MØNSTER LIBRARY

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Yang Jungwon entered the hotel lobby as if he owned the place.

He had his head held high while his posture stood proud. Everyone’s eyes were on him, every single one inside the lobby was awed by his visuals and presence but Jungwon remained unbothered. He approached the receptionist casually before giving her a smile — flirty and dimpled that the receptionist fawned immediately.

“Good afternoon Mr. Yang, the suite’s waiting for you, Mr. Kim had informed me about your last-minute booking, and I assure you that you’d get your usual room,” she said brightly before handing the keycard to Jungwon as she fluttered her eyelashes.

“Thank you so much, Ms. Ahn, it’s nice to see you here,” Jungwon said with a wink, making the woman giggle shyly.

“You’re too kind, enjoy your stay Mr. Yang,” with that, Jungwon gave her a wave one last time before going towards the elevator hall.

The man pressed the button and patiently waited for the elevator to go down. The hall wasn’t crowded compared to the lobby. There were a few people around but it was enough for Jungwon to be discreet, even clearing his throat as he brushed the stray dust on his coat. 

Suddenly, his ears caught the gentle footsteps approaching him. That’s when he felt his heart stopping and breath hitching. Jungwon glanced at his watch as if he was looking at his watch, pretending that he’s not bothered by the person who stood beside him.

“Oh, Mr. Yang, it's a pleasure to see you here,” but all his act melted the moment he heard your voice. His smile formed unknowingly as Jungwon could feel his cheeks heating up and heart racing rapidly before he turned to his left casually with a gentle smile.

As his eyes met yours, his smile became wider along with his dimples that turned deep. Too lovestruck to notice all this sudden shift. “Ms. l/n, it’s nice to see you too. Here for a meeting?” 

Your lips pursed before a small chuckle left your lips, “yes, apparently. A very important person I must say. How about you?” you lied casually as you fiddle the keycard around your hands. 

“Same here with me.” And just in time, the elevator rang and opened. Both you and Jungwon entered the elevator without a word. Then, the door closed in an instant and you pressed the highest floor button.

Jungwon didn’t say anything. He turned his head towards you who cleared her throat before looking in the opposite direction while the elevator slowly went up. The silence was tense, quiet yet suffocating. Your heart was pounding loudly as you could feel Jungwon’s eyes never leaving you. You closed your eyes, attempting to relax when you felt someone standing too close on your side.

“You’re too near, Mr. Yang,” you muttered under your breath.

“It’s just the two of us here, Ms. l/n,” a gasp escaped your lips when you felt his hands trailing on your waist until it reached the curve of your butt, giving it a squeeze and two.

“Pervert,” you mumbled before slapping his hands away, making Jungwon laugh before he leaned against the wall. 

“This elevator’s too slow,” Jungwon said, eyeing the screen where every second, the elevator’s slowly going up. 

“You’re an impatient man.”

“Of course I am,” and before you could react, Jungwon had pushed against the wall, trapping you in between his arms before he leaned on for a kiss.

You kissed him back without any thoughts, giggling against his lips like it’s the most natural thing you could do. His soft, lustrous lips tasted like peach, sweet and addictive that you couldn’t help but to bite his lower lips, receiving a groan from him who despite that, smirked at your move.

The elevator suddenly felt hotter as you two continued making out recklessly, not caring about the cameras recording your scandalous act as you two seemed to be in your own world until the ride stopped and Jungwon broke away from the kiss.

“We’re here,” he whispered before he pulled you out of the elevator. You didn’t complain anymore but instead, the smile on your lips became wider, letting your lover lead the way to his hotel room. 

As soon as the doors have locked and it’s just the two of you inside, Jungwon’s lips crashed onto yours once again — eager and hungry before he started to undress himself, without breaking the kiss.

You did the same with yours. Unbuttoning your blouse with haste, removing your ponytail and letting your hair fall down before you held onto Jungwon’s shoulders, never leaving his mouth as both clothes started to fall to the floor.

“I miss you,” Jungwon said in between, making you stop and chuckle as you stared at him fondly.

“We saw each other last week,” you pointed out before a small yelp escaped your lips when Jungwon carried you towards the huge, soft bed of the suite.

Placing you down gently, your heart was filled with anticipation as your lover crawled over you. His lips were stained with your lipstick, while his hair was all over the place as he stared at you like a predator — far from the sophisticated and well-respected Yang Jungwon, currently chief executive officer of the Eden group of companies.

That same goes to you who’s left with nothing but her undergarments, hair sprawled at the soft, cotton duvet as your eyes were only gazing on the person on top of you.

“Well, it couldn’t help when I miss you, so fucking much,” Jungwon admitted as his hands traveled at the soft plush of your stomach downwards the waistband of your stockings and panties, making him smirk.

“You’re going to ruin me, aren’t you?” you asked, almost breathless yet adrenaline rushed as you could feel Jungwon fidget with the tight cloth on your thighs.

“You know me damn well, sweetheart,” Jungwon answered teasingly before he tore your stockings using his bare hands.

A small moan escaped your lips as Jungwon started planting kisses on your exposed skin, slow and careful as his lips worshipped your thighs until he stopped in front of your cunt. He glanced at you for a second and immediately, you nodded, giving him the signal to push your panties aside and leave you bare in front of him.

The last thing you heard was a curse coming out of Jungwon’s lips before he started ruining you, making you melt under his touch as he tasted every skin and slick on your wet cunt. The room was filled with nothing but the sultry moans escaping on your lips while Jungwon continued to devour your pussy like it was his last meal on earth.

“Fuck — Jungwon,” you mewled, grabbing a fistful of his hair while Jungwon focused on your clit, sucking the bud before inserting a finger inside your cunt. The sudden sensation felt overwhelming that your back arched naturally simultaneously moaning your lover’s name out loud.

“Fuck, say my name again,” Jungwon ordered and you complied. You screamed his name loud and clear. Repeating it numerous times like a mantra, knowing damn well that the walls of the suite were thick and soundproof that only you and Jungwon could hear how he makes you writhe under his tongue.

Because only you and Jungwon could know what’s happening inside the suite. It’s only the two of you who know the bliss of your skins making contact with each other, filled with warmth, and pleasure that’s too addictive yet forbidden.

Your relationship with Jungwon has always been like this — and it should stay this way. In hotel rooms and hushed conversations. Secret, hidden, wherein it’s just the two of you and no one should know. Of course, no one should know because you two are destined to be enemies in the first place.

Call yourselves modern-day Romeo and Juliet, but your families have had a constant rivalry ever since both companies were established. Everything comes down to money, connections, and power — and most of all, pride. It became a competition turned into rivalry. It wasn’t just a friendly rivalry, it involved political movement, scandals, and even dirty schemes. This on-going dispute has been passed down by generations until it reaches you and Jungwon.

Unlike in Shakespeare's play, you and Jungwon weren’t young and stupid when you both unknowingly fell in love with each other. The love story began in a simple way — college. It always feels nostalgic to think about it. You and Jungwon were classmates in a lot of course subjects given that both of you have the same college program. 

Then, it came — getting assigned together for a project. It seemed like destiny was making a way for you two to talk to each other.

You two had your walls high at first but as time passed-by, you realised that the only son of the Yang family wasn’t a cocky bastard who has narcissistic tendencies, and Jungwon realized that the Kingsmark heiress wasn’t a spoiled brat who’s a perfectionist that it’s sickening. First impressions got out of the way and friendship bloomed from there. 

But somewhere in your friendship, something grew deeper — something forbidden yet, irresistible.  It made you scared at first, knowing that you fell for an enemy out of all the people you could love. Still, despite your fear, you couldn’t ignore it especially when it’s Jungwon who could only make you feel that way. 

That’s why you confessed. You took the risk to tell your feelings to your supposed mortal enemy and to your luck, Jungwon reciprocated your love naturally. Just like you, Jungwon, unknowingly fell for you too. He didn’t expect it nor tried to deny it. For the man, it just happened, and he couldn’t do anything about it except to accept it.

Love sparked that day and ever since then, you risk your life just to meet up with Jungwon — and so did he.

Late-night sneak-outs, wearing covers while out on a date, the hotel room meetups, and hushed conversations during public events. You didn’t hate the setup, you just got used to it, knowing that it’s impossible for you and Jungwon to be together in public.

You lost track of how long your relationship with Jungwon has been going on. All you know was that it has become a part of your routine to meet him, one way or another, and as long as Jungwon’s not giving up on you, you’re not going to give up on him either.

As cliche as it may sound, no one knows you better than Jungwon. He had memorized every inch of you, knew your deepest secrets and fears that even your family doesn’t have a single clue about. He was your secret, and yet, it never felt like just a secret.

Jungwon — you may consider him as your home too. 

Because the moment he kissed you, soft and gentle, held you careful and light like you were made of porcelain glass, you’re convinced that no one could ever care and love you like he would. 

“You’re with me?” Jungwon asked, seeing you quiet and in daze after your love making. Both naked under the sheets, the time seemed to have passed by so quickly that it’s already late at night. You’ve lost track of the amount of times you two did it, and yet, the euphoric feeling still lingered on your body.

“Just tired,” you answered and you heard Jungwon’s soft chuckle before he kissed your forehead.

“Did I tire you out?”

You chuckled at his question, “You’re a monster in bed, Yang Jungwon.”

“Couldn’t help it when it’s you who I am fucking good.” he teased back.

An exchange of laughter escaped both of you before you pulled him close to you. Jungwon hovered over you as your lips locked into each other once again, deep, senseless as you wrapped your arms around his neck. 

“Again?” he whispered and that made you let out a sigh in relief.

“Again,” you answered with a smile before you pushed him down to the mattress and straddled against his lap.

“Thought I tired you out?” he teased before smacking your bare ass. You flinched at the pain and yet the impact only made your core wetter than as at the same time, you could feel Jungwon’s semi-hard cock against your cunt. 

“I thought so too,” you said breathless as you started grinding against his cock, making it hard and wet with your slick. Breathy moans started escaping your lips due to the sensation, rocking your body harder and more eager.

Jungwon watched as you lifted your hips before aligning your entrance on the fat head of his cock. Sucking your breath in, you slowly sink down, feeling your cunt getting stretched wide by just the sheer size of Jungwon’s cock. 

Sitting all the way down, you could feel your pussy full to the end. Taking deep breaths, your hands landed on Jungwon’s stomach for balance, moving your hips closely while your lover watched you shift on his lap, amused at how you didn’t hurry yourself immediately but instead, find time to adjust at his size, moving slow rolls and grinds around his cock.

“Go on baby, you’re doing good,” Jungwon said as his hands traveled on your waist, guiding you to roll around his cock. His eyes never left yours who had her head thrown back, breathy whines leaving your lips as you started moving faster. 

From your rolls and grinds, you lifted your hips and started bouncing on his cock. Finding your pace, you move more hastily and sloppily as you could hear the wet slap on your skin against Jungwon’s hips.

It urged you more to sink into him deeper, wanton moans started escaping your lips as you bounced on his cock harder. It didn’t help that your lover’s hold on you tightened, even helping you ram yourself on his cock.

“Jungwon —” you called his name again, a more eager plea as your body moved on its own. Fucking yourself on his cock continuously, you find yourself drowsy at the high of the act. It’s becoming too addictive that your body moves on its own. Your pace becomes faster, more rushed as you’re chasing after that high that comes within.

“Keep going baby — fuck! Look at you, is my cock fucking you good?” he teased and you nodded frantically. His words pushed you further, the feeling of his cock splitting your walls apart was too hard to ignore — especially when you could feel something churning inside your stomach.

Jungwon could feel your pussy tightening against the cock, that’s when his grip tightened, fingers digging on your soft skin, making you mewl in pain and yet, you didn’t stop bouncing on his cock like a whore.

“I’m gonna — c-cum —” you said, almost inaudible as your fingers made scratches around his stomach, making his pale skin red as you drowned yourself in the sensation. 

“Look at me baby, want to see you fall apart,” your glassy eyes met his sharp ones. A sultry sigh escaped your lips before you leaned downwards Jungwon for a kiss. Your hands got a hold of his face, squeezing it tightly as your lips battled against each other. Messy and wet kisses splattered around your mouth as Jungwon slides his tongue inside yours, earning a choked moan from you.

You broke out of the kiss first, focusing on your hips as your orgasm slowly built up and in a snap, your orgasm came along with pussy clamping around Jungwon. You came in silence, fingernails scratching Jungwon’s chest as your hips continued moving on its own, grinding against your lover’s hard, twitching cock.

That’s when a series of breathy groans started to leave Jungwon’s mouth. You knew that he was on the edge, hence, you started moving further, despite still being sensitive from your first orgasm, you ignored how you spasmed at every grind you made, because all you could think of was to make Jungwon come. 

“Baby —”

“You’re near right? Want to see you cum baby — hngh — you look so pretty laying down there for me,” you moaned as your nails pressed further down on his skin. Finding balance on his sturdy chest while you continued your movement.

“Ruin me baby, want to see my girl make me cum —” in a loud, guttural groan, Jungwon reaches his high, snapping his hips upwards as he releases his load inside you, filthy, thick, and hot spurts of cum fill you enough to be satisfied by it. You bite your lips at the warmth, rolling your hips slowly around him as you continue to milk your lover’s cock dry.

The room fell into silence. You find yourself weary before you remove yourself from Jungwon, laying next to him who seemed exhausted from the act.

“Are you hungry?” he asked out of nowhere. Arms wrapped around you as he pulled you close.

You shook your head as answer, eyes closed as you snuggle yourself on his chest, letting your body be dirty and sweaty for a moment as you leaned closer to Jungwon.

“I love you,” Jungwon blurted out of nowhere.

You hummed, opening your eyes to look at him. “I love you too.” you kissed him once again, and Jungwon responded without any thoughts. This time, the kiss was slow, gentle, and just an act of pure love for each other.

But your sweet moment was interrupted by a loud knock on the door — separating you two in a second. The two of you glanced at the direction before a series of knock echoed inside. That’s when Jungwon stood up and grabbed the folded robe nearby.

“It’s just probably Sunoo,” Jungwon said as he clothed himself and went towards the door. He looked at the door viewer for a second and from the tiny gap, Jungwon let out a deep chuckle before opening the door, revealing a man who seemed unpleasant with the situation.

“I need to talk to the two of you,” Sunoo started, arms crossed as he stared at his best friend who seemed to be still in a post-nut clarity. 

“Wanna join us?” Jungwon jokingly suggested but he was only met with a disgusted stare by his best friend. Sunoo walked strutted inside the suite, not caring about you who’s nude under the sheet and directly went towards the table, took the champagne bottle, opened it, and without any hesitation, drank straight from the bottle.

“Hey, that’s under my tab,” Jungwon complained but Sunoo continued drinking, almost finishing it halfway before placing it back. You only watched in amusement at their banters while you lay lazily on the bed.

“I really appreciate that you guys have become my patron here but this is getting suspicious,” Sunoo lectured. 

Contrary to the belief that no one knows about your secret relationship. There’s only one person who you and Jungwon had trusted with the secret, and that was Kim Sunoo, Jungwon’s childhood friend who happens to own the hotel building that became your escape.

“We’re being discreet,” you stated, but Sunoo wasn’t convinced.

“Right, making out in the elevator is fucking discreet,” Sunoo sarcastically commented. “What I’m trying to say is, auntie’s getting suspicious, Jungwon.”

By the mention of his mother, Jungwon’s teasing smile faded. He turned serious as he stood next to Sunoo, arms crossed.

“What do you mean?”

“She’s here, looking for you,” Sunoo answered, and your eyes widened at his sentence. “She’s currently in my office, I told them you just left, but they aren’t convinced.”

“And your solution was to go here?” Jungwon raised an eyebrow.

“I told her I am meeting an important client and I don’t have time to entertain her questions since I’m too busy managing here,” Sunoo explained. “She was persistent that you were meeting someone here and I am hiding it, which is true though.”

“She wanted to marry me off, that’s why,” Jungwon shared and that was the first that you heard of that problem. Jungwon seemed to be unbothered by it but your worry started to grow.

“I know, she keeps on telling me that one, she wanted you to settle down and not, “whore around,”” Sunoo warned, emphasising the last two words. “If you two value your relationship, then you should be more discreet.”

“We’ve been doing this for years, we’ll be fine,” Jungwon assured but Sunoo wasn’t convinced.

“It’s going to be much harder now Won, especially when you two have taken over your company, the whole world’s watching the two of you.” his best friend advised.

“Thank you Sunoo, we’ll try to be more discreet,” you butted in, giving the man a nod before you gave Jungwon a quick glance and assuring smile. “I think we should lessen our meetups here in Sunoo’s hotel, I don’t want to trouble you too.”

“No, it’s fine y/n, but just be careful, friendly advice,” Sunoo advised before glancing at his watch. “I should be going now, I’ll let you know if auntie has left.”

“Thanks Sunoo,” that was the only thing Jungwon could say, not having the energy to argue with his best friend who’s only looking after him.

Sunoo had left that moment, leaving you two in silence. Jungwon let out a deep sigh as he turned around to check on you.

But you only smiled and patted the bed, gesturing for him to return who did as what you told.

“Does it scare you?” he asked, sitting next to you with his hands open.

Instead of a worried expression, you gave him a smile before intertwining your hands around his. “A little, just scared that my parents might disown me.”

“If they ever do that to you, I’ll be here, don’t worry,” Jungwon assured.

You laughed at his answer, “even if it means losing our fortune and everything?”

“Of course,” he answered without any hesitation. From there, Jungwon gave you a kiss on the temples before he made you rest your head on his shoulders. “Nothing in this world could be more valuable than your love.”

“Our love,” you corrected and your lover only laughed. 

“Of course, our love.” he said lightheartedly before kissing your head once again.

It felt right.

It always felt right with Jungwon. Even though it is behind closed doors, everything about your relationship and soft, intimate moments felt right for you. It’s just your intuition and your guts has always been right, that’s why you sweep your worries away.

The whole world might go into a shock when they’ve realized that you had fallen in love with her rival, but that’s your future self’s worry.

As of now, all you wanted was to be in the arms of the man you’ve ever loved — truly, deeply, and madly.

-

On days that you aren’t on your secret rendezvous with Jungwon, you’re stuck in your office, doing what a good CEO does when it comes to leading a decades-long top corporation that probably holds a percentage in your country’s economy. 

It wasn’t an easy thing to do at all. You were just starting and you weren’t fully handling everything at all. Your parents are still guiding you, and even though you have the title and everything, most of the company decisions still fully come in power through them.

“You’ve done a great job securing the deal with the Wei tech corp,” your father said proudly.

“It was just nothing dad, just a little convincing and gift worked, I’ve learned from the best after all,” you said with a wink and both your parents were delighted with your reply.

“Oh, my sweet baby, we knew that it was right that you’d inherit this company,” your mother said softly before giving you a hug and kiss. “You’d do better than us, I know that you’d be able to overthrow Eden group in no time.”

At the mention of the said corporation, your stomach felt sour yet your heart skipped a beat.

“Mom, that again? I thought we’re over that,” you complained. Ever since you became head of Kingsmark, that’s the only thing you’ve heard from them — they wanted you to beat Eden group.

“This isn’t over y/n, you know that,” your father sternly said. “Not until we watch them crumble and be ruined, this isn’t over.”

“That’s so childish,” you commented.

“It’s not childish y/n, that’s just how business works, and you should know this alright?” your mother advised. “You’re still young and soft sweetheart, people will take advantage of your kindness. That’s why you should be careful and be wary of those who you call friends.”

Her advice gave nothing but chills on your spine. You looked at your mother who stared at you meaningly. You don’t know what she meant but you slowly nodded, like a good daughter would.

“Of course ma, don’t worry about me,” you convinced, even faking a smile to assure them.

“Great, I heard that Ms. Nakamura will be attending Mr. Han’s project launch, you’re invited there right?” your father asked and you nodded once again.

“Make sure you’d be able to swoon Ms. Nakamura on investing in Kingsmark, they’re a bigshot company in Japan, this will be a huge deal to us. Can I trust you with this one y/n?” he instructed.

“Of course pa, I won’t let you down,” you said with a smile, yet your heart felt heavy at the thought. The immense pressure suddenly washed over you.

You watched as they left your office and the moment the door closed, you felt how your shoulder slouched before leaning against your office chair. Feeling a headache coming right through, you stood up from your seat to get a glass of water when your phone lit up. 

sheep calling.

The notification made you smile. Suddenly, your mood wasn’t that bad anymore before you. Grabbed your phone and answered the call without any thoughts.

“I don’t think it is appropriate for you to call me at this hour,” you opened as soon as the call got in line. Your tone filled with teasing that the voice behind the line laughed.

“Is it bad that I am missing you?” Jungwon asked.

“It is bad that you’re missing me during office hours, I thought we aren’t allowed to call during office hours?” you lectured sternly but Jungwon only hummed. 

“Well, it’s been what? Two weeks since we last saw each other and to be honest, this is killing me,” he explained, and you smiled softly, knowing that it also kills you that you haven’t seen Jungwon that long.

“What are you trying to imply?” you asked.

“That we should meet this Saturday,” he replied immediately — which meant that he had been planning this for a while.

“I can't, I’ll be at Mr. Han’s project launch, did you get an invitation?” 

You noticed how Jungwon became quiet for a moment before answering. “Oh that, I didn’t.”

“That’s a shame, maybe Sunday would work,” you suggested.

“Or maybe I’d pick you up there after the event,” Jungwon teased and though it sounded sweet to be picked-up by your boyfriend, you know that it’s just a scandal waiting to happen.

“You’re being brave and stupid by doing that Jungwon.”

“But you’d like it,” he insisted and your smile became wider.

“Unfortunately, I’d do.”

“I’ll surprise you then,” before you could ask what he meant, the call ended. Your heart dropped at that moment, wondering and curious about what’s up to Jungwon’s sleeve this upcoming Saturday.

-

True to his words, the next time you saw Yang Jungwon was at Mr. Han’s project launch at a reception hall in an expensive hotel outside the city.

The event was a private one. Strictly through invitations, that’s why it wasn’t that crowded when you entered the hall. You wore a vintage navy blue gown along with some sapphire set that you’ve inherited from your grandmother. People were turning heads towards you but you chose to ignore them as you focused on your target.

“Ms. Nakamura, it’s a pleasure to meet you, I am Ms. l/n —”

“From Kingsmark? It’s a shame for me to not know you, and please, call me Kazuha,” she said with a smile. Kazuha was approachable and friendly. Offering you a small chat and talk along with a glass of wine.

Your conversation with her turned almost hours long. You were with her almost the duration of the event and you’ve noticed that she was interested in your future plans and projects which was ideal since her company’s going to play a crucial part as a new supplier and investor. This might turn into a multi-million deal if you had won her heart by the end of the night. 

“I am glad you had approached me Ms. l/n or else I’d die here from boredom,” she said jokingly before taking a sip on her wine once again. “I would like to talk to you more but let me go to the restroom first.”

“Of course, do you want more wine?” you offered, and she only gave you a smile before rejecting the offer, insisting that she doesn’t want to get too drunk by the end of the night which you understood.

As Kazuha left for the restroom, you decided to kill time by approaching the nearby grazing table that made your stomach growled. Grabbing a small plate, you started to fill it up with random finger foods when you noticed someone doing the same as you.

“Mr. Yang, it’s a surprise to see you here,” you said, not batting an eye as you focused on the delicacies on the table.

“Last minute plans, turns out my secretary did receive the invitation but forgot to inform me,” he explained casually.

You hummed to his answer, eyes still on the table as you spoke. “Well, it looks like you still came prepared despite the short time.”

“I had to impress you, by the way, nice dress Ms. l/n, it suits you and your proportions,” he whispered to you while he busied himself on taking a few finger food. 

“Vintage Yves Saint-Laurent, your suit and tie seemed ravishing,” you commented back.

“Prada, custom-made for me,” he smiled. “But you know what Ms. l/n, I think your vintage yves saint-laurent would look better on the floor of my hotel room.”

“I am unconvinced," you said but a smile on your face curved because of his words.

“Oh come y/n, no one would probably know that we’d disappear,” Jungwon persuaded, tone less formal and more playful. “Just an hour.”

“And why should I come to your hotel room Mr. Yang?” you raised an eyebrow.

But he only smiled at you, gazing at your dress as he shifted it to your eyes. “Because you love me, and you’re getting the best dick of your life.”

That made you scoff. “Such vulgar words for a formal event.”

“I couldn’t be any more vulgar when it comes to you.” he then took a step closer to you. “How about we make it quick? Meet me in the restroom? Fifteen minutes?”

“Now, you’re risking more of exposing our relationship,” you insisted.

“Come on, you like the thrill, don’t you?”

“Unfortunately, I do.”

“There’s a restroom at the back of the corner hallway, I’ll wait for you for ten minutes,” Jungwon instructed, placing down the plate on the side before giving your back a small pat.

With his last words, Jungwon left you there frozen for a moment. You watched as he disappeared into the crowd and left the reception, turning to a small hallway which you assumed was the corner hallway. Your mind went blank as the hold on your plate tightened. 

This is a private event. This place is filled with people who know you and Jungwon as rivals. One may notice that you two are gone — or maybe someone might have seen you enter the same hallway Jungwon entered. You don’t even know if someone noticed your conversation earlier.

It’s a risk. That’s your first thought. It was indecent to do something vulgar at a private event and in public too. Those were things you and Jungwon would avoid but it made you wonder why Jungwon would suggest that. 

Perhaps he just misses you so much, and unfortunately, you’re a weak woman. Your heart folded immediately as you placed down the plate before checking if someone could notice you, you squeezed yourself in the crowd and found the corner hallway where no one seemed to be paying attention.

Your heart started pounding like crazy. Your conscience’s screaming at you — you should be back in the venue, convincing Ms. Nakamura to be one of the head investors of Kingsmark’s upcoming project. This is unnecessary — but it will be quick. You insisted as you took a deep breath and opened the door. Leaning against the wall was Jungwon, arms crossed with a small smirk on his face. 

“You’re here,” he said teasingly. “You really can’t resist me, don’t you —”

“Fifteen minutes Jungwon,” you told him as you entered and locked the door before facing him. “Let’s make this quick.”

He whistled low, looking at you with tease before his arms wrapped around your waist. “Let’s make it thirty.”

Jungwon kissed you hungrily, teeth clashing, tongue battling as he pushed you against the wall. The small thud sound only made him ferocious. He kissed you as if he was dying, eager for your warmth as his lips traveled downwards your jawline, until it reached your neck making you groan in pleasure, throwing your head to give him space while Jungwon continued kissing every skin his mouth could reach.

“No marks please Won, just — wanted to feel you inside me,” you whispered to him who halted to look at you.

“Of course, whatever my baby wants, she’ll get it,” he said quickly with a smile, giving you a short yet sweet kiss on the lips.

Jungwon put you down immediately before he dragged you towards the sink, turning you around and bending you against the marbled surface — that’s when your heart began to ring in anticipation.

“No prep baby?” he asked as he hoisted up your dress, creasing the expensive garment which you didn’t mind. Your mind’s melting because of what’s about to happen. It also didn’t help that Jungwon’s hands trailed on the curve of your ass giving it a light smack making you moan sharply.

“Jungwon please,” you whine, pulling your panties down on your own, revealing your bare self to him. But your lover only chuckled in response, before his hands found their way towards your entrance, making you moan loudly on his touch.

“We got to be quiet, baby, could you do that? We don’t want them to hear how much of a whore you are to your enemy, don’t we?” he whispered to you, voice deep and teasing that you could only nod feverishly as you bite your lips in order to conceal all the obscene noises that might come out of your mouth.

Despite his warning, a sharp, breathy moan escaped your lips the moment Jungwon pushed his slender finger inside you. He could feel your hot, pulsing walls clamping around his finger as your slick slathered around it. He hummed in satisfaction as he began pumping his finger in and out before inserting another one to prep you further. 

“Spread your legs wider for me baby, could you?” he asked, and although you’re shaky, you spread your legs further while he hoisted you further up to the sink, almost tiptoeing against the marbled vanity. You couldn’t do anything but to grip onto the surface while Jungwon continued scissoring your insides.

His fingers rapid, abusing your insides that made you shudder and moan helplessly. You clamped your mouth shut as your eyes turned glassy, and yet, a muffled cry escaped your lips when you felt Jungwon’s finger curl at a specific spot. You heard how he chuckled to your reaction as his finger brushed against that spot nonstop. Wanton moans started leaving your lips while the tears started to trail down your eyes.

“W-won — ah! Won, I’m c-close please,” you begged, feeling the tension inside you heating up. Everything’s becoming too sensitive as your pussy starts to clamp tight around Jungwon’s fingers.

“Please what baby?” he asked teasingly.

“Let me cum please?” you whispered

“Oh baby, you’d get to cum,” he said but in a split second, he removed his fingers and you cried at the sudden loss. 

That’s when you heard a metal clanking and from the mirror, you see how Jungwon freed his cock, already hard, aching, beading with its precum. You couldn’t help but to gulp at the sight, feeling your core heating and getting more wet at the sight.

“You’d get to cum around my cock, you’d like that?” he asked, humming lightly as he grazed the tip of his cock against your entrance. 

“Please, please, Won baby, I want it,” you begged, desperate for release, and your whiny, pitiful tone only made your lover’s dick twitch in excitement before without any warning he inserted himself inside you.

His thick girth ripped your walls open despite the prep earlier. It made you dig your nails deeper on the surface as hot tears kept on streaming down your face. The sensation left you choking while Jungwon continued to push himself inside you until he’s full-sheathed.

“Are you okay?” Jungwon asked as his hands went onto your waist. You nodded slowly before a small whimper left your lips.

“S-so full baby,” you muttered embarrassingly. “Could you move now please? I want to feel you more.”

Jungwon obliged. He pushed you down flat on the surface before his hands gripped on your waist tight. Slowly, he pulled himself out, then without any warning, gave your pussy a quick sharp thrust that made you arch your back naturally. He moved once again, precise yet sharp that slid all the way inside.

The restroom feels hotter and smaller as you and Jungwon became too lost in the obscene act you two are doing. There’s nothing you could hear other than how your skin slapped against each other, drowning the breathy groans Jungwon would release. His grip on your waist became tighter, fingers digging on your sides that you’re sure that it’ll leave a bruise on you.

And if it wasn’t enough, Jungwon’s other hand wrapped around your nape before he pulled you up to face the mirror. Revealing to you your ruined and messed-up self which only made your pussy tighter because you could see from the mirror how Jungwon would fuck you senselessly without any hesitation. 

“Look at you pretty, all ruin for me,” he said as he pushed himself deeper, the new angle only made you cry in pleasure. “Eyes on me, will you? I want to see you fall apart for me.”

Jungwon started thrusting inside you again — deeper, relentless, and aching to feel your warmth hugging his cock as every stroke and pounding made you levitate in pleasure.

Your head’s spinning and your mind’s starting to be blank. You started to blabber nonsense as your eyes rolled back in contentment. Jungwon could feel it, how you’re too knocked-out to respond and your pussy’s becoming too tight and warm for his own good that he could only bite his lips as he holds back. 

“Baby — still with me?” he groaned. “Want to cum now baby?”

“P-please,” you cried, almost a murmur. The pressure inside you was at its limit. Everything’s too overwhelming to you that the only thing that you wanted was for some release. “Won please, let me c-cum now — please, p-please…”

“Let it out baby, I got you,” he ordered.

You came in a silent mute. Breathe almost out of your lungs as your body shudders at the intensity of the high. Your nails scraped at the surface and your legs lost their strength if it wasn’t for your Jungwon who’s holding you tightly on your waist, still chasing after his own orgasm.

“Hold it in for me baby would you? Wanna come inside you,” Jungwon requested and though your body’s weak and melting from your orgasm, you let your lover use you for his own pleasure.

Jungwon focused on thrusting himself deeper on you. Your warm, wet walls clamped around his cock, as his head nudged on the spot nonstop, making his cock twitch in pleasure. The feeling became too much, making him groan uncontrollably. 

In a sudden glimpse, the coil in his stomach snapped and he came without any warning. His body shook as he thrusted one last time, burying his cock deep inside you as his hot, thick cum filled your insides, making you whimper at the feeling.

The two of you stayed at the position, catching one’s breath before Jungwon slowly pulled out. He pulled you away from the sink, strong arms protective around your waist as he observed you, seeing you still drowsy due to the high, he couldn’t help but to caress your face with worry.

“You with me?” he asked and you nodded as a response.

“Words baby, come on,” he repeated and you hummed.

“I’m okay, give me a moment please,” you said and that assured Jungwon, planting a kiss on your lips which you reciprocated immediately.

“Let’s get you clean okay? Just stay there,” he instructed. You didn’t complain further as you watched Jungwon grab a handful of tissues before wetting it. 

He wiped your body clean. All the parts that he had left his marks with. You could only hum in satisfaction as your boyfriend made you put on your panties and helped you fix your creased dress.

“You’re okay now?” he asked, rubbing your back in circles which made you relaxed and breathe better.

“Of course, thank you Won,” you answered with a smile.

“Let’s go home now?”

“I can’t Won, Kazuha’s waiting for me,” you told him.

“You mean Ms. Nakamura? Are you planning to ask them to invest in Kingsmark?” Jungwon asked.

You raised an eyebrow, “how’d you know?”

“I didn’t, just a business intuition,” he replied.

“Jungwon — can you keep it a secret?”

“Of course, but really? The Nakamuras? You’ll do better.”

“What do you mean?”

“They aren’t on the top anymore, I heard they’re on the verge of bankruptcy and have tons of loans in the bank — guess it wasn’t a surprise why Kazuha’s here, they need someone to pull them back to their feet.” Jungwon explained and you were left confused. You don’t know about that — nor did your parents. It felt impossible especially when the Nakamura’s has been one of the well-known names in Japan.

“Where did you hear that?” you asked that.

“I have resources,” he simply stated.

“Or are you just lying just to convince me to go home with you?”

“Hey, our families may be enemies, but we’re different,” Jungwon pointed, not sounding offended by your words. “I care for you enough that I don’t want you to make wrong decisions.”

You became quiet for a moment, staring at him who only had nothing but a persuading look on his face. “So you’re saying —”

“That Kazuha’s not worth it,” your lover concluded before he wrapped his arms around your waist. “But you know what’s worth it? Another round of sex.”

You weren’t able to rebut Jungwon’s words when he shut you off with a kiss, and like the fool you were, you kissed him back senselessly.

“Let’s leave?” he whispered to you, and you immediately melted, like a spell casted on you. 

“Okay,” you answered without any hesitation. Mind shutting down as all you could think of was Jungwon, Jungwon, and Jungwon.

-

Jungwon was right when he had warned you about Kazuha.

The invitation came a few days later. A simple dinner inside the Yang residence. The man felt something was wrong immediately. Private dinners meant big-time deals, investments — illegal transactions, and worse, marriage proposals.

His parents had set him up to marriage proposals many times that he had lost count how many women he had rejected, and with the mention of Nakamura Kazuha, Jungwon knew what he was facing the moment he entered the living room and was welcomed by his parents.

Jungwon played pretend. Act the act, his persona, the untouchable and intelligent Yang Jungwon who’s currently the CEO of the top corporation in South Korea. The dinner wasn’t just them and Kazuha, there were other guests too. He knew his parents’ move — this meant that he couldn’t do any brass action in front of them.

“Jungwon, meet Miss Nakamura Kazuha,” his mother introduced, smiling at the woman who seemed demure and elegant. She was beautiful, Jungwon thinks, but she’s not you, of course.

Jungwon greeted her formally with a dimpled smile. Kazuha reciprocated it casually as she accepted the man’s hand. “From Nakamura Tech, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise, Mr. Yang.” Kazuha replied, and with their exchange of greetings, Jungwon’s mother seemed satisfied, giving Kazuha a light tap on the shoulder.

“We’ll leave you two be, get to know each other too, excuse us,” the old woman left the two alone that moment, causing a dead air between them, Jungwon knows how to deal with this after his numerous proposal, that’s why he offered Kazuha some drink which the woman happily accepted.

“I must say that it’s a surprise to see you here Ms. Nakamura,” Jungwon opened up. “It’s rare for my parents to invite anyone, if you know what I mean.”

“Your parents have been in long contact with me,” Kazuha shared. “They’re offering me something, that’s why I am here.”

“My hand in marriage, I suppose,” the man concluded without a second doubt.

Kazuha chuckled at his words, “Yes, if I am being honest Mr. Yang.”

“I am afraid I have to reject the proposal Ms. Nakamura, you see, my heart belongs to someone else.”

“I know, Ms. l/n right?” Kazuha answered and Jungwon’s expression faltered.

“How did you know?” he asked, surprised.

“Your parents told me, hence the marriage proposal and merging of companies,” that’s when she let out a deep, worried sigh. “I don’t want this too but Mr. Yang, but I am desperate.”

“From what I’ve heard Miss Nakamura, you aren’t reliable in this field, I’ve learned of your incompetencies and mismanagement of your company way before you stepped foot here. I don’t want this partnership to be a charity work, so I am sorry, I couldn’t help you.” Jungwon pointed out.

But Kazuha didn’t feel offended by the man’s words. She nodded as she took a sip on her wine. “Your parents said otherwise, they were willing to help me.”

“Just to tie me down in a marriage? Bullshit, I am currently the head of Eden, so all decisions will be made by me,” Jungwon argued.

“Even so, without the marriage and merging, could you help me, please?” Kazuha asked, almost pleading and desperate and yet, Jungwon remained unfettered by her plea.

“I’ll think about Ms. Nakamura, but for now, would you please excuse me? I need to find my parents,” Kazuha only nodded, letting Jungwon, who felt sour to the idea, go.

Jungwon found his parents talking to some of their friends, his anger hadn't melted down and the itch to confront them was there. But there were other guests inside, that’s why he held it in, remained composed before approaching his parents and asking them for a talk in private.

They ended up in his father’s house office. The door closed with a suffocating tension inside. Jungwon faced his parents who were waiting, not surprised to see their son this furious.

“We are not merging companies with Nakamura tech, and the marriage isn’t going to happen,” Jungwon told his parents. “If you think that this is a way for me to stop seeing y/n, you two are wrong.”

“You are a disgrace Jungwon,” his father said angrily, pointing at his son who didn’t flinch. “I don’t care how long you’ve been seeing her, I want you to stop making any contact with her. Do you want our image to be tarnished by being linked to them?”

“Why? What’s wrong with them? They’re one of the top corporations here, they have a reputable name, and if you guys didn’t hold onto that silly little grudge of yours and just merged with them years ago, we could have total control of the economy,” Jungwon explained.

“I'd rather die than for that to happen,” his father declared. 

“Can’t wait,” Jungwon taunted and for that, his father punched him without any hesitation. Jungwon stumbled on the floor, lips bloodied and yet, he laughed mockingly at the situation. 

The older man grabbed Jungwon by the collar, lifting him up from the floor as the smile on his lips remained. “Don’t fucking laugh at me Jungwon, you may be the head of the company, but I am still your father.”

“Fuck, I don’t care about that,” Jungwon slurred before chuckle escaped his lips. “I love y/n, and not even you two could stop me.”

Filled with rage, his father threw him back on the floor. The loud thud only made Jungwon laugh louder, cursing under his breath as his father pointed at him angrily.

“Break up with her,” his father instructed. “Do it immediately if you really care about her life.”

That’s when the younger man stopped, glancing at his father as he tried to process everything. “Don’t you ever touch her.”

“She’s an enemy Jungwon, I can dispatch her whenever I like,” the older man reminded. “But you’re still my son, I’ll give you a chance. Do as I told you and I’ll leave her alone.”

With those final words, Jungwon’s father left him alone there, in pain and bruised lips, but that didn’t matter to Jungwon, and instead, he rest his head on the floor, body filled with ache and as the only thing he could think of was you.

-

A few weeks later, Jungwon asked you out on a date.

Dates are rare. Your hotel meetups weren’t dates. Dates should be romantic, sweet, and filled with surprises but your relationship wasn’t normal after all. That’s why Jungwon’s invitation left you half-anxious, and half-excited.

You don’t know what Jungwon had prepared but all you knew was that it had to be discreet and hidden. In restaurants with private rooms and trusted people, serving good food. Your heart was pounding out of your chest as you drove your way towards the address Jungwon sent you.

You left the keys to the valet and walked towards the entrance when you stopped to see two familiar figures in front of it.

“Mom, dad, what are you two doing here?” you asked as you walked towards them.

“Your mother was craving their pasta, that’s why we decided to have dinner here,” your father explained. “What about you?”

“Meeting a potential investor, hopefully, they will be here,” you lied and your parents bought it immediately.

“If that’s the case, then how about you join us? It will be helpful if we also put in our insights, right darling?” your mother said sweetly. 

“You’re right dear, you know that we’re always here at every step of your career y/n,” your father added.

You were left with no choice but to nod, accepting their request. Your parents entered the restaurant first while you trail behind, fishing out your phone to text Jungwon about the sudden emergency.

The place wasn’t full at all. It was a weekday, that’s why a few tables were occupied — that included Jungwon who sat alone at a corner table. His place was hidden, almost felt like he’s out of place but you knew that it was the best spot for you two to enjoy dinner.

“What the hell is Yang Jungwon doing here?” your mother sneered.

You raised an eyebrow, acting innocent as you looked around. “Yang Jungwon?”

“Look at him, such a narcissistic jerk,” your father commented with a scoff. “Do you know they’re eyeing on the Nakamuras to invest in their company?”

“What?” That's when you glanced at your father with surprise. You may have failed to close a deal with her but you trust your guts that Jungwon’s words were right — you just didn’t expect that they’re also running after her company too.

“Yes, that’s why he was at Mr. Han’s project launch. I heard he wasn’t invited at all, he was given last minute out of formality,” your father explained and slowly, everything’s starting to connect. Jungwon’s appearance was a last-minute invitation. You don’t know if your parents were telling the truth, but you wanted to insist that Jungwon show up because of you. 

“Right, they’re offering marriage right? How dirty! They’re so desperate that they opted to partner with foreign companies?”

Your heart dropped at the news. Marriage? Is this why Jungwon’s asking you out on a date? Was he going to call it off? Your mind suddenly went blank. Memories of you and Jungwon from the past few years started to flash in your mind. If it’s true then you’re thankful that your parents saved you from the heartbreak —

“Y/n? Is there anything you want? Are you alright?” you snapped out of your mind when your mother touched your arms. You flinched at her warmth but immediately, you gave them a quick smile before clearing your throat.

“I’ll just have the salmon please,” you said to her, whose worry washed away with your smile.

While your parents talked in their own world, you couldn’t help but to take a quick glance at Jungwon who you locked your eyes with in a second. You gave him a short, sorry smile and he nodded, understanding your situation.

Dinner started and you sat there while your parents indulged in the food and talk. You focused on your food, your mind still filled with thoughts about what your parents said about Jungwon earlier.

You looked at Jungwon, he looked like he’s having dinner alone — casual and in his own world. It looked like the situation doesn’t affect him at all, and you’re itching to know why he seemed so chill about everything.

While you’re here, sitting with your parents, overthinking about everything that involves you and him.

“Y/n, is your guest arriving?” your gaze shifted towards your parents. Heart hammering like crazy, hoping they didn’t notice how your stare towards Jungwon lingered too long.

“Oh,” you pretend to look at your phone before giving them a pitied smile. “They aren’t responding to my text at all. I don’t know if they’ll show up.”

“How irresponsible,” your mother commented. “Well, it’s a good thing that we’re here.”

“Right, thank you for accompanying me,” you only said before you took a sip on your wine. Your parents went back to their conversation, while your eyes shifted again towards your lover whose eyes were on you too.

Jungwon raised his glass, subtle and quick, and that made you smile, you tipped your glass in response, quick and short. Both of your eye contact remained as you took a sip on your glass. It assured you somehow and your thoughts that night vanished in just a glimpse.

Hours passed and you found yourself back in your house, alone and disappointed with tonight's outcome. The only thing you could do was to take a quick shower to wash off today's exhaustion, and hopefully — get some good night's sleep.

But you knew tonight wasn’t over when a text from Jungwon showed up on your phone. 

Nuggets? his text said and you knew what it was. A small smile formed on your lips unknowingly before you grabbed a large cotton jacket and left your place in your pajamas. 

You made a quick detour at a 24/7 fast food chain nearby and ordered a ten-piece chicken nuggets along with some curly fries and rootbeer float. As soon as you got your order, you drove your way out of the city in a hurry.

Somewhere uphill, at an not-so abandoned lot that’s filled with nothing but tall trees and one singular flickering streetlight, awaits Jungwon who’s sitting at the hood of his car. He was already in his sleeping clothes too. A cotton pajamas set paired with his university jacket to warm him up. 

You arrived minutes later after him. After you parked your car beside him, you turned off the machine, grabbed your food and left the car.

You approached Jungwon who only gave you a smile before pointing out his order from a different foodplace. He helped you get on top of the hood of his car and in silence, the two of you sat there and stared at the view.

The night was cold yet serene. The view didn’t add to the tranquility. The dark, secluded forest that’s probably inhabited by wild animals and wandering ghosts was your view, and yet, you never found any reason to be scared of it because this was the only place that you and Jungwon could be together.

Not in your expensive suits and dress, nor with your sophisticated words and formal personality — this is a place wherein your body and soul only yearn for each other’s presence and comfort, not for pleasure and intimacy. 

It’s just you, Jungwon, your take-out orders, and probably any stray creatures at the forest, trying to enjoy the night under the dimmed, flickering streetlight, wearing your sleeping clothes. Somehow, something about the whole setup made you two feel so normal — as if the two of you are a young couple out for a late-night date away from the city.

You took a sip on your rootbeer float first. You noticed Jungwon winced at your choice of drink but you didn’t comment on how he ordered onion rings that’s already soggy and made his breath smell like onion. Both of you found comfort on the greasy, unhealthy food as silence devoured you for the following minutes.

“My parents have discovered about us,” Jungwon opened up. “I was about to confess it to you during our date, my parents are forcing me to end it.”

“Then my parents ruined it,” you complained.

“Our parents ruined it,” he heaved, sounding annoyed than ever which made you focus on your food instead.

The silence crept in for the next few minutes. You’re already on your sixth nuggets when a thought struck you. 

“That’s it?” you asked, confused.

Jungwon looked at you, confused with your reaction. “What?”

You shrugged, “that’s all you got to say?”

“They’ve been in contact with Kazuha ever since, they were planning to marry me off to her,” Jungwon added and that’s where hunches were right.

“My parents told me that,” you told him.

“I’m not going to marry her, don't worry, she’s completely useless to me,” Jungwon assured and though a bit harsh, you chuckled as the weight in your heart faded away.

“That’s a bit harsh.”

“I know, but you know me, I won’t marry anyone unless it’s you,” Jungwon proclaimed and that made you look at him with a bitter smile because despite his assurance, something still feels off.

“Do you think it’s going to be like this forever?” you asked instead before taking a bite on your nuggets.

“I…honestly don’t know either,” Jungwon admitted, tone full of regret. “For the first time in my life, I never thought about the future.”

“We’re a bunch of cowards, don’t you think?” you laughed but Jungwon remained quiet.

You stared at him before your hand reached for his. He squeezed it lightly, trying to convince you that he’s fine but his expressions give it away.

“I don’t like to keep it like this forever,” he said, feeling ashamed that you two have to hide it from the world. It felt like it was his fault that you two couldn’t be together in public.

But you only smiled at him. “Is this the part where we have to settle with our relationship?”

“No,” Jungwon sternly replied. “I don’t want to confront that topic right now.”

“Then what are we going to do?” you asked, tone desperate.

“Let’s just eat, your nuggets’s getting cold now,” he changed the topic instead and you rolled your eyes. His hand had left yours as he grabbed his box and grabbed another piece.

“Jungwon.”

“I love you, that’s the only thing that matters right now.” he stated before taking a bite.

You only stared at him. Appalled at his words that your heart skipped a beat. It should feel reassuring but there’s a small part of you that felt that it wasn’t enough.

Yet, you don’t want to acknowledge that emptiness because it’ll just make things hard for the both of you, that’s why you could only smile bitterly at him. “I love you too Won, and I wish that there’s a universe out there where our circumstances are different.”

“It could happen in this universe, you know?” Jungwon convinced.

You chuckled in disbelief. “You think so?”

“I hope so,” he said nonchalantly and that made you laugh.

“We’re so bad at giving hope, don’t you think?”

Jungwon laughed at your answer, he nudged you quietly before glancing at your food. “Just go finish your chicken babe.”

-

That was the last time you saw him.

It’s been weeks since you last saw Yang Jungwon. Your conversation that night should’ve left you assured and confident with Jungwon.

But why did he suddenly disappear like a ghost? The last time you heard about him was that he was leaving for Japan, for some business matters. You didn’t pry further but the communication started to slip away. No more calls nor texts. All of your text was left unread that made you wonder what’s going on with him.

You decided to spend your energy on your work instead. Time felt slow as your office became busy and overwhelming. It didn’t help that there’s a sudden change of plans in the upcoming years, hence completely ruining what you have visioned for Kingsmark. Your parents advised you to not rush yourself, but their words felt as if they’re holding you back instead.

You know that they still have control of the company, but what’s your purpose if they wouldn’t trust your decisions completely? You suddenly felt useless and burned out. A lot of things shifted for the past few weeks. Resignations of employees, changes in board of directors — and even partnered companies, were slowly disappearing week by week. 

You could’ve asked your parents to leave everything to you but at the same time, you couldn’t bear to disobey your parents. That’s why you suck it up, because you think that they’re doing what’s best for you and Kingsmark.

That’s why you found yourself driving towards a restaurant for a private meeting. A potential investor, your parents told you, and with this partnership, Kingsmark will rise up to the top, beating Eden, just like what they always want too. You didn’t bother arguing with their wish and just obliged with it, hoping that this could be a stepping stone for them to get what they always wanted.

As you arrived at the restaurant, you were led to a private room where your parents were. They greeted you with a hug before leading you towards a tall man who seemed foreign.

He was handsome, face sculpted like he was a model, and his outfit seemed informal for a business meeting. But you didn’t question it as he gave you a smile. 

“Y/n, this is Mr. Nishimura Riki,” your father introduced.

“Hello,” you greeted, giving him your hand which he accepted.

“He’s your future husband,” your mother said. 

That’s when you froze, tugging away your hands from his. He seemed offended as you looked at him with disgust before looking at your parents with confusion.

“Husband?” you muttered.

“She was just shocked Mr. Nishimura, give her time to process,” your mother insisted at the man who hasn’t said any word.

“No, I’m sorry, you must be mistaken,” you laughed before shaking your head. “There will be no wedding nor any arrangement, I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

Hastily, you left the room and ran your way out of the restaurant — ignoring your parents who followed you immediately.

“Y/n! Y/n come back here!” you ignored your mother’s voice and started running faster despite wearing stilettos.

But the crooked pavement didn’t help either. You were cursing under your breath as you almost trip while walking. That’s when you gave up, standing frozen at your place as you try to sink everything that happened inside the restaurant.

“Y/n —”

“I am not marrying a stranger ma — we don’t need them! Our company’s doing great,” you stated but your mother’s face shifted into disappointment as she shook her head.

“You’re failing Kingsmark, you’re not fit to take over and lead the company,” your mother argued and that made you raise an eyebrow. 

“I am doing everything for Kingsmark but you guys always have to interfere — I couldn’t even make decisions without you guys intervening in everything,” you insisted.

“We have to,” this time, it was your father who talked. His voice was authoritative and clearly, he was mad at you. “You’re not trustworthy enough y/n, especially ever since you started seeing that Yang Jungwon.”

Your world stopped. The revelation came crashing down like a meteorite. You gaze on both your parents, trying to articulate words. 

“H-how…how did you —”

“We know from the start. We knew y/n and we let you continue your foolish affair, we were just waiting for you to wake up,” your father explained, and you couldn’t believe everything he just said.

“Wake up? What are you talking about —”

“Jungwon is still a Yang, and he will always be, do you really think he loves you? He’ll do everything to make Eden group remain at its spot.” he insisted and that made you scoff.

“Jungwon’s not like that, he’s different.” you defended.

“How sure are you? Open your eyes y/n, he’s just using you, he knows you’re weak and kind-hearted, and that selfish bastard took advantage of you.” your mother argued. 

You became quiet for a moment. You recalled everything — everything you and Jungwon had.

It should be real. What you two had. You know and your heart is telling you that everything is real. You could see the way he looks at you, how he cared, and assure you. Everything was real. It should be. 

But everything made sense all of the sudden. Ever since you took over your family’s company. Something shifted with Jungwon. All the projects and plans you unknowingly spilled on him as you cry your stress out to him — it always ends up with Eden group having the same idea. He seemed to become more attentive with you leading Kingsmark, it was as if he wanted to know all the future plans that you have.

Then came Kazuha. He knew that you were planning to have her as an investor. It doesn’t feel like a coincidence that later on, he was supposed to marry her. What if everything he said that night was just a lie? Everything seemed to align — his absence, him being in Japan — everything makes sense and yet, you don’t want to accept the reality.

Your vision started to blur as tears formed on your eyes. You looked at your parents with nothing but mere denial on your face.

“But…I love him,” you confessed to them, almost a mumble as you felt embarrassed confessing to your parents that you have loved an enemy.

“You’ll learn to love Riki someday sweetheart,” your mother insisted but you shook your head. You can’t just love someone all of the sudden. You couldn’t — all your heart yearns for is Jungwon.

“No.” you stated loud and clear. “I’m going to fix Kingsmark on my own. Without your help, without Riki’s help, I am going to do this alone from now on.”

“You have proved to us that you’re incapable of handling Kingsmark,” your father rebutted. “The contracts have been signed. We’ll be merging with their company whether you like it or not.”

“Without consulting me?” you asked, feeling betrayed than ever. “If that was the case, then you shouldn’t have made me the heiress of the company.”

“You’re being rebellious, you knew from the start that you’ll inherit the company — that damn Yang Jungwon’s corrupting you!” your father accused.

That’s when you scoff, “if that was the case then I’d be happy to be corrupted by him.”

A slap. A sharp one stinged as your mother’s hand landed on your face. You were in total daze as realization hit you. 

“Wake up y/n, this isn’t a fairytale. You’re a l/n, you belong to Kingsmark the same way Jungwon belongs to Eden. You two aren’t just made for each other,” your mother coldly stated while you remained frozen, trying to process the slap your mother just gave you.

Even with your cheeks numb, it didn’t hurt more than the fact that trying to separate you from Jungwon.

“You and Jungwon are not meant to be y/n, he’s off there getting married to someone else.” your father said.

“He rejected the proposal, he wouldn’t be marrying anyone unless it’s me and I’ll do the same,” you objected.

“How sure are you about that y/n, there’s a reason why he’s in Japan, isn’t he?”

No. No way. It was the one thing that you dreaded to become a reality — Jungwon completely betraying you.

To add fuel to the fire, your father gave you his phone and with shaky hands, you grabbed it to see pictures of Jungwon and Kazuha together.

Different photos. In hotel lobbies, coffee shops, and restaurants. In public. Out loud compared to you and your hidden affair.

They were smiling, together, in public — it was your only dream with him and yet, reality hit you harder — that your dream will forever remain a dream.

“They’re getting married y/n, so stop this madness and accept the fact that you two will never be together.” your mother said, and from there, tears started to stream down from your eyes. 

“Next week, your official engagement party will be held. Be prepared, and make sure you’ve grown acquainted with Riki, we shouldn’t disappoint him.” your father explained. “Don’t disappoint us y/n. You don’t want us to be your enemy right?”

“Or what? You’d hurt me just like what mom did?” you mocked.

“You might never see Jungwon, ever again,” your father threatened and that’s when you didn’t argue anymore, knowing how capable your parents were to get rid of a threat to them.

-

The engagement party arrived a few days later. It felt rushed, but you knew that your parents were persistent to tie you down with someone else. 

It was a private event. Held in a well-known venue that has a beautiful grassfield on display, only a few people were invited, and by tomorrow — your engagement will be announced in public.

From the outside, you could hear the crowd already. Their murmurs and gossip while your heart tightened at the idea. You were concealing your emotions, hoping to put a good show for the crowd. 

“Let’s go?” Riki asked, holding out his arm which you accepted without any thought. Over the last few days, you got to know your fiance. He was cold and guarded, it seemed like he thinks of this marriage as purely out of business only.

You entered the reception hall with your hands resting on Riki’s arms. The crowd applauded at your entrance while your smile became faker as all eyes were on you two. Despite the cheers and claps, you could hear your heart drumming loudly, screaming for you to leave, run away, and never return.

But this is your world. This is how you were born and raised, you have to accept that the life of luxury and living in an empire was all you ever taught growing up. That included marriage too, everything is a matter of business, connection, and power.

That’s why, whatever your parents had arranged with Riki, you just hoped that it was worth everything. 

Just as you thought things could go worse, your eyes gazed at the corner and that’s when your heart bursted out of your chest. Eyes turned wide as at the corner, you see him.

Jungwon, holding a glass of wine. He raised the glass with a bitter expression on his face. You weren’t able to process everything, not when Riki tugged you closer to him. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, and you nodded immediately. Letting him guide you towards your parents who seemed to be pleased with the situation. Your mother hugged you tightly but you couldn’t even reciprocate her hug. You couldn’t believe that the next place you’d ever see Jungwon was in your engagement party.

Your parents invited him on purpose. They knew what they were doing, and you don't know why Jungwon entered their trap — a part of you wondered if he knew too and still went here.

As you broke out of the hug, you tried to glance at his place again but he’s not there anymore. Your eyes search for him, but it was too late when your parents pulled you to have you be introduced to some strangers.

The party started but your mind was elsewhere. You couldn’t get out of Riki’s hold either. It looks like your parents have informed him about Jungwon and to keep an eye on you. You couldn’t do anything but to go along with it, faking smiles and engaging in conversation with strangers and people you barely knew.

“You seem out of your head,” Riki commented as the hour passed by.

“Just tired,” you lied, even though your mind is still searching for Jungwon.

Riki nodded at your words. “Do you want to rest?”

“I would love that,” you replied shortly.

But before you could even move, the lights turned off all of the sudden. The room was filled with gasps and screams of surprise, everyone was trying to process everything that just happened — even you.

It wasn’t until an arm grabbed you out of nowhere, you weren’t able to let out a scream when the stranger’s hand covered your mouth before dragging you out of the venue.

The drag was long. Everything was pitch black until a gentle breeze welcomed you and from the dimmed lights on the venue’s garden, you saw the person behind the commotion — that’s when it hit you.

“You’re getting married!?” Jungwon asked furiously. His grip on you loosened as he looked at you like you’ve betrayed him.

“My parents have arranged this,” you explained.

“And you agreed with it?”

“I have no choice Jungwon, it’s for Kingsmark —”

But Jungwon laughed mockingly. “Really? You’re selling your soul for your company, for fuck’s sake y/n, marriage isn’t the solution to that!”

“I have no choice, Jungwon, you’ve stolen everything!” you argued back, startling Jungwon who looked at you confused.

“What?” he breathed.

“Our partnered companies, stockholders — even our suppliers and staff, they are all leaving us and moving to Eden group,” you explained.

“You think I’m behind all of this?” he asked, appalled by your accusation.

“Because there’s no other explanation other than that! Everything happened the moment I became Kingsmark’s head and something shifted on you Jungwon.” you pointed out.

“That’s it? You think I’d do that?”

“You’re a Yang, you’ll do everything to keep your company on top,” you accused and from there, Jungwon’s expression changed. He looked at you in disbelief, shocked that you’d say those words.

“I thought we passed through that?”

“I don’t know Jungwon, I don’t know if I should trust you ever since we — ever since we dated, Kingsmark has been slowly decreasing and failing.” you explained.

“You’re going to blame that on me? Maybe you’re just incompetent that’s why it’s failing,” he rebutted. 

That was a low blow. You were surprised that those words came out of his mouth. You convinced yourself that it was just Jungwon being frank and brutal, but something about what he said felt like a dagger to your heart.

What hurts most was that he doesn’t look sorry at all, and that’s when it hits you — that maybe, your parents are right all along.

“Right, maybe it’s me who’s incompetent, that’s why I am making things right,” you agreed. “And if this marriage is the solution, I’m going to do it —”

“What the fuck!? Are you serious? Do you even know who you’re marrying? Do you even know their background or maybe, you’re that desperate to beat Eden group?” he fumed.

You nodded to his words, even if it felt bitter. “Maybe I am that desperate, because I am not going to let Kingsmark end with me.”

“Nishimura Riki from the clan of the Nishimura yakuzas? A well-known yakuza clan in Okayama who later venture to different prefectures in Japan and made their name well-known, they sell illegal stuff. Drugs, weapons, and assasination — you’re marrying a dangerous man y/n,” Jungwon explained.

“I guess my parents think that it was better for me to be married to a dangerous man rather than to you Jungwon.” you said in disbelief, even laughing at your situation.

“You’re okay with that?”

“Because they left me no choice, Jungwon,” you heaved. Deep inside you wanted to tell him. The threat, your fear of what they might do to him.

You don’t know what your parents would do if you continue your relationship with Jungwon. You don’t want to put his life in danger too, that’s why in order to keep the person you love the most safe, you have to sacrifice yourself.

“What about us then?” he asked.

“There’s no us anymore Jungwon.”

“Suddenly? It’s so easy for you to throw everything that we had,” he scoffed.

“Do we really have something Jungwon? Who knows maybe you were just a goddamn good actor that everything was just an act just to infiltrate my company.” you accused. 

“You think low of me to think that I’d do that y/n.” 

“Then what’s the reason? Why did you love me Jungwon?” you questioned as your eyes started to get wet.

“It just happened.” Jungwon answered, short and simple. “Just like yours, it just happened, and our feelings don’t lie y/n, I know you love me, you’re just scared to disappoint your parents.”

“That’s right, I have disappointed them enough, failing Kingsmark, loving their rival’s son — it’s no use Jungwon, we are just not meant to be, we’re better with somebody else,” you told him.

“What do you mean?” Jungwon asked, confused.

“You’re marrying Kazuha.”

“I am not.”

“Then why are you together in Japan!?” you shouted. 

“I was helping her with her company! In that way the marriage won’t happen! I set her up with a friend! Why do you think that I’d marry her? If that was your breaking point to agree to the marriage, then you don’t trust me enough,” Jungwon argued. 

“Maybe I do, because I don’t know if everything about us is real,” you supposed.

Jungwon stared at you for a minute. Disbelief still evident on his face. “Were those real for you? Why are you doubting us suddenly? What did your parents planted in your mind that made you hesitate and doubt our love? We’ve been together for eight years, if I want to betray you, I would’ve done it earlier.” 

“Yeah, maybe I am doubting our love because if it’s love, why do we have to keep it a secret?” you pondered.

“You know the answer to that, we simply just couldn’t.” Jungwon reminded.

“Right, that’s why I am not going to keep this any longer,” you said in defeat.

“You’re just ending things just like that? Just because of a misunderstanding? You’re just going to give us up easily?” 

“Well, would you? Are you going to give up everything for us to happen?” you rebutted.

“You know I would y/n, because I love you and you know I’d risk everything if it means we get to be together forever,” Jungwon declared and yet, you remained unfazed. You only stood there, frozen and confused.

“How about you? Are you going to do the same? But seeing that fear got you first, I don’t think you love me the same way that I love you,” he pointed out.

“That’s not true Jungwon, I love you. I love you enough that I took the risk of meeting you, being with you, and everything —”

“But it’s not enough for you to fight for us. I also need you to fight for me. We’re in this together. I need you too y/n,” Jungwon explained, tone soft yet tired as he looked at you who couldn’t do anything.

“I’m sorry Jungwon.” you cried, tears streaming down your eyes. 

“Don’t do this.” he begged once again, sounding more desperate than ever. “We made a promise y/n, we…it’s us against the world, we could —”

“We couldn’t Jungwon,” you breathed. “We, we’re just not meant to be, you know that.”

Jungwon stared at you for a good minute.

“I’m sorry, I’m tired of our situation, I couldn’t do this anymore,” you said before turning around and starting to walk away — but he caught your arms immediately, making you stop.

“You’re giving up all of a sudden? We’ve been doing this for eight goddamn years, and you’re throwing it all in just a snap? I can’t believe you.” Jungwon spoke. He wasn’t angry anymore, his tone was more of a beg, and that just hurts you even more.

“To love is to let go, Jungwon,” you said to him before removing his hold on you. “I love you so much but I just know that you’ll meet someone better, someone — who you could love outloud, and I’m not that girl.”

“If you love someone, you’d fight for them y/n,” Jungwon rebutted. “Why do you think that letting go is the best choice when you could just fight for our love? This is much better because I am with you in this situation y/n, you’re not alone.”

“I can’t fight anymore Jungwon, I am tired,” you insisted before you faced and gently gave him a kiss. “I’m sorry.” 

Jungwon was frozen by your actions. Your eyes were already red and wet from your cries. He wasn’t able to do anything but to watch you mouth your apology to him one last time before you turned around and walked away from him again.

“You think I won’t fight for our love y/n!?” Jungwon shouted, making you stop. “I’d do it in a heartbeat but I wanted to ask, can you do the same thing to me?”

Instead of answering, you started walking again, slowly away from him as the tears from your eyes continued to pour.

-

Moving on wasn’t your best forte.

Sure, you had a fair share of past relationships before Jungwon happened but the problem is, they’re not Jungwon.

They weren’t Yang Jungwon who was supposed to be your enemy. They weren’t him who you meet in secret, in your own little world, away from the crowd and the empires that were built to become your hindrance. They weren’t him who loved you only for you, not as the golden spoon-borned heiress. Just you.

Eight years. Eight fucking years and you just ended it in just one night because you weren’t Jungwon who’s not afraid to fight for love. You’re just you, someone who’s lost and knows the only right thing to do is, do what’s best.

You’re your parents’ only daughter. The sole heiress of Kingsmark. You’re destined to continue your family lineage and build a stronger foundation of Kingsmark. Arranged marriages aren’t new in your world, so you just have to accept that this is the world you grew up to.

It’s been two weeks since you and Jungwon called it off. Two weeks and your engagement with Nishimura Riki had been publicized to the world.

True to Jungwon’s words, Riki was indeed a dangerous man, but he was still powerful nonetheless. You concluded that this marriage wasn’t just for you to be separated from Jungwon, but also to gain power outside your country.

Riki was a quiet man. Cold yet you could see that he has a protective side when it comes to you. He seemed to have warmed up to you while you’ve grown accustomed to his presence, it felt like a guard dog given to you.

Despite his presence and that expensive engagement ring on your fourth finger, you couldn’t find yourself moving on from your relationship with Jungwon. Not when it was abrupt, sudden — without any closure at all. You just left Jungwon there, wondering what went wrong.

You didn’t even try calling him or sending him any message. No amount of apologies and sorry could make up for the damage you have done to him. You have hurt him too much that you’re ashamed to face him. That’s why the only thing that you could do was hope for the best for him.

Then came the sudden news. You were in your office when you heard it.

Eden group of companies under fire for alleged embezzlement of 800 billion won.

Suddenly, your ears turned deaf and everything felt mute as Jungwon’s face was plastered on the television. You couldn’t make up the words the anchor was saying but your heart was screaming Jungwon.

Jungwon.

Is Jungwon okay?

What the hell is this? Is Jungwon involved in this?

You snapped out of your thoughts and hastily, your shaky hands grabbed your phone and dialed Jungwon’s phone — only for the number to be unregistered.

You tried once, twice — numerous times before you gave up. A curse and two escaped your lips before you scrolled through every contact you have with Jungwon but none. It’s as if Jungwon blocked you or disappeared.

You sat there clutching your phone tightly while your heart tightened even more. Everything hurts. Jungwon, you don’t know what’s going on with him right now and you badly wanted to know how he is.

But the guilt crept more to you as you recalled your last moments with Jungwon, remembering how you walked away from him. You wanted to curse yourself for giving up on him. Just when he needed you the most, you walked away from him.

Your trail of thoughts disappeared when your parents entered your office. They seem in a good mood, so you try to brush the news as you close your phone and try to plaster a smile.

“Dear, did you see the news?” your mother asked sweetly that it halted on to you.

Your heart hammered louder. They looked as if they’re anticipating your reaction, while you looked at them with eyes wide.

“Is this about Jungwon?” you asked them back.

“This is what we’re talking about,” your mother said softly, but to you, it felt mocking.

“I don’t understand,” you only said.

“Their truth is now exposed, thank goodness because they deserve what’s about to happen to them,” your father stated and from how they reacted, something felt off.

“You guys did that?” you asked, appalled.

“We did it for you,” your mother explained, and that’s when the truth hit you. “To show you how dirty Yang Jungwon is.”

You shook your head, “no, he’s not — he won’t do something like that. You set him up.”

“We didn’t, they just don’t know how to clean up their own mess.” your father answered.

That’s when you exploded, standing up with rage as you looked at them. “Why do you have to do that!? Was it enough for you to marry me off to Riki!? You told me you won’t do anything to Jungwon.”

“This is just a pure business kid,” your father answered and that made you stop. “You’d understand it someday.”

“I’ll never understand because you never ever tried to look at me as someone who’s capable of doing things on my own.” you mocked. “I had enough of this, I am tired of you controlling me, and I won’t let you control my life anymore.”

You stood up from your seat, grabbed your things and left your office, ignoring your parent’s shouts as your mind turned blank and spiralled. You were overwhelmed. Every emotion — anger, guilt, and anxiety mixed with your brain but you decided to just do what your heart is telling you to do.

You got into your car and drove towards the only person who knew about Jungwon. Giving your car keys to the valet, you immediately entered the lobby, and to your luck — he was there.

“Sunoo, I need to talk to Jungwon,” you stated the moment you approached the man.

But Sunoo only stared. He looked surprised to see you here, filled with desperation and yet, he didn’t budge. The man looked like he was thinking whether to tell you or not, which meant that Sunoo knows something. 

“He’s not here y/n,” Sunoo answered. “They’re investigating Eden group right now, and since he’s the head, he’s probably either hiding, or complying with the investigation. He’s in deep trouble right now.”

“I know, that’s why I need to talk to him.” you repeated.

Sunoo shrugged casually, “I don’t know about his whereabouts y/n. Jungwon disappeared.”

Your forehead creased to his answer. “Disappeared?”

The man nodded, “disappeared. He left. Vanished without any trace — I don’t know. I couldn’t reach him or anything.”

“He wouldn’t — I — I need to help him,” you said. “My parents — they’re behind this, and I need to help —”

“Breathe y/n, calm down please,” Sunoo said softly, holding your cold, sweaty hands as he helped you with your breathing. You couldn’t help but to worry further, especially when the only trail you have towards Jungwon doesn’t have a single clue about his presence.

“Sunoo, I need to help him,” you muttered and the man only nodded.

“If there’s someone who knows Jungwon the best between us, that’s you y/n,” Sunoo advised. “So calm down, and just let Jungwon do this. He knows how to handle this case.”

-

You were losing hope.

The scandal was all over the news for the past following days. It haunted you. You wondered about Jungwon’s whereabouts. You looked everywhere for him but nothing. 

He’s gone. 

Just gone in a glimpse, and you thought you couldn’t do anything about it anymore — not until your phone rang late at night and a message appeared to you. All your worries faded.

Nuggets?

That one word. That damn one word was all you needed to get your hopes high.

Jungwon’s alive, and he’s asking you to meet him. He’s alive — and he wanted to see you. The thought repeated in your mind numerous times before it sinked into you. The text made you hopeful. Your heart was filled with determination as you grabbed your phone, car keys, and jacket, and left your flat.

Driving towards that spot. You could feel your heart’s about to burst out of your chest anytime. You were nervous, scared of how to confront Jungwon but there’s a small hope in you that tries to ease you. It’s just Jungwon. He won’t do anything bad to you. 

You already noticed his car when you arrived at the empty lot. Parking your car and turning off the engine, you suddenly froze, seemingly scared to go out.

But there he was standing near his car. Hair messy and longer than usual, while his eyes looked tired, filled with dark circles underneath. It looks like the case took a toll on him but he spared his time to meet up.

He needs you. Your heart told you. There's no time for you to be scared, that’s why you got out of the car but stopped in front. Waiting for him to make a move.

Jungwon didn’t say anything and instead, he opened his arms wide — like he was asking for your hug and that was it.

You broke down.

You ran towards him who managed to catch you smoothly. His hug was tight and safe. Life suddenly felt safe and comforting to you as that familiar scent from your lover hit your nose.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to him. “I didn’t mean — for everything, I’m sorry —”

Your words were cut off when Jungwon crashed his lips against yours. Hungry, eager, and missing you like crazy. His hands that gripped your face were too tight but you couldn't do anything but to groan against his lips as you kissed him back with much intensity.

The kiss went for another minute and two until Jungwon broke out first, catching his breath as his stare on you lingered.

“It’s okay, I know you don’t mean it,” Jungwon said.

“I’m sorry Jungwon, I was just — just so scared of everything,” you apologized as your stare on him never left. “My parents — they, they told me that they’ll do something to you. That’s why I agreed.”

“We’ll talk about it for another day, but right now, I need you.” he replied and that made you look at him.

“Is it about your case?”

He nodded. “Your parents exposed it to the media,”

“They did, they confessed it to me,” you confirmed.

“Great, I owe them for that because my parents were planning on pining everything on me,” Jungwon stated and your ears rang at the confession.

“What? Why?”

“Because of us,” Jungwon answered, his thumb brushing onto your cheeks softly. “It wasn’t enough that I called it off, they wanted me to suffer.”

“Jungwon, what do you want me to do?” you asked.

“Testify with me.”

“For the case?”

“It’s about time that we tell everyone about us,” Jungwon decided. “But I need you to be there with me.”

“Can we do that? We’re talking about our parents, they could do more damage to us,” you asked, still filled with fear.

“We’re in this together y/n, we’ll get through this,” he assured.

But you weren’t able to say anything when you heard screeches of wheels driving towards your spot. You two separated from each other as both heads turned towards the direction of the sound.

Your eyes widened as you saw a familiar black maserati. Stopping in front of you, the door opened, and Riki went out of the vehicle, looking furious and mad.

“Jungwon —” Jungwon immediately pulled you behind him, shielding you from Riki who seemed to have every intention of taking you back.

Things went too fast for your sight. The next thing you knew, Riki landed a punch on Jungwon, making the man stumble upon the ground with a bloodied nose.

“Jungwon!” you shouted and screamed in terror as Riki pulled you away from Jungwon, you struggled against him as the tall man carried you away on his shoulders. 

You screamed Jungwon’s name as you tried to escape your way out of Riki’s grip, but all of your struggles were useless when he placed you down on the passenger seat before he moved towards the driver’s seat.

“Where’s your phone?” Riki asked as he started to pat down your clothes, you pushed Riki away but he was stronger, finally finding your phone and stealing it away from you.

“You didn’t have to do that!” you shouted at Riki.

“You listen to me,” the man ordered, cold and authoritative as he grabbed you by your face, facing him who had nothing but a predatory gaze that sent chills down your spine.

“You and I are getting married whether you like it or not. Your parents owe me billions, if you don’t compromise, it’ll be the end of them, do you understand?” he warned. 

“Billions?” you asked.

“How the fuck do you think your parents’ found the Yang’s dirt?” Riki shared and the revelation made your stomach churned.

“Are you serious?”

“Your parents made a deal with me, they knew what they’re doing,” Riki explained before he released his hold on you. “Unfortunate to you, you’re the product sold to me. So if you really love your parents, you shut the fuck up and don’t you ever meet up with Yang Jungwon ever again.”

“Is that a threat?” you asked, appalled.

“It’ll be if you disobey me once again,” he warned and that made you shut up.

“You’re lucky that it’s your parents’ life that’s at risk,” he glanced at Jungwon’s direction, a smirk becoming evident to his lips. “Or else, it’ll be his life.”

“Don’t you ever touch Jungwon,” you scowled at him but the man remained unfazed.

“If you want to keep him alive, you do everything I say,” he repeated once again and you were left with no choice. You watched as Riki turned off your phone and placed it in his jacket’s pocket. With nothing else you could do, you sinked into your chair as your cry started to become louder, wondering why everyone seemed so against you and Jungwon’s love.

-

The veil’s crown felt heavy on your head.

Your hair, filled with numerous extensions was tied into a bun, white flowers adorned around the bun along with a crown wherein your veil was extended.

You were glowing, all ethereal in your wedding gown and yet, the sorrow expression in your face couldn’t be erased. This was supposed to be a wonderful day for you, but this felt like a tragedy instead — knowing that the person who’s meeting you at the altar, wasn’t the one you love.

You watched in the mirror’s reflection how the stylist fixed your makeup with much precision. Your makeup was simple, and clean, keeping a pure image that complements your immaculate white wedding gown. While getting yourself prepared, your mind was spiraling, wondering about Jungwon’s whereabouts. You lost contact with him, and it didn’t help that Riki was guarding you 24/7.

You could only hope that he’s fine and that the case would be dissolved. You couldn’t meet him anymore, especially when there’s a threat waiting for him.

That’s why you had given up. Your loved ones are in danger and you don’t want to do any reckless acts anymore. If this wedding could give you a peace of mind that everyone you love will be safe, you’re willing to go on with it — even if it means marrying the man who has been nothing but a threat to you.

A knock on the door startled you. Turning around, you saw that it was just one of Riki’s men, informing you that the wedding car had arrived. You nodded to his words while you let the stylist do some last minute touch-ups before going. Eventually, she helped you get out of the hotel room, downwards the elevator, and enter the car.

With the door closing, the car drove away from the hotel. As you watch the hotel disappear in front of you, followed by the car entering the lane along with the hundred cars on the road, that’s when it sinked into you how sad and lonely your wedding day is.

The drive was smooth. It was quiet yet cold that you couldn’t help but to spiral. You missed Jungwon and his dimpled smile. You wished that it was him who’s at the altar, not some freaking yakuza.

That’s when you felt the tears forming on your eyelids and it didn’t help that you started to sob incoherently. You couldn’t even wipe the tears away due to your emotions, your cries became too much that the driver let out a deep sigh.

“All that crying will make you ugly,” you halted when you heard a familiar voice. You look up and that’s when you noticed who was driving the car.

“Sunoo!?” you shout in surprise as you see his face in the rearview mirror.

“You looked lovely bride-to-be,” he smiled. “But I am afraid that the wedding’s not going to happen”

“What?”

“Because you’re going to testify for Jungwon today. He’s holding a private conference today and he’s waiting for you.” he explained, and with that, he turned left, going in the opposite direction of the church.

Your eyes widened at his action, while Sunoo whistled happily before stepping on the gas pedal harder, almost making the car fly on the road.

“Sunoo — turn around please! I must go to the wedding,” you pleaded. “My parent’s in danger if I don't marry Riki.”

But Sunoo only scoffed, “Your parents? Your parents who're going to marry you off to a yakuza? Your parents who exposed and ruined Jungwon’s reputation?”

“Yes, my parents, now please Sunoo, I need to be at the wedding,” you begged but Sunoo remained unfazed.

“Y/n, listen, fuck your parents.” he stated and you were horrified to hear that from him.

“Don’t. Just don’t think about them. Think about yourself, are you seriously going to let yourself save your parents’ selfishness? They put Jungwon in danger, they’re the ones who forced you to marry a yakuza — y/n, you deserve more, you and Jungwon, you two deserve each other,” he lectured.

You became quiet for a moment.

“It’s time to show everyone what you’ve been hiding,” Sunoo added.

“I am scared Sunoo, what’s going to happen to me? To them?” you asked.

“If you love and trust Jungwon enough, you won’t be scared, he’ll be there for you, no matter what,” the man advised smoothly and yet, it didn’t lift the worry in your heart.

“Could I trust you with that?”

“Your parents must be a bunch of assholes for you to have trust issues,” Sunoo commented, “Whatever, just follow your heart or whatever corny shit you’ll do for love.”

The car stopped in front of a small court room. There were hundreds of reporters and photographers gathered outside as they continuously took photos of Jungwon who stood in front of them, holding a microphone pack while he had nothing but a blank expression on his face.

You stared at him, still appalled at the situation. He looked numbed and tired from everything, that your heart frailed in guilt. You remember the last time you two saw each other — he needed you to testify to him with the case.

It’s time for you two to show the world your love that you’ve been hiding for eight years.

“Go,” Sunoo said, making you look at him. The man only smiled at you as he gestured to you once again.

You hesitated for a moment before you opened the door, holding your wedding gown, you took off the veil and walked towards the crowd, stealing their attention from Jungwon who was speaking and now, went silent as he looked at you — surprised to see you here.

Jungwon always envisioned it. That someday, he’d see you walking towards him in your wedding gown, smiling at him as you carry a bouquet of your favorite flowers while he was standing at the end, heart filled with anticipation to marry the woman he had ever loved — Jungwon just didn’t expect that it’d happen earlier — and not during his wedding day.

You look beautiful of course. Breath-taking as your makeup enhanced your features and beauty. You held your head high like you were proud that you’re here, walking towards him without any hesitation — that’s when it struck him.

You’re here for him and for the whole world to know about you and him. You’re here to fight for your love for him.

“You’re here,” he whispered as you stood in front of him.

“I’m here, and I’m scared, but you’re here, so I’m less scared now,” you said to him, letting out a soft chuckle.

“Don’t worry, I won’t leave you in this one,” he said before he handed you the microphone pack.

Without any thought, you grabbed the pack from him, before you faced the crowd. Cameras started flashing, and videos were being recorded. The whole world’s about to know about you and Jungwon, so you took a deep breath and spoke.

“I am l/n y/n of Kingsmark Corp. and I am here to stand as a witness for Yang Jungwon and the allegations surrounding him.” You started, trying your best not to break your voice. 

“The embezzlement was true, I can testify it because it was my parents who exposed it to the media about Eden groups’ mishandling of funds,” you explained. “This is in order to beat Eden group and make Kingsmark Corp the top company.”

“Is there any proof that it was your parents who did this?” one reporter asked.

“They confessed it to me, verbally,” you answered. “I have a recording of the said conversation with me. I am willing to submit it as evidence upon the court’s request.”

“Mr. & Mrs. l/n paid news outlets for the articles to be published, it was accumulated that they spent five billion won just to expose Eden group,” Jungwon added. “The same five million won they borrowed from Eastnight Inc., which all of you know, has ties with the Nishimura clan.”

That’s when you stopped, looking at Jungwon whose face remained serious. 

“In exchange for Eden’s downfall, they sold their only daughter to the Nishimura clan to pay the debt off.” Jungwon’s hands reached for yours and you weren’t able to do anything as you tried to process everything that Jungwon had said.

“Where did you learn that?” one of them asked.

“I will not reveal my resources, but I have documents and files that prove that all of my statements and testaments are true.” Jungwon explained before letting out a deep sigh. “This also proves that I don’t have any involvement in any mishandling of funds of Eden group. It was my parents — they did this behind my back, forging my signature to receive funds from different partners and investors.” 

“What about the allegations that you were seen in different places most of the time, this caused suspicion from the investigators, would you like to clarify this part?” another reporter asked.

“It is true, I am always at different places — sketchy places, hidden ones, and seemingly a place to do illegal trades but the truth is, I was just meeting miss y/n,” Jungwon admitted and there it was.

Your secret’s out now. Jungwon said it without any hesitation.

“Miss y/n and I have a relationship. We’ve been seeing each other for eight years now.” Jungwon confessed as he looked at you, who only smiled at his statement. 

“But your families are rivals.”

“Hence why they wanted to destroy us, they’re punishing us only because we have loved,” you answered instead. “But we’re here now, talking in front of everyone, to prove that we’re innocent. Our love was real, and it deserves to be known and be out loud. Everything that had happened to us were just schemes by our parents upon discovering our relationship. We’ve done nothing other than to love.”

Saying those words, you felt your chest becoming lighter. All your worries, thoughts, and anxiety disappeared as your hand that held Jungwon’s tightened. He looked at you and without any words, you smiled at him — and that eased his worries too.

“With that said, I am stepping down as the chief executive officer of the Eden group of companies. This is a matter of betrayal from the people I should trust the most. From now on, I don’t want to be involved with the mentioned company.” Jungwon declared

“So do I,” you stated. “I am stepping down as the chief executive officer of Kingsmark corporation. I don’t want to be involved with the mentioned company — and if my parents are watching this, I am not sorry for loving Yang Jungwon.”

Jungwon smirked at your remark. You looked at him with a smile when suddenly, he pulled you close to you before sealing a kiss on your lips.

Cameras started flashing. All you could hear was the continuous press of buttons as Jungwon’s kiss deepened on yours. You didn’t say anything but instead, you closed your eyes before kissing him back, arms wrapped around his shoulder, out loud in public to show everyone and the world that what you two have is real. 

As you two broke off the kiss, both smiles were wide as Jungwon grabbed you by your hand and pulled you away from the scene. Reporters tried to get more of your statement but the moment you two  had entered the car, Sunoo drove away from the place.

“That was quite a scene you two did there,” Sunoo whistled, glancing at the rearview mirror where you and Jungwon were laughing like idiots on the backseat.

“We make a pretty good team, don’t we?” Jungwon asked and you only smiled.

“Of course,” you quipped. “But what now?”

“We’ll start anew, but not here, somewhere — somewhere where we could act normal, love each other without hiding from the world.” he answered. 

“I love that,” you said with bliss.

Jungwon smiled before leaning on you for another kiss, you placed a hand on his face as you kissed him back with the same intensity. It would’ve been longer if it wasn’t for Sunoo who cleared his throat, glaring at the two of you through his rearview mirror.

“I’m still here,” he reminded, making you two separate from each other.

“You know my offer for you to join us still stands,” Jungwon teased and he watched how his best friend visibly gagged.

“Ew, no thanks.”

Your next destination was the airport. You didn’t ask any question and instead placed your trust on Jungwon. You watched as Sunoo casually stirred the wheel, going towards an unfamiliar path which you immediately noticed was a restricted area.

He rolled down his window before he fished out a thick envelope and handed it to the guard who accepted it without any thought. You didn’t pry further and instead, waited for the gates to be open for the car to go inside.

Away from the domestic flights, the car went to a farther area — a place you never thought had existed. The road seemed to be endless until you noticed a jet parked nearby and a few people standing.

Sunoo stopped the car in front of them. Jungwon opened the car and reached for his hands.

“Let’s go,” he said and you don’t know why you hesitated for a moment.

“Are you okay?” Jungwon asked, worried.

“I still feel scared,” you said with all honesty.

Jungwon cupped your cheeks, gentle as he looked at you softly. “I know, but sometimes we have to do something while scared.”

“We’re really going to be free right?” you asked him who only smiled at your simple question.

“Of course, don’t worry about us, I’ve planned everything out, I’m not going to abandon you and the life you’ve lived.” Jungwon assured

You nodded at his words before accepting his hands. He guided you towards the private jet wherein a few men greeted Jungwon with formal handshakes and greetings.

“Is everything set Taki?” Jungwon asked.

“Yeah, Yudai-san and Euijoo hyung’s flying the plane, you should probably go now or it’ll start getting suspicious,” the man, named Taki, replied.

“Good — wait, before we go,” Jungwon said before he looked at you with a smirk.

“What?” you asked.

“Sunoo, can you officiate our wedding?” he asked his best friend suddenly.

“What!?” you shrieked.

“The fuck?” Sunoo cursed as he looked at Jungwon in horror. 

“What? It’ll be a waste for your wedding gown, come on, we already have some witnesses here.” Jungwon casually stated, even pointing at the men standing nearby, who seemed entertained at the sudden ceremony.

“We don’t even have a ring.” you rebutted.

“That’s what you thought,” Jungwon chuckled as he grabbed something from his pocket — a velvet box which made your eyes widen.

“What the fuck —” you breathed. 

“Will you marry me? Right here, right now?” Jungwon asked as he immediately went onto his knees making you pull him out of the place.

“Seriously?” you exhaled as he stood up from his place, but the smile on his face never faded. Jungwon looked so determined with his request.

“I am serious, come on, everyone’s waiting for you,” Jungwon insisted but you were caught off-guard completely. You stared at him dazed, not knowing what to do especially after everything that just happened today.

“Stop being so dramatic, we’ll leave in ten minutes by the way!” someone shouted from the entrance of the jet, while the rest followed by urging you to agree, making you groan in annoyance.

“Fine, yes Jungwon, of course it’s a yes!” you shouted and Jungwon’s smile only widened.

“Great, now Sunoo, do the honor,.” Jungwon said in a hurry as Sunoo approached you two while muttering curses under his breath.

“Does he even have a license?” you asked.

“I did, I got my license in Vegas,” Sunoo bragged.

“Las fucking vegas, great, just fucking great,” you cursed under your breath, finding the situation funny and unserious.

“Come on y/n, stop being dramatic, you two are going to get married either way. Now, stand in front of me, and wait — I need to find the script — whatever, do you Yang Jungwon, take l/n y/n as your lawfully wedded wife?” Sunoo started.

With that question, Jungwon grabbed the gold band from the box and with ease, slid it on your ring finger, fitting perfectly like it was meant for you.

“I do, in every universe,” he answered, giving you a smile that made your heart feel at ease in the midst of the mess you two are involved in right now.

“Wow cool, okay, do you l/n y/n, take Yang Jungwon as your lawfully wedded husband?” Sunoo asked, looking at you who held her breath throughout.

“For better, for worse, I do,” you answered without any hesitation. You grabbed the ring and copied Jungwon’s action. Seeing the ring fit on his finger, that’s when you realized that he had planned everything all along.

The only thing you should do is trust and be with him.

“By the power vested upon me, I may now announce you husband and wife, you may now kiss your bride and go board the fucking plane,” Sunoo announced and with that, the cheers erupted from the small crowd making you two laugh at the situation.

Jungwon didn’t waste any second. He pulled you close to him and sealed the marriage with a kiss. The kiss felt different, not because you two just got ‘married’ but because it felt light and affirming after conquering every obstacle your love faced.

As you two broke it off, you couldn’t help but to cry in joy as you looked at Jungwon. He’s here with you, alive, breathing, and you two may have ruined both your family’s empire, but it didn’t matter to you anymore especially when all you could think of was your future ahead with Jungwon. 

“Let’s go?” He asked and you nodded, letting him lead you towards the staircase up to the jet. 

“All set?” Yudai asked from the cockpit.

“Yup, we’re all good here,” Jungwon said as he put on your seatbelt before his.

“Where to?” Yudai asked while Euijoo closed the door.

“Iceland,” Jungwon answered and you were confused.

“Why there?”

“For our honeymoon?” he replied like it was a matter of fact.

You laughed at his answer. “Oh my god, you’re really convinced that we got married.”

“Our rings say otherwise.” Jungwon rebutted.

“Are we serious about Iceland?” Eujioo interrupted.

“Dead serious,” Jungwon answered before glancing at you. “Don’t worry, we have a lot of time in this world to get married, for real this time.”

You hummed, looking at him with your heart swelling with anticipation. “I would very much love that Jungwon.”

A few minutes later, the jet had taken off. You watched from your window seat how Seoul slowly became smaller and smaller until the only thing you could see was the sea of clouds under the blue sky.

That’s when you felt Jungwon’s hands intertwined around yours. He gave you a smile before giving your hand — the one with a ring on it, a kiss. You didn’t say anything but your heart and soul knows that you’re flying towards the future you were dreaming for with Jungwon.

Tuesday was supposed to be ordinary.

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

The apartment was supposed to be empty.

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

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

Then it did. Your best friend.

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

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

Two years of engagement, gone.

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

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

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

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

"Too short."

"Too noticeable."

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

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

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

.

.

.

Tuesday hadn't given him any warning either.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How long," he said again.

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

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

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

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

"That's not what I meant."

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

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

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

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

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

"Jungwon…"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You look like you got dumped."

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

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

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

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

"I forgot to take it off."

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

"You look like you got dumped too."

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

"I did."

He gave a slow nod.

"So did I."

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

He glanced at your empty glass. "Another?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Do what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Look at me," he murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

.

.

A month passed by.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was not normal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two lines. Then two more.

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

Your heartbeat stumbled.

"No..."

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

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

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

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

A baby.

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

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

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

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

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

It didn't come.

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

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

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

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

A slow breath escaped you.

"I don't need him."

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

"I don't."

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

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

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

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

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

A faint smile tugged at your lips despite everything.

"It's you and me now."

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

.

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah."

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

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

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

"It's a dream about fruit?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

.

.

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

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

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

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

We're not together.

If they pressed further, then—

I'd rather not discuss it.

Simple.

"Y/L/N?"

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

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

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

Then the door opened.

"Good afternoon, I'm Dr. Yang Jung—"

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

You looked up. And your whole body went cold.

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

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

Yang Jungwon.

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

"...You?"

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

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

Neither of you said anything. 

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

The sound of keys jingling in the lock was your cue to put the kettle on.

Jay always came through the door like the world outside was a costume he could finally peel off. Here, in the apartment nobody knew he shared with you, he didn’t have to be Park Jongseong, idol, performer, Enhypen’s beloved ace. Here, he was just Jay —your Jay. The one who danced with you while brushing his teeth, who left shoes scattered in the hallway, and who whispered stupidly sweet things into your shoulder when he couldn’t sleep.

No one knew.

Not really.

No one knew. The members knew he had a second apartment. A “quiet place.” They didn’t know about your toothbrush beside his, or the cardigan hanging off his desk chair, or how your presence had quietly settled into every corner of the space. Two years of careful balance. Secret. Contained.

Until tonight.

“Wifey,” Jay called from the front door, voice already smiling, “you didn’t burn the place down while I was getting the groceries, right?”

You laughed, meeting him halfway to steal a quick kiss and grab a bag from his arms. “Not yet. But there’s still time.”

He grinned. That same soft, boyish grin that made your chest ache.

The members were coming over for dinner —for the first time. The idea had started as some hopeful wishing, then turned into Jay sitting on the edge of the bed one night saying he was tired of splitting his life in half. He wanted the people he loved in the same room.

You’d hesitated. You understood what secrets cost in this industry.

“They’ll like you,” he’d said, stubborn and hopeful. “They just don’t know it yet.”

You weren’t convinced.

----------------------------------

When the doorbell rang, you forced yourself to breathe before opening it.

Jungwon. Heeseung. Jake. Sunghoon. Sunoo. Ni-ki.

Polite greetings. Polite smiles.

Their eyes moved slowly over the apartment. Your shoes by the door. The framed photo turned slightly toward the wall. The lived-in warmth that didn’t match the story they’d been told.

Jay, oblivious, clapped his hands once. “See? Not a cave.”

You offered drinks. Jake thanked you with an easy smile. Sunoo complimented the smell of the stew. Heeseung nodded warmly.

Sunghoon’s gaze lingered.

He stepped closer to the shelf, fingers brushing the edge of the photo frame before straightening it —just enough to reveal it fully.

A candid of you and Jay on the couch, his head tipped toward yours.

Sunghoon’s expression didn’t change. “Didn’t know this place was… decorated.”

His tone was cold. Too cold.

Jay laughed from the kitchen. “What? I live here.”

Sunghoon hummed softly. “Right.”

The word wasn’t agreement. It was assessment.

Jay returned with side dishes and slid an arm around your shoulder. “This is who I’ve been talking about,” he said proudly. “My wife—okay, not legally, but basically in my heart.”

You laughed, but you felt it—that slight tightening in the room.

Ni-ki muttered something under his breath. Heeseung shot him a look.

Sunghoon leaned back in his chair. “That’s a bold title.”

Jay grinned. “I’m a bold guy.”

Sunghoon’s eyes flicked to you. “I guess so.”

Jay didn’t hear it. Or pretended not to.

A few minutes later, Jay stood abruptly. “I forgot the sides. You guys talk. I’ll be right back.”

The second he disappeared into the kitchen, the air shifted.

You folded your hands in your lap. “So… schedules have been intense lately?”

Jake nodded politely. Sunoo smiled faintly. No one elaborated.

Sunghoon tilted his head slightly. “How long has this been going on?”

His voice was calm. Casual.

“Two years,” you answered, because lying would be worse.

His eyebrows lifted —just a fraction. “Two.”

There was something sharp in the way he repeated it.

“That’s… impressive,” he continued. “Keeping something like this hidden.”

You couldn’t tell if it was admiration or accusation.

“We were careful,” you said quietly.

Sunghoon’s gaze held yours. “You’d have to be.”

Jungwon stood then, muttering something about getting water. You excused yourself soon after, heart beating too loud in your ears.

The hallway felt narrower.

You’d barely taken two steps before Jungwon’s voice stopped you.

“You know this could ruin his career, right?”

His words were steady, controlled. Protective.

Your stomach dropped, but you kept your voice even. “Jay wanted you to meet me.”

“And if someone finds out?” Jungwon pressed. “You think the company’s going to protect this?”

The words hit like a slap.

You blinked. Swallowed. Your heart thundered behind your ribs, but you kept your voice calm, light, like you didn’t feel like throwing up.

“Jay’s been really excited for this dinner,” you said simply.

And then you slipped past him without another word.

You didn’t cry. Not when Jay returned to the table and tucked a stray hair behind your ear. Not when he laughed with his members, completely unaware of the tension you were wading through. Not even when he kissed your temple and whispered, “See? I told you they’d love you.”

You smiled and nodded and laughed at the right times.

You even helped clean up when they left.

And when Jay, blissfully unaware, fell asleep beside you that night, arm slung across your waist and smile still ghosting his lips

you got up. Quietly.

Finally letting the tears fall.

By the time the sun rose, your side of the bed was cold. Your toothbrush was gone. Your keys were missing from the hook.

And the apartment —the secret home you’d built together— suddenly felt a little too big for one person.

----------------------------------

The morning light slipped gently through the blinds, drawing soft golden lines across the bedspread. Jay stirred, groaning as he rolled over, expecting to bury his face in your shoulder, to feel your warmth curled into him like always.

But you weren’t there.

His arm stretched across the sheets, landing in the dip where your body should’ve been —but there was only the faint warmth left. 

Still half-asleep, Jay blinked his eyes open, the smile already forming.

“Babe?” he mumbled into the pillow.

No answer.

He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. The covers were still in place, the pillow you always used still nestled beside his —creased, slightly indented. Like you had only just left. It still smelled like your shampoo.

For a second, he closed his eyes again and inhaled the scent of you. He smiled faintly, thinking maybe you were in the kitchen. Maybe you were making toast, humming something off-key.

But something felt… off.

Jay stood, letting the blanket fall away as he padded out into the apartment.

No music. No tea kettle. No faint tapping of your feet on the floor.

He moved through each room, slower now. A creeping heaviness pulling at his limbs.

The mug you always used —gone. Not just in the sink. Gone.

He turned to the coat rack. Your favorite jacket? Missing. The hoodie you always said he stretched out too much when he wore it? No longer slung over the back of the couch.

He blinked rapidly, heart thudding harder.

He rushed back to the bedroom, flinging open drawers.

Empty.

Not completely —but enough.

Enough to know this wasn’t some morning errand. This wasn’t a walk to clear your head.

This was intentional.

The bathroom counter didn’t look like you brushed your teeth there this morning. The book on the nightstand you’d been halfway through? Gone.

Jay’s throat tightened as he looked around the space that was no longer a shared home —but just a place where you used to be.

His phone buzzed, dragging him out of the haze.

A group chat notification.

Jungwon [8:03 AM]:

Thanks again for last night. Good food. Hope you got some rest.

Jay barely read it.

He opened your contact instead.

Jay [8:03 AM]:

Princess, where are you?

Jay [8:04 AM]:

Are you okay?

Jay [8:07 AM]:

Please just tell me you’re safe.

He stared at the screen.

Nothing.

He sank back onto the bed, gripping the edge of the mattress, his knuckles white.

----------------------------------

Inside the dorm, he didn’t even take off his shoes. Just stormed in like a man possessed.

The air was off immediately.

They were all there. Relaxed. Normal.

He wasn’t.

“Where is she?” he demanded, eyes sweeping the room.

Confused glances. Uneasy shifts. A tension that wasn’t new—but now he could feel it like static in his chest.

Jake looked up from his phone. “What?”

“Y/N. She’s gone.” Jay’s voice cracked, but he kept going. “She left last night. Took her things. No note. No text. Nothing.”

His phone buzzed in his palm again.

He didn’t even try to hide it this time.

He looked.

Missed call: Mom

Not you.

His stomach twisted.

“She wouldn’t just leave.” His voice was softer now. “She wouldn’t do that unless something happened.”

He scanned their faces. Heeseung looked down. Jake bit his lip. Jungwon wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Jay’s heart sank.

“You knew something was wrong last night,” he said, realization hitting like a brick to the ribs. “You all knew, and you didn’t tell me.”

No one answered.

He looked around at them, at the silence that followed. Their guilty eyes. The way Jungwon didn’t even try to look surprised.

And that’s when it clicked.

He felt it like a slap.

“You knew,” he said, voice low. “You knew something was wrong last night.”

Jungwon finally stood. “Jay, you lied to us for years.”

“I protected her,” Jay snapped. “Because this world is brutal, and you know it. I wanted her to be safe. I never thought I had to protect her from you.”

His phone buzzed again. He fumbled for it this time, breath hitching

Random Email Notification 

He shut his eyes, pressing the phone to his forehead like it could stop the ache crawling through his chest.

“I let you guys meet her because I thought you’d love her,” he said, voice tight. “Because I love her.”

Sunghoon stepped forward cautiously. “We were hurt. It felt like you shut us out.”

“You think this is about you?”

Jay turned on them, rage and grief mixing in his throat.

“She sat at that table smiling through every cold stare. She went to that dinner knowing it might not go well —but did it anyway. For me. And when you guys left, she pretended it didn’t bother her. She kissed me goodnight like everything was fine.”

His voice cracked.

“And I believed her.”

He looked down at his phone again. No messages. No missed calls. No signs of you.

“Every time my phone buzzes,” he said quietly, “I pray it’s her.”

The screen lit up again.

Another random email.

He shoved it into his pocket.

“I don’t care what any of you think,” Jay said, backing toward the door. “I’m going to find her. Even if I have to check every café, park bench, and corner of this city.”

And before any of them could speak, he was gone.

----------------------------------

The soft hum of Chae’s hair dryer in the bathroom was the only noise in the apartment.

You sat on her couch, knees tucked under your chin, one of her oversized hoodies drowning your frame. Your duffel bag sat by the door —half unpacked, but still zipped just enough to suggest this was temporary.

Because part of you kept waiting for yourself to go back.

To him.

Your phone buzzed.

Again.

You didn’t have to check it. You already knew who it was.

Jay [11:03 AM]

I don’t know where you are, but I need you to know I’m sorry. If something happened last night that hurt you… please just tell me. Please.

You stared at the screen.

You had read every single one.

You just couldn’t bring yourself to answer.

Chae emerged from the bathroom, towel-wrapping her damp hair, eyeing you from across the room. “You’re gonna make a hole in the floor if you keep staring like that.”

You managed a weak smile. “Sorry.”

She plopped down next to you, pulling her legs up. “You don’t have to apologize to me. But maybe you should to yourself. For holding it all in that long.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line.

“I really thought they’d like me,” you said quietly.

Chae’s gaze softened. “I’m sure some of them do. But let’s be real, Jay dropped a bomb on them and expected them to throw a party.”

You stayed quiet.

She glanced down at your phone, which was now lighting up again.

Jay [11:10 AM]

I swear I didn’t know they treated you like that. I thought last night was perfect. I was so happy. I was so happy…

You locked the screen again.

“I don’t want to ruin his life, Chae,” you said, voice barely a whisper.

“You didn’t,” she said gently. “You were his life.”

You looked down at your hands. “Then why did it feel like I was the one being punished for it?”

Chae leaned her head on your shoulder. “Because people don’t like being left out of things that matter. And you mattered. A lot.”

You felt your throat tighten.

“I didn’t want to leave,” you whispered.

“I know.”

You turned your phone over so the screen faced down.

“I just don’t want to be the reason his dream fails...he works so hard.”

And finally, for the first time since you left, the tears came. Quiet and slow. The kind that didn’t demand attention but dragged every ounce of hurt to the surface.

Chae didn’t say anything more.

She just stayed with you —still and safe.

Outside, the city moved on. The world didn’t know anything had fallen apart.

But in Chae’s tiny living room, curled up in borrowed clothes and borrowed time, you felt like you were still holding on by a thread.

Your phone buzzed again.

But this time, you didn’t look.

Not yet.

----------------------------------

One Month Later

The dorm felt smaller somehow.

Louder. Heavier. Even when no one was speaking.

Jay sat at the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, head bowed, fingers absently curling into the hem of an old t-shirt that didn’t belong to him.

It was yours.

Soft and worn, the faded fabric still held your scent —barely, but enough that he kept it close. He hadn’t washed it. Couldn’t. Like it would erase the last piece of you that clung to him.

Your pillow was behind him, propped against the dorm mattress like it didn’t belong there —because it didn’t. It looked wrong surrounded by his things. Out of place, like you were now.

He hadn’t gone back to the apartment.

Not since that morning.

He moved back in with the members after you left. Said it was just temporary. Said he needed “a change of scenery.”

But they all knew the truth.

He couldn’t bear waking up in that place without you.

Still, he hadn’t canceled the lease. The rent quietly left his account every month, untouched. The fridge was still stocked. Your slippers were still by the door.

He didn’t even know where to start looking.

You had friends, of course. A few he remembered from stories you’d told him in passing. But no one close enough that he knew their address.

He’d texted. Called. DM’d. Nothing.

He even emailed.

Nothing.

And every time his phone buzzed, he dove for it like a mad man.

One new notification

He looked.

A label reminder for a livestream.

Not you.

He tossed the phone down.

Then picked it right back up.

Opened your chat thread again.

Jay [9:17 AM]

I’m sorry. I know I said that a hundred times already but I need you to know I mean it. I’d say it a thousand more. Just tell me where you are. Please.

No reply.

The members had noticed.

Heeseung said nothing at first, but started showing up at his door with coffee.

Jake checked on him constantly, always trying to get him out of the dorm —even just to walk.

Sunoo tried to make him laugh, but even he started giving up when Jay’s smiles never reached his eyes.

And Jungwon…

Jungwon watched him like someone waiting for a string to snap.

“You should go back to the apartment,” Jungwon had told him once.

Jay shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Jay’s voice had been quiet. “It still feels like hers.”

----------------------------------

“Okay, no offense, but you’re starting to blend into the couch.”

You didn’t even look up from your spot, curled into Chae’s throw blanket like a blanket burrito, half-scrolling, half-sulking. “It’s a nice couch.”

Chae dropped beside you with a thud, tossing a pillow at your legs. “It’s a couch that’s seen you in the same hoodie for five days straight.”

You grumbled into the cushion. “I don’t have anywhere to be.”

“Exactly the problem.” She sighed. “Y/N, I love you, but this isn’t healthy. You barely go outside, you haven’t touched your makeup bag, and you’re on your fourth rewatch of weightlifting fairy kim bok joo.”

You tried not to smile, but your lips betrayed you just a little.

“Fine,” you muttered. “I’ll get out. But I’m only going for snacks. Your snacks, by the way. I’ve been stress-eating all your chips.”

Chae rolled her eyes, “As long as sunlight or moonlight hits your skin at least once today, I’ll allow it.”

You threw on a baseball cap, hoodie, and sunglasses —just in case. Not because you expected to see anyone you knew.

Especially not them.

The walk to the convenience store was quiet, the way you liked things now.

No questions. No stares. No reminders of the life you’d walked away from.

You wandered through the aisles aimlessly, grabbing a drink, a few bags of chips, and the candy you love. The place was mostly empty —just you and a guy grabbing ramen cups near the back wall.

It was peaceful.

You turned the corner toward the refrigerated drinks and froze.

There he was.

Jungwon.

Baseball cap pulled low, black hoodie, earbuds tucked in. He hadn’t seen you yet.

You ducked, heart slamming in your chest. Of all people —why him?

You turned fast, heading for the register.

“Y/N?”

Your name cracked the air like a whip.

You didn’t turn around.

Just dropped your items on the counter, trying not to shake as the cashier scanned them.

“Hey—wait! Y/N, it’s me!”

His voice was louder now. You could hear his footsteps behind you, closing in.

You tossed a crumpled bill onto the counter and grabbed your bag, mumbling a thank-you before turning sharply toward the door.

“Y/N, please—can we just talk for a second?”

You didn’t answer.

Just shoved the door open and walked faster.

Maybe if you could get around the corner. Maybe if you just made it to the end of the block—

“Y/N!”

You glanced back for half a second.

He had dropped the basket he was holding. Left it right there in the middle of the store. He was coming after you.

You turned back around and started walking faster.

But it was too late.

Jungwon was already jogging to catch up, calling your name like he has any right to. 

“Y/N—wait, please.”

You kept walking, arms crossed tight over your chest, shoulders hunched like you could fold yourself into invisibility.

But Jungwon caught up anyway.

He slowed beside you, breathing lightly, trying to keep pace without crowding you. “I just want to talk—just for a second.”

You said nothing.

“I didn’t know you were staying around here,” he said, cautiously. “Jay’s been trying to find you.”

You flinched at the name.

He saw it.

“Y/N,” Jungwon said, softer now, “he’s not okay.”

“Stop.”

Your voice came out barely above a whisper.

He blinked. “What?”

You turned to face him for the first time, your chin trembling even as you held your ground.

“Don’t,” you said. “You don't get to talk to me about him.”

He froze. You weren’t yelling. You were hurting.

Tears had begun to form at the corners of your eyes, glistening beneath your lashes, but you refused to let them fall.

Jungwon stepped back like he’d been slapped. “Okay. I won’t.”

Silence settled over both of you, thick and heavy. Cars passed on the street behind you. The city moved on, uncaring.

You took a breath.

Then another.

Then, without saying a word, you turned and started walking again —back toward Chae’s apartment. 

But behind you, after a few seconds, you heard his footsteps again.

Still there.

Still following.

You kept your pace steady, trying not to let the tears fall as you walked back toward Chae’s apartment. Jungwon matched your steps without a word.

The streetlights flickered on as dusk crept in, casting long shadows over the cracked sidewalks. The city buzzed faintly around you, but all you could hear was the steady sound of your own breathing —and the soft footsteps behind you.

As you reached the building, your heart hammered harder. You slowed, then stopped just before the entrance, the familiar doorframe suddenly feeling too heavy.

You turned quickly, catching Jungwon’s gaze.

His eyes were steady, calm —no judgment, no expectation. Just watching.

No words passed between you.

Jungwon nodded, then stepped away into the darkening street, his figure blending into the shadows as you pushed open the door and disappeared inside.

You didn’t look back.

But you knew he was still watching.

----------------------------------

The next day, the apartment door clicked open and Chae stepped inside, dropping her bag by the door with a tired sigh.

“You won’t believe this,” she said, toeing off her shoes as she crossed the room. “Some weird guy’s been hanging around the building all afternoon.”

You glanced up from the couch. “Weird how?”

She tossed her keys onto the counter, brow furrowing. “Black hoodie. Mask. Just pacing near the entrance like he’s waiting for someone.”

Your chest tightened before your brain caught up.

Jungwon.

You swallowed, the memory of his voice from the night before settling heavy in your stomach. Without thinking, you leaned forward and reached for your shoes. “I’m just going to check something.”

Chae blinked. “Check what?”

“I’ll be back,” you said, already standing.

Outside, the air was cooler than you expected, the sky just beginning to darken. You took the stairs instead of the elevator, your pulse loud in your ears. And then you saw him —leaning against a lamppost near the entrance, hood pulled low, posture tense but patient.

He looked up when you approached, surprise flickering briefly across his face before smoothing out.

“Y/N,” Jungwon said quietly.

“What are you doing here?” You kept your voice even.

He hesitated, then straightened. “Can we talk? It’s not about Jay. I promise.”

You studied him for a moment, weighing exhaustion against curiosity. Finally, you nodded. “Okay.”

You walked together, not back inside, but away from the building —toward a small park a few blocks down, half-forgotten and mostly empty. The city noise dulled there, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the low hum of traffic in the distance. A few streetlights cast soft circles over empty benches.

You sat beneath a large oak tree, the space between you careful, deliberate.

“I want to know who you are,” Jungwon said after a moment. His voice was low, cautious. “Not just… who you are to him.”

You let out a tired breath. “Yeah. I guess to you I’m just ‘Jay’s girlfriend.’”

He shook his head slightly. “That’s not fair. To you. Or to him.”

You stared at your hands, twisting the hem of your sleeve. “I just try to keep him grounded. That’s all. It’s harder when the people he trusts don’t even know I exist.”

Jungwon didn’t interrupt. His expression softened, not pity, but something closer to understanding.

You found yourself talking anyway. Small things at first. Your favorite coffee shop tucked between two bookstores. Your love for old movies with terrible endings. How you once tried to learn guitar and gave up because your fingers hurt too much.

For a few minutes, it didn’t feel like a confession. Just conversation.

Then you smiled faintly and added, “Jay tried to teach me once. I got the pick stuck between the strings and panicked like the guitar was attacking me.”

Your laugh came out uneven.

“He looked so offended,” you continued, voice wavering. “I laughed until I cried.”

The memory settled heavy in your chest. Your eyes burned, and you turned your face away before the tears could spill.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured.

Jungwon reached out, resting his hand lightly against your arm. He didn’t grip it. Didn’t push. Just there.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said quietly.

You stood abruptly, brushing at your face. “I should go.”

He rose too, hesitating. “Can I walk you back?”

After a beat, you nodded.

The walk back was quiet —not awkward, just careful. When you reached the building, he stopped a few steps short of the entrance.

“Thank you,” he said. “For trusting me.”

You nodded once and went inside.

Over the next seven days, it became routine.

Each evening after practice, Jungwon would wait near Chae’s building. No messages. Just a shared understanding. You’d walk together to the same small park, sit on the same bench beneath the oak tree, talk about nothing and everything until the city lights felt softer.

Day 1

You talked about your childhood —the small town, the slow afternoons, the music that first made you believe there was more out there. Jungwon listened with genuine focus, asking questions, smiling at the right moments, laughing softly when you shared stories you hadn’t told in years.

Day 2

He opened up in return. About the weight of leadership, about how being relied on so heavily sometimes left him feeling unsteady and unsure. You didn’t interrupt, just nodded, letting him speak. It felt like trust was being built, piece by piece.

Day 3

The conversation lightened. Movies, shows, half-serious debates over characters and endings. Jungwon admitted he was terrible at binge-watching but promised —hand to heart— that he’d try your favorites anyway. You teased him for it, and he laughed, unguarded.

Day 4

That night was quieter. He spoke about missing normalcy —walking without being watched, existing without expectation. You didn’t offer solutions or reassurance. You just stayed, shoulder close to his, letting silence do what words couldn’t.

Day 5

He told you stories from the group’s early days, the embarrassing ones he clearly didn’t share often. You laughed until your sides hurt. By the end of it, the other members felt less like distant figures and more like people you almost knew.

Day 6

You brought snacks as a peace offering. He showed up with coffee from a nearby street cart, slightly too sweet, still warm. The exchange was small, almost trivial, but it felt like a bridge —something solid between two very different worlds.

Day 7

By the end of the week, words came easier. You talked about Jay —not the idol, not the image, but the person he was when no one was watching. Jungwon didn’t comment, didn’t judge. He just listened. When your voice wavered and you wiped at your eyes, he passed you a napkin without a word.

That quiet understanding stayed with you long after the night ended.

----------------------------------

The dorm felt quieter than he remembered.

Not because it actually was —someone had music playing down the hall, laughter drifted in and out from a late-night game— but because everything reached him like it was underwater. Muted. Distant. As if the world had lost saturation.

Jay sat on the edge of his bunk, the familiar creak of the mattress barely registering. In his lap was the hoodie you used to steal, fabric worn soft from being claimed as yours. Beside him lay a pillow he’d taken from the apartment, still holding the faintest trace of you.

He’d tried washing one of your shirts once.

The scent disappeared too fast.

He never made that mistake again.

It had been over a month.

He still paid the rent on the apartment. Still transferred the money on time, every time. But he hadn’t gone back —not once. The thought of stepping inside felt unbearable. Every room existed in his mind as it was the last time he saw it: untouched, suspended, full of echoes he couldn’t face.

The guys didn’t mention you.

Not directly.

They spoke carefully, like your name was something fragile, something that might break him if handled wrong. And maybe it would have. But Jay wasn’t angry. He couldn’t be. Anger required direction.

What he felt was hollow.

He knew he’d missed something. More than one thing. He’d been so wrapped up in finally letting himself be happy that he hadn’t noticed the cracks forming around him. The way your voice tightened around his members. The way your smile stayed polite instead of warm. How your laugh that night never quite reached your eyes.

He should have known.

Every day, he checked his phone too often. Every vibration made his heart jolt before reason caught up. But it was never you. No texts. No calls. Nothing to explain the silence.

At night, he played guitar quietly, careful not to wake anyone. He’d started writing again —lyrics that weren’t meant for stages or albums. Just fragments. Lines about the way you used to curl into his side. About the empty space you left behind.

Sometimes he dreamed of you coming back, standing in the doorway with that familiar smile, teasing him for losing his keys again.

Other nights, he stayed awake until dawn, staring at the ceiling, replaying the moment he realized you were gone.

He didn’t know where you were. He didn’t know how to fix what he’d broken.

But every day, without fail, Jay still waited.

Just in case you came back.

----------------------------------

Jay came back from practice exhausted, sweat clinging to his skin, limbs heavy, head still pounding from a full day of pretending he was fine.

The dorm was unusually quiet. Most of the guys were still out or or haven’t left their rooms yet. He barely registered it as he pushed open the door to his shared room —until he stopped short.

Something was wrong.

His bed was… neat. Not the way he left it.

The blanket was tucked in, smooth in a way it never was. The sheets were freshly changed. His pillow —your pillow— sat fluffed at the head of the bed, perfectly arranged.

His stomach dropped.

“No,” he muttered, crossing the room in two quick steps. “No, no—”

He grabbed the pillow and pressed it to his face without thinking, breathing in desperately.

Nothing.

The warmth was gone. The faint scent that had lingered for weeks —yours— had been stripped away, replaced with clean cotton and lavender detergent. Sterile. Wrong.

His chest tightened. His breath came shallow, uneven.

“Jay?” Jake’s voice came from the doorway.

Jay turned sharply, eyes wild. “Did you do this?”

Jake froze. “Yeah—I mean, yeah. I thought it needed to be washed. It hadn’t been touched in weeks, and you’ve been looking wrecked, so I just… I thought I was helping.”

“You washed it?” Jay said, his voice cracking before he could stop it. “You washed her pillow?”

Jake took a cautious step forward. “Jay, I didn’t know—”

“That was the last thing I had that still really smelled like her,” Jay said quietly. Too quietly. “It was all I had left.”

The words hung there, heavy and unmoving.

Jake’s expression shifted, guilt settling in fast. “Shit. Jay… I’m sorry. I really didn’t know.”

Jay didn’t respond. He sat down hard on the edge of the bed, staring at the pillow in his hands like it had betrayed him.

“I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” he murmured.

Silence filled the room. Jake stayed near the door, unsure whether to leave or stay, the weight of it pressing in on both of them.

Jay hunched forward, the pillow still in his lap, his thumb tracing the seam absently, like muscle memory might bring something back.

Then, barely above a whisper, he said, “I bought her a ring.”

Jake looked up sharply. “You—wait. You were going to propose?”

Jay let out a hollow breath, shaking his head. “Not like that. Not… officially.” He swallowed. “We knew marriage wasn’t possible. Not publicly. Not like normal people.”

Jake didn’t interrupt.

“I just wanted her to have something real,” Jay continued, voice strained. “Something that meant I was serious. Even if no one else ever saw it.” His jaw tightened. “We joked about being married all the time—‘wifey,’ ‘hubby’—but I didn’t want it to just be a joke to her.”

He ran a hand through his hair, fingers trembling. “I was waiting. I thought after she met you guys—after everything went well—I’d give it to her.”

A bitter laugh slipped out. “I didn’t even notice how uncomfortable she was that night. I didn’t see it. I just kept smiling like an idiot, thinking it was the best night of my life.”

His voice dropped. “Meanwhile, she was already halfway gone.”

Jake finally moved, sitting beside him. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Jay shrugged weakly, eyes glassy. “Because if it got out… if the company found out… I couldn’t let her become a secret someone else exposed. I couldn’t do that to her.”

He reached for the drawer beside the bed and pulled out a small velvet box. His hands hesitated before opening it.

Inside lay a simple gold band, a single diamond catching the light. Elegant. Unworn.

Jake stared. “She doesn’t know?”

Jay shook his head once. “She never even saw it.”

His voice broke on the last word.

Loud voices cut through the room before either of them could speak again.

A door slammed. Sneakers scraped hard against tile. Something hit the wall with a dull thud. The sound shattered the fragile quiet Jay and Jake had been sitting in, the room suddenly too small, too thick with unspoken pain.

Jay blinked and snapped the ring box shut on instinct. He didn’t put it away. The weight of it stayed pressed into his palm.

Jake stood first, already turning toward the door. “What the hell was that?”

Jay followed without answering.

They moved down the hallway, the voices growing sharper with every step. When they turned the corner into the main room, Heeseung stood near the front door, arms crossed, jaw tight.

Jungwon had just come in. His shoes were half off, hair damp from the humid night air, shoulders slumped with exhaustion. He didn’t look defensive.

He looked guilty.

“Are you serious right now?” Heeseung snapped. “It’s past midnight. You left without telling anyone. Do you know how dangerous that is?”

“I’m not a kid,” Jungwon muttered, eyes fixed on the floor.

“That’s not the point,” Heeseung shot back. “You disappear constantly lately. No texts. No location. Nothing.”

Jay stepped forward, his voice low. “What’s going on?”

Jungwon looked up, startled to see him. His gaze flicked between Jay and Jake, lingering a beat too long on Jay before dropping again.

Jake glanced between them. “You okay?”

Jungwon didn’t answer.

Jay’s chest tightened. Something felt wrong —more wrong than it already had. “Where were you?”

“I just needed air,” Jungwon said quietly.

The answer was too careful.

Jay narrowed his eyes. “That’s all?”

Silence.

Jungwon’s gaze lifted again, sharper this time —and then dropped.

To Jay’s hand.

The ring box.

Jay hadn’t even realized he was still holding it, thumb pressed into the velvet lid like it might disappear if he let go.

Jungwon’s breath caught.

Jake noticed too and stepped forward quickly. “Okay—let’s not do this right now. Everyone’s exhausted. We can—”

“What is that?” Jungwon asked, already knowing.

Jay lifted his eyes slowly. “It’s a ring.”

The room went dead quiet.

Heeseung looked between them, confused. Jake winced.

“For her?” Jungwon asked.

Jay nodded once.

“Jay,” Jake tried again, gentler. “You don’t have to—”

“Yes,” Jay cut in. “I do.”

He looked at all of them now —eyes tired, hollow, stripped bare. “I bought it before dinner. Before everything fell apart. She never knew. None of you did.” His voice faltered just slightly. “Because I didn’t trust anyone else to keep it safe.”

Jungwon dropped his gaze, guilt curling tight in his chest.

“I thought if she met you guys, it would finally feel right,” Jay continued. “Like the two best parts of my life could exist in the same room.”

He exhaled sharply. “I was wrong.”

No one spoke.

Jay turned toward the hallway, the ring box clenched hard in his hand. He needed air. Silence. Something that didn’t hurt this much.

He barely made it two steps.

“I know where she is.”

Jay froze.

The words were quiet, almost gentle —but they split the air cleanly in two.

Slowly, Jay turned back.

Jake tensed. Heeseung went still.

“What?” Jay asked. His voice was flat. Dangerous.

Jungwon met his gaze. “I know where Y/N’s been staying.”

Jay’s grip tightened. “How long?”

“A little over a week,” Jungwon admitted. “I ran into her. By accident.”

Jake dragged a hand down his face. “Jesus.”

“And you didn’t tell me,” Jay said.

“I didn’t know if I should,” Jungwon replied. “She didn’t want to see you. She didn’t even want to talk about you.”

Jay took a step forward. “You lied to me.”

“I didn’t,” Jungwon said steadily. “I kept it quiet. She was hurting, hyung. And I was part of why. I didn’t want to make it worse.”

Jay’s breath came fast. “You’ve been seeing her.”

“I wanted to make sure she was okay.”

“And is she?”

Jungwon didn’t answer.

Jay’s voice broke. “You don’t get it. I lost the only person that mattered. And you knew.”

“I know,” Jungwon said softly. “That’s why I’m telling you now. She’s not okay. But neither are you.”

Jay laughed once —short, hollow. “So what? You sneak out every night to see my girlfriend?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it?” Jay snapped. “You know where she is. You talk to her. You’re the one she trusts now—not me.”

Jungwon didn’t raise his voice. “She didn’t choose me over you. She needed space.”

“Then why keep going back?”

“Because she’s hurting,” Jungwon said quietly. “And because after I understood her… I realized you needed to understand too.”

Jay shook his head. “I don’t need—”

“Tomorrow,” Jungwon interrupted. “Go tomorrow. I was supposed to meet her. You should go instead.”

Jay stared at him. Raw. Unsteady. “She won’t want to see me.”

“She will.”

Jay looked down at the ring box, knuckles white around it.

“She still loves you,” Jungwon added, gentler now. “She just thinks she’s the problem.”

Jay didn’t respond.

He stood there, the weight of everything pressing in —grief, anger, longing —all of it tangled around a small velvet box in his hand.

And for the first time in weeks, hope hurts worse than the silence.

----------------------------------

You go to the park the same way you always do.

Same path. Same bench beneath the crooked tree with the peeling bark. Same time of night, when the air is still cold and the city is sleeping.

You sit, hands folded in your lap, eyes drifting across the walking trail.

The park is almost empty at night, but that doesn’t make you feel safer.

Streetlights cast uneven pools of yellow across the paths, and every passing car makes your shoulders tense. You sit on the familiar bench anyway, hands tucked into your sleeves, eyes flicking toward the entrance every few seconds.

Jungwon is late.

He’s never late.

Your stomach twists. You tell yourself not to read into it, not to spiral—but the quiet feels heavier tonight, like something is about to break.

Then you sense him.

Not footsteps. Not movement. Just that pull you’ve never been able to explain.

You look up.

Jay stands half-hidden beneath a tree near the edge of the park, hood pulled low, mask on, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He hasn’t stepped into the light. He’s watching you like he’s afraid you might disappear again if he blinks.

Your breath catches.

“No,” you whisper.

You stand immediately, heart racing —not because he’s here, but because someone else could be. Because this is exactly how things go wrong.

You cross the distance quickly, keeping your voice low and tight. “What are you doing here? You can’t —Jay, this is insane.”

“I know,” he says quietly. “I wouldn’t have come if I wasn’t sure.”

“That doesn’t matter,” you hiss. “One person. One phone. That’s all it takes.”

He steps closer, careful. “I missed you.”

Your chest aches at how small his voice sounds.

“That’s not a good enough reason,” you say, even as your hands curl into fists to keep from reaching for him. “You have too much to lose.”

“I already lost you.”

“That’s different,” you say immediately. “I chose to leave. Your career didn’t.”

Jay exhales, slow and shaky. “Do you really think loving you was ever a risk I regretted?”

You shake your head, blinking hard. “I love you too much to let you ruin your life for me.”

The words hurt both of you. You can see it on his face.

You take a step back, forcing space between you. “We shouldn’t be standing this close.”

He doesn’t move. “I didn’t come to pull you back into something you’re not ready for.”

You look at him again, surprised.

“I came to ask for a redo,” he continues. “That night. Meeting everyone. I failed you. I was so focused on how happy I was that I didn’t see how scared you were.”

Your throat tightens.

“I want another chance,” he says. “But this time, I promise I won’t let you disappear beside me. I’ll see you. I’ll protect you.”

You shake your head instinctively. “Jay… that’s dangerous.”

“I know.”

“You can’t promise things like that.”

“I can promise to try,” he says. “And if I can’t do it right, I won’t do it at all.”

Silence stretches between you, filled with the hum of the city and the distant sound of traffic.

“I shouldn’t,” you whisper finally.

His shoulders drop, just slightly. “Okay.”

The disappointment in that single word hurts more than anything else.

You step forward before you can stop yourself, fingers brushing his sleeve. “I didn’t say no.”

He looks up, eyes wide in the dim light.

“One redo,” you say softly. “That’s it.”

Jay lets out a breath, almost a laugh, almost a sob. “I swear I won’t waste it.”

You glance around the park again, anxiety spiking. “You need to go. Now.”

“I will,” he says quickly. “I just—”

You step closer, heart pounding, and press a brief kiss to his cheek. It’s soft, familiar, and far too intimate for how dangerous this moment is.

“For your walk home,” you whisper.

You pull away immediately and walk back toward the path, not daring to look back.

Behind you, Jay stays where he is, fingers lifting to his cheek like he needs to remind himself it was real.

You don’t breathe properly until you’re back inside Chae’s apartment.

The door clicks shut behind you, locks sliding into place, and only then do your shoulders finally sag. Your heart is still racing, hands trembling slightly as you slip off your shoes and pad down the hallway. Chae’s bedroom door is closed, the apartment dark and still.

Safe.

You sit on the edge of the guest coach, phone resting in your palm like it weighs too much.

You stare at the screen for a long moment.

Then, before you can overthink it, you type.

I made it back.

You hesitate, then add:

Please be careful getting home.

You hit send and immediately regret how fast your heart jumps afterward.

Jay is still awake. He’s lying on his bunk, phone face-down on his chest, staring at the ceiling like sleep might eventually take pity on him. His mind is still in the park —your voice, the kiss, the way you walked away without looking back.

The vibration against his chest makes him freeze.

He grabs his phone so fast it almost slips from his hand.

Your name.

For a second, he just stares at the screen to make sure he’s not imagining it.

Then he sits up abruptly.

I’m home.

He types, deletes, types again.

Thank you for texting me.

Too much? He exhales and keeps going.

I couldn’t stop worrying.

There’s a pause. Thirty seconds that feel like thirty minutes.

Then his phone buzzes again.

I know. I was worried too.

Jay smiles without realizing it.

Really smiles.

His fingers move before his nerves can catch up.

We’re off this Thursday.

He hesitates, heart pounding, then sends the next message anyway.

If you want… you could come by the dorm.

Another pause.

Jay presses his thumb against the screen, trying not to spiral. He’s already bracing himself for a polite excuse, a careful boundary.

Then—

I’ll think about it.

It’s not a yes.

But it’s not a no.

Jay exhales, leaning back against the wall, phone clutched tight in his hand.

That’s enough for me.

He adds, softer:

I’m really glad you’re safe.

On the other side of the city, you lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, phone resting on your chest.

You close your eyes.

For the first time in weeks, the quiet doesn’t feel so lonely.

----------------------------------

Thursday comes faster than you expect.

You stand outside the dorm longer than necessary, hands tucked into your sleeves like you might still turn around if you wait long enough.

You’re just about to knock when voices leak through the door.

Loud. Chaotic.

“I swear to God, if anyone touches the food before she gets here, I will actually kill you.”

Jay.

You freeze, then smile before you can stop yourself.

“There is no way you’re threatening murder over some food,” someone laughs —Jake, you think.

“I’m serious,” Jay snaps. “It has to be perfect. The plates, the drinks—why is that cup there? Who put that there?”

“It’s a cup, hyung,” Sunoo says, amused. “Relax.”

“I cannot relax,” Jay says loudly. “This is important.”

“Bro’s pacing like it's life or death,” Ni-ki adds, followed by more laughter.

You let out a quiet breath, something warm loosening in your chest.

These are the people Jungwon talked about. The ones who bicker and tease and show up loudly for each other. Not the tense, guarded strangers you met that night. Not the silence.

You lift your hand and knock —soft, almost hesitant.

The noise inside stumbles to a stop.

Footsteps approach. The door opens, and Jungwon’s face appears, eyes widening slightly when he sees you.

“Oh—hey,” he says, voice gentle. “You made it.”

You nod, suddenly shy. “Yeah.”

Before he can say anything else, there’s a rush of movement behind him.

“Move.”

Jungwon barely has time to step aside before Jay pushes past him, hands already on the door, eyes locking onto you like the rest of the world just shut off.

“You’re here,” he says, breathless.

You smile, small but real. “Hi.”

For a second, he just stares at you, like he’s confirming you’re real. Then he steps back abruptly, glancing over his shoulder.

“Shoes off—no, wait—actually, yeah, shoes off. I mean—come in. Please. You’re—yeah.”

Someone snorts behind him.

“Hyung, breathe,” Jake mutters.

Jay shoots him a look without taking his eyes off you. “Don’t start.”

You step inside, the door closing softly behind you.

Jay hovers, clearly unsure what to do with his hands.

“I, uh,” he starts, then stops. “Are you okay? Did you—was it hard getting here?”

“I’m fine,” you say quickly. “Really.”

He nods, still searching your face. “Okay. Okay.”

Jungwon watches the two of you for a moment, then quietly clears his throat. “I’ll—uh—give you guys a second.”

Jay barely registers it.

You glance around the room again, hearing laughter from down the hall, the clatter of dishes, someone arguing about music volume. It feels… normal. Alive.

You look back at Jay. “This is the side of you he told me about.”

Jay blinks. “What?”

You smile a little wider. “The loud one. The one who cares too much and pretends he doesn’t.”

His ears turn red instantly.

“Oh,” he mutters. Then, softer, “I’m really glad you came.”

You nod. “Me too."

The tension you carried in with you slowly fades as the night settles.

It starts small. Sunoo handing you a drink and immediately asking if you like mint chocolate ice cream. Jake insisting you sit because “Jay’s been pacing for hours and someone needs to ground him.” Heeseung hovering just enough to make sure everything’s okay, but not pushing.

Jay stays close without smothering. Always half a step behind you, like he’s ready to step in but doesn’t want to crowd you. You notice it. You don’t comment.

Dinner turns loud fast.

Ni-ki complains about the portions. Jay snaps back that he cooked and therefore decides who starves. Someone puts music on too loud. Someone else argues about it. You find yourself laughing before you realize you are.

It feels… easy.

At some point, Ni-ki eyes you over the table, grin sharp and mischievous. “So,” he says, dragging the word out, “you’re the reason Jay turns into a domestic menace.”

Jay straightens immediately. “Hey—”

You beat him to it.

“Oh, absolutely,” you say, unfazed. “I trained him. He didn’t even know how to properly wash rice before me.”

Ni-ki bursts out laughing. “No way.”

Jay sputters. “I knew how.”

“And you flooded the kitchen,” you add calmly.

The table erupts.

Jay opens his mouth, ready to defend himself —or you, it’s unclear—but stops when he sees you smiling, eyes bright, completely unbothered.

Ni-ki points at him. “She’s scary.”

You lean back in your chair. “You’re welcome to challenge me, but I don’t recommend it.”

“Hyung,” Ni-ki says, still laughing, “how do you survive?”

Jay just watches you, something soft settling in his chest. “I don’t,” he says quietly. “I just accept my fate.”

You glance at him, amused. “Drama queen.”

He smiles to himself, small and private, like he’s storing the moment away.

Later, when the plates are cleared and someone suggests games, Jungwon sits near you, noticeably more relaxed than before. He listens as you talk, nods along, fills in details when needed. The awkward edge from before is gone.

At one point, Jay goes to grab more drinks, and Sunoo leans toward you conspiratorially. “He’s been like this all week, you know.”

“Like what?”

“Cleaning. Stressing. Threatening violence over anything.”

You laugh. “That tracks.”

Jay returns just in time to hear Sunoo say, “We like you.”

Jay freezes. “You do?”

Sunooi shrugs. “Yeah. You make him less annoying.”

“Rude,” Jay mutters.

You smile, warmth spreading through you. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

As the night winds down, Jay finds himself standing a little apart, watching you laugh with his members, watching how naturally you fit into the noise.

Not forcing. Not fading.

Just there.

And for the first time in a long while, the tight knot in his chest loosens.

By the time the board games come out, the night has fully settled into something comfortable.

You’re cross-legged on the floor between Sunoo and Jake, surrounded by scattered cards and pieces, laughter coming easier now. Someone keeps changing the rules mid-game. Someone else keeps cheating badly enough that it’s obvious.

Ni-ki, obviously.

“That’s not how you play,” you tell him flatly, taking the card out of his hand.

“It worked though,” he argues.

“That doesn’t make it legal.”

Jay laughs from across the room, leaning back on his hands. “See? She’s on my side.”

Sunghoon snorts. “You say that like it’s rare.”

Heeseung watches the chaos for a moment, then stands. “Okay,” he says, stretching. “We’re switching gears.”

He disappears briefly and comes back with a couple bottles and cups. Nothing wild. Just enough.

“To relax,” he says simply, setting everything down.

The energy shifts —still light, but slower. Softer.

Jay’s laughter fades just a little.

You don’t notice at first when he stands. He does it quietly, slipping toward the hallway like he doesn’t want to draw attention.

Jungwon notices.

Jay murmurs something under his breath —an excuse about grabbing something— and disappears into his room.

You’re distracted anyway.

Jake pours drinks, handing you one carefully. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

You smile. “I’m good. Thank you.”

Ni-ki squints at you. “You’re surprisingly normal.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “Jay made you sound intimidating.”

Jay’s room door clicks softly down the hall.

You laugh. “He’s dramatic.”

Sunoo grins. “We know.”

Conversation drifts easily after that. Stories from trainee days. Dumb arguments. Inside jokes they pause to explain for your sake. You listen, ask questions, fill in where you can.

Sunghoon sits nearby, quieter than the others but relaxed, watching the way you fit without effort.

“You’re good for him,” Jake says suddenly, not even looking at you.

You blink. “What?”

He shrugs. “He’s happier when you’re around.”

The words land heavier than you expect.

Before you can respond, footsteps sound down the hallway.

Jay reappears.

He looks… different.

Not obvious enough that anyone else would notice, but you do. His shoulders are a little tense. His jaw set like he’s bracing himself for something. One hand disappears briefly into his pocket before he sits back down beside you.

“Everything okay?” you ask quietly.

He nods. “Yeah.” But his knee bounces.

You don’t push. You just stay close, your arm brushing his, grounding him in the noise and warmth of the room. He glances at you once, eyes soft.

The night continues around you, laughter rising and falling, the game resuming like nothing shifted.

But something has.

And Jay knows it.

----------------------------------

Jay tries to talk to you. He really does.

Every time he leans toward you, someone appears.

“Hey, have you tried this card combo?” Jake asks, shoving cards between you.

Jay opens his mouth— “Hyung, you’re sitting on my phone,” Ni-ki says, crawling halfway across the floor.

Jay exhales, nods, waits.

You meet his eyes again—

Sunoo plops down beside you. “Okay but settle this. Pineapple on pizza.”

Jay closes his eyes.

He shifts closer again— Heeseung asks him something about tomorrow’s schedule.

By the fourth interruption, Jay’s jaw is tight, leg bouncing, hand flexing like he’s holding himself back.

You notice.

“Jay?” you murmur.

He huffs out a breath, stands abruptly. “I need a drink.”

It’s not angry, exactly —but it’s close.

He heads for the kitchen, shoulders stiff. You hesitate only a second before standing and following him.

The dorm kitchen is dimmer, quieter. Just the low hum of the fridge and the faint noise of laughter drifting from the living room.

Jay grabs a bottle, twists the cap off with more force than necessary.

“Sorry,” he mutters without looking at you. “I’m not mad at you. I just—”

“I know,” you say softly.

That makes him stop.

He turns, really turns, and for a second the words look like they’re choking him.

“This might be the only time tonight I get you alone,” he says quietly. “So I’m just gonna say it. Okay?”

Your heart starts racing. “Jay—”

“I love you,” he says immediately. No hesitation. No buffer. “I’ve loved you since before I knew how dangerous it was. And I don’t care.”

You shake your head, panic blooming. “You can’t say things like that—”

“I would risk everything,” he continues, voice shaking now. “My career. My image. My life as I know it —if it meant I got to be with you honestly.”

Your chest tightens. “Jay, stop, you’re scaring me—”

He steps closer. “I’m not asking you to ruin anything. I know we can’t have the real thing. Not yet. Maybe not ever the way people expect.”

He reaches into his pocket.

Your breath catches. “Jay—”

“I know,” he says quickly when he sees your eyes widen, your body tense. “I know. Just—listen. Please.”

He pulls out a small velvet box.

“I don’t want a big moment. I don’t want pressure. I just want you to have something that proves this wasn’t a secret to me. That you weren’t something temporary.”

Your hands shake. “Jay…”

“I need a better reason to call you wifey,’” he says softly, almost smiling through the nerves. “Something real. Something that says I chose you. That I’m choosing you.”

Then, slowly, deliberately, he lowers himself to one knee on the kitchen tile.

Your breath leaves you in a soundless rush.

“This isn’t a proposal,” he says. “It’s a promise. That I see you. That I won’t miss you again. That no matter how hard this gets —I’m yours.”

He opens the box.

The ring catches the low light, simple and perfect.

“Will you let me give you this?” he asks. “Will you be my wifey… for real?”

You’re crying before you can stop yourself.

“Yes,” you breathe, then louder, breaking, “Yes.”

Jay laughs —a shaky, relieved sound— and stands just long enough to slide the ring onto your finger before you surge forward, grabbing his face and kissing him hard.

It’s desperate. Joyful. Real.

Somewhere behind you—

“OH MY GOD.”

You break apart just as the kitchen fills.

Jake, Sunoo, Ni-ki, Heeseung, Sunghoon, and Jungwon—all crowded in the doorway, clearly having been watching for longer than they should’ve.

Jungwon grins. “We said don’t interrupt him again.”

Jay groans, burying his face in your shoulder. “You all are dead.”

You laugh through your tears, holding him tight, ring warm against your skin.

For once, the secret doesn’t feel so heavy.

For once, it feels like a promise kept.

-permeant taglist- enhypen: @naqkja @rikismura @nocturnebite @sunooselle @staarflowerr @luvteyamm @opiumhee @kristynaaah @ancnymcnzjy @b3lly-we1lyy1009 @gojoslittlecumbucket @aliceskzfan @candidupped @livie23 @in-somnias-world @fialtorelle @osmoisiss @inlovewithparkjisung @st4rg1rlies @kpoplover667 @kireistrawberryjayla @yatta-exe @jaerisdiction @enhalxvr @ah-2212 @sa1ky @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @c9b7luv @twinklingsparkling @levisswaifuu @why-th0 @hellkithy @parkedsunghoon1009 @wooohh1324 @heavnrth @bangtanniesimjaeyun @vtyb23 general: @chenlesfeetpic @haolovre @vampgege @yuyita-rosier @page0brooklyn @walkintoclouds @zealouscookierebeltrash @multifandom-messsss @enhacolor @dana-nite

PARK JONGSEONG HAS NEVER KISSED YOU. 

Maybe you have never even felt his touch, the mere sensation of fingers brushing innocently against each other was unknown to you. 

And as you realise it, your chest tightens, and you dig your fingernails way too deep into your palms until they form little red crescents which burn. You realise he’d never seen you shed your tears as well, so you keep them at bay, praying that it’ll be enough to hide the storm brewing inside you. 

Park Jongseong is your fiancé, an arranged marriage. Bound to you by the weight of expectation, tradition, and a polished ring that sparkles mockingly on your finger.

To anyone else, you might seem like the perfect couple—well-dressed at formal dinners, walking side by side at events, exchanging polite smiles that barely reach your eyes. But behind closed doors, the gap between you feels insurmountable. 

Sometimes during those boring and forced events, all you want to do is to pull Jongseong closer by his arm. You want him to look at you and smile, to hold you by the waist and kiss you, to at least, acknowledge your presence in a room. 

But Park Jongseong is careful, too careful.

His words are measured, his actions restrained, as though every interaction is scripted. When he walks beside you, there’s always a polite distance, just enough to make it clear he’s near but never close enough to feel his warmth. Even when he hands you something—a pen, a glass of water—his fingers never brush yours.

It’s like he’s built an invisible wall between you, one that neither of you has dared to tear down.

“Ah—!” he winces in pain as you dab the medicated damp cotton a little too hard over his bruise on his cheeks. 

“S-sorry, I had something on my mind,” you stutter, immediately discarding the cotton into a trashcan.

“Its fine,” Jongseong whispers. 

“Wait let me see—” you reach your trembling, careful hand towards Jongseong’s bruise, in high hopes to cure it. 

“Its okay I'm fine,” Jongseong reiterates, slapping your hand away in a hurried motion.

Ouch. Does he not want you touching him? 

You gulp. The previous plaguing thoughts dawning over you once again. Doubt, insecurity and disturbance hurls at you at a threatening velocity once again, and you can feel yourself falling into a black void. 

You gulp again, your throat suddenly dry, your fingers tightening around the edge of the bathroom sink. You wish you had something to hold onto, something solid or real. Because standing here, staring at your fiancé, you felt like you were slipping into something dark and unknown. 

Jongseong sits on the marble countertop, his long legs spread apart, hands resting on either side of him like he was trying to keep himself steady. His crisp white dress shirt rumpled, the top buttons undone, revealing the faintest hint of a bruise blooming against his collarbone. His knuckles are scraped raw, his lip slightly swollen, and yet, god, yet he still looked unfairly handsome. Even now, even like this. 

You wish he would just kiss you. 

Just once. 

Just so you could taste something other than this awful, gnawing suspicion twisting in your gut.  

“How’d you hurt yourself?” you finally ask, your voice quiet but firm, pushing past the lump in your throat. The words feel too small in the vast space between you.  

Jongseong exhales sharply through his nose, shifting where he sat, as if he suddenly found the countertop beneath him unbearably uncomfortable. He lifts a hand, raking it through his raven-black hair, the strands falling messily over his forehead. His dark eyes never met yours.  

“Just fell first on my face,” he mutters, his voice tinged with forced nonchalance. “I was late to the office.”  

The explanation is simple. Too simple. Like a script he had rehearsed and rewritten a thousand times before finally presenting it to you. His words echo in the cold, tiled room, but they lack weight. Lack of honesty. 

Your fingers clench at the fabric of your sleeves as you nod slowly, pretending, for now, that you believed him. But the walls around you felt thinner, and the air between you was suffocating.  

Because deep down, you know.  

Jongseong is lying.

You nod slowly, trying to process his words, but they feel so hollow, so rehearsed. Jongseong doesn't even meet your eyes as he speaks, his gaze fixed on the tiled bathroom wall behind you.

“You should be more careful,” you sigh, ultimately rearranging all the medicines back to the first aid kit, with all your hopes of holding a long conversation with Jongseong slipping away into the trash can, “Its okay if you're late to office one day—” 

“How'd you get this?” Jongseong mumbles, his hand was flying slowly towards you from your peripheral vision. 

In a moment he stands up, easily towering over you. You can't dare to look in his eyes, so you settle yours at the loose buttons of his shirt. Your heart thumps faster as he moves in closer, a concerned yet bored tone in his voice. 

And then it finally happens, the impact takes place. The rough, calloused yet gentle pads of his fingers touch the apple of your cheeks. 

An electric shock runs through your veins— Park Jongseong touches your face. 

“Uhm- I uh I was-” you stutter, unable to form a proper sentence. 

“Weird,” Jongseong scoffs, retracting his hand. You wince at the absence of his touch, wishing it’d lasted longer. Jongseong continues, “we got hurt in the same place.” 

Your breath hitches.  

The warmth of his fingers lingered on your skin, even though the touch had been fleeting. Insignificant, maybe, to him. But to you? It was enough to leave your thoughts spiraling, to send your heart into a frenzied rhythm you couldn’t control.  

Jongseong’s expression doesn’t change. It’s still composed, unreadable, but there was something else in his eyes now. Not warmth, not affection, but something bordering on curiosity. As if he were piecing together a puzzle, one he didn’t quite care enough to solve.  

You force out a shaky breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “It’s just a coincidence,” you mutter, lying through your teeth. Because, just like him, you aren’t being honest either.  

Because your bruise wasn’t an accident.  

And neither was his.  

For a second, just a brief second, the two of you stand there in silence. The space between you feels suffocating, but not because of proximity. It was the weight of everything left unsaid. The doubts, the unspoken questions, the invisible wall that had existed from the very start.  

You want to reach for him, to bridge the gap. To ask him what had really happened, to tell him you weren’t as blind as he might think. But the words die in your throat when Jongseong took a step back, like he had just realized he’d gotten too close.  

“I should go,” he says flatly, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off some invisible burden. His hand brushes over his lip, pressing lightly against the swelling before he turns toward the door.  

“Jongseong—”  

He pauses. Just barely. Not enough to turn around, not enough to give you hope.  

You clench your fists at your sides. “Be careful next time,” you finish, your voice softer, weaker than you wanted it to be.  

There was a moment where you thought—hoped—he might say something back. But instead, he simply nods once before slipping out of the bathroom, leaving you standing there, alone with your own reflection.  

Your fingers reach up, tracing the ghost of his touch on your cheek.  

Park Jongseong had never kissed you.  

And at this rate, you aren't  sure if he ever will.

THE EVENING AIR BUZZES WITH CONVERSATION AND CLINKING GLASSES.

You sit rigidly at the long aok dining table, forcing a smile.

Jongseong is beside you, distant even in proximity, his fingers lightly tapping against the stem of his wine glass. You steal glances at him when you think he’s not looking, searching for any crack in his polished mask.

Across the table, your cousin Daisy leans forward, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“So…” she begins loudly enough to catch everyone’s attention, “how’s the arranged love story going? Still playing house or have we upgraded to actual feelings yet?”

The table erupts into laughter. You stiffen, your heart dropping into your stomach.

You try to laugh along, but it comes out awkward and brittle.

“You know, busy schedules. Hard to plan our fairy tale ending around board meetings and conference calls.”

The words taste sour in your mouth. 

You glance sideways at Jongseong, silently begging him with your eyes— Say something. Tell them it’s more. Tell them I’m more to you.

He simply chuckles, a soft, detached sound, and lifts his glass. The knot in your stomach tightens.

“Work always comes first,” he says, voice smooth, almost rehearsed.

There’s a pause. A small, hollow space opens inside your chest, which Jongseong manages to disturb.

Daisy snickers. “So romantic. Truly the love story of the century.”

Someone else jokes about putting bets on how long the marriage will last. More laughter, even more jokes. Insensitive and overlooking.

You feel your face heating up, but it's not embarrassment, it’s humiliation. And Jongseong, just sits there. Smiling politely, like he’s miles away.

You press your lips together tightly, stabbing your fork into a piece of roasted vegetable.

The moment passes, conversation flowing into safer topics, but your appetite is gone. All you can taste is the bitter disappointment.

As dessert is served, Jongseong’s phone vibrates on the table. He glances at it quickly, then tucks it away without a word. The tiny movement feels monumental. Another reminder that there's always somewhere else he'd rather be.

Finally, after what feels like hours, people start gathering their things, pulling on coats, exchanging hugs and goodbyes.

You and Jongseong step out into the chilly night. The cold air slaps your cheeks, a stark contrast to the stifling warmth inside.

You walk side by side in silence towards the car.

You can't hold it in any longer.

“Why didn’t you say anything back there?” you blurt, voice trembling despite your best effort to stay calm.

Jongseong stops walking. Turns to you slowly. His face is unreadable under the dim porch lights.

“About what?” he asks, feigning innocence. Oh, how you hate that face.

“About us,” you snap, your voice cracking under the weight of it all. “When they joked, when they implied we’re just business partners?”

He shrugs. “It was just a joke. Why give them more to gossip about?”

You stare at him, blinking rapidly to keep the sting of tears at bay. “Because it’s not just a joke to me.”

He exhales, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. “You’re overthinking it, Y/n.”

You laugh bitterly. “Am I? Because it feels pretty real when you don’t even try to correct them. When you act like you’re fine with everyone believing this marriage is just some... some arrangement you’re tolerating.”

His jaw tightens. “What would you have wanted me to say? That we’re madly in love? That we’re inseparable? That I can’t breathe without you?” His voice is low, cutting. He snaps, “Would that have made you feel better? Lying to everyone?”

You flinch like he slapped you. The hurt pools behind your eyes.

“I don’t need you to lie,” you whisper. “I just—”

The words hang between you, heavy, fragile.

For a second, just a second, something flickers across his face. Regret? Guilt? You can't tell.

But just as quickly, he turns away, walking briskly to the car. “Let’s not do this here,” he says sharply. “It’s late.”

You stand there for a moment, heart pounding, watching his back retreat from you like a closing door.

When you finally move, your feet feel like lead. You climb into the passenger seat without a word. The ride back home is suffocating. Silent. A chasm grows wider with every passing streetlight.

You want to reach out, to grab his hand, to say something, anything, that will fix whatever's breaking between you.

But you’re too afraid you’re the only one who still wants to fix it.

So you stare out the window, watching your reflection blur against the passing night.

And beside you, Jongseong drives on, his hands tight on the wheel, his face carved in stone.

Park Jongseong is giving up, maybe you should too.

PARK JONGSEONG THOUGHT HIS TO BE WIFE HAD FORGOT HIS BIRTHDAY.

But then he reminds himself, all these months of carrying a diamond ring of mockery on his hand— a symbol of bondage, marriage —he had never felt the fleeting touch of his soon to be wife.

And so he doesn't bother to kiss her goodbye, maybe pull her closer by her waist, whisper something not so innocent in her ears to watch her face flush in enticement, and leave for work with the motivation to come back to his fiancé’s arms.

No. He does nothing.

Park Jongseong doesn't even take the day off and stays at home. He leaves in a hurry, first thing in the morning. He doesn’t like celebrating birthdays anyway, it’s just a year closer to his demise, nothing to like about it.

He packs his briefcase in silence as he steals one last glance of you, groaning lazily as you make your way to the washroom. Of course, you have your job too, and Jongseong expected even less. It’s just a birthday, nothing too much.

9:30 am, he reaches his office building.

The heir to the prestigious, Park Company. The weight of expectation hung in the air like a finely spun chandelier, too delicate to touch, too grand to ignore. After all, he wasn’t just any director. He was Park Jongseong. The upcoming CEO. The heir.

The revolving glass doors of the company building spun to a slow stop behind him. Jongseong adjusted the cuffs of his suit jacket, eyes half-lidded, movements precise. He could hear the echo of his polished shoes as he walked through the marble tiled lobby, his reflection following him in the towering glass panels.

“Good morning, Vice President,” several voices chorused as he passed, accompanied by clipped bows and tight smiles.

He gave them all the same nod. Unbothered. Distant.

The elevator doors open and steps out alone, the silence laying on him like a second skin. The floor is cool and quiet, save for the typical office noises. He reminds himself that it's just another day, just another date on the calendar which could be overlooked without any problem. His team gathers up to the front door, clapping and smiling at him. Some senior executives push a forced smile in front of their young boss, the juniors more enthusiastic about someone they fear athough Jongseong doesn’t know if theirs are forced or natural.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY JONGSEONG,” they all sing song as confetti pops out in the air and paper freckles of his least favourite colours flutter down on him.

A distant banner said: TO THE FUTURE CEO. He shrugs, a polite smile on his face.

Among the crowd he spots Sunghoon, his first cousin as he steps out with a jovial smile and hands still clapping. He was in line to be the CEO as well, before he put down the offer to be COO instead, saying he's not a natural leader like Jongseong is.

“To the youngest CEO our company has ever seen!” he exclaims to the crowd as he stands beside Jongseong, pulling him to an encouraging hug. “What?” he snickers, “don't like the celebration?”

“No, I love it,” Jongseong hopes his smile is not too fake looking as he faces his team, not all of them are happy to be here, some are bored and waiting for their shift to be over. He sighs, “thank you guys for this, it means a lot to me.”

A celebration follows, and Jongseong does what is needed. A polite tight lipped smile, respectful bows and a small speech. Said the expected words. Cut the cake, nodded through small talk, and endured hugs from coworkers who’d never even dared to speak to him before today.

When noon rolls around, someone chirps, “We ordered lunch in! Come eat with us, Vice President Park!”

But Jongseong shakes his head.

“I’ll stay in,” he says, voice as smooth as glass. “I have calls to take.”

He turns, walks into his office, and shuts the door behind him.

Silence falls like a blanket. The cheers and loud noises quickly fade as the second Jongseong pulls the door close to his office, making slow and steady steps to his chair. He sits down on it, sighing as he lets out a shaky breath.

Birthday.

The word still rolls bitterly in his mind, not festive, not celebratory—just sharp edged and cold. A reminder of time ticking forward, dragging him further into a life that never felt like his own. A year older, a year deeper into expectations that weren’t his to begin with. The title. The company. The marriage.

He remembers the uncomfortable tight-fitting tuxedos, blinding camera flashes, tight lipped smiles of relatives he didn’t know and as usual, a script.

A script he had to learn every year, which is now installed in his brain. Jongseong just has to open his mouth and utter the same, mechanical and monotonous words in front of everyone as his parents would reassure him after, of how well he did, how well he behaved. And before he even knew it, birthdays meant nothing to him.

But then again, it was made cold and unbearable to him by the world. By his parents.

“Whatever,” he sighs and shrugs his blazer off him. And just as he’s about to throw it on his desk, he notices something.

A lunch box, covered neatly in pink satin cloth. A small note on top.

Jongseong doesn’t want to make assumptions, but he does anyway. What if it's from you? What if you really remembered his birthday? With a gulp, he steers his chair closer to his desk and picks up the lunch box, opening his cloth and reading the note in his hands, holding it up close.

Hope you like it. Happy birthday Jongseong, from y/n.

His breath falters, you remember.

His name in your handwriting. A little crooked, like you were in a rush, or were nervous. His throat tightens as he peels the lid off the top container.

And the scent hits him instantly.

Curry.

Rich, warm, and spiced exactly the way he likes it. Not the kind served at expensive restaurants with dainty portions, but the real kind. Homemade. The kind that sticks to your ribs. The kind that reminds him of chilly weekends in Seattle when he was small enough to sit on the kitchen counter, swinging his legs while his grandmother stirred the pot.

Something coils in his chest.

Carefully, he lifts the second container. The rice is shaped into a perfect flat surface. Neatly pressed, fluffy, hot. And across it—seaweed sheet, hand-cut with meticulous patience—spells out three letters.

JAY

Jongseong feels his heartbeat faltering. He winces as his offices’ air conditioning hits the bruise on his cheeks. He carefully sets the curry down on his table, before gaping at the rice again.

It indeed spells, JAY.

He scoffs at this weird feeling. The more he stares at it the more his heart burns and coils.

Only his grandmother had ever called him that. Not his father. Not his mother. No one in the stiff, lacquered halls of his youth had bothered to learn the name that made him feel… human. Small. Loved.

And now here it was. Cut delicately in seaweed. Sitting quietly in a box on his birthday.

By you.

“You’re really not going to join us for lunch?” Sunghoon barges in his office, striding towards Jongseong's desk.

Jongseong hurriedly tries to close the lunchbox, but it’s too late. Sunghoon’s eyes have already zeroed in on it like a hawk spotting prey.

“Is that curry?” Sunghoon gasps, leaning over the desk like an excited child. “Oh my god, it smells amazing. Who got you that? Is it from that expensive place across the street? Is that seaweed spelling your name? That’s so cute—”

“Get your hands away from it,” Jongseong snaps, dragging the lunchbox closer to his chest like it’s a newborn baby he’s sworn to protect with his life.

Sunghoon’s hand freezes mid-reach. His eyebrows shoot up.

“Wow. Wow. Possessive much?”

“This is mine,” Jongseong mutters defensively, clutching the lunchbox tighter. “You guys have a whole lunch downstairs. Go eat that.”

“But that’s communal food,” Sunghoon whines, poking the air toward the lunchbox. “This looks special. Homemade. You should share. It’s what Grandma Jay would’ve wanted.”

Jongseong glares at him.

“Grandma Jay would’ve wanted you to mind your own business.”

Sunghoon snickers, undeterred, and tries to lunge for a bite. Jongseong immediately swivels his chair away, putting his entire body between Sunghoon and the precious lunch like a shield.

“Jesus, you’re like a dragon hoarding treasure,” Sunghoon laughs, hands on his hips. “You’re gonna die alone with that lunchbox in your arms.”

“Good,” Jongseong says without missing a beat. “But I'm not going to share.”

Sunghoon makes one last dramatic, fake sob attack at the lunchbox. Jongseong kicks at him under the desk until he stumbles back, defeated.

Grumbling, Sunghoon heads for the door, shooting Jongseong a betrayed look over his shoulder.

“You’ve changed, man,” he says dramatically. “Fame, fortune… personalized seaweed letters. You’re not the same Jongseong I knew.”

Jongseong just smirks to himself as the door swings shut again. 

Finally, blessed peace.

He opens the lunchbox once more, the smell of curry filling the room, and the sight of your careful seaweed letters warming a space inside him he didn’t even know was still hollow.

A dull sting pulses along his cheek as he chews, and his hand drifts to the bruise you both pretended not to see. He clicks his tongue, annoyed. Coincidence, he tells himself. Nothing more. But the throbbing settles under his skin like a reminder—of you, of your quiet lies, of his own.

But this time, when he takes the first bite, he laughs under his breath.

YOU DESERVED A BETTER GRATITUDE THAN A JUST SIMPLE THANK YOU.

Park Jongseong sighs as he stares at the window of his car, watching the raindrops race against each other. His fingers drum restlessly against the steering wheel, the soft patter of rain against metal filling the silence inside the car.

He leans back against the headrest, staring at the road.

“thank you for the lunch, y/n.” he said last night, “it was so delicious.”

He remembers the tension between your brows, how they knotted up gently and relaxed a second after. Disappointment. He was offhand, rushed and sudden with his words, not even looking into your eyes as he said how warm the meal was. So why wouldn’t you be disappointed? Jongseong remembers the way you rolled your shoulders back, a small sigh escaping you as if you had to physically push the disappointment out of your body, tuck it somewhere he wouldn’t notice.

“you’re welcome,” you said simply, unmuting the ignored show playing on the tv with a soft clenched jaw, which Jongseong wished he wouldn’t notice.

He knew that your welcome wasn’t genuine. And maybe he could’ve tried to find the stars in your eyes to make things better, maybe he shouldn’t overthink.

But he also remembers the way you took a second glance of him when he stood there like a robot, holding his almost empty briefcase in his hands, wanting to say something else than just a thank you.

Your eyes were cold then. Faint traces of tears sticking to your lashes, catching the soft glow of the overhead light as you looked at him like you were trying to read him one last time. He thought you would say something, maybe shout or scoff at his posture.

But nothing came out of your mouth except a tired sigh as you abandoned your discomfort and disappointment on the cold couch as you made your way towards the shared bedroom, agonizingly slow.

Maybe you had that pace intentionally, for him to call you back and say something real. Cause fuck, you remember his beloved nickname which was lost, you remember how he liked his curry, you remember him.

Lost in own thoughts, something interesting catches Jongseong’s eyes.

Is that you?

Jongseong gets startled at the sight. You, in this heavy and cold rain, trying to cross the road with your blazer above your head, which does nothing to keep you dry.

“Shit,” he curses under his breath, quickly starting his car as he drives across the road, stopping just beside the pavement.

“Y/n!” He shouts your name clear in the heavy rain, loud enough for you to turn around to his voice, “get in, you’re going to get sick!”

You pause mid-step at his voice, blinking through the rain as you turn to face him. The car idles beside the curb, headlights casting a pale glow across the drenched street. His figure leans across the seat, the passenger door wide open like a quiet plea.

But you stay rooted where you are, water soaking through your shoes, the cold seeping deeper beneath your skin. Your hands clench at your sides.

“I’m fine,” you call out, loud enough for him to hear but it’s tough at the edge, shaking, “go home, Jongseong—”

“Y/n please,” he pleads, although it doesn’t sound like one, “you’re soaking wet, just shut up and get in!”

“I’m- I’m fine,” you snap. You don’t want to get in the car just because he happens to see you and is inviting you to stay dry. That’s the only case, isn’t it? Jongseong is here by coincidence, he wouldn’t deliberately check your location to pick you up in this awful weather. Would he?

“I can go by myself, the rain is not too bad.”

You can hear him sigh, as he gets out of his car, slamming the door behind him.

“Get in,” he steps into the rain, the downpour immediately plastering his shirt to his skin, darkening the fabric, “You will fall sick, y/n. Get in the car.”

He steps even closer, his hair now sticking to his forehead by this insufferable rain as he narrows his eyes. “If you want to be sick so bad, do this another day.”

Your throat tightens. You want to scream at him, shake him, ask him why he always waits until things fall apart before showing up. Why he only steps into the rain once you’re already drenched.

But instead you force your chin up, press your lips into a tight smile as you gather your blazer tighter around yourself.

“Don’t act like you care if i’m sick, Jongseong,” you didn't want to say that, but do anyways.

He blinks. For a second, his expression falters. Barely. “Why not?,” he says quietly, almost like he’s confessing something he hadn’t intended to say aloud. But then his gaze hardens again, guarded. “You’re freezing, Y/N. Stop being stubborn.”

The wind blows past you both, cold and biting. You shiver, teeth clattering as you try to recover whatever warmth the soaked blazer has to give.

“I won’t go—”

“As much as I would love to argue with you right now,” Jongseong cuts off, standing so close that your hands could meet, “I can't let you get sick.”

Your lips part, another protest rising, but before you can speak, Jongseong’s fingers curl around your wrist, not harsh, but firm. His brows draw together, rain sliding down his temples, his lips a tight line.

“I said get in the car,” he repeats, lower this time. His voice carries an edge, not pleading, not begging—commanding. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

You glare at him, heart wrenching in the cold rain as it seeps into your work clothes.

“You only come when it’s convenient for you,” you try to hold it together.

He steps closer, raindrops sliding down the sharp lines of his face. “You think this is convenient for me?” he says bitterly, tone low, controlled. “You think standing here like an idiot in the rain for you is easy?”

The proximity hits you suddenly. He’s standing close, too close, as the rain damps his shirt next. Jongseong’s grip around your wrist tightens, indicating he’s not going back home without you in his car.

And somehow that warms you a bit in this coldness.

His eyes are direct, confronting as they try to soften into yours. Try, you can see it, how his eyebrows lift and slowly fall, trying to find the ease in the situation to gently pull you into the car with no trouble, with no one getting sick.

“Y/n…” he whispers your name, as if for the last time when he finally eases his brows, “get in the car. Please.”

You gulp at his seriousness, a droplet of rain rolls from his chin to fall on your cheeks. It’s cold, making you flinch.

“And if i don’t go?” you test the waters, voice trembling as you watch him roll back his shoulders.

“Then I’ll carry you,” he says without hesitation, his gaze hardening. “Don’t test me right now.”

Something in his tone makes your breath hitch. He’s not bluffing—you know that.

You swallow, lips pressing into a thin line as you hesitate, your pride warring with the exhaustion creeping into your bones. But just as another gust of wind leaves you shivering, your resolution breaks.

You look away first, “You are a very bad liar—”

Jongseong doesn’t speak, doesn’t smile or smirk or gloat. He just scoops you up before you can finish the sentence.

Your breath leaves you in a sharp gasp as Jongseong’s arm slides under your knees and the other wraps firmly around your back, pulling you against him. Your soaked blazer slips uselessly from your shoulders, rain immediately lashing against your skin, but his body blocks most of it. He’s solid, unyielding, warm in a way that makes your chest ache.

“Jongseong—!” you protest, instinctively gripping the front of his damp shirt. His name tears out of you softer than you intended.

“I warned you,” he mutters, jaw clenched as he turns toward the car. His grip tightens reflexively when you shift, as if afraid you’ll fall or run. “Stop fighting me.”

He reaches the car and nudges the passenger door open with his knee, maneuvering you inside with careful precision.

When he slides back into his seat, drenched and stoic, he doesn’t look at you immediately. Just stares ahead as the engine hums softly beneath the rain. And with that, he pulls the car into drive, headlights cutting through the downpour, his hand steady on the wheel even if everything else between you trembles on the edge of falling apart.

“Take this,” he says, reaching towards the backseat and grabbing his dry blazer, “you’ll be cold.”

“T-thanks,” you don’t argue much as your teeth clatter together, quickly draping the blazer over your damp clothes.

“Y-your clothes are soaked too,” you gulp, voice soft and nervous. You glance at Jongseong’s side profile as he drives, “you’ll get sick—”

“I’ll be fine,” he says, his voice low and steady, almost too calm, “I’m not the one shivering. And it’s just a little rain.”

“So much for the guy who didn’t let me walk home in the rain,” you giggle softly, hoping to elevate his mood but his expressions remain stoic, indifferent.

You pull the blazer tighter around yourself. It smells like him. espresso, cologne and ironically, like home.

“Thank you for—” you clear your throat, taking time to rethink your gratitude towards him when he himself barely shows it. He’s always words, one or two, never sentences like you. But at the end of the day, someone has to express something.

“Thank you for the blazer, and for picking me up anyways. I know you didn’t mean to and I’m sorry for being a nuisance—”

“You’re not a nuisance,” he admits, eyes still on the road. Your heart stops. “I’m not that big of a jerk to let my fiance come home with a fever.”

There’s a silence that stretches long and sharp, the rain outside tapping impatient fingers against the windows. You sink deeper into the passenger seat, your hands curling in your lap. His words aren’t romantic. They aren’t sweet. But they tear through something inside you, a part that’s been holding itself together with hope and delusion.

It’s the bare minimum. It’s something, and something is better than nothing. Right?

“Really?” you whisper, unsure if you really heard that right.

He nods slightly, still focused on the road ahead. “What’s there to question? If you don’t want me picking you up next time, just say so.”

Your heart tugs, this is coming from him. You don’t need anything more than this quiet ride, the shared space between you, the knowledge that he’s here. Whether it’s out of obligation or something deeper.

Jongseong reaches forward, turning on the car’s heating system inside.

“You can keep the blazer,” he mumbles.

You leave it here for now, basking into the silence with his cologne around you, questioning whether or not you really have space in his heart.

RAIN ALWAYS MAKES HIM SOFT.

Not in the obvious way. Not the cinematic way where he confesses or reaches for you or lets himself be held. It makes him quiet first—eyes lingering on windows, fingers tapping restlessly, shoulders drawn tight like he’s bracing for something unseen. You notice it the moment you step onto the rooftop, the smell of wet concrete clinging to your coat, droplets sliding down the glass doors behind you.

It’s Sunghoon’s birthday, technically, though no one is really treating it like one. You almost didn’t come. Long days at work, the quiet tension waiting for you at home. But Sunghoon had called, cheerful and insistent, saying it would be “good for everyone,” which usually meant good for Jongseong.

You arrive later than Jongseong and spot him near the bar, surrounded by men in expensive suits. Business partners, maybe friends, you don’t linger long enough to figure it out. After greeting Sunghoon and handing him a gift you picked up last minute, you drift toward the railing instead, letting the city stretch beneath you.

The air is cold. Damp. The kind that creeps under your skin.

He doesn’t see you at first.

Or maybe he does, and pretends he doesn’t. He stands with a glass in his hand, ice melting faster than he drinks it, head tilted just enough to listen without really engaging.

You watch him from the corner of your eyes. Careful, as he would have been. You watch the way his jaw tightens when someone laughs too loudly, his thumb rubs the rim of his glass over and over—a nervous habit he probably doesn’t realize he has. His jacket is off, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms.

He looks up suddenly, eyes catching you the first thing he looks at besides his drink, as if rehearsed.

You look away quickly. Ever since he rescued you from the rain, he’s gotten quieter. Maybe shy. You notice how quickly he looks away from your eyes, how he hums shakily in response to your soft thank yous, how his cheeks filled with color when you wore his blazer home, rain soaked and cold.

You hope none of that was your imagination.

Sunghoon’s laughter rings behind you, bright and careless, and you force a smile as someone hands you a drink. The rooftop is warm, string lights overhead, music low and conversation easy. You lean against the railing.

That’s when someone steps beside you.

“Didn’t think you’d make it,” a familiar voice says.

You turn. Sim Jaeyun—coworker, colleague, friend, whatever fits best these days. Casual clothes, sleeves pushed up, hair slightly messy like he doesn't care. He smiles easily.

“Neither did I,” you admit. “Long week.”

“You look tired.”

“You have no idea.”

He says your name gently. He asks about work, complains about his boss, makes you laugh with a stupid story about getting lost. At some point, without thinking, he brushes a strand of hair away from your face, fingers grazing your temple.

You don’t pull away.

You don’t notice the shift in the room.

But Jongseong does.

He notices the untouched drink, the way your sleeve keeps slipping, and he sure as hell notices someone else standing in front of you. Touching you. Smiling with you.

The sound around him dulls, like someone turned the volume down. He sees the touch, the way you tilt your head, the smile he doesn’t think he’s ever earned. Something hot and sharp coils in his chest.

He downs his drink.

“Vice President Park, what are your thoughts—”

He doesn’t hear it.

Another glass appears in his hand. He gulps it down. His throat burns.

The weather crawls under his skin. Anger blurs into something uglier, something dangerously close to fear.

Why are you smiling like that?

He tells himself it’s none of his business. He has no claim. You’re his fiancée by contract, not by touch, not by confession.

And yet his feet move before his thoughts catch up.

He doesn’t storm. He detaches himself from the circle, sets his glass down with too much force, and walks. Slow. Measured.

You feel it before you see him.

The air tightens. Jaeyun is mid sentence when your gaze flickers past his shoulder and lands on Jongseong.

He’s coming toward you.

Tie loosened. Hair disheveled. Jaw set hard. Alcohol makes him tipsy, but his intentions are clear.

Your heart stutters.

You straighten, fingers curling around your glass. Jaeyun notices, glances back.

“Uh,” he clears his throat. “Is that—”

Jongseong stops beside you.

Too close.

Close enough that you smell him—whiskey, rain, something bitter underneath. Close enough that his presence redraws the space.

“Jaeyun,” Jongseong says calmly, nodding once. Polite. Cold.

“Vice President Park,” Jaeyun replies, straightening.

Jongseong’s gaze slides back to you. Lingers on your face, the loose strand by your temple, the slipping sleeve.

“Didn’t know you were coming,” he says to you. You swallow. “I told you earlier.”

He blinks, like he’s replaying the memory too late. “You did.” A beat of silence.

Jaeyun shifts, uncomfortable. “I was just keeping her company,” he says lightly, attempting to diffuse. “Didn’t mean to intrude.”

Jongseong hums low. His eyes don’t leave you.

“You don’t have to,” he says. Then, softer, but sharper. “I’ve got her. She’s taken.”

Your breath catches.

Jaeyun hesitates, glancing at you. You open your mouth, but Jongseong’s hand lifts first.

Not entirely touching you.

Hovering at the small of your back, close enough that you feel the heat through your dress. A careful, controlled claim.

“I’ll… grab another drink,” Jaeyun says. “Nice seeing you.”

When he leaves, the space collapses.

You’re alone with Jongseong.

Silence stretches, heavy with everything unsaid. He looks away first, dragging a hand through his hair, fingers trembling.

“I can— can talk better than him,” he hiccups.

“Seriously, how much did you drink?” he basically reeks of alcohol and slightly sways side to side as you guide him down the stairs to the empty hallway.

“Are you—,” your sentence is left unfinished a Jongseong cages you against the wall, shaking hands on each side of your head.

He’s close, too close. His eyes are red, unfocused, flickering between your eyes and your lips. His breath is warm but reeking of whiskey. His hands stay planted on the wall, shaking, fingers flexing like he’s reminding himself not to touch.

“You shouldn’t let—” he starts, then hiccups softly, the sound almost humiliating in how it breaks his authority. He squeezes his eyes shut for a second, reopens them, tries again. “Let someone who is not your h-husband touch you like that.” The words come out crooked, slurred at the edges, but the intent behind them is painfully clear.

You stare at him, stunned, then a breathy laugh slips out despite yourself. “God,” you murmur, “you’re so drunk.” His brows knit together immediately, offended and wounded in the same breath.

“So what I’m— drunk?” he demands, swaying closer before catching himself, forehead knocking lightly against the wall beside your head. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Yes,” you say, heart thudding. “Jongseong. You did.” You lift your chin, meeting his gaze even as your voice trembles. “You’re not my husband. You’re only my fiancé. And I can have my own friends.”

For a second, something hollow flashes across his face. Then he laughs, short, disbelieving.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, shaking his head too hard. “No one else w-would check the—” another hiccup, quieter this time, “—weather and deliberately get wet in the rain just to bring you home safe.”

The words hit you harder than you expect, sinking deep and slow, like cold seeping through fabric. For a moment, you can’t breathe properly. You remember the rain too well. The way you’d laughed it off, the way he hadn’t, how he’d checked the rain twice and still stepped outside without an umbrella, coat already darkening at the shoulders because you hated walking alone.

“I would do that,” he continues, voice lower now. “As your— fucking fiancé or husband. Not Jaeyun. Not— not anyone else.”

His hands leave the wall. They hover instead, uncertain, fingers twitching in the space near your waist like he’s begging himself for restraint. He leans in despite it, forehead nearly brushing yours, breath warm and unsteady against your cheek.

“I would do it in a heartbeat,” he whispers.

Your chest tightens, a quiet ache blooming behind your ribs, because no one else has ever noticed the weather for you, has ever overlooked their own comfort for yours, yet some voice in the back of your head insists that he's just drunk.

But the way he says it hurts worse than any confession.

“I didn’t like him,” he admits. “Near you.”

“Why?” you whisper.

He doesn’t answer right away. His hand comes up to his chest again, fingers pressing there like he’s trying to steady something beneath his ribs. His breathing is uneven now, shallow.

“Jongseong,” you say, alarm creeping in. “Are you okay?”

He nods too quickly. “I’m fine.”

“I’m fine,” he repeats.

But he isn’t.

You see it when you guide him to the parking lot, cold wind tugging at your hair. He leans too much on you, apologizing under his breath.

“Sorry—sorry, I’m— I’m heavy,” he mumbles, fumbling for the car keys before giving up and letting you take them from his shaking fingers.

“You’re drunk,” you say gently. “Not dying.” He huffs out a weak laugh. “Feels close enough.”

The drive home is quiet, wipers sweeping rhythmically. Jongseong slumps in the passenger seat, eyes fluttering close like he’s afraid of what happens if he lets them stay closed. His breathing evens out only when the car stops at red lights, like only motion keeps him awake.

At one point, he murmurs your name. Just once. Soft. Unconscious.

Your hands tighten on the steering wheel.

Getting him inside is harder than you expect. He insists he can walk, immediately proves he can’t, nearly folding until you hook an arm around his waist.

“Easy,” you murmur. “I’ve got you.”

“I know,” he says. “You always— always do.”

You ease him onto the bed. He collapses face first into the pillows. You tug off his shoes, straighten the blanket, careful not to linger.

When you turn away, it feels like stepping back from something fragile. You make it two steps toward the door.

His hand closes around your wrist. Not rough but enough to stop you.

“Don’t,” he murmurs, barely awake, eyes still closed. His grip tightens slightly, like his body knows what he wants even if his mind can’t form it. “Cold.”

He tugs again, weak but insistent, pulling you down to the edge of the bed. He shifts, arm draping around your waist, face pressing into your side like he’s searching for warmth.

“Rain,” he mumbles into your dress. “Hate it when you’re out in it.”

You freeze.

His words dissolve into half formed apologies, your name tangled with quiet plead. His breathing slows, forehead resting against your stomach like it’s the safest place he knows.

You don’t move.

Because for the first time, his softness isn’t guarded or conditional. It’s just him, clinging in his sleep like he trusts you not to disappear.

And you realize, with startling clarity, that rain doesn’t make him weak.

It makes him tell the truth.

YOU WONDER IF YOU CARE TOO MUCH SOMETIMES.

Because no matter what you do for Park Jongseong, it never feels like enough to quiet the ache that lives with you. Loving him feels like holding something fragile and priceless in your bare hands, knowing that even your gentlest grip might hurt him, knowing that letting go might destroy you both.

You care in a way that feels reckless. Although you do see the consequence of it, that has now finally for once, in your favour.

Jongseong doesn’t pull away after that night.

If anything, he does the opposite.

He lingers.

At first, it’s subtle enough that you convince yourself it’s coincidence. He waits for you in the mornings, jacket already in hand even when the forecast promises clear skies. He sits closer at the dining table, knee brushing yours beneath the polished surface, never once apologizing for the contact. When you move around the apartment, he follows. Not hovering, not watching, just present.

You tell yourself it’s temporary. That he doesn’t remember what he said. That the drunken softness was a one-time fracture.

After all, this whole thing is arranged, and you’ve managed to gaslight yourself into thinking this softness is just obligation wearing a kinder face. That this is him playing his part better now.

You repeat it like a rule. Like something that can keep you at bay.

But rules blur when he learns your steps.

He starts matching his pace to yours without realizing it. Slowing when you slow, pausing when you hesitate, turning back when you forget something even if it makes him late. When you sit on the couch, he chooses the space beside you instead of across the room. When you’re tired, he quietly rearranges his schedule around yours, meetings shifted, calls taken later, priorities subtly rewritten.

It’s never announced. Never even whispered.

It just happens.

And it scares you more than it comforts you. Because this is what you wanted, wasn’t it? For him to care, to notice, to stay. But now that it’s happening, it feels unfamiliar in your hands. It feels like obligation. Plain obligation.

Still, sometimes you catch him looking at you with something like relief. Other times, something closer to fear.

That’s when it starts to bleed through.

In the way his fingers tighten around your sleeve when you mention staying late at work. In the way his jaw sets when your phone lights up with unfamiliar names.

At night, he sleeps closer.

Not always touching, sometimes just angled toward you, arm thrown over the empty space between your bodies like he’s reserving it. Other nights, he curls into you without thinking, forehead pressed to your shoulder, breath steadying only once you’re there. When he stirs from whatever restless place his dreams take him, his hand finds you first. Barely there. But always you.

You start waking before him just to watch.

The way his brow smooths in sleep. The way his lips part slightly when he exhales. The faint tension that never fully leaves his body, even at rest. You notice the moments when his breathing stutters, when his hand presses briefly to his chest before settling again. So subtle you wonder if you imagined it.

You don’t ask, even when you know you should.

Instead, you slip out of bed quietly, careful not to disturb the way Jongseong’s arm lies over your hand, loose but deliberate, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. You peel his fingers away one by one, apologizing in your head for a crime you haven’t committed yet, and pad toward the kitchen.

The apartment is still. Morning light spills softly through the curtains, pale and forgiving. You make coffee the way he likes it now, without thinking about when you memorized that detail. The realization only hits after the mug is already warming your palms.

You’re setting plates on the counter when the bedroom door opens.

Jongseong stands there, hair mussed, shirt half-buttoned, eyes heavy but searching. He looks relieved when he finds you in the kitchen, like something in his chest loosens at the sight.

“You’re up,” he says, matter-of-fact.

“So are you,” you reply.

He hums and drifts closer, leaning his shoulder against the counter beside you. He doesn’t say anything, just watches you move, each small action tracked like he’s afraid to miss it.

Sunlight catches the faint shadows beneath his eyes.

“You didn’t sleep well,” you say without thinking.

He stiffens for half a second, then shrugs. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

That alone feels like a confession.

The moment lingers too long, fragile, exposed. Jongseong seems to realize it too, because his shoulders tense, his gaze drops, and the softness retracts all at once.

“Schedule’s tight this week,” he says abruptly, voice clipped. “Might come home late.”

You nod, even though you know that’s not the reason the air has cooled.

Breakfast is quiet after that.

He sits across from you instead of beside you, answers short, eyes fixed anywhere but your face. When you pass him the toast, your fingers brush, and he flinches.

It’s barely noticeable.

But you notice.

You lift your mug, letting the warmth settle your nerves. The coffee tastes familiar, comforting in a way that makes your chest ache. You don’t realize he’s staring until he turns back to the counter and starts brewing coffee again.

“You already have one,” you say.

“I know.”

He pours it into a different mug. A plain one. You ask, very confused, “Why are you using a different cup?”

He pauses, then nods toward your hands. “Because you’re holding mine.”

You freeze, eyes dropping to the mug. His mug. Heat rushes to your face.

“I— I’m sorry,” you say quickly, already standing. “I didn’t realize—”

“Hey.” His voice is gentle. He steps closer, stopping you with a light touch to your wrist. “It’s fine.”

You look up at him, still braced.

“It’s just a cup,” he adds, softer.

Something in your chest loosens. “Isn’t it your favorite?” you murmur.

He pours milk into his coffee, hesitates, then adds a little more—your preference, not his. When he notices you watching, he clears his throat.

“I can share,” he says.

You smile, small and careful. This time, he doesn’t look away.

But to your luck, softness doesn’t last.

It creeps into the days quietly, settles into routines, hides in shared cups and matching steps. Until one evening, it snaps under the weight of everything neither of you is saying.

Jongseong comes home late.

You know it the moment the door opens, not because of the time, but because of the way it opens. Sharper. With a thud.

You’re on the couch, half curled into the corner with your laptop abandoned beside you, the apartment lit only by a lamp you forgot to turn off. You look up instinctively.

He doesn’t greet.

His tie is loosened, jacket still on, hair slightly damp like he washed his hands too aggressively and dragged his fingers through it afterward. His expression is shut tight, jaw clenched in a way that makes something in your chest tighten in response.

“You’re late,” you say. Not accusing. Just stating.

“I know,” he replies, cold.

He doesn’t move closer. Doesn’t take his jacket off. Just stands there like he hasn’t decided whether to stay or leave.

Something prickles.

“You said you’d text,” you add, softer now.

His eyes flick to yours. There’s irritation there, not fully directed at you, but sharp enough to cut.

“I was busy.”

The way he says it feels deliberate.

You close your laptop slowly. “You’ve been busy every night this week.”

Silence.

You stand as if to confront him. The distance between you shrinks without either of you meaning it to.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” you say, carefully. “But don’t shut me out either.”

His laugh is quiet. Humorless. “I’m not shutting you out.”

“You are,” you say, firmer now. “You come home exhausted, you won’t talk, you won’t let me ask if you’re okay—”

“I am okay,” he snaps.

The sharpness makes you flinch before you can stop yourself.

He sees it.

Something dark flashes across his face—regret, anger, fear, all tangled together.

“I didn’t mean—” He stops. Swallows. “You’re overthinking.”

The words land badly.

“You hate it when I watch you,” you say quietly. “But you hate it more when I stop.”

His hands curl into fists at his sides.

“You don’t get to psychoanalyze me,” he says. “You don’t know what it’s like—”

“Then tell me,” you cut in. Your voice shakes despite your effort. “Stop standing five steps away from me like I’m a stranger in my own house.”

That does it.

He crosses the space between you in three strides.

Too fast. Too close.

You barely have time to inhale before he’s there. Towering, breathing unevenly, the air between you charged and dangerous. His hands come up, bracing against the wall on either side of your head.

The sound it makes is soft.

The effect is not.

Your heart slams against your ribs. You can feel his warmth now, feel the tension vibrating off him, feel how hard he’s fighting himself. His face is inches from yours, so close you can see the faint pulse at his jaw, the way his eyes flicker down to your mouth before snapping back up.

“Don’t,” he says hoarsely. Not a command, but warning to himself.

“Don’t what?” you whisper, breath catching.

“Look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

He gulps, as if holding back very specific words. “Like I owe you something I can’t give.”

Your chest aches. “I’m not asking for anything.”

“Yes, you are,” he says, voice low, strained. “You ask just by standing there. By—” His breath stutters. “By caring.”

You don’t move.

You can feel his breath on your cheek. Warm. Unsteady. His lips are dangerously close now, close enough that the slightest tilt would end everything you’ve been holding apart.

“I can’t,” he whispers. “You don’t understand what you’re asking me to risk.”

“Then why are you here?” you ask, tears threatening. “Why do you come back to me every night if you’re so afraid?”

His eyes darken.

Because he wants to kiss you.

Because you can see it. The way his mouth softens, the way his body leans in despite his mind screaming no. His forehead dips, brushing yours. He gulps again, eyes glued to your lips. For half a second, you think he’s going to give in.

You think this is it.

Then he pulls back.

Abrupt. Violent in its restraint.

He steps away like he’s been burned, dragging a hand through his hair, breathing hard. He doesn’t look at you when he speaks again.

“I need air,” he says, voice rough. “I can’t do this tonight.”

He grabs his jacket off the chair, pauses at the door just long enough for you to think, hope, he might turn back.

He doesn’t.

The door closes behind him, leaving you alone in the charged silence, lips still tingling from a kiss that never happened, heart aching from how close he came.

And how far he ran.

PARK JONGSEONG SMOOTHENS HIS TIE IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR.

He does it twice. Then a third time. Slow, precise movements, like repetition might quiet the unease sitting low in his chest. The mirror reflects a version of him he knows how to wear, pose and pretend. The heir. The fiancé. The man who never falters.

Except his fingers hesitate at his collarbone.

Just for a fraction of a second.

He exhales, steadying himself, and reaches for his cufflinks. The room smells faintly of cologne and starch and something warmer beneath it. Home, he thinks, before he can stop himself.

The bedroom door opens softly behind him.

“Jongseong?”

Your voice.

He straightens instinctively, shoulders squaring before he turns around.

You stand there in the doorway, light spilling in behind you, and for a moment he forgets how to breathe.

The dress drapes over you like it was designed with patience, soft fabric, gentle lines, nothing loud. It doesn’t demand attention. It invites it. The kind that lingers. The kind that stays. Your hair falls neatly over your shoulders, collarbones catching the light, skin warm and real in a way that makes something twist uncomfortably in his chest.

You shift your weight, suddenly self conscious beneath his stare.

“So?” you ask, trying to sound casual. “How do I look?”

The question hangs between you.

Jongseong opens his mouth. But then closes it back.

His eyes trace you—too slow to be polite, too careful to be careless. He notices everything: the way the fabric settles at your waist, the slight dip at your collarbone, the way your hands fidget like you’re bracing for something. For him. Because of him.

Because the last thing he remembers clearly is your breath on his lips and the way he walked away like a coward.

“You look—” Jongseong gulps, the words getting stuck between his throat and his heart. His eyes dart away from your eyes and he opens his mouth again.

“You look—”

“Sir,” the driver’s voice cuts in from the hallway. Why, the perfect timing. “The car is ready.”

The moment collapses.

Jongseong nods once, grateful and irritated all at the same time. “We’ll be right there.”

The door closes again, leaving the words unsaid. You smile at him, understanding, and he hates himself for not being fast enough with his words

----

The family house is already alive when you arrive.

Laughter spills from the open doors. The clink of glasses. Familiar voices layered over one another in practiced warmth. Jongseong’s mother greets you first, eyes sharp and appraising, a practised smile.

“You look lovely,” she tells you, hands light on your shoulders. “Perfect.”

Jongseong’s father nods at him from across the room, just acknowledging his presence with his perfect wife. But he doesn’t come up to you both for once.

“Do you want to sit?” he asks quietly, leaning in just enough that no one else hears. His voice is neutral, but his shoulders are tense.

“I’m fine,” you reply. Then, after a beat, softer, “Are you?”

He exhales through his nose. “I will be.”

That’s not an answer.

You drift toward the window under the pretense of admiring the garden lights. Jongseong follows a moment later, stopping beside you.

“I didn’t mean what I said earlier,” he murmurs, leaning a little closer to your ears.

You keep your eyes forward. “Which part?”

His jaw ticks. “All of it.”

“That’s convenient,” you say, not unkindly, just bored.

He glances at you then, eyes dark. “This isn’t the place.”

“No,” you agree, nodding. “It never is.”

Dinner starts shortly after. What is meant to be a family gathering feels like business meeting soon.

Everyone takes their seats, chairs pulled back in unison, napkins folded just so. Jongseong sits beside you, close enough that his knee brushes yours beneath the table, a small anchor in a room that already feels too large.

Conversation starts harmless.

Someone comments on the weather. Another praises the dishes. Jongseong’s uncle talks about a recent business acquisition, his voice carrying authority. You nod when appropriate, smile when addressed, keep your posture perfect.

But then the atmosphere shifts.

“So,” one of his aunts says, swirling her wine, eyes flicking to you with something like curiosity, “have you settled into married life yet?”

Not yet married, you want to say, You know that.

Instead, you smile. “We’re adjusting.”

She hums. “That’s good. It’s important to learn flexibility early. Especially for women.”

Another voice joins in, you don’t recognizethe face. “You still plan on working after the wedding, right? Or is this just, a phase?”

You open your mouth, then hesitate. Choose your words carefully. “I enjoy my work.”

“Of course,” someone else laughs lightly. “But family should always come first. Jongseong’s responsibilities are already immense.”

The implication lands quietly. You are not one of them.

You glance down at your plate, appetite gone. Your hands curl slightly in your lap, nails pressing into skin just enough to ground you.

“But it must be nice,” his cousin adds, smiling sweetly, “to have everything taken care of. Some people don’t realize how fortunate they are.”

Fortunate.

The word lands softly, almost politely—and still, it sinks its teeth into you. It curls somewhere behind your ribs, sharp and humiliating, because you know exactly what they mean by it. Not lucky. Not loved. Arranged. Chosen for you. Your hands rest neatly in your lap, fingers folded just right, posture perfect, because this is what fortune looks like from the outside.

You smile because you’re supposed to, because anything else would be impolite. Your chest tightens anyway. They don’t see the waiting, the wanting, the nights spent staring at a ceiling beside a man who won’t touch you. They don’t see how much of yourself you’ve learned to shrink just to fit into this version of “enough.”

You’re just another asset for them. A doll beside Jongseong.

Your eyes burn, vision blurring just slightly, and you lower your gaze before anyone notices. Because crying here would be unforgivable.

Jongseong’s fork stops moving.

It doesn’t clatter. He doesn’t drop it. He simply stills and puts it down.

He looks at you. Really looks this time.

The way your shoulders have gone rigid. The way your smile hasn’t quite reached your eyes. The way your head tips lower, lashes casting shadows over cheeks that are just a little too flushed, eyes shining with something dangerously close to tears.

“That’s enough,” Jongseong says.

The words aren’t loud. They don’t need to be. They cut through the table cleanly, like a blade sliding between ribs.

Conversation falters. Glasses pause halfway to lips.

His aunt blinks. “Jongseong, we were just—”

“You were being disrespectful,” he interrupts, voice steady and controlled. His hand moves under the table, fingers brushing your knee once. “And you’re not going to continue.”

His cousin scoffs softly. “Oh, come on. We didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know exactly what you meant,” he says. His glare flicks across the table, sharp and unyielding. “And you don’t get to talk about her like she’s a convenience. Or something handed to me.”

The silence thickens.

His mother opens her mouth, but hesitates.

His father clears his throat. “Jongseong,” he says carefully, in a warning tone. “That’s enough. This is a family dinner.”

Jongseong turns to him slowly.

For a moment, his expression falters. Not with doubt, but with something older and buried.

“Just because you never said anything to defend Mom,” he says, voice low and shaking, “doesn’t mean I’ll do the same for my—”

He stops. Breathes shakily.

“—my wife.”

The words lands heavy. Your head snaps up to Jongseong, tears almost running down.

“She is not fortunate,” he continues, eyes never leaving his father’s. “She is capable. She is intelligent. And she does not owe anyone gratitude for being here.”

A pause.

“If you can’t respect that,” he finishes, “then this dinner is over.”

Your throat tightens painfully.

You stand before anyone can respond, chair scraping softly against the floor.

“Excuse me,” you say, voice thin but steady. “I need some air.”

You move before anyone can stop you.

The chair scrapes softly against the floor as you stand, the sound far too loud in the thick silence Jongseong has carved open. Your hands tremble, but your spine stays straight.

No one stops you. No one knows how.

You walk out before the tears can fall.

The hallway feels endless. Too bright. Too quiet. Your heels click too fast against the marble as you head toward the garage, breath coming shallow, chest tight like it’s caving in. You tell yourself not to cry. You’ve done this long enough. You can do this too.

You don’t hear him at first.

“Y/n—!”

Jongseong’s voice cuts through the space, urgent in a way you’ve never heard before. You turn just as your foot slips, heel catching awkwardly on the edge of the concrete ramp.

You twist your ankle, pain shooting up.

You gasp, stumbling forward, but arms catch you.

Strong. Jongseong absorbs you without hesitation, one arm braced around your waist, the other gripping your forearm.

“Shit—” he breathes, crouching instantly. “Don’t move.”

Your ankle throbs, hot and pulsing. You bite your lip hard, tears finally spilling over.

“I’m fine,” you whisper.

“No,” he says, “You’re not.”

He doesn’t ask for permission.

Jongseong lifts you into his arms. Your face presses briefly into his shoulder, the scent of his cologne grounding you despite everything.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, voice low and steady. “I won’t drop you.”

He carries you to the car, sets you down gently, buckles you in himself with shaking hands. When he slides into the driver’s seat, his jaw is tight, eyes dark with something fierce and protective.

Neither of you speak as he pulls out of the driveway.

The house disappears behind you.

THE APARTMENT IS QUIET WHEN YOU GET THERE.

Muted, like it’s holding its breath with you. Jongseong helps you inside without a word, arm firm around your waist, movements careful in a way that feels practiced and panicked all at once. He sits you down on the couch, kneeling immediately in front of you, jacket discarded somewhere behind him.

“Let me see,” he says, voice low.

You hesitate. “It’s probably not that bad—”

“Please,” he cuts in, gentler now. “Just… let me.”

He slips off your heel slowly, like he’s afraid even the air might hurt you. His hands are warm, steady despite the tension still living in his shoulders. When his fingers brush your ankle, you flinch.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs instantly, retreating. “I’ll be careful.”

He fetches the first aid kit, crouches again, and wraps your ankle with slow precision. His brows knit together, jaw tight, focus unwavering.

The silence stretches.

“You didn’t have to say that,” you whisper suddenly. “Back there.”

He doesn’t look up. “I did.”

“I could defend myself—”

“I know.” His hands pause. Then he looks at you. Really looks at you. “But I wanted to.”

Something in his expression fractures then. Eyebrows relaxes, shoulder dropping. His thumb lingers at your ankle a second too long, like he’s forming words.

You swallow. “You didn’t have to,” you say, even though part of you aches because he did. “Not against your family like that—”

“Yes,” he replies immediately. Too quickly. “I did.”

Your gaze drops to his hands, still hovering around your ankle, fingers warm and careful. He exhales through his nose, steadies himself, and resumes wrapping the bandage, slower now, like he’s afraid any sudden movement might make something crack.

“Maybe they were right,” you murmur, fidgeting with your fingers, warm agaisnt your lap. “About me being fortunate.”

His looks up, immediately. “Don’t.”

“It’s fine,” you add quickly, reflexive. “I’m used to it.”

That makes him stop again.

“No,” he says, quieter. “You shouldn’t be. They were wrong about everything.”

You laugh under your breath, bitter. “Jongseong—”

His thumb presses lightly into your ankle, apologetic and voice soft. “Does it hurt?” he asks.

“A little.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and you can’t tell what he’s apologizing for anymore.

“You didn’t push me,” you try. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“I should’ve been there faster.”

You look at him then. “You caught me.”

“Still,” he insists, a crease forming between his brows. “I should’ve—” He cuts himself off, breath hitching slightly. His hand shifts, pressing briefly to his own chest before he seems to realize you’re watching.

His hand lingers at his chest for half a second longer than necessary.

Then Jongseong straightens.

The shift is subtle but unmistakable. He rises to his full height, standing between your knees, close enough that your breath catches. From where you’re sitting on the counter, he feels impossibly tall, shoulders tense, frame rigid like he’s holding himself together by force alone.

You tilt your head up to look at him.

His expression is unreadable at first. Guarded. Then something in it gives way, like a crack spreading through glass that was never meant to be unbreakable. His jaw clenches. His eyes soften, dark and conflicted, flicking over your face as if he’s memorizing you again.

“I’m okay,” he says quietly.

You don’t answer.

Jongseong finishes securing the bandage. The movement puts him directly in front of you, close enough that his knees brush yours, close enough that you have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes.

He reaches up hesitantly, knuckles brushing your cheek. His thumb wipes at the corner of your eye before you even realize tears have slipped free.

“You’re crying,” he murmurs, voice rough.

You laugh weakly, giving up. “I think it just… caught up to me.”

His gaze lingers on your face, your red rimmed eyes, the tension in your jaw, the way you’re trying so hard to stay composed even now. Something in him gives way.

“I hate that they made you feel small,” he says quietly. “I hate that you let them.”

You swallow, looking down as if it solves something. “I didn’t want to cause trouble.”

“You didn’t,” he says, “They did.”

His hand stays on your cheek, warmer now, more certain. He uses his other thumb to brush under your other eye. Your heart thumps loud, you hate it and yet you crave it.

“You shouldn’t have to be strong all the time,” he adds. “Not here. Not with me.”

Your chest tightens. “Then why do you keep pulling away?”

The question is soft. Careful. It lands anyway.

His jaw flexes. He looks down at you, then away, then back again.

“Because if I don’t,” he says, voice dropping, “I won’t know how to keep this… contained.”

“Contained from what?”

“From wanting more,” he admits,  voice shaking at its edges. “From wanting you.”

“Do you really want me?” you whisper louder than you meant to.

That’s all it takes.

He leans in slowly, as if giving you every chance to change your mind. His forehead brushes yours first, breath warm against your lips. You can feel the trembling tension in him.

When his lips finally meet yours, it’s soft.

Almost reverent.

The kiss is hesitant at first, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he presses too hard. His lips move against yours slowly, learning, relearning. When you sigh into it, his control fractures.

He kisses you deeper then, still gentle but unmistakably desperate, like he’s been starving quietly for too long. His hand slides up your back, fingers spreading between your shoulder blades, pulling you closer until there’s no space left to doubt what this is.

He trails a hot line from your lips down your jaw, then to the hollow under your ear, and you arch without realizing, breath hitching.

“Jongseong—” you whisper, when his mouth finds the tender skin at your neck. The sound breaks somewhere between his teeth and the small gasp that slips out of you trembles against his chest.

“I—” he says, voice swallowed by another kiss. “I’ve wanted—”

“Don’t,” you whisper, pleading, yet a part of you wants him to finish the sentence.

Between his kisses, your thoughts scatter and then narrow to an aching truth—you had wanted this for so long it almost hurts to finally have it.

You don’t know why, because you have always yearned for Jongseong’s warm touch. But right now, you can only hope that you won’t wake up from this.

He pauses, forehead against your temple, eyes dark and vulnerable. “I don’t know if I have the right to want,” he admits, so quiet you almost miss it. Then, louder, “But I do.”

His mouth finds your pulse at the base of your throat and presses, the kiss wet and demanding. Your hands go up, tangling in his hair at the nape of his neck, fingers threading through his strands as he deepens the kiss.

He lifts you without fussing and carries you towards the bedroom. The movement is fluid, as if he’s imagined this a thousand times and finally stepped into it. You wrap your legs around his hips instinctively.

“Careful,” you murmur, breathless, face burning up with shyness.

“I am,” he answers, voice low. “Always.”

He lays you down gently, not breaking the kiss until his forehead rests against yours and you both are dizzy with it. He leans over you lips roaming—down your throat, to the soft slope between collarbone and shoulder—leaving a trail of heated kisses like a map.

“Say my name,” he murmurs against your skin, “Call me Jay, please.”

“Jay,” you answer.

He lifts his head, mouth quirking into something close to a smile. “Good,” he says, and it’s a laugh with no humor.

Jongseong feels himself fading quietly, the way a man does when he’s held something back for too long. Every brush of your lips against his reminds him how close he is to losing the careful distance he built to survive

He’s terrified by how easy it is to forget everything else when you sigh against him, by how instinctively his body leans closer to you and the guilt eats him alive because he never allowed himself to touch you.

“Why didn’t you kiss me earlier?,” you say at one point, trying not to cry, awkward under the weight of his closeness.

“I’m sorry” he simply says, voice hoarse. “I was... scared.”

“Of what?”

He doesn’t answer the question. Instead, he brings his soft, wet lips to yours again, capturing you into another kiss.

MORNING ARRIVES QUIETLY.

The morning light slips in through the opaque curtains and fills the space in the bedroom. The city outside is awake, but your apartment isn’t, not really. It’s suspended in that soft in between where the night hasn’t fully let go yet.

You wake first.

For a few seconds, you don’t move. You just register. The warmth at your back. The steady rise and fall of his chest against you. His arm draped over your waist, heavy and protective, with his face nuzzled deep in your neck.

Last night comes back to you in fragments rather than a rush—his mouth at your neck, the way he carried you like something precious, the way his voice broke when you said his name. The way he held you afterward, forehead pressed to yours, breathing uneven but calm, like he’d finally stopped being cold.

You turn slowly, careful not to wake him.

Jongseong looks different in sleep.

Softer. Younger. His brows aren’t drawn together like they usually are, his mouth slack, lashes resting against his cheeks. There’s no heir, no expectation, no weight in the way he rests right now. Just a man who looks tired in a way that makes your chest ache.

Jongseong stirs when you shift slightly, his arm tightening instinctively around you. He hums, drowsy and half audible, and presses his lips to your hair without opening his eyes.

“Morning,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.

You smile before you can stop yourself. “Morning.”

He opens his eyes slowly, dark lashes lifting, and for a split second you see it, his eye are actually soft this time. Then his expression even warms when he focuses on you.

“Did I wake you?” he asks quietly.

“No,” you whisper. “I was already up.”

He hums again, eyes drifting shut as he pulls you closer, forehead resting against yours. His breath is warm, steady. You can feel the way his body relaxes when you don’t pull away, when you fit into him like this is something practiced rather than new.

“Stay,” he murmurs, like it’s a reflex.

You smile, your hands resting against his chest, “I’m not going anywhere.”

That makes his eyes open again.

Something passes over his face. Relief, maybe, or something more fragile. His hand tightens at your waist just a little.

“You’re warm,” he says, almost distracted. “Did you sleep?”

“A little,” you admit. “You?”

He exhales softly, a sound that’s almost a laugh. “Better than I usually do.”

There’s a pause. Not an uncomfortable one. Just space.

He presses a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, unhurried. It feels different in the daylight. His thumb brushes gently under your eye.

“You’re staring,” you tease quietly.

“Let me,” he replies. “I don’t do it enough.”

Its crazy to think how only just a week ago, this softness intimacy with your own fiance was just a dream, something that you could only imagine. Back then, his touch felt like a concept rather than a reality, his warmth something you imagined in quiet moments before sleep, never something you expected to wake up to, wrapped in it.

Now he’s here, breathing against you, holding you as if he always did, as if he was never any cold to you.

Your chest aches with a cautious kind of hope, the kind that blooms slowly, afraid of being noticed, because part of you is still bracing for him to pull away, for the walls to rise again.

He presses another kiss to your forehead, lingering, like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

“I’ll make coffee,” he says finally. “Don’t move.”

You laugh softly. “I won’t. Promise.”

He disappears into the kitchen, barefoot and rumpled, sleeves pushed up, hair still tousled from sleep. The sight of him like this, unguarded and domestic, fills you with a warmth that almost hurts.

You sit up on the bed, glancing around the bedroom as you wait.

As the duvet cover pools around you, you can’t help but wonder how he must have felt last night, after sleeping with his back turned to you for months, after restricting your touch for months. You remember the way his voice trembled when you said his name, the way his breathing finally evened out only when you were tucked against him, and you realize he must have been carrying something heavy for a long time.

Maybe, just maybe, he was yearning for you the same way you were yearning for him.

And you let yourself believe that. You believe that mornings will be like this from now on. Soft and domestic. Romantic, even.

You glance around the bedroom as you wait, trying to find to pull you out of your thoughts.

That’s when you notice the folder.

Tucked beneath the edge of the coffee table, partially hidden, beige and unassuming. You wouldn’t have paid it any attention if not for the bold hospital logo printed across the corner.

Your stomach twists.

You tell yourself not to touch it. You really do.

But something twists in your gut, sharp and familiar, the same feeling you had when he pressed his hand to his chest last night. The same unease that’s been following him like a shadow for months.

You stand.

Your bare feet barely make a sound against the floor as you walk over. The folder is thin. You hesitate with your fingers resting against it, heart already racing like it knows what’s coming.

You pull the paper free.

Your eyes skim at first, unfocused.

The papers inside are neatly stacked, clipped together. Medical reports. Test results. Dates. Charts.

You scan the first page. And then the words blur.

Diagnosis: Atherosclerosis.

Your breath leaves you all at once, like someone punched it out of your chest.

Atherosclerosis, a condition in which plaque builds up inside your arteries, which overtime hardens narrows the arteries.

You read the other pages. Slower this time. Clinical language. Risk factors. Progression. Treatment plans that sound too careful, too conditional. Phrases like advanced, monitor closely, high risk.

Your fingers tremble as you keep reading, as if slowing down might somehow soften the meaning.

But it doesn’t.

Is this why he always kept you at an arms' distance? Why he always left you wondering for his love? Never touched you, or held or kissed only until last night? He doesn’t actually have limited time, does he?

A quiet, broken sound leaves your throat before you even realize you’re crying. You clamp a hand over your mouth, but it doesn’t help. Tears spill freely now, dropping onto the papers in dark, blurry spots. Your shoulders shake as you try to breathe through it, try to make sense of the hurricane hurling towards you.

Footsteps sound behind you.

“Coffee will be ready in—”

The sentence dies in his throat.

You hear it. The way his voice stops, the way the air shifts. You don’t look up. You can’t. You’re staring at the paper like it might rearrange itself into something less devastating if you keep looking.

“Y/n…” Jongseong says carefully, slowing down at the threshold of the bedroom.

When you finally lift your eyes, he’s frozen near the doorway, mug in hand, color draining from his face. His gaze drops from your tear streaked cheeks to the papers in your hands.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” he says quietly.

The words land softly, but they split something open inside you.

Your fingers tighten around the papers, knuckles white, the thin sheets trembling with you. Your throat burns the moment you try to speak, like your body already knows what your heart is refusing to accept.

“H-how long?” you ask, the question barely holding together. It comes out thin. Fragile. Like if you press any harder, you’ll shatter completely.

He doesn’t answer.

That silence is worse than anything he could have said. It stretches heavy, filling the space between you until your chest feels too tight to breathe.

“How long, Jongseong?” you ask again, louder this time, tears spilling down without restraint. Your voice cracks right down the middle. “How long have you known?”

He sets the mug down slowly on the counter, like even that small sound might break you further. The coffee sloshes dangerously close to the rim, unnoticed. His shoulders rise and fall once, a controlled breath that looks rehearsed. Like he’s done this alone, over and over.

“A while,” he admits.

The words feel vague on purpose. Cowardly.

“A while?” you echo, disbelief laced with hurt. Your laugh is short and broken, more like a sob caught in reverse. “What does that even mean, Jongseong? Weeks? Months?”

His jaw tightens. He drags a hand through his hair, fingers shaking just enough that you notice. He looks away from you—toward the window, the wall, anywhere but your face.

“Years.”

The word drops into the room like a blade.

For a moment, everything goes quiet. Not muted, but gone. Like your ears are ringing after an explosion.

“Years?” you whisper, the syllable barely surviving your lips.

Your knees feel weak. Your chest aches so sharply it almost feels physical, like something is crushing your ribs from the inside. You clutch the papers harder, as if they might anchor you to the floor.

“You’ve been—” Your voice gives out. You swallow, forcing the words through tears. “You’ve been sick this whole time?”

“Yes.”

The answer is immediate. Too immediate. Like he’s tired of lying, or maybe tired of carrying it alone.

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” The hurt finally spills into anger, your voice rising, shaking, raw. “You didn’t think I deserved to know?”

He turns back to you instantly, panic flashing across his face, all that carefully built composure cracking at the edges.

“That’s not—” he starts, stepping toward you.

“Then what was it?” you cut in, backing away without realizing it. Your chest heaves, every breath uneven. “What was all that distance? All those nights you wouldn’t touch me, wouldn’t even look at me?”

Your voice breaks again, softer now, more wounded than angry. Memories flood back uninvited, the cold space between you in bed, the way he always kept a careful inch of distance, the way his hands would clench like he wanted to reach for you and stopped himself.

“You made me feel unwanted,” you whisper. “Like I was asking for too much just by loving you.”

His face twists at that, pain cutting through his features so sharply it almost scares you.

“I was trying to protect you,” he says, voice strained. “I was trying to protect us.”

“By shutting me out?” you snap, tears blurring your vision. “By letting me think I wasn’t enough?”

“That’s not what it was,” he insists, stepping closer again. “I couldn’t— I didn’t know how to let you get attached when I don’t even know how long I—”

He stops himself.

Your heart stutters. “When you don’t know how long what?” you take a shaky breath in, “Why after all this time—”

“Because Im dying, okay?” Jongseong snaps.

The words don’t land right away.

They snatch the land away from right beneath your feet, and for a second you feel falling down. For a moment, all you can hear is your own heartbeat beating way too loud agaisnt your ribcage.

“What…?” Your lips move, but the sound barely comes out. “What did you say?”

He looks like he regrets it the instant the words leave him. Like they tore out of him without permission. His shoulders tense, jaw clenched so tightly you can see the muscle jump beneath his skin. His eyes are glossy. Hes not crying yet.

“I said I’m dying,” he repeats, quieter now. Hoarse, and you know that hurts him. “Eventually. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not this year. But it’s there. Hanging over everything.”

You shake your head slowly, as if that might undo it. As if disbelief alone could rewind time to ten minutes ago, when the world still made sense.

“No,” you whisper. “Don’t say that like it’s—like it’s already decided.”

He laughs under his breath, bitter and exhausted. “It kind of is.”

Your chest tightens painfully. “Then why are you standing here?” you demand, tears streaming freely now. “Why are you pretending this is just another argument we can talk through?”

“Because I didn’t want you living your life around a countdown,” he says, voice breaking despite his effort to keep it steady. “Because I didn’t want to be the reason you wake up one day alone, wondering why you stayed.”

You clutch the papers to your chest like they’re the only thing keeping you upright. “So you thought hurting me would be better?”

“I thought distancing myself would make it easier when I leave,” he says quietly.

“When you—” Your breath stutters. “When you what?”

“When I go away,” he admits. “Anytime, Y/n. My whole life is unsure. I don’t get guarantees. I don’t get to plan ten years ahead like everyone else.”

He drags a hand down his face, the movement slow, weary, like the mask is finally too heavy to hold up.

“I didn’t want this marriage,” he says suddenly, the confession sharp and honest. “I didn’t want a wife whom I can just leave behind.”

The words gut you.

“Then why did you agree?” you ask, voice small despite everything tearing through you. “Why stand there beside me, say vows you didn’t believe in?”

His eyes lift to yours then, and something raw breaks open in them.

“Because I didn’t know how not to,” he says. “Because everyone kept telling me it was the right thing. My family wanted stability. I—”

He stops. Swallows hard.

“Because part of me hoped I was wrong,” he finishes. “That maybe I’d get lucky. That maybe if I kept my distance, I could survive it without hurting you.”

Your chest feels like it’s caving in on itself.

You want to scream at him for keeping something this devastating from you, for deciding on your behalf what you could and couldn’t handle. You want to cry for the months you spent feeling unwanted, for the nights you lay beside him wondering what you’d done wrong, for every time you swallowed your need for affection because you thought you were asking for too much.

And beneath all of that, cutting deeper than the rest, is fear.

Your mind keeps replaying every small moment from the past days. The way he would sometimes pause mid-step, fingers pressing briefly to his chest before he noticed you watching. The exhaustion he tried to hide behind clipped answers and silence. He was living life on borrowed time. And now it all makes a horrifying kind of sense. The distance wasn’t indifference. It was fear. Fear of attachment. Fear of leaving you behind. Fear of loving you too much when he wasn’t sure how long he’d be allowed to.

Your hands shake as you clutch the papers, the thin sheets crumpling slightly under your grip. You don’t even notice. All you can feel is the way your chest feels too small for everything trying to live inside it at once.

Anger. Fear. Grief. Love.

Love, most of all.

You take a step toward him before you realize you’ve moved. Your legs feel unsteady, like they might give out at any second, but you keep going until you’re standing right in front of him. He looks braced, like he’s expecting you to push him away, to scream, to tell him you’re done.

Instead, your voice comes out broken and soft.

“So you decided for me,” you say. Not accusing. Just devastated. “You decided that I couldn’t love you through this. That I couldn’t stay.”

His jaw tightens. “I didn’t want you trapped.”

“I wasn’t trapped,” you whisper. “I was confused. I was lonely. I was wondering every day what I did wrong.”

That hits him harder than shouting ever could.

Jongseong’s shoulders sag, like something finally gives up holding itself together. He closes his eyes briefly, breath shuddering as it leaves him.

“I know,” he says hoarsely. “I know I hurt you.”

The word hangs in the air between you.

Dying.

It doesn’t sound real. It feels like a foreign language, like something meant for hospital rooms and strangers, not the man standing in front of you with his jaw clenched and his eyes shining like he’s trying not to break apart in front of you.

Your breath stutters. Your fingers loosen around the papers, and they slip from your grasp, fluttering to the floor.

“You—” Your voice comes out hoarse. You clear your throat, but it doesn’t help. “Don’t say it like that. Don’t say it so casually.”

Jongseong exhales sharply, like the word tore its way out of him. “I’m not being casual. I’m being honest for once.”

The room feels too small. The walls press in. You take a step toward him without even realizing it, your chest aching with something that feels too big to fit inside you.

“You really did decide a huge part of my life without asking me,” you whisper.

His gaze flickers to your lips and then back to your eyes, conflicted, raw. “Because it hurts more than anything to know I might leave you behind.”

The words knock the breath out of you.

“You already did,” you say softly. “Every time you made me doubt your love.”

His shoulders sag, like the fight drains out of him all at once. “I cared too much,” he admits. “That was the problem.”

You’re close enough now to feel the warmth of him, the tension vibrating through his body like a live wire. Your hand lifts on instinct, fingers brushing the fabric of his shirt at his chest. You feel his heart beneath it, beating hard and fast, like it’s trying to run from the truth too.

“You should’ve told me,” you say, your voice breaking. “I would’ve stayed. I would’ve chosen you anyway.”

His breath shudders. “I didn’t pity.”

“You really think that?” you say, tears blurring your vision. “It would’ve been love.”

That does it.

Something in his expression finally gives. The careful distance he’s kept for months collapses in a single moment. He reaches for you like he’s been holding himself back from doing it for far too long, one hand coming up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing under your eye where your tears spill over.

“Don’t say that,” he murmurs, voice low and unsteady. “If you say that, I won’t be able to pretend anymore.”

“Then don’t pretend,” you whisper. “Not with me.”

For a second, he just looks at you. Really looks at you. Like he’s memorizing every line of your face, every fragile breath you take.

Then he leans in.

The kiss isn’t gentle at first. It’s desperate, like all the words he’s swallowed are finally finding a way out through his mouth instead. His lips press into yours with a quiet, aching intensity, and you gasp against him before melting into it, your hands clutching at his shirt like you’re afraid he might disappear if you let go.

His breath mingles with yours, warm and uneven. The kiss deepens, not rushed but heavy, loaded with everything unsaid—regret, longing, fear, love. His hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, pulling you closer until there’s barely any space left between your bodies.

“God,” he exhales against your lips, the word breaking like a confession. “I shouldn’t—”

You don’t let him finish. You kiss him again, softer this time, slower, like you’re grounding him, reminding him that you’re real, that this moment is real. Your forehead rests against his when you finally pull back, breaths mingling, your noses brushing.

“I don’t care about anything,” you whisper. “I only care about you.”

His eyes search yours, dark and vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen before. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, lingering, like he’s fighting the urge to kiss you again and losing.

“You make this so hard,” he murmurs.

“Sorry” you reply quietly.

He lets out a breath that sounds like surrender. His forehead drops to yours, his eyes closing briefly as if he’s bracing himself for the weight of what he’s about to say next.

He opens his eyes then, and they’re wet now, shining dangerously. “I didn’t think I’d survive watching you look at me like this every day. Like I was your future.”

Your heart twists painfully.

“You are my future,” you say without thinking.

The words hang in the air, fragile and terrifying.

He shakes his head immediately. “Don’t say that.”

“Why?” you demand, voice cracking. “Because it scares you?”

“I can’t promise you anything,” he says sharply, desperation bleeding through his restraint. “I can’t promise you years. I can’t promise you safety. I can’t even promise you tomorrow.”

He gestures vaguely to his chest, frustration and fear tangled together. “My body could fail me at any point. I live knowing that. I didn’t want you living like that too.”

You step closer, until there’s barely any space left between you.

“I would’ve chosen it,” you whisper. “If you’d told me, I would’ve chosen you anyway.”

His breath stutters.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” you say fiercely. “Because I already did. Every night you turned away, every morning I woke up hoping you’d look at me differently. I stayed even when I didn’t understand why you were pulling away.”

Your voice softens, trembling. “Do you know how much it hurts to feel unwanted by the person you love?”

He winces like you’ve struck him.

“I never didn’t want you,” he says immediately. “God, Y/n, that was the problem.”

Silence falls again, thick and heavy.

You wipe at your tears with the back of your hand, inhaling shakily. “Then say it,” you challenge quietly. “Say what you were so afraid to say.”

He stares at you, chest rising and falling unevenly, like he’s standing at the edge of something irreversible.

“I was afraid,” he admits finally. “Afraid that if I let myself love you the way I wanted to, it would destroy me when I leave.”

“When you die?” you whisper, hating the word even as it leaves your mouth.

His face tightens, but he nods once.

Your knees feel weak again. You reach out instinctively, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, grounding yourself against him.

“And the wedding?” you ask suddenly, voice trembling with the weight of the question. “Will you— will you not—”

He doesn’t let you finish.

“I will marry you, Y/n.”

The certainty in his voice steals your breath.

He cups your face gently, thumbs brushing your cheeks where tears keep falling, like he’s memorizing the shape of you, like he’s afraid this might be taken from him too.

“I will marry you,” he repeats, softer now. “Not because I have to. Not because anyone expects me to. But because I want to. Loving you is the one thing in my life that feels real.”

Your lips tremble. “Then why were you pushing me away?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, voice breaking. “maybe because I have limited time.”

Something inside you shatters completely at that.

You press your forehead to his chest, listening to his heartbeat, strong and terrifying and precious all at once. Your tears soak into his shirt as you sob quietly, fingers gripping him like if you let go, he might disappear.

Jongseong wraps his arms around you tightly, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other firm at your waist. He holds you like he’s afraid the world might steal you away too.

“I didn’t want to give you a life full of hospitals and waiting rooms,” he murmurs into your hair, his palms caressing your back slowly. “I didn’t want to be the reason you’re scared all the time.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, eyes red and swollen. And then press your face against him again.

His breath catches.

“If I miss someone the most in this world,” he says suddenly, voice thick with emotion, “then it is my grandma.”

You still, listening.

“She wanted to see me grow up. Be successful. Be happy.” His lips tremble as he speaks. “She wanted to share her blessings with my future wife.”

He swallows hard. “But she couldn’t. She didn’t get to see any of it.”

Your heart aches as he continues, voice barely holding together.

“If she’d be here, you would love you,” Jongseong’s voice cracks, but he lets out a melancholic laugh through it. It cracks, brings water to his eyes.

He lets out a shaky breath, eyes dropping to look at you.

“I...” His voice drops to a whisper. “I love you, Y/n.”

Your chest tightens painfully.

“I love you,” he repeats, like he needs to hear himself say it. You bring your head up to see him again. A tear slips past his cheeks, enhancing his now flushed features. Jongseong’s breath hitches, “I’m sorry for being a bad fiancé, I’m sorry I made you doubt. But I love you, god, I do.”

A broken laugh slips out of you through your tears.

“I love you enough that it hurts,” he continues, pressing his forehead to yours. “And I should have said this sooner to you.”

You cup his face with both hands, thumbs brushing away the tears he’s finally letting fall.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, smiling through tears, “Just don't love me halfway anymore.”

He nods slowly, eyes closing as he leans into your touch. “Then stay,” he murmurs. “Even if it’s scary.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say, echoing your words from this morning, but now they carry weight. Promise. Choice.

He kisses you then. Again. Not desperate like last night. Not restrained like before. But full and trembling and honest, like he’s finally stopped running from the truth.

And when he holds you afterward, arms tight and protective, you don’t care about anything else in this world.

Park Jongseong has finally kissed you, heck, he's even holding you. And even if he can't do that forever, it’s all that you ever wished for.

EPILOGUE

The wedding does not feel like how weddings are described in stories.

There is no loud music spilling into the street, no crowd pressing in on every side, no overwhelming spectacle. It is small, intimate to the point of fragility, held in the quiet hall of an old heritage house on the outskirts of the city, where the windows are tall and the light filters in pale and gentle, as if even the sun is careful not to intrude too loudly on something this delicate.

Both your families wanted a huge crowd, too many heads to feed in the wedding; but much to their bad luck, Jongseong had stood his ground. He’d said it calmly, without raising his voice, without the sharp edge he used when he was tired or in pain. He didn’t want a stage. He didn’t want a day that felt like it belonged to everyone except the two of you. He wanted something small enough to breathe in. Something that wouldn’t exhaust him before the vows were even spoken, that would feel like yours.

So here you are.

The guest list is trimmed down to the people who matter, the people who know—at least partly—what this day costs him and what it means. There are no distant relatives you barely recognize, no business acquaintances pretending this is a celebration more than a formality.

Except Sunghoon brought in his whole friend group back from his college days, to which Jongseong knew he couldn’t say no to.

Your mother had argued, of course. His family had too. There were expectations. But Jongseong had only said, “Y/n doesn’t want crowds, and I want us to live our wedding day and not rehearse it.” And that had been the end of it.

The hall is simple. Old wood floors that creak softly under careful steps. White fabric draped along the walls. A narrow aisle lined with lilies that smell clean and faintly sweet. The kind of place that feels more like a promise.

You stand at the far end of the aisle, hands folded in front of you, trying to steady your breathing.

Your dress is lighter than you expected it to be, the fabric falling in soft lines instead of stiff layers. You wanted something you could move in. Something that wouldn’t weigh you down. Something that felt like you. The veil brushes your shoulders, and for a moment you close your eyes, just to take it in.

This is real.

When you open them, you see him.

Jongseong is already at the front, standing beside the officiant, posture straight but not rigid. He looks.fragile, in a way that makes your chest tighten. The suit fits him perfectly, but you can see the faint signs of fatigue he never quite manages to hide. The slight hollowness beneath his eyes. The careful way he holds himself, like he’s measuring his energy even now.

And still, when he looks at you, everything else falls away.

His expression changes the moment your eyes meet. The tension in his shoulders eases, just a little. His lips part, like he forgot to breathe for a second. There’s something raw there. Something open. Something that makes your throat ache.

You start walking.

Each step feels slow, because your body seems to understand the weight of this moment better than your mind does. The quiet hum of the room wraps around you. You’re vaguely aware of people watching, of soft movements, of the way the light catches in the tall windows, but mostly, there’s just him.

With every step, memories rise up uninvited.

The distance that used to sit between you like a wall. The silence. The nights you lay awake wondering what you had done wrong. The day you found the papers. The way his voice broke when he said he was dying. The way he looked at you like he was both terrified and relieved that you knew.

And then the nights after that. The long talks. The quiet understanding. The way he started reaching for you again, slowly, like he was relearning how to trust himself with your heart.

You stop in front of him.

Up close, you can see the way his hands are clasped together, fingers tight, knuckles pale. You can see the faint tremor in his breath. But you can also see the way his eyes soften when he looks at you, like you are the only steady thing in a world that keeps shifting under his feet.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

The officiant clears their throat gently and begins, their voice low and respectful, as if they, too, understand that this is not a day for grand speeches. The words drift around you—about love, about commitment, about choosing each other not just when it’s easy, but when it’s hard.

“In sickness and in health” lands heavier than the rest.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, and Jongseong notices. His gaze flickers to your hands, then back to your face, and he gives you the smallest nod. Like he’s reminding you. Like he’s reminding himself. We’re here. We’re still here.

When it’s your turn to speak, your heart is hammering so hard you’re afraid your voice will shake.

But when you look at him, really look at him, the words come out steadier than you expect.

His eyes shine, but he doesn’t look away.

When it’s his turn, he swallows hard before speaking.

“I spent a long time trying not to want this,” he admits. “I thought distance would protect you. I thought if I didn’t let you get too close, it would hurt less when…” He stops, breath catching, then continues more softly. “When I leave. I was wrong. All I did was waste time I could have spent loving you properly.”

His voice steadies, just a little.

“I can’t promise you forever. I wish I could. But I can promise you honesty. I can promise you every day I’m given. I can promise you that as long as I’m here, you won’t face anything alone.”

Your eyes burn, but you don’t look away.

When the rings are exchanged, his fingers linger around yours, like he’s afraid of letting go even for a second. When he leans in to kiss you, it’s gentle, unhurried. Not a performance. Not for the room. Just for you.

And when the officiant declares you married, there’s no thunderous applause. Just soft clapping. Warm smiles. A quiet, collective exhale.

The room exhales around you, a collective softening now that the vows have been spoken and the weight of them has settled into something real. There’s a quiet shuffle of movement as people begin to rise from their seats, the soft murmur of congratulations beginning to bloom through the hall. The light shifts as a cloud passes outside, turning the windows briefly dimmer, then bright again.

Jongseong’s hand is still wrapped around yours.

His palm is warm, his grip a little too tight, like he’s anchoring himself to the reality of this moment. You squeeze back, a silent reassurance, and he looks down at you with something fragile and bright in his eyes. Relief, maybe. Or disbelief that he’s actually here, standing beside you, that the day did not break apart before it could begin.

“You okay?” you whisper, leaning in so only he can hear.

He nods. “Yeah. Just… give me a second.”

You recognize the tone. The carefulness. The way he’s learned to pace himself, even in moments meant to be joyful. You don’t press. You just stay close, your shoulder brushing his arm, your presence a quiet support rather than a demand.

The officiant steps aside, offering you both a small, gentle smile. Someone from the back laughs softly—Sunghoon, probably—trying to cut through the heaviness with something familiar. Your mother wipes at her eyes, her expression torn between pride and worry. His family watches him closely, too closely, like they’re counting his breaths without realizing it.

You and Jongseong take a step forward together.

The motion is small, but you feel the shift in his balance immediately. It’s subtle, you feel it in the way his fingers tighten around yours, in the way his shoulder brushes yours a little harder than before.

“Jongseong?” you murmur.

“I’m fine,” he says automatically, the words practiced. He gives you a faint smile, the kind he uses when he doesn’t want to worry you. “Just stood up too fast.”

You search his face. The color has drained a little, leaving him paler than before. There’s a sheen of sweat at his temple that wasn’t there moments ago. Your chest tightens with a familiar, creeping fear.

“Do you want to sit for a bit?” you ask quietly. “We can—”

“I don’t want to sit,” he replies, more firmly than you expect, though his voice is still gentle. “I want to walk out with you. Just… slow, okay?”

So you walk slowly.

Each step is measured, careful. The old wood floor creaks beneath your feet, a soft, grounding sound. The lilies lining the aisle blur in your peripheral vision. You keep your attention on him, on the steady rise and fall of his chest.

His inner world feels loud in a way you can almost sense without him saying anything. There’s a stubborn pride in him, a refusal to let this moment be overshadowed by his body’s limits. He has fought for this day. He has insisted on being here, standing, choosing this with you. The thought of needing help, of letting weakness show in front of everyone, presses against something old in him.

And yet, even as he tries to hold himself together, there is a quieter fear threading through him. A whisper that this might be too much. That joy, even when it is gentle, still costs him something.

Your own thoughts are no less tangled.

Part of you is floating, still wrapped in the soft glow of being married, of hearing him say vows that felt like a promise against the dark. Another part of you is coiled tight with worry, hyper-aware of every change in his breathing, every slight falter in his step. Loving him has taught you this strange duality, how joy and fear can exist side by side, neither fully eclipsing the other.

You reach the middle of the aisle.

There’s a soft ripple of applause, gentle and restrained, as people make space for you to pass. Someone murmurs congratulations. Someone else whispers his name, concern threading through the sound. The room feels warmer than before, or maybe that’s just your nerves making everything feel too close.

Jongseong exhales, long and slow.

“I’m glad we did it like this,” he says under his breath. “Small. Quiet.”

You smile up at him, though your heart is beating too fast. “Me too.”

His gaze lingers on you, something tender and aching in it, like he’s trying to hold onto this exact version of you in this exact moment. Married. Here. Alive in front of him.

“You look…” he trails off, then shakes his head slightly, eyes glues on yours. “You look like something I don’t deserve.”

You start to protest, but the words die in your throat when you feel his grip falter.

It’s subtle at first, the tension in his fingers loosening, his hand slipping slightly in yours. His step stutters. His breath catches.

“Jongseong?” you say, louder now.

The room seems to tilt.

For a second, he’s still standing, eyes unfocused, like he didn’t expect this to happen now, of all times. His inner world fractures in that moment.

“I’m okay,” he tries to say, but the words come out wrong, thin and unconvincing.

Then his knees buckle.

The world lurches forward in a rush of motion and sound. You feel his weight shift suddenly, too heavy, too fast. Your grip tightens instinctively as you reach for him, calling his name as the room erupts into startled gasps, chairs scraping back, someone shouting for help.

Your arms wrap around him as he falls, your body bracing against the impact, heart slamming painfully against your ribs.

“Jongseong—!”

The lilies blur into white streaks at the edge of your vision. The quiet hall fractures into chaos, voices overlapping, footsteps rushing closer. You sink to the floor with him, cradling his head against your chest, your hands trembling as you search his face.

His eyes are half-lidded, breath shallow but there, still there. His brow is drawn, like he’s fighting to stay with you.

“Stay with me, please,” you whisper, the words pouring out like a plea. “A-Always” Jongseong breaths out.

Around you, the room is a blur of motion and worry, but your world has narrowed to the feel of his weight in your arms, the fragile warmth of his skin against yours, the uncertain rhythm of his breathing.

AUTHORS NOTE hello hello again! thank you so so much for reading this all the way and making it through here 💗 i decided for the ending to be open because making jay pass away would be too sad and i couldnt think of any other endings 😞 so for my angst ending haters, you can just pretend that the epilogue never happened!!! phew, its finished and i definitely took way more time than i should've, but like i was sooo confused on this one. anyways, please let me know how it was and reblog to support! see you in my next long fic 😛

edit: and now to clear up some doubts about the ending, jay doesn't actually passes away in the ending! its just shown that he collapses to the ground, and whatever happens after that is left to your imagination, making this an open ending! once again, thank you for reading <3

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