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of all the people in the world - sjy (m)

pairing. sim jaeyun x reader

synopsis. You know you should be ecstatic about the invitation to Chaewon’s and Jaemin’s wedding in your mailbox, but you can’t help the nerves gnawing away at your stomach. There are too many things you’ve left unresolved after moving to Seoul—your aunt, your friends, and most of all Sim Jaeyun, the boy you’ve never let yourself love.

genre. childhood/high school friends that grow apart to lovers, angsty fluff, small town au, mutual pining bc they're idiots, this is kind of like hometown but different i promise, SMUT MDNI !!!!

warnings. characters are aged up (late 20s), reader is a little clueless but she's doing her best okay, family issues and family member death, jake is exclusively referred to as jaeyun deal with it

word count. 35.3k

author's note. listen to the playlist here + as always a big thank you to @zreamy for beta reading this and freaking out over jaeyun!!! happy very very late birthday can't wait to name my firstborn child after you... Zreamy Lee what a beautiful name... im sure anton will be stoked when i let him know!

Most of the time When he looks at me I change my mind And I don’t think he even cares a bit How much I have to give Just as long as I’m awake To love him every day [...] Of all the people in the world [He] says my name the best Most of the Time, Jackie Evans

From his seat on the couch, Jaeyun stares at the golden inflated balloons spelling out ‘Congratulations, Y/N!’ on the wall of your aunt’s living room. The more he stares, the more the capital letters seem to be mocking him.

He allows himself one last moment of selfishness, during which he thinks the last thing he wants to do, today or ever, is to congratulate you on getting your one-way ticket out of this town. He downs his fruit punch and winces at the overly sweet, artificial taste, then marches towards the crowd around you, trying on different smiles that might seem convincing. None of them fit.

August is nearing its end already. Summer has always felt lazy, molasses-slow, pleasantly neverending to Jaeyun—this year, it blinked by him. He closed his eyes as the schoolbell rang for their last ever period; he opens them again and he is here. Wasn’t prom just yesterday? Graduation? Did he realize that the last bonfire party was just that, the last?

Your birthday isn’t for another week, but you’re leaving tomorrow. Everyone huddles around you, eagerly awaiting your reaction as you open gifts. If it wasn’t for the presents and the chocolate fudge cake waiting in the fridge, this wouldn’t be a birthday party so much as a going-away party. The dreadful words on your wall make that clear: everyone here knows you’re much happier about leaving than about turning eighteen. You said so yourself a few days earlier, and Jaeyun tried his hardest not to burst into tears.

“I can celebrate my birthday every year. I’ll only get accepted into the program of my dreams once.”

You were sitting, just the two of you, atop one of the hills that overlooked your town. Jaeyun knew that when you looked out, you already saw your past, while he could only see his whole life, past, present and future indistinguishable from each other, spreading out for miles and miles and miles.

Up until a few months ago, when Jaeyun looked at you, he could only see his whole life. But ever since you received your acceptance letter, he hasn’t been so sure. He watched as you celebrated leaving him behind, stayed silent as you raved about your plans for the future. Plans he wasn’t a part of. These past months have been the only time seeing you smile made him sad.

He stays at the back of the small crowd, close enough to make out your presents as you unwrap them but not quite joining in. Hands in his back pockets, he wears his best neutral expression一if he can’t fake a smile, he can at least try and not look so depressed. As your friend, he owes you that much. He might hate every moment of this but he’d feel even worse, knowing he was raining on your parade.

You seem to like your gifts. After spending your teenage years together, your friends know what you like. Scented candles, cute notebooks that you’ll probably keep preciously rather than actually use, a personalized calendar for the upcoming school year with a different picture of you and your loved ones every month. Jaeyun shows up a few times in group pictures; it’s just the two of you in April, which is too far away for his liking. Far away enough for you to have forgotten all about him.

As you flip through the calendar, despite your friends’ protest for the pictures to be a surprise each month, it’s on April that you linger the most. There’s a small smile on your face, a sad smile. Your fingers play with the pendant on your necklace, Jaeyun’s gift that he gave you before everyone else even arrived. It was too intimate a gift for him to hand it to you in front of all your friends. He almost died of embarrassment when your eyebrows rose at the sight of the delicate, silver chain, of the letter ‘J’ hanging off it, and it was just the two of you; if anyone else had been in the room, his shyness would’ve gotten the best of him, and the jewelry box would’ve stayed safely tucked in his coat pocket.

You lift your gaze towards him. He didn’t even know you’d noticed him joining everyone, and yet your eyes found him immediately. He has no idea what on Earth is going through your head. Are you finally realizing that the days of seeing each other every single day are over? Are you finally figuring him out, how it isn’t only friendship that has kept him by your side all these years, but the feeling deep in his gut that he gets whenever he thinks of you?

Do you have that feeling, too?

Your eyes shine. For a second, Jaeyun thinks you might start to cry. Then someone, Miji or Yurim, who knows, says that she’s on the next page. Your gaze falls back to the calendar in your hands. Your fingers let go of your necklace, and you flip Jaeyun’s page.

.

A tight ball of dread has been sitting in your stomach ever since you got that letter in the mail. You’ve tried to rationalize it many ways: it feels weird to receive a wedding invitation, the first from someone out of your childhood group of friends. Even more so when that someone is the girl you called your best friend for all of your teenage years, but you aren’t sure you deserve that title anymore. Even more so when you’re 28 and couldn’t be further from drafting a wedding invitation yourself.

You know what it really is: it’s the address for the reception, the name of a place in which you haven’t set foot in years blinking innocently up at you. It’s the second piece of paper inside the envelope, a handwritten note asking you to come a few days earlier so that all of you “can gather just like the good old times.”

I’m getting married, Y/N. I’m turning into a proper adult. I just want one last time of feeling like a sixteen year old, and I can’t have that without you here. Say you’ll be there, pretty please? XX

You remember sighing after reading that note, your brain already coming up with excuses to justify your future absence, fully aware that you wouldn’t miss this wedding for the world.

Damn Chaewon, you thought then, and still regularly think now. Damn her and her emotional manipulation, as you’ve decided to view it, forcing you to make that dreaded trip home—not that you really consider that place home anymore.

It was a wonder that you and Chaewon were such good friends back then, good enough to still keep in touch throughout your adult lives. Just like every baby in the family, she was born in the upstairs bedroom of their home, the mayor’s daughter, known and loved by everyone in town, and had always adored her small-town life. You showed up out of nowhere at age fourteen, initially making no effort to befriend anyone, annoyed by the whispers that followed you. You wanted to leave as soon as you arrived, and you eventually did; although along the way, Chaewon’s kind-heartedness melted even your ice walls, and you gradually opened the gates to let the other kids in.

For almost a decade, you’ve been working to close those gates again. You were almost there; they were barely agape, there was just that tiny thread that kept an infinitesimal part of you tethered to that place, and you were sure it was close to snapping. Chaewon and her damn wedding invitation pushed the gates back open, and it took you all your strength to not look back and walk through again.

You left something there, and you aren’t sure you’re ready to retrieve it.

The ball of dread, as though tethered to a chain around your ankle, won’t stop following you. Up until now, you hadn’t noticed how much everything around you seemed to revolve around romance. The TV you watched. The content on your phone. Couples in the street. Even your work was full of it. You’re the editor for the Culture and Media segment of Limelight Monthly, the magazine you work at, not Relationships or even Lifestyle, and yet, in the weeks after receiving the invitation, it felt like all your staff could write about were the latest romance novels everyone raved about online, the best reality TV shows about exes getting back together or forever-singles searching for their first love, and which destinations were the most romantic for couples to travel to this summer.

You do a good job hiding it at first. Although you’re not as focused as you usually are reading your staff’s articles to greenlight them for publication, two years of doing this job means no typos or clunky sentences pass you by. You make sure to greet everyone with your usual cheer, and you don’t miss any Thursday evening afterwork drinks, a tradition of your team’s. Most of the time, you’re able to relegate Chaewon’s wedding and everything it entails to the back of your mind, but it’ll come back up at random moments. You’ll be filling the kettle for tea in the communal kitchen when a certain face will fill the forefront of your thoughts; your heart will start beating uncontrollably, and before you know it, water will be overflowing from the kettle and onto your hands. You’ll stare at the awfully familiar name of a book character in one of your coworkers’ reviews and only snap out of it once someone’s called your name three times in a row, like being summoned out of a trance.

These moments are few and far between, but they add up. When your coworkers ask you whether everything’s okay, at first, it’s lighthearted, like they’re just curious about what got you so lost in your thoughts. Slowly, eyebrows start to furrow, concern starts creeping in their eyes and voice. You’re one zone-out away from an intervention. A few days ago, you overheard Juhee and Haewon, your team’s two most recent recruits, whispering in the break room about their concern for your well-being: “I think she goes home and just, I don’t know, has takeaway and white wine in front of her TV.”

They’re wrong about the takeaway. You’re actually a pretty decent cook. The rest of their sentiment, however… Well.

It takes Minjeong, your favorite coworker-turned-friend, a couple of weeks before she decides to take matters into her own hands. One Tuesday after work, she waits for you outside the building’s main entrance, and as soon as you step outside, grabs your wrist and drags you to the subway station that’ll lead both of you to her apartment. “I’m making you chicken alfredo and you’re telling me what the hell is wrong with you,” she says before you can protest.

You wrench your wrist out of her grasp, shrug on the bag strap that had fallen off your shoulder with a discontented huff, and follow her anyway. “Fine, but I’m only coming for the chicken alfredo.”

“I’ll tie you down to the chair until you speak.”

“Kinky.”

She halts dead in her tracks in the middle of the busy street, ignoring the nasty stares from the other homebound office workers heading for the station. She turns to face you, wearing a severe expression. “I’ve known you for five years, and you’ve never cried in front of me. Not even when we watched Titanic.”

Nonplussed, you reply, “I already knew how it ended.”

“That’s not the point. It’s usually impossible to get a read on you, so when not one or two, but three people come up to me and ask whether you’re alright, that means something’s seriously wrong. I’d be a terrible friend if I didn’t try to find out what that was.”

You hesitate. You’re embarrassed that you’ve been so obvious, and that you’re even this upset in the first place. Who on Earth has such a hard time being happy about her childhood best friend’s upcoming wedding? Your first reaction should’ve been to call Chaewon and rave with her and ask for all the details. You should be sending her pictures of potential dresses and asking her which one fits her color palette the best. You shouldn’t be needing the aforementioned intervention.

It isn’t like you have to follow Minjeong and air your dirty laundry out to her. If it came to it, your couple inches over her might help you win a physical fight. But something about her sincere concern makes you fold—how long has it been since you let someone worry about you like this? Long enough that you forgot how nice it feels, apparently.

She must sense a shift in your demeanor, because she relaxes. “Let’s go,” she says, and this time, she doesn’t need to drag you with her.

From the moment you met Minjeong, you knew she came from money. It wasn’t that she flaunted it or appeared out-of-touch with reality; she just had a way of moving through the world with the air of confidence of someone who knew they belonged, who was used to getting what they wanted. It also helped that she often came to work with a new designer bag and always had flawless hair and nails.

It intimidated you at first, the way she seemed to have worked in this office her whole life, whereas it took you weeks before you stopped being so eager to please and be overly polite with everyone. But it quickly became clear that although you found her infinitely cool, she wasn’t cold. You didn’t work for the same segment, but you spent your lunch breaks together, getting scolded by your respective bosses more than once for coming back half-an-hour late; you would often be so busy talking, you wouldn’t keep track of the time.

But it wasn’t until you stepped inside her apartment for the first time that you realized just how wealthy she, or her family, was. She lived in one of the fanciest neighborhoods of town, in an apartment that you could hardly afford now as an editor, let alone when you were just starting out at the magazine—yet she’d been living there since graduating from university. It’s on the top floor of a brand new apartment complex and composed of three bedrooms and two bathrooms, a ridiculously large open plan kitchen and living room, and a balcony with possibly the best view over the city you’ve ever seen. Her furniture looked and felt expensive, and it made you dizzy trying to figure out how much the artwork that hung on her walls and decorated her shelves must’ve cost. To this day, you haven’t been brave enough to ask.

When you step inside her apartment today, she wastes no time before ordering you to sit at the kitchen island. You watch as she grabs a bottle of wine from the fridge, hesitates, then puts it back. Instead, she grabs a bottle of gin and an unopened one of tonic from a cupboard, two glasses and some ice from the freezer. You smile and sit silently as she expertly pours two drinks. “Here,” she says, sliding a glass towards yours. “I thought you might want something stronger.”

“Should I be worried you just have this on hand?” you tease.

She rolls her eyes. “It’s for emergencies like these, obviously.” You clink your glasses and take a wonderful sip. Then, she looks you straight in the eyes and says, “So, tell me what’s been on your mind.”

So you do.

You tell her about the wedding invitation and what it entails: travelling back to the town you used to live in, having to face everyone you left behind there. You keep things vague. You don’t name names, or dump your entire backstory on her; you simply tell her you didn’t have the best relationship with your aunt when you left, and phone calls between the two of you have been few and far between in the time you’ve moved away. And that this goes for a few other people from home, namely one other person.

Of course, this isn’t enough for Minjeong. She prods, and prods, and prods, until you finally give in. With a sigh and a heavy gulp of your wine, you ask, “Where do you even want me to start?”

She smiles. “From the beginning.”

You stare each other off for a few beats. Even as your instincts tell you to keep your mouth shut, a small voice at the back of your mind says, For once, why not?

“I don’t… talk about this,” you say, voice shaky.

Worry knots Minjeong’s eyebrows together. “Is it that bad?”

“It’s not that it’s bad,” you reply quickly to reassure her. “I just don’t like even thinking about it. So talking about it… Well, that forces me to think about it, doesn’t it?”

“Listen,” Minjeong says, walking over to your side of the island, resting her hand over yours. “If you really don’t want to talk about it, I won’t force you. But from what I can tell, it’d do you some good.” She takes a deep breath, then speaks all in one go. “Also I’m dying to know. I’m not supposed to tell you this but everyone at the office has a theory about where you come from because you never talk about it.”

When you gasp, she shakes her head and squeezes your hand. “I promise everything said here will stay here. I’d derive much more satisfaction from being the only one knowing about your past than blabbing about it to everyone anyway.”

For some reason, this works on you. Maybe Minjeong feels trustworthy enough. Or maybe you know she’s right, you know it’ll do you good to speak about it, to release some of the burden.

“Okay.”

You really do start from the beginning, and work your way up from there. Why you had to move to Gimcheon without your parents. Why it was difficult living with your aunt, and why you could hardly make friends at first. Why it was your sole goal in life to move back to Seoul at eighteen, and why with every passing year, the thought of leaving became harder and harder. Why you did it anyway.

What it cost you.

It feels strange to speak so much at once, and about yourself. Minjeong is plating dinner as you’re wrapping your story up. She has so many questions, it takes you almost an hour to finish your food. But you find yourself readily answering every one of them; you’ve gone this far already, so you might as well give her the fullest picture you can.

Oddly enough, it’s perhaps her easiest question that has you hesitating the most. It’s the end of the night, and you’re surprised your eyes have stayed dry throughout it; but when she asks you this, your nose starts to prickle.

“What’s this guy’s name, anyway? We’ve talked so much about him, and you’ve only referred to him as your friend.”

You can’t help but smile even as the word tugs sharply on your heartstrings.

“Jaeyun.”

.

As the date of the wedding approaches, the tight knot of nerves in your stomach grows bigger. The evening before your flight, it takes you hours to fall asleep, your packed suitcase next to your bed startling you every time you lay eyes on it. You sleep fitfully for three hours, then a never-ending loop of worst-case scenarios plays in your head as you go through the motions of getting yourself ready and to the airport. An older woman sits next to you on the plane; anxiety must be emanating from you like a bad odor for her to rest a kind hand on your shoulder and tell you that domestic flights like these are very safe, that she’s flown many times and that nothing bad’s ever happened. You don’t have it in you to tell her, a total albeit nice stranger, that it’s not the journey that’s worrying you so much, but the destination.

Stepping inside the airport at Daegu feels surreal. The few times you’ve traveled between Seoul and Gimcheon, you drove—but Chaewon forced you to fly down, saying you couldn’t just get in your car and leave if you suddenly felt like it. You didn’t tell her you could almost just as easily get a same-day flight, if it really came down to it.

You hope it won’t.

The airport is so relatively unbusy, so it doesn’t take you too long before you arrive at the parking lot, eyes searching for your aunt and her green little car that she’s always driven and that has somehow yet to break down.

But it’s another familiar face that your eyes land on.

The sight feels like a punch to the gut. For a few seconds, you swear you stop breathing, the sound of your heartbeat so loud in your ears that it cuts off all other noise around you, of planes taking off, people reuniting, car doors slamming shut.

You weren’t supposed to see him so soon. You were supposed to meet your aunt, go through a slightly awkward car ride, maybe have your first adult conversation with her now that you weren’t, or at least less of, an angsty teen. You were then supposed to get ready, both mentally and physically, for seeing all of your friends at once again, for seeing him. Who was standing in front of his car, staring at you with a small smile that kept breaking your heart over and over again, clearly here to pick you up.

He lets you stare back. Lets you stand there, mouth agape in shock, fingers wrapped so tight around the handle of your suitcase that your nails dig into the skin of your palm. You weren’t supposed to see him so soon. You didn’t get enough time to prepare, to adjust to being here, and now you’re standing there dumbly like you’ve just seen a ghost.

In a way, you have.

You regain part of your senses. When you try to say his name, your voice is hoarse, and it comes out as a whisper, barely audible even to you. So you clear your throat, try a second time.

“Jaeyun.”

The name feels clumsy on your tongue, like a foreign language you once knew but lost due to lack of practice. And yet, when he smiles and says your name back to you, it sounds so right, like no one else is as deserving of saying it as he is.

“Hi, Y/N.”

Your feet move of their own accord as they step towards him; he mirrors you, and in mere seconds you’re face-to-face with him, and when he reaches out you think he might hug you but all he does is take your suitcase from you and roll it to the trunk of his car. A sigh escapes your lips, but you’re unsure whether it's one of disappointment or of relief.

“There was an emergency at the hospital, so Auntie asked me to pick you up. I hope it’s okay with you,” he explains. You watch, transfixed, as he closes the trunk, then walks over to the passenger side, opening the door and motioning for you to go in.

You nod. “Yeah, it’s okay. Thank you.”

Instead of walking right away to his side of the car, he stays there, one hand on top of the door as you take a seat and fasten your seatbelt. “It’s no worries,” he says finally before gently shutting your door.

There are so many things to think about. Usually, you’d get hung up over the fact that even on the day of your coming back home for the first time in years, your aunt still prioritizes her job over you, or over the fact that Jaeyun still calls her Auntie, despite the resolve you’ve had since you were fourteen of calling her by her first name, and her first name only.

Now, as the boy — the man — beside you starts the car, hands steady compared to your trembling ones, a peaceful expression on his face, all you can think about is the improbability of it all, of being back here, of being next to Jaeyun of all people and not knowing what to say to him. If someone had told you ten years ago, that one day a reunion with Jaeyun would mean silence and cramp-inducing nerves, you would have either laughed them off, or been scared into never leaving at all.

Your mind conjures an infinite list of conversation starters, but none of them seem good enough. They’re all too relaxed, too intense, too inappropriate for a situation like this. Like a fish out of water, you keep opening your mouth to say something, only to close it when you decide not to.

Jaeyun being this quiet only makes things worse. If there’s one thing about him, it’s that he’s always talking like he can’t get the words out fast enough—but maybe it’s been too long for you to speak with any authority about what Sim Jaeyun is like. You know you’ve changed a lot in ten years—how can you expect him to be the same boy you left? You can’t even tell whether he’s just calmer now or if he’s decided to torture you by silence.

As he keeps his eyes on the road ahead of him, you risk furtive glances, trying to assess how much about him might’ve changed. There’s still something of the boy who used to split clementines with you in the winter, who would whisper the answers to you when you got called on in class and blanked. He’s grown into his features, he’s learned how to style his hair, but his kind smile and eyes haven’t changed in the slightest. You still find yourself inexplicably drawn to everything about him, even the small cut on his jawline, probably from shaving—your fingers crave to feel it, this sign of a private life that you haven’t been privy to for years. That you haven’t been a part of.

Minutes pass by like eternity. He’s only pulling out of the parking lot and joining the freeway and you’re already wondering how you’ll survive the twenty-minute car ride to your aunt’s. Thankfully, Jaeyun eventually puts an end to your agony.

“There’s so much I want to tell you that I don’t know where to start.” His voice is low, infused with a kind of timidity you’ve rarely heard from him. It seems to reflect your feelings exactly, and you’re so relieved you could cry.

A small chuckle escapes your throat. “Me too,” you say, glancing at him briefly, avoiding his gaze by the fraction of a second. It’s hard enough being in an enclosed space with him; eye contact isn’t an option right now. Every time his eyes flick over to you, the side of your face heats up so much you think it might melt right off.

“How—how are you?” he asks.

You’re not sure whether he means right now, or in general—but you don’t really feel like examining your feelings about being back here more than you already have, and especially not in front of Jaeyun, so you go for the second meaning.

“Good,” you say. “Everything’s going well at work. And I’ve got a few really great friends. What about you?”

A few beats pass without his answer—in the corner of your eye, you see his head swivel back-and-forth between the road and your face. “What, that’s it?” he finally says with a small, disbelieving chuckle. “The last time I saw you was three years ago. Surely you have more to say than that.” He doesn’t sound angry, just genuinely eager to get more information out of you. But his words make you angry at yourself, because they remind you that it’s your fault you know so little about each other’s lives now. It’s not for his lack of trying, and you both know that—since you left ten years ago, his unwavering kindness and lack of resentment towards you has surprised you every time you’ve seen him again.

“I don’t know, nothing’s really happened. I was promoted pretty recently—”

“Okay, that’s definitely not nothing. Congratulations, Y/N. You deserve it.”

They’re words you’ve heard a hundred times before, but coming from him, they sound so heartfelt, like he truly is proud and happy for you, that you can’t help but soften at them. Smiling, you say, “You’ve never seen me at work. Maybe I slack off all day and hand in everything late.”

“I’ve seen you in high school, and that’s enough to know you’d rather pull out your hair strand by strand than hand in anything a minute late.”

You laugh, and when he turns his head to look at you, this time, you mirror him. He can only keep his eyes off the road for so long, but a second is all you need. Your gazes meet, and he’s wearing one of your favorite smiles of his, the one that makes you feel like he’s really glad to see you again, and a weight is suddenly taken off your shoulders.

Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

Thankfully, the remainder of the car ride is much less awkward than its first few minutes.You find Jaeyun to be as talkative as ever, not shy in the slightest to tell you about everything going on in his life, from the arguments he gets into with his colleagues — which happen to mostly be members of his family — to the hikes he’s been going on more frequently now that he’s adopted a dog, a Border Collie he says you have to meet.

Your nerves are appeased. The last time you saw Jaeyun three years ago, it was for his grandmother’s funeral. She was the main reason he’d stayed here—back in high school, he’d had vague plans of moving to Seoul after graduating from university in Daegu. But when she got sick, with his brother abroad and his parents working hard to afford the hospital bills, he decided there should be someone to keep her company and take care of her, and that someone would be him. You could count on one hand the number of times you’d been back, and when she passed was one of them. He tried to keep a brave front, smiling as he greeted and thanked everyone for coming, but you could see right through the facade, although it’d been a long time since you could call yourself a close friend of his.

You only stayed three days. The night before you went back to Seoul, you went over to his apartment to make him dinner. In front of you, he let it all out—he’d always cried easily, but never like this. You spent so much time comforting him and offering him your shoulder that in the end, you could only make him a bowl of pasta with tomato sauce that he barely ate half of. You knew only too well what sort of pain he was going through. While your brain has wiped most of your memories of the events soon following your parents’ deaths, you remember the hurt that lasted months, years, that still comes back now from time to time, when you least expect it. It was partly thanks to Jaeyun’s friendship that your grief was easier to overcome—as you got to know him and your new classmates, he took your mind off of things little by little, until one afternoon, you came home from school and realized you hadn’t felt suddenly sad or irrationally angry the entire day.

The moment you left him that night, his cheeks tear-stained and his eyebrows furrowed even in sleep, you made a promise to yourself that you’d be there for him at twenty-five as he was for you at fourteen, despite the distance that separated you. You texted him everyday, called three times in a row if he didn’t answer, made sure your mutual friends checked up on him often.

But Jaeyun was, is strong and he had amazing people surrounding him, people he’s known his entire life and that have his back. He was back on his feet soon, sooner than you expected, for how close he was to his grandmother. Because of, or thanks to that, when you felt like he didn’t need you to look after him anymore, you only felt a little guilty for pulling away. More accurately, the guilt ate relentlessly at you, but you had excuses to make yourself feel better. His dad made all his favorite dishes. Jaemin took him out fishing. A neighbor of his had a dog who gave birth, and he adopted one of the pups. With or without you, he was going to be fine.

You didn’t mind looking after him. But as soon as you felt like you were relying on him, you panicked. And you were starting to look forward to your weekly calls far too much for your liking. So you reached out less often. It was a busy time at work — when wasn’t it, after all? — and you buried yourself in it so that when you told him you were too busy to call or to head back for the weekend, you weren’t lying.

Things went back to the way they were for the seven previous years. You were as relieved as you were heartbroken.

You look at him now, listening to his lively rants with a smile on your face, thinking how glad you are it all turned out okay. The sadness of being apart from him, the longing of missing him, you’d do it all again if it meant he’d be laughing like this in the end.

Parked in front of your aunt’s house, Jaeyun turns off the ignition and turns to you. “Do you want me to come in with you?” he asks.

How easily you fall back into your old ways. Twenty minutes with him and you feel like a teenager again, annoyed with him for being so nice, so unrelentingly nice, annoyed at your stupid heart for beating up a storm in your chest every time he so much as smiles at you. You want desperately to say yes. To have someone to lean on as you walk into the house that contains so many bad memories—fights with your aunt followed by silence, the feeling of loneliness that pervaded your teenage years and that you haven’t quite managed to shake off. It’d be so nice to have Jaeyun there with you—and judging from the concern on his face, he seems to know how you feel.

But you can’t let him, because you can’t let yourself need him. Not again. Not when you already know how it ends.

You smile and shake your head, ignoring the disappointment that flashes across his features. “It’s okay. I don’t wanna take up more of your time.” He looks like he’s going to say something, so you quickly add, already opening the passenger door, “I’ll see you later for the reunion, yeah? Thank you for the ride, Yun.”

With a sigh, he lets go of whatever it was he wanted to say. “Of course. Anytime.”

He gets out of the car even though you tell him not to, and helps you with your suitcase, which really isn’t that heavy. You can tell that your declining his offer has dampened his enthusiasm somewhat, and yet, he waits until you’re at the front door, one hand on the handle, the other waving him goodbye, to drive away. As though he wanted to keep an eye on you for as long as he could—and so do you. You watch his car get smaller until it disappears around a corner. Then, inhaling and exhaling deeply, you turn the key you haven’t used in years inside the keyhole and push the door open.

The first thing you notice is the unchanging smell of the house. Like the cleaning product your aunt uses, and a slight stale odor of food, because she always forgets to crack open a window or turn on the oven fan when she cooks. Plus a scent specific to the house that reminds you of your aunt, of the clothes she wears, of the blanket she covers herself with while she watches reality TV after particularly long shifts.

Gently closing the door behind you, you stand in the entrance for a while, letting yourself take the time you need to get used to this place again. You’re glad your aunt isn’t home to usher you in and pretend she’s happier to see you than she is, or that you didn’t let Jaeyun accompany you. You don’t want anyone, least of all him, to witness you looking around the house like it’s the first time you step foot in it.

Everything is the same as ever. Same furniture, same photos in the frames, same wallpaper, which make the few novelties even more striking. A plant in the corner of the living room, a new, more modern kettle in the kitchen. The black-and-white, low quality scan of your first ever article printed in Limelight is still displayed on the fridge, held up by the Brisbane magnet seventeen-year-old Jaeyun gifted you after he came back from visiting his family there.

You make your way upstairs slowly, holding onto the wooden rail for support, more emotional than physical. Your bedroom is a time capsule of your time in Gimcheon, with the same plain purple bedsheets your aunt bought before you arrived, the same posters of the boybands fifteen-year-old you obsessed over on your walls, the same fantasy series you used to devour during summer break on your shelves. You can’t help but crack a smile at the sight of it all. In all the times you’ve come back to this house, you’ve never had it in you to change anything about this room. You want to keep it preciously, as if changing anything about it would change the memories associated with it, both good and bad.

Losing both of your parents at once had made you anything but an insouciant teenager. You were overly serious and reserved, grief forcing you to grow up far before any kid should have to. And yet, standing in this room, you remember the fleeting moments during which your biggest worries were a pimple on your chin or a test in a subject you didn’t like.

For all your grievances against your aunt, you would’ve turned into a much different person if she hadn’t taken you in back then. Your dad’s family lived in another country, and you knew from conversations with your aunt that she and your mother didn’t have the best relationship with their parents. Their brother had three kids of his own, whereas your aunt had none; it only made sense for her to welcome you into her house. When you were mad at her, you told yourself it was only her moral and legal obligation to take care of you as your closest relative, but when you were feeling more generous — which, for fifteen-year-old you, could be rare — you realized that having a comfortable room to yourself and cupboards always stocked with your favorite snacks was something to be grateful for.

And there were the friends you made here, whose pictures fill five entire photo albums. They made everything more tolerable, and even fun, when you allowed it to be. Of course, you would have never told them that, back then—you liked your cold exterior and the way they saw right through it.

Setting down your suitcase by your bed, you decide to go through the photo albums you assiduously filled back in high school instead of putting your things away. It’s a better way to settle in and get yourself ready—your nerves dissipate as you flip the pages, bright pictures blink up at you, of your friends at each others’ houses, at the park on weekends, at the corner store after school. You’re not in many of the pictures, usually hidden behind the camera, exaggeratedly frowning when Jaeyun managed to pry it from your hands and forced you in the frame.

He never heeded your protests when he wanted to swap places so you could be in the pictures you so often took. You remember the puppy eyes he’d make at you, which had no business being so effective, and the way he’d rest his larger hands on yours on the camera. Too unaccustomed to the feeling of your heartbeat speeding up, you would quickly hand it over to him then, turning away from him so he wouldn’t see the obvious effect his touch had on you. It didn’t help that he’d always show you the photo afterwards, pointing at you on the small screen, grinning as he said, “See? You look pretty,” even though fear of being unphotogenic wasn’t the reason you didn’t like your picture to be taken.

Soon, your anxiety at seeing your friends and ex-classmates, after so long of making yourself unavailable to them, is almost entirely gone, replaced by excitement. There remains a pang of shame, especially at the thought of seeing Chaewon. How long had it been since you’d called her when you received that wedding invitation? Like Jaeyun, you know she won’t even be really mad, and that makes it worse—she might make a light-hearted quip about it, but it’s as though they’re scared that lecturing you about being MIA might only push you away further.

You tell yourself there’s nothing to be scared about. The people you’ll see tonight are but older versions of the people smiling at the camera, at you, in your photo albums.

You flip to a picture of you and Jaeyun taken without your knowledge, by Yunjin, if you remember correctly. Both of you sport wide smiles, the neon lights of the arcade game you were playing reflecting on your faces. It was his phone’s home screen for ages.

You’re so immersed in this trip down memory lane that you lose track of time—when the front door opens and your aunt calls out your name, two hours have passed already. Pushing your awkwardness to the side, you let her hug you and repeat her words back to her when she tells you she missed you. You did miss her, but you only realize it once the familiar scent of her hair. She’s a creature of habit—she still uses the shampoo she used when you first moved here at fourteen.

She was only twenty-six back then, younger than you are now. You don’t know if you could deal with a temperamental, grieving teenager while you’d just lost your sister yourself.

“How was the trip down? I’m sorry I couldn’t come and get you at the airport. I sent Jake instead, I figured you wouldn’t mind if it was him,” she rattles, already filling the kettle for tea. This is so like her, saying a million things at once, always busying herself with something. You know that in an hour, when you leave for Chaewon’s house, she’ll settle herself on the couch and won’t leave it for the remainder of the evening, drained from her shift at the hospital.

“It was fine, I didn’t have any problems with my flight,” you reply, taking the knife from her hands and taking over the apple-cutting. “There was an emergency at work?”

She sighs. “Yeah, you know how we’re so understaffed in the summer. Some teenagers were messing around in a house under construction, and fell through a floor that wasn’t done. No big injuries, but they needed an extra person to deal with parents and paperwork. At least I got to see these little shits get the talking-to of their life,” she says, making you laugh. She reaches for something in the cupboard, pulls out a packet of your favorite chocolate-flavored snacks from back then. “I got you these, if you want.”

“Wow, I haven’t eaten these in ages,” you say, chuckling at the familiar cartoon turtle on the bag.

“Do you not like them anymore?”

“No, no, I do,” you say quickly to make your aunt’s worried expression go away. “I just can’t eat a bag in one sitting like I used to anymore, and they go stale too soon.”

She chuckles. “That’s being an adult for you. I got a stomachache from a can of Coke the other day. Just one.”

You have time to spare before you need to start getting ready for Chaewon’s, so you sit at the dinner table together and catch up. The conversation floats somewhat on the surface of things, more about what you’ve been doing than how you’ve been doing. You’re overly polite, keeping a distance for her sake more than your own, unsure how happy she really is to have you here—and you have the feeling she thinks the same of you. The memory of your last fight hangs heavy in the air between you two, unspoken but tangible.

It’s been easier talking to her since you moved away than it ever was when you lived here. You guess distance really does make the heart grow fonder, more willing to forgive and make amends—that, and growing up. Even after your fight, which you quickly understood had only happened because you let your emotions get the best of you after seeing Jaeyun in such a dishevelled state from losing his grandmother, you can have a normal conversation like this. It’s a far cry from the silence that could stretch on for days when you were in high school.

Like with most dreaded things, you belatedly realize how much time you wasted stressing out about coming home, when there was nothing to worry about. Your mind had made up all sorts of scenarios, like your aunt would start yelling at you the moment you came through the door, rehashing your argument, or would barely give you the time of day during your entire stay. It’s as though you forgot she was always the one who knocked on your door with a slice of takeaway pizza or a piece of buttered toast when you were being moody and wouldn’t come down to eat. Who took you out for ice cream when she felt bad for being so caught up in work you’d hardly seen her all week. Who recorded your Saturday evening dramas on the TV while you were over at a friend’s house.

You’ve still got some talking to do, but it might not be as hard as you thought it would.

Fresh out of the shower, you’re changing into a nicer outfit and putting on light makeup when a text from Jaeyun lights up your phone. He’s asking if you want a ride from him, which you decline—your aunt’s house is out of his way and it’s only a ten-minute bike ride for you, which you find yourself quite excited to go on, for purely nostalgic reasons.

Ok :) I’ll see you later, he texts back, and your stomach twists with both apprehension and giddiness. Having him there will make things so much easier, and yet the thought of spending prolonged time in his vicinity makes you unreasonably nervous.

It’s just Jaeyun, you tell yourself, the guy who drooled on his textbook when he fell asleep in class. Who never got mad unless, in true soccer player fashion, felt another player had committed an unforgivable offense against him. Who insisted on watching horror movies then spent them with his face behind his hands.

You catch yourself smiling in the mirror and shake your head.

It really does feel like you’ve been transported back to ten years ago as you wish your aunt a good evening and hop onto your bike, still in its same spot, resting against the side of the house, then ride down the streets you’ll always know by heart. Gimcheon is at its prettiest during this time of year, the trees plump, their leaves dark green, the flowers bright. The summer evening breeze is warm on your skin, and the sun, low in the sky, casts a beautiful golden light on everything around you.

It’s not long before you reach Chaewon’s house—it’s still amazing to you how you can stand in front of it and say, yes, my friend owns this house. It actually belongs to her—and her fiancé, Jaemin, of course. You don’t know of a single person your age in Seoul who owns their apartment, except for Minjeong, but she’s just exceptionally well-off. It’s a nice, traditional house, with a wooden porch around the front where you know Chaewon, a Korean Nara Smith if you’ve ever met one, will make gochujang and soy sauce from scratch once she’s less busy with work and wedding preparations.

The gate is ajar, so you slide it further and let yourself in, calling out your friend’s name tentatively. Immediately you hear footsteps from inside the house, Chaewon squealing your name before she comes barrelling through the door and running towards you. She practically flings herself at you, and you stumble back a few steps as you catch her, laughing at her enthusiasm.

“Ugh, I’m so happy you’re finally here!” she exclaims, squashing the side of her face onto yours.

“I’m happy to be here, too,” you reply, chuckling. “Thank you for the heartfelt welcome.”

Hands on your shoulders, she leans back, assesses you head-to-toe. You follow her gaze, wondering if the mid-thigh sundress you chose was a good decision. Is it too much cleavage? At your all-female workplace, there is no such thing as too much cleavage. “You look good.”

“Okay, no need to sound so surprised.”

“I’m not!” she says, laughing. “Okay, a little bit, I’m sorry. I thought you’d look all dishevelled like those busy city girls in the movies. Running around, getting coffee, whatever it is city people do. That’s what you look like when you FaceTime me after work.”

You sigh. “That’s great to hear, Chae, thanks.”

“No, don’t take it the wrong way, it’s hot! But it’s nice to see you like this, with your hair down instead of your buns so tight they snatch your eyebrows.”

You frown. “I like my tight buns.”

“So do I,” she says, tapping your butt with a cheeky smile. Before you can protest, she takes your hand and leads you into the house. “Come on, we’ve made some changes inside, let me show you.”

“Am I the first person here?” you ask. The house is empty save for you and her, and probably Jaemin, somewhere.

She smiles at you mischievously. “Of course. We’re going to catch up first. And who the hell starts a party at 6 p.m. anyway?”

Chaewon’s presence is everywhere around her house, from the white gauze curtains that flutter in the wind to the trinkets that line the shelves of a cupboard passed down onto her from her grandparents. There are new pieces of furniture here and there, and a nice patterned rug in the living room, but the biggest change has been done to the kitchen. It’s been fully renovated to be more modern since you were last here, and it’s fully functional now, with everything she needs to make her homemade bread and her thousand side dishes that accompany every one of her meals. It’s a good thing Jaemin’s a nice person—you staunchly believe that not many people are deserving of the kind of care Chaewon is able to provide. You remember making that very clear when you came to visit for the holidays, and got a little too drunk with Chaewon for New Year’s Eve—you can’t recall exactly what you said to him, but he could hardly look you in the eye for the remainder of your stay, so it must’ve left an impression.

There’s barely an inch of free space on the counter, and the fridge isn’t faring much better. All sorts of salads and dips, meat and vegetable skewers, marinating chicken thighs, and of course, cupcakes. Tons of cupcakes. She doesn’t let you linger—Jaemin walks into the kitchen, and you’ve barely hugged him hello and exchanged niceties with him that she’s already dragging you someplace else, telling rather than asking her fiancé to finish getting the food ready.

She sits you down on a chair outside then heads back in, telling you she’ll be right back. It gives you some time to admire her backyard, the way it’s all been set up for tonight, cute cushions on the patio sofas, fairy lights strung in the trees, ribbons on the fence around her vegetable patch. Even back in high school, she grew green onions and avocados on the window sill of her parents’ kitchen. You’re excessively moved knowing that she has a whole garden to tend to now. It’s so easy to picture her, wearing a sunhat as she waters and adds soil to her plants.

When she comes back out, it’s with two glasses of suspiciously pink liquid in her hands. She sees your weary expression and says, “Don’t worry, you can barely taste the alcohol in it.”

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” you reply, but take a sip anyway. God knows you’re going to need some liquid courage to face tonight. It’s overly sweet, tasting mostly of strawberry syrup, and almost not at all of the vodka and prosecco Chaewon says she put in. Fine with you.

She launches straight away into her usual interrogation. It’s less daunting, because you can expect it—every reunion with Chaewon means she’s going to have a thousand questions for you if you don’t turn the subject around on her at some point. She wants to know all of the office gossip as though she has personal stakes in who your coworkers are dating and what the workplace dynamics are like. She asks about your daily life, your friends, whether you’re seeing anyone.

“I’d have told you if I had a boyfriend, Chae,” you say.

She shrugs, a little sheepish. “I don’t know. There’s lots of things you don’t tell me about, you know…”

There it is, the sharp pang of guilt in your stomach. The summer breeze suddenly feels cold on your bare skin, the stillness of the countryside oppressive. Up until now, it felt like barely a few weeks had passed since you’d last seen Chaewon, but reality catches up to you now, with its distance and silences, the ones you imposed between the two of you. “I’m sorry,” you say quietly.

“No, I’m not mad!” she exclaims, panicked. “I’m just saying, I don’t know so much about your life anymore, so this could be something I don’t know about either… I’m making this worse, aren’t I?” she asks when she sees the pained look on your face.

You shake your head. “You’re right, though. I know I should call more often, I just…”

“Want to put this all behind you, I get it. You always talked about wanting to go back to Seoul in high school, so I’m happy you’re able to thrive there now,” she says, although there’s an edge to her voice that you know means she’s more hurt than she wants to let on.

“But it isn’t fair to you.”

She shrugs again. When she looks at you, there’s a small smile on her face that looks a little too forced. For as long as you’ve known her, Chaewon has been wholly averse to conflict—this is probably the hardest she’ll scold you for being so absent. But because it’s from her, it’s an effective reminder to be a better friend.

You can’t help but put everything and everyone here in the same corner of your mind. You thought that to move on from one person, you’d need to move on from everyone, even Chaewon. You can only hope it’s not too late to start realizing how much of a fool you’ve been.

“Look, I didn’t get you all the way here to talk about this. I just wanna know how you’ve been.”

“I’ve been good, Chae, really. And now it’s your turn to present your life to me in excruciating detail.”

She chuckles and says, “Fine, but we’ll need a refill for this.”

“What? Has it been bad?”

In the doorway, she turns around to look at you. “Oh, not for me. My life’s been so awesome that you’ll need to drink your jealousy away, babe.”

And indeed, when she comes back and tells all about her life recently with a dreamy look in her eyes, it isn’t that you’re jealous per se, but that you realize this is the life a lot of people wish for—married with a nice house before thirty, and children soon, if you know her at all. And you agree these things sound nice, but they’re not what you want for yourself right now. Sure, there have been hurdles: her parents-in-law are pretty conservative, but Jaemin always stands up for her, and her job as an elementary school teacher can be very tiring, but, she says, “having someone like him to come home to makes everything so much easier.” She’s always had a sentimental streak to her, but this close to the wedding, you can tell her love for Jaemin has never been so strong. You’re reassured to see it doesn’t stop her from ordering him around as usual, or scolding him when he puts the chocolate sprinkles on top of the blue frosted cupcakes even though she told him at least a million times that the star-shaped sprinkles went on those.

“But the star-shaped ones taste like nothing, honey,” he says. You shake your head even if he can’t see you. Chaewon gasps like he just told her to go fuck herself—and in her eyes, it’s probably as though he has.

As much as she hates arguments, this is something she’d lay her life down for. She heads into the kitchen to give him a piece of her mind, leaving you to reflect over her words. It makes everything so much easier. You do wonder what that must feel like, to have someone to come home to after a long day instead of a silent glass of wine. At least the wine can’t judge you.

The two glasses of Chaewon’s pink mixture must really be getting to your head, because when she sits back down next to you, face flushed from a heated conversation about sprinkles, you find yourself telling her what’s on your mind. “I’ve almost had that a couple times, you know. Someone to come home to,” you say, feeling her gaze on the side of your face as you keep yours on the garden in front of you. “I did tell you about some of the guys I dated.”

“Yeah, and you always seemed super unfazed about the break-ups.”

“I was. I always expected it to end one day or another, so I wasn’t so surprised when that day came.” Her hand on your forearm is warm, anchoring, silently telling you that it’s okay to go on. “It’s not that I don’t want that life. But whenever they started talking about meeting their parents, or moving in together, let alone get married… It just freaked me out. The idea of someone being so close to me, eventually knowing so much about me. How—” You interrupt yourself, taken aback by the tears you feel pooling in your eyes. You turn to look at Chaewon, and something in her expression, in the familiarity of her features, makes you take a deep breath and keep talking. This is Chaewon. She won’t make fun of you for crying. “How do you do it, Chae? How do you trust someone to still love you when they know about all the worst sides of you?”

“Oh, honey,” she whispers, standing up to wrap her arms around you. A few silent tears stream down your cheeks, hopefully not staining her dress, as you hug her back tightly. “What about me? Minji, Yunjin? What about Jaeyun?”

Her voice seems to soften on his name, or maybe it’s your heart that softens upon hearing it. A part of you thinks he may be at fault for your unsatisfactory love life—knowing he’s out there makes it harder to fall for someone else. But that’s something you couldn’t admit to Chaewon—you can barely admit it to yourself as it is.

“I’m sorry,” you say, sniffling against her shoulder. “I shouldn’t be doing this today, of all days.”

She shushes you. “No, no, it’s okay. I’m glad you’re letting it out. Listen.” She crouches in front of you, brushes away strands of your hair that got stuck in your wet eyelashes. “There’s nothing monstrous about you that would drive anyone away. You’re more cautious than most of us when it comes to relationships, and that’s okay. It just means that when you finally do give your heart to someone, they’ll be all the more deserving of it. And I promise you that someone is out there.” She smiles, adding, “Maybe closer than you think.”

“What—what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come on,” she says with a laugh, unfolding from her crouch and holding her hand out to you. “Your makeup’s all messed up. I’ll help you fix it before everyone else gets here.”

In her upstairs bathroom, she pushes off all the clothes laying haphazardly on an armchair and instructs you to sit there. With four cocktails between the two of you, everything becomes funny—you’re both laughing so hard at the shape of her mascara tube that it takes her five minutes to properly apply the makeup to your lashes. She keeps scolding you for scrunching your eyes in laughter and stopping her from doing her job, as if she’s not the one who can’t see through the tears in her eyes. “Now my mascara’s running!” she complains when she sees her reflection in the mirror.

Like little girls playing around with their mother’s beauty products, she applies eyeshadows of all colors on your lids, tries out a different lipstick on each half of your lips to see which one fits you best. You look ridiculous, but you’d probably let her keep going for hours if it wasn’t for the sudden ring of the doorbell. You both freeze mid-laughing fit as if the whole point of this evening wasn’t for people to come over, the blush brush in Chaewon’s hand floating inches from your cheek.

“Who is it?” you whisper, unable to tell who it is from the voices mixing with Jaemin’s downstairs.

“Sounds like Jeno and his new girlfriend,” she whispers back. “You haven’t met her. She’s way too cool for him.”

“As are all of Jeno’s girlfriends.”

Chaewon nods. Before she can say anything else, Jaemin’s voice rings out in the house, calling out for her. “Be down in a minute!” she shouts back, then turns to you. Her energy seems to have shifted from when you were laughing around together when she says, “Let’s get this off you. I made you look a little crazy.”

As she douses a cotton pad with makeup remover, you ask her quietly, “Are you okay?”

With the cotton over your eyes, you can’t see her expression, but you’ve known her long enough to picture it. The tight lips, the slightly furrowed eyebrows. “I’m okay, just a little nervous,” she says. “It’s been a while since we’ve had this many people over at once.”

Your surprise only lasts a second—although Chaewon had appeared nothing but excited every time you talked about this weekend, you remember how she’d grow anxious in the last moments before any party she threw. You take the cotton pad from her hands, holding onto her wrist as you look earnestly into her eyes. “It’s going to be an amazing evening, Chae. You’re the best hostess in this town. The food looks great, as it always does, and everyone’s going to be ecstatic to see each other again. And to congratulate you! You’re getting married in two days!”

A small smile was forming on her lips as you spoke, but it’s the mention of her wedding that really seems to do the trick. “I am,” she says quietly, smiling down at her feet like a giddy schoolgirl.

“And your fiancé’s waiting downstairs for you. Along with Jeno and his cool girlfriend.”

She sighs deeply. “You’re right. I’ve been busy all day getting everything ready, and now that there’s nothing left to do, I’m panicking.”

“There’s no reason to,” you tell her, squeezing her wrist warmly. “Go. I’ll take care of my makeup.”

With a quick hug, Chaewon thanks you and heads downstairs. In the mirror, it really does look like a small child had far too much fun on your face. Wiping it all off with her cleansing oil and digging through her pouch for liner and a lip tint, you remember all the evenings spent at your aunt’s house, her combing through your closet before a party because your aunt let you buy little tops that her parents would have a seizure seeing her wear. For once, the roles are reversed.

Calming her down has had the same effect on your nerves, although the heavy doses of vodka and prosecco in the cocktails might’ve helped. Your heart is only slightly beating faster than usual as the doorbell rings again, the voices of more people filling Chaewon’s and Jaemin’s living room. For some reason, you’re worried that coming downstairs as they’re all greeting each other will be more awkward than meeting them out in the backyard, so you wait until it sounds like they’ve left the room. But your plan isn’t so successful—you’re halfway down the stairs when the door opens again, the person entering seemingly familiar enough to this house to come in without announcing their presence. Your body registers the sight of him first, heart dropping to your stomach, electricity reaching all the way to your fingertips before his name has even made its way to your brain.

“Jaeyun,” you breathe out, the wind knocked out of you as though you didn’t see him mere hours ago and as though you were unaware of his being here tonight. What is wrong with you? Are you sure Chaewon didn’t lace your drinks with something else?

His smile has the power to reassure you and double your nerves all at once. He waits for you, watching as you make your way down the remaining stairs. “Long time no see,” he says when you reach him, an infuriatingly charming grin on his lips. You can’t bite back the one growing on your own. “I hope you didn’t miss me too much.”

“It was a struggle, but I made it through.”

He chuckles, and a few seconds pass in which you don’t quite look at each other; you’re about to offer to join the others in the yard, but he speaks first. “You look beautiful.” Three simple words, but coming from Jaeyun, and spoken with that low, intimate tone, they pack a punch.

You hope you don’t look too obviously flustered as you gaze down at yourself, picking up the hem of your dress and rubbing the fabric between your fingers self-consciously. “Thanks, Yun,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. You give yourself a few seconds to assess him, and the conclusion you come to doesn’t help your state—you’ve seen him wear white button-ups dozens of times before, at school events and fancy gatherings, but you swear his arms didn’t always fill out the sleeves so perfectly, straining ever so slightly against the fabric. And sure, not having it buttoned to the top is fine, but are three undone buttons really necessary? You stop yourself from making a comment about cleavage and return his compliment instead. Then, with a frown, you tell him the others are already outside and turn on your heels.

Behind you, you hear a chuckle, then the sound of his footsteps following you. You thought it’d be nice to have Jaeyun around, a familiar and reassuring presence to look for if you ever felt awkward or out-of-place tonight, but it turns out it might be more distressing than anything.

Outside, all the newcomers, save for Jeno’s girlfriend, greet you with wide, surprised smiles, like they can’t believe you actually made it all the way here. Most of your old classmates have stayed in the area—one has gone abroad, a few have moved to Daegu, the closest big city, but for the most part, they either still live here or in nearby, somewhat larger towns with more job opportunities. That’s why they’ve remained such a tight-knit circle, why everyone knows everyone’s business, and why you were much more nervous than anyone should be at the idea of going to their high school reunion. Your distance is all the more obvious by their lack thereof.

No one is showing you open hostility like in the worst-case scenarios you’d dreamed up, so you must be doing a good job at smiling and catching up with them and being normal with your hands, although you gladly accept the champagne glass Jaeyun hands you, thankful for something to keep them busy. And you find that it’s nice to be here. It’s nice to know Yurim and Jimin are as inseparable as ever and are planning to do the whole baby-at-the-same-time thing (once they manage to both find a boyfriend). It’s nice to see Jeno start to look less like a nerd over time, but that he hasn’t lost his ability to bag the most beautiful women you’ve ever met, like Giselle, who he very proudly introduces you to, and who is indeed way cooler than him. She volunteers at the animal shelter in her free time and DJs for huge techno clubs in the city on the weekend, so to be fair, she’s cooler than most people.

As more people start trickling in, instead of retreating into yourself, you relax. The weather is perfect, the sun making its slow, lazy descent into the night, a warm summer breeze coming through; people are happy to be here, to see each other, to see you; when Chaewon isn’t frantically running around, making sure that everyone is doing okay and that there are enough mini-fours to go around, she actually looks like she’s enjoying herself.

And there’s Jaeyun. It’s not that you mean to notice him, but your gaze keeps drifting to him of its own volition. He moves through the crowd with ease, clearly surrounded by people he’s comfortable with, always being pulled into conversations or making small talk with everyone he bumps into. His eyes seem to find yours often, and every time, he smiles at you like he knows something you don’t. Instead of quickly turning away like he used to as a teenager, unashamed at getting caught, his eyes linger on your face before slowly returning to whoever’s talking to him.

There’s a really annoying moment when he’s standing by the barbecue, keeping Jaemin company while he grills sausages and skewers, holding a bottle of beer in one hand, talking and laughing seemingly without a care in the world, as though he doesn’t know, or care, how infuriatingly hot he is. Hair pushed back from his forehead, a slight blush on his cheeks from the heat of the grill, that stupid third button still popped open. He looks like he was taken straight from the front cover of a men’s magazine, and it shouldn’t be this attractive, but it is, and there’s nothing you can do about it but down the rest of your champagne glass.

Something’s different about him. Despite having seen him over the years, all this time, whenever you’ve thought of Jaeyun, the person who came to mind was fifteen, sixteen, seventeen. A little shy, especially around girls, but with a smile that could charm a rock and that he hadn’t yet discovered the power of. The pant legs of his school uniform were a little too long because he was sure he’d have one last growth spurt in your final year of school after seeing Heeseung go through one. He never did, then couldn’t be bothered to exchange them or get them hemmed. They got soaking wet every time it rained. Of course some things have remained unchanged—he’s still as attentive as always, remembering small things about people, asking them about it, and listening with genuine interest when they answer. He doesn’t try to make things about him, and he doesn’t get annoyed when they ramble on for minutes on end without ever returning a question. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what it is that feels so new about him, so unfamiliar in this exciting, intriguing way.

After observing him through careful, discreet glances (which he seems to notice half of), you come to the conclusion that it’s in the way he carries himself. He stands straighter, walks with more confidence, and has figured out what to do with his arms. He’s always been a human magnet: old ladies made conversation with him in grocery lines, strangers stopped him in the street for directions, he was elected class president every year without ever putting himself forward. You remember the pressure he used to feel because of it, like he couldn’t bear to let anyone down although he was sure it’d inevitably happen—but now, he seems completely at ease with all this attention on him. Not like he’s gloating, but like he’s in his element.

Eager to avoid his gaze and the dreadful feelings it causes in you, you move around the backyard as often as he does under the guise of catching up with as many as you can, always managing to be part of a different group than he is. And you drink. Everyone does, so you’re not embarrassing yourself on your own—it’s a known fact that Chaewon can and will feed an army, so her guests bring tons of alcohol to make up for all her efforts. Your glass never goes empty for long simply because no one lets it—you could refuse, but you don’t.

You spend thirty minutes stuffing yourself with Chaewon’s cucumber salad and getting all the staff drama of your old school from Yunjin, who now works there as an English teacher. When she’s done telling you about the affair between the vice-principal and your Year 11 Geography teacher, she takes you aback by asking, “So, what’s up between you and Jaeyun?”

Back in high school, people often mistook you for a couple or joked around about you liking each other, so you do as you did then—you laugh it off, saying there’s nothing there. That doesn’t seem to satisfy Yunjin, however. She tilts her head at you, asking, “Are you sure? He seems so… attentive to you. Just now at the buffet he stopped you from getting the potato salad because there’s mustard in it. And in high school he was always running around doing things for you. All the girls were jealous of you.”

Your smile feels frozen, plastered on as you stare down at your plate. “That’s just Jaeyun. He’s nice to everyone, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Y/N,” a voice says, but it definitely does not belong to Yunjin. Not only does it come from behind you, it’s also much too deep to be hers. When you lift your head, she’s looking right over your shoulder, surprise written all over her features. You turn around to find Jaeyun standing there, handing you a hot dog. “Delivery,” he says, tone light, but his closed-off expression betrays him. You don’t know how much of your conversation he heard, but he must’ve not liked it. You’re not sure why—it’s not like you lied. Jaeyun is nice to everyone.

You bite into the bread. It has all of your perfect toppings for a hot dog—ketchup, fried onions, shredded cheddar and jalapeños. When Yunjin leans towards you, a hand on your arm as she says, “I don’t think it doesn’t mean anything,” you wonder if she’s right.

A few drinks later, you’re stumbling inside the house, headed for the bathroom, when a hand wraps around your wrist. It belongs to none other than Jaeyun, whose expression is a mix of amusement and concern. Now that all the food’s come out, the kitchen is dark, bathing in the fairy lights’ glow from outside and from the few other lights in Chaewon and Jaemin’s garden. And it’s empty, save for the two of you. It’s only the copious amounts of alcohol running in your blood that makes you think how enticing he looks in this semi-darkness, or that makes you imagine the affection you think you see in his eyes.

Of course you’d spend all evening avoiding him only to find yourself face-to-face alone with him suddenly like this. You look down at his fingers on you, and he lets go.

“Here.” With his other hand, he offers you a glass of water.

“I’m good,” you say, trying to sound casual, but you don’t like the close attention he’s paying you. Or maybe you’re embarrassingly drunk and he’s sending you a message. In any case, it’s always been hard for you to accept Jaeyun’s small gestures—you always have to remind yourself he’s doing it out of the goodness of his heart and not because he especially cares about you.

“Y/N.” The way he says your name makes lightning zip down your spine. His voice is stern, but there’s a certain warmth to it. Like you’re being unreasonable, but cutely so.

You take the water from his hands and down it in one go. “Happy?”

“Very,” he says, a smirk on his lips that you frown at as he takes the cup back and places it in the sink. He rests his hands behind him on the counter, eyes searching your face, and you, for some reason, stand there and let him instead of going to the bathroom like you’d originally set out to do. Even as silence stretches out between you, your feet are frozen, and you’re finally courageous enough to meet his gaze without backing down. Even as his eyes scan your face, settling on your lips, and your heart threatens to give out. Even as he takes a step towards you and your chest starts visibly heaving up-and-down with every breath you take.

When he’s standing in front of you, he finally speaks, his voice unlike you’ve ever heard it before—low, vulnerable, and with a hint of ruggedness that makes your head spin. “Have you been avoiding me?”

“No—”

“Don’t lie to me, Y/N, please.” He sounds like he’s seconds away from pleading with you. He’s never been one to hide when he’s hurt, so you’ve heard him many times like this, but never when you were the cause of his upset. It was always because of a bad grade, a fight with his parents, a joke he took the wrong way. You wouldn’t know if you ever hurt him before, because he’s never come to you about it. It feels weird knowing you’re capable of such a thing.

“I’m n—Okay, yes, I’m avoiding you a little bit,” you say in a small voice. Whether it’s the look on Jaeyun’s face or the last cocktail you had, but you can’t bring yourself to pretend.

But you belatedly realize that of course, answering this question will only bring about another, much harder to answer: “Why?”

So you make up another lie that’s about as believable as the first one. “I—I don’t know, Yunnie. I’m just trying to speak to as many people as I can.”

“But not me?”

Is he drunk? He always got whinier after drinking. That must be it. Although his voice isn’t whiny at all—he’s not complaining, he rather sounds like he has answers he wants from you and is set on getting them. But it’s the only explanation you can come up with.

You’re unable to keep his gaze anymore. Looking down at the floor, you say, “We spoke earlier. We’re speaking now.”

“Yeah, and I practically had to corner you for it.” The vulnerability has left his voice and he sounds… frustrated?

He crosses his arms over his chest, and despite yourself, your eyes follow the movement. He’s rolled up his sleeves, letting out his forearms on full display for you. That’s an image you immediately need out of your head, so you make the mistake of looking up at his face again, only to be met with his jaw locked tight, his eyebrows slightly furrowed, and the intensity of his eyes staring right into yours.

He’s allowed to be mad, but does he have to look so good doing it?

As if he wasn’t close enough already, he takes another step towards you. It forces you to look up at him, and the sight of his face so near yours is devastating. You can already tell it’ll haunt you for nights to come.

“Do I make you nervous, Y/N? Is that why you don’t want to be around me?”

You inhale sharply, audibly, and the sound seems to amuse Jaeyun. The way he smirks down at you should be condescending, but he manages to make it impossibly attractive. Like he has you exactly where he wants you—which doesn’t make any sense. You don’t understand why he’s doing this, why it’d upset him that you’d rather talk to other people than to him, how he’s figured out the reason you’re avoiding him is the butterflies gnawing at your stomach every time your gazes intertwine. He’s never done any of this before.

“No,” you find yourself saying, but it’s an obvious lie to both of you. You’re breathless uttering that one word, fingers shaking from the tension in your body and Jaeyun’s proximity.

Then he sighs, and the Jaeyun you know is returned to you. A little tired by your antics, maybe, but more worried than anything. “I’ll take you home when you’re ready to go.”

“But—”

“No buts. Just come get me when you want to leave.” And with that, he turns and heads back outside, leaving you to wonder what that was all about as you wobble your way to the bathroom.

When you come back out, you make a point of sitting in the empty lawn chair next to Jaeyun and joining the conversation he’s in. He smiles at you and you glare at him, feeling like a scolded child.

Maybe alcohol makes you a little immature.

You’re having a grand old time listening to Jeno’s and Giselle’s travel stories, but as people slowly start making their way home, aware of the weekend full of festivities they’ve got ahead of them, dread sinks in. When the party’s over, you’ll be left alone with Jaeyun. Thankfully, there’s enough alcohol left to throw another party, and you serve yourself a couple of very generous cranberry-vodkas to prepare yourself for later. Maybe if you’re passed out in Jaeyun’s car you won’t have to talk to him.

When the garden’s really starting to empty out, you find a small moment during which Jaeyun is busy chatting with Jaemin and some other guys, and stealthily approach Chaewon to tell her you’ll be on your way now.

“Aren’t you leaving with Jae—”

You interrupt her with a hand to her mouth. Even though he’s across the yard from you, you don’t want to risk it. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” you whisper, then tip-toe your way around the backyard to the front of the house, where your bike waits for you. Somewhere deep in the back of your head, part of you has remained sober enough to tell you how bad an idea it is to bike home after drinking so much. You wouldn’t run into many cars at this time of night, but it’ll be dark, and the ditches are deep here.

But you couldn’t have predicted for your best friend to betray you. Just as you’re succeeding on your third try to swing your leg over your bike, you hear her voice, clear as day, shouting, “Jaeyun! Y/N’s leaving without you!”

You swear he teleports over to you. You freeze, hoping that moving as little as you can will turn you invisible.

It doesn’t work.

“What are you doing?” Jaeyun asks as he makes his way over to you. You’re relieved when he doesn’t sound annoyed, just concerned. He stands in front of you, two hands on your bike handle right next to yours. “I told you to come get me when you were ready. You can’t go home on your own like this.”

“Sure I can.” You try to hoist yourself up onto your seat, and immediately lose balance, stumbling to the side. Thankfully, Jaeyun’s hand finds your waist before you can fall—it steadies your body but not your heart.

“Come on, Y/N. Let’s get you to bed.”

Does he hear himself? He’s just being a good friend, so why does he have to phrase things in such an intimate way, and make your heart go all pitter-patter like the sixteen-year-old you once were? Why does he have to speak to you in that low, affectionate tone of his, like you’re someone he can’t help but take care of?

You take a deep breath, resigning yourself to your fate. “Okay.”

He helps you off of your bike and into his car. His hold on you is gentle but firm, and you try your very hardest not to think about whether this is how he would hold you in other situations. Before he can even turn on the ignition, you close your eyes and pretend to sleep. You hear him chuckle, then back out of Chaewon’s and Jaemin’s driveway. Once or twice, you hear him inhale as though he’s going to speak, but he seems to decide against it. A ten-minute bike ride makes for a very short car ride, and before you know it, he’s already pulling up in front of your aunt’s house. You keep your pretense up as he walks around the car and opens your door, and you’re sure you make a very convincing show of waking up and being sleepy.

As he takes your hand to help you out of the car, you ignore your instincts yelling at you to jump away from him. You tell yourself it’s only so you don't get caught in your lie that you let him slip an arm over his shoulders and guide you to your front door. It has nothing to do with the fact that your skin tingles everywhere it touches his, or that it feels terribly nice to be handled with so much care and patience. The front door is unlocked, and he holds you steady as you slip out of your shoes. Only when he closes the door behind you do you snap out of it.

“Thank you, Yun. I’ll be alright from here.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “I’m not sure you will. I don’t trust you not to trip up the stairs.”

You panic as he leads you further inside the house. “But—What if my aunt sees us?”

He stops in his tracks, then turns his head to look down at you with something you think is mischief in his eyes. “Why? What about it?”

“She might misunderstand!” you whisper-yell.

“What’s there to misunderstand, Y/N? I’ve taken you home drunk a dozen times before. Besides, I’m just Jaeyun, right? This doesn’t mean anything.” You’re left speechless. So he did hear you earlier, and although he kept his tone light-hearted, something makes you think he isn’t entirely unoffended. You stare at him, sure the guilt on your face is obvious. Eventually, he sighs, starts walking again. “I’m just teasing you.”

Despite yourself, you are glad he’s there to help you up to your bedroom—the stairs are remarkably wobbly tonight. Even though he tries to sit you down gently onto your bed, you let yourself flop on the mattress, already half-asleep the moment your back hits it. You’re uncharacteristically pliant as he guides you into a more comfortable position, lifting your head to rest on your pillows, pulling your duvet over you. You somehow feel more drunk now than you were leaving the party, as though Jaeyun’s touch and proximity are stronger than any alcohol. Maybe that’s why you suddenly find this situation hilarious. Your first chuckle makes Jaeyun’s hand freeze on your blanket; then, when giggles start pouring uncontrollably out of you, he asks you what’s so funny, and has to shush you, saying you’ll wake your aunt up. But you can tell he’s amused, and it only makes you laugh more.

“Seriously, what’s gotten into you?” he asks, sitting next to you. For some reason, the dip of his weight on the mattress feels reassuring.

“This is just nice,” you mutter, eyes still closed. “It feels nice.”

He’s silent for a few seconds. “What is?” he whispers.

“This. You being here.”

He releases a shaky breath. “It could happen more often, if you let me. It could happen every night.”

You giggle, because you know he’s just joking around. But you let him, even if it hurts a little bit, and you play along. “Yeah, that’d be nice. I think I’d sleep a lot better.”

With a delicate finger, he brushes strands of hair away from your eyes. You hum, smiling contentedly at his touch. This is such a nice dream that you hope you won’t have to wake up too soon from. “I think I would, too,” he whispers, voice shaky like he isn’t at all happy like you are, which confuses you. “I don’t know what to do, Y/N. I want so badly to take care of you, but you won’t let me. I don’t know how else to show you how good I could be to you.”

“You’re taking care of me now.”

“Yeah, and you’re so drunk you probably won’t remember this tomorrow.”

He sniffles, and you suddenly get the sensation that this isn’t a dream at all. You keep your eyes closed anyway, frowning as you turn your head to the side, tears starting to form behind your eyelids.

“Be back in a minute,” he whispers.

You open your eyes to find him gone. You try to make sense of what just happened, but your thoughts are muddled and hazy, and more questions than answers appear. You don’t come to any satisfying conclusions, at least none that aren’t clearly fueled by your delusions concerning Jaeyun.

When he comes back, he’s holding a tall glass of water. He seems briefly surprised to see you awake. He puts the glass gently down onto your bedside table, then kneels by your bed, grabbing your hand that you’d slipped above the comforter. He looks into your eyes with an intensity you’re unfamiliar with coming from him, and that makes your stomach twist. “Listen, Y/N. You’re only here for a few days, so I’ll be very clear about this. And if you’ve forgotten by tomorrow, I’ll make sure to remind you.” He pauses here, takes a deep breath. There’s a furrow in his eyebrows as he speaks. He looks desperate, but for what, you couldn’t tell. “I’m not letting you go this time. I feel like I keep losing you, over and over again, just when I think I finally have you. I’m not letting that happen again. I don’t want to be apart from you anymore.”

Your mind is reeling. You feel dizzy. You close your eyes, but it doesn’t help. Jaeyun’s words are loud and nonsensical in your head. “Do you mean… as friends?” you ask, because the other option seems so impossible, even in your inebriated state, you can hardly seriously entertain it.

He sighs, and it sounds like disappointment. “If that’s what you want, then I’ll give up on trying to be more. But if it isn’t what you want, then no.”

Your eyes fly open. Does that mean…

“I’m in love with you, Y/N. I’ve always been, and I can’t take hiding it anymore. I’ll take rejection over another day of pretending all I want to be is your friend. I want to talk to you everyday. I want to see you more often. I can’t keep going like this, calling you once every few months and acting like I’m fine with it.”

You’re stunned into silence. Even your thoughts are frozen, your mind completely blank. How do you react to words you’ve wanted to hear your whole life, and have convinced yourself you never would, not in a million years?

“I—”

“You don’t have to say anything now,” he interrupts, and you’re relieved. “Whatever it is, I’d rather hear it when you’re sober. I’m sorry for springing this up on you, I just… I think I would’ve flaked out if I hadn’t done it right now.”

He gazes down at you with a fondness you’ve only seen in your dreams, and strokes your hair. “I’ll let you sleep now. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” you say, surprised you're able to speak.

“Okay.”

He seems to hesitate for a second, but whatever it is, he decides against it. He gets up, and with one final glance back at you, closes your bedroom door gently. You listen for his footsteps down the stairs, the sound of the front door, and of his car driving away, and find yourself wishing he’d stayed, wishing for proof that you didn’t dream up everything he just said.

.

I’m in love with you, Y/N.

You wake with a start. Jaeyun’s voice was so loud in your head, you thought he was standing right over you—but it’s only your imagination playing tricks on you, you realize with some disappointment.

Some moments from last night are blurry or simply inexistent in your mind. Yurim sent selfies a bunch of you took to the group chat, of which you have no recollection being a part of. You have no idea how the marker doodles appeared on your arm, nor who is the artist behind them. But Jaeyun’s words you remember with dizzying, intimidating clarity, the words he spoke to you in the near-complete darkness of this room, and that you don’t think you could ever forget, no matter your state.

Part of you has always longed to hear those words, but another part has always dreaded they would be heard one day. You don’t know which part is stronger right now. Replaying his voice in your mind, your heart flutters at the same time as your stomach sinks. They’re words that have the power to change everything, that perhaps already have, and that’s what terrifies you.

It’s already ten in the morning. You wish you could stay here all day, safe under the covers, rehashing those words until they lose all meaning, but you know that’s impossible. Not only do you have a pounding headache and a mouth drier than the desert to tend to, more importantly, you have a responsibility to be there for Chaewon and the things she’s planned for today. So you force yourself out of bed and begrudgingly make your way downstairs.

Your aunt has already left for work. Breakfast is ready on the dining table, along with a tall glass of water, ibuprofen, and a note that reads: I didn’t hear you come home last night, so I assume you had a good time. Take this and eat your weight in bread. There’s coffee left in the Keurig. Bless her. You know better than to eat too much, though—if there’s one thing Chaewon takes seriously, it’s brunch, so you know you’ll have plenty of food to cure your hangover in just a bit.

As hard as you try to divert your thoughts towards anything else, it’s impossible not to think of what Jaeyun said last night. It’s all your mind circles back to, like a vulture that’s found its prey and won’t let go. Despite that, the shock has yet to wear off, and you stare into your cup of coffee, searching in vain for answers there.

It took you a while to fall for Jaeyun, then it took you even longer to admit those feelings to yourself. At fourteen years old, stepping foot in Gimcheon for the first time, you wanted nothing to do with the people here. Not with your aunt, not with your classmates. You wanted to wallow in your grief, for the bitterness of the injustice that’d taken your parents away from you to fully take over you.

Jaeyun was one of the people who didn’t let that happen. Some of the kids in your class found you odd or standoffish, often whispering behind your back about your sudden arrival in town, but he and Chaewon never failed to try and talk to you despite your extremely low-effort replies, to invite you out for snacks or basketball after class, to send you the lessons you missed on days your body felt too heavy to get out of bed.

Nothing in particular happened for you to suddenly change your mind about them. Maybe it was because you thought they’d stop pestering you if you just said yes, or because you sometimes felt the sharp loss of your friends in Seoul, whose calls you’d all ignored since moving. You surprised your new classmates as much as yourself when they asked you if you wanted to go eat tteokbokki with them, and you casually said, “Sure, why not,” as if your acceptance was a daily occurrence.

The rest was history. Although it took some more time before you really opened up to them, they accepted you the way you were, sharp edges and all. With them, part of the person you were before could resurface, carefree, happy. You still went home to a mostly silent, grief-stricken relative, who was practically a stranger to you, but at least you could look forward to seeing your friends—and something as simple as that made life easier every day.

As soon as you thought they started to appear, you tried to squash your feelings for Jaeyun, to no avail. Just when you told yourself you could never be more than friends, he’d bring you strawberry milk from the convenience store he walks by on his way to school. After spending an evening making a list of all the reasons it’d be a bad idea for you to date (it’d be awkward with your friends, you and your sadness would be a burden to him, it was too scary to get close to someone when they could leave you at any time), you’d wake up the next morning with a text that said, Good morning!!!! Did you know that if the Sun stopped shining, it’d take 8.5 minutes for us to realize it??!

But I know right away when you’re not shining

:)

Mom’s making your favorite shrimp jeon tonight so you HAVE to come over

And even your strongest will wasn’t enough against the force of his kindness. You were forced to submit to it, and to suffer for it for years to come—when other girls offered him chocolate on Valentine’s Day. When Bae Sumin asked him to the dance, and you had to ignore his concerned expression as he repeatedly asked you if it was really okay that he went, and all you could do was smile and convince him that it was. When you left for university and you had to stop yourself from asking why it seemed to be making him so sad, so uncharacteristically upset with you, almost like he wanted to punish you for leaving him. When every time you came back after that, it became harder and harder to say goodbye to him again.

You got mad at him sometimes. If something unexpected reminded you of your parents, like your mom’s favorite dish being served at the cafeteria, or someone using an expression your dad often said, you’d become irritable, and would be unable or unwilling to explain why. He was so patient with you then, even more attentive to your mood than usual, but the feeling of being treated kindly, like he needed to walk on eggshells around you, incomprehensibly made you even more abrasive. You’d blow up at him: I don’t need your help, I don’t need your pity, get off my back, what are you even being so nice for anyways?

And his reply would only drive you further insane: Because I care about you.

You’d always wish he’d say anything else, something less vague like Because it’s the right thing to do, or Because that’s who I am, or even Because you’re my friend, but no, he’d say, “Because I care about you,” and it was worse than anything he could ever say.

Because of course, friends care about each other. Of course they help each other out and do kind things for one another. But you so desperately wished Jaeyun could care for you in another way. And that was the problem: you couldn’t stop yourself reading into his actions, devoid of the meaning you wanted them to have.

And there was always that lingering thought: I’m leaving anyway. You were a city girl at heart. You missed the beauty stores that occupied five floors, the animal cafés you and your friends had spent way too much of your allowance at, the billboards of your favorite celebrities in the subway, the libraries with their wide range of manhwas for you to choose from. As much as you’d come to love your life in Gimcheon, you knew you couldn’t stay. You knew you couldn’t live on a nearby campus during the week and come back on the weekends like most of your friends would be doing.

At eighteen years old, you wanted a clean break. You wanted to attend a prestigious university, to dress up for class, to have study dates at a cozy café, to go out to a club on the weekend and not worry about how you’d get home because the buses stopped running way before midnight. You’d daydream about the cool job you’d have, the cool clothes you’d wear, the cool people you’d meet. Then you’d go downstairs and see your aunt, and she’d ask if you were okay with frozen dumplings for a third night in a row. Or you’d arrive at school and see Chaewon and Yunjin shrieking over Got7’s new song. Or you’d get a text from Jaeyun, saying, Cats use physics to land on their feet. They’re not aware of it though. And suddenly, the idea of a clean break became much, much harder.

Once you left, your reasons for not confessing to Jaeyun didn’t change—if anything, they strengthened. Growing up didn’t make you any less scared of opening up to someone, of letting them see the vulnerable sides of you, and hoping they’d still love you. Even if you had a positive example in Chaewon and Jaeyun, you’d never experienced it with a romantic partner, and not only did your incessant but unconscious comparing of them to Jaeyun stop you from completely falling in love with the few boyfriends you’ve had over the years, your inability to fully bare yourself emotionally to them inevitably caught up to you. They’d point it out, trying to coax your story and emotions out of you with kind words, gentle touches—but you never wanted it enough to make the extra effort. They’d take your independence as a personal affront, like it was a fault on their part that you were allergic to relying on others. They’d get frustrated. Some of them would yell at you while you stared off into the distance, numb, wondering if you’d always be like this. They’d break up with you, and you’d move on like nothing happened.

The fear of loss still froze your heart into place. Even in the throes of puberty, your mother and father were your two favorite people on Earth. At thirteen, you thought they’d live forever. You were reasonable enough to know not everyone you loved would die—although the thought of going through that grief again did keep you up at night. A bad break-up was enough to terrify you. And what would you do when you finally handed your heart to someone, only for them to turn around and decide they don’t want it after all?

A handful of times, you tried to sit yourself down and imagine, as objectively as you could, what might happen if you confessed your feelings to Jaeyun. You tried, but you never could. It was too scary, with him. As your friend, he was the glue that held you together. If you took that one step closer, you’d be too far gone—and once that happened, who was to say, when it inevitably ended, if you’d ever be able to tape yourself back together.

You’ve had many self-indulgent thoughts over the years, many delusions you’ve had to compel yourself away from when he looked at you a little long, grew a little too quiet when you talked about another boy, came up with increasingly ridiculous excuses to walk you home even though it was out of his way. You’ve worked so hard to bury them deep, and here he comes, so late on a Thursday night that it became a Friday morning, telling you it was neither self-indulgence nor delusion.

It’s too much to process with a hangover.

Your shower doesn’t have the relaxing effect you hoped it would have on your nerves. Even when you turn the temperature as low as you can take it, your skin burns hot at the thought of seeing Jaeyun again, of him repeating himself in broad daylight. By the time you’ve dressed and gotten ready, your heart is still racing wild, and you’re no closer to figuring out what the correct attitude around him or right thing to say is.

You’re tying your shoelaces when the doorbell rings. Of course, it’s Jaeyun standing behind the door, asking you if you’re ready to go to Chaewon’s.

You just gape at him. You’d prepared yourself mentally to see him a little later, with other people around—you hadn’t expected this and your brain simply malfunctions as a result.

He chuckles. “I wasn’t going to let you walk all the way there. You left your bike, remember?”

From his softened tone and the way he gulps as he awaits your answer, you can tell he’s not just asking whether you remember the drive home. He looks at you, a little expectant, a little scared, and his demeanor relaxes you. He’s not acting like nothing happened last night, and he doesn’t seem overly confident after—well, after confessing his love for you. That’s what it was, wasn’t it? No matter how hard a time you have believing it. It relaxes you because it feels like you’re not worrying alone about this shift in your friendship, about this rearranging of things and feelings. With just one look, he tells you he’s right there with you.

And that’s all you need.

“Right. Thanks, Yun.”

He stands there for a little, expression morphing into something giddier, more hopeful, and you wonder how long he’d stay there looking at you if you didn’t clear your throat and say, “Should we… go?”

“Yes! Yes, of course, let’s go,” he says, laughing awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head as he turns away and heads towards his car.

Surely, he can’t always have been this obvious. Surely, if he’s been in love with you for as long as he says he has, then he learned just as well as you did to school his feelings and make them as discreet as he could. Because if he was acting this way all along, all boyish grins and non-stop glances your way, then you would’ve had to be the densest person on Earth not to notice.

And it hurts your pride a little to think you might’ve actually been this dense.

After a minute on the road, he asks, “How are you feeling? Not too hungover?”

“A little. But I’ll feel a lot better after having some of Chae’s pancakes.”

“Yeah. And the pressed orange juice as well. With the—”

“—Oranges from her grandparents’ garden?” you say at the same time, and laugh.

“Yeah. It’s the best,” he says.

“What about you?” you ask. “You didn’t drink that much last night, right?”

“Yep. Just a beer at the start of the evening, and that’s it.” Then, he smiles, a little smug, and adds: “Why? Were you watching?”

You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest as though he was making a ridiculous assumption, when you very well knew you were constantly aware of his whereabouts last night. Of course you noticed him sipping on either water or Pepsi the entire evening. “I was not. But you were able to drive, so I assumed.”

“Right.” That smug smile of his is still fixed on his lips, so you know you sounded just as unconvincing as you felt. “Well, I was watching. And I can tell you you drank something like seven different sorts of alcohol last night.”

For your own sanity, you ignore the first part, and focus on the second. You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “That’s why my headache’s so bad.”

Jaeyun reacts immediately. His head turns back-and-forth between you and the road ahead as he says, “Is it? Did you drink enough water? There should be some painkillers in the glove compartment, if you—”

“It’s okay, Yun,” you interrupt, laughing softly. “I took some ibuprofen already. I’ll feel better after eating.”

He seems skeptical. “Okay. But let me know if you need anything, yeah?”

“I will.”

As you feel the tingle of incoming tears in your eyes, you turn your head away from him. Looking out the passenger window, you think how stark the difference is between being on the receiving end of Jaeyun’s attentiveness when you were just friends, and now that you know the way he really sees you. The crushing weight of your repressed emotions is, at last, gone, and you’re only left with a light-heartedness you haven’t felt in years.

Is there really a universe where every day is like this? It feels too good to be true.

But when Jaeyun reaches out, the palm of his hand facing up as it floats above your thigh, his expression bashful, you think — you dare to hope — you might soon be living in that universe. You take his hand, and the rest of the car ride is silent, like this one simple touch is all the words you need.

You’re glad you remember what he told you last night. Hearing it again now, in broad daylight, with no alcohol in your system to be blamed for your reactions, would be too much to bear. The mere thought of it has your heart racing, more than it already is from the warmth of Jaeyun’s hand in yours. You look down at it, the way it sits so prettily in your lap, the way his fingers intertwine with yours like it’s what they were meant to do. You crave to touch his hand more, to turn it around and analyze the lines of his palm, to feel the ridges of his knuckles, the smoothness of his nails under your fingers, but you stop yourself. It’s an art piece in a museum that you content yourself with watching from afar, awed.

Too soon, you arrive at Chaewon’s house. The loss of Jaeyun’s touch is almost alarming—what if he changes his mind and this was the only time you’d get to do this?

But as though he can read your thoughts, he guides you with a hand to your lower back towards Chaewon’s and Jaemin’s front door—and he pauses before it, gazing down at you with a smile you want to interpret as reassuring.

I’m not letting you go this time. I’m not letting that happen.

Maybe you’re overly self-conscious, but you swear a few of your old classmates exchange knowing looks when you and Jaeyun arrive together. Chaewon is the least discreet about it, stopping in her tracks when she sees the two of you, a steaming plate of pancakes in her hands, her smile wide as she gets Jaemin’s attention and nods her head in your direction. You want to escape to the kitchen under the pretense of offering your help, but Jaeyun is already pulling out a chair for you and taking a seat in the one next to it.

Thankfully, almost everyone is in a state similar to yours, too hungover and tired to really pay either of you too much attention. Their minds are on the food in their plates and the coffee in their mugs—the atmosphere is relaxed, everyone making quiet conversation with their neighbors. With Chaewon on your right and Jaeyun on your left, you’re free to scarf down hash browns and scrambled eggs without having to entertain anyone. He seems to be pretty engrossed in his chat about soccer with Jeno, and yet, he knows every time you need something, standing up and reaching for the bacon or the orange juice before you’ve even said anything. He holds the plate while you serve yourself, then places it back to its original spot, shooting you a smile that never fails to make your stomach twist before returning his attention to Jeno.

Chaewon had kept this afternoon’s activities a secret, only telling you all to have your school uniform ready. Some came to brunch already wearing it, but you and a few other girls go up to Chaewon’s room to change. It feels like being back in a locker room again, a bit awkward, a bit fun, teasing Yunjin for her matching black lace set on this seemingly innocuous day, comparing the stretch marks you’ve obtained in the years since you last wore your uniforms.

It’s definitely odd, seeing yourself in the mirror in that familiar short-sleeved white shirt and knee-length marine skirt. Despite how badly you wanted to grow out of Gimcheon, some things have remained the same—that much, you’re forced to admit to yourself when you head back to the living room and see Jaeyun in his old school uniform, a blast from the past. He watches you come down the stairs with a smile, and you wonder if he’s thinking the same things you are—that you’ve never stopped feeling like a teenager around him, and that no matter where you were in life, seeing him was enough to make your dull heart race.

His uniform still fits him okay, although it’s impossible not to notice how his arms and thighs strain against the fabric now, sleeves not quite reaching his wrists. Try hard as you might, your eyes drift to the way his button-up clings to his chest, and it’s clear he isn’t oblivious to it. You swallow as you walk towards him, hands coming up to fix his tie like it’s second nature. “Seriously, Yun,” you mutter. “It was cute when you were seventeen, but at twenty-eight, really?”

He only smirks down at you, making you more flustered than you already were—and it doesn’t help when everyone in the room ooh’s at your gesture. You take a step back, but the damage has been done. It’s like you’re in high school again, rolling your eyes at your friends when they ask if you and Jaeyun are finally dating, pretending like the mere thought doesn’t have butterflies erupting in your stomach.

“I remember how Y/N used to fix his tie in front of the school gates every morning,” Chaewon says loudly, and you glare at her. “She said she didn’t want him to get scolded by teachers.” Everyone erupts in a chorus of so cute and I can’t believe they’re still not together and I’m sure they used to have a crush on each other. She looks happy with herself, blissfully unaware of the chaos she’s created for you—it’s been hard enough acting normally around Jaeyun this morning, you don’t need the added spotlight.

He doesn’t seem to share that sentiment, though. When he speaks, his voice cuts through the chatter. “My dad taught me how to tie a tie before middle school. But I was running late once and she fixed it for me. I always messed it up on purpose after that.” He turns to you. Your jaw is slack, your heart a wild, frantic mess. “Guess that trick still works.”

This really is high school all over again. Your classmates act like they’ve witnessed the revelation of the century, cheering and clapping, the boys clasping Jaeyun’s shoulder like he just scored the winning goal. Chaewon squeals. Yunjin pretends to faint. You’re rooted to your spot, too bewildered to react.

“So you really did like her back then, didn’t you?” Jeno asks, and everyone stops talking, awaiting Jaeyun’s answer with what seems like bated breath—you included, as though he didn’t tell you all about it last night.

He shrugs, but his grin, sheepish and bright at once, says it all. “I’ll let you guys come to your own conclusions.” When he turns to look at you, despite the fact that you want to strangle him for putting you on the spot like this, you can’t deny that his confession is a little bit — just a little bit — adorable. You think of fifteen-year-old Jaeyun looking at himself in the mirror, proud of himself for putting on his tie wrong, and you can’t help but smile. Of course, this only makes your friends crazier, but Jaeyun, as if he’s suddenly decided this was enough attention, says, “Is everyone ready? Let’s head out now.”

Chaewon instructs you all to meet in your high school parking lot. On the drive over, Jaeyun apologizes, asking if what he did was too much.

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “Even if I was a little embarrassed.”

“I wasn’t planning on doing anything like it, but seeing you in your uniform brought back memories, I guess,” he says, bashful. “I did say I would remind you of what I told you last night, didn’t I?”

You shrug, smile down at your hands. “You did. But it’s not like I’d forgotten.”

He doesn’t answer right away—but then, he suddenly looks over at you, and says, “You’re really pretty.”

Your stomach flips. You look down at yourself to avoid his gaze as heat creeps up your face. “What are you saying…” you mutter.

“I never told you properly when we were in high school. So I’m telling you now. I always thought you were the prettiest, Y/N.”

You fight it hard, but you can’t bite back your smile. All you can do is hide your grin behind your fist, resting your elbow on the sill of the open window as you turn away from him. For only a brief second, as if spurred on by the confidence his compliment gave you, you change your mind—you turn to him and abruptly say, “And I always thought you were the most handsome.” Then you whip back to the window and grin at the trees lining the road. But you feel his eyes on you, and when you look back at him, he’s staring at you, mouth agape. “Yun! Look at the road!” you chide, laughing.

“Sorry, sorry!” he exclaims, taking his eyes off you. “But—You—Seriously?”

You can’t believe it, how incredulous he sounds, how he seems as surprised as you felt last night. As you still feel now. “Of course,” you say quietly, feeling shy again.

He’s quiet for a few seconds. Then, “Seriously?!” he repeats, louder, almost yelling.

“Relax,” you say, laughing at his enthusiasm. “It’s not like I was the only one. Half the girls in our class had a crush on you.”

“Did they?” he asks, a shit-eating grin on his lips. You roll your eyes.

“You only received love letters, like, once a month.”

“But never from the person I wanted to receive one from.”

You hold his gaze for a second. Then another, and another—but you can’t handle more than that. The way he looks at you, you feel too seen. Like he can read your every thought, like he can see your heart beating through your chest, your breath making its shaky way up your throat. It makes you too vulnerable, makes your desire to soak in his affection, to let him keep talking to you like this, too strong. It’s a feeling too unfamiliar for you to accept yet.

You return to your spot, turned away from him, elbow on the windowsill. “Whatever,” you mumble.

But it seems like you admitting to having found him handsome when you were teenagers is all the confirmation he needs. Throughout the rest of the afternoon, he sticks close to your side. Since school is out for the summer, Chaewon asked Yunjin to convince her higher-ups to let your group have a ten-year high school reunion there. They agreed and got one of the janitors to act as your supervisor, as if you would damage or steal school property. In any case, he follows you around quietly while you and your classmates roam the old, familiar walls, reminiscing about all the stupid things you did, the gossip that felt like the most important thing in your lives at the time, the teachers you hated, the upperclassmen you crushed on. Mostly, you take loads and loads of pictures, reenacting memories, huddling together in front of the classroom door of your final year. Jaeyun always finds himself right behind you in the group pictures, his taller frame so close to yours you can feel his warmth.

He rests his hand on your shoulder for one of the photos, and your brain short-circuits at a touch that you wouldn’t have thought about twice as a teenager. Sure, back then, Jaeyun’s touch made you feel giddy, but it was also the most natural thing in the world. Linking arms on the way home from school. Your head on his shoulder during a long bus ride. His fingers in your hair when you let him play around with it. He always said it was practice for his future daughter: “I want her to have the prettiest hairstyles in all of her school,” he’d say, as if she was already here. And you’d think to yourself, He’ll make such a great dad. And although he was someone you could tell anything to, for reasons you didn’t like to think too much about at that time, this was something you kept to yourself. Now, you can hardly breathe from a hand on your shoulder. But now, you can also finally admit to yourself why that is.

And with every passing moment, every smile shared, every delicate touch of his hand to your arm, of your fingers brushing against each other, you think that maybe, just maybe, you might finally be able to admit to him why that is.

A while later, when everyone parts ways, heading home to get a few hours of rest before the big day tomorrow, Jaeyun asks you if you can hang back for a bit. He’s so cute about it, so much like a schoolboy asking his crush out, that you can’t turn him down despite the sleep you desperately need.

The soccer field by your school is surprisingly unoccupied—even at this time of year, when the school hallways are empty, there are usually teenagers playing here. You yourself used to spend entire afternoons here, chatting with Chaewon while the boys played soccer under the blazing sun. You remember pretending you weren’t engrossed in the sweat beading on Jake’s forehead or the way his cheeks turned crimson with the effort, and cheering for him whenever he scored a goal and turned towards you, yelling out “Did you see that?!” with that puppyish grin on his lips.

You remember the nights you spent here as well, the last summer before you left, when you and your friends wanted to drink without the adults seeing. You’d lay side-by-side, looking up at the stars as you shared your dreams and fears for the future. If Jaeyun’s hand brushed against yours, you’d wait a few seconds, then move your hand to rest on your chest instead. You always wondered if he noticed it, the small touch, its removal. You know your hand burned with both.

He leads you to the soccer field now, his hand warm and gentle in yours, like he’s scared holding on too tight will scare you off. He’s silent for a while, quietly bringing you down with him until you’re laying on the grass together—this time, you keep his hand preciously in yours, even as your palms turn clammy, even as the memories of being here like this flood in.

The summer breeze has nearly lulled you to sleep when he speaks, his voice soft, careful not to startle you. “I hated the last day of school.”

You turn your head to look at him, but he keeps his eyes trained on the blue sky above. “Of course you did. You were such a nerd, you would’ve stayed in school forever if you could’ve.”

He smiles, but he shakes his head. “No, that’s not it.” His tone is calm, full of significance, which you feel even more when he rests his steady gaze on yours. “It meant time was running out. It meant I’d spent five years liking you and still hadn’t had the balls to tell you.”

You gulp. You’re suddenly not in the mood to tease him at all. “Oh,” is all you can manage to say.

He laughs—clearly, seeing you flustered is amusing to him. “Yeah.” He props himself up on his elbow, gazing down at you in a way that sends your heart into a frenzy. “I got a little carried away last night,” he starts. “When Chaewon told me about her plans to dress in our school clothes and come here — yes, she told me before everyone else, don’t look at me like that — I’d planned to tell you today, I had a whole thing written out, but last night, you… I don’t know, you were drunk so maybe I shouldn’t have put so much weight to your words, but it sounded like you might like me back? And I couldn’t stop myself. I had to tell you immediately. And today… I’m not mistaken, right? You do like me?”

Tears prickle at your eyes. To think that this has been on his mind for so long, that you’re the reason behind the worried look on his face, that he’s the one asking for your confirmation—you can hardly make sense of it all. If only you’d looked closer, if you’d been less scared, you might’ve been wearing this exact same outfit, laying in this exact same place, ten years earlier. This isn’t to say that you aren’t scared anymore—you’re terrified out of your wits. But looking into Jaeyun’s face, you don’t need to search very long to find reassurance.

“I do, Yun. I really, really do.”

He only stares back at you for a few beats, as if waiting for you to change your mind, to tell him you’re joking. When you don’t, his mouth breaks into a wide, radiant smile, and he lets himself fall on his back, hands coming up to hide his face.

Suddenly, you realize how real this is. How genuine Jaeyun is. It isn’t a cruel prank he’s decided to play on you, but the truth of what he feels for you. For what must be the first time since last night, you let yourself react the way any sane person would upon finding out the person they’ve loved for years loves them back: you’re happy. Unbelievably, indescribably happy. And it’s terrifying when you know this happiness might be ripped from your hands at any moment—but you’ll worry about that later. Right now, all you see is the man laying next to you, his smile full of light, his sweet, glimmering eyes. A small tear escapes your eye at the same time as a chuckle leaves your throat.

He returns to his previous position, grinning down at you while he rests his upper body on his elbow. “Okay, this is totally cool. I’m not freaking out at all,” he says, making you laugh. His smile widens. He picks a daisy from the ground, reaches for your hand. Tying the stem around your ring finger, he says, “I wanted to tell you this today, in our school uniforms, as a way to get justice for my teenager self. I know it’s silly, but I feel like I’m only able to do this because he liked you so much.”

But it isn’t silly at all. It’s the nicest, most romantic thing anyone has ever done for you.

He takes a deep breath, looks up from where your hand rests in his, to your eyes. “I love you, Y/N. I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you. And I can’t explain to you how happy I am that I still have a chance after all this time.”

It’s not a singular tear rolling down your face anymore, it’s the whole waterworks threatening to explode the longer Jaeyun looks at you with those eyes, so tender and full of affection. You roll onto your side, resting your forehead against his shoulder so he can’t see your face—it’s enough that he can hear your sniffling, that he can feel your shoulders shake against him, especially as he wraps an arm around your waist to bring you closer. Your feelings overwhelm you—you want to cry, to laugh, to hold him as tight as you can, to run away and stop him from witnessing how vulnerable he makes you. With his free hand, he pets your hair, saying he hopes these are happy tears.

“They’re very, very happy tears,” you reply between sobs. You probably sound ridiculous, but Jaeyun doesn’t seem to mind, holding you through it all.

“Good,” he whispers.

It’s a shame that it took you this long to realize you forgot something you shouldn’t ever have—that people are the most important. Not relying on the ones you love doesn’t make you strong, it makes you a fool.

Jaeyun’s presence is reassuring, familiar, and you picture a life in which you lean on his shoulder and cry when you need to. In which you hold him tight and share every moment with him, not just the happy ones. It sounds so much better than what you’ve been doing for the past ten years. He smiles at you, and you’re flooded with the relief and gratitude that this is the life he wants, too.

For a while, he just holds you, the sun shining down on your bodies. This is what you were so fearful of—Jaeyun’s familiar scent enveloping you, his hand rubbing reassuring circles against your back, his hair soft in your hands. Eventually, he says, voice just loud enough for you to hear, “Later, will you talk to me? Will you tell me why you drifted from me?”

There’s no anger in his tone, no admonition. Guilt still pangs in your stomach, but that’s only because you know how badly he deserves an explanation, and because you’re amazed that even now, he’s so patient and understanding with you. “I will,” you reply.

You don’t know how long you stay there, laughing at Jaeyun’s anecdotes of all the ways he tried to show you he liked you. All the times he ran home in the rain because you didn’t bring an umbrella, all the fish cakes he sacrificed because they were your favorite part of tteokbokki, all the pocket money he spent on your favorite snacks.

“I thought about you so often once you left,” he says. “I worried so much. If you were eating well, if you were making new friends at university. Then if your job was treating you well. I wanted to call you all the time, but I didn’t want to annoy you. I thought you were moving on, and that maybe I should too. But I never was able to.”

You’re a little bashful as you tell him that you never did, either. “I compared all the guys I dated to you. And they were never as nice, as thoughtful, as—”

“As handsome, as smart, as amazing as me, I get it, don’t worry,” he teases, and you swat his shoulder lightly.

“Obviously, but you don’t need to be so smug about it.”

“If you’re going to tell me none of your little boyfriends measured up to me, of course I’m going to be smug about it, are you kidding me? This is the best news I’ve received in my life.”

You only realize how long you’ve been lying there when your phone dings with a text from your aunt, asking whether you’ll be home for dinner. It’s almost seven p.m. already—the two of you spent three hours, just talking and laughing. He pouts a little when you tell him you should head home, but he obliges anyway.

When he drops you off at your aunt’s house, he comes out of the car with you and hugs you tightly before you head inside. “Thank you for this afternoon. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” he says, lips moving against your hair.

You nod and, with a quick peck to his cheek, you bolt for your front door before he can react and try to do something crazy, like properly kiss you.

“Wait, before you go,” he says as you grab the door handle. Turning around to look at him, breath catches, thinking he’s going to tell you something important, yet another thing that will change your life—“Can you tell me about those lame dudes you dated again?”

You roll your eyes, biting back a smile. “Goodbye, Jaeyun.”

“You love me!”

You smile at him, wide and unabashed.

Because you do love him. You really, really do.

.

You plop yourself on the couch next to your aunt, the latest Drag Race season playing on the TV. She hands you the bag of caramel popcorn and you grab a handful.

“I heard a car,” she says. “Did Jaeyun drop you off? Is that why you’re smiling so much?”

You only now notice the ache in your cheeks. “I’m not smiling that much,” you say, forcing your features into humorlessness, but the corners of your lips keep rising of their own volition.

“You’re smiling a lot. More than you already usually do with him,” she says, giving you a knowing look.

You gape at her. “Don’t tell me you knew too?”

“Knew what? That you and Jaeyun have liked each other since you were teenagers? I might’ve had an inkling, yeah.”

Her grin is wicked as you bury your face in your hands, groaning. “So it really was everyone but him and me.”

“I think you knew,” she says, her tone gentle. “But you didn’t want to admit it to yourself. Especially in the last few months before you left, you’d always get a look about your face when I mentioned him. You never wanted to say you were sad to be leaving, but it was clear you were, if only because of him.”

You frown. “I was sad to leave you, too. And Chaewon, and Yunjin. And Mrs. Kim, because I knew I wouldn’t find better tteokbokki anywhere else.”

She shrugs. “Sure. But you were sad to leave Jaeyun in particular.”

You fidget with your hands, letting her words sink in. “And I have to leave him again in two days,” you whisper.

She wraps an arm around your shoulder, squeezes it slightly. “But it’ll be different this time around, right?”

DIfferent. You’ll call. You’ll make plans for him to come. You’ll let him into your life, into your heart. You’ll let him break down your walls, brick by brick.

“Yeah. It will,” you say quietly, willing your worries to dissipate.

You meet her gaze, and she smiles. Jaeyun is only one of the many people you’ve kept at bay for too long now.

“Come on,” she says, getting up from the couch. “I’m making meatball pasta, your favorite.”

“It’s your favorite.”

It was one of the few meals she made on rotation whenever she had time to cook—it is your favorite, only because eating it meant you were spending the evening together. You cut vegetables while she seasons the meat, telling each other about your day. Maybe it’s because you’re in such a wonderful mood from your afternoon with Jaeyun, but the atmosphere between the two of you feels particularly light-hearted today, which is why you’re so surprised when she suddenly tells you you should talk about “what happened last time.” Your stomach clenches, but you nod—you knew it was going to happen sooner or later, so you might as well get over it quickly, and she seems to be of the same opinion.

“I know we’re both bad at this, so I’ll keep it short,” she starts, keeping her eyes on the preparation. You really are cut from the same cloth—you continue chopping carrots, glad to have something to do with your hands. “I’m sorry about those things I said. It was an emotional time for both of us, what with Jaeyun’s grandmother and all, but I shouldn’t have let my emotions get the best of me. It’s my fault we never talked about your parents. About your mom. I know you would’ve liked to, but I never could. And you do remind me of her. Gosh, you look so much like her at your age. But you can’t do anything about that, and what I said about looking at you and seeing her, that wasn’t fair. It sounded like I blamed you, which is the last thing I wanted to do.

“She always took care of me, because she was older than me by so many years, you know. She called herself my second mom. And all of a sudden, it felt like I had to take care of her. It’s ironic, since my literal job is to take care of people, but I didn’t know how to, with you.”

“I didn’t make it easy. I barely talked to you,” you say quietly. It’s true that you can’t expect the same maturity from a teenager and a young adult, but thinking back on it, you can’t help but think you could’ve been softer on your aunt. More understanding. You wanted her to replace your parents while resenting her for it. You made no effort at communication yet pushed her away every time she made an attempt to talk to you.

“You were so young, and dealing with all that loss. I should’ve tried harder, but you seemed so independent, spending all that time with your friends, making yourself dinner when I wasn’t home. It felt like you didn’t need me, and I have to admit, I was relieved. I was hanging on by a thread. I didn’t know how I could take care of a whole other human being.”

Your breathing is shallow. You spent so many years struggling, each of you in your little corner, at arm’s length from each other but too scared to reach out a hand.

“It felt like you didn’t want me around,” you whisper, head hanging low.

“Oh, honey.” She drops her spoon and in a second has you wrapped in her arms, the tightest hug she’s ever given you, tighter than when you first arrived at her house, tighter than when you first left. “I’m so, so sorry. I was so glad to have you here. Sure, it was a reminder that I’d lost my sister, but you were a reason to keep going. I had to go to work so you could eat. I had to stay healthy enough to work. You were the only person on this planet that needed me. I’m sorry I didn’t do a better job of it, and that I didn’t show you how much I needed you. How much I love you. But I promise that I never, ever wished you weren’t with me.”

It’s impossible to keep the tears at bay at this point. Tears start pouring down your face, and at the sight, her own tears quickly follow suit—you sob in each other's arms, apologizing over and over again, and by the time you’re done, the meatballs are overcooked and yet the best you’ve ever had.

Between Jaeyun this afternoon, and your aunt this evening, today has been a whirlwind of emotions—with Chaewon’s wedding tomorrow, you’ll probably be drained on your flight back to the city. You have half a mind to take Monday off, just so you can rest from your holiday.

For now, you’ll rest from today. You’re exhausted, but it takes a while for sleep to claim you—your mind is reeling, replaying Jaeyun’s words, the unspoken promises they contain. Your heart is still swelling with hope when you finally fall asleep.

.

It takes a few seconds for yesterday’s events to come back to you after you wake up. It feels like reliving them all over again—Jaeyun’s face next to yours on the soccer field, his hand in yours on the drive home, the conversation with your aunt that feels like one of many steps towards the right direction. And to think you dreaded this weekend for months before coming here.

When Jaeyun pulls up in front of your aunt’s house, she’s quicker than either of you, opening the door before he’s even reached it and inviting him in for coffee. You make a quick mental note of his outfit, a matching dark green suit and vest with a white button-up that fit him a little too well, the veins that run along his forearms down to his hands prominent and a debilitating sight if you’ve ever seen one. Out of concern for your well-being you put that image immediately out of your head—you really don’t need to know how attractive Jaeyun’s hands are.

While you’re trying to gather yourself, with a wide smile, your aunt stares at him sipping his drink, eyes darting around the room awkwardly. He’s always been a little nervous around her, which confused you back then, but endears you now—before every party he picked you up for, he’d be overly polite, assuring her he’d get you home early and safe, standing with his back straight in your hallway as he waited for you like someone trying to impress their girlfriend’s father. She’d wave him off, telling you you could come home shit-faced at three a.m. as long as you were with “this guy.”

It’s so obvious that she’s over-the-moon about him being her nephew-in-law. When he clears his throat, saying, “I’ll take good care of Y/N, I hope you can trust me,” like this is the seventies and he needs to ask her for your hand, she laughs in his face.

“Oh, I’m not worried about you. It’s her I’m worried about.”

“Auntie?”

She ignores you, slides her elbows on the table towards Jaeyun in a conspiratorial manner. “Listen. She can be very grumpy in the morning—”

“Auntie?!”

“And she overthinks everything, even if she’ll never let you know about it. She gets all these crazy ideas about people in her head, so just make sure to talk to her a lot so you know what’s going on up there. Even if you have to force her.”

You’re glaring at her by the time she’s done, but Jaeyun’s delighted. “Thank you for the advice. I’ll make sure to remember it.”

“Good. Now, off you two go. I’ll meet you tonight for the party,” she says with one last wink at you, unfazed by your I-will-murder-you expression as she gets up to put the empty mugs in the sink.

In the car, Jaeyun breaks the silence first. “So, grumpy in the morning, huh?”

“Oh my God,” you mutter, bringing a hand to your temple like your head aches. “I liked it better when you were terrified of her.”

Jaeyun laughs, reaching for your hand and resting it on your lap. “It’s okay. I’ll cheer you up every morning like my life depends on it.” You purse your lips to stop them from curving into a smile. It doesn’t work. “Plus, I can’t imagine you’d be grumpy waking up to this,” he says, pointing to his face.

You roll your eyes. “Don’t be so sure of yourself,” you say as though you don’t agree with him—seeing him first thing in the morning would surely do wonders for your mood, not just when you wake up, but for the entire day.

You know he’s only teasing you, but you have an unexpected problem to deal with now: thoughts of waking up to Sim Jaeyun, thoughts of being in a bed with Sim Jaeyun, thoughts of what usually happens when two people who love each other share a bed. You gulp. When you look over at him, there’s only a serene smile on his lips. One day in, and you’re already getting carried away. He’s probably not even thinking about such things, and you feel guilty about the dull ache in your stomach created by the pictures that your brain is conjuring.

When you arrive at the town hall, you’re greeted by your old friends, standing on the steps in their best clothes. The weather is perfect, the sun shining down warmly but a small breeze stops you from sweating your clothes off. Chaewon and Jaemin decided against staying cooped up in a small room before the ceremony—they thought it’d be much nicer to be there to greet their guests, and that getting to be around each other would prevent any last-minute nerves.

A little before eleven, Chaewon’s sister and Jaemin’s siblings, as the bridesmaids and groomsmen, start ushering everyone in. Once you’re seated inside and waiting for the ceremony to start, Jaeyun leans down towards you, and, quietly enough so only you hear him, whispers, “Should we hijack their wedding? They haven’t been waiting as long as I have.”

You gasp at his words, lightly swatting his chest while he only grins at you, clearly satisfied with your reaction.

“I’m just kidding,” he says. “This isn’t how I’m planning on proposing.”

“Planning on—Sim Jaeyun, be serious for a second.”

“What?” he asks, feigning an innocent tone even as mischief stays written on his features. “I’m very serious about propo—”

Who knows how his sentence ends, because his words are muffled by the hand you put over his mouth.

The ceremony is beautiful, presided over by Chaewon’s dad, who says that in all his years as mayor of Gimcheon, there isn’t a marriage he’s been happier to officiate than today’s. As Chaewon recites her vows, all you can see is your best friend at fifteen, crying because her favorite idol was embroiled in a dating scandal; at seventeen, making vision boards out of her mom’s old wedding magazines; at twenty-two, giggling on the phone because, “Did you know Na Jaemin has had a serious glow-up since high school?”

At twenty-five, telling you she hopes you’ll find the person who makes you as happy as Jaemin makes her.

Jaeyun’s hand stays in yours the entire time. You feel him glancing over you a few times, but you’re too scared that if you meet his eyes, you’ll break down crying, and you’ve done enough of that to last you a few weeks.

There are many pictures to be taken outside of the town hall, plus the bouquet toss — when Giselle catches it, Jeno’s face turns crimson — so it’s a while before you can all start heading to the cottage that Chaewon’s and Jaemin’s family have rented out for the occasion, for extended family and friends who couldn’t be lodged at someone’s house to stay in. For lunch, the caterer has prepared a large cold buffet with everything from thin slices of meat to charcuterie boards and three types of potato salad.

It’s a really idyllic place they’ve chosen, especially in the middle of July—the flowers are in full bloom, climbing cream and pink roses spilling over metal trellises, the scent of lavender bushes wafting delicately through the air. Chairs and tables covered in white drapes are neatly set around the garden and huge ribbons made of alabaster-colored gaze decorate a large oak tree.

You know from a phone call with Chaewon that as hands-on as she was with the wedding preparations, there was one thing that hadn’t been up to her to organize—the afternoon activity, between lunch with family and close friends and dinner with a larger number of guests. Jaemin’s sisters had told her they’d take care of it. “But they’re the kind of people who give people missions to do at parties,” she complained. “I once had to win at rock-paper-scissors with three total strangers.”

“But no one’s forcing you to participate,” you said.

“It was a question of pride,” she replied, firm. “I had to make a good impression.”

You can see the relief flood over Chaewon’s features when they announce that they’ve planned a scavenger hunt for this afternoon, and that those who don’t wish to partake can hang back and have a rest. The groups are assigned randomly, so you’re separated from Jaeyun, but your teammates are friendly—Jaemin’s great-aunt and Chaewon seven-year-old little cousin make for a surprisingly comedic duo, and you and Giselle, who you can confirm once and for all is much cooler than her boyfriend Jeno, spend the whole time cracking up at their antics.

Jaemin’s sisters have created a list of clues to guide you to different places around the venue, where you need to complete little tasks—each team starts out with a different clue, and is guided around by the new clues they find at each spot. In the guest book by the entrance, you each describe a memory you share with the bride or groom; by the lily pond, the four of you take a polaroid picture as a keepsake for the newlyweds; behind the bar, there’s a corkboard on which you can tack heart-shaped pieces of paper and write down your predictions for their marriage. You write down that they’ll have 3 under 3, and Chaewon’s cousin writes that they’ll get to drink milkshakes for breakfast—when you ask him what that’s about, he says that his mom said only adults are allowed milkshakes for breakfast, “and adults are usually married, so maybe that’s what they’ll do.”

You arrive in fifth place, so you only win a piece of candy each—but when you find Jaeyun again, he tells you gloatingly that he’ll share his third-place box of chocolates with you. Slowly after that, more guests start arriving, including your aunt. The main room opens up, and you see just how much effort Chaewon has put into all of this—it’s straight from her Pinterest board, with white roses in the center of every table, tulle curtains draped over the windows, and fairy lights adorning the walls. Candied almonds in small white bags, with a tag that reads C+J, rest on every plate as gifts for the guests. The cottage was the perfect choice for the reception, with its wooden panels that contrast against the cream-colored decorations. They’ve hired Beomgyu, an old high school friend of yours, as their DJ, and for now, as he’s setting up his station, a relaxed R&B playlist drifts quietly through the speakers.

You’re seated between Yunjin and Jaeyun. You mingle at first, champagne glass in hand as you catch up with Chaewon’s mom, at whose house you spent so many of your teenage hours. She has stars in her eyes, telling you how happy she is for your daughter, and when she asks whether there’s a lucky man in your life, you can’t help but glance at Jaeyun, who’s talking with Mrs. Lee, one of his old elementary school teachers, Chaewon’s colleague now. She follows your gaze and exclaims in delight. “Chaewon always said you two would end up together! Well, better late than never,” she says with a wink. Someone calls her name then, and you’re left to process her words.

Considering Yunjin and your aunt had you figured it out, it isn’t so surprising that Chaewon would’ve long been aware of your and Jaeyun’s feelings for each other—what’s taking you aback is the fact she never said anything. She teased you just as much as your classmates did, and she did ask you a couple of times if you really didn’t feel anything for him (which you always adamantly declined, and you understand now that that must’ve only made her only more suspicious of you), but she never pushed any further. Her words from a few days earlier suddenly come back to you—”I promise you someone is out there. Maybe closer than you think.”

You make a mental note to find a minute alone with her tonight, and congratulate her for being much smarter and perceptive than you ever were.

The appetizers start rolling out—Jaeyun is still so engrossed in his conversation with Mrs. Lee that you go ahead and make him a plate with a little bit of everything. When you hand it to him, he looks at you like you’ve just handed him a million bucks. After you go back to your seat, you often feel him or Mrs. Lee glancing your way, and you have an inkling of what they might be talking about.

Before the main course, the parents give their speeches together—Jaemin’s share embarrassing anecdotes of their son and thank Chaewon for taking him off their hands; Chaewon’s mom is so emotional throughout her speech that her husband has to take over her parts.

The atmosphere at your table during dinner is great, and it’s very entertaining to see the champagne start to get to everyone’s heads—you’ve only had a couple glasses, and Jaeyun is driving later, so you’re both sober watching your friends exaggerate everything they say and laugh over nothing much. When you’re done eating, his hand often finds yours underneath the table, and it never fails to make your insides feel pleasantly warm.

After dinner, the music suddenly shuts off for a few seconds, before Can’t Help Falling In Love by Elvis Presley, the song for Chaewon’s parents’ first dance at their own wedding, which she wanted to turn into a tradition. Everyone watches the couple gently swaying around the dance floor. They look at each other as though they are the only people in this entire room; on this entire planet. After a minute, other couples start joining them; when Jaeyun stands up and offers you his hand, you don’t even hesitate for a second.

You feel a little shy, standing before him and looking into his eyes, so you rest your head on his chest instead, letting him hold you close to him and guide you around the dance floor, one arm around your waist, holding your hand in his free one.

“Thank you for waiting for me,” you say, lifting your face a little so he can hear you.

He bends down towards you, his lips grazing your forehead as he speaks. “Thank you, too, angel.” The nickname is unexpected, and makes your heart skip a beat. When he presses his lips to the top of your head, you think that if this wasn’t your best friend’s wedding, you might be debating the ethics of leaving before dessert’s been served. “I promise I’ll make you happy,” he whispers.

“You already are.” You wish you could live in the way he gazes down at you, eyes warm and full of adoration. “You make me feel like a teenager. Like I’m still the sixteen-year-old who got giddy at the thought of seeing you at school every morning.”

“Is that right?” he asks, smile turning a little smug. You like nervous, bashful Jaeyun better—this Jaeyun, the intensity of his gaze as it trails down your face until it reaches your lips, the feeling of his thumb roving across your waist, makes you want to curl up and hide your face in the crook of his neck. He makes your knees weak and your breath shaky.

You stop yourself from looking away, eyes set on his as you nod your head.

“That’s funny, because I’m very aware that we’re not teenagers anymore,” he says.

You don’t ask what he means by that, and he doesn’t offer an explanation, so you’re left to ponder his words on your own—although the tone with which he spoke, teasing and enticing, can’t leave you with much room for interpretation.

But just as your eyes drift down to his lips, and you swear he leans a fraction of the way in, the song is over. You step back from him a second after every couple has separated, turning towards the newlyweds and clapping for them.

It’s back to 2010s pop after that, and he doesn’t let you go back to your seat—the rest of your friends quickly join you anyway, and even you can’t say no to jumping around and screaming the lyrics when it’s Lady Gaga and Black Eyed Peas playing. Jaeyun makes you spin around, his hands firm on your hips during more sensual songs, his worst (or best, if you ask him) moves on display whenever a song calls for it, and you can’t stop laughing.

You need a large drink of water eventually, and take the opportunity to look for Chaewon. You find her at the dessert buffet, stacking mini brownies on her plate. She looks startled when you call her name. “These aren’t all for me,” she says quickly.

“I’m not judging,” you say, smiling.

“Okay, good, ‘cause they’re definitely all for me. I barely ate all night ‘cause I was so nervous and I’m famished now.”

You laugh and get a plate, filling it with more food for her before leading her to your presently unoccupied table. “Thank you,” she says with an exaggerated sigh as she plops down on Yunjin’s chair. “I love my family, but they’ve been taking up all of my attention. I just wanna come dance with you guys.”

“We’ll join them in a bit. Can I just tell you something first?”

She tilts her head at you, her smile like she already knows what you’re about to say. “Of course. And,” she says, taking your hands in hers, “I’ve got something to ask you, too. But you go first.”

You surprise yourself with how easily the words come to you—no hesitation over how to phrase it, no nervousness. They feel so natural, rolling off your tongue. “Me and Jaeyun are together.”

She squeals, immediately throwing her arms around you. “I knew it! Finally! It took you guys so long, I was so close to intervening and playing Cupid myself. Oh, Y/N!” she exclaims, bringing you into another hug, not letting you place a word. “Love is in the air. You know, I think knowing Jae and I were getting married might’ve been the trigger for Jaeyun. When he told me he wanted to confess to you over this weekend, I was ecstatic. You can basically thank me for having a boyfriend.”

You laugh. “Thank you, Chaewon. You’ve known all along, haven’t you?”

She nods proudly. “It was always so obvious. Jaeyun told me a few months after high school ended, but you—” She points an accusing finger at you. “You never did! But you tried too hard to pretend like you were indifferent when I mentioned him on the phone.”

You look down at the floor, feeling a little guilty, a little shy. “I could barely admit it to myself, let alone to anyone else. And I was so, so scared, Chae. Even now…” You look longingly over at the dance floor, where Jaeyun is clearly having the time of his life, throwing his limbs around with Heeseung and Jeno—when he meets your eyes, he waves happily, then returns to what seems to be an attempt at the robot. You sigh. “It’s not like I change my ways overnight, can I? Being so far from him, I don’t know…”

“Don’t think about that right now,” Chaewon says, commanding your attention back to her. “Just enjoy it. It’s what both of you deserve. When you run into a problem, you’ll figure it out together. He’s waited this long, I promise you it’s not a little distance that’ll drive him away now.”

You nod. “Okay. You’re right.”

“Of course I am. Now, I have some news to share too. And it’s our secret, okay?”

Excited, you shift forward on your chair, inching closer to her. “Okay.”

She gazes downward with a smile, lets go of one of your hands to rest on her stomach. Your mouth falls open, and when she looks back up at you, her eyes shiny, you immediately feel yours start to burn. “If you say yes, Y/N, you’ll be a godmother soon.”

“Oh my God, Chae,” you whisper, tears already pooling in your eyes.

She giggles. “Jaeyun’s already agreed to be the godfather, so it only makes more sense now, doesn’t it? And yes, before you ask, I’m absolutely using my unborn child as emotional blackmail to get you to call and visit more often. And I’ll be coming to see you in the city and make you take me around cute baby shops and buy me all the food I want.

“Oh my God, Chae. You’re having a whole baby,” you whisper, incredulous. Your heads lean in towards each other, almost bumping as you laugh.

“I know, right? We wanted to wait until our honeymoon was over to start trying, but… Well, I’ll spare you the details, but we’ve never gone at it so much since getting engaged—”

“Alright.”

“So, what do you say?” she asks, a hopeful expression on her face.

You squeeze her hands. “How could I say anything but yes? Of course I’ll be your kid’s godmother. I’m so honored that you’re asking me, when I haven’t been an ideal friend.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t. We understand you, Y/N, more than I think you give us credit for. And I trust you to make up for it now, okay?”

You nod, tears freely streaming down your cheeks now. “I will. I absolutely will. I love you so much, Chae. I’m so happy for you.”

Her laugh is the prettiest sound to your ears. “I love you too, Y/N.”

She leans back, takes a deep breath as she wipes her tears. “Is my makeup okay?” When you nod, she gets up and says, “Okay. To the dance floor!”

Now that they’ve gone through every step and are reassured that their wedding couldn’t have gone more smoothly, Jaemin and Chaewon let it all out on the dance floor. What starts out as a pretty big crowd, a large portion of the guests up and dancing, fizzles out as the hour grows late. The more elderly relatives have long retired, and it isn’t long before the older adults leave, too, finding their children asleep on random chairs and dragging them out of the venue. Soon, the population on the dance floor is more or less constituted of your high school friends and Chaewon’s and Jaemin’s cousins of your age. When Beomgyu starts to play slower songs around the three a.m. mark, you can’t believe it’s this late already. You were having so much fun you had no idea so much time had passed.

The catering crew has cleared the tables and packed away all their silver- and dinnerware, and your friends, in their drunken state, offer to wipe the floors and take the decorations down, but Chaewon and Jaemin shoo them off, assuring them that they’ll be taking care of it with their families in the morning.

You have to admit, now that the energy’s gone down, you start to feel yourself ready for bed, your feet aching from overuse, even though you took your high heels off hours ago to dance with more ease. It doesn’t help that Jaeyun stays right behind you as everyone starts heading off, his hand low and casual on your hip as you wave them all goodbye and promise to stay in touch. He only hangs back when you have to say goodbye to Chaewon—your flight is around noon tomorrow, so you won’t have time to see her again.

Hugging her tight, you tell her again how beautiful she looked tonight and how happy you are for her. You wish her and Jaemin a happy honeymoon, and she winks back, telling you to have fun, too. “But safe fun!” she yells as you and Jaeyun start making your way to his car. “I love you but you’re not stealing my baby’s spotlight!”

Jaeyun is still laughing as he gets in the driver’s seat, while you’re flooded with embarrassment. “So she told you, then?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“We’re gonna be godparents,” he says, grinning. “Some might say we’re moving a little fast, but I think it’s right.”

You’re smiling impossibly wide. “You’re stupid.”

“And you’re pretty,” he replies, brushing his knuckle along your jaw. It’s an innocent touch, but just like that, the dull ache in your stomach reappears—maybe it’s his proximity all night, all tension and no release, or the fact that it’s the two of you in pure darkness on this late night road, or Chaewon’s comment ringing in your head, but you suddenly find yourself craving for a lot more than an innocent touch. As though he can read your mind, Jaeyun clears his throat. “Do you, um, do you want to go back to mine?” he asks, eyes going back-and-forth between you and the road as though not wanting to miss your reaction.

“Yeah,” you whisper. The air conditioning is on full blast, yet your skin is on fire. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Okay.”

You’re silent for the rest of the car ride, mind racing with possibility. Jaeyun’s hand trembles ever so slightly in yours, like he can barely restrain himself, and you agree that the twenty minutes to his apartment are the longest you’ve ever had to endure. You play with his fingers, hoping the gesture will be calming to both of you, but the feeling of his skin against yours only makes your heart race faster.

His apartment is on the first floor of a small building in the center of Gimcheon. He leads you up the stairs, fingers intertwined with yours, only letting go to open his door. “Layla will be excited to meet you,” he says as he turns the key—indeed, you’re greeted warmly by the cream-colored Border Collie. She seems much happier to meet someone new than to see her boring old owner, who notices this with a frown, huffing something about “betrayal” and “your own kids…” as Layla licks your hands and presents her belly for pets.

“I should probably walk her quickly, she hasn’t been out since this morning,” Jaeyun says, an endeared smile on his face as he watches the two of you get acquainted.

“Should I come with?”

Crouching beside you, he shakes his head. “I know you’re tired, angel. I’ll just be ten minutes, you can wash up in the meantime.”

You follow him into the bathroom, where he hands you a towel and tells you to help yourself to anything you need. “Wait here a minute,” he says, then disappears into his bedroom, coming back with clean clothes for you to wear. He’s sheepish as he rests them on the sink counter, a small smile playing on his lips. “Here. They might be a bit big, but more comfortable than your dress.”

“Thanks, Yun.”

“No worries.” He hesitates for a second, then presses a quick kiss to your temple. “I’ll be quick.”

Even after he leaves, the smile on your lips is wide and unwavering, your heartbeat fast, your fingers twitchy and impatient. You find lotion to wipe your makeup off with, and have far too much fun analyzing all of his shower products as the hot water runs over your body. You can hardly keep your giddiness in check at the thought of washing yourself with Jaeyun’s soap, drying yourself with his towel, then wearing his clothes and finding yourself enveloped with the delicate floral scent of his laundry detergent. He gave you a navy t-shirt with the logo of his family’s business on the front and a pair of basketball shorts that reach your knees, and that you have to tie very tightly at your hips so it stays up. You can’t help but admire yourself in the mirror, for some reason feeling more like a girlfriend than ever before in your life.

When you hear the front door open, you come out to meet him in his living room. As Layla trots over to her bed, he stops for a second when he sees you, mouth slightly agape as his eyes rake your body. You feel shy under his gaze, but surprise yourself by also revelling in the attention, in the way his desire is so evident in his gaze, in the smirk that grows on his lips as he crosses the distance to you.

“Nice walk?” you ask.

“Yeah. You look good,” he says, hands finding your hips, shameless in the way he looks down at you now.

In the shower, you were so preoccupied with simply being here that you didn’t spare a thought for what would happen next—now, under the intensity of Jaeyun’s gaze and the effect of his proximity, you feel unprepared, completely at a loss for what to do with yourself.

It’s lucky for you that Jaeyun, on the other hand, seems to know exactly what he wants to do with you.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, voice low and gravelly unlike you’ve ever heard it before, and it sends shivers down your spines. You don’t trust your voice to work properly, so you nod your assent instead.

Seconds pass like eternity between his question and the moment his lips actually touch your lips. One of his hands leaves your hips to find your chin instead, raising it a little with his thumb so your face is perfectly angled towards his. His touch is gentle, more of a request than a demand, and you crave to melt into it, to let him lead you wherever he wants you.

His lips meet yours, delicate and cautious, like he doesn’t want to scare you off. They move languidly against each other, giving you the time you need to adapt to this without being overwhelmed. You raise your arms and wrap them around his neck while his hand sneaks its way to your lower back, pushing you gently closer towards him, your chest now flush to his. Fire courses through your veins as his tongue meets yours, deepening the kiss and making your thoughts hazy, incoherent, unimportant.

You never dreamed it would be this easy. One kiss, and it’s like a faucet’s opened up inside you, all the desire and want and longing that you’ve kept trapped inside pouring out of you boundlessly. You wouldn’t know how to control it if you had to—and thankfully, Jaeyun doesn’t seem to want you to. He meets you right where you are, holding onto you just as tightly as you are onto him, moaning shamelessly when your fingers tug sharply at his hair, his head thrown back as you pepper his throat with wet, messy kisses.

His mouth doesn’t leave yours as he walks you to his bedroom. Only when he sits down on his bed do you get a glimpse of his expression—the lust-blown pupils, the reddened cheeks, the lips plump and shiny with saliva. His hands are practically on your ass as he brings you down towards him, helping you into a straddling position on his lap. He presses kisses to your cheek, your jawline, then, resting his forehead against yours, asks with a throaty voice, “You’re okay with this?”

You smile, wrap your arms tighter around his neck. “I’m definitely okay with this.”

“Good,” he replies, then wastes no time pressing his lips back to yours.

Years of repressed feelings come out in this kiss—that much is clear in its desperation, in the way you both grab onto whatever parts of the other you can reach, like you want to tether yourselves to each other. When you break apart for air, Jaeyun whispers in your ear how long he’s wanted to do this, lips brushing against your skin as he speaks, making you shake lightly in his hold. The longer you kiss, the weaker the resistance in your thighs grows, and you soon find yourself sitting right on his lap, his bulge hard and demanding attention beneath you. His grip on your hips tightens, but it’s the only sign he gives you of being affected—only when you roll your hips experimentally against his does he let out a loud moan right into your mouth, which you take as a green light to keep going.

You push him down onto the mattress, practically laying on top of him as you grind yourself against him, a small whimper leaving your throat every time his erection rubs perfectly against your clit through your shared layers of clothing. He’s still wearing his wedding outfit, and when his hands leave your body to unbutton his shirt, you waste no time in helping him, untucking his shirt from his trousers, unbuckling his belt. He chuckles at your eagerness, but you can’t bring yourself to feel even a little embarrassed—you don’t think you’ve ever desired anything this badly, and it’s messing with your head. Jaeyun looks at you like he could eat you right up, so you decide there’s no use in hiding your appetite from him.

His hands slip underneath your t-shirt, and your skin blazes with the heat of his touch. They trail up your sides, nails briefly grazing your waist and back before they find your breasts. He gently rubs one of your nipples between his fingers, and Jaeyun curses when you release a moan in the crook of his neck, pressing your crotch against his with more urgency than before. “Does that feel good, baby?” he asks, voice breathy as you squirm under his touch.

“Yes, Yun.”

He hums in satisfaction, one hand on your ass to guide your movements against him, the other alternating between your breasts to pay them equal attention, lips never relenting in their quest to leave no inch of your neck unkissed.

It’s too much and too little at once. A familiar coil tightens in your stomach, and you can’t believe you’re already this close to coming undone from this—every man you’ve slept with before has had to put in a lot more work to get you even near the edge. But with Jaeyun, all it takes is a few minutes of heavy petting and his voice in your ears, telling you how well you’re doing for him, how pretty you look using him to get yourself off.

“That’s it, baby,” he coos as your moans get louder, your movements more erratic. “I’ve got you. Let it go for me.” It’s all you need for your orgasm to wash over you and leave you a trembling mess in his arms, his hold around your waist tight as he kisses your temple and shushes you gently.

When you’ve calmed down somewhat, he helps you onto your back, shifting so that your head rests on his pillows. Now that you’ve regained your senses, the reality of what you’ve done, what you’re doing hits you. Resting on his elbow, Jaeyun gazes down at you fondly, and although you would’ve reveled in it mere moments ago, the intensity of his attention now only brings heat to your face. You can’t quite meet his eyes, a small, bashful smile playing on your lips as you play with the lapels of shirt collar. He must sense this shift in your demeanor, and asks, “Do you wanna keep going?”

Lust pangs low in your stomach. You force yourself to look into his eyes, giving him an almost imperceptible nod. His desire is so obvious on him, and truth be told, you hadn’t even thought you might stop here when he still needs taking care of. The smile on his lips grows, but when you reach out to touch his erection, he tilts his head, grabbing your wrist and laying it back down next to your body. “I didn’t say I was done with you, baby,” he purrs, leaning down to kiss your neck, one hand slipping under your t-shirt again.

“But—”

“I’ve waited so long, angel. Dreamed about having you like this so many times. So be patient and give me this much, hm?”

You release a shaky breath. How can you say no when he makes it sound like letting him make you feel good is doing him a favor, and not you? “Okay.”

“Thank you, angel. Help me with this?” he asks gently, lifting his t-shirt you’re wearing over your head. You’d feel shy at lying half-naked underneath him if it wasn’t for the way he admired you, like an art lover in front of their favorite painting. “So fucking perfect,” he mutters, leaving a trail of kisses down your throat until he reaches your breasts. “Can’t believe you’ve been keeping this from me all this time.”

“I’m sorry, Yun.” You’re already squirming at this touch, body screaming for more than the feather-like kisses he presses to your skin.

“No, no, baby. Don’t apologize. I’d do it all over again, knowing I’d get to see you like this in the end. So perfect,” he repeats, and before you can reply, he wraps his lips around your nipple, tongue darting out to lick at the sensitive bud. Your back arches off his bed, but with a firm hand to your stomach, he stops you from writhing away from his touch.

He seems to be content with doing this for minutes on end, lips alternating between your nipples, fingers tending to the neglected one, teeth sometimes gently nibbling at your skin, leaving behind small marks on the sides of your breasts. “There, now you can’t forget me,” he says with a self-satisfied smirk when he leans back to admire his work.

“As if I could,” you whisper back, hands finding purchase in his hair as you bring him back towards you and kiss him.

But soon enough, another part of your body starts burning from lack of attention, but even as you buck your hips towards him to signal what you need, he doesn’t notice—or doesn’t care. “Yun…” you eventually whine, hoping he’ll understand what it is you want from this one word.

“What’s wrong, baby? You need something?” he asks, faking an innocent tone.

So he does know—he just doesn’t want to give it to you so easily. It’s too bad for you that you’re famously bad at asking for what you need.

You opt instead for grabbing his hand and leading it down to your core—surely, that’s enough of a message. He cups you over your shorts, and your thighs clasp around his wrist, instinctively attempting to create more friction. His hand slips below your waistband, and he groans, forehead falling against your shoulder, when he finds your lack of underwear there. He has direct access to your folds, and he wastes no time sliding two of his fingers there, humming in appreciation. “So wet,” he mumbles, seemingly more to himself than to you.

“Please, Yun,” you plead, voice almost a wince—and it is in a way painful, having him so close to where you need.

“I’m here, angel. I’ll give you what you want.” And indeed, the next second, the pads of his fingers are on your clit, rubbing torturously slow circles onto it. On the pillow, your head falls to the side in your search for more proximity with him—you feel his laboured breathing against your face, and you shift your body closer to him, worming one of your legs between his. As though this is getting to his head as much as yours, he’s silent for a while, his fingers gathering speed on your clit, occasionally sliding down your folds and inside of you. They go so much deeper than yours can, brushing against that spot that has your nails digging into his skin. But as he brings you closer and closer to the edge, you find yourself not wanting to fall right away, at least not like this.

“Yun…” you breathe out, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. He stops immediately, raising his head to look at you with unnecessary concern, making your heart soften for him.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No, no, I just…”

You squirm uncomfortably beneath him, and his expression shifts—damn him for understanding so quickly what you’re too shy to say. “You just…” he trails, smug. Resuming his kisses along your throat, he says, “Tell me, baby.”

“You know,” you huff. He laughs against your skin, and even in your annoyance, the melodic sound makes your heart skip a beat.

“Hm, but I’d rather you tell me.”

You hesitate for a few seconds. Your hand finds his bulge again, and this time, he doesn’t stop you. You know he wants this as badly as you do, but if telling him is what he needs, then you’ll have to comply. “I need—I want—I want to come on your dick, Jaeyun, please,” you say, forcing out the words as quickly as you can, face burning in embarrassment.

He freezes. You hear his breathing get louder, more rugged, and it’s a few seconds before he raises himself onto his elbows, fingers at your waistband, dragging your shorts down. The smugness has all but left his features, leaving behind something like sternness—furrowed eyebrows, dark eyes, tight jaw. As he lifts over his head the white sleeveless tee he was wearing beneath his button-up, your hands make clumsy work of his trousers, pulling them down his thighs along with his underwear. His cock springs free, tip an angry-looking red, already leaking precum, and you wonder at the self-restraint he must’ve been exercising this entire time—it’s clearly stronger than yours.

You wrap a hand around the base, transfixed by the sight, and he groans. You pump him a few times, reveling in the small moans that leave his mouth, muffled in the crook of your neck, and in the way his fingers dig into the skin of your hips. He doesn’t let it go on for very long, soon leaning away from you and towards his bedside table. “Let me get a condom, baby,” he says, voice shaky.

“I’m on the pill. You don’t need to wear one.” His head snaps back towards you, eyes wide like a kid on Christmas day.

“Are you sure?” he asks, but he’s already coming back towards you, elbows on each side of your face, peppering the side of your face with kisses.

You wrap your hand around his dick again, letting his tip graze your clit before lining it with your entrance. “Yeah, I am.”

He releases a shaky breath, finding your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours before he finally pushes inside of you, slowly filling you up until he bottoms out. Slick from your previous orgasm and relaxed from his fingers, you accommodate him easily, only needing a few seconds before you’re already bucking up your hips against him, asking for more. For once, Jaeyun doesn’t tease you—he obliges instantly, pushing into you with slow, precise thrusts that have the coil tightening again in your stomach with embarrassing quickness. It doesn’t help that Jaeyun groans right into your ear, whispering curses, muttering about how good you feel around him, “Like you were made for me, baby.”

His free hand slides beneath your thigh and lifts it up to rest it against his hip—this new angle allows him to go deeper, to hit that sensitive spot with every one of his thrusts. As his movements gather speed, you feel yourself inching closer and closer to your orgasm, and when it finally hits, your nails dig into the skin of his bicep, you throw your head back, and you let the pleasure wash over you, your brain going haywire, a loud moan escaping your mouth.

Jaeyun takes the opportunity to latch his lips to your throat, biting and sucking at the skin there, surely leaving yet another mark for you to find in the morning. You’re holding onto him like you might float away if you don’t, thighs shaking as overstimulation starts to set in—and yet, when he asks with a low, gruff voice whether you can handle some more, you find yourself nodding vigorously, ready to take whatever he gives you.

“That’s my girl.”

He slips out of you and you whine at the loss. But he quickly fills you up again, first turning you onto your side as he spoons you from behind, lifting your thigh to grant him better access and pushing into you again with no hesitation. In this position, he’s able to snake an arm around you and play with your clit, making you throw your head back against his shoulder. His pace is gentle at first, as are the kisses he presses to the side of your neck and to your shoulder as he lets you adjust to this new, deeper angle. But it doesn’t take long for his rhythm to quicken as he seems to be nearing release himself—his thrusts get sloppier, harsher, the sounds he makes more desperate.

You didn’t think it’d be possible, but between his fingers on your clit, his dick deep inside you, and his filthy words in your ears, a chasm opens within you once more and you find yourself barrelling towards it at alarming speed. With a few final hard thrusts and the feeling of Jaeyun’s release filling you to the brim, you come undone for the third time tonight, your throat tight and scratchy from moaning so much.

Jaeyun stills inside of you. Without sliding out, he wraps an arm around your middle and brings you closer to him, his hold tight and reassuring. His chest is flush against your back and you feel it rise and fall with each of his breaths; your breathing slowly evens out, eventually matching the rhythm of his. With his fingertips, he draws unintelligible patterns across the skin of your stomach and waist. Tiredness makes your limbs heavy like they could sink right into his mattress. You must be mere seconds away from sleep when you feel him slip out of you. You roll onto your back as he grabs a tissue from his bedside table, cleaning you up gently as he presses a kiss to your temple. “How do you feel?” he asks. “Do you need anything? Some water? A shower?”

You rest an arm around his waist and wiggle closer to him. “Just you,” you say.

“I can give you that. Easy,” he says, the smile audible in his voice.

.

You wake up a few times during the night, unaccustomed to sharing a bed with someone else—and not just anyone at that, but Jaeyun, whose warm body you find yourself shifting closer to whenever you regain half-consciousness and realize you’re not in his arms anymore. He barely rouses as you nuzzle your face in his neck, an arm coming up to circle your waist to accommodate your body against his. You wish nothing more than to stay like this forever, but unfortunately, your faithful alarm clock rings at nine a.m. and as you reach for your phone to turn it off, Jaeyun’s loose hold on you tightens.

“Don’t go yet,” he mumbles, voice muffled against your hair, and his gravelly morning voice sends a shiver right down your spine.

You smile. “I’m not. I can stay ten minutes longer.”

He whines, pulls you in closer to him. Goosebumps appear where his fingers slightly dig into your skin. “That’s not long enough…”

“I can’t miss my flight, Yun.”

“Sure you can,” he says casually, and as he starts to press kisses to your neck, you almost think he might be right. “You can catch a later one. You can go home next week.”

You hum, lifting your head to grant him better access to your throat, shivering when his teeth graze your sensitive skin. “My boss might have something to say about that.”

Rolling you onto your back, he drops his forehead on your shoulder with a dramatic sigh. “Ten minutes, you said?” he asks, with a roll of his hips so small it could be seen as accidental. But with the way his erection presses into you, thick and firm, you have an inkling it was anything but.

“Fifteen if you drive fast,” you say, already starting to get out-of-breath.

“That’s plenty.”

Neither of you bothered to put on clothes again last night, so he easily slides two fingers between your folds, gathering your slick and trailing them upwards until they reach your clit. He seems satisfied with the wetness he finds there, quickly shifting to fill you up with his dick rather than his fingers. And indeed, fifteen minutes are plenty—in the time it takes for your alarm to ring again, he’s made you come twice, his thrusts deep and precise as though he has a knowledge of your body that dates back years and not a mere day. He releases inside of you with a groan.

It does suck, having to leave so quickly. You wish you could lay in bed with him for hours, take a shower so long it has negative environmental impacts, and have a late, hearty breakfast with him. Unfortunately, you have to speed through everything—you need to be at the airport at eleven at the latest, and having not foreseen you wouldn’t be spending the night at your aunt, you didn’t finish packing before the wedding. He seems to be as aware of this as you are, and although he keeps a smile on his lips at all times, you can see your sadness reflected in his eyes at the thought of having to say goodbye, so soon after finally opening up to each other.

But in a way, you find goodbye easier this time around. As you hug your aunt and thank her for letting you stay — at which she scoffs, saying this will always be as much your house as it is hers — you’re armed with the knowledge that you’re on good terms now, and that you’re not going back to another three years of near radio silence. It’s not an empty promise that you make her when you tell her you’ll be in touch.

You’ve never seen Jaeyun as talkative as on the drive to the airport. He blabbers away, filling every second of silence like his life depends on it—you don’t help him, quiet as can be out of fear of breaking into sobs in the middle of any given sentence. You remind yourself that this goodbye is only temporary, that you’ll soon make plans for him to visit, but still, your eyes burn at the thought of going home to an empty apartment and falling asleep in a half-empty bed tonight. He must sense this because he eventually tells you, voice soft and vulnerable, “Don’t cry, baby.”

You purse your lips to stop them from trembling, turning away from him so he can’t see your frown. “I feel like I already miss you,” you say, so low you wonder if he can even hear you.

“I’ll come see you soon. And I’ll text and call you so often every day that you won’t have time to miss me,” he replies, but you can hear it in his tone that he doesn’t quite believe what he’s saying, only trying to reassure you, and himself, maybe.

“That’s impossible,” you mutter. You’re both silent for the rest of the drive, but his hand in yours is warm, and it does more to comfort you than any words could.

He parks at the airport drop-off area and gets your suitcase out of the trunk for you. He wanted to park where he could leave his car longer, and go into the airport with you, but you convinced him that the quicker your goodbye, the better off you’d be. You have the sinking feeling you might burst into tears at any moment, and you don’t want his last image of you for the foreseeable future to be one with tears streaming down your cheeks, don’t want him to needlessly worry or drive off with a weight on his heart.

He holds you in his arms, hands rubbing reassuring circles on your back. “I’ll come up as soon as I can, okay?” he says. “In less than a month, I promise. Any longer and I might explode.”

You laugh. “I don’t want you to explode.”

“No, that’d be pretty unfortunate.”

With one final kiss to the pretty lips that you’ll be longing for until you see Jaeyun again, you grab the handle of your suitcase and walk towards the entrance of the departures area. “Text me when you land, yeah?” he asks.

You nod. “I will.” You just stand there looking at him for a while—you’re a bit too sad to appreciate the fact that this is your first openly emotional, tearful goodbye, but part of you basks in knowing the separation isn’t hard for you only. “I love you, Yun.”

He smiles, a beautiful mix of sorrow and happiness that you want to commit to memory. “I love you more, angel.”

Every time you turn around, he’s still there leaning against his car, possibly overstaying his time at the drop-off, until you’ve walked too far into the airport and can’t see him anymore.

.

It’s already dark outside when a text from Minjeong lights up Jaeyun’s phone. Just dropped her off, it says. I tried to stop her from drinking so much, but she said she was going through Jaeyun withdrawals, whatever that means. Anyways she’s wasted good luck lol

He shakes his head. He’d be annoyed if he wasn’t so excited to see you—he’d told Minjeong to keep you outside for a bit longer after work, not get you drunk. But before he has time to text her back, his phone starts ringing in his hand. Smiling, he picks up, your voice immediately filling his ear.

“Jaeyun,” you whine, extending the second vowel for too many seconds—Minjeong wasn’t just throwing words around when she said you were wasted. You must be in the elevator by now. He has half a mind to come and get you, just in case you’re stumbling around and pressing the wrong floor numbers, but if Minjeong dropped you off at your building and not your apartment, then you must have some awareness left.

He hopes. There’s something important he wants to talk to you about, and he’d rather you were sober for it.

“Hi, baby,” he says.

This is apparently the worst thing he could possibly say, sensing as you make a noise halfway between a grunt and a whine. “Don’t call me baby when I already miss you this much. We’ve talked about this!”

You definitely haven’t. “I’m very sorry,” he says, exaggerating his serious tone, but you don’t catch his sarcasm.

“Yes, you should be.” The telltale beep of your code being pressed into the keypad breaks the silence of your apartment, and Jaeyun’s heart races with excitement. “I’m coming home now, Minjeong took me to this—”

Your next words get caught in your throat the moment you step inside your apartment and see him, a few meters away from you in your kitchen. You stay frozen in place, phone still to your ear as he crosses the distance between you, smiling so hard his cheeks ache.

“Welcome home, angel.”

He’s glad to see you aren’t in too much of a wretched state. Even in your wide-gazed surprise, your eyes are a bit clouded over from the alcohol, and you aren’t standing quite straight on your feet, but the way Minjeong texted him, he half-expected to find you with vomit on the front of your shirt. He steadies you with a hand to your waist, grabs your wrist gently to bring your arm down now that he’s hung up—and right in front of you.

“You’re real?” you ask, and when he nods, as though that was all the confirmation you needed, you throw your arms around his neck. “My Yunie,” you exclaim, voice muffled against his sweatshirt, and he has to bite back his laughter. Even a year and a half into your relationship, that’s a new one. You still get flustered when a pet name escapes your lips instead of his name. Maybe he should let you get drunk more often.

You suddenly lean back, cupping his face between your palms, eyes slightly narrowed as they drift over every inch of his face, like you’re trying to see whether anything’s changed. He lets you, a small, endeared smile on his lips, glad for the opportunity to admire you in return.

You press your lips to his, a little more forcefully than you usually would, then rest your head against his chest once more. “What are you doing here?” you ask. “Did you know I was missing you extra lately?”

“Of course I did. I always know what you’re thinking.”

“Okay. What am I thinking right now?”

He hums, pretends to think for a little. “That you love me and are so happy to see me!”

You gasp. “Yes! You’re so smart,” you exclaim, hugging him even tighter.

Eventually, he manages to get you out of your coat and shoes, and leads you to the kitchen, where your counter is covered in flour and uncooked, homemade dumplings. He only needs to make a few more until he can start frying them. The rice is already cooked, and a miso and vegetable stew simmers on your stove. You make yourself useful by circling your arms around Jaeyun’s waist, your head resting on his shoulders as you watch him fold dough around a beef galbi filling, your favorite.

“Do you wanna go wash up before we eat?” he asks softly, afraid that in your sensitive state, you might take his words the wrong way. But to his surprise, you oblige without a word, giving his cheek a kiss before heading to your bedroom.

When you haven’t come back ten minutes later, he goes to check on you, and finds you laying on top of your sheets, feet not even on your mattress but still on your floor like you fell back sitting and just stayed there. You’ve managed to remove your makeup and let down your hair, but you apparently ran out of energy before you could change out of your work clothes. Drool pools at the corner of your open lips.

Jaeyun’s heart aches with happiness. Every time he looks at you, even like this — especially like this — all he can think is how badly he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. And with every passing day that you stay with him, that you tell him good morning and good night and I love you, he thinks he might have a shot at it.

He sighs, but there’s nothing else he’d rather be doing than slipping your trousers and blouse off of your frame and finding a large t-shirt for you to sleep in, then guiding your body underneath your sheets. You wake up once, giggle at yourself, and immediately fall back asleep.

A while later, after he’s cleaned up the kitchen, had a little bit of dinner — on his own, which he knows you’ll feel awful about tomorrow — and washed up for bed, he gently closes the door of the bedroom behind him, where you’re still in deep sleep.

So he’ll have to wait until the morning to share his news. It’s alright—he has the whole weekend to tell you he’s found the perfect house, not too far from Gimcheon or from Daegu, where your boss has already said you could be transferred. He visited it last week, and in every room, he could picture your future together so perfectly. The kitchen in which he’ll make you a late breakfast on lazy Sunday mornings, the room with a beautiful view over a garden that you could turn into an office for your work-from-home days, the bedroom that he could all too well imagine a crib in. Layla could run around in the garden. You could visit your family and friends whenever you wanted. You could be in Seoul in less than two hours with the train if you ever missed it.

You’ve been talking about moving somewhere together for a while now, but he’s still nervous to bring it up. It’s a huge step, and he can only hope you are as ready as he is to take it—and if you aren’t yet, he’ll gladly wait for you to be. But as he slips into bed with you, your warm body shifting into his embrace even in sleep, he doubts he’ll have to wait long at all. The days of holding back are long gone—ever since it’s fully gotten through to you that he won’t ever leave your side if he can help it, you’ve opened up to him like never before, let him take care of you like he’s always dreamed of.

He looks down at you and your peaceful sleeping face, his initial dangling on a thin silver chain that you’ve worn since you found it again while organizing your jewelry box a few weeks ago. This is enough for now. But one day, if you’ll have him, he’ll make you his with another piece of jewelry, and falling asleep with you in his arms won’t be a once-in-a-while occurrence anymore.

It’s more than enough, he thinks as he presses a kiss to your forehead, and lets the soft sound of your breathing lull him into sleep. It’s everything.

.

“My wife.”

Jaeyun’s voice is a low, possessive grunt in your ear. He says those two words like they hold the most precious meaning in the world, and it makes fire rise deep inside you.

You thought the reason Jaeyun had been so antsy during your journey to Hawaii was because he’d never travelled this far. You’d chalked up his need to have his hand in yours or resting on your thigh for the entirety of the flight to it being his first time on a long-distance plane. You easily dismissed his clinginess on the drive from the airport to your hotel as his being tired, which always made him a little needier.

But when he pressed his body to yours the moment the door of your hotel room shut behind you, you finally understood what had actually been on his mind this entire time—the feeling of his erection, hard and insistent on your lower stomach, left no room for interpretation.

To be fair, since getting married three days ago, in the familiarity of your backyard and surrounded by your loved ones, you’d barely gotten any alone time. Relatives of his that lived far away stayed at your house until yesterday night, and at bedtime every night, either one or both of you were too tired to initiate anything. You haven’t had sex since becoming Jaeyun’s wife, and clearly, this has been weighing on your husband.

He kisses you like he has been starving for months, desperate, ravenous, crazed. His arms around you hold you in a tight embrace, your bags haphazardly discarded at your feet. Eventually, he reaches for the back of your thighs and, legs hooked around his waist, carries you to the bed you’ll call yours for the next week. You hadn’t expected to break it in so quickly, but you wouldn’t have it any other way, not when Jaeyun’s tongue laps at your mouth like this, not when his teeth graze your bottom lip so deliciously.

“Need to touch you so bad, my love. Can I?” he asks, voice breathy.

“Yes, Yun, please.”

He slips a hand below your waistband and hums in satisfaction at the wetness he finds there. “Always so wet for me, aren’t you, baby? Always ready for me to fuck you.”

The feeling of his expert fingers on your clit render you unable to reply to him—it’s not like he’s waiting for an answer, anyway. The way you throw your head back and moan his name is all the confirmation he could need.

Although you’d be content to go on like this, it seems as though this isn’t enough for him. He quickly withdraws his fingers, swallowing your whine of protest with a kiss. It’s unusual, the speed with which he makes his way down your body until his face is level with your core. He normally likes to take his sweet time with you, trailing kisses all over your skin before giving in to your pleas for more. You take a little pride in knowing that you don’t have to beg—for once, he’s the desperate one, he’s the one who can’t wait a second longer.

It’s obscene, and obscenely hot, the way he presses his nose against the crotch of your sweatpants and inhales deeply, a guttural groan escaping his throat. He presses kisses to your inner thighs and core over your clothes before he actually slides them down your thighs, letting them pool at your knees like he doesn’t have time to take them off completely. He doesn’t bother with your t-shirt, either, simply snaking his hands underneath it until they reach your breasts.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this pussy so much,” he mutters, admiring it like it belongs in a museum.

You smile. “It’s been, like, four days.”

He shakes his head. “Never going without it for that long again.”

Jaeyun dives into your core, tongue licking a long stripe up your folds before it finds your clit and settles there, alternating between licking and sucking at the sensitive bud, two of his slender fingers quickly sliding inside of you. Your hands find purchase in his hair, tugging at it when a motion of his tongue feels particularly good, hips bucking against his mouth whenever his fingers hit that particularly deep spot inside you. He moans ceaselessly into your core, the vibrations making your thighs shake around his head, as though he needed this as much as you did—if not more. You swear you hear him mutter “my wife” at some point. Embarrassingly quickly, you start to feel that familiar coil of pleasure form low in your stomach, a warm, dizzying buzz spreading throughout your entire body all the way to your fingertips.

Your relief at not having to beg turns out to be short-lived. Jaeyun makes you come on his tongue a first, then a second time, as he is often wont to do. You’re impossibly sensitive, body heavy and boneless by the third time, but he isn’t satisfied. His grip on your hips is firm, and you don’t have the energy to fight it—nor the willingness, really. Tears stream down your face by the time your fourth orgasm hits you, at which point you can’t even tell pleasure from pain anymore. You really do need a break, though, and signal this to your husband — your husband — by lifting his head from your core.

He gives you a few minutes of physical respite, but the words that he whispers against your skin as he presses feverish kisses to your throat and jaw keep you in that hazy, nebulous headspace, and in those few minutes only, you already find yourself reaching for him, cupping his erection over his sweatpants.

You wince when he enters you, overstimulation setting in solely from having him inside you, but you shake your head when he asks if you need a longer break. “Want you, Yun,” you breathe out, holding onto his biceps, nails already digging into his skin.

As he pistons his hips into yours relentlessly, you almost can’t believe this is the same man who was standing before you at the altar mere days ago, the sweetest smile on his lips and tears in his pretty eyes. You guess he’s holding true to one of his vows—he said he’d never make you doubt how much he loves you, and right now, you can’t deny that he’s fucking you like you’re the only woman for him.

You think he must be close when his thrusts speed up and his grunts get louder. And recently, there’s been a new telltale sign that he was inching closer to his orgasm.

“Gonna fill you up, angel. Gonna stuff you full of my cum and make you the prettiest mommy ever. All round and beautiful, and carrying my baby. Show the whole world who you belong to.”

He mutters these words right into your ear just as his breathing gets heavier, more ragged, and seconds later, you feel him spurting ropes of his sperm inside you. When he first started talking to you like this, you assumed it was just long-term relationship dirty talk. But a couple of weeks ago, when you told him you were almost at the end of your last tablet of birth control, he asked how you felt about not renewing your prescription—so not just dirty talk, you realized.

He pulls out of you but stays on top of you, catching his breath as he rests his head on your chest and you play with his hair. Eventually, he grabs your left hand, lifts it to his lips, and presses them to your ring finger, right over the silver band. “Thank you for marrying me, angel,” he whispers. “You’ve made me the happiest man on Earth.”

You kiss the top of his head, basking in the pleasant warmth of his words, of his scent, of his reassuring weight as he lays on top of you. “I’m the lucky one.”

“Will you still feel lucky when I tell you we’re not leaving this room all day?”

When you lift your head to look at him, he’s wearing a devilish grin. “Why not?” you ask.

“Because,” he says, pressing his lips to yours, “I’m fucking the jetlag out of you.” Your body responds to him, heat already starting to swirl in your stomach as though you haven’t already taken more than you could handle—your desire for him is a bottomless well. “And, so that in fifteen years, we get to embarrass our kid by telling them they were conceived in Hawaii.”

Needless to say, over the next week, you spend a lot more time in your hotel room than you’d planned, often only going out around noon or coming back halfway through dinner—whenever Jaeyun sees that ring around your finger, he seems to need some alone time with you.

He doesn't think he'll ever stop needing alone time with you.

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