• sofi •

Dawn crept into the ballroom through immense glass windows. Outside, the surrounding forest glittered beneath a layer of mountain frost, the northern cold already tightening its grip on the region. The ballroom remained vast and echoing, with the stone floors radiating a stubborn chill that even modern heating struggled to dispel. At the far end of the room, a long viewing table had been set up. You sat in the center, flanked by the Lee family. To your left sat Heeseung’s father, Lord Lee senior, a man whose silence was as tough as the political contracts he authored. To his side was Lady Lee, her posture straight, her eyes tracking every movement on the distant floor with detachment.

To your right sat Heeseung.

The bruised crimson mark on his cheekbone from his mother's palm the night before had faded, partially concealed by the precise styling of his hair. He wore a charcoal-wool tailored coat over a high-necked black sweater, the lines of his clothing restoring the impenetrable side he had dropped hours prior. He had not looked at you since the servants woke you both at dawn. The weeping man who had clung to your neck in the moonlight was gone, locked away beneath layers of generational duty.

On the floor below, a troupe of traditional dancers moved in synchronized patterns, their silk sleeves cutting through the air to the rhythm of a solitary stringed instrument. This was the final rehearsal for the annual Lee Family Gala, which is a massive diplomatic assembly where the northern territory displayed its cultural discipline and wealth to the visiting capital factions.

"The spacing in the third formation is overlapping," Lady Lee observed, her voice echoing through the empty room with clarity. She didn't look at her son as the critique was directed at him nonetheless. "The capital delegates will be seated on the left. If the alignment is off by even half a meter, the visual balance is ruined."

"I will have the director adjust the marks," Heeseung replied. His voice was deadpan, you could have never heard the exhaustion that had filled his lungs the previous night. He was the perfect commander again.

You remained silent, your hands clasped tightly in your lap. The chill of the ballroom was beginning to seep through the layers of your thick knitted dress. Back home, June meant mid-summer heatwaves and light clothes, regardless here, the mountain frost felt like an entirely different season. An involuntary tremor started in your shoulders, traveling down to your fingers. You tried to press your arms flat against your sides to hide the movement, fully aware of Lady Lee’s critical perimeter scan. The dancers shifted into a complex circular sequence, the fabric of their skirts sweeping across the limestone.

Beside you, Heeseung’s posture remained still, his eyes seemingly fixed on the performers. However as another cold draft swept across the viewing platform from the high windows, he shifted his weight. His eyes flickered downward, catching the slight shaking of your clasped hands. For a long minute, he remained silent, allowing his father to make a dry commentary regarding the musical tempo. Next off, slowly, under the cover of the table, he leaned an inch closer to you. "Are you cold?" he asked. The question was murmured so low it barely carried across the space between your chairs, his tone hesitant.

"I'm fine," you whispered back, keeping your eyes trained on the center stage. You didn't want to cause another scene, nor did you want his mother to view your capital upbringing as a physical liability. Heeseung remained unconvinced. A slight tension settled in his jaw as his gaze briefly shifted toward his parents, checking that they were fully focused on the choreographer now discussing the ballroom's lighting arrangements.

Without a single word, he reached down. His hand, still retaining the natural warmth that had wrapped around you the night before, closed over your freezing fingers. Rather than merely reaching for your hand, he gently freed it from where it rested and brought it toward his side. With quiet consideration, he slipped your hand into the sheltered warmth of his coat pocket, as though it belonged there. The interior of his pocket was incredibly warm, insulated against the drafty room. Heeseung kept his hand inside with yours, his long fingers wrapping securely around your palm, squeezing gently to force the circulation back into your skin.

Your breath hitched slightly at the sudden gesture, a small flush rising to your cheeks. You risked a glance at him, but his profile was still perfectly fixed toward the stage, his expression blank and professional as if he weren't currently sharing his coat with you under his parents' noses. "The transition into the final formation needs more elevation," he spoke aloud, his deep voice interrupting the choreographer. His tone was perfectly steady, showing absolutely no sign that his right hand was currently warming his wife's fingers. "The capital delegates prefer theatricality over stiff tradition. Give them more height in the center."

"Understood, Lord Heeseung," the director replied, bowing deeply before scurrying back to the dancers. As the music restarted, Heeseung shifted his thumb, tracing an absentminded pattern over the back of your hand inside the hidden pocket. It was an instinctive continuation of the comfort you had given him hours earlier ; a quiet admission that while the brick wall had to stand again for the world, it remained thawed for you.

"If the temperature continues to drop before the evening session," he murmured, his head tilting slightly toward you without breaking his gaze from the floor, "I can have the attendants bring down the sable throws from the master wing. Or a heated herbal compress."

"No, this is enough," you whispered back, your fingers curling tighter around his inside the dark wool. "Don't call for the servants. Your mother will think I'm fragile."

A soft huff of amusement escaped his nose ; a ghost of the chuckle he had shared with you over the calligraphy parchment. "My mother thinks everyone who wasn't born during a northern blizzard is fragile. You don't have to prove anything to her."

"I'm proving it to myself," you muttered.

Without arguing back, he simply tightened his grip on your hand, pulling it deeper into the insulated lining of his coat. The fabric completely obscured the connection, creating a private sanctuary of warmth in the middle of the cold, austere room. For the rest of the three-hour rehearsal, neither of you spoke another word to each other. You sat side by side in dignified silence, offering the occasional necessary nod or polite smile whenever Lord Lee demanded your perspective on the capital's aesthetic preferences. Yet beneath the table, hidden inside the wool, your fingers remained tangled with his, your skin absorbing his heat until the shivering completely stopped, and the biting chill of the North no longer felt quite so unforgiving.

━━━━

The afternoon sun brought no warmth. Heeseung sat at his desk, his fingers moving methodically through a stack of security logistics for the upcoming consecutive three days gala. Gone was the wool coat from earlier ; in its place was a structured black blazer, his posture remaining just as impeccable. You walked over, stopping just short of the desk, your fingers tracing the edge of the wood. "Heeseung?"

"Mmh." He didn't look up from the report.

"Is it okay if I go back to the capital tomorrow? Just for a day," you asked, your voice careful. "I want to see my cousins and Sunoo before the gala starts. I haven't seen them since the wedding, and with everything that's happened..."

His pen stopped. He slowly raised his head, his shadowed eyes fixing you with an unwavering stare. The memory of the somber alleyways and his mother’s reprimand hung punishingly in the space between you. "No," he said, his tone entirely sober. "After what happened last night, your security profile is at a critical level. Moving you across provincial lines into a high-traffic capital zone for a personal visit is out of the question."

"I won't be in public," you insisted, leaning forward slightly, your fingers tightening against the desk. "We'll be inside the capital palace. It's heavily fortified. My cousins have their own guard details, and Sunoo will be there with hundreds of his bodyguards. I just need one day to feel normal, Heeseung. I'll be back before the gala preparations finish."

He closed the folder with a controlled snap. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he analyzed your expression. The defensive wall he usually threw up was there, yet beneath it, his eyes held a subtle flicker of hesitation. He remembered your shaking hands from the morning, and the patience you had promised him. "You're stubborn," he rumbled softly, his jaw clenching. He let out a slow breath, realizing he couldn't maintain his resistance when you looked at him with such desperation. "Fine. You can go. But you aren't going alone. I am joining you."

You blinked, surprised. "You're coming?"

"I am the commander of your detail," Heeseung stated flatly, standing up and pulling his blazer down into place. "If you cross the border, I cross it with you. Change your schedule. We will leave early in the morning."

The next morning, the private royal transport touched down at the capital pavilion. An escort of royal guards led you and Heeseung deep into the gilded corridors of the capital palace. As the double doors of the private reception lounge swung open, the suffocating weight of the Lee estate finally dissolved.

"Y/N !" Sunoo was the first to move, abandoning his tea to sprint across the room, throwing his arms tightly around your shoulders. "You look pale. Did the North freeze your brain? I told you to bring more coats."

"Let her breathe, Sunoo," Jungwon called out, stepping forward with a calm smile. As the leader of the cousins' inner circle, his eyes immediately drifted past you to Heeseung, his posture shifting into a respectful stance. "Welcome back, Princess. Lord Heeseung."

Jay stood by the balcony, his eyes scanning Heeseung's formal demeanor before he offered a curt nod. "We heard about the border friction on Tuesday. We didn't expect you to permit a trip so close to the gala."

"It was a risk to take," Heeseung replied, his deep voice sliding effortlessly into his authoritative drone as he stood squarely at your side, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back in a subtle display of possession.

"Well, I'm just glad you're here," Jake said, grinning widely as he ran a hand through his hair, breaking the stiff tension in the room. He walked over, clapping a hand near your shoulder. "Ni-ki almost broke one of Grandma's vase in the courtyard because he was pacing so much waiting for you."

"I did not," Ni-ki muttered from the sofa, even though a genuine smile broke across his usually indifferent face as he stood up to greet you. "You look stronger than before, though."

Sunghoon leaned against the grand piano, his eyes tracking the fading violet shadow on Heeseung’s cheekbone that the morning light revealed. He gave no response, though the look shared between him and the northern commander revealed an unspoken agreement. "The capital has been quiet without you, Y/N. Sunoo has been insufferable."

"I have not," Sunoo protested, pulling you toward the seating area, completely ignoring Heeseung's intimidating stature. "Come sit. You need to tell us everything about the estate."

As you were dragged into the center of the couch, surrounded by the familiar chatter of your cousins gabbling about palace gossip and Jay's latest culinary obsessions, you looked back toward the entrance. Heeseung remained standing near the perimeter, his arms crossed over his chest, always having his expression of total focus. But as his gaze landed on you through the crowd of your laughing family, the corners of his mouth softened by an inch. He was still on guard, still protecting his territory, although the man who always seemed to carry the weight of the world looked almost peaceful as he watched you.

As the afternoon progressed, the initial stiffness in the lounge began to wear off. The unstoppable energy of your cousins was difficult for even the coldest northern lord to resist. "Okay so, Lord Heeseung," Jake said, leaning back on the sofa and swirling his tea. "Is it true that the northern estate doesn't allow any modern heating systems in the main halls? Sunghoon here was convinced you guys just survive only by wool coats."

"It's a geothermal grid, Jake," Jay interrupted, adjusting his cuffs with an annoyed huff. "I literally explained the infrastructure to you last month."

Heeseung, who had been standing like a statue near the balcony, let out a low hum. The sound drew everyone's attention. "The grid is modern," he said, his voice dropping into that calm tone you were getting used to. "But Sunghoon isn't entirely wrong. My mother considers a thermometer above eighteen degrees to be a sign of weak discipline."

A collective groan echoed through the room. "See that? Terrifying," Sunoo shuddered, leaning his head on your shoulder. "Y/N, I don't know how you're surviving. I would die if my skin dries out because of the cold."

"You wouldn't last a day, Sunoo," Jungwon teased, a dimpled smile appearing as he glanced up at Heeseung. "Though, I have to admit, seeing you two at the altar was surreal. We’re all sitting there in our formal sashes, trying to look like mature statesmen, and I'm just thinking ; we are way too freaking young for this."

"That's what I'm trying to say," Ni-ki chimed in, tossing a strawberry into his mouth. "Y/N still argues with me over who gets the last pastry at breakfast, and suddenly she's a married woman with billions of responsabilities? It doesn't make sense."

"Oh please," you protested, throwing a sofa pillow at Ni-ki, which he caught effortlessly with a laugh. "I am perfectly mature now."

"You really aren't," Sunghoon pointed out from his spot by the piano, a smirk playing on his lips. He looked over at Heeseung. "Honestly, Heeseung, I don't know how you handle her. We’ve had nineteen years of practice and we still haven't figured it out. We’re all just kids playing dress-up in royal robes, but you actually have to run a whole empire with her now."

Heeseung looked down at you, catching the slight pout on your face. He looked softer than usual. He walked over, stepping into the circle of couches, and sat down right next to you. The modest warmth of his shoulder pressed against yours, a comforting weight. "I can't deny that she's a challenge," he rumbled. "Yesterday she nearly wrinkled my formal sleeves trying to convince me to eat street food. I believe 'stubborn' is an understatement."

"Oh, so you've met her true form," Jay laughed, a relaxed sound. "Good luck. There’s no manual for that."

The banter continued, flowing easily between the ancient traditions of the North and the chaotic palace life of the capital. For the next few hours, the burdens of the upcoming gala, the border threats, and the hard expectations of the elders seemed to melt away. Sitting there, watching Heeseung exchange witty remarks with Jay about provincial logistics, and seeing him offer a rare smirk at Jake’s ridiculous stories, you noticed something incredible.

He was letting himself belong.

━━━━

The golden capital sun was beginning to dip below the horizon as the private transport prepared for departure. The goodbye was loud and messy, exactly as you had expected. Sunoo made you promise three separate times to send him a letter the moment you'd finish the gala preparations, while Jungwon and Jay offered Heeseung formal, respectful nods that carried a newfound warmth.

The flight back to the northern province passed in silence. By the time the armored convoy reached the gates of the Lee estate, night had already fallen, the fortress submerged in its usual thick mist. Heeseung avoided the grand dining hall where his parents ruled over every gathering, choosing instead to have dinner served in the small pavilion adjoining his private quarters where there were no massive candelabras or long tables tonight. It was just the two of you, sitting opposite each other at a low table, the soft warmth of the floor heating rising up through the tatami mats. The meal was simple ; savory braised beef, pickled mountain greens, and warm rice.

"Jay was right about the logistics report," he murmured, setting his chopsticks down as he looked across the table at you. The exhausted lines that usually framed his face had loosened significantly after the day in the capital. "His family's trade routes through the eastern pass are far more efficient than the ones my father has been forcing the council to use."

"I told you he knows his stuff," you smiled, taking a sip of warm water. "He spends half his time reading economic briefs just to annoy his tutors. You should actually listen to him."

"I am considering it," he rumbled softly, a tiny tilt appearing at the corner of his lips. He leaned back slightly. "The capital suits you. You were...loud today."

"I am always loud," you countered playfully. "You've been the one who's too quiet these days..."

He was about to offer a humorous retort when a soft knock echoed against the wooden frame of the sliding door. It slid open genteelly, revealing a servant carrying a beautifully crafted green ceramic bottle, accompanied by two small matching cups on a tray. "Forgive the interruption, My Lord," the servant said, bowing deeply. "A courier from the Western Province arrived an hour ago. The governor sent a crate of their traditional exclusive soju. It was meticulously distilled from winter grain and aged for three years. The cellar master requested to know if you would care to sample it tonight."

Heeseung barely glanced at the tray. His face instantly shifted back into its default poise. "No. Take it to the main cellar. I have reports to—"

"Wait," you interrupted calmly, raising a hand to stop the servant before they could slide the door shut. You looked over at Heeseung, a mischievous spark dancing in your gaze. "Don't send it away. Bring it here."

The servant hesitated, his eyes flickering nervously between you and the young lord, unsure of whose authority reigned in the private quarters. His eyebrows knitted together in a small frown. "Y/N, western soju is remarkably high in alcohol content. It isn't a common wine from the capital. You barely just recovered from a fever three days ago."

"And I spent the entire morning sitting in a freezing ballroom watching dancers, followed by cross-provincial flight to the capital," you reasoned, leaning forward on the table and giving him a stubborn look. "I think a single cup of soju is exactly what I need to completely clear the cold out of my system. Unless, of course...you're afraid that you're too weak for the soju?"

The challenge hung in the pavillon. He stared at you for a moment, the tips of his ears faintly turning pink under the soft lantern light. He let out a defeated sigh through his nose. He waved his hand toward the servant. "Leave the tray," he commanded softly, his voice carrying amusement. "And ensure we are not disturbed for the rest of the evening."

The green ceramic bottle had been switched for two more from the governor's crate, the drink doing exactly what you had promised ; burning away the last remnants of the northern chill. An hour of continuous drinking completely dismantled the carefully orchestrated boundaries of the private pavilion. Heeseung sat with his blazer discarded, his shirt collar unbuttoned, his hair slightly rumpled as he rested his chin in his hand. You, however, were entirely gone. The capital had never prepared you for triple-distilled western grain alcohol.

"You're...you're just a big cold wall," you giggled, your voice echoing far too loudly as you stumbled down the long wooden corridors of the residential wing. Your hand was gripped tightly in his, your weight leaning heavily against his broad shoulder as your feet refused to move in a straight line. "A giant, handsome cold wall."

"Y/N, lower your voice," he rumbled. His speech was slightly slower than usual, a dopey smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he struggled to maintain his balance while guiding your sloppy steps. "The guards are on the perimeter. Have some decorum."

"No decorum," you announced, swaying heavily as the hallway opened up into a grand stone courtyard centered around a humongous marble fountain. The water cascaded down the stone with a splashing sound, reflecting the pale moonlight. You instantly broke away from his grip, gravitating toward the water like a magnet. "Oh, look! The water is glowing, Heeseung! Let's see if it's warm."

"Y/N, wait—" Heeseung lunged forward, his tipsy reflexes just quick enough to catch you by the waist before you could plunge your hands, and likely your entire face, into the freezing basin. He pulled you back against his chest, his hands anchoring you firmly to his stance. "Do not get too near. The water is freezing, and I am not rescuing you from a second cold this week."

"You're no fun," you pouted, turning around in his arms to glare up at him, your cheeks flushed an alcohol-induced crimson.

He kept his hold on your waist, his deep chuckle resonating through you, close enough to feel against your chest. "I am plenty of fun. I am currently preventing my wife from drowning in a decorative garden fixture." He guided you back into the shadows of the long hallway, your arms wrapping around his neck as you practically dragged him along. The alcohol made everything feel floating, hilarious, and completely free of the pressure of the estate.

Suddenly, an echoing click of formal heels resonated from the far end of the intersecting corridor. The low murmuring voices of Lord Lee and Lady Lee drifted through the tranquil air, discussing the final seating arrangements. They were heading directly toward the central courtyard.

The shared panic hit both of you instantly. If his mother caught the two of you in this state ; completely drunk, disheveled, and giggling in the middle of the night ; the ensuing lecture would last until the next century. Heeseung’s eyes widened, the tips of his ears turning as pink as before. With a sudden surge of adrenaline, he grabbed your hand and pulled you backward into a recessed alcove, hiding behind a giant traditional silk privacy screen that shielded a row of ancient artifacts.

He pressed his back flat against the wall, pulling you against his chest, his hand gently coming up to cover your mouth to muffle your sudden gasp. The two older Lees walked past the alcove, their shadows stretching across the floor just inches from where you were hiding. Lady Lee was still speaking about the visual balance of the ballroom, entirely unaware of her son and daughter-in-law hiding like teenagers in the dark.

Silence returned to the corridors, and with it came the sharp realization that the alcohol had done nothing to make the situation any less absurd. You pulled Heeseung’s hand away from your mouth, burying your face in his chest as bubbles of hysterical, suppressed laughter escaped your lips. He tried to hold it in, his jaw clenching, but as he looked down at your crinkled eyes and your breathless joy, his own defense system completely shattered. A rich and utterly unbothered laugh broke from his chest, his shoulders shaking as he held you in the alcove.

"We are dead," he whispered, his voice thick with amusement. "If she found us...we would be stripped of our titles by sunrise."

"It was your fault," you whispered back, leaning your weight entirely into him, your eyes wide and shining in the darkness. "You're the commander here."

"You are a terrible influence, Y/N," he murmured softly.

The laughter died down, and a sudden stillness that felt entirely different from the panic of the border or the coldness of the ballroom. Heeseung’s gaze dropped to your lips, his hand sliding up from your waist to cup the side of your warm cheek. His thumb brushed over your skin with tenderness.

He leaned down, closing the small distance between you.

The kiss began gently, unhurried, as though time itself had softened around the two of you. Whatever sharpness had lingered between you in the onsen was gone, letting in something quieter settle between you. A subdued sweetness of soju still lingered on his breath, mixing with the cold bite of mountain air between each breath you shared. His lips met yours with a restrained intensity ; controlled, yet deeply certain ; as if every unspoken feeling had finally found a place to establish. You leaned into him without hesitation, as though there had never been a reason not to. Your hands found the fabric of his shirt, gripping the soft wool instinctively as the space between you disappeared. He did not hold back. The Lord of the North, who had always stood like distance itself, let it collapse without resistance, choosing instead to stay exactly where you were.

Your fingers slid up from the wool of his shirt, your hand moving slowly over the broad expanse of his torso. The firm muscle beneath the fabric was warm, his heart hammering a shifting rhythm against your palm, completely betraying his usual composed demeanor.

He let out a broken breath against your mouth at the touch. The alcohol running through his veins paired with the intoxicating heat of your proximity finally snapped the last thread of his restraint. His hand slid down from your waist, his fingers hesitating briefly until he gripped your bum, anchoring you securely against his frame. The possessive touch pulled you hard against him, leaving no space between your bodies in the narrow shadow of the alcove. The kiss deepened, losing its gentle hesitation and turning into something desperate and fierce. He leaned into you, his large frame completely shielding you from the hallway as his thumb pressed firmly into your hip, holding you steady as if you were the only thing keeping him grounded in the spinning room. You let out a soft sigh into the kiss, your hand tightening against his chest as the silent fortress of the Lee estate faded completely into the background, leaving only the burning warmth of the territory he had entirely surrendered to you.

You pulled back just an inch, your lips brushing against his jaw as you tried to catch your breath. Your head was spinning from the alcohol, the alcove tilting slightly around you. You pressed your palms flat against his chest, creating a small boundary between your bodies.

"Heeseung," you breathed, your voice filled with sleepiness. "I want you. I really do."

He stopped, his forehead dropping down to rest against yours, his breathing ragged and uneven. His hands remained anchored where they were, his fingers twitching slightly against your hips as he waited, completely pliant under your touch. "But not tonight," you muttered, shaking your head slightly to try and clear the fog. "We're both completely out of it. I'm fucking drunk, I can feel it...and I don't want our first time to be something we only did under the influence."

He remained still, the heat of his body radiating faintly through the fabric of his shirt. A weighted breath slipped from his nose, warm as it brushed against your cheek in the silence between you. The fog the liquor had left behind seemed to lift just enough from his expression, revealing something deeper underneath, almost instinctive protectiveness. He slowly let his hands slide away, stepping back enough to give you space while still keeping his arms hovering nearby to ensure you didn't lose your balance. "You're right," he replied. He reached up, using his knuckles to gently brush your flushed face. "I am not doing this while you can barely stand. Come on. Let's get you to bed."

He took your hand again, his grip firm and grounding as he guided your clumsy steps back out into the long corridor, leading you safely toward the privacy of the master suite.

─────────

The morning of the exposition arrived. Because the Lee family gala was a three-day marathon, the estate had been transformed into a real fortress. The opening day was dedicated strictly to the exhibition of provincial artifacts and rare winter floriculture in the grand glass pavilion ; a visual demonstration of the North's historical wealth to the capital delegates.

By mid-afternoon, the residential wing was full of attendants carrying silk sheets and polished gemstone ornaments. You stood in front of the full-length mirror in your dressing room, straightening down the cascading layers of the traditional gown you had selected. Instead of the expected dark forest greens or deep crimsons favored by the northern nobility, you had carefully chosen a pale, striking lilac silk. The fabric caught the light, casting a soft lavender glow around your frame that felt entirely distinct from the austere surroundings. When the connecting door slid open, Heeseung stepped into the room. He was already fully dressed in a meticulous light grey traditional robe, the structured collar emphasizing his sharp jawline and broad shoulders. The pale fabric made him look distant, like a statue carved from mountain slate.

He stopped in his tracks, his gaze dropping from your face down to the sweeping hem of your purple skirt. "You chose lilac," he observed. He didn't sound angry. A slight furrow touched his brow as he looked down at his light grey sleeves, studying them thoughtfully. "The protocol indicated we would be matching in neutral tones for the opening pavilion walk. Why didn't you match the grey?"

"I preferred the purple," you replied plainly, turning slightly to catch the drape of the silk in the mirror. You gave him a stubborn smile, heartily unfazed by his formal tone. "The capital delegates have seen me in grey and black for three months. I wanted something that felt like home. Besides, you look really fine in grey."

He stared at you for ten seconds. He looked at your radiant figure, then down at his own slate-colored robes. He seemed to calculate the political weight of your statement against his own pride. With nothing more to say, he turned gracefully on his heel and withdrew into his private dressing quarters, the wooden panel sliding closed behind him with calm finality.

Ten minutes later, the door slid open again.

He stepped back into the room, adjusting the silver cuffs of a completely different wardrobe. He had stripped off the light grey entirely. In its place, he now wore a deep, royal plum traditional outfit, the structured silk precisely matching the rich undertones of your lilac dress. The dark purple fabric utterly changed his aura, making him look more like a regal sovereign.

You blinked, a surprised laugh escaping your lips. "Oh? You changed your entire outfit?"

He approached you with the same composed expression he always wore, completely unaffected—as if he hadn’t just caused the entire estate staff to scramble in search of a matching provincial robe within a matter of minutes to match yours. He reached out, his fingers gently adjusting the small silver pin at your shoulder, his touch lingering against the silk.

"If the capital delegates are going to look at my wife," he rumbled softly, his voice carrying a possessive weight while he stared directly into your eyes, "they need to know exactly who she’s standing with. Let's go now. The exposition is starting."

You arrive together at the grand glass pavilion, a labyrinth of towering floral structures, manicured evergreen displays, and ancient stone plinths showcasing the province’s ironwork and pottery. Capital delegates and northern council members moved through the aisles with their silks rustling against the gravel pathways.

"I am going to check the botanical section," you murmured, nodding toward the western wing of the pavilion where the larger floral arrangements were housed.

Heeseung paused, his attention briefly caught by a high-ranking defense minister who was gesturing toward an antique provincial seal. He gave you a small nod. "Do not wander past the security perimeter. I will find you in five minutes."

You navigated through the crowd, passing massive displays of deep red winter camellias and winter orchids. As you rounded the corner into a recessed corner near the rear glass wall, the atmosphere of the North seemed to fracture.

Centered on a limestone tier was a sprawling, vibrant bed of white and gold.

Daisies.

Hundreds of them were blooming in cheerful clusters, their simple white petals and bright yellow centers looking entirely out of place among the rare, expensive mountain flora. It was an exact replica of the wild patches that grew along the eastern terraces of the capital palace ; the ones you used to walk past every morning before the political marriage uprooted you to the mountains. You stepped closer, leaning over the low stone wall, a breathless smile breaking across your face as you breathed in the light scent. It was a fragment of home, untouched by the coldness of the Lee estate.

"They require a highly specific soil acidity to survive the northern altitude," a deep voice rumbled from right behind your shoulder. You turned your head to find Heeseung standing there, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. The deep plum of his traditional robes caught the afternoon sun filtering through the glass, making him look exceptionally regal against the backdrop of white petals. His expression was unbothered, though his eyes remained fixed on the flowerbed rather than the crowd.

"Heeseung," you breathed, looking from him back to the flowers. "How are these even here? Daisies don't grow in the mountain frost."

A small shift in his posture brought his shoulder against yours. His gaze lingered over the gold and white blossoms, yet the faint clench of his jaw and the soft pink tint at his ears betrayed the calm expression he maintained. "The greenhouse staff had to install a specific underground heating element beneath this specific section," he explained, his tone flat. "They also imported three tons of capital loam last month to mimic the palace soil composition."

You blinked, turning your entire body to face him. "You did this?"

Heeseung let out a controlled breath through his nose, finally tearing his gaze away from the plants to look directly into your eyes. "You were staring at the cabin window yesterday during the flight back, looking like you wanted to turn the transport around," he said softly, his deep voice carrying honesty. "And you complained about the cold yesterday. Since the safety protocol makes it difficult for you to visit the capital frequently, I told the logistics team to bring a piece of the palace here."

He reached out, his fingers gently brushing against the edge of your sleeve, his touch lingering for a reassuring second. "You shouldn't have to live in an icebox just because you married into the North," he murmured, his eyes holding yours with warmth. "I wanted you to have something familiar before the gala pressure started."

The murmurs of capital delegates nearby and the watchful eyes of guards along the perimeter faded into insignificance. You closed the distance between you, arms locking around his neck, your face hidden against the structured plum silk of his shoulder. Heeseung's posture going still as his instincts flared at the public display. Something in him finally gave way. The weight he had been carrying seemed to ease as his shoulders fell, a quiet breath leaving him into the space you shared. His hands came to rest on your back, holding you with a calm steadiness that softened into surrender, drawing you closer like he wasn’t ready for the moment to end.

"Thank you," you whispered against his neck. "You have no idea what this means to me."

"It's just a flower bed, Y/N," he rumbled softly, the vibration in his chest and the pink warming the tips of his ears told an entirely different story. He gently nudged you back, his fingers lingering on your waist just long enough to ensure you were balanced. "We need to go. My father is already looking toward this wing."

The rest of the afternoon passed. Standing side by side in your matching outfits, you and Heeseung presented a spotless front to the stream of visiting dignitaries. By the time night fell, the glass pavilion had been cleared, letting place to an opulent buffet featuring regional delicacies from every corner of the alliance. A chamber orchestra began to play, filling the grand space with a swelling rhythm as guests drifted toward the center floor to dance.

At the main entrance of the grand wing, an abbrupt commotion indicated the arrival of the capital convoy. You and Heeseung walked over to greet them just as the doors opened. Jungwon, Jay, Ni-ki, and Sunoo stepped through the threshold, looking exceptionally tremendous in their formal capital sashes. Conspicuously missing were Jake and Sunghoon.

"Y/N !" Sunoo gasped, soundly bypassing the formal receiving line to slide right up to you. His eyes widened as he took in the cascading layers of your dress, his face lighting up with total awe. "Oh, the lilac is absolutely stunning on you. It completely softens the gloomy lighting. And wait—" he leaned in, his eyes darting to Heeseung’s matching plum robes, a mischievous smirk breaking across his face. "Did you actually get the Lord to match with you? Teach me your secrets."

"He changed his whole outfit in less than ten minutes," you whispered back, giggling as Sunoo looped his arm through yours.

A few paces away, the rest of the guys gathered around Heeseung.

"Where are Sunghoon and Jake?" Heeseung asked authoritatively, while his posture remained carefree as he adjusted his silver cuffs.

"Detained at the capital border office," Jungwon explained, shaking his head with a sigh. "Their families initiated the formal introductory phase for their marriage contracts this morning. Sunghoon is currently sitting through a three-hour dinner with the western territory's eldest daughter, and Jake is trapped in a boardroom meeting his future in-laws."

"A shame," Jay added, adjusting the lapel of his tailored sash with a dry chuckle. "Jake looked like he wanted to jump out of the palace window when his father handed him the itinerary. It makes our logistics lectures look pleasant by comparison."

Ni-ki shrugged, looking around the massive glowing pavilion. "At least they skipped the five-hour flight. But Jake promised he’d try to break free before the final day of traditional dances."

Heeseung let out a low hum of understanding, a sympathetic smirk touching the corner of his lips. He knew the unbearable weight of those introductory dinners all too well. "Tell them the northern guards will keep a bottle of the soju on standby for when they finally survive the contracts."

Jay laughed, a sound that drew a few curious glances from the nearby ministers. "Careful. If Jake hears that, he might actually desert his family post tonight."

The bustling noise of the grand pavilion slowly faded into a distant murmur as the group drifted away from the main banquet. Led by Sunoo, who was determined to inspect every square inch of the historic architecture, your cousins wandered aimlessly down the dimly lit corridors of the residential wing. Jay and Jungwon walked at the front, their voices echoing off the high ceilings as they debated the structural differences between capital and northern architecture. Ni-ki and Sunoo were right beside them, talking endlessly about the luxury pastries at the buffet and gesturing wildly at the antique tapestries lining the walls.

A few paces behind them, you and Heeseung walked in perfect silence.

The raging energy of the day had finally slowed, leaving only the soft rustle of your lilac silk against the floor. Heeseung walked with his posture straight, his eyes fixed ahead on the chaotic group, looking every bit the disciplined host. Yet as you passed beneath a shadowed archway, his large hand smoothly dropped from his side, his long fingers sliding between yours to firmly hold your hand. His palm was warm against the lingering chill of the stone corridor. You didn't pull away, your fingers curling naturally around his. Suddenly, he leaned down. Without breaking his stride, his head tilted closer to yours, his breath brushing against your ear as his voice dropped into an incredibly low whisper.

"I want to kiss you really bad," he murmured.

A burning blush instantly rushed up your neck, coloring your cheeks as pink as the pastries displayed on the banquet tables. Your heart did a violent flip against your chest. You rapidly glanced forward at the backs of your cousins, terrified that Sunoo’s sharp ears or Jay’s quick gaze would catch the scandalous confession.

"Heeseung," you hissed in a panicked whisper, trying to pull your hand back slightly. "Stop. They're right there, they're going to hear you."

Your sentence never reached its end. He caught it before you could finish, leaving no room for a response. A knowing smirk appeared on his lips as he held onto your hand a little tighter, unbothered by the way your embarrassment gave you away.

He stopped walking entirely, causing you to halt beside him in the shadows.

"Guys," Heeseung called out, his voice effortlessly shifting back into its commanding whir while he addressed the group ahead.

The four guys stopped and turned around, looking back at the two of you with curious expressions.

"We have an administrative matter to handle regarding the security detail for tomorrow's banquet," Heeseung stated flatly, his expression staying as neutral as ever. "We need to step away for a few minutes. Continue down to the lower garden pavilion ; the attendants have already prepared the hot tea service there."

Sunoo’s eyes darted from Heeseung’s stoic expression down to your bright red, burning cheeks with a highly amused grin instantly spreading across his face. "Oh, an administrative matter," Sunoo teased, exchanging a highly entertained look with Ni-ki. "Yeah. Of course. Take all the time you need, My Lord, Princess. We wouldn't want to disrupt the northern security protocols."

Jungwon let out a chuckle, waving his hand dismissively. "It’s totally okay, Heeseung. Go ahead. We know how to find the tea."

"Don't take too long," Jay added with a small smirk, turning back around to lead the way down the hall. "Sunoo is already threatening to steal the vintage silverware if we leave him unsupervised."

Any attempt to protest died before it could leave your lips. Heeseung was already turning away, that confidence of his making it clear he had no intention of letting you argue. Keeping his fingers intertwined with yours, he pulled you along through a secluded corridor, leaving the teasing laughter of your cousins behind as your embarrassment followed you every step of the way.

He didn't stop until the main gallery was completely out of sight. He pulled you into a narrow corridor at the back of the residential wing, where the only sound was the whisper of the mountain wind against the high glass transoms.

Heeseung turned to face you, pressing his back against the dark wood paneling and drawing you directly into his space. His chest rose and fell with a slightly ragged breath, his gaze locked onto yours with an unhurried intensity, making the hallway feel incredibly small.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked. It was a direct, honest question, lacking of any teasing hint. You'd rather act than talk at this point. You stood on your tiptoes, wrapped your arms around his neck, and pulled him down to meet your lips.

The moment finally broke the distance that had been stretched between you all evening. After hours of standing beside each other like perfect figures in a painting, the kiss felt like the first honest thing he had allowed himself. His composure slipped as his hands settled at your waist, pulling you closer, the subtle taste of tea still lingering on his lips. For once, the man known for his restraint let himself be seen ; not as the cold Lord of the North, but as someone who had been holding back far more than you realized.

As he shifted his weight to anchor you firmer against the wall, you moved your hand down to his chest. In the tight space between you, you felt the unmistakable pressure of his arousal pressing firmly through the layers of your silk robes. Your breath hitched, your lips parting from his as it hit you. You looked up at him, your cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink under the dim sconces of the hallway.

"Heeseung," you breathed, your hand resting over his racing heartbeat. "Do you...do you want to go back to your residential quarters?"

He held himself motionless, his forehead hovering just an inch from yours. His hands stayed firm at your hips, restrained from drawing you in any closer. A breath left him through his nose as he forced his breathing to settle, his jaw tensing while his gaze lingered on your face.

"I do," he rumbled, his voice thick and deeply strained by the effort to keep himself in check. He took one hand off your waist, using his thumb to gently trace the edge of your jaw, keeping his gaze entirely fixed on your eyes. "I want you more than anything. But I am not doing anything unless you are absolutely sure."

He took a small step back, giving you just enough space to breathe, though his hand remained lingering on your cheek. "The marriage contract might say we belong to each other, Y/N, but your body is your own," he said, his tone dropping into a serious one, leaving no room for doubt. "I don't care about the alliance, and I don't care what the elders expect from us. I need to know that you actually want this, tonight, with me, and not just because we're hiding from your cousins or because we're married. I need your consent. If you aren't ready, we go back to the garden with the guys and have tea. I mean it."

You looked up at him, your hand sliding up his chest to wrap firmly around the back of his neck. The incertitude in his expression was the final piece that cleared away any lingering doubt. "I am ready," you said, your voice certain. "I really want you. Just you."

A drastic change overtook the calm in his gaze. His hand found yours, fingers enclosing around it with unwavering certainty as he guided you through the corridor at an unhurried pace. Prior obligations dissolved from his expression, stripped of importance. The doors to his private quarters yielded, and once you stepped inside, he closed them firmly, cutting the outside world away.

The bedroom was cool, lit only by the soft silver moonlight spilling across the wide platform bed. The moment the outer doors clicked shut, Heeseung turned and pulled you into his arms, your lilac silk skirts swirling around his legs as he brought his lips back down to yours. His hands sliding up your back to pull you impossibly closer.

He guided you backward toward the bed, his movements delicate until the back of your knees hit the mattress. You stumbled softly onto the covers, and he followed you down without breaking the connection, his large frame towering yours as he braced his weight on his forearms. The plum silk of his robes shifted against your dress, the rustle of fabric filling the room. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and uneven upon your skin, his hands found your waist to anchor you to the mattress. You threaded your fingers through his hair, drawing him closer as the heat of the night deepened around you, sealing the world away beyond reach.

You felt the warmth of his breath over your skin while his lips trail along the sensitive curve of your neck. His teeth grazed your pulse point, sending shivers down your spine despite the heat building between you. The silk of your robe felt impossibly thin to his exploring hands. His fingers finally located the delicate lace trim of your panties, and he paused his assault on your neck to look at you. "May I?" he murmured.

You only nodded, breath faltering when his fingers slipped into the waistband, guiding the fabric slowly down your hips. The silk robe fell open further with his movements, exposing more of your skin to his appreciative behold. He lifted his head from your neck, capturing your lips in a consuming kiss. His hands continued their journey, mapping every curve and dip of your body with tenderness.

"Fuck, Y/N" he whispers against your mouth, his words muffled by another kiss as he presses you back against his bed.

His teasing expression disappeared the moment he sensed the tension in your body. The fingers that had been dancing along the lace came to a quiet halt. "Hey, Y/N," he murmured, his voice gentle now. "It's normal if it hurts at first. I'm sorry, okay?" He leaned in to press a soft kiss against your temple. With cautious slowness, his fingers moved past the lace barrier, exploring your folds with newfound care. He watched your face closely, his eyes searching for any sign of discomfort or pleasure as he tested different pressures and movements.

"Tell me if you like it," he whispered, his thumb finding your sensitive nub and beginning slow circles. His other hand came up to cup your face, his thumb stroking your cheek as he continued his careful exploration below. The combination of tenderness and growing intensity made your head spin, and you found yourself slightly arching into his touch despite the initial discomfort.

When you let out a soft moan, he smiled against you. "There you go," he murmured, repeating the movement that had drawn that sound from you. "I found what you like."

You bit your lip, your cheeks flushing as you tried to articulate the strange sensations building inside you. "It feels good but…weird," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. "I feel like I need to pee."

Instead of stopping, he maintained his rhythm, his fingers curling just right inside you as his thumb continued its circles. The pressure built until you couldn't hold back any longer, and a wave of release washed over you, more intense than anything you'd ever know. Your eyes widened in shock as you realized what had happened, embarrassment flooding through you. "I-I'm sorry," you stammered, trying to pull away, but Heeseung held you in place.

"It's okay, don't be sorry," he murmured, capturing your lips in a reassuring kiss. "Don't apologize for feeling good."

After a moment, he pulled back slightly, his expression serious regardless the desire still evident in his eyes. "We can stop if you want," he said gently. "Or we could go back to the banquet to see your cousins."

Your gaze drifted down his body, noticing the obvious bulge straining against his silk pants. The sight sent another jolt of desire through you, overriding any lingering embarrassment. Without answering verbally, you reached down to palm his erection through his pants, watching as his eyes fluttered shut at the contact.

"I still want to keep going," you whispered, your decision made.

"Okay," Heeseung breathed, his voice flooded with desire. His hands moved with precision, drawing the lilac silk robe from your shoulders without haste. The delicate fabric pooled on the floor around you, soon joined by his own traditional silk outfit. You stood before each other in nothing but your underwear, the air charged with anticipation.

Your eyes drifted down to the straining against his boxers, and you reached out tentatively, your fingers brushing against the hard length beneath the fabric. He hissed at the contact, his hips jerking forward slightly. "You're already so sensitive," you murmured, more to yourself than to him as you began stroking him through the thin cotton. His head fell back, exposing the strong line of his throat as he let out a low groan.

After a few moments, you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, slowly pulling them down. His cock sprang free, hard and already beading with precum at the tip. You spat saliva into your hand to lubricate it and wrapped your hand around him, the velvety skin hot in your palm as you began to stroke him slowly. "Am I doing it right?" you asked, your voice soft as you watched his face for guidance.

He could only manage a choked moan in response, his eyes squeezed shut as his hands gripped your shoulders. "Y-Yes," he finally managed to gasp out, his voice strained. "Just like that…don't stop."

You increased your pace slightly, twisting your wrist on each upward stroke the way you'd read about in books. His breathing grew ragged, and you could feel him throbbing in your hand as he approached his release. Just as Heeseung's breathing grew more broken and his hips began to thrust into your hand with urgency, he suddenly stilled your movements. "Stop it," he commanded, his voice strained with desire. "I want to be in you."

He firmly spun you around, positioning you so that you were lying flat on your stomach with your upper body slightly raised on your elbows. You could feel the cool sheets against your heated skin as Heeseung positioned himself behind you, his hands gripping your hips with possessive strength.

"This might hurt," he warned, his voice rough with need as he slowly began to enter you. The initial stretch made you hiss in discomfort, but instead of stopping, he merely caressed your lower back with one hand while maintaining his steady penetration.

"Relax your hips for me," he ordered, his usual commanding tone softened slightly as he continued to push inside you. "Just breathe and let me in."

His other hand moved to your lower back, rubbing soothing circles as he talked you through it. "That's it…just like that. You're taking me so well."

You found yourself relaxing under his touch and his words. Once he was fully inside you, he paused, giving you a moment to adjust to his size. His hands roamed your back, tracing patterns along your spine, waiting for your body to accept him completely. When you pushed back against him slightly, he took it as the sign he needed. He began to move slowly at first, each thrust measured as he found a rhythm that made you gasp with pleasure rather than pain.

"Look at that," he murmured against your ear, his voice filled with satisfaction. "I knew you could handle it."

The flat doggy position allowed for a deeper connection while still maintaining that controlled depth that made it easier for you to adjust to him. As your bodies found a rhythm together, you could feel the tension building once again. He leaned forward, pressing kisses along your shoulders as he continued his slow movements. "You're amazing, princess" he whispered against your skin. "You feel so good around me."

As your moans grew louder, Heeseung suddenly clamped his hand over your mouth, his usual commanding nature taking over. "Quiet," he ordered against your ear, his voice rough with need. "We don't want anyone hearing us, do we?."

His other hand gripped your hip tighter as he increased his pace, each thrust becoming deeper. The muffled sounds of your pleasure against his palm seemed to drive him wild, his movements becoming more erratic as he approached his release. You could feel him swelling inside you, his thrusts becoming shallower by the time he neared his peak. With a final deep push, he buried himself entirely inside you as he found his release, his warmth flooding your senses. He gave in to exhaustion against your back, his weight pressing close in a steady, reassuring warmth while your breaths gradually returned to normal. Moments later, he rolled over and gathered you into his arms, sealing the silence with soft kisses to your forehead.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice soft with concern while he looked down at you.

You nodded, snuggling closer to him as you traced patterns on his chest. "Better than okay," you murmured, a contented smile playing on your lips.

He returned your smile, his fingers stroking your hair and helding you close. "We should probably get back to the banquet soon," he said reluctantly, "but I don't want to move."

"Let's go in ten minutes, then." you whispered, closing your eyes as you savored the intimacy of the moment.

He chuckled softly, pressing another kiss against your forehead. "Ten minutes, it is," he agreed, pulling you even closer as you both drifted in the afterglow of your shared passion.

━━━━━

The courtyard’s cool night air lingered against your skin, the moment sealing itself behind you as the doors of the master suite slid shut. Before leaving the quarters, both of you had been forced to abandon the wrinkled plum and lilac silks. You had changed into a midnight-blue traditional gown with silver embroidery along the cuffs, while Heeseung had thrown on a deep charcoal robe that restored his impenetrable silhouette. His hair was mostly combed back into place, even though a few rebellious strands still fell loosely across his forehead.

By the time you reached the lower garden pavilion, the tea service had long since grown cold, a fresh stone carafes of warm rice wine took it’s place. At the exact moment you and Heeseung stepped into the glowing light of the glass enclosure, the endless conversation at the central table ground to an immediate rest. Jay stopped mid-sentence, his wine cup stopped an inch from his lips, while Jungwon slowly raised his eyebrows. Sunoo’s eyes went instantly to your dark blue sleeves, followed by a flicker over to Heeseung’s charcoal robe. A grin spread across his face. "Well, well, well," Sunoo drawled, leaning back against the cushion and crossing his arms. "I knew the northern security protocols were detailed, but I didn't realize they could give you wardrobe malfunctions."

Ni-ki let out a breathless laugh, tossing a stray walnut into the air and catching it. "Did the administrative paperwork attack your clothes? You were wearing purple ten minutes ago."

"Fifty-five minutes ago," Jay corrected dryly, his sharp eyes taking in the slight flush lingering on your neck. He offered Heeseung a mocking nod. "An impressive turnaround for a security briefing, My Lord. The eastern pass logistics rarely take that much physical effort."

You felt a burning heat rush straight to your cheeks, your fingers instantly tightening against the fabric of your new skirt. You looked down, desperately trying to find a convenient patch of stone flooring to stare at. Heeseung, however, stayed immovable. He walked to the head of the table, his posture straight. Only the soft pink tint on the tips of his ears betrayed him.

"The mountain air dropped three degrees while we were reviewing the perimeter," Heeseung stated, his deep voice perfectly level and deadpan as he sat down beside you. He smoothly poured a cup of wine, his movements robotic. "The silk was insufficient for the low temperature. So, we obviously had to adjust."

"Yeah, I mean it's practical, I guess." Jungwon teased, a dimpled, wicked smile breaking across his features as he looked between the two of you. He reached over to pass you a small plate of honey cakes. "Drink some wine, Y/N. Your face looks like you're still experiencing that 'low temperature'."

"Shut up, all of you," you muttered, hiding your face in your hands as the blush burned all the way to your ears. "Guys, drop it. We were only...handling stuff. You guys are insufferable."

Your voice lacked any real bite, utterly muffled by your palms, which only made the table chuckle louder. Beside you, Heeseung let out a low sound. You peeked through your fingers just in time to see his chest heave as an unusual laugh broke through his stoic expression. He didn't even try to hide the amused smirk tugging at his lips, enjoying your meltdown.

" Right? Even he thinks it’s hilarious," Sunoo pointed out, pointing a chopstick at Heeseung. "The North has officially corrupted her."

"Alright, cough it up," Ni-ki suddenly broke in, turning a smug look toward Jay. He extended an open palm across the table, tapping his fingers impatiently. "Key fob. Now. You owe me a new car."

Jay groaned, running a hand over his face in pure exasperation. "Are you serious right now? We did not bet a literal vehicle on their security briefing timetable."

"We absolutely did," Ni-ki grinned, fully unconcerned by Jay’s annoyance. "You said there was no way Heeseung would abandon a formal gala crowd for more than twenty minutes on day one. I said he’d take at least forty-five. It’s been fifty. I want the Camaro we looked at in the capital showroom last week. Matte black."

"You guys are literal jerks," you scolded, finally dropping your hands from your face to glare at Ni-ki. "You bet a car on us?"

"Hey, easy money is easy money," Ni-ki shrugged, completely vindicated. Jungwon just shook his head, taking a sip from his cup. "Honestly, Jay, you played yourself. You never bet against Ni-ki when it comes to reading people’s pacing."

The lighthearted talk continued for the rest of the night, gradually dissolving the estate’s archaic air beneath the ordinary rhythm of their exchange. When the carafes finally ran dry, the weight of the three-day gala felt like something belonging to another life entirely.

Eventually, the private transport's departure notice pinged on Jungwon’s phone. "Alright, we gotta bounce before the border guards lock down the airspace for the night," Jungwon said, standing up and stretching his arms. "The elders will lose their minds if we’re late for the morning briefing back home."

They all walked out toward the main courtyard where the armored transport was waiting, the engines already lowing in the crisp night air.

"Text me the second the dance rehearsal starts tomorrow," Sunoo said, giving you one last, tight hug that smelled faintly of nostalgic moments you lived together. "And Y/N, keep wearing that blue. I'd die for it to suit me as much as it does on you."

"Don't let her stress you out too much, Heeseung," Jay said, offering a casual fist bump to the lord of the North, which Heeseung actually returned with a soft smirk. "Good luck with the rest of the gala. And Ni-ki, we are renegotiating that bet on the flight back."

"No shot," Ni-ki called out, already walking up the transport's ramp with a backward wave. "See ya, Y/N. Don't freeze."

You stood side by side with Heeseung on the stone steps, watching the transport lift off into the dark mountain sky until its tail lights sank into the clouds. Silence reclaimed the estate, heavy and familiar over the courtyard. Yet when Heeseung’s hand slipped into yours, drawing your fingers into the warmth of his charcoal robe pocket, the North ceased to feel so desolate.

The iron doors of the estate sealed for the night, the movement of staff gradually dissolving into silence as the grand pavilion darkened. After the long stretch of political pleasantries, familial exchanges, and the fading rush of the evening’s adrenaline, a bone-deep exhaustion settled over you both.

The walk to the bedroom blurred into something gentle and unspoken. You took turns in the steaming bathroom, letting the warm water wash away the scent of the gala and rice wine, the humid air pushing back the cold mountain night. When you stepped out again in soft cotton pajamas, Heeseung was already on the bed, resting against the pillows, looking far removed from the strict man he had been all evening.

You walked over to the dark wooden dresser. One by one, you unclasped the silver bracelets from your wrists, the metallic clicks sounding sharp in the quiet room. Suddenly, the mattress shifted. Before you could turn around, a tender warmth enveloped you from behind. Heeseung’s large frame pressed against your back, his long arms sliding securely around your waist to anchor you against his chest. He leaned his head down, burying his face directly into the crook of your neck and muffling his voice against your bare shoulder.

"It’s so annoying," he mumbled, his breath ticking your skin.

You paused, your hands resting over his forearms. "What is?"

"It's annoying that I'm actually starting to love you," he rumbled, his voice brimming with exhaustion, carrying a lazy but thoroughly amused undertone. "You're stubborn, you disrupt my security schedules, you completely messed up my color coordination today, and now I have to keep buying capital loam just to keep you happy. It's a nightmare."

A bright smile came naturally, the moment you picked up on that playful pitch in his usual seriousness. Making it easy for him never even crossed your mind.

"Oh, really?" you asked, your voice dripping with faux indifference. With a quick fluid twist, you slicked right out of his relaxed grip, stepping a few paces away toward the edge of the bed. You turned around, crossing your arms and looking down at him with a perfectly blank, expression. "Well, that's incredibly unfortunate for you, My Lord. Because after careful consideration...I don't feel anything for you at all. Strictly a business arrangement on my end."

Heeseung blinked, his arms still hovering in the empty air where you had just been standing. For a split second, his brain seemed to process the statement with absolute gravity, his eyes widening slightly. After that, catching the twitch at the corner of your lips, his jaw loosen.

"Yeah, right." he muttered, a low chuckle escaping his chest.

In two effortless strides, he closed the distance between you. Before you could sprint away, his hands caught your waist, hauling your laughing frame right back against his chest and pulling you down onto the soft mattress with him. "Nice try, but no." he rumbled, rolling over just enough to look down at you, his arms wrapping tightly around you so you couldn't escape a second time. The dopey smile from the alcove was back on his face, erasing the cold lord. "I was joking. Come here. You're stuck with me anyway."

He pulled you down with him, the bed catching both of you as you fell into its center. The teasing atmosphere between you slowly dissolved into something warmer. He stayed there, shifting onto his side, one arm resting comfortably over your waist while his other hand held his head up. The room was silent except for the low ticking of the clock across the room. His gaze drifted from your shoulder up to your eyes, making evrything around you fell more grounded than before.

"I do mean that, though," he said, his voice dropping lower. "Before you got here, everything was about keeping the perimeter secure. Managing the council. Making sure my father didn't find a reason to complain about the northern administration. It felt like moving pieces on a board."

He reached out, his fingers lightly tracing the cuff of your sleeve, his movements carefree. "But, it's always different when it comes to you." he continued, a small breath escaping his nose. "Even when you're completely upending my schedule or making me look ridiculous in front of the delegates, the weight doesn't feel as heavy. I feel lighter, somehow. Like you don’t reduce me to a title, like I exist beyond that."

You lifted your gaze to him, the lamplight catching the sharp edge of his jaw. The vulnerability there felt almost unreal compared to the untouchable figure who had stood before the capital ministers only hours before.

"Heeseung," you murmured softly, your hand coming up to rest against his forearm. "Do you believe in love?"

For a brief moment, he froze completely, his fingers halting against your sleeve. A trace of nostalgia passed over his face, before a faint smirk slowly pulled at the corner of his mouth. "I remember you asking me that," he said, his voice carrying a reflective hum. "Back at the onsen. God, you were so pretty. Even if I couldn't see most of your face because of the steam."

He leaned down a fraction closer, his gaze steady and unwavering as he locked eyes with you.

"Back then, I didn’t know how to answer you," he said quietly, his thumb brushing over your hip with care. “I always saw marriage as a treaty and nothing more. And tonight…watching you with your cousins, trying so hard to make this place feel like home, it made everything shift.” His gaze crossed your features to land right back on your eyes. "If love means choosing to carry the weight of the world with someone else just to see them smile in a garden full of flowers, then yes. I think I’m starting to believe in it."

You swallowed hard, the sincerity of his words catching in your throat. You barely managed to speak when he closed the distance between you, resting his forehead gently against yours. No urgency followed, no attempt to deepen the moment, there only was stillness. His steady heartbeat pressed softly upon your chest as the night wrapped itself around the room.

You gave his arm a playful squeeze, a sudden spark of energy cutting through your exhaustion. "Do you want to learn something new?"

He tilted his head, his dark eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "Right now? Y/N, it’s past two in the morning."

"Come on," you insisted, throwing off the duvet and sliding out of bed. "Follow me."

He let out a resigned sigh without hesitating. He pulled on a dark wool robe over his pajamas to block out the draft and followed you out of the master suite. The long stone corridors were entirely deserted, the grand estate dead silent as you guided him back toward the glass pavilion.

When you slid the doors open, the humid and earthy scent of the botanical exposition washed over you. The hundreds of lights from earlier were off, but the bright silver moonlight flooded through the glass ceiling, illuminating the rows of winter floriculture in a ghostly beautiful glow. You led him straight to the recessed alcove, where the sprawling bed of palace daisies sat blooming in the pale light.

"What are we doing here?" Heeseung asked, his hands sliding into his pockets, looking down at the white petals. "Are we checking the soil acidity again?"

"No, Mr. Lord brick wall," you laughed gently. You reached down and carefully plucked a single daisy from the stem, turning back to face him. "I'm going to teach you a tradition since I was little. It's how we test fate."

He watched your hands, soundly perplexed. "With a weed?"

"Again, it's a flower." you corrected, taking one of his large calloused hands and pulling him down to sit with you on the low limestone tier. "Watch. You tear off the petals one by one, and with each one, you say 'he loves me' or 'he loves me not.' Whichever phrase you say on the very last petal is the absolute truth."

Heeseung stared at you like you were speaking a foreign dialect. "That is statistically dictated by the number of petals the flower grew, Y/N. It isn't fate, that's just the anatomy of the flower."

"Just shut up and watch the example," you rolled your eyes playfully. You held the daisy up between your fingers. "He loves me," you said, plucking the first white petal and letting it drop to the floor. "He loves me not," you continued, pulling the second one.

He leaned in slightly, his gaze tracking your fingers with an intense focus, as if he were trying to memorize a complex military maneuver.

"He loves me..."

"He loves me not..."

The white petals fell in a small neat pile between your feet. You downsized to the final three. "He loves me... he loves me not..."

You gripped the absolute last white petal, looking up at him with a grin. "He loves me—" You pulled it away, only to realize there was one tiny, hidden stray petal left sticking out from the yellow center. Your voice dropped as you pinched the literal last piece of white silk. "...he loves me not."

An utter silence took over the alcove.

You immediately dropped the bare yellow stem, crossing your arms and letting out a deeply offended gasp. You turned your face away from him, staring into the dark greenhouse. "Wow. Unbelievable. The universe has spoken."

He blinked, ultimately caught off guard by your sudden shift in mood. "What?"

"Don't 'what' me now, Lord Heeseung," you said, your voice carried a theatrical sense of betrayal as you glanced at him from the corner of your eye. "The flower literally just exposed you. You don't love me at all. All those nice words back in the bedroom? Total lies. A scam to keep the alliance intact, I see."

Heeseung stared at your dramatic profile for a full three seconds, the tips of his ears faintly turning pink whilst he realized you were playing with him. A rich chuckle broke from his chest, the sound echoing softly against the glass walls of the pavilion. He reached out, his hand wrapping securely around your forearm to pull you back toward him.

"Alright," he rumbled, amused affection softened his voice as he turned your focus back to him, making sure you were looking at him. "I was joking earlier, and the flower is rigged. Turn around."

You let out a victorious giggle, dropping the dramatic act as he pulled you closer against his side. "Fine. If the flower is rigged, you prove it. Your turn."

He looked down at the sprawling bed of daisies, his expression a mix of pure skepticism and determination. He leaned over and carefully selected a fresh bloom, pinching the green stem between his fingers with the precision he usually reserved for reviewing border maps.

"This is a little far from science, isn’t it?" he muttered, though he didn't back down. He looked at you, his eyes holding yours in the moonlight, and plucked the first petal. "She loves me."

You leaned your chin on his shoulder, watching closely. "Bold start."

"She loves me not," he continued, his deep voice deadpan, the second petal drifted to the floor. He lingered, taking his time with each count. He moved with the belief that force of will might somehow control the outcome

"She loves me."

"She loves me not."

The pile of white petals grew between your feet. Petals continued to fall until the flower was almost bare, and his pace slowed with them. He was left with only a small handful, his brow furrowing lightly as he carefully counted what remained.

"She loves me," he rumbled.

"She loves me not."

There were only two petals left. He paused, his thumb hovering over the second-to-last one. He looked at you, a subtle smirk flashing across his lips before he quickly ripped off both of the remaining petals at the exact same time.

"She loves me," he announced cleanly, tossing the bare yellow core into your lap. You blinked, abruptly stunned by the blatant cheating. "What the hell?! That is a total violation of the rules! You pulled two at once!"

"The mechanisms of the flower were faulty," he declared, acting like ntohing happened, as he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you flush against him. His low chuckle vibrated right by your back. "I adjusted the parameters to ensure a correct result. They say you love me, Y/N. You can't argue with fate."

A snort of surrender left you as you leaned into his chest, the ridiculousness of arguing over daisy rules catched up. The cool pavilion air brushed through your robe, and an unavoidable yawn followed soon after. "Fine, you win," you mumbled something under your breath, exhaustion weighing your voice down as your eyes slipped shut for a brief moment against his shoulder. "I am officially out of energy. I need to get some actual sleep before the second day of the gala kicks off. Your father is going to have a field day if I'm nodding off during the food exposition tomorrow."

Heeseung’s smirk softened into an expression of protective concern. He rubbed his hand up and down your arm to chase away the chill. "You're right," he rumbled soothingly, his deep voice carrying a gentle, grounding weight. "The culinary showcase requires hours of standing and greeting the regional chefs. We should go to bed."

He stood up, easily pulling you up with him, and kept his arm securely around your waist as you walked out of the pavilion. The corridors of the estate seemed shorter on the way back, your steps completely in sync with his. Once back in the warmth of the bedroom, you both crawled beneath the plush duvet. The moment your head hit the pillow, the remaining tension in your body disappeared. Heeseung pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you from behind and burying his face back into your hair.

"Goodnight, Y/N," he whispered into the dark room, his heartbeat a reassuring rhythm against your back.

"Goodnight, Heeseung," you breathed, finally letting the quiet safety of the room pull you into a deep dreamless sleep.

──────

Morning light broke harshly through the curtains, pulling you from sleep before the estate had begun to stir. Heeseung rested asleep beside you, a still shape lost in the duvet, when the vibration of your secure comms device rang out from the nightstand. You slipped out of bed, throwing on a thick robe before answering the call from the capital.

The display flickered to life, revealing the stern figures of your mother and father sitting in the morning parlor of the palace. The conversation went straight to the matter at hand. Your family’s responsibilities never really gave anyone a chance to rest.

"Y/N," your father’s measured voice echoing into the hushed room. "We are reviewing the post-gala itinerary. The three-day marathon concludes tomorrow night. When exactly are you scheduling your transport back to the capital?"

Your mother adjusted her silks, her keen eyes scanning your tired face through the feed. "You have accumulated a massive backlog of administrative duty work over the last three months, Y/N. The charity boards, the trade sign-offs, the diplomatic receptions, and more. They cannot be managed remotely any longer. You need to be back in your office by the end of the week to finish them."

You exhaled quietly, looking back at the bed where Heeseung was slowly waking, his hair messy against the pillows. Not long ago, a call like this would have been your reason to leave. Now, the thought of stepping away from him felt harder than any duty waiting for you.

"I understand, Mother," you said, your voice trying to keep its steadiness. "I will try come back as soon as I reasonably can. The truth is...I’ve genuinely grown to love the North. Regardless of the cold and the strict protocols, it’s starting to feel like home here. I’m not in a rush to leave my husband."

Your parents exchanged a quick calculating look ; clearly not expecting the political arrangement to lead to genuine affection. Your father offered a restrained nod of acknowledgment. "Very well. Do not neglect your obligations. We expect your arrival by Thursday morning."

By the time the call disconnected, Heeseung was awake, his long frame propped up on his elbow as he watched you from the bed. No questions left his lips, yet the quiet change in his posture said enough. The faint clench of his jaw showed that he had caught the weight behind the words.

"The capital is calling their princess back?" he rumbled, his voice rough with sleep.

"Paperwork," you replied, offering him a reassuring smile as you walked back over to the bed. "But I told them I’m staying as long as I can."

The second day of the gala shifted the entire atmosphere of the estate from historic preservation to exclusive luxury. The culinary showcase was a sprawling exhibition held in the grand banquet hall, where the air was thick with the rich scents of aged northern smoked meats, delicate capital pastries, and imported rice wines. From mid-afternoon until the sun dipped below the mountain ridges, you and Heeseung were trapped in a relentless cycle of corporate and political conversations. Dressed in matching charcoal and silver traditional attire, you presented an impeccable front.

Heeseung stood beside you without hesitation, his commanding presence cutting through conversations with high-ranking provincial politicians and tech CEOs who held power over the logistics routes between territories.

"The Northern Defense budget is entirely dependent on the stability of the Western supply lines, Director," Heeseung stated flatly to a prominent energy executive, his hand subtly resting at the small of your back to keep you grounded amidst the crowd. "My wife’s family has already guaranteed the transit protocols, so your investments remain secure."

"And the cultural adaptation has been errorless," you added, offering the CEO an elegant smile, masking your growing exhaustion. "The North has been incredibly accommodating to our capital delegates."

The corporate small talk rolled on endlessly, mixing handshakes, document signings, and polite nods, which tested every ounce of your diplomatic training. The final evening bell chimed, and with it came the transition to formal dinner. Your feet ached, your throat felt dry, in spite of that the lingering squeeze of Heeseung’s hand at your waist reminded you that you weren’t standing against the royal expectations alone anymore.

The formal dinner unfolded like a choreographed performance. Ministers and tech executives sat along long tables. The staff presented the first course of the regional culinary showcase. In front of you and Heeseung sat an array of steaming dishes. Among them was a beautifully arranged porcelain platter of dumplings that were made just like in the capital, glistening with a light sesame glaze.

"Oh, thank goodness," you murmured under your breath as you picked up your chopsticks. You deftly picked up a dumpling, taking a bite. The savory flavor was an instant comfort after hours of exhausting political small talk. You leaned slightly toward Heeseung, your shoulder brushing his robe. "You have no idea. These dumplings are my favorite food on the planet since I was born. If I could survive the rest of this gala on just these, I absolutely would."

An amused hum slipped from Heeseung, his eyes studying your face, his expression gentling into something unguarded. "I'll tell the head chef to prepare a private batch for our quarters tomorrow, then. We can dismiss the remaining banquet menus entirely."

You laughed, reaching for another one, letting your guard down.

Suddenly, the atmosphere of the banquet hall diverged. A head servant, his face completely drained of color and his hands visibly trembling, hurried through the shadows behind the main head table. He bypassed the security guards with a frantic desperation and dropped to his knees right beside Heeseung’s chair.

The servant leaned close to Heeseung's ear, his voice turning into a barely audible whisper that cracked with terror. "My Lord," the servant breathed, his eyes darting down to the table, fully avoiding yours. "The kitchen security team just flagged something. One of the central platters of dumplings served specifically to your table...it has just been confirmed to contain a highly concentrated toxic substance. A synthetic substance designed to suppress neural activity from the border black market. We—we still do not know who did this or how it passed the initial tasting protocol. The perimeter is being locked down now."

Heeseung’s smile disappeared at once, leaving his expression unreadable.

In the speed of the light, his entire posture hardened into ice. In order to not make a scene, his military training keeping him rigidly composed under the gaze of hundreds of politicians and CEOs at the head table, but his attention betrayed him, eyes locked hardly on the half-eaten dumpling in your chopsticks.

His hand shot out like lightning, his large fingers gripping your wrist with an iron-tight force that caused your chopsticks to freeze mid-air. "Y/N," he commanded coldly, which sent a sudden shiver of ice down your spine. "Drop the food. Right now."

Your chopsticks slipped from your fingers, clattering loudly on the porcelain plate as Heeseung’s iron grip on your wrist pulled your hand down.

"Are you okay? What's going on?" you whispered, your heart instantly hammering in your chest as you saw the terrifying stillness in his eyes. Words counldn't come out of his mouth.

With a smooth motion, Heeseung stood up from the head table. His broad frame shielded you from the curious glances of the nearby politicians and CEOs. Not a single word left him, nevertheless, the weight of his presence alone was enough. Security detail moved instantly, responding without needing any command.

"We are leaving. Walk," he muttered against your ear, his hand automatically moving to the small of your back, practically lifting you off your seat and guiding you toward the private side exit before the banquet hall could even realize what was happening.

Everything became indistinct on the way back to the residential quarters ; rushing guards, violent slams of doors and alarms screaming through the corridors. The second the master suite doors locked, Heeseung’s carefully constructed calm broke apart.

"The physician! Get him here right now!" he roared at the guard stationed at the door, his voice echoing off the stone walls with a desperation you had never heard from him before. He turned to you, his hands slamming onto your shoulders as his eyes hectically scanned your face, your lips, looking for any immediate sign of the neurological restrain. "Y/N, can you look at me? Are you feeling dizzy? Is your throat tight? Do you have any numbness in your fingers?"

"I—I think I'm okay, I only took one bite, Heeseung, I don't feel anything yet," you stammered, your own voice cracking with panic while you were apprehending what was happening. Someone had tried to poison your table.

Within minutes, the residential wing was in complete mess. The frenetic footsteps of the physician rumbled down the hallway, and he burst into the room with his medical cases, immediately instructing you to sit on the edge of the bed to check your vitals and administer a general neutralizer just in case.

Outside the master doors, the entire estate was panicking. The automated lockdown had trapped the high-ranking politicians and CEOs inside the banquet hall, and the political fallout was already spiraling out of control. Through the thick wood of the doors, you could hear the furious booming voices of Lady and Lord senior Lee. His father was absolutely livid, tearing into the head of the kitchen staff and the security commanders with a cold rage, making the walls vibrate.

"How does a black-market neurotoxin bypass three separate chemical scanners in my own home?!" the elder Lord Lee’s voice roared through the corridor. "Line up every single servant who touched that tray! If the traitor isn't found by midnight, the entire security faction will be dismantled!"

Heeseung stood by the window of the bedroom, his back to you as the physician quietly checked your pulse. His hands were clenched into fists so tight his knuckles were stark white in the low light, his jaw locked in an alarming silhouette as he listened to the fussing outside, his mind clearly racing to figure out who had targeted his table, and his wife.

The balanced rhythm of the physician’s equipment suddenly went haywire, its erratic beeping breaking the tense silence of the bedroom. A wave of crushing vertigo hit you out of nowhere. The room tilted violently, the warm lamplight stretching into distorted streaks of white and gray. Your hands lost all their warmth, a deep numbness creeping up your forearms.

"Heeseung..." you tried to say, the sound was nothing more than a raspy breath.

Heeseung was at your side in a split second, his hands catching your face as your head lolled back. When he looked into your eyes, his chest wholly seized. The dark irises of your eyes had blown wide, your dilated pupils swallowing the color until they looked like voids. His face went stark white, primal panic flashing across his features. "Y/N! Stay with me! For fuck's sake, do something!" he yelled at the physician, his voice cracking in despair.

He lifted you, his arms trembling under the weight as he laid you flat across the center of the massive platform bed. The physician scrambled forward, clumsily tearing open an emergency medical kit while your vision rapidly narrowed, the edges darkening until the entire room dissolved into pitch black. Your eyes slipped closed, and you drifted into an unresponsive sleep.

Silence filled the bedroom when, hours later, the physician finally stepped away from the bed, a layer of cold sweat glistening on his brow. Heeseung hadn't moved a signle inch from your bedside. His parents stood near the doors, their furious shouts from earlier completely silenced by the grim gravity settled over the room.

The physician gestured quietly for Heeseung and his parents to step into the shadowed alcove near the window, his voice dropping into a whisper. "The neurotoxin was far more aggressive than the initial scanners indicated," the doctor murmured, his eyes downcast. "Because it was ingested, the substance broke in her primary defenses and immediately targeted her internal systems. The damage to her immune structure is severe, and it has already begun to rapidly compromise her vital organs ; specifically her liver, her lungs, and her heart."

Heeseung’s posture went entirely stiff, his jaw clenching so hard the bone looked ready to snap. "Fix it. Use everything you have—"

"My Lord, there is no counter-agent for this specific strain," the physician interrupted softly, his voice filled with defeat. "Her organs are failing to filter the synthetic compound. At this rate of cellular degradation...she only has a few days before the neurological damage forces her into a permanent coma. Even with our best life-support protocols, she has not much more than a week to survive."

An unbearable hush fell like a collapse. Lord Lee senior closed his eyes, the political implications and abrupt loss forcing through his restraint, while his mother pressed a trembling hand over her mouth. Heeseung turned slowly, his hollow gaze cutting across the room to your motionless pale form beneath the duvets. Everything settling in his head.

The doors of the estate's underground holding cell slammed shut with a deafening slam. Tied to a chair in the center of the room was a kitchen supervisor ; a man who had served the Lee family for three years. His clothes were torn, his face bloodied from the relentless interrogation by the guard detail. However, he wasn't talking.

Until the door clicked open again.

Heeseung walked in alone. He had discarded his formal robe, standing only in his dark trousers and a black silk shirt, the sleeves rolled tightly up to his forearms. His hair fell wildly across his forehead, his eyes bloodshot, fixed on the prisoner, making him look absolutely insane.

"We ran the encrypted conversation log from his personal device," the head guard whispered from the shadows, his voice shaking. "He received a massive off-world wire transfer two hours before the banquet. The routing numbers trace directly back to the private accounts of the Jung faction ; the capital opposition."

The political enemies. The people who wanted to break the northern alliance at any cost.

No time was given for the guard to finish speaking. In an explosive haze, he crossed the room. His hand shot out, clamping onto the prisoner’s collar and wrenching him upward so violently the chair screamed across the stone floor, nearly collapsing. He pulled the man's face a mere inch from his own. He began to totally lose his mind to the point that it was infinitely more frightening ; his voice was strangly calm and vibrating in a whisper that cut through the cold air like a razor blade.

"Listen," Heeseung commanded, his breath ragged, his eyes wide and unblinking. "Do you know what that poison is doing to my wife right now? Do you have any idea what her lungs feel like? What her heart feels like?"

The traitor trembled, trying to pull back, but Heeseung’s grip on his throat was an unbreakable vice. His voice slowly rose. "You are going to give me the antidote," Heeseung whispered, his teeth bared, his chest heaving violently against the prisoner's chest. "You are going to call your handlers, and you are going to tell them that if I do not have a neutralizing formula in my hands by sunrise, I will personally burn the Jung estate to the ground. I will not just execute you, I will dismantle everything you have ever loved. I will peel the skin from your fingers one by one, and I will force you to watch her timeline end while you choke on your own blood. I hope you can understand that."

"There is no antidote !" the man shrieked, broken by the unhinged aura of the man in front of him. "They didn't give me one ! It was a suicide run ! It's an irreversible strain !"

Heeseung’s grip tightened until the man’s face turned purple. He slammed the man back into the chair, his hands shaking violently as he reached down to unclip the tactical blade from his belt.

"Alright then, you better start praying to whatever gods you believe in," Heeseung rumbled, his voice dropping back into a deathly calm while he stepped closer, the polished steel of the blade catching the light of the holding cell. "This ends now."

─────────

Heeseung stepped inside the master suite, the oppressive air of the interrogation cells was left behind, even though the terrifying vacancy in his eyes hadn't entirely faded. He paused at the entrance, drawing in a slow, shaky breath, forcing his features into something resembling calm before he moved toward the bed. Four maids were gathered around your side, changing out cold compresses and checking the automated IV fluids with shaking hands.

The moment you heard his footsteps, your eyes fluttered open, but an violent spike of pressure shot straight behind your temples. You winced, a gasp escaping your lips as you tightly pressed the heels of your hands against your forehead. It felt like a physical weight crushing your brain, the toxin aggressively beginning its strike on your nervous system.

"Out. All of you," Heeseung murmured. The staff didn't need to be told twice. They bowed quickly and hurried out, leaving the room dead silent once again.

The mattress dipped significantly as Heeseung sat down beside you. He reached out, gently pulling your hands away from your face and replacing them with his own cool palms, softly massaging your temples with tenderness, contradicting the violence he had just left downstairs.

"It's okay," he whispered. "Look at me, Y/N."

You forced your eyes open, your wide, dilated pupils straining to focus on his face through the throbbing pain. "Did they...did they find out who did it?"

"We handled it. It's fine," he said quickly, offering a tiny reassuring smile, which did not match his hollow eyes. He cleared his throat, delicately trying to shift your focus away from the grim reality. "Actually, you'll be glad to know your cousins are currently ruining my father’s perfect reputation downstairs."

You let out a weak breath, your brow furrowing. "What?"

"Jay is currently threatening to cut off the capital’s entire energy grid to our province, and Ni-ki told my father to his face that our security detail is 'literal shit,'" he rumbled, a subtle smirk pulling at the corner of his lips as he stroked your hair back. "I think Ni-ki even tried to bet Jay a second sports car on whether or not the kitchen staff would survive the night. They're making an absolute mockery of the Northern high council just to get to see you."

A tiny laugh escaped your lips, instantly cut short by another sharp throb in your head, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut.

"Don't laugh, don't laugh," Heeseung murmured gently, his thumb lightly brushing across your cheekbone to catch a stray tear brought on by the pain. He leaned down, resting his forehead against yours just like he had the night before, his breathing even and warm. "I knew that your cousins were troublemakers. You need to stay awake just to make sure they don't accidentally annex my entire territory by morning."

"Heeseung," you whispered, your voice barely a breath as you looked up at him through the haze of the pain. "I want to go back to the capital. I want to see my parents...and I just want to have time with the guys. Please."

Heeseung’s thumb stalled against your cheek. A painful shadow crossed his face. The capital meant leaving the safety of his military stronghold, but looking at the pale tint of your skin, he knew he couldn't deny you anything. He slowly nodded, kissing your forehead. "Okay. We'll leave first thing in the morning then."

True to his word, the first thing you did was hoping into the heavily armored private jet. Heeseung never left your side, personally supervising the medical stabilizers during the flight. By the afternoon, you were securely installed back in your luxurious bedroom in the palace.

The warmth of home took all over the place.

Your parents had only just begun arranging the formal palace physicians when the bedroom doors opened. Jungwon, Sunoo, Ni-ki, and Jay entered together, their usual lively presence replaced by a rare restraint. The sight of the IV lines made their expressions falter for a moment, yet they quickly gathered themselves, wearing the brave faces expected of them.

"Wow, look at you," Sunoo said, marching straight over to the side of your bed and sitting on the edge. "A few days in the North and you suddenly think you can just lounge around in silk pajamas all day while your administrative work piles up?"

"It's not fair," Ni-ki chimed in, leaning against the bedpost and offering a weak smirk. "We only let you go up there so you could get a wardrobe change, Y/N, not an extended vacation."

You let out an albeit tired chuckle, the suffocating atmosphere in the room lifting instantly. Jungwon turned his attention to Heeseung, who was standing solid as a statue near the window, his arms crossed and his face covered in guilt and exhaustion. "Honestly, My Lord, we’re going to have to review your rating as a bodyguard. First the matching color issue, now this? Terrible service, if I can say."

Heeseung blinked, a smile breaking through his otherwise impassive expression. He shook his head quietly, acknowledging the joke but keeping his voice low. "I'll accept the penalty on my record."

While Sunoo and Ni-ki kept you distracted, recounting a wildly exaggerated story about their flight back to the capital to keep your mind off the throbbing in your head, Jay quietly caught Heeseung’s eye. With a subtle jerk of his chin, Jay gestured toward the private balcony just outside your room.

Heeseung hesitated for a split second, glancing back at you, before gently stepping outside into the warmth of the sun. Jay closed the glass door behind them, cutting off the sound of the laughter from inside. Resting against the stone railing, he released a long breath and turned toward the Lord of the North. His smile retreating instantly.

"Look," Jay said, his voice sounding serious than ever. "Stop doing that to yourself."

Heeseung's eyes were fixed on the palace gardens below. "I was supposed to secure the perimeter. It happened under my roof. At my table."

"It was a synthetic neurotoxin smuggled through an undercover kitchen supervisor," Jay interrupted flatly, his tone sharp without an ounce of blame. "My family has been dealing with the Jung faction's underhanded plays for a decade. They didn't target the security ; they targeted the food. You couldn't have scanned every single ingredient on a three-day banquet timeline, Heeseung. It's not your fault. You couldn't have avoided it anyway."

Heeseung stayed silent, his composure holding for a long moment before a ragged breath finally broke through. The guilt he refused to voice sat heavily on him, visible in the hard set of his jaw. "That doesn't change the timeline we're dealing with."

"I'm aware of that," Jay replied quietly, turning back toward the glass door where you were currently smiling at something Sunoo said. "For now, however, she needs you here, not drowning in your own head. Come back inside."

The sunset dipped below the capital skyline. One by one, the guys finally had to say their goodbyes, promised to return first thing in the morning, and headed back to their respective estates. The room sank into sudden silence, almost tangible in its weight. Heeseung closed the double doors and returned to the bedside. Golden evening light caught the exhaustion etched across his face. He had refused to sit for the entire day, standing watch like a sentinel, eyes fixed on your every breath.

He reached down to adjust the silk duvet over your legs, his movements incredibly careful, as if you were made of spun glass.

"Ouch!" you suddenly gasped out, wincing dramatically and pressing a hand to your stomach. Heeseung froze instantly. The color drained from his face so fast it was frightening. He dropped to his knees beside the mattress immediately, his large hands trembling in the air above you, searching for somewhere to touch without making things worse.

"Where?" he demanded, his voice cracking with a raw panic. His dark eyes wide and wild as he looked at your face. "Y/N, where does it hurt? Should I call the palace physician back in? Is it your stomach? Speak to me—"

You couldn't hold it in anymore. A bubbling giggle broke from your lips, your shoulders shaking as you dropped your hand from your stomach. "I'm fine, I'm fine!" you giggled, leaning back against the pillows. "Oh my god, Heeseung, you should see your face right now. You look like you just saw a ghost."

He blinked, his hands still stuck in mid-air. For a three long seconds, his brain struggled to process the transition from terror to your amused grin. Slowly, his wide eyes narrowed, and an exasperated sigh escaped his chest. He let his forehead sink forward against the edge of the mattress, his shoulders slumping in relief.

"That is not funny," he growled, his voice muffled by the silk sheets.

"It's a little funny, I have to admit." you teased, reaching out to lightly poke the top of his head, running your fingers through his disheveled hair. "The great Lord Lee Heeseung, defeated by a joke. Where’s that military discipline, huh?"

He slowly lifted his head, a reluctant smirk finally showing through his exhaustion. He grabbed your poking hand, his large fingers trapping yours in a firm but incredibly gentle grip. "You're the worst," he murmured, his deep voice carrying a mix of fake annoyance and profound affection. He leaned closer, resting his chin on his hands at the edge of the bed, his eyes locked onto yours. "I am trying to be a brooding, supportive husband, while I’m on the verge of a heart attack, you’re clearly entertained."

He shifted his weight, slowly climbing onto the edge of the mattress and laying his head down gently against your stomach. He didn't press hard, mindful of your condition, and he buried his face in the soft fabric of your pajamas as his long arms wrapped loosely around your waist.

You shifted your position slightly, letting your fingers sink into his hair. You began to trace slow soothing circles against his scalp, feeling the tense muscles in his neck gradually begin to unwind under your touch. The room was entirely muted, save for the low sound of the capital's evening traffic far below the balcony. Neither of you bothered to talk.

Without warning, you felt a rhythmic shudder ripple through his shoulders. The fabric of your shirt began to feel damp. He held his sob in silence, a low choked breath escaped him, and he squeezed his arms tighter around your waist. He was now a man who looked thoroughly small against the huge bed. "I think can't do this, Y/N," he whispered, his voice cracking, laced with vulnerability. He kept his face hidden into you while the tears came faster. "I’ve spent my whole life preparing for battles and betrayals...and I still don't know how to handle this. I can't afford losing you. It’s barely been a few months, and now the entire estate feels empty if you're not there. This is more than I can bear."

Your heart ached at the grief in his voice, looking down at his messy hair, you knew he didn't need you to cry with him. He needed you to pull him out of the dark.

"Oh God," you said softly, your fingers gently tugging at a lock of his hair until he finally tilted his face up to look at you, his eyes bloodshot and wet. You offered him a bright smile, wiping a tear from his cheek with your thumb. "First of all, My Lord, crying on my lap is definitely a violation of northern military protocol. What would your generals say?"

He let out a weak, watery half-laugh, his breath hitching as he tried to blink away the moisture. "They'd probably strip me of my rank."

"That's right," you teased gently, your tone light and entirely reassuring as you cupped his face. "And second of all, do you really think I’d let some black-market dumplings take me out? After I survived your freezing northern winters and your father's horrifying dinner briefings? Absolutely not. I'm going nowhere, okay? You're stuck with me for a very long time."

He stared up at you, the panic in his heart finally easing under your soft gaze. He leaned into the warmth of your hand, a smile of relief breaking through his tears. "Someone's very confident today," he rumbled quietly, his voice still rough, carrying a hint of warmth.

"It's a family trait," you smiled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. "Now shut up and let me fix your hair. You look like a mess."

────────

Over the next few days, the sun shone with a brightness that almost felt mocking. Inside the palace, the atmosphere had grown crushing. The toxin was moving through its final cruel stages. Your skin had turned a fragile pale, and a constant ache radiated from your chest as your organs strained to keep up. Worse, the internal degradation had begun to show. Twice that morning, a metallic taste had flooded your throat, leaving a thin smear of blood against the white silk of your handkerchief.

A few wings over, in one of the palace’s private military offices, Heeseung was drowning. Technically, he was on duty ; acting as the bridge between the northern guard and the capital council during the crisis ; but he was entirely emptied. A chief defense minister stood before his desk, gesturing to a digital map of the border routes during his speech abouth the length about supply lines and security checkpoints.

Heeseung sat motionless, eyes fixed on the blue light of the screen, not a word truly reached him. He was totally zoned out. Each blink dragged back the image of your dilated pupils ; each silence in the office replayed the agonizingly slow rhythm of your breathing. The pen between his fingers was clenched so tightly it seemed on the verge of snapping.

"...and if we reroute the third battalion by Thursday, My Lord, we can ensure—"

A distinct vibration cut the minister off. Heeseung’s personal communications device lit up on the desk. Your name flashed across the screen. Without excusing himself, he rose from his chair so abruptly that the leather seat rolled backward and struck the wall. He pulled the console open, his voice already sounding like a breathless rasp before he picked up your call properly. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

Your face appeared in the pale blue light, propped up against a mountain of pillows. Your voice was inaudible, carrying a weak quality, sending jolt of ice straight through his chest.

"Heeseung..." you murmured, offering a tiny smile, you couldn't hide how exhausted you were. "I’m okay. I wanted to...the room feels really big today. I wanted to see you. Can you come back when you're free?"

"I'm coming," he said instantly. He tapped the device shut, ignoring the stunned expression of the minister standing across from him. Files were left behind, no hand-off was issued, and the briefing continued without him because he was already gone. He dropped everything, tearing his coat from the rack and throwing open the office doors, his long strides turning into a sprint down the long marble corridors of the palace to get back to your room.

He burst through the double doors of your bedroom, his chest heaving like he had run the entire distance from his northern estate. The moment his eyes found yours, the dread in his posture dimmed into relief. He crossed the room, sinking onto the edge of the mattress and taking your fragile hand in his.

"I'm here," he breathed, his thumb gently smoothing over your knuckles. "I'm right here."

You looked up at him, your pale face brightening for a bit. "I wanted to ask you...could we take a walk? Just in the palace garden. I want to feel the sun."

He hesitated, his eyes lowering to the exhausted shadows beneath yours. Still, the longing in your voice made it impossible for him to say no. "Okay. But you're not walking the whole way."

He carefully lifted you from the bed, wrapping a thick shawl around your shoulders to keep out any stray breeze. Holding you securely against his chest, he carried you down the private elevator and out into the sprawling gardens, only setting you on your feet once you reached the smooth stone pathways.

As you walked, your hand tucked firmly into his arm for support, you guided him toward the western terrace.

"Look," you murmured, pointing toward the vast white-and-gold meadow stretching out before you. "The daisy field...it’s expanded so much since our wedding."

Heeseung looked out over the sea of petals, a nostalgic smile softening the sharp lines of his face. "It has. My mother complained that the palace gardeners were letting the grounds get wild, but I think it looks better this way." He paused, his gaze drifting down to your profile. "It's hard to believe. It feels like just yesterday we were staring at each other across that altar, both of us wondering how we were going to survive each other."

You let out a muffled laugh, leaning your weight into his side. "You were so tense back then."

"I had to," he rumbled gently, his fingers squeezing yours. "Before you, everything was just work. Decisions, obligations, pressure, it felt like nothing ever really stopped. Since our wedding, things haven’t felt as tight. I don’t think I even realized how tense I was all the time until you were around. It's quieter in my head, and I feel like you taught me how to...breath."

PLAYING NOW : damned - Miguel

You stopped walking, turning to face him fully. A playful spark ignited in your eyes. "Oh yeah? If you're so good at breathing now, let's see if you can keep up. Chase me."

Heeseung blinked, caught off guard. "Y/N, absolutely not, you need to rest—"

Unfortunately, you were already moving, breaking into a light jog down the sloping path toward the daisies. A breathless chuckle escaped your lips as you looked back over your shoulder. You were obviously much slower than usual, your steps lacking their old energy. Hesitation didn't reach him. An affectionate chuckle broke from him as he went after you.

Besides being the Lord of the North, he was an elite military commander ; he could have closed the distance in a single stride. Nonetheless, he carefully slowed his pace to an exaggerated and clumsy jog, keeping a five foot distance behind you. He feigned struggle, reaching out his arms and missing you on purpose just to hear the victorious sound of your laughter echoing through the field.

"You're losing your edge, My Lord !" you laughed, your hair flying behind you in the warm breeze.

"The palace air is messing with my statistics !" he called back, a wide smile breaking across his face as he tracked your every movement, his hands staying close just in case you stumbled.

For a few beautiful seconds, the poison, the failing organs, and the ticking clock didn't exist. You were just two people playing in a field of flowers.

But suddenly, the phantom burst of energy vanished as quickly as it had come. A wave of exhaustion slammed into your chest, cutting off your breath. Your legs gave out beneath you, and you fell hardly onto your knees right at the edge of the daisy field.

"I'm fine !" you called out, your voice cracking while a violent cough tore through your chest. You raised a hand to wave him off, trying to maintain the joke, yet the force of the cough doubled you over. When you pulled your hand away, your palm was covered in a bright spread of blood.

The physical exhaustion hit you like a wall. Your vision swam with streaks of white and gold, and your legs completely lost their remaining strength. Slowly, almost gracefully, you let your body tip sideways, collapsing onto your back into the soft bed of daisies. The green stems bent beneath you, the white petals framing your pale face.

"Y/N !"

Heeseung’s voice came out in a terrified scream.

He blurred across the space between you, boots ripping through the dirt as he dropped to his knees at your side. His hands hovered, shaking violently, his face gone pale, his breathing jagged and unsteady with fear. "Please, oh fuck—stay awake," he stammered, his fingers trembling, he reached down to pull your shawl tighter around you, terrified to move you. "It's going to be okay. I’m going to carry you back inside. The physicians are right there. You're going to be fine, Y/N, breathe—"

A wet, shaky laugh escaped your lips, cutting him off. A thin line of dark crimson spilled from the corner of your mouth, tracing a stark path down your pale chin, even though your eyes were bright, locked onto his panicked expression.

"Look at you," you wheezed, a chuckle vibrating in your chest despite the metallic taste filling your throat. You weakly lifted your blood-stained fingers, pointing them right at his wide eyes. "You...you look so dramatic right now. I told you—I told you the palace air is messing with you."

"Y/N, stop talking, please, don't laugh," Heeseung begged, his voice breaking, a hot tear spilled over his lashes, dropping onto your cheek. He grabbed a piece of his sleeve, desperately and gently wiping the blood from your lips, yet more took its place.

"It's—it's such a good spot," you whispered, gesturing weakly to the sea of flowers around your head, still smiling through the red staining your teeth. "We could do romantic dates here, don't you think?"

"Shut up," he choked out, a miserable laugh tearing from his throat as he finally wrapped his arms beneath your back, pulling you tightly against his chest, burying his face into your neck as the white daisies swayed quietly around you in the warm breeze. "Just shut up and stay with me."

The warm sun beat down on the garden, but as Heeseung pulled you closer against his chest, the bright light began to recede. The vivid whites and golds of the daisy field melted together, bleeding into a soft gray.

"Heeseung..." you breathed, your voice less than a whisper against his neck. "It feels so warm. The cold is completely gone."

"Y/N? Stay with me. Try to keep your eyes open, please," he begged, his chest heaving with despair.

"I can't see you," you murmured softly, indifferent from the darkness closing in. It didn't feel terrifying anymore ; peaceful was the right word to describe it.

Slowly, with a trembling effort, you lifted your hand. Your fingers were cold, stained with the blood from your lips, your touch was delicate as you found his jawline. You traced the sharp curve of his chin, moving upward to find the familiar bridge of his nose, and finally resting your thumb right against his wet cheekbone, wiping away a tear.

"Don't be like that," you whispered, your thumb brushing over his skin with fading strength. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

Heeseung seized your hand, pressing his palm over yours and holding your fingers to his face, like force of will alone might keep your spirit inside you. His sobs had turned quiet and broken, trembling through him and into your chest.

"Please," he choked out, his forehead resting against yours. "Don't disappear on me."

The darkness was almost absolute now, a velvet pulling you under. But the memory of the moonlit pavilion, the silly rules you made while plucking on daisy petals, and the sound of his laugh filled the space. You let out one last soft sigh, your fingers relaxing slightly in his grip.

"Heeseung..." you breathed into the quiet air, a beautiful smile lingering on your lips. "Do you...do you believe in love now?"

As he was about to answer, the weight in your chest finally went fully still, your hand slipping gently from his cheek as your eyes drifted shut for the last time, leaving him alone in the bright sea of daisies.

─────────

Back to the Lee’s family estate. Outside, the harsh northern wind howled upon the glass of the pavilion, inside, the air was dead.

For five weeks, the Lord of the North had not been seen.

The estate was in a state of muted terror. Important military documents piled up outside his door, and the capital alliance was fracturing under the weight of his absolute silence. Finally, driven by desperation and the fear that their commander was dead inside, a servant bypassed the guards. With a shaking hand and an iron key, he forced the lock, the doors sliding open with a loud protesting screech.

The servant stepped in, his breath catching in his throat. The luxury of the room was gone. Sheets were ripped from the giant platform bed, and the floor was a messy graveyard of empty bottles and discarded clothes. However, it was the space at the foot of the bed that made the servant freeze in horror.

Heeseung was sitting flat on the cold wooden floor. His broad frame looked hollowed out, his shoulders hunched forward into a broken silhouette. The immaculate black fabric shirt he had worn to the capital was wrinkled and unwashed, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that were pale and shivering. His hair was wildly overgrown, casting shadows over eyes that were bloodshot from all the crying.

Spread out in a crushing circle all around his knees were hundreds of white daisy petals. Some were fresh, smuggled in secret from the conservatory, while others were brown, dried, and crushed into dust beneath his weight. He stayed unmoved when the door slammed open. His focus was locked onto a single fresh white daisy held between his scarred fingers.

With agonizing slowness, his thumb and forefinger pinched a single white petal. He yanked it free, letting it drift aimlessly down to the floor.

"She loves me," he whispered.

He kept going. He pinched the next petal, his jaw twitching as a single, cold tear cut a clean path through the dust on his cheek. He ripped it away.

"She loves me not."

The servant took a cautious step forward. "My Lord...the High Council...they require your signature on the border protocols. The capital has sent word—"

"She loves me," Heeseung interrupted, his voice dropping an octave, carrying that same dangerously calm, terrifying intensity from the interrogation cells. He plucked another petal, his eyes reflecting a hollow, manic vacancy. He wasn't counting. He wasn't listening. He was trapped in a perpetual loop, a prisoner of the last question she had ever asked him in the sunlit garden.

He reached the last petal of the broken flower, his hand freezing mid-air as he stared at the empty green stem. A dark, breathless laugh—devoid of any remaining sanity—escaped his lips as he dropped the stem and immediately reached into a velvet pouch beside him, pulling out another fresh daisy to start all over again.

"She loves me not," he whispered into the dark, his thumb trembling violently against the velvet petal. "She loves me not."

The servant stood paralyzed in the doorway, staring at the display of grief and broken sanity before him. The sight of the fearsome Lord—reduced to a dark shadow on the floor, surrounded by a graveyard of crushed petals—was almost too much to bear.

"My Lord..." the servant whispered, his voice trembling as he took a tentative half-step backward, instinctively wanting to flee the unpleasant atmosphere of the room.

Heeseung’s hand stopped mid-air, his fingers clamped tight around the stem of the half-plucked daisy. Slowly, with the mechanical motion of a broken machine, his head tilted upward. The hair falling across his face didn't completely hide his eyes. They were wide, bloodshot, the brilliance that once defined him couldn’t even be seen through it. A dead stillness stared back at the servant.

"The conservatory," Heeseung mumbled, his tone made the servant freeze in his tracks. "Bring me another batch."

"Sir, the High Council is waiting downstairs—"

"I couldn’t give a shit about the Council," Heeseung interrupted, his voice a calm whisper, his fingers violently snapped the stem of the flower in his hand, letting the white head drop into the pile at his knees. He looked back down at the petals, his jaw tightening, his chest began to heave with desolation. "Bring me more daisies. Fresh ones. From the white meadow strain. Go."

"Yes—yes, My Lord. Immediately," the servant stammered, bowing extremely low before scrambling out of the bedroom, slamming the doors shut behind him to escape the chilling sound of Heeseung’s voice.

Left alone in the dim twilight of the room, he sat in the center of the white ruins, breathing unevenly, he crouched to pick up the stray petal. He turned it over carefully in his hand, his thumb absentmindedly following its soft edge, the familiar motion pulling him back to the afternoon you’d brushed your fingers along his jaw.

"She loves me," he whispered into the empty room, a fractured laugh caught in his throat, little more than a breath, his eyes remained fixed on the closed doors. "She loves me."

This time, the doors opened without urgency. They parted slowly, almost ceremoniously, before the measured thud of military boots broke the silence. It wasn't a servant returning with flowers.

It was Sunghoon.

He was dressed in his full regal military uniform, the silver and gold medals on his chest glinting faintly in the dim light. Unlike the others, Sunghoon hadn't come to beg Heeseung to return to the council, nor had he brought a brave face. He stopped at the edge of the petal-strewn floor, his icy eyes taking in the pathetic sight of the commander before him.

Heeseung kept his eyes lowered. His hands, still shaking, instinctively reached for another stem, needing something to occupy themselves. "I told them to bring my daisies. Get the fuck out, Sunghoon."

"She’s dead, Heeseung."

His words sliced through the stillness, leaving the room even quieter than before. Sunghoon spoke without a trace of sympathy, but the tensed set of his jaw hinted at the effort it took to keep his emotions contained.

The movement died instantly. Heeseung's hand remained suspended as the room fell unnervingly silent. Then, inch by inch, he looked up. His exhausted eyes locked onto Sunghoon, suddenly burning with the sorrowed edge of restrained rage. "Do not speak about her."

"Someone has to," Sunghoon said, stepping squarely into the circle of crushed white petals, his boots grinding them into ugly brown dust. He knelt down, forcing himself to look directly into Heeseung's face. "Look at this room. Look at you. You think you’re keeping her alive by staying in the dark? You think counting petals is going to bring her back from her tomb?"

"She asked me a question," Heeseung whispered, his voice suddenly cracking, the terrifying calm fracturing into raw, agonizing grief as he clutched the remaining flowers to his chest like a shield. "She asked me if I believed in love. And I couldn’t even answer her before she—…I didn't tell her. She loves me...she loves me not..."

"She loved you !" Sunghoon suddenly roared as he reached out and grabbed Heeseung by the collar of his ruined shirt, shaking him violently. Tears finally spilled over Sunghoon’s lashes, tracking down his pale cheeks. "She loved you, you jerk ! We all saw it ! The whole damn capital saw it ! And you are letting the Jung faction win by letting the North rot in this bedroom !"

Their eyes remained locked. The confession echoed in the stillness, tearing apart the last fragments of denial. In its place stood a truth so clear that even the silence seemed bigger.

Heeseung seemed to fold in on himself. The flowers slipped from his loosened hands, their white petals scattering across the tatami unnoticed. A fractured sob finally broke free from his chest, and he leaned forward until his forehead met Sunghoon's shoulder, no longer able to hold himself together.

Sunghoon never loosened his grip. He kept Heeseung upright as the Lord of the North finally gave way, years of discipline dissolving into unrestrained grief. Beyond the open windows, the gentle breeze carried the fragrance of late summer ; a season you would never live to witness.

Don’t get it twisted—the ‘being late’ part was the farthest from strange, especially during comeback season. If he had come home any time before 10 PM, you’d be worried that Soonyoung had passed out and practice had to end early—because frankly, that’s the only inconvenience that could force that man to rest. It was admirable, how dedicated and passionate he was to his craft, though he could get quite antsy and irritated at times when things weren’t to his satisfaction.

The part that has you scratching your head was that around an hour ago, you had texted Seokmin.

seokminnie 🥹

(11:31PM) YOU: seokmin 😚😚

(11:31PM) YOU: when does today’s practice finish?

(11:37PM) SEOKMIN: practice just finished, noona~ ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝

The HYBE building was a mere five minute walk from your shared apartment. Unless he somehow lost a leg along the way, you highly doubt it takes Jeonghan an hour to walk short three blocks.

You throw a pitiful glance at the bowl of spicy noodles that stood lonesome on the marble kitchen island, already having gone cold long ago. A small sigh of disappointment leaves your lips as you decide you would just reheat it when he gets home. Again.

Clicking your phone shut, you let it fall beside you onto the velvet cushion with a muted thud and put your hands in your lap. You try your hardest to stay awake, but sleep triumphs over your willpower as you allow your eyelids to slowly flutter shut, succumbing to today’s built-up exhaustion.

Maybe, when you woke up, you'd be in the bed, rather than on the couch. The only sound you'd hear would be the distant singing of birds, and the tranquil inhales and exhales that came from the one next to you.

Instead, it’s the familiar melody of beeps that played from the front door’s keypad that wakes you from your light rest.

You lift your head at the disturbance, blinking your eyes a few times to rid them of their initial blurriness and adjust to the soft white lights of the apartment. Slowly, they focus in on the figure who trudged through the door, and closed it behind him with a soft click. 

Your lips upturn into a small smile, though it falters when you notice the pure exhaustion that took over his typically angelic face. You see the way his shoulders were hunched, stiff, tense. The way strands of his platinum blond hair stuck to the sheen of sweat on his forehead.

He takes off his puffer jacket, hanging it up on the wooden coatrack before padding across the floor softly, trying his best not to make any noise. He halts as the two of you make eye contact.

“y/n,” he croaks out in a tired voice, “why are you up so late? You should be asleep.”

You don’t fail to catch the faint hints of annoyance and irritation that lace Jeonghan’s tone. It confuses you.

Though, you respond calmly. “I was just… waiting for you to get back.”

Secretly, Jeonghan rolls his eyes, thinking you wouldn’t notice. 

You do notice.

A thick silence falls heavy over the room, creating an uncomfortable atmosphere—one that never usually exists between you and Jeonghan. Your eyes narrow at his attitude, though they never leave him, despite the fact that he was looking everywhere else—the hardwood floor, the kitchen, the grey walls—anywhere but you.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Jeonghan eventually murmurs, hands finding their way onto his waist.

You lean your head into your palm, “I’m sorry?”

“Stay up and wait for me.”

“Well, I wanted to.”

“Well, I’m telling you next time, don’t.” he suddenly snaps, raising his voice slightly. He finally moves from his spot, walking towards the bedroom, not sparing a glance at you.

Your eyes widen at the way he mocked you, hurt flashing through them. Hastily, you push yourself up from the couch and follow behind him. Though you feel an unfamiliar sense of fear, you continue to ask him questions. “Jeonghan- why are you back so late? Seokmin said practice ended an hour ago.”

“Got caught up. Soonyoung’s been moody,” he answers bluntly, before disappearing into the bathroom. Your head tilts in confusion at his answer—it made no sense. 

Why is he like this? Did I provoke him? you think to yourself as you slowly climb into the bed. Your brain clouds with possibilities as to why Jeonghan was so ticked, but you couldn’t think of a plausible explanation. A small groan leaves your lips as you drag your hands across your face, battling exhaustion. 

Nonetheless, you continue to wait for him to come out. Maybe then, you’d get a bit of reasoning for his poor mood.

The bathroom door slides open and Jeonghan steps out. You look at him expectantly, but he still doesn’t meet your gaze. He simply slips under the covers on his side of the bed without even acknowledging you. Your eyes trail as he did so, eventually landing on his back. 

It causes a shiver to run down your spine, and a deep frown to tug at the corner of your lips. Jeonghan had never faced his back to you. 

This is new. And cold. And distant.

“How… how was work today?” You quietly speak, daring to break the silence. 

“Good,” he murmurs back, voice muffled from the duvet. He still didn’t face you.

“Jeonghan, can you please look at me? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, y/n. I’m just tired.”

You purse your lips, pausing for a moment, seriously debating whether to say your next words— 

“Jeonghan, you know it’s not good to pent up your emotions-”

—atrocious mistake.

“God, y/n!” Jeonghan suddenly roars, throwing the duvet off his torso. You were startled by his sudden outburst, shutting your eyes instinctively. When you open them, you see that he had turned so he was now lying on his back. Staring straight at you.

It was the first time you saw his eyes that night. Earlier, you longed for him to look at you just once. 

Now, you no longer wish you had ever met Yoon Jeonghan’s gaze. 

What you saw frightened you.

His eyes, his big, round eyes—the ones that have always been a rich, saccharine, chocolate brown; that held golden specks and canopies of stars in them whenever he looked at you—were hooded. Hooded with lightning, with terror, with scorn.

“y/n, I’ve had a fucking awful day. I’d love to be able to get some sleep—but guess what? You’re making it fucking difficult,” he spat coldly.

You feel your chest ache, you could’ve never believed Jeonghan was capable of speaking such words to you—

“Jeonghan-”

“Could you please, just this once, shut up? I can’t deal with everything going on and deal with your bullshit. You just, don’t do anything other than stress me out. You're useless.”

—and he just keeps going, you feel yourself shrinking by the second—

“Can you please calm down-”

“Fucking hell, next time I’m staying at the dorms. I can’t deal with your stupid nagging. Who am I dating- my mom?”

—he just keeps fanning the flames—

“But-”

“GOD, JUST SHUT UP! I FUCKING HATE YOU!”

—until they couldn’t grow any bigger.

BOOM.

The sky is angry. Jeonghan is angry. Fuck, why is everyone so angry?

Your brain hasn’t even processed the venom that dripped off of Jeonghan’s tongue—but your heart has. 

You feel like you had been kicked in the stomach. A familiar stinging sensation in your nose makes itself painfully known. It’s almost poetic how as heavy rain begins to pelt against the apartment’s window panes, scalding, hot tears begin to stream down your face.

You swing your legs over your edge of the bed, not daring to face him again. The tears, they don’t stop flowing no matter how much you wipe at them with the pads of your fingers—they just keep coming, racing to drip down your chin in humiliation. A sharp inhale comes from you, the sound piercing the air, causing you to slap a hand over your mouth in a pathetic attempt to prevent any more from coming out. You rashly card a hand through your hair, trying to regulate your heaving.

Your head is spinning. The rain doesn’t ease—the sounds of the storm roaring in your ears. Your back is faced to him, eyes shut so tightly you could see splashes of colours and pixels. It’s too loud for you to hear the gasp that leaves Jeonghan’s lips, nor could you see the way his face morphs from exasperation to shock. 

Jeonghan is mortified. 

He doesn’t know where all of that came from. All he knows is that he had lashed it all out on you, that he didn’t mean it, and that you didn’t deserve any of it. He let every single built-up anxiety and frustration out in brutal, crashing waves, onto the one person who deserved it the least.

He’s a monster.

“y/n-” he rasps, reaching out to touch your waist.

You stand up as soon as you feel his fingers brush against you, flinching away from his touch. His sudden change in demeanor startled you, leaving you sensitive and distrustful.

The entire city could hear Jeonghan’s heart drop and shatter into a million pieces.

“Oh my god, y/n-” his eyes well up with his own tears. “-please, don’t be afraid. Fuck, please, please, don’t be afraid,” he whispers, desperation so agonizingly evident in his voice. 

After a few moments of heart-wrenching silence, you exhale slowly and finally turn around to look at Jeonghan. A ghost of a smile creeps at your lips as you look at him. His long, soft, wispy eyelashes. His pale, glowy skin. His heart-shaped lips. They all framed his face perfectly.

Even while crying, he was pretty.

But, your pained eyes tell him how you really feel.

“Wait, y/n-”

“I’m sorry for disturbing you, Jeonghan.”

“No, angel, please-”

Without another word, you walk out of the bedroom and close the door, leaving him in the room alone. Jeonghan put his head in his hands, dragging them down his face harshly.

You’re so fucking stupid, you’re so fucking stupid, you’re so fucking stupid- how are you going to make this up to her-

Click.

Jolting up at the sound, Jeonghan nervously looks towards the closed bedroom door. Is she not just in the living ro-

SLAM.

“Oh my god.” he whispers. 

Jeonghan hurriedly pushes himself out of bed, his breathing becoming rushed and panicked, his vision growing cloudy. There’s a knot in his throat, making him suffocate on the repulsiveness of his own actions.

He runs out of the room, stumbling into the living room. There’s no sign of you—just an empty, lifeless apartment.

He finally notices the untouched bowl of food on the kitchen counter. It stood there, staring at him in shame. A weak wince escapes him at the thought of you cooking it for him.

The whole apartment was screaming at him. You hurt her.

Jeonghan can feel his lip start to quiver, his heartbeat ringing in his ears. An angry clap of lightning resounded around him—vibrating through each limb and fiber of his being, stripping away at every little fragment of composure he had left, until it all came crashing down.

He doesn’t have a single coherent thought other than she left. 

She’s gone.

mieun 🤬

(1:06AM) YOU: mieun

(1:06AM) YOU: can i come over?

(1:07AM) MIEUN: this late?

(1:07AM) YOU: yeah

(1:07AM) MIEUN: ofc you can

(1:07AM) MIEUN: just letting you know soonyoung’s staying the night

(1:08AM) YOU: oh please he’s seen me slip and trip infront of the whole cafeteria, he can deal with me crying

(1:08AM) YOU: just don’t eat each others faces infront of me

(1:08AM) MIEUN: YOU’RE CRYING?

(1:08AM) MIEUN: WHICH FATHERLESS INCEL DO I HAVE TO PUNT ACROSS THE UNIVERSE ?????

It only takes two knocks for the wooden door to swing open and reveal your best friend, who was clad in silk pajamas and had a face painted with worry; an expression very different from her typical bold, fiery and lively personality.

“y/n!” Mieun cries, opening her arms. You fall into them, securing your own arms around her waist and giving her a warm, tight hug. 

The two of you separate after a moment, the brunette ushering you inside of her apartment. A few things had changed since you’d last been over, you notice—a new painting had been hung up in the foyer, the TV was about twice the size of the old one, and a distinctively larger pair of black Balenciaga shoes stood among the row of pastel sneakers and heels.

The scent of ramen wafts around the entire home, making you go “ah” at the delicious, savoury smell.

“Late night date at home?” You ask, bending down to take off your shoes.

“Pfft, Soonyoung heard you were crying and ran into the kitchen to make the only thing he’s actually capable of making,” she jokingly rolls her eyes.

“y/n?” 

You look towards the direction of the voice, meeting the eyes of Soonyoung, who had popped his head of jet black hair out of the kitchen to greet you. A big smile immediately breaks out on his face.

“Hi, Soonyoung,” you greet back, offering a small wave.

Mieun tugs at your sleeve. “He should be done with the food soon. Go sit on the couch, and get comfortable because you-” she says, tapping your cheek, “-are going to tell us what happened.” You laugh, nodding your head.

After putting away your shoes and umbrella, you make your way over to the big leather couch in the middle of the living room. A half-finished Netflix movie plays quietly on the TV screen. A slight pang of guilt hits you—you must’ve interrupted their alone time.

“Food’s done!” Soonyoung yells, emerging from the kitchen with a metal pot and three Coke Zeroes in his hands, a trail of steam following him as he enters the living room. You give a small clap, eyes lighting up at the sight of the food. Soonyoung leans down, placing a hot mat before gently setting the pot down onto the coffee table. Mieun, who had been following behind her boyfriend, sets down bowls and chopsticks. Eventually, the three of you settle down. You and Mieun sit on the couch, while Soonyoung sits on the carpet, facing you two.

“So,” Mieun begins, cracking open her drink. “care to explain- Soonyoung, where do you keep getting these fucking Cokes? There’s a goddamn crate in my kitchen,” she suddenly exclaims, staring at the can in her hand. You snort, clasping a hand over your mouth while you try not to choke.

“Jihoon’s studio is like a fucking warehouse,” he mutters. “I’m saving my friend from literal heart disease.” 

Mieun pauses for a moment, before shrugging and taking a sip. “So, y/n. Care to explain why you showed up to my apartment at-” she pauses, checking her phone, “1:29 AM?”

You nod your head while chewing, wiping your mouth before you begin—

—but nothing comes out.

Jeonghan.

God, you almost forgot what he said. His words echo through your ears.

Was he asleep now?

Did he just go to sleep, without a bother in the world?

“y/n?”

You snap out of your daze, looking around aimlessly. Mieun and Soonyoung were both staring at you with furrowed brows and concerned eyes. You notice that your arms had gone limp—the bowl of noodles and metal chopsticks that were close to your mouth before were now resting in your lap.

“Give me a name,” Mieun says through her teeth, a glower on her face and an evident clench in her jaw. Your eyes widen, quickly placing your hand on her arm to get her to relax.

“Yeah, who is it? I’ll make them eat my fist,” Soonyoung adds, anger flashing in his eyes.

You let out a sad laugh at his statement. “I doubt you’ll want to do that to Jeonghan, Soon.” 

An immediate blanket of silence falls over the room. Soonyoung’s rigid grip on his chopsticks grows loose, his expression immediately dropping. His lips part slightly in shock as realization strikes him.

On the contrary, Mieun seems to have gotten even angrier.

“Jeonghan?” She seethes. Slamming her bowl of noodles onto the coffee table, she stares into your eyes with pure fury. “The one who’s supposed to be in love with you? He hurt you?” 

“It… surprised me too..” you mumble, eyes downcast.

“Mieun, let her finish explaining,” Soonyoung says, leaning back onto his hands, an unreadable expression on his face.

The said girl scoffs, turning to scowl at her boyfriend. “Oh, so you’re suddenly going to defend him just because he’s your member? That’s real rich of yo-”

“Mieun,” Soonyoung warns sternly, eyes boring into her. 

Mieun falters, slowly backing down and leaning back against the couch. She crosses her arms infront of her chest and looks over at you, silently telling you to continue.

Watching the two of them solemnly, you shakily exhale.

“God, that fucking idiot!”

You wince at Mieun’s burst of outrage, handing her her beverage. “Drink,” you say quietly, “and calm down. I’m okay, really.”

You bring your hand up to your cheek, feeling cold, dried tear stains. You hadn’t noticed that you started crying again—but, you do feel a bit overwhelmed from retelling what Jeonghan had said to you, and how genuinely terrifying it all was.

“Oh, so I’m the moody one,” you hear Soonyoung mutter under his breath. You turn to stare at him, puzzled. “Sorry?”

“Jeonghan hyung’s been in a piss mood all day. He even snapped at the choreographer when he couldn’t pick up a move properly,” he scoffs. “If I was the one who was being a dick the whole day, we would still be in the practice room right now.”

You retreat in on yourself a little, head hanging low. 

God, he looked exhausted as soon as he walked through the door. I knew he was tired—why did I just badger him with questions and push him to talk? All it did was cause this situation-

“Hey, y/n- look at me.”

You slowly raise your head, meeting Soonyoung’s soft gaze. “Don’t blame yourself.” he begins, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. 

“It’s probably because of the comeback soon. Think about it—it’s been what, nine months? Since we’ve dropped an album. Our fans have been waiting for a long time, and trust me when I say the pressure has gotten to every single one of us. Plus, we’re promoting a lot in Japan this time of year, and he’s probably anxious because he’s got this, like, cult following there. I think he’s also got a few solo activities? He’s never really done those before…” he trails off, looking to the side in thought. “Anyways, my point is that there’s a lot of different things that factor into why he’s being an ass. Just know that they’re all out of your control.”

“Yeah,” you hear Mieun say, making you turn to face her. “While I don’t think any of those are an excuse for him to treat you like trash…” she murmurs, placing a hand on your shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “They’re all out of your control.”

You beam, eyes crinkling as your heart swells with sheer gratitude. You feel fresh tears pool at your waterlines, making you press your palms against your eyes. “God, you guys are just…so fucking cool. And such great friends,” you say, letting out a breathy laugh.

The two of them laugh loudly, Mieun handing you a tissue while rolling her eyes playfully. “Yeah, you big baby. We know. And also, you’re a much better person than I am. If Soonyoung said he hated me, I would’ve castrated him by now,” she says, making you shake with laughter as you wipe at your nose and mouth.

Soonyoung feigns offense, scoffing, “As if. They mean too much to you.”

“Oh, fucking gross!” You groan, covering your face in disgust. Soonyoung only snickers, throwing his shocked girlfriend a teasing wink.

“Anyways,” the girl shivers before turning to face you again. “since you will be staying the night, aka I’m not letting you go back to him, I’ll go get you a pair of clothes to change into. Soonyoung can sleep on the couch tonight-”

“Pardon?” 

“Did I stutter?”

“Mieun, don’t do that to him. I’m fine with the couch-” you get cut off by the girl vigorously shaking her head in objection.

“No, I won’t be having any of that. He’s not the one who just got absolute shit from his boyfriend,” she replies firmly, her gaze fierce with protection.

Soonyoung whines loudly. “Babe, you literally have a guest bedroom-”

“That room has not been touched since Mingyu passed out drunk in there. It is dingy and cold and lonely. y/n does not deserve that.”

“So you’re going to make your boyfriend sleep on the couch-”

“Oh, please. Like you’ve never slept there before. Anyways, there’s a spare toothbrush in the bathroom drawer, a spare towel on the counter rack, and-”

DING-DONG.

The sound of the doorbell resonates throughout the whole apartment, bouncing off each wall. It causes all of you to freeze.

“... and apparently a spare murderer too,” Mieun murmurs, slowly setting down her drink. She stands up from her spot on the couch, flattening out the wrinkles in her clothes before eyeing the front door.

“Babe, sit down.” Soonyoung mutters, also standing up and staring towards the foyer with watchful eyes. 

“You sit down. It’s probably just my delivery package-”

“No.” Soonyoung doesn’t waver, grabbing his girlfriend by the arm and softly pushing her down back into her spot. “It’s too dangerous, Mieun. I’ll go.” he says protectively, letting go of his grip on her and making his way towards the door. 

The girl stares at him defiantly for a moment, before letting out a sigh, her whole body visibly untensing. “Okay,” she whispers meekly, closing her eyes.

You had been biting at the inside of your cheek, staring between the two nervously. Reaching out for Mieun’s suddenly deflated figure, you wrap an arm around her, letting her rest her head on your shoulder.

“Tired?” you ask, eyes scanning over your friend. Feeling her nod her head against the fabric of your sweater, you can’t help but let out a sigh. “Me too.” you mumble in agreement.

Two silent breaths later, you speak again. “Sorry for crashing your date, by the way.” you mutter apologetically. 

The girl on your shoulder shakes her head firmly. “Don’t apologize. I get way more opportunities to love Soonyoung than I get to help you when you’re hurt,” she says earnestly. Her words make you feel endlessly warm, your eyes glistening as an appreciative smile graces your lips. 

Mieun sighs contentedly. “Speaking of Soonyoung- what’s taking him so long?”

What was taking Soonyoung so long to get a delivery package?

You twist your head over the back of the couch, trying your best to peek around the corner of the wall that obscured your vision. It was obvious that he was talking, a conversation very apparently happening; but, they were too far away to be anything clearer than static, stifled voices. You figure Mieun bought something high-value that required a signature.

Finally, Soonyoung’s voice becomes more coherent, allowing you to catch a little of what he was sayi-

“Listen, hyung. I don’t think you should be here right now.”

The other voice had gotten louder too-

“Please, Soonyoung-”

The air around you suddenly feels like it had dropped several degrees. You feel it again—every unstable emotion that you had managed to suppress since you left your apartment was getting thrown back into the equation like they were never even gone. He was here, at two in the morning, you didn’t know if he was here because he cared, but he didn’t just go to sleep—

“Please, I just need to see her once, I need to hear her voice, know she’s safe-”

—and he sounds just as broken as you are.

You feel Mieun bolt up out of your grasp, causing you to wince as you desperately try to bring her down again. But, she’s too fast; her whole body rattling as hot, white fury possesses her being. You watch her round the corner and disappear. A small, delicate moment of peace passes before a fuming shout penetrated the air.

“YOU HAVE A LOT OF FUCKING NERVE TO SHOW UP HERE!”

At this point, the floodgates had opened and there was no shutting them; you were in no different position than you were an hour ago, when Jeonghan took your fragile heart and smashed it against a brick wall. The sound of your friends yelling, the sound of his pleading voice—it was overwhelming your senses and thoughts.

Through your blurred vision, you see a tall figure round the corner again. “y/n?”

You take in a sharp inhale. “S-soonyoung?”

“Yeah. It’s just me, y/n. Hey, breathe.” Soonyoung shushes, slowly sitting down next you on the couch. 

He picks a tissue from the tissue box, bringing it up to your face and gently wiping away the teardrops that glided down your face. Mieun’s voice (you notice a lack of variety among the voices—Mieun is presumably still berating Jeonghan, not letting him get a single sentence in.) has grown much more hushed.

“Please get Mieun to stop yelling at Jeonghan,” you whisper, shutting your eyes tightly and putting your head into your hands. You feel Soonyoung wrap a comforting arm around your small, shaking frame. “I will. She just needs to get it all out of her system…” he mumbles, trailing off.

After several deep breaths and aggressive eye-rubbing, you finally rise from your hunched position. You were going to resolve whatever happened tonight, right here, right now. 

“I'm going to talk to him.” your tone is scratchy and meek, but still firm.

Soonyoung nods, gently helping you up. His arm remains around your shoulders as the two of you walk to the foyer.

Rounding the corner, you take a deep breath. A taller, familiar head of platinum blonde hair peaks out over your friend’s head. When he doesn’t notice you at a distance behind her, you find yourself peeling away from Soonyoung, mindlessly taking steps closer.

“I’ll leave, I swear. Can you please just give her this? And promise me she’ll be safe?”

Mieun snatches the thing out of Jeonghan’s grip, glowering up at him. “She’s perfectly fine here. Now leave,” she snaps, reaching for the doorknob, ready to slam it in his face.

“Wait.”

Your friend spins around, expression morphing from annoyance to surprise. Jeonghan’s gaze lifts from the girl in front of him, realizing you were standing there.

Jeonghan can feel himself grow dizzy—his body tensing, his pulse in his ears and fingertips. You were here, you were safe, were you going to tell him to leave? Or—

Mieun’s furrows her eyebrows. “y/n, I don’t think-”

“Mieun, come here.” The girl whips her head towards Soonyoung, who softly ushered her to step away from the door. She pauses for a moment, before handing back the thing to Jeonghan and throwing him one last grimace. Soonyoung grabs onto her arm, pulling her into his hold.

Now, you’re face to face with Jeonghan.

The first thing you notice is that he’s wet. His hair is damp and tousled, and he’s slightly shivering. His clothes are a shade darker than they normally were, and they stuck to his body like glue. Your eyes dart around his face, drinking him in. His eyes are bloodshot red, and his lips look like they’ve been chewed at. 

“Did you run in the rain?” you ask, frowning.

Jeonghan’s breath hitches, your quiet, weak voice sounding suddenly so loud to him. “I… I couldn’t just let you leave like that,” he says nervously, eyes staying trained on your expression for even the most minor change.

A silence falls between the two of you. Jeonghan didn’t want to scare you again, instead opting to just take a step backward and offering what he had brought.

“I-I brought you this…” he mutters.

Your gaze finally breaks away from his face, looking down. He held out a small bouquet of crimson red roses, wrapped in silk pink paper and tied with a small, messy ribbon. The petals were slightly crimped and the paper had torn in some areas, but they were still beautiful.

Just when we first started going out. A delicate smile blossoms on your face at the sweet gesture. You gently take it from him, turning it around in your hands before looking back up at him. "Thank you. Where did you get these from?"

"I-I ran- I ran to the convenience store. Sorry, they're a bit ruined."

You shake your head, eyes softening. "No, no. They're amazing."

Your smile tugs down into a frown as you notice the way he had taken another step backward, and his head hung low. His eyes are closed, lips tightly pursed together.

“Jeonghan…” you whisper, but he still doesn’t move, only screwing his eyes shut harder.

He only moves when he feels a gentle tug on his sleeve, letting himself be pulled forward until he limply fell into your embrace.

Above all the hurt and fear you felt, you were understanding. It wouldn't have been possible to make it this far in a relationship with a celebrity if you weren't.

You let him fall into your arms because you can tell he didn't mean it.

Your arms wrap around his torso instinctively, connecting around his back. After a small moment of hesitation, he wraps his own arms around your shoulders, his grip growing tighter the more time passed.

Even though his clothes were damp, even though he was shivering—an immediate warmth engulfed you as soon as you pulled him into your arms. Jeonghan is warm—he is comfort, he is home.

Your heart cracks as he buries himself into your shoulder and the fabric of your sweater immediately grows wet. The sound of sharp, uncontrollable intakes of breath leaves him, making you sigh and bring a hand up to gently card through the locks of his hair. 

Feeling a small pull at your sleeve, turning your head around slightly to see Mieun stepping forward, taking the bouquet of flowers from your hands. You give her a small nod, handing it to her before focusing your attention back on Jeonghan. 

“I’m not leaving, Han.”

The sound of your voice makes him sob harder. He hugs you impossibly closer, like if he were to loosen his grip, you’d vanish. The feeling of him pressing you against his body makes you purse your own lips together and squeeze your eyes shut.

“I’m not leaving. You’re okay, we’re okay.”

Slowly, you pull away, keeping a hand on him to reassure him. You rub his arm soothingly, urging him to look at you.

Jeonghan huffs, looking at you miserably before words began tumbling out of his mouth. “God, y/n. y/n, I’m so fucking sorry, I can’t even-” he can’t even finish his sentence before another shaky sob falls from his lips. “I’m such a fucking asshole. You’re so good to me and all I do is treat you like shit-”

“Jeonghan, Jeonghan.” you frantically say, cutting him off. “That is not all you do. Don’t say that about yourself, it’s not true.”

“y/n, no. I fucking- screamed at you- for what? For staying up and waiting for me to come home? For asking about my day and being concerned about me? You even made me food, for crying out loud- and all I do is treat you terribly. Say ugly things when you only deserve to hear nice ones. Make you feel- make you feel like you’re a bother to me. But you’re not, fuck, you could never be.” His voice breaks at the end, echoing around you.

“So, you don’t hate me?”

Jeonghan crumbles, his old words biting at him like a venomous snake. All he does is clench his fists harder.

“Angel,” he breathes out, looking up at the ceiling in an attempt to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. 

After recollecting himself, he looks down at you again. “Of course I don’t hate you. Fuck, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I hated someone as sweet, caring, and incredible as you. I know- I know I treat you like you’re unimportant to me, but you need to believe me when I say that you’re the most important thing to me. You are me. You make me, me.”

Jeonghan notices a single tear that glided down your face. He shoots his hand up instinctively, about to wipe it away, but he stops himself at the last second and lets it fall to his side. You see the action and feel your heart lurch at his hesitance. 

He’s scared to touch you.

Gently reaching for his hand, you bring it up and settle it on your cheek. You lean into his touch, closing your eyes.

“But, I scared you...”

You shake your head vigorously. “You’re the one person I could never be scared of. You make me feel safe, loved.”

Slowly, you let go, and his hand stays there, cupping your face. His thumb delicately brushes the skin underneath your eyes, wiping away the tears that fell.

“I made you cry. How could I make you cry, angel? How could I do such a thing?” he whispers, lip quivering.

“I’m okay, Jeonghan. We all have our off days, and while what you said did hurt me, I’m okay. I forgive you,” you respond. “But, if you’re feeling upset, you should talk to someone about it. The boys are here for you. I’m here for you.”

Jeonghan melts, staring at you momentarily before gently tugging you back into his embrace.

“You’re- you’re so good to me…” he says with a sniffle, carding his fingers through your hair.

“I’m good to you because you’re good, Han. You’re good, and you shouldn’t believe otherwise,” you say genuinely, rocking him back and forth.

A brief moment of peace passes before a small mumble leaves Jeonghan’s lips.

“Please come home.” 

It’s so quiet that you can barely hear him—but you do, and you nod, even though you were already home.

Home is wherever Jeonghan was.