Lilya

A knock on the door does nothing to break your concentration. Your fingers don’t so much as falter. Joshua pokes his head in through a crack in the doorframe, frowns when he sees you, and finally speaks up.

“Any chance you will be wrapping this up soon?”

You don’t look up, but you hum in acknowledgment. “Just a little bit more. I’m just finishing up on….”

Your voice trails off. You don’t attempt to finish the sentence. Joshua sighs.

“It’s Friday night.” He reminds you, gently, still lingering in the doorway. “How about you and I get some dinner? You can sleep in tomorrow.”

He knows his suggestions will fall on deaf ears, but he tries nonetheless. He is hyperaware of his boss at this point. There’s no convincing you to slow down, to take a breather. You won’t allow yourself to. Slowing down means letting your mind wander. And you haven’t let that happen in five years, lest you are reminded of what you have lost.

“It’s okay for you to head home, Josh.” You break him from his thoughts. “I promise, I’m almost done. Maybe an hour more.”

There’s no point in arguing. Joshua sighs and steps out again. He reminds himself to call you an hour later to make sure you have, in fact, left the office. His satchel is already packed, so he just pulls on his coat and steps out.

You know Joshua worries. He’s the only person on staff who can see your struggle. You pride yourself on being composed and shut off from the people around you. If you’re drowning, no one really sees it. Except Joshua, of course. He has been there since the very beginning, so he knows. The rest of the staff though, you did a complete turnover half a decade ago. They don’t know what actually went down or what you’ve been through.

True to your word, you’re wrapping up forty five minutes later. It’s well past midnight, and you know Joshua won’t take kindly to you still working when he inevitably calls in fifteen minutes. There have been occasions where he has dragged you out of the building himself, when he is particularly frustrated. He keeps speaking about ‘work-life balance’, reprimanding you for not having it. You always bite your tongue instead of telling him that you have no ‘life’ to go back to. The only person you ever loved is gone, so your work is all you have.

The drive back is inconsequential. The roads are empty by this point, despite the weekend. Your apartment building is silent and looming as always. You don’t really like your neighborhood, but you had moved here after everything happened for a fresh start, and at the time, you weren’t in any headspace to pick out a nice place. Joshua often complained about how drab and uninspiring your apartment is. You pay him no mind. He has always been all about flowers and rainbows. His desk at the office is so colorful it makes your eyes hurt sometimes.

You leave the light on in the kitchen landing so you don’t have to stumble through the dark to get to the switchboard. Again, you can hear Joshua complaining in your head about how you can easily afford an AI home system, considering how well the company has been doing. You are least interested though. You don’t want to put anything in this apartment that can mean you are planning to live here long term. You don’t even know why you’re still here. Most days, you have no clue where your life is heading anyway.

You toe off your shoes and plop your heavy trenchcoat over the back of the couch. You wonder what you can make yourself for dinner. Something minimal straight out of the packet, probably. You’ve got dozens of those prepackaged meals in your pantry. You beeline for the sink, washing your hands and wondering bleakly what you are in the mood for stomaching. Through the window over the counter, you can see the city’s skyline. Thousands of tiny, yellow dots from people’s windows, the backdrop formed by the sleek, poised buildings of the business sector looming beyond. Straight edges and smooth lines. But one building, not even two blocks away, shows an irregularity.

You squint for a second, hands held under the sink still. It looks like a person. Tall, but very broad. You half think you’re imagining it, but then the silhouette moves, and your eye catches on a gleam of silver over the shoulder.

The water is still running. You shut it off, looking back up. He’s gone.

You blink a few times. Then you glance at the clock. It’s nearly three in the morning. You huff and step away from the sink, shaking off your hands. It’s too late at night for your brain to be functioning properly. You need sustenance. And then you need to sleep.

It’s easy enough to pop your chicken dinner into a dish and slide it into the oven. You set fifteen minutes on the digital counter, and then busy yourself with hopping into the shower for a quick wash. Fifteen minutes on the dot, you’re back in the kitchen, peering into the oven with dripping wet hair and a bathrobe covering your drenched body. Everything around you is silent, so deafeningly still that you immediately hear the click and whir of metal. Right behind you. Too close.

The hair on the back of your neck stands. You whirl around.

Something smashes, hard, against your nose. Pain explodes and you gasp, stumbling back into the counter. Your eyes water, something warm and liquid drips over your lips and down your chin. You’re dizzy, you can’t see properly. You can barely breathe through the excruciating hurt. But alarm bells are ringing in your head, and fight or flight takes over. Backed against the counter for support, you kick your legs out hard. Your feet make contact with something sturdy. There’s a grunt, and the man stumbles backward, his back hitting the refrigerator with what sounds like a deafening crash. You’re already scrambling to run from the kitchen.

You can barely see, but you know the map of this house like the back of your hand. Your ears are ringing, you’re gasping for breath, but panic is fueling you. You’ve had this feeling before, your life has been threatened once, a long time ago, and somehow, the second time around is giving you more clarity.

It also means that you are better prepared this time around.

You can hear the thuds and bangs behind you. Your attacker will be right on your heels soon. You barely manage to wretch your door closed, locking it, before a startling bang shakes it at its very hinges. Your yelp is involuntary. You know you have only bought yourself mere seconds.

Inside your drawer you find what you’re looking for, a tiny, unassuming device, shiny and silver, resembling a lighter. It comes with two silicone ear buds that you shove into your ears. Then, your hand on the solitary button on the device, you turn around.

The door comes down after just two bangs, splintering the doorframe completely. Sawdust rises, clouding the air. You don’t wait to see your attacker, pressing the button immediately.

You can’t hear it, owing to the buds in your ears, but you know a high pitched screeching has filled the air, nearly unbearable because of how high the frequency is. But it does its job. The man howls in pain, dropping what looks like a gun on the ground and using both hands to cover his ears. His knees buckle and he falls on them. You can see, even from a few feet away, the veins in his neck bulge hard, disappearing behind the black mask on his face. He crumples on the floor, clutching the sides of his head. You snatch your phone from where you had thrown it on your bed, frantically dialling three digits.

The man is still writhing, his body, clad in black and silver, contracting and arching painfully as he tries in vain to keep the sound out. As he moves, metal thuds against the ground. There is more clicking and whirring, like machinery buzzing with life. You realise he’s not entirely human. His shoulders tighten as you step closer, trying to make out who it is.

“911, what is your emergency?”

A single brown eye pops open on the stranger's mask-covered face. The other half, you realise, is covered in silver metal. But you don’t care about that, because your blood is running cold.

You would recognise that eye anywhere.

Your grip falters. The device in your hand gets silenced. The man on the ground relaxes, his hands falling down as he quickly tries to scramble to his feet. He is still swaying, his short cropped blond hair matted to his sweaty forehead, the after effects of the sonic attack making him stumble, but for the first time, you register his stature. His height, the breadth of his shoulders. And his one, visible eye.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

The woman on your phone seems to break your trance. Before you know it, the man is rushing out over the broken wreckage of your door. Your hand shakes, your eyes are still watering from the blow you took. Both your phone and your device fall from your hand. You scramble after him.

“Wait-”

But he’s gone. Out of your living room window, which you didn’t notice was wide open when you first walked into the apartment. You can’t see him on the street below, which is glaringly empty. It’s like he was a ghost, vanishing before you can blink. You are left staring at nothing, blood dripping steadily down your chin now, staining your bathrobe, your hair still damp from the shower, sticking to your face and neck. You can’t even register the pain anymore, can’t think of anything else except the cold depth of his one brown eye.

……………………………

“That’s impossible.”

“It was him.”

“And I’m telling you, that’s not possible.”

“I know what I saw, Josh.”

“Y/N, he’s dead. We had a funeral. We buried him.”

“Only parts.” But your voice cracks. You don’t like remembering that day. “We had an arm and a leg. Some teeth. And this man…. half of him was metal. He’s been modified.”

Joshua doesn’t reply, staring at the TV playing across the room on low volume. You follow his lead, gaze blank. You don’t really register much of anything since the pain in your face is too overwhelming to take in much else.

When you woke up this morning, you almost forgot what happened in your apartment mere hours ago. One look at the broken mess of your door, the twinge in your face that made your eyes water, and all the events came rushing back. The punch you took, running to your room, your door broken down, driving your attacker away.

Clear, brown, almond shaped eye. Just one eye, while the other half of the face was covered in what looked like a metal plate, and a mechanical, white circle where the other eye should have been.

“The Secretary of Defence has a bionic arm.” You add, absentmindedly.

“Just one arm.” Joshua counters. “Not half the entire body.”

“It wasn’t the entire body. I could make out the arm and leg. Some part of the face-”

“My point is,” Your friend cuts you off, “why would it be Seungcheol? And if by some miracle it was him, why would he attack you?”

You don’t answer, because you don’t know. You’ve been mulling over the same questions for hours, long before you finally called Joshua to come over. You know bionic prostheses are very much an emerging field in biotech circles. Everyone is racing towards this kind of technology because of how much revenue there is in the medical applications. The other, more sinister angle is weaponry, and you know that a lot of your fellow developers and companies want to tap into that potential. There have been rumors for months, covert projects underway by both government and private agencies to develop this exact kind of thing.

Maybe what you saw last night was an application of that weapon.

It still doesn’t explain why he would attack you. Doesn’t explain why the person who would never so much as raise his voice at you could hurt you so severely that Joshua balked at the sight of your purple and blue face, nose swollen and bruised in ugly colors that told you that you would have to work from home for the foreseeable future.

The Seungcheol you knew had been so gentle. That’s how you met him, actually, so many years ago that you don’t even recognise that time.

He’d spilled coffee on you, as cliché as it sounds. Thankfully, it missed any part of your skin that was bare, but even through the cloth it burned a bit. He was so apologetic, dark brown hair falling into his eyes, messed up by the wind in a look that reminded you a little bit of a gentle dog. He had panicked, tried to wipe you down, but you were too distracted by this giant of a man who talked so softly, dabbed your sleeve with a grip on your wrist uncharacteristically gentle for such large hands. He wanted to pay for dry cleaning, and you agreed only if he would let you buy a coffee to replace the one he had spilled on you. Of course, he didn’t let you pay even after agreeing to it.

“I spilled it on you.” He argued. “What kind of man would I be if I let you pay for it?”

His lips, full and pink in a way that you immediately wondered about the feel of them, ticked up, and a little dimple dented his right cheek. You felt the squeeze of your heart, fluttering wildly in your chest, a feeling that was replicated every day after that, for Seungcheol never left your side since then. Until the day he died. Or did he?

Joshua is watching the screen more intently now, eyebrows furrowing.

“Yoon Tech is doing a demonstration at the New York Expo? I had no idea.”

You blink to focus on the screen. Sure enough, Yoon Tech’s CEO, Yoon Jeonghan, is speaking to the audience and cameras with that sly, charming smile on his face, talking about unveiling a project that can revolutionise the field of war weaponry and put their military supremely on top of their competition around the world. You know Yoon Tech is the military’s primary contractor, and their focus is weaponry. You know this because before Yoon Tech, your company was approached for a military contract, one that you turned down because your prime focus was not weapons. Joshua still thinks you should have said yes, but you don’t want to take the company in that direction. Besides, things get messy if you have the government as your big boss.

“You know Jeonghan doesn’t say anything about projects until the day he unveils them.” You mumble, only half focusing. “He’s secretive that way-”

“Wait, shut up.” Joshua sits up abruptly, scrambling for the remote to turn the volume up. Behind Jeonghan, several people are stepping onto the stage. He’s introducing them one by one as military veterans, and your eyes catch their forms immediately, breath stilling. Protheses, lots of them.

A man with a bionic arm, quite like the one the Secretary of Defence has. A woman with a below knee prosthetic leg. There’s more, attached limbs and shoulders, half a pelvic girdle, part of a jaw. Jeonghan is still talking, gesturing to the people now lining up behind him. The silver gleams, just like it gleamed on Seungcheol’s body last night. The only difference is the Yoon Tech and Military logos stamped on the ones on your screen. Jeonghan announces a demonstration, steps off the stage, and you watch, completely silent, as all of them demonstrate feats of extraordinary strength, aided by their metal attachments, some even showing installed weaponry between the plates of their limbs.

“A formation of advanced humans,” Jeonghan is saying somewhere off screen. “Man and machine combined, that will allow these soldiers to serve their country in ways they did not even possess before their unfortunate injuries.”

“Josh…” Your voice trails off.

Joshua looks pale, confused, and a little frightened when his eyes meet your beaten and bruised face. It looks like he dared not believe, but you know he has reached the same conclusion as you.

“Jeonghan sent Seungcheol to kill you?”

…………………………

The only sound in the large, swanky office is the tea as it pours slowly into a cup on Jeonghan’s desk. It steams, and the scent of chamomile hits his nose. He watches it absentmindedly, and then waves his hand to dismiss his secretary. She places the tea kettle down gently and leaves without a word, and the room falls into silence. There is only him, and the man sitting opposite to him across his large, mahogany desk. Half his face is shrouded by darkness, the other half reflects the light as it hits the cold, unforgiving metal.

Jeonghan tuts.

“Well, this is definitely a setback.” He hums, picking up the cup so he can take a small sip. It warms his throat, perfect for the cold weather. But his mind remains distracted. “After the demonstration at the Expo yesterday, she will definitely know it was me who ordered the hit. After all, who else is making bionic weaponry?”

The man across from him doesn’t respond. He rarely talks unless directly spoken to, one eye blank and unseeing. Jeonghan doesn’t claim to know much about how the human brain works, but he supposes extensive memory modification can do that to a person.

“You always used to have something witty or crass to say, Seungcheol.” Jeonghan sighs. “Oh well. It was either that, or your willingness to kill her. I will take what I can get.”

Again, no reply. Jeonghan focuses on drinking his tea, thinking. His eyes are trained on his former business rival, the presumed dead husband of his current business rival. The soothing chamomile does nothing to take the bitter taste out of his mouth. He still feels the resentment, the bruise on his ego. For your company to be pursued as a first choice in a military partnership, when his own efforts are much grander, much more advanced, for you to turn that opportunity down (you’re a dumbass, he thinks), for him to be second choice, despite where he stands in tech circles…

A company that was a mere baby not even a full decade ago to beat something it took his family generations to build. It irks him. It burns him.

So he will burn you.

He did it once, in the explosion that took away what you loved the most. It should’ve been enough to deter you, but it clearly wasn’t. No matter, he plans to destroy you directly this time.

“You know what you need to do.” He says, mutely. The man before him stirs, nods. Jeonghan scowls at him.

“Make sure you finish the job this time.”

……………………………..

Seungcheol had always been a mega-nerd about tech. And his dream was to own his own company.

He would tell you about it, both of you sprawled on the uncomfortable rooftop of his college dorm building, staring at the sky. He’d talk and talk about his plans after graduation, about how he wanted to build something from the ground up, something he was proud of. You would listen, not just because the sound of his voice always made you so happy, but because you were genuinely interested in it. You had a business major, and while Seungcheol didn’t know how to run things, you did. Even then, it felt like a match made in heaven to you. Seungcheol knew the substance of the company, you knew how to run it. It almost felt like a no-brainer that eventually you would do this together.

Back in his dorm, you would plop yourself into his lap and look over the little gadgets he had designed, the many, many files in his computer of inventions you didn’t even know could exist. You would tease him, calling him a glorified mechanic.

“Engineer.” He would pout. You would kiss it off him through a million giggles. His laptop would be pushed off the bed, forgotten, as you sunk into each other’s arms.

The company was his baby, truly. While you were CEO because you ran day to day operations and focused on logistics, any product you pushed out was crafted carefully in Seungcheol’s hands. He would bring every prototype to you, you would run it by focus groups and tweak it, and eventually, it would hit the market with great success. Seungcheol always thought it was because of you.

“You run your magic over it, and it becomes a hit.” He would say, kissing your cheek over and over. You would just grin and take it, never ever pushing him away.

It was all Seungcheol, everyone knew this. But when he looked at you so softly, that glint of awe in his beautiful eyes, you would just indulge whatever he had to say.

“You wouldn’t know what to do without me, mister.” You would tease. He would squeeze you so tightly.

“You’re right. I wouldn’t.”

All those memories are ghosts now. The truth is, you don’t know what to do without him either. He was part of you, intertwined with your soul, and he was painfully ripped away after so many glorious years together. Sometimes, you think you imagined that time in your life. It feels so far away. But then you walk into your office, you look at the logo he designed, the furniture you picked out, the many, many unfinished files in your server that you are still working on, his creations, and you would be reminded that he was real. All that time, all that delirious bliss, was completely real.

Jeon Wonwoo is the current head of your Product Development branch, Seungcheol’s previous post. You had brought him in after the tragedy that killed your husband. Well, not you, but Joshua, who suggested overhauling the entire team after the attack. He is brilliant, quiet and a little reclusive, but whip-smart. He became intimately familiar with Seungcheol’s work when you brought him in, and he respected the integrity of it, which made you respect him even more. He’s no Seungcheol, but he’s the closest thing, and you think he might be the only one you can trust to answer the questions in your head.

“Bionic weaponry isn’t exactly novel.” He murmurs. “We know it exists. Not openly yet, but it’s being manufactured in a lot of places. Companies we know as well as around the world. Yoon Tech is just the first one to unveil it publicly.”

Joshua is pacing your living room floor, and watching him makes you feel dizzy, so you close your eyes instead. Your face is still tingling with pain, and you’re so tired that you just want to sleep. But you also need some form of explanation.

“So it’s possible? Modifying Seungcheol’s body like that?” Joshua asks.

Wonwoo hesitates, holding his chin and staring at the far wall. “Theoretically, yes. Practically, I haven’t seen or heard of it yet. Not to the extent you describe. Establishing neural connections in that many body parts and making sure they work in perfect coordination is a huge undertaking.”

Joshua looks at you pointedly, as if to say ‘I told you so’.

“But,” Wonwoo clears his throat, “if anyone can accomplish it, it would be Yoon Tech. Their R&D team is the best in the game.”

You return Joshua’s look the best that you can through your marred face. He huffs.

“What about the fact that he attacked her? Why would he do that?” He asks.

Wonwoo blinks. “Oh, that’s easy. Memory modification. Brainwashing. CIA has been doing it for years. A lot of assassins operate under that frame of mind. It’s easier to control them that way.”

A small silence stretches over the room. Joshua is chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“So he doesn’t know who I am.” You mumble. “I’m just….. what, a target?”

Wonwoo nods. “Likely, yes. And you know Jeonghan way better than me, ma’am. It’s very like him to toy with you by using Seungcheol specifically.”

You can’t argue with him on that. You know how ruthless Jeonghan is about his company, about his standing in tech circles. You’re catching up, dangerously close, and some would say you’ve even surpassed him. You won't put it past him to knock out competition under the table.

You never did find out who ordered the hit on Seungcheol five years ago. But now, you think you know.

“Can we undo it?” You ask. “The memory change, or whatever?”

Joshua stares at you. “What do you mean?”

Wonwoo answers you, though.

“I think so, yes. It’s not my area of expertise, but I know people who can tell us more about it. The memory isn’t the problem, though. He’s basically a walking weapon. Subduing him long enough to do anything about his brain is going to be an issue.”

“Whoa, hold on.” Joshua steps closer to you, cutting off your reply to Wonwoo, holding a hand up. Both of you look at him as he stares at you in bewilderment.

“What the hell are you planning? Are you insane? He almost killed you!”

“What do you want me to do then?” You grit your teeth. “Nothing? Should I just lay down and let him kill me?”

“We need to call the police-”

You laugh dryly. Your face twinges with pain.

“I have no proof. You think any agency in this city is going to mess with Yoon Tech? And by some miracle if they do believe me, do you think any of them are going to spare Seungcheol long enough to save him?”

Joshua’s mouth opens and closes, like he wants to protest, but no words leave him. He huffs and shakes his head, running a frustrated hand through his hair. You turn your attention back to Wonwoo.

“I know you’re not a biotech expert, but you’re the best IT guy I know. Any ideas on how to hack into Yoon Tech’s mainframe?”

Wonwoo looks a little taken aback. “That’s….. illegal.”

You roll your eyes, ignoring the pain that comes with it. “I’m pretty sure trying to get your business competitor killed is illegal too. Jeonghan seems comfortable attempting it twice.”

He nods slowly, still slightly hesitant. “I will need help…”

You stand up, essentially declaring the meeting over. You’re tired, as you often are these days. Your injury might look like it affects your face only, but you feel the exhaustion bone deep in every part of you. You want a soothing cup of tea and then a million blankets to lie down in. That's it.

“Call in anyone you need.”

…………………………

You know he will come again. The only question is when.

The bruises around your nose and under your eyes take a long time to fade. The slow move from a deep purple, to blue, to a sickly green and then yellow surprises you every day. You’re breathing easy now, only a week later, but you know going to the office looking like this will raise serious questions. You can’t risk any eyes on this right now, since getting Seungcheol back needs to be as discrete as possible.

That’s what you plan to do. Get him back.

It’s idealistic, almost. Maybe something out of a movie. He has been altered, mind and body, for years. You don’t even want to imagine how much he was been put through. How convoluted must his mind be now? How dangerous would tinkering with his body be?

Every few minutes, your hand reaches into the pocket of your jeans, toying with the small, rectangular chip that Wonwoo had given you a couple of days ago.

“You need to get close enough to him to get this on any bionic part of him.” He told you. “Arm, leg, doesn’t matter. We can’t hack into Yoon Tech’s mainframe, it’s too secure. But we can isolate him from it. This chip can do that. Once that’s done, we can figure out a way to rewire his mechanics.”

It’s easier said than done, of course. For one, Seungcheol is nearly twice your size. He’s always been massive, but he seems even more so now. You wonder if he has worked covertly for Yoon Tech to do other dirty work. How long has he been their weapon? How much training does he have? Can you, a novice civilian, even get close enough to him to do any lasting damage?

“You managed it once, didn’t you?” Joshua replied to your mind’s worries. “You got out of that alive, somehow. I’m willing to bet you can do it again.”

“He’ll be more careful this time.” Wonwoo mumbled. “For one, he won’t try again until you’re completely alone. For another, he will make sure you are isolated from any weapon you might be able to access.”

So now here you are, meandering in your kitchen, watching your television blankly, staring unseeing at your laptop. Anything and everything to make yourself look as unassuming as possible. He’s watching, you know he is, and every fiber of your body is silently asking him to come to you. You wait, and wait, because you would wait endlessly for him. Somehow, you’re not afraid. In your head, this ends in one of two ways. Either you get the love of your life back, or you die trying. You’re good with both options.

It’s Tuesday by the time he finally shows up.

You think you sense him, because the hair on your body stands. You feel the chill, and then, that very soft whirring sound that comes when he moves his limbs.

You stare at the contents inside your refrigerator. You don’t turn around. And yet, he doesn’t shoot. He doesn’t swing.

“I was expecting you sooner.” You finally say.

When you turn to look at him, your eyes catch his visible brown one. Your breath hitches. He has ditched the mask, and you can see his face. Well, what’s left of it.

Metal pieces are carved into the shape of his right ear, curling forward to form a cheekbone, encroaching all the way over his eye and stopping right before his nose. It covers the ridge of his right eyebrow as well, but spares his forehead. A white, flat circle is fitted where his eye should be, and now that you look closely at it, it swirls and moves, no doubt mapping your every move.

The rest of his face is gloriously, warmly human. It’s him, it’s his left eye, his thick, furrowed eyebrow, the strong bridge of his nose, his lips, set in a hard line on his face. His hair has been cropped right to his skull, dyed a dirty blond with brown roots already growing out, slightly spiked and dishevelled around his head. Finally, your eyes dart down to the pistol in his hand, pointing directly at your chest.

You clench your teeth.

“Shoot me.”

He doesn’t reply, but his mouth tightens. From your chest, the gun rises to your head. The shifting of his aim is your window. Your hand shoots back, grabs and throws the first thing you can find at him. It’s a glass. His metal arm comes up, makes contact, and the glass shatters. His stance does not falter for even a second, but he flinches at the shards of glass, and before it even makes contact, you are sprinting forward, hand curled tight around the chip, and with one leap, you collide into him. Hard.

Your momentum is enough, and you both fall in a mess of limbs. You scramble, finding the edge of the plate in his shoulder, but before you can wedge the chip in it, his human hand reaches up and smashes hard against your jaw. You cry out, the sharp sting blooming, the taste of blood already in your mouth. But your hands are still moving, and before you know it, the chip hits hard against his bicep, immediately lighting up a pale yellow, the tiny spikes on its edges sinking into the metal.

Seungcheol shouts and roughly pushes you off. You fall limply on your side, trying to see through how dizzy you are. Everything hurts, your face is on fire, but your eyes are focused on the pale yellow streaks spreading over Seungcheol’s arm, glowing between the plates making up his leg, part of his face. His arm and leg jerk hard, seemingly out of his control. He shouts again, trying to stand up, but it looks like his limbs aren’t cooperating with him anymore.

The human part is still his though.

You force yourself, despite the excruciating pain and the blood now sliding down your throat, and you rush into the living room. Under your couch, you’ve stored what you need. Electromagnetic cuffs, both for his wrists and ankles, shiny grey steel with a light that blinks on when you press the buttons on them. You can hear Seungcheol stumble onto his feet in the kitchen, and you’re already rushing back before he can stand properly. The cuffs hum, slam hard around his human wrist and the light on them turns red. The arm goes limp on his side immediately. He can’t react, not with his only remaining limb, and you are able to secure the other cuff around his ankle as well.

With that, your husband crumples to your kitchen floor.

He’s motionless from the neck down, but he strains hard. You can see the muscles in his neck bulge. He is flushed with the exertion of it, grunting and snarling. His glare is venomous as you back into the kitchen island, trying not to choke on the blood dripping down your throat as you breathe hard.

You drape yourself over the sink, trying not to throw up, spitting blood into it so you can breathe. Behind you, Seungcheol is still groaning and straining, to no avail. You stay leaning over until the wave of nausea passes, and the bleeding slows. Finally, you grab a bunch of paper towels, wiping your mouth and chin. The metallic taste still lingers.

Your hands leave some streaks of blood on your phone as you dial Wonwoo’s number. He picks up on the first ring, and when he speaks, you realise he was anticipating your call.

“The chip just connected to my server! I’m working on decrypting and isolating him from Yoon Tech’s servers right now.”

“How long is it going to take?” You ask, not recognising your own, broken voice. Your jaw is sore. You’re in so much pain.

“I don’t know yet….” Wonwoo’s voice is more subdued. “Are you okay? Do you need help?”

You shake your head before you realise he can’t see you.

“I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.” Big underreport. “What do I do while you work on this?”

Wonwoo doesn’t immediately answer, but you can hear shuffling in the background.

“What I’m doing only changes the physical.” His voice sounds apologetic. “The mental barrier, his lack of memory, I can’t fix that.”

You know what he is implying. You turn your head to look at Seungcheol, still on your kitchen floor, heaving but no longer futilely straining.

“Thanks, Wonwoo. I can handle that part.”

The truth is, you don’t know if you can. You don’t know what was done to him. You don’t even know if your husband still exists somewhere inside him, or if he was wiped out completely. Are you even cut out for this? With your modest business degree and a company that is successful only because of Seungcheol’s genius, where do you stand in this situation?

As you walk back into the kitchen, watching the man writhing on the floor does nothing to soothe your confidence. Suddenly, all your clarity is gone.

You don’t know what to do.

……………………………..

Seungcheol was a very clingy man.

You always liked that about him. To you, he was like an overgrown bear, curling around you tightly while you chopped vegetables until you complained that you still needed your mobility in order to cook dinner.

“You’re too heavy, Cheolie!” You would whine, but his grip on you would only tighten, pressing your back harder into his front.

“Five more minutes.” He would mumble into your hair. You would laugh incredulously.

You’re reminded of that moment as you drag this immobilised, half human, half robot man into your living room, using every bit of your strength to plop him onto the armchair next to the couch. You’re heaving, your head pounding so severely that it makes you dizzy. There’s no fight in him anymore, and he stares blankly at you as you cough a little, still feeling drops of blood hit your palm as you do so. You huff and go to the bathroom to clean up, rummaging in your medicine cabinet for anything that could ease your pain. You leave him on the chair, knowing he’s incapable of escaping anyway.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re sitting on the couch with a cup of tea, your legs curled under you, a blanket draped over your lap. You stare with bleary vision at the dark, steaming liquid. Seungcheol stares at the ceiling, head thrown back. Neither of you says a word.

“Do you speak?” You muse out loud, not looking at him. “I haven’t heard you talk yet, so it makes me wonder.”

No reply.

“Jasmine tea was your favorite, you know?” You mumble on, not even fully aware of what you are saying. “You were always a coffee person, but when you had tea with me sometimes, it would be jasmine. It’s the only one you could stomach, actually.”

A mirthless laugh leaves you. He still stares at the ceiling. You watch him, the stiff cut of his jaw, the streaks of yellow glowing under the plates of his bionic attachments. There is a distinct, soft hum coming from them, but both of you elect to ignore it.

“Seungcheol.” You whisper. He doesn’t react beyond a small flick of his eyelid.

You’re so tired. You can feel it tug on your limbs, like invisible weights making it difficult to even move. With every ounce of strength in you, you stand up, walking to the closet in your hallway. You return with a pale blue blanket, the one Seungcheol got for himself years ago and never let go, claiming it was a comfort for him. Now, his eye trains on you as you shake it out and drape it over his torso and legs. You don’t look at him, just loosely tucking him in before walking back to the couch, pulling your own blanket around yourself and sinking into the uncomfortable cushion.

You don’t notice his eye on you. You don’t notice anything else as you welcome the pitch black of dreamless sleep. You send out a little prayer that by morning, somehow all of this will be over and you will wake up in bed, wrapped up in your husband’s warm arms.

You’re wrong, sadly. There is nothing but cold.

He’s exactly where you left him before drifting off. He stares into the distance, looking disconnected until you shift and his eye catches the movement. You wince at the crick in your neck, somehow even more tired than you were before sleeping. You sigh and rub your eyes.

“Did you sleep?” You ask.

No response.

You leave him on the couch, opting to putter to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea. You eye the cabinet against the far wall, staring at the bottles inside and the amber liquid that gleams in them. A glance at the clock tells you it’s barely noon.

Fuck this.

Seungcheol doesn’t react in any way when you walk into the living room with a bottle of whiskey and a glass that’s too big for a drink like that. He just watches you from the corner of his eye as you sit back on the couch and pour yourself a concerning amount, wincing when your throat protests against the first sip.

“You would not approve of this at all.” You chuckle humorlessly. “You’d be appalled, I think. Drinking this early? Whiskey of all things? That was never my drink. I didn’t have the tolerance for it. You’re the whiskey guy.”

He doesn’t interrupt. You take another sip and stare at the glass. Already, on an empty stomach, you can feel your senses dimming.

“Sometimes I think,” you whisper, “you would really hate the person I’ve become.”

His head lolls in your direction, the only part of his body he can control. His eye meets yours and you feel your heart squeeze.

“I don’t know you.”

His voice is hoarse, a little crack in it from disuse. But it’s his voice, the voice you’ve yearned to hear for so long. You remember laying in your bed at night, wishing you could hear him whisper one last time, maybe even just the sound of your name from his lips, just once more, to hold you over. Your breath hitches, and you can feel your vision blur under newly formed tears.

“I’m your wife.”

“You’re my target.”

You stand abruptly, walking closer to where he sits, or rather, lays sprawled out under the blanket you draped over him. You tug it aside, eye the yellow lines of light that pass over his bionic limbs. You reach down to run a finger over the chip you attached to his bicep.

“If I pull this off you right now,” you stare directly into his eye. “Would you kill me?”

A small silence. Then he nods.

You let out a shaky breath, standing back up. The air is tense, and by now, you’re sick of it. You need to get away from him for a bit, no matter how badly that very thought pains you. Whiskey ignored on the coffee table, you walk to the door to tug your shoes on. You eye the back of his blond head with your hand on the doorknob, feeling a certain sense of defeat.

“Ironic, isn’t it?” You mumble, but he hears you. “You’re the one who created that chip.”

The door closes softly behind you.

……………………………………

There is a mess in his head. A tangled web of wires. He doesn’t know how to begin unraveling it. He can’t even find a single free end to tug on.

In the quiet of the room he is sitting in, he can hear warped voices from inside his own thoughts. He can’t make out any words, only tones, soft and loud both, some conversational, some that sound like laughter. He knows the voice, can recognise it. It’s the woman whose armchair he is sitting on.

Something presses on his temple, like a weighted force, insistent, as if urging him to listen more closely. But he can’t, because it makes pain bloom between his eyebrows, pain so severe it makes his eye water.

Every now and then, he feels intense heat, a kind that’s less uncomfortable and more painful. As suddenly as it comes, it goes away, and the blanket draped over him does nothing but elevate the sensation of it. He sits in the quiet, with the floating voices, the laughter, the weight on his head, the pain between his eyebrows, and the bursts of painful heat that bloom on his skin.

His ears perk when he hears the front door clink open after what seems like hours. He can’t turn himself around to look, so he just listens to the stumbling and mumbled cursing, shuffling and then a soft thud of cloth hitting the ground. Bare footsteps, a quiet sound, and then the woman from before enters his line of sight.

You’re clearly inebriated. He has stalked enough victims before ending their lives to know what alcohol intoxication looks like. He eyes you carefully as you putter around the living room, not doing anything in particular. Then, you look straight at him.

“I don’t know what to do.” You finally speak, and the words are less slurred than he expected them to be. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

He doesn’t reply. You move closer to him, and his face, the only thing he can move, tenses when you pull the blanket back and sink onto the chair by his side. He can feel the press of you against his skin, even if he can’t move. Your shoulder fits under his arm, you head on his collarbone. You drape the blanket over your joined bodies.

“Let’s just pretend everything is okay.” You whisper, your voice cracking slightly. Your arm drapes over his torso. “Just for right now. Just one night.”

He stares at the wall, his side warming quickly under the added weight. It’s different from the heat he felt before, stinging and sudden, disconcerting. It’s different from anything he has felt in a long time. No one touches him. No one has been near him for years, except the people he has taken the lives of, or the scientists that fitted his limbs. This heat right now, it is dull but constant, like how the sun feels on your skin. He hears laughter again, but this time it’s clearer, and it sounds familiar, like something he has heard before. In another life.

He stares at the far wall as your breathing evens out. Your weight doesn’t feel very uncomfortable anymore as time passes. The clock ticks softly, and the rise and fall of your chest is rhythmic. He can feel your heartbeat against his ribcage. There is a whisper in his head. A name. His own. In a voice that is quickly becoming familiar.

He’s tired, but he doesn’t sleep. He can’t remember the last time he slept.

…………………………..

Going into work becomes out of the question immediately, since you can’t leave a brainwashed assassin on your couch unattended for a whole day. Joshua pays you a visit with some stuff that needs taking a look, but otherwise, you sit on the couch, your laptop in front of you, and get through meetings and daily logistics that way. As you work, you think out loud, talking to Seungcheol about random tasks that come up, some hiccup at work you’re fretting over, and how your head of accounting keeps pissing you off. It’s mundane stuff, but it is exactly the things that you used to talk about on the daily. You loved debriefing with your husband, especially because he worked in the same place as you, so he knew all these people just as well, and knew what you were talking about.

Now, he doesn’t respond much. But you’re okay with that. You’re just glad he is here, and not dead like you had assumed for the last five years.

After your moment of inebriated weakness, spending the night curled up in his warmth, you suddenly feel some semblance of hope again. You had heard his heart beat, had felt the twitch and shift of his skin under your touch. He is still your Seungcheol, even if half of him is cold and unfamiliar, you are certain that he is somewhere in there, deep inside. And you’re convinced that if he didn’t remember at all, he wouldn’t have let you sleep on him the way that he did.

(Granted, he had no choice since he was paralysed. But you choose to ignore that reality.)

Joshua has been very wary of this quiet, motionless version of Seungcheol. He steers clear when he visits, not engaging in any way and just choosing to finish up on work with you and leaving. One night, you ask him to stay for dinner, and for the first time, he hesitates. You see his eyes flick to where Seungcheol is sitting, and you sigh in irritation.

“He’s not a piece of furniture, Josh.” You mutter. “He’s still my husband.”

“Is he?” He counters, dryly. “Because it’s been weeks and there’s been nothing. I assumed if he was really in there, we would’ve seen something by-”

“He’s there.” You hiss, cutting him off. Joshua blinks at your harsh tone. “I’ve been here with him every second of every day. I see it in his eyes. He isn’t gone yet-”

The crack in your voice cuts you off. You take a deep breath, blinking vigorously to keep your tears at bay. Joshua has fallen silent, eyeing you with a forlorn expression. After a few seconds, when he realises you won’t continue, he simply nods.

That night, after Joshua has gone, you still have his uncertainty on your mind. You eye the back of Seungcheol’s head, and remember the last few weeks. A seed has been planted in your head, plaguing your brain with doubt and pain. And once again, you feel that bone deep exhaustion that comes and goes frequently these days.

You make up your mind quickly, and your body follows in resignation.

Slowly, you walk back to the living room where Seungcheol sits. You walk closer to him, reaching for his flesh arm, the thick, metal cuff on his wrist. It sizzles a bit, recognises your thumbprint, and clicks, loosening. You don’t look at Seungcheol, despite the fact that he is eyeing you in surprise. You simply kneel down to quickly do the same to the cuff around his ankle before standing up again.

He moves with a little hesitation, stretching his leg and flexing his arm, his fingers. The limbs are stiff, and you’re sure weeks of no activity have left them sore. His bionic arm, and his pants clad leg, both still glow with pale, yellow light, the symbol of your and Wonwoo’s control of them. You reach forward, and yank the chip on his arm hard, disconnecting it. The yellow vanishes, leaving only gleaming, silver metal.

The chip is warm inside your palm. You step back, blinking away tears of what feels like a chapter closing.

“You can leave if you want.” You mumble. “Or kill me, since that’s your mission.”

Slowly, Seungcheol stands. His metal attachments click and whir, buzzing with life again as he twists and moves them, feeling them out. You take a deep breath and realise you can’t stand to look at him anymore. So you head to the kitchen.

You shuffle around mindlessly, just waiting to hear the front door open and close, or maybe you wait for searing pain from wherever he chooses to attack you. You can’t predict what he will do anymore. There was once a time you knew him so well, you could even count his breaths in your head, could mimic the rise and fall of his chest under your palm. Now, you feel like you are lost at sea and he’s nowhere to be found.

There’s shuffling behind you, but you don’t turn around.

“I don’t know you.” He says, and the words hurt just as much as they did when he first spoke them weeks ago. You grit your teeth hard.

“But,” he continues. Hesitates, “I did know you. In another time.”

You feel yourself stiffen, turning just enough to look at him. He fills the doorway, but his figure is hunched, uncertain. You wonder if he is just as tired as you. If he can feel it tug on his limbs like you do, like it’s anchoring him to the floor. How has he felt, watching you for weeks and weeks, nowhere to go but to sit and listen to any word that falls out of your mouth?

“I want to know.” He continues. “I want to remember.”

You stare at him for a long time before you finally move to where he stands. He doesn’t step back, doesn’t react at all, even when you stop just inches from his face. His human eye, brown like the earth, flicks with something you can’t place, and the metal that covers the other half, plain grey, cold and distant. Just where the metal meets his face, the skin is raw and red. Up close, you can see how angry it looks, and you wonder how careless the person was who put him together.

Your heart aches.

“Okay.” You say simply. No promises, no guarantees. Only a commitment, and a hope to see it succeed.

…………………………

It’s a little strange to settle into a routine with this new version of Seungcheol.

For one, he doesn’t do most things humans would. He eats very little, maybe one meal a day, and sleeps even less. He spends a lot of time to himself, mostly silent rumination, something that wasn’t part of his personality at all before. He’s always been loud and jovial, so this change takes some adjusting. You suspect there is a lot about him, maybe all of it, that isn’t the same anymore. The thought hurts you, so you try not to dwell.

You open your spare bedroom for him, since lounging in your living room day and night can’t really be comfortable. You still have his old clothes, whatever you managed to salvage after the explosion in your shared home. He is deeply intrigued by them, and asks, in a low voice, what other belongings of his you held on to.

The answer is: everything.

You make a trip to the storage unit you bought before you moved to your new, drab apartment. You lug back boxes of Seungcheol’s incomplete inventions, designs he was working on at the time, little contraptions that were half functioning, his diaries, his notes. You even bring back his absurdly large collection of watches, every brand and every new, cool tech that existed in the market.

“They were your one vice.” You smile at the memory as he opens the gigantic box. “You actually designed a few yourself too. This one-”

You point to a shiny, square shaped one in the corner. Seungcheol eyes it closely.

“This one was connected to me. You installed something in it that links to the one I wear, and it clicks at the same rhythm as my heartbeat. So it’s not really for telling time.” You shrug.

“I made this?” He asks, lifting the watch from its snug case. It’s not functional anymore, probably out of battery after so many years. It’s strange, because it has no hands and no numbers. There is an engraving of your initials just under the glass, over a black background.

You nod. “You said it made you feel like I was by your side all the time.”

Your voice is low. It almost cracks. He doesn’t say anything more.

You stick to working from home for a prolonged amount of time now, which isn’t difficult, since you’re mostly confined to your office when you go into work anyway. A week or so after Seungcheol asked you if he could stay, you’re due for a site visit. And you offer for him to come with you.

He hesitates.

“No one is going to recognise you.” You reassure him. “For one, it’s an all new staff. And for another, you’re blond now. And short haired.”

He subconsciously runs a hand over his head, his lips pulling together in what can only be a ghost of one of his infamous pouts.

“It doesn’t look bad.” He mumbles.

“I never said it does.” You reply, holding back a smile as you put a plate of eggs and toast in front of him. You tilt your head as you appraise his hair. He’s trying to flatten it down on his head.

“No, don’t do that.” You swat away his hand, running your fingers through the short but soft locks and lifting them up a bit. You mess around with it, distressing it a bit more. You know he’s watching you. It makes your cheeks heat a bit. You try to ignore the feeling.

“There.” You withdraw your hands. “It looks so nice now.”

When your eyes meet his, you realise his ears are tinged pink, and so is the back of his neck. You try to ignore the racing of your heart.

Wonwoo meets you on site, and he’s a little taken aback by Seungcheol being there. His face is covered with a mask, but the metal eye gives it away. After some stumbling, Wonwoo elects to ignore Seungcheol’s presence in favor of just getting work done, and you become immersed in it as well.

“This is where the problem is.” Wonwoo points, handing you the tablet. “There is definitely something wrong, but I can’t tell if it’s because I messed up the configuration or not. I’ve been trying a few different options but they all haven’t worked so far.”

Just over your shoulder, you feel Seungcheol lean in to look at the screen in your hand. You try not to think about him being so close.

“Maybe request a consultation.” You respond. “There is a reason we have engineers on call-”

“The configuration isn’t the problem.” A voice speaks from behind you. “Your base algorithm is wrong.”

You blink and turn your head, eyeing Seungcheol’s human eye, which is right beside you. Wonwoo frowns and steps closer, looking down at the tablet.

“How so?”

You tune it out, only registering his voice and not his words, watching as he points and explains where to make the change. You’re reminded of a time where Seungcheol would do this every day, and you would step back to let him do his thing. You can feel him now, right at your shoulder, his warmth so close you can almost perceive it. As you eye the side of his face, you fight the urge to kiss him. Or hug him. Anything. Your fingers twitch with it. Your heart yearns for it.

It’s over too quickly. And then he steps back.

Wonwoo is already taking the tablet from you, making adjustments as he thanks Seungcheol. You send him a little smile as he walks away, turning to look at the man on your side.

“That was very nice of you.” You say. He just nods a little sheepishly.

“It was an obvious solution.”

You shake your head, patting his arm as you move to walk past him. The metal is rigid and unforgiving under your fingers.

“Don’t be so modest. You were born for this.”

Seungcheol seems to be in a particularly good mood after that.

……………………….

Things get smoother as time goes by.

Something about going into work with you that one time clicks with Seungcheol. With all the material from your storage room, he starts tinkering with his old things again. There’s so many notes and designs, complete and incomplete blueprints keeping him occupied. He does it mostly in the living room, which you don’t mind. You’re glad he isn’t confined to his room. You like seeing him putter around the house or sit crosslegged on the floor, his metal arm whirring and clicking with every turn and movement. Sometimes, he sits out on the balcony when the weather is nice, and you join him with some tea or coffee. You don’t understand most of what he does, you never have, but you listen to him anyway. You bask in the way it lightens his voice, injects life into it. Sometimes, when he has come up with a new idea, he almost sounds exactly like he did before.

Your hope is increasing, tightening around your chest in a way that warms you up but traps you as well. Fear lingers, that this will all go away, that you’re balancing on a poorly strung tightrope and soon enough, you will fall.

And then that moment comes, the inevitable snap.

It’s a bright day, and you’re out for some groceries because you didn’t anticipate living with another person again, and your pantry is getting dangerously empty. You’re actually considering fresh produce instead of all the prepackaged crap you’ve been eating for so long. Seungcheol barely eats one meal a day, so it seems unfair if that one meal comes out of a box.

You’re considering which veggies to buy, lightly squeezing a tomato in your hand, when you feel something at your shoulder. It almost makes you jump, because it feels ominous, and your intuition is correct when you turn your head and come face to face with Yoon Jeonghan.

He’s in a black trenchcoat that nearly swallows his frame, a black cap on his head with dark strands poking out from under it. He looks particularly unassuming, just a casual shopper alongside you. His eyes are not on you, his lips pursed in what looks like consideration as he picks up another tomato, turns it around in his hand.

“This one is firmer.” He finally says, and his voice sounds jovial, casual, like it always does. “It will rot slower. You should get this.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” You grit out, your voice low to make sure no one hears you. One look around the aisle tells you that it’s empty. It’s just him and you. Your nerves are on high alert.

Jeonghan tuts, finally looking at you from the corner of his eye. “Is that any way to talk to a peer? You’ve become so rude, Y/N.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Sarcasm drips from your voice. “I didn’t realise I still had to extend common courtesy to you after you’ve tried to kill me. Twice.”

Jeonghan winces, then chuckles. “Yeah, that was my bad.”

You blink, waiting for him to continue. He doesn’t. He drops the tomato in his hand, picking up and inspecting another.

“That’s it?” You scoff. “‘My bad’? You try to get me killed by turning my husband into a half human killing machine and your response is ‘my bad’?”

“Well, you got him back, no?” He responds. “I would say that’s a huge improvement on whatever sad, bachelorette life you’ve been living all this time.”

You scoff, incredulous. “You’re so…. you’re-”

No words come. You just shake your head. Jeonghan looks at you again, this time, a sly smile crosses his face.

“How about a truce? I don’t try to kill you again, and I don’t demand my asset back from you. Consider it an apology for the attempts on your life.”

You glare at him, feeling anger bubble in you again. “Asset?”

He blinks, like he’s surprised. “Well, yes. Do you know how much Yoon Tech invested in developing him? It wasn’t easy. But it’s fine. I’ve made a lot of progress on bionic weaponry since then. So you can keep him.”

Your rage is boiling over at the way he is speaking of Seungcheol, but you know there’s a reason Jeonghan decided to ‘run into’ you at a public place. You can’t react the way you want to, which is the intense need to strangle him where he stands.

You know there’s nothing you can do about anything Jeonghan has attempted. His company is a mammoth, that and his military contract make him basically untouchable. The only proof you have of his doing is Seungcheol’s own person, and you don’t want to drag him into the legal mess that would ensue. Here Jeonghan stands, offering you a truce because he thinks he has won already, which is new bionic weapons branch going over so well and elevating him to a status no one else would dare to achieve. To him, you are not a threat anymore, and so he is discarding you just like he does with everyone else.

Considering all your options, you think being discarded by him might be the best case scenario here.

“Fine.” You finally relent, watching him smile and step back, almost in finality.

“Great. See you around, Y/N. You should attend next year’s New York expo. I’ve got great things lined up, you know? Maybe it will inspire something in you too.”

He winks and walks a few steps backward, that characteristic smirk on his face still, before turning around and sauntering away, the basket in his head still empty. You watch his back as he leaves, feeling some sense of resolution, no matter how bittersweet it may be.

People like Jeonghan never get justice, because they are too valuable to lose. He has made himself indispensable, which means he will continue to achieve new heights despite whatever operations he conducts in the dark. That’s the reality you live in.

The only saving grace here is that it’s not Seungcheol who will have to do his dirty work going forward.

………………………………….

You’re not really here, Seungcheol can tell.

There’s a distant look in your eyes, like you’re lost deep in thought, as you stir the pot sizzling on the stove. You’ve been like this since you got back with groceries, not greeting him with that usual sweet tone you always use. It’s a little detached, even though he can see that you're clearly attempting to appear normal. He offers to help make dinner, and you take him up on it, so he is quick to begin chopping vegetables as you prepare the rice. You work quietly, which is unlike you. Usually, you don’t stop talking, something he’s grown quite fond of.

The truth is, Seungcheol remembers you, in bits and pieces.

Voices and pictures pass through his brain, like flash cards being held up in front of him. There’s no rhyme and reason to them, no chronological order, like a CD stopping and starting at random intervals. You’re there in so many of them, right by his side, watching him, talking to him, touching him in places he wouldn’t dare let anyone touch. His fingers twitch when he feels it, like a ghost caressing his skin. Sometimes, he thinks he can feel you in his bones, coursing through his veins, and he wonders if he is connected to you in some way.

It scares him.

There’s nothing tangible there, no memory he can reach for and grab. As soon as he tries, it scatters like whisps. He knows he has lived a life, but he has no idea how that life went beyond rusty recollections that come and go. It sets him on edge, and so he never brings them up. He can’t, not when he knows for certain that you will cling onto them with unyielding hope. And he can’t have that burden on him when he already feels like he’s a shell of what he once was.

The only thing solid is you. But today, you’re far away as well.

“Something is bothering you.” He finally says when you’re eating at the kitchen island an hour later. There are dirty pots and pans in the sink. You will clean up after dinner. Right now, you move your food around absentmindedly, and Seungcheol doesn’t like this distance.

You blink and look at him, giving him a small smile that barely reaches your eyes. “Sorry, I’m just thinking about some stuff. Don’t worry about it.”

But he worries. He always worries, because you are all he has. So he pushes.

“Maybe I can help.”

You look a little surprised, and very touched, so your smile this time is more genuine.

“Thank you, Seungcheol, but really, I’m fine. The situation has resolved itself, I’m just going over it. There’s nothing to do.”

Seungcheol hesitates, but his intuition urges him to speak. “Is it Yoon Jeonghan?”

Your shocked expression tells him that he hit the nail on the head.

“How did you know?”

Seungcheol shrugs. He didn’t know, not for certain, but he had a feeling that Jeonghan wouldn’t just give up without one final attack, be it physical or psychological. It appears it was the latter.

“I’ve spent a long time with him.” He replies, pointedly ignoring your stare. “He’s- there’s a lot to him. Most of it isn’t good. I assumed he wouldn’t just leave this alone.”

Your chest rises and falls with a deep breath. “That’s just it, actually. He kind of has.”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows furrow. He listens intently as you finally open up, telling him about the encounter you had with the man at the grocery store. He lets the story linger for a bit after you’re done, absorbing the words.

“So, that’s it.” He finally says, but there’s uncertainty in his voice. He knows you hear it too. You sigh.

“I think, in his head, he’s still won because you’re not who you once were.” You add, turning back to your plate to push your food around. You don’t meet his eye. “He doesn’t think you’re a threat to him anymore because you have no memory. So by extension, I’m not a threat anymore either. I’m sure that to him, you’re-”

You pause, avoiding his stare. “You’re more like something he’s dumped on me. Because you’re not who you once were.”

You immediately look up as you say it, your eyes harder now, more resolute. “Which is not true. You’re still Seungcheol, even if you don’t remember. And I’m so happy you’re here with me, because I thought I would never see you again. Even with half of you still gone, you’re worth ten of him.”

Seungcheol’s heart squeezes, a feeling that is foreign to him, as he takes in the heated determination in your eyes. He realises that his fear, the sense of self he lacks, is not something that is well founded. You wouldn’t care that he remembers just snippets. You’re willing to accept him even as an empty husk.

He makes up his mind.

“You used to pour water into your half full shampoo bottle.” His throat tightens as he speaks. You blink, taken aback. “When we were in college. Because you had to make it last until your next paycheque.”

“And you liked those animal print socks. The pink panther ones. They were so warm. I was pretty annoyed that they wouldn’t fit me. So you got me black panther ones my size so we could match. I loved those so much. Every winter, I had to be careful how often I wore them because I didn’t want them to fray.”

You’re watching him speak, a thin layer of tears is shining in your eyes, and Seungcheol tries to soldier on.

“You got a bird clock for our first apartment that chirped every hour. God, I hated that thing. But you loved it so I never said anything.”

“I knew.” You speak, finally, your voice higher and breaking at the end. “You always got the most annoyed look on your face when it chirped. I thought it was funny to see how long you could take it.”

You let out a wet laugh. Seungcheol gives you a bitter smile.

“It’s only bits and pieces.” He explains, trying not to let guilt overwhelm him. “I don’t remember a lot. It’s just the little things that come to me.”

“It’s enough.” Tears make tracks down your cheeks. You reach forward, and Seungcheol feels the warmth of your hand as it curls around his human one. The contact makes something sizzle. It’s familiar. He remembers this clear as crystal. “It’s more than enough.”

He doesn’t let go. You don’t pull away.

………………………….

Things feel different. They are different now. The hope that felt like a noose around your neck, ready to tighten and kill you, is a much warmer feeling, blooming in your chest and transforming into a joy you haven’t felt in a really long time. You think Seungcheol has noticed. He notices more than you were previously giving him credit for. And it looks like he welcomes the change too.

Despite not eating much, Seungcheol busies himself with making you breakfast every morning. You tell him he doesn’t have to, but he shoots it down.

“I’m not sleeping anyway.” He retorts. “Besides, I used to do this before, didn’t I?”

You nod, smiling as you watch him scramble eggs in a pan. It was always this way back then. He would take care of breakfast, you would have lunch at the office, and then you would do dinner and he would clean up after. The domesticity of it, the harmony, is returning. Sometimes, when you’re getting ready to go into work in the morning and you can hear him hum in the kitchen, it’s almost like nothing has changed. Then, you take in the massive metal arm under his sleeveless tank top, and you’re reminded of what he has been through, and what you two have lost.

Sometimes late at night, you wonder what he would feel like. You wonder if he would let you touch him.

It’s hard being so close to Seungcheol but not being able to physically be too near him. Casual intimacy was always a part of your relationship, and you aren’t used to a version of Seungcheol you have to hold back from. When he often picks up on your moods, like being tired after work or being frustrated when something isn’t going right, you wonder if he can pick up on this, the intense yearning need you have to just feel his cheek on the crown of your head, or his hand curling over your hip like it used to all the time. Or his lips, always so soft and inviting, pressing delicately to yours.

You wonder if he knows. You wonder if he remembers, because he seems to remember so much these days.

A few days later, you ask Seungcheol if he feels at all ready to come back to work. The suggestion catches him off guard.

“Are you sure?”

You nod, shovelling large helpings of chicken into your mouth. You’re usually ravenously hungry by dinner time, and Seungcheol is always amused by it.

“Everything you’re doing at home, working on projects, improving on previous work, you used to do the same things at work. Project Development is all you, and after you helped Wonwoo work out that little algorithm problem, he’s been wanting to work with you more.”

You give him a smile, and it’s more teasing this time. “I don’t know if you remember this, but you were kind of a legend in tech circles before.”

Seungcheol huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. “I don’t remember, but that thought makes me feel a little nauseous.”

You laugh, nudging his shin under the table. Seungcheol has always been shy about attention, but you know he secretly loves being recognised. He’s ambitious, even though he worries often, and acknowledgement from peers and juniors always affirms to him that he’s on the right path.

The next day, he’s getting ready to go into work as well.

He’s nervous, more so about his appearance than anything else. Bionic prostheses aren’t exactly common yet, even if they are getting more talked about recently. You know he’s conscious about the stares he will get, you can see the troubled expression on his face from a mile away.

“We don’t have to tell them you’re my husband. We can tell them you’re an employee.” You offer on the drive there. “From overseas. We’ll make up a story or something.”

His lip quirks up in a half smile.

“You think that's why I'm nervous?” He asks. You shrug.

“That’s the one thing I was never worried about.” He supplies.

Your heart flutters. You try to calm it down. It doesn’t mean anything, you try to tell yourself. But every word from him, every action, weighs so heavy with you. It always has. He’s the most important person in your life.

Seungcheol is relieved when the first person he sees at work is Wonwoo, the one face that is familiar to him. You know he is nervous, but he doesn’t show it a lot. That’s always been him, confident in stature, sure in his stance. All his little worries and doubts would only be reserved for you, and some part of you is elated that you still hold that position.

Unfortunately, you have to leave him for the day when Joshua finally catches up to you with the daily agenda. You’re swept up in work, but he’s always on the back of your mind. You’re just considering making a trip down to PD when a knock sounds on your door. A head of spiky blond hair pops in, and Seungcheol looks a little sheepish as he speaks.

“Lunch?”

For a second, you can’t breathe, swept up in memory after memory of him doing this exact thing since the day you started your company, when it was nothing but two rooms and a dinky office space. It’s so mundane, almost a negligible occurrence, but it was always the highlight of your work day. For five years, you would eat cold lunch at your desk on Joshua’s insistence, or you wouldn’t eat at all, because you no longer had someone to share that precious hour with. But he’s here now, part of his face reconstructed, but he’s here, and it feels like every second of your grief is washed away with one little word he says.

“Hey.” His soft voice breaks you from your thoughts. You blink, realising that your face feels wet. He has stepped inside the room, his face more cautious now.

“Sorry.” He sounds somber. “Did I do something wrong?”

You immediately shake your head, wiping your face hastily. “Not at all.”

Your voice wobbles. You elect to ignore it, standing up and quickly straightening yourself before walking to him. “Come on, let’s go eat.”

Seungcheol’s hand on your arm stops you from walking past him. He holds it softly, pulling you back so you can face him. You’re embarrassed at losing your composure like this. You don’t want to freak him out, or make him worry. You realise that in your happiness of having him back, you haven’t processed at all how overwhelming it is to have the love of your life come back from the dead, half of what he used to be.

It seems that he understands that as well.

Slowly, at an almost glacial pace, Seungcheol’s hand loosens its grip, but it doesn’t move away. Instead, he wraps it around you. His other arm follows, and while the juxtaposition of his arms is noticeable, one warm and forgiving, the other cold and stiff, you barely register it, because you can feel his heartbeat against where your ear presses to his chest. You feel yourself giving into his embrace. You’re starved for anything that is Seungcheol, you’ve been without him for too long. Your face crumples, and the tears come again.

You don’t stop them this time.

………………………………..

“It doesn’t look right.”

“It looks exactly like it should.”

“No, it doesn’t. Look again, I think you went wrong somewhere-”

“If you’re not going to be supportive, get the hell out. I don’t need this energy.”

“I’m just saying, if you had just gone to the store-”

“And I told you, she likes it better this way.”

“Right. And we’re supposed to trust your half-fried brain.”

“Man, fuck you.”

You try to tamp down the laugh bubbling in your throat, but it’s hard to do that when the bickering coming from your kitchen is so amusing. You resolutely keep your eyes on your laptop screen, because you promised not to intervene. But Seungcheol and Joshua keep getting louder the longer they work on baking this cake, and by the sound of it, Joshua is not impressed.

“You’re seriously going to serve this turd-pile to your wife? On her birthday?”

“It’s a turd-pile made with love.”

You know why Joshua keeps nagging Seungcheol. This is an age-old tradition. Seungcheol is not much of a baker, but you’re decent at it. You make all his birthday cakes because you know what flavors and icings he likes. And because you love doing it. Seungcheol always wants to return the favor, no matter how bad he is at it, and it always ends with a spectacularly dense or horrendous looking cake. The difference this time is Joshua dropping in to wish you a happy birthday and give you your present. Unfortunately, that was the exact moment Seungcheol started icing the cake, hence the racket in your kitchen.

But you don’t mind. In fact, you love it. You love that he keeps trying, every single year, and that he blocks off so many hours just to do it. When he had suggested it this time, you were taken aback. While you and Seungcheol had made steady progress in your relationship so far, you didn’t anticipate that he would remember this little tradition of yours. He holds your hand sometimes, he hugs you when he can. You both talk and talk, about previous memories, and about making new ones. You tell him often that you missed him badly, that you love him so much, and that you’re okay with him not saying it back, but you need to tell him because you always felt like you should have said it more before he was gone. Seungcheol is soft with you, careful, letting you explore your emotions as you let him explore his. Now that he’s with you again, you often feel like you have all the time in the world to just be in his presence.

Is it enough for you? Not by a long shot. Do you want to kiss him senseless? Every second of every day. But you will get there eventually. You have faith.

Joshua stays for the cake reveal, and when you gush over it, he merely lets out a pained sigh. You know it’s all an act. He is unbelievably happy for you, but you like it when he teases Seungcheol, baits him enough to irritate, even anger him. He excuses himself pretty quickly afterward, even when you offer for him to stay and have a slice.

“No offense, but I would rather chop off two limbs and let myself get brainwashed than taste whatever this is.”

“That was really offensive, actually.” Seungcheol replies dryly. You laugh, dipping your finger in the frosting to taste it. Coffee. Your favorite.

The cake is dense, almost inedible, but you love it regardless. You eat two whole slices, even though Seungcheol himself can stomach only one. He gives you a pained look.

“Well, you’re always going on about how you love the things about me that are the same as before. Are you glad I’m still a shit baker?”

You giggle and stand up, carrying your dirty plate to the sink. Then you walk over to him and give him a hug, wrapping your arms around his torso. He immediately returns it, and you can physically feel yourself relax.

“I love it even more.” You reply. You can feel his chest shake with a tiny laugh, and you feel his lips on the crown of your head.

“Happy birthday, baby.” He whispers. Your breath hitches at the petname, your old favorite, and you look up at him, your chin on his chest. He’s watching you, eye like a warm pool, soft and inviting. His human hand reaches up, caressing your cheek. You wish, for a split second, that he would just lean down and…..

He does.

When his lips meet yours, they’re hesitant. It’s barely there, like a ghost of a sensation, but you melt into it, pushing up on your toes a little so you can feel him more as you kiss him back. He melts into it, sighing into your mouth, his grip around your waist tightening when he registers your enthusiasm. The metal of his left arm feels solid, and it almost leaves you immobile, but you love it, because it presses every line of your body to every plane of his. Your hands find his neck, his jaw, slipping back to run over the tiny strands over the back of his head. It makes him shiver. You feel it. Your lower stomach stirs.

The kiss gets firmer, hotter. Seungcheol tilts his head, slots his lips deeper into yours. You feel his tongue against the cushion of your bottom lip, and your mouth opens almost out of instinct. You let out your first moan when his tongue slides hot and wet against yours.

“We should-” His voice cracks. Your head spins. “We should slow down.”

He kisses you again, fiercely. Your thighs are already crushing together for relief.

“Yeah.” You agree, pulling him down more by the shoulders, wanting him to curl and wrap around you. He complies immediately, hands sliding lower until he’s tugging on the backs of your thighs and lifting you up onto the kitchen island. You’re level with his face now, not willing to stop kissing him, not willing to take even a breath that doesn’t come straight from his mouth. You tug hard on the hair at the top of his head, the ones long enough to grip. He groans, and the sound makes your hips jerk hard into his.

“Fuck, don’t do that.” He rasps.

You do it again, grinding slower this time, your legs around his waist keeping him in place. He hisses. You can feel the bulge in his jeans, and you clench around nothing, registering how hard he already is. You need him so badly that it makes you dizzy. If he stops now, you think you might cry.

“Cheol-” You gasp, your hands digging into his shirt and tugging hard. You need it off, you need to feel all of him, properly, and it feels like he’s on the same page, because he’s reaching back, pulling the shirt off his shoulders until it’s gone. His hands are quick, sliding under your blouse until it’s bunching up, making you raise your arms. He pulls it off.

Finally, you see him.

Seungcheol was always well built. Broad in all the right places, thick neck, wide shoulders, the large expanse of his chest, his abs. Now, he’s even more cut, and you wonder if it has to do with the life he was living for the last five years. Your eye catches his bionic arm, right at the junction where it meets his skin. Your hands, idly running over his bare skin, follow your gaze, stop just where the skin looks more pink.

“Does it hurt?” You ask, voice low. Seungcheol shakes his head, watching you intently.

“It used to, when it was new. But it’s more numb now than anything.” He mutters. He flexes the arm, the plates click and whir, a low, metallic sound that echoes in the silence of the kitchen. You let your thumb run over the skin, right at the edge. Seungcheol doesn’t react as he watches your fingers except with a tiny laugh.

“I guess if they were more careful, it might have looked a little better.” He mumbles, eyes still on your movements. His own run absentmindedly over your bare waist. You shrug.

“I don’t know, it’s pretty hot.”

He looks up at you, his single eyebrow shooting up in surprise. He barks out a laugh, shaking his head.

“Freak.”

You hum and tighten your legs around his waist again, pulling him closer. “You used to love it.”

Something in his eye gleams, a mischievous little twinkle. The white, flat circle on the other side seems to turn and shift, almost like it’s gleaming too. You wonder what he sees through it. His lip ticks up in a tiny smirk. “Oh, I know.”

He leans down, running his lips over the side of your neck. His hands are more purposeful now, sliding up to fiddle with the buckle of your bra. He unhooks it smoothly, letting his touch float up your arms so he can pull the straps down. You sigh when his tongue runs over your skin, nipping just under your ear, the spot that has always made you shiver.

“I remember a lot of things.” He rasps. “More and more as the days go by. And I like to go over them sometimes, when I lay in bed at night, or when you walk around in just that large shirt of mine you wear when you sleep. You think I don’t know what you’re doing, baby? Goading me, baiting me, testing me.”

“I’m- I’m not-” But your brain is melting at the moment his teeth dig a little harder into your skin. He’s going to leave a mark, not that you give a fuck, and all it’s doing is making you even more lightheaded.

He hums. You know he doesn’t believe you. His hands are already circling around, kneading softly on your breasts, making you sigh. He thumbs over your nipples, nipping at your neck a little harder when they peak under his touch. His touch sends shivers down your spine, one hand soft and warm, the other hard and cold. You’re not used to the contrast, but it feels wonderful. You wonder how it will feel in all the other places you want him to touch, and your impatience grows.

“Cheol, take me inside.” You whimper, clenching around nothing again and feeling your desperation grow. He doesn’t respond verbally, but his hands find your hips, gripping tightly to lift you up. You wrap yourself around him, using that moment to tongue at his neck as he walks you both down the hall to your bedroom. He has been inside only a handful of times, since he still sleeps on his own, but you know that’s about to change today. You’re never letting him leave again.

He doesn’t separate from you for even a second, laying you down on the mattress and joining you on it at the same moment, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that is even more heated, but not any less exploratory. His weight on you feels familiar, glorious, and you bask in the feeling of being pressed down. His tongue runs over any crevice of your mouth it can reach, saliva mixing with his in a way that makes you shiver all over. When you run your hands over his back and feel the familiar muscle shift and tense under your touch, you remember how much you missed this, and it makes your breath hitch.

You want him completely naked against you, and the need feels as urgent as air entering your lungs.

Your shirt and bra are already gone, but his clothes and the rest of yours now quickly follow. He kisses any part of you he can in between every article that gets tugged off by you or by him. Your right calf presses against the cold metal of his leg, and it shocks you back into reality a little bit. You’re aware that while you’ve done this countless times with him, it’s different now. You slow down the kisses, nibbling more indulgently at the plush on his bottom lip.

“Are you okay with this?” You whisper. “I know this is a lot-”

“I was going to ask you that.” He chuckles into your mouth. His eye flutters open, and it has softened, shining with reverence. Your lips twitch up into a smile.

“I’ve wanted this for so long.” You reach up, running a gentle hand through his hair. His metal ear feels rigid and cool. “I’ve missed you more than I can say. I didn’t-”

Your voice catches. Seungcheol waits with all the patience in the world.

“I didn’t think I could ever have this again.”

His forehead rests gently against yours, and your eyes flutter when you feel your breaths mix where your lips touch.

“I know I’m not all the way there.” He whispers. “I know there’s so much missing. And some days, it’s so difficult to reconcile the older version of me with this new reality. But I’m getting better every day. And I…. I miss you too. I miss what we had and who I used to be.”

Your eyes cloud. Seungcheol carefully thumbs under them, not letting the tears spill. When he kisses you again, it feels far more meaningful, like parts of you and him are coming to an understanding together. It’s easy to build up the heat again, and there’s an underlying layer of need in it now that has you writhing and moaning under him in no time.

“Easy, princess.” He hums, carefully running his hands up your thighs before fitting his hips between them. “I’ve got you.”

Princess. You whine. That’s an old favorite bedroom nickname of his. Seungcheol loved to spoil you. He’s a giver at heart, so the name is apt, and one he used to shower you with frequently. He grinds on your core, and you can feel the slide of his hard shaft through your wet folds. It makes you gasp, the slow drag making you feel each and every ridge of him. Your opening clenches hard, you arch into him, and your nails dig into the skin of his back.

“Don’t-” Your chest rattles with your inhale. “Don’t tease me. Please, I’ve waited so long, Cheolie. Don’t make me wait even more-”

When his head catches against your opening on the next grind, you moan low, eyelids fluttering. His nose brushes yours, you know he’s watching, and you bask in the feeling of his gaze on you. He pushes a little more, breaching you, and takes his glorious time sliding in at a snail’s pace. Your walls struggle with his girth, not used to being penetrated, left empty for too long, but you think at this point, Seungcheol is embedded in your DNA. Your body knows him, recognises him, like it’s an old, dormant instinct. You open up for him like he’s meant for you, and when he groans in shaky approval, you know he feels it too.

“Made for me, aren’t you?” He whispers into your mouth, taking advantage of your moaning to lick over your lips, nipping and sucking at them. “Taking me like you’re meant for me. Haven’t fucked you in years, but your little pussy still knows me, right?”

God, he needs to stop talking like that. So vulgar, coming from his mouth, but so sexy that it makes you dizzy. The ceiling is spinning, half from the feel of him, and half from the words he is whispering right past your lips. He bottoms out finally, and stills, throbbing and twitching inside you. You can feel it, it tugs on your walls, sending little sparks shooting through your core.

“Love how tight you are, baby.” He continues, pulling away from you to sit back a bit. You almost whine in protest, but then his thumb finds your clit and rubs tight little circles over it. You sigh, toes curling. “But I need you to loosen up a little bit, okay? Need to fuck you properly and I can’t do that when you’re gripping me like this.”

It’s a combination of his words and the waves of pleasure traveling up from your clit, but he finally feels enough give to rock back and forth, his back undulating with every stroke. He starts off slow, both of you just enjoying the delicious drag of him in and out. Every movement makes him brush up teasingly against your sweet spot, makes stars burst in your vision. You feel like you’re already on the brink, and he has barely started.

“Fuck.” He chokes, and you can see his throat bob as he swallows. A thin layer of sweat coats his porcelain skin, making the light of your bedside lamp shift over him. His hair, not almost fully brown with just the tips of the blond remaining, is matted on his forehead. His eye is closed, eyelid fluttering, mouth slightly parted as his breath rattles in and out. He grunts quietly every few strokes, his abs clenching, his neck and chest flushed a pretty pink.

You could come just looking at him like this.

He picks up the pace finally, and you gasp at the change, arching into him a little. He’s watching you now, but you’re too busy registering how good he feels, the perfect, tight drag of him, now more forceful, hitting every spot that sends pleasurable shocks up your spine. The bed groans, his thrusts get harder. On either side of your head, his fingers fist the bedsheet. Beneath the moans and sighs, you can hear the very low but distinct whir of metal emanating from his moving limbs.

Your brain stutters, and your hands move before you can think about it too much. They find his metal wrist, circling around it slowly and lifting it to place it right at the base of your throat. Seungcheol’s eye widens.

“You’re sure?” He asks. You nod.

“Please.”

Your skin is so heated that the cool contrast of his hand feels relieving and glorious. Something in his wrist clicks, and then his hold on your throat tightens just a bit. Your eyes flutter, mouth dropping open. You whine.

Seungcheol groans and his thrusts get harder, hips now slamming into yours over and over, the tip just gently kissing the cervix in the way that lights your lower stomach on fire. His grip is unrelenting, just tight enough to make you a little light headed and every movement feel even more intense than it usually does. You can’t speak, can’t warn him as your orgasm comes barrelling into you at full speed. You can only clench hard and cry out as it washes over you. Seungcheol doesn’t slow, but watches you with something akin to awe and unbridled lust in his eyes. His hand loosens only as you come down, letting you take in a long gulp of air.

“That was so sexy, baby, fuck.” He sounds as wrecked as you feel. He’s grinding into your pussy, pushed all the way in to the base, letting you feel every inch of him. “Can’t believe I didn’t do this sooner. Could’ve had you under me every night looking like that.”

You find the sides of his neck, tugging him down to kiss him fiercely. “Get your fill now, Cheolie. Make up for lost time.”

Your words spur him on. He pulls out abruptly, but he doesn’t let you miss him for too long, tugging your leg to maneuver you so you’re on your stomach, arms folded under your head, and his body draped over your back, warming your sweat-cooling skin. His knees frame your thighs. He nudges your legs apart just enough to slide inside, and the shift in angle has your jaw going slack. You feel his grip on your hips, one soft, one hard, holding you in place as he immediately sets a brutal pace. You don’t mind, you’ve always loved it when Seungcheol uses all that impressive muscle he has built to manhandle and use you like this. It’s unbelievably hot to you. This position feels even more intense, leaves you even more boneless, and your previous high has left you so sensitive that this one builds up in no time.

His thrusts are getting sloppy, less precise and more like he just wants to plop you into the mattress. His moans are more uninhibited now, his grip tighter to the point you know he will leave bruises that you will wear proudly. His breath hits the back of your neck. He reaches down, biting into your shoulder at the exact moment he groans loud and empties himself in you. The warmth of him, the grind of his head into your walls, is what sends you over the edge for a second time. Both your bodies writhe on the mattress, him pressing you into it until you feel like you are melting into him. He curses low in your ear as his body relaxes, and the sound makes you shiver.

You lay like that for what feels like an eternity, letting the rise and fall of his chest guide your own breathing. When he finally moves, detaching himself, you grumble in protest.

“I was warm.” You complain. You can hear him laugh a little.

“I’ll warm you up again, baby, don’t worry. Come on.”

Your interest is piqued, and you turn your head to the side to peer at him. His whole face seems to have smoothed, soft and glowing in a way you haven’t seen him in a while. It makes a smile tug on your lips, and you turn over slowly to face him. He doesn’t waste any time in lifting you up, another sensation that will take some getting used to. His human arm is warm on your back, but his metal one digs just under your knees. You don’t mind, not at all, it’s part of him, something he got involuntarily but made his own. He has used it to inflict pain in the past, but from now on, he will do nothing but good with it.

You watch him with heavy eyes as he places you on the bathroom vanity and gets to running a warm bath. You admire his back, soft and pale, smattered with little freckles, and slightly pink at the edges where skin meets metal. The plates dig into the skin, and you know he said it doesn’t feel like anything now, but you wonder if it hurts even just a little.

The slightest hint of his pain, even a negligible smidge of it, is unacceptable to you. You make a mental note to ask Wonwoo if he can look into bionic prostheses. Not weapons, like Jeonghan has developed. You have no interest in that. He can have his military contracts and his glory. There’s nothing in it for you.

Everything you want is in this tiny bathroom, dipping his metal fingers into the water to check the temperature, only to realise he can’t feel with that limb. You collapse into giggles and he smiles sheepishly, ears turning red, using his other hand as a toothy grin takes over his face.

Beneath His Honor | JW

pairing: jeon wonwoo!knight x princess!reader

genre: angst, fluff, yearning, smut, childhood-friends-to-lovers, slow-burn, forbidden-love, knight-princess, arranged-marriage, mutual-pining, duty-vs-desire, soft!wonwoo, kind!princess!y/n, royalty

warnings: angst, YEARNING, kissing, SMUT, explicit unprotected sex, sexual innuendos, oral sex (female receiving)

words: 21,944

Summary: In the opulent kingdom of Hesperos, Jeon Wonwoo, the humble baker's son, is pulled into a life of service when the unconventional Princess Y/N arranges for him to become a Page at age eight. Bound by duty, Wonwoo works his way up through the ranks, his childhood promise evolving into the fierce, silent protection of a knight. As adults, their inseparable closeness deepens into a fierce, unspoken love. However, the political demands of the crown intervene when Y/N is forced to accept an arranged marriage, leaving Knight Wonwoo torn between his sacred vow of Honor to the kingdom and his desperate, hidden devotion to the Princess he swore to protect.

The Weight of His Crown | kmg

pairing: princes!mingyu x sunshine!princess!reader

genre: grumpy x sunshine, slow burn, hurt/comfort, smut, self-discovery, angst, she fell first but he fell harder,

warnings: smut, kissing, ANGST, self-discovery, political drama, strict father, moody mingyu, beware he's a little bit of a pouty boy.

words: 22,713

Summary: After five years of molding himself into the perfect suitor for Princess Seraphina, Prince Mingyu returns to the Northern Frost Citadel as a political failure, retreating into a shell of icy reserve to shield himself from his father’s disappointment and the stinging labels of a "wasted" youth. His plan for a quiet, brooding exile is immediately upended by the arrival of Y/N, a vibrantly extroverted princess whose loud laughter and lack of a royal filter shatter his carefully constructed walls. As Y/N relentlessly challenges his stoic mask, Mingyu is forced to realize that while his past was a polished performance of duty, his future lies in the chaotic, unfiltered warmth of a woman who sees the man beneath the crown and refuses to let him stay frozen in his own heartbreak.

Ruin My Life | yjh

genre: enemies!to!lovers,arranged marriage, hurt/comfort, forced proximity, fluff, smut, angst, prince!jeonghan x princess!y/n, idiots-in-love,

warnings:fluff, lawbreaking, angst, cheeky jeonghan, FLIRTING, smut, explicit unprotected sex, pinning, (more to come)

words: 31,833k

Playlist:ruin my life: zara larson I all of the girls you loved before:taylor swift |butterflies: kacey musgraves | i wanna be yours:artic monkeys | 

It was a fairly normal day. One of the very few days you had off, And by a very strange coincidence, your roommate was also home.

This was odd, since both of them usually had busy lives due to their studies. But you didn't think much of it anyway. Perhaps if they had spoken from the beginning they could have been very good girlfriends by now. But when you moved in with her, it was finals week, so you didn't exchange a word. And now they don't speak a word to each other, they only communicate by text messages. You had her cell phone number, since it was given to you with your dorm assignment sheet. Her name: Yoon Jeonghan. A very beautiful girl, with wavy hair, and such delicate and pretty features.

You were sprawled in the couch, drinking some ice tea—Lipton Iced Tea Mix— while doom scrolling on reels, The weather outside looked nice, but you didn't feel like going out.

You stretched a little, letting your bones flex, and sighed, releasing all the week's stress in that breath. Then you got up and checked what you would eat today. When you opened the fridge, well, there was food to eat, but you felt lazy and decided to order some take out.

You grab your phone from the couch, shifting your focus from the endless loop of reels to a food delivery app. As you scroll through options—debating between a warm bowl of ramen or just ordering a massive pizza you can pick at for the next two days—the muffled sound of rushing water from the bathroom suddenly cuts off. A moment of silence follows, save for the hum of the refrigerator.

Then, the bathroom door creaks open a mere crack, and a voice calls out.

“Hey... sorry to bother you, but could you hand me a towel? I forgot to bring one in, and the rack is empty."

The voice is smooth, a little raspy, and definitely deeper than you would have expected for someone you’d mentally categorized as a quiet, shy and delicate girl for the past few months. You blink, a little startled by the sudden interaction. It’s probably the most consecutive words you’ve heard them speak out loud since moving in. “Uh, yeah, sure, hold on!” you call back, setting your phone down on the kitchen island. You walk over to the linen closet in the hallway, grab a fresh, fluffy white towel, and head toward the bathroom. You knock lightly on the wooden frame first.

“I have it.” “Thanks, just hand it to me,” the voice replies. Without thinking much of it—assuming they'd just crack the door an inch and stick a hand out—you push the door open slightly to pass the towel through. But the door swings a bit wider than intended, pushed by the draft, and the heavy mist of hot steam billows out into the hallway, carrying the scent of sweet, cherry-blossom shampoo.

You freeze. Standing there, halfway out of the shower glass and reaching for the door, is your roommate. The long, beautiful, wavy hair you'd admired from a distance is dripping wet, plastered against a pair of broad, distinctly masculine shoulders. The water droplets slide down a completely bare, flat, and toned chest. Jeonghan stops mid-motion, his hand hovering in the air. He looks at you, his sharp, pretty eyes blinking through the damp strands of hair, completely unbothered by his lack of clothing. He tilts his head slightly, a faint, amused smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Are you going to give me the towel, or just keep staring?” he asks, his voice echoing slightly against the bathroom tiles.

Your brain short-circuits. Yoon Jeonghan.The delicate features. The beautiful hair. The name you never questioned because you were not that familiar with Korean names. And She... is very clearly a he. And finally you realize you're staring at him and hand him the towel, rushing out of there, slamming the door behind you. But before you can sprint to your room, the door opens, and a hand grabs your wrist and pulls you back inside the bathroom, closing the door and trapping you against it.

The steam still clung thick in the air, making the small bathroom feel even smaller as Jeonghan pinned you against the closed door with surprising ease. His grip on your wrist was firm, warm from the shower, and droplets of water slid from his hair onto your shirt. He was still completely naked, the towel you'd handed him now loosely draped over one shoulder instead of wrapped around his waist. Up close like this, the contrast hit you harder—the delicate, almost ethereal beauty of his face with those sharp, cat-like eyes and full lips, paired with the lean, toned lines of a man's body, narrow hips, and the unmistakable evidence of his arousal starting to stir.

"You okay there? You look like you saw a ghost," he murmured, his voice low and slightly husky, laced with that same amusement. A faint smirk tugged at his mouth as he tilted his head, letting wet strands of hair fall across one eye. “Or maybe you've been wondering about me this whole time? Have you finally found out?”

Your heart hammered against your ribs. Words tangled in your throat.“I—Jeonghan—you're... I thought—”

“A girl?” He chuckled softly. One hand stayed braced beside your head on the door, caging you in, while the other released your wrist only to trail lightly down your arm. “Happens more often than you'd think. The name, the hair, the face... I stopped correcting people a long time ago. It's easier this way. That's why I never corrected you” His gaze dropped slowly, deliberately, tracing over your body before flicking back up.“But, you never asked.”

The heat from the shower mixed with the flush creeping up your neck. You could smell the cherry-blossom shampoo on him, sweet and intoxicating, and feel the warmth radiating off his bare skin. He was close enough that if either of you breathed too deeply, you'd touch.

Jeonghan leaned in a fraction more, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered, “You were staring pretty hard, liked what you saw?” His free hand came up, fingers grazing your jaw, tilting your face toward his. Those pretty eyes were half-lidded now with something hungry. “Don't tell me I ruined the roommate situationship we had...Or did it make it better?”

Your back pressed harder against the wood. Part of you wanted to bolt. The bigger part—the one currently short-circuiting from the sight, scent, and sheer overwhelming presence of him—didn't.

“I... wasn't expecting this,” you managed, voice barely above a whisper.

“Good.” His smirk deepened. He shifted his weight, and you felt the unmistakable brush of his hardening cock against your thigh through your clothes. "Neither was I when you decided to walk around the dorm without a bra, or when you wonder around the place not wearing pants, and you let me see that beautiful ass of yours, oh and let's not forget the fucking times you bring disgusting men... Never took you for the type that fake orgasms. You deserve better baby.”

He paused, giving you a moment, those delicate features softening just a touch as if checking if you'd push him away. When you didn't, his hand slid to the back of your neck, thumb stroking lightly.

“You deserve me.” he purred, voice dropping even lower.

Jeonghan didn’t wait long for your answer.

The second your lips parted he closed the distance and kissed you hard. It wasn’t gentle. His mouth was hot, demanding, tongue sliding against yours as he pressed his naked, still-damp body flush against you. The towel dropped forgotten to the floor.

You moaned into his mouth when his hand shoved your shirt up roughly, exposing your breasts. He broke the kiss only to latch onto your neck, sucking a dark mark right below your jaw while his fingers pinched and rolled your nipples, sending sharp sparks of pleasure straight between your legs.

“Fuck, you’re sensitive,” he growled against your skin, voice raspy. “Bet you’re already soaked for me, isn't that right, hun?”

His other hand didn’t hesitate. He shoved your pants and underwear down in one impatient tug, letting them bunch around your thighs. Two long fingers slid between your folds, stroking your slick heat before pushing inside you without warning.

“Ah-!F-Fuck, Han...” Your head fell back against the door with a thud.“Shhh… that’s it,” Jeonghan purred, curling his fingers deep, stroking that spot that made your knees buckle. “So wet already. This pretty "girl" is gonna ruin sex f'u, You're only going to want to fuck with me, you're only going to want me to be the one to fill you up, right? I should make you completely mine, shouldn't I? Filling you up with my babies.”

He pumped his fingers faster, thumb circling your clit with relentless precision. The wet, obscene sounds echoed in the steamy bathroom. Your hips jerked against his hand, chasing the pleasure as he kissed and bit down your collarbone.

Jeonghan pulled his fingers out suddenly, making you whine at the loss. He brought them to his mouth, licking them clean while staring straight into your eyes, that pretty, wicked smirk never leaving his face.

“On your knees, baby. I want to feel that mouth first.”

Jeonghan’s voice was low and rough with need as he guided you down firmly until your back hit the door. His thick, leaking cock bobbed right in front of your face—long, flushed dark pink, and beautifully curved upward, the swollen head already shiny with precum. You barely had time to inhale before he tangled his fingers tightly in your hair and pushed forward, sliding the hot, heavy length between your lips with a deep, filthy groan.

“Fuuuuuck… good fucking girl,oh... my... G-goood.” he sighed, eyes rolling back for a second before locking onto you again. “Th-that’s it—open wider. Take my cock like the needy little girl you are.”

You wrapped your lips around him, sucking eagerly as your tongue swirled around the leaking tip. The taste of him was musky, slightly sweet from the shower gel still clinging to his skin. Jeonghan didn’t let you ease into it. He rocked his hips forward, feeding you more of his length until the head nudged the back of your throat.

“Shit- yes! just like that,” he moaned, breathy and shameless. “Suck it like you mean it. I’ve jerked off so many fucking times daydreaming about storming insied- Fuck!- your room when those stupid guys, oh shit! Don't know how to pleasure you... And, fucking, show them how's it done, Ahh-!”

You placed your hands on his firm, toned ass for support, fingers digging into the muscle as he started fucking your face with slow, deep thrusts. Wet, obscene slurping sounds filled the steamy bathroom every time he pulled back, your saliva already dripping down his shaft and coating your chin. The more he pushed, the messier it got—thick strings of spit connecting your swollen lips to his glistening cock whenever he withdrew.

Jeonghan looked down at you with his half-lidded eyes, his delicate features flushed pink and his long wavy hair sticking to his damp cheeks and neck. The contrast was dizzying—this ethereally pretty face moaning like a porn star while he used your throat.

“Look at you,” he growled, voice cracking with pleasure. “Drooling all over my cock like a desperate slut. You have no idea how many times I imagined shoving you down and face-fucking you until tears ran down your cheeks. How many fucking times I wanted to... Ahhh... Fuck you when you're being a fucking menace by only wearing those- Uhhg-  Diminute tank tops without a bra, and those beautiful panties.”

He tightened his grip in your hair and thrust deeper, forcing you to take almost all of him. Your throat constricted around the head of his cock and you gagged wetly, spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth and dripping onto your shirt and the floor. Jeonghan groaned loudly at the feeling, hips stuttering.

“Fuck yes—gag on it. Make it messy, baby. I want your throat bulging. That’s my good girl… choking on my dick like you were made for it.”Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as he started fucking your mouth faster, shallow and sloppy now, the wet gluck-gluck-gluck sounds echoing off the tiles. His balls slapped lightly against your chin with every thrust. Precum and saliva ran down your neck in shiny rivulets. Jeonghan’s pretty lips were parted, soft whimpers and filthy praises spilling out nonstop.“You’re so much better than I imagined… warm, wet, fucking perfect. Bet your pussy is clenching right now, jealous your throat is getting all the attention.”

He suddenly pulled you forward until your nose pressed against his trimmed pubic hair, holding you there as your throat spasmed around him. You choked hard, more thick drool pouring from your stretched lips and running down his balls.

After a few long seconds he pulled back, letting you gasp for air. A thick strand of saliva connected your panting mouth to his throbbing, sloppy cock. Jeonghan stared down at the absolute mess he’d made of your face—swollen lips, tear-streaked cheeks, chin covered in spit—and smirked.

“God, you look so fucking filthy like this…” He tapped his wet cock against your cheek a few times, smearing the mess around. “But I’m not done with this mouth yet.”

He slid back between your lips immediately, resuming the relentless rhythm, clearly loving how wrecked and sloppy you were becoming.

“En-enough. I need to be inside you.”

He pulled you up like you weighed nothing, spun you around, and bent you over the bathroom counter. Your hands braced against the mirror as he kicked your legs wider. The head of his cock nudged your entrance, sliding up and down your soaked folds teasingly.“Look at yourself,” he ordered, voice dark. One hand gripped your hip, the other reached around to rub your clit. “Watch how pretty you look when I finally fuck you the way you deserve.”

Then he thrust in hard, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth stroke.

You cried out, the stretch intense and perfect. Jeonghan moaned loudly, forehead dropping against your shoulder for a second as he savored the tight heat.“Sh-shiiiit… so fucking- tight- oh my-!” he hissed. “Better than I imagined.” he chuckled.

He didn’t give you long to adjust. His hips snapped forward, setting a deep, punishing rhythm that had the sound of skin slapping skin mixing with your moans and his low grunts. Every thrust dragged against that sweet spot inside you, making your legs shake.

Jeonghan’s hand slid up your back, gripping your hair and pulling your head back so you were forced to watch in the mirror—his pretty face behind you, eyes locked on yours, lips parted in pleasure as he fucked you harder.

“Tell me how it feels,” he demanded between thrusts. “Tell me whose cock is ruining you right now.”

He reached around again, rubbing your clit in tight circles, driving you closer and closer to the edge with every snap of his hips.

“Fucking answer!” Jeonghan growled, slapping your swollen clit again with sharp, wet smacks that made your whole body jolt.

“It’s—ahh! It’s your cock!” you cried out, voice breaking as he slammed into you even harder. “Jeonghan- fuck- your cock is ruining me!”

A satisfied, wicked laugh escaped his lips. “That’s right, baby. My cock. Not those useless boys you brought home.” He yanked your hair harder, forcing your eyes to stay on the mirror. The sight was obscene: your face flushed and wrecked with tears, mouth open in a broken moan, tits bouncing with every brutal thrust, while behind you Jeonghan looked like a wet dream—long wavy hair sticking to his pretty face, sharp eyes dark with lust, lips parted as he fucked you like he owned you.

“Can you see how deep I’m going, hmm?” he hissed, slowing his thrusts for a moment so you could see his thick, glistening cock sliding almost all the way out before slamming back in, stretching your pussy wide. “Look at how your greedy cunt swallows me! So fucking sloppy already.”

The wet squelching sounds were loud and filthy, your arousal dripping down your thighs and coating his balls. Jeonghan reached around and rubbed your clit again in fast, messy circles, occasionally giving it another light slap that sent electric shocks through your body.

Your legs started shaking uncontrollably. The angle was perfect—his curved cock dragging relentlessly against your g-spot with every thrust. You could feel the pressure building fast, dangerously fast.Jeonghan noticed. Of course he did.

“Don’t you dare cum yet,” he warned, suddenly slowing his hips to a torturous grind, keeping himself buried deep while he rolled his hips in slow circles. “I want to feel this tight little pussy milk me when I say so.”

He pulled out completely, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing. You whimpered pathetically at the loss. Before you could protest, he spun you around to face him, lifted you onto the counter, and shoved your back against the cool mirror.

Jeonghan hooked your legs over his arms, spreading you wide open, and thrust back inside in one brutal stroke. The new angle made you scream.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck,yes, right there!” you sobbed.

He pounded into you mercilessly, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass echoing off the tiles. Sweat and steam made both your bodies slick. His pretty face was inches from yours now—those delicate features twisted in raw pleasure as he watched you fall apart.

“Yo-you’re clenching so hard around me- fuck—” he groaned. “Such a needy fucking hole. Been waiting months to fill you up like this.”

He leaned down and captured your mouth in a messy, spit-slick kiss, tongues sliding desperately while he kept fucking you deep. When he pulled back, a string of saliva connected your lips.

“Gonna cum inside you,” he panted against your mouth. “Gonna pump this pretty pussy full until it’s leaking down your thighs. You want that, don’t you? Want your roommate to breed you like a slut?”His thumb found your clit again, rubbing fast and firm. Your walls fluttered wildly around his cock, the coil in your belly tightening unbearably.

“Jeonghan- d-don't s-stop, please, I'm so close—”“Cum then,” he finally commanded, voice dark and breathless. “Cum on my cock like a good girl. Let me feel it.”He slammed into you harder, angling perfectly, and the orgasm crashed over you like a wave. Your vision went white as you screamed his name, pussy spasming violently around his thick length, gushing around him. Jeonghan moaned loudly, eyes rolling back as your walls squeezed him rhythmically.“Fuck—fuck— so tight—!”

He fucked you through it, chasing his own release with short, desperate thrusts until his hips stuttered. With a broken, beautiful moan right against your ear, he buried himself as deep as possible and came hard, pulsing thick ropes of cum inside you. His cock twitched with every spurt, filling you until you could feel the warmth leaking out around him.For a long moment, the only sounds were your heavy breathing and the dripping of water from the forgotten shower head.

Jeonghan stayed buried deep inside you, forehead pressed gently against yours as you both trembled through the aftershocks. A lazy, satisfied smirk slowly spread across his flushed, angelic face. His breathing slowly evened out, warm against your skin.

He brushed a few damp strands of hair away from your face with careful fingers.“…You okay?” he whispered, voice still hoarse.

You nodded, letting out a shaky breath. “Yeah. That was… intense.”

A small smile tugged at his lips. He leaned in and kissed you slowly,soft, sweet, and unhurried. Then he pressed another kiss to your cheek and the corner of your mouth.

He pulled out carefully, both of you sighing at the loss. You felt his cum starting to leak down your thigh, but Jeonghan was already reaching for the towel. He cleaned you up with gentle hands, almost reverent, before quickly wiping himself down.

Without a word, he turned the shower back on to a warm spray and guided you under it with him. The water felt soothing against your heated skin. He washed you slowly, his fingers massaging shampoo into your hair while you did the same for him, running your hands through his long, wet waves. He kept stealing soft kisses along your shoulder and neck the whole time.

After drying off, he wrapped you in a big towel and carried you straight to his bed. He laid you down gently before leaving, and bringing you some clothes. When you were both dressed he climbed in beside you, immediately pulling you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you securely, one leg tangling with yours as he held you close.

For a few minutes, you simply lay there in comfortable silence, listening to his heartbeat.

“I should probably explain something,” Jeonghan said quietly, his fingers tracing slow patterns on your back. “I wasn’t around much… not because I didn’t like you. It was kind of the opposite.”

You tilted your head to look at him. “What do you mean?”

He let out a soft, embarrassed chuckle. “You made it really hard for me to behave. Literally.” His cheeks flushed just a little. “Every time you walked around in those tiny shorts or without a bra… or when I’d hear you through the walls… I had to leave the dorm more often than I wanted to. I was worried I’d do something stupid and make you uncomfortable.”

Your face heated up, but you couldn’t help smiling. “So all those times you disappeared…” “Yeah,” he admitted, grinning sheepishly. “I was either in the library trying to calm down or jerking off in the shower thinking about you. Not my proudest moments.”

You buried your face in his neck, laughing softly. “I can’t believe I never noticed.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I’ve liked you for a while now. More than I probably should have, especially since we barely talked. I just didn’t know how to tell you without it being weird.”

You pulled back enough to meet his eyes. They were warm, a little vulnerable, and unfairly pretty. He leaned down and kissed you again, slow and sweet, savoring the moment. When he pulled away, he tucked you closer against him.

Your stomach growled loudly, breaking the quiet intimacy. Jeonghan chuckled.

“Hungry?”

“Very,” you admitted.

He reached for his phone on the nightstand without letting you go, keeping one arm firmly around your waist. “Pizza it is, then. Extra cheese?”you hummed a yes.

He placed the order quickly, then set the phone aside and pulled you back into his chest. As he tapped in the order, he mumbled against your hair, “By the way… you’re my girlfriend now. I decided. No take-backs. So… that means I can finally stop pretending I don’t like when you walk around the house barely clothed.” he said, a playful glint in his eyes.

You poked his side. “Only if you stop ignoring me.” “You got a deal,” he laughed softly, the sound warm and low in his chest.

He kissed your forehead and held you tighter as the comfortable silence returned.

An. I really liked this one tbh haha. Remember my requests r open!

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MAIN CHARACTER SYNDROME

Life is great if you're living in Joshua Hong's shoes.

He's handsome, ridiculously wealthy, charming, funny, effortlessly polite, and one of the most sought-after faces in fashion. Ask anyone who's ever worked with him, and they'll only have good things to say. So when Prada announced that Joshua Hong would be headlining their latest campaign in Milan, the entire production team couldn't have been happier.

Upon his arrival on set, everyone erupted into cheers. Joshua's eyes lit up with excitement. His grin widened. Being greeted so warmly never failed to brighten his day. He hugged everyone and even greeted interns who were seeing him for the first time.

"That's Joshua Hong. Take care of him." The makeup artist said to the intern, who nodded quickly.

"Oh, Maria. Don't scare the poor girl! I'm not a monster." Joshua chuckled lightly and turned to the intern. "Hi, I'm Joshua. What's your name?"

"S-Sophie," the intern said nervously. Joshua smiled gently and shook her hand.

"It's nice to meet you. No need to be nervous, okay? I'm just me." Joshua said.

As soon as he walked away, Sophie accidentally dropped a clipboard. Joshua immediately bent down to grab it for her. "I got it. Is it your first day, Sophie?"

She nodded, embarrassed. "Yeah..."

"Mine, too." He handed the clipboard back.

She blinked. "...Really?"

"No," Joshua grinned. "But now you're smiling. Please relax, Sophie. I promise to make it easy for you on set. Nothing to be nervous about."

"Oh, Joshua Hong. You are not just you." The creative director rolled their eyes. "Everyone wants you!"

"Yeah!"

"You're THE Joshua Hong, after all!"

"I saw your Jaeger campaign last week!"

Joshua looked around and smiled at the people praising him. He basked in the attention they gave. After all, life is great being in his shoes.

He waved them off shyly. "Oh, stop it." Joshua looked at everyone and smiled, "Well, keep going."

The room burst into laughter before everyone drifted back to their stations, the usual pre-shoot jitters replaced with easy smiles.

"Has everyone eaten?" Joshua asked with a slight frown. He noticed that the crew looked tired. A chorus of "no" broke Joshua's heart. He immediately turned to his assistant. "Giovanni, let's order coffee for everyone."

Giovanni's eyes widened. "Everyone?"

Joshua only nodded in response. Giovanni quickly pulled out his phone and called the number to Joshua's go-to cafe in Milan. It wasn't unusual for Joshua to order in bulk, but it still surprised Giovanni from time to time.

When the coffee arrived, everyone began to feel energized. Within minutes, the studio transformed.

Conversations died down. Stylists made their final adjustments. Makeup artists stepped away. Assistants scattered to their assigned positions.

The easygoing man who had been cracking jokes with the crew moments ago melted away, replaced by the model every luxury brand wanted for their campaign.

"Places, everyone!"

Joshua slipped into position as the final touches were made to his outfit. The photographer barely had to direct him.

"Chin up."

Click.

"Perfect."

"Turn your shoulder."

Click.

"Beautiful."

By the fifth frame, the photographer simply lowered his camera with a laugh. "I forgot how unfairly easy you make my job."

Joshua pressed a hand against his chest dramatically. "I do what I can."

The crew laughed before the camera shutter started clicking again. Before everyone knew it, twelve hours had flown by, and the shoot was over.

"Only Joshua could make a twelve-hour shoot feel like six."

Joshua laughed and waved him off. "Enough with the flattery, Matteo. You still owe me coffee!"

"Thanks for this amazing shoot, Joshua!"

"No, thank you!" Joshua smiled. "Oh! Before I forget..."

Everyone looked over.

"I booked Da Vittorio for tonight. Please come if you're free."

Joshua was met with silence, making his smile slowly drop. He blinked. "Is something wrong?"

Maria pinched the bridge of her nose. "Joshua."

"...Yeah?"

"You rented out an entire Michelin-star restaurant." Maria pointed out.

"Yeah? Were there not enough seats?"

"Joshua," Maria started. "Normal people don't solve problems like this."

"Oh," Joshua said. "Well, it's already booked. It's easier than making reservations one by one."

"First coffee, now dinner? He's so kind."

"Joshua Hong is my favorite model."

Joshua put a hand over his heart. He loved treating people. "I hope you all enjoy."

Joshua laughed at everyone's reactions. "It's just dinner."

"No, Joshua. To you, it's 'just dinner'." Matteo deadpanned.

Joshua smiled. "Unfortunately, I will not be joining you. However, I'll make it up to you at the Prada fashion show. Dinner AND after party on me."

Everyone cheered. Joshua turned to Giovanni and said, "Join them for dinner. It's already been paid for. If it exceeds the bill, let me know. Have the rest of the night off, and also tomorrow. I'll see you at Pagani's auto show."

"Sir, that's a few days from now. What will I do then?" Giovanni asked just as Joshua was about to leave.

He turned around. "Oh, right. Well, have a few days off, then. It's well-earned, Giovanni. Buy yourself some clothes. This is all paid, anyway." He smiled. "Thank you for your hard work."

Giovanni's jaw dropped. "Thank you, sir! See you at Pagani!"

"See you!" Joshua smiled and left after waving goodbye to everyone.

Joshua exits the building with a smile on his face. He loved his work and he loved working with different people. It makes him cherish everything around him.

The crisp, evening Milan air hit Joshua as he started walking. He didn't even notice that it was 6:15 already. Hearing his stomach grumble, he decided to look for a place to eat that only a few people go to. He didn't like crowds due to a childhood trauma.

As he walked, he glanced up at a billboard. Instantly, a smile made its way to his face. He took his phone out to take a quick picture of it. It was one of the billboards he loved seeing, for it was you and him on the campaign. He remembered when it was taken.

Your relationship with Joshua was fairly new, and so was your career. After working with you on the Marc Jacobs fashion show, he took a liking to you. You've been dating since then. Naturally, a lot of brands that wanted Joshua wanted you, too. Many of them thought that it'd be nice to have a couple do a campaign.

Prada was one of those brands. They were so happy that they put the campaign on a billboard. Joshua wasn't one to brag, but when it came to your relationship, he loved you loudly.

That's why it hurt him when you decided to end your two-year relationship.

As if pulling a prank on him, the workers on the billboard peel away his Prada campaign with you. His smile started fading as we watched the vinyl fall. The new billboard sort of made his blood boil, but not really. He couldn't. After all, it was still you on the billboard... just with another man that he grew to... dislike, or tolerate, rather.

Yoon Jeonghan.

He's a new model, but he gained traction for his Yves Saint Laurent campaigns. Everyone praised his face, and everyone always mentioned how they were amazed that he could be pretty and handsome at the same time. It made Joshua feel sick.

He knew you could never cheat on him, but he was suspicious of Jeonghan because he seemed to swoop in a little after your breakup. The billboard made him remember the night you broke up with him.

"I'm sorry, Joshie. I just think that we're not right for each other anymore."

"Is there someone else?" He asked, eyes turning red from the tears he held back.

"Of course not. You know I love you, Joshie."

Both of you hugged and cried. Then you smiled through your tears as you pulled away. Joshua cupped your face and wiped your tears with his thumb.

You sniffed. "Can we still be friends, at least?"

Not able to resist losing you forever, Joshua answered yes. He always will. He meant it, too. At least he thought he did.

Joshua kept walking. Then his phone buzzed. A smile appeared on his face when he saw that you liked his recent post. Not able to resist, he clicked open your Instagram and smiled when he saw your recent post.

You were in Greece for Jacquemus, and his heart soared as he swiped through your photos. You didn't like taking behind-the-scenes photos from your shoots. Rather, you like taking pictures of the places you're in. Your Instagram is more like a photo diary. The last photo made Joshua's mood sour. It was a picture of Jeonghan sitting across from you.

If his sources (read: Giovanni) were correct, Jeonghan is on a modeling hiatus for reasons that were never disclosed. Seeing his face on your Instagram made your relationship with Jeonghan official, and Joshua wasn't a fan at all.

Joshua remembers the dating rumors between you and Jeonghan around five months after the breakup. He heard from Giovanni that you were in London for Burberry with a rising star in the industry named Yoon Jeonghan.

By the time Joshua reunited with you for fashion week, he had overheard you talking to other models about the "ridiculously handsome model who kept making everyone laugh at the Burberry set".

Soon, you and Jeonghan confirmed your relationship by hard-launching each other at events. Both of you rarely posted, so walking into events hand in hand made more sense.

Against his better judgment about Jeonghan, he took a deep breath and smiled to himself. After all, every day is a battle between choosing to be cruel or kind. Time and time again, he'd choose kindness because that's just who he is.

With kindness in mind, Joshua left a nice comment on your recent post.

@j.hong: It must've been really fun there! You both deserve a relaxing Greek getaway 😌

Instantly, you gave his comment a like. Joshua swore his stomach had butterflies. You even left a reply.

@yn.yln_: Thanks, Joshie! You always have kind words to say. Take care ♥️

Joshua stared at the heart and smiled. He stopped walking and glanced up. Your billboard with Jeonghan was still in view. He opened the camera app and took a quick picture of your campaign with your new man.

He quickly posted it on his Instagram story with the caption: Look what I saw on my stroll in Milan! Both of you look absolutely stunning. Congrats on the campaign @yn.yln_ @yoonjeonghannn ♥️

What he wrote in his caption wasn't ill-meaning at all. In fact, he meant what he said. Despite his feelings toward the man, he couldn't deny that his face definitely belonged on billboards. He also couldn't deny that your taste in men was... admittedly excellent. His face and Jeonghan's face were actually very lethal. If given the chance, he'd want to work with Jeonghan just to see how their dynamic would play out.

Joshua arrives at his hotel around eleven o'clock at night. After doing his night routine and changing into comfier clothes, he sat at his hotel room's desk, opened his personal notebook, and started writing.

When he finished writing, he smiled to himself. He read what he wrote over three times before taking a picture of it and sending it to you.

[Joshie 💫]: Thought you'd like this poem I wrote just now! Milan has been inspiring :) [Love♥️]: Hi, Joshieee! I'll read it when I get back to the Airbnb. Hannie and I are just taking a midnight stroll. Will get back to you soon, I promise! Excited to read it, though <3

Joshua smiled as he read your reply. He leaned back in his seat, feeling hopeful about everything. After all, the main character always gets the girl, right?

U AIN'T SLICK, JOSH

Yoon Jeonghan had never intended to fall in love. That was the funny thing about his line of work.

Spending life surrounded by beautiful people had made beauty stop meaning much. Faces blurred together after enough campaigns. Compliments became part of the job. Chemistry could be manufactured with the right lighting and a talented photographer.

Love, however, couldn't. Jeonghan believed that love is something unexpected; something worth waiting for. He was also the type of person to separate love and career, which was why the last person he expected to fall for was you.

He'd seen you before, of course. The entire industry had. Not only were you a top model, but you were also one half of fashion's favorite love story. Everyone knew about Joshua Hong. More importantly, everyone knew about the way Joshua Hong loved you.

He thanked you in interviews. Mentioned you in acceptance speeches. Talked about you during behind-the-scenes interviews as if loving you was the easiest thing he'd ever done. Even people who'd never met either of you rooted for your relationship.

Which was exactly why asking you out felt laughably impossible. Not because he thought he wasn't good enough. But because, in his head, there wasn't much of a competition when your predecessor was Joshua Hong.

Booking YSL was a dream come true for Jeonghan. After many side gigs, odd jobs, and cheesy photo shoots for department store posters, he finally got his big break. He didn't know what he was in for, but when he saw you, his world stopped. No one told him that he'd be in a shoot with you.

You were ethereal and effortlessly gorgeous. You were getting your hair and makeup done when he arrived. He honestly thought he was late, but you were just very early. When you glanced at him, he knew it was game over for him.

Since that successful YSL shoot, you've worked together a few times before he built up the courage to ask you out. Though he wasn't sure if you'd say yes because he got wind that you and Joshua had only been broken up for five months. Regardless, he decided to try. There was no harm in that, right?

After another successful photo shoot, Jeonghan approached you and rubbed the back of his neck—a nervous habit of his.

"Hi, Jeonghan!" you greeted. "Great job today."

"Thanks, Y/N. You did a great job, too," Jeonghan said and bit his lip. "Um, listen, there's something I want to say..."

"Mhm?"

"I know I'm no Joshua Hong," Jeonghan looked down with a shy smile, "but—"

"Is that your way of asking me out?" You tilted your head.

His ears turned pink. "Maybe."

"Okay." You laughed. "Yes, I'll go out with you."

Jeonghan wasn't sure what he had expected after that.

Maybe awkward first dates. Maybe long pauses. Maybe the occasional uncertainty that came with getting to know someone.

Instead, loving you felt... easy.

His first date with you wasn't at a Michelin-star restaurant or some rooftop bar overlooking Seoul. It was at a tiny café tucked away in a quiet neighborhood, where you insisted they made the best tiramisu in the city.

"I thought we'd go somewhere fancy," Jeonghan admitted after glancing around the cozy cafe.

You looked up from the menu with a grin. "Why?"

"I don't know," He laughed. "You're Y/N. You've probably been in better places, tried better food."

"So?"

"So..." He gestured vaguely. "You're... you."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "Coffee tastes the same whether you buy it at a small cafe or an expensive coffee house in Paris."

Jeonghan couldn't help but smile.

The dates kept coming after that.

Sometimes you'd end up at museums after shoots because neither of you wanted to go home just yet. Other times, you'd wander convenience stores at midnight, still dressed in designer clothes, arguing over which instant ramen brand was objectively the best.

The longer Jeonghan spent with you, the more he realized that the version of you the fashion industry knew and the version he was lucky enough to know were completely different people.

The world knew you as one of the industry's brightest stars.

Jeonghan knew you as the woman who stole fries off his plate after insisting she didn't want any because she needed to 'keep her figure' for Victoria's Secret.

Fashion Week only made you closer.

Schedules overlapped more often than not. If Jeonghan landed in Paris before you did, he'd wait at the hotel lobby with your favorite drink already in hand. If you wrapped a campaign before he did, he'd always find you waiting backstage, leaning against a wall with that familiar smile.

"You look nervous," you said, quietly fixing the collar of his blazer moments before he stepped onto the runway.

"That's because I am," Jeonghan laughed nervously, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He didn't want to show you how sweaty his palms were.

"You'll do great, Hannie."

He searched your face for a second. "How do you know? I'm just new in this job. I'm not in your caliber."

"Stop that. You wouldn't be here if you weren't capable." You smiled at him. "You're always doing great, alright? Please believe me."

Before long, airports became more familiar than apartments. One week you were in Milan. The next, New York. Then London. No matter where you ended up, you somehow found time for one another.

Sometimes it was only thirty minutes between fittings. Sometimes it was sharing overpriced airport sandwiches while waiting for delayed flights. Sometimes it was nothing more than a sleepy phone call before bed from opposite sides of the world. For Jeonghan, it was enough.

It didn't take long before the media caught on.

Fashion's New Power Couple

The Industry's Sweethearts

Move Over, Joshua Hong: Y/N Finds Love Again

Joshua vs Jeonghan: The Battle of the Two Js

Jeonghan groaned every time another headline appeared.

"Welcome to my world," you joked. "They're going to keep doing this every time we pose for a campaign."

"Jesus Christ."

"You hate it," you laughed.

Jeonghan shook his head. "I don't hate it. I just think calling every model couple a 'power couple' is ridiculous."

"Well," you pursed your lips and nudged his shoulder. "I kind of like it."

Jeonghan sighed dramatically. "Fine." He turned to you and gave you a sly smile, "If we're going to be a power couple, at least let me pick the matching airport outfits."

You laughed so hard you nearly spilled your coffee. Jeonghan decided right then and there that he'd spend the rest of his life trying to hear that laugh again.

Falling in love with you was something he would never regret. Falling in love with you was as easy as walking.

There was only one issue. Jeonghan realized that loving you also meant learning to live with one constant.

Joshua Hong.

At first, Jeonghan didn't care. Joshua Hong is Joshua Hong, after all. He's his senior, his idol ever since he saw Joshua on the cover of his little sister's favorite magazine.

Then, he started caring a little. Joshua was everywhere. Literally. Jeonghan thought of Joshua as a fly at this point. Always hovering, always around.

Exhibit A: Paris Fashion Week "Y/Nie!" Joshua greeted you as he hurriedly jogged towards you.

"Joshie!" You grinned and pulled him in for a tight hug. Jeonghan waited patiently next to you. In truth, he was a bit starstruck to be near his idol. He also didn't care that Joshua didn't see him or pay him any mind.

When you pulled away, Jeonghan watched with a small smile on his face as you quickly caught up with Joshua. He observed that Joshua's eyes lit up the more you spoke. There was something he was feeling in his gut, but he couldn't pinpoint what exactly was wrong. He shook his head and continued waiting. Your conversation ended, and you hugged each other goodbye. Joshua glanced at him quickly and smiled politely before leaving.

Exhibit B: Gigi Hadid's Birthday Party He noticed Joshua as soon as he entered. Joshua had a special talent for making people look his way without even trying. It wasn't arrogance. It was simply Joshua Hong being Joshua Hong.

It didn't take long for Joshua to spot you.

"Y/N, darling!" Joshua beamed as he made his way over. "It's so nice to see you."

He greeted everyone at the table with the same warmth before looking around. "Mind if I steal a seat for a bit?"

"Of course!" someone answered before anyone else could.

Joshua settled into the empty chair beside you, and before long, the entire table had fallen into easy conversation. He told stories from a campaign he had just wrapped in Milan, congratulated another model on booking Valentino, and somehow remembered the name of someone's assistant whom he'd only met once months ago.

Jeonghan understood why everyone adored him. Hell, he adored him, too. That was the problem.

Then someone asked Joshua about an old campaign.

"Oh!" Joshua laughed, pointing at you. "Y/N was there for that one. Remember when the wind machine nearly blew us off the cliff?"

You burst into laughter immediately, adding details Joshua had forgotten. Before long, the two of you were reminiscing about old shoots, impossible call times, and stylists you'd both sworn never to work with again.

Jeonghan smiled politely as he listened.

Then an event photographer approached the table.

"Joshua! Y/N! Could I get a quick photo of you two?"

Joshua blinked. "Oh... shouldn't Jeonghan be in it, too?"

The photographer laughed. "No, no. We want the reunion."

Joshua glanced toward Jeonghan for a split second before offering him an apologetic smile. "If that's alright with you?"

Jeonghan only nodded. "Go ahead."

The photo was taken. By the time Jeonghan got home that night, it had already gone viral.

Fashion's Favorite Exes Reunite at Gigi Hadid's Birthday.

If anyone zoomed in closely enough, they'd notice Jeonghan in the background, pretending to be very interested in the drink in his hand.

Exhibit C: Everything Else Because you and Joshua agreed to remain friends after the breakup, Jeonghan tried his best to understand. He really did.

At first, he told himself he was overthinking things. Then he started developing theories. The biggest one? Joshua Hong definitely had your post notifications on. There was simply no other explanation. The second you uploaded a photo... 'liked by @j.hong'. Every. Single. Time.

The comments came just as quickly.

"Great shot! Proud of you."

"Paris suits you, dear."

"Missed seeing you this week :("

Then came the phone calls. The texts. The poems.

Jeonghan had no idea what the two of you were talking about half the time, but every conversation ended the same way.

You laughed. You smiled. You promised to call him back later. He wasn't upset that you and Joshua were still friends. He wasn't even upset that Joshua still occupied a place in your life.

What bothered him was something much smaller. Joshua never seemed to realize that every hour he borrowed from you was an hour taken from someone else. It confused Jeonghan.

Joshua remembered birthdays. He bought coffee for the entire production team. He flew across continents just to support his friends' runway debuts. He had a reputation for making everyone around him feel seen.

Yet somehow, the one relationship he never seemed to acknowledge was yours.

Jeonghan tried not to dwell on it. Most days, it was easy. Especially on days like today. For once, neither of you had a flight to catch. No runway rehearsals. No campaign meetings. No fittings that somehow always ran three hours longer than scheduled.

Just the two of you.

The movie playing on your television had long been forgotten. "…And then," you giggled, trying to catch your breath, "the stylist accidentally glued the heel of her shoe to the runway."

Jeonghan chuckled, though he wasn't entirely sure he'd heard the whole story.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You weren't listening." You pouted.

"I was!" Jeonghan exclaimed.

"No, you weren't."

"I heard the important parts."

You narrowed your eyes. "Really?"

"Mhm."

"What happened, then?" You challenged.

Jeonghan pretended to think. "...There was a shoe."

You burst into laughter. "Oh my God, you are unbelievable."

"I was distracted."

"By what?"

He looked at you as if the answer were obvious. "You."

Your expression softened immediately. "That's a horrible excuse, Hannie."

"Are you kidding me? It's a fantastic excuse."

"No, baby."

"It worked, didn't it?" Jeonghan smirked. You tried to suppress another smile, but failed miserably. Jeonghan grinned triumphantly. "I knew it."

"You're so annoying," you rolled your eyes and crossed your arms.

"And yet..." He leaned closer. "...you still said yes."

Your cheeks warmed. "I think I made a mistake."

He nodded, "You definitely did."

"Oh?"

"The biggest one of your life."

You laughed and shoved his shoulder. He caught your wrist before you could pull away. For a moment, neither of you said anything. His thumb absentmindedly traced circles against your skin. You looked at him. He looked back. Then, quietly, you closed the distance.

The kiss was soft. Familiar. Comfortable, like coming home after weeks away. Jeonghan smiled into it. "I missed you," he murmured.

"I saw you yesterday," you muttered.

"I missed you yesterday."

You laughed against his lips before kissing him again. Somewhere between teasing smiles and stolen kisses, you found yourself settling comfortably onto his lap. His arms wrapped around your waist as naturally as breathing.

"You know..." he whispered.

"Hm?"

"I think this is my favorite city."

You blinked. "We're in Seoul."

"I know."

"You said Paris was your favorite." You raised a brow.

"My favorite city is wherever you are." He said lovingly before leaning in for another kiss. This one lingered longer, slower.

Jeonghan's hand rested against your waist before carefully slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, his fingertips brushing lightly against your skin. A quiet shiver ran through you.

His fingers caught the hem of your shirt. Just as he started to pull, your phone rang. Jeonghan didn't even acknowledge it. "Ignore it. It'll stop," he mumbled against your lips, his hand resting lightly against the small of your back.

The ringing didn't stop.

"It could be important," you mumbled between kisses.

"Just leave it, baby." He said, voice raspy. "They'll call again."

The phone continued ringing. You sighed apologetically. "I'm sorry."

You slipped off his lap and reached for your phone on the coffee table. Jeonghan groaned dramatically, letting his head fall against the couch. "...Whoever that is owes me an apology."

You answered your phone without even looking at the caller ID. "Hello?"

As you listened to whoever was on the other end, Jeonghan quietly reached for your waist again, pulling you back onto his lap. He rested a hand on your hip and absentmindedly pressed feather-light kisses along your neck, hoping—perhaps delusionally—that the conversation would only last a few seconds.

"Oh!" You smiled brightly. "Hi, Joshie!"

Jeonghan stopped. His lips hovered against your neck. One second. Two. Three. Slowly, very, very slowly, he pulled away. He looked at you. Then, the phone pressed against your ear. Then back at you again. Without saying a word, he leaned back until his head hit the couch with a soft thud.

He stared blankly at the ceiling. Silence. A muscle in his jaw twitched. His eye followed shortly after.

Meanwhile, you remained blissfully unaware. "Oh! Really?" you laughed into the phone. "No way. Wait, tell me everything."

Jeonghan closed his eyes. "Hong Jisoo. You couldn't have called thirty minutes later?"

"Count your fucking days." Jeonghan thought.

Joshua had been keeping you occupied for days, and Jeonghan began going insane. When Joshua got back from Florence, he wasted no time hanging out with you. Fortunately for Jeonghan, Mingyu just got back from New York.

"So..." Mingyu stabbed a cherry tomato with his fork. "What's wrong with you?"

Jeonghan looked up from his salad. "What do you mean?"

"I've known you for years." Mingyu shrugged. "You only eat your tomatoes last when something's bothering you."

Jeonghan blinked. "You... notice that?"

"Yah, don't change the topic!" Mingyu pouted, mouth still full of food.

Jeonghan chuckled at the younger man. Using his fork to push around the cherry tomato, he sighed. "It's Joshua..."

"Hong?" Mingyu frowned.

"Unfortunately," Jeonghan rolled his eyes.

"As in," Mingyu swallowed his food. "the Joshua Hong?"

"Bro, who else?" Jeonghan deadpanned. "Unless another Joshua Hong is walking around New York Fashion Week."

"Huh." Mingyu leaned back in his chair. "That's weird. Are you sure we met the same Joshua?"

Jeonghan frowned. He didn't know if he wanted to flick Mingyu's forehead or fling him around. He knew it'd be impossible to fling around a man who is six foot two. He'd find a way anyway.

"Dude's awesome!" Mingyu grinned as Jeonghan stared at him in disbelief. "We worked together for Givenchy last year."

A smile spread across his face at the memory. "We hit the after-party right after the show. He introduced me to photographers, bought everyone drinks, and somehow remembered the names of assistants he'd only met once."

"It was fucking rad," He laughed. "Too bad you were in London for Burberry."

Jeonghan sighed. "We definitely met different Joshua Hongs."

"But he's nice."

"I know he is."

"So, what's the problem?"

Jeonghan set his fork down. "He doesn't get the message." Mingyu waited. Jeonghan exhaled. "He calls."

"Mhm." Mingyu nodded.

"He texts."

"Mhm."

"He's always the first person to comment on Y/N's Instagram."

"Mhm."

"He writes poems."

"...Poems?" Mingyu furrowed his brows.

"Poems." Jeonghan nodded once.

"Damn." Mingyu said. "I didn't peg him for a poetry guy."

"And last week," Jeonghan rubbed a hand over his face. "He interrupted us."

"Interrupted?" Mingyu looked even more confused.

"We were making out." Jeonghan got more frustrated as he recalled the moment.

Mingyu blinked. "Okay. Nevermind."

"And then Joshua called."

"Yikes," Mingyu shook his head. "That's rough."

"It was." Jeonghan sighed. Another silence settled between them. Mingyu looked down at his plate. His lips slowly formed into an exaggerated pout.

Jeonghan frowned. "What are you pouting for?"

Mingyu poked a cucumber slice with his fork. "Why are we eating sad salad?"

Jeonghan stared. He was too stunned to speak.

"Hyung." Mingyu looked genuinely betrayed. "I just got back from Calvin Klein."

"Yeah."

"I've been eating grilled chicken and broccoli for weeks!" Mingyu frowned. "Now I'm back in Korea, and you're making me eat leaves?! I didn't survive Calvin Klein just to come home and eat lettuce."

Jeonghan sighed. "We're models."

"I know."

"Your abs are your moneymaker." Jeonghan nodded towards him.

Mingyu immediately pats his stomach and grabs the collar of his shirt slightly to look down at his abs. "They'll understand. They've worked hard enough."

"Hyung," Mingyu crossed his arms. "I deserve pork."

Jeonghan pinched the bridge of his nose.

"And I want a lot of it." Mingyu pouted even more.

The sound of sizzling pork belly filled the restaurant. Mingyu looked infinitely happier. "Now," he said proudly while flipping the meat, "continue."

Jeonghan couldn't help but laugh. "I invited you here to listen to my problems."

"I am listening," Mingyu said.

"You just needed pork first." Jeonghan rolled his eyes.

"I process emotions better with grilled meat."

Jeonghan rolled his eyes. "So, anyway..." He picked up where he left off. By the time he'd finished recounting every interaction with Joshua, Mingyu had wrapped him three ssams and grilled two more rounds of pork.

"Yeah," Mingyu finally admitted. "He really doesn't get the message."

Jeonghan leaned back with a relieved sigh. "THANK YOU."

"But..." Mingyu pointed at him with his tongs. "You're stronger than me."

"Why do you say that?"

"I would've kicked his ass by now," Mingyu said in a serious tone.

Jeonghan laughed. "I don't have any attachment to Joshua."

Mingyu pursed his lips. "Sure."

"What?"

"I don't think you're attached to Joshua." He placed another strip of pork on the grill. "I think you're starting to have an emotional attachment to him through your girlfriend."

Jeonghan blinked.

Mingyu shrugged. "Think about it," He trailed off, flipping another slice of pork. "You know his schedule, you know where he is, you know what campaigns he's booking, you even knew he was in Florence!"

"Shut up," Jeonghan said, looking down at the table.

Mingyu smiled to himself. "Bingo!" He wrapped another ssam and happily popped it into his mouth. "You're paying."

"Screw you, Kim Mingyu!"

"Love you, too," Mingyu said with his mouth full.

-

Jeon Wonwoo had never liked being the center of attention. Which was ironic, considering he'd chosen a career where people constantly stared at him. Modeling was easier. The cameras never expected him to make conversation.

It was different with people. People expected a lot of things.

Tonight marked Wonwoo's official debut as one of South Korea's newest runway models after months of editorials, lookbooks, and campaign work. His agency had insisted on throwing a small celebration to commemorate the milestone.

Note: small.

No media. No reporters. No influencers. Just a handful of close friends and colleagues from the industry. Preferably men. He specifically typed it on the e-invite:

Subject: JEON WONWOO'S DEBUT CELEBRATION A small gathering to celebrate my official runway debut.

📍 Maison Noir Private Dining 🗓️ Saturday, 8:00 PM

Hi.

Thank you for supporting me throughout the beginning of my modeling career.

I know I don't usually say things like this out loud, but I genuinely appreciate everyone who has guided me, encouraged me, and believed in me. If it weren't for any of you, I'd just be a pro-gamer who's too shy to be a streamer. I'd like to celebrate this milestone with the people who helped me get here.

Dinner and drinks are on me. Please come if you're free.

Dress code: Smart casual

Best regards, Jeon Wonwoo

P.S. Please don't bring gifts. Your presence is more than enough. P.P.S This is a guys-only gathering. I have nothing against women. I'm just more comfortable this way. I'm very introverted, and I would not want to deal with a dating rumor, please. I just started my career. Please don't overthink it. Thank you for understanding. :)

Wonwoo wasn't built to socialize with too many people at once. One room full of men already sounded exhausting enough.

Jeonghan stood in front of the mirror, buttoning the cuffs of his shirt. You peeked into the bedroom with a small pout. "I really can't come?"

Jeonghan chuckled. "Sorry, baby." He reached over to straighten the collar of your oversized hoodie before gently pinching your cheek. "Wonwoo specifically wrote 'guys only' on the email."

"Seriously?" You blinked. "Why?"

Jeonghan laughed under his breath. "Apparently, he's too introverted for girls."

You immediately covered your mouth to stop yourself from laughing. You've met Wonwoo. He's a nice guy, and it wouldn't be very nice of you to laugh at him.

"That's so on brand for Wonwoo," you said. "I mean, I worked with him for Salvatore Ferragamo two months back. He could barely say 'hi'."

Jeonghan laughed as he fixed his hair. You leaned against the doorway dramatically. "I would've behaved."

"I know you would've." Jeonghan snickered.

"I would've stayed in one corner."

"I know."

"I would've only talked to you."

"Mhm."

"So..." you gave him a mischievous grin. "Should I pretend to be a guy? This is my 'She's The Man' moment, baby!"

"Babe, you have boobs. It'd be obvious!" Jeonghan cackled. He couldn't believe he was actually thinking about your plan.

You pouted and crossed your arms. "Mingyu has boobs too, and he doesn't wear a bra. I've seen his Calvin Klein ads!"

At this point, Jeonghan was bent over, laughing. He thought you were the funniest person ever. "I'm telling Mingyu when I see him later."

You let out the most exaggerated sigh imaginable. "At least tell Wonwoo I said congrats."

He walked over and wrapped an arm around your waist before pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I will. I shouldn't be too late."

"Oh, and tell Mingyu to stop eating the food before everyone gets there."

Jeonghan snorted. "Oh, please. We both know his abs wouldn't suffer one bit. Besides, I don't think anyone on earth is capable of stopping Kim Mingyu from eating."

"Fair," you giggled.

He leaned down to steal one last kiss before heading toward the front door. "Love you."

"Love you more."

"Nuh-uh," Jeonghan shook his head. "Love you most."

You rolled your eyes and fought back a grin. Jeonghan smirked, "I'll make it up to you tomorrow, I promise. I'll even buy you two desserts."

"Looking forward to it. Drive safe, baby, and text me when you get there!"

"I will!" Jeonghan waved before walking out and getting in his car.

Jeonghan's phone buzzed the moment he pulled into the parking lot.

[My YN]: Did you drive safely?

He smiled to himself before replying.

[My Hanniebunch]: Already here. [My YN]: Have fun! Don't forget to tell Wonwoo I said congrats! ♥️ [My Hanniebunch]: I will! Love you.

Satisfied, he slipped his phone back into his pocket before making his way inside.

The celebration was already well underway by the time Jeonghan stepped into Maison Noir. He hadn't expected such a turnout. Judging by Wonwoo's invitation, neither had Wonwoo.

The private dining room buzzed with conversation as familiar faces from across the fashion industry filled nearly every table. Models exchanged stories from Paris, Milan, London, and New York as though they hadn't seen each other in years.

For someone who'd insisted on a small gathering, Wonwoo's definition of "small" seemed surprisingly generous.

Jeonghan smiled to himself. He was genuinely happy for Wonwoo. They'd met almost a year ago during a Burberry campaign in London.

Wonwoo had barely spoken to anyone throughout the shoot. Every break, he'd disappear into a corner with his Nintendo Switch while everyone else networked over coffee.

Jeonghan found it amusing. Every model he'd met had spent breaks networking with editors or introducing themselves to photographers. Wonwoo, on the other hand, was trying to catch Pokémon. Jeonghan couldn't help himself. He wandered over.

"What're you playing?" Jeonghan asked, hands in his pockets.

Wonwoo looked up, startled. Oh. Someone was talking to him. His palms immediately grew clammy. He wasn't sure where to look. At Jeonghan? At his Switch? Somewhere in between?

"Um... Pokémon." Wonwoo gulped, awkwardly holding up his Switch.

Jeonghan racked his brain for anything he recalled about Pokémon games. Mingyu wasn't the type to play that much. In the end, he decided to tell the truth.

"I don't know much about Pokémon," Jeonghan admitted. "Who's your starter?"

That single question somehow turned into an hour-long conversation. By the end of the campaign, they weren't just coworkers anymore. They were friends. Wonwoo even gave him an awkward side hug before leaving the shoot, which was honestly more than enough for Jeonghan.

This explained why he wasn't surprised when Wonwoo sent him an e-invite for his debut party.

"Jeonghan-hyung!"

Jeonghan turned just in time to see Wonwoo making his way over.

"Congratulations." Jeonghan smiled warmly before pulling him into a quick hug. "I'm proud of you."

Wonwoo smiled sheepishly. "Thanks."

"You've earned this."

"Oh, I don't know about that." Wonwoo chuckled awkwardly.

"I do."

Wonwoo scratched the back of his neck awkwardly before glancing around the room. "I genuinely thought only five people would come."

"Five?" Jeonghan laughed. "Give yourself some slack, Wonwoo."

"I invited thirty."

"And you expected five?" Jeonghan looked at him like he had three heads.

Wonwoo nodded without a hint of irony. "Maybe seven if Mingyu was hungry."

Jeonghan burst into laughter. Before Jeonghan could reply, another guest called Wonwoo's name from across the room. Wonwoo sighed almost imperceptibly.

"Duty calls."

"Go," Jeonghan chuckled. "It's your night, Wonwoo-yah."

Wonwoo bowed his head once. "Thanks for coming."

As Wonwoo disappeared back into the growing crowd, Jeonghan couldn't help but smile. He'd come a long way from the quiet guy hiding in the corner with a Nintendo Switch. Now he was the reason everyone had gathered tonight.

Just then, someone threw an arm around Jeonghan's shoulders.

"There you are!"

Jeonghan rolled his eyes. He didn't even have to turn around. "Mingyu. You're late."

"Only for three minutes," Mingyu pouted.

"Still late," Jeonghan sighed and faced his friend. "You made me wait so long. I hate you."

"No, you don't," Mingyu teased as they walked to the bar to grab drinks.

"No," Jeonghan admitted with a reluctant smile. "I really don't."

Mingyu handed him a glass of champagne. "To our new, hot friend Wonwoo."

Jeonghan chuckled, "To Wonwoo."

The two clinked glasses and drank.

Across the room, Wonwoo laughed nervously as another model congratulated him. For the first time that evening, he looked comfortable. Jeonghan smiled.

Then, the restaurant doors opened. No one announced his arrival. No dramatic fanfare. And yet, conversations slowed. Heads turned one after another, as though someone had started a domino effect. Even Mingyu paused mid-sip. "Huh?"

Jeonghan frowned. "What?"

Mingyu looked toward the entrance with an amused expression. "I didn't know he was coming."

Jeonghan followed his gaze. A familiar figure stepped through the doorway. Perfect posture. An apologetic smile. Tailored black suit.

Joshua Hong.

Jeonghan blinked once. "Oh, my god."

Mingyu frowned. "What?"

Jeonghan watched Joshua apologize to the hostess for being a few minutes late, then bowed politely to every member of staff who greeted him. The hostess laughed at something he said. Joshua laughed with her.

"It's Glinda," Jeonghan muttered under his breath.

"Who?" Mingyu looked at him, brows knit together.

"Glinda," Jeonghan answered as he watched Joshua's every move. "The Good Witch."

Mingyu looked between Jeonghan and Joshua and sighed. "Hyung..."

"I'm serious."

As Joshua made his way into the room, conversations dissolved into excited greetings. People waved. People stood. Someone called his name from across the restaurant. Joshua smiled at every single person as though they'd known each other for years.

And, against Jeonghan's will, his brain betrayed him.

🎶 Let us be glad...

Joshua stopped to shake hands with Wonwoo's stylist.

🎶 Let us be grateful...

He congratulated Jean-François for his Hermès ad.

🎶 Let us rejoicify...

He remembered the name of Wonwoo's stylist's assistant.

🎶 ...that goodness could subdue...

He complimented Błażej's latest campaign before asking about his mother's cataract surgery.

🎶 ...the wicked workings of...

Joshua's eyes landed on Wonwoo. His face immediately brightened. "Wonwoo-yah!"

🎶 ...you-know-who.

Jeonghan closed his eyes. 'Absolutely not.'

His brain had assigned No One Mourns the Wicked to Joshua Hong. And, infuriatingly enough, it fit. To make matters worse, the man had the audacity to wear pink.

Joshua made a beeline toward the guest of honor. "Wonwoo-yah!"

Wonwoo turned around. The moment he realized who had called his name, his eyes widened. "Joshua-hyung?"

Joshua had plastered a smile on his face. and opened his arms. "Congratulations, dear!"

Wonwoo stepped into the hug almost automatically.

"You worked so hard," Joshua patted his back before pulling away. "I'm really proud of you."

"I..." Wonwoo blinked several times. He couldn't believe it. "I didn't think you'd actually come."

Joshua frowned as if the idea offended him... because it did. "What? Why would you think that way?"

"I mean," Wonwoo laughed awkwardly. "You're always out of the country. I didn't think you'd have time for a... rookie like me. You're a busy man, hyung."

"So are you." Joshua said, determined to boost Wonwoo's confidence.

"But you're Joshua Hong."

"And you're Jeon Wonwoo." Joshua smiled as Wonwoo stared at him. "I don't see the difference."

The tips of Wonwoo's ears turned pink. "I..." He laughed awkwardly. "Thank you."

Joshua noticed the crowd forming around them and gently nudged Wonwoo forward. "Go on."

"Go where?"

Joshua laughed. "Tonight isn't about me, dearest." He rested a hand on Wonwoo's shoulder before lightly tapping a knife against his champagne glass.

Clink.

The conversations gradually quieted. Joshua looked around the room. "I promise I'll keep this short."

A few people laughed.

"Watch." Jeonghan took another sip of champagne. "He's about to make Wonwoo's debut about himself."

Mingyu pursed his lips and shrugged. "Probably not."

"I just wanted to say how proud I am of Wonwoo," Joshua said. He looked over at Wonwoo with the warmest smile Jeonghan had ever seen. "I've watched him grow over the past year. He's one of the hardest-working people I've ever met. He never asks to be noticed. He never asks for praise, but he's earned every bit of tonight."

Joshua lifted his champagne flute. "So," He smiled. "Let's toast to my friend..."

Wonwoo blinked. "Friend?"

Joshua looked at him, equally confused. "Well, of course. How could you not be my friend?"

Wonwoo looked seconds away from passing out. The room erupted into applause. Someone whistled. Someone yelled, "Speech!"

Wonwoo looked horrified. Joshua saw this and laughed lightly. "Easy now." He patted Wonwoo's shoulder. "One milestone at a time."

Instead of remaining beside him, Joshua quietly stepped to the side. Just enough. Just enough that every eye naturally returned to Wonwoo. Jeonghan noticed. Of course, he noticed.

He redirected the attention.

Even now. Even when the entire room wanted to celebrate Joshua's arrival. He somehow made it about Wonwoo.

"You've got to be kidding me," Jeonghan mumbled.

"Hm?" Mingyu glanced over.

"Nothing."

Before Wonwoo could be swallowed by another wave of congratulations, Joshua finally looked around the room again.

His eyes landed on Mingyu. "Mingyu, darling!"

Mingyu immediately broke into a grin. "Hyung!"

Joshua pulled him into a tight hug. "It's been ages! We last saw each other at Givenchy, right?"

"Yeah!" Mingyu laughed. "We should go clubbing again."

"Oh, we absolutely should!" Joshua exclaimed excitedly. "I believe it's your turn to buy everyone drinks. I'll get the food."

"I think it's only fair," Mingyu chuckled.

Joshua stepped back, looking Mingyu up and down. "You look incredible."

"So do you," Mingyu grinned. "Pink is your color."

Joshua waved him off. "Enough about me. I loved your Calvin Klein campaign! Very, very sexy of you."

Mingyu rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. "Thanks, hyung."

Only then did Joshua's gaze shift toward Jeonghan. His smile never faltered. "Jeonghan."

This time, he walked over properly. "It's good to see you again."

"Likewise," Jeonghan said with a tight-lipped smile.

"I've actually wanted to tell you something."

Jeonghan blinked. "...Me?"

Joshua nodded enthusiastically. "I still remember seeing your photo for the first time."

Jeonghan laughed awkwardly. "My first YSL campaign?"

"What?" Joshua chuckled. "No." He shook his head. "You did a Lotte Department Store campaign years ago."

"The... mall poster?"

"Yes!" Joshua pointed at him excitedly. "That's the one."

Jeonghan froze. Not everyone knew about that. Not even you or Mingyu. Not even his agency talked about it. It was a job he'd quietly buried years ago.

It was his first shoot after deciding he wanted to pursue modeling. He was never really good academically, anyway. In truth, he pursued modeling because of Joshua. He was so intrigued by him when he saw his face in his little sister's magazine. He wanted to look just as good.

Booking a Lotte Department Store campaign seemed right at the time. Sure, the studio location was sketchy, and there was little to no staff at the shoot, and he had to do his own makeup, but it went alright.

"I was shopping with my mom." Joshua smiled fondly. "I remember seeing this huge poster of you." He laughed. "You looked so awkward."

Joshua copied the pose from memory, and Mingyu snorted into his champagne.

Jeonghan deadpanned. "Gee, thanks."

"But," Joshua continued quickly, "you were far too handsome to be stuck on a department store poster. So, I took a picture of it and sent it to your current agency." He was so casual about it.

Jeonghan's eyebrows shot up. "You... what?"

Joshua nodded. "I told them, 'I don't know who he is, but you should find him'. Oh, I was so happy when they told me they found you!" He looked at Jeonghan with a fond smile. "They tracked you down a few months later, didn't they?"

"Yeah," Jeonghan muttered. Mingyu was too stunned to speak.

"I knew they would. I've been rooting for you ever since," Joshua's smile widened. Then he gestured proudly toward Jeonghan. "Now look at you; YSL, Burberry... I absolutely loved your Paolo Roversi editorial."

Joshua's eyes sparkled. "It was so artistic, darling. So raw. I don't think anyone else could've done it the way you did."

Jeonghan stared. He didn't know what to say. Because rookie Jeonghan would've cried hearing those words. Present-day Jeonghan, however...

Present-day Jeonghan wished Joshua had been a worse person.

It would've made all of this so much easier.

YOU'RE IN MY WAY

Jeonghan had never been in many relationships because each relationship he had with his ex-girlfriends lasted quite a while before the inevitable breakup. Now that he was with you, he was determined to see your relationship until you both die. You were the last girl for him; he was sure of it.

He was never the jealous type. No, he was very understanding. He never yelled to get his point across. He was in tune with your feelings, and he made sure he was attentive to everything while juggling hectic schedules.

He was very patient, too. In fact, he was so patient that he let everything with Joshua Hong slide. The straw that broke the camel's back? The award show.

Joshua can call you, text you, like your posts, and comment all he wants, but saving you a seat at an award show when everyone knew you'd be attending as a couple? Absolutely not.

'Has he gone insane?' Jeonghan thought to himself.

"Oh, I appreciate it, Joshie," you smiled politely. "I'm sitting with Hannie tonight, though."

"No worries," Joshua smiled. "I hope you guys enjoy the night. Perhaps I can ask someone else to sit with me."

"Trust me, a lot of people would want to sit with you," Jeonghan said in a tone that neither you nor Joshua picked up on.

Joshua's eye lit up, "That is so nice of you to say, Jeonghan! I sure hope it's true. I think I'll ask Wonwoo. He's comfortable with me." He glanced at Wonwoo and waved him over. When Wonwoo walked over, Joshua immediately invited him to sit with him. Of course, he agreed.

You caught up with Joshua and Wonwoo for a while before you and Jeonghan went to your seats. He didn't want to ruin your night, but he had had enough of Joshua.

A few days after the award show, his head had already cooled down. During those days, he decided it was best to talk to Joshua. Enough was enough.

"Babe?" Jeonghan asked.

"Mhm?"

He took a deep breath and gave you a tight-lipped smile. "Can I... have Joshua's number?"

You quickly looked up from your laptop in disbelief. "Really?"

"Yeah."

You smiled. "I've been waiting for you to ask!" You quickly pulled out your phone, "You two have so much in common! I think you'll get along."

"Yeah," Jeonghan forced a smile. "I hope so."

After sending him Joshua's contact, you quickly sent him a text.

[Love ♥️]: Joshieeee! Hannie asked for your number!! I think he wants to be friends, and he wants to talk and hang out 🥹 [Joshie 💫]: Really?? 🥹 [Joshie 💫]: That makes me so happy, darling! [Joshie 💫]: I've always wanted to get to know him better!

Jeonghan wasted no time in shooting Joshua a text. To his surprise, Joshua replied immediately. A part of him fanboyed. He understood how Wonwoo felt when he saw Joshua walk into the restaurant. He also understood how Mingyu felt when Joshua bought drinks for everyone at the Givenchy thing.

[Joshua Hong]: Hi, Jeonghan! 😊 [Joshua Hong]: Y/N told me you wanted to talk! [Joshua Hong]: I'd love that. [Joshua Hong]: Coffee?

Jeonghan stared at his phone in disbelief. Jeonghan thought, if Glinda the Good Witch had a phone, she'd text like Joshua Hong.

[Jeonghannie]: Tomorrow? [Joshua Hong]: Perfect! [Joshua Hong]: My treat 😊

Jeonghan thought that was it, but Joshua had texted him again.

[Joshua Hong]: Maru Lounge at Four Seasons, 2:00 PM tomorrow? If you'd prefer somewhere else, just let me know. I'd be happy to change it for your convenience. 😊

Jeonghan stared at the messages.

A reservation. At Four Seasons. With Joshua Hong.

Somewhere deep inside him, rookie Jeonghan screamed.

"Oh, my god! Joshua Hong invited us to Four Seasons!! He made a reservation for us! THIS IS NOT A DRILL."

Present-day Jeonghan pinched the bridge of his nose. He's not doing this. He will not give in to his rookie self.

But rookie Jeonghan ignored him completely.

"WE'RE HAVING COFFEE WITH JOSHUA HONG! AT FOUR SEASONS! DO YOU KNOW HOW EXPENSIVE FOUR SEASONS IS??? WHAT ARE WE WEARING?! WE HAVE TO WEAR THAT YSL COMBO THAT YOU GOT IN YOUR CLOSET!"

"We're not dressing up for Joshua Hong."

"HE'S GOING TO NOTICE IF WE DON'T MAKE AN EFFORT! WE'RE MEETING HIM AT THE FOUR SEASONS!!!"

"That is literally the opposite of the point."

"I bet he'd be dressed head-to-toe in Prada..."

"You know what? He probably will be."

Present-day Jeonghan absolutely did not want to indulge the voice inside his head. Besides, it didn't matter, right? Joshua Hong is just a regular person. It shouldn't matter.

"It matters to me, present-day Jeonghan. Please, please, PLEASE don't embarrass us! Ask him for a photo or an autograph! TELL HIM YOU LOVED HIS GIVENCHY ERA!!! His Armani era was scrumptious, too!"

Since when did his rookie self describe Joshua as "scrumptious"? He'll never know. He was torn, if he were being honest. He's literally about to tell Joshua to fuck off.

"Can you at least compliment his suit? I bet he'd style his hair in that slicked-back hairstyle and have shades on his head as a makeshift headband."

Jeonghan let out a long, exhausted sigh before typing his reply.

[Jeonghannie]: Sounds good. See you tomorrow, Joshua!

The next afternoon arrived much faster than Jeonghan would've liked. He stood in front of his closet for far longer than necessary. Rookie Jeonghan had somehow taken over.

"Not the hoodie."

Present-day Jeonghan sighed. "I'm not dressing up for Joshua Hong."

"You absolutely are."

"In case you forgot, I'm confronting him to, like, stay away from our girlfriend."

"Yes, but you're confronting Joshua Hong... at the Four Seasons. At least wear the YSL jacket."

Present-day Jeonghan pinched the bridge of his nose. Against his better judgment, he wore the YSL jacket.

Maru Lounge at the Four Seasons was exactly what Jeonghan imagined Joshua Hong's favorite place would look like.

Quiet. Elegant. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked Gwanghwamun, letting warm afternoon sunlight spill across polished marble floors. A pianist played softly in the corner while guests spoke in hushed voices over afternoon tea.

Jeonghan checked the time. 1:56 PM.

He was early. Then he looked toward the corner of the lounge, Of course, Joshua was already there. Fifteen minutes early, if Jeonghan had to guess.

He wasn't scrolling on his phone. He wasn't taking calls. He wasn't even working. Instead, he sat by the window with a pot of tea already poured, occasionally thanking Gerard whenever he came by to refill his teapot. As if sensing someone watching him, Joshua looked up. His face immediately brightened.

"Jeonghan!" He stood so quickly that his chair nearly slid backward.

"You made it!" Joshua smiled, waving him over as though they've been friends for years. "I hope traffic wasn't too bad."

Jeonghan was glad he listened to his inner voice because Joshua was wearing a cream knit polo beneath a light beige blazer, and a pair of sunglasses rested on top of his head like a headband. He was sure that Joshua was drenched in Prada.

"It was fairly quick to get here," Jeonghan said softly as he approached.

Joshua extended his hand. "It's nice seeing you again."

Jeonghan shook it. "You too."

Joshua looked almost relieved. "Oh, please sit. I'm so happy that we're finally having this opportunity to bond. Perhaps we should invite Mingyu and Wonwoo next time. I like their company as well."

The two of them sat down across from each other. The moment they sat down, Gerard approached with an easy smile.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Hong."

"Good afternoon, Gerard." Joshua smiled back as though greeting an old friend. "You're looking great!"

"Thank you, Mr. Hong," Gerard smiled politely.

"Thank you for accommodating us," Joshua said easily. Jeonghan just watched as he interacted with Gerard. It wasn't his place to join the conversation. Besides, Joshua did all the talking.

"My pleasure, sir." Gerard placed two menus on the table. "The usual?"

Joshua glanced at Jeonghan. "I might switch things up today." He looked back at Gerard. "We'll need another minute."

"Of course," As Gerard walked away, Joshua turned back to Jeonghan.

"I hope this place is alright for you," Joshua said with a hint of nervousness in his voice. Gosh, he just wanted to make friends. If he only knew what Jeonghan was here for.

"It's... nice."

Joshua smiled. "I like coming here whenever I need some peace and quiet." Then he paused. "Oh."

His eyebrows knitted together. "Y/N never told me if you were vegan… or pescatarian."

Jeonghan blinked. "What?"

"I wasn't sure what you ate." Joshua looked genuinely apologetic. "I had ordered a few things to snack on while waiting. Just... safe snacks for sharing."

Then Joshua's eyes widened. "Oh, dear."

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow. "What now?"

"You're not allergic to anything, are you?"

"No."

Joshua visibly relaxed. "Oh, thank goodness. I was worried I'd accidentally kill you before we even had coffee."

A laugh escaped Jeonghan before he could stop it. "I'm good."

"Wonderful," Joshua smiled. Right on cue, Gerard returned with several small plates.

"Falafel with chickpeas, coriander, quinoa, lime juice, lemon juice, and yoghurt dressing."

"Our Premium Cheese Platter with crackers, dried fruit, nuts, and honey."

"And our Seasonal Sliced Fruit Platter." Gerard smiled. "Enjoy."

"Many thanks, Gerard," Joshua smiled. "We'll call you when we're ready to order."

Jeonghan stared at the food before him. "Josua..."

Joshua was browsing the menu before he looked up. "Yes?"

"There are two of us," Jeonghan said. "Do you usually feed an entire runway cast?"

Joshua laughed softly. "Oh, I may have overestimated." He smiled sheepishly, "I wasn't sure what you liked, so I ordered the safest options."

"Please forgive me if it's too much," Joshua looked almost embarrassed.

Jeonghan looked at the spread again. "Too much?"

Joshua gestured at the menu beside Jeonghan's plate. "But please order whatever you'd like. Personally, it's been a while since I've had a cheat day, so I'll be having the Maru Burger. I'll call Gerard once you've decided."

Jeonghan looked up. "Gerard?"

"The gentleman who greeted us."

"You know the staff?"

Joshua smiled fondly. "I come here rather often when I want some peace and quiet." He glanced toward Gerard. "He's usually assigned to my table."

Silence.

Jeonghan slowly looked around the lounge. The pianist. The marble. The crystal chandeliers. "Peace and quiet."

Joshua followed his gaze.

"This..." Jeonghan gestured vaguely around the room. "...is where you relax?"

Joshua blinked. "Shouldn't I?" He tilted his head. "If you ever have the chance, you should try the spa here."

His face brightened. "They have a spa treatment called Gangyeong. It's wonderful. They start with a warm foot-and-hand ritual, then a relaxation massage. Then they do a thermal ear ritual and an inner beauty facial. Afterwards, they do a scalp treatment…"

He smiled fondly. "I always fall asleep."

Jeonghan stared. "You have a favorite spa treatment."

Joshua blinked. "Yes...?"

Then realization slowly crossed Joshua's face. "Oh." He laughed at himself. "I'm doing it again, aren't I?"

Jeonghan didn't know what to say. He didn't want to offend the man. "No, it's..." He looked around again. "...Very nice."

Joshua smiled apologetically. "I probably should've asked if you were comfortable meeting here. I didn't think about it. I just come here whenever I need to clear my head."

Silence. Then, Gerard returned once more. "May I get you gentlemen something to drink?"

Joshua looked toward Jeonghan. "What would you like?"

"I'll just have water," Jeonghan said as if he had said it a million times. Well, because he had.

Joshua blinked. "Just water?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you sure?"

"Would you like sparkling?" Gerard asked.

Jeonghan frowned. "I'll have... water-water."

"What is water-water?" Joshua asked, genuinely curious. "Extra purified, or extra distilled?"

"Just regular water," Jeonghan said. "I'll be having regular water."

"Is that final?" Joshua asked.

Jeonghan nodded. "It's free."

Joshua paused. "Oh." Something clicked. He smiled to himself, "You're a water type."

"I'm a what?" Jeonghan frowned.

"My parents used to joke about it," Joshua chuckled. "There are water people and soda people. Water people always order water. Soda people never even look at the drinks menu."

He pointed gently between them. "You order water because it's practical. I order whatever sounds nice because I don't think about the price." He laughed at himself. "I've always been a soda person."

Jeonghan stared at him for a second before letting out a quiet chuckle. "...That might be the most old-money sentence I've ever heard."

Joshua blinked, then scrunched his nose. "Was it?"

"It absolutely was." Jeonghan chuckled.

"Oh, dear," Joshua hid his face behind the menu for a second. "Please don't tell Y/N."

Jeonghan frowned. "Why?"

Joshua sighed dramatically. "She keeps telling me I have no concept of money."

"Yeah," Jeonghan snickered. "She may have a point."

Gerard returned a few moments later with their drinks. "One still water," he said as he gently placed the glass before Jeonghan. "And a blueberry yoghurt smoothie for you, Mr. Hong."

"Many thanks, Gerard," Joshua smiled.

"My pleasure," He stepped away, leaving the two men alone once more. For a while, the conversation remained pleasantly light.

Their orders arrived not long after. Joshua asked about Jeonghan's recent Burberry campaign, complimenting the Paolo Roversi editorial once again. Jeonghan, despite himself, found himself asking Joshua about Milan Fashion Week. Joshua happily shared a few stories, mostly about getting lost in the city and accidentally ordering enough pastries for an entire production team because he couldn't decide which ones looked best.

At one point, Jeonghan laughed so hard he had to set his fork down. "You actually bought all of them?"

"They looked lonely." Joshua looked almost embarrassed.

Jeonghan stared. "The... pastries...?"

Joshua nodded earnestly. "They deserved a chance."

"You're unbelievable," Jeonghan laughed under his breath.

"So I've been told."

Lunch drifted by surprisingly easily. The food disappeared. The conversation never really stopped.

When dessert arrived—a Basque cheesecake for Joshua and a dark chocolate tart for Jeonghan—the silence between them no longer felt awkward.

It almost felt comfortable. Which only made what Jeonghan came here to do even harder.

Joshua set his fork down first. "I'm glad you reached out." Jeonghan looked up. Joshua smiled. "I've always wanted to get to know you better."

There it was, the opening he needed. Jeonghan quietly placed his fork beside his plate. "I actually," He hesitated. "Didn't ask you here because I wanted to be friends."

Joshua's smile faltered. "Oh..." Then he hummed. "I figured."

Jeonghan blinked. "You did?"

Joshua gave a tiny nod. "Not at first." He looked down at his untouched smoothie. "But..." his fingers absentmindedly traced the rim of the porcelain cup. "I started wondering why your laugh never reached your eyes." His smile became smaller.

Silence.

The pianist continued playing softly somewhere across the lounge. Outside, afternoon sunlight poured through the windows, bathing the room in gold. Inside, something shifted. Joshua straightened slightly.

His voice remained gentle. "Whatever it is you wanted to tell me..." He folded his hands neatly together. "I'm listening."

Jeonghan stared at the half-finished desserts between them. The words he'd rehearsed on the drive over suddenly felt much heavier because he genuinely enjoyed Joshua's company.

"Can I ask you something first?"

Joshua nodded. "Of course."

Jeonghan took a deep breath and met his eyes. "Do you... Do you still love Y/N?"

The pianist continued playing somewhere behind them. Joshua didn't answer immediately. He looked down at his tea. Then, quietly— "Yes."

Jeonghan felt something tighten in his chest. Joshua looked back up almost immediately. "But she doesn't love me. I know that. I accepted that a long time ago." He smiled sadly. "I've made peace with that, Jeonghan."

Jeonghan leaned back in his chair. "Have you?"

"I believe so," Joshua blinked.

"You believe so?"

Joshua frowned slightly. "Yes."

Jeonghan let out a humorless laugh. "Joshua."

"Hm?"

"You're... whimsical," Jeonghan began. "But you're not stupid."

He let out a breath and stared intently at Joshua, keeping his emotions at bay. "I know you're not. And I know that you know you're not."

Joshua's expression grew more serious. "I don't think I understand."

"No," Jeonghan nodded slowly. "I think you do."

He leaned forward. "You saved her seats, you call her, you text her, you comment on everything she posts, you invite her to dinner, you still call her 'darling'."

Joshua waited until Jeonghan was finished. Then he answered softly, "She's my best friend. I only wanted her to know she still had someone she could rely on."

"That's exactly the problem." Jeonghan shook his head. "She's your ex."

"I know." Joshua gulped.

"Do you?" Jeonghan raised a brow.

"...Yes."

"Then act like it." Jeonghan snapped. "I don't think you're aware of how you're acting, Joshua."

"You keep saying you're her best friend. You keep saying you've accepted the breakup, but every single thing you do..." Jeonghan gestured helplessly. "Says the exact opposite."

"I—"

Jeonghan's frustration spilled over, not giving Joshua any room to speak. "You're not aware until after you do it."

His voice carried farther than he intended. A few nearby guests glanced over. Gerard paused for only a second before quietly continuing with another table.

Joshua noticed immediately. "Jeonghan..."

Jeonghan shut his eyes. Ran a hand over his face. When he spoke again, his voice was lower. "Sorry. I'm not trying to make a scene. I just..." He exhaled sharply. "I'm frustrated."

Joshua nodded once. "Thank you."

Jeonghan looked up. "What?"

"Thank you for telling me," Joshua said gracefully. Jeonghan hated it. "I'd rather hear it from you than unknowingly continue hurting you."

That somehow made everything worse. Jeonghan laughed once. Short. Disbelieving. "You know what the worst part is?"

Joshua stayed silent.

"I respect you." Jeonghan sighed. "I respected you before I even met you."

"I became a model because I looked up to people like you. I thought rookie Jeonghan would've lost his mind knowing he'd one day have coffee with Joshua Hong, his idol; his everything."

Joshua looked crestfallen.

"But present-day Jeonghan is having a really hard time liking you," Jeonghan said. "I don't hate you. I don't dislike you at all. I wish you were an asshole because this would've been so much easier."

Another pause.

"But you're kind. You're generous. You mean well all the time, and that's exactly why this is so difficult."

Joshua's eyes began to glisten. Barely.

"I respect you with every fiber of my being," Jeonghan continued. "Which is why it hurts that I don't feel respected as Y/N's boyfriend."

Joshua immediately straightened. "I'm so—"

"No," Jeonghan shook his head. "Don't apologize yet. I want you to fuc— listen. I want you to listen."

Joshua nodded.

"I drew a map when Y/N and I started dating," Jeonghan said. "My relationship. My boundaries. My responsibilities." He looked Joshua directly in the eye. "And you've crossed lines you probably didn't even know existed."

Joshua didn't interrupt.

"So let me tell you where they are," Jeonghan took a slow breath. "Call her less. Stop saving seats for her. Stop behaving like the person she'll naturally turn to first."

"I never asked her to," Joshua said quietly.

Jeonghan finally explodes. "YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO!"

Everyone looked over.

Silence.

The pianist keeps playing. Jeonghan immediately realizes where he is. He pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry. I'm not doing this here."

"You shouldn't have to," Joshua whispered.

Jeonghan took a deep breath. "She chose me, and I need you to respect that choice."

"Thank you," Joshua said quietly, "for telling me. I genuinely realize I'd crossed those boundaries. Words cannot express how awful I feel. For that, I deeply and sincerely apologize."

He looked up. There wasn't a trace of defensiveness in it. Only regret. "I'll stop."

Gerard approaches. "Whenever you're ready, gentlemen."

Joshua looks up. "Oh." He smiled softly. "The bill, please."

The bill arrives, and Gerard leaves it on the table. Jeonghan reached for his wallet, but Joshua gently stopped him. "Please, allow me."

Jeonghan frowned. "After everything?"

Joshua smiled softly. It was the same warm smile he'd worn all afternoon. It simply didn't reach his eyes anymore. "It was my invitation."

He paid the bill and signed before Gerard handed back his card and left.

Jeonghan had imagined feeling relieved. Victorious, perhaps. Instead, there was only an uncomfortable heaviness settling somewhere beneath his ribs.

Jeonghan meant for his relationship to be respected.

Joshua understood that he should remove himself from your lives.

Jeonghan stood up after a moment of silence, and he put on his coat. He looked at Joshua one last time. "Just stay away from my relationship."

Joshua simply bowed. "I understand."

Joshua remained in his seat as he watched Jeonghan walk away. Jeonghan never looked back.

Jeonghan didn't feel victorious when he stepped out of the Four Seasons.

He expected relief. Satisfaction, perhaps. He had finally done what he'd wanted to do for months. He had stood up for his relationship. He had drawn the boundaries that should've been drawn long ago.

Instead, he felt strangely hollow. He resisted every urge to look back. He didn't.

When he arrived home, he found you exactly where he'd expected. Curled up on the couch with your laptop balanced across your knees. The moment you heard the front door open, your face lit up.

"Hannie!" Setting your laptop on the coffee table, you hurried over excitedly. "How'd it go?"

Jeonghan managed a small smile as he slipped off his shoes. "...It went well."

"It did?"

He nodded. "We talked."

You clasped your hands together. "I knew it! I told you you two would get along."

"Yeah," Jeonghan laughed quietly.

You immediately reached for your phone. "Joshi hasn't texted me yet." You frowned. "That's weird. He always tells me how things went after meeting people."

Jeonghan looked away. "Maybe he's still driving."

You nodded, accepting the answer without another thought. "Probably. Maybe he's on a phone call with Versace. He told me that he's expecting a call from Donatella. He'll probably call me later so he can update me all at once."

That night, however, your phone received no notifications from Joshua, but Jeonghan did. It buzzed just before midnight. You fell asleep with a hint of hurt, but Jeonghan was wide awake.

[Joshua Hong]: Good evening, Jeonghan. Thank you once again for taking the time to meet with me today. I sincerely appreciate your honesty and the respect with which you expressed your concerns. After reflecting on our conversation, I now understand the boundaries you entrusted me to respect. Please accept my deepest apologies for the discomfort I have caused you throughout your relationship with Y/N. Going forward, I will ensure that my actions reflect our discussion. I wish you both nothing but happiness. Respectfully, Joshua Hong

Jeonghan stared at the message for a long time. He typed. Deleted it. Typed again. Deleted it once more. Eventually, he locked his phone without replying.

Joshua kept his word. Painfully so. The comments beneath your Instagram posts disappeared first. Then the daily texts.

Then the late-night phone calls after fashion week, whenever he wanted to complain about quick changes, impossible schedules, or how Prada insisted on making him walk every ten seconds.

He stopped saving you seats at award shows. Stopped waiting after campaigns. Stopped inviting everyone to dinner after shoots. Whenever your schedules crossed, he greeted everyone with the same warm smile. Congratulated them. Finished his work.

Then quietly excused himself before anyone could ask him to stay. No one questioned it at first. Models grew busier. Campaigns overlapped. People traveled. Friendships naturally drifted apart. At least, that was what everyone told themselves.

The first person to notice was Mingyu. "Shua-hyung didn't invite us out after Givenchy."

Wonwoo shrugged. "Maybe he's tired."

Then came another campaign. Another fashion week. Another after-party, Joshua politely declined. Then another.

Soon enough, even Wonwoo stopped making excuses. "That's unlike him."

You noticed next. At first, it was little things. Joshua stopped calling you. Stopped sending reels. Stopped sending pictures of stray cats he'd seen on morning walks. The nicknames disappeared, too. The first time he addressed you by your actual name during a group chat, you stared at your phone for nearly a minute.

[Joshie💫]: Thank you, Y/N.

You frowned. "Hannie."

Jeonghan looked up from the kitchen. You held out your phone. "Look. I'm not 'Y/N'." A small laugh escaped you. "I'm always 'darling'."

Jeonghan forced himself to smile. "Maybe he's teasing you, love."

"I don't think so," You looked down at the screen again. "It feels weird."

Then came your birthday. Your apartment overflowed with flowers, laughter, and familiar faces. Mingyu somehow convinced half the industry to show up. Wonwoo brought wine. Seungcheol complained about traffic and his BOSS photo shoot ending late before hugging you anyway.

Every few minutes, your eyes wandered toward the entrance. Jeonghan noticed. "You okay?"

You smiled. "Yeah." Another glance toward the door. "I just thought Joshie would've been here by now. He's usually the first one here."

"He didn't RSVP."

"Oh," Your smile faltered. "That's, um, that's new. He didn't RSVP?"

"No," Jeonghan shook his head.

"I hope he's okay," You looked down at your untouched drink. "I can't read him lately, which is ridiculous because he's my best friend." A quiet laugh. "We know each other so well. Now, I don't even know what's happening."

You looked at Jeonghan. "Did he tell you anything?"

Jeonghan hesitated. "No."

"I don't get it. If he has so much free time," you swallowed. "why didn't he come to my birthday?"

Jeonghan looked around the room. Everyone else was laughing. Celebrating. Completely unaware.

He took your hand. "Can we talk somewhere?"

That night, he told you everything. From Maru Lounge. To the conversation. To the boundaries. To the apology. To the final words.

You listened without interrupting. By the end, you were crying. Not because Jeonghan had spoken to Joshua. You understood why. Not because he had drawn boundaries. You agreed he should have.

You cried because you thought that Joshua thought you wanted him gone.

A week later, Joshua Hong announced an indefinite hiatus from modeling. His agency cited "personal reasons". His comments disappeared. Interviews stopped. Fashion weeks continued without him. For the first time in over a decade, Joshua Hong simply vanished.

No one knew where he had gone. Only three people knew why.

BONUS

ONE YEAR LATER.

Photo shoots were always chaotic.

Stylists hurried between racks of clothing, photographers tested lighting, makeup artists called out for models, and production assistants sprinted across the venue with clipboards clutched to their chests.

The Valentino shoot was running twenty minutes behind schedule.

Mingyu leaned against the catering table with a coffee in one hand. "I'm telling you," he sighed dramatically, "after this shoot, we're going clubbing."

Jeonghan looked up from his phone. "It's only eight in the morning."

"So?"

"So no."

Mingyu rolled his eyes. "You've gotten boring ever since you started dating."

"Hey!" You exclaimed.

"I've gotten old," Jeonghan said.

"You're only thirty."

"Exactly."

Before Mingyu could argue back, the studio doors opened. One of Valentino's producers hurried inside. "He's here!"

Several staff members looked up at once.

"The Joshua Hong?"

"I heard he accepted!"

"I thought he retired?"

"I haven't photographed him in forever!"

The room buzzed with excitement. Jeonghan frowned. "Joshua?"

Mingyu blinked. "I thought Valentino booked you because he wasn't available."

"So did I."

The producer looked around. "Where's Joshua Hong?"

Then, the doors opened again. Silence swept across the studio. Joshua stepped inside. He wore a simple black coat over a white T-shirt and trousers, a garment bag slung neatly over one shoulder.

No entourage. No sunglasses. No dazzling entrance. He simply walked in. He looked thinner, not unhealthy. Just quieter. The room still reacted the same way.

"Joshua!"

"It's so good to have you back!"

"Oh, my god!"

"Welcome home!"

Photographers smiled. Stylists waved. Hair and makeup artists hurried over to greet him. Joshua returned every greeting with the same gentle smile he'd always worn.

"Thank you. It's nice seeing you again. I hope you've all been well." Then, his eyes found Mingyu. Then Jeonghan. And finally, you. Time seemed to stop.

Your face lit up immediately. "Joshie!" You instinctively took a step toward him. Joshua froze. Only for a second. His smile remained. "Y/N."

It was the first time he'd ever called you by your name. You didn't seem to notice. You closed the distance between you and wrapped your arms tightly around him.

"Oh my gosh," You laughed. "I missed you."

For one fleeting moment, Joshua almost hugged you back. His hands lifted then stopped. He gently rested them against your arms instead. Carefully. Respectfully. Creating just enough space to step away.

When you looked up, he was still smiling. It simply didn't reach his eyes. "It's nice seeing you again."

Confusion flickered across your face. "Joshie?"

Before you could ask him another question, Joshua looked toward the producer. "I'm terribly sorry." His voice remained as polite as ever. "It appears Valentino may have booked us under the assumption that I would be unavailable."

He glanced briefly at Jeonghan. Then lowered his eyes. "I have somewhere else to be regardless." A small bow. "Perhaps I may be considered for the next campaign instead."

The producer looked horrified. "No, no, Mr. Hong—we can make this work—"

Joshua smiled gently. "I wouldn't want to inconvenience anyone." His gaze returned to Jeonghan for only a moment. "Nor do I wish to make anyone uncomfortable."

Jeonghan's chest tightened. "Joshua..."

Joshua looked up. Jeonghan gulped. "Stay."

For the first time that morning, Joshua hesitated. The studio had gone almost completely silent. Even Mingyu, who normally always had something to say, simply watched.

Joshua offered the smallest smile. "Thank you, but I do not wish to be in the way."

The words hung in the air. Only Jeonghan understood what they meant. Only Jeonghan knew where they'd come from. He watched Joshua turn toward the exit. Something inside him twisted. This wasn't what he'd asked for. It had never been what he'd asked for.

"Joshua."

Joshua stopped walking. Without turning around. Jeonghan spoke before he could think. "Will you be at Cheol's party?"

A long silence. Then Joshua answered quietly. "I don't think I should attend." He smiled to himself. "It's best this way. Please take care."

The doors closed softly behind him. No one moved. No one spoke. Finally, Mingyu looked around the room in complete disbelief.

"What was that?" He frowned toward the now-closed doors. "What the hell happened to Shua-hyung?"

a/n: aaaaahhh IM SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY BUT i hope you guys liked the switch up! i often read stories abt women being so persistent or crazy ex gf fics, so i thought i'd change it! i hope you guys dont mind. please lmk what u think! see u in purple with minghao! <3

The moment he looked up at the grand entrance, lined with press and security, his stomach plummeted. Cameras flashed as reporters whispered among themselves. Then, right by the entrance, he spotted a display showcasing the event’s purpose—complete with a blown-up image of the host.

The prime minister.

Your father is the prime minister.

Jeonghan went rigid. The weight of realization crashed down on him like a damn tidal wave. His mind scrambled, trying to recall every conversation he had with you, every small clue he should have picked up on. The ease with which you carried yourself, your careful yet casual way of speaking, your quiet but unmistakable air of authority—it all made sense now.

Ji Y/n. Ji Jaekyung.

He should’ve connected the dots. He should’ve questioned why someone as well-educated and sophisticated as you chose to teach at a cram school. Instead, he had been too preoccupied judging your practical outfit and your unpretentious behavior during your first date. Now, he was standing in front of a nationally broadcasted event, fully aware that he had walked straight into the lion’s den.

And he still had time to run. He always ran.

Running was easy. It had saved him more times than he could count. But as his feet itched to turn back, he hesitated. Because now that he knew who you really were—now that he had seen you not as the prime minister’s daughter, but as someone warm, self-assured, and unexpectedly real—walking away felt... wrong.

He had promised you he’d come.

Jeonghan was no one. Just a man who navigated the world of the elite through charm and carefully crafted interactions. His life revolved around dating the daughters of the wealthy, women whose mothers he conveniently befriended in art and culinary classes. A charming conversation, a well-placed compliment, and he’d find himself indulging in designer gifts, chauffeured rides, and exclusive experiences. It was a delicate game—one he played flawlessly.

When the relationship inevitably fizzled out, he stayed just long enough to soak in whatever luxury he could before moving on. It wasn’t about love. It was about survival.

He had never met you before, only your mother, who had gushed about you during a cooking class.

"My daughter is really pretty! She's also a very intelligent woman. You two would get along well!"

And then that night, you stood before him—dressed in a crisp yet simple blouse and slacks. Your hair was slightly disheveled, and the faint sheen of sweat on your forehead suggested you had rushed to get here.

"Thanks for waiting," you said, a polite smile on your lips as you caught your breath. "The commute was a nightmare."

Jeonghan blinked. Commute? His past dates never commuted. They arrived in sleek black cars with drivers waiting outside.

With a deep breath, Jeonghan climbed the ballroom stairs, nodding at the suited staff by the door. He gave his name, expecting them to glance at a guest list and wave him through. Instead, they barely checked before stepping aside with smooth efficiency, as if he were someone important.

It wasn’t until he caught a glimpse of the guest registry that his breath hitched.

His name was written under the family list.

Not as a guest. Not as a friend.

Ji Y/n’s plus one.

A sudden weight settled onto his shoulders. His fingers twitched at his sides. He was no stranger to high society, but this was an entirely different league. A world of power, scrutiny, and unspoken rules.

He schooled his expression, squared his shoulders, and walked inside. If he was already in this deep, he might as well make it look like he belonged.

Your mother was the first to greet him, her poised smile barely masking the subtle scrutiny in her gaze. She wasted no time in informing him that you hadn’t arrived yet, her tone carrying a hint of exasperation as she sighed.

"That daughter of mine," she muttered, shaking her head. "Always prioritizing those students of hers over her father’s business. She should be here already."

Jeonghan hummed in response, unsure whether he should agree or defend you. He had barely opened his mouth when she looped her arm through his, effortlessly pulling him into the crowd.

Before he knew it, he was being paraded around the room, introduced to your mother’s circle of socialites. Wealthy figures, business moguls, and politicians—each one scanning him with polite curiosity, trying to place him in their world. Jeonghan smiled when necessary, nodded at the right moments, but his mind was elsewhere.

Then he saw you.

The moment you stepped through the entrance, the noise around him faded.

Gone was the casual, practical look from your date. Tonight, you carried yourself with quiet elegance, dressed in a modest but effortlessly stunning gown. The soft lighting of the ballroom caught the delicate shimmer of your makeup, accentuating the natural beauty he had already memorized.

For a second, Jeonghan forgot to breathe.

Because this—this poised, graceful version of you—was the one that belonged in this world. And he was just starting to realize how many time you had surprised him just by tonight

"Jeonghan," you called, your voice smooth yet carrying a warmth that was out of place in such a formal setting.

He straightened up instinctively, feeling more exposed than he ever had. You looked so different, so composed—so belonging in this world. And yet, your smile when you reached him felt exactly the same as the one from your date.

"You actually came," you said, tilting your head slightly, amusement flickering in your eyes.

"I did promise," Jeonghan replied, trying to appear unfazed. But the weight of his name being listed under your family’s guest list was still pressing down on him. "Though, I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting… all of this."

You laughed softly, leaning in just enough that only he could hear. "You thought it’d be a small charity gathering, didn’t you?"

He exhaled, shaking his head with a lopsided smirk. "I really should’ve done more research on you."

"Probably," you teased, then slipped your hand through his arm with ease, guiding him further into the event.

"Come on, my father would like to meet you."

Jeonghan stiffened. Meet your father?

Yeah, he was so, so screwed.

*

"Your dating game has officially reached Ji Jaekyung level."

Seungkwan slid a file across the café table with the kind of flourish that made Jeonghan’s stomach twist. He knew that look—pure mischief, the kind that ended with him either losing money or losing his dignity. Probably both.

Jeonghan didn’t touch the file. Instead, he took a slow sip of his coffee, giving Seungkwan a blank stare over the rim. "You couldn’t possibly be threatening me. I practically rescued you in college, remember?"

Seungkwan scoffed. "Rescue? Please. You groomed me, hyung."

Jeonghan choked on his drink. "Don’t say it like that, you little menace." He set his coffee down with a thunk, glaring. "That makes it sound illegal."

Seungkwan only grinned, completely unbothered. He tapped the file again. "Go on. Open it. I promise it won’t explode. Just a little light reading. Oh, and a delightful photo of a power couple moment.."

Jeonghan sighed but flipped it open anyway, already bracing himself.

There it was. A nightmare in high resolution.

A perfectly timed shot of him and you, walking arm-in-arm out of the event, looking like a picture-perfect elite couple. Elegant. Respectable. Utterly fabricated.

Jeonghan tapped his finger against the page, then flicked his gaze up to Seungkwan.

"This—"

"Yes?"

"Burn this before I burn your entire journalism career."

Seungkwan burst out laughing. "Hyung, you can’t even burn calories properly. What makes you think you can burn my career?"

Jeonghan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He hated that Seungkwan had a point.

"You know," Seungkwan continued, stirring his drink with exaggerated nonchalance, "people are very interested in the life of the mysterious son of Yoon Group. And now that you’re linked to the prime minister’s daughter? Oh, the clicks, the engagement, the public fascination—it’s all very compelling. The media lives for this kind of narrative, and you, my dear friend, are the perfect headline."

Jeonghan let out a long, suffering groan, rubbing his temple. "You are insufferable."

"But I’m employed, though," Seungkwan shot back with a smug grin.

Jeonghan scowled. He knew where this was going, and he already hated it.

Seungkwan leaned in, lowering his voice to something much more devious. "How about a deal?"

Jeonghan really didn’t like the way that sounded.

"Help me get some inside details on the election," Seungkwan said smoothly, "and I’ll make sure this never sees the light of day. I can be very discreet. Your name? Wiped clean. No suspicions. No drama."

He paused, letting his words settle before adding the final blow.

"Especially from your family."

Jeonghan stiffened. His fingers curled slightly on the table, the weight of the threat pressing down harder than he wanted to admit.

Seungkwan just smiled knowingly.

Jeonghan exhaled slowly, narrowing his eyes. "You think I’d trust you with something this sensitive?"

For the first time in the conversation, Seungkwan’s expression turned serious. He met Jeonghan’s gaze without his usual playfulness, leaning forward until their faces were inches apart. Then, with all the dramatics of a third-rate romance drama, he reached across the table and placed a hand over Jeonghan’s.

"You can trust me this time, hyung," he whispered, eyes glinting.

Jeonghan stared at him for a long moment.

Then, with a heavy sigh, he muttered, "I hate you so much."

Seungkwan beamed, squeezing his hand like they’d just exchanged vows. "Love you too," he chirped before casually swiping a fry from Jeonghan’s plate.

Jeonghan sighed, yanking his hand away from Seungkwan’s grip like he had just touched something contaminated. He picked up his coffee and took a long sip, as if the caffeine could somehow prepare him for the rest of this conversation.

“For the record,” he muttered, “I just found out about her father last night.”

Seungkwan blinked. “You just—hold on.” He set down his drink, looking utterly baffled. “You’ve dated the prime minister’s daughter and you just found out?”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes. “I don’t Google people before I date them, Seungkwan.”

“You should start.”

“Noted.”

Seungkwan leaned back, still trying to process it. “But, she's like… I don’t know, humble?”

Jeonghan huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “That’s because she is.”

Jeonghan exhaled slowly, staring into his coffee like it held all the answers to his problems. “I might have to end things with her.”

Seungkwan raised an eyebrow. “You want to end things without ghosting her?”

He tapped his fingers against his cup, gaze softening for just a second. “She’s not caught up in all of it. She teaches because she wants to, not because she has to. She doesn’t use her father’s name to get ahead, doesn’t expect special treatment. She’s just… her.”

Seungkwan eyed him, a slow smirk forming. “You sound suspiciously fond right now.”

Jeonghan shot him a look. “Shut up.”

“I won’t shut up,” Seungkwan said gleefully. “Because this—” he gestured between them, “—this is very interesting. Yoon Jeonghan, the guy who never gets emotionally involved, actually likes someone?”

Jeonghan groaned, rubbing his face. “I will burn your career.”

Seungkwan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “Alright, hyung. Let’s make this easy for you.”

Jeonghan narrowed his eyes. “I doubt that.”

"Stay with her for a little while," Seungkwan said, his tone almost too casual. "Just long enough to get some information about her father’s election plans. I mean, she’s his daughter—she must know something useful." He tapped the file on the table, the sound deliberate, calculated. "And in return, I’ll make sure this never sees the light of day. Your family stays blissfully unaware."

Jeonghan exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. This was getting way too complicated.

Seungkwan, ever perceptive, leaned in, resting his chin on his hand. "Come on, hyung. You’re already halfway in. Might as well make it worth your while."

Jeonghan shot him a look. "You make it sound so easy."

Seungkwan grinned. "Because it is easy. You charm people for a living. Just do what you do best—stick around, ask a few innocent questions, and when it’s over, you walk away. No harm, no foul."

No harm. No foul.

Jeonghan exhaled through his nose. “So you want me to spy for you?”

Seungkwan grinned. “Oh, spy is such an ugly word. I prefer exchanging favors.”

Jeonghan clicked his tongue. “You’re a little monster.”

“And you like it.” Seungkwan shrugged. “Look, you’re planning on leaving her anyway, right? Might as well get something out of it. Once you give me what I need, you can walk away, clean and easy. No drama, no messy emotional entanglements. Just another chapter closed.”

*

“You’re Yoon Jeonghan, right?”

After the meeting with Seungkwan, there had been no real conclusion—no agreement, no refusal—just Jeonghan leaving with the weight of a choice he wasn’t ready to make. Not yet, anyway.

Then fate, in its twisted sense of humor, shoved him a little closer.

He’d crossed paths again with your mother during one of his classes, her arrival as poised and deliberate as everything else about her. Without much preamble, she handed him a neatly wrapped package—an assortment of meticulously prepared, nutrient-balanced meals from the town’s most exclusive chef. The kind of thing that cost enough to pay someone’s monthly rent.

It wasn’t just food. It was… an opening.

At that moment, Jeonghan realized something dangerous—maybe, just maybe, he could make this work. Keep the charade alive for a while. At least two months, enough time to enjoy the perks before he quietly severed all ties.

So when your mother invited him to her birthday party—completely unprompted, with you blissfully unaware—he accepted without hesitation. He didn’t tell you, of course. This was no longer just about you. The connection was shifting, evolving into something more strategic… a mutually beneficial arrangement between him and your mother.

He told himself it was just another role to play. Another part in the game.

A game he controlled.

Or so he thought.

And then—

“Yoon Jeonghan! Long time no see!”

He froze.

That was Kim Jeni. Senior high school classmate.

And she was standing in the middle of your mother’s birthday party.

Why is she here? Is she related to you?

His mind raced through worst-case scenarios like flashcards. What if she remembered too much? What if she casually mentioned his less-than-polished past to the wrong person? What if she recognized that he didn’t exactly belong here?

And seriously—why did she have to remember him at all? It had been years. People were supposed to blur into the background after high school.

But no. Here she was, smiling like they were about to swap embarrassing memories over champagne.

And here he was, wondering if tonight was about to turn into a very public disaster.

Jeonghan’s first instinct was to look away, pretend he hadn’t heard.

But that was how amateurs got caught—by making the wrong move at the wrong time.

So instead, he smiled. The easy, slow kind of smile that said of course I remember you, even though in reality, he barely did.

“Kim Jeni,” he said smoothly, sliding into the familiar rhythm of a man who’d never been cornered in his life. “You look… exactly the same.”

Jeni laughed, touching her hair in the way people did when they weren’t sure if it was a compliment. “I should hope so. Although, I did finally grow out of my bangs phase.”

He chuckled like he remembered it perfectly. He didn’t.

“What brings you here? Are you…?” He gestured vaguely toward the crowd, buying time.

“Oh, my aunt is friends with Mrs. Ji,” she said, tilting her head toward your mother across the room. “I didn’t expect to see you here, though. Still in touch with our old classmates?”

Danger. That question was danger dressed in small talk.

“I move around a lot,” Jeonghan replied lightly. “Not much time to catch up.” Which was true, if “move around” meant hopping from one wealthy circle to another like a very well-dressed nomad.

Jeni’s gaze sharpened—not hostile, just curious. “And here I thought you’d left all this behind.”

His pulse ticked up. “All… what?”

She smirked. “The social scene. The handshakes, the networking, the pretending to care about canapés. You used to hate it.”

Jeonghan gave an easy shrug, as if the question amused him. “Hate’s a strong word. Let’s just say I’ve learned to… appreciate the art of it.”

Before she could dig deeper, your mother swept by with a glass of wine, laying a hand on Jeonghan’s arm.

“Darling, there you are! I want to introduce you to someone.”

Jeonghan flashed Jeni an apologetic smile. “Excuse me. Duty calls.”

And just like that, he was pulled back into the current, leaving Jeni in the eddies of polite conversation.

Still, he could feel her eyes on his back—curious, maybe suspicious.

One wrong move tonight, and she could turn from a harmless blast from the past into a problem he didn’t need.

Jeonghan hated mirrors at events like these.

Not because he disliked his reflection—he’d sculpted that image to perfection—but because they had a habit of showing the man beneath the polish. And tonight, his eyes betrayed him. They were restless.

When Jeni drifted away, her perfume fading into the hum of conversation, a shadow trailed behind her in his mind. She’d been there—at that party, the one after his graduation. The one that ended his place in the Yoon family like a guillotine blade.

It had been a warm June night.

The kind of evening where expensive champagne flowed like tap water, and music bled into the gardens. She was there—the woman—draped in pearls and wearing a smile that could make a man think dangerous thoughts. She was also the second wife of one of his father’s board members, the kind of man who wore power like a tailored suit.

He hadn’t meant to kiss her. Or maybe he had. The line blurred somewhere between flirtation and defiance. But there had been a camera. A flash.

And in a family where reputation was currency, one picture was enough to bankrupt him.

“Leave quietly,” his father had said, not even looking at him. “Before you take our name with you.”

That was six years ago.

Since then, the Yoon son became a ghost—spoken of in murmurs between wine sips. A scandal in a silk suit.

He learned to live by trading charm for survival. Socialites were his currency now. Wealthy, restless women who wanted a man to make them laugh between luncheons and look devastatingly good on their arm. In exchange, they gave him access—rooms he had no right to enter anymore, deals he could skim a percentage from, networks he could weave into a safety net.

And the first time he’d met you, he’d assumed you were naïve. A daughter shielded by privilege, unaware of the games her parents played. But he’d watched you—just a little—and realized that wasn’t it. You weren’t ignorant of this world. You simply refused to play by its rules.

He couldn’t decide if that made you foolish or dangerous.

It intrigued him, in a distant, intellectual way. Not attraction—Jeonghan had long outgrown such things—but curiosity. The same kind of curiosity that had once ruined him.

So when your mother had invited him tonight, he’d said yes out of calculation. A good connection, a potential ally, a well-placed woman with influence. You were a variable, but not a threat. Not yet.

Except now, as the evening unfolded, you were nowhere to be seen.

Guests murmured your name lightly—something about work, or disinterest, or perhaps distance between you and your parents—but no one seemed certain.

Jeonghan swirled the wine in his glass, watching the room’s glow blur through the deep red.

He didn’t look for you.

But he did wonder—what kind of daughter avoided her own mother’s birthday party?

For a man who’d spent years mastering the art of appearances, that question alone was enough to make him uneasy.

*

By the time the orchestra switched to slower jazz and most guests had migrated toward the dessert table, Jeonghan had already pieced together what he needed to know.

You weren’t coming.

It wasn’t just that you were late—your absence had settled into the air, quietly acknowledged, politely ignored. Your mother laughed too brightly whenever someone mentioned you, deflecting with graceful excuses about your “tight schedule.” The kind of lie polite people told when they were embarrassed.

Jeonghan understood that kind of silence.

He’d lived in it.

He took another sip of wine, watching the reflections ripple in his glass.

He didn’t care where you were. He told himself that twice, just to be sure. You were another variable, a missing piece in a puzzle that didn’t concern him.

And yet—somewhere deep down, under the weight of years and cynicism—Jeonghan wondered what could drive a daughter to abandon a mother who still smiled for her in front of a hundred people.

He stayed until the cake was cut, clapping when everyone else did, smiling at the right moments, before quietly excusing himself.

No one noticed him leave.

The next afternoon, the same corner café buzzed with weekend chatter, the scent of roasted beans lingering in the air. Jeonghan arrived first, as usual, claiming his preferred seat by the window. He liked the anonymity the place offered—dim lighting, a soft hum of conversation, nobody who cared enough to recognize him.

He was halfway through his espresso when Seungkwan arrived, slightly out of breath, a camera bag slung over his shoulder and the same smug grin plastered on his face.

“You look like you didn’t sleep,” Seungkwan said, sliding into the seat across from him.

“I didn’t,” Jeonghan replied, voice flat. He stirred his coffee idly. “You told me to keep an eye on her family. I did.”

Seungkwan’s grin faltered. “And?”

“She didn’t show.”

The journalist’s brows furrowed. “At all?”

“Not a glimpse,” Jeonghan confirmed. “Her mother covered for her all night. Smiled, laughed, pretended nothing was wrong. But people noticed. They just pretended not to.”

Seungkwan leaned back, rubbing his jaw. “Weird. Ji Y/n’s not exactly the rebellious type. At least, not publicly.”

Jeonghan arched a brow. “You’ve done your research.”

“I’m a journalist, hyung. I research before I blackmail.”

“Charming as always,” Jeonghan muttered, setting down his cup.

Seungkwan ignored the jab. “So, what do you think happened? Argument? Scandal? Secret boyfriend?”

Jeonghan scoffed softly. “You think I care about that?”

“Usually, no. But you’re the one who noticed her absence before anyone else.”

He hated when Seungkwan said things like that—too perceptive, too accurate.

Jeonghan leaned back, gaze drifting out the window. “Her parents—both of them—they move like people who can’t afford to blink wrong. Every word, every smile, measured. And then there’s her.”

Seungkwan tilted his head. “Her?”

“She doesn’t fit,” Jeonghan said simply. “She’s polite, grounded, but not… conditioned. You know? Like someone raised in that world but refused to be molded by it.”

Seungkwan studied him quietly. “You sound almost impressed.”

Jeonghan’s lips twitched faintly. “I’m curious, not impressed.”

“Curious,” Seungkwan echoed, dragging out the word like it was an accusation. “That’s how it always starts with you. You get curious, then suddenly you’re knee-deep in something you can’t crawl out of.”

Jeonghan met his gaze evenly. “Don’t romanticize it. I don’t get involved.”

Seungkwan smirked. “You say that now.”

They fell into a brief silence, broken only by the clinking of cutlery and low music playing in the background. Jeonghan’s phone buzzed once—an unread message from your mother, thanking him for attending the party. No mention of you.

He stared at it for a long moment before sliding it face-down on the table.

“Whatever’s going on,” Seungkwan said eventually, lowering his voice, “it’s not public yet. But it will be. If the prime minister’s daughter disappears from a major event, the press will dig. I can’t stop that.”

Jeonghan didn’t answer immediately. He swirled the last of his coffee, expression unreadable. “Then let them dig.”

Seungkwan frowned. “You’re not worried she’ll drag you into it?”

“She doesn’t even know I was there,” Jeonghan said with a shrug. “And I intend to keep it that way.”

Seungkwan hummed thoughtfully. “You’re playing with fire again, hyung.”

Jeonghan smirked, finally standing and reaching for his coat. “Fire’s warm, though.”

Seungkwan’s eyes narrowed. “You’re planning something.”

“I’m planning to stay out of trouble,” Jeonghan replied smoothly. “But if she keeps disappearing like that…” He trailed off, glancing out the window again. “…I might need to find out why. For safety. Yours, mine, and your precious headlines.”

Seungkwan’s grin returned, slow and knowing. “Sure, hyung. For safety.”

Jeonghan ignored him, dropping a few bills on the table before heading for the door.

But even as he left, that image lingered—the way your mother smiled too brightly, the way your name sat unspoken between everyone.

For a man who didn’t care, Jeonghan found himself thinking about it far too much.

*

By the time Jeonghan returned to his apartment that night, the city outside had quieted. The glow of streetlights painted long shadows across his floor, and the half-finished glass of whiskey on his counter had long since gone warm. He stared at his phone for a long while, thumb hovering over your contact.

He shouldn’t.

You hadn’t texted him since before the charity event. He’d already decided to stay detached, to play this role carefully until he could slip out clean.

But curiosity—it was always his undoing.

He finally typed,

“Are you free tomorrow?”

The message hung there for a moment before he hit send. No greeting, no context. He wanted it to sound casual, like a man with time to waste, not one caught between intrigue and necessity.

He set the phone down and exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

Because truthfully, he didn’t just want to see you—he needed to understand.

A daughter who skipped her mother’s birthday in a family built on image and influence? That wasn’t rebellion. That was strategy.

And strategy always came with motive.

His phone buzzed.

One unread message.

“Depends. Who’s asking?”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. You hadn’t changed—still sharp, still unbothered by his evasive way of speaking.

“The man who made it through your mother’s party alive.”

“You owe me coffee.”

A few seconds passed before your reply came through.

“I don’t remember owing you anything.

But sure. Tomorrow, 2 PM. Same café.”

Jeonghan set the phone aside, the small, humorless smile still lingering on his lips.

He told himself it was for Seungkwan.

For leverage. For the information that might keep his name out of a journalist’s headlines.

But beneath that, quieter and harder to ignore, was something else—an itch under his skin that demanded answers.

He glanced at the window, where the reflection of his tired face stared back at him.

“If there’s such a rumor like that in the prime minister’s family,” he murmured to himself, echoing Seungkwan’s earlier warning, “it’ll be lunch for the other party.”

And he couldn’t afford to be on the menu.

*

Jeonghan hadn’t meant to care about what he wore.

At least, that’s what he told himself as he buttoned the crisp white shirt that fit a little too perfectly across his shoulders. The navy trousers were pressed to a sharp line, his hair neatly styled back, and his wristwatch—an heirloom he rarely used—gleamed faintly in the café light.

He looked like a man who belonged somewhere better. Someone who hadn’t been exiled. Someone who still mattered.

The watch on his wrist pointed to ten minutes past the agreed time.

His other hand held his phone, thumb scrolling absently through old headlines, articles, and photos of you.

Ji Y/n — The Prime Minister’s Daughter Chooses a Life of Service

From Politics to Education: How Ji Y/n Stays Grounded Amid Power and Privilege

Each headline painted the same narrative: the ideal daughter, the humble prodigy, the perfect contrast to her family’s glittering political image.

Seungkwan was right. He needs to do some research before saying yes to a date.

Seungkwan’s voice echoed in his head.

“You’re too tempted by all the money and glory. You might be the most materialistic conglomerate son in the world.”

And Jeonghan had countered without hesitation.

“I was kicked out of the family, remember? I’m technically nobody’s son.”

It had shut Seungkwan up, but the words lingered even now—an echo of something he’d never quite recovered from.

The low hum of the café faded when he saw you.

You entered in a rush, phone pressed to your ear, brows furrowed, your expression tight with focus. You muttered something into the receiver, nearly colliding with a customer before catching yourself. The moment you hung up, you exhaled deeply—then your eyes found him.

Jeonghan stood automatically, hand lifting in a small wave. For a fleeting second, something unfamiliar flickered in his chest—relief, maybe. Or recognition.

You crossed the room quickly, still slightly out of breath.

“I’m so sorry, Jeonghan,” you said, sliding into the seat across from him. “One of my students fell from the stairs and broke his leg.”

Your voice carried that same calm warmth he remembered, even under stress. No embellishment, no dramatics. Just quiet concern.

Jeonghan’s brows lifted slightly. “Is he alright?”

You nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “He will be. I just came from the hospital.”

Of course you did. The prime minister’s daughter, tending to an injured student instead of attending a political luncheon. It didn’t make sense—and that’s exactly why Jeonghan found it so hard to look away.

He leaned back in his chair, studying you with the cool composure of a man who pretended not to care. “You’re quite dedicated, aren’t you?”

You smiled faintly, eyes weary but genuine. “Someone has to be.”

Jeonghan hummed, gaze dropping briefly to the faint ink smudge on your wrist, the kind teachers always had from grading papers. You didn’t belong to the world he’d seen in headlines. You didn’t fit the image. And that mismatch—it fascinated him.

He studied you a moment longer, curiosity tugging harder now. There was something in your tone—an edge beneath the politeness, a shadow behind the smile.

Jeonghan didn’t know yet if you were someone he could trust, or someone who could destroy him.

But for the first time in a long while, he wanted to find out.

The conversation had begun to flow more naturally than either expected. Between sips of coffee and light bites of cheesecake, Jeonghan found himself watching you more than he should—how your expression softened when you talked about teaching, how you smiled politely even when dodging questions about your family. You weren’t evasive, exactly. You just knew how to draw a line.

He liked that.

“You don’t talk much about politics,” Jeonghan remarked, stirring his coffee lazily. “That’s unusual for someone who grew up surrounded by it.”

You shrugged, lips curling slightly. “I prefer things I can actually change.”

A quiet laugh escaped him before he could stop it. “You sound idealistic.”

“I sound tired,” you corrected, smiling faintly.

Before Jeonghan could respond, a familiar perfume hit him—a sharp mix of jasmine and expensive regret.

“Jeonghan?”

The voice was sweet, practiced, and far too loud for the cozy café. Both of you looked up to see a woman in her forties approaching the table, dripping in luxury—diamond earrings, a glossy handbag that cost more than a small car, and a smile that belonged to someone who’d never been told no.

For a second, Jeonghan froze.

What should he call her?

A past companion?

A benefit from a darker time?

A victim of his own charm?

Whatever she was, she wasn’t supposed to be here.

“Wow,” she breathed, eyes raking him over with unhidden satisfaction. “You look more handsome than last year.”

You glanced between them, curiosity flickering behind your calm expression. Jeonghan straightened slightly, the easy mask sliding over his face. “Good to see you,” he said smoothly, voice stripped of warmth.

She leaned closer, manicured fingers brushing his shoulder. “I need to go, but call me if you need some entertainment, okay?”

Her wink was quick, practiced—too public to ignore, too intimate to explain.

Then she was gone, heels clicking like a punctuation mark on his past.

Jeonghan exhaled slowly, but before he could say a word, you let out a small, amused chuckle.

He looked at you, brows lifting. “What’s so funny?”

You shook your head, biting back a smile. “Nothing. It’s just… you didn’t strike me as someone who’d need entertainment.”

His mouth twitched. “I don’t.”

“Mm,” you hummed, unconvinced. “You just look like you used to.”

Her words, your tone—it all tangled somewhere in his chest. He leaned back, forcing a smirk to cover the discomfort. “You talk like you’ve known me longer than a week.”

You met his gaze evenly. “Maybe I’m just a good observer.”

That silenced him. For a moment, neither spoke—just the faint clink of spoons against porcelain, the quiet tension threading between curiosity and judgment.

And Jeonghan realized that for the first time in a long while, someone wasn’t dazzled or intimidated by him.

You were simply watching—reading him.

And that unsettled him more than any scandal ever could.

*

The relationship between you and Jeonghan had begun to bloom—unexpectedly, almost naturally. The two of you talked more often now, your texts weaving into his days like quiet background music. He wasn’t sure when it started, but he found himself looking forward to your messages.

It was ironic, really. Because when he wasn’t speaking to you, Jeonghan was living a life that couldn’t be further from yours.

His nights were spent drifting between yachts owned by bored socialites, women who craved charm more than truth. He knew exactly what they wanted and how to deliver it—a smile, a word, a presence. It was easy. Meaningless.

And yet, in between champagne laughter and the clinking of glass, his thoughts would always circle back to you.

What were you doing right now?

Had you eaten?

Were you still awake, reading, or lost in thought like you always were?

He hated how natural it felt to care.

“You look distracted, honey.”

A woman’s voice pulled him back. She was beautiful—of course she was—dressed in silk, her manicured fingers tracing the rim of her glass.

Jeonghan blinked, forcing a smirk. “Do I?”

She tilted her head. “You’re not feeling well?” she asked, recalling what he’d said last night about being under the weather—an excuse to avoid following her to her room.

The ocean breeze rolled over the yacht deck, soft but cold, brushing his hair and cooling the drink in his hand. He looked at her, sitting on his lap with the practiced ease of someone used to being wanted.

And suddenly, he felt sick.

Because in that flicker of a second, he imagined you there instead.

Crazy.

Absolutely insane.

You, with your clear eyes and deliberate words, would never set foot in this world. And even if you did, you would never look at him the same way again.

You were the Prime Minister’s only daughter—an emblem of grace, the family’s shining jewel.

And he…

He was the son who had been exiled.

Cast out after a scandal that nearly ruined his father’s reputation. He’d paid for it with his name, his home, and every shred of privilege he once had.

“How about going back to your family?” Seungkwan asked one night, his voice echoing through the line.

Jeonghan sighed, eyes fixed on the dark waves outside the yacht window. “It’s complicated.”

“Too complicated, or too cowardly?”

He chuckled dryly. “I’m still a man, Seungkwan.”

“Yeah?” Seungkwan shot back. “Then act like one. A man keeps his promises. You promised me a cup of tea and the full story about Prime Minister Ji.”

Jeonghan leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “And you promised to stop nagging me.”

“Not until you tell me why the Prime Minister’s daughter texts you at midnight.”

Jeonghan’s lips curved into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Because she doesn’t know who I really am.”

And maybe, he thought quietly, that was the only reason you still did.

The morning broke harshly—sunlight slicing through half-drawn curtains, the faint hum of the city seeping into the luxury suite he’d fallen asleep in. Jeonghan’s head ached faintly from the night before; too much noise, too much pretending.

His phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.

One call after another, a stream of names he didn’t want to see—women he barely remembered, old acquaintances from the club scene, and one from Seungkwan.

He rubbed his face, groaning. “What now…”

Then his screen lit up with a notification from a news outlet.

And his world stopped.

‘The Yoon’s Mysterious Son Revealed — Never Leaving the Scene: Living a Life Among Socialites’

The headline sat above a collage of photos—him on a yacht, laughing beside women in designer dresses, champagne in hand. The shots weren’t just candid—they were curated. Deliberate. Someone had been watching him for months.

The phone rang again.

“Jeonghan!” A familiar female voice burst through the line. It was one of the women from the article, her tone both scandalized and gleeful. “You didn’t tell me you were that Yoon! Do you have any idea how many reporters called me this morning?”

He hung up.

Another call came. Then another. Each voice brought the same mix of curiosity and accusation. His pulse quickened with every word, the weight of exposure sinking into his chest.

And then—Seungkwan’s name flashed on the screen.

Jeonghan answered immediately. “You wrote about me?” His voice was low but sharp, every word laced with accusation.

“What?” Seungkwan sounded genuinely startled. “No—Jeonghan, I would never!”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not!” Seungkwan’s voice cracked slightly, the sound of hurried typing in the background. “I just saw it too! It’s everywhere! Someone leaked your pictures. The article’s not even signed—it’s a ghost drop, probably from an independent outlet.”

Jeonghan stood up, pacing across the room, the floor cool beneath his bare feet. His thoughts spun faster than he could control.

He’d worked for years to stay off the radar. To bury the name Yoon Jeonghan under layers of half-truths and fleeting company.

And now, everything was out.

His hands clenched. “You told no one about me?”

“Of course not,” Seungkwan shot back, indignant. “You think I’d ruin my own source? Jeonghan, listen—this isn’t my doing. But someone knew where you were and who you were with. Someone’s feeding this.”

Jeonghan’s jaw tightened. He turned toward the window, the city sprawling beneath him, glittering and cold.

He hadn’t even finished processing the article when another call came through.

This time, the caller ID froze him mid-step.

“Secretary Min — Father’s Office.”

Jeonghan’s pulse kicked hard against his ribs. It had been years since anyone from that number dared to call him. For a moment, he considered letting it ring out, pretending he hadn’t seen it. But curiosity—or maybe masochism—won.

He answered.

“Kim— I mean, Jeonghan speaking.”

The secretary’s voice was clipped, businesslike, but there was a tremor beneath the tone.

“Mr. Yoon. The Chairman would like to have a word. It’s urgent.”

Jeonghan’s throat felt dry. “About what?”

There was a pause, then the quiet rustle of papers.

“About the news. Not only the one from this morning.”

His heart sank. “There’s another one?”

“Yes, sir,” the secretary replied. “Apparently, the Prime Minister’s daughter was mentioned. You were seen together at an event. The headline reads—”

Jeonghan could almost hear the man hesitate, as if choosing the least damaging way to say it.

‘Disgraced Yoon Heir Seen with Prime Minister Ji’s Daughter — A Scandal in the Making?’

He went still.

Completely still.

The ocean outside, the faint hum of the city, even his own breathing—all of it faded into a dull, buzzing silence.

“I see,” he said finally, his voice even, detached—like a man already used to ruin.

“The Chairman requests you come in immediately,” the secretary added, his words precise but cautious. “He said… if there’s even a grain of truth in this, it could cost both families dearly.”

A bitter laugh escaped before Jeonghan could stop it. “He cares about the family’s name now?”

“Sir, I’m just relaying the message.”

“Of course you are.”

He ended the call before the man could say another word. For a long moment, he stood in the middle of his room, the phone still in his hand.

It wasn’t just about him anymore.

Your name was in it.

You—who had nothing to do with his past, who had only shown him quiet kindness—were now tangled in his chaos.

And that realization hit harder than any headline ever could.

*

You swiped the incoming call from Jeonghan to the left without hesitation, the screen dimming just as your reflection caught in the polished surface of the dining table.

It wasn’t the first call you’d ignored tonight. Or this week.

You had done it deliberately, under Mrs. Ji’s strict orders.

“Don’t you dare mess this up,” she had said earlier, her voice carrying that cold, commanding edge she never let her socialite friends hear. The kind of tone that could freeze air.

Now, sitting across from her and the Prime Minister, you kept your hands neatly folded in your lap. You hadn’t touched the food. The clinking of silverware and the low hum of polite conversation between your parents filled the silence that wrapped tightly around you.

Mr. and Mrs. Ji looked perfectly composed, pleased even. They were savoring their dinner, their expressions calm and satisfied—the unmistakable faces of people whose plans had unfolded exactly as intended.

“With his son’s scandal, Yoon Daemun will never be able to enter politics,” Mr. Ji said, cutting through the air with calculated satisfaction. His tone was casual, but his words were sharp, deliberate. “The timing couldn’t be better.”

Mrs. Ji dabbed the corner of her lips with an embroidered napkin, her expression softening with the kind of smile she reserved for strategy. “We’ve prepared a statement for your response, Y/n. Make sure you show up in public looking… a little heartbroken, perhaps?”

You stared down at your untouched plate, the gleam of silver cutlery blurring in your vision.

‘Victim of manipulation.’ That was the phrase they’d chosen for you. The headline they had already fed to the press.

You—the fabricated daughter of the Prime Minister—were to be portrayed as the naïve woman deceived by Yoon Jeonghan, the disgraced heir.

It was all theater. Every word, every tear, every silence rehearsed. And just like every performance before, you would play your part. Because that was the role you had been chosen for.

It had been ten years since you first met Mr. and Mrs. Ji. Back then, Mr. Ji was merely a Seoul mayoral candidate, still polishing his image. They were looking for a bright, idealistic student from the National Seoul University to elevate their campaign—someone with a clean past, a sympathetic story, and a face the public could love.

They chose you.

A parentless girl raised in a foster home. No blood ties. No history. No one to ask questions. A perfect daughter for a perfect family.

“You’re Ji Jae Kyung's daughter? Woah…”

You could still remember the awe in their voices—the way their eyes gleamed with admiration. Compliments came easily, falling like confetti around you. Some went to him, the respectable politician who raised such a brilliant daughter with perfect manners and flawless grades. The rest went to you—the quiet, low-profile daughter of a man everyone wanted to impress.

But none of it was real.

It was all staged.

Every smile, every headline, every carefully constructed image.

And behind it all stood Ji Jaekyung and his wife—the masterminds who turned you into what the public wanted to see.

You were never their daughter.

You were the performance.

The story they wrote to complete their picture-perfect life.

Ten years later, the role still clung to you like a second skin. You’d played it so long, you weren’t sure where the lie ended—or where you began.

*

You were just about to put on your coat when a voice stopped you near the cram school gates.

“Excuse me—Miss Ji?”

You turned. A man you vaguely recognized from Jeonghan’s circle stood a few meters away, his expression unsure yet determined. The streetlight above flickered faintly, painting both of you in amber.

“I’m sorry for showing up like this,” he began, hands tucked into his coat pockets. “I’m Boo Seungkwan. I’m… Jeonghan’s friend.”

Your fingers tightened around the strap of your bag. “I know who you are.”

He nodded, a faint sigh escaping him. “Then I’ll be quick. I just—wanted to ask if what the news said about him was true.” His voice softened. “That he manipulated you. That he used you.”

You said nothing.

Seungkwan studied your face for a moment, as if searching for a flicker of the girl Jeonghan used to talk about—the one who laughed too easily, who didn’t care about names or titles.

“I don’t mean to be disrespectful,” he continued carefully, “but… Jeonghan doesn’t deserve this. He might have his flaws, but that’s not who he is.”

You looked down at your shoes, at the way the shadows of the streetlight split across the pavement. Every word he said pressed against the guilt you had tried to bury since dinner.

“He hasn’t been the same since the article came out,” Seungkwan said quietly. “He keeps saying it doesn’t matter, but we both know it does. That kind of lie—” He paused, catching himself. “Sorry. I shouldn’t assume it’s a lie.”

You finally met his gaze. His tone wasn’t accusing—just heavy with confusion and the quiet plea of someone who wanted to believe the best in his friend.

“I didn’t write it,” you murmured.

“I believe you,” Seungkwan replied almost immediately. “But maybe you can tell the truth. Even a little of it. It might help him stand again.”

His words lingered in the cold air long after he bowed politely and walked away. You stood there for a long while, watching his figure fade down the street, your throat tightening.

You wanted to tell him that it wasn’t Jeonghan who manipulated anyone.

It was you—

or at least, the version of you that the Jis had created.

You glanced at Seungkwan’s face — he looked too sincere, too out of place standing in front of a cram school after hours, holding nothing but good intentions. That made it worse.

“I think there’s a misunderstanding,” you said finally, voice calm but distant. “Jeonghan and I… we were just friends.”

Seungkwan blinked, as if trying to make sense of it. “Just friends?”

“Yes.” You tightened your scarf. “We met a few times, talked about work, shared coffee. That’s all.”

There was no tremor in your voice, but something in your eyes must have betrayed you, because Seungkwan’s expression shifted—disbelief shadowed with pity.

“I see,” he said slowly. “Then the pictures, the dinner, the event—”

“Coincidence,” you cut him off. “The press twisted it.”

He looked at you for a long moment, weighing whether to push further. But there was something in the way your gaze avoided his—composed, but fragile—that made him stop.

He exhaled softly. “I didn’t mean to bother you. It’s just… Jeonghan’s been through a lot. I wanted to understand what really happened.”

You froze for a fraction of a second.

But before he could say more, you bowed politely, murmured, “Good night, Mr. Boo,” and walked past him into the drizzle-soaked street.

He stood there for a while, watching as you disappeared into the blur of city lights. Something about your words didn’t match your expression—the kind of contradiction that Jeonghan had mentioned before.

When Seungkwan finally pulled out his phone, he hesitated before typing.

“She said you were just friends.”

*

The chauffeur’s eyes in the rearview mirror said everything Jeonghan didn’t need to hear. Pity. Disgust. Fear of being associated with the wrong Yoon. The mansion hadn’t changed — white pillars, too much marble, the smell of money and order. Yet when Jeonghan stepped inside, he could almost hear the echo of that night six years ago, the one that tore his name from the family register.

The housekeeper didn’t greet him. She bowed, eyes lowered, and walked away. In the dining room, his father was already seated, posture like a statue carved from ice.

Yoon Daemun, the man the country admired, the man Jeonghan could never please. “Sit,” his father said, without looking up from the newspaper.

The headline lay sprawled across the front page:

THE YOON HEIR SCANDAL CONTINUES — LINKED TO PRIME MINISTER’S FAMILY. Jeonghan took the seat across from him, his movements deliberate, controlled.

“So,” Daemun began, folding the paper neatly. “You managed to humiliate me again.”

Jeonghan’s lips quirked upward. “I’d say the timing was convenient for you. The Prime Minister’s name on the same line—good distraction for the party board, isn’t it?”

Daemun’s gaze sharpened, the kind that used to make Jeonghan feel twelve years old again. “Still the same. No shame. No sense of consequence.”

“You taught me that, didn’t you?” The silence that followed was heavy. Only the faint ticking of the antique clock filled the room.

His father finally leaned back. “Do you know what happens when your name appears next to a politician’s scandal?”

Jeonghan didn’t answer.

“It ruins both sides.” Daemun’s tone was calm, almost too calm. “But it’s not you they’ll remember. It’s me. The man who couldn’t control his own son.”

Jeonghan clenched his jaw. “I didn’t ask to come back.”

“No. You were summoned because I’m still cleaning up after you.” His father’s voice rose a fraction. “And this time, Jeonghan, there won’t be a next time. You’ve already cost this family enough.”

“I stopped being part of this family six years ago,” Jeonghan said quietly. “You made sure of that.”

Daemun stood. The air between them felt sharp enough to draw blood. “You’ll fix this,” he ordered. “You’ll meet with the press, issue a statement—say you lied, that it was all fabricated to harm the Prime Minister’s reputation. They’ll buy it if it comes from you.”

Jeonghan let out a humorless laugh. “You want me to destroy myself for your seat in Parliament?”

His father’s lips tightened. “For once in your life, do something useful.”

The words sank deep, the same as they always had.

When Jeonghan left the mansion, the night air hit him hard. He stood by the gate, hands trembling around a cigarette he didn’t light.

He had promised himself never to come back here again. And now, he realized, nothing had changed — not even the way his father still called him son only when it served a purpose.

Across the street, reporters were already gathering, their cameras flashing faintly in the dark. He straightened his collar, tucked his hands into his coat pockets, and walked away from the house without looking back. This time, he wouldn’t run. He would play the game his father started — but on his own terms.

*

An exclusive interview with Yoon Jeonghan appeared on the front page of The Daily Standard, written by none other than Boo Seungkwan — a name the political and corporate world had learned to both admire and fear.

The article was a masterpiece of restraint and precision. Seungkwan had fought tooth and nail with his editor-in-chief to have it published uncut. It wasn’t a defense piece, nor was it an attack. It was simply truth, stripped of bias — and that made it all the more dangerous.

“He was just a man looking for love one night,” the article began, “and somehow became a family scapegoat by morning.”

Through Seungkwan’s words, Jeonghan’s story unfolded not as a scandal, but as a slow dissection of how narratives were manufactured by power. The way a single whisper could become a headline. How a name could be tarnished to save another.

Every paragraph carried Seungkwan’s voice — calm, analytical, and sharp as glass. He wrote about Jeonghan’s fall from grace, about the exile that followed his first scandal, and how his father’s silence had been louder than public condemnation.

But what caught everyone’s attention wasn’t Jeonghan’s tragedy — it was the twist.

“Mrs. Ji herself had insisted Jeonghan meet her daughter,” Seungkwan wrote. “Even sent gifts, meals, and handwritten notes — tokens of gratitude, or perhaps, persuasion. Who does that for a stranger?”

It was phrased like a question, but the implication was clear. The spotlight had shifted — subtly, cleverly — from Jeonghan’s so-called manipulation to the Ji family’s orchestration.

By the second half of the article, Mrs. Ji was no longer the grieving mother of a deceived daughter; she was a woman who had played the public like a symphony.

The nation devoured the story. News anchors repeated excerpts with caution, as if afraid the words themselves might bite. Political commentators speculated whether Boo Seungkwan had overstepped, or whether he had just cracked open something no one dared to question.

And Jeonghan — sitting alone in his dim apartment with the paper spread across his coffee table — couldn’t decide how to feel.

The world was finally hearing his side of the story.

But the irony was, it didn’t feel like victory. It felt like standing in the eye of a storm that was only beginning to turn.

After the article, Jeonghan disappeared again — not in shame this time, but in pursuit of something real. For the first time in years, he stopped attending events with rich women's names printed on the invitation. No more charity galas where everyone smiled with their teeth clenched. No more private dinners where the wine was expensive but every conversation was a transaction.

He sold all of his luxury things and moved into a smaller apartment on the edge of Mapo. The windows were cracked, and the heater worked when it felt generous, but it was quiet. His kind of quiet.

He started from the bottom — as a project consultant for a small local architecture firm that took contracts no conglomerate would touch. His job wasn’t glamorous: long meetings, stubborn clients, coffee that tasted like burnt wood. But there was a strange comfort in it. Each blueprint, each rejected proposal, each late-night revision — it all belonged to him.

He refused to take calls from people who once claimed to be friends. When invitations from the “rich circle” arrived — networking parties, art auctions, political birthdays — he left them unopened. He no longer wanted to be someone’s favorite scandal, someone’s well-dressed pawn.

For months, Jeonghan worked in silence. He kept his hair shorter, his words simpler, his gaze level. He didn’t try to charm anyone anymore. He didn’t need to. People at work found him odd — polite, reserved, sometimes intimidatingly composed. They whispered about his past, about the man who once made headlines. But they couldn’t deny his efficiency. He had a way of solving problems others didn’t even see.

And when a construction site mishap almost cost the firm a major deal, Jeonghan was the one who stayed overnight, reorganizing the logistics report by hand. The next morning, his boss found him asleep on the office couch — tie loosened, pencil still in hand, a faint trace of graphite on his jaw.

For the first time, Jeonghan’s value wasn’t built on his last name. It was built on effort. Still, every now and then, he caught himself looking at the city skyline — the one his father’s empire had helped shape — and wondered if redemption meant cutting ties completely, or learning how to stand on his own without hating where he came from.

“Do you want to hear what I just found?”

Seungkwan’s voice came through the phone one quiet night. Jeonghan answered without much thought, assuming it was another late update — a joke, a story, something light to end the day.

But Seungkwan’s tone was different. Too steady. Too careful. “There was a report that Ji Jaekyung’s daughter had passed away.”

The words didn’t register at first. They hung in the air like smoke — shapeless, heavy, unreal. Jeonghan froze, the pen in his hand slipping onto the desk.

“What?” His chest tightened. His mind went blank — except for the image of you: laughing behind a cup of coffee, brushing your hair from your face, the way you used to hum when you thought no one was listening.

“Y/n… had passed away?” The words barely escaped his mouth, trembling, as if speaking them might make them true.

“It’s not what you think,” Seungkwan said quickly, his voice low. “It wasn’t her. Not Ji Y/n. The report says a girl — eighteen years old — died by suicide ten years ago. The attending physician confirmed it.”

Jeonghan’s pulse roared in his ears. “What are you trying to say, Seungkwan?” He spun in his chair, the room suddenly too small, too bright.

“I’m saying,” Seungkwan breathed out, almost afraid to finish, “Ji Y/n isn’t Ji Jaekyung’s real daughter.”

Silence. The world seemed to tilt — slow, then all at once. Jeonghan sat there, hearing nothing but the echo of that sentence. Every moment he’d spent with you — every glance, every half-truth, every piece of you he thought he knew — cracked open in his mind.

If you weren’t Ji Jaekyung’s daughter… then who were you?

*

“I wake up every day thinking I’m nobody’s child. Just myself, doing the things I’m best at — teaching, meeting my students, seeing my friends. That’s the real me.”

That’s the real you…

Jeonghan could still hear your voice — soft, certain, echoing in the quiet of his memory. It had started as a casual conversation, one of those late-night talks that drifted aimlessly until he’d asked, almost teasingly, “What’s it like to be Ji Jaekyung’s daughter?”

You laughed faintly before answering, “Whosever child you are won’t define you. Your own work will.”

Those words had stayed with him longer than he expected.

He’d spent years buried under the weight of his family name, letting it dictate who he was supposed to be. When the burden grew too heavy, he rebelled — escaping through decadence, luxury, and fleeting attention. Drowning himself in everything that dulled the ache of being a Yoon.

But none of it had ever defined him.

“Hyung, you’re one of the smartest, most quick-witted people I know,” Seungkwan once told him. “You just need to use it for yourself — not to prove anyone wrong.”

And that was what he finally did.

He started small — late nights, small contracts, learning the bones of the business from the ground up. Day by day, Jeonghan built his own name, one that carried no trace of his father’s shadow.

“This,” he murmured to himself one morning, staring at the blueprint on his desk, “this is what defines me.”

A few months later, his phone rang. It was Seungcheol.

“I need your help with a new building for our firm,” he said.

Jeonghan didn’t know it then, but that call would change everything — the first stone on the path that would carry his name further than his family ever imagined.

Katalk …

Seungkwan: You need to see this.

He frowned, clicking the link. The screen opened to a live stream — a press conference, crowded with reporters and flashing cameras. And there you were, standing behind the podium, composed but pale under the harsh light. The banner above you read:

“Prime Minister’s Daughter Addresses Identity Revelation.”

Jeonghan’s breath caught.

Your voice trembled at first, but you steadied yourself, eyes gliding across the sea of cameras.

“I was raised under the Ji family for ten years,” you began. “But I am not Ji Jaekyung’s biological daughter. The truth is—” you paused, swallowing hard, “the real Ji Y/n passed away ten years ago. I was… chosen to take her place.”

A low hum of whispers rippled through the room. Cameras clicked like rain. Jeonghan leaned forward, his heart pounding, his hand gripping the edge of the desk.

You exhaled shakily before continuing, “I was an orphan. I didn’t have a family or a name that mattered. I was offered a home, an education, a life that didn’t belong to me. And I was too young to understand what it truly meant.”

Reporters began raising their hands, their questions overlapping into chaos.

“Who orchestrated this?”

“Was the Prime Minister aware?”

“Why are you revealing this now?”

You didn’t flinch. “Because the lies have gone too far. And someone else has paid the price for them.”

Jeonghan could feel his chest tightening. You didn’t mention his name — but everyone knew who “someone else” was.

He could barely hear Seungkwan’s voice over the call when it came seconds later.

“She’s doing this for you, hyung.”

But Jeonghan couldn’t answer. His mind was spinning. You — the woman who once told him not to let his family name define him — were now standing in front of the world, tearing down the false identity that once defined you.

The screen flickered as the conference ended, replaced by a headline that felt like a scream in his chest:

“Prime Minister’s Daughter Admits to False Identity — Public Shock Ensues.”

The room was silent after the live broadcast ended.

Jeonghan sat still, staring at the frozen image on his screen — your bowed head, your shoulders straight despite the weight of everything you’d just confessed.

You didn’t defend yourself.

You didn’t accuse anyone.

You simply told the truth.

And somehow, that humility hit him harder than any scandal ever had.

He leaned back, running a hand through his hair, the city lights flickering against his tired eyes. For the first time, Jeonghan realized how small his own pride had been — all those years spent hiding behind charm, rebellion, and fleeting company. He’d called it freedom, but it was just fear wearing expensive clothes.

You, on the other hand, had stood in front of the nation stripped of everything — your name, your protection, your image — and yet you looked freer than he ever had.

“She doesn’t owe them anything,” he murmured under his breath. “And she still chose to be kind.”

It humbled him.

It changed something inside him that no lecture or consequence ever could.

That night, Jeonghan opened his window to the chill of the city air. The same wind that once carried gossip about his downfall now felt strangely cleansing. He poured himself a drink, not out of habit, but to think.

He replayed your words in his head, line by line.

“I’m just myself, doing what I’m best at.”

He understood it now.

It wasn’t about running away from a family name. It was about building a life so honest that no one could ever take it away again.

A small smile tugged at his lips. “You win, Y/n,” he whispered, half amused, half proud.

For the first time in years, Yoon Jeonghan didn’t feel like the son of anyone — not Daemun’s mistake, not society’s scandal. Just a man finally ready to start living right.

*

Jeonghan swore he wasn’t imagining things when his eyes landed on a woman he hadn’t seen in years, running across the school field with a group of children. His client—perhaps the principal, or maybe the chairman of the school foundation—kept talking, explaining how they wanted to preserve the school’s historical character.

“This school was founded before the war. We’d be grateful if your team could— Jeonghan-ssi?”

The two of them stopped walking. Jeonghan remained still, his gaze fixed on the field. His client probably assumed he was simply watching the children.

“Who’s that woman?” Jeonghan finally asked.

The chairman followed his gaze before smiling, seemingly misunderstanding the reason for the question.

“She’s new here. She moved from Seoul. Oh—aren’t you from Seoul as well?”

Jeonghan nodded absentmindedly. “Yes…” But he couldn’t tear his eyes away. He had seen it all unfold.

The media had talked about it relentlessly—and perhaps they still were. Ji Jaekyung had fallen from his political pedestal. It had become the nation’s biggest headline. Questions spread everywhere—from conversations between neighbors to comment sections and online forums.

How long had Ji Jaekyung replaced his real daughter with another girl to play the role of the perfect daughter?

Seungkwan had made sure to send Jeonghan countless articles and conspiracy theories. Some claimed the real daughter had been assassinated. Others insisted she had escaped years ago.

Jeonghan had eventually called him. “Isn’t a journalist supposed to be busy?” Seungkwan had stopped sending them. At least for a few days.

If Jeonghan was being truthful, he had been terrified for you. Proud—but terrified.

What you did was incredibly risky, especially so close to Ji Jaekyung’s election campaign. It wasn’t because you could ruin his chances of winning. It was because it could cost you your life. Ji Jaekyung had turned out to be a complete psycho—someone who wouldn’t even spare his daughter.

So Jeonghan had tried to find you. To contact you. Maybe offer whatever help he could. But he couldn’t. You had disappeared. And that frightened him even more. Because he had no idea whether you were safe or not.

Now, you were only a few strides away. Yet Jeonghan couldn't find the courage to walk over and say something as simple as hey.

Because hey was never simple when it came to you. It could never be, not after years of searching, asking around, following every lead he could find… And, perhaps, missing you.

Maybe Seungkwan had been right all along. Jeonghan really was a great pretender whenever your name came up.

"You know," Seungkwan had once said, "you deny it better when we talk about her than when your neighbor asks you to fix their toilet."

"She thought I was a handyman!" Jeonghan had shot back immediately. Another denial.

His phone rang while Jeonghan was driving home.

It was the grandmother from next door—the one who particularly adored, or perhaps nagged, him so much that he had started wondering whether she genuinely liked him or simply pitied him. Somehow, she had convinced herself he was a handyman with no real job, just a man who stayed home all day.

"Yes, Grandma?"

He was greeted by a suspiciously sweet voice. Too sweet. Not the usual one that told him to eat more or complained that he worked too slowly, but the gentle voice she reserved for her own grandchildren.

"There's a young woman who just moved in next door, and her gate isn't working properly. Could you help fix it?"

She continued, enthusiastically explaining what a reliable handyman he was.

For heaven's sake. He had studied engineering, not so his elderly neighbor could recruit him as the neighborhood repairman.

Jeonghan sighed. "I'll take a look. I'm on my way home anyway."

He heard her chuckle. She must be in a good mood, he thought. She had been oddly pushy yesterday while handing him containers of side dishes. Kind, as always—but with an unusual edge to it.

"Go check on her," she insisted. "She looked worried because the gate won't lock properly."

Very pushy.

By the time Jeonghan reached the house next door, he immediately crouched to inspect the gate. The lock was rusted beyond repair. It had needed replacing for quite some time. Pulling out his phone, he ordered a replacement lock online. He'd rather spend the money now than endure another week of the grandmother pestering him about it.

He was still standing by the gate, scrolling through the order confirmation, when the sound of footsteps behind him pulled his attention away from the screen. He turned, expecting to see the new homeowner. He was already rehearsing what to say—that the lock would hold for tonight, that he had arranged for someone to replace it in a few days, and that there was nothing to worry about.

But the words never came. His mouth went dry. His eyes widened. God really had a twisted sense of humor.

"...Jeonghan?”

*

After getting help from a very reliable lawyer, you finally received the compensation you had demanded from the Ji family.

It was finally time to find a place of your own instead of continuing to stay in the tiny studio apartment Minseo had generously lent you. You had been her unexpected roommate for almost three months now, and although she had never complained, you knew you couldn't impose forever.

Or maybe she didn't mind. Her boyfriend, on the other hand...

So, after weeks of searching, negotiating, and stretching your budget as far as it could go, you finally found a place at a reasonable price. A house, even. You can only afford a detached house in this economy if something's terribly wrong with it, you thought. The suspicion was confirmed the moment you saw it in person.

It definitely needed a lot of work.

...Or maybe your eyes needed fixing too, because standing in front of your new house was a figure you never expected to see again.

"Y/n?"

He sounded just as surprised as you were. Thank goodness.

"You're the handyman Grandma from next door was talking about?"

Jeonghan immediately shook his head. Then nodded Then shook it again, waving both hands in surrender.

"No—I mean... she thinks I'm a handyman."

You nodded thoughtfully. "That makes sense. She told me all about how you fix things around her house."

Jeonghan let out a defeated chuckle. He glanced between you and the old house before asking quietly, "So... you live here now?"

You stepped closer, following his gaze toward the weathered building. "Yeah." You sighed. "The listing forgot to mention it's one strong wind away from collapsing."

He studied the house for another moment, hands tucked into his pockets. "It's surprising someone actually bought this place."

"Because it's me, or because it's the house?"

The question escaped before you could stop it. The moment the words left your mouth, you wanted to take them back. Obviously because of the house. What a strange thing to ask.

Jeonghan looked at you. Then back at the house. Then at you again. "...Both." A beat passed. "But mostly because it's you.”

That night, your phone buzzed just as you were unpacking another box.

"Hello?"

It was your lawyer. Or rather, your old junior high school friend. Choi Seungcheol. He called to check on your settlement after the case had officially concluded, but mostly to give you an update on the Ji family's situation following the trial and the media storm.

"I'll send over the final documents," he said. "Legally, you're Choi Y/n now."

You laughed softly. "So... we share the same surname now."

"Hey, I don't mind." Seungcheol chuckled. "I told you before—it's an honor to handle your case. Having you share my surname? That's just a bonus."

Despite the joke, his voice carried genuine warmth. Seungcheol had been the first person to reach out after your televised confession. The moment he saw the broadcast, he called. The next day, he was standing at your door with a briefcase in one hand and coffee in the other.

"I'm taking your case."

There hadn't even been room to argue.

Known for his razor-sharp arguments and quick wit in court, Seungcheol had built quite a reputation as one of the country's most formidable young lawyers. And just as he had promised… He won.

You still weren't sure how to thank him properly.

"You helped me first," he said, as if reading your mind. "I'm just returning the favor."

Back in junior high, Seungcheol had been the stereotypical chaebol heir. Spoiled. Reckless. Completely convinced that money solved everything.

Until one afternoon, when a group of older students cornered him behind the gym.

You hadn't been strong enough to fight them. So you'd done the next best thing. You blasted a fake police siren from your phone. The bullies scattered before realizing it wasn't real. Seungcheol had laughed until he cried. Then he decided you were the coolest person he'd ever met.

"I also have a friend living near your new place," Seungcheol said, pulling you back to the present. "He's an architect."

"Oh?"

"Want me to introduce you?"

You glanced around the old house, where peeling wallpaper practically waved at you.

"He might actually faint when he sees this place."

"He'll probably renovate it for free."

You raised an eyebrow. "...For free?"

"Sure." His grin was audible through the phone. "If the two of you end up dating."

You sighed dramatically. "We both know I already have enough on my plate after everything that's happened."

"Fair point." His teasing faded, replaced by the quiet sincerity that had always made him such a dependable friend. "Then just focus on settling in."

You smiled to yourself. "I will."

"I have a feeling good things are waiting for you there."

*

Definitely not a good thing.

Seungcheol burst out laughing the moment he saw you and Jeonghan freeze like statues. His plan to visit his college friend, Jeonghan, and check in on his client, You, a week after you moved in had somehow turned into his favorite comedy show.

"How do you two know each other?" he asked, feigning innocence.

The moment Seungcheol had mentioned that his client lived nearby, Jeonghan's expression had changed ever so slightly. That was all Seungcheol needed.

Interesting.

He knew Jeonghan's history. He knew Jeonghan's "game." And judging by that reaction… Maybe you weren’t just another woman from Jeonghan's past.

Jeonghan let out a quiet sigh. "We met years ago."

"Yeah..." you echoed with a polite smile.

Neither of you elaborated.

Seungcheol looked from one to the other, a knowing grin slowly spreading across his face.

"Well then," he said, clapping his hands once. "Since we're all here, how about lunch?"

You smiled apologetically. "I'd love to, but I already promised to meet someone."

"No worries," Seungcheol replied easily.

After exchanging a few more polite words, you excused yourself and walked away. The moment you disappeared around the corner, Seungcheol slowly turned toward Jeonghan.

Then, with the biggest grin imaginable. "So..."

Jeonghan already knew what was coming.

"...Who was she to you, Yoon Jeonghan?"

He sighed so deeply it almost sounded painful before casually draping an arm over Seungcheol's shoulder.

"Let's get you something to eat first." He gently steered him toward the opposite direction. "You ask strange questions when you're hungry."

Seungcheol frowned in protest as he was dragged along.

"I do not."

"You do."

"I absolutely don't."

"You once asked a judge if he'd skipped breakfast."

"...He looked hungry."

Jeonghan laughed despite himself. "Exactly my point.”

Once the food arrived, the conversation drifted into comfortable silence. Jeonghan absentmindedly stirred his stew before finally speaking. "Do you remember lending me your car a few years ago?" he asked. "I told you I had to attend some political event."

Seungcheol frowned, trying to remember. "The one where you made me pick it up the next morning because you said you were 'emotionally exhausted'?"

Jeonghan let out a quiet laugh. "That one."

A beat passed.

"It was her."

Seungcheol froze, his chopsticks suspended halfway to his mouth. "...You're kidding."

Jeonghan shook his head. "I met her there. Mrs. Ji introduced us herself and invited me to the Prime Minister's event. I met her parents."

For a long second, Seungcheol simply stared at him. Then he slowly lowered his chopsticks onto the table. "Not her parents," he corrected quietly.

Jeonghan's smile faded. "I know." His gaze dropped to his bowl. "I only found out after everything was over."

A heavy silence settled between them.

Then Seungcheol's eyes widened as another thought struck him. "Wait..." He leaned forward. "So she was the woman from the scandal."

Jeonghan answered with nothing more than a small nod. He still remembered those headlines.

The photos of the two of you standing side by side. The articles that turned a few dinners and conversations into a fabricated romance. One picture after another, each one adding more fuel until the entire country caught fire.

"It didn't end well, then?" Seungcheol asked carefully.

Jeonghan gave a small shrug. "I don't even know if there was anything to end." He smiled bitterly. "Her mother was the one who insisted we meet in the first place."

Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, arms folding across his chest. "...That's strange."

Jeonghan looked up.

"What's strange?"

"I was her lawyer." His voice became noticeably more serious. "I know almost everything that happened inside that house."

He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Her relationship with Ji Jaekyung and his wife wasn't normal."

Jeonghan's brows slowly knit together.

"They forced her to become someone she wasn't."

"They dictated how she dressed, what she studied, who she met, what she said in public."

Jeonghan's fingers tightened around his spoon. The words lingered heavily between them. Neither spoke for a while. Finally, Seungcheol frowned, more to himself than to Jeonghan.

"Which is exactly why none of this makes sense."

Jeonghan looked at him.

"If Mrs. Ji controlled every aspect of Y/n's life, why was she so determined to introduce the two of you?"

Jeonghan replayed those evenings in his head. Mrs. Ji invited him to events. Mrs. Ji encouraged you to accompany him. Mrs. Ji smiled every time they talked. At the time, he had assumed she simply wanted her daughter to meet someone.

Now, that explanation felt too simple.

"There had to be a reason," Seungcheol murmured.

"A woman like Mrs. Ji never does anything without expecting something in return."

Jeonghan stared at the untouched food in front of him. For the first time in years, he wondered whether meeting you had ever been fate at all, or just another move in someone else's game.

*

“So,” Minseo began after swallowing a spoonful of soup, “your lawyer came to visit… and the ‘architect friend’ he mentioned turned out to be him?”

She calmly flipped a slice of beef on the grill as though this kind of ridiculous coincidence happened every Tuesday.

You nodded weakly. “Apparently.”

Living with Minseo for three months had stripped away every layer of privacy you once had. She wasn’t even your closest friend from university. Yet somehow, she’d become the one person who knew everything.

Minseo had been there the night you confessed the truth—not to the nation, but to her. That you weren’t Ji Jaekyung’s daughter. Never had been. Just an orphan the Ji family had paid to become one. You still remembered the way she’d stared at you, speechless, before quietly asking only one question.

“Where are you staying tonight?”

When you admitted you had nowhere to go, she’d answered without hesitation. “Pack your things. You’re staying with me.” No pity. No unnecessary questions. Just a spare key pressed into your palm.

“It isn’t supposed to be a big deal, is it?” Minseo said, pulling you back to the present. “Meeting him again, I mean.”

You rested your forehead against your palm, your elbow nearly knocking over your glass of water.

“I know…” You sighed.

“But I still can’t shake the guilt. I dragged him into all of this.”

Minseo looked at you for a moment before laughing softly.

“Girl, you told me he used to be a player with no direction in life.” She pointed at you with her chopsticks.

“And now? He’s an established architect. From everything you’ve told me, he rebuilt his entire life after the scandal.”

“If anything…congratulations?” She shrugged.

You stared at her. “What kind of conclusion is that?”

“My conclusion is that you accidentally gave the man a character-development arc.”

Despite yourself, a laugh escaped. Minseo smiled triumphantly. “There she is. You’ve been making that guilty face ever since the trial ended.”

The smile quickly faded from your lips. “I still ruined his life.”

Minseo shook her head. “No.”

She spoke so firmly that you looked up. “Your mother did. That woman intentionally introduced the two of you because she knew exactly who Yoon Jeonghan was.”

You lowered your gaze. “She was trying to get rid of his father.”

“Exactly.” Minseo pointed her chopsticks again, this time for emphasis.

“She leaked your photos together and controlled the narrative. She made him the villain. Every single step was planned.”

You quietly stirred your soup. The words settled between you.

“You weren’t the one calling the photographers.”

“You weren’t the one writing the headlines.”

“And you certainly weren’t the one trying to destroy a political rival.”

You remained silent. Minseo sighed before reaching across the table to nudge your bowl toward you.

“Eat.”

You obediently picked up your spoon. After a few bites, Minseo spoke again, much more gently.

“You know what I think? I think Mrs. Ji underestimated the two of you. She expected you to keep playing the perfect daughter forever.”

She smiled to herself. “But she never imagined her ‘perfect daughter’ would bring down an entire political dynasty with one press conference.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “She definitely didn’t see that coming.”

“No.” Minseo grinned. “And judging by the way you described your reunion… I don’t think she expected you two to become neighbors either.”

You groaned, dropping your head onto the table. “Please don’t remind me.”

Minseo laughed. “Oh, I’m absolutely reminding you.”

She raised her glass. “To the terrible house…and even more terrible coincidences.”

*

On his way home, Jeonghan noticed a few familiar faces working on your house. They were contractors he had hired before—people whose work he trusted enough to recommend without hesitation. Seeing them there, he couldn’t help wondering which developer you had chosen. Apparently, it was one he knew well.

The fact that the two of you still hadn’t spoken since Seungcheol’s visit last month proved just how hopeless you both were. Or perhaps it was just him.

Every morning, Jeonghan rehearsed countless conversations in his head. A greeting. A joke. Maybe even an apology. Yet the moment he saw you, all he managed was a polite bow and a small smile. Pathetic.

Night fell.

He had just finished dinner when rain began hammering against the windows. Within minutes, the entire neighborhood was swallowed by darkness as the power went out.

Jeonghan didn’t even have to think. He opened a kitchen drawer, took out a few candles, grabbed an umbrella, and stepped outside.

“Grandma? I brought some candles.”

The old woman shuffled carefully from her room to answer the door, smiling as she welcomed him inside. While Jeonghan lit the candles one by one, she complained nonstop about the blackout.

“Is it already the rainy season?” she grumbled. “Why didn’t they announce it on TV? If it rains this hard every day, I’ll go crazy!”

Jeonghan laughed quietly. “I think the TV is the least of your worries right now, Grandma.”

“Hmph. Easy for you to say.”

As she continued talking, his eyes drifted toward the window. Your house stood completely dark. Not a single light. He glanced down at the few candles still left in his hand.

“Grandma, you’re all set.” He picked up his umbrella again. “If you need anything else, just call me.”

The old woman nodded.

“Nari? Are you home?”

A few seconds later, the door opened. “Jeonghan?”

You blinked at the sight of him standing on your porch, rain dripping from the edge of his umbrella. “It’s pouring. What happened?”

He held up the candles in his hand. “I brought these.”

It took you a second to realize the entire house was dark. “Oh…” A sheepish smile crossed your face. “I completely forgot the power went out.”

Jeonghan chuckled quietly. “I noticed.”

You stepped aside, opening the door wider. “Come in before you catch a cold.”

He hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside, carefully folding his umbrella near the entrance.

Your house looked even older from the inside. Half-unpacked boxes lined the living room. Rolls of wallpaper leaned against one wall, while paint samples and renovation sketches covered the dining table. It was messy—but lived in.

“I’m sorry,” you said, noticing where his eyes wandered. “I’m still unpacking.”

“It’s fine.” His gaze settled on the exposed ceiling beams. “They’re in better condition than I expected.”

“You can tell just by looking?”

“I’m an architect.”

“…Right.”

The corner of his lips lifted.

“So…”

You rubbed the back of your neck. “I guess you’re not actually a handyman.”

He let out a laugh. “I’ve been trying to convince Grandma of that for years.”

You laughed too.

For the first time since meeting again, the silence between you no longer felt heavy.

You took one of the candles from his hand. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.”

He lit the candle with a lighter from his pocket, shielding the small flame with one hand until it steadied. The warm glow slowly spread across the room, softening the unfinished walls and the distance that had lingered between the two of you for weeks.

Rain continued to drum against the roof. Neither of you seemed in a hurry to break the quiet.

“You’ve done a lot already,” Jeonghan said after a while, glancing around the room.

“I’ve had help.”

“The contractors outside earlier?”

You nodded. “They’re good.”

“I know.”

You looked at him curiously. “You’ve worked with them before?”

“A few times.” A small pause followed. “I trust their work.”

You smiled. “Good.”

The room settled into silence once more, but it no longer felt empty.

Between you, the candle gave a small, wavering pulse of light, its flame bending whenever the wind pressed against the old windows. The glass panes gave a soft, uneven rattle in their frames, as if the house itself were listening in. Outside, rain moved steadily over the roof and down the eaves, a constant hush beneath the occasional sharper tap of a branch against the siding.

Jeonghan’s gaze drifted toward the windows, his expression thoughtful in the candlelight.

“You should replace those before winter.”

You followed his line of sight, watching the faint tremor in the glass.

“I know. I've been telling myself that for the past two weeks.” A sheepish smile touched your mouth, small and apologetic.

He let out a quiet chuckle, the sound low and warm in the dim room. “I can make you a list.”

“You’ll charge me, won’t you?”

“I thought I was the neighborhood handyman.”

“Right.”

You tipped your head, pretending to consider it, though the corner of your mouth was already giving you away. “So… free?”

Jeonghan laughed, a little more openly this time, and for a moment the tension in the room loosened with it. “I walked right into that one.”

The laughter faded as naturally as it had come, leaving behind something gentler. For the first time, the quiet between you didn’t feel strained or careful. It simply existed, soft and unhurried, the kind of silence shared by two people who had run out of things to say and found they didn’t mind. The rain filled the spaces around you, and the candlelight moved over the table in slow, trembling gold.

“You’ve changed,” you said at last, your voice quieter than you intended.

Jeonghan looked up from the candle, his eyes catching the light. “I have?”

“You smile differently.”

He blinked once, as if turning the words over in his mind.

“I used to think you smiled because you enjoyed teasing people.”

“And now?”

“Now…” You hesitated, searching his face for the right shape of the thought. “It feels quieter.”

His gaze dropped to the candle flame, and for a moment the light softened the line of his mouth. “I got older.”

“I suppose we both did.” A faint smile crossed your lips, brief but real.

“You still bow every morning.”

“You never miss returning it.”

Another pause settled between you, but this one carried no sharp edges.

“I wasn’t sure if I should talk to you.” The confession slipped out before either of you could stop it, and once it was spoken, it seemed to hang there in the warm, dim air.

Jeonghan lifted his eyes to yours. “…Neither was I.”

A small laugh escaped you, half relief and half disbelief. “So we’ve been greeting each other like strangers for an entire month.”

“Apparently.”

“That’s embarrassing.”

“It is.”

Outside, the rain thickened, drumming harder against the roof. Somewhere beyond the windows, the lights remained dark, the world reduced to weather and shadow. You traced the rim of your mug with your thumb, the ceramic cool beneath your skin.

“I thought you hated me.” The words came out so softly you almost wished the rain had swallowed them before they reached him.

Jeonghan didn’t answer right away. He looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable at first, then slowly shifting into something more honest, more tired.

Then he shook his head. “I did.”

You went still.

He seemed to notice your reaction and continued before the silence could harden into misunderstanding. “For a while.”

His fingers tightened slightly around the mug, the warmth of it lost beneath the tension in his hand. “I blamed you.”

“I blamed myself.” His eyes lowered for a second, then lifted again, steady and clear.

“It was easier than accepting I had no idea what had really happened.”

You swallowed, the weight of his words settling somewhere deep and quiet inside you. “I wanted to apologize.”

Jeonghan’s gaze sharpened, as if that had reached him more than anything else you’d said. “I looked for you.”

Your breath caught.

“I couldn’t find you. I asked people. I even asked Seungkwan if he’d heard anything. He worried too, you know.” A small, reluctant smile tugged at his lips, softened by memory.

The room fell silent again, but this time the quiet felt different. It wasn’t the silence of distance or uncertainty. It was the silence of two people standing at the edge of something old and painful, finally beginning to see it clearly from both sides. The candle burned lower between you, its flame smaller now, but steadier somehow, as if it had settled into the shape of the night.

Outside, thunder rolled across the sky in a long, distant rumble. Inside, neither of you seemed to notice that the candles had already burned halfway down.

*

The final school bell rang just as Jeonghan and the principal finished their last inspection of the newly restored building. Jeonghan couldn’t help but chuckle every time a fourth grader came running over to complain.

“The tiles near the stairs are too slippery!”

“The sink by the football field is too tall!”

The principal immediately shooed them away with a laugh. “Off to class. You can file your complaints later.”

Jeonghan watched the children disappear down the corridor before turning to the principal. “They’re definitely the toughest clients to please.”

“They always are.”

“Teacher Y/n.” At the principal’s call, Jeonghan turned.

You stepped out of your classroom, your bag slung over one shoulder, clearly finished for the day. You bowed politely to both of them before smiling at Jeonghan.

“Amazing work, Architect Yoon.”

The principal blinked in surprise. “Oh!” He laughed. “I was just about to introduce the two of you.”

He looked between you and Jeonghan. “So… you already know each other?”

Jeonghan smiled and nodded. “Yes, sir. We’ve known each other for years.” He glanced at you before adding, “We’re neighbors.”

The principal’s eyes widened. “Neighbors?” He looked genuinely delighted.

“Then the two of you should’ve been going home together this whole time! No need for Teacher Y/n to take the bus anymore.”

Jeonghan smiled. “That works for me.”

You nodded, unable to hide a small smile of your own. “Then let me grab my things from the teachers’ room first. Excuse me.”

As you walked away, the principal let out a quiet sigh of relief before turning to Jeonghan. “To be honest, I still don’t understand why someone like Teacher Y/n chose our little school.”

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow.

“Her résumé is remarkable,” the principal continued. “We’re lucky she even accepted our offer.”

Jeonghan smiled to himself. “She’s always been like that.” He remembered the woman who had once told him that a person’s work—not their family name—was what truly defined them.

The principal nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! She just came back from volunteering in Africa, and this was the very first school she applied to.”

He shook his head with an admiring smile. “Sometimes I wonder what kind of life she’s lived.”

Jeonghan watched as you disappeared down the hallway. A quiet smile settled on his face. “…An amazing one.”

The principal followed Jeonghan’s gaze before smiling to himself. “I suppose so.”

After parking the car, the two of you still had to walk another five hundred meters to the neighborhood. Jeonghan carried the box of materials you had brought home from school while you explained they were your students’ art projects.

For most of the walk, neither of you spoke. Then you turned to him. “I read it. Seungkwan did a good job.”

Jeonghan looked over and smiled. “He did almost too good of a job. My father must be pleased.”

“Your father is a good politician,” you murmured.

“He is.” A small smile lingered on his lips. “Not a very good father, though.”

You nodded. “That’s true.”

He looked ahead as the afternoon breeze rustled through the trees. “But… thanks.”

You turned to him.

“Because you were willing to tell the truth—even knowing how much it would cost you—my relationship with him finally got better.”

You smiled faintly. A month ago, Seungkwan had visited to ask for an exclusive interview for his feature, The Fall of Ji Jaekyung’s Legacy. It told the whole story. How the Ji family’s real daughter had been hidden. How you had been forced to take her place. How they had manipulated the media and used both you and Jeonghan in their attempt to bring down Yoon Daemun and several other political rivals.

“That was the least I could do,” you said quietly. “After everything I put you through.”

Jeonghan let out a small laugh. “Didn’t we agree to stop feeling guilty about that?”

You smiled apologetically.

“Besides,” he continued, “your mother was unbelievable.” He shook his head in disbelief. “How she even found out I was Daemun’s estranged son is still beyond me.”

You laughed. “I have no idea either. The whole family was… something else.”

Before either of you could continue, a familiar voice called from across the street.

“There you are!”

Grandma waved excitedly from her front yard. “I’ve been waiting for you two to come home!”

She pointed at Jeonghan. “Jeonghan! Help me with the plumbing. It stopped working again.”

Jeonghan groaned dramatically. “Grandma… I’m not a plumber.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

“I’m not a handyman either.”

Ignoring his protest entirely, Grandma grabbed his wrist and started pulling him toward the house.

You couldn’t hold back your laughter.

Jeonghan sighed in defeat before handing you his bag.

“Which pipe is it this time?”

As he rolled up his sleeves, Grandma happily led him inside.

“He complains every single time,” she whispered to you with a grin. “But he always fixes it.”

You smiled. “Grandma… He’s not a handyman. He’s an architect.”

Grandma blinked before breaking into a sheepish smile.

“I know.”

You looked at her in surprise.

She pointed toward the house next door. “There’s a big sign in front of his house.”

You laughed. “So you’ve known all along?”

Grandma simply shrugged. “Architects know how to fix things too.”

You glanced toward the kitchen window, where Jeonghan was already crouching beneath the sink, muttering to himself while trying to figure out the plumbing.

Maybe Grandma had been right after all. Some people didn’t just build houses. They made them feel like home.

Choi Seungcheol prodigal son in the heir to the Choi Corporation. Being the only child of an extremely wealthy and successful businessman has left Seungcheol with immense pressure. His whole life has been laid out for him. The moment he graduated high school, he was sent to a prestige college with the intention of immediately stepping into the family business. The day after graduation, he started working for his family’s company and never looked back.

One thing about being the heir to the company is that his parents are obsessed with the idea of him settling down and giving them at least one grandchild. Seungcheol is so wrapped up in work, he can't even imagine dating. Let alone getting married and staring a family.

These days his weeks consist of going on dates with socialites and heiress that his mother believes would make a great wife.

Tonight is no different. He finds himself in an expensive restaurant with a pretty woman sitting across from him. Except this time, the woman across from him isn't someone who comes from a rich family, it's you. You don't come from money, nor do you have much to be honest. You work for Seungcheol's company as Jeonghan's assistant. The funny things is Seungcheol knows your name, and definitely knows you're not Angel, the girl he's supposed to be on a date with.

THE PRINCE AND THE LIAR

You've been friends with Angel since you were teenagers. Growing up, your family made enough to be considered middle class. As a teen you were so smart you were able to get a full ride scholarship to a fancy private school. While in school, you became best friends with Angel, the heirest to a luxary cosmetics company. Angel has always been an incredible friend to you. She's always been someone who pushes you to get out of your comfort zone and to try new things.

You were surprised when you were hanging out in her fancy high rise apartment and she mentioned going on a date with the CEO of Choi Corporation. You weren't sure why her mother and his mother were trying to set her up with your boss.

"You're going on a date with my boss?" You ask, sitting on the plush chair that sits in the middle of her large closet.

"I don't want to go on a date with your hot boss. I was planning to go out with Soonyoung tonight."

"Your mom still doesn't know about Soonyoung?" Even if Angel doesn't want to admit it, her and Soonyoung have something going on that's more then just sex. Soonyoung works at a dance studio, and doesn't live up to Angel's mother's high expectations.

"Why don't you cancel on Seungcheol?"

"My mother would kill me if I did."

"I see."

Angel holds us a beautiful pink silk dress. She keeps glancing at the dress, and back at you. "This would look good on you."

"Yeah it's also not in my tax bracket." You've been shopping with Angel enough to know you couldn't afford anything in this closet.

"I have an idea!" She shouts.

"What?"

Her eyes go wide, and she gives you the biggest smile. "You're going to go on the date with Seungcheol." That's not what you thought she was going to say.

"What?"

"He's expecting you."

"He's never met me and doesn't know how I look. Just pretend to be me."

"I work for him."

"Like you said before. He doesn't know you exist. You work on a different floor for Jeonghan."

"Angel, this isn't a good idea."

"Come on, it's one blind date. You don't have to go on another one. Just go out with him once and pretend to be me."

"Angel—"

"Babe, just put the pretty pink dress on and go."

-

The moment you sat down, Seungcheol recognized you. He knew immediately you weren't Angel. He's well aware you're Jeonghan's pretty assistant. Instead of telling you he knows who you are, he decides to let this play out. It's not like he actually wanted to go on a date with Angel.

From the beginning he can tell that you're shy. He makes small talk with you, and actively goes out of his way to avoid talking about anything related to the real Angel.

He does want to tease you a little and see if you will own up to the lie. "Angel is a pretty name." He says before taking a sip of his wine.

"Thank you."

"How did your parents pick that name?"

"Grandmother named me." That isn't a lie. Angel was actually named by her grandmother.

The dinner is nice, an even though you're pretending to be someone else, Seungcheol can't help but find you interesting. He wishes he could ask you out again instead of the woman you're pretending to be.

The night ends with Seungcheol walking you to the car Angel ordered for you. He takes your hand and places a gentle kiss on top.

"It was nice getting to meet you." He says.

"This was nice. I feel like I haven't gone out on a date this night in a really long time." You haven't gone on a date in years, and even though this is under false pretenses, this was nice.

"Maybe we could do this again."

He fishes his phone out of the pocket of his dress pants. "Could I have your number please?"

Taking his phone, you hesitantly put in your contact info. You hate that you have to write your name as Angel, but you have no choice.

The whole car ride back to Angel's place you can't help but feel guilty that you enjoyed your night out with him. You feel bad you had to lie to him. Seungcheol seems like a great guy, and doesn’t deserve that.

AN UNEXPECTED CONTRACT

Since your blind date that took place three months ago, you've actively gone out of your way to avoid Seungcheol at work. That's been a little difficult occasionally due to the fact that your boss Jeonghan is best friends with the CEO of the company. Whenever you knew Seungcheol was on the floor looking for Jeonghan, you've made yourself scarce.

You don't know that the CEO is a smart man and is well aware you're avoiding him. He's wanted to text you too many times to count, but he can tell by the way you're avoiding him that you won't respond.

Seungcheol day started with his father meeting him in his office. His father is sitting in his chair at his desk.

"Good morning father." Seungcheol says before sitting his bag down on his desk.

"Son, I have important things to discuss with you."

Seungcheol lets out a heavy sigh before sitting down across from him. He just wants this conversation over with quickly.

"Your mother and I have been discussing things and it's clear you have no intention of settling down. We've decided to set you up in an arranged marriage." The room suddenly feels suffocatingly small. The word 'arranged marriage' keeps playing in mind on repeat.

"What?"

"Your mother has a perfect woman to be your wife. Lena comes from the Park family that owns the Park Finacal Banks." Seungcheol knows exactly who he is talking about. The idea of being thrown into an arranged marriage with a stuck up narcissistic heiress makes him want to throw up.

All of Seungcheol's logical thoughts are slipping out of his brain at a rapid pace. "I'm seeing someone!" He shouts.

"You are?"

"Yes. We were keeping things private."

"Who is she?"

"She works for our company. She's Jeonghan assistant."

"She's poor?" His father sounds extremely confused.

"What she makes doesn't matter to me. The only thing that matters is the fact we're in love."

His father leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "How long have you been seeing her?"

"Three months."

"You either marry her, or the Park's daughter."

"It's too soon for us to get married."

"If she rejects your proposal, you'll marry Lena." His father stands up.

Seungcheol feels stuck in his place. His father walks out of his office as Seungcheol tries to wrap his brain around what just happened.

The door slams shut and Seungcheol instantly snaps out of it. He stands up quickly and rushes out of his office. His assistant Seungkwan stands up.

"Seungcheol, is everything okay?"

"I got to go. Move my meeting to tomorrow. Tell them I'm dealing with an emergency."

Seungcheol walks to the elevator in a rush. The doors open and quickly walks in. His office is on the seventeenth floor. He presses the sixteenth floor the one you and Jeonghan work on. He needs to get to you before you can hide from him. The doors open and he rushes to your desk, outside of Jeonghan office.

Your eyes go wide at the sight of him rushing to you. "I need to talk to you, please don't run and hide."

"Okay." You say softly.

He barges into Jeonghan's office. Jeonghan looks up from his computer very confused. "I'm taking your assistant for the day. Tell Joshua to find someone to fill in for her."

"What the fuck is happening?" Jeonghan is extremely confused.

"I'm going to propose to your assistant and hope that she says yes."

"That doesn't explain anything, Cheol. I've never seen you speak to her."

Seungcheol let's out a heavy sigh. "Come to my house after eight and I'll explain everything. Just ask Joshua to get you a second assistant."

Seungcheol walks out of Jeonghan office and sees you still sitting at your desk, looking extremely nervous.

"You're not fired or anything, so don't worry about that. Just grab your purse and anything you bring with you everyday. We're not coming back to office today."

Silently you stand up and grab your purse. "Um, sir, I can't really afford to miss work."

"You'll be paid for today, don't worry."

With your purse in hand you follow Seungcheol to the elevator. Silently, you stand there waiting for the doors to open. The elevator dings and you both step inside.

Seungcheol his the underground level for the parking garage. You stand there not sure what you should say to him.

"I'm aware you're not Angel, just so you know."

Your heart instantly drops. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I'm not mad about it."

"Angel is seeing someone else her parents don't know about. Did you know all along I wasn't Angel?"

"Yeah, I have a good memory, and recognized you immediately."

The elevator dings and the doors open. You both step out into the parking garage.

"Did you drive here?" He asks.

"No, I took the train. I don't own a car."

"Okay, follow me to my car." He starts walking toward his CEO parking spot.

"Sir, where are we going?"

"To lunch and to discuss a contract."

You follow him to his expense all black Maserati. He stands on the passenger side and opens the door. Sliding into a sport car that looks too expensive to touch, you're extremely confused by everything that's happening.

Seungcheol gets into the drivers seat silently as he starts the car. He turns on the radio to help cut the awkward silence. The drive to the restaurant isn't too long. He pulls up to an expensive looking hotel. He hands the keys to the valet before he walks around and quickly opens your door.

"Come on." He says.

You follow behind him with your heels clacking against the expensive marble flooring.

Workers bow their heads at Seungcheol as he heads towards the elevator. He presses the button and the doors slide open. Silently, you stand next to him. You have zero clue why he dragged you out of work and brought you here.

He presses the button to the seventeenth floor. He checks his watch and glances over at you. The silence between you is deafening.

The doors slide open and he hold his hand out, guesturing for you to go first.

He walks up an expensive looking restaurant. The host immediately lights up. "Mr. Choi." The host bows his head.

"Two please."

Immediately you're led off through the expensive restaurant. You've seen lunches here booked on Jeonghan schedule. You're led over to a plush booth that overlooks the city.

The waitress immediately comes over and places two glasses of wine in front of you. You can't even pick up the menu, you just stare at Seungcheol.

"I'm aware your name isn't Angel."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I recognized you the moment you sat down."

He doesn't say anything else. He just opens the menu. "Do you know what you would like to eat?"

"I'm not hungry." You appetite disappeared as you were pulled away from work.

"Please, order something." He folds the menu placing it down in front of him.

The waitress comes back for the order and Seungcheol orders himself the salmon. The waitress turns to you, and you just blankly stare at the man across from you.

"My date will take the lemon chicken." He says, handing over the menu.

The silence between you is incredibly loud. Seungcheol's eyes are fixated on you. Grabbing the glass of wine he takes a big gulp. He doesn't even bother slowly sipping on it.

"Mr. Choi, what is this about?" You finally break the silence.

"You didn't call me Mr. Choi on our date. Please call me Seungcheol or Cheol." He raises his brow before taking another drink of wine.

"That date was a mistake on my part." If you could go back in time you would never let Angel convince you to go out.

His brows furrow together. "A mistake?"

"Yes, a mistake. I lied to you, and that's not fair to you."

"I don't care that you lied to me."

It's your turn to now furrow your brows. "You don't?"

"No I don't care."

"Oh." You thought for sure he was mad about your lies.

"I'm here because I have a business proposal for you." He takes a deep breath. "My father informed me today, that he plans on setting me up into an arranged marriage."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"Well you see, I told him I can't marry someone else, because I'm seeing someone and I'm very serious about them." You have no clue who he could possibly be talking about.

"Yeah?" You ask.

"I told him I'm dating you, Jeonghan's assistant." His words if you like an ice cold bucket of water. Your stomach drops and you're rendered speechless. "I know it's crazy. See, here's the thing, my father says I either propose to you, and marry you or I'm marrying Lena from the Park Bank family." You know exactly who he's talking about, Angel has mentioned her on multiple occasions. According to your best friend Lena is a narcissistic, social climber.

You open your mouth to speak but nothing comes out. Seungcheol leans back in his chair, and lets out a sigh.

"What are you asking of me?" You finally find the right words to say.

"I'm asking you to be my fiancée. We don't have to get married right away or anything. But I need you to play the role of my fiancée until my parents push hard enough for us to get married. Maybe we can make it a long engagement and I'll figure out an exit plan." He's absolutely insane. Your eyes are wide, and all you can do is blink at him. You can't process the fact, that he basically just proposed to you.

Reaching out, you grab your glass of wine, and without another thought, start chugging the rich liquid.

"I know this is crazy."

You set the empty glass on the table. "Am I being punished for lying to you?"

"No, not at all. I just thought this could be beneficial to both of us." He shakes his head.

"Beneficial?"

"Yes, you'll move into my penthouse, and I'll take care of you."

"To sleep with you? I know I lied, but I'm not sleeping with you and playing house with you."

He puts his hands up. "Woo, I'm not asking you to have sex with me. I'll set up the guest room just for you. You'll have your own space, and we can be roommates basically."

"What about my job?" You're pretty sure being engaged to the ceo is against hr policies.

"I'm technically your boss, but Jeonghan is in charge of you. You can continue working for him or I'll get you another position. Or you can be stay at home fiancée. I want to fully support you. If you're going to help me with this, it's the least I can do." Is he offering to be your sugar daddy?

"As a sugar daddy?" You blurt out.

"No, as your fiancé, I would be your providor."

The waitress comes over intrupting this absolutely insane conversation. She pours more wine into each of your glasses. You both go quiet for a moment.

"If I agree to this, what are the rules?" You've struggled to get by off and on through our your life. You realize that this business proposal could be a blessing, you can live comfortably and not worry about money.

"I haven't thought that far ahead. I think the one thing that needs to be clear is, we can't see other people. And when we're in public, we have to act like we're a couple. The only person who can know we're not together is Jeonghan."

"I need to have someone I can talk to about this. I need to tell Angel. She won't tell anyone. She has her own secrets she keeps hid away, and won't share ours." Seungcheol wants to laugh at the fact that of all people you bring up the girl that started this whole mess for you.

"Okay. I'll get you a proper engagement ring today. I want to have you moved in by the end of the week."

The waitress walks over and sets your food down in front of you.

"By the way, you're going to have to be comfortable sharing kisses and holding my hand in public." The idea of sharing public affection with Seungcheol doesn't sound terrible.

He reaches out, holding his hand over the table. "Darling, do we have a deal?" Reaching out your grab his hand and shake it.

"I accept your business proposal."

THE HOTTEST NEW COUPLE

Everything has felt like a whirlwind. Seungcheol was true to his word, he got you a beautiful engagement ring, and three days after your agreement, you had moved out of your studio apartment into his huge penthouse.

With the help of Seungkwan, he made sure your bedroom was perfect. The guestroom that is now your room is absolutely beautiful, and it even has its own ensuite bathroom with a beautiful claw foot tub, and a shower that can comfortably have four people in it. Seungcheol stocked it, with all the products you use. He wasn't lying when he said he would take care of you. He brought over all your clothes, and even bought you a ton of new stuff to wear.

You get to work two days before it's all over the news that you and Seungcheol are engaged. As soon as everyone knows, things instantly change.

Walking into work with Seungcheol, you can feel everyone's eyes trained on you. The two front desk girls who are the biggest gossips intentally watch. Seungcheol shoots them both a smile before lacing his fingers with yours.

The two girls immediately leans in and clearly start whispering to each other.

Looking down while you walk, you try your hardest to ignore all the staring.

The doors to the elevator slide open, and Seungcheol leads you inside. He doesn't release your hand as he presses the button to the floor you work on.

There is a long beat of silence. "The people are going to talk about our relationship, but I just need you to ignore it."

"Okay." You aren't exactly sure how you can just ignore people whispering about you.

"It should calm down shortly."

The elevator stops on your floor and Seungcheol instantly can tell you're stressed. He releases your hand. "Hey, everything will be okay."

"Okay." You don't know if your saying that for him, or yourself.

The doors open and you step out. Seungcheol stays back and gives you a smile before the doors close.

Walking through the office, you can feel too many eyes on you. You head straight for Jeonghan’s office. You give his closed door a knock before stepping inside. You've never been happier that Jeonghan gets to work early.

Jeonghan is sitting at his desk leaning back sipping a coffee. "You know Joshua got me a second assistant, you don't have to rush in here bright and early now."

"I'm kinda freaking out and need a moment away from all of the gossips that work for this company." Jeonghan may be your boss, but you have grown to consider him your friend.

"Oh, I see news of your engagement hit the media."

You sit down in the chair in front of his desk. "I'm not used to this. Seungcheol is used to this, the media has always loved him. Before all of this no one knew who I was."

"The media circus will calm down soon. You guys will be the hot gossip for maybe a week."

You hate being the center of attention and this is making you feel uncomfortable. "I don't like that I know that everyone in the this office is talking about me."

"Don't let them bother you." Jeonghan sits his iced latte on the table.

"It's hard not to."

"Mina is working at her desk outside. Why don't your grab your laptop and work in my office for now?" Mina is Jeonghan second assistant Seungcheol requested he got.

"Don't you need privacy?"

"No."

"What about meetings?"

"There is a conference room on this floor and the big one on floor ten." Jeonghan has clearly thought about this.

"Okay."

Things from this day shifted. Everyone officially knows about your engagement. Jeonghan has gone out of his way to protect you from people talking about. He may be your boss, but through this he's become one of your closest friends.

Living in Seungcheol's penthouse feels strange. His large penthouse doesn't feel like home. You just feel like a guest, living here for now.

It's been a long day at work, since Seungcheol has to stay over for a meeting Jeonghan offers to drop you off.

Arriving at your new home, you slip off your heels and head towards your room. Looking through your drawers, you find some lounge wear to change into. After a long day at work, a scorching hot shower sounds amazing.

Walking into the bathroom you strip away your clothes. Stepping into the shower, you try to turn your brain off. This whole engagement with Seungcheol is still a lot to process.

Standing under the hot water, you try your hardest to turn off your brain, but you can't. You just keep thinking about the way everyone now looks at you.

There is this little voice inside your head that says people probably just think you're a gold digger.

Shaking your head, you try and push away the nasty thoughts. Grabbing your favorite shampoo, you start washing your hair.

Getting out of the shower you get dressed in the comfy clothes you picked out. Your bare feed pad across the hardwood floor as you make your way to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, you look for the ingredients to make something to eat. Cooking has always been one thing you like to do to relax.

Opening the drawer you find two steaks. You hestiate to pick them up. It feels weird to use things without asking for permission, but Seungcheol has told you a few time, that anything in the house is yours.

Pulling the steaks from the fridge you look for some veggies that would go good with them.

Grabbing your phone, you turn on some music. You sing along to each song as you prep your dinner. Maybe if Seungcheol doesn't get home super late, he can enjoy a warm meal for dinner.

You get lost in the music, and cooking. You plate the steak giving it time to rest. Walking over to the wine friend in the counter, you find a bottle of wine. You stare a the label for a moment, hoping and praying you didn't pick an insanely expensive bottle. Reaching into the cupboard you grab a glass.

You pour the deep cherry colored wine into the glass. The merlot tastes devine.

Sitting at the table by yourself you enjoy your second glass of wine. You're taking your time eating, hoping Seungcheol will be home soon. You know you can just ask him when he'll be home, but for some reason that feels inappropriate to you.

Scrolling through your phone as you slowly eat, you can't help but smile as the front door opens. A very exhausted looking Seungcheol walks in.

He looks up at the table and finds you giving him a gentle smile.

"Hi." He awkwardly waves.

"I made dinner for you."

You stand up quickly, and rush towards the kitchen. Seungcheol takes his time taking off his bag, and walks towards the dining area. Walking back into the dining area you place down the plate and bring another glass for wine.

"This looks amazing." Seungcheol is learning that you love cooking.

"Thank you. Sorry if you were saving these steaks."

He takes a seat across from where you were sitting. "Anything is this house is yours." He's told you this so many times. It's just extremely hard to wrap your mind around that.

Reaching out he grabs the bottle of wine, and pours himself a glass. Having dinner with him like this feels very domestic. It feels almost a little too real.

You eat in silence for a few minutes before he speaks again. "Sorry I had to stay so late at work. I'm trying really hard not to be as much of a workaholic." Anyone who knows him knows what a hard worker he is. He's always been known for speanding countless late night hours at the office. You've been there a handful of times with Jeonghan working late with him.

"My father called."

"What did he say?" You know that Seungcheol and his father's relationship can't be kind of difficult at times.

"He saw the news of our engagement, and has requested for us to join them for dinner one night." The idea of having dinner with Seungcheol's family is quite terrifying. You're sure they're nice people but they're extremely rich and live an very different life style then the one you're used to.

You knit your brows together, unsure of how to respond.

"I told them it can't be anytime soon, that we're very busy."

"Oh."

"We can avoid that dinner for a while. I have to travel quite a bit for work soon, and you won't be meeting them without me."

"Okay." Grabbing the glass of wine, you take another big drink.

"Hey." He reaches out, taking your hand. "I know this isn't a normal engagement, but just know that we're a team. I have your back, when you agreed to help me that meant we became partners." You still barely know him, but you can't help but feel as if you're catching feelings for him. Seungcheol is truly the ultimate man. It would be nearly impossible not to have a crush on him.

OH HES A GENTLEMAN

The media is having a hay day with the fact one of the cities most eligible bachelors is now taken. Everyone one online is talking about your "secret relationship." Too many threads online are speculating about how long you have been together.

Everyday you go into work holding Seungcheol's hand, and every afternoon you sit in his office eating lunch. Sometimes it's just the two of you, and occasionally Jeonghan will join.

He finds it quite humorous, watching the two of you play the role of the happily engaged couple.

You've be technically engaged for three weeks, and outside of work you haven't done anything together other then relax at home. You've had a handful of movie night, the select times Seungcheol is working from home on something.

Today, he came home from a meeting out of the office after eight. It's one of those night you didn't feel like cooking, so you settled for ordering yourself takeout from your favorite Thai food place, and made yourself comfortable on the couch, reading a book. Seungcheol barges in holding a shopping bag from Prada.

"Hi, darling." Ever since he proposed he started calling your this nickname. You won't complain though, you find it charming. You've never had anyone call you a sweet pet name.

"Hi, Cheol."

Pulling the blanket off your lap, you place your book down and walk over towards Seungcheol. "Did you go shopping?" You realized immediately that Seungcheol has a love for luxury designer items. All his suits he wears to the office are designer. Your favorite ones, being his Prada ones.

"I got you something." He holds the bag out towards you.

"Why?" You're very much not used to him buying you things, let alone expensive luxury items.

"Because you're my fiancée, and I saw this and thought of you."

Sitting the bag on the table, you pull out the tissue and find a black box with a bow on it. Your heart drops already knowing what's inside. One day while you were leaving work together you saw a woman with this bag and you told him how that was your dream bag. Your first mistake was letting him know you had a desire to own something expensive like this.

Opening the box, you want to cry at the sight, of the beautiful black leather bag, you've always dreamed of owning. To be quite honest, you're a little caught off guard by how much he's spoiling you. You have to remind yourself that this is a business transaction. That there are no romantic intentions behind his purchase. You need to tell yourself this a gift from a "friend."

"Seungcheol, this is beautiful." He gives you a crooked smile.

"I'm glad you like it." The second he knew you wanted this bag, he fully planned on buying it for you.

Your eyes start to water, you reach up pushing away your tears before they can fall. You can't help but feel embarrassed for crying in front of him. "I was thinking, even though this is a business transaction, that maybe we could still go on dates." You've been thinking about brining this up for the last few days. Angel had put the idea into your brain. Your best friend loves the idea that you and Seungcheol are living together. According to her, Seungcheol will treat you right and take care of you. She not wrong, you haven't been together that long and Seungcheol is actively going out of his way to be an amazing partner to you.

He nods and smiles. "I would love to take you out on dates." He steps toward you and leans in and presses his lips to your cheek for a gentle kiss. "How about we go out tomorrow night?"

"I would love that."

"What are you reading?"

"Just some romance novel Angel has been talking about nonstop." Your best friend has always loved a spicy romance novel, she's even roped you into reading them with her.

"What did you do for dinner?" Seungcheol asks as he removes his suit jacket.

"I ordered Thai food."

"Is there any left?"

"Yeah, I ordered enough for both of us."

You lead him into the kitchen and help dish him a plate. Sitting at the kitchen table, you silently read your book as he eats dinner.

-

Seungcheol made a big deal to both Seungkwan and Jeonghan that he need to be off on time today. He's gone out of his way to plan a romantic date night for you both.

Sitting at Jeonghan's desk, you're working on organizing his meetings for the next few days.

"You know your adoring fiancé is making a big deal about some date night?" Jeonghan looks up from his phone.

Your cheeks warm with blush. "Is he?"

"You now for this just being a business transaction, he's putting in a lot of effort to woo you." You thought when Seungcheol made this proposition, that this would simply be a business transaction, but things from the very beginning have felt a little too real.

The moment you clock out of work, Seungcheol is already at Jeonghan's office, ready to pick you up.

He's dressed in your favorite navy Prada suit he owns. In his hand he's holding a beautiful bouquet of red roses.

Jeonghan leans back in his desk chair, holding back a laugh. He's eating up the fact that Seungcheol is putting in a real effort.

"Are you ready to go?" Seungcheol asks, holding the bouquet out.

"Yes." Thank god you wore your favorite dress to work today, and decided to actually wear a pair of heels.

"Did you send Seungkwan off to pick those up?" Jeonghan chimes in.

"No." Seungcheol responds before grabbing your hand.

The second you step out of Jeonghan's office, hand in hand with the ceo of the company, all eyes are on you. Blush creeps up on your neck, realizing everyone in eye shot is staring at you.

Seungcheol squeezes your hand, snapping you out of your thoughts. He stops at the elevator. Leaning down his lips brush your ear. "Darling, ignore all of them."

Reaching, he presses the button. Silently you glance up at him. "You look beautiful." If only he knows that you wore a sexy red matching lingerie set he probably won't see.

The doors slide open and he leads you inside. As more people join you in the elevator, you end up practically pressed against him.

Walking outside you find Seungcheol’s expensive red Ferrari waiting for you. He wastes no time taking the flowers and holding the door open for you.

He jumps in the drive seat and puts the flowers back in your lap.

The drive to the restaurant is filled with a comfortable silence, as Seungcheol hums along to the radio.

You've learned since living with him, he loves singing along the radio lightly, and singing when he's in the shower.

He pulls the car up to the valet and you immediately recognize this restaurant. You've booked a few very important meetings for Jeonghan here. This place is crazy expensive.

The passenger door opens and Seungcheol is holding his hand out for you. "Come on, darling."

Your heels click against the marble floor. Hand in hand he leads you to host. "Two for Choi." He says holding up two fingers.

The hostess leads you over to a booth tucked away in the corner. Sliding into the booth, he sits down across from you. The hostess sits down a simple paper menu down in front of you. This place is known for the Omakase style. The sushi chef here is world renowned.

The waitress comes back over, and Seungcheol orders a nice bottle of sake.

Dinner is absolutely incredible. You've never had sushi this delicious before. The whole time you're eating and talking you can't help but notice how Seungcheol lights up as he talks to you. If you didn't know any better you might be think has feelings for you.

"Thank you for taking me out." You say before taking a sip of your sake.

"This is nice. We should try and go on a date once, or twice a week." When he talks to you like this, it's hard to tell yourself that this isn't real.

"I would like that."

The bill arrives and before the waitress can even put it down, Seungcheol is holding up his black card. You don't even want to know how expensive this date was.

Leaving the restaurant, Seungcheol immediately laces his fingers with yours. "Do you have room for dessert?" He ask before walking up to the valet.

"Yes."

"How do you feel about vanilla soft serve?"

"It sounds delicious."

Tugging on your hand, he leads you down the street to a little ice cream shop next door. He holds the door open, stepping inside you're reminded how overdressed you are. Your heels click against the tile. Seungcheol never releases your hand as he walks up and orders to cones.

The lady working the counter hands your a tall vanilla ice cream cone. Seungcheol leads your over to a little table by the window. He releases your hand as he helps you sit down. He takes his place across from you.

You slide your tongue through the creamy and sweet vanilla soft serve. Seungcheol's eyes stay on you, watching you enjoy your sweet treat.

"Have you been here before?" You ask before taking another lick.

"I like to come here after meetings. If it's a bad meeting it's a little pick me up, and if it's a good meeting, it's a celebration."

"What would you call this?"

"A celebration, after a nice date."

After ice cream you finally head back home. The whole ride you can't stop thinking about the way Seungcheol was looking at you. Recently, he's been flirting quite a bit, and things are just starting to feel too real. You realize maybe you really want things to be real.

THE TALK OF THE TOWN

Something about today feels off. Your morning started by spilling your coffee, and by the time you arrived to work with Seungcheol you're fed up with the constant stares from everyone at work.

Standing in the copy room, you're atempting to scan some items in peace. The door opens and you glance over to find two girls who work in accounting whispering and softly giggling. Taking a deep breath, you try and push away the negative thoughts floating around in your brain.

You know Seungcheol is used to being the talk around town, and having everyone stare at him, but you aren't used to this. You feel like a circus act.

Grabbing your papers, you quickly exit the room. You can feel both their eyes burning into you. Walking through office you can feel everyone continue to watch you.

Busting into Jeonghan office, you desperately need to escape everyone's prying eyes.

He looks up from his computer and knits his brows together. You must look absolutely frazzled.

"Are you okay?"

Closing your eyes you take another deep breath trying to gather yourself. "Yes." Lying feels like the best option at the moment.

"Sit down and stop lying to me."

Placing the papers down on the desk you sit across from him.

"What is going on?" He reaches for his coffee that's sitting next to him.

"I'm tired of everyone staring at me, and everyone talking about me when I enter a room here." You say quickly.

"Don't let them get to you, they're just jealous."

"Jeonghan, it's not that easy." You sigh.

"I know. But just know that Seungcheol and I will always have your back."

"Your fiancé has a meeting during lunch." He always gives you a mischievous smile whenever he refers to Seungcheol as your fiancé. "How about we go get some lunch together?"

"That would be nice."

Jeonghan leads you out of the office. You aren't sure what he has planned, but you follow him to the little cafe on the corner. The holds up two fingers and waiteess immediately leads you to the table by the window.

You sit down across from Jeonghan, picking up the menu. You realize you've had food delivered from this restaurant before for him.

"This is the place with your favorite chicken pesto sandwich."

"I was gonna order us lunch from here, but you clearly need an hour away from the office." Jeonghan sets his menu down. "I'm going to recommend my favorite, the chicken pesto. I would also suggest getting the lychee lemonade."

"How about you order for me," you give him a smile.

The waitress comes back and Jeonghan does order for you. This place is cute. Looking around, you wonder if Seungcheol would have lunch with you here one day.

The waitress comes back over and sets down a glass of ice cold lemonade in front of you, and a latte in front of Jeonghan.

"So, how is life being engaged?" He asked as he sticks his straw in his latte.

"Socially not the best, at home with Seungcheol—" At home things are feeling too real, and you cant help but constantly be confused.

Jeonghan raises his brow, before taking a sip of coffee. "Something tells me you're enjoying the aspect of sharing a home with him."

A heavy sigh passes your lips. "I can't talk about this with you. You're his best friend."

He shrugs. "Anything you say to me, won't be repeated. He may be my best friend, but I'm also friends with you."

"Things just feel a little too real right now."

Jeonghan nods before taking a drink of the cold beverage in front of him. "You know, Seungcheol seems happier since you both started the arrangement."

He's not wrong, before all of this started, whenever you would see Seungcheol around the office he was always sporting a frown. These days it's rare you don't see him smiling. The only time he doesn't seem happy, is when his father is in the office.

"He's not the only one that seems happier." You glances at you, raising his brow. "I don't think I have ever seen you this consistently happy." Before Seungcheol, you were a lot more stressed. Your job pays you well, but worrying about paying rent and all your expenses was too stressful at points. It's nice knowing, no matter what Seungcheol will take care of you.

"I feel happier. I spending time with him, and he's great to live with."

"I think you two would make a fantastic couple."

The waitress comes over and sets down both your meals. Jeonghan thanks her, and gives her a gentle smile.

"Aren't we already a couple?"

"I'm saying, if you start acting like this is fully real, you'll be even happier." Jeonghan's words play in your head on repeat. Over the last week or so you've wondered what it would like for your relationship with Seungcheol to be real. Sure, he takes you out and will hold your hand, but you want to know what it's like to kiss him and to be with him fully.

Arriving back at the office, you find Seungcheol by the elevator, with his phone pressed to his ear. The moment he see you and Jeonghan, he gives you a big smile.

Jeonghan nudges you and gently pushes you towards Seungcheol. Glancing over, you see the girls at the front desk clearly watching you, and whispering to each other.

Jeonghan immediately looks over at the girls. The startled look on their faces as he walks towards them says it all. The immediately stand up and bow their heads at him, clearly apologizing.

Seungcheol glances over there as he pockets his phone. He takes a couple steps towards you before pulling you into his chest for a hug.

He kisses the top of your head before you leading you towards the elevator.

-

CRAVING SOMETHING MORE

Sitting in Angel's favorite restaurant downtown, you're sipping on a latte listening to her talk about the crazy things Soonyoung has done to her in bed recently. It's been so long since you've been intimate with anyone, that hearing about her sex life is reminding you how much you miss sex.

"You look like you're zoning out." Angel says before taking a sip of her own latte.

"I'm listening." You raise your brow, leaning back.

"What's going through your mind?"

"Nothing." You don't want to have this conversation, let alone have it in the middle of a cafe.

"I don't believe you." She pouts. "Just tell me what's going on."

Reaching for your coffee, you take another sip of your ice latte. "Fine. I'm just thinking about the fact I miss being intimate with someone."

"Girl, last time I check you lived with a super hot buff guy who calls himself your fiancé."

"It's not that easy. We both know he's not fully my fiancé."

Angel dramatically rolls her eyes. "Um, last time I checked random men don't buy just any girl a Prada bag she's always dreamed of."

"He did that just to be nice." You look at said bag sitting on the table next to you.

"Girl, if you're missing sex and being intimate with someone, ride your sexy fake fiance." Angel has never been one to mend her words.

You're in the middle of a crowded cafe. The last thing you need is to have people hearing about your so called relationship with with Seungcheol. "Angel." You look around hoping no one is paying attention.

"What? You're the one who clearly seems to be pent up. Sometning tells me, your fiance would be down."

"Keep it down. I don't need the whole cafe in my business."

Angel smirks before taking a sip of her drink. "Are you bringing Seungcheol to my birthday tonight?"

"Yes." When you invited Seungcheol, you weren't sure if he would agree. It's been a few months since you've been faking your relationship, but you haven't attempted a social outing like this.

"Make a move on him tonight. Have yourself a little cocktail and loosen up and tell him you want to ride him into the sun." You can't even respond you just stare at her absolutely embarrassed. "Wear that skin tight lace dress I bought you. I promise you, Seungcheol won't be able to keep his hands to himself."

-

Arriving at Angel's luxury penthouse, you're dressed in the skimpiest dress you own. Standing outside the door, you keep attempting to smooth out the front of your dress. Seungcheol is standing next to you in a pair of black jeans, a white shirt that hugs his large frame, and a leather jacket. Looking down at your feet, you realize these high heels might have been a mistake.

"You look gorgeous by the way."

"Huh?" You look up at him, knitting your brows together.

"You keep messing with your dress, and I just want to let you know, you look incredible." He reaches out, taking your hand away from your stomach.

"I feel like the dress is too tight and makes my stomach stand out." You've always been a little bit self conscious about your body, and this dress isn't helping that.

"I promise you, you look sexy as hell."

Your ears burn with embarrassment. "Thank you."

The door swing opens and you find Angel standing there. "Come inside now." She grabs your free hand, pulling you and Seungcheol inside.

Her place is filled to the brim with too many people to count. Looking around, you see some familiar faces, and too people you have never seen before. She leads you off to her room where Soonyoung is sitting on her bed.

"Hi." He awkwardly waves to you and Seungcheol.

Angel releases your hand and walks over to Soonyoung. You immediately notice how he lights up instantly.

"I have the good alcohol tucked away in here. The last thing I need is people getting into my thousand dollar scotch." She walks over and grabs the expensive bottle of the dresser.

"How about we takes shots to celebrate my birthday?" She smiles.

"Sure." Seungcheol responds.

Soonyoung hops off the bed and goes over to the bar cart by her huge walk in closet. He comes back holding four crystal glass shot glasses.

Angel runs off to her closet while Soonyoung pours the dark liquor. She comes back dressed in a completely different dress. She wearing a vintage dress that looks incredible on her.

Soonyoung passes around the shots. Seungcheol raises his and says, "to the birthday girl."

Everyone takes their shots. The dark liquor burns as it slides down your throat. Your eyes stay trained on Seungcheol, watching as he's absolutely unfazed by the strong liquor.

Everyone puts there shot glasses back. Standing close to Seungcheol, he throws his arm over your shoulder, holding you close to him.

"My room is off limits to anyone who isn't in here now. If you guys need some privacy feel free to come in here." She raises her eyes brows at both of you suggestively.

Glancing up at Seungcheol you see him biting back a smile.

Reaching over, she grabs Soonyoung's hand and leads him out of her room. You're left standing their was Seungcheol.

"Should we go be social?" He asks.

"Probably."

Heading out of her room, you head off toward the kitchen. The kitchen is filled with people. Seungcheol makes his way to the fridge. He pulls out a bottle of beer and cracks it open.

"What would you like to drink?" He asks loud enough for you to hear over the booming music.

"I'll take a beer." He hands you the one he already opened and grabs another one.

It's not long before some of your friends find you, and immediately start chatting with Seungcheol. It seems everyone wants to know your "fiancée". You can't blame them, he's extremely charming and kind. You spend your night making small talk people. The whole night Seungcheol is by your side. Even when he's talking to someone else, you have his attention. His hand is always on you in one way or another. His hand on the small of your back makes every logical thought start slowly slipaway.

You excuse yourself, needing a moment to think. Walking through the crowded penthouse, you make your way to Angel's room. Heading to the ensuite bathroom you take your time using the restroom, before touching up your lip oil. You stare into the mirror, and start soothing out your dress.

A knock on the door startles you. You open door and aren't surprised to see Seungcheol standing there. His jacket is off, and your eyes instantly travel across his broad chest. This man looks mouth watering in absolutely anything he wears.

"I shouldn't have followed you, clearly you want space." He mumbles.

You shake your head. "I just needed a moment. I'm glad you followed me."

Without saying another word he steps towards you. He stands so close to you, there is barely any distance between you. Looking up at him you stand a slow breath. His large hand rest on rests on your cheek. Parting your lips slightly. He drags his thumb across your bottom lip.

"You're so pretty." He rasp. You can't think of anything to say, you just slowly blink at him. "My pretty fiancée." Leaning in his nose brushes against yours.

"Seungcheol?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Don't play games with me."

A smile tugs at his lips. "I would never do that."

The moment his lips touch you, the oxygen as been sucked out of the room. One hand holds your face, while the other rests on your side, holding you close to him. One of your hand clutches his shirt.

Your lips move together as if your need each other to breathe. He pulls back slightly and gives you a smile. He turns your body so you're pressed against the wall. Your dress rises up your thighs. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him down towards you.

Kissing him is intoxicating. Any liquor you had during the party is long gone from your veins. Now you're drunk on Seungcheol. His hands rest on your hips, holding your close to him. You don't know how long you've been kissing for. His lips muffle your moans.

Pulling back, his lips are smeared with your lip oil. You both look slightly disheveled. You should be enjoying the fact that you finally kissed, but right now the only thing you can think about is what this means.

"We should go home." He says, pulling away. Your stomach sinks instantly. Your heart rate picks up as anxiety kicks in. Maybe you shouldn't have made out with your fake fiancé.

The car ride back to the house, feels different. Seungcheol hand is resting on your thigh. You catch him occasionally glancing over at you.

The moment you're inside, Seungcheol says goodnight before quickly kissing your forehead and disappearing off into his room.

After finally stripping away your tight lace dress that's left you feeling uncomfortable all night, you finally step into a hot shower.

The hot water helps strip away the tension. No matter how hard you try, you can't get the feeling of Seungcheol's lips on yours out of your mind.

NOTHING MORE THAN A GOLD DIGGER

It's been a week since your kiss you shared, and absolutely nothing has changed. There are still the lingering touches from him and longing looks from you, but nothing more has happened.

It's been clear since this morning that Seungcheol isn't having a good day. It's a Saturday and normally neither of you work on the weekends. Today is different though, Seungcheol has spent all morning locked away in his office.

You spend the morning out with Angel getting lunch and you thought maybe by the time you returned home Seungcheol would be done working.

Sitting on the couch, you're mindlessly scrolling through your phone. Seungcheol's office door opens. He closes the door and pauses, taking a deep breath. He walks out into the living room and finds you sitting on the couch.

"Are you okay?" You close your phone, and sit it down on the couch next to you.

"I'm sorry to do this, but we have to go to my parents house for dinner tonight." The frustrated look on his face lets you know everything you need to know. He moves and sits down on the couch next you. He leans back, letting out a heavy sigh.

"I don't mind going." It's not exactly a lie. You will absolutely go to stand by Seungcheol side, but you're quite scared to meet his parents. Specifically his father.

He pushes himself up, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'm not saying this because you don't always look nice, but I need you to look extra nice tonight. My parents are judgy." You know what he means, you don't take offense to what he says.

"What should I wear?"

"Why don't you wear that Chanel dress I bought you, and pair of heels?" You know the exact dress he's talking about. He randomly gave it to you last week, and you told yourself you were going to save it for a special occasion. You didn't expect that special occasion to be meeting his parents.

"Okay. What time are we going?"

"Can you be ready by five?" That's two hours away, it won't take you that long to get ready.

"Yeah."

You both go your separate ways, Seungcheol heads off to his room, and you head off to your bathroom.

Turning the shower on, you let the water warm up. Stripping away your clothes you step into the warm water. Tonight calls for an everything shower. You wash your hair, scrub your body with you warm vanilla scented sugar scrub, before you take your time shaving.

After the shower you take your time, applying your fancy body oils, and lotions. Your goal is to feel as nice as possible tonight.

Heading off to the closet you find the exact dress Seungcheol gave you. The dress fits perfectly. The only problem is, you can't reach the back zipper. Picking up your heels you walk out into the living room. You glance into the kitchen to find Seungcheol standing there drinking what looks to be a glass of whiskey.

You drop your heels on the floor and walk towards. One of your hands is across your chest, holding up your dress.

"Can you help me with the zipper?"

He nods and walks up towards. Turning around you make sure your hair is out of the way. Slowly he slides the zipper up.

"There you go."

You turn back around to face him. His eyes slowly travel up and down your body, clearly checking you out.

"You look beautiful."

"Hopefully your parents like me." It shouldn't matter if they do, this whole relationship is fake, but you desperately want them to like you.

He stares at you trying to figure out what to say. He wants his parents to like you, but he knows how his father is.

"My dad is tough, but my mother is kind." He walks over and picks up the glass of whiskey. He chugs the rest of the liquid and doesn't even flinch.

"We should go." You say.

Arrive at Seungcheol's family home, you can't help but be in awe at how beautiful their home is.

Seungcheol parks his car in the driveway. The moment he's parked he hops out to open your door. He's clearly a mixture of nervous and frustrated.

Hand in hand he leads you to the front door. "No matter what, I have you back." Is the last thing he says before the door is opened.

Walking in you're immediately greeted by his mother. She's excited to see you both. She pulls Seungcheol in for a hug.

"Mother, this is my fiance." He does even get to say your name before his mother is pulling you in.

"Seungcheol said you're pretty, and he's not wrong, you're beautiful." Blush creeps across your cheeks. She releases you and leads you both towards the kitchen.

"Let's have a glass of wine."

Looking around the expensive hi-tech kitchen, you're truly reminded how different both your tax brackets are.

"Seungcheol, go get your father and tell him it's dinner time."

Seungcheol hand lingers on your lower back for a moment. He knits his brows together and opens his mouth, wanting to tell his mother no.

"I'll be okay." You mouth to him quietly.

Hesitantly, Seungcheol leaves you alone.

You glance over at Mrs. Choi, she gives you a gentle smile, one that reminds you of your own mother. She picks up a glass from the counter, and pours you a glass of white wine.

Taking the glass you stare at it for a moment before taking a sip.

"Seungcheol is a good man." His mother says.

"I know."

"My husband is a tough man, but he's tough because he's trying to protect the things he loves." This is her way of defending him. Seungcheol rarely speaks of his father, it's clear to you that they have quite a few issues.

"I would never do anything to hurt Seungcheol." You've fallen in love with her son, the last thing you want to do is hurt him.

"I can tell by the way that you both look at each other that you're in love." You stomach drops. Your feelings you have for Seungcheol don't feel like they're being reciprocated.

"He's a great man."

"I asked Seungcheol if you had any food allergies. I asked our chef to make something special for dinner tonight." She gives you another smile before taking a drink of her wine.

Seungcheol comes back alone. He can't hide the irritated look on his face. "He'll join us in a little while. Let's start dinner." He grabs your hand leading you towards the dining room.

Walking into the dining room, you're greeted by a long marble table. Four places are already set. Seungcheol shows you to your place and sits down next to you. His mother sits down across from you.

Silently, you sit there listening to Seungcheol and his mother talk. Its clear he's quite distant recently. She's a sweet lady, and it's clear she cares about her son.

The chef comes out and places down plates in front of you. The food looks absolutely delicious. Quitely you eat, listening to Mrs. Choi talk about a charity dinner she's hosting.

The moment Mr. Choi walks in the room the mood shifts. Mrs. Choi stands up to greet him. The feeling of Seungcheol large hand resting on your thigh instantly catches your attention.

"You must be my son's fiancée. The assistant." The way he's says your job title sounds degrading.

"Nice to meet you." Your voice is meek. You feel like you don't belong here.

"Don't speak to her like that." Seungcheol immediately responds.

His father barks out a laugh, sitting down at the table, across from him. A screaming silence takes over the room. The tension is so thick you can cut it with a knife. His father doesn't say anything else as another round of food is brought out.

His mother goes back to talking about her charity event. You silently sit there eating. You can feel Mr. Choi's eyes burning into you.

"So, how did you manage to seduce my son?" He gives you a pointed look.

Glancing at Seungcheol, he grinds his teeth. His hand squeezes your thigh.

"I didn't persue your son."

"That's funny." Mr. Choi barks out another laugh.

"I asked her out. She wouldn't give me the time of day for month. I persued her." Seungcheol responds.

"Seungcheol, you're the cities most eligible bachelor and you picked a gold digger." His venomous works sting. Wincing, You avert your eyes.

Shoving his plate forwards, Seungcheol stands quickly. "You will not speak to my fiancée that way. Darling, let's go home." He reaches for your hand.

"Cheol." his mother stands up quickly.

His father leans back in his chair with his eye burning into you.

"Mother, I'm sorry. I'm not going to sit here and let him speak to her like that."

"Baby, let's go home." He's never called you that before. You can see the desperation behind his eyes.

Standing, you let him lead you out of house. The moment you're outside, he lets out a heavy sigh.

"I'm sorry." Is all he can say.

"It's okay." You're hurt, but that's not his fault.

The car ride home is filled with silence. It's clear Seungcheol is extremely upset. Walking into the house, he pauses and stares at you.

"I'm sorry," he repeats again.

"I'm okay."

Walking over to you, he rests his hand on your cheek. You think for a moment he might kiss you. He leans in and gently kisses your cheek before heading off to his bedroom.

-

No matter how hard you try, you can't sleep. Lying in bed staring at the ceiling, your mind wonders to Seungcheol. Pulling yourself out of bed you glance at yourself in the full length mirror. You're dressed in panties that barely cover your butt and a baggy shirt that hits mid thigh. You should find a robe or something but right now, you just need to to get out of this room. Maybe a glass of water or something will help you relax.

Your sock covered feet pad against the hard wood floor. Walking through the living room, you glance over and see Seungcheol office door is cracked open, light is flickering out into the dark living room.

No thoughts are in your head as you walk towards his office. Not bothering to knock you peak your head in. You find his laptop in front of him. He's dressed in just a pair of cotton gray lounge pants. His beautiful bare torso is on display.

The sound of the door creeking closed catches his attention. Raising his head, his eyes catch yours.

"What are you doing up?" He pushes his chair back a little.

"I couldn't sleep."

"Why?"

"I was worried about you."

He pushes his fingers through his dark hair, and lets out a sigh. "You shouldn't have to worry about me."

You take a step towards his desk. His eyes travel up and down your very exposed legs. Thinking maybe you should have found something else to wear.

"Dinner upset you." You place your hand on the expense marble top desk.

"I was upset, because he was rude to you." He lets out a sigh. "I don't ever want to see you upset, and knowing that my father was intentionally rude to you—" he blinks and looks away. "I just don't like that he treated you that way, and he thought he could say those cruel things to you."

"I don't care what he thinks about me. I just care about what you think." You walk around the desk. He rolls his chair back, giving you room to stand in front of him.

He looks up at you with sad eyes. Reaching our you rest your hand on his cheek. "I don't like seeing you upset."

"I'm not upset anymore."

Pulling back, you rest your butt against his desk. You stare at him, studying him carefully. Ever since that kiss you shared, you've desperately wanted to do it again.

Reaching out he silently mess with the hem of your baggy shirt. "I like your pajamas."

Blush flushes your cheeks. "I should have put a robe on."

He shakes his head, standing quickly. "No, you shouldn't have." He takes a step towards you, caging you in against his desk. The tension in the room is thick. Leaning in he brushes his nose against yours.

"Cheol—"

"Yes, darling?" He pulls back slightly.

"Why haven't you kissed me again since the party?" That kiss you shared has been living in your mind on repeat.

His hand rests on your cheek. Slowly he drags his thumb across your bottom lip. "I was afraid you didn't want me to kiss you again. I feel like I keep messing things up with you."

"I want you to kiss me again." You muster up every single ounce of confidence you have.

"My fiancée wants another kiss?" He raises his brow.

"Please."

He leans in slowly, leaving you desperate for what's to come. First touch of his lips is intoxicating. One hand rest on your hip, while the other holds your face. This kiss feels different, feels desperate and lust filled.

He pulls back and looks are you with lust blown eyes. Both your lips are swollen from the intense kiss.

"More." You whisper.

Without another word, he grabs your hips lifting your on to his desk. The marble is cold against the bare skin of butt and thighs. A shiver runs down your spine. Seungcheol stands between your spread legs, crashing his lips into yours. His lips are air and your oxygen deprived lungs. Wrapping your arms around his neck you hold him close. His hands run up and down your shirt cover sides.

He pulls back just a little to judge your reaction. "More." You repeat as you chase his lips.

Pushing his hand up under your baggy shirt, you feel his calloused hand run along your side. Pushing yourself towards him, you're desperate for more.

One of his hands moves to your butt, groping the flesh through your panties. Absentmindedly, a moan leaves your lips.

"You sound so pretty," he practically moans as his lips make a trail from your jaw down to the most sensitive part of your neck.

"Cheol." You moan his name like a sinful prayer.

He slips his hand under your panties. Grabbing your cheek, and pulling you towards the edge of the desk. It desperate moan leaves your lips, feeling Seungcheol hardened erection pressing against your panty covered core.

"Fuck me." You aren't quite sure where that came from, but you want him so badly it hurts.

"Baby, we shouldn't have our first time on my desk while I'm upset." He pulls back with wide eyes. He's trying his hardest to think logically.

"Okay." You pull back from him. The instant feeling of rejection is almost too hard to bare.

He leans in and presses his lips to yours for a soft kiss, the complete opposite of what you just experienced. "Hey, don't do that. I want you so fucking bad, but I don't want our first time to be like this. You deserve romance, and something sweet. This feels rushed and horny." You definitely weren't expecting him to say that.

"Horny?" You can't help but smile.

"Yes, this feels like we're a couple of horny teens."

"Okay."

"We should go to bed."

He helps you get off the desk. He doesn't move though, he stands right in front of you. Placing his hand on your cheek, he leans down to give you another kiss.

Taking your hand, he leads you out of his office. You wish he would take you to his room, but it's clear he's trying to be a gentleman.

-

Falling asleep was nearly impossible after kissing Seungcheol again. You fell asleep dreaming of him.

By the time the morning light was peaking through your curtains, your eyes flutter open.

After last night, you've grown tired of playing cat and mouse with Seungcheol. You're tired of pretending, you want to be with him fully. You're sick of this just being pretend.

Crawling out of bed, you head to the bathroom to quickly brush your teeth. You're hoping you can catch Seungcheol before he goes to the gym for his morning work out.

Your sock covered feet pad across the hardwood floor. Walking up to Seungcheol room, you see the light peaking out from below the door.

Taking a deep breath you knock on the door. You hear his foot steps and the door opens. He knits his brows and stares at you, looking confused. He's dressing in his gym clothes, you must have caught him before he was heading out.

"We need to talk." You say.

"Sure."

"Do you want me?" You're being brave. If you want this game of cat and mouse to end, this is the only way.

"Yeah, my god I want you so bad."

Nothing else is said. Throwing yourself forward you wrap your arms around his neck. Your lips crash together for a searing kiss. Grabbing your hips, he walks you back into his room, your lips never parting as he kisses you, as if he needs you to breathe.

"You're killing me with your pajamas."

Pulling away he reaches for your shirt. He rips it off you quickly, leaving you standing there in just your panties and socks.

His eyes are lust blown. Crashing his lips back into yours, he kissed his way from your lips, down your neck. Biting your bottom lip, you try and hold back a moan.

His fingers hook into your panties, pulling them down your thighs, slowly. Mindlessly he kisses the top of your mound while looking up at you through his lashes.

"Cheol—" his name is nothing more then a desperate moan.

He pulls back with his lips slightly swollen. "Let me take care of you."

"Okay."

"Get on the bed, baby." There he goes calling you baby again. If you aren't already wet, you would be now.

He places a knee on the bed. His eyes are filled with lust as he stares at you. Leaning up on your elbows you watch your fiancé remove his shirt. He tosses it across the room, towards the pile of your clothes.

Sitting on his knees between your spread legs, his large hand gently rubs your thigh. "You're stunning, and seeing you spread out like this for me is driving me crazy."

"Cheol—"

"Seeing you last night in nothing but your panties and that shirt, practically drove me insane. It took everything in me not to give in, and fuck you, just like you asked." His words leave you even more turned on.

"Seungcheol—"

"Yes, darling?" He gives you a wicked grin.

"Please touch me." You've never been one to beg, but right now you'll do anything to be with him.

He moves so he's hovering over you. Tangling your fingers in his hair, you pull him closer to you. He pulls back with the same grin.

"I want to taste you."

Silently, you nod, desperate for more.

He leaves a wet trail of kisses from your jaw down. He drags his tongue between the valley of your breast. He takes his time groping each of your breast. While one hand plays with one breast, the other sucks and toys with your nipple, earning a whining moan from you.

Closing your eyes you toss your head back. "Cheol—"

"Such an impatient girl." He teases.

He goes back to dragging his tongue down the valley of your breast. He spots at the top of your mound.

He moves so he's laying on his stomach with needy core in front of him. You look down at him, and find him staring at you with his lust filled eyes.

"You're already so wet." He drags his fingers through your wet folds. "Did you get wet just from making out?" He takes his finger into his mouth, tasting your slick. "You taste just as sweet as I thought you would."

He takes his time kissing the inside of your thigh couple times, helping to relax you. "Baby, I want you taste you."

He dives into your pussy, like a man starved. He takes his time sucking on your clit while he toys with your entrance.

One of his fingers slide into you with ease. His eyes never leave yours as he toys with you. Then licks fat strips across your clit. He adds another finger, helping to stretch you out. You haven't seen him fully naked, but you know that he's massive. Just based on his built, and how he looks walking around in sweatpants. You know he's packing.

Without thing you tangle your fingers in his dark hair. Pushing your hips up, you desperately try to to bring yourself closer to that edge.

"Baby, you're so needy." He laughs pulling his lips away from your core. He never stops thrusting his finger in and out of you. "I know you can come. Be a good girl and come for me."

Breathlessly, you nod. Sinking into the overly expensive cotton sheets, your orgasm hits you hard and fast. Your fingers tug in his hair for a moment before all the muscles in your body relax. Your walls flutter around his fingers, as he massages your gummy walls helping you ride out your high.

He pulls back and slips his wet fingers back into his mouth.

"Darling, how do you like it?" You definitely weren't expecting him to ask that. You don't think you've ever had a man ask you that before.

"I don't know."

He cocks his head to the side. "Baby, what do you mean you don't know?"

"I just want you, and I'll take anything you'll give me." You hold your hand out towards him.

"Grab a pillow, and put it under your hips." Without thinking you follow his instruction. He hops off the bed and goes over to the nightstand. Pulling out a box of unopened condoms, and a bottle of lube.

Your eyes watch him carefully as he strips away his clothes. It's a mouth watering sight, watching his massive erection smack against his stomach.

He grabs the box and before he can even open it, you mutter out his name.

"Yeah?"

"We can go bare. I'm on birth control and I'm clean."

He tilts his and asks. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

Picking up the bottle of lube, he clicks it open and pours some across his length. He slowly pumps it with his eyes trained on you.

Crawling back onto the bed, he picks the lube back up. "This might be a little cold." Slowly, he pour the cool liquid onto your needy core. He takes his time massaging your opening with the lube.

"I'm big, so this might hurt." By the looks of his massive cock, you feel like that's an understatement.

He moves so he's sitting on his knees between your spread legs. He takes his length in his hand, he run the rosy tip through your folds a few times. Intentionally making sure he bumps your sensitive clit.

"I'll go slow, and if you get uncomfortable we can stop." He insane if he thinks you'll stop him. You aren't sure you have ever wanted a man more then you want him. Even if sex with him is a little painful, you'll take anything he can possibly give you.

The first inch is quite uncomfortable. The way you gasped silently is enough to make his brain short circuit. He watches you carefully, making sure you aren't in too much pain.

You reach for his hand. You want to touch him desperately. He moves his body so he's closer to you as he slowly slides in inch by inch. He doesn't move for a moment, he stay still, filling you to the brim.

Leaning down his rest his nose against yours. "You feel so good." He whispers.

"You're really big," you let out the softest laugh.

"You're just really tight." He pushes himself back a little. He's resting on his elbow, practically plastered against you.

"I might be tight, but anyone would be when you have a massive cock."

He can't help but smile at your statement. You don't understand how cute he thinks you are. He reaches out, brushing your hair away from your face.

"You can move." He leans down, pressing his lips to yours for a sweet kiss.

Your first time together isn't some rough passion filled night. Seungcheol wants your first time together to be passionate, but romantic. He keeps a slowly and deep pace. With pull of his hips, he leaves just the tip inside of you. Driving his hips back in at a firm pace, he practically kisses your cervix with his length.

Everything about your fiancé is massive and the feeling of him covering you as he slowly fucks you is absolutely intoxicating.

Lifting your leg you rest your foot on his back. He sets a slow but deep pace. Your fingers are tangled in his hair, holding him close to you.

"You feel so good." You moan.

"You were made for me." He moans against your neck. "You're such a good girl for me."

You stay like this forever with him. With each thrust he touches that spot deep inside you, that has you seeing stars.

Closing your eyes you tilt your head back. All the nerves in your body feel alive. Your second orgasm is rapidly approaching. Biting your bottom lip, you try to stay quiet.

"I wanna hear you." He moans.

"Fuck—" All logical words have left your brain.