Summary: In a city where tradition and modern life collide, two strangers find themselves drawn together by chance—and by food.
y/n, a chef rebuilding her life far from home, pours her heart into every dish she creates. Her restaurant is her safe haven, the place where she reclaims her voice after years of silence.
San, a reserved architect and devoted father, has built walls as sturdy as the homes he designs. He cooks only to nurture his little girl, never for himself—until y/n’s presence begins to stir something he thought he had buried.
Through the laughter of a child, the comfort of shared meals, and the quiet magic of being truly seen, y/n and San discover that love doesn’t always arrive loudly—it simmers, patiently, like a stew left to grow rich with time.
A tender story about food, healing, and the unexpected ways two hearts can find home.
Pairing: SingleFather!San x Chef!femReader
Tropes: Slow Burn, Stranger to Lovers, Second Chances / Healing Hearts, Mutual Healing / Emotional Growth, Domestic Life / Cozy Slice-of-Life.
Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut eventually.
Status: Finished!
Warnings: Self depricating jokes, past trauma, low self-worth, maybe a little bit of language. There may be too much description of things. Food as a love language.
Word Count: 152k (so far... hehe)
a/n: so here’s the thing: i swore i’d never post my writing, and yet… here we are... i picked san because he’s (allegedly) easy to figure out — which may or may not be a lie, but let’s pretend i know what i’m doing. canon accuracy? ehhh, i tried. character love? 1000% (don’t ask me why, my brain just went “yes, him.”)
anyway… thanks for being here 🫶 it genuinely makes me want to keep writing
The festive season has me thinking about !dad San and Soo-Bin decorating and cooking for the holidays and it’s making me so soft. And Idk why but I feel like he’d make the best cookies for his girls and you can pry that head cannon from my cold dead hands
Also thinking about our baby making a Christmas wish list for “Santa” and her just writing Eomma has me fucked up and I’m doing it to myself
i know i promised an ending ages ago. the truth is, i never quite knew how to close this story… until this request landed in my inbox and it felt like the perfect excuse to give them something gentle and warm. so… this is technically an epilogue for my single dad!san series, but it can absolutely be read as a oneshot if you’re just here for the vibes! the style might feel a little different too. i used to write the original story in third person, but over time i started experimenting with second person fic-style, so that’s why it shifts here. thank you for your patience with me. sorry for the delay, but i hope this feels worth the wait. 🫶
The Little Girl Who Led Me to You - San x Reader
Cookies, snow, and stolen kisses. You don’t just join their family, you become their world.
Pairing: SingleDad!San x Chef!FemReader
Tropes: Married Life, Choosen Motherhood, Found Family / Chosen Family, Dad Energy / Caring Male Lead, Healing / Emotional Comfort, Childhood Trust / Parental Bonding,
Genre: Fluff.
Warnings: nothing really. just too much fluff, mild emotional frustration, physical touch, a lot of kisses, family dynamics, strong emotional content (everything is sweet, don’t worry).
Word Count: 5.9k
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A couple of years have passed since your little romantic retreat.
Snow drifts past the windows in slow, patient flakes, soft enough that the world outside feels muted, like someone turned the volume down just for the night. It clings to the glass, blurs the streetlights, makes everything beyond the house feel far away and unimportant.
Inside San’s house, the warmth settles deep.
It doesn’t feel like his house anymore.
Old Christmas music hums low from a speaker tucked somewhere near the living room.
Nothing flashy. Something familiar.
The kind of song that’s been playing every December for decades. It weaves through the smell of baking and pine, through the quiet certainty of a home that knows exactly who belongs in it.
There had been a moment. Clear in your memory. Unavoidable.
San standing in the kitchen one evening, sleeves rolled, Soo-bin already asleep down the hall. He hadn’t made it dramatic. Hadn’t knelt or joked or softened it with humor. Just looked at you like he already knew the answer and needed you to know the question mattered.
Stay, he’d said. Then, after a breath, Move in with us.
You remember the way your chest had tightened. How heavy and gentle that word felt in his mouth. How carefully he was offering you a life that included his daughter, not as an afterthought, but as the center of it.
You said yes with shaking hands. Sold your house not long after. Packed your life into boxes that felt lighter than they should have.
Now, the proof of that choice is everywhere.
In the way your things are no longer guests. In how the mornings run without discussion. In the shared understanding of who does what and when. In how raising Soo-bin stopped feeling like something you were helping with and started feeling like something you were simply doing.
Together.
She loves you fiercely. Openly. With the kind of devotion children give when they don’t question whether it will be returned.
She brings you her drawings first. Crawls into your lap without asking. Calls for you when she’s hurt, when she’s excited, when she’s sleepy and doesn’t know why. She listens to you the way she listens to San. Trusts you the same way.
But she never says it.
Never eomma.
Not out loud.
The word lives in the way she treats you instead. In instinct. In habit. In the small, unconscious choices that betray her heart. And you never push. Never correct. Never ask. You know better than to try to claim a title that has to be given.
Still, sometimes, when the house is quiet and she’s already asleep, you feel the absence of that word like a held breath.
Not anger. Not resentment.
Just hope.
Because in every way that matters, you already are it.
You just wonder when she’ll be ready to say it.
The tree stands half-finished by the window. Lights already woven through the branches, glowing steady and gold, but ornaments still scattered across the coffee table. A few hang lopsided where someone clearly lost patience halfway through.
The space smells like butter melting into sugar, vanilla blooming warm in the air. It clings to your clothes, your hair. This is the smell that says home without ever needing to say it.
Soo-bin stands on her tiny bathroom stool, the one she usually uses to brush her teeth, now dragged into the kitchen and repurposed for far more important work.
It wobbles a little when she shifts her weight, but she plants her feet like she owns the place, chin tipped up in concentration.
An oversized apron slips off one shoulder no matter how many times she tries to tug it back into place. There’s already flour dusted across her cheeks, smudged onto her nose. She looks proud of it.
San isn’t much better.
There’s flour everywhere. On the counter. On the floor. On him. Small, unmistakable fingerprints decorate his cheek and the corner of his forehead.
Soo-bin’s doing, clearly intentional.
His sweater sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, soft fabric creased there, revealing toned forearms dusted white as he measures ingredients with steady movements.
Strong hands working patiently, the kitchen light catching on the muscles in his wrists like it knows where to look.
Soo-bin peers into the bowl like it’s holding state secrets.
“Appa, can I crack the egg?” she asks, already leaning forward, fingers hovering with barely contained excitement.
San pauses just long enough to slide the bowl a little farther from the edge, one steady hand anchoring it. “Careful,” he says, voice gentle but firm. “One at a time.”
You watch it all from your stool across the counter, elbows resting loosely on the surface, smiles bubbling out of you without effort.
A glass of white wine waits between your fingers, every so often you swirl it idly, watching the liquid cling to the glass before sliding back down.
Soo-bin beams, egg cradled like treasure.
“And no shells this year,” San adds, glancing at her without missing a beat, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I’m still traumatized.”
She giggles, nodding solemnly like she understands the gravity of the task.
You smile so deeply your cheeks ache.
Chef instincts twitch quietly in the back of your mind. You notice the order of ingredients. The way San eyeballs measurements instead of weighing them. The slightly questionable moment when Soo-bin insists that the yeast goes in now and not later.
Your brain itches with a dozen small corrections you could make.
You don’t say a word.
This isn’t your kitchen tonight. Not at all. This is theirs. A tradition held together with muscle memory and laughter and flour-dusted love. So you sip your wine and let the scene unfold exactly as it wants to.
Soo-bin beams at you, hands on her hips, chin lifted with authority.
“Okay,” she says seriously, pointing at the bowl like she’s conducting a class. “Now Appa mixes like this. And you don’t rush it. Cookies don’t like being rushed.”
San snorts softly but follows her instructions anyway, exaggerated care in his movements. He glances at you over the rim of the bowl, eyes warm, amused, a little proud.
You lift your glass in mock solemnity. “I’m learning so much,” you say, entirely sincere.
Soo-bin nods, satisfied.
San catches your eye again and crooks a finger at you, playful, unmistakable. There’s something bright in his gaze, a quiet dare wrapped in warmth.
You feel it instantly. The invitation. The trouble.
You take one last quick sip of your wine, set the glass aside, and pad over to him anyway.
As you come up beside him, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your cheek, barely there. Familiar. Easy. Then he disappears behind you like it didn’t just tilt something gently inside your chest.
Soo-bin, meanwhile, is frowning down at her hands, trying to pry dried dough from between her fingers with intense concentration. You step in without thinking, leaning slightly to her level, guiding her small fingers with your own.
“Like this,” you murmur, careful, slow. “See? It comes off easier if you don’t fight it.”
She hums thoughtfully, watching you like you’re showing her a secret. And something settles in you as you do it.
This quiet certainty.
This feeling of being folded into something that already exists, not as a guest, but as someone trusted with the small things. Traditions. Messes. Sticky fingers and patience.
It feels natural in a way that almost startles you.
San interrupts your thoughts when he comes back to your side. He’d been rummaging through a drawer, closing it with his hip, and now his hands are full of cookie cutters. Stars, hearts, trees, something vaguely shaped like a dinosaur.
He lifts his brows at Soo-bin.
“We’ll need as many hands as possible, dumpling,” he says lightly. “Would you like some extra help?”
Soo-bin beams, already reaching for your hand. “Yes! Yes, she should help.”
She leans toward San, stage-whispering like it’s a secret. “She always knows what to do.”
Your chest kicks once at her words, quick and unsteady. You don’t let it show.
You roll your sleeves up, fabric bunching at your forearms, and smile like it’s easy. “Alright,” you say softly. “I’m ready.”
San’s hand settles at your lower back, light but sure, guiding you closer. His thumb presses once, grounding.
The counter gets messier quickly. Dough rolled out. Cutters pressed down with varying levels of success. Soo-bin’s cookies come out crooked, lopsided, unapologetically strange.
She hesitates, holding one up. “Is it okay if mine look funny?”
You don’t even pause. “The funny ones taste the best.”
San’s voice drops, softer than he probably means it to. “She gets that from you.”
At some point, everything becomes a little chaotic.
San is trying to cut clean shapes while also keeping an eye on Soo-bin, who wobbles slightly on her stool, balance not quite matching her confidence yet.
His hand flies instinctively to the back of her head, steadying her without even looking, muscle memory doing the work for him. In the same breath, you step in, slipping lightly between him and the counter to help free a stubborn cookie from its cutter.
“I’ve got it,” you murmur, not really waiting for permission.
He huffs a quiet laugh, clearly outnumbered. “I was handling it.”
“You were fighting it,” you correct, gentle and amused.
Without thinking, his other hand finds your waist. Not possessive. Just there. Anchoring you close while he juggles too many things at once. He leans into you a little, playful.
You bump him back with your hip, lowering your voice. “Behave,” you warn, a smile tucked into the word.
He grins, breath warm near your ear. “You’re the one who stepped in.”
Your hands move with quiet confidence, careful and practiced, easing the dough free without tearing it. San watches from the corner of his eye, half-distracted, half-awed, trying to keep track of his daughter, the oven, the counter… and you.
When the cookie finally comes loose, he exhales a small laugh, relief softening his shoulders. He leans in just enough for only you to hear.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
You smile, cheeky but soft. “Anytime, chef.”
His hand stays at your waist, thumb pressing lightly as if to make sure you’re still there. Then it slides upward, settling around your shoulders, drawing you closer without ceremony.
You can feel the powdered sugar dusting his fingers, the steady warmth of him, the scent of cinnamon and eggs clinging to his sweater. Then, without warning, he cups your face. Fingers pressing into your cheeks, pinching just enough to make your lips pout.
The kiss that follows is brief, almost shy. A soft press of lips, warm and certain, like a quiet thank you layered with something deeper. Not rushed. Not demanding. Just there.
Gone before you can catch your breath.
Heat blooms across your cheeks. You duck your head, smiling despite yourself, while his grin stretches wide, eyes nearly disappearing, like he’s just stolen something precious and plans to keep it.
Soo-bin is too busy corralling Byeol away from her feet to notice at first. But the sound of the kiss makes her look up, eyes sharp and curious.
She freezes for half a second. Then her face lights up.
She points at you, bouncing on her heels. “You’re all dusty!” she laughs, delighted. “Right there. On your face. Appa did it!”
You laugh, swiping at your cheek, only smearing it worse. San laughs too, immediately guilty.
“I have no idea what she’s talking about,” he says, badly.
Soo-bin shakes her head, curls flying. “You do! You made her sparkly.”
San just grins. He dips his fingers back into the sugar on the counter and, before she can react, taps Soo-bin’s nose. A soft white dot blooms there.
She goes still. Blinks. Crosses her eyes trying to see it.
Then she squeals, scrunching her face. “Hey!”
“Now you match,” he says, entirely satisfied.
Her laughter grows louder, contagious. Yours follows, warm and easy, filling the kitchen until even Byeol looks offended at being ignored.
San watches the two of you, smile wide and unguarded, like this is exactly where he’s meant to be.
After all the shapers are carefully arranged over the parchment paper, San slides the trays into the oven, the heat blooming against his forearms as he shuts the door with a gentle click. The timer gets set. He taps it twice, just to be sure.
You and Soo-bin take that as your cue to stay put, lazily tidying the counter instead. You gather stray cutters, wipe a dusting of flour into a neat pile. Soo-bin dramatically herds Byeol away from an empty box, the cat batting at the cardboard like it’s a personal enemy.
With the cookies on their way, the living room calls.
Boxes open at Soo-bin’s feet as she kneels, rummaging with purpose. She pulls out ornaments one by one, holding them up for inspection like precious artifacts. A crooked paper star. A glittered snowman with glue showing at the seams. Then something older. Glass, delicate, catching the light.
“This one,” she says, handing it to her father. “And this one too.”
He takes them carefully, already grumbling under his breath as the lights tangle again. “These things move when I’m not looking. I swear.”
You laugh, stepping closer to help, but mostly just watching. He fixes a stubborn strand, muttering to himself, then makes a point of hanging Soo-bin’s handmade ornaments front and center. Always where the lights shine brightest. Always where they’ll be seen first.
You love how much San adores his little girl.
The music shifts to something soft and old, a song that feels borrowed from another time. Something his mother might have played while cleaning on a Sunday morning.
Soo-bin stands right in front of him now, almost between his legs, tiny hands parting branches with exaggerated seriousness, copying his every move. San lets her. Guides her without taking over.
You slip in behind him, arms wrapping around his middle. Your cheek rests against his back, warm, solid. The scent of him mixes with sugar and butter drifting in from the kitchen. The oven hums quietly. The house feels right.
You press a small kiss between his shoulder blades. Then another.
He huffs a laugh, shoulders dropping just a little. “You’re not helping,” he murmurs.
You kiss him again. “I think I’m doing great.”
He tries to focus, really tries, but a giggle slips out when you kiss the same spot twice. “If this ornament falls, I’m blaming you.”
“Worth it,” you whisper.
The timer goes off.
Soo-bin gasps like it’s an emergency. “The cookies!”
She bolts.
“Dumpling!” San calls, already moving. “Let me do it!”
He peels you out of his arms just long enough to turn around, cups your face, and kisses you. It’s deeper than before, still sweet, still safe, but full. Promising. Then, with a grin, he gives your hip a light, playful smack.
“C’mon,” he says, already jogging after his daughter.
You follow more slowly, taking it all in. San scooping Soo-bin up before she can reach the oven. Her laughter. Byeol darting after them.
You smile, heart full, as the kitchen fills with warmth all over again.
San pulls the tray from the oven with a careful grunt, heat rushing out in a wave.
“Hot,” he warns immediately, body angling between the oven and Soo-bin out of pure instinct. “No touching.”
She bounces on her toes anyway, hands clasped behind her back like that might help. You hover close, smiling, while he sets the tray down and nudges it safely out of reach.
The wait feels longer than it is.
When the cookies are finally cool enough, icing gets poured, sprinkles scattered, tools spread across the table like a tiny battlefield. Soo-bin leans in with fierce concentration, tongue poking out as she tries not to mix the colors.
Red stays red. Green stays green. It’s serious work.
You start to step back then. Not leaving, just giving space. Letting it be theirs for a moment.
You’ve learned when to do that.
You love them both fiercely, but you also know how important this is.
The small, everyday bonding that doesn’t need an audience. The easy rhythm they had long before you stepped into it.
You don’t want to overwrite it. You don’t want to blur it. You want it to keep existing, strong and sure, with or without you in the room.
Not because you feel unwanted. Never that. But because love, to you, has always meant making room as much as taking it.
They were happy before you. You know that. And you want them to know it too. That they’re still allowed to be them, together, in all the ways that came first.
So you linger just at the edge, smiling, content to watch.
Soo-bin doesn’t notice. She’s too busy.
San does.
He sees it the second you start to step back. Not leaving. Just easing yourself out. Making room the way you’ve learned to do when you don’t want to take too much.
San doesn’t comment on it. Doesn’t ask. He knows better than to try and talk you out of instincts that were learned over years.
Instead, his hand closes around your wrist, gentle but sure, stopping you before the space can settle. He draws you back in, unhurried, deliberate, positioning you between him and Soo-bin like it’s the most practical thing in the world.
A piping bag is pressed into your palm. Then another tool. His fingers wrap over yours briefly, grounding, familiar.
“Can you show me?” he says, casual enough to pass for nothing. “I think I’m doing it wrong.”
It’s an excuse. A good one. One you won’t refuse.
You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling as you take the tools properly. “You are.”
You demonstrate, hands steady, confidence sliding back into place as naturally as breathing. San watches closely, not with awe, not with praise. With trust. With the quiet certainty of someone who knows exactly who he’s standing beside.
Soo-bin leans in immediately, copying you without hesitation, shoulder brushing yours. Her line goes crooked and she laughs, delighted anyway.
San’s gaze flicks between the two of you, something warm and resolute settling in his chest.
This isn’t space you have to earn, he thinks. You’re already here.
One by one, the cookies are finished.
Soo-bin claps when she sees them all together, delight spilling out of her. San laughs, bends to kiss the crown of her head, then straightens and pulls you under his arm without asking. You fit there easily. Like you always do.
You stand like that, the three of you, admiring the mess of them. Some cracked. Some lopsided. Colors bleeding where they shouldn’t. Others surprisingly neat.
All of them different. All of them perfect.
San’s arm tightens just a little around you. He looks down at the cookies, then at his girls.
“We did good,” he says quietly.
And you did.
You arrange them on a plate, pour three glasses of milk, and carry everything to the coffee table. It feels ceremonial in the smallest way. San clears space without being asked, nudging ornaments aside, dragging the table closer to the couch with his foot.
The cookies are good. Soft in the middle, edges just right. Soo-bin beams like she personally invented baking.
“They’re perfect,” you say without hesitation, lifting your hand toward her. “Best cookies I’ve ever eaten.”
Her eyes go wide. She smacks your palm in a proud high five, milk wobbling dangerously in her glass.
“I told you!” she announces, chest puffed out. “Appa makes the best ones.”
San laughs, warm and low, but he’s not really looking at the cookies anymore. He’s looking at you. Like the room narrowed down to this. Like if you asked, he’d hand you the whole night, wrapped and glowing.
Byeol appears at his feet on cue, as if summoned by crumbs and destiny. The cat sits, tail flicking, eyes locked on the plate with theatrical intensity.
“No,” San says firmly, already smiling. “Absolutely not.”
Byeol leans closer.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he adds, laughter slipping in now. “It’s not happening.”
You break one cookie in half and turn toward him. You don’t say anything at first. Just hold it out, fingers brushing his as you do. A quiet offering. A thank you folded into the gesture instead of spoken.
He understands anyway.
San leans in and takes it from your fingers with his mouth, eyes never leaving yours. A quick wink follows, crumbs catching at the corner of his smile. Chewing, he pulls his girls closer, one arm snug around you, the other corralling Soo-bin against his side like it’s instinct.
The fireplace crackles. The lights blink softly. For a moment, everything holds.
Then Soo-bin’s energy spikes fast and bright, sugar buzzing through her like a lit sparkler. She laughs too loud at nothing, words tumbling out over each other as she hops from the couch to the rug and back again, dragging Byeol into her orbit with clumsy affection.
“Watch it,” San calls gently when she veers a little too close to the fireplace, already half-rising from his seat. “Couch, Bin. Let’s keep all the eyebrows we came with.”
She salutes him dramatically, misses her own hand, giggles harder. Byeol darts away, offended, only to circle back and flop dramatically at her feet.
You reach for the plate. “Another cookie?”
San shoots you a look. Not sharp. Just knowing. One eyebrow up. A silent please don’t.
You laugh under your breath and pull your hand back. “Milk it is.”
“Why does snow crunch but not rain? Can cats dream? If Santa eats cookies at every house does he get a tummy ache? Do reindeer get cold ears?”
The questions stack on top of each other, leaving no space for answers. You laugh, shrug helplessly, giving her a half-answer here, a guess there.
San answers the ones he can. Dodges the rest with “That’s a good question” and “We’ll look it up tomorrow.”
Then the yawn hits her mid-thought. Huge. Jaw stretching wide. She freezes like she’s been caught.
“I’m not tired,” she insists immediately, eyes already drooping.
San reaches for the remote and puts on her favorite cartoon, volume low. Familiar voices fill the room, bright and gentle.
“Just sit for a minute,” he says, coaxing. “You can tell us the rest later.”
She climbs onto the couch, all resistance gone now, curling sideways without meaning to. You finish her milk glass for her when she forgets it exists, setting it aside quietly.
Your fingers find the nape of his neck, rubbing slow, tender circles. He exhales, leaning subtly into your touch. His hand settles on your thigh, firm and steady, not letting you get up, not letting you tidy or move or disappear into tasks. You stay.
The cartoon plays on, colors flashing softly across the room. Soo-bin’s questions trail off. Her breathing evens out. The sugar burns itself away, leaving only exhaustion behind.
You glance down at her and smile. “Bin?” you ask gently. “Which one’s your favorite again?”
No answer.
You chuckle softly, glancing down at her face, peaceful now, lashes resting against her cheeks. “San,” you whisper, smiling. “I think she’s out.”
He looks at her then, his face softening completely, like everything else in the world can wait.
He tugs the blanket up over her shoulders, careful not to wake her, pressing a kiss to her forehead and lingering there a second longer than necessary.
Byeol hops up without invitation, curling neatly between her legs, already half-asleep herself.
The room settles.
The afternoon finally still.
You’re in the kitchen now, sleeves rolled up, hands a little wet as you tidy in small, quiet motions. The counter gets one last wipe. Plates stack neatly by the sink. You hum along to the song drifting from the speakers, soft and festive, hips swaying just a little without you noticing.
In the living room, San is finishing the tree. He adjusts an ornament here, nudges a branch there, focused on the last details. When he crouches to fix the lower branches, something catches his eye.
A folded piece of paper tucked beneath the tree.
It definitely wasn’t there earlier. It must have appeared while the oven was preheating, while the two of you were too wrapped up in each other, laughing, stealing glances, waiting for the timer.
He picks it up.
For Santa written in careful, uneven letters.
His chest warms instantly. He smiles as he reads, quiet and fond. Then his eyes drop lower.
The smile fades.
He freezes.
The room keeps moving around him. Music plays. The tree lights glow. But the paper in his hands suddenly feels heavier than it should, weighty enough to crowd every other thought out of his head.
Without a word, he turns and walks toward the kitchen.
You don’t hear him at first. You’re finishing the counter, still humming, still caught in your own small happiness. When he reaches you, you instinctively slip an arm around his neck, tugging him closer to press a couple kisses to his cheek.
He doesn’t respond.
That’s when you stop. You pull back, finally looking up at him, confusion softening your smile.
San doesn’t speak. He just lifts the paper and holds it out to you.
You take it, curious, reading from the top. You smile at the list. Toys. Treats. The kind of ridiculous wishes only a six-year-old could dream up.
Then your eyes reach the last line.
For her to be my eomma.
Your breath stutters.
And beneath it, written smaller, almost shyly:
And a little brother I can take care of!
Silence stretches between you.
You lift your eyes to San. He’s already looking at you, wide-eyed, searching your face. Neither of you says a word. The moment grows tight, fragile, filled with too many feelings and nowhere to put them.
When neither of you reacts, nerves start to creep in on both sides.
Two hearts, suddenly very aware of how much there is to lose. Or win.
San doesn’t move. His chest tightens, not with fear, but with something fuller. He swallows, steadying himself.
Neither of you say anything.
The word sits there between you, gentle and heavy and real.
San clears his throat.
It’s small, almost nothing, but you hear it anyway. He steals the paper from your fingers and folds it once, careful, like it might tear if he isn’t gentle enough.
“I’ll be right back,” he says, voice steady but just a shade too quick.
Before you can respond, before you can ask where he’s going or why, he turns and walks down the hall. His steps are a little faster than usual. Not rushed. Just purposeful. He disappears into the bedroom, the door clicking shut behind him.
The room feels different without him.
Not empty. Just tilted.
You stand there with the tree lights glowing softly against the walls, the house still warm from laughter and the steady crackle of the fireplace. Your chest feels full, almost too full.
Eomma.
The word warms you from the inside out. Chosen. Offered without hesitation. Exactly what you’d hoped for, even if you’d never let yourself say it out loud. Pride swells in your throat, bright and aching.
She chose you. She sees you like that.
And still.
A flicker of fear slips in, quiet but persistent.
Did I overstep? What if it made him nervous? Maybe it scared him. Maybe it pressed on something he’s not ready to name.
You tell yourself not to spiral. You breathe. You smooth your hands over the counter, grounding yourself in the familiar surface. And you wait.
You’re still standing there when he comes back.
San stops just inside the room, hands tucked behind his back like he doesn’t quite know what to do with them yet. He doesn’t look at you right away.
His eyes drift to the couch instead, to Soo-bin curled beneath the blanket, chocolate-smudged fingers tucked close to her chest. Byeol is still tangled between her legs, purring softly in her sleep.
Something in San’s face deepens.
He remembers the first time you came over to make soup when Soo-bin was sick.
Healing soup, you’d called it, brushing it off like it wasn’t a big deal at all. He remembers you moving through the kitchen all morning, careful and gentle, checking on her between stirs.
Never once acting like you didn’t belong there.
How you ended up falling asleep on his lap. How your cheek ended up pressed against his thigh, warm and soft, your fingers curling into the fabric of his pants like an anchor. How his hand rested instinctively on your hair, stilling you there.
He remembers looking down at you then, his daughter safe and sleeping, you breathing slow and even against him.
How steady it felt. How right it was, even before he had words for it.
He clears his throat again, finally lifting his gaze to you. There’s nerves there. No bravado. No rehearsed charm. Just him.
“I was going to wait,” he says, a small, breathy laugh slipping out. “I had a whole plan.”
He shifts his weight, glancing back at the tree, at the lights, at the paper folded on the table. “Something… bigger. More impressive.”
He exhales, shaking his head. “But I don’t think there’s ever going to be a better moment than this.”
He takes a step closer. Then another.
“I’m tired of pretending I don’t already know,” he adds, voice quieter now, steadier for saying it out loud.
He lowers himself slowly, like he can’t quite believe his body is doing it. One knee meets the floor, careful not to make a sound that might wake Soo-bin. When he brings his hands forward, a ring catches the warm glow of the kitchen lights. Simple. Elegant. A big, beautiful stone that still feels like him. Like you.
His hands tremble just a little.
“If you’ll keep choosing us,” he says, eyes shining now, unwavering, “I’d like to choose you. Forever.”
The words barely settle before he rushes on, breath uneven, voice breaking through nerves he doesn’t bother hiding.
“Will you—” He swallows, big eyes lifting to yours, almost pleading now. “Will you marry me?”
You don’t answer the way you imagined you might.
You laugh and cry at the same time, a sound that surprises you both, and then you’re moving. Launching yourself at him without thinking.
San barely has time to react before the momentum takes him with you, balance lost, the two of you tumbling gently to the kitchen floor.
He hits first, a soft grunt leaving him as his arms come up automatically, strong and sure, keeping you from hitting too hard as you land on top of him. The ring box skids harmlessly across the tiles.
“Yes,” you blurt out, too loud, too fast, frantic and breathless. “Yes, yes, yes!—”
The word echoes more than it should.
Panic hits immediately. You clamp a hand over your mouth, eyes flying to the couch, heart racing as you squint toward Soo-bin’s sleeping form, barely visible in the dim light.
San laughs into your shoulder, warm and quiet, arms tightening around you. “She’ll forgive us,” he whispers, voice thick with relief and joy.
You’re still trembling when you pull back just enough to look at him. Tears streak your cheeks, drying in uneven tracks. His heartbeat is loud beneath your palm, fast and real. Your hands cup his face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks like you need to make sure he’s still there.
The kiss comes naturally.
Deep, but unhurried. Full, but gentle. A release more than a spark. He kisses you like he’s been holding his breath for a long time and finally gets to let it out. Like every promise he couldn’t say fast enough is pressed into the space between you.
You feel his hands tremble where they hold you, solid and sure all the same. He feels the way you cling to him, fingers tight at his jaw, like letting go might undo everything. Soft, breathless laughs slip between kisses. Shaky exhales. Foreheads pressed together as you both try to remember how to breathe again.
That’s when a small voice cuts through it.
“Appa…?”
You both freeze.
Soo-bin stands at the edge of the kitchen, hair sticking up at odd angles, one eye rubbed sleepy and red. The blanket trails behind her like she forgot it halfway. She blinks at the sight of you on the floor, tangled together, confusion knitting her brows.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, honest and small.
San exhales a quiet laugh, still stunned, still smiling like his heart might burst. He brushes his thumb along your cheek once before looking at her.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he says softly. “Something very good just happened.”
She tilts her head. Watches him. Then you. Smart eyes, even half-asleep.
“She said yes,” San adds, voice thick now. “She said yes to staying. To us.”
There’s a pause. Just long enough for her to think.
Soo-bin pads closer, stopping right by your knees. She looks up at you, fingers curling into the fabric of your sleeve like she needs to anchor herself before asking.
“Does that mean…” she starts, then hesitates. Swallows. Her voice drops, careful. “Does that mean you won’t go away?”
Your chest caves in.
You sit up fully then, reaching for her, hands gentle but certain as you pull her close. Her cheek presses into your shoulder, warm and real and here. You kiss her hair, again and again, because it’s the only place you can reach without breaking apart.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur. “I choose you. I choose you every day.”
She nods against you, like that was the answer she needed. Then, quieter, almost shy:
“…Can I call you Eomma now? Or… only if you want.”
That’s it. That’s the moment.
“Yes,” you whisper, voice wrecked. “You could’ve called me that whenever you wanted.”
She clings to you fully then, arms tight around your neck, like she’s finally letting herself believe it’s safe. Like she’s been holding that word in her chest for a long time and it finally has somewhere to land.
San watches it happen like it’s holy.
His eyes fill, fast and unguarded. He presses a hand over his mouth, breath stuttering as he pulls both of you into him, arms wrapping around your backs, anchoring you there on the kitchen floor.
“I wanted to do this right,” he admits quietly. “I wanted to ask you with her. I just didn’t think—” He laughs through it, overwhelmed. “I didn’t think she’d been waiting.”
“She’s been waiting,” you say softly. “We both have.”
Soo-bin shifts, already drooping again, comforted now. “We’re a family,” she mumbles, like it’s obvious. Like it always was.
San kisses the top of her head. Then yours. Slow. Certain. Like a vow he doesn’t need to say out loud.
You stay there, the three of you curled together on the floor. The music hums low. The cookies cold on the counter. Snow keeps falling outside, patient and quiet.
Summary: A weekend that began with coffee and kisses turned into something deeper—love made quiet and real. Between laughter, teasing, and shared warmth, y/n and San found home in each other’s touch, their hearts learning peace, passion, and the promise of forever.
Genre: Fluff, Smut.
Warnings: Self depricating jokes, maybe a little bit of language. There may be too much description of things. Food as a love language. Explicit sexual content (18+), Post-intimacy tenderness / aftercare, Penetration, Unprotected sex (no condom or pregnancy mention), Squirting / Overstimulation, Biting, scratching, and marking, Fingering, Creampie, Manhandling? Alcohol use (consensual / recreational) Emotional vulnerability / confession, San is still too harsh on himself, Emotional impact, Family warmth, Can make readers swoon, tear up, or feel nostalgic ;)
Word Count: 14k
A/N: hiiii!! 💛💛so... last chapter is finally here 😭😭 but no worries, epilogue is coming!! i’m not ready to say bye to this world (pls don’t make me 😩)
real talk: i lowkey realized i love writing full stories more than oneshots… but oneshots are my lil brain-refreshers 👀✨ (so don’t worry, i’ll keep them coming every now and then hehe)
next up: mingi 🖤 if you wanna be tagged for the first chapter so you can dive in and see if you like it, hmu!!
i honestly can’t thank you enough for reading, fangirling with me, leaving all your love 🫶💛 your messages literally make me wanna do happy dances while typing
you’re the absolute bestest 💖💖
previous | masterlist | epilogue
San blinked against the pale gold light seeping through the curtains, at some point during the night, they’d shifted—San now curled around her, his chest pressed to her back, their legs tangled beneath the duvet like a secret only they shared. Skin against skin, heartbeat against heartbeat.
The room was quiet except for the whisper of the forest beyond the window. Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, gentle and golden, casting thin lines of light across the bed.
Outside, the world had washed clean. The storm was gone, leaving only the smell of rain, pine, and the faint trace of sex—their warmth, their laughter, their whispered promises still hanging in the air like smoke.
y/n stirred slightly, her breath hitching before falling back into its slow rhythm.
She looked so peaceful, her lips parted just enough to release a soft exhale that tickled his arm. Her hair spilled over the pillow, wild and soft from sleep, and her skin felt warm beneath his touch. Grounding.
San smiled faintly against her shoulder, letting his fingers trace idle circles along her hip. He’d slept better than he had in months, maybe years. No nightmares, no heaviness. Just her. Her warmth, her scent, her quiet presence pressed against him like a promise.
He thought about getting up, maybe making coffee, maybe even taking it out to the terrace once she woke. But the thought vanished as soon as she shifted again, her body instinctively pressing closer, her hand finding his even in sleep.
His chest tightened at the simplicity of it. How easily she reached for him now, how natural it felt to have her there.
San let out a slow breath, resting his forehead against the back of her neck. “You’re gonna ruin me,” he whispered, voice rough with sleep, a hint of laughter under it.
She mumbled something incoherent, half-asleep, the corners of her mouth lifting into a sleepy smile that made him chuckle quietly.
He should have stayed still, let her rest. But God, he couldn’t help it. The quiet made him restless, hungry for her in ways that had nothing to do with want and everything to do with need.
His thumb drew lazy circles on her waist, the skin smooth under his touch. She shifted slightly, a soft sound escaping her throat, something between a sigh and a hum that made his heart stutter. He smiled into her hair, pressing a slow kiss to her shoulder.
y/n stirred again, the shift almost imperceptible—until her hand slipped back, finding the back of his neck. Her fingers brushed through his hair, slow and instinctive, a faint hum escaping her as she tugged him closer.
San’s breath caught against her skin, his lips ghosting over her pulse before pressing there gently. The smile that curved her lips was sleepy, unpolished, real.
Her eyes opened just slightly, greeted by the light spilling into the room, the faint smell of rain still clinging to the air. Everything felt hushed, wrapped in that fragile stillness that only mornings after storms seem to hold.
She tilted her head, feeling the soft scratch of his stubble against her cheek, and let herself melt into the warmth of him. God, it felt so good to wake up like this. No noise, no rushing thoughts, no weight in her chest. Just this heartbeat against her spine, steady and familiar.
She didn’t remember the last time she’d woken up happy. The kind of happiness that didn’t need explanation or fear. The kind that lived quietly in her ribs, that made her want to breathe deeper, softer.
Maybe it was the cabin’s calm—the rain-washed air, the forest breathing around them. Maybe it was the leftover wine still humming faintly in her veins. But when she turned a little to meet his eyes, to find him already smiling at her like she was the only thing that existed, she knew.
It wasn’t the place. It wasn’t the wine.
It was him.
San brushed a loose strand of hair from her face, thumb lingering at her jaw. “Morning,” he whispered, voice low and rough with sleep.
“Morning,” she echoed, her smile lazy, her hand sliding down from his hair to his cheek.
She stirred again, her fingers brushing over his hair, eyes closed again. “Mmm... too comfortable to move,” she mumbled, her voice hoarse, barely there.
San chuckled, the sound low, brushing against her skin. “Then don’t,” he said softly. “Stay like this. Just a bit longer.”
Her lips curved into a sleepy smile. “You say that now,” she murmured, “but you’ll want coffee in ten minutes.”
“Not if I have you.”
y/n let out a soft laugh, the kind that vibrated more than it sounded, her body moving gently against his. His words hung between them, warm and unhurried, like the sunlight spilling through the curtains. For a moment, neither spoke—just quiet breaths, quiet smiles, quiet everything.
Then she tilted her head up to look at him properly, eyes still hazy with sleep, mischief flickering there. “You’re supposed to look tired too, you know. It’s only fair,” she murmured.
He laughed softly, nose brushing hers. “Can’t hear you complaining.”
“I’m not,” she murmured, pressing her forehead to his. “Not even a little.”
“Good,” he whispered, thumb tracing her jaw. “I would hate to think I wore you out for nothing.”
For the first time in a long time, she wanted the day to start—not because she needed to run from something, but because she wanted to live it. With him.
She whined quietly, stretching her sore libs a little—still half asleep—the sound rumbling through both of them. Neither of them moved, just breathed, limbs tangled, letting the morning settle around them like another blanket.
The world could wait.
Almost twenty minutes slipped by in that hazy drift, still curled tight, legs woven, her head tucked under his chin, soft touches in each other's skin—when San's stomach let out a loud rumble, breaking the quiet like distant thunder.
y/n burst into laughter, the sound bright and bubbling against his chest, her body shaking with it. "Hungry?" she teased, not making a move to untangle, her fingers tracing lazy hearts on his chest. "We should probably get going... I’m sure there’s something in the fridge to start the day."
San groaned dramatically, nuzzling deeper into her hair. "Five more minutes. Or forever." But his stomach betrayed him with another insistent growl, and she laughed harder, finally shifting to sit up.
The duvet pooled around her waist as she incorporated, falling away to reveal her naked body underneath—one hand rubbing sleep from her eyes, the other opening wide, stretching, mouth yawning in that adorably messy way.
Her chest was displayed fully now, soft in the cool morning air, nipples perking up instantly, hardening from the chill, begging for attention in the golden light. Tangled hair framed her face like a wild halo, eyes puffy from tears and sleep, lips still swollen from their night.
It was a mix of cute and hot—innocent stretch meets bare, tempting curves—and god, it was dangerous. San’s eyes traced her with a sharp breath, heart racing, love pulling him like gravity.
He rose fast, sliding behind her on the bed, legs framing hers, pulling her close against his chest in a warm, possessive embrace. One hand rested gently on her chest, fingers brushing soft, deliberate circles on her skin—tender, adoring, making her shiver. His other hand splayed across her stomach, holding her with quiet devotion, grounding them both in the moment. "God, look at you," he murmured, voice rough with awe, pinching lightly just to hear her gasp.
His lips found her shoulder first—slow, unhurried kisses that felt more like breathing than touching. He trailed down her spine, the warmth of his mouth chasing the cool morning air, then back up again until he reached the curve of her neck. A soft hum left him, part sigh, part worship, before his teeth grazed her pulse.
But he couldn't stay away. Both his hands came up, finding her easily. Palms cupping, thumbs tracing lazy circles over her nipples until her breath hitched and her back arched into him. The sound that escaped her was quiet, almost shy.
“God, you’re so beautiful,” he murmured against her skin. “Every time I think I’ve seen all of you, you prove me wrong.” His lips brushed her shoulder again, feather-light, while his fingers teased her nipples, light and torturous until she trembled. “Look at you... wrecking me before the day even starts.”
y/n laughed softly, cheeks warm, trying to tame her messy hair with one hand while the other clutched the sheets to her chest. “San, stop, I look like a disaster,” she said, the words breaking on a breathy giggle. But she still leaned back into him, chest rising to meet his touch, her body betraying how much she loved the attention.
He smiled into her skin. “Disaster, huh? That’s not what this body’s telling me.” His voice was low, teasing, but his thumbs never stopped—lazy, sure, adoring.
She turned her head, meeting his gaze with that sleepy, bright-eyed look that always made his chest tighten. Their lips brushed—soft, slow, familiar—and she whispered between kisses, “You’re impossible.”
“Maybe,” he breathed, kissing her one last time before she pulled away.
She stood, stretching, the morning light wrapping around her bare skin. Her hips swayed without trying, that easy grace that drove him insane. He watched her go, half-smiling, half-ruined—his duvet slipping down to his waist as reality caught up to him.
But it was the faint bruises on her skin that hit him hardest—the marks on her breasts, the soft red bloom on her shoulder—they weren’t just his doing, but theirs. Evidence of how much they’d both given.
Pride swelled hot in his chest, a possessive mine thrumming through him.
He ran a hand over his face, still smiling like an idiot. “Get it together, man,” he muttered, though his heart already knew the truth.
He was gone for her. Completely.
Also naked, he padded into the living room, the floor cool beneath his feet—still shaking off sleep, still warm from her.
And there she was.
Bent slightly, slipping into last night’s panties, the lace clinging to her hips like sin itself. Then she grabbed his sweater from the floor, pulling it on with a little sigh, the fabric swallowing her body, brushing mid-thigh. His scent hit her instantly—clean, woodsy, him—and she melted into it, humming under her breath as she smoothed it down.
San froze, half-dressed in nothing but air and sleep, watching her like a man caught in a trance. His sweater never looked like that on him.
“Hey,” he rasped, voice still rough from the night. “That’s mine.”
y/n turned, tongue poking out like a kid, smile wicked. “Finders keepers,” she sing-songed, spinning just enough to flash the edge of her panties.
He groaned low in his chest, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re a menace,” he muttered, but his grin betrayed him.
He disappeared into the bedroom, only to return a minute later—gray sweats hanging loose on his hips, shirt barely containing the stretch of his shoulders. By then, she was in the kitchen nook, bare legs catching morning light as she measured out coffee beans, his sweater riding high on her thighs.
It should’ve been domestic. Sweet, even.
But the sight of her like that—his clothes, his marks, her skin glowing—woke something deeper.
He came up behind her without a word, his hands finding her waist, his hips slotting against her ass in one smooth, hungry motion. A slow grind. Deliberate. The kind that said I’m not done with you yet.
y/n’s breath hitched, head tilting back just a little as he pressed in again, the heat of him impossible to ignore. “San…” she warned, but it came out soft, shaky, caught somewhere between scolding and begging.
He smiled against her neck, breath hot as his hands spread wide across her stomach. “Relax,” he murmured, voice all tease and grit. “Just helping you steady the counter.”
His thumbs brushed the hem of his sweater—her thighs bare beneath—and she shivered, pretending to focus on the coffee grinder. The smell of beans, the warmth of him, the pulse of want threading between them—it was all too much.
“You’re terrible,” she breathed out, laughing, but her hips betrayed her, rolling back into him with an unconscious rhythm that had his jaw locking tight.
“Yeah?” he muttered, voice rough now, right against her ear. “You’re not exactly helping.”
The grinder whirred. The air thickened. Her body moved against his, small, instinctive circles that made him grunt low, hands tightening at her hips.
“Coffee first,” she managed, breathless. “Then food. Then you can distract me.”
San’s laugh was quiet, dark. “Baby, I am the distraction.”
His hands slid lower, gripping firmer this time, pulling her back into him until she could feel every inch of him through the thin barrier of fabric. His mouth found her ear, teeth grazing the edge as he whispered, rough and lazy, “No, keep going.”
And she did.
Grinding beans, breathing hard, his name slipping past her lips like a prayer she didn’t mean to say.
y/n’s soft moan broke free, raw and trembling, as she felt him hard against her through the thin fabric, pressing close like a vow. Heat flared in her core, her body tingling where his hands had left bruises—marks she wore like proof of their night.
“San…” she whined, half-teasing, half-pleading, hands gripping the counter as her hips pushed back, craving him despite herself.
He chuckled, low and dark, still her gentleman—his touch loving even as it burned. One hand slipped under her sweater, cupping her gently, thumb brushing slow, making her shiver.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured, hips rocking to meet hers, coffee beans forgotten as their breaths quickened, the air thick with want and love. Breakfast could wait—this was them, raw and unstoppable.
San’s other hand slid down, bold but tender, slipping beneath her panties. His fingers teased her lightly at first, circling with soft strokes that made her knees weak, her warmth already coating him.
“So ready for me,” he growled, voice rough with need, then pushed two fingers inside—harder than last night, primal, stretching her with a claim that screamed mine. He moved slow at first, but when she clenched, his pace surged, fast and fierce, the wet sound loud in the quiet kitchen.
Her moan was loud, unfiltered, body giving in as he worked her perfectly, hitting that spot with relentless fire. One hand grabbed his thigh, nails biting to pull him closer; the other clung to his arm, desperate as she rocked back, chasing the heat. “San—yes,” she gasped, voice wrecked, those bruises pulsing like her heart under his grip.
Those marks broke him—proof she’d begged for every one. San’s restraint shattered. With a rough tug, he yanked her panties down—lace tearing, pooling at her ankles—baring her under his sweater.
“Mine,” he rasped, primal but soft, freeing himself with a quick pull of his sweats—hard and leaking, he dragged himself through her folds, coating slow, making her whine.
No warning. He thrusts inside—deep, sudden, filling her completely. “Fuck—So perfect,” he groaned, still her sweet Sannie, voice thick with love as y/n moaned, her body gripping him tight. “Take me so good, love.”
After a few hard thrusts, hips snapping, he bent her over the counter—one arm wrapped protectively around her hips, cushioning her against the hard edge, even in his frenzy. His other hand slid to her neck, fingers gentle but firm, tilting her head just enough.
Her chest pressed cold against the counter, the chill sparking shivers, making her whine high and needy. San’s chest molded to her back, hips pounding—rough, animalistic slams that shook the counter, but his lips found her ear, whispering love between grunts: “Feel so good, y/n… you’re mine, love you so much… you’re my everything.”
His words were vows, sweet even in the wild—his hand slipping to caress her breast gently, rolling her nipples as she sobbed his name.
His mouth found her nape, kissing hot and desperate—teeth grazing just enough to mark her again, tender yet fierce, pulling a sharp whine from her throat. Their morning burned—carnal, raw, but loving, his care woven into every bruising thrust, every growled I love you, binding them in the chilly kitchen’s heat.
San’s hand slid from her hair to cradle her throat—gentle, not tight, thumb brushing her racing pulse as his hips moved relentless, driving deep with a primal edge that set her on fire.
y/n’s fingers darted down, circling herself fast, desperate to chase the rush building inside, her body trembling with slick heat as she teetered on the edge.
A few hard, deep thrusts—San’s hips slamming with raw force—made her whine, head dropping to the cold counter, forehead pressed against granite. The pleasure overwhelmed—his heat burning against her chilled skin, coffee beans and fireplace smoke swirling thick like their love—and she came hard, a sobbed “San—fuck!”, legs shaking, slick spilling hot down her thighs.
At that, San yanked his hand from her throat, standing straight—hands gripping her hips tight, the new angle hitting deeper, dragging her orgasm into dizzying overstimulation.
She squirmed beneath him, little soft sounds escaping her lips, breath hitching with each deliberate press of his hands and hips. He didn’t ease up—couldn’t. Not now. She was his, completely unraveling for him, and the way her body bent into his touch had him lost in a fierce, consuming need.
San hadn't cum—not yet, aching and close, he groaned deep, pulling out with a wet sound that made her whimper. He spun her fast, lifting her onto the counter—eyes locked, burning with love. Her legs went over his shoulders, baring her fully, and he thrust back in—a shared moan ripping free, raw and loud, as he filled her again.
That’s when he lost it. Her back arched on the cold counter, trembling, his sweater bunched up to show her marked skin—bruises blooming like his claim. His thrusts shook the surface, wild but still her sweet Sannie, loving her with every move.
“Fuck, baby—beautiful,” he growled, voice thick with love, words pouring out: “Gonna fill you up, my girl… so damn perfect.” Each thrust a vow, his hand brushing her chest tenderly.
Her mind blanked—only moans, whines, “San—oh, fuck!”—as she grabbed him—nails scraping his arms, clutching his shirt, his shoulders, like he’d slip away. Her body tightened again, a second climax hitting fast.
When she came again, she squirted—a small burst, soaking his sweats, clinging wet to his abs. "Fuck—yes!" San lost it at the sight, her claim pushing him over, thrusting hard once more, he came, spilling deep inside, their warmth mixing, a creamy ring forming at his base as he groaned, “y/n—love you—take it all,” hips grinding, her eyes wet with the weight of it.
They stayed locked, trembling, foreheads pressed, breaths tangled, coffee scent heavy with their love. “Shit…” he gasped, soft and adoring, eyes holding hers. Gently, he eased her legs down, thumb circling her thigh over new bruises with a tender apology and pride all in one—his other hand tracing her side, her jaw, pulling her close with soft touches, their love a raw, beautiful mess.
San’s softer side came rushing back then—eyes wide, searching hers, brows furrowed like he’d shatter if he went too far. The man who’d just claimed her, wild and hungry, was gone, replaced by the boy she loved, laced with worry.
“Love… you okay?” he murmured, voice low and taut, pressing featherlight kisses to her lips, her cheeks, her forehead—tracing every curve with careful devotion.
“Tell me if it was too much,” he added, throat tight, hand trembling as it cupped her face. “I—did I hurt you? Your hips… your neck… fuck, I got carried away.”
y/n’s breath hitched, amused and warm, head lolling against his shoulder as the fire faded to soft heat. “San… breathe,” she teased, fingers threading through his hair, eyes playful, flirty. “You did great. Perfect, even. I'm not made of glass, you big softie... I can take it—all of you.”
Relief softened him instantly. He laughed, the sound low and warm, pulling her closer, peppering her face with kisses that mixed gratitude and desire. “God, you’re dangerous,” he murmured, thumb brushing her lip. “I try to be responsible, and you just… kill me.”
She giggled, dazed, tugging his sweater over her marked chest—but he caught her wrists, pinning them lightly. “Not yet,” he murmured, grin sharp. Leaning in, he pressed a last, lingering kiss between her breasts, stubble grazing her skin, eliciting a shiver and a breathy, half-laugh, half-gasped, “San!”
He pulled out slowly, reluctantly, watching the mess they’d made together—thick, warm, dripping from her onto the counter. His voice broke, part awe, part amusement: “Shit… look at this.”
Everywhere told the story—the soaked fabric of his sweats and shirt, her torn panties crumpled at his feet, coffee beans scattered like confetti, streaks of their heat across the counter. “Hazmat level chaos,” he muttered with a chuckle.
Still, he swept her into his arms, bridal-style, muscles warm, strong, steady, while her legs dangled, still trembling from the intensity.
“C’mon, mess-maker, let’s clean you up,” he murmured, moving them toward the bathroom, body brushing hers in the dim morning light, steps intimate, swaying, grounded. She laughed into his neck, arms loose around him.
He nudged the door open gently, murmuring over her hair, voice soft, affectionate, possessive: “Gonna run you a bath, wash every inch... then breakfast. Promise.” And she melted, wrapped in him, in the afterglow—safe, claimed, loved, and utterly his.
A few minutes later, the bathroom was filled with warm steam, the faint scent of linen and milk curling through the air. y/n perched on the edge of the toilet, legs dangling, his oversized sweater still draped loosely over her body. Her gaze lingered on him with a soft, adoring smile.
San had already stripped off his ruined shirt, tossing it aside, revealing the broad expanse of his chest. Muscles flexed as he knelt on the cool tile, dipping a hand into the filling tub to test the water.
“Not too hot… perfect,” he murmured, voice quiet, focused, before adding the last glug of milk and linen, the creamy bubbles rising, curling in the warm mist.
When it was just right, he turned to her, eyes crinkling with warmth. In one fluid motion, he tugged her sweater off, revealing the bruised, beautiful skin he loved so much. Extending a steady hand, he offered, “C’mon, baby—your throne awaits.”
She took it without hesitation, fingers lacing with his as she crossed the small space, sinking into the tub with a soft sigh. Steam curled around her like an embrace, and she leaned back, letting the warm water cradle her, closing her eyes in satisfaction. Every ache from their morning frenzy melted under the heat, bruises tingling pleasantly beneath the surface.
San watched from above, heart full, love spilling from his gaze. His wild-haired goddess, messy and marked and utterly his, nestled into the water. He turned to step away, thinking of towels and spare clothes—but a soft creak made her eyes snap open. One wet hand reached out, dripping, desperate.
“Wait!” she murmured, shy, breathy. “Join me… please? Don’t leave me alone in here.”
San chuckled, low and fond, the boyish grin he knew would ruin her every time spreading across his face. “Bossy,” he teased, voice soft, eyes sparkling. “I was gonna grab spare clothes… so we’re not dripping all over the floor when we get out.” He paused, letting the grin widen. “…But fuck it. Can’t say no to that face.”
Her hand stayed outstretched as he kicked off his sweats, stepping into the steam. “Together it is,” he murmured, settling behind her, pulling her back against his chest.
His arms framed her, one resting gently on her stomach, the other gliding slow, soothing circles over her shoulder with the soft cloth. The warmth of his body pressed into hers, steady and grounding, his scent mingling with hers—earthy, familiar, comforting.
Little kisses ghosted across her skin, featherlight against her ear, along her jaw, each one a quiet I love you. She tilted her head, nipping his jaw, tasting the lingering soap, the warmth of the bath, the closeness of him.
It was slow, unhurried. Devotion made visible.
His hand paused mid-motion, cloth still skimming her skin as he drew in a shaky breath. “Baby,” he murmured, voice low, carrying all the words he hadn’t yet said.
She hummed softly, fingers tracing idle patterns over his thigh beneath the water. “Mm?”
“I never thought…” His voice faltered for a second, and she could feel it in the tremor of his breath. “…I never thought anyone would want to walk into my life knowing I came with a kid. A whole little world already built… one that isn’t easy, that takes… patience.”
His hand drifted down to circle her waist, drawing her a little closer. “A whole history… a mess I didn’t even know how to fix myself.”
He swallowed again, quieter this time, voice threaded with emotion. “But you… you came in like it was nothing.”
Her chest ached with the weight of his honesty.
“And you didn’t just love me,” he continued softly, lips brushing her temple. “You loved her too. Like it was easy… like she was yours from the start.”
y/n shifted slightly in his arms, wanting to see his face. His eyes were distant, soft, deep. She felt the ache in her chest tighten. “She makes it easy,” she whispered.
San nodded faintly, a slow exhale pressing into the water. His lips brushed her temple again, warm, shaky, grounding. And in that quiet, misty cocoon, the world fell away—just her, him, and the soft rhythm of their shared heartbeat.
“She was drawing the other day,” he murmured, voice soft, eyes on the water swirling around them. “At the coffee table.” A faint smile tugged at his lips. “I didn’t think much of it… until she showed me. It was us. You, me, and her—holding hands.”
y/n’s lips parted slightly, eyes lifting to meet his reflection in the fogged mirror. Her chest tightened.
“She even drew Byeol in the corner,” he said, a quiet laugh slipping through, trembling slightly. “Tail up, looking like a cotton ball.”
A breath of laughter escaped her, wet and shaky, but she didn’t interrupt. She just let it linger in the misty air, warming the space between them.
“Above your head,” he continued, voice catching faintly, “she wrote eomma. Big, wobbly letters. Pink and orange. She said it’s her favorite drawing yet.”
The word hit her like a wave. Eomma.
y/n’s breath stilled, eyes shimmering before tears started to fall freely—quiet, trembling ones that she didn’t even try to stop. Her fingers reached for him instinctively, cupping his face as if to steady herself.
“Oh, San…” she whispered, her voice cracking. “She really… she really wrote that?”
He nodded, his own voice tight. “Yeah. I stared at it for hours. I thought… if you saw it, maybe it would scare you. Maybe it was too much.”
y/n shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks as she smiled through them. “No. No, San—it’s not too much. It’s everything.”
His breath trembled, eyes softening with both relief and disbelief.
“She’s incredible,” y/n said, her words trembling but sure. “And you… both of you… you’re not hard to love. Not for me.” She smiled through the tears, brushing her thumb under his jaw. “Loving you isn’t difficult. It’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”
He closed his eyes, forehead pressing against hers. “You say that now,” he murmured. “But loving someone with a kid—it’s not simple. It’s messy, exhausting. There are late nights and tantrums and—”
“San,” she interrupted softly, her hand finding his cheek again, her smile faint but unwavering. “I’m not loving ‘someone with a kid’. I’m loving you both. And that? That’s easy.”
Something in him broke then—in the best way. He pulled her closer, lips finding hers in a kiss that tasted like salt, soap, and something unshakably pure.
When they parted, she laughed quietly, wiping her cheeks. “Great. Now you’ve made me cry in the bath. That’s a first.”
He grinned against her shoulder. “What can I say? I’m very moving.”
“Oh, you’re something, alright,” she teased, flicking a little water at his chest.
He caught her hand before she could move it again, pressing a kiss into her wrist. “You love it.”
“Maybe,” she said with mock hesitation, her smile betraying her.
They both laughed softly, the kind of laugh that only comes after tears. The warmth of it pooled around them, familiar and steady. Their bodies shifted, finding the easy rhythm they always did, hearts quiet, tethered to each other, perfectly synchronized.
The water had begun to cool, the steam thinning into faint wisps that curled toward the window. y/n shivered when the chill touched her skin, goosebumps rising along her arms. The tips of her fingers were pruned and wrinkled, a sure sign they’d stayed too long.
San noticed it too—the way she tucked herself closer for warmth, the small tremor in her shoulders. “We should get out,” he murmured, just as his stomach betrayed him with another low, unmistakable growl.
She stood first, the water cascading off her skin, leaving trails of soap bubbles clinging stubbornly to her thighs and hips. San let out a quiet sigh, not just because of her beauty, but because moments like this—the easy ones—still felt like miracles. He pulled the plug, watching the water swirl away in cloudy circles until only quiet drops remained.
They dressed in soft, dry clothes—y/n in one of San’s shirts and thick socks, San in a worn sweatshirt that smelled faintly of pine. Their movements were unhurried, touching shoulders and trading small smiles as they moved around the kitchen.
By the time San set the table on the porch, the air outside was heavy with that damp, post-storm scent—earth and wood and something clean. The wooden platform creaked softly under their steps, the forest sprawling beneath them like a sea of green. The humidity clung to their hair, but the sunlight was warm enough to make it pleasant.
y/n carried the plates—eggs, toasted bread, and a mix of fruit they’d managed to find at the back of the fridge. San followed with two mugs of steaming coffee.
They sat side by side, chairs close enough that their knees brushed. For a long while, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn’t empty; it was full—of warmth, of everything that didn’t need words.
y/n let her head rest lightly against his shoulder, smiling at the quiet. “Feels like the world stopped,” she murmured.
San looked at her, sunlight catching the edge of her hair, and smiled back. “If it did, I’d be fine with that.”
The plates were half-empty now, crumbs scattered across the table between them. y/n toyed with a piece of toast, running her thumb along the crust before popping it in her mouth. The coffee in their mugs had gone lukewarm, but neither cared enough to move. The air outside was still heavy with morning dampness, the hum of the forest wrapping around them like a lullaby.
San leaned back in his chair, eyes half-closed, face tilted toward the sunlight. y/n watched him for a moment—the faint smile on his lips, the way his hand rested palm-up on the table, so close she could feel its warmth.
y/n leaned back in her chair, hands wrapped around her mug though the coffee had long gone cold. “Feels like the kind of morning you want to stay in forever,” she murmured, watching the forest sway.
San smiled faintly. “Yeah,” he said. “Too bad life doesn’t work like that.”
She turned her head toward him, studying the tired ease in his face. “You mean work, laundry, bills, the whole package?”
He chuckled. “Exactly that.” His gaze dropped to his mug. “We’ve been living in this bubble for a day, and it’s been—” he paused, searching for the word, “—everything. But once we’re back, we’ll still have real life waiting for us. My job, Soo-bin’s school, your clients, my mother calling too much…”
y/n smiled at that, but her eyes softened. “You think it’ll be different?”
“Maybe,” he admitted. “It has to be. We’ve crossed lines we can’t uncross now. I just don’t want us to fall apart when it gets hard.”
She set her mug down, turning fully toward him. “Then we don’t,” she said, simply. “We talk. We argue if we have to. We mess up and fix it. I’m not naïve, San. I know love doesn’t pay the rent or make schedules easier. But…” she breathed in slowly, “it makes everything else worth trying for.”
He watched her, quiet for a moment, his thumb tracing the rim of his mug. “You really think we can handle it all?”
“I don’t think,” she said. “I know we’ll have to. You have Soo-bin, and she deserves stability. You both do. I can’t promise to be perfect, or patient all the time, but I can promise I won’t run just because it’s not easy.”
San’s eyes softened, a mix of gratitude and worry flickering through them. “You already do more than I ever asked for,” he murmured. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m being selfish, asking you to step into all of this—into us—when it’s not simple.”
y/n shook her head, a small smile curling on her lips. “You’re not asking. I’m choosing. Every morning, every headache, every school pickup. You don’t have to protect me from the hard parts.”
The wind rustled through the trees, and for a moment, that was all they heard. Then San leaned in, brushing a stubborn curl away from her face, sighing quietly. “You know, I used to think love meant keeping everything steady. Never showing the cracks. But with you, I just… don’t have to pretend.”
“Good,” she said softly. “Because I’m not pretending either.”
He reached across the table, taking her hand in his. Their fingers fit naturally, like a habit. “So, what now?” he asked, voice low.
y/n looked out at the forest again, then back at him, a steady light in her eyes. “Now we go home,” she said. “We do the grocery runs, the school drop-offs, the long days. And when it gets hard, we remind ourselves that this—” she squeezed his hand, “—wasn’t a dream. It’s our life.”
San smiled, something small and true tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Messy as hell, but ours.”
She laughed softly, reaching over to steal the last crumb of toast from his plate. “Exactly.”
The conversation faded into a comfortable silence after that, the kind that felt less like an ending and more like a beginning—the real one, stripped of fantasy, but full of quiet devotion all the same.
The day passed in slow, golden waves—the kind of day that didn’t feel real, the kind you try to hold between your fingers before it slips away.
Morning blurred into noon with laughter echoing through the little cabin. They’d stayed in their pajamas longer than they should have, hair still a mess, socks sliding against the wooden floor as y/n danced around with a mug of coffee, humming something off-key.
San followed her every move, a grin tugging at his mouth, teasing her for being “one note away from tone-deaf.” She retaliated by flicking water at him from the sink, leaving a small wet spot on his shirt he didn’t bother to dry.
When the wind softened, they ventured outside for a short walk. The forest was still slick from last night’s storm, the air thick with petrichor. y/n picked up a small pine cone, joking about taking it home as a souvenir.
San called it “the most romantic theft imaginable.” They shared a kiss under the dripping eaves before rushing back inside, shoes muddy, cheeks red, lungs filled with cold air and laughter.
The cabin smelled like warmth—ood, citrus, and faint smoke from the fireplace. San insisted on cooking lunch this time. “You always spoil me,” he said, half-serious, half-playful. y/n sat on the counter, watching him fumble between ingredients, biting her lip to hide her grin. He burned one piece of garlic; she took over the seasoning before the damage spread. “Teamwork,” he said proudly, and she couldn’t stop laughing.
The meal turned out simple but beautiful—soft rice, stir-fried vegetables, marinated beef glistening under the light. They ate on the porch, the sun peeking through clouds, the forest stretching endlessly below.
The air was cool and damp, the wooden table speckled with crumbs, their beers cold beside the plates. San reached for her hand every few minutes, thumb drawing slow circles on her skin, as if to remind himself she was real.
After lunch, they played an old record they found in one of the dusty cabin drawers. The sound was scratchy, imperfect—but somehow, it fit the moment. San tried to pull her into a slow dance, nearly tripping over the rug. They laughed until their stomachs hurt.
Then the world quieted again. The music faded into a steady rhythm—rain returning, faint thunder rolling somewhere far away. The scent of pine deepened.
And that was when everything softened.
They found each other without words, lips meeting first in teasing nips along jawlines, blooming into something slower, deeper—hands tracing, bodies pressing, communicating everything words couldn’t hold.
San guided her onto the couch, firelight spilling over their skin, shadows dancing across curves and shoulders. She straddled him slowly, warmth folding into warmth, movements unhurried, each touch a quiet conversation, each breath a promise.
Breaths mingled in murmured “I love yous,” fingers tangling in hair, palms resting where words failed. Heartbeats synced, bodies moving instinctively, the world beyond the fire and rain fading. Closeness said what their mouths couldn’t, voices silent yet fully heard.
Afterward, San slipped from her with a soft kiss, barely covering his lower body with a loose blanket draped over his hips. He crouched before the fireplace, adding logs with careful hands, flames dancing higher to chase the chill.
y/n watched, heart full, then crouched behind him—arms wrapping his shoulders, lips pressing teasing kisses to his neck, tongue flicking the salt of his skin. "Again?" he joked, voice husky with mock protest, body already stirring under the blanket.
"Greedy girl." But he gave in with a groan, turning to pull her down to the rug beside the fireplace—blanket unfurling beneath them like a nest.
Hands traced shoulders, kisses brushed temple and jaw, murmured promises filling the pauses. “My forever,” he whispered, and she responded with the curve of her body, her fingers in his hair, hearts speaking freely where words could not.
Later, tangled on the carpet, blanket draped over them, pillows cushioning their nest, phones forgotten, logs crackling softly, rain pattering outside. San fell asleep first, face buried in her neck, breathing deep and steady. y/n lingered a moment longer, tracing his shoulder, memorizing the feeling of him, of them—knowing this closeness, this surrender, was theirs alone, and it was everything.
Her gaze drifted up to the ceiling—dark wooden beams, twisted and intertwined like roots, strong yet fragile, holding the weight of everything above. The cabin smelled of smoke, soap, pine… and him. Every breath was a reminder of this life she wasn’t sure she deserved, that this joy felt almost too big to hold.
She let out a shaky sigh, the kind that comes when happiness presses too hard against your chest, threatening to spill over. Was it allowed, this kind of joy? Could she really hold onto it without breaking it, without breaking herself?
She thought of him—the way he had never rushed her, how he had patiently eased her back into being loved again. How his quiet steadiness had shown her that trust could be returned, that vulnerability didn’t have to be punished.
Slowly, imperceptibly, his care had seeped in, rewiring old doubts, teaching her that maybe, just maybe, she could accept this love without fear.
Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, the curve of his hairline, as if memorizing him might anchor her when doubt came creeping back. Her chest tightened, throat catching, but she didn’t cry. Not yet. She simply smiled, small, quiet, fragile—like a candle flickering in the dark.
Her thumb brushed a stray lock from his forehead, lingering longer than necessary, grounding herself against the warmth of him. A kiss pressed to his hair, soft and reverent, a reminder that love didn’t have to be earned every day—it could simply be accepted.
Outside, the rain whispered on the roof, gentle, rhythmic, steady. The forest exhaled. The cabin breathed with them, and she let herself do the same.
The weight of the world, of doubt, of past hurts… all of it faded under the steady pull of his presence. And in that quiet, intimate stillness, y/n finally believed that maybe, just maybe, she could be allowed this—that she could be loved, wholly, without apology—and that she could let herself love back just as fiercely.
They woke where the night had left them—tangled on the rug, the fire long gone cold, faint daylight seeping through the curtains.
y/n stirred first, eyes blinking open to a golden blur of morning light and San’s slow, steady breathing. His face was pressed into the blanket, hair mussed and lips slightly parted, one arm still draped over where she’d been.
She smiled—that quiet, aching kind of smile that comes after something too beautiful to last.
Careful not to wake him, she slipped from beneath the blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders as she padded toward the kitchen. The air was cool, carrying that crisp scent of wet wood and pine. She moved softly—barefoot, hair messy, heart full—her hands moving on instinct: coffee grounds, the hiss of the kettle, eggs cracking against the pan.
The smell of coffee filled the cabin, curling through the air like warmth made visible.
She poured two mugs, dark and steaming, then scooped the scrambled eggs onto a small plate. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a little offering—a quiet thank-you to the weekend, to him, to everything they’d built together in this small, borrowed space.
Blanket still draped around her shoulders, she carried the tray back to the living room and knelt by him. “Hey,” she whispered softly, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. “Morning, baby.” San didn’t move. Only the rise and fall of his chest betrayed his stubborn, blissful sleep.
She huffed a small laugh, then leaned down, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Come on,” she murmured against his skin, “I made breakfast.”
Nothing. Not even a twitch.
y/n smiled wider now, eyes soft. He never slept like this—never let himself. Always alert, always half-aware, even in rest. But now… he was completely gone. Safe. At peace.
She placed another kiss, this time to his cheek, then one to the corner of his lips, light and teasing. “You’re so cute when you’re asleep,” she said between kisses, laughter tangled with tenderness.
A low hum vibrated in his chest, a sleepy smile tugging at the edge of his lips. “Not fair… that’s not gonna work,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
“Oh?” she whispered, letting her lips graze his jaw. “We’ll see.”
He finally cracked one eye open, the smallest grin spreading across his face as the smell of coffee hit him.
He stirred, groaning softly, then his nose twitched at the rich scent of coffee. His eyes cracked open, a slow, lazy grin spreading across his face. “Okay… now it’s working,” he rasped, stretching like a cat, the morning sun painting gold across his skin.
y/n laughed quietly, settling beside him, handing him his mug. Their fingers brushed, and she felt that same familiar spark—calm and wild, all at once.
They sat there for a while—on the rug, wrapped in the same blanket, coffee warming their hands, the forest stretching quietly outside. No words. Just the soft clinking of their mugs, the rustle of leaves, the echo of the weekend still lingering in the air.
Both of them knew they had to pack soon. That the car was waiting. That life—the real one, with work and routines and small daily chaos—would come rushing back.
But for now, it didn’t matter.
For now, they had this.
A morning that smelled like coffee and pine, a blanket that still carried the scent of last night, and a love that felt as steady and grounding as the forest outside.
The cabin lingered behind them, its mossy porch glistening with morning dew, windows spotless from their last sweep, blankets folded neatly inside. Sunlight danced on the pine floors, carrying the scent of smoke and coffee.
y/n leaned into San, a soft laugh escaping her as the engine hummed to life. “Back to reality?” she murmured. He squeezed her hand, pressing a quick kiss to her hand, murmuring, “Yeah… but we take this with us.”
Wheels spun, carrying them forward, hearts still wrapped in the weekend’s glow, the quiet comfort of their shared world lingering in every glance.
The road home stretched beneath them, sunlight flickering through the trees like it was reluctant to let them go. Neither of them spoke much—they didn’t need to. The quiet was full, heavy in all the right ways, like the kind of silence that holds hands with peace.
y/n’s hand rested near the gearshift, and San’s fingers kept finding hers, brushing over the back of her hand, curling lightly around hers when he could. Each touch lingered, subtle but intentional, a small rebellion against the hours they would soon spend apart.
She leaned slightly toward him, the smallest smile tugging at her lips, eyes tracing the sunlight scattering across his jaw, the way it caught the curve of his lips. Every glance felt like a promise, every brush of skin a quiet plea to stretch the moment a little longer.
He pressed a soft squeeze to her hand, thumb stroking, and she responded instinctively, intertwining her fingers with his, leaning just a touch closer, as if proximity alone could make the weekend last.
The forest thinned, the scent of pine fading into the quiet familiarity of city streets, but the warmth between them stayed, persistent and unyielding, like a secret they carried just for each other.
When they reached Yeosang’s building, the door opened before the car had fully stopped. Soo-bin burst out like a spark, small legs pumping against the ground, her bright voice echoing down the street.
“Appaaa!”
San barely had time to open his arms before she collided with him, laughter tumbling out of both of them. He lifted her easily, spinning her once—the kind of spin that made her giggle so hard she snorted. Her little arms looped around his neck, and he pressed his face into her shoulder, murmuring something only she could hear.
When he set her down again, she didn’t hesitate—she turned immediately toward the car, eyes widening at the sight of y/n.
“y/n!”
y/n had just stepped out, jacket still folded on the seat behind her. She knelt instinctively, arms opening in time for Soo-bin to throw herself into them. The hug was fierce and clumsy and pure, Soo-bin’s cheek squished against y/n’s neck, her small hands gripping her hair like she’d missed her for years instead of a couple days.
y/n’s smile softened. “Hi, sweetheart,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
Footsteps echoed from the building entrance—unhurried, confident. Yeosang appeared, tea cup in hand, glasses perched on his nose and an entirely too knowing smile tugging at his mouth.
“Well, well,” he said, pausing at the doorway. His gaze flicked between them—San’s shoulders loose, posture uncharacteristically unguarded, and y/n, hair tousled in a way that said she’d spent more time laughing than brushing it. “Weekend getaway, huh? You two look… dangerously well-rested.”
y/n froze for a beat before color bloomed across her cheeks. San’s hand, halfway to closing the car door, paused. He shot Yeosang a look sharp enough to cut through the teasing.
“Don’t start.”
Yeosang only grinned wider, unbothered. “Hey, I’m just saying—must’ve been a really relaxing cabin. You should share the address. You know, for research purposes.”
y/n bit her lip, fighting the smile that wanted to break free, eyes darting to San. He was already pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek, jaw flexing like he was holding back a laugh.
“You’re unbelievable,” she managed, shaking her head.
“Thank you,” Yeosang said with a mock bow, taking a sip of his tea like he hadn’t just set the both of them on fire.
San huffed, glancing toward Soo-bin, who was blissfully unaware of the subtext, twirling in the driveway. “Go inside before I make you babysit again next weekend.”
Yeosang gave a lazy salute, leaning down to kiss Soo-bin’s head before heading back toward the door. “Bye, lovebirds!”
“Yeosang!” y/n called, half laughing, half mortified. Her voice cracked in that soft way that only made Yeosang’s grin grow.
He just waved over his shoulder, disappearing into the house with a chuckle.
For a moment, quiet settled. San looked at her across the roof of the car, a slow, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The morning sun caught the faint scruff on his jaw, the crinkle by his eyes—and suddenly, all y/n could think about was how close she’d been to him hours ago, how warm he’d felt under her palms.
“He’s an idiot,” San murmured, amusement curling through his voice.
“Mm.” Her eyes lingered on him longer than they should have. Cheeks still pink. “A funny idiot.”
His grin widened. “Don’t encourage him.”
Then he moved around the car, reaching to grab Soo-bin’s backpack from where it sat in y/n’s hands—their fingers brushed, a quick, electric touch that neither of them pulled away from right away.
Just a beat too long. She pulled back first, smiling through it, trying not to make it obvious how badly she wanted to lean in again.
Her pulse jumped; his eyes flicked up to hers, a quiet don’t look at me like that here hidden beneath his smirk.
Soo-bin’s voice broke the spell. She bounded back toward them, tugging y/n’s sleeve. “Are you coming for dinner? Please? Please?”
y/n blinked, caught between laughter and surprise. “Dinner?”
San glanced at her over the car, one brow raised, eyes glinting with something soft. “You don’t have to—”
But she was already nodding, the answer slipping out like instinct. “Of course. I’d love to.”
Soo-bin squealed, darting off toward the porch.
San looked at y/n again, his smile low and slow—the kind that didn’t need words to say, you have no idea what you do to me.
As they drove off, the city blurred into the distance—the hum of the engine, the faint rush of wind through the cracked window, the kind of quiet that only came after something perfect.
Soo-bin sat in the backseat, legs swinging, humming along to a song y/n had left playing low on the radio. Her voice was a little off-key, but sweet—all joy, no hesitation.
Without even turning, y/n reached a hand back between the seats, fingers finding Soo-bin’s sock-covered feet. She wiggled one playfully, earning a small giggle, then absentmindedly traced circles over her ankle, a soft rhythm that spoke of comfort, of belonging.
In the rearview mirror, San caught it—that small, domestic miracle.
The way Soo-bin’s smile stretched wide.
The way y/n looked back at her for a heartbeat too long, eyes glowing soft with something deeper than affection.
The way his daughter leaned into the touch like it had always been there.
His chest tightened, but not in the way it used to. This wasn’t fear, or doubt. It was warmth—deep and steady, curling through his ribs until he had to look away just to breathe.
y/n turned forward again, their eyes meeting briefly as she did. Her lips curved, a barely-there smile that told him she’d seen him watching. He reached over, resting his hand on the console, close enough that her fingers could brush his if she wanted. She did, a quiet, wordless thank you.
And that was enough.
The city stretched ahead, endless and familiar, but it didn’t feel the same. Not after this.
Because whatever this was—laughter, songs, soft hands and shared silences—it wasn’t just peace anymore.
It was home.
The door shut softly behind them, the sound fading into the easy quiet of home. Bags dropped by the entrance, shoes kicked off in a familiar line along the wall. The air smelled faintly of rain and fabric softener, like the apartment had been waiting for them.
“Byeol!” Soo-bin squealed, the little cat already trotting over with a chirp, tail high and quivering with delight. She knelt down, giggling as Byeol wound between her legs.
Then the cat turned to y/n, pressing insistently against her ankles, purring like she’d been gone for years instead of days. y/n bent down to scratch behind her ears, a soft laugh slipping out.
San’s voice drifted from the entrance as he set down the car keys. “Guess you’ve officially been claimed,” he teased, a smile in his tone.
y/n just shook her head, still smiling, eyes soft as she looked around the space. The scent, the laughter, the way the light hit the floor—it all felt steady, familiar.
Like she’d stepped right back into the middle of something that was hers, too.
She moved toward the fridge, curiosity tugging at her, wondering what they could pull together for dinner. But before she could open the door, something caught her eye—the drawing San had mentioned at the cabin.
There it was: vibrant, earnest, completely innocent yet full of life. Soo-bin in the middle, hands entwined with y/n’s and San’s. Byeol perched in the corner, tail flicking in cartoonish enthusiasm. And above y/n’s head, in wobbling, bright letters, the word “Eomma.”
Her breath hitched. Her fingers traced the edges of the paper as if she could absorb all the love it contained just by touching it. She felt it in her chest, heavy, bittersweet, and entirely overwhelming—the realization that she was finally, truly, irrevocably part of this little family.
A tear threatened, warm and uninvited, slipping down y/n’s cheek before she could stop it. She brushed it away quickly, hoping Soo-bin hadn’t seen. But of course she had. That little girl saw everything.
“y/n,” came a small voice behind her, bright and careful. “Do you… do you sleep here every night with Appa?”
y/n turned, caught completely off guard. Soo-bin stood by the fridge, gripping its handle with both hands, her hair a little messy from the ride home. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity, and something just a little too knowing for her age.
“Oh,” y/n laughed softly, cheeks warming as she crouched down to meet her gaze. “Well… not every night.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, fumbling for words. “Sometimes. When Appa doesn’t steal all the blankets.”
Soo-bin giggled, eyes wide. “He does that to me too!” she said, delighted to find common ground.
y/n smiled, her heart swelling, the heaviness in her chest dissolving. “See? We’ll have to team up next time.”
Soo-bin nodded solemnly, then leaned forward without warning and wrapped her small arms around y/n’s neck. “I like when you’re here,” she whispered, voice muffled against her sweater.
The words landed like sunlight—simple, pure, disarming. y/n’s throat tightened, her arms circling the little girl, holding her close. “I like being here too, sweetheart,” she murmured into her hair.
San stepped quietly from behind, hand brushing y/n’s hair as he watched her hug Soo-bin. The simple touch made her look up, meeting his gaze with a small, shy smile. Slowly, she rose to her feet, eyes never leaving his, feeling the familiar tug of warmth in her chest.
Soo-bin’s little face lit up, eyes wide and curious, taking in the scene with that perfect mix of awe and mischief only a four-year-old could manage.
San’s hand lingered in y/n’s hair, caressing her gently before he leaned down, pressing a soft, deliberate kiss to her lips. Soo-bin froze for a moment, then let out a squeaky, “Ew!” that made both adults laugh.
“San!” y/n exclaimed, mock-flustered, though her smile betrayed her delight.
He chuckled, brushing his thumb across her cheek. “Can’t help it. You’re irresistible.”
Soo-bin clapped her hands, giggling, “Do it again! Do it again!”
y/n’s cheeks flamed a deep pink, and she swatted at San lightly, though her lips curled into a smile.
San chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck, but his eyes never left hers. He leaned in again, pressing a slightly longer, playful kiss to her lips, slow enough for Soo-bin to watch, clear enough to show that he wasn’t hiding his affection, wasn’t afraid to be openly, unapologetically in love.
y/n melted into it, their laughter mingling with Soo-bin’s delighted squeals, the apartment warm and alive with the simplicity of love, home, and the rare, perfect moments that made it all feel effortless.
Soo-bin’s grin widened, proud and approving, as she clapped again. y/n’s hand found San’s, squeezing it, warm and steady, her heart full, knowing that in this moment, they were a family—messy, imperfect, and completely theirs.
Then, satisfied, she scampered off to the living room, still giggling, leaving the two of them flushed in the kitchen.
y/n’s cheeks burned a bright, rosy red, and she lightly swatted at San’s chest in mock protest. “Do you have to do that here?”
San grinned, a playful spark in his eyes. “Absolutely,” he said, leaning in to press another soft kiss to her hair. “I want her to see that love isn’t shy. You show it. Every day.”
y/n’s heart fluttered, a mix of embarrassment and affection coursing through her. She tucked herself closer into his side, savoring the quiet joy that filled the apartment, the warmth of both their hearts—and the knowledge that in Soo-bin’s little eyes, she already belonged.
The kitchen was warm, the air fragrant with the smell of sizzling vegetables and fresh noodles. y/n hummed softly as she chopped, carefully guiding Soobin’s tiny hands when the little girl insisted on helping. She was standing in a chair next to y/n, a cloth acting as an apron.
“Why do we add the garlic first?” Soobin asked, eyes wide, leaning on the counter to see better.
“Because it wakes up the flavor,” y/n replied, her tone playful. “It tells the onions and peppers that they’re about to get tasty.”
“So, the garlic is the boss?” Soobin asked, arms crossed like a little food critic.
“Exactly,” y/n laughed, smoothing her hands over the girl’s.
San leaned against the counter, phone in hand, quietly snapping photos. Every click captured the warmth of the moment—the furrowed brow of Soo-bin concentrating, y/n’s patient hands guiding her, the soft sunlight glinting off the knife blade. His chest swelled as he watched them together, thinking how effortless love could feel when shared like this.
“So, if garlic is the boss, who’s the queen?” Soobin asked, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“That’s easy,” y/n replied without hesitation, smiling at San. “The queen is whoever’s cooking with love.”
San smirked, adding, “And that’s you, y/n. You’re always the queen.”
Soobin giggled, elbowing her gently. “Does that mean you’re the king, Appa?”
San chuckled, ruffling her hair. “King of the kitchen? I doubt it. Maybe if you let me taste the food first.”
The questions kept coming, a river of curiosity. “Why does bread get crunchy in the oven?” “Why do carrots sleep at night?” “Why does cheese melt?” “Why do you love me, y/n?”
y/n exchanged a glance with San, her chest warming at the little girl’s earnestness. “Bread gets crunchy because it likes to dance in the heat,” she said, brushing Soobin’s hair behind her ear. “Carrots don’t sleep, but they nap underground, resting for the next day.”
“And cheese melts because it wants to hug everything it touches,” San added with a grin, leaning down to kiss the top of Soobin’s head.
“And we love you,” y/n whispered, wrapping her arm around the girl, “because you make every day brighter, every meal better, and every moment happier.”
San nodded, adding softly, “Because you’re brave, kind, funny, and perfect just as you are.”
Soobin’s eyes widened. “I’m perfect?”
“You are,” they both said together. And she beamed, cheeks flushed, and her little hands squeezing theirs in a triumphant, satisfied gesture.
The trio moved together in a rhythm only love could choreograph—y/n stirring sauces, Soo-bin sprinkling herbs and giggling when some fell on the floor, San plating food and capturing every silly, precious moment.
At one point, Soo-bin leaned over to taste the sauce, smudging a tiny streak across her cheek, and y/n couldn’t help but wipe it away with a gentle laugh, eyes sparkling.
“Why does the sauce taste like magic?” Soobin asked innocently.
“Because magic is just love you can eat,” y/n said, grinning, kissing the tip of her nose.
Soo-bin’s laughter rang through the room, pure and unselfconscious, echoing off the walls. San felt a warmth in his chest he didn’t know he could hold—seeing the two most important people in his life together, happy, safe, playful.
Dinner finally came together, steaming bowls and golden noodles filling the table. Soo-bin peppered them with more questions, some deep for a four-year-old, some funny, others just curious, and y/n and San answered them all, patient, gentle, teasing at times, always loving.
By the end of the meal, crumbs littered the table, the kitchen smelled of cooked vegetables and warm broth, and San looked at them both, heart full. “You two make the best team,” he said, voice soft. “I wouldn’t trade this for anything.”
y/n smiled, her eyes warm, brushing Soobin’s hair back. “We’re a family,” she said.
After clearing the dishes, San and y/n guided Soo-bin through her bedtime routine, the soft hum of their laughter filling the apartment. San knelt behind her, brushing her hair with slow, careful strokes, murmuring encouragements for the school day ahead. “Tomorrow, you’re going to crush it, Bin,” he said, ruffling the top of her head.
y/n leaned over, holding the toothpaste tube between her fingers as Soo-bin scrubbed. “Careful, or you’ll make your teeth dance!” she teased, wiggling her eyebrows. Soo-bin giggled, making exaggerated brushing motions, and y/n joined in with mock seriousness, inspecting every corner of her mouth. “Looks perfect,” she declared. “A dentist would be happy.”
San laughed softly from behind, enjoying the easy back-and-forth, watching his daughter beam. The playful energy mingled with something softer, steadier, a sense of home that made every exhaustion from the day worthwhile.
When the brushing was done, y/n helped Soo-bin into her pajamas while San adjusted the blankets. They tucked her in carefully, smoothing the sheets, and y/n pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. San followed, murmuring, “Sleep well, dumpling. We love you.”
Soo-bin wriggled slightly in the covers, peering up at them with wide eyes. “Can you… stay a little while?” she asked.
y/n and San exchanged a glance, a warm understanding passing silently between them. Smiles soft, they each claimed a side of the bed, laying down beside her. Byeol purred and curled between San and Soo-bin, completing the little nest of warmth.
Soo-bin wriggled under the covers, peeking up at San with wide, curious eyes. “Appa, can I have one story? Just a tiny one?”
San grinned, shaking his head in mock exasperation. “A tiny story, huh? That’s what you said last time, and we ended up doing two whole chapters about a dragon who hated vegetables.”
Soo-bin gasped, placing a hand over her heart. “That dragon was sad! And the vegetables were evil!”
y/n watched them from her side, a soft smile on her lips, her fingers tracing the folds of the blanket absentmindedly. She loved how easy they were together—how even the smallest banter could fill the room with warmth.
San leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Maybe this time, the dragon likes vegetables. What do you think?”
“Impossible!” Soo-bin exclaimed, giggling. “Dragons always hate them!”
They exchanged a few more playful jabs, Soo-bin making grand declarations, San rolling his eyes dramatically, and y/n laughing quietly, just enough for them to notice.
Soo-bin wriggled in the covers, propping herself up on her elbows to look between y/n and San. “So… uh,” she began, eyes wide and curious, “are you… going to live with us now?”
The question hung in the air, heavier than any story or joke. San’s smile faltered slightly, his gaze flicking to y/n. He searched her eyes, reading her warmth, her gentle encouragement, and felt the weight of the truth he’d been afraid to say aloud.
y/n blinked, caught off guard, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “Live here? Well… that’s a big question for bedtime,” she teased, brushing a stray lock of hair from Soo-bin’s forehead.
Soo-bin’s grin didn’t falter. “Then you can cook tasty things for me every day! And Soja can be friends with Byeol too!” She pointed at the cat, who stretched and let out a lazy meow, tail flicking in agreement.
San choked back a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re dangerously persuasive, Bin” he said, ruffling her hair.
Soo-bin tilted her head, frowning slightly. “But… you didn’t say yes or no yet!”
San cleared his throat, crouching slightly to meet Soo-bin’s gaze. “How about we read one more story instead? I think dragons might eat chocolate today,” he said, winking.
Soo-bin’s eyes lit up, momentarily forgetting her big question. “Really?”
“Absolutely,” San nodded, giving her a little nudge with his shoulder. “But only if you promise to help me tell it.”
y/n watched them, a soft smile tugging at her lips, but her mind drifted. She pictured mornings filled with laughter and scrambled eggs, San groaning as she made him coffee just a bit too strong, her kneeling beside Soo-bin to fix homework, San leaning over to steal bites of steak from the plate she was serving. Quiet evenings together after long days, San emerging from his studio only because she’d coaxed him, her hand brushing his hair back as he muttered playful complaints.
She shook her head slightly, blinking as Soo-bin leaned onto San’s side with a dramatic little squeal, nearly toppling the blanket as she settled against him. “But no books!” she announced, eyes sparkling. “You have to make one up this time, Appa!”
San blinked, pretending to panic. “Make one up? From scratch? That’s a huge responsibility, you know.”
She giggled, nodding eagerly. “Uh-huh! One with a dragon! And a princess! And—” she paused dramatically, “a cat that can talk.”
y/n laughed softly from the other end of the couch, where Byeol had curled up beside her, purring like a tiny engine. “That’s quite a cast,” she teased. “You’re in trouble, San.”
He shot her a playful glare, though the corners of his mouth curved up. “Alright,” he said, lowering his voice to a storyteller’s hush, “once upon a time, there was a little dragon who didn’t like breathing fire. He thought fire was scary. So instead, he learned how to make hot chocolate with his nose.”
Soo-bin gasped, eyes wide with delight. “No way!”
“Oh yes,” San said, nodding gravely. “And he shared it every night with the princess and her very sleepy cat. They’d sit under the stars, drinking chocolate until their bellies were warm.”
y/n’s voice joined softly, a warm hum under his words. “That sounds like the happiest dragon in the world.”
“The happiest,” San agreed, glancing at her over Soo-bin’s head. “Because he wasn’t alone anymore.”
His tone softened as he continued, slower now, the rhythm almost like a lullaby. Soo-bin’s eyelids began to droop, her small body melting further into his chest.
“And whenever the dragon got scared,” he murmured, “the princess would whisper that everything was okay… that storms always pass… and that home is just wherever they’re together.”
Soo-bin’s breathing grew steady, her tiny hand still resting against his shirt.
San let his words fade, the story settling quietly into the room. He looked down at the little girl fast asleep in his arms and smiled—a slow, quiet curve full of pride and something deeper.
The story unfolds like a gentle lullaby. Soo-bin’s eyelids drooped, her small hand gradually loosening its grip on his fingers, until finally it fell slack against the blanket. Her breathing evened out, soft and steady.
y/n leaned back, letting herself relax into the moment, savoring the warmth of the room, the soft weight of San’s presence beside her, the glow of their little family all around her. She didn’t speak of the future yet—didn’t have to—but she let herself imagine it anyway, letting the warmth of that thought sink in.
He glanced toward y/n, and their eyes met in the soft glow of the lamp. She smiled back, her chest aching with a tenderness that felt too big for words.
San shifted carefully, closing the invisible storybook between his hands. “The end,” he whispered, mostly for her.
y/n leaned closer, voice barely above a breath. “That was beautiful.”
His gaze lingered on her. “You helped me tell it.”
For a heartbeat, they stayed like that, watching Soo-bin, listening to the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Then, ever so slowly, they began to move. Every step, every motion careful, deliberate, as if the world outside their little nest had ceased to exist.
Hands intertwined for balance, glances shared for reassurance, they edged toward the door and the hallway, bodies close enough to feel each other’s warmth, hearts syncing in a quiet rhythm. Not a word was spoken, and yet every look, every brush of skin, said more than any conversation could.
The house was still, the soft glow of the nightlamp spilling across the room, and for just a moment, the world outside—work, noise, responsibilities—didn’t exist. There was only them, only the careful, tender steps of two people carving their life together, quietly, lovingly, in the small hours of the night.
At the door, San eased it closed with a gentle click. His hand never left hers. Then—without thinking, without needing to—he turned and cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheek as though tracing something fragile, something holy. He pulled her close, pressing his lips to hers in a kiss that caught her off guard. Deep. Unhurried. Certain. Every second full of feeling.
y/n froze for a heartbeat, then melted into him, palms sliding to his wrists, gripping tight as she returned the kiss with equal intensity. There was no rush, no frills—just lips pressed together, hearts thudding against one another, the unspoken message loud and clear: I love you.
When they finally broke apart, foreheads resting together, breaths mingling, y/n’s smile trembled. “Wow,” she whispered. San brushed a kiss across her nose, voice rough, “Yeah… wow.” Her eyes locked on his, soft and shining, full of devotion. Fingers still curled around his wrists, trembling slightly, lingering in the warmth of the moment.
She stole another quick, gentle peck, then let her hand slide down to lace with his. “Let’s go to bed,” she murmured, voice thick with emotion, tugging him toward the bedroom—not with urgency, but with love, every step a quiet promise.
San followed, eyes never leaving her, grip warm and steady. The house was silent, save for the soft glow of Soo-bin’s nightlight behind them. Outside worries—the noise, the stress, the world—faded. There was only them, hand in hand, hearts in sync, moving through the night together.
By the time they reached their room, the world had gone still. y/n disappeared into the bathroom, the faint sound of running water echoing through the quiet. San changed into a soft t-shirt, the room chilly, the sky outside threatening to break into a storm.
When she returned, he was already settled against the headboard, book open in his hands, glasses perched just so on the bridge of his nose. The warm lamp light cast a quiet halo around him, and he was completely absorbed in the words, fingers tracing the edge of the page almost unconsciously. This was his nightly ritual, sacred and unbroken—reading before bed, letting the world slip away between the lines.
y/n finished her skincare in the small bathroom attached to the suite, stealing glances at him through the mirror. Even absorbed in his book, there was something magnetic about him—the quiet focus, the curve of his shoulders, the faint crease of concentration on his brow.
When she slipped into her pajamas, she padded softly over to the bed. Crawling beside him, she laid her head in his lap. He barely looked up from the page, but one hand left the book to brush through her hair, fingers threading gently, a silent acknowledgment of her presence.
She closed her eyes, letting herself melt into him, feeling the warmth of his body beneath her head. She let out a soft sigh, content and safe. All that existed was the quiet rustle of pages and the small, steady movements of his hand through her hair—the comfort of routine mingled with the intimacy of their closeness.
y/n rested comfortably on his thigh, letting one hand lazily trace the line of his leg. “Sannie,” she murmured, voice soft and teasing, “you’re more into that book than me right now.”
San didn’t lift his gaze, only flicking a page with calm precision. “Mmm,” he hummed, “that’s… possible.”
She huffed a soft laugh, brushing her lips against his leg. “Didn’t think I’d have to compete with paper.”
“Paper doesn’t talk back,” he murmured, finally glancing down at her, a lazy grin tugging at his mouth.
“Paper doesn’t kiss either,” she whispered.
That earned her a quiet chuckle—low, genuine. “Guess you’ve got the upper hand then.”
She let out a soft sigh, settling her hands on his legs. He might be absorbed in the book, but the way he held himself steady beneath her, letting her stay close, said enough. Sometimes, being allowed this proximity was more intimate than any glance.
y/n’s fingers idly scrolled through her phone as she reviewed the coming week’s schedules. Every so often, she pressed a soft kiss to the top of his leg, murmuring little noises when he absentmindedly ran his hand through her hair, fingers threading gently through the strands.
They existed in that easy silence. San would hum lowly, absentmindedly twirling a strand of her hair around his fingers, and she’d nuzzle closer, sighing contentedly. She didn’t need more. And for him, watching her, feeling the weight of her presence, the memory of their weekend at the cabin pressing softly in his chest, was more grounding than any line of text in the novel.
Her phone dimmed, the screen fading as her eyes grew heavy. The sound of the pages turning had stopped—she noticed, even before he spoke.
“Love,” he said quietly.
Something in his tone made her look up. “Yeah?”
He hesitated, gaze unfocused for a second, like he was chasing the right words. “I can’t stop thinking about what Soo-bin said. About you… moving in.” His thumb brushed against her temple, a nervous habit he didn’t realize he had. “I tried to just laugh it off earlier, but… I keep replaying it in my head.”
Her lips parted slightly, breath caught between surprise and curiosity. “What about it?”
He exhaled through his nose, a shaky sound. “It scared me, at first. Not because I don’t want it—but because I do. So much.” He gave a small, self-conscious laugh, his hand dropping from her hair to rest on her shoulder.
“I’ve spent years keeping things simple, you know? Work, my kid, routines I can control. But then you came along, and suddenly I’m imagining… mornings. School runs. Dinners. You here.”
His voice dropped lower, rougher. “And I keep asking myself if that’s fair—to you. To Soo-bin. To all of us. But then I think about this weekend, about falling asleep next to you, and—” he broke off, shaking his head slightly. “I can’t unsee it anymore. You being here feels like the most natural thing in the world.”
y/n’s throat tightened, the air around them softer somehow. She reached up, tracing her fingers over the inside of his wrist, grounding him. “San,” she murmured, “you don’t have to protect me from this. I know what being with you means. What it comes with.”
He blinked down at her, eyes dark, searching. “And you’re still sure?”
“I’m sure,” she said, with a small, certain nod. “I don’t think it’s about easy. I think it’s about right. And this feels right.”
For a long moment, he just looked at her—like he was memorizing her face under the golden lamplight, trying to store every inch of reassurance she gave him. Then, finally, he breathed out a laugh, quiet and disbelieving, leaning forward to kiss her forehead.
“God,” he whispered against her skin, “you make everything make sense.”
y/n smiled faintly, eyes fluttering closed, her hand finding his again, threading their fingers together. “Then stop fighting it,” she said softly. “We’re already halfway there.”
He let out a breath that sounded like surrender, shoulders easing as his thumb brushed hers. The book lay forgotten on the nightstand, feeling like he didn’t need words to make sense of anything. Just her. Curled into him. Exactly where she belonged.
“You’re thinking again,” she murmured without opening her eyes.
He huffed a quiet laugh. “You make it sound like a crime.”
“It is when you overdo it.” She tilted her head just enough to find his gaze. “You’ve got that look. The one that means you’re in your head instead of here.”
San’s lips curved into a small, tired smile. “Hard to stay in my head when you’re literally lying on it.”
She laughed, soft and unguarded, her fingers tracing lazy circles against his thigh through the thin fabric of his shirt. “Smartass.”
“Your fault,” he murmured, catching her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “You bring it out of me.”
“Do I now?”
He hummed, thumb brushing along her fingers. “You bring out a lot of things I thought I’d lost.”
The words settled between them—not heavy, just real. The kind that didn’t need an answer. So she didn’t give one. She only smiled, turning his hand over to press her lips against his palm.
Silence followed—slow, warm, alive. The kind that fills the room when you finally feel safe to rest.
After a while, she mumbled, voice already half-lost to sleep, “You know, for someone who says he’s tired, you talk a lot.”
San chuckled, low in his chest. “You love it.”
“I do,” she admitted, the words slurred and sweet. “You’ve got one of those voices that makes my brain go fuzzy.”
“Oh, that’s my superpower now?”
“Mhmm,” she murmured. “That, and being stupidly handsome. Unfair combo, really.”
He grinned, eyes soft with amusement. “Keep talking like that and it might get to my head.”
Her lips twitched. “That’s the idea.”
His laughter melted into a sigh, his hand finding her hair again, fingers threading gently through it. Within minutes, her breathing evened out—steady, soft, grounding.
She shifted a little, feeling the stiffness in her neck from lying across his lap. “I should probably move before I pass out like this,” she murmured, her voice thick with drowsy warmth.
San glanced down at her from where he sat against the headboard, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You look fine to me,” he said, tone low, teasing.
“I’d be more comfortable under the blanket,” she countered, already pushing herself up.
He huffed a quiet laugh, watching her slip beneath the duvet and find her way to his side. Her head landed near his hip, and warmth spread easily between them—soft, familiar, unhurried.
San took off his glasses, setting them beside the book on the nightstand. Then he let himself sink down until his back met the mattress, one arm instinctively opening. She fit right against him, cheek resting over his chest, her breath falling into rhythm with his in slow, steady waves.
“Better?” he murmured.
“Mm. Much.” Her words came out as a sigh, fingers curling loosely into his shirt. “You smell like laundry and soap… feels good.”
His chest rose with a quiet laugh—one part shy, one part undone. His hand found her hair, fingers combing through in slow, unthinking patterns until her breathing started to even out again.
The room dimmed around them, nothing left but the hush of rain against the window and the steady warmth between their bodies.
When she grew heavy with sleep, San tilted his head, pressing a soft kiss to her lips—gentle, lingering, more thank you than desire. Then another to her forehead, tender and grounding, echoing the one he’d given Soo-bin earlier.
“Goodnight, love,” he whispered.
Her mouth curved into a drowsy smile. “’Night, baby.”
He smiled too, tucking the blanket up to her shoulder before letting his hand rest in her hair again. Two soft kisses. Two steady heartbeats. The quiet kind of love that didn’t need anything else.
The room fell silent again, save for the soft rhythm of wind tapping against the window. That deep, heavy quiet that only comes once sleep has fully settled in—filled with the sound of breathing, the weight of warmth, the faint creak of the bed as they shifted closer.
Then came a rustle. A tiny shuffle.
San stirred first, half-awake, feeling a small weight press gently against his side. Another nudge. The whisper of sheets being lifted.
He blinked, vision adjusting to the dim light filtering through the curtains.
A little head. Messy hair. Big, sleepy eyes.
“Bin?” His voice was rough, barely a whisper.
She sniffled, clutching her blanket. “Had a nightmare…”
Before he could respond, y/n stirred beside him, voice thick with sleep but soft as honey. “Hey, sweetheart,” she murmured. “C’mere.”
San lifted the duvet without hesitation, his arm creating a warm space between them. Soo-bin climbed in clumsily, pressing herself right into his chest, little tears still glimmering on her cheeks.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, one hand smoothing her hair. “You’re safe, Bin. We’ve got you.”
Her small body curled against him, her hand fisting gently in his t-shirt. Her breaths came uneven at first, then softened, syncing to his own. His palm moved slowly up and down her back—steady, instinctive, the kind of motion that could quiet storms.
Every rise of her shoulders, every small sigh that escaped her lips, tugged at something deep inside him—that fragile, aching kind of love that both hurts and heals.
y/n watched quietly, heart swelling until it almost hurt. She shifted closer, fitting herself into the remaining space, one arm wrapping around Soo-bin’s back, the other brushing along San’s arm.
Her hair grazed his jaw as she settled, her warmth pressing into his side until their heartbeats fell into quiet rhythm—a soft, imperfect harmony.
A faint purr broke the silence. Byeol had joined the pile, curling into a perfect circle on the blanket, tail flicking once before she stilled.
San blinked, eyes tracing the outlines of everything that mattered—Soo-bin’s cheek resting against his chest, y/n’s face half-hidden by the pillow, the thin blue light painting her in calm. Byeol’s purring thrummed through the mattress, filling the space between heartbeats.
He exhaled slowly, as if emptying every ounce of noise from his chest.
His world—all of it—was right here. Small, warm, breathing softly against him.
Something inside him gave way, quietly.
He tightened his hold just a little, afraid to move, afraid the world outside might break the fragile spell of this night.
But it didn’t. The world stayed still, gentle.
Letting him stay—with his daughter in his arms, the woman he loved against his side, and everything he’d ever needed finally, finally close enough to touch.
This was it.
Not perfection—just peace.
The kind that comes when love isn’t loud, but present.
When it breathes beside you, small and real, tangled in sheets and trust.
Summary: How important are dresses anyway? According to y/n’s friends, very. She should listen, they only want what’s best for her. Meanwhile, San’s just left a charity event and he’s starving… not just for food, though. Let’s just say his appetite might be bigger than y/n expects.
Genre: Fluff, Smut.
Warnings: Self depricating jokes, past trauma, low self-worth, maybe a little bit of language. There may be too much description of things. Food as a love language. Oral (fem recieving) fingering. Alcohol use (consensual / recreational)
Word Count: 16,7k
A/N: so yeah, tiny lil mention: i may or may not have finished drafting the last chapter a few days ago 😭 (don’t talk to me about endings rn, i’m fragile) anyway... THIS chapter?? i went feral. got carried away but in a ✨good✨ way. trust.
also can we talk about the comments on the last update?? y’all are hilarious 😭 but i was kinda shocked at how chill everyone was about THE kiss… like hello??? first kiss energy?? meanwhile i was rereading the scene and giggling into my pillow like an idiot.
anyway, good luck surviving this one, besties.
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The boutique was everything y/n loved about fashion: sleek, unapologetically modern, with an edge of quiet drama.
It was tucked into one of the city’s quieter, polished streets—a place you wouldn’t stumble upon by accident but seek out intentionally. Through the glass storefront, a dim glow beckoned: not the sterile brightness of a department store, but a moody, curated warmth.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of cinnamon and expensive fabric, with a hint of black coffee drifting from a discreet corner barista station. The walls were painted a deep charcoal, broken up by bronze accents and tall mirrors rimmed with soft golden light. Abstract sculptures and glossy photography prints dotted the space, giving it the atmosphere of both a gallery and a sanctuary for fashion devotees.
Plush velvet benches in midnight blue were scattered throughout, inviting guests to sit, sip an espresso, and watch as stylists floated by in sleek all-black outfits. Even the music felt deliberate: a low thrum of downtempo soul with electronic undertones, smooth and modern, filling the space without intruding.
Racks were spaced deliberately apart, each one a curated shrine to clean lines and sharp tailoring. Dresses draped in flowing elegance without baring too much; their silhouettes whispered sophistication instead of shouting for attention. White pieces hung like luminous ghosts among the shadows, their stark simplicity highlighting the richness of the darker garments.
High heels gleamed under the amber spotlighting—strappy stilettos, slingbacks with polished buckles, ankle-strap sandals with sculptural heels. Each pair balanced grace with power, the kind of shoes that could carry you through a room with a click that silenced conversations.
Accessories were displayed on matte black stands like miniature works of art. Chunky silver jewelry dominated: bold cuffs, fluid chains, rings that gleamed like drops of molten steel. Nothing delicate, nothing fussy—each piece had weight, presence, intention.
It was the kind of place that made you stand taller the second you stepped inside—modern and sleek, but with an air of mystery, like it had secrets tucked between the folds of the clothes.
The boutique was elegance restrained, tailored, sharpened to a knife’s edge. It wasn’t a place for trends or fleeting experiments—it was a temple of timeless sophistication, the kind that didn’t just dress you, but armored you.
The bell above the door chimed softly as the three of them stepped into y/n’s favorite boutique, the world shifting into a palette of black, silvers, and soft gray. It was the kind of place she’d been coming to for years. Hyejin and Iseul knew it as well as she did, which was why they’d practically dragged her here today—“For the anniversary dinner,” Hyejin had said with mock solemnity, “you need something to make you stand out.”
“God, y/n,” Hyejin muttered, eyes already darting to a mannequin dressed in a midnight-black silk gown with a daring slit up the leg. “This place screams you. Mysterious, terrifyingly chic, and probably judging everyone in the room.”
Iseul snorted, already drifting toward the shoe wall like a moth to flame. “I need to start shopping here. Look at these heels—tell me these aren’t calling my name.” She reached for a pair of black stilettos with silver straps that coiled around the ankle like jewelry. She slipped one on, wobbling slightly but grinning wide. “See? Meant to be.”
y/n rolled her eyes, though her lips curved in the smallest smile. “You’ll twist your ankle before you even make it to the table.”
“Worth it,” Iseul shot back, strutting half a step like she was on a runway before almost colliding with a rack of dresses.
“I can’t believe you dragged me here,” y/n muttered, though the warmth in her voice betrayed her. “We all know I don’t need another black dress.”
“Oh, please,” Hyejin scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You never need another black dress, but you always need another black dress. And it’s your anniversary dinner—time to upgrade that San-reaction you were bragging about last time.”
Iseul nudged her, a grin tugging at the corners of her lips. “Exactly! He swooned over that red dress… imagine what he’ll do if you actually outdo yourself this time.”
y/n rolled her eyes, trying to hide her grin. “I’m not doing this to… to impress him.”
“You’re lying,” Hyejin said, brandishing a hanger with a charcoal-gray, body-skimming dress. “You absolutely are. Admit it. You want him to be utterly speechless when he sees you.”
“Maybe a little,” y/n admitted, her cheeks warming, and she quickly turned to a rack of sleek black dresses, letting her fingers linger over the fabrics. Clean lines, elegant drapes, subtle, not showy, exactly what she loved—but still, there was that flutter of excitement thinking about how San would react.
Hyejin, crouched near the shoe display, wiggled her eyebrows. “And the shoes! Don’t forget the shoes. He’s going to notice those too.”
“Or maybe,” Iseul added, smirking, “he’ll notice the way you carry yourself. But a killer dress and heels never hurt, y/n.”
y/n sighed dramatically, pretending to debate, but her gaze lingered on a black dress with delicate draping along the neckline. Simple. Sophisticated. Perfect for her. Her friends exchanged triumphant grins—they knew exactly how much she cared about this dinner, and now, about how much she wanted to make it memorable for him.
The bell above the boutique door chimed, and Soon-ja hurried in, a little breathless, clutching her bag to her chest.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry I’m late!” she gushed, bowing slightly as she spoke. “The buses were a nightmare—I thought I’d never make it.”
Her apologies spilled out one after the other, too quick, too rehearsed. y/n offered her a reassuring smile, though something about the overly sweet tone made the hairs on her neck prickle.
“It’s okay,” y/n said gently, choosing to believe her words even as doubt lingered at the back of her mind. “We’ve only just started.”
Iseul and Hyejin, however, traded a quick glance. Not hostile, exactly—just sharp. Measuring. They murmured polite hellos, but y/n could tell they weren’t buying Soon-ja’s excuse any more than she was.
Soon-ja leaned closer to the rack, her gaze flicking to the dress y/n had been admiring. “Oh, that one,” she said smoothly. “Classic. But maybe… a little too safe for a special night, don’t you think?”
y/n’s fingers tightened slightly on the fabric, though her smile didn’t falter. y/n slid the black dress on the rack, now reaching for a black Hanbok inspired sheer gown, holding it up to the light. The fabric caught in soft folds, elegant without effort. She tilted her head, considering.
“That’s… nice,” Soon-ja said from beside her, lips curving into a sweet smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Though, isn’t it a little depressing? Everything here is so… dark. Black, gray, no patterns… it feels like we’re shopping for a funeral, not a celebration.”
Her laugh was light, airy, sugar-dusted. But y/n’s hand stilled on the fabric. Depressing? She glanced at the dress again, then at her friends.
Before she could answer, Soon-ja continued, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Why don’t we try another boutique? Somewhere brighter. A splash of color would do wonders for you, y/n. Imagine something bold—yellow, or maybe a soft floral? Something cheerful.”
The suggestion hung in the air.
Hyejin blinked, actually blinking twice, like she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. Iseul’s mouth parted slightly, words caught on her tongue. Even the shop girl, folding scarves in the corner, paused to peek over.
Is she for real?
This was the woman whose restaurant walls were painted jet black, whose apartment matched in monochrome elegance, who believed texture and silhouette said more than color ever could.
y/n let out a small, polite laugh, lowering the dress against her frame. Her friends stayed quiet, their silence heavy with unspoken disbelief.
She held the dress against her body, tilting her head as if considering Soon-ja’s words. “Cheerful, huh?” she echoed with a soft laugh, her tone light but edged with something else. “Tempting, but I’d only end up hiding it in the back of my closet. I’m a creature of habit, what can I say?”
She returned her gaze to the black fabric in her hands, fingers brushing over the folds with something closer to affection than dismissal.
Soon-ja’s smile stayed bright, but y/n caught the tiniest flicker in her expression—disappointment? Or something else? She wasn’t sure.
Iseul, recovering first, cleared her throat. “Besides, no one wears black like y/n,” she said firmly, rescuing the moment with a grin. Hyejin nodded along, her eyes sparkling as if daring Soon-ja to disagree.
y/n just laughed again, low and easy, pretending not to notice the tension. “See? They know me too well.”
After a few minutes, the curtain swished open, and y/n stepped out of the fitting room. The dress clung and floated all at once—sheer layers cascading like smoke, the hanbok-inspired silhouette cinched at her waist before spilling down in weightless folds. The neckline framed her collarbones with understated elegance, the kind of simplicity that demanded attention without ever trying.
Iseul let out a sharp whistle. “Holy hell, y/n. That’s not a dress, that’s a declaration.”
Hyejin clapped her hands together, eyes wide. “If San doesn’t choke on his champagne when he sees you in this, I’ll eat my shoes.”
Heat rushed to y/n’s cheeks, but she couldn’t help smiling, smoothing a hand down the sheer fabric as if testing whether it really belonged to her.
From the side, Soon-ja offered a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s… bold,” she said lightly. “Though maybe a bit severe? Still, if anyone can pull off something so heavy, it’s you.”
The words were sweet enough, but something in the lilt made y/n narrow her eyes. She chose to laugh it off, brushing at an invisible wrinkle on the gown. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said, her voice even, her smile gracious.
Hyejin shot Iseul a quick look—one eyebrow raised, the other girl suppressing a smirk. y/n pretended not to notice.
y/n turned slightly, catching her reflection in the boutique’s mirror. For a heartbeat, she barely recognized herself—poised, elegant, softened by the sheer draping. Maybe this was the one.
“And...” Soon-ja’s voice broke in, all airy curiosity, her smile polite but edged. “Who exactly is San?”
The question slid under y/n’s skin, sharp in a way she couldn’t quite name. Her gaze darted briefly toward Hyejin—who was suddenly very interested in her phone—and y/n’s jaw tightened. Great. So much for keeping names out of this.
She smoothed the gown’s fabric, buying herself a moment, then let a light laugh escape. “Just a friend,” she said, her tone breezy, controlled. “Someone who’s been… kind.”
Kind. That word, safe and vague, didn’t even begin to describe him. But her instinct screamed to keep San, and especially Soo-bin, tucked away from Soon-ja’s questions. Until she figured out what about her made y/n’s nape prickle, deflecting was the only option.
“Not really,” y/n deflected again, flashing a grin as if the idea amused her. “Right now I’m more concerned about whether this dress lets me breathe, or if I’ll need a medical team on standby.”
That earned the laugh she wanted from Hyejin and Iseul, cutting the tension in the air. Still, y/n caught the way Soon-ja’s eyes lingered—too curious, too interested—and the unease coiled a little tighter in her chest.
She forced herself to focus, making her purchase with a polite smile and tucking the dress into a glossy bag. The four of them spilled back out onto the street together, the late-afternoon sun catching on shop windows as they walked. Conversation flowed easily enough, Hyejin already steering them toward the next stop with infectious energy, Iseul tucked against her side and Soon-ja following close behind.
The second boutique had a different energy—brighter, louder, full of mirrors and music that made Iseul light up the moment they stepped inside. Within minutes, Hyejin had piled her arms with outfits and was dragging her girlfriend toward the fitting rooms, gassing her up with dramatic “you’ll look so hot in this” declarations that had y/n laughing out loud.
It felt good, letting herself relax, letting the chaos of her friends wash over her. She sifted through hangers absently, smiling when Iseul emerged in a sleek jumpsuit, Hyejin clapping like they’d won an award. “That’s it,” y/n called out, cupping her hands around her mouth. “We’ve found the outfit of the century.”
“Shut up!” Iseul blushed, ducking back inside, while Hyejin winked and followed.
In the lull, y/n reached for a dress on the rack—something she’d never wear, a cascade of ruffles in pastel pink with a floral pattern. The kind of thing that felt foreign in her hands. She tilted her head, bemused, when Soon-ja appeared at her side.
“That’s much better than the one you picked before,” Soon-ja said sweetly, her tone dipped in something faintly bitter. “It has… life. Color. A little joy.”
y/n blinked, then let out a small chuckle. “Joy’s nice,” she said, draping the dress over her arm, “but it doesn’t exactly scream ‘restaurant anniversary dinner,’ does it? More like… picnic in a rose garden.” She laughed lightly, soft enough to take the sting out of her words.
Soon-ja tilted her head, smile unmoving. “Still. It would suit you.”
“Maybe in another life,” y/n quipped, flashing her a grin before slipping the dress back onto the rack. Her fingers lingered on the hanger a beat longer than necessary, grounding herself. Humor was easier than honesty—it let her keep the peace, keep things polite.
Because the truth was, she didn’t trust Soon-ja. Not fully. And until dinner was over, until she knew what Soon-ja’s real game was, the last thing y/n wanted was to give her a reason to bare her claws inside her restaurant.
By the time Iseul reemerged in a daring sequined blazer, they all were laughing. Hyejin cheered so loudly one of the clerks peeked in, and y/n found herself grinning so hard her cheeks ached. For a while, it felt like the four of them were simply… friends.
When bags were finally in hand, Hyejin suggested a coffee stop before heading home, and no one protested. The little café on the corner smelled like cardamom and espresso, their booth crowded but cozy. Iseul stirred too much sugar into her latte, Hyejin stole half her croissant, and y/n let herself sink into the normalcy of it all.
Soon-ja sat across from her, smiling politely, stirring her drink without taking a sip. Her eyes drifted now and then—out the window, to the clock on the wall, back to y/n.
“I should go,” she said suddenly, setting her untouched cup aside. “Something came up.” Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’ll see you all at the dinner.”
y/n blinked. “Already? We just sat down.”
“Mm. Yes, but… you know how it is. Last-minute things.” She stood quickly, adjusting her bag, offering a vague little wave.
“Of course,” y/n replied, her voice warm even as unease pricked the back of her neck. “Thanks for coming today.”
Soon-ja’s smile lingered, but it was thin, gone as quickly as she was. The bell over the café door chimed, and then she had vanished into the street.
Silence hung at the table for a beat before Iseul huffed. “Weird timing.”
Hyejin arched a brow, tearing her croissant in half. “Weird everything. Did you see how she looked at you when you held up that ruffled dress?”
y/n laughed softly, trying to brush it off. “Not everyone shares my love for black.”
“Please,” Iseul leaned forward, voice low but firm. “That wasn’t about the dress. That was about you. She’s… I don’t know. Slippery.”
y/n shifted in her seat, fingers circling her cup. “She used to be different,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “Back in culinary school, she was brilliant. Kind. Everyone liked her.”
“And then she disappeared without a word,” Hyejin countered gently. “People change, y/n. Sometimes not for the better.”
For a moment, y/n let herself sink into the warmth of the coffee between her palms. She wanted to trust, wanted to believe the girl she remembered was still there beneath the polite smiles and vague excuses.
She raised her head and forced a smile. “It’s just dinner. I’ll keep it professional.”
“Professional, yes,” Hyejin said, tilting her head, “but don’t let her get too close.”
Iseul nodded in agreement, eyes sharper than her tone. “People who vanish once can vanish again. Don’t give her a reason to take something with her when she does.”
y/n chuckled softly, trying to turn the heaviness into air. “You two sound like watchdogs.”
“We are,” Hyejin said simply, clinking her coffee cup against y/n’s. “Because you’re worth guarding.”
y/n smiled at that, grateful for them, even as Soon-ja’s absence lingered in the back of her mind like a thread left untied.
They lingered at the café far longer than planned, the kind of afternoon that melted away in chatter and laughter. Hyejin told a story about one of her clients who insisted on wearing sunglasses indoors during their entire meeting; Iseul nearly spilled her latte from laughing so hard. Even y/n, usually the one to keep an eye on the time, let herself relax, shoulders loosening as the light outside softened.
For a moment, it felt like being younger again—just the three of them, carefree and safe in each other’s company. No restaurant to run, no complicated reunions, no shadows of doubt. Just warmth, friendship, and the comfort of knowing someone was always on your side.
Eventually, y/n glanced at her watch and sighed, pushing her chair back. “Alright, duty calls. I have to go pick up Soo-bin. San’s stuck in some important meeting and asked me to cover.”
“Of course he did,” Hyejin teased, wagging a finger. “The man knows you’re a soft touch for that little girl.”
y/n smiled, a fondness tugging at her lips. “Can you blame me? She’s easier to handle than most of you.”
Iseul clutched her chest dramatically. “Betrayal, in broad daylight.”
Their laughter followed y/n as she stood, slipping on her coat. She leaned down to press a grateful kiss to both their cheeks. “Thank you for today. Really. It was good to just… breathe.”
“Anytime,” Hyejin said, her hand brushing y/n’s briefly. “Go, before Soo-bin starts a revolution in the schoolyard.”
y/n chuckled, adjusting her bag. “Point taken.”
With that, she stepped out into the late afternoon air, the warmth of their laughter still clinging to her like a shawl.
The late afternoon sun slanted low across the schoolyard, painting the pavement in long shadows. Parents clustered near the gate in small groups, chatting idly, but y/n stood a little apart, her posture relaxed yet contained. A couple of dads stole glances her way—curious, then lingering. She met their eyes briefly, offering the faintest polite smile, the kind that acknowledged without encouraging. Inside, though, she was already rolling her eyes.
The sudden squeal of a familiar voice cut through her thoughts. “y/n?”
Soo-bin came bounding out of the gate, her backpack bouncing against her small frame. Surprise lit up her face before it melted into pure excitement. She ran straight into y/n’s waiting arms.
“Why are you here?” Soo-bin asked breathlessly, still hugging her tight.
y/n smoothed a hand over the girl’s hair, the corners of her mouth lifting. “Your dad got stuck in a meeting, so he sent his best replacement. Think you can survive with me for the afternoon?”
Soo-bin’s smile faltered just for a second, the shadow of disappointment flickering. y/n caught it immediately, brushing a finger under her chin.
“How about” y/n said, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “We make a quick stop for hot chocolate before heading home. Extra whipped cream, maybe even a cookie on the side. What do you think?”
The sparkle returned instantly, Soo-bin bouncing on her toes. “Yes! Let’s do that!”
y/n grinned, offering her hand. “Hot chocolate mission, it is.”
Hand in hand, they left the schoolyard together, the chatter of the other parents fading behind them.
The café smelled of cocoa and baked bread, cozy against the crisp bite of autumn outside. Soo-bin sat across from y/n, her small hands wrapped tightly around a mug of hot chocolate, whipped cream already smudging her upper lip. She kicked her legs happily under the chair, humming a little tune between sips, every bit of her joy radiating outward.
y/n leaned back with her glass of sparkling water, letting the bubbles fizz gently against her tongue as she watched the girl in front of her. There was something mesmerizing in the simple picture—Soo-bin’s cheeks pink from the chill, her hair a little messy from the day at school, her smile so unguarded.
A strange ache bloomed in y/n’s chest, soft but insistent. She wasn’t Soo-bin’s mother, but in moments like this—quiet, ordinary, tender—her instincts whispered otherwise. The way she wanted to smooth out the girl’s flyaway strands, to remind her to slow down before spilling her drink, to make sure she always had someone waiting for her at the school gates… it tugged at a part of y/n she rarely let anyone see.
Soo-bin looked up suddenly, grinning wide. “It’s the best hot chocolate ever! You should try some, y/n!”
y/n chuckled, sliding the napkin closer to her. “Wipe your mustache first, chocolate queen. Then maybe I’ll think about it.”
The girl giggled, scrubbing at her lip clumsily, while y/n’s smile lingered—gentle, a little wistful, her heart caught somewhere between affection and something dangerously close to longing.
y/n couldn’t help but picture it—the small, everyday moments that strung a life together. Picking Soo-bin up from school, walking her home with a bag of groceries swinging at her side, laughing over spilled cocoa in the kitchen. The thought came uninvited, but it clung stubbornly: What if this was my life? What if she was mine to come home to every day?
Her throat tightened, though her smile never faltered as Soo-bin slurped the last of her drink, leaving streaks of chocolate at the bottom of the mug. y/n leaned forward, gently brushing a crumb from the girl’s chin, and the gesture felt natural. Too natural.
The bell above the café door chimed. y/n glanced up, and there he was—San, framed in the doorway, shaking off the cool air. His eyes found them instantly, and the guarded weight he so often carried seemed to melt away. For a heartbeat, he didn’t move, just stood there watching them. y/n with a napkin in hand, Soo-bin with a chocolate mustache and a giggle, the two of them folded into a scene that looked achingly like family.
San’s chest tightened with something raw, almost overwhelming. He finally crossed the room, leaning down to press a tender kiss to Soo-bin’s hair. “Hello, dumpling. How was school?” She squealed, wrapping her arms around his neck, delighted by the surprise. “Really good! I had so much fun.” Soo-bin replied, her tiny hands still holding onto his nape.
When he straightened, his gaze caught on y/n’s. For a heartbeat too long, he lingered there—her eyes soft, her lips curved in the faintest smile, close enough that if he leaned just a little further… For a split second, he considered it—his hand twitching at his side, the thought of pulling her close, of letting the moment be what it wanted to be.
God, he wanted to. He wanted to feel her again, the warmth of her mouth, the sweetness of the kiss she’d left him with days ago that still haunted him in quiet moments. The temptation flared sharp, urgent.
But Soo-bin was still between them, her bright eyes darting from one to the other, her small hand tugging at his sleeve as she showed off the chocolate mustache on her lip. Reality tugged him back just as hard. San swallowed, exhaling through his nose, letting the chance slip between his fingers. Instead, he leaned down, brushing his lips against y/n’s cheek. Chaste. Careful. Too careful. Yet the touch lingered longer than politeness required—warm, charged, heavy with everything he couldn’t say. A quiet thank you, an unspoken I see you, all packed into that single, restrained gesture.
When he pulled back, his pulse was pounding, his chest tight with a quiet ache. She smiled at him, gracious and steady, but he swore she felt it too—the ghost of what almost was.
San slid into the booth across from y/n, Soo-bin bouncing in her seat beside him, still savoring the last streaks of chocolate at the bottom of her cup. His gaze flicked briefly to his daughter—safe, happy—before settling on y/n.
“So,” he began, voice low and teasing, “how was your day? You’ve barely texted me today.”
y/n let out a soft laugh, stirring the straw in her iced coffee. “Barely anything worth telling.”
He raised a brow, unconvinced. “Barely? That doesn’t sound like you.”
Her smile tugged higher, almost shy. “Well… I might’ve gone shopping.”
San’s gaze dropped to the boutique bag resting by her chair. A corner of black fabric peeked out, and he leaned just slightly, curiosity sparking.
“Don’t you dare,” y/n said quickly, swatting at the bag and shooting him a mock glare. “It’s a surprise.”
San leaned back immediately, both hands raised in surrender, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave.” San tapped a finger lightly against the surface of the table, eyes flicking from the bag back to her. “You really like torturing me, don’t you?”
“Maybe,” y/n said, taking a slow sip of her drink as if to taunt him further. “You’ll live.”
He shook his head, chuckling under his breath. “Cruel.” But when his laughter softened, the teasing gave way to something else—his gaze lingering on her a little longer, the air between them shifting.
His tone changed—still playful, but threaded with sincerity. “Thank you. For today. And for picking up Soo-bin when I couldn’t.”
y/n shrugged lightly, feigning nonchalance though the weight of his gratitude warmed her. “Don’t mention it. She’s better company than most adults I know.” She winked at Soo-bin, who giggled through her chocolate mustache.
San’s lips curved, his eyes still fixed on y/n. “Still… I should pay for the drinks. Consider it hazard pay.”
“Oh, don’t bother. I’ll do this any day. For her, and for you.” Her delivery was dry, but the sparkle in her eyes gave her away.
San lifted a hand, signaling the barista before she could protest further. He slid his card across the table with a quiet authority that made her raise a brow.
“Really?” she asked, folding her arms, though her lips threatened to betray her with a smile.
“Really,” he said, his voice dropping, a mischievous glint in his gaze. “Let me do at least this much. Or are you planning to rob me of my pride as a man?”
y/n’s laugh spilled out, warm and unguarded. She leaned back in her chair, tilting her head, meeting his sultry look with one of her own. “Careful, San. Pride is a dangerous thing to dangle in front of me.”
For a beat too long, they lingered in that exchange—him, studying the shape of her mouth as she smiled; her, watching the way his eyes softened even as they burned with quiet mischief.
Between them, Soo-bin piped up cheerfully, oblivious to the tension lacing the table. “Appa, can I get another chocolate?”
San tore his gaze away, chuckling under his breath. “Not today, Bin. I think you’ve had enough sugar for a week.”
By the time they left the café, the afternoon sunlight had softened, painting the street in warm gold. Soo-bin skipped ahead, her chatter tumbling out in a rush of half-finished stories about school, hot chocolate, and how her father was the best at making boring days fun. y/n kept pace with her, smiling, her heart tugging at the sight of the girl’s boundless energy.
San trailed just behind them, his hands in his pockets, watching the way the two moved together so naturally. His chest tightened at the sight—at how seamless it felt, as if y/n had always belonged in this small orbit of his life.
At the car, Soo-bin scrambled in with a determined little grunt, tugging at the seatbelt until it clicked into place. y/n leaned in just enough to brush a hand over the girl’s hair. “Bye, sweetheart. Thank you for keeping me company today,” she said warmly, earning herself a wide grin.
Straightening, her gaze lifted to San. “And you,” she teased lightly, “don’t work too hard tonight. Take care of yourself.” Her smile softened at the edges, tinged with a reluctance she tried to mask. With a small wave, she turned to go.
San closed the door with a quiet thunk, watching her retreat, something in his chest tightening with each step she took away from him.
“y/n!” he called suddenly, his voice carrying a low urgency.
She froze mid-step, her head snapping back, worry flashing in her eyes. “What—?”
When she turned, he was already there—close enough that she caught the faint scent of his cologne, warm and familiar. He wasn’t blocking her path so much as filling it, his presence steady, focused entirely on her. For a breath, his gaze dipped to her mouth, and before hesitation could creep in, he leaned forward and kissed her lips.
It wasn’t rushed, though it burned with urgency. His mouth pressed to hers in a kiss that lingered just long enough to make her pulse race, soft at first, then firmer, as if he was memorizing the shape of her. When he pulled back, he didn’t retreat far—his lips brushed over the curve of her cheek, feather-light, reverent, like he couldn’t resist leaving a trace of himself behind.
y/n blinked, startled by the suddenness, but the heat spreading through her chest betrayed her delight. “San—” she began, her voice low, uncertain if she should scold or thank him.
But he shook his head quickly, his voice husky, uneven. “I’m sorry I didn’t… before. I wanted to. God, I wanted to—”
Her reply came with a playful boldness, her lips finding his again in a quick, teasing peck that made him draw in a sharp breath. When she pulled back, her smile was steady, her tone gentle but laced with quiet confidence. “You don’t have to apologize,” she said, eyes soft, almost luminous. “I understand. Kissing me in front of Soo-bin would’ve felt… too much, too soon. And that’s okay. We’re not rushing this. I’ll be ready when you are.”
The words landed like a promise—unhurried, reassuring, carrying all the tenderness of what they hadn’t yet said aloud.
San exhaled shakily, his forehead nearly brushing hers, his chest tight with a mix of longing and relief. He wanted more—God, he wanted more—but for now, the simple truth of her patience, her presence, was enough.
San’s chest tightened, his breath uneven, and before he could stop himself, he leaned in again. His hand slid up into her hair, fingers threading firmly at her scalp, holding her in place as his mouth found hers. The kiss was different—gentler, but charged with longing, as if he needed her to feel his gratitude as much as his desire. His grip in her hair kept her close, deepening the moment, anchoring her to him. He lingered there, savoring the warmth of her lips, the soft catch of her breath, before forcing himself to finally, reluctantly, pull away.
“I’ll see you soon,” he murmured, the words low, intimate, as if meant for her alone. His eyes softened, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “And don’t forget—the charity event my engineer is hosting this weekend. I’d love for you to come… if you can.”
y/n’s lips curved into a soft, warm smile. “Of course,” she replied, voice low but certain, “I wouldn’t miss it.”
With visible reluctance, he turned and walked back to the car. Through the glass, Soo-bin’s little face was lit up with a smile, her fox plushie tucked under her chin as she played patiently in her seat. San’s hand lingered on the car door a second longer than needed before he finally climbed inside, casting one last glance at y/n standing there, cheeks still warm, lips tingling with the memory of him.
Days seemed to fold into themselves, and San crouched near the door, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of Soo-bin’s head, the little girl clutching her plush pink cat close as she giggled. “Be good, hmm? I’ll see you soon,” he murmured, smoothing down her hair before standing.
Behind her, Wooyoung leaned lazily against the wall, one hand braced above the doorframe, the other holding San’s coat. He looked every bit like an older brother keeping watch, but the twinkle in his eyes betrayed the teasing already forming on his tongue.
San rose, tugging his coat over his shoulders, and paused to glance back into the apartment. “I left some cash on the counter. In case you two want takeout later.” His tone carried that quiet responsibility he couldn’t quite shake, even when heading out for the night.
Wooyoung’s grin widened. “Always the provider,” he teased, but his nod was appreciative. He reached down to ruffle Soo-bin’s hair, earning a dramatic squeak of protest before she hugged his leg from the side.
San stepped forward, pulling Wooyoung into a firm, familiar hug. Wooyoung clapped him on the back with exaggerated force, laughing under his breath. “Go on, man. Have fun. Just… not too much fun,” he added, dropping his voice conspiratorially before flashing a wink.
San shook his head, half exasperated, half amused, though the warmth creeping to his ears betrayed him. His hand lingered on Soo-bin’s shoulder for just a moment longer before he opened the door. She raised her little hand and wiggled her fingers in a wave, Wooyoung echoing the motion behind her with exaggerated flair.
And as San stepped out into the hallway, the door clicking softly shut behind him, he felt both lighter and heavier—the comfort of leaving his world in good hands, and the anticipation of what waited for him tonight.
The air outside bit faintly at his cheeks, but San hardly noticed—his steps carried a quiet energy, the kind that built when anticipation was impossible to tamp down. A short walk brought him across the street to the little flower shop tucked beneath the old brick building, its windows glowing golden against the early evening.
The bell over the door chimed softly as he pushed it open. The familiar scent of fresh blooms wrapped around him immediately, cool and clean, with hints of roses and eucalyptus lingering in the air.
“There you are!” The shop’s owner, Mrs. Yoon, looked up from behind the counter, her face lighting with recognition. She was small and soft-voiced, her white hair neatly braided behind her back. The kind of woman who carried warmth like it was stitched into her very being.
San bowed respectfully, a smile curving his lips. “Good evening, ma’am.”
She patted her apron as she bustled forward. “Evening, San!” Mrs. Yoon said, stepping forward. “Before we wrap this, how was the last bouquet I sent you last week?” Her tone was gentle, tinged with curiosity. “I hope she liked it.”
San’s chest tightened slightly, a faint blush warming his cheeks. “She… she loved it,” he admitted softly. “It meant a lot to her. Thank you for suggesting it.”
She nodded, pleased, then patted her apron as she bustled forward. “We’ve been expecting you tonight.” Her husband shuffled out from the back, tall and stooped with age but moving with an ease that suggested decades of shared rhythm. He carried a bundle wrapped carefully in paper and ribbon.
San’s eyes softened as Mr. Yoon set the bouquet on the counter between them. A cluster of lilies, pristine and fragrant, framed with baby’s breath and delicate eucalyptus. Blush roses peeked shyly through the arrangement, tied with an ivory ribbon that trailed like a sigh.
“Just as you asked for,” Mrs. Yoon said with a small smile. “She must be someone very special.”
Heat rose to San’s cheeks, but he didn’t deny it. His fingers brushed the paper wrapping, reverent, as though it might crumble under too much pressure. “She is,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”
Mr. Yoon gave a knowing chuckle, exchanging a look with his wife. “Then go on,” he said, voice gentle but insistent, “don’t keep her waiting.”
San nodded, tucking the bouquet carefully into the crook of his arm, his heart drumming a little faster as he turned for the door. The bell chimed again as he stepped back into the cool night air, the warmth of the shop lingering like a blessing.
San stood on the quiet street, the late afternoon sun casting long, golden streaks across the pavement. His posture was calm, almost statuesque, but his mind hummed with anticipation. In his hands, he held the bouquet—an arrangement carefully chosen, almost an extension of himself. Lilies, pristine and elegant, framed by whispers of eucalyptus and delicate baby’s breath; blush roses peeked through, shy yet deliberate. The ivory ribbon trailed loosely, softening the formality with quiet grace.
He shifted slightly, checking his watch, then exhaled slowly. Every detail mattered—the suit pressed and immaculate, tie perfectly aligned, hair tamed just enough to catch the wind—but none of it compared to the weight of the gesture. He wanted this moment to speak for him, to show that thoughtfulness and care could exist even in small, fleeting acts.
San’s eyes scanned the street, scanning every corner, waiting for the first sign of her. The sun dipped lower, a soft glow reflecting off the flowers. He shifted his weight again, steadying himself, heart quickening despite the composed exterior.
The sharp click of heels carried across the sidewalk before y/n emerged, framed by the fading light. A long black coat wrapped around her, sleek and understated, the lapels falling open just enough to hint at the dark fabric beneath. The faint curve of a halter neckline peeked out, a whisper of elegance hidden under the tailored lines.
Her hair was slicked back into an updo that bared the graceful length of her neck, golden hoops catching the last slant of sun with a glimmer that felt almost conspiratorial. Each step toward him was deliberate, confident, her heels striking the pavement like a rhythm only he could hear—controlled, poised, yet carrying that playful sway she couldn’t quite hide.
San’s breath hitched the moment he saw her. The bouquet in his hands suddenly felt both fragile and monumental, a mere prop compared to the living, breathing wonder in front of him.
Her serious expression melted the instant she noticed him. And the flowers. Her smile—radiant, effortless—outshone even the sunlight spilling across the street. Without hesitation, she launched herself into his arms, pressing her lips to his in a kiss that was quick but electric. San chuckled softly into it, his hands instinctively tightening around her. God, she was so impossibly cute.
The bouquet squished slightly between them, petals bending under the embrace, but neither seemed to notice. y/n’s hand lingered behind his neck, fingers tangling in the nape of his hair as she pulled back just enough to whisper, teasing, “Hi!”
San’s hand moved to cradle her face, thumb brushing her cheek, while his free arm circled her waist, drawing her impossibly close. Every subtle press of her body against his sent sparks up his spine, a delicious, almost desperate restraint building within him. Not yet. Not a step back. Not a moment wasted. He wouldn’t let her go—not while he still had her in his arms.
San’s fingers lingered at her waist a heartbeat longer before he tilted his head slightly, voice low and full of admiration. “You… you look incredible.”
y/n felt heat creep into her cheeks, a faint, almost imperceptible blush dusting her skin. She leaned in, pressing a quick, teasing peck to his lips before pulling back just enough to catch her breath.
San stepped back slightly, lifting the bouquet with a soft smile. “These are for you,” he said, holding them out like they were the most natural and inevitable thing in the world.
y/n’s eyes sparkled, a playful grin tugging at her lips. “You spoil me,” she murmured, her voice teasing but touched with genuine affection. She accepted the flowers, inhaling their delicate fragrance, feeling the softness of the petals under her fingers. “Thank you, Sannie. They are beautiful.”
San extended his arm, and she slid her hand into his. With a careful, gentlemanly flourish, he led her toward the car, pausing to open the door for her. He offered a glance over his shoulder, half teasing, half serious: “After you, of course.”
y/n chuckled softly, the warmth in her chest matching the gentle evening light as she stepped into the car, the bouquet resting in her lap—a quiet, perfect promise of the night to come.
The car hummed softly beneath them, the city lights blurring past as the sun dipped lower, painting the streets gold. Soft music played, the kind that wrapped around them like a private world, making everything else fade.
San’s hand found hers resting on her lap, fingers intertwining naturally. A gentle squeeze, just enough to say I’m here, with you. y/n leaned slightly toward him, resting her head lightly against his shoulder, a quiet, comfortable closeness.
He glanced down at her, a slow, teasing smile tugging at his lips. “You smell like those lilies,” he murmured, his grip tightening.
y/n let out a soft laugh, brushing her fingers over his knuckles. “You’re hopelessly charming,” she teased, though her voice softened, her eyes bright with warmth.
San’s thumb traced slow, deliberate circles over her hand, his grip warm against her skin. Without looking away from the road, he lifted her fingers toward his lips, pressing the lightest kiss against her knuckles. “I could get used to this,” he murmured, his voice low, intimate.
She lifted her head to meet his gaze, eyes sparkling, a soft smile playing on her lips. For a moment, words weren’t necessary—just the quiet rhythm of hands, the music, and the fleeting, perfect closeness of being together.
The car glided to a stop, and San handed the valet the keys with a faint, confident smile. They stepped onto the polished stone of the entrance, the evening lights casting a warm glow over the crowd gathered for the charity event.
At the coat check, they shed their layers, the soft brush of fabric lingering on their shoulders before it disappeared, leaving them revealed—San in his sharp black suit, and y/n in her halter-neck dress. Black, backless, elegant yet daring, the fabric clung to her form in all the right places bold and unapologetic. When she stepped forward, the sway of her hips revealed the faint dimples at her lower back, a detail San’s gaze caught like a secret meant only for him.
San’s hand slid naturally to her lower back, warm and steady, his fingers spreading with a subtle pressure that was both protective and claiming. He leaned close, lips brushing the edge of her ear as he murmured, low enough for her alone, “Dangerous to leave this part uncovered.” His thumb traced the curve near her spine, reverent and teasing at once. “Every man who looks at you tonight is going to wish he were me.”
y/n’s breath caught, goosebumps prickling along her skin at the mix of playfulness and sincerity in his tone. She tilted her head up, meeting his gaze with a sly smile, but her hand circled his waist too, silently claiming him back.
“But you’re mine.” The last word was softer, reverent, as if it wasn’t a boast but a prayer.
y/n’s lips curved into a teasing smile, though her pulse betrayed her, quick and unsteady. “Confident, aren’t you?” she whispered, tilting her head toward him.
San’s smirk tugged wider, but his eyes—dark, molten—never left hers. “If I make it through the event without tearing this dress off you, it’ll be a miracle.”
Her breath caught, a laugh slipping out, soft and scandalized. “San,” she warned, though the flush on her cheeks betrayed her.
He smirked against her temple, hand tightening just enough to make her stumble closer. “Relax. I’ll behave… for now.” But the dark promise in his tone made it clear: later, he wouldn’t.
Her breath hitched, her hand sliding instinctively to his waist—part anchor, part answer. Together, they stepped into the gathering, her elegance radiant, his touch a promise and a warning: she was his, and he was hers, every hungry, reverent inch.
Together, they moved into the room—her elegance undeniable, his touch a quiet warning to anyone who might look too long. To her, though, it wasn’t just possession; it was devotion, fierce and unspoken, threaded into every step they took side by side.
A waiter appeared then, silver tray balanced expertly in his hands, champagne glasses catching the light like tiny stars. San’s free hand reached for one, but y/n had to step just a half-beat away from him, breaking the intimate curve of his arm around her back, to take her own.
With glasses in hand, they shared a small, private smile before joining the crowd, moving through the sparkling room of laughter, music, and soft clinking glasses, their connection a quiet current threading through the public celebration.
Their private bubble was broken by a familiar, energetic voice cutting through the soft hum of conversation.
“San! There you are!”
San stiffened for a heartbeat, then a grin spread across his face. “Kwan!” he said warmly, stepping slightly away from y/n to greet his engineer. Their handshake was firm, friendly, and easy, the kind of banter born from years of collaboration.
y/n watched from the side, the warmth of San’s hand on hers fading slightly but never fully gone, the subtle tension of being both near and slightly apart prickling pleasantly along her nerves.
A few laughs were exchanged—jokes about deadlines, project mishaps, and the usual friendly teasing. Then San paused, turning toward her with a slight hesitation, as if searching for the right words.
“This is… y/n,” he said finally, his tone soft but deliberate, letting the simplicity of the introduction carry weight. No labels, no explanations—just her name, spoken as though it meant everything to him.
y/n’s lips curved in a small, amused smile, the corner of her eye catching San’s brief glance, rich with a silent promise. Kwan nodded, taking the introduction in stride, but for y/n, the moment carried an intimacy beyond words—a quiet acknowledgment of their connection in front of the world, unadorned but complete.
Kwan’s eyes twinkled as he glanced at San, then back at y/n. “Careful with him,” he said with a grin, leaning in slightly. “He can sometimes be… too much. Take care of him while I can’t, please.”
San chuckled, shaking his head, clearly amused and slightly embarrassed, while y/n’s lips curved into a soft smile. The warmth in Kwan’s words wasn’t lost on her—a reminder that the man she cared for so deeply was surrounded by people who looked out for him.
“I promise to take good care of him,” y/n replied lightly, her fingers brushing briefly against San’s as if to silently seal the promise. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, catching the faintest glimmer of gratitude and amusement in them.
San’s hand found her back again, thumb lightly stroking the lines of her spine, a private acknowledgment only for her. “She already does,” he murmured, his voice low enough for just her to hear.
Kwan clapped a hand on San’s shoulder. “Good, then I can relax knowing he’s in safe hands.” His gaze shifted to y/n with genuine approval, and she felt a quiet reassurance settle over her—San was always well cared for, and she would be his safe harbor tonight, just as he was hers.
The subtle intimacy lingered as the three of them moved through the crowd, San’s hand resting lightly on the small of y/n’s back, guiding her with a quiet possessiveness. The warmth and steadiness of his touch wrapped around her like a shield, grounding her amid the swirl of the gathering.
Kwan was soon swept away by another cluster of guests, leaving San and y/n to drift along the edges of the crowd. A few of San’s colleagues approached—polished men in suits, women with elegant smiles—offering him firm handshakes and words of respect. One of them, a tall man with slicked-back hair, let his eyes linger a little too long on y/n, his compliment landing with a charm that made San’s jaw tighten.
But before jealousy could take root, y/n’s hand found him—fingers resting gently on his thigh, grounding him with a quiet reassurance. Her eyes caught his, clear and certain, as if to say: I’m here. With you. For you.
San exhaled, tension melting, and leaned down. His lips brushed against the curve of her shoulder, right where the smooth skin met the line of her neck. The touch was chaste, protective, but the heat it ignited in her was anything but. y/n’s breath caught, her body betraying her with a rush of goosebumps.
“San!” she whispered, smacking his arm lightly, her voice edged with warning but softened by the blush that bloomed across her cheeks. Her playful protest only confirmed what he already suspected—that he’d found one of her sweet spots.
Her smile lingered, helpless and sweet, as she tried to compose herself with a sip of champagne. San, however, wasn’t about to let her recover so easily. He stayed close, lips ghosting her skin, brushing warmth against her neck without kissing—hiding his smirk against her pulse point as though the crowded venue was just a backdrop to his little game.
His free hand slipped lower, tracing from the small of her back to her hip, the urge to pull her closer rising, imagining her back pressing against his chest, to hold her close. But before he could, a voice boomed across the din.
“Mr. Choi!”
They both turned. Approaching with confident strides was a man in his fifties, distinguished in a perfectly tailored suit. San straightened immediately, recognizing him: one of the key investors in his current project.
The playful smirk faded from his lips, replaced with professional poise, though his hand stayed firmly at y/n’s hip—as if he had no intention of letting the world, or this man, forget who she belonged with.
San’s arm stayed firm at her hip as he extended his free hand to the older man. “Mr. Lim,” he greeted warmly, his voice carrying that smooth confidence y/n had learned could charm anyone.
The investor’s eyes crinkled as he shook San’s hand, his presence commanding yet genial. “Always a pleasure. I had to find you—everyone here wants a piece of you tonight.”
San chuckled, his hand tightening just slightly at y/n’s waist, grounding himself in her presence. “I could say the same about you.” Then, after a brief pause, he turned with deliberate care. “This is y/n.”
Her name fell from his lips with a softness that made her chest flutter, but still, y/n hesitated. The champagne glass in her hand became her shield, the bubbles fizzing as she lifted it slightly, smiling politely. She let her other hand rest against San’s back, a quiet tether keeping her steady as their conversation rolled on—numbers, projections, project timelines. Words she didn’t quite understand, not fully, but she nodded now and then, pretending. Her smile never faltered, though her mind drifted, her focus narrowing instead on the way San’s thumb traced subtle circles against her hip. The simple gesture kept her tethered to him and kept her present.
Then—“And what about you, Miss?”
Her head snapped up, eyes widening slightly. The investor’s gaze was sharp but kind, curiosity sparking in his tone. “Do you share San’s love for…well, all this?” He gestured broadly at the space, the glittering venue, the hum of power and wealth.
For a beat, y/n blinked, caught between panic and poise. Her mouth opened, closed, then parted again.
San’s hand pressed gently at her side, steadying her, coaxing her back down to earth. His touch was silent encouragement, an anchor whispering: You’ve got this.
y/n drew in a quiet breath, her lips curving into a soft, measured smile. “I share his love for… seeing him passionate about it,” she said carefully, her voice warm even if the words weren’t perfect. “Even when I don’t understand half of what’s being said, I can see how much it matters to him. And that’s enough for me.”
Mr. Lim’s eyes sparkled with amusement, his laugh deep and genuine. “A wise answer. You’ve chosen well, San.”
San’s lips quirked into a small smile, pride and something deeper flickering in his eyes. He leaned slightly closer to y/n, his voice pitched low so only she could hear: “See? Perfect.”
San’s smile lingered, subtle yet undeniable pride resting in his gaze. He wasn’t hiding her. No, he was showing her—to his colleagues, his investors, his world.
And just like that, an old ache ghosted through her chest. A memory of her ex—how he had always avoided that, always made her feel like she wasn’t enough to stand by his side. Like she was something to be tucked away, not celebrated.
The thought was sharp, but fleeting. y/n forced it back into the shadows where it belonged, refusing to let it steal this moment. Because San was nothing like him.
Before she could dwell longer, Mr. Lim leaned in with another question, his tone warm, curious. “And tell me, y/n, do you—”
The music softened abruptly, the swell of strings fading into a hush. A smooth voice rolled through the speakers, drawing the crowd’s attention toward the stage.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention for a moment,” the announcer began, standing beneath the glittering lights. “On behalf of Kwan Engineering and our partners, thank you for joining us tonight for this year’s charity gala. Together, we gather not only to celebrate innovation, but also to give back to the communities that inspire us. Tonight’s proceeds will support the Dream Foundations Program, funding education and housing initiatives for underprivileged youth across the city.”
A murmur of applause rippled through the crowd, champagne glasses raised in soft cheers.
The announcer smiled, gesturing toward the tall glass cases displayed near the stage. “Later this evening, we will hold a silent auction of several unique items and experiences, donated generously by our sponsors and patrons. Bidding begins shortly, so please, explore, enjoy, and remember—every contribution tonight changes lives.”
The room hummed again with energy, voices rising as people began to drift toward the displays.
San leaned closer to y/n, his lips brushing her ear. “This part can drag,” he murmured with a smirk, “but I promise, I’ll make it worth your while.”
The silent auction was in full swing, the soft hum of conversation mingling with the faint clink of champagne flutes. Each table along the walls bore treasures—watches gleaming under spotlights, paintings lit like jewels, sculptures standing proud. Beside every piece, crisp white ballots waited, names and numbers already scattered across them in looping handwriting. The crowd scattered into smaller circles, drifting toward the auction displays. Polished glass cases and spotlit stands lined the venue, each waiting for their silent bids.
San gravitated naturally toward the sleek designs: a cutting-edge drone prototype, a sculptural chair with impossible lines, a limited-edition watch gleaming under the lights. His eyes lingered on the watch longest, tracing the delicate gears exposed beneath sapphire glass. He wasn’t usually sentimental about things, but something about it—the craftsmanship, the precision—spoke to him.
From the corner of his vision, he caught y/n wandering toward the paintings. She moved slowly, almost reverently, pausing before a piece most others skimmed past. Oil strokes, moody colors, layered shadows—San tilted his head, trying to make sense of it. To him, it was just human bodies. But the way y/n’s eyes softened, the little crease in her brow as if she were listening to the painting whisper secrets only she could hear…
That was enough. He didn’t understand it, but he understood her. And in that instant, San knew—whatever it took, that painting would belong to her by the end of the night.
Without hesitation, he bent over the ballot, pen scratching against paper. His bid was clean, deliberate, signed with a bold “Choi San.” He capped the pen, satisfaction flickering in his gaze before he slipped back into the sea of guests.
y/n, meanwhile, noticed him across the room, standing over the watch case with the faintest boyish grin tugging at his lips. It was rare to see him admire something so openly, without his usual teasing edge. Her heart warmed, the corners of her mouth curving.
So that’s what you like, huh? she thought. Not thinking it twice, she drifted toward the bidding stand, mind already working out how to surprise him. Her clutch pressed to her side, she reached for the pen, scribbling her name onto the ballot in a delicate curve. “y/n.” Nothing more. No hesitation. Just a quiet claim, hoping her bid was enough.
Neither said a word to the other, each pretending to browse casually when their gazes met again in the crowd. y/n lifted her champagne glass in a coy toast. San smirked back, none the wiser.
Time passed, conversation flowed, and the auction quietly closed. The hosts began collecting the ballots, disappearing with the sealed envelopes and returning minutes later with a practiced smile.
When the assistants finally began bringing the first purchases to their respective tables, y/n’s pulse hammered. A discreet attendant approached with a careful smile, “Congratulations,” one of them said as they approached San and y/n’s table, placing a velvet box in front of y/n.
San glanced at it, brow lifted. “Oh?”
Before he could say more, another attendant set down the framed rare 19th-century oil painting in front of him.
y/n’s eyes widened. “Wait… this is—”
San’s gaze met hers, and in that instant, they realized what had happened. No words were needed—just a shared, incredulous laugh that bubbled up naturally, warm and unrestrained. It cut through the formality of the room, leaving only the two of them in that moment.
“You actually bid on that?” San said, still laughing, shaking his head.
“And you… for me?” y/n replied, her own laughter spilling over, hand brushing against the velvety fabric.
Their eyes lingered, warmth spilling between them, richer than any gift. Finally, y/n leaned closer, whispering just for him, her hand grabbing his knee under the table. “Seems like we had the exact same thought.”
San’s grin softened into something deeper, his chest tightening with affection. He brought her hand to his lips, pressing a slow kiss to her knuckles. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Always thinking of you.”
Their laughter only grew when San leaned in, shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you…” he whispered, grin wide, eyes crinkling at the corners.
“You?” y/n shot back, nudging his shoulder with hers. “You had the exact same idea!”
Their giggles tangled together, making it impossible to stop. San, still laughing, tipped his forehead against hers, his nose brushing hers before he stole a quick kiss—too quick to be serious, too sweet to be casual.
y/n let out a surprised little squeak, then burst into another round of laughter, covering her mouth with her free hand. “San!” she whispered through her giggles, cheeks flushed.
“What?” he teased, eyes dancing as he caught her hand and pulled it away from her lips. “That’s what happens when you make me fall for you twice in the same night.”
She laughed again, this time letting him kiss her properly—still playful, still smiling into it—until they pulled apart, both breathless with joy more than passion.
y/n, still catching her breath from the kiss, tilted her head at him, her eyes glimmering with mischief. “Wait—” she whispered, a smile tugging at her lips, “what was the first one?”
San’s grin widened, his thumb brushing lightly along her jaw as if he needed to keep touching her. “When you smiled at me the second you saw me waiting outside your door,” he murmured, soft but full of certainty. “That was it. I was gone.”
Her laughter stilled, her breath catching for a moment before she shook her head with a playful scoff, cheeks burning. “That’s it? That's all it took?”
“Mm,” he hummed, leaning closer until his lips grazed hers again, teasing. “You’re easy to fall for.”
y/n froze for a heartbeat. Biting her lip, a faint smile, cheeks heating. She jabbed him lightly with her elbow. “Shut up… don’t say things like that,” she whispered, a half-laugh breaking through.
He smirked, eyes darkening just enough to make her pulse spike. “Oh, I’m saying it because it’s true. And because I like watching you flustered.”
Her lips parted, and she shook her head, trying to hide the grin threatening to escape. “I…” she breathed, voice small, teasing, almost vulnerable. “I’ve fallen for you too.”
San’s hand slid to rest at the back of her chair, thumb pressing lightly against her shoulder blade, claiming just enough to make her heart flutter. “Good,” he murmured against her hair, before tilting his head slightly and planting a soft, fleeting kiss atop her slicked-back strands, “because I’m not letting you go anytime soon.”
The world around them buzzed with champagne and chatter, but for San and y/n, it was just laughter, shared secrets, and the taste of each other’s smiles.
Moments later, the scene had shifted. The auction was over, the crowd mingling and dissipating, leaving behind the remnants of cocktails and the last bites of catering—delicious, but not quite enough. y/n surveyed the room, her eyes landing on San, a spark of mischief in hers.
“Want to get out of here?” she asked, tilting her head, her hand patting his thigh as she gestured subtly toward the exit. “I’ll carry your watch for you,” she added with a wink, nodding at their newly acquired auction treasures.
San’s grin widened, already understanding the invitation. “Lead the way,” he murmured, offering his arm as if it had always been his place to escort her away, leaving the formalities and small bites behind for a night that was just theirs.
y/n slipped into the driver’s seat beside San, her fingers lightly brushing his as she settled in. “No GPS. You’re driving me, but I’m guiding you,” she said with a playful smirk.
San chuckled, glancing at her with that familiar mix of amusement and adoration. “I trust you,” he murmured, gripping the wheel a little tighter, though his eyes flicked to her constantly, eager for every hint of direction.
The city lights blurred past as they drove, soft music filling the small space between them. When they finally arrived, y/n instructed him to park in the free spot where she usually leaves her car behind the familiar building, now hiding under the dark sky.
y/n slipped the key into the lock and pushed the door open, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor as she stepped inside. With a flick of her wrist, the lights bloomed to life one by one, chasing away the shadows. The restaurant revealed itself in warm tones—wood, glass, and copper details catching the glow, the space alive yet hushed, waiting.
San stepped in behind her, his pace slowing. His eyes swept across the room, lingering on the neatly set tables, the subtle floral arrangements, the framed art she’d chosen with such care. It wasn’t just a restaurant. It was her heart, laid out in every detail.
“Wow…” The word slipped out before he could stop it. His lips parted slightly, breath caught somewhere in his chest. “y/n… this is…” He trailed off, at a rare loss for words.
She turned toward him, suddenly self-conscious, her hand brushing a strand of hair that had slipped from her updo. “It’s nothing too big. Just… mine.”
San shook his head, slowly walking further inside, fingertips grazing the back of one of the chairs as if he was afraid touching too much might break the spell. “No, It’s you,” he said firmly, his voice low but full of awe. “Every detail… it feels like you. Warm. Inviting. Strong.”
Her chest tightened at his words, her throat knotting. She gave him a small, shy smile, though her eyes were shining.
Without giving him a chance to linger too long in the dining room, y/n reached for San’s hand. Her fingers curled firmly around his, tugging him toward the kitchen with a playful spark in her eyes. “Come on. You’ve seen the stage,” she teased, “now let me show you the backstage magic.”
San let himself be pulled along, his long strides making it easy to keep up with her smaller, determined pace. The polished restaurant floor gave way to stainless steel counters and the faint scent of herbs lingering in the air. She motioned for him to sit on a stool tucked at the end of the prep counter.
“Drink?” she asked, already reaching for a glass.
San set the bouquet and the new acquisitions carefully on the counter beside him, loosening his tie just slightly. “Whatever you’re having,” he murmured, watching her every move as if it were the most fascinating performance he’d ever seen.
y/n slipped behind the bar counter built into the kitchen, pouring two glasses of red wine. She slid one toward him, the deep ruby liquid catching the light. Then, with a small sigh, she reached for her apron—tying it neatly over her black dress, the contrast making San smile. It was so her: elegance wrapped in practicality, sensuality mixed with strength.
She opened the fridge, scanning shelves stacked with ingredients she’d prepped earlier in the week. Her mind ran through possibilities, ideas stacking on one another, but nothing felt quite right. Then—like a spark—she remembered.
The day she met Soo-bin. The way the little girl had leaned in her arms and whispered like it was a secret only meant for her: “Appa loves meat.”
Her gaze lingered on the beef, but a simple steak felt too bare. She wanted warmth. She wanted to give him more. Her hand moved without hesitation—thyme, mushrooms, shallots, potatoes. Comfort disguised as elegance.
“Mm, yes,” she hummed to herself, almost like a dancer catching the rhythm before the first step. She turned, holding it up like a prize, her eyes glinting. “I think I know exactly what to make you.”
Butter hit the pan with a soft hiss, filling the air with its nutty perfume. y/n’s knife worked quickly, slicing shallots into translucent ribbons. She swayed as she scraped them into the pan, the movement fluid, natural, like part of a choreography she’d rehearsed her whole life.
San watched, entranced, as her body seemed to follow the food. Each stir, each tilt of the pan had its own rhythm. She reached for mushrooms, earthy and delicate, tossing them into the sizzling shallots. A wooden spoon tapped against the skillet like percussion.
The fragrance deepened—garlic crushed under her knife, herbs bruised between her fingers before joining the dance. Red wine followed with a hiss, the pan releasing a sharp, sweet steam that curled into the air. y/n leaned into it, her cheeks flushed pink, and for San it was impossible not to smile.
“Smell that?” she asked, glancing at San, her smile sly, knowing.
San couldn’t speak—he only nodded, his gaze fixed on her as though she were the only light in the room. His heart thudded against his ribs. This wasn’t just food—it was y/n translating herself into flame and flavor, movement and breath. Only for him to taste.
While the sauce thickened into something glossy and rich, she pivoted, pulling golden potatoes onto the counter. Her knife sang again as she sliced them thin, stacking them with cream and Parmesan, each layer brushed as carefully as if it were a painting. She slid the gratin into the oven, straightened, and twirled to the stove with a playful little spin, catching San’s eyes as if daring him not to laugh.
He didn’t laugh. He just looked at her like she was the only light in the room.
Back at the stove, she finished the ragout, spooning it into a small dish to wait while the beef rested. Then came the plating—mushrooms down first, steak sliced and fanned in generous cuts, the sauce drizzled with delicate precision. She pulled the gratin from the oven, its edges bronzed, bubbling, irresistible. A perfect square joined the plate, crowned with a sprig of thyme.
Finally, she exhaled, shoulders rising and falling, before placing the dish in front of him with both hands. Her lips curved, soft and almost shy. “Comfort food—my style.”
San looked at the plate, at her, then back again. His throat worked as he swallowed, but his voice was steady, reverent. “You call this comfort food?” He leaned forward slightly, eyes locked on hers. “This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
But y/n knew he wasn’t talking about the dish.
San picked up his fork, almost reverently, as if afraid to disturb the composition on the plate. He cut into the beef, the knife gliding through the tender flesh without resistance, juices glistening under the light. He brought the first bite to his mouth and paused—eyes flicking up to y/n before he finally tasted it. She had her forearms resting on the counter, a waiting look on her face. Leaning close enough to him to smell his scent but far enough to let him eat peacefully.
The flavors hit all at once. The meat, perfectly cooked, melted against the earthiness of mushrooms, the sweet bite of shallots, the wine-reduced sauce clinging silk-smooth to it all. Then the potatoes, creamy and rich, sharp with Parmesan but softened with cream—layers of comfort he hadn’t known he craved until now.
San set his fork down slowly, his chest rising as if he needed a moment just to breathe it in. “y/n…” His voice was low, a little unsteady, as though words weren’t enough. He looked at her like she’d stolen every coherent thought he had. And maybe she had. Because in that exact second, watching her smile softly, cheeks warm in the golden kitchen light, he realized he’d fallen even harder.
He opened his mouth, ready to say something—something dangerous, something that felt too big for the small space between them.
And then his phone buzzed. The sound felt almost intrusive, slicing through the fragile magic. He glanced at the screen.
Wooyoung.
A frown ghosted across his features, but he pressed the phone face down on the counter without answering. Not tonight. Tonight he belonged to her.
“Sorry,” he murmured, his attention snapping back instantly to y/n. He lifted his fork again, spearing another bite of the beef, and this time he turned it toward her. “Here—try it. You must be hungry too.”
She leaned forward, lips parting as she accepted the bite from his fork, her eyes widening slightly at the taste. San couldn’t help but grin at the way she chewed, the tiny hum of pleasure that slipped past her throat.
“See?” he said, his voice threaded with quiet pride. “You cook like you’re telling a story.”
y/n glanced at him, a sly smile forming. “Then I hope you’re ready for the plot twist.”
“Plot twist?” San raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his eyes. “I think I could handle it… especially if it involves dessert.”
She laughed softly, shaking her head as she slipped the apron from her waist, letting it fall in a crumpled, messy heap on the counter. The soft click of her heels echoed faintly as she padded toward the fridge. Crouching, she scanned the shelves until her eyes landed on a small tray wrapped in cling film—a slice of chocolate cake, dark and rich, crowned with a swirl of cream from yesterday’s service. She smiled to herself—simple, but more than enough.
When she returned to the counter, San was already watching her, that smile tugging at his lips. The kind of smile that wasn’t just amused—it was filled with something heavier, warmer, and deeper.
“Look what I found,” she teased, setting the plate down between them. She dipped a fingertip into the cream, lifted it slowly, and with a mischievous little smirk, slipped it past her lips. “Try it. It’s good.”
San’s smile faltered—but not because he wasn’t amused. His eyes darkened instantly, his breath hitching as he tracked the motion of her tongue over her finger. The air shifted—charged, heavy. Before y/n could take another playful jab, he reached out, wrapping his hand gently but firmly around her wrist.
In one fluid tug, he pulled her into the space between his legs. Her body brushed his inner thighs, his grip steady but unhurried. When she tilted her head down to look at him, she found his gaze already locked on her. Devotion swirled there, yes—but it was deeper than that. Love, reverence, and something quietly submissive lingered in his eyes, as if he’d give her everything if she only asked.
Her pulse quickened as she held his gaze, San’s hand still wrapped around her wrist, his touch light but sure. For a moment, neither of them moved—just the faint hum of the fridge and their shallow breaths filling the quiet.
Then, with a mischievous tilt of her head, y/n reached up and tugged gently at his tie, fingers curling around the silk, giving it a playful pull. San froze, a sharp, startled breath escaping him—a low, almost inaudible sound that made her chest tighten. His eyes darkened, a mix of surprise and something raw he hadn’t fully realized he felt. His free hand, already resting at her waist, tightened instinctively, pressing into the curve of her hip as if anchoring himself against the sudden surge of need the tiny gesture ignited.
The tug was small, playful… bold—but the effect on him was immediate. Lips parting, chest rising faster, a shiver running down his spine, he leaned just slightly closer, drawn by the pull and the delicious tension y/n now controlled.
Their lips met softly, almost tentative at first, the kind of kiss that tasted like curiosity and restraint. San inhaled sharply against her mouth, tasting the cream lingering from earlier, his other hand rising to her waist, fingers trembling as if afraid she might slip away.
“Thank you,” he whispered against her lips, words raw and trembling. He kissed her again, slower this time, memorizing the shape of her mouth. “Thank you, for everything,” he breathed once more, pulling her closer, forehead brushing hers between kisses.
Each word made y/n’s chest tighten, her free hand sliding to the nape of his neck, threading through his hair to anchor him. The chocolate cake sat forgotten on the counter, sweetness lingering in the air, but the only flavor San seemed to crave was her.
When they finally parted, his eyes still closed, lips curved in the faintest, most content smile—like he’d just been handed a treasure he hadn’t dared to dream of.
But the calm didn’t last. Something inside him snapped, and the tenderness unraveled fast, leaving only the raw, hungry need he could no longer restrain.
San’s lips pressed harder, more insistent, more demanding, turning soft sighs into sharp, ragged gasps that vibrated between them.. Before y/n could steady her breath, he rose from the stool in one swift movement, strong hands gripping the back of her thighs and lifting her as if she weighed nothing.
A startled laugh escaped her, dissolving immediately into a moan when he lifted her onto the counter, her back arching slightly as the cool surface kissed the skin of her thighs.
Now it was his turn to stand between her legs, to claim the space he’d been aching for all night. His mouth trailed from her lips to her cheek, down along the sharp edge of her jaw, until he buried himself in the hollow of her neck. Each kiss was hotter, hungrier—lingering in places that made her pulse race and her knees tremble where they hooked around his hips.
Her breath hitched when his lips found her shoulder, his teeth grazing lightly before soothing it with his tongue. One hand slid from her thigh to the curve of her back, tracing the open line of her dress, while the other rose to cradle her nape, tilting her head just enough to bare her neck further to him.
“San…” she whispered, almost a plea, her fingers curling in his hair.
His grip tightened, and the other hand slid lower, cupping her ass with deliberate force, squeezing just enough to make her shiver. A low groan vibrated against her collarbone, rough and needy, as his self-control thinned with each heartbeat she was pressed this close.
San’s lips trailed down her body with deliberate, intoxicating patience, following the curve of her collarbone, brushing over the swell of her breast that peeked from the loose fabric of her dress. His mouth lingered, soft, teasing, pressing long, slow kisses that made her gasp and tremble. One hand cupped her hip, the other tracing the curve of her back, tilting her gently but insistently toward him, claiming her space with a confident hunger.
Her breath hitched, little whimpers escaping as his mouth moved lower, mapping her through the thin fabric of her dress. Every kiss was slow, claiming, worshipful—his eyes never leaving hers, dark, intense, as if saying without words, let me love you, let me worship you.
When he sank to his knees between her legs, the cool floor pressed against him, but the heat radiating from his body washed over her like fire. His face hovered level with her core, a heartbeat of stillness passing before the world dissolved around them. Eyes locked, breaths short and sharp, hearts beating in sync only they could hear.
With unhurried devotion, his hands glided from her knees to the delicate curve of her thighs, spreading her open inch by inch. The light brush of his fingers over the thin fabric covering her most intimate heat made her body shiver violently, hips tilting instinctively, one hand gripping the counter for support, the other threading into his hair, tugging gently as she whispered his name in a tremulous, needy plea.
San’s fingers found the slender string of her underwear, rolling the fabric slowly between them, almost torturous in its patience. Without breaking their eye contact, he drew them down—slow, deliberate, inching over her supple curves, past calves, until they pooled briefly at her heels. She inhaled sharply at her bare vulnerability under his unwavering gaze, hips lifting toward him like a silent, irresistible demand.
He lifted the discarded fabric, folding it neatly, slipping it into his pants pocket as if it were something sacred. A low groan rumbled through his chest at the sight of her, trembling, exposed, laid bare just for him. Leaning forward, he pressed a lingering kiss to the inside of her thigh, teeth grazing deliciously against the soft skin. As his lips moved higher, tantalizingly close to her core, her breath caught, a shudder ripping through her. His eyes lifted to hers again, unwavering, dark, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips—a silent promise of what was yet to come.
“You’re perfect,” he rasped, voice thick with awe and need. “Let me show you exactly how much you mean to me.”
His mouth returned to her thighs, hot and deliberate—kissing, licking, nibbling, leaving soft, lingering bruises and warmth on her skin. Each stroke of his tongue made her shiver, her pulse racing, every nerve alive under his touch. Then, finally, he shifted closer, breath scalding where she ached for him most. Her body jolted at the contact, a long, deliberate drag of his tongue coaxing a helpless whimper from deep in her chest.
Her thighs quivered, threatening to clamp shut, her head falling back as a broken moan tumbled from her lips. “Oh… San…” she gasped, high, trembling. Strong hands pressed against her inner thighs, holding her open, fingers digging just enough to mark, to claim, to ground her in his worship.
He groaned into her, the vibration rolling through her core, lost in her taste, intoxicated by every tremble, every shiver, every sound escaping her. His tongue alternated between slow, teasing licks and firmer strokes, lips closing around her clit in gentle, sucking kisses that drew cries she hadn’t known she had in her.
Her dress rode further up as he worked, exposing more of her skin to his hands. One hand drifted upward, cupping her breast through the loosened fabric, thumb circling her nipple until it peaked beneath his palm. She arched sharply, every nerve alight, fingers tangling in his hair, clutching him desperately as her hips pressed greedily into his mouth, moving in rhythm with the heat of his tongue.
“Fuck…” she moaned, trembling, shuddering, every sound raw and unrestrained, as he lavished her with attention, giving and taking in equal, intoxicating measure.
Her cries tore from her throat, raw and ragged, spiraling into helpless, shuddering waves. San’s groans answered, deep and rough, vibrating through her, echoing the way her body bent and writhed beneath him.
Her thighs shook violently, hips thrusting against the edge of his mouth as he pressed closer. One hand anchored her at the hip, holding her taut and pliant, while the other dove lower, two fingers slipping inside her with deliberate, greedy precision. He curled them expertly, hitting that perfect, burning spot again and again, while his tongue worshiped—no, devoted, adored, and celebrated—her clit with feverish intensity. Licks, flicks, gentle sucking, teasing, swirling; every motion was a promise, a claim, a declaration of unrestrained need. Her body shivered, gasped, and begged for more in a language she couldn’t speak aloud.
“Oh… fuck, San… I’m going to—” she cried, hips bucking, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer in desperate surrender.
“I’ve got you,” he rasped, eyes dark, pupils wide with raw hunger, voice low, commanding, yet tender in a way that made her melt. “Ride it with me. Let go for me. Let me take you apart.”
Her body convulsed with pleasure, trembling in every muscle as he curled his fingers deeper, brushing and pressing in ways that made her arch violently. His tongue danced and flicked in perfect, expert rhythm, tracing every twitch, every spasm, every gasp. He reveled in it—in her shivers, her cries, the helpless heat that pooled and spilled from her, pushing her closer and closer to that breaking point.
He could feel how she clenched and released, squeezing him with every shiver, each gasp, and each tremor of her hips. Sweat glistened along her skin, mixing with the slickness he was trying not to waste, coating her in a sheen that made him groan deep in his chest. Her taste, intoxicating and raw, clung to his tongue and lips, making him lose himself further in her, utterly consumed.
San’s own restraint unraveled, his hips thrusting subtly against the air, straining for friction, for release, caught between the need to taste her endlessly and the fire building inside him. He grunted low in his throat, fingers and tongue working together, each motion driving her higher, every gasp and whine from her turning him sharper, hungrier.
Her breath hitched, cries breaking in ragged, high-pitched bursts as her body trembled violently, hips rolling against his fingers and tongue in desperate, greedy rhythm. “…San! Fuck! I’m—”
“That’s it, cum for me, pretty thing. I want you to cum!” he groaned, voice hoarse, body trembling with need, fingers curling, pulsing inside her, tongue flicking and sucking, worshiping every inch of her, lost in her pleasure, utterly undone.
Her body arched violently, going taut, then shattering in a storm of sensation. Heat coursed through her in relentless waves, tearing a scream from her chest as her thighs clamped around his head, gripping him tightly as she gasped his name over and over. He held her with steady strength, one hand pressing her hips to keep her grounded while his mouth and fingers continued their relentless rhythm, coaxing every shiver, every gasp, every broken moan from her until she was writhing, trembling, undone entirely.
She was slick and dripping, her heat coating his fingers, seeping onto his tongue, tasting her fully, and he groaned, utterly lost in it. Every curve, every tremble, every pulse of her body against him sent a surge of desperate need racing through him. With his tongue flat and deliberate, he cleaned her, swallowing her essence greedily, relishing the taste and the way she clung to him, shivering and quivering in helpless surrender.
At last, he slowed, easing her down from the peak, his fingers stroking gently from inside her, curling and teasing until her hips stilled and her trembling softened. He pressed soft, reverent kisses along her inner thighs, lingering, savoring the warmth, the scent, the way she still throbbed from him. Every kiss was tender yet charged, a grounding tether after the storm of her pleasure.
When he lifted his head, his mouth glistening, eyes blown wide with raw hunger and awe, he murmured, voice rough, thick with need: “You’re incredible… so fucking beautiful.”
Her body still hummed from the aftershocks, trembling with need, when y/n pulled him to her, mouth crashing against his in a desperate, messy kiss. She tasted herself on his tongue, heat and sweetness mingling, raw and insistent. This kiss was no gentle teasing—it was teeth clashing, lips swollen, tongues meeting with wild hunger, full surrender. She moaned into him, fingers tangling fiercely in his hair, pulling him impossibly close, claiming him with the same greedy, desperate desire he had just shown her.
San groaned, deep and ragged, lips pressing fiercely to hers, teeth grazing her bottom lip as one hand fisted in her hair, tugging with desperate, possessive hunger. The other clawed down her spine, nails raking harshly over her bare skin, sending shivers through her as she arched against him. His hips rolled, hard and insistent, the thick bulge in his pants pressing against her core, teasing, straining, promising everything she wanted.
Her hands dove lower, fingers trembling but determined, fumbling at his belt, tugging at the buckle with sharp, urgent jerks. The metal clicked loudly in the still room, a deliciously loud signal of her intent. She wanted him inside her, wanted him stripped bare, and seeing the hunger flash in his dark eyes made her shiver with control.
He broke the kiss just long enough to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses along her throat, sucking, nipping, leaving tiny bruises across her tender skin. Her back arched, head tilting back, giving herself fully to him as she moved one hand to place it against his neck. Her thumb pressed into the wild thrum of his pulse while her palm spread across his throat, just enough pressure to make him groan and roll against her, hips grinding into hers, needy and helpless.
San’s moans grew raw, guttural, utterly unrestrained, vibrating straight into her chest. She could feel him straining, hard, pressing against her through the fabric, and she whimpered at the sensation, tugging him closer with greedy insistence. Each grind of his hips, each groan, each ragged exhale pressed a fire against her, making her slick heat drip and make a mess on his pants as she teased him further.
Her own breath came ragged, moans spilling uncontrollably as she reached for him again. One hand fumbled at the buckle of his belt, tugging it with trembling insistence, while the other traced the hard length straining against the fabric. Her fingers wrapped around him, feeling the warmth, the weight, the fullness that pressed urgently against her palm. He was bigger than she’d expected, impossibly heavy and hard, veins pulsing under her touch.
He rolled his hips again, harder, desperate, helpless, entirely undone by her touch. Lips and teeth bruising her skin, his tongue flicking to taste her sweat, his hands still clutching her hair and spine, San let out a guttural growl, entirely lost, and utterly hers. Her own breath came ragged, wanting to give back everything he’d just poured into her, making them both teeter closer to an edge neither wanting to leave unfinished.
Just as the belt came undone beneath her fingers, the sharp buzz of his phone shattered the moment. The sound cut through the haze of heat like ice water a second time.
They froze, panting, lips inches apart, foreheads pressed together. The buckle hung loose in her trembling hand, and San’s chest heaved against hers, sweat glistening along his skin, every muscle taut with need.
The phone buzzed again, insistent, almost mocking, demanding their attention. San’s jaw tightened, frustration flaring hot, dark, and raw. He pulled back just enough to glance at her, thumb brushing against her swollen lower lip, eyes dark with desire and irritation.
A low, ragged groan escaped him as his forehead fell to her shoulder, breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. “Fuck…” he muttered, voice rough, thick, still trembling with need. His fingers fumbled blindly, finally closing around the phone without lifting his gaze, keeping his forehead pressed to her bare skin, unwilling to let go entirely.
y/n’s chest rose and fell in frantic, shallow breaths, hand still tangled in the leather of his belt, heat radiating off him, sweat slick beneath her fingertips. Every pulse, every throb, every shiver from him pressed directly against her, and she swallowed hard, torn between the desperate, electric tension of desire and the cold, unwelcome intrusion of reality.
“Yeah?” His voice was gravelly, raw, brushing along her collarbone with each word, San’s hands lingered on her, but gentler now. Softer fingertips tracing lazy, delicate lines along her back, brushing against the swell of her waist and the curve of her hips. His lips pressed quiet, feather-light kisses against her shoulder, each one a whisper of devotion, a silent apology for the sudden interruption.
y/n exhaled a soft laugh, chest loosening, the tight coil of tension unraveling slightly as she threaded her fingers through his dark hair, tugging and stroking in slow, soothing circles. Every careful touch, every tiny caress, seemed to anchor them both, grounding the whirlwind of heat that had passed. Her hand trailed lower now and then, gliding down his back tracing the tailored lines of his jacket, each movement deliberate, tender, and lingering—proof that desire could coexist with care.
On the other end, Wooyoung’s voice was sharp, fast, insistent. San’s body stiffened beneath her hands, a muttered “Shit,” escaping him as he straightened abruptly, eyes wide and flickering with panic. The serene intimacy cracked at the edges, leaving y/n’s fingers still tangled in his hair, her touch a gentle tether holding him even as reality intruded.
y/n’s brows knitted, silent question burning in her gaze: What is it?
San ended the call in one sharp movement, jaw tight, thumb pressing the screen until it went dark. His eyes flicked back to her, dark, heavy with apology, with the ache of everything they were leaving behind.
“I have to go,” he muttered, voice strained, a raw edge of frustration threading through.
But even as the words left him, his lips found hers again, urgent, grazing over her neck, across her shoulder, over the tops of her breasts still half-exposed by the loose fabric of her dress. Each kiss was sharp, hungry, desperate—nibbles and bites interspersed with feather-light licks, as if he needed to mark her before pulling away.
“What happened?” she breathed, trembling under his mouth.
He groaned low, dragging his lips to her ear, murmuring between kisses, “Wooyoung… he’s babysitting Soo-bin tonight.” His lips trailed down her neck again, warm, relentless, his teeth caught gently on her skin, his tongue soothing after.
“I promised I’d be back after dinner…” A sharp suck at the base of her neck made her gasp, fingers tangling in his hair. “And it’s… already past midnight.”
Her hand cupped the back of his neck, thumb hovering against the rapid thrum of his pulse, holding him close, grounding him. The other hand fumbled at his jacket, tugging helplessly, caught between keeping him near and letting him go.
San’s lips found hers again, devouring, tongue sliding and teasing as if he could memorize every taste, every sound.
He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, dark pupils blown wide, raw need spilling from them. “I don’t want to leave you like this,” he murmured, voice broken, thick with want, every word pressed against her skin like a plea.
One hand slid under the hem of her dress, fingers trembling over the warmth of her thigh, brushing, teasing, claiming. It was desperate, clumsy with need, but reverent in the way he lingered, as if every second of touch could anchor him to her.
“Not now…” he gasped, lips hovering over her mouth, sentence unfinished, but heavy with meaning. Not when you’re trembling like this. Not when I can feel every pulse, every sigh, every shiver under my hands. Not when I’m aching for you this much.
Heat radiated off them both, skin slick with the press of their bodies, breaths mingling, hearts hammering in a frantic rhythm, caught between the agony of leaving and the delirium of being impossibly, desperately close.
y/n’s breath caught as he pressed their foreheads together, eyes finally finding hers—dark, wide, shimmering with a raw, aching longing that had nothing to do with lust alone. “You have no idea… how much I crave you,” he murmured, voice trembling on the last word, almost fragile. His hands slid around her waist, drawing her flush against him, needing to feel every inch of her before the night slipped away.
She felt the depth of his need—in the way his fingers traced the curve of her back, in the way his nose brushed the line of her jaw, inhaling her scent as if he could carry it with him. When he kissed her again, it was slow, soft, desperate—a plea wrapped in every press of his lips.
Another low groan rumbled through him as he broke the kiss, his thumb brushing slowly over her lower lip, tracing its curve with careful, adoring attention. The other hand lifted to her hair, fingers threading through the strands, smoothing the stray pieces and gently dabbing at the smudged makeup beneath her eyes. Every movement was deliberate, soft—an unspoken promise to take care of her.
“Every time I’m with you…” he murmured, voice husky and low, his thumb lingering against her lip, fingertips brushing her cheek, “I lose track of everything else. Time. Promises. The whole damn world.” His body pressed close, warm, tethered to her as if proximity alone could hold back the ache of leaving.
“San…” she whispered, voice tender, heart softening at the careful, devoted gestures. Her words threaded through him, soothing the raw coil of need and tension that had been building, grounding them both in the quiet intimacy of the moment.
His touches slowed, but with no less yearning, hands trembling slightly as he lingered over her, almost afraid to break contact. She lifted her hands, cradling his face back, thumbs brushing along the planes of his cheeks, grounding him, anchoring him.
“Hey,” she whispered again, firmer this time, demanding his attention even though she already has it. “It’s okay.”
He shook his head, jaw tight, a subtle whimper escaping, and she leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to his forhead—not just to quiet him, but to tether him back to her. His hands cupped her face with the same care, thumbs caressing her cheekbones, tracing tiny circles over her skin as their eyes locked, flicking between gaze and lips in a wordless conversation.
“Responsibilities first, baby,” she breathed, a soft smile tugging at her lips as she kept her hands pressed to his face. “Go take care of your daughter. I’ll always be here.”
He exhaled, shuddering slightly. Every touch, every press of his hands, every subtle tilt of his head spoke of the ache she had ignited in him. “God… you make it impossible to leave,” he rasped, voice low, vulnerable, almost pleading, silently begging her to let him stay just a little longer.
And when he finally stepped back—breathless, flushed, still trembling from everything they hadn’t done—she could still feel him everywhere: his touch, his scent, the weight of his words lingering on her skin like a promise.
They lingered in the kitchen, trying to gather themselves, though neither looked remotely put together. y/n tugged at the hem of her dress, smoothing fabric over trembling thighs, but with her panties gone and tucked away in San’s pocket, there was no hiding what they’d just done.
San raked a hand through his hair, still mussed from her grip, tie loosened, shirt wrinkled beneath the jacket he hadn’t bothered to take off. The sight of him like that—every bit as undone as she was—nearly made her laugh, but her heart was still pounding too hard.
“God…” she whispered, almost to herself, shaking her head.
He only grinned at her, cheeky, breathless, the corners of his mouth curling like he wanted to drag her right back onto the counter.
Her heels clicked softly on the tiled floor as she crossed to him, fussing with his jacket lapel, pretending composure she didn’t feel. Her kitchen now smelled of him—of them—and every brush of her fingers over his chest sent his hands twitching with the urge to grab her again.
She walked him to the door, San following like a shadow, his hand sliding around her waist to cling to her from behind. His chest pressed against her back, cheek resting near her hair, each step reluctant, as though leaving her warmth was the hardest thing he’d ever do.
At the door, he paused, finally forcing himself to step back—only to really look at her. Her dress a little askew, hair deliciously mussed. Her eyes shone with that hazy, bliss-drunk glow, cheeks still pink, chest rising and falling too quickly. She looked sinful and dangerously exposed.
San’s lips curved into a grin, low and wicked, a laugh rumbling in his chest as he leaned on the doorframe. “Shit…” his voice dropped, playful, thick with tease, “if I didn’t have to leave right now, I’d ruin you all over again. You look so wrecked, love.”
y/n’s jaw dropped, scandalized heat rushing to her cheeks. “San!” she hissed, smacking his chest, her laugh bubbling despite herself.
He groaned playfully, like she’d fed into it, eyes gleaming as he leaned closer, whispering in her ear, “I’d love to bend you over one of these counters sometime. You wouldn’t be able to walk in those heels the next day.”
Her knees wobbled at the heat in his tone, but she laughed anyway, the blush climbing her throat. “Go! Before I actually lock the door and you never leave.” she laughed, half-scolding, trying to separate him from her body.
“God, I can’t wait to see you again,” he murmured, voice suddenly softer, heavier with meaning.
And before she could say anything else, he stole one last kiss—messy, lingering, his teeth catching her lower lip until she pushed him back with both hands, giggling breathlessly, cheeks burning. “Go!” she repeated between laughs, shoving him toward the street.
He chuckled, shooting her a grin over his shoulder as he finally stepped out, the echo of his warmth still clinging to her skin. Jacket still rumpled, tie loose, her panties a warm weight in his pocket. And when the door shut, she leaned back against it, breathless, fingers pressed to her lips, heart pounding like it hadn’t yet realized he was gone.
Her chest heaved, heart racing, and she whispered into the empty kitchen, almost in disbelief, “What the hell are you doing to me, San?”
Summary: A cabin in the mist, rain tapping against the windows, firelight flickering across warm, quiet rooms. Two souls surrender to touch, laughter, and whispered promises, discovering that love isn’t perfect—it’s real, fragile, and worth everything. In this weekend of breath, heartbeats, and pine-scented peace, they find home in each other.
Genre: Fluff, Smut.
Warnings: Self depricating jokes, maybe a little bit of language. There may be too much description of things. Food as a love language. Explicit sexual content (18+), Post-intimacy tenderness / aftercare, Emotional vulnerability / confession, Oral (male receiving) Penetration, Unprotected sex (no condom or pregnancy mention), Squirting / Overstimulation, Biting, scratching, and marking, Fingering, Creampie, Manhandling? Alcohol use (consensual / recreational) crying during sex.
Word Count: 15k
A/N: ohhh hiiii!! 🥰
so… it’s finally happening… this story is coming to an end 😭💗 but i swear, this chapter… too much, too sweet, but we all need it. our lovebirds deserve so much love and i couldn’t help myself 🫶
i ended up dividing it in two because… let’s be honest… it was veerryyy long 😅 double reward, right? i was legit giggling and kicking my feet the entire time i wrote and proofread this 😭 got a little carried away… but it’s for the best, promise!
the last chapter got so much love and honestly it made me so happy 😭 glad you enjoyed it, even if it wore me out trying to make it perfect 🥲 sorry for being late with this one too…
hope you love it 💖💖💖
if you’re still carrying that last chapter sadness around… pls do yourself a favor and check out my last Mingi fic 😏 guaranteed smiles, zero regrets. you’ll thank me later, I promise
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The storm rolled softly through the morning, rain tapping at the windows like it was trying to be let in. The gray light that filtered through the curtains was thin and cold, brushing against the floorboards, against the edges of the bed where San lay still. The air carried that faint scent of wet leaves and earth—the smell of autumn settling deep into the bones.
He was asleep—peaceful in a way that felt almost foreign. His breathing steady, his shoulders no longer drawn tight. The weight on his chest had eased, replaced by the lingering memory of warmth pressed against his side. Her heartbeat had lulled him into sleep, her voice the last thing that carried him into quiet.
He shifted, reaching across the sheets—seeking her. But his fingers met nothing but cool cotton.
His eyes fluttered open, slow, disoriented. The other half of the bed was empty, the faint indentation already fading. The clothes he lent her last night were neatly folded beside the pillow—a small, careful goodbye.
A sigh escaped him before he could help it, his face falling into the pillow again. The warmth from last night was gone—like it had never been there at all.
He huffed softly, dragging the blanket over his face. Just five more minutes of pretending. Pretending she was still there, pretending the storm didn’t sound so lonely.
But then—soft footsteps.
Tiny, quick, unmistakable.
The door creaked open just a little, and then all at once.
“Appa!”
Soo-bin’s voice burst through the quiet as she sprinted across the room, her hair a mess, pajamas rumpled, smile brighter than the gray morning light. She climbed onto the bed in one swift jump, landing right against his chest with a delighted giggle.
San couldn’t help it—the smallest smile tugged at his lips as he opened one sleepy eye.
“Good morning, sunshine,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
San lifted the corner of the duvet with a tired little grunt, making room for Soo-bin to crawl in beside him. She wiggled under the covers, her small hands instantly finding his chest, face half-buried against his shirt.
He hummed low, the kind of sound that wasn’t quite awake but was full of love anyway, wrapping an arm around her and pressing a kiss into her hair.
For a few seconds, it was easy—just the rhythm of her breathing, the faint purr of rain against the window. But Soo-bin had never been one to let quiet win.
“Appa,” she said suddenly, her voice bright and eager. “Last night was so fun! y/n made the best rice ever. And everyone was laughing—and Uncle Hwa ate so much he said he’d explode!”
San’s lips curved into a lazy smile. “Did he now?” he murmured, half-asleep.
“Uh-huh! And Jjongs said I could help him next time. I wanna help, Appa!” He nodded slowly, still hovering in that soft space between sleep and waking. “Sounds like a plan, Bin.”
But even as he smiled, the words from last night crept in—Soon-ja’s voice, sharp and harsh. He felt the echo of it all behind his ribs. The sting hadn’t faded, not really. Beneath it lingered a quieter dread—the what if. The thought that, for a moment, he could have lost her. That someone could’ve taken Soo-bin from his arms, from his life. It settled deep in his chest, heavy and cold, even as he tried to push it down, to keep his voice steady for her sake.
He leaned in then, pressing a soft kiss to her hair, breathing her in. The weight of her against him, the warmth of her small body—proof that she was here, safe, his. Gratitude flooded through him in a slow, aching rush. He hadn’t realized how much he needed her close until that moment.
She looked up at him suddenly, frowning at the silence. “Appa? You okay?”
He blinked once, the question snapping him back. He smiled again, softer this time. “Yeah, I’m okay, dumpling.”
Before he could say more, a soft thump landed at the foot of the bed. Byeol had appeared like a little ghost, tail flicking in sleepy demand. She meowed pointedly, stretching her front paws against the duvet before climbing up to claim a warm spot in San’s lap.
Soo-bin giggled, reaching out to pet her. “She’s hungry,” she announced.
San exhaled through a quiet laugh, the first real one of the morning. “You and me both,” he said, sitting up at last. Byeol meowed again, louder this time, as if to agree.
“Alright, alright,” he murmured, ruffling Soo-bin’s hair. “Come on, let’s feed the beast before she starts a rebellion.”
Soo-bin jumped out of bed first, already chattering about pancakes and chocolate chips as she ran toward the kitchen, oblivious that y/n had been there. Byeol hopped down after her, tail high, a shadow of grace in her steps.
She hadn’t seen her sneak in late that night, hadn’t heard the quiet creak of the bedroom door or the whisper of sheets when y/n slipped into bed beside her father. She’d slept through it all—safe and dreaming—while the adults were busy mending hearts.
San lingered only a second, rubbing the back of his neck before following them out, bare feet meeting the cold floor. The storm outside was still there, whispering against the glass—but in the kitchen, there was light waiting. Soo-bin clambered up onto one of the stools, kicking her feet and humming to herself.
That’s when he saw it—a small note left on the kitchen island, folded once, her handwriting looping across the front. San
He picked it up, thumb brushing the edge before opening it.
Sorry, had to leave early for the market. big delivery day!
There’s breakfast in the oven to keep it warm.
I love you. <3
His lips parted around a quiet exhale, the corners tugging up into a real smile. For a heartbeat, he just breathed—relief threading through his chest. She hadn’t left. Not like he’d feared this morning. Not like Soon-ja had.
Her words still echoed somewhere in the back of his mind—She’s going to leave too, just like I did. But looking at the small heart she’d drawn, he felt that weight loosen, replaced by something steady, something full. He traced a finger over the mark, a slow warmth spreading through his ribs.
Beside him, Soo-bin leaned over the counter, curious. “What’s that, Appa?”
He smiled, tucking the note carefully against the fruit bowl. “A message from y/n,” he said. “She made us breakfast.”
Her face lit up. “Really? What is it?”
San crouched to open the oven, a faint wave of warmth meeting his face. The scent was rich—earthy, nutty, with something buttery and sweet underneath.
He pulled out a tray and set it on the counter: two bowls of congee, creamy and golden from simmered rice and roasted pumpkin, topped with a drizzle of sesame oil and a handful of crisp spring onion. Beside them, a small plate of fluffy scallion pancakes still steaming.
Soo-bin leaned in, eyes wide. “Whoa. It smells like grandma’s house!”
San chuckled softly, grabbing a spoon and setting one bowl in front of her. “Yes it does...”
He poured himself tea while she started eating, the rhythmic tap of her spoon filling the quiet. The cat wound around his legs, mewing for attention, tail brushing his ankle.
San glanced down, then back at the breakfast—warm, careful, full of love in every detail. His chest tightened, but this time not from ache. From something he didn’t need to hide.
“Yeah,” he murmured to no one in particular, watching Soo-bin smile between bites. “She really thought of everything.”
He sat with her for a while, letting the morning settle around them—the sound of clinking spoons, soft humming, the faint scent of tea and sunlight. When Soo-bin finished, she slipped off her chair and padded toward the living room, crayons already in hand.
By the time San stood to clear the table, the house had fully woken.
San balanced the phone between his shoulder and ear while rinsing the last of the dishes. Soo-bin hummed at the coffee table nearby, tongue poking out as she colored in a lopsided cat. Byeol watched her from the couch, tail flicking lazily.
When the call finally connected, the familiar sound of bustling market chatter spilled through the line—vendors calling, boxes shifting, y/n’s muffled laughter somewhere in between.
“Hey, love,” San said, his voice low, still rough from sleep. “You’re up early for a weekend.”
“Early?” she scoffed. “Try five a.m. You think all those pretty breakfast things just walk to the counter by themselves?”
He chuckled, balancing the phone between his shoulder and ear as he rinsed the last dish. Water trickled quietly under his words. “I called because I wanted to thank you—for breakfast.”
There was a pause, then the faint sound of her shifting the phone, the rustle of paper bags. “Mm.” She clicked her tongue, teasing. “That’s the least I could do after invading your personal space.”
“My personal space?” he echoed, drying his hands on a towel.
“Your side of the bed,” she corrected, laughing under her breath. “You know—borrowing your blanket, stealing your pillow, maybe using one of your shirts...”
He leaned against the counter, eyes softening, he grinned, voice dipping. “You call that stealing?”
“What would you call it, then?”
San took a slow breath, listening to the rhythm of her day on the other end—a voice bargained over herbs, her quiet thank-you to a vendor. Somehow, even through the noise, she felt close. “Keeping the spot warm,” he murmured.
Her laughter came quieter this time, touched with something shy. “You’re impossible.”
“Mm.” His grin curved against the phone. “And you’re terrible at sleeping in on weekends.”
“I’ll sleep when the day stops needing me,” she said, a smile audible in her voice.
He exhaled softly, the warmth of it fogging the air between words. “Guess I’ll have to find new ways to make you rest, then.”
There was a pause on her end, followed by the faint crinkle of paper and the murmur of a vendor calling out prices. Somewhere behind her, someone laughed, a basket clattered shut.
“Still,” she murmured, voice quieter now. “Sorry I didn’t wake you before leaving. You looked… peaceful. Didn’t have the heart to ruin that.”
San’s hand stilled halfway through wiping the counter. The apartment felt too still after her voice—like the warmth she’d left behind was still lingering in the air. “I don’t remember the last time I slept that well,” he said honestly.
“Happy to hear that, baby.” The pet name slipped out soft, unthinking, natural. A short pause followed, then—more careful, more tentative—“So… how are you feeling? After last night.”
He hesitated, glancing toward the living room. Soo-bin sat cross-legged on the rug, tongue poking out in concentration as she colored, a blue streak already smudged across her cheek. “Still… sorting it out, I guess.”
“Sorting,” she repeated, tasting the word. “That sounds like code for ‘not great but pretending to be.’”
A faint smile curved his mouth. “You know me too well.”
“I try,” she said softly, and he could almost hear the small smile in it before she changed the subject, letting the moment breathe. “Anyway, I’m glad you liked breakfast.”
“Liked?” he echoed, leaning against the counter. “You made my kid say, ‘It smells like grandma’s house.’ That’s practically a Michelin review.”
Her laugh carried through the speaker—light and warm, tangled with the sound of boxes shifting and wheels rolling across pavement. The kind of laugh that softened the edges of his morning. “Tell her she can be my marketing manager.”
San’s gaze lingered on Soo-bin—on the little hearts she was drawing around a crooked cat. “She already thinks you’re a superhero.”
“I’m just her dad’s girlfriend,” y/n said after a moment, quieter now, her voice barely cutting through the noise of the market. Then, softer still, “Trying not to mess that up.”
San’s chest tightened in a way that made him swallow, a small smile tugging at his lips. Girlfriend. The word felt different out loud, somehow heavier, sweeter, real. y/n—her—was his girlfriend. And despite the nerves fluttering in his stomach, he couldn’t help but feel that quiet, shy happiness bloom.
He cleared his throat. There were a thousand things he could’ve said—truths and reassurances all crowding behind his teeth—but in the end, he just murmured, steady and certain, “You couldn’t. Even if you tried.”
For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke. The silence between them wasn’t empty—it hummed with things they weren’t brave enough to name.
Then came her voice again, small but teasing, like a hand reaching out through the static. “Careful, San. You’re starting to sound like you mean it.”
His smile was quiet, real. “I do.”
Another pause. A cart squeaked across wet pavement on her end. Then—
“I should go before I run out of mackerel and patience. I’ll see you later, okay?”
He let out a soft breath, watching Soo-bin lift her drawing toward the cat as if showing it off. “Yeah,” he said, voice low. “Drive safe.”
“Always do,” she murmured—and then the line went quiet, the sound of her world fading back into his.
San let the silence linger after the call ended, the faint hum of rain against the windows settling around him. He placed his phone on the counter, took one last deep breath, and wandered back to the living room.
Byeol had claimed the couch, curled in her usual spot like a pale, elegant question mark. San sank down beside her, the fabric sighing under his weight. She blinked up at him, unimpressed but tolerant, and when he reached out to stroke her fur, she leaned into his palm with a low, contented purr.
His fingers moved in slow, steady motions, the repetitive rhythm a quiet kind of therapy. The storm outside rumbled faintly, a low reminder of how cold the world could feel—yet here, the small warmth of fur and heartbeat felt like safety.
San watched Soo-bin for a moment, the corners of his mouth lifting. “What’ve we got there, dumpling?” he asked, his voice still rough from sleep but soft.
She perked up instantly, holding up her masterpiece with both hands. The drawing was bright and messy—three stick figures standing under a crooked sun, a gray cat between them. One figure, with a swirl of long hair, held a spoon like a sword.
“That’s you, that’s me, and that’s y/n!” she announced proudly. “And Byeol too, but she looks like a potato.”
San laughed quietly, the sound low and genuine. “Hey, that’s a very handsome potato. And—wow, you gave me muscles. Nice touch.”
Soo-bin giggled, leaning over her picture to add another heart in the corner. “’Cause you’re strong,” she said simply.
Something in his chest tugged, deep and tender. There was a little detail—small, easily missed—that made his heartbeat stutter and warm all at once. A quiet ache, the kind that made him want to pause time and memorize this. He leaned forward, brushing a kiss over her hair. “You think so, huh?”
“Mm-hmm. And y/n makes you smile more,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
San’s hand froze halfway through patting her head. For a second, he didn’t trust his voice—too full of love, exhaustion, and that strange ache of being seen so clearly by someone so small.
He swallowed, steadying himself. “Yeah,” he murmured finally, voice barely above a breath. “She does.”
San laughed again, lighter this time, feeling the warmth in his chest settle. That tiny drawing—the crooked sun, the stick figures, the little details—had left a quiet pulse behind his ribs, filling him with a fullness that was both raw and tender.
He stayed there for a while, listening to his daughter hum, the cat purring beside him, rain whispering against the windows. For the first time since last night, the heaviness in his chest had eased, if only a little.
The trunk clicked shut with a dull thud. y/n exhaled, brushing her palms over her jeans, the faint smell of earth and citrus clinging to her skin. Boxes of vegetables, bundles of herbs tied with twine, and the faint clatter of glass jars filled the back of her car—her delivery day ritual, steady and grounding. She leaned against the door for a second, eyes fluttering closed.
The wind carried a bite of autumn, sharp enough to sting, soft enough to wake her.
Then she climbed into the driver’s seat, fingers still cold as she turned the key. The engine came alive with a quiet hum.
The city was already buzzing—horns, brakes, early chatter spilling from open windows. She eased into the line of cars, her mind slipping somewhere far from the noise.
San.
The memory pressed against her ribs like a bruise. The way he’d looked last night, small beneath the covers, breath uneven until she reached him. How his hand had found hers in sleep, a fragile, wordless plea not to leave. She had lain still, afraid even breathing too loud might break him.
She’d seen him smile, tease, grow frustrated, exhausted—but never like that. Stripped of the armor he always wore, of everything he pretended to be. It was as if the man she’d fallen for had finally let her glimpse the boy he had been before the world demanded him stronger than anyone should ever have to be.
Her throat tightened. She gripped the steering wheel harder, blinking away the dampness gathering in her eyes.
She’d promised herself she didn’t want this again—not this ache, not this fear of losing something so precious. But it was too late. Somewhere between his laughter and his silences, she had stumbled right back into the one thing she swore she’d never let herself feel again.
Love.
And worse—belonging.
The traffic crawled forward. y/n tapped her fingers against the wheel, heart heavy with warmth and pain. She thought of Soo-bin’s drawings taped on the fridge, Byeol curling at her feet while she chopped vegetables, the way San’s voice softened when he said her name. A family. Something fragile. Something real.
A small, trembling smile curved her lips. She wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Still, her chest ached remembering last night—the way Soon-ja’s words had left San looking hollow, dimming his eyes in a way that made her want to tear the world apart just to make him breathe easier again.
The tart, the restaurant’s spotlight, the polite applause from the guests—it all faded. None of it mattered. What mattered was his eyes—tired, aching, beautiful eyes—looking at her like she was something safe.
Traffic finally began to move, and she followed, a tear breaking free before she could stop it. She let it fall, no one around to see.
The car idled forward a few inches before stopping again, the line of red brake lights stretching endlessly ahead. y/n sighed, resting her temple against the cold window. The rain hadn’t stopped since she woke up, blurring the shapes of cars and people into watercolor shadows. Wipers swept lazily, matching the slow pulse of her thoughts.
For once, she didn’t mind the traffic. The stillness of it—the soft hiss of tires, the rhythm of rain—felt like permission to stop. To breathe.
She needed that. He deserved that. A moment to feel light again, even just for a weekend.
Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel. Without overthinking it, she reached for her phone on the passenger seat, thumb hesitating just a second before pressing call.
One tone. Two. Then three—
“Unnie?” came Hyejin’s familiar, sleepy voice through the speaker.
y/n smiled faintly, trying to steady her tone. “Hey, Jin. Sorry for calling this early. You busy?”
“Not really. Just my morning coffee and my dog judging me. What’s up?”
y/n glanced at the windshield, watching the drops slide down in thin, silver trails. “I wanted to ask you something,” she began, keeping her voice light, careful not to let the ache slip through. “Does your mom still have that cabin outside Seoul? The one in the forest with the fireplace?”
Hyejin hummed, curiosity flickering in her tone. “Yeah… she still rents it out sometimes. Why?”
y/n hesitated, a smile ghosting over her lips as she pictured San’s tired eyes softening under warm firelight, the quiet hum of nature replacing the city’s noise.
“I think I need a favor,” she said softly, almost to herself. “And… maybe someone else needs it even more.”
Traffic inched forward again, the world moving slowly around her—but finally, she felt like she was finally doing something that mattered.
By Friday night, the restaurant pulsed as if it had a heartbeat of its own.
Every table filled, laughter spilling over the clatter of dishes and the low thrum of music. Heat and chatter, perfume and pepper, wine and worry—all folding together into something alive.
y/n moved through it like current through a wire. Fast. Focused. Her apron already streaked with sauce, the back of her neck damp from the stove’s breath.
Jongho called out something about the ravioli being ready, and she turned just in time to plate, her hands moving in muscle memory—steady even when her mind flickered elsewhere.
“Japchae for table twelve!” someone shouted.
“On it!” Jongho barked, voice half-drowned by Lucas’s set now warming the room—smooth funk blending into easy bass, laughter syncing with rhythm. In one corner, Lucas bobbed his head behind his makeshift DJ setup, drink balanced on the edge of the counter.
Service was chaos, but beautiful chaos—the kind y/n lived for. Plates out. Orders shouted. Wine glasses chiming. The smell of olive oil and garlic hung in the air like a promise.
Still, beneath the hum of movement, she felt it—the faint tug of something softer, quieter. A memory of San’s tired eyes. The way she’d caught herself staring at his peaceful state in his bed that morning.
But there wasn’t time to linger. Not now.
“Chef, order up!”
She nodded sharply, sliding a dish onto the pass with clean, practiced motion. “Let’s keep it moving!”
Around her, the team was a blur—Jongho at the grill, sweat glinting on his brow; Hana lining desserts with precise, almost reverent care; servers flowing between tables like dancers. Everything worked. Everything hummed.
The rhythm was relentless—orders firing one after another, the hiss of the stove blending with clattering pans and shouted times. Only professionals could keep this pace; one slip and the current would pull you under.
Even so, her mind drifted. She hadn’t seen San since that night. His voice on the phone lingered like warmth she couldn’t shake. She missed him more than she wanted to admit in the middle of service—his quiet smile, the weight of his touch, the rare peace she’d finally felt beside him.
But tonight, she reminded herself, was different.
Tonight, they were leaving for Hyejin’s mother’s cabin—a weekend away from the noise, the service, the plates, the ache. Just them, the quiet, and the sound of trees.
The thought carried her for a moment—until the door at the front swung open again.
y/n didn’t look up right away, assuming it was another couple walking in without a reservation, hopeful smiles hiding entitled expectations. She motioned for the maître to handle it, her focus staying glued to the plate before her.
A piece of white fish gleamed under the pass light. Her tweezers moved delicately, placing thin slivers of microgreens along the top, finishing with a drizzle of bright citrus oil. She leaned closer, eyes narrowing, hands steady. “Order up in three—”
“Chef?”
The voice was soft, warm—and achingly familiar.
Her head snapped up. For a heartbeat, everything else blurred—the noise, the heat, the lights. All that existed was him.
San stood at the counter, that crooked, boyish smile tugging at his lips, trying and failing to disguise himself in the chaos of waiters rushing past. His hair was a little messy, his eyes tired but bright, that gentle warmth in them undoing her completely.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said, playing along, voice teasing. “Just checking if the chef’s taking orders.”
Her breath caught, and before she could stop herself, her smile broke wide across her face—pure, unguarded joy. “You’re ridiculous,” she said, already stepping around the counter.
Jongho’s shout about ticket times faded into the background as she crossed the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She didn’t care who saw.
The moment she reached him, her hands were already on his face, his warmth under her palms grounding her more than any rhythm or routine could. She pressed her lips to his—quick, breathless, full of everything she hadn’t said in days.
He laughed softly against her mouth, his hand finding her waist for a heartbeat before she pulled back, eyes still locked on his.
“You’re really here,” she breathed, still a little dazed.
“Couldn’t wait for the weekend to start,” he said, voice low, playful—but with that trace of care she knew too well.
“Sit at the bar,” she said, still smiling, still catching her breath. “I’ll get you a glass of wine.”
He shook his head, eyes glinting. “Can’t. I’m your ride later, remember? Can’t have a drunk chauffeur.”
She rolled her eyes, grabbing a tall glass instead. “Fine. Sparkling water, lemon, cucumber. Two ice rocks, just how you like it.”
“See?” he said, grinning as she poured. “You do know me too well.”
“Unfortunately,” she teased back, sliding the drink toward him. But even as she turned to grab another plate, she couldn’t stop herself from glancing at him—again and again.
He looked lighter tonight.
But so did she.
Time blurred. Service slowed, the once-relentless rhythm softening into something gentler—plates sent out one by one, tables clearing, laughter and clinking glasses fading into the low murmur of content diners.
y/n wiped down the counters, her movements instinctive, precise even in the lull. The last plates gleamed under the dim light, the air heavy with the scent of citrus and smoke.
Across the pass, San still sat perched on the bar stool, one elbow resting on the counter, his fingers idly circling the rim of his half-empty glass. His eyes never left her—not once.
There was something in his gaze that made her chest tighten every time she caught it. Something quiet and overflowing all at once. And everyone saw it.
Jongho had been the first to notice, nudging Hana with a half-smile. Then Lucas, still by the DJ booth, let out a teasing whistle.
But the laughter that rippled through the staff wasn’t cruel—it was soft, knowing. A kind of collective envy wrapped in affection. They’d all seen y/n work through storms before, but never with someone waiting for her like that.
San didn’t care. He just smiled, resting his chin on his hand, watching her with a patience that made time feel slower.
When Jongho finally stepped forward, he reached out and gently tugged the dishcloth from her fingers. “Go,” he said, tone firm but smiling. “Before I regret letting you leave me here with closing.”
She hesitated for a second, eyes darting between him and the spotless counter, then let out a breathless laugh. “You sure?”
“Chef,” he said, deadpan, “get out of your kitchen.”
That earned him a grateful smile—and then she pulled him into a quick hug, the kind that said thank you without words. “You’re the best, Jongho.”
“I know,” he said, rolling his eyes but already reaching for the next pan.
y/n untied her apron, folding it neatly before tossing it onto the counter. Her hands moved faster now—heart light, adrenaline from the night still humming in her veins. She darted to the small break corner near the pantry, retrieving her travel bag.
When she turned, San was still there, still watching her. The sight alone made her grin.
She walked straight toward him, steps quick, sure. Stopping behind his stool, she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his hair, one hand sliding gently around the back of his neck. The warmth of him hit her instantly—the calm to her chaos.
“Ready?” she whispered, voice soft against his ear.
He tilted his head up just enough to look at her, eyes crinkling with that easy affection that undid her every time. “Been ready all week.”
She laced her fingers through his, tugging him toward the front door. “Let’s get out of here before someone throws another order in.”
“Bye, guys!” she called back, laughter spilling out of her as she waved toward the kitchen. “Lucas, lock up!”
“Always do, boss!” he shouted, still smirking behind the decks.
From the kitchen, Jongho’s voice rang out, mock-serious: “Don’t forget to text when you get there!”
Then they were gone—y/n pulling San along, the hum of the restaurant fading behind them, replaced by the night air outside.
She was eager, happy, electric. It wasn’t just relief—it was joy. Pure, unfiltered joy.
Tonight, she wasn’t just closing a restaurant. She was stepping into something that finally, finally felt like home.
The road stretched ahead, rain drumming steadily on the windshield, engine humming beneath them. City lights had long faded, swallowed by the dark silhouette of mountains. Headlights from passing cars flashed briefly, silvering the interior.
y/n leaned against the window, reflection hazy, a faint, tired smile brushing her lips—calm after surviving another chaotic night.
Beside her, San drove in easy silence. One hand on the wheel, the other resting on her thigh, thumb tracing slow, absent circles over her jeans. His body thrummed from adrenaline, his mind dulled by relief.
“You look like you’re about to fall asleep,” y/n murmured, voice low.
He huffed a quiet laugh. “I’m fine. Just thinking.”
She smirked, half-lidded. “Dangerous.”
“Mm,” he said, corner of his mouth lifting. “Not tonight. Soo-bin’s happy—couldn’t stop talking about the weekend with Yeosang. Apparently, he and ‘Emma’ are the best hosts ever.”
y/n chuckled. “Emma might love her more than he loves Yeosang.”
“Yeah,” San murmured. “Kid’s got that effect on everyone.”
Silence settled again—comfortable, filled with rain on glass, low guitar chords drifting through the speakers.
His thumb kept moving, slow, grounding, tracing lines up her thigh. Not intentionally seductive, yet she shivered each time his fingers brushed higher.
y/n shifted closer. Her hand found the back of his neck, fingertips threading through his hair, massaging tension away. He leaned into her touch, shoulders dropping, exhaling deep and content.
No words were needed—not here.
Just the rhythm of the road, the rain, and the quiet current between them. Every glance, every touch, pulsing with something deeper.
For the first time since they met, there were no distractions. No responsibilities waiting around the next bend. Only them—tired, happy, and finally free to just be.
When they reached the cabin, it was almost midnight. The driveway was swallowed in mist, the structure emerging through the rain like a fragment of memory. Wooden walls darkened by the downpour, a slanted roof heavy with droplets, lanterns glowing dimly on the porch.
It looked exactly like what they needed—simple, secluded, the kind of place where the world couldn’t reach them.
San parked the car, turning off the engine. The rain roared louder instantly, hammering against the windshield. For a second, they just sat there—breathing, smiling, soaking in the sound.
“Ready?” he asked.
y/n glanced at him, the corner of her mouth curling up. “As I’ll ever be.”
They burst out of the car, laughter cutting through the storm. The rain was cold and relentless, soaking them before they’d even made it halfway up the path. She ran ahead, one hand clutching her bag, the other tangled with his.
“San!” she squealed through the rain, “You’re supposed to cover me!”
“I am!” he protested, trying to stretch his arm over her like a makeshift umbrella, but it only made them stumble closer, bumping shoulders as they ran. Both were drenched within seconds—hair dripping, clothes clinging—but neither cared.
By the time they reached the porch, y/n was breathless, cheeks flushed, laughter spilling from her like it hadn’t in years. She crouched quickly, brushing wet strands from her forehead as she moved one of the rocks by the step.
“There you are,” she muttered, fishing out a small brass key.
But before she could slot it into the lock, San’s arms circled her waist from behind, pulling her back against his chest. His lips brushed her neck, light and teasing at first, then lingering—warm against cold skin.
“San—” she started, breath breaking into a laugh as he pressed another kiss just beneath her ear. “You’re—making this harder than it should be—”
“That’s kind of the point,” he murmured, his voice rough with amusement. His nose grazed her jaw, the rain still dripping from his hair onto her coat.
y/n tilted her head back slightly, caught between laughter and a sigh. Everything about it felt surreal—like being sixteen again, sneaking kisses under staircases, except this time, there was no need to hide. No guilt. No fear.
She turned her head just enough to catch his lips, quick and wet, the taste of rain and something familiar sparking on her tongue.
“Let me open the door,” she whispered against his mouth.
He chuckled, stepping back only enough to let her fit the key in. The door gave a soft click, wood creaking as it opened.
Warm air rushed to meet them the moment the door creaked open. The scent of pine and old wood drifted in, soft and grounding—like stepping into a memory that didn’t belong to him but somehow felt safe.
y/n flicked the light switch near the door, bathing the cabin in a gentle amber glow. Neither said a word at first. It was small—one open living space, a kitchen with a window that framed the trees beyond, a narrow hall that led to what must’ve been the bedroom. The walls were honeyed wood, lined with old photos and ceramic mugs, and outside, the rain kept playing its rhythm against the glass. A fireplace. A big window looking out onto a dark, wet forest.
She exhaled a long breath, shaking her wet hair loose. “God, I forgot how good this place smells,” she said with a little laugh. She left her drenched shoes by the door like she’d done it a hundred times before.
San didn’t move at first. He just stood there, looking around. His clothes clung to him, hair dripping, chest still rising and falling from their run through the rain. But his eyes were soft—open, almost reverent.
“You’ve been here before,” he said quietly, more statement than question.
She smiled, stepping out of her shoes. “A few times. With Hyejin and Iseul, mostly. We used to escape here when the city got too loud.”
He hummed, glancing at her, then back at the cabin. “I get it now.” His voice was low, but something in it trembled—like he was trying to hold emotion steady.
y/n tilted her head, curiosity and tenderness mixing in her gaze. “What do you mean?”
San’s hand slid over the back of his neck, a small laugh escaping him. “Just… this.” He gestured vaguely around the room. “The quiet. The space. The rain outside and—” His eyes landed back on her. “You thinking of this place. Thinking of me.”
That last word came out smaller, almost fragile.
y/n’s chest tightened. “Of course I did.”
He let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head, his lips curling with something like disbelief. “You really don’t realize how much that means to me, do you?”
She blinked, a little caught off guard by the rawness in his tone.
He stepped closer, fingers brushing her wrist, tracing the damp skin there before he took her hand gently. “After everything… after this week…” His voice trailed off for a beat, then steadied. “Thank you. For thinking of me even when everything else was screaming at you.”
y/n’s breath hitched, warmth pooling in her chest. “It’s impossible not to,” she whispered.
Now, all they could hear was the rain—the quiet patter, the soft hum of the forest around them.
Then San smiled again, the kind that started small but spread slowly, uncontainable. “I think this might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
y/n laughed, trying to hide how his words melted through her. “Well, then,” she said, slipping her hand from his to hang up her coat, “I guess we’ll have to make it count.”
San followed her in, still glancing around the cabin like it was a gift he wasn’t sure he deserved. He ran his fingertips along the back of the couch, the edge of the kitchen counter, soaking it all in—the wood, the warmth, the way it all smelled faintly of rest.
“This is perfect,” he murmured, more to himself than to her.
And for once, it wasn’t the space or the quiet that made it so. It was her—damp hair, tired eyes, the ghost of a smile that promised rest, laughter, maybe even peace.
He looked at her again, and the thought settled somewhere deep in his chest:
He’d follow her anywhere.
The sound of the rain softened as they stepped further in. San dropped their bags near the couch and disappeared down the short hall with a quick, “Hold on, I’ll find us some towels!”
y/n smiled faintly, pushing damp hair from her face as she scanned the space—until something by the kitchen counter caught her eye.
A wicker basket rested on the counter, wrapped in a soft, checkered fabric, the corners tucked neatly like a small gift. A tiny bouquet of wildflowers was pinned to the top, cheerful and slightly uneven, a quiet welcome.
As she lifted the folds of fabric, the sweet, earthy scent of dried herbs and toasted chestnuts drifted up. Inside, a bottle of red wine nestled against two simple glasses. Bundles of dried persimmons, little packets of honey-glazed yakgwa, and roasted chestnuts wrapped in crinkled brown paper were arranged with care, each item seeming to carry the warmth of the hands that had prepared it.
At the bottom was a folded card.
She opened it, smiling before she even finished the first line.
Have fun, my sweet girl! It’s been too long since we’ve shared a meal together. Come visit once you’re back. Don’t forget to rest and eat well.
- Love, Eomma Joo
y/n’s throat tightened. The handwriting was familiar, looping and steady—just like the woman herself. She could almost hear her voice, see her small smile as she fussed over the stove while insisting she wasn’t cooking “anything special.”
Her parents were still back in her hometown, too far to visit often. Hyejin’s mother had filled that gap quietly, naturally—with warm meals, calls on her birthdays, the kind of love that didn’t ask for anything in return.
A laugh escaped her, soft and trembling. “God, she’s too sweet,” she murmured under her breath, brushing her thumb over the edge of the card.
The sound of footsteps drew her attention. San appeared again, hair damp, two towels slung over his arm. His expression softened as he took in the sight of her—the half-open basket, the faint shine in her eyes.
“Found them,” he said quietly, though the words carried warmth instead of triumph.
Before she could reply, he stepped behind her, unfolding one of the towels. With slow, deliberate care, he draped it over her shoulders, then began patting gently at her hair and neck. His touch was tender, almost reverent—the kind of care that could only come from someone who’d learned gentleness the hard way.
y/n let out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering closed as the towel brushed her skin, allowing herself to stop moving, to simply be. To be taken care of.
His hands lingered, fingers slipping through the towel to squeeze warmth into her shoulders.
“Have you had dinner?” she asked softly, still not opening her eyes.
San paused mid-motion, a quiet laugh bubbling up. “Dinner?” he echoed, tone teasing but fond.
When she peeked one eye open, he was looking at the basket now—at the wine bottle glinting under the cabin’s amber light, the chestnuts, the honeyed sweets. A low whistle escaped him, impressed.
“Wow,” he murmured, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Remind me to thank your second mom when we go back.”
y/n chuckled, her voice still wrapped in that half-sad tenderness. “You’ll love her. She’s the kind of woman who never lets anyone leave her house hungry.”
San leaned in, letting the corner of the towel brush a damp strand from her cheek. “Sounds like you when you get older,” he whispered, a soft smile tugging at his lips, words heavy with both mischief and something deeper—gratitude, and a quiet, aching fondness.
She blinked up at him, breath catching, and before she could say anything, he pressed a light, lingering kiss to her lips—gentle, grounding, almost playful. The simple touch left a warmth blooming in her chest, a quiet spark of energy that made her straighten, roll up her sleeves, and turn toward the fridge.
The cabin glowed with a quiet kind of magic. Rain still drummed steadily against the windows, the sound like a soft heartbeat beneath the creak of the old floorboards. y/n moved through the space with renewed focus, rummaging for ingredients, while San uncorked the wine with a low pop that seemed to echo just for them.
He poured it carefully, deep red against the polished glasses from the basket—and placed one near where she worked. He raised his glass. “To the chef who refuses to rest,” he said, tone low and teasing, the corners of his lips curving up.
She smiled without looking at him, her voice faint with amusement. “And to the man who refuses to admit he’s exhausted,” she smirked, swirling the drink before sipping.
Their laughter filled the cabin—quiet, easy, the kind of sound that lived in the corners of a shared life.
San leaned a hip against the counter, watching her arrange the food—a quick mix of what she’d found: soft tofu topped with sesame oil and scallions, slices of crisp pear, roasted chestnuts, a small dish of kimchi, and a few pieces of cheese she’d found tucked behind a jar of gochujang. Simple, but perfectly balanced—her kind of care.
“You know this is way too fancy to be called a midnight snack,” San murmured, his tone teasing as he sipped from his glass.
She grinned, leaning slightly against the counter. “Please. If I don’t make it fancy, who will? You’d have eaten instant noodles by now.”
“Hey,” he protested lightly, pretending to be offended. “I know how to cook.”
“Microwaving leftovers doesn’t count,” she shot back, arranging slices of persimmon and cheese with a flourish.
He chuckled, eyes soft. “Fine, Chef. Then enlighten me.”
“Gladly,” she said, smirking as she layered honey over the cheese, then topped it with a few sesame seeds. “This—” she held up the small toast like a sacred artifact “—is balance. Sweet, creamy, a little crunch. It’s basically what love tastes like.”
San leaned forward to take a bite, but she pulled it back at the last second, teasing. “Ah-ah, say it first.”
He blinked, caught off guard. “Say what?”
“That I’m right. About the flavor combination.”
He huffed a laugh. “You haven’t even let me taste it.”
“Then trust me,” she said, eyes glinting in the firelight.
He didn’t. Instead, he leaned in, closing the space between them, and took the bite straight from her fingers—lips brushing her fingertips just barely. y/n’s breath caught.
San chewed slowly, savoring, his gaze never leaving hers. “You’re right,” he murmured finally, his voice rough with quiet amusement. “It’s perfect.”
She smiled, proud—but before she could say anything, he leaned in again, stealing a quick, soft kiss that tasted of persimmon and wine.
y/n blinked, dazed, a laugh tumbling out before she could stop it. “That’s cheating,” she whispered.
“Research,” he said, deadpan, and reached for another slice. “I had to confirm the flavor profile.”
She shook her head, giggling into her wine glass. “You’re impossible.”
He smiled against the rim of his cup. “You love that about me.”
“Maybe,” she admitted, the word melting into a sigh.
By the time the board was finished, the rain had picked up, hammering gently against the windows. San lit the fireplace while y/n carried the food and wine to the couch, her movements slow, deliberate, as if every small task was grounding her.
When he joined her, the room glowed with warmth—firelight painting his jaw in soft orange, the storm outside muffled by the thick cabin walls. She joined him, sinking into the couch beside him.
He stretched out, legs open, shoulders melting back into the cushions—and y/n’s legs found their place draped comfortably over his. Their bodies fit together naturally now, like they’d been practicing this for years.
Outside, the rain kept falling. The window beside them flickered with pale lightning, and for a brief moment, their reflections merged—her face against his shoulder, his profile tilted toward her.
Neither said much.
San reached for a chestnut and peeled it, his fingers brushing her knee before offering it to her. “You work too much,” he said, half a tease, half a sigh.
“Mm,” y/n murmured, taking it between her fingers before biting gently. “Says the man who lives in his studio and calls it a weekend.”
He chuckled, low and sleepy. “Touché.”
A small silence followed, comfortable. She took a sip of wine; he leaned his head back, eyes closing for a moment. Then her hand found the top of his head—fingers threading through the damp strands there, slow and absent-minded.
He exhaled, a sound closer to a sigh than a laugh. “You keep doing that, and I might actually fall asleep right here.”
Her lips curved, brushing the rim of her cup. “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”
He opened his eyes, turning to look at her—the flicker of firelight catching in his irises. For a heartbeat, neither moved. The storm outside roared, but inside, time felt suspended—all the noise of the world pressed out by the simple rhythm of their breathing.
San reached out, his thumb brushing lightly along her jaw, warm and deliberate. His voice, soft and low, almost blended with the steady patter of rain against the windows. y/n’s gaze fell, chest tightening with something wordless, and she let a small, private smile slip.
Her fingers traced the rim of her glass, swirling the wine slowly, letting the warmth of him settle through her. Around them, the fire crackled, the soft music hummed from the stereo, and the rain drummed a steady rhythm outside.
Everything slowed—breaths, heartbeats, the quiet hum of the night. Rare, fragile, perfect—this pause felt like it had been waiting just for them.
San set his glass down, his hand finding its way to her thigh, warm and steady through the fabric. His thumb moved idly, slow circles that said more than any confession could.
“Feels good,” he murmured.
“What does?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“This,” he said, eyes flicking up to hers. “Being here. With you.”
y/n smiled—small, but full of light. “You’re getting sentimental, mister.”
He chuckled softly, leaning closer until his forehead touched hers. “Guess you’re rubbing off on me.”
Her laugh was a whisper against his lips. “Then I’m doing something right.”
San’s second kiss was soft, like he had all the time in the world, like he was saying I’m here and don’t leave without a single word. It wasn’t desperate, just deep, warm, a slow burn that made y/n’s heart hum.
Her fingers grazed his neck, light, like she was learning him all over again, feeling the heat of his skin under her touch.
The air between them crackled, heavy with want, both of them knowing they were right on the edge of something bigger. His breath caught against her lips, shaky, matching the flutter in her chest.
When he pulled back, his dark eyes locked on hers, raw and open, asking Is this okay? Do you want me? without saying it. That look—full of care, full of need—twisted her heart in the best way.
y/n didn’t wait. She leaned in, kissing him harder, shedding the softness for something fierce. Her fingers slid into his hair, tugging him closer, saying yes, all of you with every move.
San didn’t hesitate either, one hand cupping her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek so gently it almost broke her, while his other hand gripped her thigh, fingers pressing into her jeans with a hunger he was barely holding back.
She gasped against his mouth, a soft moan slipping out as her body arched, wanting to chase that heat but fighting to savor it. “God, y/n,” he whispered, voice rough, dripping with need. “You have no idea how much I need you right now.”
His words weren’t just lust—they were worship, like she was everything he’d ever needed, like this moment was all that mattered.
y/n shifted, straddling his hips, their bodies fitting together like they were made for this. The kisses stayed slow, soft, like they were finding each other after too long apart, even if it’d only been days.
Her hands roamed his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath through his sweater, the warmth of him grounding her against the storm outside. It wasn’t just heat—it was San, real and solid, every laugh, every fight, every quiet night they’d shared woven into this moment.
“y/n,” he murmured, lips brushing her ear now, voice low and thick. “I want to make you feel so good.” His hands found her waist, hesitant at first, thumbs grazing her sides over her shirt.
But when she moved—her hips rolling against his, teasing, instinctive—a low groan tore from his throat, raw and unguarded. His fingers dug in, pulling her closer, desperate, like she was the only thing keeping him steady.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, eyes locked on hers in the firelight, love and a flicker of fear mixing there, like he was scared this could slip away. It hurt, that look, but it set her on fire too, made every touch feel like a promise they both needed.
Her fingers shook as they curled into his sweater, eyes pleading let me see you. She tugged it off slowly, the fabric sliding over his skin, and he helped, lifting his arms with a soft exhale.
Then his t-shirt came off, and her breath caught. He was stunning—strong shoulders that had carried her through everything, the soft curve of his chest she’d only felt through clothes before, the lines of muscle from a life built together.
Not perfect, but him—scarred in places, freckled faintly, warm and alive and hers.
Her hands moved on their own, palms pressing against his bare chest, feeling his heart pound under her touch. Her nails traced a slow line down his neck, over his chest, across the tight ridges of his abs, stopping just at his belt, teasing, making his breath hitch. “You’re so… wow,” she whispered, voice catching, eyes drinking him in like she’d never get enough.
“Keep looking at me like that,” he said, voice low, a grin tugging at his lips, “and I’m gonna lose it, love.” His hands slid up her sides, firmer now, pulling her closer.
She couldn’t look away. Wouldn’t. Every touch, every word, was them pouring out everything they couldn’t always say—love, need, trust—through the way their bodies moved together, promising they’d hold on, no matter what.
Her mind flickered with memories—their clumsy first date, the night he held her tight when her world fell apart, the way he’d said I love you in front of everyone, fearless and proud. This wasn’t just want; it was love so deep it felt like a vow, a need to carve her heart into his skin so he’d always feel it.
y/n leaned in, her lips brushing his collarbone—soft, warm kisses that lingered, her tongue flicking out to taste the salt of him. San shivered under her, a low groan vibrating in his chest, his hands tightening on her waist like he was holding on for dear life.
Then she kissed lower, lips grazing the hollow of his throat, teeth grazing his pulse where it raced for her, then down his chest—slow, wet kisses, her tongue tracing his pecs, feeling them tighten under her touch. Every kiss said it: I need you. I choose you. Always.
“You always smell so good…,” she whispered against his skin, voice thick, hips sinking deeper into his lap as she nipped his jaw. This love—it hurt, it burned, it was everything. Two people who’d fought through hell, now bare in the firelight.
She slid off his lap, knees hitting the soft, worn carpet, grounding her in this moment. The firelight danced over San’s bare chest, making him look like something she’d dreamed up. Settling between his thighs, her hands rested on his thigh, eyes locked on his—fierce, full of love that wouldn’t waver.
San’s hand found her cheek, his touch so gentle it felt holy, thumb stroking her skin like she was his whole world. “You don’t have to, baby,” he murmured, voice soft but heavy with care, cracking just enough to twist her heart.
She turned her face, kissing his palm, her eyes never leaving his. “I want to,” she said, raw, honest, every moment they’d survived together packed into those words. Then, a playful grin broke through, her head tilting. “Besides, I owe you one.”
His cheeks flushed, eyes widening with that sweet, guilty look. “You don’t owe me a damn thing,” he said, voice rough with truth, always giving, always hers. But she wasn’t backing down. Her fingers moved to his belt, slow, teasing, the soft clink of metal loud in the quiet rain.
Her hands roamed—palms gliding up his thighs, firm and loving, fingers tracing the lines of his hips like she was memorizing him. She wanted to pour her love into every touch, make him feel it in his bones.
The belt came free, and San’s hips shifted, a quiet plea as he helped her slide his jeans off, pooling at his ankles before she tugged them away. Then his boxers, dark fabric slipping down, revealing him—thick, flushed, perfect. His dick stood hard, glistening in the firelight, like it was hers alone, begging for her touch.
“God, you’re so fucking perfect,” she whispered, eyes hungry, voice catching. She looked up, meeting his gaze. “I’m gonna take care of you, San. Gonna make you feel every bit of how much I love you.”
She licked her lips, a smirk pulling at her mouth as she met his eyes—playful fire mixed with that deep, aching want. Holding his gaze, she leaned in, her tongue dragging slow from base to tip, tasting the salt of him, feeling him twitch against her.
Up and down she went, eyes locked on his, letting him see how much she craved this. When her tongue swirled around the head, San's head dropped back against the couch, a ragged moan ripping from him—deep, raw, full of love and need.
His hand stayed on her face, fingers shaking in her hair, not pushing, just holding—I love you, I need you, don't stop. That sound hit her hard, twisting her heart while it lit her up, their souls tangled in this wild, endless heat.
y/n took him in deeper, her mouth warm and welcoming, like slipping into something that felt right after too long away. Her tongue traced the veins, slow swirls over every ridge, every pulse, like she was learning the rhythm of his want by heart.
She sucked gently on the pull back, cheeks hollowing, drawing a broken gasp from him as her head moved steady, unhurried—like their love, building slow into something huge.
One hand gripped his thigh, nails scratching light trails over the tight muscle, grounding him to her, to this floor, this cabin that was theirs—but it broke him too, each scrape sending sparks up his back, pulling whimpers from his chest.
Her other hand slid lower, cupping his balls softly, rolling her fingers in gentle massages, a light squeeze now and then, making his hips jerk, chasing her mouth like he couldn't breathe without it.
San's fingers tightened in her hair, just enough, thumb stroking her temple as his moans came out wrecked—"y/n... fuck, baby, that feels so good." His voice cracked, eyes shutting tight like it was too much, all those dark months they'd held each other, the quiet nights where touch said it all, crashing into this wet heat.
She tasted his love on her tongue, felt it in every shake, and gave it right back with every suck, every scratch, every knead. His hips bucked shallow, desperate, fighting to stay gentle even as it tore him apart.
"Love—shit, you're killing me," he gasped, hands deeper in her hair, holding on, trembling as he let her lead. Head back, sounds spilling out—breathy whines turning to deep groans, raw and real, like she was undoing him piece by piece. It was them—him through her storms, now her through his, love and lust like waves he'd dive into forever.
y/n picked up the pace a little, mouth working him just right, glancing up to take in the sight. God, he was stunning—abs tight in the firelight, flexing hard; his dick hot and throbbing on her tongue; thighs tense under her nails. The rainy woods outside were pretty, but this—him unraveling for her on her knees? It was everything.
"I'm—fuck, y/n, I'm close," he choked, voice broken, announcing it like a warning, not wanting to cum, not yet, not without her—but she smirked around him, humming low, the vibration hitting him like a shock. She took him deeper, throat relaxing as she swallowed soft—yes, let go, give it to me.
He came undone, hot pulses spilling down her throat, his hands gripping her head—not rough, but needy, his body shaking as he hunched forward a little, instinctively chasing closeness to her even as it drove him deeper.
The motion caught her off guard, a soft gag pulling a ragged groan from him, his hips twitching through the aftershocks. It was raw, not just the release, but the flood of everything—months of I need you pouring out in every shudder, tying them tighter.
“Fuck, sorry,” he murmured the second he could speak, voice soft, eyes fluttering open—hazy, full of care—as he eased her off gently, thumb brushing a stray tear from her cheek. “You okay, love?”
y/n laughed, light and real, joy cutting through the heat—God, he’s disgustingly sweet. She wiped her chin, the firelight catching the shine. Climbing back into his lap, she straddled him, thighs framing his hips, her warmth pressing against him, a promise of more.
San pulled her close, raw and free now, his mouth crashing into hers in a kiss that tasted of him, of salt and devotion, grunting low into her as his tongue swept deep, reclaiming every bit. His hand slid to her ass, squeezing through her jeans with a possessive growl that hummed against her lips—mine, always mine.
But it hit him—him bare, open and vulnerable under her; her still dressed, a barrier he needed gone. His fingers found her top, tugging it off in one smooth pull. She lifted her arms, and there she was—bra hugging her curves, soft whines slipping out as his hands cupped her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples until they hardened under the lace.
He didn’t rush, just worshipped, eyes locked on hers as he flicked the clasp open, letting it fall. His palms cradled her, warm and firm, rolling her peaks gently, knowing her body like it was his to love forever.
“San…” she whined, breathy, needy, arching into him, the ache in her chest matching the heat building lower—love and want twisting so tight it hurt, this forever they’d fought for.
His fingers fumbled with her jeans’ button, quick but shaky, the soft pop like a green light to see all of her, bare and real. “Need you naked for me, baby,” he rasped, voice thick with love, eyes dark with hunger. “Wanna see every damn inch of you.”
She stood, playful spark in her eyes, pulse racing as she let him take over. San stayed seated, his dick twitching against his thigh as he hooked her waistband. His lips found her stomach first, soft kisses below her ribs, tongue flicking out to taste her skin.
Then he went lower, worshipping the curve of her belly, nipping gently above her pubic bone, pulling a shiver that made his heart tighten. You’re everything.
He eased her jeans down slow, lips trailing—kissing her hip, then the soft swell by her ass, open-mouthed, teeth grazing just enough. The fabric pooled at her thighs, and he kept going, lips brushing her mound in tender, lingering presses—a vow against her warmth.
One hand kneaded her thigh, steadying her; the other laced with her fingers, squeezing tight, grounding them through every storm.
She laughed, a breathy giggle mixed with a gasp as her jeans tangled at her ankles, making her wobble precariously. “San—oh!” Her hand grabbed his shoulder, steadying herself in the haze of his touch.
San’s low chuckle rumbled in response, soft and warm, his eyes glinting with amusement at her clumsy stumble, finding it impossibly endearing. “Careful, baby,” he teased, voice light but thick with affection, hands steadying her hips.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he whispered, eyes lifting to hers, voice cracking with raw honesty. “My girl… always mine.” The words landed heavy, not just a statement but a vow, carrying the weight of everything they’d fought through, making her eyes sting even as heat pooled low.
He pulled her back to his lap, arms guiding her until they were skin to skin—electric, raw, home. “I’m gonna love you like this forever,” he murmured against her neck, lips brushing soft, his hands roaming her back. “Every part of you, baby… it’s all I want.”
San’s lips grazed her neck, slow, warm kisses sparking heat, then down to her collarbone, nipping softly before finding her breasts. He took a nipple into his mouth, smiling against her skin, sucking gently, tongue swirling lazy circles.
“So soft,” he murmured, voice rough with love. “God, I love these…” Words tumbled out—half-formed, raw, all the nights he’d dreamed of her, the fights they’d survived, the quiet moments that made her his forever.
y/n’s hands gripped his shoulders, fingers digging into the strength that carried her through hell. Her other hand tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to arch into his mouth. She felt him—his back, solid from hauling her groceries up stairs; his arms, wrapping her waist, the ones that helped clean the tart from the kitchen floor.; his thighs, flexing under her, steady as the miles he’d walked to her in the rain.
San scooped her up, arms strong under her thighs and back, lifting her like she was air. y/n squeaked, legs wrapping around his waist, cheeks flushing hot at how easily he loved her. His bare skin pressed to hers, heart pounding where they touched, a quiet I’ve got you in every step.
She buried her face in his neck, giggling, nipping his pulse as he carried her down the hall, rain drumming outside like their heartbeat.
The bedroom was small, cozy—wood walls, a window framing the storm, a bed piled with soft quilts begging to swallow them. San laid her down with infinite care, cradling her head, lips never leaving hers—slow kisses saying stay with me, always. He knelt between her thighs, hips brushing hers, his hard length resting hot against her folds—not pushing in, not yet.
“Fuck, baby,” he breathed, eyes dark, one hand splaying over her ribs while the other slid down—slow, loving, tracing her curves. His fingers grazed her hip, her waist, feeling her shiver under his touch. It broke him, knowing she reacted like this for him, after everything.
When his fingers reached her folds, parting them gently, he groaned, low and raw. She was soaked, dripping from their love, from taking him apart earlier. “All this for me, love?” he rasped, voice thick with awe, thumb circling her clit in soft, reverent strokes, fingers teasing just inside, feeling her tighten.
His rough hands—worn from fixing her world—touched her like she was the only woman on earth—because she was. No one else had held him through the dark, laughed with him in the light, made him believe in forever. His dick twitched against her thigh, aching as he watched her arch, whispering, “My girl… you’re everything.”
Finally, he slid two fingers inside, slow, stretching her just right, curling against that spot that made her moan loud, broken. “San—oh, fuck,” she gasped, walls fluttering like they’d waited forever for him.
He moved with care, thumb rolling her clit in steady circles, fingers thrusting slow, scissoring gently, coaxing her wetter until it dripped down his hand. Every curl, every thrust was love—reading her gasps, adjusting to pull more of those sounds that screamed I love you louder than words.
“Love making you feel good,” he murmured, lips brushing her ear, voice rough with need. “Wanna hear you, baby… let me know how much you want this.” His fingers curled deeper, slow and perfect, worshiping her with every move, like he’d spend forever proving she was his home.
San’s kisses turned wild, open-mouthed, hungry—his lips latching onto her neck, tongue dragging hot over her pulse before a soft bite marked her without pain. “You sound so fucking sweet,” he growled against her collarbone, spit glistening on her skin, mixing with the room’s chill to spark tingles across her body.
He sucked a bruise into the curve of her breast, then bit her nipple lightly, soothing it with a slow, wet lick that made her squirm and whine. It was raw, messy—his tongue painting her throat, her chest, her jaw—every nip and suck answering her moans, their shared past pouring through: I fixed your world, now let me fix this ache.
His eyes locked on hers, dark and undone, as his fingers pumped faster—not rushed, but deep, curling hard while she rocked into his hand. “That’s it, baby, give it all to me,” he whispered, voice breaking with love and lust, his arm pulling her close, needing her like air.
This was them—passion burning, devotion breaking them open—two souls bare in the rain’s roar, forever carved in every thrust, every moan.
y/n’s fingers twisted in his hair, desperate, holding him to her chest like she’d fall apart without him. “San—don’t stop,” she gasped, raw and needy, her leg hooking around his waist, heel digging into his hip to pull him closer. Her other thigh spread wide across the quilts, opening herself fully, letting his fingers plunge deeper, knuckles grazing her entrance with every perfect curl.
Her moans turned to whines, too much—too much love, too much pleasure, all their fights and fixes flooding her until she couldn’t breathe. “Oh god—San—fuck,” she sobbed, her climax hitting hard, ripping through her like thunder. Her walls clamped tight around his fingers, pulsing wild, slick gushing over his hand, soaking the sheets as her back arched, toes curled, every nerve screaming yes, forever.
Through the shivers, her hand slid to his neck, pulling him down, nails scraping as she clung tight. Soft whimpers spilled into his mouth as he kissed her through it, fingers slowing to gentle strokes, coaxing every last flutter until she melted against him.
A tear slipped down her cheeks—not pain, but love and lust breaking her open, their history in every pulse. “You feel so damn good,” she whispered, wrecked, forehead pressed to his, breaths tangled. This was them—passion exploding, devotion holding the pieces—two scarred hearts, whole together, whispering we made it in every shiver.
San’s dick throbbed, hard again, her climax—her walls gripping his fingers, her slick drenching him—lighting him up like the first time. He pulled back just enough to sit on his calves, breath heavy, eyes reverent as he gently turned her onto her side.
The top leg folded over the other at that perfect angle, knee bent, her body displayed entirely for him: holes glistening and open, ass curved plush and inviting, thighs trembling from aftershocks, every inch of her a masterpiece he'd fought wars to deserve.
He couldn't look away—from the pink flush of her folds, the tight pucker above, the endless lines of her legs that had wrapped around him through every storm—until his gaze climbed, hungry and soft, to her face.
Chest almost fully against the mattress, the new angle arching her just right, offering everything the quilts could cradle.
“Fuck, baby,” he rasped, settling between her thighs, his thick head nudging her entrance—hot, slick, ready. One hand gripped her hip, anchoring her; the other traced her spine, slow and grounding, then cupped her breast, thumb rolling her nipple until she whimpered.
His fingers slid to her jaw, tilting her face, thumb brushing her swollen lip. Biting his own lip, voice wrecked, he murmured, “You ready for me, love? Wanna feel you take every inch.”
y/n’s eyes locked on his, raw and pleading. “Please, San… I need you inside,” she begged, her words a gut-punch of love and want, every I choose you spilling out in that desperate plea.
San held her gaze, pushing in slow, her slick walls pulling him in so perfectly, not giving her a second to fully relax from her orgasm—hot, tight, like velvet fire. “God, so wet for me,” he groaned, inch by torturous inch, her folds parting until he was buried deep, balls flush against her.
He stopped there, breathing hard, just drinking her in—hands roaming her thigh, squeezing her folded leg, kneading her hip, tracing her collarbone, feeling her shiver under his touch.
Then he leaned in, the hand on her jaw shifting to her hair, threading deep but gentle, like she was a lost diamond he'd bled to find, honored to keep forever. His lips crashed into hers—messy, deep, tongues tangling with salt and love—as his hips started to move.
Slow grinds, stirring her without pulling out, hitting that spot with every roll, unhurried, each circle a vow. Lust throbbed in him, but the love—it broke him, forehead pressed to hers, bodies fused in the rain’s hush. We made it, baby. This is forever.
His rhythm picked up, not wild but fierce, hips snapping with steady fire, pouring his soul into every thrust. He wanted her to feel it—his love in how he filled her, dragging along her walls before plunging deep, grinding that spot with devastating precision. No rush, just worship—every roll, every press saying let me love you like you deserve.
Her moans were music, high and breathy, spilling against his lips as she kissed him back, raw and open. “San—yes, more,” she gasped, trembling, her sounds weaving with the rain like they were made for this bed, this moment they’d fought for.
He groaned back, low and rough, the sound vibrating into her chest. “Fuck, baby, you feel like heaven,” he rasped, voice wrecked with love and lust, like it hurt to hold it in.
His free hand slid to her breast, fingers splaying over the soft curve, nails scraping lightly, possessive but tender, thumb flicking her nipple in time with his thrusts—snaps quickening as her walls fluttered, her moans pitching higher, his grunts turning desperate as she milked him tighter.
Their foreheads stayed pressed, breaths hot and messy—too much feeling, passion burning, lust coiling. His nails bit into her skin, marking without breaking: Mine through every storm, every scar. He moaned into her mouth, hips circling deep, showing her with every thrust, every dig—this is us, raw and eternal.
San faltered for a heartbeat, thrusts slowing as the intensity nearly swallowed him, but then he moved, raw and instinctive, pulling out with a wet schlick that made them both whine at the loss.
"Need you closer," he rasped, voice thick, gently guiding her top leg back to the bed until she was flat on the quilts, bodies aligning in classic missionary.
But god, this wasn't classic—it was them, raw and consuming, chest to chest, hearts hammering like war drums as he draped over her fully, every inch of skin fused.
Her hands turned possessive, nails raking down his back, scratching red trails, pulling him closer, like she'd die without him buried inside.
San’s hands matched her fire—one gripping her thigh hard, bruising with love, the other fisting her hair to pull her mouth to his—scratching at her hip, pulling her hips up to meet his as he slid back in, deep and devastating, their groans tangling like lifelines.
He adjusted then, hooking one of her legs over the crook of his elbow, opening her wide, the angle raw and perfect, her other leg wrapping tight around his waist, heel digging into his ass to urge him deeper.
He thrust home, her slick heat swallowing him effortlessly, snapping his control.
Kisses turned wild, all teeth and tongue, devouring each other—him biting her lip, her sucking his tongue, messy and wet, moans swallowed as his hips snapped forward, quick but loving, each plunge a vow carved into her.
"I love you—shit, I love you," he groaned into her mouth, pace relentless yet reverent. "Love you so fucking much... more than anything, baby, anything." The words bled out, carrying their dark nights, their light laughs, every fight and fix, his dick dragging along her walls, hitting that spot, showing his love in every stretch, every slap of skin. Holding her like she’d vanish.
y/n started to cry then, tears spilling hot down her cheeks as she watched him—eyes locked on his face, wrecked and adoring, not because he hurt her, never that, but because it was too much.
Too much love, flooding her veins like fire. His warmth enveloping her, solid and safe after every storm; his touch, calloused hands claiming her body like she was the only salvation; how he loved her exactly as she deserved, fierce and tender, pouring out every drop he'd fought to keep.
How lucky she was—to have him, this man who'd walked through hell for her, fixed her world, held her through the breaks.
“I love you,” she sobbed between moans, voice breaking. “San—oh god, I love you more,” the words a gut-wrenching confession. Her walls clenched around him in desperate pulses, pulling him deeper, sobs shaking her as passion and pain burned together, this forever they’d earned.
Her tears broke him, his rhythm stuttering to a slow grind, heart too full. “Baby—no, don't cry,” he whispered, voice shattering, thumb brushing her tears in frantic, tender strokes, lips kissing them away—salty, soft presses that undid him.
He cradled her head, fingers gentle but firm, pulling her face to his chest—hiding his own tears in her hair, hot trails soaking her as he rocked them together. He didn't want her to see, not yet—couldn't bear her knowing how wrecked he was, how her "I love you more" hurt so good, twisting his soul with devotion that ached like a bruise.
“Shh, I’ve got you… always,” he murmured, hips circling slow, deep, tears dripping onto her skin. This love—crushing, heartwarming—passion simmering, emotion roaring, two scarred hearts whispering we’re here, I choose you.
He kissed her forehead, her temple, cradling her like the lost diamond she was—his diamond, forever, through the storm's hush and their shared, sobbing breaths.
His hand slid south, calloused fingers finding her clit—swirling soft, teasing circles through her slick folds. y/n moaned through her tears, throat raw, the sound muffled against his chest like a prayer.
It shattered him—her pleasure cutting through the pain. He smiled through his tears, lips brushing her hair as his hips sped up, thrusts deep with fierce intent to make her feel good, to drown her in the love he'd bleed for.
"That's it, baby... let go," he whispered, voice cracking, tears mixing with hers, fingers pressing firmer, quick flicks matching his rolls, devotion in every stroke.
The combination was everything—his dick dragging deep, fingers grinding her clit with perfect pressure. y/n unraveled, nibbling the skin where her head was buried, tiny and desperate bites blooming red marks of possession. Her lips trailed to his neck, teeth grazing his pulse, sucking a bruise into his throat, claiming the man who’d fixed her world.
“San—fuck,” y/n whimpered, her bites turning to licks, her walls gripping him so tight it stole his breath, pulling deep groans from his gut. “I’m close,” she gasped, voice raw, tears soaking his skin as her body tensed—walls fluttering, then clenching hard, hips bucking to meet him. “So close—San, please…”
It hit him like a spark, his own edge so near—dick throbbing, balls tight, her heat dragging him under. He needed to cum with her, to seal their forever. His hips sped up, frantic but full of love, skin slapping wet in the rain’s hush, fingers blurring over her clit, the other hand slipping around her back, tugging just enough to arch her into him.
“Cum with me, baby—together,” he growled, voice thick with love, almost feral tears falling free now, no hiding them—pace unhinged, thrusts pounding deep but circling at the hilt, showing her all of him: the boy who'd laughed with her in sunlight, the man who'd held her through hell.
They shattered together—almost perfectly synced, her climax hitting first, a wail ripping from her throat, walls pulsing like a heartbeat, milking him as slick flooded between them. “San—oh God… I love you,” she sobbed, and it snapped him—his release exploding in hot, thick pulses deep inside, hips stuttering as he buried himself, groaning her name like a vow, “y/n—fuck, love you—mine!”
Their moans tangled, raw and angelic, filling the room like thunder—craving hands everywhere, possessive, claiming: her nails raking red trails down his back, pulling him impossibly closer; his fingers digging bruises into her hip, the other cradling her head as he ground through every spurt, tears mixing on their cheeks.
Their love came together in a raw, real moment, weeks of highs and lows leading to this—passion burning hot, lust filling her with his warmth, devotion so intense it left them both breathless and undone.
Their bodies shook together, breaths heavy with blissful gasps, foreheads pressed as aftershocks faded—we made it, we’re whole, you’re my forever. He kissed her slow, through the tears, murmuring, “My diamond… always,” their hearts locked tight, complete in the quiet intensity of the moment.
San stayed inside her, deep, still, like pulling out would break their spell. His softening dick stayed nestled in her warmth, hips flush, every tremor shared—mine, always.
Soft kisses traced her collarbone, blooming warmth, lingering on the curve of her breast where he’d marked her with love. He nuzzled her neck, lips brushing her racing pulse, tasting her salt, each kiss a quiet thank you for every dark night she’d pulled him through.
When he reached her tear-stained cheeks, still wet with hot, unstoppable rivers—her heart so full it spilled over, her body filled with him—he kissed them away. Gentle licks caught each tear, lips soft on the trails, his breath hitching. “Shh, love… you’re safe,” he murmured, voice cracking.
She felt whole—not just his warmth inside, but their love, years of fractures healed in this bed, scars glowing like stars under his touch.
“You’re my everything,” he whispered against her skin, lips brushing her ear, holding her close like she was his world. “I’m never letting go, baby… never.”
San’s hands were soft, trembling as they brushed hair from her face, tucking strands behind her ears with care. His voice, low and wrecked, spilled out praises just for her in the rain’s hush.
“My perfect girl… so strong, so beautiful... fought for me like no one else... love you more than my next breath, always." Each word soothed, heavy with devotion, their shared tears making her heart ache with how lucky they were.
y/n cradled his jaw, thumbs wiping his slowing tears, her eyes shining with the same overwhelming love. “San…” she breathed, pulling him close, foreheads touching, breaths syncing.
Her kiss was soft, a whisper of a promise: I see you, I choose you, you’re my home. It broke him gently, his body easing, weight settling into her—warm, not crushing, wrapping her in the quilts like a shield.
His arms framed her head, one hand cupping her nape, the other tracing slow circles on her temple—I’ve got you, always.
He pulled out slowly, the wet slide pulling a soft hiss from y/n, her walls fluttering empty, a quiet ache where he’d been. “Easy, baby,” he murmured, thumb brushing her cheek, soothing the shiver.
After the fire of their love, the cabin air crept back in, chilly against their sweat-slick skin—goosebumps racing over her, a full-body shiver rippling through her as reality settled soft and cool.
San chuckled, warm and adoring, like sunlight through rain. “Hold on, love,” he said, slipping from the bed, strong legs carrying him to the bathroom. He grabbed a soft towel, returning to kneel beside her, cleaning her gently—careful dabs between her thighs, wiping their mingled release with tender focus, eyes locked on hers.
“There… all good,” he whispered, kissing her hip softly, folding the towel away before pulling the duvet around her, tucking it over her shoulders, wrapping them in warmth as he slid back beside her.
He curled around her, face to face, legs tangled under the covers—his broad frame shielding her, chest to chest, breaths in sync. His eyes held hers, deep and soulful, drinking her in like she was his world.
One hand combed her hair, fingers threading through tangles, tucking them behind her ear with strokes that felt like promises—you’re safe, you’re mine. y/n’s hand traced his arm, feeling the muscle that held her through storms, her other thumb stroking the pulse she’d bitten, eyes closing to etch this moment—the heat of him, the duvet’s weight, the rain’s murmur—into her forever.
San leaned in, kissing her forehead, lingering, a quiet surrender. “You’ve got me, baby,” he whispered, voice soft, full of love. “Always, in every way.”
For a long while, they didn’t speak—only the sound of rain, their breathing, and the soft drag of fingertips across skin. The kind of silence that didn’t ask to be filled.
Then y/n’s voice came low, hoarse from everything they’d said without words. “You ever think about how long it took us to get here?”
San hummed, lazy, his thumb tracing slow circles on her hip. “Every day.” His voice was rough, heavy with the kind of fatigue that came from more than the sex—they’d been carrying too much for too long. “Sometimes I still think I’m gonna wake up, and it’ll all be gone. You, this—” He breathed out a laugh, quiet but cracked. “—even the rain.”
Her smile was small, but it reached her eyes. “You’re not dreaming, San.”
He looked at her then—really looked. “Feels like I am. You in my arms, the world finally shutting up for once.” His hand moved up to cradle her jaw, thumb brushing over the faint flush still lingering there. “I used to tell myself I didn’t need any of this. That I was better off alone. Then you showed up with that beautiful smile and… ruined me.”
y/n laughed softly, tired but bright. “Good. You deserved a little ruining.”
He chuckled, the sound melting into a sigh as he pressed his forehead to hers. “You scare me sometimes,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
y/n’s lips brushed his jaw, her breath warm against his skin. “Why?” she murmured.
“Because you make me want everything I gave up on.” His words lingered in the hush between them, carried by the soft beat of their hearts. Then, neither spoke—just the sound of rain outside, the steady rhythm of their breathing.
After a moment, San’s thumb traced her spine, slow and warm. “It’s crazy how easy this feels,” he said, voice rough with sleep and love. “Like my body knew you before I did.”
y/n smiled faintly, thumb brushing his bottom lip. “You make it sound like fate.”
“Maybe it is,” he whispered, eyes half-lidded but burning with something quiet and infinite. “Or maybe it’s just us, finally where we’re supposed to be.”
His hand slid up her spine, a slow caress that made her shiver despite the warmth. “I’ve never wanted anything the way I want this. You. Every morning, every night.”
She swallowed, her chest tightening with a mix of love and disbelief. “You mean that?”
San smiled, soft and certain. “More than I’ve ever meant anything.”
y/n looked up at him then, and for a second, the room seemed to still—rain hushed, fire dimmed, time pausing around them. She traced the curve of his jaw, memorizing the moment like a vow. “You know what scared me the most?” she murmured, voice small, tired.
San hummed, eyes still half-closed. “What’s that?”
“That this… whatever we were becoming… would ruin us.” Her hand slipped down to his chest, feeling the slow, steady beat beneath her palm. “You were my safe place, San. My favorite part of the day. I was terrified that if I reached for more, I’d lose all of it.”
He didn’t answer right away. Just exhaled slowly, his hand finding hers and threading their fingers together. “You think I wasn’t scared too?” he whispered. “ I’d lie awake, wondering what’d happen if I said how much I needed you. What if it made you run?”
Her eyes softened. “I’d never run from you.”
“I know that now,” he said, his voice breaking just enough to show he really hadn’t before. “But I didn’t then. I just kept waiting. For you to be ready. For me to be brave enough.”
She smiled faintly, her thumb stroking over his knuckles. “Guess we finally met halfway.”
He turned his head toward her, eyes tracing her face like he was memorizing it. “Guess we did.”
They stayed quiet for a beat—nothing but the fire’s whisper, their joined hands between them.
Then y/n spoke again, quieter this time, almost a plea: “Promise me something?”
“Anything,” he murmured.
“Promise me we’ll keep choosing this,” she said, eyes shining in the faint glow. “Even when it’s not easy. When it’s scary, or messy.”
He shifted closer, pressing his forehead to hers, their breaths tangling. “I’ll always choose you,” he whispered. “Even when it hurts. Even when you need space. Even when I screw things up and have to find my way back to you. I’ll still choose you.”
Her breath hitched. “You promise?”
His lips brushed hers in a kiss that wasn’t about hunger anymore—it was about truth. “I promise.”
She kissed him back, slow and tired and full of everything she didn’t have words for. When they finally broke apart, her hand rested on his chest again, feeling his heart beat steady beneath her palm. “Then I promise too,” she said. “No matter what, I’ll always find my way back to you.”
He felt her breathing slow against him, her chest rising and falling in sync with his. The tears on her cheeks had mostly dried, only a few lingering trails glistening in the soft light. San reached up and brushed one away with the back of his knuckles, gentle as if touching something sacred.
“Don’t cry anymore,” he whispered. “You’ve done enough of that.”
y/n’s lips trembled—not from sadness, but from the weight of his voice, the tenderness threading through it. “It’s not… sad,” she breathed, her eyes still closed. “It’s just—” she paused, trying to find the words, “—I didn’t think I’d ever feel this. This kind of peace. With someone.”
San’s hand cupped her cheek, thumb stroking the dampness he’d just wiped away. “You deserve it. You always did,” he said, voice low, a little cracked. “Even when you pushed me away.”
She smiled faintly at that, her forehead pressing into his chest. “You’re too stubborn to give up.”
He huffed out a laugh, soft and tired. “Had something worth sticking around for.”
Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his. “You mean me?”
“I mean us,” he corrected, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You and me. The way you look at me, the way you laugh at my stupid jokes. The way you make everything that used to feel heavy… just stop hurting.”
y/n’s throat tightened again, tears threatening, but this time they came from something bright—something whole. “You always know what to say.”
San shook his head, smiling faintly. “No. I just mean it.”
The room had gone silent again except for the rain, steady against the roof. The storm had softened into mist, its rhythm lingering—like their breathing, like the echo of what they’d just shared. Everything around them seemed far away—every worry, every scar, every sleepless night.
He kissed her temple, lingering there, lips tracing the faint salt of her skin. “You’re home, y/n,” he murmured, his voice rough at the edges. “You’ve always been.”
She closed her eyes at that, breath catching, a sound slipping out of her that was half-sob, half-laughter. Her forehead found his chest, feeling the steady thrum beneath his skin. “So are you, San.”
His smile deepened, the heaviness in his eyes softening into something lighter. “Yeah? Even when I hog the blankets?”
y/n’s laugh bubbled up, bright and real, brushing against his sternum. Her fingers poked his side, lazy and affectionate. “Especially then. Keeps me humble.”
He grinned, pulling her closer, and she shifted without thinking—her leg sliding over his body, closing the space between them until she could feel his warmth everywhere. His voice dropped into a low rumble. “You don’t seem to mind.”
“Never,” she teased, lips ghosting along his jaw before she caught the skin gently between her teeth. “Especially not tonight,” she murmured against him.
He chuckled softly, the sound melting into her hair as he kissed it once more. The world was nothing but skin, warmth, and the quiet hum of their laughter—steady and unhurried, like the night itself.
y/n’s laughter faded first, dissolving into a sigh that melted against his chest. Her body softened, the last trace of tension slipping away as she nestled closer, one hand resting over his spine like it was the only place she belonged. Within minutes, her breathing evened out—slow, steady, peaceful.
San stayed awake a little longer, chin resting lightly atop her head. Moonlight spilled through the window, soft and silvery, tracing the curve of her cheek and the quiet shape of her mouth. She looked utterly calm now, and for a second, the sight almost hurt.
Because sometimes, when the silence grew too gentle, that old fear crept in—the whisper that maybe love this real wasn’t meant for him. That he’d done too much, broken too many things, to deserve this kind of peace. The thought that he might ruin this too.
He exhaled, slow and careful, trying to chase the thought away—but before he could, y/n shifted in her sleep. Her arm tightened around his waist, her leg sliding over his, dragging him closer with sleepy instinct. Her face pressed into his throat, breath warm and even, as if her body knew what his mind refused to believe.
And just like that, every sharp thought scattered.
His throat tightened. He tried to blink the thought away, but his vision blurred anyway. A single tear slipped down, quiet and unforced. It wasn’t sadness—it was the body’s way of saying thank you. A tear born from calm, from being seen, from finally feeling chosen.
San closed his eyes, sinking into her touch, into the quiet proof of her choosing him again—even in dreams. His chest loosened, his lips brushing her forehead in a whisper of gratitude he couldn’t voice.
The night hummed softly outside, wind brushing the windows, and with her warmth tangled into his, he finally let go. The ache, the noise, the fear—everything quieted.
Summary: y/n’s weekend starts messy and ends… messier. A kitchen, a little chaos, and too many small sparks lead to laughter, whispered instructions, and moments that feel just a little too intimate. Who knew cooking could be this dangerous—or this irresistible?
Genre: Fluff
Warnings: Self depricating jokes, past trauma, low self-worth, maybe a little bit of language. There may be too much description of things. Food as a love language, mention of illness. Alcohol use (consensual / recreational)
Word Count: 16.7k (damn...)
A/N: the time has comeee 🥳 new chapter is finally here!! sorry for the wait — even the cover was bullying me this time (why is choosing photos literally the hardest part 😭). things are moving slow, but honestly i think that just makes every moment hit a little harder. fun fact: this chapter was actually sparked by a very random hangover thought i had back when i was still outlining everything 😂 so… yeah, blame past me for that lol. anyway, soft-dad san >>> everything 🥺💕 thank you so much for your patience, i hope you enjoy the ride!
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Jongho’s apartment was modest but unmistakably his. A single floor, one bedroom tucked behind a simple door, and a living area that bore the marks of years of comfortable living. The space was cluttered, controllers scattered on the TV stand, sketchbooks, and random belongings strewn across the worn sofa and coffee table. It wasn’t messy in a careless way—it was lived-in, practical, and undeniably functional.
The walls were bare, save for a couple framed posters above the sofa and a small shelf with messily stacked books. Masculine tones dominated: muted grays, deep browns, and the blue fabric from the three-seater sofa. Most of the apartment felt utilitarian, almost sparse, but efficient.
The kitchen, however, revealed a different side of Jongho. Gleaming countertops, carefully arranged knives, and meticulously labeled spice jars hinted at his meticulousness and attention to detail. Each utensil, each pot, seemed deliberately placed, the space reflecting a man who could balance precision and creativity. His kitchen was the heart of his apartment, the one place where his quiet pride shone through.
It was the kind of apartment that reflected its owner: practical and slightly chaotic in daily life, but with pockets of order and care that revealed a quiet, thoughtful personality beneath the surface.
Here, warmth and order intertwined, making it the perfect spot for a late-night recovery.
The three of them gathered around the small kitchen island, glasses of red wine in hand, a few rescued leftovers from the restaurant laid out on the counter: roasted vegetables, caramelized onions, and a slice of her latest tart—a clear reminder of her and San’s first date. A gentle soundtrack flowed from the TV, its speakers carrying each note as the album art glided across the screen.
Apart from the single light hanging over the kitchen island and a warm-toned stand lamp in the corner of the living room, the glow from the screen was one of the few things illuminating the space, casting fleeting reflections on the walls and furniture and giving the apartment a soft, intimate warmth.
“Finally, a moment to breathe,” y/n sighed, settling onto one of the stools. She leaned back, letting herself exhale, the tension of Friday's dinner service slowly loosening from her shoulders.
Jongho poured himself a generous glass, the warm light bouncing off the bottles on the counter. “I swear, after tonight, I could sleep for a week.”
Lucas laughed, leaning against the counter, his free hand brushing crumbs from a plate. “And yet, here we are, nibbling leftovers like civilized people.”
Jongho rolled his eyes playfully. “Civilized, not really. Hungry, definitely. These onions survived the chaos—they deserve an award.”
y/n smirked, leaning closer to taste one, “Not bad. But you know, they’d be better if we roasted them just a tiny bit longer.”
Lucas groaned theatrically. “Always the critic, y/n. Can’t a girl enjoy her own cooking for five seconds?”
y/n rolled her eyes, a grin tugging at her lips despite herself. “Fine, fine, I’ll let it slide… this time.” The teasing exchanged settled into comfortable laughter, the tension easing as the warmth of the room wrapped around them.
The banter flowed naturally, playful and light, filling the apartment with the familiar warmth of friendship and family. y/n laughed freely, her professional mask loosened, letting the little cracks of vulnerability run through. Here, in this small, cluttered apartment with Jongho and Lucas, she didn’t have to be the ever-competent chef. She could just be y/n.
“You’ve got to try this again,” he said, holding a fork toward her. “Perfection tastes even better when stolen from your own kitchen.”
y/n smiled, taking a bite, but her brow furrowed slightly. “Hmm… the seasoning on the rice—maybe I went too far with the saffron. Ugh, I can’t believe I let it slide like that.”
Jongho was already reaching for the bottle, filling her glass once more despite it being nearly full. “y/n,” he said with mock severity, “I forbid you from critiquing yourself tonight. Every bite you take is already perfect. You’ve earned this—wine, leftovers, and the quiet company of your favorite people. Stop thinking and just enjoy it.”
Lucas laughed, clinking his glass lightly against hers. “Mandatory decompression session, remember? And if that means eating more of your own leftovers while Jongho spoils you with wine, then so be it.”
y/n exhaled, crossing her legs on top of the stool. The warmth of the wine, the comfort of the food, and the teasing voices of Jongho and Lucas made the evening feel lighter. y/n leaned back slightly on the stool, letting a slow breath escape her lips as she took in the laughter and the mingling aromas. She allowed the flavors of the food and the warmth of the room wash over her, savoring the moment without the usual pull of perfection tugging at her mind.
By the time their third glasses were poured, the edges of the evening had softened. The wine had loosened their tongues, filling Jongho’s small kitchen with warmth and a gentle haze of tipsiness. Lucas was leaning against the counter, tapping a rhythm with his fork, while Jongho was stacking leftover plates, pretending to be a stern kitchen manager.
The gentle hum of conversation mixed with the clinking of glasses, and a few bursts of laughter punctuated the cozy chaos of the kitchen. Jongho leaned over the counter, carefully nudging a plate into place, and Lucas shook his head at some imagined wrongdoing, grinning all the while. The atmosphere was light, carefree—a perfect stage for memories to surface.
“I once tried to impress a date by cooking dinner.” Jongho said, swaying slightly as he set down a plate. “Big mistake. I somehow mistook sugar for salt in a dessert. She ate it anyway… politely. Then smiled at me and said, ‘You’re adorable when you fail.’ Adorable. When I fail.” He threw his head back, laughing at the memory.
Lucas snorted, nearly spilling his wine. “And let me guess… you never called her again?”
“Of course not!” Jongho said, mock horror on his face. “I was too embarrassed. That dessert haunted me for weeks!”
Even y/n let out a soft giggle, covering her mouth with her hand. The anecdote was silly, but Jongho’s timing, paired with the warmth of the wine, made it infectious.
Lucas noticed her first, the soft glow of wine and low light catching her smile. It wasn't Jongho's story—though it had been funny—it was something else entirely. “Ah, I see it now,” he said, lifting his glass with a knowing smirk. “That look… San’s got you grinning like a fool again, doesn’t he? Can’t blame you, the guy’s charm is lethal.”
Jongho froze mid-pour, eyes widening like he’d just discovered a secret ingredient in her mise en place. “San?” he echoed, lowering the bottle slowly. “Is that the mysterious, single father from the supermarket?”
“Yes, I invited him to last weekend's group hangout, to Lucas’ set.” y/n confirmed, a giggle slipping through her tipsy haze. She tilted her head, the glow from the kitchen lights catching her hair. “He… he is incredible. Thoughtful. Sweet. And I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s ridiculous.”
Jongho’s eyes widened. “Wait—so you’ve met him already?” His gaze darted to Lucas, almost glaring, as he leaned in, mock-annoyed.
Lucas smirked, crossing his arms with that familiar smug pride. “Well, if you hadn’t skipped my gig last weekend, Jongho, you’d have met San too.”
Jongho groaned dramatically, throwing his hands in the air. “Hey, I told you, my cousin’s impromptu art exhibition opened that night. Couldn’t skip it!”
Lucas raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Ah, of course… the exhibition. How convenient.”
Jongho shrugged, a sheepish grin forming. “And then there was the food tasting for my aunt’s new café. I had to!”
Lucas leaned back, shaking his head with a grin that was all teeth. “Meanwhile, my gig is where the real action happened. y/n started talking about him while I performaced—first time I’d seen her actually light up like that. Yunho, Mingi, Hongjoong… they were all eating it up.”
He shot y/n a teasing glance, watching the pink creep into her cheeks, hiding her face in her hands. “And, of course, Mingi couldn’t help himself. He kept nudging her—‘call him, invite him, what’s the worst that could happen?’ You know how he gets when he’s on a roll.”
Lucas raised his glass, smug as ever. “And guess what? She actually did. Next thing I know, San and little Soo-bin were spending the whole day with us. Bold move, sis. Very bold.”
Jongho leaned back in his chair, shaking his head with a smirk. “Well, well, well… looks like our aloof, perfectionist y/n isn’t immune to… humans. Who knew?”
y/n groaned, tossing a napkin at him. “Oh, shut up. You make it sound like I live in a cave.”
“You basically do,” Jongho shot back, catching the napkin with ease. “Work, sleep, terrorizing your staff… repeat.” He raised his glass, eyes glinting with amusement. “And yet, one single dad with puppy eyes waltzes in, and suddenly you’re giggling with Yunho after two beers.”
y/n buried her face in her hands, laughing despite herself. “You’re insufferable.”
“That’s what family’s for,” Jongho replied smoothly, clearly savoring every second of her flustered state.
y/n rolled her eyes, a soft laugh escaping her lips, the wine and the camaraderie loosening her usual guard. “I’m not immune, guys,” she said. “I’m just… careful. You both know I’ve been hurt before and I don’t give this side of me easily. But he’s… different.”
Lucas exchanged a look with Jongho, their eyes warm with understanding and mischief. “Careful, huh?” Lucas said, shaking his head, laughing. “Sounds more like you’re already halfway gone.”
y/n groaned, hiding her face briefly in her hands before reaching for her glass again. “I’m not halfway anywhere,” she muttered, though the color in her cheeks betrayed her.
Jongho leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes narrowing in mock-interrogation. “Alright, spill it. What’s his deal? Is he actually charming, or just tall? Did he survive the full force of your control-freak tendencies, or is he still in recovery?”
y/n shook her head, laughing softly at Jongho’s dramatics. “He’s… normal. Not in a boring way, but in a grounded way. He listens, he notices things, he doesn’t make me feel like I have to put on some performance all the time.” She hesitated, her voice dipping quieter. “He makes me feel… safe.”
Lucas whistled softly, mock-dramatic. “Safe, huh? So the handsome, quiet one’s got you wrapped around his finger already?”
Jongho leaned back, grinning, arms crossed. “Safe’s dangerous, y/n. Don’t blink, or he might just steal your heart while we’re all watching.” He added with a knowing look at Lucas.
y/n’s blush deepened, but she laughed, leaning back in her chair. “You two are ridiculous,” she said, but her voice was soft, warm. “But you know what? I think I like it. Being ridiculous. Being… a little vulnerable.”
Lucas raised his glass, tipping it towards her. “To vulnerability, then! And to San… if he knows what’s good for him.”
Jongho lifted his own glass, smirking. “And to our fearless, perfectionist chef finally putting down the weight of the world for a minute. Cheers to that!”
They clinked glasses, laughter spilling into the kitchen. Hours slipped by, and there was no service, no pressure, no mistakes—just wine, leftover bites from her restaurant, and the rare, precious sight of y/n letting herself feel something beyond the kitchen, beyond control.
The wine—and the laughter—had loosened them completely. The plates of food were long gone, but the warmth lingered in the room.
Eventually, the kitchen stools were abandoned in favor of the sofa, soft cushions swallowing them as they settled in. Glasses were refilled and the chatter softened into easy murmurs. Legs curled up, elbows propped on pillows, they sank into the comfort of the room, letting the evening stretch around them like a warm blanket.
y/n’s head tilted back against the couch cushion, half-lidded eyes sparkling with mischief and contentment. Lucas had sprawled across the other end, his wine glass precariously balanced on the armrest, half-empty.
A rerun of some cheesy late-night show flickered on the TV, but neither of them paid much attention. The soft hum of the city outside reminded them how late it had gotten.
“I… I can’t drive like this,” Lucas admitted with a wobbly grin, stretching his long legs after keeping them crossed enough time to start feeling them numb. “You can’t either, y/n.” Added Jongho from the sink as he was rinsing the dishes under the tap.
“Fine,” she said, drinking another sip from her glass. “Sleepover at your place, then.”
Jongho chuckled, shrugging. “I guess my couch is now a temporary hotel for the world’s most tipsy chef and her brother. Don’t trash it.”
y/n laughed, leaning back with a mock salute. “Okay. I’ll behave… ish.”
Jongho grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch while Lucas collapsed onto the cushions with a content sigh. y/n sank deeper into the sofa, tucking her legs beneath her as she angled toward the corner. Lucas had stretched out on the other side, feet brushing hers lightly. A soft grin tugged at her lips. Just like when we fell asleep after lunch at Grandma’s, she thought, the memory warm and familiar.
She nudged him gently with her toe, a teasing sparkle in her eyes. “Remember how we napped after lunch at Grandma’s sofa?” she teased. “You literally snored through the pudding. I had to wake you for dessert.”
Lucas let out a soft groan, eyes half-closed, already surrendering to the warmth and wine. He didn’t respond, drifting toward sleep. y/n shook her head, laughing quietly, but didn’t move her feet—enjoying the tiny brush against him, the memory, and the comfort of being close.
Jongho gave them a warm smile, pouring himself a small cup of water, then sinking into the armchair beside the sofa with a sigh. “Well, this is… peaceful,” he murmured, letting the soft light from the kitchen spill across the room.
Jongho’s own tipsiness made him bolder, gentler. He shifted slightly, leaning back in his chair, letting the silence carry a warmth he hadn’t let himself voice before. “I’m really happy to see you like this. Really happy. I’ve been lucky, getting to sneak into your world all these years. Working with you, learning from you, seeing you in your element. And now… seeing you let yourself feel, it’s nice.”
He paused, letting the words settle, the sincerity in his tone enough to quiet the apartment for a heartbeat. “You deserve to be happy, y/n. I’m just glad I get to witness it.”
y/n, caught off guard by his earnestness, felt a warm blush creep across her face. Even tipsy and tired, she couldn’t help the little chuckle that broke through. She let out a soft sigh, eyes meeting Jongho’s with a rare, unguarded warmth. “Thanks… for noticing. For being here. It… it means a lot to me, more than I can say sometimes. Just having you here, sitting like this, it feels… right. Like I can breathe a little easier, even if it’s just for tonight.”
Jongho raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Careful, you’re getting sappy on me.”
y/n rolled her eyes, a small grin tugging at her lips. “You started first!”
He leaned back, fingers steepled like a scheming villain. “Guilty. But admit it… it’s terrifying, right? Feeling all… soft?”
She snorted, shaking her head. “Terrifying and pathetic. Perfect combo.”
“Exactly,” he said, a wicked glint in his eyes. “You’re fucked.”
But the words faltered as the realization hit her like a truck. She let out a nervous laugh, small and sharp, trying to mask the truth in jest. “Fine, maybe I am a little fucked,” she muttered, shaking her head.
Jongho’s grin widened, eyes sparkling. “Ah. There it is. Finally, honesty.”
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the small, nervous laugh escaping her. “Don’t look so smug. I’m… fine, really. Just… irritatingly aware he exists.”
“Right,” he said, leaning back, steepling his fingers again, “annoyingly aware. Got it. Sounds dangerously close to… feelings.”
y/n froze for a heartbeat, then muttered under her breath, “Yeah, well… maybe they are.”
The words hung between them, a mix of confession and jest, and y/n let herself sink into it—messy, intoxicating, and undeniably real.
He smiled, letting the conversation fall into a comfortable silence, the small moment of sincerity lingering softly between them as the night hummed on.
The apartment had quieted, the party of laughter and clinking glasses reduced to soft shadows. Lucas and y/n were curled on the couch beneath a shared blanket, the warmth between them more comfort than conversation. Jongho slipped toward his bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar, a silent promise that help was nearby if needed.
y/n nestled deeper into the cushions, her mind replaying the night’s moments, the confession she’d just let slip lingering like a thrill in her chest. Her heartbeat carried the giddy, nervous warmth of her feelings for San, and though fear whispered in the corners, it was drowned out by anticipation and a quiet, happy sort of hope.
The room glimmered faintly—the empty wine bottles catching the glow of the television, the screen casting gentle light across the cozy space. A soft voice from a movie she barely watched lulled her toward sleep, and she let herself drift, a small, contented smile tugging at her lips.
San lingered in her thoughts, warm and steady, wanting to see him again—feel that closeness, that comfort, that undeniable pull. The house was still, the night endless, and in that calm, she fell asleep with a fluttering heart and a quiet, hopeful smile.
Today started with a storm. Rain streaked the windows, the gray sky pressing softly against the glass. In the kitchen, the quiet clatter of pans and the gentle hiss of the stove were the only sounds. San moved with calm precision, letting the rich aroma of brewing coffee fill the apartment, a small island of warmth against the drizzle outside.
San wore his favorite lazy-Saturday outfit: oversized black sweatpants that swallowed his legs in comfort, paired with a thick, black wool sweater that smelled faintly of his own laundry detergent. The kind of clothing that invited slow stretches and lingering on the sofa with a mug of coffee, letting the storm rage outside while he stayed perfectly cocooned inside.
Soo-bin’s door was still shut—he’d let her sleep in a little, knowing she needed it after a week full of school and play. He cherished these stolen moments of calm, a small pocket of peace before the world demanded his attention again.
As he cracked eggs into a bowl, whisking them slowly, his thoughts drifted. y/n… I wonder if she’s awake yet. I wonder if she had her coffee. If she smiled today.
A pang of nerves made his chest tighten. For years, he’d kept his heart under lock and key, but lately, there was a persistent flutter, a quiet urging to reach out.
Glancing at his phone on the counter, he hesitated for a heartbeat. Then, carefully, he typed a short message:
“Good morning, y/n. Did you sleep okay?.”
His thumb hovered over send, caught between hope and fear—hope that she’d reply, fear of being too forward.
The simple act left him strangely exposed, yet lighter. He returned to his eggs, but a small smile lingered, a quiet warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time. For a few minutes, it was just him, the quiet kitchen, and the thought of seeing her again.
Suddenly, a soft yawn floated from the bedroom, followed by little feet padding toward the kitchen. That made San glance up from the stove. Soo-bin appeared with her hair tousled and eyes half-closed, clutching her favorite blanket. “Morning, appa…” Soo-bin mumbled, her messy hair sticking up in every direction, eyes half-lidded with sleep. She wore her favorite two-piece pajama—a square-patterned pink and yellow shirt with matching bottoms.
Normally, she was bursting with energy in the mornings, jumping into his bed to wake him up no matter how late he let her sleep. But today… her voice was quiet, subdued, her usual spark somehow dimmed. San’s chest tightened slightly, a flicker of curiosity and protectiveness stirring.
She tried to climb onto one of the stools in front of him, small hands gripping the edges as she lifted her leg with careful balance. San couldn’t help but notice—it was weird, seeing her so… calm. He watched her carefully, letting himself quietly linger on the thought that something about this morning felt… different.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” he said, smiling. “Careful,” San said, reaching out to steady her. “Come on, let’s get you up.” He held out his hands, and she wiggled into them, giggling as he lifted her toward the counter stool. With a little shimmy and a playful tug, she landed safely, feet dangling but eyes brightening at the kitchen’s smells.
“Eggs?” she mumbled, still half in dreamland.
“Eggs it is,” San replied, pouring the whisked mixture into the hot pan. The sizzle made her perk up, leaning forward to watch every motion. “Want to help me stir?” he offered, sliding the spatula toward her.
Soo-bin wiggled on the stool, then carefully hoisted herself onto the countertop beside him, balancing with one hand on the edge. Her small hands gripped the spatula with exaggerated focus, mimicking his movements as he guided her gently.
“Careful… careful… perfect! You’re a natural,” San said, nudging her lightly with his elbow. A little giggle escaped her, the sleepy haze melting away. “See? Breakfast always makes mornings better,” he added, and her eyes brightened further as the warmth of their shared moment filled the kitchen.
As Soo-bin stirred, slightly uneven but with pure delight, San couldn’t help but smile. She was growing so fast, yet these little moments were everything.
And yet… his thoughts kept drifting. I wonder if y/n likes mornings like this. I wonder if she’d appreciate the smell of coffee, the comfort a warm breakfast brings to the body. I hope I see her again soon…
“Almost done,” he said, flipping the eggs gently. “Then you can have a taste.” Soo-bin’s eyes sparkled in anticipation, and he felt that familiar swell of pride—he was just a dad, maybe not perfect, but for her, he was enough.
San slid the eggs onto a plate, cutting them into small pieces before setting them in front of Soo-bin. “Alright, dumpling,” he said, handing her a fork, “your masterpiece.”
He moved to the counter, carefully pouring himself a steaming cup of coffee and sliding a small glass of fresh orange juice toward her. All the while, his eyes never left her, watching as she half-heartedly poked at the scrambled eggs. Her small frame hunched slightly on the stool, cheek resting in her palm, eyes heavy as if the gray morning itself had pulled all her energy away. Normally, she’d be bouncing around, negotiating for extra toast or sneaking a bit of jam—but today, she just pushed the food around in silence.
San sipped his coffee, brow furrowed, trying to decipher the unusual quiet. Something about her energy—or lack of it—felt off, and he refused to let it pass unnoticed.
He leaned on the counter across from her, brows furrowing. “Not hungry?”
Soo-bin shook her head, barely lifting her eyes.
San sighed softly, though there was no edge in his voice. “That’s not going to work, dumpling.” He picked up her fork, scooping a piece of egg, and held it toward her with a gentle insistence. “Open up.”
She pouted faintly. “Appa…”
“Nope,” San said, his tone light but firm, “no arguments. You need at least a few bites.” He wiggled the fork like it was some kind of silly game, coaxing her. When she finally opened her mouth, he slipped the food in and grinned as if he’d won a small victory.
She chewed slowly, gaze drifting. “Don’t want more.”
San leaned into the counter a little bit more, lowering himself so their eyes were level. “I know,” he said quietly. “But I also know you, Soo-bin. If I let you skip breakfast, you’ll be cranky by noon and then neither of us will survive.” He smiled, hoping to make her smile too, and offered another bite. This time, she accepted with a sigh, leaning lazily against the counter.
Up close, San noticed the pink flush in her cheeks, warmer than it should’ve been. His stomach tightened with unease, but he kept his voice gentle. “Hmm… I think someone’s running a little warm.” He brushed her hair back, the back of his hand resting briefly on her forehead.
San felt a pang in his chest, the familiar knot of worry tightening, but he forced a soft smile and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Then we’ll take care of you today,” he said, voice steady. “No homework, no running around. Just you and me, cartoons, and maybe some honey tea if you’re up for it.”
Even as he spoke, he couldn’t stop the flutter of unease in his stomach, but he tucked it away carefully, letting only warmth reach her. He would be her calm, her safe space—she didn’t need to see him falter.
Her lips curved faintly, the smallest of smiles. “And cookies?”
He chuckled, relieved to see a flicker of her usual spark. “We’ll see, little negotiator.”
But even as he teased, San fed her another bite—because spoiling her, coaxing her, making sure she was cared for—that was his way of keeping the fear at bay.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, unbidden, a thought surfaced: Could’ve used one of y/n’s genius ideas right about now. She’d probably have a whole list of remedies ready. He shook the thought off quickly, but not without a faint, wistful smile.
She shook her head, cheeks puffed in a gentle pout as if to say she’d had enough. He let out a quiet chuckle, ruffling her hair. “Alright, alright. I won’t push.”
But as he rinsed the dishes, his eyes lingered on her small figure, slouched against the counter, her cheek pressed to her folded arms. The faint flush in her cheeks hadn’t faded—in fact, it looked warmer now, and unease crept up his spine.
It’s just a little bug. She gets them all the time when the seasons change. Kids get sick, it’s normal.
Still, the thought didn’t ease the weight in his chest. She’d always been smaller than the other kids her age, fragile in ways he tried not to obsess over. He hated how quickly his mind jumped ahead—What if it’s more than a cold? What if she gets worse overnight?—a storm of what-ifs he’d learned to swallow down ever since she was born.
“Come on, dumpling,” he murmured, scooping her up carefully. She was heavier now, long legs dangling against his side, but she still fit against him like she always had, her head tucking neatly under his chin. “Let’s try to make you feel a little better.”
Her skin was hot where it touched his neck. Too hot.
In the bathroom, he turned on the taps, letting the water run until steam curled up into the air. He poured in a cupful of the lavender-scented bath oil she liked, the one she insisted made her feel like “a princess in a castle.” The scent quickly filled the small room, soothing even to him.
He tested the water, swirling his hand through it until it was the right warmth. Not too hot—God, don’t make her warmer. Just enough to help her muscles relax.
Balancing her on one hip, he crouched to set her down gently, brushing stray strands of hair from her flushed face.
“A nice bath will help, hmm? Get rid of all the bad stuff making you tired.”
She blinked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes and gave a tiny nod. “But you stay, Appa.”
He smiled, heart squeezing at her trust. “Of course. I’ll sit right here.”
As she eased into the bath with a sigh, San folded himself onto the tiled floor, rolling up his sleeves and resting his forearms on his knees. His eyes never left her.
You’re fine. She’s fine. It’s just a little fever. Kids bounce back. Don’t let her see you worry.
He watched her body sink into the water, her breathing slow, her eyes already half-shut from comfort. The warmth seemed to be working, but his chest still felt too tight.
If y/n were here, she’d tell me I’m overreacting. She’d know exactly what to cook, what tea to make, which ridiculous home remedy works. She’d tease me for fussing… and I’d let her, if it meant Soo-bin smiling again.
San exhaled softly, running a hand down his face before forcing himself to lean back against the wall, close enough to reach her in an instant if she needed him. “That’s it,” he whispered, half to her, half to himself. “Let it do its magic.”
The bathroom was warm, a soft haze of steam clinging to the mirror. Soo-bin sat in the middle of the tub, her little legs crossed, dark hair sticking to her cheeks. A small rubber duck and a plastic pirate ship floated around her—but tonight, she wasn’t paying them much attention. Her eyes were heavy, her expression quiet, like even the effort of splashing was too much.
Normally, she’d play, giggle, and demand voices for the rubber duck. Wanting her father to tell her stories about the adventures of the pirates from the boat. But today, she only leaned subtly toward her father, eyelids heavy, her body sluggish with fever.
His fingers dipped into the water now and then, nudging the boat closer to her, making the duck spin in circles. He wasn’t really playing. It was just something to do, a way to keep the silence from pressing too hard on his chest.
She’s too small to look this tired, he thought, watching her little hand trail weakly across the water’s surface. He hated the way worry made him restless, but it was better than sitting still. Better than letting his mind spiral into the hundred things that could be wrong.
The boat tapped against Soo-bin’s arm. She blinked at it slowly, then at him. “Appa,” she whispered, voice scratchy.
He leaned forward instantly. “Hmm? You okay, princess?”
Her lips pulled into a tiny, tired smile. “I love you.”
San froze, his hand still half in the water, knuckles brushing the duck. The words punched the air out of his lungs, so soft yet so overwhelming. He swallowed hard, blinking fast. How is it that she always knows when I need to hear it most?
He leaned closer, brushing her damp bangs from her forehead. “I love you too, Bin. More than anything.” His voice was steady, but his chest ached with the weight of it, with how much he meant it.
She nodded faintly, eyelids drooping again, the boat forgotten against her side.
San gave the duck another absent spin, his other hand still steadying her with gentle touches against her back. He needed the motion, needed something to occupy his nerves. Between his daughter’s fever, the constant tug of responsibility, and the giddy warmth that still lingered from last date with y/n, he felt stretched thin—fragile, but full.
Still, as he watched Soo-bin fight sleep in the tub, he thought: She’s my anchor. Whatever happens… she’ll always come first.
The bathroom was muted gray from the storm outside, rain lashing softly against the small window above the tub. Steam curled through the air, blurring edges. Warm light from the corridor spilled in, mingling with the soft glow of the wall-mounted fixture above the mirror.
His hand moved in gentle circles over Soo-bin’s damp back, steady and grounding—for her, and for him.
San exhaled slowly, focusing on her breathing—until his phone buzzed from the counter. The vibration broke through the quiet like a small knock on a door he wasn’t sure he should open. But curiosity—and something warmer—pulled at him, and he reached for it, cautious not to disturb Soo-bin.
y/n: “Good morning, San. Thank you for your text… it made my day start a little softer. I have to admit though… I’ve officially decided that red wine is evil. Next time, please remind me not to drink a whole bottle after work. Hangover: 1, y/n: 0.”
San couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips as he read it. She sounded… playful, human, honest.
Keep it casual. Don’t worry her, he reminded himself. He quickly dried his hand on his pants before typing, fingers moving between steadying his daughter:
“Oh no… hangover, huh? Make sure to drink enough water! But are you okay? Headache bad, or just a lesson learned?”
San’s thumb hovered over the send button for a moment longer, a small, careful smile tugging at his lips. But he quickly hit send, not wanting to let his daughter feel any of the distraction swirling inside him.
Sliding the phone into the pocket of his sweatpants, he spoke: “Alright, dumpling,” he murmured softly, grabbing a fluffy towel draped over the bathroom counter. Scooping Soo-bin up with practiced care, he wrapped her gently in it, holding her close as he lifted her from the warm bath.
Every movement was measured, tender—afraid that even the slightest jostle might hurt her. Her tiny arms clung to his neck instinctively, and he whispered soothing nonsense as he carried her through the soft, gray morning light, the patter of rain against the window echoing his quiet steps.
He eased her onto the soft rug in her bedroom, still holding her for a heartbeat longer than necessary just to make sure she was safe and cozy, keeping the towel wrapped loosely around her shoulders.
“Okay, let’s get you into something comfy,” he murmured, helping her step into soft lounge pants and a cozy long-sleeve shirt. Every motion was slow and careful, his hands steady, making sure she felt warm and safe.
“Alright, all set,” San murmured, finishing tugging the soft lounge pants and long-sleeve shirt into place. Soo-bin shifted slightly, cheeks flushed, and he felt that tiny ache in his chest again at how fragile she looked.
Carefully, he scooped her up into his arms, cradling her close, making sure she didn’t shiver as he carried her through the apartment toward the living room. The familiar buzz against his hip reminded him of his phone, but he ignored it—right now, she was all that mattered.
At the couch, he lowered her gently onto the cushions, tucking a soft throw blanket around her. His fingers brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead, noting the warmth of her skin. Soo-bin let out a soft, tired sigh, nuzzling slightly into the blanket, and he sank into the floor beside her, kissing her forehead lightly.
Rising quietly, he crossed to the fireplace and knelt to light it. He held his hands over the flames, letting the warmth seep into his chilled fingers. The dancing light cast amber and gold patterns across the walls, flickering across Soo-bin’s flushed cheeks and the cozy blanket tucked around her.
He flexed his fingers slowly, the heat comforting, and ran his palms over each other to brush away the faint dust left from the light wood, the scent of the logs mingling with the faintly sweet smell of the blanket and his daughter’s pajamas. For a moment, he simply watched the fire, letting its glow fill the room, before rising and returning to her side.
Back to the sofa, he pressed his side gently against hers, slipping her tiny, cold feet into his hands. He rubbed them gently, careful not to startle her, letting the warmth of the fire and his touch seep into her little body.
San exhaled softly, allowing himself a small stretch against the couch’s cushions. Soo-bin’s little feet were placed in his lap now, her breaths slow and even, the silence allowing him to relax just a fraction. Carefully, so as not to disturb her, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
y/n’s reply blinked onto the screen:
"A little bit of both. My head feels like a drum solo, but I’ll survive. Coffee is on my side."
A small, tired smile tugged at San’s lips. He typed back, fingers moving easily across the screen:
"Good. Because I already have one patient this morning. Soo-bin woke up feeling off… low fever. I’m playing chef, nurse, and toy entertainer all at once."
He hit send, letting the light humor soften the worry that had tightened his chest. Resting the phone on his hand, he rubbed his free thumb over the blanket covering Soo-bin, letting the warmth of the fire and her small, steady presence anchor him.
A new message appeared on his screen almost instantly, and San’s chest tightened a little.
“Poor baby :( Is she feeling okay? I could… I don’t know… make a little soup for her. My grandmother used to make it when we were sick. It’s nothing fancy, but it helps.”
San smiled softly, a warmth spreading in his chest at her words. Even over text, her instinct to care for someone else shone through. He quickly typed back, careful to keep his tone light yet grateful:
“That’s really sweet, but don’t worry about us. I can manage. Soo-bin and I are fine. I don’t want to trouble you while you’re bouncing back.”
Her reply was immediate, firm but playful:
“Nope. I insist. You’re letting me off too easy. If I can help, I will. Plus… I kind of want an excuse to see you both again…”
San sank into the couch, phone still in hand, a soft smile tugging at his lips. His heart thumped a little faster reading her words—her bluntness, the way she didn’t hesitate to say what she felt, it made him ache in the best way.
He let out a quiet laugh, almost a sigh, imagining her standing there, that confident spark in her eyes, insisting on helping him. It made the apartment feel warmer, somehow, even though he was alone. He pressed the phone to his chest for a moment, just breathing her presence through the screen. He glanced down at Soo-bin, tugging at her blanket with a little pout in her sleep. She’d love it… but y/n’s still not feeling 100%.
He typed slowly, choosing words that would be gentle but firm:
"I appreciate it… really. But I don’t want you to push yourself. If I let you come over, it’s partly because you’re stubborn… and partly because I’d lose if we argued."
Her response came with a wink emoji:
“I can live with that. Stubborn works for me ;) Chef is on its way!”
San shook his head, smiling despite himself, as he reached into the coffee table for the TV remote. Even when I resist, she’s persistent. And I don’t mind it. Not one bit.
Her next text made his stomach flutter:
“Actually… Could you send me your address?”
San froze for a second. She’s really coming over.
“Wow, you’re really coming? Sending it before I change my mind.”
He typed his address, then set the phone down, taking a deep breath. His mind buzzed with the small details he usually ignored—the clutter on the counter, the toys in the corner, the faint smell of breakfast lingering in the air.
Suddenly, he was moving, scooping up crayons and stuffed animals like a man on a mission, shoving them into baskets and straightening cushions with unnecessary precision. He wiped at the counter with the sleeve of his shirt, paused, then went back with an actual cloth, muttering under his breath. It wasn’t that the place was dirty—just… lived in. But now that she was coming, San felt this ridiculous need to make the space look less like a whirlwind had passed through it and more like… well, a home.
He stepped back for a moment, hands on his hips, surveying the half-tidied room with a nervous exhale. The racing around slowed, replaced by something heavier but softer.
The reality of y/n coming to his home—the space he shared with Soo-bin, their little routines—hit him with a strange mix of excitement and anxiety. She’s really coming here. And… I actually want her to see this place. I want her to see us.
A few hours later, the apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the TV, cartoons flickering across the screen. Earlier, Soo-bin had stirred awake, cheeks flushed and mumbling for water. San had helped her sip from her bottle, then cooled a damp cloth and pressed it gently to her forehead until her eyes fluttered shut again. Now, dozed off again, she’s curled up against his side on the sofa, the little cloth slipping slightly as her tiny body rose and fell with each breath, warm against him, trusting.
San stayed still, careful not to wake her, letting her weight anchor him in the moment. He could feel the softness of her hair brushing against his arm, the small rhythm of her breathing steadying him. Yet even with her asleep, he couldn’t settle. His mind kept spinning, running through every tiny detail—Will she like this? Does the apartment look okay? Am I dressed appropriately?
He let out a slow breath, shifting slightly so he could peek at the clock. There was no turning back now. She was coming, and despite the calm of the afternoon, his nerves were taut with anticipation.
She’s really coming…
The sudden chime of the apartment doorbell made San’s chest tighten. His hand lingered on the edge of the sofa for a second longer before he carefully stood, making sure not to disturb Soo-bin’s light, steady breathing.
He walked toward the door, each step measured, his mind racing. Calm… just be calm…
Opening it, he was greeted by a sight that made him pause mid-motion. y/n stood there, balancing an impressive collection of grocery bags in her arms. Stems of fresh vegetables peeked out, leafy greens brushing against the sides of the paper bags. She carried it all effortlessly, yet somehow looked like she had stepped out of a daydream.
Her face was bare, just her natural features softly catching the light that spilled from the hallway. Loose black hair framed her face, tumbling over her shoulders in simple waves. Damp from the storm outside, the strands were threaded with tiny droplets, a soft reminder of the gray morning pressing at the windows.
The faint dark circles beneath her eyes hinted at long days or restless nights, yet her presence was radiant, almost magnetic. The casual, simple outfit she wore—nothing flashy, just a white sweater and black pants—somehow made her seem effortlessly both approachable and mysterious.
San felt his thoughts drift, momentarily caught up in the little details: the way her hair fell over her cheek, the hint of color in her lips, the way she balanced the bags without spilling a single stem.
“Uh… hey,” he finally managed, his voice a little rougher than usual. He stepped aside, motioning for her to come in. “Let me help you with those.” He made a small motion as if to take them, but stopped short when she hugged the bags closer, the refusal unspoken.
y/n gave a small, warm smile, her eyes meeting his. “I think I’ve got it… but thank you,” she said, her voice soft, friendly, and just enough to make his heart skip.
For a moment, San simply watched her, as if memorizing the sight before he could usher her inside. The sound of the door clicking closed behind her seemed almost ceremonious. She was here. And his morning suddenly felt charged with possibility.
Kicking off her shoes, y/n stepped fully inside, her arms still loaded with groceries, and let her gaze drift around the apartment. “Wow… San,” she breathed softly, eyes wide, taking it all in. “This place… it’s like something out of a magazine.”
San followed her gaze, a small, shy smile tugging at his lips. “Thank you,” he said, a little embarrassed by the praise. “I spend my days designing spaces for other people… But this one… this one was for us. I wanted her to grow up safe, and maybe even proud of her dad.“
y/n’s eyes softened as she took in the space—the clean lines, the clever use of natural light, the warm touches that made it feel homey. She shifted her weight slightly, cradling the bags closer, almost like she didn’t want to disturb the calm, quiet elegance of the apartment.
“It shows,” she murmured, glancing back at him, her lips curving into a small, teasing smile. “Honestly? If she’s not already proud of you, she’s crazy. Because I kind of am—and I just walked in.”
y/n’s words hung in the air, soft and unexpected, and San found himself at a rare loss for what to say. His chest warmed, ears tingling slightly, and he cleared his throat.
San stepped ahead, gently guiding her toward the kitchen. “Let’s put these down,” he murmured, careful, as if the words themselves could smooth over any awkwardness. He tried to focus on the bags in her arms, anything to give himself a second to breathe, to let his thoughts settle before speaking again.
She followed him, steps light, eyes glancing toward the windows where rain streaked down, casting a soft, gray glow across the open-concept kitchen. The apartment felt warm and safe despite the storm outside—sunlight replaced by the cozy reflection of wet streets on polished wood, clever nooks, and the seamless flow that made it feel both grand and inviting.
But then, her gaze drifted to San—glasses slightly slipping down his nose, hair tousled, cozy black sweater—and she found herself quietly admiring how effortlessly clean and composed he looked, even in the lazy chaos of a stormy morning. He moved with the careful precision of someone used to holding space for others. There was something… undeniably him about it, grounding and inviting.
y/n paused, taking it all in, before her gaze fell on Soo-bin curled up on the couch, half-hidden beneath a blanket, soft breaths rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm. Immediately, she lowered her voice, setting the bags down with care, not wanting to disturb the quiet serenity.
“Aw… she looks so cozy,” y/n whispered, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I hope she’s feeling a bit better.”
San nodded, giving a soft, almost grateful sigh. “Yeah… she slept in a little this morning. Feels good to finally see her resting.”
y/n’s eyes lingered on his daughter for a moment longer, warmth spreading in her chest. Even with the mundane task of unpacking groceries, she felt the apartment exhale a welcome, lived-in charm—and a quiet, intimate invitation that made her heart skip just slightly.
Once they reach the counter, y/n carefully sets down the bags on the counter, glancing up at San with a teasing grin. “Wow… your kitchen is ridiculously neat,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “I mean, it’s beautiful, but I feel like one crumb from Soo-bin here could trigger a full-scale alarm.”
San let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “I like it this way,” he said, glancing toward the couch where Soo-bin slept, curled under a blanket. “But don’t worry. One crumb from Soo-bin won’t bring the place down. She’s allowed a little chaos.” His eyes lingered on Soo-bin for a beat longer, her little feet rubbing together as she tried to find a more comfortable position. He shook his head with a soft smile, then turned back toward y/n.
She was already unpacking the groceries, her fingers brushing over a bundle of fresh vegetables. y/n peeked up at him, a playful glint in her eyes. “Okay, let’s start,” she said, lifting a bunch of herbs. “This is my grandma’s healing soup recipe—works every time. She’ll be back to bossing you around before you even finish the leftovers.”
San chuckled, shaking his head. “As long as it gets her back to herself… I’ll happily trade my peace and quiet.” The playful note lingered, but his voice dropped gentler at the end.
y/n smiled at that, tilting her head. “You say that now—but give it a week of her running wild again and you’ll be begging for quiet.”
San arched a brow, leaning lightly against the counter. “Maybe. But between you and her, I think I lost that battle already.”
The words—casual, but warm—landed heavier than she expected. For a heartbeat, y/n’s teasing smile faltered, her pulse speeding as she tried to regain her composure. She shifted, adjusting the groceries in her arms, then deliberately turned her attention to the bag.
“And this,” she said, a touch too quickly, “is a plushie for Soo-bin.” She pulled out a tiny, soft fox and held it up, wiggling it with exaggerated cheerfulness. The motion was almost comical, but it did little to hide the faint flush creeping across her cheeks.
San chuckled, shaking his head, eyes soft. “You’re dangerously good at this,” he said, his tone both amused and warm, the quiet honesty in his gaze making her heart skip again.
y/n blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sincerity in his eyes, then laughed softly, a little breathless.
“Oh! And here,” she added, digging into the bag once more, taking out a small, neatly wrapped package. “This one’s for you. A little thank-you for letting me sneak into your apartment… and for letting me see this side of you.” She offered it with a shy, lopsided smile, the flustered warmth in her expression betraying the careful humor she tried to maintain.
San accepted the small package with a soft smile, tilting it in his hands as if weighing the gesture. “You really didn’t have to,” he said, voice low, warm. “And yet… here you are, sneaking generosity into my kitchen like it’s nothing.” His eyebrows quirked, amused. “Do you do this to everyone, or just me?”
y/n chuckled nervously, a faint pink brushing her cheeks. “I… I don’t know,” she said, shrugging as if unsure how much to admit. “I guess I just like to bring something whenever someone invites me over. It’s kind of a habit. But… this time, it’s different,” she admitted softly, the words tumbling out before she could second-guess herself.
San’s eyebrows lifted, catching the subtle honesty in her tone. “Different how?” he asked, voice gentle, teasing just enough to draw a reaction without pushing too hard.
She fidgeted, a small laugh escaping, half-nervous, half-defiant. “Because it’s… for you,” she said, finally letting the truth sit in the space between them, the storm outside fading into a quiet hum behind the windowpane.
San’s chest tightened just a fraction, warmth blooming across his chest. He tilted his head, eyes soft but amused. “I’ll take that,” he murmured, careful not to wake Soo-bin, yet letting the corner of his mouth lift in a quiet, genuine smile.
San carefully set the small package aside, still holding the warmth of her words in his chest. He straightened just enough to shake off the lingering tension, letting a small, amused smile linger. “Alright,” he said softly, “let’s see what else you’ve brought.”
As y/n unpacked the rest of the groceries, she gently pulled out each item as she went, checking under her breath each ingredient. “Carrots… check. Leeks… yes, fresh. Chicken, good. Onions… here. And these pastries for moral support while cooking… essential.”
Her tone was quiet, deliberate, each word a careful step in her mental checklist, slipping seamlessly into her chef mode. She arranged the vegetables by size and type, double-checking the freshness, her hands moving with practiced ease.
San couldn’t help but watch her, a quiet warmth settling in his chest. “You turn unpacking groceries into an art form,” he said with admiration.
“And you,” she replied with a cheeky wink, “are dangerously easy to amuse.”
“Only when the company is worth it,” he murmured, letting a faint, teasing smile play at the corners of his mouth.
Her laugh drifted into the soft patter of rain against the windows, the fireplace crackling low in the corner. Soo-bin slept bundled on the couch, small breaths rising and falling, leaving the adults in a hushed world scented with burned wood, fresh vegetables, and quiet anticipation.
San lingered at the counter for a moment, hands hesitatingly hovering over the vegetables. He wanted to help, but y/n’s effortless ease with the ingredients made him feel slightly out of place in his own home. A stranger in a place that was still entirely his.
“Alright,” he said finally, voice soft, “what do you need me to start with?” he asked, glancing at the array of vegetables on the counter.
“Carrots first,” she said, offering him a small, measured smile. “Peel and slice them thin, but don’t make them uniform; it gives the soup more character.” y/n replied, already tackling the onions. He nodded, peeling carefully, a little slower than necessary. His fingers were a little clumsy at first, but she didn’t seem to mind.
“You know,” she said, tossing a sliced onion into a small bowl, “you’re surprisingly careful for someone who’s not a chef.”
San’s chest lifted in a small laugh. “I can be meticulous when I want to be.”
They moved in tandem, side by side at the counter, chopping, peeling, and occasionally brushing shoulders as they reached for different ingredients. Each shared glance brought a small, unspoken connection—an ease born from simple cooperation, not forced conversation.
“Watch the angle on that slice,” she said, leaning closer, her hand lightly guiding his as he held the knife. Their bodies brushed, close enough that a small thrill ran through him. “Better?” she asked, eyes bright with quiet mischief.
“Much better,” he replied, smiling. It wasn’t just the carrot—being near her like this, moving together in rhythm, made the weight of the day feel lighter, if only for a moment.
As he carefully sliced another carrot, San let his gaze linger. “So, when you’re not performing miracles in the kitchen, what keeps you busy? You seem like someone who doesn’t just… sit still.”
y/n’s lips curved into a soft smile, a loose strand of hair brushing her cheek as she tucked it back. “I have hobbies. A bit of painting, some gaming… and I’ve been slowly working on my own illustrated cookbook.” She nodded toward the small sketchbook she keeps safely tucked in her bag. “It’s more fun than it probably should be.”
San raised an eyebrow, a grin tugging at his lips. “A cookbook with illustrations? That’s… very you. I can wait to see it once you finish it.”
“You’d probably get lost in the food descriptions before noticing the pictures,” she teased, tilting her head with that confident, easy grace he found impossible to ignore.
“Maybe,” he said softly, laughing, “but I’d pay attention. I like seeing someone’s world… their minds.”
Their hands brushed as they both reached for the same bowl, a small jolt of connection making them pause for a heartbeat before chuckling. The rhythm of the kitchen, the closeness, and the quiet teasing created a small, private bubble—warm, intimate, with just the right touch of mischief.
“Can you find me the largest pot you have?” y/n interrupted without looking up, already arranging vegetables on the counter with fluid precision. “A deep one—the soup needs room to breathe. You don’t want it cramped; flavors won’t mingle properly.”
“Got it,” San replied, moving to comply, already impressed by how naturally she navigated his kitchen. San moved carefully, stretching to reach the cabinet, trying not to knock anything over. “Here you go,” he said, passing the pot to her with a slightly nervous smile.
He scrambled a little to gather everything she requested, fumbling at first but gradually settling into a rhythm—anticipating her needs, handing her the right tool or ingredient at just the right moment. Each time, a small thrill ran through him. Being part of her world, even in this tiny way, felt… special.
y/n tilted the pot, letting a drizzle of olive oil coat the bottom before adding the chopped vegetables. The sizzle filled the kitchen, and San’s eyes lit up, almost glowing in the warm autumn light coming from the window.
“You know,” she started, sautéing the little pieces slightly, “olive oil isn’t just for flavor. It helps the vegetables release their natural sugars evenly. And if the pan’s too hot, it’ll scorch them instead of caramelizing. You get a bitter taste instead of that subtle sweetness.”
San watched her, captivated by the way she moved—confident, precise, completely in her element. “So… it’s like chemistry,” he said, tilting his head. Never leaving his eyes from y/n’s face.
She laughed softly, focused on the contents of the pot, “Exactly! Cooking is edible science. And timing is everything—too early or too late and the whole texture changes. That’s why the order we add things matters.”
His hand lingered near hers for a heartbeat, brushing the edge of the counter. The simple gesture felt weighty, intimate. In this small, fragrant kitchen, with his daughter quietly resting on the couch, he could care for both of them—and quietly admire the woman beside him, effortless and brilliant.
He tried to mimic her movements, stirring carefully, and she leaned closer, pointing out tiny adjustments with her finger near the pan. “See? A little tilt like this, so the oil coats everything. And don’t forget to toss, not just stir—it keeps the heat even.” Her hand now resting on her hip, leaning on her side in the counter edge. Her eyes carefully flicked to San’s face.
San chuckled, a little shy, but completely absorbed. A shy dimple showing on his cheek. “You make it seem like it’s easy,” he admitted, “how you can just… make everything better.”
She glanced up, caught his gaze, and grinned, “I call it loving what you do. The trick is in caring enough to notice the little things.”
San nodded, silently admiring her. Their gazes connecting. He wanted to see her like this all the time: in her element, completely alive, her mind and hands moving in perfect harmony with the food she loved. He felt a little thrill imagining her in her own kitchen, free and confident, the way she was now—and how lucky he was to witness it.
San carefully tilted the pot the same way y/n teached him, letting her pour in the water, the steam rising in gentle curls, fogging the glasses that seated perfectly atop San’s nose. “That should be enough to cover everything,” she said, stirring lightly. “Now we let it simmer. Low and slow—gentle heat is what brings out the flavors fully without losing the nutrients.”
San leaned over the stove, watching the tiny bubbles rise to the surface. “Like patience in a pot,” he murmured, almost to himself.
y/n laughed softly. “Exactly. You can’t rush good things. Just like everything else worth caring about.”
Her words hung heavier than the lightness in her tone suggested. San turned his head, their eyes catching—longer than casual, long enough for the rain outside and the faint hiss of simmering broth to fall away. Almost without thinking, his hand shifted along the counter, inching toward hers, his body leaning subtly into the pull of her warmth.
For a breath, he imagined closing the space. Tracing the curve of her arm, slipping around her waist, pulling her into him. He imagined the way she’d fit against his chest, how natural it would feel to press his lips to the place just beneath her ear.
Her eyes flicked toward his hand, catching the subtle shift closer. For a heartbeat, she almost let her own hand drift to meet his, almost let herself close the space he offered. The thought alone sent a spark through her chest. But then her pulse quickened—the reminder that getting too close, too fast, was dangerous.
So instead, she tightened her grip on the wooden spoon and gave the simmering broth a careful stir, the motion slow, deliberate. It was an easy excuse, a shield she could hide behind, even as her shoulders softened and her cheeks warmed. She didn’t have to say a word for the truth to show: she wanted to reach back, but fear held her still.
But then her words echoed again, threading between them like an invisible tether: You can’t rush good things. A truth—and maybe a warning. She was asking, without asking, for time. For space.
San stilled, his fingers curling against the countertop instead of reaching for her. He reined himself back with a crooked smile, a touch of humor hiding the restraint in his voice. “Right,” he murmured, quieter now, as though agreeing with more than soup.
The moment dissolved, but the tension didn’t fade. It simmered between them, fragrant and unspoken, waiting like the broth—patient, inevitable, and building toward something neither of them was ready to name.
Breaking the silence, she gestured to the tray of chicken she’d prepared earlier. “Now, for the energy boost,” she said lightly, slipping back into her steady, practical tone. “Protein for the little one. This will help her body fight off that nasty bug. Just enough to nourish, not overwhelm.”
San accepted the shift with quiet grace, picking up the pieces carefully, adding them one by one to the simmering pot. Still, the earlier moment lingered like warmth under his skin. Even this simple act—a handful of chicken—felt weighted, like a quiet promise of care. “She’s lucky,” he admitted softly, “to have you thinking of her like this.”
y/n’s lips curved into a small, almost shy smile. “And she’s lucky you care enough to let me help. You don’t see it, but you’ve got your own kind of magic.”
The kitchen filled with a comforting aroma, the warmth of the pot echoing the quiet companionship between them. San couldn’t help glancing at her, something fluttering and fragile stirring in his chest—a rare, cautious hope.
“Here,” y/n said after a beat, sliding him a bundle of herbs. Her smile turned sly again, playfulness creeping back to ease the weight of the moment. “Wash these gently. No bruising—the delicate leaves are fragile. And remember, timing is key: add them at the end, or the flavor disappears.”
San followed her instructions carefully, amazed at how she spoke to the ingredients like old friends. Each motion, each small adjustment of a pot or a spoon, felt instinctive, as if the kitchen itself were an extension of her body.
“Now, grab the skimmer. Not that one—the wide one,” she added, tilting her head toward the utensil rack. “You’ll need it to skim the foam off the top; it’s a subtle thing, but it changes the final texture completely. See?”
“I… see,” San murmured, captivated not just by the instructions, but by the way she moved. Her hands were precise, her body fluid and confident. Even the way she leaned in slightly to check a simmering pot made him think he could watch her like this for hours.
Even though it was his kitchen, he felt like a guest in her energy, following her lead, eager to support her and a little amazed at how naturally she made herself at home in a place that was unfamiliar.
y/n leaned over the counter, peering into the simmering pot. “Now comes the fun part,” she said, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Seasoning. It’s not just throwing salt and pepper—it’s balancing, layering, coaxing flavors out of every ingredient.”
San’s brows furrowed in mock concentration. “And I thought I just stirred things until they looked right.”
A laugh bubbled out of her, warm and unguarded. She pressed a small dish of spices into his hand, her fingers brushing his for the briefest moment. “Nope. Here, try this—just a pinch. Then add it slowly. Think of it like… whispering to the ingredients. You don’t shout at them. You persuade.”
San pinched a bit of the spice, bringing it slowly to his lips. He tasted it, tongue brushing against the pad of his finger before he hummed in thought.
y/n’s gaze betrayed her before she could stop it. She caught herself staring at his mouth, at the way his tongue darted out so casually, at the faint scrape of his teeth against his lower lip when he thought. Heat pooled in her chest, then lower, sharp and sudden. God, she was pathetic—how long had it been since the smallest gesture felt this… intimate? Since something as innocent as him tasting seasoning made her heart race like he’d just whispered something filthy in her ear?
She blinked hard, shaking herself out of it, but her cheeks warmed anyway. Her thoughts tangled, teetering dangerously close to places they had no business going. He was right there, close enough that she could almost feel the heat of his body—and all she could think about was how it might feel if his mouth, his hands, turned that care and focus toward her.
Then his brow furrowed, oblivious, pulling her out of the spiral. “So… how do you know when it’s enough? Before it’s too much.” His tone was genuine, curious, utterly innocent.
y/n nearly laughed—half from relief, half from the absurdity of it. Of course he’d ask a question like that, right when her brain had derailed into every possible wrong place. She cleared her throat, covering her fluster by reaching for the spoon.
“That’s the art of it,” she managed, steadying her voice. “You taste, you adjust… and then you trust yourself.”
She stirred the pot too quickly, the broth rippling higher than intended, and she forced herself to breathe. Get it together, y/n. He’s just helping you make soup.
San tilted his head, carefully pinching another bit of the spice between his fingers and sprinkling it over the pot. The aroma hit him immediately, warm and earthy. “Like this?”
“Almost,” y/n murmured after tasting the broth, her voice steadier than she felt. She straightened and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Now, where’s your salt? Coarse sea salt, if you have it—I can’t cook without it.”
San lifted a hand lazily toward the cupboard by the fridge. “There.”
Good. A reason to turn away, to hide the heat rushing through her chest. She crossed the kitchen slowly, each step deliberate, trying to force her body back under her own command. But when she opened the cupboard, her fingers hesitated on the jars. None of them were what she needed.
She stayed there longer than she should have, palms resting on the shelf as if she could anchor herself. But her pulse only climbed higher, thudding like it wanted out.
“You’re taking your time,” came San’s voice, lower now, closer. Before she could gather herself, he was behind her, the air shifting with his nearness.
Then he crouched. The breadth of his shoulders brushed her thigh, his hand sliding into the shadowed corner of the cupboard. His fingers grazed her ankle—barely there, maddeningly uncertain.
Her stomach tightened, heat sparking low in her belly. Too aware. Too hungry. She forced a teasing smile down at him.
San looked up, and the world tilted. His eyes were dark, yes, but not harsh—pleading, soft, unbearably tender. He wasn’t just looking at her. He was looking into her, as though he already knew how badly she wanted to lean in, to be touched, to be claimed.
Dangerous, her mind warned. Too dangerous. But God, the sight of him there—kneeling at her side, gazing up like that—was enough to make her knees feel weak. She could get used to this. Maybe even crave it.
He found the jar at last, lifting it between them without breaking eye contact. For a moment, her body betrayed her: she imagined him staying there, not handing her salt but sliding that hand higher, pressing into her warmth, making her gasp. The thought was so vivid she nearly flinched when their fingers brushed in the exchange.
Her hand shook as she took the jar, but San didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he did, and that was why the corner of his mouth curved in that slow, knowing smirk. He rose to his full height, towering over her again, but his eyes still carried that soft intensity, like he hadn’t really let go of her.
“Your salt, chef,” he said, voice deceptively light.
She turned back to the stove quickly, desperate for the cover of steam. Her hands trembled as she uncorked the jar, her pulse still pounding like it had nowhere else to go. She stirred the broth with precision, but her mind replayed that image—him on his knees, eyes full of something dangerous and devoted all at once.
The kitchen was warmer now, and not because of the stove.
She stirred the broth with careful hands, forcing herself to focus on the gentle swirl of liquid instead of the ghost of his touch still burning on her skin. The salt jar sat by the stove like proof of what had just passed between them—something small, something ordinary, made unbearably charged.
San leaned in, dipping his head over the pot. The steam curled around his face, fogging the glasses that seated lazily at the bridge of his nose, softening the sharp edges of him. “Smells alive,” he murmured, inhaling the mingled scents.
For a while, they moved side by side in silence, the kind that felt comfortable instead of heavy. Occasionally, y/n’s elbow would brush his arm as she adjusted his grip, or she’d nudge his hand to correct the angle of a stir. He followed, sometimes clumsy, sometimes surprisingly precise. When he got it wrong, they stifled laughter, both instinctively lowering their voices so as not to disturb Soo-bin’s quiet sleep from the couch.
“You’re… actually not bad at this,” y/n teased, flicking him lightly on the shoulder with the back of her finger.
San chuckled, the sound low and warm, his chest swelling with a strange mix of pride and something more vulnerable. “Only because I’ve got a very persuasive teacher,” he said, sneaking a glance at her. The shy curve of his smile made her chest flutter in a way no man ever had.
Her gaze softened, lingering on the way he looked at her as if she were more than a guest in his kitchen—as if she belonged there. The words slipped out, barely louder than the simmering pot. “Keep this up, and you might just turn this into more than a soup.”
The thought hung between them, unspoken but undeniable.
Still, they carried on, moving seamlessly—tasting, adjusting, teasing—like the act of cooking together was its own kind of intimacy. The kitchen smelled of nourishment, yes, but also of something tender beginning to take root.
Simple. Intimate. And full of possibility.
Finally, y/n leaned over the pot to taste the broth, her expression serious for all of two seconds before her lips curved. “Hmm… not bad,” she murmured, tilting her head as if weighing her verdict. Her eyes lingered on San a little too long, and the faint shift of his shoulders told her he felt it. “You’ve got a good hand,” she added, letting the words hang between them. “I might actually have to let you help me more often.”
San’s mouth tugged into a grin, boyish but edged with something warmer. “Oh? Should I start scheduling weekly lessons with you as the instructor?”
“Absolutely,” she said with a smirk, scooping up another spoonful. “But beware—I can be a very harsh critic.”
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as though sharing something not meant for the room. “I think I can handle it… if the critique comes with a smile like that.”
The teasing air wavered, heavier now, thicker. y/n rolled her eyes, but she didn’t step back; instead, her hand lingered on the counter, steadying herself. “You’re… dangerously charming when you try,” she said, softer this time, the words slipping closer to truth than she intended.
San’s chest tightened at the admission, his pulse tripping. He looked at her—really looked—his gaze catching on the curve of her mouth, the faint color in her cheeks. “And you,” he whispered, his voice unsteady but low, “are dangerously distracting.” His eyes held hers, dark and intent, long enough to make the air between them feel charged, fragile, ready to break into something neither of them dared reach for just yet.
The kitchen was a cocoon of warmth—steam rising, rain whispering against the glass, their laughter low and private. San leaned in, squinting at the pot as though trying to study the surface more closely, and then his hand found the small of her back.
Not a heavy touch. Just the faintest press of his palm, steady and deliberate. But it was enough to unravel her.
y/n’s breath caught. She told herself it was practical, that he was just making space for himself. Yet his hand lingered—warm, protective, claiming in the softest way possible. Her body betrayed her, leaning into him, craving the heat radiating from his chest. She didn’t move. She couldn’t.
San felt it—the way she stilled but didn’t pull away, the way her shoulder brushed against him like an invitation. Desire coiled sharp and undeniable in his chest. He wanted to step closer, to wrap himself around her, to let her feel just how much he wanted to be by her side.
Her pulse hammered in her throat, every inch of her skin alive with the awareness of him. She could almost imagine it—strong chest against her back, his scents filling her nose, his strong hand making its way through her sweater—
“...y/n?”
The small voice shattered everything.
San’s hand vanished so quickly it left a phantom heat in its place. y/n blinked, dizzy, as Soo-bin’s tiny framerised from the sofa, eyes wide with sleepy surprise. Her little arms stretched out, eager, pulling y/n back into reality.
Soo-bin’s sudden appearance shattered the fragile bubble around them. Soo-bin practically leapt off the couch, little feet padding across the floor as she dashed into y/n’s arms. Her tiny arms wrapped around her instantly, squeezing tight with fierce excitement. “You’re here!” she exclaimed, her voice small but bursting with joy.
y/n instinctively lowered herself, cradling Soo-bin gently, pressing a hand to her fevered forehead. “Hey, my brave girl,” she murmured softly, brushing a stray strand of hair back. “How are you feeling?”
San’s chest tightened, both at the sight of his daughter clinging to y/n and at the memory of how close he’d been just moments before. He stepped forward, voice warm but careful. “Surprise, kiddo. y/n’s here to help you—and she cooked you some soup too.”
y/n gently released Soo-bin from her hug, taking the little girl’s hand instead, not wanting to let go. Rising to her feet, she leaned into her grocery bags and pulled out the little fox plushie, holding it out with a shy, warm smile. “Look what I brought you,” she said.
Soo-bin’s eyes lit up instantly, fevered cheeks flushing pink as she pressed herself against y/n. “A fox! For me?”
“Just for you,” y/n said, leaning down to press a gentle kiss atop her head.
San stood a step back, hands loosely at his sides, heart hammering with frustration and longing. His gaze lingered on y/n, tracing the curve of her neck, the gentle way she held Soo-bin, the soft smile on her lips. Every instinct in him wanted to step closer, to touch, to claim, but the tiny interruption held him in check.
Even as he watched y/n hand the fox to Soo-bin, his chest ached with desire, a quiet yearning that refused to go away. And yet, he allowed himself a small, tender smile, knowing that her presence, her warmth, the way she moved through their little world—was already more than enough.
Soo-bin clutched the plushie to her chest, murmuring a happy, “Thank you, y/n.”
y/n glanced up at him briefly, and for a heartbeat their eyes met—her cheeks flushed, a small spark of mischief and awareness there. San swallowed hard, resisting the urge to close the space between them, knowing the moment wasn’t entirely theirs yet.
Once Soo-bin had hugged her new fox plushie close, y/n guided her gently onto one of the stools at the kitchen island, careful not to jostle her too much. The little girl’s feet dangled just above the floor, but she perched there with wide, curious eyes, still clutching the fox like a precious treasure.
San settled beside her, one arm draped lightly across her shoulders, not just steadying her but offering warmth that radiated beyond mere support. He let himself notice the quiet joy in the room, the kind that made chest-tightening moments feel sweet instead of heavy.
y/n moved through the kitchen with fluid ease, her hands deftly adding the final touches to the soup. Steam curled up from the pot, carrying the comforting aroma of simmered vegetables and herbs, and it wrapped the three of them in a soft, cocooned warmth.
Soo-bin’s eyes followed her every move, fascination lighting up her tired little face. “She’s so nice,” she murmured to San, tilting her head as if confiding a secret. “Like a grown-up best friend.”
San’s gaze lingered a little longer on y/n, a soft ache blooming in his chest. “Yeah,” he murmured quietly, almost to himself, leaning close so his chin brushed near Soo-bin’s shoulder. “That’s because she has a big heart… and she notices the little things, just like you notice the good in people.”
His hand brushed lightly along Soo-bin’s back, a gentle anchor—but his eyes never left y/n. He caught the curve of her shoulder, the way her hair fell across her face, the subtle strength in her hands as she worked. Each small gesture made his chest tighten, a thrilling awareness that he wanted her closer, yet restrained himself, careful, deliberate, as if savoring the moment rather than forcing it.
They both watched her in silence, sharing the same space but seeing her through different lenses. For San, it was the beginning of realizing how much he wanted her to be his, how every small movement and gesture made his chest tighten in a good way. For Soo-bin, it was admiration mixed with affection—the kind reserved for someone trustworthy, someone kind enough to make even a sick morning feel safe and happy.
y/n finally stepped back, surveying her work with a quiet, satisfied smile. She didn’t notice the stolen glances, the small, unspoken connection between San and herself across the counter, but the tension lingered in the air like steam—warm, tantalizing, and impossible to ignore.
Carefully, she ladled the steaming soup into a bowl, the delicate presentation almost ceremonial. She set it before Soo-bin, whose sleepy eyes sparkled with delight, and then looked at San, a playful, knowing curve tugging at her lips
“What about you?” she asked softly. “Do you want the same, or something a little different?”
San hesitated, his gaze flicking to Soo-bin, who clutched the plushie while blinking sleepily at the bowl of soup. “I… I think I’ll wait,” he murmured, voice low but warm, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “She’s tired,” he murmured softly to y/n, his arm still resting gently around his daughter’s shoulders. “I’ll help her eat a bit, see if she’ll manage some.”
y/n nodded, letting a small smile curve her own lips. She turned to the counter to fetch a remedy for her lingering hangover, the act simple and ordinary—but her gaze kept drifting back to the two of them. She let the moment stretch, savoring the quiet intimacy.
San guided Soo-bin gently, scooping the soup in careful spoonfuls, murmuring little encouragements. Every tilt of her head, every tiny sip he coaxed from her, made his hands linger just a fraction longer than necessary.
y/n’s chest tightened as she watched him, a warmth blooming that had nothing to do with the soup. His presence alone was overwhelming—steady, commanding, yet gentle. She had memorized the subtle scent that clung to him, the quiet strength in his hands, capable of moving mountains without a thought.
And yet, there was tenderness too—the softness reserved for Soo-bin, the careful patience, the warmth he offered so freely. Watching him navigate both worlds, fierce and protective, yet loving and attentive, left her breathless. She felt impossibly lucky to witness it, to be near him, caught between admiration, awe, and the quiet pull of something undeniably magnetic.
A small, incredulous laugh escaped her lips, barely audible. Pinch yourself, y/n, she thought. This is real. He’s real. You’re here, in his kitchen, taking care of his daughter, and he… he wants you too.
Her stomach fluttered with the impossibility of it, the rush of desire and admiration tangled into one dizzying knot. His soft murmur to Soo-bin, the careful tilt of his wrist as he fed her, the gentle brush of his fingers along her daughter’s back—all of it made her ache to be near him, craving his warmth and scent, and yet knowing the exact moment to wait.
San lifted a small spoonful and, with practiced patience, offered it to Soo-bin. She opened her mouth lazily, taking only a bite before closing her eyes again. “Good girl,” he whispered, cleaning her cheek with a napkin. “Just a little more… you’ll feel better after a few bites,” he murmured, brushing her damp hair back once more, fingers lingering just long enough to feel her warmth. Soo-bin gave a small hum, the faintest smile tugging at her lips despite her sleepiness, and he couldn’t help but grin quietly to himself.
Once Soo-bin had eaten enough, San scooped up the last spoonful and kissed the top of her head. “There you go, all done. How about you go rest a little more, my brave girl?”
Soo-bin nodded sleepily, giving him a tiny, tired smile before he lifted her from the stool and carried her toward the couch, tucking the blanket around her again. Her little hands clutched his shirt briefly, reluctant to let go, and he gave her shoulder a soft squeeze.
Returning to the kitchen, San ladled soup into two bowls for himself and y/n. He placed one gently in front of her, and their fingers brushed as he handed it over.
“You’re really good with her,” y/n said softly, looking down at the bowl before meeting his eyes. “The way you… care. It’s nice to see.”
San felt a subtle heat rise to his cheeks. “Thanks,” he said quietly, a small, shy smile forming. “She’s my world… and, well, I guess I try to make it fun for her.”
y/n smiled back, a soft, genuine curve of her lips, and lifted her spoon slowly, deliberately, as if giving him time to soak in the moment. “I can see that. You’re… really good at this dad thing.”
San’s heart thumped in his chest. There was warmth in her voice, admiration that wasn’t teasing or flirty in the usual sense, just honest—and it made him feel… seen. He took a careful sip of his own soup, stealing a glance at y/n as she did the same.
“Mmm… this is amazing,” he said, eyes lighting up. “Thank you… really. For both the soup and… well, for bringing your magic into our kitchen..”
y/n shrugged, a small, teasing smile tugging at her lips. “You’re welcome. Besides, I couldn’t resist seeing her.” She gestured toward the couch where Soo-bin slept, blanket tucked snugly around her.
San’s grin softened. “She really is something. But… how are you feeling? I mean, after last night?”
y/n rolled her eyes, pretending to be dramatic. “Ugh… don’t remind me. My head is still protesting the things I attempted to erase from my memory.” She huffed, taking another small sip of the soup, eyes tracing the steam rising from it.
“Last night was… rough,” she admitted softly, almost to herself. “The service went all sideways at the restaurant. So, Lucas and I ended up at Jongho’s place after… just to decompress. A few drinks, some laughter… you know, to make it through the stress.”
San froze for a fraction of a second, the spoon halfway to his mouth. His jaw tightened subtly. “Jongho?” he asked, trying to keep the tone casual, but the sharp edge in his voice betrayed him. “Who’s he?”
y/n took another bite, unaware of the subtle tension. “Oh, he’s basically family,” she said, waving her hand in reassurance. “Sous chef, my right-hand in the kitchen… has been with me for years. Always there to support me, to pick up the pieces when things get messy. With Lucas, it’s a tight little team.”
San nodded, forcing a small, polite smile, though a twinge of something else lingered beneath it—something he didn’t dare show. San’s eyes flicked to her, a shadow of possessiveness lurking beneath the polite smile he forced. He watched her describe Jongho with natural ease, with the warmth of long familiarity, and felt the faint stir of jealousy curl in his chest. “I see,” he said evenly, though his grip on the spoon tightened just a touch, betraying him.
He cleared his throat, pretending to study the carrots floating in the broth. “Sounds like… a solid crew,” he added, voice measured, though the heat in his chest made his words feel heavier than intended. Jongho, huh? He resisted the urge to probe, to assert… to claim.
“Yes,” y/n continued cheerfully, oblivious, mistaking the brief pause in his voice for thoughtful interest. “They’ve saved me from more disasters than I can count. Can’t imagine doing it without them.”
San’s hand tensed imperceptibly, fingers brushing the spoon with just enough pressure that, if anyone noticed, it would seem intentional. “Yeah… must be nice,” he murmured, tilting his head, masking the flicker of protectiveness—and jealousy—as curiosity.
He met her gaze for the briefest moment, and she returned a warm smile, completely unaware of the undercurrent flowing between them. San exhaled slowly, letting the pinch of envy ease as he reminded himself where she was—here, in his kitchen, cooking for his daughter. He couldn’t let thoughts of who she laughed with elsewhere shadow this moment.
San cleared his throat, stirring the soup absentmindedly, as if the broth could distract him from the flicker of possessiveness still lingering in his chest. “So… yesterday’s service. What happened?” He hoped the question sounded casual, neutral, but in truth he was buying time—buying a buffer between himself and the urge to ask something he might instantly regret.
y/n let out a small, wry chuckle, her eyes distant as she recalled the chaos. “Oh, you know… orders all over the place, a shipment delayed, somehow the oven decided to revolt, a few burnt dishes that thankfully Jongho caught just in time…” She waved her hand, as if brushing away the memory. “It was… exhausting. You always think you’ve seen it all, and then something happens that reminds you that nothing ever goes exactly as planned.”
San nodded, his eyes briefly flicking to her free hand as it played with the napkin corner, careful not to linger, careful not to betray the tug of irritation and longing in his chest. By the time she finished her quick recap, he’d managed to anchor himself, at least for now.
y/n leaned back slightly, shrugging as if the night barely mattered. “Lucas decided we needed to… erase the horror show that was dinner service. Ended up opening bottles like we were pros at it. Jongho and I couldn’t exactly say no,” she added with a small, wry smile. “Somehow, I survived.”
For a while, he simply listened, content to share a warm meal with her, letting y/n invade his safe space, her laugh easy and unguarded filling his home.
They finished the last bites of their lunch, plates pushed aside and fingers wiped on napkins. San stood, stretching lightly, and stacked the dishes in the dishwasher, then turned toward y/n with a small smile.
“Go ahead, sit on the couch,” he said, gesturing toward the soft cushions. Soo-bin stirred in her blanket, lifting her head just enough to give a sleepy smile before settling back into the warmth.
y/n eased onto the L-shaped sofa, lowering herself carefully on the other side from Soo-bin, who shifted slightly to make room. San disappeared briefly into the bathroom, returning moments later with a small box of ibuprofen in hand, moving quietly so as not to disturb the soft warmth of the room.
He settled onto the couch in the middle of them, Soo-bin curling slightly against his side automatically, still warm from her fever. He held the pills in his hand, offering it to them. “Alright,” he said, a teasing edge to his voice, “round one of medicine. Patient one,” he nodded at Soo-bin, “still running a little hot. Patient two,” his eyes flicked toward y/n, “slightly overindulged in liquid courage last night. Cheers?”
y/n laughed softly, a little stiff in the couch cushions, her hair tucked safely behind her shoulders. “Thanks,” she said, reaching for the pill. “Cheers!”
Soo-bin squirmed a little as she swallowed the pill, but stayed nestled in San’s arm. San watched, smiling, noticing how the little girl’s presence created such a powerful connection. Sitting here, with the warmth of both his daughter and y/n so close, he realized how simple gestures could hold so much intimacy without even trying.
After a moment of stillness, San quietly reached for the remote and turned the volume up a notch on a cheerful cartoon, hoping the bright colors and silly antics might distract Soo-bin from the lingering warmth of her fever. The little girl stirred slightly at the familiar opening theme, blinking sleepily but sitting up enough to focus on the screen.
Soo-bin began to messily explain the plot to y/n, pointing at the screen, “So, the cat wants the cheese, but the dog—no, the dog is actually a spy—and then the mouse, the mouse is helping the cat, but only sometimes, because he’s kind of sneaky too!” Her words tumbled over each other, her little hands gesturing wildly.
y/n laughed, trying to keep up with the whirlwind of explanations. “Alright… so the mouse is good but sneaky?” she clarified, smiling at the way Soo-bin’s eyes sparkled with every detail.
San leaned back against the couch, shaking his head with a small chuckle. “Sorry,” he murmured softly to y/n, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips.
y/n met his glance and grinned, her eyebrows arching in quiet amusement. No words were exchanged, but her eyes said it all: Yes, she’s wild and adorable, and yes, I like being here, with you.
San’s gaze softened. He mirrored her smile, the tiniest shrug of acknowledgment passing between them. A gentle warmth passed through the space, unspoken, as if they were sharing a secret about how sweet and chaotic Soo-bin could be.
Minutes slipped by. Soo-bin’s words slowed as exhaustion crept in, her head bobbing slightly against San’s chest. y/n shifted closer, her gaze focused on the scene beside her. Their eyes met once more, lingering, saying everything that words would have spoiled.
Eventually, Soo-bin’s soft narrations dwindled into gentle murmurs, her tiny body curled comfortably against San’s side. The cartoon’s hum faded into the background, replaced by the steady, soothing rhythm of her breathing. y/n had settled back against the cushions, her head resting lightly on the corner of the couch, one hand shyly folded in her lap, careful not to disturb the fragile tranquility.
San’s eyes drifted closed, the warmth of the two women beside him seeping into his chest, softening the edges of an anxious, restless day. The gentle weight of Soo-bin against him, y/n’s quiet presence so near, made his heart swell in a calm, unspoken way—full and tender, yet utterly at peace.
Minute by minute, the soft sighs and the quiet breaths of the girls wove around him, pulling him deeper into rest. His body relaxed against the cushions, his head tilting slightly, as the rare, delicate comfort coaxed him into sleep. Slowly, he let himself go, surrendering to the warmth, the safety, and the quiet intimacy that wrapped them all together.
Moments—or maybe an hour—later, San stirred. The storm outside had softened to a steady patter, and the evening wrapped the living room in shadows, punctuated only by the soft glow of the fireplace. His eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the dim light, and they fell on the scene before him—peaceful, still, yet charged in its quiet way.
Soo-bin remained curled against the couch, lips parted slightly in innocence, chest rising and falling steadily. And then his gaze landed on y/n. Her body had shifted, head resting lightly in his lap. One hand lay draped over his knee, the other dangling lazily from the edge of the couch. The weight of her leaning into him was unexpected—but not unwelcome. It pressed into him in the most subtle way, grounding him.
San’s chest tightened, a mixture of warmth and desire blooming inside him. He let his fingers brush almost unconsciously through her hair, feeling the softness, the faint warmth against his leg, the ease of her trust, each gentle stroke grounding him in the soft, warm reality of her leaning into him. His other hand rested on Soo-bin’s back, the small curve of her spine under his palm in a steady, comforting presence.
He shifted slightly, not wanting to disturb the peaceful tableau, letting his head fall back against the couch’s armrest—eyes half-closed, savoring the rare, perfect quiet that wrapped around them.
A slow exhale left him, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. It felt… astonishingly good. To have y/n so at ease, trusting enough to fall asleep in his presence, while Soo-bin leaned into him without hesitation. The quiet, the closeness, the soft heat of their bodies together—it was intoxicating in its simplicity.
A soft creak of the couch or the distant rumble of the storm nudged y/n from her rest. Her eyelids fluttered open, trying to adjust to the dark surrounding her. For a heartbeat, she blinked, trying to make sense of her surroundings—warmth, soft fabric beneath her, the comforting scent of home.
Then it hit her. Her head had been resting in San’s lap. A small, startled jolt ran through her, and she froze for a moment, heart thudding in her chest. She quickly straightened, cheeks warming as she became acutely aware of her position.
“Oh! I… I’m so sorry,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, eyes flicking toward him with a mix of embarrassment and panic. “I didn’t mean… I just… I—” she whispered, more to herself than to anyone else, cheeks warming. I hope he’s not annoyed… he’s been so kind all day.
He gave a small, reassuring smile. “It’s fine,” he said softly. “You looked comfortable.”
Comfortable… y/n thought, a little thrill running through her. She chuckled quietly, a little embarrassed, and started gathering her things, her movements slow, almost reluctant. Every instinct told her to stay, to linger in this quiet cocoon of warmth—but propriety and nerves held her back. She didn’t want to take advantage of his kindness.
“I… I should probably go,” she murmured, lowering her gaze, hands fidgeting as she tried to straighten herself without disturbing Soo-bin. San’s hand reached lightly to her wrist, as if he sensed her hesitation. “Hey,” he murmured, voice soft, steady. “Really… it’s okay. Don’t rush.”
The words wrapped around her like a gentle embrace. y/n’s chest fluttered, a mix of heat and thrill bubbling up, and she paused mid-movement. She wanted to stay—wanted to feel the calm of his presence a little longer—but guilt pricked at her, a quiet voice whispering she should leave. Let them continue with their peaceful lives.
y/n let out a breathy chuckle, shaking her head as if to scatter the weight of the moment. “If I stay any longer, you might start charging me rent,” she teased lightly, her smile tilted but shy. The warmth in her chest pressed against her ribs, almost too much to contain, but she stood carefully, adjusting her bag with quiet care so as not to wake Soo-bin.
San rose with her, his hand lingering a second longer at her wrist before falling away. He walked her toward the door, their steps slow, unhurried, like neither of them truly wanted the moment to end.
At the door, she turned—and found him closer than she’d realized. The space between them shrank, just enough to make her heart trip. She tilted her chin up, eyes catching his in the dim light.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “For inviting me… for everything, really.”
The words were plain, but the way she held his gaze made them heavier, threaded with a meaning she didn’t quite know how to name. Thank you for being patient with me. Thank you for making me feel cared for. Thank you for letting me belong, even for a little while.
San’s chest tightened, her gaze steady on his, the weight of her gratitude threading into him like something personal, almost sacred. For a second, he only looked at her, searching her eyes, until the quiet pressed on him and he found his voice.
“No,” he said, softly but with conviction, shaking his head once. “Thanks to you. For worrying about Soo-bin, for taking care of her like she was yours… for helping me when I didn’t even know I needed it. And for the soup.” His lips curved just slightly, not teasing but warm, almost reverent. “Really, y/n. Thank you.”
The sincerity in his tone caught her off guard, her chest tightening as though the words had brushed against something tender inside her. She swallowed, blinking once, her lips parting in a small, almost disbelieving smile.
They stood there a moment longer, suspended in quiet, neither rushing to end it.
y/n bit her lip, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face before she spoke again, softer still. “Could you… say goodbye to Soo-bin for me? I don’t want to wake her up.”
San’s expression softened, his head tilting with the gentlest nod. “Of course. I’ll text you updates while she rests, so you know how she’s doing.”
Relief washed over her face, and before hesitation could root her in place, y/n leaned in, pressing her lips lightly against his cheek. The kiss was fleeting but deliberate, a brush of warmth that sent a current through the quiet.
San froze for half a heartbeat, the corner of his mouth tugging into the faintest, stunned smile as she pulled back. His cheek still burned where her lips had been, but he didn’t move, didn’t break the fragile thread of the moment.
For someone so composed, he suddenly felt like the ground shifted under him. A simple kiss, yet it sent heat rushing through him, tightening his chest. It had weight.
y/n gave him another small smile, like she hadn’t just branded him with something he’d replay in his head for days. “Take care, Sannie.”
He swallowed hard, forcing his voice steady. “You too,” he murmured, but it came out rougher, more vulnerable than he intended.
Please let her come back… please let this not be the last time, San thought as he watched her leave, the warmth of her presence lingering in the room, the faint scent of her hair and perfume mingling with the comforting smell of the soup she’d made.
The door clicked softly behind her, and San exhaled as he stood there, rooted, a stunned laugh escaping under his breath. His hand came up to touch the spot she’d kissed, almost in disbelief. God, she kissed me. She kissed me.
He leaned his forehead against the door, eyes closing for a moment, trying to steady the rush coursing through him. He should feel foolish — like a teenager reeling from something so small — but instead, all he felt was alive. Wanted.
Turning at last, he let his gaze fall on Soo-bin, still curled on the couch. The quiet of the apartment wrapped around him, but it wasn’t the same quiet as before — it was charged now, different. He exhaled slowly, a smile tugging at his lips he couldn’t fight off.
She has no idea… but if she asked for my soul, I’d give it. I’m already hers.
Summary: The night was almost too perfect. y/n's dinner stole every breath, each course a love letter that left her guests in awe. San let himself laugh, let himself belong—for once. Glasses clinked, music hummed, and joy filled the air. But somewhere between the toasts and smiles, the universe held its breath.
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort.
Warnings: Self depricating jokes, past trauma, low self-worth, maybe a little bit of language. There may be too much description of things. Food as a love language. Cursewords. Lying. Malicious intents. Poor communication. Alcohol use (consensual / recreational)
Word Count: 17k (sorry)
A/N: OKAYYYY so… i know i’m late 😭 but hear me out... this chapter really put me through it. i wanted it to hit just right. i kept rewriting, editing, deleting, rewriting again… (who let me do this)
it’s emotional, raw, and definitely one of the chapters i’m most proud (and scared) to share. please be gentle with me 🥹 grab a snack or emotional support plushie before diving in. also, i wrote most of this with the song linked on loop. the mood, the ache, the way it drifts?? it shaped the entire chapter, i swear you can feel it between the lines
also sorry in advance for the length. i blinked and suddenly i was 17k words deep 😭 my bad...
thank you for waiting and sticking around 🫶 (finished this right as ktiny started coming for san btw… the timing??? the pain??)
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A few days later, the fluorescent lights of the market hummed faintly overhead as Lucas steered the cart with reckless enthusiasm, one hand pushing, the other spinning it in wide arcs like a child testing the limits of patience.
“Lucas,” y/n warned, not lifting her eyes from her Moleskine. “If you dent a single tomato with your antics, you’re banned from my kitchen for life.”
“Relax,” he said with a grin, swerving neatly around a pyramid of wine bottles. “I’m just making sure this cart is warmed up for the big leagues.”
“The big leagues?” she arched an eyebrow, flipping a page in her notebook. “We’re grocery shopping, not racing in Monaco.”
“Tell that to my pit crew,” he shot back, pointing to her list. “What’s next, boss?”
She sighed, scanning the careful notes she’d scribbled down late the night before. “Candles, extra napkins, more lemons… oh, and the good balsamic. None of that cheap stuff you tried to sneak in last time.”
Lucas gasped, hand to his chest in mock offense. “I was being economical. You should thank me for saving your wallet.”
“I’d rather save my guests from mediocrity,” y/n countered smoothly, sliding a jar of imported white pepper into the cart before he could protest.
They moved through the aisles like this—her meticulous, him playful—an easy rhythm born from years of coexistence. Every so often, he’d toss something unnecessary into the cart, only for y/n to pluck it out without even looking.
“Hey,” Lucas said as they neared the checkout, lowering his voice with a teasing grin. “You realize you’re fussing over this dinner like it’s your wedding, right?”
y/n froze for half a second, her pen pausing mid-word on the page. Then she snapped the notebook shut, her smile sharp but amused. “If it were my wedding, you wouldn’t be in charge of the wine.”
Lucas smirked, pushing the cart forward with a victorious little whistle. “Touché.”
The cart rattled over the parking lot as Lucas helped load the bags into the trunk. y/n double-checked her list, lips pressed tight as if she were solving a puzzle with no right answer.
“Okay, breathe,” Lucas said, leaning against the car with arms crossed. “You’ve got everything. More than everything. You’ve got enough lemons to open a rival restaurant.”
She gave him a look but didn’t argue. “I just want it to be perfect.”
“It will be. You always make it perfect,” he said, softening his tone. But as she stacked the last bag inside, he caught the faint furrow in her brow. “What’s eating at you, y/n?”
Her fingers lingered on the trunk door before she shut it. “I don’t know. Just this… weight I can’t name. Like something’s waiting to go wrong.”
Lucas frowned, then quickly tried to lighten it, bumping her shoulder. “Maybe you’re just over-caffeinated. Or maybe your brain finally hit its stress quota and decided to invent a storm.”
She chuckled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Maybe. But this one feels different. I’ve never felt this tense before a service. It’s like I’m forgetting something important—and I can’t figure out what.”
“Hey.” Lucas tilted his head until she met his gaze. “Then we keep an eye out, okay? Together. But until then, no more doom-and-gloom. Tonight’s supposed to shine.”
y/n exhaled, the tension in her shoulders easing just a fraction. “You’re right. We’ll stay sharp, but we won’t let anything ruin it.”
“That’s the spirit,” he said with a grin, slamming the trunk shut. “Now, come on. Let’s go make this the most unforgettable dinner Seoul’s ever seen.”
Before y/n could answer, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She fished it out, and her face softened a little when she saw the name. “Hey, Jongho.”
His voice came through calm, steady—the kind of tone that always made her unclench a bit.
“Just wanted to let you know—I found that melon you were looking for. The imported one. It took a few calls, but it’s handled.”
y/n blinked, relief flickering across her face. “You’re serious? I thought that was impossible.”
“Nothing’s impossible,” he said, a small smile in his voice. “You’ve taught me that enough times.”
She let out a quiet laugh, one hand brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You just saved me from a minor breakdown, you know that?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he replied gently. “You okay over there?”
“Yeah,” she said after a beat. “Just… a lot on my mind. But I’m okay now.”
“Good. Keep it that way. I’ll see you soon.”
When the call ended, she stared at her phone for a moment, then opened her moleskine and crossed off a line from her list. The small motion grounded her—proof that at least something was done, something was working.
Lucas watched her, tilting his head. “Good news?”
She nodded, exhaling slowly. “Yeah. Good news.”
The kitchen gleamed under the soft glow of the overhead lights, every counter polished, every knife sharpened, every detail ready for the night. But despite the perfection, y/n’s pulse thrummed in her ears.
Out in the dining room, the change was striking. Gone were the neatly spaced, intimate two-tops and private corners. Tonight, every table had been drawn together into one long, continuous stretch of white linen, running the length of the room. Candles dotted the center in mismatched silver holders, and vases of simple flowers broke up the line, catching the glow of low-hung lamps.
The layout invited chatter, laughter, the clinking of glasses shared across neighbors—an atmosphere warm and communal instead of distant and cool. It wasn’t just dinner. It was a table of family, even if some guests barely knew one another.
Inside the kitchen, y/n looked like the embodiment of her own restaurant: sharp, deliberate, unforgettable. Black from head to toe, the hanbok-inspired gown draped elegantly against her frame, sheer fabric shifting with every move. Chunky silver earrings caught the light when she bent to arrange bottles in the bucket of ice, the clink of glass against metal echoing in the silence she carried with her.
Beside her, Lucas was the exact opposite—cheeky, carefree. His green striped shirt hung loose, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tattoos etched across his arms like declarations he wanted everyone to read. He leaned against the counter, twirling a corkscrew in his hand as if it were a drumstick.
“Nothing says classy like stuffing an ice bucket ten minutes before guests arrive,” he quipped, watching the cubes tumble in with a grin.
Jongho shot him a dry look, elegant in his perfectly tailored black suit, the sharp lines of his jacket cutting a silhouette as clean as his movements. “Better than letting the wine sit at room temperature. Do you want our guests to leave thinking we don’t know the difference between a cellar and a corner store?”
Lucas barked out a laugh, tossing the corkscrew into the air and catching it with ease. “Relax, suit-and-tie. If they’re drinking enough, they won’t taste the difference.”
y/n said nothing. Her hands moved on autopilot—nestling bottles against the ice, aligning them so the labels faced outward. Her silence wasn’t lost on either of them.
Lucas tilted his head toward her, grin softening. “Hey. You planning to kill us with your laser-beam stare, or save that for the guests?”
She blinked, realizing she’d been holding her breath, and forced a faint smile. “Just… making sure everything’s right.”
“Everything’s right,” Jongho said simply, smoothing a hand down his lapel. “You’ve made sure of it. Now stop worrying—or at least pretend you’re not. Guests prefer confidence to nerves.”
y/n exhaled through her nose, her gaze sweeping over the room once more. The polished glasses, the neatly folded linens, the hum of the kitchen waiting to erupt into motion. All of it perfect. And still—her chest was tight.
The restaurant door opened, letting in the soft hum of the evening air. San stepped inside, Soo-bin holding his hand tightly, her little grip anchoring him to the present. His eyes swept over the space, and a slow, genuine smile spread across his face.
“Lucas,” he greeted first, voice warm, a hint of relief threading through it. The two men met in a solid, friendly hug, Lucas squeezing him just enough to remind him of the bond they shared.
“San,” Lucas said, releasing him with a grin. “Looking sharp, as always.”
San chuckled softly and turned to Jongho, extending a hand. “And you must be Jongho. I’ve heard a lot.” His tone carried seriousness, but also curiosity, eager to know the man who had become so important in y/n’s world.
Meanwhile, Soo-bin had let go of San’s hand and toddled toward y/n, her small figure twirling slightly in her dress. y/n crouched down, meeting her at eye level, her voice gentle and warm. “Soo-bin, you look beautiful tonight! That dress—so pretty!”
Soo-bin beamed, shyly adjusting the hem of her outfit, and y/n combed her hair lightly before standing back up. Her gaze instinctively sought San across the room.
He was… breathtaking. The diplomatic-style suit fit him like a second skin, six buttons crossing his chest, vest perfectly tailored beneath. The crisp white shirt left the top two undone, a subtle hint of casualness against the elegance. Hair slicked back with a side part, no glasses, just those sharp, dark eyes that softened the moment he looked at her. Every inch the embodiment of refined sex appeal.
San closed the distance, his hand sliding confidently to the small of her back, drawing her just slightly closer. His other hand hovered near her waist, steadying the motion. Without hesitation, his lips brushed against hers in a soft, sweet kiss—quick, but full of intention.
y/n blinked in surprise, warmth flooding her chest, but she didn’t pull away. Her hand pressed lightly against his chest, grounding herself, feeling the steady beat beneath his suit.
“Hi,” he murmured, husky and low, voice carrying all the quiet longing between them.
y/n’s cheeks warmed, but she held her composure, a faint smile teasing her lips. San’s eyes darkened with admiration as he whispered just loud enough for her to hear, “You look incredible tonight.” His hand lingered on her waist for a heartbeat longer before retreating, leaving a trace of warmth.
Clearing her throat, y/n shifted, slipping smoothly into host mode. “Can I get you something to drink while we wait for everyone else?” she asked, though the faint curve of her lips betrayed the lingering flutter in her chest.
San nodded, attention still partly on her, a quiet smile playing on his lips. Lucas leaned closer, teasing lightly, “I see the two of you are already plotting mischief.”
San’s grin widened, brief but genuine. y/n moved alongside Jongho as he subtly offered to assist, making sure everything ran smoothly. The energy around them was elegant, intimate, playful—yet threaded with the quiet tension of unspoken feelings, promising that this night would be anything but ordinary.
The restaurant door opened, letting in the faint buzz of the city. Mingi, Yunho, and Hongjoong stepped in together, laughter spilling into the warm, scented air.
“Lucas!” Mingi called, hurrying forward. They collided in a brotherly hug, strong and familiar. Yunho clapped Lucas on the back, grinning, while Hongjoong’s eyes roamed, appreciating the elegant setup y/n had orchestrated.
Jongho stepped forward, giving Yunho a brief, careful hug. “Good to see you,” he murmured, his professional ease softening into genuine warmth.
Nearby, San held Soo-bin’s hand, observing calmly. Mingi turned to him, extending a hand with a mischievous grin. “Good to see you, man.” San shook it firmly, nodding, the easy camaraderie settling over the group. Jonghoand Hongjoong exchanged subtle nods, friendly but casual. Soo-bin tugged at his sleeve, delighted by the new arrivals.
y/n wiped her hands on a cloth, setting a tray of drinks on the counter—sparkling water for one, a carefully mixed cocktail for another. Behind her, two of her bartenders moved in sync, the soft clatter of shakers and bottles filling the air as they worked through the drink orders.
Someone laughed—briefly, easily—and she smiled back without thinking, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Beneath the kitchen’s rhythmic buzz of clinking glass and tinkling ice, a tight coil of unease had begun to settle in her chest.
The restaurant doors opened, letting in a wave of familiar energy—Hyejin and Iseul, holding hands, chatting animatedly, their laughter carrying over the soft hum of conversation. Soon-ja followed, slipping in behind them, apologetic but precise in her movements, every step seemingly rehearsed.
y/n’s fingers stiffened around a wine bottle, a subtle prickle crawling up her neck. She focused on unscrewing the cork, keeping her back straight, posture professional. The tension lingered as Soon-ja’s eyes met hers briefly, sweetness edged with something y/n couldn’t quite ignore.
“Welcome!” y/n said, voice smooth, controlled, though her mind raced. Stay polite. Keep smiling. Don’t let her see you’re rattled.
Hyejin and Iseul swooped in, warm hugs quick and reassuring. “Look at you, all dolled up!” Hyejin teased, brushing a strand of hair from y/n’s face. Iseul grinned, “You’re going to turn heads tonight, y/n. Don’t make us jealous.”
y/n laughed softly, the tightness in her chest easing. “You two look gorgeous,” she murmured, returning the warmth with a squeeze.
y/n was laughing softly, Hyejin looping an arm around her waist while Iseul fussed with the silver buckle on her dress. Their warmth was infectious, drawing her focus away from the knots of unease that had followed her since Soon-ja’s arrival. For a moment, she let herself be distracted, grateful for the way her friends anchored her.
She didn’t see San watching. Didn’t notice the way his dark gaze tracked Soon-ja, or how his hand tightened around Soo-bin’s before he bent low, whispering something to the girl. A heartbeat later, he passed her carefully into Lucas’s arms. Lucas grinned, bouncing her on his hip, oblivious to the storm brewing only steps away.
San moved. Swift, silent, determined. Soon-ja’s lips curved into a knowing smile the instant his shadow fell over her.
His hand closed around her arm, firm and unrelenting as he steered her toward the dim corridor by the bathrooms, away from the hum of conversation and clinking glasses.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” His voice was a low growl, meant only for her, but thick with fury.
Soon-ja tilted her head, eyes glittering in the half-light. “y/n invited me,” she said, words laced with false sweetness.
San froze. “You… know y/n?”
A faint, knowing smile curved her lips. “She doesn’t talk much about her past, does she?” she said, almost teasing. “We met years ago. Culinary school. She was bright — a little too eager to please back then, but talented. I was one of the first people she trusted when she moved to Seoul.”
San’s brows drew together, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “You were friends?”
“Something like that.” She traced her thumb along her skin where his fingers had been moments before, her tone turning brittle. “But people change. They find better company, shinier futures. It’s what we do.”
Her gaze lingered on him, the implication landing sharp. The same way she had once left him behind.
San’s eyes narrowed. “Why now?”
She lifted one shoulder, as if the answer were obvious. “I just came back to the city. Wanted to visit an old friend.” The word friend dripped venom. “Didn’t expect to see you here… but maybe that’s fate’s way of giving us a proper goodbye.”
He leaned closer, voice edged with steel. “Don’t do anything stupid today.”
“Why?” she purred, lips curling with challenge. “Do you worry about her?”
The heat in his body surged, a flash of rage burning behind his eyes. But when he answered, his tone was steady, cutting through the tension like a blade.
“Yes.” The word came fast, brutal, absolute.
Her smirk faltered, just slightly, at the weight in his voice.
Then, leaning in, his breath ghosted the side of her face, his words meant to slice.
“Don’t ruin this for me, Soon-ja. I finally have someone who chose me. Someone who stays. And I’m not about to let you tear it apart just because you regret your actions.”
The smirk didn’t return this time. Her eyes narrowed instead, something darker sparking beneath the veneer of control. But San didn’t waver. His body was a wall, his presence unshakable, his claim clear.
From the dining room came a ripple of laughter, jarring against the charged silence between them.
Then his voice deepened, guttural with the weight of unspoken scars. “And don’t you dare go near Soo-bin.”
That struck. Her smile faltered, just for a blink, before she forced a bitter laugh. “Still the protector, I see.”
“Always.” His answer was steel.
y/n was still caught in the warm bubble of Hyejin’s teasing and Iseul’s fussing when San reappeared from the corridor, his expression carefully composed, steps steady. A few seconds later, Soon-ja emerged too, her smile a touch too bright, her eyes scanning the room before drifting toward the table.
Hyejin and Iseul exchanged a glance, brows knitting just slightly. Suspicion flickered there, unspoken, but they both smoothed it over in the same breath. San’s presence alone carried a gravity that made them want to believe he had handled whatever had just happened.
Across the room, San reached Lucas in two strides, reclaiming Soo-bin from his arms. His movements were gentle, protective, his broad frame subtly shielding the little girl as if instinctively keeping her out of Soon-ja’s line of sight. Soo-bin beamed, wrapping her arms around his neck, blissfully unaware of the tension humming between the adults.
It was then that Hyejin tugged Iseul’s hand, pulling her forward with a determined smile. “Well,” she said lightly, “looks like it’s time we finally meet the famous San.”
San turned, a polite smile softening his features as they approached. “You must be Hyejin and Iseul,” he said, shifting Soo-bin slightly so she rested more comfortably against him. “y/n’s told me a lot about you.”
“Oh, all good things, I hope,” Iseul teased, her eyes darting to Soo-bin. She softened instantly, crouching just enough to meet the girl’s gaze. “And who’s this little star?”
Soo-bin tightened her hold on her father’s shoulder, shy for a moment, before mumbling her name.
Hyejin’s grin widened. “She’s adorable. y/n wasn’t exaggerating.” She shot San a look, half playful, half curious. “You’ve got your hands full, haven’t you?”
San chuckled quietly, the tension in his shoulders easing by degrees. “Wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
y/n glanced up from across the room, catching the sight of them—San, his daughter, and her friends bridging the gap with ease, the ice broken, quick handshakes and playful smiles flowed around the room. Conversations picked up easily, snippets of work, funny stories, and shared anecdotes weaving together. Mingi teased Hongjoong about his epic surfboard tumble last weekend, drawing laughter from everyone, including San.
Soo-bin chattered happily with Iseul, her energy contagious, prompting Hyejin to nudge her girlfriend with a grin. y/n lingered at the bar, smiling softly, taking in the shift from nerves to effortless camaraderie. The room now hummed with light-hearted warmth, everyone—new or old—laughing together.
Moving through the dining area to serve red wine to Yunho and Hyejin, y/n felt a gentle tug at her arm stop her in her tracks.
“Hey,” San said softly, his eyes warm and protective, a smiling Soo-bin perched in his arms. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”
Curious, y/n glanced at him, catching the half-smile, half-nod toward the entrance. Her pulse quickened with quiet excitement.
He led her across the room and stopped in front of three men laughing together over something she couldn’t hear. “y/n,” San began, confident but gentle, “meet Wooyoung, Seonghwa, and Yeosang.”
The three turned toward her, their smiles genuine. Wooyoung, effortlessly charming, extended a hand. “Nice to meet you, y/n. San’s mentioned you a lot,” he said, playful but easy.
Seonghwa gave a reserved nod, sharp eyes softening in a warm smile. “Good to finally meet you. This place looks great!”
Yeosang, quieter, offered a polite wave. “Thank you for the invitation,” he said softly.
y/n’s lips curved in amusement. “The pleasure’s mine. I invited you under the guise of helping San feel more at home tonight,” she teased. “So I suppose it’s my duty to make sure you’re all properly welcomed.”
Wooyoung laughed, rich and contagious. “I think you’re doing a fine job already.”
San gently squeezed her hand, his smile soft, filled with quiet gratitude. “I knew they’d like you,” he murmured, almost just for her.
y/n felt her heart warm, though she held her confident posture. Still, a small thrill ran through her—the way San’s presence made the room feel charged: protective, intimate, playful all at once.
As they chatted, she realized it was exactly the balance she wanted—the perfect mix of familiarity and fresh energy. She could relax, help San feel grounded with his friends, and enjoy the unspoken closeness tethering them together.
Time seemed to fold as the evening settled in. Soon, all the guests were seated around the long, communal table y/n had arranged, their chatter filling the space with warmth and energy. The flicker of candlelight danced across polished glassware and silverware, reflecting off the soft glint of y/n’s chunky silver accessories.
y/n moved gracefully among the diners, presenting her specially crafted tasting menu: four intricate courses, each paired thoughtfully with wine or cocktails, and two decadent desserts awaiting at the kitchen counter. Every dish carried her signature touch—refined yet playful, surprising but comforting.
San settled beside her, Soo-bin happily perched at his other side, eyes wide with curiosity at each new plate that arrived. Lucas and Jongho helped y/n, and the rest of the group leaned into conversation.
Music hummed softly in the background, a curated mix that punctuated the night without overwhelming it. Glasses clinked, jokes were exchanged, and the aroma of y/n’s cooking wrapped around everyone like a warm, intoxicating embrace.
Every glance between y/n and San carried a quiet charge, a thread of intimacy threading through the convivial atmosphere. Between the clatter of cutlery, the soft hum of music, and the gentle buzz of conversation, it was a night built on love, celebration, and just a hint of mischief.
The first course arrived like a whisper—slivers of citrus-cured sea bass perched on tiny beds of microgreens. Diners leaned forward, inhaling the subtle aroma of herbs and citrus.
“Wow,” Mingi murmured, eyes wide as he took a delicate bite. “It’s like… spring in a single mouthful.”
Lucas chuckled, lifting his glass. “Cheers to y/n, then. For making us all jealous of the food before we’ve even started.”
y/n’s lips twitched into a small, satisfied smile from across the table, watching her carefully orchestrated chaos unfold into delight. San took a quiet bite, nodding to himself, a slow smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Soo-bin’s tiny fork hovered as she observed the colorful plate, eyes bright, before she finally sampled a piece of fish with a happy squeak.
The velouté of autumn squash arrived next, golden and fragrant. The sage foam crowned each bowl like a whisper of magic, steam curling gently in the dimmed light of the restaurant. Jongho leaned back, spoon poised, and made a small, approving hum. “Smooth. Luxurious. Definitely worth the hype.”
San took a careful sip, then leaned back with an approving nod. “Alright,” he said, lips curving. “That’s unfairly good.”
Hyejin elbowed Iseul, her grin quick. “She’s definitely trying to ruin regular food for us.”
Iseul chuckled, lifting another spoonful. “Mission accomplished.”
The main course—seared duck with cherry-port reduction—brought the first playful exclamations. Mingi leaned toward Lucas, murmuring conspiratorially, “She’s dangerous… like, actually dangerous.” Lucas shook his head, laughing, eyes never leaving the duck.
San’s attention, however, stayed on y/n, watching her move gracefully between dishes, checking each plate, making sure everyone had exactly what they needed.
Soo-bin frowned at the duck, fork paused midair as if the meat itself might bite back. y/n caught her hesitation and offered a small, encouraging nod. “Just a little piece,” she murmured.
The girl hesitated a second longer before taking a bite and her face changed completely. Her eyes widened, cheeks puffing as she chewed, and a tiny sound of surprise left her throat. Then came a shy, delighted smile.
San chuckled softly beside her, patting Soo-bin’s hair lightly, eyes soft in a way y/n loved. “Guess we’ve got a new favorite,” he said under his breath, pride and something gentler tucked between the words. Seeing his daughter so happy—eating, laughing, glowing—made his chest ache in the best way.
y/n felt her heart give way, warmth spilling quietly through her chest. Watching them like that—him proud, her radiant—felt like its own kind of feast.
The truffle risotto came, creamy and indulgent. Its aroma of truffle rolled across the table, and for a moment, there was silence—all senses focused on the plate. Yunho, who had been unusually quiet, murmured a soft, “This is… wow,” and y/n allowed herself a tiny inward sigh of relief. The gentle tension eased, at least for now.
San caught y/n’s eye across the table, the noise around them fading for a moment. Soo-bin was still chewing happily beside him, humming under her breath, crumbs on her lips. His voice dropped, quiet enough that only y/n could hear.
“Are you happy?” he asked, not teasing—just sincere.
y/n’s lips curved, a warmth rising in her chest that had nothing to do with the wine. “Yeah,” she whispered back. “I really am.”
The laughter and murmurs of delight still lingered in the air when Soon-ja shifted in her seat, a slightly flushed tint creeping up her cheeks from the wine.
“I don’t know why everyone is being so nice… ” she murmured, her tone carrying just enough edge to slice through the warmth at the table, “this risotto… it’s missing something.”
Her fork clinked against the plate, a subtle punctuation to her complaint that cut through the hum of conversation.
y/n’s stomach tightened. She lifted her gaze, eyes meeting Soon-ja’s, reading the hint of challenge—and maybe mischief—behind the words. Beside her, Lucas stilled, jaw tightening as if bracing for impact. Across the table, Jongho’s knife hovered mid-cut, his gaze sharpening with quiet suspicion.
San’s hand flexed against the wood, tendons tight, every inch of him alert. His eyes found Soon-ja’s, a silent plea—please, stop. But beneath that plea was steel, his body poised to rise at the first hint that she might push too far.
Before anyone could respond, Soon-ja pushed back her chair, rising to her feet. “I think this needs… a little more spice,” she said, walking deliberately toward the kitchen.
A wave of silence followed her, the gentle hum of conversation stilled into awkward murmurs.
y/n immediately rose as well, stepping in her heels, voice calm but firm. “Soon-ja… maybe we should leave it—please, it’s perfect as it is. Why don’t you come back and finish your plate?”
Soon-ja glanced back over her shoulder, a faint, lopsided smile curving her lips. “I just want to fix it,” she insisted, fingers brushing against the surface as she placed herself behind the kitchen counter.
y/n’s heels clicked against the floor as she trailed after her, her voice softer now, a coaxing lilt. “It’s really okay, please. Just… leave as it is.”
Lucas and San exchanged a look; their shoulders stiffened, a quiet but palpable tension pressing down on the room. Jongho’s lips pressed into a thin line, eyes sharp, and he moved quickly, joining y/n and Soon-ja in the kitchen.
But Soon-ja didn’t pause, just reached for a small jar from the spice rack, fingers hovering over it with a deliberate, careful movement that set y/n’s instincts on high alert. Her heart pounded—every step forward was a calculated risk.
“Soon-ja, wait,” y/n said again, closer this time, trying to catch her wrist gently. “Seriously, you don’t need to—”
Her words were swallowed by the clatter of a spice jar dropping against the floor, the sudden noise jerking Soon-ja back slightly. A tight knot formed in y/n’s chest. The tension was thick, almost suffocating.
y/n’s fingers twitched, her patience thinning, and with a careful breath, she stepped forward. “Let me handle that,” she said, reaching for the small spice jar before Soon-ja could use it. Her hand closed around it, and she lifted it slowly, showing it was under control.
A bead of embarrassment crawled up her spine, prickling her neck and shoulders. All these people—friends, family—having to witness this… She clenched her jaw, forcing her composure to stay intact, even as her pulse quickened.
Soon-ja’s lips curved into a faint, almost innocent smile. “Maybe,” she murmured, voice honeyed but sharp, “if the chef actually cared about what people liked, I wouldn’t have to intervene. But I guess some things just… need fixing.”
y/n froze, eyebrows knitting together, the calm she’d been holding unraveling in a spark of heat. Her jaw tightened, eyes narrowing—not in disbelief, but in mounting frustration.
She straightened, standing taller, the sharp edge of her anger cutting through the kitchen’s air. “Excuse me?” she said, voice low but crisp, carrying that unmistakable authority that demanded attention. “I’m trying to make this evening perfect for everyone here—including you. I won’t have it undermined with comments like that.”
Soon-ja’s smile faltered just slightly, but she didn’t step back, her gaze still flicking with that calculated ease.
y/n’s hand still gripping the spice jar, pulse hammering, let her anger simmer beneath a controlled exterior. No one—no guest, no outsider—is going to ruin this night. Not while I’m standing here.
The dining area’s warm hum of activity shattered with a sudden, violent motion. Soon-ja’s unsteady steps carried her to the counter, eyes blazing with a bitter cocktail of envy and regret. She strode toward the counter, her gaze locking on the centerpiece of y/n’s care: the anniversary cake.
It was her labor of love, delicate and precise: a golden chestnut tart, shards of tuile catching the light like shards of memory, the silky cream scented faintly with honey and cardamom, crowned with a sugar blossom. A delicate echo of the first dessert she and San had shared, now reimagined, layered, tender—their love crystallized in pastry.
Before anyone could stop her, Soon-ja seized the tart and hurled it to the floor. Tuile shards ricocheted across the tiles, cream streaked the countertop, the sugar blossom rolling into the shadows. A collective gasp broke the silence.
y/n flinched at the crash, a sharp intake of breath escaping her. She stumbled back a step, hand flying to her mouth as her gaze fell on the ruined dessert. “No…” she whispered, voice trembling just enough to break the stillness.
“I should have been the one!” Soon-ja’s voice cracked, raw with fury. “The one with the restaurant, the friends, the talent—” Her breath hitched, eyes flashing as she stepped forward, trembling fingers pointing at y/n. “You stole my dream… and now my family?”
“What?” It was the only thing y/n could mutter, soft, almost inaudible, trembling despite her effort to steady it. Her legs wobbled slightly, a rush of unease threatening to unseat her, and she gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles white, trying to anchor herself amid the storm of sound and fury.
The words sliced through the room. y/n’s chest tightened as her gaze darted instinctively toward the dining area. San was already on his feet, chair scraping against the floor, his face pale under the dim light.
There was anger there—sharp, restrained—but beneath it, something else flickered. Shame, maybe. The kind that lived behind his eyes, heavy and quiet. For a second, it made him look older, worn.
He didn’t look at anyone—not even her at first. His gaze stayed fixed ahead, distant, as though he were forcing himself to breathe, to think, to not fall apart right there. When he finally met her eyes, something inside her twisted.
It wasn’t rage, not really. It was grief. The kind that came from a wound that never truly healed. And beneath it—faint, but there—guilt. Not because he’d done something wrong, but because he still carried the burden of everything that had been broken, everything he couldn’t fix.
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard, almost trembling, before squaring his shoulders again. He looked every bit the man ready to protect what was his—y/n, Soo-bin, their fragile little peace. Yet there was a weight behind his composture, a quiet exhaustion that only she could see.
And that—seeing him like that, torn between strength and the ghosts still clawing at his chest—was what broke her.
Despite that, Soon-ja didn’t pause; she surged forward, voice rising, each accusation a knife. “You think you can just take everything I worked for? Since culinary school, I’ve been working my ass off to have what you have now. And you made it look easy, as if it was gifted to you. You don’t deserve this, I do!” Her words ricocheted off the walls, angry and trembling, her eyes wild with grief and rage.
“You disappeared! Not even a goodbye,” y/n’s voice cracked, sharp as glass, chest heaving with each syllable. Her hands balled into fists, nails biting her palms to stop the tremble. She stepped closer, heat radiating from Soon-ja, heart pounding, lungs tight.
“I didn’t know… I didn’t know there was a life I never saw, that you never told anyone about.” Words tumbled out, ragged, half-crying, half-shouting. She wanted to scream, to run, to collapse—but stayed rooted. “What was I supposed to do? You weren’t here. You have no right to claim what’s not yours anymore.”
The room felt suspended, every sound muted beneath the weight of the broken tart and the storm of accusations. San’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides, yet his eyes stayed on y/n, steady, protective—a silent shield.
For a moment, the grief and anger in her voice seemed to soften him, awareness flickering behind his dark gaze.
Soon-ja’s chest heaved, a flash of disbelief crossing her features, but the momentum of fury still pulled her forward. She opened her mouth to respond, yet the force in y/n’s tone, steady and unmoving, made her hesitate.
Then—a sudden, sharp smack—Soon-ja’s hand connected with y/n’s cheek. The sting burned, heat flaring across her skin, but y/n didn’t flinch. She drew a slow, measured breath, voice trembling only slightly before she let it out, calm but resolute:
“I think you should leave.”
The words hit like a hammer, reverberating through the room. Soon-ja froze, eyes wide, as if the full weight of her actions had just landed. Jongho’s hand hovered protectively near y/n, ready to intercept the slightest move, his body tense, poised like a shield.
Soon-ja opened her mouth, but Lucas’s footsteps cut through the tension like a whip. “Hey!” he barked, voice sharp, eyes blazing. “Step back. Now.”
San’s blood roared beneath his skin, heat climbing his neck, chest rising and falling with violent, controlled fury. His fingers clenched around Soon-ja’s arm, iron-strong, deliberate—an unspoken warning she had already crossed every line.
“Enough!” His voice split the air, raw and jagged, echoing like thunder. “How dare you touch her.”
Every syllable carried the sting of years, the ache of betrayal, and the unshakable devotion he felt for y/n. His eyes burned, hard and unwavering, blazing with a fury tempered only by restraint.
She met his eyes, heart pounding in time with his, and in that instant, the world narrowed: he had chosen her. Nothing—not Soon-ja, not the ghosts of the past—would fracture the fragile, fierce bubble they had carved together.
San’s grip on Soon-ja’s arm didn’t ease as they reached the front door. The scrape of his shoes against the floor punctuated the silence. He swung the door open, almost shoving her toward the curb, the gesture sharp but controlled—a warning in motion.
“I asked you not to do anything stupid,” he growled, voice taut with anger. “And you didn’t listen.”
Soon-ja’s lips trembled. “I… I’m sorry,” she whispered, eyes wet but defiant.
San’s gaze hardened. “Who exactly are you apologizing for? Her… or me?”
She stayed silent, guilt etched across her face. Without waiting for an answer, he released her hand, closed the door with a quiet click, and started walking back inside. His steps were steady, purposeful, leaving the question—and the past—hanging in the cool night air.
In the kitchen, y/n stayed frozen for a moment, gaze locked on the ruined tart. Her cheek burning. The shards glinted under the warm kitchen light like tiny knives. One single tear slipped down her cheek before she sank to her knees, hands trembling as she began gathering the pieces.
Cream smeared her fingers, the tuile cracking further under her touch, but she kept going—silently cursing, mourning her creation, mourning the moment it had been meant to crown.
Lucas crouched beside her, wordless for once, his usual humor gone. He grabbed a napkin and began scooping the mess into it, careful, quiet, trying not to intrude but refusing to let her do it alone. Jongho quickly joined them. For a few minutes, only the sound of broken pastry being lifted from the tile filled the air.
Then came back a familiar presence. San’s steps were slow, heavy, charged with guilt. He lowered himself onto one knee before her, his shadow mingling with hers. Gently, almost timidly, he reached out, his hand resting on her shoulder—a small plea for her to look at him, to let him speak, to let him help.
But y/n’s reaction was immediate. She brushed his touch away, not harshly, but with a quiet finality that stung deeper than anger. She didn’t look at him, didn’t speak. Her focus stayed fixed on the shards in her palm, as though picking them up might somehow put her heart back together too.
A part of her knew—this wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t asked for this. He didn’t deserve the blame that twisted in her veins. Yet another part of her, sharp and unfair, screamed that if not for him, for his past, for her… none of this would have happened.
San’s chest tightened, his throat closing with words he couldn’t form. Watching her, his heart cracked wider with every second she refused to meet his gaze. She wasn’t yelling. She wasn’t accusing. She was simply… gone from him in this moment, wrapped up in her own grief, shutting him out. And that—more than fury, more than blame—was unbearable.
He stayed there, kneeling before her in silence, his hand falling uselessly to his side, his heart shattering piece by piece, just like the tart between her trembling fingers.
San’s gaze softened, the weight of his desperation silent but palpable. A trembling, almost imperceptible “Please,” left his mouth, begging her to look at him, to hear him, to understand. y/n’s fingers continued to gather the shattered tuile, precise, controlled, but her hands trembled slightly.
She didn’t meet his eyes. She couldn’t. Every instinct told her to stay distant, to let him see the consequences of everything swirling between them tonight.
If only he’d spoken to me before—if only he’d shared the weight of his past, the importance of trust and communication… maybe then this wouldn’t feel like walking into a storm alone.
Lucas, still crouched beside them, finally picked up the last fragment that fit neatly into his palm. He straightened, brushing his hands clean and giving a small, knowing look toward San—a silent signal that he understood the moment, that he’d give them space.
With her brother and Jongho moving away, the kitchen seemed to shrink, leaving only the two of them, a tense silence thick with unspoken words. San’s hand hovered again, hesitant, as if merely reaching for her presence could bridge the gulf between them. y/n’s breath hitched, the quiet plea in his eyes threading through her chest, tugging at the part of her that had never stopped caring, never stopped wanting.
The kitchen clock ticked loudly. The shards of tart lay scattered around them, fragments of sweetness and memory—but more than that, fragments of them, delicate and waiting, fragile and unresolved.
San’s voice broke the tense silence, low and thick with regret. “I’m so, so sorry,” he murmured, each word weighted, dragging along the ache he felt at seeing her like this. His hand shifted slightly, reaching as if to touch her, but she didn’t respond.
“I should have been more careful… I should’ve—” he started again, desperate to explain, to make it better.
But y/n’s hands, trembling from anger and disbelief, pushed the remnants of the tart aside. She rose, her gaze hard, her jaw tight. Her fingers brushed his in a light, fleeting touch—more an anchor than comfort. “Let’s continue with dinner, okay?” she said, voice low, edged with sharpness.
San hesitated, caught between wanting to plead and respecting the fire in her eyes. “y/n—”
“I don’t want to talk about it now,” she cut him off, tone clipped, almost cold. “I have guests. I have work to do. And… I can’t—” Her breath caught, but she forced herself to step back from him, to step into the role she had to hold. “I won’t let this ruin the night for them.”
San’s chest tightened, his heart aching as he watched her channel her fury into professionalism, her anger simmering beneath her calm exterior. She wasn’t angry at him—he knew that—but the storm around her, the fire in her eyes, it made him feel helpless.
He swallowed hard, nodding, letting her guide them both back to the rhythm of the evening, all the while silently begging her to forgive him later.
San lingered just behind her, silent, chest tight, heartbeat uneven. The kitchen lights caught the dark lines under his eyes, shadows of every tense moment with Soon-ja crawling into the present. If only he’d acted faster—pulled her aside sooner, trusted his instincts instead of giving her the benefit of the doubt.
Every second of hesitation gnawed at him. Seeing y/n kneeling, trembling, gathering the shards of her tart—hands that should have been celebrating instead—was partly his fault. He had wanted to protect her, yet here they were: a beautiful, carefully orchestrated night teetering on the edge of ruin, and he had been powerless to stop it.
The guilt twisted sharper, spiraling into fear. Every laugh, every toast, every soft kiss shared with y/n threatened to be overshadowed—not just by the broken cake, but by the moments, the trust, the intimacy he had been building. He saw the fire in her eyes when she refused his touch, the space she created even in a small hand’s brush. And for the first time since she walked into his life, he feared those moments would vanish, reduced to nothing more than fragile memories. Memories he might ruin. Again.
His mind drifted to the past—Soon-ja’s abrupt exit years ago, the confusion, the regret, the daughter who barely remembered her. He had thought he could move forward, build something better, but her shadow followed, threatening to invade every precious moment he now had with y/n.
San’s chest tightened further as he watched her walk away, composed and fierce despite the chaos around her. She carried the remnants of destruction with quiet resilience, and he felt the weight of it crush him. He had failed once. And now, watching y/n’s shoulders stiff as she returned to the table, he feared failing again. Different woman. Same scar.
It wasn’t fair. y/n didn’t deserve this—not the shadow of his past, not the ruin trailing behind it. Yet here they were. His jaw clenched, throat tight with the words he couldn’t voice: Don’t leave me too. Please… don’t leave me.
His eyes drifted to the floor, where the last shards of sugar blossom glistened like tiny ghosts of what should have been. For the first time in years, San felt raw, vulnerable—not to chaos, not to judgment, but to the thought of losing the only woman who had ever truly chosen him.
And all because of her.
San reentered the dining room with heavy steps, though he forced them steady, deliberate. His hand lingered for the briefest second on the back of y/n’s chair before he sank into the seat beside her—the place that belonged to him, yet suddenly felt fragile, uncertain. He kept his gaze low, shoulders squared, trying—aching—to appear composed.
Beside him, y/n’s posture was impeccable, every movement calculated, as if the straight line of her spine could shield her from the shame burning in her chest. She smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. The façade was polished, but thin. She knew it. He knew it.
Across the table, Iseul offered her an apologetic glance, the kind of soft sympathy that wordlessly said you don’t deserve this. Hyejin, less subtle, furrowed her brows, disapproval cutting sharp as her eyes flicked between y/n and San.
The air threatened to thicken again, silence creeping into the corners of the table—until Lucas leaned forward, fork twirling dramatically in his hand. He smiled, voice smooth but edged like a blade, “At least the risotto didn’t end up smashed on the kitchen floor. Can’t say the same for some of the other courses.”
He glanced toward the risotto plate that had once belonged to Soon-ja, a mischievous spark in his eyes. “And speaking of free dishes, if nobody else wants Soon-ja’s ‘generous offering,’ I’ll happily finish the risotto she left behind. Consider it a community service.”
A ripple of laughter ran around the table, breaking the last of the tension. Yunho snorted into his glass, Wooyoung barked a laugh, and even Yeosang shook his head, amused. y/n let out a small chuckle, shaking her head, while San remained still, jaw tight, eyes distant—head full, mind spinning. He heard the laughter but couldn’t let himself relax; there was too much to fix, too much to process.
y/n’s shoulders eased just a fraction. San’s hand twitched near her thigh under the table, aching to reach for her. She let out a quiet exhale, fingers brushing her napkin, and dared the smallest sideways glance. He was already watching her, gaze low, searching. No words, not yet—but the silent promise in his eyes was unmistakable: I’ll make this right.
The laughter around the table settled into a tense hum, the worst of the silence broken. y/n’s lips curved, not quite a smile, but enough to acknowledge Lucas’s remark.
“Well,” she said, voice light but edged with sharpness, “if we’re all going to survive this evening, we'll need another bottle of wine. Maybe two.”
The comment drew another ripple of laughter, warmer this time, though still threaded with the remnants of tension. Glasses clinked, servers hurried to refill, and for a moment, the dining room almost felt like a celebration again.
Almost.
Still, y/n didn’t look at San. She couldn’t. She felt his presence like a storm pressed tight beside her, his silence begging for her attention, his guilt weighing on the air. If she let her gaze meet his—if she saw that sorrow, that same unbearable sadness she’d caught in the kitchen—her walls would crumble. And she couldn’t afford that. Not now. Not here.
So she raised her glass, forcing the tremor from her hand, and tipped it toward her lips with a brightness that nearly fooled even herself. The clink of crystal against the rim sounded louder than it should have, sharp against the quiet buzz of conversation.
San swallowed hard, fingers curling under the table to stop himself from reaching for her. His chest tightened with every second she refused to meet his eyes, every fraction of distance between them pressing heavier than the weight of the room. He wanted to bridge it, to anchor her to him, but the restraint burned, and he could feel the ache stretching down his arms, coiling through his ribs.
For a heartbeat, he let himself imagine letting go—just a brush of fingers along her hand, a touch to steady the tremor—but the thought vanished as fast as it came. He knew she wasn’t ready, and even if she were, the timing was wrong. He had to let her lead, let her choose the moment.
Yet every careful glance she cast toward him, the smallest flicker of smile, made his chest ache more. She was there, bright and fierce, holding herself together—and he could only watch, silently vowing he would be the anchor she didn’t yet know she needed.
Conversation slowly began to stitch itself together again, uneven at first, then steadier with each passing minute. Iseul leaned in, offering y/n a smile that was both warm and understanding. “This risotto is perfect,” she said softly, “the saffron sings. You’ve outdone yourself.”
Hyejin nodded in agreement, adding a teasing lilt, “I’m almost angry at Jongho for not cooking like this when we visit him.”
That earned a laugh from Jongho, who raised his fork like a toast. “Hey, I did most of the heavy lifting. y/n just sprinkled her magic on top.”
“Magic, huh?” Mingi snorted, swirling his wine. “If this is magic, then I’m fine being bewitched.” He shot y/n a grin, the kind only a friend could give—meant to drag her back to the table, to remind her she wasn’t alone.
The table eased into warmer tones again, the clink of cutlery and gentle laughter layering over the earlier tension. Guests leaned into conversation, some even debating the wine pairing, others sharing stories of old anniversaries and celebrations gone wrong.
And yet—beneath it all, San and y/n sat side by side in silence, their own battle unspoken. He forced his shoulders to relax, lifting his glass in mechanical rhythm with the rest, but his gaze never rose higher than the rim. She, on the other hand, kept her smile steady, her laughter carefully placed, never too sharp, never too dim.
A performance. For everyone but each other.
“Appa?” Soo-bin’s small voice broke the air, soft but clear enough to draw his eyes. She pointed to her empty glass. “Can I have more water?”
San blinked, forcing the breath back into his lungs. “Of course, dumpling,” he said, reaching for the pitcher. His hand was steady this time, though his chest still ached. He poured slowly, careful not to spill, and set the glass back in front of her with a faint smile.
“Thank you,” she murmured, content again.
San’s smile lingered just long enough for her to look away. Then it faded—quietly, completely.
The tension between them lay invisible but palpable, like a knife balanced on its edge—too fragile to touch, too dangerous to ignore.
For the third time that night, he tried to fight the impulse to reach for her—to feel her, to make sure she was still there. But his hand moved anyway, hovering just above her wrist, a hesitant touch, careful as if one brush of skin might break her. He didn’t dare breathe too loud, too fast. Just a simple reach—an attempt to remind her he was there, that he wanted to share the weight she carried.
But before he could settle in her warmth, y/n rose from her chair. The scrape of wood against the tile echoed louder than it should have. “Excuse me,” she murmured, her smile still intact for the table. Only San saw the crack behind it.
In the kitchen, far from their laughter, she finally let it break. Her palms pressed hard against the counter, shoulders trembling under the weight of everything she’d held in. The mask cracked, breath hitching as a single tear traced her cheek—quiet proof of the strength that had finally run out.
“Hey.”
Lucas’s voice was soft but steady, the kind of tone she couldn’t push away. He didn’t ask—he simply stepped in, strong arms wrapping around her in a hug that swallowed her whole. A brother’s embrace, brimming with warmth, with the wordless promise: I’ve got you.
For a moment, she stayed still in his arms, the tension in her spine refusing to let go. Then Lucas spoke—low, gentle, with that easy humor that always sneaked in when she least expected it.
“y/n,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to catch her gaze. “If Soon-ja’s goal was to ruin your night, you’re making it way too easy for her. Don’t let one sour grape ruin the whole bottle.”
The faintest smile tugged at her lips despite herself. She shook her head, a tear slipping free. “You always know how to make everything sound like a wine metaphor.”
Lucas grinned. “It’s either that or therapy, and I’m way cheaper.”
y/n exhaled into his shoulder, the knot in her chest loosening just enough for a small, wet laugh to escape. Lucas grinned against her hair. “There she is. My sister doesn’t let anyone—anyone—dim her fire. Now, come on. Let’s give them something sweet to remember tonight by.”
By the time they returned, y/n and Lucas carried not only a chilly bottle of champagne but two gleaming trays. The table leaned forward instinctively, curiosity reigniting.
The first dessert, a dark chocolate fondant, arrived with a molten caramel heart that bled gold with every spoonful. Bitter richness met sweetness, grounded by the faint crunch of cacao nibs. The second, a passionfruit panna cotta with a raspberry coulis, glowed like sunlight, its bright acidity dancing against the chocolate’s depth.
Together, they were everything y/n was: sensual, playful, irresistible. A final flourish to reclaim the night.
And though her smile never faltered as she set the plates down, San’s gaze found hers, aching to whisper what he couldn’t say aloud: Don’t push me away. Not tonight. Not ever. Please.
The laughter at the table swelled again, the sweetness of the desserts softening what lingered in the air. But San’s gaze never wavered. He watched her move, graceful yet brittle, and something inside him refused to let her slip further away.
Quietly, he closed the space between them. His arm slid around her shoulders—not flirtatious, but anchoring, protective. He bent close, lips brushing her temple, and whispered, low and trembling, “I got you. I’m not going anywhere.”
For the first time since the kitchen, y/n turned her face toward him. Her eyes shimmered, glassy and on the brink. And for a heartbeat, San thought she might let him in completely. But before a tear could fall, she turned back, façade drawn tight once more.
Her hands went to the champagne bottle, but they trembled as she tried to work the opener. The cork resisted, every twist harder than the last, the shaking giving her away.
San’s hand reached out, light as air, closing over hers. “Easy, love” he murmured, steadying her until her hands stilled beneath his. She swallowed, then silently passed him the bottle.
It was nothing more than a simple gesture—but San felt the weight of it like a lifeline. She still trusted him. She still counted on him. And for now, that was enough.
The cork popped with a celebratory ping, and golden bubbles caught the warm overhead light as y/n moved gracefully around the table. Her black dress shimmered with each step, her smile carefully composed—too polished, too practiced for anyone who truly knew her.
She set the bottle down, fingers brushing lightly against the rim of her own glass before she circled back to her seat. The hum of conversation softened as she straightened, still standing, the soft light catching the curve of her glass as she lifted it.
Raising her glass, she let the chatter fade. “Thank you, everyone,” she said, her voice smooth but threaded with emotion she tried to conceal. “For being here tonight, for encouraging me, for letting this little dream of mine feel so… full of joy. Especially to Jongho—for working with me to create this menu, for sharing your talent and patience, and for putting up with me when I get a little… obsessive.”
A ripple of laughter lightened the air. Jongho ducked his head, shy but proud, cheeks tinged pink.
y/n’s gaze shifted toward Lucas, who raised from his chair with a grin and raised his glass. “I’ll just say—if anyone complains about tonight, it’s on me. But honestly? She’s unstoppable. You should all be clapping right now.”
The table erupted in laughter and applause, glasses raised, champagne fizzing.
San, still seated, straightened slightly—one hand tugging at his jacket sleeve as if steadying himself. He cleared his throat, a subtle sound that drew a few glances, his own smile small and a little uncertain. “I—uh,” he started, glancing around the table before his eyes found y/n’s even as she tried to avoid them. “I’d like to add something, if I may.”
A few guests quieted, curious. San’s thumb brushed the stem of his glass, grounding him. He didn’t stand, didn’t need to—the sincerity in his tone did the work for him. His glass lifted with deliberate care, his voice low but steady—so soft it might have been mistaken for politeness, yet charged with meaning that only she could feel.
He just needed her to know how much she mattered.
“To this night,” he said, his tone soft but sure, “and to the woman who made it feel like more than just another celebration.” He paused, his thumb brushing the rim of his glass, eyes never leaving hers. “For the way she gives everything she touches a little warmth, a little meaning… and somehow makes the rest of us believe we deserve it.”
The table hummed with quiet approval, but San didn’t look away. His next words came lower, meant only for her—honest, raw, a truth slipping through before he could stop it.
“Thank you,” he murmured, the faintest smile pulling at his lips, “for making me remember what it feels like to be alive.”
He raised his glass. The others followed. But y/n couldn’t move—her heart caught somewhere between pride and heartbreak. Because she knew that, no matter how simple the words sounded to everyone else, he had just laid his heart at her feet.
Glasses clinked again, a chorus of laughter rising around them as the warmth of the room settled back into celebration. y/n’s eyes found San’s beside her, sharp and unyielding, and for a heartbeat, the world narrowed to just the two of them.
Before he could react, she stepped forward. Her hands rose slowly, as if afraid to startle the moment, and found his face. Her palms were warm against his skin, her thumbs brushing softly along his cheekbones, catching the faint trace of heat there. San’s breath hitched. He didn’t speak, didn’t dare. The way she looked at him told him everything he’d been too scared to ask for.
And then, she leaned in.
Her lips met his—soft, trembling, searching. Not a kiss of hunger, but of surrender. Every unspoken word, every glance across crowded rooms, every held breath since the start—poured into that single, aching touch. It tasted like champagne and salt and something unbearably human.
When she pulled back, her breath was unsteady, her voice a ghost of itself.
“I love you.”
The world stopped. The hum, the clinking, the laughter—it all blurred into silence.
San’s eyes fluttered open, glassy and bright. His lips parted but no words came, only a shaky exhale, half a laugh, half a sob. His hand found her wrist, fingers curling around it gently, grounding himself in her pulse—the one that had found its rhythm beside his.
His voice broke before it steadied. “I love you more.”
It wasn’t suave or rehearsed—it was cracked, real, the truth laid bare.
y/n’s laugh came out as a choked whisper, a tear slipping free before she could stop it. He caught it with his thumb, tracing it away like something precious. She leaned in again, forehead resting against his, their breaths mingling, their smiles trembling.
A beat of stillness passed—then she kissed him once more. Just a brush, soft and fleeting, as though she were sealing her words against his lips. When she pulled back this time, she exhaled shakily, the sudden awareness of where they were flickering in her eyes. A room full of people. Glasses clinking. Too many eyes.
She straightened, instinct urging her to step away, to gather herself before someone noticed—but San’s arm moved before she could retreat. His hand found her waist, steady, deliberate, keeping her there beside him. Not to claim her, but to hold her in the moment a little longer. His thumb pressed gently into the silk of her dress, grounding her, whispering stay.
Still seated, he tilted his head slightly and pressed a light kiss against her side, just above her hip—through the fabric, tender and reverent. It wasn’t a gesture of desire, but of devotion. A quiet promise. I’m here. I choose you.
y/n’s breath caught, her body melting despite herself. Instinct took over; her hand found his shoulder, fingertips sliding into the neat line of his hair at the nape of his neck, curling as if to anchor herself there.
San’s thumb brushed lightly along her side, teasing but gentle, while y/n’s fingers continued to play with his hair, soft yet demanding. A silent conversation passed between them in glances and touches—love, desire, trust, and a hint of mischief—all promising that when the night quieted, they’d have all the time to speak and act on everything waiting beneath the surface.
Soo-bin’s small eyes sparkled as she watched her father and y/n, the corner of her lips curling into a bright, contented smile. Her gaze lingered on them for a moment too long, and without a word, she sprang from her chair, tiny feet padding across the floor, and clambered into San’s lap with a giggle.
San caught her effortlessly, one arm wrapping securely around her waist while the other still held y/n close at his side. y/n leaned slightly toward them, hand brushing against Soo-bin’s hair, a soft smile tugging at her lips. The three of them formed a little cluster of warmth, their presence radiating a quiet, unshakable intimacy amid the lively dinner around them.
San’s hand slipped to her ass, giving it a light, teasing squeeze that made y/n jolt and shoot him a warning look over her shoulder.
He only raised a brow, the ghost of a grin tugging at his lips as if to say what? I didn’t do anything.
y/n’s fingers found his shoulder in return, giving him a soft squeeze—a silent behave—but the warmth in her touch lingered.
Between them, Soo-bin giggled, her head tucked against her father’s chest, utterly content.
y/n tried to stay stern, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her, softening into a smile. For the first time that night, the room felt lighter—warm again, safe again.
Soo-bin wriggled closer in San’s lap, tiny fingers reaching out to tug at the shimmering fabric of y/n’s dress. “Your dress is so shiny!” she gasped, eyes wide with wonder. “I like it. It’s beautiful—like you!”
y/n’s heart clenched. The words were so pure, so unexpected, they cracked something open inside her. Her lips curved into a trembling smile as a tear escaped before she could stop it. She blinked rapidly, trying to hide it, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of Soo-bin’s head. “Thank you, sweetie,” she whispered, her voice unsteady.
San noticed instantly. His sharp eyes softened, a quiet concern threading through his features. Without a word, his arm tightened around her waist, drawing her a little closer. “Don’t cry, love,” he murmured, his tone low and steady, meant for her alone. “Please.”
y/n shook her head, forcing a small laugh through the tightness in her throat. “I’m okay… sorry” she whispered, brushing at her cheek. “Just… too many emotions.”
Soo-bin giggled, completely unaware of the heaviness lingering around them. She snuggled deeper against her father’s chest, her small hands still gripping the sparkling fabric. “You smell nice too,” she said with absolute seriousness. “Like fruits!”
That made y/n laugh—a real one this time, soft and broken in the most human way. She bent again, kissing the top of Soo-bin’s head. “You’re the sweetest, you know that?” she murmured, voice trembling with affection.
San’s chest tightened as he watched them—y/n’s tenderness, Soo-bin’s trust, the light that flickered back into y/n’s eyes, even if faintly. The sight struck him deep, a painful kind of love blooming beneath his ribs. It was everything he had ever wanted to protect—fragile, fleeting, and achingly beautiful.
He swallowed hard, forcing back the sting in his eyes, grounding himself in the weight of y/n against his side, the warmth of his daughter in his arms. He couldn’t let the moment fall apart. Not this one. Not after everything.
“You’re incredible,” he whispered, the words barely leaving his throat, meant only for himself, for them. His hand tightened gently on y/n’s back, his voice almost breaking. “Both of you… I love you so much.”
y/n leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the top of his head, letting her cheek rest briefly against his hair. Her voice came as a quiet murmur, warm and shaky, “Love you too, Sannie…” She lifted her glass, taking a delicate sip, grounding herself even as her chest threatened to overflow.
And then, from beside them, came Soo-bin’s little voice, bright and pure as sunlight through glass. “I love you, Appa!”
The words hit him square in the chest. San blinked fast, forcing the air through his lungs, his hand tightening around both of them. He smiled—faint, raw, real—and let out a shaky breath.
He didn’t cry. Not here, not yet. But his heart ached with the weight of it—the love, the fear, the fragile peace holding them together. And in that quiet, surrounded by his two favorite people, San decided that if this was what home felt like, he’d never let go.
He forced himself to blink, steadying the rapid pulse in his chest. Tears would have been too easy, too revealing right now. His heart might have been on the verge of shattering, yet he stayed steady, because these two needed him whole. And he would be.
From across the table, Hyejin couldn’t help but smile, swirling her glass of wine and tilting her head to watch the little scene unfold. y/n and San—together like this, with Soo-bin laughing and wriggling in his lap—looked impossibly perfect, radiating warmth that softened the edges of the night’s earlier chaos. She nudged Lucas, who grinned back, glass raised in mock solemnity. “Do you see that? That is family goals, my friend.”
Lucas leaned closer, mock whispering with a flourish: “Watch out, folks. This is the dangerous kind of happy—the type that makes the rest of us question our life choices.”
Iseul, camera at the ready, crouched slightly, capturing the moment quietly. Her fingers hovered over the shutter, catching the way Soo-bin clung to y/n’s dress, the tiny hand brushing against the silk of her gown, and how y/n bent slightly to press a chaste kiss to the girl’s head.
It was unguarded, intimate, a flash of love so pure it made her own chest warm. She clicked twice, silently grateful she could preserve a memory so fleeting.
Even the more reserved guests leaned back in their chairs, smirking softly, recognizing the rare magic in the air. It wasn’t just the food, or the champagne, or the soft hum of the restaurant. It was them, fragile but steadfast, stitched together by laughter, courage, and a small, beaming girl who had no idea the effect she had on everyone around her.
Hyejin and Lucas clinked glasses lightly, leaning into each other for a dramatic toast. “To love, chaos, and surviving friends who ruin desserts but not hearts!” Lucas said with mock gravitas. Hyejin rolled her eyes but laughed, a tinkling, genuine sound that mingled with the soft murmurs of the rest of the table.
And somewhere between the laughter, the playful commentary, and the camera’s quiet clicks, everyone caught a glimpse of a simple truth: tonight wasn’t just a celebration of food or milestones—it was a celebration of love and of the moments that made it all worth it.
The second champagne bottle popped open with a fizz and a cheer. Whatever jokes were being told at that point weren’t even that funny anymore—just contagious. The room felt loose and golden, candlelight flickering over flushed cheeks and gleaming eyes.
Everyone had gathered closer to the center of the table, chairs pulled in, elbows leaning against the now empty surface. San had tilted back in his chair, posture casual, one arm draped along the back of y/n’s seat. His thumb traced slow, absent circles against the nape of her neck—reassuring, calming, unable to keep from touching her.
y/n sat sideways in hers, one hand cupped around her glass, the other resting lazily on San’s thigh beneath the tablecloth. Her elbow brushed his arm each time she leaned in to laugh, the scent of her hair soft against his shoulder.
On his other side, Soo-bin’s small body was curled up in a chair, her head resting on his thigh. Her tiny fingers still clutched a napkin from dessert, crumpled beyond saving. Every now and then, San’s free hand slipped from his glass to gently comb through his daughter’s hair, a quiet rhythm amid the noise.
The table around them blurred—Hyejin snorting mid-laugh, Lucas fake drumming with two spoons, Hongjoong and Seonghwa grinning over half-finished glasses. It was all a hum of warmth, too alive to end yet.
But when San’s gaze dropped again, Soo-bin’s lashes were fluttering low. Her head had grown heavier against his leg, her breathing slow and even.
He smiled faintly, brushing a stray curl from her cheek. “Out cold,” he murmured, voice low enough for only y/n to hear.
She glanced down, smile softening. “Can’t blame her. We wore her out.”
San chuckled under his breath. “Yeah,” he said, fingertips brushing the back of y/n’s neck once more, this time lingering. “Guess I should take her home before she turns into a pumpkin.”
y/n’s lips curved, though the warmth in her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Mm. Go before she wakes up.”
For a heartbeat, she wished the night could stretch a little longer—that he didn’t have to leave, that the gentle spell of laughter and touch could hold just a bit more. But then her gaze fell to Soo-bin, her small body curled up and peaceful, and the thought dissolved into something softer. She understood. Of course she did.
He grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling, then slowly shifted to lift Soo-bin into his arms. The little girl stirred just enough to mumble something incoherent before settling against his shoulder, her small fingers curling into his jacket. The way San held her—steady, careful, instinctively protective—made y/n’s chest tighten.
When he stood, the laughter around the table softened.
“Heading out?” Lucas asked, lifting his glass in salute.
“Yeah,” San said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “All that soda’s gone to her head.”
“Ah, a true lightweight. Just like her father,” Wooyoung teased from across the table, and the others chuckled.
San’s grin came slow, the corner of his mouth twitching with mischief. “Funny,” he said, voice dipped in warmth and quiet sarcasm. “You’re the last person who should lecture me about losing control.”
Wooyoung rolled his eyes, the faintest smile tugging at his lips despite the exhaustion still clouding them. Around them, the table hummed with low laughter, the kind that carried relief more than amusement.
But then San’s gaze shifted—first toward y/n, then around the table, his grin softening into something smaller, truer. He set his glass down, fingers brushing against the rim before he spoke again, quieter this time.
“Thanks, everyone,” he said, his tone grounded now, threaded with sincerity. “For being here—for her. This meant a lot.”
The room seemed to settle at his words, warmth rippling through the lingering tension. Even as the laughter faded, what remained was something quieter—gratitude, shared and understood.
The chorus of goodbyes and teasing waves followed him toward the door, laughter spilling behind like a warm trail.
y/n rose soon after, slipping out from her chair to follow. The restaurant lights had dimmed just enough that her silhouette glowed softly against the doorway. She reached him as he shifted Soo-bin a little higher in his arms.
“Wait,” she whispered, fingers brushing his back. “You’re not leaving without a proper goodbye.”
San turned, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
She leaned in first—slowly, instinctively. Her hand found his chest, fingertips resting over the steady rhythm of his heart. The kiss was soft at first, a quiet goodnight pressed between the laughter still echoing in the distance. But then he deepened it—careful not to wake the little girl between them—until their breaths mingled, lingering like a promise neither wanted to break.
When they finally parted, San didn’t move far. His breath brushed hers, their noses barely touching—close enough that he could count the tremor in her sigh. His voice came low, frayed at the edges.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmured.
y/n blinked, still catching up to the weight of his tone. “For what?”
“For the cake. For her. For all of it,” he said, words falling out in a rush before he could second-guess them. “You didn’t deserve any of that tonight, and I hate that I let it touch you.”
She stayed quiet, lips parting like she might argue—but she didn’t. She just watched him, eyes softening as he spoke.
“I should’ve handled it better,” he went on, thumb tracing slow, absent-minded circles at her hip. “Should’ve never let her near you. But I swear, y/n—she’s out of my life. And I won’t let her, or anyone else, touch what we’ve built.”
His voice broke on the last words. The conviction in it, the guilt. He wasn’t begging; he was offering. And that quiet, trembling honesty cracked something in her.
Her chest tightened. Guilt pressed against her ribs—guilt for the way she’d snapped, for how quick she’d been to throw blame when he was already bleeding himself dry to make it right. She wanted to be angry still, but his eyes… God, his eyes. They looked at her like she was the only safe thing left in his world. And with that look, anger didn’t stand a chance.
She exhaled shakily, her hand finding his jaw. “I know,” she said, voice hushed. Then, after a pause, her shoulders fell, the first real sign she was letting her guard down. “But it still… hurt. She walked in and turned everything upside down. One minute, I was proud—of the night, of us—and the next, I felt like I was standing in someone else’s shadow.” Her voice softened, the truth slipping out before she could pull it back. “Like maybe I wasn’t enough to belong next to you.”
San’s chest constricted. The ache in her words, the quiet confession—it gutted him. He tightened his arm around her, careful not to jostle Soo-bin, who was nestled sleepily between them, her small head resting against his shoulder.
He looked back at y/n, eyes full of quiet ache. “Hey,” he murmured. “Don’t do that to yourself. You’re the reason any of this means something at all. She didn’t come back because of me—she came because she saw what I have now. What we have.” San swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “She doesn’t get to take that from you. Or from us. You hear me?”
y/n blinked, tears threatening, and nodded faintly. “I know,” she said, her tone a fragile mix of strength and surrender. “I just needed to say it out loud. Needed you to hear it.”
He brushed his nose against hers again—not quite a kiss, but close—his voice quiet but steady. “I hear you. Every word.” He paused, exhaling deeply. “There are things I still need to end, to clean up for good. I’ll do it soon. I promise.”
y/n blinked hard, the faintest hint of a smile trembling at her lips. “You always know how to make me feel better,” she whispered.
He huffed a low laugh, shaking his head. “No,” he said honestly. “But I know what I don’t want to lose.”
Silence fell—warm, heavy, full of something unspoken. Soo-bin stirred faintly in his arms, letting out a tiny sigh before settling again, the rise and fall of her breathing grounding them both. San brushed his nose against y/n’s temple, his eyes closed, trying to elongate this moment as much as possible.
For a long beat, they just breathed together—her hand warm at his jaw, his fingers still resting at her hip. Then, softer: “Okay, go,” she said, voice breaking in the middle. “But come back to me soon, alright?”
He smiled faintly, tired but sure, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Always.”
He pressed a kiss to her hair, lingering there a moment longer than he meant to. And for a fleeting second, it was enough—the warmth of her against him, the steady weight of his daughter asleep in his arms, the fragile peace they’d built between the cracks of a broken night.
His heart felt raw, but whole. Open, but steady. Because even with the mess left behind, he had her.
And that felt like enough.
Outside, the world had gone still. The laughter, the clinking glasses, the music—all of it faded behind him, swallowed by the hush of the street. Amber light spilled from the restaurant windows, stretching long across the pavement before dissolving into shadow.
San walked slowly toward the car, the weight in his arms steady and familiar. Soo-bin’s cheek rested against his shoulder, her small breaths warm through his shirt. She didn’t stir when he buckled her in, lashes soft against her skin, one hand still curled around the edge of his jacket.
San smiled faintly, easing her tiny fingers free and tucking her hand gently against her chest. He reached under the passenger seat, pulling out the emergency blanket, and draped it over her small body. The fabric rustled softly, settling around her like a quiet promise she was safe.
The engine hummed to life. For a while, the only sounds were the rhythm of the tires and her quiet breathing. San’s reflection flickered faintly in the window—tired eyes, disheveled hair, a silence that felt heavier than fatigue.
At a red light, his thoughts drifted—the sweetness of dinner, y/n’s smile next to him, the mess of the cake, the way her hand had brushed his under the tablecloth. Then her face in the kitchen, pale and still under the harsh light after the tart had fallen. It hit him again — the ache, the helplessness, the love.
He gripped the wheel tighter. The memory steadied him. y/n always did.
The city thinned into quiet streets. When he finally parked, the roar of the engine faded into the sound of cicadas and far-off traffic. He sat for a moment longer, breathing in the faint scent of sugar that clung to his suit, then opened the back door and lifted Soo-bin carefully.
Her small body curled closer against him, her breath soft against his neck. “Let’s get you to bed, dumpling.” he murmured.
He adjusted her weight and crossed the sidewalk. The building rose ahead, pale and silent. The night air was cool, brushing against the back of his neck. He reached for his keys, shifting Soo-bin’s weight—when a voice cut through the stillness.
“You’re still carrying her like she’s a baby.”
San froze.
The sound slid under his skin before the words fully registered. Familiar. Distant. A voice that belonged to another life.
He turned slowly.
Soon-ja stepped from the shadows, her figure unsteady under the streetlight. For a moment he thought she held a bottle—the glint of glass in her hand—but as she shifted, he saw it was just her keys, clenched too tightly. Her eyes were glossy, her smile thin and trembling.
“Soon-ja, what are you doing here?” he said, quiet but firm.
Her laugh was small but jagged at the edges, like glass trying to sound soft. “She’s getting big,” she said, her gaze dragging over Soo-bin’s sleeping form. “But you wouldn’t know it, carrying her like she’s still one.”
“She fell asleep,” San replied, his tone clipped, flat. “I wasn’t going to wake her.”
“Of course not,” she murmured, her eyes flicking to the girl again, lingering too long. “You were always good at pretending things were fine if you just held them tight enough.”
San brushed a loose strand from Soo-bin’s cheek, the tenderness in the gesture quiet but undeniable. It made something twist in Soon-ja’s face—something ugly, raw.
Her voice lowered, all silk over rust. “Did y/n teach you that? How to be gentle? How to look like a man who knows what he’s doing? How to be a good father?” Her mouth curved, sharp and humorless. “Must feel nice—playing family again.”
San’s jaw tensed, his silence a wall she couldn’t scale. His focus stayed on his daughter, her slow breaths against his neck. Every word from Soon-ja pressed harder against his restraint, but he refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing him snap.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low and dangerous. “You should go home.”
“Home?” she repeated with a bitter scoff. “You mean the place I built before she took it?” Her lip trembled. Anger, jealousy, something sourer than either. “You think this—” she gestured faintly toward him, toward the sleeping child “—makes you better than me?”
His patience was threadbare now. Not because of her venom, but because Soo-bin stirred faintly in his arms, and he couldn’t risk her waking into this mess.
He inhaled slowly, grounding himself in y/n’s voice. Her calm, her quiet strength, the way she steadied him without ever needing to speak.
When he finally met Soon-ja’s eyes, his voice dropped to something cold, unshakable.
“Don’t do this,” he said. “Not here. Not in front of her.”
But Soon-ja only tilted her head, eyes gleaming with something too fractured to be called anger. “You really don’t see it, do you?” she hissed, taking a shaky step closer. “You and her—playing house like the past never happened.”
The air shifted—dense, electric. The quiet street seemed to shrink around them.
San’s arms tightened around Soo-bin, instinctively pulling her closer. But Soon-ja didn’t stop. Her voice trembled, caught between desperation and rage. “Princess,” she whispered, and it was wrong—the word sounded like a wound tearing open. “It’s me. Don’t you remember me?”
Before San could speak, she reached forward—too fast, too raw, the movement jagged with emotion. Her hand came inches from Soo-bin’s cheek.
He reacted on instinct. His grip closed around her wrist, firm, unyielding. The impact was sharp—a startled gasp from her lips, the faint clink of her bracelet against his skin. He pushed her hand away, not cruelly, but with a finality that made her freeze.
“Don’t,” he said, his voice a low snarl. “Don’t touch her.”
Soo-bin stirred faintly at the sound, shifting against his chest. San’s hold softened instantly, his hand moving to cradle her head. But his eyes never left Soon-ja.
The silence that followed was brutal. The weight of it pressed into the space between them—the mother who’d walked away and the man who’d learned to survive without her.
Soon-ja blinked, unsteady, her breath coming shallow. The reality of what she’d done—what she’d lost—seeped into her expression. Her eyes darted to Soo-bin, then back to San, and for a moment, something like fear replaced the bitterness.
Her keys slipped from her fingers, clattering against the pavement like punctuation to a truth she couldn’t face.
“I just wanted to see her,” she whispered, her voice breaking in half. “I didn’t mean to—”
But San didn’t move. His body was a shield, his silence louder than any fury could have been. “You lost that right the day you walked out.” The line between them was drawn now—clear, irreversible—and Soon-ja finally seemed to see it.
He adjusted Soo-bin slightly in his arms, brushing her hair back, thumb tracing her temple. The tenderness of that gesture—so natural, so full of love—made something inside Soon-ja twist.
“She doesn’t remember you,” he said, voice low, controlled. “And that’s for the best.”
Soon-ja’s lips trembled, the brittle mask cracking. “San…” Her voice was small, hesitant, raw. The anger slipping into something messier. “I miss it,” she whispered. “I miss us. I thought I could find something better—someone better—but I couldn’t. I don’t love you anymore, not really… I just miss when I was happy.” Her gaze flicked to Soo-bin, sleeping soundly against his chest. “When we were happy.”
Her shoulders slumped, the bitterness finally drained, leaving raw, fragile regret. Her eyes glistened in the dim light, and she whispered, almost to herself, “I didn’t know… I couldn’t… I thought I could… come back.”
San’s hands tightened slightly around Soo-bin. “It’s too late.” His voice, low and steady, cut like steel. “You’re not part of this life anymore. You’re not part of hers, and you’re not part of mine. You walked out, Soon-ja. That choice—there’s no undoing it. You can’t reclaim what you abandoned. Don’t try.”
For a moment, she stood still. Then, her laugh came—soft, hollow, almost a sigh. “You really think this works that way? That you can erase me, just like that?”
San didn’t answer. His silence cut cleaner than anything he could have said.
Soon-ja’s lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “You really built a whole new life, huh? Playing family, pretending you never watched me walk out that door.”
San’s eyes flicked up—not angry, but weary, resolute. “Don’t do this.”
Her voice shook, brittle. “Do you really believe that she’ll stay? She’ll leave you too, you know. Just like I did.”
San’s jaw flexed, a slow exhale escaping him. He tightened his hold on Soo-bin in his arms, feeling the warmth of her sleep against his chest, the small weight grounding him. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he said, quiet but iron in tone. “y/n isn’t you.”
Her expression faltered—the name landing like a slap. She stepped closer, the anger in her eyes flaring, but there was something else there too—a raw ache she couldn’t mask. “Do you think she loves you more than I ever did?” The words were sharp, but under the edge lingered the tremor of her own regret.
San met her gaze fully, letting the quiet stretch between them like a taut wire. “I don’t think, Soon-ja. I know.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. The world around them had gone still—only the hum of a faraway streetlight and Soo-bin’s soft breathing filled the air. The night smelled faintly of rain, of endings that had taken too long to arrive.
Soon-ja’s lips parted, trembling, but no sound came out at first. When she finally spoke, her voice cracked.
“You used to fight for me.” Her eyes flicked up to meet his, wide and wet, searching. “You would’ve run after me once.”
San’s fingers tightened on the crook of Soo-bin’s blanket, knuckles paling. He took a slow breath, holding the words back until his voice could stay steady. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “And look where that got me.”
Her chin lifted a little, the ghost of a smile tugging at her mouth, bitter and sad. “You really changed.”
San’s eyes softened, but only for a heartbeat. “No,” he murmured. “I just got used to the emptiness you left.”
That hit her harder than any accusation could have. Her throat bobbed; she turned her face slightly away, blinking fast as if the tears offended her. “You think I didn’t try?” she whispered, voice breaking, almost desperate. “You think it was easy leaving? Watching you—” She stopped, biting down on the words before they could fall apart completely.
San’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t answer. The silence that followed was heavy, almost tender in its ache. Soo-bin shifted faintly in his arms, her little hand brushing against his chest. He looked down, letting that small touch pull him back from the edge.
When he lifted his gaze again, his tone was quiet but firm—unshakable. “Go home, Soon-ja,” he said. “Before you do something you’ll regret.”
For a second, she seemed about to argue, to claw her way back into the moment—but then her breath hitched. The fight bled out of her all at once, leaving only the hollow ache beneath. She swayed back a step, nodding slowly, eyes glistening with something fragile.
“Guess you learned how to say goodbye after all,” she whispered, trying to sound composed, but the words cracked halfway through.
San said nothing. He just shifted his stance, holding his own keys with the same calm restraint that made her hate and love him all at once.
Her gaze lingered on him—the man she’d once built a life with, now standing just out of reach, his arms full of everything she’d lost. “Goodbye, San,” she said, barely audible.
He didn’t reply. Didn’t even blink as she turned and walked away. The streetlight stretched her shadow long behind her, thin and trembling, until it disappeared into the night.
Her figure wavered beneath the streetlight, the shadow of what she used to be. She stumbled once, caught herself, then walked away—heels clicking faintly against the pavement until they disappeared altogether.
San didn’t look back.
He shifted Soo-bin in his arms, her small hand curling instinctively against his chest again. The sound of his keys filled the empty street—soft, final. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, the faint spill of light from the hallway cutting briefly across the dark before vanishing as the door closed behind him.
The apartment was silent. San carried Soo-bin to her room and laid her on the bed. She stirred once, sighing, before settling again. He brushed her hair from her forehead, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary.
He stood there, watching her breathe, the weight of the night pressing into his chest. Then he turned, half-closing the door, and leaned against the counter in the kitchen.
His reflection in the dark window stared back—drawn, quiet, exhausted.
He wasn’t angry anymore. Just emptied out. Soon-ja’s words still echoed somewhere inside him, but they couldn’t find a place to land. Not anymore.
He stood there for a long time, his palms pressed against the cool edge of the counter, the faint hum of the fridge the only sound in the room.
When he finally moved, it was to pull out his phone—not because he’d planned to, but because he needed to breathe. To anchor himself somewhere that wasn’t this silence. He stared at the screen for a moment, thumb hovering over her name. Then he pressed call.
The line rang once, twice. Then her voice—soft, warm, a smile already tucked inside it.
“Hi, baby! You two got home safe?”
His throat worked. “Yeah.” Just that—one word, hoarse.
“How’s Soo-bin? Finally in bed?”
“Mhm.”
There was a pause, the faint sound of pans clicking on her end—maybe she was finishing cleaning the restaurant.
“You sound tired,” she said gently.
He exhaled through his nose, leaning his head back against the cabinet. His eyes burned; he hadn’t realized how much until now. “Just a rough day.”
“Yeah,” she whispered. “It was a lot.” Another pause, softer this time. “I wish I could’ve ended the night next to you.”
He swallowed. “You didn’t have to.”
“Still,” she murmured. “I wanted to.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn’t heavy anymore—it was alive, filled with breath and warmth and the faint hum of distance. Then y/n’s voice came quieter, laced with that unshakable tenderness that always seemed to find him, even when he didn’t want to be found.
“San? What’s wrong?”
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His throat tightened, breath catching halfway. He rubbed a hand over his face, then over the back of his neck, as if the motion could erase the tension. “It’s nothing,” he said finally—too quick, too practiced.
y/n didn’t buy it.
“No,” she said softly, a faint clank from her end—maybe pans struck together, maybe pots being placed away. Her voice steadied, low and warm. “Something’s eating at you. Talk to me.”
He leaned against the counter, pressing the phone to his temple, eyes closed. The silence between them stretched; only the faint hum of the line filled it. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough, uneven.
“I just… can’t shut it off,” he breathed. “Everything that happened tonight—it’s still here. I thought I could handle it, but…” He trailed off, the words splintering apart.
There was a pause, then her exhale—quiet, slow. “Hey… it’s okay. You don’t have to carry it alone. You’re not supposed to. I’m here.”
His jaw flexed. A shaky breath slipped through before he could catch it. “That’s the thing,” he murmured. “I don’t know how to do anything else.”
y/n’s voice softened, a whisper through the static. “How to do what, baby?”
He stared down at the floor, eyes burning. “Keep carrying it all,” he said, voice frayed. “Everyone’s weight. The mistakes. The memories. Like if I stop for a second, everything falls apart.”
Her breath hitched, barely audible. “San…”
He swallowed hard, the words scraping out of him. “I’m so damn tired of holding it together.”
On the other end, she didn’t rush to fill the silence. Just a quiet sound—her steady breathing, grounding him. Then, a tender murmur, small but certain. “You don’t have to be strong with me, okay? You can fall apart here if you need to.”
San closed his eyes, letting the words sink in. One tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it, landing against his wrist with a faint warmth. His hand tightened around the phone, as if he could hold onto her through the line.
Her voice softened, a whisper meant only for him. “Sannie, baby… listen to me, it’s okay,” she said gently, the sound wrapping around his name like a promise. “You don’t always have to hold everything together.”
He hesitated, breath catching again. “There’s… something else,” he said quietly. “When I got home… she was there.”
y/n went still. The air shifted. “What do you mean—she was there?” Her voice sharpened—not angry at him, but protective, startled. “At your house?”
“Yeah,” he murmured, guilt threading through the quiet. “She was waiting outside. I didn’t… I didn’t want to tell you right away, not after everything tonight. But I don’t want to hide anything from you. Not anymore.”
A breath, a soft rustle from her end. When she spoke again, her tone trembled between anger and care. “You’re allowed to tell me, San. I just—God, she doesn’t know when to stop.” The sharpness broke, replaced by a gentler worry. “Did she do something?”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “She tried. I shut it down. It’s over.”
y/n exhaled slowly, grounding herself. “Okay,” she whispered, calmer now. “Okay… I’m sorry. I just—” She stopped, voice softening. “How are you feeling?”
He hesitated, and when he finally spoke, his voice was barely there. “Like I’m walking home after the storm and everything’s still wet,” he said. “Like I keep trying to convince myself it’s over, but I can still smell the rain.”
y/n’s heart clenched, the quiet ache of his words sinking into her chest. “Baby,” she murmured, her voice breaking just slightly. “You made it home. You’re not out there anymore. You’re safe now.”
For a moment, her words reached him—he could feel them brushing against the edges of his walls, gentle, patient. But safety wasn’t something that settled easily in his chest. It never had. His hand came up to his face, dragging over tired eyes as a quiet breath broke loose from him, uneven.
The second tear slipped down before he could stop it, warm against his palm. Then another. And another. It wasn’t the sharp kind of crying—the kind that hurt—but the slow, crumbling sort that came when he finally stopped holding everything in. When he finally allowed himself to be selfish enough to feel it all.
He bowed his head, shoulders trembling as his chest loosened with each breath. “I can’t afford to lose everything again,” he murmured, voice roughened by the effort to stay composed, by the breaking that had already begun.
“No…” Her tone broke softly, somewhere between love and ache. “You won’t lose me,” she said, steady now, every word deliberate. “You can lean on me. Just for a little while, okay? Let me hold some of that weight for you.”
A quiet breath left him, fragile, unguarded. His eyes fluttered shut as his head against the cabinet, the phone warm against his temple. “I don’t want to be strong tonight,” he confessed, the words small, raw. “I just want to be held.”
y/n’s voice came low, steady. “Then let me come to you,” she said, not as a question but as a vow. “I just need to finish cleaning up here, and I’ll be there. You don’t have to sleep alone tonight, Sannie.”
For a heartbeat, silence stretched—thick, heavy with everything he couldn’t say. Then a breath, shaky but softer this time. “You’d really do that?”
“Of course,” she said simply. “You don’t have to ask.”
The tension in his chest eased, his pulse slowing to match the warmth in her tone. “Thank you,” he murmured, voice trembling but sure. “For staying.”
Her reply came soft but unwavering, each word soaked in love. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
A pause. Then his quiet confession, almost shy. “I love you.”
“I know,” she said, her voice smiling through the ache. “I love you more, Sannie.”
A couple hours later, the apartment was still, the kind of silence that hums after a storm. San lay half-awake, eyes heavy, thoughts heavier. His body felt drained, like every breath took effort, but something in him refused to let go—not yet. He was waiting. For her.
The door opened with a soft click.
He didn’t move, but he heard it all—the whisper of heels being set aside, the long exhale she released at the threshold, the delicate rustle of fabric brushing against her skin as she crossed the hall. He could almost see her in his mind: head bowed, eyes tired, her hair a little undone after the night.
When the light spilled through the crack in his bedroom door, it caught him in a faint halo—his back to her, curled beneath the duvet, his outline small against the sheets.
“San…” Her voice was a breath, barely sound.
He hummed in answer, just enough to let her know he was there.
Her gaze softened. The sight of him—so still, so breakable—stirred something deep in her chest. But the ache wasn’t one-sided tonight. Her eyes burned; she was holding herself together too tightly. The dinner had fallen apart. Her tart ruined. The guests uncomfortable. And beneath it all, the sting of seeing him retreat into himself, again.
She noticed the clothes he’d left for her—folded neatly on the chair. It made her throat tighten. Even when he was unraveling, he still thought of her.
She slipped out of her dress, her motions slow, careful, tired. His old cotton shirt was soft against her bare skin, smelling faintly of detergent and him. When she caught her reflection in the faint mirror light, she barely recognized herself—makeup smudged, eyes glossy. But she didn’t care.
Crossing the room, she lifted the duvet just enough to slip beneath it. The cold air rushed in, then vanished the second she fit her body to his. The sheets smelled like him—warm and faintly of soap.
She wrapped an arm around his waist, pressing her face to the back of his neck, her breath uneven for a second before she steadied it. Her lips brushed his skin—just a touch, almost accidental—but he shivered.
San exhaled, a deep, trembling sound, and turned his head slightly toward her. His fingers searched under the sheets until they found hers, curling weakly around them. He brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles with the last of his strength.
“y/n,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
“I know,” she whispered back, her voice hoarse, fighting back tears. “I know, baby.”
Her thumb brushed over his hand once, twice. Then she pressed her face closer, eyes falling shut.
“Tonight shouldn’t have weighed on you like that… I’m sorry it happened.” she breathed against his skin, the words slipping out like a sigh she’d been holding all evening.
He shook his head faintly. “Don’t. Please. It’s not yours to be sorry for.”
Her lips curved into a sad smile. “You always say that.”
“And I mean it.” His voice was quiet, soft in the dark. “You did your best. It was perfect. You’re perfect.”
A small sound left her—not quite a laugh, not quite a sob. She tucked her face into the curve of his neck, her tears dampening his skin. “She ruined it, San. The tart. It wasn’t just food, it was—”
“I know,” he said quietly. “I know what it meant to you.” His thumb traced slow circles on her hand, grounding her. “But she doesn’t get to take that from you.”
y/n’s chest shuddered. “You always find the right words.”
He smiled faintly. “That’s ‘cause you taught me how.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty this time. It was full—of breath, of warmth, of quiet understanding. y/n kissed his hair, her lips lingering there. “Sleep,” she whispered, her voice trembling but sure.
He exhaled, long and slow. “Only if you stay with me.”
She smiled against his skin. “I’m not going anywhere.” And she didn’t. She stayed pressed against him, her arm around his chest, the rise and fall of his breathing slowly syncing with hers. He smiled, eyes closed, his body relaxing completely against hers. “Good.”
The city outside kept moving, lights flickering like distant stars, but in that small, tangled corner of the world, time slowed.
Wrapped in the dark, neither spoke. There were no promises left to make, no apologies that could undo the night—just breath, and warmth, and the quiet rhythm of two hearts slowly learning how to rest again.
Her hand in his. His breath against her skin.
The world could fall apart, but here, in this stillness, they had found something whole. Two people broken in different ways—finding the only kind of peace left: each other.
