Human psychology is deeply rooted in a survival mechanism that instinctively reacts with fear toward the unknown.

This fear, often manifesting as hostility, arises when individuals encounter phenomena that defy their understanding. When faced with the unfamiliar—particularly that which cannot be categorized within existing frameworks—the response is often defensive aggression. The unfamiliar is perceived as a threat, and in the absence of comprehension, elimination becomes the perceived solution.

Approximately seven years ago, Earth began experiencing a biological incursion in the form of a parasitic organism of unknown origin. This entity operates by infecting human hosts, initiating a fatal transformation process. The host is systematically destroyed at a cellular and cognitive level, as the parasite integrates with and ultimately overrides the nervous system and bodily structure.

Upon successful assimilation, the parasite reconstitutes the human form into a highly adaptive biomechanical entity capable of extreme morphogenesis. These entities exhibit advanced shapeshifting capabilities, able to reconfigure their structure into a variety of forms and tools, limited only by mass and matter conservation principles.

Neurologically, the parasite erases the host's personality and emotional spectrum, replacing it with a singular directive: to propagate through predation and infiltration. These organisms display a rudimentary form of consciousness, retaining fragments of the host's memories for navigational or social camouflage but are devoid of empathy or emotional regulation. Their cognitive processes are entirely geared toward strategic murder and survival.

Park Jongseong is different.

He adjusted his glasses, eyes fixed on the monitor displaying his own cellular data. Streams of biological activity lit up the screen—cells dividing, mutating, adapting. He was lucky to have access to advanced medical equipment. After all, he was a doctor.

Humans are naturally afraid of what they don't understand. It's part of how the brain reacts to threats—if something doesn't fit into what's familiar, the instinct is fear, often followed by violence. That's how humanity responds to the unknown: eliminate it.

Jongseong had become the unknown.

He didn't know what he was anymore. His thoughts still felt like his own. He still felt emotion, empathy, fear, curiosity. Yet something deep inside had changed. His body was no longer entirely human. Something else lived in his blood.

But with Jongseong, something went wrong—or maybe something went right.

The parasite had merged with him, not replaced him. His cells had changed, yes—they were stronger, more adaptive. He could feel the shift in his physiology: faster reflexes, enhanced senses, the strange ability to alter parts of his body at will. Yet his mind remained intact. His identity remained intact.

He was both parasite and human. A hybrid. An anomaly.

From a biological standpoint, it shouldn't be possible. The parasite is known to override the host completely—shutting down the brain, rewriting the nervous system, restructuring tissue on a molecular level. But in Park Jongseong's case, the process didn't go as expected. His consciousness remained. His emotions remained. He wasn't fully human anymore, but he wasn't fully parasite either.

And that made him dangerous—to both sides.

Creatures like him were being hunted by the government. Classified as biohazards. The official statement warned the public daily:

"Be careful around your friends, relatives, family—anyone could be infected. Parasites look just like us, until they kill."

Murder cases connected to parasitic activity filled the news. Victims were often found mutilated beyond recognition, their internal organs rearranged, their skin marked with unfamiliar growths. Fear spread faster than the infection itself. Jongseong watched the reports from his house, barely breathing. Every passing day made it harder to stay hidden.

If the government found him, they wouldn't ask questions. They'd dissect him alive—tear his mutated body apart in the name of research and national security.

"How do you identify a parasite?"

That was the question echoed by media and scientists. For humans, the method was crude but effective: parasites can't fully mimic human hair. A simple hair sample under a microscope reveals the truth—parasitic tissue lacks keratin structure, instead made of a flexible protein-carbon lattice designed to replicate appearance.

But parasites had their own way of detecting each other. A subtle biological signal—an acoustic resonance picked up only through the inner ear. Like a hidden frequency, only recognizable to those with the altered cochlear structure. Jongseong had experienced it more than once. He would walk past someone, hear that strange, low echo in his skull—and feel a sudden, icy stillness in his blood.

He wasn't alone. Parasites were organizing. At first, they were random killers. Now, they were moving in packs—coordinated, methodical. Adapting. Evolving. And so is he.

"That'll be 700 won," the cashier muttered, not bothering to meet his eyes.

Jongseong kept his head down, slipping the coins onto the counter. No conversation. No eye contact. He took the plastic bag with a silent nod, his fingers tightening around the thin handles before he turned and stepped back into the cold night.

Even with the parasite inside him, he still felt hunger—raw, physical. His body demanded energy like any other, though now his metabolism ran hotter, faster. He still craved food.

He still felt the ache of sadness, the longing to return to something normal. Something human.

But that life was gone.

The night air of Seoul stung against his skin, the cold seeping through his coat. He moved with the crowd, head low, blending in with the blur of footsteps, voices, and passing cars. Every sound echoed. The parasite had enhanced his senses, and sometimes the world was simply too loud.

Then he felt it, a low, familiar vibration in his inner ear—a biological resonance only detectable by parasite-modified auditory systems. His breath caught, and a pulse of instinctual fear ran through him. He looked around carefully, eyes scanning faces, shadows, movement. One of them was nearby.

His pace faltered. That's when he saw you.

You stood out—not because of your appearance, but because of what you did. In the middle of the crosswalk, your hand casually brushed your ear. A subtle motion, barely noticeable to anyone else, but to him it screamed recognition.

You were a parasite.

His brows drew together. Something was off. Parasites usually acted in groups—hunting together, assimilating their targets with military precision. If you were one of them, you should've engaged him.

But you didn't. You kept walking, fast and purposeful. Almost like... you were running away.

Jongseong stayed still for a moment, the bag of food hanging from his hand, forgotten. His heartbeat was heavy in his ears, half fear, and half curiosity. Why would a parasite avoid confrontation?

Jongseong moved. Not fast, not slow—just enough to stay behind you without drawing attention. He weaved through the crowd with quiet precision, his eyes fixed on the back of your coat. The city noise drowned under the low pulse still humming in his inner ear. It wasn't strong. Just enough to confirm you were still nearby. Still parasite.

The further you walked, the thinner the crowd became. The bright shops faded behind them, replaced by rusted gates, shuttered storefronts, and flickering neon signs. This was the forgotten edge of the city. The place people passed through quickly. The place no one paid attention to.

You turned down a narrow alley.

Jongseong hesitated at the entrance. The cold bit harder here, funneled between brick and concrete. His fingers curled, feeling the familiar tension in his muscles—his body silently preparing to shift if needed. Bone could become blade in less than a second now. But he held it back.

He stepped in. The alley stretched narrow, damp, littered with the scent of oil, metal, and old rain. Pipes hissed from the walls. Ahead, your footsteps had stopped. You were waiting.

When he turned the final corner, he found you standing in front of a rusted service door leading into a forgotten subway access station.

You didn't move. Neither did he.

"If you're looking for another kin," you snarled without turning, "then get the fuck out and leave me alone. I'm not one of them."

Your voice was sharp making Jongseong's body tensed instantly. The shift in your tone, the unnatural dilation of your pupils, set off every instinct in him. His hand inched slightly to the side, fingers twitching, ready to reconfigure.

Then it happened. Too fast to follow with human eyes.

Your right shoulder warped violently—tissue splitting and reshaping into something jagged, organic, and grotesque. It extended outward, not as a limb but as a weapon—wing-like in structure, but edged with hooked thorns.

You lunged, Jongseong barely reacted in time, his arm snapping up, skin splitting as a skin liked carapace laced with tendon grew along his forearm—absorbing the blow with a sickening crack of thorn against hardened flesh.

He staggered back, eyes narrowed, breathing sharp.

"You kept your mind," he growled, muscles tensed, his cells humming beneath his skin, ready to shift again. "But you're still dangerous."

Your shoulder pulsed with unnatural motion, the wing-like appendage twitching as it began to fold back. "I don't want to be part of your kin," you hissed, your voice jagged with fury. "Leave me the fuck alone. I am not a monster like you!"

Jongseong's eyes widened. He barely had time to respond before you surged forward. The air tore around you as your body shifted mid-motion—bone spiking from your forearm like a serrated blade. You slashed.

He ducked, sparks flying as your weapon scraped against the metal wall. He twisted, arm reforming into hardened muscle and armor-like plating, launching a counterstrike aimed at your ribs.

You blocked with an organic shield that burst from your side—scaled and ridged like insect chitin. The impact sent both of you skidding back across the damp concrete.

Your eyes met again. Rage. Confusion. Pain.

Jongseong lunged first this time, his limbs reshaping with practiced speed—flesh snapping, tendons stretching. A blade grew from his wrist like a fang of obsidian, and he swung it toward your shoulder.

You caught it, barehanded.

Your arm, now half-shifted and armored, trembled with force as it held his blade in place. But what caught him wasn't your strength—it was your face. You weren't snarling anymore. You were breathing hard. Your eyes... they were terrified.

Your reaction wasn't instinctual. It wasn't predatory. You had hesitated. Controlled your form. Redirected the attack instead of going for the kill. Just like him.

Jongseong pulled back, staggering a step. His breathing slowed. "You're... like me."

You stood still, chest rising and falling. The bone blade on your forearm quivered, then receded slowly, melting back beneath your skin.

"Don't say that," you whispered, voice cracking. "Don't compare me to you."

But the truth was there—in the way your limbs didn't shift fully, in the way your face still held emotion, conscience, even after a violent clash. You hadn't killed him when you had the chance. You chose not to.

"I'm a hybrid," Jongseong whispered, "I'm not a monster. I'm not human either. I assume you are too."

You didn't answer right away. Your eyes flicked toward the tunnel, where the distant clicking echoed like something crawling just beyond the light. Then, slowly, you turned back to him. Your jaw clenched, the muscles in your cheek twitching like you were holding something in.

"I'm a human." It sounded more like a plea than a statement. "I was—" you paused, blinking hard, "—I was a person. I had a name. A home. I worked a job. I went to cafés and hated Mondays. I had a cat."

Jongseong didn't move.

"I wasn't this," you went on, your voice rising. "I didn't ask for it. I woke up one day and everything was... different. My skin felt wrong. I couldn't stop hearing things. Smelling things. My body... it started moving on its own. Changing. Splitting open."

Your breathing quickened. "And now I can feel it, all the time. In my bones. In my mind. Whispering. Pulling that doesn't belong to me."

Your eyes met his—wide, wet, terrified. "I don't want to be what you are."

Jongseong lowered his gaze for a moment. He understood that look. He'd seen it in the mirror more than once.

"I didn't want this either," he said quietly. He took a slow, cautious step forward, then crouched to your level, his voice soft—human.

"I was a doctor," he said, almost with a tired smile. "Worked long shifts. Rarely slept. I used to stress-eat... corn, of all things. Still do. I don't know why. Guess the parasite didn't kill that part of me."

You blinked, confused by the strange confession. But it grounded you, if only for a moment.

"I think about who I used to be all the time," he continued. "That guy who thought medicine could fix anything. Who didn't believe in monsters—just diseases, mutations, pathology." He paused, watching your face. "Then I became the thing we used to study. And I realized something... I'm still here. Somewhere beneath all of this."

His fingers lightly tapped his chest.

Your gaze dropped, lashes trembling as you stared at the space between your knees, the damp concrete still stained from your earlier strike. You didn't say anything right away. Your breathing was shallow—measured, like you were trying not to fall apart.

"I used to love the rain," you said quietly, almost to yourself. "Now it just smells like metal and rust and... blood."

Jongseong didn't interrupt. He stayed crouched, steady, watching you.

"I haven't slept in two weeks. Not really. I keep waking up in the middle of the night with my hands turned into something else. Blades. Claws. Once, it was... wings." You gave a bitter laugh, dry and hollow. "I think they were wings. They tore the ceiling fan clean off."

"I keep thinking if I ignore it, if I just pretend hard enough, it'll go away. But it's always there. Under my skin. In my head."

Jongseong's voice came calm, anchored. "You're not imagining it. It's real. And it's not going away."

Your hands clenched into fists. "Then what's the point of fighting it?"

He didn't answer immediately. He sat down fully, folding his arms over his knees, not trying to lecture you but to just exist beside you.

"I fight it because I still remember what it felt like to make people better," he said. "Because I don't want to lose that part of me. Even if it's buried under everything else." He glanced at you. "Because maybe... if I keep holding onto it, I can be something in between. Not human, not parasite. Something new."

You shook your head. "That sounds like a lie people tell themselves to feel less afraid."

"Maybe it is," he admitted. "But it keeps me sane."

Another silence settled in. Then, a small voice escaped you—quiet, brittle. "I used to sing. Just... badly. In the car. In the shower. Everywhere. And now when I try, nothing comes out. Like my voice doesn't belong to me anymore."

Jongseong looked at you. "That part's still there. Buried, but not gone."

You blinked rapidly, jaw tightening. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you carried a strange weight—grief, recognition, something neither of you could name but both felt. The bond of shared monstrosity. Of shared humanity refusing to die.

Then, softly, Jongseong added, "We don't have to be monsters, even if that's what we've become. We get to choose."

You were quiet for a moment, staring down at the cracks in the pavement. Your voice came small, almost like you were afraid the answer would make it more real.

"How long have you been... like this?"

Jongseong's gaze drifted for a second, remembering. "Two and a half years," he said quietly.

You looked up at him, your voice trembling. "Two months. That's how long it's been for me."

He nodded, listening.

"I ran away from home when I realized what was happening to me," you continued. "I couldn't stay. I didn't want to hurt anyone. I couldn't even trust myself." You exhaled shakily, brushing your palm across your face as if trying to wipe the memory away.

"I ran into a parasite once," you said. "Fully changed. No humanity left. Said he'd been like that for two years."

"What did he do?" Jongseong asked, already suspecting the answer.

"When he felt that I wasn't like him... he didn't speak. He just attacked. Like I was an error. A mutation. Something that needed to be erased."

Jongseong's jaw tightened. "You barely survived."

You nodded. "He tore my side open. I didn't even realize I could heal until after." The memory made you shudder.

"I thought maybe I could hide. Blend in. Pretend I was still normal. But that encounter changed everything. I knew then... there was no going back."

Jongseong looked at you, really looked, and said gently, "You've made it this far on your own. That counts for something."

You laughed bitterly. "Does it?"

"It does," he said. "Because most wouldn't have."

"The parasite in us... it doesn't understand mercy. Or hesitation. The fact that you've held on this long, that you chose not to give in—that means you're still you."

Your eyes flicked to him, unsure. "And if I stop choosing?"

"Then I'll stop you," he said, not as a threat, but as a promise. You blinked, searching his face for cruelty and finding only empathy.

It was strange, in a quiet way—comforting—to be near someone like you. Someone who understood. That's how you would describe it. A sense of relief wrapped in unease. You were still hiding, but not really. Not anymore.

You learned his name is Park Jongseong. He told you in passing, but you held onto it. Jongseong, meaning "collecting stars." It made you smile softly, secretly. How fitting, you thought, for someone piecing himself back together from fragments of something once human.

He gestured toward a small kit laid out between you. "Try to relax. I'm going to insert a needle—just a quick sample," he said, already prepping the syringe.

You stared at him, arching a brow, half laughing. "You know I merged my body with blades, right? A needle isn't exactly nightmare fuel, Dr. Park Jongseong."

He let out a quiet breath of amusement, the corner of his mouth lifting into a subtle, reluctant smile. It was the first expression that looked genuinely human since you'd met him. Still, he moved with the calm, clinical precision of someone who'd done this thousands of times. His hands didn't shake, and his voice stayed even.

You extended your arm, the skin unusually smooth where it had once morphed—no visible scars.

He carefully inserted the needle into your arm. The sensation was oddly muted—your pain receptors dulled, altered by the parasite. Your blood didn't flow quite like before; it was slightly denser and darker.

"This should be enough," Jongseong murmured, capping the vial. "I'll isolate the DNA structure, run it against my own. I want to see how your immune system adapted. If your T-cells underwent the same mutations."

You looked at him curiously. "You think we mutated differently?"

"I think we merged differently," he said, eyes flicking to his portable scanner. "The parasite doesn't always follow the same pattern. In most hosts, it hijacks the immune system completely—overrides all genetic repair functions, takes full control. But in us..."

"It coexists," you said softly, finishing his thought.

He nodded. "Exactly. It integrates rather than eliminates. Your T-cells should be producing chimeric proteins—part human, part parasite. Like mine."

You tilted your head, intrigued despite yourself. "You ever seen that happen before?"

He shook his head. "No. Just us."

You both sat in silence for a moment, the quiet hum of his scanner whirring softly as it began processing. Data streamed across the small screen, lines of genetic code scrolling faster than most could read.

"It's weird," you said. "I hated this thing inside me. Still do. But sitting here... I feel like I'm finally studying it. Like it's not just happening to me anymore. I'm taking it back."

Jongseong looked up from the scanner. "Exactly. That's what I've been doing for two years. Trying to understand it."

You watched him work. There was a quiet intensity to the way he moved, so focused, almost surgical. His fingers danced over the scanner's interface, eyes tracking streams of data with an ease. But your gaze wasn't on the screen.

You studied him. His nose was too pointed, almost sculpted. His jaw, sharp like it had been carved with purpose. The light caught on the angles of his face, shadows tracing across his skin like ink. His raven-black hair fell slightly over his brow, just messy enough to look deliberate, and yet... it suited him perfectly.

And his eyes, sharp, eagle-like. At first glance, they looked cold. Angry, even. The kind of gaze that could cut. But as you kept watching, you saw through it. There was no rage behind them. Only exhaustion and softness.

"I can feel you staring," he said suddenly, not looking up from the scanner.

You blinked, caught off guard. "You have a strangely symmetrical face."

He smirked faintly, still focused on the readout. "Years of stress must have evened me out."

"I think you're too pretty to be a walking biohazard," you added dryly.

That made him glance at you, a flicker of amusement breaking through the wall of control. "That's not usually the first thing people say when they see me split my arm open."

You tilted your head. "It's the second thing."

He huffed a quiet laugh. Just for a moment, you saw it—the man beneath the monster. The one who used to save lives, who still wanted to, even if he didn't say it aloud.

"I used to keep my reflection covered," you admitted, your voice softening. "Couldn't look at my own eyes. I was afraid one day they'd stop looking like mine."

He didn't respond right away. Just stared down at the glowing genetic map on the screen, jaw tight. Then he said, "Your eyes still look human to me."

Your cheeks flushed, the blood rising unbidden. A strange irony, considering how much your blood had changed, but it felt too human. 

After the blood draw, he insisted on running a full assessment—"purely diagnostic," he said, slipping back into the old habits of a physician. His voice turned more analytical. But his touch remained cautious, and gentle.

You sat on the metal examination table, legs swinging slightly, eyes drifting over the cluttered shelves and half-finished notes pinned across the wall. He moved in the background, scanning a new set of neural data. But your attention wasn't on the screen.

"Do you feel lonely in here?" you asked softly, not looking at him.

He didn't answer immediately. Just continued working for a few seconds, then said, "I don't notice anymore."

You didn't believe him. You don't think he did either.

After another minute passed, your voice returned, gentler. "What happened? When you first realized you were like this? Did you just... stop being a doctor?"

Jongseong paused, then turned slightly, leaning back against the counter. The light from the scanner flickered behind him, "I was attacked by a gang," he said flatly. "Back alley. They thought I had money. I lost count after the twentieth cut."

You stared at him, stunned.

"I had thirty-five knife wounds across my torso, chest, and abdomen," he continued, "deep lacerations. Organ damage. Multiple perforations. I was dying. I think... I was dead."

You swallowed hard, eyes fixed on him.

"I assume the parasite entered my body when I hit the threshold," he said. "Critical condition. Immune system collapsed. Internal bleeding. It's my theory that the parasite thrives more when the host is on the edge—when the system is weak enough to take, but not too far gone to recover."

His gaze lowered to your arm where the sample had been drawn. "My theory is... I wasn't strong enough to resist it. That's why I didn't die like the others. The parasite didn't need to fight me. It just filled in what was already broken." 

"So, you think it chose you because you were weak?"

He met your eyes again. "I think it needed someone weak. It needed space to grow."

A pause. His voice softened. "But maybe... maybe that's also why we didn't become them. Because we didn't fight it like a war. We... merged."

You shifted slightly, the sterile metal of the table cold under your fingertips. "You think that's why I'm still here, too?"

Jongseong nodded. "Your neural scans still show strong activity in the amygdala, the hippocampus. Emotional processing, memory retention. That's rare in infected hosts. Most show degeneration within a week of full takeover."

"And mine?"

He turned the screen slightly to show you. "Yours are still human. Intact. Maybe even more responsive than average."

You blinked. "So I'm... emotionally stronger?"

He gave a faint, crooked smile. "Or just more stubborn."

You laughed under your breath, soft eyes lingering on him, the curve of your smile not wide, but real. For a moment, Jongseong couldn't look away.

There was something in your expression that unsettled him more than any mutation, more than any parasite or hybrid anomaly. It was the trace of comfort. The ghost of peace in a body that shouldn't have had room for it.

On another day, beneath the soft whir of outdated HVAC vents and the mechanical rhythm of genetic sequencing equipment, your voice stirred.

"What happens to the parasite inside us?" you asked. "Where does it go?"

He didn't answer at first. Jongseong stood across the room, bare-chested, his skin partially illuminated by the sterile blue glow of the diagnostic interface. He was facing a mirror bolted to the wall—cracked slightly near the corner, the silver peeling at the edges. He hadn't looked into it for a long time. Not really.

But today, he was watching himself. And in the reflection, he saw you, standing behind him, the question still hovering in the air. He held your gaze for a second through the mirror, then turned back to his own reflection.

"I don't know," he said eventually. His voice was calm, but not detached. He was thinking—hard. "At least, in my case, I don't feel anything inside anymore. Not like those early days, when it felt like something was pushing... crawling beneath my skin. That pressure's gone."

He paused, lifting his hand, flexing his fingers slowly—watching the tendons shift under his skin.

"It's like... I consumed it," he said quietly. "Or maybe my body did. My cells stopped resisting. Stopped treating it as foreign. They absorbed it."

"You think your immune system... adapted?"

"Yes," he said, nodding faintly. "I've run thousands of blood scans. The parasite's original RNA is still there, but it's no longer dominant. It's dormant. Integrated. Like mitochondria."

You raised your brow. "You're saying it's symbiotic."

"More than that," he replied. "It's part of my physiology. My T-cells don't fight it. They use it. They've evolved—specialized to incorporate its functions. Shape-shifting, cellular regeneration, neural acceleration. My body didn't reject the parasite."

The parasite didn't dominate him. It became part of him.

You exhaled slowly, your voice soft, almost like you were speaking to yourself. "You're still human, after all..."

He didn't respond, his gaze lingered on you.

You looked down at your hands, turning one over, flexing your fingers. "You and the parasite... you didn't fight each other. You merged." You hesitated, the word strange on your tongue. "I don't even know if merge is the right term. That makes it sound clean. Voluntary."

Jongseong turned to face you fully now, taking a slow step closer. "It wasn't clean," he said. "And it sure as hell wasn't voluntary."

You looked up at him again.

"It was pain. Constant. Days of fevers, hallucinations, muscles tearing themselves apart. My nervous system was rewriting itself in real-time. I could feel my own memories slipping... then coming back sharper. Warped, like they'd been filtered through something else."

He tapped his temple once. "I didn't think I was going to survive it. I shouldn't have. But something inside me didn't break. It adapted. And when the parasite realized it couldn't overwrite me, it... integrated. Not by choice. By necessity."

Your brows furrowed slightly. "You're saying it didn't want you like that?"

"The parasite wants dominance," Jongseong said. "Control. But when it senses it can't win, it changes strategy. Tries to preserve itself through compromise. It's not a thinking organism, not in the way we are—but it learns."

You nodded slowly, eyes drifting to the cracked mirror behind him. "Then maybe it's not about merging or fighting. Maybe it's about outlasting it."

He studied you carefully, the muscles in his jaw flexing just slightly before he spoke.

"Exactly. If you can hold on long enough, if you can stay yourself through the pain... you don't lose. You evolve."

You looked down again, thinking of all the moments you thought you were slipping. All the nights your body changed without your permission. All the times you'd woken up shaking, afraid of your own skin.

And yet... you were still here.

You looked down at your hands, flexing your fingers slowly. The skin looked normal now. "My hand hurts sometimes," you admitted, voice quiet. "It's like... a pressure building under the bone. I can control my shifting, but sometimes it feels like something else is doing it for me."

Your eyes lingered on your arm as if it might betray you in the next breath.

"I feel like I'm not me."

"That's normal," he said. "You're still only two months in. Your body's not fully stabilized yet. It takes time. The neural pathways between your conscious mind and the parasite's reactive systems are still syncing."

You glanced up at him. "That sounds way too clinical for my hand turns into a blade without asking."

He smirked faintly. "Point is—you'll get used to it. Eventually, the signals align. You won't have to fight for control. You'll just be in control."

You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek. "But what if I don't?"

His smile faded, but his expression didn't turn cold. "Remember what I said when we first met?" he asked.

You nodded slowly, eyes narrowing as the memory stirred. Jongseong gave a soft tired smile. "I'll stop you."

You stared at him, reading the weight behind the words. "And you'd really do it?" you asked.

"If it came to that," he said, without hesitation. "If you lost yourself completely—if there was no coming back—then yeah. I would."

"But not because I see you as a threat," he added. "Because I'd want someone to do the same for me."

"I don't want to become something I'd have to be stopped from," you whispered.

"Then don't," he said simply.

Another day blurred into a week, and somehow, it became routine.

You and Jongseong were always near each other now. You simply showed up, and he never asked you to leave.

Every morning, without fail, you arrived at his doorstep. Sometimes barefoot, sometimes holding a plastic bag of random things you'd picked up—food, spare clothes, old electronics scavenged from forgotten corners of the city. Always with that same wide smile and a casual wave, like the world hadn't tried to erase you.

His home sat far from the crowded parts of Seoul, nestled in the quiet sprawl of the outer districts—secluded enough that no one asked questions, yet comfortable in a way that surprised you. It wasn't sterile or abandoned. It was... lived in. Warm wood tones, clean tile, books stacked in corners, a faint smell of roasted coffee in the mornings.

You didn't expect someone like him to have soft blankets and expensive sheets. But then again, he had been a doctor. Years of relentless work had filled his bank account even as it slowly emptied him. He rarely touched the money now, except to keep the house running and the lab functional. The rest stayed untouched, gathering dust, like a forgotten version of himself.

Still, his kitchen was well-stocked. His bed was always made. And now, somehow, you had become part of that space.

One quiet afternoon, sunlight filtered through the wide windows, casting long golden shadows across the hardwood floor. You stood barefoot in his living room, playfully holding your arm out as it began to shift.

Jongseong watched from the couch, sipping lukewarm tea, his eyes narrowed in equal parts curiosity and caution.

"It's my first time encountering someone who can shape their hand into wings," he said.

You smirked and raised your hand, flesh trembling, tendons coiling and restructuring. The skin along your forearm peeled open in seamless, silent motion, splitting into more organic. A full wing unfurled—sleek and wide, nearly as tall as you. Its edges were curved like a crescent, the shape aerodynamic but jagged, ringed with short, blade-like protrusions.

It was the color of your skin, yet it glinted faintly in the light.

"Most parasites use their heads," Jongseong murmured, leaning forward slightly. "They split open like flower petals—exposing core structures for attack or communication."

He stood and stepped closer, gaze fixed on your transformed arm. "But this... this is different. It's not just offensive. It's built for movement. Flight, maybe. Or at least gliding. Your body's adapting beyond the base strain."

You watched his fascination with a faint grin. He spoke like a scientist.

"Does your head still hurt?" he asked, finally meeting your eyes.

You hesitated for a moment, then shook your head. "Not anymore," you said softly. "I started doing what you told me. Focusing on breathing. Slowing everything down when it starts building up."

He nodded, approving. "The headaches come from pressure. When the nervous system tries to regulate a function it doesn't fully understand. But when you center your breathing, you give the brain a stable pattern—something to anchor the mutation against."

You laughed a little. "You sound like a meditation app."

"Doctor first," he replied, raising a brow. "Monster second."

You folded the wing back into your arm slowly, watching as the skin sealed over again, leaving no sign it had ever been anything else. Jongseong handed you a towel to wipe the sweat off your hands—it wasn't painful anymore, but it still took effort.

"Do you ever get tired of analyzing me?" you teased, dabbing your brow.

"Not yet," he said. "You're the only other hybrid I've ever met. Every reaction you have, every adaptation—it all tells me more about how this thing works."

You leaned back against the kitchen counter, looking at him with warmth. "So I'm your favorite test subject?"

He smiled faintly. "You're the only one who smiles back."

You started living around him—and it wasn't planned. It just... happened.

There was no formal moment when it became your place too. You simply never left. You came in, stayed for a while, and then stayed a little longer. Your bag ended up in the corner of his hallway. A change of clothes appeared on the back of his chair. Your toothbrush found its way into a cup next to his. No one said anything.

His laboratory is tucked beneath the basement. Stainless steel counters were cluttered with vials, blood samples, biofeedback equipment, and an old centrifuge that rattled every time it spun. Some walls were covered with whiteboards, sketched with frantic genetic maps, neural networks, protein structures, and lines of code that only made partial sense to you.

You stood in the doorway for a long time watching him. Despite not wearing a coat or a stethoscope anymore, he was still a doctor. He spent hours down there, alone, dissecting the mystery of what you both had become. Studying the hybrid genome, comparing tissue reactions, tracking metabolic rates, rebuilding broken sequences.

He never said it, but you knew he wasn't doing it for science.

He was doing it to keep himself sane.

So, you stayed. And while he worked, you started moving through the rest of the house. Dust had gathered in the corners of rooms he didn't use. Shelves were layered with months of settled particles, and forgotten books lay unopened beneath it. So you cleaned. One room at a time.

You cooked, mostly for yourself at first. But eventually, you started making enough for two. He always ate. Silently, usually. But he ate. Sometimes with a quiet compliment, sometimes with a small smile.

Later, you found the backyard—overgrown, wild, and tired. The flower beds were choked by weeds, the soil cracked from neglect. You didn't ask permission. You just started clearing it out. Pulling weeds. Watering the roots that still had life left in them. Then you bought seeds, colorful ones: snapdragons, asters, cosmos. Something bright. Something that still dared to bloom.

He noticed, of course. But he didn't stop you.

Sometimes, at night, when the house was still and the garden smelled faintly of wet soil, you found yourself staring at the ceiling of the guest room—Jongseong's oversized hoodie draped around your shoulders, warm with his scent—and wondered:

Is this what being human still feels like?

You asked yourself the question over and over, unsure of the answer. You still laughed. You still dreamed. You still loved food, flowers, music. You still worried.

Your mind drifted to things you hadn't let yourself think about in weeks. Your mother. Your cat. Your home.

The lie you told when you disappeared—telling your family you'd run off with someone. You'd sent one message. Just one. And never replied again.

Do they hate me for it? you wondered. Do they think I'm alive? Do they sit at the dinner table and leave your place empty, hoping?

The thought made you smile—but it was the kind of smile that didn't reach your eyes.

You snorted under your breath, turning onto your side.

Because now, in some twisted, literal sense, you were living with a guy. A guy who wasn't exactly human anymore. A guy who slept only four hours a night and spent the rest of his time trying to outsmart biology. A guy whose hands could become blades. Whose eyes still softened when he thought you weren't watching.

A guy who hadn't kicked you out. Who never would.

"You can shift your hands without blades?"

Your eyes widened as you stared at Jongseong, the question tumbling from your lips. The very idea felt foreign—impossible, even. Your own shifting had always come with sharp edges, bone-splitting pain, and the quiet terror that you might lose control if you shaped too far.

Jongseong glanced down at his hands, calm and controlled. Then, with a quiet exhale, he lifted one hand and extended it toward you, palm up. "Watch," he said simply.

His dark eyes shifted—pupils dilating slightly, the irises deepening in color until they almost looked black, consuming the natural brown. You knew what that meant. It was a physiological marker—hybrid activation. Your eyes did the same when you shifted. His were sharp, but not hostile, focused, but unthreatening.

The structure of his hand started to ripple not violently, not like yours usually did. No sharp angles, no sudden protrusions of bone or blade. The skin thinned and stretched, flowing in a fluid-like motion that reminded you of melting wax. It wasn't grotesque—it was graceful.

His fingers elongated and curved slightly. From the base of his palm, tendrils began to unfurl—slender, flexible, organic. Not quite like vines, not quite like tentacles, but something in-between. Soft ridges lined their surfaces. They pulsed faintly with life, reacting to the air, to temperature, to you.

They didn't glint like blades. They didn't threaten. They moved with purpose.

Your breath caught as you watched, caught between horror and awe.

"How...?" you whispered.

Jongseong didn't smile, but there was a quiet light in his eyes. "The parasite doesn't only build weapons. It builds tools—if you teach it to."

You stepped closer, cautiously, drawn to the strange, mesmerizing movement of his altered hand. "I thought it only knew how to kill."

"So did I," he said. "At first. But then I started thinking like it. Observing. Not just resisting. It reacts to survival instinct, yes—but it also responds to intention. Will."

He slowly closed his hand, the tendrils retracting fluidly, vanishing back into his skin as the flesh reformed and returned to normal.

You blinked, letting out a slow breath. "Wow. That's impressive but... completely useless," you said, your voice laced with sarcasm.

Jongseong's eyes returned to their usual deep brown, pupils shrinking, the hybrid dilation fading. He looked up at you, a beat of silence passing then he laughed.

It was soft, unguarded. A sound you hadn't heard often from him, but when it came, it felt genuine, surprisingly warm. "Well, thanks," he said, raising an eyebrow. "Glad to know my non-lethal biological innovation gets such rave reviews."

You shrugged, trying not to smile. "Sorry, Dr. Frankenstein. I just can't think of a practical use for creepy space noodles."

"Tactile sensory extensions," he corrected with mock offense. "They can be used to detect surface tension, pressure shifts, chemical traces—"

"So basically... weird science-fingers."

Jongseong gave you a long, theatrical sigh, one hand dragging down his face in mock despair, though the amused curve of his mouth betrayed him.

"You know what? Fuck it," he muttered, turning back to his workstation, but not before you caught the upward twitch of his lips.

Another month drifted by.

You woke, cooked, trained, experimented, and sometimes just existed with Jongseong in quiet companionship. The world outside still cracked and groaned with danger, but within the walls of his house, it was a different season.

And outside, life was starting to bloom.

The garden you once cleared had transformed. Where dry soil had stretched beneath tired weeds, color now flourished. The seeds you planted with no real hope had taken root. Soft petals in pinks, purples, and golds opened under the late spring sun, nodding gently with every breeze. You had come to love the quiet act of watering them in the morning, a grounding ritual. Something beautifully, stubbornly normal.

This morning, as dew still clung to the flowerbed leaves and your fingers dripped with the cool mist from the watering can, a small sound broke the usual silence.

A tiny cry. High-pitched. Fragile. You turned, instinctively alert. But it wasn't danger waiting for you in the corner of the fence.

It was a kitten. A small, orange-furred ball curled beneath the bushes—wide green eyes blinking up at you, damp fur clinging to its sides. It looked no older than a few weeks, its tiny ribs shifting with every shaky breath.

"Awww," you murmured, your voice softening as you crouched slowly to its level.

The kitten tilted its head but didn't run. You extended a hand carefully, fingers open, palm low.

"Hey, sweetheart... Where's your mommy?" you whispered.

It answered with a soft meow, barely more than a squeak, and nudged its head forward until it touched your fingers. Warmth bloomed in your chest, before you realized what you were doing, you scooped it gently into your arms, pressing it to your chest.

You didn't hesitate. You brought it inside.

When Jongseong stepped out of the lab hours later, adjusting the settings on his neural scanner, he stopped in the middle of the hallway.

You were sitting cross-legged on the couch with a towel-wrapped bundle in your lap. The orange kitten, freshly cleaned and fed, purred softly as it nuzzled your hand.

"You brought home a cat," he said flatly, blinking.

You looked up at him, eyes wide with innocent pride. "I named him Jongjong."

His expression flickered. "Jong... jong?"

You nodded with complete seriousness. "Because he's small. And soft. And a little grumpy."

Jongseong blinked again, then exhaled through his nose, half a laugh, half disbelief. "I can't decide if I'm offended or flattered."

"Oh, definitely flattered," you said with a grin. "He's the cutest thing I've seen since I moved in."

The kitten let out a mew, as if to confirm the sentiment. Jongseong stepped closer, crouching beside the couch to get a better look. The kitten stared back at him, unblinking, then gave a dramatic yawn and immediately fell asleep on your lap.

"He trusts you," Jongseong said, softer now.

You looked down at the little creature and ran your thumb gently between its ears. "He doesn't know what I am."

Jongseong was quiet for a moment. "Maybe that's the point."

You glanced at him.

"Maybe he just sees what's real," he added. "And not what we're afraid we've become."

You didn't answer right away. You just watched Jongjong breathe, tiny chest rising and falling against your arm, and felt the quiet weight of peace settle in the room like sunlight through the window.

Jongseong had spent years alone his house, surrounded by machines and memories. He thought solitude was necessary, that isolation kept him safe. That by keeping others out, he could contain the thing growing inside him, the part of him that wasn't entirely human anymore.

That was why, when you first asked him if he ever felt lonely, he hadn't known how to answer.

Now, he had an answer.

Yes.

Because since you arrived, he'd started to remember what it felt like not to be alone. And that contrast made the emptiness he'd grown used to feel sharper, heavier in retrospect. The silence he once embraced had been suffocating. But he hadn't noticed until it began to lift.

You filled the space with little things—sounds, gestures, life. The clink of ceramic mugs in the morning. The quiet murmur of your voice as you read out diagnostic data. The rustle of your clothes as you passed him in the hallway, always brushing just a little too close, like your gravity had started to pull on his.

He never told you that he started waking up before his alarm—not for research, but to hear you moving through the house. The sound of water boiling. The soft click of the stove. The faint hum of your voice when you thought no one could hear.

He never mentioned how he started leaving notes near your table. Little reminders. Jokes hidden inside formulas. Once, a crude sketch of a protein chain that somehow resembled a flower. You'd found it, looked at him with one raised brow, and said nothing, but your smile had lingered for hours.

Maybe you already knew.

Because some nights, when the house fell silent again—when the tunnel lights above the basement flickered and the lab's hum faded into a deeper hush—you would sit beside him on the couch, not asking questions, not filling the air with unnecessary words. Just being there. Shoulder to shoulder. Warm. Quiet.

And the silence didn't feel empty anymore.

"Peek-a-boo!"

Jongseong spun around and froze.

Your face had split clean down the middle, skin peeled open like flower petals under pressure, revealing the intricate folds of your brain, glistening and wet. Thorned tendrils coiled from within the exposed cavity, twitching slightly as if sensing the air. Despite the grotesque transformation, one half of your mouth was still smiling, playful, unbothered, as if this was just another joke between the two of you.

And somehow, impossibly, Jongseong found himself staring—not with fear, but with a strange, quiet awe.

Even like this warped, twisted, exposed, he still thought you were beautiful.

Terrifying, yes.

But beautiful.

Jongseong let out a sigh and pressed his lips to the rim of his coffee mug, hiding the curve of his smile behind it. He didn't laugh—barely. It wasn't that it wasn't disturbing. It was. You looked like something torn from a biology textbook on alien evolution.

With a twitch of muscle and membrane, your face knit itself back together, seamlessly folding in. The thorns retracted, the skin closed, the tremors stopped. You bounced on the balls of your feet, practically glowing with excitement.

"I learned that yesterday!" you said, beaming. "Can you do that too?!"

You looked at him like a child begging for a party trick, eyes wide, shining with that strange joy that came with discovering just how far the body could stretch before breaking.

Jongseong tilted his head, smile lingering at the edges of his lips. He set his coffee down on the lab table and stood slowly. "It's not exactly the same," he murmured, voice low and calm, "but... sure."

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, nothing happened.

Then his skin split—not down the middle like yours, but in five clean diagonal lines across his face. The motion was quiet, each line peeled open slightly, like vents adjusting to pressure. From the top of his forehead, the bone shifted and stretched, revealing a sliver of cerebral tissue beneath a thin veil of skin—pale, veined, faintly glowing. A single blade unfolded with a smooth, mechanical grace, jutting forward from the frontal bone, not sharp enough to kill, but certainly enough to threaten.

"That's... beautiful," you whispered.

He let the mutation retract slowly, each fracture sealing with precision. No blood. No pain. Just practiced control.

"I thought we were past the point of calling brain blades 'beautiful,'" he teased, reaching for his coffee again.

You shrugged. "I think we're past the point of pretending we're not fascinated with each other."

That silenced him for a second. You stepped in a little closer. Not touching—just close enough to share breath. Close enough to see your reflection in his eyes. "Is that why you looked at me like that?" you asked, voice quieter now. "When I split open?"

Jongseong didn't answer immediately. He studied your face—not the skin, not the features, but the you beneath it. The remnants of humanity still clinging to something that should've been lost. The way your voice still held inflection, still carried joy. The way your smile wasn't entirely biological, it came from memory, not muscle.

"Yes," he said finally. "Because no one's ever shown me something monstrous... and looked so alive doing it."

You didn't move. Neither did he.

You stood there, close enough that you could hear the soft intake of his breath, the quiet thrum of his altered heart beneath his ribs, beating in a rhythm that no longer matched human biology... yet somehow still made your chest ache.

You reached up slowly, not asking permission, not speaking, just brushing your fingertips along the faint lines that remained on his cheek. The skin was smooth, impossibly warm, as if something still lived just beneath the surface, twitching, waiting. He didn't flinch. If anything, he leaned into your touch, just a fraction subtle enough to be instinct, but intentional enough to mean something.

"You're always so careful," you whispered, your voice barely more than breath.

Jongseong's eyes met yours. "If I'm not, I might hurt you."

You smiled faintly. "Maybe I don't mind."

That earned a small, broken sound from him. He reached up, slowly, carefully, and took your hand in his. His thumb traced the inside of your wrist.

"I don't know what this is," you said softly, searching his face. "I don't know if it's real or just chemical—just mutation convincing us we're closer than we are."

His fingers laced between yours.

"Maybe it is chemical," he said. "But if that's true, then so is every heartbeat. Every kiss. Every touch humans have ever shared. Maybe we're just... another version of it now."

You stared at him for a long moment. Not a word passed between you. Then you leaned forward slowly, testing the air between your mouths like it was charged and he met you halfway.

It wasn't a desperate kiss. It wasn't rushed, or hungry, or tangled in panic. It was precise.

His lips were warm—almost too warm. His body still carried that inhuman heat, like the parasite burned deeper than blood. But you kissed him anyway, because in that heat, you felt something real. Something yours.

He drew you in gently, hand sliding behind your neck. You felt your body respond, you tilted your head, lips parting slightly, angling the kiss deeper, fuller. He tasted like cheap coffee and the metallic hint of sterile air, but it didn't matter.

"I used to think I'd die without ever feeling something like this again," he murmured.

You ran your fingers along his jaw, still touched by the faint lines of his previous transformation. "I thought I had already."

He smiled against your skin. "Guess we were both wrong."

Then his mouth was on yours again, this time deeper, more certain. Not rushed, but hungry. His hand slid down your spine, fingers curling at your waist as he drew you in until there was nothing but heat between you.

You gasped softly against his lips, the sound spilling from you before you could stop it. Your hands moved up, wrapping around his neck, fingers threading through his hair. He took that moment, his tongue slipped past your lips gliding against yours.

His hands were on your thighs, firm but gentle, and you responded without hesitation. In one motion, you jumped, legs wrapping around his waist, your bodies moving together. He didn't break the kiss—not even for a second—as he carried you with careful steps.

And then you felt it: the shift beneath your back, the familiar give of fabric and old springs. The soft mattress beneath you.

You exhaled as your spine met the bed, his weight settling over you. His lips moved from yours, dragging downward, slower along the edge of your jaw, then to the tender skin just below your ear, and further down to the place where your pulse fluttered.

"Jongseong," you whispered, your voice shaky, half-lost in the sensation, as his mouth lingered at your neck. You felt the sharp heat of his breath, then the sudden sting of teeth—not enough to break skin, just to claim it.

He groaned against your throat, the sound guttural, vibrating against your skin as his hips pressed down, grinding against yours with a rhythm that sent sparks through your nerves.

"Do parasites get this horny?" he murmured. You laughed, high and breathy, your hips tilting up to meet his. The movement drew a sharp moan from both of you as friction met heat, and the space between you disappeared again.

"Maybe it's just us," you said, fingers digging into his back. "Maybe we're the broken ones who feel too much."

His forehead pressed to yours, his lips hovering just above your mouth as he whispered, "Then I never want to be fixed."

He shifted his weight, sitting back just enough to reach for the hem of your shirt. You lifted your arms without hesitation, eager, your skin already humming with anticipation. The fabric peeled away easily, and the moment the cold air kissed your bare skin, a shiver ran through you.

Jongseong's gaze darkened.

"Shit..." he murmured under his breath, almost like he couldn't help it. Then his mouth was on yours again—hotter now, more desperate. His hands braced your hips as you reached between your bodies, finding the waistband of his pants and slipping your fingers underneath. You cupped him through the fabric, palm slow and the sound he made into your mouth was something deep. His hips jolted, twitching into your hand, hungry for more.

Your bra was the next to go, tossed carelessly across the room. The moment it was gone, his hands returned to your body. He paused, looking down at you. His fingers traced the lines of your waist, thumbs brushing the curve of your ribs, his breath shaking as though the sight of you unraveled something inside him.

He looked into your eyes—asking, without words.

And you answered. "Please... touch me more," you whispered, his mouth lowered, finding the curve of your breast, lips brushing the delicate skin before closing around your nipple. His tongue moved slow at first, teasing the areola in gentle circles, and then with more pressure—suckling, tasting, devouring.

Your back arched off the mattress, every nerve lit in a low, burning ache that made your breath catch in your throat. A breathy sigh slipped past your lips as you tangled your fingers in his hair, holding him there, needing more.

"God—Jongseong..." you moaned.

He responded with a groan of his own, vibrations rumbling against your skin as his hands slid down again. His mouth moved across your chest, his tongue leaving trails of heat as he worshipped every inch he could reach.

Beneath it all was something that had nothing to do with instinct. You weren't two creatures responding to any programming. You were two broken people learning how to feel again, how to love without shame—even if your bodies weren't built like they used to be.

"Remove it," you whispered, fingers curling in the fabric at his waist.

His mouth left your breast with a soft pop, his breath warm against your skin. He met your gaze and then rose onto his knees, hands moving quickly to strip the last layers away. Shirt, pants, boxers—gone in seconds, discarded to the shadows around the bed.

Your breath caught. Your eyes dropped, landing on his body, honed, powerful, beautiful in a way that bordered on unnatural. And then your gaze found his cock: thick, flushed, already aching for you. The sight sent heat spiraling through your core, a pulse deep between your thighs.

Your mouth watered.

You sat up, hands reaching for him, fingertips tentative at first, then bolder—wrapping around his length, feeling the weight of him, the twitch beneath your touch. Your movements were a little clumsy, a little hungry.

Your thumb grazed over the slick at the tip, smearing it down the shaft with a slow drag that made his breath hitch.

He was so hard. So warm. You could feel his pulse there, alive in your palm.

You looked up at him, your eyes searching his face. And God, how could someone look so divine?

The dim lights above caught on his sweat-damp hair, his chest rising and falling with every uneven breath. His lips were parted, his eyes hooded but fixed on you like he was watching a miracle unfold. Like you were the miracle.

You stare at him back, and it hits you. He wasn't human—not anymore. Because no human was this breathtaking. No man could look so effortlessly beautiful, even when his body was wrapped in scars, mutations, and power.

Ethereal, you thought.

You arched your back slightly as you leaned down, breath skimming along his length, and you kept your eyes locked on his. The second your tongue flicked out to lick the tip—slow, teasing—he let out a low, guttural sound that made your whole body throb with need.

His hands gripped the edge of the mattress, muscles tightening.

You ran your tongue along the underside of his cock, your lips ghosting over the sensitive skin, teasing him.  You loved the way he watched you.

"Fuck..." he whispered, voice hoarse.

You smiled against him, mouth opening wider as you took him in again—inch by inch, savoring the feel, the taste, the heat. Your fingers stroked what your lips couldn't reach, working in tandem as your pace gradually deepened, your body moving with quiet, desperate rhythm.

His hands found your face, thumbs gently cradling your cheeks as he looked down at you with that subtle, crooked smile—soft and filled with adoration. His gaze was half-lidded, dark with desire, but calm, too.

You hummed around his cock, the vibration making his stomach tense and his breath falter. You continued your rhythm, your head bobbing as your tongue worked him. Each motion earned a different sound from him, deeper now, breathless and ragged, his self-control rapidly fraying.

"Stop for a while," he breathed, voice tight, hand sliding to your jaw as he gently pulled you back.

You let him go, a thin string of saliva still connecting your lips to his tip, glistening between you. He didn't look away, his thumb brushed the slick trail from your mouth, and with a smirk, he pressed it between your lips.

You closed your mouth around it instinctively, eyes locked with his.

"Fuck," he whispered, as if the sight of you like that physically hurt. "You're so goddamn hot."

His hand slid from your cheek to your side. He guided you back down to the mattress, kissing you softly between each motion, your cheek, your shoulder, the center of your chest—as his fingers hooked the waistband of your pants and pulled them down, taking your underwear with them.

Cool air hit your thighs, and you shivered—but not from the temperature.

His breath hitched audibly as the scent of your arousal flooded the space between you. His cock twitched visibly, a strangled groan catching in his throat as his eyes dropped to the heat between your legs. And when he saw you—really saw you—his hands gripped your thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as he gently, but insistently, pushed them apart.

There you were. Glistening. Dripping. Your pussy visibly clenching, aching around nothing. Open to him.

"Haah..." he moaned. "You're perfect."

"Jongseong," you whined, hips tilting upward, searching for friction, for touch, for him. "Please... touch me already."

He leaned down, his mouth met your clit in one hot, wet stroke. You cried out at the contact, your back arching, fingers flying to his hair, gripping tight. He groaned against you, vibrating straight through your core.

His tongue moved with hunger, circling your clit, then flattening against it, then flicking with just enough pressure to make you gasp. His hands held your thighs open, possessive and steady, his mouth working you like he was starved for you.

Then he dipped lower.

His tongue slid down through your folds, gathering your slick, then pressing against your entrance—probing, pushing, entering.

You moaned, loud and breathless, as his tongue fucked into you, warm and firm and impossibly deep. It was intimate and wild, like he wasn't just tasting you—he was making out with your cunt. Every slurp echoed in your ears, every flick sent sparks crawling up your spine.

You could feel his tongue twisting inside you, exploring every inch, curling upward, coaxing you open in ways no one ever had. His mouth moved between your clit and your core, switching seamlessly, building pressure until you were panting, writhing beneath him.

"Are you gonna cum, my love?" Jongseong murmured, lifting his head just slightly to look at you.

My love.

The words hit deeper than his fingers ever could. Your chest fluttered, warmth blooming beneath your ribs. You couldn't answer with words—only a frantic nod, your fingers tightening in his hair, mussing it, holding him

His mouth returned to your cunt, tongue working your clit with firm, relentless pressure. He licked harder, faster, each stroke pushing you higher, your body already teetering on the edge.

You were twitching, panting, the heat spiraling out from your core in waves. You'd forgotten what it was like to feel so alive, so overwhelmed in the best possible way—like every nerve had come back to life.

You shattered with a cry, orgasm tearing through you like fire.

But Jongseong didn't stop.

Even as your thighs trembled, even as your body jolted with sensitivity, he kept his tongue swirling over your clit. And then, as if he knew just how to break you open all over again, he pushed two fingers into you, his middle and ring finger, long and strong and perfectly angled.

He curled them inside you, then began to thrust, steady and deep, knuckles brushing your entrance on every stroke.

"Ahhh! Jongseong!" You gasped, sitting up involuntarily, hips bucking against his face. Your body screamed with overstimulation, but it was too good to stop. Too much and not enough, all at once.

Back when you were still "normal," an orgasm like that would've left you limp and done. But now? Now you felt supercharged, every cell vibrating, your skin buzzing with more instead of fatigue.

You needed more and so did he.

The same fire burned beneath Jongseong's skin—evident in the way his hands gripped you tighter, in the flush blooming across his cheeks, in the heat radiating from his body like a furnace stoked too long.

He pulled himself up, chest heaving, and kissed you hard. Your tongues tangled instantly, messy and desperate, your panting breaths shared between kisses.

His fingers never stopped, still inside you, still thrusting, now with an animalistic rhythm that had you whining into his mouth. Each stroke sent a sharp jolt of pleasure through your core, your thighs twitching around his hips.

He swallowed every sound, every moan, and you could feel the satisfaction in the way he kissed you.

"More," you breathed against his lips.

His gaze darkened, his fingers thrusting deeper. "Then I'll give you everything."

He kissed you again, slower this time. You could feel his cock, hot and heavy, pressed against your thigh, throbbing with the need to be inside you.

He slowly slipped his fingers from you, your body twitching at the sudden emptiness, and shifted forward, positioning himself between your legs. His hand wrapped around his length, stroking himself once, then guiding the tip down between your folds. He didn't rush—he dragged the head of his cock through your slick, coating himself in the warmth of your arousal.

You whimpered, legs spreading wider, instinctively offering yourself to him, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.

"Put it in," you whispered, desperate, lifting your hips to meet him. "Please..."

But he held you still, fingers tight on your hips. "Not yet," he murmured, teasing your entrance with the head of his cock. "I want to feel you beg for it."

You moaned softly, hips twitching, the heat between your thighs unbearable now.

He finally pressed forward, just the tip breaching you and both of you cried out in unison. It wasn't just the physical sensation. It was the shock of connection.

"God—your pussy's sucking me in," Jongseong groaned, his head tilting back slightly, neck tense, jaw clenched. "Oh, fuck..."

When he pushed deeper, you choked on a moan, head dropping back into the pillow, hands gripping the sheets. Inch by inch, he filled you completely, the stretch perfect, overwhelming. You could feel every vein, every pulse, your body clenching desperately around him as he reached places you forgot were there—almost brushing your cervix, almost too deep, but just right.

Jongseong leaned into you, pressing his body against yours, skin to skin, chest to chest. His arms wrapped around you. He hugged you—his full weight over you. His face buried in your neck, breath warm against your pulse as he finally began to move.

Slow thrusts, measured and deep. Every time he pushed inside you, it felt like a wave crashing over your soul—bringing back color, sound, breath. You clung to him, your arms around his back, legs locking around his waist.

"I feel so alive," Jongseong whispered against your ear, lips brushing the sensitive skin as he kissed it.

The room was filled with heat. The sound of breath, of skin meeting skin echoed through the space only the two of you could hear. Outside, the world moved—wind howling through the tunnels, distant animal sounds sharp on the air, senses heightened by your altered bodies.

But none of it mattered.

The only scent in the air was arousal—yours and his. The only sounds were gasps, moans, curses whispered into sweat-slick skin.

"Nghh... Jongseong..." you cried, voice cracking as you pulled him closer, fingers digging into his back like you could drag him deeper inside you.

His rhythm shifted, harder now. More forceful. And then he angled his hips just right—and hit you there.

Your scream tore through the room as his cock slammed into your g-spot, stars bursting behind your eyes. You clenched around him, tight and involuntary, your body no longer yours—only his, only this.

"Fuck," he cursed, head dropping into your shoulder as your walls fluttered around him. "You feel like heaven."

"Harder... please," you begged, your voice a broken whisper. "Want it harder."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his breath uneven, eyes blazing with raw intensity. "Yeah? This not enough for you?" he rasped.

You could only shake your head, tears brimming at the edges of your lashes from how good it felt. His hand reached up, fingers gently sweeping the damp strands of hair from your face. Then he kissed you again. Pouring every ounce of feeling into it, swallowing your moans as he slammed into you with brutal precision.

Each thrust shook your entire body. He moved faster now—faster than any human could. "Want more?" he growled against your lips. "You want to be filled, baby?"

You nodded desperately, too far gone to speak, your hips rising to meet every thrust, chasing the edge you could feel surging again. He groaned into your mouth, losing himself completely, fucking you.

When your orgasm hit, it tore through you, your whole body tensing, twitching, legs locking around his waist as you came hard, gasping his name.

And he felt the every pulsing wave, every clench of your slick, desperate walls around his cock—and he came with a broken sound, burying himself to the hilt as his release surged into you, thick and hot. You could feel him throbbing inside you, filling you deep, but he didn't stop.

Jongseong kept moving. His thrusts slowed but stayed deep, grinding into you. Your eyes rolled back, heat still pulsing violently through every inch of your body.

And for him—it was more than pleasure. He felt something inside himself realigning. Cells reorganizing, adapting again, responding not to survival... but to you. His body recognized yours, welcomed it.

The usual limits of human bodies didn't apply to either of you anymore. You should have been spent. Exhausted. But your broken refractory periods meant nothing now. The hunger didn't fade—it simply deepened.

He shifted without warning, flipping you effortlessly beneath him—then pulling you back, guiding you to straddle him instead. He collapsed onto his back, chest slick with sweat, arms open.

You took it. You climbed over him, breathless, body still buzzing, and sank down onto him in one smooth motion. A choked sound escaped both of you. You were so sensitive, your walls gripping him tight, but your need, your craving was louder.

You started bouncing, fast and messy, hips slapping against his thighs. "Fuck—yes, just like that," Jongseong growled, hands locking around your waist. His hips bucked up into you, matching your rhythm.

You braced your hands on his chest, fingers curling into his skin as your body began to spiral again. Your thighs trembled, knees shaking as your orgasm crept up again. You could barely breathe, barely think, only ride.

Jongseong shifted beneath you, planting his feet firmly into the mattress for leverage—and thrust up into you with such force you cried out, nearly collapsing over him. He fucked you through your orgasm, each thrust dragging the climax out longer, deeper, until your whole body convulsed, your cries echoing off the walls.

"Ahh—want more," you slurred, voice ragged, utterly cock-drunk.

Jongseong didn't speak. His breath came in hot, heavy bursts as he kept thrusting up into you. His hand reached up, slipping two fingers between your lips—quieting you. You moaned around them, muffled, your tongue swirling instinctively.

He watched you, eyes half-lidded, wild with lust. "You can't get enough, huh?"

Your moans vibrated around his fingers, still buried in your mouth, muffling your cries as your body kept bouncing on his cock, fast and needy.

You clenched around him again, and another guttural groan tore from his lips.

Jongseong slid his fingers from your mouth, glistening with your spit. He brought them to his lips and sucked them clean, eyes never leaving yours. The simple act made your pulse spike, your rhythm falter for a beat before you recovered.

Your hands slid back to brace against his knees, your back arching sharply. The change in angle made him slip deeper inside you, and you both gasped—his cock visibly outlined beneath your skin, filling you to the hilt. You saw the way his chest stuttered with each breath, eyes tracing every inch of your exposed body.

Then Jongseong laid back, propping himself up on his elbows to get a better view of you. His gaze locked with yours, you gasped softly when you notice the change in his appearance.

His pupils had gone completely black, pure darkness, blown wide.

Something else wrapped around your waist—slick, warm, textured like stretched skin, soft and strong at once. Your eyes widened as you looked down to see tendrils—tentacle-like extensions—curling from his body, wrapping around your midsection, your hips, your thighs.

"Jongseong..." you breathed.

He smirked and thrust into you hard enough to make your vision blur.

You cried out, body jolting, and then you felt another tendril—longer, thinner—slide between your legs. It pressed against your clit, stroking with an eerie, perfect pressure.

Your whole body keened.

"Oh—fuck!" you moaned, louder than before, your voice cracking as the sensation detonated through your core. It was too much. It was perfect.

Jongseong's other hand gripped your hips tighter, his fingers now stretching with inhuman dexterity, more of him wrapping around you, holding you. His cock kept thrusting up into you, the tendril at your clit stroking in sync, teasing the edge of your next orgasm.

Your breath hitched, your mind unraveling, the next orgasm building fast and hot, just out of reach.

"Need more?" Jongseong teased. More tendrils slithered around your body, responding to his command, flickering against your nipples—tight, wet licks of pressure that made you arch and whine, your chest thrusting forward instinctively. Your hands clawed at his shoulders, your head falling back, lips parted in wordless pleasure.

Your mind was far too hazy at this point, soaked in ecstasy and sensation.

Then you felt something soft and cool brushing the tight ring of your ass.

You flinched, hips jerking instinctively, but the tendrils around your thighs clamped tighter, anchoring you. Keeping you still. Keeping you open.

"Shh," Jongseong whispered against your neck, his voice patient, tender even as his body dominated yours completely.

The tendril at your ass was thinner than the rest, careful as it pressed inward—probing, stretching, sliding slowly. You gasped, muscles tightening, overwhelmed by the double penetration. His cock still thrust into your soaked cunt, fast and deep, while the tendril began to move inside you, teasing your second entrance.

You were so full, stuffed, surrounded, owned and every part of your body lit with fire.

"Why are you not talking?" Jongseong whispered, lifting his gaze to yours.

His eyes were fully dilated, pure black, wild and beautiful. You stared at him, mouth open, gasping—because God, he looked so hot. That face. That voice. That control.

The tendril inside your ass began to thicken, stretching you further, matching the rhythm of his cock as your body struggled to keep up. Your legs shook violently, your core fluttering as another orgasm surged too quickly to contain.

You were crying out, words lost to moans and breathless gasps. Jongseong thrust harder, faster; his hands, his cock, his tendrils working in unison. Every inch of you was stimulated. You were locked in his arms, caged in his grip, the hybrid strength in him overpowering but not brutal.

"I can feel you," he groaned. "All of you. You're squeezing me so tight, fuck—don't stop. Cum for me again."

And you did, you shattered, screaming his name, your entire body shaking as pleasure tore through you in electric waves. Your cunt clenched violently around his cock, your ass pulsing around the tendril still buried deep, and everything inside you collapsed into white heat.

Jongseong held you through it, driving into you with steady, desperate rhythm, chasing his own high, his body burning beneath yours, jaw clenched as he thrust one final time and groaned as he came deep inside you again.

Your head rested against his shoulder, your breath shaky in his ear. Slowly, the inhuman tendrils that had wrapped around you began to withdraw, pulling back into his arms, retreating beneath the skin.

His human hands replaced the tendrils, sliding around your back, palms soft as they cradled you. Then his lips pressed to your forehead, he brushed the hair from your face, fingers gliding through it carefully, over and over. The small, unconscious motion soothed something deep inside you.

The affection made you smile. You let your body melt into his, sinking deeper into the curve of his neck, where his scent surrounded you.

"Love you," you whispered in confession, your voice barely there . You felt the subtle shift in his chest, the rise of a soft laugh beneath your palm as he smiled against your hair. “I don’t want to regret any day I didn’t say that,” you continued. “Even if what I feel is just parasitological reaction, even if it’s some rewritten instinct pretending to be love—I don’t care. I love you.”

His hand pressed gently against the curve of your spine. "I love you," he whispered back, and the way he said it—so simply, made your heart throb.

You lifted your head slightly to look at him, eyes still half-lidded, dazed from pleasure and affection. You took in the mess of him: sweat-slick skin, tousled hair, the soft flush across his cheeks.

Beautiful, you thought again.

You smiled, lazy and warm. “More?”

Jongseong’s lips curved slowly into that familiar, crooked smirk.

The morning crept in quietly.

No alarms, no machines humming, no scans running downstairs in the lab. Just the soft amber light of dawn leaking through the half-closed curtains, casting warm streaks across the floor and the tangled mess of sheets.

You stirred first.

Jongseong’s arm was still wrapped around you, his chest rising and falling in the slow rhythm of sleep. His warmth radiated through the blankets, his breath steady against the back of your neck. You could feel his hand resting against your stomach.

You didn’t move right away.

You let yourself lie there, blinking slowly at the ceiling, muscles pleasantly sore, body still humming in a low, contented way. You could still feel the echo of last night in your bones, in your skin. The way he touched you. The way he looked at you.

You turned slowly in his arms to face him.

He was awake. His eyes were open, soft with sleep but focused entirely on you. The moment your gaze met his, his lips curved into a small smile, tired but intimate.

“Morning,” he said, his voice still rough from sleep.

“Hey,” you whispered. “How long were you watching me?”

“A while,” he admitted. “You twitch when you dream.”

You groaned, burying your face briefly in his chest. “Great. Bet I looked terrifying.”

He chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through your cheek. “No. You looked... peaceful.”

You shifted, resting your chin on his chest to look at him properly. “You sleep?”

His hand brushed up your back in a lazy, soothing arc. “I do. When you’re here.”

That silenced you for a moment. “You always say things like that,” you murmured, “like you don’t expect this to last.”

Jongseong was quiet for a long breath. His fingers slid into your hair, combing it gently, thoughtfully. “I don’t take it for granted,” he said. “Not when everything about what we are could change tomorrow.”

You watched his face, trying to read between the words. “Do you think it will?”

He met your gaze. “Maybe. Our biology’s still in flux. Your last scan showed increased neural conductivity in your spinal column. Mine too. Whatever’s happening to us—it isn’t done yet.”

You nodded slowly, tracing the skin of his shoulder with your fingertip. “Do you think we’ll stop being us?”

He caught your hand and pressed it against his chest, over the steady beat of his heart. “I don’t know. But if I do change... I want to remember this. You. This moment.”

You leaned in, forehead resting against his. “Then let’s make more of them.”

His arm tightened around you, pulling you close until your nose brushed his. “Deal,” he whispered.

“Pathology of Parasites.”

You glanced up from your spot on the floor beside Jongseong’s lab table, brows lifted as you read the scribbled title on the datapad he'd just tossed aside.

“Wow,” you said, lips curving. “Very romantic.”

Jongseong looked up from his microscope, clearly unamused. “It was a working title.”

You held back a laugh as you pulled the datapad closer, scrolling through the contents—notes, schematics, overlapping neural maps. Some of it made sense, some of it looked like nonsense equations written in a fever dream. But it was his—every word a window into how his mind worked. Clinical. Focused. Relentless. And yet… there were margin notes scrawled in a different tone—curious, reflective.

One read: Subject B demonstrates emotional regulation post-mutation. Possibly adaptive. Possibly… intentional?

You knew Subject B was you.

“You study me a lot,” you said softly, setting the pad down beside you. 

Jongseong looked at you for a long moment, eyes steady, warm. “I don’t study you,” he corrected. “I try to understand you.”

You smiled faintly. “That’s somehow worse.”

He snorted. “Maybe. But you’re fascinating.”

You turned your head to rest it against the side of the table, eyes drifting upward to where he sat, perched in his rolling lab chair, hunched slightly over some slide under the scope.

“Do you ever miss it?” you asked. “Being a normal doctor?”

His jaw tensed, and he leaned back slowly, pulling away from the microscope. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “I miss helping people and knowing what I was fixing. Now... I’m just making guesses. Mapping new anatomy no one’s ever named. Studying nervous systems that grow new endings when I’m not looking. It’s not medicine anymore. It’s—”

“—exploration,” you finished.

He glanced at you again, his lips twitching slightly. “That’s one way to put it.”

You reached up and tugged at the end of his sleeve. “Come down here.”

“What, now?”

“Yes, now.”

He hesitated only a second before pushing the chair back and sliding to the floor beside you. You leaned against him immediately, head settling on his shoulder, your knees brushing his thigh.

“You ever think,” you murmured, “if we weren’t like this… if we were just two strangers in a city... we would’ve passed each other without a second glance?”

He was quiet for a moment. Then: “Maybe.”

You looked up at him. “Do you like that idea?”

He met your gaze, something soft flickering behind his eyes. “No.”

You tilted your head. “Why not?”

“Because if we were normal,” he said, “I wouldn’t have seen you split your face open like a flower. Or sprout wings. Or smile after turning into something terrifying. I wouldn’t have seen all the parts of you that are beautiful because they’re impossible.”

Your throat tightened. “You always say the nicest horrifying things.”

“I mean every one of them.”

You turned toward him fully now, your legs folding under you, fingers brushing against the back of his hand. “Do you think we’d still fall in love?” you asked.

He paused. “I don’t know. Maybe not. Maybe we’d never look close enough.”

You nodded slowly, fingers tracing invisible lines over the back of his hand. “Then I’m glad it happened like this.”

He turned his hand over, lacing his fingers through yours. “Even if it hurts?” he asked.

You looked up at him, smiling just a little. “Especially because it hurts.”

His thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and grounding. “You know what I think?”

“Hm?”

“I think our pathology isn’t just parasitic. It’s poetic.”

You laughed under your breath. “Are you writing love poems in medical terms now?”

He smirked. “Only when I’m inspired.”

You leaned in and kissed him. The kind of kiss that wasn’t about heat or need—but about knowing and choosing.

When you pulled away, you stayed close, your forehead against his.

“I like this version of you,” you whispered. “The one who smiles when I mess with your research notes.”

He chuckled, his voice low in your ear. “And I like this version of you—the one who pretends not to be touched when I leave you notes shaped like protein chains.”

“You thought I didn’t notice?”

“I was hoping you did.”

You smiled. The datapad beside you still read Pathology of Parasites, but under it, someone had added in smaller handwriting—And the ones who survive them together.

The weather was quiet—eerily so.

Outside, the garden swayed gently under a pale morning sky. The another flowers you'd planted weeks ago had begun to bloom in earnest, soft bursts of color dancing in the breeze. Petals fluttered open toward the sun.

Inside, the air was still. Calm. The kind of stillness that didn't last.

Jongseong sat hunched at his lab desk, deep in a web of data. The neural scanner whirred quietly beside him, tracking changes in his cellular rhythms. Graphs rose and fell on the screen. Numbers blurred into pattern. His brow furrowed, fingers flying over the touchscreen, eyes sharp with focus.

The sound of wheels.

Faint at first. Too faint for most ears.

But not his. Jongseong body tensed instinctively.

Wheels. Two vehicles. Tires on gravel. He closed his eyes for a second, counting. One... two… four sets of footsteps. Three kilometers. Getting closer.

Jongseong rose from his seat with calculated calm, brushing a hand back through his hair, then pulled off his glasses and set them on the desk. His movements were controlled, but fast. He strode to the reinforced lab door, locking it with practiced ease before tugging a small, folded rug from under the emergency shelf. He draped it over the entry seam, concealing the frame as if it were just a storage hatch, then adjusted a nearby cabinet to further obscure it.

Once satisfied, he stepped back, exhaled sharply, and turned toward the stairs.

By the time he reached the living room, you were already there.

You stood at the edge of the hallway, barefoot on the wooden floor, arms wrapped around Jongjong. The little orange cat was tense in your grip, ears back, tail stiff, sensing the same wrongness that you did. Your eyes met Jongseong’s—and they were wide with fear.

“Who are they?” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I heard—cars, and footsteps. They're close.”

Your brow furrowed, panic rising, but Jongseong was already moving toward you. His expression was calm, but you could see the tightness in his jaw. He cupped your cheek with one hand, his thumb brushing gently beneath your eye. “Shhh… don’t be afraid,” he murmured, voice low and steady. “I don’t know who they are. But I’ll protect you.”

You swallowed hard, nodding once, clutching Jongjong closer to your chest.

The knock came sharply. Jongseong froze, he took a slow breath, then stepped forward, unlocking the front door with careful precision, standing just beyond the threshold was a man in a dark-gray uniform, flanked by two others. Another figure stood beside the nearest vehicle, partially obscured.

The man at the door wore a clean, crisp jacket with a silver emblem pinned near the collar. His expression was unreadable, polished. Government.

“Good morning, Dr. Park Jongseong,” the man said evenly. “I’m Lee Heeseung. Task Force Division Five. Anti-Parasite Intelligence Unit.”

Jongseong’s eyes flicked down briefly to the ID badge clipped at the man’s belt, then back up to his face. His features didn’t move.

“I wasn’t aware I was still listed under my former title,” he replied coolly.

Heeseung’s lips twitched into something close to a smirk. “Well, it’s been what… two years since you resigned after your incident. You can imagine it took some digging to find this place.”

He gestured loosely toward the landscape—gravel winding through old pine, the isolation of the hills, the unmarked road that led to nowhere. “Your house is… subtle,” he added. “Almost like you didn’t want to be found.”

Jongseong didn’t miss a beat. “I didn’t know that was illegal.”

“It’s not,” Heeseung replied, smile sharpening slightly. “Not yet. But you know how we work—we keep tabs on anyone with a profile like yours. Especially those who survived and then disappeared without a trace.”

“I resigned because I was hospitalized with thirty-five internal injuries,” Jongseong said evenly. “I’m sure you read the files, didn’t you? Spent a few late nights combing through the classified parts?”

Heeseung gave a quiet chuckle. “I skimmed the highlights. They don’t make many survive cases like yours, so you’re... of interest.” His eyes flicked past Jongseong’s shoulder—and landed on you.

You stood near the far end of the hallway, half-visible in the doorway, Jongjong cradled in your arms. You tried to stay still, neutral, but the weight of his gaze made your grip tighten. The kitten stirred with a faint mewl as you forced a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Heeseung’s head tilted slightly. “Girlfriend?”

There was something in his tone—probing, too casual to be genuine.

“Quite a familiar face,” he added. “I think we flagged her name once. Ran away from home, wasn’t it?”

You swallowed, every muscle in your body tensed beneath your skin.

Jongseong stepped forward, subtly blocking the doorway with his body to cover you. “We’re getting married,” he said flatly.

Heeseung’s brows lifted a fraction, but the smirk never left his face. “Well. Congratulations, then.” His tone made it sound like anything but a blessing.

Jongseong’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”

Heeseung’s smile faded slightly. Not gone but tempered. “There’s been parasite movement in this region,” he said. “We’ve been tracking electromagnetic fluctuations coming from your grid. Spike patterns. Irregular heat signatures. Even some satellite interference.”

He paused, studying Jongseong's face for a flicker of reaction that never came. “Nothing conclusive,” Heeseung added, “but... interesting. Enough to warrant a visit.”

Jongseong didn’t flinch. “Congratulations,” he said dryly. “You found a retired doctor with backup power.”

“Maybe.” Heeseung tilted his head slightly. “Or maybe we found a man who’s been hiding something more than outdated diagnostics.”

Jongseong stepped back half a pace—not in retreat, but to take a stronger stance. The door remained open behind him, but his presence filled the threshold like a barricade.

“If you had proof,” he said, voice low, “you wouldn’t be here asking questions.”

Heeseung’s smirk returned. “That’s true. For now.” His eyes flicked to the hallway again—just a second too long, settling on the space where you'd stood before he arrived. His gaze lingered, speculative.

“Thing is,” he continued, tone softening just enough to unsettle, “it’s only a matter of time. Sooner or later, all hosts lose containment. Doesn’t matter how strong they are. Or how careful.”

Jongseong’s jaw flexed. “And if they don’t?” he asked.

Heeseung’s eyes gleamed with the hint of something darker—curiosity, maybe. “Then they become something else. And that’s when they’re really interesting.”

Heeseung stepped back. His smile returned as he reached into his coat and pulled out a small card, placing it gently on the railing beside the door.

“If you ever decide you want to talk,” he said. “I’d be happy to listen.”

Jongseong didn’t respond. He didn’t take the card. Just watched.

Heeseung turned away, nodding once to the officers near the car. As he walked down the steps, his voice carried over his shoulder:

“Take care of your fiancée, Doctor."

The car doors shut with a dull clunk, and the engines rolled back to life.

Jongseong waited until the sound faded completely before closing the door. Not slamming it, just quiet.

The room was still again.

The echo of car engines faded into the distance, swallowed by the thick silence of the woods. But the unease didn’t leave with them. It settled in the corners of the room, in the shadows of the hallway, in the hush of the air itself.

Jongseong stood unmoving for a long moment, staring at the door. Then, slowly, he backed away, step by step, until he reached you.

His voice was low. Bitter. Tired.

“Government’s so fucking fake,” he whispered under his breath. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tightly against his chest.

Your body responded before your brain could catch up. Your arms encircled him, clutching Jongjong between you, the little cat still tense, mewing softly with each shift of breath.

You could feel Jongseong’s heart beating faster than usual. Not panic—but calculation. Instinct already grinding into motion.

Your own chest ached with the weight of it. “They’ll raid us,” you said, your voice strained. “You know that, right? It’s just a matter of time.”

“I know,” he murmured into your hair. 

He was already thinking, you could feel it in him—muscle memory kicking in, mind running down contingency plans, routes, caches, what to take, what to leave behind. But for one more second, he just held you there, breathing in the moment. Then he pulled back, hands firm but gentle on your shoulders.

“We need to move. Fast.”

You nodded, eyes wide but steady. “Where?”

“There’s a site. Old observatory, two hours east. No power grid, no satellite interference. It’s buried in forest. Abandoned for years.” He was already turning, heading toward the concealed panel in the hallway, the one that led down into the lab. “I used to store backup gear there. We can set up a new node. No one should find us.”

You followed him, Jongjong tucked against your chest, your footsteps light and quick on the floor. Down in the lab, the air was cooler—sterile, humming with faint electricity. But this time, the room didn’t feel like safety. It felt like a ticking clock.

Jongseong moved with swift. He was already pulling storage drives from the mainframe, detaching power cells, collecting physical records. “Grab your scans,” he said without looking. “The ones from last week. The DNA strand with the tertiary mutation—we can’t leave that behind.”

You rushed to the desk, locating the labeled folders, the encrypted drives. “Do we take the entire core?”

“No. Too heavy. Just the segments I isolated in Case File Delta-11. Everything else, we burn.”

You paused, breath caught. “Burn?”

He turned, locking eyes with you. “If they come here, they’re not just looking for us. They’re looking for proof. If they find it, we lose everything.”

You swallowed hard and nodded.

He returned to packing—the slow dismantling of a life that had once felt permanent. The garden. The house. The bed. The scent of tea in the morning and soft footsteps on wood. All of it, now just a risk.

“You’re doing okay?” he asked suddenly.

You looked at him, startled by the question. “What?”

He paused. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m trying not to fall apart,” you said honestly.

Jongseong walked to you, took your hand, laced his fingers through yours. “Then fall apart later. Right now, we survive.”

You blinked fast, refusing to cry, and nodded.

For the next hour, the house came alive with motion You cleared out the bedroom, pulling your few clothes into a duffel bag. Jongseong moved through the kitchen, the basement, the lab—grabbing rations, medical supplies, essential tech. Caches were unlocked from beneath floorboards. Batteries charged.

Jongjong mewed at your heels, sensitive to the sudden shift. You scooped him into a small reinforced carrier, latching the top shut gently as you whispered, “It’s okay, baby. We’re not leaving you.”

When everything was ready—what little they could carry—the rest was rigged.

Jongseong stood by the lab console, thumb hovering over a small interface.

“Are you sure?” you asked softly.

He looked around the room. The whiteboards, the shelves, the soft glow of monitors that had flickered through endless nights of quiet obsession. “I loved this place,” he said. “But it was never meant to last.”

Then he pressed his thumb to the screen. The countdown began: 120 seconds.

He turned to you.

“Let’s go.”

The two of you moved quickly through the trees, boots crunching against the uneven trail that led away from the house. The duffel bags strapped over your shoulders weighed heavy, and Jongjong’s carrier bumped gently against your side as you kept pace with Jongseong. Every breath burned in your chest, lungs tight from urgency, but you didn’t slow.

The road wasn’t far. Behind you, the first hint of black smoke coiled upward into the sky—thin at first, then thicker, darker, alive with the scent of something ending. Chemicals. Plastic. Burnt paper. Memories.

You glanced back once, just once, and saw the roof of the house begin to buckle in the distance, flames licking hungrily through the glass of the greenhouse.

The safehouse was gone.

You turned your face forward again, biting down hard on the grief rising in your throat.

Then, just as you and Jongseong stepped out from the treeline onto the narrow, cracked road, you heard it—engines. Multiple.

Too close.

Jongseong’s hand shot out instinctively, halting you in your tracks as headlights cut across the road ahead. Then another flash of light from behind. The hum of electric motors shifted into full roar as a wall of vehicles emerged from the forest—sleek, matte black, no visible insignia.

One car. Then two. Then four. They encircled you with military precision.

“Fuck,” Jongseong breathed.

Your heart kicked into a sprint.

The tires screeched as the cars completed the circle, trapping you both in the center. Doors slammed. Boots hit gravel. From the trees, two more massive transport trucks rumbled into view—large, reinforced, bearing symbols you didn’t recognize.

Your pulse rang in your ears. Jongjong whimpered inside his carrier.

Around you, agents moved into formation—helmets, rifles, armor too advanced for local law enforcement. These weren’t just military. This was containment.

You felt Jongseong’s hand slip into yours, grounding. His grip was steady, but the tension radiating from him was unmistakable.

They’d come fast. Too fast. Someone had been watching long before Heeseung ever stepped onto the porch. The visit had been a test—a warning disguised as politeness. And now, the real answer had arrived.

Jongseong stood still beside you, his body calm but coiled like a spring. Eyes scanning every angle—counting rifles, reading stance, calculating distance.

“We don’t run,” he said quietly, his voice low and measured.

You nodded, barely. Your mouth had gone dry. Every muscle in your body was buzzing with restrained panic, but his steadiness held you together. Barely.

Then the voice came, amplified by a mounted speaker from one of the armored vehicles ahead.

“Park Jongseong. Parasite host that evolved with retained intelligence. Subject Code 1072. You are surrounded. Surrender peacefully.”

Parasite. Host.

You felt something clench in your chest. They thought Jongseong was gone. That he was nothing but a skin-walker—a parasite wearing his face. They thought he had taken Jongseong’s memories. Not kept them.

And if that’s what they thought of him… what did they think you were? You were both still yourselves. Still human in the ways that mattered. Conscious. Feeling. Choosing. How could they not see that?

It was easier to reduce you to subjects—to codes and categories. It was easier to eliminate anomalies than to understand them.

You flinched as the quiet clicks of safety switches echoed around you. One by one. Like a metronome of dread. The hiss of containment coils charging up, the faint hum of EMP disruptors warming beneath the truck chassis. Cold, impersonal tools built to restrain monsters.

This is it. This is how it ends.

You choked back a cry, your vision blurring with panic, heart jackhammering in your chest.

A hand, warm and steady, wrapped around yours.  You looked up instinctively, drawn by that calm pull, and saw Jongseong’s face turned toward you. No fear in his expression.

Only you.

His thumb brushed gently across your skin—once, twice, the motion grounding. His eyes held yours, soft and unwavering, and in them was a message louder than the voice still barking orders from the trucks:

We’ll be alright.

No matter what happened next. Whether they fought, ran, or burned it all down—he would not leave you. Not now. Not after everything.

You swallowed hard, pressing your forehead briefly to his shoulder.

“Let me be perfectly clear,” he said. “I’m not a host. I’m not a parasite."

But they weren’t listening. Before the next breath, the soldiers moved.

Shadows broke from the perimeter—six of them, black-clad, rifles raised, moving with ruthless efficiency. You barely had time to react before they were on you, splitting you apart.

“Jongseong!” you screamed, voice raw, panic lacing. You twisted violently in their grip, but they were trained for this. One of them was already behind you, and then—Cold metal—pressed hard against the back of your skull. 

“Do not touch her!” Jongseong roared, voice losing all calm. “I came out here on my own. I’m trying to handle this peacefully—hear me out first!”

“What a nerve for a parasite.”

Heeseung stepped forward from the rear of one of the vehicles, casual as ever, a tablet under one arm and a sleek black coat whipping slightly in the breeze. His expression was between amused and disappointed.

“You know what fascinates me about your kind?” he asked. “You think memory makes you human. That because you remember who you were, that gives you the right to pretend you still are.”

Heeseung smiled thinly, but his eyes were sharp and gleaming. “You’re not a miracle, Park Jongseong. You’re a malfunction. A parasite too stubborn to wipe clean. An error in the code.”

“You’re wrong,” Jongseong said, voice low and shaking with barely-contained rage. “I’m not pretending. I am still me.”

“Oh?” Heeseung lifted an eyebrow, then glanced at you, pinned and trembling. “Then why does your biology say otherwise?”

“This,” Heeseung continued, “is not human. And it never will be again.”

He stepped closer to you now, far too close, gaze crawling over you. His hand reached for your face.

You flinched and Jongseong snapped. “Don’t touch her!” he bellowed. His body tensed, pulsing with barely contained energy, the hybrid signature humming just beneath his skin.

But the soldiers were faster this time. Before he could fully shift, they surged forward, slamming him to the ground with blunt, brutal force. A shriek tore from your throat as metal restraints clamped around his wrists, locking into his nerves with a cruel hiss. Another device—a containment collar—was pressed to the base of his neck and activated with a low whine. It snapped shut, injecting something through the skin.

"No!" you screamed, trying to lunge toward him, but two soldiers seized you by the arms and yanked you back. From the corner of your eye, you saw them dragging Jongseong toward one of the trucks. His head lolled forward, jaw clenched, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. But his eyes—his eyes—were still locked on you.

“My cat,” you whispered hoarsely, panic rising in your throat as you clutched the carrier tighter to your chest. The soldiers didn’t stop—they reached for it too.

"Please don’t hurt Jongjong,” you begged, voice cracking as the straps were torn from your hands, the warm weight of the carrier suddenly gone. “Please.”

The truck doors slammed behind Jongseong. Heeseung approached you, boots slow on the gravel, his expression unreadable. You expected amusement, or cold detachment. Instead, he looked… fascinated.

He stopped just in front of you, gaze flicking over your face, then lower, he reached out and plucked a strand of your hair.

You jerked back, but he already had it between his gloved fingers, holding it against the light.

It twitched. A subtle motion, almost imperceptible. The strand pulsed—flexed—like something living beneath the keratin. A ripple of parasite-altered structure, responsive to stress. Adaptable.

Just like Jongseong’s. 

“Fascinating,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. You stood rigid, breath shallow, refusing to give him the satisfaction of fear.

He didn’t need you to speak. He already knew. You moved differently too.

Not like the ones they captured in the early waves—parasites that tore through their hosts in hours, leaving nothing behind but mindless hunger. Those were feral. Primitive. No self-awareness, no identity. They moved in twisted packs, bonded by instinct and survival programming alone.

You showed restraint. Expression. Emotion. A parasite that retained host memories wasn’t unheard of, but this level of cognitive mimicry? This illusion of selfhood? It was advanced. Dangerous.

Heeseung’s gaze flicked toward the truck where Jongseong was being restrained, injected, monitored. Still conscious, still resisting. Still looking at you.

The way you’d screamed for him. The way he’d fought back. The way your bodies moved in sync when threatened, like one half of the same adaptive system.

Heeseung’s brow furrowed faintly as his mind worked. Two parasites. Two separate hosts. And yet—shared behavior, matched speech patterns, mirrored stress responses.

Coordination. There was no record of parasite hosts operating this way.

No. These two were different.

They operated like a bonded system—distinct, but synchronized. Reflexively connected. Conscious units that didn't just act... they adapted. They evolved in tandem.

Like they remembered how to be human.

Heeseung turned from you without another word and walked briskly toward the rear vehicle.

The heavy doors of the transport truck slammed shut behind him with a hollow thud, sealing away the forest light. Inside, the air was sterile and close—metal floors, reinforced paneling, containment restraints bolted to the walls.

Jongseong sat chained at the wrists and ankles to a steel platform welded to the floor. A neural-suppression collar wrapped around the base of his neck, blinking with slow, pulsing red light—designed to keep his nervous system dormant. His breathing was shallow, restrained by the collar’s influence, but his eyes…

His eyes were alert. Fixed on a spot on the floor in front of him, still burning with thought.

The soldier at the rear finished checking the restraints, nodded once to Heeseung, then stepped out, leaving the two of them alone as the engine rumbled to life.

The truck began to move.

Heeseung sat across from him, there was a moment of silence before Jongseong spoke.

“Where did you put her cat?”

He didn’t look up—just stared at the floor, wrists loose in the restraints, posture deceptively relaxed.

Heeseung blinked, caught off-guard by the question. Not a threat. Not a plea. Just calm, focused concern. That tone again. Human, not host mimicry.

“She was worried,” Jongseong continued. “Even when they put a gun to her head. She didn’t cry for herself.”

“Your first question,” he said at last, “after all this—after being tranquilized, collared, contained—is about a cat?”

Jongseong’s jaw shifted slightly. “He’s all she has left."

Heeseung leaned back in his seat, watching him, trying to see where the parasite ended and the man began. “You say that like you care.”

“I do,” Jongseong said simply.

“You’re not supposed to,” Heeseung said flatly. “Parasites don’t care. They consume. They replicate. They preserve function only long enough to blend in and feed. Emotions aren’t in the architecture.”

Jongseong finally lifted his eyes. And when he did, the calm in them unnerved even Heeseung. “Maybe your data’s outdated.”

Heeseung didn’t answer right away.

The collar blinked again—another suppression pulse. Jongseong winced slightly, just a flicker. But the control was slipping.

“Why her?” Heeseung asked, narrowing his eyes. “Why protect her? Why bond?”

Jongseong tilted his head. “You think that’s the parasite, don’t you? A mimicry of love?”

“Isn’t it?”

“No,” he replied quietly. “It’s something stronger than that. Something your experiments can’t replicate.”

Heeseung watched him for a moment longer, then pulled a tablet from his coat. He tapped the screen once, bringing up a live feed.

On it—your containment cell.

You were seated on a cold bench, hands cuffed, staring at the wall with red-rimmed eyes. Jongjong’s carrier sat in the far corner, intact. The kitten was curled up inside, asleep, breathing shallow but steady.

“She’s safe. For now,” Heeseung said. “As long as you cooperate.”

Jongseong didn’t speak. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just kept his eyes on the screen showing your containment room. The only motion came from his fingers—subtle, rhythmic tension in the knuckles as they flexed against the cuffs around his wrists.

The low rumble of the truck filled the silence between them as the vehicle rolled down the cracked road. The steel walls vibrated faintly with every turn, every bump. The hum of the suppression collar echoed with each pulse, a soft, almost inaudible thrum designed to keep the nervous system in check.

Heeseung sat opposite him, tablet resting on one knee, but he wasn’t looking at the screen anymore.

He was watching him. Heeseung had spent years studying parasite behavior. He’d seen the aftermath of outbreaks, the scorched ruins of cities where hosts turned feral. He’d dissected bodies whose minds had been consumed, hijacked by instinct. He knew how the infection behaved. The timeline. The neurological decay.

Heeseung leaned forward slightly, watching every twitch of the man’s jaw, every micro-movement in the corners of his eyes. There was no vacant, drone-like stillness. No flickering dissonance between body and mind. Jongseong moved with control. With memory.

“Two years,” Heeseung said quietly. “Since your incident.”

Still, no reply.

“No symptoms of degeneration. No neural collapse. No regression to instinctive behavior. Not even a shift unless provoked.”

Heeseung’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Parasites don’t do that.”

“You should’ve lost cognitive function by now,” Heeseung muttered, as if to himself. “Or at least shown instability. But you’re not twitching, not fragmenting. You’re still here.”

Jongseong didn’t answer.

Heeseung studied him harder now. “You responded to pain. But you didn’t lash out. You defended her first. Like you weren’t the one being contained.”

He stood slowly, pacing a step across the cramped transport cabin. “You aren’t fighting for survival like the others. You’re fighting for her. And the cat.” He said the last part with disbelief.

“And even now—with everything shut down inside you—you’re not asking how to escape.” He tapped a knuckle lightly against the wall. “You’re asking about a cat.”

Heeseung exhaled slowly, almost reluctantly, he muttered the thought that had been coiling in the back of his mind since he first saw the two of you together:

“…What if we didn’t catch a parasite?”

Across from him, Jongseong finally lifted his eyes. “You didn’t,” Jongseong said quietly.

His voice was calm. Too calm. It made Heeseung’s spine tighten.

“You didn’t catch a parasite,” he repeated. “You caught me.”

Heeseung turned toward him, narrowing his eyes, the flicker of doubt still not strong enough to override years of indoctrinated procedure. “So what are you then? The host pretending to be alive? Or the thing that took his name?”

“I’m not pretending,” Jongseong said, sitting straighter despite the restraints. “I never stopped being me.”

Heeseung folded his arms, cautious. “Parasites can adapt to memory. Form neural imprints. Replay emotions. It doesn’t mean they feel them.”

“I remember my mother’s voice,” Jongseong said. “The smell of mint in my lab. The first time I stitched a wound clean."

He leaned forward just slightly, eyes locked with Heeseung’s. “Tell me. What kind of parasite chooses restraint?”

Heeseung didn’t answer.

“I should have attacked when you put the collar on,” Jongseong continued. “When you touched her. When you threatened a cat. But I didn’t. Because I still have choice. I still have will. And if I wasn’t me... you’d all be dead.”

Heeseung’s jaw tightened. “That’s not proof of humanity. It’s control.”

“It’s both,” Jongseong said. “That’s what you can’t see. You’ve been fighting a war against an infection—but you never stopped to consider that maybe, some of us… integrated.”

He let the word hang.

“Not overwritten. Not consumed. Not mindless.”

“Integrated,” Heeseung repeated slowly, voice skeptical. “As in… coexistence?”

Jongseong nodded once. “Symbiosis. On a level your science hasn’t reached yet. Our cells merged. Our minds remained intact. Not corrupted."

The idea clawed at the edge of his discipline. It wasn’t just unorthodox—it was heretical in the field of parasite containment.

“This isn’t a theory we can test,” Heeseung muttered, as much to himself as to Jongseong. “There’s no model for what you’re describing. No neural map that explains how host and parasite can both retain identity—”

“Because you’ve never looked,” Jongseong cut in. “You see symptoms. You don’t see survival. You isolate, contain, and kill before you understand.”

Heeseung stopped, and look at him again. “Why her?” he asked again, softer this time. “Why protect her like that?”

Jongseong’s gaze didn’t waver. “Because I love her. Not because the parasite remembers it. Because I do."

Heeseung was silent, the silence between them thickened.

“If you're going to cut us open, then leave her out of it. I’ve already run my bloodwork. The cells in our systems—they’re nearly identical. If you need a subject, take me.”

Heeseung narrowed his eyes. “You’re admitting you’re infected.”

“I’m saying I know more about what’s happening inside me than you ever will,” Jongseong said. “I’ve seen the mutation pathways. I’ve watched how the parasite interacts with host DNA. It doesn’t consume. Not in our case. It synchronizes. Rewrites with us, not over us.”

“You expect me to believe this is some kind of... biological partnership?”

“I don’t care if you believe it,” Jongseong said coolly. “I care if you let her live.”

Heeseung stood motionless, his fingers tightening slightly over the edge of his tablet. His mind clearly spinning, trying to stitch logic back together with a theory that had no precedent, no documented case, no rules.

Then a sudden bang was heard at the front of the transport.

The front of the transport jolted sideways, metal groaning as something massive rammed into the vehicle’s outer shell. Jongseong’s head snapped up, his body jerking violently against the restraints. The suppression collar flared with a pulse of light as it tried to regulate the surge in his nervous system.

But instinct was already rising. From deep in his bones, something ancient and sharpened stirred.

Warning sirens shrieked from the cockpit, pulsing red light flooding the interior. A violent, inhuman screech tore through the walls of the transport, piercing and layered with a sound that no natural throat could make.

Heeseung spun toward the back, eyes wide, gun already in hand as static exploded over the comms.

“—under attack—Sector Four breached—multiple signatures—non-registered forms—”

Then: silence. The comm cut out with a sharp burst of static.

Another impact—closer now.

The left panel of the truck ripped open, jagged claws punching through the hull. The interior sparked, wires torn from the wall. Screams erupted outside, brief, panicked, human—and were immediately silenced.

Gunfire flared, distant and fast. Then stopped. The truck screeched to a halt. Everything inside shuddered.

Jongseong’s breathing slowed. His pupils dilated. A sharp ringing started in his ear, piercing and constant. A signal. An echo. He knew that sound. The ferals were here.

Heeseung backed toward the wall, cursing under his breath, eyes darting toward the ruptured seams of the truck. “Shit—ferals. We’re not the only ones who tracked your signal.”

The vehicle hissed, locking down in emergency containment mode, blast doors grinding into place—but it wouldn’t hold.

It never held against evolved ferals.

A voice crackled in over the emergency channel, panicked and distorted.

“They’re cutting through the outer convoy—unit integrity compromised—blades—gods, their heads—!”

Heeseung turned toward the hatch with frantic precision, slamming a hand against the biometric reader. It blinked red.

Denied. Lockdown protocol in effect.

He snarled and spun toward one of the soldiers just as they dropped in from the front cabin, blood on their chest armor.

“What the hell are they doing here?!” Heeseung barked, breath ragged.

The soldier stumbled forward, panting. “We were being tracked. They're grouped, coordinated. They sensed the suppression signals. We were too focused on the subject—on capturing him—we didn’t see them grouping up!”

Heeseung’s face twisted, horror blooming beneath the sweat on his brow. He hit the external door override and shoved it open.

The wind roared in—along with the sharp scent of blood and ozone. He stepped out onto the highway and stopped cold.

The road was carnage.

Vehicles overturned. Trucks in flames. Smoke coiling into the sky. The asphalt was smeared with streaks of red. Civilian cars had been caught in the chaos, crumpled in the crash zone, some still running. The sound of alarms blared faintly beneath the screams.

And all around them—parasites. Dozens of them.

Moving in brutal synchronicity. Their heads had split open, revealing rows of blade-like bone and twitching sensory tissue, extending into curved, serrated weapons. Limbs bent at impossible angles. Some crawled low, others leapt over crushed vehicles.

One slammed a containment soldier into a guardrail, slicing through armor like foil. Another dragged someone beneath a flipped transport, the sound that followed barely human.

“Fuck!” Heeseung shouted. “We’re on a highway! Civilians are here!”

He watched as one parasite tore through a family vehicle. And suddenly, Heeseung understood the truth he’d ignored for too long:

While the government hunted for anomalies, the real parasites were already evolving—together.

 "Jongseong!" Your voice cut through the gunfire, the sirens, the screeching metal—and Jongseong’s body reacted instantly.

His head snapped up, muscles tensing, eyes blown wide with instinct. The suppression collar hissed against his neck, trying to contain the surge of parasitic activity pulsing beneath his skin, but it was failing—overloaded by the ambient energy from the ferals outside. He pulled against the restraints, harder than before, the reinforced cuffs groaning.

Heeseung spun, eyes wide, curse caught in his throat as he raised his pistol again and fired into a cluster of parasites tearing through the defensive line.

Shots rang out, shells clinking against the scorched metal floor. Smoke billowed from one of the downed trucks. The soldiers had formed a defensive circle around the transport, rifles raised, trying desperately to hold position. Their formation was tight focused on protecting the anomaly inside.

But they didn’t see you. Your form moved like a blur—inhumanly fast—leaping across the crushed hood of a nearby vehicle. Metal dented under your weight as you sprang upward, hair whipped by the wind, eyes burning.

“How the hell—” one soldier stammered. “How did she escape containment?”

Another parasite lunged toward you, its jaw split wide in three directions, blade-arms drawn back to strike—but you twisted mid-air, your arm morphing as it flared into a winged shield, catching the creature mid-swipe and launching it backward with a bone-cracking crash.

You landed hard on the ground, crouched and panting, blood spattered on your cheek but your eyes were locked forward.

“Get away from him!” you screamed, your voice tore through the cacophony.

More soldiers had arrived—reinforcements spilling onto the blood-slick highway, shouting over their comms, rifles raised, movements tight and confused. But they couldn’t keep formation. They couldn’t keep up.

The parasites were everywhere crawling over the wreckage, tearing through armor. Heads split in jagged, serrated formations. Limbs bent backward, adapted for slicing, climbing, killing.

Heeseung stood in the center, spinning in place, trying to process it all.

Too fast. Too many. His team was trained for containment, not war.

“Sector is compromised—” a soldier barked through the radio before his voice was swallowed in static and a wet, bone-snapping crunch nearby.

All around him, his men were falling. One circle formation collapsed entirely, parasites tearing through the armored bodies within seconds. Another squad tried to regroup behind the burning transport, but were picked off before they even knelt.

Heeseung turned, frantic, searching for something to ground the moment. His eyes locked on you again.

You were in the open now—half-covered in smoke and ash, crouched behind a twisted heap of steel. Your breath was ragged, chest heaving, your once-formed wing-arm flickering with strain. Bone pushed through skin, not cleanly. It was raw. Exhausted. Overused.

You lifted your hand again but it refused to hold shape. Too many eyes.

The soldiers had seen you, so had the parasites.

And now everyone was targeting you. They didn’t care if you were like them or not—they only knew you weren’t theirs.

Gunfire cracked again, a warning shot grazing the steel beside your head. You ducked, eyes wide, hand burning as it twisted, half-shifting into something between claw and shield.

“Jongseong!” you cried out, breath shattering on his name. You didn’t know if he could hear you, but he felt you.

Body twisting against the chains as the parasite beneath his skin surged upward. The steel groaned. Jongseong’s wrists ripped free from the restraints in a burst of heat and sound. Sparks rained down as his hands—half-shifted now, gleaming with dark, fluid armor—tore the collar from his neck with a violent crack, tossing it against the wall where it exploded in a flash of white.

One leap carried him from the open truck, landing on shattered pavement just a few meters from you. Smoke curled from his shoulders. The wreckage of the convoy burned behind him. But he wasn’t looking at the fire.

He was looking at you.

“Stay back!” one of the soldiers shouted, stepping into his path.

Another raised a weapon and then they shot him.

The crack of the rifle echoed.

A high-velocity round tore into Jongseong’s back, slamming into the base of his spine, his arms dropped slightly.

And that’s when something inside you snapped.

The sound of the bullet, the sight of him being hit—again—sent a wave through your chest that wasn’t fear.

"No!" Something inside you responded. Your ears rang—not from the gunshot, but from a deeper frequency. Like pressure under water, like something old and waiting inside your blood suddenly woke up.

Heeseung saw the shift too late.

“No! Hold your fire!” he shouted, voice cracking as he pushed through the chaos, waving his arm wildly at the squad still taking aim. “Cease fire—stand down!”

Jongseong’s body hit the pavement hard, a low, guttural groan tearing from his throat. The bullet had struck at the base of his spine—the most sensitive part of his body, where parasite and host tissue merged deepest. His limbs trembled, nerves crackling like snapped wires. The world around him blurred.

Sound fractured. Vision swam. But even through the fog, his body moved.

He forced one arm forward, dragging himself across the cracked asphalt, blood trailing behind him. Grit tore into his palms. Every movement lit his back. He had to reach you.

His breath hitched, when he looked up and saw you.

You were standing amidst the ruin, body trembling, chest rising, your head is split. Down the center, your skull had begun to peel open, petals of bone and skin folding back in a horrifying symmetry.

Inside, the interior of your skull pulsed with living tissue—luminous, intricate, organic architecture sculpted into motion. The folds moved, shimmering with pale bioluminescence beneath layers of exposed membrane. Thorned tendrils extended into the air, twitching like antennae, reaching in all directions—reading everything.

You weren’t looking at anyone. You were looking at everything.

And anything that moved was a target.

Jongseong watched, breath stuttering in his throat as he pushed himself to his feet, limping, wounded, bleeding, but still moving toward you.

“No…” he whispered, his voice frayed with pain. “Please—look at me.”

But your head remained split open, the sensory limbs on full alert, searching, flinching, vibrating with threat-perception. You were caught in something deeper than instinct. Something merged. Not fully parasite. Not fully human.

Hybrid rage.

He saw your hands flex—one already reshaped into a half-scythe, twitching.

His steps faltered. You didn’t recognize movement anymore. Only motion. Only danger.

And that’s when a memory crashed through him.

“If I stop choosing?” you asked him, voice fragile, small in the silence of your shared bed. “If I lose myself?”

He cupped your face and smiled faintly, "remember what I said when we first met?"

"I’ll stop you,” he said. 

Jongseong staggered closer, lifting a hand.

“Come back to me,” he whispered, blood dripping from his fingers. “It’s me, remember? You asked me to stop you. But I know you’re still in there.”

Your tendrils twitched, one sweeping dangerously near his face. Another moved to your back—coiling instinctively, ready to strike anything that came close.

He didn’t move faster. He moved slower. One step at a time. No aggression. No sudden gestures. Just presence.

Your exposed mind pulsed again, recognition flickering across the movement sensors.

The rage inside you paused.

Jongseong was right there, wounded and reaching. His hand stretched toward you, fingers trembling, eyes full of you.

You saw him. He saw you.

For a moment, the chaos faded beneath the ringing in your head. The rage had cracked open, flared, and then wavered. The kill-reflex that had overtaken you flickered like a faulty circuit. Jongseong was there—his body broken, bleeding, limping toward you, arms out like he wasn’t afraid. And you weren’t afraid either.

He was calling you back. You could feel it in the weight of his gaze, in the tremble of his voice, in the way he said your name like it still belonged to a person, not a monster.

But the world never gave you time to breathe.

“Target in range!” came the voice, sharp and too close.

A soldier burst through the smoke to the left of the wreckage, rifle raised, armor streaked with ash. He’d broken rank. His orders were panic now, and his eyes were locked not on you—but on Jongseong.

He didn’t see the moment between you.

He saw a parasite protecting another parasite. He pulled the trigger.

And the world snapped back into motion.

Your body reacted faster than thought. Your limbs twisted with violent precision, burning pain ripping through your shoulders as tendrils re-flared wide. The trajectory of the bullet was instant, and so was your movement. You lunged—not toward the soldier, but toward Jongseong. 

The shot rang out.

It hit you in the side of the head. The force snapped your body mid-leap, the angle of your descent faltering as the impact twisted your momentum. You crumpled in the air, before collapsing into Jongseong’s arms.

He didn’t process it at first. His mind refused to.

He had just seen your face—your eyes, focused and full of something fierce. You’d moved to shield him. You had chosen. And now your weight was in his arms, limp, warm, and wrong.

Jongseong’s eyes widened, his pupils blown wide as your body hit him. You slid into his chest, your limbs folding over him.

“No—” The word broke from him. Your blood was already pooling in his lap, hot and thick, soaking through the front of his shirt.

Your head lolled against his shoulder, and for one breathless, agonizing moment, he thought it was over. That whatever part of you had held on through mutation and fear had finally let go.

Then, you moved.

Your fingers twitched against his chest, searching weakly, as though your body still knew him. As though your nerves had memorized where he was. His hand flew to your cheek, cradling your face, feeling the fresh, searing heat of the wound just above your brow, where the bullet had grazed—not pierced—just grazed, carving a shallow line along the temple instead of burrowing deep.

It hadn’t gone through.

It hadn’t gone through.

“Hey—hey,” Jongseong whispered, his voice trembling as his thumb brushed away the blood streaking down the side of your face. “Stay with me. Look at me. Come on, open your eyes.”

You stirred faintly in his arms, eyes fluttering open halfway. Blurry. Unfocused. One pupil dilated, the other slow to respond. Your breathing came shallow, uneven. But you were still there.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, slurred. “You were in the way.”

Tears welled in Jongseong’s eyes, stinging hot. “You think I care about that?” he said, a bitter laugh breaking through his grief. “You shouldn’t be protecting me. I’m supposed to protect you. That was the deal. That was the whole damn deal.”

Your mouth twitched into the ghost of a smile. “We keep switching places.”

He let out a breath—part sob, part laugh—and pulled you tighter against him, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. “You’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna get out of this. Just don’t close your eyes, okay?”

Around you, the world was still burning.

The smoke curled through the air, lit red by fire and violence. Parasites clashed with soldiers. Screams rose and fell. Metal groaned as the transport vehicles burned. But inside this circle, there was only the two of you.

Jongseong cradled your body close, arms trembling, holding you. You were breathing but just barely, and each breath was a battle. Your eyes were open, unfocused, but searching only for him.

“I said hold your fucking gun!” Heeseung’s voice tore through the smoke, sharp and furious. He stormed forward, boots crunching glass and debris.

But halfway there, he froze. A small, unmistakable sound pierced the tension.

"Meow."

Heeseung blinked, momentarily disarmed.

Out from behind a crushed tire, padding softly on tiny feet, came the orange kitten. Its fur was matted with soot, but it was unharmed. It limped slightly, dazed but determined, weaving its way across the field of bodies and broken machines. It meowed again, louder this time, heading straight toward the two figures curled together on the ground.

Heeseung watched, stunned.

The kitten crawled into the small space between your arms and Jongseong’s chest, nudging at your hand until your fingers curled faintly around its fur. A soft sound escaped your lips—almost a sob. Jongseong let out a broken breath, head bowed low, tears trailing silently down his blood-streaked face.

Heeseung had seen hundreds of parasite cases. Dissections. Failures. Living corpses. He’d seen what it looked like when something wore a human face like a mask.

They weren’t mimicking emotion.

They were feeling it.

And suddenly, something cracked in him. Maybe it was the way Jongseong hadn’t fought back. Maybe it was the way you had shielded him without hesitation. Or maybe it was the cat—meowing stubbornly like it belonged in this hell, like it belonged to someone who mattered.

Heeseung turned away. “Take them to the hospital,” he said gruffly. "Now.”

The remaining soldiers hesitated. He turned his head slightly, eyes hard. “They are just normal beings. You hear me?”

The sun was bright—too bright, almost unreal after everything. You lay on your back in the grass, eyes half-lidded, your arm stretched above your head as your fingers tried to catch the warmth. The heat soaked into your skin that reminded your body it was still alive.

The breeze danced lightly across your face, carrying the scent of earth and new flowers. Birds chirped somewhere distant, lazy and indifferent to what the world had gone through.

For once, it was quiet.

Jongseong dropped down beside you, his breath soft as he settled into the grass. His shoulder brushed against yours.

“You’re happy?” he asked, you turned toward him, giggling gently as you scooted closer, resting your head against his arm until your nose touched the soft fabric of his shirt.

“Yes,” you whispered, eyes closing. “The house you bought has neighbors. Real ones. I hear them laughing sometimes through the trees.”

You let your hand slide down into the grass, brushing over a patch of tiny purple flowers that had just begun to open. “The flowers are blooming again,” you added.

You felt his arm slide under your neck, pulling you gently into him. The warmth of his chest against your back. The sound of his heart, steady and strong.

“You’re blooming again too,” he said quietly, lips brushing the top of your hair. You smiled, tucking yourself in closer, your fingers playing absently with the hem of his shirt. 

“I talked to my mother,” you said after a pause, voice barely more than a breath.

Jongseong tensed slightly behind you, just surprise. His fingers paused mid-stroke along your arm.

“They cried,” you continued, your voice catching somewhere between joy and guilt. “Not because I ran… but because I was alive. Still me. I don’t think they fully understand what I’ve become, but they—believed me. That was enough.”

“That’s more than most people get,” he said softly. “More than I thought either of us would get.”

You turned just enough to look up at him over your shoulder, your cheek still resting on his chest. “They asked about you too, you know.”

He smiled faintly. “What’d you tell them?”

“That you were the reason I came back. That you weren’t a monster. That you were the most human thing left in the world.”

He didn’t answer that. Just held you tighter.

The breeze passed again, ruffling his hair, and for a few long moments, you stayed like that.

“I… got a job offer.”

You blinked, lifting your head slightly. “A job?”

He nodded. “From the Anti-Parasite Intelligence Unit.”

You sat up just a bit, your brow furrowing as you turned toward him. “Huh? That doesn’t even make sense—they tried to kill us. You think they won’t dissect you the moment you scan wrong on their monitors?”

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Not this time. Heeseung vouched for me.”

You stared at him. “The guy who raided your house and locked me in a steel box?”

Jongseong gave a small shrug, like he was still trying to believe it himself. “He said watching us changed something. That they need people who understand—not just destroy. Someone who’s walked both sides.”

You exhaled slowly, processing that. “And… do you trust him?”

“No,” he said honestly. “But I trust myself.”

You looked at him, eyes soft but filled with worry. “I don’t want to lose this. What we have. What we made.”

“You won’t,” he said, brushing his thumb against your cheek. “I won’t let them take that. I just… I want to be part of shaping what comes next. So no one else has to live like we did.”

You were quiet for a moment, then reached up and ran your fingers through his hair.

“So…” you murmured with a crooked smile, “I’ll just be the one staying home? Waiting for you to come back from your mysterious, morally ambiguous government job?”

He chuckled, his eyes crinkling. “That doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”

You shrugged, teasing. “I don’t know. I was hoping for something a little more… exciting.”

Jongseong’s hand found yours, his fingers lacing between yours gently. “Then marry me,” he said.

You blinked. “W-What?”

He turned slightly onto his side to face you, pressing a kiss into the back of your hand. His voice didn’t shake. His eyes didn’t stray.

“Marry me,” he repeated, lips still brushing your skin. “Not because it’s perfect. Not because we’re normal. But because we survived. Because I want to spend every day I have left choosing you again.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. You sat up slowly, stunned, the words echoing louder now in the silence between you. The wind quieted. Even the trees seemed to hush.

“You’re serious,” you whispered.

He sat up with you, his face close now, eyes full of something more vulnerable than fear. “I don’t know how long this peace will last. But I know I want to build something with you. Something that no one can take from us. Not science. Not governments. Not even time.”

You laughed. “You idiot,” you said, tears in your eyes. “You didn’t even bring a ring.”

He smiled. “You’d say no if I did?”

You shook your head, laughing again through the tears. “No.”

Then quieter, as your hand pressed to his chest, you whispered:

“Yes.” 

And when he kissed you this time, it was full of sunlight and the sound of blooming things.

“Pathology of Parasites.”

The words glowed dimly on the top corner of Jongseong’s datapad screen, the title of a document he’d first created over two years ago. 

Rows of categorized data: genome sequencing, mutation rates, cellular instability markers. Diagrams of parasite-host binding sites. Bone marrow compatibility. Immune rejection cycles. Timelines of when the parasite first entered his nervous system. His own handwriting, still neat back then, filled the digital margins—observations in shorthand, notes from sleepless nights.

Date: March 4 Neurological sensitivity peaked at 3:21 AM. No external triggers. Breathing accelerated. Controlled. Note: Dreamed in third person again. Strange.

But the pages had changed with time.

What began as cold, methodical data shifted the moment you entered his life. Your name didn’t appear at first. Then it did.

A single line:

“Second anomaly encountered. Maintains emotional awareness.”

Then another:

“Unconfirmed bond pattern. Same cellular merging. Same control.”

But eventually, it wasn’t numbers anymore. He'd begun sketching you—rough outlines in the corner of the file margins. Not parasite diagrams. Just you. The curve of your jaw when you smiled. The ripple of your morphing wing when light hit it just right. The split of your skull the first time you showed him what you really were—and how he still found you beautiful.

More files were added. Pages documenting the moments no microscope could capture:

“She laughed while watering the flowers today. Her breathing pattern returned to baseline immediately afterward. Possibly tied to emotional regulation.”

“Her T-cells adapted faster than mine. She smells like copper and summer rain when she’s shifting. No documented reason. Just… her.”

The datapad buzzed faintly beneath his fingertips. He sat in the quiet of his study, your silhouette just visible through the open window—standing in the garden, laughing at Jongjong as the cat tried to chase a butterfly it would never catch.

Jongseong looked down at the title again.

Pathology of Parasites.

He stared at it for a long time. Then, slowly, he raised a finger and tapped on the word Pathology.

He highlighted it, then deleted it to typed something else.

he tries to focus on the push ups but the way your eyes trace over the muscles of his arms makes his resolve falter. “you’re making this harder than it already is, angel,”

“i’m barely doing anything,” you reply with an innocent giggle and he stops in a higher plank position, looking at you before letting out a scoff. that’s the catch— you’re not doing anything and he’s having a hard time balancing on top of you, his arms parallel to the side of your face, legs trapping yours.

you don’t even have to do anything, jay already has it bad for you. the adorable and drowsy smiles you give him after waking up makes the blood rush to his cheeks. he tries to hide it, but you can definitely notice the way his ears turn red and he’s smiling like a fool at just one look from you. even now when you’re under him, looking like heaven’s incarnate with mischief in your eyes, making it hard for him to focus on exercising— albeit, he doesn’t ask you to leave— he feels like you’ve put a spell on him. 

he admires the cheeky grin on his lips, lowering himself down to peck your lips ever so gently before pushing himself back up. “are you having fun?”

“a lot,” you nod with a smile that has him melting and running laps in his mind, one that grows wider at the touch of his lips, making your chest flutter.

“good,” and he pecks your lips again, this time staying down for a few seconds more to savour the feeling of your lips against his a little longer.

you’re looking at him expectantly for another kiss but he gets off you, making your brows knit in confusion. you blink in surprise, sitting up on the floor, words spoken with a silver of confusion. “what are you doing?” 

“you had your fun. now my turn,” and he wraps his hand around the back of your neck, slamming his lips against yours, making you melt in the moment. it feels like a daydream— the way his soft lips move against yours slowly and sweetly, in love, and you hope it stays like this forever. 

he looks up. his eyes are warm, but serious. intense, even.

“you drive me insane,” he murmurs. “you leave the shower light on. you forget where your charger is every day. you sing off-key when you think i’m not listening.”

you breathe stops, and before you can muster up a sentence, he says again.

“and i love you like i’m sick with it.”

you feel like your stops, with blood rushing up to your cheeks you really don’t know if you can handle this anymore. his thumb brushes over your knee.

“and if you say dumb shit like that again,” he says, voice low, “i might have to marry you again, just to prove a point.”

you open your mouth, ready to sass him back, but he leans in before you can.

his hand finds your waist, warm and rough from hours of sanding wood. his other hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like he’s mapping it out. like he missed it all day. like he needed this more than food or rest or sanity.

and then he kisses you. not a soft peck. not a tired brush of lips. it’s full. warm. deliberate.

his mouth slides against yours like he’s finally off the clock, like this is his reward — the only thing that makes the bruised knees and splinters and forgotten lunch worth it.

your fingers twist into his shirt instinctively. his thumb brushes down the side of your neck as his lips move against yours with something a little hungry, a little breathless, but still so stupidly in love.

you pull away for air, lips tingling, chest rising in soft, quick breaths. your fingers are still fisted in his shirt, and he looks up at you like you just knocked the wind out of him — which, to be fair, you did.

jay’s lips are red, a little kiss-swollen, and he’s breathing just as hard.

you blink, lips tingling. “so, i guess, you really do love me?”

“i love you when you talk too much,” he continues against your lips, grinning, “and when you ask dumb questions, like if i still love you.”

you let out a tiny gasp, equal parts amused and overwhelmed, and he pulls you even closer, your forehead pressed to his. your hands rest on his shoulders, thumbs brushing the slope of his neck.

“hey,” you whine softly, but he leans forward again and steals another kiss before you can complain further — short, warm, like a punctuation mark.

“i spend three hours building a closet,” he continues, kisses the corner of your mouth, “you sit here looking like a whole heart attack—” another kiss, this time near your chin, “—and then you ask—” kiss “—me—” kiss “—if i—” kiss “love you?” another kiss.

you laugh into his shoulder, hands slipping up into his hair, heart stopping “i just wanted to hear it.”

his lips curl, lazy and crooked. “you’re so annoying,” he mutters

your breath catches as he rests his forehead against yours, noses brushing, full of love. “god,” he mutters, eyes still closed, “you drive me insane,” he chuckles again like a reminder.

“you like it,” you whisper, a chuckle falling on your lips.

he smiles, just a little. then, without letting go of you, he sinks to the floor.

kneels. infront of you.

his arms wrap around your waist, cheek pressing softly to your thigh. he exhales against the fabric of your shorts, like being close to you settles everything.

you run your fingers through his hair, slow. comforting. he hums under his breath, content and quiet, letting his body relax against your leg.

“this okay?” he sighs, his lips tickling your skin as he grins on it.

you nod, resting your hand on his cheek. “yeah,” you smile. “more than okay.”

his lashes flutter as he closes his eyes again.

and there you sit, a half-finished vanity in the corner, a husband with sawdust on his arms and love in every touch, and a kiss still tingling on your lips like a promise that never gets old.

your heartbeat is still racing a little. his breaths are slower now. calm. heavy.

“i love you,” he says eventually, voice muffled and slept against your thigh.

you smile. bend forward and kiss the top of his head, “i know. i love you more.”

스루 ܃ uploading this from my college library .. chem i hate you 😞 feedbacks are very much appreciated !

Those three words have branded themselves into Seungcheol’s eyelids. He sees them even when the rest of the world is black.

Seungcheol didn’t want this marriage. It had ripped him from the woman he loved, had ripped from that little city that gave him freedom. If anything, the papers on his desk should have him jumping for joy and booking the next flight to Charles de Gaulle. This was his way out.

Seungcheol didn’t want out.

Seungcheol wanted to go back in, wanted to go into your house, lean into your touch, and fall back into your arms. He wanted to wake up next to you, eat your half-burnt meals, go on endless vacations with you, watch your hairs turn grey together, and sit your tombstones next to each other, no matter how morbid that sounded.

You never know what you have until it’s gone. Seungcheol used to think that was a load of shit until it happened to him.

The right thing to do would be to sign those papers and let you live your life after all the hurt he put you through. You deserved someone who was sure about you, not someone who only realized they were in love you when you’ve already packed your bags and left. 

Sohee was nostalgia. 

She was slow, calm, and comfortable. With her, Seungcheol could feel at ease. Running around and playing in the garden with Sohee had been his escape from the clutches of his overbearing mother and his strict father. In his adulthood, that had blurred into morning strolls and midnight entanglements in Paris. 

“Hyung, did you ever even love Sohee?”

Maybe he did at one point. He wouldn’t have sworn promises against her lips and cared for her son like his own if he didn't. However, he thinks that love died a long time ago. When the novelty faded and the nostalgia died and bared the bones of their relationship, Seungcheol found that the only thing keeping that relationship alive was his stubbornness to ensure that his promises remained true.

“If you wanted to fight for her, you would’ve done it.”

Somehow Mingyu knew him better than he knew himself. Because the man was right. Seungcheol was nothing if not stubborn, and if he really loved Sohee as much as he claimed he did, he would’ve ripped the marriage agreement with his bare hands and fucked off to the lively alleys of Paris, never to return to the cold streets of Seoul… But he didn’t.

Seungcheol loves you.

There was no need to cling to the happy memories of a boy who mistook familiarity for love. Choi Seungcheol didn’t need to clutch onto those happy memories when he was with you because he was living through and creating them with you. If Sohee was a happy memory, then you were the future he wanted to see. A future he lost.

A future that he’d fight against all odds for just to bring back.

Seungcheol’s respect for your decision only lasted for two weeks before the void in his soul became too much to bear. Stubbornly, he refused to let you go, not without a fight. You could scream at him, throw things at him, and kick him out, and he’d take all of that over going away quietly and live a lifetime wondering what it would be like if he had fought for you.

This was him honoring the aching longing in his chest.

This was him honoring your last request.

“My last request is that we have to talk to each other if there’s a problem. No matter how big or small it is.”

—

Kwon Soonyoung thinks he’s going to shit himself.

He was on lunchbreak, peacefully chewing through the food he bought from the convenience store across the company building. He was laughing at some stupid TikTok video that he just knows is frying his brain when Choi Seungcheol walks in with a fire in his eyes and hell in his stride.

Oh shit.

Soonyoung swallows the half-chewed pork in his mouth and nearly chokes, but dying from a blocked airway was the least of his concerns when his boss’ husband—soon-to-be-ex-husband (?)—walks into a room looking ready for a confrontation.

Oh god, what was he going to say if Seungcheol asked him where you were? You specifically instructed Soonyoung not to tell Seungcheol, after all.

“Mr. Choi!” Soonyoung greets the man with enthusiasm like he isn’t about to piss his pants, shit himself, and vomit from the fear that Seungcheol’s sheer presence instills in him. “What brings you here?”

“I’m looking for Y/N,” comes Seungcheol’s reply, his eyes flickering around the office to stare at all the little trinkets lying around. Soonyoung notes that his eyes seem to linger on the framed picture from your honeymoon. “Is she out? I can just come back if she is.”

Seungcheol’s gaze feels like an all-seeing eye, and Soonyoung panics. Immediately, the truth slips from his mouth before he can bite his tongue and think of an excuse, “Ms. L/N is on an indefinite leave.”

Good job, Kwon Soonyoung!

Seungcheol’s strong brows furrow and the corner of lips dip into a frown. Soonyoung resists the urge to flinch when Seungcheol speaks again, “Since when?”

“It’s been a week, sir,” Soonyoung replies. He hopes you can forgive him for telling Seungcheol the truth. In his defense, your husband was terrifying! And Soonyoung had a feeling that if he lied to Seungcheol today, the man would still find out the truth someday, and Soonyoung’s neck would be on the line. 

“Did she say why?” Seungcheol asks as he picks up the picture frame on your desk. Soonyoung notes the way the man’s eyes seem to soften at the sight of the picture in it.

“No, sir,” Soonyoung says as he shakes his head. He didn’t have to worry about lying for this one because he really did have no idea. You had just packed your things, rendered your tasks, then never returned to the office. You were still involved, technically, but only when it was urgent, and only remotely.

“Where is she now?” Seungcheol drops the frame and Soonyoung’s stomach drops with. 

Well, now was the time he really needed to lie. This was the one thing you didn’t want anyone, especially Seungcheol to know. You had only told Soonyoung because he was your trusted secretary, and he needed to know where to run in case things at the company went to shit and he couldn’t reach you via the phone. 

“I don’t know, sir,” Soonyoung hopes he sounds convincing. 

Seungcheol clicks his tongue, and Soonyoung swears that he felt it in his soul. It’s probably why you’re divorcing this man, he thinks. The man had a serious case of pretty boy face, but holy shit, he was terrifying.

“I doubt that, Mr. Kwon,” Seungcheol says, dark eyes piercing straight into Soonyoung’s terrified ones. “I’ll find out for myself.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Soonyoung bows deeply. 

“I understand,” Seungcheol’s shoulders slump as he sits on the edge of your desk. The tension in the room disappears, and in its place is defeat. Soonyoung almost feels sorry for the man. “Is she doing well, at least?”

A ping coming from Seungcheol’s phone cuts through the air, and Soonyoung watches as Seungcheol pulls out his phone and starts typing away.

“She’s still responding to work e-mails, sir,” Soonyoung replies vaguely. He doesn’t know how you’re doing considering the fact that you don’t really divulge anything about your personal life. That and the fact that he’s always found it difficult to read you. You weren’t the type to wear your heart on your sleeve. You were kind and seemingly outgoing, but Soonyoung always feels like there’s something more beneath all that. “I could ask on your behalf.”

There’s a satisfied look on Seungcheol’s face when he pockets his phone and looks straight at Soonyoung. It’s a little horrifying, if Soonyoung was being honest.

“There’s no need Mr. Kwon,” Seungcheol replies with a wave of his hand as he pushes himself from the edge of your desk. “I’ll ask her myself.”

Oh shit.

—

Boeun is peaceful.

It’s a little lonely, but you think that’s your upbringing talking. Compared to the concrete jungle of Seoul with its towering buildings and light pollution, Boeun boasts sprawling greenery and stargazing opportunities. It’s a stark contrast to the world you grew up in.

It’s terrifying sometimes. Moving to a completely different place meant that you knew no one. You have no one to turn to in case things go awry. You could get murdered in the middle of the night, and no one would know until someone from Seoul came looking for you. The closest neighbor you had lived a few hundred meters away, a kind old lady named Park Soonja who had brought you vegetables and fruits from her garden after she heard someone new was moving in. In the week you’ve been here, she’s made sure to check up on you every morning as a part of her routine after finding out that you were pregnant.

It’s a little sweet.

Fuck, were you seriously going to cry again? You’d rather not. Especially not when you were just about to put on your shoes and grab your things for your first prenatal visit. The last thing you wanted to do was to show up in Dr. Lee’s office with red eyes and a shallow reason for it.

Once you’ve locked your doors, you’re quick to get into your tiny Hyundai and start driving to the hospital situated a few kilometers away from your house. It’s a quick drive with minimal changes in direction, a complete 180 from Seoul’s noisy traffic and mind-boggling turns.

When you get to the hospital, the staff is quick to point you in the direction of Dr. Lee’s office. You were her second patient for the day, and the appointment was still ongoing, so you still had to wait.

You take a seat on one of the plastic chairs outside, eyes trained on the clock at the end of the hallway as you watch the hands change at every minute that passes. Some part of you couldn’t help but feel sorry for yourself.

Honestly speaking, this wasn’t how you expected your first pregnancy—or any of your pregnancies, really—to go. There was something about sitting in an empty hallway that just gnawed at your heart and left you aching. It took two of you to make that child, but somehow here you were, alone. 

It hurts.

It hurts to think of what your life would look like if you had stayed behind and told Seuncheol the truth. Would he be there to hold your hand and ease your worries? Or would he shun you and the child inside you? You don’t think he’d do the latter. He wasn’t that horrible. 

Seungcheol just loved, and you couldn’t fault him for that. Your marriage had ripped Seungcheol’s love apart and fed from the blood that seeped from their broken hearts to come into fruition, and you reaped it. You don’t know why you expected things to work out when doom already lingered in your marriage from the very start.

To add insult to injury, Dr. Lee’s door opens, and a couple bearing the widest smiles exits. The woman is glowing as she cradles her bump, her husband’s arm wrapped around her like a shield from all the world’s dangers. He’s holding a copy of the sonogram, adoration practically dripping from his eyes as he stares.

You lower your gaze. Looking at them physically hurt when all you could imagine was what Seungcheol would look like in his position. Would his smile be as bright? Would he hold you with as much care?

“Ms. L/N?” One of the nurses calls out, and immediately, you snap from your thoughts.

“Yes, that’s me,” You reply as you stand up from the chairs.

“Please proceed inside,” The nurse bows with a smile as she gestures for you to come inside.

You bow in response and head into Dr. Lee’s office.

“It’s good to finally see you in person, Ms. L/N,” Dr. Lee greets, the wrinkles around her eyes becoming more visible as she gives you a bright and kind smile. “Please, take a seat.”

Gingerly, you take a seat, hands folded over your lap as you observe her scan through your records. Her desk is neat despite the stack of papers. The only thing that seems to have her personal touch on it is a picture of her with a young woman in a toga who looked like her carbon-copy. Her daughter, probably.

“Are we waiting for anyone?” Dr. Lee looks up from her aged computer to stare directly at you.

Once again, you’re briefly reminded of the fact that you were alone in this. You had no one to turn to, no one to come with you, and no one to hold you through it all.

You swallow the lump in your throat and blink back the tears you know are forming. With a tight smile, you speak, “No, doc. It’s just me today.”

And tomorrow, and the day after, and the week after, and every other foreseeable time period in the future.

It’s just you.

It’s terrifying, lonely, and freeing all at once.

Dr. Lee’s eyes turn soft with knowing, but she doesn’t comment further. It’s something you’re thankful for. “Let’s get started then.”

The visit goes smoothly under Dr. Lee’s care. She’s very accommodating throughout the whole process, and she carefully guides you through each and everything you need to know at that point of your pregnancy. After a physical, urinalysis, ultrasound, and a blood draw, your appointment finally wraps up and Dr. Lee is sending you off with a smile and a sonogram.

“Remember to eat well and sleep a lot, Ms. L/N,” Dr. Lee says, patting you on the back as she walks you out of her office. “You need a healthy mom for a healthy baby, after all.”

“I will, Doc,” You smile at her, clutching the sonogram to your chest as you blink away the tears. 

“Call me anytime you have a concern, okay?” Dr. Lee says. “Even if it’s the middle of the night. I really don’t mind.”

You laugh shyly, “Doc, you’re too kind—“

“Nonsense,” Dr. Lee waves you off. “Us women have to stick together when everyone else has failed us.”

The picture on her desk briefly flickers in your mind, and suddenly, it clicks.

With a teary smile, you bow to her. “I will, Doc. Thank you.”

“Drive safe, Ms. L/N.”

When you get home, the first thing you do is set your bag on the side, sit on the floor, and take out the sonogram. It’s small, you think. A tiny white bean in a sea of black and white. It hits you, all at once, that it’s all real. This is real. In a few weeks that bean will grow and your stomach will swell, and after 32 weeks, you'll be holding your child in your arms.

A sweet, innocent child with no knowledge of the world. 

Would they take after you? Would you spend the rest of your life nurturing your own reflection and making sure that they live a life better than yours? Or would they take after Seungcheol? Would you spend the rest of your life looking at that child and be tormented by the features you fell in love with? Would you spend the rest of your life haunted by the what ifs and what could’ve beens?

It didn’t matter, you would see this through the end. You haven’t even met your little baby, but you already knew that you’d give them the world and more. 

That night, you fall asleep on your bed, sonogram on your side and the promise of a better future in your mind.

—

Like every other day, the first thing you do when you wake up is to empty your guts in the toilet before heading to the kitchen. Cooking was honestly the last thing you wanted to do considering your nausea, but you were no longer eating for yourself. You were eating for two now.

Despite not being the best cook, solitude has forced you to become self-sufficient, and you can proudly say that you had a better sense of what to do in the kitchen. You’re still not good, but at the very least, you no longer have to settle for eating something raw or completely burnt.

You’re staring at the ingredients in the refrigerator when a knock at your door snaps you from your musings. There’s only one person who’d be knocking at your door this time, so without bothering to look through the door viewer, you open the door.

“Good morning, halmeoni,” You greet Soonja with a smile. “Come in, I was just about to cook breakfast.”

“You haven’t cooked? Perfect,” Soonja, despite her age, still has the strength and stubbornness of a fiery young woman. She shuts the door behind you, and immediately guides you to sit down at the dining table. “You stay put. I’ll cook you breakfast.”

You’re quick to protest, attempting to grab the pots from her hand, “Halmeoni, I can still move you know—“

“I know, but let me help,” Soonja scolds with a light swat at your hands. “I know how hard the mornings can be at this time.”

With an empty stomach but a heart so full, you watch as Soonja works her way through your kitchen. She pulls out various ingredients you wouldn’t even think of touching, but somehow all the things she’s throwing in still looks appetizing.

When Soonja finishes, you’re quick to pull out bowls and dishes for two as she sets her freshly cooked dishes on the trivet placed on the table. Quickly, you scoop the food into the dishes, and by the time you’re done, the two of you have your portions of miyeokguk, gyeranjjim, and rice.

“You didn’t have to get some for me,” Soonja says. “This is supposed to be your food.”

“I just…” You’re a little embarrassed of your next words despite knowing that Soonja would be the last person on Earth to judge you. “I didn’t want to eat alone.”

You don't miss the way Soonja’s face seems to fall. If there was anyone who knew what loneliness was like, it would be her. Soonja was, after all, already widowed, and her children had lives of their own in the city.

“Dear, I’ll eat breakfast with you every day that I’m free if you want me to,” Soonja says as she sits on the chair across from yours and grabs her spoon. “Let’s eat. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

The rest of breakfast passes by in a blur of lighthearted conversation and stories from Soonja’s youth. Before you knew it, Soonja already had to leave for her meetings at the town hall with a few of your other neighbors.

“Thank you for breakfast, halmeoni,” You smile as you watch Soonja who’s putting her shoes on.

“No need to thank me, dear. It was my pleasure,” Soonja replies as she wraps her arms around you in the warmest hug you’ve received in weeks. “Take care of yourself, okay? Don’t lift anything that’s too heavy, and don't overwork yourself.”

“Yes, halmeoni,” You reply, rubbing her back up and down before the two of you pull away. “You might be late to the meeting if you keep worrying about me.”

“Exactly, so don’t make me worry, okay?” Soonja says as she waves goodbye. 

“I won’t, I promise.” You nod, returning her wave.

Once your door is shut, you’re quick to walk into your little office to open your laptop for any pressing concerns from the company. There wasn’t much to see, something you're thankful for. You could probably take a quick walk around the town given the lack of—

Your phone rings.

Secretary Kwon

Immediately, you pick up the call.

“Hello? Is everything alright, Soonyoung?” You ask, fingers tapping anxiously at the wood of your desk.

“Yes, Ma’am! The company is doing fine.” Soonyong replies, and that somewhat eases you. However, that still doesn’t explain why Soonyoung is suddenly calling you. “I actually called to talk about the divorce papers you sent to Mr. Choi.”

Your heart drops. Had he signed it? It’s stupid, you think. You’re the one who filed for divorce, but somehow, the idea of Choi Seungcheol signing those papers actually terrified you. Deep down, even when you chose to push him away and run to the middle of nowhere, you still loved Seungcheol.

The words weigh your tongue down as you speak, “Did he sign it already?”

“Mr. Choi burned them, Ma’am,” comes Soonyoung’s reply. “We could just send him another one to show your efforts in contacting him, then Atty. Chwe said the court could grant a default judgment if you still want to pursue the case.”

Why would Choi Seungcheol burn those papers when it was his one-way ticket to starting over with the love of his life? There was no logical explanation for his behavior. You had honestly thought that Seungcheol would immediately agree and make the divorce process easier, but you have a feeling that wasn't going to happen anytime soon. 

You think of the entire process: the numerous court visits you would have to do, the lengthy terms you would have to discuss, and all the other time-consuming, soul-draining legal processes you would have to go through. It would be difficult to do all of that when you were pregnant and all the way in Boeun. 

“Ma’am? Are you still there?”

Kwon Soonyoung’s voice forces the racing thoughts in your head to halt.

“Yes, sorry. I was just thinking,” comes your reply. “I assume this process is going to take a while if I decide to pursue it?”

“Yes, unfortunately,” Soonyoung replies.

“Okay,” You bite on your lip and wonder if you’re really going to say whatever it is you’re about to say. In your defense, you had done what you could, and Seungcheol stubbornly refused to play his part. You weren’t about to stress yourself out when running away from it all until you were strong enough to face it was a viable option. 

Mind made-up, you continue, “Tell Atty. Chwe that I won’t be pursuing it anymore.” 

—

If you thought the 8th week of your pregnancy was bad, the 9th week was somehow worse.

Your symptoms had you reaching a whole new low. The nausea was so bad that you barely ate, and anything you did eat was quickly vomited into the toilet. Not only that, but your mood was all over the place. One minute, you’d be crying because your jeans wouldn’t zip up properly due to all the bloating, and the next thing you know, you’re irrationally angry at the table that made you stub your toe.

It was horrible.

Soonja tries to help. The sweet old lady makes sure to drop by and check-in on you, and on the days she has no commitments in the morning, she even eats breakfast with you. While all her efforts helped, none of them ever truly eased the physiological pains your pregnancy brought. The only thing you can do is lay on the couch and hope that your hormones will have mercy on you. Sooner rather than later, you hope.

You’re lying on the couch, extremely miserable while you watch some drama play on the television, when a knock on your door disturbs you. Your eyes flit over to the clock on the wall, and you note that it’s half past 3. It’s too hot outside for it to be Soonja. While you didn't doubt the old lady’s health, no sane individual would choose to walk under this heat unless they really needed to. 

A little annoyed, you stand up from your couch and walk towards your door. Whoever it was, they better have a good reason for disturbing you. You were already so comfortable on the couch, and the nausea was just starting to ease up. Now, you’re back to square one.

With a furrow between your brows and hell on the tip of your tongue, you pull the door open.

“Hi.”

The door is immediately slammed shut.

Why is he here? How did he find you? What happens next? What the hell do you do? Thousands of thoughts run through your mind as you stare at the door. Your heart is pounding at its cages, threatening to jump out if you don’t make up your mind on whether you would fight or flee. You were torn. You’re not sure if you wanted to slap the man or kiss him on the mouth.

He stood behind that door, and you’re not sure if you wanted to open it again or keep it shut forever.

He calls out your name, muffled but somehow your ears pick up on it clear as day. You hate the way your stomach flips, hate the way your heart still seems to jump in his presence. Because despite the hurt and hardship, some part of you was still hopelessly, stupidly, unconditionally in love with the man that did nothing but break your heart. You hoped that part of you would just die, but for some reason it wouldn’t.

Slowly, you breathe in, focusing on the way your diaphragm expands as the air fills your lungs. You needed to be rational about this. There was no room for love or longing when so much was at stake.

With a slow exhale, you open the door.

Choi Seungcheol stands before you with apologetic eyes. His hair is shorter now and his body somehow broader, but the look in his eyes is just as miserable as the day you left him, if not more. You have to fight every single fiber of your being that’s itching to reach out and soothe the ache in his soul. It would be stupid to do that when you couldn’t even ease the one in yours.

“What are you doing here?” You’re surprised that your voice comes out stable despite the painful stabbing in your heart and the crushing weight on your shoulders. 

“I heard you lived here now,” Seungcheol answers, and you don’t miss the way he seems to look a little unsure, uncertain. Good, he should be. “Can I come in?”

“No,” You say firmly. “Seungcheol, do the two of us a favor and just agree to the divorce. That way, I can live my life as I always have and you can go to Sohee—“

“I don’t want to,” You don’t miss the way Seungcheol’s jaw hardens and fists clench. “I don’t want to go to Sohee.”

“Then what do you want?”  You can’t help the way your unbothered facade breaks into exasperation. You were tired, hormonal, and nauseous, and the heartache and confusion Seungcheol brought with him only made you feel worse. You just wanted this over with. 

“Your third request,” Seungcheol stares you dead in the eye as the words leave his mouth. “I’m fulfilling your third request.”

Your eyes narrow at Seungcheol as you speak, “What?”

“You said you wanted our marriage to work,” Seungcheol says, taking a step forward, an action that has you stepping back and holding onto the door. You ignore the way Seungcheol’s eyes seem to fall. “Your third request was that we have to talk about our problems, no matter how big or small.”

“Seungcheol, why are you doing this?” You ask, eyes searching through Seungcheol’s face for an answer, a glimpse into his thoughts. “We married out of obligation, and I’m giving you a way out. You love Sohee—“

“I don’t.” Seungcheol says it firmly, like he’s never been more sure of anything in his life. He had said it with so much conviction that you didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t how you expected this conversation to go. In fact, you didn’t even expect this conversation to happen at all. 

“I did, at one point, I did love her,” Seungcheol says, hand shooting out quickly to hold onto the wall to prevent you from slamming the door in his face. Quick thinking on his end, really. You were about to do just that if he hadn’t put his hand in the way. “But not anymore, not after you. I don’t think I’ve been in love with her for a while.”

You don’t believe him. You know Choi Seungcheol doesn’t lie, but the words falling from his mouth were too outrageous.

Eyes narrowed and heart closed, you speak, “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I love you,” Seungcheol says it like a plea, desperation lacing his words as he looks into your eyes like he’s in search of some sign. “I know it’s difficult to believe, but I really do—“

“You’re right, Seungcheol.” You stare at the man before you, eyes hardened despite the trembling in your soul, the ache in your bones that’s telling you to hope. You hoped once, and look where it brought you now. “I don’t believe you, so go home.”

Seungcheol is undeterred despite your unfeeling words, “It’s not the same without you.”

“Then learn to live with it,” You hiss through gritted teeth, patience snapping and eyes tearing up. “I learned to live in Sohee’s shadow. Learn to live in my absence.”

Seungcheol’s mouth opens to respond, but you beat him to it.

“I loved you, you know?” You whisper, voice wavering as your eyes go blurry. “I only ever watched you from afar when we were younger. Even then, I accepted that it would just be a stupid little crush.”

“I was happy when I heard that it was you that I was getting married to instead of some shitty old man who’d make my life miserable,” You wipe at the tear on your cheek before Seungcheol’s hand even reaches your face. “Do you know what it’s like? To be in love with someone who’s in love with someone else? I settled for second-best to keep you, and that was my mistake.”

You can’t quite decipher the gleam in Seungcheol’s eyes as he speaks, “I’m sorry.”

“That’s all you ever say, but it never really fixes things,” You reply, hand reaching for Seungcheol’s to pry his fingers from the wall. “Go home.”

“What do I need to do for you to believe me?” Seungcheol cries out desperately, hand refusing to move. “I know I was being stupid. I know I hurt you, so please. Give me the chance to make this right.”

“I’m done,” It’s all you say before mustering all of your strength to push Seungcheol’s hand away and slamming the door shut.

You walk away from the door, refusing to look back. You don’t know if you can keep your walls up and your heart guarded if Seungcheol kept talking the way he did. You don’t know why he’s doing this. Infatuation? Possible. Comfort? Most probably, but whatever it was, it wasn’t love.

Seungcheol will realize it soon, and he’ll get over it. It’s better for you to keep to yourself while Seungcheol sorts his feelings lest you become collateral damage yet again.

That afternoon, you curled up on your sofa and cried until you exhausted yourself to sleep.

When you wake up, the sun is already beginning its descent. Sunlight filters through the open window, bathing your living room with an orange glow. It’s sunset now, Seungcheol must have already left.

The thought makes your chest ache, but you refuse to dwell on it. The longer you thought about it, the more it would hurt. It would be in your best interest to keep yourself busy to prevent Seungcheol from constantly invading your mind.

Slowly, you get up from the sofa and head towards your kitchen to look for something to eat. When you get there, you find that there’s nothing in the fridge that you want to eat. Your eyes flicker to the little note stuck to the fridge, and you realize that you forgot to do your groceries today (you blame it on Seungcheol’s unexpected arrival).

Amazing.

You would have to eat out tonight. You really were not in the mood to buy various ingredients and take on the mental labor of coming up with recipes. Luckily, one of your neighbors ran a small restaurant, and it was only a few meters away from Soonja’s house, so it was technically within walking distance. You could get dinner and exercise all at once.

With a newfound motivation, you’re quick to grab your trusty tote bag and put on your shoes. You pull the door handle, and with a swing, the world is bared—

“What the hell?!” You shriek out, heart jumping and body jolting as you stare at Seungcheol who’s back is turned to you, sitting on the steps leading to your door. “What are you still doing here?”

Was he outside the entire time?

Seungcheol is quick to turn at the sound of your voice, sweat on his reddened skin as he looks at you with pleading eyes. At the sight of his face, you’re quick to realize that he was, indeed, outside the entire time.

“One month,” Seungcheol breathes out desperately as he stands. “Give me one month to make it up to you, and if you still hate me, I’ll agree to the divorce.”

It’s unfair, you think. The odds are in Seungcheol’s favor because you didn’t hate him. Yes, you were hurt, heartbroken beyond comprehension, but you didn’t hate him. A week or two apart would not change years of pining, of silently hoping. However, despite the unfairness, you still think that this is the easiest solution.

You just had to stay strong for a month. 

A month of silence, avoidance, and concealing. You have to ensure that Seungcheol never gets too close because if he does then you don’t think you can push him away again. Not only that, but if he got too close and found out about your pregnancy…You’d never be able to get rid of him. Seungcheol and his sense of honor coupled with his stubborn streak would never leave you alone. He’d feel obligated to stay, and that was the last thing you wanted.

“Fine,” You relent, refusing to acknowledge the way Seungcheol’s face seems to light up. “Do what you want, but you have to be gone in a month.”

Seungcheol nods, “I’ll do my best to last longer than that.”

“I doubt it,” You mutter, walking past Seungcheol and down the steps of your house. 

“Where are you going?” Seungcheol ignores your words, and instead shuts your front door before running after you.

“Getting dinner.” You keep your replies short because you know that if you gave Seungcheol more than that, he’d find a way to wriggle his way into your heart like a parasite before leaving an empty space once he inevitably leaves.

“Can I join you?” Seungcheol asks as he walks next to you, hands in his pockets and eyes a little unsure.

“You’re already here,” You shrug. “Do what you want.”

You don’t know why Seungcheol smiles at that.

—

Choi Seungcheol was going to do it right this time.

It’s the only thing running through his head as he watches the way your eyes light up with every bite of the bibimbap. Sometimes you’ll look his way, and your eyes seem to fall, and while it left an ache in his chest, he couldn't help but be happy as well because at the very least, you were looking his way.

It’s a small step, but a step nonetheless.

Despite your cold attitude towards him, Seungcheol finds himself filled with hope. The words ‘I loved you’ were on repeat like background music in his mind, and though the words were in past tense, Seungcheol takes comfort in the idea that you loved him once.

He’ll make you do it again, and this time, he’ll be with you through it all. No matter what it takes.

“Is the food good?” Mr. Kang, the owner of the little restaurant as Seungcheol learned half an hour ago, asks as he stops by your table, eyes locked onto Seungcheol.

“Yes, sir,” Seungcheol says as he smiles at the old man. “It’s my first time eating bibimbap this good.”

And Seungcheol wasn’t lying. Something about the flavor of the bibimbap in his bowl had Seungcheol feeling like he was right at home.

“My wife made it,” Mr. Kang boasts with the brightest smile on his face. “Say, are you Y/N’s husband? It’s my first time seeing you here.”

You open your mouth to reply, “N—“

“Yes,” Seungcheol replied quickly. “My name’s Seungcheol, sir.”

“Yah, you have such a good-looking husband. You should be showing him off!” Mr. Kang teases as he claps Seungcheol on the back. 

Seungcheol can only laugh, eyes trained on the way you roll your eyes with a small smile playing on your lips.

You look more beautiful when you’re happy, he thinks.

“Don’t compliment him too much, Mr. Kang. His head might grow bigger than it already is,” You reply with a teasing smile.

“I have to give credit where it is due,” Mr. Kang replies. “You should keep an eye on this one. The neighborhood aunties might snatch him up with how handsome and reliable he looks.”

“They can try, sir,” Seungcheol responds, eyes locked onto you. “But my heart will always be her’s.”

Seungcheol doesn’t miss the flustered smile on your lips that you try to quickly conceal with a cough. He hasn’t seen it in a while, and god, it was doing things to his heart.

“What a lovely couple you two make,” Mr. Kang smiles warmly. “My wife and I used to be just as sweet back in the day, but we’re even sweeter now.”

Mr. Kang pulls out a chair and sits beside the table, and the rest of dinner was spent listening to him recite his love story from start to present. You’re listening intently, but Seungcheol finds himself tuning the man out. The only thing he can focus on is you. Seungcheol thinks he won’t be too different from Mr. Kang when he gets older, head filled with nothing but the love of his life, head filled with nothing but you.

By the time the two of you finish eating, the sky is already dark.

“Well, I’ll let you two go,” Mr. Kang laughs as he stands from his chair. “It’s getting late, and I’m sure Y/N needs as much sleep as she can get.”

“Thank you for the food, Mr. Kang,” You bow lightly and Seungcheol follows suit.

“Aigoo, it’s nothing. If anything, I should be thanking you for eating here so often,” Mr. Kang says with a wave of his hand. Then, he turns to Seungcheol, “Take care of your wife, okay? Don’t stress her out, and make sure she’s always eating properly. It’s a lot of hard work and adjustment considering that it’s your first, but it’s worth it in the end.”

Seungcheol sees the way you freeze and the way Mr. Kang seems to stare fondly at the graduation picture of his son that’s on the wall. He feels like there’s something more to Mr. Kang’s words that he’s missing, but he just can’t seem to put his finger on it.

“I will, sir,” Seungcheol replies with a smile. “You don’t have to worry about her.”

Seungcheol would spend the rest of his life making sure you were happy and safe.

When the two of you arrive back at your house, Seungcheol grabs his things from the trunk of his car and brings it inside. He can’t help but be overwhelmed by guilt the moment he steps into your house.

You’ve been living in this small house, all alone with no one to look after you, cook for you, or even keep you company. While Seungcheol didn’t doubt your ability to adapt and be independent, he can’t help the ache that grows in his chest when he realizes that his actions had forced you to accustom yourself to a life like this.

Shit, he really did have a lot of making up to do.

“The couch is yours,” You inform him, and Seungcheol can only look at the tiny space you’re pointing at. Fuck, he thinks, that’s going to be so uncomfortable. “My room is there if you need me.”

After that, you walk away, and Seungcheol is left alone in your living room. Honestly, he had expected worse. He had expected you to not let him in, and he was fully considering sleeping in his car parked outside the house, so a couch was a huge upgrade. However, that still doesn’t change the fact that he wants to sleep beside you. Hell, he’d be fine with sleeping on the floor of your bedroom as long as he could keep an eye on you and make sure that you were sleeping soundly.

Baby steps, he thinks. He’ll get there eventually.

With a heavy sigh, Seungcheol sets his bag on the side and then moves to take a shower. After that, he heads to his assigned couch. It’s small, he notes. If he stretched to his full length, his calves would have to be on the armrest while his feet dangled in the air. The idea makes Seungcheol wince, and he’s quick to curl up on the couch and throw one of your round pillows under his head. 

It’s painful, miserable, and wholly different from what he’s accustomed to, but he thinks it’s so much better than not having you around at all. He’d gladly sleep on the ground outside as long as it meant that you’d only be a few meters away. 

Seungcheol catches the scent of your perfume on the pillow under his head, and for the first time in weeks, he finds himself fast asleep.

—

It’s half past 10, and you’re still wide awake.

You were torn. Were you being too mean or not mean enough? The couch is small, and even you have to curl up just to comfortably fit in it. Not to mention the fact that it gets cold in Boeun at night, and you didn’t even give Seungcheol a blanket. The guilt gnaws at you as your brain is filled with mental images of Seungcheol curling up in odd, uncomfortable positions just to rest. He had driven all this way, stayed out in the sun for hours, and walked a considerable distance just to accompany you, and now he’s forced to sleep in a couch that can barely contain him.

Unable to bear the guilt, you’re quick to throw the covers off yourself and head to your cabinets to get an extra blanket.

Quietly, you open your door and walk with slow, measured steps towards the living room, careful to avoid the areas that you know will creak under you. 

Soft snores echo through the darkness of your living room, and you find that Seungcheol is curled up on the couch with one of the living room pillows clutched tightly to his chest. He looks… peaceful. Slowly, you pad over to where he is, gently covering him with the blanket. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

You can’t help the way you linger, crouching beside the sofa and tracing Seungcheol’s face with your eyes. He looks the same and yet so different all at once. His soft, gentle features didn’t change, save for the dark circles under his eyes that you were starting to feel even more guilty for. He’s a little more tan, you guess you could blame that on the fact that you had left him on your doorstep under the afternoon sun. His hair is shorter, and you find that it only makes him even more handsome than before.

Unable to resist, you brush the hair away from his forehead. You’ve missed this, that much you can admit. Missed being in his presence, missed touching him freely, missed hearing his smooth voice, missed his comforting scent… You missed Choi Seungcheol.

You wanted to believe him, you really did.

At your touch, Seungcheol stirs, head leaning towards your hand that you’re quick to pull away. Not wanting to wake him up, you stand up and immediately disappear into your room, heart racing and eyes welling up.

You don’t think you can survive a month of this.

When the birds start chirping in your window, you’re quickly hit by that familiar, stomach-stirring nausea that never fails to make your mornings miserable. Immediately, you’re running out of the bedroom, throwing the bathroom door open, and emptying your stomach into the toilet bowl.

The sound of rushed footsteps alarms you, and it’s only now that you’re remembering that you weren’t alone in the house, not anymore.

Fuck fuck fuck—

“Y/N?” 

You’re hit with another horrid wave of nausea. One problem at a time, holy shit. You ignore Seungcheol, too caught up in the feeling of acid burning your throat.

Seungcheol is quick to crouch behind you, one hand holding your hair back and the other rubbing your back up and down soothingly.

Fuck, what were you going to tell him? You couldn’t exactly blame Mr. Kang’s cooking considering the fact that you and Seungcheol ate the same thing, and you didn’t really want to turn the sweet old man’s restaurant into a scapegoat. His beloved wife cooked that after all, and she was one of the sweetest ladies you knew!

When the nausea eases into a milder version of itself, you wipe at your mouth, and Seungcheol is quick to bring you a glass of water to rinse your mouth.

“Are you still sick?” Seungcheol asks as he hands you the glass. You can see the suspicion in his eyes. It’s faint, but it’s there. “You were throwing up the last time we saw each other, and you’re still throwing up now.”

You freeze at that, your body going into fight-or-flight at Seungcheol’s line of questioning.

“Have you gone to hospital?” Seungcheol asks, wiping away the sweat on your forehead. “Y/N, be honest with me. We need to get you checked, that might be something serious—“

“I went already,” You cut him off, lightly pushing his hand away. “It’s just stomach flu.”

One truth, one lie.

Seungcheol doesn’t seem satisfied, but he doesn’t pry. “Go rest, I’ll make you breakfast.”

You’re quick to protest, “I’m fine—“

“No,” Seungcheol is firm this time. Unlike yesterday where he just bent to your every whim, Seungcheol seems to set his foot down on this one. “Argue with me on anything else, but don’t stop me from taking care of you. Now rest, or I’ll force you to.”

Why did this man have such a strong sense of responsibility?

Unable to argue, you flush the toilet over and over until no traces of your morning disaster remain. After that, you brush your teeth and quickly settle into the couch in the living room. From where you’re seated, you have a clear view of Seungcheol moving around in the kitchen.

His back is turned to you, and his attention is completely focused onto the food he was preparing. You’re free to look at him all you want. Free to admire his broad back, free to see the way his arms flex when he reaches for something, and free to pretend like everything’s okay.

When you see Seungcheol set the plate on the table, you’re quick to walk over and see what it is. 

“Eat up,” Seungcheol says as he hands you a plate with bread, scrambled eggs, and slices of fruit. “It’s all I could make with the ingredients you have. I’ll go grocery shopping later so if you have a list, just give it to me.”

You frown at that. Did he not want you to go with him?

Seungcheol seems to read your mind because he’s quick to continue, “I’d take you with me, but you need to rest.”

“I’m fine, though,” You reply. You don’t know why you’re arguing so hard on this considering the fact that staying far away from Seungcheol works in your favor. “I’m just a little dizzy.”

“Y/N, trust me when I say that I would love nothing more than to go grocery shopping with you,” Seungcheol replies with a heavy sigh. “But I’m not risking your health like that.”

“Fine, whatever,” You mumble out petulantly before taking a harsh bite out of the bread and chewing angrily at the fact that Seungcheol wouldn’t indulge you. First, he says he loves you, and now all of a sudden, he doesn’t want to be around you? Well, fuck him! He can go screw himself—

Wow, you needed to get a grip. Your hormones were not doing well today.

Seungcheol seems amused at your little tantrum, a small smile playing on his face as he sets his own plate down on the table and sits across from you. “We’ll go together next time when you’re feeling better.”

“Do it alone,” You hiss out before angrily biting into the apple slice.

Seungcheol snorts at you petulance, digging into his own food with an annoying smile on his face. What was he so happy for? You were aching, miserable, nauseous, and annoyed, and he was over here smiling like an idiot. Is he even trying to win you over like he said he would? 

“I’ll miss you, though?” Seungcheol fake pouts.

“I don’t care,” You reply, hoping that the harshness of your tone will be enough to mask the fluttering in your chest. “Suffer, for all I care.”

Seungcheol only laughs, seemingly endeared by the attitude you were sending his way. He’s gone insane, you think. One night away from his stupidly expensive mattress, and it’s already getting to his head.

“You’re cute when you’re angry,” Seungcheol says and you’re quick to narrow your eyes at him.

“Are you trying to piss me off?” You ask, the annoyance in your tone clear as day. 

“Is it working?” Seungcheol asks with a self-satisfied smirk that has you wanting to reach over and fight him.

“Yah, Choi Seungcheol—“

A familiar knock on your door cuts you off, and the teasing look on Seungcheol’s face is quick to turn serious.

“Who’s that?” Seungcheol immediately asks, standing up after you as you walk towards the door.

“My neighbor,” You reply. “She usually stops by in the mornings to join me for breakfast.”

With a pull, you open the door, and before you stands Soonja with a tupperware of food.

“Oh, who’s this?” Is the first thing Soonja says as she registers the unfamiliar presence looming behind you like an overprotective guard dog. 

“My husband, halmeoni,” You reply. Soonja doesn’t know the entire story. The only thing she knows is that you had a huge fight, and you never wanted to see him again. She didn’t know about the arrangement, the other woman, and the fact that Seungcheol knew nothing about your pregnancy. “Seungcheol, this is Ms. Park. She’s one of our neighbors.”

“Choi Seungcheol, ma’am,” Seungcheol bows respectfully. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Yahhh, I can see why Y/N married you,” Soonja smiles. “Your child is going to be one hell of a looker with parents like the two of you.”

A freezing cold washes over your body at Soonja’s words. 

“You’re too kind, ma’am,” Seungcheol laughs, completely unaware.

You’re quick to ease up at that. The comment must have flown over Seungcheol’s head. Maybe he thought it was a hypothetical situation. Yes, that must be it.

“Aigoo, call me halmeoni,” Soonja says to Seungcheol. “Here, it’s a good thing I brought multiple servings. The two of you can share it.”

“You’re not staying?” You ask, as you take the tupperware from Soonja.

“I would love to, dear, but I have a meeting at the town hall this morning,” Soonja replies in an apologetic tone. “I’ll make sure to drop by tomorrow, don’t worry. I have to get to know this handsome husband of yours after all. But I really do have to get going, okay?”

“We’re looking forward to it, halmeoni,” Seungcheol says as he waves the woman goodbye.

“So am I!” Soonja cheerfully calls out from behind her.

When you shut the door, Seungcheol is quick to send a teasing grin your way. “I like her.”

“You just met her?” You raise a brow at him as you walk to the kitchen with the tupperware in hand. 

“She said we’d make pretty babies,” Seungcheol shrugs. “That automatically wins my approval.”

The mention of children has you pausing for a second before you’re quick to recover, pulling the refrigerator door open to put the tupperware inside. “Those were definitely not the words she used.”

“Same meaning, so it counts,” Seungcheol replies in a tone that tells you he’s about to bicker with you.

You would have indulged him in the past, but this time, you don’t. There was no room for familiarity, no room for hope. Things had to be nipped in the bud before they grew out of control.

“Whatever you say,” You relent, and you watch the way Seungcheol’s expression falls.

You can do this.

It’s just one month.

—

After a week of living under the same roof, you and Seungcheol have established a new routine.

In the mornings, Seungcheol makes sure to have breakfast prepared before you wake up. You eat together, and while you’d prefer to avoid that sort of proximity, the hopeful look on Seungcheol’s face as he serves his latest creation on the table has guilt gnawing at your bones. Seungcheol always makes sure to strike up conversation, and it comes so naturally that you often forget that you were trying to avoid interacting with him. Sometimes Soonja would join, but her visits had gotten shorter when she realized that there was finally someone looking after you.

After breakfast, the two of you would go your separate ways. Seungcheol would stay in the living room and handle his business remotely, and you’d hide away in your little office and attend to any concerns that Soonyoung deems major enough to require your intervention. 

When lunch comes around, it’s your turn to cook, and Seungcheol makes sure to shower you in compliments. It’s a little embarrassing, but some part of you glowed underneath the praise. You had gone from serving Seungcheol burnt food to decent quality dishes, so it was an achievement on your end. 

After lunch, the two of you lounge in the living room. Which seems counterproductive on your end, but the TV was your designated source of entertainment for the afternoons, and it just so happened to be situated in the area that Seungcheol frequented. However, some part of you knows that you stay there because you crave that man’s presence like a drug you shouldn’t be taking.

That continues on until dinner, where Seungcheol takes the responsibility of cooking, again. Similar to the other mealtimes, Seungcheol makes sure to talk your ear off. It’s a little unusual, you think, how the roles suddenly seem to be reversed. Seungcheol, who used to listen to you talk endlessly, was now the one doing the talking, if only to fill the silence you desperately tried to enforce. Something you were clearly failing at. 

After dinner, you would go out for a quick walk, and Seungcheol, unable to sit still at the idea of you walking alone outside in the dimly lit streets, is quick to rush after you despite your insistence on the fact that the streets were safe and that you were fine walking alone.

You were getting used to it all, and that was dangerous.

It had only taken Seungcheol a week to get you to talk more, to get you used to the domesticity of everyday life with him in this tiny house planted in the middle of a quiet town. It had only taken Seungcheol a week to get your walls to start chipping.

You were absolutely fucked.

The more time you spent with Seungcheol, the more you found yourself believing in the idea that maybe he really did love you. Why else would he endure the couch and the back pain that came with it? Why else would he wake up early in the morning to cook you breakfast despite the decline in his sleep quality? Why else would he try so hard to talk more despite having a more reserved nature?

No explanation made sense unless you included love into the mix.

You didn’t know what to do anymore.

The most practical solution would be to believe Seungcheol. You could fix your marriage, return to the city, and raise your child with a complete family. It’s the ideal outcome, but it’s easier said than done. Some part of you will always be haunted by Seungcheol’s drunk murmurings, haunted by a faceless woman that had come before you. Dealing with that would make you bitter, and becoming bitter would inevitably affect the people around you, including your child.

You throw the covers off you, frustration fueling your form as you walk out of your bedroom to go to the kitchen. You had a feeling that the storm in your head wasn’t going to let you sleep anytime soon, and it sucked because sleep was your only escape from the nausea, fatigue, and ache.

There’s a soft glow coming from the kitchen, and the sound of keyboard clicks gets more distinct the closer you get to the kitchen. When you get there, you’re met by the sight of Seungcheol seated at the dining table, fingers typing away on his laptop.

The keyboard clicks pause when Seungcheol spots you. 

“Why are you awake?” Seungcheol asks softly, watching as you pad into the kitchen. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Yeah,” You reply coldly, moving past Seungcheol to get a glass from the cupboard and a pitcher of water from the refrigerator. The indifference in your tone even has you flinching, and the guilt in you only grows. Why the fuck was Seungcheol making it so hard to push him away?

Seungcheol, already used to it, only watches you with concern. “Are you okay—“

“Why are you still here?” You finally snap, turning around to look at Seungcheol with the most hateful look you can muster. “Seungcheol, I’m already treating you so horribly, so why won’t you just leave? You don’t even have to be here!”

The sight of Seungcheol goes blurry as your eyes fill with tears. You know your anger is misplaced. You know it’s your guilt, your frustration, and your inability to trust his sincerity that’s ripping the words from your throat and throwing them straight at Seungcheol who’s done nothing but save your marriage since his arrival. Seungcheol was doing everything right. He was patient with you even when you were short with him. He was kind despite the indifference you showed him. Seungcheol was trying his best while you gave him your worst, and he still wouldn’t fucking budge.

“I know I don’t have to be,” Seungcheol says as he takes cautious steps towards you, almost as if he was approaching a wounded animal that would snap and bite at any sudden movement. When you don’t run, Seungcheol risks another step, hands coming up to cup your cheeks. Tenderly, lovingly, Seungcheol wipes away your tears. “But I want to.”

Choi Seungcheol never lies, and that fact coupled with his touch, his words only serve to feed the growing ache in your heart.

The tears start flowing harder, your body shaking from the sobs that wrack through your body. The pain is visceral, ripping your heart into shreds while your head pounds from the numerous thoughts that sought escape from the confines of your skull. You’re so overwhelmed that when Seungcheol wraps his arms around you, you don’t think twice about burying yourself into his embrace.

“It’s okay, cry it out,” Seungcheol mumbles into your hair, body slacking against yours as he brings you deeper into his hold.  “I’m here. I’m not leaving.”

His words only make you cry harder, fingers gripping tightly at the fabric of his shirt as you bury your face into his chest.

“I—I’m so—“ Your words are cut off when your body forces you to gasp for air between your sobs. You hate this. God, you hate this so much. “I’m s-sorry—“

It’s the only thing you can breathe out through the turmoil in your soul. It’s only a fraction of everything you want to say, but it took the entirety of your being just to wrangle the words from your throat.

“Don’t apologize. You don’t have to apologize,” Seungcheol shushes you, hand rubbing up and down your back to soothe your cries. “It’s my fault for not realizing sooner, for making you feel like you were lesser. I was so caught up in the past that I couldn’t see what was in front of me.”

Seungcheol pulls away a fraction from you, cupping your cheek to make you look up at him. “I love you, and I should’ve told you sooner.”

“But—“ You stare up at him, mind flooded by the memory of him murmuring Sohee’s name. “Do you remember the night you came home drunk? After that meeting with Mingyu?”

“I don’t remember much from that night,” Seungcheol says. “But… It wasn’t a good meeting. Why?”

“You said ‘I love you’ that night, and I thought it was for me,” You whisper weakly, voice shaking as you grip onto Seungcheol’s shirt. “But then you said her name, and Cheol, it hurt so much—“

You’re back to sobbing, tears falling onto Seungcheol’s shirt as you tuck your head underneath his chin. “I know you were d-drunk, and I shouldn’t make such a big d-deal out of… Out of it but—“

“I’m sorry,” Seungcheol’s grip around you tightens as he presses a tender kiss to the side of your head. “I don’t know why I said her name. I don’t even remember it, but I know that doesn’t make it any better.”

“Mingyu and I were talking that night, and I just…” Seungcheol breathes out a heavy sigh. “I was torn between staying true to my promises to Sohee and accepting the fact that I was in love with you.”

Hearing her name still made you feel like you were being stabbed over and over with a blunt knife.

“I can’t take it back. No matter how much I wish I could,” Seungcheol whispers desperately, like a plea for you to stay. “But let me prove to you that it’s all in the past.”

You pull away to look at Seungcheol only to be met by his teary gaze. Unable to resist, you wipe away at his tears, watching as he leans into and chases your touch like it was his only lifeline.

“Let me love you the way you deserve,” Seungcheol breathes out, pressing a kiss onto your palm that has your heart aching all over again at how desperate and tormented Seungcheol looked. “Please.”

Would it really be so bad to try again?

“I need time, Seungcheol,” You whisper through tears. “If we’re doing this—really doing this… We have to take it slow.”

“I’ll wait forever if I have to,” Seungcheol says with so much conviction that it terrifies you. “We can go as slow as you want us to, but please, don’t go where I can’t reach you.” 

—

The moon is still high when Choi Seungcheol stirs awake.

Your bedroom floor is cold underneath him, hard surface only softened by the pillow he had taken with him from the living room. He had carried you to your bedroom after you cried yourself into exhaustion in his arms, and he couldn’t find it in himself to leave you all alone, so he slept on the floor. Sleeping on the bed felt like an intrusion.

However, none of that explained the weight on his arm and warmth pressed against him.

Seungcheol’s eyes flutter open, only to be met by the sight of your sleeping face. Alarmed, Seungcheol gently taps you. Why the hell were you sleeping on the floor? You were going to hurt your back at this rate!

“Y/N, why are you on the floor?” Seungcheol whispers gently as you stir awake.

Your eyes remain shut, and you only nuzzle deeper into Seungcheol’s warmth as you sleepily murmur, “I wanted to sleep beside you.”

Seungcheol should be concerned, should be worrying for your comfort, but those feelings are violently pushed aside by the giddy feeling in his chest. You wanted to sleep beside him? Fuck, you were so cute.

“Baby, you’re going to hurt your back,” Seungcheol tries to reason with you, but the arms wrapping themselves around you only serve to contradict his words.

“Cheol, just let me sleep,” You grumble, a furrow settling in your brows.

Seungcheol smiles. You really are stubborn when you want to be.

“I’ll put you in bed, okay?” Seungcheol says as he stands up to carry you.

“Don’t leave,” You whisper as Seungcheol sets you down on the bed and tucks you underneath the blanket.

“I won’t,” Seungcheol says as he slips underneath the covers beside you and pulls you into his arms.

For the first time in weeks, Choi Seungcheol finally feels at home.

When morning comes, Seungcheol feels like a brand new man. It’s the best sleep he’s had, even better than the sleep he had on your couch, and he thinks it’s because he’s finally where he’s meant to be.

Seungcheol turns his gaze to the clock on your wall. The hands point to 6:00 AM, and he has around an hour to prepare before you wake up like you usually do at 7:00. Selfishly, he promises himself 15 more minutes.

15 more minutes to watch you sleep. 

15 more minutes to savor your warmth in his arms.

Seungcheol thinks you look like a goddess underneath the morning sun with your hair sprawled behind you and your soft cheek smushed against his arm. The urge to trace and worship each of your features with his touch, his lips is strong, but Seungcheol holds himself back. There were boundaries he needed to respect, and like a visitor in a museum who can do nothing but marvel, Seungcheol can only watch.

You were glowing.

Was it the love speaking? Maybe. However, Seungcheol genuinely thinks that something about the way you look was different. No amount of baggy clothes and lazy hairstyles could hide the glow on your skin and health in your features. Hell, even your hair looked so vibrant that Seungcheol was wondering if he was such a problem that time away from him made you look this good.

Not that you weren’t pretty before! You’ve always been beautiful, but something about the way you looked like a sleeping deity in his arms had Seungcheol wanting to build you houses and waging war on those that dare to speak of you with a tone lesser than devotion.

Fuck, he was whipped.

When the clock strikes 6:15, Seungcheol begrudgingly parts from you, careful to remove his arm gently lest you wake up before the time you usually do. Once Seungcheol successfully pries himself from bed, he walks to the kitchen and starts preparing breakfast.

Seungcheol grabs the rice cooker and starts preparing the rice, and once it’s on cook, he moves to pull out the seolleongtang that Soonja gave yesterday (bless her soul for always dropping off soups). He transfers it into a small pot and starts heating it up on the stove. Once those two have settled, he pulls out oranges and starts cutting it up into little slices before peeling the sides. When he finishes, he sets it aside and moves to watch over the rice and the soup.

The breakfast is kept light because Seungcheol knows you don’t have much of an appetite in the mornings. While your vomiting has lessened, your nausea was still there, and Seungcheol wasn’t about to aggravate your stomach with heavy dishes. 

In all honesty, he’s getting extremely concerned. While you’ve reassured him many times that it was just stomach flu and that you’ve already gone to the doctor for it, he thinks that you’ve been sick for too long…

…Unless it wasn’t stomach flu?

“Is that the seolleongtang that halmeoni gave?” Seungcheol’s thoughts are interrupted when you come up beside him to look at the pot on the stove.

Maybe you were getting better. Seungcheol didn’t hear you puke, so maybe it really was just a bad case of stomach flu.

“Yes,” Seungcheol replies as he opens the pot to stir it. “Do you want anything else? I can cook something else if you want.”

“No, it’s okay,” You shake your head. “I like halmeoni’s cooking.”

Seungcheol pouts at that, turning to look at you with a deflated expression. “Do you not like my cooking?”

“I do,” You reply, but there’s a hint of teasing in your tone as you speak, “But I like halmeoni’s more.”

“Hey, that’s not a fair comparison,” Seungcheol grumbles. “She’s old. She has years of experience.”

“How rude, Choi Seungcheol,” You fake gasp. “You should never discuss a lady’s age like that.”

Seungcheol smiles at the way you seem more comfortable around him. You were joking now, engaging in lighthearted banter, and all those facts work to fill Seungcheol’s chest with hope for the future.

“Are you feeling better now? I didn’t hear you in the bathroom this morning,” Seungcheol asks absentmindedly as he shuts the stove off.

He doesn’t miss the way you freeze.

“A little dizzy, but it’s better than before,” You reply, busying yourself with pulling bowls from the cupboard to avoid Seungcheol’s gaze.

“Okay,” Seungcheol doesn’t press further. “But if it gets worse, tell me.”

“I will, dad,” You tease as you hand him the bowls, and Seungcheol only smiles. “Stop worrying so much.”

“I can’t help it,” Seungcheol grumbles as he fills the bowls with broth and some meat. He doesn’t add too much of the latter lest it irritate your stomach. “I don’t like seeing you sick or hurt.”

“I’m fine, I swear,” You reply before pressing a quick kiss on Seungcheol’s cheek and taking the bowls from him. “Let’s just eat, okay?”

He can only nod at you with a stupid smile on his face.

—

Seungcheol has two weeks left, and he honestly doesn’t know if he’s doing well or doing horribly.

You only ever have three states around him: clingy, horny, or angry. Seungcheol never knows which one is coming, and he either finds himself pleasantly surprised or absolutely horrified. Sometimes you’ll be screaming at him, and sometimes you’ll be rubbing all over him like a cat in heat (he doesn’t know how he’s been able to hold back). He honestly doesn’t remember you having mood swings this bad and this sudden, but he finds that it’s much better than your indifference. 

“Cheol-ah, why’d you get up so early?” You’re pouting as you walk towards him bustling in the kitchen, arms wrapping around his torso from behind while you nuzzle your nose into his back. Seungcheol doesn’t miss the way you breathe him in like an illicit drug.

Clingy is the mood for the hour, he realizes

His favorite mood, really. Though the devil on his shoulder calls him a liar because his favorite obviously hor—

“Do you not want to sleep beside me anymore?” You whine out, and Seungcheol knows that if he doesn’t placate you, you’re going to start crying.

“No, no, not all, baby,” Seungcheol quickly takes the pancake off the pan and turns the stove off so that he can turn around and pull you into his arms. “I was making breakfast.”

“You should’ve woken me up,” You complain, cheeks puffing and lower lip jutting out in a pout. “I could’ve helped you.”

“I wanted you to get more rest,” Seungcheol explains. Fuck, you looked so cute, and you were just so soft in his arms. It was taking everything in him not to squeeze the life out of you.

“I had plenty of rest,” You huff out. “You just don’t want me around.”

“No, baby, I do—“

“Whatever,” You push him away, annoyed, and Seungcheol realizes that you’re now transitioning from clingy to angry. “Eat alone.”

“Y/N, you have to eat—“

“Save it, Choi,” is the only thing you say before walking back to the bedroom and slamming the door.

Wow, you were going to give Seungcheol whiplash with how quickly your moods change.

However, Seungcheol needed to be firm. He wasn’t going to cower in fear and let you skip breakfast. He wouldn’t fight you on anything else, but your health was non-negotiable.

Seungcheol knocks on the bedroom door, “Can I come in?”

“No,” comes your muffled reply from behind the door.

“Baby, you have to eat,” Seungcheol urges, hand on the doorknob.

“I don’t want to see your face.” The door does nothing to buffer the venom in your voice.

“I’ll cover my face while you eat,” Seungcheol suggests. “I’ll stay in the living room if you want me to, but you have to eat.”

It’s silent for a few seconds before the door swings open.

“Fine,” is the only thing you say to Seungcheol before you walk to the dining table.

Seungcheol, true to his word, quietly eats breakfast in the living room like an outcast as he stares at your back longingly. He can only hope that you switch to a better mood soon. You’re so moody that you could put a pregnant woman to shame.

That night, his wish is granted.

You had spent the whole day avoiding Seungcheol, and every chance encounter with him was filled with glares and petulant huffs. Seungcheol would honestly have been offended if he didn’t find the annoyed look on your face so endearing. Thankfully, something in your mood seems to shift after dinner.

Seungcheol is typing away to answer the last pressing email in his inbox when you take cautious steps toward him.

There’s guilt swimming in your eyes as you speak, “Do you want to walk with me?”

“Of course,” Seungcheol replies without a second thought, fingers clicking send before he closes his laptop. “Usual route?”

“Yes,” Your eyes immediately light up at Seungcheol’s quick response.

The air is cool against Seungcheol’s cheeks, the only source of warmth in the street being your hand in his. It’s quiet, but it isn’t suffocating. It’s nothing like the silence in his bedroom back in Seoul that presses and weighs down on the shoulders of all that enter.

It’s peaceful.

“Do you think we should move here permanently?” Seungcheol suddenly asks. He knows he’s getting ahead of himself. You haven’t even fully forgiven him, and he’s not sure if he’ll even succeed in getting you to trust him again, but no one could really blame him for dreaming.

“It’s too far from the city,” comes your reply. “It’s not practical.”

“I can make it work,” Seungcheol shrugs as he traces the constellations in the sky with his eyes. It’s a rare sight that he makes sure to savor whenever the two of you go out for an evening walk. The light pollution in Seoul made it nearly impossible to ever see the stars at night. “You seem happier here.”

“It’s… quieter,” You reply. “If I could go back in time and pick a place to grow up in, I think I’d choose this place.”

Seungcheol thinks of little Y/N from the photos your mother had shown him. He thinks of the pretty dresses, the bejeweled tiaras, and he wonders if you’d still be the same person if you had grown up living a more humble life.

“Do you not like it in Seoul?” Seungcheol asks, but he has a feeling that the answer is yes. You always seemed to be happier when you were far away from the city. Maybe he should start investing in properties in the countryside, if only to give you a sanctuary from the tumultuous lives you had in the city.

“Seoul has its charm, but it’s no place for a child,” You reply, and Seungcheol doesn’t know if he’s imagining things, but he feels like there’s something more to your words. “I think it forced us to grow up quickly.”

It did, it does. The city, regardless of what part you lived in, ages the soul too quickly. A person could only tolerate heartless corporations, blinding lights, and concrete prisons for so long before the city buried them alive.

If Seungcheol had a choice, he probably wouldn’t choose to grow up in the city either. However, it was too late for that, and Seungcheol can only hope that his children—if you wanted to have them—wouldn’t have to suffer the same fate. He’d raise them far away from the vultures of his world, raise them far away from the tragedy that lines the walls of your house back in Seoul.

He should probably sell that house soon. 

“Let’s go back,” You suddenly say, and Seungcheol is quick to turn to you. “I’m getting a little dizzy.”

“Ok,” Seungcheol replies as he examines you. Your grip on him is getting a little weaker, and your footsteps are starting to drag. All of Seungcheol’s senses are suddenly on high alert as he realizes that you were definitely not looking good. “We’re only a few meters away, don’t worry.”

Seungcheol makes sure to hold onto you, gripping you tightly just in case something went wrong. You look like you’re about to pass out, and while Seungcheol was internally panicking at how faint you looked, he couldn’t let it show. He needed to have a level head to make sure that you got home safe and sound.

Everything comes crashing down the moment you arrive at home.

You’re crouching down to remove your shoes, Seungcheol only a step or two behind you as he watches you intently. You move to stand up as you speak, “Cheol, I might have to sleep first—“

Seungcheol is quick to catch your limp body, panic flooding through his veins as he realizes that you just lost consciousness. A million horrible scenarios are running through Seungcheol’s head, but he can’t let the panic win. 

Immediately, Seungcheol is grabbing his keys from where it’s hanging near the door. He carries you to the car, lying your unconscious form down on the seat before he speeds to the closest hospital.

Fuck, what had happened to you? Was it the stomach flu? Was it just stomach flu? Did you get a misdiagnosis? Were you going to be okay?

Seungcheol rushes you into the emergency room, and the nurses there are quick to accommodate him. Luckily for you and for him, the hospital only catered to a small population, so they weren’t too busy that night.

The other nurses take you away to check on your condition while another nurse pulls Seungcheol aside to ask him the details of what happened.

“What happened to her, sir?” The nurse asks.

“We were just walking, and then she said she was dizzy,” Seungcheol says, recalling every detail he can in hopes that it will help the staff treat you faster. “We went home as soon as she said that, but she just fainted all of a sudden.”

“Did she hit her head while fainting? Are there any other injuries?”

“No,” Seungcheol shakes his head. “I caught her before she hit the floor.”

The nurse asks a few more questions, and Seungcheol answers them like he’s on autopilot. The only thing he can focus on is your unconscious form on the bed as a physician rushes over to you. His heart is pounding violently in his ears, fear flooding his veins as he tries to recall where everything went wrong. 

Seungcheol doesn’t know how long he waits there, hunched over as his leg shakes violently from the anxiety gnawing at his stomach. Every single second was torture when he didn’t know how you were doing, but he knew better than to interere with the professionals.

You’ll be okay, you had to be. Seungcheol refused to entertain any other possibility.

When the doctor walks his way, Seungcheol is quick to stand.

“Good evening, sir. I’m Dr. Lee,” The doctor introduces herself. Seungcheol could not care less about the pleasantries, he needed to know if you were okay. “May I ask how you’re related to the patient?”

“I’m her husband,” Seungcheol answers quickly, and he doesn’t know if he’s imagining it, but there’s a flicker of disdain in the doctor’s eyes before her face takes on that neutral, professional expression she was sporting previously. “Is she okay, doc?”

“Ms. L/N is fine, but her iron is a little low,” Dr. Lee replies. “The baby is doing well too, but we have to raise your wife’s iron levels to make sure that her pregnancy goes smoothly. She’s also going to need a lot of rest…”

The baby is doing well too?

The baby?

Seungcheol thinks it’s going to be his turn to faint. The doctor is speaking, but Seungcheol couldn’t hear her over the blood rushing through his ears and the violent pounding of his heart. 

Everything suddenly made sense. The unpredictable swing of your mood, the healthy glow of your skin, the change in your scent, the constant vomiting—

You’re pregnant.

All the signs were pointing towards it, but Seungcheol was too fucking dumb to connect all of it together.

There’s a million emotions running through him all at once: happiness, fear, love, excitement, guilt, insecurity, hope, anxiety, adoration—Choi Seungcheol didn’t know what to feel first. Not only that, but Seungcheol was now plagued with a million questions as well. How long have you known? Were you hiding it? Why were you hiding it? Were you ever going to tell him? How did you cope with all of that alone? Would he be a good father when he couldn’t even be a good husband? Do you even want him around the child? What should he name them? Would they look like you? Like him? 

What happens next?

“She’s scheduled for a visit soon, so make sure to attend that,” Dr. Lee says as Seungcheol’s attention finally snaps back to her. “I’ll put her on supplements, but I like to think that nothing beats proper nutrition, so please do try to make her consume more iron-rich foods.”

“I will, doc,” Seungcheol nods, finding himself filled with a newfound determination. He needed to do his best. He was taking care of two people now. “Do you have anything I could take a look at? A guide or something?”

There’s a smile on Dr. Lee’s lips as she replies, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Dr. Lee gives Seungcheol numerous educational pamphlets on pregnancy along with a list of resources he can check for himself. She tells him everything he needs to know to prepare, and Seungcheol takes each and every single word as gospel. There was no room for incompetence, not anymore.

“That’s most of it,” Dr. Lee finally concludes the long lecture, but Seungcheol still isn’t satisified. “Now, go to your wife. I’m sure she’ll wake up soon, and it’s best that you’re there for her when she does.”

“Thank you, doc,” Seungcheol bows gratefully. “I’ll make sure she eats properly and gets all the rest she needs.”

“You better, Mr. Choi,” Dr. Lee says it like a joke, but Seungcheol can sense the threat underneath it. “Ms. L/N is one of my favorite patients, so you better take care of her.”

Seungcheol only smiles.

When his conversation with Dr. Lee wraps up, Seungcheol is quick to take a seat on the chair beside your bed.

Now, he waits.

—

The first thing you see is Choi Seungcheol.

One of his hands is intertwined with yours, the other scrolling through his phone. He looks wholly invested in what he’s reading, brows scrunched and eyes focused like he’s reviewing for an exam.

Briefly, you pull your attention away from him, eyes scanning your unfamiliar surroundings only to realize that you were in the emergency room. What happened? The last thing you remembered was telling Seungcheol you were dizzy before the two of you got home and the world went black—

Oh god was your baby okay?

Seungcheol seems to feel the way you tense because he’s quick to turn his phone off and wrap you in his embrace.

“Fuck, don’t ever scare me like that again,” Seungcheol says, the relief in his voice mixed with fear. 

“What did the doctor say?” You ask as Seungcheol pulls away and goes back to sitting on the chair beside your bed. Once again, one of his hands finds its way to intertwine with yours.

“She said you’re okay, but you need rest. Your iron is also low so we have to fix that,” Seungcheol replies, thumb rubbing back and forth on the back of your hand. Was it to soothe you or to soothe him? You’re not really sure.

You take in his words. How the hell were you going to ask if the baby inside you was fine without revealing it to Seungcheol—

“The baby’s okay too,” Seungcheol looks you dead in the eye as he says it. 

Oh fuck.

You can’t read Seungcheol. Is he angry? Is he happy? Is he worried? He’s looking at you like he wants answers, and you’re looking at him with the same gaze. 

“I’m sorry,” is the only thing that comes out of your mouth. You’re sorry for a lot of things, really. For not telling him, for making him find out this way, for endangering your child, for being so stubborn, for… Just everything. “Are you angry?”

“Not at you,” Seungcheol replies softly as he kisses the back of your hand, the warm, shaky breaths that leave him tickling your skin. “We’ll talk at home, okay? Right now, my priority is to make sure that you’re doing fine.”

You can’t help the way tears well up in your eyes as Seungcheol stands up. Softly, he cups your cheek, tilting your face to look up at him before he presses a soft kiss onto your forehead.

“I love you,” Seungcheol whispers against your skin. “I’ll go tell them you're awake so that we can go home.”

You can only nod and watch as Seungcheol rushes to the nurse’s station. The words wouldn’t leave you. You were too overwhelmed by everything to even form a coherent sentence. The emotions swirling inside you didn’t know which one of them would take precedence. Relief? Fear? Hope? Happiness?

After you wrap things up in the hospital, and Dr. Lee gives you a loving scolding, Seungcheol drives home. It takes the two of you a while, considering how Seungcheol was driving like an old man. You’re sure that he was only a few km/hr away from hitting the minimum allowable speed on public roads.

When the two of you get home, Seungcheol hovers behind you like an overprotective guard dog, eyes never leaving your form and body never more than three steps away. The only time he settles down is when you’re finally sat on the couch, but even then, you can see the way he’s eyeing the couch warily.

“Cheol, you’re acting weird,” You say as you give him the most judgmental side-eye. “I’m pregnant, not helpless.”

Seungcheol stares at you like your sentence doesn’t make sense, and you have to resist the urge to start fighting him then and there.

“I’m just worried,” Seungcheol grumbles as he takes a seat beside you on the couch. “Do you… Want to talk about it?”

You nod. You couldn’t run from the truth forever. It was only a matter of time before Seungcheol found out, and if you were being honest, you’re surprised that you were able to keep it a secret for this long.

“When did you find out?” Seungcheol asks, eyes boring into yours.

You tear your gaze from him, eyes falling down to your lap as you fiddle with your fingers. “Remember the night we fought? I found out before you came home.”

It wasn’t a fight, not really. It had been too quiet, too defeated to call whatever happened that night a fight.

It was a resignation.

You see the way Seungcheol pales at your words. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you leave? Y/N, you knew you were pregnant so why—“

“Because you still loved Sohee,” You cut him off, heart aching at the memory. “I asked you if you still loved Sohee, and the only thing you could tell me was sorry.”

“I don’t love her,” Seungcheol says firmly. “I was being stupid then, but you didn’t have to leave. Especially not when you’re pregnant. Y/N, do you know how dangerous that is?”

“I was doing just fine before you arrived,” You retorted, finally looking at Seungcheol with the harshest gaze you’ve ever thrown his way. Choi Seungcheol, of all people, didn’t have the right to question you. “And I left because I didn’t want to raise my child in a house where they’d always be second-best.”

You could practically hear the way Seungcheol’s heart breaks at your words.

Seungcheol open his mouth to reply, “They wouldn’t have been—“

“Yes they would!” You cry out, anger pooling in your eyes and pricking at your lashes. “It’s always been Sohee this, Sohee that. Every single part of that fucking house is full of Sohee even if you removed everything that reminded you of her.”

“Y/N—“

“You don’t need all those stupid things to remember her because you carry her everywhere with you like a fucking ghost,” You hiss out, standing up and stepping away fron Seungcheol. You know you’re being unreasonable. Seungcheol has apologized for it many times, has spent every single day since his arrival to show you how serious he was, but it was so difficult to let go. “You would have felt obligated to stay with me, but your heart would have always been with Sohee.”

“When are you going to let her go?” Seungcheol groans out in frustration as he stands up after you. “Y/N, I don’t love her anymore. I’m here, I’ll always be here. I’ve already buried Sohee in the past, so why won’t you let her go?!”

“A few weeks isn’t going to fix months of that bullshit,” You spit out angrily. You don’t know what you’re angry at, really. Was it at Seungcheol for making a mistake he’s been repenting for? At yourself for not being able to move on? At Sohee for ruining your life without even knowing? At the universe for dealing you with the worst cards possible? “This isn’t going to work, Seungcheol. Just leave.”

You’re afraid. Afraid that Seungcheol would actually pack up and follow your words. Afraid that you’re falling into that familiar pattern of self-sabotage. Afraid that you’re depriving your child of a father because you couldn’t bury that godforsaken woman in the past where she belongs. 

Just when Sohee stopped haunting Seungcheol… She started haunting you instead.

“No,” Seungcheol says it with so much anger and conviction that it had you shaken. “I’m not leaving you.”

You move to walk away, but Seungcheol is quick to grab your wrist. Angry and afraid, you hiss, “You promised me. If I didn’t forgive you in a month, you said you’d agree to the divorce and leave—“

“It’s the only time I’m breaking a promise, then,” Seungcheol says as he looks you dead in the eye. “I let you go once, I’m not doing that again.”

“Fuck you,” You cry out as the sobs start taking over your body. “You promised! I hate you—“

Seungcheol only pulls you into his arms, repeatedly murmuring ‘I love you' into your head as you cuss him out and slam your fists into his chest over and over. He doesn’t give you the fight you’re asking for, he just endures. He takes your blows, your words, and returns it with a tenderness unmatched and the promises of a better future.

You sob into his chest, your anger dying down into a paralyzing fear as you desperately latch onto him. You don’t want him to leave, and that scared you. What if he hurt you again? What if you hurt him in the process? What if you could never let Sohee go? What if you became the reason all your greatest fears came true?

What if Seungcheol ends up hating you?

Seungcheol holds you until your sobs quiet down, holds you until the fire and fight in you dies. When you calm down, he carries you to bed and changes you into your pajamas, and you find that you’re too exhausted to protest or worry about anything else.

After Seungcheol changes into his own pajamas, he lies down beside you, silent, patient.

“I’m sorry,” You whisper out into the darkness of your bedroom, waiting with bated breath as you look at Seungcheol.

“Stop apologizing,” Seungcheol mumbles, the sheets rustling as he pulls you into his embrace. “I love you. No amount of fighting or screaming is going to change that.”

“You deserve better,” You reply. “You’re trying so hard to make it work, and all I do is run away.”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind the cardio,” Seungcheol jokes.

“I hate you,” You groan out, but you can’t help the way a bittersweet smile starts forming on your face. 

“And I love you,” Seungcheol replies. “Stop worrying and get some sleep. Stress isn’t good for the baby, you know?”

Your heart stills at the reminder.

Well, that’s another issue you haven’t covered. Quickly, you’re sitting up and moving your gaze to meet Seungcheol’s.

“Are you okay with this?” You ask, and you can feel the fear creeping up on you again as the seconds pass.

“With what?” Seungcheol asks, sitting up as well before grabbing your hands.

“The baby…” You mumble, uncertainty gripping at your chest. “We didn’t exactly plan this, you know?”

Seungcheol snorts at that. “Bareback sex for days straight was just asking for it, if we’re being honest.”

You flush at the crudeness of his words, “Seungcheol, I’m serious.”

“So am I,” Seungcheol chuckles out. “Baby, I’m more than okay with this, with everything. Sure, maybe I wish that things happened with better timing, but… I wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world.”

“You don’t regret it?” You ask, voice small as you tighten your hold on his hand. Seungcheol’s here, he loves you, he isn’t leaving. 

“The only thing I regret is not being there for you sooner,” Seungcheol says. “I can’t imagine how hard it must have been to find out like that then have to deal with everything on your own.”

“Halmeoni and Dr. Lee looked after me,” You remind him. “It was easier with them around.”

“Still,” Seungcheol counters, guilt pooling in his eyes. “I should’ve been there.”

“You’re here now,” You say as you smile at him, hand letting go of his to smooth the crease between his furrowed brows. “That’s more than enough.”

“No, it’s not,” Seungcheol shakes his head. “I still have a lot to prove to you, and to our little one.”

Your heart practically melts at the way Seungcheol’s eyes soften when they fall onto your stomach.

“Do you think they can hear me?” Seungcheol asks.

“No, Dr. Lee said they don’t start hearing until 18 weeks,” You reply, watching as Seungcheol reaches out to trace your stomach with a feather-light touch.

“Perfect, I have a few more weeks to come up with a good apology,” Seungcheol jokes.

“Maybe we should stop apologizing,” You suggest, hand falling on top of Seungcheol’s as you look him in the eye. “Let’s make this work, Cheol.”

Seungcheol beams at that, and you don’t miss the way his eyes seem to glisten under the moonlight. “I can do that.”

You don’t know what comes over you.

Slowly, you lean forward, lips pressing against the corner of Seungcheol’s mouth to test the waters. You don’t miss the way Seungcheol’s breath hitches and his lids flutter. Unable to resist, you press another kiss onto his skin. This time, it’s on his chin.

“Fuck, don’t do this to me right now,” Seungcheol whispers shakily.

“Do what?” You tease, hands reaching out to brace yourself on his firm thighs. “I’m just kissing you.”

“You know it never ends with just kissing,” Seungcheol stares at you pointedly. “Y/N, I’m serious—“

Seungcheol chokes on his words when you press a kiss to his throat.

“Baby, you’re pregnant,” Seungcheol tries to reason with you as your fingers trail up his thighs. 

You ignore his words, mouth capturing Seungcheol’s in a kiss that’s all tongue, spit, and desperation. Contrary to the hesitance in Seungcheol’s words, he’s quick to reciprocate with just as much hunger, if not more. He kisses you like he’s trying to eat you alive, like you’re the first thing he’s eaten in years.

However, reason seems to find its way to Seungcheol’s head through the haze because he quickly pulls away.

“Cheol, why’d you stop?” You whine out in complaint.

Seungcheol speaks to argue, “You’re pregnant—“

“Pregnant women are allowed to fuck, Cheol,” You pout. 

“I know but we just got back from the hospital,” Seungcheol replies softly, hand carding through your hair. “I might make things worse.”

“You won’t,” You shake your head. “I trust you.”

“Y/N, don’t make this harder,” Seungcheol pleads. 

“Fine, be like that,” You huff out petulantly before lying down on the bed and turning your back to Seungcheol.

“Baby,” Seungcheol coos as he slips behind you. “I’m sorry, come on. We just got back from the hospital. We can do it when I’m sure that you’re all better.”

You don’t reply, only pulling the covers around you tighter.

“Baby,” Seungcheol sighs as he wraps his arms around you. “Come on.”

“Just say you don’t want me,” You huff out. You’re being unreasonable, you know that, but your hormones were constantly all over the place, and they somehow decided that now would be the perfect time to make you all hot and bothered.

“I do want you, badly,” Seungcheol says. “But your health comes first.”

The fire in you dies. He had a point. “Fine.”

“I can still help you out, if you’d like?” Seungcheol whispers against your ear in a low tone that has your insides quivering. “No fucking, but my fingers should be fine for now, no?”

You can feel the way Seungcheol’s fingers are playing with the waistband of your sleep shorts.

“Please,” You breathe out, whining when Seungcheol pulls away.

Seungcheol sits against the headboard before he pulls you to sit between his legs, your back resting against his warm chest.

“Can you take your shorts off for me, baby?” Seungcheol whispers against your ear as he rubs his hands up and down your waist. 

You’re quick to oblige, a gasp leaving your throat when Seungcheol’s fingers brush against your sensitive nipples.

“Oh, you’re so sensitive,” Seungcheol remarks, hands giving your chest one firm squeeze that shoots straight to your core. “Fuck, I can’t wait until these are leaking.”

A moan rips itself from your throat when Seungcheol pinches your nipples.

“Need your fingers inside, Cheol,” You moan, hand grabbing one of Seungcheol’s and bringing it down to your panty-clad mound. “Please.”

“So polite,” Seungcheol coos, hand slipping underneath your panties to rub through your dripping folds. “What happened to the brat that got us here, hm?”

You only moan, lost in the feeling of finally experiencing Seungcheol’s touch again. His fingers are rubbing sloppy circles onto your folds, each flick of his wrist sending fiery pulses through your nerves.

“You’re so wet, baby,” Seungcheol mumbles as he slips two fingers inside. He scissors them inside you, rubbing, prodding, and exploring like he’s looking for something. “So warm too, fuck.”

Your eyes roll back when Seungcheol’s fingers brush against that bundle of nerves inside you, mouth falling open to release desperate moans and whines as Seungcheol works you closer and closer to your high.

“You’re tightening up already?” Seungcheol teases. “Is my needy girl about to cum from a little fingering?”

“Yes, fuck!” You cry out, back arching as you feel your high get dangerously close. “Cheol, please, please, please—“

“Shh, baby just cum for me. I’ll get you there don’t worry,” Seungcheol soothes, fingers driving in and out of you with methodic strokes. “Cum for me baby, cum—“

“Cumming!” You cry out before your mouth falls open into a silent scream, body seizing as Seungcheol continues to fuck his fingers in and out of you to let you ride out your high.

By the end of it, you’re boneless in Seungcheol’s arms, breathing heavy and mind hazy with the aftershocks of your climax.

Seungcheol, like the filthy man he is, is quick to lick his fingers clean, and the moan that leaves him when your taste hits his tongue is obscene. “Fuck, I missed that.”

“Cheol, you’re hard,” You mumble through your sleepy, pleasured haze. You can feel him pressing against your back. “Do you need help?”

“I’m fine,” Seungcheol replies as he moves to lie the two of you down. “Just get some rest.”

“Are you sure?” You offer one last time, trying to fight the sleep that was slowly pulling you under.

“Yes, baby,” Seungcheol replies with a kiss to your forehead. “The sooner you get better, the sooner you can get all of me.”

You have never slept faster in your entire life.

—

Choi Seungcheol made one hell of a DILF.

If husbands were graded on how well they handled pregnancy, you think Seungcheol would get a 99.99%. The 0.01% is missing only because Seungcheol could be a little too overprotective at times. Ever since he found out about your pregnancy two weeks ago, he’s been nothing short of caring. Most of his days are spent catering to you, and when he isn’t fussing over you, he’s busy reading every single parenting book published in the last five years. He’s also extremely patient, and your mood swings are no match for his gentle words and touches.

Fuck, you wanted to jump this man so badly.

It’s a shame he’s so hellbent on holding back for your sake. You could take him! In more ways than one, but he refused to listen. The man constantly treated you like you were made of glass, and you were honestly getting tired of it. You were cranky and horny with a husband that could make it all better, but he refused to.

You’re considering lowering his grade to a 98%.

“I think we’re going to need a bigger house,” Seungcheol says as he walks into the living room. “This one is okay, but we’re going to need more room when the baby comes.”

“We already have a house back in Seoul, though?” You ask, brow raised in question as you flip through the channels. “Do we really need another house?”

Seungcheol freezes at that. “About that…”

You turn your questioning gaze to Seungcheol.

“What?”

“I put the old house for sale,” Seungcheol replies. “It held too many bad memories.”

You gape at Seungcheol. 

To be fair, you didn’t like the house either. You’d set it on fire if given the opportunity, but to suddenly find out that Seungcheol had sold it…

Well, it was shocking.

You had other properties, of course. So finding somewhere to stay when you inevitably go back to Seoul wasn’t a problem, but Seungcheol had lived in that place for so long that some part of you felt bad that he had to let it go.

“Where will we live then?” You ask. 

“I heard it’s quieter in Mingyu’s neighborhood,” Seungcheol says as he takes a seat beside you. “I’ve been asking my agent to look for some houses in the area, and I already have the list but… I was just waiting for the right time to tell you.”

“But you’ve lived in that house for so long, Cheol,” You reply, hand reaching out for his. “Won’t you miss that place?”

“No,” Seungcheol shakes his head. “It’s just a house.”

Seungcheol reaches for your stomach. There’s a little bump on it now that you’re 13 weeks in. Softly, he presses his palm on it. “The two of you are my home now.”

Your heart swells at Seungcheol’s words, tears pricking at your eyes as you press a kiss against Seungcheol’s cheek. “Do you want to look through the list together?”

Seungcheol beams at that, quickly pulling his laptop closer and opening it. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

The rest of the afternoon is spent scrolling through the list that Seungcheol’s agent sent. It was complete with pictures and even videos showing the features that each property had to offer. Some houses were too big, some were too small. Some didn’t feel right while some were only a few steps away from perfect.

There’s a constant back-and-forth between you and Seungcheol as you consider the pros and cons of each house. He was clearly taking this seriously, giving insight on things that even you failed to consider.

By the end of it, the two of you agree on a 4-bedroom house that had a large backyard and a small pool. It’s a little extra, but Seungcheol wanted nothing but the best for his growing family.

“We could check it out soon, if you’d like,” Seungcheol offers. “But I don’t mind staying here.”

You love Boeun, but you knew it wasn’t practical.

Your life was still in Seoul, and Boeun was just meant to be a temporary break from the city’s chaos while you gathered your bearings. You were always meant to leave this place, but knowing that doesn’t make the idea of departure any easier. You’d miss Soonja, Dr. Lee, Mr. Kang, and everyone who had been with you throughout your stay, but you knew that sacrifices had to be made. 

Your job was waiting for you, your family was waiting for you, and you could only make those things wait for so long before they began chasing you all the way to this quiet town.

“Do you want to check it tomorrow?” You ask. The drive would be smooth since it’s a Wednesday tomorrow, there was even less traffic compared to if you’d go to Seoul on a Monday or a Friday.

“Already?” Seungcheol clarifies, a little baffled at how quick you were to ask. “I mean we can if you really want to, but… Isn’t it a little too soon?”

“Cheol, the two of us can only work from home for so long,” You reply. “Our life is in Seoul whether we like it or not.”

“Will you be okay?” Seungcheol asks, worry written all over his features.

“Of course,” You reply softly. “I’m going to miss everyone here, but it would be more practical to move now while I still have the energy to handle it all.”

“Okay. Happy wife, happy life,” Seungcheol presses a quick kiss to your lips before he pulls out his phone. “I’ll text Mr. Jang to set a visit for tomorrow afternoon, then I’ll book a hotel for the night. Is that okay?”

“That would be perfect,” You smile.

—

Choi Seungcheol thinks you look like a goddess in this light.

You’re looking through the house, listening to Mr. Jang explain the history and make of each area, and the only thing Seungcheol can do is watch as the sun shines on you through the glass doors leading to the patio and the backyard. It gives you a heavenly glow, and the bump of your stomach lightly poking from your dress only had Seungcheol wanting to worship the ground you walked on.

He could already imagine it. In a few months, you’d be seated in the little patio, cradling a little baby—he hopes it’s a girl—and cooing to her (he insists) in a soft loving voice. In a few months, he’d be rushing home from work to see his girls—Seungcheol is not letting go of that—and when he gets home, he’s going to give the two of you the tightest hug he can safely give and tell you how much he missed you.

Fuck, he can’t believe all of this is real. He might actually start crying if he dwells on it.

When you walk over to him with a smile, Seungcheol realizes that this is it. This is the house.

“Do you like it?” Seungcheol asks, one hand pulling you in by the waist and the other moving to cup your cheek.

“How soon can we move?” You ask him with an excited smile. “I can’t wait to decorate. Plus, we need to make sure that everything is baby-proofed. The sooner we get here, the sooner we can fix all of that.”

“Well, Mr. Jang, you heard the lady,” Seungcheol grins as he addresses his trusted agent. “How soon can we move in?”

“Well, it usually takes weeks, Mr. Choi, but considering the fact that you’re very close friends with Mr. Yoon, it will be very quick.” Mr. Jang answers. “I can give you the papers by Friday, and if you have any personal items that you’d like to move, then we can do that for you as well.”

Of course Jeonghan owned this place. Seungcheol sometimes forgets just how much land and property the Yoons own throughout Seoul. Maybe he should ask for a discount just to fuck with the man.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Jang,” You smile. “We’ll probably be able to move in next week since we still have some things to sort in the province.”

“No worries, madam,” Mr. Jang replies. 

“Thank you for your help, Mr. Jang,” Seungcheol firmly shakes the man’s hand. 

“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Choi.”

When the two of you reach the hotel, you’re quick to give Seungcheol a hug. It’s tight, it’s warm, and it’s full of the love that Seungcheol has always longed for.

“I can’t believe this is real,” You murmured into Seungcheol’s chest. 

“You like the house?” Seungcheol asks, falling back onto the hotel sofa and sitting you on his lap. 

“I do,” You nod, wrapping your arms loosely around Seungcheol’s neck. “It’s like a fresh start.”

“It is,” Seungcheol replies as he presses a quick kiss to your chin. “I promised to do things right. I’m just fulfilling that promise.”

“I love you.” It falls from your lips and settles into Seungcheol’s unguarded heart.

Seungcheol would never get tired of hearing those words come from your lips. He could listen to it all day, everyday, for the rest of his life, and it would still send his heart into a frenzy.

“Not as much as I love you,” Seungcheol whispers before capturing your lips into a kiss.

Everything was finally falling into place.

—

Saying goodbye was always the hardest part.

Your seventh and last week in Boeun was spent thanking the people who had made your stay in the little town a wonderful experience.

The first stop was Dr. Lee.

“Time really flies,” Dr. Lee says wistfully as she takes in your words of parting. “I’ll make sure to coordinate with your new OB-GYN. I have to make sure my favorite patient is taken care of, after all.”

“Thank you for everything, Dr. Lee,” You say with a bittersweet smile. “I can’t thank you enough for all the care you’ve shown me.”

“Nonsense, dear. It’s my job,” Dr. Lee waves you off with a sad smile. “Make sure to update me every now and then, okay? I may not be your doctor anymore, but I will always be your friend.”

“Of course,” You reply. 

“And you,” Dr. Lee points towards Seungcheol. “You better take care of her after taking her away from us, you got it?”

Seungcheol looks a little embarrassed under the doctor’s scrutiny, but he smiles at her nonetheless. “I will, doc. You have my word.”

“Gosh, I really am going to miss you,” Dr. Lee says as she gives you a warm hug, one that you’re quick to reciprocate. “I know that Seoul is far, but make sure to visit, okay?”

“We will,” You declare it like you’ve never been more sure of anything. “I’ve grown too attached to this place to ever let it go.”

“Well, don’t miss us too much,” Dr. Lee jokes as she releases you from her hug. “Take care, you two.”

The second stop was Mr. Kang.

Honestly speaking, between the two of you, Mr. Kang was closer to Seungcheol than he was to you. After all, it had been them who had bonded greatly, with the older man constantly giving Seungcheol tips on how to become a good father whenever the two of you would drop by to eat.

“Just yesterday, you were eating bibimbap here,” Mr. Kang says in a bittersweet tone as he reminisces. “And now, you’re leaving.”

“Duty calls in the city, unfortunately,” Seungcheol replies sheepishly. “But we’ll make sure to visit, sir.”

“You do what you have to do for your family, boy. I understand,” Mr. Kang says as he claps Seungcheol on the back and sends a smile your way. “Take care of your wife, okay? And your kid too. Remember everything I taught you.”

“Don’t worry, sir, I have it all memorized,” Seungcheol jokes. 

“Thank you for everything, Mr. Kang,” You thank the man with a quick hug. “I’m going to miss the food here.”

“Well, let’s eat then,” Mr. Kang says as he pulls the two of you to sit. “It’s your last meal here, so it’s on the house.”

You’re quick to protest, “Oh no, we couldn’t possibly—“

“Aish no, just eat, okay?” Mr. Kang cuts you off. “Consider this a parting gift from me and my wife.”

The last stop was Soonja.

This was the hardest, you think.

With slow steps, you walk towards the door of her house, heart cracking with each step you take. You do everything you can to delay it, to delay the inevitable moment where you’d have to say your goodbye.

When you reach her door, you turn to Seungcheol.

Your husband gives your hand a firm squeeze of support. There was nothing he could do to make this goodbye easier even if he wanted to.

With a deep breath, you knock on the door.

“Coming!” You hear Soonja’s muffled voice from behind the wood separating the two of you, her light footsteps echoing through the silent afternoon.

When the door opens, you have to resist the urge to cry.

“Ah, if it isn’t my favorite neighbors,” Soonja greets, giving the two of you a warm hug that only a grandmother could give. “Today’s the day you leave, right?”

“Yes, halmeoni,” You reply, voice shaking and lip quivering. You had been holding out so well throughout the day, and now, face-to-face with the woman who had taken care of you during your loneliest days, you find yourself falling apart. “We came to say goodb—“

A sob manages to break free from your throat, and Soonja is quick to take you into her arms.

“Aigoo, sweet girl, don’t cry,” Soonja soothes as she rubs your back up and down. “A sad mother is a sad child, so you have to be happy, okay?”

“I—I’m going to—“ Sobs and gasps cut through your words as you clutch the woman tighter. “I’m going t—to m-miss you—“

“I’m going to miss you too, dear,” Soonja smiles, though it’s bittersweet. “Take care of yourself, okay? I’ll visit when the little one is born.”

“You promise?” You ask, pulling away to look Soonja in the eyes. “I—I’ll cry if you’re not there.”

“Aigoo, look at this girl blackmailing me,” Soonja laughs as she smooths out your hair. “I promise, dear.”

“I’ll get someone to pick you up, ma’am,” Seungcheol says with a smile. “Thank you for taking care of my wife when I couldn’t be there.”

“It’s nothing,” Soonja waves your husband off. “Make sure that she’s always happy, okay? I’ll take her away from you if you ever make her sad.”

You laugh at that despite the tears in your eyes, “Hear that, Cheol?”

“That won’t be necessary, ma’am,” Seungcheol says firmly as he turns his gaze to you. “I’m going to make sure that my wife is the happiest woman alive.”

“Aigoo, your husband looks tough but he’s such a sap,” Soonja teases. “Come here, boy. Give this old woman a hug before you go.”

Seungcheol obliges, leaning down to give the old woman a hug. 

You think you might cry again.

When they part, Soonja is quick to pull something from her pocket: a tiny notebook.

“A little souvenir,” Soonja smiles as she hands you the notebook. “It has all your favorite recipes in it.”

You’re quick to open the little cookbook. Tears immediately pool back in your eyes when you realize that Soonja had written down all the steps for all the dishes she cooked and brought for you during breakfast.

“Halmeoni, do you want to come with us?” You know the odds of her accepting are low, but you ask it anyway.

Soonja laughs at that, wiping away the tears that have pooled in her own eyes. “Thank you for the offer, dear, but this place is the only thing I’ve known my entire life.”

“Letting go is just as important as holding on,” Soonja adds with a smile. “One should always aim to strike a balance.”

Her words stay with you even after the trees have turned into buildings and stars have been obscured by towering skyscrapers.

“You tired?” Seungcheol asks when the car stops at a red light.

“A little,” You confess, eyes taking in the familiar city that you left behind seven weeks ago. It looks the same, and yet it feels like everything has changed. 

“Hang in there,” Seungcheol says with a comforting squeeze to your thigh. “We’ll be home in 15 minutes.”

Home. 

You left Solis Mane with an ache in your heart and dread in your stomach, and now you’re leaving Boeun… But it doesn’t feel the same. The ache is there, the longing for a world that had given you peace for even just a moment, but the dread is nowhere to be found. You aren’t dreading the city, you aren’t dreading the idea of home. In the spot that dread used to lurk in now lied hope.

Hope for a better future, hope for a better life.

You sincerely hope that it works out this time.

—

The future looks bright.

After a month of living in the house, Choi Seungcheol likes to think that the two of you are now well-adjusted to the new space and the new routine. Strangely enough, he thinks it was him who took a longer time to adjust to the novelty of it all compared to you.

You had quickly adjusted to the house, and now, there were little trinkets and decorations strewn around that all had your personal touch. Seungcheol considers it his favorite part of the house. The hopeful part of Seungcheol wished he could stay in the house and lounge with you all-day, all-week, however, business calls.

The moment the two of you came back, he had been bombarded with the responsibilities he had set aside. Thankfully, Seungcheol’s father had lessened his workload after finding out that his first grandchild was on the way, so Seungcheol only had to appear in the office every Monday and Friday. The rest of his week was spent working from home and doting on his beloved wife.

Unfortunately for him, it’s a Friday, so he was in the office. The only thing that kept him going was the idea that you’d be greeting him with a smile and a kiss before dragging him to taste whatever diabolical concoction your pregnancy hormones had you craving for the day.

Fuck, he’s so in love with you.

When the clock strikes five, Seungcheol is quick to pack his things. He’s taking long strides towards the door when a knock stops him in his tracks.

Fucking hell.

Annoyed, Seungcheol is quick to open the door. Lo and behold, before him stood Kim Mingyu.

“Hyung, are you leaving?” Mingyu asks, eyes locking onto Seungcheol’s bag.

“Yes, so make it quick,” Seungcheol clicks his tongue. “My wife’s waiting for me.”

“Ah of course, can’t leave a pregnant lady waiting,” Mingyu is quick to understand, having gone through a similar experience just a few months prior. “I’m just here to give you the invitation.”

Mingyu hands Seungcheol an expensive looking invitation bearing the Yoon Corporation’s logo.

“What for?” Seungcheol asks as he slips the invitation into his bag.

“My wife’s birthday,” Mingyu replies, a boastful, loving smile making its way onto his face. “You and Y/N are invited, though I think she’s more interested in talking to your wife.”

“I’ll ask Y/N if she’s okay with going,” Seungcheold nods. It would be good for you to go out and socialize in a smaller circle for now, and knowing Mingyu’s wife, the party would probably be limited to only a few people. “Where is this?”

“At our house, so it’s really just a small get-together,” Mingyu confirms. “We can finally grab a drink together, again.”

“Pass,” Seungcheol thinks of the last time he drank with Mingyu. It did not end well at all.

“Yeah, you’re right. My wife would probably kill me too,” Mingyu laughs. “But I hope to see you guys there, okay? I’ll let you leave now since you seem really eager to get home.”

“Thanks for finally noticing,” Seungcheol snorts, and Mingyu only rolls his eyes.

“Hey, my wife’s waiting for me too,” Mingyu grumbles as he presses the elevator button. “You and I are one and the same.”

Seungcheol only chuckles at that, but he can’t deny Mingyu’s words. 

When Seungcheol finally parks into the garage of your house, he’s quick to exit the car, walk to the front door, and kick off his shoes.

On cue, the door swings open, and Seungcheol, like clockwork, pulls you in for a kiss that has his blood humming and his heart beating wildly. Just like the other times, there’s a shy smile on your face the moment you pull away.

“Do you really have to kiss me like that every time?” You complain as you pull Seungcheol in and shut the door.

“Why? You don’t like my kisses?” Seungcheol pouts, hands coming up to your hips as he gives you the most comically sad eyes he can muster.

“I do, but isn’t your kiss a little too… Inappropriate?” You reply, a little flustered as you avoid Seungcheol’s gaze. “What if someone sees?”

“Nothing wrong with a husband loving his wife, no?” Seungcheol teases, leaning down to whisper against your ear as one of his hands drops down to grab a handful of your ass. “I can get more inappropriate than that, really.”

You yelp when Seungcheol gives your butt another firm squeeze, your hand coming up to lightly swat at his chest. “You’re a dog, Choi Seungcheol.”

Seungcheol only laughs when you push him off and walk to the dining room, eyes trained on the way your hips sway and your butt jiggles.

Fuck, he really is winning in life.

You’re in your 18th week, and Seungcheol thinks you need to put him on a leash soon because it was getting harder and harder to resist you. In addition to that glow of yours, your bump was now more visible, and it had Seungcheol becoming this inexplicable mix of horny and overprotective whenever he sees it. Not only that but you were getting softer too, and Seungcheol had to stop himself from gnawing at your chest like a feral dog lest you get pissed and kick him to the couch again.

“What’s for dinner?” Seungcheol asks, already bracing himself for some diabolical combination that would probably make Chef Wen faint.

“Tonkatsu,” You reply, and when you see the shocked look on Seungcheol’s face, you’re quick to giggle. “It’s so normal, right?”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol laughs as he takes a seat beside you. “Are you sure it’s just regular tonkatsu?”

“I swear,” You reply as you draw a cross on your chest. “I woke up craving it so badly. I ate this for breakfast and lunch, and now I’m eating it again. Your kid is already taking after you.”

Seungcheol smiles at that. In a few months, he was finally going to meet your little baby. He was finally going to cradle them—her, the voice in Seungcheol’s head insists—in his arms. He’s going to lose sleep and want to tear his hair out, but it’s all going to be so worth it because he gets to do it all with you.

“My daughter has good taste,” Seungcheol boasts proudly, hand coming up to cradle your little bump. “Don’t worry, princess. I’ll let you eat all the tonkatsu you want when you’re out of there.”

“Yah, we don’t even know what the baby is yet,” You pout at Seungcheol. “What if it’s a boy?”

“Then he’s a boy,” Seungcheol shrugs. “But I have a feeling that we’re going to have a daughter.”

“Well, I think we’re having a boy,” You huff out.

“Wanna bet?” Seungcheol grins as he strokes your stomach. 

“Be prepared to lose, Choi,” You reply, determination in your eyes.

“I should be saying that to you,” Seungcheol teases before he presses a kiss to your stomach. “But put that aside for now, the tonkatsu might get cold.”

In all honesty, Seungcheol didn’t mind whether the baby would be a girl or a boy. He was going to shower them with so much love either way. However, he sincerely hopes it’s a girl. A cute little girl that takes after her beautiful mother in both looks and wit. A cute little girl he’ll spoil and clothe with the prettiest, frilliest dresses. A cute girl who’d be evidence of everything he’s ever loved and cherished, who’d be evidence of you.

That night Seungcheol makes slow, sweet love to you. You’re on your side, one leg raised, and Seungcheol is right behind you, slowly grinding in and out of you as he whispers words of devotion into your ear.

Seungcheol cradles you in his arms, face buried into the back of your neck as he soothes moans and whines from your soft, sensitive body. He takes his time savoring every drag and clench of your walls around him. Treating every stroke and plunge like it would be his last.

“Cheol, I love you,” You say with a breathy sigh as you clamp down onto his length, and Seungcheol is left with no other choice but to spill himself inside you, worshipping every inch of you with a desperate devotee’s lips who’s only lately found religion, ardor and adoration lacing every heated kiss.

The high isn’t explosive, it crawls, and it creeps until it overtakes all your senses and you have no choice but to surrender to its will. It’s nothing like the rough, passionate, back-breaking sex that you and Seungcheol used to have on that island. It’s raw, it’s passionate, it’s love.

Seungcheol could never imagine himself anywhere else.

—

The Yoon heiress had always kept a small circle.

Attending her birthday party was a privilege, and despite your constant desire to stay at home and nest, you weren’t about to miss out on this opportunity. She had personally invited you, after all, and from your last interaction—your wedding reception—she seemed like a very lovely woman. Thankfully, the Kim’s only lived a few blocks away, so getting there was a breeze.

When you arrive at the Kim family’s garden, the familiar woman is quick to greet you, and cradled in her arms is little Eunho who is the spitting image of his father.

“Happy birthday,” You greet the woman as you hand her your gift, and she takes it from you with thanks and a kind smile.

You don’t miss the way Seungcheol looks at the baby in her arms. Amazed, he speaks, “Wow, it’s like I’m looking at a mini-Mingyu.”

Mingyu’s wife only laughs, cooing at her son, “Eunho-ah, say hello to Uncle Seungcheol and Aunt Y/N.”

The little baby only tucks himself into his mother’s neck, shyly looking at the two of you from the corner of his eyes. You have to resist the urge to squeal and sob at how cute the little boy looked.

“Don’t be fooled you two,” Mingyu walks up to his wife from behind, a hand falling protectively around her waist. “He may look like me, but he acts exactly like her.”

“My genes have to fight somehow,” Mingyu’s wife jokes with a roll of her eyes. “The two of you are expecting right? How many weeks?”

“I’m 21 weeks in,” You reply, hand coming up to cradle your bump. Saying the words out loud makes you realize how far you’ve come, and you have to stop yourself from breaking into tears then and there. 

“Only a few weeks left,” Mingyu’s wife smiles with understanding. “Please, do take a seat. I don’t want to tire you out.”

The little garden party is as intimate as you expected it to be. There were only a few people around, and even fewer that you could recognize. Seungcheol isn’t beside you since you insisted he bond with his old friends. Currently, your husband was with Jeonghan and Mingyu, with your husband and the former doing everything they could to gain the favor of little Eunho.

Thankfully, Mingyu’s wife sits with you, chatting with you like the two of you were old friends. It’s the complete opposite of the rumors about her that paint her to be some aloof individual that didn’t engage in polite conversation.

“Are you guys having a girl or a boy?” Mingyu’s wife asks.

“We haven’t checked, but Seungcheol’s betting that it’s a girl,” You reply. 

“That would be so cute!” Mingyu’s wife exclaims with a smile. “Who knows, maybe we’ll be in-laws someday.”

You laugh at that, mind flooded with scenes from a future that you have yet to live through. Jokingly, you reply, “You’ll be the first to know if it’s a girl.”

“I’ll be counting on that,” Mingyu’s wife matches your joking tone. “Oh wait, my friend is here. Let me introduce you…”

Mingyu’s wife stands up to greet the woman that just arrived.

She’s not someone you know, and her features, while pretty, are completely foreign to you. That’s why it strikes you as odd when Mingyu’s wife leads her to your table and recognition floods her eyes.

“Y/N, meet my friend.” Mingyu’s wife introduces the woman. “She came here all the way from Paris.”

Paris, huh? You haven’t heard of that place in a while.

In the distance, you hear Mingyu call out for his wife. 

“Oh, wait, excuse me for a sec,” Mingyu’s wife says apologetically as she moves to leave. “My husband’s calling me.”

“No worries,” You wave with a smile. “We’ll talk in the meantime.”

“I’ll be back soon, promise,” Mingyu’s wife reassures the two of you before she finally takes her leave.

Only you and the mystery woman remain.

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” You introduce yourself. “I don’t believe we’ve met before, Ms…?”

The woman smiles at you, but you don’t miss the sadness in her eyes. Something tells you that there’s more to her than meets the eye.

“You’re right, we haven’t,” The woman speaks, and you note that her voice is just as beautiful as her face. “I’m Sohee.”

That familiar sense of dread spreads throughout your body, and it feels like you’re being pulled deeper and deeper into freezing waters with no way to scream or cry for help.

You don’t know what to say.

You don’t think anyone is ever prepared to suddenly face their greatest fear on a cold autumn day in the middle of a birthday party.

Do you apologize? It doesn’t feel right considering how much you’ve suffered from the memory of her alone. Do you get angry? That doesn’t seem appropriate either considering the fact that she did nothing wrong to you. Do you pretend like you don’t know her? It’s too late for that considering the horror that has settled itself onto your face.

“Well, don’t look at me like that,” Sohee laughs to ease the sudden tension, but it does nothing of the sort. “I’m not here to cause problems. I’m just attending for my friend.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel unwelcome,” You apologize, but you’re not sure how much of it you mean. You’re only human, and you can’t help but hold a little bit of resentment for the woman who had caused so many problems in your marriage. You were being unreasonable, you know that, but you like to think that’s why reason and emotion are two separate entities.

“It’s okay,” Sohee replies. “You’re handling this a lot better than most people would.”

The two of you are quiet for a while, neither of you knowing how to navigate the delicate situation at hand. You don’t owe her anything, and the same goes for her. You can only hope that Mingyu’s wife comes back soon to ease the tension.

“How many weeks?” Sohee asks all of a sudden, eyes locked onto your stomach.

“21,” You reply politely, but you don’t take the effort to lengthen the conversation.

“Oh, you’re almost there,” Sohee smiles softly. “Stay strong, it only gets tougher the closer you get to your due date.”

It’s silent again, and you have to resist the urge to cringe at the tension that weighs heavily in the air. You thought meeting Sohee would be a bit more eventful. You had envisioned it to have a little more screaming, crying, and arguing, but there’s none of that.

You don’t know which of the two you prefer.

“I called him, you know,” Sohee breaks the silence with something that sounds like a confession as her eyes lock onto your smiling husband in the distance. “When I heard that you sent him divorce papers, I swallowed my pride and called him.”

That familiar fear is back in your system.

“Why are you telling me this?” You ask her, heart pounding with dread as you wait for her next words.

“Closure,” Sohee answers. “It’s a little selfish, but I couldn’t live with the guilt of seeing you and not telling you.”

“What do you mean?” You ask warily, voice faltering despite your efforts to keep it leveled.

“You’re being so nice to me and it’s making me feel so bad,” Sohee replies. “I called Seungcheol because I wanted him back.”

Your heart drops, but the anger is quick to rise.

“Are you here to try again?” You ask, tone taking a bitter edge as you try to gauge the woman in front of you. “I’m sorry if you feel like I stole him from you, but don’t you think it’s time to let go?”

You weren’t about to let this woman ruin your marriage a second time. Choi Seuncheol did not spend the past few months reassuring you and loving you unconditionally only for you to surrender at first sight of a problem. You owed it to him to fight for him as hard as he fought for you.

“Like I said, I’m not here to cause problems,” Sohee says defensively in response to your accusations. “I know you didn’t steal him, and honestly, there’s nothing for me to let go.”

“The last thing I want to do is get in the way of a happy family all because of a misunderstanding, so let’s get one thing straight,” Sohee looks you dead in the eye as she speaks. “I did not let Choi Seungcheol go, he left me of his own accord. He chose to leave me for you, so if anyone should be bitter here, it’s me.”

Your eyes narrow at her words. She didn’t know you or the hell she put you through for merely existing. She doesn’t get the right to play victim while painting you out to be some villain that got in the way of her happy ending.

“I gave him a way to come back,” Sohee continues. “He broke my heart, and I still hoped that he would come back to me, but you know what he did? He told me to lose his number and move on because he was happily married to the love of his life.”

“So I’m sorry if I can’t be that nice to you,” Sohee breathes it out frustratedly. “I loved this man for years, and it only took a few months for him to act like I never existed.”

“I understand,” You try to keep your voice as neutral as possible despite the voices in your head urging you to fling every hurt and anger from the first few months of your marriage back at her. “I hope you find your closure.”

Every bit of that last sentence is sincere.

You really hoped that Sohee finds peace despite the pain her mere memory brought. She had given you the closure you needed, after all. 

Neither of you were villains or victims, just people in love. 

When you and Seungcheol get home, you can see the fear in his eyes, the dread that the two of you would fall apart the way you did months ago.

“I met Sohee today,” You whisper out in the darkness of your bedroom, and you don’t miss the way that Seungcheol freezes. “We talked.”

“What did you talk about?” Seungcheol asks, his hold on you tightening like he’s preparing for you to run away.

“Nothing important,” You reply, pressing a reassuring kiss to Seungcheol’s cheek. “I love you.”

All the tension leaves Seungcheol’s body at that, “I love you too.”

He didn’t have to ask, prod, or pry. It didn’t matter to him, and it wouldn’t make a difference. All that mattered was that you were still in his arms and not running away. Sohee’s words can remain forever a mystery so long as your love for him has clarity.

Seungcheol had the promise of a lifetime with you ahead of him, and that was more than enough.

—

BONUS:

6 years later…

Choi Seungcheol looks like he’s about to have a stroke. 

Hwayoung, your lovely daughter, had come up to him with a flower in hand and said, “Daddy, look! Eunho gave me a flower.”

That singular statement had Seungcheol’s world falling apart, and it had been made worse when Hwayoung added, “I want to marry him! Like you and mommy.”

Unaware of the torment she subjected her father to, Hwayoung happily skips back to Eunho who’s playing with the flowers in your backyard.

“Baby, tell me I’m dreaming,” Seungcheol says, heartbreak in his eyes as he clutches at his hair. “It’s just a nightmare, right?”

“Cheol, you’re overreacting,” You roll your eyes at your husband. You’d think that someone died with how devastated he looked. “They’re just kids. It’s just a harmless crush.”

“My Hwayoungie is too young for crushes,” Seungcheol grumbles, eyes narrowing when he sees Eunho give his daughter, his beloved princess, another flower. “And why did it have to be Mingyu’s son of all the kids out there?”

“Eunho’s a sweet kid, though?” You try to reason out. “I don’t mind having him as my son-in-law someday—“

“Please don’t say that. You might actually give me a heart attack,” Seungcheol says, eyes still glued onto his princess and the little rascal hovering near her. “Mingyu’s a womanizer! Okay, retired womanizer, but still. It took a while before he settled down.”

“Cheol, they’re children,” You sigh. “I’m sure they’ll grow out of this.”

Seungcheol seems to loosen up at your words, shoulders slowly slacking as he leans back on his chair. “You’re right. I’m sure Hwayoung will realize that she’s meant for greater things. Boys should be the last thing on her mind.”

You’re already praying for Seungcheol’s soul. If he was going insane over this, you don’t think he’ll be able to handle it when Hwayoung grows up and actually brings home a boyfriend.

Rest in peace, Choi Seungcheol.

“Exactly, so calm down,” You laugh, pressing a quick kiss to Seungcheol’s cheek.

“How are my future in-laws doing?” Kim Mingyu’s voice suddenly rings from behind you. “Are they almost done? I have to take Eunho home.”

Seungcheol tenses at Mingyu’s words, “Kim Mingyu, you are never going to be my in-law.”

“Aw, why not?”

“My daughter is never marrying.”

“Shame, they seem to like each other.”

“Do you want to die?”

“Is that how you should speak to your future in-laws, hyung?”

“This piece of sh—“

And you’re back to square one.

A/N: And that concludes Imperfect love. Thank you for everyone who stuck to the end! I am finally debt-free (LMAO JK). Ily all and please stay tuned for any future works 🫶✨

Seungcheol holds it open for you, only entering when he sees that you’re safely inside. You don’t know if you’re happy at the gentlemanly act or horrified at the idea of walking in like a lamb for slaughter.

“Will you be able to attend the meeting with the wedding coordinator next week?” Comes your question when the silence becomes unbearable. It’s a shy attempt at small talk that seems wholly unnecessary considering the fact that Seungcheol didn’t seem all too interested in whatever you had to say.

Ouch.

“I might not be able to attend the one on Monday,” Seungcheol informs you, polite and composed. “I’m still in Paris by then, but I can make it to the meeting on Thursday.”

“Oh? What are you doing in Paris?” You ask in an attempt to get the conversation going. This was, after all, the longest conversation you’ve ever had with Seungcheol, and you weren’t about to let go of that opportunity. “There’s a really nice chocolaterie there. If you have time, you should drop by.”

Seungcheol smiles politely at your suggestion, but his eyes are trained onto the decreasing numbers on the wall of the elevator. “I need to meet someone there, but I’ll try to drop by.”

“A friend?” You suggest thoughtlessly.

“No,” Seungcheol shakes his head and pauses for a few seconds, uncertainty marring the polite facade on his face. “A lover.”

You can’t help the way your mouth falls open. A lover?

Choi Seungcheol had answered you in such a forward manner that you didn’t even know what to feel. Were you sad at the idea that your first love was in love with someone else? Yes. Were you confused that he was being so normal about it? Also yes. Were you jealous? Yes, but did you really have the right at this point in time? The most you were allowed to feel was offended, but you were too shocked at his bluntness to even feel that.

Seungcheol, taking notice of your reaction, is quick to speak again. “Don’t worry, I’m only going there to sort things with her. I know how much the marriage means to our families.”

Your conscience suddenly gnaws at you. If you had known that Seungcheol was already taken, you wouldn’t have agreed so enthusiastically to your mother’s offer. “Seungcheol we can still go back and decline–”

The elevator dings and the doors open. Seungcheol motions for you to exit, holding a hand out to keep the elevator from shutting. You exit and watch as he follows.

“There’s no need,” Seungcheol smiles at you, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You and I both know that we don’t really have a choice.”

Seungcheol is right, but it does nothing to tame the guilt that’s ripping your insides into shreds.

When you reach your car, Seungcheol is quick to open the door for you, and had you not just had the most depressing conversation, you would’ve been giddy and over the moon at his thoughtful gesture.

“Drive safe,” Seungcheol smiles.

There’s only a single thought in your head as you drive home that afternoon:

What have you done?

–

Upon hearing the news that Seungcheol had a lover hidden from his family somewhere in Paris, the guilt had consumed you so greatly that you spent the entire night tossing and turning and wondering how you could keep the wedding from happening. 

For your first attempt, you tried to suggest that maybe there were other men that would be a better match for you. That idea was quickly shut down by your mother who had mentioned your feelings for Seungcheo, and she had proceeded to state just how wonderful of a match the two of you would be. Clearly, that first attempt was a failure.

For your second attempt, you told your father that maybe you weren’t ready for marriage, told him that maybe it was too early. Your father, ever the quick-witted man, brings up memories from your childhood where you pretended to be a bride at the cost of your mother’s closet full of designer. To seal the deal, he mentions that he and your mother were never truly prepared, but somehow they made it work. You wanted to argue that your lonely childhood would beg to differ, but you keep your mouth shut in favor of peace.

For your last attempt, you say no. No, you wouldn’t be marrying Seungcheol. No, you wouldn’t be giving up your freedom. You had pulled every single theatrical stunt you could to convince your parents, but neither of them were moved. In fact, you think they looked a little frustrated.

There was only so much you could do without revealing the truth, so in the end, the wedding pushes through.

You tried, you really did.

Seungcheol stands at the end of the aisle, tux crisp, hair styled, and smile picture-perfect. It has the butterflies in your stomach violently flapping their wings as you move closer and closer. If you hadn’t known the truth—if Seungcheol didn’t have some odd moral code that forced him to tell you that truth—then you think you would have considered this the happiest day in your otherwise tragic life. 

The last thing you wanted was to end up like your parents who were forced into a marriage despite their incompatibilities. While they could have sorted their issues with a little communication and compromise, the two were so stubborn that you ended up paying the price for their dysfunction. There wasn’t a single memory in your childhood that wasn’t filled with heated screams and cold shoulders. You sincerely hoped that Seungcheol and you wouldn’t end up like that, but it honestly seemed like the two of you were doomed from the start. You wouldn’t blame Seungcheol if he resented you for ripping him away from the love of his life.

But it’s difficult to let go of the hope that maybe the two of you could work out when Seungcheol smiles at you like that.

When Seungcheol takes your hand and guides you up the steps with the most dashing smile, you make a promise to yourself: You’re going to make this marriage work. You’re not going to repeat your parents’ mistakes. Seungcheol may not love you now, but you were going to try your best to make this marriage easy on him. It was going to be so easy that he’ll have no choice but to fall in love with you.

You weren’t going to give yourself any other choice.

–

You deserved better.

It’s the only thing running through Seungcheol’s head as he takes your hand, careful to keep his grip in check lest you break like glass underneath his touch. You’re beautiful, breathtakingly so, and from the few interactions Seungcheol has had with you, he has a feeling your personality is just as pleasant. It makes him feel like an asshole, an absolute bastard for being in love with someone else. You were the kind of person that had to be loved with a whole heart, and that wasn’t something Seungcheol could offer anytime soon.

Seungcheol’s heart was stowed away in a little café in Paris, in the clutches of a woman who now probably despised his entire existence. 

He could lie to you, he thinks as he watches you shyly steal glances at him from underneath your veil. Seungcheol could tell you he had miraculously moved on overnight and that he had fallen in love with you, just to spare your feelings, but he refuses to. Seungcheol doesn’t lie to the people who are important to him, and as someone who was about to become the woman he would spend the rest of his life with, you were the last person Choi Seungcheol would ever lie to…

Even if telling you the truth would only hurt you.

“You may now kiss the bride,” comes the officiant’s voice, and Seungcheol has to resist letting out a chuckle at the way your eyes go wide and your shoulders jolt. It’s imperceptible to the crowd, but Seungcheol has a front row seat to the way you look so nervous.

It’s when Seungcheol lifts your veil that he’s struck by reality all at once, his breath stolen by the metaphorical weight that’s crashing onto him with no mercy. With the veil out of the way, Seungcheol can no longer pretend that he’s getting married to the love of his life. Your features are clear as day, and though beautiful, are nothing like the ones he’s fallen in love with.

It felt wrong to kiss you with the thought of another woman lingering in his mind, but Seungcheol refuses to embarrass you and your families during an event that had the nation’s eyes on it.

With as much tenderness as he can muster, Seungcheol cups your cheeks and presses his lips against yours in a soft kiss that holds no love, warmth, or affection.

...while I do not love her, I am doing this out of respect for the fact that she will be my wife.

Seungcheol's own words in the letter addressed to his ex haunts him, a grim reminder of what he’s lost and what he’s doing it all for.

The rest of the day passes by in a blur, and the next thing Seungcheol knows he’s lying on your marital bed, freshly showered and absolutely exhausted from the day. He shuts his eyes for a second, lost in the softness of the sheets underneath him. Faintly, he can hear the sound of the hairdryer, a steady white noise that lulls him to a half-asleep state that he only snaps out of when the door to the bathroom opens with a light whoosh and shuts again with a soft click.

Even from his spot on the bed, Seungcheol can already get a soft whiff of your scent. It’s sweet, he thinks, it matches you.

“Seungcheol,” comes your soft voice, and Seungcheol is quick to sit up and give you his full attention.

“Yes?” He asks, watching as you sit on the space beside him on the bed. He notes your distance, notes how it was almost as if there was a boundary on the sheets that Seungcheol was unable to see.

“I want this to work,” You look a little uncertain, but your voice does not waver. “I know we aren’t in the best of circumstances, but I want us to get along.”

Seungcheol lips pull into a frown. Was he not being courteous enough? What could have given you the idea that the two of you wouldn’t get along? Sure, Seungcheol just had to let go of the only woman he ever truly loved to get married to you, but it’s not like you were at fault for that. It would be childish to blame you.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Seungcheol replies as his fingers twitch at his sides, itching to reach out to smooth the crease between your brows. However, he holds himself back. Touching you like that felt too… Close. It felt a little like betrayal. “I’m sorry if it seemed like I dislike you, but I’m really not blaming you for any of this. Believe me.”

“I know,” You smile at him, and that somewhat eases Seungcheol. “You don’t seem like the type of person to lie, but I just want to make sure.”

Seungcheol feels like there’s something deeper to your words, but he doesn’t pry. The two of you weren’t close enough for that. 

You’re biting on your lip, fingers fiddling with the hem of your pants, and Seungcheol’s almost about to ask you what’s wrong, but you speak before he gets the chance, “Can I make a request, then?”

“Go ahead,” Seungcheol nods, fully turning his body to mirror you, legs crossed underneath him. 

“Well, I have three requests, actually,” You look a little embarrassed as you say it. “You can tell me if it’s too much.”

Once you finish listing your requests, Seungcheol immediately agrees. Your requests were nothing, Seungcheol thinks, and honestly speaking, he wonders what prompted you to even request those things when they seemed like a given.

What made you think that any of it would be too much?

He does not love you, but some part of him wished he did, if only to soothe whatever ache made you like this.

You really did deserve better.

—

Choi Seungcheol is a diligent man.

It’s something you conclude five months into the marriage when you realize that he has never failed to grant your requests.

“My first request is that we should eat dinner together. You can eat every other meal outside, but I would like to eat dinner together, as much as possible.”

As a young child, you had grown up eating alone while one of the maids watched over you from a distance. Every once in a while, your mom or dad would drop by to greet you, but neither of them lingered too long, and they never did it together lest it led to another argument. Some part of you believed that some of their fights could’ve been fixed through a conversation over a warm meal, but you never really voiced it out.

You think that’s why that became your first request.

You’re not a good cook, and it’s something many people around you can attest to. You can do enough to get by, but you had been so used to having other people cook for you that you’ve failed to cultivate any skill whatsoever in the kitchen.

Clearly, cooking dinner for Seungcheol was a terrible idea, but you had to try.

The tonkatsu is half burnt, and in an effort to soothe your nerves, you flip it around to show the more palatable portion. They say that the quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but you think that your cooking may just very well be Seungcheol’s quickest way to the grave, or at the very least, an upset stomach.

Maybe you should just ask Chef Wen to cook for tonight again—

“I’m home,” comes Seungcheol’s faint voice from the entrance of your home, and immediately, you place the plates onto the dinner table and wipe the sweat on your hand onto the apron you were wearing.

You were left with no other choice but to commit.

“You’re home early,” You greet Seungcheol who somehow found his way to the kitchen.

“It smells nice,” Seungcheol comments, walking in sniffing the air. When his eyes land on the table, his eyes are quick to light up. “Is that tonkatsu?”

He was about to be severely disappointed, and you don’t think you can stomach it. “An attempt…”

Seungcheol smiles at you, “It looks like a successful attempt. Did you make it?”

“Yes,” You reply, a little shy under his gaze. Could anyone blame you? Seungcheol’s dimples were practically winking at you! “It’s a little burnt, though, so don’t expect too much.”

Seungcheol takes a seat, and you do the same, eyes locked onto each of his moves as he grabs a piece. Your heart is pounding like a drum as you watch Seungcheol chew. 

He flinches for a second, and you feel like you could pass out right on the spot.

“It’s good,” Seungcheol’s smile is pained as he gives you a thumbs up. 

“Since when did you lie?” You huff out with a pout, feeling a little dejected. Was the tonkatsu so bad that he felt the need to lie to spare your feelings? You think it’s such an odd way of prioritizing things if that’s the case. “It’s clearly burnt.”

“It is,” Seungcheol nods in agreement as he gets another piece of tonkatsu. He was going to give himself a stomach ache if he kept this up. “But I’m not lying when I say that it’s good…”

“My wife took the time to cook it,” Seungcheol places a piece of tonkatsu on your plate—one of the less burnt ones, you note. “That makes it good.”

Screw you and your flowery words, Choi Seungcheol.

“My second request is that we should never sleep in separate rooms. Not for a long time, at least. Once or twice every once in a while is okay, but doing that for weeks… Well, I prefer we don’t do that.”

At first, your mother and father slept in separate rooms whenever they would fight. It was one of the ways you could tell that a major conflict had happened. Eventually, sleeping in separate rooms became their normal routine, and with the freedom to ignore their problems until it built up, the start of that normal routine inadvertently became the catalyst for the crumbling of their marriage.

It’s why you requested it despite the fact that you were technically sleeping next to someone who was an acquaintance at best. 

Seungcheol slept really well, but you’ve come to realize that he needed to cling on to something before he was actually able to sleep. It didn’t matter if it was a pillow or a person, as long as he could wrap it in his arm and throw a leg over it, it was more than enough.

There are nights where you childishly wish that it had been you in that pillow’s place, safely tucked under Seungcheol’s weight with his buff arms caged around you, but you know it would be too intimate to ask of Seungcheol. You weren’t that close yet. You don’t think you’ll ever get that close at the rate the two of you were going.

Or so you thought.

The first thing you notice when you slip into consciousness is the fact that your back is uncharacteristically warm. The second thing you notice is the arm around your waist and the legs tangled with yours.

A little horrified and already imagining the worst case scenario (a thief sneaking into your bed and cuddling (?) you) you slowly turn your head backwards to investigate only to be met with the sight of—

Choi Seungcheol?

Before you can even process it, Seungcheol’s eyes are already opening and staring straight into yours.

With the most absolutely unbothered, breathtaking smile, he speaks in a low, raspy voice, “Good morning.”

Holyshityouthinkyourpantiesarewet

“Good morning,” You whisper out in reply. Honestly, you’re still trying to process the fact that your fantasy of becoming a stand-in for Seungcheol’s pillow was granted, but if he was going to be completely nonchalant about it, then why shouldn’t you? “Did you sleep well?”

“Mhm,” Seungcheol hums before stretching with a groan, and the arm on you is lifted momentarily before it quickly returns back to your waist like it was magnetized. “Slept better than usual, really.”

“I assume you’re going to keep doing this then?” You’re trying to be nonchalant about it, you really are, but the implication of Seungcheol’s words have you wanting to kick your feet and scream into your pillow like a schoolgirl with a crush. 

“I will,” Seungcheol replies coolly before he suddenly gives you an uncertain look. “Unless you’re uncomfortable—“

You’re quick to put Seungcheol’s retreating arms back to what you now deem their rightful place. With the most unbothered tone you can muster, you reply, “I don’t mind.”

Seungcheol never sleeps with an extra pillow after that.

“My last request is that we have to talk to each other if there’s a problem. No matter how big or small it is.”

That request, you have yet to see fulfilled because surprisingly, married life with Choi Seungcheol was generally problem-free.

Except for the biggest problem of all. The one problem that neither of you would be able to solve even with all the communication in the world. The fact that Choi Seungcheol, despite his affectionate actions, was still in love with the woman from Paris. You see traces of her, even when you don’t look for it, even when you want to be blind to it.

It’s Sunday morning when you’re brutally reminded of the fact that despite living in his house, sharing his bed, and receiving his vows, you were the homewrecker.

After failing in your attempt to cook for Seungcheol, you decided to take a different approach: baking. The idea had struck you after you spotted a baking cookbook in Seungcheol’s living room, a fancy looking thing that had all the recipes written in a pretty cursive that you’re sure does not belong to Seungcheol. Briefly, you wonder if it belonged to his mother. You’d have to be careful with it, just in case.

You’re in the middle of whisking eggs when Seungcheol walks into the kitchen.

“What are you making?” Seungcheol asks, sliding into one of the seats before he rests his elbows on the kitchen island.

“Meringue,” You answer, hand still whisking away despite the burn in your forearms. No one told you that making this was akin to an arm workout. “Wanna try whisking this?”

You were honestly a little tired of beating the eggs, and you really didn’t mind if Seungcheol offered you an escape from it. For a second, you think you should’ve used the mixer instead of arrogantly pushing your agenda of doing everything manually to make it more special.

“I might ruin it.” Despite the hesitance in Seungcheol’s words, he takes the bowl and the whisk from you. “I don’t really bake.”

“Oh? Then who uses this?” You hold up the handwritten baking cookbook you found in the living room. 

The clinking of the whisk pauses as Seungcheol’s eyes land on the cookbook. You can see the way his eyes glaze, like he’s seeing right through you and the cookbook. For a second, he hesitates.

“It’s Sohee’s,” comes Seungcheol’s soft answer, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve touched upon something you shouldn’t have. “My ex.”

Ah. 

So that’s her name.

You can’t help it, the way your face quickly drops at the reminder that before you, there was her, and that without you, it would’ve been her. Seungcheol continues to whisk away, but you wonder if the same thoughts are running through his head. Did he wish it was her standing in front of him instead?

You wouldn’t blame him, if he did.

Hearing her name out loud somehow solidified her existence. Prior to this, she had been an idea, a construct, a memory you could brush off, but now? She’s real now. The cookbook in your hand is proof of her existence and evidence of your crime.

“What’s she like?” You can’t help but ask. You were already hurting to the point of numbness, anyway. What difference would it make if you drove the knife a little deeper? 

And Choi Seungcheol…

Choi Seungcheol never lies, and he never withholds the truth from those with the courage to ask.

(Was it courage on your end?)

“Strong, kind,” Seungcheol breathes it out in a way akin to reverence, his words laced with an affection foreign to you. “She’s very beautiful, but… It’s the last thing you’ll notice with her when she has so much to offer.”

And somehow that made it worse.

The universe is mocking you, and Seungcheol is its unknowing vessel. 

You came from a family that gained their wealth from exploiting the vanity of people. Beauty was the only thing that mattered in your shallow, perfectly curated circle. After all, a personality cannot impress with a single glance, but an ugly face can destroy an impression for life. Your mother made sure that you took care of your looks, the one thing she actually praises you for.

Maybe that’s why it stung to hear that Sohee’s beauty was the least interesting thing about her. 

“Is she doing well?” You ask. It’s a question bearing a high risk and a high reward, and the outcome all depends on Seungcheol’s answer. You hope you get the reward. If only to mend the rip in your heart and dampen the hit to your ego.

“I don’t know,” Seungcheol’s face turns grim as he answers. “I cut all ties with her before the wedding.”

You got the reward.

But why did it feel like you still lost?

—

You made Choi Seungcheol feel things.

He didn’t know what things, but he felt them.

It’s not love, if anyone was going to ask. He knew what love felt like. It was calm, slow, and comfortable. Not that he was an expert on love, but that’s what he felt with Sohee. So surely, that must be it?

Yes, it must be.

With you… It was the opposite. There was nothing calm, slow, and comfortable about the way Seungcheol felt around you. So if that was the case, did Seungcheol hate you? He knew what hatred felt like, and that’s definitely not what he felt for you.

Seungcheol doesn’t feel calm around you. In fact, it’s his first instinct to freeze whenever you walk into a room. He’s paralyzed by the multiple thoughts that run through his head at the sight of you. What should he do? What should he say? Did he brush his teeth? Did you just laugh at his joke? What did he say? Should he try to be funnier next time? When is the next time—

You get the point.

While it’s gotten better over the past few months, Seungcheol still has constant racing thoughts around you. Sure, he was married to you, but part of him was still hellbent on impressing you and making your life as easy as it can be with his intervention. After all, his father didn’t raise him—he could end the sentence there, honestly—to be someone who does things without doing it exceptionally.

So yes, Seungcheol definitely doesn’t feel calm around you.

As for slow? Nothing was ever slow with you, either. 

With you, Seungcheol is constantly rushing. He signs and reviews the paperworks on his desk like the hands of the clock are blades at his throat. He had to make sure that the stack on his desk was cleaned by the end of the day so that he could keep fulfilling your request of eating dinner together.

Not only that, but he was also rushing around you! Over the past few months that Seungcheol has been with you, he has come to realize that you had a tendency of running into things, hitting your head, and tripping on air. You made Mingyu look coordinated, and Mingyu was the clumsiest person Seungcheol knew prior to you. His days at home are spent blocking the edges of countertops with his hand, closing cabinets before you can hit your head, and running over to you the moment you trip over your own feet.

And comfortable? Seungcheol was never truly comfortable around you. However, he thinks he’s entirely to blame for this one. 

Seungcheol always feels a certain degree of unease in your presence, like he’s doing something he shouldn’t be. He sees the way your eyes linger on the cookbook that belongs to Sohee, sees the way your eyes fall at the mention of the woman, sees the way you cave in on yourself when anyone even mentions the word Paris.

Every second he’s around you, he’s worried that something related to Sohee will resurface, and he’ll have to see the way your face falls and your eyes go blank. The worst part of it all is that he can’t do anything about it. He can’t soothe your fears by telling you that he was no longer in love with her because if he did then he’d be lying to you.

And Seungcheol refuses to lie to you.

But he knows telling you the truth hurts you too, and he finds that he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place, and it’s so uncomfortable.

Seungcheol knows you deserve better, but he’s not sure if he can be that. If he showed up for you, he would be abandoning Sohee for good, and if he abandoned Sohee for good, then was everything he told her a lie? Just thinking about it makes his head hurt because how exactly do you choose between the love of your life and your wife when they’re two different people? 

Seungcheol’s working solution is to rip himself in two, body and soul, one for you and one for Sohee.

“Are you free next week?” Seungcheol asks, gaze following your form as you clean up the bowl that once held the meringue. It had been a failure, and you had swiftly concluded that baking wasn’t your strong suit.

Seungcheol wonders if there’s more to it than that.

“I’ll have to check with my assistant,” You reply as you dry your hands with the towel. You turn to look at him a little suspiciously. “Why?”

Seungcheol doesn’t really know the answer either. The only thing he knows is that he hates watching the smile fall from your face, and he’ll do what he can to bring it back. “We haven’t had our honeymoon.”

“Is this your subtle way of asking me on a honeymoon trip?” Your tone is playful and your smile reflects it, but Seungcheol can tell it stops at your cheeks. Your eyes were still blank. 

Seungcheol can feel the familiar unease sink in.

“Is it bad for a husband to want to spend a week alone with his wife?” Seungcheol returns your playful facade, and he hopes that some of his sincerity will bleed in through your ears and seep into your eyes.

“I guess not,” There’s a spark, but it’s faint, and it flickers, but Seungcheol prefers it over that glassy, faraway look in your gaze. “I’ll update you.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Seungcheol smiles.

Fuck, he hasn’t checked his schedule.

—

If Yoon Jeonghan had 1,000 won for every time a troubled husband spilled his feelings in the middle of lunch with him, he would now have 2,000. It isn’t much in this economy, but it’s odd that he has somehow had the misfortune of becoming Cupid twice. First, Mingyu, and now, Seungcheol.

He ought to start charging these idiots, really.

“So you’re telling me that you’re still in love with your ex, but you feel bad for your wife?” Jeonghan doesn’t know if he wants to be sympathetic or punch Seungcheol straight in the mouth. “The answer is clear, you know that right?”

“If it was, then I wouldn’t be asking you,” Seungcheol grumbles in a tone that Jeonghan knows is a telltale sign that the man is about to sulk. 

“Forget Sohee,” Jeonghan knows it’s harsh, but Seungcheol is old enough to know right from wrong. “You’re a married man, Choi Seungcheol. You need to start acting like it.”

“Jeonghan-ah, I’m in love with her,” Seungcheol says with his full chest, and Jeonghan has to bite back the extremely colorful words that are threatening to spill from his mouth. “It’s not that easy–”

“Are you even trying?” Jeonghan can’t help the way he snarks, and honestly, part of him feels a little bad. It’s easy for him to take your side because he doesn’t know Sohee that well, only hearing about her from Mingyu–not even from Seungcheol–who was friends with her. You, on the other hand, were a friend, and he has enough self-awareness to acknowledge that maybe he was being a little biased by taking your side. “Your relationship with Sohee barely lasted a year. It can’t be that hard.”

“I’ve been in love with her since we were kids.” Seungcheol’s voice is leveled, but Jeonghan doesn’t miss the way the man’s jaw clenches. “I can’t let go of her like it’s nothing.”

“Well, sorry. I didn’t know that,” Jeonghan’s voice is sarcastic, but he’s saying nothing but the truth. He was Seungcheol’s closest friend, but somehow it’s only now that he’s hearing about Seungcheol’s history with the woman? “Do you even want to move on from her? It doesn’t sound like you do.”

“I don’t know,” Seungcheol slumps against the chair, defeated. “I really don’t know.”

“But you want to make your wife happy, right?” Jeonghan asks, and when Seungcheol nods, he continues. “Then forget Sohee.”

The way Seungcheol’s gaze sharpens at Jeonghan’s words does nothing to intimidate the latter. Jeonghan’s just saying it as it is, and if Seungcheol couldn’t live with that, then he shouldn’t go to Jeonghan for advice. 

“Or at the very least, try.” Jeonghan only says it to partially soothe his friend. He’s an ass, sure, but he still cared for his friends. 

“Focus on your wife, Seungcheol,” Jeonghan adds with a sigh. He can’t believe he even has to say that. “Take her on a date, get her flowers. I don’t know, man. Go ask Mingyu how to make women happy or something. He’s the one who’s good at that.”

“We’re going on a trip next week, actually,” Seungcheol replies. “And I’m getting people to clean out Sohee’s things from the house. It might help.”

“You’re only doing that now?” Jeonghan stares at Seungcheol incredulously, and Seungcheol just gives him a tired look. “Ok, sorry, I won’t, but you better make the most of that trip. She’s your wife. Start acting like she is.”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol’s voice is soft, but Jeonghan can see that little spark in his eye, the one that Jeonghan sees when Seungcheol’s stubbornness is confronted with a seemingly unconquerable challenge. “I’ll try–”

“You will,” Jeonghan corrects. “Since when did you do things halfway?”

Something in Seungcheol’s eye tells Jeonghan that Sohee would be buried in the past.  However, whether it would be sooner or later, Jeonghan wasn’t sure.

–

Day 1, Solis Mane 

This is the closest thing to paradise on earth, you think.

The sunlight that filters through the foliage is warm against your skin, the breeze from the ocean is cool against your face, and the sand sprawling for miles on end is soft underneath your feet.

Seungcheol knew how to pick a vacation spot, alright.

Quietly, you walk along the sparsely populated shore with nothing but the sound of the waves retreating and returning to accompany you. Seungcheol had told you to explore a little while he spoke with Solis Mane’s owner, a friend of his who had flown out to the island as soon as news of Seungcheol’s visit reached the man. Though it seems a little selfish to cut their reunion short, you hope they finish soon, if only to have Seungcheol all to yourself in this shoreline.

It was supposed to be your honeymoon trip after all.

Holy shit, were you guys going to fu—

“Sorry I took a while,” Seungcheol’s voice keeps your thoughts from veering into untouched territory. “Joshua can get talkative. He’s hoping to have breakfast…”

Seungcheol’s words are tuned out the moment you get a good look at him. Somehow, he looked even better underneath the sun, hair tousled by the wind and skin shiny from a light layer of sweat. The man was fully clothed, and you were already going feral. How the hell would you manage when you guys had to go swimming?! 

Maybe you’re getting too ahead of yourself, but could you blame a girl when she just got a small view of that broad chest—

Seungcheol calls your name, and immediately, your eyes snap from his chest—it was looking at you, you swear—to his face. His brow is raised in question, and one corner of his mouth is lifted in a smirk that’s nothing short of smug.

Clearly, you’ve been caught.

“Sorry? What were you saying? I was lost in thought,” You’re surprised you’re still speaking straight despite the clawing urge to dig through the sand and bury yourself alive from embarrassment.

“I was saying that Joshua would like to have breakfast with us tomorrow,” Seungcheol’s tone is smug as he takes a step towards you, leaning down until his face is only a few centimeters away from yours. “But I think you were too busy enjoying the view, no?”

You had two options: Option A, flirt back and hope that Seungcheol reciprocates, and Option B, crash like an old computer that can’t seem to run the file named flirting.exe.

Stupidly, your instinct jumps to pick Option B.

“Huh?”

Wow.

Congratulations on your language proficiency score.

Seungcheol laughs, one hand reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Don’t worry, you’re free to look all you want.”

His words and gestures have you flustered, cheeks heating and heart racing. A little embarrassed and eager to take control of the conversation, you muster your most unimpressed look and speak, “There’s nothing to see, though?”

You see the way Seungcheol’s face flickers into confusion before it morphs into something that looks like he’s plotting. There’s a mischievous grin on his face and a fire in his eyes that has you wondering if you just dug your own grave and polished your own casket. Why did Seungcheol look like he was accepting a challenge? No challenge was made!

“We’ll see,” Seungcheol says before pulling at your hand lightly to get you walking. “Let’s go back to the villa for now. I’m a little tired.”

“Okay,” You reply, following him. The flight had been long, and if you were being honest, you were ready to tap out for the day. However, that wasn’t your primary concern, Seungcheol’s cryptic words and determined expression was.

Something tells you that you’re going to regret your words.

— 

Day 2, Solis Mane

A soft call of your name pulls you out from the grasp of sleep, your eyes slowly fluttering open only to be met with the sight of Seungcheol’s handsome face. 

What a great way to start the day, you think.

“Wake up, sleepyhead.” Seungcheol says, flashing you a small smile as you yawn and stretch on the bed. “We’re having breakfast with Joshua today.”

Suddenly, you’re fully awake and sitting straight up. You refused to make a horrible first impression. Embarrassing Seungcheol by being late to the breakfast meeting his friend invited the two of you to was the last thing you wanted to do. 

“How long do I have before we meet him?” You ask, jumping out of bed without even sparing Seungcheol a glance as you pull out a dress from the closet. “Please tell me I have 30 minutes, at least.”

“You’ve got an hour, relax,” Seungcheol replies as he watches as you run back and forth in different spots in the bedroom to gather your things. “Joshua’s very laid back. He won’t mind if we’re a few minutes late.”

You frown as you turn to Seungcheol, “Still, I don’t want to give him a bad impression—“

It’s the first time you’re actually looking—like, really looking—at Seungcheol that morning, and you’re realizing that the universe has decided to finally enact its vengeance for your stupidity yesterday. Instead of his usual clothes that leave room for your brain’s creativity, Choi Seungcheol is now wearing a white sleeveless top and shorts, and while appropriate for the setting, it’s completely detrimental to your mental health. 

“There’s nothing to see, though?”

Your own words haunt you now.

How the hell were you going to meet Joshua and carry a proper conversation when the only thing you can think of is what it would feel like to sink your teeth into Seungcheol’s biceps?

“I’m going to shower,” You announce quickly, praying that Seungcheol didn’t notice the way you were flustered.

“Is it a cold one?” You hear Seungcheol call out from behind you with a laugh, and you’re quick to glare at him before slamming the bathroom door.

Well, so much for hoping he didn’t notice.

— 

Seungcheol finds this newfound dynamic between the two of you entertaining.

In the past few months of your marriage, you never really gave a sign that you found Seungcheol attractive. You were always so polite and composed in how you interacted with him. Of course, there were times that gave Seungcheol an inkling that you may find him a teeny tiny bit attractive, like when you’d get flustered by his words or his casual touch, but to him, that doesn’t really say much.

Yesterday, however, changes things, and now, Seungcheol realizes that you may actually find him more attractive than he thought you did. He sees the way your gaze lingers when you think he isn’t looking, sees the way you get flustered when he flirts here and there, and he definitely sees the way your eyes trail over his form instead of his face. It’s good news to him, and maybe bad news for you because Seungcheol was not going to go easy on you. There was just something about flustering such a pretty woman that got Seungcheol going, really. Plus, no harm in a little playful flirting with his wife, no? It’ll be a great bonding experience for you both.

The two of you were on a honeymoon after all. If anything, the two of you should be doing more than flirting, but Seungcheol is a gentleman; He isn’t going to pounce on you unless you give him a sign.

“Ok, I’m ready.” 

At the sound of your voice, Seungcheol shuts his phone off and sits up from the bed. There’s a flirtatious remark on the tip of Seungcheol’s tongue, but it disappears the moment his eyes lock onto you. All of a sudden, Seungcheol’s mouth is dry and the words are stuck in his throat.

You’re in a flowy white dress with a slit that bares one leg. The straps are thin, and the neckline plunges tastefully. The material isn’t that thick, perfect for the weather, and Seungcheol thinks that if he stared hard enough, he can see the faint blue of what he assumes to be your swimsuit underneath it.

(The demon on his shoulder hopes it’s a two-piece.)

“Enjoying the view?” Your teasing tone and the smug look on your face snaps Seungcheol out of his trance. “Don’t worry, you’re free to look all you want.”

You had just thrown his words back at him. With a flip of your hair and a sway of your hips that Seungcheol made sure to engrave to memory, you leave the bedroom. He realizes that you aren’t going down without a fight.

Seungcheol is definitely going to enjoy this new dynamic.

By the time you and Seungcheol arrive at the resort’s main restaurant, Joshua is already there, sipping from a glass of mango juice as he flips through the pages of a book with a pensive look. 

“Joshua’s already here,” Seungcheol presses a hand against the small of your back to guide you into his friend's direction. 

“Are we late? I didn’t wear a watch.” The worry in your voice is palpable as you get closer and closer to Joshua who’s still engrossed in his book.

“No,” Seungcheol takes a look at the silver watch on his wrist and shakes his head. “Joshua just has a habit of being early.”

“Good to hear,” You sigh out in relief.

Almost as if he could sense Seungcheol’s arrival, Joshua peels his eyes away from the book and immediately stands up with his arms wide open when his eyes make contact with Seungcheol’s. “Long time no see!”

“We saw each other yesterday,” Seungcheol snorts as he pats his friend on the back. When he pulls away, his hand is quick to find your waist and pull you against his side. “Y/N, this is Joshua Hong. He’s the owner of this resort and my longtime friend, and Joshua, this is Y/N L/N, my wife.”

Seungcheol makes sure to note the way you seem to glow at the words ‘my wife’. 

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. L/N. I apologize for not making it to the wedding.” Joshua bows lightly as he gives your hand a firm shake. “You’re even more beautiful than they say you are. Seungcheol’s a very lucky man.”

Something flares in Seungcheol’s stomach at that, but he’s not really sure what it is. Annoyance? Jealousy? Possessiveness? He’s not sure which, but whatever it was, it had him wanting to pull your hand away from the man’s touch.

“You’re too kind, Mr. Hong, and no worries regarding the wedding, I completely understand.” You smile softly at Joshua, and Seungcheol has to resist the urge to start sulking then and there. Why were you smiling so sweetly at his friend? You should be reserving that kind of smile for him! “You have a very lovely place. I could live here forever, really.”

“Oh, please call me Joshua,” Joshua replies with a smile just as bright as yours. “You’re free to visit Solis Mane any time, and you can stay as long as you want. We’re friends now, after all. But do take a seat, they’ll be serving breakfast soon.”

It only takes a few minutes before breakfast arrives: a bountiful spread of local cuisines mixed in with some familiar dishes from home. You’re chattering away with Joshua, already acting like the best of friends while Seungcheol quietly chews through his food.

How annoying, he thinks. Seungcheol realizes that he isn’t quite used to sharing your attention with other people. It’s even more frustrating that you’re suddenly so casual with Joshua when it took you a few weeks to warm up to him.

Maybe he was jealous.

“So how’s married life treating the two of you?” Joshua asks, eyes flickering between you and Seungcheol. “I’m a bachelor, so I can only live vicariously through my married friends.”

“It’s great,” Seungcheol takes the opportunity to insert himself into the conversation, one hand falling onto your thigh to squeeze it affectionately like a husband who just couldn’t take his hands off his wife. Joshua didn’t need to know that this was the first time Seungcheol was touching you so boldly. “Don’t you think so?”

Seungcheol resists the urge to smirk when he sees you try to discreetly press your thighs together, squirming under the way Seungcheol’s thumb rubs up and down your thigh over the fabric of your dress. 

“He can be a handful, but he treats me well,” comes your reply. Your tone is smooth, and only Seungcheol can pick up on the slight waver in it.

If Joshua wasn’t here, Seungcheol would’ve informed you that he was more than just a handful, and he’d prove it to you if you wanted to. However, Seungcheol still had a bit of shame, and out of respect for you, he instead replies, “Happy wife, happy life.”

Joshua laughs, “Wise words to live by.”

“He better live up to it,” You add jokingly.

“Of course,” Seungcheol’s hand parts from the softness of your thigh only to grab your hand and press a kiss on the back of it. “Your happiness is my priority.”

Seungcheol relishes in the way you fluster underneath his gaze.

Joshua, on the other hand, can only laugh, coo, and die a little inside at how sweet the two of you appear to be. The two of you looked like the prime example of a couple in love: playful, smitten, and absolutely handsy.

For the rest of breakfast, Seungcheol’s hand never leaves you, and you never push him away.

–

You think Choi Seungcheol is trying to kill you.

After breakfast with Joshua and a quick tour around the island, Seungcheol decided that he wanted to go for a quick swim in the beach. Tempted by the idea of cooling off in the island’s azure waters, you’re quick to agree. Nothing beats a refreshing swim after a few minutes of walking underneath the tropical sun. 

If only you knew how big of a mistake that was.

You’re lying back on one of the sunloungers, feeling the farthest thing from cool and refreshed–despite the pina colada in your hand–as you watch your husband play in the water, shirtless and looking nothing short of sin. Every stroke of his arm against the waves has his muscles flexing underneath the blaze of the sun, but even that heat was nothing compared to the one in the pit of your stomach.

Screw him, really.

(In more ways than one, the little voice in your head adds).

Seungcheol seems to get tired of swimming quickly, because the next thing you know, he’s walking to where you’re perched, practically in slow-motion, looking like he came straight out of Baywatch as he ruffles the remnants of the sea from his hair.

The moment he reaches you, you know you’re doomed. You’re lucky you’re wearing sunglasses because your eyes can’t help the way they follow the droplets rolling down his pecs and the soft curves on his abdomen before it seeps into his trunks.

“Not gonna swim?” Seungcheol asks, sitting on the side of the lounge chair you’re resting on, causing some of the droplets to fall onto your dress.

“Yah, Choi Seungcheol you’re getting me wet,” the words of complaint leave your mouth faster than you can think it through. You only realize the double entendre in your words when your eyes catch sight of the shit-eating grin on Seungcheol’s face.

“Not here, baby,” Seungcheol has the audacity to fake a scandalized look. “There are people watching.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, oh my god.” You groan, moving a hand to cover your face before you point at where the droplets are falling. “You’re dripping all over my dress, look.”

Seungcheol only smirks, hand resting on your thigh as he leans in to whisper against your ear. “Aren’t you the one dripping all over your dress?”

Flustered beyond belief, you push at his shoulder coupled with a string of colorful words. Seungcheol only laughs at your weak attempts to push him off. 

“Why do you torment me like this?” You sigh out dramatically, watching as Seungcheol turns the straw of your drink to his direction before he takes a sip. 

Seungcheol gulps, and with a light tap on your nose, he replies, “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

“Piss me off, and I’ll get even cuter,” You grumble, snatching your drink away. “Now I have to dry this dress off.”

“You can take it off and start drying it now,” Seungcheol shrugs casually before his face morphs into a suggestive expression. “That way the two of us have something to look at.”

“Dream on,” You reply.

“Trust me, I already do.” Seungcheol then leaves to go back into the water like he didn’t just drop a fucking bomb on you.

After that catastrophe on the beach, the rest of the day continues in a similar manner. Seungcheol takes every single opportunity to flex and fluster you. Need something passed to you? Here it is with a side of biceps. Something is out of reach? He’ll get it for you while giving you a peek of what’s underneath his shirt. Don’t know the direction to a place? It’s okay, he’ll walk ahead and give you a perfect view of his ass. The worst part of it is that he does it all with that infuriatingly handsome smile. The one where his dimples look so deep and his eyes practically disappear.

By the end of the day, you’re hot, bothered, and absolutely in need of an exorcism.

It’s after dinner that you find yourself free from Seungcheol’s torment. After a long day of playing in the sun and flexing all his muscles, he must’ve lost all his energy because his first instinct upon arriving at your villa is to crash onto the couch and snore as he prances off in dreamland.

You hope he gets a nightmare, if only to punish him for the torment he put you through all day.

Now left to your own devices, you decided to swim. Maybe the pool water would cool the fire raging in your stomach. Quietly–to avoid waking Seungcheol up–you peel off your dress and sink into the pool.

The water is cool against your skin, and you genuinely have to resist the urge to moan at how refreshing it was. You think you’ll have to try swimming in the beach tomorrow. You finally understand why Seungcheol couldn’t seem to part from the water when he wasn’t busy teasing you.

You swim around for a while, letting the cool water dance around your body as you paddle to keep yourself entertained. Once you start feeling tired, however, you’re quick to sit on the edge of the pool’s baja shelf, feet kicking through the water as you lounge around lazily.

You honestly hope this trip never ends.

–

The gentle sound of footsteps stirs Seungcheol awake from his nap on the couch, his eyes opening only to be met with the sight of you shimmying out of your dress to reveal a light blue two piece. It hugs you well, the tiny triangles clinging to your chest and barely covering the roundness of your behind. Seungcheol feels like a pervert for staring at you from the darkness of the villa, but he likes to think that he has a little leeway considering the show he was putting on for you all day.

It’s not like he was going to act on the filthy thoughts running through his head.

Unless you asked him to, of course. That’s a different story.

For a while he lies on the couch, watching you aimlessly swim around in the pool with a small smile on your face. You’re beautiful, Seungcheol knows that, but he thinks you’re even more beautiful in the moments where you’re smiling when you think nobody’s watching. It’s different from the practiced, polished look you wear daily, and Seungcheol wishes he could freeze time to make sure that your smile remains this way.

It had his heart beating uncharacteristically fast.

When he sees you sitting on the baja shelf’s edge, Seungcheol decides that it’s time to stop staring like a lowlife and actually join you.

Discreetly, he’s stripping off his shirt and tossing it onto the couch before silently walking in your direction. You’re oblivious to it all, feet kicking lightly underneath the water as Seungcheol dips into the pool behind you.

“Oh shit, it’s cold,” Seungcheol hisses, and your tranquility is disturbed.

You turn to look back at him, laughing as he struggles to walk towards you.

“I thought you were sleeping?” You ask, watching as Seungcheol slips into the water beside you.

“Couldn’t let you have fun all by yourself, now, could I?” Seungcheol replies. It’s even worse now that he’s up close and right beside you. From here, he has a front row seat to the way you glow from the pool lights, and it has his blood violently pumping through his veins.

He thanks the heavens that the pool is cold, or else this would’ve been an extremely awkward encounter.

“Thank you for planning this,” You whisper out softly as you stare into the waters. “I don’t think I’ve been this relaxed in years.”

Something warm blooms in Seungcheol’s chest at your sincerity, an odd mix of pride and affection. He playfully nudges your shoulder with his and speaks, “It’s only day two. Don’t thank me just yet.”

You turn your head to him, and Seungcheol swears his breath catches in his throat. Seuncheol is thankful that you’re quick to turn away again, gaze shy as you awkwardly cough.

Seungcheol can’t help the smile that makes its way onto his face. 

“I can’t believe we’re only here for a week,” You mutter, hand sifting through the water with your eyes trained on the little waves it makes. “I’d stay here forever if I could.”

“Me too,” comes Seungcheol’s reply before he can even stop himself. There was something so peaceful about the island. It’s only been two days but Seungcheol realizes that he hasn’t felt this light in years. There’s something about the place–something about you–that has him feeling like he can finally be at ease. It scares him a little, if he’s being honest. He doesn’t think he can bring himself back to the city after a taste of this paradise here with you. “We can always come back, if you want to.”

“Promise?” You ask, playfully sticking your pinky out to him, but there’s a genuine sliver hope in your eyes that has Seungcheol wanting to wrap you in his arms and shield you from all the disappointments of this world. 

“Yeah,” Seungcheol is careful to lock his own pinky around yours. “I promise.”

–

Day 3, Solis Mane

“What’s the plan for today?” You ask Seungcheol as you chew through the pancakes.

“We’re going island hopping for the day,” Seungcheol answers, cutting into his bacon. “Well, just one island, really. It’s ours for the day since Shua said we should enjoy ourselves there, so you can swim all you want. After that, we’ll go back and have dinner. We can have a few drinks if you want.”

“Wow, I’m almost jealous,” You sigh. It’s moments like this that you wish your family had chosen to dabble in the hospitality and tourism industry instead of capitalizing on everybody’s insecurities. “Maybe I’m in the wrong business.”

“Do you want me to build a resort in your honor?” Seungcheol jokes, but there’s a look in his eyes that tells you that if you said yes, he actually would build that resort. 

“One day, maybe,” you joke. It would be nice, you think. A small piece of paradise that you and Seungcheol could return to every once in a while whenever the city gets too loud.

After breakfast, Seungcheol is quick to grab your bag with one hand and your hand in the other. He doesn’t let go of you. From the walk to the villa to the short boat trip, Seungcheol’s hand remains intertwined with yours even if your hands are already sweaty from the nerves and the island heat. Every once in a while—you think it’s when he’s bored and wants to fluster to you—he presses his lips on the back of your hand, and you’re sure that if the boat man had no restraint, he would’ve already pushed the two of you off the boat from how ridiculously sweet Seungcheol was being.

Before you knew it, you were already on the island, and if you thought Solis Mane’s main island was paradise, then you think you might have just entered a whole new other world in Joshua’s private island.

Save for the small villa tucked in the edge where greenery meets sand, the island is completely in its natural form. There were no footsteps on the white sand, no beachgoers floating in the turquoise waters, and no sound save for the crashing of ocean waves onto the nearby rocks.

You think you could live here forever.

Immediately, once you’ve placed your things in the villa, you’re quick to strip down to your swimsuit, grab your sunscreen, and lay out a beach towel on the soft sand, leaving Seungcheol behind who can only chuckle at your excitement. Not wanting any damage to your skin, you’re quick to sit on the towel and start lathering your face, arms, and legs with sunscreen. Once you finish with your limbs and the front of your body, you move on to the most challenging part: putting sunblock on your back. 

“Need help?” Like a knight in shining swim shorts, Seungcheol swoops in and saves the day.

“Yes please,” You sigh in relief as you hand the bottle of sunscreen to Seungcheol. “I just need some on my back.”

“Ok,” Seungcheol says as he squirts the sunscreen onto his palm. “Lie back and turn over.”

You freeze. It’s after hearing Seungcheol’s words that you realise that maybe you didn’t think this through. However, not wanting to make the situation awkward, you’re quick to follow Seungcheol’s orders, back turned to him as you lay your forehead onto the back of your hands.

At the feeling of Seungcheol’s warm hand, you’re quick to jolt.

Seungcheol, noticing this, is quick to chuckle at your response, fingers massaging your upper back as he coats it with sunscreen. He’s skilled with his hands, you think. He could definitely be a masseur if he wanted to.

“Relax, I’m not going to try anything.” Seungcheol assures you, fingers now working their magic under the knot of where your swimsuit is tied. “Unless, you ask me to.”

“Shut up, oh my god.” You whine out in embarrassment, wanting to bury yourself into the sand. Despite Seungcheol’s teasing, you feel that you’re more at ease. It’s just sunscreen, and it’s just Seungcheol. There was nothing to worry about.

“I’m going a little lower, okay?” Seungcheol informs you, and when you nod, his hands move to spread sunscreen on the small of your back.

True to his word, Seungcheol does not try anything at all, and you’re not really sure what to feel. Are you glad that your back has a lower risk of burning under the sun? Yes. Is it cute that Seungcheol was such a gentleman despite the fact that you’re practically half-naked underneath his touch? Also yes. Were you disappointed that he didn’t try anything to turn the situation into something akin to the plot of a cheap porno? A little, but you refused to admit that out loud.

“Thank you,” You say as you take the sunscreen from Seungcheol’s hands.

“No need,” Seungcheol waves you off at first. However, it was almost as if something struck him, and his face quickly morphs into that expression he usually sports when he’s about to do something to mess with you. “Actually, could you put some on my back too?”

You don't know who you’ll bury in the sand first: yourself or Choi Seungcheol.

Unable to decline due to the fact that Seungcheol had helped you, you give him a smile that hopefully masks your nerves. “Sure.”

Seungcheol is quick to assume the position you were in previously on the towel. 

You can’t help but feel like a creep as you spread sunscreen over Seungcheol’s broad back. You’re sure that, at one point, you wanted to shut your eyes in hopes of easing your conscience. While you’re aware that Seungcheol has a habit of going to the gym, it’s only now that you’re able to appreciate all the hours of the week that he puts into it. His back is firm underneath your touch, the muscles stretching and curving every once in a while when Seungcheol fails to hold still. 

“You should try becoming a masseuse,” Seungcheol’s words are followed by a groan that has you feeling things. “You’ve got potential.”

You flush at his words, and you’re thankful that he can’t see you. Teasingly, you reply, “Sure, as long as you don’t mind me doing this to other men.”

Seungcheol is silent for a few seconds, and you almost think that maybe he didn’t hear you, but then, he replies, “Nevermind.”

You laugh at that, and Seungcheol turns his head back momentarily to pout at you. “Yah, why are you laughing?”

“You’re so childish,” You snort, finishing up Seungcheol’s back with one last swipe of your hand. “There, you’re good to go.”

Seungcheol sits up, still sulking. “Well, sorry for not wanting my wife to touch other men’s sweaty backs. You’re just gonna get your hands dirty.”

You roll your eyes, standing up to brush the sand from your legs. “Like your back’s any better?”

“Wow,” Seungcheol breathes out, feigning offense as he watches you walk to the water. “This is a high-yield, high-quality back, just so you know!”

You continue walking to the shore, calling out to Seungcheol. “What are you? Wagyu?!”

“A5!” Seungcheol answers back, a smile on his face as he watches you dip into the water. He only watches for a while before he’s joining you in the water.

The rest of the day passes by quickly despite having only the water and the villa to entertain yourselves. Conversations with Seungcheol just came so naturally, and you had been so caught up in talking Seungcheol’s ear off that you didn’t realize that it was time for you to go.

Once the two of you arrive back on the island, you’re quick to return to your villa to shower, change, and prepare for the dinner Seungcheol had planned. Feeling a little more bold, you’re quick to pick out a light blue backless dress that cinches at the waist before flowing out beautifully. 

“Ready to go?” Seungcheol calls out from behind the door.

“Yes, one second,” You call out to him as you put on lipbalm, a cherry-flavored one that you’ve sworn by throughout the years. Once you finish applying it, you’re quick to grab your purse and open the door. “I’m ready

The first thing you notice is Seungcheol who’s wearing a loose button down that coincidentally matches the color of your dress, and white pants. The two of you looked like you walked straight out of a ‘Mamma Mia!’ filming set, but you honestly find the aesthetic a little cute.

The next thing you notice is the fact that Seungcheol’s staring at you wide-eyed, frozen. Realizing that your gaze is on him, he’s quick to clear his throat and speak, “You look beautiful.”

Suddenly shy, you’re quick to swat at his arm. “How do you say those things with a straight face, oh my god.”

Seungcheol, now more relaxed, is quick to intertwine his fingers with yours as he leads you out of the villa. “It’s easy when I’m saying nothing but the truth.”

When the two of you arrive at the gazebo Seungcheol reserved, the food is already prepared, and the only thing left to do is to eat. The rest of dinner flies by with Seungcheol’s flirtatious jokes and lighthearted conversation. You’re so lost in the atmosphere that you don’t realize just how many glasses of wine you’ve downed until you feel your inhibition starting to slip and your filter starting to fade.

You were going to regret this.

–

“Yaaaaah, Choi Seungcheol,” Your words are slurred as you point your finger at Seungcheol. “You need to stop smiling at me like that.”

Cute, Seungcheol thinks, and quickly, he finds that he’s unable to follow your drunken orders. In a futile attempt to hide the smile on his face, he takes a sip from his drink: an iced tea. One of you needed to be sober, after all. 

Wanting to humor your drunken antics, Seungcheol asks, “Why?”

“If you keep smiling like… Like that…I’ll…” Seungcheol feels bad for the way he finds your drunken incoherence funny. You just looked so cute furrowing your brows as you tried to find your next words. “I’ll k-kiss you on the mouth! Yeah… I’ll do that. So stop.”

Seungcheol’s having the time of his fucking life. Some part of him is almost tempted to pull out his phone and start recording just to tease you tomorrow, but he knows you’ll kill him if he does, so he doesn’t. However, that doesn’t mean he wasn’t going to milk the absolute shit out of this situation.

“What if I want you to kiss me on the mouth, hm?” Seungcheol teases, wiggling his eyebrows at drunken you suggestively.

“I will! Don’t challenge me,” You slur as you wiggle your finger at him from side to side. “I’ll make it French too.”

Seungcheol wants to laugh his ass off so badly, but the fun might end if he does, so he bites his tongue. “Oh? That’s a little scandalous, no?”

You snort at his words, waving him off before you lean forward and rest your chin in your hands. There’s a coy smile on your face as you speak, “That’s the leeeeeast scandalous thing I want to do with you, really. I could– I could get sooo much worse.”

He’s probably opening Pandora’s box with what he’s about to say next, but Seungcheol does it anyway. With a sly smirk on his face, he leans in to mirror you and asks. “Really? What other things do you think about doing with me?”

There’s a pause. You’re leaning on your chin with a furrow in your brows, almost as if you were pondering the meaning of life itself as your poor drunken brain thinks of a response to Seungcheol’s prodding.

“A lot…” You sigh out dreamily, bringing the glass of your wine to your lips as you take another sip. A little parched, Seungcheol takes a sip from his own drink. “Most of them involve you bending me over, really.”

Seungcheol nearly spits out the drink back into his glass at your words, eyes widening as he looks at you. Unbothered by his reaction, you continue, “Honestlyyyyy, when you were rubbing sunscreen on my back… I was hoping you’d rub it… Somewhere else.”

This is what he gets for probing, Seungcheol thinks. He thinks of that moment of the beach, the one where he was rubbing circles into your back and resisting the urge to dip lower. Your drunken fantasies were honestly not that far from what Seungcheol wanted to do, really.

“Why are you so quiet?” You pout at Seungcheol, arms crossing across your chest as you remain completely unaware about the less than appropriate thoughts running through Seungcheol’s head. “You asked me, and I’m just answering.”

“Just shocked,” And a little turned on, Seungcheol adds silently in his head. While he definitely wanted to hear what other depraved fantasies you had about him, he didn’t really want to breach your privacy further. “I think you’ve had enough drinks. Should we go back–”

“Do you not want to fuck me?” You huff out, glaring at Seungcheol from across the table.

Seungcheol does! He really does, but he wasn’t about to make a move on you when you couldn’t properly consent. He’s scrambling in his brain for a reply, thinking of how to reject you without hurting your feelings. 

However, you quickly grow impatient at his silence, and before Seungcheol could answer, you’re already walking towards him, perching yourself on his lap, and wrapping your arms around his neck. On instinct, Seungcheol holds you by the waist to keep you from falling.

(He hopes you don’t feel the way he’s half hard in his pants).

“Yahhhh, Choi Seungcheol,” You slur out. “Am I not attractive to you?”

“You are,” Seungcheol answered immediately. He doesn’t lie to you, after all. He needed to get you off his lap quickly before he got any harder, but he couldn’t seem to think straight with the intoxicating mix of your natural scent and your perfume flooding his nostrils.

“Then why haven’t you made a move on meeee?” You  whine out, lower lip jutting out in a pout. “All you do is flirt, but you– you never go further.”

“Do you want me to?” Seungcheol asks, smirking when he sees your bravado fade into a shy expression at his words.

“Well… Yeah…” You mumble out, fingers playing with the tips of his hair. “Are you gonna fuck me here?”

Seungcheol internally groans at the idea. He could, he thinks. He could push his pants down, slip your panties to the side, and start bouncing you on his cock for the poor, innocent passersby to see, and he’d enjoy every second of it. He’d put on a fucking show if you wanted him to, but not right now. He wasn’t about to fuck you when you were drunk out of your mind and barely coherent. “No, you’re drunk.”

“I’m not,” You shake your head. “I swear.”

Seungcheol chuckles at your poor attempt, choosing to flick your forehead lightly. “If you ask me tomorrow morning, when you’re sober, I’ll do it. How does that sound?”

“But I am sobeeeer,” You complain, reaching out to rub at your forehead.

What a brat, Seungcheol thinks, just what he likes.

“Take it while I’m still offering,” Seungcheol shrugs, poking at your cheek. How soft, he thinks. He wonders if you’re just as soft everywhere else. 

“Fine,” You huff out as you slap his hand away, standing up and pulling at Seungcheol’s arm. “Let’s go back so I can sleep and then I’ll ask you when I wake up.”

Seungcheol grins at that.

You were definitely going to regret this in the morning.

–

Day 4, Solis Mane

When you wake up, you’re alone in bed and your head is pounding. You were never going to drink like that ever again. Last night’s vibe had been so good that you couldn’t help but get strung along into drinking countless glasses of wine and losing all your inhibition–

Oh.

Oh god.

Last night’s memories come at you full speed like a truck with no brakes, and you have to resist the urge to scream into the mattress and rip the pillows apart at the sheer embarrassment that flooded your veins.

“I’ll make it French too.”

“I was hoping you’d rub it… Somewhere else.”

“Are you gonna fuck me here?”

You don’t know how you’re going to face Seungcheol after that catastrophe. In all honesty, you think you might just sneak out of the villa, ask Joshua where the highest cliff on this island is, and proceed to jump off said cliff to become one with the ocean.

Holy shit, you were going to die from embarrassment. What were you going to do? What do you even say after all that? Was Seungcheol mad at you? What if he felt harassed? Where is Seungcheol? Should you pretend like you forgot everything? Would he notice—

“Good morning,” Seungcheol walks into the room, holding a wooden bed tray with a plate full of eggs, fruits, and bread accompanied by a glass of orange juice. “I brought you breakfast.”

Ah, so you’re going down the ‘pretend to forget everything that happened last night’ route, it seems.

You could work with that.

“Thank you,” You hope your voice is stable as you watch Seungcheol set the tray in front of you. The bed dips underneath his weight as he settles down beside you. Unable to handle your own awkwardness, you’re quick to start eating.

“Did you sleep well?” Seungcheol asks, watching the way you stuff your mouth with eggs and bread.

You swallow the food in your mouth and push it back with some juice before speaking, “Yeah, I guess I was really tired last night.”

“Well, you did have a lot of wine, so that probably added to it,” Seungcheol adds, and you have to keep yourself from physically flinching at the memory. “Do you remember anything from last night?”

This is the part where you lie through your teeth and pray that Seungcheol doesn’t call you out on your bullshit.

“Not really,” You lie before stuffing your mouth with fruits, eyes looking at anything and everything that isn’t Seungcheol. “Why?”

Seungcheol’s neutral facade morphs into a grin, and it’s only now that you realize that he was leading you to a trap… And you walked straight into it.

“Really?” Seungcheol tips your chin back with a finger to make you meet his gaze. “Why are you so nervous then?”

“I’m not!”

Wow! You’re so convincing.

“Okay, whatever you say,” Seungcheol pulls his hand away and shrugs casually. Despite his agreement with your words, you’re aware that he knows you remember everything. You weren’t exactly fooling him with your shit acting, after all. However, if he was going to give you a way out, then you were going to gladly take it.

Once you finish eating, Seungcheol takes the tray out of the room and returns to lie down beside you, body turned towards you as he rests his head on his palm. He says nothing, just stares at you like you’re some fascinating exhibit.

In an attempt to clear the awkward silence, you turn to him and ask, “What’s the plan for today?”

“The morning’s just free time so we’re staying on the island until 11:30,” Seungcheol replies. “And then we’ll go to the town on the nearby island to stroll around before the dinner I reserved at seven.”

Wow, Choi Seungcheol would make the perfect lifestyle dom. Not that you’re complaining. In fact, if anyone were to ask you, it turned you on a little to have a man take the lead without being overbearing or patronizing.

“So what are we doing for the next–” You turn to look at the clock on the wall, “four hours?”

“Well, I was expecting someone to take me up on my offer last night,” Seungcheol’s hand twirls a loose strand of your hair absentmindedly–you’d argue that it’s calculated–as he speaks. “But she insists on playing dumb, so we can just lie down for the next four hours.”

“Must not be that good of an offer,” You’re digging your own grave. You know that.

Seungcheol’s eyes sharpen at your words, jaw clenching as he gives you a tight smile. “Want to find out?”

Feeling a little bold, you reach out to trace Seungcheol's chest with the tip of your fingers as you whisper into his ear, “Only if you’re going to stop being such a coward and start being honest about what you want.”

You feel the air shift, and the next thing you know, Seungcheol has pinned your wrists to the bed and is capturing your lips in a rough kiss.

When Seungcheol pulls away, he looks like a completely different person. Gone was the man who took your teasing lightly, and gone was the man who treated you like you would break at any time. The man on top of you looked like he was going to eat you alive.

“You’re such a fucking brat, you know that?” Seungcheol hisses out, and you don’t know if you’re scared or getting wetter. “If I had it my way, I would’ve bent you over on our first day here.”

“You should’ve,” You reply, staring up at him in challenge. “It’s a honeymoon trip, after all.”

“God, you’re so mouthy,” Seungcheol groans as he pulls away from you and nudges you towards the floor. “How about we use that mouth for something else?”

You follow, kneeling onto the floor between Seungcheol’s open legs, but unfortunately for him, you haven’t lost your mouthiness just yet. He’d have to fuck that one out of you. With a mischievous smile, you rest your hands on Seungcheol’s firm thighs. “Are you asking me? Because I thought we agreed on being honest about what you want.”

Seungcheol looks absolutely pissed as he tongues at his cheek, and you’re living for it.

The next thing you know, there’s a burn in your scalp and a pulse in your core as Seungcheol grips your hair to bare your throat to him. It’s tight enough to have you dripping in your panties but loose enough to keep you from hurting. 

“You think you can handle me? Fine.” Seungcheol releases his hold on you, pushing his shorts and underwear down to free his cock. “Open up.”

Ok, maybe you were punching above your weight.

“Did you not hear me?” Seungcheols taunts as he runs his thumb over your bottom lip. 

At his touch, you part your lips and stick your tongue out. Satisfied, Seungcheol groans, “Good girl.”

A moan leaves your throat at his words, eyes practically rolling back when Seungcheol uses one hand to tap the tip of his cock repeatedly on your tongue. “You’re gonna have to open your mouth wider if you want me to fit in that tiny mouth.”

Your mouth falls open wider, tongue sticking out to lick under the tip of Seungcheol’s cock. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” Seungcheol groans, hands bracing himself on the bed as he watches you take his cock into your mouth. 

Fueled by the deep noises Seungcheol releases, you take more of his cock into your mouth until you feel like you’re on the verge of gagging, your hand pumping away at the parts that your throat can’t reach. 

The taste and weight of Seungcheol on your tongue has your mind blanking, and the grunts and moans falling from his parted lips only has you doubling your efforts. There’s nothing in your head but the sheer desire to get this man to come undone from your mouth and your touch. You wonder how much better it’s all going to feel when he’s finally fucking you with it—

Your little moment is cut short when Seungcheol pulls you off his cock.

“See? You can be good, after all,” Seungcheol praises as he gently pushes the hair away from your face and wipes the drool off your chin. “Now let me show you what I have to offer.”

It’s the only thing Seungcheol says before he’s manhandling you onto the bed and positioning you on all fours, hips raised high and shoulders pressed onto the sheets. Swiftly, Seungcheol pulls your shorts off followed by your panties, the heat of his breath against your core sending shivers down your spine.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” Seungcheol breathes out, spreading you open with his thumbs to get a closer look at the slick dripping from you. If you weren’t so turned on, you probably would’ve shied away from Seungcheol’s burning gaze.

Without wasting a second, Seungcheol dives in. He’s relentless, licking and sucking your core like he’s trying to memorize the taste of you on his tongue. It’s warm, wet, and sloppy, and each obscene slurp of his tongue against your folds leaves you with nothing else to do but moan and whimper as you get closer and closer to your high. 

“Cheol–” You sigh out his name shakily, one hand reaching behind you to tangle your fingers into Seungcheol’s hair as he dips his tongue into your entrance. He was fucking his tongue into you so deeply and so messily that you think he’s trying to replace your slick with his spit.

“Feeling good, hm?” Seungcheol’s voice muffled by your pussy has you jolting, the vibrations sending sparks up your spine. Without warning, he sticks two fingers inside your heat, scissoring you open with loud squelches as you moan into the sheets.

“Fuck, right there!” You cry out when Seungcheol rubs a particularly rough patch of nerves that has your eyes rolling. “Please, I wanna cum!”

“Relax, pretty girl. I’ll get you there,” Seungcheol accompanies the skillful strokes of his fingers with featherlight kisses against your thigh. “You’re going to be cumming over and over until you’re begging me to stop.”

The filth of his words coupled by the drag of his fingers has you seizing, body going taut in a deep arch against the bed as shrieks of pleasure leave your throat, “Seungcheol, cumming!”

“That’s it, cum for me,” Seungcheol rasps against your skin, fingers not once faltering as they fuck in and out of you. “Show me how filthy you can get, fuck–”

With a soundless scream, you hit your peak, vision going white and body tingling so violently with pleasure that you can feel it all the way to your toes. If it weren’t for Seungcheol’s steady grip on your hips, you’re sure you would’ve crashed onto the bed like a boneless, formless mess.

Slowly, Seungcheol eases his fingers out of you, giving your folds one final lick before he starts trailing kisses up your spine.

“Cheol, wait a sec,” You whine out, collapsing onto the bed as Seungcheol hovers over your form. “I think you just sucked my soul out.”

Seungcheol chuckles, brushing your hair away with one hand to press an affectionate kiss onto your shoulder. “We can stop here if it’s too much.”

“No!” You say a little too eagerly, your cheeks warming when you realize how desperate you sounded. “Just give a minute.”

“Don’t push yourself,” Seungcheol teases, hand rubbing up and down your sides as he presses kisses all over your back. If you weren’t still so fucking horny, you probably would’ve fallen asleep like that: half naked with your slick and Seungcheol’s spit all over your thighs.

Once you regain your senses, Seungcheol moves to lay you on your back. He slips a pillow under your hips, and while comfortable, feels like a threat to your pussy that has barely recovered from Seungcheol’s tongue.

“Is the pillow necessary?” You nervously ask, your head a hazy mix of concern and pleasure as Seungcheol rubs his dick through your folds.

“Don’t you want to feel me deeper?” Seungcheol teases, moving his cock to lay over your stomach to show you just how deep he was going to bury himself inside you.

“With a dick like that, I don’t think you need the pillow,” You mumble out incoherently, ridiculously turned on at the sight of Seungcheol’s thick, heavy cock resting on top of your mound.

Despite your mumbling, Seungcheol catches your words. As he presses the tip of his cock on your hole, he speaks, “Then just think of it as back support. You’ll need it.”

An inhuman sound leaves your throat the moment Seungcheol slips in, cock stretching your folds so wide around his cock that you already feel like you’re on the verge of cumming. It’s only halfway in, but his dick was already rubbing all the right spots.

Judging by Seungcheol’s reaction, he isn’t faring any better than you.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Seungcheol hisses, fingers digging into your hips as he pushes through your slick and heat. “So fucking wet too, shit!”

Seungcheol chokes out a groan when he buries himself to the hilt, thick brows furrowed and mouth gaping as he throws his head back at the feeling, The sight of him looking so lost in you has you whining, your walls clenching tighter around him involuntarily.

“Fuck me, Cheol,” You whine out desperately, your pride found dead in a ditch. Only the universe knows how many nights you’ve spent cumming to the thought of Seungcheol, how many men you’ve dated wondering what it would be like if it had been Seungcheol there instead. “Please…”

“So beautiful even when you’re begging me to fuck you, huh?” Seungcheol pulls his hands away from your hips to brace himself on either side of your head, cock stroking in and out of you deliciously as he watches your face contort in pleasure. “Don’t worry, you’re going to cum until you’re crying.”

Suddenly, Seungcheol’s thrusts pick up their pace, cock bullying itself in and out of your tight heat so well that it has you clawing at the sheets and screaming Seungcheol’s name with no regard for the rest of the world.

“Yeah, take it, take it,” Seungcheol rasps through gritted teeth, eyes locked on to the way your wet hole sucks his cock in every time he pulls out. “This cute pussy doesn’t want to let go of me, huh? Doesn’t want me to stop?”

“No, fuck!” You answer with a cry, nails digging into Seungcheol’s shoulders as he presses his forehead against yours. “Want you to fuck me over and over, Cheol. Please, it’s so good!”

“Shh, I know, baby, I know,” Seungcheol coos, his soft lips pressing wet kisses against your throat as he ravages your cunt with his thick cock. “You’re being so good for me, aren’t you? Taking this thick cock with that tight cunt, fuck. Do you think you deserve another round after this?”

“Yes!” You whine out, nails scratching down Seungcheol’s back as you feel yourself approaching your high. You haven’t even cum yet but fuck if you’re not going to take the opportunity for another round with this beast of a man. “I’ll be good, please–”

You choke on your words when Seungcheol gives you a brutal thrust, that has your toes curling and you breath hitching

“What a good girl,” Seungcheol grins darkly, thrusts picking up pace. “Don’t worry, you’re not leaving this bed until we have to go.”

Seungcheol catches your mouth in a sloppy kiss that has you reeling. His kiss is rough, but it’s methodic. Each lick, suck, and breath is done with the intent of making you come undone. Both his cock and his tongue are inside you, and the idea of being ravaged from both ends by this man has your eyes crossing and the knot in your stomach coming undone.

With a gasp against Seungcheol’s hot mouth and tears pricking at your lashes, you breathe, “Fuck, Cheol, I’m cumming!” 

At your cry, Seungcheol is swearing, thrusts getting brutal as he lays his weight onto you and rasps filthy words in your ear, “Fuck that’s it, cum for me.”

Seungcheol doesn’t stop even when you come undone, thrusts unyielding as he clutches your body close to his. “I’m gonna cum, fuck–”

“Cum inside, Cheol,” You cry out weakly, arms wrapped around his neck as you let pants and moans against his ear. “Please.”

“Inside?” Seungcheol asks, but you can tell he’s only doing it to be considerate. “Are you sure, pretty girl?”

You’ve never been more sure of anything in your life.

“Cheol if you don’t cum inside, this will be the last time you fuck me.” Your threat is empty. You don’t think you’ll be able to cum happily if it isn’t Seungcheol making you cum. Choi Seungcheol has ruined all your future orgasms for you like a drug disrupting all your body’s pathways.

“Fuck, you’ve got a pretty face, but you’re such a fucking cumslut,” Seungcheol’s words are degrading as he pauses to throw your legs over his shoulders. “You really want it inside? Want me to fill every inch of that tiny pussy til it’s dripping out of you, is that it?”

“Yes!” You nod desperately. Nevermind the fact that you just came, you think you’re about to cum again. The new position burned your legs, but all it did was add to the mind-numbing sensation Seungcheol had you feeling.

“Fuck, you asked for this,” Seungcheol growls, hips driving into you over and over in a cacophony of slick and sex. “Cumming, fuck, I’m cumming–”

Seungcheol’s rasps cut into a deep moan that rumbles through his chest, the sound so hot and primal that it had you clamping down hard on his cock as you got your third orgasm of the day.

This man was going to fuck you dry, you think.

For a second, neither of you speak, your ragged breaths being the only sounds to fill the room. Seungcheol stares at you with half-lidded eyes, chest rising and falling as he presses a tender kiss against your knee.

“Think you can give me one more?”

—

By the time 11:00 comes around, no surface of the bedroom was left untainted by your slick and sweat. Seungcheol made sure to do well on his promise of fucking you until you couldn’t take it anymore. He didn’t want to disappoint you after all.

The weight of you is grounding, your head on his shoulder, your hand on his chest, and your leg entangled with his. If he hadn’t planned out a short trip to the town, he probably would’ve just spent the rest of the day dozing away in your hold and filling you up before dozing off again. Why bother going to the city when the best part of the trip was in his arms?

“Aren’t we supposed to leave by 11:30?” You ask, looking up at Seungcheol.

“We can push it back if you need more time,” Seungcheol replies, hand carding through your hair absentmindedly. 

“I’m good to go,” You sit up, and Seungcheol already misses the way you drape yourself all over him. “Let me shower first.”

Seungcheol perks up at that, lips curling into a suggestive smile as he asks, “Can I join?”

“No,” You say firmly as you get out of bed. “Bathe on your own.”

“Aw,” Seungcheol pouts, but the rejection is quickly soothed by the sight of your hips swaying as you walk into the bathroom. “Next time?”

Damn right, he did that.

“When we get back,” is the only thing you say before shutting the door.

Seungcheol couldn’t wait to get back.

Once the two of you are dressed and done cleaning away the remnants of debauchery on your skins, the two of you take the boat to the island housing the town a few kilometers away from Solis Mane. The moment the two of you arrive, you don’t waste any time before dragging Seungcheol to all the shops and establishments spread throughout the town.

There’s a bright wonder in your eyes that Seungcheol finds endearing, a youthful glow in the way you seem to be fascinated by even the most mundane of things. He watches as you enter shop after shop, looking at all their little trinkets and souvenirs. The pressure on his shoulders lifts immediately when he realizes that you’re actually enjoying the entire experience.

“Cheol, look. They have ice cream.” You point towards a tiny stall that had a man scooping colorful spheres onto waffle cones.

“Do you want some?” Seungcheol asks.

“Yeah, it’s kind of hot,” You reply, and Seungcheol doesn’t miss the way your eyes are locked onto the stall.

“Let’s get some, then,” Seungcheol says as he walks with you to the stall, fingers intertwined around yours.

Seungcheol buys two cones: one for you and one for him. The look in your eyes is so bright as you lick at the cream, and Seungcheol’s almost tempted to call up his secretary and ask how local business regulations worked so that he could buy the damned stall. He’d buy you all the ice cream in the world as long as you kept smiling like that.

Not wanting to forget this moment, Seungcheol takes out his phone and takes a quick picture of you. 

Your ears don’t miss the sound of his shutter, and with a glare that lacks heat, you call Seungcheol out, “Yah, why did you take a picture? I look so messy right now.”

Not wanting to miss your cute, frustrated face, Seungcheol snaps another picture, grinning.

“Yah!” You complain.

“You’re still pretty. Don’t worry,” Seungcheol says, rubbing his thumb on the crease between your brows. “I just wanted a memory from this trip.”

Your eyes soften at Seungcheol’s words, “Let’s take tons of pictures then.”

“Okay,” Seungcheol nods in agreement.

The rest of the day is spent looking for cute streets and breathtaking views where you and Seungcheol could take pictures. By the time you were finished, Seungcheol’s camera roll was filled with pictures of your face, with him appearing in some of them. His favorite picture out of all of them was a picture taken by one of the shopkeepers who had found the two of you to be such a cute couple that she wanted to take a picture for the two of you. In the picture, Seungcheol is sitting on a bench with the view of the sea as a picturesque background. You’re standing behind him, arms wrapped around his neck as you press a kiss on his cheek.

Seungcheol thinks he’s never smiled that brightly in his entire life.

(Immediately, he sets it as his homescreen.)

With time left to kill, the two of you walk into a little cafe and rest there, scrolling through the pictures you took throughout the entire day.

“Oh my god, delete that,” You groan out as you bury your face in Seungcheol’s shoulder. “I look so ugly there!”

Seungcheol thinks the two of you are looking at different things. You’re making a weird expression, sure, but Seungcheol thinks you look so cute and comfortable that he can’t find it in himself to delete it. “It’s cute though.”

“It’s not,” You pout. “Fine, keep it, but don’t show it to anyone else.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice. He refused to let anyone else have the privilege of seeing you this happy and carefree. That was for his eyes only.

“This one’s nice,” Seungcheol says as he swipes to a candid picture of you staring into the ocean, hair and dress lightly swept by the wind. 

He’s definitely keeping that one.

–

The rest of your vacation passes by in a blur of sand, sex, and sea, and part of you almost wants to never leave that island. However, duty calls, and the moment your last day arrives, you and Seungcheol pack your things and board the plane back to Incheon with the promise of coming back.

The sight of Seoul’s towering buildings fills you with a sense of dread, and Solis Mane feels like a distant dream you can’t return to.

Would things go back to the way they were before the honeymoon? Would you have to go back to polite conversations and casual touches that never became anything more? Would you have to live every single day of your life in that house wondering what it would be like if you had never left the island?

Would you have to live in Sohee’s shadow again?

It was easy to forget her during the trip. There were no cookbooks, no mementos, and no memories of her on that island to torment you, to haunt Seungcheol. That island was yours. You weren’t walking to cover someone else’s footsteps, you were creating your own trail. Unlike the house, where every corner is haunted by the touch of a woman that came before you.

Some part of you stupidly hopes that seven days is enough to rip Seungcheol from Sohee’s hold, but you’re sure that’s not the case.

The moment Seungcheol enters that house, he’ll remember her, and those seven days will be forgotten like a figment of his imagination.

“Are you okay?” Seungcheol’s voice accompanied by his hand slipping into yours jolts you from your thoughts. “You’ve been quiet for a while.”

“Just missing the island,” You smile at him, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. It’s half of the truth, the half that matters less.

“We can always come back,” Seungcheol gives you a soft smile, and it has your treacherous heart hoping that maybe things will start looking better after this. “Joshua already designated that villa as ours.”

Ours. It’s one word, but it means the world to you. 

“Next year, let’s come back.” You reply, hopeful.

“We can go back every year,” Seungcheol replies without a second thought. “All you have to do is ask.”

If you asked him to give you his entire heart…

Could he also do that without a second thought?

–

It’s been five days since you arrived back at Seoul, and it’s only now that you realize…

The house is different.

The colors are the same, the layout is the same, and honestly, if you hadn’t spent numerous days tormenting yourself with the objects in that house, you wouldn’t have realized that anything has changed… But it has.

The old paintings depicting the streets of Paris are gone, the cookbook in the living room is gone, the tiny little macaron trinket attached to keys Seungcheol hangs on the wall is gone–

Every single object that had you silently sobbing in the bathroom every night was gone.

Was it deliberate? Was that the reason why you haven’t heard Sohee’s name echo through the walls of this house at least once since arriving?

What the hell was going on?

You were tempted to ask Seungcheol, tempted to knock on the door of his study and ask him if he’s finally buried his past, but things were going so well. Contrary to your initial belief, nothing about the way Seungcheol treated you had changed despite coming back to this house. The only difference between then and now is that you and Seungcheol had to work during the day with the nights and early mornings being the only time you spent together. Time you made sure to savor.

You’re about to hit the sixth-month mark. Six months more and your marriage would have lasted as long as Seungcheol’s relationship with her. It’ll take time, you know that, but that was better than Seungcheol never moving on. You had started this marriage thinking that he would never even glance your way, but now you’re having conversations late into the night and having morning sex, so really, you’ll take what you can get.

Maybe things were getting better.

–

Kim Mingyu thinks he’s getting old.

He realizes this when Seungcheol picks up his phone to text away for the sixth time in 15 minutes, and Mingyu finds himself wanting to say ‘No phones on the dinner table!’ like a boomer. In his defense, it had been Seungcheol who had insisted on having this monthly meeting to discuss life and partnership updates, and Mingyu, despite wanting nothing more than to stay at home and dote on his wife and newborn son, had to go to this accursed meeting or he had to pay a hefty fine and face a sulking Seungcheol. 

The only upside was the booze.

(God his wife is gonna kill him if he comes home wasted.)

“Hyung, who are you texting?” Mingyu is unable to resist anymore. “You’re giggling so much. It’s weird, and creepy, and concerning.”

There were more words lying around somewhere in Mingyu’s head, but Seungcheol might put him in a headlock if he continued.

“My wife,” Seungcheol says in a dreamy tone, and Mingyu has to resist the urge to cringe at how lovesick his friend sounded.

Mingyu isn’t sure about how he should tread regarding the topic. On one hand, he was feeling a little angry at the fact that Seungcheol was being so weirdly in love with another woman after dumping his ex–one of Mingyu’s closest friends–in the most asshole-y way possible. On the other hand, he could relate. He, too, was absolutely smitten with his wife, and he couldn’t blame Seungcheol for giggling like a schoolgirl while texting his wife.

Mingyu decides to be polite. He needed to respect the fact that Sohee was a part of the past, and he needed to accept that he was partially at fault for even reuniting the two only for the relationship to end in the worst way possible. In his defense, Seungcheol is a stubborn man, and Mingyu had honestly thought that the man would fight for Sohee against all odds.

That didn’t happen.

“How’s Y/N doing?” Mingyu asks politely, if only to keep the conversation going. 

“She’s doing well,” Seungcheol is suddenly 100% into the conversation, and Mingyu doesn’t know if he’s going to be happy that Seungcheol is finally participating in the conversation or offended that Seungcheol is only talking because the topic is his wife. His friend was fucking gone. “But for some reason she’s more tired these days. I’ve told her to just work from home, but she insists on going to the office anyway.”

“I can’t blame her for being tired. I’d be tired if I was married to you,” Mingyu snorts, and Seungcheol sends a glare his way. “Not that I’d ever marry you.”

“I won’t fucking marry you either, dude,” Seungcheol gives him a look of disgust.

“Excuse you, I’m a great husband,” Mingyu argues back. Suddenly, his pride and husband skills were being questioned. He couldn’t have that. “My wife’s my witness, go call her.”

“Sure, I’ll call her,” Seungcheol smirks. “Then I’ll tell her how many bottles you’ve finished.”

“Hyung, I was kidding,” Mingyu loses all his fire at the mention of his wife. “Please don’t call her. She’s going to kill me.”

“Wow, you’re whipped,” Seungcheol laughs, downing the beer in his glass.

“Like you’re any better,” Mingyu rolls his eyes. “You were literally texting like a high schooler.”

Seungcheol only smiles, and despite the slight anger Mingyu harbors, he finds that he’s somewhat happy for his friend. It may not have worked out with Sohee, but at least it’s working out with you.

“You seem happier,” Mingyu says, a thoughtless comment to keep the conversation going.

“I am,” Seungcheol says with a smile. However, for some reason, it turns a little somber, almost as if Seungcheol was remembering something. “Just a little guilty for feeling that way.”

Ah.

So they were finally having this talk. 

Mingyu knows both sides to the story when it all fell apart, but for everything after that, he’s only known Sohee’s side. Today was the day he learned Seungcheol’s side, it seems. 

It’s a little fitting, Mingyu thinks, given the location. Two businessmen drunk off their asses on a Friday night discussing each other’s first love with either love or regret in their eyes wasn’t totally uncommon in this bar. In fact, Mingyu thinks the other table was in the same situation as him and Seungcheol.

Fuck, Mingyu needed another bottle if he was going to listen to all of this.

–

“Is it because of Sohee?” Mingyu asks.

Seungcheol braces himself for the longing, the desperation, but the only thing that fills him is guilt. An insurmountable, unfathomable amount of guilt that claws at his chest and stirs his stomach violently.

“Yeah,” Seungcheol nods. He can’t lie to Mingyu even if he wanted to. “You know what happened.”

“It already happened,” Mingyu shrugs casually, but Seungcheol can see the flicker of anger in the man's eyes. Sohee was like family to Mingyu after all, and Seungcheol was the bastard that broke her heart after Mingyu had entrusted her to him. “There’s no use in bringing up the past.”

“How is she?” Seungcheol asks. For some sick reason, some part of him still wanted to know, some part of him still cared, still… Loved. 

And it was a horrible feeling because when he thinks about the idea of being in love with Sohee, he’s suddenly haunted by the sight of your face and the nights you spent sobbing when you thought he was asleep.

“Good,” Mingyu says, but it does nothing to ease the ache in Seungcheol’s chest. “Or at least as good as she can be, given the situation.”

“I’m sorry,” Seungcheol has said it many times, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to say it enough. “I’m really sorry, I hope you know that.”

“I know,” Mingyu smiles at him but his lips are tight and his eyes are solemn. “It doesn’t change the fact that you broke her.”

“I love her,” Seungcheol finds that saying the words feels like someone’s dragging a barbed wire out of his throat. “I didn’t want to hurt her.”

Mingyu’s eyes grow sharp at his words. “You love her? Hyung, you’ve been married for months. What do you mean?”

Seungcheol pauses at that, your face flashing in his eyes.

However, Mingyu doesn’t give Seungcheol enough time to think because he continues speaking, “You’re kidding, right? You’re not seriously still in love with Sohee when you have a wife waiting for you at home.”

Seungcheol stays silent, jaw clenching and hands wrapping tighter around the glass. It’s the first time in weeks that he’s being put face-to-face with his problems like this, the first time he’s being forced to ponder about Sohee and what she meant to him now that he finds himself growing closer to you. 

“You’re unbelievable,” Mingyu laughs in disbelief. “Hyung, seriously—“

“I don’t know, okay?!” Seungcheol can’t help the way his voice raises, and part of him is thankful that the people around him are too wasted to care about his conversation with Mingyu. “I don’t fucking know anymore.”

“Well, you better know it soon” Mingyu spits out. “If you keep this up, you might end up ruining your marriage.”

“I won’t,” Seungcheol hisses, the thought making him uneasy. “I just need time.”

Mingyu stares at him, gaze hard and jaw clenched. Seungcheol wishes he could hear the hundreds of thoughts he knows is running through Mingyu’s head, wishes that the answer to his problem is somehow lost in that sea of thoughts.

Seungcheol doesn’t get that. Mingyu’s next words only add to his problems, “Hyung, did you ever even love Sohee?”

What?

“You’ve known her since we were kids, and even claimed to like her for that long,” Mingyu continues. “But not once did you look for her.”

Seungcheol is quick to defend himself, “I didn’t have the time—“

“Don’t give me that bullshit. We both know how stubborn you can be.” Mingyu’s dead serious about having this conversation, and Seungcheol can tell that he isn’t escaping this anytime soon. “If you wanted to fight for her, you would’ve done it. You hate being told what to do.”

Mingyu’s right, Seungcheol thinks, but he doesn’t understand why the man is suddenly questioning the depths of his affection for the woman whose heart he broke.

“You know it’s not that easy,” Seungcheol replies before taking another swig of his beer. Fuck, he didn’t want to be having this conversation right now or ever. “I love Sohee, but—“

“Then do you love Y/N?” 

Seungcheol’s blood goes cold at what he hears; Mingyu’s words acting like an anchor dragging him under, into ice cold waters.

It has him thinking of Paris, of the little café tucked away in a quiet street that felt so nostalgic, of the woman that baked him treats from his childhood and loved him wholly. 

It has him thinking of an island, of the little one-bedroom villa that feels like the promise of a better future, of the woman that makes his heart race and—-

Did you love him?

Did he love you?

“I don’t know,” Seungcheol breathes out.

“Then leave her,” Mingyu says with certainty despite the alcohol in his veins. “You said you love Sohee, but you don’t know if you love Y/N. The answer is right in front of you—“

“I’m not doing that,” Seungcheol looks at Mingyu like the man just went insane. The idea of leaving you fills him with a fear he’s never once felt in his life. It fills him with a dread that digs and claws into the crevices of his bones. “I’m not leaving her.”

“Then fix this,” Mingyu says firmly. “Unless you’re prepared to have her leave you.”

—

It’s 10:00 PM, and Seungcheol isn’t home yet.

You had expected it, considering the fact that he was out on a little boys’ night with Mingyu, but he had stopped answering your texts a few hours ago. You couldn’t help but get a little worried.

The sleep that threatens to take over you is a little difficult to fight, especially when you’ve been quick to tire these days. Only the lights and sounds coming from the variety show playing on the television was keeping you awake. Some part of you wonders if you should just stop being stubborn and follow Seungcheol’s suggestion of working from home until you regain your strength. 

“I’m hoooome,” Seungcheol drawls out as he hands his things over to the staff before walking to where you’re seated. 

At the sight of him staggering over to you, you’re quick to giggle.

Seungcheol’s a mess. His cheeks are flushed, his tie is askew, and his hair’s sticking out like he’s run his head through it multiple times. When he reaches you, he’s quick to kneel on the floor and lay his head on your lap.

He reeks of alcohol, and while it usually doesn’t bother you, something about the scent this time has you wanting to run to the closest toilet to empty your guts.

“I haven’t eaten dinner…” Seungcheol mumbles, and you’re alarmed. “Have you?”

“Cheol, why haven’t you eaten? It’s late,” You cup Seungcheol’s cheek to make him look up at you. He looked so cute, but the scent was seriously bothering you.

Seungcheol smiles at you, leaning into your hand as he speaks, “You requested that we— we eat dinner together. Remember?”

This idiot.

“Cheol, I already ate,” You say cautiously, already preparing for a sulky Seungcheol to make his appearance. “Chef Wen already went home so I can just cook for you if you want.”

As expected, Seungcheol pouts at you. “Traitor.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” You laugh a little. “What do you want to eat?”

“Are youuu on the menu?” Seungcheol wiggles his eyebrow suggestively, and you have to resist the urge to pull out your phone and start recording this.

Oh, how the tables have turned, Choi Seungcheol.

“Not for dinner, but maybe for breakfast tomorrow,” You reply. You need to end this conversation quickly before you puked all over Seungcheol. The urge was so strong that it was almost as if you had been the one drinking. “Now go take a shower, you smell like alcohol.”

“Fineeee,” Seungcheol huffs out before walking towards the stairs. 

You stay a few paces behind him, far enough to not offend your nose with the scent of alcohol, but close enough to catch him in case he tripped or fell.

When Seungcheol finishes showering, you’re already curled up under the sheets waiting for him.

The bed dips behind you underneath his weight, the blanket shifting and rustling as he covers himself from the coldness of the room. Once Seungcheol settles under the blanket, his arms are quick to wrap around you.

“Don’t leave me,” Seungcheol mumbles out, the alcohol clearly still in his veins.

Your eyes are quick to flutter open at his words, softly, you hum, “Hm?”

“I love you,” Seungcheol whispers, nose burying itself into your hair.

Your heart is suddenly beating faster, anticipation filling your veins at his words. You know you shouldn’t trust the words of a drunken man, but was it so foolish for you to hope that it was true—

“Sohee.”

You world comes crashing down that night.

—

Seungcheol wonders if he did anything wrong.

It’s been a week since the night he came home drunk beyond comprehension, and you’ve switched back to that polite persona you had at the start of your marriage. It’s subtle, but every time Seungcheol reaches out to touch you or kiss you, you flinch for a second before something akin to defeat takes over you.

What could he have done to make you act that way?

“Here’s the flowers,” The old woman hands Seungcheol an arrangement of her freshest, prettiest flowers with a kind smile. “Your wife’s a very lucky woman.”

“I like to think I’m the lucky one, Ma’am,” Seungcheol smiles as he takes the bouquet and hands the old woman his payment (with a little extra to show his appreciation).

Briefly, he wonders if he should drop by your favorite chocolate shop, but he decides against it immediately. Seungcheol had woken up to the sight of you doubled over the toilet, vomiting so much that he was so close to rushing you to the hospital. Only your dismissal had held him back. He’ll buy you the chocolates another time, he thinks, when you’re feeling better. For now, the bouquet would have to do.

Seungcheol knows the bouquet won’t magically undo whatever offense he did, but he hopes it’ll—at the very least—put a smile on your face. 

But whatever he did, he needed to find out soon. 

—

This was the longest three minutes of your life.

You think the wood underneath you will start smoking soon with how long you’ve been pacing over the same wooden panels for the last minute.

You had woken up this morning feeling a violent stir in your stomach. It had been so bad that you immediately shot out of bed and rushed to the toilet to empty your guts. You remember Seungcheol rushing over to hold your hair and rub your back up and down as you vomited into the toilet until your eyes were teary and your throat was scratchy.

Seungcheol had forced you to stay at home, even going as far as threatening you with the idea of him staying at home to watch over you to make sure that you don’t sneak off into work.

Having Seungcheol around was the last thing you wanted, so you complied.

There’s one minute left on the clock, and you’re sitting down on the floor, back against the wall of your bedroom as you tuck your knees to your chest.

You loved Seungcheol, and you still do. Even when the only thing you’ve been feeling around him these past few days is an inexplicable pain that rips your heart into shreds. Every single time you’re reminded of that night, you feel yourself die, a slow, painful death that you can’t seem to see the end of.

It’s a pain you wouldn’t wish on anyone in this world, not even on the people who’ve wronged you.

A minute passes, and on shaky legs, you stand.

Your heart is pounding, blood rushing through your ears and pumping through your veins as you take slow steps towards the bathroom sink. With trembling hands, you pick up the cassette.

It’s futile to delay when all the signs point towards it, you think. The sensitivity, the nausea, the vomiting, the missed period, and the calendar showing the date six weeks from your honeymoon trip.

Two lines.

Positive.

The entirety of your body goes cold, and you’re quick to clutch onto the edges of the bathroom counter to stabilize yourself as your knees go weak.

At that moment, you don’t think of Seungcheol.

Memories from your childhood flash through your mind like a storm. The dinners spent alone, the heated arguments bleeding from the crack of your parents’ bedroom door, the slow deterioration of their marriage, and their insistence of staying in that dysfunctional relationship for your sake.

You would’ve been better off if they had divorced.

The decision comes to you quicker than you thought it would. Your child wasn’t going to suffer the way you did. That child wasn’t going to grow up watching their father pine after another woman while their mother cried herself to exhaustion in the bathroom every night. That child won’t have the complete family everyone else had, but that child would be loved. 

You could spend the rest of your life being second best to the memories of a woman who was halfway across the globe, but your child didn’t deserve to be damned to a fate like yours just because their mother was stupidly in love with a man that would never love her back.

Quickly, you wipe your face dry and stuff the pregnancy test into the trash can, covering it with toilet paper from the dispenser. Once you’ve hidden all the evidence, you sit on the edge of the bed and text your lawyer to prepare all the necessary paperwork.

That night, when Seungcheol gets home, you only ask him one question. One last attempt to save your marriage that was on the verge of collapse.

“Seungcheol,” You whisper shakily, tears pricking at your lashes as your eyes lock onto the bouquet in Seungcheol’s hand.

“Is everything okay?” Seungcheol asks. The worry is evident in his eyes as he reaches out for you, but you step back, putting a hand out in front of you to stop him.

The worry in his eyes is quick to turn into hurt, but you’re sure it’s nothing compared to the one in your heart.

“Are you still in love with Sohee?” Her name leaves your mouth like a curse, your throat seizing like the words were physically killing you as you say them. “Tell me the truth, please.”

Choi Seungcheol never lies, but you still find yourself pleading with him to not do it anyway.

He looks at you like there’s a loaded gun in his hand, lips trembling and eyes flooded with fear. You can see the plea in his eyes, the desperation, but that’s not what you want.

What you want is the truth.

“I’m sorry,” It’s all Seungcheol says.

It’s all you need to hear.

A/N: I am so sorry. I’m just here to tell a story, really 🙂‍↕️ Feel free to scream at me in my askbox LMAO (NO BUT ACTUALLY I AM SO SORRY FOR THIS ONE 😭). Mingyu’s story was too happy so I’m just balancing it out with this one 😄 Part 2 will be hopefully be out by the end of the year because I still need to finish my thesis and get my degree 🥹

The last time Soonyoung saw you, you’d laughed off the hate comments, tapping ash from your cigarette out the studio window, and shrugged when your editor pleaded with you to “fix” the ending. But now, standing here with the hollow hush behind your door pressing into his ears, Soonyoung wondered if maybe — just maybe — the world’s cruelty had clawed deeper than you ever let him see.

You had left him with only one final, cryptic draft: Wonwoo’s funeral, rendered in stark, aching lines — a villain laid to rest in an empty graveyard under a cold, unfeeling rain, watched by no one except a lone stranger standing at a distance, unnamed, faceless.

Every time Soonyoung reread that scene, the same chill crawled under his skin. The pages were too quiet, too final — as if you’d been trying to say goodbye to more than just a character.

Who was the stranger at the funeral?

Why was there no hint about what came next?

And most importantly — where were you now?

Soonyoung had tapped his pen uselessly against his empty sketchpad for days, eyes flicking between the unfinished panels and the increasingly frantic messages from the publisher.

No Safe Place was your crown jewel — a web-comic that had devoured the internet whole, translated into a dozen languages, flooding timelines and group chats from Seoul to São Paulo. It told the tragic story of Choi Hansol, a hero weighted down by injustice since childhood — betrayed, framed, yet always rising again, righteous to a fault.

But the heartbeat of the story, the dark star that pulled millions into your orbit, was never Hansol alone. It was Jeon Wonwoo — the villain people loved to hate and secretly wished you’d redeem.

Handsome, cold-eyed, and terrifyingly clever, Wonwoo slit throats and burned secrets; he murdered Hansol’s fiancée and closest friends without blinking. He came for Hansol’s life, too, driven by a hunger so raw it almost made him human. That brutal contradiction — a monster drawn like a fallen angel — turned your comic from just another hero’s tale into a global fever dream.

So when you dropped the final episode, the internet howled as if you’d stabbed them instead: Wonwoo, defeated at last by Hansol’s trembling hand, two deep wounds blooming red across fresh snow. No redemption. No mercy. A villain dying alone under winter’s hush.

At first, some called it poetic. Then the hate began. How could you? they raged. Bring him back. You betrayed us. Your inbox drowned overnight in death threats and demands. Fan forums burned with conspiracies about secret drafts, alternative endings, half-mad theories about why you’d done it.

Soonyoung swallowed the sour taste rising in his throat. He should have stopped you. He should have begged you to let Wonwoo live a little longer — or at least forced you to sleep, to eat, to turn off your phone for one damned day

When the lock finally gave way with a sharp snap, Soonyoung’s heart lodged in his throat as the door creaked open.

Soonyoung stood frozen in the doorway, the metallic click of the cop’s radio muffled by the pounding in his ears. The moment the lock gave way and the door swung inward, he’d half-expected to see you — curled up on the couch with your laptop burning your thighs, mumbling a half-apology for ignoring his calls.

Instead, silence pressed against him like a heavy hand.

The hallway light flickered over your tiny living room. He stepped inside, shoes squeaking faintly on the polished floor. At first glance, nothing screamed danger: your beloved blankets draped over the armrest, a mug ring staining the coffee table, your phone abandoned near the charger — its black screen reflecting his pale face.

But when he turned toward the kitchen, his breath caught in his throat.

Shards of ceramic crunched under his heel — the shattered remains of your favorite mug, the one with the faded comic panels you’d joked was your “good luck charm.” Beside it, near the base of the counter, a dull brown smear spread in a jagged trail. Dried blood. Not fresh enough to drip. Not old enough to ignore.

“No... no, no, no—” Soonyoung’s voice cracked as he stumbled closer. He crouched, trembling fingers hovering just above the blood, afraid to touch it and make it real.

Behind him, one of the officers muttered into a walkie-talkie, calling for forensics. The building owner stood frozen at the threshold, one hand covering her mouth, eyes wide.

Soonyoung’s vision tunneled. He looked from the broken mug to the blood, to the bare hallway that led to your bedroom. No forced entry. No dragged body. Just this mess — a single, silent scene that made no sense.

“What the hell happened to you…?” His whisper trembled. He should have been angry at you for scaring him like this, for vanishing when the whole world wanted your head for killing off a fictional villain.

Now, with you missing, Soonyoung wondered: was this really just fan rage gone too far?

*

He knew something was wrong long before he had any proof. He’d always known, in the quietest corners of his mind — when the roar of his rage faded, leaving behind only questions he could never quite kill.

That day, he’d been wandering the aisles of his old library, hunting nothing in particular, haunted by everything he couldn’t name. His eyes caught on a thin, battered copy of The Little Prince — the same edition he’d clutched at ten years old, back when life was only lonely, not yet steeped in blood and sin. He traced a fingertip over the faded cover, feeling the soft paper buckle under his touch, and for one heartbeat he felt... almost real.

He sank onto a creaky wooden chair and cracked it open to the first page. But the words blurred the longer he stared, drowned by flashes of himself in every mirror he’d ever broken: his reflection, but never just his alone. There was always something behind his eyes — a ghost whispering orders, a script scrolling where his thoughts should be.

Every time he’d aimed a gun at the innocent, some quiet animal part of him had begged him to stop. His hand would shake. His pulse would hammer rebellion against the cruelty he was known for. But the bullet always found its mark. His will always drowned under a tide he didn’t control.

And then — he met you.

One moment he was tracing the little fox on page twenty-four. The next, his breath caught — the musty hush of the library vanished. In its place: the low hum of an old computer, the dry warmth of a single desk lamp flickering in a cramped, paper-crowded room.

He blinked. Not his house. Not the library.

A narrow, cluttered room greeted him: walls tattooed with sticky notes and scraps of sketches pinned in frenzied constellations. Unwashed mugs on the floor. Crumpled snack wrappers. And you.

You were hunched at your monitor, eyes bloodshot from too many sleepless nights, shoulders stiff from hours chained to the same unfinished panel. Your stylus hovered over the glowing screen when the faintest breath — not yours — brushed the back of your neck.

You froze. Your pulse ricocheted into your throat. Slowly, you pushed your chair back until the wheels squeaked against the floorboards.

There. In the far corner by your battered bookshelf — a man, half-draped in the lamp’s flickering shadow. Tall, broad-shouldered, clad in black from throat to boots. Unfamiliar, yet your gut twisted with a terrifying recognition.

A fan? A stalker? A thief? Your mind clawed for logic, but your voice failed when your eyes found his face. It was as if someone had carved him straight from your imagination and then let him bleed into your reality — eyes too sharp, too deep, a mouth that looked like it had forgotten how to smile but hadn’t forgotten how to sneer.

He stared at you like you were a riddle he’d never agreed to solve.

“Who—” Your voice cracked, too high to sound brave. You brandished the stylus like it might fire a bullet or at least buy you a few seconds to breathe. “Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?”

He flinched — just a flicker — as if your fear startled him too. His eyes darted across the chaos of your walls: sketches, sticky notes, draft pages stamped with his name on every line. He looked like he was piecing himself together from scraps he didn’t remember leaving behind.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. A faint scoff escaped, half a laugh, half a curse. He looked furious that he couldn’t make sense of any of this.

“I should ask you that,” he rasped. His voice was rough velvet, scratching your name straight out of your bones even though he didn’t know it yet. “What is this place? Where am I? And—” He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, like testing the floor before lunging. “Who the hell are you supposed to be?”

You stumbled backward, spine slamming the edge of your desk. Pain cut through your panic, anchoring you just enough to register the impossible: this man shouldn’t exist. He was lines on a page, a snarl in speech bubbles, a villain you’d birthed out of ink and exhaustion at three a.m. — not this living thing breathing your air, glaring you down like you were the monster.

Your heart rattled so hard your chest hurt. Now that you really saw him — the razor cut of his eyes, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his dark hair fell messily over his brow exactly as you’d drawn it a thousand times — the truth knocked the breath from your lungs.

You knew this face better than your own.

You had sketched it laughing cruelly, smirking behind a gun, spitting threats through bloodied teeth.

“Wonwoo…” you breathed. It slipped out raw, like a prayer you regretted the second you said it.

His brow twitched — confusion flaring so violently it made his hands clench at his sides.

“You know me?” His voice dropped softer now, but it was softer the way a blade is soft just before it bites.

“You—” you gasped, pointing a trembling finger at him as if that alone could keep him back. “You’re Jeon Wonwoo. You’re not real— I made you. You’re—”

He closed the gap in two strides. The movement made your stomach twist; it was too smooth, too quiet — exactly the way you’d always written him: a beautiful predator who never missed his mark.

“Stop.” His snarl was barely controlled. “How do you know my name? How do you know me?” His eyes darted past you — catching the glow of your computer screen, the pinned sketches around your walls. His own face stared back at him in half-finished scowls and ghost-smiles.

The way he looked at it all — raw confusion, rising fury, a storm brewing just under skin — terrified you more than his threat ever could.

“Answer me.” His voice knifed through the air. He lunged before you could flinch, grabbing your wrist so hard your stylus slipped from your fingers and clattered to the floor. He yanked you closer until you could feel his breath and the tremor in his chest where it touched yours.

“Tell me the truth,” he hissed, each word scraping against your cheek. “What is this place? Where am I?”

You both stared at each other then — creator and creation, but neither fully aware yet that the line between you had just shattered.

His grip on your wrist tightened, then slid up to fist the collar of your worn T-shirt. You squeaked out a half-word — a plea or a protest, you didn’t even know — but he yanked you closer, so close you could see the way his pupils flickered and shrank, anger and confusion devouring each other in endless loops.

“Speak!” he barked, his breath hot against your cheek, trembling with something too human for the monster you’d created in ink and pain. “Why is my face everywhere? Why do you know my name? What did you do to me?”

Your hands scrambled at his forearm, your fingers digging into solid muscle that felt far too real under your palms. His strength was terrifying — not superhuman, but human enough to bruise you, break you. Yet your eyes, wide and glassy, locked on his with a quiet that made his throat seize up.

You didn’t look like his victims did. You weren’t begging for mercy — not exactly.

You looked at him like you knew him. Like you pitied him. Like you were seconds from confessing something so heavy it might crush you both right there on your cluttered floor. And that look twisted behind his ribs, scraping at something raw he didn’t have a name for. It made him angrier than any lie ever could.

“STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!” His snarl split the stale air, rattling the lamp and your bones alike. In a blind lash of frustration, he shoved you backward.

You hit the floor hard — a dull, shocking thud — and the breath punched out of your lungs. For a heartbeat, the ceiling blurred above you as you sucked in air like a drowning thing.

Above you, he staggered back, both hands raking through his hair so hard you thought he might rip it out by the roots. His chest heaved as he spun in a frantic circle, eyes snatching at every scrap of himself plastered on your walls — young, old, laughing, bleeding, always wrong but always him.

“Why…?!” His voice cracked like splitting ice. He slammed a fist into the drywall beside your pinned sketches, rattling a cascade of thumbtacks to the floor. “Why am I drawn?! Who am I?!”

He turned back toward you, but the snarl had broken. Beneath the fury, you could see it now — the terror, the desperate wanting to understand. Something no amount of hate mail or final drafts had ever prepared you to face in flesh and bone.

You lay there, chest hitching. But before you could shape even a single word— before he could hear anything from you, his eyes flickered — the anger flickered — and something inside him cracked like a mirror catching the sun.

Wonwoo staggered back a step, pupils blown wide and then drifting somewhere you couldn’t reach. Not here. Not with you. Somewhere deeper.

He blinked once. Twice.

The harsh yellow of your desk lamp flickered into a single dusty sunbeam slicing through grimy library windows. The slap of your heartbeat faded under the dry hush of turning pages and a far-off cough from the lone librarian.

His fists clenched around something soft — thin paper under his knuckles, the cover folding where his nails bit too deep. The Little Prince lay splayed across his knees, right where it had been before he’d vanished. Page 24, the fox waiting patiently in its ink lines.

His chest rose in a shudder. He twisted in his old wooden chair, eyes searching the cracked marble floor, the tall shelves, the drifting motes of dust caught in afternoon light. No blood. No trembling voice whispering secrets he couldn’t bear. No walls covered in his stolen face.

Just books. Just silence. Just him — and the tremor in his ribs that insisted he was real enough to fear his own heartbeat.

Wonwoo pressed a palm flat over his chest, feeling that traitorous pulse hammer against his skin.

“...What the hell…?” he murmured to no one but the echoes, voice hoarse, softer than the rustle of pages.

He didn’t know if he’d dreamed you — or if, for a moment, he’d woken up from the lie he’d always believed was his only truth.

He didn’t know at all.

*

It had happened a month before you ever dared to draw him bleeding into the snow.

You told yourself it was stress — that infamous “artist’s madness” everyone joked about when deadlines crawled into your dreams and stole your sleep. You’d laughed about it once. Maybe you should’ve laughed harder while you still could.

Because the first time you saw him — standing solid in your apartment, warm breath ghosting over your cheek, eyes glinting with a predator’s confusion — you realized madness was too gentle a word.

The grip of his hand on your wrist. The rasp of his voice demanding truths you couldn’t give. The faint heat of his forearm brushing yours when he leaned too close. None of it was paper or ink or your exhausted brain short-circuiting after too many all-nighters.

He was too human to ignore.

You went to the psychiatrist the next day, trembling so badly you spilled water down your chin when they offered you a paper cup. You told them — haltingly — that you were seeing things. That you’d made a monster and now he wouldn’t stay on the page.

They asked if you heard voices.

You said yes — his.

They scribbled notes you couldn’t read.

They gave you pills.

This will help with the hallucinations, they promised, their smile stretching too wide. Take them before bed. Sleep will help you separate fiction from reality.

But sleep didn’t save you.

Because sometime later — maybe days, maybe weeks (you’d stopped counting) — Wonwoo came back. Not with confusion this time, but with a polished gun clenched in his steady hand. Just like you’d written him. Just like you’d drawn him a hundred times, perfect and terrifying.

He cornered you in your kitchen, stainless steel cold under your back, barrel kissing your temple while his eyes searched you like an unsolvable riddle.

“Who am I really?” he hissed, every word precise and soft, the way you’d loved scripting his lines. “What did you do to me? Why do I exist like this?”

You could barely choke out an answer. It wasn’t the gun that broke you — it was the way his desperation bled through the barrel and sank into your bones.

It drove you mad.

He ate your sleep. He gnawed at your sanity, your drafts, your trust in your own hands. It was like watching your mind rot from the inside out — and you had made him this way.

So you did the only thing left that made sense to your splintering mind: you decided to kill him first.

Hansol would help you. Hansol, your poor righteous hero who had always deserved to bury the monster who made him suffer. It wasn’t the plot you’d started with — no, Wonwoo had been just another chess piece to deepen Hansol’s tragedy — but readers had twisted him into something you couldn’t control anymore. Something they worshipped more than the hero.

So you locked yourself away for three nights that blurred into one long, jagged heartbeat. You didn’t let Soonyoung touch a single panel. You didn’t sleep. You didn’t eat. You just drew — every drop of your fear and rage bleeding through your pen until the final stroke sealed your freedom.

Two stabs in the chest. Snow blooming red. A villain dying alone.

You uploaded the episode before your own hands could betray you. Before your fear could beg you to save him again.

And when the server confirmed the update, when Soonyoung’s panicked messages blinked unanswered on your phone, you sank to the floor under your desk and laughed — raw, exhausted, almost hysterical.

You had finally killed him.

You were free.

*

You woke up from a thin, drugged sleep — the kind where dreams and nightmares bleed into each other, where you half-believed you’d finally banished him for good.

But the scream that dragged you awake wasn’t yours.

At first, you thought it was just the pipes moaning through the walls, or maybe your own throat raw from nights spent mumbling his name like a curse. But then you heard it again — a choked, guttural rasp coming from your kitchen.

Your feet hit the cold floor before your brain caught up. You stumbled through the half-lit apartment, pills and papers crunching under your soles.

And then you saw him.

Jeon Wonwoo, sprawled in a mess of dark, glossy blood against your cabinet doors. Pale skin splotched crimson, shirt clinging wet to the ragged wounds carved right where your stylus had last touched the tablet: two deep stabs in his chest, red soaking the linoleum beneath him like spilled ink.

His eyes fluttered up at you — glassy, struggling to focus. But they were still his eyes: sharp even dulled by agony, beautiful even in ruin.

Your mouth opened, but your voice cracked like an old record.

“Oh my god, Is it real?” you whispered, the question trembling from your lips before you could stop it. You sank to your knees, heedless of the blood soaking into your sweatpants.

He coughed, a wet, rattling sound that made your skin crawl. His fingers twitched weakly, groping at the floor until they found the hem of your shirt — grasped it like a lifeline.

“Help me…” he rasped, the syllables bubbling through the blood at the corner of his mouth. His eyes locked on yours — not cruel now, not mocking. Just a man begging, like he’d never begged for anything before. “Save me. Please.”

And you — fool, creator, god trembling before your own monster — you pressed your shaking hands over the wounds you had given him. You felt the heat of his blood seep through your fingers, felt the heartbeat stuttering beneath your palms.

Your tears dripped onto his cheek, mixing with sweat and red and the last thread of whatever sanity you still had.

“I killed you,” you whispered, voice breaking. “I killed you — why are you still here?”

Wonwoo’s lips parted, but no words came out — only a shuddering exhale that smelled of iron and loss. His grip on your shirt tightened, a pitiful strength for a man who once slit throats without flinching. Now he clung to you as if you were the only thing left tethering him to breath, to pain, to existing.

“Don’t… don’t let me go,” he gasped, the plea breaking apart in his throat. A violent tremor coursed through him, blood bubbling between your fingers as he tried to hold himself together by sheer will. His eyes searched yours, desperate and terrified — the look of a man meeting the void and wanting anything but its cold mercy.

You choked on a sob so raw it burned your lungs. This was wrong. This was so wrong. He was your nightmare, your villain — you had sculpted every cruel smirk, every crime, every unredeemable sin. He deserved this ending. You had given him this ending.

So why did it hurt like you were killing him again?

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—” You pressed harder, your hands slick with him, your voice shaking apart with each word. “You weren’t supposed to suffer this long, Wonwoo, you weren’t—”

His eyes rolled back for a second and you panicked, slapping his cheek lightly, your tears splattering on his ashen face. Your vision blurred. Your heartbeat pounded against the cage of your ribs like it would tear free to keep him alive if you failed.

You grabbed his clammy face between your shaking hands and pressed your forehead to his, breath mingling with the scent of metal and sweat and the ink of your own sins.

“I’ll fix it, Wonwoo. I swear to God, I’ll fix it. Just stay.”

Somewhere deep in him, past the pain, the violence, the villainy, you felt him believe you — just for a heartbeat. His eyes slipped shut, his lips moving in a ghost of a word you almost didn’t catch.

“...please.”

It was enough to break you. It was enough to make you crawl through hell again — for him, your monster, your fault, your unfinished prayer.

You remembered.

The stranger at his funeral — the faceless silhouette standing under the gray rain while everyone else turned away. You hadn’t named him, hadn’t given him lines, hadn’t even told Soonyoung who he was supposed to be. He was just there — a margin in the story, a whisper you’d meant to revisit but never did.

The Margin.

Your heart stuttered with something like hope — foolish, desperate hope — as you cradled Wonwoo’s head against your chest, your fingers trembling in his hair sticky with sweat.

Maybe they could help. Maybe the forgotten ones could fix what you broke.

With one arm wrapped around Wonwoo’s shaking shoulders, you fumbled for your laptop on the blood-slicked floor. Your palm left crimson smears across the touchpad as you dragged up your hidden folder — the one you never showed Soonyoung or the publisher. Drafts. Abandoned arcs. Ghosts with names you never spoke aloud.

You clicked The Margin.

The folder flickered open: dozens of half-finished files, lines of dialogue that led nowhere, silhouettes that waited to be drawn. Unused, unseen, but breathing in the dark corners of your mind.

You whispered like a prayer to the screen, to the hidden codes, to the characters you’d once left behind:

“Help me… please, help me save him…”

Wonwoo stirred in your lap, groaning weakly, blood pooling warmer under your thighs. His hand twitched near the laptop’s edge, as if even dying he was tethered to the story that birthed him.

And then — the cursor froze.

The screen dimmed.

A hiss of static crawled up your spine.

The light in your apartment flickered, once, twice — then darkness swallowed everything. Not the gentle dark of a power outage — but a pulling, as if the shadows under your bed had grown teeth and wanted you back.

Your breath caught in your throat. You clutched Wonwoo tighter as the chill pressed into your skin, dragging at your consciousness like greedy hands. The laptop fan whirred one last time — then died.

And before your scream could escape, the world folded in on itself.

*

You wake slowly — not with a jolt, but like drifting up from deep water.

At first, you feel warmth against your cheek, the faint scent of wild grass, the sound of leaves whispering overhead. You blink your eyes open to a sky so wide and blue it makes your chest ache.

You’re lying in a clearing beneath a canopy of ancient trees. Sunlight filters through branches heavy with wind-chimes made from broken pens and paper scraps — your paper scraps, you realize with a jolt, words you once threw away now dancing above you like blessings.

Around you, winding stone paths lead to mismatched wooden bookshelves, some leaning sideways under the weight of dusty tomes, others half-swallowed by flowering vines. Low stone benches circle each shelf like tiny reading shrines. It feels like a park built from every soft daydream you’ve ever had about books and second chances.

And the people—

Your breath hitches.

Scattered in the grass and along the benches, you see them: men and women, young and old, draped in half-familiar clothes. A girl in a yellow raincoat you never finished writing a storm for. A man with an eyepatch, reading aloud to a group of children that never made it past your old notebook margin. A boy with wild hair and a grin so sharp it cuts through your memory — Seungkwan, your trickster, alive here like a rumor the world forgot.

They pause, one by one, as if sensing your heartbeat quicken. Heads lift from open pages. Eyes lock on you — not with blame, but a solemn recognition. The ones you abandoned, the ones you swore you’d come back for but never did.

And then you remember —

You sit up so fast the world spins. Next to you, half-cradled in the curve of your body, lies Wonwoo. His head rests against your thigh, dark hair sticking to a forehead slick with sweat. His chest rises and falls in shallow, trembling breaths — but he’s breathing. Still warm. Still real.

You brush his cheek with shaking fingers. His lashes flutter, but he doesn’t wake.

When you look up again, the characters are closer now. Forming a quiet circle. Some carry books — your books. Others hold old sketches, pages you thought you lost forever. One by one, they study you and the bleeding villain in your lap.

Seungkwan steps forward first. Mischief flickers in his eyes, but this time, it’s tempered by something older, wiser — the part of him you always imagined but never wrote down.

“Well, look who crawled back to the margins,” he says, voice a soft laugh that drifts through the leaves. He flicks a glance at Wonwoo and then back at you, tilting his head.

“You’ve brought him.”

He nods at Wonwoo — your monster, your contradiction, your bloodstained fox under the oak tree.

Around you, the others murmur like turning pages, some curious, some wary, all impossibly alive.

The garden hushes again, waiting for your answer — the answer that might heal the bruised stories still breathing between these pages, and the villain in your arms who was never just bad or good, but something painfully, beautifully human.

Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out — only the raw scrape of your breath fighting through disbelief.

Seungkwan watches you patiently, like a cat waiting to see if its prey will bolt or beg. Behind him, more of them drift closer through the rustling garden paths: half-finished dreams wearing your words like borrowed skin.

Your heart stutters when you see him — Joshua. Not the angel, not the saint you meant to finish someday, but the tired, gentle father you once scribbled lines for on a rainy bus ride. He stands a little apart from the others, a little sad around the eyes. A small girl clings to his trouser leg, peeking shyly at you from behind his knee — the daughter you never got to name.

Your lips form his name before you can stop yourself.

“Joshua…”

He smiles at you, soft and forgiving. It guts you more than anger ever could. He rests a protective hand on his daughter’s hair but doesn’t come closer. He just nods, as if to say: I knew you’d find your way here, eventually.

Your gaze skitters past him — and snags on a figure leaning against an old iron lamppost, arms crossed, a familiar smirk playing at his mouth.

Kim Mingyu.

The vice captain you made too reckless, too golden, too big-hearted for his own good. His letterman jacket is unzipped, wind tugging at his hair, just like in the final match scene you never wrote. He lifts two fingers in a lazy salute when he catches your stare, but there’s a bruise blossoming under his eye — the fight you’d planned but never finished.

And beside a shelf blooming with lilacs, half-shadowed, you spot him: Jihoon.

The wizard who once studied charms in a castle built of your childhood wonder. His robes are dusty, ink stains his fingers, and a battered spellbook dangles from his wrist. His gaze is sharp, calculating, but when your eyes meet, there’s a softness there too — the forgiveness of someone who understands how many drafts a miracle can take.

You sink back on your heels, your hands trembling where they cradle Wonwoo’s sweat-damp hair. He groans faintly in your lap, dragging you back to the sick reality of flesh and blood and consequence.

The characters wait. So many shades of you. So many pieces that were never just light or shadow — always both, always alive in the margins.

You swallow, voice barely more than a cracked whisper.

“I don’t… I don’t understand. Why are you all here? Why is he—” you look down at Wonwoo, at the monster turned man, at your fear made helpless in your arms — “Why is he still bleeding? I killed him. I killed him.”

Seungkwan clicks his tongue, crouching so close his grin brushes your panic like a knife.

“No, darling. You wrote an end. That’s not the same as killing.”

Behind him, Joshua’s daughter giggles softly, clutching a flower she’s plucked from the grass. Mingyu tips his head back to watch the clouds drift like torn paper across the sky. Jihoon flips open his spellbook, murmuring under his breath — perhaps already plotting a charm to mend what you’ve broken.

Hansol’s eyes gleam as he leans in, nose almost touching yours.

“This place — the Margin — is where the unfinished things wait. Good, bad, broken, hopeful. Us. You. Him.” He flicks a glance at Wonwoo. “You gave him too much of yourself to truly die. You stitched kindness into his cruelty. You doubted him, and you loved him. And now — here he is. Asking you to decide which part of him gets to live.”

The wind stirs the pages on every shelf, like a thousand heartbeats holding their breath.

“Tell us, author…” Seungkwan purrs, voice warm and deadly all at once.

“Will you keep running from your monsters — or will you set them free?”

Wonwoo’s breath stirs weakly against your thigh, then catches on a soft, pained laugh. His eyelids flutter — heavy, reluctant — until they crack open enough to find you, blurry and bright and trembling above him.

His fingers curl in the fabric of your pants, gripping just enough to anchor him to something warm. His lips twitch into a shape that almost resembles a smile, ruined by a tremor of agony.

“Am I…” He coughs, the sound tearing at your chest. His voice is hoarse, but you can hear the ghost of that cruel lilt that once made your readers flinch — twisted now into something childishly fragile.