Hi guys! Nini here and welcome to my blog!💛🌻This list is for easier navigation. If you have a request or scenario you want me to do, just send me a message I'll see what I can do😊💌
i mean it is connected to mcu technically😅 (ngl i have waited years for someone to ask hahah)
scarlet is for scarlet witch, my fave character in the mcu. and for winter, it's for sansa stark or really just the starks from game of thrones. i juust love them both so much, i was obsessed with those two franchise. and happy coincidence my bias in aespa is winter hahah so yea it's just basically all my girlies🤍😅
HI HI HI!!! Just wanted to quickly hop on here before I get ready for work (rip lol)
I ABSOLUTELY LOVE BACKBURNER!!!! I waited for part 2 to come out before reading it all, but I reblogges it on my reblog acc when part one first came out. Words cannot express how excited I was when I saw part 2!!
It was so beautifully written and I love their dynamic and I especially love how you wrote Wonwoo as that kind of annoying work friend HAHAHAHA his character was such a breath of fresh air after seungcheol's angsty side and all.
I'm excited for your other works!
hiiiiiii ~ thank you so muchhhhhh🥺🙇♀️
I agree hahaha wonwoo's character here definitely balanced cheol here. I try and do that whenever I write my fics, whichever duo or friendgroup i write i try and balance them. Apart from the fluff, I love writing about the friendship between the characters. the banter, the jokes😹
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
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.
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.
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.
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🤍
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.
thank you for finding me when I needed you the most, my 13. I would never stop using all my wishes on you because the universe always makes it come true. Thank you for healing a heart you didn't even break. Let's meet again in our next lives🤍
I’m sure you know by now how loved your writing and fics are, but I also wanted to show my appreciation for your work, especially after reading Casualties of Chemistry.
I’ve been a silent reader for a while and in the last 6 months have been dealing with a sick family member, in and out of the hospital every few weeks and dealing with long chemo treatments. Your writing has kept me company many many times during those long hospital visits, or just when I need an hour to decompress from all the stress. I’ve genuinely lost count how many times I’ve read The Archer and How Long Before We Fall in Love, they have definitely become some comfort reads.
As the other anon wrote, I do hope you get to write a book one day. I’ll definitely be there to purchase a copy if you do!
first, let me send the warmest hug to you🥺🫂🤍
honestly, not even joking or overacting, my heart gets all happy and warm with every single like, comment, message, reblog each of my stories get. i think i've mentioned before, but all the characters i write in a way is a part of me. like there's a always a little quirk or a quick scene or even a line that i've said myself in real life. my stories are some versions of me, and i want to share nothing but happiness and love.
i don't really know who will read my posts, who will come across it, if they'll like it, if they would be able to relate to it or have fun when they read it, but my main goal always is to make stories that ends with some version of a happy ever after. a little escape from this complicated life. i'm glad my stories were there for you🤍
andddd one day when the universe gives me the chance, let me send you a copy. hope you're doing okay, see you on the next fic okay?🤍🫂
My dear you really should write a book, it must be a lot of pressure I imagine to do so but you deserve all the recognition and monetary benefits that will come from it!!! But nevertheless, thank you for all the beautiful writing you share so passionately here. It brings so much joy and comfort to me!
i'm going to cry🥺 thank you so so so much. being an author was my childhood dream, my entire academic life if anyone asked me what i wanted to be when i grew up i would always say a writer.
I've always had a love for reading and writing. I used to handwrite plots during class, a whole notebook full of poems, finish a book in one seating😅 then college happened, i guess that's when the first wave of creative burnout hit me and i sadly chose to change my major. but my love for writing never really went away.
that's why when i opened this account, it became an outlet for me. i'm just glad others see it that way too. when they read my stories, this blog, my stories become a temporary escape for them too the same way writing became mine.
Maybe maybeeeee one day, the stars will align for me and I will release a book. See you all when that time comes🤍 but until then, i'll be your Nini here. Thank youuuuuu so much🌻
casualties of chemistry - choi seungcheol imagine finale
and here we are🤍 thank you so much for loving this fic. truly it's been a rollercoaster. I had so much writing it, seeing the response it got made me sooooo happy🥺tbh every time i post a fic, that's exactly how i feel. To have something I only imagined, something that only existed in my mind, and have it loved by others it always make my hear feel warm.
Like neither of you say the words fully because speaking them too clearly might make everything too real. The last day before he went the atmosphere was heavy despite trying to find the light.
Even when the both of you try to not show the fear, the worry was obvious behind your eyes.
The last night, while you help him pack his stuff he takes a simple gold chain from his drawer and put the ring there before clasping it around your neck. He tucks the chain with the ring carefully beneath your shirt himself.
Neither of you says What if this is the last time because neither of you can survive hearing it out loud.
Then he was gone.
The first few weeks aren’t too bad. You get three updates total. Short. Obviously screened for safety but still it was enough to ease your heart and mind even for a bit. Enough to know he’s alive. Enough to keep breathing easier for another few days.
Cheol: Don’t forget to eat.
Cheol: Don’t drink too much coffee, take a cab if you’re too sleepy to take the bus
Cheol: I miss you
After that, it was silence.
Your own messages stop delivering entirely. Calls unreachable. No updates. Nothing. And logically, you know what that means. Operational security. Dangerous mission.
He told you enough information to know when this happens it means he’s in the middle of it all. The most dangerous part.
Eight weeks pass then nine. Ten. Then suddenly it’s been twenty six weeks total. One Hundred Eighty Two days.
Too long. Far too long.
Your shifts become harder somehow during this stretch.
You’re still Dr. Y/L/N in the ER. Still terrifyingly composed during trauma calls but now exhaustion follows you home differently because there’s no one waiting outside the hospital with coffee.
Just silence.
The ring stays around your neck every single day. Simple chain. Simple promise.
Sometimes during particularly bad shifts, your fingers curl around it instinctively beneath your scrubs. Like touching it grounds you.
Nurse Yang notices once while you’re scrubbing in for surgery.
“No news?”
You shake your head once but you repeat his words to yourself constantly now.
No news is good news.
Meaning somewhere out there… He’s alive. Somewhere out there Captain Choi Seungcheol is still fighting his way back to you.
That thought becomes enough to survive on. But logic becomes a fragile thing at 2 a.m. when you’re staring at your phone rereading old messages like they might suddenly update themselves.
Some nights are worse. You’ll sit alone in his apartment curled into the couch wearing one of his sweatshirts while rain taps softly against the windows.
The city glowing outside. That’s when your mind drifts too easily to possibilities, to worst-case scenarios, to all the things trauma surgeons know too well about fragile human bodies.
Those are the nights you force yourself toward the shelf with his medals instead.
Toward proof that he survived before, that he came back before.
Proof that Captain Choi Seungcheol is too stubborn to lose.
One particularly brutal night after losing a patient in surgery, you come home shaking with exhaustion. You barely make it through the apartment door before sinking onto his couch still in scrubs.
And for the first time since he left, you break. Exhausted tears hidden behind your hands because you miss him so much it physically hurts.
And eventually your hand slips beneath your shirt automatically until your fingers curl around the ring resting against your chest.
You close your eyes tightly and whisper into the empty apartment “You better come home, Captain.”
The silence afterward feels endless but somehow somewhere deep down beneath all the fear you still believe he will.
=
Thursday starts like every other impossible hospital day. Too bright fluorescent lights. Too much blood. Too little sleep.
You’ve been awake for almost twenty hours when you finally finish a trauma surgery that nearly went sideways twice.
By the time you step out of the OR, your scrubs are sticking to your skin and your shoulders ache from tension.
Still you saved them. So you scrub your hands slowly at the sink afterward trying to steady your breathing again.
Another life dragged back from the edge. Another day survived.
You’re already mentally preparing for charting when you push through the ER doors.
And then you see him, an officer standing near the nurses’ station.
Military uniform. Formal posture waiting by the main lobby. At first your brain doesn’t process it. Hospitals get officers sometimes. Paperwork. Routine check-ups.
You glance around briefly assuming he’s here for someone else.
Then he looks directly at you.
And suddenly every cell in your body goes cold.
No.
No no no.
The world narrows instantly.
You stop walking. The officer takes one careful step forward.
“Dr. Y/L/N?”
Your heartbeat becomes deafening.
Somewhere far away monitors keep beeping. Nurses move past. Someone calls for transport but all you can hear is blood roaring in your ears.
The officer’s expression shifts subtly.
Gentler.
Prepared.
And you know. You know before he even speaks.
The floor beneath your feet feels like it physically gives out
“Captain Choi Seungcheol was injured during deployment—”
No.
“—he was airlifted immediately—”
No.
“—he’s currently being transferred to the base hospital—”
No.
“—doctors are already operating—”
Operating.
“—the injuries were severe—”
Your breathing stutters violently.
“—he’s unconscious—”
The word slams into you hardest.
Unconscious.
Everything after that blurs.
Too close. Critical. Heavy blood loss.
None of it makes sense because this morning you were literally thinking about him while making coffee, because his hoodie you wore last night is still hanging over the couch.
Because he promised.
You stare at the officer but suddenly can’t feel your hands properly. Your fingers curl instinctively around the ring beneath your scrubs.
Cold metal against shaking skin.
No.
No no no.
Not him.
Not Seungcheol. Not your Seungcheol.
Your vision blurs instantly. The hallway tilts sickeningly.
Then somewhere nearby “Doctor Y/N?” Nurse Yang spots you talking to the officer, walking slowly towards you.
Bless Nurse Yang. She takes one look at your face from down the hall and immediately knows something is wrong.
“Y/N?”
Your knees buckle before you even realize it. The floor rushes up terrifyingly fast. Then suddenly arms catch you halfway down.
Voices erupt around you.
“Get a chair—”
“She’s pale—”
“Doctor, breathe—”
But all you can hear is:
Unconscious.
Severe.
Operating.
You start crying before you even realize you are. Terrified broken sobs that rip out of your chest uncontrollably while Nurse Yang kneels in front of you holding your face steady.
“Hey hey hey—look at me”
Your breathing turns sharp and uneven
“I can’t—” you choke out “I can’t—”
“Yes you can” her hands wipe your tears quickly like she’s done this your entire life, purely maternal. Grounding. Steady.
You grip desperately at her sleeves
“Where is he?” you choke out in between sobs
The officer answers carefully, “He arrived at the military hospital approximately twenty minutes ago.”
“Is he alive?” The question comes out broken. Barely audible.
The officer pauses just long enough to destroy you further
“Yes.”
You inhale shakily. Alive.
Alive.
Alive.
You cling to the word immediately.
Nurse Yang smooths your hair back gently while you struggle to breathe through the panic crushing your chest.
“You need to go” she says softly
Your eyes snap to hers immediately “But—”
“He needs you more right now.” That nearly breaks you all over again.
You shake violently while trying to stand. Doctor instincts and terrified girlfriend instincts colliding painfully together.
Your brain keeps supplying possibilities automatically.
Internal bleeding. Head trauma. Ventilator. Emergency thoracotomy.
You know too much. Far too much.
“Hey.” Nurse Yang grips your shoulders firmly before you spiral further “Don’t do that to yourself yet.”
Your eyes fill again instantly “What if I’m too late?”
Her expression softens painfully “This is the same man who waited for you for seven hours. I’m betting everything that even now he’s fighting his way back to you”
Neither of you can promise that and you both know it but she still says it to you.
The officer offers to escort you immediately. Someone brings your bag. Someone else presses water into your shaking hands.
The ER around you keeps moving. Life continuing cruelly normal while yours cracks apart in real time.
As you walk out of the hospital, your fingers clutch the ring beneath your scrubs so tightly it hurts.
Your engagement ring.
Your promise.
Your Seungcheol.
Please. Please come back to me.
Because suddenly the thought of a world without Captain Choi Seungcheol in it feels impossible to survive.
The drive to the base feels unreal, it felt like you’re watching someone else’s life happen through thick glass.
The officer beside you speaks occasionally.
You think. Maybe. The words barely register. Everything sounds distorted underwater.
Your hands won’t stop shaking. You keep rubbing your thumb against the ring hanging beneath your shirt until the skin feels raw.
Outside the car window, the city passes in blurred streaks of light. Entire worlds continuing normally while yours feels suspended somewhere between hope and catastrophe.
By the time you reach the military base hospital, your body is running purely on adrenaline and terror.
Everything there feels colder somehow. Security escorts you through corridors too clean and too quiet.
You catch glimpses of uniforms. Doctors moving quickly. Restricted doors.
No one tells you much. Only fragments.
“He’s still in surgery.” “There was significant blood loss.” “Multiple shrapnel injuries.” “Close-range impact.”
Each sentence lands like another crack splitting through your chest. And because you’re a doctor that makes this infinitely worse. You know what significant blood loss means. You know how dangerous shrapnel is, how unpredictable.
How one tiny fragment can tear through organs and arteries like paper.
Your brain fills in every possibility automatically no matter how hard you try stopping it.
You imagine ventilators. Chest tubes. Open abdomen. Internal hemorrhage.
You hate yourself for knowing too much.
They settle you in a waiting area eventually.
Someone offers water, coffee, food but you refuse all of it. You can’t swallow properly anyway.
Hours pass strangely after that. Time becomes measured in footsteps outside the OR and every time the doors swing open your heart nearly stops.
At some point an officer quietly approaches you again.
Older. Gentler expression. The kind reserved for terrible conversations.
Your stomach drops instantly.
“Dr. Y/L/N,” he says carefully “may we speak privately for a moment?”
No.
You already know what kind of conversation this is before he even finishes.
You stand. Your legs feel numb walking into the quieter office nearby.
The officer gestures toward a chair.
“Captain Choi updated his records before deployment.”
Your chest tightens violently. The forms, the ones at the dining table. The ones you cried over.
The officer continues carefully
“In the event of worst-case outcomes, you were designated primary next of kin regarding medical authorization and personal directives.”
Worst-case outcomes. Your vision blurs immediately again.
The officer slides a folder carefully across the desk. Inside are signatures you recognize instantly.
Seungcheol’s handwriting.
Steady. Certain. Prepared.
Prepared for things he never prepared you for.
Your breath catches painfully.
“There are protocols we may need to discuss if his condition worsens—”
“No.” The word leaves you instantly. Sharp.
The officer pauses gently “Doctor—”
“No.” You back away slightly from the desk
Because if you let this become real. if you let yourself imagine life support decisions and emergency directives and memorial procedures. You’ll shatter completely.
“He’s alive,” you whisper desperately
“Yes”
“So don’t talk to me like he’s not coming back”
Then it was just silence again. Not the comforting kind, heavy. Too loud.
The officer’s expression softens further. Not pity. Something sadder. Understanding.
“Captain Choi spoke very highly of you” he says quietly instead
You look away quickly before another sob escapes. The officer thankfully doesn’t push further.
Eventually he guides you back toward the surgical floor where the waiting becomes unbearable again.
Hour four.
Hour five.
Hour six.
You don’t move.
Not really.
You sit curled slightly forward in the chair outside surgery with your hands clasped so tightly together your knuckles ache.
Every doctor who walks past makes your head snap up instantly. Every time it’s not his surgeon, disappointment crashes into you again. Someone drapes a blanket over your shoulders at some point.
You don’t notice who.
Your eyes burn continuously from exhaustion and crying.
Still you stay.
Because what if he wakes up? What if he asks for you?
What if—
You can’t not be there.
By hour seven you’ve started bargaining silently with every higher power you’ve never properly believed in.
Please. Take anything. Take sleep. Take years off your life.
Just let him survive this.
Just let him come home.
Please.
Then finally by hour eight the surgery doors open again. This time a doctor steps out removing his surgical cap slowly. And immediately you know this is it.
Your body jerks upright so fast the chair nearly tips over behind you.
Your heartbeat becomes violent.
The surgeon looks exhausted. Blood still staining part of his scrub sleeve.
You cross the distance toward him before he even fully reaches you.
“How is he?” Your voice breaks halfway through the question
The doctor studies your face for one terrible endless second “He survived the surgery.”
The air leaves your lungs so sharply it hurts.You physically stagger with relief.
Alive.
Alive.
Alive.
But the doctor’s expression stays serious.
“He lost a dangerous amount of blood,” he continues carefully “There was significant internal damage. We removed the shrapnel we could safely access”
Your chest tightens again instantly.
“He’s critical right now,” the surgeon says honestly “The next twenty-four hours are extremely important.”
Not safe yet. Not stable. But alive. You understand fully what he’s talking about but still it’s like the words are not sinking in.
You nod shakily while tears spill again despite yourself.
“Can I see him?”
“…Yes.”
And suddenly your legs almost give out from relief and terror all over again.
Because Captain Choi Seungcheol survived.
Barely but he’s still here.
Still yours to hold onto.
The first twelve hours pass with your heart lodged permanently in your throat. You didn’t even dare to sleep even when your eyes hurt and every fibre of your being was beyond exhausted.
The fear is still flowing stronger in your system that every time you so much close your eyes for 5 seconds, every ugly outcome plays in your head.
So you stay awake through the night, until the day breaks again and the world continues turning while yours stay suspended.
Every monitor beep becomes life or death.
Every slight shift in his vitals sends adrenaline through your bloodstream instantly.
You barely sleep. Barely eat. Barely move from the chair beside his bed.
But he makes it through the night.
Then another and another.
By the second day, the doctors cautiously stop using the word critical every other sentence.
By then you finally breathe slightly easier. Not fully but enough to stop feeling like the world might end every time a nurse walks toward his room.
As a doctor, you know exactly what his body is doing right now. Healing takes time especially after trauma like this. You know waking him too early would only strain recovery further.
So instead you wait.
That becomes your entire existence. Waiting, watching, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat through machines.
Sometimes talking quietly to him when the room gets too silent.
Telling him about your shifts.
About Nurse Yang threatening to physically drag you home if you didn’t shower soon.
About how Minho nearly cried seeing him in surgery recovery.
Anything. Everything.
Because the idea of him waking up alone feels unbearable somehow.
By day three, nearly everyone on the floor knows you.
The exhausted ER doctor who refuses to leave Captain Choi’s bedside.
The nurses start bringing you coffee without asking, one older nurse even gently scolds you for sleeping bent over his bed like you’re trying to become part of the furniture.
Nurse Yang arrives that afternoon carrying an overnight bag and enough judgment in her face to rival a disappointed mother.
“You look horrible” she says immediately
You nearly cry from affection alone “You came.”
“Obviously.” She hands you the bag then hugs you tightly. Exactly what you needed after all these days.
“Fresh clothes. Toothbrush. Skin care because frankly this situation is tragic.”
You laugh weakly for the first time in days. Then immediately start crying afterward anyway because exhaustion makes emotions ridiculous.
Nurse Yang hugs you tightly again “He’s alive,” she reminds softly
You nod shakily against her shoulder “I know.”
Still you don’t leave. Even after showering in the hospital facilities and changing clothes, you return right back to his bedside.
Because this is where you belong right now. Beside him. Waiting for him to come back fully.
And finally on the third night Seungcheol wakes up.
At first, it’s pain.
Everywhere.
Heavy. Blunt. Like his entire body’s been shattered apart and stitched back together wrong.
His chest burns. Hiis ribs ache sharply every time he breathes. Something pulls unpleasantly at his arm. Machines beep steadily nearby.
Then memory crashes back all at once.
The mission. The explosion. Blood. Darkness.
And instantly his eyes force themselves open harder.
Disoriented.
The room swims briefly before focusing slowly.
Hospital. Recovery room.
Alive.
Then—
You.
That wakes him fully despite the pain screaming through his body.
His head turns sharply enough to make dizziness hit immediately but he barely notices because there you are curled awkwardly in the chair beside his bed.
Asleep.
Your body slumped at an angle that absolutely cannot be comfortable. Eyes obviously swollen even during sleep. One hand loosely gripping the edge of his blanket even in sleep.
And his hand—
His hand is resting against your cheek like at some point you must’ve taken it carefully and placed it there yourself.
Seungcheol stares at you silently. His chest hurts worse for entirely different reasons now.
You look exhausted.
No—destroyed.
Dark circles heavy beneath your eyes, like the light that was there before he left also went away with him. Cheeks thinner somehow like life drained everything from you the past months he wasn’t present.
His throat tightens painfully.
How long have you been here? The thought alone nearly wrecks him immediately.
Slowly, carefully, he shifts his fingers slightly against your cheek.
Tiny movement but enough to stir you awake. As if even in your sleep, your body is in tune to his movements.
Your brows twitch faintly then your eyes slowly open. Disoriented at first, heavy with exhaustion. You blink once.
Twice.
Then freeze completely.
Your gaze locks onto his and suddenly you’re awake.
“Cheol?” Your voice cracks instantly
Seungcheol tries speaking but his throat feels wrecked
“…Hey pretty girl.”
The moment you hear his voice awake and real, it took you a second to let it all sink in. And then… you break.
A sob leaves you immediately before you can stop it. You stand so fast the chair nearly crashes backward.
“Hey—”
“Don’t,” you choke out instantly while tears spill down your face “Don’t even start.”
Seungcheol looks at you like he’s seeing sunlight for the first time. Then suddenly you’re gripping his hand carefully with both of yours like you’re terrified he’ll disappear if you let go.
“You idiot,” you whisper through tears “You absolute idiot.”
His lips twitch weakly “There she is.”
“You almost died!”
“I know”
“You promised me!” the words come out broken.
Small, breaking with each syllable and somehow that hurts him more than the explosion ever did.
Seungcheol’s gaze softens painfully while watching you cry beside him. His thumb brushes weakly across your cheek.
“I’m sorry”
“You scared me so bad” your voice shakes violently now “I thought—”
You can’t even finish it because saying it out loud feels impossible. It’s a version of reality you don’t even want to speak out to the universe.
Seungcheol watches you silently for a second before gathering enough strength to squeeze your hand back.
“But I came back.”
That absolutely ruins you. You lean forward carefully immediately, forehead pressing shakily against the back of his hand while you cry silently.
And Seungcheol… even half destroyed. even barely conscious, even in pain looks at you and realizes one terrifying undeniable truth:
Coming back to you was the only thing he thought about while dying.
You cry, you let out all the tears you didn’t know you still had in you even after the past 4 days you’ve cried by his bedside. And Seungcheol, even with the stabbing pain on his side, every bone aching in his body, he holds you close.
He soothes you as you cry, until it quiets down and you’re sniffling softly still glued to his side.
You look at him, thankful you get to see those eyes again staring back at you.
“Don’t you ever, and I mean ever scare me like that again. I swear I will revive you myself just so I can scold you some more” you mumble jokingly, earning a small smile from him.
Despite the bruises, cuts, and wires still attached to him, you see that dimpled smile. He’s still him. Still your Seungcheol.
Still the same man who promised he’ll come back to you every single time.
=
The following weeks settle into something quieter. Like the universe finally decided you both suffered enough for a while.
Seungcheol gets discharged with strict instructions and an even stricter girlfriend.
His doctors barely finish explaining the recovery guidelines before you’re already nodding seriously beside the bed.
“No strenuous activity.”
You nod.
“Limited movement.”
Another nod.
“Absolutely no returning to active duty until cleared.”
You point directly at Seungcheol “You hear that?”
Seungcheol, still pale and sore in the wheelchair, looks entirely unbothered.
“Yes ma’am.”
One doctor snorts into his coffee, another outright laughs but you ignore them.
“This man,” you continue firmly “thinks almost dying means light stretching.”
“It was one time,” Seungcheol mutters
“One time too many” you glare at him
The nurses adore you instantly. Mostly because Captain Choi Seungcheol—terrifying decorated military officer—apparently becomes suspiciously obedient around you.
Back at his apartment, you immediately take over. You of course still refused to leave his side. Not that he minded, he loved it even. Seeing his apartment slowly turn into a shared space with you.
He sees a plant by the windowsil. He knows you’re definitely the one who put it there. He never stayed home long enough before to bother taking care of anything.
But that small plant, that was a simple reminder of all the months you waited for him. All the weeks you both were standing opposite sides of the world, under the same sky, different timezones.
The following days it has become clear you run the house now. You move his medications into neat schedules. Adjust pillows behind his back before he can complain. Hover whenever he walks too quickly.
And god forbid he tries lifting anything heavier than a water bottle.
On day three post-discharge, you walk into the kitchen to find him reaching for a pan. Your expression hardens immediately.
“Choi Seungcheol.”
He freezes mid-reach, slowly glances over “…Yes?”
“Put it down.”
“It’s one pan”
“You have internal stitches.”
“I was making breakfast”
“You were making bad decisions.”
He laughs while obediently setting the pan down anyway.
Honestly, the near death experience somehow made him worse because now he looks at you with this soft, unbearably fond expression every single time you fuss over him.
Like almost dying only made him love you harder. Which is deeply unfair.
A week after discharge, reality unfortunately catches up again.
You have to go back to work.
You stand near the front door in scrubs fixing your ID badge while glaring suspiciously toward the couch.
Seungcheol lounges there comfortably in grey sweats and a black shirt, watching obiediently before he gets scolded yet again.
Still healing. Still slower moving. Still the prettiest man you’ve ever seen apparently.
“I will know,” you warn seriously, pointing at him “And I mean it, Choi Seungcheol. I will know if you don’t rest today.”
He raises both hands immediately in surrender
“Yes ma’am.”
“Don’t yes ma’am me”
“Yes doctor.”
“That’s worse.”
His laugh rumbles warmly through the apartment.
God you missed that sound so much.
You grab your bag dramatically “I’m serious.”
“I know.”
“No lifting.”
“Mhm.”
“No training.”
“Mhm.”
“No pretending you’re fine.”
That makes his expression soften slightly “…Okay.”
You hesitate then.
Because even after weeks beside him in hospital beds and recovery rooms, leaving him still feels wrong somehow. Like your body hasn’t fully recovered from almost losing him.
Seungcheol notices instantly.
Of course he does.
His voice gentles “Come here.”
Immediately your eyes widen
“What?” You rush toward him instantly “What hurts? Your stitches? Let me see.”
You’re already kneeling beside the couch trying to inspect him before he starts laughing softly.
“Pretty girl”
“What happened? What hurts?”
“Nothing.”
“You said come here in the serious voice!”
“There’s a serious voice?”
“Yes!”
He chuckles helplessly before catching your wrist gently. Then with surprising ease despite the healing injuries, he pulls you closer until you tumble onto the couch beside him.
“Cheol—careful—”
“I’m okay.”
You immediately check his expression anyway.
So instead of teasing further, Seungcheol reaches slowly beneath your scrub top.
You blink “What are you—”
His fingers find the chain around your neck. The one you’ve worn every single day.
Carefully, gently, he pulls it free. The ring catches softly in the morning light.
Your breath stills immediately.
Seungcheol’s expression changes then. Softer than you’ve ever seen it.
No captain.
No soldier.
Just him.
Just the man who came back to you.
His fingers carefully unclasp the chain while you stare silently.
“You kept wearing it,” he murmurs quietly
Your throat tightens “Of course I did.”
His gaze lifts to yours slowly. Then with infinite care he slides the ring onto your finger.
Exactly where it belongs.
Your breath catches sharply the moment it settles there. Seungcheol’s thumb brushes gently over your knuckles afterward. Staring back down to your finger where now the rings sits beautifully.
“Told you I’d ask when I came back.”
The tears hit instantly. Again.
You let out a watery laugh while covering your face briefly.
“Oh my god.”
Seungcheol smiles softly. Not teasing, almost nervous somehow. Which feels insane considering this is Captain Choi Seungcheol.
“You’re crying already,” he murmurs
“You almost died!”
“And?”
“And now you’re proposing on a random Tuesday morning!”
“It’s Wednesday.”
You stare at him in disbelief “That’s your defense?”
His dimples appear immediately and despite yourself, despite the tears and fear and everything you’ve both survived—
You laugh.
The kind he was terrified he might never hear again.
Seungcheol watches you like the sound itself keeps him alive.
“I was serious, you know.”
Your laughter fades slowly “I know.”
“When I said I want a life with you.”
Your chest aches painfully because you believe him completely, because you can’t imagine if you didn’t get to live this moment. Because you know you can’t see any other version of you and him but this.
Together.
Seungcheol reaches up carefully, fingers brushing stray damp hair away from your face.
“I know my life is…” He exhales softly “Complicated.”
“You got blown up.”
“A little dramatic, yeah.”
You glare instantly “Choi Seungcheol.”
“Sorry” but he’s smiling faintly now. Then serious again
“I can’t promise easy,” he says honestly “Or normal.”
You shake your head immediately “I don’t need normal.”
His eyes search yours carefully.
“I can promise I’ll love you properly though.”
That destroys whatever composure you had left. Your mouth trembles before you lean forward suddenly and kiss him hard enough he nearly forgets every injury in his body.
Seungcheol makes a startled sound against your lips before immediately kissing you back.
One hand cradling your jaw carefully while the other settles against your waist.
When you finally pull back, both of you breathing unevenly, your forehead drops against his.
And finally, finally he asks
“I used to think coming home meant a place. I used to tell myself I can’t want that, a future, a normal life. That I wouldn’t llve long enough to long for it. And then came you” he breathes out, the most vulnerable he’s ever been in his entire life.
This is all him, Captain Choi, your Seungcheol, all versions of him you’ve come to love, completely surrendering to you.
“If I get a second chance at life, I want to spend every second of it with you. Will you marry me?”
You’re crying, laughing, smiling, grabbing at his face as you mumble yes over and over again.
He laughs, holding you close.
“You know,” you whisper shakily, “you’re really lucky I’m obsessed with you.”
“Obsessed?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Good,” he murmurs “Because I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with you since the convenience store.”
You freeze then slowly pull back.
“…What.”
Seungcheol immediately realizes his mistake but it’s too late. Your eyes widen dramatically.
“The convenience store?!”
His ears redden faintly.
You gasp loudly. “Oh my god you fell first”
“I’m recovering, be kind.”
“No absolutely not.”
You grab his face immediately “You were gone for the convenience store girl?”
He groans while you laugh helplessly. Sitting here in his apartment wrapped in morning light, your engagement ring warm on your hand while the man you love looks at you like surviving was worth it—
You realize something quietly wonderful.
You made it.
Against every terrifying possibility.
You made it back to each other.
=
One year later, somehow, the world still hasn’t slowed down for either of you.
Your schedules are still terrible. Your sleep schedules even worse.
There are still nights you come home with blood on your shoes and mornings Seungcheol leaves before sunrise without being able to tell you where he’s going.
Some things never change.
But now, now there’s always someone waiting at the end of it.
And that changes everything.
It’s been one year since the hospital room.
One year since the ring slid onto your finger in his apartment while he looked at you like surviving was the only option.
One year of learning each other’s rhythms completely.
Your toothbrush permanently beside his. His clothes somehow invading every corner of your shared apartment. Your coffee order already waiting before shifts.
His hand automatically finding yours whenever you walk beside each other.
Home becoming less a place and more a person.
Tonight you’re exhausted enough to hallucinate.
The ER was chaos from the second your shift started. You barely sat down once.
By the time you finally clock out close to midnight, your shoulders ache and your brain feels fried.
You’re half listening to one of the nurses complaining about a resident while walking toward the hospital exit when suddenly you stop.
Then immediately bolt “OH MY GOD—”
The nurse behind you yelps in shock as you sprint full speed across the parking lot “Doctor?!”
But you’re already gone. Because leaning casually against a black SUV under the parking lights is Seungcheol.
Freshly back from deployment.
Four weeks gone this time, dhorter than before. Still too long.
The second he sees you running toward him, his entire face softens and then you crash into him hard enough that he actually stumbles backward laughing.
“Hey—” “YOU’RE HOME.”
Your arms lock around his neck instantly while his wrap tight around your waist. Lifting you fully off the ground without effort.
You don’t even care that several nurses and staff definitely witnessed you abandoning professionalism entirely.
Let them.
Your fiancé is home.
Seungcheol buries his face briefly against your neck while holding you impossibly close.
God you missed him.
“You almost tackled me,” he murmurs against your skin
You finally pull back enough to look at him properly. Healthier this time. No visible injuries. No bandages hidden beneath clothes.
Just slightly longer hair, tired eyes, and the familiar warmth that settles in your chest every single time you see him.
Your hands immediately grab his face anyway
“You’re okay?”
Seungcheol smiles softly “I’m okay.”
You inspect him suspiciously “Any scratches?”
“Pretty girl—” “Answer carefully.”
He laughs quietly “No scratches.”
“Good”
Then you kiss him. Right there in the parking lot.
Like you physically cannot help yourself.
Seungcheol kisses you back instantly, one hand warm against your jaw while the other stays firm at your waist.
Somewhere nearby someone whistles loudly.
You break apart immediately glaring toward the hospital doors.
“Mind your business!”
The ER nurse cackles while disappearing back inside. Seungcheol laughs helplessly against your temple.
God, he missed this life.
Later, he drives you somewhere unexpected. A convenience store.
Specifically the convenience store. The one where this entire disaster started.
You stare at him as he parks “…Seriously?”
He shrugs innocently “You said you were hungry.”
“You’re sentimental.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“Correct.”
Now you both sit outside on the little plastic convenience store chairs under bright fluorescent lights.
If someone told either of you that that night was going to change both you’re lives, you wouldn’t believe it. But here you are now.
You’re wearing his hoodie over your scrubs while inhaling instant ramen like you haven’t eaten in years.
Seungcheol watches you with narrowing eyes
“How much ramen did you eat while I was gone?”
You freeze mid-slurp “…Normal amount.”
“Define normal.”
Silence. Seungcheol already looks unconvinced.
“Babe.”
You avoid eye contact aggressively
“Y/N.”
“…Enough.”
“How enough?”
You point your chopsticks at him accusingly
“First of all, your fault.”
“My fault you committed sodium crimes?”
“You stocked the pantry with ramen!”
“Emergency ramen.”
“Every ramen is emergency ramen when you work trauma.”
Seungcheol groans while rubbing his forehead
“Pretty girl, that cannot be healthy. You’re literally a doctor.”
You immediately defend yourself “I barely slept!”
“That’s not helping your argument.”
“You think after twenty hours I’m cooking vegetables?”
“Yes?”
“I could barely identify my own reflection.”
He stares at you in disbelief “So you just lived off ramen?”
You mutter into the cup quietly “…Maybe.”
“Yah.”
“What?!”
“Three weeks!”
“I added eggs sometimes!”
He shoots a fond but disappointed look “That’s not nutrition!”
“It’s garnish.”
Seungcheol looks genuinely distressed now meanwhile you continue eating shamelessly. Then suddenly his hand reaches over and wipes broth from the corner of your mouth with his thumb automatically.
The movement is so practiced now neither of you even pauses.
You look at him while chewing slowly
“…I missed you.”
His expression softens immediately “I know.”
“No, like seriously.” You slump dramatically against his shoulder afterward “I almost started talking to your plants.”
That makes him laugh, the sound still feels like home to you.
“It was dark times.”
You lean more comfortably against him while the cool night air settles around you. Cars pass occasionally. The convenience store doors slide open and shut every few minutes.
Nothing extraordinary and somehow that’s what makes it precious.
Because your lives are anything but ordinary.
Tomorrow you’ll both go back to chaos again. He’ll return to military briefings and dangerous assignments. You’ll return to trauma calls and impossible surgeries.
There will always be risk.
Always uncertainty.
But now there’s this too.
Plastic convenience store chairs at midnight. His hand resting warm on your thigh absentmindedly. Arguing over ramen like an old married couple.
Love woven quietly into ordinary moments between disasters.
Seungcheol suddenly glances at you.
“What?”
He studies your face for a second.
“Still ran toward me.”
Your brows lift slightly.
“Huh?”
“In the parking lot.” His thumb brushes lightly against your knee. “Every time I come back, you still look at me like that.”
Your chest squeezes immediately.
Because he says it like he’s still surprised, like some part of him still can’t fully believe someone waits for him this way.
You set your ramen down quietl before you lean over and kiss him once.
When you pull back, your forehead rests briefly against his.
“Captain, I would run through wars for you,” you whisper, giggling against his lips.
He chuckles, not doubting for a second you would. Just like he would, and always will.
Seungcheol looks at you silently afterward and even after everything he’s survived but nothing has ever hit him harder than that simple promise.
His hand lifts slowly, thumb brushing over your engagement ring glinting beneath the convenience store lights.
Then he smiles softly.
And sitting there beside him one year after everything almost ended, you realize this is what makes all the chaos survivable.
casualties of chemistry - choi seungcheol imagine part two
it looks like this will be a three part post😅😭 spoiler haha yes there is still one more part left. i thought it would be only 2 parts but i still have like 20 or so pages to edit and i aaaaaaam fried. but really thank you so so so so much for loving this fic🤍
and yes... i edited this while watching cheol play😅 tmi i guess
By 8 a.m., you’re surviving purely on five hours of sleep, caffeine deprivation, and spite. Mostly spite.
The ER thankfully isn’t exploding yet, but the overnight shift already left behind enough disaster to ruin your mood.
You stand at the nurses’ station with a chart in hand mid-rant while Nurse Yang calmly drinks tea beside you like she’s witnessed this exact breakdown a thousand times before.
“I’m serious,” you complain “If ortho ignores one more consult page I’m sawing bones myself.”
“Mhm”
“And why,” you continue, flipping through scans aggressively, “did somebody discharge Bed 4 without repeat labs? Why are people like this?”
“Mhm”
“I’m surrounded by incompetence”
Nurse Yang takes another peaceful sip. “You say that every morning”
“Because every morning people continue disappointing me”
Right as you finish speaking, the ER doors slide open. You don’t even look up fully.
“Oh great here we go” you mutter
Instead of chaos, an iced coffee lands gently on the counter beside your chart.
You blink. Look down. Your order. Exactly your order. Your head lifts immediately.
And there he is. Choi Seungcheol stands on the other side of the nurses’ station dressed casually for once. Just broad shoulders and unfairly handsome morning face somehow completely unaffected by the concept of exhaustion.
You stare at him then the coffee then back at him again
“…What?”
The corner of his mouth lifts slightly “You sounded angry over text”
“I am angry.”
“I know.”
Then he casually places another paper bag onto the counter. Curious, you peek inside. Bread. Croissants. Garlic bread. Even melon bread.
Your head snaps up again.
Seungcheol shrugs once “You didn’t mention which one you liked. So I got a few”
The nurses around you immediately start making noises.
“Oh my god.
“That’s so sweet.”
“Doctor, marry him.”
“And,” Seungcheol adds calmly, nodding toward another tray behind him, “I got coffee for the staff too”
Head Nurse Yang suddenly smiles at him warmly “Handsome and generous,” she says approvingly
“Are you perhaps married?”
“Nurse Yang!” You gasp dramatically before Seungcheol can answer
She ignores you completely “I have nieces.”
“Please stop trying to recruit my man ” you complain immediately. Seungcheol’s eyebrows lift.
Your man.
You point accusingly at Nurse Yang “I called dibs.”
The entire nurses’ station erupts into laughter instantly. Even Seungcheol laughs under his breath. Those stupid dimples appear again. That finally gets a full laugh out of him. Warm and deep enough that several nurses nearby suddenly look interested.
You immediately grab your coffee before anyone else can flirt with him
“Mine,” you mutter possessively
Seungcheol watches you shove the straw in and take your first sip like your life depends on it. The exhaustion on your face eases almost instantly.
Then you dig into the pastry bag with equal excitement.
“How did you even know my order?” you ask suspiciously between sips
“You complain specifically about bad coffee”
“That doesn’t answer the question”
“You’re predictable.”
You narrow your eyes at him while chewing then point your pastry at him threateningly.
“Careful. I know how to remove organs”
“Yes ma’am.”
Your soul leaves your body briefly. Nurse Yang catches it immediately too because the woman starts smiling into her coffee like she just witnessed something deeply entertaining. You refuse to acknowledge any of it. Instead you focus on the bread aggressively.
Seungcheol leans casually against the counter watching you eat for another moment before nodding toward the hallway.
“Just dropping those off”
Your eyes lift again immediately “You’re leaving already?”
You hum quietly, suddenly very aware you don’t actually want him to leave yet. Unfortunately the universe remains committed to ruining your life because a resident suddenly appears beside you looking panicked.
“Doctor, Trauma 2 needs review.”
“There it is.” Back into doctor mode instantly.
“What time are you off?” he asks before you can run away
You glance back while grabbing your chart
“Honestly? No idea.”
He nods once like he expected that answe “Call me. I’ll pick you up”
The nurses around you collectively lose their minds silently behind you. You can literally feel the staring.
You point at them without looking “If any of you giggle, I’m assigning catheter duty.”
Immediate silence. Then you look back at Seungcheol. And despite the exhaustion, the chaos, the incoming trauma consult… You smile.
“Okay,” you say quietly
By the time you finally step out of the hospital, it’s 4:07 a.m.
The city is quiet in that eerie almost-morning way.
Cold air brushes against your skin as the automatic hospital doors slide shut behind you.
And God you’re exhausted. Your neck cracks painfully when you tilt your head side to side. Your entire body aches from fourteen straight hours of chaos, three emergency surgeries, and one resident who nearly contaminated a sterile field bad enough for you to see your ancestors.
You groan softly while fishing your phone from your coat pocket.
“Cab,” you mumble to yourself. “Need cab. Need unconsciousness.”
Then suddenly your brain catches up.
Cheol.
Your eyes widen “Oh shit.”
You unlock your phone quickly and nearly wince. A few texts. All from him.
The first one around nine.
Cheol: still buried alive in the ER?
Cheol: doctor?
And finally around midnight:
Cheol: You alive?
Your chest squeezes unpleasantly, immediately start typing a reply. Then pause because it’s literally four in the morning.
Any sane person is asleep.
You’re debating whether apologizing via text at dawn counts as emotional terrorism then you hear footsteps echo softly behind you. Seriously considering bolting back inside because you’re the biggest scaredy cat.
You turn, reado to throw your phone if needed then freeze.
Seungcheol walks toward you from the darker side of the parking area with his hands tucked inside the pockets of a dark hoodie.
No terrifying military aura tonight. Just messy hair from pulling his hood down, tired eyes, and soft grey sweats beneath the parking lot lights.
Less intimidating captain.
More…
Oh no.
More like someone you’d desperately want to cuddle into while sleeping for twelve straight hours.
Mentally, you slap yourself.
Get it together.
“What are you doing here?!” you blurt immediately “It’s four in the morning!”
Seungcheol chuckles quietly, already closing the distance between you both.
“You didn’t reply” Like that explains everything.
He stops right in front of you. Close enough that you can smell faint traces of detergent and coffee on him.
Your sleepy brain finally processes the situation fully.
Slowly, you glance past him. There. His car still parked near the curb.
Your eyes widen then slowly lift back toward him.
“…Wait.”
Seungcheol says nothing.
“…Did you—”
Silence.
“Oh my god.”
“Cheol.”
“You were busy”
“You waited here since nine?!”
He shrugs Like sitting in a hospital parking lot for seven hours is a perfectly normal activity.
Your jaw drops open “Cheol!”
“Oh my god, you could’ve gone home! Rested! Slept like a normal person!”
“I did sleep”
“In the car?!”
“A little”
You look genuinely distressed now. Meanwhile Seungcheol just watches you fuss over him with something warm settling deep in his chest.
Because no one reacts like this over him. Not usually. Most people are intimidated by him first. Careful around him second.
But you, you look personally offended he waited for you.
Your eyes scan him quickly now, checking for signs of exhaustion automatically.
“You look tired,” you mumble
“So do you”
“That’s not the point”
“It kind of is.”
You groan softly and cover your face with one hand “This is insane behavior.”
“You work twenty-hour shifts voluntarily”
“That’s different”
“How?”
“I save lives.”
“So do I.”
You open your mouth. Close it again.
Damn him.
Seungcheol watches the tiny battle happening in your expression and finally laughs properly.
God. That laugh at four in the morning should be illegal.
“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter.
“And yet,” he says calmly, “you’re smiling.”
Your eyes narrow slightly.
“Did you at least eat?”
“Yes ma’am.”
Again that stupid yes ma’am. Your knees genuinely feel weak from exhaustion and him.
A dangerous combination.
You sigh dramatically before stepping closer and grabbing the sleeve of his hoodie lightly.
“Come on.”
“Where are we going?” he asks quietly.
“You waited seven hours in a parking lot,” you say firmly. “I’m buying you breakfast.”
“It’s four in the morning.”
“There’s a twenty-four-hour soup place two streets over.”
“You need sleep.”
“And you need psychological evaluation.” That earns another laugh.
You start pulling him toward the parking lot slowly, still half awake yourself.
Then suddenly stop mid-step. Your grip on his sleeve tightens slightly.
Seungcheol looks down immediately “You okay?”
You stare up at him with sleepy disbelief “…You really stayed.”
The teasing leaves his expression instantly.
Now it’s just him.
“Of course I did,” he says softly.
And that almost hurts worse than any flirtation because nobody says things like that casually. Nobody waits seven hours unless they mean it.
Your chest feels unbearably warm suddenly.
So instead of saying anything embarrassing, you grumble “You’re lucky you’re handsome.”
Seungcheol’s dimples appear immediately “Mm,” he murmurs while opening the passenger door for you
You barely make it five minutes toward the soup place before your body gives up entirely. One second you’re mumbling something about dumplings. the next…silence.
Seungcheol glances over at the red light and nearly laughs.
You’re asleep again.
Completely out cold in his passenger seat with his extra jacket wrapped around you like a blanket. Somewhere between leaving the hospital and getting into the car, he draped it over your shoulders because you shivered once and looked too tired to notice.
Now your cheek is pressed against the seatbelt, arms folded loosely around yourself.
Soft little breaths. Occasional tiny snore. Honestly the cutest thing he’s ever seen.
Hopeless. Absolutely hopeless.
So instead of waking you, he quietly pulls into the soup place himself, orders takeout. Gets extra side dishes because you strike him as someone who forgets meals constantly. Then returns to the car where you haven’t moved an inch.
The drive to your apartment is quieter this time. The roads are becoming familiar now. That realization settles strangely in his chest too.
Places connected to you slowly becoming familiar territory in his life.
When he finally parks outside your apartment, dawn is just beginning to bleed faint blue into the sky.
You’re still asleep.
Seungcheol sits there for a second just watching you then eventually reaches over carefully. You make a tiny annoyed sound.
Cute.
Dangerously cute.
He unbuckles your seatbelt gently before brushing one hand lightly against your arm.
“Pretty girl.”
Your brows furrow immediately “Mmph.”
“Wake up”
You blindly swat at his hand without opening your eyes “Go ‘way.”
His hand lifts carefully to cradle your cheek instead. Large palm warm against sleepy skin. So impossibly gentle compared to everything he is outside moments like this.
Your eyes finally crack open slowly heavy with sleep.
“…Why are you still handsome at dawn?”
“You’re half asleep.”
“And yet correct” You glare weakly at him while he takes your bag from the backseat then the takeout.
And finally offers you his hand. You stare at it sleepily for one long second before placing yours into it automatically.
Small against his.
He helps you out carefully, keeping his hand around yours while guiding you toward the apartment building. You walk like someone approximately three seconds from collapsing. At one point you drift directly into his side while walking.
The elevator ride is quiet except for your sleepy breathing and the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead.
By the time he reaches your apartment door with you, you’re practically leaning fully against him.
“Keys,” he reminds softly
“Oh” You blink at your bag like it personally betrayed you. Seungcheol ends up finding them himself with a quiet amused sigh.
When your door finally unlocks, you turn toward him slowly instead of going inside immediately.
“You’re unfair,” you mumble suddenly
Seungcheol’s eyebrows lift slightly “How so?”
You stare up at him for a second too long then admit quietly
“You’re making it really hard not to like you.”
The words hit him straight in the chest. No teasing.
Just you.
You continue before he can answer “And I’ll miss you again…”
“...when I don’t even know if you feel the same.”
Something in his expression changes instantly. Seungcheol sets the takeout down beside the door quietly before lifting his free hand to your chin.
Tilting your face up carefully until your sleepy eyes meet his fully.
“You know,” he says softly, thumb brushing lightly along your jaw, “I used to not care what happened to me out there.”
Your brows furrow slightly “Cheol…”
“But ever since you…” He pauses briefly like the admission itself surprises him.
Then a small smile pulls at his mouth “All I can think about is you nagging me if I come back with another scratch.”
You laugh sleepily “I would.”
“I know.” His thumb brushes your cheek once more
“And I missed you,” he says quieter now. “Probably more than you missed me.”
You narrow your eyes sleepily at him “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
You sway slightly from exhaustion. His hand immediately settles against your waist to steady you. Instinctive. Protective.
Your gaze drops briefly to where he’s holding you before looking back up again.
“…You’re very soft for a scary military man.”
“Only around you.”
Your heart does one dangerous thing against your ribs.
You point weakly at him “That was smooth.”
“I meant it.”
You groan softly and hide your face briefly against his chest. Seungcheol stills completely. Then slowly…
his arm wraps around you properly.
“You smell nice,” you mumble into his hoodie
“You said that half asleep”
“Still true”
He laughs quietly above your head. The sound vibrates warmly through his chest. You stay there another few seconds longer than necessary.
Neither moving. Neither wanting to.
Eventually Seungcheol brushes his fingers lightly through the loose strands of your hair
“You need sleep, doctor.”
“Mhm.”
“You standing here unconscious doesn’t count.”
“I’m thinking.”
“Dangerous activity at this hour.”
You huff a sleepy laugh then tilt your head up just enough to look at him again.
“…You’ll text me next time before disappearing?”
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I will”
The problem with only sleeping four hours after emotionally life-altering hallway conversations is that reality resumes anyway.
Which means by morning you’re late. Again.
You rush around your apartment half awake and mildly homicidal toward time itself.
By the time you finally stumble into the elevator, you’re running entirely on chaos.
“Okay,” you mumble to yourself while fixing your coat hurriedly. “Need coffee. Need functioning nervous system. Need people to stop bleeding for one day—”
The lobby doors slide open. You step out quickly then stop dead in your tracks.
Captain Choi Seungcheol leans casually against his car outside the building like he’s been there a while.
Entirely too attractive for seven in the morning.
Your brain takes a second to catch up. Slowly, you walk toward him.
“Admit it,” you say suspiciously. “You didn’t go home”
Seungcheol chuckles quietly, already moving to open the passenger door for you before you even reach the car
“I did”
“You’re lying”
“I showered”
“That’s not what I asked”
His mouth twitches slightly.Then he says something that completely ruins your ability to function normally
“Just savoring the time I can do this.”
You stop right in front of him “…Do what?”
His gaze holds yours steadily “Take care of you.”
Your heart betrays you instantly. Complete menace.
“Get in the car, doctor”
“You’re dangerously charming for this early in the morning.”
“You’re cute when flustered”
“I’m never speaking again”
“Liar.”
You slide into the passenger seat muttering under your breath about military manipulation tactics. Then immediately pause.
There on the dashboard.
Two iced coffees.
One black. One your exact order again. Beside it a breakfast sandwich and a protein bar like he somehow predicted you forgot to eat.
Which you did.
You stare at the coffee slowly yhen back at him then back at the coffee. “…Are you trying to condition me like a stray cat?”
Seungcheol closes the driver’s door and settles beside you calmly
“If it works”
“I knew it”
“You respond very positively to caffeine and attention.”
“You studied me?”
“I observe patterns”
“You sound like a serial killer”
“You still got in my car”
You grab your coffee immediately anyway. The first sip genuinely makes your eyes close. Perfect.
You point accusingly at him while drinking “This is intimacy.”
“Coffee?”
“Knowing my order”
“You’re easy”
You stare at him in betrayal “Excuse me?”
“You complain specifically.” He starts driving smoothly out of the parking area. “Extra espresso. Minimal sugar. Too much ice. Every single time.”
Your jaw drops “You memorized my complaining?”
“You make it memorable” Seungcheol glances sideways briefly
“What?”
“That’s actually insane.”
“What is?”
“You pay attention like someone preparing for an exam.”
The corner of his mouth lifts slightly “You’re important.”
Your ears feel warm instantly “You can’t just say things like that before 8 a.m.”
“Why not?”
“My emotional defenses aren’t awake yet.”
He laughs quietly and god you love that sound already.
The car falls quiet for a moment after that.
Comfortable quiet.
“Hey Cheol?”
“Mm?”
You look over at him “…You waiting seven hours yesterday was insane.”
“No argument there”
“But…” He glances at you briefly. You look down at your coffee cup while mumbling softer:
“…Thank you.”
He reaches over without hesitation and squeezes your knee once gently.
“You don’t have to thank me for that.”
Your pulse jumps embarrassingly fast. You recover by narrowing your eyes at him again.
“Careful.”
“With?”
“This level of treatment is making me emotionally attached.”
Seungcheol smiles slowly like he already knows.
“Too late, doctor.”
=
A few more days passed, then a week turned into two until it’s been a month. Until it became a routine. He’ll drive you to your shifts, wait until who knows what hours. Like clockwork he’ll be there waiting for you.
Like today.
By your standards, 11 p.m. is practically an early release from prison.
You leave the hospital tired but not soul-crushingly exhausted for once, coat hanging loosely over your shoulders while scrolling through post-op updates on your phone.
And instinctively, before you even fully step out you look for him yhich is dangerous in itself now.
And there he is leaning against the hood of his car beneath the streetlights. Eyes immediately finding you the second you appear.
Usually when he looks at you, there’s warmth there.
Tonight something feels different.
Your steps slow slightly as you approach him. There’s familiarity in that expression and it takes you one awful second to place it.
It’s the same look doctors wear before speaking to families.
The careful one. The preparing-for-impact look.
Your stomach tightens instantly. You stop in front of him and narrow your eyes slightly.
“What’s up with you?” you ask quietly. “You look like you’re about to deliver bad news.”
Seungcheol smiles automatically but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
And somehow that’s worse.
Without answering immediately, he reaches over and takes your bag from your shoulder first like he always does.
Your chest starts sinking before he even says it.
“I’ll be gone.” The words land softly but they hit like a bruise.
You stare at him and immediately understand.
Deployment.
Again.
Your throat suddenly feels tighter than it should. You glance away briefly toward the empty street before looking back up at him.
“How long?”
Seungcheol opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He doesn’t know.
Or… he can’t tell you.
The silence stretches painfully between you both. Finally you just nod once and walk around to the passenger side quietly.
Seungcheol watches you carefully.
The worst part? He thinks he understands exactly what this means. This is always the part where people pull away.
The reality of him.
He should’ve known better than to let this become something real. Still, he opens your door gently anyway. You slide inside silently.
The drive home feels entirely different tonight.
His chest feels heavier with every passing red light.
He gets it, you’re a trauma surgeon with your own impossible life already. You deserve consistency. Presence. Someone who won’t vanish for weeks into classified silence.
Not someone like him.
And yet selfishly, he already knows he doesn’t want to lose this.
Lose you.
By the time he parks outside your apartment building, the silence has become almost unbearable.
Seungcheol kills the engine slowly. Still neither of you moves immediately.
Then finally he gets out first and walks around to your side automatically. When he opens your door, you step out quietly.
He hands you your bag. You take it.
Still silent.
And for one awful second, Seungcheol thinks maybe this is it.
Maybe this is where things shift. Where reality finally settles between you both hard enough to break whatever this has become.
Seungcheol watches you carefully, already preparing himself to hear ‘Maybe this won’t work.’
Instead you step closer and suddenly your arms loop around his waist.
Seungcheol freezes completely. Like his body stops processing for half a second.
Your cheek presses lightly against his chest.
The relief that hits him nearly knocks the air from his lungs. Slowly, carefully, his arms come around you instinctively. One around your waist, the other settling protectively against your back holding you close.
You exhale softly against him.
“I hate this part,” you mumble quietly
His eyes close briefly “Yeah, me too.”
“You leave,” you whisper, “and I don’t know when you’re coming back”
Seungcheol’s jaw tightens because there’s no good answer to that, no promise he can safely make so instead he just lowers his head slightly until his cheek brushes your hair.
“I know.”
After a moment you tilt your head back slowly to look at him and the second Seungcheol sees your face something shifts.
His gaze drops.
Just briefly.
To your mouth.
Then immediately back to your eyes.
Your breath catches softly and suddenly the air between you changes.
Seungcheol’s hand against your back spreads wider unconsciously pulling you just a little closer like he can’t help it anymore.
“You’re staring,” you murmur softly
“You’re very distracting.”
The city feels far away suddenly. Muted. Like the entire world narrowed down to this quiet stretch of pavement and the man holding you.
The way he’s looking at you like he wants to memorize every detail before leaving again.
“You’ll come back, right?”
Seungcheol stills.
You continue before he can answer. “You have to.” Your fingers tighten against him a little. “Or I’ll be really, really annoyed.”
The seriousness in your sleepy voice mixed with that tiny pout finally breaks through the heaviness sitting in his chest.
God. You undo him so easily.
His hand lifts slowly to your face then, large palm cradling your cheek with impossible gentleness. Like you’re something precious, something he already knows he’d protect with everything he has.
He never makes promises like that. Not the I’ll come back promise because reality doesn’t work that way in his world.
Deployments go wrong. People don’t always return.
He learned a long time ago never to offer guarantees he might not survive to keep.
But then you look at him like this and suddenly Captain Choi Seungcheol—who built his entire life around caution and control—finds himself wanting to promise you everything.
Your eyes flick briefly to his mouth then back up again.
“Cheol…” the way you whisper his name this time sounds almost fragile.
His chest tightens painfully.
“I’ll come back,” he hears himself say quietly.
And he means it.
God help him, he means it.
Your breath catches amd for a second neither of you moves. His eyes close briefly. When he opens them again, his gaze drops slowly to your lips.
“Can I kiss you?”
You answer by pulling him down gently and that absolutely destroys what little self-control he had left.
The kiss starts soft. Careful. Like he’s still giving you room to change your mind. Then you melt into him with a quiet sigh and suddenly it becomes something else entirely.
Something deeper.
Months of tension finally snapping.
Seungcheol’s hand tightens slightly at your waist while the other stays cradling your face like he can’t bear to let you go too far.
You taste faintly like iced coffee. He’s pretty sure he’ll never survive that fact again.
Your fingers slide upward against his chest slowly until they curl near his neck.
Closer. Everything pulls closer.
The kiss deepens just enough to steal your breath. Warm and unhurried and devastatingly gentle for someone who looks like him.
And somehow that gentleness ruins you most because Captain Choi Seungcheol kisses exactly like he does everything else with you—
Carefully.
Deliberately.
Like you matter.
When he finally pulls back slightly, neither of you gets very far.
His eyes stay half-lowered toward your mouth like he’s debating kissing you again immediately.
You blink up at him slowly, visibly dazed “…Wow.”
That makes him laugh softly against your lips “You okay, doctor?”
“No actually.” You stare at him accusingly “I think you altered my brain chemistry”
“Only now?”
“You’ve been emotionally manipulating me with coffee for weeks.”
His hand slides gently into your hair near the base of your neck.
“I know.”
You lean into him unconsciously and for a terrifying second, Seungcheol thinks he could get addicted to this frighteningly fast.
To you waiting for him.
Holding him.
Kissing him goodbye like there’s someone expecting him to return now.
Your eyes search his one more time before you mumble softly:
“…Come back to me in one piece, Captain.”
Something inside him shifts permanently at those words.
He kisses your forehead this time.
Lingering.
Then quietly answers:
“Yes ma’am.”
=
Before you, four months would’ve passed like nothing to Captain Choi Seungcheol.
Deployment was deployment. Time blurred overseas anyway. Days became operations. Operations became reports. Sleep became optional.
Coming home eventually was simply part of the cycle.
But now every single exhausting day ends with thoughts of you.
The first month away, he catches himself checking the time difference automatically.
The second month, Minho nearly loses his mind because Captain Choi who historically ignored his phone like it personally offended him—is suddenly staring at messages during breaks.
By the third month, Minho officially brands him hopeless.
There are nights overseas where everything feels too loud. Too dangerous. And for the first time in his life, Seungcheol finds himself genuinely wanting to survive beyond duty alone.
Because now there’s someone waiting for him.
Someone who’d be really, really annoyed if he didn’t come back.
So he does.
One Hundred Twenty One days later.
At exactly 10:14 p.m., your phone lights up while you’re sitting cross-legged on your couch wearing one of his hoodies and arguing with takeout noodles.
One message.
Cheol: Outside.
You stare at the screen then immediately bolt upright so fast you nearly throw the noodles across the room.
“No way.”
Your heart starts pounding violently before you even reach the door.
You don’t bother with shoes properly.
By the time you’re sprinting through the apartment lobby, your breathing is already uneven, the doors slide open.
And there he is.
Captain Choi Seungcheol stands beneath the apartment lights in dark civilian clothes, duffel bag hanging from one shoulder.
And suddenly nothing else exists.
“Cheol—” You run.
His entire face changes the second he sees you then you crash into him hard enough that he has to brace automatically.
Seungcheol catches you effortlessly around the waist as momentum carries you straight into his chest.
Your feet literally leave the ground.
And God the feeling of you in his arms again after three months nearly wrecks him on impact. You hold onto him so tightly it almost hurts, like letting go isn’t an option anymore.
“Oh my god,” you breathe shakily against his neck “You’re back.”
He laughs softly, arms locking around you just as tightly.
“I’m back.”
“You’re here.”
“Yeah, pretty girl.”
“You’re actually here.” Your voice cracks slightly on the last word and suddenly Seungcheol’s chest aches.
Because he missed this too much. Missed you too much.
He buries his face briefly against your hair and just holds you there while you keep repeating variations of:
“You’re back.”
“You came back.”
“Oh my god.”
Like your brain still hasn’t fully accepted it yet.
Eventually you pull back just enough to look at him. Your hands immediately cup his face like you need proof he’s real.
Tired eyes. Slight stubble. Familiar scar near his jaw. Still handsome enough to genuinely irritate you.
Your eyes go suspicious instantly “When did you get back?”
“Earlier today.”
You blink “Earlier today?!”
Seungcheol winces slightly.
“I landed around noon.”
“And you’re only here now?!”
He laughs quietly at your offended expression.
“Mandatory checkups. Debriefings. Reports.”
Immediately your expression changes. Doctor mode activates. You pull back further from his arms abruptly and start inspecting him.
Seungcheol blinks “…What are you doing?”
“Checking.”
“For?”
“Scratches.”
His laugh breaks out immediately “You’re unbelievable.”
“You lost scratch privileges after calling a bullet wound minor.”
Your hands move over his arms, shoulders, neck. Checking. You even narrow your eyes while examining a faint bruise near his wrist.
“What’s this?”
“Training.”
“Mhm.”
“It is.”
“Suspicious.”
“You’re interrogating me in the parking lot.”
“You made me wait 4 months. You get no rights.”
“I’m okay.”
Your eyes lift to his finally and soften instantly.
He really came back okay. Relief crashes into you all over again so hard your eyes sting unexpectedly. Seungcheol notices immediately.
Then immediately hide your face against his chest again when he smiles.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you missed me.”
His arms tighten around you slowly and when he answers this time, his voice comes quieter.
“I did miss you.”
Your heartbeat stumbles hard.
Then softly, almost disbelievingly, you whisper
“You really came back to me.”
And thhat one sentence almost undoes him completely.
Seungcheol smiles the second you say it. Then his arms pull you back against him fully, holding you close like he’s still reassuring himself you’re real and standing here.
“I promised, didn’t I?” he murmurs against your hair
Then unfortunately he ruins the moment on purpose “Besides,” he adds casually, “Nurse Yang said she’d introduce me to her nieces if I come back soon—”
“YAH!” You smack his chest instantly. Hard enough to make him laugh.
“I waited three months,” you complain dramatically, glaring up at him. “Three months! I had to literally shoo away anyone who even attempted flirting with me—”
His eyebrows lift immediately “Oh?”
“And,” you continue pointing accusingly at him now, “I cried at least three times because I missed you—”
“At least?”
“Minimum.”
His entire expression softens so fast it nearly derails you.
Now he’s looking at you like you’ve said something precious, every exhausted flight and every miserable deployment day was worth getting back to this exact moment.
To you.
Seungcheol realizes it fully now. somehow you walked into his carefully controlled life and made yourself essential frighteningly fast.
Four months away only proved it harder.
He’s in love with you.
Completely.
Hopelessly.
The realization settles deep and certain in his chest buthe doesn’t say it yet.
Not now. Not yet. Instead, his mouth curves slowly.
“Someone flirted with you?”
You scowl immediately “Yes!”
“What happened?”
“I said absolutely not.”
His grin grows “Oh really?”
“Yes,” you say with full seriousness. “I told them I have a scary boyfriend who can snap them in half.”
Seungcheol laughs softly
“Professionally,” you add proudly
“Important distinction.”
“Very.”
His hands settle lower against your waist while he looks at you carefully now.
he says casually. “So I’m the boyfriend, I take it?”
Your entire face warms instantly “You waited until now to focus on that?”
“I’m enjoying it”
You narrow your eyes suspiciously “You’re smug.”
“You called me your boyfriend.”
“Well technically—” “Say it again.”
You blink “…What?”
“That.” His dimples appear again “Boyfriend.”
Your stomach flips embarrassingly fast “You’re annoying.”
“Mm.”
“And emotionally manipulative”
“You still missed me”
And suddenly the months hits you all over again, months of wondering if he was okay, of checking your phone constantly.
Then suddenly his forehead presses gently against yours again. Familiar now. Your fingers curl lightly into the front of his shirt.
“You better not disappear that long again”
“I’ll try.”
“Not good enough.”
“Yes ma’am.”
You exhale a sleepy laugh.
Then his gaze drops slowly to your mouth and this time neither of you pretends not to notice. Seungcheol’s hand slides from your waist upward until it settles along your jaw carefully.
“You know,” he says quietly, “I thought about this a lot overseas.”
Your pulse jumps “…This?”
“Kissing you again.”
Your brain genuinely short-circuits a little “You can’t just say things like that.”
“I just did.”
“You fight dirty”
“I learned from a trauma surgeon.”
And then he kisses you again. you laugh softly against his mouth right before he kisses you again.
And God.
It’s worse this time. Or better. Definitely more dangerous because now there’s no hesitation left. Just relief and missing each other and months of pent-up affection crashing together all at once.
His hands pull you closer instinctively while yours slide up around his neck.
The kiss deepens slowly, warm and lingering enough to steal your breath.
Seungcheol kisses like he’s savoring.
Your fingers slip into his hair lightly and he exhales softly against your lips at the touch. That sound alone nearly destroys you.
When he pulls back briefly, you barely let him get an inch away before kissing him again yourself.
Which surprises him enough to make him laugh quietly into the kiss.
“There she is,” he murmurs
“Shut up.”
“Missed me bad, huh?” You kiss him again instead of answering. And that was the best answer.
=
The first thing you register is warmth.
The second, the alarm. A loud obnoxious blaring noise cuts through the room and immediately you groan in protest, blindly burrowing deeper beneath the blankets.
“No,” you mumble into the pillow “Absolutely not.”
Instead of cold empty sheets though, an arm tightens around your waist instantly.
Your half-asleep brain catches up slowly as you instinctively turn and bury your face against Seungcheol’s neck instead. He smells like soap, sleep, and faint traces of your shampoo now.
Your favorite combination apparently.
The alarm keeps going somewhere obnoxiously nearby. You ignore it with professional skill.
“M’not going,” you grumble sleepily against his skin
A low sleepy laugh vibrates beneath your cheek.
Then suddenly realization hits. Your eyes crack open slightly.
Wait.
It’s your day off.
You smile instantly against him.
Before you can even tell him though, Seungcheol’s already reaching one hand toward the nightstand blindly without letting go of you. Still half asleep himself.
Hair messy. Voice rough with sleep.
God.
Morning Seungcheol might genuinely become your weakness.
Not that nighttime Seungcheol isn’t already one.
Especially after last night. Technically yes, nothing happened.
Not fully anyway.
But also the memory of his mouth against yours in the kitchen at 2 a.m. His hands on your waist pulling you against him slowly. The way he kissed down your neck once just to hear the tiny sound you made.
Dangerous.
You hide your face further into his neck immediately before your brain fully replays the rest.
Seungcheol finally grabs the phone and squints at the screen with one eye open.
Then sighs “It’s Minho.”
You snort softly.
He answers quietly, voice still rough and low from sleep “What.”
From the speaker, Minho immediately sounds offended “Wow. Good morning to you too.”
Seungcheol closes his eyes again briefly while keeping you tucked against him.
“What do you want?”
“I’ve been calling you for ten minutes.”
“I was asleep.”
A dramatic gasp echoes through the phone “Oh my god. You stayed over.”
You start laughing silently against Seungcheol’s neck while he rubs tiredly at his forehead
“You called me for this?”
“I called because you disappeared after saying you’d be home eventually.”
“Mhm.”
“So you’re with her right now.”
Silence which unfortunately confirms everything. Minho immediately starts screaming loud enough that you hear muffled yelling through the phone.
“Keep your voice down.”
“NO. CAPTAIN CHOI SEUNGCHEOL SLEEPS OVER NOW?”
You bite your lip hard to stop laughing. Seungcheol glances down at you and immediately catches your shoulders shaking.
His eyes soften instantly. Meanwhile Minho continues spiraling.
“You used to sleep on military cots voluntarily! And now look at you!”
“Are you done?”
“No, I’m emotionally invested now—”
You shift slightly against Seungcheol trying to steal more warmth. The movement makes your oversized sleep shirt slide slightly off your shoulder.
Seungcheol’s eyes flick downward instinctively.
Then stay there one second too long.
Your sleepy smile grows immediately.
Caught.
He exhales quietly through his nose.
“Bye” Then hangs up before Minho can protest further.
And now there’s just you tangled around him like you belong there and honestly? You already kind of do.
You mumble something incoherent against his neck again. Seungcheol chuckles softly.
“What was that?”
“Warm”
“That helpful, huh?”
“Mhm”
His hand slides slowly up and down your back beneath your shirt absentmindedly.
You tilt your head up slightly finally to look at him.
God.
Sleepy Seungcheol is unfair, wearing that soft expression that only seems to exist around you and suddenly your chest hurts a little from how much you missed this without ever even having it before.
His gaze lingers on your face quietly. Then drops to your mouth.
Then back up again.
“You’re staring,” you mumble
“You’re very distracting in the morning.”
You grin sleepily “You say that at night too.”
“Consistent”
Your hand slides lazily across his chest. Comfortingly solid beneath your fingertips.
And right here he realizes he wants this more than he’s ever wanted anything.
The years spent convincing himself that attachment complicated things… none of it stands a chance against this feeling, against you half asleep in his arms wearing his shirt and mumbling threats about leaving the bed.
His thumb brushes slowly along your waist beneath the blanket.
And with startling certainty, Captain Choi Seungcheol realizes he wants his nights like this. His mornings too.
With you.
Always with you.
He can’t even pretend otherwise anymore, not when you fit against him this naturally.
Not when every part of him already quietly decided—
You’re his.
And somehow, terrifyingly enough—
He’s entirely yours too.
You mumble against his chest, voice still thick with sleep “Can we just stay in bed?”
Seungcheol chuckles immediately, fingers lazily tracing along your back beneath the blanket.
“Tempting,” he says softly. “But give it twenty minutes and you’ll start complaining about caffeine and food”
You sigh happily once he pulls you closer then mumble dramatically
“But tomorrow I have to go back to work.”
“Mhm.”
“And wake up early.”
“Mhm.”
Actual full doctor pouting like an offended child. Seungcheol laughs softly again, unable to help himself.
“You’re cute”
“I’m suffering”
“You’re on top of a heated mattress with no shift today”
“I suffered emotionally”
“That’s not a medical condition”
“It should be”
He shakes his head fondly before suddenly moving. In one smooth motion, he shifts until you’re beneath him instead, sinking deeper into the mattress while he braces himself above you.
Your breath catches immediately.
Because wow.
Morning Seungcheol hovering over you with sleepy eyes and messy hair should genuinely come with warning labels.
He smiles down at you slowly. Entirely too handsome.
“I can just be here again.”
Your eyes flicker over his face.
“Drop you off at work,” he continues quietly. “Pick you up after.”
You shake your head immediately “No?”
You point at him accusingly from beneath him.
“I missed you too much. So, I’ll just file for leave and stay here.”
Seungcheol laughs properly this time.
“You’re a doctor.”
“And?”
“You save lives.”
“Mhm.”
“You can’t abandon the hospital because your boyfriend came home.”
You narrow your eyes “Watch me.”
Seungcheol lowers himself slightly closer until your noses brush “You’re trouble.”
“You love it”
His gaze lingers on your mouth. “Yeah,” he admits quietly. “I really do.”
Your heart stumbles hard enough that he definitely feels it beneath him.Then before you can recover he kisses you.
You sigh softly against his mouth almost immediately, hands sliding up into his hair lazily. Seungcheol melts a little at the feeling.
The kiss deepens naturally after that. Still soft with sleep and morning light and relief but there’s something hungrier underneath it now too. Months apart lingering in every touch.
His hand slides along your waist beneath the oversized shirt you stole from him sometime during the night. Your skin warm beneath his palm.
You shiver slightly at the touch.
Seungcheol immediately smiles against your lips “Sensitive.”
“Shut up.”
He kisses you again before you can glare properly.
Then again.
And again.
Because he can. Because he wants to.
Because after one hundred twenty one days overseas wondering when he’d hold you again, he suddenly feels deeply unwilling to stop touching you now that he finally can.
At one point you’re laughing quietly because he keeps kissing you every time you try speaking
“Cheol—” Kiss. “Seriously—” Another kiss. “I’m trying to—”
He kisses you again just to hear your laugh.
“There,” he murmurs smugly against your mouth “Better.”
“You’re impossible in the morning”
“You’re clingy in the morning”
“I missed my boyfriend.” The words come out absentmindedly.
His expression softens instantly.
You notice immediately “…What?”
His thumb brushes your cheek gently “Nothing.”
“Liar.”
A small smile pulls at his mouth
“Just like hearing you say that”
And somewhere between sleepy laughter, tangled blankets, and too many kisses to count you both silently realize neither of you is getting out of bed anytime soon.
=
Just like that, Captain Choi Seungcheol becomes stitched quietly into the fabric of your life like he was always meant to settle into all your exhausted corners.
Mornings become his hand warm at your lower back while guiding you sleepily toward his car before shifts.
Nights become tired dinners eaten on your couch with your legs thrown over his lap while he half listens to your hospital rants.
On the rare days both your schedules somehow align, entire afternoons disappear inside your apartment doing absolutely nothing important.
And somehow those become your favorite days. The ordinary ones.
The ones where he’s sprawled across your couch in grey sweats reviewing reports while you nap against his shoulder.
It’s domestic in a way that sneaks up on both of you.
For the nights he stays over, he wakes up with you before dawn without complaint. Even when you know he slept barely four hours himself.
Some days are busier. Harder. Those are the days you’ll get random texts from him between meetings or training.
And slowly, without either of you noticing exactly when it happened, the world starts becoming divided into:
Before him. And after him.
Still there are moments when the fear creeps in quietly. When he’s asleep beside you after days without rest. Or when his head rests against your lap while you comb your fingers through his hair absentmindedly.
Those moments hit hardest because sleeping Seungcheol looks younger somehow. Less captain. Less soldier. More just… him.
A man carrying too much responsibility on broad tired shoulders.
You’ll study the faint lines of exhaustion near his eyes and think about all the places he disappears to without being able to tell you.
Think about the kind of calls that pull him away suddenly. The dangers you’re never fully allowed to know.
And your chest aches every single time.
Not because you resent him. Never that.
If there’s anyone who understands duty swallowing whole pieces of your life, it’s you.
You know what it means to choose work over sleep, over meals.
Over yourself.
You know what it means standing inches from death while trying to drag someone back from it.
You understand that terrible instinctive thing inside both of you.The one that says:
People need me. So I go.
That’s why you never ask him to choose.
Neither of you needs explanations for those things. You just understand.
Maybe that’s why this works.
But still the battlefield he walks into is different from yours.
Yours is fluorescent lights and operating tables and controlled chaos. His is uncertainty. Weapons. Missions that return him home months later with new bruises he tries hiding from you.
And even though he promised he’d come back, you know the truth. He can never be fully certain.
So instead, you start savoring things. Every sleepy morning. Every coffee run. Every forehead kiss before shifts. Every night he instinctively reaches for you in his sleep.
You memorize the sound of his laugh when he’s genuinely relaxed.
The way he says “pretty girl” quieter when he’s tired.
The feeling of safety every time his arms close around you.
Because loving someone whose life is uncertain teaches you quickly… Ordinary moments are never ordinary.
They become everything.
You love him.
Not sudden. Not dramatic. Just certain.
You love Captain Choi Seungcheol enough that the uncertainty no longer outweighs the wanting. Enough that even knowing the risks, you’d still choose him every single time.Enough that when he falls asleep beside you after another impossible week, you look at him and think: I could do this for a very, very long time.
=
Being awake for thirty-six hours straight does strange things to your brain.
Mainly you stop filtering thoughts ehich is why you’ve spent the last fifteen minutes rambling sleepily in Seungcheol’s passenger seat about one resident who tried stitching a wound “like he was crocheting.”
“He held the forceps like chopsticks,” you mumble dramatically, head leaned against the window “Cheol, I almost resigned.”
Beside you, Seungcheol laughs quietly while driving “You say that every shift.”
“This time I meant it.”
“Mhm.”
“And then,” you continue, pointing weakly, “someone coded because apparently the universe hates me personally.”
“You saved them.”
“I know.” You sigh deeply
His hand reaches over briefly, squeezing your thigh once gently
“Proud of you.”
Your exhausted heart immediately melts.
You yawn hugely afterward and close your eyes briefly. The roads are quieter now.
Less familiar. No turn toward your apartment.
Your eyes slowly open again “…Wait.”
Seungcheol hums innocently. You sit up slightly and look outside. The buildings are taller here. Very much not your neighborhood.
You narrow your eyes at him immediately “Captain Choi Seungcheol.”
“That’s me.”
“Where are we going?”
“My place”
Your eyebrows lift “You have a place?”
That finally gets a laugh out of him “Yes, pretty girl. I do occasionally live somewhere.”
“Why do I feel like you just revealed a second secret family?”
“You’re dramatic when sleepy.”
“I’m observant.”
“Mhm.”
The car finally pulls smoothly into a sleek underground parking entrance.
Your jaw drops a little “Oh.”
Seungcheol glances over briefly, amused already “You okay?”
“No because what is this?”
“You’ve been awake too long.”
“No,” you point at the parking structure accusingly, “this is suspiciously rich.”
“It’s an apartment building.”
Then things somehow get worse because the moment you both step into the lobby, security immediately nods respectfully at him.
Even the hallway carpeting feels wealthy.
You blink slowly while following him toward his door “…You live here.”
“Observant again.”
“Shut up.”
Seungcheol unlocks the apartment casually before stepping aside to let you in first.
Then you walk inside and actually stop.
“Oh my god.”
The apartment is stunning. Just quietly expensive. Clean lines. Dark neutral colors.
The entire place feels exactly like him somehow. Not a single plant.
You turn slowly in a circle then immediately whirl toward him in betrayal
“All this time,” you say incredulously, “you had this luxury apartment and we stayed at mine?!”
Seungcheol chuckles while setting your bag down near the couch “It’s not luxury.”
You stare at him then gesture wildly around the apartment.
“This is literally rich people air.”
“It’s just an apartment”
“You have windows taller than my future”
You continue wandering slowly while shaking your head “I knew military paid well but—”
Your eyes catch on something near the shelving unit. Several plaques. Medals. Pins. Awards carefully arranged with quiet neatness.
Not displayed arrogantly. Just… present.
Your expression softens immediately.
Slowly, you step closer. Most of them mean nothing to you technically but you know enough to understand what they represent.
Service. Danger. Things survived. Things sacrificed.
Your fingers hover near it carefully “…These are yours?”
Seungcheol goes quieter behind you “Yeah.”
A home belonging to someone rarely allowed to stay long enough to live in it fully. You notice there aren’t many personal decorations.
No traces of permanence like the apartment was built for someone constantly prepared to leave again.
Your chest tightens unexpectedly “You’re barely here, aren’t you?”
Seungcheol leans lightly against the kitchen counter watching you “Not usually.”
Then his gaze softens slightly while looking at you standing there among pieces of his life.
You look around once more slowly and the apartment suddenly makes perfect sense.
Of course this is where Captain Choi Seungcheol lives. Everything about it screams him.
You walk back toward him slowly until you’re standing right in front of him.
“One question.”
“Mm?”
“How much does this couch cost?”
His dimples appear instantly “Go shower, doctor.”
“That means it’s expensive”
“You drooled on yourself in the car”
“That’s not related”
He reaches over and tugs you gently closer by your wrist anyway. Warm hand wrapping around yours easily.
“Stay tonight.” The way he says it feels different somehow.
Your tired heart melts immediately. You look up at him and smile softly.
“…Only if you cuddle me.”
“Dangerous thing to demand from a man who missed you all day.”
Your face warms instantly “You flirt too much.”
“You like it”
He’s right.
The shower helps a little.
You change into one of Seungcheol’s shirts left neatly on the counter for you and towel dry your hair while walking barefoot through the apartment.
The moment you step out though you stop.
Seungcheol sits at the dining table, a few papers spread neatly in front of him.
The city lights spill softly through the windows behind him, casting half his face into shadow.
And immediately something feels wrong.
You try lightening it anyway “This,” you say slowly while approaching, “looks like every divorce scene in all dramas ever written.”
Seungcheol chuckles softly but it doesn’t fully reach his eyes and that alone makes your stomach drop.
You slowly pull out the chair across from him and sit.
He looks tired suddenly.
Not physically.
Something deeper.
Then finally he speaks. “These are…” He glances down briefly at the papers “Forms to update my records at the base.”
Your chest tightens.
“Emergency contacts, authorizations. Next of kin.”
Your breath catches instantly.
Different careers.
Same meaning.
You know exactly what papers like these are for.
The room suddenly feels colder “Cheol—”
Only then does he finally look at you and the expression in his eyes almost wrecks you immediately.
“I need to go,” he says quietly “Soon.”
Your fingers tighten slowly together beneath the table.
“How soon?”
“…Day after tomorrow.”
The air leaves your lungs.
“This time…” Seungcheol starts then stops.
His jaw tightens slightly. He can’t finish it. Doesn’t need to. You already understand.
Higher risk. More covert. More dangerous.
Which means the possibility hanging unspoken between you both suddenly becomes too real to ignore.
Your hands begin shaking before you even realize it.
Slowly, you reach for the papers. Your eyes skim them but don’t really process the words.
You’ve been on the other side of conversations like this before. You’ve watched families shatter after one phone call. You’ve stood in quiet hospital rooms delivering impossible news while trying to hold yourself together professionally.
But this… this rattles you differently.
Because now it’s him. Your boyfriend.
Your vision blurs suddenly.
Seungcheol watches your hands tremble around the papers and something painful twists across his face immediately.
“Hey,” he says softly but your chest hurts too much now.
“You said you’d come back,” you whisper shakily.
“I will.”
“But you can’t know that.”
Silence.
Seungcheol exhales slowly then leans back slightly in his chair like he’s making a decision.
Then quietly he reaches into his pocket. Your brows furrow faintly through the blur in your eyes.
“What are you—”
“Before you panic,” he says immediately, which is an absolutely terrible opening.
He reaches across the table gently for your hand. Warm fingers wrapping around your shaking ones and then he places something small into your palm.
Your breath catches sharply.
A ring.
Just beautiful. Simple. Solid.
Very him.
You look up immediately, stunned “Cheol…”
Before you can say anything else, he speaks first like he needs to get the words out before losing courage
“I’ll ask properly when I come back.”
Your heart cracks wide open. Seungcheol’s thumb brushes shakily against your knuckles.
“So you know,” he says quietly, voice rougher now, “that I fully intend to.”
The tears spill instantly after that.
One second you’re trying to stay composed, the next you’re crying so suddenly it almost surprises you.
Seungcheol moves immediately. Chair scraping sharply against the floor as he crosses to you without hesitation.
“Hey, hey—” He kneels in front of you fast, hands gently holding your face while you cry harder than you intended to.
Not graceful tears. Real terrified emotional ones… because you love him. Because you understand exactly what all this means. Because the idea of losing him feels unbearable now. And because somehow this terrifying man just handed you a promise disguised as a ring.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper brokenly
“For what?”
“I don’t know.” You laugh wetly through tears “Everything.”
His expression softens so painfully it nearly undoes you again.
“Pretty girl,” he murmurs gently, brushing tears from your cheeks carefully “Don’t cry like this.”
“You can’t just—” You inhale shakily. “You can’t just hand me a ring before a dangerous mission.”
“I know.”
“That’s insane behavior.”
A tiny helpless smile appears on his mouth “You still haven’t said no.”
You stare at him through tears then let out a disbelieving laugh.
Your fingers close tightly around the ring and suddenly the fear shifts into something else too.
Certainty.
Because even terrified like this, even knowing exactly what loving him means…
You already know your answer.
His forehead lowers carefully against your knee while his hands stay wrapped around yours.
And for the first time since you walked into the dining room—
Captain Choi Seungcheol finally lets himself look scared too.
“I need to come back because I want a life with you after this.”
And that breaks whatever was left of your composure completely. You slide from the chair onto the floor with him immediately, arms wrapping tightly around his neck while he catches you against him.
You bury your face against him crying quietly while he presses kisses into your hair over and over.
“I love you,” you whisper shakily for the first time without planning to.
Seungcheol freezes then his arms tighten around you so hard it almost hurts.
Like hearing those words from you physically wrecked him.
His face presses briefly against your shoulder before he finally whispers back:
what other groups do you stan? i love your svt fics so much and im curious about other groups you like👀
this may be a surprise to my newer readers, i am actually a nctzen too😹😊💚 i started this blog writing for nct. i still love them, they were literally a big part of my youth.
Also big fan of aespa. my babies🥺 ever since debut, even waaay back they were teased thru nct MV. and Red Velvet too!! a lot of sm groups & svt basically😅
Welcome back Mimi! And you’re back with another beautiful Cheol story ❤️
I read it last night, but through the day today, some scenes kept coming back to my mind like it was real and happened in front of me 🤭 Glad it was a long weekend or else no work would have happened this Monday
Hope you are doing well!
hellloooo so glad to be back🤍 i guess i just needed to find that new inspiration to go back to writing, i'm so glad it turned out better than expected like whatever was in my head that is exacccctly this fic and im so happy about it.
i'm doing okay thank you! i hope you are having a great week too. see yo on the next fic😊
hii lovely ! is it possible to include word counts in your fics? no worries if you prefer not to 🫶
hellooo~ yea this is one thing im not good at doing😭 i think its bcs waaaaay back when i started this blog i used to write my fics straight on here, not even on gdocs or word. just here on tumblr drafts so i didnt have a way to tell the wc (or im not aware😅) but now i mainly edit on gdocs or word first , then upload it here but then i'll edit here again and end up on diff word count.
SHORT answer is it's just easier for me to not include it😭 its a small detail i know im sorrryyy i'll try on my future fics but i guess thats my signature style?😅
