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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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What if there was a cow that could fly?
um. uhh um. fat bumbalbee
fat little bumbalabee
bumbalamoo
HOLY SHIT???!!!!!!!
Assortment of whimsy window grates
Halloween in Hanbok. These illustrations are featured in my 2025 Wall Calendar available in my shop now! 🎃🎃🎃💀💀💀
SHOP
THE QUOTES 😭😭😭

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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THE GOOD PLACE (2016 - 2020) I 1.03
Y’all remember that one scene from The Good Place? 😐
“Now, bear in mind,” *I pause, allowing time for you to visualize the bear*
Hey how's the ovulation going
im a danger to myself and others
YOUR EMAIL FINDS ME ON THE FIELD OF BATTLE

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do you know what it means to be loved by death?
A Madness Most Discreet • P3
18+
This is it. You've been caught sleeping with the enemy - but is there a way for you to buy your protection?
Content Warning: Frat!Bucky x Reader, secret relationship, enemies to lovers, angst, forbidden romance, mature themes, smut (mommy kink, oral f receiving, sub!bucky, penetrative sex, creampie), fluff.
Series Masterlist
Oh, fuck. This is bad. This is so, terribly bad. That's it. You're done. Everyone's gonna find out about you and Bucky. You're done.
"Maria," You breathe out with wide eyes, standing up as desperation fills. There must be some way to fix this. "This is not what it looks like-"
"I cannot believe this," She says excitedly, her face showing sadistic delight. "The leader of Phi Alpha with a Phi Delta girl? This is insane!"
Bucky's heart is racing and he stands up, making sure to put some distance between you. "Maria, it's not what you think."
She snorts at that. "Are you kidding? I literally just caught you with your tongues tied. This is gonna be the biggest story of the year!"
"How much money do you want?" He asks her suddenly, clutching at straws. "I'll pay you to keep quiet."
"Money?" She shakes her head, a smirk on her face. "My website has been doing terribly since last year. I haven't even hit 200 reads on any of my articles since this year started. This is exactly the story I need to make my website flourish again, thanks to you sex fiends!"
You walk over to her and soften your voice, hoping to appeal to her empathetic side. If she has one. "Please, Maria. There must be something else we can do for you. Anything."
She deliberates for a few moments while Bucky joins you in standing opposite her. Her eyebrows furrow. "Anything?"
"Anything," Bucky repeats with a nod.
"There may be something," Maria says slowly. "But all that will do is delay the publishing of this article. Not stop it completely."
You glance over to Bucky. Time is time, after all. "What is it?"
Letting out a sigh, she pulls out her hot pink notepad. "There's a rumor going around that Professor Preston and Doctor Reed are having an affair."
Bucky and you share a confused look, but listen as she continues.
"If you two give me proof of their relationship..." She trails off, narrowing her eyes. "That'll buy you a week."
"A week?" Bucky asked with a scoff.
"A week for you two to figure out what exactly you're gonna do when the student body finds out you're dating," She quips with a coy smile. "I mean, you'll likely both be made homeless and shunned by your respective societies. Gotta have a plan."
After a few moments, you sigh. "A week's a week, I guess," You mutter, glaring at her. "We'll do it."
"I can't believe we're doing this stupid Sherlock Holmes shit right now," Bucky grumbles, the both of you sitting in the quaint restaurant. "Is it even worth it? For just a week?"
Resting your elbows on the table, you give him a defeated shrug. "We'll just have to keep distracting her with other stuff."
"What could distract her from seeing us kissing?" He asks you, a frown on his face. "How many professors could possibly be having affairs?"
You narrow your eyes at him, your frustration growing. "How are you the angry one right now? It was you kissing me in the first place!"
"Oh, please, as if you didn't kiss me right back," Bucky grumbles, taking a breadstick from the basket in front of you.
"I can't believe you," You say with a scoff. "You were the one who was so anal about the rules at the start-"
He interjects with a snort. "Anal."
"Don't change the subject," You seethe, leaning forward. "You were the one who was so... adamant about us keeping our relationship off campus. What the fuck happened yesterday?"
"Wow, I wanted to kiss you. What a terrible human being I am!" He says sarcastically. "Lock me up and throw away the key."
"I really wish you would just take some responsibility-"
"Shut up," He says, suddenly sitting up. "They're here."
Following his stare, you turn to see none other than Professor Preston and Doctor Reed taking a seat at a table a few feet away. Bucky holds the menu up to his face, while you turn back to him with wide eyes. "Oh, my God. They're actually having an affair?"
He shrugs nonchalantly. "You can't say that for sure. I mean, maybe it's completely innocent. Maybe they're just two colleagues having dinner." Not even a second later, he chokes on air. "Never mind. They're fucking."
You quickly glance back to see Preston standing up, leaning forward and placing a kiss on her lips. "Holy shit!" When you turn back to Bucky, he's taking a picture of them. "What are you doing?"
"What do you think I'm doing?" He retorts curtly. "I'm getting proof."
Dread sits heavy in your stomach. Biting your lip, you lower your voice. "We complain about Maria invading our privacy, and overstepping boundaries, but aren't we just doing the same thing? Doesn't this make us just as bad as her?"
Lowering his phone, Bucky chews the inside of his cheek before speaking. "They aren't exactly innocent, roses- they're cheating on their spouses. We either do this, or that picture of us making out ends up on The Hill Has Eyes."
"Yeah, make sure the picture's clear," You say bluntly, sitting up. "Maybe get a video?"
"It's decent content, I guess," Maria comments, looking over the pictures and videos Bucky took. "But I'm still gonna expose you two."
"Fuck's sake," Bucky mumbles bitterly.
"What if we find another story for you?" You offer, desperate to delay your downfall as long as possible.
"What's the point?" He asks, sitting down on the bed. Getting a room at the Gold Seal Hotel was the only place you could think of meeting where you'd get real privacy.
"It would have to be a pretty good story," Maria says with a shrug from her position on the sofa. "Scandalous. Relevant. Shocking. Know anyone else having an affair?" She snorts at herself.
She was joking, but her words strike a chord in you. Your eyes widen and your lips part.
"What is it?" Bucky asks when he notices the look on your face.
Sharon.
"Um... hypothetically speaking," You begin, wording it cautiously. "If I did know someone who was cheating... how long would that buy us?"
"Scandalous?" Maria questions, sitting up.
You immediately nod. "A lot of drama would ensue if this story came out."
"Relevant? Shocking?"
"She's a Phi Delta."
Maria gasps at your revelation, holding a hand up to her chest. "You would betray her like that?"
Folding your arms across your chest, you shrug. "I'd rather her than me." God, you feel like such a bitch.
Bucky stands up and walks over to you, a look of concern on his face. "Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, she's your sorority sister."
"She's cheating on one of my friends," You say bluntly. "And she won't exactly be a sister for very much longer."
"Especially not once I post this article," Maria says with a sinister grin, already scribbling onto her notepad. "So? Who is it?"
You take in a deep breath, contemplating whether or not you should throw Sharon under the bus like that. Telling Maria will change everything. On one hand, Bucky and you will eventually be exposed anyway, but on the other, it gives you time to convince Maria not to post the picture.
"And do you have proof?" She asks expectantly.
"Not really," You answer honestly, before bitterly adding, "It's not like I follow people around with a camera."
"Tony will admit to it if you ask him," Bucky grumbles. "He's a dick like that."
"Tony? As in Tony Stark?" Maria asks him with wide eyes. "Fuck, this is gonna be incredible! Who's the girl?"
Sighing, you run a hand through your hair, before getting sick of worrying about the ethics of this. "It's Sharon."
Stunned, Maria raises her brows. "Sharon Carter? She's cheating on Pietro?"
Nodding, you meet her eyes. "Mhm."
"Wow. Wanda's gonna be crushed," She mumbles, almost sounding sympathetic. "This is gonna do wonders for my blog!"
As if you've done something terrible, which you arguably have, you feel incredibly guilty. You look down, barely even hearing Maria as she bids farewell before leaving the room.
After a few moments, you feel Bucky's hand on your shoulder. "You alright, roses?"
Lifting up your head, you meet his blue eyes and take in a breath. "Jamie, will you fuck me until I forget what I just did?"
He places his hands on your hips and pulls you closer. "Of course, baby. Come here; give me a kiss."
You lean up, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and marrying your lips to his. He gently pushes you over to the bed, lifting you up and laying you down.
"I want you so bad," You admit to him bashfully as he climbs on top of you.
"Yeah?" He repeats, grinding against you with a sly grin. "Is that right, my pretty little rose? You want your good boy to fuck your brains out, hmm?"
"Yes, please," You whine desperately, bucking your hips up as you allow him to take a limited amount of control for a limited amount of time.
He lifts up your skirt, giving him easier access to your heat. Rubbing you over your panties, Bucky sucks on your neck, biting and nibbling while you moan under him. He rips your panties apart, making you gasp as his fingers begin to play with your wet pussy.
"Mommy's so wet for me," He mumbles with a smirk, before he gives you a dark look. "Tell me you need me."
"I need you," You cry out, throwing your head back against the pillow. "I need you so bad, baby."
Bucky gradually lowers down your body, placing chaste kisses to your bare skin. When he reaches your crotch, he spreads your legs apart and immediately plunges his tongue between your lips, making you moan out to him.
"Fuck, yes," You cry, your head tilting upwards as an intense wave of bliss drowns you. He fervently laps at your pussy, keeping his eyes on your face as it contorts with pleasure, your eyebrows furrowing and your lips parted, letting small mewls and cries escape your mouth.
His eyes roll back as your taste consumes him. Just as his tongue swipes against your clit, your thighs squeeze together in reflex. A thought runs across your mind and you wonder whether he's having difficulty breathing with his head between your legs, but one look at the enamoured stare in his eyes let you know that he's just fine.
"That feels so good, Jamie," You moan, causing a guttural groan to escape his throat. His voice sends vibrations through to your clit, making you whimper. "You're so good at eating my pussy, baby."
He just moans in response, his hands tightly gripping your ass. You remove your shirt and bra, and take a hold of his metal hand. His cold finger and thumb slowly move upward and pinched your nipple, rolling it between them. You gasp at the overwhelm he drowns you in, your hands gripping the sheets. He takes note of the effect his actions have on you and brings up his other hand, reaching up to squeeze and play with your other nipple.
Bucky's determined to make you cum, never once slowing down the dance of his tongue against your clit. He watches in awe as your chest heaves, your face twisting and your nails digging into his shoulders. It's this moment at which he realizes that you're the most beautiful, angelic thing he's ever seen.
"I'm gonna fucking cum, you bastard!" You scream, your hips moving desperately in an attempt to reach your high.
He silently and proudly watches you writhe and bend, turning you on like never before. With an explosion of sensation, you cum all over Bucky's face, letting out a cry as your mind goes completely blank. All you see are stars dotted around the ceiling, the only sound your heartbeat as it thumps in your chest. With a sigh, you fall to the side, off of his face, breathing heavily as you float back down from your high.
He turns to you, his hand stroking your inner thigh while he watches you with a curious gaze, the lump in his throat bobbing as he swallows. Your eyes look over his glistening chest, down to his toned stomach, and finally to the bulge in his pants.
"Take them off," You say once you catch your breath, sitting up and giving him a demanding look.
He readily complies, standing up and removing his pants and boxers. He stands with his erect dick pointing upwards, pressed against his stomach. You crawl over to the edge of the bed and look up at him through your lashes.
"How badly do you need to cum, James?"
His breath is shaky, his teeth biting down onto his bottom lip as he looks down at you with knitted brows. "I - I need to cum really badly, mommy."
You let out a laugh, enjoying watching him suffer. He brings up his fingers and softly strokes his cock, his eyelids fluttering while he scans your body. Bringing up your hand, you slowly trail it up his thigh, watching the excitement grow in his eyes. His eyebrows rise up once you reach his dick, but all you do is place your hand around his and remove it from his shaft.
"Please," He mumbles, almost pouting at you.
"Not yet," You whisper, taking his hand and pulling him down onto the bed. You lie back down against the pillows while he remains sat on the edge, watching the desperation grow on his face. "You get fucking nothing until you make me cum again."
Slight shock overtakes his features, but neither of you can deny the excitement bubbling beneath his exterior. He moves so that he's fully facing you, on his knees while you lie before him. You take his hand and lead it up to your still throbbing pussy, soaking wet with your juices. His fingers slide in with ease, making your back arch as your eyes closed.
"Yes," You gasp, your grip tight around his wrist. "Keep going."
Bucky does as you say, building up a rhythm as he begins to finger you. You tilt your head and watch him as he pleasures you, his cock leaking precum with every moan that leaves your throat. His lips part and he groans, blinking slowly as he becomes dazed with how horny he is.
"Keep going," You repeat, squeezing his wrist. "Don't you fucking dare slow down."
His jaw clenches as a new tenacity possesses him, and he'll stop at nothing to see you cum again. In this moment he isn't your enemy, or your colleague- in this moment, Bucky Barnes is your plaything, your server; his only motive is to please you.
You place your hand on the back of his head and push it down to your breast, which he zealously takes into his mouth. His eyes remain open and intently staring into yours as he sucks on your nipple, making you shiver.
"Put your cock inside me," You instruct, causing an instant burst of delight to stream his features. He rushes to comply, rubbing his dick a few times before placing it at your pussy. Looking up from his dick and to your face, he slowly sinks it into you, watching with pride as you revel in the feeling.
"Oh, shit," He groans, throwing his head back. "Mommy feels so fucking good around me."
Once his full length is inside you, he takes a deep breath before pulling it out again. Bucky is finally being given what he was so hopelessly yearning for, and he'll take his time to ensure it lasts for as long as possible. He lowers his body until his chest is pressed to yours, his arms resting on either side of your head. With his face buried in your neck, he begins to pump in and out of you, letting out groans and whimpers.
Your hands find their way to his hair which they pull at, causing him to look up at you. He moves upwards and kisses you, your tongues meeting in the very way you both so crave. For a moment, as he fucks you slowly and passionately with his lips against yours and his arms wrapped around you, you're allowing yourself to feel at peace. You feel safe, and protected- you can't let that go on any longer or you might do something stupid like fall in love with him.
Pushing his body upwards and to the side, you move on top of him, your hands firmly gripping his shoulders as you begin to ride his cock, hard and fast. You're already close to your second orgasm when his thumb begins to rub circles on your clit, changing the direction every few seconds and making you shudder.
"Good boy," You breathe out, pulling on your nipples as you rode him faster. "Make me cum all over your cock."
He lets out a groan as his head pushes back into the pillow, his hands roaming all over your body. You speed up your movements, bringing yourself to an orgasm as you cum onto his dick, your juices flowing over his shaft and stomach. The euphoria is even more overwhelming than your first orgasm, his dick throbbing and twitching inside you.
"Gonna cum, mommy," He warns you before he gasps, bucking up his hips. "I'm- I-"
"It's okay, baby, let go," You say softly, clenching your cunt around him and sending him to the edge.
With a loud groan, he shoots his cum inside you, sending rope after rope of his seed into your pussy. He shudders beneath you, his hips stuttering as he fucks out his high.
"Good boy," You praise him, stroking his cheek softly. "Such a good boy for me, aren't you?"
"Always, mommy," He replies weakly, wrapping his arms around you while gently pulling out of you. "Always your good boy."
You fall down beside him, allowing him to pull you into his chest as the two of you catch your breath. One of his hands slowly strokes the back of your head, lulling you into rest. Your eyes flutter shut and he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, one which sets off alarm bells in your head.
He knows just as well as you that you have no intention of leaving tonight. His peaceful hold is too good to give up, no matter what the implications of literally sleeping together may be.
When he sees your brows furrow as you overthink and concern yourself with what this means, Bucky leans forward and cups your cheek, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Just relax, roses," He coaxes you gently. "Go to sleep. I've got you."
Your heart skips a beat at his words, which immediately terrifies you. You're fucked.
side blog for updates: @kinanabinksupdates
buy me a kofi <3
I'm late by, what? Three years? Anyway, it's a little sad that the story is incomplete, but... I made a fanfic of the fanfic lol in my head, Bucky kissed the reader in the bleachers on purpose. Maybe he even told Maria where they would be... He already had this plan from the beginning or someone from his fraternity found out about their relationship and Bucky lied (or not) that he was only with the reader so he could "destroy the sorority from the inside"... Anyway, I think Bucky is behind everything because he knew that the reader would do everything so they wouldn't be discovered and, I don't know... She said he was insistent on not staying at uni, and she also said that no one went to the field in the morning until Bucky found out she was going. And then there's the girl he argued with in his room... I highly doubt it was his sister.
god hearing bludworth's goodbye words made me just so fucking emotional. the fact they literally took out what they originally scripted and let tony say what he wanted to say to everyone watching, telling them to enjoy their lives and make the most of what we have. it breaks me. i miss him so much.
A snake story, based on an experience I had while I was in Florida.
the letter pt. 2
han jisung x fem!reader
synopsis: after a devastating breakup over the future you couldn't agree on, you and jisung are left unraveling in the aftermath. you wanted a family. he wanted freedom.
warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, (unplanned) pregnancy, jealousy & miscommunication, emotional cheating undertones.
wc: 8740
[the letter part. 1]
Acceptance didn’t come with a sudden epiphany.
It came slowly, quietly, like water wearing away at stone.
At first, the silence nearly destroyed you. The ache of waiting for a call that never came, the sting of every passing day that confirmed what you didn’t want to believe: Jisung wasn’t going to show up. He wasn’t going to reach out. He wasn’t going to be there. It was a hard truth, one that settled into your bones like winter, cold, heavy, impossible to ignore.
But slowly, with time, you began to understand something else: you didn’t need him to.
You didn’t need Jisung to make this real. You didn’t need his permission to move forward. You didn’t need his love or his regret to love this child growing inside of you.
That shift didn’t happen overnight. It took tears. Sleepless nights. A million conversations with Jia and Lana, where you said the same things again and again until the words lost their sting.
“He’s not coming back,” you had whispered one night, curled up on your couch, the blanket wrapped tight around your shoulders like armor. “He read it. I know he did. And if he wanted to be here, he would be.”
Jia nodded, her expression soft but steady. “And that’s on him.”
Lana, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a bowl of snacks in her lap, added, “You don’t owe him anything. He made his choice. And now you’re making yours.”
Their words didn’t fix everything, but they helped you breathe a little easier.
You started to remember all the things you used to dream about when you were younger. The things you whispered to yourself late at night when the world felt too loud. You’d always wanted a child. Always wanted a tiny person to love, to protect, to raise into someone kind and strong. Your reasons weren’t grand or poetic, they were simple and honest.
You wanted someone to call yours.
A little hand to hold. A sleepy head to kiss goodnight. A home that echoed with laughter and quiet footsteps. You had always dreamed of family. Of stability. Of unconditional love.
And Jisung had once felt like a part of that dream.
But dreams change.
And now, though it was different, though it wasn’t the picture-perfect family you’d envisioned, complete with a partner who held your hand through morning sickness and doctor appointments, you were still going to have that love. You were still going to have someone who would call you theirs.
A child who would look at you like you were their whole world.
You began talking to your baby more. Not out loud at first, but in thoughts. Little whispers as you lay in bed, hand splayed over your stomach. You imagined what they’d look like. What kind of laugh they’d have. Whether they’d like music like Jisung, or books like you. You tried not to think about him much, but sometimes the thought crept in of him holding your baby, of him realizing what he’d walked away from. It still hurt.
But the hurt wasn’t as sharp anymore.
More of a dull ache. A scar instead of an open wound.
Jia and Lana were your constants, showing up with groceries, dragging you out of bed when the nausea wasn’t too bad, helping you put together a list of things you’d need. They kept reminding you that this child was already loved. That you were loved. That you hadn’t done anything wrong by wanting something Jisung couldn’t give.
“You’ve wanted this your whole life,” Jia said one morning as she rubbed your back while you heaved over the toilet. “This baby? This is your dream. Maybe not how you pictured it, but it’s still yours. That matters.”
You cried after she said it, not from sadness, but from the overwhelming sense of yes. Yes, this was yours. This life you were building, even if it was cracked around the edges, was real. It was happening. And it was going to be beautiful, even in its broken places.
Eventually, you stopped checking your phone for his name.
Eventually, you stopped wondering if he’d show up.
You started making lists, cribs, baby names, pediatricians. You started reading articles, watching videos, planning. You let yourself feel excited. Nervous. Hopeful. Because as lonely as it sometimes felt, there was something growing inside of you that had nothing to do with Jisung anymore.
This baby was yours.
And you were going to love them enough for the both of you.
At first, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
The letter.
That goddamn letter.
It sat in his office desk drawer like it had claws, like it had buried itself deep into the wood, refusing to let go. Jisung had tried to forget it. He told himself it didn’t matter, that whatever you had to say was too late anyway. That if you really cared, you wouldn’t have walked out of his life like it was easy. Like he hadn’t fallen apart the moment the door shut behind you.
The drawer was closed, but his eyes kept drifting toward it.
Every time he sat down to write, to work, to practice, his gaze would flicker. Brief, but persistent. He told himself it was just curiosity, not hope. That it was normal to wonder. Normal to think about you. About the things you might’ve written.
Maybe it was an apology.
Maybe it was a desperate plea to get back together, to undo the fight, to rewrite the ending.
He convinced himself that’s all it could be. That you wanted him back, that you missed him like he missed you, except he wasn’t going to let himself believe you were sorry. Because then he’d have to forgive you. And Jisung didn’t want to forgive you.
He was angry.
Still heartbroken, sure. But underneath all that pain was anger, real, raw anger that scorched through his chest like wildfire every time he remembered how quickly you’d walked away. How you'd looked at him like he was the enemy for not wanting the same things. Like he was less because he hadn’t pictured the same white-picket-fence future you did.
So no, he didn’t open it.
He refused to.
The letter sat unopened for weeks, untouched but never fully ignored. It became part of his daily life, a silent weight in the back of his mind. A temptation. A wound. Something he both despised and felt tethered to.
He moved around it. Literally.
Every time he sat at the desk, his movements became sharper. He'd slam drawers harder, avoid resting anything near that one. He reorganized his workspace to make sure he wouldn’t have to reach near the envelope, as if proximity alone might make him cave.
Sometimes he’d linger there at night, just staring at the drawer. Fingers twitching. Wondering.
Not about you. He tried not to think about you anymore. But about what you thought you had to say. What gave you the nerve to write to him after leaving the way you did. After choosing a future without him.
Because that’s what it had felt like, hadn’t it? Like you’d made your choice. You wanted a family. A child. A life of stillness. And Jisung… Jisung wanted freedom. Music. The quiet, sacred simplicity of not being tied down, not yet. Not now. He hadn’t lied to you about that. He hadn’t pretended he wanted things he didn’t.
And yet, somehow, it still hadn’t been enough to make you stay.
So why write?
What could possibly be in that envelope that mattered now?
He started forgetting about it eventually. Or he told himself he did. The drawer stopped calling to him quite so loudly. He buried it beneath a stack of old receipts and tour paperwork. He told himself he didn’t care anymore.
And he didn’t.
Not until he started dreaming about you again.
Not until he walked into his apartment one night, bone tired, body aching from rehearsal and saw your old hoodie draped over the back of the couch. Something you must’ve left behind. He didn’t remember it being there before. Maybe it had fallen out of the closet. Maybe he’d just missed it. But the sight of it twisted something deep in his chest.
He sat down and held it for the first time in weeks.
Brought it to his nose, hoping for the faint trace of your perfume. The scent was long gone, but the memory of it was enough. He closed his eyes. Saw your face. Heard your voice.
“I just want something real, Jisung. Something stable. You don’t get it.”
He’d fought back that night. Screamed things he didn’t mean. Told you that stability wasn’t everything, that you were suffocating him with your picture-perfect expectations. He didn’t mean that either.
He never meant to lose you.
He just didn’t know how to give you what you wanted.
The dreams came harder after that.
Nights filled with half-remembered moments. You, crying. You, laughing. You, walking away. The drawer became heavier again. Not physically, but in the way it felt, in the way his chest grew tight every time he sat down at that desk.
And sometimes, just sometimes, he wondered if maybe the letter wasn’t what he thought it was.
If maybe you hadn’t written to beg, or plead, or apologize.
What if it was a goodbye?
What if it was closure?
The thought made him sick. And yet it stayed. Brewing. Spreading. Curling like smoke around the corners of his resolve.
Still, he didn’t open it.
Not yet.
Because once he did, there’d be no going back. Once he read what you had to say, whether it shattered him or made him ache to run back to you, it would mean something. It would change something. And he wasn’t ready.
Not to feel that kind of heartbreak all over again.
Not to face the truth of whatever words you'd left him with.
Not to know if the dream he’d been trying to forget… had already come true without him.
-
He hadn’t planned on checking his phone again that night.
It was late, past 1 a.m. and he should’ve been asleep. He was exhausted, not just in his body, but in a way that seemed to linger deep in his bones. The kind of exhaustion that didn’t come from long studio hours or back-to-back rehearsals. No, this was the kind of tired that came from missing something that used to feel like home.
But still, he scrolled.
A quiet habit now. Not for his fans or updates or even entertainment, just to feel connected to something, anything. Something that wasn’t the silence of his too-big apartment or the ache of everything you’d taken with you when you left.
His thumb stilled mid-scroll when he saw it.
Jia’s post.
A carousel of pictures, captioned with something casual, “good company, good weather, good wine.” But he didn’t read it right away. He couldn’t. Not when he saw you.
Laughing.
Head thrown back, leaned gently against someone’s shoulder, a guy, unfamiliar, laughing just as openly. It was a candid shot, clearly taken without warning, but it was beautiful. Painfully beautiful.
You looked happy.
And it hit him like a punch to the ribs.
He stared at the picture, unmoving. It was the first time he’d seen you in months. Jia and Lana hadn’t posted you in so long that he’d started to wonder if they were keeping your face off on purpose. Maybe they knew he still looked. Maybe you had asked them not to.
And yet, here you were. In the open. In color.
Smiling.
And not at him.
Jisung dropped his phone like it burned. It landed screen-down on the desk in front of him, but the image was already scorched behind his eyes. You, in that cream-colored cardigan he always liked. The same soft one you’d throw over your shoulders when it got cold, even inside. Your laugh, he could hear it in his mind even if he hadn’t heard it in months.
The drawer creaked.
That drawer.
He didn’t mean to open it, but suddenly, it was. His hand moved before his mind could catch up. The paper felt heavier than it should’ve. The envelope was still sealed, still clean, untouched despite all the time it had spent hidden beneath ignored things.
He stared at it. Again. For the hundredth time.
You’d written his name on the front in your handwriting, he’d always liked your handwriting. Neat, but a little messy in that cute way. It was the kind of thing you didn’t think people noticed, but Jisung had noticed everything.
He lifted it slowly, as if even that movement required more strength than he had left.
The letter rested in his hands.
And then the picture came back to him again that guy, the way your eyes crinkled at something he said, how natural it looked, like it had always been him and not Jisung. Like Jisung was some ghost from another life you didn’t think about anymore.
A rush of something hot surged in his chest.
Anger. Jealousy. Bitterness.
It was a mistake, picking it up. He knew it was a mistake.
You probably wrote this before you met that guy. Before you moved on. Before you laughed like you had never cried over him. So what was the point now? What was the fucking point?
His grip tightened.
The edge of the envelope bent in his palm.
He was going to rip it.
Tear it into a thousand worthless pieces.
He didn’t need your words. He didn’t need your explanation, or apology, or whatever twisted kind of closure you thought this would give him. If you were so happy now, if you had someone else's shoulder to lean on, someone else to laugh with then he didn’t need to carry your ghost anymore.
The paper creaked as it began to fold beneath the pressure of his fingers.
But something stopped him.
Not guilt. Not even curiosity.
Just a question. Soft, poisonous, and small.
What if it wasn’t what I thought it was?
It came quietly. It always did.
Jisung closed his eyes, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. His heart thudded unevenly in his chest. His fingers didn’t release the envelope, but he didn’t tear it either.
Because something was wrong.
Something about that picture. As much as it hurt to see you with someone else, as much as it made him want to break something, there was a tiny flicker of something off. He didn’t know why it stood out, but it did.
The guy’s arm, he wasn’t touching you. Not possessively. Not the way Jisung used to.
And your smile, while bright… had a weariness to it. Something in your eyes. A tiredness he recognized.
Maybe he was imagining it. Reading into something that wasn’t there.
Or maybe he wasn’t.
The letter pulsed in his hand like it had weight now. Like it always had, and he was only just feeling it.
And for the first time in six months, Jisung wondered, really wondered what you had said in those pages.
And whether not knowing would haunt him more than the truth ever could.
At six months pregnant, the exhaustion was more than physical, it had dug itself into your spirit. You felt heavier than your body should've allowed. Not just with the child growing inside of you, but with the weight of silence. Of unanswered letters. Of unreturned phone calls that were never made. Of dreams you'd once held so tightly that now felt like strangers to you.
You had done everything right, or at least you tried to. You took your vitamins. Went to appointments. Listened to the doctor. Ate better. Slept when you could. Cried only when it was too much to hold back. You were being responsible, measured, careful, everything a mother should be.
But no one told you how lonely it would feel.
How much you’d mourn someone who was still alive.
And lately, even Jia and Lana noticed. They tried to smile extra wide around you, tried to pull you into silly conversations, binge shows with you in bed, paint your nails, cook your favorite meals. But the spark in your eyes, the part of you that lit up when you laughed, had dimmed. The grief was quieter now, but more permanent. More settled. Like it had accepted you as its host.
You weren’t bitter.
You didn’t cry over Jisung every night anymore. You didn’t ache the way you used to. But something had changed. You weren’t sure if it was the pregnancy, or the acceptance, or just time doing what it does, softening things while hollowing others out.
It was Jia who brought it up.
“I’ve been thinking,” she’d said carefully, whispering to Lana one afternoon as she watched you doze off mid-conversation.
“That’s never a good sign,” Lana had replied, side-eyeing her from across the room.
“No, seriously,” Jia said, sitting forward. “I think we should bring someone over. Someone who used to make her smile. For real smile.”
Lana’s brows furrowed. “Like… a therapist?”
“No. Chan.”
The silence that followed was thick.
Lana stared at her like she’d lost her mind. “Chan? As in, Christopher Bang? High school boyfriend Chan? Australia Chan?”
Jia nodded, lips tight. “She was happy with him, Lan. Like… really happy. He’s back in town. He messaged me a few days ago and asked about her.”
“She’s pregnant.”
“I know that.”
“And emotional.”
“I know, Lana.”
Lana crossed her arms. “And what if this backfires? What if seeing him makes her feel worse?”
“She hasn’t smiled in weeks.”
“She’s tired, Jia. She’s not depressed, she’s just—”
“I know what she is,” Jia had said, her voice breaking slightly. “And I know she’d never say it out loud, but she’s hurting. She feels like she’s being erased. Everyone sees her as a pregnant woman now, not her. Chan always saw her. Maybe she needs that.”
Reluctantly, Lana agreed.
So now here you were.
Sitting in a small cozy café that smelled like fresh lemons and sun-warmed pastries, a glass of lemonade sweating on the table in front of you, your hands resting protectively on your belly without even realizing it. Jia and Lana sat across from you, exchanging nervous glances every few seconds, which you were just about to comment on when—
A tap.
Soft. On your shoulder.
You turned.
And there he was.
Chan.
The boy who used to give you rides on the back of his bike after school. The boy who’d written you poetry in margins of your notebooks. The boy who once told you, so casually, that if he had a time machine, he’d go to the future just to see if you still ended up together.
He looked different, but not in a bad way. Taller, a little more filled out. His jaw was sharper. His hair shorter. But his smile? That was the same. Gentle, warm, slightly crooked on the left like it always had been.
You blinked in disbelief.
“Chan?” you asked, barely above a whisper.
He grinned. “Hey, trouble.”
The old nickname made your chest tighten in the most unexpected way. You laughed before you could stop yourself, quiet, but real. The kind of laugh that had started to feel foreign.
Jia and Lana, now grinning like guilty conspirators, stood up quickly. “We’ll be back in a few. Just gonna, uh, go… admire the dessert case,” Jia mumbled, grabbing Lana's arm.
Lana gave Chan a wary look before disappearing with her.
You turned back to him. “It’s… been a long time.”
“Years,” he said. “Too many. You look… amazing.”
You snorted. “I look like a watermelon.”
He chuckled. “A beautiful watermelon, then.”
That made you laugh again, genuine. His eyes lit up, pleased, but not smug. Just soft.
He sat across from you, and for a few seconds, neither of you said anything. Just… took each other in. There was comfort there. The kind that doesn’t go away just because time passes. He didn’t feel like a stranger, even after all this time.
“Tell me everything,” he said finally. “How’ve you been?”
You looked down at your lemonade, then at your belly. “It’s been… hard,” you admitted. “But I’m okay. I’m getting there.”
He nodded. “You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”
And that, that was what got you. The way his eyes didn’t immediately flicker to your belly. The way his questions weren’t laced with obligation or curiosity about the pregnancy. He saw you.
Not the bump. Not the situation. Just you.
You smiled again, softer this time. “You still make people feel like the world slows down when you talk to them. You know that?”
Chan looked surprised, almost bashful. “I missed this,” he said. “Us. Talking like this.”
“So did I,” you said quietly.
He asked about your family, about your writing. You asked about Australia, the music scene, the food he missed. It was like dusting off a record you hadn’t played in years but still remembered all the lyrics to.
And for the first time in months, you didn’t feel like just someone carrying someone else’s child.
You felt like you again.
And that… that felt like breathing.
Jia elbowed Lana gently as they both turned back from the dessert counter and peeked toward your table. You were laughing, really laughing. It wasn’t the kind of hollow, polite chuckle you’d forced out over the last several months. This was the kind that made your shoulders shake a little, your eyes squint, the kind that used to come so easily to you.
Jia grinned, whispering under her breath, “See? I told you. Look at her.”
Lana crossed her arms slowly, watching the way Chan leaned forward a little, listening intently to whatever you were saying. You were twirling the straw in your lemonade as you spoke, and he was smiling like it was the best story he’d ever heard.
“Why do you look like that?” Jia asked, brow raised. “You’ve had that same suspicious face on since he got here.”
“I’m not against it,” Lana muttered, still watching. “I’m just… not all in either.”
“Why not?” Jia nudged her again. “She’s finally laughing. Isn’t that what we wanted?”
“I do want her to smile,” Lana admitted. “I just… don’t want her to get hurt again. She’s not just her right now. She’s carrying someone else’s future. It’s not like she can afford to be reckless.”
Jia softened at that. “I don’t think this is reckless. It’s just… a moment. She deserves to feel normal again, even if it’s just for an hour.”
Lana sighed, quieting her voice. “You remember her that night after she found out she was pregnant. She shattered. She thought she was going to do this with someone by her side. And even now, she hasn’t let herself be happy, not really. What if she starts hoping again? What if she sees Chan as a fix, as comfort, and then it goes wrong?”
Jia frowned, but her gaze shifted back to you.
You were resting your chin on your hand, eyes locked on Chan, laughing again at something he said. You looked… lighter. Like someone had finally taken a backpack off your shoulders.
“I get it,” Jia said softly. “But sometimes it’s not about what might go wrong. Sometimes people just need to feel something good before they fall apart again.”
Lana didn’t respond. She just nodded slowly, her arms still crossed, but her eyes stayed on you.
Fifteen minutes later, the four of you exited the café together, the late morning sun spilling over the street. The air smelled like strawberries and warm bread, thanks to the farmers market set up just around the corner. You turned your head at the scent, curiosity blinking in your eyes.
“Hey,” Jia said brightly, pretending she hadn’t just orchestrated your emotional healing. “Why don’t we walk the market for a bit? It’s nice out.”
Chan glanced at you, his hands casually stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. “Yeah? Up for it?”
You nodded. “I could use the walk.”
“Pregnancy-friendly pace,” Lana added quickly, ever the protector.
“Obviously,” Chan said with a small smile.
The four of you wandered into the hum of the market, past flower stands, stalls full of honey jars, baskets of citrus and summer tomatoes. You and Chan naturally fell behind, veering slightly into your own space as Jia and Lana moved ahead.
Chan told you about the time he accidentally joined the wrong university club and ended up on a competitive rowing team for a semester without realizing it. About the hostel he lived in that turned out to be a rebranded former psychiatric facility. About the tiny restaurant he worked at on weekends that had a cat as the official “manager.”
He told you about homesickness. About how certain days would feel longer than others, and how he’d sit at the edge of his bed and think of home and sometimes that meant a place, but more often it meant people.
It meant you.
You told him about how quiet things had become lately. How you’d taken up journaling again, mostly to try and remember who you were. How you sometimes put your hand on your stomach at night and talked to the baby even though you weren’t sure if they could really hear you. How Jia and Lana had kept you grounded when you couldn’t see past your own fog.
But you didn’t talk about Jisung.
You didn’t need to.
Chan didn’t ask about the father. He didn’t need that context to care.
Instead, as you both slowed at a stand selling little handmade toys, he asked something else.
“Have you thought of names yet?”
You looked at him, surprised. “Kind of… Nothing set in stone.”
He tilted his head. “Wanna tell me?”
You hesitated. “Promise not to laugh?”
Chan held up a hand solemnly. “Swear on the ghost cat manager.”
You smiled again. “For a girl… I really like Ari. And for a boy… maybe Leo.”
“Ari,” he repeated softly. “Leo. I like those.”
You looked down at your stomach, then back up at him. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”
“Because I asked,” he said simply. “And because you’re allowed to tell me. You don’t have to carry everything alone.”
That made your eyes sting, unexpectedly. The words were too kind, too easy. You weren’t used to someone offering comfort without strings. Without history. Without expectation.
Just care.
And when he smiled at you again, you believed it.
You felt like someone again. Not a burden. Not a story to explain. Not just a woman waiting for a baby to arrive or a ghost of someone’s past.
Just… you.
And in that moment, under the sun, surrounded by flowers and laughter and warmth, you realized maybe just maybe you could breathe again.
Jisung had forgotten what quiet felt like.
Not the kind of quiet where everything was still, peaceful. No, this was the kind that rang in your ears. A silence so loud it made you clench your jaw without realizing. It had followed him like a shadow since the breakup, lurking in the corners of his apartment, in the spaces between rehearsals, inside his chest when he tried to sleep.
He thought he was finally past it. Past you.
It had been six months. Six months of distraction and denial. Six months of forcing his focus into studio sessions and interviews. Six months of telling himself that he hadn’t needed you in the first place, that wanting something different wasn’t a crime.
But then he saw the photo.
You. Laughing.
Leaning into another man’s shoulder, someone unfamiliar. Someone he couldn’t recognize. The post was from Jia’s account, just a regular scroll moment that hit harder than it should’ve. His thumb hovered over the screen. He’d stopped breathing for a second.
You looked so… okay.
That was what struck him the most.
You looked healed. Soft. Effortlessly content. The man beside you wasn’t even touching you, but it was the way you leaned toward him. The comfort in your posture. The way your eyes crinkled when you smiled.
Jisung had stared at the picture until his vision blurred.
He wondered if you were moving on, if you had someone else, if you were that carefree with someone else and that maybe that letter had never been about coming back. Maybe it had been about leaving for good.
The possibility made his stomach twist.
He sat down at his desk. The drawer was already open a crack. Just wide enough to reveal the corner of the envelope.
His hand hovered over it.
Six months.
What if he’d missed something important?
The image of your face flashed in his mind again, the smile that wasn't his anymore. The softness in your eyes that had once only been meant for him.
And then, without warning, that sick feeling rose again, sharp, bitter, ugly. What if it wasn’t something he wanted to read? What if it was about the new guy? Or worse, what if it was closure?
He could barely breathe.
“I’ve always wanted a family.”
It echoed in his head. Quiet, wistful. It had been one of your first deep conversations. You’d looked at him like he was the future you’d been planning for since you were a little girl. And he’d brushed it off with a joke, even though part of him knew, knew you meant every word.
And he hadn’t listened.
He rubbed his face with both hands.
He’d been trying so hard to be okay, to let it go. But now all the pieces were coming together in his head, twisting into something heavy. The sickness you mentioned to your friends online. The way Jia and Lana stopped posting about you. The letter. The vanishing act.
The man in the picture.
And that look on your face.
He thought about what it meant.
What it could mean.
And slowly, like a creeping storm, one horrible, world-shifting thought started to root itself in his chest.
What if the letter wasn’t about getting back together?
What if the letter was about the family he never wanted and you were giving it to someone else now?
He stood up so fast the chair scraped the floor.
His heart thundered.
The letter was still unopened. Still waiting. Still sealed.
But it didn’t feel like it was waiting for him anymore.
-
The morning air was crisp, just cold enough to bite at his fingertips as he tucked them deeper into his jacket pockets. Jisung had barely slept the night before. Again. Something about the silence in his apartment felt louder than usual lately. He’d left early, headphones in, cap low over his face, hood up. Just another early morning walk to the company, hoping maybe the movement would shake the insomnia out of his bones.
He was halfway down the street, eyes fixed on the pavement, when he heard it.
A laugh.
But not just any laugh.
Your laugh.
For a split second, he froze mid-step. His heart stuttered. He thought he was imagining it. It was familiar in a way that twisted his insides, light, effortless, like wind chimes in spring. It was the laugh he used to live for. The one he hadn’t heard in six months.
It echoed again, closer this time.
He turned instinctively, almost violently, pulling his headphones out and scanning the street behind him. His pulse shot up as his eyes locked on the source.
And there you were.
Standing just a few meters away. Real. Laughing, radiant, glowing in the soft morning sun and unmistakably, visibly pregnant.
Jisung’s breath caught in his throat.
You weren’t alone.
The man beside you, the same one from the picture stood close, one hand resting at the small of your back. He was smiling too, looking at you with the kind of tenderness that made Jisung’s fists clench.
You were leaning toward him, hand protectively on your belly, like the whole world had narrowed down to just the two of you.
And it hit Jisung like a truck.
Not only had you moved on… you had started the family he never wanted. With someone else.
Someone who wasn’t him.
Something cracked deep in his chest.
It felt like betrayal. Like acid and broken glass.
You had left him and this was why?
You wanted a family so badly you found someone else who would give it to you?
His vision tunneled. He was walking before he even registered his feet moving.
Rage. That’s all it was now. Rage that clawed at his skin. Rage that you had laughed like that, that laugh for someone else. That this stranger had touched you in a way that had once belonged to him. That you had trusted someone else with that part of you. With your future.
He didn’t even know what he was going to say. Didn’t care.
All he knew was that he needed answers.
Jisung stopped in front of you, chest heaving, eyes narrowed beneath his cap.
You froze instantly, the color draining from your face the moment you saw him.
The man beside you shifted immediately, subtly protective, arm tightening at your back as he assessed Jisung.
For a second, no one said anything.
You stared at each other.
The tension was unbearable like a rubber band pulled too tight.
You looked tired. Paler. But still you. Still the woman who once laid beside him in bed whispering sweet nothings. Still the woman who broke his heart when she said “you can’t love me if you don’t want my future.”
But now, your eyes weren’t soft. They were sharp. Furious.
The same fury he remembered from your worst fights. The kind that made your voice shake, not from fear, but from pain.
“What the hell do you want?” you said first, voice quiet but hard, defensive.
Jisung’s hands twitched at his sides. “That’s funny. You’re asking me that?”
Your mouth pulled tight. “I have nothing to say to you.”
His voice rose before he could stop it. “No? Nothing at all? Not even a heads-up that you’re carrying his kid now?”
The stranger tensed, but didn’t speak. You shot him a glance, placing a hand gently on his arm to stop him. He backed off slightly, but he didn’t move far.
“It’s none of your business,” you said, teeth gritted.
“I was your business,” Jisung snapped, voice cracking. “You left me—just to turn around and give everything I couldn’t to someone else?”
Your eyes blazed. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” He gestured to your stomach. “Looks pretty damn obvious to me.”
You inhaled sharply, chest rising, as if trying to calm the storm inside you.
“I’m not doing this here,” you said coldly.
“Then where?” he hissed. “When were you going to say anything? Or were you just going to play happy family and pretend I never—”
“Stop,” you snapped, voice shaking now.
He faltered. The venom in your voice hit him like a slap.
“Just… stop.” You shook your head. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to disappear and then show up six months later acting like I owe you an explanation.”
“I didn’t disappear—you left—!”
“Because you made it clear you didn’t want what I did!” you shouted now, and people were starting to glance over from across the street.
Your hand was on your stomach again, protective, trembling.
“I begged you to see the future I wanted. And you couldn’t. You wouldn’t. So don’t come here now trying to rewrite the story.”
Jisung’s throat tightened. His anger was bleeding into something else, confusion, desperation. Doubt.
You stared him down, eyes full of heartbreak and steel.
“Stay away from me,” you said, voice low and final.
You turned without another word. The man beside you didn’t look at Jisung, just kept a steady hand on your back as he helped you walk away.
Jisung didn’t follow.
He stood there, rooted to the sidewalk, heart hammering in his chest, ears ringing.
You didn’t mention the letter.
You didn’t say anything about the truth he had ignored.
And he still had no idea what he had missed.
All he knew now was this:
You had moved on.
And he… was still standing in the wreckage of what he couldn’t give you.
You hadn’t slept well the night before. Again.
At six months pregnant, your body was exhausted all the time, your back ached, your feet throbbed, and no matter how many pillows you arranged around yourself, you could never get comfortable enough to rest. But today, something felt… okay. Maybe not good, but manageable. The sun was peeking through the curtains when you felt a small flutter inside your belly, a gentle reminder that you weren’t alone.
You smiled softly, your hand moving instinctively to rest over the small bump. It had grown noticeably in the last few weeks. Strangers had started to offer you their seat, shopkeepers smiled a little more gently. It felt surreal, this thing you had always wanted, happening now, just not in the way you imagined.
You were still thinking about that when Chan texted you.
Chan: You up for a walk this morning? There’s a little bakery I want to show you. My treat if you let me win the who-pays war today.
You had chuckled at that. His texts were always light, warm, full of memories you hadn’t realized you missed. So you texted back:
Y/n: You’re on. I still say you cheat when you distract me at the register.
You met outside your place, and he greeted you with that big, boyish smile you remembered from high school. He asked how you slept, how you were feeling, how your cravings were, and he didn’t even flinch when you joked about the weird food combinations you’d been eating lately.
The walk was easy. Gentle. The kind of peaceful you hadn’t felt in a long time. Chan was telling you about this ridiculous story from his last few months in Australia, something about a bird, a tourist trap, and his friend almost getting chased by a kangaroo and you were laughing. Not the polite kind of laugh you’d been forcing around others lately, but the real kind that made your cheeks ache.
It felt good. Almost normal.
You reached the bakery and he told you to pick anything you wanted. You eyed the warm pastries behind the glass and finally settled on a croissant and a hot chocolate. He tried to sneakily pay for it while you were busy looking at cookies. You caught him, of course, and the two of you bickered playfully at the counter, your laughter bouncing off the walls of the quiet little shop.
“I swear you’re worse than my grandma,” you teased as you walked out, bag in one hand, and your warm drink in the other.
“Well, she is a lovely woman,” he grinned. “Smart too.”
You rolled your eyes, and just as you were about to say something else—
You heard your name.
That voice.
That damn voice.
Your body went cold.
It felt like the sidewalk shifted beneath your feet.
You turned around slowly, your stomach twisting as you saw him.
Jisung.
It felt like the air had been sucked out of your lungs.
You hadn’t seen him in six months, not since you dropped the letter under his door. Not since you waited days, then weeks, and finally months for a reply that never came.
And yet here he was. Storming toward you, fire in his eyes and tension in every step. Your heart pounded so loud you could barely hear anything else.
He looked thinner. Harsher. The softness in his face, the one you used to touch so lovingly was replaced with tight lines and something bitter.
Then his eyes dropped to your stomach.
And you saw it.
The flicker of realization.
He said your name again. Sharper this time. Full of something ugly and raw.
The confrontation happened in a blur after that. Words thrown like knives, his accusations loud and cutting. Accusing you of moving on, of starting a family with someone else.
You hadn’t even told him it was his.
You didn’t want to.
Not like this.
Because he didn’t deserve to know, not after months of silence, after choosing to ignore your letter, after making you believe you and your baby weren’t worth a single word.
The worst part? He looked like he hated you. Like your happiness was an offense. Like your child was some betrayal.
And you hated yourself a little for still caring what that look meant.
You didn’t answer most of what he said. You couldn’t. The anger inside you was too heavy, too dangerous to let loose. You told him to stay away from you. To leave you alone.
And you meant it.
When you turned around, Chan’s hand found the small of your back again, steady and warm, and you let yourself lean into it, even if just slightly.
You didn’t look back at Jisung. You didn’t have to.
Because if you did, you knew it would break you.
You walked for what felt like forever. Past the bakery, past the quiet street, into a shaded area just outside the little market. The adrenaline had worn off, and you were suddenly so tired.
Your steps slowed, and Chan noticed immediately.
He gently tugged at your arm to stop. “Hey,” he said softly. “Are you okay?”
Your lip trembled.
And for a moment, you tried to lie. To nod. To say you were fine.
But then the tears came.
Without warning.
You dropped your head, unable to hold it in anymore.
Chan didn’t say anything. He just stepped closer and wrapped his arms around you carefully, protectively.
You cried harder than you had in weeks. Into his chest, into the quiet morning air.
All the pain. The heartbreak. The fury. The sadness.
The betrayal of being forgotten.
The fear of being a single mother.
The ache of still loving someone who had let you go.
You clung to Chan like he was the only steady thing in your world.
And in that moment, maybe he was.
He rubbed your back gently. Didn’t rush you. Didn’t ask you to explain.
He just held you. Like you needed.
Like you deserved.
Like Jisung never did.
It took a while for you to calm down after the confrontation. Your tears had stained the front of Chan’s shirt, but he didn’t seem to care, he just kept holding you gently, rubbing slow circles along your back, quietly murmuring, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” like he was trying to patch over the cracks in your heart one word at a time.
Once your breathing evened out, and your tears slowed into hiccups, Chan finally pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes warm and sincere.
“You ready to go home?” he asked, his voice soft, without a trace of pressure.
You nodded, but you were still silent. Raw. Shaken.
He didn’t push you to talk. He didn’t ask what had happened, even though you knew he had his guesses. That restraint, his patience made your throat close up with a fresh wave of emotion.
The walk to your apartment was quiet. Not awkward, not stiff, just comfortable silence. A kind of silence you could sit in without feeling like you had to perform or explain or fix anything. Chan carried your little bakery bag in one hand and kept the other gently on your back, his fingers barely brushing the fabric of your dress near your shoulder blade. Just enough to let you know he was still there. Still with you.
When you reached your building, he held the door open, then helped you up the steps when your ankles threatened to protest. Once you were inside, he toed off his shoes at the entrance like he used to back in high school when he came over to study or hang out, only this time, the setting was so different.
Chan didn’t seem to mind.
He followed you in, still holding the bag of treats.
“I still paid,” he said casually, turning just slightly to glance at you over his shoulder with a teasing smile.
You blinked, caught off guard.
And then… you laughed.
Just a little.
Soft and tired, but real.
You reached out and playfully swatted his arm. “You’re so annoying,” you muttered, your voice still raspy from crying.
“I’ve been told,” he said, beaming now, clearly proud of himself.
You padded over to the couch and eased yourself down, one hand resting instinctively on your belly. Chan followed, setting the bag down on the coffee table. Then, without asking, he sat down beside you, close enough that his warmth pressed into your side, but not close enough to make you feel crowded.
You leaned your head on the back of the couch and stared at the ceiling for a while. There was a dull ache behind your eyes. Your body was tired. Your heart was even more tired.
He nudged your shoulder gently. “Want to tell me what happened?”
You exhaled slowly. “Jisung.”
That was all you needed to say.
He was quiet for a moment. And then, “Thought so.”
You turned your head slightly to look at him.
“Yeah?”
Chan nodded. “The way he looked at you… back there. Like he was about to explode. I don’t know what happened between you two, but... he doesn’t look like someone who’s over you.”
You scoffed. “He’s the one who left.”
Chan frowned but didn’t comment right away. Instead, he leaned forward, grabbing the croissant from the bakery bag and tearing off a piece. “Well,” he said after a beat, “you don’t need someone who can’t see what’s right in front of them. Especially not now.”
You looked down at your stomach.
The guilt crept in again, slowly.
The heaviness of everything. The choice you made. The silence after the letter. The confrontation that left you shattered all over again.
“I didn’t tell him,” you said, your voice so quiet it was almost a whisper.
Chan looked over.
“About the baby,” you clarified. “I sent him a letter... six months ago. Told him everything. That I didn’t expect anything from him. That if he didn’t want to reach out, I’d leave him alone. He never said anything. Never texted. Never called. Never replied.”
You could see the realization settle in Chan’s expression, how all the pieces clicked into place.
“I thought he made his choice,” you said softly. “So I made mine.”
He didn’t try to justify Jisung’s silence. Didn’t say maybe he didn’t read it. Maybe he didn’t know.
Because that didn’t matter. Not now.
Chan nodded slowly and offered you the other half of the croissant. You took it with a shaky breath, your fingers brushing his.
“You did the right thing,” he said. “You gave him a chance. He chose to ignore it. That’s on him.”
You looked at him. At this person who had been absent from your life for years, only to come back like no time had passed so seamlessly, so naturally. You weren’t in love with him. Not now. But there was still something safe about being with him. Something soft and familiar. Something you hadn’t realized you needed.
And when he smiled at you again, nudging your elbow with his, you let yourself lean into him just a little more.
He made you feel like you weren’t broken.
Like this new version of you, mother-to-be, heartbroken, healing was still worthy of comfort.
Still worthy of being held.
Still worthy of being chosen.
It had been hours since he saw you.
Hours since your laugh pierced through the city noise like a haunting melody he wasn’t supposed to hear anymore.
But it was still echoing.
Jisung had barely made it home, barely remembered how he got there, just that he’d walked, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white. His heart had been pounding in his ears. Rage, confusion, betrayal, every emotion bleeding into the next until he could barely breathe through the noise.
You were pregnant.
And not just pregnant, you were glowing, smiling, leaning into that guy like he was your anchor. Like you were his. Like the future you once begged Jisung for had already found its way to someone else’s arms.
And all he could think about was how cruel it all felt. How fast it seemed like you had moved on. How wrong it looked for someone else to hold your back like that when that used to be his place.
He didn’t bother turning on the lights when he stumbled into his apartment. The air was cold, untouched. Work, studio, drinking, studio again. That was his pattern now, suffocating himself with anything that could drown out the silence you left behind.
But tonight was different.
Tonight, your laughter followed him. Your eyes. Your voice when you told him to stay away. The venom in it. The hurt.
He collapsed into the armchair near the window, his coat still on, cap still tugged low over his head like he was still out there hiding. With a groan, he reached for the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the floor beside him. No glass this time. Just desperate gulps from the bottle itself, the burn in his throat not nearly enough to mask the ache behind his ribs.
He barely noticed when his hand moved on its own.
Opened the drawer.
Pulled out the envelope.
The envelope you’d left nearly six months ago.
He stared at it, the way he had a hundred times before, only now it looked like a mockery. Like a ghost of something he didn’t want to admit he’d left unread out of sheer spite. It had his name on it, in your handwriting. Soft, familiar.
For a moment, his hand trembled.
He could read it.
He could finally read it.
But then his mind flashed back to earlier.
The way that guy leaned close when you laughed like it was his favorite sound. The way you looked like everything Jisung had never been enough for.
And then came the anger.
All-consuming. Reckless. Bitter.
His lips curled into something half-snarled, half-exhausted.
“She didn’t even wait,” he muttered, the words slurring slightly. “Just threw us away like it was nothing.”
He didn’t care if it wasn’t true.
He needed it to be true.
Because the alternative? That you had waited. That maybe you'd told him something important in this very letter, that he’d ignored something that mattered, that affected both of you…
No.
He couldn’t think about that.
Couldn’t handle it.
So before his hands could betray him and open the letter, Jisung crushed it in his fist.
And then, slowly, deliberately, he tore it in half.
The sound of ripping paper was louder than it should’ve been in the silence of his apartment.
Once.
Twice.
Three times, until it was nothing but scraps in his lap, your handwriting torn down the middle, illegible, unreadable.
And only when he’d destroyed it completely, only when there was no going back did he feel something crack inside him.
The sound that left his throat was ugly.
Somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
He didn’t know why he was crying.
He didn’t even feel like he was crying.
But the tears slipped down anyway, hot and fast, tracking along his cheeks as he tipped back another gulp of whiskey and let his head fall into his hands.
You were gone.
You had moved on.
And now, he had destroyed the only piece of you left that might’ve explained why it all ended the way it did.
And still… he didn’t know the truth.
Still, he was blind to everything except the ache of missing you and the poison of thinking you belonged to someone else now.
He sat like that for a long time.
The ripped letter pieces scattered at his feet like confetti at a funeral, the bottle nearly empty in his hand, and his heart sinking deeper into a guilt he didn’t yet understand.
Because the truth, the real truth was gone now.
And he had no one to blame but himself.
//
masterlist.
❌proofread
[the letter taglist: @kenqki @mbioooo0000 @bearseuming @alisonyus @justjxnniie @chungdol @captainchrisstan @stilesks @banana-bread-thread @linosgrape @chaosandcandies @energyjuice4life @st4rv3lly @hanniebunch @nchhuhi @changbin-wife @felixleftchickennugget @psychobitchsthings @puppymsworld @silly250 @uyyoyyu @beppybeesnuggets ..]
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