호랑이도 제 말하면 온다 - Speak of the Devil!
Summary: Five years ago, Mingi had to make a choice—between you and his career. Back then, he chose his career, which soared rapidly afterward. Famous, beloved, celebrated all over the world. You, on the other hand, were left behind—alone, broken, and hurt. And as fate would have it, you meet again, and things take an unexpected turn…
a/n: Hi guys! Here comes Chapter 3! Oh, I’m excited to hear your thoughts on it! I still haven’t gotten around to the tag list, but I’m taking care of it. Thanks so much for all your likes!
“Daddy, you’re doing it wrong,” Nari said seriously.
“There is no ‘wrong’ in creative architecture,” Mingi replied proudly, placing another block on top.
“It fell again,” Sia pointed out.
“…It is modern art,” Mingi corrected.
The girls giggled, and for a moment, everything was peaceful.
Then Sia suddenly leaned in closer, like she was carrying the most important secret in the world.
Mingi softened immediately. “Yes?”
“I heard something,” she said.
Nari instantly stopped playing. “Ooooh. Secret time.”
Sia nodded seriously. “Mommy was talking with Auntie Mina.”
Mingi raised his eyebrows a little. “Oh? And what were they talking about?”
Sia hesitated for dramatic effect. “About you.”
Sia nodded. “Auntie Mina asked if you still look good.”
Mingi let out a small laugh, a little surprised. “She did?”
“And Mommy said…” Sia leaned even closer, lowering her voice to a whisper, “…yes.”
Sia continued quickly, like she didn’t want to miss a single word. “She said you look even better now. And… stronger. And more broad.”
Nari gasped. “Again with the BROAD!”
But Mingi wasn’t laughing anymore.
He just sat there for a second, blinking slowly, like he wasn’t sure he heard correctly.
“…Mommy said that?” he asked quietly.
Sia nodded very confidently. “Yes.”
Nari added, “She said it like three times.”
Mingi leaned back slightly, clearly caught off guard. His ears turned a little red.
“Oh,” he said softly. “I… didn’t know that.”
For once, he didn’t have a funny comeback.
But before he could say anything else, Sia suddenly reached out and placed her tiny hand on his forehead.
Mingi froze. “Uh… what are you doing?”
She frowned in concentration.
Then she leaned back and said very seriously, “Daddy… do you have a fever?”
Mingi blinked. “What? No—why?”
Sia looked at him with full concern. “Because Mommy also said you’re hot.”
Nari slowly turned her head. “Ohhhhhh.”
Mingi went completely still.
“…She said that?” he asked quietly.
Sia nodded again, still very serious. “So maybe you’re sick.”
Mingi stared at her for a second, then let out a slow breath.
“That is not… medical information,” he said carefully.
Nari tilted her head. “So you’re not sick?”
Sia pressed her hand against his forehead again, double-checking. “Hmm.”
The girls immediately went back to their blocks like nothing happened.
“Anyway,” Nari said, “your tower is still bad.”
Mingi laughed under his breath. “Yeah… I deserved that.”
But he didn’t stop smiling for a while.
As you unlock the door, loud laughter from Sia greets you immediately, followed by Nari’s softer giggle. At the same time, you hear Mingi making exaggerated, booming noises. When you step into the living room, you find him with Nari in his arms, tossing her gently up and down while Sia clings to his leg.
A quiet laugh escapes you before you can stop it, warmth spreading through your body at the sight. And then it comes—the sharp, familiar ache in your chest.
Because no matter how good of a father Mingi is, no matter how much the girls love him, you will never be a real family. Not the kind with a mother and a father who love each other. The kind that puts their children to bed together at night, reads them stories, cooks side by side while singing too loudly, showing their children what love is supposed to look like. That kind of picture-perfect family will never exist.
You clear your throat, making your presence known and interrupting the moment. After the girls greet you, Mingi gives you a subtle look, signaling that he wants to speak to you privately. You give a brief nod and turn to the girls.“ Mom and Dad need to talk about some grown-up things. Why don’t you stay here and draw for a bit?”
Then you move into the kitchen.
“So, what is it?” you ask, beginning to unpack the groceries.
“You work as a lawyer, right?”
When Mingi notices you can’t quite reach the top shelf, he sighs, steps closer, takes the box of cereal from your hands, and places it in the cabinet.
“I’m thinking about suing Seo-Jun.”
“What?” you ask, blinking in disbelief. “Well, he lied to me. He betrayed me. And the amount he paid you as hush money isn’t just insulting—it’s outrageous.”
You open your mouth, but no sound comes out.
“It’s not just that my children are worth more than any amount of money,” Mingi continues quietly, though the tension in his jaw is unmistakable, “it’s the way Seo-Jun ‘handled’ the situation.” He emphasizes the last word.
“He shouldn’t get away with that.”
When he finishes, he looks at you intently, clearly expecting a professional opinion. But you remain rooted to the spot. Slowly, so you don’t look completely stunned, you close your mouth again.
As much as you hate Mingi—hate the way he treated you back then—you never expected this from him. The way he handles the situation now, the way he shows up for the children…
“I’ll look into it,” you say quietly, avoiding his gaze. “I can ask a colleague who might have dealt with similar cases.”
No. There is no way Mingi is finding his way back into your heart. You turn away, exhaling slowly, tension tight in your chest.
But Mingi isn't finished with you yet. There's one more thing he'd like to address.
„So you think I‘m still hot?“
You close the cabinet a little harder than necessary, taking a slow breath as if that might steady you. It doesn’t. Behind you, you hear him shift, pushing off the kitchen counter.
“‘Hot,’ huh?” Mingi repeats amused.
You freeze for half a second—barely noticeable, but enough. Then you turn, expression composed. “You’re misinformed.”
“Mhm.” He nods like he’s taking that very seriously. “Strange. Because I’m pretty sure I heard it from a very reliable source.”
You cross your arms. “Two small children who still believe dinosaurs live under their beds are not a reliable source.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh, stepping a little closer. Not enough to crowd you—just enough to be there.
“They seemed very confident,” he says. “Detailed, too.”
You roll your eyes. “I’m sure they added their own dramatic interpretation.”
“Did they also invent the part where you said I look better now?” he asks, tilting his head slightly.
You open your mouth—then close it again.
Heat creeps up your neck despite yourself.
“I don’t recall saying anything like that.”
“Convenient,” Mingi murmurs.
There’s a brief silence. Then—
You grab a random item from the counter, focusing on it like it suddenly requires your full attention. “You’ve been working out. It’s… observable.”
“Observable,” he repeats, amused. “Wow. That almost sounded like a compliment.”
Another step closer. Subtle. Deliberate.
“And ‘broad’?” he continues, voice quieter now, just a hint of a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “That one came up multiple times, apparently.”
You let out a short breath through your nose. “If you’re done interrogating me—”
“I’m not,” he cuts in, lightly.
You finally look at him properly—and immediately regret it.
There’s something in his expression now. Not just teasing. Sharper. Warmer. Familiar in a way you don’t want to name.
“And then,” he adds, almost thoughtfully, “there was the part about me being ‘hot.’”
“Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath, turning away again. “This is ridiculous.”
You feel him step closer again. This time, it’s harder to ignore.
“You always were honest about that kind of thing,” he continues, voice dropping just enough to make your pulse trip. “Back then.”
“That was a long time ago,” you say, controlled.
“Mhm.” A pause. Then, quieter: “Didn’t sound like it.”
Your grip tightens slightly around the edge of the counter.
He exhales, almost like he’s choosing his next words carefully—except he doesn’t really.
“Besides,” Mingi adds, a trace of a smirk returning, “if I remember correctly… you weren’t exactly subtle when you liked something.”
Your head snaps toward him. “Mingi—”
“What?” he says lightly, lifting his hands in mock innocence. “I’m just saying. You had very… clear ways of expressing approval.”
Your face burns now, unmistakably.
“Is it?” His voice softens, but he doesn’t step back. “Because I distinctly remember you being a lot less—”
The word lands sharper this time.
Your breathing is steady, but only just.
Mingi studies you for a moment. Really studies you. The color in your cheeks, the tension in your shoulders, the way you refuse to fully meet his eyes.
And then—just slightly—his expression shifts.
Not gone, the teasing. Just quieter.
“…Alright,” he says after a moment.
But he doesn’t move away immediately.
“Still,” he adds, softer now, almost under his breath, “good to know some things didn’t change.”
You just turn back to the counter, pretending to focus on something—anything—else.
But the warmth hasn’t faded.
And neither has the way he’s looking at you.
Damn Song Mingi, that charming bastard, still manages to get under your skin even after five years.
While Mingi is busy working on a puzzle with Nari, Yeosang, San, and Yunho are sitting on the floor with Sia, fully committed to a very serious Barbie session. Meanwhile, Wooyoung and Hongjoong are in the kitchen—well, Wooyoung is actually cooking, and Hongjoong is… enthusiastically supervising with zero interest.
Mingi keeps having to bite back a grin every time he glances over at his bandmates, all of them holding Barbies like it’s the most normal thing in the world. But then again, Sia is Sia—bossing everyone around like a tiny general, telling them exactly how the game is supposed to go. And when San dares to marry off his doll to a different Ken? Sia is this close to a full-blown meltdown.
Nari, much quieter and shyer than Sia, leans against Mingi, completely focused on the puzzle in front of her.
“Wait, why is this doll called Mister Potato Head again?” Yeosang asks, holding it up right in front of Sia’s face. She immediately bursts into giggles. Even Nari looks up and joins in.
“Because—” Sia shakes with laughter, and the three guys in front of her start laughing too, “—because he looks like that guy Mommy went on a date with once!”
San nearly chokes laughing, and Sia cackles right along with him. Mingi can’t help but smile too—but something else creeps into his chest. Jealousy? Again? He knows he has no claim on you, none at all… but the thought of you with another man leaves a weird, uncomfortable knot in his stomach.
“His head was this big—like a potato!” Sia explains, making a huge circle around her head with her tiny arms.
“And he had giant ears,” Nari adds, shooting her dad a cheeky look.
Yeosang, Yunho, and San listen in rapt attention as the tiny performer delivers what might as well be an Oscar-worthy reenactment.
“And he kept staring at Mommy like this—” Sia widens her eyes dramatically and juts her head forward. San is doubled over, clutching his stomach.
“And when she turned around, he kept staring at her butt!” Sia giggles—only for the laughter to abruptly die down.
“Well, to be fair, your mommy does have a pretty hot—” Yunho starts dryly, but Mingi cuts him off instantly.
“Yunho!” he growls, shooting him a warning look while glancing between Sia and Nari.
Sia has already calmed down and sits cross-legged again. But then Sia suddenly gasps.
All heads snap toward her.
“What?” San asks immediately, already suspicious.
Sia points dramatically across the room.
Mingi freezes. “Why does that sound like a threat…”
Sia slowly turns her head… and points straight at him.
Yeosang leans forward. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”
“What did I do?!” Mingi asks, already defensive.
Sia narrows her eyes. “You were looking at Mommy.”
“No,” Sia says, shaking her head. “Not normal looking.”
Yunho immediately turns to Mingi with a grin. San slaps a hand over his mouth.
“Oh no…” Yeosang whispers.
“I was just—looking!” Mingi stammers. “Normal looking!”
Sia steps forward, fully in detective mode. “No. You were like this—”
She leans forward slightly, squints, and then slowly turns her head like she’s following something very specific.
“I did NOT—” Mingi starts, face already turning red.
“And then,” Sia continues, raising a finger, “you didn’t even blink.”
San collapses sideways, laughing. “That’s so detailed—”
“I DID BLINK!” Mingi protests.
Nari glances up from her puzzle. “You didn’t.” Mingi looks at her, betrayed. “You too?!” Sia crosses her arms, looking very serious.
The other three men turn toward her, confused.
Sia nods wisely. “Yes. Because you’re Daddy.”
“…What?” Yunho says. His voice way too high.
“Daddys are allowed to look at mommys like that,” Sia explains confidently. “That’s the rule.”
San slowly turns his head toward Mingi.
Yeosang raises an eyebrow.
Yunho leans back, smirking.
Mingi’s brain completely short-circuits. “I—what—no, that’s not—”
Sia nods, very sure of herself. “Yes. It’s allowed. But only for you.”
She suddenly spins around and points at the others.
San clutches his chest. “Wow. Targeted.”
“Discrimination,” Yunho mutters.
Mingi runs a hand through his hair, face burning. “Can we please stop talking about this—”
“No,” San says immediately, grinning. “I think we should explore this further.”
Yunho nods. “Yeah, explain the rules again, Sia.”
Sia happily obliges, counting on her fingers. “Rule one: Only Daddy.”
“Rule two: No weird faces.”
“You did,” Nari says calmly.
“Rule three,” Sia continues, ignoring him, “Mommy is always pretty.”
“That one’s just factual,” Yeosang nods.
Mingi groans. “I’m never recovering from this…”
Sia pats his arm reassuringly. “It’s okay, Daddy. You followed the rules.”
San wipes a tear from his eye. “I can’t believe you just got approved by a Four-year-old…”
“Best day of your life,” Yunho adds.
When you pick up the girls from the dorm, Mingi opens the door. You give him a quick smile and step into the big entrance hall. You’re wearing a tight jeans and a lose Shirt. When he suddenly stops walking, you turn around and shoot him a questioning look. His eyes immediately dart up to the ceiling like it’s the most fascinating thing he has ever seen. You have absolutely no idea what’s going on with him—and honestly, you don’t even want to know. All you want is to grab the twins, go home, and collapse into bed.
You greet the rest of the band politely and help the girls put on their jackets. As usual, Nari’s zipper gets stuck, so you bend forward a little to fix it. Behind you stand San, Yunho, Yeosang, and Mingi—who, after a few seconds, realizes that they are all very obviously staring at your butt.
…until Sia suddenly shoots them a deadly glare, shakes her head, and silently mouths a very clear, very dramatic: “NO.”
At that exact moment, you turn around, ready to thank the guys. Instantly, every single one of them looks in a completely different direction. One is suddenly fascinated by the floor, another studies the ceiling like it’s modern art, and someone else inspects the sofa as if it holds the secrets of the universe.
They are acting really weird today, you think.
“Okaaaay…” you say, dragging the word out suspiciously long. “We’re gonna head out now.”
You turn to Mingi, who is still staring at his bandmates like they’ve personally betrayed him. “Thanks, Mingi.”
He snaps out of it, shakes his head quickly, and gives you a smile—which you do not return, because something here is definitely off.
As soon as the door clicks shut behind you, life slowly returns to the room.
“Damn, Mingi, she’s still got a nice ass!” San says, leaning against him with his arms crossed like he just made a profound observation.
“I totally get Mister Potato Head now,” Yunho adds, nodding sagely like this is a deep philosophical realization.
Mingi shows up unannounced. Of course he does. You barely get the door open before he’s already stepping into your space, holding up a small, worn-out stuffed monkey like it’s some kind of sacred artifact.
“Sia forgot this,” he says, a crooked smile already in place. “Thought I’d drop it off before I disappear for four days.”
You glance at the toy, then at him.
“And knocking like a normal person was too much effort?”
He leans against the doorframe, completely unbothered. “Where’s the fun in that?”
You take the monkey from him, brushing past his hand without lingering. “You’re here. You dropped it off. You can go.”
But he doesn’t move. Naturally.
Instead, he studies you for a moment, that annoyingly familiar look creeping in—the one that says he’s about to be insufferable.
“So,” he starts, casual, too casual. “You still going out with… what was his name?”
You don’t even look at him. “Who?“
“Mister Potato Head,” he says immediately, like he’s been waiting for this.
You freeze for half a second. Sia told him. Then you scoff. “He has a name.”
“Does he?” Mingi pushes off the wall, stepping a little closer.
You turn to face him now, arms crossing. “He’s a coworker.”
“Mm.” He hums, slow, deliberate. “And you went on a date with him.”
You raise a brow. “And what?”
“And are you going again?” he asks, like it’s nothing. Like he has any right to ask. You hold his gaze for a second too long.
That catches him off guard—just slightly.
“No,” you say flatly. “Because I’m not interested.”
Mingi’s lips twitch, something smug flickering there. “Wow. Poor guy.”
You roll your eyes. “He’s fine.”
“Sure,” Mingi says, voice low, almost amused. “Has no idea what he’s missing.”
You narrow your eyes at him. “Don’t.”
“What?” he grins. “I’m just saying—”
“You’re saying nothing,” you cut in, stepping past him toward the living room. “You dropped off the monkey. You can leave now.”
But he follows. Of course he does.
“You know,” he continues, hands in his pockets like he’s got all the time in the world, “I could take you out again.”
You stop. Slowly turn your head.
He shrugs, cocky as ever. “You heard me.”
A short laugh escapes you. “That’s not happening.”
“Why not?” he asks, stepping closer again. “You’ve got no date, I’ve got a few free hours before I leave—”
You shake your head, cutting him off. “Because I’m not interested and I would rather kill myself.“
„Oh, wow, thanks for that.“
There’s a beat. Then he tilts his head, studying you, that smirk softening just a fraction. “You sure about that?”
And that’s when you see it.
On the wall. Too big. Too real. Moving.
A sharp, involuntary scream tears out of you.
You don’t think. You don’t plan. You just react. One second you’re across the room—
The next, you’re slamming into Mingi, hands clutching his shirt as you practically jump into him, stumbling forward and grabbing on like your life depends on it.
He staggers back, completely caught off guard. “Whoa—hey—!”
Your grip tightens instantly, fingers digging into him, body pressed close as you shove your face against his chest.
You shake your head, breath quick, heart racing. “Nope.”
He finally glances past you— and freezes.
“Kill it,” you say immediately, voice tight as you cling harder. “Kill it now!“
Something in your tone makes him stop joking. For once.
He exhales, one hand settling instinctively at your waist to steady you, the other hovering like he’s deciding whether to peel you off or not. He doesn’t. And that’s when it hits.
Your hands fisted in his shirt. Your body pressed against his. His arm firm around you, holding you in place like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Exactly where it used to linger without permission, without hesitation, like it belonged there anymore.
For a second, neither of you moves.
Then slowly— You lift your head. Your eyes meet. And everything shifts.
The panic fades just enough for something else to take its place—something warmer, heavier, electric. Mingi’s expression isn’t teasing anymore.
His gaze flicks over your face, slower now, more deliberate, like he’s remembering every inch of you without needing to touch.
“You still hate spiders?” he murmurs, voice quieter.
“Good to know,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he’s talking about the spider anymore. Your fingers tighten in his shirt.
His hand doesn’t move. If anything—It presses in just slightly. Enough to make your pulse jump. Your head is still against his chest, close enough to feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Or maybe that’s yours. Everything feels too loud.
You swallow, trying to regain control.
You clear your throat, forcing your hands to loosen, stepping back before you forget how.
“I’m fine,” you say quickly, brushing your hair back like nothing just happened. Like your heart isn’t racing.
Mingi doesn’t let go immediately. Of course he doesn’t. He watches you, something unreadable in his eyes.
Then, slowly, his smirk returns—but it’s different now. Less cocky. More… dangerous. “Five years,” he says quietly. “And you still end up right here.”
You lift your chin, forcing yourself back into that cool, distant version of you. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
He steps closer anyway. Just enough to close the space again.
“I’m not,” he murmurs. “Just pointing out a pattern.” Your pulse betrays you. You turn away before he can see it.
“Just kill the spider, Mingi.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, already moving toward the wall—but his gaze lingers on you for a second longer than it should.
“Oh, I will,” he says. “But I might start bringing one with me.” You don’t look at him.
“Try it,” you warn. “And I’ll make sure the twins hear every embarrassing story you’ve ever told me.”
He chuckles, completely unfazed.
Like something’s not finished.
You cross your arms. “You can go now.“ Mingi doesn’t move. Instead, he just tilts his head, watching you like he’s got nowhere else to be.
“…Seriously?” you add, raising a brow.
“Mm,” he hums. “In a second.”
You stare at him. “No. Now.”
“Relax,” he says lightly, finally pushing off the wall—but instead of heading straight for the door, he takes his time. Slow steps. No urgency whatsoever.
You follow him immediately. Not because you want to. Obviously.
Just to make sure he actually leaves.
“Shoes,” you mutter as he drags things out, grabbing them and nudging them toward him with your foot. “Door. Exit. Goodbye.”
“Wow,” he says, slipping them on at the speed of a dying snail. “You always this hospitable?”
“Only with unwanted guests.”
He smirks—and finally heads for the door.
You move ahead of him, grabbing the handle and pulling it open like you’re personally escorting him out of your life.
“Out,” you say, gesturing.
You blink. “Why are you not moving?”
“I am moving,” he says calmly.
You stare at him. “I will push you.”
He glances down at you, amused. “You could try.” You step closer. Close enough to actually shove him if necessary. “Don’t test me.” For a second, neither of you moves.
Then his expression shifts—just slightly.
Less teasing. More intent.
“…You’re really not coming?” he asks.
Your brows knit together. “Coming where?”
“My concert,” he says, like it’s obvious. Like this has been the conversation all along.
You let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “We’re doing this again? Right now?”
“We didn’t finish it,” he shrugs.
You stand with your arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe like a judge about to deliver a life sentence. Mingi stands opposite of you, way too relaxed for someone clearly on losing the side of the argument.
“They are four,” you say slowly. “FOUR.”
“I know how old my kids are,” he shoots back immediately.
You narrow your eyes. “Good. Then act like it.”
“They love music,” he argues. “They love my music.”
“They also love eating crayons,” you reply. “That does not qualify them for a concert.”
He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not just a concert. It’s important to me that they see it. That they see… this part of my life.”
Something in your expression flickers—just for a second.
You cross your arms tighter. “They see you. That’s enough.”
“It’s my concert,” he insists. “I will be there. I can literally see them.”
“You will not see them,” you counter. “You will be on stage, jumping around, screaming into a microphone while thousands of people lose their minds.”
He pauses. “…Okay, that part is accurate, but still—”
There’s a beat. Too quiet. Too honest.
“No,” you say, more quietly now. “It’s too loud, too late, too much.”
“I’ll get them backstage.”
“I’ll hold their juice boxes the entire time.”
“…What kind of juice boxes?”
His lips twitch. “The good ones. With the little straws.”
You hesitate for half a second. His face brightens. “That was a hesitation!”
“That was not a hesitation,” you snap. “That was me questioning your parenting influence.”
“They already packed tiny backpacks,” he tries again. “With snacks. And Sia packed a spoon. I don’t know why, but it felt important.”
You press your lips together to stop a smile.
“No. Absolutely not. End of discussion.”
Slow. Familiar. Inevitable footsteps.
You straighten instantly. Mingi notices and turns just as Mrs. Hiung appears around the corner like a matchmaking ghost.
“Ah!” she says, eyes lighting up. “There you are! I was just telling my Gunwoo that you would make such a lovely—”
Not today. Not again. Not Gunwoo, her weird son, with his model trains and his collection of… dolls.
Before your brain can fully process it, your survival instincts kick in.
You smile brightly. Recklessly. “Mrs. Hiung! Perfect timing. I’d like you to meet my boyfriend.”
Mingi’s head snaps toward you. “Your—what?”
“Boyfriend,” you repeat sweetly.
Mrs. Hiung blinks. “Boyfriend? But what about—”
“Well,” you cut in quickly. “We… found our way back to each other.” That lands.
“…Back?” he echoes quietly.
You don’t look at him. “Yes. Even after everything that happened.” Mrs. Hiung looks between you, confused but intrigued. “Oh! A second chance! How romantic. And the children?”
Mingi lets out a small breath—then something shifts. He steps closer.
“They’re ours,” he says, voice calm now. Certain. Your heart stumbles.
Mrs. Hiung gasps. “Yours?”
“Yes,” you say, before you can lose your nerve. “We just… needed time.”
There’s a pause. Mrs. Hiung looks between you, clearly recalculating her entire matchmaking strategy.
“And,” you continue, committing fully to the bit, “he’s amazing with the twins. They always loved him.”
You turn your head and, before you can overthink it, press a quick kiss to his cheek.
There’s a beat of silence. Mingi blinks once. Twice.
Then—oh no—that grin appears.
The one that means trouble. Your eyes widen slightly. Careful.
He does not, in fact, choose careful. He puts his arm around your waist and gives Mrs. Hiung a convincing smile. His hand slides—just slightly—lower. Right on your ass again. You inhale sharply. Just to really top it all off, he gives you a light smack on the ass. You flinch ever so slightly, teeth clenched behind that perfectly polished smile.
Mingi, fully committed now, looks at her with mock sincerity. “We’re working on having another one.”
You elbow him hard in the ribs without breaking your smile.
“Absolutely,” you say through gritted teeth.
Mrs. Hiung straightens, scandalized. “Well. I… I had no idea. Gunwoo will be… surprised.”
“Yes,” you say quickly. “Please tell Gunwoo… hello.”
She gives Mingi one last suspicious look, then turns and shuffles away, muttering to herself.
The moment she disappears around the corner, you slap his hand from your ass.
“What,” you say slowly, “was that?” He looks completely unbothered. “Method acting.”
“You put your hand on my—”
“So was that,” he shoots back, grinning. You stare at him, trying very hard not to laugh.
“Don’t get used to it,” you warn.
“Too late,” he says. “I think Mrs. Hiung already picked out our wedding china.”
You groan, covering your face.
He nudges you lightly. “So… about the concert?”
You drop your hands and glare at him again.
“…I hate that this is working,” you mutter.
The car ride already feels wrong.
You sit in the backseat, arms wrapped around yourself, staring out the window like you could disappear into the passing lights if you tried hard enough. The city blurs into streaks of neon and shadow, and every second that brings you closer to the venue makes your stomach twist tighter.
Mingi in your life is already too much.
That’s one thing. But this?
This is his world. The one he chose over you.
The one that took him away.
And now you’re driving straight into it.
You swallow hard, your throat dry, your fingers digging into your sleeves.
You could tell the driver to stop.
You could leave. But then you glance at the girls. Their eyes are shining. Practically glowing. “Are we really going to see him?” one of them whispers, barely containing her excitement.
And just like that— You stay.
The arena is massive. Too massive.
The lights, the noise, the people—it hits you all at once the moment you step out of the car. Your chest tightens instantly, breath catching like the air is suddenly too thin.
You don’t belong here. A shadow falls beside you.
“Stay close,” a deep voice rumbles.
He’s enormous. Broad shoulders, arms like solid stone, his expression unreadable but alert. He doesn’t ask—he simply gestures, and you follow.
Because what else are you going to do?
He leads you through corridors that smell like electricity and metal and something sharp—like anticipation itself. The noise grows louder the deeper you go, a distant roar that vibrates in your bones.
“This area,” he says, voice low. “Safe.”
You nod, even though nothing about this feels safe. Inside, it’s quieter.
Not silent—but manageable.
You exhale, just a little.
The girls run ahead immediately, eyes wide, taking everything in like it’s magic.
He’s already thought of everything.
Even toys scattered neatly on a small table.
You stare at it all, something heavy settling in your chest. He really did it. He meant it.
And somehow that makes it worse.
Then the intro starts. It hits like a wave.
A wall of sound crashing through the space, even here, even backstage. The bass vibrates through the floor, up your legs, straight into your chest.
No, no— This is too much.
The screams follow—thousands of voices rising at once, sharp and electric, filled with something you don’t want to name.
Your breath stutters. You can’t.
“I need—” Your voice cracks. “I need to go.”
The girls don’t even hear you. They’re already completely absorbed, eyes glued to the screen, faces lit with awe.
You turn to Li, your voice barely holding together. “Can you—can you watch them? Just for a bit?”
He looks down at you. Studies you.
Then gives a short, approving grunt.
Out of the room, down the hallway, away from the sound that feels like it’s tearing something open inside you. The noise follows you at first—echoing, chasing, pressing in—but the further you get, the softer it becomes. Duller.
You push through a set of doors and suddenly: Air. Space. Quiet.
The entrance hall stretches wide, almost empty compared to the chaos inside. The music is muffled here, reduced to a distant thrum, like a heartbeat you can finally ignore. You stumble toward a bench and drop onto it, your hands trembling as you press them against your face.
How did you let this happen?
Your breathing comes uneven, too fast, too shallow. You force yourself to slow down, to inhale deeply—but your chest still feels tight.
Don’t cry. Not here. Not now.
You swallow hard, blinking rapidly, trying to get a grip—
The voice is soft. Careful.
You look up. And for a second, you forget to breathe. He’s… good-looking.
Not in the overwhelming, larger-than-life way Mingi is. But in a quiet, grounded way.
Warm eyes. Gentle expression.
The kind of face that feels… safe.
You nod quickly. Too quickly. “Yeah. Just—yeah.”
A weak smile tugs at your lips. He doesn’t seem convinced, but he doesn’t push.
“Concert a bit much?” he asks, sitting down beside you with a small sigh.
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “You could say that.”
He chuckles lightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “My daughters are in there. Teenagers. Completely losing their minds.” He gestures vaguely toward the arena. “I don’t get it at all.” You almost laugh.
“Mine really wanted to come,” you admit quietly. “I… didn’t.”
“Same,” he says with a small grin. “Also—no offense—but it’s kind of…” He gestures, searching for the word. “Intense.”
“That’s one way to put it,” you murmur.
“And sexy,” he adds, lowering his voice conspiratorially. That makes you snort.
Actually snort. And for the first time since arriving, you feel something loosen in your chest.
“I guess that’s part of the appeal,” you say.
He glances at you, something warm flickering in his eyes. “Guess so.”
You lean back slightly, letting your head rest against the wall behind you.
And for a second, everything feels… simple.
With someone who looks at you like you’re not complicated. Not tied to anything heavy.
Just… you. Maybe Mina was right.
Just because Mingi is back in your life—
Doesn’t mean everything has to revolve around him. Doesn’t mean you stop living.
Doesn’t mean you stop… feeling something new. You glance at the man beside you.
At his eyes—really nice eyes. And something shifts. Small. Uncertain. But real.
The backstage area is still buzzing when Mingi finally steps in. The adrenaline hasn’t left his system yet. Sweat clings lightly to his skin, his heartbeat still in sync with the echo of the crowd’s roar. Everything is loud, bright and alive.
Right in the doorway. Because the sight in front of him is so absurd, it almost breaks him.
Li. The massive, immovable wall of a man.
Sitting on a small folding chair that looks like it might collapse under him at any second.
Sia perched on one side, happily sipping from a juice box. Nari on the other, quietly munching on cookies like this is the most normal thing in the world.
Holding a juice box himself. Drinking from it.
Completely serious. Mingi presses his lips together. He tries. He really tries.
A small, strangled sound escapes him. Li glances up. Their eyes meet. Li doesn’t react. Doesn’t blink. Just takes another sip.
A breathy laugh slips out, followed by a quiet shake of his head. “What… is happening here?”
The girls spot him instantly.
They launch themselves at him. Mingi barely has time to brace before they crash into him, arms wrapping around his legs, voices overlapping in excited chaos.
“I didn’t like the smoke!”
He laughs, dropping down to one knee to meet them halfway, hands automatically going to steady them.
“Hey, hey—slow down,” he grins, brushing hair out of Sia’s face. “You trying to knock me over?”
Sia beams at him. “Watch this!” she announces, stepping back immediately.
She actually tries to copy his choreography.
But she’s so serious about it, so determined, that Mingi’s chest tightens for an entirely different reason.
“That’s my move?” he teases gently.
“Yes!” she insists, completely convinced.
Meanwhile, Nari doesn’t say a word.
She just clings to him. Small hands gripping his shirt, face pressed against his side.
Mingi’s expression softens instantly. One arm wraps around her without thinking, pulling her closer, grounding himself just as much as her.
“Yeah,” he murmurs quietly, more to himself than anyone else. “That’s my move.”
It hits him. His gaze flicks up. Around the room.
You’re not there. His smile fades, just slightly. “Where is she?” he asks, looking at Li. Li doesn’t speak. Doesn’t explain.
He just tilts his head toward the exit.
And gives Mingi a look. A look that says enough. Mingi straightens slowly.
Something shifts. The humor’s gone now.
Replaced with something sharper. Uneasy.
He ruffles Sia’s hair gently, then presses a quick kiss to Nari’s head. “Stay here, yeah?”
“Where are you going?” Sia asks immediately. “Just checking something.”
He glances at Li. “You good with them?”
Li doesn’t answer. He just grabs another juice box. Nods once.
Mingi huffs out a quiet breath. “I’ll take that as a yes.” And then he’s moving.
The hallway feels longer now. Too long.
His steps are quick, uneven, his mind racing ahead of him.
He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.
He rounds the corner into the main hall—
And then he sees you. Across the space.
Clean. Put together. Easy smile.
Soft. Like you haven’t been suffocating for the last hour. Like this place didn’t nearly break you.
Mingi stops walking. Just watches.
As you laugh quietly at something the man says. As you reach out—and shake his hand.
“Take care,” the man says, voice warm.
Then you turn and you see Mingi.
Your expression lights up instantly. You walk toward him, heels clicking sharply against the floor—steady, confident, completely at ease. Too at ease.
Mingi doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything.
Just stands there, watching you approach like he’s trying to understand something that doesn’t make sense anymore.
Almost run straight into him.
You stop just in time, laughing lightly, like this is all completely normal. Like nothing’s off. Like he’s not standing there completely thrown. You reach up and pat his shoulder casually.
“Hey,” you grin. “Great concert.”
His eyes flick briefly past you—back to where the man stood just seconds ago.
Then back to you. His brow lifts slowly.
A silent question. A dozen unspoken ones.
“…Yeah?” he says finally, voice lower now.
Different. Something tight under it.
“Yeah,” you say easily. “Crowd loved you.”
His gaze lingers on your face. Too long.
Too searching. There it is. That feeling.
Sharp. Familiar. Unwelcome.
He exhales through his nose, one corner of his mouth twitching up—not quite a smile.
“Looks like you had a good time too,” he murmurs. Your eyes narrow slightly. You know that tone.
“Oh?” you shoot back lightly. “Jealous?”
Because now he smirks. Slow. Dangerous.
Mingi’s smirk lingers for half a second too long. You two go back to the backstage area.
Your eyes narrow, your posture shifting—subtle, but enough.
“Maybe you should worry more about your performance than what I’m doing,” you shoot back lightly, but there’s an edge now.
He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, I think I did just fine.”
“I didn’t say you didn’t.”
“No, you just—” he gestures vaguely behind you, toward where the man had been “—walk out in the middle of it and start flirting with the first guy you see.”
Your head snaps back slightly.
“Don’t play dumb,” Mingi says, voice dropping, tight. “I saw you.”
You blink at him, disbelief flooding your face. “You saw me… talking.”
“Oh yeah,” he scoffs. “Looked like a very meaningful conversation.”
Your jaw tightens. “Are you serious right now?”
“I brought you here,” he continues, heat rising in his tone. “For the girls. For us—and you can’t even stay five minutes without running off and—”
“And what?” you cut in sharply, stepping closer. “Go on. Finish that sentence.”
His eyes flash. “And entertain yourself with someone else instead of being there for your kids.”
Your breath catches for a second, then your expression shifts completely. Cold.
“Wow,” you say slowly. “That’s a bold statement coming from you.”
Mingi straightens. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
You laugh—but there’s no humor in it. “You really want to go there? Right now?”
“Yeah,” he shoots back immediately. “I do.”
“Fine,” you spit. “Let’s go there.”
You step closer, voice rising despite yourself. “You don’t get to stand here and accuse me of anything, Mingi.”
“Oh, I don’t?” he fires back, stepping into your space. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’d rather flirt with strangers than be with your own kids at something that actually matters—”
Your mouth drops open. “Are you out of your mind?!”
“At least I showed up,” he snaps.
The words hang for a split second—
Your expression changes instantly.
All the anger sharpens into something raw.
“Showed up?” you repeat, voice rising. “Showed up?!”
Mingi doesn’t back down. “Yeah.”
You let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head. “You mean tonight at your own fucking concert? Congratulations, Mingi, do you want a medal?”
His eyes darken. “That’s not fair.”
“Fair?” you almost shout. “You want to talk about fair?!”
Now you’re both too loud. Too close. Too far gone.
“You disappeared for years!” you continue, your voice breaking through the control you were trying to hold onto. “You left me—and now you’re standing here acting like I’m the one who’s doing something wrong because I talked to someone for five minutes?!”
“I didn’t just leave,” he argues, frustration boiling over. “You know that’s not what happened—”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” you cut him off sharply. “What would you call it then? Because from my side it looked exactly like that.”
His hands run through his hair, agitated. “You’re still holding onto that—”
“Of course I am!” you snap. “You don’t just get to walk back into my life, into our home, into everything—and expect me to just forget!”
“I’m not asking you to forget,” he shoots back. “I’m asking you to stop acting like nothing I do now matters!”
“It doesn’t erase what you did!” you fire back immediately.
“And what about what you’re doing right now?” he counters. “Running off, smiling at some random guy like—”
“Like what?!” you shout. “Like I’m allowed to talk to someone who actually stayed in the room?!”
The words hit harder than you expected.
Your chest rises and falls sharply. You go lower. Quieter. Deadlier.
“It didn’t matter to you five years ago either,” you say, voice cutting. “How I felt. What I went through.”
Mingi freezes. For real this time.
“You weren’t there,” you continue, bitterness bleeding through every word. “You didn’t care. Not then. Not when it actually mattered.”
“I didn’t know!” he explodes suddenly, voice louder than before, raw in a way you’ve never heard it. “I didn’t know you were pregnant—if I had known—”
“Exactly,” you cut in immediately, voice sharp and bitter. “You didn’t know.
Your eyes lock with his. Cold. Unforgiving.
“Because you didn’t care enough to find out.”
You don’t let him recover.
“Because I didn’t matter,” you continue, quieter now—but worse. “I didn’t matter to you then. So you don’t get to stand here now and act like you suddenly have the right to question me.”
Mingi’s breathing is uneven now.
His hands clench at his sides.
“You don’t get to make a scene,” you finish, voice steady despite everything burning inside you. “Not after that.”
The silence that follows is heavy.
They’ve gone completely quiet.
Standing just a few steps away, eyes wide, confusion replacing excitement.
Your chest drops. Mingi sees it too.
Before either of you can say anything—
A massive hand clamps onto each of your arms. Firm. Unmovable.
He steps between you effortlessly, pulling both of you apart like it’s nothing.
His voice is low. Calm. But there’s no room for argument.
“Not in front of the children.”
That’s it. No yelling. No lecture. Just that.
Harder than anything you or Mingi said to each other.
You both stop immediately. Like someone hit a switch.
Your breathing is still heavy, your heart still racing—but the fight drains out of the space just as fast as it came.
“Right,” you murmur, swallowing hard.
Mingi nods too, jaw tight. “…Yeah.”
Neither of you pulls away from where Li is still holding you for a second longer than necessary.
The silence that follows is thick.
The drive home is quiet. Too quiet.
The girls fall asleep almost instantly in the backseat, curled up against each other, exhaustion overtaking whatever they felt earlier.
You stare out the window again. Just like before.
No anger. Just… heaviness.
Beside you, Mingi doesn’t say a word.
Doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t move.
And for the first time that night—
The distance between you feels bigger than ever.
Mingi doesn’t sleep. Not properly.
He’s alone in his dorm room, ceiling staring back at him like it has answers it refuses to give. The silence isn’t calming—it’s loud in a different way. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees it again. Your face. Your voice.
That moment you went cold.
He turns over, drags a hand down his face.
“That’s not what I meant,” he mutters into the empty room, like it might respond.
The next morning, he doesn’t wait long.
He shouldn’t go. He knows that too.
The ride over is too fast, his thoughts faster. By the time he’s standing outside your door, he actually hesitates.
Then he knocks. A pause. The door opens.
Still a little tired. Hair slightly messy. Barely guarded—but still careful.
Your eyes land on him and immediately sharpen.
“What do you want?” you ask. Direct. Flat.
For a second, he almost defaults to humor. To ease. To himself. But nothing comes out right. So he doesn’t try.
“…I couldn’t sleep,” he admits instead.
Your expression doesn’t change, but something in your gaze flickers.
He exhales. “Yesterday was… a mess.”
“That’s one way to put it,” you mutter.
Neither of you moves. The air feels thinner than it should. Mingi shifts slightly, hands in his pockets now, less sure of himself than usual.
“I shouldn’t have said what I said,” he begins carefully. “About you and that guy.”
Your eyes flicker for a second, but you stay quiet. “And I shouldn’t have dragged the kids into it like that,” he adds. “That wasn’t fair.” That one lands harder. You exhale slowly through your nose.
Mingi watches you like he’s waiting for impact. Then, quieter:
That makes your brows lift slightly.
“…Yeah,” you say softly. “I noticed.”
A faint, almost embarrassed breath leaves him. “Of course you did.” Silence again.
But it’s different now. Less sharp.
More exposed. He looks at you properly this time.Not through you. At you.
“I’m sorry,” he says simply. No excuses. No spin. Just that.
You stare at him for a moment longer than you probably should.
Because this is the part that always gets complicated. Not when he’s arrogant.
Not when he’s loud. But when he’s honest.
You should still be angry.
But another part—annoyingly, unfairly—just feels warm. Like your chest forgets how to stay cold when he looks at you like that.
You look away briefly, exhaling.
“…You really are bad at handling your emotions,” you mutter.
A small, relieved smile tugs at his lips. “Only when you’re involved.”
You roll your eyes, but it’s weaker than before.
“…You were still an asshole.”
Then you shift slightly to the side.
Not fully opening the door. Not closing it either. Something in between.
Mingi notices. He doesn’t push. Just nods once, softer now.
And for a moment— neither of you says what comes next.
Because for him whatever this is…
Mingi lingers in the doorway, hands still in his pockets like he’s not entirely sure he deserves to be standing there. You don’t step aside any further. He doesn’t ask you to. For a moment, neither of you speaks.
It’s almost funny, how quickly the silence after a storm can feel familiar.
Then Mingi lets out a small breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you remember…” he starts, then hesitates, like he’s testing whether he’s allowed to go there.
Your eyes narrow slightly. “That’s a dangerous sentence.”
A faint smirk tugs at his lips. “Probably.” Still, he continues.
“…the time we tried to cook together and almost burned down your kitchen?”
That earns a pause. Then, despite yourself, your lips twitch.
“Oh my god,” you breathe out. “You set off the smoke alarm with pasta water.”
“It was aggressive pasta water,” he defends immediately.
You shake your head, a quiet laugh slipping out before you can stop it. “You were panicking more than the alarm.”
“You were laughing at me instead of helping.”
“I was helping,” you shoot back. “I opened the windows.”
“You opened all of them,” he corrects, pointing at you slightly. “In winter.”
You actually laugh. Properly this time.
It slips out before you can hold it back, and something in your chest loosens just a little as the memory settles between you both.
Mingi watches you like he forgot that sound existed.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, softer now. “You’re still like that.”
“Like what?” you ask, still smiling faintly.
“Loud when you shouldn’t be.”
You smile fades just a fraction—but not completely.
„And you’re still annoying,” you reply.
For a moment, it’s almost easy. Almost normal.The kind of normal that used to exist without effort. Then the silence returns.
And it changes the air again.
The space between you feels wider now, like reality is gently pushing back in. You notice it first. You straighten slightly, folding your arms again—not defensive, just… instinct.
The warmth in your expression fades into something more controlled.
Careful. Mingi notices too. His gaze shifts, just slightly.
“Right,” he says quietly.
Just a signal that the moment is over. You nod once. “Right.”
He hesitates another second, like he wants to say more—but doesn’t.
Respecting the distance you just rebuilt.
He gives a small nod, then turns.
Just the quiet sound of him walking away.
The door closes. You stay where you are.
Then you open the door, let it click shut properly, and lean your back against it.
A long breath leaves you before you even realize you’re holding it.
Your head tilts back slightly.
And in the silence of your own space—
you whisper, almost to yourself:
“…Where the hell is this supposed to go?”
No answer comes. Just the faint echo of something that still isn’t finished.
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