Before You're Here (part 3)
Pairing: Kim Gun-woo x Pregnant! Reader Word count: 5.2k Summary: Gun-woo wakes up in the hospital expecting relief. Instead, he finds a girlfriend who hasn't forgiven him for choosing to die for her. Warnings: hospital setting, emotional confrontation, crying gun-woo, pregnancy, hurt/comfort, happy ending. a/n1: finally, part 3 is here!!! life got a little busy, but it's here. thank you so much for all the love you've shown this series. i genuinely wasn't expecting it, and every comment, reblog, and message has made me ridiculously happy! i hope you enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing it. anyway, if you hear sobbing in the distance, it's probably me⌠or gun-woo. đđ¤ a/n2: now playing - she's in the rain by the rose
â read here: part 1 and part 2
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The first thing Gun-woo becomes aware of is the ache.
It sits deep in his body, heavy and unrelenting, settling into every bruise, every strained muscle, every injury he'd stopped noticing long before the fight was over. For a few seconds he doesn't understand where he is. Consciousness comes slowly, dragging him upward through fragments of memory that refuse to fit together properly. Concrete floors, blood, police sirens, a voice calling his name.
His brow tightens slightly, then an antiseptic smell reaches him. The realization that he is in the hospital settles in just as his eyes begin to open.
Light greets him first, pale morning sunlight filtering through partially closed blinds, followed by the faint hum of machinery somewhere nearby. Everything feels distant, muffled at the edges, as though his body hasn't quite decided whether it wants to wake up completely.
Then he sees you, and the confusion disappears immediately.
You're sitting beside the bed with your head resting against the wall behind you, one arm folded across your middle, the other hanging loosely at your side. Sometime during the night exhaustion must have finally caught up with you. Even from here he can see the tension lingering in your posture, the way your shoulders remain slightly drawn inward despite unconsciousness, as though your body hasn't yet received permission to relax.
Something painful twists in his chest. The last clear memory he has is watching Woo-jin drag you away while you fought him every step of the way. The image returns with uncomfortable clarity. The way you'd kept looking back at him as though refusing to believe he was actually staying behind. The way you screamed still echoes in his mind.Â
His jaw tightens. Slowly, carefully, he shifts his hand beneath the blanket and the movement hurts more than he expects. Enough that a quiet breath escapes him before he can stop it.
Your eyes open instantly. For a moment neither of you move.
Sleep disappears from your expression so quickly it almost seems impossible. One second you're exhausted, the next you're fully awake, your attention narrowing on him with the same intensity he'd seen countless times before.
Relief arrives first, he sees it immediately. It softens something in your face before you have the chance to stop it, washing over you so completely that it almost hurts to witness.
For one brief moment he allows himself to believe everything is okay.
Then, your calm expression disappears. Not completely, but enough for something else to take its place.
Gun-woo feels his stomach sink.
"...Hey."
His voice comes out rougher than intended. You don't answer immediately.
Instead, you stand so quickly the chair scrapes softly against the floor behind you, the sound cutting through the room with surprising sharpness. For a second he thinks you're about to throw your arms around him. The look on your face almost suggests it.
Instead, you reach for the call button beside the bed.
"I'm getting the doctor."
The words aren't cold, that would almost be easier. They're carefully measured, like you're holding something back.
The realization unsettles him more than anger would have. You disappear into the hallway before he can say anything else.
It takes the doctor twenty minutes to leave. Twenty minutes spent answering questions Gun-woo barely hears. Questions about pain levels, dizziness, vision, whether he remembers what happened or how many fingers he can see.Â
He answers automatically, his attention remaining fixed on the chair near the window. You haven't sat back down. Instead you've spent the entire conversation standing beside the glass with your arms folded tightly across your chest, staring outside as though the parking lot is somehow fascinating enough to deserve your complete attention.
You haven't looked at him once. The doctor finally leaves and the door closes behind him. The room becomes quiet again but still, you don't speak.
Gun-woo watches you for several seconds before finally breaking the silence himself.
"Are you okay?"
The question feels ridiculous the moment it leaves his mouth.
You're obviously not okay. You'd spent hours trying not to think about what he looked like when they finally carried him out. Trying not to replay the sight of blood smeared across his face, across his hands. Every time you closed your eyes, the image returned anyway. Not the fighter you knew. Just Gun-woo, broken in ways you'd never seen before.
In the midst of this chaos that was your mind, suddenly a wave of guilt settles heavily in your chest. The baby. Oh God. Your hand drifts instinctively toward your stomach. You wonder what any of this must have felt like for the tiny life growing inside you. Whether your racing heartbeat had become theirs. Whether they somehow felt every sleepless hour, every terrified thought, every moment you spent convinced they might grow up without ever knowing their father.
The thought hurts more than you expect. Quietly, almost unconsciously, you press your palm a little more firmly against your stomach.
I'm sorry.
The apology remains trapped inside your head.
âAre you okay? Did- did something happen?â, Gun-woo insists, his sore body tensing up watching you touching your stomach, already thinking the worst.Â
"The baby is fine." you answer quietly, taking a deep breath while trying to organize your thoughts.Â
Gun-woo closes his eyes. Relief hits hard enough to make his chest ache.
Thank God.
Thank God.
When he opens his eyes again, you're still standing by the window, still not looking at him. Slowly, carefully, he says your name. Nothing. Long seconds pass and still nothing.Â
Finally, you let out a laugh. The sound makes every instinct in his body sit up immediately. He's heard that laugh before, usually right before a conversation goes very, very badly.
"You know," you say quietly, still staring out the window, "I spent the entire night trying to decide whether I wanted to hug you or strangle you, if you woke up."
And suddenly, for the first time since waking up, he finds himself wishing he'd stayed unconscious a little longer.
The silence that follows settles heavily over the room.
For a few seconds neither of you says anything. The monitor beside his bed continues its steady rhythm, indifferent to the tension stretching between you, while sunlight slowly creeps further across the floor, filling the space with a warmth that feels entirely out of place. Gun-woo watches you from where he lies, taking in details he hadn't fully registered when he first woke up. The dark circles beneath your eyes. The untouched cup of coffee sitting on the table near the window, cold now, abandoned hours ago.Â
"Come here."
The request leaves him quietly, almost without thought. Under normal circumstances he wouldn't have needed to ask. You would already be sitting beside him, probably scolding him for trying to move too much or asking questions the doctors had already answered three separate times. Instead, you remain where you are, your gaze fixed stubbornly somewhere beyond the glass. The pause stretches long enough that he briefly wonders whether you're going to ignore him completely. Then your shoulders rise with a slow breath. Gun-woo lowers his gaze briefly.Â
Whatever is waiting for him isn't anger in its simplest form. It isn't the kind that burns hot and disappears quickly. This is heavier than that, it is fear that has been left alone for too long, given hours and hours to grow unchecked until it has wrapped itself around everything else. "You didn't even ask me."
The words leave you quietly, almost by accident.
For a moment, nothing changes. The room remains exactly as it was a second ago, washed in pale morning light and the steady rhythm of machines that seem entirely too calm for the conversation unfolding inside it. Somewhere down the hall, a cart rattles across the floor. A nurse laughs at something you can't hear. Life continues with a normalcy that feels almost offensive.
Gun-woo stares at you from the hospital bed. Confusion flickers across his face first.
"Ask you what?"
Suddenly you don't know where to begin. How do you explain something that isn't really anger? How do you explain the hollow ache that's been sitting in your chest since the warehouse? The resentment that refuses to settle because every time you try to be angry at him, you remember why he did it?
Your gaze drifts toward the window, toward anything except him.
"Whether I wanted to leave."
The answer comes out softer than you intended. Exhaustion has stripped away most of the fight by now, all that's left is honesty. A bitter smile touches your lips.
"I know why you did it."
Something shifts in his expression immediately, not quite relief but something close to it, because of course you know, you always knew. That was never the problem. You shake your head before he can interrupt, your throat tightening painfully.
"That's what makes it so frustrating."
Your voice cracks around the words, and you fold your arms tighter across your chest as the cold of the room suddenly settles into your bones. Understanding should make things easier, but somehow it only makes everything worse.
"I understand. I know you were trying to save me. I know you looked at that situation and thought it was the only way."
The words come carefully, as if you're handling something fragile. When you look at him again, all you can see are the bruises, the stitches, the proof of what that decision cost him. Your chest aches so sharply that you have to glance away for a moment. Even now, seeing him like this hurts more than you can put into words.
"I know you would've done anything to get me out of there. But⌠you never stopped to think about what you were asking me to do."
His expression falters, just enough for you to notice. Your eyes burn, exhaustion and grief blurring together.
"You made the decision like it was obvious. You looked at me and decided that if one of us had to walk away, it would be me."
Something tightens in his jaw, but you keep going because if you stop now, you'll never finish.
"And maybe that was the right choice. I don't know. I honestly don't know anymore."
A broken laugh escapes you as you blink against the tears threatening to fall.
"I just know that you decided I could survive losing you."
The silence that follows feels enormous. You've finally reached the truth buried beneath all the anger, the fear, and the endless hours spent beside his hospital bed waiting for him to wake up.
"I sat beside that bed imagining a future where our baby never met you. I kept thinking about what I would tell them. What stories would I tell?â
A tear slips down your cheek, and this time you don't bother wiping it away. Gun-woo can only stare at you, as though every word is landing somewhere he never expected it to.
When your eyes finally meet his again, the anger is gone, leaving only the truth behind.
"I know you were trying to save me, but did you ever stop and think about what surviving without you would've looked like for me?"
The question hangs between you, quiet and devastating. This isn't about the warehouse anymore, or the fight, or Baek-jeon. It's about the fact that Gun-woo was willing to die for you and never once stopped to consider that you would've been the one left behind to live with it.
âYou never stopped to think that maybe I wouldâve chosen you too.â
Gun-woo could only stare. You watched the realization hit him in real time, watched confusion give way to something fragile and devastating. His gaze dropped immediately, one hand dragging roughly across his face as if he could wipe away the emotion threatening to overwhelm him. A shaky breath escaped him, then another. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded strained, almost desperate.
âYou couldnât,â he whispered. âYou couldnât choose me.â
You frowned, not understanding. âWhat are you talking about?â
Gun-woo shook his head, wincing from the pain the movement caused, but he barely seemed to notice. His eyes were already shining with tears. âYouâre pregnant,â he said, the words breaking apart as they left him. âYouâre carrying our baby.â
âYou donât understand,â he continued, his eyes red with tears.Â
âWhen I saw you there, all I could think about was getting you out.â His voice caught, and he swallowed hard. âYou were scared, I knew you were scared. And all I could think was that they would hurt you. They would hurt our baby. I couldnât let that happen. I couldnât.â
The confession tore out of him raw and unfiltered, and your own eyes filled immediately.
Until now, every fear Gun-woo had carried since that day had been pointed in one direction. Toward you, toward the baby. Toward the future that had almost been taken from him before he'd even had the chance to touch it.
In his mind, the choice had always felt simple, no matter how much it hurt. If protecting you meant risking himself, then there was no choice at all. There never had been. He would have made it again and again without hesitation, because the thought of something happening to either of you had been unbearable. The thought of losing you had followed him into every nightmare, every dark corner of his mind, every moment he had spent staring down men who wanted to use the people he loved against him. That fear had been with him for so long that it had become part of him. Tears spilled freely down his face now, unchecked and relentless, and for once Gun-woo made no attempt to hide them. There was no embarrassment left in him, no instinct to pull himself together. Everything he had spent days holding back, every moment of fear he had swallowed down because there had always been something more important to focus on, came rushing out all at once. The helplessness he had felt standing in that warehouse knowing there was no perfect choice. The horror of realizing just how close he had come to never seeing either of you again.
And underneath all of it was love. So much love that it hurt. Love that had driven every decision he'd made. âIâm sorry, (Y/n)â, he practically beggs, defeat filling his voice. âIâm so sorry-â. As you look at Gun-woo sitting there in front of you, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs, you realize you can't stand another second of being this far away from him.
You cross the room in a rush, your feet carrying you forward so quickly it's almost a stumble. All you know is that you've spent the last days terrified of losing him. You've spent the whole night imagining an empty bed, and futures that didn't include him. You've imagined every terrible possibility your mind could create. And now he's here, alive, breathing, looking at you, crying because he loves you so much it hurts. The distance between you suddenly feels unbearable.
"Hey, hey..." you whisper, your voice breaking before you can stop it. Gun-woo looks up just as you reach him and sink down beside the bed. Without thinking, you pull him toward you, and Gun-woo comes immediately, like he's been fighting the urge to do exactly that since the moment he woke up. His forehead presses against yours, and suddenly neither of you is speaking anymore. Words no longer seem necessary. You're simply there together, breathing the same air, crying the same tears, holding onto each other like survivors who have finally found their way home. Your eyes drift closed, and his do too.
For a long moment, the entire world shrinks down to this single point in time, the warmth of his skin beneath your hands, the trembling breaths leaving his lungs, the feeling of his fingers finding yours and holding on tightly, and the overwhelming, almost painful relief of knowing that he's here. Still here. Still yours. You donât notice who moves first. Only that somehow you're both leaning closer, drawn together until there is no space left between you at all. The smell of his skin instantly makes you calm down. "You're here," you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. They sound small, fragile, almost disbelieving.
Gun-woo lets out a shaky breath. One of his hands rises to cover yours where it rests against his cheek, holding it there as though he needs the reassurance that you're real too. "I'm here."
His voice sounds wrecked, like every emotion he's been forcing down has finally surfaced all at once. You nod, then immediately shake your head as fresh tears blur your vision. A watery laugh escapes you, surprising even yourself. Maybe you're overwhelmed. Maybe you're relieved. Maybe after everything that happened, you still can't quite believe this moment is real.
"You scared me so much."
The words crack apart as they leave your lips, and Gun-woo's face crumples all over again.
"I'm sorry."
The apology comes instantly, instinctively, but you shake your head and press your forehead more firmly against his. Your fingers slide gently into his hair, combing through the dark strands in a familiar gesture you've repeated countless times before.
"No," you whisper softly. "It's over."
His breathing catches, and you feel it.
"It's over. We're here."
A soft, broken sound escapes him before his gaze drops slowly, almost hesitantly, toward your stomach. The movement is so small you nearly miss it, but the moment you notice, your chest tightens. Of course he's thinking about the baby too. The tiny life caught in the middle of all this. The tiny life he'd been trying so desperately to protect. Â
Fresh tears immediately fill his eyes. Then, with a care that makes your heart ache, Gun-woo lowers himself. His arms slide around your waist and around your stomach, and suddenly he's holding both of you. Holding you with a desperation so profound it steals the breath from your lungs.
His face presses against your bump, his eyes squeezing shut, and for several long seconds he can't speak at all. You feel his shoulders trembling beneath your hands. Feel the way he clings to you as though he's reassuring himself that you're real, that the baby is real, that he didn't lose either of you. Your fingers disappear into his hair automatically, stroking gently through the dark strands. The gesture is instinctive, comforting him the same way he's comforted you so many times before.
A tear slips down your cheek, then another. Your hand settles protectively over the place where he's holding your stomach, where your child is growing, where your future still exists. Your words come naturally then, soft enough to be almost a whisper.
"Hi, my love."
Your smile trembles as fresh tears gather in your eyes.
"Daddy's back."
Gu-wooâs arms tighten around you. For several seconds he simply buries his face against you, overwhelmed by emotions too large to fit inside him.
Then, finally, he lifts his head just enough to speak. His hand spreads carefully across your stomach, protective, gentle, reverent. When he speaks, his voice is shaking, raw and thick with tears, but steady in the way promises are steady.
"I'm here," he whispers. He takes another breath, another tear slipping free. "I promise I'm here."
His eyes close again before he continues, his thumb brushing slowly across your stomach as though he's already trying to memorize the shape of the life growing there.
"I won't leave you."
The words are directed at the baby, but somehow they feel meant for both of you.
"I won't leave you or your mom ever again," he says, his voice breaking completely. A sob catches in his throat, but he keeps going anyway, speaking through the tears, through the fear, through the love. "I promise."
His forehead comes to rest against your stomach once more, his arms tightening around both of you as though he never intends to let go again.
As you continue stroking his hair, tears slipping quietly down your own face, you find yourself looking upward for a moment, toward nothing in particular and toward everything all at once. You silently thank God, fate, or whoever might be listening. Because somehow, against every nightmare that had threatened to take this future away from you, you're back in each other's arms.
When the tears finally begin to settle, you pull back just enough to look at him properly. Your gaze drifts over the bruises scattered across his face, and despite everything, a laugh escapes you.
"What?" Gun-woo asks, immediately suspicious.
You shake your head.
"It's actually annoying."
His brow furrows. "What is?"
"The fact that you look like that and you're still handsome."
For a second, he simply stares before a surprised laugh breaks free. The smile that follows reaches his eyes, softening his entire face and making him blush, despite every bruise and stitch still healing there.
You point at him immediately.
"See? That's exactly what I'm talking about."
His laughter only grows, warm and genuine, and for the first time all day, no one is crying.
Later, when the room has finally gone quiet, you settle carefully against his side, your head resting on his chest while his arm wraps securely around you. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat fills the silence between you, familiar and comforting in a way that makes something deep inside your chest finally relax.
With your hand resting over his and his heartbeat beneath your ear, sleep finds you long before you're ready for it. And this time, you let it.
- - -
The first few days after Gun-woo comes home are strange in a way neither of you quite knows how to talk about. On paper, everything is improving. The bruises covering his body are finally beginning to fade, turning dull shades of yellow and green instead of the angry purple that had greeted you every morning in the hospital. The stitches no longer look quite so severe. The doctors are satisfied with his recovery. You are sleeping through the night again.
Little by little, the house begins settling back into routines that once felt so ordinary you barely noticed them: shared meals around the table, television playing quietly in the evenings, Woo-jin helping himself to food and pretending he hadn't.
The problem is that Gun-woo never seems to settle with the rest of it.
At first, it's easy to dismiss. Nobody expects him to bounce back immediately after everything that happened. You certainly don't. But as the days pass, certain things become impossible to ignore.
He checks the locks every night before bed, then checks them again a few minutes later. Whenever you leave a room, his eyes follow you automatically, tracking your movements until you're out of sight. If you take longer than expected coming back from somewhere, he notices. Every single time. More than once, you've caught him staring at you with a strange intensity, as though reassuring himself that you're still there. When you ask what's wrong, he always offers the same answer, accompanied by a small shake of his head and an attempt at a smile.
"Nothing."
It's never nothing and of course Woo-jin notices. He's known Gun-woo for too long not to.
The realization finally comes one afternoon while you're upstairs taking a shower. Nothing unusual. The television murmurs quietly from the living room while Woo-jin scrolls through his phone, only half paying attention to whatever is on the screen. At some point, he realizes the room has become suspiciously quiet. Looking up, he discovers Gun-woo is no longer sitting beside him.
It takes only a few seconds to find him, standing in the hallway, just outside the bathroom door.Â
Woo-jin watches him for a moment before lowering his phone.
"What are you doing?"
Gun-woo glances over immediately, almost as though he'd forgotten anyone else was in the house.
"Nothing."
Woo-jin lets out a short laugh.
"Bullshit."
A frown immediately settles across Gun-woo's face.
"What?"
"You've been standing there for at least five minutes."
"I have not."
"You absolutely have."
The denial might have been convincing if Gun-woo's attention hadn't immediately flickered back toward the bathroom door before returning to him. The movement lasts less than a second, but it tells Woo-jin everything he needs to know. A slow understanding begins settling into place, accompanied by a growing sense of concern.
"She can take a shower by herself, you know."
"I know that."
"Do you?"
Behind the closed door, water continues running steadily. The house is quiet, perfectly safe. The sort of afternoon neither of them would have thought twice about a few months ago. And yet Gun-woo still looks tense, his shoulders tight beneath his shirt, his attention divided between Woo-jin and the sound of water on the other side of the wall.
Finally, Woo-jin exhales.
"You're acting like she's going to disappear.â
Gun-woo looks away. The movement is small enough that most people would've missed it, but Woo-jin doesn't.
"She almost did."
For a moment, neither of them says anything. Gun-woo's gaze remains fixed somewhere beyond the hallway, beyond the walls of the house, somewhere much farther away.
"I keep thinking about it," he admits after a while, his voice carrying a kind of exhaustion that has nothing to do with physical recovery. "What if we'd gotten there later? What if Baek-jeon changed his mind? What if we couldn't get to her?"
He cuts himself off before finishing the thought, but he doesn't need to continue.
Woo-jin already knows how the sentence ends. What if she'd died? What if the baby had? What if he'd lost everything? The possibilities remain unspoken, lingering heavily between them.
Gun-woo drags a hand across his face.
"I know she's safe," he says quietly. Frustration flashes briefly across his expression.
"So why does it still feel like I need to check?"
The question sounds genuine. Confused. As though some part of him keeps reacting before the rest of his mind can catch up. Woo-jin studies him for a long moment before finally shaking his head.
"Because you're scared."
"I'm not scared."
"Sure."
"I'm not."
Woo-jin almost laughs.
Instead, he folds his arms across his chest.
"You got beaten half to death. Your pregnant girlfriend got kidnapped. You almost lost both of them."
The words land one after another, impossible to dodge.
"You'd be insane if you weren't scared. I think, maybe⌠a part of you is still trapped in that warehouse."
For the first time since the conversation started, Gun-woo doesn't answer.
âI know it was awful. Sometimes, even I have flashbacks to those moments. But we gotta remember itâs over.â
Woo-jin watches him for a moment longer before pushing himself away from the wall and stepping closer. Gun-woo doesn't look up, and he doesn't seem to notice until Woo-jin's hand settles firmly on his shoulder. The contact is simple but steady.
For a few seconds, they are silent. Then Woo-jin gives his shoulder a small squeeze.
"You don't have to keep saving her," he says quietly. Gun-woo lets out a tired breath.
Woo-jin's expression softens as he keeps his hand where it is. "She's safe," he says gently. "She's home. And she's not going anywhere."
Gun-woo's jaw tightens slightly, and Woo-jin understands why. Some fears don't disappear just because they're irrational, and some scars linger long after the wounds themselves have healed. Even so, he keeps talking.
"And even if something ever happens again, you won't be dealing with it alone."
That finally gets Gun-woo to look at him. Woo-jin meets his gaze without hesitation, his hand still resting on his shoulder.
"You've got me," he says. "Whatever comes next, I'll be there. For her. For the baby. For you."
Woo-jin gives him one last squeeze before letting his hand fall away.
"You think I'll ever let something happen to my niece or nephew?" he asks, snorting softly as though the very idea is ridiculous. "Nah. Over my dead body." The words settle somewhere deep inside Gun-woo, slipping past all the fear and guilt and anxiety he's been carrying for weeks and finding a place he hadn't realized needed the reassurance quite so badly. He stares at Woo-jin for a second, and something in his expression softens completely.
His eyes sting unexpectedly.
"Thank you, hyung."
Woo-jin glances at him.
"For what?"
"For always being here."
His gaze drops briefly toward her stomach in his imagination, toward the future that still feels so new he barely knows what to do with it.
"You'll be the best uncle."
For a second, Woo-jin just looks at him.
Then something unmistakably proud flashes across his face.
"Obviously. If this kid likes me more than you, don't get jealous."
Gun-woo immediately scoffs.
"Impossible."
Woo-jin nods thoughtfully.
"Yeah, they'll probably like Grandma more than both of us."
They both agree and laugh, like nothing bad has ever happened.
Gun-wooâs arms suddenly tighten around Woo-jin instinctively, emotion catching him off guard as the reality of everything settles heavily in his chest.
"Seriously... thank you," he murmured, his voice rough with sincerity. Woo-jin immediately reached up and squeezed the back of his neck, the familiar gesture grounding him the same way it always had.
"You don't have to thank me," he replied firmly.
When Gun-woo started to argue, Woo-jin simply shook his head. To him, there had never been anything remarkable about showing up for Gun-woo, not in the gym, not in the streets, not in that warehouse.
"That's my family too," he said quietly.
Gun-woo found himself closing his eyes for a moment as gratitude and relief washed through him. Family had once meant only his mother. Now it meant something much bigger: you, their baby, and the brother standing in his arms.
The bathroom door opened before either of them had fully recovered from the conversation. You stepped into the hallway, still drying your hair with a towel, only to stop when you noticed the strange expressions on both their faces. Gun-woo looked suspiciously emotional. Woo-jin wasn't meeting anyone's eyes, and they were standing just a little too close to each other. A grin immediately spread across your face.
"...Were you both crying?"
The reaction was instant.
"What?" Gun-woo blurted out.
"No," Woo-jin answered at the same time.
You stared at them for a second before your grin widened. Neither of them looked remotely convincing. Gun-woo's eyes were still slightly red, and when you pointed it out, he immediately rubbed at them in a failed attempt to hide the evidence. The more they denied it, the more suspicious they looked, until eventually you started laughing.
"Hm," you hummed as you walked over and settled naturally beside Gun-woo. His arm wrapped around your shoulders immediately, automatic and familiar. "I leave you two alone for twenty minutes and suddenly you're having emotional bonding time."
"We were not," they both insisted.
"You hugged, didn't you?"
The silence that followed answered the question before either of them could.
Your jaw dropped. "Oh my God, you did."
Woo-jin groaned while Gun-woo immediately started laughing, and within seconds all three of you were laughing together. The sound filled the hallway, warm and easy and wonderfully ordinary, and for the first time in what felt like forever, there was no danger waiting around the corner. Just home.
As Gun-woo pulled you a little closer against his side, listening to your laughter mix with Woo-jin's, he found himself thinking that maybe this was what moving forward finally looked like. Finding his way back to moments like this, one ordinary day at a time.
âââââââ ââ ââ â âââââââ đ tagging all my lovelies who left comments on part 2: @art03101 @satorustorm @jisoonnieslover @yoongishawtyyy @meiisamotherbitch @shamidreamer @practicalmagiick @miacullenstark @jaidawouldneva @ayookeikooo @blkbaecrimsonx @hsqvdk @revenger-barnes @hollxe1 @butter-scout @vonpeachy @nnkento
