helionepho

The gate creaked open with its usual slow groan, iron curling like vines, too elegant for the kind of dread it stirred in you now.

You stepped out of your car, heels echoing against the polished marble driveway. The afternoon sky was gray, casting a film of haze over the massive estate.

You rang the bell. No butler.

Just like always.

Instead, the heavy door clicked open after a few seconds. There he was.

Ji Changmin.

White sweater. Barefoot. Smiling. That too-perfect smile, dimples and all, sweet enough to make anyone drop their guard. Almost.

“Noona,” he said gently. “You’re here early today.”

His voice was calm and sweet, but something about the way his eyes didn’t quite match the warmth in his tone made your stomach twist.

“Traffic was lighter than usual,” you answered, keeping your voice steady as always.

He stepped aside to let you in. The house was too quiet. You used to think it was peaceful. Now, it just felt like it was watching you back.

You followed him to his room. Books stacked high, curtains drawn. Cozy. Intimate. Controlled.

He sat on the velvet couch. His legs crossed lazily. Gaze followed you as you set your notebook down and clicked your pen.

“How have you been feeling this week, Changmin?”

A small pause. Then he tilted his head.

“I missed you,” he said. “That’s a feeling, right?”

You didn’t flinch. Professional. Steady. Calm.

“That’s not what I meant.”

He leaned forward slightly, his smile widening, barely.

“But it’s what I meant.”

You cleared your throat. Flipped a page in your notes.

“You said the intrusive thoughts have been more frequent lately,” you said. “Have you been keeping your journal?”

“Mhm,” he hummed. Then slowly reached under a cushion, pulling out a small leather notebook.

He handed it to you.

“I wrote about you,” he said softly, like a secret. “Wanna read it out loud?”

You hesitated before opening it.

The first line was dated three nights ago. Your name appeared within the first sentence. Then again. And again.

The sentences bled into each other, messy, manic, poetic:

“She touches my mind with such gentle hands. I wonder what she’d look like with her throat bruised by my name.”

“I wanted to hurt someone today. But I remembered her voice. So I smiled instead.”

“I’d kill for her. I’d die for her. She belongs here, in this house. She should never leave me.”

Your hands tensed. You closed the journal quietly.

“Changmin,” you said carefully, “We’ve talked about boundaries—”

“I know,” he interrupted, eyes dark now. “But you came here anyway.”

He leaned closer, elbows on knees, watching you the way a predator watches something that still thinks it’s safe.

“My father trusts you, Noona. You’re the only one who knows what I really am. And you’re still here. Week after week.” He smiled at you “Why?”

You said nothing. You didn’t move. You couldn’t afford to.

“Do you feel sorry for me? Or,” he whispered, “Do you like being mine?”

***

Flashback

It was raining that day. Not heavily, just a soft drizzle that made the world feel muted, distant. You were still a little girl, in your school uniform, your bag bouncing against your side as you walked home through the park like always.

Then you saw him.

A little boy sitting alone on the edge of the slide. Knees pulled to his chest. Bruises on his arms. Dirt on his cheeks. And tears.

So many tears.

You slowed your steps.

Something in you—a quiet instinct—told you not to just walk past.

You approached him and crouched down slowly.

“… are you okay?”

He didn’t look up at first. Just sniffled. His knuckles were scraped, and he was clutching a broken toy car like it was a lifeline.

“You’re hurt…”

You swung your bag off your back and unzipped it, rummaging through your notebooks and snack wrappers until you found the only thing you had: A Hello Kitty bandage.

You peeled it open, gently taking his tiny hand.

“This one’s special. It’s magic,” you said as you gently pressed it over his wound.

That made him finally look up.

Watery eyes. Blank at first. Confused.

Then… just the tiniest flicker of relief.

You smiled at him and reached into your other pocket.

“Here you go.” You handed him your pink lollipop, smiling a little. “Candy makes sad things go away… it works for me.”

He took it with both hands like it was made of gold.

“What’s your name?” you asked.

“...Changmin.”

“Nice to meet you, Changmin. I’m Y/N!”

He blinked up at you, eyes still glassy but curious now.

He looked you over, then tilted his head slightly.

“You’re tall…”

You smiled, crouching down a bit more so you were at his level.

“It might be ‘cause I’m older! How old are you, Changmin?”

“Ten.”

“I’m thirteen. That’s only three years! I don’t think that’s a big deal.”

He hesitated, then whispered almost nervously:

“Can we still be friends?”

You grinned, reaching out your pinky toward him.

“Of course! Age doesn’t matter for friends.”

He looked at your hand like it was magic, then linked his little finger with yours.

That was all he needed.

“Then… you’re my noona,” he said shyly.

You nodded.

“Okay. I’ll be your noona then.”

And from that day on, you were.

He started waiting for you to come on the next day. Everyday.

Every afternoon became a game of hide-and-seek. Your laughter echoed through the park. You never asked about the bruises. He never offered. You played with him, listened to his stories about school, helped him build paper boats, and taught him how to fold cranes.

Little Changmin smiled more when he was with you. He held your hand like it was the only thing grounding him to this world.

Then one day…

“Noona,” he tugged on your sleeve. “Wanna come to my house?”

You hesitated.

“Is that okay?”

“We have a big piano! I’ll show you. It’s really pretty. You’ll like it.”

You said yes.

How could you not? He looked so excited.

But he never told his family.

The mansion was cold. Not from temperature, but from the way it made you feel small, uninvited.

A tall, elegant woman in heels met you at the door. His mother.

She was beautiful in the way porcelain dolls are. Cold, sharp, hollow behind the eyes. She looked you up and down. Her eyes flicked over your thrifted uniform, your worn shoes, your simple bag.

“And who is this?” she asked coldly.

Little Changmin hesitated. “My friend—”

“You brought a girl like this into our home?” she snapped. “How many times do I have to tell you not to bring stray cats into the house? We don’t keep poor things like her around, Changmin.”

You froze. The words hit you like slaps.

Changmin had only bowed his head.

You left quickly after that, muttering a shaky apology even though you’d done nothing wrong.

And…

That night, the woman never woke up.

You never saw her again.

The news was everywhere at the time. Changmin’s family was well-known around here, and you hadn’t even realized it. His mother had passed away—just a day after you met her.

You heard whispers weeks later. An “accident,” they said. “Tragic.” “Unfortunate.”

You never knew what truly happened.

Until years later—

When Changmin, now taller and sharper and infinitely harder to read, stared at you during his sessions. He is one of your patients now.

“She called you poor,” he said, talking about his late mother.

You nodded slowly. “I remember.”

“I hated her for that,” he said. His voice was calm. Too calm. “So I made sure she couldn’t say it again.”

You hadn’t breathed for ten seconds straight.

That was the day you stopped seeing him as just a troubled friend. And started seeing the monster that loved you.

He still has that lollipop wrapper.

He still remembers your touch, your voice, the bandage.

And now… you’re his psychiatrist. His secret keeper. The only one who ever showed him what love felt like.

Of course he’d never let you go.

***

His room in the estate was quiet. Too quiet. Curtains drawn. Dustless shelves. Every corner felt deliberately curated. A room made to look lived in… but it never felt like anyone actually did.

It was your first time seeing him again after so many years. And somehow, the silence felt heavier because of it.

You sat across from him, your notebook open, pen poised but unmoving.

Changmin leaned back on the velvet couch like it was a throne. Oversized sweater. Hair effortlessly styled. Legs stretched out in quiet defiance. That same eerie, unreadable smile on his lips.

“You look tired, noona,” he said lightly, tilting his head. “Or is it just awkward seeing me again after so long?”

You glanced at him.

“It’s… not awkward,” you said. “Just strange. You’ve grown.”

“Did you think I’d stay that little boy forever?”

He said it so softly, so calmly, but you felt something sharp beneath the words. He let the silence hang.

“I was sad,” he added suddenly, voice quieter. “When you didn’t come back.”

Your heart twitched.

He wasn’t looking at you anymore. Just at the window, where sunlight bled in like something foreign.

“After my mother died… I thought you would come,” he said. “Everyone around me talked about the funeral. But all I cared about was the park. I waited there for years.”

He looked like he was about to cry but then he smiled wryly. “I thought… maybe you'd forgotten me.”

You stared down at your lap, your fingers tightening slightly.

“I didn’t forget,” you said, just above a whisper.

“Then why did you disappear?”

The words weren’t angry. Just deeply wounded. And maybe that hurt more.

You breathed in slowly. “I was a little girl. I didn’t know how to handle it. The way she looked at me—like I was nothing. And then I heard what happened, and I got scared.”

His gaze finally returned to you, and for a moment, he didn’t look like a patient. He looked like the shadow of the boy you left behind. All grown up, with sharper edges.

“Funny how you’re here now. Not really, though. I made it happen.” Changmin changed the topic.

“What?”

“I hadn’t seen you in so many years,” Changmin said quietly, his voice laced with something fragile. “I kept wondering how you were… if you were okay. I needed to know more. Just knowing your name wasn’t enough anymore.”

He let out a small breath, eyes locked on yours.

“So I asked my father’s manager to find your information.”

His smile was soft, sweet even, with those damn dimples that made everything feel like less of a warning.

“When he pulled up your file and told me you were a psychiatrist now—even if you were still new—I knew it was perfect.”

He paused, watching your expression like he was reading every flicker.

“My old psychiatrist… well, she’s gone now.” A beat. “She died, they said.”

There was something off in the way he spoke. Too calm, too rehearsed.

Still, you kept listening, documenting it in your notes with steady hands.

Then Changmin leaned back, gaze never leaving yours, watching too closely, like he was waiting for you to figure something out.

“So when my father started searching for someone new, I told him exactly who to hire. And just like that…” He tilted his head. “You walked back into my life.”

You blinked.

“I insisted. I told him I’d make things… difficult if he didn’t get you to be my personal psychiatrist.”

“You chose me…?”

“I wanted you,” he corrected gently. “Only you. Even if you were still new. Still unproven. Still afraid. Because noona…” His voice dropped an octave. A whisper brushing skin. “You’re the only one who ever saw me and didn’t look away. You didn’t ask why I was crying. You didn’t flinch at the bruises. You gave me your lollipop like it was nothing. You treated me like I mattered.”

A breath snagged in your throat.

“Anyone else… they look at me like I’m broken. But you?” He let out a small scoff. “…You looked at me like I was just a boy.”

He smiled again. Slow. Soft. But his eyes… they burned.

“That’s why it had to be you. It was always going to be you.”

You swallowed hard, pen resting still in your hand.

“But… I’m not just someone from your past, Changmin. I’m your doctor now. This is a professional relationship.”

“Mmm,” he hummed. “But that’s not how I see it.”

“Changmin—”

“I see a promise.”

You paused.

“A what?”

He leaned forward. His voice was like silk over glass.

“That day at the park. When you gave me that bandage, that lollipop… when you let me call you noona. You made a promise you didn’t even realize.”

You opened your mouth. But no words came.

“You’re here now,” he said. “You came back. That means you’re keeping it.”

He leaned even closer.

“Don’t break your promise, noona.”

His voice was still sweet. But his eyes?

They said something far, far more dangerous.

***

Present Day

The air in your office at the psychiatric hospital was always a little too cold, even with the sun spilling weakly through the blinds. Still, you found comfort in its sterility, file drawers lined up neatly, clinical white walls, and the familiar scent of tea mingled with hand sanitizer.

Here, you had control. Here, your patients came when scheduled, and your boundaries stayed intact.

Until now.

The knock on your door came soft. Three polite taps.

You didn’t look up.

“Come in.”

You expected a nurse. Or maybe a new intake form.

What you didn’t expect was him.

Ji Changmin stepped into your office with the same casual ease as if he were walking into his own room. He was dressed in soft neutrals, sleeves pushed up, and that infuriating smile on his lips—like this was all perfectly normal.

You stood up immediately, tension climbing your spine.

“Changmin? What are you doing here?”

“I missed you,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You didn’t answer my texts this morning.”

You blinked.

“I’m a bit busy in the morning. You know that.”

He stepped closer, eyes scanning the room with curious eyes, as if taking mental inventory of your life outside his estate.

“I don’t like that I only get to see you twice a week,” he said, too calmly. “You always leave so fast.”

“Changmin,” your voice dropped an octave. “You are not allowed to show up here without prior permission. This is a boundary—”

“I didn’t come to make a scene,” he interrupted softly, tilting his head. “I just wanted to see you.”

There was no anger in his voice. No raised tone. Just that unnerving, bright-eyed honesty.

Like a child holding a knife and wondering why everyone was so upset.

You took a slow breath, reminding yourself he was still your patient.

“I don’t recall giving you permission to visit me here,” you said gently.

“But this isn’t a session,” he said, smiling wider. “I’m not your patient right now. I’m just someone who missed you.”

You clenched your jaw subtly.

“That’s not how this works.”

“I know,” he said, voice nearly a whisper. “But you’re here. And I just wanted to see you in your space.” His voice laced with something possessive. Protective. Dangerous. “You look more tired when you’re not at the mansion. Are they making you work too hard here?”

“Changmin—” You paused. Collected yourself. “You need to go back home now.”

He stared at you for a moment too long. His expression unreadable.

Then, to your surprise…

He nodded.

“Okay, noona,” he said sweetly. “But I’ll see you again soon, right?”

You didn’t answer. Just waited.

He stepped out without another word, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

***

It was the very next morning. Your coffee had barely cooled. Notes scattered across your desk, focus struggling to land.

You were reviewing a patient file when it happened.

A knock.

Soft. Deliberate. Just past 11:00 a.m.

Your blood turned cold before you even looked up.

He stepped in.

Ji Changmin.

Again.

“Changmin?” Your voice was sharper this time, your chair scraping back as you stood. “I said not to come here without notice,” you said firmly, keeping your voice low in case anyone passed the hallway. “This isn’t appropriate.”

He just smiled.

“But I missed you.”

His tone was too bright. Too soft. Like he wasn’t already breaking every rule by being here. Again.

“We have a session tomorrow,” you said tightly. “You know that. You agreed to the schedule.”

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing just slightly.

“So I only exist to you on Tuesdays and Fridays?”

Before you could answer, another knock tapped on your half-closed office door.

Your heart jumped into your throat.

Dr. Yoon.

Your colleague. A seasoned psychiatrist. And far too observant.

She stepped in halfway, eyes flicking between you and the young man sitting far too comfortably across from your desk.

“Oh. Sorry,” she said with a blink. “I didn’t realize you had someone—”

Your pulse skipped. Panic flickered in your chest. You couldn’t breathe.

So you spoke quickly.

“Ah—this is my little cousin,” you said, voice light, casual, fake. “He was just dropping something off for me.”

You lied. You had to. You hated how natural it sounded.

Changmin’s family made you his personal psychiatrist with a strict condition:

They didn’t want his case to be known. Changmin’s father owned a wildly successful business empire, and any news about his son’s mental illness could ruin the family image. It was written into your contract. Silence. Discretion. Obedience.

Dr. Yoon’s brows lifted, then settled politely.

“Oh! Well, nice to meet you,” she said, smiling briefly at Changmin before stepping back. “I’ll come by later.”

“Thank you,” you murmured.

Changmin said nothing. He didn’t even smile.

The door clicked shut again.

And then the silence turned heavy.

You didn’t even get to take a breath before you heard it:

“Cousin?” His voice was low. Dangerous. “Is that what I am to you?” A pause. “A little cousin?”

There was no sarcasm. No sneer.

Just hurt. But buried beneath it. Something darker. The kind of pain that doesn’t cry. The kind that waits.

Your stomach dropped.

You turned to face him, slowly.

“I had to say something,” you said gently. “I can’t expose your condition. It’s confidential—your family made it very clear—”

“I’m not ashamed of being yours,” he cut in.

His voice rose, still soft, but sharper. “But you… you act like you are.”

There was no panic in his eyes.

Only betrayal.

You stepped forward, trying to reach him.

“I’m not ashamed of you, Changmin.”

He looked at you—really looked at you—with wild, desperate eyes that no longer belonged to the quiet boy in the park.

“Then why hide me?”

“Your father—"

“You know what hurts more than anything?” he said quietly. “You were the only person who ever saw me for what I was… and didn’t run away.”

His voice trembled slightly, not from fear, but from fury masked as heartbreak.

“I’m not your little cousin, noona. Don’t ever call me that again…”

You felt the threat beneath it, not in his tone, but in the stillness. Like he was adding this moment to a list you didn’t know he was keeping.

He was already at the door again when he said, softer this time:

“If I were anyone else, would you have smiled when you said it?”

The door shut.

And the silence that followed was deafening.

***

The door to Changmin’s room in the Ji family’s mansion creaked open slowly, and you stepped inside with your medical bag hugged to your chest.

He didn’t look at you.

Changmin sat on the edge of his massive bed, hoodie tossed aside, black t-shirt wrinkled from either sleep or frustration. Head tilted down. Eyes locked on the floor. The large window behind him bathed him in warm, late afternoon light—but there was nothing warm about the energy in his room.

“Hey…” you said softly, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s me.”

Still no reply.

You stepped closer.

“Changmin, I’m here to do your check-up.”

“Did you bring your little cousin today?” he muttered, voice flat, his gaze locked somewhere else.

Your heart sank.

You placed your bag gently on the nearby table and walked toward him slowly.

“No,” you murmured. “Just me.”

Silence.

You sat beside him on his bed. He still didn’t meet your gaze. Jaw tense, lips tight.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “I shouldn’t have called you that yesterday. I panicked… and I didn’t want anyone to know about your sessions. I was trying to protect you.”

“You didn’t protect me,” he replied coldly. “You erased me.”

You looked at him—really looked at him.

And suddenly, you didn’t see the man in front of you anymore. You saw the little boy again.

The boy who cried at the park, small bruises on his arms, holding your lollipop like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

You reached and brushing his bangs back with gentle fingers.

He turned his head to you, eyes finally met yours. Burning, resentful, but wet.

“Changmin…” you murmured. “Do you remember the first time we met?”

He blinked.

His lower lip trembled slightly.

“You gave me a lollipop,” he whispered. “And you said sweet things make you forget sad things.”

You smiled softly, heart tightening.

“I did,” you said, voice gentle. “You looked like you really needed one that day.”

His breath hitched.

“It worked, noona.” He smiled. “… but only because it came from you.”

Your lips curved gently. “You were just a little boy who needed a friend,” you said. “And I was happy to be that for you.”

His eyes met yours again—almost pleading.

“You still are,” he whispered. “Right?”

You reached into your coat pocket and pulled out a small, pink-wrapped lollipop. The same brand you gave him back then.

He stared.

“Just like before,” you said softly, offering a faint smile. “Only now… I’m not just a little girl who stumbled upon a crying kid. I’m someone who’s staying.”

You placed the lollipop in his palm. His fingers closed around it like it was something sacred.

“Even if you’re mad at me,” you added gently, “I’ll still come back later, to see you.”

Changmin stared at the candy for a long moment. Then finally looked up, his expression cracking.

A sharp breath escaped him.

Suddenly—

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against your shoulder.

You froze. His hands clutched your waist tightly.

“…I hate it when you talk like you’re going to leave someday,” he whispered. “Please don’t lie like that again.”

You slowly rested your hand on the back of his head.

“I won’t,” you said. “I promise.”

But deep inside, something twisted in your chest.

Because the more you reassured him…

…the more he refused to ever let you go.

***

The next Tuesday, you returned to the Ji family’s estate.

Quiet as always, the hallway leading to his wing was immaculately clean, cold in a way no warmth could truly penetrate. You always arrived around the same time for his sessions.

But this time, he was already waiting.

The grand double doors to his room stood open.

And there he was—Changmin—barefoot on the marble floor, pacing slowly in the foyer outside his room.

You blinked.

“Changmin?”

His hoodie was half-zipped, hair tousled like he hadn’t slept a second. He looked up the moment he heard your voice.

And then, without warning—

He ran to you.

“Chang—”

You didn’t get the rest out.

He threw his arms around you.

Tightly.

So tightly you stumbled back a step, caught completely off guard. His face buried into your neck, chest heaving like he’d been holding something in for far too long.

Then soft. Broken.

“...Noona…”

The sound was raw. Shaky. Nothing like his usual sweet tone. You felt the heat of his tears on your skin. His fingers gripped the back of your coat like he was trying to fuse you to him.

You stood frozen for half a second—then instinct kicked in. You placed both hands gently on his back, steadying him.

“Changmin… hey. What happened? Did something upset you?”

His breath trembled against your neck.

“You didn’t answer my text last night,” he whispered.

Your stomach dropped.

“And this morning, too…” he went on, voice cracking, “I thought maybe… maybe you wouldn’t come today.”

A sharp inhale. Your heart twisted.

“I thought maybe you finally decided you didn’t want to see me anymore.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment. Instead, you guided him back into his room, one hand on his arm, the other brushing gently down his sleeve as you coaxed him in.

He followed silently, like a child afraid of losing sight of their parent. He sank onto the edge of the bed, eyes red and glassy, but glued to your face.

“Don’t do that again, okay?” he whispered. “If you need space, I’ll try to understand. But don’t disappear. Please.”

“I didn’t disappear, Changmin,” you said softly. “I would never do that to you.”

Changmin blinked hard, lips trembling again, but no more tears fell.

His gaze dropped to your lap.

“Can I… hold your hand?” he asked.

His voice was small. Like he was ashamed to even want it. Like the request itself made him vulnerable.

You hesitated for only a second—then nodded.

“Okay.”

He reached out carefully, as if you were made of porcelain. His hand, cool and trembling, found yours and wrapped around it with reverent slowness.

The moment your skin touched, he exhaled. A long, fragile breath.

Like touching you steadied him. Like you were the thread keeping him stitched together.

“I miss you,” he murmured, his thumb brushing soft, delicate circles into your skin. “Even when you’re with me, I miss you the second you look away.”

You didn’t interrupt him.

You let him say it.

“Do you ever think about spending time with me outside this room?” he asked suddenly, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Not as a doctor. Not because you have to. Just because you want to.”

Your heart squeezed.

You swallowed.

“That’s… complicated.”

He nodded, like he already knew that would be your answer.

But what he said next wasn’t playful. Wasn’t coaxing.

It was devastatingly honest.

“I don’t think I know how to get better,” he whispered, “if you’re not in my life outside this room.”

Your hand stayed in his.

For one terrifying moment, you couldn’t tell who was clinging harder

***

You’d been sitting there in silence for minutes.

His hand still in yours. Your mind? A storm.

You had always been good at compartmentalizing your emotions—until it came to Ji Changmin.

The boy who once clung to your pinky like it could anchor him to the world. Now a man who clung to your presence like it was the only thing keeping him sane.

You breathed in slowly. Out even slower.

“…Alright,” you said softly, brushing your thumb against the back of his hand. “Let’s go out. Just for a little while.”

His head snapped up, eyes wide, almost frightened to hope.

“You mean it?” he breathed.

You nodded once.

“Just somewhere quiet. I know a café near the hospital that has a private upstairs booth. If your family agrees and sends someone to drive us, we can go. Thirty minutes.”

Changmin didn’t say anything. He just surged forward—arms around your waist again, this time tighter. Desperate.

His face buried into your neck like it was the only place in the world he could breathe.

“Thank you, noona,” he whispered. “Thank you… thank you…”

***

The car ride was quiet. Surprisingly so.

Changmin sat beside you in the backseat, head resting against the window. His hand never left yours—reaching across the leather seat, fingers woven tightly with yours as if letting go meant you’d vanish.

You tried to focus on the passing streets. Tried not to think about how he occasionally turned to glance at you. Like he needed to confirm you were still real.

***

A familiar barista noticed you instantly and led you upstairs to the private booth, a quiet haven of low lighting, soft music, and high walls that shut out the world beyond.

Changmin immediately slid into the seat beside you, not across.

“You know,” he said, sipping his drink slowly, his eyes fixed on your lips, “this almost feels like a date.”

You shot him a look.

“Changmin…”

“I’m just saying.” He smiled, but there was something behind it, something trembling. “I don’t get to sit next to you like this during sessions.”

“Because sessions aren’t dates.”

“…But they’re the only time I get to see you.”

You sighed, fingers curling around your coffee.

“This outing doesn’t change our dynamic. It’s still professional—”

“Then why does it feel so different?” he asked softly. “Why does it feel like I’m not your patient right now?”

The words hung heavy between you.

He shifted, just slightly. His knee brushed yours under the table.

Then his face tilted toward yours. Not too close. But close enough for the air to feel different. Denser.

A strange tension settled like mist. An invisible thread pulled taut between you.

“I remember when I was younger,” he whispered. “When I cried and you gave me candy… you held my face the same way earlier. Like I was something precious.”

Your hand froze on your cup.

“Changmin…”

He leaned in.

His forehead gently touched yours.

Just that.

But you could feel how fast his heart was beating. Like it wanted to leap out of his chest—into yours. To merge, somehow.

“I want to be the only person who gets this version of you,” he murmured. “The soft one. The gentle one who makes even monsters feel human.”

You should’ve pulled back.

You should’ve.

But you didn’t.

“…You’re not a monster,” you whispered. “You’re just broken. And trying.”

His eyes fluttered shut. Like your words had pierced straight through his ribs.

And then—

He pressed his lips gently to your temple.

A kiss.

Not possessive. Not forceful.

Just quietly desperate.

You stayed still.

Because for just one second… you let him believe you were his.

Even if you weren’t sure where the line was anymore.

***

You didn’t speak of the café moment again.

You returned to work like nothing had happened.

Told yourself it was for the best. If he believed you were drawing closer, maybe he’d stay calmer. Less volatile. Less likely to snap.

But Changmin?

He saw it differently.

To him, your silence was not rejection. It was secrecy. Protection. A quiet kind of love you weren’t brave enough to admit yet.

Your return to professionalism?

A coy game.

In his mind, he was already yours.

Already winning.

***

Three days later, he returned to the hospital without an appointment, without warning. He strolled through the front lobby, offering a polite nod to the receptionist who couldn’t have guessed what that smile was hiding.

The nurses looked up from their work, charmed, like always. He moved like he belonged there.

He carried a small paper bag, your favorite pastries from a tiny café you mentioned once during a late session. The attention to detail made your stomach twist.

Inside the bag, tucked neatly beside the wrapped pastries, was a folded handwritten note.

“For Noona, who likes her coffee too sweet and her walls too high. Let me in just a little more? — Yours.”

He didn’t try to hide the possessiveness anymore.

Not even a little.

You smiled—stiffly—and quickly ushered him into your office before anyone else noticed.

“You can’t keep showing up here, Changmin,” you said, accepting the bag but refusing to meet his gaze.

“Why not?” he asked, settling into the chair across from your desk. “You said you liked spending time with me.”

“That was—”

“You let me hold your hand,” he interrupted, dreamily. “You let me kiss you... even just on the temple.”

He leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

“It’s okay, Noona. I get it. You’re being careful because of work. But I’m patient. I already belong to you, anyway.”

Your throat tightened.

You turned your back, pretending to organize files just to keep your hands from shaking.

You caught his reflection in the glass cabinet.

He was watching you.

Still. Unblinking.

“I told my driver,” he added suddenly, like it was nothing, “that you’re off-limits to any man who isn’t me. Just in case.”

“Changmin—”

A knock interrupted you, sharp and ill-timed.

The door creaked open and Dr. Jieun, your coworker, poked her head inside.

“Oh—Dr. (Y/N), sorry to barge in! I just wanted to ask—wait, is this a bad time?”

“No,” you said quickly, stepping forward. “Changmin was just leaving.”

Changmin didn’t move.

He sat still, posture perfectly relaxed, but his eyes followed Jieun like a shadow tracking light. Cold and curious.

“Oh,” Jieun said with interest, lowering her voice as she leaned toward you. “He’s cute. Is he the mysterious boyfriend you’ve been hiding from us?”

“I’m not dating anyone,” you answered too fast.

“Really?” she teased. “You’ve been glowing lately. You need someone. Actually, I was going to introduce you to a friend of mine. He’s not from the hospital, but he’s in tech. Super sweet. The kind of guy who—”

“Dr. Jieun,” you cut in with a forced smile. “Later, okay?”

You practically ushered her out the door.

But the damage was already done.

Changmin had heard everything.

You didn’t even have to look at him.

You felt it. That slow, sharp shift in the atmosphere.

You turned.

He sat motionless. But his smile was gone.

His expression unreadable. Except for the glint behind his eyes.

“You’re not dating anyone,” he said quietly.

“No.”

“But she wants to set you up.”

“It doesn’t matter. I said no.”

He stood slowly.

One deliberate step at a time.

“But would you have said yes…” His voice dipped. “…if I wasn’t here?”

“Changmin.”

“Would you?” he asked again.

This time, you knew. He wasn’t looking for an answer. He was measuring your reaction.

You stared into his eyes.

There was something unhinged just beneath the surface. A wire stretched too tightly, ready to snap.

“No,” you whispered. “I wouldn’t have.”

And that’s when he smiled again.

Too wide. Too proud.

“I knew it, Noona,” he murmured, stepping closer until your bodies nearly touched. “You already belong to me. You just can’t say it yet.”

You gave him a fragile smile.

And played along.

“Right,” you said gently. “Just… keep it between us, okay?”

His grin widened.

He leaned in, breath ghosting your cheek as he whispered:

“Always. Ours. Only ours.”

***

Chap. 2