Hi! 💮

As MC stepped out of the fitting room, she looked to Zen eagerly for some sort of validation, some sort of compliment, some sort of affirmation.

Instead his lip curled up into a smug grin and he laughed, “You look like Jaehee.”

MC pouted and stomped her foot, and she could feel an intense heat rise to her cheeks. “I thought this would be appropriate!” she explained. “I want to make a good impression.”

Zen chuckled and rose up from his seat outside the fitting rooms in the department store. “It may be a C&R function,” he said as his eyes scanned her up and down, “but that doesn’t mean you have to dress like a robot. It’s a party! Even that trust fund kid can’t be that stuck-up....” He reached over and undid the top button on her blouse, exposing her collarbones. “That’s an improvement.”

“Zen!” MC gasped, and hurriedly she redid the button. “I still can’t believe I’m even going to this party. I want to make sure I dress appropriately.” Apparently, C&R was hosting a gala filled with businessmen and women from around the world, with guests from various industries. Therefore, she wasn’t surprised when Jaehee informed them that she and Jumin would be absent for the entire weekend.

However, she never expected Jumin to extend an invitation to her to join them.

“Many of these guests were at the last RFA party,” he informed her. “As the party coordinator, you should build rapport with them to help influence them to come to our next party.”

Maybe schmoozing with high-society folks was easy for him, but for an average person like MC...

The thought was hopelessly nervewracking.

“You seriously do look like Jaehee in that suit, though,” Zen commented again. “Let’s try a dress next, shall we?”

MC looked down at her blazer and skirt and couldn’t help but agree with him. She wanted to be formal, but she also wanted to show that she wasn’t afraid to enjoy herself. With a small smirk on her face, MC reached up to the bridge of her nose and pretended to push up her glasses. “Mr. Han.” She adjusted her voice to try to imitate Jaehee’s. “May I please advise you to refrain from starting any more cat-related businesses. I would like to be able to enjoy a night in for once, so that I can watch Zen’s latest DVD.”

Zen immediately broke out laughing, clutching his gut with one hand and covering his mouth with the other in an attempt to muffle his outburst. “Ohh, that’s rich,” he wheezed as he tried to regain his composure. “That doesn’t fit you at all, princess. Let’s find something better.”

~~~

MC stepped out of the fitting room again, this time adorned in a white sundress with pink and purple flowers lining the hem of the skirt. “Well?” she asked.

“Super cute!” Zen exclaimed, and he clapped his hands together. “You should definitely wear this on our next date.”

“Focus, Zen,” MC chided him gently. “I need an outfit for a gala.”

“Right, right,” Zen muttered, waving his hand dismissively. “Honestly, this looks more appropriate for a picnic than for Mr. Silver Spoon’s party. I could find you a matching sunhat--”

“Hyun,” MC began, and a shiver ran down the young man’s spine as his girlfriend uttered his real name. “Focus.”

Zen dipped his head and took a step back. “The master of beauty will lend you a hand,” he assured her. “I’ll go find the perfect dress for the occasion. Hang tight.”

~~~

“Knock knock?”

MC’s head perked up as she heard a familiar voice from the other side of the door. “Zen?” she called, and she cracked the door open a smidge.

A familiar pale hand snuck in through the opening, holding out a dress. “Try this,” he encouraged her.

MC carefully pried the dress from his grip, and her mouth gaped open as she looked over the garment that Zen had picked out for her. A floor-length, wine-colored, one-shoulder gown. It looked classy yet bold. Elegant but fun. The single strap holding up the shoulder showed that she was a bit flashy, but the length showed that she was mature, too.

Eagerly she slipped off her clothes and stepped into the dress. Up, up, she lifted it, and she could hear Zen humming outside her door. He must have been proud of his selection, judging from the cheerful tone of the song.

Finally she stepped out of the dressing room, and Zen’s song ended in a sharp whistle. “You’re stunning,” he breathed.

“I... really like this dress,” MC murmured. “You did an amazing job.” She spun around gleefully, giggling as the silky skirt spun about her.

Then suddenly she felt a rush of air whip her legs.

Curiously she stopped spinning, and she turned to look at herself in the mirror. “Zen, did you...” she murmured, “know about this?”

A slit ran up the right side of the dress, exposing most of her leg and going all the way up to her mid-thigh.

Judging from the guilty glimmer in his eye, he knew.

Judging from the flustered flush on his face, he still wasn’t prepared.

“Take that off right now,” he muttered in a low growl. “We’re finding a different dress. Before my beast comes out.”

~~~

MC couldn’t shake her sense of disappointment as she exited the store with her boyfriend, empty-handed. “We didn’t find anything,” she murmured sorrowfully. “I have no idea what I’ll wear.”

“Cheer up, babe,” Zen tried to reassure her, giving her a pat on the back.

“I’ll do my best-- oh!” The young woman gasped as they left the protective cover of the building. “It’s raining,” she whined. “Look, Zen. The sky is crying for me.”

Zen rolled his eyes and gave her hand a squeeze. “I may be the actor, but you’re the dramatic one,” he teased. “Here, it’s cold out. Let me give you my jacket.” He slid out of his large white jacket, and MC obediently stuck her arms out so that he could pull it over her body.

“It’s huge on me,” she laughed, flapping her arms up and down. “Look, I’m like a marshmallow. Zen?” She lifted an eyebrow at him. Almost as soon as she had put the jacket on, a deep crimson had blossomed onto his porcelain cheeks. “You okay?”

Zen tugged at the collar of his shirt and turned away, trying to hide just how flustered he was. “You know,” he mumbled, “I thought you looked good in everything today. But... I think...

Biting her lip in order to suppress an exasperated sigh, MC pushed herself away from her desk and rose to her feet. She strode over to Seven slowly, cautiously, not wanting to step on any of his gadgets or gizmos.

She also didn’t want to alert him that she was approaching until it was too late for him to react.

Thankfully, the redhead was so absorbed in his hacking that he didn’t even acknowledge MC’s presence until she was standing directly over him, leaning so that her shadow fell upon and obscured his laptop screen.

Undaunted, Seven turned up the brightness on the computer’s settings.

MC bit her lip again, a little stronger this time. “Don’t say things like that, Seven,” she murmured.

“I’m not Seven,” Seven replied coolly, not taking his eyes off of his work. “707 is fun, quirky, excitable, and carefree. The man before you is Luciel, a grimy, filthy, conniving hacker who doesn’t deserve to see the light of day.”

MC pouted and folded her arms over her chest. With a sigh, she took a step back. “Luciel sounds more like an angel’s name to me,” she commented. “But regardless of whether you want me to call you Seven, 707, or Luciel...” Her expression softened as she whispered her next words, “You’re still the same person, and I care about that person.”

Care.

That word was enough to prompt Luciel to lower his headphones onto his neck and turn his fierce golden gaze onto the woman behind him. “The only angel I am is a fallen angel,” he spat. “If you fall for me, you’ll fall from grace.” He turned his back on her and began muttering furiously under his breath. Was he swearing, or was he praying? MC couldn’t be sure.

However, MC was certain of one fact.

She did care for him, and she was going to ensure that he knew her love wasn’t conditional.

“Then you’d better catch me, because I’m falling hard,” she spluttered out. Her hands balled into fists at her side. “You can turn your back on me. You can tell me to leave you alone. You can be cold. That doesn’t change who you are, or who I am. I don’t hate you, Seven,” she insisted. “In fact, I...” She bit her lip again, so vigorously that she recoiled as she felt her teeth pierce her own flesh. A painful price to pay, but a necessary one:

If she hadn’t held herself back, she might have done something very foolish. She might have said that she loved him.

“I don’t hate you,” she repeated. “Don’t decide these things for yourself.”

Her vision suddenly grew blurry, and she closed her eyes tightly shut in an effort to suppress the tears that were welling up. She couldn’t cry in front of him-- not when they were fighting. She had to be strong. If she cried, he would use that as evidence that she should leave him alone. That she shouldn’t care about him. That she should forget he ever existed.

“For a genius, you really are an idiot,” she hissed.

The gentle touch of a calloused fingertip caught her by surprise. MC flung her eyes wide open to see Seven carefully wiping her lower lip.

“You’re bleeding,” he muttered. “And you have the nerve to call me an idiot.”

Maybe he was far away right now. Maybe he was falling from grace.

But deep inside, MC could see the sparks of the lighthearted, loving Seven she knew, mixed with the somber, serious Luciel that she wanted to save.

The young woman swallowed her mouthful of cake and bean paste before turning her curious gaze onto the actor. “Why?” she asked simply, plainly, innocently. Her eyes flickered to the decapitated fish-shaped bun in her hands. “Is it because I eat these buns head-first?” She couldn’t help but notice that Zen had yet to take a single bite of his own bun. “Is it because I eat them while they’re still piping hot?”

A low chuckle rumbled out of Zen’s lips, a soft chime that sounded like music to MC’s ears. “N-no, it’s not that,” he reassured her. “Although you should be careful not to burn yourself,” he added quickly, narrowing his eyes at the billows of steam pouring forth from her bun’s body. “It’s just…”

MC scooted a little closer to him. “You can whisper it to me, if that would help,” she offered, and she leaned her head in close to his until her hair was close enough to tickle his nose. She could tell from the way that his face scrunched up that he was trying not to sneeze. “Too close?” she teased, and she leaned back a little, opting to instead rest her head on his shoulder.

“Th-that’s what terrifies me,” he stammered, and even though he turned his face away, MC could spot the bright red blush beginning to spread like wildfire over his porcelain cheeks. “You’re so…”

“So…?” MC prompted, and she sat upright and pulled back a little to give the young man some breathing room.

“So unique,” he finished, exhaling the word as though he were letting out a deep breath.

“Unique?” MC echoed. Was she supposed to take that as a compliment or an insult? “Is that… bad?”

“N-not at all!” Zen insisted, quickly waving his hands in front of his face to signal that that wasn’t what he intended to convey. “I just… Listen, I’ll be the first person to admit that I’m a blessing from God. I’m unnatural. I guess you could say that I am unique, too.” MC nodded slowly, deciding to let him continue on his self-indulgent spiel. He was a bit of a narcissist, but his ability to share so much love for himself and for others was part of his charm; he used his vanity in a way that he thought benefitted others, through acting and modeling. “But you… You don’t look at me and see my looks or my fame.”

MC held up a hand to interject. “False. I think you’re stunning, Zen.”

The young man flicked his long ponytail over his shoulder and propped up his chin on his hand. “Well, let me rephrase that,” he stated. “Of course you’re enraptured by my looks—that’s both my blessing and my curse, to capture the attention of everyone who looks my way, to bestow their eyes with a gift.” He winked at her. “But then… you come home with beer in one hand and fish-shaped buns in the other. You kick back on the couch with me and watch trashy reality TV. You go to the gym with me and lift weights or run by my side.”

“You can hardly call what I do ‘running,’” MC cut in, thinking of the slight jog that she barely managed to keep up beside Zen’s aggressive cardio workout. “Go on, though.”

Zen laughed and reached out to ruffle her hair. “Fair enough. That was a bit generous of me,” he teased. “What I’m trying to say is… You love Hyun Ryu, not Zen. And Hyun Ryu…” He pulled his hand back and began to twirl the ends of his own hair. “He isn’t used to being loved.”

MC opened her mouth to interject, wanting to reassure him, console him, appease him.

However, Zen kept talking, his words spilling out as though someone had burst the dam holding back an emotional waterfall. “Above all, you don’t seem to realize how beautiful you are, inside and out. If I am a mistake… then you are my salvation. If I fly too close to the sun, you keep me grounded. If I am a red rose, you are my pink one, with those rosy cheeks of yours. You are…”

In one quick, fluid motion, Zen leaned in close to her, his piercing scarlet gaze sparkling like dewdrop-coated roses themselves. He pressed his pale lips against her ear, and he whispered, “If I am God’s gift to humanity, you are God’s gift to me, specifically. And that terrifies me.”

As quickly as he had pulled in, he pulled away. “Although,” he mused, scratching his chin. “I think I’m wrong on one account.” His tongue swept over his lips, and he murmured, “I think you’re more like a tulip than a rose. Because…

“Hey, babe. Why do you have a sour look on your face?” The soft, sing-song voice of the musical actor traveled through the air, and even his teasing words had such a rhythmic lull to them that MC couldn’t help but smile. The corners of her mouth twitched upward as he approached, gently placed the bouquet on the coffee table, and kneeled in front of her, lowering himself so that they were eye level. “That’s much better, princess,” he cooed. “Seriously though,” he went on, rising to his full height, “is something wrong? Do I need to take the trash out?” He began to back towards the kitchen, his nose twitching as he inhaled deeply.

“It’s nothing,” the young woman tried to reassure him, but a small doubt lingered in the back of her mind: perhaps she just wanted to reassure herself.

She couldn’t keep my eyes off of those blood-colored blooms, especially not after he picked out a vase for them and placed them directly on the kitchen counter.

 Saturday, February 12.

Three.

A spritz. A wipe. A sneeze. A sigh.

Dusting was probably one of MC’s least favorite activities on the face of the planet, but she had noticed that Zen’s allergies were bothering him the night before.

As much as she wanted to attribute his sudden sniffles to that curious cluster of crimson roses, she knew that the more likely reason was that the pair simply had not had the time to properly clean the apartment in…

She swallowed hard. Had it been that long?

In any event, she was determined to make their cozy home glisten from top to bottom as she awaited Zen’s arrival. His attention to detail was absolutely immaculate; whether he was acting, working out, or merely carrying out mundane daily tasks, he was an absolute perfectionist.

(Fitting, for he was absolute perfection himself.)

Knowing the type of keen eye she was up against, MC was exceptionally careful not to skip any speck of dust, not to miss any molecule, not to forget any frame of furniture.

Flowers could brighten up a home, but she was going to pour in her hard labor to ensure that the home itself sparkled in a way that outshone even a bouquet of red roses.

“Wow,” a whistle sounded from the front entrance, but MC continued to clean. “Cinderella, don’t you need a break? Now that your prince has arrived, it’s time for the ball.”

Cheesy as always.

MC barely stifled a laugh as she shook her head. “Let me finish this table,” she declared, “and then I suppose I can turn into a princess for… your… sake…” She had lifted her head to cast a beaming smile at him, a smile through all the dust and dirt and grime and grease that coated her face.

That smile nearly evaporated when she saw the two boxes of chocolates in his arms. Not one, but two. She mustered all of the strength that she could to keep a semblance of a smile on her face, but she had no doubt that it must have come off as colder than she would have intended.

“Hey, do you like raspberry, my love?” Zen asked. He placed one of the boxes—an unassuming rectangular box—on the kitchen counter. However, as he flipped the heart-shaped box over in his long, slender hands, MC could feel her own heart flip over as well inside her chest. “One of my coworkers in this new musical gave me a box of raspberry-crème filled chocolates, but I’m not really a fan of the flavor.”

“I do,” MC murmured, unable to pull her gaze away from the pretty pink box of chocolates in Zen’s hands. “Your cast must like you very much,” she added as nonchalantly as possible before turning back to scrub a particularly stubborn stain on the leg of the table.

Raspberry. A fruit that was simultaneously sweet and sour, fiercely fresh and then tantalizingly tart.

How fitting for the way she felt tonight.

 Sunday, February 13.

Six.

The slow creaking of the door on its rusty hinges reverberated around the room, silent aside from the low hum of the stovetop and the sizzles and cracks of the frying pan.

“Zenny!” MC called excitedly, not taking her eyes off of the eggs that she was cooking meticulously. Zen liked his eggs a little runny, whereas MC liked hers a little on the crispier side, so she always made sure to prepare his eggs first.

Plus, tonight the young woman was a little… eager to impress him.

Fresh flowers in the living room. Sweet smells in the kitchen.

Everything they could do, she could do better. At least, that was the goal.

“Dinner is almost ready,” she went on, and carefully she brought the heat down to a low simmer. “Yours will be done first, but since the pan is already hot, I won’t be too far behind you.” She dared to take a peek at him, tearing her eyes away from the stovetop for just a moment.

At least, she thought it was only a moment, because as soon as her gaze rested upon the objects cradled in her beloved’s arms, time seemed to freeze.

“Should I… prepare an extra plate?” she murmured, and even though every one of her vocal cords strained to add an amused, teasing, lighthearted quality to her voice, she couldn’t help but hear how pained she truly was. Her tone, her expression, her posture—without a doubt, they would all reveal to Zen just how deflated she truly felt.

“Oh, for this guy?” Zen tried to shift all of his belongings into one arm so that he could rub the back of his head sheepishly. “Yeah, one of the stagehands gave him to me.” He then used his free hand to pluck a (rather large) teddy bear from his arm and hold it out in front of him. “I’ve never even heard her speak before today, but the director gave us the day off tomorrow, so I suppose she felt… a little emboldened by the occasion.” He chuckled and shook his head. “She’s a sweet girl, but an odd one at th—Hey, MC, are you feeling okay? You look really pale.” At once, Zen dropped his gifts onto the couch and scurried into the kitchen. “Let me—”

MC spun around and turned her attention back to the eggs. “I’m fine,” she told him, and she winced as she realized how terse she sounded. “I’m just hungry.”

Zen didn’t seem convinced by her paltry acting, but nevertheless he obliged. “Can I help, Princess?”

MC just shook her head and reached for the spatula. “Just get ready. I don’t want your eggs to get cold. There’s beer in the fridge, too,” she added. “Your favorite.”

A bear. A candle. An envelope. All intruders into their happy home.

Hopefully his eggs wouldn’t taste too salty from the tears dripping down her cheeks.

 Monday, February 14.

Mondays were exceptionally difficult to endure. The beginning of the workweek was always a hassle. Even though Zen may have had a day off from rehearsals, as his manager, MC still had contracts to negotiate and schedules to plan. Normally, she would have been able to persevere through the day with the thought of a delightful date awaiting her when she arrived home…

But given the events of the past couple of days, she couldn’t even relish in the fact that today was Valentine’s Day.

Zen had pronounced his love for her loudly and clearly at the RFA party, so why did girls still feel the urge to shower him in gifts? Were they just expressing respect and admiration, or did they have ulterior motives? This level of paranoia was unusual, and MC felt sick to her stomach at how negative she was being. She could handle stress. She could handle rigorous work. She could handle mystery. She could handle false allegations of sexual harassment, for God’s sake.

So why was she so vulnerable this Valentine’s Day, when she knew how much Zen loved her?

“I need to take a nice, long bath,” she murmured as she rummaged around in her bag for her keys. “Goodness, I really need to cut my bangs. I can hardly see into my own purse.” The faint starlight overhead hardly provided her with any assistance. Just how late had she stayed discussing Zen’s newest performance offer?

Finally she managed to withdraw the keys to the apartment, and carefully she inserted them into the door. Their apartment was somewhat on the older side, so every now and then the door would be stubborn and require a bit of elbow grease in order to open, but much to her surprise, it slid open with ease tonight.

Even more surprising was the scene that awaited her.

The lights were off, but candlelight provided a low, hazy guide to the layout of the apartment. Sweet scents of cinnamon and vanilla wafted in the air, drifting lazily from the candles to her unprepared nose. A mellow melody echoed throughout the apartment, and at once she recognized the aria from one of Zen’s most popular musicals: Zorro. A faint blush rose to her cheeks as she imagined the poster for that particular play.

Zen himself, however, was nowhere in sight.

“Zenny?” MC called out hesitantly, brushing her bangs out of her face as she took a humble step forward. Her breath caught in her throat as she heard a soft crunch underneath her feet; rose petals littered the ground, lining out a path for her to follow.

Apparently the kitchen was not part of that path.

“Alright, alright, I’ll play along,” she mumbled, and for the first time in days, she could feel a little spark of laughter rising inside her chest. “Zenny?” she called out again as she slung her purse off of her shoulder and delicately reached over to place it on a chair within her reach. “This is awfully extravagant, even for you,” she commented. Not that she didn’t like it—quite the contrary. With every step she took, heading deeper into the labyrinth that he had prepared, she caught whiff of new smells and sight of new décor: cherry blossom and sweet pea tickled her nose while photographs and posters awaited her eyes. Scenes of the two of them on the set, selfies of the two of them on their dates. The idea of Zen plastering pictures of himself around the apartment did not surprise her, but what did catch her off guard was that in at least 70% of them… she was beside him.

That was saying something, considering how many selfies he took.

Finally the rose petals came to an end before the bedroom door. Zen must have been waiting for her in there, right? “I’m coming in,” MC announced, but she still didn’t receive a reply. The only response came from the music humming around the apartment: Zen’s voice, without a doubt, but not actually directed at her.

One. Two. Three.

She inhaled and exhaled deeply before turning the doorknob and entering the room.

However, what awaited her on Zen’s bed was not at all what she expected to see. Instead of his familiar face, she spotted a teddy bear sitting there, staring up at her with button eyes and a gentle grin. It was the same teddy bear from yesterday, but in its paws it held a note specifically directed at her:

“Bonjour, mademoiselle MC.”

MC chuckled as she read the note. “Feeling French tonight, monsieur?” she murmured. She gently petted the teddy bear’s head, and as she picked it up to give it a soft squeeze, she noticed that a plate was sitting behind it on the duvet. “What in the world…?”

Should she laugh? Cry? Shake her head? All of the above?

A plate lined with chocolates around the edges, and in the middle was a cluster of fish-shaped buns in the shape of a heart.

“I hope our cuisine is to your taste, madam.”

MC whirled around at the sound of that voice, a sweet symphony to her ears. The man of the hour had arrived, the mastermind behind this entire display. Zen awaited her, adorning a dress shirt, tie, and a pair of freshly pressed slacks. “Too much?” he guessed, and he dropped the lofty tone from his voice with a laugh. “You’ve been working hard. Too hard. I…” He began to fiddle with the edges of his sleeves. “I’ve been a little insensitive, bringing all of those gifts home.”

MC felt a pang in her chest. Had she been that obvious? “You shouldn’t have to hide anything from me,” she insisted, trying to comfort him. “Plus, I know how popular you are. I see it at work.”

Zen considered her words for a moment, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “Yes, well, that still doesn’t mean I should flaunt them in your face… unless they’re for you, and not for me.”

The young woman furrowed her brow as she tried to make sense of his words. “For me?” she echoed. Realization suddenly dawned upon her like the sun cresting the horizon, and she clapped her hands over her mouth to suppress her gasp. The rose petals. The candles. The teddy bear. The chocolates. “You… Zen, you…”

“Oh, don’t cry!” Zen exclaimed, rushing forward to dab at her cheeks. “Oh God, don’t cry. Look at my face—that will make you smile. Well, wait, God made a mistake when creating me, so you might cry tears of joy. Oh, this is a pickle….”

That low rumble from before, that little spark of joy and laughter, rose up in her chest and tickled her throat until it finally poured out from her lips in the form of a gleeful giggle. “Never change, Zen,” she whispered. ‘Never change from the thoughtful, loving man that you are,’ she added silently.