ace

so you lie still. the ceiling above your bed has a hairline crack that looks like a river splitting in two. you’ve been staring at it since high school, when you moved into this complex. you know every curve, every fork.

from the kitchen, woo-jin moves carefully — he always does in the mornings. like the space itself might bruise if he’s too loud. you hear him rinse a mug, pause, rinse it again. he doesn’t trust that things are fully clean the first time. he doesn’t trust a lot of things as of late.

the front door opens, closes, and then locks. three clicks. he never skips the third.

only when his footsteps disappear down the stairs do you finally turn onto your side and let yourself breathe. your phone declares the time as 6:12 a.m. you don’t have to be at the cafe until nine. but you’re already awake.

you usually are.

─────

the apartment is small in a way that forces familiarity. two rooms. one bathroom. a kitchen that fits exactly two people if neither of them moves too much. thin walls that don’t keep secrets, no matter how politely you pretend they do.

you make your bed even though you’re going to be back in it later. you brush your teeth, tie your hair, stare at your reflection longer than necessary. not because you’re unhappy with what you see. not because you’re particularly happy either. just checking.

that you’re still here. still solid. still someone that woo-jin hasn’t failed yet. you hate that thought. you carry it anyway.

there’s a plastic container with cut apples inside — peeled, cored, and sliced evenly. woo-jin did that. he always does that. you eat them standing up, scrolling through nothing, tasting sweetness you didn’t ask for but will never waster. there’s a folded note beside the container.

eat before work.

text me when you’re off.

no signature. there never is.

─────

the cafe smells of burnt expresso and sugar.

it’s the kind of place people come to pretend they’re productive — laptops open, headphones in, empty cups stacked like trophies. you know every regulars order. not because you’re gifted, but because paying attention feels easier than thinking lately.

“good morning,” your manager greets you, already exhausted.

you nod and give a quick smile in response. you tie your apron, clock in, and your body slips into routine without asking your brain for permission. steam milk. pull shots. wipe counters. smile — not a big smile, but not a fake one — just enough.

your hands move faster than your thoughts, which is precisely how you like it. 

during slow moments, your mind betrays you. you think about woo-jin. you always think about woo-jin. you picture him at the gym — the one he started training at a few months ago. the one he’s suddenly always at. he says it’s just boxing — self-discipline, stress relief. 

you don’t question it out loud. but you notice the way he comes home smelling like antiseptic instead of sweat. you notice the way his knuckles always look raw even when he swears he wasn’t sparring. you notice the limp that he pretends is nothing. 

you notice. you never say. there’s a difference.

───── your phone buzzes a couple minutes past noon. 

woojin: did you eat?

you stare at the message. type. delete. type again.

you: yeah

it’s a lie. you’ll eat later.

he replies with a thumbs up. you imagine him somewhere noisy, somewhere that smells like metal and blood and disinfectant. you don’t know why your brain supplies those details. you wish it wouldn’t.

─────

when you get home, the apartment is quiet in the heavy way — not peaceful. just empty. woo-jin doesn’t come back until late these days. sometimes at midnight. sometimes later. 

you cook instant ramen. eat half; save the rest. you sit on the floor with your back against the couch and scroll through your phone, not actually reading anything. the tv plays some variety show you’re not watching. the laughter feels too loud.

around midnight, you hear the door open. three clicks. you don’t move from your bed. not because you’re asleep. because if you pretend to be asleep, you don’t have to ask questions. 

woo-jin moves as quietly as he did in the morning. shoes off, bag set down gently. you hear water running. the bathroom light leaks under your bedroom door. you imagine him standing in front of the sink, staring at his reflection the same way you did this morning.

checking — still here, still functioning, still useful.

the water runs longer than necessary. when it stops, you hear fabric rustle followed by a soft, sharp inhale. like pain accidentally escaping. your fingers curl into the blanket. 

you don’t open your door. you don’t call his name. you hate yourself a little for that. you hate yourself more for understanding why you don’t.

eventually his footsteps move toward his room. pause. then, unexpectedly — they stop outside your door. you hold your breath. there’s no knock that follows. no whisper. just his presence. like he’s standing there, deciding something. you squeeze your eyes shut.

after a few seconds, he moves away. you release the breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

sleep doesn’t come easily. it never does anymore. your brain keeps replaying images it made up — woo-jin bleeding, woo-jin cornered, woo-jin alone.

you roll onto your side, pulling the blanket up to your chin like it can protect you from the thoughts. at some point exhaustion wins. not cleanly, not kindly. but enough.

─────

something carefully brushes your bag that rests at the bottom of your bed against your feet. you surface from sleep slowly, like swimming upwards through thick water. 

your eyes stay closed. you know that movement. you’ve known it your whole life. woo-jin thinks he’s invisible. the zipper whispers open. you don’t move. your heartbeat is loud. you feel the weight change as something is slid inside.

paper. several somethings. he pauses. you can almost picture his face — the crease between his brow, the way his mouth tilts downward when he’s worried. the zipper closes. slow, controlled. like speed itself might betray him.

you hear footsteps retreat. your door clicks shut. three clicks.

he locks your door too. he always has. since you were thirteen. since a man followed you home from school once. since woo-jin realized the world looks different when you love someone small.

you wait a full minute. then another. then you sit up. your bag is precisely where you left it. you reach inside. your fingers touch an envelope. then another. then another. 

you pull them out. it’s cash, neatly folded. more than he should be able to spare.

your throat tightens. you stare at the money like it might start explaining itself. it doesn’t. it never does. you press your thumb against the stack. it smells faintly like antiseptic. like metal. like woo-jin.

you look toward your closed door. toward the thin wall separating you from your brother. you don’t go to him. you don’t confront him. you don’t wake him. instead, you slid the money back into your bag. zip it closed. lie back down. and stare at the crack in the ceiling.

you don’t know what woo-jin is doing. you don’t know where the money comes from. you don’t know what kind of danger is circling your life at the moment. 

but you know this — your brother is carrying something heavy. and one day it’s going to fall. you just don’t know who it will crush first.

─────

the rush doesn’t really really hit until after sunset. 

that’s when people finish pretending they don’t need caffeine and finally admit defeat. by nightfall, the cafe is loud in a dull, constant way. cups clink. the espresso machine screams. someone drops and swears quietly. a couple argues in whispers near the window like they think glass can’t hear.

you move through it all on autopilot. your feet ache. your back aches. you welcome the pain. it means you don’t have to think. after busing tables, your manager waves you over.

“you good to close tonight?” he asks as he does almost every weekend. 

you nod. you’re always good to close. it means extra pay. it means woo-jin worries a little more. it means you don’t have to go home to an empty apartment too early. 

by the time you flip the sign to closed, the street outside has thinned. not empty — never empty. just quieter in a way that makes every sound stand out.

you wipe down the counters, dump the day’s coffee grounds, mop. you count the register twice because you don’t trust yourself when you’re tired. 

your phone buzzes in your pocket.

woo-jin: when are you done?

you type back a reply.

you: leaving now

neither of you mentions that it’s almost eleven. you know he doesn’t like it. 

you pull on your jacket, sling your bag over your shoulder, and step outside. the cold air bites at your face. you inhale anyway.

the street smells of damp pavement and cigarette smoke and something fried from the place down the block. your cafe sits between a closed clothing shop and a small convenience store that keeps its lights aggressively bright all night long, like stubborn defiance against the dark.

you start toward the bus stop. it’s a ten-minute walk. you’ve done it hundreds of times at this point. nothing bad has ever happened. that doesn’t stop your brain from running disaster simulations anyway.

about halfway down the block, you hear footsteps behind you. not fast. not slow. just there. you don’t turn — you tell yourself it’s nothing. other people walk this street at night. you adjust your grip on your bag.

the footsteps keep there pace. not gaining. not falling back. your shoulders tighten then — “hi.”

you flinch — actually flinch. the word comes out gently. not sharp. not demanding. still, your heart jumps like it’s trying to escape your ribs.

you turn. he stops immediately, like he realizes he’s made a mistake.

“oh — sorry. i didn’t mean to scare you.”

he’s tall. not in an overwhelming way. just solid — broad shoulders under a simple black hoodie, dark hair slightly messy as if he hadn’t bothered to style it. his hands are empty. visible. that registers before anything else.

what you can see of his face is open. honest-looking. it’s pretty — his eyes curved up like he’s smiling behind the mask that covers his nose and mouth. which feels strange to notice.  

“sorry,” you say, even though he apologized first. he scratches the back of his neck almost like he’s gathering his words.

“you work at the cafe, right?”

you nod. “yes.”

“i’ve seen you there a few times.” his face flushes as he says this. there’s something awkward about the way he stands like he’s not used to starting conversations. like he’s rehearsed this and still messed it up. 

“oh,” you reply. your mouth twitches upwards as the silence stretches. not uncomfortable. not comfortable either. just unfilled. you wait for him to continue.

“i’m kim gun-woo,” he adds as an afterthought. you tell him your name. he repeats it quietly, like he’s testing the sound. it does something small and strange inside your chest. you ignore it.

“well,” you say, clearing your throat to break the silence. “i should probably —”

“oh, yeah,” he nods. “of course.”

he steps to the side, giving you space to pass. you begin to walk away. he doesn’t move — for three of your steps. then you realize he’s walking this direction too. not right next to you. a little behind. like he’s unsure if he’s allowed. you glance back and raise your eyes in question.

“are you… going this way?”

he blinks. “i — yeah. i mean, yes, i am.”

it’s followed by another silence. the streetlight casts his shadow long and thin across the pavement. you don’t know why you say it. maybe thee quiet feels heavier than it should be. “so… how do you know about the cafe?”

his eyes light up at your question. it seems your attention has brightened his face. “i train at the gym that’s nearby.”

something inside your stomach twists. you can’t help but ask in a small voice, “which gym?”

he tells you. the name lands heavier than expected. because woo-jin mentioned it once. casually. like it didn’t matter. and then spent most of his time there. allegedly. 

“oh,” you reply instead of info-dumping on a stranger. gun-woo looks at you more closely. not in a creepy way. not in a judging way. just attentive. 

“do you know someone there?” he asks despite having guessed the answer.

“my brother goes there sometimes.”

“what’s his name?”

you hesitate. not because it’s a secret. just because saying woo-jin’s name out loud to strangers always feels strangely intimate. “hong — hong woo-jin.”

the effect is immediate. gun-woo’s entire posture changes — not dramatically. not obviously. but something in his shoulders locks. his eyes sharpen. not dangerous. but protective. like a door quietly sliding into place.

“oh,” he says. it’s the same word you used earlier. it does not mean the same thing. “you’re… his sister?”

your stomach tightens. “yes.”

another pause. it’s longer this time. gun-woo looks ahead at the sidewalk, then at you. then away again. his jaw tightens slightly. “does he know you work late?”

you shrug. “yeah. i mean — he doesn’t love it, but —  ”

“does he walk you home?”

you blink, “sometimes.”

another silence. it’s thicker now. not awkward but heavy. like something unsaid is pressing down between you.

“you okay?” you ask.

he hesitates, then nods. “yeah sorry. i just — i know him from training.”

you nod. that doesn’t feel like the full truth. you don’t call him on it. you’re good at not calling people on things. you reach the bus stop and you expect gun-woo to keep walking.

he doesn’t. he stops a few feet away. stands there with his hands in his hood pocket, eyes scanning the street like he’s counting exits. your bus insn’t coming for seven more minutes. you check the digital sign. suddenly, seven feels very long.

“you don’t have to wait,” you tell him, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face. his eyes follow your hand as he shrugs in response.

“i don’t mind.”

you don’t argue. a car passes, it’s music thumping. someone laughs too loudly down the block. the city feels thin. like the skin between safe and unsafe is stretched tight. gun-woo breaks the silence.

“woo-jin’s… strong.”

you don’t know why that makes your throat tighten. you agree, “yeah.”

he hesitates. then says, “he talks a lot.”

“yes.”

a small, almost-smile tugs at his mouth. “guess that doesn’t run in the family.”

you almost smile back. almost. the bus headlights appear in the distance. relief settles into your bones. gun-woo glances at it. then at you. his brows knit together.

“you shouldn’t be walking alone this late.” the words aren’t bossy. not commanding. not flirtatious. just concerned. like a face. like it’s something so obvious, he can’t believe no one’s said it out loud yet. 

you shrug. “i’ve been doing it for years.”

“that doesn’t mean it’s safe.”

you don’t have a good response for that. the bus pulls up. the doors hiss open. you step forward, then pause. “thanks for waiting with me.”

he nods. “get home safe.”

you step onto the bus, drops a few coins into the slot. before you take a seat, you glance back. gun-woo is still standing there, watching. not in a possessive way, not in a creepy way. like he’s making sure you disappear into something solid.

the doors close and the bus pulls away. you don’t know why your heart is beating a little faster than usual. you tell yourself it’s adrenaline. you tell yourself it means nothing. you file it away like you don’t most things — quietly, without confrontation. 

you don’t know yet that this boy from the gym is about to become stitched into every terrible and important part of your life. you just know one small thing — he said your brother’s name like it meant something. and that for some reason, scares you more than walking home alone ever was.

─────

woo-jin doesn’t ask about kim gun-woo from the gym. that, by itself, is strange.

you expect it the moment you walk through the door. expect him to glance up from his phone and say, casually, too casually, “anyone walk you home?” expect the subtle inspection of your face, your hands, your posture.

he doesn’t he’s sitting at the small kitchen table, elbows braced, forearms bare, scrolling through something with a crease between his brows. there’s a fresh scrape along his knuckles. not bleeding. still red. still angry.

you take off your jacket and hang it up, lining up your shoes at the front. he looks up finally.

“you’re home.”

you nod. “yes.”

a beat. “did you eat?”

“no.”

he exhales through his nose and stands, moving towards the stove. there’s a pot sitting there already. like he expected this. like he planned for it. 

you watch him from the doorway as he turns on the heat, pours water, drops in noodles. he moves like someone who knows exactly how much space he takes up. careful. controlled. nothing wasted, nothing loud. you find yourself wondering again when he’d changed so completely around you.

“you worked late again,” he notes without looking back at you. it isn’t a question.

“someone had to close,” you reply.

“you don’t always have to be that someone.”

you shrug. “it’s fine.”

he doesn’t respond. which somehow feels worse than arguing. 

you sit at the table. he sets a bowl in front of you when it’s done. the steam curls upward. your stomach twists — not from hunger. from the way he didn’t ask who you talked to. from the way he didn’t ask how you got home. from the way he’s pretending tonight is ordinary.

you pick up your chopsticks. “woo-jin.”

he looks at you. “yeah?”

“do you ever feel like… you’re lying even when you don’t say anything?”

his eyes flicker away — so fast, you almost miss it. “that’s a weird question.”

you twirl your noodles around your chopsticks. “i’m just saying.”

silence follows. not heavy — not yet. just cautious.

“you don’t need to worry about me,” he says eventually. it’s the kind of sentence people use when they absolutely should be worried. you don’t say that. you nod.

you always nod.

─────

later, you’re brushing your teeth when you hear the bathroom door open behind you.

woo-jin steps in. he usually doesn’t do that. not without knocking. no unless something’s wrong. you glane at him through the mirror. there’s a faint bruise blooming along his jaw. yellowed at the edges. newer in the center. you don’t remember seeing it yesterday. he notices your eyes flick there.

“it’s nothing,” he says immediately. 

you spit, rinse, and turn toward him. 

“did you fall?”

“no.”

“did you hit a door?”

“no.”

you hold his gaze. he holds yours. neither of you moves. finally, he sighs.

“training accident.”

your mouth tightens. “your gym seems… intense.”

a pause.

“yeah.”

you want to ask if gun-woo is part of that intensity. you don’t. you want to ask why everyone who knows your brother suddenly starts acting like they’re carrying a shared secret. you don’t.

you step past him. he reaches out — stops. lets his hand fall.

“lock your door tonight,” he says.

your stomach drops. “i always do.”

“i know. just —” he swallows. “do it anyway.”

you nod. again. always nodding.

─────

sleep feels thin. like it could tear if you move too suddenly. you lie on your side, staring at the faint glow of the streetlight through the curtains. 

your brain replays small moments like they’re clues in a mystery you never asked to solve. gun-woo saying your brother’s name. woo-jin not asking about your walk home. the bruise. the knuckle scrape. the way woo-jin flinches when his phone buzzes now.

at some point, you hear voices. muffled. low. not from the tv. from the kitchen. you sit up slowly. your door is cracked open an inch. you don’t remember leaving it like that. you creep closer. not dramatic. not brave. just quiet.

woo-jin is on the phone. his back to you. shoulders tense. “i told you not to bring this close to my sister.”

a pause. his jaw tightens.

“i know you didn’t know.”

silence then his voice drops. “no. she still doesn’t know anything.”

your pulse roars in your ears. woo-jin rubs his face with both hands. exhales. “yeah. okay.”

the call ends. he stands there for a moment — not moving, not breathing. like if he stays perfectly still, the world might not notice him. 

you step back into your room. close the door softly. lock it. sit on your bed.

your hands are shaking. you don’t know what that was about. you don’t know who he was talking to. you don’t know what he says that you still don’t know. but you know one thing with terrifying clarity —  there is a version of woo-jin you are not allowed to see. 

and he is doing something dangerous for you. whether you agreed to it or not.

you curl into yourself, pressing your forehead to your knees. you don’t cry — not yet. you just sit there, in the quiet, realizing that love doesn’t always look like protection. sometimes it looks like a brother standing in a kitchen at midnight, bargaining with something you can’t understand.

and somehow — you’re at the center of it anyway.

─────

you don’t plan to follow him. that’s the lie you tell yourself. 

the truth is quieter. the truth is that you'd already decided the moment you heard his voice the night before, low and angry, saying your name like it was both a promise and a curse. the truth is that sleep never really came. so when woo-jin moves through the apartment at a quarter to midnight, you’re still awake. 

you lie in your bed silently. listen — shoes, keys, the soft scrape of his gym bag zipper, the pause outside your door.

you hold your breath. he doesn’t open it. he leaves. three clicks. the lock. silence. you wait exactly thirty seconds. then you sit up. your heart feels too big for your chest. you pull on jeans, a hoodie, sneakers. no makeup. no phone flashlight. nothing that makes noise.

you step into the hallway. the air still smells faintly like woo-jin. soap. metal. something medicinal. you unlock the door. step outside. lock it behind you.

once. not three times. you don’t want to think about that.

─────

the night feels different when you’re choosing to be in it. colder. sharper. every sound has edges.

woo-jin is half a block ahead of you. far enough that he won’t notice. close enough that you won’t lose him. he doesn’t look like someone going to the gym. he doesn’t stretch. doesn’t check his phone. doesn’t wear headphones. he walks like someone with a destination that matters.

you follow. down streets you don’t usually take. past closed shops. past a bar with windows blacked out. past an alley that smells like rot and piss and old rain.

your stomach twists. this is stupid. you should go home. 

you don’t. 

woo-jin stops outside a building that looks abandoned — boarded windows, graffiti layered over graffiti, a flickering light over a metal door. there’s no sign. no name. woo-jin doesn’t knock. he steps inside. the door slams shut like a verdict.

you stand on the sidewalk like an idiot — heart hammering, every instinct in your body screams at you to leave. 

you don’t. 

you cross the street. walk past the building like you’re just another person with nowhere to be. you find a side entrance. a door cracked open. voices leak through. not music. not cheering. men talking over each other — low, rough, angry. the kind of noise that means money and blood are being discussed in the same sentence.

you hesitate. one second. two. then you slip inside.

─────

the smell hits first — sweat, blood, cigarette smoke, alcohol, rust, and too many bodies in too small a space.

the room is huge. warehouse-size huge. concrete floors. exposed beams. harsh industrial lights hanging crooked from the ceiling. there’s no boxing ring. no stage. just open space in the center like a pit waiting to be filled. 

men line the edges — dozens of them. leather jackets, tracksuits. knives clipped to belts. bats resting against shoulders. faces you don’t recognize but instantly understand — loan sharks. collectors. the kind of people who don’t need to raise their voices to be terrifying.

money changes hands anyway. thick rolls. phones flashing numbers. it’s casual. like they’re betting on dogs. like human bodies are just another asset. your mouth goes dry. this isn’t underground sport. this isn’t entertainment. this is enforcement.

two men are shoved forward into the open space. one of them stumbles. the other doesn’t — gun-woo.

your breath catches painfully. his hoodie is gone. t-shirt dark with sweat. knuckles already bruised. jaw tight. beside him — woo-jin. shirt off. hands wrapped. shoulders tense. face empty. not angry. not scared. disconnected. like he shut something vital off inside himself.

someone laughs. “you really think two dogs can pay off all that debt?”

another voice, “let’s see how long they last.”

your stomach drops so hard it feels like falling. this isn’t a fight. this is an execution they’re pretending is fair. no bell. no rules. one of the men in the crowd steps forward and swings a bat at woo-jin’s head.

woo-jin ducks. the bat whistles through empty air. gun-woo moves at the same time. he drives his shoulder into the man’s chest. they hit the concrete hard. everything explodes.

the men surge forward. all at once. you don’t know where to look. fists. knives. bats. boots. the sound is unbearable. bone cracking. bodies slamming into concrete. men screaming. men laughing.

woo-jin moves like an animal backed into a corner. elbows. headbutts. short, brutal punches meant to break, not impress. he takes a knife across the arm. doesn’t stop. 

gun-woo is everywhere. knee to a face. fist to a throat. he disarms one man and immediately uses the weapon on another. not stabbing. slashing tendons. dropping people. efficient. terrifying.

they’re surrounded. completely. every direction. 

you can’t breathe. you clamp a hand over your mouth to keep from making noise. no one notices you. you’re small. you’re quiet. you’re nothing here.

a man swings a bat at gun-woo’s spine. woo-jin intercepts it with his forearm. the crack is sickening. woo-jin doesn’t scream. he rams his forehead into the man’s face instead. blood sprays.

another man tackles woo-jin from behind. gun-woo breaks the man’s leg. you hear it snap. clear. distinct. you realize something horrible.

they aren’t trying to win. they’re trying to survive. just long enough. long enough to make the debt too expensive to collect. long enough to make a point.

men start going down. not all of them. not even most. but enough. enough to change the mood. enough to make the laughter die. enough to make the crowd step back.

woo-jin is on his knees. someone kicks him in the ribs. gun-woo lunges. takes a bat to the shoulder. keeps moving. they’re bleeding. both of them. badly.

your vision blurs. you can’t tell if it’s tears or panic. then — woo-jin looks up. across the room. across bodies, and blood, and broken concrete. his eyes lock onto yours. 

for half a second, he’s not a fighter. not a debtor. not a weapon. he’s your brother. the boy who walked you to school. the boy who peeled your apples. the boy who locked your door every night. horrified. devastated. terrified. because you’re here. because you saw. because he failed.

you don’t think. you don’t reason. you don’t wait for him to yell. you turn and run.

you shove through a side door, and cold air slams into your face. your lungs burn. your legs barely work. you don’t stop until you’re two blocks away. then three. then you’re bent over, hands on your knees, gagging.

nothing comes up. just dry heaving and tears you don’t remember starting. your brother is in debt to monsters. your brother is fighting monsters. your brother is becoming one. 

gun-woo isn’t just a boy from the gym. he’s a soldier in a war you didn’t know existed. and you walked home with him. 

you wipe your face with your sleeve. your hands won’t stop shaking. you don’t go home. not yet. you wander. aimlessly. like if you keep moving, the truth can’t catch you.

but it already has. your brother’s world isn’t stressful. it isn’t rough. it isn’t complicated. it’s a slaughterhouse. and you saw it. which means — nothing will ever feel safe again.

─────

you end up at the park because you don’t know where else to go. 

it’s three blocks from your apartment. you’ve passed it a thousand times. swings that creak even when no one’s on them. a cracked basketball court with no nets. two benches under a dying tree whose leaves never fully come back in the spring.

you sit on one of those benches. not because it’s meaningful. not because it’s safe. but because your legs stop working. your hands are still shaking. your hoodie smells like cold air and fear. 

your phone has been buzzing. you turned it off. you don’t want to see woo-jin’s name. you don’t want to imagine his hands trying to type around broken knuckles. you don’t want to hear his voice pretending everything is fine.

you stare at the dirt under your shoes. you replay the look on his face. the moment he saw you. not anger. not disappointment. pure horror. like he’d just watched the worst thing in his life happen.

and you realize something terrible — he wasn’t afraid of dying. he was afraid of you knowing. your throat tightens. you press your palms against your eyes. breathe. in. out. it doesn’t help. 

footsteps crunch on gravel. slow. careful. not trying to sneak. you don’t look up. your stomach drops when you hear your name — gun-woo’s voice. low. rough. like he’s been yelling. like he hasn’t slept. you keep your eyes on the ground.

“go away.”

he doesn’t. you feel him stop a few feet in front of you.

“i’ve been looking for you.”

you laugh once. it comes out broken. “congratulations.”

silence. then he continues, “woo-jin is too.”

that lands heavier. you finally look up. gun-woo looks worse than he did in the warehouse. a bruise forming along his cheekbone. split lip. blood dried at the corner of his mouth. one arm held stiff at his side. he should be in a hospital.

he’s standing in front of you instead. guilt flares hot in your chest. anger follows immediately after.

“you’re not supposed to talk to me,” you snark. his brows knit together.

“i didn’t know you were his sister.”

“i don’t care.”

that’s a lie. you care very much.

gun-woo swallows. “i’m not here to explain anything.”

“good,” you spit. he hesitates.

“i won’t say anything without woo-jin here.”

you stare at him. something inside you snaps. “why?”

“because it’s not my place.”

“he dragged me into it the moment he started lying,” your voice shakes. gun-woo flinches. you stand up. your legs wobble. you don’t sit back down.

“where is he?”

gun-woo exhales. “close.”

you nod. “call him.”

gun-woo hesitates again. you laugh — not kindly. “if you don’t, i’ll walk home and pretend i didn’t see anything. and we’ll all keep lying until someone dies.”

that does it. gun-woo pulls out his phone. dials. turns away slightly. speaks quietly. “i found her.” pause. “she’s not moving.” another pause. “yeah.”

he hangs up. “he’s coming.”

you sit back down — not because you’re calm. because your body gives up. gun-woo stays standing. like he doesn’t deserve to sit near you. like sitting would be a boundary he’s not allowed to cross.

you don’t tell him he can sit. you don’t tell him to leave. you stare at the empty swing set. a minute passes. then another. gun-woo continues to glance at you. you pretend not to notice.

but you do. every time. it isn’t hunger. it isn’t lust. it isn’t even curiosity. it’s something else. like he’s trying to memorize your face. like he’s checking that you’re real. like he’s shocked you exist outside the violence he lives in.

it makes your skin prickle and your face flush.

footsteps. faster this time. he doesn’t try to be quiet.  woo-jin skids to a stop in front of you — breathing hard, hair damp, hoodie pulled over hastily wrapped hands. he looks at you like you might vanish.

you stand. he reaches for you — stops. hands hovering uselessly. “are you hurt?”

“no.”

his shoulders sag. just a little.

“why did you follow me?”

your voice is steady. you’re surprised by that. “because you lied.”

“i didn’t —”

“you did,” you cut in. “you’ve been lying for months.”

silence. gun-woo takes a step back. gives you space. gives you privacy. you appreciate it. you don’t say so.

“what is it?” you ask. woo-jin looks at the ground. then at gun-woo. then back at you. “say it.”

he exhales shakily. “i’m helping gun-woo. his mom owes money.” your stomach twists. “to bad people.”

“how much?”

“a lot.”

“why?”

another pause. “because i couldn’t ignore it.”

“you’re fighting instead of paying them.”

“yes.”

“with loan sharks.”

woo-jin closes his eyes. “yes.”

the word feels like a gunshot. you nod slowly. “are they threatening me?”

his head snaps up. “no.”

“lying again will be your last mistake,” you bite.

he swallows. “they know about you.” 

your hands curl into fists. “but they’re not supposed to touch you,” he rushes. “i made that clear.”

you laugh. it’s sharp. “because criminals always respect boundaries.”

woo-jin flinches. you step closer. not angry. not screaming. terrifyingly calm.

“here’s what’s going to happen,” you say. “you’re going to stop pretending i’m a child still. you’re going to stop disappearing. and you will tell me when you’re in danger.”

he shakes his head. “no. i won’t drag you into this.”

“you already did.”

silence stretches thin. “if you lie to me again,” you continue, “i’m leaving. i don’t care where i go. i don’t care how stupid it is. i will not live in a house built on lies.”

woo-jin’s eyes go glassy. “you’re all i have.”

your throat tightens but you force the words anyway. “then act like it.”

he nods. once. small. defeated. “we’re trying to end it,” he says quietly. “one last job. one last mission. then we’re ready.”

you don’t believe him. you don’t say that.

“promise me you won’t try to help,” he says. you think about the warehouse. the bats. the blood. gun-woo standing alone against thirty men. you think about woo-jin bleeding out on concrete. you nod.

“i won’t interfere.” not the same as “i won’t care.” not the same as “i won’t pay attention.”

woo-jin exhales like he’s been drowning. gun-woo hasn’t stopped looking at you. not once. when you glance at him, your eyes meet. he looks away instantly.

but not before you see it. not fear. not pity. something quieter. something dangerous. like he already feels responsible for you. like you’re a fragile thing he never meant to touch but now can’t stop noticing.

woo-jin notices too. he steps slightly in front of you. protective. instinctive.

you don’t comment. none of you do.

the night feels heavier than it did an hour ago. nothing is solved. nothing is safe. but the lies are cracked open. and once that happens — there is no going back.

─────

gun-woo doesn’t come inside the café. you notice him through the window first.

it’s raining. not hard. just enough to make everything reflective. streetlights smear gold across wet pavement. cars hiss past. he stands under the narrow awning next door like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to take up space. hands in his pockets. hood up. not on his phone. not pacing. just waiting.

your stomach does something small and inconvenient. you tell yourself it’s nothing. you’re wrong. 

you’re wiping down the counter when your manager leans over. “uh… your boyfriend looks miserable.”

you choke on absolutely nothing. “he’s not my —”

you stop. because correcting it feels too complicated. you glance back toward the window. gun-woo is staring at the door like it personally wronged him. you sigh. “can i take my break?”

your manager smirks. “go put him out of his misery.”

you push the door open. the bell above it rings. gun-woo straightens up like he’s been caught doing something illegal. “oh. hi.”

“hi,” you reply. rain dots his hoodie. his hair is damp at the edges. he looks nervous. which is absurd. you’ve seen him fight thirty men.

“what are you doing here?” you ask.

he opens his mouth. closes it. rubs the back of his neck. finally he says, “i wanted to… apologize.”

your brows knit. “for what?”

“for… everything.” that doesn’t narrow it down. he exhales. “i shouldn’t have let you walk home with me that night. i shouldn’t have pretended i was just some guy from the gym. i shouldn’t have —”

“gun-woo,” you interrupt. he stops. you study his face. bruised, healing, tired, guilty.

“you didn’t kidnap me,” you say. “you didn’t lie about who my brother is. you didn’t make him help you.”

“i still feel responsible.”

you believe him. which irritates you a litt. “okay,” you say instead. “apology accepted.”

his shoulders drop like he’s been holding them up for days. “oh. that’s it?”

“that’s it,” you confirm.

he nods. then immediately looks lost. “so… uh.” you wait. “i can walk you home tonight.”

you blink at him. “i didn’t ask you to.”

“i know.” a beat. “i still can.”

you consider saying no. you consider it very seriously. then you think about the warehouse. about the knives. about men who know where you live. “okay.”

his lips part. like he didn’t expect that. 

“okay,” he repeats.

you go back inside to finish your shift. you can feel him through the glass. not staring at you, not watching your body. but watching the door, watching the street. like he’s standing guard at a place that isn’t his.

when you clock out, he’s still there — still damp, still waiting. you pull on your jacket. “ready?”

he nods, and you walk. not close, not far. a careful, respectable distance. no awkward small talk, just the sound of your shoes on the wet concrete. 

at the first intersection, a car slows too much. gun-woo subtly steps to the street side of the sidewalk. doesn’t say anything, doesn’t announce it. he just moves.

your chest tightens. not romantically — not yet. something softer. more dangerous. care. you pretend not to notice. he walks you all the way to your building. doesn’t ask to come up. doesn’t linger.

“text me when you’re inside,” he tells you without thinking.

you raise an eyebrow. “since when do i report to you?”

he flushes red. “sorry. i just —”

“i’m kidding,” you smile. his lips twitch — just barely. you unlock the door, turn back. “thanks.”

he nods. “anytime.”

you go inside. your phone buzzes before you can even reach your apartment door.

gun-woo: let me know

you text back.

you: in

three seconds later, his reply comes through.

gun-woo: thanks

you stare at the screen longer than necessary.

─────

it becomes a thing.

not officially. not discussed. but gun-woo just shows up. 

outside the cafe. at the corner of your street. sometimes woo-jin knows. sometimes he doesn’t. you don’t ask.

gun-woo never acts like it’s a date. never flirts, never comments on how you look, never tries to impress you. he just walks — staying slightly behind you, eyes scanning. always alert.

you feel watched, but not in a suffocating way. in a way that feels like standing under an umbrella you didn’t know you were holding.

one night, it’s colder than usual. you forgot to bring your gloves. your fingers ache. gun-woo notices. of course he does. he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair — black, plan. “these are clean,” he says quickly. “i mean — not new, but clean. you don’t have to —”

you take them before he can continue. “thank you.”

your fingers brush. electric, sharp. both of you freeze. he jerks his hand back like he touched a live wire. “s—sorry.”

you look at him. his ears are red. his eyes are wide. he looks like he’s bracing for punishment. your lips twitch. you can’t help it — it’s small, involuntary. but it’s there.

gun-woo sees it. his brain visibly malfunctions. “oh.”

you pull on the gloves and wiggle your fingers. “they fit.”

“good.”

silence — thick. not bad. not uncomfortable. just charged. you wlak the rest of the way in quiet. when you reach your building, he does his usual stop. you turn to face him. 

“gun-woo?”

“yeah?”

“thanks. for walking me. all the time.”

he shrugs. “someone should.”

your chest tightens. you nod. “goodnight.”

“goodnight.”

you go inside. he waits until the door closes. you know this. because you always glance back. he doesn’t leave until your lights turn on.

you don’t know when it happened — the shift. from stranger to acquaintance to presence. but you know one thing with terrifying clarity: gun-woo is no longer just the boy from the gym.

he is guilt with a heartbeat. protection in human form. and whether he realizes it or not — he’s already falling. and you? you’re directly in his path.

─────

hospitals always smell the same. disinfectant. plastic. something vaguely burned. 

you hate it immediately. the fluorescent lights buzz softly overhead. too bright. too clean. too indifferent. you sit in the hard plastic chair with your hands folded in your lap because if you don’t, they shake.

no one has officially explained it yet. you know anyway.

gun-woo stands a few feet awat. back against the wall, his arms crossed and jaw tight. he hasn’t spoken since you arrived. he was the one to come to your apartment. not woo-jin. not a phone call. not a text. just gun-woo, standing at your doorway, breathing too fast, eyes dark.

“get your shoes.”

that was it. you didn’t ask why. you just knew. now you’re here — waiting. every second stretches thin. a nurse finally approaches. 

“family of hong woo-jin?” she asks, even though the two of you are the only ones in the hallway. 

you stand so fast the chair scrapes loudly beneath you. “that’s me.”

“he’s stable,” she informs you. “it was a bullet wound to the shoulder. it missed the major arteries. he lost some blood, but he’s awake.”

your knees almost give out. you don’t cry — not yet. she explains the visiting rules. you barely hear her. all you catch is that you can see him.

they lead you down a hallway. gun-woo stays behind. you notice, but you don’t comment. the door opens.

woo-jin looks smaller in a hospital bed. you hate that though. you hate it more because it’s true. his shoulder is bandaged; his skin looks gray under the lights. there’s dried blood in his hair near his temple. but his eyes are open when you step inside. immediately. like he felt you coming.

“there you are,” he says. your chest caves. you cross the room in three steps. you stop beside the bed. you don’t touch him right away; you’re scare to.

“you’re an idiot,” you tell him. your voice cracks anyway.

he smiles faintly. “yeah.”

you sit carefully. like sudden movement might break him. silence settles. not awkward, not empty. just heavy. shared. 

he studies your face. “you didn’t have to come so fast.”

“i’ll always come,” you say.

he exhales. “i know.”

you stare at the bandage. at the iv in his arm. at the heart monitor doing its job. you ask, “this isn’t over is it?”

he doesn’t lie. “no.”

you nod. you don’t ask for details. you don’t want them. not tonight. there’s a strange, fragile calm in the room. like the universe has paused the violence out of courtesy. woo-jin swallows. 

“i thought i was going to die,” he starts, voice low. your breath stutters. he keeps talking. “i didn’t think about the money, or the fight. or the guys chasing me.”

you look up.

“i thought about you.”

tears burn instantly.

“i thought… you’d be alone.”

your throat tightens painfully.

“i don’t care what happens to me,” he says quietly. “i can handle it.”

you shake your head. “i can’t handle losing you.”

he looks at you for a long time. really looks. not as a protector. not as a fight. like a scared older brother. 

“i’m scared,” he admits. the word feels sacred. “i’m scared i’m dragging you into something you never asked for. i’m scared you’ll get hurt because of me. i’m scared one day you won’t come when i call.”

you reach for his hand. this time, you don’t hesitate. his fingers curl around yours automatically. “i don’t care about any of that,” you assure him. “i care about you being alive.”

his breath breaks. just once. he turns his face slightly towards his pillow, pretending he’s fine. you know better. you sit there. holding his hand, listening to the steady beep of the monitor. memorizing the fact that he’s breathing. alive. here.

for a little while, nothing else matters. not the loan sharks, not the fights, not the blood. just this. brother and sister. two people who only ever had each other.

eventually his eyes start to droop and exhaustion wins. you brush his hair back gently. he doesn’t wake. you stay anyway. 

outside the room, gun-woo waits. you see him through the small window in the door. his head bowed, and his hands clasped. like he’s praying to a god he doesn’t believe in.

for the first time since all of this started, you understand something clearly — knowing the truth didn’t make you stronger. it didn’t make you braver. it didn’t give you control.

it only gave you something to lost. and that — that is the real cost of knowing.

─────

the hospital smells like antiseptic and overbrewed coffee. 

it’s too bright, too white, like it’s trying to scrub the entire world clean. your brother lies a few rooms down the hall, stitched and sleeping, machines humming steadily at his side. the doctors say he-ll heal. slowly. painfully, but he’ll heal.

gun-woo doesn’t leave. not when the nurses come in. not when visiting hours end and restart. not even when exhaustion drags his shoulders and his eyes go dull around the edges.

if you stand, he stands. if you sit, he sits nearby — close enough that you can feel him without looking. at first, you think it’s vigilance. guilt. duty. then you realize it’s something softer. he brings you water before you know you’re thirsty. pushes it toward you with a quiet glance, like it’s no big deal. when you forget to eat, he splits what he has in half and sets your portion down without comment.

sometimes you catch him watching you — not intensely, not like he’s afraid you’ll disappear — but carefully. as if he’s memorizing the fact that you’re still here. you don’t call him out on it. you’re still getting used to being touched by the world again.

when a nurse asks you a question and your voice catches gun-woo answers smoothly, stepping half a pace closer without making a show of it. when the hallway grows loud, he angles his body just enough to block the worst of it. a shield that doesn’t feel like a cage.

you sit together late one night, plastic chairs pulled close. the tv murmurs quietly with something neither of you is really watching. your knees almost touch. almost.

your hands rest in your lap, fingers laced too tightly. you don’t notice until gun-woo gently taps them with one knuckle.

“you’ll hurt yourself,” he says, softly. you loosen your grip. a small thing, but it feels like everything. he smiles then — barely there. not the kind he gives cameras or crowds. this one is hesitant, like it surprised him too.

you feel heat creep into your face and look away. he pretends not to notice.

the nights are the hardest. sleep doesn’t come cleanly. you wake at small sounds, your heart racing and breath shallow. the first time it happens, you find gun-woo already awake, sitting forward in his chair.

he doesn’t ask what you saw. doesn’t tell you that it’s over. he just stays.

sometimes he dozes off, head tipped back against the wall, mouth slightly open. you watch his chest rise and fall, slow and steady, and let yourself match your breathing to his. when he wakes and catches you staring, he clears his throat, embarrassed. 

“…sorry,” he says, like he’s the one who did something wrong.

you shake your head. “it’s okay.”

the words feel fragile. new. true.

one afternoon, while your brother is finally awake and grumbling weakly at the doctors, you and gun-woo step into the hallway together. the sun filters through a narrow window at the end, turning dust motes into something almost pretty.

you lean against the wall, tired. gun-woo hesitates. then, carefully, he offers you his sleeve — not his hand. an option. a question. you take it. just fabric and warmth — his arm solid beneath your fingers. he exhales quietly, like he’s been holding his breath for days.

later, when you laugh softly at something stupid your brother says, gun-woo looks at you like the sound alone makes the world make sense again. you catch it — hold it for a second too long. neither of you look away first. there’s nothing dramatic about it. no confessions. no promises. just the simple, profound relief of being safe in the same space as someone who understands what it costs.

gun-woo doesn’t let you out of his sight. and for the first time since everything broke — you don’t mind being seen.

─────

it’s strange how quickly life reshapes itself around survival.

woo-jin is discharged on a quiet morning, the kind that doesn’t feel important until you realize it is. he moves slower now, shoulders stiff, pride bruised worse than anything else. he jokes with the nurses. pretends the limp isn’t there.

gun-woo carries his bag. doesn’t argue when woo-jin grumbles about it. just does it.

home smells different when you return — like dust stirred up after a long absence, like something waiting to be lived in again. woo-jin collapses on the couch with a groan and a grin, already reaching for the remote.

“wow,” he exhales dramatically. “missed this.”

you hover, unsure of where to put your hands. gun-woo notices.

“i’ll make tea,” he says, already moving. and that’s how it starts. you fall into a rhythm without ever naming it.

gun-woo walks you to work every morning, matching your pace, hands tucked into his pockets like he’s trying not to make a thing of it. he waits until you’re inside before leaving, glancing up at the building like he’s memorizing it. in the evenings, he’s there again. always on time. always steady.

cooking becomes a collaboration. you chop, he stires. he tastes the soup, frowns slightly, and adds salt without comment. when you burn something, he scrapes it off and tells you that it still counts.

woo-jin watches this from the table, amused. 

“you two look married,” he notes on night, smirking. you choke on air. gun-woo nearly drops the pan he’s handling.

“eat your food,” he replies flatly, his ears red.

later, when woo-jin starts rehab exercises, gun-woo trains with him in the small gym nearby. you sit on the bench and watch — woo-jin pushing too hard, gun-woo reigning him in. their dynamix has changed. it’s less reckless. more careful. like they both understand what’s at stake now.

sometimes, woo-jin catches the way gun-woo looks at you when he thinks no one notices. he doesn’t say anything. instead one afternoon, he nudges gun-woo with his elbow and mutters, “take care of her.”

gun-woo answers without hesitation, “i am.”

at night, when the apartment is quiet and woo-jin is asleep, you sit on the floor with gun-woo, backs against the couch. he hands you a glass of water. you thank him. your shoulders brush. neither of you pulls away. it’s not dramatic, it’s not rushed.

it’s dishes drying in the rack. shoes lined neatly by the door. gun-woo reminding woo-jin to take his medication. woo-jin pretending not to need reminding. it’s gun-woo walking you home under the streetlights, hands occasionally brushing, smiles exchanged like secrets.

it’s safety, rebuilt slowly. and for the first time in a long while, the days don’t feel like something you have to survive. they feel like something you’re allowed to live.

─────

you’re attacked while closing. not ambushed from the shadows — intercepted.

the key is halfway turned when the door slams inward, force snapping the lock with a sound that echoes too loud in the small entryway. a body crashes into you, driving the air from your lungs. you’re thrown backwards, feet tangling and spine hitting the wall hard enough to blur your vision.

it’s fast.

a hand clamps over your mouth, crushing sound before it forms. another fist knots into your clothing, jerking you off balance. your head snaps back — not gently — enough to rattle your teeth.

it’s quiet.

they don’t yell. they don’t threaten. they don’t need to.

it’s efficient. 

someone kicks the door shut behind them. someone else twists your arm the wrong way, forcing compliance through leverage alone. pain flares — bright, sharp, immediate — and your body betrays you, knees buckling as they steer you deeper into the building.

you don’t scream. you can’t. your breath comes in ragged pulls through your nose, panic scraping your throat raw as you’re slammed down into a chair, then dragged back up again like they can’t decide if they want you sitting or standing.

they decide. you’re held upright — arms pinned, spine locked into place. the pressure is relentless, calculated. every movement you make is corrected immediately, punished just enough to teach you not to try again.

“easy,” someone murmurs, almost bored. “that’s not the point.”

the words land colder than anything else. they mention woo-jin by name. slowly. deliberately. your brother’s name is spoken like a debt. then gun-woo’s. they say it like they expect a reaction — and they get one. 

your breath stutters, your shoulders tense. you can’t stop it. they laugh softly.

“the gym's up the street,” one of them teases. “funny timing.”

your heart slams so hard it hurts. they hurt you then. not wildly, not out of rage. they hurt you to demonstrate capacity. to show how easily control can be taken. how quickly resistance becomes irrelevant. each movement is precise, intentional, and stripped of emotion.

you’re not just being attacked. you’re being handled.

“relax,” a voice says near your ear as tears prick your ear, bruises already forming beneath their touch. “you’ll last longer.”

they stop as abruptly as they started. let the silence rush back in like a tide. one of them grips your chin, forces your face up — not gently enough to be mistaken for care.

“you tell them,” he says, his voice flat and teeth gritted. “what they started isn’t finished. and it’s time to pay the debt.”

his thumb presses briefly — too hard — against your lower lip, then releases. “you’re just the reminder.”

they step away. just like that. the door opens, closes. footsteps fade.

you slide to the floor the second they’re gone, body folding in on itself, lungs burning as air finally tears back into you. the cafe feels wrong — every wall to close, every shadow hostile.

you curl inward, shaking, understanding settling in your chest — you weren’t caught because you’re weak. you were chosen because you’re loved. because you’re leverage. because whatever woo-jin and gun-woo thought they stalled — never stopped.

you faintly hear your phone buzz from the counter above you, its persistent vibration cutting through the heavy silence, and you can’t help the sobs that escape you, finally, as the weight of everything crashes down. 

─────

woo-jin is already moving when his phone doesn’t ping with an answering message from you.

on our way. two minutes.

the message sends. delivers. no response. he slows half a step. gun-woo feels it immediately.

“she always replies,” woo-jin mutters. it’s not a question. it’s a fact, said too carefully.

gun-woo is already grabbing his bag. “how long?”

woo-jin checks the screen again. refreshes. nothing. “she should be locking up.”

they’re running before the gym door finishes swinging shut. the street blurs. traffic lights mean nothing. woo-jin’s breath tears out of him in sharp, punishing pulls, lungs burning as dread crawls up his spine. gun-woo keeps pace beside him — faster than he should be able to move, keys already in his hand like he knew exactly where they’d end up.

the shop lights are still on. that’s wrong. the front door is closed, locked. that’s worse. woo-jin slams into it shoulder-first, the glass rattling violently in its frame.

“open it,” he snaps, panic shredding his voice. “open it —”

gun-woo is already there with the spare key you’d given him shortly after he’d started walking you home. the lock clicks under his hands in one smooth motion. the door swings inward. the place is quiet. too quiet.

woo-jin calls your name. once. then louder.

they find you on the floor behind the counter. curled tight against the cabinets, arms wrapped around your ribs like you’re trying to hold yourself together by force alone. your breathing is shallow, uneven — every inhale looks like it hurts. there’s a dark color blooming beneath your sleeve, angry and unmistakable where someone’s grip lingered too long.

you look up when you hear them through the rushing in your ears. relief hits your face before you can stop it. raw. unfiltered. woo-jin makes a sound that isn’t a word.

he’s across the room in three strides, dropping to his knees in front of you, hands hovering uselessly in the air like he’s terrified that touching you wrong will finish what someone else started.

“they were here,” he breathes. “they were here —”

gun-woo doesn’t come closer yet. he’s scanning the space, eyes sharp, jaw locked, fists clenched so tight that his knuckles go white. he sees the timing in the untouched register. the precision in the locked door. the message that wasn’t meant to linger. 

woo-jin sees red. he’s on his feet in a second, pacing like a caged animal, slamming his fists into the wall hard enough to make the shelves shake. “i knew,” he shouts. “i knew this wasn’t over —”

he spins back toward the door, wild-eyed. “i’m going to kill them.”

gun-woo moves instantly. he catches woo-jin around the chest, locking him back, feet planted wide as woo-jin fights him with everything he has — like a man trying to tear his way out of his skin.

“let go!” woo-jin roars. “they touched her —”

“and she’s alive,” gun-woo snaps, voice cracking under the force of it. “because they wanted us to find her like this! do you think that was an accident?”

woo-jin continues to thrash anyway.. gun-woo tightens his hold, breath shaking. “you lose control now, and they win everything.”

woo-jin goes still. the rage drains out of him all at once, leaving something hollow and unbearable behind. he drops back to his knees. your voice is barely there when you speak.

“i’m sorry.”

both of them freeze. 

“i was stupid,” you whisper, your eyes burning. “so stupid. i should’ve locked up faster. i should’ve answered your text. i should’ve —”

woo-jin breaks. not loudly, not theatrically. he folds in on himself, hands covering his face as a sound rips from his chest — raw, wounded, uncontained. guilt splitting him open from the inside.

“i left you,” he chokes out. “i left you again.”

gun-woo kneels beside you then. he doesn’t hesitate. he slides an arm around your back, solid and unyielding, lifting you carefully like you’re something fragile and irreplaceable. you sag into him without thinking, the shaking finally breaking loose now that someone is holding you upright.

“you’re not stupid,” he says, quietly, but firmly. just for you. “you survived.”

woo-jin looks at you then. really looks. bruised, shaking, alive. he crawls forward and presses his forehead to your knee like he can’t keep himself upright anymore, hands gripping your clothes like an anchor.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers. again. again. like the repetition might undo time. gun-woo holds you steady while woo-jin crumbles at your feet.

outside, the streets keep moving. cars pass. people laugh. life continues, unaware it came within minutes of something irreversible. inside the shop, the truth settles heavy and undeniable — this wasn’t random. this wasn’t finished business resurfaces accidentally. it was a warning.

and whatever comes next — will not be quiet.

─────

gun-woo moves around you silently, his hands steady but careful as he cleans your wounds. his movements are deliberate, precise, almost ritualistic, like each motion could erase the memory of what happened.

you flinch once as the antiseptic stings — a sharp, biting remind of everything. he doesn’t react. doesn’t scold, doesn’t soothe. he just keeps going, his jaw tight, his shoulders tense, as though if he lets himself relax, the whole apartment will collapse.

the quiet stretches between each swipe of the cloth, thick and heavy. you feel the weight of it pressing down, settling in your chest. you’ve been through worse than pain. you’ve been through the impossible, and now it lingers in the surrounding space, in the hum of the fridge, in the faint tick of the wall clock.

gun-woo avoids your eyes. not completely, not forever — but enough to make you feel the distance of his thoughts. the guilt radiates off him in waves, even when he doesn’t speak. it’s not your fault, you want to say, but the words lodge somewhere behind your throat. you can see the tension in the way he holds his shoulders, the way his hands are precise but not relaxed. he blames himself for not being faster, for not being there first, and it drags the air from the room.

hong woo-jin paces the apartment, back and forth, back and forth, like the floor itself could bear the weight of his guilt. his fists clench and unclench, knuckles white, as if each step might somehow make what happened undo itself. occasionally, he stops mid-step, stares at you with raw, unfiltered fear, and then moves again, unable to stay still.

you try to speak, to comfort, to offer a fraction of reassurance, but your voice comes out hoarse, weak. you catch yourself staring at your bruised arms, the marks you can’t hide, the soreness that hums through every joint. your body aches as if it’s reminding you that even survival leaves its cost.

eventually, gun-woo finishes cleaning the worst of it. he helps dress you carefully in something soft, and the small scrape of fabric against your skin is the only sound besides woo-jin’s pacing. he guides you to the couch, settling you down gently. you slump into him, exhausted beyond thought. your body protests in sharp reminders of every shove, every push, every impossible second you survived.

you try to sleep, but it’s restless. dreams fragment almost as soon as they start — fleeting flashes of their faces, the shouts, the sudden silence, the weight of their hands. your chest rises and falls unevenly, your body alert even as your mind drifts.

gun-woo sits beside you, hand brushing against yours, near enough to remind you that you’re safe, far enough to let you breathe. the guilt is heavy in the room, but the quiet presence is something stronger — something that says, without words, “i’m here. you’re still here.”

woo-jin keeps pacing, never stopping, never silent, the apartment alive with tension, remorse, and unspoken promises. but for now, you exist in the calm of gun-woo’s presence, resting against him, letting yourself feel exhausted without shame.

even if sleep is fleeting. even if your body aches. even if guilt hangs over all of you like a shadow you can’t shake.

here, at least, you are not hiding. here, you are not alone. here, you are held.

─────

the days after the cafe attack feel unreal, like you’re moving through a world that’s slightly off-kilter. the air seems heavier, every sound sharper, every shadow a reminder of what almost happened. you wake up, stretch, and notice how even your heartbeat sounds louder than usual.

gun-woo doesn’t leave your side. not physically glued, but in the small, persistent ways that make it impossible to forget him. at breakfast, he sits across from you, elbows brushing the table, hands unconsciously lingering near yours. when you reach for the salt, his fingers twitch as if he wants to help but restrains himself. he watches you, always, with that quiet intensity you’ve come to recognize.

your brother, woo-jin, is restless. he paces the apartment, hands running through his hair, eyes darting toward every window, every door. he mutters numbers, possible escape routes, worst-case scenarios — but there’s a difference now. he’s calmer than he was during the attack. you know why. gun-woo is there. strong, steady, the silent anchor woo-jin leans on without ever admitting it.

you spend the morning checking locks, setting up cameras, and reviewing their notes from the day of the attack. gun-woo hovers just behind you, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed but relaxed. you feel him notice when you flinch at a sudden noise, and his hand brushes yours — not deliberately, just enough. your chest tightens. you’re hyper-aware of the weight of him nearby, and you can’t stop the small thrill that runs through you.

lunch is quiet. you make sandwiches while gun-woo sits at the counter, watching, offering small comments —“don’t overcook the bread,” “that looks better than last time.” his voice is soft, almost hesitant, but there’s warmth in it that makes the mundane feel intimate. when you bump hands while passing a knife or spoon, you don’t pull away. instead, you linger an extra second, letting the brush of his fingers remind you that you’re safe here. that you’re wanted here.

woo-jin watches all this from the couch, nursing a coffee and scowling at the two of you like it’s his job. “focus,” he mutters, but the tension in his shoulders has eased. he no longer feels like he has to carry everything alone. gun-woo’s presence shifts the weight. you notice how woo-jin’s eyes soften when he glances at you, and you feel a flicker of gratitude for both of them.

the afternoon stretches into early evening. gun-woo suggests a walk, just around the block, a way to shake off the lingering anxiety. you agree, slipping your hand into his briefly before realizing it, letting it rest there longer than necessary. the world outside feels calmer, normal even, and for the first time in days, you allow yourself to breathe fully.

“hey,” he says quietly, brushing a strand of hair from your face, and your stomach flips. it’s not just habit. not just protection. it’s care. you tilt your head slightly, letting him, and he smiles faintly — shy, awkward, but entirely sincere.

later, back at the apartment, you find yourselves cooking dinner together. it’s clumsy, fumbling, full of accidental touches and teasing remarks. he bumps into your shoulder while reaching for a pan, and you catch his gaze, a faint heat in his cheeks. when you laugh, he smiles, and the sound is soft enough that you almost forget the danger from days ago.

as the night settles in, you’re on the couch, a blanket over both of your laps, leaning against him as he reads quietly. his hand brushes yours again, this time not accidentally, and you let it stay. his warmth seeps into you, grounding you. you feel the unspoken promise there — the promise that he’ll stay close, protect you, and, more quietly, that he’s been feeling this, caring like this, from the very first moment he saw you.

woo-jin comes in to check on you both before heading to his room. he pauses, watching silently, then mutters something about “kids these days” before disappearing behind his door. you glance at gun-woo, and he shrugs, a small, amused smirk tugging at his lips.

you rest your head against his shoulder. the apartment is quiet. safe. yours, in a way it hasn’t been for a long time. and for the first time since the attack, you let yourself feel it fully. the relief, the calm, and the warmth of someone who cares for you.

and as you close your eyes, leaning closer, you realize that maybe this is how healing begins. not with grand gestures, not with dramatic confrontations, but in small touches, quiet presence, and the steady knowledge that you’re not alone anymore.

.

─────

when the day finally comes to end this, you sit on the edge of the couch with your spine too straight and your shoulders locked tight, hands wrapped around a mug that went cold ages ago. the ceramic presses into your palms, grounding and useless all at once. your eyes stay fixed on the door, like if you stare hard enough, it might open on its own and give you answers.

the apartment is quiet in the way that makes everything louder. a car passes outside and your heart jumps. the floor creaks somewhere in the building and your breath stutters. even the low hum of the city feels intrusive, like it’s brushing too close to your nerves.

gun-woo and woo-jin are out there. actually out there. facing the thing you’ve all been circling for weeks.

you try to sit still. you really do. but your leg starts bouncing without your permission, so you stand, pace two steps, stop. press your palm flat against the wall. it’s cool, solid. real. you focus on breathing — slow in, slower out — but fear keeps slipping between the cracks, sharp and persistent.

your phone is already in your hand before you realize you’ve picked it up again.

you imagine them moving through dark streets and narrow alleys, footsteps light, bodies coiled and ready. you picture gun-woo first, because you always do these days. the way he moves with intention. the way he shields without making it obvious. careful, controlled, terrifying when he needs to be. you imagine him glancing back just long enough to make sure woo-jin’s still there.

and woo-jin — reckless, brilliant, infuriating. all momentum and instinct. you can see him charging forward, jaw set, convinced he can take anything head-on. you imagine gun-woo grabbing his arm, grounding him, holding him back just before things tip too far. the thought tightens your chest until it almost hurts.

time stretches, elastic and cruel. every sound outside makes you flinch. a knock somewhere down the hall sends your heart leaping into your throat before logic catches up. just a neighbor. just life continuing, indifferent to the way your world feels like it’s hanging by a thread.

you move to the window and press your forehead against the glass. it’s cold, biting, but you welcome it. you wish you could see them. wish you could do something — anything — other than wait.

then your phone buzzes. for half a second, you’re afraid to look. when you do, the message is simple.

all clear. we’re safe. coming home.

relief hits you so hard it almost knocks you over. your knees go weak and you sink back onto the couch, the mug slipping from your hands to the table. a sound escapes you — half laugh, half sob — as the breath you’ve been holding finally leaves your lungs. your hands shake now, but it’s different. lighter. like your body is realizing it survived something.

the minutes after feel unreal, like the world has tilted just slightly out of place.

then the lock clicks. the door opens.

gun-woo steps in first. his eyes find yours immediately, like they were always going to. his body is still wound tight, shoulders squared, muscles tense with leftover adrenaline — but there’s something softer there now, something that eases the moment he sees you standing. relief, mirrored.

woo-jin follows, rolling his shoulders, a tired grin tugging at his mouth like he can’t quite turn it off yet. he looks bruised and worn and unmistakably alive.

you move without thinking, crossing the space between you too fast, relief tipping into panic, until gun-woo reaches out and catches you by the shoulders. his hands are warm. steady. solid enough to stop you without hurting, without startling.

“it’s over,” he says quietly. not dramatic. just certain. “we’re fine.”

the words settle into you, heavy and real. woo-jin gives your shoulder a light tap, grinning crookedly despite the exhaustion. “see?” he says. “told you we’d handle it.”

you nod, but your eyes are already back on gun-woo. on the way his thumbs press lightly into your shoulders like he’s making sure you’re really here. on the way his posture finally relaxes now that he’s close enough to protect you again.

something in your chest loosens.

you lean forward, and this time he lets you, arms coming around you without hesitation. you sink into him, forehead against his chest, and the tension you’ve been holding for days finally spills out of you all at once. his hand moves to your hair, brushing it back gently, his thumb lingering at your temple like he’s memorizing the feel of you alive and safe.

warmth spreads through you — relief first, then exhaustion, then something deeper and quieter. awe. gratitude. care so profound it almost scares you. you realize, suddenly, how much he’s done with you in mind. every choice. every risk weighed. every step taken not just to win — but to come back.

you close your eyes against his shoulder and breathe him in. the city noise fades. the fear recedes. for the first time in days, your lungs fill all the way. 

safe. together. alive. and the world, at last, goes still enough for you to feel it.

─────

in the days that the apartment is quiet in a way that feels earned. not empty, not lonely — just still. sunlight spills in through the window at a low angle, catching dust motes in the air and warming the floorboards beneath your feet. the fridge hums softly, steady and familiar. somewhere outside, the city exists, but it feels far away, like it’s agreed to leave you alone for a while.

you move through the kitchen slowly, deliberately. there’s no rush. no edge to your movements. you chop vegetables, the sound of the knife against the cutting board rhythmic and grounding. rice simmers on the stove. steam curls upward, fogging the air with warmth. every small task feels strangely significant, like proof that life has settled back into something normal.

gun-woo is there with you. not hovering. not watching like he’s waiting for something to go wrong. just there. he matches your pace without thinking about it, stepping aside when you pass, handing you a bowl before you realize you need it. his shoulder brushes yours when you both reach for the same pan, a soft, unintentional touch that makes your breath hitch.

neither of you comments on it.

sometimes his fingers graze yours when you trade utensils. sometimes he stands just a little too close. each contact sends a quiet spark through you — nothing overwhelming, just enough to make you aware of him, of the space you’re sharing. and still, neither of you pulls away.

when the food is done, you carry it to the couch instead of the table, curling into the familiar shape of the living room. a blanket gets pulled over both your legs, heavy and warm. you sit close enough that your sides touch, the line between you already blurred.

the show plays on the screen — something low-stakes, easy — but neither of you is really watching. you share a bottle of water, passing it back and forth without comment. when your hands meet around it, the contact lingers. not accidentally this time. just long enough to feel deliberate.

you look at him. he’s already looking at you.

there’s no tension in his expression, no guardedness. just calm attention, like he’s been waiting for this moment to exist. something unspoken passes between you, quiet and heavy all at once, and your chest tightens with the weight of it.

then, slowly, almost carefully, he takes your hand. his fingers curl around yours with a steadiness that makes your heart start to race. he doesn’t rush to fill the silence. he just holds your hand, thumb resting against your knuckles, letting you feel the warmth of him, the certainty of his presence.

seconds pass. maybe more. finally, his voice cuts through the quiet, low and honest, like he’s saying something sacred.

“i have loved you since i saw you through the café window the first time,” he says. his eyes don’t leave yours. “before i even knew who you were.”

the words hit you all at once. your breath catches. your chest tightens with surprise, with relief, with something light and bright that feels like sunlight breaking through clouds you didn’t realize were still there. a soft laugh escapes you, unsteady, as tears prick at your eyes.

“you…” you squeeze his hand, grounding yourself. “you loved me that whole time?”

he nods once. no hesitation. no doubt. “every moment i could.”

for a heartbeat, neither of you moves. the apartment feels smaller somehow, like it’s drawn inward to hold just the two of you. the air is warm. still. safe.

then he leans in — slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. his forehead brushes yours, a gentle touch that makes your eyes flutter closed. when your lips meet, it’s soft and tentative, barely there. a kiss that doesn’t ask for more, just promises it might come someday.

you tighten your fingers around his hand, anchoring both of you in the moment.

afterward, you settle against him without thinking, your head resting on his shoulder. his arm shifts, instinctive, fitting around you like it’s always belonged there. you breathe slowly, deeply, feeling the last of the tension from the past weeks drain out of your body.

the world outside doesn’t matter. here, in this quiet apartment, it’s just you and him. safe. alive. and finally — undeniably — loved.

─────

morning arrives gently, sunlight spilling through the windows and painting the apartment in soft gold. dust motes drift lazily in the air. the world feels unhurried, like it’s decided to move at your pace today.

you’re in the kitchen, apron lightly dusted with flour, standing over the stove with intense concentration as if breakfast is a high-stakes mission. the faint smell of oil and toast fills the room. you flip something in the pan, a little too confidently, and it wobbles dangerously.

“careful,” gun-woo says, amusement lacing his voice.

he steps in without urgency, reaching out to steady the pan. his fingers brush yours — warm, familiar — and neither of you pulls away. you glance up at him, catching the faint smile tugging at his mouth, the one he only seems to wear when he thinks no one’s watching.

“i’ve got it,” you insist, though you’re smiling now, too. your hand lingers in his just a second longer than necessary, and something unspoken passes between you. easy. natural.

from the living room, woo-jin lets out a soft laugh. he’s sprawled across the couch like he owns the place, one arm thrown over the back, watching the two of you with open fondness. 

“you two are hopeless,” he says, shaking his head. but there’s no bite to it. only warmth. he doesn’t step in. doesn’t tease further. he just watches, content, like this is exactly how things are meant to be.

breakfast turns into a slow affair — plates clinking, quiet conversation, shared glances. afterward, the three of you drift into the living room without discussing it, settling into familiar spots like muscle memory. a blanket gets pulled over laps. gun-woo sits close enough that your shoulders touch, his hand brushing yours beneath the fabric, a silent check-in. you answer by shifting closer.

woo-jin stretches his legs out along the other end of the couch, humming absentmindedly. every so often, he looks over at the two of you, his gaze lingering just long enough to say something without words. this is good. his expression carries approval, relief, pride — emotions he doesn’t bother dressing up.

the afternoon slips by unnoticed.

when the sun starts to dip, the light changes, turning the apartment amber and soft-edged. you pick a movie more out of habit than interest. gun-woo leans his head against your shoulder, fingers threading through yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world. his weight is comforting, grounding.

woo-jin rests a hand on the arm of the couch, glancing over during a quiet moment in the film. his smile is small, satisfied. he doesn’t say anything — but you feel it all the same. his blessing. his trust. his certainty that this, whatever it is you’re building, is real and worth keeping.

evening settles in fully. the apartment fills with small, ordinary sounds — the click of the remote, the clatter of cups being set aside, a quiet laugh at a joke that isn’t even that funny. it’s mundane. it’s perfect.

this is what remains after everything else falls away.

later, when the night deepens, you curl into the couch cushions, gun-woo draped protectively over you, his arm firm and warm around your shoulders. woo-jin sits nearby with his phone or a book, close enough to be part of it, far enough to give you space. he belongs here, too — just in a different way.

your fingers lace with gun-woo’s. his grip is steady, reassuring, like a promise that doesn’t need to be spoken aloud.

woo-jin glances over one last time. his eyes soften. a hint of a smile curves his mouth. then he looks away, deliberately, giving you privacy without leaving — letting you have this moment, letting you have each other.

and in that simple apartment — filled with warmth, shared silences, and the quiet presence of someone who has always watched over you — you finally understand what safety really feels like.

not just survival. not just love. but being chosen. being trusted. being allowed to rest. as you close your eyes with gun-woo beside you and woo-jin woven quietly into the edges of your life, the thought settles deep and certain in your chest:

the front door swung open just as you placed your phone down, the familiar thud of sunghoon’s shoes filled the entryway.

“hoonie!” you called, wiping your hands on the towel. you heard your two-year-old son wobbling and giggling in his socks—came toddling around the corner from the playroom, arms raised high. 

sunghoon’s tired laugh drifted in from the hallway as he placed his bag down by the console table. “hyunwoo!” he scooped his son up with one arm, the other already loosening his tie. hyunwoo giggled childishly and planted a kiss on his daddy’s cheek, wrapping his tiny arms around sunghoon’s neck.

sunghoon padded into the kitchen where his wife was cooking—simmering the beef broth. 

“you’re early today,” you hummed, teasing, glancing over your shoulder. sunghoon nodded, smoothly wrapping his free arm around your waist, pulling you gently back against his chest. his other hand still rested under hyunwoo’s legs, the little boy tucked comfortably in his grasp, head resting on his father’s shoulder. 

“yeah—missed my wifey so much,” he murmured against your temple, voice low and tired. he leaned in to press a soft kiss against your cheek, deep and loving. you smiled and giggled when your husband nuzzled into your neck, leaning into him. “i missed you too, hoonie.” 

your heart softened, fingers pausing over the ladle. 

“dinner’s almost ready,” you smiled, humming. “i made your favourite~” 

“gosh, you’re just so perfect.” 

he lingered like that for a moment as you turned off the kitchen heat, steam rising from the pot. hyunwoo babbling softly against his daddy’s shoulder.

dinner was as usual.

hyunwoo sat in his booster seat, swinging his little feet while you spoon-fed him small pieces of beef and softened carrots. sunghoon sat across from you, sleeves rolled up, occasionally having to wipe his little boy’s mouth. 

the tv behind played quietly in the background—a news segment neither of you were really listening to.

the beef broth was rich, the meat was tender—filling the house with warmth, and sunghoon hummed his approval after the spoonful, the corners of his mouth curling softly.

“good as always, hun,” he murmured, nudging your foot playfully beneath the table.

you smiled shyly, heart swelling in that familiar way when the three of you were together like this every dinner. you set your chopsticks down gently, wiping hyunwoo’s chin with a napkin before speaking…

“baby?” you said lightly, glancing up at sunghoon as he sipped his water.

he hummed, glancing at you. 

“about your busan trip tomorrow…” you muttered, nipping your tongue out to wet your lips. sunghoon hummed again in acknowledgement, placing the cup down with a soft thud. you smiled, reaching over to hold his hand over the table. “i was thinking… maybe hyunwoo and i could tag along? or maybe after you go, i’ll drive down to see my parents? it’s been a while. they’re missing him.”

for a second, nothing.

sunghoon’s thumb brushed over your knuckles once—absent, mechanical—before he gently slid his hand out from yours. he leaned back in his chair, exhaling softly, his gaze lowered to the table. 

“what?”

you blinked, smile faltering. “it’s just for a day,” you tried, softer this time, almost pleading. “i’ll drive carefully. i’ll text you when we get there and when we leave. you know the route’s safe. i’ve done it before, you have me on airtag.”

sunghoon’s jaw tightened, though his expression stayed gentle.

“with hyunwoo in the car?” he asked, tilting his head. “on your own?”

the words made you hesitate, feeling yourself smaller in your seat. you didn’t reply.

“baby,” he sighed after a while, standing slowly and collecting the empty dishes, “think about what you’re saying.” next to you, hyunwoo babbled something incoherent, clapping his hands.

you were quick to rise on your feet, stepping around the table to follow sunghoon to the sink. the words tangled in your throat, but you forced them out before you lost your chance. “okay. i just thought i’d ask,” you said, quieter now as you trailed behind your husband, holding the hem of his shirt.

sunghoon paused, his back to you as he rinsed the bowls. his shoulders rose and fell with a slow, deep breath. then, he placed the plates gently on the drying rack, wiped his hands on the dish towel, before finally turned to face you.

“love,” he stepped forward, brushing a strand of your hair with his slightly damp fingers. “i’m just worried about you and hyunwoo’s safety. the highway’s dangerous—you know that. do you wanna leave me alone in this world?” his voice cracked like it hurts him too.

you quickly shook your head, leaning into sunghoon’s hand on your cheek. “of course not…”

sunghoon nodded satisfactorily, smiling. his thumb brushed the apple of your cheek. “hyunwoo can always facetime them. i love you.”

“i love you too.”

yn: not this week mom :(  yn: not safe to drive hyunwoo just by myself. mom: oh… mom: i understand, sweetie.

——

the last time you saw your parents—was probably last year during hyunwoo’s first birthday. you remembered how your dad lifted hyunwoo up with trembling hands, how your mom fussed over the cake she baked, how their laughter filled their tiny living room that it felt like you were seventeen again.

since then, it has been quiet.

christmas, chuseok, seollal—you spent them all at sunghoon’s parents’ house instead. closer, easier, less tiring, safer for both hyunwoo and you. 

that’s what sunghoon said and since that was true—not having to drive up to five hours without the traffic jam just to get to your parents house—you didn’t argue. the city where sunghoon’s parents lived also didn’t have hills and open lakes that could be dangerous for hyunwool—who’s still learning how to run without falling, still curious enough to chase birds and squirrels. sunghoon was just being careful. anything could happen.

but each time you think about visiting your parents… 

something happened.

once, you woke up to find the car tire flat. sunghoon crouched by the driveway, wiping his sweat from his brow as he replaced it himself. “don’t worry about the trip, love. just rest today. tell your parents, they’ll understand.”

another time, you couldn’t find the house keys and sunghoon was on a work trip. you couldn’t even leave the house. you searched for hours, tearing apart bags after bags, pockets after pockets—only to find them days later in the laundry basket. “you’ve been so forgetful lately,” sunghoon teased gently, kissing your temple. “i think you need to slow down.”

and then there’s the unavoidable—weather.

sunghoon was the one who offered to visit your parents. “should we take a drive this weekend? mom’s probably missing you.” he said, brushing hyunwoo’s hair back. your heart would lift, light and hopeful, and you’d start to pack hyunwoo’s bags with snacks and toys.

but then saturday rolled around—and the sky darkened and heavy with clouds. a storm warning would flash across your phone screen. 

sunghoon would sigh, setting his mug down with a soft clink. “looks bad out there… dangerous to drive through the hills. let’s wait for next week, love.”

how could you argue with that?

next week never came.

——

sunghoon never really had any personal problems with your parents. 

they were fine. polite enough. a little too nosy, maybe. a little too involved. 

but fine—nonetheless. nothing too bad.

the problem was you. 

the problem was the way your face lit up whenever their names popped up on your phone. the stars and galaxies in your eyes when they called. the way your voice softened when you talked about your childhood, your home.

home. 

as if sunghoon, hyunwoo, this expensive condo, this city, wasn’t your home now.

sunghoon wouldn’t call it jealousy. he knows the relationship and love that he has with you is entirely different from what you have with your parents. something deeper. more consuming. what you have with your parents is simple. they raised you. protected you.

but with sunghoon? he chose you. and you chose him. 

that was different. that meant something greater.

and then, like clockwork, he’d check the weather days beforehand before initiating to go to your parents house because he believed that stupid forecast app more than trusting the idea of letting you out of his sight.

because as long as you stayed here, in this house, in his arms—he could breathe easy. you didn’t need anyone else. 

just him. and hyunwoo.

that’s enough.

it has to be. 

——

it had been weeks of soft excuses and cancelled plans. each time your parents called, their voices got smaller. always asking for your availability. always asking to see hyunwoo over facetime and saying how they want to pinch his chubby cheeks. always telling you to visit them—they haven’t seen their pretty little daughter’s face for so long.

they joked they might forget how you look like. 

“just for the weekend,” your mom pleaded over the phone. you could almost hear the desperation dripping like honey from her voice. “we’ll come over if you can’t make it. your dad’s fine to drive, we promise!” 

the way she said it—like she missed her daughter so much it was hurting her physically—that made something snap in your chest.

so that night, once again, when sunghoon sat beside you on the couch watching the tv, you gathered your courage.

“hoonie?” you started softly, almost a whisper.

you shifted closer, curling your legs beneath you, and rested your head against his shoulder. your fingers found his free hand resting on his lap and laced themselves between his. 

sunghoon hummed in acknowledgement and his eyes fell on you, a lazy smile tugging faintly at the corner of his lips. you gave his hand a little squeeze, tilting your face to brush your lips against his jaw. “‘m so proud of my hardworking husband,” you whispered against his skin, voice soft and warm.

his smile deepend. “yeah?” his arm slid around your waist, pulling you a little closer. “i don’t hear that enough.” 

you laughed under your breath, pressing another kiss beneath his ear. “maybe i’ll remind you a lot of that tonight,” 

sunghoon already puts hyunwoo to bed.

that got his attention. sunghoon’s grip tightened slightly in your hip, his voice dropping lower as his attention now was fully on you. “oh yeah?” he murmured, leaning closer, breath brushing against your cheek as he planted wet kisses on your skin. 

you giggled, brushing your nose against his.

and for a second, his eyes darkened, hungry—he had been working extra hard lately, climbing the hierarchy so fast—but he supposed he could work harder tonight for you. 

this was his reward. his peace. sunghoon felt himself growing hotter and harder, it’s itching him.

perfect.

but that’s when you softened your voice further, sweet and light.

“...maybe after we talk about visiting my parents this weekend?” 

it happened in an instant.

sunghoon’s body went still. tense beneath your touch, like a wire pulled tight. his jaw ticked, fingers froze at your waist, the warmth gone from his touch along with that look in his eyes—soft and needing just moments ago—flattened.

he pulled back instantly, eyebrows furrowed with that annoyed, confused crease in the middle. sunghoon shook his head, letting out a dry scoff in disbelief. “wow—you’re unbelievable,” he muttered, voice low, but the bite in it was sharp. he sat back against the ouch, creating distance, his arm slipping from your waist like the weight of you suddenly tired him out.

you blinked, confused. “hoonie—”

“so this was just—what? sweet talk to get your way?” he let out a hollow laugh, running a hand through his hair in frustration, the mood completely shattered. he’s no longer feeling it tonight—the thought of your parents—fuck, it pissed him off so fucking bad. “kisses first, then the favour, then we fuck? cute, love, real fucking cute.”

your chest tightened. that wasn’t how you meant it. 

“no, no—” you shook your head, reaching for his hand again. “i wasn’t—i was just—i thought it’d be nice, for hyunwoo to see his grandparents. that’s all. i missed them. i missed home. i missed…” your voice faltered.

his jaw clenched, and for a second, his eyes softened—not with affection, but exhaustion. he didn’t answer. he didn’t pull his hand away and you rushed to fill the silence, words tumbling too fast in hopes that he could see the desperation in your eyes and pity you. 

“just for one night—or no, just visiting. i’ll drive. you can rest the whole way, i promise. i’ll pack everything, i’ll handle hyunwoo’s naps and food, you won’t have to lift a finger, babe, i promise.” 

still, he said nothing.

instead, sunghoon sighed quietly, lowering his head and rubbing his temples like the weight of the world rested there. like it’s so fucking hard for him to say—yeah, you’re right. we haven’t been to your parents—my in-laws—house for a while now… 

“you think i don’t want you to be happy,” his voice came out quiet like he’s explaining something simple to a child. to hyunwoo. “you think i don’t want hyunwoo to see his grandparents?” 

your heart dropped. no, no—this was getting far from what you were trying to say. “that’s not what i mea—”

“i work all week,” he continued softly, shaking his head. “i miss breakfast, i miss telling bedtime stories to hyunwoo, i miss you. especially you,” he emphasised, but not looking at you. wetting his lips as he threw his head back against the couch. “and the one weekend i thought i could finally rest—finally breathe, spend the night with you, spend the morning with my family—you’re planning to be somewhere else.”

your chest tightened painfully.

“that’s not fair,” you whispered, the only child brattiness behaviour in your kicking. 

but his tired smile cut through you. “life’s not fair, love. but i still do everything i can for this family so you and hyunwoo can live lavishly,” he gently untangled his hand from yours, brushing his thumb, affectionately, against the apple of your cheek before standing.

“if you want to go so badly, just go,” he said, his tone strangely calm. “take hyunwoo. leave me out of it and have a nice weekend.”

and before you could stop—argue with him—, your husband left the room, his footsteps fading down the hall, leaving you with nothing but your guilt and frustration. 

the room felt colder after he left. 

you sat there, alone, the low hum of the tv from what he last watched filling the emptiness between your thoughts. your chest tightened as the tears finally spilled over before you knew it. 

you didn’t mean to hurt him or make him feel like he wasn’t enough. you didn’t mean to initiate something—intimate—just to get your way. 

you just wanted to go home with your little family. 

but everytime you brought up your parents, it felt like you were tearing a piece of your life away from this home, from sunghoon—from everything you’d built together. 

were you selfish for wanting both?

you wiped your face, sniffing quietly.

“it’s just a visit,” you sobbed softly, using your sleeves to wipe your tears. “it’s just one weekend.” you whispered to yourself. 

but then you remembered how tired sunghoon looked. how late he went to sleep, how early he woke up—and made you and hyunwoo breakfast without you asking him to— because that’s your job. as a wife.

you thought about how much he worked, how much he cared, how much he gave up for you and hyunwoo.

did he ever ask for anything in return? no.

he only ever asked you to sit and stay at home like his pretty little wife. keep him, yourself, and hyunwoo fed, clean, and happy. greet him at the door with a smile and a kiss. make this house lovely when the world outside wore him down. warm the bed for when he needs you under him.

it wasn’t much. 

you didn’t have a job—because he asked you to not have one. sunghoon’s the husband, he’s the provider. you didn’t bring in money. he did. you didn’t pay the bills or pay the car or deal with taxes or have to think about anything at all. 

sunghoon just wanted peace and for you to stay at home.

and yet, you couldn’t give him that.

maybe it was selfish of you to still long for your old home, when this was your home now. 

you wiped your eyes with trembling fingers—let’s apologise. 

apologise and make up for what you ruined earlier—reminded him that you were his as much as he was yours. touched him the way he liked. make him feel like he’s the only man for you—the only man you’ll ever need. 

the only family member—alongside hyunwoo—who truly mattered now. 

and never mentioned your parents again.

yn: are you sleeping? yn: i can’t visit this weekend :(  yn: hyunwoo has a camp this weekend at school. yn: but whenever i can, i’ll let you know so you don’t have to remind me all the time  hehe. yn: i love you and dad always. yn: goodnight mom.

Your friend shot you a sympathetic look but you looked to the side, earning a sigh from her. "You need to stop doing this, (Name). You're only gonna hurt yourself if this goes on."

You tuned her out, pointedly looking out of the window on your right. Ningning sighed again, closing the first-aid kit once she's done.

"I'm gonna regret telling you this but I know someone who can teach you," she started, catching how your ears twitched at her words.

She took a deep breath and exhaled. "His name's Heeseung and—"

You shot up before she could finished her sentence. "Wait, did you just say Heeseung? As in the Lee Heeseung? The one who won first place at every competitions?"

Ningning nodded. "Yup, the very same man himself. He doesn't ride anymore, due to a mild injury. He reached out to me first, asking if you needed someone to… teach you."

Your eyes widened, nearly popping out of its sockets. "To teach me?" You repeated, "wait, when did he contact you? And why now?"

Your friend pursed her lips. "Because I'm worried about you! You're spending most of your time practicing. You're always injured whenever you came home. Who wouldn't be worried!"

"Ningning—"

She stopped when she realized she's getting ahead of herself, closing her eyes and internally count to three before reopening them, looking like she had surrendered, like she knew her words couldn't stopped you from chasing after your dreams.

"Just.. be careful," she ended.

You nodded, reaching over to place your hand over hers. "I will. I promise."

~

The next day, you found yourself standing in front of a lonely house.

There's nothing impressive about it at first glance, other than the large and an open-aired fenced up area with a few horses roaming about, their ears twitching. A sheltered stable was situated on the right of the area, where you're certain it's built for horses to take shelter from the harsh, unforgiving sunlight and heavy rain.

At first, you thought you've arrived at the wrong place. You squinted your eyes against the sun shining down on you ruthlessly, holding down your hair when a strong gust of wind blew past you, causing sand to slap lightly against your skin. But no matter where you looked, no one was around. You were about to walk away, feeling defeated when—

"Are you (Name)?"

You looked over your shoulder, body turning as still as a statue when your eyes landed on—what you probably think—is the most handsome man you've laid your eyes upon, in your entire life. His features looked as though they were carefully sculpted from a patient hand—sharp when they needed to be and soft where it mattered.

High cheekbones caught under the sunlight, casting subtle shadows across his face, while his jawline was clean and defined enough to make your stomach do an embarrassing little flip. A worn brown suede jacket hung loosely over his broad frame, the oversized collar lined with dark fur that softened his otherwise imposing appearance. Beneath it was a faded henley shirt, the top button left unbuttoned, showing off more of his sun-kissed skin of his neck and collarbones that made you want to sink your teeth into.

A plaid shirt was tied around his waist, adding another layer to the effortlessly rugged look. Combined with the dust coating his boots and the horses roaming around behind him, he looked like he belonged here.

For the past few seconds or minutes, all you could do was to stare. And it didn't go unnoticed by him, whose eyes gleamed in amusement.

"I'm guessing that's a yes," he said.

Your face flared up. "Uh—"

Great.

Your first ever face-to-face encounter with someone you highly respect and you've already made a fool of yourself. What you didn't know however, was how you're so caught up in your embarrassment to notice how his eyes darkened a shade, how he tongued his cheek as he greedily and shamelessly drink in your figure.

"I know why you're here," he said, saving you from further drowning in a pool of humiliation.

You blinked. "Oh really?"

Heeseung nodded and crossed his arms. "Yup, I saw you before, how you always watch the competitions and shoving your way to stand at the front."

Your ears turned red, not sure whether you should be flattered with the fact that he remembers you, out of everyone else among the audience or something else. You awkwardly cleared your throat, shuffling your feet on the spot, feeling unusually timid with his unwavering and intense gaze that never left your face.

"So, when do we begin?" You asked, managing to keep your voice even and steady despite how your heart's about to leap out of your throat.

The man cocked his head to the side. "What makes you think I'll say yes?"

You opened and closed your mouth, rendered speechless by the sheer audacity of the man. Heeseung laughed, the sound light and melodious. You sworn you heard faint wedding bells ringing in the distance, feeling all light-headed and floaty.

"I'm kidding, I won't go back on my words. I'm not that kind of person," he replied, gesturing for you to follow him as he turned.

You obliged, easily catching up to him and walked beside him, where he brought you over to the fenced up area—where a few nearby mares stopped to look at your approaching figures.

You gulped, entering once Heeseung pushed the fence opened. You watched as a horse headed to him, standing a few centimeters back to observe his interaction with the four-legged creature.

How his features softened as he talked to it in a hushed, comforting tone. The kind of tone one will used when talking to their partner. How he lovingly patted the horse, his calloused fingers brushing against its skin. How he chuckled when it nudged its nose against his neck, huffing out hot air, begging for more attention, similar to a spoiled house cat.

"It likes you. What's its name?" you asked, crossing your arms, unaware that you're smiling from the wholesome interaction.

Heeseung hummed, brushing his hand through the majestic stallion's mane. "Name's Stella, she's been my ride and die since I first saw her. She's very loyal too. Wouldn't let anyone else other than me ride her."

You nodded. "Loyalty is hard to earn. The fact she's loyal to you is an impressive feat of its own."

His lips curled up in a knowing smirk. "If I didn't know better, I would think you're hitting on me."

"Someone needs to knock that ego of yours down a peg," you retorted but your words lacked no bite, your stomach doing another embarrassing flip at how the smirk widened across his face.

Damn, if you knew Heeseung's this fine, you would've done something about it a long time ago.

He stepped away from Stella, turning to walk towards you at a slow, languid pace, like he's taking a walk in a park. It took all of you to not moved an inch, planting your feet into the solid ground beneath your feet.

The cowboy stopped, now standing close enough for the tips of your shoes to touch. With the close proximity, you're able to get a whiff of his cologne mixed with his natural scent.

"Oh really? And who would that be?" He cooed, voice dangerously low and smooth like honey, smooth enough to scratch your brain just right.

Your breath stuttered in your throat when his gaze trailed down your face, lingering on your lips before it's back up to your eyes. He's shameless, with how he doesn't looked ashamed at the fact of him being caught red-handed. And gods, his confidence made your cheeks flushed and your heart skipped a beat.

"I don't know. Maybe it's someone who just so happens to be in need of your… expertise," you replied, matching his tone, watching how his eyes widened slightly before they darkened a shade.

His jaw clenched but before he could say anything, you stepped back, looking at him all innocently despite the very obvious tension engulfing the two of you.

"So, are we getting started or what? C'mon cowboy, show me how you ride," you called out to him.

~

One week passed.

One week of Heeseung showing you the ropes behind horse riding. Putting your… desire for him to ravish you to six ways beyond the world, you're surprised with how knowledgeable he is for what seemed to be common sense. Sure, you have the basics locked down but there's more than just practice makes perfect.

"You're doing it again."

You stopped at his words, about to grab the reins but his voice stopped you. The cowboy leaned against the fence behind him, arms crossed with the hem of his hat dipping low enough to hide his eyes from your view. But it did nothing to hide how they kept flicking down to your bare thighs—something you did on purpose.

You worn the skimpiest outfit you can find in your closet—the shortest pair of shorts that barely covered anything along with the thinnest white crop top and a pair of dusty brown boots to complete the look. When Heeseung first saw you, you could see his brain malfunctioned on the spot.

He dragged his eyes down your body, tongue darting out to wet his lips at your clean, smooth and unblemished thighs. Skin that's practically inviting him in with open arms and legs for him to mark them, to leave physical evidence of him behind, imprinted on your body.

Not to mention, he made zero effort to hide the way he's eye-fucking you every time you bent over, giving him a front-view seat of your behind.

The cowboy sighed, already looking exhausted despite the lesson starting less than ten minutes ago. He didn't push off the fence, choosing to remain there so you can learned from your mistakes without needing him to guide you. Not when he had taught you a few times.

"I've told you before, your weight matters. A horse carries everything you do. Every shift and every movement. If you lean too forward, they feel it. Lean too back and they feel it too," he explained, pushing off the fence and approached you, placing his hand on the stallion's nose, earning a snort of satisfaction.

You hummed absentmindedly, idly twirling the reins around your fingers. It's not your fault, with how attractive the cowboy looks with the sunlight kissing his honey-toned face.

"…Are you listening?" He questioned, despite knowing the answer.

You blinked. "Y-Yea, I was."

Heeseung arched an brow, unconvinced. "Alright, then repeat what I just said."

"…The horse has feelings?"

He didn't reply, mostly because he doesn't have the energy anymore. Instead, all you got was a flat and unimpressed stare. You flashed him your most sweetest and brightest smile—a huge contrast to the kind of thoughts running through your mind, hoping it will softened him up.

But he didn't take the bait.

"Move your right leg back. You're gonna get thrown off the horse if you continue sitting like this," he instructed.

You knew you should move, should obey his words since he's the expert here. But you can't helped it, not with how your eyes, mind and attention drifted somewhere else. To the way his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing more of those choke and drool-worthy skin that you want to feel directly pressed against your body. To the muscles in his forearms, flexing whenever he adjusted the saddle straps or do anything else. And also—

"(Name)."

You blinked, snapping back to reality. "H-Huh?"

He looked at you, that signature unreadable look taking over his handsome and kissable face. "You're staring."

At me.

He doesn't have to say the last two words, not when it's clear as day as to what you were looking at. Heat crept up the back of your neck, flustered with his bluntness.

"..I wasn't! I was thinking!" You blurted out, a poor and feeble attempt to save yourself from your humiliating dilemma.

Heeseung chuckled, the sound low and throaty, enough for heat to pool in your stomach. Fuck, you want to feel the vibrations against your skin. Maybe on your neck or even better, the aching space between your legs. You didn't have to look down to know you're already soaking and leaking.

"Thinking about what? I'm sure it doesn't have anything to do with horse riding," he pointed out, all smug and knowing.

And he's not wrong.

His words gave you a surge of courage. You hopped off the horse, not caring how you'll land badly with how careless you were. The cowboy's eyes widened, genuine horror flashed across his face as he steadied you with his large hands on your hips. He parted his lips, ready to say something but you were faster.

You grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, yanked him towards you and crashed your lips against his. The kiss was messy, desperate and hot, fueled by nothing but the mini chasing and waiting game both of you willingly took part in. He was startled at first, with how he didn't react but when it clicked for him, Heeseung returned the kiss with equal neediness.

You let out a pleased sigh against his cupid-bow lips, a sound that he swallowed without hesitation. Heeseung tugged you close until you're pressed chest-to-chest, not leaving any ounce of space between you and him, like he didn't want to be separated from you.

Your fingers tangled themselves into his hair, not caring that the hat he worn fell to the floor or how you're out in the open, with the horse acting as a witness to two humans going at it.

You gave a light, experimental tug on his hair and was rewarded with a low, deep and guttural growl from him. More heat pooled in your stomach just from hearing it.

You attempted to rub your thighs together, desperately craving for some form of friction but Heeseung was faster. He broke the kiss and threw you over his shoulder, like you're nothing but a sack of potatoes.

"Heeseung!"

You squeaked out, mortified and your face turned even redder when he smacked your asscheek. It's not just once but rather, it was twice in a row—one left and one right. You bit down on your lip, swallowing the whimper that nearly slipped from the tip of your tongue, clenching down on nothing as your underwear is directly pressed against your core.

The cowboy turned a deaf ear to you, marching like he has somewhere to be. Looking over your shoulder, you noticed he's bringing you into the stables rather than his own home. The strong stench of hay and horse shit invaded your senses. You didn't have the time to be revolted at it, for your vision was flipped over.

You flailed your arms about like a wild, frantic chicken, only to find yourself straddling Heeseung's lap. The cowboy sat on what seemed to be a few layers of cloths.

His left hand clasped itself around the back of your neck, using it to pull you in so he could kissed you again. You moaned into the kiss, scooting forward, allowing him to touch you everywhere with his free hand.

You gasped as he boldly cupped you through your shorts, moving his hand up and down while swallowing the angelic sounds you made.

"So fucking wet for me. What a dirty, needy girl you are. Coming over and wearing these kinds of clothes. You knew what you were doing, don't you?" He hissed, fingers popping the button open swiftly.

You whimpered, lifting your hips up slightly so he can wrestle it down your legs, leaving you wearing your pathetic, thin and nearly transparent white cotton underwear with a cute pastel pink bow above your pussy. Heeseung pulled back, resting his forehead against yours and he audibly inhaled, unable to tear his eyes away from the large, visible wet patch.

"All this just from kissing? Tell me what you thought about," he murmured, ducking his head to trail hot, searing kisses down the expanse of your neck. It's only right for you to tilt your head back, granting him access as you hooked your arms around his shoulders to support your weight.

"I…hngh…t-thought about your—oh fuck—m-mouth," you stuttered, voice cracking at his kisses growing sharper and meaner, switching to using his teeth to leave marks in his wake.

Heeseung hummed, the vibrations traveling down the length of your body and right down to your pussy, causing more slick to pour out from it. "Yea? Want my mouth on you? Want me to eat you out until you're crying and begging for me to stop? Want me to eat this tight little pussy of yours?"

You outright sobbed at his words, how his voice dropped an octave lower. You grinded your hips against his, seeking for friction but he clicked his tongue, firmly holding you down, forbidding you from moving any further. Heeseung moved away from your neck, his lips swollen and pupils completely blown out, clouded with lust.

He kissed you again, softer and sweeter while he slowly leaned back, bringing you down with him. When he's fully laying on the sheets spread out beneath him, he broke the kiss, chuckling at how you chased after his lips. He patted your right thigh with his hand, shooting you a sly grin when you gave him a confused look.

"Sit on my face, princess. Wanna make you feel good," he said.

Well fuck, if that isn't the hottest thing you've heard in your entire life. As much as you wanted to lower yourself, a small part of you was unsure, thinking you were mishearing things. You looked at him, your hands curled into fists as they rested on your lap.

"..Are you sure?" You asked, your voice small.

Heeseung's features softened, his doe-like eyes never leaving your face, not even for a split second. "Of course I'm sure. I want this and you."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words combined with the pure sincerity in his voice. You scooted upward with him holding you gently but firmly by your waist until your core is hovering directly over his face. You let him tugged your panties to the side. The movement caused long, sticky and glimmering strands of slick to stretch until they snapped into half.

"Fuck, look at this.. So fuckin' pretty and wet. It's all for me, isn't it?" He breathed out, now hooking your arms around your waist, forcing you to lower yourself down onto his awaiting mouth.

The moment you fully sat on his face, you sworn you nearly saw the white pearly gates of heaven.

Heeseung eats you out like a starving, famished man, like he hasn't eaten a proper meal for the past five months. And that wouldn't be far from the truth. He's enthusiastic, messy and sloppy—all of the three things combined into what will probably be the best pussy-eating session you ever had.

Long and broad strokes along your puffy, dripping folds with the tip of his tongue used to collect your essence as he lapped away, like a dog in heat. When he reached your clit, he savored it with quick and pointed flicks, enough to make you bend forward, hands fisting the sheets beneath your palms.

Your thighs quivered at a particular loud and harsh suck with his lips wrapped around the hood of your clit, the suction making your toes curled in your boots.

"O-Oh fuck. So fuckin' good—hah," you moaned out loud, shame be dammed at this point.

He moaned, shaking his head side to side, further smearing your slick across his face, like how one does when they're spreading butter on bread. Loud slurping sounds and moans filled the air in the stables. Both of you didn't care that there were some horses in the same roof as you, both too focused in the current heat of the moment.

You weren't aware you were rocking your hips against his mouth, using the sharp edge of his nose to get yourself off. Heeseung groaned in approval, letting you use him like a tool. He moved his hand down to your ass, alternating between spanking and kneading the meaty flesh, like it's nothing but dough with his warm and calloused hand.

Your breathing grew ragged and unsteady, something tight gradually building in your abdomen, like a piece of rubber-band was stretched beyond its limit. The cowboy knew you're reaching your climax and he buried his face deeper into your pussy, his nose brushing against your clit in just the right angle.

You could barely register the kind of sounds you were making. Sounds that could rival against a professional pornstar. The crop top you worn cling onto your skin, drenched in nothing but your sweat from the humidity of the stable.

"I-I'm gonna cum—fuck, c-close," you babbled.

Your words only made him increased the intensity, with him now paying more attention to your swollen, sensitive clit. The last straw came in the form of him plunging his tongue as deep as possible for you to tip over the edge. Your thighs was clamped tightly around his head, body shaking like a fallen leaf as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you.

Heeseung didn't pull away but rather, he continued. He ate you through your orgasm, letting out louder moans and groans, acting like he's the one cumming instead of you. You had to pull at his hair relentlessly, trying to get him away from your sensitive pussy. Only when he pressed a final, light kiss directly on your core was he finally satisfied.

He sat up, only for you to stop him with a hand on his chest. Confused, he lets you pushed him back down until he's half-leaning against the wall behind him.

Confusion was replaced with understanding and desire once he saw how you scooted down, getting to your knees between his legs. You pushed the hem of his shirt up, revealing his honey-toned skin, outlines of his abs along with a dangerous v-line that took your breath away.

"Let me help you out," you murmured, never breaking eye contact as you palmed him through his jeans, feeling him hardened and filling out between your fingers.

Heeseung groaned, watching you with half-lidded eyes. He lets you unbuttoned and pulled the zipper down, the sound seemingly loud in the stable, foreshadowing what's to come. The jeans and Playboy boxers quickly came off as you placed it aside, not wanting it to be dirtied even though he doesn't care about that.

Your breath was punched out of your lungs when his cock sprang free from its restraints. It slapped against his toned stomach, leaving a bead of precum behind.

You planted a kiss on the tip—light and fleeting, savoring the way his breath hitched and how he canted his hips forward, his cock gliding against your left cheek.

You took him into your mouth, lips stretching as wide as possible to accommodate the grith of his cock. To say he's big would be an understatement. You felt a stinging and lingering pain from your jaw muscles, with how you're overexerting yourself to take him fully but you persisted. Your nostrils flared, able to smell his musty scent that makes your head spin and eyes dazing out.

Heeseung threw his head back, baring his Adam's Apple that bobbed up and down as he swallowed. Sweat droplets rolled down his neck. It's obvious he's fighting against his own demons—to fuck your throat like it's nothing but a fleshlight. You inched forward, starting off at a slow, steady rhythm as you bobbed your head back and forth.

You hummed, the added and abrupt vibration drew a choked out, breathless moan from the cowboy. Determined to hear more, you used your hand to touch areas you couldn't reached with your mouth, lightly raking your nails along the edge of his cock.

Heeseung's hips twitched and he accidentally jerked forward, shoving more of his cock down your mouth, eliciting a surprised, muffled sound from you.

"That's it, take it. Take everything," he grunted, hips moving as he thrusted into your mouth, reaching out with one hand to blindly grab a fistful of your hair, using it as reins like you're a horse and he's your rider.

You picked up the pace, hollowing your cheeks for better suction, causing him to arch his back off the sheets as it sticks to his back, already damp with nothing but his sweat.

Your hand reached further down, cupping and fondling with his heavy balls that's practically on the verge of bursting and he cum, spilling down your throat.

You didn't gag, swallowing everything he has to offer, slobbering away at his cock like it's nothing but a piece of chicken drumstick, pushing him through his climax. Heeseung's loud when he cums, moaning and chanting your name like a sacred prayer.

When he fell back to the sheets, all limp and boneless, you took that as your cue to pull away, planting a kiss on his tip, snickering at how it twitched from the contact.

Heeseung's eyes shifted to you, panting and he tugged you over, meeting you in the middle. Both of you moaned at the heavy taste of his cum filling your mouths.

The rest of your clothes were frantically removed, fueled with nothing but the pent-up need to feel your bodies pressed together. He paused, breath taken away from how your breasts jiggled free when he chucked your bra aside.

He leaned forward but you stopped him, fingers clasped around his chin, forcing him to look up at you with wide eyes.

"Next time. Just fuck me before I lose my mind," you confessed, like you're committing a sin.

He made a low, needy sound at the back of his throat, deeply affected by your words and the sheer desperation in your voice. He nodded eagerly, pulling you down to kiss you, wanting to get another taste of you. If he could, he'd prefer to stay like this until the end of the world—you sitting on his lap, the only place you deserved and you let him worshiped you.

You sighed into the kiss, letting your hands feel him up as you touched his bare chest, feeling him shivered under your palms when you brushed your fingers against his nipples. You opened your eyes when something light was placed on top of your head. One glance up was enough to identify the newly added but barely noticeable weight.

"Seriously?" You asked, amused but made no move to remove the accessory.

Heeseung, on the other hand, was starstruck by the sight before him. "Fuck, you look gorgeous. Ride me while you wear it."

You arched an brow. "So bossy, but if you insist."

With his help, you aligned yourselves together. Instead of sinking down immediately, you rocked your hips back and forth, moaning at the delirious sensation of his cockhead rubbing against your fat, dripping pussy lips. Heeseung hissed, nails digging into your hips when you grabbed a hold of his cock before pushing yourself down.

He watched, mesmerized with how his cock disappeared, inch by inch until you bottomed out, your asscheeks hitting his strong, muscular thighs. Your moans echoed among the four walls of the stables, with the horses minding their businesses.

Your mouth dropped open, forming an "O" shape at how you're practically being split apart on his cock.

"Fuck, so tight and warm," the cowboy rasped out, squeezing his eyes shut and teeth sinking into his bottom lip, clearly fighting against his restraint to not buck upwards.

You reached out, placing both hands on his shoulders to raise yourself up until his tip is still nestled between your pussy lips before slamming down. You repeated it, managing to set a doable pace for yourself, ensuring to move your hips in a tight circle motion at every thrust. The sound of skin slapping against skin along with the wet, squelching sounds was the only things audible in the stables.

You arched your back, pushing your chest forward, squealing out loud when Heeseung leaned forward to wrap his lips around your right nipple. He switched between licking and nipping at it. You had to hold the hat down from on top when you felt it tipping backward. He used his free hand to pinch your other nipple, wanting to give equal love and attention while you bounced on his lap.

"Just like that, doll. Look at you, you're a natural at riding," he groaned, detaching his lips from your nipple that's covered in a thin layer of saliva.

You watched with half-lidded eyes as the string of saliva snapped into half as he leaned back, wanting to take in the majestic view before him.

A series of whimpers, moans and whines spilled from your lips endlessly, like a broken water tap. You didn't care that you were being extremely loud, not like there's anyone around in the first place. Here, it's just you and Heeseung, along with the horses being the unfortunate victims of watching someone riding the living lights of their precious rider.

Heeseung gripped onto your hips and delivered a sharp, long thrust upward. It's enough to draw a high-pitched cry from you. Your body slumped forward, arms hanging loosely around his shoulders and he took that as his cue to fuck into you from below.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, tongue licking up the sweat on his honey-toned skin, tasting salt on your tongue. Your nails dug into his back, hard enough to leave marks behind—something he doesn't mind.

You keened, unable to think of anything else other than the intoxicating feeling of his cock sliding in and out of your wet, gaping pussy and how he's able to hit places that you thought it was impossible to.

"H-Hee.. hngh, g-gonna cum—"

You slurred, tears prickling your eyes with your vision blurring slightly. At your words, Heeseung threw your right leg over his shoulder. You were still seated on his cock but the slight change of angle allowed him to slide deeper, if that was still possible.

"Cum for me, baby," he demanded, hand snaking down to rub your clit furiously.

You had to support your weight with your hands braced against the sheets beneath you. You whimpered at the sudden, painful stimulation. Your body quivered nonstop as pleasure crashed over you without warning, your walls convulsing around his cock violently. Heeseung showed no signs of stopping as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm.

"S-Stop! Too much," you wailed, milking his cock dry until a creamy white ring was formed around the base of his cock.

"Yes, you can. Do it for me," he panted, his movements growing sloppy.

With one final long thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and filled your pussy with thick and hot cum, painting your walls in the shade of milky white.

You moaned at the feeling of being filled up, feeling unusually full as he pumped you full of his cum. Your thighs trembled when you felt something warm and sticky slowly rolling down your thighs but made no move to wipe it off, too exhausted to lift a single finger.

You slumped against Heeseung, chin on his left shoulder. Both of you didn't say a word, catching your breath first. You felt him softening inside you but he didn't pull out.

"Heeseung, you—!?"

You didn't finish your sentence, not when he snapped his hips upward again. You sobbed, your pussy too sensitive for anything else now. You leaned back, wanting to tell him off or to stop him, only for your voice to die down in your throat.

Even when he looks wrecked, he still looks annoyingly handsome, much to your mild annoyance. Whatever thoughts or words you had in mind was washed down the drain when he snapped his hips forward, his cock kissing that one spongy spot hidden in your pussy, making your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

Silence.

Literal silence.

Riwoo stopped moving completely.

And then every light inside the store went out.

The hum of the refrigerators died instantly.

The automatic doors slid open by themselves.

And seconds later, several things started falling from the shelves.

Not violently.

Just… out of control.

Your heartbeat sped up.

Dim red emergency lights flickered on, covering the entire store in a strange crimson glow.

And there he was.

Riwoo stood frozen in front of the shelves, breathing unevenly while avoiding your eyes.

His hands were trembling.

A can fell behind him.

Then another.

“…I’m sorry.”

His voice came out quiet.

Broken.

“I really tried to control it.”

Something painful tightened in your chest.

Because instead of fear…

all you felt was sadness.

Riwoo finally looked at you.

And he looked terrified.

Not of his powers.

Of you.

Of you running away.

Of you seeing him differently now.

The lights flickered weakly again above you.

“All of this… is because of you?”

you asked softly.

It took him a few seconds to nod.

“It happens when I… when I get too emotional.”

A bottle near the counter vibrated slightly.

Riwoo immediately lowered his eyes again, embarrassed.

“I’m sorry,”

he repeated.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

You watched him quietly for a few seconds.

Then slowly walked toward him.

Riwoo tensed instantly.

Like he was bracing himself for you to leave.

But you didn’t.

You stopped right in front of him.

And gently took one of his trembling hands into yours.

The second you touched him, the lights stopped flickering.

Everything went still.

Completely still.

Riwoo’s eyes widened slightly.

Surprised.

You smiled a little.

“So you really do like me that much, huh?”

And for the first time since you met him…

Jungwon recognized this, he recognized all of that, and he respected you even more for that; before being lovers, you were best friends, at least since 11 he was there as your safety net, your warm hug on a cold day, your peace when you were too stressed to keep it together. 

Like the time you were crying into Jungwon while he was giving you a hug after a boy called you dumb for failing Math—even though you barely passed in kindergarten, and it's not like you weren't trying, you were visibly upset, and that wasn't going to change over night. And just like that you were crying into Jungwon's arms instead of saying anything else that could make things worse for you. The next day the boy was on his knees apologizing like he was about to die.  

At 15, when your sense of style started to bloom—modest, expressive, completely your own—your parents weren't impressed. They said it was inappropriate for your age and bought you clothing options that simply... didn't feel like you.

Enormous and ugly, clothes that only intensified the body dysmorphia that you had been disclosing quietly. You told Jungwon everything. He saw the tears fall without any further words. The next day he took you shopping and watched you try things on until your smile looked back at you.

Exam times? A nightmare. Teachers announcing your grades, the immense pressure like lava waiting to erupt under your skin. You would hang your head low, in hopes of holding back tears. laziness. Somebody would have called you careless. You just weren't wired the way the system wanted. You still counted with your fingers, even at 21, and that was okay with him.

After every exam, while others compared answers, Jungwon would sneak off to grab your favorite drink, gently offering it to you with a soft smile.

Jungwon—your Jungwon—was no longer just your sweet best friend, he was now an idol, a member of Enhypen, loved and admired by millions. He was standing there in somewhat formal wear, muscles stretching out the sleeves, holding drinks for you two while being crowded by ex-classmates—mostly the same annoying girls that rolled their eyes at you for being too close to Jungwon.  

They didn't know you were still together. Or maybe they forgot. But he had made it public long ago—confessing his love for you onstage during graduation, handing you lilies as the photography club snapped a photo of your stunned face and soft "yes." That picture lived on.

It was uploaded to your high school's photography page with a caption calling you both the school's sweetest couple. Some fans had already found your Instagram before Jungwon officially confirmed your relationship, piecing things together on their own.

Well, by the time Jungwon came out and said he had a girlfriend, the fans were surprisingly cool with it. They already knew you. Like a fleeting moment. And when Jungwon did his typical Weverse lives, fans would often ask where you were. Jungwon would smile and say, "She's sleeping," or jokingly tell you to make an appearance off camera. You weren't ready to go live, but people already knew what you looked like...and they were fine with it.

Of course, the company was hesitant at first. Dating is usually not part of the contract. But considering the years they watched you two through thick and thin, awkward teenage crushes to public confessing and unconditional support, it was hard to fight it.

But the girls tonight were insufferable. Jungwon walked back to you and handed you your drink, wrapping his hand around your lower back. The same girls were followed behind him, fake smiling and pretending to ask polite questions about your relationship, while squeezing in backhanded remarks. 

"You're so lucky!" said one of them, their eyes lingering on Jungwon's arm. "He looks so... put together now. It's surprising that he's still dating someone like you." You offered a polite smile and held your drink a little tighter.

"Jungwon, didn't that horoscope thingy say you were better matched with someone bold and confident? Someone who doesn't cry all the time?" another girl chimed in, laughing like it was funnily innocent.

That was it.Jungwon's jaw clenched. "That's enough," he said, his voice still steady although it was cold now. "You don't know anything about her and even if you did, I love her just the way she is."

He didn't raise his voice but the girls suddenly looked a little smaller. They looked embarrassed. Jungwon turned to you, and brushed his thumb over your knuckles softly. "If anything," he said louder, looking mostly only at you, "I'd rather be with someone who feels. Someone who cries when it matters. Someone who is real."

You smiled gently at Jungwon's words, feeling warmth in your chest as he entwined your fingers with his again. He was gentle, stable—a nice man who makes sure to take care of you when you forget to take care of yourself.

And yes, you had sensitive quiet days. But that didn't mean you couldn't be fearless when it mattered. You blinked softly at the girl who made the horoscope comment and tilted your head slightly, your tone soft but with a sharp confidence layer to it.

"Didn't take you for someone who stalks birth charts. Obsessed much? You keep tabs on my man and me that closely?" You let out a tiny laugh. "Didn't you cheat on Ricky 'cause he wasn't giving you enough attention, then crawl back like nothing happened?"

A few muffled laughs stirred from the nearby tables. Jungwon raised his brows, holding back a grin.

Then you turned to the other girls.

"And I vaguely remember y'all calling Jungwon a 'stray dog' back in the day. Said he was too skinny. Too soft. Too feminine." You took a slow sip of your drink before meeting their eyes. "Funny how now you're all lined up hoping for a shot with him."

The silence? Loud.Jungwon laughed lowly under his breath, shaking his head while your friends nearby stifled their giggles. He pulled on your hand gently. "Okay, before you kill off their whole bloodline," he said playfully, pulling you away as the room was filled with whispers and laughter.

He led you in the direction of the tables to the start of the class reunion speeches. The whole thing had turned into a blend of school reunion and fan reunion: half of the people were old classmates, while the other half were fans still in shock of seeing you together in person.

Jungwon didn't mind though. Not when they were nice to you, asking politely for a photo with all of you, complimenting you, and treating you kindly.Later on, as the DJ announced a dance,

Jungwon didn't even ask, immediately grabbing your hand. "Dance with me?"

You smiled. "Always."

You swayed to the slow song, his hands secure at your waist, your head resting against his chest. Then the DJ switched it up, playing a few Enhypen songs—your friends screamed—and the dance floor lit up with energy. You vibed together, your friend group joining his, some dancing like no one was watching, others just taking silly videos and polaroids.

There was a group photo with both your friend groups, then one with just you two. Jungwon's arms were comfortably around your waist, his lips grazing your cheek. You were giggling into the camera, glowing. One of your friends uploaded that photo to their story and tagged you both so you could repost it later.

Somewhere along the line, when your dress was riding a little higher because you were laughing and spinning around, Jungwon picked up on how some of the guys were eyeing your legs. Silently, he placed himself behind you and pulled down the hem of your dress and placed his hand on your skin to shield you from their gazes.

You turned around confused, then realized what he was doing, your cheeks getting warm. "You're so dramatic."

He just smirked. "You're mine."

That little moment? Yeah, one of your friends caught it on camera and uploaded that too. And when those pictures were posted to your IG story and began to circulate on fan accounts, the comment sections were popping off.

Top comments under the reunion pictures:

"Why does Jungwon look like he bench presses loyalty and boyfriend energy?"

"His hand placement is respectful but also like—'she's mine, back off.' I'm eating this UP."

"Y/n's dress is hugging in all the right places. They're the real power couple fr."

"The way he adjusted her dress like it's second nature... UGH I LOVE THEM."

"Y'all saw his biceps right? He's not the 'skinny and soft' boy anymore. He's built like a man who'd kill you politely."

"I love how they look like best friends and lovers. It's giving long-term, it's giving unbothered royalty."|

And yet, she was waiting in a room of the reception hall, in a dress she hadn’t chosen, holding a bouquet whose pollen was already making her eyes sting. Her father owned a large company and had managed to strike a deal with one of the richest families in Korea. And this deal was sealed by an alliance between their two families, a marriage. It was her older sister who was engaged to the only son of the Park family, but Y/N knew her sister.

Eun-min only thought about herself, about money, and superficial happiness. She would never have wanted to be tied to a man she didn't know and have her freedom taken away. She much preferred to go spend their parents' money on shopping and clubbing. She disappeared the day before the wedding, not answering any of her phones, simply gone.

And suddenly, everything fell on Y/N's shoulders, who had asked for none of it. She, who had dreamed of this day, it was without a doubt the worst of her life. The young woman looked at herself in the mirror, struggling to believe all her dreams were about to be swallowed up. Her eyes welled up with tears, and she leaned on the vanity to keep her balance, taking slow breaths.

She didn't hear the door open or the person who came to join her, gently stroking her back. "Unnie, everything will be okay, I promise."

Her shoulders shook with a sob as Y/N met the gaze of a young girl in the mirror. "W-Who are you?"

"I'm your future sister-in-law! My name is Yeji! Unnie, we need to do something about this dress. I don't want to offend you, but you look like a meringue." Y/N looked down at her dress, whose thick, imposing skirt didn't give her a princess-like air at all, before looking back at Yeji. They both burst out laughing, their laughter echoing in the room.

A weight lifted from her shoulders as she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "It's the dress my mother and sister chose for her. It's even too small. I feel like the bodice is choking me."

"It's true you don't look comfortable. Wait, I have an idea!" Yeji rummaged in her little bag and pulled out a pair of scissors, giving her a look to see if she trusted her. Y/N nodded, and her sister-in-law got to work. She watched her skillfully cut the fabric, removing all the weight of the petticoat.

Y/N gazed in wonder at the new dress Yeji had made for her by removing several layers of fabric. The gown was long and ivory, with a very elegant style, distinguished by a structured bodice, corset-like, that delicately emphasized the waist with well-defined vertical seams. The neckline, subtly draped, added a romantic touch while remaining simple and refined, Yeji had only loosened the bodice a bit to let her breathe better. The skirt, full and fluid, flared naturally from the waist and fell softly to the floor, creating an elegant movement with each step.

"It's so much better than the meringue," she breathed, impressed. "Where did you learn to do this?"

"I'm in fashion school! I'm good with scissors. Unnie, even though it's an arranged marriage, know that my brother will take good care of you. Oppa is a good man, you'll see." Y/N thanked her with a smile, then took her bouquet, looking at herself one last time in the mirror before heading out.

At least she had been able to keep her hair down as she wished, not in that sophisticated and painful updo her mother wanted. A simple little flower-shaped pin held a few strands back. Y/N arrived near her parents, who were waiting by the doors for her arrival.

Her mother's mouth fell open when she saw the state of her dress. "Where is your other dress?!"

"That was the one Eun-min chose, not me. A friend just helped me transform it a bit so it would suit me for my wedding."

"Do you know how much it cost us?! You ruined a dress worth millions of won!"

"For a wedding you decided to force on me because Eun-min can't keep her word." Her mother was about to protest, but her husband stopped her.

"The ceremony is about to start. Let's not make a scene. Go sit with the guests, and I'll escort Y/N to the altar." His wife nodded, kissed his cheek, and left.

Y/N smoothed the folds of her dress as her father looked down at her, contemplating her. "You look very beautiful, my daughter."

"Thank you. I just wish the groom were a man I had chosen and not a total stranger."

"Y/N, don't be like that…" he sighed.

"Like what, dad? All my life I've only tried to make you proud. I had an impeccable academic record, I have a job I'm passionate about that helps others, I did everything I could to make you proud, but you never congratulated me, you didn't come to my graduation because Eun-min had some 'dizziness.' You've always favored her over me, you've always excused her actions no matter what she did. And today it falls back on me. But you just ordered me to obey and didn't care for a single moment about how I might feel. This marriage is going to ruin my life." Her voice trembled, but she continued talking to her father. "I will never know true love, I will never meet someone who loves me for me, for who I am, and not just because of a stupid contract. I won't experience the excitement of first dates, an incredible proposal, and a wedding I could have planned with the one I love according to our desires. I always stayed because I had hope things would change, but no. I swear to you, dad, this marriage is the last thing I will do for this family. After this, I'm done. Don't ever ask me for anything again. Whether you need money, a kidney, or anything else, I won't waste my time helping a family that never took into account all the efforts I made. I'm done."

Her father stared at her with wide eyes, unable to respond, while Y/N didn't realize that her future husband and his groomsmen were listening to the conversation from a nearby hallway. The groom turned on his heel, his groomsmen following.

The young woman added nothing more, linking her arm with her father's, who lowered his eyes to the floor. The door to the reception hall opened, a piano melody rising, and that was their signal. They entered the room, walking up the aisle toward the altar under the gaze of the guests. Y/N didn't know any of them, none of her friends were present, but she wore a faint smile to keep up appearances.

Y/N looked up at her future husband, Park Sunghoon. The only son of the Park family, a catch every girl would fight over to take her place. He carried an imposing aura in his three-piece suit, his brown hair perfectly slicked back. He watched her come toward him and extended his hand as she approached.

She detached herself from her father, who patted her back, and slipped her hand into Sunghoon's, climbing the steps beside him. Yeji came to take her bouquet, wrinkling her nose. "These flowers stink, what bad taste…" Y/N bit her lip to keep from laughing, Sunghoon giving her a small sidelong glance.

The guests sat down, and the ceremony began. Y/N wasn't really paying attention to what the pastor was saying, only repeating what she was supposed to say when the time came. The exchange of rings took place, her delicate hand resting in Sunghoon's larger one as he slid the ring onto her finger. He did the same with her, keeping her hand in his.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride." Y/N swallowed, turning her head toward her new husband. He placed a tender hand on her cheek, leaning slowly toward her to give her time to pull back if she was uncomfortable, then sealed their lips together when she didn't. It was a tender kiss, made under the applause of the guests. Y/N broke the kiss, cheeks flushed, and turned away to retrieve her stinking bouquet.

Sunghoon offered her his arm, which she took, and they descended the steps to walk back up the aisle under the guests' applause. They left the room to go to the reception hall.

Y/N didn't enjoy the reception much. She didn't know anyone and therefore had no one to talk to, remaining seated to enjoy the richly prepared dishes or to watch the guests mingling. A hand landed on her shoulder, pulling her from her thoughts. She turned her head to see Sunghoon leaning toward her.

"Let's go home, you look tired." It was the relief she needed. She nodded and stood up, grabbing her purse to follow him toward the exit. As far as she knew, all her belongings had already been moved to where she would live with Sunghoon.

The drive to the young man's home was silent, Y/N watching the scenery pass by. Sunghoon was tapping on his phone, throwing her small glances from time to time. They arrived in front of the enormous upscale apartment building, very chic, and she was amazed to discover the penthouse where Sunghoon lived, offering a splendid view of the capital.

A small white dog jumped off the sofa and scampered toward them, pawing at Sunghoon's legs. "This is Gaeul. I hope you're not allergic to dogs or afraid of them."

"I'm more of a cat person, but dogs don't bother me," she said, bending down to scratch behind the little dog's ear.

"Great. I'll show you to our bedroom, you probably want to get out of that dress." She nodded and followed him upstairs, which consisted of a few rooms, including the master suite with a king-size bed and a bay window where the city lights illuminated the room. "The bathroom is behind that door if you want to go."

Y/N thanked him and grabbed her toiletries and pajamas to go to the bathroom. She was too tired to unpack all her things tonight. Getting out of that dress felt amazing as she slipped into her cotton pajamas. She removed all her makeup and did her nighttime routine before returning to the bedroom.

Sunghoon was already lying on the bed, shirtless, with sweatpants hanging low on his hips. She blushed violently and hurried around the bed to get under the covers, turning her back to him. "Good night."

"Good night," he chuckled, pulling the duvet over himself. He couldn't help but notice the space she had put between them and chuckled. "You know I don't bite?"

"I know. I just… I just don't want to give you any wrong ideas…"

The young man wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her away from the edge, pressing his chest against her back, eliciting a squeak of surprise. "I have no ideas. I know you didn't want this marriage, and I expect nothing from you if it's not what you want. You're not a prisoner, alright? If you don't want intimacy, I don't mind. If you want your own room, I'll give you the biggest one. I want you to feel comfortable enough with me so I can take care of you. Okay?"

"Okay," she whispered.

"Good." He placed a kiss on her nape, which broke out in goosebumps. "Now, sleep."

He felt her body relax and her breathing become slower. She slowly drifted off to sleep, Sunghoon watching over her until she did. He pressed his nose against her nape before falling asleep.

As the months passed, their relationship improved. Sunghoon never forced her to do anything she was uncomfortable with. Although he worked hard in his father's company, he always made sure to come home for dinner and even reserved Friday evenings for quiet evenings with his wife. On weekends, they often went out together to walk and enjoy each other's company.

Y/N admitted she hadn't been thrilled at the idea of getting married, but Sunghoon was an incredible husband. He was always a bit clumsy with certain things sometimes, but it only made him more adorable in her eyes. She had even been able to keep her job as a teacher for underprivileged children and made Sunghoon proud at every turn with her affectionate gestures.

Sunghoon came home with his friends, who were coming over for dinner at the couple's place. Y/N hadn't seen these men since the wedding, where some of them had been his groomsmen. But her husband always spoke well of them and, of course, accepted the dinner invitation.

"So, how's it going with Y/N?" Heeseung asked as they were in the elevator leading to the penthouse.

"Good, good. She's amazing."

"And have you… you know?" Jake snickered. Sunghoon gave him a weary look over his shoulder as the doors opened. He stepped out of the elevator as his friends' snickers followed him. They entered the penthouse, removed their shoes, and slipped on slippers.

"Love, I'm home!" Sunghoon called.

"I'm in the kitchen!" He didn't waste time going there, crossing the living room to finally catch sight of his dear wife in the kitchen, from which a delicious smell wafted. Sunghoon stopped short at what she was wearing, one of his shirts with thick socks pulled up to her calves.

"Is that my shirt you're wearing?"

"Huh? Oh yes, I stained my clothes while cooking, so I took your shirt. You don't mind, do you?" Of course he didn't mind, he loved seeing her in his clothes. Y/N turned around, removing her apron, and grabbed a tray with glasses. "We have guests, so get rid of the idea of fucking me in the kitchen counter right now." She patted his shoulder as she passed by him. "Go take a shower and join us in the living room, honey!"

Sunghoon watched her go, arms dangling and mouth slightly agape under his friends' poorly concealed laughter. He cleared his throat and rushed upstairs to take a cold shower while his wife set the table and the appetizers.

One day, his wife would be the death of him.

Almost two years had passed. Y/N and Sunghoon lived in perfect love and were very happy in their marriage. Sunghoon was almost at the head of the Park company, and Y/N was founding various associations for children in difficulty, helping them access better education. They didn't have children yet but were taking their time.

One day, Y/N received a call from her parents. She hadn't spoken to them since her wedding and had been doing just fine. But after all this time, she thought maybe enough water had flowed under the bridge, and she could at least listen to what they had to say. So she invited them over for tea one afternoon.

Y/N welcomed them in shorts and a big sweater, not going to any effort to impress them. She owed them nothing. They settled in the living room, where she had already set out teacups and cookies.

"So, what did you want to talk to me about?" she asked, bringing her cup to her lips. Her parents were still contemplating the enormous, rich place she lived in, with Gaeul curled up on her lap, eyeing them suspiciously.

"It looks like you're doing well," her mother remarked.

"Sunghoon and I are doing well, indeed. We are happy and fulfilled. So?" She saw her parents exchange a glance before her father cleared his throat.

"Well, we came to see how you were doing. You haven't contacted us since the wedding, so we wanted to make sure you were okay."

"As you can see, I'm fine. In fact, I should even thank you. Sunghoon is truly a wonderful husband with whom I thrive, and I am happy. We have many plans for the future, and without Eun-min's regrettable absence, I probably would have missed out on this life."

"Yeah…"

"And how is she?" Y/N knew her parents were beating around the bush, but the subject of her sister would undoubtedly come up. "Has she reappeared?"

Her mother looked like she had swallowed a whole lemon, and her father was wringing his hands, uncomfortable. "She left for New York just before the wedding, apparently, she met someone there," her father explained. "A man who works in finance, whom she married."

"Oh, when was that?"

"A week after your wedding…" her mother murmured.

"I see… so the excuse of 'I'm not ready to get married' was apparently false." Y/N was holding back laughter because it was truly a hilarious situation. "Is she still in New York?"

"No… She came back home."

"You mean to your house?"

"Her husband's company went bankrupt, he invested with the wrong people. They lost their house, so they came back. They have two children, two boys. And she's pregnant with their third, so we agreed to let them stay with us for a while until they find something here."

Y/N hid a smirk behind her cup. Their dear daughter had come back to live with mommy and daddy after her life fell apart. Dramatic. The sound of keys in the door echoed from the entrance, and Sunghoon appeared in the doorway. He froze in surprise seeing his in-laws in their living room, but the smile on Y/N's face reassured him.

"Honey! How was your day at work?"

"Tiring, but knowing I can come home to you is always comforting," he smiled, coming to sit behind her and placing a kiss on her temple. "How are you?"

"My parents were just telling me about Eun-min! Something truly terrible happened to her. She got married a few days after us to a man from New York, and they had two beautiful boys. How sad that they were forced to come back to live with my parents after he lost his job, it's heartbreaking." Sunghoon nodded, frowning to keep up appearances, but a smile threatened to appear at his wife's faux-concerned tone.

"You know your sister, she'll definitely pull through," her mother said. "You turned out well, didn't you? Couldn't… you find her a job in whatever it is you do?" Y/N clenched her cup between her fingers but shook her head.

"Mom, you know unnie never studied. Without a degree, I doubt she could get a job that pays enough for three children. It's terrible that she refused that university admission for that road trip to Spain…"

"Y/N…"

"I know what we could do!" She turned to Sunghoon, who tilted his head toward her. "Honey, my parents and my sister should come to your parents' New Year's Eve party. She should even bring her husband and their children! It would be so nice to see our two families together. There will also be several of Mr. Park's business partners," she added for her father's benefit. "Maybe you'll have things to discuss with them."

"I think that's an excellent idea," Sunghoon approved, kissing her cheek. "My parents will be delighted to welcome you for New Year's. If you had nothing else planned, of course."

Her parents shook their heads, making her smile. "Perfect ! I'll send you the address then. It was nice to see you, dad and mom."

"Us too, sweetheart." Sunghoon escorted the couple to the door before returning to sit beside his wife.

"Do you really think it's a good idea to invite your sister?"

"I haven't seen her in three years. I want to see what she's become."

He hummed, stretching out on the sofa to gently lift her sweater and place a kiss on her round belly, which sheltered their little baby. "Did you tell them?"

"No, I wanted it to be a surprise."

"You're vicious, love," he chuckled, stroking her belly. "They'll be angry."

"I don't care. I'm a Park now. You're my family." Sunghoon sat up, placing a tender hand on her belly and kissing her lovingly, whispering how much he adored her.

New Year's Eve arrived, and the couple went to the Park family's house on the outskirts of the city, a magnificent property that had been in the family for generations. Y/N wore a beautiful emerald green dress that perfectly hugged her round belly. The dinner organized by Mr. and Mrs. Park promised to be splendid.

Y/N was chatting with Yeji and her mother when Sunghoon joined her, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Your parents are here," he informed her. She looked up at him, smiling.

"Right on time, they're at least polite."

"If you're planning something…"

"Honey, I'm not planning anything. I just want to have a nice evening with my family and reconnect!" Sunghoon gave her an unconvinced look, but her innocent smile seemed to convince him. Y/N planted a kiss on his lips before walking away. She threw a mischievous smile at Yeji and her mother, who giggled, then stopped when he looked at them.

Y/N walked over to her parents, who were standing near her sister and her husband, with two-year-old twins already throwing a tantrum. They had just removed their coats when they saw her approaching.

"I'm glad you could make it!" Her parents and her sister fixed their eyes on her round belly, where she rested a hand. "Unnie, it looks like our children will get to grow up together! How sweet!" She bent down to the boys, who calmed down to look at her. "Hi, I'm your Auntie Y/N! Do you want to go play with the other kids so mommy and daddy can enjoy the party? There are lots of games and cakes." They nodded eagerly, eyes sparkling as she signaled for one of the babysitters to take them to join the other children. Y/N then turned to her sister and hugged her. "Oh unnie, I've missed you so much! I'm glad we can reunite for this New Year together."

"Of course," Eun-min muttered. "This is my husband, John."

"Hello, I'm thrilled to finally meet Eun-min's sister." He shook her hand, then she led them toward the other guests. There were about thirty people in total. Gradually, the men talked business among themselves while the women sat in the living room and chatted as well.

"Y/N, pregnancy suits you so well!" Mrs. Kim smiled. "Not too stressed about your first child?"

"No, we really wanted to start our family with Hoon, so this baby is very much wanted." Gaeul was lying across her lap, his little head resting on her belly. As soon as the dog could feel the baby move, he would lie against her belly whenever possible.

"The first child is always exciting!" Mrs. Sim agreed. "I remember when I was pregnant with Jake, I was all over the place."

"We are all very excited to see our first grandchild born!" Mrs. Park swirled her cocktail glass in her hand. "Y/N-nie and my Sunghoon go so well together, I couldn't have dreamed of a better daughter-in-law than her." Y/N smiled, touched, and pressed a hand to her heart. She could see her sister and her mother sharing a sofa, visibly unsure how to join the conversation.

"My unnie also has a beautiful little family," she declared, turning the gazes toward Eun-min. "Two handsome boys and a third on the way."

"You must be overjoyed!" Mrs. Nishimura approved. "I also have three children! Were the pregnancies not too difficult?"

"No, not at all. In fact, I almost had no symptoms," Eun-min boasted. "The doctors say my body adapts very quickly to pregnancies, and John is an exemplary husband who is very present. We have a perfect family!"

Y/N exchanged an amused glance with Yeji. Yes, a perfect family…

"And what do you do for a living? Y/N already has a great career, and it's only the beginning," Mrs. Lee remarked. "And coming from a family like yours, you must be successful too!"

"Uh, I…"

"Unnie is a stay-at-home mom," Y/N gently explained. "She chose to dedicate herself to her family rather than her career, which is admirable. Taking care of children isn't easy, especially when you have two at once ! You have to make choices in life." Her sister clenched her fists on her lap while Y/N smiled at her.

"And yet you're pregnant but still manage to run several businesses at the same time, Y/N-nie!" Mrs. Kim laughed.

"Sunghoon rubs off on me too much," she joked, making them laugh. Y/N gave her sister a smile before getting up to join Sunghoon, who was talking with his friends. He wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her forehead.

"Hey, love. Everything okay?"

"More than okay! My sister is about to explode, I'm having so much fun!" She giggled, rubbing her hands together, her husband staring at her.

"You're so scary when you're like this. Worse than when you fired my assistant supposedly because she kept unbuttoning the top of her blouse whenever I came in. I hope our daughter won't be as… disturbed as her mother."

Y/N turned her head toward him, one eyebrow raised. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, you're in trouble, hyung," Ni-ki chuckled.

"How to piss off a pregnant woman," Jungwon snickered.

"You know what, honey? I had planned a lot of things for this New Year's. I wore your favorite lingerie under this dress, and I was going to let you fuck me until dawn, but there's been a change of plan. You're sleeping on the couch until February!" Y/N walked away, chin held high, a hand on her belly. The men laughed at Sunghoon's panicked face as he ran after her to apologize.

The guests then moved to the dining table. Y/N was sitting between Sunghoon and Yeji, her sister across from her. Perfect seating arrangement. Conversations flowed along with the wonderful meal on their plates when Mr. Park stood up with his glass in hand.

"My dear friends, it is always a pleasure to host you all, especially for this upcoming New Year. I'm sure it will be filled with happiness and prosperity. It's true I'm getting old, and I want to enjoy my grandchildren." He smiled at Y/N, who tenderly stroked her belly. "Sunghoon will take over the company at the beginning of this year, and I know my son will continue to prosper the family business."

"Thank you, dad," Sunghoon thanked him, raising his glass.

"You and Y/N remind me of when your mother and I met. We were young and in love."

"We still are!" his wife chuckled.

"Young or in love, Mom?" Yeji teased. Her mother shot her a warning look, making the table laugh.

"All this to say we are very proud of you, children. And you will be wonderful parents." Sunghoon laced his fingers with Y/N's above the table, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. "Your mother and I would like to give you a gift. Now that we're retiring, this house is far too big for us. We'd like to move near the coast to enjoy our golden years and have our grandchildren come visit us on holidays! That's why we'd like you to take over the family home to raise your children there, as all the Parks have done before us."

"Dad…"

"Alright, I'm jealous," Yeji exclaimed. "Unnie, you promise to invite me for sleepovers every weekend?"

"Yeah, I promise," Y/N giggled. "We'll let Hoon take care of the kids."

"Yes!" Sunghoon could already sense trouble coming with his sister and his wife, but he sincerely thanked his parents for this gift. It was true that, like his father, he grew up in this house and looked forward to raising his children there in turn.

Mr. Park finished his toast with these beautiful words, everyone clinking glasses to the New Year. Y/N took a sip of water before letting her gaze settle on her sister.

"Unnie, I hope you'll come visit often with the kids! We're only due a few months apart, it would be so nice if our children could grow up together like cousins! It's true that mom and dad's house isn't big enough for everyone since you've been living there. They moved right after my wedding and yours, actually, since it was just the two of them. Feel free to come here for a bit more space with the children." Eun-min clenched her cutlery so tightly her knuckles turned white. John placed a hand on her shoulder to calm her down as she seemed ready to jump over the table and murder her.

After the meal, the guests gathered in the living room to wait for the countdown to midnight. "Five! Four! Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!"

"Happy New Year!"

Y/N laughed when Yeji jumped into her arms, shouting "Happy New Year." She then turned to Sunghoon, who wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing his forehead against hers. She smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck and closing her eyes.

"Happy New Year, honey."

"Happy New Year, love. You have no idea how much I love you." He kissed her tenderly, his thumbs tracing small circles on her hips.

"I love you too, Hoonie."

"You make me happy, and you're carrying our child. You couldn't make me more complete."

"You think?" A smile spread across her lips. "What if I still let you fuck me tonight?" He growled against her lips, making her giggle.

The guests started to leave until only the Parks and Y/N's family remained. The young woman walked her parents and sister to their car. "Thank you for the evening, sweetheart," her mother thanked her, hugging her.

"It was my pleasure, mom."

"I know we haven't been fair to you, that we should have behaved differently…" she whispered. "And I would understand if you wanted us out of your life again, but I hope you can forgive me and give me a second chance to try and be a good grandmother."

"Yeah, I think that's a good idea." Her mother stepped back, eyes moist, and kissed her cheek before moving aside, letting her father give her a hug.

"We're proud of you, Y/N. Tell us if you need anything with the baby or for yourself."

"Thank you, dad."

Y/N then turned to Eun-min, whose fists were clenched and face contorted with anger. The young woman placed a hand on her hip, the other stroking her belly.

"Do you have any regrets?"

"About what?"

"About not coming to the wedding. This is exactly the life you could have had. Do you regret, in the end, marrying a stranger in a week, perhaps to prove how free you were, only to return to square one ? At our parents' place. No offense," she said to John.

"None taken," he assured, raising his hands.

"You bitch," her sister growled. "That should have been my life!"

"Yeah, and it's mine now," Y/N smiled.

Eun-min fumed and turned to their parents for help, knowing they had always taken her side. "Mom, dad! Are you going to let her talk to me like that?!"

"You just have to accept that your sister has done better in life than you, Eun-min. There's no harm in admitting it," her mother declared.

"It should have been me in her place!"

"And it's not our fault if you have regrets. You made your choices, you can't always rely on us or blame your sister," her father added. Eun-min tried to reach for her sister, but Gaeul started barking at her, positioning himself in front of Y/N.

"Gaeul may be a small dog, but he knows how to bite, so I'd advise you not to come closer. I suppose we'll see each other at family meals, unnie." Y/N gave her a little wave as John led her toward the car. Her parents hugged her one last time before leaving as well.

She might have been ready to give her parents a new chance for the sake of her children, but she would never let her sister forget all the harm she had done to her. Once the cars were gone, Y/N picked up Gaeul and returned to the Parks.

"My baby, you're such a good boy." She scratched his ears as he whined. Sunghoon cleared his throat exaggeratedly, making her look up at him. "What?"

"I'm right here."

"And? Are you jealous of your dog?"

"No!"

"Aww, Hoon, don't worry! I won't divorce you to marry Gaeul, you're the only man in my life! Such a good boy and a good husband you are for me and our baby." She slid a hand into his hair, and her husband grabbed her wrist to pull her toward the car.

"We're going home! Now!"

"Have a good and short night!" Yeji yelled before her mother elbowed her.

The couple entered their bedroom giggling, Gaeul long abandoned in the living room. He knew to stay away from the bedroom when his parents were glued to each other. Sunghoon gently laid his wife on the bed, hovering over her.

"I love you so much, love."

"I love you too, Hoon. Are you finally going to see what I'm hiding under my dress?" Sunghoon growled and attacked her neck with kisses, making her laugh.

What a magnificent life awaited them.

Masterlist

“why would they lay it out this way?” jungwon complained, his eyes finally breaking free from the grip of the lines. “what if i fuck it up.” he turned to look at you, his eyes widening instinctively.

you stood, makeup, hair and outfit thought out and executed to perfection. you looked utterly beautiful, you always did but when you dressed up like this you were breathtaking. maybe this was just jungwons view of you. the last time he’d seen you like this was on your last monthly date night together, in which your company managed to disguise as a business meeting. forcing a manager to escort you guys, but you both didn’t care as long as you were with eachother.

yet now you were here about to host the most anticipated award show in kpop, with your ex boyfriend. the break up was very abrupt to say the least, not many needed words were said at the time. now you were both drowning in unspoken words and undeniable tension.

“when have you ever fucked up anything, jungwon.” you reassure him, his name sweet on your tongue. “don’t doubt yourself now, you can’t let me down out there.” you say sternly. “wouldn’t dream of it.” he says breathing out a faint laugh, his voice softer than before, his eyes still set on you. a soft sparkle lighting up in his pupils.

“im serious, jungwon.” you turn to face him fully, a sombre look spread over your pretty face. “if anything goes wrong i’ll be the one taking the backlash, you male idols get away with everything.” you rant, it was true. he couldn’t deny it.

“i know.” he acknowledged your worries, he had always been good at this. you could always rely on him on whatever you weren’t confident in. “i won’t mess up, i promise.” his hand found your arm, a sense of security rushed over your body. his touch too familiar, you instantly reacted whether you wanted to or not.

you exhale, attempting to push out your worries. “im sorry, this is just a lot.” jungwon nods, attentively listening to every word you said. his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

“i understand, i know you y/n.” your name leaving his lips in a tantalising manner. you tried your absolute best to drown out the thoughts that flooded your head. your efforts were hopeless when his hand starting roaming up your arm, resting in its new position on your shoulder, his thumb grazing against your neck.

you knew he felt whatever this was too. the way his chest rose slower, deeper. his eyes blinking slower, his gaze blazing into you it was borderline daunting. his lips were parted, his tongue wetting them leaving a reflective sheen.

“won..” you mumble, breathless. he hums in response, completely entranced by you. “we have to go out there soon.” you place a firm hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath you.

he gently inched you closer to him, “we have time.” he spoke, so softly it was a whisper. your eyes flicked down to his lips, that was the confirmation he wanted, needed. both his hands snaked up to your jaw, his thumb teasing your bottom lip.

and he kissed you.

he moaned into your mouth, you swallowed and returned every sound he made. he guides you, moving you backwards until your back presses against a cold wall.

his mouth finds your neck, pressing kisses along your skin. a harsh gasp escapes you as his knee pushes between your legs, the feeling washing over you in an overwhelming amount.

“jungwon.” you breathe, he politely silences you by kissing you on your lips again. his fingers delicately tucked your fallen hair behind your ear, the intimacy was unbearable. you’d felt it all before with jungwon but after this much time apart the tension had risen beyond measurable levels.

you edge your tongue into his mouth, he responds with a whimper, letting you fully in. of course. “fuck, y/n.” he manages to utter between the short breaths. “i fucking missed you.”

“stop talking.” you demand, pulling him back in by the collar on his shirt. your lips anchored against him gave him enough clarification that you felt the same way.

—

“where have you two been?? you’re supposed to be on in two minutes!!” your manager scolded you both. you were both backstage now, getting your microphones checked and last touch ups done.

“and, y/n?”

“yeah?” you look over at her innocently.

“why is your lipstick smudged?” she sighed, “didn’t your makeup artist notice this?” she shook her head, luckily she carried emergency supplies with her for times like these.

jungwon glanced over at you both, your lips puckered and she fixed it up for you. he couldn’t help but laugh, “what are you laughing at boy.” your manager frowned, finishing your lipstick touch up.

you smiled too, who knows how she would react if she found out.not that she ever would.

the soundcheck team handed you both your microphones, “i hope you didn’t forget your lines.” you taunted. “i don’t break my promises, y/n.” jungwon replied, “i thought you knew me better than that.” he whined, his lips pouted.

“enough bickering guys!” your manager was back again, flapping her arms about, practically pushing you onto the stage.

-

everything went well, of course it did.

if only the whole arena knew what just happened. they could never find out, some things are best kept secret. secrets are one of the closet things you can have with a person. the biggest sign of trust you can share with someone you feel safe with.

jungwon, would always be that person.

—

hi i actually hate this but enjoy tension with wonnie, lov u

THE SEONGHYEON JAEGA ━━━━━ MASTERLIST

PROLOGUE ONE ━━━━━ pink tiles

꒰ 5.8k ꒱you didn’t expect the winter garden, or the hydrangeas blooming out of season. and you definitely didn’t expect sunghoon — quiet, unreadable, and watching you like he already knew how this would end.

PROLOGUE TWO ━━━━━ the seonghyeon jaega

꒰ 10.9k ꒱between printer boys, rooftop gardens, and the neighbor who looks at you like he’s trying not to set the world on fire, this is what happens when loneliness meets curiosity and accidentally kicks off something bigger than you’re ready for.

CHAPTER ONE ━━━━━ hydrangeas & homicide

꒰ 11.2k ꒱ park sunghoon has survived centuries by staying detached — until a new neighbor moves in and quietly unravels everything. caught between instinct and control, he senses a bond he thought was myth, as something human begins to feel dangerously inevitable.

CHAPTER TWO ━━━━━ six-hundred-and-thirty-three

꒰ 16k ꒱ your body thrums with a strange, residual ache — not pain, but presence. like something has settled beneath your skin, quiet and irreversible. you don't have the words for it yet, but whatever passed between you and sunghoon in that moment wasn’t just physical. it’s something older, deeper, and it’s already taken root.

CHAPTER THREE ━━━━━ eletromagnetic emo ghost

꒰ 21.6k ꒱ all day, he feels you — in the air, under his skin, in every pulse that isn't his own. he watches you stumble through the day, dazed and aching, and hates that he caused it. but more than that, he hates how badly he wants more.

CHAPTER FOUR ━━━━━ resist the urge to bite (or kiss)

꒰ 35.2k ꒱ you want answers, but you also don’t want to ask. when you finally see him again, your body reacts before your mind can. and when he speaks — low, careful, restrained — it only confirms what you’ve been afraid to admit.

CHAPTER FIVE ━━━━━ hanil women university

꒰ 18.2k ꒱ the tension between you builds — sharp, close, and unbearably restrained. and when you finally ask if he regrets it, sunghoon doesn’t answer with words. he just looks at you — and it’s enough to know the truth.

CHAPTER SIX ━━━━━ necklines & near-death experiences

꒰ 24.3k ꒱sunghoon is shaken. and now that the bond is forming between you two, it’s not just instinct — it’s blood memory. he’s caught in something ancient and irreversible. and for the first time, you’re not the one in danger — he is.

CHAPTER SEVEN ━━━━━ orange blood

you never knew. and now everything — your instincts, your reactions, the way your body answers sunghoon before you can think — starts to make sense. it’s not legacy. it’s inheritance by accident. buried. hidden. and now, waking up.

EPILOGUE ━━━━━ bad desire (unleash)

it’s not soft. it’s inevitable. after nights of denial and tension so thick it ached, this moment snaps like a pulled thread. it’s teeth, breath, hands, and truth.

TSJ TAGLIST ━━━━━ CLOSED

TAGS: @ikeugirly @vixialuvs @hoonprksung @kyunlov @verialuv @sagegreenhairclip @gal821 @hoonstrology @httpenhoon @questionsdearreader @mynameis-rosie1 @staygenesblog @stercul1a @nshmrarki @imeowni @harusoraa @niki788 @sosaphiee @seokjinthescientist @gloomyasphodel @ferjinyoungiee @temuao @p1ecetinyzen @theothernads @jellymiki @yepins @rift-in-worlds