ada 🦭

⸻

After leaving the warmth of the convenience store, the rain had barely softened its grip. Your soaked hair clung to your face, and the cold had seeped through every layer of your jacket, but you barely noticed. You were trapped in your own head — thoughts tumbling, twisting, tearing themselves apart like the storm outside.

The decision that had been simmering for weeks now boiled over: you would leave this school. You would disappear from their sights, from Soo-gang’s reach. It felt like the only way to breathe again, to stop the endless cycle of fear and tangled emotions that clawed at your chest.

You thought about Soo-gang—the way he watched you, the way he held you, that dark storm in his eyes that both terrified and pulled you in. You hated him for it. You hated yourself for feeling anything at all. But somewhere beneath all that confusion, a tiny, stubborn part of you wondered if maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want to leave.

The rain blurred the world around you, but your mind was painfully clear: you were standing at the edge of a choice, and whatever path you took, there was no turning back.

⸻ /last day at school, maybe?/

The bell rang and the students began to clear out, but you were still fumbling with the zipper of your bag. The classroom had already quieted down. The footsteps, the distant chatter, the fading laughter from the hall echoed like a long, stretching wave while you stayed inside, gathering yourself with the breathless rush of being almost alone.

Just as you swung your bag onto your shoulder and stood up, the back door clicked open. You turned your head and saw him.

Han Soo-gang.

His shirt was slightly unbuttoned, his tie loosened. His face wasn’t wearing that usual smirk this time. His eyes carried a silent, deep darkness. When your eyes met, time seemed to freeze. No words, no greetings. Just that look — reading you, sizing you up.

He stepped in slowly, closing the door behind him. Then, with deliberate calm, he locked it. Stylish.

The sound of the lock twisted your gut.

“Not only did you snitch on us to the teachers,” he said, voice quiet, but beneath it simmered an anger and disappointment too deep to name. “Now you’re changing schools too?”

Your back hit the edge of a desk involuntarily. You gripped your bag tighter, but it was a useless defense. As he came closer, every sentence inside your head scattered.

“Soo-gang… I… I just—”

“You’re just running,” he cut you off. “But running’s not the answer, you know that.”

He stopped right in front of you, his breath close enough to brush your skin. You couldn’t meet his gaze. He took your bag off your shoulder and slowly placed it on the floor. You didn’t resist. Then, placing his palms on your shoulders, he gently pushed you back. Your hips hit the edge of the desk.

He slid between your knees and sat you down. Your legs parted slightly at his touch along their sides.

When his hands landed on your hips, you trembled for a second. He didn’t press, just held. But that contact… so slow and controlled, it spread like a shiver beneath your skin.

He lowered his head, resting his forehead against yours.

“You can’t leave,” he said. “I won’t let you.”

His fingers caught the edge of your skirt, brushing it up gently. His gaze didn’t meet yours—only focused between your legs, on your bare skin.

Silence hung between you.

As his breathing changed, yours mingled with it. Then, raising your face slightly, his fingertips traced slowly up the inside of your knees toward your hips. You held your breath.

When his palm finally touched your bare skin, something inside unraveled—something you’d buried, ignored, now rising to the surface. The warmth of his hands, the presence beneath your skin relaxed you; your mind seemed to accept something it could no longer deny. His fingers held you—not crushing, but taking possession.

He pressed his cheek to yours, whispering near your ear:

“You want me.”

But your body already knew that. Your breath was uneven, fingers gripping the edge of the desk tight. His scent, heat, pressure… everything was too much. You were wired to the edge—caught between wanting to run and wanting to stay. But your skin had already made up its mind.

Soo-gang rested his forehead on yours again. His breath mingled with your lips as he closed his eyes for a moment. It was like he was holding back something inside, trapping you between his knees, frozen in place.

His fingertips wandered back down to your thigh, sliding upward, stretching your skin. Your breath hitched again when he grazed the elastic of your underwear.

“Take your hand off” you whispered, voice shaking.

“Really?” he murmured. His fingers stayed still. “Or are you just saying that?”

You couldn’t answer. Even when you opened your mouth to speak, you didn’t know what to say. If you wanted him to pull away, why didn’t you close your legs? Why didn’t you push him off? Why did every beat of your heart answer to the warmth in his palm?

Soo-gang pulled you forward gently. Your back arched, your chest pressed against his. His nose buried itself in your hair as one hand slid around your waist, the other still tracing your inner thigh.

“You’re not changing schools.” he said. “If you leave, who am I supposed to have fun with?”

You pressed your head to his chest, unable to stop yourself. You could feel his warmth through the fabric of his shirt. Your heartbeats passed from his chest to yours. Too close. Too much.

“Why do you do this?” you asked. “Why do you always… do this to me?”

“Put your hand on my heart.”

You did it without thinking, placing your hand over his shirt. His heart beat steady. Yours did not. His peace was driving you crazy.

“Because even my heart knows you now,” he said. “You’ve worked your presence into me.”

And then, suddenly, he pulled away.

He turned his back to you and fixed his shirt while you sat on the desk, breath still caught. The traces of his touch lingered inside your inner thighs—not visible, but felt.

It took you a few minutes to gather yourself. But even then, your eyes never left Soo-gang.

You slowly straightened on your knees. Your skirt had ridden up to your waist. You smoothed it down with your fingers. Standing was harder than you expected. His voice still echoed in your veins. Your boundaries had melted away.

He stepped closer, hand cupping your chin. He lifted your head gently and held your gaze for a long, heavy moment. His eyes read you, judging you, pulling you in.

“Tell me you don’t want me,” he said. “Even if it’s a lie. Look me in the eye right now and say it.”

You swallowed, no sound came out.

“Say it!” His voice rose slightly but not enough to shout—sharp enough to break something inside. Your eyes filled. Was it shame? Anger? Or a surrender you couldn’t fight? You didn’t know.

You wanted to look down, but he kept your chin lifted. His thumb stroked your cheek. He leaned close to your lips, but didn’t kiss you. Just hovered there. His breath brushed your skin.

And you… wished he would.

But you said nothing. Just closed your eyes and stayed there completely.

And yes, God heard you. His lips pressed against yours slowly. For a devil like him, it was too gentle. He didn’t rush—just pressed gently at first, then slid his mouth open a bit, tongue teasing the edge of your lips before slipping in for a quick, careful taste. You could feel his breath mixing with yours, warm and steady.

Then he pulled away. Tucked your hair behind your ear again.

He walked to the door.

But didn’t leave.

He stopped just before the door, back turned.

“Lover?”

“Not leaving, right?” he asked quietly.

Words caught in your throat. But then a sentence slipped out between your lips, slow and barely audible even to yourself:

“I’m not.”

Soo-gang nodded slightly. Opened the door.

Before stepping out, he looked back once more. This time his eyes held something. Not darkness. Not triumph. Maybe… softness. He smiled at you.

“That’s why I love you, lover.”

And then he left.

⸻

You were a psychologist.

When you first met Phi Han Wool, he was an inmate at a juvenile detention center. Charged with assault, murder, and organized crime. But he didn’t look terrifying anymore. His shoulders were slouched. His head slightly lowered. He didn’t meet your eyes. Didn’t look around. He’d been escorted in by two guards, but he hadn’t resisted. It was as if he didn’t have the strength to.

When you said, “We're gonna have sessions every saturday.” he only gave a faint nod. His gaze was fixed not on you—but on the corner of your desk.

He didn’t say a single word the entire session. But even though his voice never came out, his silence screamed.

There were deep shadows under his eyes, scars on his knuckles—and above all, that unbearable silence that wrapped itself around him like a second skin.

Still, you kept talking. Soft voice. No pressure. Empathy. Patience. Nothing came back.

At the end, you simply jotted down a few notes in your file and ended the session.

But when you left the room— you saw his face in the window. And for a moment, he was looking at you.

For the first time.

As if something had cracked inside the silence. Small. Barely there. But it was real. And behind that crack… you could sense something beginning to stir.

You didn’t know what it was just yet but maybe—just maybe—he already knew that day, you’d end up being more than just a psychologist.

There was still a spark beneath all that ruin and you were the first to see it.

⸻

First came familiarity.

Familiarity didn’t mean trust—not for someone like him but he got used to your voice. To the sound of your pen scribbling notes. To the way you always pulled your chair back two fingers before sitting.

And slowly… he started talking. But only to you. Not to the guards. Not to the other inmates.

Only you.

Every time he came in, his eyes searched for you. When you were late, he stared at the door—unblinking.

You thought it was connection. But it wasn’t.

It was an addiction.

You had become his greatest mental obsession.

And eventually, under the quiet weight of his twisted fixation— you would either become his, or disappear into the silence with him.

⸻

One day, he didn’t want to talk.

When he walked into your office, his eyes flicked up to yours—just for a second—then dropped to the floor. You asked, “Are you okay today?” No answer. Just a small shake of the head. Not bad. But not good, either.

If you pretended nothing was wrong, he would too. So you stayed quiet with him.

You sat side by side. Not close, but not far either.

Minutes passed.

No words. Just breathing.

Then—suddenly—he turned. Leaning in quietly. Slowly.

He laid his head on your chest. Didn’t ask. Didn’t explain. He just… did it.

You froze.

But when he pressed into you— he exhaled. Deeply. As if he’d been holding that breath for weeks. Maybe months.

You slowly raised your hand, resting it on his back. And he shivered—just once.

Your fingers slipped into his hair, brushing gently. Like he’d been waiting for this closeness for years. Like he’d needed it, but never dared to ask.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t open his eyes. He just stayed there.

And you didn’t say anything either.

Because words weren’t needed.

⸻

Everything changed after that.

In the next sessions, he listened to you more closely. His eyes lit up—just for a second—when he saw you.

He started sitting closer.

He talked. But still—only to you. He smiled. But only when you said something.

And one day, he asked:

“What did you do to me?”

“Because no one’s ever made me feel like this.”

⸻

The office was quiet that day. The session had gone on a little longer than usual.

But it wasn’t a session anymore. It was tension. It was two people who had wanted each other in silence—finally breaking.

You were leaned over your desk, fingers wrapped around your pen, but your mind was on nothing but him.

He took one step toward you. Then another. And suddenly—he was right in front of you.

He reached out and cupped your face. His thumb brushed the corner of your lips.

“Just for a moment,” he said. “Forget everything.”

He leaned down to your neck, and when his lips touched your skin, your breath spilled out like a secret.

He kissed you slowly. Then deeper. Then—like he’d wanted this for years—he pressed his mouth into your neck and didn’t let go.

Your hands instinctively found his back. You gripped his prison uniform, your lips parting—but no sound came. Because your body had already given him permission.

He pulled back just a little, locking eyes with you. He reached for the buttons on your blouse. One by one. Slow. Intentional.

And with each one he undid—he kissed the newly exposed skin. Your collarbone. The slope of your ribs. The curve of your waist.

And each kiss was a quiet confession.

When he laid you down on the desk, you didn’t speak. Your feet barely touched the ground. One of his hands cradled your head. The other settled on your hip—pulling you to him.

His body pressed down on yours, heat radiating between you.

“Han Wool… this isn’t right…” you whispered against his lips.

But he didn’t back away. He didn’t even flinch.

“No, this is the only right thing I’ve ever done.”

Then he kissed you. Not rough. Not hungry.

But like he owned you and maybe he did.

Your hands slid down his back. Your mouths lost all distance. He stripped off his uniform. Your skin met his. Your heartbeat brushed against his chest.

And in that moment, there were no rules. No ethics. No guilt.

Just him. Just you. And the sound of two people coming undone.

His weight pressed into you. Every breath between you deepened. All that remained were touches.

For the first time, truly, there was no going back.

He slid his hand down your chest, to your stomach, lingering—then stopped at the band of your underwear.

Eyes locked with yours, he whispered: “I’m asking one last time.”

You nodded.

And he began pulling them down—slow, delicate—like he was memorizing every inch. Like he wasn’t touching you for the first time—but the last.

He moved lower. Kissed beneath your collarbone. Your breasts. Your stomach. Your hips.

Each kiss made you breathe harder. Each kiss made you tremble more.

And then—his lips found your most intimate place.

His tongue started slow. Then deeper. Wet. Hot. Addictive.

You grabbed his hair. Tried to pull him back—but he pushed deeper.

Eyes locked on yours, his tongue never stopped. Neither did his fingers.

One inside. Then two.

Every thrust made you shudder. Made your body scream one name—

Han Wool.

He finally pulled back, wiped his chin, but never broke eye contact.

He unzipped his pants and when his cock sprang free, your body arched involuntarily.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

You couldn’t speak. Just nodded.

His hands gripped your thighs. And he slid in—slow, deep, like he was carving himself into you.

You gasped. Your body lit up from the inside out.

He pulled out. Thrust again. Heavy. Precise. Claiming.

He leaned down and bit your neck—not hard, just enough to leave a mark.

He moved faster. The sound of the desk creaking. Skin on skin. His breath ragged. Your moans muffled.

You said his name. He said yours.

Then—he stopped using it.

Because now, your name was “mine.” Your name was “only for me.”

Your name… was the only light in his darkness.

When you both came—together—his hands gripped your waist like he’d fall without you.

He collapsed against you. Your chests heaving.

He pressed his forehead to yours.

“Finally,” he whispered.

“Now we’re both free.”

⸻

You were still trembling. Still pinned to the desk. Still covered in him.

The office was dark now. You didn’t know how long had passed.

You sat up. He was still watching you. Like nothing else mattered.

“Session’s long over,” you said quietly. “They’ll suspect something. You need to go.”

He didn’t blink. Just reached up, cradled your chin, tilted your face to his.

“You let me touch you…” he said—low, dangerous. “And now you want me to leave?”

You opened your mouth—but he kissed you. Hard. Tongue, teeth, breath—everything. He devoured your answer.

And then, he pulled back. Eyes locked.

“See you.” he said softly.

Then turned.

Right before opening the door—he glanced over his shoulder.

“This isn’t over.”

And left.

But you knew, in your bones—this was just the beginning.

⸻

Seung-tae had been watching you ever since you stepped foot into this school.

Anyone who met his eyes either changed direction or lowered their gaze and kept walking—but of course, you weren’t that lucky. No one really knew why he chose you. Maybe you were too quiet, too low-key, too “easy.” Or maybe you just happened to meet his gaze that morning when you passed him by.

That’s all it took. That stupid, meaningless moment was enough for him to make you his new obsession. During the first week, he stole your pencil case, then started scribbling disgusting things in your notebook when you weren’t looking. In class, he spat on your back and blamed it on you with no one seeing. He wrote your name and filthy rumors on the girls’ bathroom stall. Even in the hallway, he’d bump into you on purpose, humiliate you in front of others, and then flash that nasty smirk.

The teachers either stayed silent or blamed you. Because he was Seung-tae—the self-proclaimed queen of this school, strutting through hell like he owned it.

And you? You were nothing but his dartboard.

But over time, whatever this was between you two—changed. It turned into something darker. It wasn’t just a bully-and-victim dynamic anymore. Sure, it started simple: he’d torment you, and you would survive, somehow. But then… something shifted.

He wasn’t just trying to humiliate you anymore. He wanted to see you. He watched you when you walked down the hallway, but this time, his gaze carried something far more dangerous than his usual mocking glint. Instead of pushing you, he’d sometimes grab your wrist. Sometimes lean in too close and whisper things—words that, to someone else, might’ve sounded like flirting.

Seung-tae wasn’t trying to tear you down anymore. He was trying to own you. He didn’t look away when he touched you, he watched you when you talked to other people, and when someone got too close to you, they somehow ended up paying for it the next day.

The bullying turned into something worse—some twisted form of possessiveness. He wasn’t trying to hurt you anymore. He liked claiming you. And every time you tried to pull away, he only stepped in closer.

⸻

The hallway was quiet. Too quiet. It had only been a few minutes since class ended, but the building was already empty—everyone had either headed to the courtyard or the cafeteria. You, as usual, were one step behind the crowd. You carried a stack of four or five books, some notebooks. Heavy, but manageable. You weren’t in a hurry.

Your footsteps echoed through the corridor. Then… another sound.

A whistle.

Slow, mocking, skin-crawling. Familiar.

Your legs tensed, ready to run, but your brain kicked in—running would only make things worse. Running meant you were playing the game. His game. So you slowed your pace. Just a little. Like you were already giving up.

You didn’t look back.

But he came anyway. Got right up next to you.

He caught up with you like it was nothing. And without asking, without even blinking, he took the books from your arms. Like they weren’t yours. Like he had a right to everything you carried.

“Damn, they’re heavy,” he said, voice smooth as a cat’s purr but dripping with that usual venom. He cradled the books in one arm, glancing sideways at you. “Don’t want those pretty little hands getting tired, do we, Dolly?”

The way he said that name always pissed you off. Not just the nickname itself—but the tone, the smirk, the fake sweetness laced with poison. It made your stomach twist, yet somehow… you couldn’t move.

Then he draped his other arm around your shoulders. Your skin flinched. His fingers barely touched you, but they felt so heavy. You could feel your breath catch.

He leaned in. You felt his breath at your scalp.

“Wanna play hide and seek?”

His arm slipped off your shoulder. But he didn’t leave. He was still there. Still watching. You tried to look away, but it was useless. When your eyes met his, his pupils were dark. Not bright, not lively—just dangerous.

“I’ll give you a head start.” he said, voice too calm to be playful. It didn’t sound like a game. It sounded like a threat. His lips moved, but his eyes stayed locked on yours. “Use it.”

He paused. His smirk widened.

“If I don’t find you… you win.”

That word—win—sucked the air out of your lungs. Your stomach dropped.

Then he laughed. That classic Seung-tae laugh. Teeth bared, voice raw, and that raspy hiss at the end…

“…but if I do,” he added, stepping back, “you know what happens.”

He turned his back to you. Hands in pockets. Chin tilted up ever so slightly.

“One… two… three…”

You stood frozen as he counted. You couldn’t move, but your brain was screaming: Run.

And so you did.

You turned the corner of the hallway, sprinting blindly. No recess. Classrooms empty. Science lab? Locked. Under the stairs? Too exposed. Finally, you darted toward the locker section—long gray metal lockers, cold and forgotten in a dim corner.

You cracked one open and slipped inside. Pulled the door in carefully. Darkness. Breath heavy. Hands shaking. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears.

Then—you heard something else.

Not footsteps.

Singing.

That creepy little nursery rhyme you used to hear as a kid. In Seung-tae’s voice, slow and spine-chilling.

He was getting closer. Locker doors creaked open one by one. The screech of metal… the slamming… mixed with that haunting melody—it felt like a nightmare.

Then he reached yours.

The door creaked open.

You saw his face in the dark. His eyes locked onto yours. That smile—one of pure victory—spread across his lips.

As the door opened wider, your breath hitched. He’d found you. And in his eyes wasn’t just triumph—there was hunger. His gaze slid slowly down, then back up. He leaned into the tight, suffocating space you were hiding in. Tilted his head, smiling like he’d just found a broken toy.

“You suck at this game.” he whispered, voice somewhere between teasing and something dirtier. He stepped in closer. You tried to shrink back, but there was nowhere to go. You were trapped.

His hand reached for your hair. Not rough, but firm. Like he was reminding you you didn’t need to run—because you were already his. He tugged your head closer. Your breath mingled with his. His face inches from yours.

“But you’re brave.” he said, eyes locked on yours. “Anyone else would’ve screamed by now. Or are you not scared anymore?” He leaned in, nose brushing your scalp. When his skin touched yours, you shivered. You couldn’t tell if it was from fear or the heat of his breath. He inhaled deeply.

“Your hair smells nice.”

His free hand slid around your waist. The grip was possessive. His fingers pressing in a little too hard. He pushed you back against the locker wall. A tight breath escaped your lips.

“I like it when you go quiet.” he murmured into your ear. His voice buzzed straight into your spine. “Not that it’d matter if you screamed. No one can hear you.”

He whispered it, then moved lower, lips brushing just under your jaw. He hovered there. Didn’t kiss. Just claimed.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered again. “You knew what would happen if I won.”

His fingers still tangled in your hair. He yanked you forward, face-to-face again. His eyes devoured you—part twisted satisfaction, part pure obsession. His lips curled into a smirk, laced with something… almost like admiration. For how quiet you were. How you didn’t run. How you were still there.

“This…” he breathed, lowering his head. His lips ghosted your chin, but didn’t kiss. “This is what drives me fucking insane.”

He didn’t kiss you, but left his breath behind like a brand. Then his fingers slid down, cradled your jaw, tilting your face up.

“Your eyes are saying no, but your body?” he murmured. “It’s saying something else.”

His fingertips drifted down your neck, pressing into the spot where your pulse was pounding.

“Right here. Beating fast.”

Both hands now at your shoulders, he slid them down, slow and possessive—over your arms, to your waist. You could feel the fabric shift under his fingers. When his touch grazed bare skin, your whole body flinched. You tried to pull away. He noticed.

“You’re shaking.” he said softly. “I like that.”

He leaned in further. His chest brushed against yours. You could feel his heartbeat now. His breath on your skin. His lips skimmed your neck. Not kissing. Just there.

Then he tilted his head. Pressed his lips to your neck. This time—he kissed. Not with affection. But like a mark. A claim. Not deep. Not tender. Just… unapologetically his.

“You feel like you belong to me.” he murmured, voice barely audible. “And weirdly… you don’t say no.”

One hand in your hair, the other still at your waist. He pulled back slowly. His gaze dropped to your lips. Then back up to your eyes. He stared for so long—it felt like time stopped.

Then he leaned in. Lips barely an inch away. Not touching. Just waiting. His breath warmed your forehead.

“Should I kiss you?” he asked, voice like a needle. “Or would you rather run?”

His fingers dug into your waist. You weren’t going anywhere.

But did you even want to?

His lips almost grazed yours. Your breath stuttered. You closed your eyes.

You were ready. Your body had stopped listening to your brain.

But then—he pulled away.

You opened your eyes. His face was still close. But his lips were gone.

He was just looking.

That sly, wicked grin spread across his face.

“Not in the mood today.” he said, voice mocking and sharp.

He glanced at you one last time.

“We’ll have some fun later, Dolly. Yeah?”

He tapped your shoulder once. Then turned and walked off.

⸻

Geum Seongjae

1. The Moment He Finds Out:

Silence. He just stares. Then his lip twitches.

The second you tell him you’re pregnant, Seongjae goes quiet for a few seconds. He looks unbothered on the outside, but you know a thousand things are racing through his head. In that moment, his whole “world” shifts.

“I knew no one else could ever give me something like this.”

He says it softly, but something breaks in his eyes — like the idea of ever letting you go has become completely impossible.

2. Possessiveness:

Obsession. Protection. Paranoia.

He’s not just protecting you anymore, but everything you’re carrying inside you. Even the tiniest bit of stress is enough reason for him to lock you in the house. If someone bumps into you by accident? Seongjae might beat them up in the middle of the street without a second thought.

“I better not see you cry again. I’m dead serious.”

Even the dark circles under your eyes feel like a personal insult to him.

3. Physical Obsession:

He’s obsessed with your belly. Every time he talks to you, his hand goes there like a reflex. At night, he lays his head against it and whispers things to the baby. He starts acting like a “family” way before the baby’s even born — but not in a normal way.

“There’s a piece of me inside you. That means you don’t get to leave. Ever.”

4. Jealousy & Going Insane:

Another guy checking you out while you’re pregnant? Your best friend trying to take you out of the house? It’s all a problem. At some point, he might even try to hide the fact that you’re pregnant altogether.

“Don’t wear that. There’s no reason to show your stomach like that. People don’t need to see. That’s mine.”

5. Random Kindness Spikes:

He’ll suddenly start talking about baby room ideas, sweet little dreams, out of nowhere. In those moments he seems normal, like a regular excited dad — but there’s always a breakdown bubbling underneath.

“If it’s a girl, you can name her. But if it’s a boy… I’ll decide.”

6. Before & After the Birth:

The closer it gets to your due date, the more controlling he becomes. He chooses the hospital, who’s allowed in the room, even the nurse that’s going to be with you.

“If anything goes wrong… someone’s paying for it. Got it?”

And after the birth? He isolates you, the baby, and himself like it’s a three-person world. He wants to build everything from zero — just you three.

“It’s only us now. Everyone else out there is dangerous. What else do I need to do to make you understand that?”

⸻

Na Baekjin

1. When He Finds Out:

Silence. He masks his emotions, but his pupils shake. After you tell him, he holds your gaze — and stays exactly the same. Cold. Serious. Neither happy nor mad. Then he lowers his head a little.

“Is it mine?”

He trusts you. He does. But he still asks — not because he doubts you, but because he wants to believe so bad it physically hurts. And maybe… because he hates himself a little too much.

2. He Doesn’t Say “I Can’t Be a Dad,” but…

Responsibility? That’s not something he’s ever believed he deserved. He tells himself, “Someone like me can’t raise a child.” But he still parks outside your place every night, just watching. Making sure nothing happens.

“Don’t be alone. I’m behind you like a shadow — just act like I’m not there.”

3. His Way of Protecting You:

Silent. Brutal. Shadowed. Baekjin never publicly claims you. But anyone who threatens you? They start disappearing one by one. He’s given a silent order across the whole Union.

“If anyone even thinks about getting close to her — they better have their grave ready.”

4. How He Sees the Pregnancy:

It’s guilt mixed with obsession. When he sees your belly, his eyes freeze for a second. Because there’s a life inside you — his life — and he’s still struggling to believe something so pure could come from someone like him.

“If I were someone cleaner… maybe we could’ve really had this together.”

Still, his hands always go to your stomach. Every time he touches you, it’s careful. Gentle. Like he thinks you might break.

5. He Cuts You Off From the World:

The closer it gets to your due date, the more he isolates you. Friends? Family? Opinions? None of it matters to him.

“I don’t care what anyone says. If something happens to you… I’ll burn the f*cking world down.”

6. “Family” Becomes Real for the First Time:

Baekjin never had warmth growing up. Never had a real home. But now? Now the idea of building a house — not a place, but a feeling — with you and the baby is something he clings to in the dark. One night, he says without thinking:

“If someone had hugged me growing up… maybe I could’ve loved as good as you do.”

7. After the Baby’s Born:

He’s a wall. Cold, distant. But always there. He won’t hold the baby and coo over it, no. But he stands by the crib at night while you sleep, silently watching the tiny hand curled around his finger.

“Would it be okay… if I picked the name?”

⸻

Ahn Suho

1. When He Finds Out:

Shocked. Eyes wide. “Wait, what? Are you serious?! We’re PREGNANT?!”

At first, it doesn’t compute. He asks you to repeat it like three times. Then his hands start shaking. He might even tear up.

“I’m… I’m gonna be a dad? For real?!”

His first reaction is pure joy — mixed with straight-up panic. He wants to pick you up and spin you around, but the moment you say “Stop, I’m nauseous!” he freezes and immediately puts you down.

2. Ridiculously Affectionate:

He flips into “mom mode” in two seconds. Tries cooking for you, watches YouTube videos on pregnancy massages, double-checks every corner of the house like “is this safe for her? for the baby?”

“No more junk food. Less salt. Sit down, feet up. This baby’s not stressing you out!”

3. Fighting His Own Demons:

Deep down, he thinks, “I didn’t have a good childhood… what if I mess this up too?”

But he never says it out loud. He just holds you at night and whispers to your belly:

“If I raise this baby with someone like you… maybe I won’t mess it up.”

4. Emotional Rollercoaster:

Your hormones? Yeah, his are worse. You cry, he cries. You snap, he sulks — but then brings you a fruit bowl with a pouty face. One time, you probably ended up ugly crying together while eating stuffed grape leaves.

5. Silent Jealousy:

If he sees you talking to another guy? His whole vibe shifts. He won’t say anything, but the pout, the slumped shoulders, the quiet little stares — they’re all there.

“Go out if you want, just… wear something warm. And text me. At every step. I just— I worry, okay?”

6. The Birth Itself:

Sweating. Shaking. Crying. Loving. If they let him in the room, he’s right there, holding your hand like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. If they don’t — he’s on his knees outside the door, praying like his whole soul’s in it.

“You’re both okay, right? Please… that’s all I need.”

⸻

Yeon Si-eun

1. When He Finds Out:

His brain literally freezes for a second before it starts processing. When you say “I’m pregnant,” Si-eun just stares at you in silence. No yelling. No running. No hugs. His hands tremble a little.

“How long has it been? Are you okay? How many weeks?”

He hides his emotions — but every question screams, “I’m scared to death of losing you.”

2. Switches to Practical, Strategic Dad Mode:

Hospital? Booked. Doctor? Researched. Nutrition? Charted. Stress? Monitored.

“You’re not eating anything on this list. I’m serious.”

But also:

“But… if you’re craving something… I kinda snuck in a little chocolate. Please don’t be mad.”

3. He Suppresses Emotion, But Never Leaves You Alone:

He didn’t grow up with love, so he genuinely has no clue how to treat you or the baby. But one thing’s for sure: he’s not going anywhere.

He’s not the jealous type — but he is controlling. He won’t say “who did you hang out with?” but he’ll definitely check your phone later and mentally profile anyone who could hurt you.

“Don’t see anyone who might stress you out. Please. Not for me — for our child.”

⸻

Kang Woo-young

1. When He Finds Out:

Silence. Eyes on the floor. Then suddenly, his breath catches. He doesn’t say a word at first — just stares blankly. But if you look closely, you’ll see he literally forgot how to breathe.

“…I’m gonna be a dad?”

His voice shakes, but he tries to play it off. His jaw clenches.

“Okay. I’ll… I’ll figure this out. Just give me a little time.”

And then he leaves — not because he doesn’t care, but because he never planned to build a family. It was always just you and him. But later that night, he comes back. Finds you asleep, puffy-eyed from crying. Slips into bed behind you, holds you tight, buries his face in your neck.

“Don’t ever think you’re alone. No matter what… I’m here.”

2. Shows Love Through Actions, Not Words:

He can’t cook soup, but he’ll leave water by your bed every night. He can’t write you poetry, but he’ll tie your shoelaces without a word. And the first time your belly starts to show, his eyes well up.

“God, this is so weird. But so beautiful.”

3. Protection Style:

Quiet But Deadly.

Someone bumped into you? Woo-young doesn’t say a word. But a few days later, you’ll hear that guy got beat half to death in some underground ring.

He promises no more fights — “for the baby.” But of course he still does it.

4. Obsessed With Your Belly — But Too Shy To Show It:

His eyes keep drifting to your stomach when he talks to you. But he’s too shy to touch it. One night, you place his hand there — and he literally forgets how to breathe. His fingers tremble.

“Did you really love me this much?”

That night, for the first time, he rests his head on your belly and whispers for hours:

“Don’t be like your mom. She’s too soft. This world’s harsh.”

5. Emotional Breakdowns: Silent Crying:

As your pregnancy progresses, every time he feels like he’s not doing enough, tears fall. But he hides in the bathroom so you won’t see.

“I have to be strong. For both of you.”

6. Day of the Birth:

Looks like he just stepped out of a street fight. Doesn’t yell at the doctors, but the fire in his eyes says enough.

7. Fatherhood:

He can’t stop the baby from crying. Can’t change a diaper right. But every single night, he stays up beside the crib. He lets you cry in his lap without saying a word.

“You don’t have to be scared. I’m right here. Always.”

⸻

Oh Beom-seok

1. When He Finds Out:

Stares blankly. He thinks you’re joking at first.

“Wait… are you serious? From me? Like, really…?”

Then his voice breaks. His eyes fill up, but he tries not to cry. Honestly? His world crashes down. Because his dad… well, you know. And it’s not about what’ll happen to him — it’s the fear of something happening to you or the baby.

“I’m gonna… be a dad?”

His voice cracks saying it. Because his father made sure the word “dad” left a scar on his soul.

2. Wants To Run — But Can’t:

In his head: “I’m someone who doesn’t know love, who grew up on violence, who shuts everyone out. What do I have to do with someone like you?”

But leaving you would be death to him. So instead, he goes quiet. Closes in on himself.

“I don’t want to hurt you… so I might keep my distance for a while. But I won’t leave. I promise.”

3. Blames Himself Deeply:

Lays in bed staring at the ceiling every night.

“What if I turn out like him? What if I am him?”

4. Hyper Emotional, Super Fragile:

Every time you’re tired, he blames himself. Don’t feel like eating? He tears up, thinking he messed something up.

“I can’t stand seeing you upset. I’ve already been so awful… don’t turn into me.”

To him, your pregnant body feels sacred. Sometimes he can’t even touch you.

“You’re carrying something inside you now. I don’t even wanna accidentally hurt you. I’m scared.”

6. The Birth:

He breaks. Shaking. Sitting in some hospital hallway, hands covering his face, sobbing like the world’s ending.

“Please… God, please don’t take her from me.”

7. Fatherhood:

Slow, but deeply tender. Doesn’t know how to hold a baby. But watches over yours every second of the night. Talks to the baby while you sleep.

And one day, watching the two of you together — he smiles. For the first time. A real, slow, genuine smile.

“I thought I had no place in this world. But… you gave me a room in it.”

⸻

Go Hyun-tak

1. When He Finds Out:

This man goes feral. In a good way. Just stands there with this shocked, joy-filled smile, completely speechless. Then suddenly:

“Wait WHAT? OUR baby? PROJECT LEBRON JAMES BEGINS!”

2. Protective Soft Side Comes Out:

He shows up for every single doctor’s appointment. Tries to learn everything he can. At home, he leaves little surprises — hot soup, a fruit plate, a stack of pillows. But he does it shyly, almost embarrassed.

“You feeling okay matters more to me than anything.”

3. His Excitement Is Contagious:

Shopping for the baby? He treats it like a mission. Toys, clothes, the perfect paint color for the nursery — he’s got opinions.

“Our baby’s gonna sleep in the nicest room on the block, alright?”

4. Tiny Panic Attacks — But He Bounces Back:

He sometimes spirals like “what if we’re not ready?” But then breathes in, looks at you, and says:

“We’re in this together. No matter what. We’ve got this.”

5. Jealousy Is Soft & Silly:

Sees you chatting with another guy? Pouts a little. Then immediately smiles again.

“Sorry… I just. You’re kinda my whole world.”

6. Birth Time = Full Support Mode:

He’s right beside you, holding your hand, hyping you up with every push.

“You’re strong. I’m right here.”

When the baby cries for the first time, he’s standing right there, trying to feed it with trembling hands.

“Look at our tiny Lebron James.”

7. Dives Into Dad Life Fast:

He’s hungry to learn. Wakes up for every night feeding, writes down every little milestone.

“We’re building something new. You, me, and our baby. It’s gonna be amazing.”

⸻

Park Humin (Baku)

1. When He Finds Out:

He screams. For real. Like he just scored the game-winning goal in the final second. Pure, goofy, chaotic happiness.

2. A Little Insecure:

His relationship with his dad? Yeah. Complicated as hell. He’s terrified of telling him, and even more scared he might turn into him. Just like Beom-seok, he fears becoming a bad father.

3. Quiet, Emotional Protection:

With you? He’s tough. Out in public? He smiles and holds your hand like you’re fragile glass.

“No one’s touching you. Baku’s right here.”

But when he’s alone, his chest aches with the memories of his dad.

4. Tiny Surprises & Care:

You’re tired? He sets up cute little things around the house. Brings your favorite dessert. Buys fresh chicken from your favorite spot.

“I know this isn’t easy… but we’ve got this. Together.”

5. Jealousy & Trust:

Sees you talking to other guys? His eyes tear up — but he never says a word. Keeps it buried.

“Just… understand me, okay? I just wanna protect you.”

6. During Birth:

Nervous as hell but stands strong. His palms sweat like crazy, but he holds your hand the whole time.

“You’re gonna be okay. You and the baby — you’re both okay.”

7. Fatherhood:

Soft. Steady. Scared. But loving. He’s clumsy at first, scared to touch the baby. But he never leaves your side. Stands by the crib every night.

⸻

Si-eun, Su-ho, Beom-seok, and you were once inseparable. Si-eun’s quiet intelligence, Su-ho’s protective nature, Beom-seok’s fragile soul, and your way of treating everyone equally—together, these things made your friendship feel rare.

Even with the bullying he had faced in the past and the chaos he lived through at home, Beom-seok had found a place among you. The way you cared for him—your gentle attention, your quiet understanding—became a kind of light for him. The moments he shared with you felt precious. Around you, he felt safe.

But things shifted when Yeong-i joined the group. Su-ho’s growing interest in her started to stir up something dark in Beom-seok. His old insecurities came rushing back. He began to feel left out, like he was fading into the background. Even though your support never wavered, a deep sense of loneliness had already taken root inside him.

He tried to hold on to the bond he had with you. He talked to you, opened up. But the group dynamics kept changing, and slowly, he started to feel like a burden. Like he didn’t really belong anymore. Like no one would notice if he just... disappeared.

Those feelings created a storm inside him. He felt invisible. Unwanted. Forgotten. Even your presence, even your kindness, couldn’t quiet the noise in his head. He was drowning in his own darkness, and it was getting harder to breathe.

The warmth the four of you once shared eventually faded into distance and silence.

⸻

That day, Si-eun wasn’t there. His absence left a strange silence in the air, but you still walked like there were four of you. Because now, Yeong-i was part of it. Maybe at first she seemed temporary, but slowly, she was carving out her place.

As you walked down the street, Su-ho and Yeong-i moved ahead. You and Beom-seok trailed behind.

When the sound of their laughter echoed through the narrow road, Beom-seok dropped his head slightly. His shoulders tensed, and he picked up his pace just a bit. He tried to smile at something Su-ho said. But then Yeong-i added something, Su-ho turned back to her, and they laughed again—just the two of them.

Beom-seok’s voice hung in the air for a second... and then quietly disappeared.

That’s when you noticed it.

That tiny effort. That shadow in his eyes.

You didn’t say a word. You just gently slipped your arm through his. When you turned to gauge his reaction, he looked surprised at first—his eyes widened slightly. Then he smiled, slowly... but there was something broken behind it.

In a soft voice, you whispered,

“You can talk to me, Beom-seok. I’m listening.”

He looked at you like he wanted to thank you. But no words came. He looked away almost immediately. Even your quiet company felt like too much for him to deserve.

⸻

Later, you arrived at a café. Su-ho ordered with Yeong-i. You gave your order. Beom-seok ended up last in line. It felt like no one even noticed he hadn’t ordered yet. Everyone just turned and walked off to the table. And of course, the bill was left to him. Again.

Small things—but they left huge, aching spaces in his chest.

You waited. You stayed beside him. As you walked with him to the counter, you brushed his arm lightly.

“If you want,” you said, meeting his eyes,

“We don’t have to stay long. I know they make you feel like you don’t belong sometimes… but you do. At least, to me.”

That one sentence—those few words—sent a storm crashing behind his eyes. His lips trembled, but he caught himself.

When you returned to the table, you sat next to him.

The only one who didn’t leave him alone.

And for that, even in silence, he was endlessly grateful.

The café was stuffy, the crowd too loud, but somehow, Beom-seok’s silence hurt the most. Even with you beside him, his eyes stayed fixed on a single spot.

Su-ho and Yeong-i laughed, shared screens, whispered things. Like it didn’t matter whether Beom-seok was there or not. You recognized that kind of quiet humiliation. His silence wasn’t “I’m fine.” It was “I’m breaking, and no one sees it.”

So you made up an excuse. Pushed your chair back a little.

“I feel like taking a walk,” you said casually.

Then you turned to him with a small smile.

“Come with me? We could use some air.”

He met your eyes briefly, then gave a small nod. Wordless. Soft. He grabbed his coat and followed.

When you stepped out, the breeze kissed both your faces. Out of habit, you slipped your arm through his again, and the two of you walked slowly.

At first, you didn’t say anything.

Then, out of nowhere, you asked,

“What does it feel like… being around them?”

Your voice wasn’t accusing. Just… honest.

He shrugged.

“Like I’m just... extra.”

A pause. A few more steps.

“Sometimes,” he said quietly, “I can’t even hear my own voice around them. Su-ho says something, Yeong-i chimes in, you smile… and I’m always one step behind. Unless someone directly asks me what I think, I feel like I’m not even there.”

Your heart ached at the honesty in his words. You looked at him—but he kept staring ahead. His lips were trembling slightly, but his eyes weren’t angry. Just tired.

“And at home?” you asked gently.

A longer pause.

“Every conversation with my dad feels like a test I’m failing. Whatever I say is wrong. Whatever I do is not enough. He already sees me as a disappointment.

And my mom… she’s here sometimes, not here the rest. The silence screams louder than anything else.

That’s why I run away so much.”

You stopped walking.

You didn’t need to keep going. What he just said had rooted you to the spot.

You stepped in front of him. He looked at you, surprised.

And then you lifted your hands, placed them gently on his cheeks.

The moment your skin touched his, his eyes widened. He looked at you like he had never been touched before.

You smiled softly.

“You’re not lacking, Beom-seok. Not with them. Not at home. Not with me.”

He tried to say something, but you kept going.

Your voice didn’t shake. If anything, it was the only steady thing in his crumbling world.

“I see you. I take you seriously. I like walking with you, talking to you… just being near you. Maybe no one ever said it out loud before, but— I’m here. Really here. And you matter.”

His eyes filled. He blinked hard, trying to hold it back, but it was close. So close.

“Yn… you…” he whispered.

“Hm?”

“You’re like… the last candle lighting up this darkness.”

You smiled again. You didn’t pull your hand away.

He was still looking at you, eyes glassy but lips curving slightly. There was hesitation in his expression—shyness, disbelief… but mostly, quiet gratitude.

And then, without warning, you leaned in and pressed a tiny kiss to the tip of his nose. His eyes shot open.

“H-Hey!” he stammered, but before he could finish, he broke into a laugh. A real one. Nervous, boyish, and honest.

He tilted his head back, covering his mouth like he couldn’t believe what just happened. But he didn’t stop you.

You laughed too, at his reaction. Then you opened your arms.

“Come here.”

He didn’t hesitate. He stepped into you. Rested his head against your neck. Wrapped his arms around you—tight.

Close enough for you to feel the rhythm of his heart.

Each time your hand touched his back, he trembled just a little.

Every wall he’d built fell away.

“No one’s ever done this,” he whispered.

“No one’s ever hugged me like this. Or looked at me like this.”

“I see you, Beom-seok,” you said softly.

“I see the boy who tries to protect others even while falling apart. And I love that boy.”

He held you tighter.

There, under the fading sky, for the first time—

he felt like himself.

No Su-ho. No father. No Yeong-i.

Just you.

Just your arms.

And for once, that was enough.

You stood there for a long time.

The silence had never felt so peaceful.

And somewhere deep inside, without saying it out loud,

Beom-seok thought: