✧･ﾟ: *skz & nct*:･ﾟ✧

After everyone settles with their devices and questions, Wonwoo takes the initiative to greet and introduce himself to everyone before addressing the matter. He admits to everything while making sure no one dares to cross the boundaries again.

“....Additionally, I want to make this clear, I would not be tolerating any questions intended with slander or malice towards my son and my former partner. To avoid any doubts, I have shared the employment details of Y/N with the external auditing team and the entire hiring process has been audited and cleared by the auditors. I'll put up the details after the conference. There was no foul play, she was hired fairly and totally based on her qualifications”, there's a threat underlining in his tone, “And if I see anyone writing up articles with twisted words or mobbing my son and Y/N anywhere or publishing private details, then please be ready to face lawsuits and by lawsuits, I want to clarify that it would not end with regular visits to courts, it would not end at all certainly.”

The typing on the keyboard stops, the entire hall goes silent. Each and every person present in the room freezes, they are flabbergasted. It's new, this version of Jeon Wonwoo, the man who has never exercised his influence, never at once been anything but polite is now openly challenging the press.

“We can now proceed with questions.”, he continues as he sweeps a glance at all the cameras, staring at the main one through which the livestream is being broadcasted, “I'd once again like to remind everyone to be careful with the words. This is to make sure that no one later gets to say that they haven't been warned.”, his lips now stretch with a tight smile.

The questions drop significantly in numbers, though the journalists edge the boundary trying to test the waters, Wonwoo totally shuts them off. He just stands, answers the one which he deems appropriate and tells off the rest.

After the press, he goes directly to the company building because the shareholders have called for a meeting. A lot of questions are thrown at him, he's put at the pedestal while everyone gets at his throat.

He handles them for the day.

Next, he's driving to his parents home. He is greeted with a slap across his face by his father, his mother keeps crying and throwing tantrums.

And he lets them let it out as he waits like a good son like he always has been. Once they get to a state of listening, he explains everything, earnestly and honestly.

For the first time, he speaks about his struggle, the love he left behind to be the heir of Jeons' and how difficult and suffocating his life has been since then.

But he realises that his attempt to confide in his parents is fruitless when they ignore everything he had just said and start badmouthing about you.

“No one gets to talk bad about Y/N and Jae and if it takes to move mountains to protect them”, his icy glare locks on his parents, “I will move the mountains.”

Then he leaves, without looking back.

You have just put Wonjae to bed. It has been a long day with everything going on. When you and your son topped the trending searches the previous night as soon as your details were published online, you were scared, more for your son.

Wonwoo had left your home late at night with a simple request to you.

“You don't have to worry about anything, I promise I'll handle it all. I'll keep both of you safe. Just don't leave the house tomorrow.”

You've seen the press conference, you are aware that he has been to the office and you know he's out there fighting off the world, all alone.

And you hope that he comes home tonight.

Wonwoo stands outside the door. It's late and he's contemplating if he should go inside or just leave. He's tired, physically and emotionally but he just wants to see your face.

Suddenly the door opens, leaving him shocked. You stand at the threshold as if waiting for him.

You see through him, all of him and your heart twinges in ache.

“I'm sorry, I know it's late.”, Wonwoo says feebly when you take his hand and lead him inside.

“I was waiting for you.”, comes your honest reply.

He goes straight into Wonjae's room, kisses his forehead and comes out. He lingers for a bit, quiet on the surface but his mind runs miles.

“I should probably head back now”, Wonwoo says, giving you a small smile, “You can go back to the office tomorrow, I hope there won't be any issues. Let me know if anyone makes you uncomfortable.”

You take a step closer to him, searching for his eyes. And your heart breaks to see the tear stains on his cheeks but you don't pry.

“Did you eat, at all?”

He purses his lips for a moment before shaking his head, “I'll have something on my way back.”

You take both his hands into yours and say, “Stay, please.”

Wonwoo goes stiff, he's not sure if he's hearing you correct.

“Are you sure?”, he asks, “I don't want to be a bother–”

“The only thing that's bothering me is how you think you're alone in this.”

You both sit in silence as you watch him eat.

“I have had Mr. Jung send over some of your clothes.”

And it's quite as well now that he lays in your arms. You stroke his hair gently as he snuggles his face into your neck.

“Stop thinking and try to sleep.”, you tell him, your tone warm, “You had a long day today.”

Wonwoo just hums, pulling you closer. For him, this is what he wants, you are all he wants.

He looks up to see your face and smiles.

“What?”, you ask, squinting your eyes.

“You are beautiful.”

Your heart skips a beat. It brings back old memories, the way he's with you in the moment.

“That’s a huge confidence boost since it's coming from the most eligible bachelor of the nation.”, you tease him, “Everyone wants you, Wonwoo.”

“Not anymore, now I'm a man with a child.”, Wonwoo chuckles, “And I made it very clear that I'm very much indulgent towards the mother of my child.”

You ponder over for a moment before saying, “Today at the press conference, you've been referring to me as your former partner when you could have just called me as the mother of your child. It would have meant less significance.”

“That's what, I wanted to make it clear that you were not just a fling, not a one night stand. That we had something much more deeper than that, that we were lovers, that you were my significant other.”

You stare at him, trying to register his words. Wonwoo stares at you, leaning in closer. You are in a daze, in your head he registers as your college lover, not some CEO, not the father of your child. He's just your lover, your soulmate.

Wonwoo notices your dazed vision, the way your hands are gripping softly on his forearms. Tonight you've been different, you've let him in more than you usually do. He gets that tonight you're as vulnerable as he is.

So he hovers over your face just to press a soft kiss on your forehead. You close your eyes, feeling his lips lingering on your cheeks as he presses kisses on them.

“Good night, Y/N.”, you hear him say and open your eyes to find him looking at you fondly.

“It's gonna be crazy at work tomorrow.”, you whisper, as you pull down his face on your chest with him tangling himself entirely around your body.

“It won't be that bad, I promise.”, Wonwoo assures you and hums softly to bring you to sleep.

You take a deep breath as you park your car in the designated parking slot. Your steps are casual but your heart is thumping vigorously in your chest as you walk through the building.

You could feel eyes on you but surprisingly there are no whispers or murmurs. Once you settle in your cabin, you sigh in relief.

Work is slow today and it's lunchtime. You don't expect your friends group to actually stay friends with you, everyone would just be acquaintances, you think.

So when you walk into the canteen, you're stunned to find Sooji and Sunjae calling out your name. Yoongi is present as well as, all waiting for you while saving you a seat.

No questions are asked and you fall back into conversations like nothing happened.

“It must have been so difficult for you, Y/N.”, Sooji says, caressing your back, “I'm so proud of you.”

“We understand now why you were trying so hard to hide your son, it was to protect him.”, Sunjae adds, “You always have us, you're not alone in this.”

You sniffle, “Guys, you are gonna make me cry.”

“You're already crying.”, Yoongi chirps in, “Oh but we can't have you seeing what if Mr. CEO sees us making her cry?”

Sooji laughs, “Y/N must not be knowing about the mail.”

“What mail?”

Sunjae takes out his phone and shows an email from the day before, apparently it was sent to everyone in the company.

Your eyes go round as saucers. To sum up it was clearly stated that if anyone is found gossiping about the matter or made any provoking attempts, they'd face immediate termination. It was sent directly from Wonwoo's account.

No wonder, people weren't being openly nosy.

“This guy…”, you mutter under your breath.

There's a perk, you suppress your laugh when the obnoxious Mr. Joo doesn't act so obnoxious today. He seems timid, extra careful with his words. His entire demeanor towards you has changed and you're liking it.

It's 9 at night when you get ready to clock out for the day. There's a knock on your cabin door and you groan assuming that more work is coming your way.

“Come in.”, you say, waiting for the laptop to shut down.

“Are you done with work?”

It's Wonwoo and your first instinct is to pull him inside looking outside to make sure no one sees the two of you.

When you turn to face him, he's trying hard to not laugh.

“Everyone knows now, Y/N. There's no need to hide anymore.”

It clicks and you frown. Then you're sighing, “Right, I forgot. But here, you're still my boss so let's maintain the decorum.”

Wonwoo observes quietly as you pace around the cabin absentmindedly.

He grabs your shoulders to still you, “Is something bothering you?”

There's a lot you want to say. The fund embezzlement going in the company, has your head jammed and the more you dig into it, the more you're scared to unveil the truth.

You look up at Wonwoo and ask him, “Do you trust me?”

“More than myself.”, he answers immediately, “What happened, Y/N?”

You shake your head, “Give me sometime, I'll let you know everything.”

Wonwoo, though worried, nods, “Let's go home, Jae must be waiting for us.”

“Hmm. You can leave first, I'll just sort some of the files and leave.”

“Nope. We're leaving together, ma'am.”, Wonwoo exerts, “I'll drive us home.”

You squint eyes at him, “Aren't you being a bit forward?”

“And what if I am?”

“Wonwoo–”

“It’s already late, let's leave. Please?”

After home, you greet your son and go straight to wash up while Wonwoo sits with him, listening to him carefully narrating his whole day.

“Papa, are you and Mama friends now?”, Wonjae asks his father.

“We are not there yet.”, Wonwoo answers honestly, “I have hurt Mama a lot in the past so it'll take a lot of time and consideration for her to forgive me and be friends with me. But I'm trying.”

Wonjae suddenly hops onto his lap, hugging him. His tiny hands caress his father's back, “I hope Mama will forgive you, I want us to live together and be a happy family like my friends say they have.”

You go stiff stepping out of the bathroom, as your son's voice reaches you. You don't know yet if you'll be ever ready to let Wonwoo again. You do trust him to be a good father but to have as a partner, you're not sure about that.

“I think you should give Mr. Jeon heads up.”, Jihoon suggests, “Because the way it's proceeding it's gonna hit him like a freight train.”

“I agree, your and Wonjae's details were made public to stir commotion and turn the notion against Mr. Jeon, just because they know we're digging up this matter.”, Yoongi adds, “I'm trying to find more concrete evidence but what worries me is that I'm sure they'll strike again and we don't know with what.”

You sit silent, absorbing every word both the men offer. It's been over two months and there's a sickening feeling in your guts saying things are about to shake up and for worse.

“I should talk to Wonwoo right?”, you look up with hesitancy, “Are you both sure? I'm not sure how he'll react, given we don't even have a definite proof.”

“Mr. Jeon trusts you, Y/N. We all saw how he went up square with literally everyone to protect you and Wonjae.”, Jihoon assures, “It would be hard for him but he deserves to know the truth before it destroys everything.”

You nod, unsure, “I'll try to talk to him soon.”, and give a small smile, “Wish me luck guys.”

“Goodluck.”, Yoongi says, “Don’t stress much about it. I'm positive we'll get something soon. Jimin is also working on it.”

That night your attempt to have a talk with Wonwoo fails when Jeonghan decides to drop by before leaving for an overseas schedule. Mina too gets invited and Jeonghan makes Wonwoo rent an entire arcade so everyone could have some fun.

You sit on the sofa, quietly watching as Jeonghan tries to teach Wonjae bowling. Your gaze shifts to the right only to find Mina occupying a dancing machine struggling to get the steps in beats.

You are startled when you feel something cold against your cheek. It's Wonwoo smiling cheekily, pressing the ice cream stick.

“Mina definitely needs some lessons.”, he jokes, as he sits beside you.

“Why don't you teach her?”, you snide, trying to tear the cover but failing. Wonwoo takes it, swiftly tearing it, holding the ice cream stick to your mouth as if the habit stayed. It jogs up the old, good memories.

You clear your throat, “T-Thanks.”, you say, taking the stick from his hand.

You both sit in silence, when Wonwoo takes the chance to entwine his fingers with yours. And you let him.

“Your mind is occupied.”

You look up to him, not choosing to speak. And when he meets your gaze, you rest your head on his shoulder instead.

“Look at Jae”, your finger points out towards your son, smiling, “Doesn't this feel like a Deja Vu? I remember Jeonghan teaching you bowling and now he's teaching our son.”

Wonwoo just nods, his eyes glassy as nostalgia hits him. His heart aches again remembering the university days, crushes at the thought of your lonely battle after he left and crumbles for the time lost not knowing about his own son.

Later, when Wonjae requests you take him to the photobooth, you lead him in unsuspectingly. As soon as you step in, the little guy runs out pushing his father in, pulling the curtains.

“I should really stop Jae from being anywhere near Jeonghan. He's making him a mini copy of his.”, you grimace.

“I like it though.”, Wonwoo admits and you glare when he ushers you towards the spot to take the pictures.

He holds the button and watches you fondly as you fuss about not knowing how to pose.

“Let's just stand and smile for the first one.”, you suggest and he agrees standing close to you, shoulders touching as he bends a bit.

He presses the button, the picture gets taken. Now he leans in, your heads touching for the next one.

“What should we do for the last one?”

“I think I know.”

Wonwoo suddenly grabs your waist, pulling you against him and before you could react, he's taking off his glass and sliding his other hand up to your neck, smashing his lips against yours in a breathless kiss.

You try to push him but he doesn't budge, rather he deepens the kiss making your legs weak and lungs give out. Your mind is too clouded to register the soft clicks of the button being pressed constantly.

He licks your lips, before resting his forehead on yours. You catch breaths when he pulls away and walks to the collection counter and comes back with 7 sets of photo strips.

“Came out nice.”, he smirks showing you the strips and your eyes go wide seeing all of them being about you two kissing.

You're left speechless and resort to giving him a glare and are about to walk out of the booth but Wonwoo grabs your hand, spinning you to pin against the wall.

“Jeon Wonwoo, what the hell are you doing?”

“Oh no the full name? After I gave you that mind blowing kiss? I expected something else, something more.”, he leans in close, teasing and nudging your nose with his, loving the shades of pink and red creeping on your neck and cheeks.

You groan, avoiding eye contact, “Let go! Anyone could walk in. What if Jae sees–”

He shuts you up mid-rant pressing another kiss, softer this time before letting go of your hands.

You almost run out, fixing your hair and wiping your lips. Wonwoo follows behind, wearing his glasses back and shoving the photo strips in his inner coat pocket.

Jeonghan is impressed, Mina is totally unimpressed at the vividly evident exchange that might have happened inside the booth. And your son, he innocently asks to show the pictures you both had taken.

“Should I show him?”, Wonwoo whispers in your ear.

You throw him a glare, “Have you gone crazy?”

“For you, maybe I am.”

“Shut up.”

Wonwoo is the designated driver for the night and after dropping off everyone else, he drives to your house.

“Goodnight Papa.”, Wonjae kisses his cheek when he lifts him up in his arms and carries him to the door.

“Goodnight. I'll see you tomorrow again.”, he says, putting him down as you unlock the door. Wonjae nods and goes inside waving him goodbye.

“And I'll see you tomorrow, hmm?”, he asks, his low tone, insinuating that he can't wait to see you again.

“I don't have a choice Mr. Jeon, do I? We have a meeting in the morning.”, you use your professional tone just to irk him.

And it works, you observe how his jaw clenches for a moment before he gives you a pointed look, “Careful there, I have been holding back after I got a taste of you. You wouldn't want me to lose control now, would you?”

You are running inside immediately, leaving him behind laughing.

You knew this day would come sooner or later but nothing could have prepared you for it.

Wonwoo's parents sit in front of you, their expressions are anything but welcoming or warm.

And they say exactly what you already know they'd be saying.

“Leave our son, stop using this child to pull him into a relationship.”

They keep berating, you keep listening. You're head-stead, the words are pouring but you're actually paying no mind. It's just a formality, your presence here because no matter what they are Wonwoo's parents and you just wanted to make sure this is a one time thing, that you won't be meeting that ever again if they choose to be jerks about the situation.

And the moment they bring up Wonjae to say something vile about him, you're on your feet ready to leave but not before knocking some senses into them.

“Instead of crying out loud here in front of someone you barely know, setting up a meeting behind your son's back like cowards, why don't you talk to your son? Oh maybe you did and he didn't listen because neither did you both listen to him even when he was speaking his heart for years.”

You heave a deep breath, your heart thawing in an odd satisfaction seeing their faces crumbled into shock. You decide to leave, not wanting to waste another second.

“Do you really think he loves you? If so then why didn't he look for you all these years?”

Your halt hearing those words.

“Didn't you join this company only to have his attention, to make him know about the child?”

Your heart plummets.

“You know he could do a lot better than being with a woman like you. Did he ever tell you Jenna? I bet he didn't. You're ruining everyone's lives here.”

Your ear rings at the mention of the name. Of course you know Jenna, everyone knows Jenna. But you don't go any further and head out straight. Their words haunt you for days.

One evening, Jeonghan is stunned to see you waiting outside his villa. 

He moves around quietly as he welcomes you into his place. He notices the tiredness your eyes hold.

“I’m sorry for showing up unannounced.”, you say as soon as you enter, “I just need to know something.”

Jeonghan offers you juice and sits across from you, listening patiently.

“Was there something going on between Wonwoo and Jenna Choi?”

Jeonghan's eyes widen for a moment and he masks it.

“Only the truth, Han.”

He sighs, “Jenna liked Wonwoo, a lot.”, he threads his words carefully, “So she sent a marriage proposal to the Jeons and of course Wonwoo's parents accepted immediately. She is an heiress and the marriage would be profitable for both the companies.”

“What about Wonwoo?”,you feel dread when you ask the questions, “When was this? What happened next?”

“Wonwoo had no say.”

“He didn't deny.”, you note to yourself and Jeonghan sighs again.

“And this was fairly recent, 2-3 months prior to when he came to know about you.”, Jeonghan bites his tongue, “The talks of marriage were in progress but nothing was made public mostly because Wonwoo didn't say anything. Nothing, not a word, as if he never heard of it, as if he wasn't aware at all.”

Jeonghan looks at you, his gaze dropping next moment, “The marriage is not happening anymore since he found you again. But Y/N, even if it weren't for you, the marriage wouldn't have happened, Wonwoo–”

“Thanks Han”, you said getting up, “I got to know everything I needed to know. Please don't tell Wonwo about today, I'll talk to him soon.”, a pause, “Promise.”

Jeonghan’s eyes drift back to your defeated expression and he raises alarmingly, “Y/N, Wonwoo loves you, please never doubt that. And the marriage? He'd have called it off sooner or later.”

You just give him a small smile before leaving.

The meeting went longer than the stipulated time. You enter one of the bathroom stalls and take out your phone to check for the messages when your ears perk up the mention of your name.

“Don't you think Mr. Jeon would be only with Y/N because they have a child?”, someone says from the other side of the door.

You go stiff.

“Do you mean he's going up for a compromise?”, you hear another voice ask.

“Exactly. Otherwise how does it make sense? Mr. Jeon would have definitely married someone of same status to expand the business, but rather he got stuck like a woman like Y/N.”

A woman like you? What does it mean? What kind of woman do they perceive you to be? 

“Maybe she's the one who ousted herself to make everyone aware of their past relationship. Otherwise why would she join here?”

Oh you know now, that's what they think about you. That's the image, a cunning woman using her son to force a chaebol into an unwanted relationship.

Your appetite is long gone and for the rest of the day you're cooped up in your cabin. But no matter how much you try to divert your mind, to indulge yourself into work, those words keep coming back and it makes you feel sick to the core.

It's a long day, you conclude as soon as you hear Jihoon’s words.

“What do you mean by that?”, you are flaring, “Why can't you process my resignation, Jihoon? Are you even the head of HR?”

Jihoon sighs, he takes deep breaths before answering you, “I can process everyone’s resignation except for the executives and above–”

“I'm neither of them.”, you shot back instantly.

“How is it possible? Isn't this against the protocol?”, you ask defeated.

“And you. If you let me finish.”, he says rubbing his temples, “Mr. Jeon has your employment details courted under him, that means he's the final approver if you put the papers. It has to go through him. I don't even have access to your employment details.”

“He is the protocol, Y/N. He makes rules and exceptions. We can't question him and those who can, either they are unaware or aren't bothered enough with this.”

You settle into your cabin again with another lost battle.

There's only one time you step out of your cabin that is to find your hair tie. It's your favourite, the one Wonjae had bought for you with the prize money he got for winning a quiz competition.

Your mind traces back your footprints and you start searching within the washroom, the department desks and even call your friends to check if they had it with them in case you had accidentally left it with them.

You go to the main cafeteria, though you hadn't visited there today. 

“Still searching?”, Sooji asks when she comes and finds you looking through the chairs and tables. 

“I can't lose it, Sooji, it's a gift from Jae.”, you sound so desperate that she feels bad and joins you.

Sunjae arrives sometime later.

“I think I really lost it.”, you say, almost broken. You're so lost in your thoughts that you don't hear the whispers around you.

“Does your blue scrunchie have pink flowers on it?”, Sooji asks in a hushed tone.

Your eyes shoot up, as you nod frantically, “Yes? Yes. Did you find it?”

“I didn't but I can see it.”, she says cautiously, “Look behind you.”

And you did immediately, only to collide on Wonwoo’s chest.

You compose yourself and step back before he could hold you and as your gaze drops, you see the scrunchie tied on his wrist.

And the CEO was seen around the entire office roaming in the headquarters with a scrunchie round his wrist.

“I came to give this to you.”, Wonwoo speaks in a poised tone and raises up his hand for you to take it off his wrist, “You left it in the conference room.”

You glance around to find people already murmuring, “Thank you.”, you say in a small voice. 

Wonwoo watches you for a moment and detects your dampened mood.

Sooji takes the chance and in the pretense of having conversation with Sunjae she slips out that you didn't eat anything the entire day.

You glare at your friends and grimace when you notice that Wonwoo is giving you a pointing look, the one which means a mix of concern and irk.

“I'm taking you out now. I know a place where they serve your favourites and it's good. Log off for the day and get your belongings.”, Wonwoo orders, taking your hand into his and with the other hand he is pulling out his phone to inform his driver, “If you have any meetings, please reschedule them to tomorrow and loop me in those.”

“Everyone is watching, Mr. Jeon”, you say in a hushed tone, trying to pull out your hand from his grip.

Wonwoo leans in whispering in your ear, “Come with me while I ask you nicely or I'll pick you in my arms if that's how you want to be out of this office.”

The entire office goes into a frenzy. The employees find it hard to believe that they're witnessing their CEO openly holding hands with an employee. They know who you are exactly but this is something else.

It's like Jeon Wonwoo is making a statement.

Wonwoo is worried, for the past few weeks he could feel you drawing a line. He could see you slowly recoiling from him. Whenever he visits your apartment nowadays, you're either making plans with Mina or retreating into your bedroom at the sight of him, leaving him alone with Wonjae or having him leave after Wonjae is asleep which is abrupt because you were letting him in, you let him share the bed, he was getting used to the quiet morning routines, the subtle feeling of belongingness.

But now he gets none of it.

He observes as you sit quietly opposite to him in the booth he had reserved at the restaurant. Your eyes are dazed, you are lost in thoughts that you don't even notice that he crosses the table to sit beside you.

“Did I do something to upset you?”

Your reverie is broken by his soothing voice. You find him sitting beside you now and your heart clenches in ache when your eyes meet.

You shake your head in a ‘no’, putting your head against the wall but Wonwoo doesn't buy it. 

He slides towards you, ever so slightly, “Then why are you retreating?”, his voice cracks a little, it's agonizing.

There's a lot to say, a lot to do. But you have no words to offer, at least tonight.

“Tell me please.”, Wonwoo pleads, “Let me fix it.”

“Let's eat first, I'm hungry.”

No, you're not.

You both eat in silence, with Wonwoo occasionally throwing glances at you. It takes a lot of courage for you to take him back to the office.

Wonwoo is puzzled, he has no idea why he's back in your cabin, at night when he had called off for the day.

You take a deep breath and face him, holding a bunch of documents and sight doesn't really settle well with Wonwoo.

“There has been fund embezzlement going on in the company for a long time.”, you start cautiously, “And we tried our best to collect proofs for the past few months and this is all we could collect.”

Wonwoo isn't surprised. But you are though, seeing his calm demeanor.

“I am aware, Y/N.”, he says calmly, “And I have people working for me to uproot them from the core so that they don't dare to think of committing something like this again.”

You are partially relieved hearing him.

“Thanks for these materials, it'll surely be helpful.”, Wonwoo says, placing the documents on the table and suddenly pulling you by your arm. You fall onto his lap grabbing his shoulders in reflex while his arms lock around you tightly.

“Won–”, your eyes go wide when he kisses you. You're pushing him but it's of no use, he presses against you harder.

“I love you so much.”, he confesses between the kisses and your heart almost stops. He leans up to meet your gaze, “I really do, there was no else after you. It has been you always.”

“There are cameras–”, you gasp as he trails kisses your neck and sucks a particular spot that has your toes curling, “S-Stop–”

“Not even Jenna Choi?”, the words slip out even before you can comprehend.

Wonwoo's eyes darkened, “Did you meet my parents?”

You don't speak. But he gets the answer.

“You two would make a great couple Wonwoo, your marriage would be beneficial for companies as well.”, you say tearily, “You should be with someone like her.”

His heart breaks at your words, at the pain that's etched on your face. He finally understands the reason why you have been building up the walls again.

“You shouldn't be burdened to be with me just because we have a child. You'd always have Jae in your life. We can take care of the custody. Jae might be young but he would understand.”, your chin is quivering and it's a battle to not let those tears fall, “I don't want to tie you down, you can stop now.”

“Stop what now?”, Wonwoo asks, terrified.

“Stop chasing a woman like me.”

Wonwoo takes great offence at the insinuation behind your words. He wants you to see yourself through his eyes. He wants to show where he puts you when it comes to respect, love and admiration.

“Y/N, why don't you see that I'd always chase you. I'd always want to be with you. I made a mistake back then but when the universe gave me another chance I'd not let it go to waste.”, he presses a soft kiss on your forehead, wipes the tears that fall from your eyes, “I might have spent all my life being the good child to my parents but I would have never married Jenna. I could never love her because I have you in my heart. The marriage wouldn't have been fair for either of us. I was finding ways to break it off completely and right in time I found you again.”

You're sobbing, trying to pry away his hands that are holding you. It's too much to take, too much is at stake and you don't know what to think of anymore. Your mind squares out.

“Why didn't you find me, Won? Why didn't you tell me about your identity and reason to leave? Why did I have to find out from someone else that you were about to get married?”, your voice turns quieter, “Why don't you trust me?”

“Y/N–”

You ponder for a moment before speaking again, “It was Mr. Jung who leaked our pictures to the media.”

“Words don't mean anything when your actions have been contradictory.”, you say, getting off his lap and Wonwoo is scared of the coldness in your demeanor.

Wonwoo freezes.

“He has been trying to convince the shareholders to vote you out from the company and acquire all the shares himself.”, you look at him with a pained smile, “He has been plotting this for a while and he wants to use me to tarnish your image and reputation. He is connected to find embezzlement as well.”

You take out a file from one of the drawers, “It has some circumstantial proof but not enough to pin your uncle down. I'm not aware of the motive. I know it's not easy to believe whatever I am saying but I think you should investigate yourself before he acts up again. We tried but we don't have enough connections to draw out the proof.”

“I had requested Chan look into some shady stuff and your uncle has been involved in many of those, especially the skeptical legal matters before I joined.”, you crouched down to meet his lowered gaze, “Wonwoo?”, you shake his shoulders, “Pull yourself together. It's gonna be your toughest battle.”

“I’ll have my driver drop you home.”, Wonwoo says in a cold tone.

And your heart constricts, your grip on his shoulders loosens off. You know Wonwoo would never believe you over his uncle but still it stings.

“I can go on my own. Take care.”, you say and walk out without giving him a chance to speak.

You don't remember when was the last time you actually saw Wonwoo. He has been coming home, there's no official work that would have you require him for a discussion. Wonjae asks about him and you don't know what to tell him anymore.

You start applying for other companies, Chan offers you to join him. There's so much going on in your mind, your head hurts.

So does your heart. Everything happens for a reason and you think it's time you close the chapter of Wonwoo in your life and finally move on. Except you can't totally shut him off because you'll have to see him because of your son. Complicated.

You finally put the papers and submit it to resign. Now you wait for it to get approved miraculously, hoping Wonwoo will approve it.

Jihoon and Yoongi are pissed at the lack of action on Wonwoo’s side but they're more ragging about your decision to resign.

A week later, you are in your cabin, eyes wide in shock as you read the article on your phone. The news is all hitting all the tabloids. Mr. Jung has been ousted and it's said that he has been sacked, effective immediately.

Before you could read further, there is a knock on the door and you're walking out only to be stunned.

It's Wonwoo, beside him standing with head bowed down is Mr. Jung. You see his parents at a distance.

“Apologize to her, Jung Ryeon.”, Wonwoo commands, his voice calm but the tone, icy, “On your knees.”

You hear loud gasps, everyone has gathered, all eyes are on the scene.

Mr. Jung gets down on his knees, head hung low, “I'm sorry, Y/N. Greed took over me and didn't think twice before hurting my own family. Please tell Jae that grandpa is sorry.”

Wonwoo hisses, “Don't you dare take my son’s name with that filthy mouth of yours.”

He calls the police and they escort Mr. Jung out of the building.

You are stunned with everything happening at a fast pace and what scares you is the look in Wonwoo's eyes when he walks towards his parents.

“I hope the two of you get a clear message from this. Don't ever try to meddle in my life again. Stop asking Y/N to meet you behind my back or bring up my son.”, Wonwoo seethes, “If you want your precious company to be intact and in my hands, then try to be good parents and stop interfering.”

His parents don't have the courage to meet his gaze and they walk out quietly.

The crowd gasps when they hear their CEO.

“Because if I were to choose between the company and Y/N. I'd choose Y/N. Her and my son, my own family.”

Wonwoo doesn't meet your gaze either, he simply dismisses the crowd and walks towards the elevator, without exchanging any words with you.

Your heart thumps vigorously within your chest. You're too embarrassed to step out of your cabin even during lunch and miraculously, there's a takeout sitting at your door.

At night you're washing the dishes post dinner when your son comes to you smiling wide.

“What happened honey?”, you ask, ruffling his hair, mirroring his smile.

Wonjae giggles, hugging you, “Papa said he'll be coming tonight and staying with us.”

Your smile drops, you aren't sure if you're ready to see him again when you both haven't been talking for so long that it felt like decades.

Wonwoo arrives late at night. He doesn't punch the code, he rings the doorbell. You open the door only for your eyes to fall off on seeing him with luggage bags at the threshold.

Still you don't pry, don't talk, just let him in and close the door. He stands in the hall, lost, as if for the first time arriving at the place. You just walk past and enter your bedroom.

Wonwoo checks into his son's room to find him sleeping. He takes a deep breath and enters your room to find you reading a book, totally unbothered by his presence.

He clears his throat, he walks around the room, no response.

“I'm staying here for a few days, I'm renovating my house.”

You scoff, “Don't you own like 10 properties over the city? Why here, go to your other houses.”

You go back to reading until the book gets snatched from your hands. You sit up glaring at him only to see him kneel in front of you.

Your expression softens, you understand him, understand how hard it must have been for him to go through that. So you pull him into your embrace.

“I'm sorry, forgive me.”, he says, head hung low, “For the past days, it was hell not seeing you but I was so ashamed that someone so close to me, the one I considered my true family, could harm you or Jae. I promised myself to fix everything before coming back to you. So I am here today.”

"You really need to learn how to communicate.", you chastise, "You have no idea how worried I was. I thought that you were gonna leave, again."

"I would never."

It's quiet, it's soothing, the silence.

And it's still comforting when he changes and lays beside you, taking you into his arms.

“Who told you could resign?”, Wonwoo breaks the silence and feels you go stiff under his touch.

You plant your face further onto his chest to avoid meeting eyes. You choose to stay mute.

“I rejected it by the way.”, Wonwoo adds, his tone teasing and you immediately glance up at him with a pout.

He swears his heart skips at the sight and lays you on your back, hovering over, kissing you. And he smiles when you don't resist, kissing him back. He would take anything you'd give.

It's been four months since Wonwoo has been staying at your place and everything feels blissful to be honest, which scares you sometimes. You like waking up to him, leaving for and coming back from work together, picnics on holidays.

It's pleasant to see Wonjae beaming nowadays, just because he gets to live with both of his parents.

You think something is wrong with you. You, for the sake of lord, can't look at Wonwoo without pressing your thighs together today. The way his biceps are on flex as he carries Wonjae around the house effortlessly. The way he always kisses you dumb after settling on the bed but never going further. The way that towel hangs low on his waist when he's fresh out of the shower, his abs on display. His not so subtle touches whenever he's passing by you, be it at home or work.

So you blame him for your state tonight. As soon as Wonwoo enters the room after putting your son to sleep you press him against the door and crash your lips onto his.

Wonwoo is surprised but equally excited when you lead him onto the bed without breaking the kiss. He immediately flips you, so now you're under him as his tongue parts your lips to enter your mouth.

You moan when his knee presses against your crotch while his lips trails down kisses on your neck and collarbone. He pulls back and starts to unbutton your nightgown slowly with a teasing smile on his face.

But suddenly, your hands fly to stop him, the excitement in your face drops. Wonwoo looks at you alarmingly, creating a distance between you two.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have–”, he fumbled between the words, “I-I’ll take the couch, I'm really sorry, I mistook–”

“Wonwoo”, you call out, grabbing his hand but not meeting his eye, “I'm sorry. I just wanted to warn you.”

He looks at you confused, “About what?”

You take a deep breath, “My body isn't the same after giving birth. And it's certainly not beautiful. I have gained weight, there are stretch marks and even a mark from surgery. My breasts have become saggy because I had to breastfeed Jae till late before he stopped latching.”, you voice quivers, “I-I just don't want you to be disappointed when you see what's underneath. It's been so long since I have been intimate with someone, in fact I had no one after you.”

You bite your lips, trying not to cry as the insecurities label at the back of your mind. It's hard to let go, no matter how many times you try to shake it off.

“Hey look at me”, his hands move to cup your face gently, thumbs wiping away your tears as he kisses them away desperately. He presses his forehead against yours, "You are beautiful. You always be beautiful and those scars are the testament of your strength, your courage and resilience.", his voice breaks completely. You look at him with such vulnerability that his heart drops.

“Please believe me, my love”, Wonwoo pleads, face inching apart from yours, “You are everything I need, I would ever want. I am so grateful that you raised Wonjae to be such a good boy. You did that all alone, fighting all the odds. What would I have done without you?”, he closes his eyes for a moment, “You spared me from the betrayal of my own family member. And now you're allowing me to be a part of your life even though I don't deserve it. I promise I'll love you right this time. We'll raise our son and grow old together. We'll be happy.”

You smile at his heartfelt words.

“Did I ruin the moment?”, you ask lightly.

Wonwoo laughs, he lays you down swiftly, hovering on top of you again. Without another word his lips are on you, while his hands continue to undress you completely.

“So beautiful”, he groans, eyeing your naked body as he plants kisses on your entire body, “Can't believe your mine.”

He takes his time kissing every mark, every scar, praises flowing out of his mouth like gardens of Babylon. He situates between your thighs, parting your legs and pulling your core nearer to his mouth.

“Won, please, need you.”, you are aching down with need and Wonwoo acknowledges it quickly by giving your cunt a long, slowed lick. Your back arches off, gripping the sheets beneath.

“You taste the same as I remember”, he dives deeper, sucking your nub, making you mewl, “Shhh baby, wouldn't want our son to wake up. He shouldn't see what his Papa is doing to his Mama.”

He dwelves his tongue deeper into your hole, his thumb rubs on your clit stimulating you fuller. His other hand pulls you, placing your thighs on his shoulder to stop you from squirming away.

“Gotta make you ready baby. Don't wanna break you on my cock.”, he speaks against your wet cunt, the vibrations sending you closer to the edge.

He inserts two of his fingers, scissoring your hole just as you like it. You want it all, his mouth, his fingers, his cock.

And Wonwoo knows it all but he's taking his sweet time with you. His mouth vacuums out on your clit, he's tonguing your clit constantly while his fingers tear you open for him.

“Won”, you are whimpering quietly, a knot building in your lower belly, “I'm so close, please let me cum.”

“Sure baby”, he fastens his pace, encouraging you to unleash, “Let go for me, my love.”

And you let it go with a loud moan, your body bucking into him one last time. Wonwoo watches in awe as thick ropes of fluid pout out of your slick cunt and he trudges again, deeper now licking you up clean.

He pushes your legs apart when you try to close them, “Uh huh baby, let me taste you, I have been deprived for so long.”

His words make you wetter, if that is even possible. After licking you clean, he gets up and looks at you with guilt when the realisation hits him.

“What are you waiting for for?”, you ask with frustration laced in your voice.

“We don't have condoms”, he says painfully and you freeze.

A moment later you get up and pull him by his arms, “Just pull out, please Won. I can't wait any longer.”

Wonwoo sighs helplessly, “Baby, Jae was conceived because I gave into your urges last time.”

“And you love him, don't you?”, you ask, making him sit on the bed and getting on top of him, “Shouldn't we have another one?”

Wonwoo shudders, his pants getting tighter with each moment passing by, he's fighting demons to not rail you raw in the mattress. He knows you're ovulating and it's something you both should figure out but not now, not when you're naked and he's growing tents in his pants.

“Baby, it's your ovulation talking, we will have this discussion once you're clear in head.”, he presses a soft kiss on your forehead, “I promise, if you want to have another child, we'll have another, if you don't want then we won't. The previous pregnancy has been hard on you so I want it to be your decision, we'll talk to your doctor as well.”

You smile, letting his words settle in. You think you love Wonwoo. Correction, you have never stopped loving him, he was always in your heart.

You both make out for a good amount of time, his hands roaming all over naked body, as you grind on his cock.

“Careful baby, I might not be able to control and if that happens I'll end up breeding you.”

You clench around nothing, your wetness seeping through his pants.

“Woni, please.”

And now tears are streaming down your eyes, voice muffled by his one hand while the other fucks into you relentless.

He works on making you cum on his tongue and his fingers until you're laying dumb and numb on the sheets.

“You wanted it right, then fucking take it, baby. Won't stop until you're begging, until you walk funny and people know I'm the reason behind it.”

Wonwoo holds his breath as you and Wonjae enter his penthouse apartment. He has remodeled the entire house thinking about you and his son. There's an inbuilt arcade, gym, movie theatre and as well swimming pool.

“Papa, can I come here sometimes?”, Wonjae asks, grabbing the sleeves of his coat and Wonwoo smiles, picking up the little boy in his arms.

“This is your house, Jae. We are going to live here together from now on.”, Wonwoo says and his son giggles in glee.

He drops off Wonjae in the arcade and goes to find you.

You are sitting by the swimming pool, feet dipping in the water, humming quietly.

“Hey love”, Wonwoo takes the seat beside you. He places his hand on top of yours and looks straight when he asks, “Do you like the house? Do you think you can manage to live here with me for the rest of your life?"

Your eyes squint into slits as you look at him, “Is this your way of asking me to move in with you?”

Wonwoo bites back a smile. He just nods, “Yes, it's either you shift here or we can live in your apartment for the rest of our lives. Doesn't matter where, I just want to be with you and Jae.”

You cup his face and press a kiss on his lips. Wonwoo doesn't like water, but you know that he has a swimming pool built here just because you have always wanted a house with it.

“Are they usually like this?”

You feel Wonwoo snake his hands around your waist from behind.

“Trust me, they're worse.”, you say, eyeing Jihoon and Yoongi from far, both looking unimpressed with each other.

Wonwoo is hosting a house warming party and he had you invite your close friends to which you happily agreed. Surprise comes in the form of Lee Chan guesting himself at Jeon Wonwoo’s house. Only you could make it possible.

What's more surprising is the way both the CEOs of rival companies clicked together, they are both calm and easy going, bearing no malice towards each other.

Sooji and Sunjae play with Wonjae while Jeonghan is engulfed in some apparently serious talks with Chan, most probably a debate on who's Wonjae's favourite uncle.

Soft chatters, dim lights flood the house. You look around with a smile on your face and swell in your heart. You are in the middle of some talk with Mina when she takes you to the poolside.

You see everyone there but Wonwoo. Your eyes search for him, you even think about giving him a call when Wonjae says, “Mama, look behind!”

And you turn, only to find Wonwoo kneeling on his knee holding a red velvet box in his hands.

“I knew we were made for each other when I realised that even doing nothing with you meant everything to me. Will you allow me to grow old with you? Will you be mine forever? Will you marry me?”, Wonwoo says in a breath, his eyes stuck on you nervously.

“Yes yes yes!”, you say, giving your hand to him. Wonwoo jumps up putting the ring in your fingers as confetti and rose petals fall on you both. You slide the other ring onto his finger.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”, the crowd chants and Wonwoo leans in to give you a sweet peck on your lips.

Everyone cheers and Chan covers Wonjae's eyes while doing so.

“Don’t you think they'll notice that we're gone?”, you manage to say as Wonwoo positions himself between your legs while you're perched on the bathroom counter. He enters you slowly, both of you moaning deeply at the intense feeling.

“Don't care, baby. Need you to be inside you or I might die.”, he breathes out softly, thrusting deeper. He captures one of your breasts with his mouth, hushing your soft moans as he covers your mouth quickly, his other hand spread possessively on your stomach to keep you still.

He removes his hand from your mouth when he is done with your breasts just to kiss you hotly. He is moving slower and deeper, hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars.

"Bite me if you're gonna cry out.”, he warns as you let out a loud cry at a particular brutal thrust.

He draws marks on your skin for which he'd get an earful later but now it makes your body tingle. You place your left hand on his chest as the rock sitting on your ring finger shines in the light, and Wonwoo thrusts harder at it's sight, possessiveness taking over.

You come undone, so does Wonwoo, resting his forehead against yours.

“I love you.”, he confesses, sincerely and softly.

“Love you too, Won.”, comes your response, as he pulls you into another kiss.

He cleans you up, fixes your dress and hair, making sure both of your are looking decent and not wrecked much.

Everyone gives you both the looks when you join back. Wonjae has already gone to bed and so the teasing is relentless.

You glare at your now fiancé and all he does is laugh all while giving you the bedroom eyes everytime your gaze meet.

When everyone leaves, Wonwoo makes love to you again, promising a lifetime to you, to atone for the suffering he has caused you and to love you till eternity.

Usually, he would clean up at the end of the day. Tools back on their racks, surfaces wiped down, trash taken out. It was muscle memory by now, the only kind of order he kept in his life. But tonight, he couldn’t even bring himself to move. He sat slouched on the stool by his workbench, head tipped back, staring at the ceiling as if it held answers.

Ara’s face kept flashing in his mind. The wide-eyed curiosity she’d shown when she peeked under the hood with him. The way she clutched that damn bunny. The way she’d smiled when she thanked him. It shouldn’t mean anything. She was just a kid. Your kid with someone else. That’s what he’d been telling himself over and over since he first saw her. But Chan’s voice wouldn’t leave him alone.

"She’s what.. four? Maybe five? And how long ago did she leave?"

The math was too neat. Too precise. He couldn’t stop running it in his head like some sick equation.

Four. Five. Five years ago. And then there was you.

The way you wouldn’t look at him too long. The way you spoke to him like every word was a burden, like you were terrified of even being in the same room.

If you were with someone, why hadn’t he seen them? Why hadn’t you mentioned a name? Jisung scrubbed his hands over his face, dragging down to his jaw. His chest ached, his stomach churned. Would you have told him?

He wanted to believe yes. That even after the screaming fights, the broken promises, the ugly breakup, you wouldn’t have hidden something that big. You weren’t cruel. You weren’t spiteful. But then again… you hadn’t so much as texted him in five years. Not once. You couldn’t even look him in the eye last night. And tonight, when you stormed off after the argument, the disgust in your expression had been like a knife in his gut.

Maybe you wouldn’t have told him. Maybe you thought he didn’t deserve to know.

Jealousy clawed its way back up, raw and bitter. You had someone else now. A boyfriend. Maybe a husband. He’d told himself that was the only reason you moved on, that was why Ara existed. But if Chan was right, if Ara wasn’t someone else’s daughter then what the hell did that mean?

He gripped the edge of the workbench so hard his knuckles turned white. The ragged thoughts tangled together until he couldn’t breathe.

Would you be furious if he showed up? Probably. Would you slam the door in his face? Definitely. But would you finally tell him the truth? He didn’t think. He didn’t weigh it out. He didn’t plan it.

One moment he was staring at the floor, chest heaving with the storm in his head, and the next he was grabbing his jacket, shoving his arms through the sleeves. His keys clattered in his hand, his boots heavy against the concrete as he stalked toward the door.

He didn’t bother with the cleanup. Didn’t bother shutting down the tools. He only locked the shop out of habit before climbing into his car.

The engine roared to life, headlights slicing through the dark night as he pulled onto the road. His grip on the wheel was tight, his pulse loud in his ears.

You wouldn’t like it. He knew that. Hell, he’d probably regret it later. But the thought of sitting in that shop one more second, haunted by your face and Ara’s laugh, made him feel like he was going to crawl out of his own skin.

So he drove. Toward your house. Toward answers.

-

The house was quiet, eerily so. Ara had finally drifted off after her usual protests about bedtime, curled around the little blanket she’d agreed to sleep with. You had tiptoed out of her room, relieved when her breathing evened out, and closed the door softly behind you.

For the first time all day, the silence felt like yours.

You padded barefoot into the living room, the soft hum of the fridge the only sound in the house. The bottle of wine waiting on the counter caught your eye. You didn’t drink often, especially not since Ara came along but tonight, after the chaos of tantrums, you needed something to take the edge off.

The glass was half-empty by the time you curled into the couch with a book you weren’t actually reading. The words blurred, your mind circling everything you were trying not to think about him.

Han Jisung.

Even saying his name in your head made your chest tighten. Seeing him again had already undone so much progress you thought you’d made over the years. You hated how easily his presence still got under your skin. Hated how your pulse still skipped whenever his voice dropped too low, whenever his gaze cut into you like it could still see through your walls.

You took another slow sip of wine, trying to force him out of your thoughts, when the knock came. Sharp. Jarring. At this hour.

You jumped, setting your glass down harder than you meant to. The sound echoed in the quiet house, making you wince. No one came by this late. Not since your mom’s passing, not since people stopped bringing casseroles and condolences. And yet, another knock followed, harder this time.

Your heart sped up as you got to your feet, crossing the room. The porch light threw a faint glow outside, but through the curtain, all you could make out was a tall shadow pacing, shifting restlessly from one foot to the other.

Every nerve in your body screamed hesitation, but habit won. You pulled the door open. And froze. Jisung.

He looked up instantly, like he’d been waiting for you. His eyes locked on yours, sharp even in the dim light, his mouth pressed into a tight line. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t pretending this was casual.

It felt like the air thickened, heavy between you.

Neither of you spoke at first. You stared at him, glass of wine still lingering in your system, stomach turning over itself. He looked different under your porch light, messier, more worn down, but still him. Always him.

When his voice finally came, it cut through the silence like a blade.

“How long,” he asked, low and unsteady, “were you going to keep pretending I wouldn’t find out?”

The words slammed into you, knocking the air out of your lungs.

Your heart raced, thudding in your ears. You gripped the doorframe tighter, like it was the only thing holding you up.

For a second, you considered deflecting. Laughing bitterly. Asking him what the hell he was talking about. But you couldn’t. Not with the way he was looking at you, not with the raw anger and betrayal simmering behind his eyes. So instead, your voice came out smaller than you intended.

“…Who told you?”

The question made him freeze. His jaw flexed. His eyes widened, just slightly, but it was enough. Because he hadn’t been sure. And now he was.

You watched the realization hit him in real time. The sharp inhale. The way his shoulders tensed. His fists curling at his sides.

The silence between you was a live wire. One spark, and it snapped.

“So it’s true,” Jisung said again, this time louder, sharper. His chest rose and fell in uneven bursts, and he looked at you like he couldn’t decide whether to scream or collapse.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. “Jisung—”

“How long?” His voice cut over yours, raw. “How long were you planning to keep this from me?”

Your jaw clenched. Your first instinct was to retreat, to shield yourself, but something inside you the exhaustion, the bitterness, the years of doing it all alone, snapped instead.

“How was I supposed to tell you, huh?” Your voice cracked, rising as anger finally found you. “Back then, you couldn’t even show up for me. You think you could’ve shown up for a baby?”

His eyes darkened, hurt flashing before it twisted into anger. “Don’t you dare,” he snapped, stepping closer, fists clenched at his sides. “Don’t you dare stand there and tell me I wouldn’t have shown up for my own daughter.”

You laughed bitterly, though it sounded more like a sob. “You barely showed up for me! What made you think you would’ve magically changed overnight? You were irresponsible, Jisung! Always late, always broke, always putting me last—behind your friends, behind your work, behind everything.”

He flinched, but his glare only sharpened. “Because every time we were together, you made it impossible! We argued about everything, Y/N! Money, time, the future, you never trusted me to figure it out. And yeah, maybe I leaned on my friends, maybe I worked more, but do you really think that means I wouldn’t have been there for her?”

You shook your head, biting out a humorless laugh. “You would’ve what? Quit your job? Dropped your friends? Magically become the man you weren’t back then? Please.”

His breath came ragged, his hands tugging at his hair as if he was physically trying to hold himself together. “She’s five, Y/N. Five! And I’m only finding out now?” His voice cracked, fury tangled with grief. “I’ve missed everything.. her first steps, her first words, her first day of school—everything.”

The words hit like a punch to your gut, guilt clawing at your chest. You wanted to tell him you weren’t trying to punish him, that you’d been scared and broken and didn’t know how to handle it. But the anger was louder than the guilt, feeding the storm already raging.

“You think I wanted this?” you shouted back, your voice shaking as your eyes burned. “You think I wanted to raise her alone? To lie to her? To carry all of this by myself while you were out drinking with your friends and sleeping with strangers? You weren’t ready, Jisung! You weren’t ready for me, and you sure as hell weren’t ready for her.”

His chest heaved, his face twisted in anguish. “You didn’t even give me the chance to prove you wrong.”

You froze at that, the raw hurt in his voice cutting deeper than his anger ever could. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, both breathing hard like you’d just gone ten rounds in a fight. The only sound was the quiet hum of the night around you the crickets, the faint wind through the trees, the thundering of your own heartbeat.

Jisung dragged a shaky hand down his face, his eyes wet but fierce as they locked on yours. “You had no right to decide for me. No right to take her away from me. She’s mine too.”

Your lips parted, but no words came. Because he was right. And the truth of that, after all these years was almost too much to bear.

“What the hell have you even told her about me?”

Your breath hitched.

His eyes were on you, wide and searching, demanding. “Does she think I don’t exist? Does she think—what? That some other guy’s her dad? That some stranger’s been playing house in my place all this time?”

The bitterness in his tone made your chest tighten. You lifted your chin, though your throat burned. “She knows she has a dad.”

The flicker of relief in his expression lasted barely a second before suspicion swallowed it whole. “What did you tell her, Y/N?”

You hesitated, arms crossing in front of you like armor. “That… that he lives far away. That he works a lot. That he can’t be here.”

Jisung’s head dropped forward, his jaw working furiously as he let out a humorless laugh. He shook his head, almost in disbelief. “So that’s me? Some ghost of a dad who’s ‘too busy with work’ to ever show up?”

“It’s better than telling her the truth,” you snapped, your voice rising before you could stop it.

His eyes snapped to yours, sharp and wounded all at once. “Better for who? For her or for you?”

The accusation landed like a slap.

You felt your defenses wobble, but you held your ground. “She’s just a kid, Jisung. She doesn’t understand why you and I broke up, why things went the way they did. What good would it do to dump all of that on her? To tell her her dad was here all along but didn’t even know she existed?”

His expression twisted, pained. “You don’t get to make that call on your own.” His voice cracked as it broke into a yell. “She’s my daughter too!”

The words lodged in your chest, making it hard to breathe.

He stepped forward, hands trembling at his sides, his anger now laced with something deeper, desperation. “So what? You just get to decide when I meet her? How she sees me? Whether she even knows I’m her dad at all? Do you know how insane that sounds?”

You looked away, blinking hard as tears burned your eyes. “She’s my whole world. My responsibility. I’ve protected her since the second she was born. I had to. Because you weren’t there.”

Jisung’s voice dropped low, raw and guttural. “Not because I didn’t want to be because you never gave me the chance.”

Your lips trembled, but no sound came out.

He let out a harsh breath, scoffing bitterly. “You’re really standing here, telling me I have a daughter, and in the same breath saying you don’t want her to know who I am?” His voice shook as he leaned closer, eyes locked on yours. “Why the hell wouldn’t she know her own father?”

The question hit you square in the chest, because deep down, you didn’t have a clean answer. Not one that didn’t make you sound like the villain.

The porch light hummed, casting a harsh glow between you. Jisung’s chest heaved, his fists clenched like if he didn’t hold himself together he’d fall apart.

“I want answers,” he said, voice low but shaking with barely restrained fury. “Right now. No more lies, no more bullshit excuses. I deserve to know why.”

Your throat tightened. “Jisung—”

“No.” He cut you off with a sharp shake of his head. His voice cracked as it rose. “You don’t get to stand there and play silent. You owe me this, Y/N. After everything, you owe me the truth.”

Your lips trembled. For once, you couldn’t hide behind deflection or sarcasm or bitterness. His words cornered you, leaving no escape.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, and his whole body stiffened at the sound. “I’m sorry for keeping her from you. I’m sorry you didn’t know.”

The words hung heavy in the night, but your voice steadied as you went on. “But I’m not sorry for leaving.”

That made him blink. His brows furrowed, like he hadn’t expected you to say it out loud. “What?”

“I’m not sorry I left,” you repeated, louder this time, the steel returning to your voice even as your chest ached. “Because staying? Staying with you back then would’ve been worse. For me. For her. We would’ve been waiting in the dark, waiting for you to come home—”

His face twisted. “Don’t.”

“—waiting for you to remember us when you were too busy with your friends or drowning yourself in work—”

“Stop it,” he snapped, his voice breaking.

“Why?” You barked out a humorless laugh, tears burning at the corners of your eyes. “Because it’s the truth? You barely came home, Jisung! You barely looked at me when you did. And I was supposed to believe you’d suddenly turn into this perfect father when you couldn’t even be a partner?”

His fists unclenched, his arms dropping helplessly at his sides. His eyes were wet, his voice rough. “I would’ve tried. I would’ve made it work—for her, I would’ve. But you never gave me the chance.”

Your heart clenched painfully. “And what was I supposed to do? Wait around hoping you’d change? Raise her while fighting with you every night? Show her that kind of love? No. I wasn’t going to let her grow up thinking that was normal.”

For a long moment, all you could hear was your uneven breathing, his ragged breaths mixing with yours.

Then Jisung let out a bitter laugh, one hand dragging down his face as if he couldn’t believe any of this was real. “So that’s it? You decided I wasn’t enough, and you walked. You took her with you, and you never looked back.”

You flinched, but you didn’t back down. “I did what I had to do.”

His gaze snapped to yours, glassy with pain and rage. “You did what was easiest. For you.”

The words landed heavy, because part of you wondered if there was truth in them. You hadn’t left because it was easy, you’d left because staying had felt like slow death but there was no way to make him see that.

You swallowed hard, arms wrapping around yourself. “I made the choice I thought was best. For Ara. For me. I’m not going to apologize for that.”

Jisung shook his head, his voice low and ragged. “And in the process, you ripped five years away from me. Five years I’ll never get back.”

The silence that followed was deafening. He stared at you like you were both a stranger and the only person he’d ever wanted. And you stood rooted in the doorway, torn between guilt and stubbornness, between sorrow and anger. Neither of you won. Neither of you ever had.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. The words already said hung between you like smoke after a fire, acrid and choking, making it impossible to breathe normally. Jisung’s jaw worked like he was fighting himself, fighting to keep from saying something else, something that might burn you both down completely.

Finally, he gave a sharp nod, swallowing hard. His voice was rough, cracked at the edges.
“You know where I’ll be,” he muttered, eyes darting anywhere but yours. “If you finally decide to let me meet my daughter.”

The words landed like stones in your chest. Daughter. His daughter. He’d said it out loud, not questioning it, not dancing around it, claiming it as though it had always been his right.

“Jisung—” you started, reaching out instinctively. But he’d already turned.

His back was rigid, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, shoulders drawn tight like a coiled spring. He didn’t look back, not once, as he descended your porch steps. His steps were heavy, almost uneven, like he wanted to keep himself from running. You opened your mouth, ready to call out again, to say maybe he could meet her, just not tonight, not like this but your voice caught in your throat.

You knew this version of him. When Jisung was upset, truly upset he always walked away. Always left before the storm inside him could make things worse. And you knew chasing after him wouldn’t change that.

The sound of his car engine starting in the distance carried through the night air. Then it faded, leaving only silence.

You stood there for a moment, hand still clutching the doorframe, heart pounding so loud it almost drowned out the quiet of the house. His words kept circling, relentless and sharp: you know where I’ll be…

When you finally closed the door and turned, your breath caught in your throat. A small figure was standing at the bottom of the stairs.

Ara.

She was in her pink pajama set, hair mussed from sleep, clutching her blanket in one hand. Her wide eyes peeked at you through the dim glow of the hallway light.

“Mommy?” Her voice was small, uncertain. “Who was that?”

Your heart dropped. You froze for a second too long before forcing a smile, the laugh tumbling out nervous, fragile. “No one, baby. Just… no one.”

Ara blinked at you, her lips turning down in a little frown. She rubbed her eyes with her free hand. “I woke up. I heard yelling.” Her voice wobbled, the words dragging with sleep. “I got worried. For you.”

Something in you cracked right then. You swallowed the lump in your throat and walked over, crouching to her level. “Oh, baby.”

You gathered her into your arms, pressing a kiss to her warm temple. She wrapped her arms around your neck instantly, small and trusting, her blanket squished between you both.

“I’m okay,” you whispered, carrying her back upstairs. “Mommy’s okay. Nothing for you to worry about, alright?”

She nodded sleepily against your shoulder, her little voice muffled. “Okay.”

You tucked her back into bed, smoothing the hair from her forehead. She was asleep again within minutes, her breathing soft and even, her hand still curled around her blanket. But you couldn’t sleep.

You stood there in the doorway for a long time, watching her chest rise and fall. Jisung’s words echoed in your head, spinning on a loop you couldn’t silence. You know where I’ll be. And the worst part, the part you didn’t want to admit, not even to yourself was that a part of you already knew you couldn’t keep avoiding him. Not forever.

Not when Ara’s world had already brushed against his. Not when your heart still hadn’t let go.

-

The morning crept in slowly, the pale light bleeding through the curtains in streaks. You hadn’t slept much, tossing and turning in sheets that still felt too big, too empty. Every time you closed your eyes, Jisung’s voice resurfaced. That raw edge when he said daughter. That sharp bitterness when he realized how much time had already been lost.

By the time Ara padded into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes with one fist and dragging her blanket behind her, you were already on your second cup of coffee. The mug sat warm between your palms, your phone ignored on the counter. You told yourself not to let her see the storm in your head, so you smiled, sliding her usual plate across the table, scrambled eggs, a cut-up apple, her favorite cereal sitting in a small bowl.

Ara climbed onto the chair, legs swinging, and began to munch quietly. She was always slow in the mornings, soft-spoken, her world still fuzzy with leftover dreams. You watched her chew, the way her hair stuck up in uneven tufts from sleep, the way her tiny shoulders hunched as she focused on her food.

For a long moment, you just let yourself breathe her in. The calm before the inevitable.

You stirred your coffee absentmindedly, then asked, as lightly as you could manage, “Ara… do you want to see the mechanic again?”

Her fork froze halfway to her mouth. Then her eyes lit up, wide and sparkling in a way. She nodded so eagerly her hair bounced.

“Yes!” she said around a mouthful of egg. “I have so many questions! About cars! And tools! And how he makes the noises stop!”

Your chest tightened. You managed a soft chuckle, even though your throat was dry. “You’d… like to see him again, then?”

Ara squealed, clapping her hands together, the fork clattering against her plate. She bounced in her chair, unable to sit still, her excitement overflowing. “Yes! Yes, Mommy, please! Can we? Can we today?!”

You stared at her, your daughter, your entire world glowing with a joy so pure it broke you a little. Because Jisung was right. She deserved this. She deserved him.

And he… despite everything, despite the broken pieces left scattered from your past, he deserved her too.

You swallowed hard, the decision feeling heavier than anything you’d ever carried, heavier even than leaving him all those years ago. “Finish your breakfast first,” you said softly, forcing your voice steady. “Then we’ll go.”

Ara squealed again, shimmying in her seat like she couldn’t contain it, scarfing down her eggs now with determination.

You turned away, pressing your fingers to your temple, your other hand tightening around your mug. It took everything in you to breathe through it, to be the adult, the mother, the woman who had to do the right thing even when it terrified her.

Because this wasn’t about your anger anymore. This wasn’t about your heartbreak. This wasn’t even about the years you’d lost, years you couldn’t get back.

It was about Ara. And Ara deserved to know her father.

Even if you weren’t sure you were ready to face him again.

-

The shop smelled faintly of oil and metal the way it always did, but this time, stepping through the door felt different like walking straight into a weight pressing down on your chest. Ara’s hand was tucked firmly in yours, warm and eager, tugging you forward as her little sneakers squeaked against the concrete floor.

Seojin was the first to notice you. He leaned against the counter, a rag hanging from his back pocket, his smile easy but his brow lifting slightly at the sight of you.

“Well, well,” he said lightly, straightening. “Back again. Don’t tell me the car’s already giving you trouble?”

You shook your head quickly, feeling Ara’s tug grow stronger on your hand. “No… not that. I was just… looking for Jisung.”

At the mention of his boss’s name, Seojin’s grin faded, replaced by a more cautious look. He lowered his voice as if to warn you. “He’s here, but…” He paused, scratching the back of his neck. “He’s not in the best mood today.”

Your stomach tightened. That didn’t surprise you, not after last night, but hearing it aloud only made your nerves worse. You managed a stiff nod. “Where is he?”

Seojin jerked his thumb toward the back. “In his office. At his desk, sulking.”

You huffed softly, more at yourself than him, and muttered a quick, “Thanks.”

But Ara didn’t wait. The second Seojin gestured, she tugged your hand harder, her small frame determined, her excitement practically vibrating off her.

“Mommy, c’mon!” she squealed, pulling you along.

Her eagerness pulled a weak smile from you, even through your nerves. “Slow down, sweetheart. We’ll get there.”

By the time you reached the door, your heart was hammering. You raised a hand and knocked softly.

A grumble came from inside. Jisung’s voice, low and edged with irritation: “Seojin, I told you, I’m not taking customers today. Handle it yourself.”

Ara blinked at you expectantly, whispering, “Is he mad?”

You swallowed, squeezing her hand, and pushed the door open.

Jisung looked up.

The instant his eyes landed on you, his posture snapped upright. He stood quickly from his chair, the surprise flickering across his face giving way to something unreadable. His lips parted like he had something to say, but before he could, Ara’s little voice cut through the tension.

“Hi!” she chirped, her grin wide, her eyes shining with excitement.

And just like that, something shifted.

Jisung’s shoulders eased, the sharp line of his mouth softening into a smile he didn’t even seem to realize was there. He blinked, glancing from her to you and back, but Ara had already stepped forward, her shyness forgotten.

“I wanted to ask you questions!” she said all in one breath, bouncing on her toes. “About cars and how they work and the noises they make and the tools you use and—”

She didn’t stop, the words tumbling out in an endless stream of curiosity. And Jisung laughed.

It wasn’t bitter or sharp, it was a real laugh, warm and startled, like the sound had caught him off guard. He ran a hand through his hair as he stepped around the desk, crouching slightly so he wasn’t towering over her.

“Slow down, kid,” he said, his grin lingering. “One question at a time, yeah?”

Ara beamed at him, rocking on her heels. “Okay! Then… what’s your favorite car to fix?”

You stood frozen by the doorway, watching the scene unfold. Watching him. The way his entire face softened in her presence, the way the tension that had coiled in his body last night seemed to melt under Ara’s innocent questions. He was looking at her, not like an inconvenience, not like a stranger’s kid he had to tolerate but with real warmth. With a gentleness that tugged at something deep inside your chest.

And Ara… Ara looked at him like he hung the stars.

-

Jisung hadn’t slept.

Not really. He’d laid in bed staring at the ceiling, the glow of his phone screen long since gone dark, the room thick with silence. But his head hadn’t stopped buzzing. Your voice still rang in his ears, sharp and angry, every word you threw at him cutting deeper than he wanted to admit.

How was I supposed to tell you? You barely made time for me. You missed everything.

You weren’t wrong. That was the worst part. He had excuses, sure work, exhaustion, the constant noise of life but none of them made him feel less like the kind of man who didn’t show up when it mattered. The thought of Ara, his daughter living her whole life without him knowing… it made him want to put his fist through the wall.

But when he closed his eyes, he hadn’t seen your angry face. He saw Ara. The way she hugged her bunny, thanked him. That sparkle in her eyes when she asked him questions about cars, innocent and bright. And every time the memory replayed, the guilt followed: five years. He’d missed five entire years.

By the time dawn bled into the sky, Jisung gave up. He dragged himself out of bed, showered half-heartedly, and drove to the shop long before he normally opened.

Seojin arrived not long after, hair messy under his cap, energy far too chipper for Jisung’s mood. He greeted him with a, “Morning, boss,” but Jisung only grunted in return.

“Not taking customers today,” Jisung said, his voice rough from lack of sleep. “You handle it. I’ll be in my office.”

Seojin raised a brow but didn’t push. “Everything?”

“Everything,” Jisung snapped, sharper than he meant. “Don’t come to me unless the place is burning down.”

Seojin blinked at him but shrugged, heading for the garage floor. He knew better than to argue when Jisung was in one of his moods.

And Jisung was in one of his moods, grumbling under his breath, running a hand over his face as he sat at his desk, glaring at the scattered paperwork like it had personally wronged him. Every noise outside irritated him, every question Seojin dared to poke his head in to ask was met with a low, frustrated, “Figure it out yourself.”

But beneath the irritation was a restlessness that wouldn’t go away. His foot tapped against the floor, his hands clenched and unclenched. The truth was, he wasn’t angry at Seojin, or at the shop. He was angry at himself.

And then the bell above the shop door jingled faintly. He barely registered it, assuming it was another customer Seojin would handle. He tried to focus on the invoice in front of him, but he caught the sound of small footsteps against the concrete floor. Quick, uneven, almost bouncing.

And then a laugh. Light. Bright. Familiar.

Jisung’s head shot up. He saw you. You, standing just a few steps inside the shop, Ara’s small hand clasped in yours. And Ara, beaming up at him like the sun had followed her in.

In that instant, Jisung’s exhaustion, his anger, all of it was swept aside. His heart didn’t just skip, it burst.

He hadn’t expected to see her again so soon. He hadn’t dared hope. And yet here she was, practically bouncing with excitement, her eyes fixed on him like she’d been waiting all morning for this.

It was enough to knock the air right out of his lungs.

-

You’d told yourself to be strong. To hold your ground, to keep a firm hand on Ara’s excitement and not let your emotions spill into every corner of the shop. But the second she saw Jisung, really saw him, your resolve crumbled.

Ara lit up like it was Christmas morning. She clutched her bunny under one arm, her curls bouncing as she skipped toward him, a dozen questions spilling out of her before you could even catch up.

“What’s that one?” she asked, pointing at the rack of wrenches.
“And what’s that smell?” she added quickly, nose scrunching adorably.
“Do the cars talk to you when they’re broken? How do you know what hurts?”

You hovered by the side of the room, leaning against the wall, pretending to be casual when inside your chest, your heart was a mess of thudding and twisting. You crossed your arms, more for stability than anything, because the sight in front of you made your knees weak.

Jisung didn’t hesitate with her. Didn’t brush her off or laugh like she was being silly. He crouched down beside her, pointing at tools, answering every question with a patience you hadn’t seen in years.

“That one’s a wrench,” he said, picking it up and showing her the grip. “Comes in all different sizes because cars like to make us suffer.”

Ara giggled, the sound bouncing through the garage like sunlight.

“The smell is oil,” he continued, his tone softer now. “It’s kind of yucky, huh? But it helps the cars run smooth.”

Ara wrinkled her nose but smiled anyway. “Like medicine?”

Jisung paused, blinking at her before nodding. “Yeah. Exactly like medicine.”

You pressed your lips together tightly, your throat aching. He’d always been like that, good with kids, even when it surprised him. You remembered family gatherings where cousins’ children had latched onto him, following him around, and he never once shooed them away. He’d taught a six-year-old how to use a screwdriver once, beaming at the kid like he’d just handed him the moon.

And now, watching him with Ara, you felt it all over again, the sting of what could have been.

She looked up at him like he was everything she wanted to know about the world. And he… he looked at her like she was the most precious thing that had ever walked into his shop.

He followed her around as she wandered, her bunny tucked tight at her side, her free hand pointing at everything that caught her eye. Jisung trailed after her, answering her questions with quiet ease, like this had always been his role.

And you stood there on the sidelines, silent. Because what else could you do?

This was the thing you’d been dreading, the thing you’d worked so hard to prevent, and yet seeing it, seeing the way she gravitated toward him naturally, the way he softened without even realizing it, it didn’t look wrong.

It looked inevitable. And that scared you more than anything. You tried to stay out of the way.

You told yourself that the best thing you could do was let Ara ask her questions, let her curiosity fill the air and keep you somewhere in the background where your presence wouldn’t ruin the fragile peace of the moment.

But the longer you watched, the harder it became to pretend you weren’t being pulled in.

Ara was unstoppable. She darted from one corner of the shop to the next, her bunny clutched close against her side, her hair bouncing with every step. Jisung followed without hesitation, answering each question she threw his way as if he’d been waiting all morning for them.

Every now and then, she’d turn back toward you, her grin wide, her eyes shining as if she was proud of herself for keeping up with him.

“Mommy! Did you know cars have hearts too?!” she exclaimed at one point, pointing toward an engine.

You blinked, taken off guard. “Hearts?”

“Engines,” Jisung explained from behind her, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly amused. “She asked what makes them alive. I told her it’s kind of like their heart.”

Ara nodded enthusiastically, clearly pleased with her new knowledge. “See? Cars have hearts too! Like us!”

You smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach your eyes. There was a tightness in your chest that only grew the longer you watched them together.

Jisung crouched beside Ara again as she pointed at another tool hanging from the pegboard. She was talking nonstop, her voice full of awe and excitement, and every word pulled a quiet, almost reverent look from him. He was soft with her, gentle in a way that made your throat tighten.

And that’s when Ara’s eyes flicked to you again.

“Mommy,” she said, turning fully this time, her little hand reaching out. “Come here! Come see!”

You froze. “It’s okay, baby. You go ahead, I’m watching.”

But she shook her head, that stubborn spark flashing in her eyes, the same one that reminded you far too much of Jisung. “No, come look!” she insisted, tugging harder at your hand. “He said I can help, but you have to say it’s okay!”

The sound of Jisung’s quiet laugh filled the space. It wasn’t mocking, it was something softer, like he was caught between surprise and something dangerously close to warmth. “She’s persistent,” he murmured. “Wonder where she gets that from.”

You shot him a look, but it lacked venom. The corner of his mouth twitched anyway, that old smirk threatening to surface, but he turned back to Ara, pretending to focus on the wrench in his hand.

“Alright,” you sighed finally, letting Ara’s hand tug you closer. “But just for a second. And you stay right where he tells you to, understood?”

Ara beamed like she’d just won a battle. “Okay!”

She guided you forward until you stood beside Jisung. The smell of oil and metal hit you stronger up close, and beneath it, something familiar. His cologne. It hadn’t changed. It was faint, but it was him.

Jisung straightened a little, eyes flicking to yours, and for a second, the noise of the shop seemed to fade. It was just the two of you standing there, the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead and Ara’s voice echoing faintly as she talked to her bunny.

He looked tired. Not the kind of tired that came from lack of sleep, but the kind that settled deep in his bones. Yet when Ara tugged at his sleeve, he smiled again, easy and genuine, like the fatigue didn’t exist.

“She’s got a million questions,” he said, his voice quiet enough that only you could hear.

You nodded, your eyes falling to Ara, who was now gently “fixing” the air with a toy screwdriver he’d handed her. “She always does.”

There was a pause. One heavy enough to make your heart ache.

You could feel his gaze on you, could almost sense the thoughts flickering behind his eyes. Regret, maybe. Wonder. Questions he wasn’t sure how to ask.

When you finally looked at him, his lips parted like he wanted to say something, but Ara’s voice cut through again before he could.

“Mommy! I’m fixing it!”

You smiled down at her, grateful for the interruption, for the tiny bubble she’d created that kept everything else from spilling out.

“That’s amazing, baby,” you said softly.

The sound of Ara’s small footsteps faded as she darted toward the far side of the shop again, her bunny tucked beneath her arm like a co-conspirator. You watched her go, a mix of affection and unease pulling at your chest.

The quiet she left behind wasn’t comfortable. It was heavy.

When you turned back, Jisung was already watching you.

His arms were crossed loosely over his chest, his jaw tight. You could see the faint trace of grease still clinging to his forearm, the way a thin line of sweat had dried along the curve of his neck from earlier work.

“Didn’t think you’d come back,” he said finally. His tone wasn’t sharp, but there was something in it, something caught between disbelief and exhaustion.

You swallowed. “Ara wanted to see you.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Right. Ara.”

There it was again, that wall between you, invisible but immovable.

You crossed your arms, mirroring him without meaning to. “She had questions. I didn’t want to keep her from getting answers.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before dropping to the floor. “You could’ve sent someone else. Or called. You didn’t have to come yourself.”

You let out a quiet breath, half a laugh but without humor. “Would you have picked up if I called?”

That got him. His lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face like he was already tired of fighting.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he muttered. “You show up here with her—after all these years and I’m supposed to just… what? Pretend it doesn’t mean anything?”

You stepped closer before you realized you were doing it, your voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s not about you and me anymore, Jisung.”

His eyes lifted, sharp now, cutting through the thin air between you. “It’s always been about you and me. That’s the problem.”

You froze. The words hit harder than you wanted to admit.

He shook his head, almost like he was trying to laugh it off, but his voice cracked when he spoke again. “You think I don’t get it? That I don’t know I screwed up? I know. I lost you. I lost years. But I’m not losing her too.”

You looked away. The sound of Ara humming softly from the back of the shop reached you faintly, grounding you.

“She’s happy,” you said quietly. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

“And you think she wouldn’t be if I was around?” he shot back, stepping closer now. You could feel the warmth radiating off him, the faint scent of oil and metal and something achingly familiar. “You think me being here ruins that?”

You shook your head quickly, but your throat felt too tight to speak.

Jisung let out a breath, the fight in his voice dimming. “You don’t have to forgive me,” he said finally. “You don’t even have to like me. But don’t shut me out of her life before I even get the chance to be part of it.”

You looked up at him, eyes softening despite yourself. He looked wrecked, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t seen in years.

It was easier when you could paint him as the careless one. Easier when he was the reason everything fell apart. But right now, standing in front of him, you couldn’t see that version anymore. You only saw the man who used to hold your hand while you fell asleep, who built his first car in a rusted shed behind his parents’ house, who was now looking at you like you were both ghosts of something that never really ended.

“I’m not shutting you out,” you said finally, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just… trying to figure out how to do this without breaking everything again.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything.

Then, faintly, Ara’s laughter echoed from somewhere near the back of the shop. Jisung’s expression softened instantly, his gaze drifting toward the sound.

“She’s got your laugh,” he said, almost to himself.

You didn’t know what to do with that, how a simple sentence could make your eyes sting and your heart twist at the same time.

So you smiled instead, weak but real. “She’s got your curiosity.”

He looked back at you then, and for the first time since the night he showed up at your door, the tension between you didn’t feel like it was about anger. It felt like possibility. Fragile, terrifying, but real.

You both stood there, not saying another word, while Ara’s voice carried softly through the open space, bright and unaware of the storm she had just calmed without knowing.

Ara’s laughter carried through the garage like sunlight through dust. It was soft and bright, cutting through the lingering tension you hadn’t been able to shake. You could hear the faint scrape of her sneakers against the concrete floor, the rustle of her little bunny tucked under her arm as she explored again.

Jisung took a small step back, wiping his palms against a rag that was already stained with oil. His eyes followed the sound of her voice, a ghost of a smile appearing before he looked back at you.

“Mind if I… show her a few things?” he asked carefully, like the question might shatter if he said it too fast.

You hesitated, arms folded across your chest out of habit. But Ara’s laugh echoed again, that bubbling, curious sound you loved so much, and suddenly you couldn’t find the heart to say no.

“Just… make sure she doesn’t touch anything sharp,” you murmured.

Jisung’s mouth twitched. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You watched him move toward her, his steps slow, deliberate, like he was afraid of scaring her off. Ara looked up at him, her eyes wide and trusting in the way children always were when they sensed kindness instead of threat.

“Do all cars sleep here?” she asked, looking around at the vehicles lined up in the shop.

Jisung knelt beside her, resting his arms on his knees. “Sort of,” he said, thinking. “They’re resting. I fix them so they can wake up again.”

Ara gasped softly, clutching her bunny tighter. “You make them wake up?”

He smiled. “Yeah. Want to see how?”

Her excitement was instant, pure. She nodded so hard that her little curls bounced, and your heart clenched.

You leaned against the frame of the office door, half nervous, half unable to look away.

Jisung led her to a car with the hood open, pointing at the various parts carefully, explaining in a tone so gentle you barely recognized it. You’d seen him fix things before focused, serious, his brow furrowed in thought but never like this. Never with this kind of patience, this kind of warmth.

“That one?” Ara asked, pointing to the engine. “Is that where they sleep?”

“Exactly,” Jisung said, his grin growing. “That’s the heart. It’s what makes them move. But sometimes hearts get tired.”

Ara frowned, considering it. “Do you fix hearts too?”

For a second, just one you saw Jisung’s smile falter. He glanced at you. The air thickened between you again, not like before when it was all sharp edges and pain, but something quieter. Sadder.

He looked back at Ara. “Trying to,” he said softly.

She didn’t catch the weight in his voice, just smiled and nodded proudly, as if she’d understood something simple and true. You had to turn away for a moment, pretending to fix your sleeve, because your throat had tightened.

Ara’s attention soon shifted again, as it always did. “Can I help?”

Jisung chuckled, shaking his head. “Tell you what, you can hand me tools. But you have to be really careful. Deal?”

“Deal!”

You smiled despite yourself, watching them. She stood beside him on her tiptoes, handing him a wrench that was too heavy for her small hands. He steadied it with her, guiding her fingers around the handle, showing her how to hold it properly.

It was an image that burned itself into your memory before you even realized it would, Ara’s small hands gripping the tool beside his larger ones, the contrast striking, beautiful, impossible to look away from.

They worked, if it could even be called that for a while. Mostly Jisung pretending to fix things he’d already tightened, Ara “helping” him like it was the most important job in the world.

You found yourself laughing quietly when she looked back at you, grinning from ear to ear.

“Mama, look!” she said proudly. “I’m fixing cars!”

Your eyes met Jisung’s over her head. For a moment, there was nothing else, no years lost, no anger, no lies. Just this small, ridiculous, perfect moment.

He smiled back, faint and uncertain, but real.

When Ara finally started to yawn, clutching her bunny again, Jisung wiped his hands and crouched down to her level. “Looks like my little helper’s all tired out.”

Ara nodded sleepily. “Do cars get tired too?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, brushing a bit of dust from her sleeve. “Everyone does.”

She blinked up at him. “You should sleep too, Mr. Mechanic.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.

“I’ll try,” he said. “But I work better when I’ve got good company.”

Ara giggled softly before you scooped her into your arms. “Say thank you, Ara.”

“Thank you,” she murmured into your shoulder. “For fixing cars and hearts.”

The words hit both of you harder than they should have.

You turned before Jisung could see the emotion rising in your eyes. “We’ll get out of your way,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt.

He only nodded, his gaze still fixed on Ara, that soft, wordless awe in his expression.

You carried her out, her small hand tangled in your hair as she dozed off. As the door shut behind you, Jisung stayed where he was, staring at the empty space she’d left, one hand still hovering near the car engine as if he was afraid to let go.

He didn’t. Not for a long time.

-

By the time you got home, the sun had already slipped behind the hills, and the sky was bruised purple fading into blue. The air was soft, humming with cicadas and the faint rustle of leaves outside the kitchen window. Ara was drowsy in her car seat, clutching her bunny to her chest, her little head nodding forward every few minutes before jerking back up again, like she didn’t want to miss a thing.

You carried her inside, her arms looped lazily around your neck, her breath warm against your collarbone. You could still smell the faint hint of motor oil clinging to her hair, that scent that used to follow you home years ago when you’d wait for Jisung to lock up his shop.

It hit you harder than you wanted it to.

You set Ara down gently on her bed, brushing her hair out of her face as she yawned wide, blinking sleepily at you. Her bunny was tucked under one arm, its worn floral ears peeking out between her fingers.

“Did you have fun today, baby?” you asked softly, sitting beside her.

Her sleepy smile was instant, dreamy and full. “Uh-huh. Mr. Mechanic is funny,” she said, her voice small, already fading with fatigue. “He knows everything about cars.”

You smiled faintly, smoothing your thumb over her cheek. “He’s pretty good at what he does, yeah.”

Ara snuggled deeper into her blankets, the corners of her mouth lifting in a quiet, secret smile. “He let me help him. He said I was a good helper.”

You laughed quietly. “I’m sure you were. You’re always a good helper.”

There was a small pause as she rolled over, her bunny squished between her cheek and the pillow. You could tell she wasn’t done talking, her voice had that restless, drifting quality that came right before she fell asleep.

“Mommy?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

She turned her head just enough to look up at you. Her eyes were half-lidded but still bright with curiosity, that same curiosity that never seemed to rest.

“Can we see him again?” she asked.

The question was innocent, simple, but it still managed to steal the breath from your lungs. You hesitated, fingers stilling in her hair.

Ara waited, blinking up at you, small and patient in the way children could be when they asked for something they didn’t yet understand the weight of.

You exhaled softly through your nose, trying to smile. “We can,” you said finally. “But remember, he works a lot. We can’t keep bothering him all the time, okay?”

Ara nodded, her face serious in the way that only a child’s could be. “Okay. I’ll be quiet. I’ll just watch him fix the cars.”

Your heart twisted, painfully and sweetly all at once. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you talking to him,” you said softly. “But maybe we’ll let him rest sometimes too, hm?”

“Mmhm.” She yawned again, a soft little sound that made your chest ache.

You thought maybe that was it, that she’d drift off now and give your mind a chance to rest too. But then she spoke again, voice faint but sure, muffled against her bunny.

“I really like him.” You froze.

Ara continued, unaware of how her words were slicing through you. “He smiles a lot. He doesn’t make loud noises like other people. He talks nice. I like him.”

Something trembled deep inside you. You didn’t know if it was guilt, or warmth, or something in between. Maybe all of it.

You reached out and brushed a curl away from her forehead, forcing a smile you didn’t quite feel steady enough to wear. “I like him too,” you admitted quietly.

Her eyes fluttered closed, her hand finding yours and holding it loosely. “Can we see him lots, Mommy?”

You hesitated for a long time, staring at her tiny hand wrapped around your fingers.

There were so many things you could’ve said. You could’ve reminded her that he was just a mechanic you knew. You could’ve told her that grown-ups were complicated, that sometimes people cared about each other but couldn’t stay close. But she was four. She didn’t need all that. She didn’t need your ghosts.

So instead, you smiled and squeezed her hand.

“Yeah,” you whispered, voice trembling just a little. “We’ll see him often. From now on.”

She smiled, eyes already drifting shut for good this time.

You stayed there beside her for a long while, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest, the tiny curls spilling across her pillow. You traced the edge of her bunny’s ear, your mind racing where your heart refused to go.

“From now on,” you repeated under your breath, though this time it didn’t sound like a promise you made to Ara.

It sounded like one you made to him.

You sighed and leaned back, running a tired hand over your face.

You weren’t sure what tomorrow would bring, if Jisung would keep his distance, or if you would. But one thing you knew now, deep in your bones, was that Ara’s world had already started to shift.

You stood by Ara’s door for a long moment, your hand resting lightly on the frame, listening to the faint rhythm of her breathing. The weight of her earlier words, I really like him, Mommy, still echoed in your chest, warm and aching all at once.

When you finally turned to head downstairs, the wooden steps creaked under your feet. You didn’t bother to turn on the lights; the glow from the streetlamps outside was enough to paint the living room in soft amber. The air smelled faintly of lavender from the candle you’d blown out hours ago, mixed with the sharper edge of the night air seeping through the old house.

You reached the bottom of the stairs and froze.

Through the glass of the front door, you could see a shadow, a tall, familiar silhouette standing on your porch, shifting slightly, like he wasn’t sure whether to leave or knock.

Your heart jumped into your throat.

Jisung.

You didn’t even think. Your hand moved on its own, unlocking the door and pulling it open before your brain could tell you not to.

He turned, eyes widening in surprise. The porch light caught his face, and you saw the faint exhaustion around his eyes, the kind that came from pacing, from overthinking, from not sleeping.

“Hey,” he said quietly, his voice low, rougher than usual. “I—uh—I was about to knock, but I wasn’t sure if I should or not.”

You crossed your arms automatically, not in defiance but in defense. “If you were here, you probably should’ve knocked.”

A faint, almost sheepish smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. Guess so.”

There was a pause, long enough to make the air feel heavier.

“Did you need something?” you asked finally, keeping your tone even.

He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Could we just… talk?” he asked. “No yelling. No fighting. I just—there’s stuff about Ara I think we should talk about. About what this means now.”

You blinked slowly, studying him. The sincerity in his voice disarmed you more than you wanted to admit.

You said nothing, just stepped back and opened the door wider.

His shoulders dropped, a quiet exhale leaving him. “Thanks,” he murmured, stepping inside.

He paused in the entryway, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. The house was still half-unpacked, boxes against the walls, a few of Ara’s toys scattered near the couch, and a stack of framed photos leaning against the hallway table waiting to be hung.

“I, uh… I should’ve brought something,” he said suddenly, awkwardly. “I heard about your mom. I meant to stop by sooner, I just—didn’t know if I should.”

You shook your head, swallowing the small lump that formed in your throat. “It’s okay. Really.”

He nodded, still awkward, eyes darting around like he didn’t know where to stand. But then he stopped.

At the end of the hallway, his gaze caught on something. The pictures.

He took a few steps closer, crouching slightly to look at them. His breath hitched softly, and you found yourself moving to stand beside him before you could stop yourself.

They were photos of Ara from her first year, small and soft and perfect. Her eyes still carried that sleepy newness to the world, her smile wide and toothless. There was one of her sitting in her high chair with mashed bananas smeared across her cheeks. Another of her asleep on your chest in a hospital blanket, so tiny she barely took up space.

“That’s her,” you said quietly, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Jisung’s eyes didn’t leave the photos. “She was beautiful,” he murmured. “Still is.”

You swallowed, blinking hard. “Yeah. She… she really was.”

He turned to you slowly, his expression soft but unreadable. “What was she like?”

The question caught you off guard. No one had ever asked it like that before, not your sister, not your friends, not even the kind strangers who helped you when you first moved away. But Jisung asked it like it mattered. Like he needed to know.

You took a small breath, letting your eyes rest on the photograph of her swaddled in your arms. “She was a really good baby,” you said, the words coming easier the longer you spoke. “Quiet. She didn’t cry much, not even at night. She slept through early like she just… knew I needed her to.”

You gave a small laugh, shaking your head. “Maybe she could tell I didn’t have anyone else. Or maybe she just had this calmness from the start. I used to think she was trying to make it easier on me.”

Jisung’s throat moved as he swallowed, his voice rough when he finally spoke. “You did all that by yourself?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I had help from a nurse for a little while—she was there when Ara was born. But after that, it was just us.”

He looked back at the photos, jaw tightening just slightly. “You shouldn’t have had to do that alone.”

The words hit you somewhere deep, somewhere you thought had gone numb a long time ago. You glanced at him, and for a second you saw the Jisung you used to know. The one who made promises even when he didn’t know how to keep them. The one who meant well, even when he didn’t always show it.

“I managed,” you said quietly. “We managed.”

He nodded, eyes still locked on Ara’s baby photo, the one where she was grinning up at the camera, all gums and joy. He crouched slightly, running a hand through his hair. “She looks… happy.”

“She is,” you said softly. “She’s a happy kid.”

He smiled faintly. “Guess she got that from you.”

You laughed once, shaking your head. “I don’t know about that.”

He looked up at you then, and for a brief moment, neither of you spoke. The house hummed quietly around you, the refrigerator, the soft tick of the hallway clock, the gentle creak of the floor settling.

It wasn’t the kind of silence that begged to be filled. It was the kind that said everything without needing words.

Jisung finally broke it, his voice low, steady. “Thank you. For letting me see this. For letting me… be here.”

You met his gaze, your chest tight but warm. “She deserves to know you,” you said softly. “And you deserve to know her.”

Something flickered behind his eyes hope, guilt, relief. Maybe all of it.

He nodded once, almost to himself. “I won’t mess it up this time,” he said quietly.

You didn’t answer. But for the first time in years, you didn’t feel like you had to doubt him.

The two of you stood there, side by side, staring at the photographs on the floor, fragments of a life you both helped create, but only one of you had lived until now.

And somewhere upstairs, Ara sighed in her sleep, her small voice drifting faintly through the quiet house soft, peaceful, unaware of how much had changed in a single night.

After a few minutes standing in the hallway, you finally exhaled and motioned toward the kitchen.
“Come on,” you said softly. “If we’re going to talk, let’s sit.”

Jisung followed you wordlessly. The faint squeak of his boots against the hardwood filled the silence between you. The kitchen light was dim, a single bulb humming above the table. There were two mugs on the counter, one you’d used earlier for tea, and another still sitting in the dish rack. You grabbed it out of habit, filling both with the coffee that had gone cold in the pot.

You slid one across the table toward him.
“It’s not fresh,” you said.
He took it anyway. “Doesn’t matter.”

For a while, neither of you spoke. The air between you was thick not angry anymore, just full of things left unsaid. You traced the rim of your mug with your thumb, waiting, wondering if he’d start.

It was Jisung who finally broke the silence.
“I didn’t sleep last night,” he admitted. His voice was quiet, the kind of quiet that comes when someone’s trying not to sound emotional. “I kept thinking about her. About you. About how I didn’t even know she existed.”

You stared down at your mug. “I didn’t mean for it to happen this way.”

“I know.”
He leaned back slightly, exhaling. “I just… I keep thinking how different everything could’ve been.”

You shook your head, almost smiling, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “Different doesn’t always mean better, Jisung. You weren’t ready back then. Neither of us were.”

He frowned, eyes lowering. “You think I wouldn’t have stepped up?”

“I think you didn’t even know what stepping up meant at the time,” you replied gently. “You were always gone. Always working, or with your friends, or… avoiding being home. I was barely holding it together. The night I left—” You stopped, catching the tremor in your own voice. “The night I left, I knew if I told you I was pregnant, you’d promise to change. And maybe you would have. For a while. But not because you were ready. Because you felt guilty.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, his jaw tightening. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s honest.”

He didn’t argue. He just sighed, a long, tired sound. “I was an idiot,” he said finally. “I didn’t know what I was doing, and I thought I had time to figure it out. I didn’t realize time was something I was wasting.”

Your heart clenched. You weren’t used to hearing him talk like that not defensive, not cocky, just… honest.

“She’s amazing, you know,” you said quietly. “Ara. She’s curious and kind and she has this way of making everyone around her soften without even trying. She asks questions all the time, about everything. Sometimes I think she’s too smart for her own good.”

Jisung smiled faintly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “Yeah. I noticed. She talks like she’s been on this earth twice already.”

You laughed softly. “You’re not wrong.”

The laughter faded into a comfortable quiet. You sipped your coffee. He did too, even though it was cold. Then, carefully, he asked, “Can I be in her life? I mean—really be in it. Not just as the guy who fixed your car.”

You met his eyes. There was no hesitation there anymore, only sincerity. Fear, maybe, but also determination.

“She deserves that,” you said slowly. “She deserves to know her dad.”

Relief flickered across his face, though it was quickly followed by guilt. “But?” he asked, hearing the unspoken part.

“But she doesn’t know yet,” you said softly. “She still thinks her dad works far away. I don’t want to just tell her everything all at once. I need to make sure she’s ready. I need to make sure you’re ready.”

He nodded, biting the inside of his cheek. “I’ll wait,” he said quietly. “However long it takes. I don’t care how slow it goes, as long as she knows me eventually.”

You studied him for a long moment. His voice was steady, but you could see it, the guilt behind his eyes, the ache that hadn’t left since last night. For the first time since you’d seen him again, he didn’t look like the boy you left behind. He looked like a man who had learned what loss actually meant.

“Okay,” you said finally. “Then we take it slow.”

Jisung nodded, and for a moment, neither of you moved. You could hear the faint hum of the refrigerator again, the soft tick of the clock.

When he finally stood, you stood too. He lingered by the door, one hand on the knob.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For letting me talk. For letting me… see her. I know I don’t deserve that yet.”

You shook your head. “It’s not about what you deserve. It’s about what she deserves.”

He gave a small, almost broken smile. “Still sounds like something you’d say.”

You smiled too, but it was faint, tired. “Get some rest, Jisung.”

He nodded once. “You too.”

He stepped outside, the cool night air brushing against your face as he left. You watched him walk down the path to his car, his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, head bowed. He didn’t look back, but you knew he wanted to.

When you closed the door, the house felt quieter than before. You leaned against it for a long moment, the warmth of the conversation still sitting somewhere deep in your chest. Upstairs, Ara stirred softly in her sleep, a small sound, peaceful and untroubled.

-

The next morning felt almost… normal. The kind of quiet, easy morning that came after a storm, when the air still smelled faintly of rain, but everything had settled. Ara had gone off to school humming to herself, her bunny tucked under one arm and a granola bar in the other. You were finally home alone, folding laundry, sipping lukewarm coffee, and pretending you weren’t waiting for something.

You didn’t know what you were waiting for exactly, maybe a sign that last night hadn’t just been another emotionally exhausting blur.

Then your phone buzzed.

You glanced over, half-expecting a message from work or your sister. But the name that popped up on your screen made your stomach twist.

Unknown Number: Is this the right number?

You froze. You didn’t need to ask who it was. There was only one person who would text you like that blunt, half unsure, half confident he was right anyway. You smiled despite yourself.

You: How did you even get my number?

It took less than a minute for him to reply.

Jisung: Can’t tell you. Trade secret.
Jisung: And before you accuse anyone, your sister has nothing to do with this.

You laughed out loud, shaking your head as you set your phone on the counter. He must have definitely run into her. There was no other way. She’d always had a soft spot for Jisung said he was “a pain in the ass, but a charming one.”

You: Right. Totally believe that.

There was a short pause, and then:

Jisung: Okay, so I need help.

You frowned, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

You: With what?

Three dots appeared. Then a photo came through. Then another. And another.

You blinked, scrolling through them.

He was clearly at a store, the toy section, judging by the bright shelves and cartoon packaging in the background. Each picture was worse than the last: a sequined pink dress clearly three sizes too big, a toy truck shaped like a dinosaur, and a doll that looked like it had been through several world wars.

Jisung: I’m new to this. Don’t judge me.
Jisung: Would she like any of these?

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. You could almost see him there, standing in the middle of the aisle, frowning at the shelves, his phone tilted in one hand as he tried to pretend he wasn’t completely out of his depth.

You: You have terrible taste.

There was a pause. Then a single message popped up:

Jisung: 😒

You laughed harder this time, covering your mouth. He hadn’t changed, still quick to get mock-offended, still boyish when he wanted to be.

You: She likes anything. Really. Especially if she knows it’s a gift.
You: She loves surprises.

The typing bubble lingered for a moment.

Jisung: Good to know.
Jisung: Guess I’ll have to figure out what kind of surprise then.

You stared at that message longer than you meant to.
Something about the way he said it simple, casual made your chest tighten. Because underneath the playfulness, you could feel the sincerity. He was trying. For Ara. Maybe for you, too.

You leaned back against the counter, smiling to yourself.

You: Don’t go overboard, Jisung.
Jisung: No promises.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the small warmth spreading through you. The same man who once couldn’t remember to text you back for days was now standing in a toy aisle, asking what your daughter, his daughter might like.

You stared at your phone for a while after the messages stopped, scrolling back through the photos again.
Somewhere between the blurry doll and the mismatched dresses, you realized that this, this fumbling attempt to be part of Ara’s world was Jisung’s way of saying I’m here now.

And for the first time in years, you believed him.

-
Ara was in the living room, sprawled out on the floor, coloring with her crayons while humming softly under her breath. The sound was comforting, the kind of gentle background noise that made the house feel alive again.

You were in the kitchen rinsing a few dishes, the faint hum of the TV drifting in from the other room, when you heard a knock on the door.

It wasn’t a hesitant knock, but it wasn’t loud either, firm enough that you knew it was someone who didn’t want to wake Ara if she was asleep.

Your stomach dropped before you even looked.

You dried your hands on the nearest towel, heart thudding faster with every step toward the door. You didn’t know why you were nervous, you did know, actually but it didn’t stop the feeling.

When you opened it, there he was.

Jisung stood there holding two paper bags, one in each hand with a look on his face that was halfway between proud and sheepish. His hair was a little messy, like he’d run his hand through it a dozen times before knocking. His work jacket was unzipped, a soft gray hoodie underneath.

“Hey,” he said.

It was almost soft, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he was welcome.

You blinked. “Hey. What’s all that?”

He glanced down at the bags, suddenly awkward. “Uh… peace offerings?”

You frowned but felt the corners of your mouth twitch. “Peace offerings?”

He shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You said Ara likes surprises. So… surprise.”

Before you could say anything, Ara’s voice echoed from the living room.

“Mommy, who is it?”

Her little footsteps padded quickly toward you, and when she saw him, her eyes went wide.

“Jisung!” she squealed, practically bouncing in place.

You didn’t even have time to react before she ran straight for him, bunny tucked under her arm, and he bent down just in time to catch her in a hug.

The look on his face that pure, startled kind of wonder hit you right in the chest.

“Hey, kid,” he said, his voice soft and full of something warm. “Got something for you.”

He set one of the bags down and carefully pulled out a small box wrapped in shiny paper. The wrapping job was… terrible. The tape was uneven, one corner sticking up, and it looked like he’d wrestled with it for a good ten minutes before giving up.

Ara didn’t care. Her eyes were glowing as she took it from him, holding it like it was made of gold. She tore it open immediately, and the moment the box was free, she gasped so loud you almost laughed.

It was a dress, soft pink with little embroidered daisies along the skirt. Simple, but beautiful. Not too frilly, not too plain. It looked exactly like something you would’ve picked out for her yourself.

“Can I wear it now?” she asked, already clutching it to her chest.

You smiled, shaking your head. “Maybe later, baby. It’s really pretty, huh?”

She nodded so hard her curls bounced. “It’s sooo pretty!”

Jisung was grinning, almost shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh… wasn’t sure. I almost went with something pink and sparkly, but I figured maybe she’s more into… this?”

You met his gaze. “You guessed right.”

He looked down, his smile flickering softer, almost bashful. “Lucky guess.”

Before you could say more, Ara spotted the second bag still in his hand. “What’s that one?”

Jisung laughed. “You have good eyes, huh?”

He crouched down again and opened the second bag. Out came two small toy cars one red, one yellow and a plastic toolkit meant for kids. Ara gasped again, eyes wide, and then immediately started making vroom noises, running them across the floor.

“Oh my gosh!” she said, completely breathless. “They look like the ones in your shop!”

“They’re yours now,” Jisung said softly, smiling as he watched her.

You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, unable to fight the fond smile tugging at your lips. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen Ara this excited. She was talking so fast she was tripping over her words, jumping from one toy to another.

Jisung’s eyes followed her every move, a quiet smile tugging at his lips that you hadn’t seen in years. It was different from the way he used to smile back then, not cocky or teasing but gentle. Almost reverent.

When Ara ran to her room to show her bunny the new toys, the house fell quiet again.

You spoke first. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

He shrugged, his voice quiet. “I wanted to.”

You sighed softly, your hand brushing through your hair. “Still. You’re spoiling her already.”

He smirked faintly. “Guess I’m making up for lost time.”

The words hung heavy between you not sharp, not bitter. Just… true.

You didn’t know what to say, so you nodded. “She’s really happy. That means a lot.”

He looked at you for a long moment, then nodded too. “Yeah. It means a lot to me too.”

The sound of Ara’s laughter drifted down the hall again, breaking the silence, and Jisung smiled faintly, glancing toward her room before his gaze came back to you.

And in that brief, quiet moment, you realized something had shifted. The tension between you wasn’t gone, it never would be but it wasn’t all anger anymore. There was something else now. Something gentler, still bruised, still scared… but undeniably hopeful.

It started innocently enough with Ara bouncing out of her room, her new dress clutched in her arms and her voice echoing through the hallway.

“Can Jisung stay for dinner?” she blurted, as if the idea had been sitting on her tongue, waiting for the perfect moment to escape.

You blinked, caught completely off guard. “Dinner?”

“Please?” she said, drawing out the word in that pleading tone you knew all too well. Her eyes were bright, full of hope. “We have spaghetti, right? You always make too much!”

You opened your mouth to respond, to find the polite, reasonable way to say no but she wasn’t finished.

“I can show him my drawings!” she added, twirling her bunny in one hand, the other tugging on Jisung’s sleeve. “And he can tell me if cars can look like the ones I made!”

You looked at her, then at Jisung. He looked startled, his mouth parting slightly like he wasn’t sure if he should say anything at all.

“Ara…” you started softly, “I’m sure Jisung has things to do. He’s probably tired.”

Before Jisung could even open his mouth, Ara pouted, that dramatic, heart-melting kind of pout that could make even the strictest person bend.

“Please, Mommy? Just dinner.”

You sighed, already feeling yourself crumble. One glance at her face, then another at Jisung, who looked like he didn’t know whether to step in or stay quiet and the decision was made for you.

“Alright,” you said finally, shaking your head. “Just dinner.”

Ara squealed, clapping her hands. “Yay!”

Jisung blinked, rubbing the back of his neck, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “You sure? I don’t want to—”

“You’re already here,” you said, more curtly than you meant to. Then, softer, “Might as well stay.”

He nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “Alright then.”

-

Dinner turned out warmer than you expected.

Ara planted herself at the dining table, narrating every part of her day as you moved around the kitchen. You worked quietly, still a little tense, stirring sauce, boiling pasta, the familiar motions grounding you.

Jisung stood a few feet away, awkward at first, like he didn’t know where to put his hands. But when he noticed you juggling a hot pot and a dripping strainer, he stepped in without a word.

“Here,” he said, reaching for the colander. “I got it.”

You hesitated but handed it over, muttering a quiet, “Thanks.”

He drained the pasta, the steam curling up between you, carrying the faint scent of garlic and tomatoes. You caught him glancing at you once or twice, subtle, unsure before he set everything down and started setting the table without you asking.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he interrupted, gentle but firm.

So you let him.

You watched as he moved around your kitchen like it was foreign ground, yet somehow familiar. He fumbled a bit finding the plates, chuckled under his breath when Ara told him where you kept the forks “Middle drawer, Jisung! Mommy always puts them there!”

And somewhere in the middle of it all between the clatter of dishes and Ara’s steady stream of chatter you realized how easily he fit into the space. How natural it felt, even though it shouldn’t.

By the time you all sat down, the sun had slipped below the horizon, casting a golden haze across the dining room. Ara was still talking, about school, about her drawings, about the new toy cars and Jisung listened like every word mattered.

He laughed when she told him about her “imaginary garage,” the one she’d built out of cardboard boxes and crayons. “Sounds like you’re a better mechanic than I am,” he teased.

Ara grinned proudly, twirling spaghetti on her fork. “You can work there too if you want!”

“Oh yeah?” he said, leaning forward, humoring her. “You hiring?”

She nodded seriously. “But you have to fix pink cars too.”

He chuckled. “Deal.”

You sat across from them, quietly smiling into your glass of water. Watching them together was strange, comforting and painful all at once. The way she leaned toward him, the way he smiled at her, the way her laughter filled the spaces that used to feel empty, it all felt like watching something click into place that had been missing for too long.

You caught yourself staring more than once. And every time you did, Jisung’s gaze seemed to find yours fleeting, unsure, but full of something neither of you dared to name yet.

After dinner, Ara insisted on showing him her drawings, car sketches on printer paper with scribbled names like Sparkle Machine and Vroomy. Jisung knelt beside her, pointing out details, pretending to study them like a professional.

You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, smiling softly. For a moment, the years between you didn’t feel so wide.

He looked up once and your eyes met. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to.

You both knew what that silence meant.

The sound of Ara’s giggle broke it. She’d drawn a picture of the three of you, her in the middle, holding hands with “Mommy” and “Jisung.”

You exhaled slowly, your chest tight and aching.

Jisung smiled faintly, his voice soft. “You’re a really good artist, Ara.”

“Thanks,” she said proudly. “That’s us! We look happy.”

And you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at how true that sounded.

Dinner had ended with laughter, crumbs on the table, and Ara chattering endlessly as you collected dishes. You told her it was time to settle down, that cartoons before bed weren’t part of her routine, but she was already dragging Jisung toward the couch, her little bunny tucked under one arm.

“Just one episode!” she pleaded, grinning up at you from where she’d perched herself beside him.

You rolled your eyes with a sigh, but the corners of your lips betrayed you. “Fine. One.”

She squealed and grabbed the remote before you could change your mind.

You turned away to the kitchen, washing dishes that didn’t really need washing, folding towels that were already folded, doing anything to keep your hands busy while your eyes kept drifting to the living room.

From where you stood, you could see them clearly: Jisung leaned back against the couch, one arm resting on the cushion behind Ara as she pointed at the screen and giggled. He didn’t seem to understand half of what was happening in the cartoon, but he laughed anyway, that quiet, warm laugh that filled the room without trying to.

Something about the sight made your chest ache.

You tried not to linger on it, tried not to think about how natural they looked together. How peaceful Jisung seemed, how easy Ara’s laughter came when he was near.

So you busied yourself, moving from the sink to the counter to the dining table, wiping things that didn’t need wiping, rearranging napkins just to stay occupied.

When you looked up again, the cartoon’s noise had softened. The volume was low, almost muted, and the rhythmic pattern of the end credits played softly through the room.

Jisung was still there, but Ara wasn’t talking anymore.

She was fast asleep, her small body curled against his chest, bunny tucked between them. Her head rested just below his chin, her breathing even and slow.

Jisung didn’t move at first. He just stared down at her, his hand resting lightly on her back, like he was afraid to break the moment. You could see the faint tremor in his chest, the way he exhaled carefully, deeply, as if realizing something he wasn’t sure how to process.

Then, quietly, he called your name.

You walked over, drying your hands on a dish towel. “Yeah?”

“She’s out,” he murmured, smiling softly. “Should I—?”

You hesitated only a second before nodding. “You can carry her. I’ll show you to her room.”

He nodded once, careful and deliberate as he slid his arm beneath her. Ara stirred faintly but didn’t wake, mumbling something incoherent as she nestled into him. Jisung adjusted her easily like he’d been doing it all his life and followed you down the short hallway toward her room.

The moment he stepped inside, his entire demeanor changed. He moved slower, quieter, eyes taking in every little detail, the soft night-light in the corner, the stuffed animals lined neatly across the bed, the faint lavender scent that filled the space.

You pulled the blanket back for him, and he gently laid Ara down, her bunny clutched to her chest.

You watched as he brushed a few strands of hair from her forehead, his hand trembling just slightly. Then he stepped back, letting out a long, quiet breath that sounded half relief, half heartbreak.

“I never thought…” he began, his voice low, almost hoarse. “I never thought I’d carry my daughter to bed.”

You exhaled softly, leaning against the doorframe. “You did good.”

He gave a faint laugh, shaking his head. “She’s amazing. I still can’t believe she’s—” He stopped himself, swallowing hard. “She’s ours.”

You smiled small, genuine. “She’s something else, that’s for sure.”

He followed you out, closing the door behind him as quietly as possible. For a moment, neither of you moved. You just stood there in the dim hallway, the air thick with exhaustion and something unspoken.

“Coffee?” you asked finally, just to break the silence.

He smiled faintly. “At this hour?”

You shrugged. “You’ve already stayed this long.”

In the kitchen, you poured two mugs one black, one with cream, remembering how he used to take it. He noticed immediately, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“You remembered,” he said.

You ignored the way your stomach flipped. “Habit.”

He chuckled. “Right.”

What started as small talk about Ara, about her drawings, about her new fixation with cars slowly unraveled into something softer. You talked about the early days: her first word, her favorite foods, her stubborn streak that reminded you so much of him it almost hurt.

He listened intently, a faint smile playing on his lips, his thumb tracing the rim of his mug.

“She sounds a lot like you,” he teased quietly after a while.

You raised an eyebrow. “Me?”

“Yeah,” he said with a smirk. “Bossy. Talks too much. Knows everything.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “You forgot brilliant and patient.”

He laughed, a real laugh this time, one that softened his whole face. “Yeah, that too.”

The sound filled the quiet house, and you found yourself laughing along, shaking your head.

You didn’t even realize how much time had passed until your phone buzzed on the counter, the clock flashing past midnight.

“Wow,” you muttered, rubbing your temples. “You’ve officially overstayed your welcome.”

Jisung smiled sheepishly, standing and stretching his arms. “Guess I got carried away.”

“You think?” you teased, following him to the door.

He stopped there, hand on the knob, turning back to look at you. The light from the hallway caught the tired edges of his expression but there was warmth there too. Something familiar.

“Thanks for… letting me stay,” he said quietly. “And for tonight. For everything.”

You nodded. “You’re welcome.”

He hesitated, then added softly, “It was nice. Talking again.”

You looked at him for a long moment before answering. “Yeah,” you said finally. “It was.”

He smiled, small but genuine, before slipping out into the cool night air. You closed the door after him, leaning your forehead against it for just a second, breathing him out of your chest.

Then you turned toward the hallway, the faint sound of Ara’s soft breathing drifting from her room, and whispered to yourself half a sigh, half a confession.. It was nice.

-

The shop was too quiet for a Thursday. The kind of quiet that made Jisung’s thoughts too loud.

The half-repaired engine in front of him hissed faintly, the smell of oil and steel heavy in the air, but he wasn’t focused. His wrench hung loosely in his hand, knuckles smudged with grease, his body at the shop, his mind somewhere else entirely.

He’d been useless lately. Couldn’t finish a full job without checking his phone, couldn’t focus for more than a few minutes before a memory crept in, Ara’s laugh, her small hand tugging on his sleeve, the way she’d asked a dozen questions about engines with eyes full of wonder.

And then there was you.

The way you had smiled that night, soft and tired, but genuine. The way your laugh still had the same cadence it did years ago like it was pulling something buried in him to the surface.

He groaned, dragging his gloved hand down his face. Get a grip, Han Jisung.

But the truth was, he couldn’t. Every time his phone buzzed, his pulse jumped before he could stop it. Every time he looked at the photos he’d taken, Ara standing beside the car holding his wrench like it was treasure, the little grin that mirrored his own, he felt his chest twist in ways he didn’t know how to name.

He’d been smiling too much, and it was starting to show.

He caught himself staring at his phone again, scrolling through the few photos like they were the only things keeping him sane. He wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore until the sharp slam of the shop door made him jump.

He fumbled, nearly dropping his phone into a puddle of oil.

“What the—” he muttered, spinning around.

Chan and Minho stood there, both of them looking like they’d just caught him in the middle of something he shouldn’t be doing. Chan had a knowing smirk, while Minho’s eyebrows were already halfway up his forehead.

“What’s with you?” Chan asked, crossing his arms. “You look like you just got busted doing something illegal.”

“Yeah,” Minho added, leaning against a workbench. “You’ve been MIA for weeks. And now you’re sitting here grinning at your phone like a teenager in love.”

Jisung scowled, shoving his phone into his pocket. “I’m working.”

“Sure you are,” Minho said dryly, eyeing the half-finished car. “That’s why this same engine’s been sitting here since Monday.”

Jisung exhaled loudly, rubbing at his temple. “Can you two not start?”

Chan grinned. “We wouldn’t have to if you’d just tell us what’s going on. You got a girlfriend or something?”

Jisung froze, his back stiffening before he could hide it. That was all the confirmation Chan needed.

“Holy shit, you do!” Chan laughed. “No wonder you’ve been acting like this! Who is she? Wait—don’t tell me. Is it the flirty customer? The one who—”

“It’s not,” Jisung cut in sharply.

Minho raised an eyebrow. “Then who?”

Jisung sighed, his patience thinning. “Can we not do this?”

Chan exchanged a look with Minho, then took a deliberate step closer, lowering his voice. “Come on, Ji. You’ve been off for weeks. Either you’re in love, or you’ve got a secret life we don’t know about.”

Jisung let out a rough, humorless laugh and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, something like that.”

Minho leaned against the counter beside him. “So which is it?”

There was a long beat of silence. The hum of the shop’s lights filled the space.

Finally, Jisung groaned under his breath, rubbing at his face. “You’re not gonna drop it, are you?”

Chan smirked. “Not a chance.”

Jisung exhaled heavily through his nose, muttering a curse before saying it, the words he hadn’t told anyone yet.

“Ara’s my daughter.”

Both of them froze.

Chan blinked. “Wait—what?”

Minho straightened, his expression hard to read. “You mean— the Ara? The kid you’ve been talking about nonstop?”

Jisung nodded slowly, his throat tightening. “Yeah. Her.”

Chan stared for a long moment, like he was trying to process the words. “Hold on. You mean Y/N’s kid? She’s actually yours?”

“Yeah,” Jisung said quietly.

“What the hell happened?” Minho asked, his tone more cautious now.

Jisung sighed and leaned back against the hood of the car, crossing his arms. “Remember when you, Chan, started talking about the timeline? About how old she was, how it lined up?”

Chan nodded slowly, eyes narrowing.

“Well,” Jisung continued, “it stuck in my head. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The math made sense. Too much sense. And I realized I’d been too stupid not to see it sooner.”

“So what’d you do?” Minho asked.

“I drove to her place,” Jisung admitted, voice low. “Didn’t even think about it. Just—showed up. Asked her straight out.”

Chan’s eyes widened. “You what?”

“She didn’t deny it,” Jisung said, his voice quieter now, his thumb tapping against the metal beside him. “Didn’t have to. I could tell from the look on her face.”

Minho exhaled slowly, folding his arms. “Damn.”

Chan whistled softly, still stunned. “So that’s who’s been taking up all your time.”

“Yeah,” Jisung said with a tired laugh. “That’s her. And Ara.”

Chan looked at him carefully. “And now?”

Jisung shrugged, the weight of the situation pressing on his shoulders again. “Now I’m trying to figure it out. I missed five years of her life. I don’t even know where to start. I don’t want to mess it up.”

For once, neither of his friends teased. Chan just nodded slowly, his usual grin fading. Minho looked thoughtful, his tone softer when he finally spoke.

“You won’t mess it up,” he said. “You just gotta show up. That’s all she’s gonna remember — that you’re there now.”

Jisung looked down at his hands, the grease under his nails, the small cuts from work. Hands that had built engines, rebuilt cars but never once held his daughter until now.

“Yeah,” he murmured, more to himself than to them. “That’s the plan.”

But deep down, he wasn’t sure if it would ever feel like enough.

Chan finally broke the silence. “So… what’s next?”

Jisung glanced over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” Chan said, lowering his phone. “You told us. You finally know Ara’s yours. You’ve been seeing her, spending time with her, and Y/N’s letting you in. So what’s the plan? What comes after this?”

Minho chimed in, his voice blunt as always. “He means—when are you gonna make things official? Actually be her dad? And maybe—” he tilted his head, smirking faintly, “—try to fix things with Y/N while you’re at it.”

Jisung scoffed immediately, rubbing his palm over the back of his neck. “You guys don’t get it.”

Chan leaned forward, interested. “Then explain it to us.”

Jisung sighed and tossed the rag onto the workbench, his jaw tightening as he searched for the right words. “I’m not rushing into anything. Not with this.”

“Why not?” Minho asked, though his tone wasn’t mocking, just curious.

Jisung hesitated. His gaze fell to the floor, eyes tracing the oil stains that had marked the same spot for years. “Because if I push too hard, I’ll ruin it.”

Chan and Minho exchanged a look, both sensing the edge of fear in his tone.

He continued quietly, “Ara doesn’t know me like that. She just knows I’m the guy who fixes cars and gave her a bunny back. She’s comfortable with me right now, but if I suddenly tell her I’m her dad—what if that scares her? What if it changes everything too fast?”

Minho frowned slightly. “Kids are smarter than we think, though.”

“I know,” Jisung said, nodding. “She is. She’s amazing. But she’s still a kid. I can’t just dump years of truth on her and expect her to understand it all at once.”

Chan’s voice softened. “And Y/N?”

Jisung let out a breath through his nose, rubbing his thumb over the calloused skin of his palm. “That’s another thing. She’s been through hell doing this on her own. I can’t just show up now, pretending like I have the right to fit perfectly into their lives.”

He paused, glancing at the photos pinned up on the corkboard behind his desk, old Polaroids of the guys, a few car builds, and now, tucked discreetly in the corner, a picture Ara had drawn for him, a messy crayon car with three stick figures, one big, one small, and one holding a wrench.

“She’s letting me in, little by little,” he said softly. “I can’t risk losing that by moving too fast. I don’t want to overwhelm Ara, and I don’t want to make Y/N feel cornered. She deserves to breathe without worrying if I’m going to mess it all up again.”

Chan hummed thoughtfully. “You sound like you’ve actually been thinking this through.”

Jisung gave him a flat look. “You think I’d just wing this?”

Chan laughed, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. Fair. But you also can’t drag it out forever. You don’t want Ara growing up thinking you’re just her mom’s friend who knows how to fix cars.”

Jisung nodded slowly. “Yeah. I know. I just…” His voice trailed off. “I want her to trust me first. Really trust me. I want her to know she can come to me for anything before she finds out why she can.”

Minho leaned back on his stool. “That’s… actually mature of you.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Jisung muttered, but a faint grin tugged at his lips.

“I’m serious,” Minho said. “You’ve always been the ‘act first, deal with it later’ guy. But this? Taking it slow, thinking it through—that’s different. It’s good.”

Jisung shrugged, feigning nonchalance but unable to hide the flicker of warmth the words sparked. “Guess being a dad’ll do that to you.”

Chan smiled knowingly. “You already sound like one.”

That earned a soft, humorless laugh from Jisung. “Yeah, well, let’s see if I can actually live up to it.”

There was a pause, heavier now, filled with quiet understanding.

Chan hopped down from the hood and clapped a hand on Jisung’s shoulder. “You will. You’re already doing better than most guys would.”

Minho nodded. “Just don’t overthink it to death. Be there. That’s what matters.”

Jisung looked up at the two of them, his friends who’d seen him at his worst, who’d told him hard truths he didn’t want to hear, who were now standing by him anyway.

He gave a small nod. “Yeah. One step at a time.”

Chan smirked, breaking the moment. “Just don’t wait another five years before making the next move.”

“Shut up,” Jisung muttered, throwing the rag at him.

It missed.

Chan laughed, Minho rolled his eyes, and for a moment, the heaviness in Jisung’s chest lightened. The fear was still there so was the uncertainty, but underneath it all was something stronger.

Hope.

For the first time in a long time, he actually had something worth taking slow.

-

The house smelled like garlic and soy and something a little sweet, maybe too sweet.

You had been moving nonstop since the afternoon, sleeves rolled up, apron tied tight, a thin layer of flour dusting your cheek like proof of how seriously you were taking this. The kitchen counter was a battlefield, cutting board cluttered, sauce simmering, two different pans you weren’t sure you needed both of, and an open cookbook flipped to a recipe you’d already abandoned halfway through.

You kept glancing at the clock.

It wasn’t even six yet, but you’d been pacing since four.

Jisung was supposed to come for dinner again.
Nothing new. Nothing strange. Just dinner.
Except somehow, it didn’t feel just like dinner.

It should’ve been simple, he’d been over before. He’d sat in that same seat at the table, listened to Ara ramble about her favorite cartoons, helped wash dishes after. It wasn’t unusual.

But this time, your stomach wouldn’t stop fluttering.

You wanted everything to be perfect.
Then you caught yourself and realized how ridiculous that was.

With a groan, you leaned against the counter, crossing your arms. “Get a grip,” you muttered under your breath.

He wasn’t coming over for you. He was coming over for Ara. For dinner. For normalcy.

Still, your eyes flicked around the kitchen, at the table you’d already set, the flowers you’d impulsively placed in a jar, the candles you didn’t mean to light but had anyway. And suddenly it all looked like too much.

You sighed and reached to blow out the candles. The faint scent of wax and vanilla faded, leaving behind the faint hum of the refrigerator and Ara’s soft voice from the living room.

“Mommy, can you help me with my bunny’s dress?”

You peeked over the doorway. Ara was sitting cross-legged on the rug, bunny propped up in her lap, tongue poking out in concentration as she tried to tie a ribbon around its neck.

You smiled, the tension in your shoulders easing. “You’re doing great, baby. Let me just wash my hands first.”

You turned off the stove, wiped your palms on your apron, and crouched beside her. Ara handed you the ribbon with a small frown. “It’s too short. I think the bunny got bigger.”

You chuckled, tying it carefully anyway. “Maybe the bunny just ate too much cake.”

She gasped dramatically. “Like me!”

You laughed, tapping her nose. “Exactly like you.”

Her grin made something inside you melt.

For a few minutes, everything felt light again, simple. But that peace didn’t last long. As you tied the bow, your mind drifted back to the truth sitting heavy in your chest.

Ara deserved to know. She deserved to understand who Jisung really was, but how could you just say it?
How do you tell a five-year-old that the man she’d grown fond of, the one who fixed her car and bought her gifts and listened so patiently, wasn’t just someone kind but her father?

You didn’t want to drop it on her suddenly. You wanted to ease her into it, gently, softly, in a way that made sense to her little world.

Maybe tonight could be the start of that.

You swallowed the knot in your throat and said, carefully, “Hey, Ara?”

She looked up, eyes wide, ribbon in her hands. “Yeah?”

“You know how Jisung’s been coming to visit us lately?” you asked, keeping your tone casual.

She nodded eagerly. “Uh-huh. He’s nice! And funny. And he knows everything about cars.”

You smiled faintly. “He does, doesn’t he?”

“Mm-hmm.”

You paused, fingers fidgeting with the ribbon. “Well… did you know that Jisung isn’t just someone who fixes cars?”

She blinked, her small brows furrowing in confusion. “He’s not?”

“No.” You hesitated for a moment, choosing your words. “He’s… someone I used to know a long time ago. Someone really important to me.”

Ara tilted her head. “Like Auntie?”

“Kind of,” you said softly. “But different. Jisung and I… we used to care about each other a lot. We were very close.”

Her eyes widened. “Like best friends?”

You smiled, the ache in your chest bittersweet. “Yeah. Like best friends.”

She grinned. “Then he’s your best friend again now!”

You laughed quietly. “Maybe. We’re trying to be.”

Ara giggled and went back to fixing her bunny’s dress, humming to herself like you hadn’t just turned your heart inside out. To her, it was simple, people who cared for each other were best friends.
If only it were that simple for adults.

Still, it was a start. You’d said something. You’d planted a seed. And that was enough for tonight.

You stood, smoothing your apron and taking a deep breath. “Alright, baby, I need to finish dinner before he gets here.”

“Can I help?” she asked, hopping to her feet.

You smiled. “Of course.”

She helped you carry napkins to the table, though half of them ended up crumpled. She tasted the sauce when you weren’t looking, got caught, then giggled when you gave her your mock stern look.

By the time you were setting the last dish down, her bunny sitting proudly on one of the chairs, the nervousness had dimmed into something else, something steady.

You weren’t trying to impress him anymore. You were trying to make this work. For Ara. For all of you.

And when you heard the faint rumble of an engine outside, the one you now recognized without needing to look, your chest tightened again, but this time, it wasn’t panic.

It was hope, wrapped in the shape of a heartbeat.

You turned to Ara, brushing a hand over her hair. “He’s here, baby. Go say hi.”

She squealed and bolted for the door, and you let out a slow breath, pressing your palms against the counter.

This wasn’t about the past anymore. It was about what came next.
And for the first time in years, you were ready to take the next step one careful, quiet, hopeful step at a time.

-

Jisung sat in his car longer than he meant to.

The engine was off, but the faint ticking of the cooling metal filled the silence as he stared at the paper bag in the passenger seat. Inside sat a bottle of wine he’d asked the clerk to help him pick, something that sounded more impressive than he actually knew anything about and a small bouquet wrapped in brown paper.

He had stood in the grocery store aisle for nearly twenty minutes debating what flowers to even bring. He almost went with roses, but that felt… wrong. Too loaded, too heavy with meaning neither of them was ready for. Then he considered daisies, because they reminded him of Ara bright, soft, uncomplicated but somehow that felt like cheating, like he was hiding behind his daughter to make something easier.

In the end, he chose tulips.
Simple. Warm. A little hopeful.

He ran a hand over his face, sighed, and muttered to himself, “It’s just dinner.”

But even he didn’t believe that.

Because it wasn’t just dinner anymore, not after everything that had happened, not after the yelling, the late-night confrontation, the tentative peace that had followed.

You had let him back in. Not fully, not completely, but enough to give him space to try. Enough to make him realize that the line between past and present wasn’t as clear as it used to be.

He looked down at his hands gripping the steering wheel, noticed the faint tremor in his fingers, and huffed a dry laugh. He’d handled car engines worth more than a house without flinching, but this walking up to your door with flowers and a bottle of wine, somehow had him more nervous than anything else in his life.

Still, he got out of the car.

The cool evening air brushed against his skin, grounding him. The neighborhood was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt alive, faint laughter from somewhere down the street, the hum of a TV through a half-open window, the soft rhythm of leaves brushing together.

By the time he reached your doorstep, he could already hear Ara’s laughter faintly from inside light and quick and happy. The sound eased something in him.

He raised his hand to knock but hesitated.

He could still remember the last time he stood here. The way your face had looked tired, angry, guarded. The way your voice had trembled between fury and heartbreak. He didn’t want that again. Not tonight.

He wanted this to feel different.
Lighter. Maybe even peaceful.

So he straightened his jacket, adjusted his grip on the bag, and finally knocked.

It took a few seconds before the door opened, and when it did, you stood there, surprised but not startled. You looked at him for a moment, then at the bag in his hand, then back at him.

He felt suddenly like a teenager again, awkward and unsure, trying not to fidget under your gaze.

“Hey,” he said, clearing his throat. “I, uh… wasn’t sure what to bring, so—” He lifted the items slightly. “I brought this. Wine. And… flowers.”

For a moment, you didn’t move. Your expression softened, just barely. Then, to his relief, a faint smile pulled at your lips.

“You didn’t have to bring anything,” you said quietly, stepping aside.

“Yeah, I figured. But, you know—” He scratched the back of his neck, half-grinning. “Didn’t want to show up empty-handed again. I’m still trying to fix my reputation.”

That earned a quiet laugh from you, and he let out a small breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

You took the bag from him, careful, like you weren’t quite sure what to do with it. “These are nice,” you said, fingers brushing over the tulips.

He smiled a little. “They reminded me of you.”

You froze for half a second before glancing up at him startled, maybe even a little flustered. He immediately regretted saying it out loud.

“I mean—not like—” He coughed awkwardly, looking anywhere but at you. “Just, uh, simple and… nice. Not in a weird way.”

You bit back a grin. “You’re terrible at this.”

“I know,” he muttered. “I fix cars, not conversations.”

Before either of you could say more, Ara’s small voice rang out from the living room. “Hi!” Ara came barreling down the hall, bunny in hand, grinning from ear to ear. “Jisung!”

She collided into his leg, and Jisung immediately crouched down, smiling so wide it made his cheeks ache. “Hey, kid. You miss me or something?”

She nodded furiously. “I have so many questions! I even made a list.”

He laughed, looking up at you. “A list, huh?”

You raised your hands helplessly. “Don’t look at me. She’s been talking about you since breakfast.”

Jisung’s grin softened. “Guess I better have good answers then.”

Ara grabbed his hand, tugging him toward the living room like she owned the place which, in her little world, she did. He followed easily, setting the bag on the counter as she talked about her bunny’s “car upgrades” and how she wanted to build one that could fly.

You stood a few steps behind, watching them. Watching him.

After Ara had proudly shown him her drawings and “plans,” Jisung looked back over his shoulder at you, his smile gentler now.

“Dinner smells amazing,” he said softly. “You’ve been busy.”

You shrugged, suddenly shy. “Just tried something new. No guarantees it’s edible.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m sure it’s perfect.”

And when you both caught each other’s gaze for a second longer than either meant to you, holding the flowers like they were something fragile, him standing there looking like he wasn’t sure if he should say more, the space between you filled with something wordless.

It wasn’t the same as before. It wasn’t anger or guilt. It was something smaller. Softer.
The beginning of something repaired.

-

Dinner felt strangely normal.
That was the part that scared you.

It wasn’t the uncomfortable silence you expected, nor was it overly cheerful. It was somewhere in between soft, warm, and just slightly awkward. Like the three of you were still learning the rhythm of being in the same room again.

The table was set neatly, too neatly, probably. You’d been meticulous earlier, fussing over the placement of plates and silverware until Ara had laughed at you and said you were “acting weird.” Maybe she was right.

Now she was sitting between you and Jisung, humming under her breath as she picked at her food.

He’d taken his jacket off earlier, sleeves rolled up, forearms dusted faintly with grease from work that even soap couldn’t scrub out completely. He looked too at home sitting at your dining table, and that familiarity made something twist in your chest.

For the first few minutes, it was just Ara talking, animatedly telling him about a cartoon she’d seen about a race car that could talk, about her plans to build one when she grew up, about how she named her bunny “Turbo” now.

Jisung listened to her with full attention, the same patience he used to have when you’d talk about your job, or your dreams, back when you were both too young to realize how fragile time was. He nodded, laughed in all the right places, even asked her questions. He looked… natural. Too natural.

“Dinner’s really good,” Jisung said after a while, breaking the quiet. “You always did know how to cook better than me.”

You glanced up, giving a half-smile. “That’s not saying much. You used to burn ramen.”

He laughed that familiar, boyish sound that used to make your heart flutter. “True. Guess I still owe you for feeding me half the time back then.”

You shrugged lightly. “You were busy. Someone had to make sure you didn’t starve.”

His laughter faded, just slightly, replaced by something heavier in his eyes. “Yeah. I was busy,” he echoed quietly.

For a few moments, the only sound came from Ara quietly humming as she arranged her vegetables into little color patterns.

Then, out of nowhere, Jisung asked, “So… when do I get to meet him?”

You blinked, confused. “Who?”

“Your boyfriend,” he said casually, too casually. “Or partner. Whatever he is.”

You almost choked on your food. Coughing lightly, you reached for your drink, swallowing hard as your pulse quickened. “My—?”

He tilted his head, tone even but eyes sharp. “You said before that you had someone. The guy who was supposed to be… around. I figured if he’s part of Ara’s life, I should probably meet him, right?”

You put your glass down slowly, trying to keep your face neutral. “About that…”

Jisung’s brows furrowed slightly as he watched you fidget. “What?”

You let out a slow breath. “I lied.”

He froze. “You what?”

You forced a small, awkward laugh. “I wasn’t really dating anyone. I made him up.”

Jisung blinked, his jaw slackening. “You—wait, you made up a whole boyfriend?”

You nodded, embarrassed but firm. “I wasn’t sure how to handle things back then. You and I weren’t exactly in the best place. I just… I thought if you ever found out about Ara, you’d assume she was his.”

Jisung leaned back in his chair, staring at you for a long, quiet moment. You could see the relief flicker across his face, though he tried and failed to hide it.

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, no boyfriend,” he said, almost under his breath.

You rolled your eyes, sipping your drink again. “No boyfriend.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Can’t believe you actually did that.”

You smiled faintly. “Desperate times.”

Jisung’s expression softened, his voice quieter now. “So… have you? Dated anyone? Since us?”

You looked at him, giving a pointed stare. “Why?”

He shrugged, pretending to look at his plate. “Curiosity.”

You hesitated, then nodded. “Once. About a year after Ara was born.”

He lifted his gaze back to you, quiet, waiting.

“He was… good, at first,” you said, your voice calm but distant. “He treated Ara like she was his own. I thought he was perfect. You know that kind of safe, steady person you think you’re supposed to end up with?”

Jisung didn’t answer he just watched you, jaw tight.

You gave a small, humorless laugh. “Turns out he wasn’t that perfect. I found out he was cheating.”

Jisung’s jaw clenched, eyes narrowing just slightly. “What an idiot.”

“Yeah,” you said dryly, stabbing at your food. “That’s one word for it.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Just sat there, shoulders tense, fingers curling around his glass like he needed to hold something steady.

You didn’t need to look at him to know what he was thinking, you could practically feel it. That quiet, burning protectiveness, the way he always got when someone hurt you.

It used to make you feel safe. Now it made you feel… complicated.

-

The air was thick with warmth when dinner ended. The kind that comes after laughter dies down but still lingers in the room. Ara was humming softly, still full of energy despite how late it was, sitting cross-legged on the floor with her crayons spread everywhere. Her bunny sat beside her, wearing the new bow Jisung had tied around its neck earlier, “to make Turbo fancy,” he’d said.

You and Jisung had agreed to clean up together, though the word agreed wasn’t exactly right, he’d insisted, and you’d given in. It was easier than arguing, and honestly… it felt nice. Domestic, even.

You stood at the sink, rinsing the plates as he dried them beside you. The rhythm was easy, you hand him one, he takes it, towel brushing the ceramic in quiet circles. Occasionally, his hand would brush yours. Neither of you said anything about it.

The kitchen was quiet except for the soft clink of dishes and Ara’s occasional giggles from the living room.
It felt like a moment stolen from a life you could’ve had, the version where things didn’t fall apart, where you and Jisung grew into each other instead of away.

You tried not to think about that too much.
Tried not to look at the way the light caught in his hair, how his sleeves were still rolled up, how comfortable he looked standing in your kitchen again.

Jisung was the one who broke the silence first, voice low and rough like he’d been debating something in his head for too long.

“She’s… she’s amazing, you know?” he said quietly, not looking up from the plate he was drying. “Ara.”

You smiled softly, rinsing another plate. “Yeah. I know.”

He laughed under his breath. “She’s smart. Brave too. Talks so much.”
There was warmth in his tone, but also awe, the kind that only comes from love. “You did such a good job with her.”

The compliment hit you harder than you expected.
You swallowed. “Thanks,” you said quietly. “It wasn’t easy.”

“I know,” he said softly. “And I wasn’t there.”

You turned your head slightly, glancing at him. His shoulders were tense now, jaw working like he was fighting words back.

You wanted to tell him not to do that, not to spiral into guilt, but before you could, he set the plate down and leaned against the counter, arms crossed loosely.

His voice was steady when he spoke again, but his eyes gave him away. They were searching, heavy with something that almost looked like fear.

“Can I ask you something?”

You hesitated, but nodded. “Yeah.”

He took a deep breath, exhaled through his nose. “Would you ever… try again? With me?”

Your hand froze under the running water. The sound of the faucet suddenly seemed too loud.
You turned to him slowly, heartbeat thudding in your ears. “Jisung…”

He ran a hand through his hair, wincing. “I know. I know it’s a stupid question. And I’m not trying to push anything, I swear. I just—” He sighed, shaking his head, frustrated with himself. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have said that.”

You dried your hands quickly, turning off the water. “No, it’s not—” you started, but your voice faltered. You could feel that ache building in your throat. “It’s just… a lot.”

“I know.” His tone softened immediately. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
He glanced down at his shoes, then back up at you, and there it was, the raw honesty you hadn’t seen in him for years. “I just… I want to be here. Really be here. For Ara. For you, if you’ll let me.”

You exhaled shakily, trying to find words, but he kept going quietly, carefully, like each word cost him something.

“I missed five years of her life,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I missed her first steps. Her first words. Her first everything. And that’s on me. But I don’t want to miss anything else.”

He looked at you, straight into you and for a second, you forgot how to breathe.

“I want to take her to school. I want to help her with her homework. I want to be there when she falls off her bike and cries, and when she gets her first crush and I scare the life out of the kid.”
He smiled faintly at that, but there was something watery in it, something trembling. “I want to be her dad. Not just in name, but really. And I want to do it with you.”

You didn’t even realize your hand was gripping the counter until your knuckles hurt. You stared at him, at the honesty in his face, the way his voice cracked slightly at the end. It was too much. Too soon. Too everything.

You looked away, blinking fast. “Jisung…”

He straightened a little, swallowing hard. “I know what you’re going to say.”

“I don’t think you do,” you whispered. “It’s not that I don’t—” You stopped yourself before the words could slip out, before you could say something you weren’t ready to. “I just… Ara’s my whole world. I can’t let her get attached and then—”

“She won’t lose me,” he said quickly, voice firm but not harsh. “Not again. I’m not that guy anymore.”

You stared at him for a long time, and for a second you saw the truth in his eyes, that he meant it. That maybe, just maybe, the boy who once broke your heart had learned what it meant to hold something gently.

The silence stretched. Somewhere in the other room, Ara’s crayons rolled off the table. She giggled, the sound light and pure. It cracked something in both of you.

You sighed softly, shoulders sinking. “Can we… take it slow? For her’s sake. For all of us.”

Jisung nodded almost instantly, relief washing over his face. “Yeah. Of course. Slow’s good. Slow’s great.”

You smiled faintly. “You’ve never been patient before.”

He let out a low laugh, eyes warm. “Guess I’m learning.”

You shook your head, trying to suppress your own smile. “Good.”

When you turned back to finish drying the last dish, Jisung reached out instinctively, fingers brushing your hand before pulling back. The touch was brief, but electric, a reminder that there was still something there, buried under the years of hurt. Neither of you said anything about it. You didn’t have to.

The quiet wasn’t awkward anymore. It was soft, full of something tender and fragile, like the beginnings of forgiveness.

It was Ara’s laughter that pulled you both out of that quiet spell in the kitchen.
Her little voice floated down the hallway, cheerful and full of pride.

“Mommy! Look what I made!”

You wiped your hands quickly on a towel, glancing over your shoulder toward the living room. Jisung followed behind you, still drying his palms, curiosity flickering across his face.

When you reached the living room, Ara was sitting in the middle of the rug, crayons scattered around her like fallen petals. Her bunny was propped up beside her, watching as if it were an audience of one. She held up her drawing with both hands, eyes sparkling.

“Look!” she said again, wiggling the paper so you’d hurry. “It’s us!”

You leaned down, smiling before you even really saw it, the paper was full of bright, clumsy lines and uneven circles, the kind of chaotic joy only a five-year-old could create. Three figures stood in the middle of a grassy field, all holding hands beneath a lopsided yellow sun. One small, one taller, one in the middle.

The small one had pigtails and a pink dress.
The middle one had short brown hair and a smile that stretched too far across their face.
The taller one had a swirl of messy hair sticking out everywhere and a gray scribble that could’ve been a jacket.

You didn’t even have to ask who was who.

You knelt beside her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “This is beautiful, baby. Is this us?”

She nodded eagerly. “It’s me, you, and Mr. Mechanic!” she said proudly, turning to Jisung. “See? That’s you!”

Jisung blinked, taken aback for a second like he wasn’t sure how to react to being included so simply, so easily. Then he smiled, soft and a little unsteady. “You made me look really tall,” he teased gently, crouching down beside you both. “I like it.”

Ara giggled. “That’s because you are tall!”

You laughed quietly, watching the way Jisung smiled at her like every word out of her mouth was the best thing he’d ever heard.

“You should add more!” she said suddenly, pushing the box of crayons toward both of you. “We need more things! Like… a car!”

Jisung chuckled. “Of course, a car.” He picked up a blue crayon, rolling it between his fingers. “Should I draw it here?”

Ara nodded seriously, pointing to the space beside the three stick figures. “Right there!”

He bent over the paper and started sketching a round, bumpy car that was just barely recognizable as one. Ara burst into giggles.

“That doesn’t look like a car!” she teased, pressing her tiny hand over his to “help.” “It looks like a potato!”

Jisung laughed, eyes crinkling. “A potato car, huh? That’s a new one. Guess I’ll have to work on my art skills.”

You sat on the rug beside them, leaning back on your palms, smiling despite yourself. The room felt warm in a way it hadn’t in years, the laughter bouncing off the walls, the sight of Ara perched on Jisung’s lap as she guided his hand with the crayon.

“See, this is how you draw wheels,” she instructed importantly, her voice full of confidence. “Round, like this. Not lumpy!”

“Got it,” Jisung said, playing along, pretending to take mental notes. “No lumpy wheels. I’ll remember that for next time.”

When they were done, the “car” had turned into something between a cartoon spaceship and a loaf of bread, but Ara clapped her hands anyway, proud of their work.

“It’s perfect,” she said decisively, leaning back against his chest. “Now it’s finished.”

Jisung looked down at her, one arm loosely around her shoulders as she yawned. For a moment, his smile faltered, just barely and you caught it. The quiet, wistful look in his eyes. The kind that said he was trying to take in every second because he didn’t know if he’d ever get moments like this again.

And that’s when it hit you. How natural they looked together. How easy it all was.

You swallowed hard, eyes drifting back to the picture, three stick figures, a crooked sun, a potato car and something twisted in your chest.

This was what you’d wanted for Ara. Stability. Love.
A home that didn’t feel half-empty.
And yet, sitting there, watching Jisung laugh softly when Ara poked his cheek, you realized what scared you most wasn’t letting him in, it was losing this, if it all went wrong again.

You knew what the two of you were like at your worst.
The shouting. The slammed doors. The exhaustion of trying to love someone who didn’t seem to know how to meet you halfway. Those last months before the breakup had been nothing but tension and silence. You’d cried more than you’d smiled. You couldn’t let Ara see that, couldn’t let her learn love that way.

But this? This version of him softer, grounded, patient it was new. It was unfamiliar. And it made you want to believe in him again.

You looked up to find Jisung already looking at you, a small, hesitant smile on his face. The kind that said he knew exactly what you were thinking and that he was thinking it too.

Ara yawned again, rubbing her eyes and mumbling something about wanting to hang the picture on the fridge. Jisung gently helped her up, still holding the drawing carefully like it was fragile glass.

As he taped it to the fridge door, Ara beamed, proud and sleepy.
“Now it’s perfect,” she said again, turning to both of you.

Jisung smiled down at her, brushing her hair lightly. “Yeah,” he said softly. “It is.”

You didn’t say anything, just stood there, watching them both, the warmth curling up in your chest like a quiet, dangerous hope. Maybe slow wasn’t such a bad idea.
Maybe, for the first time in a long while, you wanted to see where this could go.

-

The house had gone quiet again.

The kind of quiet that settled heavy and warm after a long day filled with laughter, crayons, and the faint hum of cartoons that still lingered in the air like an echo.

You’d tucked Ara in over an hour ago. She’d fallen asleep the moment her head hit the pillow, her bunny clutched under her arm and her new drawing still taped proudly to the fridge downstairs. The picture, the three of you felt like a symbol you didn’t know how to look at for too long. It made your chest ache in that way hope sometimes does.

You walked back into the living room, where Jisung was sitting on the couch. The lamp beside him cast a soft, honeyed light across the room, washing him in a warm glow that made it easy to forget the years that had passed the distance, the arguments, the heartbreak. His jacket was draped lazily over the back of the couch, his hair slightly tousled from Ara tugging at it earlier.

He looked comfortable here. Too comfortable.

You hesitated in the doorway for a moment, unsure if you were intruding on something you’d already let go of years ago. But then he looked up, catching your gaze and just like that, the hesitation softened. He gave you that same small, boyish smile that used to undo you every single time.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I probably should’ve left an hour ago.”

You smiled faintly, folding your arms. “You say that every time.”

He chuckled, leaning back. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

You moved to sit beside him not too close, but close enough that you could feel the heat from his arm next to yours. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The quiet stretched, gentle but heavy, filled with the unspoken things hanging in the space between you.

You broke it first.
“So… are you still friends with Chan and Minho?”

The corner of his mouth twitched into a grin, like the question caught him off guard. “Yeah,” he said, a small laugh slipping out. “They’re still around. Haven’t changed much either. Still loud. Still annoying.”

You laughed softly. “Figures. I don’t think anything could change them.”

“They, uh…” He glanced at you, hesitating. “They actually said they missed you.”

That made you laugh outright. “Missed me? Please. I spent half my time complaining about them stealing you away.”

Jisung laughed too, the sound low and genuine. “Yeah, I remember. You used to glare at me every time they called.”

“Because they always called,” you pointed out, giving him a teasing look. “And you always went.”

He looked down, that faint smile fading into something more thoughtful. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I did.”

You exhaled quietly, fiddling with your sleeve. “I used to tell myself I hated them. But… I think I was just lonely. I felt like I was competing with everyone for your attention.”

He looked at you then and you could see the regret flicker across his expression.
“I know,” he said softly. “And I’m sorry for that. I didn’t get it back then. I thought I had time. I didn’t realize I was wasting it on the wrong things.”

The honesty in his tone caught you off guard. For once, there wasn’t any defensiveness. No excuses. Just sincerity.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “We were both kids. We didn’t know how to be anything else.”

He gave a small, rueful smile. “Still feels like I’m learning.”

You smiled too, faint, but real. “At least you’re trying now.”

Something in the air shifted then. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t even obvious. It was quiet, a slow, careful tilt of the world as you met his eyes. The light between you flickered faintly, catching on the faint sheen of his eyes, the curve of his jaw. You hadn’t been this close in years, and suddenly the space between you felt too thin, too charged.

He didn’t think. You could see that in the way his breath hitched, in the way his gaze dropped to your lips for just a second before flicking back up to your eyes, searching for something. Permission. Fear. Familiarity.

And before you could say anything, he leaned in.

It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t desperate. It was slow, hesitant like he was testing the waters of something sacred and long-forgotten. The faint smell of engine grease still clung to him, mixed with the soft scent of detergent and wine.

You could’ve pulled away. You could’ve told him no, reminded him of the boundaries you’d both promised to keep. But you didn’t.

Instead, your hand came up instinctively, fingers brushing against the curve of his cheek, warm and rough beneath your touch. His breath caught, and when your lips met his, it was like time folded in on itself.

Everything was familiar, the softness of his mouth, the way he tilted his head just so, the gentle pressure that felt like memory. But it was also new. Slower. Tender.

It wasn’t the frantic kind of kiss you used to share, the ones fueled by arguments and apologies. This one felt like a question neither of you knew how to answer.

He deepened it slightly, his hand coming up to the side of your face, thumb brushing lightly against your jaw. You let him, for just a moment until a faint creak from upstairs made your heart leap.

You broke the kiss immediately, breathless. “Wait—” you whispered, eyes darting toward the hallway.

Jisung froze, eyes wide, listening. There was a soft sound, the faintest shuffle of tiny feet, but it didn’t come closer. You exhaled slowly, a hand pressed to your chest. “I thought I heard Ara.”

Jisung nodded, still slightly dazed, his lips parted like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. The silence stretched again, thick and full of everything that just happened. You could still feel the warmth of his skin on your fingertips, the ghost of his mouth on yours.

Finally, he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have—”

You shook your head quickly. “Don’t. Don’t apologize.”

He blinked, surprised.

You met his eyes, heart pounding. “It just… it happened. That’s all.”

He nodded slowly, like he understood exactly what you meant. That it wasn’t just a kiss. It was a reminder, of what you once were, and what you still could be. But it also wasn’t a promise. Not yet.

You both sat there in silence for a long moment, the house quiet again, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the faint ticking of the clock. Finally, you stood, brushing invisible lint from your pants. “You should probably get going,” you said softly.

He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah.”

You walked him to the door. He paused in the doorway, turning to look at you one last time, his eyes lingering like he wanted to say something more. But instead, he just offered you a small, quiet smile, the kind that carried more meaning than words could.

“Goodnight,” he said.

You nodded, voice softer. “Goodnight, Jisung.”

When the door closed, you leaned against it, your pulse still unsteady. Upstairs, the floor creaked again, Ara shifting in her sleep, maybe. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. You weren’t sure what you’d just done. But for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel like a mistake.

-

Jisung didn’t sleep. He tried, he really did. But every time he shut his eyes, he saw you.

The faint glow of the lamp against your skin. The way you looked at him just before he kissed you. The sound of your breath catching, not in protest, but in surprise. The way his heart had nearly leapt out of his chest when you didn’t push him away. And then the way you did, the instant that tiny noise came from upstairs, the faint creak of Ara’s door.

He had never sobered faster in his life.

He kept replaying it all, the look in your eyes, the pause that followed, the quiet way you’d told him, “You should probably get going.”

He’d heard that line before. Not in the same tone, not after the same kind of moment, but enough times to know what it meant. Distance. Boundaries. A reminder of what he wasn’t supposed to cross. And now, lying awake in the dim light of his room, he couldn’t stop thinking that maybe he’d just ruined everything. The progress. The fragile trust. The small, careful steps that had taken weeks to build.

He dragged a hand down his face, groaning. “God, you’re an idiot,” he muttered into the quiet.

He didn’t regret the kiss. Not even for a second. He could still feel the warmth of it lingering on his lips, the ghost of your touch on his cheek, the way his pulse had quickened in that soft, dizzying moment. But he regretted when. The timing. The risk. You’d only just started trusting him again, letting him in, letting Ara see him regularly. He was part of your days now, part of Ara’s little world, and he’d jeopardized it all over one impulsive, selfish moment.

He’d spent the morning at the shop on autopilot, barely functioning. Every time Seojin asked him something, he just grunted or waved him off. He couldn’t focus on the engine in front of him, couldn’t even remember which part he’d been working on.

By noon, Chan had stopped by for a tune-up, and immediately noticed.

“Ji,” Chan had said flatly, leaning against the hood of the car, arms crossed. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

Jisung didn’t even bother denying it.

“Want to tell me what’s going on?”

He almost did. Almost told him about the kiss, the way his heart felt like it was splitting between guilt and hope. But the words stuck in his throat. What would he even say? That he kissed you, the woman he’d spent years regretting losing, the mother of his child, who still didn’t know if she could trust him fully?

Instead, he just shrugged, muttered something about being tired, and went back to work. But the truth was, he wasn’t tired, he was wired. Every nerve in his body felt frayed.

By evening, when the last customer left, he was slouched against his workbench, staring blankly at the same bolt he’d been pretending to fix for half an hour. The air in the shop smelled faintly of oil and rain, it had started drizzling outside, and the gray light that came with it made everything feel heavier. He was so caught up in his own head that when his phone buzzed against the metal surface, he jumped.

He grabbed it quickly, expecting some random update from Minho or another part order. But when he saw your name on the screen, his heart nearly stopped.

You: Can you come over after work? We need to talk.

He read it again. And again. And again. The words blurred a little. Not because he didn’t understand them, he did, all too well, but because they could mean anything.

And his mind, of course, immediately jumped to the worst.

He stood there for a long moment, just staring at the message. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure of what to say back. Finally, he typed a simple:

Jisung: Yeah. I’ll be there.

Then he locked his phone and let out a long, shaky breath, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the workbench.

His thoughts spiraled instantly. Was this it? Was she going to tell him to stop coming around? That he crossed a line, that Ara didn’t need confusion in her life?

He hadn’t realized until now just how much the idea of losing that hurt. Ara wasn’t just his daughter in name anymore, she was his. The way she laughed when she saw him, the way she’d tug at his sleeve to show him something, the way she’d lean on him without hesitation. He’d only just begun to earn that kind of trust, to see what it felt like to have her in his life, to watch her grow, to know she looked at him with joy and not fear. And now he might’ve ruined it.

The kiss had been his undoing.

//

masterlist.

[official taglist: @alisonyus @lenfilms @captainchrisstan @anastasiiiiaaaaa @emilyywhyy @ready2readnwrite @nyxaluna @tricky-ritz @tsunderelino @wickedbutlovely @delulumel @euphysia @shinygubbins @hhwangsmoon @geni-627 @enhacolor @lunaspov @sunshinesliife @fadedglitterpunk @jisuperboard @hyujim @puppymsworld @blablamerra @alondra6011 @you-dont-know-my-name @rylea08 @luvbangchan @chezzeballs300 @luvbangchan @bemyaehiweloveskz @luvvvivi @maddy24207 @inmyfelixera @senaenabear lmk if you’d like to be added/removed 😙 ..]