Park Jongseong or more known as Park Jay is the one of the youngest professor for neosurgery and the only child of the director from the biggest hospital from south korea.
Bae Jihye, the youngest attorney ever to put more than 3 corrupt politicians behind the bars in the decade and the daughter of a lovable politician.
it was a like a fate they met but their first impressions on each other weren't great. they may bickered alot but deep down in their heart, they care for each other but don't know how to show it and kept hurting each other with their words and actions...
it's the finale book for OFF series... i need to execute it better (cries)
summary: your daughter asks heeseung to tell the greatest love story of all and he takes the chance to narrate how he met you, the love of his life.
warnings: fluff & crack! (i tried), early 2000s au, kinda enemies to lovers, heeseung is down bad, they have a daughter, mentions of pregnancy, heeseung plays basketball, cuddling and kissing, light angst, mentions of leukaemia, parent’s death, if more lmk. NOT PROOFREAD
published: 23rd April 2024
wc: 6.2k
tag list: @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @heelvsted
Heeseung couldn’t bring himself to wake you up, knowing you were so exhausted from all the things you had to do.
Not only did you manage to prepare everything for Jia’s kindergarten, take her there and get to work in time but you also cleaned and cooked in your spare time, leaving little to just sit down and rest, which was why every time you sat down on the sofa, you ended up falling in a deep slumber.
He smiled fondly, covering your curled figure with a blanket and turned around with his hands on his hips “Tin Soldier.”
He called with a forced low voice, making Jia’s attention turn from the toy in her hand to her father, she placed her stocky hand on her forehead, standing at attention “Captain Hamster.”
Heeseung chuckled at her high pitched voice and scooped her up from the floor, taking her in his arms “Mission sweet tooth,” He booped her nose “Time for teeth brushing.”
Jia let out a whine of disappointment “But I want to play more.” She pouted, and if Heeseung didn’t know how much you’d get upset if Jia missed her bedtime, he’d let his daughter play to her heart's content.
“I know,” He pinched her cheek softly, earning a giggle “But I heard the tooth fairy doesn’t come to those who don’t brush their teeth before bed…” He trailed off, Jia’s eyes widened and she quickly climbed down Heeseung’s arms, hurrying upstairs. He could hear her small steps darting to the bathroom, making him smile writhing himself.
He glanced back at you, feeling such an euphoric feeling he thought his heart would explode.
Heeseung walked close to you and placed a featherlight kiss on your forehead, but your momma instinctive feelings made your eyes open up, alerted to your surroundings as you tried to get the sight of your daughter.
“Shh..” He soothed, caressing your cheek “I’ll prepare Jia for bed, mh?” He kissed the corner of your lips, your eyes already closed under his relaxing touch “You stay here, I'll take you to bed later.” You just let out a sleepy hum, your eyes too heavy to stay open more.
Heeseung went upstairs, following his daughter’s route and getting to the bathroom where she was already brushing her teeth, probably with a little too much toothbrush but it didn’t matter. He was glad she was trying.
Jia rinsed her mouth and opened it to let her father see how much of a good job she did, Heeseung smiled proudly “Great job, Tin Soldier. It's jammy mission now.” Jia giggled as she hurried off the stool that helped her reach the faucet and took Heeseung's sleeve, dragging him (more like, he let himself be dragged) to her bedroom.
The baby took her pyjama from the chair and placed it on the bed, “Daddy, can you help me?” She asked, clumsily removing her clothes.
Heeseung nodded, smiling as he saw her attempts at changing, despite still not majoring in it. In no time, she was clean and ready to bed, Heeseung tugged her under the blankets and sat by the edge of the bed, only the thin reflection of the pink night light illuminating the room.
They stared at each other for a few moments until Jia spoke “No bedtime story?” She tilted her head in confusion “You want me to tell you a bedtime story?”
“Mommy always does,” He explained, hugging her purple bear tightly “And what kind of stories does mommy tell you?” Heeseung asked, curious
“She usually recounts Tangled because she like a Flynn Rider.” Jia informed, making Heeseung raise a brow “She does?” Was it possible to feel jealous of a cartoon character? Probably not but Heeseung was crazy about you, so he’d make it a normal thing.
“Yes, but it’s always the same story.” Jia sighed, shaking her head “I want a more interesting one.”
Heeseung stayed silent, his lips forming a thin line as he tried to think “What do you want to hear about?”
It didn’t take much for Jia to reply “I want the greatest love story of all.” She answered happily, at her age, everything was about fantasies and unicorns.
So, Heeseung tried to think about the many love stories he knew, the famous tales he’d known growing up. There was Cinderella, The Little Mermaid and…. a candle lit in his mind.
“I’ll tell you the greatest love story of all,” He started with a cocky smirk “The best fairytale ever told.”
His words fuelled Jia’s curiosity as she snuggled better under the blankets, eyes sparkling “The wonderful love story of Lee Heeseung and L/N Y/N.”
Jia’s face was puzzled “But that’s you and mommy.” She stated and Heeseung nodded, smiling “Mommy isn’t a princess.”
Heeseung shook his head, but his smile never disappeared from his lips. “No, she’s my queen.” He ruffled Jia’s hair “So, do you want to hear it?”
“Mhmh!” Jia hummed in response “If mommy is a queen then I am the princess.” Heeseung let out a low chuckle, nodding “Yes, you are our dear princess.”
Jia smiled widely, one of those smiles that made your days uncontrollably better and sweeter “Tell me, tell me.” She incited her father
“It all started on..”
⪩⪨
A rainy Thursday afternoon. It was the perfect time for a cinema hang out with friends. You stood in front of the long line, it seemed like everyone had your same idea since both elderly couples and families with children were buying tickets and popcorn. You waved your hand to a young boy who was staring at you while holding a sachet of popcorn bigger than him, he waved back, making you smile.
You turned your head to see that most of the queue was gone, so you surpassed some of those people who never moved and just stared at the menu. You already knew your order, so why would you wait for them to choose?
The cashier who looked like he could really do a vacation asked in a monotone voice “What do you want to order?”
“A packet of Twizzlers.” You said but your voice did not seem quite like yours. You turned your head to the side just to meet a pair of big eyes staring at you in disbelief.
You two narrowed your eyes at each other, a staring battle that would declare the winner. Why were you acting that way? Because the packet of Twizzlers was the last one, and if that pretty boy thought he could steal it from you, he thought wrongly.
The cashier cleared his throat. “It’s the last one.” He stated, holding the dear packet of candies in front of you two
“I was there first.” The boy tried to defend himself, making you scoff “He was talking to me.” You raised a challenging brow.
“I clearly saw you cutting the line.” He blamed “False accusation, do you have any proof?”
“You were at the end of the queue just two seconds ago!” He exclaimed, making you smirk “You were staring at me?” Pink flashed instantly on the guy’s cheeks “No.” He tried to mask it, but you could clearly see some frustration in his features
The cashier cleared his throat once again, snatching your attention. “Just decide already, or I will.”
“No!” You both screamed, side eyeing each other once again “They’re mine.” The boy said, making you roll your eyes, “Your name ain’t written on them.”
“Neither is yours.” He raised his chin, an attempt to make you see he wasn’t backing down.
There was a moment where you two stared at each other, silence filling the place except for the vociferate inside the cinema halls, waiting for the movie to begin.
“Rock, paper, scissors!” You both exclaimed at the same time again, showing your hands. He cursed under his breath, seeing your petite hand that represented paper wrap around his closed fist which was rock.
“I won.” You said mockingly, throwing a few coins on the counter and taking the packet of twizzlers in your hand.
You were walking away when the cashier called you “Miss, excuse me?” You turned around and raised a questioning brow
He waved the coins you used to pay for the candies “You’re missing ten cents.”
You widened your eyes, checking your jeans pockets. You were sure you took the right amount of money, had you miscounted them?
An hopeful grin spread across the guy’s lips, taking the pennies from the cashier’s fingers and walking toward you “Guess this should be mine.” He tried to take the packet of Twizzlers but you moved your arm
He sighed, shaking his head “Listen, darling—“ “Don’t call me darling” You snapped at him, a frown on your face
He placed two surrounding hands between you two “Alright, my bad.” He then pointed at you and the dear packet of candies “You don’t have enough money, but I do, so just give it up and go watch your movie.”
Your mouth fell agape, staring at him in disbelief. However, you had nothing to counterattack anymore and had to stay still when he took the packet, replacing your hand with your not enough coins and paying for it to the overtired cashier.
The boy winked at you before disappearing down the corridor that led to the halls.
A movie just wasn’t the same without Twizzlers, but instead of doing twenty cents charity outside the cinema to buy at least a coke, you hurried inside the hall that projected ‘The Notebook’ and tried to find your seat, despite the room being dark already. Fortunately, there was at least ten minutes of advertising, so you had enough time to let yourself fall on the seat with a loud thud, earning a few ‘shhh’s from other people.
“Girl, what’s wrong with you?” Your best friend, Sunoo asked “What took you so long to come back? I thought you got lost or something.”
You shook your head, a defeated expression painted on your face “Someone stole my Twizzlers.” You fake-dried a tear
“Aw, poor you.” Sunoo patted your shoulder, knowing your tradition of eating candies and drinking coke while watching a movie “It’s ok, I’ll share my coke with you.” He took the giant cup and placed it on the armrest between the two of you. You smiled at him and focused your attention on the movie that started.
You felt a familiar scent filling your nostrils, you slowly turned your head and raised a brow when you noticed that not only had that boy stolen your candies, he was also eating them on the seat beside yours. You had not noticed it when you first sat down, but now you could clearly see his silhouette enjoying the snack that should’ve been yours.
As if feeling someone’s stare on him, he turned his head and met your angry gaze, his eyes widened a little before they turned into two half-moons, a smug grin on his lips. You exchanged no words but the way he was acting was so mocking it made your blood burn.
You gave your attention back to the film, not wanting to fuel his ego by acting affected by his childish behaviour. Yes, it was childish, but you were more petty so it did anger you. Who did he think he was to act that way?
The movie continued, even if you were painfully aware of the parasite beside you, you were able to follow the whole plot line until the ending scene was replaced with the closing credits. Murmurs filled the cinema room, the lights went on and you heard.
Sunoo was crying rivers beside you which made you chuckle, he had already finished his third tissue when he said “I’ll run to the bathroom.” To probably cry some more and try to fix his swelling eyes later. You were about to follow him when you heard a sniffle from your other side, you turned around and your eyes lit up when you noticed the stealer crying.
He raised his head and hid it behind his hands when he noticed you were staring. A heartfelt laugh escaped your lips “Don’t laugh at me.” He mumbled with a clear runny nose “You bet I am.” You sat down again, waiting for all the people to flow out and leave the exits freer “That’s what you get for stealing my snacks.”
He peaked at you from behind his fingers. “It’s not my fault you’re broke.” You tsked at his false-not-so-false statement “It’s not my fault you’re a crybaby.”
He side-eyed you and you side-eyed him back, just like Sunoo had taught you. The boy tried to dry his tears and runny nose, which was both unhygienic and impossible with one palm of his hand.
You felt a little pitiful for him and sighed, taking a tissue from the small tissue box and handing it to the boy.
He eyed it warily, not sure if he should’ve accepted it or not. “It’s not poisonous, unlike your germs.” You waved it in front of his face and he accepted it with a groan, blowing his nose and drying his tears.
He crumpled it and put it in his jeans pocket, staring at you while gulping down in a nervous way. You chuckled teasingly “What? Is the venom acting up?”
He rolled his eyes and took something from inside his hoodie’s pocket, “I saved this for you.”
You stared at the red candy stick he was holding out for you with a frown “What?” You asked, puzzled. Heeseung just sighed, acting unbiased. “I was full, don’t think I did it out of kindness.”
“What’s your name?” You asked suddenly, making him widen his eyes “Careful, you sound interested.”
You pursued your lips “Just answer, yeah?” The boy placed the candy on your palm, standing up.
You hadn’t noticed it, but he towered you by a lot just with you sitting, you didn’t imagine how you would have to pull your neck to look into his eyes by standing in front of him.
He stretched, lazily placing his hands in his pocket “Heeseung,” He beckoned to you “Y/N.” You replied
“Thank you for the tissue, Y/N.” He said and the way your name rolled from his tongue made your stomach turn. Whether it was disgust or attraction, you didn’t dare to label.
“Unthank you for the Twizzlers.” You smirked and turned on your heels, walking away before he even had the chance to talk to you more.
⪩⪨
“You cried over a movie?” Jia asked in an accusatory tone “I’m a sensitive person.” Heeseung huffed, blinking faintly
“I think you’re just a cry baby.” Jia raised her chin proudly “I didn’t even cry when I went to the dentist.”
Heeseung sniggered softly, booping his daughter's nose. He couldn’t help but always show some sort of affection towards her. The feeling of protection and longing was so strong whenever they spent time together. “Of course, you’re stronger than me.”
“Did you see her again later?” Heeseung nodded “Yes, but it was a lot of time later, like one month or so.” Jia widened her eyes “That much?” He hummed, running a hand in his hair “I was always awestruck when I saw her, it happened at the cinema and again…”
⪩⪨
“A 40, please.” Heeseung forced out a smile and handed the skates to the young girl who just asked. He was supposed to be relaxing at home but his brother decided to have a small trip with his girlfriend and obviously, it was Heeseung’s turn to cover up for him.
He had been handing skates that smelled like sweat and rotten cheese to people for four hours, and the thoughts of doing that for another one and half made him feel sick.
“A 38, please.” Heeseung’s eyes widened at the familiar voice, he raised his head and stared at your face through his bangs.
“You!” You both shouted at the same time, making the gesture of the Spiderman meme “What are you doing here?” He asked, eyeing you up and down.
Perhaps, it was the reddish lightning of the room, or the fact that your hair had grown a little, seeming like the perfect length for you; or the soft make up accentuating your face. Or maybe just the toxic fumes from the overused skates played tricks on his head.
“What’s taking so long?” One arm sneaked around your shoulders, making Heeseung raise a brow.
Oh, that was why you were there.
“My size is hard to find.” You lied, beckoning to Heeseung to do his job. Complying, he turned around and found your skates. passing them to you “Remember to take the safety precautions.” He said the same phrase he’d been repeating so many times and watched as you walked away with that guy’s arm still around your shoulder.
It shouldn’t have pissed him off, but it did. The way you smiled with him, helping him skating despite him was a lost case. Seriously, that guy sucked at skating, he had fallen so many times in just one hour.
Trying to distract himself, when he saw you approaching the counter bar, he started polishing the skates, but the urge to just talk to you was strong, so he approached you, sneakingly.
“Where’s your date?” Heeseung asked, cleaning the table with a sponge near where you were sat “Bathroom.” You replied nonchalantly
A soft frown curved his forehead “You’ve been sitting here for fifteen minutes, you sure he’s still in there?” At his words you smirked “You were staring at me?” Those same two words you told him when you first met.
You added “I saw him sneaking away five minutes ago, I just like to think he had a massive diarrhoea and didn’t actually dump me.”
Fucker. If he didn’t want to go out with you anymore he could’ve at least told you face to face.
The notes of ‘She Will Be Loved’ by Maroon 5 started playing as background music. Heeseung stared at you, you looked so gorgeous with your makeup, messy hair from the skating and the same bored expression you always wore, like nothing truly entertained you enough.
“What a loser.” He joked instead, earning a scoff from you “Why don’t you put yourself to good use and make me a smoothie?” You asked, sliding three coins on the counter.
Heeseung raised a brow, “I don’t know how to do it.” You raised it back “Don’t you work here?”
He shook his head “I’m just filling in for my brother.” You rolled your eyes “How useless.”
You were about to take those coins back when Heeseung stopped you, his hands brushing against yours “I’ll do it.” You smirked “A vanilla one, thank you.”
It was already late afternoon and the skating room wasn’t as packed as it was during the early hours, so Heeseung could put aside the skates sizes to make you a smoothie. Obviously, only to prove to you he was better than you thought, not because he wanted to cheer you up. Not at all.
Fiddling a little bit with the smoothies machine, he managed to make one, a little too liquid, but still drinkable.
He placed victoriously the glass in front of you, adding a straw inside “Here ya go.” You eyed it up and down, warily “Did you spit in it?”
Heeseung put a hand on his chest, acting wounded “You think so low of me.” You sighed while shaking your hand and took a small sip of the ‘vanilla smoothie’
“How is it?” He asked, hopeful. You just shrugged “Not bad for a newbie.”
Heeseung smirked, leaning against the counter, you could feel his body heat near you “Where’s my tip?”
You rolled your eyes, pushing him away “Nowhere.”
Your phone rang at that moment, you made a gesture for him to keep quiet and answered “Yes, mom… Yes, I know— at the, don’t shout, at the skating rink—“ A heavy sigh “Okay, I’ll be home.”
You hung up and hopped off the stool “Where are you going?” Heeseung frowned, “You haven’t even finished your smoothie.”
“Curfew.” You replied, waving your phone to him. He raised a brow “Don’t ask.”
Heeseung nodded, exiting from behind the counter, still in his brother’s uniform. Now you raised a brow “Where are you going?”
“I’ll walk you home.” You scowled, your face showing surprise “You’re working.” You stated
Heeseung pointed at the clock on the wall that ticked 06:03 PM. “Technically, my shift ended three minutes ago.”
“And why would you walk me home?” You asked “If something happened to you on the way, I’m sure your ghost would haunt me.”
You tsked, “I wouldn’t give you the honour to visit you when I’m dead.” Heeseung just smiled and nudged your shoulder with his “Lead the way, Twizzlers lover.”
You just rolled your eyes and walked out as he held the door for you “Let’s go, Twizzlers stealer.”
⪩⪨
“Why did that boy leave mommy?” Jia asked, her lips shifting to a cute pout “Because he didn’t realise what a treasure your mother is.” Heeseung answered, now sitting beside Jia with her small body curled under his arm.
“And you walked her home?” He nodded, laughing at the memories “Your grandfather went crazy when he saw me walk her home, I got a slipper thrown at my head.”
Jia chuckled as well, her soft giggles echoing through the whole room “What’s so funny? I got hurt.”
Jia chuckled loudly, hiding her face in her father’s chest “Grandpa still throws slippers at you.” She stated, making Heeseung laugh again “That’s right.”
“What happened then?” She asked, wanting to know more about her parents' love story. This was better than any prince and princesses tales her mother used to tell her.
“Later, I was forced to have dinner with them.” Heeseung started narrating, “After that awkward meal, me and Y/N grew closer. We kept bickering and fighting, but with her, no conversation was forced.”
Jia frowned “What does it mean?” She naively asked, of course she wouldn’t know this yet, so Heeseung explained “Sometimes, we feel forced to talk to others, however with your mother I didn’t even have to think about what to say, words just came to my mind.”
“Mommy seemed like she hated you.” The baby stated, glancing up to her father “She didn’t.”
Jia tilted her head “How do you know?” Heeseung smiled fondly, “I just knew.”
⪩⪨
“This one’s for you!” Heeseung exclaimed, throwing the ball to the basket just to painfully miss it. You laughed loudly at his fail “I hope that’s not how you flirt with girls or that explains why you’re single.” You snickered
Heeseung reached the ball and dribbled it around the court, his sleeves rolled up and his bangs sticking to the sweat on his forehead “Only with you.” He winked, making you act as if you were about to gag.
“Do you think I’ll be able to enter the college’s basketball team?” He asked, his voice sounding a little too serious for his usual playful character.
“We still have two months to think about college,” You frowned. “Let me live my summer without any thoughts.” Heeseung chuckled and threw the ball at you, which you caught before it landed on your face.
“I know,” He caught the ball you threw back at him “But I truly want to get a scholarship and maybe become a basketball player.” His tone may have been indifferent but his eyes were full of insecurities that could not could not be ignored.
You had been enemy (friend) with Heeseung long enough to know he had two things he deeply cared for: His family and basketball.
He was the High School team captain but hadn’t managed to receive a scholarship to enter the Sports faculty, which meant he had to rely on his own skills and money.
That wasn’t a problem, you know his family would always support his dreams, but there was something that Heeseung did not tell you about. You had a feeling, however you didn’t want to assume things. He’d tell you when he felt like it.
Your expression softened, you jumped off the railing and moved closer to him, stealing the ball from his hands, that he let you do, and taking a shot.
The ball entered the basket, making you smile proudly “You’re the best player I know, Heeseung.” You said honestly, nudging his shoulder with yours. The ball bounced back to you and you scooped it from the floor, placing a hand that signalled to Heeseung to wait there.
You rushed to your bags and took something he couldn’t see. He waited patiently, following all your movements.
You turned around and showed him what you did— holding out his basketball ball with a smiley face drawn on it “You just have to believe it too.” The smile on your lips matched with the ball’s one, but yours shone brighter. Heeseung felt a warm feeling spread all over his chest, something tickling his heart.
“Not as good as me.” You smirked playfully, taking another shot that missed the basket “Cause at least I fail gracefully.”
Heeseung shook his head, his lips curling into a small grin “You free tomorrow evening?” He suddenly asked and you quickly replied “Not at all.”
Heeseung knitted his brows “Why?” You sat back on the railing “The new season of ‘One Tree Hill’ is airing, I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
He reached for you, taking the new-styled ball in his hands and rolling it “Not even if I said I’ll buy you Twizzlers?” You pondered a little but then shook your head “Nah ah.”
“Damn.” Heeseung sighed, “I’ll watch it with you, then.”
You blinked faintly “You called my series trash yesterday.” Heeseung nodded “Well, they are.” He hopped on the railing beside you “But when I become the best basketball player in the world, I won’t be able to spend much time with you.”
You smiled, noting how he said ‘when’ and not ‘if’ “Finally some time away from you.” Heeseung faked being offended “I’ll say on national TV that you were about to sabotage my career.” You laughed “I’ll be making prayers for your downfall.”
You both laughed at whatever, teasing each other but knowing when to stop not to upset the other.
“Eight PM, tomorrow?” Heeseung questioned, “I don’t want you in my house.” You answered, laughing “I’ll climb the window.” You immediately shook your head, knowing he could manage to do it, because he had tried once “Fine, loser. Roast beef for dinner, take it or leave it.”
Heeseung smirked, biting his bottom lip “Not you as a meal?” You widened your eyes, pushing him off the railing “What the hell.”
“Ouch—“ He fell flat on the floor, “That hurt.” You wiggled your brows “Serves you right.”
“Oh yeah?” He said, tone flirty as he took the ball and hit you hard with it, making you fall “How dare you!” You started chasing after him while he ran away.
If anyone saw you from afar, they’d think you were two people madly in love with each other… and you were.
You just hadn’t realised it yet.
⪩⪨
“You wanted to become a basketball player?” Jia asked, her voice filled with sleepiness, but she wanted to know how the story continued, so she fought her eyes open.
“Yes dear,” Heeseung placed a featherlight kiss on Jia’s hair. “I played basketball and was the best player in the world— or so Y/N thought.”
“But you don’t play anymore.” She stated and Heeseung shook his head in response “No, I don’t.” Jia yawned softly “Why?”
He sighed sadly, gulping down “Before I went to college, my mother passed away.” Heeseung held Jia a little tighter “She had leukaemia, which is a very bad thing,” He explained easily so that his daughter could understand “And I needed stability, I needed something that basketball couldn’t bring me.”
Jia looked up at him “And what could?”
“Your mother.”
⪩⪨
You couldn’t believe you learned about it two days later. That day was the date of the funeral and you weren’t by Heeseung’s side. Truth to be told, you tried to reach for him a lot in the past few days, but his brother either shrugged you off or didn’t even answer the door.
You thought you did something wrong, but it turned out his mother died due to the illness that had been haunting her for over a year.
You should’ve realised it, you should be by his side, giving him the strength he needed to get through it. Which was why you were running despite the pouring rain, trying to reach the location of the funeral.
You didn’t care if you were going to be sick the next day, your fixed thought was Heeseung and just him.
Heeseung, on the other hand, had been painfully quiet and shut down. He hasn’t comprehended yet that he was going to live the rest of his life without his dear mother, facing the troubles and sufferings of adulthood alone.
The whole room was packed with relatives he had never known about, all giving him pity glances and condolences he didn’t need. He just wanted his mother back.
Sighing, he went outside to have some time alone. As soon as he stepped outside, the cold breeze hugged his body, making him shiver. The rain made his suit wet but he didn’t really care— maybe it would take the pain away with its drain.
He stared at the night sky, the moon and the stars watching him back, probably feeling pity for him too.
His heart was heavy and black, full of grief and sorrow. He just wished you were there to make it better. You always did.
Your smile, your playfulness, your sharp tongue. He liked everything about you, even your ugliest flaw.
As he was trying to fill his dull mind with the thought of you, he saw something rushing in the streets, towards his directions.
The figure kept coming closer and closer until a familiar face was lightened from the lightbulb.
There he saw you, standing under the pouring rain, looking ever so dreamlike. There was a moment where you both just studied each other’s faces, as if you hadn’t seen each other in forever— which felt like it.
Just a couple of days without you made him realise how important you are, how much he needed you. No words were exchanged, there was no necessity, you hurried your steps toward him and hugged him, your embrace so warm in contrast with the cold weather.
Heeseung let out a sob and then another until he was crying ugly on your chest, all the tears he wasn’t able to shed until that day. You rubbed soothing circles on his chest, gripping him tightly, afraid that he would shatter right there.
“W-Why..” He weeped, his voice breaking from the trembling of his lips, due to both the cold and his crying “It— It was too early.. Why her?”
You let him rumble nonsense, knowing how heartbroken and sad he was, you just held him through the pain, hoping to at least relieve some “I know, but I am here now, I won’t leave you.”
Heeseung looked up at you, his eyes glossy, his whole body soaked and nose reddened. Perfect regardless. You stared at him, afraid that if you blinked he would disappear, and he seemed to be thinking the same thought.
You placed your hands on both his cheeks, your thumb rubbing them. Heeseung gulped down, his long lashes and bambi eyes enchanting you, so mesmerising.
You didn’t know what you were doing until you felt his hot breath hit your skin, like one of Jupiter's satellites orbiting around him, getting closer and closer to him.
And then, like a crashing wave, your lips found each other into a gentle and soft kiss, his hands raising to brush against the nape of your neck.
You let out a sigh in his mouth, his hand grasping the back of your head, tilting it to deepen the kiss. It was an anchor that he needed, something not to give up for. You wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing his body flush to yours, both of you warming the other, protecting from the darkness of the world.
He was the first to pull away, his lips swollen as he stared at you “You don’t know how much I waited for this.” He whispered, shaking his head to emphasise his words. Your whole body trembled under his touch, his expression filling with worry “Are you cold? We should—“
You shushed him by reattaching your lips together, only one kiss not enough to calm down the desire, “No,” you murmured on his lips “You just make me feel so much it’s overwhelming.” He let out a small sigh, nodding as if to say he felt the same. His heart was beating so fast he could feel it in his throat, every best spelling your name.
“Thank you for coming,” He whispered and you smiled at him “You know I wouldn’t leave you alone even if I were a ghost— Sorry!” You exclaimed, realising it was not the best time to bring up the conversation you had at the skating rink.
To your surprise, Heeseung laughed out loud and pressed his lips on your brow, ever so caring “Please, don’t ever lose it.”
Puzzled, you asked “Lose what?” Heeseung smiled, “The spark that makes you, you.”
Your breath caught in your throat, his gaze intense as he studied those same features he knew by heart. You grinned back “If I had a packet of Twizzlers, I’d give you the last one.”
Heeseung bit his bottom lip, not able to hide the way his lips curled upwards everytime he was with you. “If I had a packet of Rolos, I’d give you the last one.”
⪩⪨
“You kissed mommy?” Jia’s voice grew softer every passing minute “Yes— but you can’t let a person kiss you until you’re eighteen, understood?”
“Why?” She asked, playing with the arms of her purple teddy bear “Because I say so.”
“Is the story finished?” Jia questioned with another yawn, as much as she wanted to hear more, her eyelids were becoming heavier
“I’ll make it quick,” Heeseung started, massaging Jia’s arm. “Mommy and I started dating after that kiss, it wasn’t official because none of us was truly ready, but we both knew what we had was magical.” He smiled within himself.
“Then, we graduated from college and I proposed to her,” Jia’s heart-lips opened to resemble an ‘o’ “With a ring?” Heeseung dipped “Yes, with a ring as beautiful as her.”
“It was an engagement ring, we made a promise to marry after university, and as soon as we got our degrees, we prepared for the big celebration— Your mother looked so perfect by the altar.”
Jia smiled sleepily, imagining how beautiful her mother must’ve looked with the wedding dress on, all candid and white “Like a queen?” Heeseung placed a kiss on her hair “Like a queen.”
“And a couple of years later, we had you.” He smiled happily. Heeseung was so satisfied with his life, and even if he had to give basketball up, he felt like he gained more. He had a beautiful wife, always by his side and a perfect daughter he’d protect with all his might (and probably throw slippers at her boyfriend’s too). His heart never felt so full of love and affection, he was accomplished.
“But the ending…“ He turned around to finish his sentence just to see Jia had fallen asleep, her breaths shallow and calm. He tugged her better under the covers, standing up from the small bed, feeling a little sore but joyful “…Still has to be written.”
He placed another featherlight kiss on her daughter’s forehead, whispering a gentle “Good night.” Before exiting the room.
He closed the door behind her back, hurrying downstairs with light steps. Heeseung saw you were still fast asleep on the couch. He removed the blanket from your figure and hooked his arms behind your neck and knees, scooping you from it.
You blinked your eyes open, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck “Hee?” You murmured, your voice laced with sleep.
“Hey, love.” He nudged his nose with your cheek “Time to get to bed.” You hummed, snuggling closer, hiding your face in the crook of his neck.
Heeseung opened the door to your bedroom with his foot and slowly placed you down on the mattress. You opened your eyes again, staring at him through your half-lids “Jia?” Heeseung smiled reassuringly. “She’s sleeping, just finished telling her a story.”
He laid down beside you, wrapping the cover over your two figures, he shifted closer to you, holding you close “What story?” You asked, your voice hoarse “Just the best story ever.” He placed a sweet kiss on the corner of your lips
“By the way, I’m a better storyteller than you.” He bragged and you scoffed “Liar.”
“Maybe,” He chuckled, wrapping both his arms around your body “But do you know one thing I never lie about?”
You shook your head “I’d give you my last Rolo.” You smiled, he could feel it on his chest “I’d give you my last Twizzler too.”
[⪩⪨] END.
THANK YOU FOR READING ! REBLOG (and like) AND LET ME KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS ON THIS !
SUMMARY: being married to a boxer is frightening— twice as much when you’re raising a child (or two) with that very same man. but none of it matters, not really, because your love for him is unconditional, stronger than fear, deeper than doubt, and it has always lived beyond the reach of worry.
WARNINGS: boxing, mentions of blood and wounds, mentions of pregnancy, morning sickness, pet names (baby, love), fear, love making (it’s just the last scene and barely narrated, but you can choose to skip it), starring yunjin huh (lesserafim), babies (jihoon/james & jiheon/jane). lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.
NOW PLAYING: Brisbane by Youth in Revolt & Heavenly by Broadside
a/n: the meds against allergy the doctor gave me make me feel high so sorry if there are any errors or shit. anw let me know your thoughts on this fic! 🩷 i honestly like it sm (my search history is full of synonyms lol) and please, if you haven’t, read the sunghoon!dad fic i wrote too!
You always woke up first. That was just the way it went.
The early sun never failed to warm your face through the slightly cracked blinds of your shared bedroom, golden light slipping across the foot of the bed like it belonged there.
Jake’s arm was slung heavy around your waist, his breath slow and deep against the nape of your neck, and just a little too warm. One of his legs was tangled with yours, as if even in his sleep he couldn’t stand to be far from you.
And at the foot of the bed, curled up with a stuffed gray bunny that was beginning to unravel at the seams, was James— Jihoon when he was in trouble.
Five years old. Barely able to tie his shoes right, but already carrying Jake’s stubbornness in his bones.
You shifted gently, trying not to wake Jake as you slipped out from under his hold.
He grumbled something incoherent in his sleep and reached out for you, but you were already halfway to the kitchen.
It wasn’t long before little feet padded after you, and then James was clambering onto a chair at the table, face still puffy with sleep, hair a mess.
“Toast?” you asked.
He nodded, rubbing at one eye. “With honey.”
You ruffled his hair before turning to the counter. “You’re getting too used to sweet things in the morning.”
“It makes me run faster,” he insisted, already kicking his legs under the table like he had a hundred miles of energy to spend.
Behind you, you heard Jake’s heavy steps thudding down the hallway, groggy and shirtless, his curls a wild mess. He kissed your shoulder as he passed, then bent over to ruffle Jihoon’s hair too.
“Morning, champ.”
“Morning,” James beamed. “Can we box today?”
Jake laughed as he sat down. “You wanna box again?”
James nodded so hard his curls bounced. “I’m gonna be a boxer just like you!”
You didn’t say anything at first. Just buttered the toast. Carefully.
Jake noticed. Of course he did.
After six years, he could read you better than anyone. “We’ll be careful,” he said softly, glancing at you over James’ head.
“Boxing’s not a game,” you replied quietly. “It’s not— it’s not something I want him dreaming of every night.”
Jake’s eyes softened, and he reached for your hand as you placed the plate of toast down. “I know, I know it scares you. But he doesn’t see the blood or the bruises. He just sees his dad being strong.”
You looked at him, feeling your chest ache. “That’s exactly why I’m scared.”
James munched on his toast without a care in the world, his feet swinging. “Can I come to your next match?” he asked suddenly, crumbs on his lips. “Please, please, please, pleeeeeease?”
Jake blinked, surprised. “What, the next one? That’s in two days, James.”
“I’m big enough,” he declared, sitting up straighter. “I wanna watch, I wanna cheer. Please, mommy?”
You looked at him, at his big, pleading eyes.
At the innocence behind them.
And then you looked at Jake, with the same eyes who looked torn between pride and guilt. It wasn’t fair— how much James looked like both of you at once, how easily he could tug at your heart.
You sighed. “We’ll see.”
Which really meant yes. Because you were never good at saying no when it came to them.
That night, you helped James into Jake’s old boxing gloves. They were far too big, slipping past his wrists, practically swallowing his arms.
He tried to throw punches, but they were mostly flailing motions that made Jake laugh until he was nearly wheezing on the floor.
You leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, trying not to smile too much.
Jake caught your eye, cheeks flushed, a sheen of sweat on his collarbones from messing around with James. “See? He’s a natural.”
“He’s five.”
“He’s my kid, he’s gonna be unstoppable.”
James fell over trying to jab at Jake’s leg. “Gotcha!” he shouted.
Jake swooped down and scooped him up, holding him upside down while James shrieked with laughter. “You got me, huh? You sure about that?”
“Daaaaaaad!”
“You gonna knock me out one day, champ?”
“Yeah! One punch!”
You bit back a laugh as you walked over, flicking Jake’s shoulder. “Put him down before he vomits dinner.”
“Fine,” Jake groaned, dropping James onto the couch. “You both take all the fun out of my life.”
James poked his tongue out at him. “No I don’t. I’m your best fun.”
Jake looked at him for a long second, eyes warm, and then over at you. “You both are.”
Two nights later, the arena smelled like sweat and nerves.
You had James on your lap, his little legs tucked close to his chest, his hands gripping a paper cup of juice too tightly.
The crowd was loud, the lights bright, and your heart was beating way too fast for someone who wasn’t even in the ring.
Jake stepped into the spotlight wearing his mouthguard and gloves, robe slung low over his shoulders.
He looked fierce. Serious. Beautiful. Like the fighter you’d first met back in college, when he was reckless and full of fire, but still somehow managed to be the kindest boy you’d ever known.
Jihoon bounced excitedly. “There he is! Look, mom, look!”
“I see him, baby.”
The bell rang.
The fight started.
And something was wrong.
You could tell, even if the others couldn’t.
Jake’s steps weren’t as light, his dodges not as quick. The other guy was aggressive, coming in hard and fast, and Jake—he was getting hit. A lot.
Your stomach twisted.
“Mom,” James said, his voice small now. “Why’s dad not winning?”
“He’s trying,” you whispered, arms tightening around him. “He’s okay, he’s— he’s just warming up.”
But then Jake stumbled. His lip was split.
His shoulder sagged like he’d pulled something.
And your son started to panic.
“Mom, he’s hurt. We gotta go help him.”
“James, no, listen to me— he’s gonna be okay, you can’t—”
But your words weren’t fast enough.
James wriggled out of your arms before you could catch him, ducking under the security rope, sprinting across the edge of the crowd.
Someone shouted. You were on your feet, your heart in your throat, but James was already halfway to the ring.
“Jihoon!”
He scrambled up through the ropes, small enough to slip between them, and ran straight to his father.
Jake didn’t even notice at first, too dazed by the last punch.
“Stop the fight!” you screamed. “Stop it, my son’s in there!”
The ref blew his whistle furiously, waving his arms. The other boxer dropped his stance immediately, confused.
Jake blinked down— and froze.
“Champ?”
James launched into his chest, wrapping his tiny arms around his waist. “Don’t let him hit you again! I’ll fight him for you!”
Your vision blurred with tears as you rushed down toward the ring.
Someone opened the gate for you, and you ruan inside, breath shaking, legs trembling.
Jake had dropped to one knee, one arm around James, the other shaking as he pulled his mouthguard out.
“Hey,” he whispered. “What are you doing, buddy? You can’t be in here.”
“You were losing,” James mumbled, clutching him tighter. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”
Jake let out a laugh that sounded like it hurt. “I’m okay. It’s just a match.”
“You were bleeding.”
Jake looked up at you then, and his face — Lord, his face —he looked so sorry. So wrecked.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should’ve never let him come. This was too much.”
You knelt down beside them, pulling James into your arms, running a hand through his hair. “You scared me,” you whispered. “You can’t run off like that, Jihoon. Ever.”
“I’m sorry,” he sniffled. “I just— I didn’t want him to lose.”
Jake leaned in, pressing a kiss to both your foreheads. “I’ll never lose anything that matters, okay? Because I’ve already got you.”
The crowd was murmuring. Officials were everywhere. The match was called off.
Jake was disqualified, but he didn’t care.
All he cared about was you. And James. Safe. In his arms.
Later, in the locker room, after everyone had gone, Jake sat with James asleep in his arms, still wearing one glove that dwarfed his hand.
You sat beside him, your head resting on his shoulder.
“Promise me,” you murmured, “that if he really wants to fight when he’s older…you’ll teach him how to be smart. How to be safe.”
Jake nodded, kissing the top of Jihoon’s curls. “I promise. But for now…I just want him to dream about anything else. Anything safer.”
You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “You scared me tonight.”
“I know,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“I love you, Jake.”
He turned, eyes soft. “I love you too.”
And in that quiet moment, with your son snoring softly between you and the world finally still, you felt it again— that fragile, powerful kind of happiness that could only exist when you had everything you loved right there in your arms.
☆.
It was supposed to be your morning to sleep in.
The deal was sacred: on Sundays, or holidays, or any day the world wasn’t demanding something from the two of you at dawn, one of you got to stay in bed while the other kept James entertained.
It had been years of trial and error, balancing exhaustion with parenting, love with chaos, but you’d found your rhythm.
This morning, you were supposed to be nestled in the warmth of the blankets while Jake took James to the kitchen for cereal and cartoons.
You’d heard them shuffling around in the other room— Jake’s low, sleepy voice, and James, wide awake, asking if he could have two bowls because he was ‘super strong today’.
But instead of dozing off again like you usually did, a sharp pain twisted through your stomach, a heat blooming behind your navel and spreading like fire.
You jolted upright, cold sweat already rising on the back of your neck, and before you could think or breathe or blink, you were rushing out of bed.
The bathroom door hit the wall when you shoved it open, and you barely made it to the toilet in time before your stomach gave out.
Violent, sudden.
Your knees hit the tile hard as your body curled in on itself.
“Baby?” Jake’s voice, thick with sleep, came from the hallway.
You couldn’t answer. The retching had stolen all the air from your lungs.
There were small footsteps, bare feet padding quick against the floor, and then James’s voice, high and worried. “Mommy?”
Jake was there a moment later, crouching beside you, his hand on your back.
“Shit— hey, hey, what’s wrong?” He was rubbing gentle circles into your spine, his other hand brushing the damp strands of hair from your forehead.
You forced yourself upright, gasping, “Phone. Get me my phone.”
Jake didn’t waste time asking questions. He was up in a flash, bolting down the hall.
But it was James who surprised you.
He knelt beside you, mimicking his father’s earlier movements, his tiny fingers clumsy as they gathered your hair and held it back.
“I’m here, Mommy,” he whispered. “You’re okay. Daddy’s coming.”
You shut your eyes for a second, heart swollen even through the pain. “Thank you, baby.”
Jake returned a beat later, sliding to the floor with your phone in one hand, his other reaching out to feel your forehead. “You’re burning up. Do you want me to call the doctor? What do you need?”
You didn’t answer at first, just searched the appa until you found the period tracker one.
You looked at him — really looked at him — and said, hoarse and quiet, “My period’s late.”
That madew him pause.
He glanced briefly at James, still by your side, loyal and worried and trying so hard to be brave.
“Late?” he asked.
You nodded. “Like…late late. And I know July’s always weird for me, and sometimes it skips, but this… this isn’t like that. This is…”
Jake caught on. He stood and reached for the bathroom cabinet before you could finish.
His hand went straight to the little white box buried behind cough syrup and cotton pads. The spare test.
He held it up. “This?”
You nodded, pressing a palm against your stomach as another wave of nausea rolled over you.
Jake knelt again and gently coaxed James to his feet. “Hey, buddy. Can you go watch TV for a bit? I’ll bring you snacks soon, I promise.”
“But—Mommy—”
“She’ll be okay,” Jake said, smoothing a hand over James’ss head. “I promise. Just give us a few minutes.”
James hesitated, looking from you to Jake, before finally nodding and stepping out of the room with one last glance over his shoulder.
You leaned back against the wall, breath shaky. Jake helped you up and steadied you with an arm around your waist.
“I’ll wait out there,” he said quietly, placing the test in your hand.
“No,” You looked up at him, eyes wide. “Don’t go.”
He hesitated for half a second, then nodded. “Alright. I’m here.”
The test took less than a minute to take. But it felt like a year.
You placed it on the edge of the sink, both of you staring at it like it might jump to life and scream the answer at you.
You were still sitting on the toilet lid, knees tucked up, your arms hugging them to your chest.
Jake sat across from you on the closed tub, elbows on his thighs, eyes flicking between the floor and your face and the tiny plastic stick.
You broke the silence. “We weren’t planning this.”
Jake gave a breathy laugh that had no humor in it. “We weren’t really planning anything back then, either… when we had James.”
“That was different,” you said.
He met your eyes. “Was it?”
You bit your lip, chest tightening. “It feels scarier now.”
Jake didn’t say anything for a second. Then he moved closer, kneeling in front of you.
His hands found yours, his fingers cold from the tile but steady. “Whatever it says…you’re not alone in this. You’re never alone, love.”
“I threw up everywhere.”
“Still not alone.”
You buried your face in his shoulder, and for the first time since the pain had woken you up, you let yourself cry.
Just a little.
Jake held you through it, fingers curling into your hair, his lips pressing against your temple.
When the ten minutes were up, the test was still face-down on the sink.
Jake turned it over.
He didn’t say anything at first.
You looked at his face, trying to read it. He was too still. His jaw clenched once, then loosened.
His eyes flicked up to yours, wide and stunned.
You stood slowly, walking to the sink, feeling your heartbeat rattle in your ribs.
You saw the two lines.
Pregnant.
Your stomach swooped. Your hands trembled.
“Oh my god.”
Jake was behind you in a second. His hands came around your waist, his head resting on your shoulder.
“That’s real,” you whispered.
“Yeah.”
“That’s real.” you said, more convinced.
Jake nodded, kissing your cheek softly. “Looks like we’re doing it again.”
You turned in his arms, eyes brimming, half-laughing, half-sobbing. “What if I can’t handle it? What if it’s too much?”
“You will handle it,” he said firmly. “Because you’re strong. And because I’m here, and we already made the best little human in the world. We can do it again.”
You clung to him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “He’s gonna be a big brother.”
Jake pulled back just enough to smile at you. Really smile. “Can you imagine him? With a little sibling running after him?”
“He’ll boss them around.”
“He’ll protect them.”
You laughed again, eyes still blurry with emotion. “We need to tell him.”
Jake looked toward the door. “Now?”
You paused. “Not yet. Let’s just…hold it, just for a little bit. Just ours.”
He nodded. “Just ours.”
There was still pain. Still nausea. Still fear.
But Jake was here. You were here. And there was life, again, starting inside you.
Another heartbeat waiting to be loved.
☆.
You never liked hospitals.
They always smelled too clean, too sharp, like something was being covered up.
But you went anyway, let Yunjin drive you in her little too-fast-for-comfort car with her playlist blaring.
She didn’t let you argue. Not when she saw the look on your face after the test. Not when she showed up with a fresh croissant and a determined, no-bullshit attitude.
“I’m not letting you stay in bed and Google symptoms until you give yourself a panic attack,” she said. “We’re going to the doctor. I’ll hold your hand, throw up with you, whatever you need.”
True to her word, she was there when you lay back on the crinkly white paper of the exam table, heart in your throat, the sonographer squeezing warm gel onto your skin.
She didn’t let go of your hand once.
AAnd there it was.
That flickering heartbeat.
Tiny. So small it didn’t feel real until it pulsed across the screen like a drum.
You stared at it, lips parted, heart unraveling. The image was hazy, grainy, but it was there, this new, growing piece of you. Of Jake. Of your family.
You cried, of course. You always cried at these kinds of things, even if you tried not to.
Yunjin blinked hard a few times herself. “You’re really doing this again, huh?”
You laughed, a watery sound. “God, yeah.”
“You’re stronger than me.”
“No I’m not,” you said. “You’d be amazing.”
She squeezed your hand. “But right now, this baby’s gonna have the coolest mom on earth… and well, aunt, duh!”
When you finally did tell your son, Jake was the one who brought it up.
James had been building a Lego tower in the living room, lying on his stomach in his little dinosaur pajamas, humming to himself.
Jake sat beside you on the couch, his hand on your thigh, a soft press of reassurance.
“Hey, bud,” Jake said, ruffling his son’s hair, “we’ve got something kinda cool to tell you.”
James looked up, blinking, pieces of Lego clutched in each hand. “What?”
Jake looked at you. You nodded, and he smiled. “You’re gonna be a big brother.”
James blinked again. “What?”
You leaned forward. “There’s a baby growing in my tummy, sweetheart.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then, “A baby? In there?” He pointed, alarmed, at your belly, which still looked more like you’d eaten too much lunch than anything else.
You laughed. “Yeah. In there.”
His mouth dropped open. “Is it gonna pop out soon?”
“Not soon,” Jake said. “You’ve got a few months, but eventually, yeah.”
James crawled closer, pressing his little hand against your shirt like he was trying to feel the baby through your skin. “Is it a girl?”
“We don’t know yet,” you said.
He tilted his head, clearly deep in thought. “Will it like dinosaurs?”
“I hope so,” Jake said, laughing.
James was quiet again for a moment, looking at you, then Jake, then back to you. “Do I have to share my snacks?”
You smiled. “Only if you want to.”
“I’ll think about it,” he said solemnly. “But only if it doesn’t touch my T-rex.”
“Deal,” Jake said.
And just like that, James accepted it.
Sort of. He had questions, of course— How does the baby breathe? Will it be loud? What if it’s a girl and doesn’t like trucks?
But in the end, he was still the sweetest baby boy on earth.
☆.
The first trimester was cruel.
The toilet became your closest companion.
Mornings were the worst: your body felt hijacked, your stomach constantly roiling, everything smelling too strong or too wrong.
Jake woke up every day with you, even when his eyes were heavy with sleep and his matches were approaching.
Even when his training hours stretched him thin. He still tried to take up time to stay with you, to train younger boxers instead of boxing himself.
But what surprised you most was James.
He’d peek into the bathroom every morning, hair sticking out in wild directions, clutching his little stuffed dinosaur by the arm.
And if Jake wasn’t already holding your hair back, James would quietly step in and do it.
He never complained.
He just stood there with a serious look on his face and said things like, “You’re doing a good job, Mommy,” or “It’s okay. Sometimes I throw up when I eat too much candy, too.”
Jake started calling him your bodyguard.
James puffed his chest with pride every time.
Sometimes, when the nausea got bad enough, Jake would carry you to bed, settle behind you, and James would crawl in on your other side and whisper stories to the baby. “Today I drew a robot. When you come out, I’ll draw you, too.”
It was in that moment that you realised you had won in life.
.
☆.
Valentine’s Day wasn’t usually a big deal for the two of you.
You’d never been the candlelight-dinner, wine-glass-clinking, heart-shaped-everything type of couple.
Your love was built on early mornings and grocery runs, on whispered goodnights and holding hands during hospital appointments, on parenting and partnership and choosing each other again and again, even on the days when your patience was thin and the dishes were stacked high in the sink.
But this year felt different.
You woke up to the soft creak of your bedroom door opening and the quiet shuffle of socks across the floor.
Your belly was heavy, so round and taut it felt like you were a balloon stretched to its final inch of give.
And you were tired. So tired.
But when you opened your eyes, you saw them— Jake, holding a bouquet of slightly squashed red roses, and James peeking from behind his leg with something hidden behind his back.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Jake murmured, kneeling on the edge of the bed and brushing a kiss against your forehead.
James stepped forward, biting his lip, then presented you with…a crayon drawing of what looked like three lopsided people holding hands. “This is us,” he explained proudly. “That’s you, and that’s Daddy, and that’s me, the little one in your belly is a circle. I didn’t know if it’s a girl or a boy.”
You took it like it was the most precious thing in the world. Maybe it was.
Jake handed you the flowers with a sheepish smile. “James wanted to get you chocolates, but I told him flowers are important too.”
“Mommy should have both,” James declared.
“You taught him well,” you said, kissing your husband’s lips. Then you reached under in the bedside table drawer and pulled out a wrapped box you’d hidden last night. “And so did I.”
Jake raised an eyebrow. “What is this?”
“Open it.”
He unwrapped it to find a tin of dark chocolate truffles and a new pair of wraps for training —embroidered with Best Father Farter across the edge.
His smile cracked wide. “Oh my god.” he laughed loudly “I love them!”
James clambered onto the bed between you both. “Can we eat cake now?”
Jake cooked lunch while you sat on a stool in the kitchen, rubbing your belly and trying to ignore the low ache that had been bothering you all morning.
James danced around in his socks, insisting on wearing a tie for ‘the special day’c and you let him because he looked too cute not to.
The cake was store-bought, a simple one with little pink sugar hearts, but James was excited about it like it was some magical treasure.
You stood up to grab a knife to cut the first slice.
You didn’t even make it to the drawer.
Pop.
The sound wasn’t loud, but you felt it in your body, a deep, sudden release of pressure.
Warmth gushed down your legs.
You froze.
Jake, mid-laugh, stopped. “Did you— did you drop something?”
You looked down at your soaked pants. Then up at him.
“Oh my god.”
Jake’s eyes widened. “Is that—? Is it happening?!”
“Yes! Jake, yes— go grab the hospital bag!”
James gasped, horrified. “You peed yourself?!”
“I didn’t pee myself, baby,” you said through gritted teeth as the first cramp twisted through your belly. “The baby’s coming.”
James blinked. “Now?”
“Yes. Now.”
Jake was moving at light speed— or maybe no speed at all.
He dropped the bouquet. Nearly tripped over James.
Grabbed his phone, then the car keys, then forgot both again.
“Okay, bag— hospital bag, where’s the— where did we—where did you put it?”
“By the door, Jake!” you snapped. “Where it’s always been.”
He stumbled off, yelling back, “I knew that! I’m calm!”
“You’re not calm!”
James was clinging to your leg like a baby koala. “Is the baby falling out right now?”
“No,” you hissed, hand gripping the table as another contraction hit, sharp and fast. “But soon if we don’t move.”
“Should I call someone?” Jake shouted from the hall.
“Yes! Call Yunjin. She needs to come stay with James!”
“I’m already on it!” he yelled back, fumbling his phone.
Yunjin picked up after two rings.
“You’re gonna want to get here,” Jake said, voice too high. “It’s happening. She’s— her water broke. Like actually broke. It’s go time.”
You grabbed the phone from him as he rushed back in. “Yunjin, please— just get here.”
“I’m on my way, don’t panic,” she said, though you could hear the smile in her voice. “Tell James I’ll bring candy.”
“I’ll tell him if I survive.”
You handed the phone back to Jake, your hands trembling. “Get the car ready. I’ll get shoes.”
“You’re not getting anything. I’m carrying you.”
“Jake—”
“I’m carrying you,” he repeated, gently but firmly.
James watched the whole scene unfold like a movie, his eyes wide. “Will it hurt?”
You knelt down, wincing, brushing his cheek. “Yeah, honey. It’s going to hurt. Daddy’s going to be with me, don’t worry. you’re gonna be the best big brother ever.”
He nodded, lip trembling. “I’ll tell the baby that I love her.”
Jake kissed his forehead, voice thick. “You tell her that in person. We’ll be back with your sister soon.”
The hospital was a blur of fluorescent lights and quick footsteps and voices that felt like they were underwater. m
The pain hit in waves, and each time it crashed, you wanted to scream— but you didn’t.
Not yet. Not until it got worse.
And god, it got worse.
Nine hours of it.
Jake never left your side, not for a second.
You yelled at him at least three times.
“Stop talking,” you growled at him during hour five, when he was trying to distract you with some nonsense story about his first amateur fight.
He shut up. Immediately. Nodded like a soldier.
Later, when you were gripping the rail of the bed so hard your knuckles went white, you hissed, “I hate you.”
“I know,” he said.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Got it.”
“Wait, no— touch me again.”
He grabbed your hand without hesitation. “Right here.”
You screamed. He let you crush his fingers.
And when it finally happened,.
the world shrank to pressure and burning and breathless, broken sounds, you gave one last push and everything stopped.
Then—
A cry.
High and raw and brand new.
They placed her on your chest, and your hands shook when they curled around her tiny, wriggling body.
She was pink and warm and squalling like she was furious about the whole ordeal.
You sobbed.
Jake sobbed more.
Your forehead pressed to hers as you whispered, “Hi, baby. Hi, Jane… Hi, Jiheon.”
Jake kissed your temple a hundred times, his face wet with tears. “You did it. You did so good.”
“She’s so small,” you whispered.
“She’s perfect.”
You looked at her again, this little piece of you and Jake and everything that had ever been good between you.
You were exhausted, ripped open and aching, but she was here.
Your daughter.
And she was worth it all.
☆.
The world came back slowly.
Not in one clean breath, but in fragments, blinking against the dim hospital room light, the hum of machines, the sterile scent of disinfectant layered beneath something warm.
Familiar.
Jake’s cologne.
Your throat was dry, lips cracked, body heavy— wrecked didn’t even begin to describe it.
Your stomach ached with the aftershock of labor, your muscles trembling in the stillness, and for a moment, you couldn’t even tell what time it was.
Everything had blurred together into hours of pain, blood, cries, and the weight of her tiny body on your chest before darkness finally pulled you under.
But now—now it was night.
The sky outside the narrow window was ink-dark, the city lights dulled by the thickness of the glass.
You shifted just slightly, wincing at the soreness that radiated through your hips and spine, and turned your head.
He was there.
Jake was sitting in the corner chair beside your bed, hunched forward with a blanket cradled against his chest, shoulders curved inward like a shield.
His hair was a mess,, and his eyes were fixed on her with an expression so full of awe it punched the breath right out of your lungs.
He was crying. Quietly.
Not the dramatic, shaking kind of crying— just slow, steady tears, running along the curve of his jaw and down to his neck as he stared at his daughter.
“Jaeyun…” Your voice cracked like ice underfoot.
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look at you at first.
“She’s sleeping,” he whispered, brushing one callused thumb over her cheek, his voice so soft it barely stirred the air. “She has your nose.”
You watched him from the bed, your vision still cloudy, but yourr heart was awake now.
He looked so still, so unlike the chaotic Jake you’d known for years.
Not the boy who forgot his keys five times a week.
Not the man who cheered too loud at James’s school recitals. This was something different.
This was a father. Again.
You reached out with a hand that shook from effort. “Let me see her.”
Jake finally turned, startled like he hadn’t realized you were awake.
He sniffed, blinking hard as he carefully got up. “You’re awake,” he said, voice cracking. “God, you— are you okay? You fainted right after they took her. They said you were just exhausted, but you were out. I thought—” He paused. Swallowed. “I’ve been watching you sleep for hours.”
You blinked slowly. “You’re not supposed to say that like it’s romantic, stalker.”
That got a breath of laughter out of him, ragged and wet. He came to the side of the bed, kneeling so he could ease Jane down into your arms. “Here,” he murmured. “Hold her again.”
You adjusted your pillow, barely able to sit up.
But he helped, supporting your back, brushing the strands of hair away from your damp forehead. And then she was there, small and warm and impossibly real in your arms again.
“Hi, baby,” you whispered. “Hi, little Jane.”
“Jiheon,” Jake added softly. “That’s what I’ve been calling her. She likes it… i think. She keeps making this face when I say it— look.” He leaned in and repeated it again in a whisper, “Jiheon.”
Jane shifted slightly, scrunching her face before relaxing again. A barely-there smile tugged at Jake’s lips.
“You look like a dad of two now,” you murmured, brushing your finger along her hair. “There’s something different in your face.”
“I feel different.” He pressed his forehead to your shoulder and just breathed there for a second. “Like… more breakable.”
You rested your cheek on top of Jane’s head and closed your eyes. “You’re not. You’re stronger than you think.”
He pulled back and sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle either of you. “Do you remember what you said during hour seven?”
“Which part? I said a lot of things.”
“You said if I ever touched you again, you’d break my nose.”
“Yeah,” you breathed. “Still stands. For a while.”
Jake grinned and leaned closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “Fair. I’ll wait.”
You both sat there for a while, in the stillness that only came in the dead of night, surrounded by beeping monitors and the soft breathing of your daughter.
After a while, he reached out and brushed the back of his finger over Jane’s tiny fist. “She’s got my ears.”
You snorted. “Poor girl.”
He laughed, pulling the blanket higher around your shoulders. “James is gonna love her.”
“He already does,” you said. “He kept talking to my belly like it was a walkie-talkie.”
Jake smiled again, softer now. “He’s gonna be the best big brother.”
You were quiet for a while.
Just breathing. Just holding her.
And him holding you.
Then, your voice cracked the silence, barely a whisper.
“Thank you.”
Jake blinked. “For what?”
“For giving me them.” You looked down at Jane. “For giving me you.”
His face crumpled a little. “You gave me everything back.”
☆.
Coming home was a blur of motion and scent and warmth—soft clothes, white noise, the lingering chill of February air clinging to your coats and hair as you stepped into the house with a car seat cradled between both hands.
Jane was still asleep.
That delicate, floating sleep only newborns seem capable of, where their tiny chests rise like feathers and fall again, their mouths puckering occasionally, eyelashes still damp against their cheeks.
Your arms ached from holding her, your legs felt like jelly, and your stomach was a quilt of stretched skin and healing muscle, but lord— you were finally home.
Jake carried the bags in with one arm and hovered behind you like you might fall at any second.
His hand was low on your back. “You okay?”
“I’m… tired,” you admitted, your voice raspy with lack of sleep and recovery, but your eyes were clear. “But yeah, I’m okay.”
“Good. I want this moment to be good.”
You looked over at him. “It will be.”
James had been waiting by the window.
The second you stepped inside, his feet came skidding over the hardwood floors in his socks, eyes wide, mouth hanging slightly open.
“Where is she?” he breathed, like he was waiting to see a mythical creature.
Jake gently nudged the car seat toward him. “She’s sleeping. Be soft, okay?”
James crouched like it was some sacred ritual, his tiny fingers gripping the edge of the blanket.
He peeked in with a squint, nose wrinkling, face twisted in deep thought.
He blinked.
Then frowned.
“…She’s kind of ugly,” he declared.
Jake choked on a laugh, reaching to ruffle his hair. “Hey.”
“But it’s okay,” James continued with a shrug. “She’s a baby. I heard some people get plastic surgery when they grow up. She can do that if she wants.”
You pressed a hand to your mouth, stifling a snort. “She’s not ugly.”
“She looks like a wrinkly potato.”
“That’s cause she just came out,,” Jake said solemnly, kneeling beside him. “She’ll look better after some milk and sleep.”
James tilted his head, clearly unsure how to feel. “She smells like butt.”
You bent down beside them both, the ache in your legs sharp but ignorable.
Jane stirred a little, her mouth making a soft sucking noise, her hands twitching. “You smelled worse when you were born.”
James’s eyes widened like you’d just told him he was adopted. “No way.”
“Yes way,” Jake chimed in. “You pooped on me twice in the first week.”
James’ face lit up. “Can I hold her?”
“In a bit,” you said, brushing your fingers along his hair. “After she’s fed. And once we’re on the couch.”
He nodded, serious. “I’ll wait.”
☆.
The days passed like smoke curling around your head—soft and slow and smothering all at once.
Jane didn’t sleep unless she was on someone’s chest.
Your chest. Jake’s chest. Occasionally James’s, when he insisted on sitting perfectly still on the couch, puffed up with responsibility.
Your nights bled into mornings, your mornings into afternoons.
You could barely tell what day it was anymore. You were always either nursing, changing, soothing, or trying to catch a moment of quiet to breathe.
But even in the chaos, there were moments that glowed— small, quiet glimmers of peace.
James tiptoed more than he used to. He would pad into your bedroom at two a.m., rubbing his eyes, clutching his dinosaur plushie under one arm.
“Is she okay?” he’d whisper.
“She’s just hungry,” you’d whisper back.
Sometimes he’d crawl into the bed next to you and lie on Jake’s other side, close enough to reach for your elbow. He didn’t ask for lullabies anymore. Just your presence, closeness.
Sometimes he’d doze off again before Jane had even finished nursing.
Other times, he’d stay awake. Just watching.
“I think she likes when you sing,” he murmured one night.
You paused, fingers stroking Jane’s back. “You think?”
He nodded seriously. “Even if you’re a little out of tune.”
And Jake— Jake was different, this time.
The first time around, he’d tried. He really had.
But he was younger, more nervous, too rough around the edges, and there were nights when you’d cried in the shower because you were the one holding everything together.
But not now.
Now he was soft in the ways that mattered.
He remembered the towel you liked best and warmed it in the dryer before you bathed.
He memorized your medications, prepped your bottle without you asking.
He rubbed your feet while Jane fed, whispered affirmations when you broke into tears at 3 a.m. for no reason except that your body wasn’t yours and your brain was drowning and you missed sleeping for more than two hours at a time.
He wasn’t perfect.
He still forgot to put lids back on properly and he still knocked over the baby lotion bottle three times in the same week.
But he had learned you. Learned your limits. Your moods.
What words would help and which wouldn’t. He never made you feel like a burden. Not once.
And when you had nothing left to give— he gave you back to yourself.
You came down one night after a long nap you hadn’t even realized you’d taken, hair sticking to your forehead, your robe askew.
You expected disaster. Bottles unwashed, a screaming baby, maybe Jake asleep on the couch with James up way too late playing video games.
Instead, you found the living room lit in warm lamplight, quiet.
Jake was shirtless, Jane pressed to his chest in the baby wrap, bouncing slightly on his feet as he whispered a lullaby in half-Korean, half-english.
James was curled on the rug with dinosaurs his book, whispering the words to himself, a blanket pulled over his lap.
Your heart cracked open.
Jake looked up and smiled. “She just finished feeding. I pumped from the stash in the fridge, you looked like you needed rest.”
“I did,” you whispered.
“Go back up,” he said. “I’ll bring you tea.”
You hesitated. “I feel guilty.”
“Don’t. You gave her a whole body, we’ll take care of you now.”
You did cry then.
And when Jake wrapped you in his arms that night, you believed him.
You believed that this family, this messy, tired, beautiful family, was being held together not just by your hands, but by all three of theirs.
And that was everything.
☆.
Two years later, the kitchen smelled like strawberries and sunscreen.
It was a Sunday afternoon in early June, sun slanting through the window blinds and painting long, golden stripes across the tiled floor.
The fan hummed softly in the corner, spinning slow circles that barely stirred the air, and Jan e your little girl with her chubby hands and mismatched socks was sitting in her high chair, smearing strawberry juice across her cheeks like war paint.
Jake was crouched beside her, wiping her chin with one of the soft, floral-patterned cloths you insisted on keeping in the drawer.
His hair was still damp from the hose-outside chaos that had been an hour ago— James, laughing as Jake sprayed him down while Jane screamed and clapped from the porch.
Now everything smelled of damp grass and sweetness.
You were at the sink, rinsing a bowl, humming under your breath, tired but soft around the edges with that summer kind of fatigue that didn’t bite.
James sat at the kitchen table, arms folded, face twisted in a look of intense concentration, like he was on the verge of solving the meaning of life.
“Dad?” he said suddenly, sharp like a question he’d been chewing on all morning.
Jake looked over, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, bud?”
James tapped a finger against the table. “How did you and Mom meet?”
You froze mid-rinse, hand still under the stream of water.
Jake blinked, clearly not expecting that. “Why do you wanna know?”
James shrugged, suddenly bashful, eyes darting to the side. “Just curious.”
But you saw the pink flush in his cheeks.
The way he pressed his lips together.
You turned the water off, grabbing a towel, and leaned against the counter just to watch it unfold.
“Wait.” Jake narrowed his eyes playfully. “Did something happen at school?”
James groaned. “Noooo.”
Jake smirked. “Oh my god, it did. Who is she?”
James covered his face with both hands. “Dad, no.”
“She sits next to him,” you supplied, grinning into your towel. “Pretty little thing with the pigtails and glittery pencil case, right?”
James dropped his head to the table with a muffled moan. “You guys are the worst.”
Jake cackled, reaching out to flick his son’s ear. “Okay, okay. I’ll tell you how we met, but only if you promise not to laugh.”
“I won’t.”
“You will.”
James lifted his head, expectant. “Tell me anyway.”
Jake stood, walking toward the fridge to grab a handful more strawberries, before leaning his hip against the counter and settling into storyteller mode.
Jane babbled, still chewing her fruit with delight.
“Well,” Jake began, “your mom hated me.”
“What?” James blinked. “Why?”
You crossed your arms. “Because he was cocky. And late. Constantly.”
“I wasn’t that late.”
“You were twenty-two minutes late to our first study session.”
“Okay, one time—”
“Every time.”
Jake huffed dramatically. “Anyway, we were in college. Same class, I noticed her first. She had this oversized hoodie and earbuds in every time she walked into the lecture hall, and she never talked to anyone.”
“I was tired.”
“Exactly. So mysterious.”
James giggled.
“I tried to sit near her a few times,” Jake continued. “You know, see if I could catch her attention, but she never looked up. So I asked to borrow her notes.”
You raised a brow. “You mean you spilled coffee on your own notes and then cornered me after class.”
Jake grinned at James like it was a badge of honor. “It worked.”
James’ eyes were wide now, totally absorbed. “Then what?”
“She agreed to help me study,” Jake said, placing a hand to his heart like he was reciting poetry. “And the rest… is history.”
“That’s it?”
“Well, it took a while,” Jake added. “Your mom wasn’t easy, she made me work for it.”
“Darn right I did.”
“But then we started spending more time together,” he said. “And she started smiling more. Laughing, she used to pretend she didn’t like me, but I could tell.”
“I didn’t like you.”
Jake shot you a look, grinning. “Tell that to the time you skipped your morning class just to meet me for coffee.”
You scowled playfully. “That was one time. And you had a cold.”
“You brought me soup.”
“Because I’m not a monster.”
James cut in. “Did you kiss?”
Jake opened his mouth, smirking, his eyes shining as if to say and not just that.
You threw a towel at him. “Don’t you dare.”
Jake caught it, snorting. “Yes, we kissed. A lot.”
James made a face. “Ew.”
“And we fell in love,” Jake added, softer now, his smile turning real, almost quiet. “Like, the kind of love where you still want to see their face even when they’re mad at you. The kind where everything feels like home when they walk into the room.”
Your chest squeezed a little.
“She’s still my best friend,” he added. “Even when she makes fun of me for how many times I lose my keys.”
You rolled your eyes. “He’s gotten better.”
“Only because you put a tracker on my keychain.”
James giggled again.
“And then,” Jake said, grinning now, “we had you.”
“Wait— how did that happen?” James asked innocently.
Jake froze. You shot him a warning glance. He paled.
“Uh—well, that’s a whole other story.”
James squinted. “Why?”
“Because it’s for grown-ups.”
“But—”
“Nope,” you said firmly, swooping in to pick Jane up from the high chair as she started getting fussy. “You’ll learn in science class.”
James groaned. “Ugh. But science is so boring.”
“Not always,” Jake said under his breath.
“Jaeyun.”
Jake raised both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay!”
Jane curled against your chest, sticky hands tugging at your shirt, and you kissed her forehead before shifting her to your hip.
“Is that really how you fell in love?” James asked quietly, looking between you both.
Jake looked at you, and you looked at him— and your heart did that warm, foolish little flip it had been doing since the first time he held your hand, since he first made you laugh until you cried.
“Yeah,” you said, brushing your fingers through James’s hair as you passed. “It really is.”
Jake came up behind you, his hand sliding to the small of your back. “Still in love, too.”
You looked up at him. “Even after I threatened to cut your head off if you gave me another baby?”
“Even then.”
James groaned. “You guys are so embarrassing.”
☆.
It was past midnight and the rain hadn’t stopped all day. It tapped gently against the window, like fingertips drumming over glass, soft enough now that it no longer sounded like thunder, but like a lullaby to the tired world.
The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the streetlight that spilled in from between the curtains.
The warmth of the bed wrapped around you both like a cocoon.
The scent of rain still clung faintly to your skin from earlier— just from standing by the door too long, shoes soaked, children loud and chaotic and cooped up.
You were fast asleep now, curled beside Jake under the heavy blankets, your body drawn instinctively to his.
Your hand had found its way to his chest, fingers splayed just over where his heart beat steady.
He could feel your breath on his collarbone, soft and rhythmic, your nose cold against his neck.
He didn’t move. He never did, not when you laid like this.
He only let his arm fold around you tighter, holding you like something sacred.
His eyes didn’t close.
It had been a long day, sure— Jane had tried to flush her brother’s dinosaur down the toilet, James had gotten stuck halfway under the couch trying to retrieve a Lego piece.
But that wasn’t what was keeping Jake awake.
It was your sigh. The small one you let out just minutes ago, right before curling closer to him in your sleep.
It had sounded like comfort. Like home.
And that’s what triggered it.
That memory.
The one he couldn’t forget, even if he tried.
The one from before the house, before the kids, before everything.
The night he almost lost you.
It had been raining then, too. Harder than this. Sharper.
You stood in the middle of a soaked parking lot, your hoodie clinging to your skin like paper, hair plastered to your face, eyes wet with more than just the downpour.
You had just stormed off, away from him.
Jake had followed you out of the gym, his steps echoing behind yours, water sloshing in his shoes, fists clenched at his sides.
“You’re not listening to me!” you shouted, spinning around to face him, voice breaking over the sound of the storm. “You never listen to me!”
“I do!” Jake yelled back, stepping closer, teeth clenched. “I always do! But you’re asking me to be someone I’m not!”
“I’m asking you to stop killing yourself in the ring every weekend!” you cried, your voice raw. “I’m asking you to choose something, anything, that doesn’t make me wonder if I’ll get a call saying you won’t come home!”
Jake’s jaw tightened.
Water ran down his face, indistinguishable from the tears in your eyes.
His chest heaved, soaked through, breath misting in the cold air.
“This is all I know,” he said. “Boxing is all I have.”
“No,” you snapped, stepping toward him. “You have me. You have someone who stands outside every goddamn fight praying you don’t bleed out, you have someone who waits up, and worries, and loves you so much it hurts.”
Jake blinked at you, and for a second, he looked like he couldn’t breathe.
And you shook your head. “But maybe that’s not enough. Maybe I’m not enough. Maybe this… us, was a mistake.”
The silence that followed made the rain sound louder. It filled the space between you like a wall.
Jake stepped forward, one slow step at a time, until he was standing in front of you, his hands shaking.
“Don’t say that,” he whispered.
You stared at him, your face trembling, your eyes full of everything you couldn’t say. “Jake—”
“I know I’m reckless, I know I’m a mess, I know I don’t always think. But you…” His hand rose, not touching you yet, hovering like you were a flame he wasn’t sure he deserved to touch. “You’re the only thing that ever made me want to slow down.”
“I’m scared,” you whispered. “I’m so scared of losing you.”
Jake’s hand finally reached you.
His fingers slid into your hair, soaked strands between his knuckles. He leaned in until your foreheads touched.
“I’m scared, too,” he said, eyes shut tight. “Of not being enough. Of being too broken to hold onto you.”
“You’re not,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You’re not broken.”
“I am,” he said, voice cracking. “But I’m better with you.”
The rain came harder then, a sudden gust slamming sideways into your bodies, but neither of you moved.
You were shivering. He was freezing.
The whole world felt like it was falling apart, but Jake looked at you like he’d found the eye of the storm.
And then he kissed you.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t clean.
It was desperate and messy and full of everything you’d both been trying to say. His mouth found yours like he’d been drowning and just found air.
Your hands clung to his soaked hoodie, your body pressed to his like you’d never let him go.
Jake remembered how your tears had mixed with the rain, how his fingers gripped your waist too tight, how you’d gasped his name between kisses like it was a lifeline.
“I don’t want to lose you,” you’d whispered into his mouth.
“You won’t,” he’d vowed, breathless. “Not ever.”
And even back then, before promises and rings and babies with strawberry-stained mouths, he had meant it.
Now, in the warmth of your shared bed, he felt you sigh again.
Just a soft one. Almost imperceptible.
Your leg slid against his beneath the blankets, your head nuzzling deeper into the space between his shoulder and neck. Your fingers curled softly against his chest.
Jake swallowed hard. His hand moved to your back, rubbing in slow, gentle circles, his lips brushing your hair.
He breathed you in.
You were here. You were warm and whole and safe.
And so was he.
☆.
The light was soft when you stirred awake.
You shifted, your body stretching slow beneath the blankets, the cotton sheets warm from shared heat. And then you felt him.
Jake.
Pressed against your back, his chest bare, skin hot and solid.
His arm was around your waist, the other resting on the pillow beside him.
Your hand reached down, brushing over the blanket until you found his fingers resting over your stomach.
You laced yours through them, holding him there. And then you turned, slow and gentle, so you wouldn’t wake him. But he was already awake.
His eyes were open, dark under the faint shadows of morning. He was lying on his side, hair mussed from the bed, jaw dotted with the faintest stubble.
His eyes met yours right away.
“Hey,” you whispered.
“Hey.” His voice was husky, low from sleep… or maybe lack of it.
You frowned softly, reaching up to brush a lock of hair from his forehead. “You didn’t sleep.”
He didn’t answer. Just watched you. As if he was trying to memorize the curve of your cheek, the way your lashes cast shadows beneath your eyes.
You let your palm slide down to cup his cheek.
“What’s on your mind?” you murmured.
He hesitated.
Then, finally: “Nothing I can say without sounding selfish.”
Your brows drew together gently. “Try me.”
But instead of answering, Jake looked down. And you followed his gaze.
The scars. They were always there— some faint and faded, some newer. One near his ribs from that one brutal match three years ago.
Another near his shoulder, still pinkish, like a memory that hadn’t finished healing
You reached out slowly, letting your fingertips trail over the ridges of old pain, old bottles.
He didn’t flinch. He never did, not with you. But his breath did hitch slightly, the tension in his body curling tighter.
You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the one just below his collarbone. “I love these,” you whispered.
Jake’s throat bobbed with a swallow.
“They’re ugly,” he muttered, half-hearted, like he’d already lost the argument.
You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. “They’re proof you survived. Every one of them means you came back to me.”
Something in him broke a little at that. His mouth opened, maybe to argue, maybe to say something tender, but the words didn’t come. His hand came up instead, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over the apple of it.
“I thought about you last night,” he said softly. “Back when you almost left. Out in the rain…. that fight.”
You nodded, heart aching at the memory. “It was a long time ago.”
His hand slid from your cheek to your neck, fingers splaying out along the curve of it, then down your spine, slow and reverent. “I didn’t sleep because I kept thinking what if you had left. What if I’d pushed it too far, if we never made it here.”
You shifted closer, pressing your body to his fully, your forehead resting against his. “But I didn’t. I stayed. You fought for me.”
His lips touched yours then— barely. A brush, but it was enough to make your stomach flutter.
Even after all those years.
Your hand slid down between you, over the swell of his chest, your palm flat and warm against his heartbeat.
“Still fighting for you,” he whispered, eyes on yours.
And it was then, without another word, that you leaned in and kissed him.
It was soft at first. Slow. Like a secret.
Your lips moved over his with a quiet kind of hunger, not the desperate kind from that night in the rain, but something deeper.
The kind that comes after years of waking up next to each other. After babies. After late nights and early mornings and scars.
Jake kissed you back like he needed you. Like you were the only thing keeping him grounded in that moment.
His hand slipped under the fabric of your shirt, finding the skin of your back, pulling you closer until not even air could live between your bodies.
You pressed yourself to him, your hand roaming his torso, fingers tracing over his skin like you were memorizing the feel of him.
He let out a shaky breath against your lips, his hips shifting forward just enough for you to feel the truth of his want, hard and insistent against your thigh.
“I missed you,” he murmured, kissing along your jaw. “Even with you right next to me.”
You shivered under his mouth, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging gently to bring his face back to yours. “Then take it,” you breathed. “Take me.”
He didn’t need to be told twice.
Jake rolled you onto your back slowly, carefully, his body hovering over yours, warm and heavy and familiar. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world and you let him, eyes fluttering shut, breath uneven.
His hands slipped under your shirt and you arched into his touch, letting him pull the fabric up and over your head. He looked down at you like you were art.
You tugged his mouth back to yours.
When he finally slid inside you, it was slow and careful. You both gasped— every time felt new, felt real, like the first and last and only time.
You clung to him, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs locked around his waist.
He rocked into you gently, his mouth finding every part of you he could reach: your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breast.
“Still with me?” he asked, voice hoarse, forehead pressed to yours.
“Always,” you whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth.
The rhythm between you built slowly, nothing rushed. You moved together in sync, bodies finding each other like they were made to.
You moaned softly into his ear, hands trailing down his back, nails digging in just enough to make him shiver.
“Lord, I love you,” Jake breathed, pressing his hips deeper. “I love you so much it scares me.”
“I know,” you whispered, blinking through the haze of your pleasure. “I know, baby.”
You held on to each other through it all, the high and the fall, the quiet panting breaths after, the way your hearts beat wildly in sync beneath the mess of limbs and blankets.
After, when your breathing slowed and he was still inside you, arms wrapped around your waist, face buried in your neck, you stroked his back softly.
You didn’t say anything. Just kissed the top of his head.
And somewhere down the hall, a floor creaked.
You both froze.
Jake groaned into your shoulder. “Ten dollars that it’s Jane.”
You smiled, lips against his hair. “Or James looking for cereal.”
Jake sighed. “We need a lock on this door.”
“Yeah,” you chuckled, pulling the blanket over both your heads as if it could delay reality for just a few more minutes. “Later.”
“Later,” he agreed, pressing one last kiss over your heart.
Dr. Park Sunghoon was a man who appreciated the quiet. Coming from one of Seoul's most prominent medical dynasties, he had spent his entire life suffocating under the weight of his family's wealth and expectations.
So, he ran. He took a position at an underfunded, unremarkable regional hospital, traded tailored suits for standard-issue scrubs, and buried himself in grueling fourteen-hour shifts. None of his colleagues knew about the untouched trust fund attached to his name. To them, he was just Dr. Park: brilliant, exhausted, and completely dedicated to his work.
Until the night the quiet shattered.
The emergency doors blew open to the deafening wail of sirens. A commercial flight had gone down just outside the city limits. The hospital transformed into a warzone of smoke, ash, and frantic shouts. Sunghoon waded into the chaos, his hands stained with blood as he fought to stabilize patient after patient.
Then, they wheeled her in.
She had no ID, no luggage, and no one to claim her. Her clothes were ruined, her skin bruised and battered from the wreckage. Yet, when Sunghoon pressed his fingers against her throat, he felt a stubborn, fragile flutter of a pulse. Amidst the screaming monitors and the scent of copper, the rest of the room blurred away.
He looked down at her pale, unconscious face and made a silent vow to keep her tethered to the earth.
Two months passed. The frantic aftermath of the crash faded, but she remained entirely still, trapped in a deep coma. No family came looking. No missing persons reports matched her description. To the hospital administration, the "Jane Doe in Room 412" became a financial liability.
"We have to pull the plug, Dr. Park," the chief of medicine told him one afternoon. "She has no guardian, no insurance, and a poor hospital like ours cannot fund her indefinitely."
Something dark and protective snapped inside Sunghoon's chest. He didn't argue. Instead, for the first time in years, he tapped into his family's wealth. He quietly funneled his own money into the hospital's accounts, masquerading as an anonymous donor to cover her life support.
But as two months bled into six, the hospital environment became too risky. People were asking questions. Nurses whispered about his lingering visits to her room. Sunghoon realized that money alone couldn't keep her safe; he needed legal authority.
Sitting in his dim office, he crossed an ethical line from which he could never return. Using his resources and connections, he forged the documents. When he handed the paperwork to the administration, Jane Doe ceased to exist. She was given a name, a birthdate, and a new legal status.
He resigned the next day.
Using his immense, hidden wealth, Sunghoon purchased a sprawling, secluded house in a quiet, coastal province far from the city and the wreckage of her past. High fences, dense trees, and the sound of the ocean insulated them from the rest of the world. To maintain his cover, he took a low-stress position at a sleepy local clinic. It gave him access to the IVs, medications, and medical supplies he needed, without the prying eyes of his former colleagues.
For three years, that house was their entire universe.
Sunghoon's routine became an act of profound, quiet devotion. Every morning before his shift at the clinic, he would bathe her, change her clothes, and brush her hair. He would open the heavy curtains, letting the soft morning light spill across the bed.
"Good morning," he would whisper, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. "You look lovely today. The sun is finally out."
He would talk to her about his day, read books aloud by her bedside, and hold her hand until he fell asleep in the armchair beside her. In the complete isolation he had built, the lines of his reality blurred. The forged documents didn't feel like a lie anymore. The ghost he had saved had become the center of his gravity. He had fallen entirely, desperately in love with her.
Then came the night that changed everything.
Sunghoon woke up with a start. The digital clock on the nightstand read 3:14 AM. Out of pure habit, he turned to check the medical monitors, but the rhythmic beeping was gone.
The bed was empty.
A cold panic seized his chest. He bolted upright, his heart hammering against his ribs as he tore out of the bedroom. He searched the hallway, the living room, his mind racing with terrifying possibilities.
Then, he saw the open patio door.
The cool night breeze swept into the house, carrying the scent of salt water. Sunghoon stepped outside, his breath catching in his throat.
There she was.
She was standing barefoot on the cool stone of the patio, bathed in the silver light of the moon. The wind gently tugged at her white nightgown. She looked around with a profound, beautiful confusion, taking in the trees, the ocean, and the night sky as if seeing the world for the very first time.
Hearing his footsteps, she turned.
For the first time in three years, her eyes were open, bright, and staring directly at him. Sunghoon froze. He expected panic. He expected her to scream, to back away from the stranger standing in the dark.
Instead, her shoulders relaxed. As she looked at him, a strange, unexplainable warmth washed over her. She didn't know the face, but the presence of the man standing before her felt undeniably safe. It was as if his very aura, the cadence of his breathing, was etched into her subconscious.
Her brow furrowed as she searched her empty mind for an anchor, finding absolutely nothing.
"I..." Her voice was soft, raspy from years of disuse. "I don't remember... What is my name?"
Sunghoon felt the heavy, crushing weight of reality bear down on his shoulders. He wasn't her family. He was a captor cloaked in kindness, a man who had erased whatever past she had left behind. But looking at her desperate, trusting eyes, he found his opening.
He took a slow step forward.
"Your name is Park Cheonji," he answered softly.
She tilted her head, testing the unfamiliar syllables on her tongue. "Cheon... Ji?"
"Yes," Sunghoon murmured, his voice thick with an emotion he couldn't hide. "It means 'world'. My Cheonji."
A faint, fragile smile touched her lips at the endearment. The deep timbre of his voice wrapped around her like a blanket she had worn a thousand times before.
"Wow, that's cool..." she breathed out, looking back toward the sprawling, shadowed trees and the echoing ocean. "But where are we?"
"We're at home," he answered, closing the distance between them until he was just a breath away.
She looked up at him. "Oh? And you?" she asked, her eyes expectant, filled with an innocent, absolute trust.
In that single, fleeting second, every ounce of guilt, every moral hesitation Sunghoon harbored, completely vanished. The girl he had poured his soul into for three long years was finally alive, standing in front of him, instinctively seeking him out as her only safe harbor. He had saved her life; now, he would give her a new one.
He smiled, a gentle, devoted curve of his lips.
"I'm Sunghoon. Your husband."
[ Read the full book on Wattpad here! ]
Ps: it's still on going
"If you want to go home, just call my name."
started: 05/31/26
Lee Heeseung was known for one thing—breaking hearts and never looking back. Charming, confident, and impossible to resist, he had girls falling for him wherever he went. To him, relationships were nothing more than a game. He never stayed long enough to care, never let anyone get too close, and certainly never believed in love.
That was until he met Park Jiwoo.
Unlike everyone else, Jiwoo wasn't impressed by his reputation, his looks, or the effortless way he could make people fall for him. She didn't chase him, seek his attention, or care about who he was. If anything, she seemed completely uninterested.
And that drove him crazy.
What started as a challenge quickly became an obsession. He was determined to make her notice him, convinced that winning her over would be just another easy victory. But the more time he spent with her, the more things began to change. Her laughter stayed on his mind. Her smiles became the highlight of his day. For the first time in his life, he found himself caring about someone more than he cared about winning.
The problem?
Jiwoo had no idea she was slowly becoming the center of his world.
Because for the first time, Lee Heeseung wasn't playing a game.
He was falling.
And he was falling hard.
READ ON WATTPAD !
𝗜𝗡 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛 ❪ ★ ❫ » He 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 chased anyone... until her.
════════════════════════════════
Lee Heeseung was known for one thing-breaking hearts
Dr. Park Sunghoon was a man who appreciated the quiet. Coming from one of Seoul's most prominent medical dynasties, he had spent his entire life suffocating under the weight of his family's wealth and expectations.
So, he ran. He took a position at an underfunded, unremarkable regional hospital, traded tailored suits for standard-issue scrubs, and buried himself in grueling fourteen-hour shifts. None of his colleagues knew about the untouched trust fund attached to his name. To them, he was just Dr. Park: brilliant, exhausted, and completely dedicated to his work.
Until the night the quiet shattered.
The emergency doors blew open to the deafening wail of sirens. A commercial flight had gone down just outside the city limits. The hospital transformed into a warzone of smoke, ash, and frantic shouts. Sunghoon waded into the chaos, his hands stained with blood as he fought to stabilize patient after patient.
Then, they wheeled her in.
She had no ID, no luggage, and no one to claim her. Her clothes were ruined, her skin bruised and battered from the wreckage. Yet, when Sunghoon pressed his fingers against her throat, he felt a stubborn, fragile flutter of a pulse. Amidst the screaming monitors and the scent of copper, the rest of the room blurred away.
He looked down at her pale, unconscious face and made a silent vow to keep her tethered to the earth.
Two months passed. The frantic aftermath of the crash faded, but she remained entirely still, trapped in a deep coma. No family came looking. No missing persons reports matched her description. To the hospital administration, the "Jane Doe in Room 412" became a financial liability.
"We have to pull the plug, Dr. Park," the chief of medicine told him one afternoon. "She has no guardian, no insurance, and a poor hospital like ours cannot fund her indefinitely."
Something dark and protective snapped inside Sunghoon's chest. He didn't argue. Instead, for the first time in years, he tapped into his family's wealth. He quietly funneled his own money into the hospital's accounts, masquerading as an anonymous donor to cover her life support.
But as two months bled into six, the hospital environment became too risky. People were asking questions. Nurses whispered about his lingering visits to her room. Sunghoon realized that money alone couldn't keep her safe; he needed legal authority.
Sitting in his dim office, he crossed an ethical line from which he could never return. Using his resources and connections, he forged the documents. When he handed the paperwork to the administration, Jane Doe ceased to exist. She was given a name, a birthdate, and a new legal status.
He resigned the next day.
Using his immense, hidden wealth, Sunghoon purchased a sprawling, secluded house in a quiet, coastal province far from the city and the wreckage of her past. High fences, dense trees, and the sound of the ocean insulated them from the rest of the world. To maintain his cover, he took a low-stress position at a sleepy local clinic. It gave him access to the IVs, medications, and medical supplies he needed, without the prying eyes of his former colleagues.
For three years, that house was their entire universe.
Sunghoon's routine became an act of profound, quiet devotion. Every morning before his shift at the clinic, he would bathe her, change her clothes, and brush her hair. He would open the heavy curtains, letting the soft morning light spill across the bed.
"Good morning," he would whisper, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. "You look lovely today. The sun is finally out."
He would talk to her about his day, read books aloud by her bedside, and hold her hand until he fell asleep in the armchair beside her. In the complete isolation he had built, the lines of his reality blurred. The forged documents didn't feel like a lie anymore. The ghost he had saved had become the center of his gravity. He had fallen entirely, desperately in love with her.
Then came the night that changed everything.
Sunghoon woke up with a start. The digital clock on the nightstand read 3:14 AM. Out of pure habit, he turned to check the medical monitors, but the rhythmic beeping was gone.
The bed was empty.
A cold panic seized his chest. He bolted upright, his heart hammering against his ribs as he tore out of the bedroom. He searched the hallway, the living room, his mind racing with terrifying possibilities.
Then, he saw the open patio door.
The cool night breeze swept into the house, carrying the scent of salt water. Sunghoon stepped outside, his breath catching in his throat.
There she was.
She was standing barefoot on the cool stone of the patio, bathed in the silver light of the moon. The wind gently tugged at her white nightgown. She looked around with a profound, beautiful confusion, taking in the trees, the ocean, and the night sky as if seeing the world for the very first time.
Hearing his footsteps, she turned.
For the first time in three years, her eyes were open, bright, and staring directly at him. Sunghoon froze. He expected panic. He expected her to scream, to back away from the stranger standing in the dark.
Instead, her shoulders relaxed. As she looked at him, a strange, unexplainable warmth washed over her. She didn't know the face, but the presence of the man standing before her felt undeniably safe. It was as if his very aura, the cadence of his breathing, was etched into her subconscious.
Her brow furrowed as she searched her empty mind for an anchor, finding absolutely nothing.
"I..." Her voice was soft, raspy from years of disuse. "I don't remember... What is my name?"
Sunghoon felt the heavy, crushing weight of reality bear down on his shoulders. He wasn't her family. He was a captor cloaked in kindness, a man who had erased whatever past she had left behind. But looking at her desperate, trusting eyes, he found his opening.
He took a slow step forward.
"Your name is Park Cheonji," he answered softly.
She tilted her head, testing the unfamiliar syllables on her tongue. "Cheon... Ji?"
"Yes," Sunghoon murmured, his voice thick with an emotion he couldn't hide. "It means 'world'. My Cheonji."
A faint, fragile smile touched her lips at the endearment. The deep timbre of his voice wrapped around her like a blanket she had worn a thousand times before.
"Wow, that's cool..." she breathed out, looking back toward the sprawling, shadowed trees and the echoing ocean. "But where are we?"
"We're at home," he answered, closing the distance between them until he was just a breath away.
She looked up at him. "Oh? And you?" she asked, her eyes expectant, filled with an innocent, absolute trust.
In that single, fleeting second, every ounce of guilt, every moral hesitation Sunghoon harbored, completely vanished. The girl he had poured his soul into for three long years was finally alive, standing in front of him, instinctively seeking him out as her only safe harbor. He had saved her life; now, he would give her a new one.
He smiled, a gentle, devoted curve of his lips.
"I'm Sunghoon. Your husband."
[ Read the full book on Wattpad here! ]
Ps: it's still on going
"If you want to go home, just call my name."
started: 05/31/26
Closer To You —>> Pairing, sunghoon! Non-idol x female(y/n)
Arrange marriage with enemy, hatred, kys joke , manipulation, angst(prolly), jealousy, unprotected sex, p in v (wrap it before you tap it), slow burn, Sh has a crazy obsessive girl who likes him to death but he doesn’t, Gripping, cursing. (MDNI KINDA)
Summery: Sunghoon and y/n was forced to get married with each other despite being enemies (both family). They hated each other to death but something shifts in Sunghoon when he sees “his wife” with someone else. etc…
Note: I don’t proofread so pls understand and ignore the time stamps 💔
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