Angel

Tuesday was supposed to be ordinary.

The kind of day that disappeared as quickly as it arrived. You finished your morning lecture, replied to a few student emails, stopped by the grocery store on your way home because you'd promised to cook dinner. Nothing remarkable. Nothing that hinted your life was quietly approaching a fault line.

The apartment was supposed to be empty.

You remembered that detail clearly later. He'd told you that morning, half asleep, mumbling something about a meeting running until six. You had the whole afternoon to yourself, or so you'd thought, planning the pasta you'd make, the wine you'd open, the ordinary comfort of a Tuesday night at home. 

You unlocked the front door as quietly as always, balancing a paper bag of groceries against your hip. Then you heard laughter. A woman's laugh, low and familiar, drifting down the hallway like something out of a memory you couldn't quite place. For one suspended heartbeat, your mind simply refused to process it 

Then it did. Your best friend.

You took another step down the hallway. The bedroom door wasn't completely closed. It didn't need to be. Some truths don't ask to be witnessed completely. You already understood, before your conscious mind caught up, that whatever was happening in that apartment wasn't meant for your ears. 

The quiet intimacy of two people who had forgotten the rest of the world existed. Neither of them heard it. Or maybe they did. You didn't stay long enough to find out. There were no questions. No tears. No dramatic confrontation worthy of a movie scene. Because what explanation could possibly undo what you'd already seen?. You turned around before they could notice you. The front door clicked shut behind you with barely a sound. 

Two years of engagement, gone.

Two years of wedding plans scattered across your dining table. Two years of apartment hunting, shared grocery lists, lazy Sunday mornings, and conversations about children you thought you'd have someday. 

You don’t remember the walk to your car. You remember sitting behind the steering wheel with the keys in your hand and staring blankly at the windshield as the city morphed into streaks of bright light. It was just a blur of street lamps, head lights, and everything moving around you while your world was standing still. For a brief moment, you noticed that your hands weren’t shaking. You thought that was strange too. The way that your body had just suddenly gone still and cold and you were just as motionless as your body, like a state of shock had frozen you just outside of the situation.

You couldn’t say how long it was, but what you knew was that you suddenly found yourself standing in front of your closet. Your eyes were drawn to what was at the very back and hidden from view, your black dress. You hadn’t seen it for years.

"It's a little too much," he'd once said with an easy laugh.

"Too short."

"Too noticeable."

You remembered smiling then, folding the dress away because it hadn't seemed important enough to argue about.

You pulled it from the closet and let it fall over your body, the fabric cool and unfamiliar against your skin, hugging you in ways you'd forgotten you were allowed to be seen. It felt like putting on a stranger. Someone who wasn't trying to be agreeable anymore. Someone who had nothing left to protect and nothing left to lose.  You left the engagement ring where it was.

After leaving your phone in your purse, you grabbed your keys for the second time and stepped into the dark. You had no idea where you were headed but felt a certainty in your chest about leaving the life you had. You felt like you could not spend one more moment inside the life that no longer felt like it belonged to you.  

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Tuesday hadn't given him any warning either.

Jungwon's shift had ended late. A delivery that ran longer than expected, hours stretched thin by complications that weren't anyone's fault, just the unpredictable nature of the job. By the time he clocked out, his scrubs still smelled faintly of antiseptic, his feet aching in a way that had become so routine he barely registered it anymore. All he wanted was his own bed, maybe food he didn't have to think about. 

He let himself into her apartment with the key she'd given him two years ago, the metal worn smooth from years in his pocket, attached to a keychain shaped like a tiny stethoscope. A joke gift from early in their relationship, something she'd laughed about giving him, something he'd kept clipped to his keys ever since without really thinking about why. 

The shower was running. Her tablet was face up on the kitchen counter, screen still lit from a notification. He hadn't meant to look. He told himself that for weeks afterward, though it stopped mattering fairly quickly whether he'd meant to or not.

A name he recognized. A string of messages that didn't need much context. Photos that answered questions he hadn't known to ask. He stood there in his work clothes, badge still clipped to his coat pocket, and read enough to understand that ‘residency's exhausting’ had been covering for something else entirely for months, maybe longer.

He didn't move at all, actually, just stood there in the kitchen with his hands loose at his sides, feeling something inside his chest go very still and cold. He didn't throw the tablet. 

She stepped out of the bathroom in a towel, damp hair pushed back, and stopped short in the doorway when she saw Jungwon standing there. Badge still clipped to his coat pocket, tablet lying face up on the counter exactly where she'd left it. Something in his stillness told her immediately that the evening wasn't going to go the way she'd planned.

"Jungwon?" Her voice came out careful, testing. "You're back early."

He didn't answer right away. He just looked at her, and she followed his gaze to the tablet, and whatever color was left in her face drained out of it in an instant.

"How long," he said. Not a question. A statement in the shape of a question.

"I—" She pulled the towel tighter around herself, a reflexive gesture, like modesty mattered now, of all moments. "Jungwon, it's not—"

"Don't." His voice remained quiet and level, the same tone he used when he had to tell a patient's family something they didn't want to hear. "Don't tell me it's not what it looks like. I read enough."

Her mouth opened, then closed. For a long moment, the only sound in the apartment was water still dripping somewhere in the bathroom behind her.

"How long," he said again.

She sat down slowly on the arm of the couch, like her legs had stopped being reliable. "Since spring," she said quietly. "Maybe a little before that."

"Spring." He turned the word over like he was checking it for a fracture. "Daeun, that's eight months."

"I didn't plan for it to happen." Her voice cracked slightly, and he almost hated how convincing it sounded, how rehearsed and unrehearsed all at once. "We were just–we started as friends, and then residency got so heavy, and you were always working, and he was just there, and I don't know, it just…"

"I was working," he repeated flatly. "Right. Because I have a job that saves lives, and that's the excuse."

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" His voice finally rose. "Because from where I'm standing, you've had eight months to tell me. Eight months of me asking if you were okay, if something was wrong, and you telling me it was just residency. Eight months of me believing you."

She didn't answer that. There wasn't an answer that would have helped her.

"Six years," he said, quieter now, almost to himself. "Six years, and I find out like this. Off a notification on your tablet."

"I was going to tell you." Her eyes were wet now, genuinely, and some old, tired part of him almost felt sorry for her, which made him angrier at himself than at her. "I've been trying to figure out how, for weeks, I swear—"

"Don't," he said again, softer this time, because he didn't have the energy left to argue about her intentions. "It doesn't matter anymore. You could've told me in June. You could've told me in September. You didn't." He stopped, pressed the heel of his hand briefly against his eyes, then dropped it. "That's the part that matters."

"Jungwon…"

"I have to go." He was already reaching for his coat.

"Can we at least talk about this properly? Please. Don't just walk out,"

He paused at the door, hand on the frame, and looked back at her.  Tear streaked, still somehow looking for a version of this conversation that ended somewhere softer than where it actually was.

"There isn't a version of this where I stay, and we talk it through.”

"So that's it?" Her voice cracked properly now. "Six years, and you're just leaving? No fighting for it?"

He almost laughed, though nothing about it felt funny. "You didn't fight for it either," he said quietly. "Not for eight months."

He didn't wait for her response. The door closed behind him just shut, quiet and final, the same way the whole relationship seemed to be ending: without the drama it probably deserved, just a soft, ordinary sound marking something enormous coming apart.

He drove without any destination in mind, the radio off, the city sliding past in a blur of red lights, he stopped out of habit rather than attention. Six years. He kept circling back to the number like it might rearrange itself into something smaller, something easier to hold.

He ended up parking outside a bar he'd never been to. Not his usual place near the hospital, where someone always seemed to know his face even without the coat. Tonight, he didn't want to be recognized. He didn't want to be Dr. Yang, careful and composed, the boy faced physician everyone had to double take before trusting. He just wanted to sit somewhere dark and stop being anyone in particular for a while.

He loosened his tie in the car before he went in. Small, useless gesture. It didn't make him feel any less, as something had just been quietly taken from him.

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The bar was louder than you expected for a Tuesday, but you didn't care. Noise was better than silence. Silence gave you room to think, and thinking was the last thing you wanted tonight.

By the time the bartender slid your fourth glass across the counter, the sharp edges of the evening had softened. The ache in your chest hadn't disappeared; it had simply become distant, like hearing thunder several miles away.  You shifted on the barstool, crossing one leg over the other. The black dress rode a little higher against your thigh, and for the first time in years, you didn't bother tugging it back down.

He would've hated that. The thought came uninvited. You emptied the rest of your drink before it could linger. 

That's when he sat down beside you. Close enough that you noticed before you even looked. He was handsome. That was your first thought. Your second was that he looked far too young to be sitting alone in a place like this. His white dress shirt was neatly pressed except for the loosened tie hanging around his neck, as though he'd started the evening trying to hold himself together and abandoned the effort somewhere along the way. His sleeves were rolled to his forearms, exposing tired hands wrapped loosely around a glass he barely touched.

His gaze remained fixed on the amber liquid, unfocused, like he expected answers to settle at the bottom if he waited long enough. There was something strangely familiar about the way sadness sat on him. You almost didn't say anything. Almost.

You looked away. It wasn't your business. You weren't here to notice strangers. You were here to forget yourself. A minute passed, or maybe two. The bartender asked if either of you wanted another round. Neither of you answered. Without thinking, you let out a quiet breath.

"You look like you got dumped."

The words escaped before you could decide whether to keep them. Your voice came out flatter than you'd intended, stripped of humor, carrying more exhaustion than wit.

He turned toward you. Not offended, just surprised. For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke. His eyes searched your face, lingering there with quiet curiosity, as though he couldn't decide if you were teasing him or speaking from experience. Then his gaze drifted lower to the diamond still resting on your left hand. A ring that caught the warm bar lights just enough to betray you. One corner of his mouth lifted into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"You still have your ring on," he said softly.

You followed his gaze, staring at the diamond as though you'd forgotten it was there. For a long moment, you simply twisted it around your finger.

"I forgot to take it off."

It wasn't entirely true. You hadn't forgotten. You just hadn't found the courage. His eyes met yours again.

"You look like you got dumped too."

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

"I did."

He gave a slow nod.

"So did I."

The words settled between you with the quiet understanding that only strangers could sometimes share. Neither of you asked for details or explanations. For tonight, it was enough to know that the person sitting beside you understood exactly what heartbreak looked like.

He glanced at your empty glass. "Another?"

You shook your head. "I think I've had enough of pretending a drink is going to fix anything."

Something about that made him almost smile, the first real one you'd seen from him all night, small and tired but genuine. "Yeah,me too."

The bartender came by again, and this time Jungwon was the one who waved him off, reaching instead for his wallet. You didn't argue when he paid for both of you. Some nights, you didn't have the energy left to insist on independence.

Outside, the air was cooler than you expected, sharp enough to cut through the haze just slightly. Neither of you moved toward a taxi right away. You just stood there for a moment under the bar's dim sign, the city noise a distant hum around you, both of you clearly aware that the night hadn't decided yet what it wanted to become.

"I don't usually do this," you said, not quite looking at him.

"Do what?"

"Any of this. Bars. Strangers. Standing outside at midnight, not knowing what I'm doing."

"Neither do I," he said. Then, after a pause, quieter, "I don't want to go home yet, though."

You understood exactly what he meant, because you felt the same thing sitting heavy in your chest. Home wasn't home anymore. Home was an apartment with echoes you couldn't bear to hear. Home meant seeing the engagement ring still circling your finger. Home meant admitting that tomorrow would arrive whether you wanted it to or not. For the first time that evening, you really looked at him.

He couldn't have been much younger than thirty, though his face carried an unmistakable softness that made him seem younger than he probably was. His tie still hung loose around his neck, his hair slightly disheveled, exhaustion written plainly across features that were almost unfairly handsome. 

He looked as though someone had reached into his life that morning and quietly removed the future he'd expected. That may be why he looked familiar.

"There's a hotel two blocks from here," you said.

He didn't ask if you were sure. He just nodded, like he'd been waiting for someone to say it first.

Neither of you filled the silence with questions about names, jobs, or the people who had broken your hearts. Some things felt strangely unimportant. Inside the elevator, your shoulders brushed for the first time. Neither of you moved away. 

The door had barely clicked shut before the tension that had been simmering between you in the elevator boiled over. There was no slow buildup, no romantic preamble; there was only a desperate, starving need to feel something other than the hollow ache in your chests.

Jungwon turned to you, his face flushed from the alcohol and the heat of the moment. He looked so young, almost innocent, but the look in his eyes was raw and hungry. He reached out, his hand cupping the back of your neck and pulling you into a kiss that tasted of whiskey and grief. It was a collision, teeth clashing, breaths hitching as you both clung to each other like survivors of a shipwreck.

You groaned into his mouth, your hands sliding up his chest to grip the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer until there wasn't a sliver of air between your bodies. He backed you up against the door, the thud of your back hitting the wood echoing in the quiet room. His tongue pushed past your lips, claiming your mouth with an urgency that made your toes curl.

"Please," you whispered against his lips, though you weren't even sure what you were asking for.

He didn't answer with words. His hands slid down to your hips, lifting you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your skirt riding up to your hips as he carried you toward the bed. He dropped you onto the white linens, his body following immediately, pinning you down with a weight that felt grounding and necessary.

Jungwon’s hands were frantic, stripping away the barriers of clothing. He pulled your dress over your head and tossed it aside, his eyes scanning your naked body with a mixture of awe and desperation. When he stripped off his own clothes, you saw the lean, toned muscles of a man who didn't look his age, his cock already hard and pulsing, straining against the air.

He didn't waste time. He moved between your thighs, his fingers sliding down to find your pussy. You were already soaking, the friction of the night and the emotional turmoil making you ache for him. He slid two fingers inside you, stretching you open, while his thumb worked your clit in a rhythmic, punishing pace. You arched your back, a loud moan escaping you as you neared the edge.

"Look at me," he murmured.

You opened your eyes to see him watching you, his expression a mask of longing. He positioned the head of his cock at your entrance, pausing for a heartbeat before thrusting deep inside you in one heavy, seamless motion.

You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you completely. The sensation was overwhelming. The stretch, the heat, the sudden fullness that silenced the noise in your head. He began to move, his thrusts deep and rhythmic, driving into you with a primal intensity. Each hit of his pelvis against your ass sounded like a wet slap in the quiet room.

"Fuck," he groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "You feel so good… shit, so tight…"

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down for another bruising kiss as he picked up the pace. He wasn't being gentle; he was fucking you with a desperation that mirrored your own, as if by driving himself into you, he could push out the memory of the woman who had betrayed him. You met every thrust, tilting your pelvis up to take him deeper, wanting to feel every inch of him.

The friction built, a coil of tension tightening in your lower belly. Jungwon’s movements became shorter, faster, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He shifted his grip, grabbing your thighs and pinning them back toward your chest to open you up even more. The angle allowed him to hit your cervix with every plunge, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your spine.

"I'm close—" he choked out, his muscles straining.

You felt your own climax rushing toward you, a tidal wave of release. You gripped his biceps, your voice breaking into a series of high-pitched whimpers. As you peaked, your pussy walls clamping tight around him in rhythmic spasms, Jungwon let out a low, guttural growl. He gave one final, deep thrust, burying himself to the hilt, and shuddered violently as he came.

You felt the hot, thick jets of his cum pumping deep inside you, filling your womb with a warmth that felt almost spiritual in its intensity. He stayed buried inside you for a long time, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting, your hearts beating in a synchronized, frantic rhythm.

As the adrenaline faded, the silence returned, but it was different now. The loneliness was still there, but it had been blunted. Jungwon slowly withdrew, the wet sound of his cock leaving your body echoing in the room. He didn't pull away completely; he rolled onto his side and pulled you into his arms, tucking your head under his chin.

Neither of you spoke. There were no names exchanged, no promises of a second meeting. You just lay there in the dim light of the hotel room, two broken strangers sharing a bed, clinging to the fleeting comfort of a night that neither of you would ever forget.

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A month passed by.

Long enough for the memory of that night to start to blur at the edges. Sometimes you thought you invented some of it.

You remembered the warmth of whiskey better than you remembered his face. His tie, loosened. How he’d just listened, without asking questions. A pair of tired eyes that had looked at you as if they knew something that nobody else knew.

All else had blurred, melting into the sort of memory that belonged to another version of you. You never came back to the bar. If he did, you wouldn't know it. And if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t have known that either. That was maybe how it was always supposed to be. Life went on, as indifferent as ever. 

Life had moved on, in its own stubborn manner. You got out of the apartment. You’d gone and blocked your ex-fiancée’s number. You weren't going to speak to your ex-bestfriend, and you hadn't. It was a mercy in itself. Your students didn't know that anything was different. They looked at you like you were just their lecturer. Untroubled. Unbreakable.

You could almost pretend your life hadn’t fallen apart. For three hours at a time. That was enough. Until it wasn’t. It began on a Thursday. Not with nausea or vertigo. Only a date. 

You were standing in your kitchen, waiting on the coffee machine to finish brewing, when the thought came unbidden. Your monthly. Your brow wrinkled. You counted backwards, almost absentmindedly. Then you counted again. The answer was the same. It's late.

This was not normal.

Your body was always predictable, almost stubbornly so. Even in college, when your roommates complained about irregular cycles and surprise cramps, yours came like clockwork, and you didn’t bother tracking it anymore. You put your coffee mug down, untouched. 

"It's the stress," you whispered to the empty apartment. It must have been. 

It made sense, didn't it? The breakup, the move, months of your nervous system running on fumes. Bodies did strange things under pressure. You'd read that somewhere, or maybe you just wanted to have read it somewhere. 

You gave it a few more days. Then a week. The coffee you'd started craving black suddenly turned your stomach. Smells you'd never noticed before. The neighbor's cooking, the detergent in your own laundry, sent you running for air that didn't feel like it was choking you. 

One day a co-worker came into your office with take out. The smell alone would have you running for the nearest bathroom. You said it was the flu. Food poisoning.  Anything.  All of it. Except for that one possibility that’s silently trailing you from room to room.

By the time you found yourself standing in the pharmacy aisle staring at a shelf of boxes you never had reason to buy before, some quiet part of you, dreading, already knew. 

You stood in front of the shelf longer than you needed to. So many different brands. Different promises. Different prices. As though any of them could deliver a different answer. You bought two.

As soon as you were home, you didn't wait long to do. Sat on the side of the bathtub, phone timer ticking away before you began to look at your hands and realise they weren't even yours.

Two lines. Then two more.

You sat there for a long time after that, the tile cold beneath you, your mind doing the math it didn't want to do.  The date, the timeline, the one night that had blurred into something you'd tried hard to forget. There was only one night it could have been.

Your heartbeat stumbled.

"No..."

The word escaped before you realized you'd spoken aloud.

You remained there for what felt like hours, staring at the tests resting in your hands as though they belonged to someone else. 

There was only one person. One night. One stranger, with tired eyes and a loosened tie and a sadness that had looked so much like your own it hadn't frightened you. You didn't even remember his name. You didn't know his address. What was his work. If you'd ever see him again.  You pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes. A man who existed in your memory as nothing more than tired eyes and a loosened tie, and you look like you got dumped, too.

You didn't know how to find him even if you'd wanted to.

A baby.

The words refused to settle. They hovered somewhere just beyond understanding, too large to fit into the quiet routine you'd been stitching back together over the last month. You were thirty two. Recently single. Still learning how to sleep in an apartment that echoed because there was no one else in it.

You'd spent years building a career you loved, teaching future educators how to nurture children with patience, consistency, and kindness. Ironically, you'd never decided whether motherhood belonged in your own future. You always assumed there would be time to figure it out.

You thought you had more time to decide that. You thought, if it ever happened, it would happen with someone you trusted, someone who'd chosen it with you, not a stranger from a bar whose last name you didn't even know. 

You thought about how easy it would be to end it before anyone had to know it happened at all. No one would ask questions. No one would even know there was something to ask about. You could keep moving forward exactly the way you'd planned, pick your life back up, untangled, unremarkable, the way it was supposed to look after a breakup like this. Clean. Simple.

You sat with that thought for a while, testing its weight, waiting to feel relief.

It didn't come.

Instead, you found yourself thinking about your own mother, who used to tell you that she'd never once regretted having you. Even though your father had left before you turned three. Hardest thing I ever did alone, she'd said once, and still the only decision I never doubted. You'd never fully understood what she meant by that until this exact moment, sitting on a bathroom floor with a truth in your hands you hadn't asked for.

You thought about the years you'd spent in classrooms full of small kids who trusted easily, loved easily, hadn't yet learned that people could hollow you out from the inside without warning. You'd built a career around believing children deserved good beginnings. You wondered, cruelly, whether you were about to fail that belief the moment it became personal.

Then you thought about the alternative. The quiet, empty version of your future you'd have to live with either way. A yes, you might regret, or a no, you were fairly sure you would.

You pressed a hand flat against your stomach, feeling nothing yet, nothing you could point to, and still somehow feeling everything.

A slow breath escaped you.

"I don't need him."

The words were barely louder than a whisper. You said them again.

"I don't."

You weren't trying to convince yourself. You already knew they were true. You didn't need a husband. You didn't need a wedding. You didn't need promises made by someone else to make this decision for you. If this child entered the world, it would be because you chose them. Not because of guilt.

You knew exactly what waited beyond this bathroom door. Questions, whispers and mostly it would be judgment. Forms with blank spaces labeled Father. A future that would be more difficult than the one you'd imagined for yourself. None of that disappeared simply because you'd made a decision. But neither did your resolve.

For the first time since walking into that apartment on Tuesday afternoon, you realized your future no longer felt defined by something that had been taken from you. It was being shaped by something you had chosen. You slowly pushed yourself to your feet and looked at your reflection in the mirror. You looked exhausted. Your eyes were swollen, your hair a mess, your expression still carrying traces of the woman who'd had her heart broken.

But beneath all of that, there was something new. Resolve. You rested your hand over your stomach once more.

"Okay," you whispered to the tiny life only you knew existed.

A faint smile tugged at your lips despite everything.

"It's you and me now."

The words sounded impossibly small in the quiet apartment. Yet,  somehow, they were enough.

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The dream came to him three nights in a row.  Always the same, dissolving the moment he woke, leaving only fragments behind the way real dreams rarely do.

In it, he stood in a garden he didn't recognize, thick with fruit trees heavy enough that their branches bent low toward the ground. A woman he couldn't see clearly handed him a single peach, round and impossibly ripe, still warm like it had just been pulled from sunlight rather than a branch. 

He always woke up right after that. Nothing more happened. It didn't need to.

He didn't think much of it, not really. After all, dreams rarely made sense, and he'd learned a long time ago not to chase meaning where there probably wasn't any. Still, on the fourth morning, he found himself mentioning it to Sunoo over coffee in the hospital break room, mostly out of the strange, itching need to say it out loud to someone.

"I keep having this dream," he said, staring into his cup. "Same one, a few nights now. There's a garden, and someone hands me a peach. That's it. That's the whole dream."

Sunoo lowered his own cup slowly, staring at him with an expression somewhere between disbelief and barely contained excitement. "A peach?"

"Yeah."

"Ripe? Whole? Someone handed it to you directly?"

Jungwon blinked at him. "Yes? Why does that matter?"

Sunoo set his coffee down entirely now, leaning forward like Jungwon had just handed him the best gossip of the year. "Do you seriously not know what that is?"

"It's a dream about fruit?"

Honestly, Sunoo never wanted to face palmed himself, but hearing the dumb answer Jungwon gave him got him a reason to. 

"It's a taemong." When Jungwon only stared blankly back at him, Sunoo let out a groan of disbelief. "A conception dream. My grandmother used to talk about these constantly. Fruit, animals, sometimes fire or water, show up in a dream right before someone in the family finds out they're having a baby. Whole ripe fruit like that, handed directly to you? That's about as classic as it gets."

Jungwon huffed, unimpressed, turning his cup slowly between his hands. "You can't be serious."

"I'm completely serious. It's not just some old wives' thing.  Half the moms I know still swear by it. My cousin dreamed about catching a fish barehanded, and two weeks later, she found out she was pregnant. My aunt dreamed about a dragon curling around her arm and had twins."

"That's confirmation bias," Jungwon said flatly. "People remember the dreams that match and forget the ones that don't."

"Sure, sure, very scientific of you, Dr. Yang." Sunoo waved a hand, entirely unbothered by the skepticism. "But you're not the one who usually has these dreams, that's the funny part. It's not always the mother. Sometimes it's the father, or a grandparent, sometimes even a close friend if the dream's strong enough. But if it's the father dreaming it..." He trailed off, grinning now, clearly enjoying himself far too much. "That usually means it's already happened. The universe is just running a little behind on paperwork."

Jungwon rolled his eyes, though something in his chest had gone strangely tight at the words, an unease he couldn't quite explain rationally. "I don't believe in that stuff."

"You don't have to believe in it for it to be true," Sunoo said, entirely too pleased with himself. "That's kind of the whole point of a folktale, isn’t it?"

Jungwon didn't have a response for that. He just sat there, turning his coffee cup slowly in his hands, telling himself it was nothing. Probably just stress, exhaustion, and an overactive mind conjuring strange images after too many back to back shifts. He didn't have a girlfriend anymore. There was no one in his life the dream could reasonably be about.

He didn't let himself finish that thought all the way through.

"It's nothing," he said again, mostly to convince himself. "Just a weird dream."

Sunoo shrugged, tossing his empty cup toward the trash with practiced ease, clearly unconvinced but willing to let it go. "Sure. Just a weird dream."

Jungwon didn't think much more of it after that. Not consciously, anyway. But the image stayed with him regardless, lingering somewhere quiet at the edges of his following days.  A garden, a peach, and a stranger's hands offering him something he hadn't known, yet, that he was already holding.

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The clinic wasn't one you'd been to before.

A coworker had recommended it months ago, so excited about the obstetrics department that you'd written the name down without a second thought. It was near campus, near enough to squeeze in an appointment between lectures without sacrificing half your day to traffic.

You wish. That was it. Comfort. Distance from your former life. A doctor who didn’t know your story. Somebody who would see one more first time patient. That's all.

You sat, one leg bouncing under your chair, fingertips tracing the edge of the bracelet wrapped loosely about your wrist. You'd practiced the appointment on the drive over. If they asked about the father, you would tell them as you have been rehearsing it in your mind. 

We're not together.

If they pressed further, then—

I'd rather not discuss it.

Simple.

"Y/L/N?"

A nurse called your name, and you followed her down a hallway that smelled like antiseptic and lavender hand soap, into a small exam room with a poster of a fetal development chart on the wall that you deliberately didn't look at too long.

"Dr. Yang will be with you in just a moment," the nurse said, and left you there with your paper gown and your racing thoughts.

You didn't think anything of the name. Yang wasn't uncommon. You sat on the edge of the exam table, hands folded in your lap, running through the questions you wanted to ask — due dates, next steps, whether the exhaustion you'd been feeling was normal or something to worry about.

Then the door opened.

"Good afternoon, I'm Dr. Yang Jung—"

The sentence didn't finish. It just stopped, cut clean in half, the way a record scratches when the needle's yanked away too fast.

You looked up. And your whole body went cold.

He remained frozen in the doorway, one hand still curled around the handle like he'd forgotten how to let go of it. The patient chart in his other hand slipped slightly in his grip, not enough to fall, just enough that you noticed his fingers had momentarily stopped remembering their one job. Recognition moved across his face almost instantly, undisguised, unrehearsed, nothing like the practiced composure a doctor was supposed to walk into a room with.

The overhead lights were full on him now. Clinical, unfriendly, not like the dim gold haze of that bar a month ago. No booze to take the edge off. No shadows to hide the details And you couldn’t miss him. Same face. Same eyes that witnessed you break against a hotel room door. Quiet and searching, in a way that had seemed to him that night the only honest thing left in the world. Except the face was on a man in a white coat. A stethoscope draped around his neck. His name stitched in careful navy thread over his heart.

Yang Jungwon.

Neither of you said anything. The seconds stretched, thin and unbearable, the fluorescent hum of the room suddenly deafening in the silence. As if hoping he was mistaken. He wasn't.

"...You?"

It barely qualified as a word. More breath than voice. Your mouth had gone completely dry. The sentence never got a chance to finish. Neither of you needed it to.

You weren't doing much better. Your hands had grown cold, and sat in your lap, fingers pressed together hard enough to leave imprints. The paper gown crackled a little with each too-quick breath. You’d spent a month talking yourself into believing that night belonged to some other you, reckless and grieving and gone by morning. And here he was, a white coat, a stethoscope around his neck, his name stitched over his heart, undeniably real, undeniably the same man.

Neither of you said anything. 

His gaze dropped. Not to the chart. To your left hand. The engagement ring was gone. Then, almost involuntarily, his eyes moved lower. To the file tucked beneath his arm. He looked at your name. Gestational age. Estimated conception date. The room became impossibly quiet. His jaw tightened. Not because he was calculating. Because he already had. He didn't need the dates. He remembered the night. The chart simply confirmed what he already knew.

It’s finally the day of the competition.

Yet you haven’t heard from Heeseung for days.

You try not to make it obvious, nor to show how much you care. Not when Jungwon wouldn’t say anything either.

The younger alpha has been replacing Heeseung instead, walking you home while chatting about anything but the elephant in the room.  

Or, in your case, the wolf in your universe.

There’s a lump of disappointment lodging in your chest whenever you think about it. You think that Heeseung has finally given up on trying to make up. You think that you’ve been too indifferent and unintentionally have pushed him away further than the two of you have ever been.

You don’t know why the thought makes you feel bitter.

“Our pitching is next,” Jungwon whispers next to you, snapping you out of your thoughts. You watch the group before you begin their pitching presentation.

In the first stage, the pitching was done in separate rooms to make it less time-consuming. But your group has advanced to the final stage, and now you have to convince five professionals from the business industry why your business idea is better than three other groups in front of hundreds of audience.

The image makes your blazer suddenly feel too tight around your ribs. You shift, trying not to think about the eyes watching every movement of the participants sitting on the far end of the stage.

Where the hell did this many people come from, anyway? You never see this crowd in lecture halls!

“Y/N. You’re nervous.”

“I’m relaxed.”

“Well, you don’t really smell like you’re relaxed right now.”

You purse your lips. Jungwon is right, of course, except you actually feel like your nerves are on the edge of bursting.

You’re not exactly good with stage fright. Especially in front of all these people whose names sound way too dramatic, like they don’t belong to the normal citizens like you. Their eyes are too penetrative, like they’re already figuring out every single doubt and nerves in your body, ready to tackle with impossible-to-answer questions.

You move in your seat again, trying to find comfort. But the seat is too hard for your tailbone. Beside you, Jungwon leans closer, speaking over the speaker blasting by your ears.

“Are you going to Jake hyung’s after party tonight?”

“His after party?” your eyebrows shoot up. Then you remember the invitation and something inside you sinks.

“Oh. Right. It’s his birthday today, right?”

And Heeseung must be there, you think bitterly, unaware of the withering daisies now wafting from your neck. They’re close friends, after all.

You don’t understand why, or you maybe actually do, but the lump in your chest only gets bigger. Really, you shouldn’t expect much by a man. They’ll always prioritise their homeboys over you in every way, your brain adds to the fuel.

Jungwon chuckles when he sees your frown, showing off his perfect dimples that could disarm any opponent. 

Something clicks in your mind. Yeap. That’s right. You just need to force Jungwon to smile in front of the judges and surely—

“Relax, Heeseung hyung’s daisy. Look to your right.”

You don’t know why. Maybe it’s because of his name finally being mentioned by the younger alpha, or the flutter in your chest at being called his daisy—but your head whips so fast in that direction, heart ramming behind your ribs.

Seated at the front row, standing out too much due to his handsome features and not-so-subtle hair colour, is Lee Heeseung. From where you sit, you can’t really make out his expression. 

But the alpha is already staring at you, burgundy hair swept back neatly to expose his forehead. A small curve of his lips quirks up like he’s been expecting you to notice him.

You sit dumbly as he gives you a tiny wave, not sure what to do now that the alpha is actually here. 

Here. To watch your group presentation and not there: To celebrate Jake’s birthday at his party.

For the first time in weeks, you feel your omega stirs and you almost choke.

“It’s our turn!” 

You inhale sharply, snapping your eyes back to the centre of the stage. The previous group is already receiving applause and walking towards the other end of the stage to join the audience. 

Okay. It’s actually your turn.

You feel sick to your stomach. You almost miss it when Jungwon nudges at you to stand, smoothing down his own blazer as he shoots you a dimpled smile. On the way to the centre of the stage, your mind is nothing more than a whirlwind of overthinking.

Trailing after Jungwon in your heels is nerve-wracking because what if you trip?

Bowing down to greet the judges and audience is scary because what if you lose your balance?

Staring back at the audience is distressing because what if they silently judge your makeup?

But all thoughts fly out the window when you meet eyes with Heeseung again.

As if the noise in your head suddenly vanishes, you can feel your frantic mind quieting down and your breathing, previously quite erratic, steadies without so much effort. 

And it only happens when Heeseung holds your gaze, trusting and comforting all at the same time.

It’s like the stage was a tidal wave and Heeseung was the shore that keeps you safe.

Your omega stirs again.

Before you know it, Jungwon is already passing the mic to you. You take in a shaky breath, sweaty palms almost slippery, and imagine that every cell in your brain is filing up your speech in a neat line.

Despite your worries, everything goes well.

Your presentation goes on without a hitch and it ends exactly the way your best-scenario imagination does. You even manage to answer one out of five questions from the panel, and you can’t help the pride swelling in your chest when your group is announced as the first runner-up of the competition.

It’s a national-level competition, so being in the top three is already satisfactory for you and your group members, who were lowballing to only bring home participation certificates.

“First runner up is good enough! Congrats!” you squeal, almost hugging Jungwon in your excitement. The alpha dodges you as if you were a bullet, eyes darting to somewhere behind your head.

“Hey. You dodged my hug,” you huff.

“I have no intention to challenge a dominant alpha,” Jungwon gives you a teasing smile and wiggles his eyebrows. You raise yours, and before you can ask what he means by that, Jungwon is already raising his hand and waving at someone.  

“Heeseung hyung! Your daisy is here!”

Your daisy. Heeseung hyung’s daisy. 

His daisy.

Crimson red blooms across your cheeks, and your heart decides to skip a few beats you think it’s going to fall to the floor from how fast it's pounding.

Jungwon is fast to grab your shoulders and turn you around, like a proud parent introducing their child to their conglomerate friends. Your protest dies in your throat once your eyes settle on Heeseung’s approaching figure.

He’s donning a white dress shirt with slightly rolled-up sleeves, exposing his smooth forearms and athin silver bracelet. A dark gray vest, tailored and buttoned neatly hugs his frame snugly, showing off his narrow waist. There’s a big bouquet of pink roses held close to his chest, handled delicately like it’s something sacred.

His eyes, round and soft around the edges, are already trained on you. A wide smile curves up his lips, charming and disarming you’re sure the omegas around you are stealing glances.

Inside, your omega stirs again.

“Hi, Y/N.” He holds out the bouquet to you, his smiling turning shy. “For you.”

You take it slowly, admiring the beautiful petals. There are tiny daisies filling up the spaces between the roses and you feel something tug at your heartstring.

 “Thank you, Heeseung. How’ve you been?”

Closer, only now do you notice the lack of colour in his face. His cheeks are losing its radiant flush, and his lips are void of its usual pinkish hue. There’s a slight delay before he responds and his smile comes slower than usual.

Something feels off. Not obvious enough to name, but it’s enough to make your chest tighten.

As if noticing your stare, Heeseung tries to cover his face. He raises his hand and pretends to cough.

“I was quite sick,” he says after a moment, trying to sound casual. He gives you a reassuring smile. “I’m sorry that I didn’t show up without any updates.”

“It’s okay,” you softly say. You don’t know if it’s truly okay, though, because now your heart thinks that there’s something wrong. 

Is he hiding something from you?

“I came to see you,” he says, like it’s the only place he’s ever meant to be. “I didn’t want to miss it. Congratulations, Y/N.”

He really came for you. Not for Jungwon or anyone. Not to Jake or anyone. But for you.

You can faintly hear your omega murmuring something, but your racing heart is louder than any noise in your head.

You’re about to reply when Jungwon inserts himself into the conversation, announcing his presence like a royal entering a ball.

“Thank you, hyung! I know we were great.” Jungwon says way too loudly, forcing Heeseung to shake hands with him. You let out a laugh while Heeseung only rolls his eyes.

“You too, Jungwon.”

“Anyway, why don’t we take a picture?” Jungwon, ever the trusted wingman, wiggles an eyebrow at Heeseung, hoping that you won’t notice. You actually do, but for some reason, you don’t say anything against it.

Heeseung studies your face. “Can I take a picture with you, Y/N?”

You hesitate for a second, heat sweeping across your cheeks before you nod. “Sure.”

Jungwon instantly pushes you in Heeseung’s direction. The dominant alpha, not expecting his accomplice to take such a bold move, catches you by the elbows instinctively. His fast reflexes are proving to be useful in the situation.

“Okay, look at the camera. Y/N, don’t be so stiff!”

Jungwon, that menace. One of these days you’re gonna beat his ass for sure.

“Heeseung hyung, is that a GDP gap? Get closer!”

“I’m sorry about him,” Heeseung whispers into your ears and chuckles breathily. Something kicks in your heart. “He’s a bit annoying, right?”

You just cannot hold your tongue. “He is, and I had to stick around with him when you weren’t around,” you catch yourself saying and silently curse yourself. Beside you, Heeseung stills for a second.

Why are you already whining to him? Fuck these stupid feelings, man. You’re still mad at him!

But Heeseung doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, his grin only gets wider. He leans down further, hot breath brushing against the shell of your ears.

“I’ll keep trying,” he murmurs, edged with his usual determination. “Even if you don’t let me.”

You try not to notice that Jungwon has been silently snapping the candid moments. You also try to ignore the way your heart beats like a war drum. You try not to think too much about the manly pheromones coming from Heeseung—the cinnamon and sea salt that are awakening old memories, and the way his taller shoulder brushes yours.

“On three!” Jungwon interrupts, a boyish smirk on his face. You quickly clear your throat and smile at the camera.

“Two!”

Heeseung’s left shoulder bumps into you softly from behind, angling his body to face you. His hand hovers a safe distance from the back of your waist, not touching you even by accident like he’s afraid even that would be too much.

“One!”

As the flash goes off and you hold the bouquet dearly to your chest, you quietly wonder when it stopped hurting so much.

The next morning, you’re awakened by the sound of Yujin squealing and thumping on your door.

“Y/N! Get your fucking ass out now!”

The urgency in her voice makes you jolt awake and scramble to your feet. With sleepiness still clinging to your lashes, you stumble to the door, mentally preparing yourself to punch a robber.

“Yujin! What is it?!” you ask, voice hoarse but still laced with panic.

“Did you already make up with Heeseung?!”

You pause and stand there dumbly, hazy mind slowly clearing up at her sudden interrogation. With the biggest question mark on your face, you blurt out, “Huh?”

“Heeseung posted you on his Instagram!”

“Huh?”

“Y/N! He never posted girls on his account!” Yujin screams in your face, looking more excited than ever. “Fucking hell, open your damn phone!”

Yujin rushes into your room, flipping your pillows where she knows you always keep your phone despite the electromagnet radiation that she warns you about. She unlocks the screen by shoving it into your bleary face and hits the pink-purple-orange gradient icon quickly.

“There!”

You blink the blurriness away from your eyes, adjusting to the bright screen in your face. Yujin waits impatiently, gauging your reaction with wide eyes.

On the screen is the picture you took last night. You haven’t checked the result yet because you were quickly ushered away to take group pictures with other participants after and by the time you reached home, you were out the moment your head hit the pillow.

But now, you realise, the picture turns out really well. 

Heeseung stands taller than you, a close-lipped smile spreading wide across his face as he stood proud and protective beside you. You have a similar smile mirroring his, leaned into him in a way that hinted at familiarity and domesticity. The pop of colour from the roses makes the picture look more alive, and the colour filter he used makes it look almost nostalgic.

An ancient feeling, like a prophecy waiting to be fulfilled, blooms in your chest. You stare at the picture longer than intended, then read the caption he typed in cursive.

‘smarty daisy did it again.’

You re-read it once. Then twice. The soft declaration, the hints on intimacy makes your omega purr in delight. Nobody has ever called you daisy, especially their daisy, but here Heeseung is: calling you his daisy like he’s just found a new favourite flower.

“Yujin…”

To your surprise, Yujin replies with a sniffle. When you look up, her eyes are already glossed over.

“Yujin? Why are you…”

“I’m sorry I got emotional,” Yujin cuts in, laughing it off like a funny joke with a shaky voice. 

“It’s just—I never met true mates. And while the circumstances between you two weren’t great, I’m just so glad  that you have an alpha willing to amend his mistakes.”

You can already feel your eyes watering.

“Yujin…”

Yujin takes your hands in her hold and urges you to sit on the mattress with her. It’s silent for a moment, and you take the chance to stare at the picture again.

It’s an Instagram story, but there is already a long line of comments. You read through each one of them, curiosity getting the best of you.

narin.kim no fucking way

jakesimisimiya hey so u ditched me ON MY BDAY

jeyipark @jakesimisimiya talk to me i am his lawyer

just.jungwon cute cute cuteeeee wonder who took the pic tho

evanlee @just.jungwon she is cute

nishimurariki welcome to the simp club

sunooyaa it’s time to ask me if my back hurts from carrying this ship

Every comment makes your breath feel shorter. You try hard to bite back a smile and ignore the small flutter in your chest, not noticing the way Yujin observes everything. When she eventually speaks, her voice has dropped to a serious tone.

“Have you forgiven him?”

You tear your eyes away from your phone, taking a moment to reply. Then, with a shake of your head, you reply, “No. Not yet, I think.”

It’s not a whole lie. While the human part of you has already forgiven him, your omega is still giving you radio silence. But for now, you decide to keep it to yourself first—the way your omega has been more responsive these days, albeit slowly and slightly.

“That’s good,” Yujin nods. “Forgiveness should come from your heart. You shouldn’t force it just because you feel bad for him.”

The words land like a gentle reminder tucking you in a warm blanket. You don’t say anything and look back at the screen, thumb hovering over the reply box. The gears of your mind start turning, looking for a polite way to thank the alpha.

Then, softly, Yujin continues, making your head spin with the weight of her words for the rest of the day.

“But when it’s really time to forgive him, I hope you don’t run away from it too.”

You end up reposting Heeseung’s story and hide.

The attention is quite heavy for you, to be honest. You’ve never been the centre of that many eyes, not since in the backyard of Jake’s frat house.

You never dare ask Heeseung as well. A reply of, ‘Thank you Heeseung’ is all you can manage, keeping the rest of the sentence to yourself.

‘Why did you post only me?’

You’re not blind. You see the chaos he created from that single post. The notorious alpha who doesn’t do relationships, who always prioritises his friends over girls is suddenly skipping Jake’s birthday to see a boring competition and posting a picture with the omega he came for. You become a hot sensation overnight—people just can’t stop talking about it.

Because of that, thoughts about him become even more frequent and inevitably, your heart starts to melt at how persistent he is.

It’s been more than a month yet Heeseung doesn’t falter. He keeps choosing you in routine. He keeps choosing you in public.

And, apparently, he chooses you in private, too.

You don’t mean to overhear the conversation, really. You’re just leaving the restroom during practice break, about to have lunch with Rei when you see two shadows disappearing around the corner. Your heart almost stops.

Seeing Heeseung and Narin together brings back old wounds that almost makes you lose your mind. Your quiet omega has been tugging you to follow, to see what the alpha is doing with the omega that your wolf has marked with a red ink on her forehead.

So you follow them quietly, covering your scent gland with a hand in hope to hide your presence. With your back to the wall, you hold your breath as you hear the conversation between the two of them.

“—on, Heeseung. You left things unfinished that night.” Narin’s voice is the one you hear first, frustration spilling into her tone.

“I don’t intend to finish it,” Heeseung replies, always sounding calm and composed. It painfully reminds you of the talk you had with him after the tournament.

“Why? You always sleep with different people. Why did I never get a chance?” Narin scoffs, disbelieving. “And they've been saying that you’ve stopped!”

“I have. I don’t do that anymore.”

“Is it because of Y/N?”

Your ear perks up. Damn bro, they’re now talking about you. It slips from your mind sometimes, about how childish Narin can be. Something akin to anticipation builds up in your chest, waiting for Heeseung’s reply.

“Yes,” he answers, firm and fast. “I’m pursuing her right now. I hope that’s clear.”

There is silence from Narin, but the spike in her scent sours the atmosphere almost instantly. While you, well, you try not to feel so giddy about it.

“Are you stupid? Her? Didn’t she cut the—”

“What happened between Y/N and I is a private matter of our hearts. It’s not your business,” Heeseung cuts in sharply with a bite to his voice. Your omega shifts inside you. “Are you done? Because I’m leaving.”

Panic ensues in your system at the thought of being caught eavesdropping. Your mind scrambles for escape, so without thinking you almost sprint to the vending machine at the end of the hallway and pretend to buy a drink.

Acting like you don’t notice them while catching your breath proves to be the hardest sport for you yet. You stare blankly at the vending machine, unaware of the grape juice sitting right under your nose and fully aware of the manly pheromones approaching you.

Thank Goddess that he smells like himself only. You think you’re going to break down if Narin’s scent clings onto him.

“Are you thinking of a different drink?” Heeseung murmurs softly, standing beside you and mimicking you staring at the machine.

You steal a glance at him, feeling the movement of your wolf becoming more responsive and bold. Behind your ribs, your heart is galloping like a horse.

“No. I still like grape juice.”

“Mhm, okay,” Heeseung fishes out his wallet and makes the purchase like it’s routine. The impact of the can dropping can’t even beat the loud pulse racing in your ears. Heeseung opens the can with one hand.

“For you.”

“Thank you.”

You take it, fingers brushing his. You try not to overthink the sparks the touch sends to your system and quietly drink, feeling his eyes boring into the side of your face.

“Y/N, I have something to tell you,” he begins, this time sounding slightly nervous. “Narin and I talked just now.”

Oh. Okay. He’s actually coming clean about it.

You didn’t expect that at all.

You nod, still not looking at him. Heeseung takes a second to himself, like he’s plotting something, then before you know it, he’s already moving to stand in front of you, bending his body to be on your eye-level. 

You almost choke and take a step back.

“Heeseung?”

“I need you to look into my eyes,” he licks his lips, holding your eyes with his intense gaze. “Because I need you to know that you’re the only omega I like and I’m pursuing.”

The sincerity in his voice is almost too much, but you find savouring it instead.

“And I made that clear to her just now.”

Is he trying to reassure you?

You search his face, and all you can see in those dark eyes is utter devotion and determination.

It makes your chest tighten.

“I’m serious, Y/N. I will keep trying no matter what.”

You can only hum and nod, failing to find your voice.

“Okay.”

Heeseung shoots you with a small grin and straightens up. He glances at his smartwatch and frowns.

“I have to skip tonight’s practice. There’s a meeting about the upcoming music festival,” he says, looking at you with furrowed eyebrows. “I’ll find someone to walk you home.”

“It’s okay. I’ll use the Safe Night Walk service,” you politely decline, already sick of hearing Jungwon talking about his lifelong crush on some noona that won’t see him as a man every time he walks you home.

Seriously, you don’t blame that omega. Jungwon is really cute, it’s hard to see him more than a kitty cat.

Heeseung’s face, on the other hand, twists into confusion before a look of understanding crosses his face. 

Safe Night Walk is a service provided by the omega activist club of your university. The purpose is pretty self-explanatory, where any omega who’d like to go home at night can request an alpha to keep them safe. It’s pretty well-known for how rigid the alpha selection process is, seeing as the new president of the club is the fiercest to hold the title yet, making the service the most credible it has ever been.

Which is probably why Heeseung agrees to it too easily.

“Oh, right. Jay also tried for the selection, but he never told me if he passed or not,” Heeseung pauses, pondering about something.

“Sunghoon also signed up for it and we know each other. Do you want me to contact him?”

You wave a hand. “It’s fine. I’ll get someone when it’s time to go home.”

It’s quite hard to convince the alpha that you don’t need his friend’s service, but Heeseung eventually relents. He gives you a fond smile, walking backwards and not breaking eye contact.

“Call me if no alpha is available.”

“Okay.”

“I will run to you in ten minutes. No—five minutes.”

Your heart stutters, but your face remains neutral. “As if you can do that.”

Heeseung grins. The easy affection etched in his features is almost too scary for you to bear.

“For you, I will.”

The shared apartment is quiet save for the track playing from his producer room. Heeseung lies down on his couch, staring at the ceiling in silence. His lyrics notebook sits idly on the coffee table, open and now forgotten. Outside, the rain pouring down does nothing to wash down his guilt.

He had lied to you.

He just came back from a doctor appointment, not a meeting about any festival. A checkup meant to follow up with his condition after the night he collapsed in Jay’s arms.

‘You only have two weeks to win the omega back. If nothing succeeds, you must cut the one-sided bond, Heeseung-ssi.”

Heeseung only wants to do one thing and cutting the bond is not an option. 

It’s better for him to die being yours than to live being nothing to you.

“I’m sorry,” he quietly mutters to the empty space.

“I ran away again,” he swallows thickly. “I’m still the old Heeseung in some ways. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

The pitter-patter of the rain is the only sound he receives back, thickening the guilt spilling over his chest.

He grazes the scent gland with the tip of his finger. It pulses slowly, faintly, like a calm before a storm. A storm that is just turning the key and entering the door.

“I’m home,” Jay announces, toeing off his shoes. There are tiny droplets of rain in his hoodie, but that’s not what catches Heeseung’s attention.

It’s the scent that lingers in his citrusy pheromones.

Soft daisies and sweet honey—unmistakingly you.

Jay smells like you.

Something churns violently in his stomach. 

Every silent breakdown, every secret insecurity of his best friend comes crashing down on him. His blood roars in his ears that Heeseung believes he’s seeing red.

In that one single sniff that he picks up with his sensitive nose, Heeseung almost thinks that the floor holding his weight is crumbling down. 

He springs up to sit, eyes narrowing down in his friend’s direction. His alpha is already growling, ready to take the other alpha down in a fight.

Jay, still oblivious to the storm building inside the house, throws Heeseung a smile. 

“Hee, just now—”

“Park Jongseong,” Heeseung starts slowly, trying to hide the hurt in his voice as he stands and approaches him slowly. “Why the fuck do you smell like her?”

Jay’s expression turns into confusion. He sniffs at the collar of his hoodie and—oh.

Oh.

Heeseung can’t stand the look of realisation on his face. It’s like being left out of something that should be his, something that only he should know and have. His chest twists sharply and before he can stop himself, he’s already shoving Jay into the wall, fists trembling with restraint.

“Jay,” he breathes out, his voice treading the edges of fear and heartbreak. “Please tell me why the fuck am I smelling Y/N on your right now.”

Despite his anger, Heeseung’s voice sounds way too broken. Anxiety cracks through his demeanour, and for a moment, Heeseung’s not sure if he wants to hear Jay’s answer. There is a thin veil of tears glossing over his eyes and his scent gland is throbbing violently, shooting pain all over his body.

It’s almost like he was back in the backyard, watching you scream in pain as you smelled another woman on him. Heeseung sobs, hating himself even more than he ever did.

Was this how you felt that night?

Jay claws at the hands around his collar, almost gasping for air.

“Heeseung—it’s not what you think—”

“Then tell me! Fuck!” he shouts, eyes pleading Jay desperately to prove him wrong.

The longer he smells the blend of your scent with Jay’s pheromones, the dizzier his head gets. His frantic heart is buzzing with the thoughts of being replaced, of losing yet another chance to make things right, of losing you.

His self-esteem, already in pieces since that tragic night, is filled with doubt and uncertainty to the brim.

Not you, please. Heeseung quietly prays. Please not you, Jay.

“I walked her home!” Jay yells, face red from how tight Heeseung’s gripping his collar. His wolf whines at the unexpected aggression from his closest alpha, confused and wounded from being treated like an enemy. “She used the Safe Night Walk service and I was one of the alphas on duty.”

Hearing that, Heeseung’s grip loosens a fraction, trying desperately to believe his friend.

“It’s raining so I lent her my hoodie.” Jay quietly mutters, losing the previous edge. There’s a look of hurt on his face now that he fails to mask. He searches Heeseung’s tearful face, dread growing in his chest.

Despite the aggression, Jay cannot find it in him to be upset when all he can see in his friend is fear and hurt.

“Please, Heeseung. I will never betray you like that.”

Heeseung bites his lips until it bleeds and finally lets go. Jay almost drops down to the floor, clawing at his throat for relief. His neck has turned deep red, bruised from Heeseung’s grip. 

Heeseung is strong even when he never admits it, the dominant traits in him giving him the advantage when his wolf is riled up. Jay is lucky that Heeseung didn’t use his commanding voice—he would’ve been helpless if it happened.

But deep down, Jay knows that Heeseung would never do that to him. They’re best friends, after all.

The air is thick and heavy with a dominant alpha’s wrath. Heeseung doesn’t even realise how sharp his scent has turned until he finds himself struggling to breathe.

There’s a ringing silence between the two alphas. Jay is still on the floor, chest heaving rapidly as he tries to process. Heeseung, on the other hand, is on the verge of breaking apart.

Quietly, the alpha mutters an apology.

“I’m sorry.”

Heeseung leaves the house in a storm of cinnamon and tearful bergamot, slamming the door so hard the frame rattles.

He’s never felt closer to death than tonight.

You take your time with your skincare. Or rather, you’re actually zoning out while tapping toner into your skin.

Your conversation with Jay still lingers in the back of your mind.

“Thank you for giving him a chance, Y/N. I was scared that you wouldn’t.”

What would happen if you didn’t?

You sigh and stare into the mirror. You’re freshly out of the shower and in your comfiest pajamas, yet a hint of Jay’s pheromones is still there. It seems that the rain doesn’t wash it away; it only makes it stick longer.

Inside, your omega shifts uncomfortably, unsettled by the scent of the foreign alpha. You roll your eyes.

“I know you hate it, but it can’t be helped when we haven’t forgiven him yet.” You grunt, capping your bottled product. “I mean, I already did, but since you’re like, my other half, I can’t just—”

Forgiven.

The toner slips from your hand and clatters on the floor. 

Your lungs freeze. 

“...What?”

I want to forgive him.

Slowly, a habit that you’re already accustomed to since that night, you place a hand on your chest. Your omega’s presence is more tangible now, like she’s finally arose from her deep slumber.

And she’s finally talking to you.

“Are you sure?” you start slowly, not wanting to offend the fragile soul. “We can take more time, you don’t have to feel rushed—”

I want my alpha, Y/N. I forgive him and I hope you do, too.

Every word fails you in that moment. You stand alone in your room, with only your wolf as your lifelong companion. There’s a strange feeling in your heart.

Something ancient. Something sacred. Something freeing.

A ghost of a smile grazes your lips.

“Idiot. I told you, didn’t I? The stubborn one out of the two of us is you.”

He hurt us badly, Y/N. Of course I had to stand on business.

“It’s better that you did,” you hum, finally feeling like a weight has been lifted off your shoulder. “Or else I probably won’t see this side of him and will only remember him as a bad alpha.”

Your omega doesn’t reply. In return, there’s a soft pulsing in your scent gland; something that hasn’t occurred in so long. You gasp.

But before you can process it, your phone rings, the noise slicing through the atmosphere sharply. You frown when you see that it’s your next-door neighbour, a fellow floormate that likes to borrow your detergent.

“Hello?”

“Y/N, oh my Goddess. Don’t come out!” she whisper-shouts, panic evident in her voice. “There’s an alpha outside of your door right now and he smells so bad. I think he’s dangerous. We’re about to call the security.”

Your heart drops. “What? Who?”

There’s a sound of movement and whispering before you hear a gasp.

“Okay, what the hell. It’s actually Heeseung and he’s crying,” your floormate says in disbelief. You, on the other hand, are in bigger disbelief.

Heeseung? Didn’t Yujin already let him know that you’re home?

Your feet are already padding across the tiles of your apartment, heart beating in your lungs. 

“Y/N…I think you need to come out. He’s not moving at all.”

“Okay. Thanks for letting me know.”

Your sweaty palm trembles at the doorknob. Heeseung’s pheromones, thick and definitely smells distressed—which explains why your neighbour said that he smells bad—seeps through the gap between the door and the floor. But he doesn’t knock, like he’s here only to feel your presence.

Your omega whines, restless from the distressed pheromones, eager to comfort. You take a deep breath before you yank the door open.

The scene that greets you almost makes you speechless.

Heeseung stands in front of you, head hanging low like he’s trying to make himself smaller. The hallways are filled with slightly open doors and heads peeking out; all the omegas and betas living on this floor are definitely curious about the distress-smelling alpha and his omega.

“Heeseung?”

He doesn’t respond at first. His breaths come out uneven—too sharp, too shallow—like his lungs have forgotten to work properly. For a second, you think he doesn’t hear you.

But then, he lifts his gaze slightly, holding back a storm behind his eyes as he looks into yours. His nose flares, and then his scent turns more sour.

“Heeseung?”

There, lingering too faintly under your body wash, your lotion, and your own scent like it’s already fading out slowly—is Jay’s pheromones.

Something finally shatters in his chest.

“You smell like him.”

His voice is grim and shaky, tugging at your heartstrings. You immediately know what he’s referring to and for some reason, an ugly feeling twists in yiur gut.

But before you can respond, Heeseung already drops to his knees. 

A chorus of gasps is heard across the hallways. The bystanders are no longer caring about being seen eavesdropping. You think you even see a phone directed your way, but it’s the least of your concern now.

“Heeseung—”

“I can take anything you do to me,” Heeseung’s voice cracks, barely holding it together. “I can take any punishment you want to give me but not this.”

Heeseung cranes his neck. Trails of tears clinging to his lashes are falling his nose, his cheeks, the side of his face, down to the floor.

“Please, not him. Please—I beg you.”

His face crumples, like he’s imagining the sight of you and Jay together in his mind.

“I can’t—” his breath stutters, chest heaving like it’s caving in on itself. “I can’t do it, Y/N. I thought I could take it. I thought I deserved it, but—”

His fingers curl into the fabric of his pants, knuckles turning white.

“It hurts,” he chokes out, voice breaking into something almost unrecognisable. “It hurts so fucking bad.”

Your heart lurches.

Because you know.

You know exactly what he’s feeling.

The suffocating ache. The betrayal that sits in your lungs and refuses to let you breathe. The way your mind spirals, painting images you don’t want to see but can’t stop imagining.

It’s the same pain.

The same one he put you through.

Heeseung lets out a broken sound, shaking his head like he’s trying to rid himself of it.

“I get it now,” he whispers, more to himself than to you. “I get why you looked at me like that. I get why you—”

Heeseung cuts himself off. This time, a more pained, more broken noise slips past his lips.

“I get why you ended it.”

Everything hurts. His scent gland is angry red, throbbing endlessly like a sign of the real ending. His head pounds sharply and his lungs—oh Goddess, Heeseung can’t breathe.

His body sways. Instinctively, you crouch down to his level and catch him before he can fall. Panic fills up your system when a trickle of crimson blood starts peeking out of his nose.

No. No, please no. Not this again.

You cup his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks shakily. You turn your face and shout at your neighbour to call the ambulance or anyone—you just can’t let this happen.

You can’t let Heeseung go through the same pain you did.

“Heeseung, please don’t close your eyes.”

His head weighs heavier as he lolls forward, eyes almost snapping shut. You let his head rest on your shoulder, not caring about the blood now staining your shirt. Hot tears brim along your lashline.

“Heeseung, please—”

“Please forgive me,” Heeseung whispers weakly into your ears. The pain is unbearable, crushing his bones and penetrating his system like a sharp-end disease—an inevitable reaction from smelling another alpha on you.

So this is what you went through, he thinks wistfully. You must be in so much pain.

“Please forgive me, Y/N.”

“Where’s the ambulance?!” You finally break, cheeks wet with tears. Heeseung has completely gone still in your embrace, adding panic to your system. You reach out to hold his face.

“No, no, please.”

The lower part of his face is smudged red. His eyes close shut, still leaking out his tears even in his unconsciousness.

You let out an ugly sob, feeling utterly broken and scared.

“I forgive you, Heeseung. Please.”

You’re so fucking scared. Scared of losing yet another life you could’ve had when you were so close to having it.

Scared of not having the chance to love and to be loved again, this time with the person your soul chooses and not because fate says so.

“Please don’t leave me again.”

When Heeseung comes to, you’re holding his hands, zoning out.

There’s a distant look in your expression. A thin air of sad, wilted daisies lingers, no doubt wafting from you. His wolf, having just woken up like him, immediately shifts restlessly in his chest at the scent.

Your thumb brushes over his knuckles absentmindedly, tracing the veins like you’re memorising something before it disappears again.

He stays quiet, letting his eyes trace every curve of your features. The pretty slope of your nose, the soft swell of your cheeks, the petals of your lips. Then they stop at your puffy eyes.

Something inside him twists uncomfortably.

Why does he always make you cry?

You don’t even notice that he’s awake yet, too lost in your head as you stare at the beige wall of the ward. Not until he squeezes your hand back, eager and nervous to see if you’ll return it back or let go.

When you feel the grip tighten, your eyes snap back to him. And then, like a small win that heals something in his heart, you squeeze his hand back.

Heeseung almost breaks down.

“You’re awake,” you say in relief and move to stand. “I’ll get the doctor.”

Heeseung obeys, never finding it in him to go against your words anymore. But his hand never lets go. He savours every second that you let him hold you—the closest he’s ever touched you since the night he saved you.

He doesn’t let go even as the doctor does a checkup on him. The doctor comes in with Jay, who looks as disheveled as he is. There’s an awkward atmosphere between the two alphas, but neither dares to say anything and lets the doctor do his job.

He was unconscious for twelve hours, apparently.

“The scenting from your omega helped speed up the recovery process,” the doctor elaborates. Heeseung steals a glance at you, gauging your reaction, but your face remains neutral. 

It’s no wonder that he’s been feeling at peace since waking up—you had been scenting him when he was out.

“You just need to stay for a blood test and then you’re good to go,” the doctor continues, flashing him with a reassuring smile.

Murmurs of thank-yous ripple in the room as the three of you watch the doctor take his leave. Shortly after, the tension returns, and it’s almost obvious to you that the suffocating air comes from the two best friends.

Jay shifts on his feet awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. “I’m gonna grab us lunch.”

Which leaves him alone with you in the room.

Heeseung braves himself and takes a look at you, but you’re already staring at him. Your stare unsettles him, like you’re waiting for him to confess for a crime he didn’t know yet he committed.

“How are you feeling?” you ask instead.

“I—I think I’m good. Yeah,” Heeseung says quickly, a bit taken aback. He watches as you nod, then inspect his face by blinking closer, oblivious to the way he almost explodes from the proximity.

When satisfied, you lean back slightly, but still keep a close distance with him.

“Heeseung.”

The temperature suddenly drops, and the serious look on your face damn near makes him cry. Heeseung tries to mask his panic.

Did he do something wrong again? Fuck. He messed up, didn’t he?

“Hm?”

You take a shaky breath. “Jay told me about everything.”

Heeseung freezes. Everything?

Everything as in the fight that almost broke out last night? Everything as in how pathetic he is for you, which shouldn’t be so shocking or earth-shattering because he is pathetic and a loser for you?

Or everything as in his worsening health condition?

For a moment, you just stare at him. But the more seconds pass, the more obvious it is that you’re holding back tears.

“About the two options you had.”

Heeseung stops breathing. True to his speculation, it is about his health condition. About the fate that he has to choose, about the options that stand between mercy and cruelty.

“Why didn't you tell me? No—” you shake your head, your grip on his hand trembling greatly. His lips remain shut.

“Why didn’t you just cut the bond?”

The sadness dripping in your scent feels almost physical. You hang your head low, enveloping the two of you with the distressed scent of your pheromones. A low whine echoes in your chest, not heard but felt. Your omega is just as destroyed as you are, utterly horrified from the choice he made.

What if you never forgive him? What would become of him? 

Heeseung brushes his thumb over your hand consciously, trying to seep his own calming pheromones into your troubled scent. It helps, he notices, as the tremble in your hands subsides, breath evening out.

Then, with a raw honesty, he answers.

“Because I didn’t want a life where you don’t exist in it.”

There’s a lump in your throat but you swallow it down, refusing to break now that you have the chance to understand. To understand the equally wounded alpha in front of you, flawed yet still trying. 

“I know that sounds selfish,” he adds quickly. “It is. I was choosing myself when I said that.”

You shake your head, tears threatening to escape. “You could’ve died, no—you almost died, Heeseung.” 

“I know.”

Heeseung doesn’t argue. He looks down to your joined hands, branding his brain with the image. A soft smile appears on his lips. He wishes he could hold your hands more often.

“I just…” he exhales shakily. “I thought if I let go of the bond, it would be like I never got the chance to love you at all.”

You squeeze his hand. Your alpha, you realise, is just as soft as you are. He’s always been. It was just misunderstood and misdirected—his flaws that almost cost you your life. You resented him for it, ran from him to avoid it, made it hard for him to save yourself.

But in the end, quietly, tenderly—you find yourself forgiving him.

You understand now; what he was afraid of.

For Heeseung who used to live in short-lived attachments and practiced detachment, loving someone would sound like a too-big responsibility for him. Too lost in his own fear—fear of loving someone so much they could have power over you—he made choices that hurt you.

It doesn’t justify his actions, nor did it undo everything. But understanding him softens the pain.

“You’re so stupid,” you finally whisper, but it breaks halfway through. Heeseung looks almost hurt from your comment.

“I already forgave you.”

His head snaps up but you don’t look at him.

You take your time to speak. “I already did for a while. I was just waiting for my omega to open up her heart,” you chance him a glance and smile wistfully. 

“And she did just before you came to my door last night.”

A beat of silence passes by. Heeseung can’t seem to find his voice, too stunned with the sudden grace being granted upon him. 

He searches your face. For any lies, for any possible fabrication. He’s desperate to know if this was all just fragments of his dream, if you were just a manifestation of his desperation to be forgiven.

But you’re real. You’re breathing, and you’re telling him that you’ve forgiven him.

“Is this…true?” he asks, voice sounding breathy. “Don’t forgive me just because you feel bad, Y/N. I can’t live with that.”

“No, you didn’t force me,” you shake your head, returning his gaze with built-up courage.

“You earned it.”

Your scent softens, sweeter now that you finally let it out. Like the anger finally loosens its grip on your chest, you can feel your omega melts, her walls crumbling piece by piece.

Heeseung stares at you, mouth slightly agape. The weight he’s been carrying finally cracks and finally, finally—breathing finally comes easy for him now that his chest loosens.

His alpha paws at him in joy.

“Thank you, Y/N. I—” his voice cracks, and so do the tears he’s been holding back. “Oh my Goddess—thank you for forgiving me.”

Heeseung hesitates before he slowly wraps an arm around your shoulder, gauging your reaction. When you don’t push him away, he pulls you closer and you let yourself fall into his embrace.

Heeseung buries his nose in your hair, and the familiar scent of daisies and honey and your hair wash only makes him sob harder.

“Can we try again? Please?”

You nod, wrapping your arms around his waist, smiling into the hug.

“Mhm. Let’s try again.”

Trying again with Heeseung is soft and gentle.

Heeseung doesn’t change. If anything, he becomes more present than ever. If there was hesitation in his action before, he seems more confident to initiate things now.

Holding hands when you’re together. Tucking your hair behind your ears because ‘it hides your beautiful face’. Carrying your bag before you can even greet him properly. Bringing you food and trying to bake, even when you receive complaints from Jay about his oven almost catching on fire. But honestly, out of every failed experiments he did in the kitchen, it’s his ramyeon that you love the most.

And you always get it for free, presented like a five-star Michelin with radish and perfectly-made half-boiled egg. ‘Girlfriend privileges’ is what Sunoo called it, as he and the other alphas eat from their cup noodles.

With forgiveness, conversations come easy. Talking about everything and nothing with Heeseung is like trying to map a land. You finally get to know the story behind his jersey number. 

‘My mom always tells me that I’m her number one,’ he told you when you asked, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. ‘It sticks until now, but I know that he said that only because I was sulking about being the second son—they love my brother more, to be fair!’

You never thought that Heeseung could be cute and adorable. But the two now fit his description perfectly.

Sometimes, his old habits crawl back. Heeseung still finds it hard to tell you about things that bother him, still trying to run away from ugly emotions that make him feel vulnerable.

Just like right now, Heeseung is trying so hard not to pout as he watches his teammates grab a cookie from the Tupperware you bring.

When Riki reaches for a third, his resolve finally cracks and he slaps the alpha’s hand away.

“That’s enough, you greedy alpha. Shoo!”

You stifle a laugh, basking in the rare occasion where Heeseung shows his emotion almost openly like this. He doesn’t like sharing, of course, but he says nothing—which unsettles you a bit.

“Are you mad?” You finally ask after pulling him out for some privacy.

He doesn’t reply. Heeseung takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, then shakes his head.

“I’m not mad.”

“Please tell me what’s wrong,” you coax him again, reminding yourself that Heeseung is still trying to unlearn some of his bad habits. “I can’t fix anything if you don’t tell me.”

Heeseung gnaws at his lips and avoids your eyes. He knows, with a devastating resignation, that he could never refuse if he looks. So he doesn’t look.

But your scent does the same damage anyway. It’s sweet, it’s too intoxicating and Heeseung can feel himself melt even before he can protest.

He finally relents. “Okay,” he sighs.

Heeseung reaches out and takes your fingers in his, clutching at your smaller ones like a lifeline.

“Y/N…” he starts, contemplating his words, unconsciously pouting. “Can’t you bake only for me and not…share?”

You bite back a grin.

“See? It isn’t hard to tell me,” you squeeze his hand. “You can tell me anything, Heeseung. I will always listen.”

Heeseung gives you a pouty nod.

As for him, Heeseung thinks he was never happier than he is right now. 

There’s a strange satisfaction blooming in his chest every time he does something for you. 

Be it walking you home, or waiting at the lobby of your apartment to walk to the campus together. Or feeding you food and having a can of grape juice always ready for you. 

All the things he used to avoid—doing domestic things, having one person to devote all his attention and affection to—they become things that bring his heart at ease now.

And Heeseung loves being taller than you. He loves when you have to look up to talk to him, or the way you can easily hide your face in his chest when he says something corny. The way he can reach the higher shelf for you and become useful to you. He loves towering over you because every time he does it, he can’t help but notice the sweet spike in your scent.

You love it too.

Over time, the two of you get closer than ever. Every brush of hands, every bump of shoulders, every laughter shared—they only bring you back to him, and him to you. And slowly, like a prophecy finally meeting its destiny, the red thread finds its way back to you.

“Are you sure about this?”

You’re now standing in between his legs while Heeseung sits on the mattress of his bed, craning his neck to search your face.

Your fingers pause in his hair when you feel a faint pulse beneath his skin. 

A reminder that he’s still hurting from the one-sided bond. A reminder of the weight of fate tying the two of you.

Heeseung could’ve walked away like you did. He could’ve defied his wolf and cut the bond. But he did nothing of those.

He’s still here, still choosing you in every way you keep choosing him.

“I want this, Heeseung,” you whisper back, carding your fingers through his burgundy hair.  “I’ve never been so sure.”

One of the things that the both of you learn more about the relationship is the importance of the sacred bond. This time, you’re no longer running away or denying it—you and Heeseung take time to learn about its history, about the nature of the bond—and in your case, about how to fix the broken bond.

“It must come from your wolves,” you remember Jay’s mom saying. “And only then can you commemorate the bond and heal it for good.”

Commemorating, in this context, is to finally mate with your alpha. 

It’s a big leap in the relationship, especially since you’re every way inexperienced. Heeseung knows this; which is why he never rushed you and let himself take the hit of the broken bond.

To the Goddess, without the commemoration, the bond is still considered one-sided. It results in Heeseung still experiencing pain from time to time and, after another nosebleed pre-game and out of care for your alpha, you decide you’re done taking your own time.

Your omega holds the sentiment as you, not having the heart to let the alpha suffer for your own sake.

Noticing your silence, Heeseung grabs your wrist gently and brings it to his nose. He starts nosing at the tender skin, pumping out his calm pheromones as he bathes you in his scent.

“Have you been with anyone else before?”

You hesitate. Then, with a shy smile, you shake your head.

“No.”

Contrary to your expectation, Heeseung stills immediately. His face crumples slightly and his phereomones—previously calming and comforting—suddenly takes a sour turn.

You frown. “Heeseung?” You hold his face, heart clenching at his trembling lips. “What’s wrong?”

When he looks up to you, there are silent tears spilling down his cheeks. It alerts you almost immediately.

“Hee?”

“I—” Heeseung takes a deep breath, but his lips wobble, betraying his effort to remain calm.

“I touched people like it didn’t mean anything,” his voice breaks. Heeseung closes his eyes, like the mere looking into your eyes was too much for him to bear. “And now you’re standing here like this is something sacred and I—” 

When you understand what he means, you can feel your own heart breaking.

“Heeseung…”

“Why are you letting me handle something this—precious? I—I don’t deserve you, Y/N. I never did.”

“Please don’t say that,” you coo at him, wiping his tears with the pad of your thumb. 

“I chose you knowing everything you’ve done,” you whisper. “Not because you’re perfect, but because you’re trying.” 

Heeseung leans into your touch, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t. Like the warmth of your touch is the only thing that keeps him grounded. A comfortable silence falls upon you two, full of warm understanding and acceptance.

“Thank you,” Heeseung kisses your palm, long and gentle. “Thank you, Y/N. I mean it.”

A smile creeps up your face. You lean down to kiss his forehead.

“Come and sit here,” Heeseung pats his thighs. You pause for a moment, already getting shy from the proximity. But deep down, you can’t deny that you want this.

Slowly, you descend onto his lap, straddling his thighs. Heeseung pulls you closer by your hips, eliciting a soft gasp from your lips. He lets out a breathy chuckle.

“Are you comfortable?” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Yeah,” then you pause. “I’m not heavy, am I? Are you comfortable?”

Heeseung hums. “Your weight is perfect for me, baby.”

The term of endearment makes warmth bloom across your cheeks. Heeseung gazes at you fondly, his nose already inching closer to where your scent smells the strongest.

He takes a lungful of your sweet scent—daisies and honey—and almost groans from the feeling of it. His favourite scent in the world. It’s been so long since he got to have you like this, so he keeps scenting you like he’s taking his fill.

“Your scent—you smell so good, Y/N.”

He lets his nose graze your scent gland. Once, twice, before brushing it with small, slow licks. You clutch at his shoulders, sparks bursting from the touch.

“Mhh!”

Heeseung trails up wet kisses up the column of your neck, dragging his tongue along your skin, savouring the soft gasps leaving your parted lips. His grip on your waist tightens, nails digging into your camisole while you try not to lose your mind over the foreign sensation.

Everywhere Heeseung touches with his lips is hot, sending strange, tingly feelings up your spine. It’s wet and it should make you recoil, but you find yourself loving it, already wanting more.

Heeseung stops when he reaches your lips, hot breath brushing against the soft pair. His eyes, now hooded and dark, are losing their round shape, like he, too, is already unraveling from just this.

“I’m gonna kiss you now, my daisy,” he murmurs, eyes dropping to your parted lips, open and so inviting. Something churns inside your stomach, always keening when being called his daisy.

Then you nod, granting him permission.

“Please kiss me, Heeseung.”

There’s a tiny quirk of a smile, before he finally closes the gap between your mouths. He’s careful, caressing the plump of your lips with his own, tentatively and slowly at first, before he captures your mouth in his. You close your eyes.

Heeseung kisses you like it’s sacred. He moves slowly, allowing you to follow his pace and getting used to the feeling of his mouth on yours. It’s gentle and sweet. It’s everything you have imagined sharing a kiss with a lover. 

His lips, soft and wider than yours, easily dominate the kiss with a flick of his tongue.

Your lips part in a gasp and Heeseung takes the chance to prod his tongue in, licking into every corner of your mouth like he’s been starved for you. You clasp a hand in his hair, losing your pace as Heeseung takes over.

With each passing second, the kiss turns into a needier one and you grow hotter. It’s messy now, with drool leaking down your chin and the noises you make getting louder. When you start to feel lightheaded, you tap his shoulders, lungs burning from the lack of breath. 

Heeseung lingers for a second, as if he never wants to let go, before detaching from your lips.

He looks absolutely wrecked. His lips are shiny with spit, panting into your mouth like he needs more.

“Need some air?” he whispers, voice hoarse, caressing your waist tenderly. You nod, catching your breath before you lean in and try to kiss him again.

This time, Heeseung lets you take the lead, grabbing your hips tight enough to ground himself. You mouth at the corner of his lips, peppering kisses across the pinkish skin before he loses his patience and starts kissing back, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth.

Pulling you flush against his own hips, Heeseung is desperate to feel you closer. The scent of his pheromones is taking a richer, darker tone, dripping with building arousal. He wants to stay like this forever—wants to memorise every taste, every curve of your lips, and carve it into his memory.

You’re unraveling just as fast. Driven by a deeper need to feel each other and more, you pool your arms around his neck and pull him closer, instinctively bucking your hips to soothe the ache between your legs.

Beneath you, Heeseung freezes. A strangled groan catches at the back of his throat, his fingers digging into your hips. His head is on cloud nine; he can’t believe you just did what you did, feeling his own lust slowly getting thicker.

Then, as if testing, you roll your hips again.

This time, the sound that leaves his throat is deep and ragged. Heeseung bites his lips, brows pinched together, his restraint visible through the veins popping in his neck.

“Y/N,” he rasps, voice strained. “Good? Comfortable?"

Your eyes, dazed and glossed over, look into his eyes and you nod. You move your hips again, chasing the delicious friction like a lifeline. “More.”

“Fuck,” Heeseung curses under his breath. 

Wordlessly, he snakes an arm around your waist and flips your position. Your back meets the mattress before you can process it, the impact punching a breath out of your lungs. Heeseung hovers over you, chest heaving rapidly, heated gaze raking over your body like he’s already dreamed of this many times.

“Heeseung,” you sigh, lifting your arms to his nape, already hating the distance. “Want you closer.”

Heeseung thinks he’s still in a dreamland, because there’s no way you’re lying down under him, hair splayed like a halo, asking him for more. Your lips, kiss-bruised and bitten-raw from the previous makeout session, are parted in a soft gasp, looking every bit like his wet dream.

No. This is better than any of his dreams.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes out as if he’s in a daze, a willing hostage to your magical spell. “Fuck, I just—I just love you so much.”

The confession lands like a feather drifting through the air. Your breath catches in your throat, searching for Heeseung’s eyes and almost tearing up when you see only devotion and sincerity in his gaze.

“Heeseung…”

“My precious daisy,” Heeseung lowers down and gives a smooch to the back of your ear. Your breath hitches. “My sweet, sweet honey.”

Another wave of heat pools between your legs. His voice—oh Goddess, his sweet and sultry voice in your ears, accompanied by such adoration is almost too much. You whine, clutching his shirt in a desperate grip.

“What do you need, baby?” Heeseung breathes hard into your ears, his own voice almost cracking from restraint. “Tell me, hm?”

“Need you to touch me.”

He barely stops nibbling on the sensitive skin of your earlobe. “Where do you need me?”

You grab one of his wrists and bring it to where you need him most. The moment his fingers touch your soaked sweatpants, Heeseung lets out a deep, throaty groan. He pulls away slightly just to catch the expression you make—mouth agape, eyes closing shut—as he presses a finger on your cunt.

“Here? You like it here?”

“Y-Yes—” You purse your lips, pleading eyes peering into his dark gaze. “Please—More, please.”

Heeseung holds back a smirk. “You’re so good to me,” he purrs, his alpha swelling with pride and arousal. “I’m gonna give you everything you ask for, hm?”

Heeseung slips his hand into your panties and curses out loud at the wet sensation on his fingers. 

“Fuck, Y/N—you’re leaking.”

He props himself on one arm. His long, slender fingers stroke your folds, the wet sound of your arousal filling the room. You claw at his upper arms and arch your hips, letting out a broken breath.

“H-Heeseung!” 

A deep growl rumbles in his chest. Heeseung leans down and peppers kisses all over your cheeks as he flicks his thumb over your clit. The high-pitched, whiny moan that you let out makes his twitching cock kick and drool, already begging to be freed.

“Does that feel good?” he rasps, nudging at your hole with the tip of finger. The tight hole is almost sucking his finger in, eliciting a breathless moan out of your lungs.

You nod frantically, desperate to feel anything inside.

“‘Feels so good, alpha.”

“Mhm,” he purrs, circling your gaping hole lightly, teasingly. “I’m gonna put it in slow and nice for you and you’re gonna take it, ‘kay?”

You suck in your bottom lips, heat pooling low in your stomach at the deep timbre of his voice.

“Yes. Please give it to me.”

Heeseung almost melts at the big eyes you’re giving him. He gives you a soft peck and speaks against your mouth, “Tell me if it hurts, Y/N. I will stop immediately.”

When you give him the green light to go, Heeseung slowly pushes his middle finger in, fighting back a loud moan at the feeling of your walls sucking him in. He pauses for a moment, gauging for any discomfort in your face, and then starts pumping in and out gently when he sees only pleasure.

It feels strange and uncomfortable at first; having something inside you. But the subtle feeling of pain is slowly disappearing the longer he shoves his finger in. His thumb, eager to please you, keeps circling your swollen nub, adding to the building sensation in your stomach.

Before you know it, you’re already leaking out more slick. Your head thrashes to your left and right, breathy moans spilling out of your lips.

“Ngh—fuck—Hee—“

Heeseung forces himself to stay still; forces himself to breathe at the sight of you unraveling and so, so pliant under his touch, even when all he wants to do is ruin you. He inserts another finger, the additional stretch burns so good that you almost cry.

“Heeseung!”

The alpha lets out a heavy, ragged breath as his fingers skillfully scissor you open, willing your walls to loosen for him. His lips fall open as he watches you fist the mattress with a tight grip, eyes fluttering shut from pleasure.

Heeseung thinks he’s about to come just from watching your erotic expressions alone.

“Ah—ah—ngh!” You squirm and whine and writhe, throat scratchy from how long you’ve been keeping your mouth open. 

Heeseung’s eyes darken as he takes in the way the straps of your camisole fall down your shoulders. The soft swell of your chest moves up and down in a rapid breathing, nipples peeking out just enough to tease.

Fuck—you’re a sight to behold.

He can’t think straight, not when every sense is filled up with your thick, heady scent. Your slick, where it smells the strongest, is now pouring out of your gaping hole in waves and drenching his fingers down to his wrist, making the tent in his pants tighten painfully.

“I’m gonna add one more—fuck,” Heeseung almost chuckles in disbelief at the way your body sucks him in. “Your cunt is a little greedy, baby. Might just take all my fingers in.”

You’re already a mess of broken moans and high-pitched, ‘ah—ah—fuck’. The sensation is becoming too much. You have fingered yourself before, but they don’t have the girth of Heeseung’s long and slender ones; reaching deep inside where you can’t get before, or the roughness of the pad of his thumb circling on your clit relentlessly—bringing you closer to the edge faster than you can think.

Heeseung can already feel it. Your greedy little hole is catching at his fingers even tighter, signalling how close you are to cumming. He leans down, latching his mouth on your neck and littering it with bruising kisses that are going to leave marks, increasing the speed of his wrist until your hips lift off the mattress.

“H-Hee—! I’m—God, fuck—“

“Give it to me, my daisy,” he whispers, voice hoarse and rough from arousal, thumb flicking faster. “That’s it. Give everything to me.”

Heeseung watches closely as you close your eyes and mouth falls open as you come, the erotica of everything almost makes his neglected cock bust out. A feeling of intense ecstasy floods your system, crashing through your body, slick gushing out in waves upon delicious waves.

The alpha slows down the movements of his wrist, thumb circling lazily as he lets you ride out the high. He’s already dizzy from your pheromones, so sweet and inviting, that he almost pushes you into oversensitivity.

He plops out his fingers and puts it into his mouth, tongue lapping at the nectarine of your slick like a thirsty dog. His alpha hums in satisfaction at the sweet taste of his omega’s come, all drenched and warm just for him.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Heeseung hovers over your body again, now kissing you hard in pent-up hunger. “I wanna eat you out so badly but I just can’t wait anymore.”

You hum into the kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue. Heeseung parts for a moment, jagged breathing hitting your lips warm as he stares into your eyes. His gaze softens.

“Are you okay?”

You nod. “‘M’kay.”

Heeseung nuzzles his cheek against yours, hands sliding up and down your waist before slipping under your camisole and cups your breasts. You let out a half-shocked gasp.

“Can you take more, baby?” He murmurs against your ears, teetering on the edge of sanity as he listens to the sinful sounds leaving your mouth. “Can you take my big, fat knot this time?”

You can’t find your voice, too lost in pleasure as Heeseung kneads your breasts and plays with your nipples. Heeseung drags his tongue along your earlobe, desperate to hear you more.

“Look at these perky tits,” he says as he drags down your camisole, letting it bunch around your waist. His mouth gapes at the way the plump flesh spilling over his fingers, so soft and yielding. “Fuck—you’re so beautiful, Y/N, I will fucking cry.”

“Nnggh!” You cry out when he latches his mouth on your left nub. He sucks and grazes his teeth on your hardened nipple, never breaking eye contact, the wet sensation sending heat straight to your core. 

“Hee!” Your hand flies into his hair when he sucks particularly hard at the bottom swell of your breast, marking his territory. His rough fingers fondle your right tit, rolling the perky nub with reverent attention that makes you clamp your thighs shut.

You squirm, feeling another pool of slick gathering. “H-Heeseung—!”

“Oh, fuck, baby,” he lets go with a pop, lips shiny and slick with his own spit. “Please say my name like that again,” he requests, simultaneously rolling his hips to gauge your reaction.

As he expected—your body, so sensitive and pliant in his hold—immediately writhes from the friction. Heeseung watches with awe, nose twitching as another wave of your scent floods the room, mixing with the sultry accent of his cinnamon and seasalt almost too perfectly.

“Heeseung!”

Heeseung feels so dizzy. His thoughts are only filled with your name, your voice, and your pretty, pretty face that contorts in pleasure when he grinds more. His crotch area is already so fucking wet from pre-cum and your arousal that he thinks he’s losing a chance at any decent and coherent thoughts.

He gives you another roll, and when the name that leaves your swollen lips comes out broken and high-pitched, Heeseung decides that he can’t take it anymore.

“I’m gonna fuck you now, my daisy,” he rasps, leaving one last mark on your cleavage before sitting up. He helps you out of your clothes, marvelling in the way your body trusts him completely.

You’re all soft lines and gentle curves. Heeseung loses his breath as he traces his eyes from the soft mounds of your chest—littered red from his markings, to the narrow pinch of your waist, and the flare of your hips. He caresses the flesh with his hands, gripping it like a love handle as he revels in the contrast of his tanned, big hands on your soft, unblemished skin.

And your pussy—fuck, it’s still glistening from your previous climax and his ministrations, and is now getting wetter under his heated gaze alone.

But it’s the look in your eyes that completely undoes him—pure trust and devotion only for him that he so damn near cries.

“So beautiful,” he praises again, unable to stop the word from flowing out of his mouth. He slides down his hands down your thighs, groping the supple flesh, almost moaning from the sheer softness of it.

“Every inch of you is perfect, baby,” he husks, intoxicated by your pheromones invading his senses.

You hold your breath, peering up at the dominant alpha through your lashes. In a moment of such vulnerability, your chest is filled with affection and trust only for the man now handling your body with care, as if your body was made of porcelain.

My alpha, your wolf purrs inside, heart pounding into your chest.

You spread your thighs wider, so inviting and pliant.

“Alpha,” you mewl, nervously looking up at him. “Please.”

Heeseung can feel his dick twitching from the sight alone. With a swift movement, his shirt is already discarded, thrown somewhere on the floor.

“Say it clearly, baby. Tell me what you need.”

Heeseung fumbles with the strings of his sweatpants as his hooded gaze bores into your hazy one, hissing when his aching cock is finally springing free from the confines of his pants. 

You almost drool at the sight of his weeping cock, standing tall and proud against his abdomen. Its tip is angry red, leaking precum down the length of prominent, bulging veins. Your hole flutters with dripping need.

The words come out so easily now that your pussy is pulsing with an aching need to be filled.

“Please fuck me, Heeseung.”

Heeseung’s lips are bitten raw from restraint, his jaw tight as he forces himself not to move—not to give in to the urge to push forward and lose himself inside you. But before he can move to get a condom from the drawer, your hand snaps to his wrist, shaking your head no.

“Just—just do it,” you bite your lips trying not to squirm under his darkening gaze. “I want to feel you.”

It takes everything in him to stay still—to not reach for you, not pull you back, not ruin this by losing control. Heeseung looks for any doubt in your face.

“Are you sure, baby?”

“Mhm,” you tug at his wrist, guiding his hand to cup your pussy. Heeseung almost combusts right then and there.

“Quick, Heeseung. Need you here.”

“Oh my fucking God—” Heeseung curses under his breath, trying to remain calm. But his body betrays him, his muscles tensing, breath unsteady, as he forces himself to stay where he is.  

He sits taller, his thumb rubbing your clit teasingly. His other hand strokes his cock lazily, flicking his wrist around the erection and hisses when more precum drools out.

The whole time, he doesn’t let go of your eyes, taking in every micro-expressions you make like a greedy man. You’re so sensitive, so expressive, and so, so wet—always so eager to shower him with more slick and more of your sultry moaning.

He aligns his cock in between your folds, grinding the bulbous head against your swollen clit. A choked moan escapes both of you, too fucked over the pleasure. Another gush of slick trickles down your hole, intensifying your scent.

“Heeseung—”

“Shh, baby, I know,” Heeseung coos at the tears pooling along your lashline. He reaches out to wipe it, torn between guilt and absolutely fucking pleasure that he feels from seeing you break apart at his hand like this.

“I’m gonna be gentle, yeah?” He rasps, still rolling his hips, gathering your slick around the tip of his cock. 

He trails his fingers down your wrists before pinning them over your head, hovering over you completely like an eclipse. Then, after what felt like a lifetime, Heeseung finally pushes in.

He doesn’t move after that.

A broken breath leaves him, forehead dropping to your shoulder as if the effort of holding himself back is physically weighing on him. His grip on your wrists tightens just slightly, seeking something to ground him to the moment. Beneath him, you’re trembling from the mix of pain and pleasure, the latter outweighing the former.

“Y/N…” he exhales, voice rough, almost unsteady. “Look at me.”

There’s something in the way he says it. It’s not commanding or urgent, like  he really needs to see you or he’ll fall apart.

You turn your head, meeting his gaze, your expression soft but overwhelmed, lips parted as you try to steady your breathing. It stings, but not enough for you to pull away. Heeseung did a good job at preparing you.

He searches your face like it’s the only thing anchoring him.

“Am I—” he swallows, jaw tightening. “Am I hurting you?”

You shake your head, even though the feeling is new, intense, more than you expected. But the way he’s holding himself back, the way he’s watching you like this could fall apart at any second—it steadies you. Heeseung is so careful, so scared of hurting you that it almost makes you cry.

“It’s… okay,” you whisper, fingers twitching under his hold. “Don’t stop.”

His eyes squeeze shut for a second, like he’s bracing himself, like your trust is something he has to deserve in real time.

“Slow,” he mutters to himself more than to you. “Gotta go slow…”

He barely shifts, testing, careful, measured. Like every movement is something he has to think through instead of give in to. He sinks in another inch, mind floating from the tight sensation of your hole. A strained sound slips past his lips, low and wrecked, his control slipping just enough to show.

“God…” he breathes, almost shaking. “You feel—”

He cuts himself off, jaw clenching hard, like even finishing that sentence would push him too far.

Instead, his hand comes down to your waist, grounding himself there, thumb brushing absentmindedly against your skin like he needs something soft to hold onto.

You can feel it—how much he’s holding back. Not just physically, but everything. The way his body tenses with every tiny movement, the way his breathing keeps stuttering like he’s constantly pulling himself back from the edge as he pushes inside, inch by inch.

And something in your chest tightens.

“You can move,” you murmur softly, a little unsure, but still wanting. Wanting him, wanting every side of him and not just this careful version of him.

His head lifts immediately.

“No,” he says, almost too quickly. Then his voice grows softer. “Not if you’re not ready.”

Your brows knit slightly, a small shake of your head.

“I am,” you insist, voice quiet but certain. “I trust you.”

Your declaration hits deeper than anything else.

For a moment, he just looks at you—really looks—like he’s trying to understand how you can still say that to him. Then his grip tightens again; a firm grip that anchors you to the moment.

“Okay,” he breathes.

And this time, when he moves, it’s still slow—but there’s something underneath it now. Not just restraint, but a crack in it. A quiet, dangerous edge that slips through no matter how hard he tries to hold it back.

His forehead presses to yours, breaths tangling, uneven.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs, softer now. “Anything—you tell me, yeah?”

You nod, already clutching onto him, already feeling yourself giving in to the rhythm he’s so carefully trying to control.

God, Heeseung tries not to lose himself completely. Chanting ‘Go slow, go fucking slow,’ like a mantra in his head is proving to be the hardest test he’s ever been through.

But he still tries—even when it starts slipping crack by crack.

You can feel it in the way his pace stays measured, like every pound into your walls is a calculated move. It makes your heart flutter, really, but you want more. 

You don’t know how to say it without sounding desperate, but your body knows you better. Instinctively, you clench around his cock. The action is not fully registered in your head until Heeseung’s rhythm falters.

“Y/N…” he exhales, your name catching in his throat like it’s too much for him to hold.

“More,” your fingers tighten around his arms, pulling him impossibly closer. “More, please.”

You tighten your walls again, drawing a shuddering gasp from him. His head drops forward as his control stutters, cock twitching inside you.

“Don’t,” he starts, half-warning and half-whining, “Don’t do that or I’m—”

You can’t stand it anymore. You meet his thrust, hitting his navel with yours, gasping because the sensation feels too good. A broken groan leaves him, deep and absolutely fucking wrecked.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, gripping your hips tighter. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Heeseung kisses up the length of your neck, leaving more marks before he props his arms. When you catch his eyes, something flickers in that heated gaze, like his control is finally slipping away, snapping with the way he pistons his cock into you. You choke out a breath.

“Okay?” he asks, still worrying. You nod frantically, desperately. 

“Yes—please—more—”

Heeseung does it again. Again and again and again until all there’s left is the sound of your broken gasps and the wet, filthy noise of his balls hitting your hole. 

“Still—fuck—still okay?” he asks, voice rough, barely held together.

You can’t form any coherent thoughts, so you nod again, breathless and more certain this time. “Please…don’t stop.”

Heeseung lets out a curse, lifting your hips slightly before continuing pounding into you, faster and harder. A high-pitched moan rips from your throat, the new angle hitting the spot that has you seeing stars.

He watches your face, his own contorting in pleasure, setting a pace that has you blabbering out broken words and more drool.

You feel so full. His cock is so deep inside you, filling you up to the hilt. It’s a strange feeling, but it’s also so, so addictive that you just want more, more, and more. It’s the only thing you can ask for: “More, more—Heeseung—ah—please.”

Heeseung leans down, taking your earlobe into his mouth, alternating his pace between achingly slow rolls of his hips and harsh, sharp thrusts, whispering hotly into your ears.

“You’re taking me so well.”

“So fucking tight, baby, fuck.”

“My daisy. My honey. My everything.”

The heat in your stomach intensifies, building up like a tidal wave waiting to crash. Your nails dig into his biceps, meeting his heated gaze with your glassy one.

“Mate with me, Heeseung. Please.”

Heeseung almost stops, but you’re fast to hook your legs around his waist, urging him to continue. He continues with slower grinding, locking eyes with you.

It’s finally time to seal the bond for good. But even in the haze of pleasure and nirvana, all Heeseung cares about is your well-being.

“Now, baby?” he whispers in between thrusts. He catches your jaw in his hand, thumb brushing your cheeks softly. He knows it’s bound to happen tonight anyway, but if he can save you from the pain longer, he will. “It will sting, sweetheart. I don’t want to hurt you.”

You nod, never felt more sure than now. You lean up to kiss him, breath mingling hotly before you look into his eyes.

“I trust you, Heeseung,” you whisper back. You grind back into him, hips stuttering when his cock thrusts almost sharply into your cunt. 

With broken gasps, you finally say it. “Please mark me yours.”

Heeseung almost tears up from the sheer weight of your words. 

Trust. Yours. Mine.

Something that the old him would’ve never imagined wanting and needing.

But here, as your starry eyes gazing into his teary gaze, Heeseung’s never felt so full and complete. He doesn’t even know that he was capable of loving someone this much; of this overwhelming affection that he has only for you.

A single drop of tears slides down his cheek as he kisses you again, trying to convey his emotions into the sweet touch. You respond just as reverent, understanding him without words being spoken.

“Do you trust me?” he murmurs against your mouth. His hips are slowing down, getting lost in the warm sensation of your breath and your sweetening scent.

You give him a peck. “I do.”

Heeseung smiles fondly. He leaves one last kiss on your forehead before he sits up,  pulling out of you at the same time. You almost whine at the loss of touch, but he’s quick to reassure you.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”

Then, with a dominating strength that makes your stomach flutter, he grabs your waist and flips you over. You arch your back almost instinctively, shoving your ass in the air. Heeseung groans, his alpha howling in pride at seeing his omega presenting like this. His jaw clenches from restraint, absolutely close to losing his mind over this sight of you.

His cock slips back in easily. Heeseung splays a hand over the skin between your shoulders, pushing you gently into the mattress.

You glance over your shoulders, wiggling your ass and pushing it further into his face. “Like this, Heeseungie?”

Heeseung bites his lips, mouth salivating from the sight. “Yeah, baby.” He is so fucking turned on. “I’m gonna move now, yeah?”

At the single movement of your head, Heeseung is already thrusting inside, barely holding himself back. The new angle gives more access to his cock to hit places you didn’t know exist in your walls, sending sparks of electricity to your nerves.

“Ah, ah—nnghh!! Heeseungie!” 

“Keep saying my name like that, baby,” Heeseung drools over the jiggles of your round ass. He kneads the flesh with his thick fingers, moaning at the dimples his nails make by digging into it.

“So soft. So beautiful,” he grinds and rolls his hips, leaning down to bite down on your buttcheeks. You clench around him. “So responsive for me. God—you’re perfect, Y/N.”

“I’m—I’m close—”

“Oh, I can feel it, baby,” Heeseung grunts through his teeth. Your walls keep sucking him back in, as if refusing to let go. “I’m close too—fuck.”

Heeseung picks up his pace, his muscles flexing as he, too, almost reaches his high. He leans down, broad chest meeting your back and noses at your pulsing scent gland, sweat dripping down his chin.

It’s intoxicating, the way your scent blends in with his pheromones, like a perfect match made in heaven—which might not be so far from the truth. He is your true mate, after all, written in the prophecy for God knows how long.

He can feel how close you’re getting, your whining turning needier and messier. His canines sharpen slowly, readying himself to mark you.

You drool into the mattress, incoherent words leaving your mouth. The coil in your stomach tightens, so close to snapping, so close to bringing you over the edge.

And it’s with a flick of his thumb over your clit that you finally give. You go still, shockwaves of your release rippling through your body, pulling Heeseung with you as he cums, spraying your insides white.

Following his promise, Heeseung chooses that exact moment to sink his teeth in your nape, right over where your scent gland is. You yelp, body trembling from the intense feeling of pain and pleasure.

The feeling is otherworldly—like something inside you finally clicks into place.

A warmth blooms from where he’s marked you, spreading through your body in slow, overwhelming waves. It’s not just the sensation—it’s him. You can feel him in a way you’ve never felt before, like his presence has settled beneath your skin, threading into every part of you. 

Your fingers clutch at the sheets, breath stuttering as something inside you tightens and softens. You feel complete, like the quiet ache you never noticed has finally disappeared.

Heeseung groans softly against your skin, almost like he feels it too—like the bond snaps into place just as strongly on his end. His hold on you tightens, not possessive, but grounding, as if he needs to make sure you’re real, that this is real.

He quickly laps at the blood and the wound, tongue gentle now, almost reverent as he soothes the mark he’s just made. His hips slow down, now grinding into you lazily to ride out the wave before you mewl from oversensitivity.

He pulls out after a while and gently turns you back to face him. As soon as he locks eyes with you, Heeseung’s composure breaks instantly, tears spilling down his cheeks. He catches your lips in a wet kiss.

“My daisy,” he cries, cradling your jaw and never intending to let go. “Oh Goddess—I love you so much.”

His voice, broken and gasping with gratitude and relief, moves your heart in ways that unravel you just the same. You kiss back just as hard, heart finally full and complete.

Your omega purrs in satisfaction, and to your surprise, you can almost hear another wolf echoing back to yours. 

It doesn’t take a genius to know that it’s Heeseung’s wolf—your alpha, finally and wholly yours.

Heeseung breaks the kiss only to rest his forehead against yours. Your scent gland pulses, but this time, it’s gentle and grounding, like a mark of a new beginning; a bond now finally healed and sealed.

“Y/N,” he breathes out against your mouth. “Don’t get tired of me yet, okay? I… I cherish you so much. ‘I love you’ doesn’t feel like enough.” 

You let out a soft giggle and pull him closer, sealing your lips with his again.

“Then don’t say anything. Show me, my alpha…show me that we belong to each other.”

As moonlight spills into the bedroom, a blessing from the Goddess for the mated pair, the sheets bear witness to the moment two fractured souls finally become one.

You wake up before Heeseung.

Trying to remove his arms from your waist proves to be a real challenge; the alpha refuses to let you go even in his sleep. You chuckle softly and plant a kiss on his forehead before slipping out of the blanket.

Standing on slightly wobbly legs, you drift into the kitchen, your throat screaming for water. You let the sunshine hit your skin, highlighting your afterglow, as you down a whole glass of water.

The house is quiet. Jay, with the intention to give the two of you privacy, has gone to visit his parents for the weekend. You silently thank him for it. You don’t want to know how awkward it’d be if he has to hear all the noises you made last night.

Just as you’re about to return to Heeseung’s warm embrace, your eyes catch a sign on another door. It’s located at the end of the hallway, a few paces away from Heeseung’s and Jay’s bedrooms. It’s almost unnoticeable, but the name on the sign is what intrigues you to go closer.

EVAN LEE

Evan? That’s Heeseung’s English name.

You know it’s an invasion of privacy, but your wolf is nagging at you to go. So, with almost zero reluctancy, you let yourself inside.

It’s his producer room, you guess, judging from the equipment filling up the space. You let your eyes roam, smiling to yourself when you catch random things that just scream Heeseung.

There are two frames of pictures hanging on the wall, one of his family and another one of him and Jay. The two looked younger, more reckless, a given when you notice the uniform they were wearing. High-school Jay with a neat shirt, tucked in and collar buttoned up while high-school Heeseung was missing his tie. They were smiling bright, already so handsome from such a young age.

You look at the random stickers on his PC—basketball, white cats, and alphabet stickers that are arranged into ‘NI-KI’. 

A pair of headphones sit on the table, each ear decorated with different aesthetics. The left one is full of flowers, tiny stickers of ‘ddeonu’ are left as watermark, while the other is just one big orange cat sticker, and instead of leaving his name in a way that doesn’t stain, Jungwon actually signed with a marker pen.

You laugh, wondering what might be Heeseung’s reaction when that menace did that. It’s Sony, after all, and judging from the sleek design—it’s definitely pricey. But knowing how soft Heeseung is for Jungwon, he probably just let it slide because ‘Jungwonnie is cute’.

This room is so full of everything Heeseung loves. His passion for music and basketball, his affection for his close friends. A thought, not unkindly or bitter, crosses your mind: you cannot wait to leave traces of you here, too—something of yours, beside everything he already loves. 

Just as you’re about to leave, something in the corner stops you in your tracks. It’s a notebook, hidden under a keyboard, like it’s never meant to be found.

You walk over and look at the notebook, breath catching in your throat when you read the cover.

For my daisy.

Is this for you?

With trembling fingers—a result from your pounding heart—you flip the cover. There’s handwriting, unmistakably Heeseung’s, filling up the first page.

These are my silent apologies to the girl I lost. I was too late to love you when you still loved me, but I promise myself that I will start and continue loving you, even when I can no longer hear your echo until the very end.

P.s. park jongseong stop making fun of me this will become a hit album TRUST!

Just like what the note has said, the notebook is full of song lyrics. Each line, each intended melody, each scribble left in the margin—every one of them is meant for you, intended for you, and just for you.

Your vision blurs, heart tightening so painfully it almost aches—because this wasn’t just regret. It was love. Quiet, enduring, and yours all along. 

Heeseung didn’t know how to stay or to cherish—but he’s been unlearning every single bad habit for you. Through your resentment, through your tears, through your silences, until finally, your omega was willing to open up and give him another chance at love.

Your chest swells with affection and pride, echoing with only the name of the alpha.

You reach for a pen and flip back to the first page, leaving your first ever trace in his producer room.

p.s. i love you more, my cinnamon alpha. 

andddd that's the end of it!!1 thank you once again and until next time <3

dividers from: @cursed-carmine <3

permanent taglist: @kristynaaah @seungiesdoll @in-somnias-world @rikismists @loviseamms @ikeupop

In a private booth of a nightclub, a group of long-legged, broad-shouldered alphas huddle around the table, drinks in hands. The air is layered with pheromones and adrenaline, occasionally flashing with neon lights and blurred with thin smoke. 

In the middle of the couch, Heeseung sits leisurely, manspreading with ease. On either side of him, Jay and Riki lean back in a similar posture, each of them engaged in the conversation bouncing between the team.

The team has just won a friendly match against their long-sworn rival, a university from the west, after a frustrating streak of loss for two consecutive tournaments. It wasn’t really a landslide win, considering their competitive skills, but a win is a win. A satisfied smirk curls around Heeseung’s bow-shaped lips, his alpha purring with pride.

Friendly or not, the whiskey surely tastes extra sweet tonight.

“Did you see K’s face just now?” Riki pipes up from his left, still buzzing with adrenaline. Being the last man to score and secure the win for them, it’s obviously hard for Riki to contain his enthusiasm. He’s beaming wide. “I did that. I wiped that smirk off his face, gentlemen!”

The rest of the team roars in reply, infected by Riki’s contagious excitement. Heeseung and Jay wear a fond smile on their lips, clearly delighted to see the younger alpha’s happiness. Glasses clink again as they toast to their win, and to their future wins, and to the sexy, beautiful cheerleading omegas that played a part in keeping their spirits up just now—to which Jay grimaces and Riki rolls his eyes at. Heeseung snorts.

He forgets that he’s friends with a prude and a loyal, claimed alpha.

“Speaking of omegas,” Heeseung tilts his head at Riki when the chatters break into small groups of conversations among the team, leaving him to talk to two of his closest friends. “It’s a surprise to see you here, Ki. Like seeing a four-leaf clover.”

Jay joins in, his signature lopsided grin on display. “I half-expected you to run home to your girlfriend. It’s hard to see you hang out with us at the club now, pup.”

Riki crosses his arms with a dramatic huff. His bottom lip juts out in a pout. In this light, when Riki shows this side of him, free from fake nonchalance and his cool persona, Heeseung sees him ten years younger than his actual age. Riki is so cute.

“I fully expected to run home to her too, hyung. But she forced me to come here. Said something like I should celebrate my win with y’all,” Riki sighs, messing with his newly-dyed hair and tipping his head back. “So here I am. Drinking with you idiots when I could’ve cuddled with my sweet, sweet omega at home.”

Jay feigns offence while Heeseung laughs. The both of them know too well of Riki’s devotion to his girlfriend. Maybe it’s the alpha-omega bond, or just the fact that they’ve known each other practically their whole lives, but Riki is never at ease whenever she’s not around. 

But tonight, the alpha seems more relaxed than usual. He’s not playing with his fingers or toying with the hem of his shirt like he always did when his girlfriend is absent. Heeseung wonders why the sudden change until he catches a glimpse of something at the back of Riki’s neck.

His brows furrow. His movement falters mid-air.

“Riki? Is that…” Heeseung squints his eyes, trying to see better while the tips of Riki’s ears slowly redden. From his right, Heeseung can hear a soft gasp from Jay.

“Holy shit. Is that your mating mark, Ki?”

It is. It is a mating mark, Heeseung realises, when a purple neon light flashes on Riki’s wounded skin. The alpha is rubbing his neck sheepishly now, heat sweeping across his cheeks. Despite his sudden shy demeanour, Heeseung can smell the pride in his sandalwood scent, and in that moment he finally notices the subtle layer of sweet vanilla—Riki’s girlfriend’s scent—in Riki’s pheromones.

“Yeah,” Riki confirms, still red like a tomato. “I mated with her last night.”

“Wow,” Jay breathes out in amazement, eyes sparkling in the dim light. “About time, man! You’re finally mated!”

Jay’s exclamation attracts attention and soon, the whole group is congratulating Riki on the milestone. The said alpha is red down to his neck now, clearly not expecting the sudden shift of focus on him but still relishing in the pride of having his mating mark, if the musky lilt to his pheromones is anything to go by. 

Heeseung remains a quiet observer, watching as Riki pulls down the collar of his shirt to proudly show the mark. Two other alphas join him as they speak fondly of their omegas, relishing in their identical mating mark on their napes. Beside him, Jay listens with an adoring smile. There’s a certain longing in his gaze when he stares at the mated alphas that doesn’t go unnoticed by Heeseung. 

Heeseung averts his eyes away, trying to forget that familiar look on Jay’s face. He almost scoffs at the image.

He knows that look like the back of his hand. 

Jay, too, yearns for a mate. Like Riki. Unlike Heeseung.

Mate. It’s the word that is so common in omegaverse but so foreign in Heeseung’s little world.

If Jay is a walking green flag that effortlessly attracts omegas with his gentleman charms, Heeseung is a running red flag that chases after willing omegas. If Jay stays away from wild sex life, Heeseung lives by it. If Jay dates to marry, Heeseung fucks to breathe. He’s everything Jay’s not that Riki was so bewildered when the two first met him.

Don’t get him wrong—he’s not the creepy kind of chaser. Rather, he likes to call himself the sexy one. It’s not hard for him to pull; just a few flirty comments here and a couple of filthy whispers there and the next hour he’ll have an omega to bring home and under him. 

He doesn’t know if he’s the only one wired this way, but where territorial instincts stream in his alpha blood, his sexual desires run even harder and faster. It’s like an itch that just won’t get away if he doesn’t scratch at it. He’s an attractive alpha with a high sex drive, he admits it, but is he really wrong to accept any omegas with his long, eager arms?

He thinks not.

Plus, they’re omegas. Heeseung tries not to objectify them, but gosh, the scent wafting from them is always so sweet and inviting. They’re curved softly, meant to hold and love the right, physical way that he’s known how to. He’s a weak man, and an even weaker alpha; Heeseung can’t resist a good fuck between two consenting adults and he always, always consents to being sucked off dry and scratched to bleed. 

Fuck, just thinking about it is already making him excited.

Heeseung’s eyes wander, tuning out the conversation about mate as he scans for any attractive omega. It’s starting to bore him—the talk about mate and having a mate and being mated—so he’s entertaining himself with the exposed skin and swaying hips of dancing omegas on the dance floor.

For someone like him that gets off on having sex with omegas and being drunk on their sweet pheromones, mating culture is a big no for him. The idea of being tied to only one omega makes him laugh; it sounds ridiculous to him. He’s an alpha capable of giving and his knot is not limited to only one hole, so why should he settle?

Only hopeless-romantic alphas believe in the belief of fated mates. And unfortunately, two of his friends do. Heeseung mentally rolls his eyes.

He decides that he’s had enough when the mated alphas start talking about having pups; another commitment that makes goosebumps rise in his skin. Wordlessly, he places his shot glass on the table, having sipped only half of it throughout the night. 

“Leaving already?” Jay asks, craning his neck when Heeseung stands. The latter only cocks his head to the dance floor with a knowing look. The corner of his mouth curves into a playful smirk when Jay makes a face.

“The usual.”

Jay shakes his head. “Whatever. Just don’t do it raw.”

“I’m always clean and safe, Jongseong.” Heeseung retorts, already taking his leave. “Call me when you’re leaving.”

Whatever Jay replies is muffled by the loud bass and Heeseung couldn’t care less to know what the alpha has said. Probably throwing him insults for using him as his personal chauffeur again. Heeseung only shrugs. Jay’s not his concern tonight. He has a bigger fish, or rather, a pretty wolf, to catch.

His eyes sweep across the space. From where he’s standing, his nose can pick up different scents of alphas and omegas. Even the faint scent of betas are visible, usually amplified by alcohol and adrenaline. He’s still deciding between two male omegas throwing asses back on the dance floor and a group of female omegas giggling at a table not far from him when a spiked scent stabs at his senses.

His nose instantly scrunches, frowning as he tries to detect that smell. An omega in distress. It’s faint, coming from the direction of the exit door, but he can’t see anyone crying or visibly uncomfortable in his line of sight.

Heeseung looks around, momentarily distracted from his initial mission. Nobody seems to notice the scent, however, and Heeseung blames his dominant traits for this. He sometimes forgets that he’s a dominant alpha. Unlike Jay and Riki, his senses are more sensitive and developed, which is a blessing when he’s looking for a hookup and a curse when he’s inside the locker room after a game when the air is drenched in his teammates’ pheromones. Heeseung shudders at the memories. He’s always the first to shower and leave the room because only Riki smells good when sweating.

His thoughts are brought back when the scent intensifies. Heeseung keeps sniffing and blindly follows the trail of wilting daisies and burnt honey, his shoulders braced and jaw tense. He doesn’t know why, but the scent has awakened his senses to a new degree. His alpha is on full alert now. 

He passes by dancing bodies and tables to get to the exit door but he’s stopped by a hand on his arm. Heeseung looks down.

A soft, seductive voice reaches his ears. “Heeseung-ssi?”

Heeseung blinks at the smiling omega. After a second of stunned silence, he finally recognises the logo on her varsity jacket and the makeup on her face. Realisation dawns upon him.

She’s part of his college’s cheerleader squad.

The omega is running a hand up and down his arm now, arching her back to flaunt the soft swell of her chest. Behind her, her fellow cheerleaders watch closely, hiding eager smiles behind their palms. Heeseung looks down at her hand, gulping despite himself. 

“Spare me a few minutes, will you, my precious, capable alpha?”

Her voice is so enticing, dripping with the kind of allure Heeseung’s so much familiar with. There is a strong wave of her sweet scent—bubblegum and cotton candy, Heeseung notes—coming from her in full force. She’s fluttering her lashes now, hoping he’ll get the message. 

Heeseung does; oh does he get the message so well. He knows what she’s hinting on and on any other nights he’ll succumb to the temptation without putting any efforts to think, melting into a puddle of juices at the slightest touch of seductive omegas. It’s a no-brainer decision for him, usually, because he’s always ready to fuck and he always brings a pack of condom with him for this sole reason.

But tonight his wolf is restless. And the reason is none other than the bitter scent still clinging to his nose.

Heeseung gives a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and removes her hand from his arm. The omega frowns, brows almost uniting at the center when the alpha takes a step back.

“Next time, yeah?”

Without waiting for her reply, Heeseung slips away from the crowd, ignoring the sour turn of her pheromones. He can feel their eyes boring into his back, but that’s not his concern now. Following the haunting scent and the sudden flaring instincts to get closer to the owner of it, Heeseung lets his legs bring him closer to the exit door. 

Heeseung hates to admit it, but right now, his wolf is thrashing at the bitter scent and his chest feels like caving in. He can feel the itch in his nails; his claws are threatening to sharpen. He frowns.

He’s never reacted this way to any omegas in distress. So why now? Why this particular scent?

When he reaches the door, Heeseung doesn’t waste a second to push it open and steps outside. As he does so, a weight suddenly crashes into his chest, pushing him slightly backwards from the force.

“Oof—” 

Heeseung reaches up to steady the figure by the arms. At this sudden proximity, the scent is thicker, the wilting daisies are more prominent it's making his heart constrict. Heeseung lets out a deep exhale and looks down to the person practically in his arms. 

A female omega. Clearly in distress, judging by the unshed tears and the tremble in her lips. A familiar varsity jacket drapes across her frame and Heeseung feels his breath stop when he recognises that face.

It’s you. One of the cheerleaders. Heeseung knows many cheerleaders, having been in bed with most of them; but even the most forgetful alpha will remember an omega like you.

A sweet face with a sweeter scent to match, but you are always detached from alphas and their advances. You’re the shy cheerleader his teammates always talk about. The untouchable one. The politely-smile-and-then-reject omega. Heeseung remembers you too well, being one of those rejected alphas himself.

He still remembers how disappointed his wolf was, whining and pouting when a pretty omega he had his eyes on rejected him. But Heeseung is a respectful alpha. He’ll take a no as a no. And you were also so kind when doing so that he moved on from it pretty fast and well.

That was one year ago.

Now you’re crying in his arms, for whatever reasons he doesn’t know and is determined to find out. He can feel your hold on his arms tighten, the spike in your scent when you recognise him, and the hitch in your breath that follows. The bitter scent is definitely coming from you.

“H-Heeseung?” Your voice is so small, like you’re not sure if you can call his name. It’s shaky and breathless. “Please help me.”

Behind you, Heeseung can see three shadows entering the alleyway. Even from the distance, his nose immediately picks up the pheromones of aroused alphas; thick and unpleasant. Your scent lingers amidst the stench, wavering in fear, so heavy he can practically taste it on his tongue. Heeseung instinctively pulls you closer.

“Are they bothering you?”

You nod frantically, the tears now spilling freely down your cheeks. When you speak, your voice is wet from tears and fear.

Nothing can ever prepare Heeseung for the words that are about to leave your mouth.

“P-Please…Please scent me.” You sob, clutching the sleeves of his T-shirt tighter. Heeseung’s breath stutters. “Please, Heeseung.”

Scent-mark. A low rumble sounds from his chest.

You’re asking him to mark you. To…claim you. It’s basically you asking him to bond with you, to shower you with his pheromones and make you smell like him. Smell like you’re his.

This is not what Heeseung’s looking forward to tonight. The fantasy of saving an omega in distress and scent-marking belongs to Jay, an alpha that was even willing to help an omega in heat out of the goodness of his heart. But not Heeseung. That’s never Heeseung. Heeseung doesn’t play the hero; he’s the one stealing the female lead from them.

Scent-marking is way…too intimate to share between two complete strangers with no interaction—that is, if you consider being rejected to having sex together as zero interaction.

Heeseung looks between you and the shadows closing in, then licks his lips. “I can’t,” he tries, and the broken look on your face damn near makes his heart take the same fate. Heeseung schools his expression, forcing himself to push you slightly away from him.

“I—This is not right. You don’t want this.”

He can’t take advantage of you. This is just your scared omega speaking. Outside of this situation, he’s damn sure you’d refuse any kind of bonds with him. Heeseung might be a sex addict, but he’s not an asshole.

But you pull him with you, shaking your head as you keep taking a glance at the approaching alphas. “I do! Please,” you choke, failing to keep your voice steady as you plead at the alpha in front of you. Heeseung forces restraint to his instincts. “Please just scent-mark me, Heeseung. I-I can’t—They will—” You heave a deep breath, your scent taking a sourer lilt at his refusal.

“They won’t back down unless it’s another alpha.”

Something sharp stabs at his chest, rendering him speechless and frozen for a moment. Heeseung stares at your trembling figure, at your shrinking body as if to make yourself disappear, and it suddenly hits him how disgusting the whole situation is.

They won’t back down unless it’s another alpha.

Alphas only take a no when it comes from another alpha.

Heeseung feels nauseous. His throat closes in and there’s a quiet ringing in his ears. In that heavy, stilled silence, everything is muffled to his senses. Only the echoes of your words ripple in his mind.

Unless it’s another alpha.

It’s a hard pill to swallow; one that Heeseung finds it bitter to believe—because it’s so, so easy to walk away from omegas than force yourself on them. It’s so, so easy to shoot your pride down than dwell on it and go feral over a rejection. It’s so, so easy to respect an omega, even for a fuckboy like him, so why is it hard for other alphas to do so?

And the result of this harsh world, of this fucked up power imbalance is sobbing in his arms, shaking and forcing herself to be okay with an unwanted bond just to save herself. Heeseung’s heart breaks for you, for the fate that follows a beautiful being like you just because of secondary genders and because the world says so.

“Please, I-I don’t—”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Heeseung whispers, rubbing a soothing circle on your arms. Your crying subsides a fraction. “I’ll scent you if that makes you feel better. Is that…okay?”

You blink at him tearily, streaks of salty tears tainting your unblemished cheeks. Even with a swollen face, you still look as pretty as he remembers.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he nods, taking a hold of your wrist when he senses those alphas getting near. “Or we can just get inside and call the cops on them if you change your mind. You can find—”

“No,” you grip him tighter, your previously-calmed scent spiking again. “Cops are useless. T-They won’t—please, Heeseung. You know how they are.”

You know how unfair the system is.

Heeseung swallows hard before he nods, the burnt honey in your pheromones starting to get really thick and sticky. He rubs the inside of your wrists, slow and deliberate, before bringing the scent gland to his nose. It’s the most appropriate point to scent, less intimate than scenting at your neck, which he guesses the last thing you want from him right now.

The tip of his nose caresses the delicate skin tentatively, testing and tasting before he takes a deep inhale. Immediately, the scent of daisies and honey fill up his senses and Heeseung’s eyes flutter shut at the feeling. There is a rush of energy bursting through his veins, his senses tingling and his wolf purring at the sweet combination of your pheromones. Heeseung feels his wolf hum, almost singing and sighing, like his muscles are unknotting in a hot spring. 

It’s strange. It’s new. But Heeseung pushes the thoughts aside.

He runs his nose over your wrist over and over again, blanketing you in his pheromones and starting to feel you relax in his arms.

The tension in your shoulders visibly disappears as you let yourself melt into Heeseung. You sigh. Heeseung’s pheromones are just like him; warm spice of cinnamon carried by cool air of sea breeze. It symbolises his fierce persona on the court and his calm demeanour when he’s out of his jersey perfectly. You lean into him further, your squirming wolf unknowingly calms down when being washed by his pheromones.

If Heeseung notices the change in your demeanour, he doesn’t say anything about it, shoving the thought to the back of his mind. His singular focus is entirely on your pulse, nosing at your wrist and pumping out his calming pheromones. When he opens his eyes, they mirror the look in yours: dazed and slightly glassy. The air is now loaded with daisies and cinnamon, intertwining with each other in a perfect, balanced mix of scent. 

Heeseung tries to ignore the loud pounding of his heart, but it’s all he can hear. He tries to ignore the stars in your eyes, but it’s all he can see. He tries to ignore how perfectly balanced the mix of your scent is with his. His grip on your wrist tightens, breath caught in his throat. His wolf refuses to let you go, wanting to keep you here, tucked safely in his embrace for as long as he can.

And that thought is so foreign and scary. He really hopes that’s just his wolf and not him.

“Hey, little bunny.” A sick, twisted voice interrupts. 

Oh, right. 

Those fucking, disgusting alphas.

Heeseung is always slouching, making him appear shorter than he actually is. But in that moment, he’s standing so tall, dominating the space around him like the air is making room for him itself. 

He instinctively pulls you behind him, shielding you from the hungry eyes of the approaching alphas. His shoulders are braced like they’re ready for an impact and Heeseung has to force a snarl down his throat when his eyes land on the wolves.

When the shadows step under the light, it takes less than a second for Heeseung to see the jerseys clinging to their bodies before he realises who he’s looking at. 

They’re the players from the opposing team that his team just beat tonight. 

K, EJ, and Nicholas.

Heeseung grinds his jaw so hard he might pop a vessel.

“If it’s not the mighty Lee Heeseung,” K taunts, wearing a smug smirk like a badge at the sight in front of him. He cocks his head, trying to see you over Heeseung’s shoulders. You cower. “Mind sharing your pretty little cheerleader? She’s exactly my type, shy but slutty.”

Shame spreads across your skin and you screw your eyes shut. Shy and slutty, you bite your lips. You’re nothing but a kinky fantasy for alphas like them.

As if sensing your turmoil, Heeseung stands taller, his eyes narrowing thin.

“Get lost.” Heeseung tries to hold back, but the rage he feels seeps through anyway. “And cover your gland, for fuck’s sake. You stink.”

K’s eyebrows shoot up, his grin turning cheshire. “Come on, man. Are you gatekeeping your cheerleaders?” K tries to take a peek at you, but Heeseung moves and covers you with his whole body. His frown deepens. “You had fucked her already. Don’t be greedy, captain.”

His alpha minions laugh, and Heeseung is now seeing red. Something hot spreads in his chest, burning in his vein like wildfire at the insult. Was it a hit to his ego and his shameless sexual routine? Definitely, but Heeseung never takes it to heart. Rather, it’s the way you gasp and sob into his back, shaken by the disgusting assumption of your dignity and your virginity. The storm of the ocean spikes in the air, taking his pheromones to a dangerous peak, gathering a tide to a new height.

Heeseung doesn’t think he’s ever released pheromones this bad. But something about seeing the same pattern of omegas falling victim to empty-headed alphas makes his blood boil.

Behind him, you whimper, your omega reacting to the agitated alpha in front of you. But Heeseung is now relentless. He holds out an arm around your waist, protecting you from their sight in a tight, almost-possessive grip.

“Watch your fucking mouth. Don’t you get it?” Heeseung seethes, pupils thinning as the laughter dies down. “She doesn’t want you. In what fucking language must she say no for your stupid brain to understand? She’s—”

Mine. She’s mine, his wolf howls. My omega. 

Heeseung grits his teeth.

No, she’s not. Get a fucking grip, Lee Heeseung. You don’t have a mate.

“...not a toy.”

The sea-salt bite of his pheromones thickens in the alley. K scoffs, stepping forward in offense but is stopped by Nicholas. The latter has his arm shot out against K’s chest, preventing him from approaching the couple.

“No, K,” Nicholas murmurs, nose sniffing at the heavy pheromones in the air. Underneath the eye-watering spice of cinnamon and the raging storm of Heeseung’ sea breeze scent, there is a tangled sweetness of daisies and honey clinging to it. He visibly gulps. “They’re together. And Heeseung…”

Nicholas throws him a side eye, giving him a once-over briefly. He takes in the sharp glare directed his way, the downturned curl of his mouth, the tense shoulders ready to pounce. Nicholas shudders imperceptibly and shakes his head.

“…He’s a dominant alpha.”

His statement, though meant to deescalate the situation, only rages Heeseung on further. The alpha takes a menacing step forward, eyes narrowing thin at the trio. They falter back.

“Get this in your empty brains you freaks,” Heeseung grits, fuming beyond reason. Nicholas swears he sees something red flickering in his irises. 

“When someone says no, you back the fuck off. Dominant alpha or not. Omega or not.” He spits out the word, the venom in his voice nearly poisons the air. “Do you fucking get it?”

His raging pheromones are turning physical, pressing on each pair of lungs like lead on a mattress. Nicholas fights the urge to cover his nose and pulls his two friends backwards with him.

“We get it. Sorry, captain.”

“Not me,” Heeseung hisses. A low growl rumbles in warning. “Her.”

Nicholas licks his lips and nods. He bows down quickly, forcing the other alphas to bend despite it hurting his pride. K reluctantly follows, though his eyes return the glare Heeseung gives him in a similar intensity. 

“We’re sorry, omega. Shit, I don’t know your name, but—we’re sorry.”

In the next moment, the three alphas are already retreating. Nicholas aggressively whispers something among them while K visibly restrains himself from running back to Heeseung. He clearly doesn’t mind taking up a challenge with the dominant alpha and Heeseung finds himself not minding to dirty his hands too.

A beat of heavy silence falls upon you. You stay rooted in place, pulse racing in your ears. Heeseung is still facing away from you, ragged breathing slowing down. The air of dense pheromones is thinning out, leaving behind trails of spicy cinnamon and soft daisies.

You let out a breath and your knees buckle. 

Heeseung is by your side in a flash, the same, now-familiar arms caging you against his tall frame. You put your hands on his chest, trying to steady the wobble in your legs.

“Hey, hey. You’re okay now. They’re gone.”

They really are. You cry. They’re actually gone.

An ugly sob racks through your chest and soon, the wilting daisies are back, staining the air with crumpled petals and sad flowers. Heeseung tightens his hold. He doesn’t like seeing people cry, but his alpha apparently despises it the most when he sees you in this state.

His calming pheromones pour out in waves, hands carding through your hair gently. “It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re safe now.”

You’re safe with me.

Your crying slows down. For a few seconds, you let yourself savour the warmth of Heeseung’s  embrace. Closer, his pheromones, layered with a faint trail of his body wash, are stronger, filling up the almost-nonexistent space between the two of you. Strangely, the spice and the salt work wonders on calming you down.

Your wolf—previously anxious and distressed—is now quiet. 

Heeseung adjusts his hold on you, and in that moment do you only realise in horror how long you’ve been shamelessly hugging him. Like a reflex, you pull away from his embrace, cheeks now flaming red when his shirt is now stained with two big spots of your tears.

“I’m sorry!” Your palms instinctively rub at the stains, as if they can dry out the tears out of the fabric. “I’ll buy you a new shirt.”

Heeseung looks down, silently watching the small of your palms against his broad chest. There’s a strange flutter that follows, quiet and unfamiliar. He hopes that you can’t feel it through the fabric.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” Heeseung murmurs, eyes finding their ways back to your face. Red nose, swollen eyes, blotched cheeks. You really went through it, still sniffling as you still try to fix the stains on his shirt. A small part of him twists uncomfortably.

Heeseung catches your wrists, his thumbs moving almost instinctively against the soft skin.Your breath catches as you lift your gaze to look at him.

“Are you okay?” Heeseung asks, voice soft and gentle. You immediately nod, admittedly feeling better after being bathed in his calming pheromones.

“I’m okay. Just a bit thirsty.”

He searches your face, as if trying to detect any kind of discomfort or distress. But in the end, he ends up staring into your eyes, counting the lashes that guard your beautiful eyes.

It should end there. He really should just escort you back into the safety of your friend group and leave you be. Perhaps, he can go find the previous omega, seduce his way back and bring her home. The normal. The usual.

But something inside stirs in protest to that idea, and so instead he finds himself saying: “Let’s get you something to drink.”

The convenience store is bright under the dark sky, located just two blocks away from the nightclub. It’s already past one in the morning, but to the people of the night, it’s only the beginning of fun. From a distance, the queue line is only getting longer.

Beside you, Heeseung is walking on the edge of the pavement, looking out for cars despite the slow traffic. He’s been quiet since the alleyway, seemingly lost in thought. Occasionally, his hand will brush yours, a quiet graze that sends electricity in your system. You try not to react.

The convenience store is empty, save for a group of partygoers sobering up around the round table outside, leaving only a long bench beside the door empty. You stop when Heeseung does, his hand already tapping on the sensory handle.

“Wait here. I’ll buy you something to drink.”

You nod, obediently sitting down. Heeseung takes one last look at you before he enters the store, the harsh lights greeting his tired eyes. He grabs the coldest mineral water and stops in front of the necessities shelves.

Without thinking, his hand moves like it has a mind of its own, grabbing whatever his eyes land on—a heat pack, chocolate, a pack of wet tissues. It’s only when the cashier scans the items that he pauses, staring at the items with wide eyes.

Since when does he…do this?

“Anything to add, sir?”

Heeseung gulps, looks past the cashier’s head, and lands on the rows of pills behind him.

She cried too much, she might have a headache.

And so, as if on instinct, Heeseung adds paracetamol to his receipt.

Outside, the air is cooler, biting at exposed skin like a bug. Heeseung wordlessly sits beside you, placing the plastic bag on his lap. You curiously peek into the bag.

“That’s a lot. Are you hungry?”

Heeseung pauses, realisation dawns upon him. His instincts flare again. “No. Are you? Do you want ramyeon? Or packed rice? I can—”

“No! It’s fine, Heeseung,” you laugh softly, the sound like a melodious chime of a bell to his ears. “I had dinner.”

Heeseung visibly relaxes and nods. He hands you the bottle first, twisting the cap open before passing it over without a word. He watches you drink, takes the bottle from you, and gives you the heat pack next.

You blink at him. “It’s cold,” Heeseung shrugs, pulling your hand towards him and placing the heat pack on your palm. He closes your fingers over it. “This will warm you up a bit.”

For a second, you just stare at him. The warmth in your hand spreads from your fingers up to your chest, where your heart is thumping wildly at his gentle act.

You bring the heat pack to your neck, a gentle smile gracing your lips as you stare at him, cheeks blooming red. They put him in a trance, your eyes, as Heeseung finds himself unable to look away. His gaze then drops to your lips when they move, already clinging to every syllable without even knowing it.

“Thank you, Heeseung.”

The flutter comes back, now more frantic and aggressive than before, like a caged bird trying to escape. This time, Heeseung forces himself to look away, the plastic bag wrinkles under his tightening grip. 

“Don’t mention it.”

“I mean it, though.” You counter back, gazing at the passing cars as you feel a gust of chilling wind breezing through. You scoot closer to the heat beside you. “It was really scary. Thank you for helping me out.”

There’s a bitter tone, faint and subtle, to your scent, as if you’re recalling the ugly incident that just happened almost half an hour ago. Heeseung clenches his jaw. 

Before he can stop it, his pheromones spill out like soft waves, calming and comforting, cocooning you again like a safety blanket. His wolf hums in quiet satisfaction, watching the way your shoulders loosen, the tension melting off you bit by bit.

Heeseung doesn’t know when or how it happened, but there’s no gap between you now. But he doesn’t hate it like he thought he would. Here, you’re so close to him, your shoulder practically glued to his, seeking warmth from his body heat.

It’s a foreign feeling. A comfortable, foreign feeling.

You stay in that position, slowly getting drunk on his pheromones. Your eyes droop, fighting sleep, but the exhaustion from running away from scary alphas has finally caught up to you. Before you know it, your head dips against his shoulder, breath evening out as your fingers lose their grip on the heat pack. 

Heeseung swallows. He doesn’t dare move. From the proximity, he can smell your fruity hair wash, blending smoothly with your scent. 

It’s so unfair. Every inch of you smells really good, whether it’s your natural scent or the products that you use. It’s like every inch of your skin decides that you only deserve to smell the best, and Heeseung himself can’t help but agree too. It’s so unfair.

Heeseung finds his hands hover awkwardly in the air, hesitating for a second before settling carefully on your head. His fingers thread through your hair, slower this time.

“Don’t feel scared anymore,” he mumbles, gently caressing the dark strands of your hair. 

It’s me who should feel scared.

His fingers freeze in your hair. 

Scared. He is scared.

This is not him. If Riki or Jay were to walk in to see him in this state, they’d drag him to the nearest police station and demand they find the real Heeseung. The normal Heeseung. The usual Heeseung.

The Heeseung that doesn’t stay, or spend his time watching people breathe in their sleep. The Heeseung who’s out the door before the sheets even cool down. The Heeseung that dislikes small touches like these; like caressing the hair of the girl he just saved, because the only physical touch he brands himself with is sex.

Not this. Not whatever this is.

He wants to move, but his body doesn’t listen—he stays despite himself. His wolf, like it’s found something it’s been looking for all along, settles deeper instead, quiet and satisfied. You nuzzle closer into his body and Heeseung feels his chest tighten.

Something uneasy creeps up his spine.

This should feel suffocating. It should itch under his skin, make him want to pull away, shake you off, leave. 

But it doesn’t. It feels easy. Too easy, in fact.

And it scares the shit out of him.

When your senses return to you, the first thing that greets you is someone’s scent.

Warm, spicy cinnamon and calm, salty sea air.

The memory follows not long after; of angry frowns and disgusting smirks that make your skin crawl. Amidst it all, a familiar face flashes in your mind and you feel your heart stutter.

Heeseung.

The pulse in your wrist thuds violently, as if not letting you forget the owner of the pheromones now wrapped around you like a soft blanket. You faintly remember, in your subconscious, being carried to a car and your roommate, Yujin, hugging you in panic. Unconsciously, you pull your blanket closer to your chest.

Did Heeseung send you home? Did he really…scent-mark you to help you?

You bite your lips between your teeth. The clarity is palpable now that the haziness of pheromones and distress are no longer around. There’s no way an alpha—a dominant one, at that—is willing to scent-mark an omega he has no connections to. The implications are more than the action itself. Heeseung surely knows about that, right? 

It feels like a dream. It has to be a dream.

What a capable alpha, your wolf preens. Shut up, you hiss.

Then, as if the universe was insistent to prove you wrong, your eyes land on a plastic bag placed neatly on top of your vanity, a damning evidence of last night’s incident.

No way.

Your brain swirls with possibilities and your own made-up theories that it has started to throb faintly. Before you could lose your sanity, thread by unraveling thread, you rush to the bathroom to, hopefully, get rid of his scent, even when your omega begs you not to.

Unfortunately for the human-you, the cinnamon trails after you even post-showers. It clings to your clothes when you change and it doesn’t let you go even as you sit for breakfast prepared by your doting roommate. It’s strange, really. No one’s scent ever clung to you so stubbornly like this, like a chewing gum latching on shoe soles. You always cuddle with Yujin and even her green tea pheromones never stay with you after washing up.

“It’s a bit odd, yes,” Yujin munches through a mouthful of her own signature pancake. “But it’s not totally out-of-this-world. His scent will fade by this evening, I promise.”

You chew painfully slowly, eyes going wide at another possibility. “You don’t think that I conjured some kind of bond with him, right?”

It’s common knowledge that a thin, fragile bond can be easily formed when an alpha and an omega scent each other, mated or not. After all, context and intention are greatly considered, whether it’s meant for familiarity, protection, or possessiveness—each one will determine how long it’ll last.

You pull at the sleeves of your cardigan, a telltale sign of your anxiousness. The same wilting daisies accent of your scent from the night before comes back, signalling your impending distress. Yujin drops her fork and reaches a hand to yours.

“Hey, hey. Calm down for a sec, Y/N.”

“It’s just,” you swallow harshly, your traitorous mind replaying the scene from last night. Your heart thumps at the base of your throat. “I don’t know—fuck. I forced him to do this. And—and despite the circumstances, he still helped me and now…now I think…”

Your eyes turn glassy, reminded of the wolf residing deep inside you.

“I think my omega might like him.”

Yujin is silent for a moment, assessing the right words to say. It’s obvious to everyone on campus of the nature of Lee Heeseung. He’s not exactly the alpha you’d seek for companionship or commitment; he seems to be allergic to those things. 

And to get your wolf to like him…well, let’s say that you’re already set for thousand-words of angst and a life of yearning. Yujin isn’t exactly fond of the idea of dishing out what you already knew. You already seem restless enough with your own thoughts.

“Okay. That’s valid.” Yujin starts slowly, treading through every syllable like a mother to her kindergartener son. “He’s super attractive. It’s understandable. But you can, you know—unlike him.”

You perk up at that, though the doubt clouding your face is more prominent now. “How?”

“Find a better alpha,” Yujin shrugs, as if explaining the world’s simplest equation. “For the record, I do think Heeseung’s a good guy, just not in the romantic department. I don’t know why your wolf is picking a fuckboy out of all alphas, but taste is subjective.”

“It’s because he stepped up and protected me!” You deflect and pause, realising how defensive of him you have become. Yujin raises a brow and you sigh, defeated, slumping in your seat.

“Fuck. Now my omega hates you for badmouthing him.”

“Sucks to be you.”

“Just kill me.”

Yujin shoots you a small smile, pushing your now-cold plate closer to you. You reluctantly take a bite. “Why not someone else, though? You could ask literally any other alpha, like—” Yujin pauses and it takes her less than a second to pick a name. “Jay. Like Jay. He’s like, the safest option, the greenest flag. But why Heeseung? And don’t tell me it’s because he was the only one there—you could’ve just barged in and found someone else. It’s a freaking nightclub.”

You freeze, unmoving for a slow second. There is, of course, an answer to that. One that you admittedly avoid to admit, because admitting it will admit that there is something underneath that only you know, and you admit that it’s scary to admit that. Fuck this admission! Yujin wouldn’t make fun of you, right?

“I…” You trail off, second-guessing your decision. Should you really tell your roommate? Seeing the eager look on her face, with her sweet, cute dimples showing up, you decide that people with dimples should be banned from this world. Promptly, you’re reminded of your junior—an alpha with Jungwon or something as his name. The both of them possessed dimples that could make any alpha (or omega) drop down to their knees.

Alas, you force yourself to tell the truth.

“I smelled him for afar.” You watch carefully for Yujin’s reaction. “Like, from outside. While I was running from those scary alphas.”

Yujin contemplates. “Did you feel some kind of a pull towards him?”

You don’t even contemplate. “Yes.” 

“Holy shit,” Yujin laughs, her grin turning giddy. “This shit is actually real?!”

“What is?!” You frown, not liking being kept in the dark. A playful punch lands on Yujin’s shoulder, who’s now throwing her head back in laughter. Unconsciously, a pout is formed on your lips.

“What is it? Tell me!”

“It’s just, there’s this joke going around,” Yujin hiccups between every inhale, “that an omega will eventually crave for his knot. I can’t believe it’s happening to you!”

The lines in your forehead deepen. You regard your roommate with a look of contempt, thinking of the best spot to hide a body.

“That’s not true. I don’t crave his knot, or whatever it is.” You sigh, bringing a hand to pinch the bridge of your nose. “You know what? I’m just gonna pretend last night didn’t happen.”

Resigned and defeated, you rise and bring your plate to the sink. Your class doesn’t start until the next three hours, and then the evening is reserved for your new routine practice for the upcoming tournament. The ninety-two unread messages from the group chat are still left unopened; you haven’t had time to review the routine video yet.

You put on your apron and reach for the cabinet. When in distress or deep thoughts, other than nesting in your bedroom, you often opt to stress-bake instead. The scent of baked goods always puts you at ease, and it blends sweetly with your daisies and honey pheromones. Everyone who knows you knows to empty their stomach and be ready for a mass sweet-feeding whenever you’re in your stressed baker mode.

Behind you, Yujin’s laughter dies in her throat. Then, a question that stops you in your tracks comes.

“Hey, you don’t think it’s because you and Heeseung are fated mates, right?”

Fated mates. The words settle like a heavy blanket, pressing you down with its weight and keeping you warm altogether. 

It’s sacred. It’s ancient. It’s something that you never speak of lightly, afraid that a slip of a tongue would taint the purity of such a bond. Against all odds and critiques on the concept of fated mates, you’re part of the minority who believed in it, no matter how foolish or ridiculous it may sound.

You believe in fated mates. You believe in the name written in the stars, in the love that has been shaped and created just to cherish you. You believe in spending the rest of your life looking for a face that your heart would recognise in a heartbeat, feeling that inevitable pull like you’re each other’s missing half.

But after last night, do you think it’s because you and Heeseung are fated mates?

Heeseung, who’s always made it clear to everyone about his relationship with commitments?

Heeseung, who never shies away when the boys tease him about the girls he sleeps with?

You’re never one to judge someone’s sex life, but you might be a little too concerned about how they view a long-term, committed relationship. Because that’s what you’ve been looking for. 

An alpha who’s not afraid to love you loudly. An alpha whose instincts are to love and protect you. 

Sometimes, you really envy mated couples. You envy how loyal Riki is of his girlfriend, craving the same kind of devotion to be directed to you. You envy how proud Taesan is to show off his mating mark, like it’s a badge of honour and love that promises forever.

Eventually, your mind drifts to Heeseung. The captain of the basketball team. Someone who deceives people with how approachable he seems, but is actually the most detached.

Heeseung is a perfect and capable alpha. You’ve seen it.

He leads his team with the kind of leadership that becomes a glue, keeping the team together no matter what challenges they’re going through. You know that he’s from the music department, and there are a few songs with his name being credited as the producer, composer, lyricist—you name it. Heeseung is a dominant alpha and uses his authority well, and he knows how to fend for himself.

You admire him, you really do. 

But will he devote himself to you? Will he look only for you in a crowd of beautiful omegas, and beautiful omegas who have spent the night with him? Does he share the same sentiment as you when it comes to fated mates?

The churn in your stomach provides an answer clearer than any of your exams had ever done.

You let Yujin’s question fade in the background, letting yourself lose in your element—baking and baking and baking until it feels like you could feed a whole team of athletes. Which is what Yujin has suggested before she leaves for her lab session, after saving a big jar of cookies for herself.

Fated mates.

What a scary thought.

For the first time in his life, Heeseung is actively avoiding omegas.

It’s not any omegas, though. It’s only you. But since it’s you, it’s actually a pretty big deal to him. 

Heeseung doesn’t play favourites. He doesn’t believe in fated mates, remember? But last night left a lasting impact in the form of your scent still clinging to him this morning, even after showering.  Not to mention how excited his wolf has been when realising that it’s you. 

It’s you, for fuck’s sake! The one who rejected him one year ago, and, admittedly, one of the prettiest omegas on campus. You might as well be every alpha’s ideal type. Well, maybe not Riki, that man is proudly claimed and fiercely loyal to his mate. But it’s definitely the case for him and Jay. 

Knowing his best friend, Heeseung’s sure you’re just Jay’s type. And his. No. He didn’t say that. He doesn’t have a type, remember?

As if to make it worse, you also have a scent that might just be his favourite one yet. The same scent that is currently invading his senses, dampening other pheromones in the court despite being on opposite ends from you. The same scent that his wolf decides to pick up and single out the moment he steps foot in the campus, recognising you before his eyes can even see you first. The same scent that still lingers in his lungs, mingling with his cinnamon and sea breeze notes like dancing partners. 

Yeah, Heeseung is starting to think that he’s slowly going insane. 

“Dude, stop staring. You’re scaring them.”

Heeseung blinks, Jay’s voice successfully snapping him out of whatever omega-spell that you have casted on him. Yeap, he nods. It’s definitely that. You’re actually a witch. There’s no other explanation to this other than that.

A blob of freshly-dyed blonde hair pops up beside Jay. “Hyung showed up smelling like daisies and honey and suddenly he’s staring at the cheerleaders like they owe him money.” Riki teases, then grins when he realises something. “Wait, that kinda rhymes—”

“I’m not staring!” Heeseung almost shouts, belatedly realising that he, indeed, has been staring at the group of cheerleaders stretching across the court. Or, to be more precise, he’s been staring at you. He glares at Riki.

“Okay. So why do you smell like one of them then? What’s her name again, Jay hyung?”

Heeseung grumbles. “It’s no one—”

“Y/N.” 

“Yes, that one. The shy one.” 

Heeseung groans. He kicks Riki’s shins and makes a show of turning his back facing the cheerleaders. But for some reasons he refuses to admit, as if he has eyes on the back of his head, he still can point where you’re standing just from his senses alone.

These stupid, useless alpha senses.

At least Jay takes pity on him. “Your Heeseung hyung saved her from perverts last night. He scented her to calm her down because she was reacting pretty badly.”

Heeseung mentally thanks Jay and continues warming up. He opts to just watch his teammates dribble and stretch just like him. The faint hum of scent neutraliser—a new, advanced one, thanks to that incident with Riki’s girlfriend—rumbles slowly. Somewhere behind him, he can hear you laugh and taste the sweet spike in your scent on his tongue. Heeseung grits his teeth. 

What is wrong with his wolf? Please get your tail together.

Riki, on the other hand, is intrigued. “Really? Did it happen after I left? Who were those alphas?”

“Some idiots from that team we beat last night.”

Riki frowns, clearly displeased with the news he just heard. “Well, I’ll keep my eyes on them. How did Heeseung hyung find her?”

Jay shrugs and shoots him a look. Heeseung really hopes he can slap that annoying smirk off his face one day. “Dunno. Ask him. His alpha probably recognised her from miles away.”

Heeseung doesn’t like what that sentence implies. “Shut up. It’s just instinct. Normal alpha-omega reaction.”

“Keep lying to yourself. I can practically see your tail wagging when you smelled your pheromones on her just now.”

“I didn’t—” Heeseung closes his eyes, forcing himself to calm down despite the sudden flare of defensiveness exploding in his chest. He doesn’t know why he’s so reactive and not in his usual calm composure, but he’s pretty sure it has something to do with you. Jay and Riki snicker. 

“The only people that believe in fated mates are you two idiots. Do you know that?”

“Yeah, I know,” Riki snorts and looks at him, amused. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean I have a fated mate. That shit is rare. It’s like finding my size in Calvin Klein.”

Jay frowns. “I don’t see the correlation.”

“There is. My dick is just too big, hyung. There’s no size for me—”

“I don’t need to know that!” Jay slaps at Riki’s shoulders while the younger alpha only lets out a full-body laugh. “Save that information for your girlfriend, Riki. I didn’t raise you like this.”

“She already knows that.”

“Nishimura Riki!” 

Heeseung is back to zoning out, his energy is suddenly drained out of his soul. That’s usually the case when you have to deal with a Nishimura Riki and a Park Jongseong on a daily basis. His mind, choosing to move at the pace of a snail today, is replaying Riki’s words back like a broken loop.

The realisation hits him five seconds late. “Wait. Did you mean that you and your girlfriend are not…fated mates? I thought you were!”

Riki is trapping Jay in a headlock when he answers. “Nope. We only imprinted on each other from early on because we’re childhood friends.”

“So like…what’s the difference?” Heeseung pauses and hesitates for a moment. He glances at you and then thinks, fuck it. If curiosity didn’t kill the cat then it’ll definitely kill him. “Can you smell your girlfriend in a sea of people?”

Riki scrunches his nose, his hands busy play-fighting with Jay. Heeseung ignores them like it’s a daily occurrence to see them act this way. Which is probably not far from the truth. “Not really? If they’re too many people, like right now, with your stench and too many omega scents—it’s difficult to find her.” Jay tackles his side and Riki yelps. “B-But it’s getting better after the mating bite, though—Jay hyung! I just got my tattoo there!”

“So…you can’t like…” Heeseung licks his lips, his throat suddenly dry. He has a feeling that he’s not going to like the answer Riki’s going to give him once he finishes his sentence. Jay is now on the floor while Riki is pulling him by the legs and dragging him around like a used rug.

“You can’t single her out from her scent alone?”

There. He said it. His two idiotic friends will catch on it and grill him for the problem he partially caused. The other part is, no doubt, his wolf’s fault for deciding to like one single scent. You’re not at fault at all. Never. Wait, who said that?

Riki is breathless from the laughter and play-fight, but he still manages to listen and answer, thanks to his alpha senses. If he finds Heeseung’s questions strange, he only shares his suspicion through a knowing look with Jay.

“Sometimes. Like I said, it’s only when the crowd isn’t too big and when she’s in the same room as me.” Riki finally spares Heeseung a glance, tilting his head in a feigned curiosity. “Why are you asking, hyung? Did you smell Y/N from miles away or something?”

How the fuck did that idiot know?

Heeseung looks away from the teasing grin thrown his way. He really doesn’t like this. “No,” he grumbles. “I’m just afraid if I might be Jay’s fated mate because his pheromones are fucking everywhere.”

“Hey! What the fuck did I do to you?!” 

Riki bursts out laughing and high-fives Heeseung with a cheeky smile. On the floor, Jay is already huffing and sulking, mumbling something about ‘always catching strays’ and ‘citrusy pheromones aren’t smelly’. Heeseung sighs quietly when the topic takes a turn into a debate about who has the best smelling pheromones, which is an easy win for Riki, if Heeseung’s going to be honest. 

Don’t tell Jay though. Heeseung doesn’t want to lose his passenger princess privilege so soon.

Much to his relief, it’s already time for practice. Heeseung tries to ignore the prickle in his neck coming from your direction as you and your fellow cheerleaders leave the gym to go to your own practice room. He fights the urge to look back, to stride forward and ask you to stay—which is insane, by the way, what the fuck is wrong with him?

Before he slips into his captain mode, however, Jay approaches him with a more serious look on his face. “Calm your flat tits, Hee. It’s normal for her scent to linger; you kinda scented her aggressively to protect her last night.”

Heeseung weakly nods. Jay pats his shoulder. “A deep bond can’t be conjured just from scenting alone, unless you’re fated mates.”

This time, Heeseung doesn’t move, his tension visible in the rigid lines of his posture, the frantic movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.

“Yeah,” he croaks, his pulse louder than his own voice. “Hope not.”

Practice goes on for the next two hours. Heeseung eventually falls into routine, finding himself lost in adrenaline and competitiveness. The thoughts of you cease for a moment, replaced by his quick-thinking strategy and sharp reflexes. He keeps dribbling, scoring, and making passes, not even aware of the ticking clock or when the cheerleader squad comes back in to take a break.

The last whistle finally blows before the players dramatically fall in a heap of sweaty, breathless alphas. The practice was particularly grueling, which made his body ache and his shirt clung to his skin. The coach is on fire today, all because his wife has been giving him a silent treatment. Apparently, he forgot to buy diapers on his way home last night.

Source: Nishimura Nosy.

“I think I might die,” Jay huffs, claiming a bench all to himself. His chest rises and falls in a rapid motion. “But even as a ghost, I bet the coach would still unearth my grave to force me to practice.”

“I’ll be Ghost Number Two.” Heeseung deadpans, lying down on the bench next to Jay. The latter continues to talk about something else, which Heeseung would know and remember if he didn’t get distracted by daisies and honey.

Fuck. You’re in the court again.

The urge to corner you, to grab your wrist and ask if you were okay, crawls under his skin again—restless, unrelenting.

Heeseung isn’t stupid. He knows last night, ugly as it was, doesn’t just fade by morning. His alpha has been clawing at him since then, sharp and impatient, demanding he go to you.

But Heeseung doesn’t move.

For once, he’s a coward.

He shoves it down, buries it deep, treating his own wolf like a disease he refuses to catch.

Heeseung blinks at the ceiling in an active effort to not start looking for you and staring at you like a creep. This time, he wonders quietly why your scent smells stronger than before. Perhaps the adrenaline from your routine. But even so, you don’t only smell strong, but you also smell closer—

“Free cookies!”

Heeseung jolts in surprise and whips his head in the direction of that voice. Or, precisely, your voice. His heart, as if trying to shorten his life span, decides not to take a break from the session just now and continues beating even faster.

There, just a few paces away from him, is you, standing in the middle of the court with one of your cheerleader friends. In her hold, there’s a purple Tupperware, its lid nowhere to be found. You stand slightly behind your friend, shyly looking over her shoulders as she talks to his teammates.

“Oh my God, they brought us cookies?!” Jay is already standing up, stretching lazily like a cat. “C’mon, Hee. It’s free cookies.”

Heeseung’s quick to refuse, despite his wolf begging him to go. “Nah—”

But before he can spit out any excuses, Jay is already dragging him, his weeks spent in the gym working out with Riki are finally paying off. “Don’t be ridiculous. Take your portion and give it to me.”

Heeseung groans. He really should start joining their workout session. He can’t be manhandled by his two best friends easily like this.

Distracted, Heeseung fails to register the decreasing distance between you and him. It’s only when your scent spikes sweetly, which hits him in the face like a fucking tidal wave, does he catch your eyes and realises that, fuckfuckfuck she’s here ohmyGod—

“Hi, Jay. Hi, Heeseung.”

Wait hold on, why does his name sound even more beautiful coming from your voice?

He stands like a flag pole beside Jay, actively avoiding your eyes while being fully aware of that pretty pair staring at his face. The floor suddenly looks very interesting, with skid marks from their shoes and some sweat trails. Okay. Ew. That’s gross.

“Hey, pretty ladies.” Jay greets, flashing his attractive smile as he gestures at the container. “Heard there’s free cookies for the taking? Mind if we have some?” 

Smooth as ever, Jay doesn’t even realise how easily he has charmed your friend with his simple greeting. Poor omega is already blinking rapidly, almost bouncing on her toes as she practically shoves the Tupperware into Jay’s chest. 

“Yes! Yes, of course you can, Jay. There’s only little left! Take them all!”

Your eyes, fixated on Heeseung since he arrived, tries to search his face as you shyly interrupt, whispering into your friend’s ear. 

“Offer some to Heeseung too…”

Heeseung doesn’t know whether to curse or thank the Goddess for his advanced dominant-alpha senses, because overhearing those words…it makes his chest feel warm and tight at the same time.

But your friend doesn’t pay you any mind, urging Jay to take the Tupperware from her. Jay, ever the gentleman but still a little shameless shit when it comes to food, takes it from her eager hands. He takes one bite and immediately lights up.

“This is so good! I love that it’s not too sweet.”

Like a mirror reflecting light, you beam widely, returning Jay’s enthusiasm. Heeseung tries to ignore the ugly twist in his chest. “Really? That’s…good to hear.”

“She made these, by the way!” Your friend proudly announces, which makes red blooms across your cheeks, ducking your head down slightly. You’re so shy, so pretty, Heeseung can’t stop staring.

And so good at baking. Such a perfect omega, his wolf continues. Shut the fuck up, Heeseung hisses.

“You’re really good at this, Y/N,” Jay interrupts his internal war, his voice sounding wrong in his ears. “Care to share the recipe?”

Now, is Jay flirting with you? Since when does his voice sound like that?

Heeseung tries to inhale, attempting to calm his fucking irrational wolf down, but all he can smell is the sugary scent of yours, tangling delicately and blending seamlessly with his spicy cinnamon and salty sea breeze. Somewhere in his chest, his heartstrings soften, drunk in the perfect mix of your pheromones, a ghost of a mark from last night. 

Maybe that’s what possessed him to snatch the Tupperware from Jay.

Heeseung wastes no time and starts munching two cookies at once, ignoring the gasps from you and your friend and the bombastic side-eye from his fellow alpha friend. The flavour of buttery vanilla and sweet chocolate chips melt on his tongue and Heeseung almost purrs at the taste.

Outside, he makes an effort to look calm.

“These are good,” he comments coolly, trying to make it sound more like a statement than a compliment (he’s failing). This time, he dares himself to meet your eyes, and has to force down another purr when he sees the sparkles in your eyes. “Thank you, Y/N.”

There’s a strange satisfaction blooming in his chest when the blush in your cheeks deepen. You quickly look down to the floor, mumbling softly that could’ve been missed had it not been for his senses.

What kind of pull is this? Why is every sense of his attuned to you? Heeseung swears he can smell the subtle spike of your scent, the sound of your heartbeat and your soft breathing. It’s like his whole body has decided that it wants to worship you.

And Heeseung doesn’t worship. Fuck. This is terrifying.

“Thank you, Heeseung…”

There. Your voice again. Heeseung swallows. His grip on the Tupperware tightens. Seeing you under this light, flushed and softly smiling to the ground while sneaking glances at him—it undoes him in ways he never dared imagine. 

The question is already at the tip of his tongue without his realisation. ‘Are you okay? Does what happened last night still bother you?’ The urge to comfort and soothe, now growing like a rolling snowball, threatening to spill from his mouth.

And the scary part is: Heeseung isn’t sure if that desire comes from his wolf or himself.

However, he never gets the chance to, because Jay with his perfect, universe-timing is already pulling him backwards. “Thank you for the cookies! We’ll eat them well!”

Heeseung reluctantly nods, the grip he has on the Tupperware turning knuckle-white.

“What the fuck was that?” Jay whisper-yells when they’re out of earshot, walking back to their previous spot. “And those are not only for you. Give them back to me!”

Heeseung dodges his grabby hand. “Why the fuck are you eating more?” He asks, failing to mask the bitterness in his voice.

“Didn’t they give all ten of them to us?”

“You’ve had two.”

“And you’ve had five!”

“I don’t care. These are mine.”

“You are being ridiculous.”

That’s what it takes for Heeseung to freeze in his tracks. Seeing an opening, Jay quickly snatches the Tupperware from his grasp and runs back to his spot on the bench, not forgetting to flip off the burgundy-haired alpha as he does so.

Heeseung is losing his fucking mind.

Sighing, Heeseung closes his eyes, a faint trail of daisies and honey still clinging to his senses. Even across the room, among the murmur of the gossiping cheerleaders, it’s your voice, the only one clear and crisp to his ears. 

I’m being ridiculous.

This isn’t me.

Slowly, his human side starts taking over, all flowery images of you vanish within seconds.

Fuck, he curses. He wishes this scent-marking will be gone by tomorrow morning.

Three mornings later, much to his dismay, your scent still clings to him. On the bright side, it has been notably fading, now only the remnants of daisies and honey underneath cinnamon and sea air; like crunched petals along the shoreline, waiting to be washed away.

Against his own judgment, however, his wolf is fucking devastated.

He’s been whining like a kicked puppy ever since he walked to practice this morning and couldn’t smell his scent on you instantly. He still can spot you from two buildings away, which is still strange, but the lack of spice and salt in your scent is what does it. Heeseung has to fight the urge to march towards you and start scenting you.

His wolf has been restless. And, inevitably, it puts Heeseung in a terrible mood, too. He never knew his wolf was that desperate. 

Practice ends late that night. With the tournament just around the corner, everyone is being a little shit at managing their emotions and competitiveness on the court—the downside of having an all-alpha team that people rarely talk about. 

Heeseung is not excluded from the equation, though. He almost threw the ball to Taesan’s knot and made his omega pups-less and pregnancy-free when he accidentally made a bad pass. The court had smelled like tension and a barely held-together brotherhood when he left before a cheerleader came up to him to flirt and he wasted no time to drag her to an empty classroom.

Now, Heeseung finds himself making out with that omega, tongue licking up into her mouth while she breathlessly moans into his. It’s been five days since his last fuck, and while he usually can go on without sex for weeks (one month was his best record), he’s been at his wit’s end today. Add the confusion and silent wars he’s been having about you into the mix, and Heeseung is nothing more than a stressed body waiting to be relieved.

Weirdly enough, the frustration he hopes to get rid of stays as frustration. The old sparks he usually feels when having this intimate moment with an omega seems to disappear tonight. In the back of his mind, like a looming cloud carrying a storm, is a hazy image of teary eyes and red, trembling lips.

Something stirs uneasily in his chest.

His huge, veiny hands slip under her skirt and find purchase on her cunt, gathering the slick leaking from her arousal. Her scent spikes as she bucks up her hips and, to Heeseung’s own surprise, he recoils from the smell of it and breaks the kiss. The girl doesn’t stop her advances, switching to kiss down his long neck instead.

He subconsciously scrunches up his nose, his finger halting its movement for a second. 

“What perfume are you wearing?” He asks, voice hoarse from the makeout session. He tilts his head back, allowing access and finding stimulation, but the usual thrill is a bit dull tonight.

“My pheromones,” she manages between kisses, “you like it?”

It’s quite the opposite, to be honest. Heeseung finds himself hating it. It’s too sweet. Too sharp. It sits wrong in his nose, burns at the back of his throat, like inhaling smoke for the first time. His eyes water.

There’s something wrong. He’s not enjoying this. 

And to make things worse and more confusing, his chest hurts. It constricts, like his lungs decide to shrink into a ball of unexplained pain. Heeseung’s breath stutters, almost doubling over. His mind is a frantic buzz of noise, chanting something that he can’t seem to fully register yet.

Not my omega. Not daisies. Not honey.

Heeseung feels something twist in his gut.

The nameless omega—he forgot to ask for her name—doesn’t notice the shift yet, the way Heeseung is already a frozen statue of confusion and frustration in her embrace. She continues, trailing down hot, wet kisses along the prominent line of his collarbone and sucks the tender skin. 

“Ow!” Heeseung yelps, instinctively pushing her away. The spot stings like a pulsing heartbeat, void of any pleasure that it usually would give. He staggers backwards once.

The girl frowns, clearly not happy being pushed like that. “What’s wrong? Is everything alright?”

“I—” Heeseung hisses, his shirt sitting wrong on his skin, her scent smelling wrong in his nose. He shakes his head. “Shit. I’m sorry, I—I have somewhere to be.” 

The girl scoffs, disbelieving. “What?! Heeseung, you can’t just—”

But Heeseung can, and he already does. The alpha is out of the room in the next minute, deliberately the calls of his name and the strings of insults that come from behind him. He makes a run for it.

What the fuck did just happen? Heeseung is never one to refuse a good time with omega, but his wolf is quiet tonight. Too quiet, like it’s being silent on purpose in solidarity for something he’s yet to know—or yet to realise. 

The hazy image comes back to his mind, slowly becoming sharp and clear. Heeseung thinks his lungs have turned into bricks when he realises that he’s been imagining you. That his head has been loud with the thoughts of you, even when he’s with someone else.

Why? Why is this happening? Why you?

Heeseung makes a turn to where the locker room is, planning to grab his duffel and leave, when he bumps into Riki and Jay, freshly out of the shower.

“Heeseung hyung?” A shirtless Riki calls his name, then raises a brow when he sees his condition. “Was wondering where you were. But those lipstick stains told me enough.”

Heeseung wipes his neck harshly. Wordlessly, he yanks his locker open and checks himself out in a mirror. He turns his face left and right, yanking down his under eyes, then sighs. Riki and Jay exchange looks. The air is slowly thickening with the pheromones of a distressed alpha, coming from none other than Heeseung.

“You good, mate?” Jay decides to ask him. Heeseung doesn’t know. He doesn’t think he’s as good as he wants himself to be. The alpha lets out another sigh and slams the door closed.

“I think something is definitely wrong with me.”

“Is it practice?” Jay softens his voice, already switching on his therapist-friend mode. “Hee, today’s just that day. Everybody was losing their shits, it’s not just you.”

Heeseung leans his back on the locker and tilts his head upwards. “It’s not that. I mean it biologically. Ever since—” Heeseung pauses, suddenly unsure if saying out loud would make things right. But Riki and Jay have already caught onto it.

“Ever since what?”

Heeseung chooses to deflect. “Look, I was trying to make out with this one pretty omega just now. But no matter how much kissing we did, I just couldn’t enjoy it.” Heeseung points to his sweatpants. Riki and Jay curiously follow with their eyes. “She was practically sucking my tongue and I’m not even bricked up, man!”

Riki furrows his eyebrows. “Not even a spark?”

Heeseung shakes his head. “I couldn’t feel anything. At all. Only,” he swallows harshly. “I only felt disgusted. By her.”

Silence hangs in the room at his revelation. Riki’s expression morphs into something akin to genuine surprise, while Jay only stares at him with a gaping mouth before he starts typing on his phone.

“This is dead serious. You can’t have sex without your dick. That's like a banana cake without bananas.”

Heeseung and Riki grimace. “Please don’t ever compare my dick to a banana again.”

“Or a banana cake.” Riki slaps his shoulder. “That’s my favourite, hyung. Don’t be gross.”

Jay waves a dismissive hand, eyes still glued on his phone. “Right, right. Anyway, I texted Sunoo.”

Heeseung’s eyes go wide like saucer plates at the name and groans. “Sunoo?! Jay, you know he’s still mad at me.”

“I know, but he’s the only one who probably knows the answer to this.” Jay smacks his lips when he reads a new text from Sunoo. “He’s staying back for a lab session. Let’s go to the medicine building.”

And that’s how Heeseung finds himself cramped into a tiny booth of a ramyeon stall, located by the road near the faculty of medicine. A pouty Sunoo is sitting across from him, shooting him his foxy side-eyes as he whines at Jay.

“Jay hyung, why did you bring this traitor with you?” Sunoo pulls at the sleeves of Jay’s hoodie, sulking away from Heeseung. It’s only the three of them since Riki had gone home with his girlfriend just now. “I thought the three of us would include you, me, and Riki.”

Jay sighs exasperatedly. “I had to, Sunoo. That traitor is having a critical dick malfunction and he needs your help.”

The waitress arrives with three bowls of steaming ramyeon. Jay and Sunoo pause their not-so-quiet argument and help her place the bowls on their table. She clears her throat awkwardly, and takes a quick glance at Heeseung before leaving. Heeseung groans internally.

Great. Now words about him and his dick problem will spread around the campus.

“Is STD finally catching up with you?” 

Heeseung should know that it was never that easy to get Sunoo off his back. That boy is a professional pouty sulk-er, he’ll never let Heeseung go easily. Not after harassing him with his sass, at least. Heeseung holds back a sigh, already resigned and defeated.

With a grim voice, he apologises to the brown-haired alpha. For the fifth time. 

“Sunoo, I am so sorry. I know it was my fault, but for the record, I didn’t know you were serious about pretending to be an omega. Why would you even do that, anyway?”

“Because I like the attention!” Sunoo is fast to defend himself, his pout only deepening. “And because alphas will only spoil me if I was their pretty little soft omega—which I am not! And you exposing my secondary gender to that alpha just ruined my chance to be with him. Who would even call their friend, ‘my cutie little fake omega’, anyway?!”

“I was drunk!”

“A drunk traitor is still a traitor!”

Heeseung turns to Jay, sending him signals to help him out. But his best friend deliberately ignores him, too engrossed in his own bowl, pretending to be a wall. Heeseung rolls his eyes and looks back at Sunoo.

It might not be that easy to console the sulky boy, but Heeseung is labelled a sweet talker for a reason.

“You’re already a pretty alpha, Sunoo. Prettier than any omega I know. Anyone would drop everything for you even if they knew you weren’t an omega.”

Like a switch being flipped, the frown on Sunoo’s melts away, replaced by a beam so wide it shows off his perfect teeth.

“Aw, Heeseungie hyung. You’re now forgiven. Now tell me about this dick problem of yours.”

Jay and Heeseung look at each other and relax into their chairs in relief. Heeseung sends him a look of, ‘That was easy,’ to which Jay raises his eyebrow, ‘Why hadn’t you done it sooner?’

Now, with Sunoo not threatening to kill the burgundy-haired alpha anymore, Heeseung can finally enjoy a few bites of his untouched ramyeon. It’s already a bit cold and soggy, but the broth makes up for it. He retells the story to Sunoo between bites, watching the ever expressive boy react to it with various expressions.

“It’s not uncommon, though. But since it’s you, it must have felt very concerning.” Sunoo hums in thought, tapping his full lips with the thinnest tips of his chopsticks. “Well, Heeseungie hyung, did you imprint on any omegas?”

Heeseung hesitates for a moment before he shakes his head, feeling Jay’s eyes on him.

“No.”

“Hm, okay. Even if it’s due to imprints, it has to come from both sides,” Sunoo rubs his chin, now looking every bit a live action of Detective Conan, minus the glasses. “Did you conjure a bond with anyone? Maybe accidentally?”

Heeseung’s lips part. “I…would’ve known, right?”

“Right.” Sunoo nods firmly, then tilts his head. “Did you scent one of your hookups, then?”

“An almost-hookup,” Jay cuts in, clearly enjoying this interrogation. Heeseung shoots him a look. Jay is always out to rat him out and he’s actually so close to disowning him.

He grunts. “Just…someone.”

Sunoo smiles in amusement. “So you did scent someone. Was it someone you like?”

“Define like.”

“Like them enough to want to kiss them. Like them enough to want to fuck them. Like them enough to even want to scent them to begin with.” Sunoo shrugs. “Pick one.”

Heeseung closes his eyes. Does he like you? Wanting to kiss and fuck someone don’t equal to liking them. Because if that was true, then there’s no other explanation to Heeseung ‘liking’ every omega he has fucked other than him having an insanely big heart—which he doesn’t. He liked the sex and their company; that was all there was to it.

Which leaves him option number three. 

Heeseung’s never the guy to sit with his feelings—at least not the romantic kind. You’re an unfamiliar territory; something that he deliberately avoids his entire life, simply because he never sees settling down with a mate as a desirable goal or accomplishment. And, perfectly hidden under his fuckboy persona is also a thin layer of fear.

Fear of getting hurt by the thing that’s supposed to be love.

But does he like you?

Maybe he does. He’s always liked the way you laugh; you always cover your mouth with one hand when you do, like your smile is only visible in the privacy of those who really know you. He’s always noticed the way you touch the tip of your nose when people’s eyes are on you. He’s always thought the natural blush that you have when you’re shy is adorable.

In that one single minute, Heeseung realises that he’s been paying attention to you more than he thought he did.

Fuck. He does like you.

But does liking have to lead to being mated?

That responsibility is way taller and heavier than him and Heeseung is beyond freaked out.

“Earth to Heeseungie hyung?”

“Why does it even matter? What does it even have to do with me not getting a boner during a makeout session?” Heeseung demands, frustration bleeding into his voice. Is Sunoo punishing him for being the reason he fumbled that tall, hot alpha two weeks ago? Will Sunoo truly ever forgive him? He already apologised five times!

Sunoo, seeing enough of his hyung’s suffering, finally relents. “Geez, relax. I wasn’t playing with you. I asked because most of the time this happens,” he gestures at Heeseung and his crotch. Heeseung instinctively closes his long legs. “It’s because the wolf has already liked one omega. An omega they recognise as their mate. It’s the only explanation why you felt disgusted just now.”

Mate. That cursed word again. Beside Sunoo, Jay is whistling.

“Sorry. You mean my wolf, my alpha, likes one omega and decides I shouldn’t fuck around anymore?”

Sunoo nods. “Basically, yeah. But it usually isn’t that easy, hyung. A bond has to have been conjured between your wolf and their wolf by any kind of markings.”

“Like?”

“Like biting. Or scenting.”

Scenting. Heeseung didn’t just do scenting with you, he was scent-marking you.

“But that’s impossible,” Jay interrupts, confusion etching onto his handsome features. His leaning forward now, his empty bowl pushed to the center of the table, which reminds Heeseung of his own bowl. The alpha quickly finishes his noodles. “Scenting between unmated alpha and unmated omega will only conjure a temporary, fragile bond. It should’ve been gone by now—the scenting happened five days ago.”

“Are you sure about that? Because I can detect some floral scent in Heeseungie hyung’s pheromones.”

Heeseung almost chokes on his noodles. “You do?”

Sunoo leans forward, squinting his eyes at him like he’s some kind of lab specimen. “Yeah. It’s faint, but it’s there. Sweet. Floral. Clingy.” He tilts his head again. “It’s weird.”

Across from him, Heeseung is frozen. His grip on the chopsticks tightens. He swallows harshly.

“That’s not supposed to happen…right?”

“Exactly,” Sunoo points at him. “That’s why I’m saying it’s weird.”

Jay leans back, arms crossed. “But if it’s still there after five days—”

“It doesn’t automatically mean fated mates,” Sunoo cuts in quickly, tone sharper this time. He shoots Jay a look before turning back to Heeseung. “Don’t jump to that conclusion. That’s, like, extremely rare. And also very dramatic.”

Heeseung exhales, shoulders dropping just a little.

Right. Dramatic. His alpha begs to differ.

“It could just be a stronger-than-usual temporary bond,” Sunoo continues, more thoughtful now. “Maybe your alpha overdid it when you scented them. Or the omega was in a heightened emotional state, so the bond lasted longer.”

Jay hums, not entirely convinced.

“But the whole not getting turned on thing?” He gestures vaguely. “That still doesn’t explain it fully.”

Sunoo taps his chin again. “Mhm. That part’s interesting.” He levels Heeseung with a curious look. “Who is this girl, anyway? You seem pretty fucked over her.”

Heeseung groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Can you not say it like that? Like I’m some kind of a broken alpha?”

“You kinda are right now,” Sunoo says bluntly.

“Sunoo.”

“I’m serious!” He leans forward again, eyes lighting up. “Your body is rejecting other omegas. That’s not normal for you. Like, at all.”

Heeseung slumps deeper into his seat. As if it’s not already obvious enough, Sunoo just had to spell it out loud.

“I noticed,” he mutters, defeated.

Sunoo softens slightly at that, sighing as he rests his chin on his palm. “Okay. Look. Don’t panic yet.”

“I’m not panicking.”

“You’re literally here because your dick stopped working.”

“…Okay, I’m a little panicked.”

Sunoo waves his chopsticks dismissively. “It’s probably not fated mates. If it were, you’d be way worse right now.”

Heeseung stills. “Worse?”

“Yeah,” Sunoo shrugs. “You’d be obsessing. Unable to stay away. Your senses would go crazy. You’d feel everything they feel, more or less.”

Jay slowly turns to look at Heeseung. Heeseung immediately avoids his gaze. That fucker is always eager to catch his ‘Gotcha!’ moment, it irritates him to the core.

“That doesn’t sound like me,” he says a bit too quickly, the lie tasting acidic on his tongue.

Sunoo mustn't know about the knot of uneasiness in his chest. Sunoo mustn’t know about the face that comes to his mind when he’s kissing someone else. None of his friends mustn’t know that he’s obsessing right now, itching to flee and find you in the middle of the night.

“Exactly,” Sunoo nods, unaware of his friend’s turmoil. “So relax. I’ll look into it more, yeah? Might be some weird hormonal response or delayed imprint reaction.”

Heeseung lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Yeah, okay.”

“Or you can do a try-and-error,” Sunoo suggests, reaching over to pat Heeseung’s shoulder. “Just do what you always do—try hooking up with different omegas. Maybe the one you made out with tonight was just a bad compatibility for you.”

Heeseung perks up at that. Sunoo and Jay, not noticing the shift in the air, are already moving forward with a different topic, completely oblivious to the newly-lit determination now burning up his body.

Just do what you always do.

Right. Heeseung has a high body count for a reason. He decides, with a final resolution, that he should solve this his own way.

If Heeseung spends every night for the next two weeks trying to bed different omegas, Sunoo and Jay don’t have to know.

If Heeseung fails each time, unable to enjoy every kiss and friction, Sunoo and Jay don't have to know.

If the pain in his chest worsens every time he leaves the barely-warm beds, Sunoo and Jay don’t have to know.

If Heeseung avoids looking at you, avoids bumping into you, avoids speaking to you—he hopes you don’t know about it.

A quiet voice from his wolf whispers something that he refuses to acknowledge: He hopes you’ll forgive him for being unfaithful.

You’ve been sick for two weeks. 

At first it was subtle, like a faint throb in your heart that makes you stop whatever you’re doing. The first time it happened, you were in the middle of a group discussion for an elective subject. 

A quiet alpha, or a wolf hybrid named Sunghoon, to be exact, had noticed the way you winced from the pain. He didn’t say anything, but you guessed he told an omega about what he saw because right before you exited the library, one of the girls had passed you a free menstrual pad.

He thought you were experiencing period cramps. You wished it was just period cramps.

Then, it gradually grew to something worse. A sudden stabbing pain in your chest. A twist in your gut, like you were expecting something bad to happen. Sometimes it was random palpitations, where your heart was skipping huge beats, as if you were about to go down on a roller coaster.

Each time it happened, you only placed your palm over your heart, hoping it’d go away. You never understood why, but those pains only came at night, preventing you from getting any good sleep and rest. And each time you tried to close your eyes, there was only one face flashing behind your eyelids.

Heeseung.

Yujin had dragged you to the clinic, but the doctor came to a conclusion that you were just having pre-heat symptoms—which couldn’t be further from the truth, because you just had your cycle one month ago. You’re not supposed to go on your quarterly-cycle of torture for another two months.

“Oh my Goddess, you’re burning up.” Yujin’s palm is cold against your forehead. Her face is pulled into a tight expression. “Let’s just skip today’s classes, okay? I’ll stay with you.”

You weakly nod, barely registering Yujin’s movement around the room. Your body feels like a furnace, the heat simmering in your veins almost rivaling a volcano’s lava. You discard the blanket to get some sort of relief, only to shiver in the cold when the air touches your skin.

After a few minutes of exiting and entering your room, Yujin finally sits by your bed. She helps you with a glass of water and a dosage of paracetamol, careful to wipe any loose drops like a concerned mother. It doesn’t get better, but at least your throat doesn’t feel like it’s being scrubbed with sandpaper anymore.

“How’re you feeling now?”

“Dying, but a bit less dramatic.”

“Good. Wouldn’t want to give Suho from True Beauty a run for his money, would we?”

You chuckle softly, though it sounds more like a seal with a sore throat.

“But seriously, though. It’s been two weeks.” Yujin purses her lips, the worriness still marring her beautiful face. “I’m so worried, Y/N. What’s happening to you?”

You don’t answer right away. “It’s my omega.”

Yujin’s eyebrow jumps. “What about her?”

You also wonder the same thing. Swallowing, you finally let your friend in on the torturous days you have been going through. “One night, after our practice ran quite late two weeks ago, she went a bit hysteric. I couldn’t stop vomiting.” You recalled, eyes distant in memory. “She kept yelling something about a traitor, about rejection. I don’t know, really. But that’s how it started.”

“Two weeks ago, at night, you say?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Yujin is quiet for a few extended minutes, caressing her thumb over your knuckles. The motion puts you at ease, and slowly, you feel the pills begin working their chemicals.

“Did you, perhaps, hear about anything that happened that night?” You shake your head, unsure if your cheerleader squad had mentioned anything. Yujin hums. “Because I think I did.”

“What?”

“So I’m friends with this one omega named Sunoo from my faculty. A pretty boy and a petty gossiper.” Yujin starts, now treading her words slowly as if walking on eggshells. “He knows everyone on this campus. Especially the hot stuff, you know—student body, athletes, cheerleaders.” Yujin eyes you but not unkindly. “He knows you too. Just the basic stuff.”

“Like?”

“Your name, your major, your Instagram account.”

You let out a breath, a bit unsure where this is heading, but listen anyway. “Okay.”

“And because of his impeccable knowledge of gossip, I heard from him about a cheerleader breaking down in the group chat after a certain alpha left her mid-making out, all slicked and horny while he didn’t even pop a borner.”

You hold onto her every word, but for some reason, a dread has settled deep in your bones, like your body is already anticipating some bad news. Your heart, previously beating fast, is now sprinting like it might escape your rib now.

“And that alpha was Heeseung.”

It hits before you can even think.

A sharp, twisting pain lances through your chest, knocking the air out of your lungs like you’ve been struck. Your fingers curl into the sheets, clutching at nothing.

Your omega whines—hurt, betrayed. And suddenly, you understand why. The cries about betrayal. His face haunts you every night, like a painful reminder of the destiny you're subjected to.

You try to swallow once, then twice, before you find your voice back.

“Heeseung?” You try. His name now tastes bitter on your tongue.

Yujin, ever the empathetic, senses it, and tightens her hold on your hand. “Yeah,” she nods. She lets a moment of quiet pass, fidgeting and swallowing like you. Like the news has more stories that she’s yet to tell; an extended part to a nightmare that’s been keeping you up at night. You brace yourself.

“And two nights ago I saw him at Jake’s frat party with a girl. Doing sexy stuff. The usual.” Yujin can’t look at your face, choosing to stare at your intertwined hands instead. “The frat boys told me that he’s been at it almost every night. For two weeks.”

Is it possible to hurt someone this much in a span of five minutes? Getting shot multiple times would’ve hurt less than this.

There’s a heavy silence, then there’s your small, quiet voice, laced with unfiltered hurt.

“What does this have to do with me?”

“I’m saying, Y/N, that you might be facing bond rejection symptoms right now.” Yujin licks her lips. “I’m saying that you and Heeseung just might be fated mates. That night he scented you? You guys conjured a half-bond. And him fucking around with other omegas like this hurts your wolf because she knows—only this kind of bond can do that.”

Is having a fated mate supposed to hurt like this? Like your chest is caving in, collapsing under the torment of unwanted love. Can you even call it love? Whatever it is that you and Heeseung unknowingly have been sharing—Is it even love?

It’s not. It’s just…fate.

You shake your head. There’s hot pain behind your eyes, a sign of an impending doom. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“It’s okay. It’s a lot to take in.”

A drop of tears rolls down your face and in the next blink, everything is already blurry. “I—I think I already knew it.” Your voice is wet from despair, the pain almost feels tangible.  “He never meets my eyes anymore and—and every time I see him, I feel like I might die.”

A warm pair of arms pulls you close, and instantly the scent of green tea fills up your senses. Your roommate holds you tight, letting you rest your head in the crook of her neck as you sob into her chest. 

Your wolf, the contradict that she is, hopes that it was Heeseung embracing you. Still hoping it was the alpha comforting you, soothing you with his voice and that calming pheromones of his. Still foolishly longing for him despite everything.

You feel pathetic.

Your crying subsides after a while, still curling up against Yujin like a hurt puppy. You’re already losing track of time, if it’s still proper to have breakfast or if it’s already time for lunch. It is Yujin who finally speaks first.

“Do you hate it?”

You let the question linger in the air, turning it over in your thoughts like what you’ve been doing the past hour since you woke up. “I don’t hate the bond. Nor him.”

You pause, gnawing at your lower lip. Then you exhale.

“I just hate that I was never given a chance to do this properly.”

Yujin pulls away and makes you face her. She wipes your tears using her sleeves, murmuring sweet words as you feel your chest slightly loosening at her kind gesture. “You might still have it. Go and talk to him, Y/N. If he’s avoiding you like this, he might’ve felt something too, right?”

“If he’s avoiding me like this, he might just not want anything to do with me.” A humourless chuckle escapes your lips. “And to think that I thought I had a chance.”

“Wait, I never asked you this. Do you like Heeseung? Both of you; your wolf and you.”

You don’t answer right away. The question sits between the two of you, heavy and fragile; like a mark refusing to be looked over. 

Do you like Heeseung?

Your wolf stirs immediately. Yes, I like him.

The answer is quick. Certain. Definite. 

But you purse your lips, forcing yourself to think harder, deeper. Forcing yourself to think about you, not her. You can only come to one conclusion.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, honest. It sounds weak even to your ears. Beside you, Yujin keeps rubbing small, grounding circles over your hand.

“I already know my omega likes him,” you admit softly. “She decided that the moment he stayed and took care of me that night.”

Oh, how pathetic is it to fall for someone for doing something as mundane as staying and taking care of you?

It’s laughable. But it makes your chest ache even more, like your heart was an empty can and fate was crushing it with its tight grip.

“But me…” you continue, voice quieter now, “I don’t even know him like that.”

You shake your head, frustration flickering through your expression.

“I don’t know what he’s like when he’s not surrounded by people, or when he’s not—” you gesture vaguely, like you can scoop up every rumour tied to his name. “That version of him everyone talks about.”

You stare at your hands. “But I wanted to.”

Yujin follows, voice soft. “Wanted to?”

“I wanted to get to know him,” you continue, voice trembling. “When I first found out how my wolf feels for him, I thought it could be like how I’ve always imagined having a fated mate would be: slowly falling in love with them. With him.”

A wistful smile graces your beautiful features, soft and vulnerable. “I wanted to know which game he remembers the most. I wanted to know if the number on his jersey means anything. Silly things like that. Not this.”

Your hand moves to your chest unconsciously, rubbing the surface softly.

“Not like this. Not when it hurts every time I—” you cut yourself off, breath shaking. “Not when it hurts every time I look at him.”

You still remember, after one grueling routine, when the pain was still kind enough to let you come to practice. The players had just finished their practice too, slicked with sweat and looking exhausted as ever. Among the tired alphas, your eyes locked onto Heeseung’s.

You had the instincts to go to him and pass him the cold mineral you’d unknowingly saved for him. But the look in his eyes—it was unreadable. Cold. An abyss that was enough to make you stay rooted in your place.

Then, without even a graze of a smile, he looked away, taking a bottle from Riki’s hand.

It had hurt more than you’d like to admit.

“I think…” you try again, more carefully this time. “If things were different, I would’ve liked him.”

Your throat tightens. This time, you’re reminded of that night before everything turned cruel like this. The warmth of his embrace that lingered. The spice of his scent that clung. The safety of his company that comforted you. 

Was any of it real?

“And if things were the same…I think I would've still liked him anyway.”

That’s the truth. A quiet, terrifying truth that settles deep in your chest like an unshakeable ground. The kind of truth that makes even your most grounding friend sit still in your bed.

“And that’s what makes it worse,” you whisper.

Because now it’s not just your omega.

It’s you, too.

The one-week intervarsity basketball tournament has finally begun. Around seven universities have sent their representatives, leading to a flood of humans in different-coloured jerseys wandering around on your campus, its official host. 

You’re excused from the whole week’s classes, seeing your cheerleaders and bunches of alphas more than you have ever seen your classmates since the tournament started. It was exciting at first, to participate in such a prestigious tournament that is always the talk of town. But the tight schedules between games is becoming more taxing and demanding.

It doesn’t help that the bond rejection symptoms have only gotten worse, hindering you from giving your best potential at each routine. Which, of course, catches the attention of your captain, and she’s not very amused with it.

“Y/N. If you’re not telling me what is wrong with you, then don’t make me find excuses to put you on the bleachers.” Narin once whispered to you on the third day of the tournament. You merely nodded, trying hard not to scrunch your noise at the sour smell of bubblegum and burnt cotton candy. She eyed you up and down, before she scoffed.

“Don’t get too butt-hurt that Heeseung’s fucking other cheerleaders,” she grunted. You froze. “At least you got your round that night. He fucking rejected me.”

What? The confusion must be clear on your face, because then Narin rolled her eyes, fixing the blue ribbon in her hair before she turned to face you.

“You smelled like him for weeks, Y/N. Don’t think people didn’t know that you two fucked after they won against that eastern university that night.” And then she left, leaving a dumbfounded you in the hallway, standing still like a lifeless statue.

Realisation starts settling in. Did people think you and Heeseung—fuck. You should’ve known.

No wonder many eyes were on you during those days when you still smelled like Heeseung.  You thought it was just because Heeseung was one of the most sought after alphas on campus. Not this. Not whatever allegation this is.

Still, the bomb Narin had dropped wasn’t enough to stop yourself from pushing yourself past your limits. You don’t even know what your limits are anymore. They seem to keep expanding with every new pain that blooms in your chest. 

You’re still a bit sluggish, but at least Narin is off your back. Whatever bitterness she harbours for you, though not forgotten, is at least tamed on the last day of the tournament.

You knew she wouldn’t understand, but you couldn’t help it if the pain worsens. You wish, for once, that Heeseung would take it slow with the cheerleaders from the opposing teams. Because the pain has become unbearable; cracks turning into holes of emptiness in your heart, faint pulsing turning into straight-up invisible stabbing in your gut. You’re actually surprised that you’re not already bleeding from how real it has felt.

However, deep down, there’s a small, barely-there gratitude for Heeseung for not doing it in front of you. At least you can spare yourself from whatever possible torment this fate has destined for you to face if you had to watch Heeseung fucking another omega in the empty locker room.

But you guess it’s time you finally, actually reach your limit, and your body can’t seem to be more dramatic to choose the last game as its last straw. As Heeseung hoops in the last score for the team, sealing their title as the champion, the audience erupts into the loudest cheer you’ve ever heard. You quickly get to your feet to perform the celebratory routine, but the world is spinning and your head is light when you stand up. You stagger backwards.

“Oh my Goddess, are you alright?” One of your cheerleader friends catches you in her arms, shaking you out of your pained daze. 

“I…” you cough, your voice only scratching at your throat. “I just need to. Sit. Yeah. I need to sit down and talk to Heeseung.”

“Heeseung?” The girl, who you finally recognise as Rei, looks over at the center of the court, where almost the whole school is hooting and hollering in joy. “Wait—let me sit you down first. You’re pale as hell, damn.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when you’re finally seated. Rei has passed you a bottle of mineral water and fans you with her pink hand-fan. She stays by your side, looking after you as the rest of the world celebrates the first champion of your university team. You’re painfully grateful to her for it.

“Hey. Can I call one of your friends? Or maybe, do you have an alpha I can contact?” Rei starts when you’re not speaking, too focused on not focusing on the pain to remember to talk. “You asked for Heeseung just now. Is he your alpha?”

Is he?

You wish you knew the answer to that too.

Instead, you shake your head. “He’s not my alpha. I just…need to have a few words with him.”

Rei purses her lips, clearly not pleased with your priority at the moment but obliges anyway. “Alright. Let me text my cousin real quick.” She says, already rummaging inside her bag for her phone.

Her statement intrigues you. “Cousin?”

“Nishimura Riki. And he’s not replying. Gimme a sec.” You watch as Rei presses the call button on her phone and puts the device over her ear. You follow her line of sight as she turns to look at the court again. The crowd hasn’t calmed down from the high of the win yet.

“Hello, adopted fuck. I need you to read my text ASAP—Nobody’s stealing your girlfriend, Riki! You can go back to kissing her face after you read my text—Okay, okay! My friend, Y/N, needs to talk to Heeseung. President-level urgent.” Rei pauses, taking a quick look at you before she continues. “Yes. It seems very important. Just get his ass here fast. Yeah—Congrats, by the way. I’m not buying you that Chrome Hearts chain. Bye.”

Rei sighs as she pockets her phone. “Heeseung will be here in five minutes. You good? Do you still need anything? I feel like I should call someone else. You’re friends with Ahn Yujin, aren’t you?” She rambles on. For someone who barely speaks to you, Rei sure is a caring omega.

You give her a small smile.”I’m alright, Rei. I’ll rest after seeing him.”

Rei hums, checking her phone when it vibrates. “Aight, if you say so. I’ll be around here until they move to celebrate at Jake’s frat tonight.” She gathers her stuff and stands up, brushing her pleated skirt with practiced elegance that you know is instilled in every cheerleader’s demeanour.

“You take care of yourself. And I better not see you at the party.”

“Thank you, Rei.” You wave at her and watch as the lines of her frame get smaller, disappearing into the crowd. 

Now alone, the weight of reality is finally hitting you square in the chest. You curse, pulling your hair when you realise your stupid, impulsive decision, made in the whim of desperation to get the pain go away.

“This is stupid,” you whisper. Without thinking further, you grab your bag and stand to leave. But before you can flee the scene, a heavy presence with the familiar scent of spicy cinnamon and salty sea breeze drifts into your senses.

“Y/N?”

The sound of your name leaving his lips has locked you in place. The haunting familiarity of his voice, one that follows you into your restless sleeps and every waking hour, engulfs you almost like the night he held you in his arms.

Except this time, there’s a piercing pain in your heart that comes with his presence. A dull, throbbing ache that’s been a constant company to you, manifested into the shape of the man that your wolf yearns for.

Lee Heeseung.

“Y/N?” He repeats, but you don’t dare to face him just yet. “Riki said you wanted to, uh, talk to me.”

Licking your dry lips, you turn to Heeseung, and the sight has almost rendered you breathless.

Heeseung’s still wearing his jersey, standing tall to his height like he’s dominating the air around him. His burgundy hair looks softer under the light, some small strands sticking to his forehead from sweat. His shoulders are squared up, still lined with pride and the high from winning the tournament. He looks at you calmly, but the edges of his eyes are somewhat gentler; if the lights weren’t tricking your eyes.

You gulp, already losing the battle before it has even started. Why does he have to look so handsome?

You force yourself to say something. “Yeah. I did. I mean, I do. It’s important. I think.”

Heeseung is patient. If your nervousness is something unusual to him, he doesn’t comment on it. After all, you’re indeed known as a shy girl among the cheerleaders.

“I’m…I’m going straight to the point and be honest with you.” Is this really happening? You’re scared that if you were to speak more, your heart might leap out of your mouth from how hard it is pumping behind your ribs. You hold your bag tighter, trying to ground yourself.

“I’m listening,” he hums.

The words are simple. His voice is calm. Too calm, like he’s unaffected, like he doesn’t have a clue about what you’re about to say. It almost makes you falter.

For a second, you just stare at him. At the same face your mind has been haunted for weeks, at the same eyes you’ve been avoiding because they make everything feel too real.

Except everything is actually real. You’re just not ready to admit it yet.

Your fingers curl tighter around your bag.

“Did you…feel anything?” you ask, voice smaller than you intended. “That night.”

Heeseung’s brows pull together, confused. “What do you mean?”

Your throat burns. Stop. Turn around. Leave. 

“When you helped me,” you stubbornly continue, ignoring the self-preservation act your wolf’s pulling. “When you scented me. Did you feel something? Anything?”

There’s a shift in the air. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but it’s there. Heeseung’s shoulders stiffen. His jaw tightens a fraction. A flash of something that leaves your heart hopeful crosses his face, but it leaves as soon as it comes.

“I was just helping you,” he finally says, almost too quickly. “You were in a bad state.”

The ache in your chest pulses, turning alive with each passing second.

“I know that,” you nod, almost too fast, the throbbing in your head comes back. The headache is well-guaranteed after this, you’re sure of it. “I know. I’m not saying you did anything wrong. I just—I just need to know if you felt it too.”

“Felt what?”

You stare at him. God, he’s really making you say it. Is he truly clueless or is he playing with you? Whatever he is trying to do, he’s succeeding at making you feel smaller and…desperate.

“The pull,” you whisper after a while, “the connection.”

Silent stretches between the two of you. Heeseung returns your gaze, but his black eyes reveal nothing about his thoughts. 

You try again. “You felt it too…right?”

There it is. For a fleeting second, you think you see it. That flicker in his eyes. The subtle hesitation. The twitch in his jaw. It almost makes you feel hopeful.

Heeseung exhales through his nose, running a hand through his hair.

“Y/N,” he starts slower this time, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “There’s no such thing as that.”

If your heart was made of lead, you’re sure it’d clang to the floor so loud for how fast it drops.

“What?”

“Fated mates. Bond. Whatever you’re thinking.” He shakes his head, like he’s making a show of how ridiculous you sound. “That’s not real.”

The cracks finally shatter, allowing a big, gaping hole filled with utter anguish to take place in where your heart used to reside. Your mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens. 

“But—” you try, voice undeniably trembling now. “Then, what is this?”

Your hand presses weakly against your chest.

“Why does it hurt like this? Why does,” your voice cracks, your omega thrashing wildly inside you, “why does it hurt so much?”

For a split second, panic flashes across his face. There’s a change in his scent. A sharp, biting spice that’s stinging your nose and thick, briny salt that leaves your throat itchy. 

Because he knows. He knows this isn’t normal. He knows how he almost went psychosis the moment it happened to him three weeks ago. 

But Heeseung’s always been good at leaving—it’s the one thing that’s been keeping his heart in a safe chest without any chances of getting hurt. It’s almost cruel that he never really cares if leaving right after sex would hurt any of the omegas, but he’s never felt bad enough to stop.

And you feel like someone who will make him stay.

So he does what he knows best.

“It’s in your head,” he says, firmer now. “Probably just your heat cycle messing with you. Or stress.”

The moment those words leave his mouth, your chest feels hollow. Your omega, previously hysterical and angry, is now awfully quiet and wounded.

Right. It’s just stress, he said.

You wish it was just stress.

“Oh,” is the only word you can utter. Heeseung nods, as if convincing himself too, and takes a step back.

But for you, it feels too much like a line being drawn.

“Maybe you should get some rest. You look kind of pale,” he suggests, though his voice is slowly getting small the longer he watches the changes in your expression. You’re not looking at him now, just staring at your feet with trembling fists.

The wilting flowers are back in his senses, filling up his nose and beating at his heart like a bat. Heeseung bites his lips, swallowing down the guilt. 

“I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

The sight of his retreating back…why is it so blurry?

“You are so fucking stupid, Heeseung.”

Heeseung’s always wondered how his best friend’s citrusy pheromones are going to smell like when he’s mad. Because Jay never gets mad at him. His friend has so much patience that every playful banter always stays as just a playful banter.

But tonight, Heeseung finally senses it. Jay smells bitter, like overripe lemon left too long in hot water. There’s a sharp, metallic tang to it too, representing the control that he’s trying so hard to keep in check. In response to the alpha’s irritated scent, Heeseung’s dominant wolf is itching to draw his claws out, sensing it as a threat.

They’re standing at the backyard of the frat house, where the pool is glowing blue and the night sky is blinking stars. It’s quieter here, with less people hanging around. Many guests have preferred to dance inside, still in celebration mode post-winning.

“What the fuck were you thinking, trying to get into someone else’s pants right after her—her confession?” Jay scoffs in disbelief. He has his back facing Heeseung, the tense muscle of his shoulders visible through the outline of his Polo shirt. 

Heeseung, on the other hand, looks more disheveled. The collar of his shirt is misplaced, and there are faint lipstick marks staining his neck and the corner of his mouth. Jay had heard from Riki about what happened between Heeseung and you and the alpha was determined to drag Heeseung out of the bedroom, not before muttering a small apology to the omega he was with. It was all shouts and aggressive whispers between the two alphas until Riki managed to shoo them out.

Which brings them to this moment, where Jay is a ticking bomb and Heeseung is trying his best to calm down.  Jay didn’t exactly know who she was, just that he’d seen her face among the cheerleaders. While Heeseung, well, he’s too worked up to explain.

“Confession? What made you think—”

“You guys are fated mates, Heeseung. Can’t you fucking see it?” Jay whips his head around. “This pull you’re feeling is because you guys are fated mates. There’s no other explanation to it.”

Heeseung clenches his jaw. “Those things don’t exist, Jongseong. Not to me.”

“Oh, come on. Then explain your sex problem.” Jay hisses, his eyes turning sharper. “You think I don’t know that you still can’t get your dick wet with other omegas?”

The burgundy-haired alpha doesn’t blink. “It’s none of your business.”

“It is when she could’ve died!” Jay snaps, his scent flaring with his nose. Heeseung grits his teeth, feeling challenged. 

Then, softer, like vulnerability leaking through his anger, Jay continues: “You could’ve died, Heeseung.”

Heeseung stills. “What?”

Jay lets out a harsh laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You think so little of this matter, don’t you?” His voice drops, tight and furious. “A half-bond between fated mates when left too long can cause death. And with the speed you’re going with all these nameless omegas, I bet it’ll be her turn to die first.”

Heeseung scoffs, but it’s weaker now. There’s a new fear settling in his chest. “You’re being dramatic.”

“No,” Jay cuts in sharply. “You’re being stupid. I saw her just now. She’s pale as fuck.”

Heeseung’s quiet for a moment, staring into his friend’s eyes with almost the same amount of resentment. “It has nothing to do with me.”

Like a punishment to his lie, something twists sharply in his chest. But Heeseung is quick to mask his pain under a calm facade, gritting his teeth so hard he might break his jaw. Jay scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“Oh, so you’re doing this again.” Jay steps closer, not backing away. “You’re running away again, like the coward that you are. You’ll just run and run, deflect and disappear. Typical Heeseung.”

Jay knows he’ll hit a spot if he says it, but he couldn’t care less. He watches as the expression on Heeseung hardens, giving away the emotions he kept locked in his chest.

“Don’t.”

But Jay doesn’t stop. Of course he doesn’t.

“You think I don’t see it?” Jay presses, voice rising. “Every time something starts to mean something, you bolt. New omega, new bed, new distraction—anything to avoid actually feeling something real.”

“That’s not—”

“That’s exactly what this is!” Jay gestures wildly, frustration spilling over. “You found your mate, and instead of dealing with it, you’re out there fucking anything that moves just to prove you’re still in control.”

Silence slams between them, heavy and ugly. Both alphas are holding back from spiraling, neck straining from self-control and simmering anger.

Heeseung’s laugh this time is cold. “Mate?” he repeats, like the word tastes disgusting. “You really believe in that shit?”

Jay stares at him, disbelief flickering across his face. “I believe in what’s right in front of me.”

“There’s nothing in front of you,” Heeseung shoots back. “She’s just an omega I helped. That’s it.”

“Then why her?” Jay fires immediately. “Why can you find her in a crowd? Why does your scent stick to her for days—for weeks? Why can’t you even touch another omega without looking like you’re about to throw up?”

Heeseung falters, his words failing him as Jay hits him with those facts. His shaky stance doesn’t go unnoticed by the alpha, though. He’s quick to seize the chance.

Jay inhales sharply. “You know I’m right, Heeseung. You and Y/N share a bond.”

“So what?!” Heeseung snaps, frustration finally cracking through. “So what if there’s a bond? You want me to just—what? Drop everything? Play house? Act like I’m suddenly someone I’m not?”

Heeseung meets Jay’s fiery gaze head-on and shoves his friend harshly. “Stay out of it, Jay. I swear to fucking God.”

“And what? Watch you let her die because you couldn’t care less to acknowledge the bond?” Jay lets out a hollow laugh, pushing Heeseung back just as hard. “And then I watch you die?”

“Shut the fuck up. You know nothing about this.”

Their scents clash; sharp citrus and aggressive spice filling up the space like a warning siren. It almost turns physical, Riki almost bursts through the door when he sees their chests almost touching. But it is Jay who stops first.

Not because he wants to. But because he’s thinking of you.

“My parents are fated mates, Heeseung.” Jay starts, quieter, his voice losing its harsh edges. “Doesn’t mean you don’t believe in it, it isn’t real to other people.”

Heeseung remains quiet, his chest still moving rapidly.

Jay’s eyes turn glassy. He retreats one more step away from Heeseung. “If you don’t want her, reject the bond properly,” he says, breathing hard. “You’re letting someone know that you don’t want her as your mate. At least have the decency to be kind about it.”

Jay unclenches his fists.

“Don’t drag her through this half-assed bullshit where you keep hurting her just because you can’t make a decision.”

Heeseung freezes. Out of all words being shouted tonight, it is this quiet resignation from Jay that hits his heart the hardest.

Am I being cruel? Heeseung lowers his gaze. Am I a coward?

Heeseung doesn’t wait too long for an answer.

“Stop being a coward, Heeseung. I beg you.”

The words hang between them, like unwanted vines curling around a trunk of a tree. Heeseung’s gaze stays rooted to the ground, trying to find his voice.

But he doesn’t get the chance to.

“...Heeseung?”

Your voice, soft as it is, cuts through the air like a blade. Both alphas turn to where you’re standing by the door. The faint light spilling from the moon only highlights how pale your face is, void of any warmth and colour.

You stand there, one hand gripping the doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping you upright, your other pressed weakly against your chest. Your eyes, God, your eyes. They’re glassy, unfocused, yet locked onto him like you’ve found something you’ve been searching for your entire life.

Beside him, Heeseung can sense the way Jay’s body tenses the way his does.

“Heeseung…” you call for him again and move to get closer.

But then you flinch. Your entire body recoils, your nose scrunches. 

There, lingering around Heeseung like an unwanted mark, is a scent you know too well. Fruity bubblegum and cloying cotton candy; a scent that flashes pink in your head, turning into a female rage that hits too close to home. Your gaze catches the shape of someone’s mouth staining his golden skin, and something inside you breaks.

Narin.

Heeseung smells like Narin.

Your hand instinctively goes to cover your nose, eyes slowly going wide. The room goes silent, holding its breath as Heeseung feels it. 

The fleeting second where something inside you shatters.

Heeseung steps forward. “Y/N—”

But you retreat faster, away from him like he’s a disease that could kill you. 

“No,” your voice cracks, shaking your head as if trying to physically deny what your body is already registering. “No, no, no…”

Your breath comes out in shallow bursts, your fingers clawing at your shirt. 

It hurts. It hurts so bad. 

It’s like every system in your body is collapsing, failing to cope with the ultimate rejection that comes in the scent of another woman. Your fist hits your chest, forcing the air to flow in because it suddenly feels almost impossible to breathe.

Heeseung feels it now—really, really feels it. The bond is thrashing, frantic, like it’s holding onto something that’s slipping through its grasp. The pained scent of withering daisies starts filling up the air, suffocating both alphas instantly. Jay shifts uncomfortably, looking back and forth from Heeseung to you in alert.

“Hey, hey—Y/N,” Heeseung tries again, softer this time, reaching out instinctively. “Look at me. Y/N—”

“Don’t!” Your voice spikes, sharp with fear. Heeseung freezes, his throat closing up when he sees something you’re yet to realise.

That’s when you feel it—something warm trickling down your nose. You instinctively wipe it and stare at the red liquid smearing your fingers.

Blood. Then another drop falls on your palm. Before you can react properly, it already spills down your chin, past your fingers, dripping onto the floor, tainting the white tiles like a crime scene.

“Fuck.” Jay curses under his breath, his wolf perking up in alarm.

Beside him, Heeseung is beyond agitated. “Y/N!”

He doesn’t think. Heeseung lunges forward, longing to be close to you at that moment. But you’re already shaking your head rapidly, tears spilling uncontrollably now.

“Stop!” you gasp, pale lips trembling like dying petals. “I can’t do this—I can’t—”

Inside you, your omega is screaming in pain. In betrayal. In self-preservation. Her voice, raw and jagged, torn by pain, echoes in your head. 

An instinct, primal and desperate, takes over your being.

Cut it off.

Cut it off before it kills you.

You clutch at your chest, lungs burning up like a wildfire. Tears spill out freely, drenching your face in anguish and agony.

Cut it off!

And finally, you let go.

Across from you, just a few paces away, Heeseung feels it like a force, stopping him in his tracks.

It doesn’t come gradually, or slowly. It rips through his body. A violent, invisible force tearing straight through his chest like something sacred being forcibly severed. His breath is knocked out of him.

“Fuck!” Somewhere behind him, Jay is also spiraling, realising what’s going down.

But Heeseung doesn’t know. He staggers, his knees almost giving up as excruciating pain spreads from the scent gland in his neck down to his chest. Something inside him—something he never fully acknowledges—finally snaps. He almost screams.

A thick veil of tears wells up instantly, blurring his vision faster than he could process it.

“Y/N,” his voice breaks, the cracks showing up like poison in daggers. Across from him, you’re already sobbing.

It’s loud and raw, a wailing that stops even the loud music from inside. Your scent, bitter and beyond distressed, is now flooding the space like a broken dam. Your body folds in on itself as if trying to contain something that’s already shattered beyond repair.

Inside of you, your omega goes silent completely.

And it terrifies him. A lot. 

Heeseung clutches his neck, where his scent gland is pulsing violently, throbbing in an indescribable pain that feels like it could kill him. And when his eyes find yours, he realises with dread that the pull is no longer there. 

He can’t feel you. His wolf can’t feel your wolf.

The constant, aching thread that’s been tying him to you; it’s gone.

You cut the bond from your side.

The half-bond, already fragile with doubt and cowardice, is hanging by its loose thread. If it was a red string like many people had said, Heeseung’s sure it’d waver pathetically by his finger, trembling like a thread losing its kite.

“What…What did you do?” he whispers, voice hollow and shaky.

Heeseung takes a step forward again, ignoring Jay’s warning voice from behind him. His focus becomes singular on you, not minding the many pairs of eyes watching from the other side of the door.

This time, his step is slower and careful, like approaching something fragile. Something that is already broken.

Someone wounded.

You don’t move toward him. You don’t even spare him a look. You just cry, quietly, as now it feels empty where the bond used to be. You can’t feel him. 

You can only feel pain.

“Y/N…”

“...I want to leave.”

You wipe your nose, the blood still fresh and wet. You lean on the door for support, still trying to hold yourself up despite the urge to just collapse. Heeseung has to force restraint on himself, holding himself back from running to you. He searches your face, trying to catch your eyes, terrified beyond reason.

The silence is deafening.

At last, you lift your gaze, misty eyes meeting misty eyes.

“I ended it.” Your voice, used to be soft and warm, is now cold. Heeseung feels his lungs stop functioning.

“There’s nothing between us anymore.”

And that’s when it hits him brutally.

Heeseung didn’t just push you away.

He’s lost you.

sorry for the cliffhanger! part 2 coming soon 🔜

perm taglist: @kristynaaah @seungiesdoll

Your eyes snapped to locate the voice. It belonged to a tall man in a suit. Standing next to him was a woman. Every detail about them screamed wealth—polished shoes, designer clothes, you could even smell the woman’s expensive perfume from feet away. The man’s eyes burned holes into your skin as he looked you up and down. Suddenly, you felt slightly insecure about your worn clothes. “Can I speak to you in the hallway?” It was a demand framed as a question. You hesitated for a moment, staring at him. Swallowing, you gave a quick nod. “Fine.” He gestured toward the hallway, and cautiously you stepped out, keeping your hands in front of you. As soon as the door closed behind you, the cold air of authority hit harder. “My family donates generously to this hospital. We've been informed about your… Situation.” Heat rose in your chest at the mock pity in his tone describing your current life. “I have a proposition.” Suspicion filled you. “What do you want from me? I don't have anything to offer.” “My son needs to learn a lesson. He’s lived comfortably for far too long. No responsibility. No consequences. He wastes money because he’s never had to think about earning it.”

Heat crept up your neck. “And that has something to do with me?” His gaze sharpened. “Everything. For one year, you marry him. He lives without access to our money. No allowance. No safety net. He will live your life—your village, your routines, your reality.” Your breath caught in your throat. “You want to use me to discipline your son?” “I want to give him perspective,” he corrected calmly. “You’ll give him structure. Humility. Reality.” Anger flared bright and sudden. “So I’m what? some kind of punishment? You think using me—someone poor, struggling—is the way to teach him?” He let out a soft, amused laugh. “Struggling? Oh, my dear, this is struggling?” He gestured vaguely at the hospital, at your hands, at the way your posture carried years of hard work. “I have to admit, it’s… quaint. Charming, almost. But far too inconvenient for my son. He’ll live your life for a year. Perhaps then he’ll stop acting like the world revolves around him.” Heat rose in your chest. “So I’m supposed to be your… your lesson plan?” “Not supposed to,” he said, voice smooth, almost cutting. “You are. Your misery, your poverty, your… quaint little life—everything about you—is the perfect antidote to the arrogance of my spoiled heir.” Your jaw tightened. “You think my life is a joke.” He arched an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Oh, it’s more than a joke. It’s an experience. And for him, it’s necessary. For you… Well, it’s an opportunity—one year. Your mother’s treatment is paid for. Top-tier care. And perhaps, if you’re clever, to make it out without losing your dignity entirely.” Your hands clenched at your sides. Pride screamed at you to walk away, to spit in his face for the condescension. But your mother’s pale, fragile form in the hospital bed—the bills stacking impossibly high—kept your feet planted. You swallowed hard. “…I’ll do it,” you said, voice low but resolute—one year. I can survive for Mom. The man’s smirk widened, sharp and satisfied, as if he’d won some private game. “Excellent. Bold, clever… and desperate enough to matter. I like that. One year. That’s all we need.” And as his gaze lingered, cold and assessing, you realized: this man—this wealthy, arrogant monster—saw everything about your life as trivial, pitiful… and yet, he expected you to survive it, for his son. The hallway fell quiet after his words, the weight of the agreement settling heavily on your chest. Before you could say anything else, the click of polished shoes echoed down the corridor. Slow. Unhurried. Confident. You turned instinctively.

He arrived like he owned the building. Lee Heeseung was tall—taller than you expected—and dressed far too well for a hospital hallway. A black coat draped effortlessly over his shoulders, his hair perfectly styled despite the sterile setting. He looked bored, almost amused, as if this were just another inconvenience added to his day. His gaze flicked from his parents to you.

And lingered. Not politely. Not kindly. Slowly. Assessing. Taking in your worn clothes, the tension in your posture, the way your hands curled into fists like you were bracing for impact. “So,” he said lazily, voice smooth and rich with arrogance, “this is her?” Something about the way he said her made your skin crawl. You straightened instinctively, lifting your chin. “I have a name.” His lips curved—not into a smile, but a smirk. “Do you?” His eyes flicked briefly to his father. “You didn’t think to mention that.” His mother sighed softly. “Heeseung.” “What?” He shrugged. “I just expected someone… different.” His gaze swept over you again, unapologetic. “You look smaller than I imagined.” Heat flared in your chest. “And you look exactly like someone who’s never worried about paying a hospital bill.” That earned you his full attention. For the first time, the amusement in his eyes sharpened into something alert. Interested. “Well,” he chuckled, tilting his head, “this is already more entertaining than I thought.” His father stepped forward. “Enough. This is the woman you’ll be marrying.” Heeseung blinked once. Then laughed. A real laugh. Disbelieving. “You’re joking.” “No,” his father said flatly. “One year. No access to family funds. You’ll live with her. Her life. Her village.” Heeseung’s smirk slowly faded as the words settled. “…You’re serious,” he muttered. You watched the realization hit him in stages—confusion, disbelief, irritation, and finally something darker. He looked back at you. Really looked. “You?” he said, incredulous. “This is the lesson?” Your jaw tightened. “Trust me. I didn’t ask for this either.” Something flickered across his face at that. Not guilt. Not sympathy. Annoyance. “So let me get this straight,” he said coolly. “I’m supposed to give up my money, my home, my life… and move into whatever hole-in-the-wall village you crawled out of?” Your breath hitched—but you didn’t look away. “Yes,” you said evenly. “And if you can’t survive one year of my ‘hole-in-the-wall’ life, then maybe you really are as useless as your parents think.”

Silence. His mother sucked in a quiet breath. His father’s lips twitched—almost approving. Heeseung stared at you, eyes darkening. Slowly, deliberately, he stepped closer until you were standing toe-to-toe. He smelled expensive—cologne, wealth, entitlement.

“You’re brave,” he murmured. “Or stupid.”

You met his gaze without flinching. “I’ve survived worse than you.”

For a moment, something unreadable passed through his eyes.

Then he smiled.

Sharp. Dangerous. “Fine,” he said. “One year.” His gaze dipped briefly—possessive, calculating—before returning to your eyes. “But don’t get it twisted. I don’t lose.”

Your heart pounded—but you refused to back down.

“Neither do I.” His father adjusted his cufflinks as if this were nothing more than another business meeting concluded. “Everything will be arranged. Her mother’s treatment will begin immediately.”

“And my things?” Heeseung asked sharply. “My car. My phone.” “You won’t need them,” his father replied without looking back. “You’ll have what everyone else has.”

Then they were gone. No driver appeared. No black car pulled up to the curb outside the hospital. Just the automatic doors sliding shut behind them, leaving the two of you standing under harsh fluorescent lights.

Heeseung exhaled slowly. “…You’re kidding.”

You followed his gaze to the empty entrance. “About what?”

“The car,” he said flatly. “This is a joke, right?” “They were serious,” you replied, already turning toward the exit. “One year. No money. No help.”

He scoffed. “You expect me to walk?”

“No,” you said. “We’re taking the bus.”

That finally snapped something in him. “The—” He stopped himself, rubbing his face in disbelief. “I don’t do buses.” You didn’t slow down. “Then you’re going to have a rough year.” Outside, the evening air was cold and damp. The bus stop sat across the street—a metal bench, faded route map, a small cluster of people waiting quietly. An old man. A woman holding groceries. A student with headphones in.

Heeseung stopped dead.

You noticed. The way his shoulders stiffened. The way his eyes scanned the crowd, the cracked pavement, the crooked bus schedule taped to the glass.

“This is disgusting,” he muttered. “Do people actually live like this?”

You turned sharply. “Watch it.”

He blinked, startled by your tone. “I mean—” he gestured vaguely as a bus roared past, exhaust filling the air. “There’s no space. No privacy. It smells like—like metal and oil.”

“And survival,” you snapped. “It smells like people getting to work.” The bus pulled up with a hiss. Doors folding open. People shuffled forward.

Heeseung didn’t move. “You’re not serious,” he said again, quieter now. “I’m wearing designer shoes.” You stepped onto the bus, swiping your worn transit card without ceremony. Then you turned back and met his eyes. “Then stay here,” you said simply. “But my mom doesn’t get her medicine if you don’t get on.”

That did it.

His jaw clenched. Pride warred openly with disbelief.

Finally, with obvious disgust, he stepped on. The bus lurched forward almost immediately. He grabbed the nearest pole, grimacing as someone bumped into him. His coat brushed against a stranger’s sleeve, and he recoiled.

“This is unbelievable,” he muttered. “People are touching me.”

You took a seat by the window. “Get used to it.”

The ride was long. Loud. Cramped. Heeseung refused to sit, staring at the scuffed floor like it personally offended him. Every bump made him scowl. Every stop earned a sharp exhale.

At one point, he leaned down toward you, voice low.

“You live like this every day?”

You didn’t look at him. “Yeah.”

He straightened slowly.For the first time since he arrived, he had nothing to say.

When the bus finally pulled into your village stop, the doors hissed open again. Darkness stretched beyond the streetlights—uneven roads, small houses tucked close together.

You stood. “This is us.”

Heeseung stepped off behind you, shoes crunching against gravel.

He looked around.

Then back at you.

“This,” he said flatly, “is where I’m supposed to survive for a year?”

You met his gaze without flinching. “This,” you said, “is where you’re going to learn.”

And as the bus pulled away—taking the last trace of his old life with it—you saw it finally sink in. Lee Heeseung had never been this powerless before. And he hated it.

The walk from the bus stop was quiet. Not peaceful—just heavy. Gravel crunched beneath your shoes as you led the way down the narrow road, streetlights flickering inconsistently overhead. The village had settled into its nighttime rhythm: doors shut, lights dim, the distant hum of a television through thin walls.

Behind you, Heeseung walked stiffly, every step careful, irritated by the uneven ground. His shoes were already dusted, his coat brushing too close to fences and walls for his liking. “So,” he said after a few moments, breaking the silence, “how much farther is this?” “Not far,” you replied, not slowing. He scoffed softly. “You know, in Seoul this would barely qualify as a road.”

You didn’t respond. You stopped in front of a small, weathered house. One floor. Peeling paint near the door. A single light glowing faintly from inside. “This is it,” you said. Heeseung stared. “This?” he repeated. “Yes.” He looked around again, as if expecting the real house to appear behind it. “You’re telling me… this is where you live?”

You unlocked the door. “If you don’t like it, the bus stop’s still open.” The inside was warm—but cramped. One small bedroom off to the side. A narrow bathroom barely large enough to turn around in. The kitchen and living space blended into one another—a small table, two mismatched chairs, a worn couch pushed against the wall.

 Heeseung stepped inside and immediately froze. “You’re joking,” he said, disbelief sharp in his voice. “Where’s the rest of it?” “There is no rest of it.” He turned slowly, eyes darting. “This is… everything?” “Yes.”

His face twisted. “How do you breathe in here?” You kicked off your shoes and moved past him, setting your bag down by the table. “You get used to it.” He exhaled loudly, shrugging off his coat like it had offended him. “I’m starving, by the way. We didn’t eat.” You didn’t look at him. You went straight to the sink to wash your hands, then to the cupboard. “I’m serious,” he added, irritation creeping in. “I haven’t eaten since—” “I heard you,” you said calmly. You pulled out a small bag of rice and a few vegetables—onions, zucchini, and a single carrot. Nothing fancy. Nothing extra. He watched you in disbelief. “That’s it?”

You ignored him, rinsing the rice carefully, the practiced motions automatic. You set a pot on the stove, poured in water, and turned the flame on low. Heeseung wandered the space restlessly, opening cabinets without asking. “Why do you have so few plates?” “Why is everything so old?” “Is this table going to collapse if I lean on it?” “Don’t touch that,” you snapped when he reached for a loose cabinet door. He lifted his hands. “Relax.” He wandered toward the bedroom, peering inside. “Where do you sleep?”

“There,” you said flatly. “And me?” “You’ll figure it out.” He frowned. “There’s only one bed.” You didn’t answer. Instead, you carefully sliced the vegetables and added them to the pot as it began to simmer. The soft bubbling filled the room, grounding you. He leaned against the counter, watching you now, quieter. “…Where’s your dad?” he asked suddenly. Your hand stilled.

“What?” you said, not turning. “I mean,” he shrugged, “your mom is in the hospital, and no mention of a dad. So where is he?” The room felt colder. “He’s dead,” you said simply. He froze. “Oh.” Silence stretched. You kept cooking, stirring the pot slowly. “He died when I was sixteen. Heart attack. No insurance.”

He didn’t say anything for once. The soup finished cooking not long after. You ladled it carefully into two small bowls, measuring portions. Rice on the side. You set the bowls on the table. Heeseung stared at them. “…That’s it?” he said flatly. “Yes.” He laughed once, incredulous. “You’re kidding. This wouldn’t even qualify as an appetizer.” Something in your chest snapped. “This is dinner,” you said sharply. “For who?” he scoffed. “A child?”

You slammed the ladle down harder than necessary. “This is what we eat.” He looked up at you, startled by the edge in your voice. “You expect me to survive on this?” “I’ve survived on it my entire life.” He gestured to the bowl. “This is barely enough for one person.” Your hands curled into fists. “Then don’t eat it.” He blinked. “What?” “If it’s not good enough for you, don’t touch it,” you snapped. “But don’t stand there and insult the only food I can afford.” The room went quiet. Heeseung looked at you—really looked at you this time. Your clenched jaw. The way your shoulders were tense. The anger barely masking exhaustion. “…You’re serious,” he said quietly. “Yes,” you replied. “Dead serious.” For the first time that night, he didn’t complain. He sat down slowly.

And ate. The bowls sat drying on the counter, water droplets clinging to their rims. The house felt quieter now—too quiet—like it was holding its breath. The old clock above the fridge ticked steadily, each second loud in the cramped space. You wiped your hands on a towel and glanced toward Heeseung. He was still standing by the table, shoulders tense, like he wasn’t sure whether to sit, pace, or complain again. “So…” he said eventually, dragging the word out. “Sleeping.” You already knew this was coming. “What about it?” He gestured vaguely around the house. “There’s one bedroom.” “Yes.”

“And one couch,” he added, eyes narrowing as he actually looked at it this time. “If that thing qualifies.” You crossed your arms. “I sleep in the bed.” He blinked. “That was fast.” “It’s my house.” “We’re married,” he shot back. “In paperwork,” you replied coolly. “Not in reality.” He scoffed, dragging a chair back and sitting down heavily. “You don’t seriously expect me to sleep on that.” You walked over, pulled open a cabinet, and retrieved a folded blanket—thin, faded, but clean. You placed it on the couch and gave it a small pat. “There. That’s yours.”

He stared at it like it might bite him. “That’s not a blanket. That’s a suggestion.” “It works.” “For you,” he muttered. You turned toward the bedroom, already done with the conversation. “You can take it, or you can stand all night. I’m going to sleep.” “…There aren’t even sheets,” he complained. “There’s one pillow. Use it wisely.” He let out a dramatic sigh, collapsing onto the couch experimentally. It dipped immediately, springs creaking in protest. “Oh, this is fantastic,” he deadpanned. “I’m going to wake up folded in half.”

You stepped into the bedroom and closed the door most of the way, leaving it cracked just enough to let light through. The room was barely bigger than the bed itself. You changed quietly, the familiar routine grounding you. When you lie down, the mattress dips softly, springs sighing beneath you.

Outside, you heard Heeseung shifting again. The couch groaned.

“This thing hates me,” he muttered.

You smiled faintly despite yourself.Minutes passed. Then more.

“…Do you always sleep this early?” he asked, voice softer now.

“Yes.”

Another pause. The fridge hummed.

“…It smells like soup in here,” he said. “Not bad. Just… different.”

You turned onto your side, staring at the wall. “My mom used to make it when I was little. Said it helped you sleep.”

The couch creaked as he adjusted. “Guess she was right.”

Silence settled again—thicker this time, but not as sharp.

“…Hey,” he said quietly.

You hesitated. “What?” “…I’m not used to this.” You didn’t ask what this meant. You already knew. “I know,” you said instead. Another long pause. “…Goodnight,” he said, awkward and almost unsure. You closed your eyes. “Goodnight.” The house creaked softly as it settled around you—small, imperfect, but warm. Outside, the village was quiet, wrapped in darkness. Inside, two lives collided under one fragile roof. On the narrow couch, wrapped in blankets that smelled faintly of detergent and soup, Lee Heeseung stared up at the ceiling, wide awake. Uncomfortable. Out of place. But for the first time that night, not entirely angry. And in the small bedroom, you lay listening to his breathing through the thin walls, knowing tomorrow would be hard—but for now, the quiet was enough.

-

The alarm went off at 4:30 a.m. The sharp, tinny sound cut through the quiet like a blade. You reached for it instantly, slapping it silent before it could ring twice. The last thing you wanted was to wake him—but the damage was already done. You sat up slowly, muscles aching, eyes heavy. Dawn hadn’t even begun to lighten the sky yet. The room was cold, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones. You pulled on a hoodie, changed quickly, and tied your hair back with practiced movements. This was your routine. You’d been doing this long before Heeseung entered your life. You slipped out of the bedroom and froze. Heeseung was sitting upright on the couch, hair a mess, blanket tangled around his waist. His expression was thunderous—jaw tight, eyes sharp with disbelief as he took in the room again. The cracked table. The tiny kitchen. The thin blanket. “What the hell is this?” he snapped. You paused, one hand on your bag strap. “Morning to you, too.” He rubbed his face hard, like he was trying to wake himself up. “No. No—this isn’t real. I fell asleep somewhere awful, and this is just a nightmare.”

You exhaled slowly. “It’s real. And you’re awake.”

He stood abruptly, the couch springs screaming in protest. “You expect me to believe that I actually slept here?” He gestured wildly. “On that thing? With that blanket?” “Yes.” “You didn’t even warn me I’d wake up at the crack of dawn,” he added, glancing toward the window where the sky was still pitch-black. “I didn’t wake you up on purpose,” you said flatly. “I have work.” “At five in the morning?” His laugh was sharp and humorless. “Doing what? Punishing yourself?” Your grip tightened on your bag. “I run the restaurant.” He blinked. “Run it?” “I open it. I prep. I cook. I serve. I clean. Every day.” You stepped past him toward the kitchen, reaching for the kettle. “Some of us don’t get to sleep in.” “That’s insane,” he snapped. “You’re telling me this is your life? This—” He looked around again, disgust curling his lip. “This miserable schedule, this place—” “Watch it,” you warned, voice low. He ignored you. “My father said I’d live your life, not be tortured.” You turned to face him fully now, eyes blazing. “You think this is torture?” “Yes!” he shouted. “This is humiliating. I wake up in some shoebox, starving, sore, freezing, and now you’re just leaving me here?” “I don’t have a choice!”

“You always have a choice,” he snapped back. “You just like pretending you don’t.” The words hit harder than he intended—or maybe exactly as hard. You went still. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” you said quietly. “Then explain it to me!” he shot back. “Explain why you’re letting my family walk all over you. Explain why you’re okay with this—why you’re okay being dragged down!” That did it. You slammed your bag onto the table. “Dragged down?” you repeated, incredulous. “This is my life, Heeseung. This restaurant? It keeps the lights on. It paid for my mom’s medicine before your father ever opened his mouth. You don’t get to call it being dragged down just because it’s not wrapped in money.” He faltered for half a second—but his pride surged back just as fast. “You’re acting like this is noble,” he scoffed. “It’s pathetic. You’re working yourself to death and calling it responsibility.” “And you’re waking up on a couch and calling it suffering,” you shot back. “I’ve been doing this since I was sixteen.”

Silence cracked between you. His eyes narrowed. “So what—this is how it’s going to be? You disappear all day and I just… rot here?” “You can come to the restaurant if you want,” you said sharply, grabbing your jacket. “But you’re not going to stand in my house and insult my life.” “Your house?” he echoed. “Yes. Mine.” He stepped closer, towering over you. “You don’t get to talk to me like that.” You met his gaze without flinching. “I absolutely do.” “Do you know who I am?” his fists checked at his side. “Remember. Your status here means nothing.” For a moment, it felt like neither of you would back down. The air was thick, charged, buzzing with anger and exhaustion. Then you broke eye contact first—not because you were weaker, but because you were running out of time. “I’m leaving,” you said, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “There’s food in the fridge. Eat it or don’t. I don’t care.”

He laughed bitterly. “Unbelievable.” You stopped at the door, hand on the handle. “Get used to it. This is your life now, too.” You didn’t wait for a response. The door shut behind you with a final, hollow click. Left alone in the dim, silent house, Heeseung stood frozen, chest heaving. The smell of rice and vegetables still lingered in the air. The blanket lay crumpled on the couch where he’d slept. Slowly, the anger ebbed—just enough for something else to creep in.

This wasn’t a nightmare.

And for the first time, that realization scared him more than anything else.-

The bell above the restaurant door chimed softly as you unlocked it, the sound far too gentle for the storm brewing inside you.

You shoved the door open harder than necessary, flipping the sign to OPEN with a sharp snap. The place was still dark and quiet, smelling faintly of yesterday’s broth and rice. You dropped your bag behind the counter and stood there for a moment, hands braced against the wood, head bowed.

What the hell did I do?

Your chest rose and fell unevenly as you stared at the familiar space—the scuffed tables, the worn stools, the faded menu handwritten by your mother years ago. This place had always been your anchor. You're constant. And now it felt… contaminated. Like something foreign had been dragged into your carefully balanced life and knocked everything off-kilter. Married. To him. You scoffed under your breath, running a hand through your hair. “Unbelievable,” you muttered to the empty room. “Absolutely unbelievable.” The argument from that morning replayed in your head whether you wanted it to or not—his anger, his disgust, the way he looked at your house like it was something he’d stepped in by accident. Your jaw tightened. I should’ve said no. I should’ve walked away You moved mechanically, turning on the lights, tying on your apron. The familiar motions usually calmed you, grounded you. Today, they did nothing. “One year,” you whispered to yourself bitterly. “I agreed to ruin my life for one year.” You slammed a pot down on the stove harder than needed, the clang echoing through the restaurant. The sound made you flinch—and then laugh humorlessly. I could still end it.

The thought came unbidden, sharp and tempting. You froze, hands hovering over the ingredients. I could go back. Tell his parents I changed my mind. Tell them I won’t do it. I won’t be humiliated in my own home. I won’t babysit a spoiled man-child who thinks my life is a joke. Your heart started to race as the idea grew roots. The relief it promised was intoxicating. Then your mother’s face flashed in your mind—pale against white sheets, fingers trembling, eyes tired but still so gentle when she looked at you. Your chest tightened painfully. “…Mom,” you whispered. The guilt hit like a wave, heavy and suffocating. Ending the arrangement meant ending her treatment. No more medication. No more stability. No more time. You pressed your palm flat against the counter, breathing through the ache in your chest. “I can’t,” you murmured. “I can’t do that to her.”

So you swallowed it. The anger. The regret. The resentment. You shoved it all down where you’d always put things you couldn’t afford to feel. Just endure it, you told yourself. Just survive one year. The bell over the door chimed again—louder this time. “Y/N-ah!” a familiar voice called out cheerfully. “You’re open already?” Mrs. Kang stepped inside, bundled in her cardigan despite the warming morning, followed closely by two other regulars. The quiet was shattered instantly. You straightened, forcing a smile onto your face. “Morning.” They all paused, looking at you a little too closely. “…You look tired,” Mrs. Kang said, eyes narrowing with concern—and curiosity. “I didn’t sleep well,” you replied, turning back to the stove. “Well,” another woman chimed in, grin spreading, “I hear you had company.” Your hand stilled. Company.

You felt it before they even said it—the buzz, the barely contained excitement. “Oh, yes,” Mrs. Kang added knowingly. “The handsome young man. Tall. Expensive-looking. That one.” Your stomach dropped. So it already spread. You kept your back turned. “People talk too much.” The women laughed. “In a village this small?” one of them teased. “Of course they do! You bring home a husband like that and expect silence?” “Husband?” Mrs. Kang echoed, delighted. “Is it true, Y/N? You got married without telling us?” You turned slowly, irritation flashing across your face. “It’s not like that.” “Oh, don’t be shy,” another auntie said, waving her hand. “We saw him. So handsome. Like a movie star! Where were you hiding him all this time?”

Heat rushed to your face. “I wasn’t hiding anyone.” “Is he rich?” someone asked bluntly. “Does he treat you well?” another added. “Does he eat properly? He looked thin,” Mrs. Kang said, already worrying. Your head started to pound. You set a bowl down harder than necessary. “Please,” you said sharply. “Can we not do this?” The chatter faltered. “I don’t want to talk about it.” The aunties exchanged looks—surprised, confused, a little hurt. “Oh,” Mrs. Kang said softly. “We were just teasing…” “I know,” you replied, voice strained. “I’m just… tired.” An awkward silence settled. One by one, they moved to their seats, murmuring apologies; the excitement dampened.

As you worked, their whispers faded, replaced by the familiar clatter of bowls and spoons. But the damage was done. You stared into the simmering broth, jaw clenched. Great. Not only did I sell my life for a year, but now the whole village knows about him, too. You imagined Heeseung waking up in your house again. Complaining. Judging. Existing in your world like he didn’t belong. Your grip tightened on the ladle. “I really messed up,” you whispered to yourself. And yet—despite everything—you kept cooking. Kept serving. Kept moving. Because that was what you always did. The lunch rush had finally tapered off. The clatter of dishes, the sizzle from the stove, and the chatter of regulars faded to a comfortable hum. You wiped down the counter, tying your apron a little tighter as you tried to shake off the lingering exhaustion from waking so early.

“Y/N-ah!” came the familiar teasing voice. You looked up to see Taehyun at the door, smiling as if he’d been waiting all day for this exact moment. His eyes crinkled at the corners, his hair slightly messy from rushing over. “You came again,” you said, half-smiling, half-exasperated. “Of course I did,” he replied, leaning casually against the doorframe. “I had to make sure my favorite chef was surviving the chaos you call a morning.” You rolled your eyes. “I’m surviving. Barely.” He smirked. “Barely is better than not at all.” You shook your head, laughing softly. There was a comfort in his presence, a lightness that made the heaviness of your life momentarily lift. It had always been like this when he came by—flirting, teasing, playful—but never overstepping. As you cleared some plates from a table, Mrs. Kang popped her head around the corner with a sly smile. “Ah, Y/N, speaking of favorites…” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “I was just telling Taehyun here that you have a husband now.”Your heart skipped. You froze mid-step, hands gripping the plate.

Taehyun’s brows shot up. His eyes flicked between his mother and you. “Husband?” His voice was quiet, but something in it—hurt, surprise, disbelief—made your chest tighten. “Yes,” Mrs. Kang said, oblivious to the tension she’d created. “Married last week, apparently. Handsome, apparently very rich. The whole village has been talking about it.” She winked and disappeared before either of you could respond. Silence stretched. Taehyun’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Congratulations,” he said finally, voice careful. He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding looking directly at you. “Thanks,” you said softly, unsure of what else to say. He hesitated a moment longer, then shrugged. “I still want to walk you home after your shift,” he added, a small, tentative smile playing at the edges of his lips. “If that’s… okay.” You felt your cheeks warm. It was like nothing had changed, even though everything had. “…Yeah,” you said softly. “That’s fine.” The day dragged on, and the afternoon rush felt heavier than usual. Every time you caught Taehyun glancing your way, your chest tightened. When the last customer left, you leaned against the counter for a moment, rubbing your sore shoulders. “You ready?” Taehyun asked gently, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. You nodded, grabbing your bag. Together, you stepped out into the crisp evening air, the street quiet except for the distant hum of the village.

They walked side by side, shoulders occasionally brushing. Taehyun kept the conversation light, teasing about small things—the way Mrs. Kang fussed over the customers, the stubborn regulars who never finished their soup, even joking about how you were the hardest worker he’d ever met. You laughed softly, thankful for the distraction, and for the few stolen moments where it felt like things could almost be normal. “So… how’s married life?” he asked after a while, careful in his tone, but the faint curiosity in his voice made your stomach twist. You froze, glancing at him. “…It’s… fine. Complicated,” you said lightly, hiding the truth about Heeseung and the arrangement for your mom’s medical bills. It wasn’t a story you wanted to share. He nodded slowly, a small, understanding smile tugging at his lips. “I see. Well… good for you, I guess. You deserve to be happy.” You smiled faintly, grateful for his kindness, though a pang of guilt stabbed through you. As the two of you neared the narrow gravel path that led to your house, your chest tightened. The lights from your small home cast a soft glow across the front yard—and there, leaning against the wall near the door, was Heeseung. The same clothes he’d arrived in yesterday. His expression dark, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes sharp. He didn’t move as you approached, but the tension radiating from him made your skin prickle. Taehyun’s steps faltered slightly, and your hand brushed against his as you slowed. You didn’t know if Heeseung had seen the way you laughed at something Taehyun said, or the way you had leaned slightly toward him during the walk—but the moment your eyes met Heeseung’s, something cold and unreadable passed across his features.

Before you could say anything, he spun on his heel, storming inside without a word. The slam of the door echoed sharply in the quiet evening, and the warmth of the small home suddenly felt suffocating. You stood frozen on the path, Taehyun by your side, watching the door close, your chest tight and shoulders tense. “I… guess he doesn’t like company,” Taehyun said quietly, his voice softer now, tinged with awkward concern. You forced a small laugh, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “That’s one way to put it,” you muttered, watching the door as though it might reopen at any moment. The walk home had been peaceful moments ago, but now, with Heeseung inside waiting, the air felt charged. And even though you didn’t know how he’d act next, you were already bracing yourself.Because nothing about this year was going to be easy.

The door creaked softly as you pushed it open.

The house was dim, the only light coming from the small lamp near the couch.

He was exactly where you expected him to be.

Heeseung sat rigidly on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together as if he were holding himself back from saying something he might regret. His jaw was tight, eyes fixed somewhere on the floor.

He didn’t look up when you stepped inside. But you knew he knew you were there. You slipped off your shoes quietly and set your bag down by the table. The air inside felt heavier than when you left, thick with tension. Still, he said nothing. Fine. You walked past him into the kitchen area without acknowledging him. If he wanted to sulk, he could sulk. You had bigger things to worry about than a spoiled rich boy’s bruised ego.| You washed your hands at the sink, the water running loudly in the quiet house. From the corner of your eye, you could see him shift slightly on the couch. Still not looking at you. You opened the fridge and pulled out what little you had—half a zucchini, a small onion, leftover rice from the morning. Your movements were calm, practiced. Knife against cutting board. Vegetables sliding into a pan. The quiet stretched. The soft sizzle of oil filled the room. Behind you, the couch creaked. You didn’t turn around. Heeseung finally spoke. “…Who was he?” Your knife paused mid-slice. You kept your voice neutral. “A friend.” Silence. Then a short, humorless laugh. “Right.” You ignored him and kept cutting—another pause. “Friends usually touch your hand like that,” he said. You turned the stove flame down slightly, still not looking at him. “You’re imagining things.” “I’m not blind.” Neither am I, you thought bitterly, remembering the way he’d stormed inside earlier like a jealous child. But you didn’t say it. The pan hissed softly as you stirred the vegetables. He shifted again, irritation radiating off him. “You didn’t answer my question.” “I did,” you replied simply. “You avoided it.” “I don’t owe you explanations.” That did it. The couch groaned as he stood abruptly. “You’re my wife.”

You turned slowly to face him, unimpressed. “On paper,” you said. “For one year.” His eyes flashed. “That still means something.” “No,” you said calmly. “It means my mother gets treatment. That’s it.” For a moment, he just stared at you. The anger in his expression faltered—only slightly—but you caught it. Then his pride snapped back into place. “So you’re just going to parade guys around while I’m stuck here?” he muttered. You blinked in disbelief. “Parade?” you repeated. “Yes.” Your laugh was sharp. “He walked me home.” “And you were smiling.” You set the spatula down with a quiet clack. “You are unbelievable.” “And you’re avoiding the point.” “There is no point!” you snapped. “Taehyun has been my friend for years. He walks me home because the streets are dark and because he’s a decent person.” The words hung between you.

Something unreadable flickered across Heeseung’s face.

“…Taehyun,” he repeated slowly.

“Yes.”

He scoffed and ran a hand through his hair, clearly annoyed that he’d learned the name.

“Whatever.”

You turned back to the stove, done with the conversation.

The silence returned—but it wasn’t the same as before.

Now it buzzed with something sharper.

You finished cooking quickly, spooning the rice and vegetables into two bowls before placing them on the small table.

“Dinner’s ready,” you said flatly.

He didn’t move.

You sat down and started eating.

After a few seconds, the chair across from you scraped the floor.

Heeseung sat down.

Still scowling. Still clearly irritated. But he picked up the spoon anyway.

For a few minutes, the only sound in the room was the quiet clink of metal against ceramic.

Then, out of nowhere, he muttered under his breath—

“…You smiled more with him.”

Your spoon stopped halfway to your mouth.

You slowly looked up.

He was staring down at his food like he hadn’t said anything at all.

Like the words had slipped out by accident.

“You’re jealous,” you said bluntly.

His head snapped up immediately. “I am not.”

“You are.”

“I barely know you,” he scoffed.

“Exactly,” you replied calmly. “Which makes this even weirder.”

His jaw clenched. “I’m not jealous,” he repeated. “I just don’t like looking like an idiot.”

“You looked like an idiot because you slammed the door like a child.”

That hit its mark. His eyes narrowed.

“You brought him to our house.”

“I didn’t bring him anywhere. He walked me home.”

“And you let him.”

You stared at him in disbelief.

“You do realize you sound insane right now.”

He opened his mouth to argue—but stopped.

Because deep down, he probably knew you were right.

The tension slowly drained out of him as he leaned back in the chair, running a hand through his messy hair.

“…This place is too small,” he muttered after a moment.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I can hear everything,” he said. “Every step. Every door. Every breath.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“And?”

“And it’s annoying.”

You rolled your eyes and returned to your food.

After a few more quiet bites, he suddenly spoke again.

“…Your friend.”

You sighed. “What now?”

“He likes you.”

You didn’t even look up.

“He’s nice.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You shrugged lightly. “Maybe he does.”

His spoon hit the bowl a little harder than necessary.

“And you’re just… okay with that?”

You finally lifted your eyes to meet his.

“What exactly are you asking me, Heeseung?”

The room went quiet.

For a moment, he looked like he actually didn’t know how to answer that.

His gaze dropped back to the table.

“…Nothing,” he muttered.

You watched him for a second longer before shaking your head slightly and finishing your dinner.

When you stood to rinse your bowl in the sink, you felt his eyes follow you again.

But this time, there was something different in his expression.

Not just irritation or pride.

Something quieter. Something conflicted.

And even though neither of you said another word that night, one thing was painfully clear.

Living together was starting to affect him far more than he wanted to admit.

Morning sunlight crept slowly through the thin curtains, pale gold lines stretching across the worn wooden floor. The house was unusually quiet. No alarm. No rush. No frantic morning routine.

But you were already awake.

Years of waking before dawn had trained your body too well. Even on your rare day off, sleep refused to hold you.

You sat at the small kitchen table, a chipped mug of tea warming your hands. A pencil rested between your fingers as you scribbled numbers across the back of an old receipt. The paper was already covered in crossed-out totals and small circles where you’d tried to make the math work.

Rent. Utilities. Restaurant supplies. Bus fare.

Your brow furrowed as you added another column.

Groceries.

You exhaled slowly, circling the smallest number you could manage beside vegetables. It still felt like too much.

The couch's quiet creak broke your concentration.

You didn’t turn around right away, but you knew he was awake.

You could almost feel the confusion radiating off him.

Heeseung slowly pushed himself upright on the couch, blanket tangled around his legs like he’d fought it in his sleep. His hair stuck out in different directions, and his expression was somewhere between exhausted and offended by his surroundings.

He blinked a few times, squinting toward the window where soft morning light had begun to leak through.

“…Why isn’t the alarm screaming?” he asked groggily, voice thick with sleep.

You took a slow sip of your tea before answering.

“Because I turned it off.”

His eyebrows knit together.

“…Why?”

“I have the day off.”

That seemed to wake him up more than anything else.

“You get days off?” he asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

“Sometimes,” you replied dryly, tapping your pencil against the paper.

He leaned back against the couch cushions, stretching his arms over his head. The movement lasted all of two seconds before his face twisted in pain.

“…My back is ruined.”

You didn’t even look up.

“That’s what happens when you sleep on a couch.”

“That couch is a medieval torture device,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck like it had personally betrayed him.

“Yet you survived.”

He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a complaint about lawsuits and human rights violations.

After another moment of sulking, he pushed himself to his feet and wandered toward the kitchen area. His steps were slow, like he was still half asleep and unsure where exactly he was.

“What are you doing?” he asked, leaning slightly against the counter.

“Making a list.”

“For what?”

“Groceries.”

His eyes drifted down toward the small piece of paper in your hand. He leaned a little closer, squinting at the short list.

“That’s it?” he asked.

You glanced down at the paper.

“Yes.”

“That’s barely anything.”

“It’s what I can afford.”

His mouth opened slightly, like the usual sarcastic comment was waiting to come out—but then he stopped himself. His gaze lingered on the list for a second longer before he looked away.

You folded the receipt neatly and stood from the table, grabbing your worn jacket from the chair.

“When do you get groceries?” he asked.

“Now.”

You moved toward the door, sliding your shoes on.

Behind you, the couch creaked again as he straightened up.

“Wait.”

You paused and turned slightly.

Heeseung was already pulling on his coat.

“…I’m coming.”

You blinked slowly.

“No, you’re not.”

“Ye,s I am.”

You stared at him.

“Why?”

He shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I need food too.”

“There’s food here.”

“That soup again?” he said, horrified.

“It’s called leftovers.”

He ignored you completely and slipped his arms through his coat.

“I’m not staying in this shoebox all day.”

“You don’t even know how to grocery shop.”

He scoffed, pushing his hair back. “It can’t be that hard.”

You crossed your arms. “Have you ever bought groceries before?”

He hesitated for exactly half a second. “…I’ve been inside a store.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

But he had already grabbed the door handle.

“Well,” he said as he pulled it open, “today you can educate me.”

Cold morning air rushed into the house immediately.

You watched him for a moment, studying his stubborn expression. “You’re going to hate it,” you warned.

“Probably.”

“It’s crowded.”

“Fantastic.”

“And you’re carrying the bags.”

His confidence flickered.

“…How many bags?”

You smiled faintly.

“Enough.”

—A few minutes later, the two of you were walking down the narrow gravel road toward the village market.

The morning air was crisp and fresh, carrying the faint scent of wet grass and distant cooking fires. Birds chirped somewhere in the trees overhead, and a few villagers were already outside sweeping their front steps or watering small gardens.

Heeseung walked beside you with his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. His eyes moved constantly, scanning everything around him with thinly veiled disbelief.

“…People really live like this,” he muttered.

You rolled your eyes.

“You said that yesterday.”

“And I’m still shocked.”

As you approached the market, the quiet village sounds gradually gave way to the low hum of voices and movement.

Stalls lined the street beneath colorful cloth canopies. Wooden crates overflowed with vegetables—green onions, cabbage, peppers stacked neatly in piles. Baskets of apples and pears glowed in the morning light, and the smell of fresh bread and grilled fish drifted through the air.

Heeseung stopped walking.

“What is this?” he asked slowly.

You looked back at him.

“The market.”

“This is outside.”

“Yes.”

“Where are the carts?”

“There are no carts.”

His expression darkened.

“…You’re joking.”

You walked straight toward the vegetable stand.

“Morning, Y/N!” the old vendor greeted warmly.

“Morning,” you replied with a small smile.

Behind you, Heeseung hovered awkwardly, looking deeply out of place among the bustling stalls and chatting villagers.

You picked up a cabbage, turning it carefully in your hands.

“Two thousand won,” the vendor said.

You handed over the money.

Beside you, Heeseung looked horrified.

“…You’re touching all of them.”

“I’m checking which one’s fresh.” “There are no gloves.” The vendor blinked slowly at him. You sighed. “Relax.” He leaned slightly closer to you, lowering his voice. “Do people just… grab things here?” “Yes.” “That’s barbaric.” The vendor snorted loudly. You kicked Heeseung lightly in the shin. “Behave.” He glared at you, rubbing his leg. “You kicked me.” “You deserved it.” You moved to the next stall, picking up eggs and tofu. Heeseung followed behind you like a reluctant shadow. But after a few minutes, something changed. His expression slowly shifted from disgust to curiosity. “…Why are those cheaper?” he asked, pointing to a pile of slightly bruised apples. “Because they’re ugly,” you said simply. “But they taste the same?” “Yes.” He stared at the apples like he’d just discovered a flaw in the universe. “…That’s stupid.” “Welcome to grocery shopping.” You paid for the apples and handed him the bag without warning. He fumbled it awkwardly, clearly not used to carrying anything heavier than a phone. “…You weren’t kidding about the bags.” “We’re not done.” His eyes widened. “Not done?” You were already walking toward the next stall. “Come on, city boy.” He sighed dramatically but followed after you, the grocery bag dangling from his hand. Yet as he walked beside you through the lively morning market—listening to the chatter of vendors, watching the small negotiations over prices, smelling the mix of fresh produce and warm street food—something unfamiliar settled into his expression. Not anger. Not disgust. Just quiet curiosity. The market grows busier as the two of you move between stalls. You moved through it all easily, greeting people with small nods and quiet smiles, picking up the last few things on your list. Behind you, Heeseung followed with noticeably less confidence. The bag of apples hung awkwardly from his hand as he tried to keep up. Every few steps, someone brushed past him, and each time, he stiffened like he’d been personally insulted by the concept of crowded spaces. “Do people not believe in personal space here?” he leaned down, muttering quietly. You didn’t even turn around. “No.” He let out a long sigh but kept walking. You were reaching for a bunch of green onions when a voice suddenly rang out across the market. “Y/N-ah!” Your hand froze mid-reach. Slowly, you turned your head. Three familiar figures stood a few stalls away, staring in your direction with expressions that could only be described as delighted shock. Your stomach sank immediately. Mrs. Kang stood in the middle, her cardigan buttoned up despite the warming weather. On either side of her were two other village aunties, their heads already leaning together as they whispered excitedly. Their eyes weren’t on you. They were locked directly onto the tall man standing behind you. “Oh my goodness,” Mrs. Kang gasped softly. “That must be him,” one of the other women whispered. “He’s even taller than they said!” Before you could even think of escaping, the three of them began marching toward you with determined steps. You closed your eyes for half a second. This is going to be a disaster. “Y/N!” Mrs. Kang said brightly as they stopped right in front of you. “What a surprise seeing you here this morning!” You forced a polite smile. “Good morning.” But the women barely acknowledged your greeting. Their attention had already shifted completely. Three pairs of curious eyes turned slowly toward Heeseung. He froze instantly. The bag of apples nearly slipped from his hand as he suddenly found himself the center of intense scrutiny. “Ahhhh,” one auntie hummed thoughtfully, looking him up and down with open interest. “So this is the husband.” Heat rushed to your face. Heeseung blinked.

“…The what?” “The husband,” Mrs. Kang repeated cheerfully, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. You cleared your throat quickly. “Yes… this is—” But the women had already surrounded him. “Oh my, he’s very handsome.” “So tall too.” “He looks like one of those actors from television!” Heeseung’s ears started turning red almost immediately. He looked completely caught off guard, glancing at you quickly like he was silently asking for help. You suddenly found the cabbage in your hands extremely interesting. “Are you eating well?” one of the aunties asked him kindly. “Does Y/N cook enough for you?” “Are you adjusting to village life?” another chimed in. The questions came so quickly that he barely had time to process them. “I—uh—” “You have very nice shoulders,” one auntie added approvingly. Heeseung’s eyes widened slightly. His cheeks were noticeably pink now. Another auntie reached out and lightly poked his arm, testing the muscle there. “Oh!” she laughed. “Strong too!” Heeseung looked like he might actually short-circuit. His gaze flicked helplessly toward you again. You pressed your lips together tightly to stop yourself from laughing. “And look!” Mrs. Kang suddenly exclaimed, pointing at the bag in his hand. They all gasped dramatically. “You’re carrying the groceries!” “Oh, what a good husband!” “Such a hardworking man!” “Most men wouldn’t even hold one bag!” Heeseung stared down at the apples like they had betrayed him personally. “This?” he said slowly, lifting the bag slightly. “This counts as hardworking?” “Yes!” Mrs. Kang said proudly. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, clearly embarrassed by the sudden praise. “…It’s just a bag,” he muttered. But the aunties looked thoroughly impressed. “Oh, he’s humble too,” one of them whispered loudly. You nearly choked trying not to laugh.

“Oh, Y/N,” another auntie said teasingly, leaning closer to you. “You hid him from us for so long!”“I didn’t hide anyone,” you protested weakly.

“But he’s so handsome,” she insisted. “Where did you find him?”

Heeseung muttered under his breath beside you.

“She didn’t find me.”

Unfortunately for him, Mrs. Kang heard that.

“What was that?”

Heeseung immediately straightened up slightly, clearly realizing he had to play along now.

“…Nothing,” he said quickly.

The women exchanged amused looks.

“Well,” Mrs. Kang said warmly, patting his arm again, “you must take good care of our Y/N.”

The touch made him stiffen slightly again.

But this time, his expression shifted just a little.

“…I will,” he said quietly.

The words came out before he seemed to realize it.

Your head snapped toward him slightly.

He noticed.

His ears turned even redder.

The aunties, however, looked absolutely delighted.

“Ahhh,” one of them sighed dramatically. “Young love.”

You almost dropped the cabbage. “It’s not—”

But they were already moving away, whispering excitedly among themselves again.

“I told you he was handsome.”

“And polite too!”

“Such a good husband!”

Their voices slowly faded as they continued down the row of stalls.

Silence settled between you and Heeseung.

He slowly turned his head toward you.

His expression was somewhere between exhausted and mortified. “…That was terrifying,” he said quietly.

You couldn’t hold it in anymore.

You burst out laughing. “They like you.”

“They interrogated me.”

“That means they like you.”

He glanced down at the grocery bag again. “…They called me hardworking.” You smirked. “You should hear what they call the men who don’t carry bags.” He ran a hand through his hair, still looking a little flustered. “…Your village is weird.” But as the two of you continued walking through the market, he didn’t let go of the grocery bag. And this time, when another elderly woman passed by and smiled knowingly at him— He lowered his head slightly. Just a little bashful. The days after the market trip began to slip into something neither of you had expected. Routine. Not the kind that arrived suddenly with some grand realization or dramatic change. It crept in quietly, settling into the small spaces of everyday life. At first, you barely noticed it happening. The tension between you still lingered, still sharp in certain moments, but the constant friction slowly started to wear down. The days began to flow in familiar patterns, and before long, the house started to feel less like a place where two strangers were forced to coexist… and more like a place that simply held both of you.

Mornings were still early. They always had been. Your body had long since grown used to waking at the same hour, trained by years of responsibility and necessity. Even on mornings when your bones felt heavy with exhaustion, your eyes would still open before the alarm had the chance to ring. Still, the alarm buzzed softly beside your bed. The sound was sharp in the quiet house. Your hand reached out automatically, turning it off before it could wake the entire neighborhood. At first, that sound had been enough to wake the person sleeping in the living room. Every morning. From the couch, Heeseung would groan loudly, his voice muffled beneath the blanket as he buried his face deeper into the pillow. “Why does it ring like the building’s on fire?” he would complain, his voice thick with sleep and irritation. You would roll your eyes quietly while tying your hair back into a loose ponytail. “It’s called an alarm.” His response usually came immediately. “People shouldn’t be awake at this hour.” You would sling your bag over your shoulder, glancing toward the living room with a flat expression. “People with jobs are.” At the beginning, that exchange usually started an argument. Not always a big one.

But enough for the morning air to fill with the familiar edge of annoyance. He would complain about the hour, about the noise, about the cold floor when his feet touched it. You would snap back about responsibility, about work, about how some people didn’t have the luxury of sleeping all morning. But after a few days, something about those arguments began to soften. The sharpness in his voice slowly faded. The complaints didn’t disappear entirely, but they grew quieter… shorter… almost half-hearted.

Some mornings, he still groaned, but more often, he simply rolled over and pulled the blanket higher over his head, letting you move around the house without another word.

And sometimes…

When you stepped out of the bedroom, ready to leave for the restaurant, you would find something unexpected.

He would already be awake.

Sitting on the couch with messy hair sticking out in every direction, his shoulders slouched slightly forward as he stared blankly at the wall like his brain hadn’t quite caught up with his body yet.

The first time you saw him sitting there, you stopped in the doorway.

“Why are you up?” you asked, confused.

He rubbed his eyes slowly, blinking against the dim light. “The alarm woke me up.”

“Then go back to sleep.”

He shrugged lazily, leaning back into the couch. “Too late now.”

You watched him for a moment longer than necessary.

Something about the quiet way he sat there made the house feel… different. But you pushed the thought away quickly and left for work.

At the time, it didn’t seem important—just another strange habit. But as the days passed, more small changes began to appear.

By the end of the first month, the couch blanket was folded neatly every morning.

The first time you noticed it, you thought you were imagining things.

You returned home late in the afternoon, the familiar ache of a long shift settling into your shoulders. The house was quiet as usual, sunlight stretching through the window and across the living room floor.

Your eyes drifted toward the couch automatically.

The blanket was folded.

Neatly.

The pillow had been placed carefully on the armrest instead of being tossed aside like usual.

You stood there for a moment, staring at it.

“…Did you do this?” you asked slowly.

From the table, Heeseung looked up, his expression completely casual. “Do what?”

You gestured toward the couch. “The blanket.”

He glanced at it briefly before shrugging. “It looked messy.”

You blinked. “…You folded it.”

“Yeah?” His tone carried a hint of confusion, like he couldn’t understand why it mattered.

You turned slowly back toward the kitchen, still processing the sight. “…Weird.”

But despite the word leaving your mouth, something warm flickered quietly in your chest.

— A few days later, you came home to something else.

The dishes were done. Not perfectly. One bowl still had a faint streak of soap clinging to the side, and the pan had clearly been rinsed more than properly scrubbed. But they were clean. You stood in the kitchen doorway staring at the drying rack, momentarily stunned by the sight. Two bowls. Two spoons. One pan. All washed and sitting carefully beside the sink. “…What happened here?” you asked cautiously. From the couch, Heeseung didn’t even look up. “I washed them.” Your eyebrows lifted slightly. “Why?” He shrugged lazily. “You cooked.” You stared at him for a long moment. “…That’s it?” “Is there supposed to be another reason?” His tone was so simple that it caught you off guard. You didn’t answer. But something about the quiet fairness of it loosened the tight knot that had been sitting in your chest since he first arrived. Eventually, he started coming to the restaurant. Not every day. Just… sometimes. The first time he showed up, he stood awkwardly in the doorway like someone who had accidentally walked into the wrong building. The regular customers noticed immediately. “Y/N-ah!” Mrs. Kang called loudly from her seat. “Your husband is here again!” You groaned quietly behind the counter, pressing your palm against your forehead. Across the room, Heeseung rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, clearly still not used to being publicly announced like that. “I was bored,” he muttered when he finally approached the counter.

You slid a bowl of soup toward him without looking up. “Sit down.” He did. At first, you assumed he would eat quickly and leave. But he didn’t. Instead, he stayed. Sometimes for hours. He sat quietly in the corner, watching the small chaos of the restaurant unfold around him—the steady rhythm of customers coming and going, the loud conversations between regulars, the clatter of dishes and spoons against bowls. Occasionally, your eyes would flick toward him. And every time, he was watching the room with quiet curiosity. The lunch rush finally began to slow. The restaurant fell into one of those rare quiet moments where the air itself seemed to exhale after the chaos. Only a few customers remained, finishing their meals slowly while chatting softly among themselves. Behind the counter, you stood wiping down a stack of bowls, your movements slower now that the rush had passed. Your shoulders looked heavy. Across the room, Heeseung watched you carefully, his fingers tapping lightly against the table. The thought returned. It had been circling his mind for days now. He could ignore it. Pretend it didn’t exist.

But every time he saw the faint exhaustion in your movements, it pushed itself forward again. Finally, before he could overthink it, he stood up. You noticed immediately. Your head lifted from the counter the moment his chair scraped softly against the floor. Your eyes followed him as he walked over, suspicion already settling into your expression. “What?” you asked. Your tone carried that familiar edge, the one you used whenever you expected him to say something annoying. He leaned his elbows against the counter, hesitating for just a second. “I’ve been thinking.” Your eyebrows rose instantly. “That’s concerning.” Under any other circumstances, he would have rolled his eyes. But this time, he didn’t. “…Let me work here.” For a moment, the world seemed to pause. Your hand froze halfway through wiping the bowl. Your brain struggled to process the words. “…What?” He straightened slightly, repeating himself more clearly. “Let me work here. At the restaurant.” You stared at him like he had just suggested something completely insane. “You want to… work here.” “Yes.” “You?”

“Yes.” You slowly set the bowl down on the counter, your mind racing. Out of all the things you expected him to say… This had not been one of them. “…Why?” you asked. He shrugged lightly, but there was something awkward about the movement, like he wasn’t entirely comfortable explaining it. “You clearly need help.” You scoffed immediately. “I’ve been doing it alone for years.” “And you’re exhausted.” The bluntness of his answer caught you off guard. Your lips parted slightly. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. Because the worst part was… He wasn’t wrong. But admitting that felt like admitting weakness. “I’m fine,” you said quietly. He tilted his head slightly, studying you in that annoyingly observant way he had developed recently. “No, you’re not.”

Your chest tightened. You opened your mouth to argue again, but he continued before you could. “I’m here anyway,” he said simply. “I might as well do something useful.” Something about the way he said it made your heart stumble slightly. Not dramatic. Just… unexpected. You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to regain control of the conversation. “You’ve never worked in a restaurant.” “So teach me.” “You don’t know how to cook.” “I can carry bowls.” “You don’t know the menu.” “I can learn it.” You crossed your arms tightly. “And when you get bored after two days?”

His jaw tightened just slightly. “I won’t.” The quiet certainty in his voice made you pause. This didn’t sound like one of his impulsive ideas. He had actually thought about it. For a moment, the two of you simply stared at each other across the counter. Your mind raced through every possible reason this could go wrong. He would hate the work. He would complain. He would quit after a week. And yet… You thought about the folded blanket. The washed dishes. The way he had started carrying bowls during the lunch rush without being asked. Maybe… Maybe he was serious.

You sighed softly, rubbing your hand across your forehead. “…This is a terrible idea.” “Probably,” he admitted easily. “But you’re still asking.” “Yes.” Silence stretched between you again. Your eyes drifted around the restaurant—the empty tables. The dishes are waiting to be cleaned. The quiet exhaustion still lingering in your arms. When you looked back at him, he was still standing there. Waiting. Not impatient. Not smug. Just… steady. You exhaled slowly. “…You’d have to start small.” His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Small?” “Cleaning tables. Carrying dishes. Taking simple orders.” “That’s fine.” “And if you mess up, I’m yelling at you.” He gave a small shrug. “You already do that.” Despite yourself, the corner of your mouth twitched slightly. “Don’t get used to it,” you muttered.

He leaned back from the counter, something like quiet satisfaction settling into his posture. “So that’s a yes?” You hesitated for half a second. Then you sighed. “…Come in tomorrow morning.” For the first time since the conversation began, a small smile appeared on his face. Not teasing. Not smug. Just… genuinely pleased. “Alright.” As he turned to walk back toward his table, you watched him carefully. Your chest felt strangely warm. Because when he had first appeared in your life, bringing nothing but trouble and frustration with him… The last thing you ever imagined was this. The two of you standing in the same small restaurant… Working toward the same thing. Together. The next morning, Heeseung officially started working at the restaurant, and the village somehow found out before the doors had even opened. You weren’t sure how news traveled so fast in such a small place. Still, by the time you unlocked the front door and flipped the sign to OPEN, two familiar aunties were already sitting at their usual table, whispering excitedly to each other like they had front row seats to something important. Heeseung stood behind the counter, staring at the room with a mixture of determination and mild dread. “You didn’t say there would be an audience,” he muttered under his breath. You didn’t even look at him as you tied your apron. “It’s a village. There’s always an audience.” He exhaled slowly through his nose, mentally preparing himself. But nothing could have prepared him for the aunties. The moment he stepped out from behind the counter carrying his first tray of bowls, Mrs. Kang clasped her hands together dramatically. “Ahhh! Look at him!”

The other auntie gasped loudly. “He’s really working!” Their voices carried easily through the small restaurant. Heeseung froze mid-step. His ears immediately turned pink. You leaned against the counter, watching the scene unfold with poorly hidden amusement. “He’s so tall carrying those bowls,” another woman said. "And so polite!” “He’s helping his wife!” At that word—wife—Heeseung nearly tripped over his own feet. “I’m not—” he started automatically. But he stopped himself halfway through the sentence. Because the moment his eyes flicked toward you, he realized something strange. You weren’t correcting them anymore. Not like you used to. Instead, you simply sighed softly and continued chopping vegetables behind the counter. “…Just put the bowls down,” you murmured to him. He cleared his throat awkwardly and did exactly that. Over the next few days, the restaurant somehow became even busier than usual. Word had spread through the village that your “husband” was helping at the restaurant now. And the villagers were very interested. Especially the aunties. Every afternoon, they filled the tables like a small council of gossip and curiosity, watching Heeseung work with thinly veiled delight. “Ahhh, look at him wiping the tables!” “Such a hardworking young man.” “Y/N is so lucky.”

Every time they said something like that, Heeseung’s ears turned red again. At first, he tried to argue. But the aunties never listened. Eventually, he gave up. Instead, he focused on the work. And to his own surprise… he started getting better at it. He learned the menu faster than you expected. He stopped spilling soup. He learned how to balance multiple bowls on one tray without looking like he was performing a dangerous circus act. And slowly, working beside you began to feel… natural.

You moved around each other easily now, slipping past one another in the narrow kitchen space without bumping shoulders. Sometimes your hands brushed briefly when you both reached for the same utensil. Each time it happened, something strange flickered through his chest. He never said anything about it. But he noticed. Every time.

– The air carried the faint scent of the fields outside, mixed with the comforting smell of rice already cooking in the kitchen.

You stood by the stove stirring the pot slowly, still half lost in the calm of the early morning. Behind you, you could hear Heeseung moving around the house. The soft creak of floorboards. The sound of the back door opening and closing. He had gotten into the habit of starting the day with you now.

At first, you had thought it was strange—Heeseung waking up early in a quiet village after spending most of his life in the city—but somehow he had adapted faster than either of you expected. You glanced over your shoulder just as he walked back into the kitchen. Your breath caught slightly. He had clearly just come in from outside. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, his hair slightly messy from the morning wind, and there was a faint sheen of sweat along the back of his neck from carrying the crates of groceries. For a moment, you forgot to stir the pot. When did he get this… handsome? It wasn’t like you hadn’t noticed before. Heeseung had always been good-looking. But lately it felt different. Maybe it was the way he moved now—comfortable in the small space of your home as he belonged there. Maybe it was the way his shoulders filled out the simple shirts he wore when working. Or maybe it was the quiet focus on his face whenever he was concentrating on something. He set the crate down on the counter beside you. “These were the last ones,” he said. You blinked, snapping out of your thoughts. “Oh… thank you.”

Your voice came out a little softer than you intended. Heeseung didn’t notice. He was already reaching for a knife to start cutting the vegetables, his movements easy and familiar now after weeks of helping in the restaurant. You watched him from the corner of your eye. The way his hands worked. The way his brows furrowed slightly when he focused. The faint muscle in his jaw shifted as he concentrated. Your chest felt strangely warm. He looks good doing something so simple. It was ridiculous. He was just chopping vegetables. But somehow he made even that look… attractive. You quickly looked back down at the pot before he could notice you staring. Across the counter, Heeseung felt your gaze for a moment. He didn’t say anything. But the corner of his mouth twitched slightly. Later that afternoon, the two of you were at the restaurant. The lunch rush had arrived in full force. Customers filled nearly every table, voices overlapping with the clatter of bowls and chopsticks. The aunties sat at their usual table near the window, whispering and giggling like they always did whenever Heeseung walked past. “Oh my, look at him,” one of them whispered loudly. “He’s such a good husband.”

“Handsome too,” another added. You tried very hard not to react. Heeseung, meanwhile, had turned slightly pink. He carried a tray of bowls across the room, his shoulders stiff with embarrassment as the aunties continued to gush. “Such broad shoulders.” “That face could be in a drama!” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile pulling at your lips because they weren’t entirely wrong. From where you stood behind the counter, you watched him move around the restaurant. The way he greeted customers politely. The way he carefully balanced the trays. The way he bent slightly to listen when the older villagers spoke to him. Your chest warmed again. He really does look like he belongs here now. It was strange remembering how tense things had been between you at the beginning. Now the two of you moved around each other effortlessly. When he passed the counter, his arm brushed lightly against yours. Neither of you pulled away. Later, when the restaurant finally quieted down, Heeseung leaned against the counter beside you with a tired sigh. “Your aunties are terrifying,” he muttered.

You laughed softly. “They like you.” “They stare at me like I’m a zoo animal.” You glanced at him sideways. “Well… you do give them something nice to look at.” He turned his head quickly. “…What?” Your face immediately grew warm. You hadn’t meant to say that out loud. You quickly looked down at the dishes. “I didn’t say anything.” But Heeseung was already staring at you. His heart beat a little faster. Because hearing you say something like that, even accidentally, made something warm spread through his chest. And for the rest of the afternoon, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Meanwhile, you tried very hard not to look at him again. Because now that the thought had crossed your mind… It was impossible not to notice. The way his sleeves rolled up when he worked. The way his hair fell into his eyes. The way his voice softened when he spoke to you. And every time you caught yourself staring— Your heart skipped just a little.

–Your shared day off didn’t happen often.

Running the restaurant meant that most mornings bled into long afternoons and quiet evenings of cleaning, planning, and preparing for the next day. But today the restaurant door remained closed, the sign read "closed for the day," and for the first time in weeks, neither of you had anywhere to be.

The morning air in the village was cool and gentle, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant fields as you and Lee Heeseung walked slowly along the small dirt path that wound between houses and shops.

For once, neither of you was rushing.

Your hands were loosely clasped behind your back as you walked, occasionally stopping to greet villagers who passed by. The older residents smiled warmly at the two of you, some offering small waves while others gave knowing looks that made you pretend not to notice.

Heeseung walked beside you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket.

At first, he focused on the path. On the quiet sounds of the village. On the comfortable silence that had settled between the two of you.

But slowly… his attention drifted because you looked different today. Not in a dramatic way.

You weren’t dressed up, and you certainly weren’t trying to impress anyone. Your clothes were simple—just a soft sweater and a long skirt that moved lightly with the breeze.

Your hair wasn’t tied back the way it usually was when you worked in the restaurant. Instead, it fell loosely around your shoulders, shifting gently every time the wind passed through the narrow streets.

Heeseung glanced at you once. Then again. And before he realized it… he had started staring. Since when was she this pretty?The thought arrived suddenly and refused to leave. Maybe it was because he was so used to seeing you busy and focused in the restaurant—hair tied up, sleeves rolled, hands constantly moving. Seeing you like this felt different. Softer. Lighter. More… you. You stopped suddenly in front of a small fruit stand. Heeseung nearly walked right past you before realizing you had paused. “You’re not paying attention,” you said casually as you looked over the fruit. “I am,” he replied quickly.You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

Heeseung tried to pretend he hadn’t just been staring at you for the past five minutes. “I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

He hesitated. Because the honest answer would be about how pretty you look today. And somehow saying that out loud felt far more terrifying than dealing with the aunties at the restaurant. “…Nothing important.” You hummed softly but didn’t press further. Instead, you reached out to pick up a peach from the stand, turning it over in your hands as you examined it. Heeseung watched you again. The sunlight fell across your face in soft gold, catching faintly on your eyelashes. When you smiled politely at the shop owner, your whole expression seemed to brighten in a way that made something warm twist in his chest. She smiles like that all the time… how did I never notice it before? The realization made his heart beat a little faster. Because lately, it felt like every small thing about you stood out more. The way you laughed quietly at the aunties’ jokes. The way your voice softened when you called his name from the kitchen. The way your hand brushed his when you passed bowls across the counter. It was all suddenly impossible to ignore. You turned slightly toward him, holding up the peach. “Do you think this one is good?” For a moment, they didn’t answer. He had been too busy looking at your face again. “…Heeseung?” He blinked quickly. “Yes—yeah, it looks good.”

"You narrowed your eyes slightly. “You didn’t even look at it.” “I did.” “You’re a terrible liar.” You handed the peach to the shop owner anyway. Heeseung rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. Why was it suddenly so hard to act normal around you? As you continued walking through the village together, your shoulder brushed lightly against his. The contact was brief. But it sent a small jolt through his chest. He looked down at you again. The wind lifted a few strands of your hair, and you absentmindedly tucked them behind your ear as you walked. Your expression was relaxed. Peaceful. Happy. And suddenly the realization settled heavily in his chest. I like seeing her like this. Not tired from work. Not stressed from the restaurant. Just… enjoying the day. Heeseung’s heart softened slightly as he watched you. Because somewhere along the way, the quiet life you shared here had started to mean more to him than he ever expected. And walking beside you through the peaceful village streets, he couldn’t stop thinking the same thing over and over.

She’s really… beautiful.The thought made his chest feel warm. And strangely nervous at the same time. Because the more he noticed things like that… The harder it became to pretend his feelings weren’t growing deeper every day.–

The quiet afternoon had settled over the restaurant like the slow exhale after a long breath.

After the rush of lunch, the small space had relaxed into one of those rare peaceful moments where everything softened. Sunlight streamed through the front windows in warm golden beams, stretching across the worn wooden floor and catching the faint steam still drifting from the kitchen.

The smell of broth and rice lingered warmly in the air.

The village aunties sat near the window, their teacups resting between wrinkled hands as they whispered to each other, occasionally glancing toward the counter where you stood drying bowls.

Your arms ached faintly from the hours of work, but the calm after the rush always made it easier to breathe.

Across the room, Lee Heeseung wiped down one of the tables. At this point, the restaurant almost felt like his place, too, which was strange.

A few months ago,o he wouldn’t have imagined himself here at all—standing in a small village restaurant, wiping tables and carrying bowls like it had always been his job.

But somewhere along the way, the routine had become… comforting. And if he was honest with himself, it wasn’t the restaurant that kept him coming back every day. It was you.

He glanced up from the table without meaning to.

You stood behind the counter, focused on drying the dishes, your hair slipping slightly loose from its tie. The sight made something warm stir in his chest.

Then the bell above the door chimed. The moment you looked up, everything shifted.

Your hands stilled around the bowl. Your shoulders tensed.

Heeseung noticed instantly. Something uneasy curled in his stomach. Slowly, his eyes followed yours toward the door. A man stood there. Tall. Composed. Familiar. Kang Taehyun stepped inside, the door closing quietly behind him. The moment his eyes landed on you, something in Heeseung’s chest tightened. “Y/N.” Taehyun said your name softly. Too softly. Like he had said it a thousand times before. “…Taehyun.” You hadn’t expected to see him here. For a moment, you forgot that Heeseung was standing just a few feet away. “It’s been a while,” Taehyun said gently. “Yes,” you replied. Your voice sounded calmer than you felt. From across the room, Heeseung watched the two of you carefully. The way Taehyun looked at you made something unpleasant twist in his chest. It wasn’t obvious. But there was familiarity there. Something comfortable. Something that clearly existed long before Heeseung had ever appeared in your life. Taehyun’s gaze drifted around the restaurant before landing on Heeseung. Recognition flickered across his face. “So you’re the husband.” Something about the way he said it made Heeseung’s jaw tighten. “And you are?” Heeseung asked.

Taehyun gave a small,l polite smile. “Someone who knew Y/N before you.” The words made something uncomfortable settle in Heeseung’s chest. Taehyun turned back to you. “I came to see you.” Your arms folded lightly. “…Why?” For a moment, Taehyun didn’t answer. Then he said quietly: “I wanted to see if you were actually happy in your marriage.” The words hit the room like a stone. Heeseung’s grip tightened around the cloth in his hand. Actually happy? A sharp flare of anger rose in his chest. Before he could stop himself— “…What’s that supposed to mean?” Taehyun glanced at him calmly. “It means exactly what it sounds like.” Heeseung stepped closer without realizing it. “You came all the way here just to question our marriage?” Taehyun didn’t look bothered. “I came to see how she was doing.” His eyes flicked toward Heeseung. “And who she married.” The quiet tension stretched tight between them. “I know Y/N,” Taehyun added. Something about those words hit Heeseung harder than they should have. Because it was true, Taehyun knew you in ways he didn’t. There were memories between you that Heeseung would never be part of. And suddenly an unfamiliar feeling twisted painfully inside his chest.

Jealousy. Real, sharp jealousy. Why does that bother me so much? Heeseung clenched his hands at his sides. Because hearing another man talk about you like that, Looking at you like he still belonged in your life, Made something protective and desperate rise in his chest. Taehyun looked at you again, his voice soft. “You deserve to be happy.” Before either man could speak again, your voice cut through the tension. “I am.” Both of them looked at you. Your heart was beating faster than you wanted to admit because Taehyun’s question had forced you to face something you had been avoiding for weeks. You met his eyes firmly. “I am happy.” Taehyun frowned slightly. “You don’t have to say that—” “I’m not lying.” Your voice was steady. But inside, your chest felt tight. Because saying the words out loud made something else painfully clear. Your eyes flicked toward Heeseung. He stood there tense, jaw tight, clearly angry. But beneath that anger, you could see something else. Something raw.

Something vulnerable. “He works here every day,” you said quietly. “He helps with the restaurant. He handles customers. He fixes things when they break.” Heeseung blinked in surprise. You rarely praised him out loud. “But more than that,” you continued softly, “he chose to stay.” Your chest tightened as you spoke the next words. Because they were the truth you had been trying not to admit. “I’m happy because of him.” Silence filled the restaurant. Heeseung’s heart stuttered painfully in his chest. Because of… me?He stared at you like he had misheard. You avoided his eyes for a second, your fingers tightening around the edge of the counter. Your thoughts raced. When did this happen?Somewhere between the quiet mornings. The shared dinners. The way he laughed when the aunties teased him. The way he always made sure you ate before the restaurant got busy. Somewhere in those small moments— You had fallen for him.Taehyun studied your face carefully. Then he sighed softly. “…Then I guess I have my answer.”

He glanced briefly at Heeseung. This time, his expression wasn’t skeptical. It was understanding. “I’m glad you’re happy,” he said.

When he turned and left, the bell above the door chimed softly again.

The restaurant fell quiet. The aunties slowly returned to whispering. But Heeseung barely noticed. Because his chest felt like it might explode. Your words echoed loudly in his mind. I’m happy because of him. Because of him. A warmth spread through his chest so suddenly it almost hurt. But tangled inside that warmth was something terrifyingly clear. Because the jealousy he felt earlier— The anger at Taehyun. The fear that you might choose someone else. None of that made sense unless one thing was true. Slowly, Heeseung realized it. The truth settled into his chest with overwhelming clarity. He loved you. Completely. And hearing you admit that your happiness came from him, even indirectly, made his heart feel so full it was almost painful. For a moment, neither of you spoke. But in the quiet space between you, something had undeniably changed. The restaurant didn’t suddenly get louder. If anything, it felt quieter. Too quiet. The clinking of spoons, the low hum of conversation from the aunties—it all faded into the background like distant noise underwater.

Because all you could hear was your own heartbeat. And him. You swallowed, fingers still gripping the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. You hadn’t meant to say it like that. You hadn’t meant to say it at all. But now it was out there. And he heard you. Heeseung didn’t move at first. He just stood there, staring at you like he was trying to piece something together—like everything that had happened over the past few months had finally clicked into place all at once. “Y/N…” his voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it. Not annoyed. Not teasing. Just… careful. Your chest tightened. “What?” You didn’t look away this time. You couldn’t. He took a slow step forward. Then another. Each step felt louder than it should’ve, like the whole room could hear it—even though no one was paying attention anymore. “You said…” he started, then stopped, like the words didn’t come as easily as they usually did for him. That alone made your stomach twist. “When you said you’re happy because of me…”

Your breath hitched slightly. “I didn’t mean—” you started quickly, instinctively, but he cut you off. “Don’t,” he said softly. You froze.“Don’t take it back.”

That made your chest ache.

Because you weren’t trying to take it back.

You were trying to protect yourself.

He finally reached the counter, close enough now that you could see the small shift in his expression—the way his usual confidence was gone, replaced with something more uncertain. More real.

“I need to know,” he said, voice low, almost rough. “Was that true?”

The question sat heavily between you.

You could lie.

You could brush it off, laugh it away, say it didn’t mean anything.

That would be easier.

Safer.

But you were tired of pretending. Your fingers slowly loosened their grip on the counter. “…Yeah,” you admitted quietly. The word barely made it past your lips. But it was enough. Something in his expression broke—just slightly. Not in a bad way. Just… like something he’d been holding onto finally gave way. His shoulders dropped a fraction. And then he let out a small breath you didn’t realize he’d been holding. “…Good,” he murmured. Your brows pulled together. “Good?” A faint, almost disbelieving smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Yeah,” he said. “Because I don’t think I could’ve handled it if you said no.” Your heart skipped. “What are you talking about?” He looked at you then. Really looked.

And this time, there was no arrogance. No teasing. No distance. Just honesty. “I was jealous,” he said simply. You blinked. “I noticed.” He huffed a quiet breath, almost amused. “Not just today. Not just because of him.” His jaw tightened slightly before he continued. “Every time someone looks at you. Talks to you like they know you better than I do.” Your chest tightened. “I hate it,” he admitted. The words came out blunt. Unfiltered. “I hate that there are parts of your life I wasn’t there for. That someone else was.” Silence. You didn’t know what to say to that. Because part of you understood. Too well. “I didn’t understand it at first,” he continued, running a hand through his hair, frustration creeping into his voice—but not at you. At himself. “I just thought it was… pride. Or annoyance. Or whatever.” He let out a quiet, almost bitter laugh. “But it’s not.” Your heart started pounding harder. Because you knew where this was going. And it terrified you. His eyes met yours again. “It’s because I—”

He stopped. For a split second, doubt flickered across his face. And that alone was enough to shake you. Because Lee Heeseung didn’t hesitate. Not like this. Not ever. Your voice came out softer than you expected. “…Because you what?” He swallowed. Then said it. “I like you.” Your breath caught. But he didn’t stop there. “That’s not even it,” he added quickly, shaking his head like that wasn’t enough. “I’ve liked you for a while now.” Your chest felt tight. Too tight. “And I didn’t realize how bad it was until I thought—” he paused, jaw clenching slightly, “—until I thought you might actually choose someone else.” Your fingers curled slightly against the counter. “…Heeseung—”

“I’m serious,” he said, voice firm now. “I don’t like the idea of you with anyone else. I don’t like seeing you smile at someone the way you smile when you’re comfortable. I don’t like feeling like I could lose something I didn’t even realize I had.” Your heart was racing. Because everything he was saying… You felt it too. “I don’t know when it happened,” he admitted more quietly now. “Somewhere between the mornings. The restaurant. You yelling at me for doing things wrong.” You almost laughed through the tension. “Hey—” “But it did,” he said, cutting you off gently. “And now I can’t pretend it didn’t.” Silence fell again. But this time, it wasn’t heavy. It was fragile. Like something important was balancing between you, waiting to see if it would fall apart—or finally settle. Your throat felt dry. “…You’re making this complicated,” you whispered.

He shook his head slightly. “No. It’s already complicated.” That was true. A fake marriage. A one-year contract. Feelings that weren’t supposed to exist. You looked down at your hands.“…We weren’t supposed to feel like this.”

“I know.”

“…This wasn’t part of the deal.”

“I know.”

Your chest tightened.

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

That was the real question.

He didn’t answer right away.

For once, he didn’t have something quick or confident to say.

Instead, he leaned slightly against the counter, closer to you now than he had ever been before.

Close enough that you could feel the warmth from him.

Close enough that your heart wouldn’t slow down.

“…I don’t know,” he admitted.

Honest.

Again. “But I know I don’t want to go back to how it was before.” Your eyes lifted slowly to meet his. “…Me neither.” The words slipped out before you could stop them. And the moment they did— Something shifted. Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just quietly. Like two pieces finally falling into place. Heeseung’s gaze softened. And for the first time since all of this started… Neither of you felt like you were pretending anymore. “…We should get back to work,” you said quietly. Neither of you moved. “Yeah,” he replied. Still nothing. Your fingers tightened slightly against the counter. “Heeseung.” “Mm.”

“You’re still standing there.” “I know.” You exhaled softly, something between a sigh and a nervous laugh. “This is weird.”

“…A little.”

But his voice didn’t sound uncomfortable.

If anything, it sounded… calmer than before.

That made your stomach flip.

Finally, you forced yourself to move—turning slightly, reaching for a stack of bowls just to give your hands something to do.

The moment you shifted, the space between you returned. And somehow, that felt worse. You focused on the dishes, trying to ignore the way your thoughts kept circling back to what he said. I like you.Not teasing. Not careless. Real. You swallowed. Across from you, Heeseung picked up the cloth again, wiping down the counter—but his movements were slower now. Less automatic. Like his mind wasn’t fully there anymore.

“…So what now?” he asked after a moment.

You paused.

That question again.

It sounded heavier this time.

You set the bowl down carefully. “…I don’t know.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I have.”

Silence.

He leaned his weight slightly against the counter, eyes on you. “We can’t just ignore it.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“But you’re not exactly doing anything either.”

You shot him a look. “What do you want me to do?”

He held your gaze.

And for once, he didn’t have a quick comeback.

That should’ve made you feel better.

Instead, it made everything feel more real.

“…This wasn’t supposed to happen,” you said again, softer now.

“I know.”

“…We made a deal.”

“One year.”

“And then it’s over.”

The words hung there.

Sharp.

Too sharp.

Heeseung’s jaw tightened slightly. “…Is that what you want?” he asked.

The question caught you off guard. Your brows pulled together. “What?”

“When the year ends,” he said, more slowly now, like he was choosing each word carefully, “do you actually want it to be over?”

Your heart stuttered.

You hadn’t let yourself think that far.

You weren’t supposed to.

This was temporary.

It had always been temporary.

But now—

The thought of him leaving felt… wrong.

Your grip on the edge of the counter tightened. “…I don’t know,” you admitted.

It was honest.

It was terrifying.

He watched you closely, like he was trying to read something you weren’t saying out loud. “…That’s not a no.”

You let out a small breath. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Read into everything I say.”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips—but it didn’t fully form. “Too late.”

You rolled your eyes, but it came out weaker than usual.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

You were thinking about it now.

About the end.

About what it would mean to go back to a life where he wasn’t there—no early morning complaints, no quiet help in the kitchen, no presence filling the small space of your home.

Your chest tightened. “…You’d leave,” you said before you could stop yourself.

He blinked. “What?”

“When the year ends,” you clarified, trying to sound casual and failing slightly. “You’d go back to your life.”

“My life,” he repeated.

“Your real one.”

Something in his expression shifted. “…You think this isn’t real?” he asked quietly.

You hesitated. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

You looked away briefly, gathering your thoughts. “…I mean… this isn’t where you’re supposed to be.”

He let out a quiet breath. “And where exactly am I supposed to be?” he asked.

“In the city. With your family. Your money. Your—everything.”

“And leave this?” he asked.

You looked back at him.

He gestured lightly around the restaurant. “…Leave you?”

Your heart skipped. “That’s not what I said.”

“But it’s what you meant.”

“No,” you said quickly. “I just—this isn’t your world.”

He went still.

For a second, you thought you’d crossed a line.

Then—

“…Maybe it is now.”

Your breath caught.

He didn’t say it loudly. He didn’t need to.

Because something about the way he said it—steady, certain—made it land harder than anything else he’d said so far.

“You really think I’m going just to walk away from this like it didn’t matter?” he continued.

You didn’t answer.

Because you didn’t know how.

“I hated it at first,” he admitted. “The house. The bus. The food. Everything.”

You huffed faintly. “I remember.”

“But that’s not what it is anymore.”

Your chest tightened again. “…Then what is it?” you asked quietly.

He held your gaze. “You.”

The word hit harder than it should have.

Simple.

Direct.

Dangerous.

Your lips parted slightly, but nothing came out.

He took a small step closer again—not as close as before, but enough to make your heart start racing all over again. “This place matters because you’re here,” he said. “The restaurant matters because it’s yours. None of this feels like something I’m being forced into anymore.”

Your throat felt tight.

“So no,” he added softly. “I don’t think I’d just leave.”

Silence wrapped around you again.

But this time, it felt heavier.

Because now the line between “fake” and “real” had blurred beyond recognition.

“…You’re making this harder,” you whispered.

“I know.”

“…You’re not supposed to say things like that.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Why not?”

“Because,” you exhaled, frustrated, “this isn’t supposed to be real.”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he stepped just a little closer.

Close enough that if either of you leaned even slightly—

You swallowed.

“…What if it is?” he asked quietly.

Your heart pounded.

“This—us,” he continued. “What if it stopped being fake a long time ago and we just didn’t want to admit it?”

You couldn’t breathe properly.

Because he was right.

And that made everything more complicated than you were ready for.

“…Heeseung,” you said softly, almost a warning.

But it didn’t sound like one.

It sounded like hesitation.

Like uncertainty.

Like something else entirely.

His gaze dropped briefly—to your lips—then back to your eyes.

And that tiny shift was enough to send heat rushing through your chest.

The air between you changed instantly.

Thicker.

Charged.

Neither of you moved.

But neither of you pulled away either.

Your voice came out barely above a whisper.

“…Don’t.”He stilled.

“Don’t what?” he asked quietly.

You didn’t answer right away. Because you didn’t even know what you were asking him not to do. Don’t cross the line? Don’t make this real? Don’t make it harder to pretend later? Your chest rose and fell unevenly. “…Don’t make this something I can’t walk away from,” you finally said. The words landed softly. But they hit. Hard. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Not hurt. Not exactly. But something close.“…What if I don’t want you to walk away?” he said.

Your heart clenched. “That’s not your choice.”

“Maybe not.” Silence. “But it’s not just yours either.”

You froze.

Because he was right again.

And that scared you more than anything.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then— The bell above the door chimed. Loud. Sharp. Real. Both of you pulled back slightly, like the moment had been interrupted just in time. A couple stepped inside, chatting casually, completely unaware of the storm they had just walked into. You turned quickly, grabbing the nearest towel just to keep your hands busy. “Welcome,” you said, your voice almost normal. Almost. Behind you, Heeseung let out a slow breath. And for the rest of the afternoon— Neither of you said another word about it. But the tension didn’t fade. If anything… It settled deeper. Because now you both knew. There was no going back to how things were before. And sooner or later—

One of you was going to have to decide what this really meant. That night, the house felt different. Not quieter. Not louder. Just… heavier. Like something had followed you home from the restaurant and settled into the walls, into the air, into every small space between you. You moved through your usual routine on autopilot—washing dishes, wiping the counter, setting things back where they belonged. Heeseung did the same, drying the last bowl beside you without being asked. Neither of you brought it up. Not what he said. Not what you said. But it lingered anyway. It was there in the way your shoulders brushed once… and neither of you pulled away immediately. In the way your eyes met for a second too long over something meaningless. In the silence that wasn’t empty anymore—just full of things neither of you knew how to say. Eventually, there was nothing left to do. The lights dimmed. The house settled.

And the moment you had been avoiding all evening finally arrived. Sleeping. You stood near the kitchen, hands resting lightly against the table, staring at nothing in particular. Behind you, the couch creaked softly as Heeseung shifted, grabbing the familiar thin blanket. The same one he had complained about months ago. Now he didn’t say anything. That somehow made it worse. You turned slightly, watching him out of the corner of your eye. The way he moved—quieter now, more used to the space. Like he had already accepted it. Like he wasn’t expecting anything more. “…You don’t have to sleep there.” The words slipped out before you could stop them. He froze, the blanket paused halfway in his hands. Slowly, he looked up at you. “…What?” he asked. You swallowed, heart already starting to race. “I said…” You hesitated, suddenly very aware of how small the house felt, how close he was, how there was nowhere to hide from this. “…you don’t have to sleep on the couch.” Silence. Heeseung straightened slowly, the blanket slipping slightly from his grip. “…Where else would I sleep?” he asked, quieter now. You forced yourself to meet his eyes. “The bed.” The words hung in the air. Clear. Unavoidable. For a second, he didn’t react at all. Then—

“…With you?” he said. Your face warmed immediately. “It’s not a big deal,” you said quickly, even though it very much was. “There’s enough space. And the couch is—” you glanced at it briefly, “—terrible.” A faint breath left him, almost like a laugh, but softer. “You just figured that out?” You ignored that. “I’m serious,” you added, voice steadier now. “You don’t have to keep sleeping there.” Another pause. He looked at you—really looked this time, trying to read something. “…Are you sure?” he asked. And that question— It wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t arrogant. It was careful. Like he knew this meant more than just sleep. Your chest tightened again. Because he was right. It did. You hesitated for half a second too long. But then you nodded. “…Yeah.” Your voice came out softer this time. “I’m sure.” Silence stretched. Heeseung exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “…Okay.” Just one word. But it shifted everything. You nodded once, turning quickly before he could see the way your expression changed. “I’ll—uh—change first.” You disappeared into the bedroom faster than you meant to. The moment the door closed behind you, you leaned back against it, pressing your hand lightly to your chest.

What are you doing?

Your heart was pounding too fast.

This was just sleeping.

That’s it.

Nothing else.

You changed quickly, hands moving faster than your thoughts could keep up. But your mind wouldn’t quiet.

You remembered the way he looked at you earlier.

The way his voice softened when he said your name.

The way he almost—

You shook your head, pushing the thought away.

Don’t think about it.

Just sleep.

You pulled the blanket back and climbed into bed, staying firmly on one side, leaving space.

A lot of space.

Just in case.

Outside, you could hear him moving.

Slower.

More hesitant than usual.

The couch creaked one last time—then stopped.

A few seconds passed.

Then the door opened.

You felt it before you saw him.

Your entire body tensed slightly as he stepped inside.

Heeseung paused near the doorway.

The room suddenly felt even smaller than usual.

“…You’re taking up half the bed,” he said quietly.

You stared straight ahead at the wall. “There’s still space.”

“Barely.”

“Then don’t move around so much.”

A small breath of amusement left him.

But he didn’t argue. Instead, he moved closer.

Each step felt louder than it should have.

The mattress dipped slightly as he sat down on the edge.

Your heart jumped.

Then—

He shifted.

And laid down.

Carefully.

Like he was trying not to disturb you.

The bed dipped again under his weight, the space between you shrinking instantly.

Not touching.

But close.

Too close.

The warmth from him was immediate.

You stared at the wall, suddenly hyper-aware of everything—the sound of his breathing, the slight movement of the mattress when he adjusted, the faint scent of soap and something distinctly him.

“…This is better than the couch,” he muttered quietly.

You huffed softly. “Obviously.”

Silence.

But not the same silence as before.

This one was… charged.

Your hands rested stiffly against the blanket, unsure of where to go.

You could feel him beside you.

Every inch.

“…You’re tense,” he said after a moment.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m fine.”

A small pause. Then—

“…Relax.”

You almost scoffed. “Easy for you to say.”

“You invited me.”

Your face warmed again. “Don’t remind me.”

A quiet chuckle came from beside you. And somehow, that sound did more to settle your nerves than anything else. Your shoulders loosened just slightly.

Minutes passed.

Neither of you moved much. But slowly… the tension began to ease.

Your breathing evened out. Your body adjusted to the unfamiliar presence beside you.

And then—

Without thinking—

You shifted. Just slightly.

Your arm brushed against his.

Both of you stilled. The contact was light. Barely anything. But it felt like everything.

Your breath caught. You waited for him to move away.

He didn’t. Instead—

His arm shifted too. Just enough that it rested more comfortably beside yours.

Not pulling away. Not pulling you closer. Just… there.

Your heart started racing again. But this time, it wasn’t panic. It was something softer. Warmer.

“…Y/N,” he said quietly.

You swallowed. “…Yeah?”

A pause.

Like he was thinking.

Then—

“…Goodnight.”

You blinked.

That’s it?

Something in your chest loosened unexpectedly.

“…Goodnight,” you replied softly.

The room fell quiet again.

The kind of quiet that didn’t feel heavy anymore.

Just… full.

Safe.

And as the minutes passed, your body slowly relaxed further, your eyes growing heavier.

Beside you, his breathing steadied.

And for the first time since all of this started—

You didn’t feel like you were pretending. You didn’t feel like this was temporary. You just felt…

Comfortable.

Your fingers shifted slightly against the blanket. Then, without thinking—they brushed his again.

This time, neither of you pulled away.

And somewhere between that quiet contact and the steady rhythm of his breathing—

You fell asleep. Together.

The room is quiet in that soft, fragile way that only exists late at night. You don’t mean to say it out loud.

Morning comes quietly.

Soft light slips through the curtains, pale and warm, brushing across your face.

You don’t wake up all at once. It’s slow—like your body realizes something before your mind does.

Warmth.

Weight.

Comfort.

Your fingers twitch slightly, and that’s when you notice it.

You’re not just close anymore. You’re curled into him.

Your face is tucked against his chest, one arm loosely wrapped around his side, your leg tangled with his like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His arm is draped around you, hand resting securely against your back, holding you there even in sleep.

For a second, you freeze. Your heart stutters, then starts racing.

When did this happen…?

Carefully—very carefully—you tilt your head just enough to look up at him.

Heeseung is still asleep.

His expression is softer than you’ve ever seen it. No tension, no teasing smirk, no guarded look—just peaceful. His grip on you tightens slightly, almost instinctively, like he’s reacting to your movement even without waking up.

Like he doesn’t want you to go.

Your breath catches. Something warm spreads through your chest, unfamiliar and overwhelming all at once.

You should move. You know you should. But you don’t.

Instead, you stay there for a moment longer than you mean to, listening to his steady heartbeat under your ear, feeling the quiet comfort of being held like this—like you belong there.

Then, slowly, his breathing shifts.

His eyes flutter open. For a split second, he looks confused. Then he realizes. And freezes.

Neither of you move.

Neither of you speak.

But the space between you—gone now, completely gone—feels heavier than ever.

His eyes meet yours. And just like that, everything becomes real.

You’re still pressed against him. His arm is still wrapped around your back, holding you like he forgot how to let go. Your leg is tangled with his, your hand resting against his chest, where you can feel his heartbeat—fast now, no longer calm like it was moments ago.

Neither of you moves.

It’s like if either of you does, the moment will shatter.

“…Morning,” he says finally, his voice quieter than usual, still rough with sleep.

You swallow. “…Morning.”

But neither of you makes any effort to pull away.

Your mind is screaming at you to move—to create space, to fix this, to make it less something—but your body won’t listen. Not when he’s warm, not when he’s looking at you like that.

Like he’s thinking the same thing you are.

Don’t move yet.

His fingers shift slightly against your back, barely there, but enough for you to notice. Like he’s becoming aware of what he’s doing… and still not stopping.

“You move a lot in your sleep,” he murmurs, a small, almost teasing smile tugging at his lips.

Your brows knit together. “I do not—”

“You do,” he interrupts softly. “You were all the way over there.”

His hand lifts just enough to gesture vaguely behind you before settling back against you again—like it belongs there.

“And then you just…” he hesitates, glancing down at the way you’re curled into him, “…ended up here.”

Heat rushes to your face.

“I didn’t mean to,” you mumble, suddenly very aware of everything—how close you are, how your hand is still resting on him, how his thumb is slowly, absentmindedly brushing against your back.

He hums quietly. “Didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

Your breath catches.

There’s a pause.

A long one.

The kind that stretches just enough to feel dangerous.

Your fingers curl slightly against his shirt. “We should probably—”

“Yeah,” he agrees.

But he doesn’t move.

You don’t either.

Instead, his gaze softens, drifting over your face like he’s memorizing it—like he’s noticing things he hasn’t let himself notice before.

“Are you comfortable?” he asks suddenly.

The question catches you off guard.

“…What?”

“Like this,” he clarifies, quieter now. “With me.”

Your heart pounds.

You should lie.

You should brush it off, laugh it away, make it easier for both of you.

But the words don’t come.

“…Yeah,” you admit softly.

His expression changes—just slightly, but enough.

Something in his eyes warms, deepens. “…Me too.”

The air shifts.

It’s not awkward anymore.

It’s something else.

Something softer.

Something a little harder to ignore.

His hand slides just a little more securely against your back, pulling you a fraction closer—not enough to be obvious, but enough that you feel it.

Enough that it means something.

You exhale slowly. “People are gonna talk if they see this,” you whisper, even though there’s no one around.

A faint smile tugs at his lips. “Let them.”

Your heart stumbles.

That shouldn’t make you feel the way it does.

But it does.

And neither of you pulls away.

Not yet.

His gaze drops.

It’s subtle at first—just a flicker—but you notice.

From your eyes… to your lips.

And then back again.

Your breath catches, the shift so small but so loud at the same time.

Heeseung goes still.

Like he’s realizing it too.

Like he didn’t mean to look—but now that he has, he can’t stop.

The space between you suddenly feels thinner than ever. One small movement, and—

His hand tightens slightly against your back.

Not pulling you in. Not pushing you away. Just… holding.

Like he’s stuck in the middle of a decision he’s not sure he’s allowed to make.

Your heart is racing now, loud enough you’re sure he can hear it. Your fingers curl more firmly into his shirt without you meaning to, like you’re bracing yourself for something that hasn’t happened yet.

He swallows. “…Y/N.” Your name sounds different coming from him like this. Quieter. Careful.

You don’t answer.

You’re not even sure you can.

His eyes flick down to your lips again, slower this time. Lingering.

And this time… he doesn’t look away right away.

You feel it—the hesitation, the want, the restraint.

He inches closer.

Barely.

So close you can feel his breath now, warm against your skin.

And then he stops.

Right there.

Like there’s an invisible line he’s afraid to cross.

His brows knit slightly, conflict written all over his face. “I don’t know if I should—”

But he doesn’t finish the sentence.

Because he already knows the answer.

Or maybe he doesn’t.

Maybe that’s the problem.

His thumb brushes against your back again, slower this time, grounding himself. “Say something,” he murmurs, voice low, almost unsteady. “Because if you don’t…” He exhales shakily. “…I’m not sure I’ll stop.”

The words hang between you.

Heavy.

Honest.

And so, so close to dangerous.

He doesn’t move any closer.

But he doesn’t pull away either.

He’s waiting.

For you.

You don’t say anything.

And somehow… that is your answer.

His eyes search yours one more time—like he’s giving you a chance to stop him, to pull away, to make this easier.

You don’t.

Your grip on his shirt tightens just slightly instead.

That’s all it takes.

Heeseung exhales softly, as if something in him finally gives way, and then he closes the distance.

The kiss is gentle.

Careful.

Like he’s afraid you might disappear if he presses too hard.

For a second, it’s barely there—just the soft brush of his lips against yours, testing, uncertain.

And then—

You melt into it.

Your eyes flutter shut, your hand instinctively sliding up from his chest to rest against his shoulder, holding onto him like you need something steady. The hesitation between you fades, replaced by something warmer, deeper, something that had been building long before this moment.

His hand shifts against your back, pulling you closer—this time without stopping, without second-guessing.

The kiss deepens, not rushed, not overwhelming—just… real.

Like he’s been wanting this.

Like you both have.

Your heart is pounding so hard it almost feels unreal, your thoughts completely scattered, reduced to nothing but the feeling of him—warm, close, here.

When he finally pulls back, it’s slow.

Reluctant.

His forehead rests lightly against yours, both of you breathing a little heavier now, like you just crossed something neither of you can undo.

Neither of you speaks at first.

You just stay there.

Close.

Too close to pretend this didn’t mean anything.

His thumb brushes softly against your side again, almost absentminded, but there’s nothing uncertain about him anymore.

“…So,” he murmurs, voice low, a little breathless. “That happened.”

A small, nervous smile tugs at your lips, even though your heart is still racing.

“…Yeah.”

There’s a pause.

Then his gaze softens again, something more certain settling in this time.

And instead of pulling away—

He leans in again.

Because now that he’s kissed you once…

He doesn’t want to stop.

–

Rain tapped softly against the windows, steady and quiet, like the world had decided to slow down for the night.

The house was dim, lit only by a single lamp in the corner and the faint glow from the kitchen. Everything felt warmer when it rained—closer somehow.

You sat on the floor near the low table, a blanket draped over your legs, carefully folding laundry that had long since cooled. It was a simple task, one you didn’t mind. It gave your hands something to do, your thoughts somewhere soft to land.

Heeseung, however, had been watching you for the past five minutes.

Doing absolutely nothing about it.

You could feel it without even looking up.

“…What?” you finally asked, not bothering to hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

There was a pause.

Then, casually, “Nothing.”

You glanced up.

He was stretched out on the couch, one arm behind his head, the other lazily draped over the edge—completely relaxed, but his eyes were fixed on you in a way that made your chest tighten just a little.

“You’ve been staring,” you said.

“Am I not allowed to look at my wife?”

You rolled your eyes softly, folding another shirt. “Not like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re thinking too much.”

That made him smile.

He pushed himself up slowly, running a hand through his hair before walking over. The floor creaked lightly under his steps, and then he was right there—hovering just long enough to make your heart beat faster before he dropped down beside you.

Closer than necessary.

Always closer than necessary.

“You caught me,” he said quietly.

You didn’t look at him this time. “What were you thinking about?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, his hand found the edge of the blanket over your legs, absentmindedly smoothing it out—like he needed something to do while he figured out how to say it.

“…This,” he said finally.

You paused, fingers stilling on the fabric in your hands. “Folding laundry?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “No.”

His shoulder bumped lightly against yours.

“You. Here. Like this.” His voice softened. “It still doesn’t feel real sometimes.”

Your chest tightened, just a little.

You set the shirt down slowly. “It’s real.”

“I know,” he said. “I just… didn’t think I’d get this.”

There was something honest in the way he said it. Not sad—just… genuine.

Like he was still adjusting to being happy.

You turned your head to look at him, really look at him. The softness in his expression, the way his eyes lingered on you like he was afraid you might disappear if he looked away.

“You gave up everything,” you said quietly.

He shook his head immediately. “I told you—”

“I know what you said,” you interrupted gently. “But it’s still true.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The rain filled the silence for you.

Then, slowly, you reached over, taking his hand in yours. His fingers curled around yours instantly, like it was instinct now.

“Then I’ll just have to make it worth it,” you said.

His expression shifted—something deeper, softer.

“You already do.”

Your heart skipped.

He leaned in slightly, his forehead brushing against yours, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

“You have no idea how much.”

The world outside kept moving—the rain falling, the wind brushing softly against the house—but inside, everything felt still again.

Safe.

Warm.

He tilted his head just enough, his nose brushing yours in that familiar, gentle way that always made you forget what you were saying.

“You’re distracting me,” you murmured, though your grip on his hand tightened.

“That’s the point.”

You let out a quiet breath, a small smile slipping through before you closed the distance.

The kiss was soft at first—slow, familiar, like something you’d both learned by heart. But when his hand came up to cup your cheek, pulling you just a little closer, it deepened without thinking.

Not rushed.

Not uncertain.

Just… sure.

Like everything between you had settled into something steady and real.

When you pulled back, your forehead rested against his again, both of you lingering there like neither of you wanted to let go fully.

After a moment, he glanced down at the half-folded laundry.

“…We’re not finishing that tonight, are we?”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Definitely not.”

“Good,” he said, already pulling the blanket further over both of you as he leaned back, taking you with him.

You didn’t protest.

Didn’t need to.

You just settled against him, your head resting comfortably against his shoulder as the rain continued outside.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

Just the quiet. The warmth. The steady rhythm of something that felt like peace.

But then—

“…We should tell her soon.”

His voice was softer this time. Careful.

You stilled slightly against him.

You knew who he meant.

Your mom.

Your fingers tightened just a little in the fabric of his shirt. “I know.”

Another pause.

“Are you nervous?” he asked.

You let out a small breath, staring ahead at nothing in particular. “A little.”

That felt like an understatement.

It wasn’t that you thought she’d be angry—no, that wasn’t it. It was the opposite.

She loved you. She worried about you. She had been through so much already.

And now you were going to stand in front of her and say: I got married.

Just like that.

Quietly.

Without her there.

“I don’t want her to feel left out,” you admitted.

Heeseung’s arm tightened around you instantly.

“She won’t,” he said gently. “She knows you. She knows this wasn’t… some careless decision.”

You swallowed.

“She’s going to cry.”

He huffed softly. “Yeah. She definitely is.”

Despite yourself, you smiled a little.

“And what if she doesn’t like you?” you added, glancing up at him.

He looked down at you, pretending to think about it.

“…Then I’ll just have to win her over.”

“You already did,” you murmured. “You just don’t know it yet.”

His expression softened at that.

“Then we’ll be okay,” he said.

You nodded slowly, letting your head fall back against his shoulder again.

“We’ll go tomorrow,” you said quietly. “Or… soon.”

“Soon,” he agreed.

His hand found yours again under the blanket, fingers lacing together like they always did.

No hesitation.

No doubt.

Just steady.

The rain began to lighten outside, the soft tapping fading into something quieter, gentler—like the storm was passing.

And somehow, it felt the same for you.

There were still things ahead.

Conversations.

Reactions.

Change.

But here, in this moment, wrapped up in his arms with your future waiting just a little closer than before—

It didn’t feel overwhelming.

It felt possible.

And as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, holding you just a little tighter, you realized—

You weren’t afraid of it anymore.

Because you wouldn’t be facing it alone.

Your hand is still wrapped around Heeseung’s as you step inside, your thumb brushing faintly against his skin like you need the reassurance that he’s really here. That this is real.

“…You ready?” he murmurs.

You nod, even though your heart is beating a little too fast. “Just—let me talk first.”

He gives a small smile. “I’ll behave.”

You glance at him. “…You better.”

That earns a quiet huff of amusement, and for a second, it calms you.

Then you step into the sitting room.

Your mom is already there.

She looks up the moment she hears you, her eyes immediately softening when they land on you—like they always do.

But then she notices him.

Her gaze lingers.

Curious. Gentle. Careful.

“…You brought someone,” she says quietly.

You nod, stepping forward slightly. “Mom, this is Heeseung.”

Heeseung straightens beside you, respectful, calm. “It’s nice to meet you.”

She gives a small nod, but her attention is already shifting back to you—reading you, the way she always has.

“…What is this?” she asks, not harshly. Just… needing to understand.

You take a breath.

Your fingers tighten in his.

“We wanted to tell you something.”

Something in her expression softens further—like she already senses this matters.

“…Okay,” she says gently. “Tell me.”

Your throat feels tight.

But you say it anyway.

“We’re married.”

The words hang there.

Your mom doesn’t react right away.

She just looks at you.

Then at him.

Then at your hands.

And slowly… her expression changes.

Not to anger.

Not to shock.

But to something softer.

Something full.

Her hand lifts to her chest like she needs to steady her breathing. “…Married?” she repeats, her voice quieter now.

You nod.

“It’s been… a quiet romance,” you explain, glancing briefly at Heeseung. “We didn’t want to make it a big thing.”

Heeseung nods in agreement. “We just wanted it to be ours.”

Your mom’s eyes fill slightly.

And that catches you off guard.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, letting out a soft, emotional laugh as she wipes beneath her eyes. “I just—” She looks at you again, really looks. “You look… happy.” Your chest tightens. “I am,” you whisper. She exhales shakily, smiling through the tears. “Then that’s all I needed to know.” Relief hits you so suddenly that it almost makes your knees weak. “Really?” you ask. She nods, stepping closer. “Really.” Her gaze shifts to Heeseung again—but this time, it’s different.

Warm. Welcoming. “You must care about her very much,” she says softly. Heeseung doesn’t hesitate. “I do.” “And you’ll take care of her?” His grip on your hand tightens just slightly. “Always.” Something in her expression melts completely at that. She reaches out, gently taking his free hand in both of hers. “Then…” she says, her voice trembling just a little, “I’m grateful you found each other.” You blink quickly, your vision blurring. “Mom…” She pulls you into a hug without warning, holding you tighter than usual—like she’s been waiting for this moment longer than you realized. “I’m so happy for you,” she whispers. You cling to her, your heart full and aching all at once. When she pulls back, she laughs softly again, wiping her eyes. “…I never thought I’d see the day.” Then she looks at Heeseung, smiling warmly. “I suppose I have a son-in-law now.” Heeseung blinks, a little surprised—but something soft settles in his expression. “…I’d like that,” he says quietly. Everything feels… right. Light. Like maybe, just maybe, things are going to be okay. — Later, as you and Heeseung step outside, the evening air feels cool against your skin. You exhale softly, your shoulders finally relaxing. “That went better than I expected,” you admit. Heeseung lets out a quiet breath beside you. “Yeah…” There’s something in his tone. Not doubt. Just… awareness. Like he knows things aren’t fully settled yet. Your fingers tighten in his again. “We’ll figure everything out,” you say softly. He glances at you, a faint smile forming. “We will.” Footsteps echo from behind you. You turn— And your heart drops. Heeseung’s grip on your hand goes rigid. His parents stand at the end of the path. Watching. Your stomach twists instantly. His mother speaks first, her voice tight. “So it’s true.” Silence crashes down. Heeseung steps slightly in front of you—not fully, but enough. “…What are you doing here?” he asks. His father’s expression is unreadable. “We came to bring you home.” “I’m not going back.” The words come too fast. Too certain. “You disappear, you ignore your responsibilities, and now you show up here and say something like that? As if it’s nothing?” “It’s not nothing,” he says, firmer now. “Then what is it?” she demands. “A rebellion? A phase? Because I promise you, this—” her gaze flicks to you again, sharp and dismissive, “—this is not worth throwing your life away. All for some poor girl.” Your chest tightens painfully. Before you can stop yourself, your fingers twitch in his hand—but Heeseung squeezes back, grounding you, stopping you from pulling away. “She's not just some poor girl, she's my wife,” he says, glaring coldly.  His father finally moves, stepping further into the room, his presence immediately commanding all attention. “You will come home,” he says, voice low and final. “We’ll discuss this properly.” “No.” The word is quiet. But it lands harder than anything else. His father’s eyes narrow. “…What?” “I’m not coming back,” Heeseung repeats, more clearly now. “I’m staying here.” Your breath catches. His mother lets out a disbelieving laugh again, but there’s no humor in it now—just anger. “You don’t get to decide that.” “I already have.” “You’re being irrational—” “I’m being honest,” he cuts in, sharper now. The shift is immediate. You feel it in the way his hand tightens around yours, in the way his shoulders square—not defensive anymore, but certain. His father’s voice drops even lower. “You are not throwing away everything we have built for you over a girl you barely know.” Something in your chest twists at that—but before you can react— “I know her enough,” Heeseung says. There’s something dangerous in how calm he sounds. “And I’m not throwing anything away.” His father takes another step closer. “You are if you stay here.” “Then maybe it wasn’t worth keeping.” The room goes completely still. Even your breathing feels too loud.

His mother stares at him like she doesn’t recognize him anymore. “Listen to yourself,” she says, her voice trembling slightly now—not weak, but furious. “Your future—your career—everything you’ve worked for—” “It was never mine,” he says. That lands. Hard. “You don’t mean that,” she insists. “I do.” “You’re just confused—” “I’m not confused,” he snaps, the first crack in his composure finally showing. “For once, I actually know what I want.” Silence. Heavy. Suffocating. His father exhales slowly, like he’s reached the end of his patience. “…If you walk away from this family,” he says, each word deliberate, “you do not come back.” Your heart drops. You feel it—this is it. The line. The point of no return. Heeseung doesn’t look at them. He looks at you. Just for a second. And there’s so much in that glance—certainty, apology, something soft and unspoken that makes your chest ache. Then he looks back at them. “…I know.” His mother’s composure finally cracks. “Heeseung—” “I’m staying,” he says. Final. Unshakable. His father’s expression hardens completely, any trace of emotion gone. “Then you will have nothing.” The words hit like a slap. “No inheritance,” he continues coldly. “No financial support. No connection to this family whatsoever.” Your stomach twists. His mother doesn’t argue. She just turns her face away, jaw tight, eyes glassy—but she says nothing. That silence hurts more than anything. “And when this falls apart,” his father adds, glancing at you with quiet disdain, “do not expect us to be there to fix your mistakes.” Your chest burns. But before you can react— “Don’t,” Heeseung says, low and sharp. It’s not loud. But it’s enough. His father pauses, eyes narrowing slightly—but he doesn’t continue. Instead, he turns. His mother hesitates for just a second—like she might say something, like she might reach for him— But she doesn’t. Then they're gone. The night feels heavier now. Colder. You look up at him, your heart twisting. “…Heeseung, I’m so sorry—” He shakes his head immediately. “Don’t,” he says, his voice softer now. “But—” “I meant what I said.” His hand tightens around yours again, pulling you just a little closer. “I’m staying,” he repeats. Your eyes sting. “You just lost everything…” He looks at you. Really looks at you.

And something in his expression softens in a way that makes your heart ache even more. “…Not everything.” Your breath catches. Behind you, the door opens. Your mom steps outside, her expression shifting immediately when she takes in your faces—then the empty path where his parents had been. “…What happened?” she asks softly. You don’t answer. You don’t need to. She looks at Heeseung. The way he's still holding your hand, at the quiet, heavy understanding in his eyes. And something in her softens even more. She steps closer, gently placing a hand on his arm. “…Then you’re not alone,” she says quietly. Heeseung blinks, just slightly. Your mom gives him a small, tearful smile. “You may have lost something tonight,” she continues, “but you gained a family too.” Your heart swells. His fingers tighten around yours again. And this time— He doesn’t look back. The house felt different after everything. Quieter—but not in the hollow, lonely way it once had been. This quiet was warm. Lived in. Sunlight spilled lazily through the curtains, painting soft gold across the wooden floors. You stood near the window, fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of your sleeve, still not entirely used to how calm your life had become. No more hiding. No more fear of being taken away. No more pretending your heart didn’t belong to him. Behind you, you heard the faint creak of the floorboards before familiar arms slipped around your waist, gentle but sure. Heeseung rested his chin on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. “Thinking again?” he murmured. You smiled, leaning back into him. “Just… everything.” His grip tightened slightly, like he was grounding himself—like he still needed to remind himself you were really here. “We survived it,” he said softly. You nodded, your gaze drifting toward the kitchen. Your mom was there, moving slowly—carefully—as she stirred something on the stove. The sound of her quiet humming filled the space, softer than it used to be, but still there—still hers. The medicine had helped. More than anyone had dared to hope. It hadn’t been easy—the cost, the waiting, the fear that it might not work—but somehow, it had. Enough to bring her home. Enough to give her color back in her cheeks, even if it was faint. She was still weak. You could see it in the way she leaned a little too heavily against the counter sometimes, in how she tired more quickly than she used to. But she was here. And that was everything. Your chest tightened slightly, but not with sadness—something softer. Something grateful. Heeseung followed your gaze, his arms tightening around you just a little. “She looks stronger today,” he said gently. You nodded. “She is… because of you.” He shook his head immediately, almost stubbornly. “No. Because she fought. I just… helped where I could.” You turned in his arms, looking up at him. There was something different in his eyes now—not the polished confidence he used to wear, not the weight of expectation from a life he’d left behind.

This was lighter. Freer. Happier. “You gave up a lot,” you whispered. Heeseung didn’t hesitate this time. “I chose something better.” His hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing gently over your skin like it was something precious—something he still couldn’t believe was his. “I chose you.” Your heart stuttered, even now, even after everything. “You’re my home,” he added quietly. For a moment, all you could do was look at him. At the boy who had walked into your life unexpectedly, who had stayed when it was hard, who had chosen love when it cost him everything else. And somehow, neither of you regretted it. Not even a little. You leaned in first this time, pressing a soft kiss to his lips—familiar now, easy, filled with something deeper than that first hesitant moment. He smiled into it, his arms pulling you closer like he always did, like he always would. From the kitchen, your mom glanced over at the two of you, a soft, teary smile forming on her lips. She didn’t say anything—she didn’t need to. That look said enough. It wasn’t the life any of you had planned. But it was yours. Simple mornings. Careful steps. Shared glances. Quiet laughter. Hands always finding each other without thinking.

And love—steady, unwavering, chosen every single day.

Heeseung pressed his forehead to yours, eyes closing briefly.

“Do you ever miss it?” he asked.

“The old life?”

You thought about it.

The fear. The loneliness. The distance.

Then you looked at your mom—still fragile, but alive. Still here. Then back at him.“No,” you said, your voice certain. “Not when I have this.” His smile was soft, but it held everything. “Good,” he whispered. Outside, the world moved on like it always did. But inside, in that small sunlit home, time felt slower. Kinder. Like it had finally decided to give you all a chance to just… be. Together.

Taglist:

or more popularly known as the Magic Finder. the North King’s son and heir, his touch is rumored to end the life of any magically-abled person. it is said that heeseung can sense magic, even without laying a finger on the accused, that he can tell a southern witch or warlock just by looking at them. 

you wonder if he can sense it in you now. 

“are you comfortable?” heeseung asks. you can see, despite the deep shadows left on his face by the sputtering fire, the quick glance of his eyes towards the chain holding you up. 

you want to laugh. you can feel a crude cackle bubble up in your chest at the question. comfortable? if capturing you and ripping you away from your family was comfort, then you must be the Witch Queen herself. 

you spit right on heeseung’s boot, glowering at his stony expression. this doesn’t faze him, and you expect nothing less from the seasoned general of the most brutal anti-magic force on this continent. he has dealt fatal blows and sentenced gory deaths to more people than you can imagine. one witch’s tantrum is nothing to him.

“at least i know you’re alert and receptive enough,” heeseung muses, moving closer so he’s eye level with you.

you can’t help the involuntary flinch of your body as the general’s princely features finally come into light. this is a man feared by tens of thousands of people. and he is looking right into your eyes. 

“what would you need to know that for?” you bite back. despite everything, your mouth still continues to lead you into potential danger. it’s what got you here in the first place.

“information,” heeseung responds simply, straightening. 

he pauses for a moment before turning to exit your cell, leaving you to ponder what he just said.

information? 

well, of course. 

he isn’t keeping you captive for the fun of it. the royal family of the north is lavish and spendthrift, but they’re efficient. they dare not uselessly venture past of the huge wall they constructed between the north and the south just to pluck whichever witch or warlock they encounter. though, they definitely can, if they wanted to. but, no. that goes against the peace accords, and what kind of royals would they be if they were to abuse their power? 

so they snatch up the ones that violate those same accords. the ones with the loose tongues, the vigilantes and vagrants that slip past the wall and back, smuggling supplies and infecting the north with their magic. 

the ones who openly express their dissent towards their oppressors.

the ones like you.

heeseung returns to the cell, a short stool in hand. you cower even further against the corner. he places the stool directly in front of you and sits, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees.

for a few seconds, he says nothing. just stares. you have half a mind to growl, to bare your teeth, to spit at him again. 

the prince chuckles, as if reading your thoughts.

“what’s your name?”

you’re startled by his question, your breath catching in your throat. you blink, unsure if you heard him right.

you don’t answer. instead, you turn away. as much as the cuffs will let you, that is.

a sigh escapes heeseung’s lips and you vaguely make out from the corner of your eye the way he straightens in his seat. 

“you are promised a fair and unbiased trial after we are done with you. until then, you will be fed and cared for,” heeseung begins. 

your eyes flash at him.

“fair? unbiased?” you feel yourself seethe with anger. 

“how will i be fed and cared for, your highness? chained up? stale bread thrown at me or shoved down my gullet?”

heeseung’s face remains unmoving. it infuriates you even more. 

“there is nothing fair or just about your people. it is lost on your nature to even think of being kind.” your voice echoes throughout the cavernous walls of the dungeon. 

there’s a rush of adrenaline through your body and you feel as if your magic is about to bleed right out of you. but you know that’s impossible. these walls, these chains, were made specifically for people like you. to cripple the extra hand you’ve been dealt. 

“if i were you, i’d just kill me and be done with it.” your voice drips with venom as you push each word out through gritted teeth. 

heeseung turns his face, letting the fire illuminate more of his features. realization hits you like a sickening punch to your gut when you see that he’s smiling. 

“now, why would i do that?” heeseung asks, as if you’d just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. 

a chill passes through you as the prince stands. this is it, you think. you’ve done it now.

he crouches down to your level, right within arm’s reach. if your arms were free, that is. but from where you sit, you could easily send him reeling with a strategically aimed kick to his crotch. 

your leg barely shifts back before both your ankles are gripped firmly by heeseung’s gloved hands. rage flares through you as you rear both your feet back in an attempt to shake him off but he merely tightens his hold. pain shoots up your legs as he forces you to stay still.

“let’s be civil here,” heeseung suggests, leaning closer. he raises both eyebrows, as if daring you to make a move. to spit on him again, to curse him, to bash your head against his.

despite it all, despite the indignation and the contempt and the history between his people and yours, you know there is nothing you can do to him that won’t come back to you ten times worse.

“fuck you,” is all you manage, turning away as you wince. he’s still holding onto your legs. he could break them if he so pleased.

the pressure around your ankles eases up, and you scramble back against the wall behind you, head hung low and thoroughly defeated. 

heeseung sighs softly, standing up and collecting the stool he sat on. he takes slow, measured steps towards the exit to your cell, as if he isn’t sure he wants to go just yet.

“we’ll try again once you’re fed and rested,” he says, pulling the heavy door open and stepping out. through the bars, you watch him fasten the lock before pocketing a ring of keys. 

you realize with startling clarity that he left the torch with you.

-

you’re not sure when you fell asleep, but you know that you had. because there’s a single moment of panic that seizes you as you hurtle into consciousness, hands scraping against cold, damp stone.

wait, that’s not right.

you jolt upright, eyes squinting as you try to regain your bearings. your head swivels up, observing the dying torch on its scone, the embers flickering out as it burns its last. you run a trembling hand through your hair—

your hand!

with widening eyes, you stare at the faint outline of your hands in front of you. free. unrestrained. you reach up to feel up against the wall and sure enough, the chains previously holding you back have been unlocked, allowing you to roam your cell freely. 

but why? and how come you weren’t aware when they set you free?

it must be the magic-draining walls. you’ve been sluggish and fatigued since you got here, and you can only attribute it to the clever way these northerners have figured out how to keep your people docile. 

the faint scent of bread pulls you out of your thoughts.

but it can’t be. 

we’ll try again once you’re fed and rested.

you cautiously crawl on your hands and knees, feeling around with your palms, trying to compensate for the lack of light down here. you can see the dark shapes of the things around you, barely illuminated by faraway torches further down the hall. 

you eye the cell in front of yours through the metal bars. you’re not sure if it’s occupied, if some other poor southern witch or warlock is imprisoned here with you. 

there could be more. there could be dozens of you. hundreds, even. 

your hand knocks against something, a loud scrape echoing around you. you startle, pulling your hand back as if burned. but the smell of the bread is unmistakable now.

you tentatively reach out once more and your fingers brush something soft and warm. crumbs cling to your fingertips and you don’t even wait to see if you have water to wash your meal down; you pinch the bread between your fingers and bring it up to your mouth, tearing off a sizable bite with your teeth. 

you’ve lost count of just how many days you’ve gone without food and drink. it occurs to you quite belatedly that this could have been poisoned. you freeze for a few seconds. 

but nothing happens. you don’t taste anything amiss in the bread. so you swallow, relief washing over you despite the growl from your stomach, demanding more. 

it turns out, there is water to be had. a small cup was deposited alongside the plate, and you readily gulp its contents until none remained. 

the sound of a heavy metal door opening somewhere down the hall gives you pause. your ears strain for a second before picking up the soft, measured footsteps of someone walking your way. you scramble back from the plate and cup, stationing yourself in the far corner where you woke up.

the footsteps grow louder and with it comes the glow of fire. your eyes adjust quicker this time as heeseung stops in front of your cell. he takes in your appearance for a few seconds before unlocking the door and stepping inside. 

you eye the hand that tucks the keys into his pocket.

“how are you feeling?”

you blink as the question registers. the silence stretches and heeseung sighs. you notice he has the stool with him again. 

how curious. the mighty prince and general brings around his own personal effects without an attendant. you would think someone like him would have some poor servant following him around everywhere he went. 

he sets the stool down in front of you before going to replace the burnt-out torch. he tosses the dead one into one corner. 

“i did say we’d try again when you’re in a much more…comfortable state,” heeseung reminds, confirming that he had something to do with the bread and water.

“what trick is this?” you whisper, barely loud enough for him to hear. 

heeseung smiles. “you’re the one well-versed in tricks here. not me.”

a flicker of indignation jolts you from the inside. “what i do aren’t tricks. they’re feats of magic that your bigoted brain couldn’t possibly begin to understand.”

heeseung seems unfazed by your outburst. he takes a seat, crossing his leg over the other languidly.

“then make me understand.”

“what game are you playing?” you sneer, only just remembering that no shackles held you back, that your captor was sitting in front of you, no visible indicators that he’s armed. 

you doubt this, though. he’s brazen, not stupid. 

your legs are shaky as you stand, an attempt to intimidate the man seated in front of you. but as it goes, the gods love a good joke. your knees immediately buckle, having been out of use for some time. you stumble back and hit your back against the wall before your body slides down onto the floor once more.

your cheeks and neck flare red and embarrassed tears sting your eyes. 

what more, heeseung’s fingers loosely circle your wrist, perhaps in an attempt to steady you before you had your little blunder. you wrench your arm out of his grasp, fighting the urge to smack him right across his face.

“i’m not in the habit of playing games,” heeseung states, resting his hand back on his lap. “unless it’s to beat and show up my father.”

this earns a snicker from you, which you promptly mask with a scowl. heeseung smiles, planting both his feet back on the ground before leaning forward. 

“oh yes. the North King can be bested. if only in a juvenile game of checkers,” he adds, as if the two of you are mere friends catching up over tea.

“why are you doing this?” you ask. you decide to take on a different approach. “i’m going to die anyway. i won’t survive long enough to reveal your grand plans to anyone. might as well share it with me.”

it’s heeseung’s turn to chuckle. “you’re not going to die. not soon, anyway.”

you pause, trying to make sense of what he just said. 

“then why am i here?” you demand. you sit up a little straighter, crowding into his space. any more and you’d be kneeling by his feet. 

“is it true you people experiment on us southerners? that those you capture are cut open so you can figure out where the magic comes from?”

heeseung doesn’t respond right away. he gives you a long, hard look. the lone torch illuminates one side of his face, much like yesterday, but it’s enough for your own eyes to see that this is no ordinary human. from his looks, to his posture, to the very air around him. there is something formidable and frightening about this man.

“we used to. they used to,” heeseung clarifies. “i don’t participate in such barbaric acts.”

confusion settles all over your face. “what?”

“we don’t do that anymore. at least, we’re trying not to,” heeseung explains. “you can only cut open a human body so many times before it becomes clear that the answers are not within intestines and innards.”

you cringe at his words. outlawed or not, too many of your people have suffered at the hands and knives of his. 

“but i do want to know where the magic comes from,” he continues. “statistically speaking, one in every four southerners i meet will be a witch or warlock. i only want to know why that is.”

“you know why that is,” you say, eyebrows pinching together.

“well yes, everyone knows about the legends of the gods and how they split the continent into two,” heeseung interjects, referring to what you were already thinking. “the sun for the north and the moon for the south. the north would be for progress and technology, while the south is for divinity and spirituality.”

“i just want to further my knowledge of your people,” he concludes.

“you and your thirst for knowledge,” you let out through gritted teeth. “the legends say it as it is. there isn’t any more to that. it is the way of the world.”

you take in a deep breath before continuing. “i have magic in my veins because the gods willed it. i can turn your head into an onion if i wanted to. there is no explanation for that other than the gods wanted the world to be this way.”

heeseung laughs and annoyance pinches in your chest. 

“what?” you demand.

“you can’t turn my head into an onion,” he says with a grin. even in this light, half of his face obscured by shadows, you can tell that his expression is meant to be warm. amused. 

almost kind.

“witches and warlocks have specialized magic, yes?” heeseung states more than asks. 

“tell me about yours,” he says.

his voice turns gentler. it irritates you, that he even knows to ask about it. how his and his people’s hubris allow them to believe that the legends, the very origin story of how the world was created, could be questioned and proven otherwise.

“i’m an elementalist,” you say. 

it’s the truth. there isn’t a way to prove it with all your magic sapped out of you, but you bare your arm to him.

the mark of an elementalist is a triangle, with the wielder’s element inscribed within. an inscription with three lines curling into a wave is seared into your skin. 

“water,” heeseung mumbles. his eyes meet yours as he reaches for your arm. you draw it back before he can go any further.

the two of you stare at each other once more. his eyes drop to your arm, where your tattered sleeve has covered your mark. 

“it’s proven that water elementalists are especially powerful due to water’s connection to the moon,” heeseung says matter-of-factly. 

“your power is closely tied with your creator.” 

“so you do believe in the creation legends?” you counter, crossing your arms in front of you. 

he doesn’t answer. 

the way heeseung is eyeing you triggers an uneasy twist in your gut, so you tear your own gaze away and instead stare at his gloved hands.

“why do you always wear gloves?” you ask. “can you really feel someone else’s magic just by touching them?”

heeseung raises a brow. but he says nothing. 

you let out a huff. “all the stories say you have your gloves on at all times. is that true?”

“not always,” heeseung responds.

“when do you take them off?”

“when i’m alone.”

your mind wanders. 

what is Prince Heeseung of the North like when he’s alone? what facets of him have his bedroom walls seen that no one else has? has someone gotten close enough to see him without his gloves? 

“you know, i’ve never seen a water elementalist in action.”

heeseung’s voice draws you out of your thoughts. you narrow your eyes at him.

“is this part of your experiments?” you challenge. “you watch a witch or warlock use their magic, ask them questions, make them do things, and when you have enough information, you put them down like some dog?”

heeseung shrugs. “yes.”

you expected as much. but it disgusted you no less. 

“you may not cut our flesh as you used to, but you kill us for what we can offer you just the same,” you practically spat out.

“it’s the way of the world,” heeseung supplies, smirking. 

there’s a flash of heat that shoots through your body and your arm moves back in preparation for a swing. you expect your hand to connect loudly with that pristine face of his, but one of his large hands intercepts before you can even come close.

“you know better than to try that,” heeseung says coolly. 

you struggle against his hold but he doesn’t let go. 

“you’re disgusting,” you seethe. “you’re evil and prejudiced and callous in how you treat us southerners.”

you let yourself fall limp in his hold and only then does he let you go. 

heeseung pushes himself up to stand, snatching the stool up before picking up the charred torch from the corner.

“i want to bring you up,” he says, glancing over his shoulder at you.

you blink. “bring me up?”

“so you can use your magic,” heeseung elaborates. 

“you would let me use magic in your presence?” you ask incredulously. “all for the sake of your experiments?”

“you’ll be heavily guarded and safety measures will be in place, so you won’t hurt anyone. or yourself.” heeseung stands by your cell door, most of his figure swathed in darkness now that he’s away from the torch he delivered to you.

“how very thoughtful of you,” you respond sarcastically.

“i’ll come and get you tomorrow,” heeseung says. “is that okay?”

“do i have a choice?” you retort.

heeseung opens the door out of your cell. “i suppose not. i still want to hear you say it.”

humiliation and anger burn just beneath your skin.

“fuck you,” you mutter.

heeseung closes your cell door, slides the key in place, and locks you in for the evening. or, at least you think it’s evening. 

“good night,” heeseung says.

-

“i will remove your restraints. any sudden movement and you die.”

you’re still trembling at the sheer disbelief of it all. you barely register heeseung’s words, but you nod nonetheless. the forest is loud around you, the air cool against your skin. 

and in front of you is heeseung, in full view. in daylight.

“i’ll die, anyway,” is your response. there’s a near-imperceptible twitch of heeseung’s lips as he takes your wrists in his hands. a special key is handed to him, one that will undo the cuffs binding you.

the material of your restraints is made of the same stuff as the dungeon walls. meant to hold back your magic, to cage it. 

“then let’s hope you’re power’s strong enough to kill me, too,” heeseung supplies, the key hovering where it’s meant to be slotted. “make it count. don’t miss.”

the prince has a sense of humor, it seems. 

the restraints are undone, and you feel the power flood back into you. literally flood back. there’s water in the soil, in the sky, in the trees, in heeseung’s body, so close to yours. your eyes lock with his, and some manic side of you tells you to take the chance now. drain him of all he’s worth, suck the very life out of him. 

but you refuse to have this pampered prince’s face be the last thing you see before your end. 

so you drop your hands slowly to your sides. 

about twenty muskets are aimed at you. you stifle a laugh. if they shoot at you now, they risk shooting their general. is his life really worth one single witch’s?

“what can you do with your magic?” heeseung questions, handing the cuffs off to one of his soldiers. 

you contemplate whether to be completely honest. 

“i can call the rain, and i can stop it,” you begin. your fingertips tingle as you pull nearby clouds to where you’re located. 

the sky darkens faster than any of the soldiers around you have probably seen. they glance at each other nervously. 

“i can push back the tide and pull it back in. i can breathe underwater,” you add. 

heeseung nods pensively. he glances up at the sky. his lashes are dark and thick, visible even from this distance. not that there is much between the two of you. 

your eyes wander down the prince’s face, to his neck, to his body. his clothes are in the royal family’s livery, red cloth and gold accents. his coat hugs his figure impeccably, his dark trousers tucked neatly into his leather boots. he is as much a prince as one can be.

“can you manipulate the water in a human’s body?” heeseung questions, returning his gaze to you. you draw in a breath as you realize you were staring.

“are you scared that i will?” you counter.

heeseung smirks. “so you can?”

“yes,” you deadpan. “but it takes decades of training to master it.”

heeseung hums. “can you pull water from the ground?”

“yes. wherever there is water, there is power.”

heeseung nods again. the clouds are gathered above you now. the sun’s rays are gone, replaced by the twilight-like dimness. 

“call the rain,” heeseung commands.

you don’t have to be told twice. 

you’re soaked in an instant, the torrent of water beating down on you and everyone around you. it’s almost unbearable. almost.

but to you, it feels like home. the warmth, the slide of raindrops down your face, your back, your arms.

“make it stop.”

heeseung’s curt voice grates against your ears and you scowl as you immediately obey.

the rain stops gradually, leaving you, heeseung, and the soldiers thoroughly soaked through your clothes. the leaves of the towering trees around you are heavy with rainwater, droplets continuing to fall onto the wet ground. the smell of the earth comforts you, at least.

heeseung reaches up and you flinch away on instinct. but he persists. he tugs wet strands of hair away from your forehead. 

you feel your whole body heat up. whether from embarrassment or annoyance, you’re not quite sure.

he gives you a once-over and nods. 

“that’s it for today.” he turns his back to you, which you know is a wrong move on his part. 

so maybe he is a little stupid.

before you can think better of it, you command the near-invisible droplets of water around heeseung to freeze over, to crystallize, hardening to sharp little pinpricks. you command every shard to pierce his skin, to burrow themselves deep in his body. but it’s harder without a direct line, without a conduit. you attempt to lift your arm to aid in the process. 

your hand hasn’t even raised past your thigh when you feel unimaginable pain explode in your leg. 

you gasp, crumpling to the ground. your breath comes in ragged gasps, and you barely have enough strength left to twist and look at your injured leg.

those aren’t regular muskets, you realize. a tiny barb sticks out of your calf and you can physically feel your magic fading away along with your consciousness. 

no wonder they were ready to aim all those guns at their general. it would do nothing to him. but to you, it’s lethal.

the last thing you see before you black out is heeseung’s face, pulled taut in what you can almost describe as worry.

-

you wake with a start, your entire world spinning almost instantly. you reach a hand out to steady yourself and your skin brushes against something soft, and scratchy, and warm. 

you blink to clear your vision and your breath hitches as you see the stretch of fabric laid out under you. 

it’s an old, faded carpet, fraying at the edges, but it’s thick enough to keep you from the chill of the stones beneath you. a threadbare blanket is bunched up by your feet.

remembering the events prior to waking up, you scramble to check your leg. the tightness in your chest disappears when you find nothing but smooth skin. your magic had done its job. 

every witch and warlock’s magic heals them automatically when hurt, and as long as it isn’t fatal, any injury can resolve itself on a magically-abled person’s body. 

a slow, painful gnawing claws through your abdomen, and you glance up to see if they left you something to eat. 

and they did. another lump of bread and a cup full of water await you by the front of your cell and you crawl ungracefully towards your meal. you scarf it down in barely a few bites, the water soothing your throat as you swallow the bread down. 

with a sigh, you sit back on your hands, stretching your legs in front of you. 

you blink back your surprise when you realise that you’re in a fresh set of clothes. your dingy blouse is replaced with a new, albeit coarse one made of what you assume are old flour sacks. your skirt looks like a patchwork of scrap fabric but it’s longer and warmer, than the one you had before.

the one you were captured in. the one that had stains of your blood as you struggled to get away from the soldiers wrangling you onto the carriage.

you notice that the torch on the wall is new, too. 

you barely react now that you hear the door to the dungeon open, the same familiar footsteps you’ve grown to know over the past two days making their way to you again. 

heeseung stops outside your cell, a lantern in one hand this time, and his trusty stool in the other. you push yourself to your feet and succeed, fueled by your newly consumed food and a relatively better sleeping situation. 

you watch as the prince sets his chair down, unlocks the door, then picks up the rickety piece of furniture once more. he pushes his way into your cell, walking over to where you’re pressed against the wall. 

“may i?” he asks, gesturing to your sleeping area. you don’t respond, stomping over and plopping yourself down onto the old carpet.

heeseung follows and takes his usual seat in front of you, the lantern deposited at his feet. 

“what happened?” you blurt out, not even bothering with any niceties. not that you previously tried with any of that with him before.

“what happened to me?” you quickly clarify, eyes boring into his as he adjusts himself on the stool. 

“you passed out from the anti-magic dart,” heeseung reports mechanically. he brushes a strand of hair away from his face. you remember that under the light of the sun, his hair is a rich, deep brown. you couldn’t really tell inside this dark, dreary place. 

“because you made an attempt on my life,” heeseung adds quickly, his expression morphing into amusement. 

you cock an eyebrow. “were you impressed? were your findings to your satisfaction?”

“your magic is juvenile at best,” heeseung declares, shrugging. “a valiant effort, really, but amateurish all the same.”

you sit there, your lips curling down into a deep frown. you don’t even know what to be mad about. the fact that you failed in killing the force behind the death of so many of your people in recent years, or the fact that he’s right. 

it was stupid and unremarkable and bound to fail. 

you swear the next time you try, you won’t miss. 

“what? no snarky remark? no pathetic swing of yo–”

heeseung stiffens as he catches your wrist in his hand, your left fist inches from his face. you were faster this time, bolstered by your anger and the replenished energy. his mouth parts to say something, some pitiful comment about your combat style, most likely, but you don’t give him the time. your right hand slashes viciously at his perfect face, your overgrown nails scraping deep against his cheek. 

even you’re surprised by how well it worked out. you almost forget to dig your fingers deeper, burying your long, ugly, uncut talons into heeseung’s skin. he merely grunts, finally swatting your hand away from his face. 

the world tilts on itself as you feel your body crash backward, a painful weight pressing into your sternum. your back hits the ground hard, the air knocked entirely out of you. 

alarm overtakes you as you watch heeseung pin you down with his knee to your chest, his hands trapping your wrists beneath each of his palms. you struggle against him but his knee merely weighs you down even more. 

you gasp for air, eyes wide in panic. 

“w-why are you doing this?” you rasp, your breathing coming in quick, short gasps.

“you…give me a place to sleep, leave a warm f-fire by my bedside…and spare my life even when i threatened y-yours.” 

heeseung peers down at you, face stony and devoid of any expression. he could kill you now if he wanted to. he could crush your lungs beneath his boot, bash your head against the stone, strangle you with one hand, if it so pleases him. 

he can, but he doesn’t.

“you’re too important,” heeseung says simply, lifting his knee from your chest. he withdraws both his hands, and you gasp, sucking in the stale air of the dungeon, tears springing into your eyes. 

“you’re too important to my cause.”

you barely hear him. your ears are ringing, your vision murky. you lay there, panting as a steady stream flows from your eyes down your temples. 

“get out,” you whisper. 

the silence is tense around you both, but you don’t wait for him to answer.

“get out!” you demand, turning to your side like a petulant child. 

you’re in no position to make demands. you are a prisoner. a captive with no means of escape, destined to die by the hands of the man sitting in front of you. 

but he obliges you, nonetheless. you hear him gather his things, his footsteps heavy as he exits your cell. 

when you turn back an eternity later, you see that he took the torch with him and left the lantern with you.

-

the next time you wake up, heeseung is already there. his wounds have been treated, the scratches you left shallower than you expected. they look like angry kitten scratches, at best.

the door to your cell is wide open and a heavy cloak is draped on one of his arms.

“let’s go back up to the forest,” he offers, extending his arm with the cloak to you. 

you push yourself onto your feet, remnants of sleep still clinging to you. but you gingerly take the cloak and pull it around your shoulders, fastening the string by your chest. 

heeseung leads you out of your cell, a guard at the ready to fasten your restraints. you offer up your wrists and cuffs are immediately linked tightly around them. flanked by four guards, you and heeseung exit from the dungeon, walking the long, winding way through the castle basement and out of one of the many exits built into the foundation.

you emerge into the same canopy of trees you did the other day during your first excursion out. 

the guards bow curtly towards heeseung before retreating back inside. you watch in stunned silence as the last guard disappears behind the hidden doorway, leaving you and the prince alone in the forest.

“what is this? what are you planning?” you ask, your whole body seizing up as he takes a step towards you.

“you can’t actually hurt me,” heeseung informs nonchalantly. “at least not with magic.” 

he walks past you, heading down one of the many paths weaving through the forest.

you’re so dumbfounded that you find yourself following him, mouth agape in confusion and indignation.

“excuse me?” you say, falling into step beside him. he’s taller, and naturally, his legs cover more ground than yours so you have to scurry along to keep up.

heeseung sighs before halting abruptly in his tracks. you stumble over a fallen branch before righting yourself in front of him. 

“hold out your hands.”

you stare daggers at him, at his big, bright, shining eyes and perfectly lined nose. you thrust your hands out to him and he takes one of your balled-up fists delicately into his gloved hand. he fishes a key out of his pocket with the other before slipping it into the keyhole of your restraints.

the cuffs fall away with a soft thud at your feet.

immediately, you feel the swell of magic within you. your limbs are lighter, your mind clearer as the energy pulsing around finds its home within you.

your gaze returns to heeseung, who is observing you with mild curiosity. 

“what…what do you mean when you say i can’t hurt you?” you ask cautiously, rubbing the skin on your wrist where the cuffs were. heeseung follows this movement with his own eyes.

he steps closer and your magic zings sharply under your skin, ready to defend. heeseung peels the gloves off his hands, pocketing the swathes of fabric into his coat pocket. 

“give me your hand,” he implores gently. 

you blink. “what?”

“give me your hand,” heeseung repeats. “i will not hurt you.”

“you hurt me yesterday,” you argue, remembering the crushing pressure on your chest.

heeseung snickers. “you hurt me first.”

“hand,” he commands, reaching his own palm out to you.

finally, you give in. heat creeps up into your ears as you see just how badly you’re shaking. you’re about to hold direct contact with the general of the Northern Army, the man responsible for the death of hundreds of people, your people, and you’re doing it willingly, out of your own volition.

heeseung grabs your hand in his, steadying the tremors and you gasp. your magic drains out of you in an instant, leaving you powerless once more. 

“that’s what i meant when i said you couldn’t hurt me,” heeseung explains, tightening his grip on you. 

“one touch and you’re useless in a fight against me.”

“i-is that why you wear your gloves?” you inquire, your voice no louder than a whisper.

“yes,” heeseung affirms. his voice has grown tight. “my power is…a heavily guarded secret. those who i use my ability on usually die soon after.”

you gulp, eyeing where your hands are connected. 

“i can just use my magic to escape,” you reason. as if to prove your point, you tug your hand free from his hold and the magic comes flowing back in.

he has surprisingly soft hands.

“or i can just bash your head in with a rock,” you continue. “or i can just use my magic to help myself out of here.”

“sure. be my guest,” heeseung shrugs, gesturing around the forest. “go on and escape. pray  that none of my father’s men see you. or that the rabid animals in this forest don’t get to you first.”

“oh, and i doubt you can beat me in direct hand-to-hand combat,” he adds.

you scowl at the prince and surprisingly, he bursts out laughing. 

your scorned expression drops, replaced with a puzzled look. heeseung is grinning down at the ground, shaking his head.

“it’s quite amusing when you do that,” heeseung points out, glancing up at you. “you look like a kicked puppy.”

“well then, i’m glad to be of amusement to his highness,” you bite back, bowing in a mock curtsy. this only adds even more mirth to the prince’s face.

“show me more of your magic,” he requests.

you pause. “you want to see more? you’re not afraid that i might use my magic to harm you?”

“any magic used against me won’t work,” heeseung says with a noncommittal shrug. “it’s not just the fact that i can drain it. i am quite literally immune. go ahead, try it.”

you don’t hesitate as you raise your hand towards him, doing now what you did the other day. you feel the water in the air solidify, minuscule crystals sharpening into pinpricks. but as you will them to pierce the prince, the magic drains away again from your body. 

you try and try, and yet, when the subject of your focus is to hurt the prince, your magic simply refuses. 

“how did you come by this ability?” you force out through gritted teeth, determined to take this chance, to finish what you started. “does every northerner have this?”

“no. just me,” heeseung informs. “you can stop now. i’m not sure your magic would know how to heal a burst vein in your head.”

you glower at him before you ease up on your magic, letting your muscles relax. he was right. it’s no use. no matter how hard you tried, your magic can never touch him.

“and how i got my ability is of no consequence to you,” heeseung adds, pulling his gloves back on.

“it is of consequence if it is part of the reason why i’ll die,” you reason. 

“my ability will play no part in your death. that, i can assure you.” heeseung looks at you and you look back. he has moved closer, almost toe-to-toe with you.

“how very comforting,” you say.

“show me more of your magic, witch.”

for that alone, heeseung would be dead ten times over if it were up to you.

so for the next few hours, you indulge him in his wishes to see more of what your magic can do. you summon the rain once more, then dissipate it just as quickly. you pull the water out of the ground and let it suspend in the air for a moment before letting it dissolve into mist. you let the dew on the leaves around the two of you collect into large blobs before dropping them on the prince’s perfectly styled hair. 

to his credit, the Prince of the North is a good sport about it. 

it feels liberating to finally let yourself be as you were back home. to show who you really are and let the magic run free. 

the joy is overwhelming. intoxicating. you almost forgot that there would be an end to this. and end to you.

-

your hair is damp and your clothes are sticking to your skin. you’re shivering, the draft inside the dungeon not helping at all with your predicament 

it’s after sunset, or at least, it was after sunset when you and heeseung decided to retreat for the day. your restraints were slapped back on and you were escorted back here. 

back to where the walls leech off your power.

heeseung is in front of you, opening your cell door for you. he steps aside and you shuffle past him back into the cramped space.

his gloves are back on but you can still see his hands in your mind. slender fingers. unblemished skin. veins creeping up his arm.

you blink as you hear his voice.

“good night,” he says. he pulls the cell door closed with a loud clang before locking it. 

heeseung surveys you through the bars of your cell, lingering. he gives a quick glance to the guards beside him and they bow, hurrying off to leave him alone with you once more.

the dungeon door shuts and there is only silence.

“you haven’t told me your name,” heeseung points out, hands coming to rest on the metal bars that cage you in.

“you never asked,” you return, settling on the corner where my trusty rug lies. 

“i did. but you were too busy cursing me out.”

you smile. for a moment, you can pretend that your life does not lie in this handsome devil’s hands. 

you tell him your name.

-

that night, you dream of a forest. mist hangs heavily all over, but this doesn’t unnerve you. you know you’re safe. this is a forest you know, or at least, you think you do.

there is a silhouette in the mist, a man who beckons to you. you run to him and you’re greeted by wide brown eyes and soft brown hair that gives way under your touch. 

you move to embrace him, but a heat blooms deep in your belly. then a burning sensation settles in, spreading all over. you peer down to see a dagger stuck deep in your abdomen, down to the hilt.

the man stares at you, unmoving. cold. 

he apologizes, says it’s for the best. 

and then, he vanishes.

-

you awake with a start and what greets you is the dark ceiling of your cell. 

your heartbeat is loud in your ears and your hand immediately flies to your abdomen. 

all good. no dagger there.

“bad dream?”

you stifle a scream as you bolt upright, backing yourself up into the corner. the lantern that heeseung left is still on, burning low but bright enough to fill the entire space. 

in front of you is the prince himself, setting a plate and a cup down on the floor,

the smell of meat nearly knocks you back unconscious. and there’s something else. something sweet. 

“is that wine?” you ask, peering at the food and drink that heeseung just placed down. 

“yes,” he confirms. “and some leftover mutton.”

heeseung meets your eye in the dim light and your heart jumps wildly in your chest. he’s dressed similarly today, but his shirt under his coat is undone down to the third button. he straightens himself out, settling on the stool he always brings. 

you startle when you realize he brought two.

you walk over to him, tentatively seating yourself on the other chair. you bring your plate onto your lap, observing the contents of your meal today.

bread, as always. and a few dry pieces of mutton. had the mutton been fresh, it would have been swimming in the sauce it probably came with. and lastly, a small bunch of grapes. 

“this is more than what you’ve given me since i got here combined,” you observe, glancing at the prince. 

“i noticed that you perform better when you’re in good spirits,” heeseung reasons, leaning back against the bars behind him.

“...right,” you reply, bringing a piece of mutton to your mouth. it’s surprisingly good.

so maybe that’s why he’s been pampering you these past few days. all for his ‘cause’.

“can you tell me more about your family?” heeseung asks.

you take a particularly unladylike bite of your bread and watch as heeseung’s face shifts into a tiny wince. you snicker, thoroughly satisfied.

“have you been bringing me my meals all this time?” you counter, ignoring his question.

“at first, no,” heeseung answers. “but after our first day in the forest, yes.”

“why?”

heeseung tilts his head, still focused on you. “i like to observe my experiments.”

“so you like to watch me sleep?” you ask mischievously, arching an eyebrow in his direction.

“yes,” he admits readily. 

the air turns thick with something unknown as he says this. you cease in your chewing, and heeseung’s jaw clenches. you lower your plate back to the ground and retrieve the cup of wine instead.

you take a sip and a burst of sweetness lands on your tongue.

“how come your father never comes to see me? i would think the North King would like to be privy to his son’s whereabouts, especially when dealing with witches.” you survey the prince carefully and to your surprise and delight, his jaw seems to tick even harder.

“my father barely makes time to see me. what makes you think he’d care about a dirty witch like you?”

you’re stunned into silence, as if plunged into the cold, unforgiving sea. you feel as if you’ve been slapped. 

your mistake. you’ve been too busy playing house with the Prince of the North that you forgot that he viewed your people as lesser beings.

“anyway,” heeseung begins once more, as if he didn’t just insult you. though, you remember that it matters little when he’s done worse things to other witches and warlocks. 

“your family.”

“why would you be interested in a dirty witch’s family?” you remark snidely, your fingers tightening around the cup in your hand.

heeseung tilts his head, forehead creasing in confusion. after a few seconds, he sighs, bowing his head, as if embarrassed. 

“i only meant–” the prince runs a hand through his hair. he lets out a nervous laugh.

“i was going to tell you that i’d arrange for a basin to be brought in after you eat,” he explains, gesturing to the half-eaten food.

“the last time you were bathed was after you were injured,” heeseung points out. 

your face contorts into skepticism. “you meant that…literally?”

“yes,” heeseung sighs. “i’m sorry if i wasn’t clear about that.”

you almost burst out laughing yourself.

“it’s alright. a dirty witch like me is undeserving of your apology.”

heeseung looks up at you, perplexed. you can’t help the grin that settles on your face.

the prince starts chuckling and you join in soon after, both of you trying to suppress peals of laughter, lest the guards by the door hear you. 

you’re sure they hear you. what they think of their general laughing with a prisoner is something you don’t wish to ponder on.

-

the third time heeseung brings you to the forest, it’s raining. storming, really. but not by your own doing.

heeseung is covered in his heaviest cloak but you’re in the same one he gave you a few days ago. he let you keep it and you’ve been using it as a pillow since.

your hood is down and your face is turned upward to the sky. you let the rain beat down on you, your magic shifting and swirling inside your very being.

you don’t need to be told what to do. and even though you still hesitate, unsure whether you’re giving away too much by obliging the prince, you decide that you care little for the consequences. 

i’m sorry, mother. i’m sorry, father. i’m sorry to all my sisters and brothers in magic.

if you were to die soon, at least you spent the last few days doing what you loved the most.

you throw your arms wide and the rain veers away, falling into intricate patterns that you shape with your hands. the wind whips against your skin, plastering your hair against your face, but you give it no mind. 

the rain suspends just above your heads and heeseung looks up in awe. the water collects into an invisible basin in which you’ve created. you glance at the prince and he looks back. 

he appears just as exhilarated as you.

you move your hands up in a flourish, and the rainwater bursts into a scattered torrent, splashing down on both of you.

you laugh. truly laugh, letting yourself become untethered from this world. from its sufferings. there is only you and your magic. 

you gesture with your one hand and the rain stops abruptly. clouds still hang over you in the sky, but what’s left is only the puddles on the ground and the streams of water traveling down from the towering trees.

“you’re going to end up flooding the whole forest,” heeseung grumbles, making his way towards you, trying to skirt around the shallow pools of water. he gives up about halfway when he realizes that he can’t walk around all the puddles. 

he stomps his way to you, smirking as you flinch away from the splash of water.

“maybe you should bind me again,” you taunt, offering your hands to him. 

heeseung glances down at your outstretched arms before looking back towards your face. 

his hair is completely wet, slicked back by his impatient hands, no doubt.

his hands. 

they’re devoid of gloves now, as they always have been when he’s in your presence since revealing his ability to you. he never touched you with his bare skin when you’re unbound. you wonder what it feels like for him whenever he drains the magic out of someone. 

“take my hand,” you say, reaching for his. he flinches back and you gape at him, surprised.

heeseung’s expression hardens as he angles his face away from yours. 

“it hurts, you know,” he muses, gazing at his upturned palms. “every time i drain someone’s magic, it’s like a million needles passing through me.”

your mouth hangs open, unsure of what to say. you expected a host of other things to happen to him whenever he used his ability. you expected him to absorb it somehow, absurd as it sounds. magic cannot be transferred to another person, you know that well enough. when magic is used on another individual, it’s by way of healing. or by way of hurting. 

is that’s what’s happening to him?

“why do you have this ability in the first place?” you pry, stepping closer to heeseung. he inhales, peering down at you.

“i told you, it’s none of your–”

“you’ve asked a lot of me,” you interrupt. “it’s only fair i ask for something back.”

he chuckles humorlessly then. by now, he’s returned the gloves, the fabric snug over his fingers.

“i don’t think there’s anything fair about our situation, witch.” heeseung says the last word pointedly and you’re reminded once again of the distance between you two. 

not the distance at present, barely a foot apart, where the specks in his eyes are visible to you. you may be close now, your hand twitching upward as if to…as if to what? to reach out to him? to touch him? 

but the distance between you is miles and miles wide. he is of this land and you are of yours. he belongs to his people as much as you belong to yours. his mission is to use your people for his gain and your mission is to stop that from happening by all means. 

“but you’re right,” heeseung continues, straightening his posture and settling his hands behind his back. 

“you’ve revealed much to me and i haven’t been as forthcoming with you.”

he offers his elbow, jutting it out just so. you eye it suspiciously but heeseung merely nods. “it’s alright. it won’t hurt and i won’t be able to drain you. you won’t be making direct contact with my skin.”

but i want to.

you push the childish thought away and hesitantly loop your arm around his. 

nothing happens, just as he said. you let the prince lead you away, back towards the castle. even after days spent out of here, you still can’t make out where in the world you are. sure, you’ve studied maps back home, pored over the smuggled ones from the north, studying each winding road, each patch of forest, each name scribbled over every spire that jutted out from the North Castle. 

but being here disorients you in a way you can’t explain. 

“you know that your people aren’t completely faultless, right?” heeseung says, walking slowly through the lightly flooded woods. his boots are muddy and so is the hem of your skirt. 

you remain silent, pondering on his words. 

it’s true enough. the first people who settled south, the first witches and warlocks who walked this continent, were the most powerful of all. during those years long past, there was a ruler who oversaw your people. the Witch Queen. every generation, the crown would be passed to one capable witch in her bloodline, continuing the legacy and upholding the mantle of her duty. 

there was no wall separating the north and the south in the early days, only an unspoken rule that you must not cross the raging river that bisects the continent, unless you wanted a fight on your hands. without a physical barrier, tensions broke and things quickly turned hostile. the northerners deemed the south backwards and the southerners found the north controlling. the south shunned the north’s mission for progress and the north encroached on more and more land.

the Witch Queen at the time led a campaign against the north and things got ugly. thousands of people died on both sides. and from great turmoil came the peace accords and the abolition of the Witch Queen and her line. what remained were fractured tribes and villages in the south. and then, the wall went up. 

but the damage was done and wounds run deep over the land and its people.

“i know that,” you respond after some time. the tree branches above you continue to drip water down, some of it landing on your head and face.

heeseung fixes his eyes on you and you’re torn between wanting to look away and urging yourself to hold his gaze. you’ve never stood this close to him. you can feel the heat beneath his sleeve, feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing as the two of you trek through the brambles and exposed roots on the forest floor.

the prince brings his other hand up to your face and you’re seized with a momentary panic. he brushes a stray raindrop from your cheek, the leather of his gloves cool against your skin. 

to anyone who isn’t of this world, who didn’t know the histories of your people, the two of you would look like any other couple strolling through the woods. his hand on your cheek, your arm in his. 

but even to those who know, to any pair of eyes that would see you now, even they wouldn’t fathom what it meant for both of you to stand this close together. 

you are powerless in his presence and he is a hair’s breadth away from pain.

you render each other useless.

“how were you able to touch me that one time without your gloves?” you whisper. his fingers have trailed down to your jaw now. “how were you not in pain?”

“i was,” heeseung says and his breath lands warmly on your face. 

you give him a quizzical look. “but how–”

“one learns to mask the pain when he’s plagued with it his whole life,” he murmurs, eyes trailing over your features. 

“a few seconds of your hands in mine was worth the millions of pinpricks i had to endure.” 

your breath stops completely in your throat and your vision starts to swim. 

what did he just say? why would he say that to you?

“i was cursed,” heeseung declares abruptly. your eyebrows crease in confusion once more and you watch as a ghost of a smile lifts heeseung’s lips at the corners.

he reaches over and smooths the skin of your forehead with his thumb. your eyes flutter closed, and you take in a shaky breath.

“during the war, the Witch Queen was able to get close enough to the North King to curse him. and his bloodline,” he explains. 

“every one hundred years or so, in the long line of North Kings and heirs, one would possess the ability i do now. it’s useful, crucial even, to our cause. but it’s a burden.”

heeseung sighs, pulling his hand back from your face. your eyes blink open and you nearly gasp at his proximity.

“a burden i have to carry,” heeseung concludes. 

“what is your cause?” you question and heeseung’s eyes flit down to your mouth. you ignore the lurching in your stomach.

he doesn’t answer for a long time. he pulls away and starts walking once more. you nearly trip as you’re dragged along, your arm still tightly wound around his. 

“for all the hatred my people have for your magic, it is something they covet greatly,” heeseung says, head hung low, as if it’s a fact even he’s ashamed of.

“if we can just learn more about it, perhaps we can use it to our advantage.”

you feel a laugh bubble up inside you. 

of course. it all made sense now. what other nefarious reason would these greedy northerners have for capturing and torturing your people? the very same thing they detest in you is the thing that they seek most. all for their gain.

of all the things you wanted to say, the thousands of words and thoughts and curses you wanted to spew at the prince, what comes out is merely, “why are you telling me this?”

heeseung smiles and the lurching in your stomach returns. 

it’s like a slap to the face. the realization that he is the most handsome man you’ve ever met. gentle when he does not need to be. kind where his forefathers were most likely not. curious, rather than judgmental. 

but he is a prince of this land all the same. it makes the twisting in your gut even stronger. 

“these admissions will die with you, anyway,” he says. “it’s good to have someone who listens.”

for some reason, this is what sets you off. 

you tug your arm free from heeseung’s, ducking to swipe a stray rock on the ground. you’d spotted it from the corner of your eye and thought that it looked particularly sharp. 

your magic may not work on him, but he is still human.

you swing your arm as hard as you can towards heeseung’s head, the familiar fury blazing within you. 

how dare he? how dare they? how dare you?

how dare you start to entertain the inkling of affection you have for him? the Magic Finder, the General of the Northern Army, the North Prince, slayer of witches and warlocks, murderer of your brothers and sisters in magic? 

your next-door neighbor, the baker down the street, your school teacher from when you were young, your sister’s friend, your aunt. a friend of a friend, someone you know knows someone. your own family.

all of them, dead at the hands of this man and his father and his father before him. how come his bloodline continues and so many of your people’s are cut off? obliterated in the blink of an eye? 

the rock nearly makes contact with his temple when you hear a sickening crack. you think it’s his head, but excruciating pain explodes in your arm, and you topple over, the rock falling uselessly back to the ground. heeseung had struck your arm hard.

you cradle your mangled limb close to your chest, gasping for air as adrenaline pumps through your veins. 

“you were always going to die. that was always the plan. or have you forgotten?” heeseung’s face was stony, the hard lines of his features easing into cool indifference. 

you hear a dozen footsteps coming towards you. most likely guards coming to their general’s rescue. you always knew in the back of your mind that you were never truly alone with heeseung out here.

you feel a sharp prick on your other arm and you know it’s another one of those anti-magic darts. your already blurry vision darkens around the edges and it doesn’t take long before you promptly pass out.

-

your dreams are strange.

there is a cottage in the woods. it’s quaint but it buzzes with magic. you can feel it. 

you walk towards the door, curious but also somehow familiar with all of it. you think you know this place. 

maybe you live here. 

the door swings open and there is a man in the doorway, peering out as if waiting for someone, as if waiting for you. he sees you and immediately smiles, stepping out with his arm outstretched. 

you’re compelled to fall into his arms, into an embrace that you know will comfort you. 

you approach him just as it starts to rain. both of you glance up and laugh.

the man has hair as dark as the ancient trees that line the forest around the cottage. he has eyes that remind you of the elegant deer you used to encounter back home. 

home.

where is home?

the world begins to shake and you look to the man for help. he stares back helplessly, his lips moving. you can’t hear him. 

-

“for the love of the gods, wake up, please!”

you gasp but it’s immediately cut off by a hand jamming itself against your mouth. you protest, legs kicking, but even those are quickly pinned down by a heavy weight on your thighs. you cry out as knees dig sharply against your flesh, keeping you in place.

you stop struggling long enough to see heeseung, hovering over you, his entire face pinched in worry. 

you’re back in your cell, the lantern barely lighting the room. you stretch your arms and are relieved to find that your latest injury has healed.

“i need you to cooperate,” heeseung whispers, face impossibly close to yours.

“there is too much at stake, so i need you to listen carefully,” heeseung continues, tightening his hold even more on the lower half of your face. 

you start to complain but heeseung shushes you.

“don’t make a sound. are you hearing what i’m saying? i’ve given up too much for it to just go to waste.” 

indignation burns through you. even after everything, he’s still harping on his grand scheme, the noble cause he’s working on. you wish nothing more than your swift death.

“i’m helping you, so i need you to calm down and pretend you’re asleep,” heeseung instructs carefully, easing up his hold on you by a fraction.

“that’s all you have to do. close your eyes and don’t open them until i tell you so.”

the two of you stare at each other in the dim light for what feels like forever. he raises his brows at you, waiting for your compliance. 

helping you? with what?

you sigh, letting your eyes close. you hear heeseung let out his own relieved breath. he removes his hand altogether and you fight the urge to peek at what he’s doing.

as if hearing your thoughts, he says, “promise me you won’t open your eyes. hold your pinky up so i know you mean it.”

you snicker, eyes still closed. you raise your hand up, pinky sticking up just as he told you to do.

heeseung hooks his own pinky with yours and squeezes briefly before pulling away. you let your hand go limp once more, your heartbeat loud in your ears.

you stifle a yelp as you feel yourself being lifted up. you’re thrown over heeseung’s shoulder like a sack of flour, your head dangling upside down behind heeseung’s back. he places a firm hold around your waist while his other hand supports your thighs.

half of you wants to kick him while the other half is reeling from the warmth of his touch.

he takes a few tentative steps, and when he’s sure you’re not about to slide off, his gait grows steadier, your body bouncing slightly with each step he takes. 

you keep to your promise and remain as still as possible, your eyelids unmoving.

“do you need help, your highness?” a voice suddenly speaks and you almost jolt in surprise.

“i can manage,” heeseung answers. a door opens somewhere in front of heeseung and he starts walking again.

“are you sure, sire? will you be bringing her up to the examination room? we can assist–”

“i’m fine,” heeseung gruffly cuts off what you think is a guard. “i will need total privacy with the experiments i’ll be conducting.”

a chill runs through you at his words. experiments? total privacy?

heeseung squeezes particularly hard at your waist and somehow, you know this means ‘you promised. keep your eyes closed.’

you let the prince jostle you around a bit more as he walks and the temptation to take just a little peek nearly overwhelms you. but you stay true to your deal.

he stops for a moment and you think you’re in the middle of a cavernous hallway with the way his footsteps have been echoing for the past few minutes. everything is still and you hear only his breathing, heavier now after having to carry you around.

then he starts running.

you can’t help it; a tiny yelp escapes you but you quickly clamp your mouth shut. what on earth is he doing?

after another torturous minute of being lugged around like a beat-up shipment of potatoes, heeseung stops again and finally heaves you off his shoulder.

“good girl,” he whispers directly into your ear as he gently places you on your feet. your stomach flip-flops and you’re not sure if it’s from the sudden change in your position or from something else.

“you can open your eyes now.”

you follow, reaching up to steady yourself on heeseung’s shoulders as the world comes back into view. you’re in a dark hallway made of old stone, the same material used for the underground passages leading out into the forest.

heeseung’s hands go straight to your waist to support you. in the sparse light, you can just see the worried pinch of his eyebrows.

“what are you doing?” comes your terrified whisper. 

heeseung’s expression softens, yet his hands grip you tighter. “i’m helping you get out of here.”

your heart falls straight to your feet.

“what?”

heeseung nods, pulling back. a tiny part of you is disappointed.

“yes. now hurry and put on those clothes. it’s much more comfortable than what we’ve been dressing you in.” heeseung gestures to a bundle on the ground. 

“wait–”

“please,” heeseung implores, grabbing your hand. you flinch before realizing he has his gloves on. 

your magic is intact. he would not be hurt.

but something gives you pause. 

a shiny gold cuff glimmers on your wrist. you bring it up to inspect it and you’re startled to see that your other wrist is encased in an identical cuff.

“what is this?” you ask, glancing at heeseung. you try to pry the cuffs off but they’re bound tight.

heeseung takes in a deep breath. “i’m sorry. i had to do it.”

“do what?” you ask suspiciously. you yank at the cuffs but they won’t budge. 

“it’s the only way i can touch you without hurting myself and without constantly draining your magic,” heesueng begins, reaching for the bundle of clothes by the floor. he starts to retrieve a shirt and loose linen trousers. 

he shoves the clothes in your hands. “people know me for my gloves and with what i’m planning, i have to make sure i’m not identified by them. it’s a sacrifice i had to make for discretion.”

your mind is reeling. you take in your surroundings, your heartbeat picking up. you’re out of the dungeon, far away from the magic-sapping walls. you should have felt your magic come back; it should be within reach. but you realize now that you felt no such thing since leaving your prison cell. 

“you…you cuffed my magic?” your voice trembles. 

heeseung turns away from you, shrugging off his coat. you glance down to see another heap of clothing by his feet. it looks a bit like the livery of his personal guard. 

“your highness,” you say, taking a step closer. he ignores you.

“heeseung.”

this gives him pause. he turns his head the tiniest amount toward you.

“you trapped my magic with cuffs that can’t be undone.” you work the words out of your mouth as best as you can. 

you feel it all descend upon you. confusion, anger, hopelessness. 

“only another witch or warlock can put these in place,” you accuse, walking into his line of sight. “who did this to me? why would you allow it?”

“the hows and the whys matter little,” heeseung responds, refusing to meet your eye. “i have to get you out of the castle undetected, and this is the best way to do so.”

heeseung rips his shirt off his shoulders, exposing himself to you. if you weren’t so furious, you’d probably find it in yourself to blush.

he picks a shirt up from the clothes on the floor and you realize that it is the uniform worn by the castle’s guards. you look at the shirt and trousers in your hands.

“get dressed,” heeseung says gruffly. he finally looks your way and sighs.

“i’ll explain everything when we’re in the clear.” he takes a step towards you but you scurry back, tears pooling in your eyes. 

he might as well have permanently crippled you. he ripped away the only thing that set you apart from the rest of them. your magic was given to you, passed down from generations of witches and warlocks before you. and now they’re hidden beneath the garish ornaments of these gold cuffs.

“please,” heeseung begs, leaning down so he’s eye level with you. he grabs your arms before you can even react.

“you are the most pressing matter to me right now,” he says, shaking you lightly. 

“i am getting you out of here one way or another.”

-

it turns out, the prince’s plan was simpler than you initially imagined.

after reluctantly getting into the garments he provided, he asked you to get into a large sack previously used to transport–you guessed it–potatoes. 

you had protested and demanded to know the plan in full, but heeseung is nothing if not bullheaded. so you held your breath as you eased yourself inside the sack, with heeseung tying the opening shut. he reminded you to curl in on yourself and to look as potato-ish as possible.

you closed your eyes in an attempt to ward off the growing panic in your chest. 

sporting the castle guard’s uniform, the prince lifted you once more into his arms and began walking. he walked for what seemed like forever. finally, after some time, you sensed the gentle blow of the breeze despite the rough fabric covering the entirety of your body. 

you eventually felt yourself being deposited onto a hard surface. heeseung patted along your body, accidentally brushing your chest in the process and you let out an offended squeak.

“sorry,” the princed had whispered. “i was trying to find your head.”

you would have kicked him if you could.

“anyways, you’re in the back of a wagon,” he whispered. “we’re going to ride past the very back gate of the castle into the woods. the guards there don’t bother with checking what goes out. we should be okay.”

you let out a huff to confirm you understood.

“don’t move,” heeseung reminded.

so now you’re here, lying stiff on a wagon floor as the North Prince smuggles you out of the castle compound. the wagon slows to a stop and you can hear the faint chatter of conversation. you wonder just how heeseung will pull off not being recognized by his own guards. 

a loud, grating sound startles the night air and you realize it’s a gate opening. all you hear is the clop of hooves as heeseung maneuvers the wagon out. you half expect the guards to yell out in alarm.

but a minute passes. and then another. you hear, further back now, the gate closing with a thunderous clang!

did he actually do it? are you out? are you free?

the slow trod of the wagon continues for a few more minutes. then, all of a sudden, you’re jostled around as the horse’s trot turns into a furious gallop. your shoulder bangs against the wood under you, eliciting a pained curse from you.

the sack feels tighter now. air comes out in short bursts in and out of your mouth. 

all rational thought leaves you as you claw at the cloth around you. 

this is ridiculous. i’m going to die inside a potato sack while the North Prince rides like a maniac.

the wagon skids to a halt but it does little to quell your panic. you’re gasping now, trying to find the opening. 

the edges of your vision dim and you think this is it for you.

frantic footsteps approach you and the wagon shifts as someone scrambles onto it. a ripping noise distracts you momentarily but suddenly a rush of air fills your lungs. there’s an opening in the sack and hands reach in to pull you out.

you’re cradled against a warm chest, your cheek pressed against someone’s heartbeat. 

steady. calming.

“are you alright?” 

heeseung’s voice is shaky as he holds you to him. you attempt to calm yourself down enough to answer.

“i’m fine,” you manage. “c-can i be out in the open now?”

heeseung pulls back and studies your face. his hair is windblown, sticking up all over the place, so unlike his prim image back at the castle. he wears the castle guard’s uniform, a far cry from his finer garments. 

under the night sky and the shade of the trees, he looks…younger. scared. unsure.

“yes,” heeseung breathes. “i think we’re far away enough from the castle. but we have to keep moving.”

-

an hour of riding while you pass through rocky patches and muddy clearings is not good for the joints. you may be precious cargo, but you’re cargo all the same. 

the moon hangs high in the sky now, as you observe through the gaps between the ancient trees around you. you’re not sure what time it is. you haven’t been sure of the time for a while.

“we can set up camp here,” heeseung declares, coaxing the horse to a stop. it’s a mighty steed that seems beholden to the prince, its snout rubbing up against his hand as he gives it pats on the head.

“finally,” you grumble, pushing yourself up and off the wagon. you peer around at your surroundings.

you stand within a heavy cluster of trees, enough to provide you cover while still affording you visibility. heeseung unties the horse from the wagon and secures it at a nearby tree. 

“how are you feeling?” heeseung asks, approaching you cautiously. 

you shrug. “how does one even begin to answer that question?”

the prince smiles ruefully. he walks over to the wagon and undoes a latch on the floor. a panel of wood pops open, revealing a secret compartment.

“would food be enough comfort at least?” heeseung gestures to the now-visible space beneath the wagon.

you blink, eyes darting between the rickety old vehicle and the prince. he really planned this one out, it seems.

“perhaps,” is all you say.

heeseung grins, reaching into the space and producing a singular apple. he tosses it to you and you catch it with impeccable timing. 

he closes the compartment before heaving himself up on the wagon. he gestures for you to follow.

“unless you want to sleep on the ground?” he asks, an eyebrow arched tauntingly. 

you oblige him and climb back on. with him sitting in it, the space has now shrunk considerably. your knees knock against his as you sit across from each other. 

you take a bite out of the apple. it’s crisp, sweet, and refreshing. 

“are you going to tell me everything now?” you ask between mouthfuls. you eye heeseung carefully, the previous frustration bubbling back up inside you.

the mighty prince shifts, shoulders slumping, making him look impossibly small in the poorly fitted guard uniform he wears. his hand comes up to rub at the back of his neck.

“we…we have witches and warlocks in our employ,” heeseung begins, glancing up at you to gauge your reaction.

your mouth twitches, pulling down into a frown. you expected as much when you briefly pondered on the cuffs on your wrists. there had always been speculation that not all captured witches and warlocks die at the hands of the northerners. 

“i commissioned the cuffs secretly. all they know is that it’s for a bigger experiment that i told them i meant to do on you,” heeseung trods on. “they activated it when you were unconscious in the dungeons after you…well, after you threatened my life. again.”

this earns a snicker from you. “serves you right.”

heeseung sighs but he chuckles soon after. “i suppose you’re right.”

your eyes meet and neither of you look away for a long time. his leg shifts, pressing against yours. 

“why am i here?” you ask after a while. “why are you doing this?”