Being a college student had already been hard, but being a broke college student had felt like constantly treading water with no shore in sight. Every choice you made came down to one exhausting question: "Can I afford this?" Most of the time, the answer had been no.

You had gotten used to stretching every dollar, skipping little luxuries, pretending not to notice when your friends lived a life you couldn’t afford. The parties or hangouts you had missed as you worked part-time jobs instead, just to earn a little money to survive. Somewhere deep down, though, you had held onto a fragile hope, that it wouldn’t be forever.

On the day you met him, you had still been that tired, broke student, trying your best to look put-together while feeling anything but. And yet, that ordinary day had become the turning point you never expected.

It had been raining. Of course. When didn’t it pour like crazy on the day you forgot your umbrella? Sighing, the trail to the library that had seemed short enough not to even trickle down a sweat when it was sunny now felt a hundred miles away in the chilly weather. You had looked down at your run-down sneakers, the grip no longer working, and thought you might slip in the rain. But your online presentation had been in less than ten minutes, and the fact that your laptop took longer than three minutes to turn on had only added to your anxiety. You had looked around the area, everyone minding their own business, and certainly hadn’t seen anyone you could ask to walk with under their umbrella.

Muttering a small curse under your breath, you had hugged your tote around your torso, bending down and blocking the rain with your hands over your forehead. You had mumbled so many prayers, not to fall, to make it in time to the presentation. You had even added one that your professor would be in a good mood today and spare you.

You had made it to the library as fast as you could, catching your breath slightly as you stood under the edge of the roof of the building. You had squatted down, hands busy tying shoelaces that had come undone, but your eyes had lingered on a man standing a few steps away, talking on the phone. The man in a navy tailored suit had his face slightly hidden under a black umbrella that looked like it came straight from a designer’s boutique. The random thought that the cost of that umbrella alone might be higher than all the university fees and room rents you were struggling with had made you let out a slight chuckle.

He had noticed you before you’d noticed him. At first, it had been the way you moved, hurried, shoulders hunched, every step careful but desperate, like someone used to bracing for impact. You hadn’t seen the puddle splash your ankle, hadn’t flinched when the cold wind shoved your wet hair into your face. You had been too focused on getting somewhere, too focused on surviving that one small battle against the rain.

The sound of your laugh had made Yeonjun shift his umbrella slightly, angling it to watch you from under its sleek canopy. He had still been holding his phone, but the person on the other end had already blurred into background noise. His gaze had been fixed on you then, crouched by the library entrance, struggling with laces that wouldn’t cooperate.

“I’ll call you back,” he had said into his phone, not waiting for a response as he slipped it into his pocket. Without overthinking, without any grand gestures, Yeonjun had taken a step forward.

The rain hadn’t touched you at first. You had only noticed the change in sound, the softer patter of water against fabric instead of concrete. Slowly, your eyes lifted, meeting his for the first time. He hadn’t smiled right away. Just looked at you with a calm, steady expression, like he wasn’t fazed by your soaked figure or the way you stared at him in surprise.

“Looks like you could use a little help,” Yeonjun had said softly, shifting the umbrella to cover more of your side.

Up close, you could see how put-together he was. For you, maybe even impossibly so. Yet, there had been something disarming about him. Maybe it had been the gentle tone, or the fact that he hadn’t looked down on you, not metaphorically, not even physically. He had bent slightly, meeting you where you were. “I’m heading inside too,” he continued, nodding toward the library entrance. “No reason to fight the rain alone, right?”

For a moment, pride and gratitude had spread inside you. You hadn’t been used to people offering help without strings attached. But something in his voice had told you this wasn’t charity. It had simply been… kindness. Or you believed so.

You nodded, brushing damp hair away from your face. “Thanks. I, uh, I’ve got a presentation. Not looking forward to being a drowned rat on camera.”

That had earned you a small, real smile from him. The kind that crinkled at the edges, like he hadn’t smiled for a while but was glad to remember how. “Then we better get you through the door dry, at least,” Yeonjun said, matching your pace as you both walked under the shared cover of his umbrella.

And just like that, the weight had felt a little less heavy. You hadn’t known it then, but it hadn’t just been a random act of kindness. It had been the beginning of something.

--

A few weeks passed after that. You yawned, just woke up from a nap, one that is accidentally too long. The initial plan was to just take a fifteen minute rest, shutting your eyes for a bit before completing your due assignment. Unfortunately, you were only woken up when it’s almost 11 pm, by the sound of your friend calling, reminding you that you had to turn in the assignment before midnight. You got up in a rush, thanking her and quickly finished it, submitting before the late indicator turned up. After scrolling through your phone a bit, you felt a bit hungry and feeling like it’s not best to cook now (not that you have ingredients in your fridge too) so you quickly put on a hoodie over your head, heading out to the nearest twenty four convenience store.

A letter in your postbox was poking out, igniting your curiosity. Your right hand reached for the paper, reading that it’s from the landlord. You sighed as you read the content, yet another warning from them that you are three months late in rent, and you have to settle it as soon as possible before they take action. 

You sneaked the letter inside the pocket of your pants, having already locked the door. As you walked down the street, the weather slightly chilled so you fastened your pace, keeping your hand inside the hoodie’s front pocket to keep warmth. 

It was nearly midnight when you pushed open the glass door. The fluorescent lights were harsh, buzzing like they might burn out any second. The aisles were empty, save for the tired cashier half-dozing behind the counter. You were here for one thing, the instant ramen that costs less than two dollars but feels like comfort in a cup.

Your fingers trailed over the familiar shelves. You didn’t notice him at first. Not until you reach for the same cup of ramen, and so was he. You both froze.

Of course. Him again.

The umbrella guy, you still had not known his name, stands there in an oversized hoodie, sweatpants, and a cap pulled low over his damp hair. He looked like any other student pulling an all-nighter. But something about him still felt… not quite ordinary.

He glanced at your hand, then back to the ramen cup, and smiled. “Popular choice tonight, huh?”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Clearly, I have competition.”

“Tell you what,” he said, picking up the cup and inspecting it like it’s a rare find. “I’ll fight you for it.”

“You were the one with the umbrella,” you said slowly, testing the words. “Thanks for that.”

He shrugged, unbothered by it. “Seemed like you needed it.”

You snorted. He offered you the ramen without another word. No insistence, no dramatics, just a simple gesture. You took it. “Thanks, mysterious ramen thief.”

“Mysterious, huh?” He chuckled, stepping back. “I’ll take that.”

You both wandered toward the fridges. He grabbed two bottles of water and a triangle kimbap, heading towards the counter. You pretended to browse, but your curiosity won.

“Do you live around here?” you asked, casual, like it doesn’t matter. Like you hadn’t been wondering why he keeps showing up in the same places you do.

“Sort of,” he said, paying for his things. “I stay close by when work gets busy.”

“Late-night ramen as stress relief?”

He gave you a lopsided grin. “Something like that.”

It’s vague. But not dismissive.

You paid for your ramen and stepped outside. The air is cool, the streets quiet. He lingered beside you, cracking open his bottle of water.

“You always this late to eat?” he asked.

“Only when life’s a little heavier than usual.”

He nodded, like he understands that weight.

There was no need for more words. You sat there, side by side, eating convenience store food like it’s a shared ritual. Strangers again, but less so than before. For a moment, it felt like the city had shrunk, and in this small pocket of time, you’re not so different. Just two people, surviving the night. You shared a small talk together. He introduced himself as Yeonjun, and he worked at a building near your area. You learned that he’s quite shy at first, his voice soft and giggle that sounds awkward, with mostly you carrying the conversation but as the time goes, he’s out of that and starts laughing and chatting with you genuinely.

By the time you finished your cup, it was already late at night, you hastily bid him a farewell, not wanting to sleep later as you had early morning classes. Yeonjun agreed, sending you off with a reminder to be careful on your way back.

The warmth of the ramen cup seeped into your fingers as you stood up, throwing it into the trash can before you stepped out into the night, the soft drizzle tapping against your sleeves like impatient fingers. It was quieter then, the rush of the earlier storm reduced to a whispering mist. You hugged your hoodie tighter, shoulders curling inward, and began walking with quick, purposeful steps, as if outrunning the weight of the day. Behind you, the convenience store’s fluorescent lights buzzed on, indifferent, casting your retreating figure in a pale glow before the darkness swallowed you whole.

You didn’t notice something that fell behind you. The envelope. It slipped from your pocket with barely a whisper, a thin, battered thing that flutters pathetically before landing face-down on the wet pavement. The drizzle soaked into its corners immediately, blurring the edges, like even the rain itself knows the shame carried in those words. You kept walking, oblivious, your mind elsewhere, on rent, on work, on the constant, exhausting math of survival.

But Yeonjun saw it. He stood, still under the store’s awning, his gaze following you, more out of habit than intent, but the flash of movement near your feet pulled him back. His eyes dropped to the envelope lying in the rain, its cheap paper already surrendering to the damp. Something made him step forward. Not urgency. Not nosiness. Just instinct, a small, simple act.

He bent down, fingers brushed over the soaked letter, lifting it gently like it’s something fragile. The ink had begun to bleed, smudging the sharp, impatient strokes of a landlord's ultimatum. He felt bad for even setting his eyes on it, seeing the detailed name and address of yours on it. But the words in bold remain legible enough to strike:

"Final Reminder, 3 Months Late Rent. Payment Required Immediately."

A frown tugged at his brow, subtle but there. His thumb lingered on the corner of the paper, as if trying to smooth out the wrinkles, but it's pointless, the rain has already done its damage. Yet somehow, that felt fitting. It's a quiet kind of cruelty, how life seems to pile on when you're already cornered.

He looked up. You’re still walking, your figure small beneath the heavy sky. The way your shoulders are hunched isn’t from the cold alone. For a moment, Yeonjun debated calling out to you. He could jog up, tap your shoulder, hand you back what you dropped. It would be easy. Expected, even. But something held him in place. Maybe it was the unspoken agreement that tonight, you’re allowed to keep your dignity. Maybe it’s because, right now, you didn’t know he knew. And that feels important.

With a quiet sigh, he folded the letter once, twice, careful with the already fragile paper, and slipped it into his pocket. The weight of it felt disproportionate to its size. Just a piece of wet paper. Just someone else’s problem. And yet, it lingered in his mind heavier than it should.

Yeonjun stayed there, watching the dark street until your figure disappeared around the corner. The city was still alive around him, the sound of cars passing, neon signs flickering, a siren somewhere far off but it all felt muted. His grip tightened slightly around the plastic of the kimbap in his hand, his other hand absently brushed against the letter now tucked close to his heart.

Three months late on rent.

It was not curiosity that settled in his chest. Not exactly. It’s something more restless. A quiet itch beneath his skin. At that point, he didn't know you personally. He had no knowledge of your story. But tonight, standing under the convenience store awning with a stranger’s eviction notice in his pocket, he felt an unfamiliar pull. He told himself it’s nothing, none of his business even. But deep down, he knows it’s the beginning of something.

--

“Hey, y/n? The class is over.”

The voice woke you up, startled. You looked around the room, the lecturer’s gone and most of your lecture classmates have already left, some are chatting while they pack their things up. You yawned slightly, careful to put your hand over your mouth. You muttered a soft thanks to Kazuha, who was kind enough to call you out. She smiled before walking away with her group of friends.

The lack of sleep was making you lose focus in class lately. You hurriedly packed up your things, tossing them into your backpack before storming out of the class. You had around 30 minutes to get to your apartment, change and head out for your part time work. It has only been three weeks since you started, the jump in schedule makes you restless, with so much university work, catching up on your studies for tests and quizzes. Along with assignments. You were surviving, barely, on less than four hours of sleep daily.

The rent was another problem. You asked the landlord for some extra time to catch up. You told them you were going through a tough financial patch and promised to pay the missed rent bit by bit each month, along with the current rent. They weren’t happy with it of course, but agreed to cut you some slack since you are a student.

The work? Humbling really. Your shifts on days coupled with classes, you feel like you have to chug down three cans of energy drinks every time. The pay ain’t even that high for the consumed energy but you don’t get to complain.

“Hey, y/n? Do you mind going until closing today? I have a date tonight. Please! I will change shifts with you twice, whenever you need.”

It took everything in you to reject Yuna, yet you said yes because she’s literally putting her puppy eyes to work. She was also the only one at work that’s actually nice to you, others are unfriendly and there is one who directly shows their disapproval once you start working there. You managed to secure a part time job at a medium sized cafe, located near the area you live in. The manager was reluctant to accept you at first, citing that they had enough workers already, but eventually agreed when you clarified your urgent situation and you had experience in the industry. That was obviously a lie though, that’s why you are thankful for Yuna as she helped get you through your first week.

Hours passed, the cafe slowly got more empty. You took the cue to clean the countertop, spraying disinfectant and wiping it. The bell chimed once, signalling a new customer, you greeted them without looking, focusing on the chores. You peeked on him barely from the corner of your eyes, as he stood by the menu first, probably scanning through them.

“Hey, could I get a matcha latte?”

The familiar voice got your head up, surprised to see the face. You quickly put the spray and cloth away, wiping your hand on your apron before approaching the counter.

“Sure, iced or warm?” 

That was the second time you sat together. Unlike the first, he has become friendlier, the conversation mostly being led by him as you sat down, bringing along a cup of hot chocolate for yourself. The shop had its front porch light shut, and you remembered to flip the open signage into close. He mostly questioned your current life, and you don’t remember well what questions you answered honestly and what was made up with a bit of a lie. Afterall, he was still a mere stranger, and you didn’t know if he was truly a good person, or someone who might have malice intentions.

But as the minutes passed, marking an hour since you had to get off work, you have grown fond of him. He was quick to apologise when he realised that the chit-chat had taken too long, stumbling over his own feet as he rose up from the chair, the action made you giggle a bit, met with a flushed face of his, still smiling.

You ended up separate ways but this time, with each other’s number on the phone. The action left you feeling giddy inside, like a middle schooler who gets noticed by a crush. Yeonjun took his long, sweet time to initiate a text, and you never bump into him anymore after that. Almost a month later, a simple hey from the saved number pops up into your notification centre. You being petty, choosing to reply almost a whole day later, just to show him that you were occupied with life, and you had not been waiting for his contact since forever. It was funny that Yeonjun actually thought you had changed your number, or even had your number wrong because of the late reply. He had asked you to join him for dinner, just to catch up. You had a mental breakdown because of that, as you contemplated whether to go full glam or be your usual self. You didn’t even know if he considered it as a date or a mere friendly hangout.

Yeonjun had brought you to a fancy restaurant, one you would never imagine stepping foot into, at least in this lifetime. They had classicals as background noise, chandeliers hanging from the ceilings, and workers that were so poised, you would mistake them as trained robots. You had ordered a simple steak with potato gratin as a side. Yeonjun was a bit overtaken by calls, you assumed it was for work as he discussed them professionally. You realised at that moment that you had never asked him what he does for work.

“Sorry about that, important call,” he clarified, you absentmindedly replied that you didn’t mind, and you both got into eating. The food tasted delicious, though it was expected with the price. You hummed as the potato gratin made its way into your mouth. Yeonjun chuckled at that, mumbling “cute”, under his breath. You raised your brows at that, but chose to not say anything further. The silence went on for a while, with you slightly making eye contact with him.

“What is it?”

“Huh?”

“You look like you have something to ask me,” he shrugged, picking up the wine glass. “It’s bothering you, just ask already,” he continued, drinking the red wine that has been carefully selected as beverage for tonight.

Your phone suddenly vibrated on the table, you took a quick glance, recognizing the number as your landlord. You silent the device, putting it facing on the table, not realizing Yeonjun was far more observant than you would ever notice, catching the way your face changed. 

“How old are you?” you initiated the conversation again, impatient to take the curiosity off your chest.

“Right. Never talked about that before,” he chuckled, you make a mental note to remember the way his nose scrunches cutely when he laughs. “I am twenty seven, what about you?”

“Oh, so you’re like three years older than me,” you replied, surprised at how young he is, yet he seems loaded like he’s got something built since birth only for him. “What do you work for?”

“For myself, it’s just a kind of family business,” he mumbled, loud enough only for you to catch it.

“Oh, you’re like rich-rich.”

He lets out a genuine laugh at that. “What makes you think of that? I’m honestly not.”

A deep silence suddenly fell in the full restaurant, you tapped your foot under the table in anxiety. Yeonjun gestured vaguely at the crystal-heavy room with his fork. "What you see is just a performance. Don't let the chandeliers fool you."

"Easy for you to say," you muttered, shifting in your seat. The silk of your dress, the only 'glam' item you owned, suddenly felt thin and inadequate. "I spent twenty minutes debating if this dress made me look like I was trying too hard. Meanwhile, you look like you own the place."

He leaned back, your phone vibrating again, his eyes tracking the way you nervously smoothed the tablecloth, ignoring the buzzing device. The playful glint in his gaze softened into something more observational, more clinical. "Your phone’s been blowing up for five minutes, and it’s not usual. May I know why?"

You froze, your thumb hovering over the screen tucked beside your plate. "Is it that obvious?"

"The furrow between your brows is a dead giveaway," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "Class? Or the landlord?"

The richness of the steak suddenly felt cloying, a weight in your stomach that had nothing to do with hunger. You set your silver fork down with a sharp clink that sounded too loud in the quiet room. "Mr. Lee stopped sending reminders weeks ago," you admitted, the words tasting bitter. "Now it's just fluorescent pink eviction warnings that scream through the mail slot." You tried to laugh, but it came out as a brittle, dry sound. "Turns out, being 'occupied with life' involves a lot of math where the numbers never quite add up."

Yeonjun didn't offer a pitying smile, which you were grateful for. Instead, he swirled the remains of his wine, watching the legs of the wine streak down the glass. "How short are you?"

"Does it matter? It’s not your—"

"Two months? Three?"

"Just one," you snapped, the heat rising to your cheeks. "But in his eyes, I might as well be burning the building down. I'll figure it out. I just need a bit more time."

"Time is the one thing people like him don't trade in," Yeonjun said. He set his glass down and leaned forward, crossing his arms on the table. The distance between you vanished, replaced by a heavy, magnetic tension. "I have a lot of space in my life, but very little consistency. And you... you're clearly in need of a benefactor who doesn't care about 'final notices'."

You blinked, confused. "A benefactor? Yeonjun, I’m not asking for a loan."

"I'm not offering a loan," he corrected, his voice dropping to a smooth, business-like silk. That playful, nose-scrunching warmth was gone, replaced by a predator's focus. "I enjoy your company, and I certainly enjoy the view across the table. We both know there's a tension between us that has nothing to do with rent."

You felt your heart hammer against your ribs. "What are you saying?"

"Let’s be straight-forward. No strings, no attachment, no 'where is this going' texts. Just us. Whenever I’m in town and whenever you’re... stressed." He reached out, his fingers grazing the back of your hand just for a second. "I handle your rent, and you handle the spaces in my schedule. A mutual arrangement. No expectations beyond the bedroom, and no more neon envelopes on your front door."

The warmth that had been bubbling in your chest since the 'hey' text turned to ice. His touch on your hand, once a spark, now felt like a brand, a marking of property. You looked at his face, searching for a trace of the man who had scrunched his nose and laughed, but found only the cold attitude of the man on the phone calls just now.

Slowly, you pulled your hand away, tucking it into your lap.

"The gratin was amazing, Yeonjun," you said, your voice steady despite the burning feeling in your lungs. "And the steak was probably the best I’ll ever have."

His expression faltered, a shadow of confusion crossing his features. "Yeah?"

"But I think I’d rather deal with Mr. Lee’s neon envelopes than look at you and see a transaction," you said, reaching for your purse. The "glam" felt like armor now. "I’m not a line item in a family business. I thought we were catching up, not negotiating a contract."

You stood up, the chair scraping against the polished floor. Yeonjun remained seated, his jaw tightening as the "cute" version of him vanished entirely, replaced by the professional man who had been taking "important calls" all night.

"I'll pay for my half of the steak," you added, digging for your wallet.

"Don't be ridiculous," he muttered, his voice cold, face stern. "Sit down."

"Goodnight, Yeonjun," you said, putting down a few notes on the table with trembling hands, and turning before the prickle in your eyes could spill over. You walked out with your head high, passing the poised, robotic waiters who were just as hollow as the man at the table. You left the chandeliers and their artificial light behind, preferring the honest darkness of the street to the gold-plated performance he'd just staged.

--

The first time you saw him again after that embarrassing dinner, it was through the glass of the hospital cafeteria. You were two months into your final year clinical posting at one of the hospitals in town, clutching a lukewarm coffee, when you spotted a familiar silhouette near the elevators. He looked exhausted, the sharp lines of his expensive coat clashing with the weary sag of his shoulders.

You didn't call out. Instead, you ducked behind a pillar and waited for the elevator doors to swallow him whole. You weren't ready for any conversation, should you encounter him.

The second time was a week later. You were rushing through the VIP wing with a tray of charts when you saw him sitting on a waiting room bench, his head in his hands. He looked human. Not the "rich-rich" negotiator from the restaurant, but someone fraying at the edges. Again, you took the long way around, choosing the service stairs over the hallway that would lead you past him.

Fate, however, had a different timeline.

"Student, I need you on 402," your supervisor, Dr. Cho, barked while checking his watch. "The patient is refusing her midday meds. She’s already chased off two nurses. Just get the pills down her, I don't care if you have to shove them down her throat for it."

You took the tray, your heart sinking as you saw the room number. Room 402. The VIP suite.

When you pushed the door open, the silence was thick. An elderly woman sat by the window, her jaw set in a line so familiar it made your breath hitch. And there, standing by the bed with his back to you, was Yeonjun.

"I told you, I’m not taking those chalky things," the old woman snapped, her voice surprisingly strong. "They treat me like a faulty toaster. 'Take this, Mrs. Choi. Swallow that, Mrs. Choi.' No one even asks how the garden is doing."

"Halmeoni, please," Yeonjun’s voice was a low, desperate plea. "You need the medication."

"I need someone who doesn't smell like antiseptic and indifference," she countered.

You cleared your throat softly, stepping into the light. Yeonjun froze. He turned slowly, his eyes widening as they landed on your lab coat, your name tag, and finally, your face. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The electricity he had once joked about was there, but it was heavy with the weight of everything unsaid.

You didn't acknowledge the restaurant. You didn't acknowledge his messy hair or the dark circles under his eyes. Not even his presence. You simply looked at the tray, then at the woman by the window.

"The garden is probably doing better than you are if you keep skipping these," you said quietly, stepping toward the window.

Mrs. Choi looked at you, her eyes narrowing. "And who are you? Another robot in a white coat?"

"I'm the one who’s going to listen to you complain about the tea while you take these," you replied, offering the water cup.

Yeonjun watched you, his mouth slightly agape. He looked like a man who had been holding his breath for months and finally found a reason to exhale. As you spent the next twenty minutes coaxing his grandmother into cooperation, not by force, but by asking about the peonies she missed, you felt his gaze on you. It wasn't the gaze of a "benefactor." It was a look of pure, unadulterated relief.

He followed you out into the hall once she finally fell asleep.

"You're a doctor," he breathed, the words sounding like a revelation.

"A student," you corrected, keeping your tone professional despite the pity stirring in your chest. Seeing him like this, stripped of his bravado, made the anger from six months ago feel like a heavy coat you were tired of wearing.

"She likes you," he said, stepping closer, his voice dropping. "She hasn't spoken three sentences to anyone else here. They’re too... technical. Too cold."

"She’s lonely, Yeonjun. This place is a gilded cage for someone like her."

He looked at the floor, then back at you. "I can't get her to agree to the surgery unless she trusts the team. And right now, she only trusts you. I know I have no right to ask you for anything, especially after..." He trailed off, the memory of his "offer" hanging in the air.

You looked back at the room, then at him. The power had shifted. Months ago, he offered to "take care" of your life for a price. Now, he needed you to save the only thing he couldn't buy.

"I’ll do it," you said, making a decision. "I’ll be the one attending her for this rotation. I’ll handle her meds, her vitals, and I’ll be the one to walk her to the operating room."

Yeonjun reached out, almost touching your sleeve before drawing back when you leaned away a bit. "What's the catch?"

"There is no catch, Yeonjun," you said, meeting his eyes firmly. "This isn't a transaction. It’s a job. And unlike you, I don't put a price tag on showing up for people."

He winced, but nodded slowly. "Right. Okay. Thank you. Truly."

"Don't thank me yet," you said, turning to walk away. "I’m doing this for her. You're going to stay out of my way."

--

Three weeks later, Mrs. Choi was discharged. The surgery had been a success, but the recovery was going to be a long, fragile climb. Because you were a mere student doctor, your duty ended at the hospital’s revolving doors. You said your goodbyes in the lobby, ignoring the way Yeonjun lingered by the expensive black sedan, looking like he wanted to say something, anything, to bridge the gap you had carefully maintained.

The silence that followed was peaceful, at least for a while. You threw yourself back into the grueling schedule of the general ward, the quiet nights of study, and the hum of hospital life. Then, the calls started. Not to you, but to the department.

Mrs. Choi was at her estate, and by all accounts, she was making life a living hell for the stream of elite caregivers Yeonjun’s family business had hired.

"Another one gone," your supervisor sighed one Tuesday, tossing a file onto the desk. "That’s the fourth one this week. Top-tier nurses, highly recommended by the board. She calls them 'plastic dolls' and 'stiff-necked snobs.' She refuses to eat unless the person serving her knows the difference between a hydrangea and a weed."

You kept your head down, focusing on your weekly logbook, but you could feel the narrative shifting.

Back at the Choi estate, the tension was reaching a breaking point. Yeonjun stood in the grand library, watching as yet another candidate, a woman with impeccable credentials and a voice like a pre-recorded message, hurriedly packed her bag with tears in her eyes after being told she had "the personality of a damp rag."

"Halmeoni," Yeonjun groaned, rubbing his temples. "She was the best in the city. Her father is a surgeon."

"Then her father can go and be bored by her," his grandmother retorted from her armchair, her eyes flashing with that familiar, stubborn fire. "I don't want a resume, Yeonjun. I want a person. Someone who doesn't look at my chart before they look at my face."

"Okay, look, we’ll find—we’ll try to find someone else. We have a list—"

"I don't want your list," she snapped. She leaned forward, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial but firm tone. "Where is that girl from the hospital? The one with the smart mouth and the warm hands? The one who knew about my garden and peonies?"

Yeonjun stiffened. "She was an intern, Halmeoni. She has a life. She’s... she’s busy."

"Then make her un-busy," Mrs. Choi commanded. "We have money. Arrange anything, until she’s agreed. She’s the only one who didn't treat me like a ticking clock. I want her. Not as a nurse, but as my personal taker. If you want me to finish this recovery, you find her."

Yeonjun looked out the window, the memory of your parting words “stay out of my way” ringing in his ears. He had tried to respect your boundaries. He had tried to be the man who didn't buy people. But his grandmother was his world, and you were the only bridge left.

Your phone buzzed on the hospital nightstand during a rare fifteen-minute break. It wasn't a 'hey' this time. It was a long, carefully drafted message from a number you hadn't deleted, despite everything.

She’s asking for you. She won't cooperate with anyone else. I know what I said before, and I know I promised to stay out of your way... but please. Name your terms.

You stared at the screen, the blue light reflecting in your tired eyes. You thought about the eviction notices, the fancy restaurant, and then, the fierce old woman who just wanted someone to talk to.

Slowly, you began to type. After a lengthy contemplation that your short break almost ends, you press send.

--

The changed schedule was crazy. You managed to fit in visiting the grandmother in your schedule. After hours at the hospital, you took the subway to go down towards the east of the city, where his family’s house was located. You would arrive at around 6, taking the bus and stopping at the nearest stop to his house. It was around 300 meters walk before you were presented with a beige coloured three-storey bungalow, located in a highly private residential area, the guard looking at you skeptically before you explained your purpose here. You rang the bell, nervous that no one’s inside seems to be acknowledging your presence. After ringing the bell twice more, the gate slowly opened, as a housekeeper accompanied you inside after your introduction. You carefully place your worn down sneakers among the neat, tailored, designer shoes at the rack, swallowing your gulp at the stark difference of life.

“Mrs. Choi is in the garden at the back, I’ll have the tea brought up later for both of you,” the housekeeper leaves you at the garden entrance, your foot stepping on the soft insoles slippers for guests, humming to yourself as the comfort seeps in after a long day in a tight fitted sneakers. Crazy to think that their guest’s slippers feel more comfy than your own shoes.

“Ma’am?” you start, catching her figure seated on a white bench, staring at the sun that is slowly coming down. She slowly turns around to look at you, presenting a straight smile. “You’re here.”

“How are you feeling today?” you ask, shifting in your seat to face her directly. Your professional eye involuntarily scans her appearance; despite the expensive silk robe, there is a puffiness to her jawline and a subtle sheen of edema in her forearms that wasn't there during her last rounds at the hospital. Post-CABG, that slight 'fullness' is a warning bell, a sign that the heart might be laboring, fluid beginning its slow, treacherous accumulation in the lungs. It’s a tell-tale mark of missed diuretics or perhaps a spirit too stubborn to admit the body is failing.

“Alright,” she replies, though the word is punctuated by a short, shallow breath that she tries to mask by reaching for her cup as the housekeeper sets the tea down for both of you. “Aren’t you busy? You young doctors always look like you’re chasing a runaway train.”

“I’ll manage, ma'am. I am here to tender to you with enough care, and not just robotic meds handing,” you say, offering a soft smile. You’re relieved when a small, genuine laugh bubbles out of her, even if it ends in a dry cough.

“‘Ma’am’ is far too formal for someone who has seen me in a hospital gown,” she says, her eyes twinkling with a sudden, sharp clarity. “Call me Halmeoni, little girl. Everyone else treats me like a delicate vase, but you... you treat me like a nuisance. I like that.”

You are taken aback for a second, the title carrying a weight of intimacy you hadn't expected to bridge so soon. You nod slowly, adjusting to the new rhythm of the conversation. “Right... Halmeoni.”

“Good. Feel free to wander everywhere around this house, it’s far too empty anyway. My children live overseas, chasing their own shadows, and my only grandchild is buried under the weight of a business that never sleeps. I am always alone in these gilded rooms.”

You raise an eyebrow at that, your mind flashing back to Yeonjun’s professional detachment and the way he seemed to wear his wealth like a heavy, solitary armor. “Oh, Yeonjun’s parents live overseas? I... I realized I didn't know much about his family life.”

“Since he was a teenager,” she sighs, looking out at the perfectly manicured garden that she can no longer walk through. “They left the roots for him to tend to while they enjoyed the fruit. He learned very young that the only way to keep people around was to pay them to stay. It’s a lonely way to grow up, isn't it? Thinking everything, even a 'hey' or a dinner, has to be a negotiation.”

The tea in your cup has gone cold, but you don't notice. Her words cast a new, flickering light on the man who had offered to pay your rent, not as a villain, perhaps, but as someone who truly didn't know how else to ask for your time.

“Halmeoni, have you been skipping one of the medicines? The yellow coloured one,” you carefully start shifting the conversation to the purpose you came here today. She sighs, before coming clean. “Yeah, that’s one a bit hard to swallow.”

“If you keep on skipping that one you probably would have to take a higher dose of other medication you know,” you didn’t mean to sound so strict, so you hold her hand, softly rubbing the back of her hand as you give her puppy eyes. “Let’s eat the medicine after dinner, then we can watch a documentary on flowers. Flowers, you like them right? I know a youtuber that does gardening and she’s very, very good at it.”

“How do you know my Yeonjun?” she switches the topic, her eyes directed on your now nervous face. You fidget your fingers around the jacket wrapped around your body as your brain hurriedly thought of a story.

“Uh, he was there when I was at university. I think he might have something to do there, and we stumbled into each other.”

“Oh you went to SNU? He had a talk there a few months ago.”

“Yeah, there.”

The heavy oak doors of the conservatory creaked open, and the subject of the conversation appeared, his silhouette framed by the harsh afternoon light. Yeonjun looked as though he hadn't slept in forty-eight hours, the crisp lines of his white dress shirt were marred by creases, and his tie was loosened to the point of negligence. His eyes immediately sought you out, darting from your face to the cold tea set, then finally settling on his grandmother.

"I didn't expect to find you both so... settled," he says, his voice raspy. He walks toward the table, the rhythmic click of his shoes on the grass sounding strangely invasive in the quiet space. He stops just short of touching the back of your chair, his presence a sudden, warm pressure behind you.

"Your little doctor is lecturing me on my stubbornness," Halmeoni says, her tone softening with a rare, uncharacteristic warmth. "She noticed the swelling before I could even hide it under my sleeves. She has eyes that see more than just heartbeats, Yeonjun. She actually looks at a person."

Yeonjun’s gaze shifts back to you, and for a fleeting second, the professional mask slipped. He isn’t looking at you as a doctor or a contracted employee, he is looking at you as the only person who had ever walked into his life and refused to be bought, yet stayed to care for the one thing he loved most.

"I'll have the housekeeper bring fresh tea," he murmurs, his voice losing its boardroom edge. He seems caught in the gravity of the room, unsure whether to step away or stay within the circle the two of you had formed. "Halmeoni, you need to listen to her. If she says there's swelling, and you need to take your medicine, you don't argue."

"I know, I know," the old woman grumbled, though she breaks your hold on her hand and instead be the one to pat your hand with her own this time. "She's already planned out my evening. I'm a prisoner in my own home, Yeonjun, and I’m enjoying every minute of it."

Yeonjun’s eyes lingers on your hand beneath hers. A ghost of a smile, the "cute" one you hadn't seen in months, tugged at the corner of his mouth before he composed himself. He looks exhausted, yet there is a flicker of something lighter in his expression as he watches you both. "Then I won't interrupt you. I have some calls to take in the study."

He turns to leave, but before his step takes him away, he pauses, looking back over his shoulder. The sunlight caught the sharp line of his profile, making him look exactly like the lonely boy his grandmother had described. "Thank you," he speaks, the words barely a whisper, meant only for you. "For agreeing."

--

Accepting the role as Mrs. Choi’s personal carer was a choice born of affection for the old woman, but the commuting quickly became a nightmare. The Choi estate is a fortress of limestone and manicured hedges on the edge of the city, closer to the hospital, but your small apartment is deep in the urban center. Every day was a grueling relay, a twelve-hour hospital shift, a one-hour commute to the estate to manage Mrs. Choi’s evening recovery, and another two hours to be back in your apartment. By the time you fumbled with your keys at your apartment door, it was always almost 12:00 AM. Your feet throbbed, and your eyes burned from the lack of sleep and proper rest.

You reach your breaking point on a rainy Friday. You arrive at the estate late, drenched and shivering, only to have Mrs. Choi tut-tut at your pale complexion.

"You look like a ghost," she remarks as you check her heart rate. "Is the city air turning you gray, or are you just trying to work yourself into an early grave?"

"It's just the distance, Halmeoni," you mutter, adjusting her pillows. "The trains are unreliable this late. It's a long way back."

You do not realize Yeonjun is standing in the doorway until you hear the low, familiar scrape of his voice. "If the distance is the problem, fix it."

You didn't look up to respond. "I'm a med student, Yeonjun. I can't exactly teleport."

The next evening, as you are leaving after the breakfast check-up, you find him standing in the driveway next to a sleek, brand-new white hatchback. He is holding a set of keys out, the silver emblem catching the unnecessarily bright porch light. You think of avoiding him, but he stands right at the door entrance.

"What is this?" you ask, stopping dead.

"A solution," he replies simply. "It’ll cut your commute in half. No more waiting for trains at midnight."

You stare at the keys, then at him. The old anger burns again, hot and sharp. "Are you serious? You think you can just give me a car? Like I’m one of your employees or... or one of your 'beneficiaries'?"

"It’s for your safety," he argues , his jaw tightening. "Coming home at midnight is—"

"I told you six months ago, I am not a transaction," you snap angrily, your eyes burning on him. "I don't want your car, Yeonjun. I don't want to owe you a single thing that can be measured in monthly payments."

You walk to the gates, your pride stinging more than your tired legs. But the exhaustion didn't go away. For three more days, you drag yourself through the midnight commute, arriving at the hospital the next morning looking more like a patient than a doctor.

On the fourth night, as you are preparing to head out into the cold, Yeonjun stops you in the grand foyer. He doesn’t have keys in his hand this time. He looks unusually hesitant. "The car was a mistake. I get it," he starts, blocking your path. "But the fact remains that you're killing yourself for a commute that makes no sense."

"I'll survive," you lazily react, reaching for the door handle.

"Wait." He steps closer, the scent of expensive sandalwood and fatigue clinging to him. "My apartment. The one in the city. It’s only five minutes from the hospital."

You pause, your hand on the cold door handle. "And?"

"I’m barely ever there. I stay here at the estate most nights to watch over Halmeoni anyway," he explains, his voice dropping. "Live there. With me. Or without me—I don't care. It solves the distance, it keeps you close to the hospital, and it keeps Halmeoni happy because you won't be too exhausted to talk to her."

You think back to moments a few days back. Halmeoni seems bothered by your lack of attention to her, making her repeat her sentences a few times because you didn’t catch her the first time. He holds up a hand before you could interrupt. "No rent. No contracts. No 'benefits.' Just a place to sleep so you don't collapse in the middle of the day."

Your eyes ogle at him, searching for the catch, the hidden price. But all you see is a man who looks tired of fighting you, and genuine in offering help. "You're asking me to move in with you?"

"I'm asking you to be practical for once," he rebuts, though the way his eyes lingers on yours suggests it was anything but. "Your apartment is an hour away. The hospital is five minutes from my front door. You do the math."

You think of the  almost midnight and early morning subway rides. You also think of the weird  "electricity" feeling that still sparks every time he stands too close. Moving in is the logical choice, but the most dangerous one you have ever made. “But—”

“The car or the apartment. Or I’d be hiring a personal chauffeur for you everytime. Do you prefer that?” he adds, leaving you at a dead end. You scoff, preferring anything but that.

"Okay, okay! I’ll take the apartment. I don’t know how to drive. Only until she’s fully recovered," you whisper at the end of your sentences, defeated. Yeonjun holds back a smile, but the tension in his shoulders finally releases. "Whatever suits you."

--

The city apartment is a suffocating sort of beautiful. It is all floor-to-ceiling glass and shadows, a high-rise sanctuary that feels too quiet after the chaos of the hospital shifts.

The first week is a series of silent, charged encounters. You wake at 5:00 AM to find the kitchen already smelling of dark roast coffee and a single, unread newspaper. Yeonjun is always gone before you emerge, leaving only the ghost of his presence, a lingering scent of sandalwood and the cold handle of the espresso machine.

On the third night, you return to find him in the kitchen, not working, but simply staring out at the Han River. He is wearing a thin grey t-shirt that clings to the breadth of his shoulders, a far cry from the armored suits he wears at the estate. He doesn't say a word as you pass, but you feel his eyes trace the line of your spine, a heavy, physical sensation that makes the fine hairs on your neck stand up. You retreat to your room, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm that has nothing to do with fatigue.

For the first two weeks, you live like a ghost. You use the room he designated for you, but you keep your things packed in your duffel bag, as if at any moment the "bill" will come and you'll need to flee. You also make it a habit to avoid the common areas. You drink your coffee standing up in the kitchen at 5:30 AM, staring at the polished marble islands and feeling like an intruder.

Yeonjun is like a shadow in his own home. You would always hear the front door click shut at 2:00 AM, as a lightsleeper, you see the discarded watch and a few rings he would always have on his fingers placed on the side table by the shoe cabinet. He is honoring the boundary, but the silence between you is louder than any argument you've ever had.

The shift begins on a Tuesday, not with a grand gesture, but with a box of Band-Aids.

You come home after a grueling double shift, your heels blistered and your back aching. You’re sitting on the edge of the kitchen stool, trying to peel off a stubborn, blood-dried bandage from your heel, when Yeonjun walks in. He stops, looking at the mess of antiseptic wipes and your tired, trembling hands.

He doesn't say anything at first. He just goes to a cabinet, one you hadn't bothered to open, and pulls out a professional-grade first aid kit. He sits on the floor at your feet. You watch as he brings out an antiseptic cream, and a bandage.

"I can do it," you whisper, pulling your foot back.

"You're shaking," he says, his voice devoid of its usual sharp edge. He gently takes your ankle. His hands are warm, startlingly steady. He doesn't look at you like an employee or even a housemate. He looks at the wound with a quiet, focused intensity. "Halmeoni told me you didn't eat lunch today. She said you were too busy arguing with the pharmacist for her new meds."

"It's my job," you murmur, watching the top of his head. Up close, he smells like sandalwood and sun-warmed cotton. You note that he has a small scar around his right eye while he’s not looking, and you have never felt a pain carved into someone’s skin constitute something so beautiful.

"It’s not," he corrects, bringing your attention back, his thumb brushing the skin of your ankle as he applies antibiotic cream on the spot. You jolt, the electricity of his touch something you aren’t familiar with yet it settles softly, not overwhelming. You feel your heart thump, before you shut the unfamiliar feeling quickly by convincing yourself it’s just the meds doing. "Managing her health is your job. Fighting the chief pharmacist for her sake is... something else." He looks up then, and for the first time, you don't see the man who offered you a contract. You see a man who is genuinely confused by someone doing something for free.

"Why do you care so much?" he finally asks, eyes burning into yours with curiosity.

You hesitate, answer lingering long at the end of your tongue because you have no idea whether he would understand you. You have been long taught to help people in need, even with no relation to them. Learning medicine has always been one of your biggest dreams, determined to become the pair of steady hands people reach for when the world tilts and the ground beneath them shakes uncontrollably.

Not for glory. Not for praise. But for the quiet miracle of relief in someone’s eyes when pain loosens its grip and when hope flickers back to life like a candle stubbornly refusing the dark.

 "Because she’s a person, Yeonjun. Not everything has to be about what you get back."

He looks back down at your foot, brows furrowed and his jaw tightening. "I know that. I'm trying to learn that." You could see the way he fidgets with the bandage, ripping it off quite harshly. You bite back a squeal as he gently applies it on top of the wound, pressing it gently to make it intact on the skin. His eyes stay there for a moment longer than necessary, his hand still resting on your ankle. The heat from his palm seeps into your skin, and for the first time, the fire you feel isn't anger. It’s a terrifying, soft curiosity. Maybe he isn't just a predator. Maybe he’s just someone who was never taught how to ask for help without a price tag. “But she isn’t anyone to you.”

“If there is suffering in this world, I would rather stand in the middle of it, fighting for it, than watch from afar and do nothing,” you clarifies, pulling away your foot from him after the bandage had been placed on the wound. “Thank you for this, anyway. You really don’t have to.”

He leans back, standing up with no emotion on his face, leaving you with a mended wound but wrenched heart.

--

The second time his action made your heart skip was the next day of the bandage treatment. You come home that day, with your worn out shoes that were holding your entire life together. A parcel is waiting for you on the entrance door, in the darkness of the house, you reach down to them, believing that it perhaps was left by the courier for Yeonjun. You bring them inside, slowly setting it to rest on top of the cabinet near the entrance. Without thinking much, you go straight into a shower, winding down after a long day at work. While you are putting on your basic skincare, you hear your door knock. You hesitantly twist the knob open, and you are met with Yeonjun, evident that he was back from office from his outfit, neck tie hanging loosely around his neck, two of the top buttons open and tired eyes looking at you..

“Hey, I was just—um, this, is for you,” he hands out the box you saw earlier, the parcel packaging has been removed and the font on the box reads Maison Margiela Paris. You stay silent for a moment, calculating your next actions, before his voice cracks again, “Uh, I was just wondering if you need new pairs after seeing your feet get all hurt from the torn heel lining.”

Right. The shoe. How embarrassing for you to keep using it until he thought it was a good idea to give you a new one.

You laugh, forced one, “Yeonjun, I swear I was okay. I do not, really do not deserve this,” you eye the box, gulping down as you think of how many months of savings would probably cost you to buy the shoe. Heck, you might not even be able to afford the box. “You could probably give them to someone else.”

“Who’s someone else? I got it in your size,” he replies innocently, you hate how cute he looks when he unknowingly pouts. The box tumbles in his hands as he smoothes over the surface, “Look, it's 240 size. Correct, right?”

“How do you know my size?” you question, shocked at the accuracy. He shrugs, mindlessly saying he got it by guess. One of his hands slides over yours, as he puts the box in your hand, by force. “Yeonjun–”

“I don’t accept rejection.” He makes it as simple as it is said. You are just about to argue, but he immediately cuts you off, “It’s late. Go to bed, good night.” and you are left with a box, and a heart that refuses to stop quickens for no clear reason at all.

The next morning, the box is still there, exactly where you left it last night. Sitting on the small table in the guest room occupied by you like it has quietly decided it belongs in your apartment now. The black letters Maison Margiela Paris stare back at you every time you pass it, looking far too polished for a place that usually holds your keys, a stray receipt, and whatever small things you empty from your pockets after work. For a while you simply pretend it does not exist. You make your usual morning coffee, scroll through your phone, tie your hair up in front of the hallway mirror. But the box keeps catching the corner of your vision, stubbornly present in a way that makes ignoring it feel childish.

Eventually, curiosity wins. It always does.

You crouch down and pull the lid open, slower than necessary, like you are still half expecting this to somehow be a misunderstanding. Inside sits the pair of sneakers, perfectly placed, the leather bright and untouched like they have never stepped outside a showroom before. For a second you just stare at them, quietly comparing them to the pair of shoes resting near the door. Your old ones look even worse in the daylight. The heel lining is peeled open at the back, the fabric frayed and tired, the stiff structure beneath it pressing outward in a way that explains exactly why your ankle had been suffering these past few days.

You reach in and lift one of the new sneakers, turning it slightly in your hands. They feel lighter than you expected, the leather smooth and structured without being stiff. Expensive, unmistakably so. The kind of shoes you would normally only admire through a store window before walking away quickly, reminding yourself you have more important things to spend money on.

Your phone buzzes suddenly on the counter. You glance at the screen and see his name.

Choi Yeonjun: Wear the shoes.

That’s it. No greeting, no explanation. Just the instruction sitting there like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You stare at the message for a moment, lips pressing together in disbelief before a quiet laugh slips out of you. The audacity of this man. As if he knew you would spend the entire morning debating whether you should even open the box.

Your thumbs hover over the screen before you type back.

That’s bossy.

Three little dots appear almost immediately.

Just wear them, he replies. Your ankle was bleeding yesterday.

You glance down instinctively, the faint pink line near the back of your ankle still visible, though the bandage he put on last night is gone now, replaced by a new one you put on yourself. For a moment you imagine him noticing it again, that slightly concerned crease forming between his brows the way it did when he crouched down to look at your foot yesterday.

Without letting yourself think too much about it, you sit down on the edge of the chair and slide your foot into one of the sneakers. The inside is soft, the heel snug in a way that feels secure rather than tight. When you stand and take a few careful steps across the room, there’s no scraping, no sharp pressure at the back of your ankle. Just the quiet tap of the sole against the floor. You look down at your feet, flexing slightly as you take another step. It’s comfortable, perfectly fit for your feet.

Your phone buzzes again.

Are you wearing them?

You shake your head a little, typing back while walking slowly around the living room.

Maybe.

A few seconds pass before his reply comes.

You’re wearing them.

The corner of your mouth lifts despite yourself. There’s something oddly ridiculous about this whole situation, standing alone in your apartment wearing a pair of shoes you definitely did not buy, texting the person who insisted you should have them in the first place.

As you are occupied with countless thoughts, you hear the door slowly being opened, causing you to look up abruptly. Yeonjun enters, his jet black hair evidently wet from the rain. He appears unchanged yet changed, his eyes bearing a heaviness that didn't exist previously. For a brief time, neither of you said anything. The atmosphere in the room was dense, laden with unspoken thoughts.

"You’re still around," Yeonjun eventually says, his tone distant.

"Now you don’t want me here? Where could I possibly go?" You coldly answer, hurt by the question, or his choice of words. Your hands quickly shutting the album and putting it down.

He moves a step closer, then two, then he is standing not even two steps away from you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. "I was wondering if perhaps you… I'm not sure." His voice is toned down at the end, like he’s not sure what to say.

"Isn’t that what you do?" The resentment in your voice was unignorable, tugging at the string of his heart. "You are gone whenever situations become too tense, you always walk away."

Something flinches inside Yeonjun hearing that, but he refuses to look away. “And you always hold on too tight,” he counters back, his voice trembling. “Like you’re afraid if you let go even a little, everything will fall apart.”

“Because it will fall apart, Yeonjun!” Your voice goes up three tones higher, it even cracks, but you care less about that when you have tears welling up. “It already is. Can’t you see that?”

“What do you want me to do, Y/N?” he asks, his voice breaking as well. “I’ve tried to fix this. I’ve tried to be enough for you, but maybe… maybe we’re just not compatible.”

His words hang between, heavy and suffocating. It feels like he’s admitting defeat, like acknowledging the storm both of you trapped in will never clear. And God, does it hurt. The constant effort you make to understand him better, the lies he told to your face you turned blind eye into, the missed important dates.

“You think I don’t know that?” you whisper, your voice barely audible to him. “But even after everything, I can’t walk away. I… I love you, Yeonjun. Even when it hurts. Even when you hurt me, over and over. I can lose everything, but not you…”

Yeonjun’s shoulders droop, and for the first time in a long time, he looks guilty. He stares at your wet face, your disheveled form, your trembling hands. You never look so broken, his sweet darling, the apple of his eyes, his precious love appears like a broken piece of glass before him, it wrenches his heart thinking that it was from all his doings.

“I love you too,” he admits, his voice raw. You can feel his gaze soften a bit, eyes no longer angry. “But is love enough if all I do is hurting you?”

The question is like a stabbing knife to your heart. You both knew the answer, but neither has the courage to say it aloud. Silence fills the air once more, the rain pouring outside is like a brutal mirror to the storm inside your apartment.

Finally, Yeonjun closes the distance between you. He hesitantly kneels in front of you, his hands trembling as he cups your face. “I don’t want to lose you either,” he says, every word that comes up from his mouth shakes. “But I don’t know how to fix this.”

“Maybe we can’t fix it,” you replied, your tears spilling non stop now that he’s got his hands on you. It is obvious that his hand is cold from the freezing weather outside, yet it spreads warmth inside you as you lean further into his comforting, healing touch. “Maybe we just have to accept that we’re broken. But I’d rather be broken with you than whole without you. I don’t wanna give up on us, Jjunie.”

Yeonjun leans his forehead against yours as he hears the nickname, his own tears falling. You let him engulf you in his arms, arms brushing over each other giving you goosebumps on the realisation that you went on a week without him. His chest heaves up and down, relaxed heartbeat calming you down as you savour the moment.

“I am sorry, baby,” he is the first one to break the silence. You could not pinpoint whether he is sincere about it, but his eyes are telling you like you matter the most in his world. “I hurt you, didn't I? How’d you sleep this past week?” His voice laced with concern, tone so dulcet and sweet you feel like you are falling into a gush of sugar. Knowing you hardly fall asleep without him around, his mind floods with sorrowful guilt.

“Horrible, I missed you,” you come clean, him smiling so softly you would miss it if you weren't right in his hug.

“Poor baby, I missed her too,” he uses his usual baby tone to talk to you, stroking the back of your head while you find yourself closing your eyes at the comforting contact.

“Wanna cuddle?” He's asking so nicely, not even waiting for your answer as he lifts you up from the cold floor, wrapping your legs around his waist. He walks you both to your shared room, your heart thumping as you feel butterflies all over again. The room hasn't changed since the last time you guys slept in the same bed and room, clean simple beige sheets that Yeonjun had changed after your last intercourse being where you land on.

He's taking off his jacket, the only thing that he wears on his upper body being the black sleeveless shirt that drives you crazy everytime you see those on him. Your eyes that are set on him trembles a bit, forcing you to let out a cough.

“It's January. You shall wear something more warm.”

“I could warm up being next to you,” he's quick with his witty answer, already jumping on the bed again, pulling you yet again into his embrace. His face is buried in your neck, lips dangerously wandering around your sensitive areas you breathe deeply as you bite back a moan.

“Jjunie, I thought we were only going to cuddle,” you interrupt, yet you find your hands tangling in his strands of hair, noticeably longer since the last time you held onto them.

“Aren’t we?” his lips latching on your skin by now, gently sucking on the flesh before he lets go, leaving a fresh mark of him on you, reclaiming his territory. He retreats for a while, lips part as he hears the small gasp that comes up as you notice the hickey. “So beautiful…”

As you remain captivated by his alluring move, seemingly innocent as he keeps making out first, then his hands start to roam not only over but now under your clothing a little. He strips your top off first, fondling at your tits.

“Tell me if you don’t want me,” he pauses, looking at your expression. Your doe eyes look at him, a bit glassy. His stomach churns at that, just a moment ago, you were yelling at him but now, under him you could not deny his contact with your body.

“Oh—” you moan out, feeling every inch of your body craving for his touch more and more, you could feel your underwear sticking onto your entrance by now, your arousal grows greedier. “Yeonjun.”

“Am right here, baby. Tell me what you need.”

“Want you, need you, all of you, oh my god—” your words are cut at how he would make easy work of the tiny shorts that wrap you, he slips them off quickly, palming your ass before slipping off the lacy underwear too.

Then his shirt is off in a minute, before long you're staring at one spot on his chest, your voice that says his name shrieking. Yeonjun is confused at first, before he looks at the direction you are setting your eyes to. His eyes widen as you shove him away, your trembling hands pulling the comforter to cover your body.

“Was–was there someone else?” your voice comes up shaky, eyes glistening with tears that pools at your lower lid. Yeonjun is silenced, a lost look evident in his face. “Y/n…”

“Answer me!” Your tears are falling now, your heart crushed at how he’s not quick to reassure you, to deny your assumption, anything. The bruise mark on his chest, one that was not created by you. Sure, your relationship had been quite flimsy at times after a solid three years, but you never had a reason to doubt his love for you. Every time you argue, it was never about a third person. The third person has never come into the picture. “Did you sleep with her?!” you shout, Yeonjun flinches at the tone.

“Baby, I don’t–”

“Then, what the fuck is that on your neck?” you ask, squinting at a faint purplish mark near his collarbone. It was positioned enough to be hidden when he’s wearing a shirt, but now that it’s off, it’s so evident.

Yeonjun covers the hickey with his hand, the movements rushed and awkward. “Oh, this? It’s... nothing. Just a bruise from a fall,” he mumbles, avoiding eye contact.

“Let me see,” you say after a long silence, your tone firm but he can see the way your lips tremble. Yeonjun hesitates a little, but you reach out your hand, and he lets you inspect the spot. You feel your stomach turn as you lightly run your fingertips over it. You aren’t foolish, it was not just any bruise; it was distinctly shaped and coloured like a hickey.

Your heart drops as you feel the reality of the situation. “That has nothing to do with a fall. Be honest with me.”

Yeonjun’s face changes, and the room falls quiet for a brief period. Both of you, especially Yeonjun, feel anxious about the occasion.

He wobbles with "I... I can explain," but his words sounded unsure, and you feel that is an insincere answer. Like he’s hiding something.

Your head whirl with feelings of betrayal, rage, hurt, and disbelief. This has turned into the rifts in the trust you had established together, not simply about the mark. Your head feels heavy, turning down as you cry.

“It’s not what you’re thinking, y/n!” he’s also yelling now, frustration overcoming him. Guilt, sadness and anger mixed in as he breathed in, his own eyes wet. His heart breaks seeing your state, it’s not the first time he sees you crying but this time you look incredibly heartbroken, miserable and not just upset at him.

“Then, what, what would explain this, Yeonjun?” you are fully sobbing, words imprecise swallowed by your cry.

“I was just… at the club okay? I was drunk, I don’t even remember–”

“Fuck that!” you cut him off, your voice burst with fume. “Do you realize how this looks?! How does it feel to even think you might’ve cheated on me? You try to sleep with me when that mark hasn’t even disappeared?!”

“Baby,” he tries again, trying to get closer to you.

“Don’t baby me,” your voice cold as ice in line with the gaze you now give him. “I don’t know, I thought you would never do that to me. I would never find someone else as long as I’m your girlfriend, Yeonjun. So stupid of me to hold on to you, I should have left long ago, so I don’t feel this hurt, because now I love you so much—too much, it feels even more painful…” you confess, finding yourself laughing at the absurdness yet your tears keep on rolling non stop. “If you don’t like me anymore you could just tell me. I would pack my things myself so you don’t have to rub it in like this.” Sniffles exit your nose, the back of your hand become the temporary napkin as you rub your tears away.

His eyes softened as he reached for her hands, his touch warm but cautious. “Y/n, I’d never hurt you like that. I love you. Please believe me.”

You pull your hands back, turning away to hide the tears welling yet again in your eyes. But before you could retreat further, Yeonjun closes the gap between you both, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

“Y/n, look at me,” he whispers, his breath warm against her ear. “You’re everything to me. I can’t stand the thought of you doubting that.”

You turn slowly, her tearful eyes meeting his. There is sincerity in his gaze that makes your heart falter, and along that, a little of expectation because you can still feel the love. It’s still there in his eyes, filled with it and warmth as he looks at you.

“Explain to me,” you say, trying to steady your voice but Yeonjun, knowing you through, could catch that you are still hoping for his denial, still hoping that it isn’t true what you see. With a regretful smile, he cups your face gently, brushing tears away, his fingers on you treating it as delicate as possible.

“Won’t you judge me?” he carefully asks, studying your expression as your brow rises in confusion.

“It depends,” you answer, short, simple and clear.

“Saturday,” he starts, “I was at Taehyun’s. I was stressed out about our fight, and then he persuaded me into going to the club. Relax a little. I had a drink, maybe two but I was so wasted, I don’t remember who was it, I don’t know her, it was a random girl there, I’m gonna be honest we make out a little, and she did this,” he pauses, touching the mark, before his gaze settles on you confidently this time, “Taehyun came up, and he dragged me out there, telling me all about it the next morning. He was meaning to tell you everything first, but I told him not to, because I want to settle things ourselves.”

“Why didn't you tell her you’re not single,” you complain, lips pouting as you contemplate the story, it seems believable but you don’t know for sure. “And why do you have to be so hot, people literally couldn't leave you alone.”

He softly laughs at that, before turning serious again. “I am sorry, pretty girl,” he apologizes, “I don’t know how to mend things that have already happened, I know I should’ve known how wasted I’d be and just head home.”

He then grabs your comforter covered waist, pulling your head to land on his chest, letting you wet it. Your sobbing grows louder first, hands reluctantly creeping up to touch his shoulders. “I am sorry, oh baby, you don’t know how sorry I am, it’s all my fault, should have stayed that night, just hold you close until you’re not upset at me.”

“What can I do to earn your forgiveness, tell me, gorgeous,” his voice is whiny now, almost pleading when your sniffles haven't stopped. The hand that is holding onto your back scatters random shapes on it.

“Then prove it,” you mumble, looking up to him again, your voice barely audible.

Yeonjun cups your face gently, you look very endearing with cheeks red, eyes swollen and lips pouting a bit, his thumbs brushing away the tears remaining on your cheeks. “I’ll spend my entire life proving it,” he says, the sound of his confession thick with emotion.

Your lips meet together in a tender kiss, one that starts slow but it quickly deepens as you could feel the desperation in his touch, the regret, the unspoken promise that he’d never betray your trust.

He lifts you effortlessly, carrying you back on the bed where you can place your head on the pillow comfortably. His hands roam your back as yours are tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. The tension between you dissolves into a shared need for closeness, for reassurance, for reconciliation, for love.

Seconds later, he's immediately invading your personal space, arms around you in a tight, needy embrace. He has his face nestled in the crook of your neck, a heavy breath that tells you he's relieved and something familiar, something that you hunch as love.

“Jun—“ he smashes his mouth against yours, tongue pushing past your lips, the taste of chapstick that you're familiar with, the one that he only uses during winter due to dryness. Desperate sounds leave both your mouths, you are whining while he's half groaning. His body pressed against yours, separated by the cover that hasn't left your body. When he finally pulls away from the passionate kiss, his eyes find yours, filled with affective and yearning.

“I missed you s’ much, princess, how did I survived a whole week without you,” he presses a kiss to your neck, tongue tracing the collarbone with a cherish that signifies his worship on you.

“Would you allow me, princess, I want to make it up to you, please,” he looks up at you with his big, puppy-like eyes, an expression so pitiful it’s admirable. The desperation behind them makes it difficult to say no. You aren't better, your whole body is craving for him.

“Touch me,” you let out a soft whimper, arching into his touch. "Please," you breathe out, and he happily obliges, the cover is off the bed instantly.

Then his hands travel down your sides to your hips, fingers digging in as if to keep you anchored to him. The hand then kneads the meat of your ass, your breath hitches as he goes down on you, nails digging into his arms as you inhale deeply as if committing you to memorise his scent.

“My girl’s so pretty,” he slurs out, before he dives into your pussy, your hand goes flying to grab onto his hair as he splits you open through his tongue.

“Yeonjun!”

“Sorry,” he murmurs against your inner thigh, his hot breath causing goosebumps to rise in its wake. He says sorry, but his action doesn't match the word. “Has been so long since I munched on this.”

Your toes curl, eyes thrown back at the way he is switching between licking and sucking, almost like that's the whole purpose of his life. his scruffy cheeks hollow as he sucks a hickey into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. He was right though, it has been a while, the pleasure is almost foreign to you.

“Are you still my girl?” he questions, sounding cocky like the usual Yeonjun you know. The sexy, intimidating confidence that has you weak in your knees every time. Your only response is a moan, causing his lips to turn into a smirk, “Of course you are, I‘m the only one that can get you this wet, baby. Correct?”

No longer able to give him a reply, he continues to work his mouth on you. His tongue is relentless, it is sucking onto your entrance, then it is swirling around your clit with increasing fervor. The pace is sloppy, uncoordinated, messy even sometimes, but it only serves to bring you higher to the excitement of it all. Each time he pulls back, you can hear his heavy pant in search of breath, feel the way his mouth lets out your name.

“Oh, Y’jun—” your mindlessly thrown words trail off into incoherent mumbles as you feel closer to the edge, bringing you the sensation. “So close, please.”

The urgency in your begging translates to him as an invitation to continue. The way your entire body is wound up so tense, unwittingly ready to snap. He moves his thumb finger to press on your clit, skilled enough to actually let another two of them be inserted in your pussy, curling them just right so that they’re pressing against that dangerous spot that has you seeing stars.

“Shit, you just got way wetter, you have been craving me that much, huh,“ he chuckles against your thighs, and he's not completely wrong. The way he's re-arranging your inside, it's like he's trying to prove a point, to prove that as much as he needs you, you need him too.

"Wanna cum, please," you gasp out, and then he increases the intensity, your thighs shaking like crazy before it all stops as your liquid gushes out. Yeonjun is more than glad to pick up some of it, slurping them from his fingers. His sexy gaze and your quivering ones meet, silent praises and apologies heard from the way he's caressing your waist gently.

“You haven't come yet,” your sweet voice echoes in his ears. You are still the bundle of love for him, always thinking of his pleasure when you were just crying betrayed by his trust earlier. With agony, Yeonjun is shaking his head, presenting you with a small smile.

“No, it's okay princess. I should be fine, let's go to sleep, hmm? You are tired, I'll hold you,” he's denying you, aware of how relaxed your body is after having your orgasm, you must be so sexually frustrated the whole week. On top of that he knows how bad your sleep was affected due to your argument. Your eyes have been drowsy for a while now, yet you find strength to get up, straddling his lap.

“Love shall go both ways, as much as I mean the world to you, you mean the same to me. What you want from me, I want you the same way too.”

Your eyes staring at him, the honesty in it clear as crystal. Your hand that he is missing so much takes off his pants. The skin against his feels so soft, you are moving a bit behind to kneel before him.

“You really don't have to, princess,” he's saying again, hands caressing your hairline. You look up to him with round eyes, determined to mean what you said earlier. In a brief moment, you are presented with his hard-ons, the sight making you drooling. He's denying you once again with the look in his eyes, so you confidently reply, “I wanna do this.”

“Fuck," Yeonjun breathes out, eyes twisting shut as he feels your warm throat enveloping him. He collects your hair in his fist gently, holding it as you swallow him whole. Your hands move to rest on his thighs, pretty acrylics pressing on it whenever another inch of him goes in.

The feeling of your mouth enveloping him has him pulsing in your throat, his lips part as lewd sounds of him moaning leaves. “You're doing so well for me, babe.”

You take the praise to relax your jaw, letting his tip hit the back of your throat. Your eyes water at the feeling, hurriedly tapping his thighs to let him know the cue. He tightens the grip he has on your hair as he starts to move your head on his length, forcing you to take more and more of him till your nose brushes against his pelvis.

He moves your head up and down, his thrust harsh as he makes you take his entire length then leaving only his tip before repeating the entire process, moaning out your name whenever his head brushes against your throat.

You know he is getting close—you could feel him pulsing in your mouth, as a layer of sweet coated his forehead despite the cold room, making him glow so charmingly. You inhale a deep breath, before sucking in your cheeks, humming his name around him, knowing it is exactly what it would take to throw him over the edge.

“I'm close, baby,” he pleads, inaudible chatters of moans follows after as you double your efforts, and as expected a few seconds later his release spreads through your throat as you continue to bob your head to swallow.

Yeonjun’s chest is heaving, his hair a disheveled mess as he leans his hand heavily against your head, staring down at you like you’d just knocked the wind out of him. You guys stay silent for a while, eye contact with each other being the only sole communicator.

And when you place your legs on either side of him, both of his hands finding their home on your waist, your hole wet and slick enough, ready for him, he’s once again starstrucked, the feeling's overwhelming like you’re made just for him. He bites his lip when you slide down with a whiny mention of his name, you stay still for a moment, and he's all but resist as he needs the comfort of you being wrapped around him right now just bad.

Your eyes could not help but trail down to the mark from earlier, upsetting thoughts taking over you as you encounter the upsetting thoughts again. Your eyes tremble with tears as you hold onto Yeonjun’s shoulders, you begin to sob again, the sight making Yeonjun uneasy as he’s even more apologetic when you are so clearly hurt by the smallest mark, yet the biggest mistake he had made.

"You're mine, you got that?" you sniffle, your touch on him soft but it feels possessive enough to Yeonjun at that point of time.

"Of course, all yours baby, only yours," he breathes as you part your lips, looking down on his neckline. Your eyes briefly glance over the hickey painted over his chest and it leaves the feeling of your heart throbbing in your chest. Unshed tears sting at your eyes, the sound of incoherent sob immediately puts him to sit up against the headboard, holding you close to him.

“I’m sorry, we shouldn’t do this, let’s just—”

“No,” you decline immediately, hands clasping together at his shoulder trying to push him back to let you be in charge. You bite back a sob, “I want to do this. Want this off you,” you snivel, looking pitiful and so eager to get the mark to be hidden by your own, your lip finding its way to his skin, sucking on it before your teeth sink on the same exact spot that leaves Yeonjun wincing in pain. He’s staring at you deeply now, heart wrenched as droplets of tears roll down your cheek in frustration.

"I should’ve been better, should’ve tried harder, I'm gonna make things right, love, I swear," he's spurting all his emotion out, hands scrambling to make their way to your thighs and helping you to move.

“Swear I’d never do it again,” he adds, his pillow-y soft lip rasps across your sensitive neck as he plants gentle kisses all over it. The action is filled with reassurance, infatuation, and warmth. Quite literally soft and tender, far from the agony that had filled your heart only moments before.

“There, princess?” he's asking, his tip reaching your sensitive spot, your voice exceptionally high pitched when you reply to him a yes.

He's much more attentive tonight. Usually sex with him was rough, which you couldn’t complain about or dislike, but there is something adorable about him being so soft with you that always made this a lot more enjoyable than usual. His kisses and praises doubles, along with the occasional apologies, his promise to do better. Your mind goes out from while to while, unable to comprehend the actual sentence that he forms. You are just glad he's holding you, grounding you from blacking out.

“Let me show you my love,” he helps you on your back, his dick sliding out for a while, smiling softly when you make a fuss for it, “I know, it's okay, baby,” comes out his mouth as he thrust up into you, sucking at your neck to leave a few more love bites.

“Faster,” you whimper, dissatisfied at the slow pace.

“We'll get there, so impatient,” Yeonjun chuckles, his hand brushing against your arms to settle into your breast, fondling it. Your desperate moans filled the room, the pace slowly building up. Your hand travels down to your clit, rubbing it before it gets shoved away by Yeonjun instantly.

Before you could question his denial, he whispers a stern “I could do that,” as you relax to his touch, his skilled fingers working its magic. You wrap your arms around his shoulder, pulling him into a kiss, moaning into his mouth as he brings you closer to your high.

He hums against your lips as you tighten around him when you reach your orgasm, peppering the softest kisses all around your face while his hands mapped out your precious body that he’s come to cherish so much. Someone as lovely, as flawless, and as serene as you is a blessing for a man like him, a man who is emotionally lacking and aloof. Your body shakes with the overstimulation, a small smile escapes as he slows the pace, tender and consistent thrust to relax you.

“You feel so good, baby.” His eyes trailing down your body to where you are connected, the base of his cock wraps with thick white rings of your arousal, and his mouth opens at the vicious sight. He watches closely for your expression every time he plunges forward; your hips moving to meet his, thrust for thrust despite your previous orgasm. “Pussy made for me, yeah? Missed me that much?”

Each harsh thrust makes your tits bounce and forces a moan out from you as a response. Yeonjun chuckles at your lack of words, the sight admirable for him. The pleasure on your part made it difficult for you to even make out his expression or words anymore, feeling like you are on cloud nine for a second and a second later you are back on ground.

“Gonna make it up to you, promise,” he’s mumbling in between his praise for you, left at his mercy as he draws various shapes on your clit to push you further in ecstasy, another orgasm creeping in as you hold onto his shoulder tight.

As you let go for him, the endless words of flattery along with assurance of the love he has for you acts as your company. He’s slowing down, waiting for you to come down from your high. As your breath and heartbeat falls into a stable rhythm again, he’s back to thrusting slowly, your breath hitches as you are flooded with oversensitivity, wincing at the intrusion.

“Shh… I’m sorry, just a little bit more, pretty,” his whisper sends relaxation, trusting him with everything as you nod, occasional whimpers leaving your mouth at the slight discomfort. You shift your entire focus on him as he reaches his release, eyebrows furrowed with a slightly opened mouth as you reach your hands out to touch him on the cheek. The contact subconsciously draws a moan from him, resting his forehead on yours.

“Baby,” he calls out, “I’m sorry, I love you.”

Your lips twitch into a small smile, nodding as you rub his cheek yet you say nothing. The silence is deafening, Yeonjun himself cringing as he pulls out from you slowly. None of you breaks the silence as he gets up first to clean himself, allowing you to take a small nap before being woken up by him, for the never forgotten aftercare.

“Do you mind if I sleep with you tonight? I wanna have you in my arms.” The question arises from him as he buttons your pyjamas for tonight. He takes in your cozy state, eyelashes fluttering as you look up to him. You rarely ever see his nervous state, he is a person that always exudes such kind of charisma, carrying himself with confidence, at least around you, yet he seems least intimidating, nervous and very cautious with that simple question.

He isn’t looking for grand gestures or dramatic declarations. What he’s asking for is something simple, intimate, and deeply human: the opportunity to lie beside you, to hold you, and maybe even to begin the slow process of rebuilding what was lost, piece by piece. For a moment, you let yourself believe that this time, it might be different. That he genuinely wants to start anew and make amends, not just relive the moments of the past.

“Of course, Jjunie. Hold me, and don’t let go.”

At your reply, Yeonjun nearly jumps, placing you snuggly in his hold, not missing the opportunity to land a kiss every each and a while on your forehead as you relax and allow yourself to doze off.

But today’s December 31st. The last day of the year. He hasn't come back, you haven't moved on. How could you? You have been stuck, trapped in the same moment, the same heartbreak, as if time itself refused to carry you forward.

“I wish there’s December 32nd,” you mutter to yourself, voice barely audible over the soft jazz playing in the café. A day that didn’t exist, where time could stretch just a little longer, where you could find him again.

As if answering your unspoken wish, the bell above the café door jingles softly. You turn, your heart leaping for a moment before sinking again. It wasn’t him. Just another stranger barging in, escaping the cold.

The barista brings over a cup of hot chocolate, placing it gently in front of you. “Still waiting for someone?” she asks kindly, though she already knows the answer. You would come here every week, always alone, always seeming to be waiting for something, someone perhaps.

You nod, offering her a weak smile. “Maybe he’ll come back,” you reply, though the words feel hollow. The barista passes you a sympathetic smile, off to her shift later.

As the hours tick by and the snow falls heavier, the world outside the café seems to blur, as if reality itself is shifting. You finish your drink, wrapping your scarf a bit more snuggly as the weather gets cooler as it is approaching midnight. Your footsteps then lead you unknowingly to Han River, the sacred place where you last encountered Kai.

You sit on one of the benches there. There are families, couples, a group of friends and even people alone by themselves, yet they don’t seem as lonely as you. You keep glancing at your watch—and then here comes the midnight. January 1st. The sound of fireworks ignites your soul, laughter from people around Han River celebrating another year.

Your eyes blink rapidly at your phone, notifications and wishes from your loved ones chirping in. The screen shows it is January, but for you, it is still December. The last day of December, over and over again.

When you closed your eyes, you could still see him. His laughter as he ran through the snow, his scarf trailing behind him like a ribbon caught in the wind. The way your hand fit perfectly in his when you walked along the Han River, whispering dreams of a future that would never come.

The snow continues to swirl around you, settling in soft layers on your coat, the ground beneath your feet. It's as if the world itself has frozen in time, just like your heart. Your fingers numb from the cold, but you don't mind. The chill is familiar, a quiet companion to your silent waiting.

The distant sounds of fireworks from the city blend with the steady hum of the river, but it all feels distant, detached from the reality you're living in. You glance at your phone once more. There’s a text from your friend asking if you're okay. You haven’t responded. There's no need. No one understands the weight of what you’re carrying, the promise that has kept you rooted in place.

"I'll be back before December ends," he had said.

It was a simple promise, but promises were like threads in the wind—so easy to break, so fragile when you clung to them too tightly. The words ring in your mind again, more haunting this time, more distant. The wind picks up, biting at your face, and you pull your scarf tighter, the soft fabric doing little to warm your heart.

The lights from the city twinkle across the river, beautiful, lively, but they feel hollow to you now. You had imagined this night—this new year, this crossing of time—would be different. You had imagined he would be here, just as promised, pulling you into his arms and whispering how he had never stopped thinking of you. Perhaps you could even share a kiss together like in romantic movies.

But the truth is as cold as the weather. He's not here. He hasn't come.

A couple walks by, laughing, their joy echoing through the winter air, but it only deepens the ache inside of you. They don’t know. They don’t know the story you’re living—the one where time has stopped, where you are stuck in a loop of hope, waiting for someone who may never return.

You wonder, briefly, if he’s forgotten you. If he’s moved on with his life while you’ve stood still, waiting. But that thought, that fear, feels like a betrayal of the love you’ve kept for him. It’s too cruel to entertain, so you push it away. He promised. Promises are sacred, aren’t they?

A deep breath escapes your lips, fogging the air in front of you. You’re still here. You haven’t moved, haven’t given up, not yet. The cold doesn't bother you. It never has. The cold, like your waiting, has become a part of you, shaping you into someone who holds on, even when it feels like there's nothing left to hold.

Your fingers brush the familiar edge of your phone once more, but you hesitate. Another message, maybe? Perhaps Kai? Your heart leaps at the thought, but nothing. You lock the screen and shove the phone back into your pocket.

And then, in the distance, you hear footsteps.

At first, you think it’s just your mind playing tricks—your hope weaving illusions, creating something that isn’t really there. But the footsteps draw closer, unmistakable, as if each step was measured, deliberate.

You turn slowly, the sound of your own heartbeat loud in your ears. But it isn’t him. It’s another figure, a passerby, someone out to enjoy the night. Their laughter feels like a cruel reminder, so you avert your gaze, unwilling to look further.

Still, a part of you wonders, What if? A voice inside you—the one that still clings to hope, that refuses to let go—whispers, What if he’s just running late? What if he’s actually out there looking for you right now?

The thought makes your chest ache, a feeling so profound, so empty, you could almost cry. But you don’t.

Instead, you pull your coat around you tighter and settle into the bench, your eyes scanning the river, watching the reflections ripple gently. You don’t look at your phone. You don’t check the time again. You just sit there, waiting. And in the quiet of the night, amidst the murmurs of those celebrating around you, the snowflakes continue to fall, soft and steady.

A small part of you still believes—still hopes—that there’s a December 32nd, and that, when it comes, Kai will be there. But the night stretches on, the seconds ticking away, and the year is now over.

Your phone vibrates again, but you don’t check it. You don’t want to. Maybe, just maybe, Kai is out there, somewhere, waiting for you too.

And yet, the clock in your heart begs to turn into something impossible: December 32nd.

There’s no January 1 for you. Your calendar hasn’t ended. It’s December 32nd, 33rd. It’s still December until he comes back.

But what could you do when the year comes to an end, when you have to turn the last calendar page?

Still, Kai wouldn’t come.

“Show me how bad then,” you say teasingly, the provocative smirk you give Soobin is enough to set him off as he lifts you from the ground, the placement of his hands on you careful to not hurt you in any way. Your giggles fill the entire room as he places you on the soft, silky sheets that you just changed this morning.

He leans in, his mouth hovering over yours as he mutters his words of love to you before your lips connect together. The ghostly touch of his hands on your shoulder first, slowly going down to your breasts making you gasp. You continue making out for a while before he lets go and cups your cheeks, giving a peck on your forehead. The intimate action gives you butterflies, watching him closely as he works around to undress himself. The eye contact is maintained, and it’s insanely hot you can’t help but blush seeing him.

“Like what you see babe?” he asks, completely aware of your flustered face. You reach out a hand to trace his toned muscle, his abs appearing even more prominent than the last time you saw them.

“Very. Looks so hot on you, oh my god—” your breath cuts short as he accidentally tugs the only thing left on your body, your bra to be exact, harder than he intends to as the fabric tears.

“Oh! Sorry baby, did I hurt you?”

Yes, he did. In fact, he ruined you. In the most sexy way possible. You stare at him closely, lips puckered as he tries to read your expression. When you say nothing, that’s when he inches closer, promising to buy you another, even ten sets of underwear if you would want him to. You chuckle lightly, both hands supporting his neck and pulling him closer.

“Soobin, I could care less about that. I like it,” you confess, his eyes soften. Without waiting for his reply, you flip him over. His length is already poking through, Soobin hisses when you touch him there, the feeling shoots him in like electricity when your soft hands contrast with the veiny muscle there.

“This hard for me?” you start with a kitten lick, his hand is flying to hold your hair in place for you, wrapping it nicely around his wrist like a ponytail. Always very attentive and gentle.

“Only for you, love,” he answers, lids drowsy as you start to take him down your throat. You’re long past caring about the drool that drips from your stretched lips to your sheets, Soobin coos at your state and mumbles a few praises as your mind overwhelms with the way his tip presses the back of your throat, the weight of one big hand never leaves stroking your hair.

Moments later, he finds you struggling with his length, eyes watery as you look at him, he can’t help but to anxiously remind you to take only what you can. Your hand that is placed on his thighs is gripping harder on it, yet you show no sign of tapping out like what both of you agreed on whenever any of you feels uncomfortable to continue.

“Y/n–” his own breath hitches, the feeling good to him as well, the urge to just push you further down on his cock blooming in his mind but he puts it aside as he looks at his darling, sweet girlfriend on the verge of tears.

“Love, you can stop now,” he incites, feeling bad for you. With all the constraints, you manage to shake your head, insisting that you can take much more. You relax your throat a bit, breathing through your nose as you push him in deeper. Soobin groans at the action, hips jerking and thrusting sloppily. You work your best to satisfy him, until he’s left a whiny mess, as he reaches his first orgasm of the night.

He’s humming softly, lost in his own world of pleasure while you fight to stifle your gag reflex, letting the liquid go down your throat before finally releasing him from your mouth. The drool that follows through as you backs away in search of proper breath is wiped away instantly by him, feeling bad as he strokes your cheek lovingly.

“Don’t push your limit if you can’t, baby, remember?”

You could only let out a smile, pulling him on top of you. “I have never not, Soobin. I promise I am okay,” you answer, his gaze on you feels a little too strong, so you continue, “It’s a good kind of hurt.”

“Really?”

“Uh uh. Now hurry,” you urge him, your puppy eyes paired with your pout instantly puts Soobin in position, in between your legs. He’s pushing your thighs apart, working his fingers delicately on your dripping core. You relax to his touch, responsive moans here and there fill Soobin’s ears. “So fucking wet…”

Soobin rarely swears around you, but whenever he does in bed it drives you nuts. The low voice of his, with a little bit of grunt on it and the fact that you're making him feel that way has you pooling down there.

“Am ready now, come on,” you whine out, almost running out of patience as he slowly works his fingers wonderfully inside your pulsing cunt. Soobin is far from stupid, especially in knowing how your body works, he knows it’s calling for something more. Something that only he can give you. You keep on squirming around, desperate for more friction than what he’s already giving you.

“Please—want you so bad, Binnie,” your voice comes out as weak, a high pitched moan follows after when he retracts his fingers.

“Shh, I know babe, just getting you prepared for me, don’t wanna hurt you, hmm?” he coos, spreading your legs further just so he can snug up in between comfortably. His length makes its way to your entrance, your joined moans breaking out as he gathers the slick to coat around it. The pleasure gives you goosebumps, finding anchor in his hand that holds on your thigh.

He finally pushes in his tip, his cock finally stretches you out. The sensation triggers him, watching closely how your walls are pulsing to let him in. Even though he was being gentle, nothing would help when you will never get used to his size. You could not even get a hold of it when a tear drop stains your cheek, his girth inside too overwhelming. His growing concern from earlier only expands, his thumb finger delicately brushes it off from you, pecking your lips after. “Baby…”

“No, I—ah,” you are cut off from one of his thrust, unknowingly hitting your sensitive spots, filling you to the hilt. “Feels so good, Soobin..”

As he sees you struggle and non stop squirming under him, he could not help but to feel bad, slowing his pace and rubbing the skin of your waist to ease you up to accept him. Your expression confused, quite dismayed at the slowing pace. He takes his time with you, stroking your messy hair, pecking every surface of your neckline yet you grow greedy and needier by time. With a desperate huff, you call out his name, he whispers a soft hum in your ear to ensure he’s listening.

“You don’t have to be that gentle with me, Soobin. I am not made of glass,” you say, eyes glistening with lust as Soobin cups both your cheeks

“Did I do something wrong? Do you not like how I act in bed?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” you reassure quickly, scooting him closer. You reach out and take his hand, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “You’re so gentle with me, Soobin. And I love that about you. You always make me feel safe. But...”

He tilted his head, lips pouting in focus, studying your expression. “But what?”

Your cheeks are warming, feeling intimidated by his stare. “Sometimes... I think you’re holding back. Like you’re scared of pushing too hard, saying too much, or being too... intense with me.”

Soobin blinks once, twice, his mouth parting slightly as if to respond, but no words come out. You almost melt at the sight, his perfectly shaped lips look very fluffy and inviting so you pull him down to you, giving a small kiss on his lips.

You massages his palm, your voice soft but resolute. “I want all of you, baby. The gentle side, the intense side, even the messy parts you think I am not capable of handling. I can take it. I want to take it.”

Soobin looks down at your intertwined hands, his thumb now tracing over the smaller yours. “I guess... I'm afraid of hurting you. You mean so much to me, baby. I didn’t want to risk being too much, I don’t ever wanna cause you pain.”

“You won’t,” you deny firmly, voice stern. “I trust you. And I want you to trust me to take whatever you’ve got. Don’t hold back on me anymore.”

For a moment, you both stay in silence, the weight of his body on top of yours never feels uncomfortable, or too much.

"Do you trust me?"

"Babes, if I didn't I wouldn't be here. I would run away once I set my eyes on your big cock," you jokingly say to ease the tension, his dimple appearing as he chuckles.

“Alright. No more holding back, I guess. You asked for it.” He sinks his face further in your chest, leaving a few marks of him there. Your heart flutters, a spark of excitement dancing in your chest. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”

The rest is history, you can't quite describe the feeling of being ravished by him for the first time. It is amazing. You are too fucked out, too weak to do anything besides moan and writhe underneath him, letting him use you as he wishes, limits all thrown out of the window as he rams inside you aggressively. You are more like a living fuck doll to be filled with him and his seed only.

“You like that, baby? Y/n?” He repeats his hard thrust over and over, distant noise ringing in your ears, his large and veined hands gripping your hips and leaving bruises on the soft flesh. Your body has been decorated with hickeys and bite marks, your wrists bruising from when he held them earlier.

Soobin then reaches around with one hand, rubbing circles on your swollen and overstimulated clit, tears rolling down your cheeks at the added sensation. He only grins at that, loving your response to his touches as two of his fingers rub circles on your sensitive bud. “Gonna cum for me? Come on, show me how good of a girl you are.”

“Yes! So good— argh!” you scream out as you reach your high, your cunt tightening around his cock as he pauses his thrust, waiting for you to loosen up a little before continuing. You lay weak in his arms, sweat trickles down your neckline at the heat. As you catch your breath and the overstimulation passes, your trembling hands come up to his hair, tugging on it a bit.

“More, baby.”

He laughs at that, iris darkening as he looks at your state. Eager for more, although it seems like you are on the verge of tears by now.

“Aren't you an impatient little one?”

“Want you to use me,” you demand assertively, eyes wide and round. Your lips pursed a little, Soobin leans down to steal a quick peck there.

“My baby wants more? You can take it?”

“Yes, of course, I love you—oh fuck!” your voice gets louder as his fingers hovers around your bud, he’s pressing some friction on it so your hands that are on his hair grasp it harder. He chuckles at your desperate action, your legs trying to escape from the euphoric pleasure so bad he has to hold onto it. “Soobin! Oh my–god!”

Your legs start quivering so much, the build-up is insane, three of his fingers start moving inside your cunt uncontrollably, hitting all the right spots. You squeal as his skilled fingers continue making a mess of you, the sheets wet with your cream as you feel your high approaching quickly. Soobin watches you closely in amusement, your thrown back head, eyes rolled to the back, mouth open. You never look so beautiful, gorgeous, very stunning, he could not take his eyes off you.

“Love you too, y/n. So much, baby. Come for me, hmm? I got you,” his soft voice accompanies your loud whines. Beyond his expectation, he’s getting more than what he wanted. As the pleasure increases, you could not hold it in so you suddenly squirt all over him. Your surprising outcome that shocks even you makes you squeal, as you hold onto his shoulder for support. You have never even squirted before.

“Oh fuck, fuck, baby,” Soobin groans, collecting the liquid to smear it all over your aching pussy. “You just did that, for me?”

You are given not much time to recollect your thoughts when you are suddenly being wrapped around his arms, he’s setting you into another position. The touch on your hips are far from gentle as you are manhandled on all fours before him. Before you can complain, his tip is already inside, soon you are swallowing his whole length. Your eyes widen at the change of angle, much more intense than before.

“That was so hot, babe, damn, you want me to ruin you that bad? You like it when I’m fucking you rough?” he’s whispering in your ears, hand coming down to land a smack on your pretty flesh bare on his hips.

“Mmngh, oh! Sen—sensitive, oh please,” your weak hands wobbly in finding support on the sheets, grabbing whatever you can to stay arched for him.

He stays silent at your plea, ignoring it as the slapping skin of his against your increases in sound, his thrust fast and precise for his own release. Your drenched pussy makes nasty noises as his cock rams inside, sounding like music to his ears. "You can take it, come on, be a big girl," leaves his lips wheneve your legs almost give up, his big hands hold you up, not letting you go anywhere further than now.

“Look so cute, you want to be filled, sweetie?” he’s dirty talking now, your mind already going anywhere you find yourself nodding desperately. His cock twitches inside, forcing you to take the whole of him, his tip dangerously poking to your cervix by now. And god, does it feel so good.

“Yes, come in me please,” the honeyed voice of yours could never make him deny you, you are his baby after all, his length buried so deep inside you before his hips shake. The thrust is now shaky and unstable as his cum spills, warming your inside. “Argh, fucking take it!” Soobin grunts.

Immediately after he’s done, he’s pulling himself out, letting the combined release of yours leak. Carefully, he takes your waist, helping you to lay on your back, head pillowed by the softness of your plushie on the bed. You moan at the sight around your legs, his lips pressing kisses around your thighs, anywhere near your pussy but there to not let the oversensitivity overcome you. Your eyes then follow his movement, kneeling to scoot closer to you as he removes the hair strand from your face.

“Satisfied?”

“Never have been so before. Thank you, I love you,” you confess. His hands are now finding home on your back, wrapping you in a warm embrace.

“Love you more, baby. Did it hurt?” he’s asking, eyes wandering around your expression for honesty, afraid he has taken it too far. Your head shakes as you smile, convincing him that all is good. He lets out a sigh of relief, your night spent together while he takes care of you like always.