You Stayed
Saebyeok x fem!reader
this is part 2 of You’ve Grown! i strongly suggest reading part 1 first~
synopsis: You’re convinced the holiday fling was a once off. Then she texts. Months of coded messages, breathless calls, and a stolen weekend at her dorm prove it’s more than lust. But summer looms, and with it, a house full of thin walls and thinner lies. Every time the fire grows, it gets harder to hide…
genre: smut (multiple instances), brother’s best friend trope, secret relationship/sneaking around, angst with happy ending, coming out, fluff
warnings: age gap (4 years, both legal), fingering & oral (both receiving), strap on (both receiving), risk of being caught, praise, jealousy, one instance of angry sex, awkward family tension
word count: 6k
a/n: requested by anon(s)
︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶
You don’t expect to hear from her again.
It was a whirlwind. It was impulsive. A short, heat of the moment affair that ended at the airport. You watched her disappear through the security line and told yourself that’s it. Done. Over.
But fifteen days later your phone lights up on the nightstand.
💬 sae: i can’t stop thinking about you
Your heart leaps so hard it hurts. You stare at the screen until it dims, thumbs hovering, then type back before you lose your nerve.
💬 you: same
The next few months are a masterclass in secrecy.
It starts with texts - quick, coded, always after midnight.
💬 sae: these lecture notes are putting me to sleep
You fire back a selfie in your pajamas, hair messy on the pillow. She replies with a voice note, low and raspy:
“Fuckkk, you’re cute.”
Texts become phone calls. You learn the exact creak of her dorm bed when she rolls over, the way her laugh catches when you tease her about her terrible taste in ramen flavors.
Then video calls. The first one, she answers propped against her pillow, hair a dark halo around her forehead, hoodie slipping off one shoulder. The ghost of a smile tugs at her lip the second your face appears.
“Hi.” She says, soft.
You blush like a kid. “Hi.”
You don’t define it. Girlfriends feels too big, too real. But it’s something. Something that makes your chest tight when she murmurs “wish you were here” at 2am, something that keeps you awake at night replaying the way she says your name like a secret.
Graduation talk starts at home. Your parents list schools like a brochure, your brother’s alma mater at the top, of course. You nod and smile, but a single campus flashes behind your eyes: hers. Four hours away. Close enough to steal weekends.
She texts you the date her roommate’s gone.
💬 sae: friday to sunday. clear.
You book the flight before you can talk yourself out of it, telling your parents it’s a “campus tour.” The lie slips out smooth and practiced, but your heart pounds the entire plane ride.
Then she’s there, leaning against a pillar in ripped jeans and that same oversized hoodie, hair tied back, eyes scanning until they land on you. She doesn’t hug you, just smirks, grabs your bag and murmurs. “Took you long enough.”
Her dorm is tiny - two twin beds and one desk. You hover by the door, backpack straps cutting into your shoulders. She twists the lock, turns to you and smirks at your coyness, as if she wasn’t rearranging your insides only four months ago.
“Still shy?” She steps close, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Thought I fucked that out of you.”
You swallow, heat flooding your cheeks. “Shut up.”
She does, by kissing you. Soft at first, like she’s testing. Then deeper, hungrier, until you’re clutching her hoodie and whining into her mouth. She walks you backward until your knees hit the bed, easing you down.
It’s gentle for a while. Cuddling under a thin blanket, legs tangled, sweet pecks that turn into slow, lazy kisses. Her fingers trace idle patterns on your hip. You’re almost lulled into thinking this weekend might just be soft.
Then the heat returns.
“Been thinking about this for four fucking months.” She says against your neck, teeth grazing. “Every time you sent those little goodnight texts I wanted to crawl through the phone.”
You laugh breathlessly. “You’re dramatic.”
“Am I?” She pulls back, eyes dark. “Strip.”
Your hands shake as you obey. She watches like she’s memorizing, hoodie, jeans, bra, then panties. When you’re bare, she hums in approval and shrugs off her own clothes. She’s all lean muscle and sharp angles, freckles dusting her collarbone like constellations.
She crawls over you, kissing you slow and filthy. It’s tongues and teeth and fuck, you missed her mouth. Her hand slides between your thighs, finding you already wet.
“Jesus.” She mutters, circling your clit. “You’re desperate for me.”
You nod, shameless. She rewards you with two fingers, curling just right until your back arches, watching your face like it’s her favorite show.
“Gooood girl.” She praises, voice rough. “Take it.”
She works you open slowly, then faster, thumb on your clit until you’re trembling. You cum with her name muffled into her shoulder, teeth sinking into skin to stay quiet.
She doesn’t let you recover before flipping you onto your stomach, spreading your legs. Her fingers meet your skin again, slick, three pressing into you this time, and you gasp.
“Relax.” She soothes, kissing down your spine. “I’m gonna make you feel so good.”
She does. Fingers scissoring, stretching, until you’re pushing back on her, begging. She replaces them with her tongue, hot and wet and obscene. You bury your face in the pillow to muffle your sounds.
When she finally grabs the strap, your whole body lights up. It’s new, thicker than her fingers, silicone cool against your thigh. She lubes it, lines up, and pushes in slow.
“Fuck.” You whine. “Sae-”
“I know.” She bottoms out, stilling. “Breathe.”
You do. Then she moves, long, deep strokes that hit every spot. One hand grips your hip, the other snaking under to rub your clit. You’re babbling, drooling into her sheets when she leans over you, chest to your back, lips at your ear.
“Gonna send your brother a picture of this.” She whispers. “You dripping on my cock. Tell him his little sister’s a slut for me.”
You clench hard and she laughs, dark and filthy. “Knew you’d like that.”
She flips you again, hooking your legs over her shoulders to fuck you deeper. Then she takes her phone out. You’re too gone to protest, watching through teary eyes as she snaps photos: your flushed face, tits bouncing, the strap disappearing into you.
“These are mine.” She says. “Behave, or I send them.”
You cum again, harder, vision whiting out. She follows right after, grinding against the base, groaning your name.
After, you’re boneless. She cleans you up with a damp towel, gentle now, then pulls you into her chest, fingers in your hair.
“Stay the weekend.” She murmurs.
You do.
Saturday is lazy. You eat takeout sitting cross legged on her bed. Afterwards she teaches you how to use the strap on her. You’re clumsy with the harness, but she guides your hips, moaning when you find the angle.
“Fuck, just like that.” She gasps. “Good girl.”
You fuck her slow, until she’s trembling and cursing your name. She returns the favor twice over, with her fingers and tongue, then the strap again until you’re a mess of limbs and whispered pleas.
Sunday morning, you’re cuddling on the bed, her head on your chest, your fingers in her hair, both of you basking in the quiet when the door bursts open.
“Surprise bitches!”
Your brother and her roommate tumble in, arms full of coffee and a donut box, laughing about some inside joke.
You spring apart on instinct, blanket clutched to your chest. Your brother shoots you a quick, confused blink - huh? - then shrugs it off.
Saebyeok sits up smoothly, hair tousled but unbothered.
“Look who I ran into on her campus tour.” She says, casual as hell, tossing a pillow at your brother’s head.
He catches it and grins. “Nice. Didn’t know you were playing tour guide, Sae.”
He doesn’t question it further, just kicks the door shut and starts passing out donuts like nothing happened.
You exhale, shaky but safe.
You spend the rest of the morning squeezed on one bed, eating powdered sugar and pretending your pulse isn’t racing. Saebyeok’s hand finds yours under the blanket and squeezes once, a silent we’re good.
When they finally head out to “see the quad” your brother slings an arm around Saebyeok’s shoulders. “Don’t let her get lost on your watch.”
She smirks. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The door shuts behind them. You sag against the wall.
She turns to you, eyes bright. “Close one.”
You laugh, breathless. “You’re insane.”
“Yeah.” She says, pulling you close. “But you’re here.”
You are, for now.
Summer arrives like a held breath. Saebyeok’s lease ends the first week of June, and your brother convinces your parents to let her stay at yours for the summer. She texts you a single photo: her dorm room stripped bare, boxes stacked, middle finger to the camera.
💬 sae: see you in 48 hrs
You stare at the message until your mom calls you down for dinner. Your brother’s already home, sprawled on the couch with the tv remote like it’s his throne. He doesn’t know you’ve been counting down the days.
She rolls up on a Thursday in her beat up car, windows down, music loud enough to rattle the mailbox. Your brother whoops from the porch and jogs out to help with boxes. You linger in the doorway, pretending not to care, heart in your throat.
She looks good. Tan from pickup soccer games, hair slightly shorter, subtle muscles on show under her tee. She catches your eye over a duffel bag and smirks, slow, deliberate, like she knows exactly what that look does to you.
“Sup, kid.” She says, loud enough for your brother to hear.
You roll your eyes, playing along. “Welcome back, old lady.”
Your brother snorts. “Be nice, she’s basically furniture.”
If only he knew.
The first week is torture by proximity.
She crashes in the basement, among an old couch, mini fridge, and your dad’s ancient xbox. She’s close enough that you can hear her laugh through the floorboards when she and your brother play FIFA until 3am. Close enough that you lie awake imagining the three steps it would take to sneak downstairs.
But you don’t. Not yet.
You settle for the stolen glances across the kitchen table, the texts from five feet away, the brush of knuckles in the hallway when you pass with laundry.
The first time you break is Tuesday night.
Your parents are at a neighbor’s barbecue. Your brother’s at his girlfriend’s. You’re “studying” in your room, door cracked for plausible deniability. Then you hear footsteps on the stairs. Soft. Familiar.
Saebyeok slips in wearing basketball shorts and a tank top, no bra, hair still damp from the shower. She doesn’t speak, just shuts the door, clicks the lock, and crowds you against your desk.
“Missed you.” She murmurs against your mouth.
You’re already wet. It’s embarrassing how fast.
She lifts you onto the desk, knocking a textbook to the floor but you couldn’t care less. Her mouth is on your neck, your collarbone, pulling your tank top down to suck a bruise just above your bra line.
“Gonna have to wear high necks.” You gasp.
“Or tell them you burned yourself with a curling iron.” She grins, teeth grazing. “Liars have to be creative.”
She drops to her knees. You’re in sleep shorts with no panties, because you’re weak. She noses along your thigh, inhaling like she’s been starving.
“Quiet.” She warns, and licks a stripe up your center.
You bite your fist to stay silent, and she eats you slow and thorough, two fingers slipping inside while your legs shake. You cum with your thighs clamped around her ears.
She stands, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, and kisses you so hard you taste yourself.
“Your turn.”
You sink to your knees on the carpet. She’s already soaked through her shorts. You peel them down, licking into her like she taught you - slow circles, then fast, until she’s gripping your hair and grinding against your tongue. She comes undone with a shudder, head thrown back as she gasps under you.
After, she pulls you up, peppering a soft kiss to your forehead. “Basement tonight. Bring a hoodie.”
You do.
The basement is darker, cooler. She’s got fairy lights strung along the ceiling now - your doing, a housewarming gift you claimed was for “ambiance.” She locks the door behind you, backing you onto the couch.
“Been thinking about this all week.” She says, stripping you slow. “You in my space. Finally.”
She fucks you with her fingers first, then the strap she smuggled home in a gym bag. You ride her on the couch, hands braced on her shoulders, trying to keep quiet while the xbox hums in the corner. She covers your mouth when you get loud, growling. “Shh, he’s upstairs. One more sound and he’ll hear you, princess.”
You cum twice. She follows once, grinding against the base, cursing into your neck. Afterwards you’re both breathless, sweat slicked and tangled in the blanket. She’s still inside you, hips lazy, when she presses her forehead to yours and mutters, voice raw. “I missed you more than I should have.”
The words slip out like they’ve been clawing at her throat for months. Her eyes widen the second they leave her mouth. Panic flickers across her face, real, sharp, but gone in a blink.
She laughs, too loud, too fast. “I mean-fuck, ignore that. Heat of the moment bullshit.”
She pulls out, rolls you off of her and busies herself with the strap like it’s the most interesting thing in the room. “Post nut clarity’s a bitch, huh?”
You’re still floating, heart hammering. You reach for her wrist. “Sae.”
She avoids your eyes, tugging the harness off. “We good? I’m starving. There’s leftover pizza-”
“Saebyeok.” You sit up, blanket clutched to your chest. “Look at me.”
She does, finally. Jaw tight, walls up. You see the girl who transferred in fourth grade, hoodie two sizes too big, daring anyone to get close.
“I missed you too.” You say, soft. “More than you realize.”
Her shoulders loosen, just a fraction. She exhales through her nose, crawls back over and kisses you, slow and apologetic. No more words.
Summer becomes a game of how close can we cut it.
The reckoning starts with a single look, on a Thursday night at a backyard barbecue. Your dad’s flipping burgers, your mom’s passing out lemonade, your brother’s telling some loud story about his internship. Saebyeok’s leaning against the picnic table, beer in hand, eyes on you while you laugh at something your cousin says.
But the look is too long. Too soft. Too obvious.
Your brother’s head turns, and he catches it. He frowns.
You don’t notice. You’re too busy pretending your skin isn’t buzzing under her stare.
Later, when you’re inside grabbing more ice, you hear them through the screen door.
“You’ve been weird all summer.” Your brother mutters. “You stare at my sister all the damn time. Are you… into her or something?”
Saebyeok laughs. “Relax, man. I’m seeing someone.”
Your stomach drops. The ice bag slips from your fingers and clatters to the floor. You bolt upstairs before anyone sees.
Seeing someone.
Not you.
Someone.
You spiral in your room, phone dark, knees to your chest. Every stolen kiss, every basement night, every “good girl” whispered against your skin - cheap and disposable. A summer fling she’s already moving on from.
You don’t text her. You don’t answer when she does.
💬 sae: where’d you go?
💬 sae: Y/N?
💬 sae: talk to me
You ignore them all.
Friday night, your parents are at a movie. Your brother’s at a going away party. You’re in the basement, waiting like an idiot because you need to hear it from her mouth.
She walks in at 11:47, hair damp from the shower, tank top clinging. She sees you on the couch, arms crossed, jaw tight.
“Hey.” She says, cautious. “You okay?”
You stand. “Who is she?”
Her brows knit. “Who’s who?”
“The girl you’re seeing.” Your voice cracks. “The one that’s not me.”
Her face shifts in realization, then panic. “You heard that?”
“Answer the question.”
She steps closer. “It was a lie. To get him off my back. I didn’t think-”
“Bullshit.” You shove her chest, but she doesn’t budge. “You’ve been dodging this all summer. We don’t have a name. We don’t get to exist outside locked doors. So yeah, tell him you’re seeing someone. Tell him it’s real.”
Her eyes darken. “You think I want anyone else?”
“I don’t know what you want!” You’re yelling now, tears hot in your eyes. “You fuck me in your car, in my bed, in the goddamn laundry room! Then you lie to my brother like I’m nothing-”
She grabs your wrists, pinning them to the wall above your head. “Shut up.”
You struggle. “Make me.”
She does.
Her mouth crashes into yours, angry and desperate. You retaliate by biting her lip hard enough you taste copper. She growls, spins you and bends you over the arm of the couch. Your shorts are down before you can blink.
“You think I’d choose anyone over you?” She hisses, hand fisted in your hair. Two fingers shove inside you, rough, no prep. But you’re wet anyway. Your body is a traitor. “This pussy’s been mine since Christmas. You think I’d throw that away?”
You moan into the cushion. She fucks you hard, hips slamming, other hand clamped over your mouth.
“Say it.” She snarls. “Say you’re mine.”
You try, muffled and broken. She curls her fingers, hits that spot, and you cum with a sob, legs shaking.
She doesn’t stop. She pulls out, flips you onto your back and spreads your thighs wide. Her mouth replaces her fingers, sucking, licking, devouring until you’re arching off the couch, tears streaking your temples.
“Still think I want someone else?” She mutters against your clit. You cum again, harder, eyes squeezed shut.
She crawls up your body, kissing you softer now. You taste salt and sex and something fragile. You’re both trembling.
“I’m sorry.” She whispers. “I panicked. I didn’t mean-”
You cut her off with a kiss.
Both of you fall asleep tangled in her sheets, her arms locked around you, fairy lights glowing soft above.
You wake in the morning to the sound of footsteps on the basement stairs. The lower they descend, the heavier they sound. Faster. Growing in urgency.
“Sae? …Y/N?! WHAT THE HELL-”
Your brother.
He’s halfway down before you register, his eyes wide on the sight of you bare and pressed to Saebyeok’s side, her arm draped over your waist under the thin blanket.
Silence. Then…
“I fucking knew it.” His voice is deadly quiet. “You’re dead, Saebyeok.”
He storms the rest of the way down. Saebyeok sits up fast, shielding you with her body, sheet clutched to her chest.
“It’s not what you think.” She says.
“What I think is you’ve been fucking my sister under my roof, our roof, when I gave you a place to stay for the summer.” He steps closer, fists clenched. “Get up.”
Saebyeok doesn’t move. “I love her.”
The words rip out raw and unplanned. Your eyes snap to her. She’s never said it. Not once.
Your brother freezes. “What the fuck did you just say?”
She swallows, chin high. “I love her. This isn’t just some fun to me.”
His gaze slides to you, rage, betrayal, confusion, all at once. “Y/N?”
You sit up, clutching the sheet, fingers twisting in your lap as you nod, throat too tight for words.
He exhales, sharp, and runs a hand through his hair. “What about Mom and Dad? Do they even know you like girls?”
Saebyeok’s hand finds yours under the covers, warm and steady. You squeeze.
“No.” You whisper. “Please-please don’t tell them. Not yet.”
He stares at the floor. The silence stretches, thick.
Finally he sighs, defeated. “I won’t. But you two need to end this. Before you get caught for real. It’s not a good idea. You’re gonna blow up the whole family.”
You’re crying now, quiet. “We’ll be careful-”
“You weren’t careful!” He snaps. “I’m standing right here!”
Saebyeok’s voice is low. “We’ll figure it out. Just… give us time.”
He looks between you, his best friend and his little sister, then shakes his head. “You’ve got until move in day. After that, I don’t wanna know.”
He turns and climbs the stairs. The door slams upstairs. You’re shaking when Saebyeok pulls you into her chest, arms tight.
“I meant it.” She murmurs into your hair. “I love you.”
You cling to her, tears soaking her skin.
When move in day arrives, the campus is pure chaos - parents hauling mini fridges, freshmen crying in parking lots, RAs with clipboards yelling about fire safety. You’re sweating through your hoodie, duffel cutting into your shoulder, when you spot her.
Saebyeok leans against the dorm entrance, arms crossed, sunglasses low on her nose. She’s in a cropped tank and cargo pants, hair tied back, smirk sharp enough to cut glass.
“Need a hand, freshie?” She calls.
You roll your eyes, but your stomach flips. “Thought you were above helping.”
She grabs your heaviest bag like it’s nothing. “Only for you.”
By September you have her schedule learned by heart. Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays she’s got a lab until 3. You wait outside the science building with iced coffee, and she kisses you against the brick wall, not caring who sees. Tuesdays and Thursdays you’re in the same gen-ed psych lecture. She sits three rows behind and texts you memes during the professor’s slides. You spend the weekends together in her single dorm (senior perk), cooking terrible ramen, watching The Office on her laptop, and fucking until the sun comes up.
You finally say it back to her in October. You’re tangled in her sheets, your fingers in her hair, her head on your chest where it usually is these days.
“I love you.” You whisper.
She kisses your collarbone, smiling against your skin. “Love you more.”
You meet her friends, and they know about you.
“The high school girlfriend turned campus girlfriend.” They tease her, mercilessly. You blush, but she just slings an arm around your shoulders, proud.
Your friends meet her at a Halloween party, and they love her. You make out in the bathroom, her hands under your costume skirt, until someone bangs on the door.
When thanksgiving break comes you spend the four days together on campus. The dorms are mostly empty, dining halls closed. You live on vending machine snacks and each other. She eats you out on the communal couch at 2am, daring you to be loud. You cum with your face buried in her hoodie.
During finals week, she tutors you in the 24 hour study lounge. When you fall asleep on her shoulder she carries your books back and tucks you into her bed, studying with the light off so you can sleep.
By December you’re official. No more “it’s complicated.” You hold hands across campus. She wears your scrunchie on her wrist, you steal her hoodies. People talk. You don’t care.
Christmas break looms. Four weeks apart, and you’re dreading it.
The night before you leave, she fucks you slow and deep with the strap, her mouth on your neck, leaving a bruise just below your collarbone. A going away gift.
“Wear turtlenecks.” She murmurs, kissing it. “Or don’t. I don’t care.”
You arrive home on Christmas Eve to the house smelling like cinnamon and pine. Your parents hug you too tight, but your brother’s quieter than usual. He’s still processing, still watching.
You’re careful. You don’t text her in the open. You wear high necks, just in case.
But on Christmas morning, it breaks. You’re in the kitchen, pouring coffee when your brother walks in, hair messy, eyes sharp.
“Y/N… no.”
You freeze. He’s staring at your neck. Your sweater slipped when you reached for a mug, and he saw the hickey. It’s faded, but it’s there.
He yanks the collar down just enough to expose it, and your breath catches.
“I told you to fucking end it.”
You open your mouth but nothing comes out.
“That’s it.” He turns away, voice like ice. “You’ve got until New Year’s Eve to tell them, or I will.”
He walks out. The coffee pot gurgles, and your hands shake so hard you spill on the counter.
The house is a minefield in the following days. You flinch every time your mom asks if you’re “seeing anyone at school.” Your dad keeps giving you long, searching looks over dinner.
Saebyeok texts from her mom’s new place three hours away.
💬 sae: breathe. you’ve got this.
💬 you: i’m gonna throw up
💬 sae: then aim for the ugly christmas sweater pile
You rehearse in the mirror.
“I’m gay.”
“I like girls.”
“I’m in love with Saebyeok.”
Every version sounds wrong. Too small. Too big. Too late.
On New Year’s Eve, at 6:47pm, your stomach churns as your feet pad across the floor of the living room. Your parents are on the couch, wine glasses half empty, It’s a Wonderful Life droning on the TV. Your brother is upstairs “giving you space,” but you know he’s listening.
You stand in the doorway, sweater sleeves pulled over your hands.
“Mom… Dad… can we talk?”
They mute the movie and look up, worry creasing their faces. You sit on the ottoman, knees bouncing.
“I… Um, I-”
Your voice cracks. They lean forward.
“I-I like…” The words feel like gravel. You force them out before you can swallow them again. “I like girls.”
Silence.
Then Mom’s eyes widen. “You-”
You cut her off, panic rising. “I like a girl. I… love a girl.”
Their brows furrow, mouths parted. They’re trying to understand - God, they’re trying - but you’re shaking, tears already burning.
“S-Saebyeok.” Her name is barely a breath.
Your dad’s face falls. A flicker of something - disappointment? Shock? Both?
Mom stares at the floor, not breathing. Eventually she whispers. “Saebyeok?”
You nod.
Dad scoffs, shaking his head. “Y/N, she’s four years older than you. She’s your brother’s best friend for Christ’s sake.”
Your mouth is sand.
Mom tries again, softer. “Y/N, you’re so young. You have so much to-” She sees your face, eyes glassy, and your fingers twisting in your sleeves. She stops and sighs. “How long?”
“A… A year-”
Dad’s eyes bug out. “A year?!”
Mom’s gaze snaps to you, less disappointed, more stunned, like she’s rewriting every memory of the past twelve months. Her eyes meet yours, terrified but gentle. “Is it serious?”
You nod, tears spilling. “She loves me, Mom.”
Dad inhales sharp, and stands. Your stomach drops. His face is unreadable, blank, closed off. He steps toward you and you brace.
Then, he hugs you.
His arms are tight, warm, familiar. You sob into his shoulder, hot and messy, and he feels it.
“If she so much as thinks about hurting you,” he whispers, voice rough, “I bury her.”
You laugh, wet and broken, relieved. Mom’s crying too, reaching for your hand.
Your brother appears in the doorway, arms crossed. His eyes are red. You know he heard everything.
He doesn’t say anything. Just nods once, a small I’ve got you, and disappears upstairs.
At 11:59pm, you’re sitting on the porch watching the snow fall soft and slow when your phone buzzes.
💬 sae: happy new year, baby. told my mom… she cried. then asked if you like kimchi.
💬 you: told mine. dad threatened to bury you.
💬 sae: worth it ❤️
Fireworks crack in the distance, and you smile, tears freezing on your cheeks. The front door opens and Mom steps out, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders.
“She coming tomorrow?” She asks.
You nod.
She kisses your temple. “Bring her for breakfast. We’ll make pancakes.”
You laugh. “She hates pancakes.”
“Then we’ll make waffles.”
Inside, the Christmas lights twinkle. Your dad’s already googling “how to threaten my daughter’s girlfriend without going to jail.” Your brother texts from upstairs.
💬 bro: if she breaks your heart i’ll help dad hide the body.
The house is quiet the next morning, too quiet for New Year’s, like it’s holding its breath. You’ve been awake since 6:37, the exact minute your phone buzzed with a text from Saebyeok.
💬 sae: leaving now. tell your dad i come in peace.
You’ve reread it seventeen times. Your stomach is a washing machine on spin cycle.
Downstairs, the kitchen smells like batter and anxiety. Mom’s been flipping waffles since 7:45, each one more misshapen than the last. She’s wearing the apron your brother got her in middle school - World’s Okayest Mom - and her hair is in a bun so tight it looks painful.
Your brother is already at the island, in sweatpants and that godawful light up reindeer sweater, antlers blinking in lazy rhythm. Every time Mom turns her back, he flicks a piece of bacon into his mouth like it’s a sport.
“Morning, gay panic.” He says without looking up. “You look like you’re about to puke on the syrup.”
“Shut up.” You pour coffee with shaking hands, and it sloshes over the rim. “I’m fine.”
“You’re wearing two different socks.”
You glance down. One has tiny pineapples, the other has cats in Santa hats. Whatever. “Fashion.”
He snorts. “Dad’s been sharpening the spatula since dawn. I give Saebyeok ten minutes before he interrogates her about her five year plan.”
“Stop.”
“Relax. I put in a good word. Told him she’s housebroken.” He pauses. “Mostly.”
Mom spins around, spatula raised toward your brother like a sword. Then she sees your face and softens. “Sweetheart, sit. Eat something. You’re pale.”
“I’m fine.” You repeat, but your voice cracks on the second word.
Dad lumbers in at 8:53, still in his flannel pajama pants, hair sticking up like he lost a fight with a pillow. He grunts at the coffee pot, pours a mug the size of a soup bowl, and leans against the counter. His eyes flick to you, then away. Then back. He’s been doing that since last night, like he’s trying to reconcile the daughter he tucked in at night with the one who came home with a girlfriend and a hickey.
“Morning.” He mutters.
“Morning.” You echo.
He stares into his coffee like it owes him money.
The clock ticks. 9:07. 9:13. 9:24. Finally your phone buzzes in your pocket.
💬 sae: outside. send help. or a getaway car.
You’re out of your chair before even you register yourself moving. Mom calls after you, “Shoes! It’s slippery!” but you’re already yanking the front door open.
Cold air slaps your face as you spot Saebyeok’s car idling at the curb, exhaust curling like cigarette smoke. She steps out slow, shutting the door with her hip.
She’s wearing a red sweater, thick and hand knit, you can tell by the slight unevenness of the cables. It’s tucked into a black pleated skirt that stops mid thigh, the kind of thing you’ve never seen her wear, ever. Her hair is down, curled into soft waves that catch the light, a few strands pulled back with a red satin bow. She’s got her converse on, laces loose, one toe kicking at a clump of snow like it personally offended her.
She holds up a tupperware of kimchi. “Hostage offering.”
You step onto the porch, the cold biting your soles through your socks. “Sae, you look-”
“Don’t.” She cuts you off, but her mouth twitches. “I know what I look like. I have a mirror. And a mother who ambushed me with a curling iron… She said if I showed up in sweats, your parents would think I don’t respect them.”
“You look nice, Sae.”
She exhales shakily, cheeks pink. “Is it too late to turn back now?”
You reach for her free hand. Her fingers are ice. “Breathe.”
“Trying.” She squares her shoulders, clutching the kimchi like a grenade. “Let’s get this over with.”
Your parents have known Saebyeok since she was nine years old, scabbed knees and all. They’ve fed her, grounded her, driven her to soccer practice. Now she’s the girl leaving hickeys on their daughter’s neck.
You lead her inside, and your brother looks up as you enter, his grin slow and evil. “Well, well. If it isn’t the prodigal lesbian and her sacrificial kimchi.”
Saebyeok flips him off with the hand not holding the Tupperware. “Your mom picked the skirt.”
“Technically accurate.” Mom chirps, too bright, flipping a waffle with unnecessary violence. “Saebyeok’s mom texted me the outfit approval at seven thirty. Solidarity.”
Dad stands at the stove, spatula gripped like a weapon. His eyes flick to Saebyeok, then to the faint hickey peeking above your hoodie collar. His knuckles whiten.
“Morning.” He grunts.
Saebyeok swallows.
“Morning, sir.” She sets the kimchi on the counter like it’s wired to explode. “Homemade. Three day ferment.”
Dad eyes the container, then her. “You ferment things now?”
“Apparently.”
Your brother snorts. “She ferments chaos. It’s a skill.”
Mom claps once, the noise shrill.
“Waffles! Everyone sit. Eat. Before they get cold.” She herds you toward the table like a border collie on espresso.
You slide into your usual chair. Saebyeok takes the one beside you, skirt riding up; she tugs it down, ears scarlet. Dad sits opposite, arms crossed. Mom hovers, passing plates with trembling hands.
Silence stretches. The only sound is forks scraping and the reindeer antlers blinking in morse code.
Your brother breaks first. “So, Sae. You planning to defile any other family members, or is my sister the grand finale?”
“Jesus…” You hiss.
Saebyeok chokes on her waffle. “I-uh. No plans at the moment.”
Dad’s fork pauses mid air.
“You’ve been in my house. For a year.” His voice is quiet. Dangerous. “Eating my food. Using my wifi. Sleeping in my basement.”
Saebyeok meets his eyes. “Yes, sir.”
“While-” He gestures vaguely between you and her, fork waving like a conductor’s baton. “-this.”
Mom reaches over, patting his arm. “Honey. Syrup?”
He ignores her. “You’re twenty three.”
“I am.”
“My daughter’s nineteen.”
“I know.” Saebyeok’s voice doesn’t waver. “I knew the first time I kissed her. I know every time I touch her. I’m not… I’m not proud of the sneaking. But I’m not ashamed of her.”
Your throat closes. You stare at your plate. The waffle has a perfect heart shape in the center. Mom’s doing, probably.
Dad leans forward. “You hurt her-”
“I won’t.”
“-I will end you. Shovel. Backyard. No questions.”
Saebyeok nods once. “Understood.”
You risk a glance at her. She’s staring at her lap, jaw tight. You slide your hand under the table, finding hers, and her fingers lace through yours instantly, grip fierce. Dad notices. His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t comment. He stabs a waffle instead.
Your brother leans back, smirking at Saebyeok. “You nervous, Kang? You’re sweating through your cashmere.”
“It’s wool.” Saebyeok mutters. “And shut up.”
He grins. “Make me.”
Dad clears his throat, and the table quiets like someone hit mute. He looks at you, then Saebyeok. “You’re staying for dinner.”
It’s not a question.
Saebyeok blinks. “I-yes, sir.”
“Good.” He stands, chair scraping. “You’re on dishes. And if I hear one more smartass comment from either of you-” he points the fork between your brother and Saebyeok “-I’m confiscating the xbox. Permanently.”
Your brother salutes. “Ay ay, captain.”
Dad grumbles, but the corner of his mouth twitches. He ruffles your hair as he passes, awkward, but there. “Eat your bacon, kid.”
Mom exhales like she’s been holding her breath since December. She reaches across, squeezing Saebyeok’s shoulder. “Welcome to the circus, sweetheart.”
Saebyeok’s eyes flick to you, soft and startled. You squeeze her hand tighter, and under the table, her thumb traces your knuckles. A promise.
Your brother kicks your shin. “You owe me twenty bucks, by the way. I had ‘Dad threatens murder by 10am’ in the pool.”
You kick him back. “You’re the worst.”
“Love you too.”
Saebyeok leans over, voice barely a breath. “Your dad’s terrifying.”
You grin. “Wait till you see him try to work the dishwasher.”
She snorts, then sobers. “I meant it by the way. Every word.”
Her hand stays in yours for the rest of the day.
The year starts with the waffles, threats, and a girl in a skirt who looks like she’d rather face a firing squad than your father.
You’ve never been happier.
︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶
Part 3
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