Cie

PARK JONGSEONG HAS NEVER KISSED YOU. 

Maybe you have never even felt his touch, the mere sensation of fingers brushing innocently against each other was unknown to you. 

And as you realise it, your chest tightens, and you dig your fingernails way too deep into your palms until they form little red crescents which burn. You realise he’d never seen you shed your tears as well, so you keep them at bay, praying that it’ll be enough to hide the storm brewing inside you. 

Park Jongseong is your fiancé, an arranged marriage. Bound to you by the weight of expectation, tradition, and a polished ring that sparkles mockingly on your finger.

To anyone else, you might seem like the perfect couple—well-dressed at formal dinners, walking side by side at events, exchanging polite smiles that barely reach your eyes. But behind closed doors, the gap between you feels insurmountable. 

Sometimes during those boring and forced events, all you want to do is to pull Jongseong closer by his arm. You want him to look at you and smile, to hold you by the waist and kiss you, to at least, acknowledge your presence in a room. 

But Park Jongseong is careful, too careful.

His words are measured, his actions restrained, as though every interaction is scripted. When he walks beside you, there’s always a polite distance, just enough to make it clear he’s near but never close enough to feel his warmth. Even when he hands you something—a pen, a glass of water—his fingers never brush yours.

It’s like he’s built an invisible wall between you, one that neither of you has dared to tear down.

“Ah—!” he winces in pain as you dab the medicated damp cotton a little too hard over his bruise on his cheeks. 

“S-sorry, I had something on my mind,” you stutter, immediately discarding the cotton into a trashcan.

“Its fine,” Jongseong whispers. 

“Wait let me see—” you reach your trembling, careful hand towards Jongseong’s bruise, in high hopes to cure it. 

“Its okay I'm fine,” Jongseong reiterates, slapping your hand away in a hurried motion.

Ouch. Does he not want you touching him? 

You gulp. The previous plaguing thoughts dawning over you once again. Doubt, insecurity and disturbance hurls at you at a threatening velocity once again, and you can feel yourself falling into a black void. 

You gulp again, your throat suddenly dry, your fingers tightening around the edge of the bathroom sink. You wish you had something to hold onto, something solid or real. Because standing here, staring at your fiancé, you felt like you were slipping into something dark and unknown. 

Jongseong sits on the marble countertop, his long legs spread apart, hands resting on either side of him like he was trying to keep himself steady. His crisp white dress shirt rumpled, the top buttons undone, revealing the faintest hint of a bruise blooming against his collarbone. His knuckles are scraped raw, his lip slightly swollen, and yet, god, yet he still looked unfairly handsome. Even now, even like this. 

You wish he would just kiss you. 

Just once. 

Just so you could taste something other than this awful, gnawing suspicion twisting in your gut.  

“How’d you hurt yourself?” you finally ask, your voice quiet but firm, pushing past the lump in your throat. The words feel too small in the vast space between you.  

Jongseong exhales sharply through his nose, shifting where he sat, as if he suddenly found the countertop beneath him unbearably uncomfortable. He lifts a hand, raking it through his raven-black hair, the strands falling messily over his forehead. His dark eyes never met yours.  

“Just fell first on my face,” he mutters, his voice tinged with forced nonchalance. “I was late to the office.”  

The explanation is simple. Too simple. Like a script he had rehearsed and rewritten a thousand times before finally presenting it to you. His words echo in the cold, tiled room, but they lack weight. Lack of honesty. 

Your fingers clench at the fabric of your sleeves as you nod slowly, pretending, for now, that you believed him. But the walls around you felt thinner, and the air between you was suffocating.  

Because deep down, you know.  

Jongseong is lying.

You nod slowly, trying to process his words, but they feel so hollow, so rehearsed. Jongseong doesn't even meet your eyes as he speaks, his gaze fixed on the tiled bathroom wall behind you.

“You should be more careful,” you sigh, ultimately rearranging all the medicines back to the first aid kit, with all your hopes of holding a long conversation with Jongseong slipping away into the trash can, “Its okay if you're late to office one day—” 

“How'd you get this?” Jongseong mumbles, his hand was flying slowly towards you from your peripheral vision. 

In a moment he stands up, easily towering over you. You can't dare to look in his eyes, so you settle yours at the loose buttons of his shirt. Your heart thumps faster as he moves in closer, a concerned yet bored tone in his voice. 

And then it finally happens, the impact takes place. The rough, calloused yet gentle pads of his fingers touch the apple of your cheeks. 

An electric shock runs through your veins— Park Jongseong touches your face. 

“Uhm- I uh I was-” you stutter, unable to form a proper sentence. 

“Weird,” Jongseong scoffs, retracting his hand. You wince at the absence of his touch, wishing it’d lasted longer. Jongseong continues, “we got hurt in the same place.” 

Your breath hitches.  

The warmth of his fingers lingered on your skin, even though the touch had been fleeting. Insignificant, maybe, to him. But to you? It was enough to leave your thoughts spiraling, to send your heart into a frenzied rhythm you couldn’t control.  

Jongseong’s expression doesn’t change. It’s still composed, unreadable, but there was something else in his eyes now. Not warmth, not affection, but something bordering on curiosity. As if he were piecing together a puzzle, one he didn’t quite care enough to solve.  

You force out a shaky breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “It’s just a coincidence,” you mutter, lying through your teeth. Because, just like him, you aren’t being honest either.  

Because your bruise wasn’t an accident.  

And neither was his.  

For a second, just a brief second, the two of you stand there in silence. The space between you feels suffocating, but not because of proximity. It was the weight of everything left unsaid. The doubts, the unspoken questions, the invisible wall that had existed from the very start.  

You want to reach for him, to bridge the gap. To ask him what had really happened, to tell him you weren’t as blind as he might think. But the words die in your throat when Jongseong took a step back, like he had just realized he’d gotten too close.  

“I should go,” he says flatly, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off some invisible burden. His hand brushes over his lip, pressing lightly against the swelling before he turns toward the door.  

“Jongseong—”  

He pauses. Just barely. Not enough to turn around, not enough to give you hope.  

You clench your fists at your sides. “Be careful next time,” you finish, your voice softer, weaker than you wanted it to be.  

There was a moment where you thought—hoped—he might say something back. But instead, he simply nods once before slipping out of the bathroom, leaving you standing there, alone with your own reflection.  

Your fingers reach up, tracing the ghost of his touch on your cheek.  

Park Jongseong had never kissed you.  

And at this rate, you aren't  sure if he ever will.

THE EVENING AIR BUZZES WITH CONVERSATION AND CLINKING GLASSES.

You sit rigidly at the long aok dining table, forcing a smile.

Jongseong is beside you, distant even in proximity, his fingers lightly tapping against the stem of his wine glass. You steal glances at him when you think he’s not looking, searching for any crack in his polished mask.

Across the table, your cousin Daisy leans forward, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“So…” she begins loudly enough to catch everyone’s attention, “how’s the arranged love story going? Still playing house or have we upgraded to actual feelings yet?”

The table erupts into laughter. You stiffen, your heart dropping into your stomach.

You try to laugh along, but it comes out awkward and brittle.

“You know, busy schedules. Hard to plan our fairy tale ending around board meetings and conference calls.”

The words taste sour in your mouth. 

You glance sideways at Jongseong, silently begging him with your eyes— Say something. Tell them it’s more. Tell them I’m more to you.

He simply chuckles, a soft, detached sound, and lifts his glass. The knot in your stomach tightens.

“Work always comes first,” he says, voice smooth, almost rehearsed.

There’s a pause. A small, hollow space opens inside your chest, which Jongseong manages to disturb.

Daisy snickers. “So romantic. Truly the love story of the century.”

Someone else jokes about putting bets on how long the marriage will last. More laughter, even more jokes. Insensitive and overlooking.

You feel your face heating up, but it's not embarrassment, it’s humiliation. And Jongseong, just sits there. Smiling politely, like he’s miles away.

You press your lips together tightly, stabbing your fork into a piece of roasted vegetable.

The moment passes, conversation flowing into safer topics, but your appetite is gone. All you can taste is the bitter disappointment.

As dessert is served, Jongseong’s phone vibrates on the table. He glances at it quickly, then tucks it away without a word. The tiny movement feels monumental. Another reminder that there's always somewhere else he'd rather be.

Finally, after what feels like hours, people start gathering their things, pulling on coats, exchanging hugs and goodbyes.

You and Jongseong step out into the chilly night. The cold air slaps your cheeks, a stark contrast to the stifling warmth inside.

You walk side by side in silence towards the car.

You can't hold it in any longer.

“Why didn’t you say anything back there?” you blurt, voice trembling despite your best effort to stay calm.

Jongseong stops walking. Turns to you slowly. His face is unreadable under the dim porch lights.

“About what?” he asks, feigning innocence. Oh, how you hate that face.

“About us,” you snap, your voice cracking under the weight of it all. “When they joked, when they implied we’re just business partners?”

He shrugs. “It was just a joke. Why give them more to gossip about?”

You stare at him, blinking rapidly to keep the sting of tears at bay. “Because it’s not just a joke to me.”

He exhales, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. “You’re overthinking it, Y/n.”

You laugh bitterly. “Am I? Because it feels pretty real when you don’t even try to correct them. When you act like you’re fine with everyone believing this marriage is just some... some arrangement you’re tolerating.”

His jaw tightens. “What would you have wanted me to say? That we’re madly in love? That we’re inseparable? That I can’t breathe without you?” His voice is low, cutting. He snaps, “Would that have made you feel better? Lying to everyone?”

You flinch like he slapped you. The hurt pools behind your eyes.

“I don’t need you to lie,” you whisper. “I just—”

The words hang between you, heavy, fragile.

For a second, just a second, something flickers across his face. Regret? Guilt? You can't tell.

But just as quickly, he turns away, walking briskly to the car. “Let’s not do this here,” he says sharply. “It’s late.”

You stand there for a moment, heart pounding, watching his back retreat from you like a closing door.

When you finally move, your feet feel like lead. You climb into the passenger seat without a word. The ride back home is suffocating. Silent. A chasm grows wider with every passing streetlight.

You want to reach out, to grab his hand, to say something, anything, that will fix whatever's breaking between you.

But you’re too afraid you’re the only one who still wants to fix it.

So you stare out the window, watching your reflection blur against the passing night.

And beside you, Jongseong drives on, his hands tight on the wheel, his face carved in stone.

Park Jongseong is giving up, maybe you should too.

PARK JONGSEONG THOUGHT HIS TO BE WIFE HAD FORGOT HIS BIRTHDAY.

But then he reminds himself, all these months of carrying a diamond ring of mockery on his hand— a symbol of bondage, marriage —he had never felt the fleeting touch of his soon to be wife.

And so he doesn't bother to kiss her goodbye, maybe pull her closer by her waist, whisper something not so innocent in her ears to watch her face flush in enticement, and leave for work with the motivation to come back to his fiancé’s arms.

No. He does nothing.

Park Jongseong doesn't even take the day off and stays at home. He leaves in a hurry, first thing in the morning. He doesn’t like celebrating birthdays anyway, it’s just a year closer to his demise, nothing to like about it.

He packs his briefcase in silence as he steals one last glance of you, groaning lazily as you make your way to the washroom. Of course, you have your job too, and Jongseong expected even less. It’s just a birthday, nothing too much.

9:30 am, he reaches his office building.

The heir to the prestigious, Park Company. The weight of expectation hung in the air like a finely spun chandelier, too delicate to touch, too grand to ignore. After all, he wasn’t just any director. He was Park Jongseong. The upcoming CEO. The heir.

The revolving glass doors of the company building spun to a slow stop behind him. Jongseong adjusted the cuffs of his suit jacket, eyes half-lidded, movements precise. He could hear the echo of his polished shoes as he walked through the marble tiled lobby, his reflection following him in the towering glass panels.

“Good morning, Vice President,” several voices chorused as he passed, accompanied by clipped bows and tight smiles.

He gave them all the same nod. Unbothered. Distant.

The elevator doors open and steps out alone, the silence laying on him like a second skin. The floor is cool and quiet, save for the typical office noises. He reminds himself that it's just another day, just another date on the calendar which could be overlooked without any problem. His team gathers up to the front door, clapping and smiling at him. Some senior executives push a forced smile in front of their young boss, the juniors more enthusiastic about someone they fear athough Jongseong doesn’t know if theirs are forced or natural.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY JONGSEONG,” they all sing song as confetti pops out in the air and paper freckles of his least favourite colours flutter down on him.

A distant banner said: TO THE FUTURE CEO. He shrugs, a polite smile on his face.

Among the crowd he spots Sunghoon, his first cousin as he steps out with a jovial smile and hands still clapping. He was in line to be the CEO as well, before he put down the offer to be COO instead, saying he's not a natural leader like Jongseong is.

“To the youngest CEO our company has ever seen!” he exclaims to the crowd as he stands beside Jongseong, pulling him to an encouraging hug. “What?” he snickers, “don't like the celebration?”

“No, I love it,” Jongseong hopes his smile is not too fake looking as he faces his team, not all of them are happy to be here, some are bored and waiting for their shift to be over. He sighs, “thank you guys for this, it means a lot to me.”

A celebration follows, and Jongseong does what is needed. A polite tight lipped smile, respectful bows and a small speech. Said the expected words. Cut the cake, nodded through small talk, and endured hugs from coworkers who’d never even dared to speak to him before today.

When noon rolls around, someone chirps, “We ordered lunch in! Come eat with us, Vice President Park!”

But Jongseong shakes his head.

“I’ll stay in,” he says, voice as smooth as glass. “I have calls to take.”

He turns, walks into his office, and shuts the door behind him.

Silence falls like a blanket. The cheers and loud noises quickly fade as the second Jongseong pulls the door close to his office, making slow and steady steps to his chair. He sits down on it, sighing as he lets out a shaky breath.

Birthday.

The word still rolls bitterly in his mind, not festive, not celebratory—just sharp edged and cold. A reminder of time ticking forward, dragging him further into a life that never felt like his own. A year older, a year deeper into expectations that weren’t his to begin with. The title. The company. The marriage.

He remembers the uncomfortable tight-fitting tuxedos, blinding camera flashes, tight lipped smiles of relatives he didn’t know and as usual, a script.

A script he had to learn every year, which is now installed in his brain. Jongseong just has to open his mouth and utter the same, mechanical and monotonous words in front of everyone as his parents would reassure him after, of how well he did, how well he behaved. And before he even knew it, birthdays meant nothing to him.

But then again, it was made cold and unbearable to him by the world. By his parents.

“Whatever,” he sighs and shrugs his blazer off him. And just as he’s about to throw it on his desk, he notices something.

A lunch box, covered neatly in pink satin cloth. A small note on top.

Jongseong doesn’t want to make assumptions, but he does anyway. What if it's from you? What if you really remembered his birthday? With a gulp, he steers his chair closer to his desk and picks up the lunch box, opening his cloth and reading the note in his hands, holding it up close.

Hope you like it. Happy birthday Jongseong, from y/n.

His breath falters, you remember.

His name in your handwriting. A little crooked, like you were in a rush, or were nervous. His throat tightens as he peels the lid off the top container.

And the scent hits him instantly.

Curry.

Rich, warm, and spiced exactly the way he likes it. Not the kind served at expensive restaurants with dainty portions, but the real kind. Homemade. The kind that sticks to your ribs. The kind that reminds him of chilly weekends in Seattle when he was small enough to sit on the kitchen counter, swinging his legs while his grandmother stirred the pot.

Something coils in his chest.

Carefully, he lifts the second container. The rice is shaped into a perfect flat surface. Neatly pressed, fluffy, hot. And across it—seaweed sheet, hand-cut with meticulous patience—spells out three letters.

JAY

Jongseong feels his heartbeat faltering. He winces as his offices’ air conditioning hits the bruise on his cheeks. He carefully sets the curry down on his table, before gaping at the rice again.

It indeed spells, JAY.

He scoffs at this weird feeling. The more he stares at it the more his heart burns and coils.

Only his grandmother had ever called him that. Not his father. Not his mother. No one in the stiff, lacquered halls of his youth had bothered to learn the name that made him feel… human. Small. Loved.

And now here it was. Cut delicately in seaweed. Sitting quietly in a box on his birthday.

By you.

“You’re really not going to join us for lunch?” Sunghoon barges in his office, striding towards Jongseong's desk.

Jongseong hurriedly tries to close the lunchbox, but it’s too late. Sunghoon’s eyes have already zeroed in on it like a hawk spotting prey.

“Is that curry?” Sunghoon gasps, leaning over the desk like an excited child. “Oh my god, it smells amazing. Who got you that? Is it from that expensive place across the street? Is that seaweed spelling your name? That’s so cute—”

“Get your hands away from it,” Jongseong snaps, dragging the lunchbox closer to his chest like it’s a newborn baby he’s sworn to protect with his life.

Sunghoon’s hand freezes mid-reach. His eyebrows shoot up.

“Wow. Wow. Possessive much?”

“This is mine,” Jongseong mutters defensively, clutching the lunchbox tighter. “You guys have a whole lunch downstairs. Go eat that.”

“But that’s communal food,” Sunghoon whines, poking the air toward the lunchbox. “This looks special. Homemade. You should share. It’s what Grandma Jay would’ve wanted.”

Jongseong glares at him.

“Grandma Jay would’ve wanted you to mind your own business.”

Sunghoon snickers, undeterred, and tries to lunge for a bite. Jongseong immediately swivels his chair away, putting his entire body between Sunghoon and the precious lunch like a shield.

“Jesus, you’re like a dragon hoarding treasure,” Sunghoon laughs, hands on his hips. “You’re gonna die alone with that lunchbox in your arms.”

“Good,” Jongseong says without missing a beat. “But I'm not going to share.”

Sunghoon makes one last dramatic, fake sob attack at the lunchbox. Jongseong kicks at him under the desk until he stumbles back, defeated.

Grumbling, Sunghoon heads for the door, shooting Jongseong a betrayed look over his shoulder.

“You’ve changed, man,” he says dramatically. “Fame, fortune… personalized seaweed letters. You’re not the same Jongseong I knew.”

Jongseong just smirks to himself as the door swings shut again. 

Finally, blessed peace.

He opens the lunchbox once more, the smell of curry filling the room, and the sight of your careful seaweed letters warming a space inside him he didn’t even know was still hollow.

A dull sting pulses along his cheek as he chews, and his hand drifts to the bruise you both pretended not to see. He clicks his tongue, annoyed. Coincidence, he tells himself. Nothing more. But the throbbing settles under his skin like a reminder—of you, of your quiet lies, of his own.

But this time, when he takes the first bite, he laughs under his breath.

YOU DESERVED A BETTER GRATITUDE THAN A JUST SIMPLE THANK YOU.

Park Jongseong sighs as he stares at the window of his car, watching the raindrops race against each other. His fingers drum restlessly against the steering wheel, the soft patter of rain against metal filling the silence inside the car.

He leans back against the headrest, staring at the road.

“thank you for the lunch, y/n.” he said last night, “it was so delicious.”

He remembers the tension between your brows, how they knotted up gently and relaxed a second after. Disappointment. He was offhand, rushed and sudden with his words, not even looking into your eyes as he said how warm the meal was. So why wouldn’t you be disappointed? Jongseong remembers the way you rolled your shoulders back, a small sigh escaping you as if you had to physically push the disappointment out of your body, tuck it somewhere he wouldn’t notice.

“you’re welcome,” you said simply, unmuting the ignored show playing on the tv with a soft clenched jaw, which Jongseong wished he wouldn’t notice.

He knew that your welcome wasn’t genuine. And maybe he could’ve tried to find the stars in your eyes to make things better, maybe he shouldn’t overthink.

But he also remembers the way you took a second glance of him when he stood there like a robot, holding his almost empty briefcase in his hands, wanting to say something else than just a thank you.

Your eyes were cold then. Faint traces of tears sticking to your lashes, catching the soft glow of the overhead light as you looked at him like you were trying to read him one last time. He thought you would say something, maybe shout or scoff at his posture.

But nothing came out of your mouth except a tired sigh as you abandoned your discomfort and disappointment on the cold couch as you made your way towards the shared bedroom, agonizingly slow.

Maybe you had that pace intentionally, for him to call you back and say something real. Cause fuck, you remember his beloved nickname which was lost, you remember how he liked his curry, you remember him.

Lost in own thoughts, something interesting catches Jongseong’s eyes.

Is that you?

Jongseong gets startled at the sight. You, in this heavy and cold rain, trying to cross the road with your blazer above your head, which does nothing to keep you dry.

“Shit,” he curses under his breath, quickly starting his car as he drives across the road, stopping just beside the pavement.

“Y/n!” He shouts your name clear in the heavy rain, loud enough for you to turn around to his voice, “get in, you’re going to get sick!”

You pause mid-step at his voice, blinking through the rain as you turn to face him. The car idles beside the curb, headlights casting a pale glow across the drenched street. His figure leans across the seat, the passenger door wide open like a quiet plea.

But you stay rooted where you are, water soaking through your shoes, the cold seeping deeper beneath your skin. Your hands clench at your sides.

“I’m fine,” you call out, loud enough for him to hear but it’s tough at the edge, shaking, “go home, Jongseong—”

“Y/n please,” he pleads, although it doesn’t sound like one, “you’re soaking wet, just shut up and get in!”

“I’m- I’m fine,” you snap. You don’t want to get in the car just because he happens to see you and is inviting you to stay dry. That’s the only case, isn’t it? Jongseong is here by coincidence, he wouldn’t deliberately check your location to pick you up in this awful weather. Would he?

“I can go by myself, the rain is not too bad.”

You can hear him sigh, as he gets out of his car, slamming the door behind him.

“Get in,” he steps into the rain, the downpour immediately plastering his shirt to his skin, darkening the fabric, “You will fall sick, y/n. Get in the car.”

He steps even closer, his hair now sticking to his forehead by this insufferable rain as he narrows his eyes. “If you want to be sick so bad, do this another day.”

Your throat tightens. You want to scream at him, shake him, ask him why he always waits until things fall apart before showing up. Why he only steps into the rain once you’re already drenched.

But instead you force your chin up, press your lips into a tight smile as you gather your blazer tighter around yourself.

“Don’t act like you care if i’m sick, Jongseong,” you didn't want to say that, but do anyways.

He blinks. For a second, his expression falters. Barely. “Why not?,” he says quietly, almost like he’s confessing something he hadn’t intended to say aloud. But then his gaze hardens again, guarded. “You’re freezing, Y/N. Stop being stubborn.”

The wind blows past you both, cold and biting. You shiver, teeth clattering as you try to recover whatever warmth the soaked blazer has to give.

“I won’t go—”

“As much as I would love to argue with you right now,” Jongseong cuts off, standing so close that your hands could meet, “I can't let you get sick.”

Your lips part, another protest rising, but before you can speak, Jongseong’s fingers curl around your wrist, not harsh, but firm. His brows draw together, rain sliding down his temples, his lips a tight line.

“I said get in the car,” he repeats, lower this time. His voice carries an edge, not pleading, not begging—commanding. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

You glare at him, heart wrenching in the cold rain as it seeps into your work clothes.

“You only come when it’s convenient for you,” you try to hold it together.

He steps closer, raindrops sliding down the sharp lines of his face. “You think this is convenient for me?” he says bitterly, tone low, controlled. “You think standing here like an idiot in the rain for you is easy?”

The proximity hits you suddenly. He’s standing close, too close, as the rain damps his shirt next. Jongseong’s grip around your wrist tightens, indicating he’s not going back home without you in his car.

And somehow that warms you a bit in this coldness.

His eyes are direct, confronting as they try to soften into yours. Try, you can see it, how his eyebrows lift and slowly fall, trying to find the ease in the situation to gently pull you into the car with no trouble, with no one getting sick.

“Y/n…” he whispers your name, as if for the last time when he finally eases his brows, “get in the car. Please.”

You gulp at his seriousness, a droplet of rain rolls from his chin to fall on your cheeks. It’s cold, making you flinch.

“And if i don’t go?” you test the waters, voice trembling as you watch him roll back his shoulders.

“Then I’ll carry you,” he says without hesitation, his gaze hardening. “Don’t test me right now.”

Something in his tone makes your breath hitch. He’s not bluffing—you know that.

You swallow, lips pressing into a thin line as you hesitate, your pride warring with the exhaustion creeping into your bones. But just as another gust of wind leaves you shivering, your resolution breaks.

You look away first, “You are a very bad liar—”

Jongseong doesn’t speak, doesn’t smile or smirk or gloat. He just scoops you up before you can finish the sentence.

Your breath leaves you in a sharp gasp as Jongseong’s arm slides under your knees and the other wraps firmly around your back, pulling you against him. Your soaked blazer slips uselessly from your shoulders, rain immediately lashing against your skin, but his body blocks most of it. He’s solid, unyielding, warm in a way that makes your chest ache.

“Jongseong—!” you protest, instinctively gripping the front of his damp shirt. His name tears out of you softer than you intended.

“I warned you,” he mutters, jaw clenched as he turns toward the car. His grip tightens reflexively when you shift, as if afraid you’ll fall or run. “Stop fighting me.”

He reaches the car and nudges the passenger door open with his knee, maneuvering you inside with careful precision.

When he slides back into his seat, drenched and stoic, he doesn’t look at you immediately. Just stares ahead as the engine hums softly beneath the rain. And with that, he pulls the car into drive, headlights cutting through the downpour, his hand steady on the wheel even if everything else between you trembles on the edge of falling apart.

“Take this,” he says, reaching towards the backseat and grabbing his dry blazer, “you’ll be cold.”

“T-thanks,” you don’t argue much as your teeth clatter together, quickly draping the blazer over your damp clothes.

“Y-your clothes are soaked too,” you gulp, voice soft and nervous. You glance at Jongseong’s side profile as he drives, “you’ll get sick—”

“I’ll be fine,” he says, his voice low and steady, almost too calm, “I’m not the one shivering. And it’s just a little rain.”

“So much for the guy who didn’t let me walk home in the rain,” you giggle softly, hoping to elevate his mood but his expressions remain stoic, indifferent.

You pull the blazer tighter around yourself. It smells like him. espresso, cologne and ironically, like home.

“Thank you for—” you clear your throat, taking time to rethink your gratitude towards him when he himself barely shows it. He’s always words, one or two, never sentences like you. But at the end of the day, someone has to express something.

“Thank you for the blazer, and for picking me up anyways. I know you didn’t mean to and I’m sorry for being a nuisance—”

“You’re not a nuisance,” he admits, eyes still on the road. Your heart stops. “I’m not that big of a jerk to let my fiance come home with a fever.”

There’s a silence that stretches long and sharp, the rain outside tapping impatient fingers against the windows. You sink deeper into the passenger seat, your hands curling in your lap. His words aren’t romantic. They aren’t sweet. But they tear through something inside you, a part that’s been holding itself together with hope and delusion.

It’s the bare minimum. It’s something, and something is better than nothing. Right?

“Really?” you whisper, unsure if you really heard that right.

He nods slightly, still focused on the road ahead. “What’s there to question? If you don’t want me picking you up next time, just say so.”

Your heart tugs, this is coming from him. You don’t need anything more than this quiet ride, the shared space between you, the knowledge that he’s here. Whether it’s out of obligation or something deeper.

Jongseong reaches forward, turning on the car’s heating system inside.

“You can keep the blazer,” he mumbles.

You leave it here for now, basking into the silence with his cologne around you, questioning whether or not you really have space in his heart.

RAIN ALWAYS MAKES HIM SOFT.

Not in the obvious way. Not the cinematic way where he confesses or reaches for you or lets himself be held. It makes him quiet first—eyes lingering on windows, fingers tapping restlessly, shoulders drawn tight like he’s bracing for something unseen. You notice it the moment you step onto the rooftop, the smell of wet concrete clinging to your coat, droplets sliding down the glass doors behind you.

It’s Sunghoon’s birthday, technically, though no one is really treating it like one. You almost didn’t come. Long days at work, the quiet tension waiting for you at home. But Sunghoon had called, cheerful and insistent, saying it would be “good for everyone,” which usually meant good for Jongseong.

You arrive later than Jongseong and spot him near the bar, surrounded by men in expensive suits. Business partners, maybe friends, you don’t linger long enough to figure it out. After greeting Sunghoon and handing him a gift you picked up last minute, you drift toward the railing instead, letting the city stretch beneath you.

The air is cold. Damp. The kind that creeps under your skin.

He doesn’t see you at first.

Or maybe he does, and pretends he doesn’t. He stands with a glass in his hand, ice melting faster than he drinks it, head tilted just enough to listen without really engaging.

You watch him from the corner of your eyes. Careful, as he would have been. You watch the way his jaw tightens when someone laughs too loudly, his thumb rubs the rim of his glass over and over—a nervous habit he probably doesn’t realize he has. His jacket is off, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms.

He looks up suddenly, eyes catching you the first thing he looks at besides his drink, as if rehearsed.

You look away quickly. Ever since he rescued you from the rain, he’s gotten quieter. Maybe shy. You notice how quickly he looks away from your eyes, how he hums shakily in response to your soft thank yous, how his cheeks filled with color when you wore his blazer home, rain soaked and cold.

You hope none of that was your imagination.

Sunghoon’s laughter rings behind you, bright and careless, and you force a smile as someone hands you a drink. The rooftop is warm, string lights overhead, music low and conversation easy. You lean against the railing.

That’s when someone steps beside you.

“Didn’t think you’d make it,” a familiar voice says.

You turn. Sim Jaeyun—coworker, colleague, friend, whatever fits best these days. Casual clothes, sleeves pushed up, hair slightly messy like he doesn't care. He smiles easily.

“Neither did I,” you admit. “Long week.”

“You look tired.”

“You have no idea.”

He says your name gently. He asks about work, complains about his boss, makes you laugh with a stupid story about getting lost. At some point, without thinking, he brushes a strand of hair away from your face, fingers grazing your temple.

You don’t pull away.

You don’t notice the shift in the room.

But Jongseong does.

He notices the untouched drink, the way your sleeve keeps slipping, and he sure as hell notices someone else standing in front of you. Touching you. Smiling with you.

The sound around him dulls, like someone turned the volume down. He sees the touch, the way you tilt your head, the smile he doesn’t think he’s ever earned. Something hot and sharp coils in his chest.

He downs his drink.

“Vice President Park, what are your thoughts—”

He doesn’t hear it.

Another glass appears in his hand. He gulps it down. His throat burns.

The weather crawls under his skin. Anger blurs into something uglier, something dangerously close to fear.

Why are you smiling like that?

He tells himself it’s none of his business. He has no claim. You’re his fiancée by contract, not by touch, not by confession.

And yet his feet move before his thoughts catch up.

He doesn’t storm. He detaches himself from the circle, sets his glass down with too much force, and walks. Slow. Measured.

You feel it before you see him.

The air tightens. Jaeyun is mid sentence when your gaze flickers past his shoulder and lands on Jongseong.

He’s coming toward you.

Tie loosened. Hair disheveled. Jaw set hard. Alcohol makes him tipsy, but his intentions are clear.

Your heart stutters.

You straighten, fingers curling around your glass. Jaeyun notices, glances back.

“Uh,” he clears his throat. “Is that—”

Jongseong stops beside you.

Too close.

Close enough that you smell him—whiskey, rain, something bitter underneath. Close enough that his presence redraws the space.

“Jaeyun,” Jongseong says calmly, nodding once. Polite. Cold.

“Vice President Park,” Jaeyun replies, straightening.

Jongseong’s gaze slides back to you. Lingers on your face, the loose strand by your temple, the slipping sleeve.

“Didn’t know you were coming,” he says to you. You swallow. “I told you earlier.”

He blinks, like he’s replaying the memory too late. “You did.” A beat of silence.

Jaeyun shifts, uncomfortable. “I was just keeping her company,” he says lightly, attempting to diffuse. “Didn’t mean to intrude.”

Jongseong hums low. His eyes don’t leave you.

“You don’t have to,” he says. Then, softer, but sharper. “I’ve got her. She’s taken.”

Your breath catches.

Jaeyun hesitates, glancing at you. You open your mouth, but Jongseong’s hand lifts first.

Not entirely touching you.

Hovering at the small of your back, close enough that you feel the heat through your dress. A careful, controlled claim.

“I’ll… grab another drink,” Jaeyun says. “Nice seeing you.”

When he leaves, the space collapses.

You’re alone with Jongseong.

Silence stretches, heavy with everything unsaid. He looks away first, dragging a hand through his hair, fingers trembling.

“I can— can talk better than him,” he hiccups.

“Seriously, how much did you drink?” he basically reeks of alcohol and slightly sways side to side as you guide him down the stairs to the empty hallway.

“Are you—,” your sentence is left unfinished a Jongseong cages you against the wall, shaking hands on each side of your head.

He’s close, too close. His eyes are red, unfocused, flickering between your eyes and your lips. His breath is warm but reeking of whiskey. His hands stay planted on the wall, shaking, fingers flexing like he’s reminding himself not to touch.

“You shouldn’t let—” he starts, then hiccups softly, the sound almost humiliating in how it breaks his authority. He squeezes his eyes shut for a second, reopens them, tries again. “Let someone who is not your h-husband touch you like that.” The words come out crooked, slurred at the edges, but the intent behind them is painfully clear.

You stare at him, stunned, then a breathy laugh slips out despite yourself. “God,” you murmur, “you’re so drunk.” His brows knit together immediately, offended and wounded in the same breath.

“So what I’m— drunk?” he demands, swaying closer before catching himself, forehead knocking lightly against the wall beside your head. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Yes,” you say, heart thudding. “Jongseong. You did.” You lift your chin, meeting his gaze even as your voice trembles. “You’re not my husband. You’re only my fiancé. And I can have my own friends.”

For a second, something hollow flashes across his face. Then he laughs, short, disbelieving.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, shaking his head too hard. “No one else w-would check the—” another hiccup, quieter this time, “—weather and deliberately get wet in the rain just to bring you home safe.”

The words hit you harder than you expect, sinking deep and slow, like cold seeping through fabric. For a moment, you can’t breathe properly. You remember the rain too well. The way you’d laughed it off, the way he hadn’t, how he’d checked the rain twice and still stepped outside without an umbrella, coat already darkening at the shoulders because you hated walking alone.

“I would do that,” he continues, voice lower now. “As your— fucking fiancé or husband. Not Jaeyun. Not— not anyone else.”

His hands leave the wall. They hover instead, uncertain, fingers twitching in the space near your waist like he’s begging himself for restraint. He leans in despite it, forehead nearly brushing yours, breath warm and unsteady against your cheek.

“I would do it in a heartbeat,” he whispers.

Your chest tightens, a quiet ache blooming behind your ribs, because no one else has ever noticed the weather for you, has ever overlooked their own comfort for yours, yet some voice in the back of your head insists that he's just drunk.

But the way he says it hurts worse than any confession.

“I didn’t like him,” he admits. “Near you.”

“Why?” you whisper.

He doesn’t answer right away. His hand comes up to his chest again, fingers pressing there like he’s trying to steady something beneath his ribs. His breathing is uneven now, shallow.

“Jongseong,” you say, alarm creeping in. “Are you okay?”

He nods too quickly. “I’m fine.”

“I’m fine,” he repeats.

But he isn’t.

You see it when you guide him to the parking lot, cold wind tugging at your hair. He leans too much on you, apologizing under his breath.

“Sorry—sorry, I’m— I’m heavy,” he mumbles, fumbling for the car keys before giving up and letting you take them from his shaking fingers.

“You’re drunk,” you say gently. “Not dying.” He huffs out a weak laugh. “Feels close enough.”

The drive home is quiet, wipers sweeping rhythmically. Jongseong slumps in the passenger seat, eyes fluttering close like he’s afraid of what happens if he lets them stay closed. His breathing evens out only when the car stops at red lights, like only motion keeps him awake.

At one point, he murmurs your name. Just once. Soft. Unconscious.

Your hands tighten on the steering wheel.

Getting him inside is harder than you expect. He insists he can walk, immediately proves he can’t, nearly folding until you hook an arm around his waist.

“Easy,” you murmur. “I’ve got you.”

“I know,” he says. “You always— always do.”

You ease him onto the bed. He collapses face first into the pillows. You tug off his shoes, straighten the blanket, careful not to linger.

When you turn away, it feels like stepping back from something fragile. You make it two steps toward the door.

His hand closes around your wrist. Not rough but enough to stop you.

“Don’t,” he murmurs, barely awake, eyes still closed. His grip tightens slightly, like his body knows what he wants even if his mind can’t form it. “Cold.”

He tugs again, weak but insistent, pulling you down to the edge of the bed. He shifts, arm draping around your waist, face pressing into your side like he’s searching for warmth.

“Rain,” he mumbles into your dress. “Hate it when you’re out in it.”

You freeze.

His words dissolve into half formed apologies, your name tangled with quiet plead. His breathing slows, forehead resting against your stomach like it’s the safest place he knows.

You don’t move.

Because for the first time, his softness isn’t guarded or conditional. It’s just him, clinging in his sleep like he trusts you not to disappear.

And you realize, with startling clarity, that rain doesn’t make him weak.

It makes him tell the truth.

YOU WONDER IF YOU CARE TOO MUCH SOMETIMES.

Because no matter what you do for Park Jongseong, it never feels like enough to quiet the ache that lives with you. Loving him feels like holding something fragile and priceless in your bare hands, knowing that even your gentlest grip might hurt him, knowing that letting go might destroy you both.

You care in a way that feels reckless. Although you do see the consequence of it, that has now finally for once, in your favour.

Jongseong doesn’t pull away after that night.

If anything, he does the opposite.

He lingers.

At first, it’s subtle enough that you convince yourself it’s coincidence. He waits for you in the mornings, jacket already in hand even when the forecast promises clear skies. He sits closer at the dining table, knee brushing yours beneath the polished surface, never once apologizing for the contact. When you move around the apartment, he follows. Not hovering, not watching, just present.

You tell yourself it’s temporary. That he doesn’t remember what he said. That the drunken softness was a one-time fracture.

After all, this whole thing is arranged, and you’ve managed to gaslight yourself into thinking this softness is just obligation wearing a kinder face. That this is him playing his part better now.

You repeat it like a rule. Like something that can keep you at bay.

But rules blur when he learns your steps.

He starts matching his pace to yours without realizing it. Slowing when you slow, pausing when you hesitate, turning back when you forget something even if it makes him late. When you sit on the couch, he chooses the space beside you instead of across the room. When you’re tired, he quietly rearranges his schedule around yours, meetings shifted, calls taken later, priorities subtly rewritten.

It’s never announced. Never even whispered.

It just happens.

And it scares you more than it comforts you. Because this is what you wanted, wasn’t it? For him to care, to notice, to stay. But now that it’s happening, it feels unfamiliar in your hands. It feels like obligation. Plain obligation.

Still, sometimes you catch him looking at you with something like relief. Other times, something closer to fear.

That’s when it starts to bleed through.

In the way his fingers tighten around your sleeve when you mention staying late at work. In the way his jaw sets when your phone lights up with unfamiliar names.

At night, he sleeps closer.

Not always touching, sometimes just angled toward you, arm thrown over the empty space between your bodies like he’s reserving it. Other nights, he curls into you without thinking, forehead pressed to your shoulder, breath steadying only once you’re there. When he stirs from whatever restless place his dreams take him, his hand finds you first. Barely there. But always you.

You start waking before him just to watch.

The way his brow smooths in sleep. The way his lips part slightly when he exhales. The faint tension that never fully leaves his body, even at rest. You notice the moments when his breathing stutters, when his hand presses briefly to his chest before settling again. So subtle you wonder if you imagined it.

You don’t ask, even when you know you should.

Instead, you slip out of bed quietly, careful not to disturb the way Jongseong’s arm lies over your hand, loose but deliberate, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. You peel his fingers away one by one, apologizing in your head for a crime you haven’t committed yet, and pad toward the kitchen.

The apartment is still. Morning light spills softly through the curtains, pale and forgiving. You make coffee the way he likes it now, without thinking about when you memorized that detail. The realization only hits after the mug is already warming your palms.

You’re setting plates on the counter when the bedroom door opens.

Jongseong stands there, hair mussed, shirt half-buttoned, eyes heavy but searching. He looks relieved when he finds you in the kitchen, like something in his chest loosens at the sight.

“You’re up,” he says, matter-of-fact.

“So are you,” you reply.

He hums and drifts closer, leaning his shoulder against the counter beside you. He doesn’t say anything, just watches you move, each small action tracked like he’s afraid to miss it.

Sunlight catches the faint shadows beneath his eyes.

“You didn’t sleep well,” you say without thinking.

He stiffens for half a second, then shrugs. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

That alone feels like a confession.

The moment lingers too long, fragile, exposed. Jongseong seems to realize it too, because his shoulders tense, his gaze drops, and the softness retracts all at once.

“Schedule’s tight this week,” he says abruptly, voice clipped. “Might come home late.”

You nod, even though you know that’s not the reason the air has cooled.

Breakfast is quiet after that.

He sits across from you instead of beside you, answers short, eyes fixed anywhere but your face. When you pass him the toast, your fingers brush, and he flinches.

It’s barely noticeable.

But you notice.

You lift your mug, letting the warmth settle your nerves. The coffee tastes familiar, comforting in a way that makes your chest ache. You don’t realize he’s staring until he turns back to the counter and starts brewing coffee again.

“You already have one,” you say.

“I know.”

He pours it into a different mug. A plain one. You ask, very confused, “Why are you using a different cup?”

He pauses, then nods toward your hands. “Because you’re holding mine.”

You freeze, eyes dropping to the mug. His mug. Heat rushes to your face.

“I— I’m sorry,” you say quickly, already standing. “I didn’t realize—”

“Hey.” His voice is gentle. He steps closer, stopping you with a light touch to your wrist. “It’s fine.”

You look up at him, still braced.

“It’s just a cup,” he adds, softer.

Something in your chest loosens. “Isn’t it your favorite?” you murmur.

He pours milk into his coffee, hesitates, then adds a little more—your preference, not his. When he notices you watching, he clears his throat.

“I can share,” he says.

You smile, small and careful. This time, he doesn’t look away.

But to your luck, softness doesn’t last.

It creeps into the days quietly, settles into routines, hides in shared cups and matching steps. Until one evening, it snaps under the weight of everything neither of you is saying.

Jongseong comes home late.

You know it the moment the door opens, not because of the time, but because of the way it opens. Sharper. With a thud.

You’re on the couch, half curled into the corner with your laptop abandoned beside you, the apartment lit only by a lamp you forgot to turn off. You look up instinctively.

He doesn’t greet.

His tie is loosened, jacket still on, hair slightly damp like he washed his hands too aggressively and dragged his fingers through it afterward. His expression is shut tight, jaw clenched in a way that makes something in your chest tighten in response.

“You’re late,” you say. Not accusing. Just stating.

“I know,” he replies, cold.

He doesn’t move closer. Doesn’t take his jacket off. Just stands there like he hasn’t decided whether to stay or leave.

Something prickles.

“You said you’d text,” you add, softer now.

His eyes flick to yours. There’s irritation there, not fully directed at you, but sharp enough to cut.

“I was busy.”

The way he says it feels deliberate.

You close your laptop slowly. “You’ve been busy every night this week.”

Silence.

You stand as if to confront him. The distance between you shrinks without either of you meaning it to.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” you say, carefully. “But don’t shut me out either.”

His laugh is quiet. Humorless. “I’m not shutting you out.”

“You are,” you say, firmer now. “You come home exhausted, you won’t talk, you won’t let me ask if you’re okay—”

“I am okay,” he snaps.

The sharpness makes you flinch before you can stop yourself.

He sees it.

Something dark flashes across his face—regret, anger, fear, all tangled together.

“I didn’t mean—” He stops. Swallows. “You’re overthinking.”

The words land badly.

“You hate it when I watch you,” you say quietly. “But you hate it more when I stop.”

His hands curl into fists at his sides.

“You don’t get to psychoanalyze me,” he says. “You don’t know what it’s like—”

“Then tell me,” you cut in. Your voice shakes despite your effort. “Stop standing five steps away from me like I’m a stranger in my own house.”

That does it.

He crosses the space between you in three strides.

Too fast. Too close.

You barely have time to inhale before he’s there. Towering, breathing unevenly, the air between you charged and dangerous. His hands come up, bracing against the wall on either side of your head.

The sound it makes is soft.

The effect is not.

Your heart slams against your ribs. You can feel his warmth now, feel the tension vibrating off him, feel how hard he’s fighting himself. His face is inches from yours, so close you can see the faint pulse at his jaw, the way his eyes flicker down to your mouth before snapping back up.

“Don’t,” he says hoarsely. Not a command, but warning to himself.

“Don’t what?” you whisper, breath catching.

“Look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

He gulps, as if holding back very specific words. “Like I owe you something I can’t give.”

Your chest aches. “I’m not asking for anything.”

“Yes, you are,” he says, voice low, strained. “You ask just by standing there. By—” His breath stutters. “By caring.”

You don’t move.

You can feel his breath on your cheek. Warm. Unsteady. His lips are dangerously close now, close enough that the slightest tilt would end everything you’ve been holding apart.

“I can’t,” he whispers. “You don’t understand what you’re asking me to risk.”

“Then why are you here?” you ask, tears threatening. “Why do you come back to me every night if you’re so afraid?”

His eyes darken.

Because he wants to kiss you.

Because you can see it. The way his mouth softens, the way his body leans in despite his mind screaming no. His forehead dips, brushing yours. He gulps again, eyes glued to your lips. For half a second, you think he’s going to give in.

You think this is it.

Then he pulls back.

Abrupt. Violent in its restraint.

He steps away like he’s been burned, dragging a hand through his hair, breathing hard. He doesn’t look at you when he speaks again.

“I need air,” he says, voice rough. “I can’t do this tonight.”

He grabs his jacket off the chair, pauses at the door just long enough for you to think, hope, he might turn back.

He doesn’t.

The door closes behind him, leaving you alone in the charged silence, lips still tingling from a kiss that never happened, heart aching from how close he came.

And how far he ran.

PARK JONGSEONG SMOOTHENS HIS TIE IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR.

He does it twice. Then a third time. Slow, precise movements, like repetition might quiet the unease sitting low in his chest. The mirror reflects a version of him he knows how to wear, pose and pretend. The heir. The fiancé. The man who never falters.

Except his fingers hesitate at his collarbone.

Just for a fraction of a second.

He exhales, steadying himself, and reaches for his cufflinks. The room smells faintly of cologne and starch and something warmer beneath it. Home, he thinks, before he can stop himself.

The bedroom door opens softly behind him.

“Jongseong?”

Your voice.

He straightens instinctively, shoulders squaring before he turns around.

You stand there in the doorway, light spilling in behind you, and for a moment he forgets how to breathe.

The dress drapes over you like it was designed with patience, soft fabric, gentle lines, nothing loud. It doesn’t demand attention. It invites it. The kind that lingers. The kind that stays. Your hair falls neatly over your shoulders, collarbones catching the light, skin warm and real in a way that makes something twist uncomfortably in his chest.

You shift your weight, suddenly self conscious beneath his stare.

“So?” you ask, trying to sound casual. “How do I look?”

The question hangs between you.

Jongseong opens his mouth. But then closes it back.

His eyes trace you—too slow to be polite, too careful to be careless. He notices everything: the way the fabric settles at your waist, the slight dip at your collarbone, the way your hands fidget like you’re bracing for something. For him. Because of him.

Because the last thing he remembers clearly is your breath on his lips and the way he walked away like a coward.

“You look—” Jongseong gulps, the words getting stuck between his throat and his heart. His eyes dart away from your eyes and he opens his mouth again.

“You look—”

“Sir,” the driver’s voice cuts in from the hallway. Why, the perfect timing. “The car is ready.”

The moment collapses.

Jongseong nods once, grateful and irritated all at the same time. “We’ll be right there.”

The door closes again, leaving the words unsaid. You smile at him, understanding, and he hates himself for not being fast enough with his words

----

The family house is already alive when you arrive.

Laughter spills from the open doors. The clink of glasses. Familiar voices layered over one another in practiced warmth. Jongseong’s mother greets you first, eyes sharp and appraising, a practised smile.

“You look lovely,” she tells you, hands light on your shoulders. “Perfect.”

Jongseong’s father nods at him from across the room, just acknowledging his presence with his perfect wife. But he doesn’t come up to you both for once.

“Do you want to sit?” he asks quietly, leaning in just enough that no one else hears. His voice is neutral, but his shoulders are tense.

“I’m fine,” you reply. Then, after a beat, softer, “Are you?”

He exhales through his nose. “I will be.”

That’s not an answer.

You drift toward the window under the pretense of admiring the garden lights. Jongseong follows a moment later, stopping beside you.

“I didn’t mean what I said earlier,” he murmurs, leaning a little closer to your ears.

You keep your eyes forward. “Which part?”

His jaw ticks. “All of it.”

“That’s convenient,” you say, not unkindly, just bored.

He glances at you then, eyes dark. “This isn’t the place.”

“No,” you agree, nodding. “It never is.”

Dinner starts shortly after. What is meant to be a family gathering feels like business meeting soon.

Everyone takes their seats, chairs pulled back in unison, napkins folded just so. Jongseong sits beside you, close enough that his knee brushes yours beneath the table, a small anchor in a room that already feels too large.

Conversation starts harmless.

Someone comments on the weather. Another praises the dishes. Jongseong’s uncle talks about a recent business acquisition, his voice carrying authority. You nod when appropriate, smile when addressed, keep your posture perfect.

But then the atmosphere shifts.

“So,” one of his aunts says, swirling her wine, eyes flicking to you with something like curiosity, “have you settled into married life yet?”

Not yet married, you want to say, You know that.

Instead, you smile. “We’re adjusting.”

She hums. “That’s good. It’s important to learn flexibility early. Especially for women.”

Another voice joins in, you don’t recognizethe face. “You still plan on working after the wedding, right? Or is this just, a phase?”

You open your mouth, then hesitate. Choose your words carefully. “I enjoy my work.”

“Of course,” someone else laughs lightly. “But family should always come first. Jongseong’s responsibilities are already immense.”

The implication lands quietly. You are not one of them.

You glance down at your plate, appetite gone. Your hands curl slightly in your lap, nails pressing into skin just enough to ground you.

“But it must be nice,” his cousin adds, smiling sweetly, “to have everything taken care of. Some people don’t realize how fortunate they are.”

Fortunate.

The word lands softly, almost politely—and still, it sinks its teeth into you. It curls somewhere behind your ribs, sharp and humiliating, because you know exactly what they mean by it. Not lucky. Not loved. Arranged. Chosen for you. Your hands rest neatly in your lap, fingers folded just right, posture perfect, because this is what fortune looks like from the outside.

You smile because you’re supposed to, because anything else would be impolite. Your chest tightens anyway. They don’t see the waiting, the wanting, the nights spent staring at a ceiling beside a man who won’t touch you. They don’t see how much of yourself you’ve learned to shrink just to fit into this version of “enough.”

You’re just another asset for them. A doll beside Jongseong.

Your eyes burn, vision blurring just slightly, and you lower your gaze before anyone notices. Because crying here would be unforgivable.

Jongseong’s fork stops moving.

It doesn’t clatter. He doesn’t drop it. He simply stills and puts it down.

He looks at you. Really looks this time.

The way your shoulders have gone rigid. The way your smile hasn’t quite reached your eyes. The way your head tips lower, lashes casting shadows over cheeks that are just a little too flushed, eyes shining with something dangerously close to tears.

“That’s enough,” Jongseong says.

The words aren’t loud. They don’t need to be. They cut through the table cleanly, like a blade sliding between ribs.

Conversation falters. Glasses pause halfway to lips.

His aunt blinks. “Jongseong, we were just—”

“You were being disrespectful,” he interrupts, voice steady and controlled. His hand moves under the table, fingers brushing your knee once. “And you’re not going to continue.”

His cousin scoffs softly. “Oh, come on. We didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know exactly what you meant,” he says. His glare flicks across the table, sharp and unyielding. “And you don’t get to talk about her like she’s a convenience. Or something handed to me.”

The silence thickens.

His mother opens her mouth, but hesitates.

His father clears his throat. “Jongseong,” he says carefully, in a warning tone. “That’s enough. This is a family dinner.”

Jongseong turns to him slowly.

For a moment, his expression falters. Not with doubt, but with something older and buried.

“Just because you never said anything to defend Mom,” he says, voice low and shaking, “doesn’t mean I’ll do the same for my—”

He stops. Breathes shakily.

“—my wife.”

The words lands heavy. Your head snaps up to Jongseong, tears almost running down.

“She is not fortunate,” he continues, eyes never leaving his father’s. “She is capable. She is intelligent. And she does not owe anyone gratitude for being here.”

A pause.

“If you can’t respect that,” he finishes, “then this dinner is over.”

Your throat tightens painfully.

You stand before anyone can respond, chair scraping softly against the floor.

“Excuse me,” you say, voice thin but steady. “I need some air.”

You move before anyone can stop you.

The chair scrapes softly against the floor as you stand, the sound far too loud in the thick silence Jongseong has carved open. Your hands tremble, but your spine stays straight.

No one stops you. No one knows how.

You walk out before the tears can fall.

The hallway feels endless. Too bright. Too quiet. Your heels click too fast against the marble as you head toward the garage, breath coming shallow, chest tight like it’s caving in. You tell yourself not to cry. You’ve done this long enough. You can do this too.

You don’t hear him at first.

“Y/n—!”

Jongseong’s voice cuts through the space, urgent in a way you’ve never heard before. You turn just as your foot slips, heel catching awkwardly on the edge of the concrete ramp.

You twist your ankle, pain shooting up.

You gasp, stumbling forward, but arms catch you.

Strong. Jongseong absorbs you without hesitation, one arm braced around your waist, the other gripping your forearm.

“Shit—” he breathes, crouching instantly. “Don’t move.”

Your ankle throbs, hot and pulsing. You bite your lip hard, tears finally spilling over.

“I’m fine,” you whisper.

“No,” he says, “You’re not.”

He doesn’t ask for permission.

Jongseong lifts you into his arms. Your face presses briefly into his shoulder, the scent of his cologne grounding you despite everything.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, voice low and steady. “I won’t drop you.”

He carries you to the car, sets you down gently, buckles you in himself with shaking hands. When he slides into the driver’s seat, his jaw is tight, eyes dark with something fierce and protective.

Neither of you speak as he pulls out of the driveway.

The house disappears behind you.

THE APARTMENT IS QUIET WHEN YOU GET THERE.

Muted, like it’s holding its breath with you. Jongseong helps you inside without a word, arm firm around your waist, movements careful in a way that feels practiced and panicked all at once. He sits you down on the couch, kneeling immediately in front of you, jacket discarded somewhere behind him.

“Let me see,” he says, voice low.

You hesitate. “It’s probably not that bad—”

“Please,” he cuts in, gentler now. “Just… let me.”

He slips off your heel slowly, like he’s afraid even the air might hurt you. His hands are warm, steady despite the tension still living in his shoulders. When his fingers brush your ankle, you flinch.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs instantly, retreating. “I’ll be careful.”

He fetches the first aid kit, crouches again, and wraps your ankle with slow precision. His brows knit together, jaw tight, focus unwavering.

The silence stretches.

“You didn’t have to say that,” you whisper suddenly. “Back there.”

He doesn’t look up. “I did.”

“I could defend myself—”

“I know.” His hands pause. Then he looks at you. Really looks at you. “But I wanted to.”

Something in his expression fractures then. Eyebrows relaxes, shoulder dropping. His thumb lingers at your ankle a second too long, like he’s forming words.

You swallow. “You didn’t have to,” you say, even though part of you aches because he did. “Not against your family like that—”

“Yes,” he replies immediately. Too quickly. “I did.”

Your gaze drops to his hands, still hovering around your ankle, fingers warm and careful. He exhales through his nose, steadies himself, and resumes wrapping the bandage, slower now, like he’s afraid any sudden movement might make something crack.

“Maybe they were right,” you murmur, fidgeting with your fingers, warm agaisnt your lap. “About me being fortunate.”

His looks up, immediately. “Don’t.”

“It’s fine,” you add quickly, reflexive. “I’m used to it.”

That makes him stop again.

“No,” he says, quieter. “You shouldn’t be. They were wrong about everything.”

You laugh under your breath, bitter. “Jongseong—”

His thumb presses lightly into your ankle, apologetic and voice soft. “Does it hurt?” he asks.

“A little.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and you can’t tell what he’s apologizing for anymore.

“You didn’t push me,” you try. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“I should’ve been there faster.”

You look at him then. “You caught me.”

“Still,” he insists, a crease forming between his brows. “I should’ve—” He cuts himself off, breath hitching slightly. His hand shifts, pressing briefly to his own chest before he seems to realize you’re watching.

His hand lingers at his chest for half a second longer than necessary.

Then Jongseong straightens.

The shift is subtle but unmistakable. He rises to his full height, standing between your knees, close enough that your breath catches. From where you’re sitting on the counter, he feels impossibly tall, shoulders tense, frame rigid like he’s holding himself together by force alone.

You tilt your head up to look at him.

His expression is unreadable at first. Guarded. Then something in it gives way, like a crack spreading through glass that was never meant to be unbreakable. His jaw clenches. His eyes soften, dark and conflicted, flicking over your face as if he’s memorizing you again.

“I’m okay,” he says quietly.

You don’t answer.

Jongseong finishes securing the bandage. The movement puts him directly in front of you, close enough that his knees brush yours, close enough that you have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes.

He reaches up hesitantly, knuckles brushing your cheek. His thumb wipes at the corner of your eye before you even realize tears have slipped free.

“You’re crying,” he murmurs, voice rough.

You laugh weakly, giving up. “I think it just… caught up to me.”

His gaze lingers on your face, your red rimmed eyes, the tension in your jaw, the way you’re trying so hard to stay composed even now. Something in him gives way.

“I hate that they made you feel small,” he says quietly. “I hate that you let them.”

You swallow, looking down as if it solves something. “I didn’t want to cause trouble.”

“You didn’t,” he says, “They did.”

His hand stays on your cheek, warmer now, more certain. He uses his other thumb to brush under your other eye. Your heart thumps loud, you hate it and yet you crave it.

“You shouldn’t have to be strong all the time,” he adds. “Not here. Not with me.”

Your chest tightens. “Then why do you keep pulling away?”

The question is soft. Careful. It lands anyway.

His jaw flexes. He looks down at you, then away, then back again.

“Because if I don’t,” he says, voice dropping, “I won’t know how to keep this… contained.”

“Contained from what?”

“From wanting more,” he admits,  voice shaking at its edges. “From wanting you.”

“Do you really want me?” you whisper louder than you meant to.

That’s all it takes.

He leans in slowly, as if giving you every chance to change your mind. His forehead brushes yours first, breath warm against your lips. You can feel the trembling tension in him.

When his lips finally meet yours, it’s soft.

Almost reverent.

The kiss is hesitant at first, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he presses too hard. His lips move against yours slowly, learning, relearning. When you sigh into it, his control fractures.

He kisses you deeper then, still gentle but unmistakably desperate, like he’s been starving quietly for too long. His hand slides up your back, fingers spreading between your shoulder blades, pulling you closer until there’s no space left to doubt what this is.

He trails a hot line from your lips down your jaw, then to the hollow under your ear, and you arch without realizing, breath hitching.

“Jongseong—” you whisper, when his mouth finds the tender skin at your neck. The sound breaks somewhere between his teeth and the small gasp that slips out of you trembles against his chest.

“I—” he says, voice swallowed by another kiss. “I’ve wanted—”

“Don’t,” you whisper, pleading, yet a part of you wants him to finish the sentence.

Between his kisses, your thoughts scatter and then narrow to an aching truth—you had wanted this for so long it almost hurts to finally have it.

You don’t know why, because you have always yearned for Jongseong’s warm touch. But right now, you can only hope that you won’t wake up from this.

He pauses, forehead against your temple, eyes dark and vulnerable. “I don’t know if I have the right to want,” he admits, so quiet you almost miss it. Then, louder, “But I do.”

His mouth finds your pulse at the base of your throat and presses, the kiss wet and demanding. Your hands go up, tangling in his hair at the nape of his neck, fingers threading through his strands as he deepens the kiss.

He lifts you without fussing and carries you towards the bedroom. The movement is fluid, as if he’s imagined this a thousand times and finally stepped into it. You wrap your legs around his hips instinctively.

“Careful,” you murmur, breathless, face burning up with shyness.

“I am,” he answers, voice low. “Always.”

He lays you down gently, not breaking the kiss until his forehead rests against yours and you both are dizzy with it. He leans over you lips roaming—down your throat, to the soft slope between collarbone and shoulder—leaving a trail of heated kisses like a map.

“Say my name,” he murmurs against your skin, “Call me Jay, please.”

“Jay,” you answer.

He lifts his head, mouth quirking into something close to a smile. “Good,” he says, and it’s a laugh with no humor.

Jongseong feels himself fading quietly, the way a man does when he’s held something back for too long. Every brush of your lips against his reminds him how close he is to losing the careful distance he built to survive

He’s terrified by how easy it is to forget everything else when you sigh against him, by how instinctively his body leans closer to you and the guilt eats him alive because he never allowed himself to touch you.

“Why didn’t you kiss me earlier?,” you say at one point, trying not to cry, awkward under the weight of his closeness.

“I’m sorry” he simply says, voice hoarse. “I was... scared.”

“Of what?”

He doesn’t answer the question. Instead, he brings his soft, wet lips to yours again, capturing you into another kiss.

MORNING ARRIVES QUIETLY.

The morning light slips in through the opaque curtains and fills the space in the bedroom. The city outside is awake, but your apartment isn’t, not really. It’s suspended in that soft in between where the night hasn’t fully let go yet.

You wake first.

For a few seconds, you don’t move. You just register. The warmth at your back. The steady rise and fall of his chest against you. His arm draped over your waist, heavy and protective, with his face nuzzled deep in your neck.

Last night comes back to you in fragments rather than a rush—his mouth at your neck, the way he carried you like something precious, the way his voice broke when you said his name. The way he held you afterward, forehead pressed to yours, breathing uneven but calm, like he’d finally stopped being cold.

You turn slowly, careful not to wake him.

Jongseong looks different in sleep.

Softer. Younger. His brows aren’t drawn together like they usually are, his mouth slack, lashes resting against his cheeks. There’s no heir, no expectation, no weight in the way he rests right now. Just a man who looks tired in a way that makes your chest ache.

Jongseong stirs when you shift slightly, his arm tightening instinctively around you. He hums, drowsy and half audible, and presses his lips to your hair without opening his eyes.

“Morning,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.

You smile before you can stop yourself. “Morning.”

He opens his eyes slowly, dark lashes lifting, and for a split second you see it, his eye are actually soft this time. Then his expression even warms when he focuses on you.

“Did I wake you?” he asks quietly.

“No,” you whisper. “I was already up.”

He hums again, eyes drifting shut as he pulls you closer, forehead resting against yours. His breath is warm, steady. You can feel the way his body relaxes when you don’t pull away, when you fit into him like this is something practiced rather than new.

“Stay,” he murmurs, like it’s a reflex.

You smile, your hands resting against his chest, “I’m not going anywhere.”

That makes his eyes open again.

Something passes over his face. Relief, maybe, or something more fragile. His hand tightens at your waist just a little.

“You’re warm,” he says, almost distracted. “Did you sleep?”

“A little,” you admit. “You?”

He exhales softly, a sound that’s almost a laugh. “Better than I usually do.”

There’s a pause. Not an uncomfortable one. Just space.

He presses a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, unhurried. It feels different in the daylight. His thumb brushes gently under your eye.

“You’re staring,” you tease quietly.

“Let me,” he replies. “I don’t do it enough.”

Its crazy to think how only just a week ago, this softness intimacy with your own fiance was just a dream, something that you could only imagine. Back then, his touch felt like a concept rather than a reality, his warmth something you imagined in quiet moments before sleep, never something you expected to wake up to, wrapped in it.

Now he’s here, breathing against you, holding you as if he always did, as if he was never any cold to you.

Your chest aches with a cautious kind of hope, the kind that blooms slowly, afraid of being noticed, because part of you is still bracing for him to pull away, for the walls to rise again.

He presses another kiss to your forehead, lingering, like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

“I’ll make coffee,” he says finally. “Don’t move.”

You laugh softly. “I won’t. Promise.”

He disappears into the kitchen, barefoot and rumpled, sleeves pushed up, hair still tousled from sleep. The sight of him like this, unguarded and domestic, fills you with a warmth that almost hurts.

You sit up on the bed, glancing around the bedroom as you wait.

As the duvet cover pools around you, you can’t help but wonder how he must have felt last night, after sleeping with his back turned to you for months, after restricting your touch for months. You remember the way his voice trembled when you said his name, the way his breathing finally evened out only when you were tucked against him, and you realize he must have been carrying something heavy for a long time.

Maybe, just maybe, he was yearning for you the same way you were yearning for him.

And you let yourself believe that. You believe that mornings will be like this from now on. Soft and domestic. Romantic, even.

You glance around the bedroom as you wait, trying to find to pull you out of your thoughts.

That’s when you notice the folder.

Tucked beneath the edge of the coffee table, partially hidden, beige and unassuming. You wouldn’t have paid it any attention if not for the bold hospital logo printed across the corner.

Your stomach twists.

You tell yourself not to touch it. You really do.

But something twists in your gut, sharp and familiar, the same feeling you had when he pressed his hand to his chest last night. The same unease that’s been following him like a shadow for months.

You stand.

Your bare feet barely make a sound against the floor as you walk over. The folder is thin. You hesitate with your fingers resting against it, heart already racing like it knows what’s coming.

You pull the paper free.

Your eyes skim at first, unfocused.

The papers inside are neatly stacked, clipped together. Medical reports. Test results. Dates. Charts.

You scan the first page. And then the words blur.

Diagnosis: Atherosclerosis.

Your breath leaves you all at once, like someone punched it out of your chest.

Atherosclerosis, a condition in which plaque builds up inside your arteries, which overtime hardens narrows the arteries.

You read the other pages. Slower this time. Clinical language. Risk factors. Progression. Treatment plans that sound too careful, too conditional. Phrases like advanced, monitor closely, high risk.

Your fingers tremble as you keep reading, as if slowing down might somehow soften the meaning.

But it doesn’t.

Is this why he always kept you at an arms' distance? Why he always left you wondering for his love? Never touched you, or held or kissed only until last night? He doesn’t actually have limited time, does he?

A quiet, broken sound leaves your throat before you even realize you’re crying. You clamp a hand over your mouth, but it doesn’t help. Tears spill freely now, dropping onto the papers in dark, blurry spots. Your shoulders shake as you try to breathe through it, try to make sense of the hurricane hurling towards you.

Footsteps sound behind you.

“Coffee will be ready in—”

The sentence dies in his throat.

You hear it. The way his voice stops, the way the air shifts. You don’t look up. You can’t. You’re staring at the paper like it might rearrange itself into something less devastating if you keep looking.

“Y/n…” Jongseong says carefully, slowing down at the threshold of the bedroom.

When you finally lift your eyes, he’s frozen near the doorway, mug in hand, color draining from his face. His gaze drops from your tear streaked cheeks to the papers in your hands.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” he says quietly.

The words land softly, but they split something open inside you.

Your fingers tighten around the papers, knuckles white, the thin sheets trembling with you. Your throat burns the moment you try to speak, like your body already knows what your heart is refusing to accept.

“H-how long?” you ask, the question barely holding together. It comes out thin. Fragile. Like if you press any harder, you’ll shatter completely.

He doesn’t answer.

That silence is worse than anything he could have said. It stretches heavy, filling the space between you until your chest feels too tight to breathe.

“How long, Jongseong?” you ask again, louder this time, tears spilling down without restraint. Your voice cracks right down the middle. “How long have you known?”

He sets the mug down slowly on the counter, like even that small sound might break you further. The coffee sloshes dangerously close to the rim, unnoticed. His shoulders rise and fall once, a controlled breath that looks rehearsed. Like he’s done this alone, over and over.

“A while,” he admits.

The words feel vague on purpose. Cowardly.

“A while?” you echo, disbelief laced with hurt. Your laugh is short and broken, more like a sob caught in reverse. “What does that even mean, Jongseong? Weeks? Months?”

His jaw tightens. He drags a hand through his hair, fingers shaking just enough that you notice. He looks away from you—toward the window, the wall, anywhere but your face.

“Years.”

The word drops into the room like a blade.

For a moment, everything goes quiet. Not muted, but gone. Like your ears are ringing after an explosion.

“Years?” you whisper, the syllable barely surviving your lips.

Your knees feel weak. Your chest aches so sharply it almost feels physical, like something is crushing your ribs from the inside. You clutch the papers harder, as if they might anchor you to the floor.

“You’ve been—” Your voice gives out. You swallow, forcing the words through tears. “You’ve been sick this whole time?”

“Yes.”

The answer is immediate. Too immediate. Like he’s tired of lying, or maybe tired of carrying it alone.

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” The hurt finally spills into anger, your voice rising, shaking, raw. “You didn’t think I deserved to know?”

He turns back to you instantly, panic flashing across his face, all that carefully built composure cracking at the edges.

“That’s not—” he starts, stepping toward you.

“Then what was it?” you cut in, backing away without realizing it. Your chest heaves, every breath uneven. “What was all that distance? All those nights you wouldn’t touch me, wouldn’t even look at me?”

Your voice breaks again, softer now, more wounded than angry. Memories flood back uninvited, the cold space between you in bed, the way he always kept a careful inch of distance, the way his hands would clench like he wanted to reach for you and stopped himself.

“You made me feel unwanted,” you whisper. “Like I was asking for too much just by loving you.”

His face twists at that, pain cutting through his features so sharply it almost scares you.

“I was trying to protect you,” he says, voice strained. “I was trying to protect us.”

“By shutting me out?” you snap, tears blurring your vision. “By letting me think I wasn’t enough?”

“That’s not what it was,” he insists, stepping closer again. “I couldn’t— I didn’t know how to let you get attached when I don’t even know how long I—”

He stops himself.

Your heart stutters. “When you don’t know how long what?” you take a shaky breath in, “Why after all this time—”

“Because Im dying, okay?” Jongseong snaps.

The words don’t land right away.

They snatch the land away from right beneath your feet, and for a second you feel falling down. For a moment, all you can hear is your own heartbeat beating way too loud agaisnt your ribcage.

“What…?” Your lips move, but the sound barely comes out. “What did you say?”

He looks like he regrets it the instant the words leave him. Like they tore out of him without permission. His shoulders tense, jaw clenched so tightly you can see the muscle jump beneath his skin. His eyes are glossy. Hes not crying yet.

“I said I’m dying,” he repeats, quieter now. Hoarse, and you know that hurts him. “Eventually. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not this year. But it’s there. Hanging over everything.”

You shake your head slowly, as if that might undo it. As if disbelief alone could rewind time to ten minutes ago, when the world still made sense.

“No,” you whisper. “Don’t say that like it’s—like it’s already decided.”

He laughs under his breath, bitter and exhausted. “It kind of is.”

Your chest tightens painfully. “Then why are you standing here?” you demand, tears streaming freely now. “Why are you pretending this is just another argument we can talk through?”

“Because I didn’t want you living your life around a countdown,” he says, voice breaking despite his effort to keep it steady. “Because I didn’t want to be the reason you wake up one day alone, wondering why you stayed.”

You clutch the papers to your chest like they’re the only thing keeping you upright. “So you thought hurting me would be better?”

“I thought distancing myself would make it easier when I leave,” he says quietly.

“When you—” Your breath stutters. “When you what?”

“When I go away,” he admits. “Anytime, Y/n. My whole life is unsure. I don’t get guarantees. I don’t get to plan ten years ahead like everyone else.”

He drags a hand down his face, the movement slow, weary, like the mask is finally too heavy to hold up.

“I didn’t want this marriage,” he says suddenly, the confession sharp and honest. “I didn’t want a wife whom I can just leave behind.”

The words gut you.

“Then why did you agree?” you ask, voice small despite everything tearing through you. “Why stand there beside me, say vows you didn’t believe in?”

His eyes lift to yours then, and something raw breaks open in them.

“Because I didn’t know how not to,” he says. “Because everyone kept telling me it was the right thing. My family wanted stability. I—”

He stops. Swallows hard.

“Because part of me hoped I was wrong,” he finishes. “That maybe I’d get lucky. That maybe if I kept my distance, I could survive it without hurting you.”

Your chest feels like it’s caving in on itself.

You want to scream at him for keeping something this devastating from you, for deciding on your behalf what you could and couldn’t handle. You want to cry for the months you spent feeling unwanted, for the nights you lay beside him wondering what you’d done wrong, for every time you swallowed your need for affection because you thought you were asking for too much.

And beneath all of that, cutting deeper than the rest, is fear.

Your mind keeps replaying every small moment from the past days. The way he would sometimes pause mid-step, fingers pressing briefly to his chest before he noticed you watching. The exhaustion he tried to hide behind clipped answers and silence. He was living life on borrowed time. And now it all makes a horrifying kind of sense. The distance wasn’t indifference. It was fear. Fear of attachment. Fear of leaving you behind. Fear of loving you too much when he wasn’t sure how long he’d be allowed to.

Your hands shake as you clutch the papers, the thin sheets crumpling slightly under your grip. You don’t even notice. All you can feel is the way your chest feels too small for everything trying to live inside it at once.

Anger. Fear. Grief. Love.

Love, most of all.

You take a step toward him before you realize you’ve moved. Your legs feel unsteady, like they might give out at any second, but you keep going until you’re standing right in front of him. He looks braced, like he’s expecting you to push him away, to scream, to tell him you’re done.

Instead, your voice comes out broken and soft.

“So you decided for me,” you say. Not accusing. Just devastated. “You decided that I couldn’t love you through this. That I couldn’t stay.”

His jaw tightens. “I didn’t want you trapped.”

“I wasn’t trapped,” you whisper. “I was confused. I was lonely. I was wondering every day what I did wrong.”

That hits him harder than shouting ever could.

Jongseong’s shoulders sag, like something finally gives up holding itself together. He closes his eyes briefly, breath shuddering as it leaves him.

“I know,” he says hoarsely. “I know I hurt you.”

The word hangs in the air between you.

Dying.

It doesn’t sound real. It feels like a foreign language, like something meant for hospital rooms and strangers, not the man standing in front of you with his jaw clenched and his eyes shining like he’s trying not to break apart in front of you.

Your breath stutters. Your fingers loosen around the papers, and they slip from your grasp, fluttering to the floor.

“You—” Your voice comes out hoarse. You clear your throat, but it doesn’t help. “Don’t say it like that. Don’t say it so casually.”

Jongseong exhales sharply, like the word tore its way out of him. “I’m not being casual. I’m being honest for once.”

The room feels too small. The walls press in. You take a step toward him without even realizing it, your chest aching with something that feels too big to fit inside you.

“You really did decide a huge part of my life without asking me,” you whisper.

His gaze flickers to your lips and then back to your eyes, conflicted, raw. “Because it hurts more than anything to know I might leave you behind.”

The words knock the breath out of you.

“You already did,” you say softly. “Every time you made me doubt your love.”

His shoulders sag, like the fight drains out of him all at once. “I cared too much,” he admits. “That was the problem.”

You’re close enough now to feel the warmth of him, the tension vibrating through his body like a live wire. Your hand lifts on instinct, fingers brushing the fabric of his shirt at his chest. You feel his heart beneath it, beating hard and fast, like it’s trying to run from the truth too.

“You should’ve told me,” you say, your voice breaking. “I would’ve stayed. I would’ve chosen you anyway.”

His breath shudders. “I didn’t pity.”

“You really think that?” you say, tears blurring your vision. “It would’ve been love.”

That does it.

Something in his expression finally gives. The careful distance he’s kept for months collapses in a single moment. He reaches for you like he’s been holding himself back from doing it for far too long, one hand coming up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing under your eye where your tears spill over.

“Don’t say that,” he murmurs, voice low and unsteady. “If you say that, I won’t be able to pretend anymore.”

“Then don’t pretend,” you whisper. “Not with me.”

For a second, he just looks at you. Really looks at you. Like he’s memorizing every line of your face, every fragile breath you take.

Then he leans in.

The kiss isn’t gentle at first. It’s desperate, like all the words he’s swallowed are finally finding a way out through his mouth instead. His lips press into yours with a quiet, aching intensity, and you gasp against him before melting into it, your hands clutching at his shirt like you’re afraid he might disappear if you let go.

His breath mingles with yours, warm and uneven. The kiss deepens, not rushed but heavy, loaded with everything unsaid—regret, longing, fear, love. His hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, pulling you closer until there’s barely any space left between your bodies.

“God,” he exhales against your lips, the word breaking like a confession. “I shouldn’t—”

You don’t let him finish. You kiss him again, softer this time, slower, like you’re grounding him, reminding him that you’re real, that this moment is real. Your forehead rests against his when you finally pull back, breaths mingling, your noses brushing.

“I don’t care about anything,” you whisper. “I only care about you.”

His eyes search yours, dark and vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen before. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, lingering, like he’s fighting the urge to kiss you again and losing.

“You make this so hard,” he murmurs.

“Sorry” you reply quietly.

He lets out a breath that sounds like surrender. His forehead drops to yours, his eyes closing briefly as if he’s bracing himself for the weight of what he’s about to say next.

He opens his eyes then, and they’re wet now, shining dangerously. “I didn’t think I’d survive watching you look at me like this every day. Like I was your future.”

Your heart twists painfully.

“You are my future,” you say without thinking.

The words hang in the air, fragile and terrifying.

He shakes his head immediately. “Don’t say that.”

“Why?” you demand, voice cracking. “Because it scares you?”

“I can’t promise you anything,” he says sharply, desperation bleeding through his restraint. “I can’t promise you years. I can’t promise you safety. I can’t even promise you tomorrow.”

He gestures vaguely to his chest, frustration and fear tangled together. “My body could fail me at any point. I live knowing that. I didn’t want you living like that too.”

You step closer, until there’s barely any space left between you.

“I would’ve chosen it,” you whisper. “If you’d told me, I would’ve chosen you anyway.”

His breath stutters.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” you say fiercely. “Because I already did. Every night you turned away, every morning I woke up hoping you’d look at me differently. I stayed even when I didn’t understand why you were pulling away.”

Your voice softens, trembling. “Do you know how much it hurts to feel unwanted by the person you love?”

He winces like you’ve struck him.

“I never didn’t want you,” he says immediately. “God, Y/n, that was the problem.”

Silence falls again, thick and heavy.

You wipe at your tears with the back of your hand, inhaling shakily. “Then say it,” you challenge quietly. “Say what you were so afraid to say.”

He stares at you, chest rising and falling unevenly, like he’s standing at the edge of something irreversible.

“I was afraid,” he admits finally. “Afraid that if I let myself love you the way I wanted to, it would destroy me when I leave.”

“When you die?” you whisper, hating the word even as it leaves your mouth.

His face tightens, but he nods once.

Your knees feel weak again. You reach out instinctively, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, grounding yourself against him.

“And the wedding?” you ask suddenly, voice trembling with the weight of the question. “Will you— will you not—”

He doesn’t let you finish.

“I will marry you, Y/n.”

The certainty in his voice steals your breath.

He cups your face gently, thumbs brushing your cheeks where tears keep falling, like he’s memorizing the shape of you, like he’s afraid this might be taken from him too.

“I will marry you,” he repeats, softer now. “Not because I have to. Not because anyone expects me to. But because I want to. Loving you is the one thing in my life that feels real.”

Your lips tremble. “Then why were you pushing me away?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, voice breaking. “maybe because I have limited time.”

Something inside you shatters completely at that.

You press your forehead to his chest, listening to his heartbeat, strong and terrifying and precious all at once. Your tears soak into his shirt as you sob quietly, fingers gripping him like if you let go, he might disappear.

Jongseong wraps his arms around you tightly, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other firm at your waist. He holds you like he’s afraid the world might steal you away too.

“I didn’t want to give you a life full of hospitals and waiting rooms,” he murmurs into your hair, his palms caressing your back slowly. “I didn’t want to be the reason you’re scared all the time.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, eyes red and swollen. And then press your face against him again.

His breath catches.

“If I miss someone the most in this world,” he says suddenly, voice thick with emotion, “then it is my grandma.”

You still, listening.

“She wanted to see me grow up. Be successful. Be happy.” His lips tremble as he speaks. “She wanted to share her blessings with my future wife.”

He swallows hard. “But she couldn’t. She didn’t get to see any of it.”

Your heart aches as he continues, voice barely holding together.

“If she’d be here, you would love you,” Jongseong’s voice cracks, but he lets out a melancholic laugh through it. It cracks, brings water to his eyes.

He lets out a shaky breath, eyes dropping to look at you.

“I...” His voice drops to a whisper. “I love you, Y/n.”

Your chest tightens painfully.

“I love you,” he repeats, like he needs to hear himself say it. You bring your head up to see him again. A tear slips past his cheeks, enhancing his now flushed features. Jongseong’s breath hitches, “I’m sorry for being a bad fiancé, I’m sorry I made you doubt. But I love you, god, I do.”

A broken laugh slips out of you through your tears.

“I love you enough that it hurts,” he continues, pressing his forehead to yours. “And I should have said this sooner to you.”

You cup his face with both hands, thumbs brushing away the tears he’s finally letting fall.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, smiling through tears, “Just don't love me halfway anymore.”

He nods slowly, eyes closing as he leans into your touch. “Then stay,” he murmurs. “Even if it’s scary.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say, echoing your words from this morning, but now they carry weight. Promise. Choice.

He kisses you then. Again. Not desperate like last night. Not restrained like before. But full and trembling and honest, like he’s finally stopped running from the truth.

And when he holds you afterward, arms tight and protective, you don’t care about anything else in this world.

Park Jongseong has finally kissed you, heck, he's even holding you. And even if he can't do that forever, it’s all that you ever wished for.

EPILOGUE

The wedding does not feel like how weddings are described in stories.

There is no loud music spilling into the street, no crowd pressing in on every side, no overwhelming spectacle. It is small, intimate to the point of fragility, held in the quiet hall of an old heritage house on the outskirts of the city, where the windows are tall and the light filters in pale and gentle, as if even the sun is careful not to intrude too loudly on something this delicate.

Both your families wanted a huge crowd, too many heads to feed in the wedding; but much to their bad luck, Jongseong had stood his ground. He’d said it calmly, without raising his voice, without the sharp edge he used when he was tired or in pain. He didn’t want a stage. He didn’t want a day that felt like it belonged to everyone except the two of you. He wanted something small enough to breathe in. Something that wouldn’t exhaust him before the vows were even spoken, that would feel like yours.

So here you are.

The guest list is trimmed down to the people who matter, the people who know—at least partly—what this day costs him and what it means. There are no distant relatives you barely recognize, no business acquaintances pretending this is a celebration more than a formality.

Except Sunghoon brought in his whole friend group back from his college days, to which Jongseong knew he couldn’t say no to.

Your mother had argued, of course. His family had too. There were expectations. But Jongseong had only said, “Y/n doesn’t want crowds, and I want us to live our wedding day and not rehearse it.” And that had been the end of it.

The hall is simple. Old wood floors that creak softly under careful steps. White fabric draped along the walls. A narrow aisle lined with lilies that smell clean and faintly sweet. The kind of place that feels more like a promise.

You stand at the far end of the aisle, hands folded in front of you, trying to steady your breathing.

Your dress is lighter than you expected it to be, the fabric falling in soft lines instead of stiff layers. You wanted something you could move in. Something that wouldn’t weigh you down. Something that felt like you. The veil brushes your shoulders, and for a moment you close your eyes, just to take it in.

This is real.

When you open them, you see him.

Jongseong is already at the front, standing beside the officiant, posture straight but not rigid. He looks.fragile, in a way that makes your chest tighten. The suit fits him perfectly, but you can see the faint signs of fatigue he never quite manages to hide. The slight hollowness beneath his eyes. The careful way he holds himself, like he’s measuring his energy even now.

And still, when he looks at you, everything else falls away.

His expression changes the moment your eyes meet. The tension in his shoulders eases, just a little. His lips part, like he forgot to breathe for a second. There’s something raw there. Something open. Something that makes your throat ache.

You start walking.

Each step feels slow, because your body seems to understand the weight of this moment better than your mind does. The quiet hum of the room wraps around you. You’re vaguely aware of people watching, of soft movements, of the way the light catches in the tall windows, but mostly, there’s just him.

With every step, memories rise up uninvited.

The distance that used to sit between you like a wall. The silence. The nights you lay awake wondering what you had done wrong. The day you found the papers. The way his voice broke when he said he was dying. The way he looked at you like he was both terrified and relieved that you knew.

And then the nights after that. The long talks. The quiet understanding. The way he started reaching for you again, slowly, like he was relearning how to trust himself with your heart.

You stop in front of him.

Up close, you can see the way his hands are clasped together, fingers tight, knuckles pale. You can see the faint tremor in his breath. But you can also see the way his eyes soften when he looks at you, like you are the only steady thing in a world that keeps shifting under his feet.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

The officiant clears their throat gently and begins, their voice low and respectful, as if they, too, understand that this is not a day for grand speeches. The words drift around you—about love, about commitment, about choosing each other not just when it’s easy, but when it’s hard.

“In sickness and in health” lands heavier than the rest.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, and Jongseong notices. His gaze flickers to your hands, then back to your face, and he gives you the smallest nod. Like he’s reminding you. Like he’s reminding himself. We’re here. We’re still here.

When it’s your turn to speak, your heart is hammering so hard you’re afraid your voice will shake.

But when you look at him, really look at him, the words come out steadier than you expect.

His eyes shine, but he doesn’t look away.

When it’s his turn, he swallows hard before speaking.

“I spent a long time trying not to want this,” he admits. “I thought distance would protect you. I thought if I didn’t let you get too close, it would hurt less when…” He stops, breath catching, then continues more softly. “When I leave. I was wrong. All I did was waste time I could have spent loving you properly.”

His voice steadies, just a little.

“I can’t promise you forever. I wish I could. But I can promise you honesty. I can promise you every day I’m given. I can promise you that as long as I’m here, you won’t face anything alone.”

Your eyes burn, but you don’t look away.

When the rings are exchanged, his fingers linger around yours, like he’s afraid of letting go even for a second. When he leans in to kiss you, it’s gentle, unhurried. Not a performance. Not for the room. Just for you.

And when the officiant declares you married, there’s no thunderous applause. Just soft clapping. Warm smiles. A quiet, collective exhale.

The room exhales around you, a collective softening now that the vows have been spoken and the weight of them has settled into something real. There’s a quiet shuffle of movement as people begin to rise from their seats, the soft murmur of congratulations beginning to bloom through the hall. The light shifts as a cloud passes outside, turning the windows briefly dimmer, then bright again.

Jongseong’s hand is still wrapped around yours.

His palm is warm, his grip a little too tight, like he’s anchoring himself to the reality of this moment. You squeeze back, a silent reassurance, and he looks down at you with something fragile and bright in his eyes. Relief, maybe. Or disbelief that he’s actually here, standing beside you, that the day did not break apart before it could begin.

“You okay?” you whisper, leaning in so only he can hear.

He nods. “Yeah. Just… give me a second.”

You recognize the tone. The carefulness. The way he’s learned to pace himself, even in moments meant to be joyful. You don’t press. You just stay close, your shoulder brushing his arm, your presence a quiet support rather than a demand.

The officiant steps aside, offering you both a small, gentle smile. Someone from the back laughs softly—Sunghoon, probably—trying to cut through the heaviness with something familiar. Your mother wipes at her eyes, her expression torn between pride and worry. His family watches him closely, too closely, like they’re counting his breaths without realizing it.

You and Jongseong take a step forward together.

The motion is small, but you feel the shift in his balance immediately. It’s subtle, you feel it in the way his fingers tighten around yours, in the way his shoulder brushes yours a little harder than before.

“Jongseong?” you murmur.

“I’m fine,” he says automatically, the words practiced. He gives you a faint smile, the kind he uses when he doesn’t want to worry you. “Just stood up too fast.”

You search his face. The color has drained a little, leaving him paler than before. There’s a sheen of sweat at his temple that wasn’t there moments ago. Your chest tightens with a familiar, creeping fear.

“Do you want to sit for a bit?” you ask quietly. “We can—”

“I don’t want to sit,” he replies, more firmly than you expect, though his voice is still gentle. “I want to walk out with you. Just… slow, okay?”

So you walk slowly.

Each step is measured, careful. The old wood floor creaks beneath your feet, a soft, grounding sound. The lilies lining the aisle blur in your peripheral vision. You keep your attention on him, on the steady rise and fall of his chest.

His inner world feels loud in a way you can almost sense without him saying anything. There’s a stubborn pride in him, a refusal to let this moment be overshadowed by his body’s limits. He has fought for this day. He has insisted on being here, standing, choosing this with you. The thought of needing help, of letting weakness show in front of everyone, presses against something old in him.

And yet, even as he tries to hold himself together, there is a quieter fear threading through him. A whisper that this might be too much. That joy, even when it is gentle, still costs him something.

Your own thoughts are no less tangled.

Part of you is floating, still wrapped in the soft glow of being married, of hearing him say vows that felt like a promise against the dark. Another part of you is coiled tight with worry, hyper-aware of every change in his breathing, every slight falter in his step. Loving him has taught you this strange duality, how joy and fear can exist side by side, neither fully eclipsing the other.

You reach the middle of the aisle.

There’s a soft ripple of applause, gentle and restrained, as people make space for you to pass. Someone murmurs congratulations. Someone else whispers his name, concern threading through the sound. The room feels warmer than before, or maybe that’s just your nerves making everything feel too close.

Jongseong exhales, long and slow.

“I’m glad we did it like this,” he says under his breath. “Small. Quiet.”

You smile up at him, though your heart is beating too fast. “Me too.”

His gaze lingers on you, something tender and aching in it, like he’s trying to hold onto this exact version of you in this exact moment. Married. Here. Alive in front of him.

“You look…” he trails off, then shakes his head slightly, eyes glues on yours. “You look like something I don’t deserve.”

You start to protest, but the words die in your throat when you feel his grip falter.

It’s subtle at first, the tension in his fingers loosening, his hand slipping slightly in yours. His step stutters. His breath catches.

“Jongseong?” you say, louder now.

The room seems to tilt.

For a second, he’s still standing, eyes unfocused, like he didn’t expect this to happen now, of all times. His inner world fractures in that moment.

“I’m okay,” he tries to say, but the words come out wrong, thin and unconvincing.

Then his knees buckle.

The world lurches forward in a rush of motion and sound. You feel his weight shift suddenly, too heavy, too fast. Your grip tightens instinctively as you reach for him, calling his name as the room erupts into startled gasps, chairs scraping back, someone shouting for help.

Your arms wrap around him as he falls, your body bracing against the impact, heart slamming painfully against your ribs.

“Jongseong—!”

The lilies blur into white streaks at the edge of your vision. The quiet hall fractures into chaos, voices overlapping, footsteps rushing closer. You sink to the floor with him, cradling his head against your chest, your hands trembling as you search his face.

His eyes are half-lidded, breath shallow but there, still there. His brow is drawn, like he’s fighting to stay with you.

“Stay with me, please,” you whisper, the words pouring out like a plea. “A-Always” Jongseong breaths out.

Around you, the room is a blur of motion and worry, but your world has narrowed to the feel of his weight in your arms, the fragile warmth of his skin against yours, the uncertain rhythm of his breathing.

AUTHORS NOTE hello hello again! thank you so so much for reading this all the way and making it through here 💗 i decided for the ending to be open because making jay pass away would be too sad and i couldnt think of any other endings 😞 so for my angst ending haters, you can just pretend that the epilogue never happened!!! phew, its finished and i definitely took way more time than i should've, but like i was sooo confused on this one. anyways, please let me know how it was and reblog to support! see you in my next long fic 😛

edit: and now to clear up some doubts about the ending, jay doesn't actually passes away in the ending! its just shown that he collapses to the ground, and whatever happens after that is left to your imagination, making this an open ending! once again, thank you for reading <3

©BYWONS, 2026 DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE OR REPOST

"And you're actually considering taking her to this thing? Have you finally cracked? Do I need to stage an intervention? Because I've been practicing my concerned face in the mirror."

You circled reason number seven: Because YES, I am completely insane.

"Her teacher already told her about it. She's been talking about nothing else for days. You know how she gets about soccer." You drew a little soccer ball in the margin of your notepad. "If I suddenly say no, she'll be devastated."

"So make something up! Tell her you're sick. Tell her she's sick. Hell, tell her I'm sick and you need to come take care of Auntie Tia. I can be very convincing. Remember when I faked food poisoning to get us out of your ex-boss's wedding?"

"That's actually reason number nine," you admitted. "'Fake family emergency.'"

"See? This is why we're best friends. Same brain cell, just passing it back and forth since third grade."

You laughed despite yourself, getting up to refill your coffee. "But then what, Tia? Hide the fact that Jake is doing appearances all over the city this week? Keep her home from school so she doesn't hear about it from her friends? What about next time he comes back? She's obsessed with soccer. Our paths were bound to cross eventually."

There was a rustling sound on the other end, like Tia was sitting up in bed. "Okay, let's think worst-case scenario. You take her to this clinic. He sees her. Then what? You think he's just going to know she's his? Men are oblivious. My brother didn't notice when I dyed my hair purple for three weeks."

You let out a humorless laugh. "Have you seen my child lately? She's his clone. Same dimples. Same smile. Same way of running. She even does this thing with her hands when she's excited—" Your voice caught. "You've said it yourself a hundred times."

"Fine, so there's a resemblance. She could be a really dedicated fan who studied his goal celebrations on YouTube—"

"And her last name is Sim. It's on the registration form. There's going to be two hundred kids there, but how many five-year-old girls named Sim with his exact dimples and soccer style do you think he runs into?"

The silence on the other end confirmed your fears.

"I never should have given her his last name," you said quietly, adding it as reason number thirteen on your list.

"Hey, you were engaged. You were already using Sim yourself half the time. You thought he was coming back." Tia's voice softened. "You couldn't have known."

You closed your eyes, remembering those first few confusing months. The positive pregnancy test two weeks after Jake left. Your decision not to tell him while he was establishing himself with his new team—not wanting to be the reason he gave up his dream. Then the complication with your pregnancy that meant strict bed rest. By the time Jade was born, Jake was already becoming a household name in Europe, and the gulf between your worlds seemed impossible to bridge.

"Maybe I should just tell her we can't go," you said, staring at your list.

"After she's been talking about it for days? Good luck with that. You'll break her heart. And then I'll have to help you hide from a crying five-year-old, and honestly, my witness protection contact is on vacation this week."

You had already added that as reason number three: It would crush her if we don't go.

"I could come with you," Tia offered. "Moral support. Plus, I can create a diversion if necessary. I've always wanted to fake a medical emergency at a public event. I've been practicing my 'woman experiencing convenient fainting spell' face right after my 'concerned intervention' face."

Despite yourself, you smiled. "Thanks, but I think an ambulance might just draw more attention our way."

"You never let me have any fun," Tia pouted. "Fine, we'll go with Plan B. I have a blonde wig and three fake mustaches in my emergency kit."

"Absolutely not."

"Party pooper. So what are you going to do?"

Before you could answer, a bedroom door creaked open down the hall. A moment later, a small figure in soccer ball pajamas padded into the kitchen, dark hair sticking up in all directions, dimples already appearing despite being half-asleep.

"Mom? Who're you talking to?" Jade yawned, rubbing her eyes.

"It's Auntie Tia," you said, quickly flipping your notepad closed. "Want to say hi?"

Instantly, Jade was fully awake. She snatched the phone with surprising speed for someone who had been unconscious thirty seconds earlier.

"Auntie Tia! Guess what day it is! It's soccer clinic day! With a real pro player!" Jade jumped up and down, volume increasing with each word. "He plays in Europe! And he's going to teach us special moves!"

You watched your daughter's face light up, identical to the way Jake's used to when he talked about soccer. Same passion. Same uninhibited joy. Same ability to go from zero to one hundred in seconds flat.

"Uh-huh... uh-huh..." Jade nodded seriously into the phone. "Mom got me new cleats for today! They're blue! And they have special grippy things on the bottom!"

You could faintly hear Tia's animated responses. Your friend might be questioning your judgment, but she'd never let Jade down.

"I know! It's gonna be the best day ever!" Jade spun in an excited circle, nearly dropping the phone. "Auntie Tia wants to talk to you again," she said, thrusting the device back at you before racing off toward her room. "I gotta get ready!"

"She sounds thrilled," Tia said dryly when you put the phone back to your ear. "Ten bucks says she's wearing mismatched socks and her shirt inside out when she comes back."

"Yeah." You watched your daughter disappear around the corner, a tornado of energy and joy. "How am I supposed to take that away from her?"

"You're not," Tia sighed. "Which means you're going to the clinic, and I'm canceling my spa appointment to be on standby for emotional support ice cream and/or bail money."

You looked down at your list one more time before crumpling it into a ball.

"I guess I am."

"For what it's worth," Tia said, her voice serious now, "I think maybe it's time. Five years is a long time to keep a secret this big. And Jake deserves to know he has a daughter."

"I know," you admitted, the words barely audible. "That's the part that terrifies me."

From down the hall came the sounds of drawers being flung open and Jade's voice singing a made-up song about soccer balls.

"What if he hates me, Tia? For keeping her from him?"

"Then he's an idiot," Tia said firmly. "And I'll personally come over there and kick Europe's favorite striker right in his professionally-insured shins. You did what you thought was best at the time. That's all any of us can do."

You took a deep breath. "I better go help Hurricane Jade get ready before she tears her room apart."

"Call me the second anything happens," Tia ordered. "And I mean anything. If he so much as looks at you funny, I want details. And remember, the mustache offer stands."

"I will. The calling part, not the mustache part."

"And hey," Tia added before hanging up. "For what it's worth, I think Jade's lucky to have you as her mom. No matter what happens today."

You ended the call and stared at the crumpled list on your counter. With trembling fingers, you smoothed it out one more time and added a final line at the bottom:

Reason #14: Because it's time.

-

The community soccer field had been transformed into what could only be described as organized chaos. Hundreds of children in various neon-colored jerseys darted between exasperated parents, volunteer coaches with clipboards, and portable equipment stations. Massive banners featuring the logo of Jake's European team fluttered in the breeze, and a professional photography setup had been assembled near midfield.

You gripped Jade's tiny hand a little too tightly as you approached the registration table, your stomach performing Olympic-level gymnastics. Despite your best efforts to dress inconspicuously—baseball cap pulled low, oversized sunglasses, plain t-shirt—you felt like you were wearing a neon sign that flashed "HIDING A SECRET CHILD."

"Mom! Mom! You're squishing my hand!" Jade protested, trying to wriggle free. "I need that hand for high fives!"

"Sorry, sweetheart." You loosened your grip slightly, though every instinct screamed to hold on tighter. Just ahead, two women in matching polo shirts were checking in participants.

You'd spent the entire drive rehearsing what you'd say. Hi, yes, Jade Sim. No relation to Jake Sim. Just a bizarre coincidence. Like how there are probably lots of Smiths who aren't related to Will Smith. Or how all those Kardashians probably have no connection to each other...

"Next please!" called one of the registration volunteers, a perky blonde with a tournament-level cheerful smile.

You stepped forward, opening your mouth to speak, but Jade lunged ahead of you.

"I'm Jade Sim and I'm here to play soccer!" she announced at a volume that made several nearby parents turn. Your daughter had never mastered the concept of an "indoor voice," even when outdoors.

The volunteer's smile didn't falter as she scanned her list. "Sim... Sim... ah, here you are. Jade Sim, age five." She checked something off and reached for a smaller clipboard. "And we have your waiver form... perfect. Here's your name tag, and you'll be in Group C with Coach Marcus."

Jade accepted the sticker name tag with reverence usually reserved for Olympic medals, then immediately slapped it onto her jersey slightly crooked.

"Will the famous player see my group?" Jade asked, bouncing on her toes.

The volunteer's smile somehow brightened even further. "Jake will be rotating through all the groups today. Everyone gets a chance to meet him." She looked up at you. "You can drop her with Group C over by the yellow cones, and parents can watch from the sidelines. We'll have a photo and autograph session at the end."

You nodded, unable to find your voice. This was really happening.

"Come on, Mom!" Jade tugged you toward the field, her excitement generating enough energy to power a small city. "I wanna be first in line!"

As you made your way across the field, you scanned the area for any sign of Jake. There was a small crowd gathered near a tent at the far end—probably where he was waiting. You let out a shaky breath. Maybe you could just drop Jade off, blend in with the other parents, and somehow avoid—

"Look Mom! I see him! I see him!" Jade shrieked, jumping up and down while pointing wildly.

And there he was.

Five years hadn't changed him as much as you'd expected. Same athletic build, same confident stride as he emerged from the tent surrounded by handlers and field staff. He wore his team's training kit, the number 10 emblazoned on his back—the same number that had been on the jersey he'd given you years ago, the one now hidden in the back of your closet.

Even from a distance, you could see his smile—that devastating combination of boyish charm and movie-star charisma that had magazines calling him "soccer's newest heartthrob." The same smile Jade had flashed at you this morning over breakfast.

"He's so cool!" Jade whispered in what she clearly thought was a whisper but was actually at normal human speaking volume. "I bet he can do a bazillion tricks!"

You swallowed hard. "I'm sure he can. Come on, let's find your group."

As you guided Jade toward the yellow cones, you pulled your cap lower and angled your body away from Jake's direction. Group C was already forming, about twenty children ranging from four to six years old, all vibrating with similar levels of excitement to Jade.

"Hi there!" A young man with curly hair and a whistle approached. "I'm Coach Marcus. Who do we have here?"

"Jade Sim!" your daughter announced before you could speak, thrusting out her hand for an aggressive handshake like you'd taught her. "I can kick with both feet!"

Coach Marcus's eyebrows lifted a fraction as he heard the last name, his eyes darting quickly to you, then back to Jade. "That's... impressive. Both feet, huh? Well, we'll definitely put that to the test today." He crouched down to Jade's level. "Any relation to our special guest?"

Your heart stopped.

"Who's the special guest?" Jade asked, genuinely confused.

Relief washed over you. Of course—you'd been so careful never to mention Jake's name around her, never to let her see his games on TV. She had no idea that she shared a last name with the soccer star she was so excited to meet.

"Jake Sim," Coach Marcus said, looking between you and Jade with obvious curiosity. "The professional player who's running the clinic today?"

Jade's eyes went comically wide. "We have the same last name? That is so cool! Mom! Did you hear that? I have the same name as a famous soccer player! Maybe we're related!"

Several nearby parents turned to look. A few were now staring with undisguised interest.

"It's a common name," you said quickly, your voice higher than normal. "Very common. In certain... regions."

Coach Marcus didn't look convinced but thankfully didn't pursue it. "Right! Well, parents can wait over by those bleachers. We'll get started with some basic drills, and Jake will make his way to our group in about twenty minutes."

"Can I stay with her?" you asked, desperate not to leave Jade. "She's never done one of these before, and she might get nervous—"

"I don't get nervous!" Jade proclaimed, already backing away from you toward the other kids. "I'm going to show him my special kick!"

Coach Marcus smiled sympathetically. "Don't worry, we've got plenty of volunteers helping out. She'll be fine. Parents actually tend to be a bit distracting for the kids."

You had no choice. With a final reluctant wave to Jade, who was already introducing herself to every child in a five-foot radius, you retreated to the parent area.

The next fifteen minutes were torture. You sat rigid on the edge of the bleachers, alternating between watching Jade (who was currently demonstrating what appeared to be a dance move involving pretending to juggle invisible soccer balls) and nervously tracking Jake's progress through the groups.

He was currently with Group A, showing a technique for dribbling around cones. Even from a distance, you could see how natural he was with the kids—patient, encouraging, that infectious energy drawing them in. He high-fived a small boy who completed the drill, and the child looked like he might never wash that hand again.

Your phone buzzed with a text from Tia:

Has The Dimple Recognition Incident happened yet? Do I need to deploy the mustache?

Despite your anxiety, you smiled, typing back:

Not yet. He's working his way over. Jade just found out they have the same last name and announced it to everyone within earshot.

Three dots appeared immediately, then:

Of course she did. She's a mini nuclear reactor of chaos energy. Just like her dad.

The reminder made your stomach twist again.

You looked up just in time to see Jake finishing with Group B. Which meant he was heading to Group C next. To Jade.

Ten steps. He was ten steps away from discovering he had a daughter.

You couldn't breathe.

Jake jogged over to Group C, high-fiving Coach Marcus. Even from the distance, you could hear his laugh—that same warm sound that used to be the soundtrack to your happiest memories. The children immediately swarmed around him like excited puppies, and he knelt down to get on their level.

Jade, never one to wait her turn, pushed her way to the front of the group.

"Hi! I'm Jade Sim! We have the same last name! That's so cool! Can you show me how to do a bicycle kick? I've been practicing but I always fall on my butt!"

Time seemed to stop.

You watched as Jake's expression shifted from his standard friendly smile to puzzlement. He looked at Jade more closely, taking in her features. The dimples. The eyes. The way she couldn't stand still, shifting from foot to foot with excess energy.

"Sim?" he repeated, his voice carrying in the sudden quiet. "Your last name is Sim?"

"Yep!" Jade nodded vigorously. "Just like you! Mom says it's a common name, but I've never met another Sim before, so I think it's special!"

Jake seemed to forget the other children momentarily, his focus entirely on Jade now. "How old are you, Jade?"

"I'm five! Almost five and a half! My birthday is January 22nd!" She held up one hand, fingers splayed wide. "I've been playing soccer since I was three!"

January 22nd. Exactly five years and nine months after you and Jake had said goodbye at the airport.

You could see the math happening behind his eyes, the calendar flipping in his mind. The color drained from his face so quickly several nearby parents glanced at him in concern.

"And... what's your mom's name?" he asked, his voice cracking.

Before Jade could answer, Coach Marcus stepped in, clearly sensing something was off. "Hey, why don't we get started with some passing drills? Everyone line up behind the blue cone!"

The children scrambled to follow directions, but Jake remained frozen in place, his eyes now scanning the parent area. Searching.

You should have run. You should have hidden. You should have done anything except sit there like a deer in headlights.

His eyes found yours.

Recognition dawned instantly, followed by shock, confusion, and something else—something that made your heart squeeze painfully in your chest.

Five years evaporated in a second.

Without breaking eye contact with you, Jake stood slowly. All around him, children were lining up, coaches were arranging drills, parents were chatting—but between you and Jake, the world had gone silent.

Then Jade's voice cut through everything:

"That's my mom over there! Mom! Come meet Jake Sim! We have the same last name!"

Jake's gaze shifted from you to Jade, then back to you. And in that moment, you saw it happen—the connection being made, the pieces falling into place. His expression transformed into one of absolute shock.

He swayed slightly on his feet.

"Jake? You okay, man?" Coach Marcus asked, noticing how pale he'd become.

Jake's mouth opened and closed without sound. He looked at Jade again—really looked at her—taking in her dimples, her eyes, the way she bounced on her toes exactly like he did before a big match.

"She's..." he whispered, but couldn't finish the sentence.

Jade tugged on his jersey. "Are you going to teach us the special kick now? I've been practicing!"

Jake's knees buckled.

He tried to grab onto Coach Marcus for support, missed, and went down hard on the turf. Several children gasped. A whistle blew somewhere.

"We need a medic!" someone shouted.

You were on your feet in an instant, rushing across the field as a small crowd gathered around Jake's collapsed form. Jade stood over him, looking concerned but also a little excited by the drama.

"Mom!" she called when she saw you. "The famous soccer player fainted! Is he okay? Did I say something wrong?"

You pushed through the circle of onlookers to find Jake flat on his back, eyes closed. A staff member was fanning him while another called into a walkie-talkie for the on-site medical team.

"Give him some space!" Coach Marcus was saying, trying to herd the children back.

Jake's eyelids fluttered, then opened. His gaze immediately locked onto yours, standing above him.

"You..." he managed weakly. "She's... is she...?"

Before you could answer, medical staff arrived with a stretcher. Jake struggled to sit up, still staring at you and Jade.

"Sir, please stay down," a paramedic instructed. "You may have hit your head."

"I'm fine," Jake insisted, his voice stronger now as adrenaline kicked in. He couldn't take his eyes off Jade, who was watching the whole scene with fascination. "I just... I need to..."

He tried to stand again but swayed dangerously. Two staff members caught him by the arms.

"Let's get you to the medical tent," one said firmly.

As they began leading him away, Jake looked back over his shoulder at you, his expression a storm of emotions.

"Wait!" he called out. "I need to talk to—"

"You can talk after we make sure you're okay," the paramedic interrupted.

You stood frozen, Jade's hand in yours, as they escorted Jake toward the medical tent. All around you, parents and children were whispering, phones were out recording, and you knew this incident would be all over social media within minutes.

"Mom," Jade tugged at your hand. "Why did he faint? Is he sick?"

Your phone buzzed with an incoming call from Tia. You could almost hear her saying "I told you so" already.

"I think," you said quietly to Jade, "he was just very surprised about something."

"About what?" Jade asked, her face scrunched in confusion.

You looked toward the medical tent where Jake had disappeared, then down at your daughter—his daughter—with his dimples and his smile and his boundless energy.

"About you, sweetheart. About you."

-

The staff area behind the main tent was hardly private—just a cordoned-off section of the parking lot with a few folding tables and chairs—but at least there weren't two hundred people watching. The clinic had ended fifteen minutes ago, most families already dispersed to their cars, children clutching signed photographs and participation certificates.

You stood with Jade's hand firmly in yours, your heart hammering against your ribs. After Jake's collapse on the field, you'd nearly fled, grabbing Jade and making a run for your car. But a polite yet insistent man in an expensive suit had intercepted you, introducing himself as Jay Park, Jake's manager.

"Mr. Sim would like a moment of your time after the event," he'd said with practiced smoothness. "He was particularly impressed with your daughter's enthusiasm."

The look in his eyes told you he knew exactly who Jade was.

Now you waited, Jade bouncing on her toes beside you, completely oblivious to the life-altering moment that was about to unfold.

"Mom, did you see me score two goals?" she asked for the third time. "And the famous player said my kick was really good!"

"I saw, sweetheart," you managed, scanning the area nervously.

"But then he got sick and had to leave," Jade continued, her face scrunching with concern. "Is he feeling better now? Coach Marcus said sometimes grown-ups get too hot and need to rest."

Before you could answer, movement caught your eye. Jake was approaching, still in his training kit but with a team jacket thrown over it. Beside him walked Jay, whose expression wavered between professional detachment and barely contained curiosity as he glanced between Jake and Jade.

Five years evaporated in an instant. Jake looked both exactly the same and completely different—still the man you'd known, but with something harder in his eyes, something that spoke of stadiums and spotlights and a life lived very far from yours.

Jade noticed them at the same moment you did. "Look! It's him! He's better!" She tugged at your hand. "Can I go say hi? Please, please, please?"

You couldn't find your voice. Jake was close enough now that you could see the storm of emotions on his face as he looked at Jade—wonder, confusion, hurt, and something that might have been joy fighting through the shock.

As they reached you, Jay leaned in toward Jake, his voice low but not quite low enough to miss.

"Jade and Jake. Her name's literally yours with one letter different. How original."

Jake shot him a warning look before turning his attention fully to you and Jade.

"I'll be right over there if you need anything," Jay said, not specifying which of you he was addressing, before walking toward the main tent with a final curious glance at Jade.

And then it was just the three of you.

"Hi again!" Jade broke the silence, her natural exuberance undimmed by the tension crackling between the adults. "I'm really glad you're not sick anymore! Mom says sometimes people faint when they get a big surprise. Did you get a surprise?"

Jake's eyes darted to you, then back to Jade. He crouched down to her level, a movement so natural it made your chest ache.

"I did get a surprise," he said softly. His voice—that voice you'd tried so hard to forget—sounded thick with emotion. "A really big one."

"Was it a good surprise or a bad surprise?" Jade asked, head tilted with curiosity.

Jake's smile was immediate, genuine despite the circumstances. "It was a good surprise. The best surprise I've ever had, actually."

Jade beamed at him, dimples appearing in the exact same places as his. "I like surprises too! Especially birthday surprises. My birthday is in January and I'm going to be six!"

"January 22nd," Jake said automatically, then glanced up at you. "You mentioned that earlier."

You nodded silently, feeling like you might be sick.

"How did you know that?" Jade asked, eyes wide. "Are you psychic? My friend Emma says she's psychic but she can never guess what card I'm holding."

Jake looked at a loss for how to answer, his confident demeanor faltering. He glanced at you again, a silent question in his eyes.

"Jade, baby," you finally found your voice. "Why don't you go check out the snack table over there? I think they have cookies left."

"Cookies?" Jade's priorities immediately shifted. "Can I have two?"

"Just one for now," you said. "And stay where I can see you, okay?"

"Okay!" She started to race off, then stopped and turned back to Jake. "Thank you for teaching us cool soccer moves today! I'm going to practice every day until I can bend the ball just like you showed us!"

Jake looked like he might break apart right there. "You're welcome, Jade. And... you were really good out there. You're a natural."

She glowed at the praise before darting toward the snack table, already calling out to one of the volunteers about the promised cookies.

"Five years," Jake said quietly, once she was out of earshot. He stood to his full height, facing you directly for the first time. "Five years."

"Jake—"

"She's mine." It wasn't a question. "She's my daughter."

You nodded, your throat tight. "Yes."

"And you didn't think that was something I deserved to know?"

The hurt in his voice was worse than if he'd shouted. You'd rehearsed this conversation a thousand times in your head, prepared dozens of explanations, justifications. But now, faced with the reality of Jake standing before you, devastated by the secret you'd kept, all your carefully planned words abandoned you.

"I was going to tell you," you finally managed. "In the beginning. But you had just signed with the team in Europe. It was everything you'd ever wanted—"

"Not everything," he cut in. "Not by a long shot."

You pressed on. "I found out I was pregnant two weeks after you left. The long-distance thing was already so hard. We were already fighting about whether I would eventually join you or you would come back. I didn't want to add this pressure."

"So you decided not to tell me I was going to be a father? That was your solution?" The quiet control in his voice was slipping. "Did you think I wouldn't want to know?"

"I was going to tell you after you got settled," you continued, the words coming faster now. "But then there were complications with the pregnancy. The doctor put me on bed rest. I was scared, Jake. And you were so far away, already becoming this huge star, and I just... I didn't want to be the reason you gave everything up."

"That wasn't your decision to make." The muscle in his jaw ticked. "It should have been our decision. Together."

"I know that now," you admitted. "But by the time Jade was born, months had passed. You were all over the sports news, dating celebrities, living this life that seemed a universe away from midnight feedings and diaper changes. I convinced myself it was too late."

Jake ran both hands through his hair, a gesture so achingly familiar it made your heart twist. "So what was your plan? Never tell me? Let her grow up not knowing who her father is? What happens when she's older and sees me on TV? Or finds articles about me online?"

"I don't know," you confessed. "I've been figuring it out as I go. I never expected... this." You gestured vaguely at the soccer field. "When her school announced this clinic, I almost kept her home. But she was so excited, and I thought... what are the chances you'd even notice her among hundreds of kids?"

"Pretty good, apparently, when she has my face and my last name," Jake said with a mirthless laugh. "Why does she have my last name if you were never going to tell me about her?"

You looked away. "We were engaged, Jake. I was already using Sim half the time. And I guess... I wanted her to have that connection to you, even if she didn't know it."

Jake fell silent, his gaze drifting to where Jade was happily munching on a cookie, chatting with animated hand gestures to the volunteer. His expression softened instantly, the anger temporarily giving way to wonder.

"She's incredible," he said quietly.

"She is," you agreed. "She's smart and funny and kind. And she's obsessed with soccer, which I swear has nothing to do with me. That's all you. It's in her DNA or something."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "The way she moves on the field... even untrained, she has instincts."

"She practices every day in our backyard. Drives the neighbors crazy."

The moment of connection flickered between you, then faded as reality reasserted itself.

"What happens now?" Jake asked, his voice lower. "Because I need you to understand something. I'm not walking away. Not again. Not from her."

The certainty in his voice sent a chill down your spine. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"It means I'm her father, and I want to be part of her life."

"You live in Europe, Jake. Your life is press conferences and training sessions and traveling for matches. How exactly do you see this working?"

"I don't know yet," he admitted. "But we'll figure it out. Together. Like we should have five years ago."

Before you could respond, a small blur of energy crashed into Jake's legs.

"The cookies are so good!" Jade announced, beaming up at him. "Do you want one? I saved half for you because Mom says sharing is caring."

Jake looked momentarily stunned by the casual physical contact, by this child—his child—offering him a slightly mangled cookie with the same open-hearted generosity he remembered from you.

"I'd love one," he said, crouching down again to accept the offering. "Thank you, Jade."

"You're welcome!" She watched intently as he took a bite. "Good, right?"

"The best cookie I've ever had," he said seriously.

Jade nodded, satisfied with his assessment. "Mom, can we show Jake my trophy? The one I got at mini-league last month? I scored three goals in one game!"

Jake's eyes shot to you, another piece of his daughter's life he'd missed falling into place.

"Jade, honey," you began carefully. "Mr. Sim probably has to get going. He's very busy and—"

"Actually," Jake interrupted, "I'd really like to see that trophy sometime."

Jade's entire face lit up. "You could come over to our house! We have a soccer goal in the backyard and everything! Mom could make her special pasta! She only makes it for very important occasions."

The hopeful look on Jake's face was almost as hard to resist as Jade's. You felt cornered, events spiraling beyond your control.

"Maybe someday," you said vaguely.

"How about tomorrow?" Jake suggested, his eyes never leaving yours, challenge evident in them.

"Yes!" Jade bounced with excitement. "Tomorrow! Please, Mom? Please?"

You looked between them—the identical hopeful expressions, the same dimples, the same way of leaning forward slightly when anticipating something.

This was it. The moment your carefully constructed world collapsed. The moment your daughter's life changed forever. The moment you had to face the consequences of a decision made five years ago.

"Okay," you finally said. "Tomorrow."

Jake's expression was unreadable—a complex mix of triumph, hurt, anticipation, and lingering anger. "I'll bring dessert," he said simply.

Jade cheered, already firing questions at Jake about his favorite foods, favorite colors, whether he liked movies about talking animals. He answered each one with a patience and focus that belied the emotional tsunami he must be experiencing.

Over Jade's head, his eyes met yours—intense, determined, and filled with a silent promise that tomorrow would only be the beginning.

The fairy tale you'd told yourself—that you could keep Jade's paternity secret forever, that your paths would never cross with Jake's again—had crumbled in the space of a single afternoon.

Tomorrow, Jake Sim would walk back into your life.

And nothing would ever be the same again.

-

By the time the doorbell rang at 6:02 PM, you'd changed your outfit four times, cleaned the entire house twice, and nearly canceled the whole thing approximately seventeen times. Only the memory of Jade's excitement—she'd spent the morning making a welcome sign decorated with wobbly soccer balls—had stopped you from texting Jake with some hastily constructed emergency.

"He's HERE!" Jade shouted from the living room, where she'd been perched by the window for the last forty-five minutes. She raced to the door, skidding across the hardwood in her socks, her special occasion dress (chosen after trying on her entire wardrobe) fluttering behind her.

"Wait, Jade—" But she was already yanking the door open, your warnings about stranger danger apparently forgotten in her excitement.

"Hi Jake!" she beamed, bouncing on her toes. "You're right on time! Mom said you'd be here at six and it's six! I've been waiting forever!"

You rounded the corner from the kitchen to find Jake standing in your doorway, looking simultaneously at ease and completely out of place. He'd traded his athletic gear for dark jeans and a simple button-down shirt, but even dressed casually, there was something about him that screamed 'professional athlete.' Maybe it was the way he carried himself, or the watch that probably cost more than your car.

"I brought dessert," he said, holding up a bakery box. His eyes found yours over Jade's head, and the careful neutrality in his expression told you he was still processing everything. Still upset.

"And flowers!" Jade pointed out, noticing the bouquet in his other hand. "Are those for Mom? They're so pretty!"

"They are." Jake handed the bouquet to you with a formality that made your chest ache. Gone was the man who used to bring you wildflowers picked from the side of the road, who once filled your apartment with paper flowers he'd made himself when he was broke and couldn't afford real ones. "Thank you for having me over."

The subtext was clear: Thank you for finally allowing me into my daughter's life.

"Come in," you managed, stepping aside. "Dinner's almost ready."

"Jake, do you want to see my room?" Jade grabbed his hand without hesitation. "I have a whole wall of soccer stuff! And my trophy! And my cleats collection! And—"

"Jade," you interrupted gently. "Let's give Jake a minute to get settled first."

"It's okay," Jake said, his eyes softening as he looked at Jade. "I'd love to see your room."

"Yes!" Jade pumped her fist in victory, then tugged Jake down the hallway. "It's this way! The one with the stars on the door! Mom painted them for me because stars are my second favorite thing after soccer!"

You watched them go, Jake's tall frame following your daughter's bouncing form, and felt a wave of emotion so complex you couldn't even name it. Setting the flowers aside—you'd find a vase later—you retreated to the kitchen to finish dinner preparations and gather your thoughts.

Through the walls, you could hear Jade's excited chatter and Jake's deeper responses, though you couldn't make out the words. Five minutes stretched to ten, then fifteen. Just as you were about to call them for dinner, they reappeared in the kitchen doorway.

Jake's expression had changed. There was still a tightness around his eyes, but something else had softened. He was holding a small framed photo—the one from Jade's nightstand of her third birthday, blowing out candles on a soccer ball cake, her face lit with delight.

"Jade was just showing me her... everything," he said, his voice carefully controlled. "She's got quite the medal collection already."

"Mini league championships," you explained, busying yourself with the pasta. "Her team won last season."

"I showed him my scrapbook too!" Jade announced, climbing onto her usual chair at the kitchen table. "The one with all my important memories!"

Your stomach dropped. The scrapbook had photos from every stage of Jade's life—the hospital, her first steps, first day of preschool—all the moments Jake had missed.

"It was very impressive," Jake said, setting the photo down on the counter. His eyes never left yours. "Very thorough."

The tension between you was thick enough to cut with a knife, but Jade remained blissfully oblivious, swinging her legs and arranging her silverware just so.

"Dinner's ready," you announced, grateful for the distraction. "Jade, can you get the water pitcher from the fridge?"

The meal itself was painfully awkward, saved only by Jade's non-stop commentary. She told Jake about her teacher, her best friend Emma, how she wanted to be a professional soccer player and a veterinarian and maybe an astronaut. Jake listened attentively, asking questions, smiling at her jokes, even as you felt his attention split between Jade's stories and the questions he clearly wanted to ask you.

"—and that's why I'm not allowed to bring frogs in the house anymore," Jade concluded one particularly animated story that you'd only half-heard. "Right, Mom?"

"Right, honey," you confirmed automatically, though you'd missed most of the context.

"Speaking of rules," Jake said, seizing the opening, "I'd love to know more about Jade's routine. What time does she usually go to bed? What's her favorite subject in school? Is she allergic to anything? Does she have any medical conditions I should know about?"

The rapid-fire questions had an edge to them, reminding you that this pleasant dinner was just the surface. Underneath lay five years of absence he was determined to make up for in a single evening.

"I go to bed at eight on school nights and eight-thirty on weekends!" Jade answered before you could speak. "And my favorite subject is P.E., obviously. But I also like art because we get to use glitter sometimes."

"Any allergies?" Jake pressed, looking at you now.

"No allergies," you said quietly. "She had some respiratory issues as a baby—croup that turned into pneumonia when she was about eighteen months. She was hospitalized for three days. But she's been healthy since then."

Something flashed across Jake's face—pain, anger, maybe both. Another crisis he hadn't been there for.

"I was really sick," Jade confirmed solemnly. "Mom slept in the hospital with me and everything. But I don't remember it because I was too little."

"I see." Jake took a careful sip of water.

"I'll put together a file for you," you offered, trying to defuse the tension. "Medical records, school reports, everything."

"That would be... helpful," he acknowledged, though his tone suggested it was the bare minimum.

The conversation shifted to safer topics through the rest of dinner, though you caught Jake studying Jade's mannerisms with an intensity that suggested he was cataloguing every detail, making up for lost time. The way she talked with her hands when excited—just like him. The way she tilted her head when considering a question—also like him. The dimple that appeared on only one cheek when she gave a half-smile—unmistakably his.

After dinner, Jade insisted on showing Jake her soccer skills in the backyard. You watched from the kitchen window as she demonstrated her "special move," a surprisingly coordinated series of dribbles ending with a shot on the small goal set up against the fence. Jake crouched beside her, making subtle adjustments to her form, and you could see Jade soaking up every word like a sponge.

They were so alike it was almost painful to watch.

When they came back inside, you had dessert set out—the chocolate cake Jake had brought, sliced and plated.

"Jade, after dessert it's bath time," you reminded her.

"But Jake just got here!" she protested. "Can't I stay up extra late? It's a special occasion!"

"Actually," Jake interjected, "I was hoping I could talk to your mom alone for a bit after you go to bed."

The way he said it made your pulse quicken. The temporary truce established during dinner was about to end.

"Will you come back tomorrow?" Jade asked, looking up at Jake with chocolate-smeared cheeks and hopeful eyes. "You could teach me more soccer moves! And meet my stuffed animals! You only met half of them!"

Jake glanced at you, a challenge in his eyes. "That depends on what your mom and I discuss tonight."

"Please, Mom?" Jade turned those same hopeful eyes on you. "Can Jake come back tomorrow? And the next day? And the next day?"

"We'll see, sweetheart," you said, avoiding both their gazes. "Let's finish dessert first."

An hour later, after Jade's bath, two bedtime stories (one read by Jake at Jade's insistence), and finally getting her to sleep (complicated by the excitement of having a visitor), you returned to the living room to find Jake standing by your bookshelf, examining the framed photos.

"She's finally asleep," you said, hovering uncertainly in the doorway. "Can I get you anything? Coffee?"

"Answers," Jake replied without turning around. "I want answers."

You sank onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. "Ask whatever you want to know."

Now he did turn, fixing you with a stare that pinned you in place. "Why didn't you tell me? The real reason. Not what you think I want to hear, not what you've told yourself. The truth."

You took a deep breath. "I was scared."

"Of what?"

"Of everything. Of telling you and having you resent us for complicating your new life. Of telling you and having you give up your dream to come back. Of raising a child with someone living on another continent. Of what would happen to Jade if we tried and failed at making it work."

Jake crossed his arms. "So you decided the best solution was to just cut me out entirely? Not even give me the chance?"

"I told myself I was waiting for the right time," you admitted. "But the longer I waited, the harder it became to imagine how that conversation would go. Weeks turned into months, months into years. And then..."

"And then what? Five years passed and you thought, 'Well, too late now'?"

"It wasn't like that," you protested, though part of you knew he wasn't entirely wrong. "Every birthday, every milestone, I thought about telling you. I almost did, countless times."

"But you didn't." His voice was flat. "Instead, you named her after me, gave her my last name, and kept her a secret. Do you have any idea what that feels like? To discover you have a five-year-old daughter who knows every Disney movie by heart but doesn't know who her father is?"

"I'm sorry," you whispered, tears threatening. "I know that doesn't fix anything, but I am."

Jake ran a hand through his hair, a gesture so achingly familiar it made your heart twist. "She has a whole life I know nothing about. First words, first steps, first day of school—all of it, gone. I can never get that back."

"I know," you said, your voice small. "And that's on me."

He paced across the living room, energy radiating off him in waves. "What have you told her about me? About her father?"

"Not much," you admitted. "That her dad is a soccer player who lives far away. That he's not part of our lives. She started asking more questions recently, but I've... deflected."

"So when were you planning to tell her the truth? When she's ten? Fifteen? When she googles me one day and puts it together herself?"

The question hit you like a physical blow because you had never had a good answer for it, even in your own mind. "I don't know," you confessed. "I should have had a plan, but I didn't. I just kept pushing it off."

Jake stopped pacing and fixed you with a stare. "Well, time's up. Because I want to be in her life—fully, completely in her life. I want joint custody."

Your heart dropped. "Jake, you live in Europe. Your schedule is insane. How would that even work?"

"I'll figure it out," he said, with the same determination that had taken him from local soccer star to international phenomenon. "My contract has a clause about family emergencies. I can get time now, and when the season's over in three months, I'll have more flexibility."

"And then what? She shuttles back and forth between continents? That's not stability, Jake."

"And growing up without her father is?" he countered. "I missed five years. I won't miss any more."

"I'm not saying you can't be in her life," you clarified. "I'm saying we need to be realistic about what that looks like."

"Realistic," he repeated, the word sharp with disdain. "Was it 'realistic' when you decided not to tell me I had a daughter?"

You had no good answer for that.

"I want everything," Jake continued, his voice calmer but no less intense. "School records, medical history, photos, videos—everything from the last five years. I want to know her favorite foods, her fears, what makes her laugh, what comforts her when she's upset. I want to know what she was like as a baby, as a toddler, every stage I missed."

"Okay," you agreed quietly. "You can have all of that."

"And I want to tell her I'm her father. Soon. Not some vague 'someday' that never comes."

This made your chest tighten with anxiety. "Jake, we need to be careful about that. She's five. This is a lot for her to process."

"And whose fault is that?" The words hung in the air between you, sharp with accusation.

"Mine," you acknowledged. "But that doesn't change the fact that we need to handle this carefully for her sake."

Jake was silent for a long moment, conflict playing across his features. Finally, he let out a long breath. "Fine. We'll talk to a child psychologist, get professional advice on how to tell her. But it happens within the next month. I won't be a stranger to my own daughter any longer than necessary."

You nodded, relieved at this small concession. "That's fair."

"And in the meantime, I want to see her regularly. Every day while I'm in town, and we'll figure out video calls when I go back. I want to be at her games, her school events, everything I can possibly make."

"Of course," you said. "She'd love that."

Jake's expression softened marginally. "She's amazing," he said, almost to himself. "When she was showing me her room, the way she explained everything with such... enthusiasm. She's got this incredible energy."

"Gets that from you," you said without thinking. "She's been like that since she could crawl. Always moving, always excited about something."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "The soccer obsession too?"

"One hundred percent you. I swear I never pushed it. She picked up a ball when she was two and that was it. Love at first kick."

For a moment, the tension between you eased, replaced by the shared wonder of the person you'd created together. Then reality reasserted itself.

"I'm still angry," Jake said quietly. "I don't know if or when that will change."

"I understand," you said, meaning it. "You have every right to be."

He checked his watch. "It's getting late. I should go. But I'll be back tomorrow afternoon, like I promised Jade."

"Okay."

Jake moved toward the door, then paused. "One more thing. I haven't told my parents yet. About Jade."

Your stomach dropped. Jake's parents had loved you once. You'd been planning a life together, marriage, family. How would they react to knowing you'd kept their grandchild from them for five years?

"When are you going to tell them?" you asked.

"Soon. They're flying in next week. I wanted to meet Jade first, to..." he trailed off, then finished, "to see for myself."

The implication stung, though you couldn't blame him. Of course he'd needed to confirm for himself that Jade was his.

"They'll want to meet her," he continued. "They have a right to know their granddaughter."

"Of course," you agreed, though the prospect filled you with dread.

Jake opened the door, then looked back at you one last time. "For what it's worth, you've done an amazing job with her. She's... perfect."

Before you could respond, he was gone, the door closing quietly behind him.

You sank back onto the couch, emotional exhaustion washing over you in waves. Through the half-open door of Jade's bedroom, you could see her sleeping peacefully, unaware that her world had just fundamentally changed.

Tomorrow, Jake would be back. He would continue piecing together the life of his daughter. And sooner than you'd ever planned, Jade would learn the truth: that the professional soccer player she'd been so excited to meet was her father.

The carefully constructed life you'd built was falling apart.

Or perhaps, a small voice in your mind suggested, it was finally coming together the way it should have been all along.

-

"Higher! You have to kick it higher!" Jade called from the backyard, hands on her hips in a pose of exaggerated exasperation that made her look startlingly like a miniature coach.

Jake laughed, adjusting his technique to send the soccer ball sailing high into the air. "Like this?"

"Perfect!" Jade's face lit up as she positioned herself beneath the descending ball, calculating its trajectory with surprising precision for a five-year-old.

You watched from the kitchen window, coffee mug clutched between your hands, as Jade attempted to trap the ball with her chest like she'd seen professional players do. Instead, it bounced off her head and rolled away, sending her into peals of laughter.

The day had started early—too early, with Jade bouncing into your room at 6:15 AM asking if it was "Jake time yet." When he'd arrived promptly at ten, she'd practically dragged him through the house to show him her new soccer cleats, her collection of medals ("Some of them are just for participating but these three are for winning"), and the scrapbook of soccer cards she'd been collecting.

Jake had brought a gift—a professional-grade junior soccer ball with the logo of his European team—which had immediately cemented his status as Jade's new favorite person.

"Mom!" Jade's voice pulled you from your thoughts as she raced toward the back door, Jake following at a more measured pace. "Jake says I have natural talent! That's a real thing that real coaches say!"

"Is that so?" you asked, unable to hold back a smile at her enthusiasm.

"It is," Jake confirmed, ducking slightly to enter through the back door. There was a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, and his hair was charmingly disheveled from chasing after Jade for the past hour. "She has great instincts. Her spatial awareness is excellent for her age."

"I have special awareness," Jade repeated proudly, though clearly not understanding what it meant.

"Spatial," Jake corrected gently.

"That's what I said! Special!" Jade zipped past you to the refrigerator. "I need a juice box because athletes need to stay hydrated. Jake told me that's very important. Do you want one too, Jake? We have apple and grape and the gross one with vegetables that Mom thinks I don't know about."

Jake caught your eye over Jade's head, amusement dancing in his expression. "I'll take apple, thanks."

You'd expected today to be awkward, tense—a continuation of last night's emotional confrontation. Instead, Jade's presence had created a buffer, her boundless energy requiring both adults to focus on her rather than the complicated emotions between them.

"I was thinking we could all go to the park after lunch," you suggested, pulling sandwich ingredients from the refrigerator. "They have a bigger field there."

"Can we get ice cream after?" Jade asked immediately, strategic as always.

"We'll see," you answered automatically.

"That means yes," Jade stage-whispered to Jake. "It always means yes."

Jake's laugh was genuine, unguarded in a way it hadn't been since he'd discovered Jade was his daughter. "Good to know your negotiation tactics."

"What's nego... that word you said?"

"Negotiation. It means figuring out how to get what you want."

Jade nodded solemnly. "I'm very good at that. Mom says I should be a lawyer because I never stop arguing."

"I can see that," Jake said, accepting the juice box Jade thrust into his hands. "You make a strong case for ice cream."

"What's your favorite flavor?" Jade asked, climbing onto her chair at the kitchen table. "Mine's chocolate with the rainbow sprinkles. Sometimes I get it in a cone but that's messier."

Jake shook his head with a small smile. "I don't really eat ice cream much anymore. Sweet things aren't really my thing these days."

Jade looked absolutely horrified, as if he'd just admitted to not believing in gravity. "You don't like ice cream? But everybody likes ice cream!"

"My nutritionist has me on a pretty strict diet," Jake explained, clearly amused by her reaction. "Professional athletes have to be careful about what they eat."

"That sounds terrible," Jade declared with the dramatic conviction only a five-year-old could muster. "When I'm a professional athlete, I'm still going to eat ice cream. And cake. And cookies."

"That's exactly what your mom used to say about diets," Jake said before he could catch himself, glancing at you with sudden uncertainty.

But Jade just nodded enthusiastically. "Mom's really smart about desserts. We have the same taste buds."

You busied yourself making sandwiches, aware of Jake's eyes on you but not ready to meet his gaze. The ease with which he and Jade interacted was both heartwarming and painful—a glimpse of what should have been all along.

"Peanut butter and banana for Jade," you announced, setting a plate in front of her. "Turkey and cheese for the adults."

"Did you cut it in triangles?" Jade asked suspiciously, examining her sandwich.

"Would I dare serve it any other way?" You mock-gasped, hand over your heart.

Jade giggled. "You forgot once."

"And I'll never live it down, apparently," you said to Jake with an eye roll.

"Triangles taste better," Jade explained to Jake with the conviction of someone stating an irrefutable scientific fact. "Rectangles are just wrong."

"I'll keep that in mind," Jake said solemnly, though his eyes sparkled with amusement.

Lunch passed with Jade dominating the conversation, jumping from topic to topic with the frenetic energy that characterized everything she did. She told Jake about her best friend Emma, her teacher Ms. Rivera, the class pet frog she wasn't allowed to bring home ("Mom has a no amphibians rule, which is so unfair"), and her upcoming soccer tournament.

"Will you come to my game?" she asked Jake suddenly, mid-bite. "It's next Saturday. I'm number ten, just like your jersey! Mom got me that number special."

Your eyes met Jake's across the table, a silent exchange passing between you. That number hadn't been a coincidence, and you both knew it.

"I'd love to come to your game," Jake said, his voice warm but with an undertone only you would recognize—the weight of a father being invited to his daughter's game for the first time.

"Yes!" Jade pumped her fist victoriously. "You can meet my coach and my team and show them some of your special moves!"

"We'll see about that," you interjected gently. "Jake might want to just watch."

Jade looked scandalized. "But he's famous! Everyone will think it's so cool if he shows us stuff!"

"Let's talk about that later," you suggested, seeing Jake's expression grow more complex. Neither of you had discussed how to handle his public presence in relation to Jade—not to mention the questions that would inevitably arise if Europe's star striker started showing up at a five-year-old's soccer games.

After lunch, you all headed to the park as planned. Jade insisted on bringing her new soccer ball, clutching it to her chest the entire car ride while peppering Jake with questions from the back seat.

"Do you know how to do a rainbow kick? Can you teach me? How many goals have you scored? Have you ever broken a bone? My friend Tyler broke his arm falling out of a tree but I would never fall out of a tree because I'm a good climber, right Mom?"

You caught Jake's eye as he turned slightly in the passenger seat, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. She never stops, you mouthed silently.

Just like me, he mouthed back, and something warm unfurled in your chest at the easy acknowledgment of the traits Jade had inherited from him.

At the park, Jade immediately dragged Jake to the open field, demanding he show her "professional tricks." A few other children gravitated toward them, drawn by Jade's enthusiasm and Jake's obvious skill as he demonstrated simple footwork patterns.

You settled on a nearby bench, allowing yourself a moment to simply observe. Jake was patient, breaking down movements into steps Jade could follow, praising her efforts even when she stumbled. When she finally managed a basic step-over move, his genuine pride matched her excitement.

"Mom! Did you see that? I did it just like Jake!"

"I saw, sweetheart! That was amazing!"

As the afternoon progressed, more children joined their impromptu clinic. Jake seemed in his element, guiding each child with the same attention he gave Jade. You noticed a few parents doing double-takes as they recognized him, whispering to each other and discreetly taking photos with their phones.

Eventually, Jade ran over to you, cheeks flushed with exertion and happiness. "This is the best day ever! Jake knows everything about soccer! And he likes all the same things I like! He even does the victory dance the same way I do! Watch!"

She demonstrated an elaborate celebratory move involving a spin and fist pump that was, indeed, eerily similar to Jake's signature goal celebration.

"That's amazing, honey."

"I didn't even show it to him, Mom! He just does it the same! Isn't that cool?"

"Very cool," you agreed, smoothing back her sweaty hair. "Are you ready for that ice cream now?"

"Yes! Jake, we're getting ice cream!" she called over her shoulder. 

Jake joined you, slightly out of breath but looking more relaxed than you'd seen him since his return. "Ice cream sounds perfect."

"Can I go on the swings first?" Jade asked, already edging toward the playground. "Just for five minutes?"

"Okay, but only five," you agreed, knowing full well it would be at least fifteen minutes before you'd successfully extract her.

As Jade raced off, you and Jake were left alone for the first time that day.

"She's incredible," he said, eyes following her across the playground. "I know I keep saying that, but..."

"She is," you agreed. "And she's completely taken with you."

Jake sat beside you on the bench, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him but with a careful space between you.

"Thank you for today," he said quietly. "For letting me spend time with her."

"Of course. She's your—" You stopped, glancing around to make sure no little ears could overhear. "She's your daughter. You have every right to know her."

Jake's expression softened. "I was prepared to be angry today. To keep fighting about the past." He watched Jade swinging higher and higher, fearless as always. "But it's hard to stay angry when she's so... full of life."

"She has that effect on people," you said with a small smile. "It's impossible to be in a bad mood around Hurricane Jade."

"Wonder where she gets that from," Jake said, a hint of his old teasing tone returning.

"Oh, that's all you. The energy, the charm, the inability to sit still for more than thirty seconds—pure Sim genetics."

He laughed, and for a moment it was almost like before—before Europe, before the breakup, before five years of silence and secrets.

"I meant what I said earlier, about her having natural talent," Jake said, shifting the conversation back to safer territory. "With the right coaching, she could go far."

"I've tried to encourage it," you admitted. "Signed her up for every age-appropriate program I could find. But there's only so much I know about proper technique."

"I could help with that," Jake offered cautiously. "If you're okay with it."

"I'd like that," you said softly. "She would too, obviously."

A comfortable silence settled between you, both watching Jade as she abandoned the swings for the climbing structure.

"About last night," Jake began.

"I have all the photos and videos organized," you said quickly. "After Jade goes to bed, I can show you everything. Her first steps, first words, birthdays—all of it."

Jake studied your face for a moment before nodding. "I'd like that."

"MOM! JAKE! WATCH THIS!" Jade shouted from the top of the playground, preparing to slide down a pole firefighter-style.

You both instinctively tensed, ready to rush forward if needed, but she executed the move with practiced ease, landing triumphantly at the bottom.

"Your heart stops a dozen times a day with her," you murmured.

"I can see that," Jake said with a mixture of pride and newfound parental concern.

"Ice cream time?" Jade called, already running toward you.

"Ice cream time," you confirmed, standing from the bench.

"Can I get sprinkles and chocolate sauce?" Jade asked, slipping her small hand into Jake's automatically, as if she'd been doing it her whole life.

You saw Jake freeze for just a moment, staring down at their joined hands with an expression of wonder, before he gently squeezed her fingers in response.

"I think this counts as a special occasion," he said, looking to you for confirmation.

"A very special occasion," you agreed, your voice catching slightly as you watched your daughter walking hand-in-hand with her father for the first time.

Jade looked up at Jake with pure adoration. "I've had so much fun with you today! You're really good at everything I like to do. Mom says I'm picky about people, but I think you're the best."

"Well, that's quite a compliment," Jake said, his voice thick with emotion. "I think you're pretty great too."

"Can you come over again tomorrow? And the next day? And maybe forever?"

"Jade," you cautioned gently, seeing Jake's expression.

"I'll definitely come back tomorrow," Jake promised. "We still have a lot of soccer moves to practice."

"And then Mom can show you my baby pictures!" Jade said brightly. "I was super cute."

"Still are," Jake said, swinging their joined hands playfully.

As you walked behind them toward the ice cream stand, you watched Jake bend down to listen intently to whatever world-changing observation Jade was now sharing. Their matching profiles, the same animated way of speaking, the identical dimples when they smiled—it was like seeing double across a generation.

These were the moments you'd imagined in your quietest thoughts over the years, the ones you'd convinced yourself would never happen. Now that they were unfolding before your eyes, you found yourself fighting back unexpected tears.

Whatever happened between you and Jake, however complicated your own relationship might be, today had made one thing clear: Jade had found her father. And despite everything, he was already proving to be exactly what she needed.

The rest would have to be figured out one day at a time.

-

"Higher! Throw it higher!"

Jade's delighted squeals had faded an hour ago, replaced by the peaceful quiet of evening as you sat on your living room floor surrounded by photo albums, memory boxes, and a laptop open to years of digital archives. After a full day of Jake and Jade's energetic bonding, she'd finally crashed, falling asleep mid-sentence during her second bedtime story.

Now, in the hushed stillness, Jake sat across from you, cross-legged on the carpet, holding Jade's first pair of soccer cleats—tiny pink things she'd insisted on wearing everywhere, even to bed.

"She was two and a half when she got these," you explained, sorting through a box of keepsakes. "Saw them at the store and had an absolute meltdown until I bought them. They were two sizes too big."

Jake turned the miniature cleats over in his hands, his expression softening in a way it hadn't when discussing the more difficult aspects of your past. "She was walking by then. Running?"

"Running, jumping, climbing everything in sight. She was an early walker—ten months. Never crawled much." You hesitated before adding, "Just like you."

His eyes met yours, a flash of something—surprise, connection, hurt that he hadn't known this parallel—before returning to the cleats.

"I found it," you said, pulling out an external hard drive. "All the videos. I had everything digitized last year."

You connected it to your laptop, acutely aware of Jake moving closer, his shoulder nearly touching yours as he positioned himself to see the screen. The faint scent of his cologne—different from what he'd worn five years ago, but with the same underlying notes—stirred memories you'd tried hard to suppress.

"I organized it chronologically," you said, opening the earliest folder. "These are from the hospital."

Jake leaned forward, his breath catching as the first image filled the screen: a newborn Jade, red-faced and wrinkled, wrapped in a pink blanket.

"She was so small," he whispered.

"Six pounds, four ounces. Smaller than the doctors expected." You clicked to the next image. "Twenty hours of labor, and then she just... arrived. Changed everything in an instant."

Jake was silent, eyes fixed on the screen as you cycled through those first photos—Jade sleeping, Jade crying, Jade with eyes barely open. You in a hospital bed, looking exhausted but radiant. Every image seemed to hit him like a physical blow.

"I wasn't there," he said quietly.

The accusation from before was gone, replaced by simple grief. You didn't know what to say, so you kept clicking through photos.

"Did you... was anyone with you? During the birth?"

"Tia," you answered. "She held my hand through the whole thing. Called me every name in the book when I refused the epidural at first."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Sounds like Tia."

You opened the video folder, hesitating over the first one. "This is her first day home. I was a mess, hadn't slept in days. It's not exactly America's Funniest Home Videos material."

"I want to see it," Jake said. "All of it."

You pressed play. The video showed your apartment—your old place, before you'd moved to the house—with baby items scattered everywhere. The camera shakily focused on a bassinet where Jade slept, then panned to you curled up on the couch, half-asleep yourself.

Tia's voice came from behind the camera: "And here we have the natural habitat of the New Mom, surrounded by burp cloths and takeout containers. Note the attractive milk stains on her shirt and the distinctive dark circles under her eyes."

In the video, you flipped off the camera without opening your eyes. "I will murder you in your sleep if you don't let me nap while she's napping."

"Just documenting the miracle of motherhood for posterity," Tia's voice singsonged. The camera moved back to Jade, who was beginning to squirm. "Uh oh, the tiny dictator awakens. Your public demands an audience, Your Majesty."

Present-day you cringed, reaching to skip ahead, but Jake gently caught your wrist. "Don't. I want to see."

On screen, you dragged yourself off the couch, hair a mess, wearing what were clearly Jake's old sweatpants and a stained t-shirt. You scooped up Jade, who immediately quieted against your chest.

"She knows her mama," Tia's voice said softly.

Video-you looked directly at the camera, eyes tired but determined. "We're figuring it out, aren't we, little one? Just you and me."

Jake's hand was still on your wrist, his touch burning against your skin. You felt him inhale sharply at your words in the video, felt the subtle tension through his shoulders.

"I should have been there," he said again, but the anger from before had transformed into something more complex—regret, loss, a quiet ache.

"You didn't know," you said softly, no longer defending yourself but simply stating a fact.

He let go of your wrist, his fingers lingering just a moment too long, sending an unexpected flutter through your stomach. You clicked through more videos: Jade's first real smile, her first laugh, her determined attempts to roll over. Jake watched them all with fierce concentration, as if trying to absorb every moment he'd missed. He asked questions about each milestone—when, where, how—creating a mental timeline of his daughter's life.

"Wait—go back," he said suddenly when you clicked past a video thumbnail. "Was that...?"

You returned to the previous screen. "Ah. Her first birthday."

Jake pointed to the image. "Is that my jersey?"

Your cheeks warmed. The thumbnail clearly showed Jade sitting in a high chair, cake smeared across her face, wearing a tiny replica of Jake's national team jersey.

"She was going through a phase where she'd only wear red," you explained weakly. "It was the only red thing I could find in her size."

Jake gave you a look that said he didn't believe you for a second. "You kept track of my career."

It wasn't a question. You sighed, knowing there was no point in denying it.

"Yes. I followed your games when I could. Jade was too young to understand, but... I thought someday she should know what her father accomplished." You hesitated. "After you made the national team, I bought the jersey. She loved it—wouldn't take it off for days."

Something shifted in Jake's expression—a softening around the eyes, the faintest hint of the smile that used to make your heart race. Before he could respond, you quickly pressed play on the video.

Your living room filled with the sounds of "Happy Birthday" being sung off-key, followed by Jade smashing both hands into her birthday cake with wild abandon. The camera panned to show a small gathering—Tia, your parents, a couple of friends—but focused primarily on Jade, who was now wearing more cake than she'd eaten.

Jake leaned forward, transfixed by the sight of his daughter's joy. When the video ended, he didn't immediately speak, just stared at the frozen final frame of Jade grinning with chocolate-covered dimples.

"She looks exactly like you," you said without thinking.

"She has your eyes," he countered quietly. "Your laugh, too."

The observation surprised you. "You think so? Everyone always says she's your mini-me."

"There's a lot of you in her." Jake turned slightly, studying your face with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. "The way she tilts her head when she's considering something seriously. The little crease between her eyebrows when she concentrates. That's all you."

You hadn't expected him to notice such details about you, let alone remember them after five years. The fact that he had been paying such close attention—not just to Jade, but to you—stirred something you'd long tried to suppress.

"I have more videos," you said, breaking the moment before it became too charged. "Her first steps are somewhere in here."

As you scrolled through folders, Jake reached for one of the photo albums on the floor. "What's this one?"

"Preschool years," you said, recognizing the cover. "Ages two to four."

He opened it carefully, turning pages with a gentleness that contrasted with his athletic build. Each new image seemed to fascinate him—Jade at the beach, Jade finger-painting, Jade dressed as a lion for Halloween.

"She's fearless," he observed, pausing on a photo of three-year-old Jade at the top of a playground structure clearly designed for older children.

"Terrifyingly so," you agreed. "I've gotten more gray hairs from her daredevil stunts than from anything else in my life."

Jake's finger traced the outline of Jade's face in the photo. "I used to drive my mom crazy climbing trees. The higher, the better."

"She does the same thing! Last summer, I found her three branches up in the neighbor's oak tree. Nearly had a heart attack."

He laughed, a genuine sound that caught you both by surprise. For a moment, the weight of the past five years seemed to lift slightly. Your eyes met, and for a heartbeat, you were back in your old apartment, planning weekend hikes and arguing over movie choices—before contracts and continents and complications.

"Here it is," you said, finding the video you'd been searching for. "First steps, thirteen months old."

Jake shifted closer as the video began playing. On screen, a wobbly Jade stood holding onto the edge of the coffee table, determination written across her tiny face.

Your voice came from behind the camera: "Come on, sweetheart. Come to Mama."

Jade looked directly at the camera, grinned her already mischievous grin, and took one tentative step away from the table. Then another. Three shaky steps before plopping down on her diaper-padded bottom.

"You did it!" your voice exclaimed as the camera shook with excitement. "Oh my god, you did it!"

The video captured you setting down the camera (showing a sideways view of the living room) and rushing to scoop up Jade, spinning her around as she giggled uncontrollably.

"We have to call Auntie Tia," your voice said. "She's not going to believe—" You stopped abruptly, and even in the awkwardly angled footage, your expression was clear: for a brief moment, you'd forgotten you couldn't share this milestone with Jake.

Present-day Jake noticed it too. His eyes shifted from the screen to your face, questioning.

"I almost called you," you admitted quietly. "So many times. Especially for the big moments."

"Why didn't you?" There was no accusation in his voice now, just a genuine need to understand.

You stared at the laptop screen, where the video had ended on a frame of you holding Jade close. "At first, it was all the reasons I told you before. Then... time passed, and it got harder to imagine how that conversation would go. 'Hi, remember me? Surprise, you have a one-year-old.'" You shook your head. "And then you became this massive star, and the gap between our worlds just seemed... unbridgeable."

Jake was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was different—less the angry man demanding answers, more the person you'd once known better than anyone.

"I would have come back. If I'd known."

"That's exactly why I didn't tell you," you said softly. "You would have given up everything you'd worked for. I couldn't do that to you."

"It wasn't your choice to make," he said, but the harsh edge from before was gone.

"No, it wasn't," you acknowledged. "And I can't change that now, no matter how much I wish I could."

Jake closed the photo album, his fingers lingering on the cover. "I've missed so much."

"You're here now," you offered. "And Jade already adores you."

"She doesn't even know who I really am to her."

"She will. Soon." You hesitated, then added, "For what it's worth, I think she's sensed something was missing. The last few months, she's been asking more questions about her father. It's like she knew something was about to change."

Jake's expression shifted as he processed this. "Kids are more perceptive than we give them credit for."

You nodded, thinking of how Jade had instantly connected with Jake, how natural they seemed together despite having just met.

A comfortable silence fell between you as Jake reached for another photo album, this one more recent. As he opened it, something slipped from between the pages—a small ultrasound image, creased from being handled many times.

Jake picked it up, staring at the grainy black and white image of Jade before she was Jade—just a tiny bean-shaped blob with the promise of a future.

"This was the first picture of her," you said, voice barely above a whisper. "Twelve weeks."

Jake ran his thumb over the image. "I should have been there."

"I know."

"No, I mean—" He looked up, meeting your eyes directly. "I should have been there regardless. I shouldn't have left in the first place, pregnancy or not."

The admission hung in the air between you, heavy with implications.

"Jake—"

"I made a choice five years ago," he continued, his voice steady but vulnerable in a way you hadn't heard since the night before he left. "And even before I knew about Jade, I've questioned that choice more times than I can count."

Your heart stuttered in your chest. "You never said anything."

"What was I supposed to say? 'Hey, I know we broke up and haven't spoken in years, but I think I made a mistake'?" He shook his head. "You'd moved on. At least, I thought you had."

"I had a child to raise," you said carefully. "That doesn't mean I moved on."

The air between you felt charged, years of unspoken words and feelings suddenly pressing close. Jake's eyes held yours, searching for something that made your breath catch.

"I used to check your social media," he admitted, looking away. "Not in a stalker way, just... I wanted to make sure you were okay. When I didn't see any posts about dating or... anyone new, I assumed you were just private about it."

"There wasn't anyone to be private about," you said quietly. "Between work and Jade, there wasn't time. At least, that's what I told myself."

Jake's eyes returned to yours, a question in them. "And the real reason?"

The honesty of the moment demanded truth in return. "No one compared. To what we had."

The space between you seemed to shrink, the ultrasound photo still held in Jake's hand—tangible evidence of everything that had been lost and found.

He reached out slowly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek. A gesture so achingly familiar it made your chest hurt.

"I've missed you," he said simply. "Not just as Jade's mother. As you."

The words unlocked something you'd kept carefully guarded. You leaned forward slightly, drawn by a gravity that had never fully released its hold on you.

Jake's gaze dropped to your lips, and for a moment, you thought he might close the remaining distance between you. Instead, he drew back, though his eyes betrayed how much it cost him to do so.

"We should take this slow," he said, voice rough. "There's a lot we need to figure out first."

"I know," you said, both disappointed and relieved. "Jade comes first."

Jake nodded, though his eyes still held yours with an intensity that made your skin warm. "We need to get the father thing right before we complicate it with... anything else."

"Anything else," you repeated, the phrase heavy with possibility.

He smiled then, a real smile that reached his eyes and made him look more like the Jake you'd fallen in love with years ago.

"I should go," he said, setting the ultrasound photo carefully back in the album. "It's getting late, and I promised Jade I'd come watch her practice tomorrow."

"Of course," you said, standing up as he did.

At the door, he paused, his hand on the knob. "Thank you for tonight. For sharing all of that with me."

"It's only the beginning," you said. "There's a lot more to show you."

"I'm counting on it," he replied, his voice low with a promise that wasn't just about baby photos.

After he left, you stood in the hallway, heart racing with the realization that whatever had been between you and Jake might not be as buried in the past as you'd thought.

It would be complicated. There were a thousand reasons to be cautious.

But for the first time in five years, there was also hope.Chapter Seven: Soccer Practice

"And that's why the inside of your foot is better for passing," Jake explained patiently, kneeling beside Jade on the sidelines of the community soccer field. "It gives you more control."

"But power shots are with your laces, right?" Jade asked, examining her cleats as if they might hold the secrets of professional soccer.

"Right," Jake confirmed with a smile. "Laces for power, inside for accuracy."

You watched from the bleachers, pretending to focus on your phone while actually stealing glances at father and daughter. Jake had arrived at your house exactly as promised—fifteen minutes before Jade's practice—dressed casually in jeans and a plain t-shirt that somehow still managed to hint at the athletic build beneath.

The way your heart had jumped when you opened the door was concerning. Last night's almost-moment had shifted something between you, created an awareness that buzzed like electricity whenever you made eye contact.

"Jake!" Coach Russell called from the center of the field. "Would you mind demonstrating that passing drill we talked about?"

You tensed slightly. Jake had been recognized immediately upon arrival—of course he had, he was almost a household name in soccer circles—but so far he'd been treated with surprising normalcy by the coaching staff. You suspected they were professionals enough to contain their excitement for the sake of the children.

"Sure thing," Jake called back, giving Jade's shoulder a quick squeeze before jogging onto the field.

Several parents around you whispered excitedly, phones emerging from pockets and purses.

"That's really Jake Sim, right?" asked a mom to your left, leaning closer with conspiratorial eagerness. "I didn't want to make a big deal about it, but my husband is going to freak when I tell him."

"Um, yes," you confirmed, unsure how much to say. You and Jake hadn't discussed how to handle public interactions yet.

"Is he..." the woman hesitated, clearly fishing, "...scouting the team or something?"

Before you could form a response, another parent jumped in. "He's here with the Sim girl." He nodded toward Jade, who was watching Jake with undisguised adoration as he demonstrated proper passing technique to the team. "Same last name. Must be related."

Your stomach tightened. Of course people would make the connection. You should have prepared for this.

"I heard he's her uncle," a third parent contributed helpfully.

You nearly choked on your coffee.

"He's a... family friend," you managed, the half-truth feeling strange on your tongue. You'd been careful never to lie to Jade about Jake being her father, just... selective with details. But these were strangers, and you weren't ready for the inevitable questions that would follow the truth.

Thankfully, the parents seemed satisfied with this explanation and returned their attention to the field, where Jake was now lining up the children for passing practice. Jade bounced on her toes at the front of the line, practically vibrating with excitement.

"My daughter says Jade talks about him non-stop," the first mom said, eyes still on the field. "Since the clinic on Saturday, it's all been 'Jake showed me this' and 'Jake can do that.'"

You smiled despite your nerves. "She's pretty taken with him."

"I can see why," the woman said with a laugh. "If I were twenty years younger and single..." She trailed off, fanning herself dramatically.

You felt a strange flash of something that felt suspiciously like possessiveness.

On the field, Jake was crouching next to Jade, adjusting her stance with gentle hands as she prepared to demonstrate the drill. He said something that made her giggle, then stepped back as she perfectly executed the pass, earning cheers from her teammates.

The pure joy on both their faces made your chest ache.

For so long, you'd carried the weight of your decision alone, convinced you were protecting both Jake and Jade. Now, seeing them together, you wondered how much your fear had cost them both.

"He's great with kids," the mom beside you observed. "Does he have any of his own?"

The question hit like a physical blow. "I... I'm not sure," you stammered, the lie bitter on your tongue.

You were saved from further conversation by the coach blowing his whistle, signaling a water break. Jade immediately raced over, Jake following at a more measured pace.

"Mom! Did you see? I did the pass perfectly! Jake showed me how to position my foot and everything!"

"I saw, honey," you said, handing her a water bottle. "You looked like a pro out there."

Jade beamed, gulping down water with the same intensity she applied to everything.

"She's a quick learner," Jake said, approaching the bleachers. He kept a careful distance, but his eyes held the same intimate awareness that had charged the air between you last night. "Coach Russell says she's one of his most promising players."

"Is that why he asked her to demonstrate?" you asked. "I thought he was just being nice because..."

You trailed off, conscious of curious parents within earshot.

"Because I'm here?" Jake finished, lowering his voice. "No, he told me he'd already pegged her as a natural. Said she has better instincts than most kids twice her age."

Pride washed over you, along with the bittersweet realization that Jake was finally getting to experience these parental moments—the simple joy of hearing someone else praise your child.

"Jake! Are you going to stay for the whole practice?" Jade asked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Coach says we're doing shooting drills next!"

"I wouldn't miss it," Jake promised.

"And then can we get ice cream again? You didn't get any yesterday because you said sweet things aren't your thing, but maybe today you could try just a little bit?"

Jake laughed, that full, unguarded sound that had been so rare in recent days. "We'll see what your mom says."

"Mom always says yes to ice cream," Jade stated confidently.

"That's not true," you protested, though all evidence was certainly against you.

Jade gave you a skeptical look that was pure Jake, down to the slightly raised eyebrow.

"Two minutes, everyone!" Coach Russell called. "Back to positions!"

"Gotta go!" Jade handed back her water bottle and raced off, nearly colliding with two teammates in her enthusiasm.

Jake took a step toward the bleachers, then hesitated, as if unsure whether he should join you or return to the sidelines. The moment stretched, charged with all the things left unspoken between you.

"You can sit," you said finally, patting the space beside you. "If you want."

He climbed up and settled next to you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him but with a careful inch of space between you. Neither of you spoke for a moment, watching as the children lined up for shooting practice, Jade bouncing impatiently in the middle of the queue.

"About last night—" you both started simultaneously, then stopped.

Jake gestured for you to continue.

You took a deep breath. "I just... wanted to say that I appreciate how you are with her. How quickly you've adjusted to all of this."

It wasn't what you'd been planning to say at all. You'd meant to address the almost-kiss, the charged moment that had fundamentally shifted something between you. But the words wouldn't come.

"She makes it easy," Jake said, his eyes following Jade as she moved up in line. "She's so open. So accepting."

"She gets that from you," you said softly. "I was always the cautious one, remember?"

Jake's lips curved into a half-smile. "Is that how you remember it? Because I recall someone climbing onto the roof of my apartment building at midnight because they wanted to see the meteor shower from the 'perfect angle.'"

You felt warmth rush to your cheeks. "That was different. Astronomy requires commitment."

"Uh-huh." His smile widened, eyes still on the field but clearly seeing a different time, a different you. "What about the time you decided we should go cliff diving even though neither of us had ever done it before?"

"You didn't have to follow me," you pointed out, falling easily into the familiar rhythm of your old banter.

"Yes, I did." His voice turned serious, though the smile remained. "Always."

The simple word hung between you, heavy with meaning.

Before you could respond, a cheer went up from the field. Jade had just sent the ball sailing past the junior goalkeeper, then immediately launched into a celebration that was eerily similar to Jake's signature move.

"She watches your games," you admitted, the confession slipping out before you could stop it. "I saved them—the important ones. She doesn't know... who you are to her, but she's seen you play. I thought she should know what her father can do."

Jake turned to you, surprise and something softer in his expression. "Thank you," he said simply. "For that."

The moment stretched between you, fragile and significant.

"Mom! Jake! Did you see that?" Jade shouted from the field, breaking the spell. "I scored!"

"We saw!" you both called back in unison, then exchanged a quick smile at the synchronicity.

As practice continued, you found yourself relaxing into Jake's presence beside you. The conversation shifted to safer topics—Jade's school, her friends, her other activities—but beneath it ran a current of shared history and newly acknowledged feelings that neither of you seemed ready to fully address.

When practice ended, Jade ran to you both, sweaty and triumphant.

"Coach says I did really good today!" she announced, dropping her water bottle in her excitement. "Can we go for ice cream now? Please?"

Jake bent to retrieve the bottle, his shoulder brushing yours as he straightened. "I think you've earned it," he said, looking to you for confirmation. "If it's okay with your mom."

"Ice cream sounds perfect," you agreed, hyperaware of how close he stood, how domestic this moment felt—the three of you, a family for anyone watching.

And people were watching. Several parents were openly staring now, clearly trying to puzzle out the exact nature of your relationship to the famous soccer player who had spent the last hour focused exclusively on your daughter.

"Can Jake come back to our house after?" Jade asked, grabbing both your hand and Jake's without hesitation. "I want to show him my new library books. They're about space!"

The easy way she connected you physically, standing between you like a bridge, made your heart stumble.

"I'd like that," Jake said, his eyes meeting yours over Jade's head. "If your mom doesn't mind."

There was a question in his gaze, one that went beyond library books and ice cream.

"I don't mind," you said quietly, answering both the spoken and unspoken.

As the three of you walked toward the parking lot, Jade swinging your joined hands and chattering about which ice cream flavor best represented each planet in the solar system, you couldn't help but notice how right it felt.

How, despite five years of separation and secrets, you, Jake, and Jade had somehow fallen into the family rhythm that might have been yours all along.

It terrified you.

It exhilarated you.

And you weren't sure which feeling scared you more.

-

"Is she finally asleep?" Jake asked as you returned to the living room, wineglass in hand.

After ice cream and an enthusiastic tour of Jade's library books, your daughter had lobbied hard for Jake to stay for dinner. One homemade pasta later, he'd somehow been roped into bedtime story duty—a task he'd approached with the same focused determination he brought to professional matches.

"Three stories, two glasses of water, and one lengthy debate about why the moon doesn't fall out of the sky later—yes, she's out," you confirmed, sinking onto the couch beside him. "I'm pretty sure she was just trying to keep you here as long as possible."

"I don't mind," Jake said, accepting the glass of wine you offered. The soft lamplight caught the angles of his face, softening the features that had graced so many magazine covers. "Today was... good."

"It was."

A comfortable silence fell between you, punctuated only by the distant sound of crickets through the open window. The evening was unseasonably warm, and you'd kept the windows open to catch the spring breeze. Jake had discarded his jacket hours ago, his sleeves now rolled up to reveal forearms that spoke of years of athletic conditioning.

You took a careful sip of wine, hyperaware of his presence just inches away on the couch. Something had been building between you all day—a tension that simmered beneath every glance, every accidental touch.

"I should probably head out soon," Jake said, though he made no move to leave. "I've got a team call early tomorrow."

"Right," you nodded. "The charity match. How long until you have to..."

"Go back?" He finished your thought. "Ten days. Then the European tour picks up again."

The knowledge settled like a weight between you. Ten days before he returned to his other life—the stadiums, the fans, the world that had taken him away five years ago.

"Jade's going to miss you," you said, staring into your wine.

"Just Jade?"

You looked up to find him watching you, his expression open in a way it hadn't been since he'd discovered Jade's existence. The guarded anger had faded, replaced by something warm and familiar that made your heart skip.

"I think I might miss you too," you admitted quietly. "Which is probably a terrible idea."

Jake set his glass down, turning to face you more fully. "Why is that?"

"Because you're leaving in ten days. Because we have a five-year-old who's already getting attached to you. Because we haven't figured out what any of this means yet." You gestured vaguely between you. "Take your pick."

"What if I said I've been thinking about this—about us—since last night? Actually, if I'm being honest, longer than that."

Your pulse quickened. "Jake..."

"I know it's complicated," he continued, his voice low and earnest. "I know we have a lot to figure out. But I can't stop thinking about what you said—that no one compared. Because it's been the same for me."

The confession hung in the air between you, impossible to take back.

"You dated," you pointed out weakly. "I saw the tabloids."

A rueful smile crossed his lips. "Dating isn't the same as connecting. Trust me, Jay tried his best to set me up with everyone from models to athletes. Nothing stuck."

"Why not?"

His eyes met yours, dark and intent. "Because none of them were you."

The simplicity of the statement stole your breath.

"That's not fair," you whispered. "You can't just say things like that."

"Why not?" Jake shifted closer, the distance between you shrinking to mere inches. "It's the truth."

"Because we're supposed to be focusing on Jade. On being co-parents. On not complicating things further."

"And how's that working out for you?" he asked, his voice gentle but knowing.

You couldn't answer, caught in the gravity of his gaze. The truth was, from the moment he'd walked back into your life, all your careful boundaries had begun crumbling. Every smile, every shared look over Jade's head, every brush of fingers had been dismantling the walls you'd built around your heart.

"I haven't stopped thinking about last night," Jake said, his voice dropping lower. "About what almost happened."

Your eyes dropped involuntarily to his lips. "We agreed to take it slow."

"We did," he acknowledged. "And we should. But slow doesn't mean not at all."

He reached out, fingers trailing lightly along your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. The simple touch ignited something that had been dormant for five years.

"Tell me to stop," Jake murmured, leaning closer. "Tell me this isn't what you want, and I'll back off. We'll focus solely on Jade. Nothing more."

You should say it. You should establish clear boundaries, keep things simple, protect yourself from the inevitable pain when he returned to his life across the ocean.

Instead, you found yourself leaning toward him, drawn by a pull that had never truly released its hold.

"I can't," you whispered. "I've tried, but I can't."

His hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb tracing the curve of your lower lip in a gesture so achingly familiar it made your chest tight. "Then don't try."

The first brush of his lips against yours was tentative, questioning. A heartbeat passed where you both hesitated on the precipice of something that couldn't be undone. Then, with a soft sound that might have been surrender, you leaned in, closing the final distance.

Five years evaporated in an instant.

His lips were as you remembered—firm, confident—but there was an edge of desperation that hadn't been there before. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, then his neck, fingers threading through the short hair at his nape. He groaned softly, deepening the kiss as his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer.

You'd forgotten how perfectly you fit together, how easily your body remembered his. The kiss intensified, years of separation and longing transforming into a physical need that threatened to consume you both. His hand slid up your back, tangling in your hair as he angled your head to deepen the connection.

"I've missed you," he breathed against your lips. "So much."

The words broke something open inside you—a dam of emotion you'd held back for Jade's sake, for your own protection. You responded by pressing closer, trying to convey through touch what you couldn't yet put into words.

Jake's hands were everywhere, relearning the curves and planes of your body with reverent attention. When his fingers skimmed the bare skin at your waist where your shirt had ridden up, you shivered, heat pooling low in your abdomen.

"Is this okay?" he murmured, pausing despite the obvious desire in his eyes.

You nodded, beyond words, and pulled him back to you. The kiss turned hungrier, more urgent. His body shifted, guiding you backward until you were half-lying on the couch, his weight a delicious pressure above you. The feeling of being surrounded by him—his scent, his warmth, his strength—was intoxicating.

His lips left yours to trace a path along your jaw, down the column of your throat. You arched into him, a soft gasp escaping when he found that sensitive spot just below your ear that he'd always known. He still remembered. After all this time, he still knew exactly how to unravel you.

Your hands slipped beneath his shirt, palms flat against the warm skin of his back. You could feel the new topography of his body—harder, more defined than before, testament to years of professional training. Yet underneath the changes was the same Jake, the man whose heartbeat you'd once fallen asleep to countless nights.

"You're even more beautiful," he whispered against your skin. "How is that possible?"

Before you could respond, a distant thump from down the hall froze you both. You listened, hearts racing for a different reason now, until the house settled back into silence. No patter of small feet, no curious voice calling out.

Jake pressed his forehead to yours, both of you breathing heavily. "That was..."

"Close," you finished, reality crashing back in. "Too close."

Reluctantly, he shifted his weight, helping you sit up though his hand remained intertwined with yours. The loss of contact left you feeling oddly bereft, your body still humming with unfulfilled desire.

"I should probably go," Jake said, though his eyes told a different story.

"Probably," you agreed, equally unconvincing.

Neither of you moved, caught in the aftermath of what had just happened and what had almost followed.

"This complicates things," you finally said, stating the obvious.

Jake's thumb traced circles on the inside of your wrist, sending renewed shivers up your arm. "I think things were already complicated. We're just admitting it now."

You couldn't argue with that. From the moment he'd locked eyes with you across that soccer field, something inevitable had been set in motion.

"What happens now?" you asked, the question encompassing far more than just the remainder of the evening.

"Now," Jake said, raising your joined hands to press a kiss to your knuckles, "I'm going to leave before I lose the willpower to do so. But not because I want to."

The restraint in his eyes, the obvious tension in his body, sent another wave of heat through you. The knowledge that he wanted you as badly as you wanted him was both thrilling and terrifying.

"And tomorrow?" you pressed.

"Tomorrow I pick up Jade for the park like we planned. We keep building this—whatever this is—one day at a time." His eyes held yours, serious now. "I meant what I said about taking it slow, about doing this right. Jade comes first."

You nodded, grateful for his understanding despite the frustration still thrumming through your veins. "Jade comes first."

He stood, reluctantly releasing your hand. You followed him to the door, hyperaware of every movement, every glance. At the threshold, he turned back to you, his expression a mix of desire and something deeper, more profound.

"For the record," he said quietly, "I've never regretted anything more than walking away from you five years ago. And I don't intend to make the same mistake twice."

He forced himself to step back, putting a responsible distance between you.

"Goodnight," he said, the word carrying far more weight than its two syllables should allow.

"Goodnight," you echoed, leaning against the doorframe as he turned to leave.

He made it halfway down the front walk before stopping abruptly. You watched, confused, as he spun around and marched back to you with sudden determination. Before you could ask what he was doing, he leaned in quickly and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, his lips lingering just a second longer than necessary.

When he pulled back, his expression was different—lighter, almost boyish, a glimpse of the Jake who existed before world tours and professional pressures. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, looking strangely pleased with himself.

"I forgot something," he said, his voice carrying a playful quality you hadn't heard in years.

"What was that?" you asked, unable to keep the smile from your own voice.

He shrugged, walking backward toward his car while maintaining eye contact. "Just making sure you don't forget about me before tomorrow."

The gesture was so unexpectedly sweet, so contrary to his usual composed demeanor, that you found yourself laughing—a genuine, surprised sound that seemed to delight him. In that moment, he wasn't international soccer star Jake Sim, but just Jake, the boy who used to leave silly notes in your textbooks and race you to the corner store for ice cream.

"As if that were possible," you called after him, feeling a rush of something light and warm in your chest.

He flashed you one more smile before getting into his car, and you remained in the doorway until his taillights disappeared down the street. Only then did you close the door, pressing your back against it, fingers touching your cheek where the innocent kiss still seemed to tingle.

The gesture had shifted something—added a dimension to the complicated tangle of desire, regret, and hope between you. Somehow, that simple kiss on the cheek felt more intimate than the passionate ones you'd shared earlier, a reminder of the many facets of the man you'd once known so well.

Ten days until he returned to Europe.

Ten days to figure out if what you'd just rekindled was strong enough to withstand the distance that had broken you before.

Ten days to decide if you were brave enough to risk your heart a second time.

-

"Dr. Winters thinks we should be straightforward but gentle," you explained, pacing the length of your kitchen. "No elaborate metaphors or complicated explanations."

Jake nodded, his fingers drumming nervously against the countertop. "Simple truth. I can do that."

A week had passed since that night on your couch—a week of soccer practices, ice cream trips, bedtime stories, and carefully controlled moments between you and Jake after Jade fell asleep. The tension between you had only grown, tempered by the mutual understanding that Jade's well-being came first.

Yesterday, you'd both met with Dr. Winters, a child psychologist who specialized in family transitions. She'd been reassuring, explaining that five was actually a good age for this revelation—young enough that Jade would adapt quickly, old enough to understand the basics of what it meant.

"She already adores you," you said, stopping your pacing to look at Jake. "That's half the battle."

"But what if knowing changes things?" Jake's concern was evident, the confidence he showed on the soccer field nowhere to be found. "What if she's angry we didn't tell her sooner?"

You crossed the kitchen to stand before him, surprised to find yourself in the position of reassuring Jake rather than the other way around. "She's five, not fifteen. And Dr. Winters said children this age are remarkably adaptable."

Jake took a deep breath, reaching for your hand. "I just don't want to mess this up."

"You won't," you said softly, squeezing his fingers. "We won't."

The sound of cartoons from the living room suddenly ceased. Jade had been given special permission for morning TV while the adults "talked about boring grown-up stuff" in the kitchen.

"Mom? Jake? Are you done with your meeting yet?" Jade called. "The show ended and I'm starving!"

You exchanged one final look with Jake—equal parts determination and terror—before calling back, "We're done, honey. Come on in. We want to talk to you about something."

Jade appeared in the doorway, still in her pajamas despite it being nearly noon. You'd deliberately kept the morning relaxed, following Dr. Winters' advice to have the conversation during a calm, unhurried time.

"Are we having pancakes?" she asked hopefully, climbing onto one of the kitchen chairs. "Because it's Sunday, and Sunday is sometimes pancake day."

"We can have pancakes," you agreed, taking the seat across from her while Jake settled beside you. "But first, we wanted to talk to you about something important."

Jade's expression immediately turned serious, her eyes darting between you and Jake with unexpected perception. "Is it about why Jake comes over all the time now?"

You blinked, surprised by her intuition. "Actually, yes. It is."

"I knew it," Jade said, nodding sagely. "Emma says when grown-ups have special friends, they spend lots of time together. Is Jake your special friend, Mom?"

Jake coughed, clearly trying not to laugh despite the gravity of the moment. You felt your cheeks flush.

"Jake is special to both of us," you said carefully, "but not exactly in the way Emma means."

"Jade," Jake began, his voice gentler than you'd ever heard it. "Do you remember asking your mom about your dad? About where he was?"

Jade's eyes widened slightly, her full attention shifting to Jake. "Yeah. Mom said he's a soccer player who lives really far away. That's why he can't visit."

Jake glanced at you, a silent confirmation passing between you before he continued. "I've been living far away, in Europe. Playing soccer professionally."

Jade stared at him, her brow furrowed in concentration as her quick mind worked through the implications. The moment stretched, unbearably tense, until—

"Are you my dad?" she asked directly, her voice small but steady.

Jake's breath caught audibly. "Yes, Jade. I am."

For a heartbeat, Jade was perfectly still—an unusual state for her perpetually moving body. Then her eyes began to shine with tears. "Really? For real and true?"

"Really," Jake confirmed, his own eyes glistening. "For real and true."

"But... but why didn't you visit me before?" The question held curiosity rather than accusation, and it broke your heart nonetheless.

"Because I didn't know about you," Jake explained simply, just as you'd rehearsed. "When your mom found out she was going to have you, I had already moved to Europe to play soccer. She didn't tell me about you until we met at the soccer clinic."

Jade turned to you, her expression confused. "Why didn't you tell him about me, Mom?"

You'd prepared for this question, knew it was coming, but it still felt like a knife to the heart. "I thought I was doing the right thing," you said carefully. "Your dad had just started his big career, and I didn't want to make things harder for him. But I was wrong not to tell him, and I'm very sorry for that. To both of you."

Jade considered this with the serious contemplation of a judge weighing evidence. "So when you saw me at the soccer clinic," she said, turning back to Jake, "that's why you fainted? Because you were surprised that I was your daughter?"

"That's exactly why," Jake admitted with a self-deprecating smile. "Finding out I had such an amazing daughter was the biggest surprise of my life."

Jade's face suddenly lit up with realization. "That's why we have the same last name! And the same dimples! And do the same victory dance! Emma says she looks like her dad too. She has his nose."

The mood in the room shifted, the tension giving way to something lighter as Jade began connecting dots with infectious enthusiasm.

"And that's why I'm so good at soccer!" she continued, practically vibrating in her seat. "Because you're good at soccer too! It's in my DNA! Mrs. Rivera taught us about DNA—it's the stuff inside you that makes you who you are!"

"That's right," Jake said, relief evident in his voice. "You got your soccer skills from me. But you got your brains from your mom."

Jade beamed at this, then suddenly her expression turned serious again. "Are you going to live with us now? Because Emma's dad lives in a different house. He comes on weekends and Wednesdays."

You and Jake exchanged glances. This part you'd deliberately left flexible, knowing that Jade's reaction would guide your next steps.

"I have to go back to Europe in a few days for work," Jake explained gently. "But I'll be coming back to visit as often as I can. And we can video call every day if you want."

"And when my soccer season ends in a few months," he continued, his eyes meeting yours briefly, "we'll figure out a more permanent arrangement. But no matter where I live, I'll always be your dad."

Jade seemed to process this, her legs swinging rhythmically under the chair. "But you'll come to my soccer games when you're here? And my school play? I'm going to be a star in the sky. I only have three lines but they're very important lines."

"I wouldn't miss it for anything," Jake promised, and you could see the emotion he was struggling to contain.

Jade slid off her chair suddenly, coming around the table to stand in front of Jake. With the directness of a child who hadn't yet learned social hesitation, she asked, "Can I hug you now? Since you're my dad?"

Jake's composure finally broke. "Yes," he said, voice thick. "I would really like that."

Jade threw her arms around his neck with the same wholehearted enthusiasm she brought to everything. Jake's arms wrapped carefully around her small frame, and over Jade's shoulder, his eyes met yours, filled with wonder and gratitude.

You felt tears streaming down your own cheeks as you watched your daughter and her father embrace for the first time—at least, the first time with both of them knowing what they were to each other.

After a long moment, Jade pulled back, studying Jake's face with new interest. "I think I'll call you Dad now, not Jake. Is that okay?"

"That's more than okay," Jake managed, gently tucking a strand of hair behind Jade's ear—the same gesture he'd used with you so many times.

"And can we still have pancakes?" Jade asked, switching gears with the fluid adaptability of childhood. "Because I'm stillstarving. Maybe Dad can help make them? I bet he makes good pancakes."

"I make excellent pancakes," Jake confirmed, the new title bringing a fresh sheen of tears to his eyes. "It's another thing you inherited from me."

"Along with your inability to sit still for more than thirty seconds," you added, wiping away your own tears.

Jade grinned, looking between you with a satisfaction that suggested, in her five-year-old mind, things were exactly as they should be. "This is the best day. I got a dad and I'm getting pancakes!"

As the three of you moved around the kitchen, falling into a surprisingly natural rhythm of pancake preparation, you caught Jake's eye over Jade's head. The gratitude in his expression mirrored your own feeling of relief—relief that amidst all the complications of your adult relationship, this most important revelation had gone better than either of you had dared to hope.

There were still countless details to figure out—custody arrangements, Jake's travel schedule, what would happen after his season ended, and not least, the undefined something that had been rekindling between you. But for now, watching Jake teach Jade the "perfect pancake flip" while she giggled uncontrollably, it was enough to know that your daughter finally had her father.

And maybe, just maybe, you had found your way back to each other too.

-

The last golden light of evening stretched across your backyard, casting long shadows as Jade chased fireflies in her pajamas, giggling each time one of the glowing insects landed briefly in her cupped hands.

"Five more minutes, then bedtime!" you called, though you were reluctant to end this perfect moment. Jake's departure for Europe loomed tomorrow morning, casting a bittersweet shadow over what had been an extraordinary week.

Since telling Jade the truth, everything had shifted. She'd taken to calling Jake "Dad" with the natural ease of a child who'd simply been waiting for permission to use the title. Her friends at school had been informed with five-year-old directness ("My dad is back from Europe and he's REALLY good at soccer!"), and Coach Russell had gently handled the sudden flurry of interest from other parents when Jake attended her final practice before leaving.

Now you sat beside Jake on the back porch steps, your shoulders touching as you watched your daughter—your shared creation—dart across the lawn with boundless energy despite the late hour.

"She's never going to sleep tonight," you murmured, sipping from a glass of wine.

"It's a special occasion," Jake replied, his voice carrying a hint of melancholy. "Last night before..."

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. Tomorrow morning, he'd board a plane back to his team, his contract, his other life.

The past three days had been a whirlwind of lawyers and paperwork—establishing formal acknowledgment of paternity, setting up emergency travel provisions, discussing international custody considerations. All of it driven by Jake's determination to have everything properly in place before he left.

In private moments after Jade was asleep, you'd found yourselves drawn together with increasing intensity, as if trying to store up enough connection to last through the coming separation. But you'd been careful to keep things from progressing too far, both acutely aware of Jade just down the hall, both hesitant to define exactly what was happening between you.

"Have you told her what time your flight leaves?" you asked, watching Jade attempt to do a cartwheel she'd been practicing all week.

"I told her I'd be gone when she wakes up," Jake said. "I thought that might be easier. No drawn-out goodbyes at the airport."

You nodded, remembering how hard airport goodbyes could be. Five years ago, you'd stood at a similar departure gate, forcing a smile as Jake headed toward his new life, neither of you knowing you carried the beginning of another life inside you.

"She made you something," you said, reaching for a folded paper on the step beside you. "She wanted me to give it to you after she went to bed. For the plane."

Jake accepted the slightly crumpled drawing, unfolding it carefully. In Jade's distinctive artistic style—which meant lots of color and minimal adherence to proportion—she'd drawn three figures holding hands: a small one in the middle with pigtails, and two larger ones on either side. "ME," "DAD," and "MOM" were labeled with painstaking capital letters, and across the top, "MY FAMILY" had been written with evident pride.

"She worked on it all afternoon," you said softly. "I think she wanted you to have something to take with you."

Jake stared at the drawing, his throat working as he swallowed hard. "I'm going to miss so much being there instead of here."

The weight of that statement hung between you. Three months until his season ended. Three months of video calls, of Jade asking when Dad was coming back, of navigating a relationship across continents.

"We'll make it work," you said, though the exact shape of that "work" remained undefined.

"Mom! Dad! Look how many I caught!" Jade called, running toward you with cupped hands. She opened them carefully to reveal a single firefly crawling across her palm.

"That's a good one," Jake said, his voice impressively steady despite the emotion you'd seen in his eyes moments before. "But it's probably time to let him go home to his family now."

Jade nodded solemnly, walking a few steps away to release the insect. "Bye, Mr. Firefly!" she called as it flew away, then turned back to you both. "Is it bedtime?"

"I think so, sweetheart," you confirmed.

Usually, this would trigger negotiations for more time, more stories, more anything to delay the inevitable. But tonight, Jade simply nodded again. "Okay. But Dad has to read the bedtime story."

"Deal," Jake agreed, standing and offering his hands to both you and Jade, pulling you up from the steps.

Bedtime routine passed in a blur of toothbrushing, pajama straightening, and the promised story—which became three stories, each with different voices that Jake performed with theatrical commitment, drawing delighted giggles from Jade.

When the final story ended, Jade looked up at Jake from her pillow, suddenly serious. "You won't forget about me when you're in Europe, right?"

"That would be impossible," Jake said firmly, smoothing her hair back from her forehead. "I've spent five years not knowing about you, and I'm not missing another minute that I can help. I'll call every day I can, and before you know it, I'll be back."

"Promise?" Jade asked, holding up her pinky finger.

"Promise," Jake confirmed, linking his pinky with hers. "Dad promises."

Satisfied, Jade reached for the stuffed soccer ball that had become her favorite bedtime companion. "G'night, Mom. G'night, Dad."

"Goodnight, sweetheart," you both answered in near-perfect unison, a synchronicity that was becoming increasingly common.

Jake lingered a moment longer by her bedside, seeming to memorize every detail of her face before reluctantly following you out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar as Jade preferred.

In the hallway, the weight of his impending departure descended fully. Tomorrow he would be gone, and the precarious balance you'd found over the past week would need to be recalibrated across time zones and international borders.

"Drink?" you offered, hoping to postpone the inevitable goodnight that would follow.

"Please," Jake nodded, following you to the kitchen.

You poured two glasses of wine in silence, hyperaware of the ticking clock, of moments slipping away. When you handed him his glass, your fingers brushed, and the simple contact sent a now-familiar current up your arm.

"I've been thinking," Jake said abruptly, staring into his wine rather than meeting your eyes.

"That sounds dangerous," you attempted to joke, earning a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"These past ten days..." he began, then paused, seeming to reconsider his words. "When I came back, I was angry. Hurt. I couldn't understand how you'd kept Jade from me all these years."

You nodded, accepting the pain you'd caused. "I know."

"But now," he continued, finally looking up at you, "I understand better. Not completely—I still wish you'd told me—but I understand you were trying to protect something you thought was important. My career. My dream."

"I was wrong," you said softly. "I should have let you decide."

"Yes," Jake agreed. "But I also made choices that brought us here. I left. I chose a contract overseas over what we had. I put distance between us that made it harder for you to reach out when you found out about Jade."

The honesty of his words caught you off guard. In all your guilt about keeping Jade secret, you'd rarely considered how Jake's initial departure had shaped everything that followed.

"So where does that leave us?" you asked, the question encompassing far more than just this conversation.

Jake set down his glass, closing the distance between you with deliberate steps. "That's what I've been thinking about. What happens after tonight."

Your heart quickened. "And?"

"I don't want to leave you again," he said simply. "Either of you."

"You have to," you reminded him gently. "Your contract—"

"I know I have to go back tomorrow," he clarified. "But I don't want it to be like last time. A goodbye that turns into five years of silence and separate lives."

He took your hands in his, his touch warm and steady. "I want you both to come to Europe. Not tomorrow—I know that's impossible. But soon. When the school year ends. For the summer, at least."

Your breath caught. This wasn't what you'd expected. "Jake—"

"Just hear me out," he pressed. "Jade could see where I live, where I play. You both could experience that part of my world. And I'd look for opportunities closer to home for next season. There are teams that have been interested."

"You'd consider leaving your European team?" The magnitude of what he was suggesting stunned you. "But you've worked so hard to get there."

Jake's expression softened. "Five years ago, playing in Europe was all I ever wanted. Now..." he glanced toward Jade's bedroom, "now my priorities have changed."

The implications of his words hung between you, heavy with possibility.

"And us?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "What are we in this scenario?"

Jake's hands tightened slightly around yours. "I think you know how I feel about you. How I've always felt, even when I tried to convince myself otherwise."

"Say it anyway," you urged, needing to hear the words.

"I love you," he said without hesitation. "I never stopped. Not when I left for Europe, not during five years apart, and certainly not now, seeing you as Jade's mother—seeing how amazing you are with her, how you've built this life."

Tears filled your eyes, the simple truth of his words unlocking everything you'd held back. "I love you too. I tried not to, tried to move on, but..."

"But no one compared," Jake finished, echoing your words from days earlier, his smile reaching his eyes this time.

"No one compared," you confirmed.

He released your hands only to frame your face gently between his palms. "So, what do you say? Will you and Jade come to Europe this summer? Give us a chance to figure out what our family looks like going forward?"

The question was enormous, encompassing practical concerns about Jade's schooling, your work, living arrangements—a thousand logistical details you'd need to consider. But underneath all that was a simpler choice: forward together, or back to separate lives?

"Yes," you heard yourself say, the certainty of it surprising even you. "We'll come."

The joy that transformed Jake's face was worth any uncertainty the future might hold. He pulled you close, his kiss conveying everything words couldn't—relief, gratitude, love, promise.

When you finally separated, both slightly breathless, Jake pressed his forehead to yours. "I'll call every day until you get there. And I've already told Jay to start looking at teams back here for next season."

"You were that confident I'd say yes?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jake laughed softly. "Not confident. Hopeful."

A small noise from the hallway made you both turn. Jade stood in her doorway, stuffed soccer ball clutched to her chest, looking sheepish at being caught out of bed.

"I had a question," she said, though her sly expression suggested eavesdropping had been at least partly intentional.

"What's your question, sweetheart?" you asked, stepping back from Jake slightly, though his arm remained around your waist.

"Are we really going to where Dad lives? In Europe?" Her eyes were wide with excitement that told you she'd heard more than just that part of the conversation.

Jake looked to you, clearly unsure whether to confirm what she'd overheard. You nodded slightly, and he crouched down to Jade's level.

"Would you like that?" he asked carefully. "To come visit me in Europe this summer? To see where I play soccer?"

"Will I get to see a REAL game? With a REAL stadium?" Jade was practically vibrating with excitement now.

"Several games," Jake promised. "And maybe you could even help me practice sometimes."

"YES!" Jade pumped her fist in victory. "Can we go tomorrow?"

You laughed, moving to join them. "Not tomorrow, honey. Dad has to go back first, and we have some things to figure out here. But soon, after school ends."

"How many days is that?" Jade demanded.

"Forty-three," Jake answered promptly, earning surprised looks from both you and Jade. "I counted."

The simple admission—that he'd been counting the days until he could potentially see you both again—made your heart swell.

"That's a LOT of days," Jade observed with a dramatic sigh.

"We'll count them together," you promised. "And Dad will call us every day."

"And then we'll be a real family? All together?" Jade asked, her perceptiveness once again catching you off guard.

You and Jake exchanged a look over her head—a look full of promise, determination, and shared understanding of all that had been lost and found.

"We're already a real family," Jake said softly. "We're just figuring out the details."

Jade considered this, then nodded with the solemn acceptance only a child could manage. "Okay. But can I sleep in your room tonight?" she asked, turning to you. "Since Dad's leaving tomorrow?"

You recognized the request for what it was—not just a child's desire to delay bedtime, but a need for closeness on this night of transition. "Just for tonight," you agreed.

Later, as Jade slept peacefully between you in your bed, Jake's hand found yours in the darkness, fingers intertwining above your daughter's sleeping form.

"Forty-three days," he whispered.

"Forty-three days," you confirmed.

Tomorrow would bring separation, challenges, logistics to navigate. But for the first time in five years, you weren't facing the future alone. The family that had begun by accident, been divided by circumstance, and reunited by chance now had a direction—forward, together.

Whatever form that took, it would be enough.

It would be everything.

-

Epilogue: Three Years Later

"But WHY can't I have a baby brother RIGHT NOW?"

Jade's question echoed through the kitchen with the dramatic flair of an eight-year-old who had recently discovered the power of logical debate. She stood with hands on her hips, soccer uniform still grass-stained from her Saturday morning game, her expression a perfect mirror of Jake's determination.

"Because that's not how it works, sweetheart," you explained, exchanging an amused glance with Jake across the kitchen island. "Even if we decided to have another baby, it takes time."

"Emma's mom had a baby and she said it took NINE WHOLE MONTHS. That's FOREVER!" Jade flopped dramatically onto a chair. "I'll be practically a TEENAGER by then."

Jake choked back a laugh, disguising it as a cough when Jade shot him a suspicious look. Three years of fatherhood had taught him that showing amusement during one of her serious discussions was a tactical error.

"Nine months isn't quite that long," he said, maintaining an impressively straight face. "But your mom's right. These things take time and planning."

Jade narrowed her eyes, a look that had become increasingly effective as she grew older. "Are you guys planning it? Because I heard you talking in your room last night."

Now it was your turn to choke slightly. You and Jake had indeed been discussing the possibility, late at night, after assuming Jade was sound asleep. Apparently, her soccer-enhanced hearing had other ideas.

"It's something we've been thinking about," you admitted carefully. "But it's a big decision."

"I think you should decide YES," Jade stated with the absolute confidence only children possess. "I'd be an AMAZING big sister. I already know how to change diapers from when we babysit Emma's brother."

"You held the wipes once," Jake pointed out.

"That's an IMPORTANT job!" Jade protested. "And I could teach a baby all about soccer and stars and dinosaurs."

"All essential life skills," you agreed, unable to keep from smiling.

The conversation was interrupted by the doorbell, followed by the sound of the front door opening.

"Where's my favorite soccer superstar?" Tia's voice called from the entryway.

"AUNTIE TIA!" Jade abandoned the sibling discussion instantly, racing toward the sound. "I scored TWO GOALS today!"

"Is that all? I thought we were working on a hat trick," Tia teased as she appeared in the kitchen doorway, Jade already attached to her side like a barnacle.

"Coach said my second goal was good enough to count as TWO," Jade explained seriously.

"Ah, well, if Coach said so." Tia winked at you and Jake. "Speaking of coaches, I believe I was promised brunch with famous people in exchange for helping with yesterday's team pizza party. Twenty second-graders hopped up on cheese and soda is not something I do for free, you know."

"Reservations at Westfield in twenty minutes," Jake confirmed. "Though I dispute the 'famous' part."

Tia snorted. "Your face is literally on a billboard downtown right now."

"It's for a charity event," Jake protested, the same way he'd been downplaying his celebrity status for three years now. The transfer to the stateside team had somehow only increased his profile, especially after leading them to the championship in his second season.

"Dad, can I wear my medal to brunch?" Jade asked, already halfway to her room.

"Of course," Jake called after her. "But grab a clean shirt first!"

When Jade disappeared down the hall, Tia raised an eyebrow at both of you. "So... baby brother discussions? Is there something you two want to share?"

You shook your head. "Just Jade lobbying for a sibling. Though I think she'd be equally happy with a puppy at this point."

"Don't let her hear you make that comparison," Jake warned. "We'll end up with both."

"Considering how she has you wrapped around her finger? I'd say that's inevitable," Tia said, helping herself to coffee. "Remember when she convinced you a trampoline was an essential training tool for soccer footwork?"

"It improved her agility," Jake defended, though his smile acknowledged the weakness of his position.

"Face it, Sim. You're a pushover where that child is concerned."

"Like you're any better," you pointed out. "Who bought her professional-grade astronomical telescope for Christmas?"

"That was educational!" Tia protested.

The comfortable banter flowed naturally, a rhythm established through years of Sunday brunches and family dinners. Tia had remained Jade's favorite aunt and your closest confidante, seamlessly incorporating Jake into her circle of merciless teasing and unwavering support.

Jade reappeared wearing a clean shirt, her medal from the recent junior tournament proudly displayed on her chest, and a soccer ball tucked under her arm just in case an impromptu game broke out during brunch.

"Ready!" she announced. "Can we take the CONVERTIBLE?"

Jake glanced out the window at the perfect blue sky. "I think that can be arranged." The sports car—his one concession to professional athlete stereotypes—was reserved for special occasions and particularly good weather.

As you collected your things, Jade sidled up to Tia with the exaggerated casualness of a child with an agenda. "Auntie Tia, did you know that babies take NINE MONTHS to come? That's almost a YEAR. I could have a baby brother or sister for next Christmas if Mom and Dad would HURRY UP."

Tia's eyebrows shot up toward her hairline as she looked between you and Jake. "Is that so? Well, maybe your parents are waiting for the right time."

"NOW is the right time," Jade insisted. "I'm already EIGHT. Soon I'll be too old to teach them important things."

"What important things are those?" Jake asked, unable to resist.

Jade rolled her eyes with the supreme exasperation only a pre-tween could muster. "How to do a RAINBOW KICK, obviously. And how to win at Monopoly, and which dinosaurs could beat other dinosaurs in a fight."

"All crucial life skills," you agreed solemnly, catching Jake's eye over her head.

The silent communication between you had only grown stronger over the years—the ability to have entire conversations with just a look, a small nod, a smile. This particular exchange carried the weight of late-night discussions, of quiet hopes, of "maybe it's time" whispered in the darkness.

At the restaurant, seated at your regular table on the patio, Jade regaled Tia with a play-by-play of her morning's soccer triumph while simultaneously stealing Jake's french fries. The spring sunshine caught the wedding rings on your and Jake's left hands—simple, matching bands that you'd exchanged in a small ceremony two years ago, with Jade proudly serving as both flower girl and "best daughter."

The path to this moment hadn't always been smooth. Jake's travel schedule, though less demanding than his European days, still required adjustments. Your careers had needed careful balancing, boundaries had been drawn and redrawn, and you'd both had to learn to parent together after years of you doing it alone. There had been arguments about discipline (Jake was indeed the softer touch), disagreements about schools, and the occasional clash about handling Jake's public profile.

But through it all, the foundation remained solid. The family that had formed in those first chaotic weeks had only grown stronger, more certain of its shape.

"Dad," Jade said suddenly, turning her focus from Tia to Jake, "do you want another kid? Mom said you guys have to BOTH want it."

Jake nearly choked on his water at the direct question. He caught your eye, seeking permission or guidance, but you simply raised an eyebrow, curious yourself about his unfiltered response.

"I do," he said finally, his voice softer than usual. "I think about it a lot, actually."

"See, Mom?" Jade turned to you triumphantly. "Dad wants one TOO."

"It's not quite that simple, Jade," you began, but Jake's hand reached for yours across the table.

"Maybe it is," he said quietly. "Maybe we're overthinking it."

A current passed between you—three years of building a life together, of watching Jade grow, of creating something stable and beautiful from what had once been broken.

"Maybe we are," you admitted, a slow smile spreading across your face.

"So it's DECIDED!" Jade declared, pumping her fist in a celebration move inherited directly from Jake. "I'm getting a sibling!"

"Hold on there, soccer star," Tia laughed. "These things take time, remember?"

"Well, they should start RIGHT AWAY then!" Jade insisted with impeccable eight-year-old logic. "Can we go home after brunch so they can get started?"

Tia burst out laughing as both you and Jake turned interesting shades of red.

"I think," Jake said carefully, finding his composure first, "that your mom and I will need to have some grown-up conversations about this."

"More conversations?" Jade sighed dramatically. "Grown-ups talk WAY too much."

"Sometimes talking is important," you explained, squeezing Jake's hand. "But I promise we won't talk forever."

Jake's eyes met yours, warm with promise and possibility. So much had changed since that day at the soccer clinic—since the moment he'd looked at Jade and seen himself reflected back. The anger and hurt of those first days had long since transformed into something you couldn't have imagined then: a partnership deeper than before, tempered by separation and stronger for having been tested.

"So if you have a baby," Jade said, her mind already racing ahead as usual, "can I name it? Because I have some REALLY good dinosaur names picked out."

"Absolutely not," you and Jake responded in perfect unison, then broke into laughter at your synchronicity.

Some things never changed. Some things never would.

Later that night, after Jade had finally surrendered to sleep (following three bedtime stories and one "very important" discussion about what makes a good big sister), you found Jake on the back porch, gazing up at the stars that had become a shared fascination between him and Jade.

"She's persistent," you said, settling beside him on the porch swing. "Wonder where she gets that from."

Jake smiled, drawing you closer. "No idea. Must be from your side."

You sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the gentle rhythm of the swing matching your synchronized breaths.

"Did you mean what you said at brunch?" you finally asked. "About wanting another child?"

"I did," Jake said, his arm tightening around you. "I missed everything with Jade—the pregnancy, the birth, those first years. The idea of experiencing all that with you this time..." He trailed off, emotion making his voice rough. "But only if you want it too."

You leaned your head against his shoulder, thinking of the past three years—the challenges, the joy, the family you'd built together. "I do want it," you said softly. "I've been thinking about it more lately. Seeing you with Jade, how natural you are as a father... I keep imagining you with a baby."

Jake pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "So we're really considering this?"

"I think we're past considering," you admitted with a smile. "I think we're deciding."

Jake shifted to face you, his expression a mix of hope and certainty that reminded you of the night he'd asked you and Jade to come to Europe, the moment everything had changed. "Then let's decide," he said simply. "Let's expand our team."

You laughed at the soccer metaphor, so perfectly Jake. "Does this mean I should stop taking my birth control?"

His answer was a kiss that held the promise of the future you were choosing together—a family that had begun with a secret and a soccer clinic, with mistakes and courage, with finding each other again across years and continents.

"I love you," Jake murmured against your lips. "More than I did three years ago, more than I did yesterday."

"I love you too," you whispered back. "Always have. Always will."

Inside the house, your daughter slept peacefully, dreaming perhaps of soccer glory or dinosaur battles or the sibling she'd soon begin waiting impatiently for. And on the porch, wrapped in starlight and each other, you and Jake made the decision to grow the family that had fought so hard to find its way together.

Nine months might be forever in eight-year-old time.

But in the grand scheme of your lives together, it was just the beginning of a new chapter.

fin.

You sigh, slumping in your seat. Not dramatically enough to draw any attention to yourself, but Arthur is so fixated on the field that you don’t think he’d notice you throwing a whole tantrum next to him.

You grimace at the way he shoves his hot dog between his lips, the ketchup, mustard, and other toppings dripping down the side of his mouth. Which, he wipes with his thumb, just to lick it off. It’s not inherently gross or unnatural, but you’re quickly realizing that you’re just not into this poor guy.

From the jump, he’d been charming, sure, but he also had this off-putting energy. Not like serial killer off-putting, but more like the kind of guy who wants a wife and kids, but not necessarily to be a dad or husband, if that makes any sense.

You wanted to see it through, though, give the guy a chance. Which is why you’re here. Unfortunately for you, you’ve already made up your mind about Arthur, and now, you have to sit through this baseball game with a convincing enough smile to remain unbothered by him worrying about it.

Grabbing your paper cup, you sip on the cold soda of your choice, a taste of relief underneath the hot sun.

In other good news, safe from the half-melted drink in your hand, one of the players for the Seattle Mariners team is rather attractive. Which, you’re well aware that it’s somewhat immoral to be checking out a completely unattainable man while you’re actively on a date, but you’ve already decided that you’re gonna let him down gently later, so what’s the harm?

Park Jongseong, moreso known as Jay, or number 19, from what you’ve gathered, is a stellar player. He’s good at batting—you think that’s the term—and seems to have a shitload of fans in the stands.

Safe from your date, that is, who scowls at the baseball player like he’s got a personal vendetta against him.

“Why do you make that face every time?” You ask, tilting your head at Arthur, who you have to nudge to get his attention.

He looks at you, and you repeat yourself, just for him to scoff incredulously, like you should know exactly why he despises Jay.

“He’s the kind of player that’s only so popular because girls like him. He’s not even that good! Like, there was this one time—“

And here comes the long winded rant about shit you won’t understand. It’s clearly fueled by his disdain for Jay, rather than actual fact, and you’re somewhat icked out by the fact that he’s so passionate about his hatred for the man that he’s foaming at the mouth.

Yuck.

Again, if he was a better guy, you would care less, but he is not helping his case. So, you just nod, feign understanding.

“Yeah, boo,” you agree, shaking your head as Arthur whips his head back towards the field, finishing his hot dog in the same messy fashion he started eating it with.

You manage an amused huff at the ridiculousness of this situation. Your eyes wander back to the field, and your gaze lands on your beloved player.

Ironically, an actual grin forms on your lips. He’s pretty, with dark hair and tan skin, one of few guys to pull of full baseball attire. You can barely see his face, given his helmet, but every-time there’s a closeup shot on the big screen, you take your time admiring his features.

Arthur seems to notice the look on your face, and nudges your shoulder. “Having fun?” he asks, with a wide, oblivious grin, and you just nod enthusiastically.

You snicker to yourself, just under your breath, as you both return your attention to the game. Your eyes narrow with focus as you watch Jay ready up.

The ball is thrown, and he readjusts his grip on his bat, whacking it with immense force when it comes his way. The crowd roars, and the commentators burst into chaotic rants, all the while, the ball is hurdling towards the crowd.

Fortunately, no one is pummeled with it. In fact, by the time it comes falling, it lands on the ground below you. Interesting.

You lean down, rather enthusiastically, to grab the ball, just for a bigger hand to come down and snatch it. Your date. Arthur.

He fucking pelts the ball back onto the field, and you look up with a shocked, betrayed expression.

“What the fuck?!” You snap at him, and even some of the attendees around you both confront him for his behavior. You’re sure they’re not worried about you, so much as the possibility that they could have gotten their hands on the ball, but at least you aren’t the only one mad.

“What?” Arthur bites back, oblivious as ever, as he plops back down into his seat, his shoulder shoving against yours.

There goes your mood.

Even focusing back on Jay doesn’t seem to fix it, thanks to the douche canoe to your left.

What you missed, though, was the look of shock on Jay’s face. Not only is he too far away for you to make out any facial expressions, you were too busy glaring down your stupid date to see the way he scowled.

He hadn’t meant for the ball to go into the crowd, but the last thing he’d ever be is opposed to someone getting to take home such a souvenir, whether they’re into baseball or not.

And even if you had no interest in the game, your growing interest in Jay was enough to make that instance rather upsetting. Maybe you’d have gotten into baseball just to spite your date, become one of those “fangirls” he seems to hate so much.

Anyways, the game drags on for what feels like forever, and maybe it’s because you’re fuming, or maybe it really is just that long of a play.

Either way, by the time it’s over, your ass hurts, your thighs are stuck to the seat, and you’ve never been so eager to get home and take a shower.

Arthur is giving you the cold shoulder, it seems, as you’re getting up to leave. He’s got a set look of disinterest on his face, like you’d done him wrong.

You roll your eyes as you grab your bag, and any trash that Arthur seemed to have no plans on picking up. As you’re on your way to the stairs, to leave the stands, you hear yelling.

“Hey, miss!” Calls a voice, just loud enough to catch your attention. You look back, and there’s Park fucking Jongseong holding a ball, smiling at you.

You shove the trash into Arthurs’ hands, because of course his nosy ass turned around too, and walk towards the edge of the stands.

Jay tosses the ball up, and it lands perfectly in your hands. His signature is on it, accompanied by some smudges of dirt, a bit of beating from the bat, it seems, like he’d gone and retrieved the ball your date tossed— oh my god.

He did!

Your eyes light up as you look back at Jay, and he gives a kind wave, before he turns on his heel, walking back across the field.

Your heart flutters, and you feel ridiculous for it, but fuck if that didn’t make you feel more than Arthur ever had.

“Stupid fucking game,” Arthur mutters, and kicks one of the stairs before stomping up them like a damn toddler.

Yet, your mood has been repaired once again, by Jay…again. With a small smile, you clutch the ball and start up the stairs.

That smile fades though, when a mob of people are rushing your way. Men and women alike, as if they’re hunting you—or, more accurately, the ball in your hands—down. A look of horror flashes across your face as you start to back up, towards the barricade of the grand stands, because you’ll be damned if they take the one good thing that’s come out of today from you.

Alas, you’re one woman, against a hoard of lord knows how many feral baseball fans.

Meanwhile, on the field, Jay looks over his shoulder, his eyes widening at the sight. He curses under his breath, because he should have known better.

Jay doesn’t get a chance to act, though.

Not before screams of horror ripple through the stands. Not before chairs are ripped out of the concrete, thrown around haphazardly.

Distracted by the sudden, unknown threat, the ball is pried from your hands. The man who got it yells in exclamation, triumph, but then, a clawed, alien-like hand suddenly plucks him up like he’s nothing.

The ball drops, and rather than worrying about the very obvious danger directly ahead of you, you reach down, snatch the ball, and look up just in time to witness the man being thrown across the stands, at least fifty feet by this…creature.

Its four legs make up almost all of its body, its face opens like the ugliest flower you’ve ever seen, decorated with rows of sharp, slimy teeth. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen, and you’re paralyzed with fear.

That is, until you’re grabbed by the arm, and suddenly dragged away, to a hidden exit that must have been blocked off from those in the stands.

As you barely grasp what’s going on, you realize that Jay is the one guiding you to what you hope is some form of safety. You clutch the ball in your hands like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded—which, it kind of is—and Jay leads you to the dugout.

It feels exposed, but when he drags you into a corner and has you crouch down with him, it’s not so bad. Well, safe from the echoing screams and chaos happening in the stands.

When you open your mouth to talk, eyes watery and blown with fear, Jay shakes his head vigorously, putting a finger to his lips, then yours. He nods his head towards the stands above, trying to silently communicate with you.

Your brows furrow with confusion, and Jay leans in.

“Sound. Notice how that…thing attacked the guy because he was yelling, making a lot of noise? We need to be quiet.” Jay explains, his voice smooth, unwavering, despite the scenario.

He takes a good look at you, and not for the same reason he looked back earlier—because he was hoping to catch another glimpse of the pretty girl who got the ball— but rather to make sure you’re unharmed. His hands linger on your arms, and his eyes are warm, caring, as he examines you.

He sees that you’re white-knuckling the ball, and can’t help but grin just a little. That’s cute.

He lays a hand over yours, meeting your gaze as he reassuringly squeezes your hand. As if to tell you “it’s okay” with the gentle touch.

Thunder suddenly booms in the distance, and when you flinch, Jay gently draws you into his embrace. While he’s not one to be so bold, for various reasons, he sees no reason to not comfort you right now.

The chaos seems to quiet, just in time for rain to begin pouring down from the sky above. Its sound is emphasized by the tin roof of the dugout, but the white noise is much nicer than the sound of people being mauled.

Jay sighs, his hand firm on your back, his head rested against yours. “So…your date didn’t seem like a great guy,” he says lowly, just loud enough for you to hear over the rain.

“I…yeah,” you laugh faintly, shaking your head as you look down at the signed ball in your grasp, rolling it between your hands.

“Thank you,” you say a moment later, lifting the ball, then nodding towards the stands, referring to when he practically saved your life.

He shakes his head dismissively, offering a reassuring smile. “It was the right thing to do, but you’re welcome.” He muses.

Before you can say anything else, a loud clanging sound makes both of you silent in an instant, your bodies tensing next to one another’s.

Thunder claps again, closer now, and you let out a soft breath as it seems you’re spared from whatever the fuck that first clanging sound was from.

You sink to the ground, looking out at the field, void of life, dimmed under the now gloomy sky. You carefully pull your phone out of your bag, put it on silent, and your eyes widen when an alert appears on your screen, issuing a state of emergency in the city of Seattle.

It’s not surprising, per se, but the realization that this threat is clearly looming, and larger than you had hoped becomes very prominent. Your throat tightens with worry, and your eyes sting again with tears.

Jay puts his hand on your arm, bringing you back to the moment, out of your spiraling thoughts.

“We’re safe,” he says under his breath, reassuringly, with a short, firm nod.

You let yourself believe it, even if it’s untrue. With a small nod of your own, you shove your phone back into your bag, opting to continue holding the baseball for dear life.

Jay sighs, then slowly stands up. Your eyes widen with fear, and you reach out to grab his hand, shaking your head, eyes pleading with him not to do anything risky.

“I have to check,” He mouths, gently prying his hand out of your grasp. Despite the look of worry on your face, he slowly walks out onto the field, turning to scan the stands.

While there seems to be no more of the creatures, the aftermath is equally as horrific. The blood, the destruction, the mutilated bodies and forgotten items. He swallows thickly, then walks back towards the dug out, now damp from the rain.

He reaches out to grab your hand, gently pulling you to your feet. “I need you to trust me,” he mutters, and you just nod, drawing in a breath when he gently covers your eyes with his hand.

He guides you across what you assume is the field, to an exit. Regardless of if you could handle it or not, he knows there’s no reason to let you witness the horror that lingers in the stands.

“I have an uh…an apartment,” Jay murmurs in your ear, finally letting his hand down. “It’s not far. We’ll walk there, and if we can get in, we’ll stay there tonight, okay?” He explains.

“I…are you sure? I mean, what if—“

“Hey. If I thought it would be unsafe, I wouldn’t do it. Okay? I got you,” he promises, raising a brow sternly.

With a slow nod of acceptance from you, he guides you out of the stadium, down the barren streets of Seattle. There’s no traffic or laughter, no signs of life. Everyone’s retreated, or worse, you assume.

“It’s raining. Hard. It’ll drown out any sounds we make. It’s okay.”

Jay’s voice is firm, promising, as you stand in his apartment, fingers shaking as they still hold the ball. He walks towards you and gently peels the ball from your hand, setting it on the counter.

He then takes your purse, sets it down next to the ball.

“Let’s get you dry,” He says, guiding you to sit down on the couch, before he walks away for a few moments, returning with a towel to wrap around your shoulders, since the rain drenched both of you the whole walk back to the apartment.

“Thank you, Jay,” you muse, looking up at him. He smiles, nodding in response.

“I never caught your name,” He says, a small, almost embarrassed laugh leaving his lips. How could he have forgotten to ask? Where are his manners?

Fortunately for him, you giggle. “Y/N.”

He nods, repeating it under his breath.

“Well, Y/N,” He hums, “It’s my pleasure to have you,” he says, then gestures to the apartment for some unknown reason, like he wanted to clarify his intentions.

He wanted to clarify his intentions.

A grin forms on your lips, but you decide you won’t pry into what exactly he meant by that. Instead, you watch as he walks into his kitchen.

“Have you eaten?” He asks, glancing at you, humming when you shake your head. He rummages carefully through his cupboards, because god forbid he were to somehow make too much noise, despite the pouring rain outside.

He pulls out ramen cups, turning to you. He opens his mouth to ask if you’re okay with that, but you’re nodding before he can.


He just smiles to himself, and carries on. He fills the cups with water, sets them in the microwave, then walks into his bedroom. When he comes out, he’s changed into a black t-shirt and jeans, having cleaned off any dirt left on his skin from the field.

God, he’s hot. Like, seriously hot. You thought, when you were in the stands, that maybe it was just because you were sat so far away, but if anything, he’s more attractive up close.

“Look, if you’d like, you can borrow any of my clothes, or I can wash yours— or, hell, i’m sure we can find somewhere to get you new ones, but my point here is that I want you to be comfortable, so…make yourself at home, yeah? Just let me know if you need anything, or if there’s anything i can do.” He explains.

There it is again.

Your heart flutters. He’s so pretty, so kind, and his voice is so smooth and sincere—

You force a nod, sighing shakily as you look back towards the big window, overlooking the city. It’s emptier than ever, rain blurring the view through the glass.

You can hear Jay moving around in the kitchen. Carefully opening the microwave, pulling the ramen cups out, taking his time to stir them up.

You look over your shoulder, and decide to get up, walking towards the kitchen counter, bar stools tucked beneath the side that faces the living room.

You sit down, and Jay slides one cup towards you, along with chopsticks, before he digs into his, and makes a dramatic gesture, waving his hand in front of his mouth.

“It’s hot.” He says, making you giggle, and you quickly realize it wasn’t actually hot. Not hot enough to burn, and especially not with the way he blew on the noodles before eating them.

He just wanted to make you smile.

Your heart clenches this time. It doesn’t flutter, but squeezes. It’s painful yet welcome, and you quietly begin to eat the ramen. Which, given the fact that you don’t remember when you last ate, is some of the best ramen you think you’ve ever had.

You both eat in comfortable silence, Jay humming quietly here and there.

You don’t miss the way his brows move as he chews. A little quirk you don’t think you’ve noticed on anyone else. It’s cute.

Your eyes scan the kitchen counters. Safe from a plate and a few utensils in the sink, it’s clean, likely because he’s never at home enough to gather clutter, you assume. He seems like that kind of guy, but you could be wrong. Maybe he’s just a minimalist.

“So, what was the deal with your date?” Jay suddenly asks, as he leans his hip against the counter, glancing at you curiously.

“Uh…” you pause, stirring the noodles in the cup, watching idly. “He was my date,” you say with reluctance. Wasn’t much of a date at all, really.

“Oh?” Jay chirps, taking another bite of his ramen. “Like, first date or boyfriend-date or…?”

“It was our second date, actually,” You huff out a quiet, embarrassed laugh. “I’m gonna be honest, I wasn’t really into him, but he seemed so excited about the baseball tickets. Didn’t want to disappoint, you know?”

Jay hums in acknowledgement, tilting this head thoughtfully. “That’s nice of you,” He muses.

A moment of silence passes. Both of you take another bite of your ramen.

“Excuse my language, but he seemed like an ass, respectfully,” Jay then says, making you pause.

Then, you grin. “He was an ass. One hundred and ten percent an ass,” You confirm.

“Sorry you had to sit through two dates with him, then,” Jay muses, and you both share a laugh at the notion.

As you’re finishing your ramen, a certain sweet treat catches your eye — Nutella.

Jay follows your gaze, his grin widening. “You want some?” He asks, and you nod slowly.

So, when you both wrap up with the ramen, he takes care of the trash and dishes, then sets the Nutella on the counter while he grabs a slice of bread, putting it in what looks to be all too fancy of a toaster.

“Can I have a spoon?” you ask, and Jay gives one to you mindlessly, too focused on the task at hand.

In fact, he’s sliding a piece of Nutella covered toast to you before he even notices that you’ve got a spoonful in your mouth.

He breaks into a shocked laugh, then shakes his head once. “Alright, fuck it,” the grabs another spoon, then scoops up a big glob of Nutella, before he shoves it into his mouth.

As he works his way through the thick substance, he grimaces slightly.

“So much chocolate,” He says through the Nutella in his mouth, making you both burst into a fit of giggles.

Once he recovers, he rinses off both spoons, smiling to himself when you go in for the toast. Then, he grabs a glass, fills it with water, and sets it in front of you, tending to you like it’s as natural as ever.

And honestly, it feels natural to you. You feel incredibly at home, despite being in such an unfamiliar place, with unfamiliar company.

Later that night, Jay had given you the choice to take his bed, or sleep on the couch, whichever made you more comfortable.

Reluctantly, you accepted his bed, with some persuasion on his part.

So, now you’re in his bed, alone, in the dark. The rain is still going, but quieter now, more of a drizzle.

Your mind wanders back to earlier, the scene that unfolded in the stands, the fact that your date ditched you. You briefly wonder what happened to him, if he’s okay, and decide it’s not worth worrying over. There’s nothing you could do, anyways, and he clearly didn’t care what happened to you.

You sigh, a heavy, much needed sigh. Rolling over, you catch a whiff of Jay. That woodsy, warm scent, clearly remnants of his cologne in the bed, wrapped up in the sheets, lingering on the pillow that you can only assume he uses regularly.

Suddenly, being without him feels suffocating.

And, yes, that’s insane.

You just met the fucking guy.

You spend a good ten minutes warring with yourself. Maybe it’s just the situation. You’re scared and uncertain, so you’re clinging to something that’s not real.

Or maybe there is a genuine connection. Maybe he feels it too. Maybe he’s having the same thoughts as you.

You blink at the ceiling, then get up. You walk quietly to the door, open it gently, and move in the same cautious manner down the little halfway to the living room.

He’s sprawled across the couch, but it doesn’t seem he’s asleep. There’s a news channel playing on the TV, playing videos taken by those who were able to catch the creatures invading on film.

They’ve decided to dub them “Death Angels.”

You swallow at the reality of the situation as it weighs down on you once again. Then, you speak lowly.

“Jay?”

His head whips around, and he gazes at you from the couch. “Y/N,” he muses. “What’s wrong?” He asks, brows furrowed with concern as he sits up, gesturing for you to come closer.

You walk towards the couch, arms wrapped around yourself in a sheepish manner.

“I don’t…want to be alone,” You murmur, avoiding his gaze, even as it gently caresses your form, with not even a hint of judgement.

“Okay,” he speaks softly, “Then you won’t be.”


It’s simple and sincere. He gestures again, beckoning you to join him on the couch. When you sit down, he drapes a blanket over you, then leans back, letting out a breath before he talks.

“There’s boats. At Alki beach.”

He stares at the TV, gnawing at his inner cheek. “Cars are too loud, when the streets are quiet, so we’d have to walk, but…but it would only be a few days,” He explains, sighing quietly. “It’s not safe to stay here, and even if we wanted to, evacuation is mandatory,” Jay continues.

“…Why are you helping me?” You ask suddenly, making Jay’s brows knit together.

“Why would I not?”

“I don’t know, it just seems…” You trail off. The only thing it seems is incredibly generous, which you’ve gathered that he seems to be exactly that, and genuinely so.

“I’m helping you because it’s the right thing to do.”

You blink, then smile slightly. “You said the same thing when I thanked you earlier. It’s okay to give yourself some credit, you know?”

“Sure, but I don’t need it. Not when i’m doing the bare minimum,” he shrugs, glancing at you, then back at the TV.

He’s so…different.

He doesn’t expect praise. He doesn’t expect anything at all, actually. He’s been nothing but kind, and for no reason other than it’s what he feels is right.

“It’s not the bare minimum. Bare minimum would be wishing me luck and sending me on my way, but you let me into your home, you fed me, you gave up your bed, and now you’re…if i’m not misunderstanding, you’re offering to let me go with you.”

“Not let you go with me,” He corrects, “Take you with me. There’s a difference.”

“And that difference is…?”

“Letting you go with me makes it sound like i’m reluctant. Taking you with me means i’m responsible for it. I’d like you to come with me — I’d like to know you get there safely, if you’ll let me do that.”

You’re completely, wholly taken aback, because who is this man and who raised him to be this giving?

“I’d let you do anything to me, at this rate.” You say without giving it a second thought.

He’s still for a moment, then laughs. It’s short and bashful, and he shakes his head slightly, a grin lingering on his lips.

“Alright.” He says simply, nodding once, as if to confirm that you’ll go with him, to the beach, to the boats. To safety. Real safety.

As you both sit in silence—he muted the TV, since the rain was beginning to die down, and he didn’t want to risk anything—tiredness finally washes over you.

Your head droops, and the last thing you remember, before falling asleep, is a warm hand guiding your head to a resting place.

Jay, putting your head on his shoulder.

DAY ONE:

It’s like the universe knows what chaos is going on.

The sun isn’t out, when you and Jay leave his apartment, to start your venture to the beach. It’s gloomy again—not raining, not yet—and the weather is noticeably colder than you recall it being during the game.

Jay’s estimate was that it would take three days at the least to reach the beach, a week at most.

He planned stops, hotels or rest spots, places to look for food. You’d honestly been a bit impressed by it, how put together his plan seemed.

The streets are crowded. Thickly so. It seems some learned the hard way, that cars or other vehicles would be too loud, given the flipped over automobiles, windows busted out, and what you don’t want to believe is unfortunate souls sprawled across the asphalt.

You grip the baseball between your hands, brows knit together as you walk alongside Jay.

You’ve never been in such a big, yet quiet crowd. Everyone’s footsteps are cautious and calculated, slow and measured.

You look down at the ground as you walk, avoiding glass or leaves, anything that might make too much noise if you were to unintentionally step on it.

Jay has a firm grip on your arm, guiding you forward. He seems almost…angry. You’re pretty sure you’re misreading it, but maybe he’s frustrated at how slow paced this whole thing is.

I mean, you can look over your shoulder and see his apartment, when you’ve been walking for nearly half an hour now.

You glance up at the gloomy sky, then back down to the pavement below your feet.

Suddenly, you walk into another person, who had just come to a full stop in front of you. They make a noise, a loud, scoff-like sound, as if they hadn’t just stopped for no reason.

Jays eyes widen, and he grips you even tighter, suddenly dragging you away from the crowd. You follow him, tripping over yourself as he yanks you into a pharmacy. He pushes you down, crouches next to you.

He folds himself over you, guarding you, like a human shield.

Then, you hear it.

The screams, the chaos, the vile sounds of people being torn apart.

Jay suddenly stands, grabs you again, and yanks you up roughly. He drags you through the store, behind the checkout counter, and into what seems to be a break room, where he shuts the door.

He lets go of you, grabs a chair that he carefully places under the doorknob, to act as a stopper.

Your heart is racing in your chest, and you slowly sink down to the floor, hands shaking around the ball in your hands, as your breathing becomes uneven.

While the sounds are muffled, you can still hear the horrific noise. The windows of the pharmacy sound as if they’re broken, and then comes that high-pitched shrieking sound you had heard in the stands yesterday.

Jay turns to see you, shaking and scared. He rushes to you, and wraps his arms around you, sitting down next to you.

It’s exactly how he held you in the Dugout.

This time, though, you curl into him, opting to hold the ball with one hand, so you can wrap your arms around him, and bury your face into his chest, like it’ll save you from whatever is coming your way.

Jay rests one hand on your back, and the other lands on the back of your head, where he strokes your hair.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, so quiet that you barely hear it. “We’re okay.”

You nod, almost frantically, clinging to his words exactly as you’re clinging to him.

Jay holds you until the noise quiets, and waits until you seem to relax even a little, before he loosens his hold.

He doesn’t let go yet, though. He gently tilts your head back, caressing your cheek with his hand.

“You okay?” He murmurs, and you nod slowly. “Good,” he whispers, his eyes fixed on yours.

You swear he glances at your lips.

Then, he releases, with a subtle gulp, and carefully stands up. He examines the room around you both, then takes off his backpack, stalks over to a case of water bottles.

He unzips his bag, cautious and slow, before he begins loading it with water. Even if food is harder to get—given that there’s a vending machine right next to the water, of which would be entirely too loud to actually retrieve anything from—water is a non negotiable.

He tests the weight of his bag, then puts a few more bottles in it, and counts quietly. With a small, subconscious nod, he zips his bag up, and stands, putting it back over his shoulders.

You watch as he walks to the door, carefully removing the chair. It reminds you of when he had to leave the dugout to check the stands.

When he looks over his shoulder at you, and sees the worry on your face, he sighs quietly.

Jay walks towards you, crouches in front of you, and gently cups your face, tilting your head up.

“They can’t see. They rely on echolocation. As long as we’re quiet, we’re safe, okay?” He assures you in a low tone.

“And if we want to make any progress, we have to keep moving. I know it’s scary, but we’re gonna make it.” He promises.

You nod, lifting your hands to gently grasp his, where they rest on your cheeks.

Again, you swear he looks at your lips.

Then, he leans in, and your heart jumps several beats.

Instead of what you’d been expecting, though, he kisses your forehead, then stands up, offering his hand to you.

You blink, unsure of whether to be disappointed that it wasn’t your lips, or grateful that he kissed you at all.

That is, until you remember you just met the man, and internally scold yourself for being so entranced by him.

You take his hand, allowing him to guide you back to your feet.

Then, he does what he did when he lead you out of the field.

He covers your eyes for upwards of ten minutes, carefully guiding you forward. You’re assuming it’s not good, given that there seems to be hardly any crowding on the street now.

When he uncovers your eyes, his hand drops down to lace with yours, holding it firmly.

Then, you realize that you’re missing something that’s come to be rather important to you. The ball.

“My ball,” You say suddenly, brows furrowed as you look up at Jay.

His eyes widen as his hand flies up to cover your lips, and he looks at you with an expression that reads “Are you crazy?”

You press your lips together beneath his hand, guilt and fear clawing up your throat. How could you forget such a serious rule as to not speak, over a damn ball?

Jay looks around with sharp eyes, before he sighs, moving his hand to press his finger against his lips as a reminder for you to not talk.

He gently pulls you forward, and your heart sinks as you realize there will be no going back for it. You still aren’t sure why it means so much to you, but you do know that you’re dreading leaving it behind. So much so that each step forward feels near impossible.

Your eyes begin to water, against your will, but before any tears fall, Jay suddenly stops. He huffs under his breath, like he’s irritated, but not quite at the end of his fuse.

He lets go of your hand, carefully removes his backpack, and unzips it with even more caution than he had done in the break room.

You watch with furrowed brows, lifting your hands to wipe your wet eyes.

And, there it is. The ball. It sits on top of the water bottles, clearly retrieved by Jay, perhaps after he’d kissed your forehead.

You let go of it to reach up and cup his hands, you now remember.

You let out a careful breath of relief, gently taking the ball as he hands it to you.

You examine it for a moment, nodding reassuringly to yourself as you brush your thumb over the signature, which is slightly worn from how much you’d fidgeted with the ball since you got it.

Then, you cautiously leap forward, throwing your arms around Jay’s shoulders, hugging him tightly.

He’s tense at first, but he relaxes slowly, wrapping his arms just as tightly around you. He rubs your back, and his heart clenches when he hears your muffled cries against his jacket.

He caresses the back of your head, a silent reminder that it’s okay. He doesn’t let go until you do.

While you calm down, and wipe away the rest of your tears, Jay puts his backpack back on, and takes your hand, guiding you forward once more.

His expression is set in this stern, almost determined look, and for a moment, you feel guilty.

You were this close to throwing a fit over a ball. A baseball— you don’t even like baseball.

Swallowing, you look up at Jay, taking in his features. His jaw is clenched, his eyes are narrowed with focus, his nostrils flared slightly.

You look back ahead, trying to imagine where you’d be if it weren’t for Jay.

You aren’t sure you want to know how that would have gone. So, you don’t bother dwelling on it.

All you know is that you’re immensely grateful for him, and hurdling towards head over heels, too.

DAY TWO:

Safe from the incident in the morning, your first day of traveling through the city went smoothly.

You spent most of the walk in silence, both of you focused on simply making it to your next resting spot, which was a rather nice hotel, safe from the way it was ransacked.

No one was behind the front desk, which didn’t necessarily come as a surprise, which is why Jay took it upon himself to find a random room key.

Once in the room, you both sat down, drank water (which Jay also refilled the bottles while you were there), and talked quietly, sat across from one another on the couch.

Jay asked about your date again, and you gave him a pretty lengthy rundown. You met on a dating app, you reluctantly explained, along with the fact that you’d jumped from app to app, trying to form any sort of connection with any one.

Alas, men suck. You stated that proudly, perhaps a test of Jay’s character, as men you avoid tend to get offended about such a statement.

He laughed, though. He agreed, too, that a lot of guys do, in fact, suck.

Your little story time about Arthur also led to exposing your lack of knowledge about baseball.

So, then it was Jay’s turn to talk.

He explained his position as third baseman, how he bats fourth, brings in the runners. He grew up with baseball, and when his parents let him try it as an after school activity, it became clear that he had quite the talent for it.

You paid attention to his words, but found that you focused more on his voice, the warmth laced in his words, how gently he spoke to you. You were well aware that was mostly due to the circumstance, but a part of you wanted to believe it was just for you, and whatever bond you both now share.

You also watched closely, his facial expressions. The way his lips moved, how soft they looked, the way his brows twitched, the way he’d run his hand through his hair every few sentences, fidgeting with the strands.

He’s good at hiding stress, you’d learned, but you’re slowly catching onto his giveaways.

Right now, you can see it clear as day. His jaw is set, clenched firmly, his brows are ever so slightly furrowed, and he’s white knuckling the strap of his backpack as you guys walk slowly through a less rundown part of the city. You’ve made it to the outskirts, now, the stores smaller and closer together.

The skies above, as they have been since this whole thing started, are dark. The air is cool, cooler than it was yesterday, kissing your skin with cold breezes that come and go.

For some reason, when you look at Jay, his clear state of stress makes your heart a little heavier, your chest tight. You roll your beloved baseball in your hands, the signature on it worn down more with each passing hour of you rubbing your thumb over it.

Suddenly, a cold droplet lands on your forearm. You look up, another drop landing on your cheek this time. Jay looks up, too, sighing quietly.

He reaches for your arm, gently tugging you closer to the buildings, using the awnings to shield you both from the rain as it comes down heavier and heavier.

You subconsciously lean into him, but he drops his hand, lets go of you. You glance up at him, his expression unchanging.

A frown forms on your lips as a result, and you squeeze the ball a little tighter as you keep walking.

“Are you mad at me?” You ask, and Jay whips his head towards you, giving you that look again. The “are you crazy?” look.

“It’s raining,” you say, lower this time, “I thought you said the rain makes it hard for them to hear us?”

“It does, but—“ Jay shakes his head, walking a little faster. “I don’t want to risk anything.”

His tone is firm, like that’s it. No arguing. No talking at all, actually.

It’s like the Jay you had just started getting used to disappeared, replaced with this less gentle version of him.

Maybe he’s tired.

Maybe the stress is getting to him.

Maybe he’s just scared, too.

Those are just a few of the excuses you make, trying to cope with the growing fear that the connection you thought you’d made with him was fake.

It’s not like his embrace made you feel safe, or his voice sounded like music, or that his presence felt oddly homey…or anything. Definitely not.

The rain persists. You and Jay keep walking, not a word spoken for the following hours.

Jay slows as you guys come upon a convenience store. You look at him, waiting for some sort of anything that gives way to his thoughts, but he just continues walking, heading towards the entrance of the store.

Despite your growing worry, you follow him. He turns to you, at last, and gestures to the food, before he walks towards said isles. You walk behind him at first, but as you scan the store, you decide that maybe, just maybe, he needs space.

Maybe that’s what it is.

So, you turn in the opposite direction.

It’s a convenience store you’ve never been in, but comparable to maybe a Walgreens, or CVS, one of those stores that has a little bit of everything you might need on a whim.

As you venture on your own, carefully up and down the isles, you stumble upon box of stuffed animals, and maybe it’s childish, but for whatever reason, you feel the urge to see what’s in said box.

On the surface, there’s an oversized teddy bear, a green and black snake, a pastel, multicolor cat, and just when you’re grabbing the pastel cat, you spot something else that draws your attention.

A black cat with golden eyes. You pick up the plushie, a small smile on your lips. It looks like Jay— but then your smile drops, when you remember how he’s been acting.

Yet, you keep hold of the stuffed animal, tucking it under your arm, holding the baseball that you still refuse to let go of.

Continuing to make your way through the isles, you clutch the stuffed animal like it’s a lifeline. Once again, you wonder what’s got you so goddamn attached to Jay.

It’s not like he’s done anything incredibly out of the ordinary…but then you recall what you said to him.

“The bare minimum would have been wishing me luck and sending me on my way.”

Yet, he’s done so much more than that. He’s comforted you, he’s fed you, kept you safe—

Then comes, once more, the wondering what would have happened if it weren’t for him. It’s not that you don’t think you’re capable of doing this on your own; if you had to, you would, but he’s made it so much easier for you.

Does he think you’re a burden?

You swallow, your eyes watering in an instant, because god fucking forbid that’s the case.

You realize now, that the reason you’re attached to him doesn’t fucking matter, but you don’t want to lose him. Not after all this.

Just when a tear slips down your cheek, a firm hand grabs your arm, startling you. You whip your head around, eyes wide, blown with fear.

It’s Jay, and he looks pissed, but more than that, scared. He looks you up and down, like he did in the dugout, but with a sense of urgency unlike before.

Like he needs to know, for certain, that you’re safe.

Just as he noticed the ball, the first time, he now notices the black cat tucked into your side. If he wasn’t so worried, he’d have smiled, but he does have an inward reaction. His heart clenches, fondly so.

He loosens his grip on your arm, but doesn’t let go. He lets out a breath, a sigh of relief, you think.

“Jay?” You whisper, scared that he’ll give you that look again, scared that he might, for some reason, shove you away.

Instead, he lifts his hand, and wipes your tear. “Why are you crying?” He whispers, brows furrowing like your pain is his own.

“I…I don’t know,” you shake your head dismissively, and instead of prying, he just nods, rubbing his thumb over your skin.

You swallow, feeling your eyes burn in response to how intense his gaze is, the tenderness in which he caresses your skin.

“Did I do something?” you choke out.

“What?” His brows furrow closer together, confusion spreading across his expression.

“You’ve been so…off today.” You murmur, “and I— I don’t know why, or if i’m overreacting.”

He blinks, lips parting as if to speak, before he closes his mouth, clenching his jaw like he always does.

“I just…i’m just worried.” He mutters. “Everything seems too calm, today, and it’s like…like i’m just waiting for the ball to drop. Maybe that’s pessimistic of me, but I can’t let my guard down.”

Your heart sinks. He is scared.

You lift your free hand, mirroring the way he’s caressing your cheek, and you shake your head slightly. “Pessimistic or not, it’s understandable,” You murmur.

He nods slightly, jaw clenching tighter as he ever so slightly nudges his head against your hand.

He steps closer, reaches for your waist with his free hand, and moves his hand down to the side of your neck. “I was worried something happened to you, and I somehow didn’t know. I’d…never have forgiven myself,” he whispers, so close that you can feel his breath on your lips.

“I thought you wanted space,” you muse honestly, and he shakes his head immediately.

“I want you by my side. At all times. I need to know you’re safe.”

You nod slowly, your heart swelling as he leans in, his nose brushing yours.

Before he can say anything else, you step closer and press your lips against his in a soft, careful kiss.

The rain seems to pour twice as heavy in an instant, and the sound fades into nothing as he devours your mouth with his own, yet remains tender as he kisses you back.

Your hand shifts to the back of his neck, and you hold him there, soaking up the kiss for every ounce of what it’s worth.

In this moment, you feel unlike yourself, in the best way. It’s an out of body experience, warm and tingly, making your heart race in a way that reminds you that you’re alive, rather than makes you anxious.

When he pulls back, and you begin to trail kisses down his cheek, towards his jaw, he shakes his head slightly, letting out a breath as he guides you back.

“Not like this. Not here,” he whispers, giving your cheek one more affectionate caress, before he releases you.

Despite your disdain, regarding the end of that moment, you nod slowly.

“…Did you get food?” You murmur, and Jay nods, gesturing to his backpack.

“I see you got your necessities too?” He gestures to the stuffed animal, finally allowing himself to smile about it.

You nod, glancing down at the items in your grasp. Mirrors of him, really, in rather odd ways.

“Good.” He nods, then puts a hand on your back, gently guiding you out of the store.

“We’re close.” Jay says quietly, as unlocks the hotel room door, holding it open for you.

“To the beach?” You ask, looking over your shoulder at him, as he shuts and locks the door, nodding in response.

“Yeah. I think we can make it by sunset tomorrow, if we leave early enough,” he muses, as he takes his backpack off, sets it on the desk next to the ball and your new stuffed animal.

You sigh quietly, staring at him from your place on the bed, as he pulls out two water bottles, and the same ramen cups that you had at his apartment.

He walks to the kitchen area, and carefully searches for a pot, which he places with extreme caution on the electric stove. He adds water, turns on the heat, then turns to you.

“Do you think the shower would be too loud?” You ask suddenly, gazing at him, and he shakes his head.

“It’s still raining,” He comments idly, reassuringly.

So, you get up and head into the bathroom, shutting the door carefully. You take your time, carefully pulling out towels, discarding your clothes.

Then, you get in the shower, for the first time in several days, washing the grime off of your skin. You choose not to think about having to put your dirty clothes back on, in favor of savoring the warm water, the feeling of getting clean.

Meanwhile, Jay remains in the kitchen, quietly cooking the ramen. He smiles to himself as he looks across the room, gazing at the stuffed animal he found you with.

Black, short fur, golden eyes, long whiskers. It’s cute, and what’s even cuter is the fact that you decided you had to have it.

His eyes flick to the ball, and he hums quietly to himself, then walks towards the desk, where he picks it up. It’s grown a bit dirty, and the signature is worn. He raises a brow, then turns to his backpack.

With the ball in one hand, he unzips the front pocket of his bag, and digs around, nodding affirmatively to himself when he finds what he was hoping for.

A sharpie.

He pulls the cap off and carefully traces his signature, then just for you, adds a little cat face, with a heart on the nose.

He sets the ball back down, then puts the sharpie away, before he returns to the stove, carefully stirring the noodles.

Just when he’s finishing up with the ramen, he hears the shower turn off. He grabs bowls, carefully separating the noodles into the two dishes.

He looks up when he hears the bathroom door open, and his eyes widen when he sees you, standing in nothing but a towel wrapped around your body.

He blinks a few times, the swallows, shifting his focus. “I should have grabbed clothes for you at one of the stores, i’m sorry—“

You smile. Of course that’s his concern.

He stands still as you walk towards him, until you grab his hand, gently pulling him towards the bed.

“It’s fine,” you whisper, gently sliding your fingers into his hair. He grunts quietly, leaning into your touch, where he lets you guide him towards you, until your noses ghost against one another’s for the second time.

This time, though, he kisses you, not the other way around.

You sigh into the kiss, shuddering as his hands find your arms, cautious of the fact that you’re naked, safe from the towel.

Then, you drop it.

His hands pause when he hears the fabric his the floor, and he slowly pulls back, but his eyes stay on yours.

“Jay,” you murmur, “Can you stop trying to be respectful for once?” You laugh quietly, and he manages a small, tight-lipped smile.

“I don’t want to do anything you don’t want,” he whispers, caressing your cheek. His hand slowly drifts down your neck, hovering over your collarbone.

“I want this. I want you. I’ll tell you to stop, if need be, I promise,” You murmur, and he nods his head slowly.

His hand drifts lower, and he drags his other hand upwards, letting them both find your breasts at the same time. His brows suddenly knit together, and his hands slide back down, his arms wrapping around your form.

“You’re cold,” he whispers with concern, and you huff quietly, sliding your arms around his shoulders, pressing yourself into his embrace.

“I’m okay, Jay,” you respond, gently gripping the fabric of his shirt. “And if you don’t do something, I promise the least of your issues will be my body temperature.”


He snickers, the sound low and amused, as he nods, rubbing your back. His hands slide lower, until he’s groping your ass, gently pushing you towards the bed with his body.

He got the memo. Good.

You lay down, and your eyes double in size when he suddenly sinks to his knees. He wraps his arms around your thighs, drags you towards the edge of the bed, and starts peppering kisses along your legs, from the side of your shins, up to your inner thighs.

“Is this okay?” he breathes into your skin, glancing up just long enough to see you nodding eagerly.

He presses a kiss to the mound of your cunt, then kisses your slit, before his tongue darts out, and in a smooth, warm stripe, licks between your folds, flicking over your clit.

You gasp, reaching down to tangle one hand in his hair, the other curling into the blanket beneath you. “Jay—“

He draws back, and spits directly onto your pussy, then buries his head between your thighs, spreading his saliva, adding to your already evident arousal.

“Jesus, you taste good,” he mutters against you, swirling his tongue around your clit, his tongue then dipping down to prod at your entrance.

You spare a look between your legs, and holy fuck—

His eyes are shut, brows taut with focus, and he’s practically making out with your sopping cunt, the mixture of his saliva and your arousal dripping down your ass.

He slides his mouth down, then suckles his way back up, suckling gently at your clit, then a little more greedily when a moan rips from your throat.

He shifts one hand from your thigh, and gently pushes his middle finger into your clenching hole, groaning at the way you’re starting to grind against his mouth and finger. He slides a second finger into you, gently thrusting them into your needy pussy, while he continues focusing on your clit with his tongue.

“Jay, fuck, baby— i’m—“

You whimper, and Jay’s fingers curl into the plump flesh of your thigh, an instinctive response to the sound, while he pushes you closer to a climax.

“Give it to me,” he almost growls against you, his voice rasped and muffled against your slick heat.


“Jay, Jay—“ You repeat his name like a mantra, voice breaking when you finally come undone, hips rolling forward involuntarily.

Jay guides you through your orgasm, his fingers and tongue working rhythmically to draw out the pleasure.

When he feels your hand pushing against his head, he draws back, but his eyes linger on your pulsing cunt, and he hums, slowly drawing his fingers out of you.

He huffs quietly, almost in awe, as your walls squeeze around his fingers, and gently pats your pussy, as if to soothe you, but the motion makes you jolt.

Your lips part, but you’re too fucked out to say anything yet.

Jay stands, then leans over you and kisses you softly, your essence lingering on his lips.

“Stay here,” he murmurs against your mouth, then turns around, and disappears into the bathroom. When he returns, he’s got a wash cloth, which seems to be damp, and he gently cleans between your legs in a way that’s borderline uncomfortable with how intimate it is, even if he was just tongue deep in your pussy.

He sets the rag on the edge of the bed, then reaches around your body as you sit up, to pull the comforter around you.

You slide your arms around his shoulders, though, and he laughs gently. “Baby, there’s food…that’s now cold,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder.

“And?” you mumble, as you stroke his hair, burying your face against his shoulder, sighing into his shirt. He rubs your back, humming.

“I gotta make sure my girl is fed, yeah? So level with me, and let me get the food.”

Reluctantly, you release him, but not before stealing another kiss. He kisses you firmly, a promise to return, even if he’s not leaving your line of site.

He goes back to the stove, grabs the bowls, and dumps the contents back into the pot, turns on the heat.

“While we wait for that,” he says, voice gentle, he walks to his backpack, unzips it, and pulls out a small container.

Nutella.

DAY THREE:

You didn’t remember falling asleep.

In fact, the first thing you recalled when you woke up, was the fact that Jay had given you one of the best orgasms you’ve had in years.

Your cheeks warmed, your skin tingled like you could still physically feel the effects from what he’d done.

You were quick to realize his absence, though.

However, there was a reminder of his presence left in your arms. One you know you didn’t put there yourself.

The stuffed animal, tucked into your side.

Wrapping your head around the bits and pieces of context, like the idea of Jay choosing to tuck you in with your new plushie, you realized the shower was running.

You sat up, blinking tiredly as you pulled the comforter up to your chest, eyes fluttering shut as one hand rested on the toy next to you.

Then, you heard it. Or, him, more accurately.

A wet, repetitive sound. Gentle slaps, sharp breaths.

Your brows furrowed, and it hit you rather harsh, the realization. Jay was jerking off. In the shower.

You also realized in that moment that you had never returned the favor, after he ate you out, but he didn’t really give you the chance to.

You crawled out of bed and wandered closer to the bathroom, the sound becoming clearer with each step. You could hear it vividly, each stroke, each shake of his breath, meshed with the flowing water.

So, maybe you listened to the whole thing, until he let out a quiet, strangled noise, muffled by the shower stream. You gave it a few moments, then knocked on the door.

Meanwhile, in the shower, Jay nearly jumped out of his own skin. He hadn’t been bothered that you didn’t return the favor; he’s never been that kind of guy. That being said, that didn’t mean his dick wasn’t feeling neglected.

He’s a gentleman, though, and was driven by the very real image of you in bed, naked. He refused to let himself try to wake you, just to fuck you, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t imagine that pretty body of yours, right?

Anyways, he was startled. Like, seriously startled.

To be fair, he was just cumming to the thought of your noises and your delicious pussy—

“It’s unlocked.” He’d call, voice barely audible over the water. You spared a glance at the large window; the city is emptier than ever, and it’s raining. Again.

Jesus fucking christ. Sure, it’s typically pretty gloomy in Seattle, but raining for days straight?

You paid little to no mind to that, though, and instead pushed open the bathroom door.

“Sorry to bother,” you said, voice smooth, innocent like you hadn’t just heard some particularly lewd noises. “I uh…before we go, i’d just really like to brush my teeth.”

“Not a problem. Go for it.” Jay responded, voice thick, like he was caught.

He was.

You didn’t say that, though.

Instead, you helped yourself to the toothbrushes he snagged from the front area of the hotel, as they seemed to offer basic toiletries at the front desk.

When you reached for the handle, to turn on the water, you grinned.

“I don’t want to be too loud, or mess up your shower…can I just borrow some of your water?”

When you peaked in to wet your tooth brush, he stood, facing away from you. You were still naked, after all, and he didn’t find it exactly respectful to flaunt his slowly hardening—again—dick in your face first thing.

You held in a snicker, began brushing your teeth as you turned away from him.

Yes, you did want to brush your teeth, but more than that, you had to get a mental picture of him, post jack off.

After that unfortunate event (for him), you would get dressed, pack up, and head for what you hoped to be the final stretch of your journey to the beach, to your escape.

It had remained smooth sailing. That part was worrisome, for some reason.

With that in mind, you simply remained glad that you had made it this far.

You and Jay were walking in silence, as you’d done the last two days. It was peaceful, in an eerie way. The empty streets, the rain, the cool breezes, the quiet.

It all felt like the calm before a storm, like it was only a matter of time before the real thing showed up.

Today, you and Jay lingered a little closer to one another. His hand remained on your back, and you often found his fingers, lacing them with your own. Maybe, in some weird way, you guys had figured it out, how to cope with it all.

That being said, Jay had also seemed…tense. Again.

However, it became evident all too quickly that it was for a completely different reason this time.

Clearly, his shower session didn’t cut it.

You’re assuming so, given the very obvious hard-on that’s prominently pushing against his pants.

Poor guy.

You spare several glances, not concerned with subtlety at this point. You’re pretty sure he’s well aware that you knew what he was getting up to this morning, and regardless of that, you wouldn’t be opposed to him knowing that you’re hoping to feel more than just his fingers and tongue- amazing as they were.

Looking ahead, there’s a lingering smirk on your face, the knowledge of his not-so-little predicament bringing you some sort of twisted joy.

So, you decide to have fun with it.

First, you walked ever so slightly faster than him. Just enough to be in front of him. When you could feel his gaze—because it’s always intense, the way he watches your movements—you tug your shorts up, and definitely higher than necessary.

Jay notices. His eyes flick down to your hands as they hike the shorts up, and he swallows, taking in the way they hug your backside, the way he can just barely catch a glimpse of the crease where your ass meets your thighs.

He swallows. Thickly. His cock twitches in his pants, and he thinks back to last night, when he was groping handfuls of the plump flesh.

He doesn’t do anything though. Why would he? He’s a respectful, patient man, and he’s just trying to get the both of you to something that resembles even a little bit of safety.

Secondly, you walked ahead for sometime. Maybe half an hour, at most, just long enough to feel your shorts finally un-wedge themselves from between your ass cheeks.

You’re praying the wedgie was worth it.

You look up at the sky, dim, but not as gloomy as it has been. Then, you come to a sudden stop.

Behind you, Jay was busy averting his gaze from your backside, internally begging himself to get it the fuck together.

When he bumps into you, and you stumble forward slightly, not-so-accidentally dropping your stuffed animal, he blinks.

He presses his lips together in a firm, set line, and his eyes bulge when you lean down.

And third, you make a point to push back against him as you reach down to grab your beloved black cat plushie.

His breath hitches. His nostrils flare.

It’s taking every fiber of his being to not grab you by the hips and hump you like a fucking dog—

Then, you stand up and keep walking.

He’s going to lose his mind, he thinks.

By your fourth teasing advance, Jay caught onto your little game. His dick is throbbing in his pants, and he’s still thinking about your little acts, the way your ass felt against his dick, how all he could imagine was sliding his cock between your cheeks, dipping the head into your sopping cunt.

Fuck. The way you squeezed around his fingers.

An hour or so after that last incident, the rain starts. In this particular part of the city, there’s hardly any awnings for you to find purchase under, so, he pulls you into a random store, of which you find is an abandoned boutique.

You wander through the store while Jay pulls water bottles and snacks out of his bag, reorganizing some of the contents within his backpack.

He glances over his shoulder every now and again, watching the way you trace the details on some of the clothes.

“You should grab something, if you want it,” he comments idly, zipping up his backpack. He discretely reaches down to readjust his boner, eyes screwing shut.

You end up grabbing a sweater. It’s material is thin and soft, not too heavy, but enough that it’ll knock the chill of the occasional breezes as you and Jay walk through the city.

The clothing is cute, but not particularly practical for what you and Jay are doing, so you don’t bother with most of it.

When you return to Jay, he’s eating a protein bar, holding water in his other hand. You sit down in front of him, on your knees, and grin when he takes a sip of water, a droplet dribbling down his chin.

You smirk.

When you reach out to wipe it away, in a particularly promiscuous manner, he grabs your wrist.

“Stop.” He says firmly. “We are too fucking close to risk it, yeah? Just…wait.”

Theres an unspoken promise laced in his tone.

A promise to fuck you?

You fucking hope so, because the way he’s looking at you meshed with the sternness of his voice is incredibly arousing, and you’re still craving more from him after last night.

Nevertheless, you guys “refuel”, use the bathroom, then leave, walking through a lighter drizzle now that the rain has calmed.

It’s mid day, by now, you assume you haven’t had phone signal since the start of this mess, and your phones been dead since yesterday, anyways.

Another hour or so passes, before your next stop.

Jay gently grabs your hand, coming to his own stop, which makes you pause as well. He glances up at the label on a small building, the looks at you.

It’s a studio.

He pulls you into said building, and once the door is shut, he talks lowly.

“I used to come here, record music—“

Your gasp of interest makes him grin, but he shakes his head dismissively. “I never published anything, or even really did much. Just some sessions here and there, but I did come often to get some peace and quiet,” He explains as he guides you down a hall, and pushes open the door to a recording room.

He puts his backpack down in the rolling chair, then turns to you, gently taking the baseball and your stuffed animal.

He looks down at the cat, raising a brow. “Have you named it yet?”

“Jongseong.”

“What?” He looks up at you, confused by the fact that you called him by his government name.

“The cat. His name is Jongseong,” you clarify, and Jay breaks into a laugh as realization dawns on him.

“I see.”

He taps the nose of the cat, then sets it down on top of his bag, as well as the baseball.

“I don’t get what we’re doing in here,” you then say, tilting your head at him. “Like, did you just want to see it before we leave, or?”

He steps forward, reaching out to grab you by the waist. He pulls you in, slowly pushing your new sweater off of your shoulders.

“I’m fucking dying, honey,” he murmurs, and your eyes widen with realization.

Oh, fuck.

“Yeah?” You whisper, reaching out to drag your hands down his sides, letting one trail down to the bulge that has yet to soften within the confines of his jeans.

You bite your lip as you palm him, feeling him up through the denim, which is too thick of a barrier for you to really feel more than the obvious fact that it’s hard.

“Wait, baby,” he murmurs, gently pulling you into the recording box itself. He shuts the door, then turns to you, and pulls you into a searing kiss.

His hands roam your body, and he doesn’t waste any time unbuttoning your denim shorts, pushing them down your legs.

He hums against your lips, groping your ass with more greed than he did last night. Your hands are in his hair, tugging and pulling with need as you melt into the kiss, letting his tongue dance with yours.

It’s nasty and desperate, the way you’re kissing, bodies rolling rhythmically into one another’s.

His fingers dip under your shirt, and he pulls away from the kiss just to pull both your top and bra off in one fell swoop, leaving you in nothing but your panties.

“Fuck,” he breathes, hands trailing up your sides, until he’s groping your boobs, his hands gentle, mindful of his strength.

Your brows are furrowed, and you’re internally freaking out. You’re supposed to keep quiet while this man—hopefully—pounds you into next week? Right, right.

“Not fair,” you whisper, and he tilts his head, sliding his hands up to your cheeks, as he leans down to kiss his way up your breasts, to your lips.

He kisses you, open-mouthed and sensual. “What’s not fair?” He whispers back.

You don’t dare mention your concern regarding your ability to be quiet, because you refuse to pass up this opportunity.

You reluctantly pulling your fingers out of his hair, and instead tug at his shirt. “I’m damn near naked, and you’re fully clothed,” You murmur.

He hums. “Where are my manners? I’m sorry, honey,” He almost coos, before he pulls his shirt over his head, and you’re already working at his jeans.

He caresses your hair, a breathy laugh leaving his lips as you yank down his jeans, mouth watering when you see his dick, strained and twitching through the fabric of his underwear.

“Can I?” You whisper, looking up at him. His fingers caress your cheek, and he tilts your chin up.

“Say please.” He purrs.

“Please, Jay,” you respond with quiet, but honest need, and he nods slowly.

When you tug his underwear down, you take him in, naked before you. He’s fucking gorgeous, all tanned, honey-toned skin, chiseled slopes, and his dick is hard, throbbing, precum making his head look slick.

You look up at him, his hand lingering on your cheek, looking for guidance. You’d happily suck him off, but you wouldn’t be opposed to him fucking you right here, right now.

“Shit. I don’t…” He sighs, brows pinched together. “I don’t have any condoms, we can’t-“

“I have an IUD.”

He blinks, and when you nod reassuringly, he nods back, silently communicating with you. It’s okay. This is okay.

“Come here,” he murmurs, gently pulling you to your feet. He pushes you against the wall, and the foam-like material is soft against your hands as you brace yourself, arching your back.

He grips your hips, starts kissing your shoulder, moving down your back, until he sinks to his knees, and yanks your panties down.


He grips your ass, spreading your cheeks, his eyes fixed on the growing arousal making a mess of your pretty pussy.

You gasp when he dives in, burying his tongue between your folds, licking long, thick stripes from your clit to your ass, like he didn’t get enough last night, like he’s been craving this all day.

Has he?

You can only assume so, with the way he moans into your cunt, fucking his tongue into you, licking up your slick.

“Jay,” you whimper breathily, fingers digging into the wall. “Jay—“

“Honey?” He pauses, “Talk to me, sweet girl,” he murmurs, rubbing your lower back.

“The— the noise,” you whisper, letting out a shaky breath. “I can’t…”

Can’t shut the fuck up.

And while dying as he fucks you sounds like the best way to go out, you refuse to not have this man for at least a little longer.

Jay hums, then slowly stands, kissing his way up your back. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t reassure you, or respond at all.

He guides his cock between your thighs, rubbing the head between your lips, nudging your clit with each slow thrust.

Then, when he slides into you, he fucking whimpers.

Your eyes screw shut, and you let out a shaky, broken noise, an inaudible plea, fear and arousal consuming you.

He starts slow, fucking deep into your sopping, needy pussy, and gradually builds up to rough, calculated thrusts.

You cover your mouth with your hands, and Jay supports you by holding your hips, dragging you back and forth on his dick, to meet his thrusts.

There’s wet smacking noises, loud and filthy, but what’s even more nasty?

He leans forward, his chest pressing against your back, and kisses your shoulder, then lets out a loud, raw moan as his tip nudges your cervix.

“It’s soundproof, honey,” he whispers, “I—“ He grunts, thrusting into you, his fingers digging into your hips to help him stable himself.

“I forgot about this place,” he explains through strained noises and heavy breaths, “But we’re safe here…and I want to hear you,” He slides one hand up your back, then wraps it around your throat, gently guiding you to stand up more straight, arched against his frontside, while he fucks into you.

His other hand slides between your legs, and he rubs your clit, thrusting into you, kissing your cervix gently with each thrust, just barely nudging it with the tip of his cock; not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you just how deep he is.

“Fuck,” you cry out, a single tear sliding down your cheek, and he gently kisses the tear.

“Don’t cry, honey,” he whispers, “It feels good, doesn’t it? I know, I know,” He soothes you, whimpers ripping from your throat, as you finally let go of the fear.

He gently pushes you back against the wall, lets go of your throat, and caresses your hair, before his hand returns to your hip.

You lean your weight into the wall, moaning as he rubs your clit and thrusts into you, his own noises meshing with yours.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan, eyes rolling back as you’re beginning to hurdle towards an orgasm.

“That’s it, sweet girl,” he coos, “Taking me so fucking good, being such a good girl—“ He’s cut off by his own moan, and he speeds up both his thrusts and the circles he’s rubbing on your clit.

“I’m so close,” you whimper, brows furrowed with pleasure as Jay continues pounding into you, his pelvis smacking against your ass.

He hums greedily, the sound bordering on a low growl. “Cum for me, honey,” he pleas lowly, feeling his own orgasm approaching, his head falling back for only a moment before he lifts his head.

He needs to see you. He needs to take in how fucking sexy you are, how attracted he is to you.

“Jay, Jay—“ You whine, gasping as your orgasm rips through your body, your skin tingling and warm, your vision going white for a moment as he pounds into you.

He only slows his motions on your clit when you start muttering that it’s sensitive, and then, he grabs your hips, and his thrusts become harder, more desperate.

He moans, his jaw slack as he thrusts into you. “Fuck, baby, i’m gonna cum,” He breathes.

You look over your shoulder, managing to get a decent view at his expression, how he is so utterly focused on the way his dick disappears between your thighs, the way your ass recoils with each thrust.

“Holy—“ His eyes roll back, and his hips stutter, his thrusts slowing to a stop. He leans against your back as he cums, shooting ropes of hot semen into you, filling you with more than just his dick, now.

He lets out a breath as he kisses your shoulder, and wraps his arms around your middle, hugging you from behind. You lean into him, making a quiet noise when his cock slips out of you.

You grimace at the feeling of his cum sliding down your thighs, and he huffs a sheepish laugh.

“I’m sorry,” He murmurs, kissing your cheek softly.

“It just feels weird,” you giggle quietly, shaking your head. “And it’s okay. Didn’t want you to pull out anyways.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “Fuck.”

After cleaning up to the best of your abilities, Jay suggested that you both take a small rest here, in the safety of the soundproof room.

So, you’re leaning into his side, fidgeting with your ball, while he sips on water, his eyes closed as he relaxes against the wall.

As you look down at the item in your hands, you realize that the signature is no longer worn.

In fact, it’s brand new, and has a new addition. The outline of a cat, with a heart in place of the nose.

Suddenly, your eyes are watery. The ball means so much to you because it’s from him. Maybe you subconsciously knew that he’d become part of your life, from the jump.

Even if that wasn’t the case at the time, now, you can happily confirm that the ball is important solely because it’s from him. It represents how you met, it represents his passion for baseball, it represents the comfort the mere thought of his presence has brought you in the last three, horrifying days.

“You signed it again.”

“Yeah. I did,” he murmurs, peeling his eyes open. “I did it when you were in the shower, the other day.”

Staring down at the signature, you sniffle, then look up at him. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. It was the right thing to do.” He whispers, an ode to his refusal to credit himself, because of course he’d brush it off.

Rolling your eyes, you lean in, capturing his lips in a loving kiss.

It’s storming.

Like, properly storming. The rain comes down so harshly that the droplets almost sting, lightning strikes scarily close, and thunder booms so loudly it startles you every time.

Jay walks next to you, holding your hand. In his backpack, now, is your baseball and cat, an attempt to protect them from the weather.

You can see the beach, now, in the distance. Your heart is heavy, and there’s this feeling of dread, like something’s not quite right.

Jay feels it too. The atmosphere is heavy, and there’s this haunting sense of doom.

As soon as you make it to the sand, you stop dead in your tracks.

Hundreds of bodies, missing limbs, clothes, faces. They’re mauled and some are even slightly decomposed.

In the distance, a horn blares loudly, and you look ahead at the same time as Jay.

The boats are so far from the port that you can hardly make them out, but both of you realize one very unfortunate, critical detail.

The death angels, or whatever they were calling it on the news? They’d clearly been here. They’d been hunting down every single being who tried to get on the boats, and now?

There’s several on each boat, and there it is once again. That shrieking, high pitched noise they make.

You and Jay are met with a very grim realization.

You won’t be leaving Seattle.

You look at him, he looks at you.

Then, with unspoken communication, you both turn away from the gruesome scene, to face the very place you’d been trying to escape.

“…Looks like it’s you and me, honey.” He says, squeezing your hand.

You nod. You can do this, if it’s with him.

y/n knows she’s being reckless.

the fancy hotel hallway stretches out in front of her, all muted lights and thick, patterned carpet designed to swallow sound. still, every step she takes feels too loud, the soft click of her shoes echoing in her head like a countdown.

they didn’t think this through, she tells herself. It’s completely risky. stupid, even.

this is definitely the kind of thing she never done. she’s never been the girl who sneaks into a guy’s place just because he texted come see me like it’s nothing. and yet, the image of jay after finishing the race won’t leave her alone; champagne-soaked, breathless, eyes curved into soft crescents as he holds his trophy on the podium—

okay.

maybe she’s being a little selfish. choosing him over caution, after so many months of doing what’s best for them. nevertheless, she can’t remember the last time she wanted something this badly and didn’t reach for it.

y/n stops in front of his door before she can talk herself out of it.

her hand hesitates for a quick second over the door and barely has time to knock before it swings open almost immediately, like jay’s been standing right there, pacing, checking the peephole, counting her footsteps.

and, oh boy.

jay is still in podium-mode. his dark hair is damp and chaotic, strands pushed back messily, like champagne’s been spilled into it and forgotten about. his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are a little wild, post-podium fever still running through him. he’s wearing a black button-up, two buttons undone. y/n notices the collar sits slightly crooked, like he dressed in a hurry, sleeves rolled up unevenly, like he never meant to be presentable, just ready.

there’s a faint scent of something sharp on him, liquor, maybe. or maybe just the rush of him being here, in front of her, after weeks apart.

that is when y/n realises all of him is right there, close enough to touch and even more to completely ruin her. and for a second, neither of them moves. neither of them says hi, or even dares to breathe.

his eyes lock onto hers and something in his expression shifts; gaze softening into something darker, warmer. like he needs to truly look at her just to convince himself she’s real. like she’s really standing there, in front of him, after a day that big.

his hand then twitches at his side, undecided. as if he wants to touch her but can’t choose where: her jaw, her waist, her hair. he doesn’t even know where to start.

so she closes the distance between them before he can decide, grabbing the front of his shirt and kissing him hard.

it catches him completely off guard, but his hands grab her waist, messy and instinctive, pulling her even closer as if his body figured it out before his head did. his mouth is warm and hungry, tasting faintly of champagne, and she makes a small, involuntary sound at the taste of it.

it’s not gentle, not careful; it’s weeks of restraint breaking all at once: late-night texts, stolen looks across the paddock, secret dates. everything they’ve refused to do crashing together.

“fuck—” jay breathes, breaking away only because he has to. “you—”

she kisses him again before he can finish.

this one is slower. deliberate. like she’s been imagining it for weeks and finally gets to do it exactly the way she wants. his grip shifts, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of her head. gentle even as he kisses her deeper, like he can’t decide if he wants to devour her or protect her. he backs them inside the room without breaking contact, her back hitting a wall with a soft thud she barely registers.

the hotel room door swings shut behind them and suddenly it’s just them.

“I wanted you here,” jay says against her lips, voice wrecked. “all day. couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

y/n’s fingers slip into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan into her mouth. in response, his teeth catch her bottom lip, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make her gasp into his mouth.

“i missed you,” he murmurs into the corner of her mouth. the words are slurred, swallowed by another kiss, but they land like a confession anyway.

“yeah?” y/n murmurs against his lips like the complete tease she is.

all he can do is nod, breathless, kissing along her jaw now. “yeah. this—” kiss. “this is all I wanted.”

and she feels it. the edge of him, the way adrenaline still hums through his body, how the high of the podium bleeds into the way he touches her. it’s the first time she actually experiences this version of him: post-race, wired, alive, impossible to slow down.

he pauses just long enough to slide her coat down her arms. careful and unhurried. he then guides her away from the door and farther inside the room without ever breaking the kiss. leading her down onto his bed without breaking the kiss, following her down without hesitation. one hand still cradling the back of her head, the other braced at her waist.

she exhales softly into his mouth as she reclines. until she barely registers a subtle resistance beneath her, something not quite right. her brow creases instinctively, a tiny sound leaving her throat as her back arches without meaning to.

of course jay notices instantly.

before she can even pull back or reach for it herself, jay’s grip shifts. he breaks the kiss only by a breath, just enough to murmur a soft, “hold on.” against her mouth, and then his hands are everywhere in the most deliberate way.

one arm slides under her lower back, lifting her with surprising ease, guiding her up and closer to him so she’s supported fully against his chest. the movement presses her into him, careful but intimate, like he knows exactly how to hold her without asking.

with his other hand, he reaches under y/n and clears the bed in one smooth motion. moves whatever was on their way aside without looking, without thinking. like it was never even worth her discomfort.

and then y/n sees it: the plushie. her plushie. the stupid chili-shaped jelly cat she sent him earlier, falling off the bed. 

she blinks, breath hitching as she realizes what just happened.

jay settles her back down just as carefully, hand still at her back until he’s sure she’s comfortable. only then does he lean back in, forehead brushing hers.

“better?” he murmurs.

y/n nods, a little dazed. “yeah.”

something soft flashes across his face. relief, satisfaction. before it melts away again into that now familiar heat. 

her fingers sliding up into his hair with new urgency, and she kisses him back harder, deeper, like she wants him to feel how much that whole stunt of him mattered. how him having her silly plushie already on his bed made her weak.

jay lets out a quiet, surprised sound against her mouth — needy, unguarded — and his grip on her tightens instantly. 

“fuck.” he breathes, barely there.

she takes it as an opportunity to pull back just enough to catch her breath, resting on her elbows so she’s propped up, leaning toward him without really letting go. eyes roaming over him.

he looks undone in the quiet hotel light: his hair more disheveled than before, breath uneven, eyes dark and searching. like he’s waiting for her to decide something. 

his lips are pink and swollen now, her gloss smudged at the corner of his mouth.  the tiniest mark brushed higher, almost toward the slope of his nose like she kissed him there without even realizing. 

this close, she can notice everything: the freckles dusting his cheeks, the faint scar across his nose, the tiny mole between his brows. 

he looks wrecked. soft. real.

her thumb drifts across the scar on the bridge of his nose. he freezes for half a heartbeat, then lets out a low, stunned sound because she knows that spot, and she’s touching it like it belongs to her. 

she smiles playfully at him. “congratulations on the podium.”

the effect is instant: his body stills just for his hands to tighten on her like she’s just handed him something dangerous. his eyes darken, shining with something fierce and unguarded.

“god,” he murmurs, kissing her again like she’s his reward. like she’s the only thing that matters.

this kiss is different. just as hot, yet heavier now. loaded with meaning neither of them is brave enough to name right there.

when they finally pull apart, foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air, jay laughs softly under his breath.

“i won my first podium,” he says, like he’s still trying to wrap his head around it.

“and you ran away to see me,” she teases.

he smiles, crooked, boyish. “yeah.”

then, quieter: “you’re the only person I wanted to celebrate with.”

first 🏎️ | previous | next

a/n: good i love make out scenes... i hope i did them justice! it took me so LONG to write this bc i wanted it to be perf for their first kiss after all the slow burn i put u through 😭. also, happy comeback day!!! KNIFE IS CRAAAZY. what is your favorite song atm?? mine is stealer omfg.

Your whole life, you were taught the upbringing of your family’s history. You lived by it. Learned from it. The family history had all started from a woman. Yet she wasn’t just someone ordinary. She was deemed a saintess. The Saintess—handpicked by the gods. Chosen to help, aid, and lead. As she went on spreading her wisdom and solace to the people. The saintess soon met an unfamiliar being—a dragon. 

The mystical being was unlike anything she had seen before. Eyes colored like gold that quietly held the lowering sun in its eyes, scales that glistened like obsidian whether in the sun or moonlight. Then when the dragon morphed into a human, it was shown to have midnight hair that swept across the floor, with a build that of an adult man, all while still having those piercing golden eyes. The Saintess soon became intrigued by this being. Her only wish was to form a friendship—a connection. The Dragon happily accepted her offer, hoping to learn more about the humans that shared the world with him.

But soon The Saintess would be betrayed by The Dragon. It was said he hurt the people around The Saintess, going as far as burning down the things important to her. From then on The Dragon was sworn to never be forgiven so long as The Saintess willed it. As The Saintess’ kin expanded, so did The Dragon’s. As the children of The Saintess grew older and bore children of their own, the blessing bestowed by the gods withered away. With it, they were now regular humans that walked along the earth. 

While learning your family’s history, you were strictly told to never converse with the dragon, look at him, or ever be near him. You didn’t understand why your parents stressed on it. Maybe it was the fact you were the first girl born to the family in centuries. Even then it was a consistent reminder at every social gathering. Even so, you never once saw the infamous dragon.

That was until the year of your debutante. 

There he stood, in the middle of the ballroom—glued to the Emperor’s side. Plastered in iron armor from shoulder to toe, accompanied with a black cape which dragged across the floor. As you studied him you took note of the intricate sword securely sheathed at his side. Just like the story, the dragon had midnight hair. But his eyes were a different color—from a distance they looked to be silver, but you knew it held more than that. Even if you couldn’t talk about the dragon, you knew of him. 

Said to be both the Emperor’s war dog, as well as his adoptive brother. You heard many things that were whispered amongst the maids at home. 

“I heard he won a whole war without even needing an army to back him up!” One maid stated. 

“Well I heard he’s killed over thousands and thousands of men! On and off the battlefield!” Another maid chimed in.

You didn’t remember much of what the maids gossiped over or chatted about in truth. But every time you heard the fleeting giggles and whispers of his name, you were quick to eavesdrop. Not caring if what was said about him was negative or positive. You truly wanted to learn more about him. Part of you felt connected to him. Perhaps it was the way you grew up listening about the family history. Or maybe it was the insistent discipline from your father and mother to stay away from him. Despite all of that you grew curious of him.

Soon your ears perked at the mere exchange of his name echoing amongst the chatter. Head turning slightly to catch a peripheral view of him. Even underneath all the heavy armor you knew his build was strong, his height clearly showed for that, since he was many inches taller than the Emperor.

Your body gently jolted at the firm hand suddenly placed on your shoulder. “Y/N sweetheart I was calling out for you.” It was your father. “The Emperor wishes to congratulate you on your coming of age.” lips turning into a soft smile.

“Sorry Father. I was lost in thought for a mere moment.” Flashing an apologetic smile.

“It’s okay sweetheart, let’s not keep His Majesty waiting.”

Placing your hand on his forearm, you both made your way to the two special guests. You could feel your father tense up as you neared the Emperor and dragon. It was your first time being face to face with the man you were forbidden to see. Of course your overly protective father would be stressed in this scenario.

“If it isn’t the lady of the hour!” 

As you approached the Emperor, a smile spread across your lips. Your steps stopped, fingers grabbing the outer layer of your intricately designed dress, curtseying before greeting him. “Greetings to the empire’s sun.” As you rose back up, your fingers still held onto the silk fabric—waiting for the Emperor to dismiss you.

“I can’t believe you’re already seventeen Y/N. I remember you being only five years old, as if it was just yesterday! You have truly grown into a beautiful young lady!” As the Emperor spoke proudly your body eased—knowing you were able to speak rather comfortably with him.

“Your Majesty, thank you for the sweet words.” Your soft smile unwavering. “I’m very thankful for your help in setting up my debutante. I am truly lucky having His Majesty lend a helping hand.” 

As your father, The Emperor, and you conversed a little more, The Emperor’s words were cut short. “My. Where are my manners? I haven’t even introduced you to my dear brother.” His hand gestured the dragon forth.

Your head tilted up. Finally face to face with the man you heard so much about since the moment you first heard of his name. You were finally looking at Jay. It would have been a lie if you denied not knowing his name. Of course you knew it. Your parents may have forbid any mention in front of them and you, but that didn’t stop the hushed talks within the manor. From the first day you heard his name, you made sure to memorize it—him—like a memoir. 

“Y/N I would love for you to meet my brother Jay. I’m sure you’ve heard many things about him?”

A gentle laugh left your lips, readying yourself to lie in front of your father and Emperor. “No, not that I am aware of. My apologies for that.” Hand placed on your chest, you slightly bowed— feigning forgiveness. “It’s alright. Your lineage is indeed connected to The Saintess, so of course your father wouldn’t let you hear things about Jay.” The Emperor laughed. Chuckling at how serious your parents took The Saintess’ will.

“I’m so sorry Your Majesty. I pray that this act of parental care did not offend you.” Your father’s voice came off troubled, bowing in submission—fretting that he committed a horrible sin.

“Raise your head my dear friend. I am not offended in the slightest. Your deep adoration for your daughter is admirable. Don’t stress too much over it. Instead, may these two greet one another?” The Emperor placed his hand on your father’s shoulder, making sure to reassure his rising anxiety.

A light sigh left your father’s lips, happy to know the family wasn’t going to face the emperor’s wrath. Your father’s hand was firm on your upper back, gently ushering you to talk to Jay. Even if he seemed confident, deep down you knew how much he hated the idea of this. Taking the push, you warmly spoke. “It’s nice to formally meet you, Your Grace.” Curtseying once more. 

You felt nervous for some reason. Was it from finally meeting Jay in person, or could it have been the mana of his dragon powers—feeling like a lingering ghost against your skin. Your head craned up, waiting for his reply back. All you got was a gentle nod of his head, paired with a disinterested look. 

“Come on now Jay, give the young lady a response. Don’t just nod your head.” 

The addition of The Emperor’s words made you probe the interaction more. Was Jay unsatisfied with you? Was there something you did to displease him? Your soft smile faltered at the growing questions bubbling in your mind. 

“My apologies lady Y/N. It’s nice to meet you as well.” Jay lowered his head, bowing politely all while extending a hand to you. 

You felt hesitant to take it, already worried your presence alone was unsatisfactory. Yet once your hand was in his, it was almost as if a missing puzzle piece fell into its correct spot. The touch of armor on your skin was cold—soothing in a way. It felt as if your hand in his was right in the world. Your eyes flickered up to Jay’s face, finally taking the moment to study every feature on him. 

The first thing you noticed was the tinge of blue tucked into the depths of his eyes. Ever so lightly replicating the deep blue sea engulfed by sea foam. A gentle laugh verberated in your chest. Finding it amusing you were right about him—even if it was just his eyes. 

Jay’s head tilted slightly—unnoticed to the people around him. He found your hushed laugh sweet, wishing to hear more of it. Then his thoughts paused. Fist tightening as he remembered his place in the world. Even if he was curious about you, at the end of the day you were The Saintess’ kin. No amount of persuading within himself would make him pursue more than just watching you from where he stood. 

Noticing your hand still placed awkwardly in his. Jay leaned down, leaving a gentle peck of his lips against the back of your petite hand. Your face flushed at the sudden contact. It was indeed customary for men to kiss the hand of the woman they greeted. But you truly didn’t think Jay would do so. 

Suddenly your father cleared his throat—pretty loudly. The unexpected sound made you draw your hand away from Jay’s. Once your hand was away from his you turned to look at your father. While you looked away, Jay stared at the cold armor encasing his hand. He may not have felt the warmth of your hand directly. But that didn’t mean he missed the heavy weight of your hand in his. 

Looking at your father, you noticed the expression he gave. Almost as if he was signaling for you to finish up your interaction with Jay. Not wanting to stress out your father anymore than you already had, you turned back to Jay.

Finger tips grabbing the sides of your dress you bowed down. “It was very nice meeting you, Your Grace. But I believe my father wishes for me to head back with him.” Once finishing your sentence did you stand back up to face Jay.

“It was nice meeting you as well My Lady. Congratulations on your debut.” 

The corner of your lips lightly raised at his words. Giving one last curtsey, you turned to head back with your father. As you left, Jay’s eyes didn't look away from you—unsure of when he would truly see you face to face again.

“I see you had an enjoyable time talking to the girl.” The Emperor spoke—mocking evident in his tone. 

Jay’s head turned to glare at the man, displeased with how he referred to you. “Now. Don’t give me that look. You truly didn’t think I wouldn’t notice the clear enjoyment on your stoic face?” This time letting out a scoff. Jay turned away from The Emperor, unwilling to give him the reaction he wanted.

As The Emperor walked in front of Jay he spoke one last time. “But fret not my dear brother. You’ll see her again soon enough.” As Jay listened to his brother, his eyes landed back onto you. Watching you from the other side of the ballroom, brows furrowing as his words sank in. Jay knew something terrible was being planned.

With the ending of your debutante, years went by. Throughout the years you attended many more social gatherings. Within those gatherings you began to instinctively look for Jay. Eyes darting around looking for that familiar shade of black hair. But to your avail, there was no luck. Jay never showed up to any other social gathering since your debut. 

You soon found out he was sent to fight in a war after your debut, finally understanding his new lack of absence in society. Once hearing about the new information you stopped looking for him at the parties. Instead all you would do was pray for his safety. Every night as your hands were clasped together, you stood outside at your balcony asking the gods to look after his safety. 

You didn’t know why you did it. All you knew was if your parents found you praying for Jay’s safety, they surely would’ve died from shock. Even if your parents kept up the pretense of hating and disliking Jay due to his dragon origins. That didn’t stop you from wanting to care about his well being. You continued this new formed habit for the next year, before you would receive news that would truly change the path of your life.

Once Jay arrived back from war he was immediately told to have an audience with his brother. As much as he wished to ignore it and him, The Emperor was very insistent on wanting to speak to Jay. Making his way through the castle halls—followed by the echoing sound of heavy armor rattling with every step—Jay tugged the suffocating helmet from his head. Forehead still drenched in sweat from the long horseback ride to the kingdom. Now at the door of the audience chamber, Jay took one look at himself. He was still covered in blood. An annoyed sigh left his lips knowing his brother was going to surely lecture him about his appearance. 

Pushing through the heavy double doors himself, Jay made his way to stand before his brother. “Greetings to the Empire’s sun.” Jay’s voice was calm, yet held irritation behind it. Jay stood tall, hands behind his back—preparing himself for the conversation. As Jay prepared himself, The Emperor sat at the head of the room. Slouching slightly in his throne chair, eyes not leaving Jay for a single moment.

“My dear dear brother you’re finally back from the war. What has it been? Around five years or so?” The Emperor mocked. “You couldn’t have cleaned off the blood before you got here?” He complained while plugging his nose. 

“Well brother. You insisted I meet you right away to talk.” Jay retorted.

The Emperor sighed out. “Well it doesn’t matter. The thing I want to talk about with you is brief anyways.”

Jay’s fists curled tighter into his armored hands, a habit he created to not outwardly show his emotions. “And what was it you wish to tell me?”

The Emperor sat himself up on his throne. Preparing himself for the reaction his so-called dear brother would give him. “Well. I am arranging for you to marry that girl related to The Saintess.” A wicked smile now splayed across his face, truly amused with the twisted emotions coming across Jay’s face.

“Well in truth, the main reason for your arrangement is that I want you to have a child with her.”

Jay’s eyes widened, not with acceptance and joy, but that of unwillingness. Why would his brother do such a thing? His brother knew fully well of the circumstances within your family. There was no way imaginable they would agree to this arrangement. Your parents marrying their pure innocent daughter over to a monster like him? Then on top of that, having a child with you. It was ridiculous.

“I refuse.” As Jay answered, his voice came off more hoarse, more demanding and firm. This would be the first time in his life that Jay would refuse something his brother had commanded.

An amused laugh left The Emperor’s lips. “See I knew you’d say that. That’s why I’m gonna tell you something very important. So important that you truly won’t be able to refuse this arrangement.”

This time Jay let out a chuckle, believing his brother’s words to be one big bluff. “Then tell me. What type of information do you have that would ever make me say yes to this ridiculous plan of yours?”

“It pertains to your mother Jay.”

“What are you even saying? My mother died when she gave birth to me! You are my brother by title, so how dare you mention her like this!” Jay’s voice rose the more he spoke. Feeling his temper rise at the situation.

“To be truthful now. Your mother has been alive this whole time.” Jay’s face changed within the second. Brows furrowing at the thought of his mother—in which he never met since birth—being alive this whole time. “You see, after she gave birth to you some magicians of mine were able to keep her stable. So at the very moment she’s in this limbo of life and death. Essentially her death is controlled by me if we’re gonna be honest.” 

There it was again, that sly smile, The Emperor knew he truly had Jay in the palm of his hand yet again. While he gloated in satisfaction, Jay still stood there—bewilderment twisting into his facial features. “This. It can’t be true…”

“Why are you doing this, why her? Why need another monstrous child?!” Jay’s voice grew louder, all while his mind became engulfed with chaos.

A scoff echoed through the room. “That ridiculous family has finally birthed a daughter after only birthing sons for centuries. And while you are here alive and well why not take advantage of this chance? A child mixed with the blood of a Saintess and a Dragon born, don’t you think that would be exceptional for me?”

Jay stood there, not wanting to believe a single word. He always knew The Emperor was not as kind and gentle as he showed off, but this. This was nothing more than pure evil. “I know, I know. The sudden news is hard to accept. But if you ever want to meet your mother you know what needs to happen. How about you think on it. Okay?”

Jay thought about his brother’s words, the situation he was now being ushered into. Even if the dragon wasn’t raised by his mother, he always felt some sort of affectionate attachment to her. Hoping those emotions alone would soothe his misery of what he is. As Jay turned his body, The Emperor spoke one final time. 

“You know what will happen if you refuse Jay. So truly think wisely about this choice.” 

With those final words, Jay trudged his way out of the audience chamber. Pushing open the doors more meekly as the exchangement of words sank in. The walk to his room was one big blur, mind disoriented and filled with pros and cons on the marriage arrangement. 

Once inside Jay closed the doors behind him. As he stood there armor clad hands pressed against the wooden door, he couldn't help but feel defeated. Soon his hand curled into a fist, then with one swift motion Jay landed a punch onto the door. The contact of armor echoing throughout the room. 

“This can’t.” Jay sighed out. Truly not knowing what to do now. 

If there was one thing Jay knew for certain, was that you would die. 

While the children of The Saintess were blessed with her holy power. The Dragon’s kin were foretold to be cursed. From the moment they are born into the world they emerge from their mother’s stomach. Essentially killing the mother not even seconds after birth. Of course the newborn doesn’t wish to kill its only true source of nurture and love. But that was the price to pay for being the kin of The Dragon.

Yet his mother was somehow saved—even if it meant her being trapped in a limbo for the rest of her life—but that revelation wouldn’t teeter Jay from the truth. 

You were still weak and fragile. How could you possibly carry a dragon born in your body, especially for nine months? From the moment he first laid his eyes upon you he felt his whole world light up in a way he never knew could be possible. Even if five years had gone by he still remembered your face, the way you softly laughed that night, and even the comforting weight of your smaller hand in his. 

Jay felt an emotion for you he couldn’t quite pinpoint. It couldn’t have been love, for someone like him didn’t deserve to feel that luxurious emotion. Instead Jay deemed this new found feeling as obsession. Yes that’s what it was, the reason why you were on his mind those 5 years he spent fighting in the war. He couldn’t forget the way your hair framed your alluring face, or the way your gentle doe-like eyes started into him.

Jay was just enamored with the sole idea of you. But now with the new arrangement, this unwarranted obsession would in truth be harder to control. And deep down Jay wasn’t sure if he could accept that.

While Jay struggled with his new found information you were just as conflicted as well. That evening of hearing the news, your mother came into your room—panic evident in her voice. “My darling you must get dressed and come with me to your father’s office.” 

You sat in the seating area, book in hand. Your head shot up at the sudden disturbance of your mother. “Mother, what are you talking about?” Placing the now closed book in your lap.

“Just get dressed and we can talk about it when we’re with your father.” Your mother was surely hiding something. Yet your confused demeanor didn’t let you think too much on the matter. 

Before you could ask for your maid—Serim—to come in, your mother beat you to it. Serim was someone entrusted to you for the past couple of years. She was around your age, just a couple years older than you. Her hair was a light brunette color, accompanied with hazel eyes to match. Pulling yourself up from the cushioned chair. You proceeded to stand in front of the full body tri fold mirror. Arms out at your side, waiting for Serim to help undress you. 

Serim was quick with her work, she always had been. Efficient with styling your hair to match your attire. And Serim had achieved that once again. There you stood, hair done up in a half up-half down, paired with a casual cream colored dress with long sleeves. 

“There you are, My Lady. All done!” Serim stood to the side, allowing you to bask in your reflection. Even if Serim helped you with countless beautiful looks, she was still always happy with her finished work. 

You turned to smile at her, showing your utmost loyal appreciation for her. “Thank you Serim. You always know how to help and dress me up.”

“Oh please My Lady, you’re too kind!” 

Before you and Serim could go on more with your shared compliments, your mother was quick to stop you. “As much as I would love to sit and listen. Y/N, I really need you to come with me to your father’s office.” You quickly became quiet. “Oh, yes mother. My apologies.”

Your mother didn’t reply back—her attention focused more on meeting with your father. The walk to his office was quiet, yet oddly rushed. What was so important your mother showed clear stress towards the matter? “Mother is everything alright?” Questioning her, maybe even hoping she’d be willing to speak early on the matter. Instead you were ignored, her mind truly being only focused on the three of you speaking together. 

Finally making it to the office, the servants at the door pushed open the large doors to let you both inside. Now inside, it was only the three of you. You stood there beginning to feel awkward, your father sat at his desk—hands clamped together while his brows knitted into a tense expression. For your mother, she immediately made her way to the seating area, slouching into the couch—which was very unladylike of her.

After seeing this you knew there was something terribly wrong. “Mother. Father. What is it that is plaguing your mind so terribly at the moment?” Your voice broke the chilling silence. “Y/N.” A deep sigh left your father’s lips. “My sweetheart, please sit down.” You still stood there confused, taking a few seconds before making your way to sit down. Pulling out the seat in front of your father, you gracefully sat yourself to face him. “Father, please. What is going on? You and Mother are worrying me.” “Y/N, I. We.” Your father breathed in heavily, finding the words within himself—yet he still struggled to speak. 

After what felt like many minutes—which in truth was merely one minute—your father spoke. “We received a letter from the royal palace. More so, from The Emperor himself.” His words faded off. Your head tilted in confusion.

“What could truly be the problem? Our family has backed up the royal family for many centuries. What could His Majesty have said in his letter that has shaken you up like this?”

Soon you could hear the faint hicks and sobs from your mother, head frantically turning. Did the family do something to make His Majesty upset? What could there have been for your mother to now start crying. She was the type of lady to never show her inner emotions outwardly—unless she was by herself or with Father alone. Turning back to look at your father, his face looked paler than a few seconds ago. “Please! What is going on with the both of you? I’m starting to get scared.”

“My love! Just tell her already. I can’t let this go on for any longer!” Choked sobs left your mother this time around. 

You could hear your father gulp, before he spoke. “The Emperor. His Majesty has arranged you to marry His Grace. Duke of Seathal, Jay Velpark.”

You sat there stunned. If there was one thing The Emperor knew about our family it would be the legend of The Saintess. Not only did His Majesty know of it, but so did everyone in the empire. So why would he pair you both together? “Surely, you can deny this request? His Majesty knows about our story, The Saintess’ legend. Why would he even entertain that idea?” A wretched laugh leaving your lips. 

“We can’t deny his request.” “What do you mean? He may be the emperor, but his word is not always law…” Truthfully you didn’t hate the idea of being betrothed to Jay, in a way it excited you. Getting this rare opportunity to see him for the rest of your life was surely uncalled for. But as you watched your parents wallow in their own despair, you began to feel guilty. How dare you find excitement in His Majesty’s arrangement, while your parents were suffering in front of you.

“His Majesty. He stamped it with the Imperial seal.” Your father’s head lowering deeper into his hands.

“No, that. He wouldn’t?” Everything now dawned on you. The reason why your parents looked so defeated and heartbroken. The Imperial seal was a stamp strictly used for important orders that couldn't be denied. The stamp was an insured demand to agree—denying the seal would lead to immediate execution.

You always thought The Emperor was kind and caring. Yet he stamped the Imperial seal on this request. No. His demand, knowing fully well your parents wouldn’t deny it. You sat there perplexed, unknowing on what to do or even say at this point. All you could do was accept it, for putting up a fight would just be utterly meaningless.

“Your wedding is going to be held next month. During this time you will immediately go into etiquette training-”

“Wait Father. I’ve already learned most of my etiquette growing up. What else is there for me to know?”

“Y/N. You are to be marrying the Duke, that would soon make you a Duchess. You would need to learn both more etiquette and proper training to govern His Grace’s land.”

In truth, you had forgotten Jay was a Duke. Growing up viewing him as The Dragon’s kin, it had slipped past your mind that he was given the title of Duke. As well as a land of his own to govern and care for. Seathal was said to be a territory of land constantly veiled in snow. A land shrouded in winter almost all year long.

Long ago before the tale of The Saintess and Dragon, Jay’s territory was said to be a land full of lush greenery. Filled to the brim with fields full of flowers—ranging from all kinds one could think of. Next to the capital of that land was a sea port, reasons for how Seathal got its name. The port was widely known for its exotic trades and abundance of goods from all around the world. 

But when The Dragon parted ways with The Saintess, he made Seathal his new home. Very soon encasing the town in an eternal winter. Yet for some odd reason, every year around the time of The Saintess’ birthday, Seathal became a bit warmer, more liveable. Subtle flowers blooming in various places, accompanied with fruits and crops sporadically growing across the town. This strange phenomenon only lasts for four months.

The townspeople viewed The Saintess highly for this, deeming the strange break in the season to be an act of pity. They were grateful for her blessing, but that didn’t mean they hated The Dragon as well. 

Another key factor about Seathal was its frequent monster attacks. Due to The Dragon marking that place as his new found territory. Monster attacks lessened—they still happened—but the people were protected regardless. As much as some people wanted to hate The Dragon and his kin, they couldn’t deny the sole reason they still stood was due to that mystical being. 

Anchoring yourself back to the conversation you looked at your father—truly bewildered. This was a lot of responsibility being thrown at you. Being just a young noble lady belonging to a fairly normal household, you were soon to become a Duchess—essentially overnight. Your life would be flipped, unaware if this was gonna be for better or for worse.

“I know this is all very shocking to you my dear. You can head back up to your room if you’d wish to do so.” All your father could do was look at you somberly. Tears daring to leave his eyes. Your father always held himself up strongly—the same as your mother—so for him to almost cry. You could barely begin to understand how much this was affecting the both of them.

“I’ll be heading off to my room then.” Your voice came off weak and dejected, the changing future now settling within you.

As you stood up from the seat you were engulfed in a hug—it was your mother. Faint sobbing leaving her lips as her embrace tightened. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” You hugged her back just as tight. You didn’t know what to feel, part of you was satisfied with this outcome of a marriage partner. But on the other end, you hated seeing your parents feel defeated. They felt like they were betraying The Saintess, you knew that, but there was truly nothing else that could be done now.

Soon you were relieved from your mother’s hug, shaky hands cupping your face, truly taking in the moment of everything. Bidding your mother and father a good night you headed to your room, feet dragging as you walked along the carpeted halls. Making it to your room, you were greeted with a cheerful Serim. Yet once she saw the look on your face did her own smile drastically change as well.

After undressing and settling in bed did you muster up the courage to tell Serim everything. From being arranged to marry Jay to the arrangement being a royal decree, you told her everything. Serim was silent. Then she spoke.

“My Lady, I will go with you to Seathal.”

You shot up from the bed, shocked at her words. “Serim please, I didn’t tell you this so you felt obliged to come with me. I only wanted to tell you cause I thought you should-” Your words were cut off.

“My Lady, I wish to go with you so that I can still serve you by your side. Not that I feel obligated or am told to do so. This is something I truly wish to do.” There it was, that gentle smile Serim always held.

That was one of the things you found comfort in over the years you spent with her. You could feel your eyes water up, truly feeling grateful to have Serim in your life. “Thank you so much Serim. Truly, your loyalty means everything to me. Not as a noble lady, but as someone that views you as my friend.” Your arms opened up to hug her, face burying into her chest in an attempt to cover up your soon tear stained face.

Her embrace was just as strong, if not tighter than your own. “My. My Lady!” Serim sobbed out, her words cut short, truly feeling that she was unable to explain her deep sincerity towards you. Soon enough your room was engulfed in shared cries and sobs.

Pulling away from Serim you rubbed your tear stained face feeling a little bit better about things. You looked ahead to see her face drenched in tears and a runny nose, you let out a little laugh. “Here, take this and start heading off to bed.” Opening the drawer in your bedside, you retrieved a handkerchief. Taking Serim’s hand you placed the cloth in hers.

“Thank you so much My Lady, it means a lot.” Gratefully taking the handkerchief she began to wipe away her tears and snot.

“I will head off to bed then. Sleep well, My Lady. I’m always here if you need someone to talk to. Please remember that. I may be your maid first, but your well being is more important to me than you know.” Standing up and stuffing the cloth in her dress.

“Thank you again Serim, you sleep well as well.” You gave a smile in return. You watched as Serim bowed before turning to leave.

Once the doors to your bedroom had closed a deep sigh left your chest. Tilting your head back slightly you stared at the ceiling above you. Thinking things over in your head, you turned to get up from your bed. Standing up from the mattress, you head over to the edge of the bed to grab your robe. Tightly wrapping it around yourself you made your way to the balcony.

Pushing open the balcony doors you were immediately met with the chill air of the night. Closing your eyes to bask in it, you made your way to the railing. Placing your hands on the marble rails you stared off into the starry night above. The color instantly reminding you of him, the night sky always did. It was funny how the color of the night sky above reflected the same color of Jay’s hair, maybe that was one of the reasons why you began to miss him over the past five years.

As you stood there for a couple minutes you soon clasped your hands together. Head lowering a little, you were preparing to pray. But this time it wasn’t a prayer for Jay’s safety. No. This was a prayer for your family, for Serim. For you. You prayed to the gods that no matter what happens, that from here on out things would surely be okay.

The next month went by in a flash. During the first week you were introduced to your new etiquette classes, as well as being measured for your wedding dress. In the second week you were taught all there is to know about Seathal and its laws. The third week felt less busy, only focusing once more on your etiquette. Then came the last week of the month, probably the most struggling week you had in a very long time.

The beginning of the final week started off with finishing preparations for your wedding dress. Then you were sent to the palace, staying there in the meantime—since that was where the wedding would take place. 

It took you a couple nights to become adjusted, not doing well in the new room. You never had a single problem sleeping anywhere before. But for some odd reason, when it came to the palace, you couldn’t sleep a wink. Serim was there with you the whole way, finding out remedies to help you sleep. Even going as far as to bother the royal doctor to cook up something for you. It was truly a miracle you managed to sleep soundly the night before your wedding without needing anything to help.

That night as you fell asleep, you stared at the wedding dress. Beautifully propped up across the room—the faint moonlight shining down on the ivory fabric. You truly couldn’t believe it. The wedding with Jay was tomorrow. Your heart raced in your chest—a mild feeling of anxiety eating away at you. A sigh left your lips as you tossed and turned in the bed, before closing your eyes for the night.

That morning was extremely hectic, maids and servants were constantly running about. All desperate to get you prepared in time for the ceremony. Everyone was very adamant that you were to sit back and relax. You could barely even relax to begin with, for it was the day of your wedding. You thought of many things to help soothe your growing anxiety, humming a lullaby your mother sang to you, remembering fond times you spent with your father, or the social gatherings you attend with your friends. But all of it didn’t help, if anything it made you feel worse. 

Later that evening you were finally done. Your wedding dress was a gorgeous ivory color, faintly resembling the color of a white lily. Your hair was in an intricate half braid, paired with a small crown and matching ivory veil. You couldn’t believe it was truly you in the mirror, you had looked so different with a wedding dress on. In a way you felt nostalgic.

Soon Serim called for you—she would help escort you to the wedding hall. Once joining arms with her, you made your way down the castle halls. Bouquet now in hand, breathing in and out deep breaths.

“Are you nervous?” Your head turned to look at Serim, head tilted at you in curiosity.

You let out a slight laugh. “Honestly, I don't know how to feel Serim. Do I feel happy for the fact I’ll now be a wife. Or do I feel upset for my parents who didn’t ever want something like this to happen?” You turned away from Serim, still confused on the swirling emotions in your chest. It felt as if water and oil were swishing around, unable to mix and blend well together. Only causing a great deal of discomfort instead.

“Well My Lady, if I could add. What do you feel most when you think of marrying His Grace?” Serim had stopped her steps, simultaneously bringing you to a halt as well. You turned over to her, taking her question into true consideration.

“I. I feel excited about it. For as long as I remember there was a connection I felt with His Grace. Maybe it was because of our connected story, or maybe it was something less than that. All I know is that I don’t feel opposed to this. I’m ready for this new chapter in my life!”

“Then lead by that My Lady, your parents only feel this way cause they deeply and truly care for you, but don’t let those emotions hinder you from how you want to feel.” As Serim finished her words a solemn smile formed. Her other hand placed on top of your interlinked arm—reassuring you in any way she could.

“Serim, here I am thanking you a second time. When I myself have done nothing in return for you.” 

“Don’t thank me My Lady, your happiness and smile is what is truly important to me. Keep doing that and I am more than satisfied.” 

You wanted to trample Serim into a hug at that very moment, but knew it was unjust—especially regarding where you were headed. You kept a mental reminder to do so on this action later. You gave Serim’s hand one last tight squeeze, paired with a thankful smile before making your way to the hall.

Making your way to the wedding hall doors, you were greeted by your father. This time around he had a more bittersweet expression. Proud to see his daughter finally marry, but saddened for who his daughter would be married too. But instead of making it about himself, he truly smiled all to make you feel better.

“Oh my sweetheart, you look beautiful.” He spoke fondly, reaching out a hand for you.

Letting go of Serim you took his hand, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Thank you.” You gave him a quick hug, feeling bittersweet as well. You both turned to face the door, ready for the servants to open the doors.

Before the doors opened your father spoke up softly. “Just know Y/N, no matter what happens. Your mother and I will always love you and will always be here for you.”

You smiled to yourself, head raising as you answered him. “Thank you father.”

With that the doors finally opened. Taking the signal you both proceeded down the aisle. It was a minor wedding, not too grand for many people to come. But also not too underwhelming, for you were marrying The Duke. At the end of the aisle stood Jay. Dressed in an ivory suit to match your dress, it was the first time you had seen him without the iron armor. But it was especially the first time you saw him after the last five years.

You could tell he aged somewhat over the years, fighting in a war for that long would surely age anyone. But the moment he turned to look at you—even if it was slightly briefly—was as if you saw him for the first time again all those years ago. Those silver eyes which held a deep blue at its center, along with his midnight hair you’d spend years comparing the night sky too. A piece of you then found solace in this marriage, even if this was a marriage of convenience for The Emperor. Despite knowing that you truly agreed within yourself to find the positives in this shared life together.

Finally making it down the aisle with your father, he left a quick peck on your cheek. Quickly noting this would be the last time you’d receive affection from your father in a long time. You gave your father a happy smile—one full of warmth and longing.

There you stood, once again face to face with Jay after all these years. You kept your head low, feeling shy now that you were under his gaze. On the other hand Jay was almost losing his mind. He had only ever dreamed of something like this during the five years he was away. Seeing you in a wedding gown, none the less right in front of him. Jay could feel this thread of control breaking, yet seeing you all innocent eyed. He just couldn’t think if you like that.

When he looked at you he couldn’t think of going through with that ridiculous plan. That jerk brother of his was not going to win no matter what. Even if it meant going through the whole marriage not bedding you, Jay would commit to it. As long as it meant The Emperor wouldn’t get his way in the end.

“Today we bring forth a union between two people. One born under The Holy Saintess. While the other under The Mighty Dragon.” The priest soon began his speech, occasionally looking up from the altar—refrring to you both.

As the priest spoke, your eyes slowly looked up at Jay. Despite your eyes being casted by the sheer veil, you were able to see Jay’s eyes stare back into yours. The stare you held with him felt intimate. Almost as if he was staring at more than the outside, it felt like his eyes were looking in. Looking through your soul. 

“As a representative of the Gods above, I approve this marriage of oath between you. Do you, Jay Velpark, take Y/N Marowen to be your wedded wife by oath?”

Jay was quick with his response, his tone cold yet held a faint warmth of affection. “I do.”

“And do you, Y/N Marowen, take Jay Velpark to be your wedded husband by oath?”

Your voice came off strong yet slightly hesitant. “I do.”

“Now you may finalize your vows with a kiss. Please confirm by the Gods that your oath is true.”

After exchanging rings you looked up at Jay, eyes studying him as you waited patiently for him. Jay slightly raised his hand—proceeding his way to kiss you—but in doing so, he saw The Emperor out of the corner of his eye. Seeing him wear a satisfied smile on his face. The memories leading up to this moment flooded by him in a flash, his jaw clenched slightly, still upset at the main cause of it all. 

But when he looked down at you, all of that faded from his mind. Jay truly wished the union between you both happened in a normal sense. Maybe in another timeline of life, he would’ve let himself be in love with you. He wished he was in love with you. Yet he knew he wasn’t deserving of it. 

Getting pulled from his thoughts Jay felt small hands place against his chest. His eyes focused to see you leaning in slowly for the kiss. “They were all waiting I’m so-” Your whisper was cut short, feeling a large hand snake at your waist—tugging you forward.

“We should do this properly at least.” His other hand found its way to your face, cupping your cheek gently as he leaned in.

Jay’s lips on yours felt electric, as if you were missing this touch of physical affection your whole life. The hand that cupped your cheek slowly moved to hold your chin as his lips began to feverishly melt into you. Your hand that was placed at his chest was now clutching his suit in desperation. Your fingers ached at the feeling of Jay’s tongue lick past your lips. This feeling caused a strange sensation to sparkle in you.

Jay began to immerse himself too much into the kiss, truly enjoying the way you clutched his suit—a hopeless tactic to help anchor yourself. Jay knew he needed to end the kiss, but your lips were like a siren’s song beckoning for him. Once his tongue swiped past your lips, he knew he was now in too deep. 

The motion that made Jay stop the kiss was the light feeling of your hand tapping at his chest. Not wishing to give you any discomfort, Jay complied and parted ways. You shyly looked away—frantically catching your breath. Jay turned over to see the small crowd flustered at the scene. Your parents held a shocked expression, while The Emperor found his actions comical. He knew Jay was always infatuated with you. And this moment truly proved his point. 

“I hereby declare the two of you husband and wife. With that we conclude this ceremony.” Declared the priest.

Jay softly sucked his teeth at the dawning realization. He had lost himself into the kiss, into you. But as he looked down at you, seeing your flushed face as you caught your breath. He wanted to kiss you all over again. Without realizing his next movements, Jay pulled you to his side, hand placed possessively at your hip. You looked up at him confused, but he remained unphased—leading you out of the wedding hall.

Once outside the doors Jay left your side, in all honesty you hated it. In the short amount of time you were already used to his larger hand settling on your waist. Serim headed towards you both, greeting Jay first and then running to your side. You felt like you wanted to say something to him, feeling like you wanted to commemorate your marriage with him. But before you could say anything Jay made his way down the hall—leaving you and Serim alone.

For many normal weddings in the Decelis Kingdom it was customary for the bride to move in with the groom right away. But due to the circumstances of Jay being a Duke as well as a member of the royal family, you both had to stay a night in the palace before heading off to Seathal. Once entering your guest room you were immediately changed out of your wedding dress. 

“Serim what else do I have planned for the evening? I thought after the wedding it would be me getting ready to head to Seathal?” You stared at Serim, confusion clear on your face. Intricately watching as she stripped the wedding gown off of your body.

“Well my lady, usually after the first wedding night you must consummate your marriage.” Her tone was a bit flustered as she spoke, after all. She was implying that you would need to bed Jay tonight.

“Wait, that's tonight?!” You stared down at Serim—as she continued her work.

“Uh. Yes My Lady it is.”

Serim finished helping you with your dress—leaving you bare. Turning away she walked over to the wardrobe to grab a specific piece of clothing. “I thought that would happen once I’m with him in Seathal?”

Serim spoke—facing the wardrobe while rummaging about. “Well yes, but since he is a part of the royal family and you are both staying here for one night. You would need to do that duty tonight.”

You stood there stunned, it wasn’t like you were unaware of sex. You knew all about it—almost all about it. From listening to the maids yet again or hearing it from your fellow aristocrat friends. You began to have an idea on what sex was. You weren’t as innocent as meets the eye, but you were indeed still pure. So of course part of you would begin to create nerves on the thought that you were to lose that purity. But at the end of the day, this was now a part of your duty for being a newly married woman.

Serim soon finished up her searching in the wardrobe. Snapping out of your thoughts, you focused on her, wondering what it is she finally found. Noticing the curiosity on your face she pulled the item of clothes in front of her.

In one hand was a somewhat modest set of lingerie, while in the other a faintly sheer robe. You pointed between the both, too surprised to speak. “Surely, I’m not meant…” All Serim could do was lightly nod her head. You let off a soft pout, before accepting the fate of things.

Once dressed Serim helped escort you to Jay’s room. Thank goodness his room wasn’t too far—just around five doors down— it was enough to manage getting there in the get up you were in. Serim knocked on the heavy door, the sound echoing in the silent hall. “Your Grace, Lady Y/N is here.”

There was a silent pause—feeling as if minutes went by—then a response. “She can come in.”

Serim gave you a silent pep talk before pushing the door open for you. The room was poorly lit, curtains covering up the lowering fiery sun. Yet the faint glow of the fireplace allowed some light in the room. Due to the poor lighting it helped ease you, grateful that Jay wouldn’t be able to see the attire you’re in. 

Your eyes scanned the room, soon noticing him near the fireplace. He sat in a single couch stationed in front of the fire, a semi empty wine glass in hand. Jay must have been drinking. As you walked over to him you noticed a circle table perched at his side—half finished wine bottle opened.

“Your Grace?” As you made your way towards him your hand faintly reached out to touch his shoulder, thinking that he didn't hear you walk over to him.

Before your hand could meet his shoulder, a strong grip engulfed your wrist. You looked down to see Jay’s hand tighten—his grasp was firm yet still gentle. The sound of the couch’s chair legs screeching against the floor startled you. Unconsciously you took a step back—frightened by the sudden noise—yet your body was yanked forward. 

You were now at arms length away from Jay, eyes roaming your body as he studied your attire. “I. Uh.” You were hesitant to speak, cheeks flusteredly heating up. 

Jay saw the way your cheeks reddened like budding roses, finding the flustered look amusing. Yet when he saw the outfit you were in. His thread of reasoning was starting to fray again. He couldn't give into his desire to have you, not when he made that promise merely today. Yet as he remained silent you still spoke.

“I was sent here to consummate our marriage, Your Grace.” Jay’s jaw clenched. Imagining the mere idea of you beneath him, gasping for air all with the addition of your sinless eyes covered in tears. He wanted to see it all, do it all.

Jay was quick to dig his nails into his palm, reminding himself of what he told himself. Uncurling his fist, Jay raised his hand to reach for you. His hand began to roam amongst the collar of your robe—slightly pulling it back—eyeing the bare skin that laid beneath it. “You don’t have to refer to me as Your Grace. Just Jay will suffice now.”

The cold feeling of his fingertips left a chill to run down your spine. You didn’t envision Jay as the kind to act overtly affectionately, thinking he would go for it right away. His touch truly was gentle. As his fingertips danced along the fabric—occasionally grazing your skin—you could feel he wanted more. “I’m not sure if I can do that yet. Your Grace.”

Jay exhaled, finding your reluctance to refer to his real name endearing. Yet in all honesty, referring to his formal title was surely the least of his worries. While you both stood there exchanging the few little words you both had, Jay’s hand moved its way up to your neck. Making sure to not harm you, his touch was tentative to you.

His hand slowly made its way to your chin, thumb tucking underneath as he tilted your head up. “In due time I know you can say my name. But I'm sorry Y/N, I don’t think we can consummate our marriage now.” Jay watched as your eyes shifted into a look of confusion. 

He already knew the questions forming in your head. Before you could ask why he answered. “Your body is far too fragile. Remember Y/N I’m a dragon born, you're a human.”

“Yes, I understand that but.” You swallowed back, finding your words. “They’ll check to see if we shared a bed.” 

Admittedly, Jay overlooked that the royal servants would be coming to check in the morning. They wouldn’t take anything for an excuse, especially with his brother breathing down their neck. The servants were sure to conduct a thorough check on the consummation. “We’ll just make them think we did.”

Your head tilted at his words, confused at his implication. Jay noticed your changed expression. Hands leaving your body, he turned away making his way over to the bed. Your eyes watched his every move as he made his way. As Jay sat down on the edge of the mattress, his hand reached out for you.

Like a moth drawn to a flame you aimlessly began to walk to him. You could feel his eyes focus on you, attentive to every step you took. Once again your hand was placed in his. A soft smile formed at the corner of his lips, looking up at you he saw the shy expression you held. If he wanted this plan to be believable Jay needed to know where your heart lied.

“Do you trust me?” Was all he asked.

You were hesitant for a second unsure of how to answer him. Of course you trusted him, but part of you still felt uncertainty. Yet trust was the first thing you needed to give one another. If this would be the first step in creating that, you had to take that step.

Looking into his eyes you nodded your head—implicating a yes. Soon his other hand guided you to sit on his lap. You couldn’t help but immediately tense up at the sudden closeness. “Just relax, I’m not gonna do anything crazy.” His words were low as he whispered in your ear.

The feeling of goosebumps scattered about on your body, finding his warm breath on your ear ticklish. Your hand reached up to your ear, all while instinctively backing up from him. Still his hold was firm, allowing you to be pressed closely to him. Your eyes scanned his face, darting back and forth trying to figure out what he was gonna do. His hand reached up pushing your hair behind your neck. “The only way for them to not question anything is if there’s visible evidence.”

You finally understood what Jay was getting at, if there were visible marks left on your body, there was no way they would question the night. Then you remembered your purity. “But. Your Grace, I’m still a…” Your voice paused—finding the courage to speak. “A virgin... How can we fake that?” Concern laced in your voice.

You saw the way his facial features morphed—thinking of a way to prove your assured loss of purity. “I have an idea. You may not like it though.” His voice was sultry, eyes locked onto your neck as he focused in.

Without any more shared words your neck became occupied. Jay nuzzled into the crook of your neck—simultaneously taking in your scent. The feeling sent an unfamiliar warmth into your hands. That same warmth you felt when he kissed you earlier.

Unable to contain the feeling your hands found its way to his shoulders—firmly holding on hoping to steady yourself. The feeling of something soft—yet warm—soon cascaded across your neck. Was Jay kissing along your neck? 

Your shaky hand let go of his shoulder, soon to be tangled in his dark hair. Jay looked at you from the corner of his eyes, admiring the scrunch in your brows. Feeling satisfaction that his actions were eliciting these reactions out of you. You couldn’t help but bite your lip, the warm tickling sensation eliciting something within you, causing you to hold back. 

Jay continued on with his actions, leaving soft kisses along your neck, all the way up to your ear. He enjoyed the way you would instinctively back up from him, relishing in the way you reacted to these new shared moments with him. 

Not wasting another second Jay began to inflict on his plan. The soft kisses he littered along your neck soon became harsher—yet the sensation didn’t hurt. In between kisses it felt as if he was sucking on your neck, occasionally leaving the feeling of his teeth against your skin. 

You would soon be greeted with the feeling of gentle nibbles every time Jay laid harsher kisses along your neck. As Jay continued onward he felt the way your body tensed as a muffled moan was encased in your mouth. He wished to hear your voice yearn for him, want him, need him, tell him to do more. But Jay knew he would be playing a dangerous game if he pressed on more. 

Finally, Jay’s lips left the nape of your neck. Your fingers left his hair once he pulled away—Jay already missed the absence of your fingers intertwined in his hair. As he pulled back his thoughts were interrupted, quickly admiring the marks that cascaded along your neck. Solely concentrated on the red spots complimented by faint pink ones. A satisfied smile creeped into the corner of his lips, yet this wouldn’t be enough. 

“Just one more moment.”

Jay eyed the deep v cut beneath your robe—another clean canvas to work on. Knowing deep down that some marks should at least be there as well. Soon Jay dipped his head down once more. Hand now placed at your lower back, allowing him to lean you back. A soft yelp escaped from you, the sudden movement scaring you. 

Your hands clutched at his loose shirt, fearing that Jay would possibly drop you. “I won’t drop you. Nor will I ever hurt you.” His words whispered against your skin. Something in you fluttered, you couldn’t tell if it was the way your stomach flipped at his words, or your heart beating loudly. You were sure Jay would hear it. Hear the rapid beating of your heart reacting to him.

A quiet whimper slipped past your lips, shocked by the warm sensation of Jay’s lips meeting with your chest. You prayed Jay didn’t hear you, for it felt indecent, especially when it was all an act. Yet despite your prayers he did hear it, he picked up on the way your breath hitched, the rapid beating of your heart, he had heard it all. 

Hearing your gentle whimper only urged Jay to continue. Lips feverishly kissing across your skin once more, paired with slight nibbles with his teeth. As he proceeded more into the action he couldn’t help but dip you lower. Your eyes squeezed tight at the feeling, fingers clutching tighter onto his shirt. 

The feeling of his lips against your skin soon vanished. Yet you were still lowered back, you felt the way his hand softly tightened against you. Slowly opening one eye you saw the way Jay looked at you. 

Eyes seemingly half lidded, full of something, something unspeakable yet also mutual between you both. Before you could say anything, you were now sitting on the plush bed. Your head craned up, noticing that Jay now loomed over you. His movement so quick you didn’t even take a second to process what happened. 

Your head slightly tilted to the side, questioning what he planned to do next. Yet as you sat there wondering about him, Jay’s eyes once more roamed your figure. You sat before him covered in love marks he had given you. He felt himself wanting to tear off the band-aid which held him back. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. 

He was satisfied enough knowing he was able to give you the marks that seemingly accompanied your skin. Yet also knowing you were within arms reach for as long as he would live, meant that much more for him. 

“Your Grace?” That gentle voice of yours called out to him. Jay was quick to ground himself back, his bold silver eyes now looking into yours somewhat longingly.

“Sorry. I was momentarily thinking.” 

You nodded your head in understanding, while doing so, Jay took this moment to walk away from you. Your eyes followed him, glued to his back watching his every move. As he walked back to the side table—out of your visibility—picked up something. Once grabbing what he needed Jay headed back to you. You still sat there patiently waiting for him, wondering what he was thinking of doing now. 

Finally stopping in front of you, his hand came up from his side. You watched closely, questioning what was guarded in his hand. As Jay showed the palm of his hand, a gleam of steel flickered for a brief minute. Then as your eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, you noticed what was truly held in his hand.

A dagger.

You quickly noticed the intricate design carved in, the grip of the blade spiraling into one, while the cross-guard encased a red gemstone you had never seen before. A gemstone so deep in color, it faintly reminded you of blood. 

“What is that to be used for Your Grace?” You couldn’t help but ask him with concern laced within your tone. One brow lifting up as you watched attentively. 

Jay now grasped the dagger correctly. To then hover it over the other side of his hand—palm facing up. “For this.” The next scene of events shocked you—your face drained of its color. Your brows instinctively raised in shock, throat running dry as you watched the crimson droplets hit the floor. The color truly matching the gemstone mended into the blade.

“Your Grace! What?! Are you crazy!” Any tone of formality diminished watching Jay clutch his cut up palm—allowing more blood to ooze in his fist. You rushed to stand up—slightly tripping over the fabric of your robe—from where you sat, panic evident in your body language.

All Jay could do was look at you confused whilst you stirred in panic. The cut indeed hurt for him, but it wasn’t as severe as the wounds he collected on the battlefield. In a sense this only felt like a measly paper cut. 

Nevertheless, watching you scramble over yourself in a desperate attempt to aid him, made him feel happy in a way. He knew finding satisfaction in this was wrong, yet watching you run up to him holding onto his arms tightly. It made him feel seemingly important.

“Your Grace! You’re bleeding. I. We.” Your voice was shaky, unable to know what to do in the situation. What you knew you needed most was a handkerchief. Before you could turn away your body was stopped. 

Looking down you saw Jay’s hand holding onto yours—dagger now completely out of view. You craned your head back up to try and read his face, yet you couldn’t. “It’s okay Y/N.” As Jay reassured you, he soon led you back to the bed. 

All you could do now was watch him in confusion, wondering why he was headed back to the bed while he had a cut on his hand. Then as you pieced your questions together you realized his intentions. Jay was to use his blood to make it seem like you lost your purity.

Once in front of the bed, Jay was quick to ruffle up the sheets, making it seem as if within the night you were both intent on exploring one another. In hindsight the rearrangement came off believable, but once Jay dropped his blood on the bed sheet. There was no way the maids would think twice about what happened tonight. 

Taking your focus away from the bed, you turned to look at Jay. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Hand tightening in his grasp.

“I knew you’d be opposed to me being hurt. Instead you would’ve offered yourself.” His words spoke as if he knew you like the front and back of a book. Yet he wasn’t wrong. You wouldn’t have allowed him to hurt himself if it meant hurting himself instead.

“Yes but-”

“I meant it when I said I’d never hurt you. I am sorry for swaying your trust.This was the only way I thought of doing so.” Jay couldn’t help but turn his head away—feeling ashamed of himself.

“Your Grace…” Stepping forward to him, you reached your hand out to him. Softly cupping his cheek, while doing so you turned his head to look at you.

Jay saw the expression you wore, sullen brows written on your face, held together with a slight frown. Even though you looked at him as if you were upset, he knew it was only because you cared for him. Only less than twenty four hours into the marriage. Yet you held a gentle abundance of admiration for him. Jay disliked it. Feeling that he didn’t deserve such emotions catered to him. Even now as he felt that way, he couldn’t help but melt into your touch. Quickly finding solace in your warm touch—despite it feeling so fleeting.

As you studied Jay, your expression softened, accompanied with a sigh. “It’s okay, Your Grace. Just next time. Please tell me, we are now husband and wife after all.” Giving him a soft smile, hoping to ease him.

“Ah. Let me get you something for-”

“It’s fine. The wound will heal on its own.” Jay was quick to cut you off, ready to take care of it himself. 

You ignored his words, whilst holding tight onto his hand. “It won’t be fine. I can help you.” As you spoke your words came off unsure. Not unsure if you could help, but unsure of your holy powers. 

Jay was now raising an eyebrow at you, curious at what your words entailed. Before he could say anything a shining light emerged from his hand. The glow was tiny, yet held so much radiance behind it. Jay had never seen anything like it before. 

Your eyebrows scrunched together reaching for the little bit of holy power you could muster. This was the first time you had ever used your powers on a person, let alone try to use it again. You first discovered these hidden abilities a couple years back—tending to a baby bird that fell from its nest. 

The pure shock while holding the helpless bird helped manifest a flow of holy powers. You never told your parents about what happened, not even Serim. You viewed it as a blessing bestowed by the gods for being The Saintess’ kin, nothing more. Now here you were, healing your dragonborne husband with an ability you thought would never manifest again.

You could feel sweat bead at your forehead, body beginning aching in heat as you pushed yourself harder. You felt yourself soon struggling, yet you took notice of the deep cut slowly closing up. A light smile formed in the corner of your lips at the progress, but as you continued more your body began to grow weaker.

Jay immediately noticed the light emitting in his hand flicker, then the way you swayed to the side. He was quick to hold you, arm wrapped around your waist earnestly steadying you. “You did well. The wound is closed.” 

“Oh. That’s good…” Your words slightly slurred. Soon losing consciousness. 

As your body went limp, Jay held you against him tightly, ensuring you wouldn’t fall to the floor. With one swift movement Jay scooped you into his arms—holding you in a bridal carry. Not wasting another moment Jay made sure to settle you down on the couch. Making sure to be gentle with you while lowering you down. 

Jay watched your sleeping body, taking a moment to look down at his hand. In truth Jay had lied about the cut, there was still a tear, yet it wasn’t as serious as before. It was red but not worse enough to form a scar later on. 

He couldn’t help but plop down on the floor, back pressed against the leather couch. Hands reaching into his midnight hair, mind racing about. It was one thing for you to be related to The Saintess. But now knowing you had powers—even if it was slghtly—was truly another problem. 

One thing Jay knew for certain was that his brother would not find out about your powers. If he did, there was no telling what his next move would be. Jay let out a frustrated sigh, leaning his head back while doing so. The feeling of your hair swept past him took a hold of his attention while he leaned back. He couldn’t help but take a lock of your hair. Fidgeting about, he couldn’t help but twirl your hair between his fingers. 

Eyeing the way your soft hair passed through his fingers with ease, he proceeded on with his actions. Without another thought he brought your lock of hair to his lips, placing a gentle kiss onto it. Yet in that moment he truly wished it was your lips on his instead.

The morning was the same as the day before, chaotic and eventful. You had woken up in the same room as last night, settled into Jay's bed as if you’ve slept there your whole life. You quickly shot up, taking in your surroundings. Memories from last night flooded into your mind. Remembering what you and Jay had done, you quickly peered down at your chest. Where mulitple red marks sprawled all over your chest.

Your face deepened into a red hue, embarrassment creeping up your neck and cheeks. At the time you didn’t think Jay had done much, yes it was a few kisses along your neck and chest. But now looking, it seemed as if you were covered in bug bites.

Quickly closing your sheer robe, you stood up from the bed. You began to head towards the doors—being sure to ignore the mirror on the vanity on your way out. Once making it out of the room you were immediately greeted with Serim.

“My Lady, you woke up  so early. I’m assuming your long night made you restless?” Serim held a concerned yet also sly grin—a teasing tone hinted in her voice.

All you could do was look away from her, hoping to hide your reddening cheeks from her sight. But to your dismay Serim noticed right away—deciding anyway to keep quiet for your sake. The walk to your guest room was silent, Serim held a happy smile whilst you kept yourself lowered.

Once entering the room you were immediately stripped from your night attire. Now dressed into a casual styled silk dress—allowing for more comfort on the way to Seathal—the color was a soft yellow paired with light blue and seafoam green accents. 

As you finished packing up the rest of your things you began to feel excited for the trip to Seathal. Of course you’d miss your parents, but the new journey ahead excited you more. If there was anything, Jay would certainly allow you to write letters to your parents.

Before entering the travel carriage you looked out at the scenery before you. Trees and hills all covered in that luscious green would soon be replaced by the constant cold winter. You knew you wouldn’t hate Seathal, but you were sure about missing the sun beam down on you. As well as the strolls you had through your family’s garden. Those small things would be something you would most likely long for in the future.

“Are you ready to go?” A familiar voice called out to you, you swiftly turned your head to see Jay stand before you. Covered in the armor he always seemed to be wearing. He couldn’t help but reach out for your hair, his armored hand brushing through your hair gently. 

You blushed slightly, finding the way he combed his fingers through your hair to feel endearing. “Oh yes! I’m ready to head out now!” A nervous laugh left your lips as your eyes focused onto Jay. 

A soft chuckle was heard from Jay as he continued to play with your hair. He noticed the way your dress did a great job of hiding the marks he left. A smug smile etched into his lips when he noticed the faint mark under your ear. Feeling satisfied with himself Jay stretched out his hand to you. “Allow me to help you inside.” 

You scrambled about reaching for his hand as you watched him open the carriage door for you. Jay’s grip was firm and comforting as he hoisted you up the step. Seconds later Serim came over, carrying necessities for your comfort. 

You were quick to look through the items she acquired for you. A smile found its way onto Jay’s lips as he watched you both. “I will be heading off soon. Before I leave, let me introduce you to one of my closest knights.” As Jay finished, a man about your age ushered out from behind.

He was about the same height as your husband—a little bit shorter in all honesty—hair the color of freshly ripe strawberries, along with piercing black eyes. The knight was quick to bow before you. “This is Heeseung. He’s someone I trust greatly, but that doesn’t mean you don’t come to me if he has done something wrong.” Jay placed his hand firmly on Heeseung’s shoulder, a reassured reminder to take care of you.

Slightly curtseying you responded. “Hello Sir Heeseung, it’s nice to meet you. Ah let me introduce my personal maid to you, since you both will be working close to me.” As you finished speaking you pulled Serim forward. Serim came off a bit awkward which felt very unlike her. Your head tilted to the side, wondering to yourself why that is. 

Even if it wasn't noticeable you saw something, a faint dust of pink brushing against her cheeks. Was Serim into Heeseung? Serim stuttered on her words as she greeted herself to Heeseung, you turned to the knight hoping to see his reaction. A faint yet obvious smile now on Heeseung’s face. 

You knew later on this would be something to inevitably tease Serim on. Looking over to Jay you gave him a gentle smile—seemingly thanking him. Before Jay left to mount onto his horse his hand raised up to you. The cold feeling of iron sent chills down your arm, yet it was soon becoming something you acquainted yourself with. Not realizing it, you leaned into his touch. Even if it was the feeling of freezing iron, you felt his warmth behind it.

“I’ll come check on you when we travel for a couple hours.” As he spoke you looked up at him, taking in his words earnestly. Within the last twenty four hours, Jay became infatuated with the way you looked at him.

Eyes that held focus solely on him, he knew one day in the future this infatuation for your gaze would become a problem for him. Not that he would find it tiring, but more so of never wanting your gaze to leave him. 

Once his cold touch left your cheek, it soon made you miss his touch. Before leaving you, Jay made sure to flash you a smile. You stood there in between Serim and Heeseung, somewhat beginning to miss your husband.

The carriage ride was comforting. The view of the morning fog setting a calm vibe for the voyage ahead. At every three hour mark you were allowed to get out and stretch your legs. You had never traveled such a long distance, knowing that Jay put in place these minor breaks to help you. In truth it was very helpful. Yet at the same time you found yourself eyeing Jay as he traversed on horseback. Part of you wanted to ride with him, but deemed it to be unnecessary once the thought entered your head.

While you had felt that way, you ended up riding along with Jay soon enough. He was quite perceptive of you truthfully. Jay saw the way you looked out the window, eyes somewhat longing to partake with him—it seemed. Jay made the final decision for you to join him at the next resting point. With that one goal it became a success for him. At first you were reluctant. But in the end you gave way to him.

Now here you were, seated in front of Jay. It wasn’t the first time you rode a horse, but it was indeed the first time you rode with someone else. It was struggling to get used to it at first. Strong arms caged at your side—tightly gripping onto the reigns—whilst your back was pressed into his chest. You felt yourself tense at the mere closeness. 

The ride was silent, the sound of the galloping steps mixed with the carriage and cargo wagon joining in. By now the morning fog had long dispersed, leaving traces of dewdrops along the grass and tree leaves. For a while you said nothing, taking in the scenery as natural as possible. Soon that silence would break.

The familiar sensation of cold iron nearly shocked you off the horse. A small yelp left your mouth, joined in with shaky hands finding their way to the back of your neck. “Sorry. Did I startle you?” Jay spoke up, his tone came off apologetic—fearing he had truly frightened you.

“I wouldn’t say scare... More so surprised me.” You gave off a gentle sigh as you spoke, reassuring that it was of no big deal. “I just noticed, the marks I left are now almost gone.” Jay couldn’t help but rest his hand along the back of your neck. Your hair now pushed to the side, his thumb faintly rubbed against the disappearing bite marks. A chill ran down your body yet again—unaccustomed to the cold touch of his armor.

“For as long as I remember my wounds or any type of marks to my skin end up fading within the day.” Twirling your hair between your fingers, recalling childhood memories.

“Is it because of The Saintess’ holy powers?” 

“Could be. My parents believe so. But we weren’t really sure.” 

Jay’s brows contorted to a dissatisfied look. Unsure of whether he favored the idea that the marks he left on you healed so quickly. There wasn’t a need to be unhappy with it, yet he couldn’t help but feel irritated somehow.

The next hour was filled with small chit chat. Minor conversational pieces shared between you both, an eager need to get to know more about each other. You learned about Jay and The Emperor being brothers in name, while Jay learned about how serious your family took its own history. The conversation felt idle in a sense, but it allowed for you both to view a part of each other you didn’t get to know beforehand. 

At the next resting point, Jay urged for you to ride back in the carriage. It would soon near nightfall, which would prevent the amount of stops within the trip. You didn’t want to leave Jay’s side, but you also didn’t want to be a pain in his side. Complying with his needs you found your way back to the carriage. 

Before leaving Jay was affectionate with you once more. Armored hand stroking your cheek as he took in your appearance. He acted as if he wouldn’t see you for a long time, when in reality it would only be a few hours. Jay had a sense of reasoning that he’d miss you in that short amount of time, when in reality he knew he shouldn’t.

As you trudged back to the carriage you looked back to sneak a glimpse of Jay, sending him a warm smile. Once entering the carriage you were met with Serim fast asleep. Realizing this you made sure to keep your actions quiet. It had surely been a long day of traveling—especially for Serim. Settling back into your seat, you began to feel yourself doze off as well. Before you could realize it, just like Serim you were quickly asleep. 

The gentle whisper of a voice slowly pulled you from your slumber. You recognized that low and firm, yet also kind and tender voice. Your body stirred slightly, unwilling to wake up. Yet as you did so, the voice still softly wished for you to awaken. 

Obliging to the voice you slowly blinked the sleep away. As your eyes focused on the surroundings, you focused on the person in front of you. It was Jay. A soft smile was on his face as he watched you. Arms wrapped at your side to help you out of the carriage. Once pulling you out, Jay carried you on his forearm, his grip strong against your legs as he held you. Your arms wrapped around his neck,  face nuzzling into the crook of his shoulder while the soft breeze of the winter wind chilled you. 

As you snuggled up to Jay, Serim came over carrying a fur coat. Gently draping the coat over you Jay made sure to tuck the coat in tight—making sure it wouldn’t fall off your body. Jay leaned down to your ear, words hushed as he spoke.

“We’ve made it to Seathal.” 

You turned your head to the side slightly—opening one eye—vaguely seeing the view before you. Feeling another gust of wind brush past you, you finally leaned off of Jay. Head now fully turned away from him, your eyes widened to the pure white landscape in front of you. It was unlike anything you had seen before. Distant hills covered in sheets of snow, alongside trees that reflected the snowcapped hills. In the middle of it all was a castle off in the distance, the tips of the roofings snow covered as well. 

Jay watched the way your eyes twinkled, taking in the view before you. He knew that your breath was truly taken away by it all. “You know once you’re all settled in we can go for a walk sometime this week. I’m sure it’ll snow for the next couple of days.” 

Your face turned to him, a beaming smile plastered amongst your lips. “It snows?! I’ve never seen snow before.” You looked at him excitedly, truly unable to anticipate the upcoming days ahead of you.

While entering the city, you joined Jay on his horse once more. As you trotted through the city streets you watched as the streets were full of vendors. Both selling warm food to even selling merchandise that only came from Seathal.

You noticed the way the people enjoyed the cold weather, showing how acclimated they became to it. Many of the people showed happy smiles while they waved to Jay. Warm congratulations on his awaited return back to Seathal. 

The people threw flowers as the traveling party made its way through the street. Occasionally some people would hand flowers to you, all while greeting you with a warm smile. You didn’t expect such a warm welcome from the Seathal people. Their actions truly made you feel at home already.

Finally making it through the castle gates, the traveling party came to a halt. Jay mounted off the horse first, turning to you as his arms were raised out to your sides—readying to carry you down. You happily took his gesture, hands securely placed on his shoulders whilst being lifted off the horse. 

Before you could walk to Serim and Heeseung, Jay’s hand interlaced into yours. “You must be tired from the long journey. Let me show you where your new room will be.” 

You looked up at Jay, feeling unsure to leave without telling Serim at least. As you turned to look her way once more, Serim was now looking back at you. Taking in the sight of your hands laced together, she nodded to you—assuring you it was okay.

As Jay led you along his strides were small, making sure you were able to keep up with him. While walking along Jay walked through the backyard, making his way through the maze of a garden. You couldn’t help but look around at the surroundings. Taking in the intricate design of the garden, paired with the old castle exterior. 

“This pathway isn’t the usual way to the bedroom. But I thought it would be better to show you this route. It’s a nice walk when you wish for some alone time, or to go out on your own within the castle grounds.” 

Jay explained himself as he walked on, pointing out the different structures within the castle along the way. Once making it inside, he led you through a secluded corridor which led into a grand spiral staircase. The walk up looked long, but due to its seclusion it seemed to be something nice to do once alone. 

As you both made your way up the stairs you noticed open windows placed along the cobble stone walls. It felt like tiny entrance ways into a world beyond the staircase. You couldn’t help but stop at every window—hand long gone from Jay’s grasp—taking a peek at the angles of the now setting sun. Golden rays shining into your eyes every time you peered outside. Jay noticed the way the setting sun’s rays reflected into your eyes, allowing them to change into a color he’d never seen. Jay couldn’t help finding himself becoming smitten with you as time went on.

Finally making it to the top, you both emerged from a painting. The art work was that of what seemed to be Seathal in its spring season. You stood there for a bit, feeling as if you were there within the warm weather. “This is Seathal during The Saintess’ spring season. That’s usually what the people here call it.” Jay noticed the way your eyes were glued onto the painting, feeling the need to tell you more about it.

“I had heard in passing that within one part of the year, Seathal does turn into spring. Despite its usual long winters. I hear it's quite beautiful. Truthfully I can’t wait to witness it.” You turned to Jay, excitement written on your face. Thoughts of Seathal in its spring season exciting you. He couldn’t help but return a smile to you, feeling the same way. He hoped this innocence of enjoyment could last for as long as possible. Hopefully before his brother would demand what he expected most from the marriage. Jay truly wished things would be alright for as long he willed it. 

Making your way past the painting you ended up in a hallway. Only two large double doors leading to a room were at the end of the hall. You immediately assumed it to be your shared bedroom. Jay proceeded on as he opened the bedroom doors. 

As the doors opened you were immediately met with the familiar scent of cedar mixed with hints of vanilla. The very same scent that clung to Jay last night. You felt eerily at ease once taking in his scent, certainly unaware of how much comfort he truly gave you. 

In the middle of the room was a bed, big enough for the both of you to share. As you looked at the bed you thought about how Jay slept alone in something as big as this. It must have felt lonely at times. Continuing on you saw a fireplace, somewhat replicating the room from last night. A lounge couch and an armchair placed near it. Allowing comfort as one stares into the fiery flames in its place.

Deeper inside the room was a desk, positioned to seem forgettable. It must have been where Jay would complete more work even outside of his office. You envisioned quiet nights filled with sitting at the fireplace while he worked at his desk. The thought allowed a smile to appear on your face.

Jay stood near you, beginning the process of removing his armor. “Sorry it's not much. I should’ve had it more decorated to your taste, since we will be sharing this room now.” He spoke while laying the pieces of armor along the larger table within the room.

“No, no. It's okay, I like it as is. It feels very welcoming, believe it or not.”

Jay loosened up, not expecting you to find the gloomy room to feel welcoming of all things. Noticing the change in his posture you couldn't help but laugh. “Besides, the room feels very much like you. Nothing too grand or more of it.” Finishing your sentence did you realize how your words came off.

“I’m sorry that didn’t sound offensive did it? What I’m trying to say is-” Before being able to ramble on, Jay cut off your words. Hand firmly rested on your shoulder—a means of putting you at ease.

Jay let out a low laugh, finding the statement funny. “It’s okay Y/N. I understand what you mean, truthfully Jungwon says the same thing.”

Your head tilted at the new name. Jungwon wasn’t someone you had ever heard of before. “Who’s Jungwon?” Mind already forgetting about the previous conversation.

“Oh Jungwon? He’s my second hand around here. More so my personal aide to say. You’ll meet him tomorrow I’m sure. Besides, you can have a more proper tour of the castle as well.” 

As you listened to Jay speak you failed to hold back the forming yawn. Hand placed over your mouth, eyes faintly squinted as a soft breath left your lips. Blinking away the stray tears in your eyes did you realize your lack of manners. “Your Grace, I’m so sorry for my lack of manners!”

“Don’t worry, we did spend all day traveling to Seathal, when usually it takes around two days.” Jay made sure to reassure you, hand finding its way to your lower back. Once his hand rested on you, he began to lead you to the bed.

“You should rest now. Tomorrow will be another longer day.”

Sitting on the mattress you began to remember your lack of belongings. “But! I don’t have any of my stuff. What am I supposed to sleep in?” Your eyes looked into his, worried about what would need to be done.

All Jay did was stand there and think. Head tilting to the side as he watched your distressed expression. Then he came up with something. “You can sleep in one of my shirts.”

Now you were the one to reflect his reaction, this time holding a flabbergasted look. “Wear your shirt? I simply couldn’t, that would be far too improper.” Your words began to shake at the mere image conjuring in your mind. “It’s alright Y/N, we’re husband and wife. It shouldn't be as improper as you deem it to be.” 

You thought about his words, Jay was indeed right. You both were husband and wife, so wearing his shirt for one night surely can’t be as insane as you deemed it as. “If this is the only option I have. Then I can’t ignore your offer.” 

Giving Jay the go ahead, he made his way over to the other action of the room, there stood a large wardrobe. As Jay opened it up, you saw a decent array of clothes, all in muted colors that fit well with Jay. Rummaging all the way to one side of the wardrobe, he was able to pull out a plain white under shirt. It seemed like the kind that paired well under a doublet, long sleeved with a slight fabric ruffle. With a heavy thud of the doors, Jay came back over to you.

“Here you go.” His hand stretched out to you waiting for you to take the clothing.

“Thank you, Your Grace. I’m gonna change out of my dress. May you please?” You didn’t finish your sentence, hoping Jay would catch on to what it is you implied for him. Taking the hint right away Jay turned away from you quicker than you expected—soon being back to back with each other. 

In the beginning process of stripping your dress off was somewhat easy. But as you came across the intricate corset string, you began to struggle. You anxiously bit your lip, unsure of whether to truly figure it out on your own, or to ask Jay for help. 

It’s not that you didn’t want the help, it was more so the way you stood only in your undergarments. Shoulders barren against the gentle cold of the room, whilst you only had the corset and skirt on. You were quick to remember Jay’s words. You were both now married, not to mention, he definitely saw more of your body last night then what you panicked over at this moment.

Biting the bullet you called out for him. “Jay?” Your voice seemed small—as if it floated off with the breeze of the fleeting wind—he didn’t even notice you calling for him. 

“You called for me?” 

“Yes. I. I’m having a bit of trouble…” You spoke shyly, trying your best to fight back any emotion of embarrassment you mustered. “You can turn around as well.” 

Obliging to your consent Jay turned to face you. Instead of seeing your face—which he very well knew was red by now—he came into sight with your bare shoulders. Your hair swept against your seemingly bareback, the only thing allowing that to not be fully bare was your lingerie. Jay felt like he was in a trance, irrevocably entranced by your bare skin. Pieces of you his hands and mouth hadn’t yet roamed over.

Jay snapped out of his thoughts at hearing your faint voice, cursing at himself for being distracted by something as inconsequential as your bare skin. “What’s the matter?” Jay made sure to force his voice to sound tender, hoping it would hide any ounce of yearning he had for you.

You barely noticed Jay’s internal struggle over you—solely focused on wanting to be freed from the corset. “I can’t untie the string. It seems to be stuck.” You continued to fiddle about with the string—hoping to undo it at that very moment. 

“I see.” Jay’s eyes trailed from your shoulder to your lower back. A smile spread across his face, watching as you fiddled with the tied up string. “Here I got it.” His slender fingers brushed past yours—letting you know he had it handled. 

Drawing your fingers back you immediately clasped them, fidgeting amongst yourself as you waited for Jay to untie the corset. His faint breathing felt ticklish against your back, it sent a slight chill down your arms. Jay now focused on the task at hand, he barely noticed your reactions. 

After—what felt like—multiple minutes later Jay stepped slightly aback. Finally finished with the troubling corset. “There.” As his gaze refixed itself back on your back did he now notice the redness on your shoulders. A clear sign that you were flustered during the interaction.

Jay didn’t dare to have you look at him, afraid of what sultry emotion would take over him. Instead he grasped onto that thinning thread as best as he could, truly reminding himself of what was best for you both. You let out a sigh of relief at the loosening of the corset. Both embarrassed yet also satisfied that you would be able to shed it off. “I’m turning back around now, so continue on with changing.” 

You muttered out a thank you to him, proceeding back to stripping away your outside attire. As you took off the dress skirt, a soft thud echoed within the room. Jay’s jaw clenched faintly at the sound, truly wishing he could take in your form beneath the clothing. But he knew that was too risky to ask for. He made sure to stand tall, doing his due diligence to hide the urges he felt for you.

Once your clothes were finally off your body you picked up his shirt. Getting a thorough look trying to figure out how to put it on. Finally figuring it out you slipped on the fabric effortlessly. The material was smooth, unlike silk it was more dense, surely a shirt that would be very comfortable to sleep in.

Finishing putting the shirt on, you turned to face Jay’s back. Before calling out for him, you noticed his ear had a red tinge to it. Was he flustered by you? You giggled at the thought, finding Jay to be more adorable than he himself let off.

“I’m all set.” Your hand reached for his sleeve, signaling him to turn around and face you.

Turning around Jay took the moment to get a good look at you. Your smaller frame standing before him, clad in his clothes, while your bare legs peeked from below the shirt's fabric. Jay bit the inside of his cheek—feeling something in him rise—he couldn’t help keeping his eyes on you, truly like a moth to a flame.

“Is something the matter, Your Grace?” Slightly tugging again on his sleeve you’d hope to pull him out of whatever trance he was in. “I. No. I’m sorry Y/N. I just remembered I need to grab something for the room. I’m sure you’re gonna need another blanket, since it tends to get cold within the night.” 

Jay’s tone was effortlessly straight, quick to get his words across as if something truly troubled him. You looked at him confused, wondering what had him so heavily bothered. Jay now had your hand in his, guiding you into the bed. Watching as you slipped into the bed, he helped to get you situated. Making sure the pillows were fluffed enough, or that the comforter for the bed would be enough in the meantime.

After an array of yes and no answers you were finally let go from Jay’s worries. Watching as you lay there tucked in comfortably Jay couldn’t help but raise a hand to your head. Stroking your hair both lovingly and caringly. You couldn’t help close your eyes to the heavy feeling of his hand on your head.

Yet when he drew his hand back a frown formed into your lips. Jay saw the change in your expression, he couldn’t help but adore it regardless of everything. “I’ll be back soon.” With that Jay began to make his way out the door. Before he tucked himself through the doors your quiet voice rang within the room. “Good night You Grace. I’m just saying it, in case I’m asleep by the time you’re back.” 

Jay chuckled softly in return. “Good night Y/N.” The loud thud of the door followed behind as he left the room. As you lay there you close your eyes, hoping to open your eyes right away as you feel the morning sun beaming through the curtains. Wishing to explore your new home with Jay. 

While you were being taken away by sleep, Jay only had one thing on his mind, or more so someone. You. All he could think about was the way you stood there before him wearing his attire, that of a helpless deer caught in headlights. The way your eyes looked at him innocently, while all he could think about was wishing to take you right then and there.

Making his way through the hidden door, even proceeding down the staircase, his thoughts wouldn’t stop. Soon enough there was a feeling of heat licking at his core. Stopping dead in his tracks, he peered down. The only thing in that secluded staircase looking back at him was the growing bulge in his pants. 

Jay clicked his tongue in annoyance. The one thing he desperately had to avoid while he was to be around you was his growing lust. His lust wasn’t like an average human. Deep down it all derived from his dragon nature, something he desperately tried to soothe whenever he could. Earlier on in life he found a way to maintain it, that solution being blood lust. 

But here he was, giving into a carnal desire he hoped wouldn’t happen. Combing a hand through his hair a frustrated sigh left his lips. Not believing what he was about to do in this very moment. Leaning against the cobblestone wall, Jay proceeded to make his way to the button of his pants.

Not wasting a single moment, Jay effortlessly set one portion of the restraint on his growing bulge free. The unbuttoned pants relieving the unwanted tightness, Jay couldn’t help letting out a sigh of relief. 

For what followed would be more excruciating for Jay. While his pants weren’t in the way, his briefs were still an issue to be dealt with. Jay bit his lip at the sight of his red tip peaking out from the edge of his briefs—a showcase to how much he was holding back. 

Peeling the briefs down, he was finally able to free his aching cock. An agitated—yet satisfied—moan soon echoed throughout the staircase as he palmed himself. Jay’s brows knitted in annoyance as he began to stroke himself, wondering as to why it didn’t feel as good as he forethought. Then an image of you popped into his head, hips bucking softly at the mere thought of you. 

“Fuck.” Jay cursed under his breath. Now conjuring an image of you in front of him, on your knees assisting him in the relief he needed. His head tilted against the wall, brows furrowed while he imagined your soft voice ringing in his ears whispering sweet nothings to him.

He could see it as clear as day, your soft eyes looking up at him. Earnestly wishing to help him out no matter the cost. As he began to imagine you before him, the grasp on his cock tightened softly. Soon Jay was earnestly thrusting into his hand, doing his best to drag out the day dream he had of you. 

With a few more mixed thrusts and strokes, paired with his shallow breaths—bouncing around him—he could feel himself reaching that high. Then he envisioned the way he would cum in front of you. Parts of his ejaculation finding its way onto your face whilst you knelt before him. Jay undoubtedly saw it all in his head, eyes squinting shut as he lost himself to the mere thought of you. 

With one more desperate stroke Jay stilled himself for a second, allowing his body to relax while he came into his hand. He stood there, staring above—the spiraling stairs looming way above him—asking himself what he had truly done. Tilting his head down, Jay looked at the hand that held his cock, staring coldly at the cum glazed on his palm. He couldn’t help but feel irritated with himself for giving into this human desire.

Fishing a stray handkerchief out of his pocket, Jay diligently wiped the cum from his hand—proceeding to crumple it up in his pocket. Once his hands were wiped clean he began to tidy himself up, pulling his briefs back into place to then button his pants. Finishing up Jay continued to make his way back down the stairs—finding you a blanket like he originally intended when he left.

That morning you were awoken to the sound of drawn curtains, joined in by the morning sun’s rays sticking onto your face. You tossed to the other side, wishing to hide away from the brightness past your closed eyelids. 

“My Lady, you must wake up. His Grace is waiting for you in the dining room for breakfast.” The voice was none other than Serim. You turned over to your original spot, one eye peeking open as you focused your vision onto her. Then her words truly rang in your head.

“I’m up! I’m up!” You shouted jumping out of the bed. Hair strewn about as you stood before Serim.  

Serim giggled at your fast reflexes while ushering over to you. “I see that now. Come on, I have to get you situated.” She quickly led you to a corner of a room you didn’t see last night. It had a vanity as well as a mirror and rack for clothes—which at the moment seemed to be for your attire.

Serim sat you down at the vanity—brush in hand—beginning her daily process of preparing you for the day. Styling up your hair as well as doing your make up, Serim had done it all so swiftly as well in a timely manner. This time she styled your hair in a low half up, while your make up was clean—just a few touch ups for the face.

Finishing at the vanity, you were led to the mirror and clothing rack. You questioned how all your clothes got here, but knew it was most likely during your slumber. Serim busied herself looking for a dress, handpicking through every one deciding whether it was the right mood or not. 

At last Serim landed on a dress, the color would be perfect on you. Making her way back to you she showed the dress to you. You nodded your head at the pick, knowing whatever Serim picked would look good no matter what. 

Once Serim helped with getting you into the dress she stepped away—allowing you to look at yourself. The color was a beautiful muted rose, the hue blending in well with your hair color. The bodice had an intriguing design, cut outs that hung low off your shoulders all adorned with small pearls and jewels. The sleeves were long—meeting all the way to your hands—yet had ribbon sewed through at the wrists for cute detailing. At your waist was an intricate embroidery—the designs intertwining with one another—making your gaze down to the skirt, a subtle bow was below your waist ending into a long sash. The skirt was long, trailing down closely at your sides to slowly bloom out like a flower in spring. The dress was truly perfect.

“This is beautiful Serim. Thank you!” You flashed her a smile, feeling the pure act of generosity from your friend.

“Now let's hurry to join His Grace, I’m positive he’ll find the dress astonishing on you.”

Nodding your head, Serim leads you towards the door with a small pep in her step. Exiting the door a voice startled you. “Good morning, Your Grace.” Your head rapidly turned not only to the unfamiliar voice, but to the name as well. 

Standing next to the door was Heeseung. “Heeseung you nearly shocked me to death.” Hand clasped at your chest hoping to ease your racing heart.

“Your Grace, I am so sorry for the scare. Is there anything I can do?” Heeseung looked between you and Serim, unsure of what to do.

“I’m fine, don’t worry. But why are you referring to me as Your Grace?” Fixing your posture—while faintly straightening out your dress—you looked forward to Heeseung. 

“Well you are the mistress of the castle now. It is only right that I address you as Your Grace.” Heeseung stood firm as he spoke to you—yet slowly began to stress at the situation, fearing he may have spoken out of line. 

Indeed Heeseung was right, you were the mistress of the house. Still it was something you needed to become used to within time of being here. “My apologies Heeseung, you are correct. My mind just had a lapse of awareness so I apologize for the worry I caused for you.” You made sure to smile at him, hoping it would sooth his worries.

Heeseung replied with a simple bow, signaling he understood fully well of your intentions. As the three of you stood about, Serim let out a quick cough—signaling for Heeseung’s attention. Right on queue, Heeseung's face beamed with realization. “Let me lead you to the dining room, Your Grace.” Heeseung gestured his way in front of you, waiting for you to acknowledge that. You lightly curtsied to him which then allowed Heeseung to lead the way, Serim followed in suit behind you.

The walk to the dining room was different compared to the route Jay had led you through last night. You walked through halls adorned in a variety of arts and decorations. Yet one painting in particular stood out to you. In the center of the hall was a portrait of someone. The subject of the painting had midnight hair, as well as silver eyes—with that tinge of blue—you recognized immediately. 

It was a portrait of Jay, but he seemed to look years younger, more so of the age when you met for the first time. Your head tilted slightly as you stared at the painting. Perfectly enamored by the details etched into the canvas, one thing you did notice was the inaccuracy of his eyes. The portrait depicted them as only silver, missing out on that deep shade of blue that simmered in his eyes. 

“His Majesty had this painted a bit before His Grace left for the battlefield.” Heeseung over to you—breaking your concentration.

You turned to see the knight looking fondly at the young version of Jay. “I see. I wondered as to why his younger self seemed so familiar.” Turning back to the painting you took one more good look at it. Slowly beginning to think to yourself, how someone of his age served in a war for five years.

“Shall we proceed on Your Grace?” 

Being shaken out of your thoughts you looked over at Heeseung once more. “Yes, sorry. I must have been lost in thought.” Heeseung simply gave you a nod, finishing your walk to the dining room.

Soon you all made it to the dining room. Once entering through the doors you were truly taken away by how large the room was. A long table decorated with silverware and dishware at every chair, while at the head of the table sat Jay. Next to him was someone you had yet to meet. The younger man had blonde hair—slicked back in a style that showed his forehead. He wore a simple outfit, unlike Jay, who was always dressed for his status.

You now assumed the man next to Jay had to be Jungwon, they did look to be relatively close to one another. Making your way down the trail of the table, you were escorted to sit on the left side of Jay. Serim quick on her feet, pulled out your chair, allowing you to make yourself comfortable. Leaving your side, she made her way to stand next to Heeseung at the door.

Settling into your seat there was already food prepared at your seat. On the main plate was an array of some sausages, eggs, bread and some assortment of vegetables. Besides the food on your plate, the table held cheeses, fruits, more bread, and savory pastries. It truly seemed like an unaverage feast. Too busy studying the spread of food your head turned at the slight pick up of Jay’s voice. 

“Good morning.” Jay spoke aloud as his eyes stared into you, watching your every movement since the moment you came through the door.

“Yes good morning to you too!” Your tone was more chipper as you replied back. 

Jay smiled softly at you, enjoying your happiness so early in the morning. “How did you sleep?” Swiftly asking about your wellbeing.

“I slept really well! I’m sorry that I was asleep before you came back.” A pout formed onto your lips while your words trailed off.

A gentle laugh left Jay as he adored your reaction. “Don’t worry Y/N. When I came back from fetching you the blanket I ended up going to my office afterwards to do some work. I’m just mostly glad you slept well.” 

Your cheeks heated softly, feeling how gentle and caring he was—even if it was just relayed by words. “Thank you so much again, Your Grace.” Looking down at the food you began to pick at it, hoping to hide your rosy cheeks.

Jay rested a hand under his chin as he studied you once more, truly enamored by everything about you. “Must you continue to call me Your Grace Y/N?”

You froze momentarily, almost as if you had something stuck within your throat. “Well. I’m just still nervous, forgive me for not being able to speak your name so freely.” You slightly cowered at the thought to say his name. After all you were nothing more than a noble lady mere days ago, so how could you straight address Jay by his name.

Jay exhaled at your answer, but it wasn’t a sigh filled with annoyance at your words. More so wishing you would be able to refer to his name sooner than later. “Don’t worry, take your time. I just felt like teasing you was all.” You nodded your head in understanding, but more so was embarrassed that all he was doing was simply teasing you. 

The rest of the morning was quiet, but not in an awkward silence, the lack of noise was comforting in a sense. The sound of silverware meeting the ceramic plates every so often. The food was nothing more than fantastic, an array of flavors that all perfectly paired into one. As you continued on with your meal Jay had broken the silence. “Once we’re done. Do you want to explore the castle a bit more?” 

You shot your face up from your food, eyes twinkling with excitement at his question. “Yes, yes, yes! I would really enjoy that!” So overtly excited you didn’t notice your voice raised a bit. Realization dawned on you at hearing Jungwon lightly laugh besides Jay. “Sorry, was I too loud?” Emitting the reaction of lowered dog ears.

Jay still kept his smile as he watched you. “No it’s okay. Jungwon only laughed cause I’m sure he finds you cute.” 

Upon hearing his name, Jungwon almost choked at the exposure of his intentions. “See.” Jay called out as he pointed towards Jungwon. “Take your time, once we’re done we’ll head to certain parts of the castle.”

Once finishing the food Jay was the one to escort you out of your chair. He made sure to ask if everything was to your taste and much more. Of course you had nothing to complain about, everything was perfect as is. 

Leaving the dining room—along with Jungwon, Serim, and Heeseung—you made your way to the library first. Making it inside you were amazed at how large the room was. Ceilings tall enough that the books on the top shelf needed a ladder to gain access too. Jay was sure to let you know that anything within the library was all yours to read and look through. You knew this would be a place you’d frequent for many hours of alone time within the future.

Next was making your way to the gallery hall. There you saw even more portraits, some filled with the scenery of Seathal or that of the previous Dukes who ruled over the territory. It was all so splendid and enjoyable to look at. There were even pieces imported from overseas that occupied the hall. Vases, decorative weapons, statues, art, and many more things you had never seen before in your life. Everything felt like a brand new experience to you.

After the gallery hall you made it to the main garden. A big marble pavilion sat in the middle of it all. You looked at it in awe—at that moment wishing it wasn't winter—thrilled to have tea and eat snacks with Serim, Heeseung, and even Jay. Making it past the pavilion you were shown the flowers that bloomed among the bushes, an assortment of roses, tulips, lilies, and any flower you had become acquainted with while growing up. Despite the cold frigid weather, the flowers flourished well—becoming accustomed to its environment. Jay was sure to ask you what your favorite flower was, implying he would grow an abundance of them outside your shared bedroom. You couldn’t help but melt at the thought of it. Your marriage with Jay may have been forced in a sense, but he was sure to be kind and loving with you. You couldn’t but find that curiosity you felt towards him blossom into something more. Something deeper.

As the sun rested below the horizon, you ended the day in Jay’s office—dinner already having been eaten just a couple hours beforehand. Just like his bedroom, it was simple and decorated to his taste. A desk in front of the two main windows, paired with bookcases aligning the walls. In one portion of the room was a sitting area—mostly used by guests or occasional naps from Jay—two single chairs joined with a lounge couch. In the middle of the couches was a table—used for tea time and simple snacks. 

You sat along the lounge couch, tea in hand as you watched Jay surround himself with unfinished work. Before Jungwon had left for the evening, he exclaimed the work was from after Jay came back from the war. That had explained why there were piles of paperwork surrounding him at his desk. 

Jay had urged that you didn’t need to keep him company, exclaiming he had done this for many years alone. You were quick to dismiss his words, making sure to tell him he wasn’t alone now, that he didn’t have to keep doing this stuff alone any longer. Jay didn’t say much at your words, head burrowed into the paper work. But underneath it all, you spotted the tips of his ears burning red. You giggled to yourself, once more adoring his vulnerable side.

Once you had finished the tea and snacks you dismissed both Serim and Heeseung for the night. Reinforcing that you wished to stay with Jay until he was finished with his work. Serim was reluctant but agreed with what you wanted. You watched your maid and knight leave the room, on the way out seeing Heeseung urge Serim to let him help her with the stuff. You smiled to yourself as you saw them leave through the doors, admiring how close they got over the last two days.

“They seem to be pretty close.” Jay pointed out—nose still deep into his work.

You laughed at his observation, hand resting on your cheek as you remembered their interactions over the past two days. “I’m sure they’re both interested in one another. Heeseung has shown he cares about Serim just as much as he cares for me. Truly a knight worthy of his title.” 

Jay let off an approving laugh, finding your words to be very much true. Finishing up the paper in hand, Jay finally set his quill pen down. “I’m finished for the night. Shall we head to the bedroom?” Jay now looked at you, eyes awaiting for your reply.

“Yes, I’m ready to head in for the night.” 

Standing up from his desk, Jay made his way over to you—hand now stretched out for you to take. Taking your hand in his you couldn’t help but notice how cold his hands felt at first. But as you continued to have your hand interlocked with his, the chill turned into a warmth you began to enjoy.

Making your way to the room Jay had mentioned something to you. “In around two weeks time I have to go on a patrol around the territory. And no you’re not allowed to come with me Y/N.” A frown made its way onto your face upon hearing his words. You wished to see every part of Seathal, even if that meant in and out of the city walls.

“I know you’re not happy about it. But it's for your own safety. The border is infested with monsters that I need to take care of. I just don’t want you to get hurt. I’m sorry.”

Hearing Jay speak words of worry and even an apology made your brows knit into concern. Jay had truly cared deeply about you and was showcasing that no matter what. “I understand. Maybe one day when it’s all cleaned and safe enough you can take me there?”

Jay nodded along with your suggestion. “I hope that can happen soon enough. But while I’m gone I’ll have Jungwon show you the ways of running things while I’m away.”

“I’ll be sure to learn thoughts from him while you’re away.” 

Jay chuckled softly at your commitment. “Good girl.”

Your face immediately flushed at his words, feeling nervous now at the sudden praise he had given you. You turned your head to the side, hoping Jay wouldn’t notice you blushing at his words. Unlike your own worries, Jay was too busy thinking about how to bring up his next set of words. 

“Also, I’m sure you’re still worried about consummating our marriage. Your body is still too weak. I’ll inform the chef to make you foods that will strengthen your health and I’m sure you’ll do a lot of exploring within the next couple of months as well, so your stamina won’t be weak as well.” Jay soon began to ramble on—hoping his words didn’t come off offensive.

You quickly noticed his rambling, being sure to soothe his thoughts right away. “Thank you Jay. Your care for me knows no bounds and I truly appreciate all of it.”

Jay forced a genuine smile at your words. Guilt slowly eating away at him. Yes he did it because he cared deeply for you, but at that same time he knew he would have to fulfill his brother’s demands soon. He just wished that fulfillment would happen in a timeframe where you wouldn’t be so physically weak. Deep down he hoped to stall for as long as he could—keeping safe the one thing he began to deeply care for.

Life within Seathal would begin to feel natural—overall normal. Mornings you would get dressed and readied by Serim. Followed by morning meals with Jay—who was always accompanied by Jungwon. In the afternoon you would either read in the library, learn from Jungwon, or take short walks throughout the cold day. 

Oftentimes it would snow throughout those days. Spending most of those moments sitting beneath the pavilion—blanket huddled around you for warmth—watching the snow fall from the sky. Jay would always join you outside, worried you would become too cold within a couple hours.

By the evening you would always spend time in Jay’s office. Teacup in hand while you watched your husband busy himself with the endless piles of paperwork. Other days you would walk through the castle by yourself, feeling the thrill of excitement as you came across new rooms and areas. Jay always managed to find you when it was time for bed—no matter where you were located.

Soon the days would turn into weeks, then finally came the day Jay was leaving for his patrol around the border. Part of you was saddened at Jay being away for merely four days. Jay could sense that, doing his best, he doted on and comforted you—as a hope to not miss him while he was gone. 

You watched as Jay vanished off into the distance, accompanied by the troop of knights in his stead. You had asked Heeseung why he wasn't going along with them. Heeseung had told you he did join the patrols, but this time was instructed to stay by your side while Jay was gone. 

As a result, the days while Jay was away weren’t as dull. Beforehand you were always accompanied by Serim and Heeseung, yet this time they made it their main job to entertain you as much as they could. Due to that mutual agreement between the both of them, they began to grow closer in time as well. Having witnessed moments of shared whispering or giggling amongst them—their interactions soon became that of more than friends.

The day Jay came back in all honestly felt relieving. In those past days while he was gone, it felt as if you were separated for far more than four days. In his absence you began to miss his presence more than you thought you would. Jay was quick to notice your growing clingyness after he came back. 

As a means to make you feel better he had one of the gardeners plant your favorite flowers in front of the bedroom like he promised. By the end of the day there were blue hyacinths planted in the garden from outside the bedroom. 

“Whenever I’m gone you can always think of me when you look upon those flowers. I found out that blue hyacinths mean loyalty.” His hand played with your hair as he watched you leave your focus on the flowers below. Once hearing what the significant color had meant you couldn’t help to tip toe up to him. Lips meeting with his cheek, even if it was momentarily. “Thank you Your Grace. I love them, truely.” You had begun to fall deeply in love with Jay.

Jay stood there shocked at your forwardness, wishing his lips could be met with yours. But it was the first time you had ever made a move of your own. Not wanting to push you away he held back, instead choosing to savor the affectionate moment between you both. 

As the days turned into weeks, the weeks slowly turned into months. Around the one month mark, Jay began to be more affectionate with you. Occasional kisses along your neck to even gentle touches of intimacy. He was sure to always be gentle and abide by your consent, keeping the promise of his words to never hurt you. As these shared moments between you both increased, you began to wish more from him. Simple kisses, hands grazing along your backside, to fleeting touches between you both. You began to crave for more from him. Yet anytime you brought up your consummation, he was always quick to dismiss it. Earnestly wishing for your health to grow stronger before you could tie that official knot. 

Without even realizing it, five months had gone by, that meant five months living in Seathal. Yet still within those long months Jay needed to go on his patrols. In the beginning you desperately started to miss him, but as it became more frequent you were now looking forward to his return than waiting around like a lost puppy. 

On the days he was away you learned everything there was to your Duchess title. Taking care of work within the city, arranging things in the castle, and many more of your duties. In between those days of learning you’d pick up some hobbies—learning to embroider, piano lessons, and even art lessons. Your favorite part from picking up these hobbies was being able to gift Jay things as well as showing him your progress in your lessons. 

Yet while you had normal days without Jay, the same couldn’t be said for him. 

Jay took on more expeditions to the border than normal, everyone knew it and so did he. In pretense it seemed as if it was him diligently doing his job as the Duke of the land, but in reality it was a means to escape from you. Not because he disliked you or hated you. It was due to his growing lust for you. Jay thought that if he continued to clear the borders from the monsters—killing as much as he could to satiate his bloodlust—then surely his unwarranted lust would die down. But it was all useless. 

During those nights as he lay awake unable to sleep he’d create an image of you—same as he did all those nights ago in the staircase. He was able to replicate a version of you so well, it was as if you were a ghost haunting him within his sleep. In the midst of things he’d ask himself if you should’ve come along with him. You did desperately wish to see the edge of Seathal with your own eyes, but deep down Jay didn’t want you to witness what he was out of your sight.

His jaw clenched harshly as he lay on the embellished cot. Hands stuck to his face desperately trying to rub the image of you away. But to his dismay you were still there. Giving up with himself, his hand reached out for you, thumb sliding against your lip as he yearned to feel your flesh on his.

The hand that grazed against your lip soon trailed down to your chin. Fingers holding your head up to face him. In the end Jay knew it wasn’t you, the eyes he envisioned was that of sultry want—boring themselves into his very being. If it was the real you, you would have struggled to hold eye contact with him, he knew that for certain.

Every ounce of him wanted to taste more than what was on the surface. He wanted more from you, more of you. But there was no use in his selfish desires if you were to be used in a plan bigger than what he was. He could never allow himself to excuse his desires if it meant putting you in harm's way. Swatting the ghost of you away, he sat up in the cot. Hands once again finding its way onto his face—fingers gripping into his hair with frustration. “This truly is… Hell.”

The next day Jay had returned back to the castle. It was around late afternoon when he came back with his troop. Yet as he was arriving he saw a carriage from the capital, specifically The Emperor’s personal carriage. Jay’s grip on the reins tightened as he thought of his brother being anywhere near you. 

Dismissing the knights behind him, he galloped his way to the castle entrance. There were maids already stationed to greet him. Hopping off of his horse, the servants lead the companion back to the stables. At the front door entrance stood Jungwon. Jay’s jaw clenched slightly knowing he’d have to go find his brother. “Where is he.” Tone as cold as the winter wind around them.

“He’s in your office, Your Grace.” Jungwon bowed as he spoke, feeling as if he was stepping on eggshells.

Without another word Jay made his way to his office. His metal armor echoed around him while his footsteps hit the floor harshly. Jay wasn’t sure what he would do if his brother laid a finger on you. Killing him wasn’t an option, but if what he feared most was true. It would be his only resort of satisfaction. Barging through the doors his eyes immediately landed on the figure lounged on the large couch. Legs propped up on the table and arms stretched out on the back cushions.

“What are you doing here?”

The Emperor peered his head over to Jay, that sly smile plastered on his face. “Now brother. That’s no way to welcome your brother. I came all the way here to visit you. Have some hospitality now.”

Jay’s hands curled into a fist as he listened to his brother. “You came here to visit me? That’s a lie and you know it.” Jay let off a laugh at his brother’s blatant lie.

“Fine you caught me. But I mean. I did come here for both you and your wife.”

Jay’s eyes flashed at the mention of you rolling off his tongue. The Emperor caught this, laughing at how his brother reacted to the mere remark of your name. Jay’s brows knitted at his brother’s laugh, finding it annoying how he saw amusement in all of this.

“I assure you I didn’t do anything to the girl. I greeted her. Had a little chat and made my way here to wait for you, was all.” A smile crept up onto The Emperor’s face.

“What do you want from us.” Jay was quick to get to the point—wanting his brother out of his sight as soon as he could.

“Well. I heard from a little birdie, that your wife isn’t pregnant yet. Matter of fact. You both haven’t even consummated your marriage.”

Jay’s body froze, anxiety bubbling up at his words. The evidence Jay laid out was believable for the likes of the royal palace’s maids, yet The Emperor knew it was all a facade. That wasn’t the only problem. Now he knew you weren’t pregnant. It had been five months since your arrival here, by now you should at the very least be showing that much was true. Jay stumbled back as things dawned on him. Hand to his head as he tried his best to gather his thoughts together.

“You really didn’t think I’d plant someone from the palace did you?” The Emperor snickered at his brother's ignorance.

Standing up he made his way over to Jay, hand resting on his shoulder. “Since I adore you like my own flesh and blood young brother. I’m giving you one last time to heed my orders.” The Emperor looked up at Jay. Analyzing the emotion of panic wash over his face—something he had never seen in the twenty three years he raised Jay.

Letting out a sigh The Emperor spoke once more. “If not. I will kill your mother.” The Emperor’s hand left Jay’s shoulder, satisfied with what it was he came to do.

Before The Emperor left through the doors his words rang through the office once more. “Remember my words wisely Jay.” With that his brother was gone from the office. 

Jay stood there. Heart racing as everything swirled around him. Jay was running out of time, no, he had no more time left. Jay was so irrevocably in love with you that he would let The Emperor kill his own mother. But on the other hand, it was his mother. The person he assumed was dead his whole life due to his birth. He would do anything in the world if it meant seeing his mother, or even speaking with her once. Yet now he had to choose between you both. Something he never wished to think about the moment the truth was revealed.

Chest tightening, Jay began to strip off the heavy armor. Sweat beading at his forehead in a desperate attempt to calm himself as best as he could. The hard armor hit the floor, the echoing of the clanking metal engulfing the room. Once free, he made his way to the doors of the office. Jay sauntered his way into the hall. Hand placed along the wall to help balance himself along as he went to look for you. His eyes closed shut as he focused, using his mana to search through the castle. Then he found your presence. Walking up the secluded staircase, watching the setting sun as you made your way to the room. Jay was now on his way, desperately wishing to be with you as soon as he could. 

You had always wondered how Jay was able to find you in the castle when no one else could. You were unaware of the fact that Jay’s mana is what made finding you so easy. Ever since that first night you spent together Jay had been sneaking traces of his mana all over you—marking you his in some twisted way.

As Jay finally made it to the staircase he was quick to raise his head up, eyes searching above in a desperate attempt to find you. Then his eyes finally found you, standing there peering out the window, the setting sun shining into your eyes just like it had all those months ago. 

His movements were quicker than he thought, making his way to you faster than he ever did. Jay could feel his fingers tingle in anticipation. Not because he was finally allowing himself to have you. But to hold you and cherish you. Jay could feel himself get swallowed up by guilt. The only thing that could truly cure that dreaded feeling chewing away at him was you.

As you made your way up the steps you didn’t hear the sound of Jay’s presence sneaking up on you. The feeling of hands grabbing at your body shocked you. You couldn’t help letting out a shriek—body frozen as you panicked on what to do.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

The sound of Jay’s voice calmed all that anxiety away. His hands snaked around your waist—holding you flush against him—face soon nuzzling into the crook of your neck. The feeling of his breath exhaling onto you left chills down your spine. Something about him felt off, but you couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

“Is everything okay?” His hold on you tightened at your voice. Feeling like a slow reminder of what was to come for the both of you.

Jay didn’t answer you. You sighed out, hand reaching to his hair—patting him reassuringly. “Can I look at you at least?” 

His response was still the same, only this time as he rubbed his face into your neck he began to leave a trail of kisses. The feeling was ticklish, simultaneously making the heat of your core flutter as his lips grazed against your flushed skin. 

“Jay…”

You merely muttered his name, not even the empty staircase had picked up on it. Yet Jay did. His movements stopped as he heard his name fall off your lips. Your brows knitted as he halted himself—wishing that he wouldn’t stop. Before you could question him once more, you were spun around—back now pressed firmly against the cobblestone walls. Jay’s arms were soon met at your sides—keeping you caged where you stood.

Jay lowered his head next to your ear, once again finding his way to your neck. This time instead of leaving a trail of kisses all he did was take in your smell. Hoping that this was reality and not a twisted dream—maybe part of him did wish it was, but the other half of him prayed it wasn’t.

“Your Grace?” Your words were hushed as you spoke. Not wanting to break the moment between you both.

Jay raised his head from where it was. Now he was looking at you—those silver eyes you remembered in such intricate detail piercing into your very being. As Jay stared at you his eyes wandered down to your lips then back to your eyes, taking in every single aspect of you. 

Raising his hand to you, Jay grazed his thumb over your bottom lip—just as he did with the hallucination of you. But this time you were really standing in front of him, not a lust filled imagery of you. As he brushed his thumb, his eyes wandered back to your lips. Staring at the way your plump lips felt underneath his touch.

“Say it again.”

You looked at him confused, wondering what it was he was referring to. “My name. Say it again.” Hearing his words your face reddened, now aware that he heard you call out his name in a fevered state.

Your eyes looked away from him, hesitance written all over your face. Jay saw the way you reacted, knowing you only felt this way due to the gap in your status. “Please Y/N. Today I wish to finally consummate our marriage. I want to hear you call me by my real name.” 

Hearing his words you slowly met your eyes with his, seeing a pleading look deep in them. You were finally tying that knot with him. So surely it was only right that you did so. “Jay.” This time you said his name more confidently. There was still some reluctance behind your tone, but he was able to hear you say his name.

A smile formed on his face upon hearing his name, unknowing to how overjoyed that made him. In an instant his lips were on yours—light and delicate not wanting to overdo it. Leaving a kiss to your lips, Jay began to trail his way down, kissing briefly along your jaw and down your neck. 

As he submerged himself into his actions, one of his hands now found its way to the side of your thigh. The sensation of him languidly rubbing up your thigh startled you. His kisses paused, chin resting against your chest as he looked up at you, that same smile still peering up at you. 

“I don’t think you understand how crazy you drive me.”

Before anything else could be said, Jay continued on. Hands roaming amongst your waist as he began to kiss along your torso. Even if his lips against your skin were separated by the fabric of your dress, you could feel everything. You gasped out at the sensation, your body tingling from head to toe.

“Wait. Jay…” Your whimpers fell onto deaf ears as he proceeded on. 

Kneeling before you, Jay was now focused on one thing. Making sure you would feel the pleasuring sensation of his desire for you. “Lift up your dress Y/N.”

You wanted to ask questions. Ask him why he wanted you to do so, but as you felt his fingers tap at your ankles you slowly realized why. Crumpling the fabric of your dress between your fingers, you slowly raised your skirt. Jay’s jaw clenched as he watched the fabric rise. Watching as your bare legs came into his viewpoint.

Without warning Jay had placed his hand underneath your thigh—propping it over his shoulder. The feeling of him lifting your leg off the ground caused you to yelp, whilst slightly losing your balance in the process. Quickly aiding you, Jay rested the palm of his other hand against your back.

The feeling of warm lips against your inner thigh made you tremble. Your fingers clutched the dress skirt tighter as his lips made way up your thigh. His grip tightening while he held you close against him. His warm breath swept past your clothed heat, a soft moan leaving your mouth at the ticklish feeling. The sensation was all too new to you, yet, it didn’t scare you. Jay didn’t scare you. But when something wet swept at your cunt your moans only grew louder. A new feeling forming in your stomach at the pleasuring sensation.

As Jay kneeled in between your legs his thread of reasoning was slowly beginning to snap. Your cunt was mere inches away from him, and when he heard your soft whimpers above him he was unsure of how much more he could take. In a heated daze, Jay inched his tongue toward your heat—despite the fabric of your lingerie being in the way. The slight taste of you on his tongue made him shudder, fingertips tingling in a way he never felt before—the thread he desperately grasped at fraying in the process. 

But when he heard a moan unlike any other come out from you, that thread snapped. The hand that held you safely against your back made its way to your hip. Grip strong yet soft as he angled your body up—allowing him a better view of your cunt. “Fuck...” was all he could say as he saw the way you began to soak through your panties. The wet spot in the fabric growing in the mere seconds he stared.

Jay wanted to have you right then and there. He wanted to savor the feeling of your heat wrapped around him as he took you. But the thought faded as he remembered your weakened body. It was impossible for you to take him now, especially without doing anything to ease you onto his size.

Hooking a finger under the gusset, Jay drew the cloth back—now allowing a full view of your glistening cunt. He couldn’t help but bite his lip at the sight, you were finally within his grasp, and Jay was going to have all of you. Leaning his head further in, Jay swept his tongue at your folds—licking up the sweet taste of your juices. Your body arched back at the warm—yet also wet—feeling on your cunt. Legs beginning to shake as Jay lapped at your core.

Jay was earnest in his work, tongue licking along your folds before he’d gently suck at your clit. The overwhelming sensation of his lips wrapped onto your bud shook you, head tilting back as your body jolted with pleasure. The grasp on your skirt faltered as he proceeded on. As Jay continued his motions, the hand gripping at your thigh left its place. Too enraptured by the pleasure you were unaware of the absent feeling on your thigh. Instead that absence would be replaced with his finger prodding at your entrance. 

Your breath hitched in your throat at the tight feeling of his finger inserting into you. Back arching—further—as you felt everything, body shuddering from his touch alone. Despite the slight pain it all melted away as Jay continued his ministrations on your clit.

As Jay inched his finger deeper—slightly curling it in the process—he felt something spongy. Curious as to what it was he pressed down on it, the pressure was soft. Yet that pressure alone caused you to moan louder. Jay smirked to himself, realizing he had found the spot that made you feel good. 

Jay incessantly pressed at the spot. Applying gentle increments of pressure, as well as rubbing against it. As this went on your moans turned into a noisy mess, so much so you began to bite your lip in a hopeless attempt to quiet yourself.

To absorbed into pleasing you Jay inserted another finger inside. Your head began to spin, the pleasure far too much to think straight. As his two fingers slid in and out, paired with his tongue at your cunt, the tingling feeling in your stomach began to ache.

Jay could feel the way your entrance began to flutter around his fingers—signaling how close you were. He began to work more diligently, dragging out your inevitable orgasm. Your toes curled as you felt waves wash over you. Every time Jay pressed down on that spot it was as if the dam inside of you was breaking. Then with one final languid stroke you came undone on him. Jay steadied himself, allowing you to ride out your orgasm. Your body trembled and shivered above him—chest heaving as you gasped for air—eyes wide as you felt the euphoric feeling run through your body. 

Jay retracted his face away from your heat, fingers slowly leaving your entrance as well. He looked down at his fingers, viewing the two fingers coated in your juices. Then he looked up at you, he saw your half lidded eyelids as you came down from that lust driven high. As Jay let your leg touch back to the floor, you couldn’t help but buckle down. Jay quickly held onto you, surprised by how much that alone did a toll on you. “I got you.” Was all he said before scooping you into his arms. 

Motioning you to wrap your arms around him he held close onto you, leaving gentle kisses against your face as he comforted you. A mixture of praises were said to you as he made his way up the stairs. Making it into the room, Jay was worried he overworked you. Deciding by himself that he would take you another night instead. Settling you down on the bed, he began to leave your side—hoping to retrieve a wash cloth for you—but you stopped him. Gentle fingers clutching onto his hand desperately. 

He looked at you confused. Then the next words he heard from you was a sentence he had least expected. 

“Don’t go. Stay.” Was all you could weakly muster out.

Jay stood there, unsure of what to do. You seemed to be utterly weakened. So how could he push you further? “You need to rest.” Jay replied, looking away from you—unable to face you in the heat of things.

“Please. Jay. I need you.” 

This time you sat up to look at him. Jay turned to look at you, wondering if what you had said was real. Then as he saw you sitting there, eyes full of something he never saw from you. The heat of his core began to ache. That look he saw in your eyes was lust. You wanted him at that very moment and Jay could see that as clear as day. Yet, he was still unsure of himself. But when you began to untie the top of your dress before him, all reasoning began to leave his mind.

He watched as the sleeves slipped down your shoulders, dropping past your chest pooling around your waist—revealing your exposed breasts. Jay licked at his bottom lip, before crashing onto yours. His hands cupped at your face, delving himself into the kiss—piecing himself to you like a puzzle piece. The hand placed at your cheek slid around to the back of your neck, angling yet pushing his fevered lips deeper into yours. Jay leaned himself onto the bed—your body following with his movements. His grip on your neck was still strong, whilst his other hand began to dance down your chest.

Rough fingers tauntingly grazing at your nipple, before kneading the bud between his index and thumb. You couldn’t help but moan into the kiss, startled by the sudden pressure on your breasts. As Jay continued to rub your nipple he soon let it go, instead this time cupping your boob in his hands.

His tongue swept past your bottom lip, urging for you to open up for him. You complied diligently, as his tongue slipped in, finding yours immediately. Soon Jay was swirling his tongue along with yours, in hopes to loosen the tension in you as much as he could—while he massaged your chest gently.

The kiss was heated and breathy, your arms desperately clutched around his neck as you followed along with his lead. At a certain point you needed to breathe, but Jay, so immersed into your plump lips, didn't notice you tapping at his chest—only when you bit his lip did he notice. Breaking the kiss right away, Jay began to observe your face—just a few inches from his—your lips now a red color as you breathed deeply underneath him. The last time he had seen such a sight was the day he kissed you at the altar. But now he would see more than just your lips red and sore for him.

Jay’s hand left your chest, reaching up to lower your back against the bed. His hand at your neck left its place, now gluing itself to your waist. Jay’s hands roamed your body as he took in the sight of you, gliding down every curve and crevice—worshipping you in the process. 

The one thing left in his way was the rest of your dress. Immediately tugging the fabric down your legs. Your body was now bare—all except for your panties. Jay was quick to undress himself, fingers frantically rushing to unbutton his shirt.

As his shirt hit the floor, he made way to his pants—unbuttoning in such precision to earnestly remove them. Now he stood there in between your legs, gently grinding his bulge into your core. You bit your lip at the pressure against your cunt. Head turning to the side in a poor attempt to hide your reddening face. Jay was too engaged with what was happening below to realize you were also finding pleasure in everything.

Cursing under his breath his hips wouldn’t stop moving into you. So drunk on you he kept with his motions—which also helped in loosening you more. The moment he spotted his precum soak through his briefs he knew it was time.

Discarding your underwear, Jay got a better view of your wet cunt before him. He could see the way your entrance twitched in anticipation for him. You peeked at him from the corner of your eyes, waiting for Jay to remove his garments as well.

Then as he slid the cloth of his briefs down did you see his cock. The size was unlike something you ever imagined. The girth seemed far too big to fit inside of you, not to mention the faint ridges beneath his shaft. You swallowed back, throat drying at the mere sight of him in front of you. But out of everything, what caught your eyes the most was the tiny blue scales amongst his pelvis. Seemingly the most dragonlike thing about him—besides his eyes.

Jay nestled his cock onto your heat, rubbing himself up and down your folds. The rugged feeling of the ridges against your cunt elicited a moan from you. Despite your pooling desire you began to worry about his size.

“Jay… I don’t think. It won’t fit.” You whimpered out, hand stretching out to push his hips away from yours—yet only your fingertips grazed against his skin.

Suddenly Jay brought both your legs together, holding them straight against his chest—his dick tightly pressed in between your thighs. The pressure was agonizing whilst he imagined himself bottomed out inside of you. It was enough, but he still needed to prep you.

“Shhh.” Jay soothed you, interlocking his free hand with yours, as his hips still continued their slow thrusts.

Throwing an arm over your face you basked in the pleasure, head swirling as you began to see stars in your vision. Your hand tightened in his hold, legs trembling harshly every time he dragged his cock through your folds. Your moans only grew more as his hips began to slam into the back of your thighs. You could feel that knotted feeling in your stomach loosen again. Your heated moans slowly morphed into his name—the feeling of your orgasm looming over you as he continued. Noticing this Jay picked up his pace slightly, wishing to help you cum first.

With one final feverish rub of his cock against your clit the pooling heat inside of you was released. Feeling the way your legs viscously trembled in his grasp, Jay stopped his movements. Slowly rubbing himself into you—helping soothe your orgasm down. You both sat there for a moment. You savoring the ecstasy of it all while Jay watched you. Your arms tightly covered over your face as you laid there catching your breath. It was only the second time that you came, but you were already spent.

Soon your legs would be set into a different position—angled to be pressed at your sides. Jay sluggishly ran his cock against your cunt. Whimpers left your lips—a needy attempt to voice how sensitive you were—but Jay continued on. 

Then as your eyes peered down you saw his cock, tip red and leaking of precum. That's when you realized he didn’t cum at all while he catered to you. Jay got you to cum twice and here he stood still holding it in. Your hands stretched out to your legs, helping to hold them flush against yourself—hoping Jay would also realize your want for him. Jay gulped at the sight. Laying there as you held your legs apart just for him, he was truly enamored with the sight of you. 

As he rubbed himself into your core, he began to thumb at your clit. The gentle and slow circles chewed away at you as you began to feel yourself grow impatient. Yet while he thumbed your clit, it distracted you from the main course of things.

Jay settled the head of his cock at your entrance, you seemed wet enough to take him, and Jay prayed it would be enough to not hurt. As he slowly nudged his way into you, your breath hitched in your throat. This pressure was different from when Jay’s fingers were in you. You could feel the way his tip began to stretch you out. It hurt momentarily, yet the pleasure washing over your body made it durable.

The hand that thumbed at you outstretched onto your pelvis—still continuing his circles on you. His palm on your pelvis made you feel grounded as he inched his way into you. With every inch of his cock in you, your moans began to slip out. As he entered, Jay’s tip momentarily rubbed past that sensitive area. You gasped out at the feeling, back arching at the indescribable pleasure.

Soon Jay was merely half way into you, taking his time to adjust you to his size. He continued to rub your clit, noticing it helped loosen in you in the process. The whole time Jay watched you shake and shudder before him, yet as he looked down his eyes were glued on the way you swallowed him. Every inch disappearing into your tight cunt. With just a few more pushes he was able to nestle his pelvis onto your core. Staying still he needed you to become comfortable with the feeling of him inside. Softly rubbing his hips into you he leaned down to your ear.

“I’m gonna start moving now…” 

Was all he said as his body caged you, arms rested at your side as he drew his hips back. Steady and slow before slamming back into you. Your hands left your thighs as you now blissfully hugged at his neck—nails digging into his back in desperation. 

Every time Jay dragged his hips back the pace was the same—all while rubbing against that spongy spot—yet when he buried himself back inside, it felt needy and rushed. At a certain point in, the pacing of his thrusts picked up. 

No longer was he slowly dragging himself out of you, he was now earnestly slamming his hips into yours. You were soon a mess underneath him, your moans turning into a mix of mewls and gasps. Tears began to brim at your eyes, the pain and pleasure becoming too unbearable for you to handle. 

As Jay buried his head next to yours he turned to look at you. Mind wondering if your face was the exact same way he imagined it. And his imagination was correct, but when he saw the tears he couldn’t help but wanting to kiss them away. His lips met the wet corners of your eyes, hoping to comfort you through his erratic thrusts.

Jay could feel himself reaching his breaking point—his movements becoming a blend of rough and fast to lazy and stable. He was due to cum at any second, but began to doubt things once again—hips pausing for a second—truly asking himself if this is what he wanted to do.

But as he thought of you being able to carry his child and raise one with him, those doubts began to leave him. Now he was telling himself it would be fine, you had The Saintess’ blessing. So surely her holy powers would be able to help you when you would give birth. Agreeing with himself he picked up the pace of his hips one more time.

With one last final harsh thrust he steadied himself—cock nestled deep inside, twitching slightly against your walls. With that one thrust you were able to come for what hoped to be the last time. The feeling of him throbbing inside had you whimpering beneath him, paired with the feeling of a rush of warmth that filled you. 

The two of you stayed in that position, savoring the feeling of each other—while you both caught your breaths. Jay left kisses along your face before pushing himself off of you—all while still being connected. You watched him, eyes half lidded. It wasn’t due to the fucked out daze you were in, but the fact you began to grow tired. Before you could say anything to Jay you were fast asleep. Noticing your tuckered out state, Jay was slightly beating himself up for being too rough with you.

Sliding out of you, Jay immediately noticed the way his cum dribbled out. In a frantic mess he left the bed searching around for something to wipe you up. Remembering his discarded shirt he grabbed it, beginning to wipe you down.

Once finished he searched in your section of the closest for night attire. Securing clean lingerie and a night dress he helped change you—not wishing to leave you in the bed naked. Finishing up, Jay tucked you underneath the covers, soon settling down on the edge of the bed next to you. He watched your sleeping form—chest rising up and down slowly—truley admiring how much he began to love you. 

Jay still felt he didn’t deserve love. But you? You began to show him that he was allowed to take part in that emotion. His hand rested on your stomach, softly rubbing it as the things he did dawned on him. He just truly hoped and wished whatever happened from here on out would be okay. Not just for him, but for you.

The next morning you woke up severely sore. Your back ached as well as your legs—especially your thighs. Serim was with you the whole morning, nursing you and helping out as much as she could to comfort you. As she helped she did ask about what happened, deep down she knew you and Jay had a steamy night, but was worried regardless.

You told her what she had suspected, even telling her how it was your first night together. Serim was shocked at the truth since she believed your consummation happened the night of your wedding. Despite her surprise Serim wasn’t upset with you. She found it chivalrous that Jay wanted you to strengthen your body before he bedded you.

You laughed at her burst of admiration for him. While you both shared the conversation you went ahead to ask about Heeseung—wondering as to what was going on with the both of them. Serim blushed at your question, head shying away from you. 

The room filled with giggles at not only her reaction but her speaking so highly of Heeseung—truly proving he was taking great care of her. Before the two of you could chat more, Jay came into the room. Serim straightened herself as she greeted him. Jay gave her a soft smile before politely excusing her. Serim said her goodbyes—secretly waving at you—before leaving the room. Jay turned to you, brows knitting as he saw your weakened state. “Sorry. I was too rough last night wasn’t I?”

His words caught you off guard. Your cheeks heated up as you processed what he said. “What?! Oh! No you weren’t!” Your words came off high pitched while answering him. Jay chuckled at your reaction—admiring how adorable he found you. Making his way over to you he placed a hand on your cheek, caressing your face gently. You melted in his touch like always. Cheek rubbing into his gentle hand.

“Also. I am sorry about cumming inside as well.”

You craned your head at his words. What did he mean? Then it dawned on you on what he was talking about. Your hands shot to your stomach, gently rubbing the surface. The thought of a child didn’t frighten you, if anything it made you excited. A reminder that you married Jay to live a happy life and create a family.

Jay saw the way you smiled, a bit of relief washing over him all at once. “Well it's not guaranteed you’ll be pregnant right away. A dragonborn’s sperm is potent but it's not easy to tell after one time. I mean if the idea of having a child with me is okay…”

Even if your body ached, and was sore all over you jumped up to hug him. Arms wrapping around his neck—tippy toes barely touching the floor—as you spoke happily about wishing to raise a child with him. Jay reciprocated the hug, arms tightly wrapping around your waist as he nuzzled into your shoulder.

Jay didn’t deserve you. He didn’t deserve you to agree so willingly, especially when you seemed so happy. He hated how he couldn’t tell you the real truth of the matter. Yes he wished to create a family with you, but not in a reality where his brother was threatening his mother. He just hoped you’d be able to stay ignorant of the truth—fearing deep down that he could lose you. 

Separating from the hug, you settled back into the bed. Straining your body too much from one hug. You could see worriedness on Jay’s face—slightly mixed with guilt. “Hey. Don’t be upset. Remember I’m a descendant of The Saintess. I’ll be better tomorrow morning I promise.”

Jay loosened up at your words, but still held a small amount of guilt. Giving you a soft smile he agreed with your words in the end. “If that's the case, take the rest of the day to get better. Tomorrow I’ll introduce you to one of the castle’s doctors. I trust her with my life so you should be fine.”

“Thank you so much Jay.”

His ears reddened at his name, happy that you were able to call him by his name instead of that stupid title. Any worries on his face now vanished—at the mere sound of his name. Jay reached a hand out to stroke the top of your head. You enjoyed it whenever Jay did so, finding yourself beginning to crave for his affection.

“I’ll get going now. I need to finish up some work unfortunately. I’ll have Serim serve you dinner in the room. Just rest for today.” Leaning down, Jay placed a peck to your forehead. With one more gentle look at you he left the room. You laid there, fingers rubbing at your forehead as you began to miss your husband.

The next day you indeed felt better, any trace of aching or soreness was long gone from your body. You woke up earlier than usual—way before breakfast was to be served—after getting dressed and ready you made your way to Jay’s office. Already wishing to see him first thing in the morning. 

As you made your way into the office Jay was happy to see that you were right. In just one day your holy powers healed you back to perfect health. Getting up from his seat Jay walked over—meeting you halfway in the room—arms open as he wished to hug you.

You were quick to reciprocate the hug. Arms wrapping around his waist as you enjoyed the warmth of his chest. You both stood there for little over a minute, the only thing breaking you apart was the sound of Jungwon clearing his throat. Parting ways you both stood there sheepishly, not thinking how much your feelings for either were in sync.

“Yes. Well. I want to introduce you to the doctor today. I’ll introduce you both around lunch time?”

“That sounds great! I will see you at breakfast then!” You turned on your heel stiffly as you made way to the doors. Before leaving you turned around, giving Jay a small wave before heading off to the dining room.

“You both are utterly smitten with one another.” Jungwon chimed in as he continued to look through his work.

“Shut up.”

Later that afternoon like Jay had said, you met the castle doctor—Yunjin. She had a beautiful color of light auburn hair and dark chestnut eyes. The one feature on her that really stuck out to you was the mole on her nose. She was truly beautiful in your eyes.

Jay introduced you both to one another. Yunjin truly cared about her position as Jay’s entrusted doctor, and was all the more grateful she was chosen to look after your pregnancy check ups. During your first meeting she checked to see if you were possibly pregnant. Jay and her knew it was unlucky after the first night but needed to check just in case. 

At the end of the check up you in fact weren’t pregnant—which only meant more heated moments between you and Jay. Once Yunjin finished up, you thanked her plenty of times. Yunjin couldn’t help but grow a soft spot for you off of your first meeting—genuinely understanding why Jay was quick to adore you. As you and Jay watched Yunjin leave, he snaked a hand at your lower back, tugging you close to him in the process. Leaning down to your ear he whispered something to you. “Shall we try again tonight?” 

You couldn’t help but blush at his words. In return all you could do was shyly nod your head at him. Jay smiled to himself at your flustered actions, kissing against your neck and ear as he led you back to the room. That night was filled with passion and desire just like a couple days prior. 

Soon a month would pass, and within that month The Saintess’ season would start. You watched as the winter snow melted into the lush green you saw in the paintings. The colors reminded you so much of home as well. Different flowers bloomed during this season, flowers that would stay healthy and strong.But being able to witness The Saintness season was the least of your busy life.

Cause within that time you slowly began to realize how carnal Jay was. Every other day without fail he bedded you. Whether it was in the morning, evening, or night, Jay was utterly entranced by you. Of course it was all for the sake of you getting pregnant, but there were many times where it felt as if he wanted to be with you because it was you—not for the sake of having his child. That realization alone made you putty in his hands. Giving into his every whim and desire whenever he saw it, and the same was for you as well.

Some days you would do it in the room, other days in the office—Jay was more hands on during those moments, enjoying the way you grew nervous of someone walking in. Even though he made sure to lock the office doors everytime—the secluded staircase was another area in the castle.

Despite mating like bunnies, you were yet to be pregnant. Jay’s behavior shifted a little bit at this. That's when you came to notice how smitten he was—clinging to you as if he was starving. He was eager about releasing in you, always making sure to keep you on him when you both finished. Even going as far as to bending you in such an erotic position, you were bound to end up pregnant.

And just like that you were. You had your daily check up with Yunjin in the late evening—which always ended in no good news. But this time was different. Yunjin seemed more chipper this time, eagerly waiting to tell you something. Once she told you the news, you jumped up to hug her, graciously happy that you were now with a child. 

With no more time to spare you quickly left Yunjin’s room. Hurriedly making your way to Jay’s office. Serim and Heeseung didn’t accompany you on your unplanned visit, since you wished to share this information with Jay alone, as well as wishing him to be the first person to hear it.

You smiled from ear to ear, exhilaration filling up every inch of your body. You could see the doors to his office right at the end of the hall. Picking up your pace as you began to grow impatient. Finally making it to the door you were about to make your way in when you realized one of the doors was cracked ajar. Then your ears picked up on the shared words from inside.

As always it was Jungwon who accompanied Jay in the office. Yet they were both talking about The Emperor, then about you. You shouldn’t have eavesdropped—you know that—but you grew curious on why you were a topic of conversation.

“She needs to know the truth one day, Your Grace.” Jungwon’s usual warm voice was cold and blunt while he spoke.

Jay meekly answered. “Yes. But…”

“Your Grace. There is no but scenario…” Jungwon hissed.

“I know that you and Her Grace have been at it non stop in hopes for her to bear a child. But you need to tell her why you’re actually doing this.”

One of your brows raised at his words. What was Jungwon implying? Was there a bigger motive to all of this besides an arranged marriage. The marriage was indeed arranged, but you believed the both of you had shared feelings. Especially with how nice and affectionate he was with you. That wasn’t false was it?

Then the next things that came out of Jay’s mouth truly shattered your heart.

“Tell her what exactly? That I’m using her to gain a child for my brother?! She can’t know Jungwon and you know that…” Jay raised his voice at Jungwon. Eyes gleaming whilst snarling at his best friend.

But those words were enough to have you running down the hall. Tears stinging your eyes as they fell from your face. You couldn’t believe what Jay had said. Was your marriage really a set up for you to have his child? Your head spun as you tried piecing everything together.

All the times he kissed you, hugged you, touched you. Was it all just a façade? Then you remembered the way he made love with you, the dawning realization made you sick to your stomach.

You didn't know where to run too. You couldn’t go back to the room, or hide out in the staircase—he was sure to find you. As you kept running you unconsciously made your way to Serim’s room—tucked all the way in one of the corners of the castle wing.

Making it to Serim’s room you frantically banged on her door. “Serim. I need you.” Sobbing out as your bawled up hands began to numb.

Serim tore the door open, her face mixed with confusion and fear. Then as she saw your tear stained face her eyes shifted to immediate concern. “My Lady! What happened!? What's going on?” Her hands stretched out to—holding onto the sides of your arms fearing you would slink down.

“I. I don’t. I don't know what to do, Serim.” Your voice hitched as the sound of your wailing sobs cut in between your words. Your shaky hands rubbing at your eyes in a poor attempt to wipe the tears away.. 

Serim rubbed your arms as she led you into the room, settling you down on the bed kneeling in front of you. Her hands reached to yours, pulling them to the side as she aided in wiping your tears away. You sat there allowing Serim to do as she wished—stilling weeping before her.

After lots of gentle soothing and gentle words you calmed down. Your nose a stuffy mess as you stared at the palm of your hands. “What happened? I’ve never seen you like this…” Serim’s words were full of sorrow. Her chest tightening as she saw you—the strongest person she knew—crumbling before her.

Her question of concern brought more tears to your eyes. But instead of a stream of tears, they dribbled down, your eyes already tired from the sobbing session you had mere minutes ago. Then as you cleared your coarse throat you told her everything—the news of your pregnancy up to what you overheard from Jay.

Serim sat there shocked. Unsure of how to comfort you in this situation. “What are you going to do?” She was concerned. There was no way you would be able to be the same near Jay anymore. Not only did he break your trust. He shattered your heart into a million pieces, and Serim could hear those pieces hitting rock bottom.

“I want to leave here. I can’t be here anymore, Serim. I can’t face him.” Your face landed back into your hands as you cried, the situation of things sinking into you.

“What of the child?” 

You paused, tears halting as you remembered the child growing inside of you. Of course you wouldn’t get rid of it, you were ready to love and care for the little one. “I’ll keep it. It may have been brought up in an artificial marriage. But that doesn’t mean the child has to suffer for it. Wherever I go and wherever I end up, I will care for it with all the love in the world. It’s what the baby deserves at the end of the day.”

Serim teared up at your words—happy that she had chosen to serve you for the rest of her life.

“Does that mean you wish to run away. Leave far from here and raise the little one all alone?” You thought about Serim’s question for a moment. But even then it only took a few mere seconds to agree—positive on the decision laid out for you.

Serim nodded her head—understanding what you wished for—as she conjured a plan. “A trip back to the family estate is nearly impossible. You would be found out within the first few hours. You also have no land or relatives out here, so staying undercover won’t work…” Then she thought some more, the image of a familiar red head struck her. 

Heeseung could help. He knew the ins and outs of Seathal, Serim was sure he’d know of a place that was decently far away but also out of Jay’s eyesight. “I’ll ask Heeseung.” You looked at her, eyes widening in shock. “Heeseung? Are you sure he’s gonna allow this? Jay entrusted his safety to me, there's no way he would possibly agree to this…”

“I am certain he will help out. I know he will…”

For the next couple of hours Serim would give you a set plan of escape. You told her about the secluded staircase, ensuring her that the both of you wouldn’t be seen by anyone else in the castle. You also made sure to have her relay this info to Heeseung, that was if he was genuinely going to agree to help.

You and Serim made an agreement to meet one another in the staircase at three a.m. That meant you only had seven hours to play pretend with Jay. You weakly made it back to the room, face clear from the stains and puffiness, yet your heart still ached. You could feel yourself being torn apart, you were unsure if you'd be able to last seven hours. 

While you made it back to your bedroom, Serim was on a hunt for Heeseung—feeling distressed as she looked in every room she could think of. Then as Serim made her way to a more secluded hallway, Heeseung had miraculously come around the corner. 

Serim ran up to him in a frenzy, hands grabbing at his arms before spewing an array of words at him. “Heeseung I need your help.”

Hearing Serim ask for his help the way she did had him alert. “What happened? Are you hurt? Is Her Grace hurt too?” Hands at her cheeks, turning her face side to side—checking for anything out of the ordinary.

“No, but. It does pertain to Her Grace. But she's not hurt or anything…” Serim’s words trailed off as she looked away from Heeseung.

“Please tell me what it is Serim. What's going on?”

Serim told him everything, relaying almost an exact copy of the words she heard from you. As she finished, Serim looked at Heeseung. Hoping that he at least thought about the situation.

“Serim. I.” His words were filled with uncertainty. You were right, he was torn between listening to his master or protecting you from harm like Jay had tasked him too.

“Please Heeseung. You have to help us. Her Grace. My Lady, she's suffering. I don't wish to see her like this. Please. I’m begging you Hee.”

Over the six months of you living in Seathal, Serim and Heeseung had an eye for one another the first day they met. And as time went on they began to develop mutual feelings for one another. You had known—more so it was a hunch, and the same could be implied for Jay—but didn’t say much, wishing to respect your friend’s privacy.

But as Heeseung heard his nickname fall from Serim’s lips, he knew this wasn’t servant to servant. But that of a lover asking for help from the one they love most. 

Heeseung fought with himself, a war going off inside of him internally. But even if his master’s task was law, he loved Serim more than that. “I’ll help you.”

Serim’s eyes gleamed with hope, utterly grateful for the man to call her lover. Grasping at the collar of his uniform, she dragged him down to her height. Leaving a kiss against his lips—showing how much she appreciated the man in front of her. As Serim parted her lips from Heeseung he gave her a smile, truly showcasing how smitten he was with the girl. 

“We have seven hours to kill. I’ll fill you in on everything before we get Her Grace.” Heeseung nodded along as the two of them walked out of the hallway.

You felt empty as you stood at the balcony windows. Your heart and soul felt like a hollow void while looking at the very flowers Jay had dedicated to you. Those same blue hyacinths that held a definition of unwavering loyalty. But what loyalty was there when he had lied to your face for six months? You scoffed at the flowers, finding yourself hating the thing you deemed as your favorite only five months ago. 

The clicking sound of the door didn’t startle you, all it did was prepare you to act how you always did. The you that held an unlimited amount of love and adoration for your so called husband.

Hands wrapped around your waist, Jay pulled you closer to him, your body now flushed against his chest. Just like he always did when he held you from behind, Jay rested his forehead on your shoulder—taking in your scent before laying kisses along the back side of your neck.

“I missed you.” His words made your stomach churn, not in a fleeting way. It was far from that.

You rested your hands on his arms, rubbing them gently as you lied to him—for the first time during your marriage—all while faking a smile. “I missed you too.”

Jay looked at your face, eyes staring into yours, feeling as if something was amidst. “What’s wrong?”

Your body froze at his question, fearing he had caught you. But despite your panicked thoughts it seemed as if he was only concerned. “I’m just tired is all.”

“I can help you with that.” His words whispered into your ear, the feeling of his breath brushing past your ear sending chills down your spine. 

You wanted to hate him with every bone in your body, yet your body craved for his touch. Your brain may have known what to feel, but your heart still yearned for the man you thought loved you. 

Jay began to nibble the back of your neck, whilst leading you to the balcony window—caging you between him and the glass. You placed your hands on the window, helping to steady yourself as he continued on.

You wanted to push him off, scream at him, yell at him, hate him. But you had to keep up the act, just seven hours of playing pretend—was all you needed to not raise suspicion. Your moans choked in your throat as his hand dragged up your dress, ghosting along your legs before gripping the fabric back.

Your body was soon pressed fully against the window as Jay weighed down on you—hand propped at one side of you. The pressure and closeness had your legs feeling numb. You despised how much your body enjoyed it, how he knew all your sensitive spots. As if on queue he began to suck at that particular area under your ear.

You bit your lip, muffling the string of moans as best as you could.

“Don’t do that. You’re gonna hurt your lips.” Jay brought his fingers over to your lips, grazing them as he placed them in hopes you’d bite on his finger instead.

Taking his gesture you bit down on his finger. Jay winced slightly at how harsh it was, but looked past it. Jay soon rolled his hips into you, pressing his stiffness into the plush heat. It didn’t take long for him to discard his pants—and briefs—as well as your underwear. Jay rubbed his bare cock between your thighs before meeting the tip at your entrance. As always he was slow and sensual, always making sure you weren’t in pain—yet as you both did it for so long you grew accustomed to his size. 

Your legs shook as Jay made his way inside—you may have grown used to him, but the feeling of him filling you always left you winded. Jay inched his way in, savoring the feeling of your walls clenching around his cock. 

The hand that was at your lips left you as he dragged his fingers down the side of your body. His grip ended up on your hips, fingers now digging into the flesh of your skin. The stinging pain only heightened your pleasure eliciting more moans. Hearing your satisfied voice Jay picked up his pace. 

The angle he had you in allowed him to drag along that sensitive spot nestled inside. The constant twang of pleasure made you dizzy, forgetting for a brief moment of your discontentment for him. Everything else was a blur. So lost in that dizzying haze you now found yourself in bed. Jay was sound asleep next to you. Arm wrapped over your waist holding you close to him. You peeled his arm off as you slipped out from the bed.

At the beginning of the marriage Jay was always a light sleeper. Either woke up at the smallest noise or just never slept. But as he shared a bed with you and slept next to you that habit of his went away. He would still wake up to some things, but if you were quiet enough things were fine.

As you stood from the bed you watched Jay's sleeping form. Your heart ached as you looked at him, the betrayal of him creeping back on you. Looking at the clock on the side table it read two a.m. There was one more hour until you needed to meet up with Serim.

You headed to the wardrobe, quickly changing as you fished around for clothes. Hoping to find ones that were light weight for the travel ahead. You found plain underdresses in your search—opaque enough that you could wear them as is. Pulling a couple clothing items from the closet you stuffed them into a small travel suitcase. Once everything fit you were positively ready to leave.

But before you decided to head out, your legs stopped you. Part of you wanted to leave without a word, vanish from his life as if you never existed. Yet part of you couldn’t do it. He may have lied to you about the marriage but you lived an amazing six months in Seathal nonetheless.

Walking over to the desk you pulled out a paper and ink quill. Flattening out the parchment you began to write. Etching your words onto the paper in hopes he would accept everything for what it was.

Finishing up, you folded the letter and set it next to the table on—Jay’s side—along with your half of the wedding ring. Your fingers brushed through his hair gently—taking one final look at the man before you. “May we never meet again.” Was all you whispered before slipping through the bedroom doors.

You hurriedly made your way down the hallway—still making sure to be quiet as you moved. Making your way through the painting door and down the long steps you made it to the exit. Outside stood Serim, dressed in casual clothes and a hooded cloak with her suitcase at tow. Hearing you peer out from the door Seirm gave you a gentle smile. Handing over an extra cloak while greeting you. “Did he suspect anything?” Serim asked while helping tie the cloak around you.

“No. He was the same as usual.” Your voice was soft as you tugged at the neckline of your dress—hididng the blatantly red hickies displayed on your neck.

Serim was quiet as she understood what your words had implied. Making sure you were settled, she placed her hand in yours as she led you to meet up with Heeseung. 

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going to meet up with Heeseung, My Lady.”

“He really agreed to help?” You were hesitant for a moment. Unsure to truly place your trust in the knight who was under Jay.

“Yes My Lady. I trust him with my heart. I know he won’t hurt us.”

The rest of the walk was silent. The situation of everything slowly weighing down on you both. There was no confirmed guarantee that this plan would work—fearing deep down the three of you would be caught immediately. After a few more minutes you both made it to a secluded horse stable—it was near the edge of the castle which hugged the lush forest next to it. There in the night with the faint glow of an oil lamp shining against red hair was Heeseung. 

He stood underneath the stable between two horses. On his left was a horse with a beautiful white coat, and on his right was a brown horse that had white specs in its coat. As you made your way closer you saw that Heeseung was dressed casually as well. He wasn’t thinking of leaving Jay to join you was he?

“Heeseung!” Serim piped happily as she ran over to hug him.

Heeseung happily held his arms open engulfing her in his arms, all while shushing her from being a bit loud. You followed in suit, eyes softening as you watched the pair in front of you. Finally breaking away from the moment Heeseung looked up at you to remember what he was originally here for. “Your Grace.” He said while straightening his posture and bowing.

You smiled at him before giving him a response. “Heeseung please, you don’t have to call me that anymore.You know I’m leaving that all behind.”

“But I simply couldn’t.” His brows knitted as he unwelcomed the thought to refer to you so casually.

“I will agree to not call you Your Grace. But allow me to address you as Your Lady instead.” 

Heeseung wasn’t going to let this go no matter what, and for you, being addressed as Lady was easier to swallow so you allowed it. Solving that minor problem you asked Heeseung the bigger issue that weighed on your mind.

“Are you planning to leave Jay’s side?”

Heeseung grew quiet at your words. All he could do to answer was nod his head.

“Why?” All you could do was question him.

“His Grace instructed me to protect you. And if that means destroying his trust then so be it. In the end you would be safer far away from here.” Your face softened at his words. Heeseung had taken his duty so severely that he was willing to sacrifice his own life to uphold that. He was truly worthy of being with Serim.

Packing up the things on the horses, Heeseung had explained the scenario to you. There was a cabin that his family owned in the woods, it was a day out travel, since the cabin was located in a remote farmland. He proceeded to explain that you and Serim would stay in the cabin and he would find lodging in the small town. 

This allowed him to bring over foods and items he brought in town while you continued to hide out in the cabin. The plan was perfect, it sounded like it would work. No, it was going to work. Making sure everything was all set, you set off for Heeseung’s cabin in the dead of night.

That night as the rising sun peaked through the green tree leaves of your travel you were going to leave everything behind. The Saintess’ season would be the last time you ever hoped to see Jay.

The next morning Jay woke up early—just as he always did—sunrise peering into the distance from the balcony window. His arms stretched around the bed feeling for you, thinking of wanting to sleep with you in his arms for the first time in a while. But as he felt the empty space next to him he froze.

Eyes widening at your missing presence. Climbing out of the bed Jay looked throughout the room, believing you were hiding or playing a joke on him. But his search ended in vain, you were nowhere to be found. Then he realized you were most likely within the castle, but before he could use his mana to find you he saw the folded paper in the corner of his eye.

Picking up the oddly placed letter he opened it—reading the contents right away. And written into that paper were your words of departure. Relaying how he was using you to help The Emperor for a child. Jay began to crumple the edges of the paper, eyes not believing what he was reading. But as he read on, his jaw clenched with anger.

At the every end of your letter you hoped to never see him again, and wished he wouldn’t look for you. Before he could conjure his mana, a faint twinkle of light caught his eye. Looking down, that's when he noticed it. Your wedding ring. 

Jay crumpled up the letter in his hand—fuming while doing so—soon pocketing it away. If the scenario was different he would respect your wishes, but he couldn’t. Not when you barely knew the surface of the real truth. Storming out of his room Jay made a beeline to his office.

Finding a maid on the way he yelled at them to wake up Jungwon. He had never acted out like this to any of the servants, yet he couldn’t help it. He was so furious at himself for not even realizing the woman he loved planned to run away from him. Not when you reciprocated to his desires last night. It all felt impossible to him.

Pushing open the doors, Jay made his way to the desk. Frantically looking through the paperwork that littered on top. But what was he going to find? It wouldn’t be your whereabouts, there wouldn’t be any answers. There was nothing.

In a fit of rage he swept everything off the desk. Papers ended up everywhere, quills and ink splattering against the floor, along with the sound of items shattering. Slamming his hands on the table Jay took deep breaths as his mind began to question everything.

Where did he go wrong?

Not long after Jungwon came into the room—hair a mess and clearly disheveled. “What’s wrong. Why are you waking me up so early in the morning?” Irritation clear in his voice.

“She’s gone…”

“What? Who? Who’s gone?” Jungwon was utterly confused by what Jay was saying—now taking in the chaotic mess.

“Y/N! She’s gone!” His voice was raised as his hands clawed into the wood of the desk.

“What?” Jungwon still couldn’t grasp the scenario. Just yesterday things were perfectly normal. But now you were gone? Vanished into thin air like a ghost? It was impossible.

“She found out about what we were talking about Jungwon. She thinks I was using her. It’s what she wrote in the letter.” Jay drew the crumbled paper from his pocket, shaky hands outstretching to Jungwon.

He took the paper, crinkling it out as best as he could. As Jungwon read the words on the paper it clicked for him. You overheard their conversation, misunderstood Jay’s words and deemed  everything to be a lie. Jungwon now saw why Jay was spiraling.

For the next couple of hours, Jay sat in the chair silently. Facing the large windows as he watched the sunny sky shine over the greenery. He wanted to respect your wishes, but knew deep down that was impossible. He needed to explain himself, tell you the real truth. Tell you how torn apart he was about everything. 

But would you even want to hear his words?

The silence was interrupted by the soft knock on the door. Jay stayed silent still, choosing to ignore whoever was at the door. Jungwon instead took the initiative to open it. Once opening the door he was face to face with Yunjin. He quietly greeted her while asking what she was here for. “I wanted to come and congratulate His Grace on the news. I’m sure Her Grace already told him, but I wanted to send my congratulations as well.”

Jay’s ears perked at the mention of you. Cutting Jungwon off he asked what Yunjin was implying. “What do you mean congratulations?”

“Oh? Her Grace is pregnant. I assumed she came to tell you, she was very excited to have you be the first one to hear of it.” That’s when Jay’s world came crashing down again. You were pregnant… You were pregnant and you decided to run away from him. 

His nails dug into the palm of his hand—slightly drawing blood—as he clenched his fist in anger. This new information changed everything. There was no telling what would happen to you. 

Yes you were only a couple days pregnant. But the possibility of that child emerging was at random, it could arrive months or even weeks from now. Jay needed to find you, whether you would let him or not. He was going to do everything in his power to seek out your location.

“Jungwon. Gather an expedition together, we need to find Y/N no matter what.”

“Yes Your Grace.” Jungwon obliged to his words, not questioning him for one second.

“And, kill anyone that my brother planted from the palace. He can’t find out about this…” It was the last task Jay gave Jungwon before formulating a plan.

It was a couple days after arriving at the cabin—it was small and cherubic. It had everything a house needed, a small farm, watering well, and a shed. The inside was just as dainty. The kitchen area was open, a small dining table accompanied the middle—big enough for all three of you—a small sitting area by a fireplace, a room and bathroom on the first floor, and then an upstairs attic which was turned into a living space. Serim took the bed downstairs, strongly pushing that you deserved all the space to yourself on the second floor. You did your best to argue but ended up taking the room. 

Heeseung would come over in the afternoon. A variety of fruits and food, as well as clothes were in his hand from the town at the edge of the forest. He also made sure to buy seeds for the farm in case something would happen to him.

The upcoming days were calm and quiet, you were certain this would be your life for a long time. But that dream ended when Heeseung made his way into the cabin in a frenzied rush. 

“Heeseung what’s wrong?” Serim concernedly asked as she ran over to him.

Walking down the stairs you wondered what the commotion was about. “What’s going on?”

Heeseung looked at you as he heard your voice, brows knitted anxiously as sweat dripped from his forehead. “There’s wanted posters of you in the town. His Grace. He plans on finding you.”

You stood there, a sense of doom filling your senses. You couldn’t let him find you no matter what. Your chest tightened as your breathing halted. Then came the urge to puke. Covering your mouth you ran to the bathroom, immediately reaching for the toilet—preparing yourself to throw up.

Sticking your head into the toilet bowl you began to throw up that morning’s breakfast. Serim helped in holding your hair back as you sat there. Tears brimmed at the corner of your eyes, feeling both the pain and anxiety hit you.

“My Lady, everything should be alright.” Heeseung spoke up. “No one ever ventures out here. Besides there's only a poster for you, so as long as you stay hidden away here. His Grace will never find you.”

Heeseung’s words of reassurance calmed you down. He was right, if they only targeted you, you would be fine. As long as you hid out here, he would never find you.

After the scare Heeseung gave you, things were back to normal again. The only hiccup was your morning sickness, you could barely enjoy anything remotely solid without throwing it back up most days. Due to your pregnant state, your body felt weaker than it ever did. The hickies that were still left by Jay were a consistent reminder of that—desperately making sure they weren’t visible.

You were littered in little cuts and bruises from doing menial work around the house. Serim always got on you about overworking yourself—due to being pregnant. But you hated just standing around and doing nothing. They were here because of you. You wished to be of aid as best as you can, so what if you got a few cuts and bruises due to that.

Soon two weeks had gone by, your morning sickness was better but a small ache would swell up inside of you at times, especially in the middle of the night. Agitated and aching for some sort of relief—that was too impossible to relieve.

Your hand inched down your stomach, scorching fingers brushing past your pelvis. You knew it was your heat that tingled every night. It craved for Jay every night, you hated that it did. 

But the minute your fingers slipped past your underwear you were biting your lip in anticipation. Your other hand lifted up the fabric as you eyed the way your juices clung to your fingers. A deep sigh left your lips at the sight, never noticing how wet you were until now.

Tucking up your night dress slightly you peeled the underwear off—the chill air brushing against your cunt. Your breath was shaky as you plunged your fingers in slowly. It was nothing like Jay’s cock, but you need some sort of relief. 

You angled your hips in a desperate attempt to reach that sensitive spot in your heat. But your fingers just weren’t enough. You whined at the lack of length your fingers had, wishing to alleviate the itch inside of you.

Instead you began to rub your clit as you simultaneously fingered yourself. Positive that this wave of pleasure would be just enough, and it indeed was. You bit your lip as you muffled the soft moans daring to escape your lips.

As you curled your fingers into your walls, picking up the pace of the circles on your clit, you could feel that euphoric high rise to your head. Your body jolted lightly, but as you kept going—dragging out your orgasm—your back arched up, body twitching amongst the bed. Settling yourself and removing your hands from your heat, you stared up at the ceiling. Tears began to fall from your eyes. You hated Jay, you hated him so much. Yet you missed his touch, his comfort, his affection. You began to miss everything about him.

The next day Serim and Heeseung decided to go to town together. You were happy with the idea, feeling that they would get to have a moment to themselves as lovers. Serim was persistent to stay back. It took lots of persuading to make her go with Heeseung.

In the end you were left at the cabin all by yourself. You did a little bit around the house. Tended to the farm, did some cleaning, along with some simple—somewhat disastrous—cooking, you were satisfied with the things you accomplished. As you were sitting down and relaxing there was a sudden knock at the door.

The sound put you on edge. It wasn’t Serim or Heeseung, they had a key to the cabin, not to mention they would’ve just entered. Then the thought of Jay crossed your mind, your chest tightened once more—struggling to breathe as you thought of him.

He had found you, that's all you thought as you faltered away from the door. Your head began to spin, your chest tightening more.

“Miss Saintess. I know you're in there. Open up.”