sleep like even unconscious you protected her.

Not because there was something painfully domestic about driving with you like this.

No. Practical. Only practical.

He repeated that twice before parking. He hated waking you abruptly, so he touched your shoulder lightly first.

“We’re here”

A sleepy sound. Your eyes opened halfway, confused.

“My apartment?”

“No. Mine.”

That woke you slightly more “Why”

“You fell asleep”

“I can still go home.”

“You can also sleep first”

You looked at him for exactly three exhausted seconds before losing the argument simply because staying awake clearly cost too much energy.

He unbuckled your seatbelt when your fingers fumbled once, took the bags, walked slowly beside you to the elevator because now your steps had that familiar late-night heaviness.

Inside his apartment, the lights stayed soft. You barely reached the couch before another yawn overtook you.

“Sit,” he said

He already had water on the table, blanket unfolded, pillows adjusted. You watched him with half-open eyes, too tired now to comment on how practiced he had become at this.

Then your hand pressed lightly to your stomach

“She moved”

“Too much?”

“No… just saying hello, maybe.”

And exactly as expected, before he even returned from setting the bags aside you were already asleep again. One hand tucked near your face. The other still over the curve of your stomach.

Seungcheol stood there longer than necessary. Then quietly adjusted the blanket higher over your shoulder.

Just tonight, he told himself again. He let you sleep on the couch for exactly seven minutes before deciding it was a bad idea because even from where he stood in the kitchen doorway, he could already see the angle.

Your neck bent wrong. One arm trapped awkwardly under you. Lower back unsupported. And he knew what that meant tomorrow. complaints about stiffness, one hand pressing your side, that small wince you tried to hide when standing too quickly.

So eventually he crossed the room quietly, before kneeling slightly beside the couch.

“Hey” Nothing.

A second softer touch “Wake up”

Your brows moved first then your eyes opened halfway, unfocused and heavy with sleep.

“What…”

“You’ll sleep on the bed”

A tiny frown. Too tired even for full resistance.

“I’m okay here”

“No, you’re not” he added, gentler “Come on.”

You only gave a sleepy sound that might have been an agreement and pushed yourself upright. He stayed close automatically while you stood. One hand hovering near your elbow without touching unless needed.

You shuffled toward his room with that slow exhausted pace he had seen more often lately.

By the time you disappeared into the bedroom, he grabbed a spare shirt and comfortable shorts from his drawer, things loose enough not to bother your stomach and took the blanket from the couch too.

He gave you privacy long enough to change, waiting outside a moment before knocking lightly and stepping back in.

And then he stopped. You were already on his bed, settled against the pillows. His oversized shirt hanging loose enough that it slipped over one shoulder. The sight hit him so unexpectedly that for one suspended second he forgot to breathe.

You looked not like a guest. You looked like you belonged there in a way his mind accepted far too easily. Like the room had been waiting for that exact picture, like you had always been meant to soften the sharp edges of that space simply by existing inside it.

And because exhaustion had softened your face, because your eyes were already closing again, because the room was too quiet and too warm… something dangerous slipped through the cracks he usually kept sealed shut.

A thought. Not new. Just louder tonight.

That in another life—

another timeline—

this could have been ordinary.

You in his bed. Late night. Soft breathing. A child growing between shared futures instead of broken ones.

And before he could stop it, another thought followed. The selfish one. The one he hated every time it surfaced. There had been one ugly, human flash of something he never forgave himself for:

He wished, for one impossible second, that the baby had been his.

Not because he wanted to erase what happened. Not because he resented her existence.

Never that.

But because the idea of you carrying a child and it belonging to someone who hurt you had ignited something violent and helpless in him he still refused to examine too closely.

Because some reckless part of him had thought:

If it were mine, I would never make her carry this alone.

That thought had terrified him enough to bury it immediately. Especially because you were grieving enough already. Especially because love—his love—had no right to become another weight on your shoulders.

So he buried it. Deep.

Every day after. Under clinic visits. Under grocery bags. Under late-night cravings. Under pretending that all of this was simple friendship stretched a little farther because circumstances demanded it.

Because saying it aloud can change everything.

He could survive loving you quietly, what he could not survive was losing you.

The truth he had made peace with, quietly, alone, was this. That baby girl did not belong in his mind to the man who made you cry. Never to him.

In Seungcheol’s heart, she existed as yours. Entirely yours. And because she was part of you… because she would carry your smile, your voice, your habits, your softness somewhere he already loved her too.

Enough that raising another man’s child did not even feel like sacrifice if it meant protecting what was yours.

You shifted slightly then, pulling him back from thoughts he never let linger long.

Your eyes half-opened “You’re staring.”

His expression reset immediately “I’m checking if you need another pillow.”

Then another yawn. He moved closer anyway, adjusting one pillow behind your back until the angle improved.

“You’ll feel better like this.”

You made a quiet sound of approval already drifting again. As he pulled the blanket properly over you, your fingers caught his wrist lightly.

“Stay until I sleep,” you murmured.

And because refusing was impossible, he sat carefully on the edge of the bed.

Your hand loosened but did not fully let go. Within minutes your breathing deepened again.

Sleep taking you completely and Seungcheol sat there in the dim room longer than he should have watching the woman he loved sleep in his bed,

Telling himself once more that silence was kinder than confession, even while his heart had already crossed lines his mouth never would 

=

When morning light pushed faintly through the curtains, the first thing Seungcheol noticed was warmth at his arm. Your hand still clutching his sleeve.

He looked down for several quiet seconds and that same dangerous thought threatened again. So carefully he loosened your fingers one at a time. He stood slowly, pulled the blanket higher over your shoulder then left the room before he could look too long.

The gym was supposed to fix his head. Routine, he told himself. So he trained harder than usual. Longer too. Enough that muscle fatigue should have replaced whatever sat in his chest.

It did not.

Which was exactly why when Wonwoo spotted him there, one glance was enough for suspicion.

“You look like someone lost an argument with himself”

Seungcheol grabbed water “I’m working out”

“You’re punishing dumb decisions”

And somehow not an hour later,  Wonwoo sat in the passenger seat while they drove back toward the apartment because even while pretending calm, Seungcheol kept checking the time.

“She’s probably still asleep” Wonwoo said

“She sleeps lighter lately”

“You know that like a husband” Silence. Wonwoo let that one go. Rare mercy.

Back at the apartment, Seungcheol unlocked the door quietly, expecting silence.

So they stayed in the kitchen, voices lower than usual. Wonwoo leaned against the counter, watching his friend with the kind of patience that only existed because he had watched this same story unfold for years.

“Just tell her”

“No” Seungcheol didn’t even look up.

Wonwoo exhaled through his nose “You’re rearranging your entire life around her”

“She needs help”

“You know what week every appointment is”

“She forgets dates”

Wonwoo waited until Seungcheol looked up then said it plainly

“And you still think pretending this is only practical is believable?”

His jaw tightened “It doesn’t matter what I think”

“It matters if you’re in love with her” That word stayed in the kitchen heavier than either admitted aloud usually.

Seungcheol looked away first “She doesn’t need that right now”

Wonwoo’s voice stayed calm “She deserves truth and you deserve to stop acting like loving her is some crime”

That hit harder than expected.

Seungcheol’s answer came lower now “If I say anything and she pulls away, what then”

Wonwoo said nothing immediately because there it was. The real answer.

Not fear of rejection. Fear of absence. Fear that one confession could cost the place he already had beside you.

Then quieter, Wonwoo said “You think staying silent protects her. Maybe it protects you”

“She’s pregnant. Hurt. Trying to survive all of this. I’m not putting something selfish on top of that.”

Wonwoo frowned “Loving someone isn’t selfish”

“Now it is”

The kitchen fell quiet and neither of them noticed the bedroom door had opened slightly.

That you had woken earlier than expected, you had stepped closer at the sound of voices and caught only fragments.

Tell her. You deserve it. She deserves truth. Rearranging your life around her.

If I say anything and she pulls away…

Fragments without the whole. Fragments sharp enough to cut wrong.

Of course. Of course eventually this became too much. Of course there was a truth he wasn’t saying because how could there not be?

You were in his apartment. Sleeping in his bed. Calling him for cravings. Clinic visits. Rides home. Every week more of his time. More space. More care.

And suddenly all the things you had allowed yourself not to question arrived together, ugly and loud. You were asking too much. Holding him too long in a role that was never his. You and your baby were not his responsibility.

For one ugly second another thought came—one worse because it hurt before you could stop it.

Someday there would be someone else here. A woman who belonged naturally in this apartment. A woman he loved openly. A child that was theirs.

Not borrowed moments. Not careful boundaries. Not obligation dressed as kindness.

That image came so quickly it stole your breath. And before you realized it, tears had already gathered.

So you did what pride always made you do first. You cleaned evidence. Changed clothes. Washed your face.

By the time Seungcheol checked the room again, expecting sleep you were sitting at the edge of the bed, shoes on, bag beside you.

That alone made him stop “You’re awake.”

You nodded without looking long enough at him “I should go home”

His brows pulled together immediately “What?”

“I stayed too long”

“You were sleeping”

“I’m okay now” your voice sounded controlled in that way he recognized instantly as dangerous.

He stepped closer “Did something happen?”

“No.” A lie too quick. You stood before he could block it, adjusting your bag strap though he immediately took the bag from your hand out of habit.

“I’m taking you home”

That should have sounded ordinary. Usually it didbut today it landed differently because all you heard underneath was what your own mind had already decided. He doesn’t have to.

And maybe that was the part that hurt most. That you had started forgetting he never had to do any of this at all.

You looked away quickly before your eyes betrayed anything again.

“I really don’t want to keep bothering you.”

That made him still completely because the sentence came from nowhere.

His voice lowered immediately

“You’re not bothering me”

You gave the smallest smile. One that convinced neither of you.

But you nodded anyway and said nothing more because if you did, you were afraid your voice would break again first. 

The moment he dropped you off he knew something was wrong, you didn't even look back when you got out of his car. Arms crossed over yourself as if you're physically holding yourself together.

Not even a quick goodbye.

***** end of part one *****

[scarletwinterxx]

backburner - choi seungcheol imagine part one

hello~ this was supposed to be only one part but i cannnnooot make it fit into one post without deleting too many scenes so i hope y'all don't mind it's by parts again😭 i tried but i didn't want to sacrifice the plot for the sake of making it shorter.

also a quick explanation why it's called backburner. it came to me while i was editing it, OC isn't the backburner.... cheol is. in a way he's fine being not her first choice, he didn't mind loving her in silence if it meant keeping her🥺 i hope it will make sense when you read this. enjoy🤍

PART TWO HERE

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All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2026 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pic not mine, credits to rightful owner)

The door clicked shut behind him with the familiar sound of keys against metal, followed by the quiet thud of shoes being pushed aside near the entrance.

“Hey,” Seungcheol called automatically, voice warm, already shrugging off his jacket as he stepped inside your apartment

“I brought—” he stopped. No answer.

Usually, even on your worst days, you answered him somehow, sometimes half asleep from the couch, wrapped in a blanket, or from the kitchen telling him to come in but tonight the apartment was dim, silent except for one thing.

A sharp, painful sound from deeper inside. Then another. He froze for half a second before recognizing it.

Vomiting.

His expression changed immediately “...Shit.”

The grocery bag in his hand hit the counter almost carelessly before he moved fast down the short hallway, guided by the sound until he reached the bathroom door half-open.

You were kneeling on the floor. One hand gripping the toilet seat, the other braced weakly against the tiles, shoulders trembling as another wave hit you hard enough that your whole body folded forward.

Seungcheol was beside you in an instant. One hand gathered your hair away from your face, the other pressed flat between your shoulder blades, rubbing slowly, steadily.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he said quietly, voice lower now, softer, the kind of voice he only used when he knew you were hanging by a thread “I’m here.”

You didn’t answer because you couldn’t.

Another dry heave wracked through you, harsher this time, leaving almost nothing but pain behind. By the time it eased, tears had collected at the corners of your eyes—not from crying, just exhaustion, the strain of it all.

You stayed there breathing hard, forehead nearly touching the toilet seat.

Seungcheol didn’t move his hand.

He just kept rubbing slow circles into your back.

“When was the last time you kept anything down?” he asked after a moment

Your answer came weak “Half a cracker”

He looked at you “Today?”

You gave the tiniest nod. It had been like this for days now. Ever since the nausea had fully hit, mornings were bad, afternoons were worse, and nights somehow became unbearable.

At nine weeks, your body had decided mercy wasn’t part of the plan. And because life apparently wasn’t cruel enough, you were doing it while nursing a heartbreak that still sat fresh under your skin.

The ex-boyfriend who got you pregnant had left more damage behind than just betrayal.

You had found out about the cheating first. The girl from work. Messages. Pictures. Late nights that suddenly made sense. Promises that turned into excuses.

Then the breakup.

Then weeks later, two pink lines you had stared at in silence until your hands shook so badly you nearly dropped the test.

You hadn’t even told many people. Just Seungcheol. And once he knew, he simply… stayed.

Every day after work. Every grocery run.Every doctor appointment. Every time you insisted you were fine and clearly weren’t.

Now he crouched beside you in his office clothes, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, looking like he belonged nowhere near a bathroom floor and yet acting like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

He reached for the cup near the sink, filled it with water, and brought it to your lips.

“Rinse first”

You obeyed because arguing took too much strength. Afterward, he helped you sit back against the wall.

Your skin looked pale. His brows drew together as he pressed the back of his hand lightly to your forehead.

“You’re freezing”

“I’m fine”

“You say that every day”

“I mean it differently every day”

That actually pulled the smallest breath of a laugh from him then his face softened again.

“You should’ve called me earlier”

“You were working”

“And?”

You didn’t answer because there was no answer he would accept.

Seungcheol leaned his shoulder against the wall beside you, still close enough that if another wave came, he’d catch you before you fell forward again.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then you whispered, voice rough, “I hate this.”

Not the pregnancy, not exactly. The helplessness. The nausea. The loneliness that sometimes hits harder than the sickness itself.

“I know”

“I throw up and then I cry because I’m hungry, then I try eating and throw up again.”

He nodded like this was a serious medical report “Terrible system”

“Very bad design”

“We should file a complaint” that made you smile faintly despite yourself.

A weak thing, but real. Seungcheol noticed because his own expression softened immediately, relief flickering there like he had been waiting for even that much.

Then your face changed again. Another wave. He reacted before you even bent forward, hair already gathered, hand steady on your back while your body tensed again.

This one lasted longer. When it ended, you were shaking.

“Okay,” he said firmly, decision already made “No more bathroom floor”

“I live here now”

“Not tonight”

Before you could protest, he stood, reached down, and slid one arm behind your back, the other under your knees.

“Seungcheol—” He lifted you easily, you barely had strength to resist anyway

“I can walk”

“You nearly tipped sideways five seconds ago”

“I had balance”

“You were hugging a toilet”

“That counts”

He laid you gently onto the couch, arranged the blanket over you, then disappeared into the kitchen. You heard cabinets opening, the sound of something being unwrapped. He returned with ginger tea, plain crackers, and that same look he’d been wearing more and more lately.

Concern sharpened into quiet determination.

“Tiny sip,” he instructed

You obeyed because again, arguing required energy you did not possess. He waited while you drank then handed you half a cracker.

“Slow”

You took a bite. After a minute, he exhaled quietly. You leaned back, exhausted. He sat beside you but not too close, giving you space while still staying within reach.

Your voice came small after a while “You don’t have to keep doing this every day”

He didn’t even look at you when he answered

“Yes, I do”

“No, you don’t”

That made him finally turn. His eyes held yours steadily.

“Yes,” he repeated, gentler now, “I do.”

Because underneath all his calm, there was something else there. Something he never forced into words.

Not now. Maybe not yet.

But it existed in every grocery bag he brought, every pharmacy receipt tucked into his wallet, every hour spent sitting beside your bathroom floor after work like it was the most natural place in the world for him to be.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured

“For what?”

“For being… like this.”

That answer made his expression harden.

“You’re growing a whole person while surviving heartbreak and barely sleeping. You’re allowed to throw up and be miserable.”

A tear slipped before you could stop it. You wiped it quickly but he had already seen. And because Seungcheol had always known exactly what to do when you were one breath away from breaking, he simply reached over and wiped the next tear before it fell.

“No apologizing tonight” he said quietly

You swallowed hard then another whisper “I didn’t think it would feel this lonely”

That finally cracked something in his face, because that, more than anything, was what he hated. How you kept carrying pain like it belonged only to you.

His voice lowered, “You’re not alone”

Simple. Certain. No hesitation. The kind of promise that sounded dangerous only because he meant it completely.

And sitting there, wrapped in a blanket, stomach unsettled, body exhausted, heart still bruised—you believed him.

Because every day since everything fell apart, he had shown up. Without fail. Without complaint. Without asking for anything back.

=

The office was loud in the usual end-of-day way—keyboards clacking, muted conversations near the glass meeting room, someone laughing too hard at something near the pantry.

Seungcheol barely noticed any of it.   His attention stayed fixed on the phone lying beside his keyboard. Screen dark. No new message.

He tapped it awake for what had to be the fifth time in ten minutes.

Still nothing from you.

His brows pulled together. You had texted earlier that morning that you needed to go out for a few hours—something about work paperwork you couldn’t delay anymore and he had replied immediately

Cheol: Text me when you get there. Text me when you leave. Call if you feel sick.

You had sent a thumbs up but that had been hours ago. He checked the time again. Then your chat.

Then the time again.

“Still playing baby daddy?” The voice came from his left. Lazy. Amused. Entirely too entertained. Seungcheol didn’t even need to look up to know who it was.

Wonwoo leaned one shoulder against the divider of his desk, coffee in hand, glasses low on his nose, wearing the exact expression of a man arriving solely to be annoying.

Seungcheol finally lifted his eyes. The glare he gave him was immediate.

Wonwoo looked delighted by it “That look means yes”

“It means leave”

“But if I leave, who’s going to listen to you pretend you’re not one text away from driving across the city because she hasn’t replied in two hours?”

Seungcheol glanced down at his phone again before he could stop himself and Wonwoo caught it instantly smirking wider.

Wonwoo took a slow sip of coffee “You know, from an outside perspective, this is fascinating”

Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, jaw tight “Do you have work?”

“Yes. But this is more interesting”

His thumb hovered near your contact before locking the screen again and Wonwoo watched the whole thing like a nature documentary.

“There it is again,” he murmured “That face”

“What face”

“The one where you look like you’re calculating whether calling her would be supportive or overbearing”

Seungcheol finally looked up “Why are you here?”

Wonwoo ignored that “You’ve been doing this every day for weeks now”

“She’s sick”

“She’s pregnant,” Wonwoo corrected mildly “And you are acting like an expectant husband in a medical drama”

“She lives alone”

“And?”

“And she needs help”

Wonwoo gave him a long look then deliberately sat on the edge of the desk

“You know what I enjoy most?”

“I’m not interested.”

“The fact that after all these years, you still think nobody can tell.”

Wonwoo had watched the entire thing happen in slow motion. Watched Seungcheol fall quietly and permanently long before anyone said it aloud. Watched him keep it to himself because timing never lined up, because friendship mattered more, because you smiled at someone else first.

And then you dated someone else. Seungcheol had stepped back exactly the way he should have.

No crossing lines. Just distance. Respectful.

Even when Wonwoo knew every time your name came up, something changed in Seungcheol’s face. Then the breakup happened. The cheating. The office girl. And Wonwoo also still remembered that night clearly because he had been there when Seungcheol found out.

The way Seungcheol stood so suddenly his chair nearly hit the floor. The look on his face that had made Wonwoo genuinely wonder whether he needed to physically stop him from doing something illegal.

“I’m going to kill him.” Direct. Calm. Which somehow sounded worse.

Wonwoo grabbed his sleeve immediately and said, “Prison is inconvenient”

“He cheated on her.”

“Yes, and murder remains dramatic”

“He cheated on her” Seungcheol repeated, voice lower, angrier.

Wonwoo had almost believed he would actually do it.

“You know,” he said lightly, “if someone didn’t know better, they’d think you’ve been waiting for this your whole life”

Seungcheol’s jaw flexed, “Be careful”

“See? Threatening. Very paternal.”

Another glare. Wonwoo smiled behind his coffee cup. Then his gaze dropped when Seungcheol’s phone lit up.

Seungcheol snatched it up. Wonwoo laughed under his breath because of course he did.

You: Sorry. Threw up in the clinic bathroom. Phone was in my bag. I’m okay now. Going home soon.

The tightness in Seungcheol’s shoulders eased but only slightly.

His fingers were already typing

Cheol: Clinic? Why clinic? Are you alone? Did you eat? Send location. I’m coming.

Wonwoo leaned enough to catch the edge of the screen then sighed dramatically.

Seungcheol stood, already grabbing his jacket.

“You’re leaving?”

“She’s at a clinic.”

“She said she’s okay.”

“She threw up in public.”

Wonwoo spread his hands “Right. Obviously life-threatening”

Seungcheol shoved his phone into his pocket “Do your work”

Wonwoo watched him move around the desk. Then added, because he truly could not resist, “If she ever realizes you’ve loved her since forever, I expect front-row seats.”

Just enough that Wonwoo caught the warning in his face. But also the truth.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, voice less teasing now, “I think she already trusts you more than anyone.”

Then his phone buzzed again. Your location. And another message

You: Don’t panic. I’m just tired.

Too late. He was already walking.

“Tell HR I left.”

Wonwoo called after him, grin returning “Should I also tell them parental leave is approaching?”

This time Seungcheol didn’t even bother answering.

Just lifted one hand without looking back—half warning, half dismissal—while already dialing your number the second he reached the elevator 

By the time Seungcheol reached the clinic, the evening traffic of Seoul had already thickened into slow-moving lines of headlights and brake lights stretching along the road.

He barely noticed any of it. The moment he turned into the curbside lane, his eyes found you immediately.

Sitting alone on a bench just outside the clinic entrance. One hand resting near your stomach without thinking, shoulders slightly hunched, looking tired in the way that had become too familiar lately—like your body was spending energy faster than you could recover it.

The second he saw you, he parked badly enough that another driver honked.

He ignored it, already crossing toward you.

Your head lifted at the sound of hurried footsteps, and before you could even greet him, he was standing there, brows drawn tight, scanning your face like he expected to find evidence you hadn’t mentioned.

“Why are you sitting outside?” he asked immediately

You blinked up at him “Because I was waiting.”

“You could’ve waited inside.”

“I wanted air”

“You threw up again?”

“A little”

“A little,” he repeated flatly, like the phrase personally offended him. You almost smiled.

He crouched just enough to meet your eyes properly “Are you dizzy?”

“No.”

“Headache?” “No.”

“Can you stand?”

That one made you laugh softly, tired but real “Yes, Seungcheol.”

Still, he took your bag before you could reach for it, then offered his hand like he didn’t fully trust your answer. And because arguing with him in this mood never worked, you let him help you up.

The walk to the car was slow. Not because you couldn’t manage, but because he kept adjusting his pace to yours so precisely it was impossible not to notice. At the passenger side, he opened the door first. Waited until you sat. Then leaned in, buckled your seatbelt himself, checking that it sat comfortably before closing the door gently.

By the time he got into the driver’s seat, you were already watching him with that quiet look that always made him pretend not to notice.

He started the engine. Only pulled away once he was sure you were settled.

For a few minutes, the car filled with soft heater air and city lights sliding past the windows.

Then he glanced at you.

“So.”

You leaned your head lightly against the seat “So?”

“What did the doctor say?”

You exhaled slowly “That apparently I’m dramatic”

He looked over immediately “She said that?”

“No,” you said, deadpan. “She said what I think is excessive nausea is apparently normal.”

His mouth tightened “Throwing up all day is normal?”

“Unfortunately, yes”

“That seems poorly designed”

“I told you.”

“What else?”

You looked out the window for a second, replaying the appointment

“I told her I can barely keep food down some days. She said small meals, bland food, ginger, rest… and she said if it gets worse, I might need fluids.”

“You didn’t tell me that part in the text.”

“Because I’m not at the fluids part”

“You still should’ve said it”

You looked at him sideways “You were already panicking.”

“I was not panicking”

“You left work in ten minutes”

“That’s efficiency”

That got the faintest smile from you.Traffic slowed at a light. He used the pause to glance over again.

“What else did you do today?”

“Two client meetings”

“You went to both?”

“I’m still employed”

“You looked exhausted yesterday”

“I looked exhausted because your tea tastes like boiled sadness”

He finally made a quiet sound that almost counted as laughter.

“It kept your crackers down.”

“Barely.”

You continued, voice softer now, tired enough that words came slower.

“First meeting was okay. Second one I almost had to excuse myself because someone opened tuna kimbap in the room.”

His face changed immediately. “You almost threw up there?”

“I survived.”

“That is not surviving.”

“I survived enough.”

Another pause. Then you added, almost absentmindedly, gaze still out the window:

“On the way here I passed a street cart.”

“Hm?”

“The egg bread one.”

He glanced at you, you were still looking outside.

“It smelled so good,” you murmured, almost to yourself. “I’ve been craving it for days.”

That finally made him turn his head slightly.

“Egg bread?”

You shrugged like it didn’t matter “The little ones from street vendors.”

“Why didn’t you buy some?”

You gave him a look “Because five minutes later I threw up in a clinic bathroom.”

A fair answer but he had already heard the important part.

Craving.

And unlike most people, Seungcheol treated any food you wanted lately like urgent medical information. Especially because wanting food and keeping food down were two very different things, and when your body asked for something specific, he paid attention.

He said nothing for the next minute. Just drove. Then suddenly signaled right. You noticed immediately.

“Why are we turning?” No answer.

“Seungcheol.” Still nothing.

“You’re not—”

He pulled over near a corner lined with evening vendors, warm lights glowing beneath small carts where steam rose into the cold air.

And there it was. The smell reached even the car. Fresh bread and egg.

He parked. Unbuckled.

“You cannot be serious.”

He already had one hand on the door.

“You wanted it.”

“That was not a request.”

“It sounded medically important.”

“It absolutely did not.”

But he was already out.

You watched through the windshield as he crossed toward the cart without hesitation, speaking briefly with the vendor, hands in his coat pocket while waiting.

Streetlight caught against his profile. Hair slightly messy from rushing out of work. The kind of scene that should not have made your chest tighten the way it did.

But lately everything he did landed somewhere you were trying very hard not to examine too closely.

Because there was something dangerous about kindness when you were already fragile.

And Seungcheol had been too kind for too long.

A few minutes later he came back carrying a warm paper bag.

The smell filled the car instantly the second he opened the door. He handed it over carefully.

“Small bites first"

You looked at the bag, then at him “You really stopped"

“You wanted it"

“I mentioned it”

“You mentioned it twice”

“I did not”

“You did in your head loud enough” Despite yourself, you smiled.

A real one this time. Small, but enough that something in his face softened immediately, almost unconsciously.

You took one careful bite, for the first time all day, your expression changed into something close to relief.

He noticed instantly “Well?”

You chewed slowly “It’s good.”

“Stay there,” he said immediately, eyes still on you like he expected a sudden reaction. “Don’t eat fast.”

You laughed softly through the second bite.

He finally started driving again, slower now, one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift while occasionally glancing over to make sure you were still okay.

=

By week eleven, the nausea had not disappeared but it had changed shape. Less violent some days, more unpredictable on others.

One morning you could keep toast down. That same afternoon the smell of rice nearly sent you running to the sink.

And the cravings. those had become something else entirely.

At first they came quietly. A specific food sounding nice. Something easy enough to ignore. But lately, they arrived like full emotional emergencies. Ridiculous in how urgent they felt.

And tonight was worse because it had started small—just a passing memory of roasted sweet potatoes from a street cart earlier that week.

The smell of caramelized sweetness in cold air. Soft steam rising when broken apart. Then your brain had decided that was now the only thing in the world that mattered.

By eleven-thirty, you were still trying to reason with yourself.

You drank water, ate half a cracker. You told yourself normal people did not call someone near midnight because of sweet potatoes.

By eleven-fifty, your eyes were burning.

By eleven-fifty-six, you were sitting cross-legged on your bed staring at your phone like it had personally offended you.

This was absurd. He had already come by earlier.

And now here you were.

Hovering over his name. Your rational mind said wait until morning, the craving said absolutely not.

Your thumb pressed call before dignity could intervene.

The ring barely lasted long enough for regret to settle. He answered immediately.

“Hey.” His voice came low, rougher than usual, like he had been lying down but not asleep yet.

And immediately sharper after half a beat 

“What happened?”

Because you never called this late not unless something was wrong.

You opened your mouth but nothing came out at first because suddenly saying it aloud felt embarrassingly childish.

He waited exactly one second “Are you sick?”

“No.”

“Did you throw up?”

“No.”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

“Are you crying?”

That made you blink because your voice had betrayed you that fast.

“No.”

A pause.

“That sounded suspicious.”

You covered your face with one hand “This is stupid.”

“Okay,” he said, already sounding like he was sitting up “Tell me the stupid thing.”

You almost hung up, like actually considered it but the craving had already won and apparently pregnancy removed all remaining pride.

“I want roasted sweet potatoes.”

For a moment it was just silent, then he speaks again

“What?”

Your eyes squeezed shut “I want roasted sweet potatoes.”

Another silence but thhis one shorter “Right now?”

Your voice dropped into a miserable mumble.

“Yes.”

“It’s midnight.”

“I know.”

“You called me because of sweet potatoes.”

The shame deepened “Yes.”

Then the worst possible thing happened. He laughed. Not mocking. Just sudden, warm laughter he clearly failed to stop in time.

Your offended voice came immediately “Don’t laugh.”

“I’m trying not to.”

“You are laughing.”

“I’m failing.”

“You’re horrible.”

That only made him laugh quieter, softer, like he was smiling now and somehow that made it worse because now you were genuinely close to tears again.

“Forget it,” you muttered. “Go back to sleep.”

That changed his tone instantly “Hey.”

You stayed quiet. He heard the shift anyway and when he spoke again, his voice softened.

“You’re really upset.”

“It’s hormones,” you said, hating how fragile that sounded. “And I can’t stop thinking about it.”

A pause.

“I tried not to call.”

That did something to him, enough that the smile left his voice completely. Because he could picture it too easily, you alone in your apartment, trying to be reasonable while your body and emotions ignored reason entirely.

He looked at the clock beside his bed.

11:58 PM. Weekend. No meetings tomorrow.

Decision made instantly.

“Stay there.”

You frowned “What?”

“I’m coming.”

“No.”

“I’m already getting up.”

“Seungcheol, no, that’s insane.”

“You called me at midnight sounding like you might cry over a sweet potato.”

You heard movement already.

“Do you know how many street vendors are still open right now?” you asked weakly

“I’m about to find out.”

“You should sleep.”

“You should stop sounding like this over root vegetables.”

You made a noise halfway between protest and embarrassment but he ignored it.

“Unlock your door.”

“Cheol—”

“Unlock it.”

The first thing Seungcheol realized after getting into the car was that midnight in Seoul made cravings significantly harder to solve than cravings at six in the evening.

The second thing he realized was that you had sounded genuinely close to tears over roasted sweet potatoes which meant turning around and going back to bed had never been an option.

The roads were quieter than usual, city lights stretched long against the windshield, convenience stores glowing at corners while most street vendors had already disappeared for the night.

His phone sat mounted near the dashboard, screen still lit from your last message:

You: Drive safe. If you can’t find any, it’s okay.

He had not answered because he already knew that if he texted back, you would tell him to forget it and he was not forgetting it.

Not after the way your voice cracked around I tried not to call.

His fingers tapped once against the steering wheel while he slowed near another corner where a vendor usually parked during colder nights.

Empty so he kept driving. Another block and still nothing. A third turn near the station, still nothing except closed shutters and a delivery scooter disappearing down an alley.

He exhaled through his nose.

This was ridiculous.

Entirely ridiculous.

And yet he was still scanning every side street like finding one specific roasted sweet potato cart determined the outcome of the night because if there was one thing he had learned these past weeks, it was that pregnancy ignored dignity, schedules, and logic equally.

One minute you were insisting you were fine the next minute egg bread became urgent enough to reroute traffic.

Tonight apparently sweet potatoes had won.

He checked the time.

12:11 AM.

Then finally, near the far side of the station entrance, he saw the faint orange glow of a small cart tucked beside a closed newspaper stand.

Steam rose under a yellow light.

A woman in a padded jacket sat behind it, peeling foil from freshly roasted sweet potatoes.

Relief hit harder than expected. He pulled over immediately. The cold hit the second he stepped out, but he barely noticed, already crossing toward the cart.

The woman looked up when he approached. Older, sharp-eyed, the kind who missed nothing.

“You’re lucky,” she said before he even spoke “I’m closing.”

“How many do you have left?”

She lifted the foil lid, revealing a few still warm inside “Enough if you’re quick.”

“I’ll take four.”

That earned him a glance “Four?”

He nodded “Big ones.”

She began wrapping them carefully, hands practiced and quick. At this hour the street was almost silent except for distant traffic and the soft crackle of heat from the cart.

Then she asked casually, like it was obvious conversation 

“Your wife sent you out this late?” the question landed without warning.

He should have corrected it immediately. Normally he would have. Instead, because his mind was still partly on you sitting alone at home trying not to cry over food, he answered without thinking.

“Craving.”

The woman looked up again, smile already forming.

“Ah.” One knowing sound “Pregnancy cravings?”

He hesitated only half a second then nodded once.

“...Yes.”

Her smile widened instantly, amused in that particular way older women often were when they believed they understood a story before you explained it.

“Aigo, then the wife won tonight.”

His hand paused halfway to his wallet. The wife.

Simple words. Ordinary. Harmless. And yet something about hearing it in relation to you landed strangely deep—so sudden that for a brief second he forgot to answer at all.

Because the image came too easily. Too naturally.

You at home in oversized sleep clothes, probably sitting on the couch waiting.

Half annoyed at yourself for calling. Half relieved he came. Your tired face lighting slightly the moment he handed you what you wanted.

And against all reason, the woman’s sentence fit that picture too neatly.

As if it had always been waiting somewhere in the background, dangerous only because he had spent years refusing to let his mind stay there too long.

He paid. The woman handed over the paper bag, sttill warm.

“First child?” she asked casually. 

The answer should have been complicated. Impossible, even.

But what came out was quieter than expected.

“...yes”

He bowed politely, took the bag, and turned back toward the car.

Cold air again. Warm paper in his hand. Inside the car, the smell of roasted sweet potato filled the space almost immediately.

He sat there for one second longer than necessary before starting the engine.

The woman’s words still annoyingly present.

The wife won tonight.

And worse, the fact that he had not corrected her, but not because explaining felt inconvenient, not because it was late.

But because for one selfish second, hearing it had felt... good.

Too good.

His fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel. He knew exactly where lines existed.

You were vulnerable. Pregnant. Recently hurt and he had spent years learning how to put what he felt in a locked place where it would never burden you.

That had not changed, would not change. 

=

By twelve weeks, Seungcheol had accepted two things as fact.

First: pregnancy cravings did not obey logic.

Second: once you wanted something, pretending you didn’t usually ended badly—for you, for your stomach, and for whatever fragile patience he still had left watching you suffer through it.

Which was exactly why, three days after the midnight sweet potato incident, he had stood in your kitchen with both arms crossed and told you in a tone so unnecessarily strict that you had nearly laughed in his face:

“If you want something, call me.”

You had leaned against the counter, chewing slowly on toast

“It was midnight.”

“I don’t care.”

“It was a sweet potato.”

“I still don’t care.”

“You looked personally offended.”

“I was.” That had earned a full laugh from you. When you laughed harder, he only narrowed his eyes.

“I mean it.”

“You’re making cravings sound like emergencies.”

“They become emergencies when you wait until you’re almost crying.”

That shut you up faster than expected.

Because unfortunately, he was right.

And Seungcheol, noticing your silence, softened only slightly.

“It’s better to see you eat than hear you throwing up all day.”

Simple sentence. Matter-of-fact.

So from then on, you tried. now and then, he’d get random messages that made absolutely no sense without context. Which was exactly why, during lunch with Wonwoo, his phone buzzing on the table immediately pulled his attention.

Wonwoo noticed because Seungcheol always looked first when your name appeared.

Your message was short:

You: Do grapes that taste like cotton candy actually exist or is that internet lying again.

You: Because if they exist I suddenly need them

Seungcheol stared for half a second then typed back without hesitation.

Cheol: They exist. I’ll stop by after lunch and bring some.

Send. Phone down. He reached for his water again like nothing happened.

Across from him, Wonwoo had watched the entire exchange with zero shame.

Then slowly put his chopsticks down “No.”

Seungcheol ignored him.

“No,” Wonwoo repeated, leaning back now, deeply entertained. “Absolutely not.”

“You didn’t even ask if she’s joking.”

“She’s not joking.”

“You answered in under five seconds.”

“She wants grapes.”

“Cotton candy grapes,” he said, “You’re really leaving lunch to hunt specialty fruit because she texted two lines.”

“I said after lunch.”

“That changes nothing.”

“It changes timing.”

Wonwoo gave him a long look Then, with complete seriousness:

“That kid is going to look like you.”

Seungcheol finally looked up. Flat stare.

“No.”

“Genetics be damned,” Wonwoo continued, fully committed now. “At this point the universe owes you resemblance.”

“That is not how biology works.”

“No, but emotional investment should count for something.”

Seungcheol went back to eating Which only encouraged him.

“Imagine the baby comes out with your glare.”

“Eat your lunch.”

“Or your stubbornness.”

“Wonwoo.”

“Tiny angry eyebrows.”

That finally pulled the smallest exhale through Seungcheol’s nose—the closest thing to amusement he would allow.

Later he dropped by the store quickly, getting 2 bags of grapes before going to your place. The moment you opened the door wearing that unmistakable expression. Slight scowl, tired eyes, brows drawn together like the day had personally offended you.

“You took long.” that was your greeting. Just immediate complaint but he only chuckled. 

Seungcheol held up the paper bag “You asked for specialty grapes.”

“You said after lunch.”

“It is after lunch.”

“You still took long.” But even while saying it, your eyes were already on the bag. And he knew that look now.

The exact moment irritation started losing against curiosity.

He stepped inside without comment, slipped off his shoes, and handed the bag over.

You took it immediately, opened it standing right there near the entryway. Plucked one grape, bit into it and right before his eyes, the entire mood changed.

A complete, absurd one-eighty.

The scowl vanished. Brows relaxed. Then came that small hum—soft, involuntary, pleased enough that it almost sounded like you forgot he was there.

He stared for half a second then laughed under his breath because honestly, there it was again—that strange little victory he kept collecting lately whenever food stayed down and made you smile instead of grimace.

By the time he finished washing his hands and stepped toward the living room, you were already curled into the couch with the bowl in your lap, eating one grape at a time like you had discovered treasure.

Another quiet hum.

He leaned one shoulder against the kitchen doorway, watching.

“It’s good?”

You looked up, cheeks slightly full, and nodded immediately. Too happy to even answer properly.

He chuckled.

Your expression made it impossible not to.

“Internet didn’t lie,” he added.

Another nod. Then a tiny, almost suspiciously satisfied

“They actually taste like cotton candy.”

“Mm.”

You reached for another grape. Mood entirely restored.

And it struck him again how dramatic the shifts had become lately, how fifteen minutes ago you had looked ready to reject human interaction, and now one bowl of grapes had apparently repaired the universe.

He moved into the kitchen, setting down the extra pack he had bought because Wonwoo had unfortunately been right.

Behind him he could still hear occasional soft sounds of approval every few bites.

He was rinsing a glass when your voice came again.

“Hey, Cheol.”

Something in the tone made him look over immediately. You were no longer smiling quite the same way but still holding the bowl, fingers slower now, thoughtful.

He stayed where he was.

“Yeah?”

You hesitated “I have a scan next week.”

He turned fully “What kind?”

“The one where they might tell me the gender.”

Then your eyes dropped to the grapes again.

“I don’t want to go alone.”

That was all it took.

He was moving before you even looked up again.

Kitchen forgotten. By the time your gaze lifted, he was already crouching in front of the couch, one hand resting lightly against the edge near your knee, face level with yours.

Close enough that his attention felt immediate, complete.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, absurdly, he could already hear Wonwoo’s voice:

Look at you. One sentence and you’re kneeling like a proposal scene.

Which was annoying because from the outside, maybe it did look painfully obvious.

He ignored that thought.

“What day?” he asked first

You blinked, slightly caught off guard by how fast he answered.

“Thursday.”

“What time?”

“Eleven-thirty.”

“Which clinic? Same one?”

You nodded slowly. He repeated it once under his breath, already memorizing.

Then his expression softened. That steady, reassuring smile he used only when he knew you were asking for something that cost you more courage than it should have.

“I’ll come if you want me to.” No hesitation

“You’re not busy?” The pout appeared too—small, tired, almost guilty.

As if asking already felt like asking too much and that expression did something dangerous to his chest every single time.

Because you still asked like he might say no. Still asked like you hadn’t learned yet that if it involved you lately, he rearranged things before considering inconvenience.

His smile deepened just slightly.

“I can move anything.”

“You don’t even know what you have that day.”

“I know what matters first.”

The words came too naturally. Too honest.

He noticed it right after saying them. So did you, judging by the way your eyes stayed on him a second longer than usual.

He added more lightly, “It’s one appointment.”

You looked down again, picking another grape but not eating it yet.

“I just…” A pause “I don’t want to sit there by myself if they tell me.”

He understood immediately. Not the scan itself. The moment. The weight of hearing something important and having nobody beside you to look at first.

Nobody to share the first reaction with.

And suddenly crouching there, looking up at you from the floor, he felt that familiar sharp pull again—that impossible mixture of tenderness and restraint that had defined nearly every day lately.

Because it would have been so easy to reach for your hand right then.

Too easy.

Instead he kept his voice steady.

“You won’t be alone.”

That made you finally eat the grape still in your fingers.

Slowly.

Then after swallowing, quieter:

“Okay.”

He stayed there another second longer than necessary. Just because your face had softened again. Because relief looked gentler on you than exhaustion ever did.

Because this close, with afternoon light catching across the couch and the bowl of ridiculous grapes in your lap, he understood exactly why Wonwoo never stopped teasing him.

It probably was obvious.

Painfully obvious.

Especially now—him crouched in front of you like your next sentence might determine his entire week.

Still, he didn’t move until you looked at him again and asked:

“Did you buy only one pack?”

He blinked. Then almost laughed.

“Check the kitchen.”

That earned the smallest smile.

A real one.

And when you smiled like that, even something as ordinary as buying extra grapes somehow felt absurdly worth it 

=

By the time Thursday came, Seungcheol already knew two things before you even said a word.

First—you had barely eaten breakfast.

Second—you were nervous enough that your silence felt louder than usual.

The drive through morning traffic in Seoul had been mostly quiet, not uncomfortable, just filled with that specific kind of tension he had started recognizing in you lately.

You answered when he asked simple things. Short replies. Small nods. 

But your fingers kept moving. Twisting the edge of your sleeve. Checking your phone without reading anything.

Looking out the window, then away again.

And by the time the two of you sat in the clinic waiting area, that nervous energy had settled fully into your body.

Your knee bounced fast enough to shake the chair slightly.

One hand kept drifting to your nails. Picking.

Tiny repeated motions.

He noticed immediately. He had seen that habit before, long before pregnancy, long before heartbreak—always the same when your thoughts got too loud.

And always bad enough that if nobody stopped you, you’d keep going until skin broke.

You probably didn’t even realize you were doing it.

He watched for half a minute. Then without ceremony, he reached over and took your hand. Warm fingers wrapping gently but firmly around yours before your nails could catch skin again.

The motion startled you enough that your head turned instantly.

Eyes lifting to him, already ready to protest and he knew that look too.

So before you could say anything, he answered casually, voice low enough not to draw attention.

“You pick at your nails when you’re nervous until it bleeds.”

You blinked. Your mouth opened then closed.

Then came the small, almost defensive mumble “I don’t do it that much.”

He gave you a look. You knew better than to argue with that look ecause both of you knew he was right.

Still, he didn’t let go. And this time—you didn’t pull away. Your hand stayed where it was in his.

At first maybe because you were distracted. Then because, little by little, the warmth helped more than you wanted to admit.

Your knee slowed too.

Around you, the waiting room stayed busy in quiet clinic ways—soft footsteps, low voices, pages turning.

From anyone sitting across the room, the picture likely looked obvious.

A couple waiting for an appointment.

Because there you were: seated close enough that your shoulder occasionally brushed his arm, your bag resting on his lap because he had taken it from you the second you tried carrying it yourself, and your fingers still loosely caught in his hand like neither of you had properly acknowledged it.

At one point you leaned slightly toward him.

Not fully just enough that your shoulder settled against his arm.

Then tugged lightly at the side of his sleeve.

“Did you check if parking expires?”

He looked down “Two hours.”

“You checked?”

“Before we came in.”

You nodded like that answered something important.

And somewhere in another version of this morning, if Wonwoo had witnessed any of it, Seungcheol knew exactly what expression he would wear:

Hopeless. Completely hopeless.

Because yes, from the outside it looked obvious. From the inside too, if he was being honest.

The dangerous part was how natural it felt. Holding your hand. Carrying your bag. Watching every little nervous movement like it mattered as if his body had already learned its role before his mind allowed it.

Then the nurse called your name imediately your fingers tightened around his.

He only stood, still holding your hand until you were fully on your feet. Then picked up your bag too.

Inside the scan room, the light dimmed. You climbed onto the bed slowly, still visibly tense. He stood near your side, bag set aside, hands in his pockets now only because he needed somewhere to put them.

The technician smiled politely, professional and calm, beginning routine questions before applying gel across your stomach. Cold enough that you startled.

Seungcheol immediately looked over “You okay?”

“It’s cold”

The technician laughed softly “Always cold”

Then the screen flickered. Shapes appeared. Movement. That strange grainy image that somehow still made everything feel impossibly real.

For a second, nobody spoke. The technician focused. Measured. Clicked through angles.

And Seungcheol, who had come here prepared to simply sit quietly and support you, felt something shift unexpectedly when he saw movement on the screen.

A tiny shape. Small but real.

His chest tightened before he had words for why. Beside him, your hand found the edge of his sleeve again. Without looking, you tugged lightly. A nervous habit.

Then the technician smiled slightly. “Well…” A pause. Another angle.

“It looks like a girl.” The room went quiet. Just long enough for the sentence to land fully.

A girl.

You blinked first. Eyes fixed on the screen.

“...A girl?”

The technician nodded, still smiling “Yes. Very likely.”

And suddenly your face changed. All the tension from earlier loosened at once into something softer—something caught between disbelief and emotion.

A tiny breath left you that sounded dangerously close to tears. Beside you, Seungcheol forgot entirely that he was supposed to stay detached from moments that did not belong to him.

Because hearing girl hit him harder than expected too.

Not his child. Not his place. And yet standing there, watching your eyes shine while staring at that screen, all he could think was how impossibly small she still was.

How fiercely you had already fought through weeks of nausea and exhaustion for someone not even born yet.

And before he realized it, he smiled.

You turned your head then, finally looking at him instead of the screen. And because emotion made honesty simpler than usual, you whispered

“A girl” Like you needed to hear it again from someone beside you.

His eyes met yours “A girl,” he repeated gently.

Your fingers tightened once more around his sleeve and this time neither of you let go because for one suspended moment it felt less like surviving another appointment and more like something tender neither of you quite knew how to name yet 

=

By twenty-one weeks, asking Seungcheol for help no longer felt like crossing some line you had once drawn out of guilt.

At first, every favor came with hesitation. Every request felt heavier than it should have, because somewhere in your mind you still heard yourself saying he has his own life, he shouldn’t have to keep doing this, you cannot keep leaning this much.

But time had a way of softening resistance when someone showed up often enough that their presence stopped feeling borrowed.

He still came after work. Still checked if you had eaten. Still carried things you could absolutely carry yourself and ignored every complaint about it.

And somewhere between week twelve and now, the guilt had thinned into something harder to define. Not gone. Just quieter.

Because lately his presence had become... natural. The kind of natural that only became noticeable when you caught yourself expecting him before he arrived. Or when your first instinct at seeing something funny, annoying, exhausting, or strange became I should tell Cheol.

That should have felt ordinary—he had always been your best friend but lately you noticed things you had spent years deliberately not naming.

Things that became harder to ignore now that he stayed so close to your daily life. Like how absurdly unfair it was that someone built like him moved so carefully around you.

Broad shoulders. Tall enough that in crowded places people stepped aside without thinking. That serious expression strangers always mistook for coldness. The glare that made people straighten immediately when aimed their way.

And yet the moment you spoke, even mid-sentence, something changed.

His brows eased. His mouth softened slightly. His attention sharpened in that complete way that made the rest of the world look temporarily unimportant.

You had told yourself for weeks that it was simply kindness. Because that was safer.

Kindness fit. Kindness explained midnight sweet potatoes, clinic visits, grapes that tasted like cotton candy, carrying your bag, waiting through appointments, remembering what food stayed down and what smell made you nauseous.

Something else… that was harder. So you kept choosing kindness.

Even while lately, more and more often, you caught yourself noticing things that made the explanation thinner.

Seungcheol picked you up earlier than usual under the excuse that he had things to do at home anyway and you might as well stay there instead of being alone all day.

You had argued, naturally

“I’ll be fine at my apartment”

“You said that last week and then forgot lunch because you fell asleep sitting up.”

“That happened once”

“You threw up twice before noon”

“That is unrelated”

“It is exactly related”

And somehow, as always, you ended up in his car anyway.

Now his apartment looked suspiciously prepared for your arrival. Extra pillows stacked on one side of the couch. A folded blanket already placed within reach. Water bottle on the coffee table. Snacks lined neatly beside it.

You also chose not to comment because if you did, he would shrug like it meant nothing so instead you settled into the couch, one leg tucked carefully under the other, phone in hand, while he moved around the apartment doing errands he claimed he had ignored for too long.

Laundry first. Then something in the kitchen. Then you heard drawers opening somewhere deeper inside. And because apparently distance no longer stopped either of you from continuing conversations, he texted you even when he’s just in the other room

Seungcheol: Why is your hand inside the snack bowl but you’re not eating?

You: Are you spying on me?

Seungcheol: Reflection from the TV

You looked up instinctively toward the blank television and narrowed your eyes.

“Creepy”

From the other room, his voice came back calm “Eat.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. Your shirt had ridden slightly upward from how you were sitting, exposing the soft curve of your stomach. One hand rested there absentmindedly, fingertips moving without thought the way they had lately whenever you sat still too long.

You were halfway through typing another complaint about his hoodie collection when the apartment door opened. You barely registered it.

A click. Then footsteps.

Jeon Wonwoo appears with one iced coffee in hand, clearly meant for Seungcheol, and had already stepped fully inside before his eyes landed on the couch.

Then stopped. Because from his angle, what he saw was: You stretched comfortably across Seungcheol’s couch. Pillows arranged around you like someone had built a nest. Snacks spread on the table. Your hand resting over your stomach. Your shirt slightly lifted enough to make the pregnancy obvious.

And the overall atmosphere of someone entirely at ease in another person’s home.

Wonwoo blinked once. The amusement arrived first. Then confusion. Then dangerous understanding.

Seungcheol, unfortunately, caught that exact expression immediately and the glare he shot him could have stopped traffic.

A very clear: Don’t you dare.

Wonwoo looked delighted “Ah.”

That one syllable alone sounded criminal. You finally looked up.

“Oh. Hi.”

Wonwoo lifted the coffee slightly like proof he came peacefully.

“Hi”

Seungcheol spoke first, voice flat “You’re early”

“I can leave,” Wonwoo said, not sounding like he meant it at all

“You should”

“But then I’d miss whatever this is”

You frowned faintly “What do you mean, whatever this is?”

Wonwoo looked at you. Then very deliberately at Seungcheol. Then back at you.

“This looks… domestic”

Seungcheol immediately moved forward, taking the coffee from his hand harder than necessary.

“It looks like she’s resting”

“It looks,” Wonwoo corrected mildly, “like you kidnapped a pregnant woman and built her a comfort station”

You almost laughed. Seungcheol did not.

“She didn’t want to stay alone.”

“Mm” Wonwoo’s gaze dropped to the table again

“Sit down or leave”

You looked slowly toward Seungcheol. He refused eye contact immediately, suddenly very interested in placing coffee on the counter.

Wonwoo saw your expression shift and nearly smiled to himself. So naturally he stepped deeper into it. He sat in the armchair opposite the couch like he had arrived specifically for entertainment.

“You want coffee too?” Seungcheol asked you immediately, changing subject

“No”

“Tea?” “No”

“Fruit?” “I’m not a zoo animal”

Wonwoo leaned back “He asks like that every ten minutes?”

“Yes” you answered before Seungcheol could stop you

“Because she forgets to eat”

“Because he acts like I’ll vanish if unsupervised”

Wonwoo looked at Seungcheol again, slow and deeply entertained.

“You know, if anyone walked in right now, they’d assume this is his wife.”

Silence. Immediate silence. Your eyes widened just slightly. Seungcheol looked ready to physically remove him.

Wonwoo, sensing impact, added calmly “Especially with the hand on the stomach.”

You looked down instinctively, your palm still rested there. You pulled your shirt down at once.

Seungcheol’s jaw tightened, not because of you, but because Wonwoo had noticed the exact thing he had spent all morning pretending not to stare at.

Then, suddenly a small movement under your palm.

You froze. The shift came again. Tiny but unmistakable.

Your breath caught “Wait”

Everything changed instantly. Both men looked at you. You stared down, hand pressing lightly. There it is again.

You looked up too fast, eyes wide.

“I think—” Seungcheol was beside the couch before you finished. All annoyance gone. Wonwoo forgotten.

“What?”

“She moved”

His expression changed in real time. Softened so quickly it almost hurt to look at.

“Now?” Y

Y&ou nodded. He crouched immediately in front of you, instinctive, like every serious thing involving you now pulled him lower, closer, gentler.

“Again?”

“I don’t know, wait—” You inhaled sharply and without thinking, your hand caught his wrist and placed it there. Right over the curve.

For one suspended second no one moved. Seungcheol went absolutely still his large hand under yours. Then… another tiny movement. Barely there but enough.

His eyes lifted slowly to yours and whatever he felt in that moment showed too clearly.

Wonwoo, for once in his life, did something rare. He stayed quiet. No teasing. No smug I knew it expression spoken aloud, even though it absolutely lived in his eyes. He only leaned back deeper into the chair, coffee untouched in his hand, watching the two of you as if instinct told him this was not a moment to break.

Your entire focus stayed on the small place beneath your palm. And Seungcheol’s hand remained there too, large and impossibly careful under yours, like even breathing too hard might disturb something fragile.

Then another tiny movement. Your whole face changed instantly. Mouth parting into that smile he had come to recognize as the dangerous kind, the kind that hit him directly in the chest because it appeared without effort, pure and unguarded.

“That’s so weird,” you whispered. Then softer “But also… she’s alive.”

Your hand stayed over his and now you were smiling fully, looking down at your stomach like you had just met something miraculous and ordinary at once.

Seungcheol looked at you instead bcause this expression was worth every sleepless midnight run, every worried clinic wait, every swallowed anger from months ago he refused to revisit.

For a dangerous second, he forgot Wonwoo existed entirely yhen Wonwoo finally spoke, voice light enough not to shatter the softness.

“Oh—it’s a girl? Congrats.” The word landed like a pin through a bubble. Instantly both you and Seungcheol looked up.

The moment broke just enough for awareness to return. You realized your hand was still over his. Realized how close he was crouched between your knees.

Realized Wonwoo had watched the entire thing. Heat rushed straight into your face.

Seungcheol cleared his throat first and stood up immediately, too quickly almost, like distance would fix whatever had suddenly become obvious.

“Yeah,” you answered, voice smaller than before “A girl.”

He busied himself with the pillows which did not need fixing, then the blanket folded even though it had already been folded.

Wonwoo watched this performance with enormous internal satisfaction. He said nothing but the smile he bit back was criminal.

“You found out recently?” Wonwoo asked, shifting attention to you because clearly Seungcheol needed several seconds to remember how normal people behaved

“A few days ago”

“How are you feeling?”

You shrugged “Hungry half the time. Sick the other half. Emotional for no reason.”

“Not no reason,” Wonwoo said mildly

“Yesterday I almost cried because my toast was uneven.”

“That sounds valid”

And just like that, conversation settled easier. You asked about work. Wonwoo told you stories—mostly exaggerated, likely to annoy Seungcheol, which worked because every third sentence from the kitchen came with corrections.

You laugh at Wonwoo’s stories, the sound carried through the apartment easily.

And each time it did, Seungcheo who was pretending to do anything except stand there listening, felt that quiet shift inside him he no longer knew how to control.

Because hearing you laugh here, in his place, had started to feel far too right.

Dangerously right.

=

If there was one thing Seungcheol noticed more clearly once you reached twenty-eight weeks, it was exhaustion. Just constant in small ways that added up enough for him to track without meaning to.

You moved slower now, sat down more often mid-conversation. Paused before stairs like your body negotiated whether the effort was worth it. And lately, no matter how much sleep you got, there was always that same heaviness behind your eyes by late afternoon.

Which naturally meant he adjusted around it without announcing he was doing so. If you had somewhere to go, he checked the time you’d finish. If you needed errands, he offered to drive. If you said you could take a cab, he ignored that entirely.

And tonight was no different.

You had gone out with friends for dinner. Something he had actually encouraged because lately your world had become too clinic-home-work-repeat and he knew you needed voices other than his around you.

Still, he parked nearby before your agreed pickup time anyway because he also knew how quickly your energy dropped now once evening came.

When you finally came out, two shopping bags hung from your wrist and your face already carried that unmistakable tired softness.

He was out of the car immediately

“Why are you carrying those”

“I have hands”

“You also have a back that complained yesterday”

He took the bags before you could argue. You got into the passenger seat muttering something about him being dramatic, but your voice lacked force.

By the time your seatbelt clicked in, he already knew you were exhausted.

The drive started with your usual attempt to stay awake. You talked while staring half at the window, half at the bags now in the backseat.

“They bought so much,” you murmured

“What did they get?”

“One bought tiny dresses”

“Mm.”

“And socks. More socks. So many socks”

You continued, words slower now “One bought this rabbit blanket…”

A pause “And this weird plush thing that plays music”

“What kind of music?”

“I think lullabies? Or maybe forest sounds. It sounded expensive.”

Another pause “And someone gave diapers which honestly felt the most practical.”

Your speech had begun to blur slightly between thoughts he noticed immediately. You kept talking anyway, stubbornly.

“They kept saying she’ll be spoiled already and she’s not even here yet…”

A small yawn interrupted you then another. Your hand moved over your stomach automatically.

“She kicked after dinner too much. Maybe she liked noodles.”

Silence lasted a few seconds then nothing after that. He glanced sideways. Your head had tipped slightly toward the window. Eyes closed. Asleep.

The city outside kept moving, headlights streaking softly over the windshield, but inside the car everything quieted instantly.

And for a moment he kept driving the route toward your apartment by habit.

One turn then another. Then at the next intersection, his hands stayed on the wheel while his mind ran through the practical facts he had already lost to.

You were asleep. deep enough that waking you meant making you walk upstairs. Your apartment meant stairs from parking to lobby because the elevator on your floor had been unreliable this week.

His apartment was closer from here. Fewer stairs. Softer couch. Extra pillows already there because somehow they had never really left after last time.

He exhaled once. Then took the turn toward his building.

Just for tonight, he told himself. For you and the baby.

Nothing else. Not because seeing you asleep beside him made something dangerous settle too naturally inside the silence or because your hand remained loosely over your stomach in sleep like even unconscious you protected her.

Not because there was something painfully domestic about driving with you like this.

No. Practical. Only practical.

He repeated that twice before parking. He hated waking you abruptly, so he touched your shoulder lightly first.

“We’re here”

A sleepy sound. Your eyes opened halfway, confused.

“My apartment?”

“No. Mine.”

That woke you slightly more “Why”

“You fell asleep”

“I can still go home.”

“You can also sleep first”

You looked at him for exactly three exhausted seconds before losing the argument simply because staying awake clearly cost too much energy.

He unbuckled your seatbelt when your fingers fumbled once, took the bags, walked slowly beside you to the elevator because now your steps had that familiar late-night heaviness.

Inside his apartment, the lights stayed soft. You barely reached the couch before another yawn overtook you.

“Sit,” he said

He already had water on the table, blanket unfolded, pillows adjusted. You watched him with half-open eyes, too tired now to comment on how practiced he had become at this.

Then your hand pressed lightly to your stomach

“She moved”

“Too much?”

“No… just saying hello, maybe.”

And exactly as expected, before he even returned from setting the bags aside you were already asleep again. One hand tucked near your face. The other still over the curve of your stomach.

Seungcheol stood there longer than necessary. Then quietly adjusted the blanket higher over your shoulder.

Just tonight, he told himself again. He let you sleep on the couch for exactly seven minutes before deciding it was a bad idea because even from where he stood in the kitchen doorway, he could already see the angle.

Your neck bent wrong. One arm trapped awkwardly under you. Lower back unsupported. And he knew what that meant tomorrow. complaints about stiffness, one hand pressing your side, that small wince you tried to hide when standing too quickly.

So eventually he crossed the room quietly, before kneeling slightly beside the couch.

“Hey” Nothing.

A second softer touch “Wake up”

Your brows moved first then your eyes opened halfway, unfocused and heavy with sleep.

“What…”

“You’ll sleep on the bed”

A tiny frown. Too tired even for full resistance.

“I’m okay here”

“No, you’re not” he added, gentler “Come on.”

You only gave a sleepy sound that might have been an agreement and pushed yourself upright. He stayed close automatically while you stood. One hand hovering near your elbow without touching unless needed.

You shuffled toward his room with that slow exhausted pace he had seen more often lately.

By the time you disappeared into the bedroom, he grabbed a spare shirt and comfortable shorts from his drawer, things loose enough not to bother your stomach and took the blanket from the couch too.

He gave you privacy long enough to change, waiting outside a moment before knocking lightly and stepping back in.

And then he stopped. You were already on his bed, settled against the pillows. His oversized shirt hanging loose enough that it slipped over one shoulder. The sight hit him so unexpectedly that for one suspended second he forgot to breathe.

You looked not like a guest. You looked like you belonged there in a way his mind accepted far too easily. Like the room had been waiting for that exact picture, like you had always been meant to soften the sharp edges of that space simply by existing inside it.

And because exhaustion had softened your face, because your eyes were already closing again, because the room was too quiet and too warm… something dangerous slipped through the cracks he usually kept sealed shut.

A thought. Not new. Just louder tonight.

That in another life—

another timeline—

this could have been ordinary.

You in his bed. Late night. Soft breathing. A child growing between shared futures instead of broken ones.

And before he could stop it, another thought followed. The selfish one. The one he hated every time it surfaced. There had been one ugly, human flash of something he never forgave himself for:

He wished, for one impossible second, that the baby had been his.

Not because he wanted to erase what happened. Not because he resented her existence.

Never that.

But because the idea of you carrying a child and it belonging to someone who hurt you had ignited something violent and helpless in him he still refused to examine too closely.

Because some reckless part of him had thought:

If it were mine, I would never make her carry this alone.

That thought had terrified him enough to bury it immediately. Especially because you were grieving enough already. Especially because love—his love—had no right to become another weight on your shoulders.

So he buried it. Deep.

Every day after. Under clinic visits. Under grocery bags. Under late-night cravings. Under pretending that all of this was simple friendship stretched a little farther because circumstances demanded it.

Because saying it aloud can change everything.

He could survive loving you quietly, what he could not survive was losing you.

The truth he had made peace with, quietly, alone, was this. That baby girl did not belong in his mind to the man who made you cry. Never to him.

In Seungcheol’s heart, she existed as yours. Entirely yours. And because she was part of you… because she would carry your smile, your voice, your habits, your softness somewhere he already loved her too.

Enough that raising another man’s child did not even feel like sacrifice if it meant protecting what was yours.

You shifted slightly then, pulling him back from thoughts he never let linger long.

Your eyes half-opened “You’re staring.”

His expression reset immediately “I’m checking if you need another pillow.”

Then another yawn. He moved closer anyway, adjusting one pillow behind your back until the angle improved.

“You’ll feel better like this.”

You made a quiet sound of approval already drifting again. As he pulled the blanket properly over you, your fingers caught his wrist lightly.

“Stay until I sleep,” you murmured.

And because refusing was impossible, he sat carefully on the edge of the bed.

Your hand loosened but did not fully let go. Within minutes your breathing deepened again.

Sleep taking you completely and Seungcheol sat there in the dim room longer than he should have watching the woman he loved sleep in his bed,

Telling himself once more that silence was kinder than confession, even while his heart had already crossed lines his mouth never would 

=

When morning light pushed faintly through the curtains, the first thing Seungcheol noticed was warmth at his arm. Your hand still clutching his sleeve.

He looked down for several quiet seconds and that same dangerous thought threatened again. So carefully he loosened your fingers one at a time. He stood slowly, pulled the blanket higher over your shoulder then left the room before he could look too long.

The gym was supposed to fix his head. Routine, he told himself. So he trained harder than usual. Longer too. Enough that muscle fatigue should have replaced whatever sat in his chest.

It did not.

Which was exactly why when Wonwoo spotted him there, one glance was enough for suspicion.

“You look like someone lost an argument with himself”

Seungcheol grabbed water “I’m working out”

“You’re punishing dumb decisions”

And somehow not an hour later,  Wonwoo sat in the passenger seat while they drove back toward the apartment because even while pretending calm, Seungcheol kept checking the time.

“She’s probably still asleep” Wonwoo said

“She sleeps lighter lately”

“You know that like a husband” Silence. Wonwoo let that one go. Rare mercy.

Back at the apartment, Seungcheol unlocked the door quietly, expecting silence.

So they stayed in the kitchen, voices lower than usual. Wonwoo leaned against the counter, watching his friend with the kind of patience that only existed because he had watched this same story unfold for years.

“Just tell her”

“No” Seungcheol didn’t even look up.

Wonwoo exhaled through his nose “You’re rearranging your entire life around her”

“She needs help”

“You know what week every appointment is”

“She forgets dates”

Wonwoo waited until Seungcheol looked up then said it plainly

“And you still think pretending this is only practical is believable?”

His jaw tightened “It doesn’t matter what I think”

“It matters if you’re in love with her” That word stayed in the kitchen heavier than either admitted aloud usually.

Seungcheol looked away first “She doesn’t need that right now”

Wonwoo’s voice stayed calm “She deserves truth and you deserve to stop acting like loving her is some crime”

That hit harder than expected.

Seungcheol’s answer came lower now “If I say anything and she pulls away, what then”

Wonwoo said nothing immediately because there it was. The real answer.

Not fear of rejection. Fear of absence. Fear that one confession could cost the place he already had beside you.

Then quieter, Wonwoo said “You think staying silent protects her. Maybe it protects you”

“She’s pregnant. Hurt. Trying to survive all of this. I’m not putting something selfish on top of that.”

Wonwoo frowned “Loving someone isn’t selfish”

“Now it is”

The kitchen fell quiet and neither of them noticed the bedroom door had opened slightly.

That you had woken earlier than expected, you had stepped closer at the sound of voices and caught only fragments.

Tell her. You deserve it. She deserves truth. Rearranging your life around her.

If I say anything and she pulls away…

Fragments without the whole. Fragments sharp enough to cut wrong.

Of course. Of course eventually this became too much. Of course there was a truth he wasn’t saying because how could there not be?

You were in his apartment. Sleeping in his bed. Calling him for cravings. Clinic visits. Rides home. Every week more of his time. More space. More care.

And suddenly all the things you had allowed yourself not to question arrived together, ugly and loud. You were asking too much. Holding him too long in a role that was never his. You and your baby were not his responsibility.

For one ugly second another thought came—one worse because it hurt before you could stop it.

Someday there would be someone else here. A woman who belonged naturally in this apartment. A woman he loved openly. A child that was theirs.

Not borrowed moments. Not careful boundaries. Not obligation dressed as kindness.

That image came so quickly it stole your breath. And before you realized it, tears had already gathered.

So you did what pride always made you do first. You cleaned evidence. Changed clothes. Washed your face.

By the time Seungcheol checked the room again, expecting sleep you were sitting at the edge of the bed, shoes on, bag beside you.

That alone made him stop “You’re awake.”

You nodded without looking long enough at him “I should go home”

His brows pulled together immediately “What?”

“I stayed too long”

“You were sleeping”

“I’m okay now” your voice sounded controlled in that way he recognized instantly as dangerous.

He stepped closer “Did something happen?”

“No.” A lie too quick. You stood before he could block it, adjusting your bag strap though he immediately took the bag from your hand out of habit.

“I’m taking you home”

That should have sounded ordinary. Usually it didbut today it landed differently because all you heard underneath was what your own mind had already decided. He doesn’t have to.

And maybe that was the part that hurt most. That you had started forgetting he never had to do any of this at all.

You looked away quickly before your eyes betrayed anything again.

“I really don’t want to keep bothering you.”

That made him still completely because the sentence came from nowhere.

His voice lowered immediately

“You’re not bothering me”

You gave the smallest smile. One that convinced neither of you.

But you nodded anyway and said nothing more because if you did, you were afraid your voice would break again first. 

The moment he dropped you off he knew something was wrong, you didn't even look back when you got out of his car. Arms crossed over yourself as if you're physically holding yourself together.

Not even a quick goodbye.

***** end of part one *****

[scarletwinterxx]

backburner - choi seungcheol imagine part one

hello~ this was supposed to be only one part but i cannnnooot make it fit into one post without deleting too many scenes so i hope y'all don't mind it's by parts again😭 i tried but i didn't want to sacrifice the plot for the sake of making it shorter.

also a quick explanation why it's called backburner. it came to me while i was editing it, OC isn't the backburner.... cheol is. in a way he's fine being not her first choice, he didn't mind loving her in silence if it meant keeping her🥺 i hope it will make sense when you read this. enjoy🤍

PART TWO HERE

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All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2026 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pic not mine, credits to rightful owner)

The door clicked shut behind him with the familiar sound of keys against metal, followed by the quiet thud of shoes being pushed aside near the entrance.

“Hey,” Seungcheol called automatically, voice warm, already shrugging off his jacket as he stepped inside your apartment

“I brought—” he stopped. No answer.

Usually, even on your worst days, you answered him somehow, sometimes half asleep from the couch, wrapped in a blanket, or from the kitchen telling him to come in but tonight the apartment was dim, silent except for one thing.

A sharp, painful sound from deeper inside. Then another. He froze for half a second before recognizing it.

Vomiting.

His expression changed immediately “...Shit.”

The grocery bag in his hand hit the counter almost carelessly before he moved fast down the short hallway, guided by the sound until he reached the bathroom door half-open.

You were kneeling on the floor. One hand gripping the toilet seat, the other braced weakly against the tiles, shoulders trembling as another wave hit you hard enough that your whole body folded forward.

Seungcheol was beside you in an instant. One hand gathered your hair away from your face, the other pressed flat between your shoulder blades, rubbing slowly, steadily.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he said quietly, voice lower now, softer, the kind of voice he only used when he knew you were hanging by a thread “I’m here.”

You didn’t answer because you couldn’t.

Another dry heave wracked through you, harsher this time, leaving almost nothing but pain behind. By the time it eased, tears had collected at the corners of your eyes—not from crying, just exhaustion, the strain of it all.

You stayed there breathing hard, forehead nearly touching the toilet seat.

Seungcheol didn’t move his hand.

He just kept rubbing slow circles into your back.

“When was the last time you kept anything down?” he asked after a moment

Your answer came weak “Half a cracker”

He looked at you “Today?”

You gave the tiniest nod. It had been like this for days now. Ever since the nausea had fully hit, mornings were bad, afternoons were worse, and nights somehow became unbearable.

At nine weeks, your body had decided mercy wasn’t part of the plan. And because life apparently wasn’t cruel enough, you were doing it while nursing a heartbreak that still sat fresh under your skin.

The ex-boyfriend who got you pregnant had left more damage behind than just betrayal.

You had found out about the cheating first. The girl from work. Messages. Pictures. Late nights that suddenly made sense. Promises that turned into excuses.

Then the breakup.

Then weeks later, two pink lines you had stared at in silence until your hands shook so badly you nearly dropped the test.

You hadn’t even told many people. Just Seungcheol. And once he knew, he simply… stayed.

Every day after work. Every grocery run.Every doctor appointment. Every time you insisted you were fine and clearly weren’t.

Now he crouched beside you in his office clothes, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, looking like he belonged nowhere near a bathroom floor and yet acting like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

He reached for the cup near the sink, filled it with water, and brought it to your lips.

“Rinse first”

You obeyed because arguing took too much strength. Afterward, he helped you sit back against the wall.

Your skin looked pale. His brows drew together as he pressed the back of his hand lightly to your forehead.

“You’re freezing”

“I’m fine”

“You say that every day”

“I mean it differently every day”

That actually pulled the smallest breath of a laugh from him then his face softened again.

“You should’ve called me earlier”

“You were working”

“And?”

You didn’t answer because there was no answer he would accept.

Seungcheol leaned his shoulder against the wall beside you, still close enough that if another wave came, he’d catch you before you fell forward again.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then you whispered, voice rough, “I hate this.”

Not the pregnancy, not exactly. The helplessness. The nausea. The loneliness that sometimes hits harder than the sickness itself.

“I know”

“I throw up and then I cry because I’m hungry, then I try eating and throw up again.”

He nodded like this was a serious medical report “Terrible system”

“Very bad design”

“We should file a complaint” that made you smile faintly despite yourself.

A weak thing, but real. Seungcheol noticed because his own expression softened immediately, relief flickering there like he had been waiting for even that much.

Then your face changed again. Another wave. He reacted before you even bent forward, hair already gathered, hand steady on your back while your body tensed again.

This one lasted longer. When it ended, you were shaking.

“Okay,” he said firmly, decision already made “No more bathroom floor”

“I live here now”

“Not tonight”

Before you could protest, he stood, reached down, and slid one arm behind your back, the other under your knees.

“Seungcheol—” He lifted you easily, you barely had strength to resist anyway

“I can walk”

“You nearly tipped sideways five seconds ago”

“I had balance”

“You were hugging a toilet”

“That counts”

He laid you gently onto the couch, arranged the blanket over you, then disappeared into the kitchen. You heard cabinets opening, the sound of something being unwrapped. He returned with ginger tea, plain crackers, and that same look he’d been wearing more and more lately.

Concern sharpened into quiet determination.

“Tiny sip,” he instructed

You obeyed because again, arguing required energy you did not possess. He waited while you drank then handed you half a cracker.

“Slow”

You took a bite. After a minute, he exhaled quietly. You leaned back, exhausted. He sat beside you but not too close, giving you space while still staying within reach.

Your voice came small after a while “You don’t have to keep doing this every day”

He didn’t even look at you when he answered

“Yes, I do”

“No, you don’t”

That made him finally turn. His eyes held yours steadily.

“Yes,” he repeated, gentler now, “I do.”

Because underneath all his calm, there was something else there. Something he never forced into words.

Not now. Maybe not yet.

But it existed in every grocery bag he brought, every pharmacy receipt tucked into his wallet, every hour spent sitting beside your bathroom floor after work like it was the most natural place in the world for him to be.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured

“For what?”

“For being… like this.”

That answer made his expression harden.

“You’re growing a whole person while surviving heartbreak and barely sleeping. You’re allowed to throw up and be miserable.”

A tear slipped before you could stop it. You wiped it quickly but he had already seen. And because Seungcheol had always known exactly what to do when you were one breath away from breaking, he simply reached over and wiped the next tear before it fell.

“No apologizing tonight” he said quietly

You swallowed hard then another whisper “I didn’t think it would feel this lonely”

That finally cracked something in his face, because that, more than anything, was what he hated. How you kept carrying pain like it belonged only to you.

His voice lowered, “You’re not alone”

Simple. Certain. No hesitation. The kind of promise that sounded dangerous only because he meant it completely.

And sitting there, wrapped in a blanket, stomach unsettled, body exhausted, heart still bruised—you believed him.

Because every day since everything fell apart, he had shown up. Without fail. Without complaint. Without asking for anything back.

=

The office was loud in the usual end-of-day way—keyboards clacking, muted conversations near the glass meeting room, someone laughing too hard at something near the pantry.

Seungcheol barely noticed any of it.   His attention stayed fixed on the phone lying beside his keyboard. Screen dark. No new message.

He tapped it awake for what had to be the fifth time in ten minutes.

Still nothing from you.

His brows pulled together. You had texted earlier that morning that you needed to go out for a few hours—something about work paperwork you couldn’t delay anymore and he had replied immediately

Cheol: Text me when you get there. Text me when you leave. Call if you feel sick.

You had sent a thumbs up but that had been hours ago. He checked the time again. Then your chat.

Then the time again.

“Still playing baby daddy?” The voice came from his left. Lazy. Amused. Entirely too entertained. Seungcheol didn’t even need to look up to know who it was.

Wonwoo leaned one shoulder against the divider of his desk, coffee in hand, glasses low on his nose, wearing the exact expression of a man arriving solely to be annoying.

Seungcheol finally lifted his eyes. The glare he gave him was immediate.

Wonwoo looked delighted by it “That look means yes”

“It means leave”

“But if I leave, who’s going to listen to you pretend you’re not one text away from driving across the city because she hasn’t replied in two hours?”

Seungcheol glanced down at his phone again before he could stop himself and Wonwoo caught it instantly smirking wider.

Wonwoo took a slow sip of coffee “You know, from an outside perspective, this is fascinating”

Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, jaw tight “Do you have work?”

“Yes. But this is more interesting”

His thumb hovered near your contact before locking the screen again and Wonwoo watched the whole thing like a nature documentary.

“There it is again,” he murmured “That face”

“What face”

“The one where you look like you’re calculating whether calling her would be supportive or overbearing”

Seungcheol finally looked up “Why are you here?”

Wonwoo ignored that “You’ve been doing this every day for weeks now”

“She’s sick”

“She’s pregnant,” Wonwoo corrected mildly “And you are acting like an expectant husband in a medical drama”

“She lives alone”

“And?”

“And she needs help”

Wonwoo gave him a long look then deliberately sat on the edge of the desk

“You know what I enjoy most?”

“I’m not interested.”

“The fact that after all these years, you still think nobody can tell.”

Wonwoo had watched the entire thing happen in slow motion. Watched Seungcheol fall quietly and permanently long before anyone said it aloud. Watched him keep it to himself because timing never lined up, because friendship mattered more, because you smiled at someone else first.

And then you dated someone else. Seungcheol had stepped back exactly the way he should have.

No crossing lines. Just distance. Respectful.

Even when Wonwoo knew every time your name came up, something changed in Seungcheol’s face. Then the breakup happened. The cheating. The office girl. And Wonwoo also still remembered that night clearly because he had been there when Seungcheol found out.

The way Seungcheol stood so suddenly his chair nearly hit the floor. The look on his face that had made Wonwoo genuinely wonder whether he needed to physically stop him from doing something illegal.

“I’m going to kill him.” Direct. Calm. Which somehow sounded worse.

Wonwoo grabbed his sleeve immediately and said, “Prison is inconvenient”

“He cheated on her.”

“Yes, and murder remains dramatic”

“He cheated on her” Seungcheol repeated, voice lower, angrier.

Wonwoo had almost believed he would actually do it.

“You know,” he said lightly, “if someone didn’t know better, they’d think you’ve been waiting for this your whole life”

Seungcheol’s jaw flexed, “Be careful”

“See? Threatening. Very paternal.”

Another glare. Wonwoo smiled behind his coffee cup. Then his gaze dropped when Seungcheol’s phone lit up.

Seungcheol snatched it up. Wonwoo laughed under his breath because of course he did.

You: Sorry. Threw up in the clinic bathroom. Phone was in my bag. I’m okay now. Going home soon.

The tightness in Seungcheol’s shoulders eased but only slightly.

His fingers were already typing

Cheol: Clinic? Why clinic? Are you alone? Did you eat? Send location. I’m coming.

Wonwoo leaned enough to catch the edge of the screen then sighed dramatically.

Seungcheol stood, already grabbing his jacket.

“You’re leaving?”

“She’s at a clinic.”

“She said she’s okay.”

“She threw up in public.”

Wonwoo spread his hands “Right. Obviously life-threatening”

Seungcheol shoved his phone into his pocket “Do your work”

Wonwoo watched him move around the desk. Then added, because he truly could not resist, “If she ever realizes you’ve loved her since forever, I expect front-row seats.”

Just enough that Wonwoo caught the warning in his face. But also the truth.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, voice less teasing now, “I think she already trusts you more than anyone.”

Then his phone buzzed again. Your location. And another message

You: Don’t panic. I’m just tired.

Too late. He was already walking.

“Tell HR I left.”

Wonwoo called after him, grin returning “Should I also tell them parental leave is approaching?”

This time Seungcheol didn’t even bother answering.

Just lifted one hand without looking back—half warning, half dismissal—while already dialing your number the second he reached the elevator 

By the time Seungcheol reached the clinic, the evening traffic of Seoul had already thickened into slow-moving lines of headlights and brake lights stretching along the road.

He barely noticed any of it. The moment he turned into the curbside lane, his eyes found you immediately.

Sitting alone on a bench just outside the clinic entrance. One hand resting near your stomach without thinking, shoulders slightly hunched, looking tired in the way that had become too familiar lately—like your body was spending energy faster than you could recover it.

The second he saw you, he parked badly enough that another driver honked.

He ignored it, already crossing toward you.

Your head lifted at the sound of hurried footsteps, and before you could even greet him, he was standing there, brows drawn tight, scanning your face like he expected to find evidence you hadn’t mentioned.

“Why are you sitting outside?” he asked immediately

You blinked up at him “Because I was waiting.”

“You could’ve waited inside.”

“I wanted air”

“You threw up again?”

“A little”

“A little,” he repeated flatly, like the phrase personally offended him. You almost smiled.

He crouched just enough to meet your eyes properly “Are you dizzy?”

“No.”

“Headache?” “No.”

“Can you stand?”

That one made you laugh softly, tired but real “Yes, Seungcheol.”

Still, he took your bag before you could reach for it, then offered his hand like he didn’t fully trust your answer. And because arguing with him in this mood never worked, you let him help you up.

The walk to the car was slow. Not because you couldn’t manage, but because he kept adjusting his pace to yours so precisely it was impossible not to notice. At the passenger side, he opened the door first. Waited until you sat. Then leaned in, buckled your seatbelt himself, checking that it sat comfortably before closing the door gently.

By the time he got into the driver’s seat, you were already watching him with that quiet look that always made him pretend not to notice.

He started the engine. Only pulled away once he was sure you were settled.

For a few minutes, the car filled with soft heater air and city lights sliding past the windows.

Then he glanced at you.

“So.”

You leaned your head lightly against the seat “So?”

“What did the doctor say?”

You exhaled slowly “That apparently I’m dramatic”

He looked over immediately “She said that?”

“No,” you said, deadpan. “She said what I think is excessive nausea is apparently normal.”

His mouth tightened “Throwing up all day is normal?”

“Unfortunately, yes”

“That seems poorly designed”

“I told you.”

“What else?”

You looked out the window for a second, replaying the appointment

“I told her I can barely keep food down some days. She said small meals, bland food, ginger, rest… and she said if it gets worse, I might need fluids.”

“You didn’t tell me that part in the text.”

“Because I’m not at the fluids part”

“You still should’ve said it”

You looked at him sideways “You were already panicking.”

“I was not panicking”

“You left work in ten minutes”

“That’s efficiency”

That got the faintest smile from you.Traffic slowed at a light. He used the pause to glance over again.

“What else did you do today?”

“Two client meetings”

“You went to both?”

“I’m still employed”

“You looked exhausted yesterday”

“I looked exhausted because your tea tastes like boiled sadness”

He finally made a quiet sound that almost counted as laughter.

“It kept your crackers down.”

“Barely.”

You continued, voice softer now, tired enough that words came slower.

“First meeting was okay. Second one I almost had to excuse myself because someone opened tuna kimbap in the room.”

His face changed immediately. “You almost threw up there?”

“I survived.”

“That is not surviving.”

“I survived enough.”

Another pause. Then you added, almost absentmindedly, gaze still out the window:

“On the way here I passed a street cart.”

“Hm?”

“The egg bread one.”

He glanced at you, you were still looking outside.

“It smelled so good,” you murmured, almost to yourself. “I’ve been craving it for days.”

That finally made him turn his head slightly.

“Egg bread?”

You shrugged like it didn’t matter “The little ones from street vendors.”

“Why didn’t you buy some?”

You gave him a look “Because five minutes later I threw up in a clinic bathroom.”

A fair answer but he had already heard the important part.

Craving.

And unlike most people, Seungcheol treated any food you wanted lately like urgent medical information. Especially because wanting food and keeping food down were two very different things, and when your body asked for something specific, he paid attention.

He said nothing for the next minute. Just drove. Then suddenly signaled right. You noticed immediately.

“Why are we turning?” No answer.

“Seungcheol.” Still nothing.

“You’re not—”

He pulled over near a corner lined with evening vendors, warm lights glowing beneath small carts where steam rose into the cold air.

And there it was. The smell reached even the car. Fresh bread and egg.

He parked. Unbuckled.

“You cannot be serious.”

He already had one hand on the door.

“You wanted it.”

“That was not a request.”

“It sounded medically important.”

“It absolutely did not.”

But he was already out.

You watched through the windshield as he crossed toward the cart without hesitation, speaking briefly with the vendor, hands in his coat pocket while waiting.

Streetlight caught against his profile. Hair slightly messy from rushing out of work. The kind of scene that should not have made your chest tighten the way it did.

But lately everything he did landed somewhere you were trying very hard not to examine too closely.

Because there was something dangerous about kindness when you were already fragile.

And Seungcheol had been too kind for too long.

A few minutes later he came back carrying a warm paper bag.

The smell filled the car instantly the second he opened the door. He handed it over carefully.

“Small bites first"

You looked at the bag, then at him “You really stopped"

“You wanted it"

“I mentioned it”

“You mentioned it twice”

“I did not”

“You did in your head loud enough” Despite yourself, you smiled.

A real one this time. Small, but enough that something in his face softened immediately, almost unconsciously.

You took one careful bite, for the first time all day, your expression changed into something close to relief.

He noticed instantly “Well?”

You chewed slowly “It’s good.”

“Stay there,” he said immediately, eyes still on you like he expected a sudden reaction. “Don’t eat fast.”

You laughed softly through the second bite.

He finally started driving again, slower now, one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift while occasionally glancing over to make sure you were still okay.

=

By week eleven, the nausea had not disappeared but it had changed shape. Less violent some days, more unpredictable on others.

One morning you could keep toast down. That same afternoon the smell of rice nearly sent you running to the sink.

And the cravings. those had become something else entirely.

At first they came quietly. A specific food sounding nice. Something easy enough to ignore. But lately, they arrived like full emotional emergencies. Ridiculous in how urgent they felt.

And tonight was worse because it had started small—just a passing memory of roasted sweet potatoes from a street cart earlier that week.

The smell of caramelized sweetness in cold air. Soft steam rising when broken apart. Then your brain had decided that was now the only thing in the world that mattered.

By eleven-thirty, you were still trying to reason with yourself.

You drank water, ate half a cracker. You told yourself normal people did not call someone near midnight because of sweet potatoes.

By eleven-fifty, your eyes were burning.

By eleven-fifty-six, you were sitting cross-legged on your bed staring at your phone like it had personally offended you.

This was absurd. He had already come by earlier.

And now here you were.

Hovering over his name. Your rational mind said wait until morning, the craving said absolutely not.

Your thumb pressed call before dignity could intervene.

The ring barely lasted long enough for regret to settle. He answered immediately.

“Hey.” His voice came low, rougher than usual, like he had been lying down but not asleep yet.

And immediately sharper after half a beat 

“What happened?”

Because you never called this late not unless something was wrong.

You opened your mouth but nothing came out at first because suddenly saying it aloud felt embarrassingly childish.

He waited exactly one second “Are you sick?”

“No.”

“Did you throw up?”

“No.”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

“Are you crying?”

That made you blink because your voice had betrayed you that fast.

“No.”

A pause.

“That sounded suspicious.”

You covered your face with one hand “This is stupid.”

“Okay,” he said, already sounding like he was sitting up “Tell me the stupid thing.”

You almost hung up, like actually considered it but the craving had already won and apparently pregnancy removed all remaining pride.

“I want roasted sweet potatoes.”

For a moment it was just silent, then he speaks again

“What?”

Your eyes squeezed shut “I want roasted sweet potatoes.”

Another silence but thhis one shorter “Right now?”

Your voice dropped into a miserable mumble.

“Yes.”

“It’s midnight.”

“I know.”

“You called me because of sweet potatoes.”

The shame deepened “Yes.”

Then the worst possible thing happened. He laughed. Not mocking. Just sudden, warm laughter he clearly failed to stop in time.

Your offended voice came immediately “Don’t laugh.”

“I’m trying not to.”

“You are laughing.”

“I’m failing.”

“You’re horrible.”

That only made him laugh quieter, softer, like he was smiling now and somehow that made it worse because now you were genuinely close to tears again.

“Forget it,” you muttered. “Go back to sleep.”

That changed his tone instantly “Hey.”

You stayed quiet. He heard the shift anyway and when he spoke again, his voice softened.

“You’re really upset.”

“It’s hormones,” you said, hating how fragile that sounded. “And I can’t stop thinking about it.”

A pause.

“I tried not to call.”

That did something to him, enough that the smile left his voice completely. Because he could picture it too easily, you alone in your apartment, trying to be reasonable while your body and emotions ignored reason entirely.

He looked at the clock beside his bed.

11:58 PM. Weekend. No meetings tomorrow.

Decision made instantly.

“Stay there.”

You frowned “What?”

“I’m coming.”

“No.”

“I’m already getting up.”

“Seungcheol, no, that’s insane.”

“You called me at midnight sounding like you might cry over a sweet potato.”

You heard movement already.

“Do you know how many street vendors are still open right now?” you asked weakly

“I’m about to find out.”

“You should sleep.”

“You should stop sounding like this over root vegetables.”

You made a noise halfway between protest and embarrassment but he ignored it.

“Unlock your door.”

“Cheol—”

“Unlock it.”

The first thing Seungcheol realized after getting into the car was that midnight in Seoul made cravings significantly harder to solve than cravings at six in the evening.

The second thing he realized was that you had sounded genuinely close to tears over roasted sweet potatoes which meant turning around and going back to bed had never been an option.

The roads were quieter than usual, city lights stretched long against the windshield, convenience stores glowing at corners while most street vendors had already disappeared for the night.

His phone sat mounted near the dashboard, screen still lit from your last message:

You: Drive safe. If you can’t find any, it’s okay.

He had not answered because he already knew that if he texted back, you would tell him to forget it and he was not forgetting it.

Not after the way your voice cracked around I tried not to call.

His fingers tapped once against the steering wheel while he slowed near another corner where a vendor usually parked during colder nights.

Empty so he kept driving. Another block and still nothing. A third turn near the station, still nothing except closed shutters and a delivery scooter disappearing down an alley.

He exhaled through his nose.

This was ridiculous.

Entirely ridiculous.

And yet he was still scanning every side street like finding one specific roasted sweet potato cart determined the outcome of the night because if there was one thing he had learned these past weeks, it was that pregnancy ignored dignity, schedules, and logic equally.

One minute you were insisting you were fine the next minute egg bread became urgent enough to reroute traffic.

Tonight apparently sweet potatoes had won.

He checked the time.

12:11 AM.

Then finally, near the far side of the station entrance, he saw the faint orange glow of a small cart tucked beside a closed newspaper stand.

Steam rose under a yellow light.

A woman in a padded jacket sat behind it, peeling foil from freshly roasted sweet potatoes.

Relief hit harder than expected. He pulled over immediately. The cold hit the second he stepped out, but he barely noticed, already crossing toward the cart.

The woman looked up when he approached. Older, sharp-eyed, the kind who missed nothing.

“You’re lucky,” she said before he even spoke “I’m closing.”

“How many do you have left?”

She lifted the foil lid, revealing a few still warm inside “Enough if you’re quick.”

“I’ll take four.”

That earned him a glance “Four?”

He nodded “Big ones.”

She began wrapping them carefully, hands practiced and quick. At this hour the street was almost silent except for distant traffic and the soft crackle of heat from the cart.

Then she asked casually, like it was obvious conversation 

“Your wife sent you out this late?” the question landed without warning.

He should have corrected it immediately. Normally he would have. Instead, because his mind was still partly on you sitting alone at home trying not to cry over food, he answered without thinking.

“Craving.”

The woman looked up again, smile already forming.

“Ah.” One knowing sound “Pregnancy cravings?”

He hesitated only half a second then nodded once.

“...Yes.”

Her smile widened instantly, amused in that particular way older women often were when they believed they understood a story before you explained it.

“Aigo, then the wife won tonight.”

His hand paused halfway to his wallet. The wife.

Simple words. Ordinary. Harmless. And yet something about hearing it in relation to you landed strangely deep—so sudden that for a brief second he forgot to answer at all.

Because the image came too easily. Too naturally.

You at home in oversized sleep clothes, probably sitting on the couch waiting.

Half annoyed at yourself for calling. Half relieved he came. Your tired face lighting slightly the moment he handed you what you wanted.

And against all reason, the woman’s sentence fit that picture too neatly.

As if it had always been waiting somewhere in the background, dangerous only because he had spent years refusing to let his mind stay there too long.

He paid. The woman handed over the paper bag, sttill warm.

“First child?” she asked casually. 

The answer should have been complicated. Impossible, even.

But what came out was quieter than expected.

“...yes”

He bowed politely, took the bag, and turned back toward the car.

Cold air again. Warm paper in his hand. Inside the car, the smell of roasted sweet potato filled the space almost immediately.

He sat there for one second longer than necessary before starting the engine.

The woman’s words still annoyingly present.

The wife won tonight.

And worse, the fact that he had not corrected her, but not because explaining felt inconvenient, not because it was late.

But because for one selfish second, hearing it had felt... good.

Too good.

His fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel. He knew exactly where lines existed.

You were vulnerable. Pregnant. Recently hurt and he had spent years learning how to put what he felt in a locked place where it would never burden you.

That had not changed, would not change. 

=

By twelve weeks, Seungcheol had accepted two things as fact.

First: pregnancy cravings did not obey logic.

Second: once you wanted something, pretending you didn’t usually ended badly—for you, for your stomach, and for whatever fragile patience he still had left watching you suffer through it.

Which was exactly why, three days after the midnight sweet potato incident, he had stood in your kitchen with both arms crossed and told you in a tone so unnecessarily strict that you had nearly laughed in his face:

“If you want something, call me.”

You had leaned against the counter, chewing slowly on toast

“It was midnight.”

“I don’t care.”

“It was a sweet potato.”

“I still don’t care.”

“You looked personally offended.”

“I was.” That had earned a full laugh from you. When you laughed harder, he only narrowed his eyes.

“I mean it.”

“You’re making cravings sound like emergencies.”

“They become emergencies when you wait until you’re almost crying.”

That shut you up faster than expected.

Because unfortunately, he was right.

And Seungcheol, noticing your silence, softened only slightly.

“It’s better to see you eat than hear you throwing up all day.”

Simple sentence. Matter-of-fact.

So from then on, you tried. now and then, he’d get random messages that made absolutely no sense without context. Which was exactly why, during lunch with Wonwoo, his phone buzzing on the table immediately pulled his attention.

Wonwoo noticed because Seungcheol always looked first when your name appeared.

Your message was short:

You: Do grapes that taste like cotton candy actually exist or is that internet lying again.

You: Because if they exist I suddenly need them

Seungcheol stared for half a second then typed back without hesitation.

Cheol: They exist. I’ll stop by after lunch and bring some.

Send. Phone down. He reached for his water again like nothing happened.

Across from him, Wonwoo had watched the entire exchange with zero shame.

Then slowly put his chopsticks down “No.”

Seungcheol ignored him.

“No,” Wonwoo repeated, leaning back now, deeply entertained. “Absolutely not.”

“You didn’t even ask if she’s joking.”

“She’s not joking.”

“You answered in under five seconds.”

“She wants grapes.”

“Cotton candy grapes,” he said, “You’re really leaving lunch to hunt specialty fruit because she texted two lines.”

“I said after lunch.”

“That changes nothing.”

“It changes timing.”

Wonwoo gave him a long look Then, with complete seriousness:

“That kid is going to look like you.”

Seungcheol finally looked up. Flat stare.

“No.”

“Genetics be damned,” Wonwoo continued, fully committed now. “At this point the universe owes you resemblance.”

“That is not how biology works.”

“No, but emotional investment should count for something.”

Seungcheol went back to eating Which only encouraged him.

“Imagine the baby comes out with your glare.”

“Eat your lunch.”

“Or your stubbornness.”

“Wonwoo.”

“Tiny angry eyebrows.”

That finally pulled the smallest exhale through Seungcheol’s nose—the closest thing to amusement he would allow.

Later he dropped by the store quickly, getting 2 bags of grapes before going to your place. The moment you opened the door wearing that unmistakable expression. Slight scowl, tired eyes, brows drawn together like the day had personally offended you.

“You took long.” that was your greeting. Just immediate complaint but he only chuckled. 

Seungcheol held up the paper bag “You asked for specialty grapes.”

“You said after lunch.”

“It is after lunch.”

“You still took long.” But even while saying it, your eyes were already on the bag. And he knew that look now.

The exact moment irritation started losing against curiosity.

He stepped inside without comment, slipped off his shoes, and handed the bag over.

You took it immediately, opened it standing right there near the entryway. Plucked one grape, bit into it and right before his eyes, the entire mood changed.

A complete, absurd one-eighty.

The scowl vanished. Brows relaxed. Then came that small hum—soft, involuntary, pleased enough that it almost sounded like you forgot he was there.

He stared for half a second then laughed under his breath because honestly, there it was again—that strange little victory he kept collecting lately whenever food stayed down and made you smile instead of grimace.

By the time he finished washing his hands and stepped toward the living room, you were already curled into the couch with the bowl in your lap, eating one grape at a time like you had discovered treasure.

Another quiet hum.

He leaned one shoulder against the kitchen doorway, watching.

“It’s good?”

You looked up, cheeks slightly full, and nodded immediately. Too happy to even answer properly.

He chuckled.

Your expression made it impossible not to.

“Internet didn’t lie,” he added.

Another nod. Then a tiny, almost suspiciously satisfied

“They actually taste like cotton candy.”

“Mm.”

You reached for another grape. Mood entirely restored.

And it struck him again how dramatic the shifts had become lately, how fifteen minutes ago you had looked ready to reject human interaction, and now one bowl of grapes had apparently repaired the universe.

He moved into the kitchen, setting down the extra pack he had bought because Wonwoo had unfortunately been right.

Behind him he could still hear occasional soft sounds of approval every few bites.

He was rinsing a glass when your voice came again.

“Hey, Cheol.”

Something in the tone made him look over immediately. You were no longer smiling quite the same way but still holding the bowl, fingers slower now, thoughtful.

He stayed where he was.

“Yeah?”

You hesitated “I have a scan next week.”

He turned fully “What kind?”

“The one where they might tell me the gender.”

Then your eyes dropped to the grapes again.

“I don’t want to go alone.”

That was all it took.

He was moving before you even looked up again.

Kitchen forgotten. By the time your gaze lifted, he was already crouching in front of the couch, one hand resting lightly against the edge near your knee, face level with yours.

Close enough that his attention felt immediate, complete.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, absurdly, he could already hear Wonwoo’s voice:

Look at you. One sentence and you’re kneeling like a proposal scene.

Which was annoying because from the outside, maybe it did look painfully obvious.

He ignored that thought.

“What day?” he asked first

You blinked, slightly caught off guard by how fast he answered.

“Thursday.”

“What time?”

“Eleven-thirty.”

“Which clinic? Same one?”

You nodded slowly. He repeated it once under his breath, already memorizing.

Then his expression softened. That steady, reassuring smile he used only when he knew you were asking for something that cost you more courage than it should have.

“I’ll come if you want me to.” No hesitation

“You’re not busy?” The pout appeared too—small, tired, almost guilty.

As if asking already felt like asking too much and that expression did something dangerous to his chest every single time.

Because you still asked like he might say no. Still asked like you hadn’t learned yet that if it involved you lately, he rearranged things before considering inconvenience.

His smile deepened just slightly.

“I can move anything.”

“You don’t even know what you have that day.”

“I know what matters first.”

The words came too naturally. Too honest.

He noticed it right after saying them. So did you, judging by the way your eyes stayed on him a second longer than usual.

He added more lightly, “It’s one appointment.”

You looked down again, picking another grape but not eating it yet.

“I just…” A pause “I don’t want to sit there by myself if they tell me.”

He understood immediately. Not the scan itself. The moment. The weight of hearing something important and having nobody beside you to look at first.

Nobody to share the first reaction with.

And suddenly crouching there, looking up at you from the floor, he felt that familiar sharp pull again—that impossible mixture of tenderness and restraint that had defined nearly every day lately.

Because it would have been so easy to reach for your hand right then.

Too easy.

Instead he kept his voice steady.

“You won’t be alone.”

That made you finally eat the grape still in your fingers.

Slowly.

Then after swallowing, quieter:

“Okay.”

He stayed there another second longer than necessary. Just because your face had softened again. Because relief looked gentler on you than exhaustion ever did.

Because this close, with afternoon light catching across the couch and the bowl of ridiculous grapes in your lap, he understood exactly why Wonwoo never stopped teasing him.

It probably was obvious.

Painfully obvious.

Especially now—him crouched in front of you like your next sentence might determine his entire week.

Still, he didn’t move until you looked at him again and asked:

“Did you buy only one pack?”

He blinked. Then almost laughed.

“Check the kitchen.”

That earned the smallest smile.

A real one.

And when you smiled like that, even something as ordinary as buying extra grapes somehow felt absurdly worth it 

=

By the time Thursday came, Seungcheol already knew two things before you even said a word.

First—you had barely eaten breakfast.

Second—you were nervous enough that your silence felt louder than usual.

The drive through morning traffic in Seoul had been mostly quiet, not uncomfortable, just filled with that specific kind of tension he had started recognizing in you lately.

You answered when he asked simple things. Short replies. Small nods. 

But your fingers kept moving. Twisting the edge of your sleeve. Checking your phone without reading anything.

Looking out the window, then away again.

And by the time the two of you sat in the clinic waiting area, that nervous energy had settled fully into your body.

Your knee bounced fast enough to shake the chair slightly.

One hand kept drifting to your nails. Picking.

Tiny repeated motions.

He noticed immediately. He had seen that habit before, long before pregnancy, long before heartbreak—always the same when your thoughts got too loud.

And always bad enough that if nobody stopped you, you’d keep going until skin broke.

You probably didn’t even realize you were doing it.

He watched for half a minute. Then without ceremony, he reached over and took your hand. Warm fingers wrapping gently but firmly around yours before your nails could catch skin again.

The motion startled you enough that your head turned instantly.

Eyes lifting to him, already ready to protest and he knew that look too.

So before you could say anything, he answered casually, voice low enough not to draw attention.

“You pick at your nails when you’re nervous until it bleeds.”

You blinked. Your mouth opened then closed.

Then came the small, almost defensive mumble “I don’t do it that much.”

He gave you a look. You knew better than to argue with that look ecause both of you knew he was right.

Still, he didn’t let go. And this time—you didn’t pull away. Your hand stayed where it was in his.

At first maybe because you were distracted. Then because, little by little, the warmth helped more than you wanted to admit.

Your knee slowed too.

Around you, the waiting room stayed busy in quiet clinic ways—soft footsteps, low voices, pages turning.

From anyone sitting across the room, the picture likely looked obvious.

A couple waiting for an appointment.

Because there you were: seated close enough that your shoulder occasionally brushed his arm, your bag resting on his lap because he had taken it from you the second you tried carrying it yourself, and your fingers still loosely caught in his hand like neither of you had properly acknowledged it.

At one point you leaned slightly toward him.

Not fully just enough that your shoulder settled against his arm.

Then tugged lightly at the side of his sleeve.

“Did you check if parking expires?”

He looked down “Two hours.”

“You checked?”

“Before we came in.”

You nodded like that answered something important.

And somewhere in another version of this morning, if Wonwoo had witnessed any of it, Seungcheol knew exactly what expression he would wear:

Hopeless. Completely hopeless.

Because yes, from the outside it looked obvious. From the inside too, if he was being honest.

The dangerous part was how natural it felt. Holding your hand. Carrying your bag. Watching every little nervous movement like it mattered as if his body had already learned its role before his mind allowed it.

Then the nurse called your name imediately your fingers tightened around his.

He only stood, still holding your hand until you were fully on your feet. Then picked up your bag too.

Inside the scan room, the light dimmed. You climbed onto the bed slowly, still visibly tense. He stood near your side, bag set aside, hands in his pockets now only because he needed somewhere to put them.

The technician smiled politely, professional and calm, beginning routine questions before applying gel across your stomach. Cold enough that you startled.

Seungcheol immediately looked over “You okay?”

“It’s cold”

The technician laughed softly “Always cold”

Then the screen flickered. Shapes appeared. Movement. That strange grainy image that somehow still made everything feel impossibly real.

For a second, nobody spoke. The technician focused. Measured. Clicked through angles.

And Seungcheol, who had come here prepared to simply sit quietly and support you, felt something shift unexpectedly when he saw movement on the screen.

A tiny shape. Small but real.

His chest tightened before he had words for why. Beside him, your hand found the edge of his sleeve again. Without looking, you tugged lightly. A nervous habit.

Then the technician smiled slightly. “Well…” A pause. Another angle.

“It looks like a girl.” The room went quiet. Just long enough for the sentence to land fully.

A girl.

You blinked first. Eyes fixed on the screen.

“...A girl?”

The technician nodded, still smiling “Yes. Very likely.”

And suddenly your face changed. All the tension from earlier loosened at once into something softer—something caught between disbelief and emotion.

A tiny breath left you that sounded dangerously close to tears. Beside you, Seungcheol forgot entirely that he was supposed to stay detached from moments that did not belong to him.

Because hearing girl hit him harder than expected too.

Not his child. Not his place. And yet standing there, watching your eyes shine while staring at that screen, all he could think was how impossibly small she still was.

How fiercely you had already fought through weeks of nausea and exhaustion for someone not even born yet.

And before he realized it, he smiled.

You turned your head then, finally looking at him instead of the screen. And because emotion made honesty simpler than usual, you whispered

“A girl” Like you needed to hear it again from someone beside you.

His eyes met yours “A girl,” he repeated gently.

Your fingers tightened once more around his sleeve and this time neither of you let go because for one suspended moment it felt less like surviving another appointment and more like something tender neither of you quite knew how to name yet 

=

By twenty-one weeks, asking Seungcheol for help no longer felt like crossing some line you had once drawn out of guilt.

At first, every favor came with hesitation. Every request felt heavier than it should have, because somewhere in your mind you still heard yourself saying he has his own life, he shouldn’t have to keep doing this, you cannot keep leaning this much.

But time had a way of softening resistance when someone showed up often enough that their presence stopped feeling borrowed.

He still came after work. Still checked if you had eaten. Still carried things you could absolutely carry yourself and ignored every complaint about it.

And somewhere between week twelve and now, the guilt had thinned into something harder to define. Not gone. Just quieter.

Because lately his presence had become... natural. The kind of natural that only became noticeable when you caught yourself expecting him before he arrived. Or when your first instinct at seeing something funny, annoying, exhausting, or strange became I should tell Cheol.

That should have felt ordinary—he had always been your best friend but lately you noticed things you had spent years deliberately not naming.

Things that became harder to ignore now that he stayed so close to your daily life. Like how absurdly unfair it was that someone built like him moved so carefully around you.

Broad shoulders. Tall enough that in crowded places people stepped aside without thinking. That serious expression strangers always mistook for coldness. The glare that made people straighten immediately when aimed their way.

And yet the moment you spoke, even mid-sentence, something changed.

His brows eased. His mouth softened slightly. His attention sharpened in that complete way that made the rest of the world look temporarily unimportant.

You had told yourself for weeks that it was simply kindness. Because that was safer.

Kindness fit. Kindness explained midnight sweet potatoes, clinic visits, grapes that tasted like cotton candy, carrying your bag, waiting through appointments, remembering what food stayed down and what smell made you nauseous.

Something else… that was harder. So you kept choosing kindness.

Even while lately, more and more often, you caught yourself noticing things that made the explanation thinner.

Seungcheol picked you up earlier than usual under the excuse that he had things to do at home anyway and you might as well stay there instead of being alone all day.

You had argued, naturally

“I’ll be fine at my apartment”

“You said that last week and then forgot lunch because you fell asleep sitting up.”

“That happened once”

“You threw up twice before noon”

“That is unrelated”

“It is exactly related”

And somehow, as always, you ended up in his car anyway.

Now his apartment looked suspiciously prepared for your arrival. Extra pillows stacked on one side of the couch. A folded blanket already placed within reach. Water bottle on the coffee table. Snacks lined neatly beside it.

You also chose not to comment because if you did, he would shrug like it meant nothing so instead you settled into the couch, one leg tucked carefully under the other, phone in hand, while he moved around the apartment doing errands he claimed he had ignored for too long.

Laundry first. Then something in the kitchen. Then you heard drawers opening somewhere deeper inside. And because apparently distance no longer stopped either of you from continuing conversations, he texted you even when he’s just in the other room

Seungcheol: Why is your hand inside the snack bowl but you’re not eating?

You: Are you spying on me?

Seungcheol: Reflection from the TV

You looked up instinctively toward the blank television and narrowed your eyes.

“Creepy”

From the other room, his voice came back calm “Eat.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. Your shirt had ridden slightly upward from how you were sitting, exposing the soft curve of your stomach. One hand rested there absentmindedly, fingertips moving without thought the way they had lately whenever you sat still too long.

You were halfway through typing another complaint about his hoodie collection when the apartment door opened. You barely registered it.

A click. Then footsteps.

Jeon Wonwoo appears with one iced coffee in hand, clearly meant for Seungcheol, and had already stepped fully inside before his eyes landed on the couch.

Then stopped. Because from his angle, what he saw was: You stretched comfortably across Seungcheol’s couch. Pillows arranged around you like someone had built a nest. Snacks spread on the table. Your hand resting over your stomach. Your shirt slightly lifted enough to make the pregnancy obvious.

And the overall atmosphere of someone entirely at ease in another person’s home.

Wonwoo blinked once. The amusement arrived first. Then confusion. Then dangerous understanding.

Seungcheol, unfortunately, caught that exact expression immediately and the glare he shot him could have stopped traffic.

A very clear: Don’t you dare.

Wonwoo looked delighted “Ah.”

That one syllable alone sounded criminal. You finally looked up.

“Oh. Hi.”

Wonwoo lifted the coffee slightly like proof he came peacefully.

“Hi”

Seungcheol spoke first, voice flat “You’re early”

“I can leave,” Wonwoo said, not sounding like he meant it at all

“You should”

“But then I’d miss whatever this is”

You frowned faintly “What do you mean, whatever this is?”

Wonwoo looked at you. Then very deliberately at Seungcheol. Then back at you.

“This looks… domestic”

Seungcheol immediately moved forward, taking the coffee from his hand harder than necessary.

“It looks like she’s resting”

“It looks,” Wonwoo corrected mildly, “like you kidnapped a pregnant woman and built her a comfort station”

You almost laughed. Seungcheol did not.

“She didn’t want to stay alone.”

“Mm” Wonwoo’s gaze dropped to the table again

“Sit down or leave”

You looked slowly toward Seungcheol. He refused eye contact immediately, suddenly very interested in placing coffee on the counter.

Wonwoo saw your expression shift and nearly smiled to himself. So naturally he stepped deeper into it. He sat in the armchair opposite the couch like he had arrived specifically for entertainment.

“You want coffee too?” Seungcheol asked you immediately, changing subject

“No”

“Tea?” “No”

“Fruit?” “I’m not a zoo animal”

Wonwoo leaned back “He asks like that every ten minutes?”

“Yes” you answered before Seungcheol could stop you

“Because she forgets to eat”

“Because he acts like I’ll vanish if unsupervised”

Wonwoo looked at Seungcheol again, slow and deeply entertained.

“You know, if anyone walked in right now, they’d assume this is his wife.”

Silence. Immediate silence. Your eyes widened just slightly. Seungcheol looked ready to physically remove him.

Wonwoo, sensing impact, added calmly “Especially with the hand on the stomach.”

You looked down instinctively, your palm still rested there. You pulled your shirt down at once.

Seungcheol’s jaw tightened, not because of you, but because Wonwoo had noticed the exact thing he had spent all morning pretending not to stare at.

Then, suddenly a small movement under your palm.

You froze. The shift came again. Tiny but unmistakable.

Your breath caught “Wait”

Everything changed instantly. Both men looked at you. You stared down, hand pressing lightly. There it is again.

You looked up too fast, eyes wide.

“I think—” Seungcheol was beside the couch before you finished. All annoyance gone. Wonwoo forgotten.

“What?”

“She moved”

His expression changed in real time. Softened so quickly it almost hurt to look at.

“Now?” Y

Y&ou nodded. He crouched immediately in front of you, instinctive, like every serious thing involving you now pulled him lower, closer, gentler.

“Again?”

“I don’t know, wait—” You inhaled sharply and without thinking, your hand caught his wrist and placed it there. Right over the curve.

For one suspended second no one moved. Seungcheol went absolutely still his large hand under yours. Then… another tiny movement. Barely there but enough.

His eyes lifted slowly to yours and whatever he felt in that moment showed too clearly.

Wonwoo, for once in his life, did something rare. He stayed quiet. No teasing. No smug I knew it expression spoken aloud, even though it absolutely lived in his eyes. He only leaned back deeper into the chair, coffee untouched in his hand, watching the two of you as if instinct told him this was not a moment to break.

Your entire focus stayed on the small place beneath your palm. And Seungcheol’s hand remained there too, large and impossibly careful under yours, like even breathing too hard might disturb something fragile.

Then another tiny movement. Your whole face changed instantly. Mouth parting into that smile he had come to recognize as the dangerous kind, the kind that hit him directly in the chest because it appeared without effort, pure and unguarded.

“That’s so weird,” you whispered. Then softer “But also… she’s alive.”

Your hand stayed over his and now you were smiling fully, looking down at your stomach like you had just met something miraculous and ordinary at once.

Seungcheol looked at you instead bcause this expression was worth every sleepless midnight run, every worried clinic wait, every swallowed anger from months ago he refused to revisit.

For a dangerous second, he forgot Wonwoo existed entirely yhen Wonwoo finally spoke, voice light enough not to shatter the softness.

“Oh—it’s a girl? Congrats.” The word landed like a pin through a bubble. Instantly both you and Seungcheol looked up.

The moment broke just enough for awareness to return. You realized your hand was still over his. Realized how close he was crouched between your knees.

Realized Wonwoo had watched the entire thing. Heat rushed straight into your face.

Seungcheol cleared his throat first and stood up immediately, too quickly almost, like distance would fix whatever had suddenly become obvious.

“Yeah,” you answered, voice smaller than before “A girl.”

He busied himself with the pillows which did not need fixing, then the blanket folded even though it had already been folded.

Wonwoo watched this performance with enormous internal satisfaction. He said nothing but the smile he bit back was criminal.

“You found out recently?” Wonwoo asked, shifting attention to you because clearly Seungcheol needed several seconds to remember how normal people behaved

“A few days ago”

“How are you feeling?”

You shrugged “Hungry half the time. Sick the other half. Emotional for no reason.”

“Not no reason,” Wonwoo said mildly

“Yesterday I almost cried because my toast was uneven.”

“That sounds valid”

And just like that, conversation settled easier. You asked about work. Wonwoo told you stories—mostly exaggerated, likely to annoy Seungcheol, which worked because every third sentence from the kitchen came with corrections.

You laugh at Wonwoo’s stories, the sound carried through the apartment easily.

And each time it did, Seungcheo who was pretending to do anything except stand there listening, felt that quiet shift inside him he no longer knew how to control.

Because hearing you laugh here, in his place, had started to feel far too right.

Dangerously right.

=

If there was one thing Seungcheol noticed more clearly once you reached twenty-eight weeks, it was exhaustion. Just constant in small ways that added up enough for him to track without meaning to.

You moved slower now, sat down more often mid-conversation. Paused before stairs like your body negotiated whether the effort was worth it. And lately, no matter how much sleep you got, there was always that same heaviness behind your eyes by late afternoon.

Which naturally meant he adjusted around it without announcing he was doing so. If you had somewhere to go, he checked the time you’d finish. If you needed errands, he offered to drive. If you said you could take a cab, he ignored that entirely.

And tonight was no different.

You had gone out with friends for dinner. Something he had actually encouraged because lately your world had become too clinic-home-work-repeat and he knew you needed voices other than his around you.

Still, he parked nearby before your agreed pickup time anyway because he also knew how quickly your energy dropped now once evening came.

When you finally came out, two shopping bags hung from your wrist and your face already carried that unmistakable tired softness.

He was out of the car immediately

“Why are you carrying those”

“I have hands”

“You also have a back that complained yesterday”

He took the bags before you could argue. You got into the passenger seat muttering something about him being dramatic, but your voice lacked force.

By the time your seatbelt clicked in, he already knew you were exhausted.

The drive started with your usual attempt to stay awake. You talked while staring half at the window, half at the bags now in the backseat.

“They bought so much,” you murmured

“What did they get?”

“One bought tiny dresses”

“Mm.”

“And socks. More socks. So many socks”

You continued, words slower now “One bought this rabbit blanket…”

A pause “And this weird plush thing that plays music”

“What kind of music?”

“I think lullabies? Or maybe forest sounds. It sounded expensive.”

Another pause “And someone gave diapers which honestly felt the most practical.”

Your speech had begun to blur slightly between thoughts he noticed immediately. You kept talking anyway, stubbornly.

“They kept saying she’ll be spoiled already and she’s not even here yet…”

A small yawn interrupted you then another. Your hand moved over your stomach automatically.

“She kicked after dinner too much. Maybe she liked noodles.”

Silence lasted a few seconds then nothing after that. He glanced sideways. Your head had tipped slightly toward the window. Eyes closed. Asleep.

The city outside kept moving, headlights streaking softly over the windshield, but inside the car everything quieted instantly.

And for a moment he kept driving the route toward your apartment by habit.

One turn then another. Then at the next intersection, his hands stayed on the wheel while his mind ran through the practical facts he had already lost to.

You were asleep. deep enough that waking you meant making you walk upstairs. Your apartment meant stairs from parking to lobby because the elevator on your floor had been unreliable this week.

His apartment was closer from here. Fewer stairs. Softer couch. Extra pillows already there because somehow they had never really left after last time.

He exhaled once. Then took the turn toward his building.

Just for tonight, he told himself. For you and the baby.

Nothing else. Not because seeing you asleep beside him made something dangerous settle too naturally inside the silence or because your hand remained loosely over your stomach in sleep like even unconscious you protected her.

Not because there was something painfully domestic about driving with you like this.

No. Practical. Only practical.

He repeated that twice before parking. He hated waking you abruptly, so he touched your shoulder lightly first.

“We’re here”

A sleepy sound. Your eyes opened halfway, confused.

“My apartment?”

“No. Mine.”

That woke you slightly more “Why”

“You fell asleep”

“I can still go home.”

“You can also sleep first”

You looked at him for exactly three exhausted seconds before losing the argument simply because staying awake clearly cost too much energy.

He unbuckled your seatbelt when your fingers fumbled once, took the bags, walked slowly beside you to the elevator because now your steps had that familiar late-night heaviness.

Inside his apartment, the lights stayed soft. You barely reached the couch before another yawn overtook you.

“Sit,” he said

He already had water on the table, blanket unfolded, pillows adjusted. You watched him with half-open eyes, too tired now to comment on how practiced he had become at this.

Then your hand pressed lightly to your stomach

“She moved”

“Too much?”

“No… just saying hello, maybe.”

And exactly as expected, before he even returned from setting the bags aside you were already asleep again. One hand tucked near your face. The other still over the curve of your stomach.

Seungcheol stood there longer than necessary. Then quietly adjusted the blanket higher over your shoulder.

Just tonight, he told himself again. He let you sleep on the couch for exactly seven minutes before deciding it was a bad idea because even from where he stood in the kitchen doorway, he could already see the angle.

Your neck bent wrong. One arm trapped awkwardly under you. Lower back unsupported. And he knew what that meant tomorrow. complaints about stiffness, one hand pressing your side, that small wince you tried to hide when standing too quickly.

So eventually he crossed the room quietly, before kneeling slightly beside the couch.

“Hey” Nothing.

A second softer touch “Wake up”

Your brows moved first then your eyes opened halfway, unfocused and heavy with sleep.

“What…”

“You’ll sleep on the bed”

A tiny frown. Too tired even for full resistance.

“I’m okay here”

“No, you’re not” he added, gentler “Come on.”

You only gave a sleepy sound that might have been an agreement and pushed yourself upright. He stayed close automatically while you stood. One hand hovering near your elbow without touching unless needed.

You shuffled toward his room with that slow exhausted pace he had seen more often lately.

By the time you disappeared into the bedroom, he grabbed a spare shirt and comfortable shorts from his drawer, things loose enough not to bother your stomach and took the blanket from the couch too.

He gave you privacy long enough to change, waiting outside a moment before knocking lightly and stepping back in.

And then he stopped. You were already on his bed, settled against the pillows. His oversized shirt hanging loose enough that it slipped over one shoulder. The sight hit him so unexpectedly that for one suspended second he forgot to breathe.

You looked not like a guest. You looked like you belonged there in a way his mind accepted far too easily. Like the room had been waiting for that exact picture, like you had always been meant to soften the sharp edges of that space simply by existing inside it.

And because exhaustion had softened your face, because your eyes were already closing again, because the room was too quiet and too warm… something dangerous slipped through the cracks he usually kept sealed shut.

A thought. Not new. Just louder tonight.

That in another life—

another timeline—

this could have been ordinary.

You in his bed. Late night. Soft breathing. A child growing between shared futures instead of broken ones.

And before he could stop it, another thought followed. The selfish one. The one he hated every time it surfaced. There had been one ugly, human flash of something he never forgave himself for:

He wished, for one impossible second, that the baby had been his.

Not because he wanted to erase what happened. Not because he resented her existence.

Never that.

But because the idea of you carrying a child and it belonging to someone who hurt you had ignited something violent and helpless in him he still refused to examine too closely.

Because some reckless part of him had thought:

If it were mine, I would never make her carry this alone.

That thought had terrified him enough to bury it immediately. Especially because you were grieving enough already. Especially because love—his love—had no right to become another weight on your shoulders.

So he buried it. Deep.

Every day after. Under clinic visits. Under grocery bags. Under late-night cravings. Under pretending that all of this was simple friendship stretched a little farther because circumstances demanded it.

Because saying it aloud can change everything.

He could survive loving you quietly, what he could not survive was losing you.

The truth he had made peace with, quietly, alone, was this. That baby girl did not belong in his mind to the man who made you cry. Never to him.

In Seungcheol’s heart, she existed as yours. Entirely yours. And because she was part of you… because she would carry your smile, your voice, your habits, your softness somewhere he already loved her too.

Enough that raising another man’s child did not even feel like sacrifice if it meant protecting what was yours.

You shifted slightly then, pulling him back from thoughts he never let linger long.

Your eyes half-opened “You’re staring.”

His expression reset immediately “I’m checking if you need another pillow.”

Then another yawn. He moved closer anyway, adjusting one pillow behind your back until the angle improved.

“You’ll feel better like this.”

You made a quiet sound of approval already drifting again. As he pulled the blanket properly over you, your fingers caught his wrist lightly.

“Stay until I sleep,” you murmured.

And because refusing was impossible, he sat carefully on the edge of the bed.

Your hand loosened but did not fully let go. Within minutes your breathing deepened again.

Sleep taking you completely and Seungcheol sat there in the dim room longer than he should have watching the woman he loved sleep in his bed,

Telling himself once more that silence was kinder than confession, even while his heart had already crossed lines his mouth never would 

=

When morning light pushed faintly through the curtains, the first thing Seungcheol noticed was warmth at his arm. Your hand still clutching his sleeve.

He looked down for several quiet seconds and that same dangerous thought threatened again. So carefully he loosened your fingers one at a time. He stood slowly, pulled the blanket higher over your shoulder then left the room before he could look too long.

The gym was supposed to fix his head. Routine, he told himself. So he trained harder than usual. Longer too. Enough that muscle fatigue should have replaced whatever sat in his chest.

It did not.

Which was exactly why when Wonwoo spotted him there, one glance was enough for suspicion.

“You look like someone lost an argument with himself”

Seungcheol grabbed water “I’m working out”

“You’re punishing dumb decisions”

And somehow not an hour later,  Wonwoo sat in the passenger seat while they drove back toward the apartment because even while pretending calm, Seungcheol kept checking the time.

“She’s probably still asleep” Wonwoo said

“She sleeps lighter lately”

“You know that like a husband” Silence. Wonwoo let that one go. Rare mercy.

Back at the apartment, Seungcheol unlocked the door quietly, expecting silence.

So they stayed in the kitchen, voices lower than usual. Wonwoo leaned against the counter, watching his friend with the kind of patience that only existed because he had watched this same story unfold for years.

“Just tell her”

“No” Seungcheol didn’t even look up.

Wonwoo exhaled through his nose “You’re rearranging your entire life around her”

“She needs help”

“You know what week every appointment is”

“She forgets dates”

Wonwoo waited until Seungcheol looked up then said it plainly

“And you still think pretending this is only practical is believable?”

His jaw tightened “It doesn’t matter what I think”

“It matters if you’re in love with her” That word stayed in the kitchen heavier than either admitted aloud usually.

Seungcheol looked away first “She doesn’t need that right now”

Wonwoo’s voice stayed calm “She deserves truth and you deserve to stop acting like loving her is some crime”

That hit harder than expected.

Seungcheol’s answer came lower now “If I say anything and she pulls away, what then”

Wonwoo said nothing immediately because there it was. The real answer.

Not fear of rejection. Fear of absence. Fear that one confession could cost the place he already had beside you.

Then quieter, Wonwoo said “You think staying silent protects her. Maybe it protects you”

“She’s pregnant. Hurt. Trying to survive all of this. I’m not putting something selfish on top of that.”

Wonwoo frowned “Loving someone isn’t selfish”

“Now it is”

The kitchen fell quiet and neither of them noticed the bedroom door had opened slightly.

That you had woken earlier than expected, you had stepped closer at the sound of voices and caught only fragments.

Tell her. You deserve it. She deserves truth. Rearranging your life around her.

If I say anything and she pulls away…

Fragments without the whole. Fragments sharp enough to cut wrong.

Of course. Of course eventually this became too much. Of course there was a truth he wasn’t saying because how could there not be?

You were in his apartment. Sleeping in his bed. Calling him for cravings. Clinic visits. Rides home. Every week more of his time. More space. More care.

And suddenly all the things you had allowed yourself not to question arrived together, ugly and loud. You were asking too much. Holding him too long in a role that was never his. You and your baby were not his responsibility.

For one ugly second another thought came—one worse because it hurt before you could stop it.

Someday there would be someone else here. A woman who belonged naturally in this apartment. A woman he loved openly. A child that was theirs.

Not borrowed moments. Not careful boundaries. Not obligation dressed as kindness.

That image came so quickly it stole your breath. And before you realized it, tears had already gathered.

So you did what pride always made you do first. You cleaned evidence. Changed clothes. Washed your face.

By the time Seungcheol checked the room again, expecting sleep you were sitting at the edge of the bed, shoes on, bag beside you.

That alone made him stop “You’re awake.”

You nodded without looking long enough at him “I should go home”

His brows pulled together immediately “What?”

“I stayed too long”

“You were sleeping”

“I’m okay now” your voice sounded controlled in that way he recognized instantly as dangerous.

He stepped closer “Did something happen?”

“No.” A lie too quick. You stood before he could block it, adjusting your bag strap though he immediately took the bag from your hand out of habit.

“I’m taking you home”

That should have sounded ordinary. Usually it didbut today it landed differently because all you heard underneath was what your own mind had already decided. He doesn’t have to.

And maybe that was the part that hurt most. That you had started forgetting he never had to do any of this at all.

You looked away quickly before your eyes betrayed anything again.

“I really don’t want to keep bothering you.”

That made him still completely because the sentence came from nowhere.

His voice lowered immediately

“You’re not bothering me”

You gave the smallest smile. One that convinced neither of you.

But you nodded anyway and said nothing more because if you did, you were afraid your voice would break again first. 

The moment he dropped you off he knew something was wrong, you didn't even look back when you got out of his car. Arms crossed over yourself as if you're physically holding yourself together.

Not even a quick goodbye.

***** end of part one *****

[epelletart]

hyde, jekyll, and me 𑣲 c. seungcheol

to think that your marriage has come to an end, you consider divorce as the only solution. that was until something seemed wrong with your husband. although you're not quite sure what it was, his sudden change forces you to put everything on hold. throughout the process, you find yourself falling in love all over again, remembering why you loved him in the first place.

pairing: choi seungcheol x f!reader

genre: drama, comedy, angst, fluff, smut (mdni)

warnings:  mature content, strong language, mental health themes, DID (dissociative identity disorder), split personality, marriage conflict, one-sided love, arranged marriage, avoidant attachment, emotional impermanence, anxious attachment, miscommunication between couples, mention of divorce (more detailed warnings in specific chapters).

add tags❤︎: established relationship, CEO! seungcheol, target audience: me, wife!reader, sun x moon dynamic, cheol is a little mean, she fell first he fell harder type of shii aye, grumpy x sunshine trope, second chance(?), attorney!jeonghan, secretary!mingyu, dr. jeon as moral and emotional support, therapist! joshua, i write tragedy, not sins. this is actually sad, but we are coping. third-person pov, kkuma cameo!

disclaimer: i am not a professional. therefore, i am aware that this story contains themes related to mental health, which will be written with care and respect. please expect upcoming chapters to include experiences inspired by real-life accounts. please read the warnings before proceeding and take care of yourself while reading. no self-harm will be mentioned, i can assure you of that. additionally, some mental health conditions and diagnoses may not be portrayed with complete accuracy, as experiences can vary greatly from person to person.

notes: phew, this is going to be a loooong ride. anyway, i feel like the banner and the genre tags are a little misleading bc there's nothing cute about this fic at all. but hey! i finally found the courage to post this, and i hope you guys will trust me with this one :D

main masterlist - taglist - inbox open!

Table of contents

Prologue:

Chapter one: Dear, Cheol

Chapter Two: TBA

Chapter Three: TBA

Epilogue: TBA

Extra(?)

dividers by the lovely @designlikenonsense ❤

[yourdawn]

the distance between us

Mingyu becomes your boyfriend and quickly realizes 3 things about himself: 1. He’s clingy. 2. Patience brings him nowhere. 3. He is not built for a long distance relationship.

mingyu x f!reader

wc: 2.2k

genre: fluff, suggestive, non-idol au, friends to lovers

content: (newly) established relationship, lots of kissing, making out, biting/hickeys, mentions of alcohol and food, terms of endearment (baby, babe, pretty girl, loverboy), some teasing/banter, they're kinda obsessed w each other, honeymoon phase but for ppl who aren't married yet, their friends are dramatic(?)

divider by hyuneskkami!

Patience has always been one of Mingyu’s best qualities.

It shows when his friends tease him endlessly about his habit of stumbling over his words, and his only reaction is to roll his eyes at them. It shows when his sister makes him get up at 5AM to queue for a special edition bag, and he only grumbles out a total of three complaints. It shows when his boss gives him a too short of a notice about a weeklong business trip, and all he can do is pack his luggage like it’s a race.

That’s why he desperately wishes it would show now, as he sneaks a glance at you from across the dinner table while Seungcheol holds him by the shoulder—barraging him with things he missed due to said business trip.

Mingyu clinks his glass of soju against Seungcheol’s and downs it before his eyes find you again.

You, dressed in a top with delicate straps tied into even more delicate bows. You, with your hair in that effortless updo that he always liked. You, sipping your drink with your glossy lips in a soft rosy shade that drives him crazy.

Contrary to Seungcheol’s eager ramblings, the only thing Mingyu missed during his trip was you.

You and Mingyu—along with your other friends Seungcheol, Wonwoo, Seungkwan, and Jihyo—have known each other since your college days. However, things began to change a few months ago when you developed an interest in running—suddenly influenced by numerous tiktok videos. Mingyu had been excited when you first mentioned it in the group chat and deemed himself your new “running partner” since the two of you lived closest to each other.

Since then, your time together slowly extended into the day—turning from a simple morning exercise to getting brunch together afterwards to spending the night at each other’s apartment because “We’re gonna go on a run tomorrow morning anyways. Might as well sleep over to save time.”

On one of those sleepover nights, Mingyu decided he's had enough. Something had shifted since you started spending more time together—charged moments where gazes lingered longer than necessary and quiet nights that encouraged you to share a bigger piece of yourselves with each other.

Although you've been part of the same friend group for years, it was still uncommon for just the two of you to meet frequently like this. Despite everyone’s busy schedules, the group chat managed to stay active and always made time to meet up.

It was normal for Mingyu to see you once a week or so—sometimes in a dirty T-shirt and mismatched socks for movie night at Wonwoo's, sometimes in coordinating outfits with Jihyo for dinner. And sometimes, he’d even play wingman to help you get a cute bartender’s number.

It was, however, not normal to squeeze onto your small couch just so he could wake up to you in the mornings. It wasn’t normal for him to run backwards so he could see the glow in your smile as the early sunlight shined on you. And it definitely wasn’t normal for Mingyu’s heart to race whenever he caught his mind drifting to you at random times in the day.

So when he shows up to your place without his usual bag of running gear and dressed in loose sweats, you give him a questioning look. “Running in sweatpants is definitely new for you.”

“No, it's not that,” he inhales deeply, lingering by the door, “I wanted to tell you something.”

You freeze in your spot, nodding at him to continue.

"I really like you. I want to be more than a friend. I know this will change a lot of things for us but it was driving me crazy not being able to tell you how I feel," he says softly, inching closer to you. His eyes are rounded and full of affection as he takes your hands in his, "I love being with you and spending time with you. You feel it too, right?"

Your eyes well up with tears as your brain catches up with everything you just heard. If you were being honest, your newfound crush on Mingyu had been your biggest worry recently. Mingyu has always been a good friend, but being in close proximity to him and taken care of by him did stir all the butterflies in your stomach. You had spent countless nights staring at your ceiling, trying to make sense of your feelings, and gathering the courage to tell him.

You roll your lips between your teeth, attempting to hide your smile, "Was it because I kept staring at your chest and ass when we run?"

He throws his head back and lets out a hearty laugh, "Well, I can't lie and say I wasn't doing the same thing."

Your smile spreads wider across your face, "Okay, let's call it even then."

Mingyu tugs your body towards his and wraps you in a firm hug. You lean into him, taking the warmth of his body in as he pats your hair tenderly.

"So are we still going on our run tomorrow or what?," you mumble against his chest.

“You wouldn’t happen to have some of my running clothes lying around, would ya?”

—

As it turns out, you did have an extra set of his clothes by your dresser. He did spend the night. You did go on that run together. And like always, Mingyu did buy you brunch afterwards.

But before he could even celebrate his first 24 hours as your boyfriend, an email from his boss showed up—an emergency request for his presence at a conference being held across the country. He had left your apartment begrudgingly as you kissed him goodbye and promised to wait for his call when he landed.

It has been exactly one week since then.

As soon as he landed back home, he had rushed to the restaurant where you were currently having dinner with the rest of your friends. Much to his disappointment, you had been caught in conversation with Seungkwan and Jihyo when he arrived, allowing Seungcheol to drag Mingyu into the seat between him and Wonwoo.

And that was an hour ago.

So if you ask Mingyu, he’d like to think he’s been patient enough. Patiently waiting to see you again, to have a moment with you, to make up the long seven days without you.

The sudden surge of emotions makes him restless. He slumps lower into his chair and shakes his legs, feeling miffed at the entire situation. There's no way Seungcheol has that much to update him on, right? And why have Seungkwan and Jihyo been hogging your attention all night? The last time he checked, you're his girlfriend, not theirs.

“Kim Mingyu. Lighten up a little," Seungkwan chides, yanking him from his cloud of thoughts.

He scowls at Seungkwan then sighs, “I’m going to the restroom.”

Mingyu sends you a weak smile and mouths a discreet “meet me there” before he pulls away from Seungcheol and heads to the restroom, patting cold water onto his face and neck.

When he steps out, he sees you waiting for him in the corner of the small corridor that leads back out to the dining area, tucking your lip gloss and compact mirror back into your bag.

A smile blooms on your face when you notice him.

“Hi.”

Mingyu manages to rasp out a soft hey back before he presses his full weight into you, face buried in your hair and hands snaked around your waist.

You're surrounded by his body heat and the faint woody notes of cologne. You’ve been giddy all day thinking about seeing him again and the feeling of being in his hold after so long makes your stomach flip.

Mingyu finally pulls away to look at you. “Missed me?”

Your stomach does a second flip. He looks devastating. His hair is tousled against his forehead, eyes bright and glassy, small mole dotting his nose perfectly, and lips pulled into a slight pout.

Your hands tighten against his lower back as you interlock your fingers together and whisper against his lips, “So much.”

Mingyu instantly leans forward to close the distance, slotting his lips against yours. His kiss is filled with so much fervor, as if he couldn’t waste any more time not kissing you.

It takes you a second to react; you’ve only kissed Mingyu a handful of times between the night you confessed to each other and him leaving for his work trip—all of which have been short and sweet.

But this kiss is heavy and passionate, his lips moving over yours with intense focus. You’ve never seen him this worked up before but it’s a new side of him that makes your skin tingle with anticipation.

Once you get out of your initial shock, you kiss him back with equal force, hands moving to roam across the broad stretch of his back muscles. You nibble playfully at his bottom lip before giving it a particular harsh suck. He sighs into your mouth as you soothe your tongue over the seam of his lips.

Mingyu reluctantly pulls away first, “I missed you so bad. So so bad.”

You can feel his rough hands absentmindedly toy with the hem of your top, fingertips pressing into your skin.

Your chest heaves against his as you beam up at him, “I can tell.”

Mingyu swears your eyes twinkled when you smiled at him and he has to take a few deep breaths to steady himself. His eyes lazily trace the shape of your lips before coming back to hold your gaze.

“This lip gloss shade is killing me,” he says, tongue darting out to lightly lick at your lips.

Mingyu can only stare as you reach up to thumb away your smudged lipgloss by the corner of his lips and chin. His vision is a little hazy but he manages to focus on your lips. The rosy tint has lost most of its shine and color by now, replaced by a soft kiss-swollen hue (Mingyu has half a mind to boast about him being the cause of it) but it’s still pulling him in with the exact same force it did when he first arrived.

“Baby, please,” he swallows hard, but his voice comes out in a dry whisper, “Last one, I promise.”

He ducks his head to capture your lips in another heated kiss. His hands alternate between your waist and ass, only pausing to knead the plump flesh of your hips once in a while.

You pull away from him, trying to catch your breath. “How was your flight back?”

“You’re asking all the wrong questions.”

He leans in, attempting another kiss but you dodge his lips as your hand comes up to cover them.

Your smirk is playful as you say, “I thought you said that was the last one.”

"I take it back," he muffles into your hand before licking it, causing you to yelp and clutch his shirt.

He cups your face firmly and tilts your head towards him, “You’re so beautiful.” Then a wet kiss on your jaw.

"My pretty girl.” A gentle bite onto the side of your neck.

He trails light kisses down your throat and makes his way to the dip by your collarbone. You can’t help but let out soft moans at the sensation as Mingyu continues to suck slowly at the spot.

His lips travel to the curve of your shoulder, where his fingers start to fiddle with the thin ends of your tie straps.

He pulls at it teasingly before letting out a choked laugh, “How functional is this?”

“It’s cute,” you whine in defense.

You lightly pinch his sides to get his attention before you pull him into a kiss of your own, swiping your tongue against his. Your hands move in between your bodies, one pressed against his chest while the other cups his neck. This time, it’s your turn to suck and lick at it as he groans. You pick a spot right in the middle, just below his adam’s apple and continue to nip lightly.

“Baby,” he warns with low moan.

You hum a distracted response, pressing quick pecks all over his cheeks with a final kiss placed on top of his heart through his shirt.

He slumps against you, pressing his forehead against your shoulder. You can hear his breathing slowly move from a pant to a steady rhythm.

You gently card your fingers through his hair and press your nose into his temple. “You okay?”

His sigh turns into a dry laugh, “Babe. Whatever happens, let’s never do long distance. Look at what one week apart does to us.”

“That’s just because you’re clingy. I was fine.”

He shifts to narrow his eyes up at you, “I must've kissed you so good, your memories ended up getting jumbled.”

Your cheeks redden, as you giggle and lightly shove him away. “Whatever you say, loverboy. We should head back now.”

He grins as he follows you back to your table, in a much lighter mood than before. Wonwoo eyes him carefully as he settles back into his seat and nods at Seungcheol to take a look. Mingyu manages to stuff a piece of pork belly into his mouth before Seungcheol knocks his chopsticks out of his hands and grabs his collar to inspect his neck.

“Bro.”

Before Mingyu can even respond, the entire table's attention is drawn by Seungkwan who has his hands around your neck, as he shrieks, "What is that?!"

a/n: happy mingyu day week! :) let's pretend this was posted on time...

[kittenan]

Between Waves and Warmth

Pairing: Cafe_Owner!Jungkook x Reader Genre: Healing, Overwhelm/Burnout Themes, Slice of life, Romance, Smut, Fluff, Strangers-to-Friends-to-Lovers, Slow-Burn, Countryside life Rating: 18+ | Minors DNI Warnings: Overwhelm/Burnout Themes, Healing, Fear of losing, Feeling of insecurity, Explicit sexual content [make out in waterfall-pool, lots of kissing, oral f receiving, unprotected sex (refrain IRL)], Body worship, emotional intimacy, emotional love making Word Count: ~12k [Epilogue] - WIP [MASTERLIST]

The old wooden gate creaked as you pushed it open, dragging your suitcase behind you. The countryside air smelled of salt, pine, and wet earth.

It was quieter here.

Too quiet.

Your mind, however, was still loud... replaying arguments, harsh words, and the suffocating pressure of Seoul that had finally broken you.

Your grandma was already waiting on the porch, her silver hair tied in a neat bun, a warm shawl draped over her shoulders.

“Halmeoni…” Your voice came out smaller than you expected.

She didn’t say anything at first. She just walked down the steps and pulled you into a tight hug.

You felt your shoulders tremble.

“You don’t have to handle everything alone, my dear,” she whispered, rubbing your back. “You can come to me anytime you want. And now you’re here. That’s enough for today.”

You swallowed hard. “I just… needed to leave. Everything felt too heavy.”

“I know, I know.” She cupped your face gently. “No explanations needed right now. Come inside. I made your favourite tea.”

Later that evening, your grandma insisted on taking you for a short walk to get some sea air.

You reluctantly agreed.

The seaside café came into view, a charming wooden structure with fairy lights strung along the railing and tables scattered on the sand facing the waves.

A big handwritten board outside read: JK's Little Haven ~ Coffee, Food & Good Vibes.

A tall, energetic guy was laughing loudly with a group of locals. His dark hair was slightly messy from the sea breeze, sleeves rolled up, and a bright smile that seemed to light up the entire patio.

Your grandma waved enthusiastically. “Jungkook-ah!”

The man turned, his eyes crinkling with warmth the moment he saw her. “Halmeoni…! You came!” He jogged over and gave her a gentle hug. Then his gaze shifted to you.

“And who’s this beautiful guest?” he asked, flashing you a dazzling smile.

Your grandma beamed. “This is my granddaughter. She just arrived from Seoul today.”

Jungkook’s eyes sparkled with genuine interest. “Seoul? Wow. Welcome to our little paradise! I’m Jungkook, owner of this café. Best coffee on this coast, I promise.”

He extended his hand.

You looked at his hand for a second, then shook it briefly, your grip limp.

“Hi,” you said flatly.

He didn’t seem discouraged at all. “First time in the countryside?”

“Yeah...”

“Must be a big change from the city, huh? The air feels different, right? Like your lungs can finally breathe.”

You gave a small nod, avoiding eye contact. “It’s… quiet.”

Jungkook chuckled softly. “Quiet is good sometimes. But if it gets too quiet, just come here. I can be as loud as you want.” He winked playfully.

Your grandma laughed. “See? This boy is full of energy. He brings sunshine wherever he goes.”

You forced a small, polite smile but didn’t reply.

Jungkook tilted his head, still smiling. “Would you like something to drink? On the house for Halmeoni’s granddaughter. I just made fresh lemonade with mint from my backyard. Or maybe iced americano if you’re a Seoul girl through and through?”

“I’m fine,” you replied softly, almost curt. “Thank you.”

He nodded, unfazed. “No pressure at all. But the offer stays open anytime. I’m here every day.”

As you and your grandma turned to leave, he called out cheerfully, “Come back soon! And Halmeoni, tell me if you need help with the leaking tap again!”

The next morning, you sat on the porch with a book you weren’t really reading. From a distance, you could see Jungkook near the town square.

An old lady was struggling with heavy grocery bags.

Jungkook immediately ran over.

“Imo! Why didn’t you call me?” he scolded gently, taking all the bags from her. “These are too heavy for you.”

“Aigoo, Jungkook-ah, you’re always so busy…”

“Never too busy for you,” he said with a grin. “Let’s go, I’ll carry them home and fix that broken shelf you told me about yesterday.”

You watched as he walked with her, chatting animatedly the whole way, making her laugh.

Next day, you noticed him again. He was on his knees fixing a bicycle for a group of kids. Their laughter echoed across the street as he made silly faces while tightening the chain.

“Hyung, you’re the coolest!” one boy shouted.

Jungkook ruffled his hair. “Only because I have the coolest kids in town. Now, who wants to race me on their bikes later?”

Your grandma appeared beside you with tea.

“He’s a good boy,” she said softly.

“That Jungkook… he helps everyone. Lost his own parents young, but instead of becoming bitter, he decided to become everyone’s son.” She sighed happily. “He would bring sunshine into anyone’s life.”

You stared at your tea. “He seems… too loud and chaotic.”

Grandma chuckled. “Or maybe you’ve been judging him too soon... without knowing him properly.”

You didn’t reply.

Few days later, you wandered into the café alone, mostly because your grandma had gently pushed you out, saying you couldn’t stay locked inside forever.

Jungkook was behind the counter, humming while wiping glasses. The moment he saw you, his whole face lit up.

“Hey! You came!” He leaned forward excitedly. “I was starting to think I scared you away with my charm.”

You sat at the counter, keeping your expression neutral. “Just… needed a change of scenery.”

“Understandable. City girl in the countryside.” He grinned. “So, what can I get you? Lemonade? Coffee? I made a strawberry cake too. Fresh strawberries from the farm nearby.”

“Just regular coffee. Black. No sugar.”

“Coming right up!” He moved efficiently, but kept talking. “You know, most people who come from Seoul say they hate it here for the first week. Then they never want to leave. Something about the sea and the slow life.”

You watched him pour the coffee. “I’m not most people.”

He slid the mug toward you with a soft smile. “Good. I like that.”

He paused, then added gently, “If you ever feel like talking… or even if you don’t and just want to sit here quietly, the seat is always open. No pressure.”

You looked up at him for the first time properly. His eyes were kind. Annoyingly kind.

“…Thanks,” you mumbled.

He smiled again, that bright, warm smile that refused to dim even when he faced with your coldness. “Anytime.”

You told yourself you were only returning to the café for the coffee.

Not for him.

Yet here you were, on your fourth visit in five days, sitting at the corner table near the window.

Jungkook spotted you instantly. His smile stretched wide as he wiped his hands on his apron and walked over.

“Well, well… look who decided to grace my humble café again,” he teased, leaning one hip against the table. “Four times in five days. Should I be worried or flattered?”

You glanced up at him dryly. “Don’t flatter yourself. Your coffee is decent. That’s it.”

“Decent?” He clutched his chest dramatically. “You wound me. I make the best coffee on this coast and you call it decent?”

You fought back a smile. “It’s acceptable. Barely.”

He grinned, clearly enjoying this. “Acceptable. I’ll take it. So… same as usual? Black coffee, no sugar, extra cold heart on the side?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re annoying.”

“And yet you keep coming back here... for the coffee... mostly,” he shot back playfully, winking before heading to the counter.

Two days later, you showed up again in the late afternoon when the café was almost empty. Jungkook was stacking cups when you approached the counter.

You took a deep breath. “Do you need any help here? Like... got any openings?”

He froze mid-motion, then slowly turned around, trying but failing to look casual.

“Help… like… a job?” His voice was steady, but his eyes were sparkling with excitement.

“Yeah. I can’t just sit at home all day. I’ll go crazy. I can make coffee, clean, serve tables… whatever you need.”

Jungkook leaned on the counter, pretending to think seriously.

He pulled out a notepad and pen like this was a real interview. “Alright, Miss Seoul. Let’s do this properly. Name?”

You stared at him. “You already know my name.”

“Formalities matter,” he said smugly. “Name?”

You sighed. “...Y/n.”

“Age?”

“You don’t need my age.”

“Wrong answer. I need to know if you’re old enough to handle my chaotic energy,” he teased.

“I’m old enough to handle you just fine,” you replied sarcastically.

Jungkook’s eyebrows shot up, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Oh? Bold. I like it.” He scribbled something dramatically. “Previous experience?”

“Worked part-time at cafés during college. I can handle rush hours.”

“Impressive. Reason for wanting to work here?” He looked at you with soft, curious eyes now.

You shrugged. “I need something to do. And… your café isn’t terrible.”

“Not terrible,” he repeated, laughing. “High praise. You’re hired.”

You blinked. “That’s it? You need anything else?”

“Nope.” He grinned brightly and extended his hand. “Welcome to the team, partner. Start tomorrow morning?”

You shook his hand. His palm was warm and calloused. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“Too late,” he said cheekily. “You’re stuck with me now.”

“Table 3 is waiting for their order!” during first day on the Job, Jungkook called out, carrying a tray.

“I’m not blind, Jungkook,” you replied, grabbing the drinks. “Stop hovering.”

“I’m not hovering. I’m supervising,” he said, following you anyway. “Also, you look cute in the apron.”

You shot him a glare over your shoulder. “Focus on work.”

“Yes, Boss,” he said innocently, but you caught him smiling behind your back.

Later that week, one day while you were wiping tables together after closing, he started.

“You’re actually good at this,” he said, stacking chairs. “The customers like you. Especially the elders. They keep asking about you when you are not around.”

“They’re sweet,” you admitted quietly.

Jungkook glanced at you, surprised by the soft tone. “And me? Am I sweet too?”

“You’re… chaotic,” you muttered while hiding the smile.

He laughed loudly. “I’ll take that as compliment. Progress!”

One late evening, after a busy day, you two were doing the final clean up. The café was quiet except for the sound of waves crashing outside and the soft hum of the fridge.

Jungkook handed you a glass of cold lemonade. “Here. You worked hard today. Drink this before you collapse.”

You took it, surprised. “Thanks.”

He leaned against the counter beside you, both of you staring out at the dark sea for a while. After a comfortable silence, he spoke gently. “So… how are you feeling here? Really.”

You sipped the lemonade slowly.

You stayed silent for a moment, then answered honestly, “Better than Seoul. But sometimes my head still gets loud.”

He nodded slowly, not pushing. “That’s okay. Loud heads need quiet places. And if it gets too loud again… I’m here. You can talk, or you can just sit next to me in silence. No need to explain.”

You glanced at him. The warm lighting made his features look softer.

He was staring at the ocean, giving you space.

“You’re… not what I expected,” you said softly.

Jungkook turned to you with a gentle smile. “What did you expect?”

“Someone way more annoying,” you said honestly.

Jungkook laughed loudly, the sound warm and bright. “I am annoying. You just haven’t unlocked my final form yet.”

You shook your head, but a small, real smile slipped out.

Jungkook noticed immediately. His eyes softened. “There it is.”

“What?”

“Your smile. You’ve been hiding it from me for weeks.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, turning away to hide your face, but your smile only grew.

“Make me,” he teased, voice dropping playfully.

The air suddenly felt thicker.

You both went quiet, the tension humming between you.

Finally, you cleared your throat and picked up the mop. “We still have to mop the floor.”

“Yes, boss,” he said softly, almost affectionately.

You paused mid-mop and raised an eyebrow at him. “It’s your café, Jungkook. Technically, you’re the boss here.”

He stopped wiping and turned to you fully, leaning on the table with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head.

“I love how you order me around. The way you tell me what to do with that serious face… it’s cute. Makes me want to obey you immediately.”

You scoffed, trying to ignore the way your cheeks warmed. “That’s ridiculous. You’re the owner. Stop playing around.”

“But I’m serious,” he continued, stepping a little closer, still grinning.

“You say ‘Jungkook, stack those chairs properly’ and I’m suddenly the most obedient employee in the world. You say ‘Wipe that counter again’ and I do it happily. So tell me… who’s really the boss here?”

You glared at him, but there was no real heat behind it. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet you like ordering me around,” he teased, biting his lip to hold back a bigger smile. “Admit it. You secretly enjoy having me under your control.”

“Keep talking and I’ll make you mop the entire floor by yourself,” you shot back, trying to sound stern but failing as a laugh slipped out.

Jungkook’s eyes widened dramatically. “See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about! One threat from you and my heart is racing. You’re definitely the boss, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitched at the sudden pet name, but you quickly recovered. “Don't call me that.”

He laughed, bright and unrestrained.

You both continued cleaning, but the air between you felt lighter and heavier at the same time, filled with playful tension that was getting harder to ignore.

After locking up the café, Jungkook insisted on walking you all the way home. The moonlight painted the quiet path in soft silver as you walked side by side.

The only sounds were your footsteps and the distant waves.

When you reached your grandma’s gate, he stopped and turned to you with a soft smile.

“See you tomorrow, boss,” he said gently, giving you that signature wink.

You rolled your eyes, but your lips were already curving into a smile. “Goodnight, Jungkook.”

He waited until you were safely inside the gate, then turned and started walking back toward his place. You stood there for a moment, watching his figure slowly disappear down the moonlit path.

That’s when it hit you.

You were starting to look forward to every single day with him.

The campfire nights had slowly become your favourite part of the week. It had already been more than three months since you first arrived in this countryside town.

Three months of knowing Jungkook.

From awkward silences to playful banter, from reluctant smiles to genuine laughter, he had become a steady, warm presence in your life without ever pushing too hard.

Every Friday, Jungkook lit a big bonfire on the sand beside the café.

Locals gathered with blankets, homemade snacks, and cheerful chatter. The waves provided a soothing rhythm in the background while fairy lights glowed softly overhead.

You were sitting on a wide bench near the fire, wrapped in a cozy blanket, when Jungkook picked up his guitar. The moment his fingers touched the strings, the crowd quieted down in anticipation.

He played a gentle, heartfelt melody.

Then his smooth, slightly raspy voice filled the night air. Halfway through the song, his eyes found yours across the fire. And they stayed there.

His gaze was soft, full of quiet affection and patience.

The firelight danced beautifully on his face, making him look almost unreal. Your heart fluttered wildly. You tried to look away, but it felt impossible. Your cheeks grew warmer than the fire itself.

When the song ended, the crowd erupted into applause and whistles.

Old Mr. Kim laughed loudly and shouted, “Aigoo, our Jungkookie is finally falling for someone! Look at him singing with those heart eyes!”

Mrs. Park joined in, clapping her hands. “After rejecting every girl who tried to approach him for years, he’s completely whipped! When are you going to make it official, Jungkook-ah?”

More teasing comments followed, making the whole group laugh. Jungkook just smiled shyly and rubbed the back of his neck, not denying anything but not feeding into the teasing either.

You kept your head down, pretending to adjust the blanket around you, trying your best to ignore everything.

Slowly, as the night grew later, the crowd began thinning.

Families with children left first, then the elders, waving goodbyes and thanking Jungkook for another beautiful night. Soon, only a few people remained, chatting quietly.

That’s when Jungkook finally stood up.

He set his guitar down carefully and walked over to you.

He crouched in front of you, close enough that you could smell his comforting scent. The firelight still glowed softly on his face. He looked up at you with that gentle, heart-melting smile.

“Did you like it?” he asked softly, his voice warm and sincere.

You bit your lip, still feeling flustered. “It was… really beautiful.”

“Beautiful?” His eyes crinkled with genuine happiness. “I’ll take that. I wrote that song a few weeks ago.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “You wrote it?”

He nodded, still crouching in front of you, his gaze never leaving your face. “Yeah… been feeling a lot of things lately.” He paused for a moment, then added gently, “But I’m not rushing anything. I just wanted you to hear it.”

The sweetness in his tone made your chest tighten. He was always like this... patient, understanding, never putting pressure on you.

You whispered, “Jungkook… you don’t have to—”

“I know,” he said softly, cutting you off with a tender smile. “I’m not asking for anything. I just… really like being around you. That’s more than enough for me right now.”

For a long moment, the world seemed to fade away.

It was just the two of you, the crackling fire, and the sound of waves in the background. His eyes held so much warmth and care that it made you feel both safe and scared at the same time.

You looked away, overwhelmed. “You’re too much sometimes.”

He chuckled lightly and stood up, but not before gently brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered for a second longer than necessary, sending a rush of butterflies through you.

“Only for you,” he murmured so only you could hear.

Then, with one last soft, affectionate smile, he went to help the remaining people clean up, leaving you sitting there with a racing heart and cheeks that refused to cool down.

Your grandma, who noticed everything from afar, came to you and whispered gently, “He’s a good one, darling. He’s waiting for you… patiently.”

You didn’t reply. But deep inside, you knew she was right.

It was a quiet afternoon with very few customers.

Jungkook had closed the café for few hours and dragged you behind the café to the empty stretch of road.

“You once said you wanted to learn how to ride a bike,” he said, patting the sleek black motorcycle with a bright smile. “Well… today’s the day, boss.”

You eyed the powerful machine nervously. “I said that casually, Jungkook. I didn’t mean right now.”

“Too late,” he teased, handing you the helmet. “No backing out. I promised I’d teach you whenever we get free time.”

He helped you settle onto the bike first.

Then he climbed on behind you. His body pressed against yours from behind... chest flush to your back, thighs bracketing yours.

His warmth instantly surrounded you.

“Comfortable?” he asked, his voice low and close to your ear.

“Not even a little,” you admitted, your heart already racing.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your back.

“Good. Means you’re paying attention.” His arms came around you, large hands settling over yours on the handlebars. He adjusted your grip gently, his fingers lingering on yours far longer than necessary.

“Relax your shoulders,” he murmured, his breath brushing the side of your neck. “You’re too tense. I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen.”

You swallowed hard. “Jungkook…”

“Hmm?” He turned his head slightly. His lips were dangerously close to your ear. “You said my name so softly just now.”

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. “Stop distracting me.”

“But distracting you is my favourite part,” he whispered, his thumbs slowly stroking the back of your hands. “Okay… slowly twist the throttle. Gentle, like this.”

He guided your hand with his, his touch firm yet tender. The bike purred to life beneath you.

For the next twenty minutes, he taught you patiently... correcting your posture, teaching you how to balance, when to brake. Every instruction came with his body pressed closer, his voice soft and intimate against your ear.

“You’re doing so well,” he praised, his tone warm and proud. “Look at you… riding so beautifully already.”

“Jungkook, focus,” you said, but your voice came out breathy.

“I am focusing,” he replied, his hands sliding from the handlebars to rest on your waist, steadying you. “Just not only on the bike.”

The road was completely empty except for the sound of waves in the distance. He made you stop the bike on the side under the shade of a big tree.

Neither of you moved.

“You’re shaking again,” he observed softly. His hands stayed on your waist, fingers gently pressing into your sides.

“I’m not used to someone being this… close,” you confessed.

Jungkook rested his chin lightly on your shoulder, his cheek brushing against yours. “Do you want me to move away?”

You stayed silent.

The truth was you didn’t.

He smiled against your skin. “That’s what I thought.” His voice dropped even lower, more intimate. “You feel so perfect like this… right here in my arms.”

The tension thickened.

You turned your head slightly to look at him. Your faces were inches apart. His dark eyes dropped to your lips, then slowly back up to your eyes. The air between you felt electric.

“Tell me to stop…” he whispered, leaning in closer, “and I will.”

Your breath mingled with his.

Both of you slowly leaned in.

Your noses brushed. His lips were a heartbeat away from yours.

Suddenly — HONK!

A car drove past on the main road nearby, honking loudly and breaking the spell.

You jerked back, heart pounding wildly. Jungkook let out a frustrated groan and dropped his forehead against your shoulder, breathing heavily.

“Damn it,” he muttered, half laughing, half pained. “Worst timing in the world.”

You let out a shaky laugh, trying to steady your racing heart. “We… we should head back. It’s getting late. Rush hour is gonna start.”

Jungkook stayed there for a second longer, forehead pressed to your shoulder, hands still gripping your waist possessively. Then he sighed and finally pulled back.

“Yeah,” he said softly, voice husky. “We should.”

Later that night, after the last customer left and you both had closed the café, you started wiping down the counter.

Jungkook was in the storeroom at the back, checking inventory.

After a few minutes, he called out from inside, “Hey boss, you can head home after you’re done. I’ll be here for a while checking the stock. Might take some time tonight.”

You paused for a second, then continued wiping the already clean counter.

“Okay,” you replied, but made no move to leave.

Thirty minutes passed.

Jungkook finally stepped out of the storeroom, wiping his hands on a towel. He stopped when he saw you still there, slowly wiping the same spot.

“You’re still here,” he said softly, a gentle and knowing smile spreading across his face. “I thought I told you to go home.”

You shrugged, pretending to be casual while avoiding his eyes. “The counter still looked a bit dirty. Figured I’d wait so we can lock up together.”

Jungkook walked closer until he was standing right in front of you, the counter no longer between you. He tilted his head, eyes warm and playful.

“Or maybe… you missed me when I wasn’t around?” he asked, voice low and teasing.

You bit your lip and didn’t answer.

The truth sat heavy in your chest.

He stepped even closer, gently taking the cloth from your hand and setting it aside. For a moment, he just looked at you, the air between you thick with everything unsaid.

“You know,” he murmured, “you don’t have to make excuses to wait for me.”

Your heart fluttered.

You looked up at him, the proximity making it hard to breathe normally again.

Jungkook’s gaze softened, but he didn’t push further. Instead, he gave you a small, warm smile and gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “Come on, boss. Let’s go home.”

As you walked together under the moonlight toward your grandma’s house, the quiet realization settled deep inside you.

This friendship definitely started turning into something more.

The worst part was that Jungkook wasn’t even hiding the fact that he liked you. He was open about it... in the way he looked at you, the way he teased you, the way he found excuses to be near you, and how he always made sure you got home safe.

He was making his feelings loud and clear.

And feeling this safe with him... this warm, this wanted, this cared for — terrified you more than anything.

It was a slow Thursday afternoon at the café.

Only a few customers were scattered around. Jungkook leaned over the counter toward you, flashing that bright, boyish smile that always made your stomach flip.

“So… I’m heading to my farmhouse this weekend,” he said casually, but his eyes were sparkling with clear excitement. “It’s about 20 km away, right by the sea. Super private, beautiful view, pool, everything. No people, no noise… just peace.”

He tilted his head, biting his lip. “Come with me?”

You looked up from arranging the cups, trying hard to hide your fluttering heart. “Just like that? You’re planning to kidnap me for the whole weekend?”

Jungkook let out a bright laugh, leaning even closer. “Not kidnapping. A very romantic invitation. I’ll cook for you, we can swim, watch the stars… I promise it’ll be fun.”

You crossed your arms, a playful smirk forming on your lips. “Hmm… If you’re taking me somewhere private for three whole days, you should at least ask my grandma first. Like a proper gentleman.”

Jungkook’s eyebrows shot up, clearly amused. “Oh? You want me to do the traditional thing?”

“Exactly,” you said, lifting your chin. “If you’re bold enough to invite me, be bold enough to ask permission.”

He straightened up dramatically and placed a hand over his heart. “Challenge accepted, boss. I’m not scared of your grandma. Watch me.”

Later that evening, after closing the café, Jungkook walked you home. The moment you reached your grandma’s gate, he didn’t hesitate.

“Halmeoni!” he called out cheerfully.

Your grandma opened the door with a warm smile. “Oh? Both of you together again? Come in, come in.”

Jungkook stepped forward confidently. “Actually, Halmeoni, I wanted to ask you something important.”

Your grandma raised an eyebrow, looking between you two with an already knowing look. “Go on, Jungkook-ah.”

He smiled brightly.

“I’m planning to go to my farmhouse this weekend. You already know it's not that far from here. I wanted to take your granddaughter with me for a few days… just to relax and get some fresh air. I promise I’ll take very good care of her. We’ll be back safely on Monday.”

Your grandma’s eyes twinkled with mischief.

She looked at you first. “Do you want to go, dear?”

You felt your cheeks heating up. “I… um… yes. If it’s okay with you.”

Jungkook quickly added, “I’ll cook all the meals, make sure she rests properly, and we won’t do anything she’s uncomfortable with. You have my word.”

Your grandma chuckled softly, clearly enjoying this. “Jungkook-ah, you’ve been helping me and this whole town for years. I trust you completely.”

She turned to you with a big smile. “Go and enjoy, both of you. You’ve both been working so hard. Spend some time together. Make good memories.”

“Halmeoni!” you groaned, covering your face with your hands. “You’re supposed to at least pretend to think about it.”

She laughed heartily. “Why would I say no?”

Jungkook grinned victoriously, looking extremely proud of himself. “See? Even Halmeoni has been rooting for me this whole time.”

You shot him a glare, still embarrassed. “Both of you are impossible.”

Grandma waved her hand. “Go pack your bag, sweetheart. And Jungkook… take care of her heart too, okay? Not just her safety.”

Jungkook’s expression softened.

He gave a small, sincere bow. “I will, Halmeoni. I promise.”

Your grandma gave you one last mischievous grin. “Don’t come back too soon. Stay as long as you want.”

“Halmeoni!” you whined again, making both of them laugh.

The next morning, you rode behind him on his motorcycle, arms wrapped tightly around his waist as the scenic coastal road stretched ahead.

The wind was fresh, the sea was sparkling brightly on your right.

Halfway through the ride, Jungkook slowed down the bike and placed one of his hands over yours on his stomach, his palm warm and protective.

He gently interlaced his fingers with yours.

“You okay back there?” he asked, his voice soft and warm against the wind.

“Yeah…” You rested your cheek against his broad back, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing. “It’s so beautiful out here.”

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

“You’re more beautiful,” he said without hesitation, his thumb slowly stroking the back of your hand. “And I’m really glad you said yes. I was scared you’d change your mind at the last minute.”

You smiled against his back. “I almost did. But… I wanted to come with you.”

Jungkook let out a happy, contented sound. He occasionally kept his hand on yours, rubbing small circles on your skin with his thumb.

When you finally arrived at the farmhouse and got off the bike, your breath caught in your throat.

The place was stunning.

A sleek modern wooden villa sat right beside the endless sea. In the backyard was a large infinity pool with a beautiful man-made waterfall gently cascading into it. The open sky and the sound of waves created a sense of peace you hadn’t felt in a very long time.

“Wow…” you whispered, completely in awe.

Jungkook came up behind you without saying a word.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his cheek gently brushing against yours as both of you looked at the view.

For a long moment, he just held you like that... quietly, warmly, like he never wanted to let go.

“Like it?” he finally asked, his voice low and intimate near your ear.

“I love it,” you breathed. “It feels… free. Like I can finally breathe.”

Jungkook smiled and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the side of your head. He didn’t pull away immediately. Instead, he kept his lips there for a few extra seconds, then moved down to place another soft kiss just below your ear.

“Good,” he murmured against your skin. “That’s exactly what I wanted you to feel.”

He tightened his arms around you.

After a quiet pause, he spoke again, his voice softer this time.

“I come here when I need to escape from everything… Sometimes when I miss my parents a little too much, when the emptiness gets too loud… I come here to distract myself. To breathe.”

He nuzzled his face closer into the crook of your neck, holding you a little tighter. “And now… I get to share this place with you. It feels really special. More than special, actually.”

You placed your hands over his, gently squeezing. “Thank you for bringing me here, Jungkook. For trusting me with this part of you.”

He turned his head slightly and pressed a tender kiss on your neck, lingering there as he whispered, “Thank you for coming with me.”

Then he continued with a teasing tone to lighten the moment. “But first… go change. I want to see you in that swimsuit you packed.”

You turned in his arms and lightly smacked his chest. “You’re so shameless.”

“Only for you,” he murmured, eyes dark with affection.

Later that afternoon, you changed into a simple black swimsuit and stepped into the backyard. The sun felt warm on your skin as you walked toward the pool.

Jungkook was already in the water, leaning against the edge with his arms resting on the tiles. The moment he saw you, he went completely still.

His eyes slowly trailed down your body as you picked up the bottle of sunscreen and started applying it to your arms, shoulders, and neck.

He couldn’t look away.

You noticed his intense gaze and smiled shyly. “Are you just going to stare at me the whole time?”

Jungkook didn’t even try to hide it.

He tilted his head, a slow, appreciative smile forming on his lips.

“Can you blame me?” he said, voice low and warm. “You look… unreal. I’m trying to memorize every second of this.”

You continued rubbing sunscreen over your collarbones and down your arms, feeling his eyes follow every movement. The air between you already felt charged.

“Want some help?” he asked, his tone playful but undeniably husky.

You laughed softly. “I think I can manage.”

“Shame,” he murmured, still staring. “I was really looking forward to that.”

After you finished applying the lotion, you walked to the edge of the pool. Jungkook immediately swam closer, looking up at you with soft, dark eyes.

“Come here, baby,” he said gently, offering his hand.

You slipped into the cool water.

Jungkook wasted no time pulling you toward him until your bodies were almost touching. For a moment, he just held your waist under the water, thumbs gently stroking your sides as he looked at you.

“You really have no idea what you do to me, do you?” he whispered. “Standing there in the sunlight, putting on sunscreen like it’s the most innocent thing in the world… while I’m losing my mind over here.”

You placed your hands on his bare chest, feeling his heartbeat under your palms. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being honest,” he replied softly.

He leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, then another on your temple, taking his time. “I’ve wanted you here with me like this for so long. Just you and me… no café, no town, no pretending we’re just friends.”

You felt your chest tighten at his words. “Jungkook…”

He pulled back slightly, eyes locked on yours with that same open affection that always made your heart race.

“I like you,” he said simply, no teasing this time. “A lot. In case it wasn’t obvious already.”

Your heart fluttered. You looked into his eyes and answered softly,

“I like you too, Jungkook.” You paused, biting your lip. “I’m scared… but I believe you won’t make me feel like a loser.”

Something tender flashed across his face.

He cupped your cheek gently with his wet hand.

“I won’t,” he whispered seriously. “I promise.”

To lighten the suddenly emotional mood, Jungkook grinned mischievously. “But right now…” he scooped up a huge splash of water and threw it at you, “I’m going to win this water fight!”

You squealed as the water hit you. “Jungkook!”

The next few minutes were filled with laughter and chaos.

He chased you around the pool, both of you splashing water at each other like kids. You tried to run away in the water, but he was faster, catching you by the waist and lifting you slightly, making you laugh harder.

“Got you!” he cheered.

You eventually got tired of chasing him. He was too fast and strong. So you changed tactics.

You swam slowly toward the shallower end, leaned against the pool wall, and gave him your best seductive look... half-lidded eyes, wet hair clinging to your skin, and a soft, inviting smile.

“Jungkook…” you called his name sweetly, trailing your fingers along your own collarbone. “Aren’t you tired of running?”

He stopped in his tracks, eyes darkening instantly.

The playful smile on his face slowly faded as he stared at you.

“Y-You’re playing dirty,” he said, voice suddenly much lower as he slowly walked through the water toward you. “That’s not fair.”

You tilted your head innocently, but kept the seductive expression. “Come here then.”

The moment he reached you, the air completely shifted, from playful to heavy and electric.

Jungkook cornered you against the pool wall near the waterfall, the cascading water creating a private, misty curtain around you both. He placed his hands on either side of you, trapping you between his strong arms.

His wet chest pressed against yours.

“You little temptress,” he breathed, forehead resting against yours. “You know exactly what you’re doing to me, don’t you?”

His nose brushed against yours.

The tension was thick, almost suffocating now.

“Tell me you feel it too,” he whispered, lips hovering just above yours. “Tell me I’m not the only one going insane here.”

You looked into his eyes, heart pounding wildly. “You’re not the only one.”

That was all it took.

Jungkook cupped your face with both hands and kissed you like he was drowning.

The first kiss was deep and hungry, months of pent-up longing exploding between you. His lips moved desperately against yours, soft yet demanding, as if he couldn’t get enough.

You kissed him back with equal desperation, fingers threading through his wet hair, pulling him closer.

He groaned loudly into your mouth, the sound raw and needy.

“God… finally,” he rasped against your lips, barely pulling back an inch. “You have no fucking idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

He tilted his head and kissed you harder, tongue slipping past your lips to taste you deeply. The kiss turned messy, wet, and urgent. Water splashed around you as he pressed your back against the pool wall, his body flush against yours.

“Jungkook—” you gasped when you felt his hardness pressing between your legs.

“Say my name again,” he begged, voice hoarse as he kissed you again, deeper this time. “Please, baby. Say it.”

“Jungkook…” you moaned into his mouth.

He growled, one hand sliding down your back to grip your ass, pulling you even tighter against him. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist as he ground against you slowly, deliberately.

“Fuck… you feel so good,” he panted, breaking the kiss only to breathe. “So fucking perfect. I’ve been going crazy every single day pretending I don’t want you like this.”

His lips trailed down your jaw to your neck. He sucked hard on your pulse point, then soothed it with his tongue, making your head fall back.

“Mhhmm... Jungkook!”

“I want everyone in town to know you’re mine,” he growled against your skin. “Tell me you’re mine, baby. Please.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. “I’m yours, Jungkook.”

He growled and captured your lips again in a filthy, desperate kiss.

His tongue tangled with yours as his hands roamed greedily, squeezing your waist, gripping your thighs, sliding up your back. He kissed you like he was afraid this moment would disappear.

“I can’t stop,” he confessed between heavy breaths, forehead pressed against yours. “I’ve wanted you for so long… every time you smiled at me, every time you teased me, every damn night. I wanted to pull you into the storeroom and kiss you stupid.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, lips swollen, eyes dark with lust and something much softer.

“Tell me to slow down,” he said, voice rough, “and I will. But if you don’t… I’m going to kiss you until you forget every bad thing that ever happened to you.”

You answered by pulling him back into another fierce kiss.

Your legs tightened around his waist as you rocked against him.

“Baby…” he moaned into your mouth, the sound desperate and wrecked. “You’re driving me insane. If you keep kissing me like this, I won’t be able to stop myself.”

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, biting his lower lip. “Please don’t stop.”

Jungkook cursed under his breath and kissed you with renewed hunger... deep, wet, and messy. His hands gripped your ass, pulling you even closer as he pressed you against the pool wall under the waterfall.

The cool cascading water poured over both of you while your bodies burned.

“I'm yours now, baby,” he whispered against your swollen lips, voice soft and proud. “Say it.”

“You are mine,” you moaned, kissing him again desperately. “You are mine, Jungkook.”

He smiled against your mouth, breathing heavily, eyes blazing with lust and raw emotion.

“Good girl,” he whispered, before claiming your lips in another long, intoxicating kiss that left you both completely breathless.

The tension you’d both been holding for weeks had finally snapped... wild, desperate, and beautifully overwhelming under the falling water.

The next three days felt like a beautiful dream you never wanted to wake up from.

Mornings were slow and golden.

Sunlight would spill gently through the large windows as you slept in the cozy guest bedroom. Jungkook would quietly sneak in, sit on the edge of your bed, and wake you up with the softest kisses.

He’d press warm, lingering kisses across your forehead, your cheeks, and finally your lips until you stirred awake with a sleepy smile.

“Morning, baby,” he’d whisper in his deep, raspy morning voice, brushing hair away from your face. “Time to wake up. I made coffee for you.”

You’d hum softly, still half-asleep, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. “Five more minutes…”

Jungkook would chuckle and nuzzle his nose against yours. “You said that 10 minutes ago. And yesterday too. I’m starting to think you just like me waking you up like this.”

“I do,” you admitted with a shy smile, pulling him down for a proper kiss. “Your good morning kisses are the best part of the day.”

He grinned against your lips, kissing you slowly and sweetly. “Then I’ll keep waking you up like this every single day. Deal?”

“Deal,” you whispered, melting under his gentle affection.

The moment the word left your mouth, Jungkook pulled back slightly with a dramatic, thoughtful expression.

“Hmm… but for that...” he said, pretending to think seriously, “...I’ll have to marry you as soon as possible. Otherwise, it’ll look weird if I keep sneaking into your room every morning, right? Also, what about my gentleman image... Can't let it ruin in front of Halmeoni!!”

Your eyes widened, and a bright laugh escaped you. “Jungkook!”

Before he could react, you attacked him with tickles, fingers digging into his sides. He burst into loud giggles, trying to catch your hands.

“Yahhh! Baby... stop—!” he laughed helplessly, falling onto the bed beside you as you continued tickling him. “This is domestic abuse!”

“You can’t just say things like that!” you giggled, still tickling him while he squirmed and laughed.

“Okay... okay! I surrender!” He finally caught both your wrists and pulled you on top of him, both of you breathing heavily and smiling like idiots.

“But I wasn’t joking about the marrying part,” he added softly, eyes sparkling with affection.

You blushed and hid your face in his neck. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around you tightly and kissing the top of your head.

One afternoon in the kitchen, you tried to help prepare lunch, but Jungkook immediately blocked your path with his body, a playful grin on his face. “Nope. You’re not touching anything.”

You stared at him, hands on your hips. “Excuse me? Why not?”

He crossed his arms, looking way too smug. “I promised your grandma I’d take care of you properly. That includes cooking for you. She specifically told me not to let you lift a finger.”

You let out a shocked laugh. “She did not say that... You are adding it on your own!”

“She definitely did,” he teased, nodding seriously. “She said her granddaughter works too hard and needs to be spoiled. So today, you’re sitting there looking pretty while I cook.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Jungkook, I don’t want to sit around like a decoration piece all the time. I want to do things with you.”

He stepped closer, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against him. His voice dropped playfully, “Well… if you really want to help that badly, you need to bribe me first.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Bribe you?”

“Mhmm,” he hummed, leaning in until his nose brushed yours. “With kisses. Many kisses. The longer and sweeter, the more you get to help.”

You tried to look annoyed but couldn’t stop smiling. “You’re so clingy.”

Jungkook grinned wider, unbothered. “Extremely clingy. Only for you though.”

You paused, then softly added, “…But I like it.”

His eyes softened instantly. He cupped your face with both hands and kissed you gently, lingering for a long moment.

“Yeah?” he whispered against your lips. “Good. Because I don’t think I can stop being clingy with you even if I tried.”

You kissed him again, deeper this time, before pulling back with a smile. “Fine. I’ll bribe you… but only if I get to chop the vegetables.”

“Deal,” he said happily, still stealing small kisses as you both moved around the kitchen together.

The days were filled with simple, happy moments.

You spent hours swimming in the pool, floating together under the warm sun. He’d hold you in his arms while you both talked about random things... favourite childhood memories, silly dreams, and quiet hopes for the future.

At night, he taught you silly card games and dramatically complained every time you won.

“You’re cheating! There’s no way you’re this good,” he whined, pulling you into his lap as punishment.

You laughed and kissed his pout away. “You let me win on purpose and we both know it.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, smiling brightly. “I just love seeing you happy.”

Every touch between you now came so naturally... his fingers always finding yours, his hand resting on your waist, forehead kisses that lasted longer than necessary, and the way he’d randomly pull you close just because he missed you for five minutes.

There was no more hesitation.

You were officially together, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Night before returning to town, Jungkook had lit a beautiful fire in the backyard firepit. The flames crackled warmly against the cool sea breeze.

You were wrapped in a big, soft blanket, sitting between his legs with your back pressed comfortably against his chest. His arms were wrapped securely around your waist as you both sipped hot coffee and watched the fire dance under the starry sky.

You stayed silent for a long time, just soaking in his warmth.

Eventually, you spoke. “Jungkook… can I tell you something?”

His arms tightened around you gently. “Of course, baby. Anything. I’m right here.”

You took a deep, shaky breath. “My breakup… it wasn’t just painful. It broke something in me.”

Your voice trembled. “He told me I was too much. Too emotional, too clingy, too intense. He said loving me was exhausting and that no one would ever be able to handle me for long. And for a while… I believed every word.”

Jungkook stayed quiet, just listening. His thumb continued drawing slow, soothing circles on your arm.

“But it wasn’t just him,” you continued, eyes stinging.

“My job in Seoul… I gave everything to that company. I worked late nights, skipped holidays, poured my soul into every project. And when the promotion came… they sabotaged me. Someone else took credit for my work and got promoted instead. I felt so used up and discarded. Like nothing I did ever mattered.”

You let out a broken breath. “I couldn’t handle it anymore. That’s why I ran away to Grandma. I was burnt out, heartbroken, and so tired of feeling like I was never enough.”

Jungkook pressed a long, tender kiss to the top of your head and held you closer.

“I’m so sorry you went through all of that, baby,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “You didn’t deserve any of it. Not the way he treated you, and not what your company did to you. You gave your best… and they failed you.”

You turned your head slightly to look at him. “When I started catching feelings for you… I got so scared. You make me feel safe, Jungkook. You make me feel wanted. And that safety terrified me. I kept thinking… what if I become too much for you too? What if one day you also get tired of me?”

Jungkook gently turned you in his arms so you were facing him sideways. He cupped your cheek with one hand, wiping away the tears that had fallen with his thumb.

“Hey… look at me,” he said softly. “I’m not him. And I’m not them. I will never get tired of you. Never.”

He rested his forehead against yours.

“I love how you get all bossy with me at the café. I love how you pretend to be annoyed when I flirt but still wait for me every night. I love how you blush when I call you baby. I love every single version of you—the quiet one, the sarcastic one, the emotional one, the strong one, the scared one… all of them.”

You sniffled, a small smile breaking through. “You’re too good to me.”

Jungkook smiled and kissed the tip of your nose. “If I ever leave you… which I won’t… but if I ever make you feel like I'm gonna do something that stupid, you have my full permission to burn my café down. Hell, I’ll even hand you the lighter and help you do it.”

You let out a watery laugh and lightly hit his chest. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Your idiot,” he corrected warmly, kissing your forehead. “Only yours. I’m not going anywhere, baby. I choose you. Every single day, I choose you.”

You turned fully in his arms and hugged him tightly, burying your face in his neck. “I choose you too,” you whispered. “I’m still scared… but I want this. I want us.”

“You have me,” he murmured, pressing kisses to your temple, your cheek, and finally your lips. “All of me.”

The kiss started gentle and comforting… but it didn’t stay that way for long.

It slowly deepened, growing hotter and more desperate.

Jungkook cradled the back of your head as his lips moved against yours with increasing hunger. Your mouths opened wider, turning the kiss messy and wet. The soft sighs turned into breathy moans as tongues met — slow, deep, and sensual.

Wet sounds filled the quiet night air as he licked into your mouth, tasting you like he couldn’t get enough.

You kissed him back just as eagerly, tongues sliding together, lips becoming slick and swollen. A thin string of saliva connected you both when he briefly pulled away, only to dive back in even deeper.

The fire crackled beside you, but the real heat was blooming between your bodies.

Jungkook pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, both of you breathing heavily. His thumb gently caressed your glistening bottom lip, eyes dark with desire yet overflowing with tenderness.

“Baby…” he whispered huskily, voice low and intimate against your wet lips. “Do you want to continue?”

You looked into his eyes, heart racing wildly.

There was no pressure in his gaze — only love, patience, and raw want.

“Yes,” you whispered, fingers threading through his hair as you pulled him closer. “I want you, Jungkook. I want all of this with you… everything.”

A soft, beautiful smile touched his lips.

He leaned in again and kissed you deeply — slower this time, but even messier. His tongue explored your mouth thoroughly, licking and sucking on your tongue with wet, filthy sounds.

He kissed you like he was pouring every ounce of his love into it, lips sliding against yours, tongues tangling sensually. You could taste the coffee and sweetness on his tongue as he devoured you slowly.

His hand slid down your back, pulling your body flush against his as the blanket slipped from your shoulders, exposing more skin to the cool night air.

“Then let’s go inside,” he murmured against your slick, swollen lips, voice warm and full of promise. “I want to love you properly… slowly.”

He stood up effortlessly, lifting you in his arms along with the blanket.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he carried you, never stopping the gentle kisses. He pressed soft kisses along your jaw and down your neck, whispering sweet words between each one.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed against your skin. “I’m so lucky you’re mine. I’ve got you, baby… always.”

He carried you inside the house, your arms wrapped around his neck, the blanket trailing behind. The bedroom door was already ajar. Jungkook pushed it open with his shoulder and gently laid you down on the large, soft bed.

The only light came from a warm bedside lamp, casting a golden glow over both of you. He hovered above you for a moment, just looking at you with so much affection it made your chest ache.

“Are you really sure, baby?” he asked softly, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “We don’t have to do anything tonight. Just being with you is enough.”

You reached up and pulled him down into a kiss. “I’m sure,” you whispered against his lips. “I want to feel close to you… in every way.”

Jungkook smiled tenderly and kissed you again, deeper this time. His hands moved slowly as he helped you sit up. You both undressed each other unhurriedly — savouring every moment.

He slipped the blanket off your shoulders, then gently pulled your top over your head. His lips immediately found your newly exposed skin, pressing soft kisses along your collarbone.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, voice full of awe. “Every single part of you.”

You tugged at his shirt, and he helped you pull it off.

Your hands explored his warm, toned chest as he unclasped your bra, letting it fall away. He kissed you again, slow and sensual, while his hands gently cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples until you sighed into his mouth.

“Jungkook…” you breathed.

He laid you back down and slowly removed the rest of your clothes, kissing every inch of skin he revealed... your stomach, your hips, your thighs. When you were completely bare, he stood for a second just to admire you.

“God… look at you,” he whispered, almost reverently. He quickly removed his own pants and boxers, then crawled back over you.

He started by devouring your lips, deep, passionate kisses that left you dizzy and breathless. Then his mouth began to travel lower.

He kissed down the column of your neck, sucking gently on your pulse point until you shivered. His lips continued their slow descent, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses across your collarbone. When he finally reached your breasts, he let out a soft, reverent groan.

“These are so pretty,” he murmured, cupping one breast gently in his large hand. “So soft… perfect.”

He leaned down and dragged his tongue slowly around your nipple, teasing the sensitive bud before flicking it lightly. You arched into him with a quiet moan. Jungkook smiled against your skin and did it again, slower this time, savoring your reaction.

“You like that?” he asked, voice husky as he looked up at you through his lashes.

“Yes…” you breathed.

He wrapped his lips around your nipple and sucked gently, then harder, alternating between soft suction and slow, lazy circles of his tongue.

His hand kneaded your other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers before pinching it lightly, just enough to make you gasp.

“Jungkook…” you whimpered, fingers threading through his hair.

He switched sides, giving your other breast the same devoted attention... licking, sucking, and kissing every inch like he had all the time in the world.

He took his time, humming happily against your skin as he sucked harder on one nipple while gently pinching the other.

“So sensitive for me,” he whispered, blowing cool air on the wet bud before sucking it back into his warm mouth. “I could do this for hours… just listening to the pretty sounds you make.”

You squirmed underneath him, heat pooling between your legs. “Jungkook… please…”

He gave one final slow lick to your nipple before kissing his way down your stomach, leaving a trail of wet kisses. He settled between your thighs and looked up at you with dark, loving eyes, his lips glistening.

“I’ve wanted to taste you for so long, baby,” he said, voice thick with desire. “Will you let me?”

“Yes,” you whispered, nodding. “Please, Jungkook.”

He settled between your legs, spreading them gently. He kissed your inner thighs first, teasing you with soft bites and licks. Then, finally, his mouth found your core.

The first long, slow lick made you moan loudly.

Jungkook groaned in response.

“Fuck, you taste so sweet,” he murmured against you. “So perfect.”

He took his time, licking, sucking, and kissing with pure devotion. His tongue circled your clit before sucking it gently into his mouth. When your hips bucked, he held them down softly, continuing his slow, sensual torture.

“Relax, baby. Let me take care of you,” he said softly before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking tenderly.

“Mhmm... Jungkook!” you gasped, back arching, fingers gripping his hair. “That feels so good…”

He hummed happily, alternating between sucking your clit and licking broad strokes through your folds. Every movement was deliberate and full of adoration.

He slid one finger inside you slowly, curling it gently while his tongue continued its sweet torture on your clit.

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmured against you, adding a second finger. “So tight and warm… Does this feel good, baby?”

“Yes— so good,” you moaned, breathing heavily. “Don’t stop… please don’t stop...,” your eyes fluttering shut. “You’re making me feel so loved.”

He added a second finger, curling them gently while sucking on your clit with just the right pressure. Your thighs started trembling around his head.

“That’s it, baby. Let go for me,” he whispered. “I want to feel you come on my tongue.”

The pleasure built slowly but intensely.

With a soft cry of his name, you came undone, shaking as waves of pleasure washed over you. Jungkook kept licking you gently through it, humming happily against your sensitive flesh.

When you finally came down, he kissed his way back up your body until he was hovering over you again. He kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“How are you feeling?” he asked tenderly, brushing your hair back.

“Amazing,” you whispered, still catching your breath. “I want you inside me now, Jungkook.”

He kissed you again, slow and full of emotion. “I’ll go slow, okay? Tell me if you want me to stop or go faster.”

He positioned himself between your legs, the blunt head of his cock pressing gently against your slick entrance. He locked eyes with you, full of love and desire, and slowly began pushing inside, inch by inch, stretching you open with careful patience.

Both of you let out soft, breathy moans when he finally bottomed out, buried completely inside you.

“Baby…” Jungkook breathed, forehead pressed against yours. His voice was thick with emotion. “You feel incredible… so warm, so tight around me. Like you were made for me.”

He stayed still, letting you adjust to his size, while pressing the softest kisses to your lips, your nose, and your cheeks.

“You okay, my love?” he whispered tenderly, one hand gently stroking your hair. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

“I’m perfect,” you whispered back, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him even deeper. “Move... Please... You feel so good inside me, Jungkook…”

He smiled softly and kissed you again, slow and deep. “I love being connected with you like this,” he murmured against your lips. “Nothing between us. Just you and me.”

Jungkook began moving slow, deep, sensual rolls of his hips.

Every thrust was deliberate, dragging against your walls in the most delicious way. He kept one hand intertwined with yours, pinning it gently beside your head, while the other cradled your face.

“Tell me how it feels, baby,” he whispered, lips brushing yours with every thrust. “I want to hear your voice.”

“So good…” you moaned softly, eyes fluttering. “You’re so deep… I can feel all of you.”

He groaned quietly, the sound vibrating against your chest. “You’re squeezing me so beautifully. So perfect. I could stay inside you forever like this.”

He kissed you again, tongues sliding together lazily as he continued his slow, rhythmic pace. The room filled with the soft sounds of skin meeting skin, quiet moans, and whispered words.

“You make me feel so safe,” you confessed breathlessly between kisses. “I’ve never felt this loved before.”

Jungkook’s eyes softened even more. He thrust a little deeper, grinding against you gently.

“You are loved,” he said tenderly, voice husky. “So deeply loved. I’m going to spend every day proving it to you. Every morning. Every night. You’ll never doubt how much you mean to me.”

You moaned louder as he hit a particularly sensitive spot.

Your free hand ran down his back, nails grazing his skin. “Right there… Jungkook, right there…”

He kept the same angle, stroking that spot with every slow thrust. “Here, baby? Like this?” he asked, voice sweet but dripping with lust.

“Yes… oh god, yes,” you whimpered. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he promised, kissing your neck and sucking gently on your pulse point. “I love watching your face when I make you feel good. You’re so beautiful when you fall apart for me.”

Your bodies moved together in a perfect, sensual rhythm.

He never rushed.

Every thrust was full of love, devotion, and intimacy. “You’re doing so well, baby…” He kept whispering sweet praises between kisses... “Taking me so beautifully… I’m so lucky you’re mine…”

As the pleasure built higher, your moans grew softer but more desperate. Jungkook could feel you tightening around him.

“You’re getting close, aren’t you?” he murmured lovingly, pressing his forehead to yours again. “Come with me, sweetheart. Let me feel you.”

“I’m so close…” you gasped, squeezing his hand tighter. “Jungkook… I love you.”

Those words made him groan deeply. His thrusts became slightly deeper, still slow and sensual.

“I love you too,” he whispered against your lips. “So much. Come for me, baby. I’ve got you.”

A few more loving, deep strokes and you fell apart beneath him — moaning his name softly as intense pleasure washed over you in warm waves. Your walls clenched rhythmically around him, pulling him deeper.

Jungkook followed right after, burying himself as deep as possible with a soft, broken moan of your name. He trembled above you, filling you with warmth as he came.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

He stayed buried deep inside you, holding you close as you both caught your breath. He pressed endless gentle kisses across your face—your forehead, eyelids, nose, cheeks, and finally your lips.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered lovingly. “I’ve got you, my baby. You’re safe. You’re loved.”

You wrapped your arms and legs around him tightly, tears of overwhelming emotion pricking your eyes.

“I’ve never felt this cherished before,” you whispered.

Jungkook smiled softly and kissed you again, slow and full of promise. “Then I’ll just have to cherish you more… every single day.”

Jungkook stayed buried deep inside you for a few long minutes, both of you breathing softly against each other. He finally lifted his head and looked at you with the gentlest eyes, a tender smile playing on his lips.

He slowly pulled out of you, making you whimper at the loss.

Immediately, he gathered you in his arms and rolled onto his back so you were lying on top of his chest.

“Come here, baby,” he whispered, wrapping his strong arms around you securely.

He pressed soft kisses to your forehead, then your temple, while his hand gently stroked up and down your bare back in soothing motions.

“How are you feeling?” he asked quietly, voice full of warmth and care. “Any discomfort?”

You shook your head, nuzzling deeper into his chest. “I feel perfect… just a little sensitive. But so loved.”

“Good,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head again. “You were so good for me. So beautiful.”

He reached over to the side table and grabbed the packet of wipes, gently cleaning between your legs with the utmost care and tenderness. After tossing the wipes aside, he pulled the warm blanket over both of you and hugged you closer.

“You’re trembling a little,” he noticed, rubbing your arms gently to warm you up. “Is that okay?”

You smiled shyly. “Yeah… just from everything. It felt really intense… in the best way.”

Jungkook chuckled softly and tilted your chin up so he could kiss you.

It was slow, soft, full of love.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips. “Thank you for trusting me tonight.”

“I love you too,” you whispered back, resting your cheek over his heart. “This feels like home.”

He held you tighter, one hand playing with your hair while the other traced gentle patterns on your waist. “Then stay right here,” he said softly. “This is your home now… in my arms.”

You both lay there in comfortable silence, wrapped around each other, listening to the distant sound of waves and the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

You felt safe, cherished and loved.

The ride back to town felt too short.

Your arms were wrapped securely around Jungkook’s waist, cheek resting against his back as the coastal wind whipped past you.

Jungkook kept one hand on the handlebar, but his other hand frequently found yours... gently squeezing the hands you had clasped around his stomach.

Every few minutes, he would slide his hand down to squeeze your thigh affectionately, his touch warm and possessive.

He kept glancing at you through the rear-view mirror, that bright, lovesick smile never leaving his face.

“You know you’re staring at me more than the road, right?” you teased, raising your voice slightly over the wind.

Jungkook chuckled, giving your thigh another gentle squeeze.

“Can you blame me?” he called back. “My beautiful girlfriend is hugging me from behind. This is the best view I’ve ever had while riding.”

You blushed and hid your face against his back, but he wasn’t done.

“Baby,” he said playfully, interlacing his fingers with yours again over his stomach. “You’re holding me so tight. Scared I’ll disappear or just enjoying yourself?”

“Both,” you admitted, smiling. “And stop looking at me in the mirror so much! Focus on driving.”

He laughed loudly, the sound warm and happy.

“I’m a very good multitasker,” he replied, gently squeezing your hand. “Right now I’m driving… and admiring how pretty my girl looks with the sea behind her. Two important things.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, but your arms tightened around him affectionately.

“And you love it,” he said confidently, bringing your hand up to his lips for a quick kiss before placing it back on his waist. “Don’t even try to deny it, boss.”

As soon as you stepped through your grandma’s gate, she was already standing on the porch with her arms crossed and a knowing smile.

“Oh my…” she said, eyes scanning both of you. “Look at you two. Glowing like lanterns. Did you even sleep at that farmhouse or just stare at each other the whole time?”

“Halmeoni!” you whined, cheeks instantly burning. “We just… relaxed. That’s all.”

“Relaxed?” Grandma raised an eyebrow. “Darling, you have red patch on your neck and Jungkook is smiling like he won the lottery. Don’t insult my intelligence.”

You covered your neck with your hand, mortified. “It’s not... we didn’t... I mean—”

Jungkook, who was carrying both your bags like they weighed nothing, laughed warmly behind you.

“Halmeoni, you’re too sharp,” he said cheerfully. “I can never win with you.”

Before you could defend yourself, Jungkook walked past you with all the confidence in the world and set the luggage down dramatically.

“Halmeoni,” he announced proudly, standing tall like he was making a speech, “...guess what?”

Your grandma tilted her head, amused. “What, my dear?”

“You’ve been asking me for the last two years... ‘Jungkook-ah, when are you bringing a granddaughter-in-law home?’” He grinned, full of charm and mischief. “Well… I think I’ll be bringing your granddaughter as your official granddaughter-in-law soon.”

“Jungkook!” you gasped, eyes wide in panic.

You lightly smacked his arm. “You can’t just say that!”

He turned to you with the most innocent, lovesick expression. “Why not? It’s true.”

Grandma clapped her hands together in pure delight. “Finally! Welcome to the family, Jungkook. Though… you’ve been my favorite grandson in my heart for a long time. But now you will be my favorite grandson-in-law too.”

You buried your face in your hands. “I’m going to disappear. Right now. Into the sea.”

Jungkook laughed and pulled you into his side, kissing the top of your head. “No disappearing. You’re stuck with me now, boss.”

Later that evening, when you two were alone on the porch, you were sitting on the wooden swing, legs draped over Jungkook’s lap. He was gently rubbing your calf while the evening sea breeze played with your hair.

You looked at him shyly. “Were you serious earlier? About the… granddaughter-in-law part?”

Jungkook turned to you, his expression softening completely.

He took your hand and interlaced your fingers.

“I’ve been serious about you since the day you ignored me at the café,” he said gently. “Even when you were cold and distant, I already knew I wanted you in my life. But I’m not rushing you, baby.”

He lifted your hand and kissed your knuckles. “We’ll go as slow as you want. I’ll wait until you’re fully ready. No pressure. Just… I want you to know where my heart is.”

You felt your eyes get teary. “You’re too good to me, you know that?”

He smiled and pulled you closer until you were practically sitting in his lap. “I plan to keep being too good to you. Every single day.”

Jungkook had zero intention of keeping your relationship private.

The very next morning, the moment you stepped into the café, Jungkook’s face lit up like the sun. He was behind the counter but immediately rushed toward you, wiping his hands on his apron.

He greeted you with a big kiss on the lips right in front of three regular customers.

“Jungkook!” you whispered, mortified but breathless.

“Morning, girlfriend,” he said loudly and proudly, a bright grin plastered on his face for the entire café to see.

You covered your face with your hands. “Oh my god… everyone is staring.”

“Good... Let them stare,” he chuckled, clearly enjoying your reaction. He gently took your hands away from your face and turned you around so your back was facing him.

“Come here, let me help you,” he murmured softly.

His arms came around you from behind as he helped tie your apron strings. His fingers moved slowly and deliberately, brushing against your waist and lower back more than necessary.

He leaned down, lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “You look so cute when you’re blushing like this. Makes me want to kiss you again.”

“Jungkook, stop,” you whined quietly, but a shy smile was fighting its way onto your lips. “There are customers!”

“Let them enjoy the show,” he teased, tying a neat bow but refusing to move away. Instead, he wrapped his arms fully around your waist and hugged you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

Old Mrs. Park, who came for her daily tea, clapped excitedly. “Finally! I was wondering when this boy would make it official!”

Later, when a group of young girls from town came in and started flirting with him, Jungkook immediately pulled you to his side.

“Sorry ladies,” he said cheerfully, kissing your temple. “I’m very taken. This is my girlfriend. She’s the boss here… and of me.”

You elbowed him lightly, embarrassed but smiling. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Extremely,” he admitted, nuzzling your cheek. “I’ve been waiting months to show you off. Let me flex a little.”

In the evenings, he walked you home holding your hand, swinging it between you like a lovesick teenager.

“You know... it's been weeks and the whole town is still talking about us, right?” you asked, laughing, one day while heading to home.

“Good,” he replied, pulling you closer. “Let them talk. I want everyone to know that the cold girl from Seoul who used to ignore me is now the love of my life.”

You stopped walking and looked up at him, heart overflowing.

Without thinking, you rose onto your tiptoes, held his face gently, and pecked his lips—soft, sweet, and full of affection.

Jungkook’s face lit up like the sunrise.

His eyes widened in pleasant surprise before melting into the softest, most loving smile.

“What was that for?” he whispered, still grinning.

“Because I love you,” you said shyly, still holding his face. “And I wanted to kiss you first for once.”

He let out a happy little laugh and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer.

“I love you more,” he murmured, forehead resting against yours. “So much more. And I’m going to keep saying it until you get tired of hearing it.”

You smiled, brushing your nose against his. “Not possible.”

Taglist: @3racha-agustd . @jeonjamiekim . @jinnieminie  . @minpdrecs . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172 . @stay-tiny-things . @softhaes . @littlebluhellfire . @niqueesthings . @nocturnalsingularity . @syudoeslove . @namjoonbaby17-blog . @mar-lo-pap . @naesarang07 . @diame93 . @themwordsblog . @crizoosblog . @bts-fic-recs-mess . @nocturnalsingularity . @ninisficrecs . @lovingkoalaface . @afgbbf . @hiilovetata . @namjooniverse . @petersasteria. @orionsworld420. @amarawayne . @unknownbeknowst. @knjkitten. @kissmeashx. @wendysworldhae. @maar-lenaa. @mikrokookiex. @dltyum

[citrustan]

killah (jjk) [8]

pairing: managing partner/lawyer!jungkook x spoiled brat!reader ft. yoongi

genre: strangers/lowkey one sided enemies to ?? idk bec you irk him, angst, smut, like slight fluff, infidelity au (jungkook has a girlfriend aand it's not you yet?)

wc: 13.9k

warnings: this is a series! so please visit the killlah (jjk) [series masterlist] for a tiny summary and some extra info :3 noowww, in this chapter, you can expect: major oc crashout, mention of the b word, minor hyewon crashout, emotional cheating, mention of light smut, some slut shaming. oh and namjoon calls oc 'doll.' (deal.)

!!extra disclaimer!! you've got to excuse me once again because i'm tagging this as unedited! i haven't read the chapter one go yet, but i've read all the sections separately multiple tiems and i am just, so,so lazy,,,nnghmffgh it has been edited! the word count has bumped up to 13.9k from 13.3k...

Once again, Jungkook finds himself in a situation where he feels like he needs to apologise to you. 

This time though, he has mixed feelings about it. And those thoughts had to be put on pause for now.

Undoing the silky makeshift blindfold from his girlfriend’s eyes, he gently pulls out of Hyewon, earning a hiss from her. 

He pulled the condom off, tying it at the opening and tossed it in the bin with ease. 

He was tucking himself back in when he heard Hyewon’s shy call, “Kook...” - “Mhm?” Jungkook walked back to her, caressing her hip as she rested in the same position for a few seconds, regaining her composure. 

“I love you…” Hyewon smiles bashfully. 

He hums, smirking at her through the mirror. “I know you do.” 

She giggles then playfully frowns at him. Hyewon always liked to hear it back. 

Words of affirmation was her love language. He liked to have fun with her and withhold it sometimes though. 

Jungkook learnt very early on that Hyewon needed to hear him tell her he loved her. 

By no means was she insecure, but she needed this little thing from him.

At this point in their relationship, it had simply become routine to utter those three magic words. Especially after sex. 

And Jungkook never remembered struggling with that unspoken rule. He was always happy to follow it. 

Until today, that is. 

Although he was able to disguise it as just teasing, the words physically wouldn’t leave his lips. 

Jungkook tugged a few paper towels out of the dispenser and wet it. 

“Stay there,” he directed Hyewon to hold her pose as he squatted to clean her up. 

Pushing her dress back up, he wipes off her slick. 

Hyewon winced at the sensation. 

Jungkook paused, “Sensitive?”

“Cold.” She shook her head, “But it’s fine, I need to use the restroom anyway.”  

He nodded understandingly, continuing to clean her up. 

When he’s done, Hyewon straightens up and limps to the little washroom attached to the powder room. “Babe, you should leave first, I don’t want people suspecting anything.” 

“You sure?” Jungkook asks as he lathers his hands with sandalwood hand soap.

“Yeah, go on. I’ll have to retouch my makeup. It’ll be a while.” Hyewon assures him.

“Alright. I’ve gotta give Joon his tie back anyway.” 

Petrified, Hyewon calls out to him, “Babe!” - “What?” Jungkook’s confused. 

“You can’t return that now! We used it.” Her voice lowers on ‘used.’

Jungkook furrows his brows, “It’s part of his four piece set. He needs to send it to the dry cleaner’s together, Won. It’s no biggie.” 

“Bu-” - Jungkook doesn’t wait for her, “I’m gonna go find Joon now. Don’t take too long!”

Before exiting the room, he stops by the same velvet wall you had clutched. 

You had looked like you were about to burst into tears. 

Had he been too insensitive? Or could you only dish it out but not take it?

In all honesty, Jungkook thought you deserved it. I mean, for fuck’s sake, he’s walked in on you and Namjoon before. And that too in his place of work! And not to mention all the bullshit you pulled earlier just today. 

Shamelessly flirting with him, but then kissing and flirting with Namjoon. 

Not to mention Min Yoongi. Jungkook found it odd for Yoongi and you to get along so soon. 

And for you to call Yoongi ‘Mr. Min?’ 

That did it for him. He understood you were this way with everyone. ‘Mr. Jeon’ wasn’t a little secret nickname for just him. 

Jungkook wasn’t fucking special. He deluded himself into thinking he meant more to you. It pissed him off. He had to get away from you immediately. 

And if that wasn’t enough, you and Yoongi were getting along really well - dancing, clinging on to each other, becoming drinking buddies - it was weird. Neither of you seemed like each other’s types. Nor were either of you that friendly with just anyone. Hyewon’s living proof of it. His girlfriend seemed to want to get closer to you so bad but you were always dismissive of her.

How could he ever think of entertaining you?

So, just like that, he grabbed his girlfriend and fucked off to an empty corner of the hall. 

And the outcome was… you witnessing it. Jungkook would’ve counted it as a win for him had you not looked at him the way you did.

Namjoon had no idea what had gone down in the ten minutes when you walked off to some obscure corner of the hall and returned with tears streaming down your face. You were bawling uncontrollably. 

He couldn't get a word in when you only continuously chant ‘I don't like it.’ 

The man felt utterly guilty for leaving you to fend for yourself half of the night. You were his date after all. 

Witnessing you break down like that, his mind went to the worst places. 

When he’s unable to calm you down with words, he pulls you in a comforting hug, smushing your teary face against his chest. “You’re okay, doll. You’re fine…” Namjoon whispered repeatedly in your ear, rapidly rubbing your back. 

The scene was drawing a lot of attention. No doubt, this would be the second most talked about event at the Eirene this year. Thankfully only half of the crowd stayed so long to have witnessed your crashout.

Seokjin, too, momentarily pulled away from his ‘host duties’ to check up on you. He brought you orange juice and a few pieces of toast in case you needed sobering up. 

After a good few minutes of uncontrollable sobbing and hiccups, you finally settle into Namjoon’s embrace. You still struggled to stabilize your breathing, whimpering from time to time. 

You hate them.

That nasty image was burnt into the back of your eyelids. 

Every time you shut your eyes, you could picture Jungkook ramming into Hyewon from the back. Him smirking at you. It played in your mind in a loop.

You’re fish. Jungkook was dangling bait in front of you, but it felt so out of reach. 

Your drunkenness made it harder for you to control yourself. The only way you could express yourself was through your tears. 

These tears weren’t out of sadness though. 

It was purely frustration. Well, frustration mixed with silly drunken emotions. 

Just when Namjoon and Seokjin walked you back to the table, you spotted Jungkook emerging from the corner, stopping only a few steps away. 

No Hyewon in sight.

This jerk better not try to talk to you. He better not even breathe in your direction. 

“_____, say ahhh.” Seokjin attempts to force-feed you some bread. You scowl at him, eyes still wet with tears. 

No doubt, your entire face was ruined and red now. Certainly not in the way you wanted. 

Jungkook cautiously watched on as Namjoon cleaned your cheeks and nose. 

His heart raced. You were a pretty crier.

When you caught another glimpse of him, you glared hard. 

Oh. Kitty’s got claws.

Though he clearly overestimated you, he still thinks you’re overreacting.

There was another thought swimming around the back of his mind. Have you told them what you saw? And at the off chance you had, how the hell was he going to explain this to anyone? How was he going to explain this to Hyewon? He couldn’t let this affect her negatively.

Lucky for him, you weren’t a gossip, but that’s not why you chose to keep this to yourself. You’d absolutely be up to tattle had you not humiliated yourself by sobbing and breaking down so publicly. 

Obviously, you weren’t about to reveal to people that watching your stupid crush fuck his annoying girlfriend terrorized you to the point of tears. You have a reputation to keep up around here; one that you swore you didn’t care about. 

This would be scandalous for everyone involved. It’d just hurt more people, not that you care about hurting Hyewon or Jungkook. They’d have brought it upon themselves. 

However, you aren’t too proud to admit that you were extremely jealous of Hyewon.

Admitting this to yourself (and to Somin later tonight) is a big step. But you refuse to dig any deeper than that.

ʚ𖹭ɞ

Right around the time you begin to actually lax and reassure Namjoon and Seokjin nothing funny happened to you, Jungkook finally approaches the table.  

Instead of taking his original seat next to you, he saunters to the opposite side. 

Pussy. 

Jungkook would argue he was giving you much needed space. And he didn’t need to rub it in your face anymore by presenting Joon with his tie right now. 

Jungkook discreetly stuffed the silky piece of clothing into his coat pocket as he watched you get coddled by grown men. 

Instinctively, he wants to join in. Technically, he’s the reason you were in this almost inconsolable state. So, it should be him looking after your every need. 

In his defence, he really thought you’d handle it like a champ. Not… reduce into tears. 

Then the guilt begins to set in; the guilt of using his girlfriend to get a reaction out of you, of making you feel this way, of making his hyung worry about you.

It weighed on him, making him doubt all the choices he made in the last twenty minutes.

Should he check on you? Jungkook thinks giving you space would be better for you. And easier for him. 

Just when he was about to leave the table to get a bottle of water, his girlfriend joins him.

Hyewon rests her palm on his shoulder, distracted by the sight of you.

She keeps her eyes on you who looked like you were recovering from something.

She sends Jungkook a questioning look, mouthing ‘What happened?’ to which Jungkook just shook his head. 

Ever so curious, she couldn’t stop herself. “_____, are you okay?” 

When Hyewon’s stupid voice floods your ears, you're instantly taken back to ten minutes ago... When she was a moaning mess under Jungkook. 

Why was this woman out to get you?

You refuse to acknowledge her and pretend not to hear.

Even though she was loud enough that everyone at the table heard her.

So Hyewon tries again, “___-” 

“Oh, my goodness, take a hint!” You snap at Hyewon. 

The table just kind of… stills.

Jungkook looked taken aback.

“Oh,” Hyewon whispers weakly, blinking as though she’s been slapped, looking around at the other patrons to see if anyone saw her get yelled at.

Still, she tries to defend herself, “No, I just wanted to make sure you’re-” - “Can you just not?” You cut her off, having had enough of her ‘concern.’

“You’ve done enough…” You whisper the last part, not loud enough for everyone to hear but Hyewon catches on to it anyway. So does everyone else near you. 

Hyewon’s lips part, ready to ask what that meant, but Jungkook gently catches her wrist on top of the table, whispering something that sounded like ‘let it go.’

Yeah, bitch, listen to your fucking boyfriend. You grind your teeth together at the display.

They’ve got to stop rubbing this in your face. You could probably get that clown kicked off of the face of the Earth if you wanted.

She glances at him, searching his face for answers, then back at you. Finally sighing, she brushes you off, “Okay, I’m sorry.” 

You roll your eyes at the apology. She just has to be the goodie-goodie. Hyewon just has to shove it in everyone's faces that she’s the innocent little fawn who’s getting bullied by the big fat tigress. 

You glare in her direction one last time. 

To her right, you notice Jungkook looking unhappy. There’s a tiny little wrinkle forming on his forehead and he looks like he’s biting at his lip ring. 

Jeon Jungkook was actually pissed off?

At you? 

Please.

You find that really funny. Both literally and… not literally? It genuinely makes you laugh ha-ha that he’s angry at you but also, you aren’t ha-ha laughing because you think he has no right to be mad (and at you of all people.) 

Still, you wanted to fuck the shit out of him.

You are actively fighting thoughts of throwing Hyewon off her chair and mounting her boyfriend. Pushing his face in your ample bosom as you dry hump him in front of the entire hall.

And maybe he’d be as rough as he was with his stupid girlfriend…

Now that broke your lustful daydreaming.

ʚ𖹭ɞ

After an awkward few minutes, Hyewon, throwing on an obviously fake smile, announces to everyone that she and Jungkook were about to call it a night.

Seokjin smiles at Hyewon, attempting to make up for your… unpleasant attitude. “We’re glad you came, Hyewon-ssi.”

She nods, returning the pleasantries.

Then she turns to Namjoon, reaching an arm out, “Good night, Joonie. Congratulations again.”

Namjoon rises halfway from his seat to hug her back, “Thank you, Hyewon. Get some rest, yeah?”

She smiles and nods before facing you. Her smile falters just a little when she sees that you’re still scrolling through your phone. Namjoon nudges you but you refuse to cooperate.

“Right,” She murmurs, mostly to herself.

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she announces again, “We’re gonna say bye to the others.” She directs it at Jungkook. 

“Sure, babe. I’ll be right behind you.” He complies, stuffing his hands in his pockets. 

“Allow me to escort you?” Seokjin offers kindly, making Hyewon swoon.

She had been a little starstruck despite whatever just went down with you. It's not everyday that you got Kim Seokjin's attention.

As Hyewon glides away with your step father, Jungkook waits until they’re out of earshot before fishing something from the pocket of his suit jacket. 

He twirls it loosely around his finger before dropping it on the table in front of you and Namjoon.

“Thought I’d return this now before I forget.” He clears his throat. 

Discreetly, you eye the black object. 

Namjoon frowns, picking it up. “My tie?” 

What the fuck. 

Your neck snaps towards him before you can stop yourself. 

Jungkook’s grin tilts into an infuriatingly smug one. “Yeah. We used the hell out of it. Thanks.”

It takes Namjoon a few seconds to make sense of that admission.

And when he does: “Ugh. Dude…” Namjoon recoils, instantly flopping the tie back on the table. Jungkook just laughs, unbothered. 

Namjoon then looks up at his friend to whine a little but he notices that his gaze was trained on you. Waiting. 

Namjoon turns his head to look at you. You were now staring straight ahead, completely ignoring his friend. You were staring at nothing.

The blank expression painted on your face was obviously forced. Internally, you were seething.

But you don’t give Jungkook the satisfaction of a reaction. Not even a little stink eye or an eye-roll. 

Not like he needed that from you anyway.

You continue to mask all of your seventy emotions with an expression of indifference.

This was all Jeon Jungkook would be getting from you from now onwards. 

He pushes himself up from the table with an exaggerated grunt. “I better go find my girl.”

You dig your shoe into the floor, imagining his chest under it. 

Jungkook lingers at your side for a bit, now tilting his head to gauge your reaction closely. 

When he gets nada, he backs off slowly. “Bye, hyungie.” Jungkook smiles at Namjoon victoriously. “Drive safe.” Namjoon spits in exasperation.

Every bit of guilt and regret Jungkook felt for what he did disappeared into thin air when you lashed out at his girlfriend. 

Jeon Jungkook couldn't believe your candour just now.

Yet it put a lot of things into perspective for him: the power he held over you, your feelings toward his girlfriend, and finally, he now knew exactly what you wanted. And he knew what buttons to push. And he finally knows your limits.

His intuition had always been right. You definitely could handle this; you just didn’t want to. 

A curt ‘_____,’ is the last thing you hear from him before Jungkook goes on to find his stupid girlfriend again. 

Namjoon carefully watches the two of you. 

Huh. 

Slowly, he begins to scratch the surface of what potentially may have gotten you in this mood. Definitely something to do with Hyewon and Jungkook. But what happened?

Sadly for him, you weren’t ever going to talk about it. You never got the whole ‘talking about your feelings’ crap. However, you did rant to Somin on the regular to get shit out of your system. 

If only you could talk Jungkook out of your system too…

Hyewon sits stiff in the passenger seat of her boyfriend’s Bentley, arms crossed, eyes lazily following blurred car lights driving past them. She seems deep in thought. 

Jungkook can sense a little something brewing in her mind. Akin to a few days ago, when you were in a similar position. 

It’s an awkward parallel. 

“Okay,” Jungkook says finally, glancing at her before turning back to the road. “What’s on your mind?”

She scoffs under her breath. “What’s going on with me…” She repeated before groaning into her palms, “Ugh. I don’t know.” 

But he knew.

Jungkook hums lowly in response. “You’ve been sighing the entire ride, babe.”

She inhales sharply, then lets it out, as though admitting this was a huge step. “It’s _____.”

Jungkook’s grip tightens on the steering wheel. Even though he expected it, he feels his heart racing,

“She’s- God, she’s such a bitch sometimes,” Hyewon is uncensored, but she backtracks a little. “I mean, I’m sorry, but does she even realize how fucking unwelcoming she is?” 

Jungkook stays quiet, allowing his girlfriend to throw everything out there. Hyewon was breaking. 

“She got lucky. That’s all that girl ever did. Born in the right place, around the right people. She’s goddamn lazy- no, she has the privilege to be lazy. And she is! She doesn’t have to try. And she gets away with treating people like shit because no one ever calls her out on it.” Hyewon’s voice cracks a little. “If I treated anyone the way she acted towards me, I’d have no friends left.”

She glances at her boyfriend for a second.

Jungkook doesn’t know what to say to that because he had noticed some of that too.

Although you didn’t seem like a total bitch, you had a bratty side. Maybe you were a little blunt too.

Still, he had no clue his girlfriend had such intense feelings about that aspect of your personality. Or she just never let it show. 

“I’ve been trying so hard with her...” She scoffs bitterly, “Trying to be her friend, make her feel included."

Throwing her head back against the seat, she exasperates, "But it’s just fruitless. We were so good all night and just now? All I asked was if she was okay. Why the fuck did she lash out on me?”

Sitting up straight, she shakes her head, explaining, “It’s like, I never know which _____ I’m gonna get, you know? I’m just… I don't know. I'm just- I’m done.” Hyewon whispered the last two words. 

Well fuck.

Jungkook was half-responsible for that. He ignited that fire. 

Reaching over, he brushes his hand on her clothed knee gently, “You don’t need her, Won.”

Hyewon covers his hand with hers, grasping it tightly. 

He sighs, a little unclear about your and Hyewon's relationship. “I thought you guys were friends though.” Or friendly, at least.

Hyewon lets out a hollow laugh, “No…”

Then she recalls, “In fact, she only really started acknowledging me after she saw me with you. Before that, I didn’t exist to her.”

That comes as a shock to him. He fully expected her to have feelings about your behaviour earlier that night but not the rest of it.

Jungkook glances at his girlfriend and back at the road ahead, but his mind flashes back to that night - the first time he was introduced to you and Logan properly.

He’d clocked it instantly.

You were rough around the edges, distant, a little disrespectful too. He hadn’t truly cared. If anything, it intrigued him.

Sure, he ranted about you, but secretly, he’s been curious about you ever since. 

Up to this very moment, he’s still curious about you.

Even after the shit you just pulled, he wants to dig deep into you. Every possible implication of that sentence was applicable.

Suddenly, your (overall) conduct with him and his girlfriend made sense to him.

You weren’t friends.

Hyewon was as good as some random woman to you. 

“I feel like she’s never liked me,” Hyewon says, more quietly now. “And honestly, I don’t even know why I keep fucking trying with her.”

“Then don’t,” Jungkook offers bluntly. “You don’t have to go out of your way to appease her. Why try to befriend her at all?” 

She whips her head toward him, eyes narrowing, “So it’s my fault she’s a cunt to me?”

“What? No!” Jungkook stumbles over the words, heat creeping up his neck. “I didn’t-” - He clears his throat, “That’s not what I meant. I’m just saying you don’t owe her any kindness she hasn’t shown you.”

He doesn’t blame her. After all, he too gets your appeal.

Hyewon quiets down for a moment. She turns her gaze back to the road. 

Then she says, sounding defeated, “She likes you, though.” 

Jungkook nearly swerves into the divider. “Hm?”

Yet he’s glad he decided to drive instead of being chauffeured. He doesn’t think he could look his girlfriend in the eye and have this discussion about you.

“_____ likes you.” She repeated, as if she was jealous of Jungkook. 

And maybe she was, a little. 

Hyewon looks at him incredulously. “Babe. _____ clearly likes you. She wants to hang out with you and Joon. She engages with you. She doesn’t give a shit about me, whom she met first, but with you and Namjoon? Even Yoongi and Seowoo! Seowoo?” Hyewon gestures loosely, “Totally different person.”

His heart is, once again, pounding too loud in his chest. “Is that… bad?” He asked, referring to her first claim.

She thinks for a second before sighing.

“No…” Hyewon admits.

Letting out a short, bitter laugh, she admits, “I thought I could take advantage of it. You know, worm my way into her little world through you. But she clearly doesn’t… want that.”

Jungkook feels the guilt like a punch in the neck.

Once again, he thinks about how he had noticed your attitude towards Hyewon. He even brought it up with her. But, he never addressed it with you like he should’ve. 

Instead, he flirted with you, touched you, dreamt of you, fantasized about you, crossed every fucking line with you except for actually, officially, crossing the line with you.

Even now, your pretty, teary, flushed face is permanently embedded in the back of his mind. 

Jungkook doesn’t have a plan but he asks anyway. “Do you want me to talk to her?” It’s instinctual for him to want to help Hyewon. 

Hyewon’s reply comes just as fast, “No! God, can you imagine that? I don’t need daddy to fight my battles for me.” 

He glances sideways at her, a pierced brow lifting.

She finally cracks a small smile, “Shut up. You’re fifteen.” Jungkook throws a hand up in defence and maybe slight confusion. They weren’t that kind of couple.

“I said nothing.” Jungkook feels a little victorious to have been able to slightly lighten the mood.

“But now that I think about it,” Hyewon’s smile fades just as quickly, “I… kinda don’t want you talking to her at all.”

“What?”

“I know, I know,” Hyewon rushes. “I’m not trying to be that girl. It’s not like I don’t want you to have female friends. You know I’m not like that. It’s just…”

“I know,” Jungkook nods along.

Hyewon groans and exhales, clearly frustrated, “It’s just her. _____. She’s been so fucking weird with me, I just… I don’t want her to have the satisfaction of being close to you.” At latest not before she herself has that pleasure.

Jungkook blinks, surprised.

“Man, I feel like I’m in high school again.” Hyewon lets out another helpless laugh, “I only had one friend who’d defend me from those rich, mean girls. I’m just so tired of feeling like I don’t belong.” She shakes her head, “Ugh, babe, don’t listen to me. I’m just tired and emotional now…”

Jungkook watched on sympathetically, “Won…” He was familiar with Hyewon’s past experiences with those classmates.

As much as he understood it, he couldn’t relate to it entirely. He never had it quite as bad as Hyewon. Male privilege and what not.

Stupidly, Jungkook indulges her insecurities, playing the supportive boyfriend role well. “It’s okay, Won. It-” He sighs, practically forcing the next few words out. “It’s not as if I’m that close with _____. Joon is. It might get awkward. But, if this is what you need from me, then so be it.” 

He’s just shooting himself in the foot at this point. 

“Gaah, I don’t know! You’re sweet, baby.” Hyewon runs her hand through his hair. “God. Why does some random woman have such a strong hold on me?” 

Jungkook doesn’t say it but it echoes in his head: you and me, both.

Just in time, he turns into his street. 

Desperate to move on to another topic, Hyewon forces a weird smile, “Remember when Jiah tried to hit on you all night? And then you blatantly ignored her the entire time and then made out with me in front of her?” 

That was oddly specific. How could he not remember? 

“I remember…” Jungkook blinked, a little confused. They were now parked in Jungkook’s garage.

She reaches over him to push his seat back. “I’m just reminiscing.” Hyewon smiles at her boyfriend before leaning in to kiss him. 

Jungkook can’t help but wonder if she wanted him to read between the lines.

It takes you almost a week to (partially) recover from that day.

It wasn’t really about what you saw that night, it was what you did after you saw it.

Namjoon dropped you home and offered to stay. You refused because you weren’t in the mood for anything funny, or anything at all.

The first thing you did after walking through the threshold of your room was dump those flowers in your fireplace.

You only felt a tiny bit bad for it. Those flowers did nothing to you, but you hated who they came from and what it now signified. You didn’t want to keep apology flowers from fucking Kang Hyewon.

Otherwise, they'd have driven you nuts, just sitting on your bedside table.

Not a day had gone by when you didn’t excessively obsess over every reactive thing you did (that you could remember) that night.

Logan wasn't allowed to utter the words 'gala' or 'night' around you.

The one thing you did not regret was putting Hyewon in her place for overstepping your boundaries.

You aren’t sure whether or not it got through to her, but you aren't afraid of reminding her of it if you had to. 

But, when it comes to Jeon Jungkook… 

You fought the urge to look at news articles about him and needless to say, any photos or clips from the gala too.

Even your own! It was so unlike you to not find cute photos for your Instagram.

You’d been sent countless of them by all your friends (and Seokjin) but you don’t even want to acknowledge you were ever there. At least not yet.

Speaking of Seokjin; he had really surprised you.

He didn’t go running to mommy and tattle on you (so you assume since your mother never sent you paragraphs about your family’s legacy and image.)

Vague accounts of your outburst made its way to some snark subreddits but apart from that--- nothing major.

You suspect either Logan or Seokjin to have meddled. Either way, you’re grateful. 

Even after all that effort of nothing ever making it to the big news channels or any remotely reputable online magazines, word of your little temper tantrum still got out in the office building and some social circles (through word of mouth, i.e gossip) but that was expected.

You have no way of confirming but it was most probably one of Hyewon’s little friends.

You just had to continue to keep a low profile, as you do normally.

Logan had graciously moved some things around and allowed you to work from home for a few (3) days after you sobbed to him about the incident. 

Those three days flew by faster than you were ready.

Thursday morning comes for your throat.

You desperately wanted to skip some more but Logan demanded that you make an appearance at work. It was about time you returned. 

The night before, you had the most vivid dream where you and Hyewon reversed roles.

But it wasn’t the kind of dream you’re thinking about. You were literally in her shoes, going to a new office, doing lawyer stuff you didn’t understand. And you tanked. 

This is the mindset you woke up in: simply filled with dread.

You hope everyone goes easy on you. 

Sua had checked on you which was sweet. You ranted to her about the gala in a conference call with Somin and Soobin, just not about what you saw though. That info was reserved for Somin only. 

Apart from Sua, Namjoon and Yoongi had also called to check in. 

Yoongi just gave you shit for acting like the typical Scarlet Hills socialite he thought you were. He really was a meanie panini. 

And Namjoon… got the complete inside scoop from Jungkook before he ever tried with you, so you could not not talk to him.

While your first instinct was to ignore Namjoon, Yoongi gave you more shit for that, so, yeah, you spilled the beans for them. Not all your beans but enough.

It's so fun to be friends with men! Really! 

No, but on a more serious note, Yoongi sorta kinda turned out to be the yin to your yang.

He didn’t always give in to you (like Jungkook had done so many times in the past.) For example, he proposed a friendly date. While you agreed, the only place you were willing to meet Yoongi at was this vegan Indian restaurant an hour away from town. Yoongi opposed it a lot. And somehow, he tricked you into joining him at some stupid country club under the guise of ‘picking up his golf bag.’ And he made you drive! 

That was when you realised; you and Yoongi would not work romantically.

You needed a sucker like Mr. Jeon to cater to your every need. 

Not that that was your goal or anything. You still only want to fuck him and dump him. That’s all.

But that didn’t mean you didn’t have a little fun with the cat-faced man. :p

If anyone’s curious, you’ve discovered that Yoongi’s really good with his mouth. He almost made you cum from only sucking and nibbling on your tits. Almost.

But you haven’t gone beyond that. You don't even know why.

At this point, you fully believe you’re cursed by the sex gods. 

To solve this little mishap, you came to the most obvious conclusion. Since two negatives make a positive, you proposed a threesome with Namjoon and Yoongi. One that they both rejected. 

They really needed to be inside your head to understand your logic.

It’d been MONTHS since a man made you orgasm. Doing it yourself just doesn’t feel the same. Believe it or not, you love the concept of giving up control during sex just for the thrills. You just can’t do that alone.

All this sex talk right before work was really killing your mood.

When you finally returned to the office, you were surprised by how… normal it all was.

Nobody stared or whispered about you. The world hadn’t ended because you’d cried and then snapped at a little bitch at a gala.

It was business as usual. You went on coffee runs for the office, updated everyone’s calendars, made survey forms for your coworkers as per Logan’s orders, etcetera etcetera. 

If at all anyone was gossiping about you, they were at least decent enough to wait until you left the room. But according to Sua, nobody actually gave a shit anymore. Especially not the people in your office. They had come to know you and were already sort of endeared by you at this point, which was good to hear and a much needed ego-boost.

It’d be a blatant lie to say you weren’t a little worried about all of this. 

Besides it wasn’t until lunchtime that you actually felt the slightest bit panicked. 

You had to go down to J, K & K to see Joon.

Well, you didn’t have to do anything but the more you put this off, the worse your anxiety would get.

Also, he invited you. He had something to ask you. You were dying to know what the hell that was all about. He wouldn't answer your texts or calls either. He went to Yoongi school of manipulation.

So, you just had to suck it up and take your ass over there.

The anxiety stemmed from not having been around Jungkook in a while and the fact that he must know you've deliberately been trying to keep away from him, along with rumours.

Dare you say, you were a tiny bit embarrassed about it all. 

But you know what? Enough of that. 

Returning to work wasn't as humiliating as you had built it up to be.

Adjusting the straps of your heels, you strutted down to Namjoon’s office.

And you told yourself you weren’t about to look for him. 

You pace around in the elevator a little.

Then it dinged.

And the elevator doors opened.

Directly to the one person you were hoping not to run into. 

His hair looked slightly out of place, like he had just run his hands through it.

But that’s not the thing you’re focused on.

There was something on his body you hadn't ever imagined to see. It isn’t, like, something absolutely bonkers. It’s so normal. But not on Jeon Jungkook. 

Glasses.

On him. Face. 

But without wasting any more precious seconds, you flip your hair back and glide past him into the office, leaving behind a trail of your sweet scent. 

Jungkook was dumbfounded.

So much so that the elevator he had been waiting for left without him in it.

Maybe he would’ve done something about the way you just… dismissed him had he not made important shopping plans with his other gir- his girlfriend. 

You had only gotten one look at the man, yet you had every. single. detail. stuck in your head: his magenta tie, the grey coat hanging off his arm, his lip and brow piercings, the glasses… Oh, the glasses!

You didn’t know he needed them. You didn’t know you needed that.

They made him look maddeningly mature. Normally, that would turn you off but he just looked even hotter. 

Very briefly, you pictured yourself stealing them, wearing them yourself as you rode his cock in his office chair. You let out a shaky sigh. 

You were not built for crushing on unavailable men.

Then Namjoon’s voice broke your train of thought, “There you are, I was about to come looking for you.”

You tightly smile at him and slip into his office, not trusting yourself to speak just yet.

ʚ𖹭ɞ

Long story short, you’re going to a little retreat on a private island, courtesy of Namjoon’s father.

Initially, you weren’t part of the plan.

It was supposed to be just the winners of the Eirene, Seowoo and Hyewon by extension. But Yoongi’s assistant had to back out at the last minute because… well, you hadn’t paid attention to the reason.

The point was that they had room.

So, naturally, Namjoon invited you.

Since you’d been cooped up in your apartment all week, working from home and (unintentionally or not) avoiding people since the gala incident, he figured a few days away from the city might do you some good.

Maybe give you and Jungkook a fresh start.

However, when he mentioned the idea to Jungkook, it didn’t exactly go smoothly. Jungkook’s reaction was… less than enthusiastic?

“Why though?” He’d complained immediately, brows furrowed. “What’s the point of bringing her?”

Namjoon had rolled his eyes, “She’s my friend. And she could really use a break.”

“Do you like her?” Jungkook had pressed, half-serious, half-mocking. “Because if you’re interested in dating her, maybe take her somewhere else. On your own time.”

Hyewon had been the one to intervene, hugging Jungkook’s arm to calm him. “Kook, relax. It might actually be good for everyone. You, me, her. Maybe it’ll help… smooth things over.” 

Translation: This is yet another opportunity for her to get to know you. Fuck whatever she felt or said about you.

With that, the decision was made.

Namjoon promised you that you wouldn’t have to spend more than a dinner or two around the lovebirds anyway.

You tried to wriggle out of it, claiming that Logan would never approve of you skipping out on work again, but Namjoon had a solution ready: “We’re all working, _____. We’ll leave after office hours,” He’d said matter-of-factly.

You gave it a thought.

Namjoon went on talking up the island.

You hummed, already picturing the gorgeous tan lines you’d wear after said retreat.

You weren’t entirely convinced, however, the idea of a natural tan, and maybe collecting seashells for your next art project, sounded good enough to sway you.

Because it’d be more meaningful if you found the shells yourself instead of order them off Amazon or an overpriced Etsy shop.

Of course, the fact that Jungkook would be there was…. not the reason, obviously. But a nice little bonus. Emphasis on ‘little.’

The next day, Namjoon came by your office just as you were wrapping things up for the day.

He waited, leaning against the doorframe, refusing to come in and help you finish because he knew that would take way longer.

After finishing off your final task, you reapplied your gloss and cleaned up any traces of tiredness.

“Ready to go?” Joon finally looks up from his phone.

You nodded once.

After saying goodbye to Logan - who gave you a pointed look that said be good - you followed Namjoon down to the parking lot.

You made him carry all of your luggage; two silver, hard shelled suitcases, one smaller than the other.

One contained all your toiletries and shoes, and the other packed your clothes and makeup. You had stayed up all night, washing and steaming your outfits.

Most of them didn't even make the cut.

You even chose more comfortable shoes today: platform, peep toed heels.

Your steps slowed when you spotted them.

Hyewon, standing near the back of the vehicle, chatting softly with someone you didn't recognise. And you could see Jungkook was already seated inside. 

“Please tell me we’re not driving together…” You muttered to Namjoon under your breath. 

He only hushed you. “It’s Kook’s car. And it’ll only be a forty-minute ride. You’ll survive.”

Forty minutes? You had no idea what kind of island existed forty minutes away, but okay.

When you neared the vehicle, you greeted Hyewon with a strained smile, which she returned sweetly. 

“Need help with that?” Hyeown pointed at the little bags by your feet. You dumbly nod.

Whatever, she’s a better woman than you, blah blah. 

She smiled at you once again before helping you load the suitcases in the trunk.

‘Helping’ was generous. She basically did it for you while you watched. 

The car, you noticed, was a cherry red Jeep. Not exactly the vehicle you’d ever imagined Jungkook in. He struck you more as a sleek black coupe type of dude.

Cherry red was more your thing though.

You’d have liked to take the front passenger seat, but you assumed Hyewon had dibs on it.

So, you climbed into the back. Only to have Hyewon follow you in. 

Great!

Whatever.

You pressed yourself against the window silently, determined not to look at Jungkook or acknowledge him at all.

That’s how you spent the first thirty minutes of the ride.

You had to listen to Hyewon yap about something or the other. About her mom, Jungkook’s mom, their family trip together, just relationship stuff.

She kept trying to ask you about your mother and Seokjin too. You assume it was in hopes of getting more intel on your family situation. But you couldn’t be bothered to give her more than a ‘I haven’t seen them all week.’ 

You were told Yoongi was already waiting at the resort.

You text him asking him to claim a good room for you but he wasn’t a good sport. He insisted all the rooms were ‘good.’

Boring.

Another thirty minutes passed and traffic had brought the car to a crawl.

Forty minutes, my ass.

Both Namjoon and Hyewon had dozed off, leaving you in near-silence with only the sound of Hyewon’s boring Spotify playlist blaring through the speakers lowly.

It only consisted of Taylor Swift’s last two albums. Or so you assume. They all sounded the fucking same to you. Like, are we kidding? You’d rather eat Hyewon’s shoe.

You’re kicking yourself for not charging your devices well. 

You were dangerously close to passing out too but resisted.

You could sleep once you got to the place; on a comfy bed after a nice hot shower.

Shifting restlessly in your seat, you adjust your neck, trying to find a comfortable angle to rest in.

Jungkook’s eyes flicked toward you in the rearview mirror once.

Twice.

Then once again.

Finally, without saying a word, he reached over and held something out toward you.

A forest green neck pillow.

You stared at it, blinking.

He sighed. “Just take it. All that moving around is distracting.”

You glared at him, curling your lips into a childish pout.

He rolled his eyes and pushed the pillow further back at you until you reluctantly accepted it. 

The moment your fingers sank into the plush memory foam, your resolve cracked. Memory foam. Your favourite.

You looped it around your neck, muttering a quiet thanks he probably didn’t hear. You barely even heard it yourself. 

The pillow even smelt like him. It was oud-y and musky. It made you squeeze your thighs together. 

Fuck me.

Why did Jeon Jungkook have to be hot?

You glanced at him once. He didn’t have his hot glasses anymore. Hm…

The memory of a specs-clad Jungkook would suffice for now, you think.

You sank back against the seat, staring out the window.

Thankfully, Jungkook switched Hyewon’s playlist to something he thought you’d enjoy: J-Hope’s latest singles. 

And he’s right again.

When the car finally rolled to a stop, you blinked away the haze of near-sleep and looked out the window - only to frown.

You were at an ominous location. You could smell that ocean air, but you couldn't figure out where you were.

You straightened up a little, “Where are we?” You were already wary.

Namjoon only smiled, that kind of weird ‘trust me’ smile that only made you not trust him. “You’ll see.”

Carefully, you followed the group out, heels clicking softly against the ground until the realization hit you. 

You were nearing a helipad.

That makes you stop dead in your tracks. “Namjoon, no.”

Namjoon grinned, glancing back, “_____, yes.” He continued on towards the ground staff.

Ugh, this idiot thinks you’re thrilled.

“No, Namjoon. You didn’t say anything about a helicopter.” You end with an unexpected whine. 

Meanwhile, Hyewon was clutching Jungkook’s arm dramatically, squealing something about being scared too. “You’ll hold my hand, right?”

Jungkook smiled, tucking her closer. “I’ll hold it the whole way.”

Eugh. 

Yeah, no. You’re going home. 

“Joon…” You begin to build up your case but he doesn’t let you finish. 

“Doll, it’s a very short ride.” He reassures. Hyewon jumps in too, “Yeah, _____, it’ll be fine! If we go down, we all go down together.” She giggled. 

?!

Does she think she’s being funny? What is there to laugh about falling seven thousand feet to your death?

You make a strange face at her and her boyfriend who was leading her to the pick-up spot.

Just the idea of flying in a tin can with blades is… not fun. You’d like to live, please, thank you.

Namjoon turned 180 degrees, making his way back to you to drag you along to the front with him.

And he had to literally drag your weight because you’d forced yourself to go limp in his grasp.

Finally, he just decides to throw you over his shoulders making you yelp in horror. “Come on, drama queen.”

You flail around a little, watching Jungkook’s car get smaller and smaller.

When it's only a little red dot, you give up. 

 Then you hear a new voice.

“Hi, I’m Ivy. I’ll be flying you today.”

A female pilot.

For some reason, that helped settle your tummy.

Namjoon clumsily placed you back on your feet. You stumble a little but Jungkook holds you up.

You dramatically dust yourself off where he touched you. 

He scoffed. Brat.

Ivy smiled warmly at you specifically, “It’ll only be twenty minutes, I promise. The weather’s perfect. It’s so comfortable up there even you could easily take a cat nap.”

You believe her. You nodded slowly.

Okay. Maybe you weren’t gonna die.

Even a person you've never met before can see how worried you were.

You unclenched your fist. 

Some of the ground staff was loading your bags into a compartment on the side of the helicopter. Everyone was traveling light so it was all well under the weight limit. 

Ivy lets you choose your seat first. You chose the middle one so you wouldn’t have to stare at the world below you. 

Even though Hyewon was whining about being afraid, she goes for a window seat, so does Namjoon. 

That left Jungkook only one choice: pressed to your side for twenty whole minutes. Plus the few minutes it takes for the safety instructions to be explained and getting buckled in. 

You were all given headsets to communicate better. You skipped out on it because it’d have messed up your hair.

You swear you heard Jungkook scoff at you again. 

Take-off was the most daunting part.

When you heard the blades whirling faster, you instinctively reached out to grab Namjoon’s arm. He hissed under his breath. 

A few minutes in, you still held a death grip on his arm.

He just laughed softly, prying your fingers off. “Jesus, you’re cutting off my circulation.” 

You couldn’t hear shit because you chose to forego the headphones.

So you just frown at him and cross your arms like a petulant child. But it wasn’t comfortable to keep knocking your elbows into the two gigantic boulders sitting on either of your sides.

If this was anywhere else, you’d have been very satisfied. But four thousand feet off the ground? Over an ocean?

Nuh uh. 

You then press your palms to your exposed knees, holding onto them instead. It was a tad more comfy.

Jungkook’s watching you through the periphery. He realises you’re genuinely scared. 

He gazes at Hyewon whose eyes were glued to the window. She occasionally smacked his boyfriend’s thigh to show him whatever she was marveling at: migratory birds flying alongside them, a random skyscraper, a horse? Everything.

She contrasted you who were staring down at your lap.

Your hair fell over your face, barring your vision from accidentally catching glimpses of the environment around you.

Your knuckles were turning white around your knees.

With a deep sigh, Jungkook placed his large, tattooed hand over both of yours. You jump. It scares the shit out of you.

Only for a second though. 

You lax a bit and peek at him through your hair.

He’s looking at you.

With his free hand, he places the headphones over your ears and you let him. 

In your defence, you were… still processing.

You also learn that the headphones did more than just allow everyone to speak to each other. They were also noise cancelling.

And you don’t want to admit it but you felt a lot better this way. 

You blush a deep shade of red as you feel his heavy hand rub yours. You felt his fingers brush against your bare knees, making you squeeze your thighs together involuntarily.

…

You never wanted the ride to end.

By all means, screw that fucker, but Jungkook comforting you through a scary helicopter ride even after you’ve been rather unkind to him is… admirable.

Internally, you groan, wishing you had packed your new thrusting, rabbit vibrator.

The landing was smooth enough to make you feel stupid for ever doubting Ivy’s flying skills but not enough to make you feel neutral these kill machines. You still very much hated them.

Wobbly legged, you stumbled out after Jungkook.

This time, he doesn’t catch you.

Just like that, your brief admiration for him ended right there.

Jerk.

You vowed you’d never let Namjoon trick you into bullshit like this ever again.

By the helipad, two golf carts waited to take you to the resort.

You climbed into one with Namjoon, Hyewon, and Jungkook while your suitcases were loaded onto the other.

The ride was short and breezy. Even a little healing.

The cool night island air hits your face from all directions and the scent of salt and flowers curl in through the open sides; it’d put anyone in a good mood.

The villa, well, resort, technically- it was stunning. 

Thank you, Mr. Kim.

It was a Tuscan style villa with creamy stone walls, cobblestone walkways lined with beautiful flower bearing bushes and warm amber lighting that made everything look and feel like it was the early 2000s. 

Like any typical resort, staff members greeted you at the entrance, handing out chilled towels and colourful welcome drinks.

You accepted both, immediately taking a long sip from your orange and pink drink. Yum, yum. 

As you were being led inside, someone began explaining the amenities; a quick list of spa treatments, private cabanas, infinity pools, yadda yadda, but your brain only half-registered any of it.

Until one particular phrase caught your attention.

“…and we have a two-Michelin-star pastry chef visiting us for the weekend.”

Ooh, bingo.

You knew exactly what your plans for the night were: a warm bubble bath, maybe a quick nap, and then room service from that dessert menu that you just know is about to be scrumptious, as you watch Gilmore Girls for, like, the eleventh time.

You almost moan out loud, thinking about all the tiramisu you’re about to gobble.

As everyone slowly began dispersing toward the suites, you felt a presence behind you. Then a light arm slipped around your waist from the side, startling you.

You peer at the figure. “Yoongi?” You blinked.

He grinned lazily, doing the same to Namjoon who stood beside you, before moving on to greet Hyewon and Jungkook with a similar warmth. He seems a bit dazed.

“Just came to say hi,” He pointed to your left with his chin, “In case I don’t see you guys later tonight…”

You all follow his gaze which lands on a gorgeous woman in a tiny black dress. She smiles and waves.

Ohhhh. Cute! You giggle and wave back at her. 

Yoongi was tipsy. 

“Ah, I see why you were in such a hurry,” Namjoon teased. Yoongi just shrugged. 

Before you could even comment, Hyewon clapped her hands together. “Okay! Since we’re all in a hurry right now,” Nobody’s in a hurry for anything… “You’re all invited to our suite in exactly two hours. We’re hosting a casual dinner! Yoongi, you can bring your date!” 

Jungkook nodded along as she spoke, with his arm looped around her shoulders.

Namjoon smiled politely. Even Yoongi gave her a little thumbs up in agreement.

Crickets.

As the silence stretched for a second too long, you realized they were all looking at you.

Oh, they wanted an answer this instant.

You blinked. “Oh. I’m okay. I think I’ll just sleep.”

Hyewon’s smile faltered for a second, barely noticeable, but you still caught it. As did everyone else. 

Still, she rallied fast. “Oh! That’s totally fine. Feel better, okay?”

Okay?

You scrunched your brows in confusion. “Ok...”

You could tell she didn’t want to believe you’d turned her down for no reason. It was easier for her to assume you were unwell than to accept you just didn’t want to go.

Namjoon shot you a vague ‘I’m disappointed in you’ look. Jungkook’s sported more of a… frown? Like you'd kicked his dog or something. Well, you suppose you kinda did. 

Okay then. Can't please everyone now, can ya?

Not wasting a moment longer, you smile. “Good night!” You chirp and follow one of the concierges down a hallway toward your room. Your luggage follows you. 

ʚ𖹭ɞ

As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, you exhaled, rolling your shoulders back. 

Why the hell was this your fault again? You toss your handbag on the floor. 

You don’t understand why Hyewon wants to play host when everything is paid for by Namjoon’s dad. You aren’t trying to be… bitchy? A snob? Whatever the word is, you weren’t it. Your confusion is genuine. She ‘expected’ everyone in her and Jungkook’s suite for dinner. 

Sucks to be her because you have big plans to pig out in your little room tonight. 

After that hell of a car ride? Having to sit with the couple, forced to listen to their vacation plans for December. Renting a ski chalet with Jungkook’s family. Super original. And who plans trips more than half a year ahead? 

And then the godforsaken chopper- you don’t even want to think about it and accidentally relive it. 

You’d rather be able to pick your own dinner rather than force yourself to eat whatever crap Hyewon selected.

I mean, she never asked you if you had any allergies or for anyone’s preferences. You can’t eat gluten this week. Or corn, because it sucks. 

It’s better than showing up and being rude to the host (because of the host’s own neglectfulness.) 

There’s zero reason for you to feel bad about it. It’s not as if all their efforts will go to waste if one person skips. The others were still going to be there to enjoy it and praise her.

Ugh. You groan before peeling your clothes off your body. You slip into the bathrobe provided by the Brando. Mm, soft. 

You call room service to set up a relaxing, much needed bath for yourself.

While it gets ready for you, you facetime Somin.

You reiterate your plans for the night to her. To nobody’s surprise, she supports your right to stay in rather than show up at Hyewon and Jungkook’s.

You end up staying on call with her (briefly adding Logan later,) all night long while still doing everything else you planned to.

The next morning, Jungkook spots you strutting into the restaurant in Prada SS 2009 heels and an itsy bitsy striped bikini top and skirt with something that looks an awful lot like a Hannah Montana beach towel lazily draped over you.

You only threw the towel on because the restaurant wouldn’t let you in without a cover-up. It didn’t do much covering anyway which was just the way you liked it. 

With his eyes glued to your body, Jungkook didn’t even notice Yoongi in pursuit. 

Hyewon was still explaining to the waitress how she wanted her guacamole prepared, too occupied to notice whatever was going on there. 

You and Yoongi were the last ones there. 

Since Namjoon was off snorkeling with the dolphins or whatever, it was just the four of you. 

You were preparing to skip out on this breakfast date but Yoongi came barging into your room and threatened you to show up because Namjoon put him on _____ responsibility.

It’d have been rude to bail a second time.

Not that you care. You sincerely could not be bothered about how Hyewon felt.

You’d like to point out once again that she was not the host, and nor was she the person whose invite you accepted. Namjoon was. 

Anyway, Yoongi ate you out: first, through your panties for five whole minutes before discarding them completely, then he only cleaned you up with his tongue. He hadn’t let you finish.

Instead, he held your orgasm over your head and made you attend breakfast. 

What were you gonna do? Say no? You tried but he was very persuasive.

“Oh, hello!” Hyewon cheerfully greeted you and Yoongi.

Her eyes flitted over to Yoongi’s arm behind your lower back. He was helping you into your chair. “Oh, when did this happen?” 

You followed her gaze, looking down at yourself, and then blinked up at her. “When did what happen?”

“Thiiiss,” she said with a teasing little grin, gesturing between you and Yoongi. “I just didn’t know you two were close. You were with Namjoon before.” 

Yoongi hummed, “We’ve become close over the week.” He thought nothing of it. But you knew what was brewing in her head. It’s always about relationships with this woman.

Hyewon’s eyes widened slightly at his tone. She looked back at Jungkook who was now fully focused on your conversation too.

They hadn’t necessarily heard Yoongi speak of anyone like that before. And since you're a woman and he’s a man and men can never be friends with women, they were understandably taken aback. Note the sarcasm.

Hyewon laughed delicately, a little in disbelief, “Wow, really?” Then she goes on to say, “Oh, my god, this reminds me-” She waves her hands around to express her disagreement, “-you know, I’ve always detested that term: homie hopper.” She uses air quotes.

Yoongi and Jungkook’s eyes snap to Hyewon. 

Hyewon cringes. “It’s such an unnecessary misogynistic term. Like, people can do whatever they want.” 

Then why bring it up in the first place? 

You almost laugh in her face because of how bad she was at shading people. Though, that didn’t stop you from feeling a bit of discomfort because everyone at the table understood what she was hinting at.

As much as you’d like to say you weren’t hurt, it stung a tiny bit. Which was crazy because you never cared what most people thought of you, let alone someone like Hyewon, whom you don’t even have a real opinion on. 

Jungkook’s brow raised, still processing the words that just exited his girlfriend’s mouth. 

On the other hand, Yoongi was quick with his defense. “Why say it then?” His tone wasn’t accusatory or sharp, but he feigned confusion. 

“I wasn’t, I mean, I didn’t mean it in that way. God, I’d never.” Hyewon explained smoothly. 

Yoongi wasn’t having it, “We’re not stupid, Hyewon.” He copied her nonchalant tone.

Before Hyewon could respond, her boyfriend jumps in, “Yah, let’s not go there? It’s nine in the morning.” It was directed towards Yoongi.

Yoongi? 

Hyewon’s the one who started it. But ok, Yoongi shouldn’t go there. 

Fuck that. You frown at him before picking out a menu to peruse through.

“She did not mean anything by it.” Jungkook looked at his girlfriend to confirm. “Right?” His hand slipped under the table--- you just knew it was to squeeze Hyewon’s thigh. 

Ew...

“Of course not! I was only sharing an opinion!” Hyewon rushed to reassure her boyfriend.

She looks at you with this shocked look. You don’t know how to describe it.

“I am so sorry it came out that way.” It was as if she suddenly regretted trying to drag you. Or pretended to. 

When you don’t acknowledge her, she reaches out to grab your hand, “_____, I’m sorry. Let’s just start over?” 

If she doesn’t let go of you in the next five seconds, she is about to be wearing her breakfast eggs on her head.

“I don’t care,” you smile awkwardly, “We’re fine.” 

Maybe Hyewon was still upset that you rejected her for dinner the night before. And maybe this was her way of showing it or lashing out. 

An awkward silence ensued after.

You then placed an order for a breakfast tiramisu and an espresso martini. Not even Yoongi interfered with your unhealthy choices. 

It wasn’t until Jungkook decided to break the ice (mainly addressing Yoongi and Hyewon) that things went back to somewhat normal.

You didn’t engage too much in any of their conversations.

Jungkook took note of it. He’d occasionally look your way, and you don’t know if it was to get you to join in or simply to admire.

You had half a mind to unwrap your purple towel and really give him something to look at, momentarily forgetting that you were supposed to be mad at him. 

Little things like this never bothered you before. So many of your past dates have pulled these tricks to get you to feel or act on jealousy. But it never worked. You weren’t the type of person who felt possessive over people nor the type to hold grudges. 

Until Jungkook, maybe? 

You’ve had hours to contemplate if your feelings were even worth entertaining.

It was silly to be mad at Jungkook. He was only teasing. You have half-forgiven him.

That’s a concept you’d like to introduce: choosing forgiveness until he ruins it for you with any more of his shenanigans. 

Your heart felt lighter when you came to this conclusion with yourself. 

Somin thought you needed to slow down on your attempts with Jungkook, refrain from acting out and getting rage-baited by him. And you agreed.

Besides, it takes a lot of effort to be mad at someone. But you can’t help feeling a tad annoyed by the couple sitting across from you with all their… together-ness. 

Around twenty excruciating minutes later, you and Yoongi excused yourself to go get a dry massage session before you sunbathed. 

Hyewon invited you to a private couples yoga class she had pre-booked for herself and Jungkook.

It wouldn't have been private with you and Yoongi there though.

While you had time, you did not care for it.

Yoga was a regular thing for you, so it wasn’t as if you’d learn something new. If anything, you’d be forced to watch Jungkook stretch Hyewon out for a second time.

And you didn’t like the way she proposed it either: ‘Oh! You don’t seem to have anything special planned then? Come join us!’

Getting a little massage and sunbathing weren’t ‘plans?’ Fuck that. 

Thankfully, Yoongi politely declined before you could protest. He also paid before Jungkook could.

This restaurant wasn’t part of the resort so breakfast wasn’t paid for in advance. Jungkook had called for the bill but, like, Yoongi sniped and gave the waitress his card before she could accept Jungkook’s. And you found that pretty hot.

Jungkook thought yoga was supposed to be relaxing and soothing, something you practiced to get your mind off things.

Yet, in the silence, he couldn’t stop wondering about you and his hyung.

He absolutely didn’t deem Min Yoongi to be your kind of guy in general, let alone something more. But after seeing him dancing with you the other night and after Hyewon’s inquisitiveness, he doubts his own intuition.

It was none of his business but he didn’t love the idea of you and Yoongi. Even Namjoon seemed a more likely option. 

Either way, he didn't plan on driving himself nuts over your (possible) dating life.

The yoga class was held under a white canopy by the villa, facing the sea.

The instructor, Ria, spoke in a soft and measured tone, gracefully demonstrating each pose. As expected, Jungkook and Hyewon were the ideal students. 

Then, when they get more comfortable between poses, Ria goes off to bring a sound healing instrument.

Then Jungkook suddenly lets out an exhale. “Won, what was that earlier?”

Hyewon looks over questioningly, mid–warrior pose. “What was....?”

“At breakfast.” He straightens, fixing his sweats a little. “The thing you said about _____.”

Hyewon’s face tightens briefly. “It wasn’t about her. I mean-” She sighs, adjusting herself. “It came out wrong. I just opened my mouth before I thought. I feel horrible, okay?”

He hopes she’s being truthful. Jungkook just nods along. “It didn’t sound great.”

“Jungkook, I know,” she says, voice a little strained now. “I mean I even apologised right then. Why are you bringing it up now?”

“Alright, alright. I just wanted to clear it up.” Jungkook backs off. Then he adds, “Yo- we should probably just… leave her alone for now.”

Hyewon doesn’t understand what he meant by that but she chooses to stay quiet, ignoring his suggestion.

There’s an awkward silence when Ria returns and calls for the next pose - downward dog.

Hyewon turns away from her boyfriend, getting into position, focusing on the sounds of the wind chimes and the soothing music instead.

However, as the session goes on, the atmosphere subtly shifts.

Hyewon’s focus wavers. She didn’t love the fact that her own boyfriend questioned her motives in your defense. She suddenly momentarily hated the fact that you tagged along, contrary to how she had felt when she first found this out. 

Jungkook doesn’t really notice the shift in his girlfriend’s mood, too busy getting the yoga right. He doesn’t try to engage her how he had tried with you earlier today. (Yeah, she noticed.)

And understandably so, Hyewon hates that even more.

Meanwhile at the spa, you and Yoongi were led into separate adjoining rooms for your dry massages.

The rooms smelt like essential oils and smoky sage.

It looked like a typical Thai spa, nothing outstanding but it was beautiful regardless.

There was a koi pond at the entrance too. You wish you had brought your phone along to show Somin to give her ideas for her indoor pond. Somin had one in her backyard but the birds kept stealing the poor fishies. She would get new ones but the birds kept returning. Soon she realised that she was feeding the birds that way. Ever since, she has been looking for inspo to build a little pond in her living room instead. 

The massage was as relaxing as you expected. No oils or lotions were used; it was a dry massage because you didn’t want to get cooked in the sun later.

Your masseuse wouldn’t stop complimenting your soft skin. You assumed she was fishing for tips but she wouldn’t accept any when you tried.

So, yay. :) It doesn’t take too much to make you happy. 

You hoped to remain uplifted all day today. Or at least until dinner when you’d have to see Hyewon and Jungkook again. 

After your massage, you find Yoongi waiting for you by the sun deck. He was staring into the endless ocean.

The sun made him look almost translucent.

He looked too serene to disturb but you were in a rush. “I’m still a bit hazy from the massage, and I wanna keep feeling so I can nap on that beach!!” With that, you run off to the beach.

Yoongi stays on the deck for a few minutes before heading back to the villas from where he grabs your phone, a tube of sunscreen, and two books to pass time with. 

When he gets to the beach, he sees you’ve already set yourself up on a lounge chair, basking in the warm sunlight.  

An employee had installed an umbrella for Yoongi. 

“Need sunscreen?” He asks, already reaching for the tube before you can answer. You squeak in assent, sprawling out on the chair for him. He kneels beside you, squeezing a generous amount into his palm. The lotion feels cool against your warm skin. 

Yoongi spreads it slowly, over your shoulders, your tummy, the tops of your thighs and your legs. “How do you walk on sand with those heels? Flip.” - “Hm? Oh…” You look at your feet before turning over for him, “I dunno, I just do.” 

Uh, you weren’t about to take your shoes off to lie on a chair - they’re part of your outfit. And last time you checked, this wasn’t a nude beach. I mean, it was a private one so you could probably get away with some nudity but you’ve been really into tan lines lately. So, you know. The bikini stays on.

Also, you doubt the employees would be pleased if you tried.

Yoongi massages the cream deeply into your skin.

He begins to help himself before you could offer to do it for him, so you don’t bother. 

You stay on your stomach, resting your cheek on the back of your palm, leaving your hair cascading down your back.

You hear the roar of the ocean and the screeching of the seagulls. There weren’t too many of those there though. You could maintain your peace.

You sigh dreamily.

A few minutes of silence prompt you to check on Yoongi. 

He was settled in next to you with a fat book on… music therapy? 

Huh. 

You turn the other way and close your eyes, breathing in the fresh, salty ocean air.

It’s peaceful.

For the first time probably all week, you’re content to just exist. Just you, the warm sun, the cool wind, and the sounds of the water. And Yoongi.

Perhaps Namjoon was onto something bringing you here.

ʚ𖹭ɞ

The next time you open your eyes, you see a blond lying on the chair to your left: “Oh,” a familiar voice exclaims, “You’re up!” 

You squint a little, and there’s Namjoon, reclined on the seat. His hair was still damp and slicked back and his sunglasses were perched low on his nose. And he’s already got a beautiful tan on. 

Still sleepy, you mumble. “How long have you been sitting there?” 

He shrugs, “A little less than an hour.” 

Damn. You'd been knocked out for a while.

You glance to your right. Yoongi was on to a new book now. “Oh… Should’ve woken me…”

There was a slight imprint of your own hand on your face. It was a good nap.

“I tried.” Namjoon snorted, “Snorkeling was amazing. You should’ve come.” 

“Was it?” You ask, flipping on your back and stretching your arms over your head.

“Yeah. There was this one dolphin that kept following me - probably because I dropped my snorkel multiple times,” he laughs. “Embarrassing as hell, but so worth it.” 

He was way too chill about losing important equipment more than once… “Good for you.” You hum, blinking against the light, “At least one of us is having fun.” 

You put your palm out, asking Joon for his sunglasses. He obliges. 

“Yeah, okay. You woke up at the perfect time though.”

“I did?”

“Yep.” He sits up, brushing some sand off his shorts. “Next activity’s at one.” 

You ogle his thighs for a few seconds. “Define activity…” 

Namjoon opens his mouth to answer but then decides against it: “It’s a surprise.” 

Dramatically shaking your head, you whine, “Nuh uh, no more of those.” 

“You’ll have fun, I promise.” Namjoon pulls you off your resting place. 

You let out a faint ‘Noooo’ before complying with his requests. 

Namjoon knew you’d take a while to dress up so he sent you off early. Knowing how much the group enjoyed drinking, he had booked a little mixology class. Initially it was supposed to be just the three of you but during dinner last night, it turned into a group activity. 

And maybe this would help you bond with Hyewon and… well, he hopes you wouldn’t ‘bond’ with Jungkook any more than you have currently. For Hyewon’s sake.

All this while, Namjoon had been confident that Jungkook wouldn’t pay you any heed and he had been proven wrong.

In his opinion, Hyewon and Jungkook belonged together.

It’s not that he doesn’t like you. He loves you. But he doesn’t love you for his buddy. He thinks you would stomp on Jungkook’s heart with your sexy little stilettos and crush it.

He could just talk to you and ask you to back away but it’s a bit too late for that anyway.

That being said, he still hopes you and Jungkook are able to build a friendship. If not now, sometime in the future.

It was nearing one in the afternoon by the time you finally emerged from your room - ten minutes later than Namjoon’s text had instructed, but who was counting? 

You’d taken your sweet time getting dolled-up, abandoning your bikini for a mini slip dress with black lace detailing along the neckline. It paired beautifully with your diamond necklace (all lab grown because you’re not a monster.) 

What took long was the hair. You worked your hair into waves and added little braids here and there. Like at the night of the gala. 

Namjoon had only told you to change into something comfortable for an ‘activity.’ No further hints.

You were hoping it wasn’t anything involving hiking, sand, or god forbid, group sports.

The sun was high and hot, you doubt it was any of those options anyway.

You followed the winding stone path down toward the villa deck, where Namjoon’s text had told you to meet him.

You spotted Joon first, leaning leisurely against a railing in a linen shirt and khakis, with a different pair of sunglasses perched on his head.

Yoongi stood beside him, holding a glass of something brown and on the rocks. 

They were discussing the layout of the place and how inconvenient it must be for employees on this island to travel from work to home. 

“About time,” Yoongi said, glancing at you as you carefully stumble onto the deck in your ladybug kitten heels.

“You boys are lucky I showed up at all.” You shot back, and his mouth twitched in a half smile.

Namjoon stepped forward, clapping his hands once. “Alright, now that we’re all here…” He gestured to the open-air setup behind him: a long wooden counter stood in a corner, shaded by palm fronds. Shakers were stacked neatly atop it along with bowls of citrus, berries and jars of other edibles, bottles of liquor, and rows of gleaming glasses. “…Surprise.”

You froze for half a second before letting out a delighted squeak. “A mixology sesh?”

Namjoon grinned. “You’ve mentioned wanting to try it before, so…” 

He listens to you! 

“Ooh, oh, my God,” You’re practically bouncing in place, “I’m so excited!” 

Right then, a figure exited a gorgeous little shed nearby and introduced themselves as the instructor, Kyle.

Then Kyle began running through the basics. “We’ll start by prepping some ingredients, washing and cutting fruit, muddling herbs, that sort of thing. Then we’ll get into building flavor profiles.” 

You weren’t too keen on the grunt work but if the end result is a drunk _____, you’re doing ittt.

You, Namjoon, and Yoongi each gave your introductions in turn before diving into the setup.

Kyle handed you and Joon some of the citrus fruits and a grater and asked you to zest them into separate bowls. 

Yoongi, being more experienced with knives, was asked to slice the fruits into thin wedges for the plating.

Everything was going just fine. 

And then- 

“Oh, you guys started without us?”

You froze mid-smile. 

Turning, you saw Hyewon approaching, one arm looping through Jungkook’s. They both looked freshly showered and far too put-together for a lazy beach afternoon (as did you.) 

Hyewon was in a coral halter sundress, hair glossy and tied with a silk scarf. Jungkook wore a Hawaiian button-down with the sleeves rolled to the elbows and exposing his tats. His sunglasses were hooked in the center of his shirt and his capri shorts were... weirdly hot.

Your heart did something stupid at the sight of him. His hair was a tad tousled by the wind. You almost want to reach out and fix it. 

Namjoon straightened a little, smiling welcomingly. “Hey, you guys made it.”

Hyewon smiled, “Yeah! We were gonna go snorkeling because you made it sound so good but we figured we could just do that tomorrow.”

We, we, we. Blegh.

You forced a polite little smile, trying not to show the flicker of irritation. Or the heat that rose to your cheeks when Jungkook’s eyes flicked to you before dropping to your bare shoulder where one of your straps had slipped off of. Then to your hands that daintily grasped the half peeled lime, and then down to your legs.

“Alright!” Kyle smiled brightly at the couple, “You guys ready to catch up?”

They both nodded. Hyewon offered an apologetic smile while Jungkook looked only mildly interested.

“Great! Since your friends have already started…” Kyle gestured at the small array of half-prepped fruits, bottles, and herbs on the long wooden counter, “I’ll give you two some tasks too.” 

He points at Hyewon, “You can help wash and prep the berries.” Then turning to Jungkook, “You can take over the herbs. You’re going to use that muddler and gently press it down on the herbs. Make sure to bruise, not murder them.” 

Jungkook already disliked Kyle. 

As everyone settled into their given roles, Kyle began to talk about mixing alcohols.

The do’s, the don’t’s, what kind of alcohol mixes with what liquid, different flavour profiles, hot and cold drinks, and so much more that you’re sure you won’t remember after today. 

Then, Kyle began demonstrating mixing colours.

You actually found yourself fascinated, leaning a little closer as they poured a splash of liqueur into a shaker and swirled it to show contrast.

Kyle had everyone taste different types of liqueurs. Though they controlled the portion, you and Yoongi snuck some extra shots in.

But you spat bitter whiskey into a paper towel. You never understood how anyone could enjoy this.

After your fourth shot of vanilla vodka, you were beginning to... feel things.

“Now,” Kyle clapped his hands once, smiling mischievously, “time for something fun. I’ve got a little game for you all. It’ll be a test of your creativity and teamwork.”

Yoongi groaned, already sensing some shit-stirring.

These were grown adults with full-time jobs, they didn’t need any more intrapersonal skill assessments. 

“I’m gonna divide you into two teams,” Kyle continued, “Each group gets twenty minutes to create an original cocktail. You’ll present it to me, I’ll taste both, and we’ll have a winner.”

Before anyone could voice their opinion, Kyle was already dividing you up, “Yoongi and Namjoon are Team One.”

Now Yoongi’s face lit up in glee. It took you a bit longer to register though.

That meant…. 

“_____, Hyewon and the hot one whose name I cannot remember,” Kyle winked, “You’re Team Two.” 

You exhaled sharply through your nose, turning back to the counter.

The tension was palpable. 

Jungkook stood on one side of Hyewon, cutting ice cubes down to little cubes. And you stood on the other, minding your own beeswax.

You have no clue what Hyewon was doing either.

You didn’t bother communicating your idea to the couple. You just started building it.

A sparkling, glittery pink drink with hints of passionfruit and raspberry. The fizz comes from champagne and tonic, and the glitter is a dusting of white edible shimmer you’d found in one of the tiny jars Kyle had set out.

You crushed some berries, mixed them in with the wine and drained the liquid. You ignored whatever conversation was happening beside you.

It wasn’t until you reached for the pink passionfruit that things went sideways.

You wanted to cut the fruit up into tinier pieces to mush together with the raspberries for a deeper tint with lesser berry flavour.

As if he had a sixth sense of some kind, Jungkook narrows in on you reaching out for the sharpest knife designed to cut ice: you were about to pick it up by the damn blade.

You were totally distracted, staring at the pink pigment stained on your other fingers instead of watching what you're doing with a sharp object.

Within a second, Jungkook nearly lunges over his girlfriend. His hand shoots out to grab your wrist and knock the knife away from your palm before you could cut yourself.

Hyewon shuffled backwards, startled, as her boyfriend grabs hold of you.

The tool clattered to the ground.

You were still staring at your pink fingertips.

What just happened? 

Your eyes snap up to his.

“You can’t be picking up knives by the sharp end, _____.” Jungkook scolded you, dropping your hand.

The entire deck was now watching on in curiosity. Employees and all.

You pout at him, still a little dazed, “Geez, okay…” 

Jungkook exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. Then, quieter, “Just- tell me what you want to do. I’ll do it.”

You hesitated, but eventually pointed at the fruit. “I want to cut it into smaller pieces to mash.” 

“And?” Jungkook was already on it. 

You hum rubbing up and down your arm, “Mmm, mix it with tonic and white wine and strain it. Add a little sweetener, then glitter…” 

Hyewon smiled, suddenly jumping in, “I’ll mash and strain then!” 

Ok, so this was going to be a group activity now.

You happily pass the little muddler off to her. You wanted to be on glitter duty anyway.

Jungkook passed on the little cubes to Hyewon who mashed them. Then she stirs it in with the two liquids, as per your direction.

Finally, you dust in a good amount of the shimmery powder and stir before equally pouring the concoction into six different glasses.

Hyewon even sliced a little piece of a tangerine to stick on the rims of each glass. It looked pretty cute.

When the drinks were done, Kyle went around tasting each. They gave feedback on everything. 

Finally, Yoongi and Namjoon’s smokey citrussy drink won. But that was expected since Yoongi knew a lot about alcohol and drinking anyway. 

Kyle lingered by your side, swirling a glass of the _____ (that’s what you called your drink) in their hand. “This,” they said, admiring the shimmer under the sun, “is fun. Needs a little more acidity, but the presentation is gorgeous.”

Yay! You smiled, ducking your head shyly. “Thanks.” 

Jungkook, standing behind you, watched the way you bit back your grin. You tried not to look too pleased. And for some reason, it made something tighten in his chest. 

It’s so easy to make you happy. So easy to want to.

Kyle clapped once more. “Alright, mixologists, you’ve earned a break. There’s a beautiful picnic set up for you on the beach. Follow me, allons-y!”

They led you down the wooden path towards the sand. 

You walked ahead with Yoongi, talking about how much you loved your sparkly drink idea.

When Yoongi tells you to turn it into a business plan, you immediately lose interest in discussing your drink with him.

Why did men do that? 

Behind you, Jungkook fell back beside Namjoon, lowering his voice so only his hyung could hear, “Listen,” He cleared his throat. “I booked a yacht for tomorrow to get back to the city.”

Namjoon frowned. He had checked for yachts the day before but none were available for a few weeks now. Plus, he discovered a helicopter to be faster and, surprisingly, cheaper. The port was farther away than the helipad. And with a chopper, they could directly land on top of their office building if they wanted.

“How come?” Namjoon chose to ask before hounding him with all this info. 

Wasn't it apparent?

“She’s terrified of flying, man.” Jungkook said it as if it was the most obvious response. 

Namjoon blinked, following Jungkook’s gaze up ahead - stopping on you as you walked barefoot beside Yoongi, violently shaking your head at something Yoongi said. 

Huh. Maybe Namjoon’s better off not meddling.

next: killah (jjk) [9]

note: firstly, everything i wrote for the mixology class scene is from my own head. i did not feel like researching anything so i just made stuff up. if anything is accurate, it's a coincidence. still, pleek don't attempt to recreate anything from that scene irl

secondly, slut shaming of any of the characters will not be tolerated! be normal ok

finally, these two months are going to be super busy for me (shocker ik.) sooo, if you ask me for an update anytime before december 30, i won't be able to give you any answers 😖

please tell me what you think!! write to me, send me memes, interact w me :)

[citrustan]

killah (jjk) [series masterlist]

pairing: managing partner lawyer!jungkook x rich, spoiled brat!reader

summary: you wanted jeon jungkook the moment you laid eyes on him and the fact that he had a girlfriend wasn't going to stop you.

genre: strangers/lowkey one sided enemies to lovers?? idk bec you irk him. angst, smut, fluff. infidelity au (jungkook has a girlfriend so yk you can fill in the blank :p)

total wc: 40.6k so far. (this is an ongoing series.)

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - NEW! 9 - 10 - ?

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ visuals and other media:

mb #1 + mb #2 + playlist + more + more +

NEW! the characters' instagrams: #1 + #2 + #3

note: every chapter has its own list of warnings, but in general, it isn't anything extreme so far. emotional and physical cheating is a big part of this story though.

this is an ongoing series. i don't know how long it'll continue for.

also the moodboards (mb) are cute, you should go look!

[kongjjen]

INSATIABLE ✶ jeong jaehyun

SYNOPSIS: "can't close my eyes when i'm with you — insatiable, the way i'm loving you."

after promising you eternity by his side, jaehyun suddenly disappears — leaving you behind, lost and alone. you wander around, spending centuries looking for him, fuelled by the love you carry for him, or maybe is it just for... revenge?

PAIRING: vampire!jaehyun x vampire!reader

GENRE: smut, angst, lovers to enemies!au, historical! & modern!au

WORD COUNT: 21.3k

FEATURING: nct 127, new jeans's minji

CONTAINS: afab reader, a bit of gore, mentions of tragedies and deaths, minor character deaths. orphan reader, mentions of wealth. pandemics and diseases, historical content combined with modern content, many flashback scenes. schumann's fantasie op 17 (which i highly recommend listening to), unprotected penetrative sex, nipple play, biting, bulge kink, feet, blood (trust the process!), dry humping, riding, creampie. some historical accuracies (dates), physical altercation. inspired by insatiable by darren hayes.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: i love this fic so much my heart literally hurts! also, listen — i know romantic things didn't go this way in the 1800's, but for the sake of the plot we'll have to overlook a bit of the inaccuracies <3 thank you to everyone who waited patiently for this fic to drop, i love all of you and i hope you enjoy reading it! <3

©️ KONGJJEN 2024 - 2025. all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or repost any of my works.

You’ll never forget the day you woke up in bed, your heart clenching in your chest without an apparent reason. You’ll never forget the way you walked your way out of your chambers with uncertain steps, curious yet fearful of finding out something you weren’t sure you wanted to find out.

You’ll never forget the way your stomach dropped the moment you checked Jaehyun’s chambers looking for him, and not finding him there. Because you felt like something was wrong, but you never thought Jaehyun would disappear like the earth split and swallowed him whole, leaving no trace of his existence up to that point. 

You wanted to tell Jaehyun about the feeling you woke up with, looking for his loving reassurance that it was all in your head, or just one of your usual hunches you usually got even before you were given a reason to have one in the first place. It was like a premonition, a gut feeling so strong that you wondered what was going to happen during said day, — that you still had no idea about but you knew something was going to pop up.

And Jaehyun was nowhere to be found. With the curtains open, the gloomy light from outside bathed the room in greyness, no ray of sunshine in sight on the white sky, so concomitant with the turmoil inside your head, stomach, inside of every fibre of your being.

You looked around his chambers, trying to see if it was all in your head. But seeing how his stateroom trunk wasn’t in the far corner of the room, seeing how his shirts and leather shoes were missing, some of his books were nowhere to be found — you knew that it was not in your head.

Your feet were quick to take you downstairs before you could even register what you were doing. You were still in your night gown as you entered the kitchen, where you found your female maids preparing breakfast, and they all shuddered as your hurried entrance took them by surprise.

“Norma,” you called your senior maid, the most loyal woman in your service, “Did you see Master Jaehyun?” Your tone was fearful, worried, and it trembled with emotion.

You saw Norma straightening her posture, putting her wooden spoon down, “I haven’t, Mistress,”

You looked around the kitchen, not knowing what needed to be done next, or who you needed to talk to.

“But I can talk to Jeger, to see if he knows anything,” she offered, drying her hands on a cloth found around on the counters. 

“Please do,” you instructed, leaving the kitchen to go back to your chambers upstairs.

How and when during the night did Jaehyun manage to get out of a house full of people? The servants in their respective chambers, the handyman’s own room downstairs by the foot of the stairs, the old wooden floors and stairs creaking even when the wind blew a bit more forcefully, so you wondered just how did he manage to walk around unnoticed. But most importantly, why did he leave?

You knew who Jaehyun was — most importantly, what he was, — and it took you months of convincing him to turn you into one as well. You remember how adamant he was at the time, so much that every time you insisted on it, it lead to a fight. “You’re too young,” and “You still need time to live,” were his excuses. Excuses that had you moaning at him and that ended with you picking up a fight with him every single time, of course.

“Tell me one good reason why not?” You barked at him, moving your hands around yourself, making your gown’s pliers shift with your gestures.

Jaehyun looked at you, and you could see you were exasperating him. With his jaw set, he took his sweet time to calm himself before he opened his mouth to give you an answer. 

That’s how you knew he was trying to maintain his composure with you. He always took too long before answering every single time you asked him something that made him uncomfortable or that was pushing his buttons. 

“You need to live, Y/n,” he explained, combing a hand through his hair. “To live more, that is,” he corrected himself, avoiding your gaze.

You scoffed, “What makes you think I won’t be living if you transform me?” You asked him, your voice not above a whisper. 

“Please, Y/n,”  he pleaded, closing his eyes. “I love you, I really do,” he started, like this should have been enough of an answer for you to drop it, “And you’ll live if I transform you, but you won’t be alive,” he tried to make you come to reason, “I need you to stop asking for this. If I ever feel like it’s a good idea, you will know it,” and with that, he exited the dining room, stairs creaking under his heavy steps.

Jaehyun was not one for confrontation. He liked peace, he liked silence. Maybe it was because of his overly sharp senses, but he knew everything going on, he heard whispers and rustling, he smelled a person from metres away, he smelled disease before people registered something was wrong. 

He was lonely, he found his own peace by being in a luxurious manor house, with a few people around to help him with all the chores and matters around the property. 

Norma, the most amazing and loyal woman you have ever met. She was loyal to Jaehyun at first, and consequently to you as well, once you moved in. She took care of the house, of every other woman in your service, disciplining and training them to accommodate with the requirements of her precious Master Jaehyun. 

Jaehyun was a good person, he never denigrated anyone in his service, but he liked things a certain way, and Norma was the only person around the house to really understand Jaehyun without him having to tell her anything. A slouched back meant that Master Jaehyun’s muscles hurt, furrowed brows meant he needed time alone in his library, talkative Master Jaehyun meant he was at peace with a decision he had taken. 

She was what Jaehyun already started to consider as family, he could lift a finger for her to notice and she would understand in a heartbeat what his message for her was, bring me my shoes, or get me a cup of tea, tell Jeger to get the horses ready. She loved Jaehyun as if he were her own child, she dedicated her life to be in his service, and she never imagined herself in any other household, for the only family she was going to service was Master Jaehyun’s, for as long as he was going to allow her.

Then there was Jeger, his handyman and the only other male around Jaehyun’s estate, he took care of all the handy work around the house and garden, on top of managing the horse stables outside. He was a calm man, he wouldn’t speak unless asked something, but in his silent state he knew everything going on around, he heard the gossip first, he knew what had happened around town way before word got to the very well trained ears of the ladies. 

He reminded you of Jaehyun, with his peaceful and unbothered personality and you still remember how you closed the door to Jaehyun’s library after yourself, your back touching the cold wooden door as you looked at him setting his fountain pen down, looking at you with curious eyes in the dim lighting around the room. He smiled at you, like he knew you would ask him a silly question, one dimple on display as he nodded your way, and you relaxed a bit knowing he was paying attention to you. 

“Is Jeger…” you start, and Jaehyun’s gaze didn’t give anything away, prompting you to go on, expression still as relaxed as before. You gulped, looking around the room, suddenly too aware of your surroundings, “Like you?” You whisper, and you remember thinking at that time, that Jaehyun had only been able to hear your question thanks to his sharp hearing. 

He snorted, shaking his head, and you know he has the ‘silly girl’ remark on the tip of his tongue. He usually called you this whenever your very rested mind came up with theories and all sorts of questions — which you pestered him with. He admired how driven you were, how interested you were about everything he was, everything surrounding him and his real self. 

“No,” his answer was simple, curt, cut to the chase. His smile was warm, despite the shiver sent down your spine as you watched him leaning back, more comfortably in his chair. 

He pushed his chair back and away from his desk, manspreading as he extended an arm towards you — and you knew he was inviting you into his embrace. 

Your steps were calculated, careful, and you moved gracefully around his sitting figure, folding the pliers of your dress so you could take a comfortable seat on his lap. 

“Why would you think that?” His tone was low, but still gentle, because that’s how Jaehyun was — a gentle soul with a darkness no one could ever find out about. Your gaze met his, his dark irises sparkling even in the dim lighting of the room, as he looked at you. 

“He fits the criteria,” you whispered back, sliding your arms around his neck to embrace his figure better.

“The criteria?” He laughed, nose scrunching up as he shook with a silent laughter, and you felt silly once again. 

“I don’t know, it’s just-” you started, looking around the dimly lit room, “Doesn’t really matter,” you changed your mind, not wanting to let him inside your mind — at least not right now. 

Jaehyun could do a lot of things. He could smell someone very far away from him, he could tell health from disease, he could hear the steps of people walking outside the gates of his mansion — and their heartbeats, — he could hear the foxes laughing in the neighbouring mansion’s bushes. But he couldn’t read minds, or hear thoughts, and you were always grateful for this. 

Because you knew that it would have driven him insane if he got a preview of your thoughts and the million questions lingering inside your mind every time you looked at him. And you also knew that it was for the best, because knowing that someone could be inside your head, uninvited? It made you shudder in horror. 

Jaehyun’s cold touch lingered on your face, playing with a strand of your long hair. 

“Are you cold?” He inquired, voice barely above a whisper, and he looked at your luscious locks between his fingers. “Go tell Jeger to take care of the fire in your chambers, you need to stay warm,” he instructed, and you did exactly as he said.

Jaehyun could never feel the cold, he let you know when you were freezing — teeth chattering and goosebumps all over your body, and he was absolutely fine. This was one of the downsides of being like this, he had to be very aware of everyone around himself, paying attention to their body language to see if they were cold or not — because otherwise he wasn’t able to really tell, and it could give him away, or at least it was going to raise some question marks. 

And another thing you noticed before he turned you was that the room got cooler the moment he stepped in. Fires burning in almost all chambers, yet his presence was still making everyone shiver slightly, but only for a bit, their bodies accommodating to the feeling immediately, unsuspecting that their Master Jaehyun was some sort of dark creature many thought to be fictitious — or extinct.

Jaehyun could be sleeping close to a fire yet his flesh remained pale and freezing. His freezing touch woke you up every single time he caressed you when he spent the night in your chambers, but you learnt to live with it, especially after dropping the whole trying to convince him to turn you into a vampire as well. 

Jaehyun didn’t need much sleep. Even when your exhausted self hit the comfortable bed, he would simply lay next to you, quiet as ever as he spent the entire nights watching over your sleeping figure. He usually slept on alternate days, making everyone around the house think that he was ill, with Norma taking extra care of him — and him nibbling on her food like usual. But you knew. You knew his nibbling wasn’t because he got sated easily, he craved something else, something to really calm his appetite down.

He watched you while you ate, and his heart felt content. He missed the way food felt inside his body, inside his stomach, — how the winters brought him an appetite for meat, yet fruits always tickled his tastebuds during summers. He craved it, he was yearning to be able to feel the joys of being alive at least once again, and looking at you doing all the things he couldn’t do anymore, it brought him joy. He was living through you. 

And during that terrible morning, you were left suffocating as you stood at the foot of your canopy bed, your mind kept wandering to the past to try and find an answer to your unanswered questions — looking for anything, a hint that might have led up to this moment, up to Jaehyun leaving you behind like he tore your chest open and took your own being along with him. 

Your night gown floated around your figure as you took rapid steps down the stairs once again, this time going to the only other chamber Jaehyun had ever claimed to be his sacred space, his library. Jaehyun might have relished into silence and unspoken words and agreements between the two of you, but you knew he had left something behind for you to find.

With Norma nowhere to be seen, somewhere outside with Jeger, you entered the library, and the first surface you checked out was his desk. Books scattered around, his favourite feather pens placed neatly next to each other on the side of the desk, exactly how he liked keeping them. No item was really misplaced, nothing that could be giving away a reason for his leaving. 

Yet your eyes skipped to the small drawer under the desk, that was now ajar, and you pulled on it to have full access to its contents. 

And like something was making your freezing body suddenly heat up, although impossible, your eyes landed on a piece of rag paper, on which Jaehyun’s pretty and neat handwriting was scribbled down. Your hands trembled as you reached for the letter, and your breath hitched in your throat as you read the first line.

“My dearest Y/n. 

The fountain pen feels heavy in my hand, and the ink staining my skin burns through every fibre of my flesh as I write you this — only a minuscule part of all the unspoken words I have never told you, a minuscule part of what I would be dying to let you know, if that was physically possible. Although I cannot feel it, I am certain my heart feels heavy right now, and I would love to be able to feel this one more time, including the consuming love I carry for you. You, through whom I have lived for so long up until this point.” Your eyes were brimming with tears, yet you paid them no attention, and your patience started running thin — with every fibre of your being itching to latch onto every single word of his. 

“My love for you cannot be sated, for you have always been my sole priority and desire, and being with you has always felt like the life that was once stolen away from me has returned back to me. Whenever you breathed, my lungs did too, whenever you slept next to me, my mind rested as well. The candy sweetness scent of you — it bathes my skin, I’m stained in you — for every time you showed me love, I felt alive once more, for sure. I am leaving you behind today, but not our love, for I am certain that we will find each other some day, again. With the hope of seeing your pulchritudinous eyes once more some day, I am leaving everything that is mine to you, as I am sure no amount of time apart can make us forget who we are and what we represent to each other. I shall wander for centuries looking for you, if it meant I would be once again feeling your ardent love, and we shall meet again if we are meant to be with each other until the end of times, the way I promised to you. I can barely close my eyes when I am with you — insatiable, the way I am loving you. And I shall not rest until we meet again. 

Not sure how I will manage to be away from you for what already feels like might last an eternity, but please look for me, until we find each other again.

Forever and only yours, Master Jaehyun.”

Your lip quivered as you read his note once more, hoping to find something different, a different ending, different sentences laced with love and devotion but this time for it not to be a farewell.

You looked at his name, the detail and soft precision with which he signed his name down, and you grabbed the page, bringing it to your chest. You were short of breath, and you felt the room spinning, the words you just read finally sinking in.

A screeching shout escaped past your lips, and you fell to your knees, bending forward as you kept the page to your chest, forehead touching the wooden floor.

In the midst of all your crying and screaming, ears ringing, in the midst of all the suffering, in the midst of all your sorrow — you still heard hurried and heavy steps approaching the room you were in. 

“Mistress!” You heard Norma’s voice, you acknowledged it, yet you didn’t move an inch. You heard the rustling of Norma’s skirts as she grabbed them with urgency, right before you heard a thud, someone plunging next to your aching body, and you knew Norma fell to her knees by your side. 

Worried out of her mind, she grabbed you by the shoulders, lifting you up a bit, “Oh, dear heavens!” She exclaimed with horror, seeing your tears. She was making her way around the house looking for you, not knowing how to break the news to you — one of the carriages was missing and Jeger couldn’t find two horses. But judging by the room she found you in, and your state of despair, she knew you were aware of what was going on. Master Jaehyun had left.

She overlooked the red tears flowing down your pale cheeks — landing on your white night gown, staining it, — she overlooked your freezing body as she grabbed you and brought you to her chest.

 “It’s okay, my child!” She consoled you, kissing your temple as you kept shaking in her arms, cries of despair still leaving you like a poor hurt animal.

 And that’s exactly what you were, a creature that lost its maker, someone who you loved more than you thought was possible. You felt dead, despite who you really turned out to be thanks to Jaehyun, this was the first time you really felt death seeping through you. 

Your head fell heavy on Norma’s chest, accepting her touch and love, because she had just become the only person you could rely on.

You first met Jaehyun at a soiree in your hometown, a town far away from his own.

He was dressed nicely, like a real gentleman. Dark hair on the longer side, combed through and styled with grace, he carried himself like he was the most impeccable person on earth and the most important person in that room. And he actually was. 

Ladies whispered as he walked his way around, grinning and hiding their crass expressions behind expensive hand fans, — but you noticed their eyes, the vulgar way they looked at him, and then your gaze landed on him, noticing how unbothered he was, like they weren’t even there.

In all honestly, you wish you never went to that soiree. The youngest daughter of a nobleman was playing the piano in the corner, trying to show off her skills, only to have her fingers stumbling over themselves, messing the melody. You were mortified looking at her crimson cheeks while she tried to keep her calm, knowing that many pairs of eyes were on her like vultures on an agonising body right before becoming a corpse. 

The sole heiress to the fortune your late parents left behind, you went to the soiree hoping to make new friends, perhaps meet the piano teacher many people talked about around town. Word travelled fast, and apparently there was a new piano teacher in town, of extremely advanced competences — fingers floated gracefully on top of the keyboards, seemingly barely touching them, sharp precision mesmerising anyone who heard the melody, and you wondered if there was truth to it — your interest was definitely piqued.

The day you lost your parents felt like a part of you died as well. You were their only child, they showered you with love, and while your mother raised you to be a great woman, your dad introduced you to the beauty of arts. 

He paid the best teachers, and if the ones he found around town weren’t good enough in his eyes, he sent your household’s servants to the neighbouring towns as well, promising carriage rides and good pay to whomever satisfied his needs for a competent teacher for his daughter. Only the best teachers crossed the threshold of your house, and taught you literature, the art of painting, and music. Your talent for playing piano was described as being innate, your piano teachers quickly realised what they had on their hands, the pieces escalating quickly to the hardest ones. 

You were your father’s pride and joy, and you were quite famous around town — known for your abilities in music. Piano meant the world to you, music carried you, inspired you, motivated you into hoping you would be tied to it in the future, that you would become someone whose whole being revolved around music and piano.

And when the world was ready to bow at your feet, as you had embarked on a new, staggering journey with an even more competent piano teacher, tragedy struck, ruining all your plans and your life all together. 

By losing your parents, the great loves of your life at that time, you also lost your passion for music — you lost your identity, your love for the subject. Grief consumed you, and it made you give up on your talent. Burying two parents as a young woman made something shift inside of you, the cold shower of the reality of being an orphan washing over you like freezing water. You were supposed to make a name for yourself, albeit you knew it was going to be hard — but not impossible to do so; you were supposed to live life alongside your parents long enough to have your father decide whom you should have married. And it was all taken away from you. 

A wrongly pressed piano key made you shudder with horror, but it was enough to take you out of your own thoughts. You found it very easy to lose yourself into the memories of the past, happier times — the ones in which your life was peaceful and orderly.

You looked around yourself, looking for the silhouette that had the whole ballroom exchanging glances, but he was nowhere to be found. Another wrongly pressed key made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and you knew you had to gracefully save the poor lady playing the piano.

Your steps were careful, your hand fan closed as you got closer to her silhouette in the corner of the ballroom, and you touched her back, making her jolt in her seat at the unexpected contact, interrupting her playing.

“Miss Y/L/N!” She exclaimed excited, standing to her feet. “Did you want to play?” She asked you, tone full of airy innocence as she pointed at the piano next to her.

Did you want to play? No, you actually wanted to save her from a future disastrous performance as she got deeper into the piece laid in front of her eyes.

A few people you knew well from around town started amassing around the two of you, their ears perking up at the mention of you playing the piano, but you kept your focus on the young woman in front of you.

You shook your head, smiling at her, “I actually wanted to compliment you for choosing this piece! It’s a hard one!” You complimented her, because you knew how hard the piece she chose could be for someone at her level, skills not fully developed yet. You really knew you were saving her from embarrassment, because the piece was going to become progressively more demanding, and she was already tired — yet you still hoped you didn’t come across as phoney for doing so.

“Thank you, Miss Y/L/N,” she blushed, smile slowly creeping on her face, “I aspire to be like you one day!” She whispered, averting her gaze, not knowing if the words that impulsively got past her lips were going to touch a nerve. 

You smiled at her, somehow fluttered at her words. “Thank you, Lady Mirabella,” you grabbed her hands, giving them a quick squeeze as you took her shyness in.

“Miss Y/L/N!” Lady Mirabella’s father was the one calling your name, taking a few steps amidst the crowd surrounding you and his daughter, and he shook your hand in greeting. “Please play something for us! It would be an honour to have you playing Mirabella’s new piano, and it shall be auspicious to her learning!”

You looked around yourself, and then you looked at the piano. You nodded slightly, not being able to refuse the nobleman — a good friend of your father’s — and just the thought of him made you think of the piece you used to love the most.

It had been two years since your father perished, and two years since you didn’t even bother throwing a look at the piano sitting in the parlour of your mansion. You learned this piece for your father, because you knew it was a hard challenge for you to take onto, and you wanted to make him proud. You were glad that he got the chance to hear you play it a few times, at least.

You took a seat at the piano, careful with your beautiful rosy dress that complimented the pallor of your skin and the blushing of your cheeks. 

Dead silence surrounded you, with everyone holding their breaths as they observed you — the town’s piano prodigy, making a comeback after years of not playing. Some were new in town, curious as ever to hear you play and see for themselves if the rumours were true, others knew what to expect safe for the piece you were going to play.

Closing your eyes and taking a big breath in, the gracious movements of your fingers lulled the melody around the room, reaching everyone’s ears and hearts. 

Even as one of the hardest pieces to have been discovered in the last decade, you knew it by heart. No music sheet needed, your muscle memory was strong, and the melody transported you a few years back, imagining what life used to be like when you were at your peak with your talent — when your father sat in his armchair next to your piano in the parlour, listening to you.

The hairs on the back of your neck raised, and a freezing breeze ran through you, covering your skin in goosebumps, yet it was so brief that you blamed the emotional turmoil inside of you, caused by this melody.

You opened your eyes, gaze fixed on your working fingers, trying to remain inside your own bubble and focus on the moment. The tens of pairs of eyes that were fixing you didn’t matter, yet you felt someone’s gaze piercing your whole being. 

You raised your gaze briefly, eyes pointed directly where you knew the keen pair of eyes following you with ardent curiosity were situated, and then you saw him. Jaehyun was looking at you, eyebrows slightly furrowed as he heard the melody that graced his hearing, intrigued by your technique. 

But you didn’t pay attention to him any longer, your attention returning to the task at hand, and it didn’t take you much longer to know it was time to end the show. You appreciated having taken on the offer to play for a bit, but you couldn’t keep everyone busy for about half an hour to play the entire piece, and when you felt like it was a good moment to cut it off, you did.

You thanked everyone who complimented you, exchanging courtesies with everyone who approached you briefly, but you decided it was time to actually leave, sending word for your carriage to pick you up.

Wearing your matching paletot on your shoulders, you exited the hall, fingers still wrapped around your hand fan as you waited for your carriage to appear. And then you felt it again, the breeze seeping through your body for a brief moment before going away completely.

A silhouette appeared next to you, and a quick glance with the intention of greeting the gentleman next to you, and you realised he was the stranger from before, the sensational main attraction of the soiree, the very man who stared at your soul while you played.

“Are you perchance a pianist?” He asked, tone low but gentle, laced with curiosity and anticipation.

You gave him a sheepish smile, and you were sure blush was creeping up your features as you looked at the side of his face. His profile was mesmerising. Sharp jaw contouring his face, full lips tempted to let countless other questions past — and he turned his head, locking eyes with you, the pearly irises piercing into your curious ones.

“Am not,” you answered to him, turning your head to look in front of you at the empty and dark street.

“You must be,” he retorted with seriousness, yet the underlying softness in his voice made you look back at him, “That is the hardest piece of piano, not even the greatest pianists can play it fully just yet. But you seemed like you knew it perfectly,”

“I learned it a few years ago,” you explained, not sure why you were even doing so, “I have not played it in a long time,” your voice was soft, barely above a whisper, and you hated how you opened up to a complete stranger after not caring about socialising for the past few years, relishing into your loneliness.

“You are very modest for being one of the greatest pianists I have ever had the pleasure of listening to, Miss Y/L/N,” a soft smile stretched across his features, and dimples formed in the plush of his cheeks. 

You threw him a look, suddenly realising just how many times the word ‘pianist’ had been thrown around in the span of a few minutes, and you remembered about the new pianist in town, and wondering who that might have been. You were sure you were laying your eyes on him in flash and bones, right that moment.

“Are you a pianist, perchance?” You were positively sure he was, but you asked out of courtesy nonetheless. 

“I am, indeed,” he smiled your way, looking down at your curious self, holding his hands behind his back, “I will be Miss Mirabella’s teacher for the summer, thus I will be seeing you around,” he explained, and you found tonight’s act to be a horrifying orchestration against Mirabella. You were almost positive her father made her showcase her abilities in front of everyone just so the new piano teacher could assess her promising talent, not thinking about the difficulty of the piece or how disastrous it was going to end when his daughter was inevitably going to get tired and mess everything. 

“It was a pleasure meeting you,” his words snatched you out of your own thoughts once again, as he heard a carriage approaching, and he knew it was yours. 

He moved around your figure, reaching your right side as the carriage stopped in front of you, and he made a gesture to the footman, moving his hand to indicate he wasn’t needed. Jaehyun extended a hand towards the carriage’s door, opening it while extending his free hand to you, offering his assistance to get you safely inside the vehicle.

You looked down at his hand, and your warm hand touched his, but his touch almost made you retract your hand. It felt like touching ice, the contrast between your body temperatures astonishing and terrifying at the same time.

He smiled at you one last time before you departed, and you managed to thank him just in time, fearing he wasn’t going to hear you — but little did you know at that time, Jaehyun heard you loud and clear, your voice rang inside his ears for a few more moments as he watched the carriage going farther away from where he was standing. 

That was the night you first met Jaehyun, and he made a great first impression on you.

Making your way around town, followed by your maidservants, you spotted Jaehyun a few more times before he started making conversation with you. Things started off slowly with questions about your passion for piano, and then he wanted to know a bit more about other pieces you knew. 

Jaehyun managed to crawl under your skin, making you feel at ease even through all your solitude. As summer progressed, you convinced him to play the piano for you. You had given up on the practice long ago, and even if during that night at the soiree it was proven to you that you still had your talent and had kept all your abilities still, you didn’t feel comfortable playing again. Yet you would have loved to have someone playing for you, and Jaehyun took onto the opportunity, agreeing to your proposal as soon as the words left your mouth.

Little by little, you felt more and more comfortable around Jaehyun. Little by little, you opened up to him, talking to him about your past, about your love for the arts, for the piano, letting him know how much playing had always meant to you. 

Jaehyun played the piano in your house’s parlour while you observed him, sitting in your father’s armchair. His movements were gentle, comforting, and looking at him brought you peace. Jaehyun played your favourite pieces for you to relish in, and he gave in so easily when you asked him about his own favourite pieces, that you knew he was dying to be asked about. His eyes sparkled while he explained what they meant to him, his dimples were on display every time a fond memory popped up in the middle of your conversations, and your heart took a leap every single time the calmness of his voice graced your hearing.

No amount of meet ups with him could prepare you for the freezing air you felt around yourself every single time he walked into your house, or a room. No amount of scorching summer days briefly interrupted by a fleeting cold shock through your body could explain the phenomenon to you. You remembered how you felt it that night at the soiree, as well as the moment when he came outside to keep you company while waiting for your carriage, and then every single time you met him, coincidentally or planned. 

Yet you never raised a brow, you never questioned him about it. You couldn’t explain the phenomenon, and at some point you thought that it could mean you were falling in love. Maybe it was an effect of falling in love with Jaehyun? But then other circumstances weren’t matching up with this theory. 

Jaehyun became a constant in your life, and you in his. Jaehyun felt more alive when he was with you than he had ever felt actually being alive one hundred years ago. With the body of a twenty-two year old man, and the soul nearing a centenary, all Jaehyun wanted was for you to accept him and be by his side for eternity.

Did he want to tell you what he was? Yes. Did he want to eventually turn you as well? Not really, at least not at first. 

You were one of the strongest people he had ever met during his very long time roaming the earth, and he knew a few things about knowing people and relocating every twenty or thirty years as not to raise suspicions. He couldn’t take the joy of living away from you, for he knew that he would have wanted to have lived with you for as long as life itself allowed the two you to, but under normal circumstances. Instead, you were alive, literally the sun hanging in the sky, and he was a freezing pale creature that feasted on other humans, — something inside of him told him it was wrong to take the joy of living away from you.

Yet Jaehyun wanted to be selfish for once, and he decided he would eventually turn you if that was what you wanted. If he couldn’t have normality with you, he was going to have eternity by your side — one way or another.

And as the summer passed, the fleeting looks and lingering affectionate touches led to Jaehyun not being able to let go of you. By the time his time as Miss Mirabella’s teacher was up at the end of the summer, he took you away with him, back to his town.

Surprisingly to him, you didn’t need too much time to get talked into doing it, because he knew that for a young woman like you were, with the great wealth your parents left you, moving in with a man that wasn’t your husband wasn’t normal or socially accepted. But Jaehyun didn’t mind actually marrying you, for he was sure you were the only one for him, but you didn’t even let him finish telling you his plans for the future. 

So you took your belongings, your wealth, you locked your house, and by the time the middle of autumn reached, you had already moved in with Jaehyun in his manor house.

The cold touches, the breeze you felt when he walked in a room, they all started to add up in your head. You noticed how he knew you were walking up to him from the highest floor of the house, down to his library on the ground floor, he knew if you faked sleeping, you swear he knew what the maidservants talked about in the other room. 

But it didn’t actually click in your head until winter came, when you had to leave for a few days to go back to your family’s mansion, and you took Jeger, Norma, and the three other maidservants with you, leaving Jaehyun alone.

Coming back was horrific. Carrying venison and other foods your friends from back home gifted you, you and everyone else were exhausted from the long journey. With the weather outside being one typical to January, with strong and freezing winds, occasional blizzards and heavy cold rain, your body was begging for the warmth of your house. 

Except the house was dark, the fire in every room was dead, and the air around was freezing, almost worse than it was outside. You expected to find Jaehyun frozen to death somewhere in the house, yet your quick steps took you upstairs to his chambers, only to find him sleeping peacefully in his bed, bare torso touching the silky sheets like the whole ordeal was all inside your head. 

“I heard you coming home,” he smiled, moving his head to look at you. You didn’t know he was awake, but you also didn’t know how he managed to sleep in a house that made the point of your nose and your fingertips freeze.

“Where you… sleeping?” You gulped, closing your cloak up to your chin and squeezing your gloved hands together. 

He hummed, showing you a lazy smile. It was time you two had the so long awaited conversation, it was time he let you know. 

Jaehyun heard your voice as soon as the carriage came down the street, up to the gates. He knew you were coming home and you were going to find a freezing house, yet he didn’t bother getting up. It was too late to do anything, anyway. When you left, you said you were going to be away for a few days, up to a week, so he didn’t know when you were going to be home, and in his defense, Jaehyun really had the fires popping in every room of the house, as always. But Jaehyun had also spent the last three days sleeping, not differentiating days from nights, so the fires had died long before, without Jaehyun bothering keeping them alive. He didn’t feel the cold, anyway. 

“How,” you gulped once again, this time taking your gloves off, “How did you manage to do so?” 

Jaehyun extended his hand, calling for you to get closer to him, and with no self preservation instinct, you followed his instructions. Your head was filled with doubts, with worries, with theories that you thought about once in a while, but you shook them off every single time thinking you were being silly. But now the truth was laying bare in front of your eyes, and it looked tempting and like something between life and death.

“Promise me you’ll listen to me,” he pleaded, holding your hand as you sat down on his bed. 

You gulped, breath hitching in your throat, yet you nodded, prompting him to start talking. 

Jaehyun’s voice was laced with emotion and sincerity. At that time, you didn’t know if lying was one of his abilities, but the Jaehyun you grew to love would have never lied to you. 

Every single moment of your life in the months up to that point, you had spent it with Jaehyun, like you couldn’t breathe if you didn’t have him around. Days passed faster with him by your side, nights were slower while he devoted every fibre of his being to you, and you only. You grew to know him very well, even if at that time you weren’t in possession of any of the abilities he, for one, had. 

The image of the two of you discussing right in that moment was funny, you were sure. Jaehyun was naked on his bed, and you were wrapped inside layers of fur and warming fabrics, cloak buttoned up to your chin and every single inch of your body covered. The contrast was visible, and terribly shocking — for if it were for Norma walking in right that time, you were sure she was going to black out.

The more Jaehyun talked, the more he searched your eyes, looking for a sign of just how horrified and full of terror you were. But he found none. As his story progressed, your eyes became warmer, and because Jaehyun couldn’t read your mind, he didn’t know if you were on the brink of passing out, or if you were truly accepting him for what he was. 

He heard your heart beating erratically as he explained to you the circumstances that allowed him to still roam the earth. He heard your heartbeat calming down, steadying itself the more he progressed into his story, and he heard it nearly stop the moment he confessed his deepest feelings to you. Because you knew he was fond of you, you knew he loved you, but he never explicitly said it to you, words waltzing off his tongue with grace, but the look in his eyes glinted with fear. Fear of you running away from him.

His story was complicated, long, but never dull. 

The night he confessed to you, he admitted being almost one hundred years old. Youngest, and only son of a family of ten members, he lost his entire family during the 1780 plague that annihilated his hometown village — and when him and his aunt were the only ones to survive the family that had perished, she made him leave in hopes he found refuge somewhere over the steep hills, inside an abbey.

“I was twenty years old at that time, and she made me promise I would fight tooth and nail in order to survive. I was the only son to be born in my family after generations of daughters, so they always made it clear who their favourite was,” he explained as he walked naked around his chamber, putting a log into the fireplace so you could start getting warm again. 

“Father was the first to die, and then two of my sisters followed. Mother tried quarantining us away, but she fell sick soon after, and her sister had to take me and my other sisters in,” he went on, helping you get off his bed, making you sit down on the armchair by the fireplace. “Then my sisters fell ill and perished two by two, but they had already infected my aunt’s family, and eventually it was just me and her left. She had this leather pouch she prepared for me, with two knives and a bit of bread and cheese to survive off of, and she made me promise I would find the abbey, and that I would lie to them about my origins,”

You nodded, understanding his aunt’s concerns, “They weren’t going to take you in if they knew your village had been infected,” your brows furrowed while looking at the fire.

Jaehyun smiled at you. You were so smart, and he loved you. “It took me a few days, and the hills were surprisingly steep,” his tone was dripping with amusement, nose scrunching while recalling his adventures from decades ago, “But I made it to the abbey, and they took me in,”

“And how did you…” you didn’t finish your sentence, but Jaehyun understood what you meant, nonetheless.

He let out a huff of laughter, “You’re so impatient, my love,” he caressed your cheek, eyes sparkling in the dim lighting of the room. 

You puckered your lips out of embarrassment of being called out, but Jaehyun smiled fondly as an answer, and you relaxed into your seat. He was beautiful. The light coming from the fireplace made his features sharper, eyes darker, skin even paler, and you understood you overlooked the signs until that moment, because they were all in the open for you — and anyone else — to see, yet you chose to focus on the wrong suspicions, — like why were you always cold when he made his appearance into a room?

Jaehyun looked exactly like what he was, a vampire. Not that you had met any other up to that point, but the tales, the superstitious stories you had heard suddenly made a lot of sense.

Jaehyun’s cold touch on your warm cheek made you shudder, pulling you out of your thoughts. 

“I lived inside the abbey for a few weeks, until the plague reached us there,” he explained, clearing his throat, and you knew it brought bad memories back. “One of the monks inside turned me when he realised the others were dying one by one. I don’t know how he managed to live there so long without anyone being suspicious, but when the plague wrecked havoc inside the abbey I was the only mortal still uninfected by the disease. Monk Noel did me a favour that time, and we burned the abbey down so they wouldn’t know the number of survivors,”

“Where is Monk Noel now?” You whispered, curiosity taking the best of you. You weren’t going to ask about him, but your mouth spoke on its own.

“I don’t know where he is right now, he’s a pretty old creature. If still alive, of course,” he mentioned, biting on his bottom lip. His eyebrows were furrowed, and he seemed like he was thinking about his past. 

“You’re the only person I have opened up to, you’re the only person who knows me to the fullest, right this moment,” he rasped, and if you didn’t know who the man in front of you was, you would have been terrified of the look in his eyes. “Do you think you can accept me for what I am?” He inquired, because it was really eating at him.

Jaehyun opened up to you in hopes it would take a bit of the burden off his shoulders. He wanted to come clean to you ever since he met you, but you were a mortal and you deserved to be allowed to live your life, with no undead creatures interfering.

“Are you going to turn me into one, as well?” You asked him, and the question took him by surprise. But he didn’t let any turmoil of emotions betray him with the way he was looking at you. 

“Do you want me to?” He rasped back to you, tone low but lacking any menacing undertones to it. 

You nodded immediately, because you didn’t need another five years to know you would spend an eternity by Jaehyun’s side. “Yes,” your tone was curt, getting right to the point.

But Jaehyun didn’t like you answer at that time. How could you have been so sure you were really willing to give up your life, your title as a mortal, and a beating, blood-pumping heart? How could you give yourself up so easily?

And after that night, the subject was inapproachable. Jaehyun skived every time he heard your words, sometimes he only needed a good look at you approaching him in his library to know what you were going to talk to him about. 

Jaehyun wanted to transform you, wanted to be with you and teach you everything there was to know, and he wanted to help you fit into a new world, but it had to happen on his terms. He wanted you to taste foods for a bit longer, he wanted you to sleep the nights and dance during the days, for a bit longer. He wanted you to feel the cold and the warmth for a bit longer. 

He was selfish. He was going to let you enjoy mundane life until he decided you were ready to be transformed, not letting you advance too much into your life so your health couldn’t decline because of you nearing your thirties — which at that time meant you were already past the half of your lifespan — and he was going to have you to himself until the end of times.

He wasn’t giving into your pressuring, which drove you insane, yet at some point — you were not sure when — you dropped the incessant asking. Not because you didn’t want him to transform you, but because you realised there was no point in trying to convince him to do something he wasn’t sure he wanted to do. 

You were dying to be let into his world, but you had no power over him and his decisions, so you went on with your normal and boring life.

Days were filled with you and Jaehyun reading to each other. He played the piano for you, squinting his eyes at you every time you made an observation about his technique, but then laughing it off. He kissed your hands every time you sewed his shirts, he kissed your ankles every time you allowed him to become one with you during restless nights.

He spent painfully long times with his head in the crook of your neck, cheek pressed to your collarbone as his nose was glued to the skin of your neck, smelling the sweet scent of your flesh and listening to the way your heart pumped blood. 

With you knowing who — or what — he was made it easier for him to be around you, easier to roam the earth. Knowing about him made it easier for you to help him, to get on his side, to help and protect him. You made sure no accidents involving put out fires were going to happen again, not as long as you were there to take care of it. You made sure you found good excuses every time Jaehyun needed his daytime sleep, or maybe the occasional three days in a row locked in his chambers while resting. You found excuses for Norma not to worry about her precious Master Jaehyun, making her focus more on you and your needs — albeit you had never asked her before, but you needed to keep her busy and unsuspecting. 

Little by little, your passion for music came back to you. You spent time looking over music sheets like you were reading some great pieces of literature, but it took you some time to get back to playing. 

And when you did, the piece you chose was the one dearest and closest to your heart. Your fingers waltzed on the keys as you played your favourite Schumann piece, the one you played the night you met Jaehyun. 

And there it was, the shiver down your spine and the goosebumps across your skin, not even two minutes into the piece. You smiled, eyes still closed as you enjoyed the melody, the memories of the past that were brought back to you.

Jaehyun couldn’t believe his eyes, couldn’t believe his ears — you were finally playing something, and it was the hardest piano piece you could have chosen. The one who held a special place in your heart.

He sat on the armchair facing the piano, the one he set up for you so you could stay with him every time he played,  so that you could watch the way his fingers moved.

Your gaze finally met his, and he could hear your heartbeat picking up, “You’re playing again,” he muttered, but his whole being was so proud of you. He loved you.

“I miss my father a little bit more, today,” you whispered back, eyes back on the keys, not because you didn’t know where to touch, but because you were mesmerised by the way your muscles still remembered the motion.

Jaehyun felt anxiety pooling in the pit of his stomach. He knew your story, he knew the reason you had stopped playing. And the reason you gave him for playing once again made every fibre in his body hurt for you. 

You were so beautiful, wearing your silky, ivory dress, rosy cheeks on display, lips pouting with concentration that were literally begging to be kissed by him. But he stayed silent, he observed you, he admired you from his seat, and then he spoke up, breaking the silence between the two of you.

“I want to learn this for you,” he wanted to learn the piece so he could lull you every time you felt down, nostalgic, melancholy taking over you at the thought of your loved ones that you found missing some days more than others, “Let me do this for you,”

Jaehyun spent a good part of his time on earth trying to learn piano. His rules for surviving his condition were simple — stay in a place for twenty years, then move away somewhere else, rebranding his life and career. Up to that point, Jaehyun had spent three separate lives rebranded as a piano teacher, in different states. He spent half his lifetime on this earth trying to learn as many languages as possible, trying to read as many books as he could. But his love for music was always consistent.

 He never transformed anyone else up to that point, no one knew who he was. But no one else managed to have him bewitched, so foolishly in love, either. So Jaehyun’s chest tingled while still watching you, knowing that it was time. 

And that night, spending time nuzzling your pulse line turned into lingering touches, cold fingertips making their way up your body — reaching your chest and, small and controlled pecks turned into hungry and possessive kisses.

Jaehyun’s cold body never bothered you, especially when it was touching your burning one. Your body felt on fire every time he moved his hips in between yours, your heartbeat picked up its rhythm every time you heard him grunting with pleasure, motions slow and calculated, deliberate. His cold touch felt like a blessing, there to remind you the lengths of the pleasure you felt, yet grounding you every time you felt like it was becoming too much to bear. 

Jaehyun never felt the coldness or the warmth of a room, but he felt how your body was on fire under his. Sliding in and out of you was easy, and he took one of your legs, angling it up and supporting it with his shoulder. His cold hand reached down in between your bodies, tracing its way to your lower stomach, applying gentle pressure, and your whine filled his ears like that was the sweetest melody he had ever heard. 

Looking down to where your bodies met, the way you were taking him so well and obedient — it had Jaehyun lost in his own thoughts. Calculated motions of hips became more forceful, more intense, and the hand pressing on your lower stomach gained possessiveness. 

Jaehyun felt you squeezing around him, felt your warm inner pulse on himself like it was pumping blood into his own body. He felt the spots his length reached inside of you, the palm of his hand felt like it was burning while his shaft moved inside of you. And the feeling of it had Jaehyun nearly losing his mind. Your skin was coated with a thin layer of sweat, and the scent of you exploded around his sharp senses, driving him insane as he was getting lost into you. 

He could hear, he could feel, he could smell the blood pumping through you, the pulse on your inner ankle right next to his head made his ears start ringing. Long strokes found it harder to move as your walls prepared Jaehyun to climax, but he knew he wasn’t ready to get there just yet.

Not with your ankle so enticing, so warm to the touch, smell so sweet that it flooded his nose. He wrapped his hand around your calf, moving your leg around so he could bring your foot to him — teeth grazing the skin of your sole, his plump lips caressed the softness up to your pulse line, and he playfully bit into it. It was going to be the last time Jaehyun had you like this — warm, pulsing, alive — and he couldn’t pass on the occasion of worshipping your body the right way.

He bent down to reach your lips, leg still on his shoulder, his hips finding a new angle inside of you that had you melting, pressure building up like fire into your lower stomach,  — which Jaehyun made sure to keep his hand on. 

You moaned into the kiss, and the way Jaehyun could feel you around himself made him snap with something animalistic, a primal need to see your sparkling eyes like a predator did to its prey. He broke the kiss, bringing the hand that was resting on your abdomen up to your lips, fingers tracing your lips that got swollen from his kisses, from his teeth pulling on them.

Jaehyun looked into your eyes, your breath was getting heavier, more desperate, small whines were  leaving your lips as he was helping you reach your release — and he felt his skin tingling just thinking of the way you were going to feel around him, of the way you were about to wrap yourself around him so perfectly. 

Your eyes were droopy, but Jaehyun could see his reflection into them when you looked up at him. They were warm, loving, so accepting of him, and Jaehyun let go of your leg, guiding it around his waist, the motion having both of you moaning as he kept moving in and out of you. His lips made their way up your neck, and the moment you felt his teeth — sharper — pressing on your skin, you moaned his name.

“You still want this, my love?” He asked, not slowing down when he felt the both of you so close. 

You didn’t answer, moaning his name instead, the anticipation of something you had wanted for a long time making your walls squeeze around of him. 

“I need an answer, love. Now,” his rasped, tone low and menacing, panting as he tried to maintain his composure a bit longer. He needed to hear you say it.

“Yes, Jaehyun,” your loins suddenly felt like burning as you felt yourself melting around his shaft, “Please,” you managed to mewl, and Jaehyun didn’t need any more words to come out of you.

With your blood pulsating in his mouth, and your cunt pulsing around his shaft, Jaehyun came exactly like he wanted. Inside of your warmth, feeling every last bit of life dripping out of you. 

Adapting to the new life wasn’t easy, but Jaehyun was there for you, guiding you through it all. You were astonished when you realised temperatures didn’t matter anymore, finally understanding how Jaehyun managed to sleep and live absolutely unbothered by the climate or by the temperature in a room.

But the most shocking thing was waking up to a head full of voices, and the smell of Jaehyun’s skin flooding your senses like that was the only thing you were supposed to sense.

“Jaehyun,” you jumped off the bed, both hands on each side of your head, covering your ears. “I can hear them, all of them,” you whispered, but you knew you were panicking. You couldn’t even hear the thoughts inside your head because you heard Norma scolding someone around the house, loud and clear. “Make it stop!” You pleaded, bending over Jaehyun’s bed. 

Jaehyun pitied you, because maybe he should have prepared you before effectively turning you. There was nothing he could do to help you or take all the new things away from you, but he could guide you to learn how to live with it.

“I can’t,” he let you know, looking to you from his spot on the bed.

“What?” You screeched, squinting your eyes. You thought you heard him through the many voices in your head, but you hoped you heard him wrong.

“Make it stop. I can’t make it stop, my love,” he explained calmly, unmoving.

Your bottom lip quivered, eyes quickly brimming with tears, and that’s when you saw Jaehyun jump off the bed, reaching you in a millisecond, grabbing your wrists to bring your attention on him.

“No, no my love! You can’t cry!" He seemed like he was panicking, and you looked up at him, eyes meeting his, “You will cry blood,” he explained, squeezing your wrists.

Your breath hitched in your throat and you gulped, yet you blinked the tears away, scared of the piece of information he had just dropped on you. 

“What?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, and with the way your ears were ringing and head was full of other voices from servants around the house, you weren’t sure you even spoke up in the first place.

“If you cry, they’ll be stained tears. Never cry, at least not in front of others!” He definitely should have told you all the downsides of being a vampire before he turned you into one, out of impulse. 

Why didn’t he tell you all this when you were begging him to transform you?

But you never regretted anything, you never regretted agreeing to become a vampire. Never. 

Eventually, as the weeks passed, you learned to tune other voices down, and peace and quiet was back into your head and ears, only focusing on other people’s voices when you chose to. 

Jaehyun taught you how to hunt, how to survive among mortals. How to fake your appetite for normal food, because albeit the fact that you could still eat food and feel its taste — although a little insipid and faded on your tastebuds, — there was nothing as delicious and nutritious as human blood. Animal blood was thicker, with undertones you weren’t particularly fond of, which left a weird aftertaste in your mouth — and it felt more like a snack, not like a proper meal.

Human blood, on the other hand, was sweet and tasty. You were surprised by the newly acquired sense of smell that allowed you to sense disease, to differentiate someone who was healthy from someone who was at the beginning of growing an infection inside of them, by a discreet sniff only. 

Nights were the hardest, because neither you nor Jaehyun could really sleep, and you had to tiptoe around not to raise suspicions among your servitude. But at least you had one another, getting lost into each other because you were the only one who could understand Jaehyun’s condition, and vice versa. 

You loved Jaehyun, and not once did you regret your new life by his side. Not even when you woke up like your body wasn’t yours anymore, — skin a bit paler, eyes and hair a bit darker, pulse nearly gone, with your heart only pumping blood one time per minute, — and certainly not when you realised how many things had changed in your life. You only needed blood, a safe space in which you could disguise your existence as being a normal one, and Jaehyun.

Yet Jaehyun still chose to leave you behind, despite the love he claimed he carried for you, he took off, abandoning you and making you live without him like you were exiled away from his love. 

The letter he left behind for you to find didn’t explain why he left, but you suspected his need to rebrand and change from monotony, but that wasn’t a plausible explanation to you — for he had told you countless times that you were going to be spending eternity by each other’s side, and you were going to rebrand every single time he did, or vice versa. 

You then suspected he got tired of you. He mentioned he was living through you when you were still a mortal, and then he turned you, only to then leave you behind when he made sure you could survive with your new condition and the burden of knowing you would have to go on with living for many centuries, lacking his presence.

One year after Jaehyun’s departure, you had to bury Jeger — who died of old age, already having reached fifty years of age. The servitude left one by one, others died from colds and others from lung disease, but Norma stayed with you.

You knew Norma was a mortal. At the beginning, when Jaehyun explained to you that you would eventually grow to understand from a sniff or cocked ear who was a living being, you were adamant, looking at him like he was messing with you. You could hear Norma’s heartbeat, you could hear the murmur of her heart as it was pumping blood throughout her body, you could hear the dulcet pulsing of her arteries — but never, not even once, were you tempted to take her life just to sate your appetite.

Norma was the closest to a mother figure you could get after your own mother perished. You found a great friend in her, nothing was taboo between the two of you, — which, during those times, it really showed how close you two were, — and it was only normal to be this way, as she was the only person left that you could trust entirely. Bonded together by the love both of you carried for Master Jaehyun, — yet of course, each of different nature, — Norma never spoke about him in front of you, not wanting to upset you or disrupt your peace. 

Jaehyun was like a son to her, his kindness towards her, the gentleness he carried around himself, Norma loved taking care of him, cooking for him, she was devoted to him. And after he left, she remained devoted to his household, and consequently to you, because the day Jaehyun brought you home, you were so shy to become the new mistress of the house, often going up to Jaehyun to ask for things instead of going straight to the servitude. It was easier to ask the man you loved and with whom you were comfortable, because you didn’t want to bother anyone, and you knew Jaehyun did never bat an eyelash.

Being around the house with Norma felt like routine, you sewed together, you helped her out with whatever you could, because taking someone new as servitude was very risky, not knowing to what extents they could be trusted — and if they could be, in the first place.

“Mistress,” Norma tried one evening, approaching you in Jaehyun’s library, “May I speak to you about one of my concerns?” She asked, and you put the book down right that moment. 

You were worried, because Norma had never expressed any concern for as long as you had known her. You nodded, prompting her to go on.

“I have a niece, a brother of mine has left this world, leaving her behind,” she started, and you had a faint idea of where this conversation was headed to, “Would it be possible to take her in, to help around the house? I shall do my best to instruct her accordingly,” 

You could hear Norma’s heartbeat going crazy inside her chest. She wasn’t frightened, you would say she was more embarrassed than scared, facing you with such proposition. But you didn’t find her proposition to be a problem, knowing that help was indeed very much needed around the house, and with her being Norma’s niece, this girl was probably worth trusting.

Minji was nice, very shy at first, but the more you had her around yourself, the more comfortable you grew with each other. She helped Norma around, and with her being her niece, Norma guided her around like she was a sergeant and your house was training camp. 

“I need you to be aware of everything that needs to be learned about Mistress and her household! One day I will be gone, and hopefully you will be allowed to remain,” You heard Norma whispering from downstairs, her tone condescending. 

“What if she doesn’t want me around when you’re gone?” Her niece asked, and the thought of her being so untrusting saddened you. 

“Mistress has a heart of gold, never forget that!” her tone seemed offended by Minji’s concerns, “Master Jaehyun loved her a lot, and that itself was the only sign anyone needed in order to see what an amazing woman she is,” Norma scolded her, her angry whisper scaring you — so you couldn’t imagine Minji’s reaction. Norma’s whispers were somehow too loud for you to hear anything else besides them.

“You will be taking care of her, and I know she will too,” Norma concluded, and you heard steps approaching your chambers, knowing their discussion was over.

And you tried showing Minji how grateful you were for her being around. Thanks to your behaviour, and you being more open to her whenever she was around, it helped the two of your getting closer. 

But good things were never here to stay, at least not around your household, and tragedy struck again. 

Norma fell ill one day, out of a sudden. No epidemics had been announced, you weren’t aware of any viruses going around, and Norma only ever left the house once a week with Minji, the two of them in charge of getting food for a whole week. 

So when Minji came up to your chambers crying, panicking, you knew things were bad. Norma was barely breathing, sweaty, in pain. You heard her heart struggling to keep up with everything going on inside of her, the infection spread in her body. She was delirious, seeing and talking to every single person she had ever loved, seeing them around the room, Jaehyun included. 

You panicked, thinking that he was back without you sensing him, but the corner of the room towards which Norma was looking at while barely able to speak — claiming she was speaking to her Master Jaehyun, — made you realise how bad it was. At that time, even a cold could take one person’s life, so Norma’s condition was serious, and it was rapidly taking her away from you. 

“What should we do?” Minji sobbed, hands trembling, and every fibre of her being was panicking. Her heartbeat was going crazy, her pressure going through the roof after realising the situation at hand. 

“Minji, listen to me,” your voice was stern, but you needed her to be calm for whenever Norma was going to huff her last breath. “You need to stay away from her, don’t cross the threshold of the door, I don’t want you to catch anything,” You instructed, pointing towards the door, but your eyes were on Norma, who seemed to have come back to her senses while on her deathbed, hallucinations gone and she was once again looking at you with her usual loving gaze. 

“What if you catch something, Mistress? Please, let us go find the physician,” Minji rambled, eyes sparkling as she panicked while looking at Norma’s figure laying helplessly on her bed.

“Minji!” Your tone made her jolt, raising her glossy eyes to look at you, “I won’t catch anything from her,” your voice was suddenly heavy with emotion. Not once did you think of transforming Norma, not once did you think of opening up to her. You thought that if Jaehyun didn’t do it in the first place, why should you? What if Jaehyun had his reasons, and you were going to make a mistake? 

Looking at her struggling and aching body made you realise it was too late, anyway. She was too sick to be transformed, and even if you bit into her flesh, her body couldn’t recover to have enough force to survive.

“Mistress…” Norma’s whisper surprised you, not thinking she was mentally there, with you and Minji. Her eyes were glossy, lost, sporting the same look they had when she was having hallucinations. “Do not cry,” she instructed, trying her best to sound authoritarian, but her soft spoken tone made your eyes brim with tears. One look at Minji let you know just how devastated the poor child was. 

Norma raised one hand, painfully slow, and made a gesture for you to get closer to her. Minji kept her distance, but her puffy eyes were on her aunt, looking over her tormented figure. 

“Mistress, I know,” she started, and you felt her heart slowing down a bit, “I know what Master Jaehyun was,” she whispered to you, and your breath hitched listening to her, “If you ever see him again, give him my love,” she cried, lip quivering, but her gaze became lost once again, and aimed at the ceiling, and that was where it remained.

“Norma?” You sobbed, eyes once again full of tears. But Norma was laying still, barely breathing, eyes now close, lost in all the agony she felt in that moment, “Norma!” You screamed, shaking her, because it wasn’t supposed to end like this, not when she admitted that she was aware of everything going on inside the house, with all the tears you had spilled in her presence when you had been left behind. 

Norma wasn’t dead, she was unresponsive instead. Her body was warm, but her skin was covered in sweat, the stench of death slowly bubbling inside of her. 

Climbing on her bed, you took her figure into your arms, exactly like she did countless of times when she picked you up from the ground, every time you suffered after Jaehyun’s departure. Not caring about the circumstances anymore, your tears started flowing, staining their trail down your cheeks, down your neck as you sobbed and lulled Norma’s body in your arms. Her heartbeat was slow, heart struggling to pull through whatever was going on inside of her body, struggling to give her a chance of survival. 

A few hours later, Norma died in your arms, and you can still recall the time when her heart stopped beating in her chest. The 1881 cholera pandemic took the last person connecting you to your past, away from you, leaving you alone in this cruel, cold world, in which everything was unfair and everything moved too slowly for your liking. 

Having to explain your bloody tears to Minji came easy, as you were already exhausted by the events in your life — and it seemed like Minji wasn’t surprised of what you confessed to her, having already picked up a few signs, and you imagine yourself a few years prior, finding excuses for all the signs that were laying up in the open for you to see, yet you were blinded by the love you carried for Jaehyun. 

With the cholera pandemic taking away many lives on the daily, Minji trusted you enough to let you save her, from that one and from future pandemics and disasters alike. 

With Minji’s turning into a vampire, with all the training she had to go through — just like it happened to you, — and with the virus spreading fast, you took your life into your own hands, and Minji’s too, as she was too scared to be in this world all by her new self. 

And with your leaving Jaehyun’s mansion behind — with every possession of his as well as yours still inside, — you also left that part of your life behind, and all the memories the two of you had shared, locked in there.

Navigating your new life with Minji was fun, but difficult. Not because she was difficult to have around, on the contrary. 

Minji looked up to you. You were her creator, and she was your only creation, for you had never had the desire to turn another mortal into what the two of you were. She looked at you like you held the truth to all mysteries of this world, and you did — to a certain extent. And not Minji’s presence, behaviour or decisions were the difficult part, but the events you had to go through in order to survive.

Using Jaehyun’s rebranding method, you effectively managed to keep both your and Minji’s identities hidden, infiltrating yourselves in communities, villages, rebranding every twenty years and changing your lives completely.

You moved across countries, states, towns, you lived your life to the fullest, meeting people and making friends — that you had to leave behind always, every time traces that could lead to you and your secret life needed to get lost. 

You went from wearing crinolines and corsets, to wearing miniskirts, pearls and heels. You went from long hair, to rocking a very short bob, to having long hair once again, just like the trends dictated. You went through pandemics of all sorts, natural disasters, you survived wars and famine — albeit there never was famine in your case, only for the poor mortals.

You went from wearing fur, to waring jeans and sneakers, from writing letters to phones. You went from creaking wooden floors, to tiles and soundproof systems around your houses and windows. 

You even went to university when it became popular, and you loved every single bit of it. It felt exciting, remembering the tough times during which you were born, and you still made it out to live through the modern times in which women made a name for themselves, and they slowly gained more freedom and the power of identifying themselves, attending schools and making a living by themselves. You went from being called ‘mistress’, to ‘miss’.

But you never married, you never dated, because your heart kept itself tormented and yearning after one man. One man that exiled you, discarded of you, and that was the hardest part of it all. Like you had never mattered to him. You roamed the earth for more than a century trying to find him, although not deliberately. Every place you moved to, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was around there as well. Decades spent in the same places yet you never heard from him, or sensed him in the air. 

The love you carried for Jaehyun back in the day, was still alive, the flame of love barely there, but still burning in your heart nonetheless. And how could you ever think of loving someone else, when Jaehyun was the only man you yearned for? And with all this, with all your love and yearning for him, you couldn’t shake the sadness and the betrayal you felt every time you were reminded of him, rage flooding you and every fibre of your being like a hasty virus. 

Maybe not finding him was for the best, because you weren’t sure how you would have reacted if you found him a few feet away from you. Were you going to kill him? What other options did you have, to make him hurt just as he did you?

Everything you became, your existence, you owed him every single minute spent on this earth, but you couldn’t help but wonder what life could have been like if he was by your side, had he never left you.

And then, it was February 1994.

Coming home from your job at the art gallery downtown, you took your heels off, swollen feet thanking you for finally freeing them. Newspaper folded under your arm as you carried unnecessary groceries back home, you threw everything you were carrying in your arms, on the kitchen table of your small apartment. 

Out of all the decades you had lived in throughout all your life, the 90’s were your favourite thus far. The phones, the fashion, the busses and subway, the cabs, the music and the films. You could go to the movies every single night, if it weren’t for your job that you liked keeping, despite your and Jaehyun’s huge fortunes you still carried, hidden. You weren’t in need of a job, yet you loved having one — it was more like a hobby, especially if it involved the arts.

So you picked up your newspaper, your body tingling with excitement as you couldn’t wait to see what films were going to be out that week. Yet your eyes stopped on the headline for a few seconds, written in huge, bold letters. ‘LOVED BOYBAND, KILLED IN CAR CRASH LAST NIGHT, read more on page 36’, it read, but you didn’t really care.

You only wanted the local cinema’s schedule, but then curiosity really started eating at you. What boyband? What if it was one of your favourite artists? 

So you turned to page thirty six, eyes scanning the page for all the information about the car crash. Nothing suspicious, it seemed like the manager, also the designated driver that night, fell asleep and everyone in the car perished because of his mistake.

 Your eyes fell on the bottom of the page, where all the members had their individual portrait pictures sitting nicely, as a posthumous homage to their fame and glory. 

And there he was. Jaehyun, pictured in all his glory. Sparkling eyes staring right back at you.

With the newspaper placed on the table just under your nose, your tea had run cold while you lost track of time thinking about his picture. Sure, it was still on page thirty six, plastered there like you were finally meant to find him. 

But it had to be just a macabre coincidence, right? Seeing his face after decades, centuries, made your stomach drop and your heart felt heavy with the mix of emotions battling through you. You weren’t sure of what you were going to do — given you found him — thinking you were going to take your revenge on him, but the moment your eyes laid on his picture, and all the beautiful features you once loved, the emotions within you became unbearable. And so did the thoughts.

Had he always been out there giving hints of his existence for you to find, or was this just a consequence of a miscalculated rebranding plan, in which he never took into account the possibility of being outed to the public and, most importantly, to his lover that had been searching for him for centuries after being promised eternity by his side? 

It had to be a sick little game of destiny or maybe real death, because you know Jaehyun never made mistakes. 

“Mistress!” The familiar voice called you, heels clanking on the marbled floors of the Parisian-style café.

Minji. She still liked using the nickname she was so accustomed to, from all those years back, and she never tried to hide her excitement when using the title now turned nickname. 

“You’re very pale,” Minji’s eyebrows furrowed while looking at you, “As if that’s possible,” she joked, eyes sparkling and she bit her lip trying not to laugh out loud at the obvious joke between the two of you. But your lack of sense of humour made her smile drop, and her eyebrows furrowed once more.

“What’s wrong?” She whispered, leaning in from her spot across the table. 

You looked at her for a fleeting moment, and you sighed before raising your elbows and snatching the newspaper from underneath them.

You pushed the folded object towards Minji, who was confused but still intrigued, yet she kept her hands under the table waiting for you to instruct her.

“Go to page thirty six,” you brought one hand to your mouth, biting on the nail of your thumb. You see her making slow, calculated movements, like the ones you always do with absolutely no rush in order not to make any unwanted mistakes in this world that evolves at full speed, not wanting to give away the fact that your soul and being are more than one century old — which you learned from Jaehyun, so it was only normal to pass everything you knew down to the only person you transformed.

 “Tell me what you see,” you instructed, looking at her features, and the way she was so carefully reading the headline and then how she inspected the page.

“Seven men?” She asked, not knowing if that was what you wanted to hear, “They were kinda handsome,  though,” she joked, a tilted and barely contained smirk creeping in the corner of her mouth.

“Mhm,” you hummed, straightening your posture, anxiety making its way through your chest, “Now read the names. Carefully,”

She took a moment to look at you, sensing hesitation, fear, but also impatience?

She cleared her throat, looking at the names below the pictures. “Johnny Suh, drummer,” she made a pause before continuing the makeshift eulogy, “Lee Haechan, bass and voice. Mark Lee, guitarist. Nakamoto Yuta, guitarist. Kim Doyoung, synth and voice. Lee Taeyong, manager. And-” she suddenly stopped, head snapping back to look for your gaze, “And Jeong Jaehyun, vocalist?” She asked incredulously. 

Your gaze bore into hers, and she was like a deer in headlights waiting for you to answer. It was either the most fucked up coincidence, or Master Jaehyun just outed himself. 

“Is this… Master Jaehyun?” The whisper made your ears start ringing, and you averted your gaze. Minji never saw a picture of Jaehyun, because you remembered having one in his library, but it disappeared the moment he himself also did. “Why is he so handsome?” She seemed starstruck, but she snapped herself out of it as soon as she remembered the whole situation, “And why is he in a newspaper? Did he want you to find him?”

“I don’t know,” you sighed, closing your eyes trying to elucidate this mystery in the next thirty seconds. “I also don’t know if I want to really find him, you know?” 

“What?” She slapped your arms playfully. “This can’t be a coincidence, Y/n. It’s either this or he’s just really stupid for believing he wouldn’t make it on the news if he got famous and died,” she stopped her rambling, her mind pausing on one thought, and she bit her lip before opening her mouth once again to talk to you, “Did he really die?”

You shook your head, but there was a lump in your throat nonetheless, “Don’t think so, this could be his rebranding with a good excuse to disappear and start a new life,” you voice was full of uncertainties, it trembled with unspoken fear as Minji’s words sank in, “But what if he really died?”

“What does your hunch say?” Minji pushed, knowing you were going to start crying blood tears at the thought that from that moment on, you were going to roam the earth with no purpose.

“This is the first time I don’t have a hunch,” you gulped, scratching your temples, “It’s logical to rebrand, but he’s not this stupid. He knew he would be on the news and that everyone could see his face,”

“Maybe he was just careless,” Minji didn’t want to use the term stupid on someone as handsome and important as Master Jaehyun.

“Minji,” you warned, your patience wearing thin, “Everything I taught you, I learned from him. There is absolutely no way he did this on purpose,” you poked the newspaper on the table, repeatedly with your index finger. “I think he’s gone. For good this time,” you nodded, your eyes flooding with tears, and you brought a tissue to your eyes to cover the bloody stains about to start rolling down your cheeks. 

The heart barely beating in your chest felt like it was breaking, like the last grams of Jaehyun that you had been carrying inside of you since he left, were gone — and that half the heart he had left behind to beat for him, waiting to be reunited with its other half he’d successfully taken away, had finally been snatched away in that moment, the memory of him fading like his presence.

Thirty more years pass by, and you rebrand again. New city, new house, new profession. 

You’re now a piano teacher, even if it’s hard to live all the memories of the past as soon as you touch a key when you teach the kids. Memories of all the moments you spent with Jaehyun, the image of your moving fingers on top of the keys fading with an hallucination of seeing his. Your fingers always move with fast precision, and you envision his fingers playing instead of yours, too many times to keep track of.

Up until today, you never made peace with the thought of not being able to see him ever again. In the past, you were fuelled by the anticipation of meeting him again, making him pay for leaving you behind, hurting him, loving him. But now, the thought that you won’t be able to be in the same room as him ever again, made you suffer like a poor dying animal. 

In your head, it was just not possible to come to terms with the fact that you’re alone. You still only have Minji, who now lives one hour away from you and has a loving human boyfriend, but you miss him. 

Thirty years went by with you devastated and trying to come to reason, thirty years went by with Minji having to keep you in check more times than you’d like to admit. 

At some point you thought you should just keep looking for him, but you stopped about twenty years ago, realising it was driving you insane. You knew Jaehyun too well, and you knew that headline in the newspaper wasn’t him escaping his old life. Too many people were involved in that car crash for him to do this as part of his plan, and you knew he wasn’t cruel enough to take away lives of innocent people.

So instead, you’ve been spending time trying to numb all the heartbreak, all the flooding memories you finally managed to suppress — safe for the piano lessons, during which they all came back to you like cold waves to the burning shore. 

Mourning the mortal times you lived is something you picked up on the way, because while you have to find new things to think about that are not directly linked to Jaehyun and his condition, it seems like all your existence is tied to his.

You’re only now regretting the decision, the vehement convincing you tried to do so many times on Jaehyun. Because if it weren’t for your decision and how much you loved him, you weren’t going to live much longer. Life expectancy was so short compared to the modern times, the current lifespan of a person being more than double of what it used to be in the nineteenth century, when you were born.

And maybe this is his punishment for you. You wanted this so much, against his advice and against your better judgement, that he gave in just to make you happy, yet at the same time damning you to roam the earth living like him, but without him. Like you wanted this so vehemently, and he gave it to you, but he punished you for wanting to become this way.

Because had he not transformed you, you were bound to remain a mortal, die soon of a disease like everyone else around you did, and you would have been spared the heartache of living your life without him by your side, damned to survive all humanity for centuries to come.

No amount of interactions, no amount of loving what you do, — still gifted and a piano prodigy, — can take away the lingering pain that follows you like a shadow. 

Maybe you should have looked for him with more ardour when you had the chance, when you knew he was still around. Maybe you should have spent more time trying to trace him down, and even if you resented him, even if you wanted to hurt him, have him killed, to torture him, you should have acted on time. Because now it’s too late, your racing thoughts are in vain, the recurring pain is just a reminder of how wrong your life went.

You made your research, looking into the last known trace of Jaehyun’s existence on this earth. He was in a successful band, they made great music, and it was a shock to you seeing his decision of using his real name instead of a new one, unlike all the things he instructed you not to do. 

And then the mini van he was in crashed and burned, and only burned bodies were found among the charred remains left behind after the fire was extinguished. And you know Minji wanted to ask you if you really think they’re dead, but you also know that she kept her mouth shut not to upset you — upset you even more, that is. 

You know they are. Jaehyun, the man you loved, would never hurt others on purpose. He managed to survive in a fast evolving world as a creature characteristic to the undead category, so you just know — even if you lost your hunch about this matter long ago. It’s like the moment you realised he died, when your stomach and heart dropped, your hunch also did.

So for the first time ever, you live your life following a routine, you wake up, go tutor kids, skip your lunches because frankly you don’t need them anyway, then you call Minji on you way home, and you go hunting late at night when people are into the deepest of slumbers.

There’s so much beauty in this world, so much literature and music you can’t help but mourn how Jaehyun chose to run away from you, when you could have lived through all the changing times and decades, with him holding your hand through it all.

And you suppose your love for music needs to be fed as well, with you visiting record stores frequently, concerts, pubs, while also becoming slave to technology, like a dog on a leash for music apps. If anybody told you when you were a little girl, that times would come to change this much, you would have laughed and called them a lunatic. Times in which you bathed at candlelight were changed for times in which people panicked during a blackout. Winter’s cold that everybody used to keep food cold while preparing canned foods and jars during summers, thinking of the heavy winters that were ahead, were exchanged for fridges and freezers. Sometimes it’s hard for you to wrap your head around all the changes and evolution of the human race.

So like usual, you stop by the record store on your way home after your last tutoring session, this time stopping by an antique store to check some vinyls out, because they have always been your favourite, even if you traded them for cds or playlists on music apps to have everything more simplified for you.

The place is huge, and it smells like old paper, the type of store you know has sold the greatest and most authentic pieces known to man judging by the smell of the store alone. The air is cool, air conditioning blowing at full speed — and you can recognise the smell of it. While you can’t feel heat or cold physically on your body, you can sense the smell. And outside is a torrid, rotting smell of a heatwave that has you nauseous after passing mortals on the street.

“Hi, welcome!” A friendly voice rings like an echo around the empty store, covering Michael Jackson’s singing voice heard throughout the ceiling speakers. It’s high in pitch, but you can sense the kindness dripping off it, “I’m sorry, but we don’t allow beverages in here,” he gives you a remorseful little smile, “We don’t want unfortunate events involving our vinyls,” he goes on with the explaining, as if he’s apologising for the store’s policy.

“It’s okay, really,” you tell him, looking at the tall glass of iced americano in your hand, shaking it a bit, the ice cubes making noise as they hit each other. You only ever drink coffee because its strong taste overpowers the disgusting smell of humans sweating outside, skin overheated in the heatwave, “I totally understand! I wouldn’t want my stuff to get destroyed either,” you reassure him, walking towards the cashier desk where he’s standing, “Can I leave this here?” You shake it in front of his figure, before setting it on the desk.

“I’ll keep it safe,” he nods, and one first, very attentive look at him, and his gaze seems to be holding yours with prying attention. 

His face is adorned in moles, pouty lips chapped as he runs his tongue on them out of reflex at your attentive eyes on his figure, feeling like a deer in highlight in front of you, and he seems familiar. 

A face like his doesn’t go unnoticed, so you wonder the premises of a possible encounter you might have had in the past, a fleeting moment passing him by on the street — anything, really. Because you know you’ve never been inside this record store before. 

You give him a small smile, already eyeing other corners of this store, not because he makes you feel uncomfortable, but because you don’t want to make him feel this way as you try to understand the reason  he’s so familiar. 

Your fingers are fast as you navigate all the amazing music they have. This is indeed the greatest store you’ve entered, and you wonder who curated the inventory. 

“Isn’t it torrid outside?” The young man asks you, the only customer at this time in the afternoon, so you nod and hum, acknowledging him and his question, but your mind still blown by the fact that they’re selling a rare Queen vinyl for twenty bucks. 

“I suppose,” you sigh, too lost into your own thoughts, and you freeze on the spot, your mind registering the words you just let out. 

“You suppose?” He laughs, showing you a perfect row of white teeth. “You just came in a few minutes ago,” he pouts, pointing at the entrance door like you’re an idiot.

Maybe you are an idiot, because why did your mouth open without your consent? This man doesn’t need to know that you don’t feel temperatures.

“I meant that,” you pause, turning to look at him as he’s slouching over the cashier desk, “I moved here a few months ago and this is my first summer here, so I wouldn’t know how to compare it to last year’s,” you try to dodge the bullet, and he seems like he buys your bullshit excuse after mulling your words over.

You try focusing once again on the piles of vinyls sitting in front of your figure, but you feel his intent gaze on your figure, lingering on your pale skin to the point you feel paranoia seeping through your pale skin. 

You try to remember why he seems so familiar. A traffic light in town? A student’s relative? Perhaps you threw him a fleeting look while walking down towards your table in a restaurant? You’ve been in this small town for about six months already, but you can’t seem to be able to allocate a place or occasion to his face.

You sharpen your hearing, trying to focus on him, and then it seems like your sharp senses fail you, even abandon you. You don’t hear a heartbeat, you don't hear insides churning after the lunch he’s had today, you don’t hear blood pumping through his arteries. 

And then it hits you like a truck at full speed. The newspaper thirty years ago — his black and white picture was plastered there, just a bit above Jaehyun’s, and you can still remember the same sparkly eyes he had in that photo — with which he’s looking at you right now. 

You approach the cashier where you left your drink, and you wrap a fearful hand around the tall glass.  His gaze bores into yours, and then he smiles at you like a child would, like one of the kids you tutor would try to persuade you to dismiss him earlier. 

“You’ve been eyeing me,” he accuses with a playful tone, “Have we met before?”

There’s an urge inside of you that makes your insides burn, like you’re ready to jump this man in front of you, and you wonder if he’s playing with you right now.

If you recognised him, you’re sure he understood what you are as well, hence the question about the heatwave taking over the small town yet you’re dry as a bone, no droplets of sweat clinging to your skin. But if you recognised him from that damned newspaper you still keep in the attic of the small house you bought, you’re sure he doesn’t know who you are. You can link him to Jaehyun, but he can’t do the same to you.

“I don’t think we have, no,” you whisper after a painfully long time, eyeing him like you’re ready to put a wooden stick through his chest if he blinks one more time. “Actually,” you squint your eyes a bit, tilting your head, “You seem oddly familiar,” you retort, taking a few steps back, but you don’t wait for his answer — yet your eyes never leave his.

You throw your coffee in the first bin you find on your way back to your car, and you pick up your phone. 

If his band member, who was supposedly dead, is still alive and running a record store in the small town you’re now living in, that means Jaehyun is still out somewhere, and just the thought of him having fooled you makes you choke with betrayal.

You don’t return to the record store, thinking it’d be too dangerous to face that man again. Haechan, you checked his name as soon as you arrived home. He has the same sparkling eyes, the same hair colour, yet now it’s longer than what he sported in the 90’s. 

You spend the entire summer looking around yourself like a anxious paranoid freak. You know it’s all in your head, because you would actually feel it if anyone followed you — by using your hearing or trying to smell who’s in your proximity, — but you can’t help but spare looks left and right as you come home everyday, as you go to work, as you welcome your students at the entrance of your studio. 

But there’s no sign of Jaehyun, Haechan, or any of the band members you made sure to memorise all the facial features of by looking at their pictures. Thank god for the internet, because you could find all the archives of their activities as a band. 

“Maybe you should visit the record store again,” Minji suggested on the phone one day, making you scoff.

“No, thank you,” you let a humourless laugh escape you, eyes squinting as you inspected a box of crackers at the supermarket. “Actually, Minji,” you start, throwing the box in your cart and proceeding to grab a pack of sweet bread, “I’m thinking of rebranding,” you mumble into the phone, aware of the fact that it will mess the timeline you established for both Minji and yourself.

“What?” She screeches into the phone, and your sharp hearing is too sensitive to the sound of her voice, “So soon? But Master Jaehyun is still alive, and possibly he’s somewhere around you,”

“That’s precisely the reason, Minji,” you explain, pushing your cart around, reaching the meat section, and suddenly you’re thirsty looking at the blood-dripping liver packages sitting in the display fridges, “He said we’ll find each other if we’re meant to be, and I feel like I’ve been looking for him yet he’s the one running away from me,” 

And truth be told, besides being paranoid out of your mind, you spent time mulling some things over. Some things like the fact that Jaehyun hasn’t made one single effort to find you, or how he went to extreme lengths like faking his own death that he knew would make the headlines, given his status at that time. And then there’s the fact that that man, Haechan, knows you’re around, yet no one has ever reached out to you. So you came to the conclusion that Jaehyun doesn’t want to find you, because he could have done so until now, so many times. 

It’s disappointing, realising that you spent eternity looking for him only to be met with an empty promise. And honestly you’ve reached a point where you really don’t want to meet him again. You’re fearful, you’re embarrassed after making a fool of yourself, but you know you did so because you loved him. And you’re sure you’ll go on loving him for a long time, but you’re the one who has to get away right now, the mere thought of having to face a man who made you suffer for absolutely no reason until now is making your insides churn with anger. 

Centuries spent in misery only to realise you were playing his game all along. Plying a game of cat and mouse, if you will, — and you’re tired.

“Come live here,” Minji suggests, “Everyone knows I have a sister, so it will be easy for you to rebrand here,” she tells you, her sweet voice bringing you comfort. Because she’s all you have, and maybe you should have turned Norma into a vampire as well. You wouldn’t have been so lonely and miserable if you did.

“I’ll think about it,” you smiled into the phone, but this time you feel like you’ll have to go even farther away. 

You’re snatched out of your thoughts the moment someone’s cart bumps into yours. 

“Ah! Miss Queen News of the World Fortieth Anniversary edition! What a coincidence,” the same mellow voice greets your hearing, yet this time he’s not alone. You recognise the other man to be the drummer of the band, Johnny Suh.

Extremely tall, very well built, Johnny seems to be someone that came out of a picture. Muscles defined like someone draw him with the finest pencil, clothes sitting impeccably, hugging his perfect body just the right way. 

But you’re not impressed, you’re actually upset he bumped into you.

“Haven’t seen you in a while! Someone bought your vinyl a while back,” Haechan’s voice interrupts your glaring towards Johnny’s direction, “Throwing a bbq party?” He laughs, pointing at your cart half full of red meat.

For some reason, you’re beyond pissed by his cockiness.

“Is there a reason for your bumping into me here?” You ask, elbows resting on your cart as you look at the two of them uninterested.

This is just another way to confirm your suspicions. Jaehyun knows you’re here, and you’re sure he didn’t spend centuries looking for you. Running away from you, on the other hand… 

“Listen,” you start, pushing the cart away and walking towards the two, “You two act like internet archives aren’t a thing, like wikipedia isn’t a click away,” you sigh coming closer to the two, “One century from now and maybe, just maybe people will overlook the fact that you two look exactly like two rockstars who died in 1994,” you bark at them tiredly, not in the mood to beat around the bush when you know exactly what they are, and you’re sure they know what you are as well, “I thought your maker was smarter than this,”

But you don’t wait for their reply, leaving Haechan’s annoyingly radiant face behind, smugness now wiped away by your words. 

And you don’t bother finishing your shopping, or driving home, or calling Minji to tell her of the unpleasant encounter you just had. You drive away, and with sleep not being a problem to you, you know exactly where you’re off to.

It takes you ten more hours to reach your destination, and you park your car in one of the designated parking spots. 

You look at the mansion that had been your home for so many years, and even if you wanted to go to your childhood home instead, you’re keeping that option viable for your next rebranding, that you’ve decided will come sooner than previously anticipated. 

Jaehyun’s mansion was unkept for a long time after you left town with Minji, and a few decades later, when you made sure no one remembered your faces, you made Minji buy it, not having the heart to lose it — and everything inside, — to complete strangers. After a few more decades, you made the purchase, for it to then be left unkept by the city hall, and then you bought it again at the beginning of your rebranding, a few years ago.

And now you feel like it’s finally over, like there’s no reason to keep it and go out of your way to buy it every few decades to make sure no one sees how suspiciously you act. Maybe you’ll fake your own death as well, and it all ends tonight with this mansion burning down to the ground alongside all the boxes inside.

Your pace is fast, feet moving rapidly inside and past the gates, and a gentle breeze blows, carrying a melody to your ears.

You stop in your tracks, looking at the old mansion and the unkept garden around it, the entrance where Jeger parked the carriage to wait for you, the fountain and its rim — the one you used to sit on while Jaehyun read to you during sunny summer afternoons.

And then you sharpen your hearing, thinking you hallucinated and heard the sound earlier, yet another breeze blows and the melody reaches your ears — this time louder and clearer.

Judging by the piece being played on a piano, the meaning behind it, and the importance it has to you, you know who’s the one playing. And your feet move on their own, your brain freezing while you take quick steps over to the entrance, and all around the ground floor of the mansion, all the way towards the parlour where you knew the piano was, and you stop in your tracks for the second time in the span of ten minutes, a lump forming in your throat.

You’re greeted by Jaehyun, looking exactly the same as he did the last time you saw him, hair black and on the longer side, like he’s been here the whole time, like he didn’t make an appearance in a newspaper thirty years ago, sporting short, platinum hair. And he’s playing that Schumann piece.

“I told you I’ll learn this for you,” he smiles, eyes still focusing on his moving fingers.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, and it sounds like you’re being strangled. 

“Well, if the mountain will not come to Muhammad…” he trails off, like he’s mocking you in some sort of way.

“Then Muhammad will come to the mountain,” you complete the saying, still in disbelief of the personal attack he just launched on you. “Is this all you have to say?” You accuse, eyes squinting at his stupidly handsome face, “After all you’ve put me through, you choose these to be among the first words you tell me?” You bark at him, your voice dripping with hurt.

He halts his movements, the melody coming to an abrupt halt, and his beautiful sparkly eyes look into your raging ones.

“You let me roam the earth, alone and scared, just to show up in a place you knew I’d take refuge in?” You accuse him once again, and you feel like you’re losing your mind. Did this man ever love you like he claimed he did?

“I heard you were going to rebrand,” he explained, bringing his arms behind his figure, “You gave up,”

“I gave up?” You shout at him, tone full of anger and disbelief, “I’ve been looking for you since the day you left, and you still managed to run away farther, and farther each time!”

“But you didn’t find me,” he whispers, and you feel like you don’t recognise him. Centuries might have passed, but you never thought Jaehyun’s way of thinking would ever change.

“And you did?” You lurch towards his figure standing next to the piano, and you push at his chest, “Did you ever look for me, Jaehyun? You promised me eternity and then you left, asking me to look for you! And I did!” You push at his chest with every accusatory sentence that you let out, “ Yet you never looked for me!” 

You start crying, not caring about the bloody tears, “And the moment you feel me giving up on you, you come exactly where you know you’ll find me? Like you never did before!” You punch his chest, and he allows you to do it, still keeping his arms behind his figure. 

“You left me behind and I lost everyone and everything all by myself, when you promised you’d stay with me forever,” you sob, but your tone is full of venom as you spit accusations in his face.

He grabs your wrists, having enough of all your punches to his chest, “I love you! Never, not even for one second, believe I don’t love you, or that I didn’t in the past! I looked for you with no success, I moved countries and continents and you were nowhere to be found! So never, ever, accuse me again of running away from you!” He rasps, accentuating every single sentence. His eyes are dark, menacing, angry at your accusations, and while it should make you back down, it only fuels you more.

“And whose fault is that, Jaehyun?” You retort through your teeth, wrists still wrapped in his firm grip, “You ran away from me that day, leaving a letter behind like that was supposed to hold all the answers to my questions! I had to bury Norma, Jeger, everyone else, all by myself! And the only thing you kept telling me in that letter was how much you loved me and that if we’re meant to be together, we’ll find each other again! You said you loved me but you left me behind like a kicked puppy,”

“And I’ll regret that forever!” He spits, now angry. “I’ve been yearning to be reunited with you even as soon as I left, but I had to do it! The priest started getting suspicious of me and I wanted to protect you! Taking you with me and leaving the mansion behind meant we were on the run from all accusations that priest was going to bring upon us, and I thought it was going to be easier for you to call my supposed death and erasing traces of my existence in this town, instead of you running away with me, and us possibly becoming a subject for history books!” 

“What?” You ask incredulously, the information too much for you right now.

“I never ran away from you except that one time, and I came back here looking for you every single time I rebranded in the vicinity of this zone, hoping you left clues behind, clues of where you could be! I spent centuries in agonising pain trying to finally find you,” his voice breaks, it thickens with emotion as he tries to gulp away the tears.

“I can’t believe you thought I was running away from you,” he seems in disbelief, and a look into his eyes and you can tell he’s hurt.

“Then how do you explain the obnoxious presence of your band members around the town I rebranded to?” Your tone still dripped with anger, adamant to believe him.

“Haechan recognised you because of this,” he pulls a locket out of his pocket, “I always kept you with me, all these years,” he opens it with long and slender fingers, showing you a now blurry picture of yourself from 1875, “He told me about you, and how it seemed like you recognised him as well, that one time at the record store. And I knew I could find you there, yet somehow it was like the earth swallowed you whole, like every time I was getting near, you disappeared into thin air,”

He gulps, trying to control his trembling voice, “Haechan heard you might rebrand, and I thought our house could be a place you would want to visit in the next few days, so I came here just to wait for you. And I started playing the piano the moment I sensed you parking outside the gates, hoping you’ll hear me,”

His hands are suddenly on both sides of your face, squishing your cheeks as he looks into your eyes for a sign that you believe him, or that you don’t, or maybe for a sign that you still love him. A sign of anything. Give him the smallest of signs and he’ll grip to it like a drowning man looking for someone to pull him up again. 

“My love,” he starts, and your stomach flutters at the words that leave his mouth, having missed them, “I love you, and eternity by your side is all I’ve ever longed for,” 

You grab his wrists, pushing yourself up to reach his lips, and the moment his lips touch yours it’s like you can feel temperatures once again. They’re burning as they move on top of yours like flaming hot honey, tasting just as sweet.

He moans into the kiss, his slender fingers now making their way up in your hair, one hand reaching the back of your neck to bring you closer to the armchair by the piano, the one you used to sit in every time he played for you. And he didn’t have to take you after him, because you would have chased his lips nonetheless.

Dragging you on top of him, he never breaks the kiss. Your hands make their way up in his hair, pulling at the dark strands to elicit something out of him, and he pleases your unspoken request with a rumbling groan coming from his chest, like he’s finally relaxing knowing he found the only thing that allows him to go on with living. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited to have you like this again, how long I’ve waited to taste your sweetness again,” he mumbles against your lips, feeling your hands travelling down his abdomen to his belt. 

His hands are all over your body, gripping at your thighs, pulling at your dress, squeezing the flesh of your arms and hips, travelling up on your abdomen to your breasts. 

He’s insatiable for you, too desperate to make up for the lost time, too desperate to feel your lips on him, too desperate to be one with you once again. 

His big hands wrap around your breast as your fingers travel south of his happy trail, impatience making both of you messy, teeth clashing and tongues swirling in an eager battle of dominance, — and he pulls back a bit, giving you the reins and surrendering to you. He lets you set the pace, and even if he still feels the need to devour your lips and kiss you the way he’s craved for, for such long time, he lets you guide him so it feels good for you. 

His senses are flooded by your smell, the sweetness he’s daydreamed of so many times until now, and it doesn’t have to be a memory of the past. You’re right here, your bare chest touching his, and with your clothed cunt causing friction on his already hard bulge.

You bite his lip as a warning to keep it down, because you’ve never heard him so vocal and desperate for your touch. You guess this is what a century of yearning does to a man.

Feeling Jaehyun so eager for you gives you so much power, so much control, he’s at your mercy but his eyes are looking at you like he’s on the edge of snapping, like he’s putting all self control into supporting your weight on top of his clothed cock, trying not to pay too much mind to it or otherwise the friction alone might make him release on the spot.

You moan his name when the friction feels too delicious, making your clit burn with anticipation, “Tell me what you want,” you look down at him, half naked under you, with his eyes glinting the moment he hears the way his name rolls off your tongue so easily, so eager, “Just say it,”

“You,” he huffs trying not to focus on the way you keep moving on top of him, relentless, “Just you,” he breathes on your neck, hands keeping you in place on top of him, “Ride me, my love,” he pleads, and it doesn’t take you too much time to do as he says.

His fingers travel between your bodies, moving your panties to the side, to impatient to let you get off him to slide them down your legs, and as you sense his movements and understand his actions and what he means, you fingers move to his boxers, pulling the elastic band away from his abs, his cock slapping against his abdomen as soon as you free it from the uncomfortable tightness of the fabric. 

You squeeze it in the palm of your hand, grip travelling to its tip, and Jaehyun sucks air through his teeth, “Don’t play,” he lets out a whimper when you give it one final squeeze, before your free hand pushes him away from your neck.

He rests on his back, as much as the armchair allows him to, and you keep him into place with your hand, the other one busy lining him at your entrance.

The moment you sink down on him, you both release a sigh. With your eyes closed, you fail to see the way Jaehyun is looking up at you, eyebrows furrowed and eyes glossy, — the way you’re squeezing and pulsating around him makes his breath halt into his throat, jaw setting while looking down between your bodies at the way you’re taking him in so easily, moving your hips in a sinful motion. 

The sting of the stretching fuels the burning you feel in your lower abdomen, like you’re ready to snap anytime already. It prompts you to plant the soles of your feet flat on each side of Jaehyun’s hips, and the motion has him hitting a new angle inside of you, one that has you seeing stars and your cunt squeezes him hungrily as you move up and down his cock.

The obscene squelch of your cunt taking all of him with ease is arousing, and your hands travel on his chest for support, touching his nipples and getting a whimper out of Jaehyun, one that you’ve never heard. He’s sensitive, both south of his loins and on his chest, and he has to fight and set his jaw not to release into you.

“I’m close,” he warns, and the sounds you make are enough to make his dick twitch inside of you, “Won’t be able to last any longer, my love,” 

“I don’t want you to,” you let out a breathy moan, your hand travelling between your folds to rub circles on your clit, giving yourself a helping hand, “Just let go,”

And the moment your release hits you, cunt squeezing around him like a vice — thanks to your motions on your fingers, — Jaehyun groans, spilling strings of his own release inside of you, melting in the way you keep pulsing around him, milking him for all he’s worth.

Keeping him inside of you, you fall on top of him, knees on each of his sides, and your face touches his shoulder, resting against it. 

“You learned Schumann’s piece for me?” You ask, your question distorted by the way he’s still keeping you against his skin, cheek squished against his shoulder, and all Jaehyun wants is to kiss your pouting lips.

“That’s all you remember from the past half an hour?” He squints his eyes down at you, but his tone is playful.

You grab his chin, pushing yourself up to reach his lips, “Your technique is rusty, but you have some more centuries to learn it!” You giggle, hand falling back in the crook of his neck, and you let out a content sigh.

You’re exactly where you were always meant to be, both you and Jaehyun, sticking to each other, ready to navigate eternity hand in hand.

[kongjjen]

[jungkoode]

깡패의 교리 | KKANGPAE GYORI

THE KKANGPAE DOCTRINE

↪︎𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: "It's a simple rule in the gang: avoid attachments. But when it comes to Jungkook, that's easier said than done."

↪︎𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: enemies to lovers, slow burn, gang au, angst with smut, fuck buddies, forbidden love, secret relationship ↪︎𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: here (MUST READ) ↪︎𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jeon jungkook x f!reader ↪︎𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: book 1/3 finished | 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐜: 247k. | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: 30/~90ish ↪︎𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬: taglist ↪︎𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐚 𝐚𝐛𝐯. 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞: KGPGY

taking a break between book 1 and 2 to outline and write / backlog chapters. <3

⊹･ﾟ✧ plot✧ﾟ･⊹

When you join Kkangpae's Seduction Division, you know the rules: no attachments, no relationships, no exceptions. The consequences are fatal—you've seen them firsthand. But rules become complicated when the Chief of Tactical Assassinations keeps looking at you like you're his next target, and not the kind he takes out with a sniper rifle.

⊹･ﾟ✧ chapters ✧ﾟ･⊹ | *= smut

book 1 : kkangpae (247k) | KGP | completed ao3 | wattpad

In Kkangpae, attachments are a liability—so sex to ease off some tension shouldn’t count.

𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒍𝒓:

#00 | #01 | #02 | #03 | #04 | #05 | #06 | #07 | #08 | #09 | #10 | #11 | #12* | #13 | #14 | #15 | #16 | #17* | #18 | #19 | #20 | #21* | #22 | #23* | #24 | #25 | #26 | #27* | #28* | #29 | #30 | #31

book 2 : geumji (~250k) | GMJ ao3 | wattpad

If attachments are a liability, distance feels like the responsible choice. Until it doesn’t.

𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒍𝒓:

#00 | #01 | #02 | #03 | #04 | #05 | #06 | #07 | #08 | #09 | #10 | #11 | #12 | #13 | #14 | #15 | #16 | #17 | #18 | #19 | #20 | #21 | #22 | #23 | #24 | #25 | #26 | #27 | #28 | #29 | #30

book 3 : banyok (~300k) | BYK ao3 | wattpad

At some point, following the rule costs more than breaking it. Especially when it shouldn’t have existed in the first place.

𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒍𝒓:

#00 | #01 | #02 | #03 | #04 | #05 | #06 | #07 | #08 | #09 | #10 | #11 | #12 | #13 | #14 | #15 | #16 | #17 | #18 | #19 | #20 | #21 | #22 | #23 | #24 | #25 | #26 | #27 | #28 | #29 | #30

⊹･ﾟ✧ drabbles ✧ﾟ･⊹

▷ two graves ▷ lost and found ▷ jeon

▷ catch the rabbit! (taehyung x yunjin)*

⊹･ﾟ✧ extras ✧ﾟ･⊹ ☆ playlist: • the soundtrack ☆ guides: intro guide ☆ moodboards: general • characters • drawings ☆ map: kkangpae castle ☆ asks : ask the disasters (open) | asks about the fic ☆ readers’ requests ➜ through asks! ⤷ pov reversals (requests: open) xxx ⤷ drabbles (requests: open) xxx

☆ disclaimer☆ this is a work of fiction. all characters and gang activities depicted are fictional. bts members are used for visual reference only.

© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

banners and dividers by @shadowkoo ( @eerieedits )