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summary:⸠⥠Infamous for being every girl's guilty pleasure, Lee Haechan strutted through his life shamelessly. But recently, the new girl caught his eye. Im Hayeon, who he believes that would finally tame his wreckless heart. He was confident he could get the girl. And when he did, he never expected her to have baggages. For example, you, Im Hayeon's best friend. Who suddenly, sparked an idea on his pretty little head. You're trouble-- and you're making Haechan commit Illicit Affairs.
âYou're making me do bad things, very, bad things. But then again, I'm no stranger in being the bad guy."
GENRE: Angst, Humor, Fluff, Smut
WARNINGS: MINORS DNI, Explicit Sexual Content, Drugs & Alcohol, Infidelity (Cheating), Mentions of Self-harm, Haechan and reader are assholes, nonidol!haechanxfem!reader
WC: 20k (I know, shush)
DISCLAIMER: This story is purely fanfiction. Only the names of the Idols are used, and does not reflect on them in real life. There's no way in any shape of form that they are like this in person, because I MADE IT UP. I don't personally know them. DO NOT STEAL / TRANSLATE / MODIFY. This is my work and I don't appreciate people stealing it. Thank you.
enjoy reading!!
To be fair, Lee Haechan never claimed to be the good guy.
No, matter of fact, he takes pride in being insufferable. He makes it his mission to piss everyone off when he gets in the room. He gets off knowing that even though they hate him, they still canât get enough of him.
âLee Haechan!â A girl screams on top of her lungs, rage evident with the way her voice scratches. âFuck, Renjun, please open this fucking doorââ He practically broke his knuckles from knocking at the door too much, but he didnât care. He needs to get inâ like, right now.
For what it feels like two decades, Renjun finally opened the door and he quickly threw his entire body in the room.
âClose it, close it, close it!â He says, struggling to close the door and just as soon as Gaeun, or whatever her name is stepped in front of the door ready to barge in, Haechan manages to close it properly.
âLee fucking Haechan, what did you do this time?!â Renjun asks, more so yelled whilst grabbing his slippers to throw towards the heaving boy.
âShit, put that down you crazy bitch!â He flinches everytime Renjun moves his hand with the weapon.
âWhat the fuck is happeningââ Jaemin asks, just leaving the bathroom to witness the war thatâs going on in his living room.
âA crazy girl is currently trying to break our door, again, thanks to this fuckingââ Renjun finally throws the slipper, but Haechan, being in this same spot way too often, dodges it easily. ââwhore!â he winces as he missed
âOkay yâall better keep it down before Jeno wakes up and I know you know heâll fucking turn you upside down, Haechan.â Jaemin reminds the both of them that the real monster is sleeping, and if Haechan wakes him up even a minute early from his supposed alarm, Jeno would have his arm broken in two seconds.
âFine! Injunnie, please, letâs calm down. Sheâs not even there anymore!â Haechan points at the door, and when they glanced at the little gap in the bottom, he was proven to be right. No oneâs at the door.
âYouâre gonna tell me what happened this time,â Renjun asks, this time his voice controlled but still angry.
Haechan takes a deep breath, plopping himself at the couch before slowly smirking at both of his friends in front of him.
âItâs kinda funnyââ
âIf you donât tell us right now Iâll make you eat your shirt,â Jaemin says through his smile.
Haechan rolls his eyes. âRemember Gaeun? From the last party?â
Both his friends took a minute before nodding.
âYeah so.. we had sex last night.. in her house⌠and uhmââ he cleared his throat. âAlso remember that Spanish professor I bagged last month? Yeah⌠uh, that was kinda her mom.â
Five full seconds have passed but no one dares to say anything. Renjunâs jaw is on the floor and Jaemin, well.. he smiles like a freak after a few seconds of silence.
âCanât say Iâm not impressed, I mean.. if any of us will do the dumbest shit out there it would be you, but dude⌠thatâs another level of whoreness.â Jaemin says, crossing his arms on his chest and shrugging like itâs a normal conversation.
âI swear to god, if any of those girls even try to get in my way to find you, I'll burn your entire pc set.â Renjun stated with a serious face.
Haechan smirks as he looks at him, fond of Renjunâs annoyed expression, exactly what he liked to see. He couldâve sworn Renjun looks the best when mad.
See, Haechan thrives in the thrill of it all. Girls love bad boys, and heâs really good at being exactly that. The rush of having sex feeds him, the adrenaline fuels his entire system.
Heâs hard wired to be a rule breaker. And itâs not like he tries so hard to get girls, thatâs not the case at all. Far from that, actually. He doesnât try at all, which adds above the plethora of things that allures girls to him. With a face and body like his, with the way he talks sweeter than honey, and his movement flows smoother than silk, he gets girls way too easy.
And of course, he pleases girls just as good as everybody expects him to. Matter of fact, way above expectations, the very reason that girls overlook his lack of compassion, or just empathy.
Heâll take you to heaven and let you fall to hell with a smile dancing on his lips.
Heâll treat you as if youâre the most beautiful girl in bed, but act like he doesnât know you the next morning.
And itâs not like girls doesnât know that he doesnât look for a serious relationship, because words travel fast, and Haechanâs reputation is well known, but then again, heâs just that good, that he got girls risking getting their fragile hearts broken in hopes that Lee Haechan will take them serious.
Pfft, even that sentence makes him laugh.
Different girls every other day, Renjun still questions how Haechan avoids diseases on how often he fucks. Jaemin calls his dick an immune titanium rod, and Jenoâs just convinced that Haechan has the most magical yet disgusting dick ever.
Meanwhile, Haechan just simplified it. He likes to fuck, and itâs just so happen heâs not bad on the eyes either, and God had blessed him with a stamina like a superbowl player and a libido of an incubus straight from hell. Not to mention, heâs big and he knows how to use it. With all of that combined, girls just fawn over him so⌠it all just makes sense. He doesnât need to be nice. Lee Haechan is infamous for being every girlâs guilty pleasure.
âWho the fuck is she?!â
Haechan lets out an exasperated sigh, covering his right ear slightly as he flinches at the high pitched scream. Brushing his palm across his face, he faced the girl. Whispering an apology with the other girl on his side, he looks up.
âLook, Miyeonââ
âItâs Haru! My name doesnât even sound like Miyeon!â
Haechan rolled his eyes. Pulling Haru on the side, âRemember how I told you weâre over?â
Although it was fun, Haechan has to admit that this part is exhausting. Itâs the sex he enjoys, not the dealing with them after. He knows that they know that heâs not for the long game. It was never that serious, and with the amount of girls he had slept with, he expected them to already know how it is.
âYouâ you canât just say that over text!â
âWell, I just did.â He says casually, as if thereâs no crying girl in front of him.
âYou saidâ you said you loved me, asshole!â Haru cried more, in hopes to see a glimpse of empathy in the boy.
âMustâve been high or something,â
And right then, he felt a sting on his right cheek, and gasps from the small crowd thatâs gathered. Haru walked off a crying mess, while Haechan was still trying to recover from the ringing in his ear.
âYou handled that very well.â Yangyang teases when Haechan comes back to their table.
âShut your ass up, before I knock your big ass teeth out,â He hissed, and sat by his girl thatâs now looking at him shocked and angry.
âLook, baby sheâs just crazy, alright? Iâm done with her and Iâm all about you now,â He says, disgustingly sweet as he puts his hands over her shoulders. and it sounds so fucking insane, but it worked. The girl looked up at him with hope, nodding, believing in what spell Haechan said to her.
âAs I was saying,â before you got your ass handed to youâ thereâs this girl transferring mid semester from Sacred Heart, and apparently sheâs the hottest girl from there,â Shotaro, one of his friend, says.
Haechan rolls his eyes, âI donât care about girls, dude. I have my girl here,â He squeezes the girls arms and smirks at her, making his friends gag in disbelief.
Sacred Heart? He knew about girls from Sacred Heart. Jaeminâs girl, the same one who rejected him was from Sacred Heart. So no, he doesnât like girls from Sacred Heart.
Besides, thereâs plenty of hot girls everywhere, itâs not like he exclusively likes to fuck University girls. Itâs not like this girl is that extremely hot to actually pique his curiosity.
âYouâre so sweet, babe.â The girl leans on him, with a sickening smirk on Haechanâs face, he brazenly winked at his friends.
âOf course,â
His friends canât help but to just shake their heads in amusement, seeing Haechanâs magic work first hand still amazes them sometimes.
âHoly shit,â
Haechan didnât look behind him, even with his friendâs over dramatic reaction to something happening. Their eyes wide, pointing at the entrance of the cafeteria.
âThatâs her, dude,â Yangyang says in almost an awe.
Thatâs what made Haechan look behind him.
And when he does⌠oh boy.
â Ë・âŕ¨âĄŕ§â Ë・â
âNo, I swear, Iâm in love!â Haechan clutches on the throw pillow, looking like a lovesick puppy.
Renjun was baffled. It was strange seeing him like this, Haechan never and he meant it when he says never, says that four letter word out loud, even more so pertaining to a girl.
âWhatâs her name again?â Jeno asks, brows furrowed.
âIm Hayeon,â Haechan says her name in such a delicate tone, as if said out loud, butterflies and rainbows will start pouring out.
âSacred Heart, right?â Jeno reads off his phone, in hopes to find the girlâs picture. He admits sheâs pretty, no, scratch that, sheâs beautiful.
âDonât you fucking dare, Lee Jeno. As a matter of fact, it goes out to the three of youâ sheâs off limits, alright, fuckers?â
Jeno scoffs, Renjun rolls his eyes and Jaeminâ well heâs not here. âSheâs all yours man. Heard everybody wants her ever since she transferred tho,â
Haechan almost laughs at that statement. âTrust, I will get herâ because damn, I think I might go crazy if I donât.â
Renjun still couldnât believe all of this is coming from Lee Haechan himself. Heâs still suspicious, but at the same time, he hopes that his friend really tries to be serious for once.
âI need everybody to know that Iâm off the market. Officially!â Lee Haechan spoke with an intention, one only a love struck person would have.
âDamn, there goes his reputationâ straight down the drain.â Says Jeno, watching Haechan daydream about a girl, holding a pillow close to his chest.
âI still donât trust this,â Renjun says, watching his friend grow heart shaped eyes, clutching his chest on just the mere thought of that Hayeon girl.
And when he heard her talk, oh, gameâs over.
Voice sweet as honey.
âIâm Lee Haechan,â He stood before Hayeon, confidently offering his hand to the girl, and damn, her eyes⌠Her eyes might just melt Haechan in a second.
âHi.. Iâm Haââ
âHayeon. Im Hayeon.â Funny, Haechan whoâs infamous for forgetting girls names, remembers hersâ and she didnât even say a proper word to sentence yet.
âYouâre really pretty.â He doesnât recognize his own voice.
âYouâre sweet,â and when Hayeon giggles and avoided his staring eyes, he knew.
Immediately, he knew itâs so over.
â Ë・âŕ¨âĄŕ§â Ë・â
âYouâve got two beds here, sweets. Whenâs your roommate coming?â Haechan asks in curiosity.
âSoon, hopefully. Sheâs from Sacred Heart too, been friends since forever,â
Haechan nods, âArenât they not accepting late registrants?â
âYeah they are, but I talked to her on the phone and she says sheâll be here soon. I really hope she settles in quick, I donât want to have a random roommate or something.â She states. Haechan finds it so cute that her face is so expressive. Every word comes with emotion, and he can just awe.
âI could be your roommate,â He snickers in.
âDonât be silly,â Hayeon giggled, pulling a smile out of him.
âDonât want to interruptâ but I think Iâm gonna pass out if I didnât have caffeine in the next two minutes..â Yangyang says suddenly, bursting the bubble Haechan and Hayeon were in.
âIâll treat you guys! Dream cafe?â Hayeon claps in excitement.
Haechan shakes his head off, âFunny you think youâd pay when youâre around me, sweets. Donât be silly,â
This isnât like him, at all. Itâs been three days, and he already can feel the lack of sex in his system. He blocked all his girlâs numbers and he canât find it in himself to look at any other girls right now, except for of course, Hayeon.
âHow long are you gonna keep up this act, man?â Yangyang whispered as the two of them walked behind Hayeon, entering the cafe.
âShut the fuck up, what act? This is me, dude,â
âDonât make me laugh, in about two days your dick will fall off and find a girl to fuck on its own,â Yangyang laughed but he got cut off when Haechan hits him at the back of his head.
âIf she fucking hears you Iâll actually decapitate you,â He whispers, ââand no, it wouldnât. Iâll make sure at the end of the week weâd be together and weâll have the most mind blowing seââ
âHaechan? Whatâs yours?â He didnât even realize Hayeon is already at the counter when she calls him. He quickly turns to her at a full tilt and beamed,
âJust Iced Americano,â He says, walking up to her to join her at the counter.
Once they settled in a table, Haechan just sat quietly listening to her voice, telling stories and heâs sure heâs never heard something sweeter. He felt like a creep, admiring her every feature but he canât just help it.
Heâs sure her lips would taste like honey, and god, what he would do to tasteâ
âWhat did you say your friendâs name again?â Yangyang says in between his sips.
âY/n, why?â
âY/n⌠where do I know her⌠shit I feel like I knew her..â Yangyang thinks harder than he does in his Biology exam, wondering why your name leaves familiarity in his tongue..
âSheâs⌠been around. Have you perhaps⌠slept with her?â Hayeon winced at the end of her sentence. Haechan just furrows his brow, confused as to why theyâre talking about a random person.
âOh, fuck, Choi Seungcheolâs Y/n?!â Yangyang almost screamed. Haechan blinks thrice, very baffled about Yangyangâs reaction.
Choi Seungcheol? He knows that man.
And before he could join the conversation, Hayeonâs phone rings, and of course, her phone is pink, with a big ribbon at the back. Hmm, would she like pink flowers? Maybeâ
[Shit, Hayeon, Iâm not fucking pregnant!]
Yangyang spits the coffee in his mouth, and Haechan chokes on his own drink upon hearing the loud voice over Hayeonâs phone. The girl just froze, looking up at them with wide eyes, and then closing in her shoulders in embarrassment.
âH-hey, hi! Iâm with friends,â She answers meekly, putting the phone off of the speaker.
Yangyang covers his grin over his coffee, Haechan acting like he heard nothing.
What a weird conversation starter.
âYouâre at the campus? What? Now?â Hayeon says in panic. Haechan was alert in his seat, in case Hayeon needed him to come along.
And as expected, she now started to gather her bag, âSorry, guys but I have to go. My friendâs somewhere the campus and I need to find her,â
âDâyou need me with you?â Haechan offers, but deep inside him, he just wanted to lay down somewhere. All that heavy lifting made him tiredâ the caffeine getting him even more exhausted.
âNo, not really, Channie.â The sudden nickname elicits a hue of pink in his cheeks, getting him flustered. No one ever calls him that.
Yangyang on his side snorts, eliciting an elbow from Haechan making him hiss. âIâll text you, okay, sweets?â
âAlright, bye, guys!â And off she goes, with her elegant strides, she walks away.
âChannieâ what the fuck was that?â Yangyang burst out laughing, but Haechan was still.
âI think Iâm hard.â
â Ë・âŕ¨âĄŕ§â Ë・â
Three weeks.
âIâm starting to lose eyesight on my earsâ and Iâm fucking chafing bro!â He cries at Jeno, whoâs just focused on his game, unbothered by the grown ass man crying behind him.
This has been officially, since he lost his virginity, the longest Haechan went without sex and heâs about to explode.
âBut I canâtâ not when itâs not her. Fuck, man, why canât she just put out!â
Haechan pulls at his hair, frustrated and horny. He doesnât know what to doâ he wanted Hayeon, thatâs for sure, but at the same time, old habits die hard, and thereâs only so much his hands can do.
He knew Hayeon wants him tooâ thatâs just obvious. However, she just doesnât allow him to take a step further, and duh, heâll never do anything that she doesnât want, so it leaves him where heâs at. Delirious.
âJeno!â He whines again, this time, tapping his friend on the shoulders.
Jeno moves his headset from his ear a bit, looking at him. âWhat?â
âYou werenât listening all this time?!â
Jeno, eyebrows lifted and clueless, shrugged before going back on his game.
âYou fucking bitch,â Haechan murmured before walking out the room.
He was about to take a cold shower, as always, but then his phone pinged.
[11:01pm] hayeonnie: hi haechannie, wanna come over?
As if electrified, Haechan straightened up, quickly bolted out of their apartment.
Thereâs only one reason why she would invite him over, no? At this time, too? Haechan can feel legit excitement on his body as he drives to her apartment.
He stood outside her apartment door, inhaling deep to calm himself down, and adjusting his already hard dick struggling in his skinny jeans.
[11:12pm] haechan: im here @ ur door, sweets ;))
Taking a look at his phone camera and fixing his hair, he waits.
After a minute, she replied.
[11:13pm] hayeonnie: omg, already? im out buying our snacks but the door should be unlocked u can w8 in my room !!
He stood there a little confused, but he understood quickly, because he did sprint to get here. His sneakers didnât even touch the ground. Heâs that desperate.
He texted a simple âokayâ and attempted to turn the knobs, and thankfully, it was unlocked.
Her apartment was cold, but definitely lived in. The few sweaters lying around the couch and the succulents decorated on every corner made the room cozy, really different when Haechan helped her move in a couple of weeks ago.
What caught his eye was a couple extra home slippers by the door, one bedazzled pink and the other plain white, with a hotel branding on its side. Huh, maybe her roommates finally here.
Haechan sat carefully on the couch, checking his pockets for something really important.
Pulling the foil out of his front pocket, he made sure he brought not one, but three condoms.
âOkay,â He sighs and finally sinks into the sofa. He can relax now, heâs ready. Heâs just waiting for his girl!
As soon as he felt comfortable, his entire body jolts when he heard one of the door open.
âThe fuck?â His brows furrowed as he sees a tall man shirtless walking mindlessly to the kitchen counter.
When he got a good lighting on his face, his eyes widened.
Itâs Choi Seungcheol.
Itâs Choi motherfucking Seungcheol!
He never even saw this man in person, but the stories he heard about the infamous Sacred Heart Alumni was crazy. Apparently, he hosted the most wildest party that went down in history, and ever since then, he led the Carat House which rivaled NCUâs biggest frat. A quarterback that had the entire season in his palmâ and because of that, NCU looked at him as an enemy.
So yeah, as an NCU home grown, he was taught that Choi Seungcheol is kind of the villain.
He didnât realize how bad heâs staring at the man, until he looked at him in the eyes with a sour expression.
âWhat the fuck are you looking at?â Seungcheol with his deep voice asks. Haechan blinks,
âNothingââ
âAre you here for y/n? I hate to break it to you but sheâs not seeing anyone else anymore. So I suggest get your ass out before I fuckingââ
âNo! N-No, I donât even know her. Iâm here for Hayeon, uh, sheâs out for a bit but sheâs on her way back.â Haechan defends himself, and he hated the way he spoke in panic. Heâs losing his cool, damn if anyone could see him pissing himself infront of another man, he'd be ruined.
Seungcheol says nothing but nods, before grabbing his shirt which somehow, was under the table.
âJust making things clear. You donât want to mess with me, boy.â Seungcheol says and smirks, before leaving the apartment.
When Haechan finally loosens up, thatâs when he realize heâs been holding his breath the entire conversation. When the door finally closed, he shakes his head.
âFucking bitch. Iâd break his pretty little lips open if heâd said one more word but Iâmâ Jesus fucking christ!â
âHeâs out?â
âJesus!â
A girl peeped through the other bedroom door,as he holds his chest in surprise. What the hell is happening?!
âOh, sorry. My bad,â The girl says, gritting her teeth.
Haechan still holding his chest, looked up at the girl. His knees almost turned jelly because holy shit, this girl is so fucking gorgeous.
And if he could only speak, the first word that would fall of his lips wasâ
âDamn,â
âWhat?â
Oh, fuck, did he say it out loud?
âNothingâ shit, yeah heâs.. uh, out.â Haechan straighten up his posture, putting his hands on his pockets and clearing his throat to gain composure back.
âOh thank god, I donât know how long I pretended to be asleep for his ass to get a hint,â You sigh, finally letting your entire body out the room and walk past him like heâs not standing there.
Even your voice sounded hot. It was deeper than Hayeonâs, with a slight scratch at your words as if youâd just got done singing at the karaoke for hours. It sounded so fucking hot in his ears.
You went to the kitchen, grabbed you a coke in a can and opened it with your teeth. The mere sounds of your actions was the only thing keeping the room less awkward.
âLee Haechan, was it?â
âYeah.. howâd you know?â
âHayeon tells me everything. Also the fact that youâre pretty famous in this school,â You chuckle at your own words, and he canât help but feel a little intimidated but definitely⌠something else.
Sure, one of the reason is because you look like youâre not wearing pants under your oversized shirt, but itâs more in how you handle yourself. You look like you donât care about anything.
âY-yeah but not anymore tho.. Iâm straightening up.. you know, Hayeon likes good guys so,â He doesnât even know why heâs panicking to explain.
âSure she does. By the way, you didnât see Seungcheol here, alright? Nothing gets out of this apartment,â You walked towards the couch where Haechan stood, and his body tensed.
He gets a whiff of a powdery scent, like some kind of delicate perfume you had on and usually he prefers fruity ones but heâs starting to like this one more.
âYou know that the entirety of NCU hates him, right?â He acts nonchalant.
âI understand your lack of tolerance with him, yes. Thatâs exactly why,â You pause when you get near enough, ââyou, Lee Haechan, wonât say anything about it. Besides, we broke up so I donât think thatâs gonna be a problem.â
Thereâs something in the way you say his name, like it meant different. It felt strange, heâs used to hearing his name said with anger, adoration or pleasure, but with your voice, it just sounded⌠weird.
Before he could ponder about it further, the door opened, revealing the girl he had went here for. Right, Hayeon.
âHaechannie! I see you met y/n.â Hayeon were quick to step in between him and you.
Thereâs an awkward tinge in her face, as she smiles way too big, stretching her lips to appear enthusiastic. Haechan didnât notice, but he definitely felt like him and Hayeon should just go inside her room.
âYouâre right, Hayeon, he is a cutie.â You say, with the most obvious sarcasm.
âRight. Uh, weâll go,â Hayeon gripped Haechanâs wrist, pulling him with her inside his room and before she could even close the door, his eyes found yours, and maybe he was hallucinating, but he definitely saw you look at him too.
â Ë・âŕ¨âĄŕ§â Ë・â
You lied.
You donât think Haechan is cute.
You think heâs fucking hot.
His golden skin and his perfect lips made you almost quiver in fear, that you might just have the hots for your best friendâs man. Which even for a woman like you, is a low blow. You donât want to be the girl who fucks a man whose spoken for.
So you tossed it to you being horny. Maybe Seungcheol didnât do enough, maybe if youâd seen a different person standing on your living room, youâd feel bothered too. Itâs not Haechanâ no, it canât be him.
Because if it is him, then youâve got a real big problem. Especially the next day, when Hayeon told you the news.
âI agreed to be his girl, and we did it.â
Normally, youâd congratulate her because she doesnât have that many ex boyfriends and sheâs the type to take a relationship seriously. After a few years of being singleâ she finally has a man, again.
But damn, youâll be lying if that didnât annoy you one bit. Howâd Hayeon get to him first? Ugh.
[NCUâs like⌠really big. Just avoid him a little bit and itâd be fine.] Your friend, who is probably the person you trust the most, talks across the phone.
âJurin, heâs literally my roommateâs boyfriend. I canât even get away from him in my own fucking apartment.â You say, walking around the campus trying to find the auditorium, for one of your lectures. Jurin made a point, this campus is enormous compared to SHU.
[I donât know what to tell âya, he is fine, and itâs your fault for missing the first day and he happened to see Hayeon first.]
Finally, you seem to see the entrance to the auditorium, but youâre not sure. You try to look at your schedule, âTo be fair, itâs just my first week here. Maybe thereâs someone else I could obsess overââ
âThatâs auditorium hall three, Prof Watsonâs lecture?â
You turn to see a boy, with baggy jeans, a baggy shirt, a snapback worn backwards with a headphone barely hanging on it, a laptop on one hand, and a skateboard on the other. You wanted to scoff, this is almost a stereotypical college dude, except he actually rocks it. Youâre conflicted, if you find this hot or not.
âOh, yeah, uhâ thanks?â
âOsaki Shotaro, by the way.â He offered to shake your hand, but forgets that heâs occupied with both. Thatâs when you actually let out a chuckle.
[Hello?? Just find somebody to fuck to get your mind off the dude,] You forget that Jurinâs still on the phone.
âYeah, Iâm gonna call you back.â You absentmindedly say before hanging up the phone.
âY/n.â You smile at him, and with his innocent eyes, he smiled back.
ŕ¨âĄŕ§
âThat was.. Wow.â Shotaro sighed in satisfaction, combing his hand across his hair.
You smirked at him, finding it adorable how heâs reacting to what just happened about three minutes ago.
Jurin was right, fucking somebody else was distracting enough to get your mind off of Haechan, but it felt like putting a band aid on a broken glass. You knew damn well youâd be back gushing about Haechan once you see him again.
âYouâre great too, you know,â You say, fixing your skirt.
âYeah sure but you⌠damn.â You chuckled at him.
Shotaro is hot, and shit, did he knew how to use his body. And for the first time, you had sex with a man who moans in Japanese. That was hot as fuck.
âYâknow rumors about the hottest chick from Sacred Heart went around before you transferred, and I never expected youâd even notice me in the first place,â
You furrowed your eyebrows. âOh, thatâs probably Hayeon. Not me,â
You let out a laugh. Hayeon has always been crowned the most gorgeous student in SHU, and you were always out of the spotlight. Lots of people thought that youâre in her shadow, but to be honest, you like being in the dark.
You get away from a lot of things being unnoticed.
âYouâre Seungcheolâs girl, right?â
You wince after hearing your exâs name, but you were also used to this. Seungcheol and you had a past, a very bad one at that, and people often asks you about it. He was basically a celebrity in your previous school.
âWas.â You put an emphasis on the word.
âThen youâre the girl they were talking about. And to be frank, I think youâre hotter.â Shotaro claims with his chest out.
âYouâre saying that because we just fucked,â
âIâm just being honest, but yeah, that too.â
Shotaro chilled in the apartment a couple more hours when you decided to order food. Of course, he insisted that he paid, and who are you to resist free food.
âThe audacity to say Game of Thrones is way too boring, and here you are gushing over Harry Potter?!â Shotaro yelled playfully.
âHey, I like what I like. Game of Thrones puts me to sleep faster than white noise,â You slurp on your Ramen, entertained over Shotaro losing his shit.
You two continued to bicker until you heard the sound of the pin to the door being opened.
The both of you looked at whoâs coming, and you mentally curse seeing Haechanâs pretty face.
You roll your eyes, breathing in his overwhelming cologne that immediately surrounds the place. His leather jacket that he somehow make it work, and his tight skinny jeans that made him look taller. Fuck, this was never your type. What is wrong with you?
âDude!â Shotaro jumps excitedly, seeing Haechan. Thatâs when Hayeon followed in, smiling at Shotaro but the confusion in her eyes stayed.
âWhat are you doing here?â Haechan says, eyes switching from Shotaro and you.
âI invited him here,â You say, trying your best to avoid his lingering stare. You felt like a highschool girl avoiding her crush. This sucks.
âYou two know each other?â Hayeon asks.
âYeah, weâre friends.â Shotaro says proudly. Dapping up Haechan as soon as he got near him. Haechan seemed suspicious, still glinting his eyes at his friend.
âYou and her?â Haechan whispered ever so slightly, in hopes to not be heard by you or Hayeon.
âYeah, dude.â Shotaro knowingly nods in excitement, as if winning a game, dragging the word âYeahâ to emphasize his exhilaration.
Haechan nods, silently commending his friend for bagging you. He never knew Shotaro had it in him, to be honest.
âReally, y/n, Haechanâs friend?â Meanwhile, Hayeon pulled you aside, scolding you as soon as you were out of earshot by the two boys.
âI didnât know he was his friend?â
âLook, I believe you, but I want this thing with Haechan to work. And I canât have you sleeping around with his friends and risking my relationship with my boyfriendââ
âHow would that risk anything? Iâm literally minding my own business.â This was one thing you hated about Hayeon. She gets too controlling, everything should be in her way. Thatâs how she wants it.
âI donât know, maybe your hobby of sleeping around with his close friends then ghosting them to go back to Seungcheolâ Gee, I donât know if thatâd upset Haechan and lookie hereââ She points at herself animatedly, âUnfortunately, Iâm friends with you so who will eventually take the blame?!â
Hayeon seemed to spit harshly with her words, and it left did kind of stung. Hayeon is nice, kind and caring, but there are times where she sure knows how to make people feel bad. Lucky for you, youâre one of the people who suffers from this side of her.
âUnfortunatelyâ huh. Okay.â You smile bitterly at her, before grabbing your wrist back from her grip.
âDonât worry, Hayeonnie. Iâd step away from his friends, I wouldn't want to jeopardize your one week relationship with him. And I mean this from the bottom of my heart, I hope you shove Haechan so far up your ass, in that case, youâd be together forever, you psycho.â
You, on the other hand, never claimed to be nice.
As you walk away, you stare extra hard at her, and thatâs when you see the familiar look in her eyes.
â Ë・âŕ¨âĄŕ§â Ë・â
The difference of being in a new school compared to your old one, is that here, you had to start from scratch.
Yes, people here in NCU mightâve heard something about new students from SHU, given the famous rivalry between two schools and students who love getting dirt from each other, but you still need to build your persona from level zero.
âWord around here is that youâre apparently the hottest chick from Sacred Heart.â Juyeon, your seatmate in one of your classes.
âApparently? Are you not sure?â You huffed.
He tilts his head to the side, âDonât get me wrong, you are hot. But Iâve always thought youâd immediately jump on either Haechan or Jaemin once you moved here,â
You let out a chuckle. This man has no idea. You for sure wouldâve jumped on Haechan. Your timing just fucked you over.
âWell, Haechanâs with my friend now so heâs out of the picture. Jaeminâs sexy, but not my type.â
âMeh, Iâd give Haechan a month before he gets bored.â Juyeon shrugged.
You look back at him with intrigue, âIs he that much of a fuckboy?â
âHeâs the worst out of the four of them. Haechan is infamous for fucking girls left and right. Jaemin is a close second, but Haechan? That man is a monster.â
You donât know whats wrong with you, but your entire body suddenly turns warm over hearing Haechanâs reputation. You shift in your seat, contemplating a lot of things. Nasty things.
âYeah? That bad, huh.â You clear your throat.
âYep. But hey, heard he blocked all his girls for Hayeon. Made her an official girlfriend too. That got to count for something. Maybe heâs a changed man.â
Changed man your ass. âNobody really changes, Juyeon. They just mask their true color. That isnât changing, thatâs just faking.â
The attention you received was nice at first, but as it went on, it felt irritating. Everybody just wants to talk to you and get to know you, despite the fact that youâve made it clear that youâd rather keep to yourself.
You donât know how Hayeon, or even Haechan does it.
They instantly became the power couple after a few more weeks of datingâ and surprisingly, it seemed to be going on smoothly. They were both popular, Hayeon climbing up the status quo extra quick now that she has Haechan.
You? Oh, you tried to lie low, go back to what you had before, and at least try to stop ogling your friendâs boyfriend. It was just annoying before, but now it kind of starting to affect you.
Every time heâs in the apartment, itâs like he made it his mission to fuck Hayeon so hard that her moans sounded concerning, and in about an hour or two, youâll see them cuddling in the couch watching a movie youâre sure theyâve seen before. Like, hell, who havenât seen the Notebook?
âWeâre ordering in, you want some?â Hayeon kindly asks, one time when you catch them on the kitchen counter.
You just woke up from your nap, and as soon as you see them making out in the kitchen, you almost want to knock yourself out.
âNope. Iâm actually craving forâŚâ You take a look at your limited choice of cereal, âFruit loops.â
âHmmkay, Iâll head down stairs to get some packages, I swear they never bring my packages up here. Babe, please go with me?â The sickening baby voice she uses left you cringing, and all you can do is to fill your mouth up with a spoon full of cereal. Thisâll keep you from saying shit youâd regret.
âMy legs are about to give up, babe, we went for an hour of dogââ
You almost spit out your cereal, freezing over what Haechan just almost said. Are they fucking kidding you?
ââCardio.â Haechanâs attempt at covering his sentence went unuseful, because youâre not dumb. You knew what he meant.
âHeh, okay, babe. Can you wait in my room?â
You see him furrow his brows at his girlfriend, âCanât I wait here?â
Hayeon didnât say anything, but her eyes said a lot more. She looks at you as if sheâs seeing a problem with your presence around her boyfriend, without her in the room. She looks back at him, and sighed. âIâll be right back,â
Once she closed the door, thatâs when you chuckled. Same old Hayeon.
âThatâs weird,â Haechan starts.
âThatâs just how she is. Donât worry,â You say casually, as if what she pertained to isnât about you. Because itâs always about you.
âWhat do you mean?â
âShe doesnât trust me around men, she thinks Iâll jump every dick I came across toâ specially you, her boyfriend,â The exaggerated tone you added to the term boyfriend was prominent. Saying it just annoyed you.
âOh.. thatâs.. thatâs crazy. Howâs you and Shotaro?â You didnât want to read into his demeanor, and how fast he changes the topic, so you just grin.
âMeh, one time thing. Donât worry tho, heâs a sport. Donât want to break any friend dynamics you have with your circle,â
âWhy would you break the dynamics?â
âYour friend Yangyang hit me up last nightâ and I almost gave in, but I think Hayeon is right, I donât want to mess with your friends.â You say absent mindedly.
âI mean, theyâre grown ass adults, itâs up to them if they let some girl break the friendship.â He casually blurts out, not even thinking of what he just said.
You catch a tiny bit of offense to it, âSome girl?â
He immediately raises his eyebrows in shock of his own word, blinking rapidly. âNo! No, what I mean is itâs okay to do whatever you like! They have to deal with their own shit and itâs on them if they let it affect anything,â
You nod. Why does he seem nervous? This wasnât what you expected from him at all. People says heâs over confident and cocky, but why is he stuttering in front of you now?
âBesides, your school is a lot bigger than Sacred Heart, Iâm sure there's plenty of men that I can have. Itâs not that hard to avoid your friend group,â
âYeah. Yeah, definitely.â He clears his throat, for what seemed to be the nth time.
âI mean, I could, technically, go for your friendâ Jaemin, was it?â You donât know why, but you lied. Mainly to get a reaction out of him, indulging into your little theory.
âWhat? No. Not him, heâs obsessed with the art kid from SHU. Jeonghanâs friend?â His explanation seems valid. You bit your lip. You were expecting a lot more.
âJeonghanâs ex? The girl who slept with Sir Nakamoto?â You asks, intrigued at the sudden mention of the girl you once knew from your previous school.
âYeah! That one!â
You smirk in amusement, âHuh. Small world.â
âYeah so definitely not Jaemin. Or Jeno, Or Renjun. Nope. They already have their own girl.â He says in finality, shaking his head.
You chuckle at his expression. Heâs so damn cute. You just want to⌠fuck.
âAlright, chill. Iâll step back from your friends. God, you sound just like Hayeon.â
He flinched over the mention of his own girlfriends name. He looked like he forgot about her for a second there, but you donât let yourself believe that. Youâre just feeding into your delusions.
You drink the milk thatâs left in your bowl, and when you bring it back down to the counter, you see Haechanâs gaze lowering in your face, stopping right where your lips are.
âYou got some, uhââ
You point at your lips, âOh,â you lick the milk mustache above your upper lip, all while Haechan watches.
Shit, this looks like an introduction to some porn. You didnât even mean to do it, you swear!
He clears his throat again, âB-but⌠would you tho?â
You raise your brow at his sudden question.
âWould I.. what?â
âJ-jump.. on my⌠d-dick?â
Slowly, the smirk you had before shows again.
âOh, Haechan, thatâs not a nice question to ask your girlfriendâs friend, now is it?â
âI-I was justââ
âFinally! I ran up here as fast as I could, what are you two talking about?â Hayeonâs catching her breath, quickly stepping between you and Haechan, effortlessly breaking the thick tension between you two.
You, on the other hand, managed to break your eyes away from the boy and walked to the sink to wash your bowl.
âFruit loops,â you lie.
Haechan was still standing there, trying to amuse his girlfriend, as if he didnât just ask you if you would jump on his dick a minute ago.
âYeah, fruit loops.â He whispers as he takes a deep breath.
Things just got way more interesting.
â Ë・âŕ¨âĄŕ§â Ë・â
Haechan doesnât know what it is. Maybe heâs just really tired, maybe the exams are slowly getting to him.
He laughs. He doesnât give a fuck about the exams.
âI donât like your friend, Renjun. His smile seems so fake when he smiles at me,â Hayeon says through her teeth.
âNah, thatâs how he is on everybody. He doesnât even smile at me,â Hayeon snuggled more onto his side as they continued watching the Kissing Booth.
âI guess you know him better, but still, can you tell him to be nice?â
Haechan just nods at her. Renjun is nice, only to people whoâs nice to him. However, in Hayeonâs case, Renjun is still doubting his relationship with her. Something about being way too quick, or way too forced.
And even tho Haechan doesnât show it that much, he does value Renjunâs judgement among all of his friends. He trusts him to see through all his actions, and think of whatâs best for him.
But, of course, he still insist that his relationship with Hayeon will work. Because it needs to work. Heâs not gonna embarrass himself after chasing this woman for so longâ only for him to break up in a month.
âLetâs go to bed?â Finally, the awful movie ended, and a sense of relief washes over him. He hated the Kissing Booth.
âIâll do the thing that you like..â Hayeon whispered lowly in his ears, making him smirk. She knows exactly how to get his attention.
However, before they could even get walk to Hayeonâs room, the front door swung wide open, revealing a huffing figure stomping inside.
Youâre angryâno, youâre actually fuming. And it all made sense when he saw whoever followed you into the apartment.
âFuck you!â You yelled as you threw your bag on the floor.
Seungcheol brushed his hands through his hair as he strides big steps towards you. Haechan frowned at how aggressive Seungcheol was approaching you and he was about to interfere, when Hayeon tightened her grip at his wrist.
âDonâtâ they do this all the time. Letâs just go in,â She says quietly.
âGet out of my fucking apartment, Choi Seungcheol.â You say, voice cut deeply, eyes closed as if trying to gather patience.
âWhat were you doing with that Soohyun, huh? Throwing ass like Iâm not fucking in the same room?!â Seungcheol shouted, pointing at you as if you were nothing. Haechan flinched everytime he sees Seungcheol almost touch you.
âWeâre over, weeks ago, you delusional fuck! Youâre fucking stalking meâ itâs like you have a fucking tracking device, weirdo!â
âIf you think weâre over, think again, bitch. I made you. I own you. You can do whatever you want, switch schools, create a whole new personality, but the truth is, youâre still the same fucking slut for me.â
âThatâsââ Haechan was supposed to get in between you and Seungcheol, but a forceful tug on his wrist made him stumble back to Hayeonâs room.
âLeave it, Haechan. Itâs not our business!â Hayeon then slammed the door shut.
âThatâs your friend, babe! Heâs going to hurt her!â
âItâs their problem, Haechan! Theyâre always like this! Thatâs how they are! An hour from now, theyâre gonna be fucking like rabbits next door, trust me.â
He doesnât know what to feel. Did they see the same thing? Did she not see how aggressive that guy is towards you? How can Hayeon let her friend get treated that way?
Haechan was straight up dumbfounded.
Maybe itâs a Sacred Heart thing. Heâs heard some of the crazies went there. Maybe youâre one of them.
But every minute that had passed, he felt like his ears was hyper alert. His eyes wandered around the thin wall separating Hayeonâs room to where you are.
Another muffled scream, followed by a thud that sounded like something being thrown across the room. It felt like a telenovela, a drama that he used to watch.
âTheyâve been like that forever. Y/n always leaves, but Seungcheol always chases. Itâs a cycle, and you should be used to it, because no matter how bad they get, theyâll still end up together.â Hayeon further explained.
But he still doesnât get it. He only saw a fracture of your relationship with that man and he could already tell itâs not a very healthy relationship, a dangerous one at that, and Hayeon, whoâs apparently supposed to be your friend, witnessing this for a long timeâ thinks this is okay?
âDonât worry, babe, okay? Itâs fine.â Hayeonâs attempt at calming him down did little to nothing. Not when the silence that followed sounded terrifying.
Turns out, Hayeon was right.
The angry curses, the yelling, and the aggression earlier was completely goneâ replaced by the same words, just different way of expressing them.
Haechan hears a very different types of curses next door now. The rhythmic banging on the wall adds to it all, and all he can think of are you graphic moans filling up his brain.
Haechan was rightfully confused. However, confusion isnât the only one swimming in his system, there was something else. Hearing you get fucked less than five feet away from him left an unnamed sensation he was scared to confront.
So, he did was he does best. He distracted himself by focusing on the girl heâs with, the girl who he should only think about.
Yet, despite his eagerness to erase whatever thought he had, Haechan was never a strong willed person. He admits that heâs mentally weak, that heâs a slave to his own body.
So when his brain was focused on Hayeon, his body reacted differently.
Because every time he hears you moan, his hips involuntarily thrustâ and then everything else just happened without him thinking about anything, just desperately seeking release. He listened to every cry you made, every breath you take.
âAh,â He moans deeply, eyes closed shut as he tried to scrape the bottom of the barrel and listen intently to your whimpering next door.
âHarder,â Your faint voice kept him going.
Not Hayeonâs, no one else but yours.
âHm-hmm,â He bit his lip as he followed your order, thrusting with extra vigor. He kept his words vague, not letting Hayeon figure out what the fuck is in his head.
âCum,â You muttered more incoherent words but he takes what he could understand. And as if in command, he cums. Hard.
The moment he opens his eyes,
âGod, whatâs with you tonight!â Hayeon giggles in satisfaction, catching her breath. Once he was back in his senses, a huge wave of guilt washed over him.
Did he⌠just fucked his girlfriend to the thought of you?
He shakes his head violently, as if the idea of him doing it could fall out of his memories.
Haechan was a pervert. He never denied it. But this⌠this just made him feel dirty. Heâd admit, he isnât the nicest, but come on, heâs a decent human beingâsometimes.
âWhere are you going?â Hayeon asks when she looks at him.
He grabbed his jacket, âRenjun called.â He didnât.
âUh, okay?â
And for the first time, Haechan didnât bother to look at her eyes before he walked out her room.
â Ë・âŕ¨âĄŕ§â Ë・â
Haechan had already heard of every insult he can imagine, and he never finds it in himself to care. Heck, sometimes, he takes pride for being called a manwhore. In his mind, thatâs just another way of saying he gets so much pussy, that people felt the need to give him the title.
But this time, itâs different. He didnât hear it, he felt it.
This was the first time he felt a tiny bit of shame. And it doesnât feel good, like, at all.
He struggles to even admit that what people thought of him was true. That he cannot handle being in a serious relationship longer than a couple months.
He couldâve sworn that what he felt with Hayeon was true, it was intense, it was a different feeling than the girls he had before. But then you came along, and ruined everything.
Any chance of Haechan finally finding his true love crumbled upon his feet, all because of you.
Thatâs it, youâre a curse. A curse he needs to avoid at all costs.
âWoah, you look like shit.â Renjun sat beside him, carrying a shit-eating grin only a true friend could show.
âShut up, Iâm in a predicament.â He brushed Renjun off.
âPredicament? Big word for elmo,â
âAishââ He hits Renjun, softly, of course, and Renjun just laughed. Seeing Haechan visibly distressed somehow intrigued him, because Haechan never worries about anything, at all.
âIs it Hayeon?â He asks casually.
Haechan sat straight, coughingâ âNope! Not at allâ me and my girlfriend are very happy together.â Haechan frantically shakes his head, smiling as if a gun is pointed to his head.
âO-kay? Calm down, freak.â Renjun proceeds to take out his laptop.
Haechan rolls his eyes, but as soon as he focuses on the door of the lecture hall, his breathing hitches.
You entered, hiding under a black hoodie, head hanging low. You clutch your bag as if someoneâs out to take it from you. Your steps are calculated, but rushed at the same time.
Odd, Haechan muttered deep in his breath.
However, even after being intrigued by your peculiar demeanor, Haechan didnât approach you. Not that you care thoâ this is only one of two classes he shares with you. Itâd be easy to avoid you, right?
Wrong. In some shit luck, for the semesterâs first project by pair, his name just had to be called after yours.
Biting his lip as he strides to reach you, he took a deep breath before actually approaching you. You had this dark aura, ever since the start of the lecture. Haechan couldnât name it.
âW-weâre partners,â Thereâs the fucking stuttering again. He swears this is all your fault.
About three seconds passed before you finally acknowledge him, like youâve been pulled out of a trance. You snap at Haechan, but the wary eyes turned soft as soon as your eyes connects with him.
âYeah. R-right, uhâ letâs just do it in the apartment, so weâd both be comfortable since you basically live with us too.â The pathetic attempt of smirking did little to nothing, to cover the puffy eyes you desperately hid.
But then again, Haechanâs not in the place to ask you whats wrong. He doesnât want to be concerned, nor does he want to care. Itâs not like youâre someone to him. Psh, youâre just his girlfriendâs best friend.
Jesus fucking christ.
âK.â He slings his bag on his shoulders, and spins around to walk away.
What you didnât see is how tight he grips the strap of his bag until his knuckles turned white, and his breathing shakes as soon as he left.
â Ë・âŕ¨âĄŕ§â Ë・â
This wonât do.
Ever since he got to your apartment, all you said to him was âHi,â and you never talked to him again if itâs not about the project. Worst, you keep your words as minimum as possible, and your hand trembles every time you type in your laptop.
Thereâs no way youâre okay. Youâre avoiding his stares, youâre refusing to hold a conversation even for a minute.
Haechan should be glad, you make it easier for him to avoid you, but instead of relief, Haechan is faced with worry.
Youâre not acting like you. Your usual confident and carelessness was replaced by whatever this is.
He curses in his head, before slamming his laptop close.
âLetâs take a break,â He says.
You shake your head, âWeâre almost done,â
âI know, so we should take a break,â
âHaechanââ
âYou look like youâre gonna shatter any second now, y/n. So letâs take a fucking break.â Haechanâs stern voice was a rare occurrence, but he needed to be assertive.
You gulped and finally take off your hands off the keyboard.
âAre you okay?â Haechan carefully asked, as to not make you uncomfortable.
âIâm fine.â
âYou donât look fine,â
This time, your eyes glare at him. Haechan blinks, trying to hold a stare but he couldnât. Your bloodshot eyes was trying to suck him in.
âSeungcheol⌠heâs not a bad guy.â You started off and immediately, Haechan didnât like where you were going.
âIs he why you.. look like that?â
âI look like a what?â
âLike youâre on the verge of breaking down,â
âHaechan-ah⌠tell me. Are you happy?â In an innocent mind, this question seems simple. In Haechanâs mind, this felt loaded.
âS-sure..â
Is he really? Pff, no. He accepted the fact that he might not really be inlove with his girlfriend and dove into a committed relationship head first way too fast and now heâs on a position that might just ruin his new found reputation of being a good guy. So, yeah, no.
âIâm glad. Cuz Iâm really not.. Seungcheol was my safe choice, but when he gets like this.. itâs not fun. So I decided to leave him, for good. But I realized that no oneâs on my team now that heâs gone.â You sounded so off. Like you werenât yourself. Haechan couldnât bear it, so he looked away.
âIâm on your team,â He softly says, hopefully sounding less cringy.
âReally? Haechan-ah?â Okay, he really doesnât like it when you call him Haechan. It sounds so.. unfamiliar.
âYep. Me, Hayeon, and all your friends are here for you.â He didnât like saying his girlfriendâs name whilst talking to you, but he knew he had to draw some kind of line. Just in case you get the wrong idea, or worse, he gets the wrong idea.
You let out an awkward laugh. He doesnât understand which part of this you find funny at all.
âRight. Hayeonnie.â This time, it sounded like you hated her name. Like it didnât need to be in the conversation.
âSo.. promise me youâll never go back to Seungcheol again, okay? Heâs a bad guy,â He exaggerated a scolding tone just to lighten up the mood but it didnât do much.
You just noddedâ looking like you just wanted to end the conversation.
Thankfully, a notification from his phone breaks the dead silence. He used it as an excuse to escape.
[7:03pm] hayeon: Iâm at my sisters, babe. Arenât u going to Yangâs party tonight?
He sighs. Right, his loving girlfriend.
He canât just leave you all alone, can he? Not when youâre in this state, not when youâre not okay.
This isnât even about his problem with you anymore. Any decent human being wouldnât leave a poor girl all alone when she clearly needs someone.
âCome with us to Yangyangâs party. Take your mind off of things.â
âIââ
âItâs either you go or Iâll drag you with us.â
There was another pause, silence filled with tension you could cut through with a knife. You didnât say anything but sighed, basically confirming to Haechan that youâll go.
You guess you needed a little distraction.
âIâll be there.â You softly whisper. You closed your laptop, and stood up from the coffee table straight to your room.
As soon as the door clicks, Haechan catches his breath. He doesnât realize heâs been holding it in everytime you look at him. Thank God you didnât notice it.
This will do him good. Itâll clear his mind, and in no time, heâll be back in his girlfriendâs arms. Youâll be busy with other people and youâll be out of his sight. Yeah.
[8:56pm] hayeon: Canât go to Yangâs tonight babe :( My sister needs me to help with something. See you tomorrow?
He was about to reply, when another message popped up in his phone.
[8:57pm] yangyang: u better come to my party !! bring ur gf or wtv.. make sure she brings y/n too haha
[8:57pm] haechan: im going, but hayeon cant go. y/n will be there.
[8:58pm] yangyang: fuck yeah dude i cant w8 to see her!!!
Why is Yangyang so obsessed with you? Didnât you say you turned him down already? Well, knowing Yangyang, he does get a bit infatuated with someone that does so much as give him the time of day, but come on. You already said no to him, right?
Haechan reminds himself to reply to Hayeon, but his mind was somewhere else.
So he never did.
â Ë・âŕ¨âĄŕ§â Ë・â
âItâs been so long seeing you without your girl, dude!â Yangyang excitedly put his arms around Haechan, almost choking the guy. In return, Haechan elbowed him slightly, just to get the guy off of him.
âYouâre choking me, asshole.â
âHuh, couldâve sworn youâre a little bit into that.â Yangyang joked, earning a hefty hit from Haechan.
He kinda get Yangyang tho. It has been a while since he attended some party without Hayeon by his side, and honestly, it kinda brought back a vibe in him. Only this time, he needs to be careful.
The hushed whispers of girls upon seeing him alone was noticeable, some even saying that maybe Hayeonâs out of the picture. He needed to clear things up before everybody misunderstood.
âMy girlfriend, Hayeon is at her family house. Sheâll be with me tomorrow.â He says very loudly, for everybody to hear.
He doesnât know why he felt the need to prove others wrong, but one things for sure. Heâs not going to mold himself to the expectations of him not being able to keep one girl for a long time.
âAlright, man, no need to yell.â Shotaro popped in his right.
âWhere have you been?â Yangyang asked.
âY/nâs over at the hallway with Soohyun. I think sheâs wasted, dude.â
Haechanâs ears perked with the mention of your name. Youâre here earlier than him? And youâre already wasted?
So what? Not my responsibility. Haechan says to himself. He grabs one of the shots on the counter and downed it straight. Haeving, he goes and takes another.
âSlow down, stupid!â Jeno appears beside him, chuckling a bit.
He shakes his head. No, no, no, no, no.
âAre you okay?â Renjun asks, this time more seriously. He had never seen Haechan being in distress for long periods of time, and never this conflicted. He knew Haechan like the back of his hand.
âIâll get over it.â Voice rasp, Haechan walks away from his friends.
He rings his girlfriend one time, only to be answered by a robotic voice telling him sheâs busy. He tried it again, but the result was the same.
Every shot he encountered, he drank. He canât really handle anything without being sober, let alone think about you while being sane. Heâll go crazy.
But then the when the alcohol hits, his thoughts got more even insane. Batshit. He can fucking hear your voice now.
Your screams, when you were fighting with Seungcheol.
Your moans, when he was pounding you to oblivion.
Your tears, when you yelled profanities.
And your fucking words that made Haechan cum that night. The same fucking words that he knew wasnât meant for him, but he took it as if you whispered in his ear.
âFuck!â He screams out of frustration. He felt disgusted with his own thoughts.
âHaechan?â
Man these walls must be talking âcuz he swear he just heard yoâ
He turned around to see you, and he canât pin what his exact feeling the moment your eyes met. He was relieved for a split second, then he suddenly felt tense because it was like he manifested you to appear in front of him.
âY/nââ
âLook who decides to show up without his pet.â Another voice popped from behind you, however, he canât think of anyone else but your flushed face.
âDidnât you miss me, Haechannie? Come on, I know your girl doesnât compare..â It was a drunk Gaeun, stumbling past you, managing to nudge your shoulders.
Her hands finds Haechanâs shoulders, putting her entire weight pulling him down to her level.
He was in panic mode. You were just standing there, visibly disturbed, rightfully so, as Haechan tried to push Gaeun away as respectfully as he can.
âGaeun, pleasââ
âAre you fucking insane?â Your voice thundered as your hand pulled the drunk girl away from him. His eyes widened, feet frozen as he sees you drag the girl away from him.
âGet your hands off me! Haechan!â Gaeun screamed for him, but he canât really do anything, heâs still, fascinated at the scene in front of him. Are you.. jealous?
But when he notice the moment escalates and youâre now dragging Gaeun by her hair, he jumped into action and gently tried to pull your wrist away. âLet go,â
Your sharp eyes turned to him, still in attack mode, but you took one deep breath and let go of her hair. A sobbing mess, Gaeun runs away from you.
âYouâre really gonna let her be all over you like that? What if I wasnât here?!â
âY/nââ
âYouâre crazy if you think Iâm gonna let you cheat on Hayeon with a bitch like herââ
âThen who else?â
His hands arenât on the steering wheel anymore, and any control he hadâ he threw it all away.
âW-what?â
The game was over. Haechan forfeits, this isnât something he can deny any longer.
Haechan, still holding your wrist, pulled you closer to his body.
âWho would you rather me cheat on her with?â
âHaeââ
âNope. Wrong name. Come on, say it.â He completely turned off the switch. He basically slashed the throat of the angel that gives him the conscience heâs been holding on so tight, and grabbed the devilâs hands.
This was a risky game he was playing, you could totally call him out, and tell Hayeon right away, but the other side of the spectrum is way too good to even think of the risk. You could come to him and give him a taste of what he was craving for.
âYouâre drunkââ
âWere you drunk those nights when youâd stare at me when I visit Hayeon? Were you drunk when you pretend you didnât find me hot? Or were you drunk when you moan extra louder whenever Iâm around while being fucked by your boy-toy? Huh?â You couldnât even recognize his voice at this point. He sounds so⌠out of it.
âThatâsââ
âBeing drunk has nothing to do with this, y/n. Iâm gonna ask you again, you can just turn around and pretend nothing happened, and weâre just both drunk to think straight. But tell me, y/n, the truth. Didnât you at least think about what itâs like? To be fucked properly?â
Think about it? Fuck that. You fantasized about it. Day and night. Haechan plagued your mind twenty-five-eight, and the fact that heâs inside your friendâs room instead of yours.
So yeah, you did more than thinking about it.
âThis is bad..â You whimpered, lips a paperthin away from each other.
âYou make me do bad things, very, very bad things. But then again, Iâm not a stranger to being the bad guy.â
And just as Haechan lets the last word fall from his pretty lips, you took the bait. You shook the devilâs hand and kissed him. And from then on, you know thereâs no going back.
Haechan pulled you by the waist, and your hand grips his neck to deepen the kiss. As your tongues danced to a perfect rhythm, you feel his other hand take the back of your left thigh, urging you to wrap them in his waist, signalling you to let him carry you. Which you did, you were always a good listener.
Itâs crazy. You feel everything, all at once and it was so overwhelming but it felt right. Which is such a fucking lie because everything about this is wrong. Itâs so wrong, but fuck it, it felt so right.
Carrying you by your ass, Haechan managed to walk inside one of the rooms, and because youâre so hyper focused on touch and what his lips are doing, you didnât even realize that youâre already in a bed, âtil you felt a soft texture on your back.
Haechan pulled away, and takes a second to look at you from above, âFuck, youâre so pretty. Youâve always been prettier,â
It sounded so bad, yet so good in your ears. You canât believe youâre hearing this from a boy whoâs just a month ago, drooling over your friend.
âShut up before we come back to our senses and realize how fucked up this is,â You murmured.
âWhy do you gotta spoil the mood, baby?â He whines but still kissed you again, letting his hands roam free across your body.
His fingers stealthily pulled the hem of your shirt, letting his bare hands come in contact with your stomach which you respond with a shudder.
âHmm, my babyâs ticklish.â He chuckled as if he just unlocked a new discovery.
He continued kissing you on your neck, you assume its to distract you from his hand slowly creeping up your bra. Which he does a bad job at because you can feel everything heâs doing. And once he came in contact with your nipple, you let out a proper moan.
âGod, you even sound pretty.â You supposed you already expected him to be a talker in bed, but nobody prepared you on how good he can be at it.
âCan I take this off?â He looks at you as he tugs your shirt.
âPlease,â
He smirks, âLetâs just.. take everything off, hmm?â
You eagerly nodded. You keep on thinking excuses in your head, that in some fucked up way, this is okay. That this was fine. That this is how it should be.
Before you know it, you were naked in front of him, Youâre naked in front of your friendâs boyfriend.
Haechan used his arms to lift himself up, looking at your body with lust dripping from his iris, jaws slightly ajar. âFuck.â
Not long before his hands continued roaming around your body and it felt like every single touch burned, but you loved every single sensation that came with it.
âThis is badâŚâ You whisper, but your hands pull him closer.
âSo bad,â He says, grinding his clothed member on your core, and even if the rough denim felt uncomfortable, it doesnât compare to the pleasure that it gave you.
You see his other hand struggle to open his pants and pull âem down. You help him with his shirt which he gladly removed, and when youâre both exposed, thatâs when he finally puts his hand to good use.
You moan at the initial contact of his fingers onto your folds. He used his free hand to get the hair out of your face, just to see every single reaction you gave him.
He deepens the contact, until you feel his long fingers sink in and thats when you curse. It felt fucking good. âHae..chan,â
âUh-huh,â He encourages.
His fingers went in and out, gradually going faster, and you couldnât help but whimper. You grab his wrist when you felt like cummin, because you canât believe he managed to make you feel this way, this quickly.
âYour hands,â He warned, so you let go. This authoritative voice he has made you feel some type of way.
He continued to move, like he knew you were in the verge. âLook at me when you cum,â He says, this time with a much softer approach.
But it was hard to open your eyesâ especially when you started to feel euphoric. However, Haechan wasnât gonna take it. He grabbed your face, forcefully making you look at him. âOpen your fucking eyes, or else Iâm gonna stop.â
âNo, p-please.â You shake your head.
âThen look at me,â He says.
And then, you exploded. A moaning mess, you try to stop your legs from shaking but it proved to be ineffective, as they still shook from the sensation you just felt. It was differentâ everything felt different with him.
âGood girl,â He almost growls, âGood fucking girl,â
You were catching your breath, recovering from the mess you made. Haechan was something else. Youâve had orgasm before, but this was the first time it felt so real.
âCan I fuck you?â
Thereâs a shift in his voice, almost confusing you why he sounded so⌠whiny. You bit your lip as you look up at him and you nod.
He whispered a soft okay, guiding you to sit up. Thats when you realize heâs also naked and fuck, of course he has to be hung. Thereâs more to his faceâ thatâs why girls go fucking coocoo for this man.
He sits up by the head board as he pumps his own cock in front of you, while he looks at you lustfully, as if heâs seeing his fantasy come to life. âYouâre so fucking beautiful,â he whispers.
You crawl your way to him, eyes canât help but stare at his hand desperately jerking himself off. You tap it away and he knew by then what you were trying to do. His hands instinctively go to the back of your head. He looks down at you by the tilt of his head as his jaw hangs low.
Your hand replaces his, and Haechan knewâ heâs fucked. The flick of your wrist felt so good.
And then, you try and give him a tiny lick, and he couldâve sworn he almost came there and then. But heâs not a pussyâ oh no, if heâs gonna come, it has to be from fucking you.
âOh, fuck, y/n,â he moans when you finally suck him fully, gripping the remainder of his base where you canât go even more lower. Your name falls way too familiar from his lips.
Not even a full minute of you sucking him off, he pulls you by the hair. âNeed to fuck you now or Iâll come,â
âOkay,â You whisper, waiting for him to guide you what to do next.
âRide me, baby.â
You spread your legs and straddle him. You grab his cock and line him up to your core and slowly sinks in. Both of you gasp, you from the stretch, him from the grip you had on him. It felt so rightâ so perfect.
âYouâre made for me,â He says more to himself than you.
You gain momentum, finding a rhythm that works with the both of you. Every time you sunk down, Haechan lets out a whineâ then a praise after. His words, if youâre being honest, is what kept you going besides, of course, the feeling of him being inside you.
âBaby, my god,â
âYes,â You almost growl when you felt that youâre coming undone, again, the twist in your stomach slowly getting more intense.
âY/n, baby, do I make you feel good?â There he goes again with his whiny voice.
âYes,â You breathe out.
âYou fuck me so good,â He moans, eyes rolling backwards. He looks so scrumptious, and you just want to ruin him.
His eyes started burning through yours, you donât even see him blinking. Haechan does not want to miss anything on your face as he fucks you. He wants to remember every single second.
âShit, shit,â He curses, wrapping his arm on your waist, forcing you to fall onto his chest before planting both his feet on the mattress to fuck up into you.
A high pitch moan came out of you, and you couldnât believe you could even make that noise. Haechan takes it out of you.
âYou make meâ fuck, please, pleaseâ y/n,â Heâs blurting out words, burying his head on your neck. You grab the headboard to balance yourself because it felt like youâre gonna fly out of the bed with the way heâs pounding onto you.
âSay my name,â He groans.
âHaechaââ
âNoâ Donghyuck. My nameâs Donghyuck.â
âDonghyuck, please, cum in me.â
And just like a command, or a magic word, he stilled in you and you felt warm ropes painting your insides as he let out the sluttiest moan youâve every heard from a man.
âF-fuck,â
You were shaking, but so is he.
âYouâll fucking kill me, y/n.â
Only you, him and the faint music outside these four walls are the only distraction you have as you laid beside him. And then it hit you.
âWe just⌠fucked,â
Haechanâ no, scratch that, Donghyuck, let out a snort. âYeah we did.â
âThatâs really bad,â
âIt is,â
You sit up, starting to grab your clothes one by one.
After-dick clarity starts to sink in and the pleasure from before was replaced with a crashing wave of guilt.
âThis is a mistake, Donghyuck.â
He brushes his hands across his face as he tried to get a hold of your wrist, to stop you.
âThen letâs keep making mistakes,â His voice was sultry. A note lower than what he usually sounds. Like when he was fuckâ
No. Hayeon. Haechan and Hayeon. Fuck.
âBig ones,â He continued. You pull your hands away from him and as soon as you dressed up properly, you look at him one last time.
Half naked, he bites his lip as he matches your eyes.
âThis will never happen again.â Was the last thing that you say, before slamming the door in front of his face.
â Ë・âŕ¨âĄŕ§â Ë・â
âDonghyuckââ
âHmm, yeah? Feel so good, huh?â
You look at the mirror as Donghyuck pounds into you in oblivion.
Like a starved man, he locks both your arms around you back, with his hand, while his other hand is busy putting a joint in between his lips.
He hits a long drag, but not letting it affect the way he fucks into you. Heâs still in so deep, and it felt euphoric. He looks at you at the mirror and smirks.
âMy baby wants a hit?â
You nod, desperately at that, and he then bends over, letting his refined chest hit your back. Instantly, you felt a cool sensation from his dog-tag, but every inch of his skin was warm. Hot.
He puts the joint in between your lips, letting you drag a long one before licking the back of your ears.
âTold you itâll double the fun when weâre high,â He whispers.
âLove it, Hyuckie, love it so muchââ
âLove fucking you too, my y/n. So fucking much.â
You, also as if starving, ate all your words.
Because when you said youâll never mess around with him, you still found him eight inches deep inside you the next week.
It happened again, and again, and again.
You know this will blow up in your face eventuallyâ but you canât help it when Donghyuck gives you everything you wanted. He fucks you like he owns you, like youâre the only person in his world.
And despite how many times you convince yourself that youâre a strong willed person, Donghyuck just knows how to get you. One smile, one look, and youâre on your knees for him. Your name just falls off of his lips way too smoothly, melting you into a puddle each time.
But everytime he walks out the door, an immediate wave of guilt washed over you. You hate that you canât call him yours, even when he makes you feel like youâre his.
He was your own brand of ecstasy, taking you to places you didnât even know existed, and even though you knew it was all in your head, pretending like itâs real for a moment, felt so addicting.
You knew not to be attached, but you also knew going into this that youâre basically setting yourself up. A suicide mission.
It doesnât matter how perfect it felt to be with him. Give yourself an hour and youâre back to being the other woman. Because at the end of the day, you know, heâs going back to her.
âYou okay, pretty?â He kisses your shoulder blade as you sat in his bed.
âYeah,â You silently say, smiling. Hiding the fact that when he closes his eyes, you prayed he never sees her.
Because God knows that you do.
He sighs, as if he knows what you were thinking about. Of course, the elephant in the room takes up the entire space. He canât pretend that whatâs happening is normal.
âIâll tell her soon, okay? Iâll take all the blameâ just, give me time, I promise.â He gently caresses your hair.
âHmm, okay.â Your soft smiles is why he kept coming back. Youâre the most prettiest person heâd ever had, and he knows it doesnât mean much when it comes from him, but he swears heâd never seen anyone prettier.
He just wished he had seen you first.
You donât know when the drunken mistakes and reckless escapes turn into so much more, but you knew you were falling. Damn you for falling easily. Damn your heart for being so clumsy.
Meanwhile, Haechan knew he was in deep shit.
âLook, dude, I know I donât usually compliment you and shit, but Iâm actually proud of you for being in a relationship this long, man.â Jeno says, sincerely at that.
He liked the compliments, and this new image he had managed to create. Like heâs a great guy, like heâs finally maturing. He likes that people finally likes him, in a light heâs never been on before. But then, you just had to happen.
And Haechan just happens to like you. A lot. And now that heâs got a taste of you, heâs afraid he canât ever get enough.
Itâs so bad to the point that instead of stopping whatever is going on between you two, heâs thinking of ways how to keep you, without incriminating you. Because heâs aware that when this all blows up, itâll be bad, not only for him, but to you too.
âAre you okay, baby?â Hayeonâs touch started to burn, it started to feel unfamiliar. And he knows heâs being a fucking douchebag, but he canât lie to himself.
âY-yeah, uh, Shotaro wants me to come with him to the gym.â He says some pathetic excuse to get away from her. Mostly from the guilt, thatâs eating him alive.
Hayeon nods, but a glint of suspicion in her eyes lingers.
âI saw Shotaro studying at the library that day. I asked him if he was with Haechan, but he said heâd never seen him.â
That was the first time you felt the world started to shrink on you.
She was crying on your shoulder, all you could do was hold her. But your hand stung, from the blade you were willing on her back.
You werenât always nice, but never have you imagined you could do this to her. Hayeon was your friend.
And itâs not like you didnât avoid Donghyuck, because God knows, that you really tried to.
It was another usual Friday, where Soohyun, a senior, throws a party. It was a big deal, with him graduating this semester. He had invited you personally, and it would be strange for you to turn it down because you had never turn booze down.
But you knew he was gonna be there.
You had ignored his calls and text from last week, avoiding every instances that you might come across the Devil himself.
But hey, Soohyunâs house is big. You could probably go for a couple of hours without crossing paths with Dongâ Haechan, right?
Wrong.
Because here he is, sitting across you with his hands wrapped around his girlfriend. Hayeon came inâ as if a few days ago, she didnât cry all night because of him.
They look so inlove. It was disgusting.
âI havenât seen you in a while,â Soohyun popped beside you. He scootches impossibly closer, putting his arms around you.
âYouâre leaving in three months, wouldnât miss it for the world,â You say, very casually, that it almost sounded fake. Not that it isnât, but whatever.
Soohyun continued his advances, and you just let him. It at least helped youâ although very annoying, still, youâd rather have him than be stuck looking at him with her.
Soohyun is an attractive man. Heâs very muscle-y yet slim, fair skin and sharp eyes. Heâs one of the guys who you canât deny that heâs certainly a catch. Heâs very tall too, so, yeah, not bad at all.
Unlike someone, whoâs very different from Soohyun. Sunkissed, plump lips, soft yet toned body, and tall enough where his lips meets your forehead perfectly. Voluptuous ass, cunty little waist, and most important of it all, big fucking diâ
âSoohyun-ah, get up in here!â A loud voice from the main hall called out.
âGotta greet the boys real quick, sweetheart. If you want somethingâ help yourself at my kitchen, okay?â Soohyun pecks at your cheek. You smiled and nodded at him and watched him walk away.
Unfortunately, your eyes doesn't have anything else to look at but him. Surprisingly, he was already looking at you. However, it wasnât the usual sweet look he gives you. He looks pissed as he grips the can of beer.
His hand wasnât on Hayeon anymore. He was leaning back as he eyes you from across the room. Thankfully, Hayeon was busy giggling at somebody elseâs joke.
You raise your left brow at him and mouthed, âWhat?â
He smirks, but itâs nowhere near being enthusiastic, before he pokes his tongue on his cheeks as he shakes his head.
You just roll your eyes at him and before you could even melt from all the attention heâs giving to you, you decided to escape to the kitchen for an ounce of peace.
However, youâve only enjoyed not even a minute of peace when you feel a presence behind you. You grunt.
âSo, youâre with Soohyun now, huh?â Haechan says in his deep voice.
âNot your business,â
He let out a chuckle in disbelief, âWhen does it become my business? When Iâm fucking you from behind?â
Your eyes widen at his sudden burst, as if you two arenât in the same vicinity of his fucking girlfriend.
âAre you insane?! Hayeonâs right there!â
âYou make me insane! You were all over that fucking assfaceâ in front of me. When you know damn well that Iââ He manages to stop himself. Haechan bit his lip, before taking a deep breath to calm himself down.
âWhat, Haechan? What were you gonna say?â Your eyes started to burn, but no tears yet. Not yet.
He sniffs, shaking his head and let it fall down as if to hide his eyes. âYou werenât⌠reading my texts, you werenât.. answering my fucking calls. I tried following you through your classes but youâre just too fucking good in pretending that I donât exist. Iâm.. going crazy, y/n.â
You couldnât believe your eyes and ears. His voice is shaking and he wonât look you in the eye. Is he.. crying?
âPlease, donât go with Soohyun. Please donât sleep with him, donât kiss him or do anything with him. Iâm begging youâ because I donât think I can handle it.â He whispers, but youâve heard everything. The frustration and sadness in his voice made it impossible for you to not hear it.
âThis isnât fairâ Haechaââ
âThatâs not my name, not to you.â His strict tone went back for a bit.
âDonghyuck, youâre being really unfair. I get to sit in front of you and her looking so disgustingly inlove but the second another man shows interest in me you start this shit? Thatâs so fucking mean.â You wanted to shout at him, to yell at him but you knew better. A party doesnât seem to be a good place to announce youâre fucking your friendâs boyfriend.
âI know, baby, trust me I feel so fucking horrible but I wonât lie to you. Ever since that night, youâre all I think about. No, fuck that, ever since the first time I laid eyes on you I knew I made a mistake. And fuck me for denying it but I canât lie to myself now. I wanted to end it with herââ
âYou want to end it? Okay. Iâll help you,â You stare at him blankly, not even sure if what youâre about to do is the right thing. Youâre beyond being reasonable right now. You can see the confusion behind his eyes, followed by shock when you shouted.
âHayeon-ah!â You call out her name.
Haechan was terrified and panicked at the same time. Your stunt poured a bucket of ice all over him, leaving him frozen on the spot.
Not even a full thirty seconds when Hayeon showed up, completely unaware of the conversation that had just occured.
âWhat? Why?â her tone was unassuming, despite the painfully obvious tension that filled the room.
âDonghyuck here, wants to tell you something.â You say, once again blankly. You couldnât show any emotions because you donât even know what to feel in the first place.
âDonghyuck? Whoâs that?â
You look at her in slight incredulousness, but nowâs not the time to be baffled by that.
âHaechan, I meant. He wants to tell you something,â
He was standing there, frozen in shock as he looks at you, then to his clueless girlfriend, waiting for whatever heâs gonna say. He swore his heart beats out of his chest. Like the room started to spin and the oxygenâs suddenly not fit for the three of you.
His hands are shaking, weighing the situation thatâs unfolding in front of him. Once the very confident and sure of himself Lee Haechan was standing here like a beaten puppy, couldnât even form a proper fucking sentence.
âI-I..â
He gulps, before glancing at you one last time, âWe need to go, Hayeon-ah.â He grabs her wrist and before you knew it, heâs already gone.
You donât know why you would even expect anything. You knew he wouldnât, you knew he treasured her still despite how many times he crawls back to you. You knew heâd never pick you, but damn, it still hurt like a motherfucker.
You knew you were in the wrong side, and deep inside you, youâre calmed by the fact that thereâs two of you on the that side, but then, you were left alone wallowing in the dark. Like you always were.
To be second to her, again, you thought was the most hurtful thing you could ever feel.
But to not be chosen by him, felt way worse.
â Ë・âŕ¨âĄŕ§â Ë・â
Haechan didnât even know why he didnât just tell Hayeon right there and then.
Was he afraid of being judged? Come on, heâd been judged his entire life! Looks from people never bothered him, in fact, it exhilarated him.
Heâs sure he wants you, no one else but you, so whatâs the deal?
He thinks once again, that maybe, just maybe, he didnât want you to suffer from being judged. He knew that if the truth was revealed in front of people from the campus, theyâd crucify you more than him. Thatâs the sad reality.
Heâs all to blame, yes, maybe you too, but most of it is his fault. If only heâd wait a little longer to see you first before Hayeon, if only heâd ended his shallow relationship with her right after he saw you.
If only he could see himself from a different perspective, heâd definitely slap himself across the face.
He never thought heâd scoop so low, to cheat on a girlâ but itâs you. Fuck everything if itâs you heâd get after all of this.
âAre you okay?â
Of course, whenever heâs in a rough situation, Renjun just coincidentally pops out of nowhere.
âNo dude, Iâm really not.â Thereâs no use at pretending heâs the big bad Lee Haechan around Renjun. He knows him in and out.
âIs it about y/n?â
That, he didnât know that Renjun knows.
âHowâd you..â
âSaw her running out of the apartment one time.â Renjun smiles as he thinks of that one time he caught you. You never saw him tho, he was standing still in the dark kitchen stirring his coffee.
âI fucked up, man.â Haechan lets himself loose, voice breaking as he covers his face with both of his palms.
âYou did, you really did. I always knew you were a..â Renjun debates if he could use the term knowing his friendâs state of mind, â⌠player but I never thought you would actually cheat. You hate cheaters, man, we all do.â
âLook, you need to come clean this shit up. Own up to your bullshitâ tell Hayeon. She deserves to know.â
Renjun was right. He canât keep on hurting the poor girl, and the longer he waits, the more painful it would be for Hayeon, thus, affecting you more.
Heâs just scared that after all this, he still couldnât get you. Heâs afraid that heâll lose everything.
âHayeon-ah..â He calls for her name as soon as he enters her apartment. He knew you wouldnât be here.
He found Hayeon on her bed, scrolling mindlessly through her phone. When her eyes found his, she quickly jumps out to greet him.
âHi baby! I found a new movie we could waââ
âWe need to talk.â
Her expression falls rapidly, visibly confused as to why Haechan suddenly sounded serious.
âW-whatâs happening?â She asks.
Haechan knew there was no stepping away from this. He needed to do this, not only for you, but for him, and her aswell.
â Ë・âŕ¨âĄŕ§â Ë・â
[11:28pm] haechan: iâll talk to her
[11:28pm] haechan: iâll end it
[11:29pm] haechan: please wait for me
You hate to admit it, but there was a glint of hope in your chest when you read the text. You knew not to expect anything, especially after what happened last time. But this was different. He ignites the familiar spark in your system.
However, those texts was three days ago.
Three days, you have not received any other message from him. Not a text, not a call, not a fucking letter from a fucking pigeon. Nothing. Silence.
You started making paragraphs in your headâ you were overthinking every little thing. Hayeon had not messaged you either, there was totally no some sort of retaliation you were expecting from her. Did he really say it? Did he confess? He did, didnât he?
âYou donât look good,â
Jurin has came and visited you from Sacred Heart, slightly concerned about your lack of enthusiasm in your texts. From her words, you seemed ânot youâ.
âHayeon hasnât yelled at me yet. She manages to get out the apartment before I even wake up. Or I donât knowâ maybe sheâs sleeping at his place.â
It makes no sense. There should be some sort of confrontation because you fucking slept with her boyfriend. Youâd rather that than nothing, because itâs driving you insane.
âHaechanâs MIA too?â Jurin asked which you just nodded to.
She sighed, and you knew what she was gonna say next. âI told you this isnât a good idea,â She says as she sips on her coffee.
âI didnât say it was. I just hopedâ you know, heâd fucking call me.â
âYou know you sound insane, right? Youâre the side chick here, you donât make demands. You donât have the right.â
The last sentence hit you hard. Jurin was right, you sound pathetic. You need to remind yourself that youâre the other person. You were the parasite that ruined a relationship. But hey, it takes two to tango, right?
But as the old saying goes, Be careful what you wish for.
Because that same day, all your questions was answered.
The nights you spent restless, was all worth nothing. Because you just saw him, with her. Theyâre walking hand in hand, as if nothing ever happened.
You almost lost the grip of your bag as you watched them walk away. Hand in hand. Hand in fucking hand, still.
âYou okay?â You hear one of your friends from class asks you. Thatâs when you realized that there were tears forming on your eyes so you quickly wipe them away.
But you swore, that even before you look away from them, you saw Hayeon look at you with a smirk, before turning away.
â Ë・âŕ¨âĄŕ§â Ë・â
@hayeonssi__: some ppl never change. once a slut, will always be a slut. :D good morning everyone!
comments (45) likes (106)
@kk_nara: is this who i think this is lolll
@the.minho.won: she should be embarrassed haha dude thats so trashhhh
@kimsana: oh itâs definitely that bitch LOL
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That was the first shot out of the many ones she threw at your direction. This just proves that Haechan did confessâ but for some unknown reason, theyâre still together.
You recognize those usernames, of course you did. They were Hayeonâs friends from Sacred Heart, the same ones you had before. They didnât need to mention your nameâ you already knew they were pertaining to you.
Surely, the gossip was already spread around at Sacred. Hayeonâs influence over there is still huge. If she was popular over here at NCU, then sheâs a fucking celebrity back at Sacred Heart.
So, yeah, youâre probably in some groupchat by now.
You chuckle in irony. For a person that hates to be in the limelight, you sure have a weird way to stay out of it.
And then, like a plague, it started.
People on the hallways started looking at you weird, like you were naked. Like youâre being escorted at a fucking execution. You thought they probably had suspicions. Actually, no, it wasnât a suspicion, it was a fact. You slept with someone elseâs boyfriend. You out of all people in here deserved the judgemental eyes thatâs following you right now.
âIs it true?â Yangyang once cornered you at the emergency staircase.
âI donât know what to tell you. I donât know what you heard,â You say truthfully.
âYou slept with Haechan? Your roommateâs boyfriend?â
Thatâs the confirmation you needed. Itâs out in the open. Sometimes it amazes you how words spreads like a wildfire.
You just look at Yangyang blankly, as if to answer his question with your mere silence. You assume heâs smart enough to tell what you meant.
âW-why would you..â
âYangyang, please, save me the fucking lecture because I already had one a couple minutes ago from class. You were there, remember?â
Yangyang stood there, dumbfounded by how you chose to not take these things seriously.
âYou do know that Haechan has a fucking harem that would eat you alive, right? Like dude, I know most of this is that assholeâs fault but theyâre gonna blame it out on you!â
You find it endearing how he shows care for youâ if youâre being honest you thought Yangyang would be like the others, but you thought wrong.
âWhat would you suggest I do, then? Stop attending classes and hide out like a little bitch? No, Yangyang. Iâll take whatâs coming from me. I know what I did,â You walk away from him, but not before you paused.
âAnd tell your friend that I donât want anything to do with him. Heâs a fucking pussy.â
And with that, you left. You barely even scratched the surface of the avalanche that was coming for you in the next days.
People never seemed to care that there was the two of you that did it. Youâve never head of anyone curse at Haechanâ theyâre all pointing at you.
Why would they? When Haechan and Hayeon seemed to be going strong. You were just a pathetic attempt at trying to tear them apart, then failing miserably.
Hurtful words thrown at you, left and right. A homewrecker, a slut, and backstabber were in your mind almost every time you went out in the hallways.
It stung, sure. But it got to a point where you let it hurt until you canât feel anything anymore.
One thingâs clear. Haechan left you to fend for yourself.
And then, couple of days later, it suddenly got quiet.
All the shushed gossip around you was gone, all the whispers that followed you dissipates. It was so abrupt. Like everybody started to mind their own business. Miraculously.
Apparently, out of all the people you least expected to help you out, Seungcheol had something to do with it.
@iamcseungcheol: @hayeonssi__ @haechanahceah tell your fans to chill out before i bust in your shitass school and do it myself
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You didnât want it to be him to defend you. You wished that it wasnât his username you were reading and you hoped that Seungcheol could always remain the person who hurt you. Not the one to save you in the midst of the chaos that seemed to target you.
You didnât want to feel the gratitude towards the one person you swore you will never associate with ever again.
Nevertheless, it was still him. In some wicked way of fate, no matter how horrible he is, heâs always been by your side. No matter what.
And perhaps, thatâs how life goes. Nevermind the fact that you fell inlove with someone else.
You should always choose whoever chooses you.
â Ë・âŕ¨âĄŕ§â Ë・â
âHowâd she look?â
Haechan frantically followed Renjun around the apartment waiting for an answer.
âWhat did you expect? Of course she doesnât look okay!â Renjun says, while taking off his coat and throwing it at the couch.
âFuck, should I call Taeyong-hyung again?â Haechan sat beside Jaemin, biting his lips. Meanwhile, Jeno on the other side just looked at Haechan, slightly concerned.
âWhen did you last sleep, dude?â Jeno was staring at his friendâs eyes, the dark circles under them multiplying each day.
Haechan just shakes his head, avoiding Jenoâs question. Heâs got more in his plate right now and he doesnât need to be bothered about anything else. His only concern is about you.
He combs his hair out with his fingers in frustration. âIâm gonna call Taeyong-hyung.â He decides, standing up to grab his phone. He was about to take a step before Jaemin pulled him by his wrist and made him sit down beside him again.
âYouâve been calling them non-stop since Friday. Taeyong-hyung said heâd do something about it but it doesnât mean itâs gonna be as quick as you want it to be. Haechan-ah, word travels quick and you canât control each and everyone who attends this campus.â Jaemin says seriously.
âI know but thatâs why I called Taeyong-hyung. He controls this school, doesnât he? What the fuck is he waiting forââ
âNot to the point where he could shut every student up overnight. Dude, you gotta calm downââ Jenoâs small intervention speech was cut off when Haechan turns to him coldly.
âSheâs fucking on her own, man. Hayeon despises her, the entire school turns on her and she canât evenâ even defend herself. Y/n quite literally has nobody right now,â Haechanâs voice was trembling. â--and youâre telling me to calm the fuck down?â
Jeno didnât like his harsh tone. He furrows his brows at Haechan as he stood up to level with him. âAnd why is that, genius? Because you fucking decided to be an horny asshole and fuck your girlfriendâs bestfriend.â
Haechan snaps and shoves Jeno aggressively. This marks the first time Haechan has physically tried to start a fight with one of his bestfriends. As a natural reaction, Renjun and Jaemin was alarmed.
Jaemin was the closest one between the two, so he quickly goes in between them.
âI know I fucked upâ thatâs why Iâm doing everything I can to protect y/n from all of this. Thatâs why Iâm going fucking crazy trying to shut everybody up. So, yeah, Jeno. I know where I went wrong. Fuck you.â Haechan spits with a tightened jaw and clenched fists.
âAnd this is the first fucking thing you think of?â Jeno answers, still being blocked by Jaemin.
âWhat else can I do, dipshit?!â Haechan yells back with Renjun on his side.
âOh, I donât knowâ break up with that fucking girlfriend of yours and protect y/n yourself, dumbass!â
âYou think I havenât tried?!â
The room went silent. The three men didnât know what to say and the only noise that surrounds the room was the heavy breathing from Haechan.
He looks up, stretching his neck as he remembers the night when he tried to end things with Hayeon.
â
âI know.â
That was the first thing Haechan hears when he brought Hayeon back to her apartment.
He was caught offguard, of course. Because he knew what Hayeon meant. There was no other meaning of why she would say that without any context.
However, he wanted to make sure. âW-what do you mean?â
The left corner of Hayeonâs lip rises, her eyes remained blank. âYouâve been fucking with Y/n behind my back, werenât you?â
Haechan was tense, in a closed off stance. He avoided her eyes, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. He didnât say anything, and that already says everything.
âI expected this from her, you know, being who she is. But you, Haechan.. I thought you changed?â Hayeonâs voice trembled, as the first sign of emotion she showed.
âLook, Hayeonââ
âYou wanted me, Haechan. Donât you remember? You did everything to get me and now that Iâm yours this is how you treat me? I shouldâve never introduced you to that witch.â Her voice was rightfully harsh. But it still rang in Haechanâs earâ the insults she threw at you.
âIt was entirely my fault, Hayeon. I went up to herââ
âOh come on. Sheâs an expert at this, Haechan. Youâve known her for months, I knew her for years. I know what sheâs capable of. Thatâs why I never trusted her being around you. And you know whatâs annoying? You took the fucking bitchâs bait.â Hayeon wiped her eyes, even though no tears had fallen yet.
âIâm trying to make this all right and end it hereââ
Hayeon slaps Haechan across the face. Haechanâs eyes are wide, and he almost curses because of the pain but he reminds himself that he deserves this.
âEnd it? Are you fucking kidding me? You think Iâll let you go and run over to that slutâs arms? After you fucking screwed me over?!â Hayeon yells, no, screams so loud that her voice starts to strain.
Haechan was speechless. He doesnât know what to doâ Hayeon is unconsolable. But he canât just leave without doing anything. He remembers the texts he sent you. Youâre expecting him to end it tonight with Hayeon.
Slowly, with his eyes shaking, he knelt downâ one knee at a time. Hayeon gasps in disbelief as she watched him sink down.
âIâm sorry. I know this fuck ass apology wonât cut it but we both know this relationship is bound to end. And we need to end it tonight, Hayeon-ah. Iâll apologize over and over again, please, donât make this harder for the both of us,â He begged.
If this moment was captured by some sort of camera, itâll be legendary among the entire campus. Lee Haechan, the so-called heartbreaker, on his knees in front of a girl. Unbelievable.
Hayeon didnât answer, but she did freeze upon looking at him. And then, half a minute has passed, before she opens her mouth again.
âShe really had you fooled, huh? What makes you think she wouldnât make the same fucking thing to you? Sheâs a slut, Haechan! Sheâll never stick to one guy!â She says through her gritted teeth.
Funny, everybody used to say the same damn thing about him.
âThatâll suck, but what can I do? I love her,â Haechan says in defeat, shoulders slumps and his breathing turned shallow.
Another slap landed on his cheek, and he just accepted it. Another, after another, until Hayeon sank down in exhaustion. Now theyâre both in their knees.
âWhat about me, Haechan-ah? I love you,â
And slowly, she rolls up her sleeves to show what Haechan never expected to see.
âH-hayeon..â
She smiled, âDonât you feel sorry? You did this to me, Haechan.â
He blinks rapidly, eyes stuck at the bandages on her wrist. âP-please, Hayeon.. not over me. Donât.. donât do this,â
âIf you break up with me, itâll be worst.â
â
Haechan doesnât remember the last time he smiled. Genuinely.
He used to be on top of the world. Nothing stopped Haechan from being unapologetically him. Cruising through his life with nothing to worry about.
Now, he just felt.. empty. All the excitement and adrenaline that fuels his system was drained, and the carefree attitude he lived with was all sucked out of his soul.
Maybe this was the karma they were talking about? Maybe, maybe not. He doesnât have the energy to care.
The aggressive knocking on the bathroom door was getting louder, loud enough to surpass the booming bass from the music outside.
âWhat the fuckâs taking so long?!â He hears a random man outside.
He assumes the line to the bathroom is getting longer, but all he cares about is the lines he was doing inside. It felt freaking awesome.
Straightening his back, he sniffs to get all of it in his system. He then rubbed his nose out of the excess before shouting back. âFuck you!â
The sudden rush gets to him, and he closes his eyes to let it sink in. Jaws slacking, he takes one deep breath. He looks at the mirror.
The person staring back at him seems familiar, but canât tell who it is. Is it him? Is this how the great Lee Haechan looks now?
âWoah, youâre handsome,â He says to his own reflection.
If only he was sober, heâll recognize everything that had changed. The expressive eyes he boasts on and on about before are now empty, and the smile he used to wear everyday are non-existent.
This isnât Lee Haechan, fuck it, this isnât even Lee Donghyuck. Standing in front of him is a man thatâs gave up on everything.
The room started to spin, and only then Haechan knew he had taken too much.
All of a sudden, a loud bang depicts the door being forced open. He turns to see his friend, Jeno, heaving as he quite literally kicked the door open, followed by Jaemin and Renjunâs worried faces.
âOh? Hello,â Haechan chuckled at the ridiculousness of it all. Did Jeno really kicked the door open?
What he also doesnât realize is heâs now slumped on the bathroom floor, leaning at the bathtub. Weird, he didnât remember falling down.
And then he hears it. Her voice. That fucking voice that haunts him.
âHaechan! What the hell!â She squeals as she pushes his friends away.
âOf course youâd be here,â He grunts.
Haechan tries to stand but failed, ending up on the same position as he was seconds ago. Renjun helps him up but Hayeon pushes his hands away. âIâll take care of my boyfriend,â She hisses at him.
Haechan frowns at this and looks at her. âDonât touch Renjun like that,â He slurs his words but its clear enough for Hayeon to roll her eyes.
âYou canât carry him home, Hayeon. Weâll take care of him.â Jaemin interferes. Hayeon thought for a second and she hates to agree with them, but theyâre right. Sheâll make a fool of herself if she thinks she can carry a grown ass man.
Jaemin and Jeno takes each of Haechanâs arms as they carried him off the ground. Haechan roams his eyes for a bit when it landed on Hayeonâs wrist.
Weird, the bandages are off. They fought over it just this morning, how come thereâs no marks on it now?
He shakes his head off, before he turns to Renjun. âInjunnie, are you hurt?â He asks sweetly and his friend just patted him as Renjun sighs and follows them out.
â Ë・âŕ¨âĄŕ§â Ë・â
âAre you really gonna follow me around?â Haechan asks Jaemin as he watches his friend scroll on his phone while he walks on the hallway to his class.
âCut the pissy attitude, I have better things to do than this, but after the shit you pulled last night, you pissed Renjun off so we gotta take turns in babysitting your dumbass.â Jaemin casually says, eyes still on the phone.
âRenjun can kiss my ass,â
âI can kiss your what, now?â
Haechan turned around to see Renjun standing with one brow lifted and his arms crossed. âOh shit, when did you get here?â
âShut up,â Renjun turns to Jaemin, âJaemin-ah, Jeno says you two had a schedule at the gym.â
âRight,â Jaeminâs eyes widened, swiftly turning around and skedaddled away. Leaving Haechan and Renjun.
âHonestly, Injunnie, I can handle myself,â
Renjun looks at him as if Haechan was spitting nonsense, âSo you passing out at some random partyâs bathroom after doing lines, is you handling yourself?â
âI didnât know I worry you this much, you really do love me, huh?â Haechan pokes Renjunâs sides as they walked, Renjun responding with a punch on his shoulder.
They continued play fighting until they turned a corner and hears the schoolâs counselor. âMs. Y/L/N, weâre not done talking,â
The door opens and Haechan stood frozen. His breath hitches when you walk out of the office, covered with an oversized hoodie. His jaw slackens as he eyed you, this was the first time he saw you after that night at Soohyunâs party.
It felt like his blood ran cold, but his entire body started to warm up. He couldnât do anything but stand there and see it unfold.
âSucks to be you, because Iâm done talking,â You say in a raspy voice.
Even from afar, Haechan could see your red eyes and pale lips. He also got a glimpse of sweat beads forming on your forehead. Initially, Haechan jumps to conclusion that the counselor had done something bad to you, however, two other people walked out of the office.
It was Ms. Lim, a professor and Nurse Suh.
The hallway was empty, and it would be suspicious if they had just stood there. So, Renjun, decides to grab Haechanâs wrist. Haechan didnât move but Renjun grips him harshly. âWeâre not leaving, weâre just hiding.â He says, pulling the boy with him and hiding on the corner.
Haechan takes in your posture, your aura and your entire vibe. You were still eternally beautiful, but he can sense that youâre not okay.
âIs it your boyfriend?â Ms. Lim ask softly, obviously trying to gain even the tiniest of cooperation with you.
âSeungcheol has nothing to do with this,â
Haechan flinches, eyes burning through you as he heard the name. It broke him, into a million pieces but he still manages to stand in his feet, wanting to hear the rest of it.
âWe should goââ Renjun stopped talking when he saw the look in his bestfriendâs eyes.
âI need to stay,â He whispers, barely audible.
âThe bruises on your neck are concerning, thatâs unnatural, you canât say its just because of your period. Somebody had to inflict force to create bruising thatâs as horrible as those around your neck.â Nurse Suh explained.
Haechan can feel his own heart shattering. Mouth slowly opening in disbelief, tears threatening to escape. What he felt upon hearing that was beyond heartbreak, the pain was unbearable enough to cause him to go numb. With his hands shaking, he turned around.
He can hear Renjun calling his name but he focused on getting the hell out of there.
He finds himself outside your apartment, staring at the door not knowing what to do. He knows youâre not in here, yet he still canât find it in himself to leave. He truly has no idea what step he should take next.
He doesnât know how long he was standing there before the door opened, revealing the least person he wanted to see right now.
âHaechan? Whatâre you doing here?â Hayeon stood there, confused.
Haechan didnât say anything, instead, looking down to confirm what's been killing him.
âWere you lying about this?â Haechan takes Hayeonâs clean wrists, and immediately, Hayeon snatched it back.
âW-why a-are youââ
âHayeon-ah, please! J-just be honest, please,â Haechan yelled on top of his lungs, extremely tired of it all.
Hayeon knew there was no point in hiding it anymore, âYes,â
And there it was. The truth that scared Haechan the most. He lost you, for no real reason.
The fact that he had left you suffering on your own, because of a horrible string of lies that held him from reaching out to you. All his sacrifices, for absolutely nothing.
âI knew what I did was wrong but did you have to lie about this?â His voice was now controlled, but the exhaustion was still pertinent.
âI canât lose you to her, not her.. Iâm so much better than her,â Hayeon breaks down crying, but Haechan just watches her hug her knees and sob.
âI think you never wanted me, Hayeon. You just wanted to compete with y/n, and you didnât want to lose. This isnât about me,â
âI hope you know that after what you did, you just stooped down to my level. Weâre both fucking evil in this story, Hayeon. The only difference is that I tried making it right, but you will never stop if you wouldnât have been caught.â
With that, Haechan walks away.
âFine, fuck you, anyways! You both deserve each other!!â Hayeon screams, but Haechan just keeps walking.
Walking away from all the pain, from all the strings that bind him to her. He gets a whiff of freedom, and he felt relief knowing that the chapter that has him on hold has finally ended.
Haechan never expected Winter break to be this cold.
Afterall, the news said it wouldnât even break last yearâs temperature. But meh, what does the weatherman know? He might just spew bullshit to keep his job for all Hae-Donghyuck knows.
âYou keep repeating the same show over and over again, Donghyuck-ah. Give up the remote!â Renjunâs girlfriend, Birdie, as everybody calls her, says as she tried to snatch the phone out of Donghyuckâs grasp.
âRemind me again why are you here?â Donghyuck jokes at her, earning a hefty slap on the wrist from Renjun.
âRenjun told me you wouldnât be here.â
âYeah, dude, youâre ruining our valentines day!â Renjun says lightly, but Donghyuck just mocks his words like a child.
âDo you have a thirdwheel kink?â Birdie kids again, but this time Donghyuck stood up.
âYâknow what, both of you can kiss my plump ass! Besides, who celebrates Valentines day at home? Renjun, you stingy bitch,â Donghyuck says as he grabs his coat and walks towards the door.
He hears both of them yelling at him to come back, saying they were just kidding. But Donghyuck knows that heâd be disturbing their cute-sy cozy home date bullcrap and he wouldnât want to hear any of his friendâs fucking later on the evening.
âIâll be back before eleven so you two should fuck now,â Donghyuck says before he closes the door.
And immediately, he regrets going outside. Heâs literally gonna freeze his balls off, even with the layers of clothing he has right now.
âAw shit,â He curses as he hugs himself, all the way to his car.
He drives off the streets of Seoul, with no particular destination. He just wanted to drive mindlessly, yet carefully, of course.
This was the first Valentines day Donghyuck had to spend alone.
He now swores off doing the shit he does before. No playing with girls, no fucking randoâs, and no doing hardcore drugs. âTil to this day, he still cringes when he thinks of what he used to be.
If the old Haechan could see him right now, heâd probably laugh in his face.
He then takes off his gloves for comfortability while driving, and he stares lovingly at his middle finger.
There, inked deep within his ring finger, was your initial.
He read a book once, when he was snooping around Renjunâs room. Before he could even snooze off, he gets to a page where he read something intriguing.
How to know if youâve finally found your greatest love;
And it was so strange, because every single one of them falls under you.
You, who Donghyuck still thinks of everyday.
You, who became his standard whenever Jeno introduces him to a friend.
You, who he correlates to every single sunflower he sees.
And you, who he loved so much even tho youâve never been his to begin with.
Donghyuck was convinced you were his greatest love.
Given, he has nothing to compare you to because he has never loved somebody this much before, but he just knows.
So, on one fateful night of his drunken escapades, he got your initial tattooed on his ring finger. Something he could keep. Something that he owned.
And sure, it was a reckless decision made by a drunken man, but he never felt any hint of regret the day after.
âHow corny,â He says under his breath as he watches a public engagement unfold literally in front of the bench he was sitting at.
He aggressively chomps at his bungeoppang before starting to wrap it the plastic up. He decides itâs better to eat it at his car rather than keep watching these corny couples be couple-y looking.
âCan I have one?â
Recoiling backwards, Donghyuck turns around to see who that voice belongs to. Even tho he had a hint.
What greets him first was the same set of eyes he longed for, then the lips that he dreamed of each night he went to bed. Everything else was a blur.
Mouth slightly agape, Donghyuck once again finds himself speechless in front of you. After everything that had happened, itâs kind of hilarious how he still has the same reactions whenever youâre in front of him.
After a quick inhalation of his breath, âU-uhm, I only have the ones that has red beans in it.â
He honestly donât know what else to say.
âThatâs good,â You say and lend your hands over. With trembling hands, he grabs you a piece and gave it to you. Without blinking, he watched you sit on the same bench he was sitting on before.
Despite your obvious invitation for him to sit with you, he stood there in shock. Is he starting to imagine things?
âAre you gonna leave?â You say when you notice him not moving.
He swiftly shakes his head in disagreement as he takes quick steps to sit beside you.
âYour friends are really something, yâknow?â You started off.
Donghyuck had questions, but before he could even spew them out, you continued.
âRenjun calls me everyday, Jaemin bothers me in class and Jeno constantly tries to talk to me everytime he sees me. How much did you pay those bastards?â He knows, based on your tone that you were saying those lightly but Donghyuck hurriedly turns towards you.
âI swear I never asked them to bother you. I-Iâm sorry, I didnât know they were doing that, reallyââ
âThey were saying the same damn thing, but I never believed them.â You say as you take a bite off of your bread. Not knowing how your words just re-open scars Donghyuck spent time healing.
âIâm soââ
âBecause I want to hear it from you,â
For the second time this night, you left him speechless. With his rigid body posture and rapidly blinking eyes, his brain scattered thoughts he wanted to say to you.
âI was so ready to leave you and all these behind, you know. But everytime I try to look at other people, I just canât help but to think of what wouldâve happened if I gave you a chance to explain yourself?â
You continued, âIs it true that you called Lee Taeyong yourself to stop the rumours spreading? Is it also true that Hayeon lied about harming herself just to keep you? Is it you that reported Seungcheol to the police?â You listed all of the questions that he already has an answer to.
âAll these questions, and none of them answered is the reason why I couldnât just move on. Thereâs no clean slate if I still had baggage from the past, you know?â
Donghyuck feels like thereâs a time ticking on him, like youâll disappear any moment now. So he takes a deep breath before answering, âYes, yes, and yes.â
âIâm gonna need more than that, you know?â You chuckled lightly, and he couldâve sworn it sounded like angels singing directly at his ears.
âI had connections to Taeyong-hyung and I begged him to scare off anybody who says a word about you, and I literally had to stand outside his door for hours on end just to talk to him,â He paused, because he knew he had to explain the other one more seriously. âAnd Hayeon did threaten me to hurt herself if I left, thatâs why I couldnât break up with her at that time. There was also a part of me that was dying of guilt, maybe thatâs why I never questioned it. But the night Iââ He squeezed his eyes shut, â--I down-spiralled because of d-drugs, I saw that she was faking it all along.. and that was the time I ended it with her. And yes, I did report that son of a bitch to the police.â
âAfter all that⌠you still didnât come to find me?â You say, finally, looking at him straight in his eyes.
Just like the first time you two met, he still felt the same feeling of almost melting into putty everytime your eyes meet his. Every. single. time.
âI hurt you enough, I didnât think I deserve you.â He says with nothing but the truth. He canât afford to lie to you now.
âDid you regret it?â
Donghyuck nods his head. âI do, I really do. But would I do it again? Absolutely.â
âI think.. I think Iâve heard enough. B-but.. Itâs gonna be hard to go back to what we were before.â
Donghyuck, with all of his strength, dared to touch your hand. Although it was cold, the spark he felt was enough to bring warmth.
âI donât want to go back.â He says.
You furrowed your brows, âUhm, okaââ
âI want to start over, I want to get you right, this time.â He says while it takes all of him to match your eyes.
âI want a fair shot, to a chance I never got before. I want to make you mine, but I hope you know that Iâve always been yours. Then, now, and forever.â
You smiled at him as you let a tear drop from your eye.
âStart over?â You ask.
Donghyuck nods again, this time as he smiled back at you. The first time in a long time, he smiled genuinely.
At you, the person that made him love his real name again.
At you, that turned him to a better man for himself.
At you, whom heâd never forget for the rest of his life.
And at you, who reminds him that after all, Lee Haechan, the heartbreaker, also has a heart.
He lets go of you hand and offers you a handshake.
âHi, Iâm Lee Donghyuck of NCU. Do you want to go on a date before Valentines day?â
He smiles goofily.
âHi, Lee Donghyuck, I would absolutely love to.â
To be fair, Lee Donghyuck never claimed to be a good guy.
But for you? Heâd die trying.
A/N: Itâs finally finished! Aaah this series really tested me as an author. Itâs amazing how a fanfiction can make you feel, moreso when you make one! A series at that! I realize that writing is a commitment, to both the readers and characters themselves. This was my first major project for myselfâ and although it took a looooong time, I am so glad that I finally finished it. One thing I can say tho, is that every story was straight out of my brain. I never rushed it, and I was never afraid to redo it all over again if I didnât satisfy myself. Thatâs why it took a long time. Thank you all for supporting this series and please do support me by interacting with this post! And yep, youâll be seeing more stories from me soon.
Again, Thank you so much for the support. Sincerely.
Na Jaemin, Lee Jeno, Huang Renjun and Lee Haechan from The Diary of the Heartbreakers now signing off.
summary: ⸠⥠To say that Lee Jeno is pretty would be an understatement. The man's gorgeous. One thing he uses to his advantage, going through college getting girls he spots his eyes on. But there's one he just couldn't get. His brother's bestfriend. You can continue and avoid your feelings for each other, but eventually, it'll happen. You were someone that stayed, a constant in his life. You might not know it, but for the years you've known Lee Jeno, he slowly became yours, inevitably.
"I should've known it was you, because no one else made sense."
GENRE: Angst, Fluff, Humour, Smut
WARNINGS: Minors DNI, Explicit Sexual Content, Language, Slight Alcoholism, Mentions of Drugs/Weed, fuckboy!Jeno, brothersbsf!reader
AUTHOR's NOTE: Holy shit, it's done! I was about to pull all my hairs off for this one :// but i can finally say that it's all worth it! I hope y'all are still here. And I really wish y'all would like this story. Enjoy reading!
WC: 18 k (I tried my best)
DISCLAIMER: This story is purely fanfiction. Only the names of the Idols are used, and does not reflect on them in real life. There's no way in any shape of form that they are like this in person, because I MADE IT UP. I don't personally know them. DO NOT STEAL / TRANSLATE / MODIFY. This is my work and I don't appreciate people stealing it. Thank you.
Enjoy reading! -ryo
Lee Jeno is a phenomenon.
Jeno, on the other hand, likes to think heâs just a pretty boy who kinda knows how to dribble.
Maybe heâs not bad in the actual learning part too, maybe he did get an award for the research paper he did on Biochemistry last year. Maybe he won MVP on three consecutive basketball tournaments, making history in his school as the only player to excel in both the sports and academics.
So yeah. Heâs a textbook definition of an A-list student that you would totally see in one of the frames along the halls of this very school in about thirty years, with the trophies and accolades he made during his time here.
You wanna hear whatâs even more annoying?
Heâs hot. And he knows it. Please, heâs so undeniably gorgeous it's starting to hurt.
Unlike his friends, Jeno keeps it on the down-low. Which was surprising because he had every right to be cocky and brag about all of his achievements but heâs the least show-y among his friends.
In Jenoâs defense, he likes to let his performance do all the talking.
Words on the street says he fucks like an incubus, but talks like an angel. Heâs proven to be hung, emphasizing the word proven, based on the girls he had walking side to side after he spent a good, long night with them.
But despite all of that, heâs pretty cool and quiet most of the time.
Which is even more attractive. According to a study based on no-actual-facts, girls tend to like the quiet ones more. Especially when they look like a greek god that managed to escape mythology and then learned to be a legend in basketball instead. In simplified terms, girls like Lee Jeno.
Naturally, of course, girls are all over him. That's something really common between the four of his friends, and you're not shocked that Jeno sleeps around-- because he just can. Girls will literally faint in front of him if they could, just to get his attention.
âDonât make a sound,â he whispered, desperately trying to finish while a girl, known as Jennie, was bent over the counter. His hands covered her mouth, and to be frank, he just want this to be over with.
And of course, in typical fashion, Jennie is also a name most of the students are familiar with. Cheerleading captain, arguably a girl thatâs expected to be with him. What makes it so easy, is that this girl is obsessed with Jeno.
Meanwhile Jeno, had no indication of being tied down. He likes hanging out with her sometimes, sure, but the girlâs way too much for him. Jeno likes being lowkey, despite being one of the most famous guy in campus, Jeno preferred to be outside the spotlight.
A couple more thrust, his eyes closed, mind far from the girl bent over in front of him whoâs just desperately wanting to pleasure him, Jeno finishes. He murmured a curse, and as soon as the feeling of cumming washes off, guilt starts creeping in his veins as Jennie smiled in satisfaction as she fixes her uniform.
âGod, youâre still so fucking good,â Jennie put her hands around Jenoâs neck, biting her lips in hopes to seduce the cold man in front of her.
âCome on, my brotherâs gonna be here soon,â Jeno shrugged her hands off, fixing his shirt. He did not even get the chance to take it off, Jennie just went and got what she wanted as soon as she enters the apartment.
Donât be mistaken tho, Jeno liked having sex, more so with a girl like Jennie. But Jenoâs consciousness canât help and tell him that heâs stringing along this girl, knowing full well heâs not even one bit interested in pursuing a relationship with her.
Jennie never really cared about what he thinks tho, so that kinds of shaves a bit off of his guilt.
âCall me, okay?â Jennie tried to give him a kiss, but heâs fast enough to dodge it.
Jeno sighed as he walked the girl to the door. And in some wicked timing, his brother opened it, his step stuttering as he saw Jennie, but never minded the fact that the girl is walking side to side. Jisung, his brother, have seen this situation way too much before that it doesnât shock him anymore.
Another footstep followed behind Jisung, You, not even sparing a glance over him, walking behind his brother. You looked bored, giving absolutely no interest over him or Jennie. He never really got bothered about it before. Heâs just wondering when you started ignoring his existence like this.
You were nothing like the girl he witnessed growing up all these years.
The sweet smiles you used to offer him were all gone. The once cute little y/n that he knew were long gone. But what can he do, thatâs just how it goes. Right?
People change. And you weren't an exception. But deep inside, Jeno has this unsettling sensation that hunts him at night. This isnât you. You used to light up the room whenever you walked in. You used to make him believe in butterflies and rainbows and shit, but now, youâre just⌠there.
Jeno often wonders. But thatâs about it. Heâs way too much of a pussy to actually read through your chapters that led into this character you have now. So Jeno, the ever so nonchalant, settles in being curiousâ not concerned in finding answers.
ŕ§ â§âË â
You were twelve, when you met Jisung.
At first, youâre confused. Thereâs a new family that moved in next door. It was a common occurrence in your neighborhood, really. In your very-long life experience of twelve years, youâve seen countless families moving in and out. So you question in your pretty little head why your Mom is way too excited about this next one.
Turns out, the family that will be moving in is your Momâs best friend. You were twelve, you did not care about your Moms friends like that. Apparently, theyâve been best friends ever since they were five. They just kept in touch all these years.
âI'm Jisung,â the little boy, an inch taller than you, reached out his peculiarly large hands at you.
You felt your Mom nudge you a little bit, so in annoyance, you accepted his hand. âY/n.â
Both mothers shrieked in excitement, but you were busy trying to examine this boy's hands.
Little did you know, that handshake would lead to years of friendship that youâd forever cherish, no matter how annoying this boy with freakishly large hands is.
âWhoâs that?â You ask, still helping Jisung to count all his pokemon cards. You point outside their house, by the courtside next to their pool.
Jisung looks, but rolls his eyes after. âThatâs my big brother, Jeno-hyung. Heâs obsessed with basketballs.â
Your little twelve year old eyes sparkle, watching the boy shoot hoops around the court.
âEw, you like boys?!â Jisung, disgusted.
âYour brother isnât a boy, Youâre a boy. Heâs a man.â You sigh dreamily in sight of Jeno, making Jisung gag.
âHeâs old, like, fourteen. Please, heâs a loser! Playing with balls all day,â Jisung says as he waves his hands in an attempt to distract you from his brother.
âOh wellâŚâ you didnât let it falter your adoration towards Jeno.
And before you could even watch him longer than you wished, Jisungâs mother called you two in for clubhouse sandwiches, and she made banger sandwiches so you really had to follow up to the kitchen.
You were fourteen, when you realized you had a crush on Jisungâs big brother.
âThatâs bullshit, the paranormal movie is full of crap!â Chenle, your new found friend, complains as soon as the movie ends. His high pitched voice woke you up, not even realizing you had slept halfway through the movie.
âDude, itâs from CCTV footage. Itâs definitely true!â Jisung counters, and you just want to go back to sleep again.
The Paranormal Movie was mediocre, and maybe you were just a sceptic, but ghosts just doesnât do it for you. âMost of these horror films really just depend on jumpscares to be scary.â
âOh, coming from Miss Little poopy pants over here,â
The room went silence over Jisungâs attempt at a clapback, you and Chenle looking at each other before breaking into a laughing pit.
âPoopy pants? Really?â You say, refusing to believe that Jisung still used that term as an insult.
Jisung, obviously flustered, resorted in grabbing two cushions, one at each hands and started throwing them at the both of you.
âJust get the freaking potato chips downstairs.â Jisung says, specifically to you.
âWhat? No! Iâm not going down there!â You say, as you bury yourself further on Jisungâs bed.
âBecause youâre scared?â Chenle, in a mocking tone. You flip him off, to try and cover the fact that you are scared because itâs night time and the lights are off.
âNo, ghosts arenât real. Why canât Chenle go?â You whine even more.
âHe already got the drinks, and this is my house so what I say goes!â Jisung grabbed your wrist and pulled you out of the bed.
And because you like proving your point that ghosts arenât real, you let out a grunt, stomping your way out of Jisung's room.
Your way down the stairs goes smoothly, the light still being on. But as soon as you turn to the dark kitchen, thatâs when it creeps in. Yes, you do not believe in ghosts, but youâd be fooling yourself if you say that being alone in the large empty kitchen didnât scare you.
âOh, god.â You whisper to yourself, as you desperately find the chips cabinet. Rummaging through as quiet as possible, but also trying to find it as soon as possible.
But when a noise from the table interrupts the creepy silence, you canât help but yelp out a scream.
âOh my gosh!â
You turn your head towards the table, just to find a cute little cat that had lost its way through the big surface.
âThank God it was just a little cat,â you say in relief, but as soon as you try and step closer to it, a name being called from the stairs can be heard.
âBongsik-ah!â
So it has a name. Bongsik.
A figure walks down the stairs, obviously, being Jeno.
You immediately fold into yourself, biting your lip as soon as he enters the kitchen.
âWhat are you doing down here?â He says as he carries the cat off the table and on his chest. It took a couple of seconds for him to look at you, and he smiles.
âY/n-ie. Do you need something from the kitchen?â His soft voice snaps you from the trance, as he helps you with the chips you were trying to get from the upper cabinet. His body was so close to you as he did so, that you swear you can feel his heart beating.
âY-yeah.. Just those chips. Thanks.â Your entire demeanor changes when it comes to him.
âHere you go,â He says softly, you wonder if he intentionally talks to you like that, or itâs just how he talks. A little bit inside you likes to believe youâre special and that he does this only to you.
âThanks, uhâ new cat?â You say in the most casual tone you could ever produce.
âYep, a rescue. Mom brought it home the other day. Jisung freaked,â He chuckles as he looks at the cat, snuggling in his chest.
You awe in sight, wanting to pet the cat but you hesitated at first.
âYou can pet it,â Jeno moves his body to yours, to allow you to pet Bongsik. You did so, and when the cat purrs at your touch, you gasp in awe.
âHi Bongsik,â you say in a whisper, intended for the cat only. But you can feel Jeno smile at you.
âYou can visit her everyday, not that youâre not here everyday, but sheâs gonna be here starting now..â
âSheâs adorable,â you say, still petting the cat in his arms.
âI love cats, any pet really. But cats just really bring out the inner softness in me, yâknow?â Him being this close to you feels weird and intimate, but it's not like you hate it. Your heart is practically doing jumping-jacks right now.
You use him focusing on Bongsik as an excuse to look at him, even just a glance.
You get a closer look on his face, the mole he has under his left eye, the thin lips and his perfect nose. In the two seconds you allow yourself to take a peek, you convince yourself that you had his features memorized now.
You can just feel that itâs just gonna live with you forever.
Because as he takes Bongsik away and starts walking back up the stairs, you make a big-girl realization that you do have a crush on Lee Jeno.
ŕ§ â§âË â
Jeno was woken up by the sound of his phone ringing. It was his brother, Jisung, calling in the middle of the night asking for his keys.
âWhat do you need my car for?â Jeno, frustrated as he grabs his keys from the night stand.
âMy car broke down and Y/N really needs to get home.â Jisung on the other line also sounded like he just woke up. Jeno curses under his breath.
This wasnât the first time he heard his brother in trouble with you being the main source of chaos. Itâs always the same thing. Either youâre black-out drunk, or one of your boyfriends has dumped you on the side of the street.
Over the years, you had changed so drastically it almost gave him a whiplash. You used to be so careful and so paranoid about drinking, waiting until you turn 18 to get a sip of alcohol. And when you did, itâs like you never stopped.
So despite Jenoâs interrupted slumber, he gets up and leaves his shared apartment with his friends, just to wait outside his building for his brother. And surely, just like every other time this has happened before, he finds Jisung standing there in the cold.
âI need my car tomorrow, in pristine condition. One scratch and youâre done,â Jeno, tossing the car keys to his brother.
Jisung didnât bother to answer, depicting the reality of brotherhood. But before Jisung could leave, Jeno turns to him.
âWhat happened this time?â
âSheâs reallyââ
âDrunk?â Jeno finishes his sentence, as if he had seen this before. Jisung sighs in agreement.
â--yeah, and Chenleâs drunk too so he canât drive her back to the apartment.â
âWhat happened to her? She isnât really like this, at all.â Jeno dared to indulge in one of his curiosities.
âIâve been asking the same question, hyung.â Jisung ends the conversation without really answering Jenoâs question, which frustrated him more.
Because of course, nobody really knows what happened. Itâs a question he needs to ask you, directly. Only if you didnât spend the last few years avoiding being on the same vicinity as him, then maybe he could actually talk to you.
âThree seconds left on the clock, Lee, for the three.. He shoots⌠and bang! Lee Jeno has done it again!â
Jeno thinks itâs getting way too easy for him. Winning at this point just felt like a routine for him. The new normal, itâs just how it goes around him now. Everytime the other team makes a mistake of letting him have the ball, the game ends with Jeno taking home the win.
Honestly, itâs getting pretty boring and predictable.
âThatâs my fuckinâ man!â Yangyang, one of his teammates, excitedly hugs Jeno as he entered yet again another victory party for his team. Itâs his second one this semester.
âOkay, dude, chill.â Jeno pushes the very drunk Yangyang away, afraid of getting thrown up on.
As he sinks his feet deeper into the party, he starts getting loose. The alcohol hitting the tense spot in his body, reminding him that fuck it, heâs the man of the evening. This party is for him. So why not have fun, right?
The music starts to sound less chaotic and more tolerable, and the people start to get blurry. Weed and alcohol really does the trick, Jeno thinks.
âJeno, the man of the hour! That game was lit!â Jenoâs not sure whoâs this man, but nevertheless, he still smiled at him and let him dap him up. He blabbers more and more about Jenoâs career path in professional basketball but just like always, Jeno just dismiss it.
Itâs too early to plan for the future. Heâs enjoying what he has now and content on just thinking about what happens today.Tomorrow is tomorrowâs problem, and he canât be bothered to be bothered about what his future brings.
Some people likes to think they know whatâs best for Jeno, and sometimes it does make sense, Jeno getting to the professional basketball league, in tune to what he does best now. But fuck that. Jeno doesnât want to be in a box full of other peopleâs expectation of him.
âJaeminâs not here?â Jeno finds relief to hear Renjunâs voice, one of his very few trusted people. In some way, knowing Renjun was here by his side, it made him feel that heâs okay.
âYeah.. heâs still locking himself out.â Jeno answers.
Jaemin was his best friend first, and he knows Jaemin well. And for the first time, he knows Jaemin really do need time for himself. This isnât something Jeno could fix, he knows when to step away. So he lets Jaemin be.
âHaechan?â
Jeno saw Haechan earlier but heâs not sure where he is now. Thatâs just how he is. Heâs probably in one of the rooms upstairs, on his way to âpound townâ in Haechanâs terms.
In typical Jeno fashion, he tolerates some annoying congratulations for a bit, give fake smiles and forced handshakes before finding his way to escape the crowd. Although itâs difficult because again, this party is thrown for him and his team, he still finds a way.
And that way has a name. Yunjin.
âAh, Jeno,â
At the back of the party, there's a huge backyard, large enough that if heâs with this girl fucking around at the very end of it, heâs sure no one will notice. His hands roam freely against the girl, letting her know his full intention. Not like she has no clue, the hands up her skirt gave her enough hints.
âHmm,â Jeno hums, just to satisfy the girlâs pleas.
But before it gets further, a rustle of the grass made him stop his tracks.
Someoneâs here.
âWhâwhat happened,â Yunjin was confused as to why he suddenly stopped.
Jeno furrows his brows, and tries to look at whoever was on the back of the big oak tree.
âSorry! Sorryâ fuck, carry on, please!â
The familiar pitch of voice made Jeno move away from Yunjin. He knows who it is behind the tree. And he suddenly has no interest in going home with Yunjin.
You stumbled out of your hiding with a bottle of alcohol on your right hand, your left trying to pathetically cover your eyes as you tried to walk.
Jeno hates it. He fucking hates how drunk you are right now.
âOh shit, Jeno!â You peek at the gap in your fingers that was covering your eyes, to see him looking at you with a mix of emotion you canât make out. Heâs not angry, but heâs definitely not amused.
âIâ,â you burped, âIâm not here..â you followed with a laugh, finding all these hilarious.
âDonât mind me!â you laugh again.
Jeno murmured a curse. âYejin, Iâm sorry but I need to go,â he says in finality, not even waiting for the girl to answer as he walks straight in your direction.
âItâs Yunjin! Ugh!â The last words he hears from the girl before she stomps away.
He shakes his head as tried grabbing your arm, to help you at least find a stable balance. He grabs the alcohol out of your grasp harshly.
âHey, what the fuck!â You whined. You tried to chase the bottle, but with his hold on your arms, you failed to do so.
âY/n, please, fucking stay still. Youâre very drunk!â He says in a strict but stable voice, not wanting to rile you up even more.
âGive me it,â You whined again, much softer this time, and with no attempt at grabbing the bottle.
He looks at your struggling figure, eyes almost closing as you stumble against his hold.
âAh, fuck it,â he curse one more time before propping you off your feet, carrying you in a bridal style.
âHey, get meâ Oh my gosh! Help!â You yell, but followed with a giggle, which made the people around you think that the situation is not something to be worried about. And they know you and Jeno, so him carrying you just makes sense.
He hates this version of you. He hates how this character you have is so far from what he knew you from. He hates that you find comfort in drinking, partying and sleeping with other men. He hates that whatever happened, it completely changed you. He hates that he cares.
âWhat the fuck are you staring at?â Jeno canât help but to lash out at some people who gives him and you a judgemental look. He despises people who judge you.
He finds an empty room upstairs, and he puts you down gently. You dress is up to your waist now, so Jeno pulled it down. He opened his phone to text his brother to let him know youâre with him. He knows Jisung will be worried at your whereabouts. He also texted Chenle, to make sure that they know youâre safe.
He grabs a clean washcloth out the bathroom, and soaks it with cold water.
âIâm not⌠I am drunk.â You say, swaying your head left to right as you lay in the bed, trying to grab at whateverâs the softest around you.
He sat a foot away from you, but still reached his hands to your face to gently caress you with the soaked towel. This might help sober you up.
Speaking of being sober, Jeno entirely forgets that heâs also intoxicated. For some reason, he sobered up. Seeing you in this state made him think that he needed to straighten up and get you out of here.
âWhat the fuck are you doing to yourself, y/n..â he says under his breath, as he gently brushes the towel on your face. Seeing you deep in sleep now, he sighed.
You used to be so bubbly. You were sweet as honey, as bright as the sun. He still remembers how your eyes lit up every time you would talk to him. As he looks at you right now, itâs still the same features, the soft ones he grew to know, but he knows that once you wake up, youâd be a stranger again.
He sighed in defeat, and stood up. He was about to get water for you, before the door opened.
âJeno,â It revealed Qian Kun, a man he heard is your boyfriend. Not sure about the boyfriend part, but heâs sure that he hangs out with you a lot these days.
Kun was his senior, basically the smartest man on this campus. Famous for his 5.0 GPA, this Kun guy really is a genius. He used to get notes from him, back when he was writing for his research paper. He had no idea how you two met, but itâs really not his business.
âShe was in the backyard, drunk as fuck.â Jeno says, looking at your peaceful figure.
âAlright. Iâll take it from here,â Kun says, walking past him, around the bed to get to your side.
He can hear Kun murmur a pet name as he caresses your hair. Jeno felt the need to roll his eyes.
âNext time, keep an eye on her. If you canât handle her, maybe you shouldnât be with her at all.â Jeno didnât care if he sounded harsh. He needs to let Kun know that you need to be taken care of properly.
âYou donât know her, Lee. So I suggest, keep your mouth shut and mind your own business.â Kun snapped back, standing up to look back at Jeno.
âOh, I knew her long before you did. But I agree, sheâs your business. I just hate to fucking deal with it because you canât fucking seem to do it yourself.â With that, Jeno walks out the room.
And even if Jeno sounded secure, he canât lie and say that leaving you with another man didnât affect him, even just one bit.
ŕ§ â§âË â
Looks from other people don't budge you at all.
They can stare at you, even whisper some bullshit about you, you really donât give a shit. Thereâs nothing they can say that youâve not said to yourself.
âYou really should take it slow with the alcohol, y/n.â The first thing Jisung said as you sat down beside him. You rolled your eyes, and looked at him.
âNot you too,â You say rather exhaustedly.
âEspecially me too. Iâm your bestfriend and Iâm just worried.â Jisung wasnât the type to give out unsolicited advice, a serious one at that, therefore you sighed.
âItâs college, Jisung. Weâre supposed to have fun.â
âNot to a point where other people have to take care of you.â That came out rather harsher than what Jisung had intended, but you really need it. You know it too. You just refuse to believe it.
âYou donât have to take care of me.â
âIf not me, then who? Youâve been passed out drunk for the third time this week, y/n. I donât know what definition of fun you have, but I think itâs not this.â Jisung was scarily serious now. You blink to try and process the seriousness of the situation.
You gulp, realizing that Jisung isnât in the mood for your snarky comments right now. âAlright, damn. Iâll take it down a notch..â you say and look away from him.
You canât blame Jisung for acting like this. You know that youâre spiraling down, you just refuse to accept it. In your head, this is just how college life goes. You get drunk, have sex and maybe a little bit of homework here and there. In your head, this is how it should be.
In a fucked up world, it is. But your world is already fucked up. So in a way, it just makes sense. To you.
âYou have to get better,â Kunâs words rang in your head.
âThis is the best I can, Kun. Chemistry isnât really my thing,â you turn your homework down at Kunâs table. You were here after class, hoping to get help from Kun.
Despite popular belief, Kun isnât your boyfriend. Youâre too fucked up to commit into a relationship, no matter how good Kun is. Matter of fact, Kun is just the perfect man for that role. You can see yourself going straight with him, like your life might just take a turn for the better.
However, no matter how evil you see yourself as, youâre not that evil to give Kun the burden to have you as a girlfriend. You canât do that to him.
And you did clarify that to him before sleeping with him. That whatever you have, just had to stay that way. He canât expect something more. Surprisingly, he agreed. Qian Kun, the guy that has so much credentials because of his undeniable intelligence, the guy who rejected Harvard and Stanford, agreed to have a stupid set-up with a girl thatâs one step away from actually losing it. Why?
You have absolutely no idea.
âIâm not talking about your homework, my love.â He says, sighing. You know that sigh very well.
You look at him, your eyes stoic as they can be. âWeâre not having this conversation.â
Kun closed his eyes as he let out a deep breath. âYou need to have this conversation. Lee Jeno had to carry you upstairs, in front of everyone last night. You were so drunk that you threw up all over yourself and you think thatâs okay?â
Oh, so thatâs what happened. He had to rescue you. Out of all people, of course it had to be him.
âLook, Kun, I didnât come here to be judged. I was stupid for drinking that much, I know. But itâs not gonna happen again.â You say matter-of-factly. This is the second time this day that you had to promise to someone that youâll be drinking responsibly. You feel like everyone is ganging up on you.
âOkay, sweetheart. Okay, calm down.â You didnât know you were standing up until Kun pulled you from your wrist to sit back down.
Kun smiled at you and kissed your forehead, before sliding your homework back in front of you again and clicking his pen. âLet me see your answersâŚâ
Youâre glad he decided to drop the topic, but before you could even say thank you, an aggressive knock on Kunâs office got both of you to look up.
âY/N! I know youâre in there! Qian, open your fucking door!â
You widen your eyes. âFuck, itâs Yeonjun!â you say, standing up and grabbing your purse.
Kun looks at you, before looking back at the door. You can tell he had a very concerned face, but as soon as another manâs name fell out of your lips, he knew right away what situation youâre in. He pinched the bridge of his nose due to stress, and stood up.
âWhat is it this time?â He asks, not that he needed to.
âHeâs just⌠Ugh, I told him we were over!â You say, feeling bad that this situation is happening in front of Kun. The knocks are turning more aggressive.
âY/N, you slut!â Another loud bang from the door.
âIâll deal with him.â Kun says. You immediately shake your head in disagreement.
âNo! Iâll go. You donât need toââ
âIâm not letting that man harass you, y/nââ
âNo, Kun. Iâm not letting you deal with my problems anymore.â Before Kun could even say anything, you opened up the door to see a very angry Yeonjun.
Kun rushed to your side, but you didnât let him get in contact with Yeonjun and slammed the door shut.
âYouâre gonna ghost me and you think thatâs funny?â Yeonjun seemed to calm down, seeing you in front of him.
Thereâs quite a crowd thatâs forming in the hallway, some have their phones out, some whispering whilst looking at you two. Not that you care.
âLetâs talk outsideââ
âYes, youâre coming with me after I punch thatââ Before Yeonjun could even finish saying it, you looked him straight in the eyes, pointing at him.
âYouâre not touching Kun,â you say, full of conviction. If thereâs anything you could do for Kun, its that you will protect him from getting tangled with your mess.
You pulled his wrist to get him out of the building.
At the end of the day, thereâs one thing that could shut these kinds of men up. Itâs getting real easy, one thing you do for them and theyâll behave like a dog. Itâs getting laughable, really.
So you shut them up. By doing what you do best.
ŕ§ â§âË â
You were sixteen, when you got your heart broken for the first time.
âStop looking at my brother, you weirdo.â Jisung threw a pillow towards your position on the couch.
The soft object hit you right in the noggin, earning a grunt as you pulled your eyes off of him.
âBitch. Itâs not my fault heâs getting hotter by the day. Damn,â
You were busy staring out the pool area, where Jeno and his friends are hanging out. You were at Jisungâs place, spending your summer in the most boring ways.
Good thing Jenoâs gorgeous self is here, entertaining you. Heâs so pretty, you could just eat him up.
âNo heâs not. Heâs a nerd!â Jisung fights back, earning a smirk from you.
âSays the one who's summer plans are to play league of legends until he becomes a âChallengerâ .â You retort, cranking your neck back to where Jeno was.
You recognize his friends, of course. Theyâre starting to gain popularity in the school, especially when Jeno got on the basketball team.Heâs been working out a lot, gaining extra muscles, toning his body to get even hotter. If thatâs even possible.
âEugh, Jisung, y/nâs drooling over Jeno-hyung again.â Chenle enters the conversation, with a soda in his hand and plops himself on the couch.
âI am not drooling!â
âI got something you can drool on.â Chenleâs awful snark earns a hefty punch on his shoulder from you, the boy laughing in a high-pitch tone that makes it even more annoying than it is.
âAnyways, I think he likes me too.â You sigh dreamily, remembering the things Jeno does to you specifically.
He always carries your bags for you. Heâs always the first person to welcome you into their house, and the first person to ask if youâve had breakfast yet. He offers you rides to school when he sees you walking, and he always asks how your day has been. Heâs so charming, so nice and you just canât help but give at least a little bit of malice into it.
I mean, there has to be something, right?
âOh sheâs crazy. Sheâs fucking insane!â Chenle dramatically gasps, and points at you like youâve committed a crime.
âThat is seriously concerning, y/n. The level of delusionâ my god.â Jisung joins in, as he pauses his game to look back and judge you.
âYou two are just haters. Get off my ass!â You flip them off, with two hands, each one gets a middle finger from you.
âLook, y/n, weâre just sparing you from getting your little heart broken. Jeno-hyung does not like you.â Chenleâs tone becomes more serious this time, but in your head, heâs wrong. If Jeno didnât like you, then why would he get out his way just to walk you home whenever you leave their house way too late?
âSeriously. You guys, I really think heâs the one for me. I mean, I canât really think of any other reason as to why heâs so kind to me, yâknow?â
Jisung looked at Chenle as if he really cannot believe what heâs hearing from you. Chenle shakes his head left to right, disappointment spread all over his face.
A set of laughter broke your conversation as you three faced out the pool side, to see Jeno and his friends now actually playing in the pool. Jeno then went on the edge, the ones in front of the back door where you were looking from, and pulled himself out of the water.
The trinkets of water dripping in his hair was one thing, but his wet body being revealed in front of you, the perfect curve of his shoulders down to his small waist, and the veins in his arms definitely woke something up in you.
âYeah⌠Iâll confess to him tonight.â your voice almost sounded strange, like you were in a hypnotic state, still mesmerized by Jeno.
âJesus christ, y/nââ before Jisung finishes, Chenle interrupts.
âDude, let her. This is her canon event.â
You had no idea what that means, and youâre not interested to know. One thingâs in your mind, Jeno will be yours by midnight.
9:56pm
Itâs like the heavens planned it all out for you.
Jenoâs friends all left, as to your surprise, because you thought theyâd at least spend the night. Jeno had always offered to let his friends stay, but this time, he asked them to leave before 6. Which is odd, yes, but this all favors you in a way.
Chenle and Jisung still visibly opposed to your idea, and youâre sure they had reason to think its not gonna work out, but itâs not like it matters to you.
Whilst the three of you are in Jisungâs room, you can hear the TV on the lounge area. Their parents are out of town this summer, something about a cruise, so that means, it has to be Jeno.
In your mind, itâs the perfect timing. Itâs deep in the evening, the moonâs out, and thereâs never been an opportunity where youâre brave enough to actually confess.
Your heartbeat notches another tempo, as you leave Jisungâs room, much to the twoâs dismay.
Before you could get to the lounge area, youâd have to pass the kitchen first.
A couple more steps, your feet turning cold, but you still managed. But before you can get a glimpse on the couch, your name was called.
âY/n?â Itâs him. Fuck, itâs him!
Okay, so heâs in the kitchen. Thatâs fine. Take a deep breath, You just gotta talk to him!
âJeno,â
You took a step closer to where he was, and heâs looking extra delectable with his white shirt and grey sweatpants. Not that thereâs been a moment where he didnât look good.
âAre you going home? Ask Jisung to walk you home, I kindaââ
âJeno, I want to talk to you, actually.â Now your voice trembles, and youâre starting to feel nervous.
âOh, okay. Sure, whatâs up?â Jeno looks to be still oblivious to your anxious state. He puts down the wine that he was holding, and turned to you completely.
You gulped, finally looking up to his eyes. He had a shadow of smile on them, but was still curious on what you had to say. You're mere two feet away from him, yet his musky scent still invades your nose.
God, all of that can be yours.
âBut youâd have to say it fast because I haveââ
âI like you. Very much.â
The deafening silence engulfs you, and only the sound of your heartbeat was prominent. Him, on the other hand, eyes wide, mouth ajar.
ââand I know this is so sudden but Iâve liked you ever since we were kids. Iâve always thought you were cute and nice to me!â You tried to fill in the silence, because every second that passed with him not saying anything kills you.
Another second passed, and your nervousness is long gone, because it was replaced by an impending doom.
âY/n, look, I really appreciate it but⌠I-Iâm just being nice.. I have to be nice. Youâre my brotherâs best friendââ
Fuck, shit, fuck! This cannot be happening!
âOh, my, god!â
A high pitched voice behind you tores the tension in the air, and when you looked back, you saw Eunmi, with an amused look in her face, then covering her mouth with her hands.
She let out a laugh, as if he finds all of this ridiculous.
All of a sudden, you canât breathe. Your heart was about to explode as you looked back at where Jeno was, seeing two wine glasses behind him. The movie in the background, still playing.
And it all just stops.
âThatâs so cute!â Eunmi screeched, before walking towards Jeno and snaking her arms around him.
âBabe, I was wondering why itâs taking so long, you didnât tell me this girl is pouring her heart out to you! Awe,â
You can feel your eyes warming up. You had so much left to say. But your voice canât be found. The heart ache was too loud for you to even utter a word.
And in the end, all you could say was, âIâll.. go home.â
Then you were gone, every step with every tear drop, and although you expected it to hurt, it still surprises you how painful it was.
Youâre glad he didnât run after you. You canât be more pathetic than this, but it would kill you for him to witness your vulnerability.
Jeno was your first love.
And then Jeno became your first heartbreak.
With all the smiles he brought you, you never thought he could cause you so many tears.
ŕ§ â§âË â
Is it wrong to be this young and this tired?
You look at yourself in the mirror, analyzing every inch of your body. On the contrary, you donât hate what you see. Youâve worked so hard to attain the body that you have now, and youâre satisfied where youâre at.
But thereâs an empty feeling in your stomach that never left, and you canât seem to figure out what it is. Itâs always been there.
âGet back to bed,â You hear a disgruntled sound from the bed, and immediately your smile fades. Youâre pulled back to reality, one that you hated to be in.
âIâm going home,â you say, before grabbing your clothes and putting them back on.
You donât know why you do this, but you wait before walking out the door, for a sliver of a second to see if the man on the bed even attempts to ask you to stay. And just what you expected, he didnât.
Sometimes you wish youâre worthy of being asked to stay, but who were you kidding.
Thereâs a deep routed scar that youâve been trying so hard to cover. You like to think that the antidote that you have for it works, but the way youâve been stuck in the same situation all over again says otherwise.
You thought you were healing, but the truth is, you just stopped feeling.
All your life is ahead of you, they say. But yours feels far behind.
You donât really know where you went wrong, you thought if you became pretty, everybody would like you. You thought that if you agreed to sleep with them, theyâd appreciate you. You thought that if you change your entire personality, they would start to see you.
Where did you go wrong? You dyed your hair blonde, you worked your body to achieve the hourglass figure and you even went ahead and let every man that looks your way to have you. Isnât that enough?
See, this is why you hate being sober. You hate being alone with your thoughts, because it drowns you. You start thinking of things that overwhelms you to the point of tears, and you hate crying. Youâve already done too much of that before.
So why does everybody hate you for drinking? If thatâs the only escape you know? It isnât fair.
âIâm losing my mind,â you say, biting your nails and jerking your knees in frustration.
âJesus, youâre like a crack addict without crack for a day.â Chenle says as he looks at you.
âShe hasnât had alcohol in a week,â Jisung says as if heâs proud, smiling at you.
You roll your eyes. Youâve been trying to stray off alcohol ever since Jisung and Kun asked you to. You ought to at least try, because you owe them that. On the latter part, if it didnât work, and you spiral out, you can at least say that you tried.
âAh, fuck it.â You say, but before Jisung freaks, you clarify, âIâm just gonna smoke for a bit, grandpa.â You say and dashed out of his dorm, down to the parking lot.
Itâs winter, and the snow has already covered the streets. The cold was always your favorite season, it gives you reason to just stay inside and cuddle up in your cozy room.
You open up a new packet of cigarettes as you stand outside basking in winter air. Itâs especially windy today, you thought.
The heat of the smoke traveling through your lungs was refreshing. It rivals the coldness of the wind, creating a balance that hits you just right. A perfect combination of sensation to combat the numbness in you.
Before the light hits the filter of the cigarette, you hear a screeching sound to your left.
It was a car, no, it was his car.
You mentally curse, throwing the unfinished stick to your feet and stomping on it. You frantically try to walk back up the building, but as you hear the car door slamming, you take a deep breath.
âSmokingâs really bad for you,â Jeno says, walking towards your direction.
âYou basically run off of weed and gatorade, Jeno.â
Although you did try your best to keep walking, Jeno catched up in a couple of steps. You stood together waiting for the elevator.
âIs Chenle upstairs, too?â He starts.
âYeah. Congrats on the game, Jeno. Sorry I had to ruin your night,â you followed it with a slight laugh, hoping to lighten the mood.
âNah, itâs fine. Didnât wanna stay in that party anyways,â
The elevator finally dings open, you hesitate to move at first, but when Jeno enters the lift and looks at you, you take this as a sign to walk in with him. So walk in you did.
âKun took care of you, right?â He asks. You badly wanted to look at him, but you chose not to.
âYeah.. heâs a great guy.â You silently say, not feeling good about the conversation.
âHm,â he paused. The suspicious tone made you look at him, anticipating what comes out of his mouth next.
âI saw you walking out of Yeojun's dorm last night tho.â He says as if it was nothing, as if it was a little detail he had to tell you. But the underlying idea behind his statement was obvious.
You hitched your breath. No, y/n. Fight back.
âWhat can I say, Iâm booked and busy.â
âYouâreâ thatâs not something to be proud of, y/n.â He states as if heâs running out of patience, now looking back at you.
You smirked wider, âOh donât be a hypocrite, Jeno. You do the same damn thing,â
He grunts in frustration. âYes but youâre different, y/n!â
8⌠9âŚ.
âDifferent in what way? Because Iâm a woman? And this isnât what women do? Donât give me that bullshit,â
âFuck that, you know thatâs not what I meant. Iâm just protecting you from what people think about you.â
10⌠11⌠12âŚ
âJeno, I want you to listen to me carefully.â You took another step closer to him, looking up to level your face with his. ââwhatever you heard about me, I want you to times it by a million, and when you think itâs bad, make it worse.â You whispered.
You tilt your head to hover your lips on his ear, âAnd guess what, who knows, maybe theyâre telling the truth.â
And as soon as the elevator hits the 15th floor, you walk out without looking back.
ŕ§ â§âË â
You were a lost cause.
Jeno thought he just needed to accept the fact that youâre just never gonna be the same.
He doesnât know why it bothered him so much, the fact that youâre not letting anyone help you. It never bothered him before, and so, it shouldnât bother him now.
Itâs not his fault that you turned out to be this way. Itâs not his fault.
So he distracts himself. Both in ways of basketball and women.
He tried to go back to his old ways, back to where heâs safe. He was doing fine, before you plagued his system. Plus, itâs not like he didnât try, he damn did try.
Maybe this version of you is the real you. Maybe this is whatâs meant to be.
âHoly fuck,â Haechan eyes the woman who walks out of Jenoâs room, obviously checking her out. Jeno just rolled his eyes and spread his arms around the back of the couch. Dragging a long hit of the weed he seemed to never get run out of.
âThatâs the third girl this week, Jeno. Are you trying to break my record?â Haechan scoffed, as if proud of his friend.
âIâm not trying to break anything, but if you want, Iâd gladly break your nose.â
Haechan put both his hands up, taking a step back because out of all of them, Jenoâs the one who could really do it. And heâs not trying to risk his beautiful face.
âDude, this is bad.â Renjun was the second one to comment, following Haechan. He looked at Jenoâs state, and he can tell somethingâs not right. Thereâs something bothering Jeno, and Renjun canât exactly tell what.
He had an idea, but heâs sure as hell wonât tell it to Jenoâs face.
âWhat? I have two weeks before the game. I need to relax.â Jeno says, ignoring the concern in Renjunâs face.
âAnd this is relaxing to you?â Renjun grabs an empty bottle of beer, one of the many thatâs scattered all over the place.
Jeno didnât answer, letting a sigh out of his lips and closing his eyes. He canât think straight right now, or in the past week. He had been sleeping with different girls, to the point where he ran out of bed sheets to use. His room stinks of sweat and axe body spray, and he canât seem to be satisfied, at all.
âI donât know, Junnie. Just⌠leave me alone.â At this moment, Renjun canât help but sigh. It's these kinds of moments where he knows that Jeno needs someone. Where the one month gap in their age really shines and Jeno needs his older brother, Renjun.
He puts down the plastic bag of trash and sat beside Jeno. âLook, Jeno. Iâm not gonna sit here and ask you what this is about, but this is starting to look really sad. Jaemin is already down, and I donât need you broken too. I canât handle Haechan by myself,â Renjun, in an attempt to lighten up the mood.
âJunnie, just let me be, okay? I swear.. this will pass.â
âI sure hope it would. Because you canât fix someone if youâre broken yourself. Thatâs just plain dumb.â
He grunts, and cursed deeply because he knowâs Renjunâs right. But how can he, when it feels like heâs stuck? When has everything, but he feels like heâs got nothing? He has a great future ahead of him, he knows that, but why does it feel like somethingâs missing?
Girls, money, fame. What more could he want?
In a split second, Jeno regrets asking himself that question. Because he feel like he knows the answer, but he really doesnât like it.
ŕ§ â§âË â
âLee Jeno, what the fuck was that?!â
Yangyang pushed Jeno, but instead of fighting back, Jeno just shook his head. He raked his fingers across his hair as he sat at the bleachers.
Thank fuck this isnât the actual university game. Because if it was, theyâd for sure lose the first quarter and Jeno will have his first ever loss written on his otherwise squeaky clean reputation.
âDonât fucking yell at my face.â Jenoâs voice thundered.
âFive hundred dollars are at stake, and Minho would not let us live if you lose against him, Jeno.â Yangyangâs voice was a lot more controlled, but still angry, nonetheless.
âMan, I donât really care.â Jeno let out an unenthusiastic chuckle, drinking out of his tumbler.
âWhat?â Yangyang feels like heâs mistaken. Lee Jeno doesnât care if he loses? In a basketball game, that is? Oh he truly thinks the world has turned upside down.
Before he could even ask his friend again, Minho starts shouting from the other side of the court.
âWhat, Lee Jeno? The magic doesnât work now, doesnât it?â Minho yells, earning a laugh from his teammates.
âFuck you! Games not over, bitch!â Yangyang yells back, full of confidence but looked back at Jeno, worry splattered in his face.
âDude, I swear, we need to put that son of a bitch back in his place!â Yangyang angrily whispers.
âIâm gonna sit this one out, Yangââ
âHow about we bet on that y/n girl?! Your brotherâs friend, right? Heard she spreads it open to just about anyone who looks at her funny!â
Without even thinking, Jenoâs fast on his feet, and his vision turns red. His fist curled up and his logical thinking was out of the window. His vision is straight at Minho, and his only thought is to knock this bitch out.
Yangyang couldnât even process anything, as he watches Jenoâs eyes darkens and before any of his teammates could even try and stop Jeno, his fist already connects with Minhoâs face. The boy fell down, immediately knocked out, and chaos between both teams ensues. But Jeno didnât stop.
Heâs not letting Minho get up.
âJeno, slow the fuck down.â He heard a concerned voice at the corner of the nearby club he went to. His feet dragged him here after the incident, wanting to drown himself with anything that could take away his mind from everything.
One shot, two shots, three shots, four.
âIâm paying you, Doyoung, arenât I?â Jeno says, rolling his eyes at the older man in front of him.
Doyoung was another person Jeno trusts. Besides the three idiots back in his apartment, Doyoung is also the one Jenoâs comfortable with.
âYes, but I donât want to report an alcohol poisoning inside my bar, Jeno.â Doyoung can tell Jenoâs done for the night. Slumped over his counter, he forces the shot glass out of Jenoâs hold.
He signals one of his co-bartenders to take over the bar for a bit, before dragging Jenoâs body out of the bar. He notices the bruising at the boyâs hand but he didnât say anything and drove Jeno home.
âI donât want to go back to my apartment, Haechanâs there with a girl,â Jeno mumbled, slowly getting more and more sober as the fresh air wakes him up.
âWhereâd you want me to bring you then?â Doyoung asked.
âI donât know⌠fuck.. just, bring me back to my brotherâs.â
Thankfully, Doyoung knew Jisungâs apartment. Heâs close with both of the brothers, often being mistaken as a brother as well. But after graduating, he just naturally went off and did other things.
Doyoung huffs as soon as he successfully brought Jeno in front of Jisungâs apartment, however, another problem was that Jisung isnât answering the phone.
âJeno, I really canât stay here with you, I just sneaked out of my shift,â he explains, but Jeno just dismissed him and nods. Doyoung knocks at the door before he left, making sure that if there was a person inside, theyâd open the door for Jeno.
Jeno wasnât as drunk as earlier, thatâs for sure. Whatâs left is the pounding headache plus the fact that no oneâs opening the door for him.
Out of sheer frustration, he kicks the door, strong enough to make a banging sound but not hard enough to damage it.
âFucking Jisung,â he murmured to himself, almost turning his heels to walk out, but before he could, rattling on the other side of the door can be heard.
Jeno sighs in relief, but seconds after it opened, what greets him almost knocks the breath out of his lungs.
âShit, Jeno.â Your soft voice matched your soft expression as you look at him with obvious shock.
Jeno, on the other hand, didnât want to extend the painful awkward silence.
âI-Is my brother there?â Stuttering was never Jenoâs thing. Until this moment, he thinks.
âHeâs⌠heâs like, I think at a girls place somewhere⌠fuck, I think her nameâs Jieun or some shit..â Your eyes take turns in blinking, but still standing straightâ conflicting the idea that youâre drunk. Well, at least not y/n drunk.
âThen why are you here?â He didnât know why, but his hands automatically grabs the door knob to swing the door more open to see if youâre inside with somebody.
He just needs to know youâre alone.
âI crash here sometimes⌠when Iâm locked out of my apartment.â You shoulders where slumped, words were coming out slow. Jeno can tell youâre not sober.
He canât say shit because heâs not in an exactly sober state as well. So he just proceeds to walk past you to enter the dorm.
Technically, Jisungâs place is his place too. Their parents fixed it up for the two of them but Jeno chose to stay over at his shared apartment with the other boys. So he can do whatever he wants to do.
The entire place reeks of weed, and the floor has two empty bottles of Soju. He almost threw up, he hates Soju.
âJesus fucking christ, Jisung.â He murmured as he picks up the trash, forgetting that you were standing behind him baffled.
âIâm sorry about thatâŚâ Of course itâs yours. Of course youâve been drinking again. Fuck him for thinking that itâs his brotherâs fault. Because itâs would always be you.
Jeno stays quiet. Heâs not in the best mood to even look at you. Everything thatâs been happening to him recently is because of you. He hates that he blames you, but he canât just think of someone else.
âJeno...â Your soft voice calls for him again. It took everything from him to ignore you, and walk back to the kitchen and throw all the trash away.
Heâs hanging by a thread, and he starts to realize itâs a bad idea to stay here for long.
He takes a deep breath and walks towards the door, but before that, he felt a tight grip in his arms.
âJeno.. talk to me.â The sultry voice you had did not go unnoticed, and Jeno couldnât help but stop his tracks.
Donât break, Jeno.
âJeno.. please look at me.â
He forces your grip out of his arms. It kills him, so much to hear you like this.
âIâm leaving,â He managed to say, however, his feet says otherwise. Heâs standing still, not even another step out the door.
âYouâre not, please. Just⌠just look at me.â Jeno heaves, his hands turning into fists as he tries and compose himself.
Just this once.
He turns his heel and immediately surrendered. The moment he let his eyes on you, he already lost the game.
âWhy donât you want me?â
He gulps. He bit his lip to stop himself from saying anything, because he doesnât trust that heâs not going to say something heâs not ready to say.
âYouâve had so many girls.. Jeno, why not me? IâmâŚâ You paused, you look left to right as if youâre finding words to say. â..Iâm better than all of them.â
âY/nââ
âNo! Fuck it, Jeno! Thereâs no fucking reason why you wonât fuck me! It doesnât make any fucking sense!â Jeno hears ringing in his head, the string of patience threatening to snap.
âWhy? Explain to me fucking why you would fuck all those bitches and not me? I swear.. Jeno, Iâm goodâ fuck that, Iâm the bestââ
âIâm soââ
âAsk half of your team.â
In that note, the last thread he was hanging on to snapped. You want him? Fine. Take it.
He grips your arms and drags you inside of the room, and in his peripheral view, he can see your demeanor changes. Now, your eyes are mischievous, and your lips turning into a smirk.
âYou want to fucking play that game? Fine, Iâll fucking play with you.â Jeno almost growls, letting you sit on the bed as he slams the door shut.
âStrip.â He orders, in the most dominant voice he has.
You bit your lip as you look up at him. Slowly discarding your clothes one by one, but not breaking eye contact with him.
His eyes were dark. So dark that you canât tell anything thatâs on his mind. His jaw tightens at the sight of you almost stripped off of your dress.
âIâve been so fucking patient with you,â
The dim lights shone at his back, as he craned his body down, standing before you. Nearing his face unto yours, the mirror on the side of the bed depicted something out of a dark fairytale, a silhouette of a beast trying to tempt an angel.
But in reality, the angel had already fallen. Deep and hard. The beast didn't even have to do anything.
"Tell me you want me," he says.
"I do, Jeno. I really want you," And as of this moment, you lost the battle you've fought for all these years.
"All this time, huh? You're still lusting over your best friend's brother?" Now, his tone was slightly teasing. His once gentle hands on your cheeks turned possessive, his grip getting tighter.
"Dirty, dirty, dirty little girl. Bet when you fuck those boys, you think of me, don't you?" His thumb on your lower lip, parting it softly.
"This is your chance, y/n. Tonight, I'm yours. Just tell me the words," his whispers turned deadly, as his own lips are almost touching yours.
"J-jeno.."
"Pretty, pretty, pretty..." His words spit like venom. Every movement of his lips gave you a tease, your entire body burning with desire.
Your mind was under his control, and you completely and utterly surrendered to him. He's not yoursâ you're his.
"âPlease," you finally choked out, and like a green light, Jeno kissed you with hunger, pushing his entire body weight onto you forcing you to lay down on the bed.
âI thought you wonât beg anymore?â The cockiness in his voice would usually prompt a reaction from you but you donât care anymore.
This time, his hips close the distance between your bodies, maneuvering his knees to position between your legs. Careful not to crush you, he kept balance of his weight as he pushed his hip further, creating a slight friction between your clothed core.
After what it seemed like forever, his lips traveled down your neck, and almost immediately you can feel that he's gonna leave a mark. You'll definitely leave with a painted neck.
His hands expertly went under your dress, grabbing your breast, squeezing them ever so slightly. It doesn't take a full minute when his hands went around your back and unclasped your bra like it was nothing. All while he was focused on kissing every part of your skin.
Of course he's good at this.
Just then, he pulled away but only to pull your dress up and completely undress you. He took his time looking at your exposed body.
"You're so fuckin' perfect," he mumbled more so to himself as he admired you. He leaned in again but this time his mouth landed on one of your breasts, sucking them deftly.
"Shit, Jeno," you can't help but moan his name, grab the back of his head to level yourself. You pulled his hair, and you didn't know if he likes it, but with the way he groaned gave you a hint that he does.
As he keeps himself busy, his hands go down to your clothed core. Goosebumps ran down your body as his middle finger traced your slit, already feeling the wetness you've desperately hid before.
"So fuckin' wet, and all for me. Am I right, baby?" He whispered, you answered with a whiny 'yes' that it almost sounded like a stranger.
"Lemme' take this off," he quickly pulled down your panties, only to be welcomed by your soaking wet core. Jeno was ravenous, like he's been starved all his life.
The room was dark, only a dim lamp providing some light, but the wetness in your pussy glistens and reflects, that Jeno swore he's never seen something so beautiful. You're beautiful, and he's gonna make you feel just exactly that.
You can hear his belt buckle, him swiftly taking all his clothes off.
"God, I can never get used to how fucking pretty you are, my pretty little baby," he mumbled again, to himself.
"Who was the last guy you fucked, baby?" Jeno asked, catching you off guard. He was pumping himself as he looks at you, and you never thought he would ask such question.
"Wha-- why? I don't kn- probablyâ" Your speech cut off when you looked down at his moving arms, to see all of him.
You've heard rumors. You knew he was packing. But good God, he's so fucking big. Almost knocking the breath out of your lungs. You're starting to get worried if it would fit.
"Doesn't even matter.. everyone else doesn't count. Just me.â
He then pressed his finger down in your core, finding the clit right away. Rapidly circling his finger, and a wave of pleasure started to form. "Oh fuck--," you moaned.
He dove down to kiss you, this time passionately. Much softer than before. Only for you to feel his finger entering you that you went crazy. Not long before he added another,pumping it swiftly in and out. He moved away from your face to watch your expression. And he fucking loved it.
"Fuck, I'm gonna cum-" you whispered.
"Go on, baby." Jeno, encouraging you even more, fingers going faster.
"Shit.. oh my go-" and then it hit you, your first orgasm of the night. Jeno's face was all you can see, and his fingers was all you can feel. Your brows furrowed, mouth agape, you felt like you can't control your body. Jeno's lips was also parted, as if he gains pleasure from watching you reach your climax.
"Good girl," he groaned.
"Need more, Jen. Please," begging was never on your vocabulary, until now.
"Shh, no need to beg, baby. I'm more than willing to give you all," his sweet words acted as an aphrodisiac, igniting the fire in you. As if you needed him to be even more sexier.
Because it was dark in the room, your sense of touch is heightened. Every touch lingered, and its as if you were touch deprived your entire life. Jeno brings out your true colors, and you're not mad about it.
"Make you feel good," he whispered more praises, and you can hear him pump himself as he aligned his length onto your aching core.
"Oh my god," you can't help but gasp, the stretch overwhelming you. You've never taken someone this big before, and it fucking felt like its your first time. Not in a painful way, but because you've felt a whole new sensation.
"S' wet, baby, fuck, you're choking me," in a low groan, Jeno slowly bottomed out. He sits fully inside you, and you can feel every single inch, every single vein. It felt so raw, and so right.
"Hmm, fuck, fuck you feel.. fucking hell. S' good." You never expected Jeno to be this vocal, and you weren't complaining. You always thought he didn't like being vocal, but damn, were you so wrong.
"Jeno.." you moaned, and you can already feel your impending orgasm. Its just that good.
Before Jeno could even find a pace with his thrust,, he pulled out. Your eyes opened in confusion, from the abrupt emptiness.
"Fuck this," Jeno was fast on his feet, you wondered where he was going, but before your mind settles on a conclusion, you were blinded by bright lights.
"Need to see you properly," he reasoned, before he went back to the position he was before.
With the lights on, you can now see his perfectly lean body, toned abs and the sweat beading on his sideburns. He looked so hot that you could cum right there and then.
"So fucking beautiful," Jeno never failed to compliment you, as he stares at you before sliding it in again. For the second time you gasp, but because he slid it in so swift that you didn't even get a second to breathe before he pounds.
"Oh, fuck, Jeno!" you squealed, your entire body rocking back and forth with how rough he was.
His hands grabbed your left leg and hooked it in his shoulder, all the while he kept the fast pace of his thrusts. You can see his face twist, him biting his lips and looking up. His expert thrusts made his abs flex everytime. The sight was stunning, and for a second there you were lost. You can't believe other girls had seen this before you.
The orgasm you fought so hard was out of your control now, and you knew you weren't gonna last.
"Jeno, I'm gonna cum," you tell him, and he switched his position in no time. "Together. Cum with me," he muttered.
"Come inside, Jeno. I need it so bad," you were slurring words at this point, so barbaric with the feeling.
He unhooked your leg and leaned forward. Your body now pressed together as he wrapped your legs onto his waist, his hands finding your neck, holding it steady as he touched his forehead with yours. His piercing eyes were hyper focused on yours.
"Eyes on me, baby. Fuck, please," he moaned, his tempo going even more rapid and desperate. Both of your mouths was wide open at this point.
"Fuck! Fuck, fuck!" he stilled, as you both reached climax. He emptied himself inside you. You can't help but moan in a high pitch as orgasm washes over your entire body, an intense wave brought you to euphoria, and you never wanna leave.
"Damn," he whispered, almost in disbelief on how it felt to be with you. Still giving you everything he had, every single drop.
"Jeno," you called out once you relaxed, hoping to get him back to his senses.
"Wait- just.. shit." he managed to mutter despite his weak state. He's still wrapped around you, tight as if you were disappearing. Not to mention he's still balls deep.
A solid minute has passed when he decided to pull out, both of you hissing at the feeling. You felt so empty, and he felt so bare.
And when Jeno closes his eyes, he accepts defeat. Youâve successfully broken him.
ŕ§ â§âË â
Sooyoung, Minnie, Hoyeon, Yoonah.
So far, those are the names that you gathered.
It doesnât take a long time to figure out what Jeno likes, based on the girls heâs been with. Theyâre all hot, popular with the boys, and if not the same age as him, theyâre older.
The other common denominator is that they all have experience. When Jeno started sleeping around, you would only see him with women whoâs expected to be with him. Like those women who knows how pretty they are, whoâs aware how to handle a man like Jeno.
So when you finally turn eighteen, you did not waste time.
âDo you think I look hot in this, Ji?â You ask innocently, looking at your best friend through the mirror youâre standing in front of.
He barely looks up from his nintendo switch, and when you make eye contact, the look of disgust on his face makes you roll your eyes.
âYour freakinâ ass is hanging off that skirt. You look like aâŚâ Jisung turns his head towards Chenle on the other side of the room, playing on his playstation.
ââŚhooker.â Chenle finished the sentence for him. You hide a smirk.
âIâll take that as a compliment, thank you!â You did a curtsy, before grabbing your purse.
âWait, where are you going?â Chenle asked as soon as he paused the game to see you walk towards the door.
âNCU is throwing this party for the new basketball team, got an invite from Jungwoo.â You gave Chenle a wink, knowing it would annoy the heck out of him.
âWhat?! Why do I not know about this?!â You flinched when Chenle says the first word in the highest octave possible.
âProbably because weâre not in NCUâs college department yet? The partyâs exclusive for college students, dumbass.â Jisung says boredly, bringing his attention back to his nintendo.
âExcept I got an invite, you losers didnât!â And just for extra annoyance, you stick your tongue out to mock them.
Chenle only huffs, but takes his phone out of his pocket.
âInvited or not, Iâm going. Iâm sure your broke ass would take up a free ride to the party,â He says as he waits for someone on his phone.
âAnd how do you plan to enter the party, dimwit? You donât have an invite,â Jisung asks.
âIâm Zhong fucking Chenle. Thatâs my invite.â He smirks, grabs his keys and your wrist. You flew a kiss towards Jisung and left his apartment.
Booming music, strobe lights. The bass vibrates through the wall and honestly, this is way too extreme from what you expected. This is the first real party you had attended, where youâre specifically invited.
Jungwoo was someone you knew, from one of your girlfriends. Heâs three years ahead of you, making him a year older than Jeno. And to be frank, Jungwoo didnât peak your interest at first. But when you knew that heâs in Jenoâs friend circle, you figured that maybe, you do like Jungwoo.
âHey,â Someone from behind you whispers on your ear, making you whip your head. You saw Jungwoo, head hangs low just to whisper. He displays a playful smile as he hugs you.
But before you could even tighten his embrace, Chenle took a protective stance, putting his arms in between. âWoah dude, chill out.â
Jungwoo chuckled, putting his hands up. âZhong, calm down,â
You immediately give Chenle a look of confirmation, âIâm good, Le.â
âJust making sure.â He says and steps back. He patted Jungwooâs shoulder in a sense that heâs good. Chenle has always been protective, in literal terms. Jisung however, is protective in a motherly kind of way. In short, Chenleâs fights, Jisung nags.
âWhy donât you talk to Jaehyun? Heard heâs interested in taking you in the team.â Jungwoo says making Chenle widen his eyes, a breathless âreally?â coming out of his lips and Jungwoo nods. You pushed Chenle to go find the Jaehyun guy and before you know it, youâre alone with Jungwoo.
âHeâs really into basketball, huh?â Jungwoo, sounding amused.
You on the other hand, start roaming your eyes around the room. Youâre here for someone, and you need to know if theyâre in this party, or else this would be a huge waste of time if heâs not here.
âYeah, he basically worships Stephen Curry.â You looks at him, to at least try to entertain the boy.
âMm-hm.â The way his hands crawl into your waist so naturally was a shock to you, but you donât say anything at all. He starts walking and with his hands attached on your body, you canât help but walk with him.
âSo.. whereâs the team?â You really did try to prolong the moment youâre with Jungwoo, but you just canât stay still without confirming if heâs here.
âTheyâre upstairs. Some of my teammates doesnât really like hanging out with too many people.â
âHow about you?â
âI was waiting for you, pretty.â Jungwoo flashes a smile, someone could argue his most defining feature but then again, you have your sights on someone else.
True to his words, Jungwoo brought you upstairs, where itâs more intimate with a few people. Thereâs a lounge area in front of a bar and that's where you spot the certain someone youâve been looking for.
And as expected, he has a girl with him.
âHey, guys, uhâ this is y/n.â Jungwoo awkwardly introduces you to everyone, including Jeno who at first was shocked at your presence, but soon enough replaced with a certain tension in his eyes.
You did a small wave, still shy at the amount of eyes on you. These people are legends on campus. Theyâre basically the schoolâs pride and seeing them acknowledging you was amusing. And Jeno, like the perfect man that he is, just fits right in.
âHi, Iâm Juyeon,â He extends his hands, so you, a person who doesnât like leaving people hanging, gladly accepts it.
And everyone else follows suit, except Jeno. He was looking at something else, not even the girl heâs with. Heâs fixated at his beer can, looking at it very seriously.
âJeno?â Jungwoo asks, questioning why the boy didnât acknowledge you.
He looked at Jungwoo, and he was about to answer but you did it for him.
âWe know each other. Iâm friends with his brother.â You smile at Jungwoo, and he seemed to understand it so he just lead you to the empty spot on the lounge.
They started talking, but your attention was on Jeno. You realized that this is his crowd, quickly you found that heâs very different in front of other people. Heâs more talkative, thatâs for sure.
But your eyes also catch the soft touches he graces the girl beside him. The whispers he gave, the smiles and subtle kisses on the side of her head. His arms around her and the jokes he tells just for the two of them.
It has been years since he rejected you, yet the pain still stings.
You took your eyes somewhere else, made easy as Jungwoo starts to caress your shoulder. He leaned below, matching your face. âYou okay?â
âYeah,â you smiled at him. You werenât, but youâre obviously not gonna tell that.
He hands you a shot of what you assume alcohol, with his eyes anticipating your next move. This is the first time youâre drinking without Chenle or Jisung around, and youâre unsure if this was okay.
But with everybody starting to look at Jungwooâs waiting hand, the shot clearly for you, you start to panic. Thereâs no way youâre gonna embarrass yourself in front of these seniors.
So you suck it up and took the shot. Youâre not sure, but you got a glance from Jeno that tells heâs not happy with your action.
The taste of the alcohol was strong, but somehow your throat didnât burn. Yes, you definitely felt it heat up your taste buds but not bad enough for you to hate it. Itâs like a sensation that hypes up your system.
And so, with your new found information, you were more confident in taking shots now. And exactly that you do.
But with the amount of liquid going in, it has to come out. So you excused yourself to the bathroom to pee. You assured Jungwoo you were okay, because heck yeah, youâre fine.
Not until you actually stood up. Good thing you didnât stumble, but shit, your world is spinning.
You bee line straight to the bathroom and relieve yourself. It took a couple minutes before you finished washing your hands, and as you walk out of the restroom, you were met by a figure clearly waiting for you to finish up.
âJ-Jeno,â you muttered, moreso in surprise.
âY/n what the hell are you doing here?â He whispers, angrily of course.
âJungwoo invited me!â You whisper back, leaning on the door behind you to balance yourself.
âWhereâs my brother? Chenle?â He looms over you, and all you can think about is his luscious lips, mere inches to yours.
âThey.. Chenle came with me, Ji stayed home..â You answer, despite being in a trance. The entire place is spinning, but not Jenoâs face. Itâs there, in front of you.
âI need you to find Chenle and go home.â He says in finality, expecting you to follow. You knit your brows, as you take in offense over what heâs doing.
âWhat? Iâm invited here!â You whined.
âFind Chenle. Now.â The growl in his last words made you slightly intimidated, not to mention his eyes burning holes into your own.
God, heâs so handsome.
You donât know if its the vodka, or just plain recklessness that gave you the idea of just tipping on your toes and try kissing Jeno.
It made perfect sense in your head. Your hands cupping his cheeks obviously caught him off guard, but before your lips touch his, his reflex of pushing you off was unfortunately faster.
He shoved you harsh, causing you to stumble and almost losing your balance.
âWhat the fuck?!â He yells.
Your heartbeat went quicker. Everything started to process. Jeno looks so mad, he huffs and wiping his palm against the part of his face that your lips had touched.
âI-Iâm s-sorrââ
âI have a fucking girlfriend, y/n!â He spits, words felt like daggers through your chest.
âJeno, Iâm sorry. I was out ofââ Your eyes start to burn.
âAre you that desperate? I rejected you already, didnât I? I will never look at you different than being my brotherâs best friend, y/n! So stop this fucking delusion while Iâm being nice.â Jeno points his fingers at you, making you flinch a little bit.
âJeno, please.â Your tears are now slowly flowing. You attempted to grab his wrist to make him stay and listen to your apologies but he swiped it off like heâs disgusted to be touched by you.
âNo, y/n. Youâre like a sister to me. It disgusts me to even think of being with you romantically. So please, know your fucking place.â
With that, he walks out and leaves you broken.
You donât understand. You did everything by the book. You looked pretty, you knew how he liked girls. You made yourself into his fantasies and he still canât see past the fact that youâre just his brotherâs bestfriend.
You take a deep breath between the sobs, calming yourself down. You felt horrible. You felt so sick and embarrassed. You felt so fucking desperate and pathetic that you just want to numb yourself of the pain.
You grab your chest, having difficulty breathing from crying too hard.
This is way more than a broken heart.
Youâre no longer consolable, and thereâs just no way youâre going back there with your makeup now ruined.
Are you that hard to want?
Are you that hard to need?
The tears don't stop as you walk out of the party. Gladly, everybodyâs wasted so nobody noticed you ugly-crying.
As you turn to an alleyway, you shoot Jungwoo a text saying you got sick, and Chenle saying you got an uber home.
With your 7-inch heels on your hand, in the cold street, you walk in shame.
Bare feet on the sidewalk, shivering, that's when you noticed a bar.
Your feet prompted to enter, so that you did. You were going to drown the pain, and thereâs nothing in your mind except alcohol.
You hoped that it would ease the pain.
And it did, the effects of it giving you a temporary memory loss. This was the numbing you needed.
The sensation of alcohol gave you solace, and for a while, your thoughts melted into nothingness.
Staring at the shot glass in front of you, you made a promise to your eighteen year old self.
That if Jeno doesnât want you, youâll make it your lifeâs mission to make everyone else crave you. You donât need Jeno.
Youâll never be rejected again.
And just as soon as you felt like you can breathe again, your phone buzzed.
[2:34am] jisung: y/n, come home, quickly. itâs your mom.
ŕ§ â§âË â
It was odd to say the least.
This has been what youâve wanted for so many years. You prayedâ and begged the heavens for Jeno to finally take you, to prove that you can get him.
And now, youâve proven your point.
But why does it feel⌠strange?
Yes, it was the best sex youâve had, and it might be the only one that could make you feel that way. It was mindblowing, it was everything and more.
Isnât this the goal? For him to actually step over that line of being your best friendâs brother?
What else did you want?
Honestly, you donât know anymore. Hence, you sneak out of the apartment in the middle of the night. Jeno was laying on his stomach, the comforter covering his lower half. His back muscles spread across the sheets and you take the art in. He really is sculptured to perfection.
You managed to put on your clothes and walk out of the apartment building. You find yourself in a nearby convenience store, walking through the isle finding something you didnât know. Your mind is blank and empty.
These are the times where you wished there was someone to guide you to what you should do next. Because you have no idea. Youâre confused, and you need direction.
These are the moments where you wished your mom was here. She would know what to do.
For a while, when you were with Jeno, you felt warmth youâve always been trying to find from somebody else. With Jeno, you actually felt like sex wasnât only about pleasure, but itâs also about being able to express unspoken feelings.
Sex wasnât something you just needed to get over with. It felt amazing, It was perfect.
But it clicked too, that you know yourself was the only one who really appreciated it. Jenoâ was in for the satisfaction. He never needed you like you needed him. You talked him into sleeping with you. You were begging for his touch.
You pushed him to a point where he just snapped and gave you what youâve been desperately chasing him for.
And for what? Probably for you to stop. He was throwing scraps at you because heâs tired of that one girl who keeps chasing his tail. He just gave in, expecting you to finally give up.
Then it hit you. Your fourteen year old self, your eighteen year old self and your twenty-two year old self still has something in common.
You realize, that all the hard work, the wall you desperately tried to build was a fraud. Because at the end of the day, you never lost feelings for Jeno.
No matter how many people youâve been with, itâs still gonna be Jeno for you.
That makes you laugh. In both ridiculousness and despair. Hopelessness felt eerily familiar.
Silly you, for thinking youâve moved on.
Jeno is inevitable. And youâll learn to accept it too.
As you reach up the isle and grab a bottle of Soju, a hand stops you.
âMy love, are you okay?â A soft voice that you haven't heard in a while.
âKun,â
ŕ§ â§âË â
Jeno knows heâs royally fucked.
He gave into your trap, and youâve successfully defeated him. All his morals, his beliefs, and the logic he stands on was out the window.
He knows you planned it out too. This was your way of taking revenge on him, when he repeatedly rejected you years ago.
He tried to keep his distance, because he promised.
And he takes his promises seriously, especially when it involves you. And he felt like he broke the one thing thatâs keeping the promise he made a couple years ago.
You werenât supposed to end up in his bed. You werenât supposed to still want him after everything heâs done. You werenât supposed to even be involved with him. Heâs supposed to stay wherever he is, on the sidelines, silently protecting you.
But itâs all been done. You and Jeno did it, and it cannot be reversed. And now that its happened, thereâs not much he can do. He has to hash things out, he has to fix everything.
Because no matter how many women he had before, no matter how many times he tricks himself, he had always felt like it wasnât what heâs been searching for.
And when he finally had a taste of you, heâs afraid heâs gonna want more. And heâs afraid that heâll never feel the way it felt with you. Heâs horrified that what happened opened his eyes with whatâs the truth.
And when he felt the other side of the bed cold, he opens his eyes and youâre gone.
Yeah, this is just a game for you.
But for him? Oh, heâs eternally fucked. The shame, the guilt, and everything in between creeps up. And not of you, heâll neverâever be ashamed of you. Heâs guilty about the fact that he let himself get carried away.
Out of frustration, he hits his steering wheel as he drove. He canât believe he just did that.
He was drunk, you were clearly not in the right state of mind. Even if you were, he was still drunk. What happened was fucked up, both for him and for you.
He takes a deep breath before pulling out his phone.
He carefully types, calculating everything he needs to say.
[7:35am] to: y/n
hey. dont say anything to my brother. it was a mistake, i was drunk. i donât really like you like that.
He sent it quick, afraid heâd delete it if he hesitated longer. And just as he did, he felt his whole chest stiffen.
Because once again, he lied. Both to you, and to himself.
ŕ§ â§âË â
You woke up through the sounds of your phone ringing. It was the next week after the whole thing happened with Jeno, and youâve not craved anything but sleep.
Kun never asked questions. Which youâre thankful for, but you canât help but feel bad.
You ghosted the guy, again, but he welcomed you into his apartment with open arms like nothing happened. His smile was there, the warmth of his embrace still the same.
Before you could even say anything about your guilt, heâs quick to tell you that itâs okay. Heâs with you because he wants to. Although you canât give him what he wants the most.
In a perfect world, if you werenât so fucked up, youâd be with Kun, no questions asked.
You were lucky it was the weekend, and youâve got no class. So you just laid on Kunâs couch, binging away, rotting in the cushions. Kun doesnât mind, he says its better than you going out and drinking.
Which is true, plus you just canât physically get yourself back up and doing what you do before, after what happened with Jeno.
Jeno, Jeno, Jeno. Fucking Lee Jeno.
Itâs like a curse, following you all throughout your existence. Heâs like a ghost stuck in your hip, a burden youâd beg to get off of you. Thereâs just no way youâd have to carry these feelings towards him until your seventy, right? Jesus.
Your head whips at the door when you hear it open, not expecting Kun to come home so early.
Heâs not here âtil 7, right?
âOh, youâre still here.â
Well, youâre right. Itâs not Kun. Itâs his lovely roommate Ten. Note the sarcasm on the lovely part.
âYeah.â You backed down to the couch.
If thereâs anyone annoyed at your presence, itâs definitely Ten. You think he harbored the anger and disappointment Kun shouldâve had with youâ like some sort of anger translator.
âYour roommate must be overjoyed having your place for her own.â He says, with feign casualness in his tone.
âSheâs doing fine,â
âI mean, at this point, youâre gonna have to pay your share with the rent.â He scoffs as he puts down his bag harshly on the counter.
You let out a deep breath, reminding yourself that this is also his place. Youâre not in a position to return his attitude because you, in your own thoughts, are aware that youâve overstayed your welcome.
âKun says its okayââ
âThatâsââ Tenâs voice in a high pitch, but quickly calming himself down. â--thatâs because Kun canât say shit to you. I donât know if you noticed but my friend is literally insane for you. And of course, you like the attention.â
You canât help but look at him, your mouth slacking due to disbelief of what he just said. You bit your lip and paused, not wanting to say things without thinking about it first. Again, you're not in a position where youâre purely innocent in this situation.
âWhat do you want me to do? Tell me. Iâll leave right now.â You managed to calm your tone, avoiding any more discussion.
âWhat I want you to do is to be straight with Kun, y/n. I know youâre used to being a player, but Kun isnât. He agreed to your situationship because you werenât ready. You ghosted him for a few weeks and still he took you in even tho I fucking knew it was a dumb decision because heâs just hoping to be with you again. If youâre not planning to be with my friend, then just fucking make your decision. I know youâre not that cruel to string him along. Heâs a good person, y/n.â
His sudden outburst caught you off guard, but every word he said was like a slap to you. Every sentence was nothing but facts, and you knew deep inside that you were in the wrong. That Ten was right. Kun is way too good for you. He does not deserve this.
You felt your eyes starting to warm, for a hundredth time. You nod in agreement. However, you can tell he wasnât finished.
âHeâs not your back burner, y/n. And Iâm not saying this to you because I have a problem with you, but Iâm saying this because heâs my friend. At first it was fine, but when you treat him lesser than what he deserves, I just feel like youâre being.. really selfish. Itâs clear that you have your eyes on someone else. But please, Kun doesnât do this type of shit. Heâs way too naive. Poor guy thought he did something wrong.â The last sentence hits you the most, thinking about Kun probably did think that heâs the one to blame.
You sniff, nodding along Tenâs statement. âI will⌠Iâll talk to him.â You quietly say. Ten just looks at you before sighing, walking towards his door. As soon as his door closes, the front door opened.
âSweet cheeks, whatâre you doing?â Kun asks, seeing you standing on the doorway staring at nothingness.
You immediately wiped your tears and looked at him with a smile. âReally sad netflix movie,â you excused. Kun doubts, but chooses to stay silent. He walks two steps in front of you before giving you a warm hug like he does everytime he sees you at his apartment.
You gulp, gathering courage to actually start the conversation.
âUh, Can we talk?â you nip at the bottom of your shirt.
âOf course, princess,â The old nickname he had somewhat felt like an assurance that heâs still the same. It lifted a bit of weight in your chest.
You sat in one of the chairs, not knowing what to do. This place was once your safe haven, now it just feels strange knowing what kind of situation you are in.
âSo, uhm, I want to apologize for.. essentially cutting you off. Itâs just that, uh, Iâve beenââ
âYouâve been with Lee Jeno, right?â he asks, a ghost of a smile still present in his face.
âWell, yeah, but also, I didnât know that I had that much of a relevance in your life so...â you say, honestly.
âDarling, you were everything.â he pauses. â--but I know that Iâm not what you need, or what you wanted. And thatâs fine. You donât need to feel bad, itâs just how it goes.â
âBut Iâm here, and I promise you, that you donât need to feel responsible about how I feel. Iâll be fine.â He smiles, like he used to, but this time you know itâs fake.
âKun, youâre too good for me. You deserve more than me.â Your eyes start to water, but Kun never lets it drop. He caresses your cheeks for what it feels like the last time, before nodding at you.
âI know, baby.â He leaned closer, lips slowly grazing yours. As you felt it, the instinct of kissing back was swift, but Kun did not give you the chance of doing so as he pulled away.
âDonât kiss me back, please,â he mumbled, before caressing your face for what it felt like the last time before turning away.
And just like that, you lost the man who was ready to give you everything for a man who canât even spare you a glance.
ŕ§ â§âË â
Jeno is still out of his mind.
He had flunked out of practice, only attending a couple times out of the two weeks that he needed to attend. Barely even there, just standing and basically lifeless in the court.
His coach and his teammates already feel less secure because of Jenoâs state of mind, especially when heâs supposed to be the teamâs captain. He feels like shit, truly, and he knows he should be focusing on the game. But how can he, when all he can think of is you?
His coach gave him a hard talking but even that canât seem to shake him up. His willingness to play disappeared like it was nothing.
Heâs pretty sure the entire team hates him now, and if only thereâs time to replace him, theyâd definitely do it, but finding a replacement, with his skills, is basically impossible. Moreso in limited time.
As soon as he enters his apartment, he throws his bag on the floor and tunnels through his room to lock himself in there. But as soon as he entered it, he was shocked to find his brother laying in his bed.
âWhatâre you doing here?â He asks, confused.
âJust want to know something,â Jisung says, slowly sitting up. He looks up his brother, standing in the door frame. Jeno couldnât read his expression, but its pretty clear that heâs not happy.
âDid you sleep with y/n?â
Jeno didnât know how to react, his eyes widened and for a while, he had nothing to say. But in the end, he knew this was bound to happen. If not you, it would be him spilling the information to his brother.
He didnât need to say anything, and he knew the silence is more than enough for Jisung to conclude.
âShe really likes you, you know? I justââ Jisung paused, â--I just donât know why youâd sleep with her when you donât like her back. You know she likes you, hyung. What, is this like an ego thing? Sheâs y/n, hyung. You know sheâs different.â Jisung honestly just sounded confused and tired. Heâs not angry, not upset, he comes off like he just wanted proper answers from his brother.
âDude, just get out.â Jeno dismissed, which pissed off his younger brother more.
âOh fuck you. You canât even hold a conversation with your own brother? And if only itâs not y/n, I wouldnât even waste my time. But itâs her. You know her,â
Jeno took a deep breath. âI like her too, Jisung. No, fuck, scratch that. I fucking love her.â
For a minute, it was silence. Jisung then took the initiative to talk,
âTalk to mom, hyung.â
ŕ§ â§âË â
Jeno was sixteen, when he realized that he likes the way you smile at him.
He saw you run down the stairs and straight to the kitchen. You were at his brotherâs room, for a sleepover with his brother and Chenle. He was lounging on the couch, and he didnât bother to turn on the lights. He likes to lay in here at night, cuddling with his cat, Bongsik. He canât let the cat into his room because of his allergies, so he just settled on the couch.
Because Bongsik was alerted of your presence, the cat follows you to the kitchen. Jeno, of course, followed in pursuit. He can still remember the cute expression you had when you discovered Bongsik on the table.
He smiles at you, struggling to get chips from the cabinet. Naturally, he grabbed it for you. You had asked if Bongsik was new, and he answered yes.
âYep, a rescue. Mom brought it home the other day. Jisung freaked,â He chuckles as he looks at the cat, snuggling in his chest.
He can see you almost begging with your eyes, wanting to pet the cat. So he let you. Surprisingly, Bongsik, whoâs usually grumpy, purrs as soon as your hands come in contact with it.
You were so careful, and Jeno almost wants to chuckle at your meek attempt at staring at him.
A slight smile on your face was something Jeno noticed, from a close distance. He surely did not expect you to be this soft and angelic, but he thought to himself, that your smile is something heâd like to get used to.
Jeno was eighteen when he made his first mistake.
He had invited his friends over at his house. He had made some really cool friends, and he even got this girl heâs been trying to get with to tag along. Jeno feels nervous, of course, he wants to impress them.
Besides Jaemin, Haechan and Renjun, he also invites some people from the basketball team heâs trying to get into, and some girls that are part of the circle. And of course, the girl he had liked, Eunmi.
His friends encouraged him to make a move tonight, and for some dumb reason, he thought it would be romantic to bring out wine. So he went to the kitchen to do so, but got surprised when a soft voice called his name.
It was you. Your shy demeanor, and your avoiding gaze startles him but he canât help but smile. Youâre so cute.
He clears that with whatever you were gonna tell him, make it quick because someoneâs waiting for him. But as soon as you open your mouth to say the next words,
âI like you. Very much.â
He feels like his feet are frozen. His heart starts to race and if only he wasnât leaning on the counter behind him, he would definitely stumble. His grip on the wine glass tightens. He doesnât know what to do.
The next words just came out, and he instantly regrets it.
â...I-Iâm just being nice.. I have to be nice. Youâre my brotherâs best friend.â In a split second before Eumi interrupts the conversation, he can clearly see the pain in your eyes. The initial shock of the fact that heâs rejecting you was prominent in your face and he just wanted to take every word back at that point.
But before he could even utter another word, Eunmi decided to take over. You then quickly walked out, but before you can turn around, he sees a teardrop, and by then, heâs sure heâs made a mistake. He canât believe he just broke your innocent heart.
Eunmi is no longer in his mind, his friends no longer his priority, the entirety of the night, you plagued his mind. He wanted to run after you, and apologize. But what exactly is it for? Itâs not like he was rude. He was calm, but still, you were visibly upset.
Jeno blames himself, until the night ends, he shoots his brother a message to ask you if you were okay. He needs to know.
Jeno was twenty when he breaks his own heart for the first time.
He canât believe his eyes. He doesnât know which emotion he should feel, the anger that slowly builds up upon seeing you entering the party with Jungwoo, or the adoration to seeing you looking that good in your mini dress.
You had walked in with the confidence he failed to notice before, with Jungwooâs arm around your waist. He clenches his fist, but soon he gets caught in his own mind when his girlfriend of two weeks leans over to him.
The train of thought he had was still there, however, he was forced to pretend like everythingâs fine. Although he canât look at you in the eye, when he can certainly feel your gaze time to time.
What he canât absolutely avoid tho, is his eyes on Jungwooâs touches. Since when did you let a random man touch you like that?
More so, a man like Jungwoo? Much older than you, and he doesnât remember Jungwoo and you ever be in the same vicinity as each other. Why are you so comfortable with him already?
Green doesnât suit Jeno. So he tries to focus on the girl beside him. But mentally, he counts the shots that was given to you. Too many, and if the situation is different, heâd take those shots and shove it up Jungwooâs ass.
But as soon as you stood up, his quick reaction was to follow you.
All he can think about is you getting out of here.
âFind Chenle. Now.â He groaned, despite his anger, he doesnât like yelling at you.
What you did next was unexpectable.
You had tried to kiss him.
His reflex was to push you, and that, he did. His demeanor changes, and everything that falls from his lips after that was a blur to him.
One thingâs clear, the look in your eyes. You were so defeated, but Jeno didnât let it affect him. He was blinded by anger, and the fact that youâre so drunk that youâd kiss just anyone. Not to mention a man that has a girl! What has gotten into you?
âAre you that desperate? I rejected you already, didnât I? I will never look at you different than being my brotherâs best friend, y/n! So stop this fucking delusion while Iâm being nice.â Lies after lies after lies.
He was completely out of his mind when he said that to you.
And when you cried in front of him, he felt his own heart break. Every tear is equivalent to a stab right through his chest.
Right there and then, he wanted to beg for your forgiveness. Say that everything wasnât true, that he doesnât think you were desperate. Hell, he would kiss you back if youâd let him.
But all those hope was thrown away when you left. Because whatâs left was this strange, terrifying feeling that somehow, this was the last straw for you.
And Jeno despises himself for causing you pain, over and over. He curses at his own self for being so coward.
âHey Jen, how are you?â His momâs voice was enthusiastic as ever. Even over the phone, he can hear the smile in her face.
He thinks he should be honest. âNot good,â
âAw, is it your practice? Donât worry darling, just a few more months and youâll be graduating!â He smiles at his motherâs sweet voice of anticipation, he can just imagine the tiny claps she does.
âNo, mom. Iââ He closes his eyes in frustration. âI have to talk to you about something,â
âWhat is it? Is it your brother? About y/n?â Her tone changes, now sounding concerned.
Jeno curses mentally, because of how quick his mom mentioned you.
âItâs about y/n,â he says lowly, testing the waters for a bit.
He hears a deep sigh, âI called her a week ago and sheâs been real distant from me, Jen. Anything I should know?â
âMom,â He almost whines. He just wants to spill it out.
âWhat? Youâre worrying me. Is our y/n okay? God, sheâs been out of control, hasnât she?â The concern is now intensified, and Jeno thinks he should just spit it out. But his tongue canât seem to say it.
âShe.. sheâs fine.â
âGood gracious, okay. I thought something had happened. Her mother must be frowning at me from heaven right now. Still remember your promise to your Auntie, right?â
Bingo. The very reason as to why he canât just say it. Why he canât just be with you already. Itâs because of this god forsaken promise that he made.
âYou need to be a big brother to her, treat her as your sister. She has nothing but us now, Jeno.â
He almost cries, he just wanted to yell. He felt as though he failed his mother, your mother and you. He shouldnât be feeling this emotion towards you. This harbored feelings are forbidden. He canât. He just⌠canât.
He lets his eyes get warmer, gripping in his phone harshly. He takes a huge, deep breath.
âMom, I love her. So much. I- I canât⌠I canât keep on hurting her and pretending that I only look at her as a sister.â He pleads, finally letting it known. Thereâs no turning back.
Silence was deafening on the other line. Every millisecond, he can feel his heartbeat race.
âJeno, weâve talked about this.â
âI love her, mom. I do, I really do.â He cries, for the first time in a long time.
âSheâs your sisââ
âSheâs not! God, sheâs your best friendâs daughter, I know that but Iâm not her older brother. Iâm a person that truly loves her. I have loved her for so many years but I keep on hââ
âJeno, hush, darling. I understand⌠but sheâs our family. If all these feelings get old and you decide you donât love her anymore, who will she turn to? Not us, darling because at the end of the day, weâre your family. Iâm just⌠worried about her, she has⌠no one to turn to if this all blows up.â His motherâs response, despite the rise of emotion, was still calm and soft.
âI wonât, mom. Please, just let me love her. I canât keep hurting her, mom, It kills me.â Jeno never begged this much. Just for you. His only exception.
His mother pauses, way too long, before finally breathing out again. âOkay, darling. I trust you. But please. I beg you, not to hurt her. Weâre all that sheâs got.â
Jeno whips his head up, baffled as to how easy she agreed to him. A little to no persuasion, and it didnât even take ten minutes.
âWhat? J-just like that?â Jeno questions in disbelief. Years of yearning, years of hurting you, when Jeno could just do this early on?
His mom, regardless of the moment, managed to let out a breathy chuckle.
âDarling, youâve proven yourself over the years. Me and your Dad had an inkling that you have a special admiration for Y/n ever since before. Its just unfortunate that her mother had to pass, and had asked us a favorâ more to you, to look after Y/N like your own sibling. And when you agreed, I felt like itâs just how it goes. But years of seeing you pretend to not care about her, and seeing you struggle to cope with your feelings, I knew then that you were serious.â
âMe and your Dad realized that our eldest, really, has grown up to be a man. And seeing you still have the same passion and the same feelings towards her until now, says that youâd stop at nothing at this point. So whatâs the use of preventing you?â
And with that, Jeno was free. Free of constraint, of guilt and control over his own will and feelings.
Like a baby, Jeno falls asleep with tears in his eyes. In complete satisfaction on how things went. Now, his only problem is getting to you, and begging for your forgiveness. Wishing by then, youâd still want him.
ŕ§ â§âË â
Jeno didnât waste his time. As soon as the morning comes, heâs fast on his feet. He wants to talk to you, he wants to clear everything up. He had tried to text and call, but he quickly realized you blocked his number.
He called his brother next, but Jisung also has not heard from you since yesterday.
It wasnât until 5pm that he couldnât find you, he started to worry. None of your friends know where you are, and youâre not in your apartment either.
He contacted every possible soul that could even have a hint on where youâre at, but none of them knows.
He feels like heâs running out of time, running out of momentum.
And just as soon as he was about to call for help, he received a message.
[5:32pm] unknown number
sheâs at dreamscape hill. she likes going there to ease her mind. take care of her, please. -k
He didnât care to ask who it was, he just prayed that whoever sent him this message was right.
And off to dreamscape hill, Jeno goes.
He can barely catch his breath when he arrived, heart pounding at his chest. It was past sundown when he found you sitting at the bench, on top of the hill.
Itâs you. Heâs sure itâs you. To the curves of your shoulder, to the waves of your hair. Call it creepy, but he spent years looking at your back, from afar, forbidden to even glance at you when youâre close. So yes, heâs a hundred percent sure that itâs you.
Heâs a few feet behind you, when he noticed the earphones you had on. Probably why you didnât hear the ruffling of the twigs and leaves as he walked closer.
And in divine timing, you look back at your shoulder, looking straight at Jenoâs eyes, as if it made sense why heâs here.
Slowly, you pull the earphones out.
âWhatâre you doing here?â You ask, almost a whisper. But the city in front of you gave him enough silence to hear every breath you take.
âFinding you,â he answers. He struggles to keep his words straight, the thumping in his chest causing him to stutter.
You blink thrice, seems like youâre still processing Jenoâs answer.
âWhy?â
Jeno took a couple step, and finally he sat beside you. he looked forward at the cityscape. He took note of your body language, it seems to him that youâre starting to get nervous.
âTo tell you Iâm sorry. Iâm sorry it took this long for me to find you. Iâm sorry I hurt you, Iâm sorry for making you cry. Iâm sorry that I wasted years, and Iâm so sorry I lied.â Jeno says every word with great diction, in perfect pace and clear voice. He wants you to understand every word that he says.
He hears you let out a huff, as if in disbelief. His heart went even more faster, scared on what you might say.
Heâs never anticipated an answer like this before. He never had to grip at his own knees in nervousness before. He canât even look at your expression.
âI think weâre past that, Jeno.â
This is what heâs afraid of. He might be too late, he might fuck this up. Nevertheless, heâll never regret trying.
âI know that Iâm years too late but you need to understandââ
âI donât need to understand nothing. What I need is to just live my life, love my life. I have spent years yearning for you, let me love myself too. I think Iâve loved you since I met you, Jeno. I just mistook it for curiosity. Everyone else isnât you, and turns out thatâs a huge problem for me.â Jeno can hear you smile, and when he finally let himself take a look, he softens.
Youâre smiling like you used to smile. Youâre smiling like you again.
âThatâs because we thought we could alter fate, and tell me Iâm batshit crazy for believing but I can prove to you that weâre just⌠soulmates, y/n. Y-youâre meant for me as much as I am for you.â These are some words Jeno never thought he would use. The things you make him do.
You chuckle again, while shaking your head. Do you find it ridiculous? Do you think Jeno is joking? Are you finding all of these insufferable? God, Jeno wished he could read you.
âWe are not soulmates, Jeno. This is not some divine intervention, and shit, this is not fate. I wanted this. I knit the threads of my destiny until it spelled your name. I love you intentionally, Jeno. Itâs not the stars and the heavens that brought us together. I did.â
Jeno was speechless. He could not utter a single word, he felt like he had no right to dictate you about what you feel. Heâs ashamed, because what you said was right. You made him feel this, because of your desire for him, you made him fall. And damn it, he fell hard.
âItâs like you filled my lungs with flowers, although they are pretty, it made it hard for me to breathe. That's how much I wanted you.â
âY/n, I will apologize to you forever if you wanted me to. Just⌠just please, let me have my chance.â Jeno begged like he never did before. He let his emotions out, and all for you. Because you deserve it. You deserve the real him.
Slowly, he felt your hand on his clenched fist, instantly letting it loose. He took the opportunity to lace your fingers together. It felt right, like your hand always belonged intertwined with his.
âIf I took this chance with you, that would be the knife that would slit my own fucking throat, Jeno. And you know whatâs funny? Iâd probably apologize for bleeding in your shirt.â
âSo let me have this time for myself, Jeno. And just like the old saying, time will tell. And if we find each other without even looking, then thatâs when Iâll believe in that fate you were talking about.â
As your grip in his hand loosens, he felt like this was the first and last time heâll get to hold your hand. He wanted to be selfish and not let you go, but he knows heâd be cruel to do that.
So he didnât move. âIâll see you around,â you say.
âIâll find you,â he whispered, to you, to himself, and to whoever whoâs listening. Let it be the heavens, or the devil in hell. He whispered to anybody, because he knows heâll do it, and he wants everyone to stand witness to this promise.
âSure you will,â
And in every step you made, as your body slowly walks away, you took his heart with you. Its yours, anyway. Heâll just have to find you to have it back.
ŕ§ â§âË â
âLee Jeno! Lee Jeno! Lee Jeno!â
The screams from the bleachers never seemed to falter, only getting louder each time.
The band is on full blast, people running around down the court as soon as the last whistle of the game went off.
Jeno had won the much awaited game against the SKU, with a whopping 73 points under his belt, making it the first time in his schoolâs history to earn that many points, by a single player, in one game.
This just solidified his reputation, being named the greatest player that had ever stepped foot on this campus.
And to make this game, even more legendary than it already is, itâs the last game of the season before Jeno graduates. So heâs literally going out with a bang with this one.
His teammates celebrated the win, begging Jeno to go the the victory party. For the first time, Jeno refused to attend a victory party. Much more, a victory he made happen.
He walked past the girls thatâs lining up to take a picture with him, immediately walking straight back to the lockers.
He shoots a text at Renjun, informing his friend that heâll head home, instead of attending the party.
He was about to turn to his locker, when his name was called by a familiar voice.
Jeno looked back, and to his disappointment, itâs Jennie.
âWhy havenât you answered my calls? Itâs been months, Jeno! You canât just..â Jennie couldnât even finish her sentence, stomping her feet like a toddler.
Yes. It has been months since he blocked every girl that he had ever slept with.
Three months, thirteen days, and twenty-one hours, to be exact.
âMy teamâs gonna be here soon. You donât want me to embarrass you in front of them, trust me.â Jenoâs threat was casual, but heâs serious enough for Jennie to take the hint.
âB-but, Jen, it's me.â Jennieâs voice turns softer, making Jeno cringe at the tone. She then tried to touch his shoulder, but Jeno was quick to dodge.
âExactly. Youâre you, Jennie. And I donât like you.â
The girl was aghast, to say the least. Her mouth wide open in disbelief. Taking Jenoâs advice, albeit with offense, she stomps her way out of the lockers.
Just as he said, his teammates started flocking in, with his coach holding the trophy. He lost count on how many pats in the back he received after the game. The repetitive congratulatory messages are starting to grow old.
âAre you really not coming? Youâre literally the man of the year, dude. Everybodyâs gonna be looking for you!â Sungchan, one of his teammates says.
âNope,â Jeno says with a pop.
âCome on, thisâll probably the last victory party youâll ever have!â Yangyang joins in, but Jeno just shrugged his shoulders.
âSorry, dude. I got a thesis paper due in two days.â
A plethora of complains, grunts and âwhat?!âs came pouring in after his statement, but Jeno stood his ground.
Jeno was serious. He needs to study for his thesis paper, and pass it on time. His professor expects him to match his academics to his basketball career, and he doesnât want to disappoint.
Before the commotion gets even more wild, and before Jeno gets kidnapped into attending the party, he swiftly bids farewell to his coach, the only person that mattered to him. His coach just shook his head and gave him a nod, before letting him go.
âYou did well, kid.â
Jeno heads through the parking lot. He had been stopped by students every ten seconds therefore his usual 4 minute walk to his car ended up being 30 minutes.
He starts up the engine, but before taking off, he checks some of his messages.
[8:43pm] dong(yuck!): congratulations, lebron âlee jenoâ james! the game was so cool dude u look good throwing balls lol btw im staying at my girls hauz. also ur welcome. also enjoy. lolz
[8:54pm] jaemjaem: dude that game!!! ur on FIRE my guy!! pls pls apply for nba so i can watch courtside with kanye west :D im out rn and i wont be home til tmrw. ur welcome ;)
[8:59] jisung: great game couldve been better tho⌠anyways⌠wrap it b4 u tap it!!!
[9:02pm] injunnie <3: game was lit. didnt understand shit abt the game but u did good. im spending the night @ my moms so u better make it worth it, lee jeno.
Jenoâs breath hitches, and before he could even question the hints his roommates are giving him, another ping notifies his phone.
[9:04pm] unknown number: hi. im at urs. can we talk?
Jeno knows not to speed, but tonight, he swears his tires didnât even touch the concrete. He is flying off the highway.
With sweaty palms, he enters the security code to his door. Hands shaking, he opens it up and with the sight of a womanâs shoes on his doorstep, he takes a deep breath.
âI hope you donât mind, it was Jaeminâs idea to let me in without telling you. Uh, so if youâre notââ
âY/n,â he gulps as he takes in your figure, standing in the middle of his kitchen.
âYeah.. itâs me.â You smile tightly, shrugging your shoulders.
Even though Jeno was ready to leap and drown you in his embrace, he stood his ground. Heâs still not sure why youâre here, and until you say so, heâs not moving. The last thing he wants to do is push your boundaries.
âWhatâreâ what are youââ He feels stupid. Stuttering like a five year old in front of you.
âFigured we could talk. Jisung and Chenle got sick of me moping around so they made meââ
âI hope youâre not being forced to talk to me. I told you, Iâll wait. No matter how long,â The sincerity laced in his voice was prominent.
âI promise you, I went here in my own will. Two idiots just talked some sense into me, and Jisung told me about the promise you made my mom years ago.â
Then there was silence. But this time, it wasnât deafening. It was peaceful. Its as if you two are finding serenity in each others presence and just the way you stare at each other already says the words your mouth couldnât speak.
But Jeno cut it short. âDoes this mean..â
âI want to try, Jeno. I want to experience this with you. Slowly, at our own pace. I want to go on dates. Carnivals. Watch netflix. Everything, with you.â There's a tinge of shyness in your voice, and Jeno just wants you to scream it out. You donât need to shy away from him.
âEverything, with me. At your own pace. Iâll accept everything you can offer,â He assured your worried mind.
You nod gently. âI want to feel loved without feeling like Iâm begging for it,â
Jeno shakes his head vigorously, âNo, baby, youâll never beg to be loved, ever again. I swear in my grave.â He takes one step closer.
âIâll trust you and risk getting my heart broken again, but I really hope you wonât.â
One more step closer âI will never. Baby, youâre it for me. I didnât know it before, but I shouldâve known it was you, because no one else made sense.â
You nod again, biting your lip. âWhen I visited my mom, I told her about you,â
âYeah?â Jeno asks, in a sweet tone, taking another step closer.
You smiled at him. âI bet she would trust you too,â
âI will not break her trust. Not again,â
He watches carefully as you raise your hand to cup his cheeks, his reaction was to lean into your touch. He takes your initiative as a signal, but still takes his movement slowly.
You gulp, looking up at him. âCan you love me now?â
âOh, baby. I have loved you since forever. It just took me time to realize it.â
And then, as you tiptoe to match his height, he feels your lips on him and he swears that you taste like heaven.
Jeno didnât remember how long you talked that night, but somewhere in the midst of your laughter and smiles, he decided that he would destroy the world for you.
Because you might not know it, but in every universe, in every lifetime, and in every story, Jeno has always been completely, madly, and inevitably yours.
A/N: From the bottom of my heart, I apologize for making you guys wait this long. I promise, it just happened to be my worst year ever :'(( but at least she's here! I just wish this could at least be worth it. Tune in for the next part (I promise, it would NOT take this long lmao)
synopsis â you drown, your heart stops in the water and youâre pulled out barely alive, left in a lifeless coma. your daughter and boyfriend grieve you, struggling to move forward as shadows from the past linger. a new child enters your life, broken and afraid, needing a motherâs love but still trapped in old pain and fear. as you slowly wake, you and jaemin have to navigate the mess, trying to heal, rebuild your family, and figure out how to parent again while everything around you threatens to fall apart.
chapter warnings â explicit language, explicit sexual content(18+), explicit themes, greys anatomy (and early 2000s medical shows) inspired, early 2000s vibe, power play, dom jaemin/sub mc dynamics, rough sex, intimate sex, explicit language, this chapter contains extremely traumatic material, including graphic medical emergencies, multiple deaths, infant and child pain, intense hospital scenes, and persistent crying. there are explicit mentions of child abuse, trauma, and references to hearts stopping and near-death experiences. haeun suffers greatly in this sectionâplease read with care. the family also expands as haeun meets more of her extended relatives, including grandparents, but the overall tone remains very heavy and emotional throughout. proceed with caution: this chapter is one of the most difficult and painful in the story, i canât say much else as from hereafter everything will become too big of a spoiler. this chapter includes graphic sexual content, including cock riding, cock bouncing, oral sex, explicit language, and detailed descriptions of physical intimacy. please be advised this section is intended for mature audiences only. proceed if you are comfortable with explicit, adult material.
authors note â this is not the final part. iâve decided to make some big changes to the structure of this storyâoriginally, heart to heart was going to be a three-part series (i know, wild). then it grew, and now instead of an epilogue, there will be two more full parts added. that means heart to heart will have seven parts in total, with chapter seven acting as the epilogue. i made this decision because the story needed more space for the characters, plot, and all the emotional fallout to really breathe. honestly, i canât believe i thought i could fit all this into one chapterâparts five, six, and seven are all deeply interconnected, and every event ties together across these last arcs. these chapters are meant to be experienced together, and while iâll still upload them separately (so each part gets its moment to shine), theyâre crucial to read as one whole (which you canât do yet, but soon!). slso since the plot i originally wanted to squeeze into one part will now unfold over three, just know that the emotional highs and lows will be stretched out so if you feel any happiness in this chapter, donât get too comfortable. đ iâm telling you right now this is gonna be the least angsty chapter but iâm not here to give false hope or easy comfort, so brace yourselves: nothing is safe and no feeling is permanent!
listen to đđđ đđđđđđđđ whilst reading <3
đ đđ đđ
Haeun wonât uncurl from Jaeminâs chest. She trembles in quick, hiccupping bursts, small fingers fisted in the collar of his T-shirt, eyes fixed on the front door as though it might cough you back into the room if she just stares hard enough. He paces the living-room rug in slow circuits, murmuring old lullabies under his breath, but her shivering only deepens. At 5:47 p.m. he glances at the clock for the fourth time in ten minutes and a thin blade of dread slides beneath his ribs. You left hours agoâangry, yes, but never silent this long. Your phone tumbles to voicemail before the first ring finishes. The sun is climbing now, light spilling honey-gold through the blinds, yet the house feels colder, emptier, shrinking around Haeunâs quaking breaths. âDada, whereâs Mama? She said sheâd tuck me in again.â Her voice wobbles, high and paper-thin. The exhaustion should have pulled her under by now, but something in her resists, wide-eyed and alert, refusing the comfort of sleep. Itâs the first sign, an animal knowing before the storm breaks, a warning too subtle for him to decipher. Jaemin doesnât yet understand what this sleeplessness means, but the house knows, the air knows, the night crawling closer with every hour she stays awake, waiting for a mother who isnât coming back.
He rubs slow circles between her shoulder blades, forcing calm he doesnât feel. âShe needed a little air, Sunshine. Sheâll be back.â
âNo.â A sob punches the word. She pulls back just enough to look at him, lashes clumped with tears. âMama always comes quick. Itâs getting dark now.â
âI know.â He tries a half-smile that doesnât reach his eyes. âMaybe the car was sleepy like us. Weâll call her again.â
She sniffles, shaking her head hard. âPhone makes the beep sound but no Mama voice.â She presses Bunnyâs damp ear to his lips. âKiss Bunny so heâs brave, then call Mama again.â
He obeys, kissing the sodden plush, then taps his screen on speaker so she can hear the endless ring. It flips to voicemail. Haeunâs face crumbles. âDada, did Mama leave âcause Iâm bad?â
His gut twists. âYou could never make Mama leave, bubba. She loves you bigger than the sky.â He kisses her temple, but worry leaks through his voice, and she feels it.
She gulps another sob. âThen whyâs my heart shaky?â
âMineâs shaky too,â he admits, voice thinner than he intends. âLetâs steady them together.â He loosens his arms, shoots a look at the door that makes her glance too. âHow about a sleepover at Uncle Jenoâs?â
She frowns, tears tracking anew. âNo, wanna stay home for Mama.â
âMama will find us faster if I go out and look for her, but that means you need to be a good girl and listen to Dada, okay? Will you stay at Uncle Jenoâs tonight? You can play with Junie and Serin, just like last time.â He stands, her bunny pressed tight between them. âI promise Iâll bring you home before breakfast. Weâll have pancakes together, just like always.â
âPinkie promise?â She extends a shaky thumb instead of a finger, her new habit. He locks his thumb with hers.
He kisses her trembling lips, thumbs linked, and murmurs, âOf course, baby girl.â
He straps Bunny against her chest with a blanket knot, buckles her into the booster. In the car seat she sniffles, cheeks blotched sunset pink. âDada, if Mama comes and Iâm not here, sheâll cry. I wanna run to her and say, âMama, no tears! Haeunie wuvs you big-big! I got magic kisses to make you strong!ââ
Jaeminâs hands shake as he tucks her bag beside the booster, knuckles white around the zipper. He crouches, breath trembling, eyes burning as he smooths her hair and kisses her forehead. âHey, bubba, youâre right, sheâd love that. I know she will.â His voice catches, thin and splintering in his throat. âBut right now, Mama needs me to go find her, so youâre gonna help me by being brave for her, okay? Youâre her sunshine, Haeunie. I promise Iâll tell her every magic word you said.â He squeezes her small hand, lets go like it hurts. âDada will bring Mama home. I swear.â
Jaemin drives to Jenoâs apartment on the far side of town. Jeno answers shirtless, takes one look at the childâs blotchy cheeks and Jaeminâs ravaged expression, and ushers them in without a word. Haeun resists his arms at first, but exhaustion wins; she slumps against Jenoâs shoulder, whispering that Mama promised pancakes by sunrise. Jaemin kisses her curls, leaves an inhaler, her bag and two doses of morning meds on the counter, and tells Jeno heâll be back before dinner. Worry is a physical thing now, tightening his chest each time he swallows.
At Jenoâs doorway Haeun turns into a koala, arms and legs braided around Jaeminâs torso, face pressed beneath his chin. Her voice is no more than a breath against his collar. âPromise youâll bring Mama back, Dada. Pinkieânoâthumb promise.â
âI will.â His reply is a hush of air, heart thudding so hard she can feel the echo in his ribs. He loosens one small arm at a time and eases her toward Jeno, who crouches low so she doesnât have to let go all at once.
She hesitates, fingers still clutching the fabric of Jaeminâs shirt. âMama likes the loud beach,â she whispers, tears catching in her lashes. âShe told me weâd show Dada the giant water and dance in the splash. Maybe sheâs there now.â The thought seems to wobble between hope and dread.
The words jolt him. He kisses her curls. âThatâs a smart idea, Sunshine.â
Jeno shifts her gently to his hip, thumb sweeping the salt from her cheeks. âWeâll make a Pancake Plan while Dada looks,â he tells her, voice soft but steady. âYou can pick the shapes, stars or bunnies or maybe little waves so Mama feels welcome when she walks through the door.â
Haeunâs grip loosens by degrees. She burrows her face into Jenoâs shoulder, drawing a shaky breath that smells faintly of cinnamon from his scrub top. âCan we keep the porch light on?â she asks, muffled.
âThe brightest one,â Jeno promises. He gathers her bunny into the crook of her elbow, wraps the rocket blanket around them both. âAnd Iâll sit right by the window so the moment their car turns the corner, weâll see.â Her nod is small, but the tremor in her body eases. Jaemin meets Jenoâs gaze over her head, gratitude, fear, apology all braided together, then turns for the stairs, keys clinking in his fist, the taste of sea-salt memory already sharpening on his tongue.
Jaemin angles the car into the beach lot first, tires crunching against blond gravel still cool from the night. Early joggers ribbon across the shoreline, neon wind-breakers flashing, leashes snapping in the wind. He paces the boardwalk with long strides, scanning every cluster of footprints: a couple sharing earbuds, teenagers wading ankle-deep, an old man metal-detecting at the tideline. No trace of your gray dress, no glimpse of that impatient knot you make in your hair. With every empty sweep of sand his pulse hammers louder. He circles the lifeguard tower twice, knees nearly buckling when a woman in a similar coat lifts her face, wrong smile, wrong eyes. The lifeguard radios crackle; gulls shriek overhead. After twenty frantic minutes he concedes that the beach, alive and ordinary, has swallowed any sign of you.
He speeds to the spare apartment next, keys jangling against the doorframe as he shoulders it open. Dust motes drift in an unbroken shaft of light. Your emergency cardigan sags from a hook, untouched. Mail fans across the hallway tiles, electric bill, pharmacy flyer, a parenting magazine that makes his stomach cramp. He calls your name, voice echoing through bare rooms, listens only to the hum of an unplugged refrigerator. Panic sharpens, metallic on his tongue; you should be here, angry-packing or rage-cleaning or something that leaves a noise trail. Instead, silence plants its flag in every corner.
The hospital is a blur of fluorescent corridors and curious stares. He sprints past triage, skids to the staff station. Two interns blink at him, startled, then shake their heads: no, Doctor Y/N never signed in, no oneâs seen her since yesterday. He checks the on-call lounge, empty cot, rumpled blanket, the scent of peppermint hand lotion already fading. The vending machines hum; the clock ticks past 6:40. Fear climbs his spine like frost. Back in the car he tells himself to think, to triangulate, but his knuckles blanch around the wheel. He tells himself he has checkedâreally checkedâeverywhere you might stand. He forces himself back into the car but each vacant room and every blank hallway turns the knot in his stomach tighter until it feels like a stone dropping into deeper water. Logic insists he keep moving, cross-reference addresses, call every friend but dread keeps bending the route west again, magnetic as a compass that knows only one north: the shore you love.
Minutes later, heâs back on the coastal road, headlights off now in the washed-out light of morning. He parks farther down from the main lot, near a weather-beaten overlook, a place he remembers you describing with a laugh: Thereâs a cliff nobody uses because you have to climb a dozen crooked stairs, but the wind is fierce and perfect there. Fierce and perfect, thatâs how this pull feels, a force in his chest that wonât let him abandon the sand no matter how reasonable the detour. The dashboard clock scolds him, time bleeding away but the empty passenger seat might as well be screaming. He slips the key from the ignition, palms slick with sweat despite the chill, and the sense of pity for himself, widower in waiting, father holding borrowed courage, hits so hard he nearly doubles over. He presses a fist to his sternum, wills his pulse to slow, and steps out into wind that tastes of salt and storm warning.
Down the narrow stairway, the beach opens in an unsteady heartbeat. It is busier now, surfers bobbing beyond the break, children scaling damp sand mounds, a vendor rolling a cart of coffee that smells burnt and sweet. It would be easy to convince himself that a woman in a gray dress could vanish in this bustle, swallowed by chatter and spray, but the hollow in his gut says otherwise. He starts south, scanning faces, scanning hands; twice he stops, convinced a scrap of fabric or a curve of hair belongs to you, only to find strangers who apologise, puzzled. Each disappointment ratchets his fear, drags him deeper into what-ifs. What if you never came back to the house because you never meant to? What if the ocean holds grief better than people do?
He reaches the cluster of black rocks that mark the end of the public section. The air here shifts, colder, sharper, carrying a sound he almost mistakes for gulls. But gulls cry with hungry impatience; this noise trembles, rises, cracks on a sob. Jaemin rounds the boulders, sand sucking at his shoes, and the sight stops him: a boy in a soaked, oversized shirt, knees buried in the wash, shoulders shaking so hard they look detachable. The childâs face is blotched and swollen, as if he has been crying long enough to exhaust daylight. No adult shadows nearby, no blanket or cooler or bag, just the boy, the surf, and a phone half-submerged where foamy water tugs at its cracked screen.
Jaemin slips out from behind the rocks, instinct already pocketing his own panic. Chief of Pediatrics or not, heâs always found the quickest path to a child is lower, softer, slower. He crouches until the cold water seeps through his jeans, hands resting palms-up on his knees so the boy can see every empty fingertip. âHey, little man. The waterâs fierce this morning. Mind if I sit with you a minute?â His voice carries the practiced calm of night rounds, gentle glide, no sudden ripples. The boy flinches but doesnât bolt; huge seawater eyes track Jaeminâs every breath. Jaemin angles himself sideways, making space between child and surf. âLooks like you were watching something out there.â He nods toward the white-capped chop. âCan you tell me?âÂ
The boy presses trembling fists into his eye sockets, shoulders jerking. A thin whimper slips free, almost apology more than answer. âBunny⌠Daddy threw him.â
âYour stuffed bunny?â Jaemin keeps his tone even, lets the wind carry away his own quick swallow. âThatâs rough. Whatâs Bunnyâs name?â
The childâs lips quiver pale blue. âJust⌠Bunny.â He gestures with a soggy sleeve toward the waves, as if that single word should explain everything. Jaemin follows the motion, catches a glimpse of phantom ears rising, sinking between swells. He sidesteps to block the boy from going after it.
âYou came here with your dad?â Jaemin asks, coaxing the story out one puzzle piece at a time.Â
The boy gives a shaky nod, staring past Jaemin, eyes unfocused. âHe said⌠he said Iâm too loud. Threw Bunny in so Iâd hush.â His voice cracks like thin ice. âTold me stay till I learn.â
A gust lifts Jaeminâs hair; he draws his coat from his shoulders and drapes it over the boyâs back, careful not to jar the fragile shell of composure forming. âYou must be freezing,â he murmurs, rubbing gentle circles between knobby shoulder blades. The boyâs breath hitches but steadies under the warmth.
Jaemin glances at the half-buried phone glittering with seawater. âIs your Mom here too?âÂ
The boy shakes his head, chin tucked hard. âNo Mama.â He scuffs a toe into wet sand, voice smaller. âNobody.â
Jaeminâs pulse ticks louder, but his face stays in that calm orbit children recognize. âYouâre not nobody,â he says, letting each word settle. âAnd youâre not alone anymore. Iâve got you.â He waits until the boyâs eyes finally meet his, then offers a gentle hand.
Slowly, hesitantly, the child places his salt-sticky fingers in Jaeminâs open palm, one fragile knot of trust on a shoreline thatâs taken too much. Jaemin closes his coat tighter around the small frame, feeling the tremors ease by fractions. He keeps his gaze on the horizon, where foam devours the last glimpse of white plush, but for now he doesnât raise the alarm in his own chest. There will be time to reckon with whatever truth the waves are hiding; first he has to anchor this boy to something solid enough to keep the tide from stealing him, too.
Jaemin keeps the child wrapped in his coat, guiding him a few cautious steps up the beach until the foam no longer licks their shoes. Sand grates in the boyâs soaked socks, but he doesnât complain; he clings to Jaeminâs hand with an intensity that feels less like trust than sheer survival. When the shivers ease, Jaemin lowers himself cross-legged beside him, choosing words the way he would choose instruments in an emergencyâcareful, deliberate, essential. âCan you tell me what happened after your dad threw Bunny?â he asks, voice pitched to the hush between waves. âDid anyone else come to help?â
The boyâs eyes dart to the horizon. âA lady,â he whispers, shoulders curling inward. âShe heard me cryinâ. She said âWait here, brave boy, I get Bunny.ââ He swallows, the motion hitching in his throat. âShe walked in the water. It was dark. IâI saw her hold Bunny, but⌠but then the waves got big.â He makes a spiraling motion with his free hand, as if drawing whirlpools in the air. âShe didnât come back. Bunny didnât either.â
Something cold and sharp nicks Jaeminâs stomach, but he keeps his tone steady. âDid you know her name?â
The boy shakes his head hard enough that wet hair slaps his temples. Tears well again, fat and shaken loose. âEverybody leaves me,â he says, voice thready. âMama left when I was baby. Dada says itâs âcause Iâm loud and selfish. Now the nice ladyâs gone too. Itâs my fault. If I was good, nobody would be dead.â He squeezes his eyes shut, a fresh sob cracking his chest. âIâm naughty. Iâm so naughty.â
Jaemin feels his own heartbeat stutter, an echo of that word dead pulsing behind his ribs. He forces air into his lungs, squeezes the small hand enveloped in his. âYou are not naughty,â he says, each syllable stern enough to anchor. âYou were scared and you needed help, thereâs nothing wrong with that.â He rubs circles between the boyâs shoulder blades, grounding him the way heâs steadied countless postoperative children. âSometimes grown-ups make terrible choices, but that isnât because of you.â
The boy trembles, eyes drifting back to the water as if still expecting shapes to break the surface. âShe said I was brave,â he murmurs. âBut sheâs the brave one. She went in when it was cold. She wanted me to be happy.â His lower lip wobbles. âNow the ocean took her. Took Bunny too.â
Jaemin swallows, salt sting in his throat that has nothing to do with spray. The tide courses in and out, indifferent, and somewhere under that indifferent churn a possibility snaps open, too familiar, too sharp. He stows it for now, and keeps the focus on the child. âWeâre going to get you warm, okay? Then weâll call some friends of mine who know how to look for people in the water. Theyâll try to find the nice lady. Theyâll try to find Bunny.â
The boyâs gaze flicks to Jaeminâs, a fragile thread of hope glinting through the tears. âYou promise?â
Jaemin nods once, crisp and sure, even as something inside himâsome buried recognition of a gray dress and a certain stubborn kindnessâbeats like a warning drum. âI promise,â he says, lifting the child gently into his arms. The boyâs head falls against his shoulder, and Jaemin feels the thrum of a tiny heartbeat against his own. For a moment he lets that pulse steady him before turning toward the parking lot, the wind, and the tidal grief he can no longer keep at bay.
Something shifts behind Jaeminâs eyes, an almost audible snap, as the boy settles with an urgency thatâs shattering. The roar of the surf seems to drop away, replaced by a hollow, rushing emptiness. A grey dress, a promise of wild waves, a phone half-buried in wet sand: the pieces lock together with merciless clarity. His breath catches; a chill ripples from nape to spine, leaving his hands trembling around the small frame he holds. He stares at the water and seesâreally seesâthe violence in each whitecap, the way the tide drags and gnaws as if guarding a secret. Air leaves him in a ragged rasp.
The boy feels the tremor and recoils, tears springing fresh. âNow youâre mad at me too.â The accusation is tiny, broken.Â
Jaeminâs heart jolts; he softens his grip at once, lowering to one knee so their faces meet. âIâm not angry,â he says, voice steadier than his pulse. âIâm scared for the lady, thatâs all. You did nothing wrong.â He draws a breath that tastes of rust and brine. âListenâ I need to try and find her. You stay right here, by the rocks, away from the water, and call for help if we donât come back. Can you do that for me?â
The boyâs gaze flickers, uncertain. Jaemin reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out a tiny plush charm, Haeunâs spare Bunny, the one she clipped to his key ring âso Dada never forgets home.â He presses the soft bundle into the childâs palm. âThis belongs to my daughter. Sheâs small but strong, just like you. Keep it with you, okay? Stay strong for both of them.âÂ
The boy nods, clutching the charm to his chest. âGood boy,â Jaemin whispers, brushing damp hair off the childâs forehead before standing.
He peels off his jacket and T-shirt in one swift motion, muscles quivering with adrenaline. A final glance to be sure the boy has backed against the rock wall, then Jaemin strides into the shallows, water slicing cold up his calves, thighs, waist. A quick intake of breath, one silent prayer, âhold on, Iâm coming,â and he dives. The sea swallows him in a surge of foam, and the boy is left on the sand clutching a frayed white bunny charm, eyes fixed on the place where waves close over Jaeminâs disappearing silhouette.
The first plunge steals his breath, salt raking the back of his throat as the cold clamps around his ribs. Jaemin knifes through the breakers, arms driving in wide, desperate arcs. The ocean is a black engine, gears grinding against him, every stroke a negotiation with panic. He counts heartbeats to keep rhythm, one, two, three, then gulps air between crests, tasting grief in each inhalation. Memory strobe-lights beneath closed lids: Haeunâs hopeful thumb-promise, the boyâs shattered whisper, Sheâs the brave one, your face pinned between anger and exhaustion when you walked out the door. He kicks harder, splitting through froth, lungs already needling for oxygen.
A rogue swell blindsides him, spinning his body sideways. Water jams up his nose, fire in his sinuses. He surfaces coughing, chest heaving, then forces himself onward. Wind whips the tops off waves so they slap his eyes, salt-stung tears indistinguishable from seawater. He dives again, this time gliding under a rolling peak where murkier green light flickers. Visibility shrinks to armâs length, but he swears he sees the blur of grey fabric ghosting the periphery. When he breaks the surface, the shoreline looks insultingly distant, dune grass reduced to an eyelash curve, and the boy on the rocks is only a small, trembling silhouette.
He treads water, scanning. Farther out he spots a flash of silver: your camera, screen spider-cracked, tumbling in the sway. Its lit edge blinks once in the weak morning sun before disappearing. The sight ratchets his fear into fury, fueling another dive. Beneath, everything is suspension, green darkness, threads of sunlit silt, the roar of his own blood. He swims blind, sweeping arms wide, fingertips grazing nothing but water thick as oil. When he surfaces again, he curses aloud, the wind tearing sound from his lips. The fourth dive claws at his reserves. His lungs feel barbed, the cold sinking past skin into marrow. In this wash of numbness he catches something small brushing his knuckles: a ring, glinting dully, spinning like a lost planet in the swell. Your promise ring. Panic fractures into a sharper dread, a certainty sharpening to a point. He curls trembling fingers around the band, tucks it into his clenched fist, then pushes downward once more, propelled now by terror and terrible resolve.
Underneath, time dislocates. Seconds elongate in the dim haze. His strokes grow erratic, legs cramping, but a pale shape blooms to his left, cloth rippling like slow-motion smoke. He veers, heart battering ribs, and the shape resolves: your gray dress billowing, hair splayed in dark ribbons, arms adrift as though in dreaming surrender. Your body hovers in the current, head tilted back, face turned away. He closes the distance in a frenzy, hooking an arm beneath yours, fingers slipping on chilled skin. Breaking the surface with you draped across his chest taxes the last scrap of strength he owns. He gasps, throat raw, and hauls you into a crude back float, kicking for shore while icy water slaps your slack limbs. Your head lolls against his shoulder; your lips are blue glass, eyelids translucid where veins ladder purple beneath. Every hundred strokes he sinks, gulping seawater, then lurches up again, sputtering your name into half-air, half-brine. The boy onshore morphs from blotch to figure, arms windmilling in frantic welcome.
Foam crashes around his knees as Jaemin staggers into the shallows, dragging you over the wrack line. He collapses beside you on wet sand, chest heaving. The boy scuttles closer but stops at a respectful distance, Bunny charm clutched white-knuckled. Jaemin rolls you onto your back; your head lolls heavy, water streaming from tangled hair. âNo, no, no,â he rasps, brushing salt from your lashes. He tilts your chin, pinches your nose, seals his mouth over yours, forces two breaths laden with desperation. He countsâone, two, threeâpresses the heel of his hand between your ribs, compressions rocking your torso. Tears track down his cheeks unchecked. âCome back, please, just breathe for me,â he bargains, voice cracking like brittle driftwood. Another breath, more compressions. Your chest rises under his palms, but no answering cough, no flutter of lids. The horizon reels, he tastes blood and salt, yet he drives rhythm into your sternum, sobs punctuating each push. Around them, dawn brightens ignorantly, painting the surf honey-gold while Jaemin pours every remaining heartbeat he owns into the body that once anchored his world.
Sand clogs between Jaeminâs fingers, grit cutting his palms as he drives another sequence of compressions into your sternum, thirty down-strokes that jar your shoulders, then two breaths that steal what little air he has left. His voice shreds into the wind, looping the same plea: âBreathe, baby, breathe.â Tears blur his sight; every time he lifts his head, your face swims, lips cobalt, lashes clumped like frost. He canât tell if the pink foam at the corner of your mouth is water or blood, only that itâs wrong, wrong, wrong. His arms shake, but he forces them straight, locking elbows the way he taught interns a thousand times. Five to six centimetres, full recoil. The mantra keeps panic from detonating.
A jogger skids to a halt, phone already out. âIâm calling the ambulance!â Jaemin jerks his chin toward the rocks where the boy stands trembling, Bunny charm clutched to his throat. âTell them thereâs two victims, adult drowning, child abandonment. We need an ambulance and social services. Now!â The jogger stammers agreement, voice carried off by wind. A couple in windbreakers join, wide-eyed; Jaemin snaps for them to pull the space blanket from the first-aid post, to flag down paramedics at the lot. They scatter like startled gulls, purpose shock-bright in their faces.
He returns to the rhythm, compress, compress, compress. His shoulders burn, breathing the taste of iron. Somewhere behind him the boy keens, a thin animal sound that knives straight through the rush of surf. Jaemin breaks count long enough to twist back, throat raw. âItâs all okay, youâre never going to be left alone. Stay there, helpâs coming!â The boyâs sobs hiccup, but he nods, tears streaking salt-white channels down his cheeks. A woman in a lifeguard hoodie kneels and gathers him up; the child thrashes once, then collapses against her, clutching the Bunny charm like a relic. His cries taper into hiccups, then into the limp quiet of exhaustion.
Sirens finally slice the air, Doppler-bent by wind. Jaemin keeps compressing, sweat chilling on his spine. Sand turns to slurry under your shoulder blades; with every push, water seeps from your lips. He tilts your head, sweeps your mouth clear, forces more air in. Your chest rises, falls, but no pulse kicks against the side of your neck. âCome on, my love, youâre stubborn, prove it.â His voice cracks into a sob; he slams another set of compressions, refusing to look at your face now because it feels like goodbye.
Booted feet hammer across the sand and paramedic kits drop with solid thumps, but the world narrows for Jaemin to the length of your body and the rhythm under his palms. Someone leans in, âweâve got it, doctor,â yet he stays anchored, refusing to surrender his place. Without looking up he issues instructions, voice low but immovable, âbag-valve mask, warmed IV line, cold submersion, unknown downtime.â When hands slide over yours to take the compressions, he slips to your head, sealing the mask over your mouth, counting every squeeze as though each puff of oxygen is another promise he wonât break. Silver-foil sheeting rustles while a medic wraps your legs, and chilled spray lashes his cheeks, but Jaemin hears only the hiss of oxygen and the soft click of the metronome guiding CPR.
Beyond that tight circle, a jogger waves first-responders toward the shivering boy; a social-services worker gathers the child, rocking him against a pea-green parka while he sobs himself toward sleep. Jaemin scarcely registers the scene. His gaze never leaves your face, the lips greyed by brine, the lashes pasted by salt, the pulse point in your neck that still refuses to flutter. Tears slide unchecked down his jaw and drip into your hair as he bends to whisper against your temple, âStay with me baby. Haeun needs you, and Iâm not letting you go.â He repeats the plea between ventilations, pushing breath, pushing hope, pushing life back into you with each measured cycle.
Even when the team prepares to intubate he remains at your shoulder, guiding the tube, refusing to break contact. Only when the monitor stutters to its first weak blip does he ease his grip, and even then his hand hovers protectively, ready to resume compressions if that single line dares flatten again. The stretcher arrives; sand grinds under its wheels. Jaemin rises with it, one hand still woven through your damp hair, walking beside the medics toward the waiting ambulance, guarding you with every stride as though the sea itself might reach inland to claim you back.
Inside the ambulance Jaemin kneels on the bench seat, braced over the cot so the motion of the vehicle wonât jolt him away from you. Overhead LEDs strobe sterile white across your face, exaggerating the pallor that still chills his blood. He rests his forehead against yours, tears slipping sideways into your damp hair. âIâm sorry,â he murmurs between each rise of the bag-valve mask the medic squeezes. âIâm sorry we fought. Iâm sorry I let you walk out. I love you more than anything, do you hear me? More than anything.â His thumb drifts over your temple in a trembling arc. The cardiac monitor snaps out a fragile rhythm, irregular and shallow, every beep a fragile foothold he refuses to surrender.
The medic tapes an IV line to your forearm, glances at Jaeminâs hunched posture. âWeâre almost there, doctor.â Jaemin answers without lifting his gaze. âKeep the warmed fluids running. Sheâs bradycardic, watch for arrhythmias.â His voice stays clinical, but his lips still brush your forehead between directives, leaving whispered vows in the hollow above your brow. âHaeun needs you. I forgive you, none of it matters. Just breathe.â
The ambulance doors burst open into the emergency bay of the hospital. Cold fluorescent light meets dawn haze, and a receiving team surges forward: Dr. Seo-hyun Park, the trauma chief in navy scrubs; Jihoon with a gurney prepped, Hyejin and Hayoung sprinting with the hypothermia cart. They freeze for half a breath when they recognize the patient: surgical gown sodden, promise ring still clutched in one blue-tinged hand, Jaemin shielding her body like a barricade. Disbelief flickers across each face, this is the current intern whose photographic memory can map coronary branches blindfolded, stitching grafts steadier than most consultants and carrying every promise of brilliance like a second pulse, this is a mother who never left her daughterâs bedsideâhow can she be the one arriving pulseless?
Jaeminâs voice breaks the hush. âCold-water drowning, estimated downtime fifteen to twenty minutes, asystole on scene, brief ROSC after CPR. Core temp thirty degrees. Warmed saline infusing. She needs the rewarming protocol, active airway management, and instruments for bronchoscopy in case of aspiration.â He strides beside the rolling stretcher, one hand still knotted in your hair. His eyes do not leave your face even when Jihoon asks quietly, âDoc, what happened?â
âI found her in the surf,â Jaemin answers, voice stripped to chalk. âWe donât know how long she was alone.â He swallows hard, forces the next words out. âThere was a child on the beach. She went in to rescue his toy. The current took her.â
Dr. Park nods, recovering her composure. âWeâve alerted CT, blood gas standing by. Hyejin, page perfusion, if her rhythm tanks again we may need ECMO.â Hyejin bolts. Hayoung swings the heat lamp over the trauma bay as Jihoon connects the EKG leads. Jaemin finally steps back just enough for the team to strip the soaked dress from your body and slide warming blankets under your shoulders, but he stays within armâs reach, fingertips brushing your wrist as if willing arterial flow back beneath the skin. The monitor alarms with a pvc; Jaemin flinches, tears streaking new tracks down his cheeks. He leans close, breath feathering your ear despite the bustle around him. âStay. Iâm right here. We fix this togetherâlike we always do.â In the glare of the resusc bay, surrounded by colleagues now working in practiced silence, he presses one last kiss to your cold forehead and begins reciting the steps of the protocol aloudâhalf for them, half to keep himself from shatteringâeach instruction delivered with the tenderness of a vow.
Dr. Byun Baekhyun barrels in, breath hitching, latex gloves half-pulled, spectacles fogged by the sprint from the lab. Behind him Dr. Huang materializes with a rapid-response printout, her voice a scalpel of disbelief. âCreatinine doubled in thirty minutes, troponin unreadable, lactate off the chart. Hepatic panel crashing, AST, ALT, bilirubin all spiking. Kidneys, heart, liver, myocardium, sheâs spiraling into multi-organ failure.â Her words ricochet through the tiled space, colliding with the hiss of warm saline and the whine of the warmer alarm.
Jaemin sags against the wall, knuckles whitening on the rail as a nurse threads a second central line. His vision tunnels: monitors scrolling red numbers he knows too well, the rise and fall of the ventilator, the faint mottling at your clavicle where perfusion ebbs. A sound breaks from his chest, half sob, half prayer and he presses both palms over his mouth as if he could dam the grief there. âNo,â he rasps, shaking his head, shoulders quaking. âKeep the fluids running. Push calcium. We can stabilize her.â
Dr. Huang rounds the bed, places a firm hand on his forearm. âYou need to be out of this room.âÂ
Jaemin jerks free, eyes glassy. âI am not leaving her.â Â
âThen tell me where Haeun is,â Huang counters, voice steady but urgent. âYour daughter is waking up to a world with no parent at her side. Right now she needs you more than the team does.âÂ
The words strike like paddles on a silent chest and, for one disorienting instant, Jaemin canât remember the road from beach to bay, only the frozen tableau of his daughter at Jenoâs window, pajama cuffs damp with syrup, clutching her Bunny as though it contains every prayer she cannot yet spell. He sees her small face turned toward the horizon, lips forming Mama, hurry, and the picture guts him so cleanly he feels the back of his knees buckle. Tears spill without warning, blurring monitors into a smear of red and green. Reality splits wide: Haeunâs single wish, Mama come back, is reduced to ventilator sighs and a cardiac line that trembles instead of sings.
He drags his gaze to the bed. Your lashes lie damp against mottled cheeks; the steam of his grief fogs the cooling skin he kisses. âI love you,â he chokes, pressing his forehead to yours, tasting iodine and salt and all the summers they never reached. A nurse eases your hand from his grip, tucking it beneath a foil blanket already slick with condensation. The loss of that contact feels obscene, but he forces himself upright, sand still crusting the hem of his scrubs, throat raw from seawater and pleading.
Outside the curtain, fluorescent light seems cruelly bright, catching each grain of salt in his hair. His steps lurch down the hall, shoes leaving damp half-moons on polished tile. Words claw his mind, Bunny pancakes porch-light ready but none will line up into a sentence he can give a two-year-old who still thinks a kiss can fix anything. How does a father explain that the sunrise she painted for Mamaâs welcome-home card is now pinned against a night that may never break? He imagines her in Jenoâs living room, swinging socked feet from the couch, glancing at the door each time a car passes, whispering to Bunny that Dada always keeps promises. The ache is so physical it bends him sideways, palm braced to the wall, chest hitching like a man whoâs run miles on shattered ribs. Somewhere behind him a monitor alarms; somewhere ahead, an elevator dings. Between those sounds hangs the thinnest thread of hope: tubing, circuits, drugs, machines, miracles he can supervise but not command. He straightens, wipes his eyes with a shake that fails to steady him, and forces one foot forward. There is a child waiting in syrup-stained pajamas who will ask why the dawn is late, and he must find a wayâany wayâto stand upright long enough to answer.
The first night, youâre kept alive by tubing and tubes, ventilator humming, IVs trailing like lifelines across your bruised wrists, a forest of lines feeding poison and hope into failing veins. The swelling in your brain is massive; cold saline and anti-edema drips run all night, every beep of the monitor a warning. You seize twice on day two, eyes fluttering behind your lids, body arching off the sheets as a crowd of code-blue pagers flood the room. By morning, you need dialysis, your kidneys have failed, your urine the color of old pennies. You code once at sunrise, crash to asystole, and are shocked back by Jaeminâs own hands, his voice cracking as he calls your name, your pulse flickering under his trembling fingers. He doesnât leave your side, not even when the neurosurgeon, Dr. Kang, face wan, hands steady, slices a window into your skull to relieve pressure, the craniotomy a calculated violence, a saw biting through bone while Jaemin holds your palm and your aunt paces in the hallway, voice lost to the beeping of machines.
The hours collapse into one another, a relentless assault of interventions and alarms. You hover in that liminal zone between coma and cardiac arrest, ventilator ticking, monitors shrieking at every dip. Your lungs fill with fluid, suffocating you from the inside; you are proned on the ICU bed, your skin sheeting off in fragile blisters from the pressure, lungs stiffer each day. Pneumonia creeps in, and antibiotics drip uselessly. The trauma chiefâstern, exhaustedâexplains to Jaemin that a massive ARDS (acute respiratory distress syndrome) has set in, and the ECMO team consults at dawn, threading cannulas into your neck and groin, the blood outside your body now your only lifeline.
Jaemin calls your family; your father answers, voice crumbling as he listens to a doctor describe brain swelling, blood gases, and a heart that will not beat on its own. He sobs into the receiver, askingâover and overâif youâll wake up, if he can speak to you, if youâll know heâs there. When he arrives at your bedside, his hand trembles in yours, a lifetime of apologies and bedtime stories condensed into the hush of a plastic chair. Your aunt brings a crocheted blanket and spends hours smoothing your hair, singing lullabies from your childhood, whispering, âYou promised me youâd always come back.â Your world narrows to the click of the ventilator, the sharp reek of antiseptic, the soft prayers threaded through night after endless night.
Days stack up, each one heavier than the last. Your abdomen swells grotesquely, the edges of your body blurring with fluid and infection. By now your intestines are dying from lack of oxygen, your liver failing, ammonia seeping into your blood. You spike fevers nightly, sweat beading on your brow, hair matted and dark. The surgical team rolls you to the OR for a laparotomy; they emerge grim-faced, Jaemin trembling in the family waiting area, hands wringing the edge of his scrub shirt. âHer bowel is necrosing,â the fellow explains, voice leaden. âWeâve had to remove half her colon, most of her small intestine. There is a high chance of more infection, sepsis, and shock.â You are left with an ostomy bag and wounds that donât close. Each time the nurses turn you, your skin splits along the suture lines. You donât wake, donât respond to pain, your body drifting further from the world that waits for you.
Jaeminâs hands are raw from holding yours, his eyes never leaving the EKGâs rhythm, watching the ghost of your heartbeat with desperate hope. Every hour, the ICU nurse updates your numbers; every number is worse. Your dadâwhite-knuckled, ashenâpresses your foot through the blanket and sobs, âDonât go. Please, please donât go.â Your aunt leaves wildflowers at your bedside, her lips moving in silent prayer. Jaemin argues with the palliative team, refuses comfort, refuses morphine, refuses to believe the words âprognosis is poor.â He sits at your bedside every night, murmuring old stories and apologies, tracing the lines of your knuckles as if trying to memorize the map of your body before itâs lost to him forever.
The second week, you barely register as human, lines and wires snake into your flesh, bruises bloom on every inch of skin, mouth permanently parted by the tube. The dialysis machine runs constantly now, blood pooling in the tubing, your platelets plummeting, your body unable to clot. Every transfusion is a risk, your blood thinning further, every wound slow to close. On day nineteen, your heart stops for two full minutes before the team shocks you back, the silence between pulses feeling eternal. Your pupils are sluggish. MRI scans show global hypoxic brain injury, the white matter of your brain dissolving, your memories erased as the weeks pass. You never open your eyes. Nurses begin to wonder, quietly, if you can feel anything at all. The palliative team comes more often, gentle and quiet, their hands folded, voices soft, eyes never quite meeting Jaeminâs.
Your father starts to sleep at the foot of your bed, waking to every alarm, begging Jaemin, âPlease, just tell me sheâll come back. Lie to me, if you have to.â Your aunt sits with your chart, flipping through the notes, weeping every time she reads the word âunresponsive.â The room is filled with the hush of heartbreak, the clatter of trays, the soft shush of nurses trying to make this easier for everyone who cannot leave your side. By the third week, the dialysis machine runs constantly. You bleed from every IV site, your blood no longer able to clot, bruises blossoming up your arms and legs, purple-black and impossible to ignore. Every transfusion is more dangerous. The team stops reporting the odds. On day twenty-six, your heart stutters again, stops, restarts. MRI scans are grim: brain tissue dying, white matter dissolving, your future shrinking down to numbers and probabilities no one wants to say out loud. You never open your eyes. The neurologists run tests and leave, unable to offer hope. Nurses begin to whisper, quietly, if you can feel anything at all, if thereâs anything left inside you but muscle memory and electrical ghosts.
Jaemin, worn raw, curls around your body in the narrow hospital bed, whispering broken apologies, promises, telling you stories of Haeunâs bravery, of every moment you ever shared that was worth living for. He counts every heartbeat as if itâs the last, kissing your cold knuckles, refusing to sleep, refusing to eat, refusing to leave. Your father stares out the window for hours, tracing shapes on the glass, asking only for one more day, one more chance. Your aunt tucks flowers and notes into the railings, praying aloud now, voice hoarse from hope.
In the fourth week, organ failure is total. The ventilator is maxed out; your lungs are white on X-ray, your heartbeat a thread. The trauma chief calls Jaemin out into the hallway. His words are final, thick with regret: âThere is nothing left to do but prepare to say goodbye. Itâs time to let her go.â Jaemin canât stand. Your father howls. Your aunt clutches at the rails, wailing in disbelief. The nurses cry with them, heads bowed, hands trembling. In the quiet that follows, Jaemin crawls into the bed beside you, curling his body around yours, telling youâagain and againâhow sorry he is, how he forgives you, how he loves you. And the room, full of so many years and so much hope, sits in silence, holding on to a life that will not return, time stilled by grief and love, every clock and calendar irrelevant in the face of all you have lost.
Jaemin keeps the truth locked behind his teeth because every cardiology text and every night-shift intuition screams the same warning: a childâs heart, especially a transplanted graft still learning its new rhythm, cannot endure the shock of hopeless grief. One shattering sentence, Mama might never wake up, could flood Haeunâs body with catecholamines, spike her pressures, tip her fragile immune balance into rejection, undo months of surgery and prayers in a single cortisol storm. The weight of that risk sits on his chest like lead; each time she asks if youâre coming home, guilt presses harder, crushing breath and sleep, yet the alternative feels crueler still. So he bargains with silence, promising himself he will tell her when there is something, anythin, he can offer alongside the loss, even if that promise costs him the mercy of honest mourning and forces him to watch his daughter cling to a hope that may already be beyond saving.
Every evening begins the same. She drags your cardigan, butter-yellow and scattered with tiny white hearts, her favourite because a pint-size twin hangs in her own closet, along the corridorâs hardwood, flops it onto her yellow-star quilt, then arranges the sleeves around herself in a crescent embrace. The pillow you slept on the night before you vanished sits beside her, strawberry-sweet scent almost gone, but she presses her face into the fading fabric as if lungs can sip comfort. âMamaâs smell is leaving, Dada,â she whispers, voice rasping from too many tears. âIf it goes, how she gonna find me?âÂ
Jaemin kneels, smoothing curls off her damp forehead, throat burning with words he refuses to speak. He tells her Mama is resting, his lie has frayed, but she clings to it like a life preserver and she nods as if agreement can summon you through the door. The nod dissolves into trembling; within minutes sheâs sobbing, fists pounding the mattress in small, angry thuds. âI been so good, I took medicine, no spit so why Mama not come?â Bunny is squashed flat beneath her ribs, cotton limbs overstretched from nightly wringing. She switches to bargaining with the toy, nose-to-button nose. âTell Mama I share gummy bears every day, pink ones too,â then to Jaemin, voice rising into a wail that strips the room: âTell her I donât need magic juice if she hate it, just come kiss me.â
Jaemin gathers her, feeling the jut of shoulder blades that were once padded with toddler softness. She clings hard, thumb stuffed in her mouth, free hand locked around his collar, hiccuping stories between breaths: that Mama promised pancakes shaped like hearts, that Mama said weâd all wear matching sun hats at the loud beach, that Mamaâs voice sings better than birds. Each memory is delivered as question and accusation, proof Jaemin canât refute, evidence of a future he cannot promise. When exhaustion finally drags her toward sleep, she stirs groggily, insists on stethoscope rounds: she presses the bell to wardrobe doors, chair backs, her own chest, then Jaeminâs, announcing which ones are empty and which ones thump. âMama heartbeat hiding somewhere,â she murmurs, eyelids half-closed, âgotta keep listening.â Only then does she allow Jaemin to tuck her beneath the cardigan sleeve, but she refuses to release the earpieces; she falls asleep with cold metal on her sternum, murmuring, âHear it soon, hear it soon,â until the words crumble into faint snores.
He stays until her breaths even, then slips into the corridor, collapsing against patterned wallpaper that swims under stalled tears. Itâs here, in the hush broken only by the refrigeratorâs hum, that guilt strikes hardest: not just for the lie but for its necessity. He rehearses the truth he canât speak, Mama floats between life and the leaving, tethered by plastic and prayerâand sees the knowledge drop like an anchor onto Haeunâs fragile graft, imagines monitors screaming as her heart rejects hope entirely. The scene is so vivid it steals his air: the transplant failing, the small body he promised to protect flattening beneath despair. He slides to the floor, fists bleeding half-moons into his palms, and bargains with the hallway shadows, grant me one more sunrise to find a word gentler than goodbye. Behind the guest-room door, Haeun stirs, sighs âMamaâ in her sleep, and Jaemin realizes dawn will break whether or not he is ready, carrying with it the same impossible question heâs postponed for six nights: how long can love shield a child from the sound of machines failing in another wing of the hospital, from the hush that settles when even miracles run out of time?
Your father crosses the room in careful steps, dropping into a squat that brings his sea-weathered gaze level with hers. âYou know,â he begins, voice rough but warm, âyour Mama once hid under her bed for a whole afternoon because she thought the moon would fall if she didnât hold it up with a broom handle.â The story snags Haeunâs attention; she peeks over the cardigan cuff. He chuckles, a sound like gravel washed smooth by rain. âSheâs always been brave enough to try the impossible, just like you.â He taps his chest. âIâm Papaâyour Mamaâs papaâand every good thing in her? That came from her big heart. Same place your bravery comes from.â The words unfurl slowly, paired with gentle pats to Bunnyâs threadbare ear. Haeunâs fingers uncurl, touching the frayed cuff of his flannel sleeve.Â
Songhee kneels beside them, offering a woven bracelet she once made for you at a church retreatsky-blue yarn now faded to robinâs-egg. âYour Mama wore this until the knot broke. I kept it safe. Would you like it?â Haeun nods, tears tracking new courses down her cheeks, and allows Auntie to slip the loop around her wrist.
Jaemin sits back on his heels, throat thick, watching warmth kindle behind Haeunâs eyes. Your father tells story after story, how youâd patch stray kittensâ paws with gauze, how you fixed a birdâs broken wing with a Popsicle stick and hope; how every misstep you ever made curved from love too large to stay inside your ribs. He glances once at Jaemin, a look that says: She is a good girl, her mistakes belong to no one but the size of her heart, remember that when the world tries to measure her by failures. Haeun studies each tale like scripture, sniffles subsiding to small hiccups. By the end she leans into your fatherâs chest, and he wraps her in arms that once hoisted you over carnival crowds.
Morning spills pale light across the quilt, and Haeun wakes curled against her new grandad, tiny hand fisted in his flannel pocket. Before Jaemin can lift her for meds, she scrambles onto Papaâs shoulders, shrieking delightedly as he âtrotsâ her down the hall. She tugs his ear, giggling, âFaster, Papa! Like a horsie!â He pretends to neigh, age-sore knees forgotten. Over breakfast she feeds him soggy cereal stars, insisting he taste each colour; when Jaemin tries to wipe syrup from her chin, she turns first to Papa for confirmation. Songhee tapes Haeunâs newest drawing, three stick figures beneath a huge yellow heart labeled Mama, Dada, Papa, on the fridge. The house, once echoing, fills with mismatched laughter: your fatherâs deep rumble lining up with Haeunâs bright squeals, Song-heeâs gentle hum as she braids the cardigan sleeves into a pretend swing. And though grief still gnaws at every heartbeat, for one trembling day love builds a scaffold strong enough for Jaemin to stall the truth a little longer, letting your sunshine breathe inside a family she had always belonged to, even if she never knew its names until now.
The next morning, Papa settles onto the couch with a leather-bound album that smells faintly of cedar and old summers. Haeun crawls into the crook of his arm, Bunny clasped in her elbow, cardigan sleeve dragging behind her like a comet tail. The first page reveals a black-and-white shot of your father cradling a newborn, your newborn self, fists curled like rosebuds against his chest. âThatâs your Mama the very first day I met her,â he whispers, tapping the photo with a callused finger.Â
Haeun gasps, eyes wide. âShe so tiny!â She presses her thumb to the glass as though she can feel your baby warmth. âDid she cry lots like me?âÂ
Papa chuckles, deep and soft. âOh, she wailed the whole ward awake. Strong lungs, just like someone I know.â Haeun giggles, burying her face in his shirt for a shy moment before begging for the next page.
There, a snapshot shows you at five, hair in pigtails, mud streaked across your knees, a scraped elbow proudly bandaged. Papa narrates: âSheâd found a turtle on the roadside, decided he needed a new pond. We spent all afternoon building one from Grandmaâs mixing bowl.âÂ
Haeunâs mouth forms a perfect O. âMama make turtle house? She so brave.â She strokes Bunnyâs ear thoughtfully, then declares, âWhen Mama wakes up, we build turtle castle together!âÂ
Papa nods, eyes shining. âWe will, Sunshine. A big one.â
He turns another page: you in bright yellow overalls, grinning tooth-gap wide beside a cardboard science-fair volcano. Haeun squeals at the lava of orange tissue paper. Papa leans close, whispering conspiratorially, âYour Mamaâs volcano won first prize. She said the secret wasnât the baking soda, it was believing it could erupt.âÂ
Haeun repeats the phrase, âBee-leebing!ââthen plants a serious kiss on the photo, leaving a faint syrup print.
Mid-album, Papa pauses on a faded Polaroid of you wrapped in a towel, ocean spray haloing your hair. âThatâs the same beach she took you to,â he murmurs.Â
Haeun traces the shoreline in the picture, expression softening. âMama said the waves sing songs.âÂ
Papa rests his chin on her crown. âShe heard them first with me. Said they sounded like forever.âÂ
Haeun presses Bunny to her heart, whispers, âForever songs bring Mama back.â
Between pages Papa slips a butterscotch from his pocket, unwraps it, and tucks it into Haeunâs palm. âYour Mama used to steal these from my desk,â he confides. âSweet tooth, that one.âÂ
Haeunâs face lights, caramel sticking to her smile. âWe share wif Mama when she comes home,â she promises seriously, dividing the candy crumb by crumb, placing tiny halves on the coffee table like offerings.
Later, Papa shows a picture of you at graduation, cap crooked, smile luminous, arms flung around classmates. Haeun smooths the crease, awed. âMama so smart.âÂ
Papaâs voice trembles with pride. âSmart, and stubborn enough to stitch the world back together.â He closes the album gently, palms resting on its worn cover. âAnd sheâs stitching her way back to you now.â
Haeun leans into his chest, eyelids fluttering, syrup-stick fingers patting his beard. âPapa, tell Mama I waiting.âÂ
âI will,â he answers, pulling the cardiganâs sleeve over her shoulders. âAnd until she walks through that door, weâll fill this house with stories and forever songs.â She sighs contentedly, thumb slipping into her mouth, Bunny tucked beneath her chin. Papa rocks her until breath evens, the album open on his knee, sunlight gilding the pages where past and present fold tenderly together.
Evening settles uneasily over the house, bruising the sky to violet when Jaemin lifts Haeun from Papaâs lap and carries her to the couch. She props Bunny on her knees, eyes bright from the dayâs new stories yet shadowed by the same silent question she repeats every hour. Jaemin kneels level with her, palms cupping her slippered feet, throat tight enough to splinter. âSunshine, we need to talk about Mama.â The nickname quivers in the air. Haeunâs lashes flutter; she nods because âtalkâ still sounds like something that ends with pancakes. Papa settles behind them, one steady hand on her shoulder, bracing them all.
Jaemin draws a breath that tastes of salt and antiseptic memories. âMama didnât just go rest. A month ago she went into the ocean to help a little boy, and the big waves hurt her very badly.âÂ
Haeunâs brows pinch. âHurts like my heart owie?â she whispers.Â
âWorse, baby,â he answers, voice wrecked. âThe water filled her lungs, and her heart got tired. Doctors are keeping her alive with big machines, tubes help her breathe, and a machine cleans her blood but they think her body is too tired to wake up.âÂ
The word machines land with a thud; Haeun hugs Bunny so tight the seams whine. Tears surface, slow, puzzled beads that roll without falling, as though even gravity hesitates. She shakes her head, curls bouncing. âNo, Mama strong. She fix hearts.âÂ
Jaeminâs eyes glass over. âShe is strong, the strongest person I know. But sometimes bodies get hurt faster than strength can heal.âÂ
The tears break free; Haeunâs cheeks flood. âWhy she go in da water? Mama says no close to da waves.âÂ
âShe wanted to save the boyâs Bunny,â Jaemin manages, voice grainy. âShe chose to help because thatâs what Mama does, she loves so big she forgets to be careful.âÂ
Haeun chokes on a sob, little fists pounding Jaeminâs chest. âI mad at da ocean! I mad at da boy!â Then guilt pounds in: âI mad at Mama? Is that bad?âÂ
Papa moves closer, wrapping both of them in his arms. âItâs okay to be mad. Mad means you love her so much it hurts,â he murmurs, voice splintering on the last word.
Haeunâs breathing hitches, shoulders shaking. âShe not wake up ever? Not even for kissy attack?âÂ
Jaeminâs lips tremble. âThe doctors say maybe not, Sunshine. They think Mamaâs heart and brain are very, very tired, and she might not stay with us much longer.âÂ
Haeun wails, ahigh, keening sound that seems to pull the light from the room. âNo! We wait! We wait âtil she ready!â She slides off the couch, tiny knees hitting hardwood, banging Bunny against the floor as if noise can reverse the tide.Â
Jaemin gathers her again, rocking through her flailing limbs. âI know, I know, Dada feels the same.â Tears seep into her curls. âBut we can still see her tonight. She canât talk, and there are tubes everywhere, but she can hear your voice. We can kiss her forehead, tell her we love her, and hold her hand.âÂ
Haeunâs sobbing stutters. âAnâ say bye-bye?â
âMaybe,â he admits, voice barely sound. âWeâll be brave together.â
Papa lifts Haeunâs chin, his own eyes awash. âYour Mama is my baby girl, just like youâre hers. Iâll hold your hand the whole time.âÂ
Haeunâs lip quivers; she nods, then collapses against his chest. âI give Mama Bunny. She be warm then.â She tries to dry her tears on the cardigan sleeve but only smears salt and heartbreak.Â
Jaemin kisses her damp forehead, voice cracking. âWeâll bring Bunny and your green drawing and everything you want her to have.âÂ
Haeun peeks up, breath hiccupping. âMama not scared if we there.âÂ
Jaeminâs composure splinters; he presses his forehead to hers, whispering, âNo, she wonât be scared. Weâll fill the room with all our love, so she knows she can rest.â
They remain on the hardwood until sobs turn to hiccup-spasms and the cardigan is soaked through, but the clockâs digits march forward and the hospital will not pause for grief. Jaemin rises first, unsteady, and Haeun clings so tightly to his top that it seems to creak. He carries her to her room, where tears still sluice down her cheeks in fresh wavesâwet gasps that rattle tiny ribs but she lets Papa wipe her face with a warm cloth and dab strawberry-scented balm beneath her red nose. âBrave together,â she whispers through the tremor, as though testing the phrase on her tongue.
The bravery becomes ritual. She picks her butter-yellow dress with white hearts, the twin to Mamaâs cardigan because âMama likes matchy.â She smooths the skirt three times, then slips on sparkly socks so âthe machines see me sparkle.â Into a canvas tote she packs offerings: Bunny, newly stitched at the torn ear; the sunflower pillow because âMamaâs head likes flowersâ; your stethoscope so âMama hears my boom-boom heartâ; two butterscotch candies (âone for sharing laterâ); and the photo album, pages already smudged where her thumb traced baby pictures. At the last minute she adds a crayon drawing, three stick figures under a yellow sun, âYOU WAKE UPâ written in wobbling capitals, folds it and kisses the paper twice.
Jaemin buttons a fresh shirt with hands that shake so badly Papa steadies the cuffs. Haeun watches him in the mirror, then stands on tiptoe to press a kiss to his knuckles, small, deliberate, before slipping the cardigan sleeve over her arm like a knightâs gauntlet. The sobs still tremble behind her diaphragm, but she squares her shoulders, lifts her chin, and repeats the mantra. âBrave together, brave together,â until the words pulse with something like resolve.
On the porch night air folds around them, cool, salt-tinged, as if the ocean has followed to bear silent witness. Papa locks the door, fingers lingering on the key while Haeun slips her hand into his. Jaemin swings the tote over one shoulder, Bunnyâs paw peeking out like a white flag. Headlights cut across the driveway; in that wash of light the trio looks fragileâhope dragged thinâbut Haeunâs dress flares like a pocket sunrise each time she walks. She hums one bar of the forever-song Papa taught her that afternoon, voice wavering but unbroken, and as they climb into the car she presses the folded picture to her chest and tells the night sky, âMama will like my colours. Mama always likes my colours.â They pull away, taillights receding down the quiet street, an exhausted man, a grieving father, and a little girl whose courage is stitched from yellow hearts and the belief that one more kiss might still call her mother home.
Jaemin parks beneath the sodium glow of the ambulance bay and feels Haeun tense against his collarbone the instant she spots the sliding doors. She knows hospitals, knows their smell of bleach and plastic courage, knows the way ceilings echo footsteps that end in pain and her body curls instinctively, as if the very hiss of the automatic entrance could summon needles and beeping monitors. He presses a soothing kiss to her hair and lifts her higher, letting her small heartbeat drum against his own, but the corridors still swallow her in memories: the weeks with IV poles taller than she was, the nights she begged for magic juice from a mother who wasnât allowed to touch her. Tears bloom in her eyes before they reach the elevators; she hiccups, âDada, I hear the beds rolling,â voice shrinking to a tremor. Jaemin smooths the cardigan sleeve, reminding her theyâre wrapped in matching yellow, wrapped in brave, and promises that the only person theyâre visiting tonight is Mama.
Inside the lift, fluorescent panels buzz overhead, and Haeun buries her face in his shoulder, clutching Bunny so tight the stuffing shifts. Each ding of a passing floor makes her flinch, but the moment the doors open onto the ICU she lifts her head, scanning the intersection of hallways with a trembling fervor, whispering, âMama?â as if you might be standing, healthy, just beyond the nursesâ station. Instead, she meets rows of closed doors and muted alarms, and her hope fractures into open sobs that echo off linoleum. Jaemin cups her cheek, guiding herâfirst step, second stepâover the threshold she fears yet needs, whispering that sometimes hospitals are where hearts learn to beat again, and tonight theyâre here to lend Mama all the beats their own hearts can spare.
Jaemin carries Haeun through the doors, her butter-yellow dress a small flare of color in the corridorâs antiseptic hush, and the moment the roomâs sliding glass seals behind them she stiffens in his arms. The bed seems impossibly large around your motionless frame, skin wax-pale beneath the ventilator arc, eyelids bruised lavender, hair spread like dark seaweed over hospital linen and the forest of tubing hisses and clicks with a rhythm that feels nothing like life. Haeun inhales once, sharp and wounded, then folds against Jaeminâs shoulder, fists bunching the collar of his shirt as a raw âNo, no, no, I not see Mama, no!â tears out of her throat. She trembles so hard the cardigan sleeve slips from her elbow; Bunny dangles by one ear, forgotten.Â
Jaemin rocks her, murmuring steady streams of breath against her temple, âBrave together, Sunshine, brave togetherââand after long minutes the sobs collapse into hitching breaths. Papa stands at the doorway, hands over his mouth, eyes flooding as Haeun wipes her cheeks with both palms, smooths her dress skirt, and whispers the mantra like a spell: âBrave, brave, brave.â Jaemin lowers her slowly, letting her toes touch the cold tile first, then guides her to the bedside where the monitors stutter their thin song.
She climbs the mattress with cautious hands, settling on her knees beside your shoulder. âHi, Mama,â she begins, voice thin as paper, and the word snaps something in every adult present. She lays Bunny on your chest, tucks the sunflower pillow beneath your limp hand, then presses her own palm over yours as if anchoring the gifts in place. Tears renew but her words push through them, a waterfall of everything weeks have stored: âI been good, Mama, I take all my medicine, even the yucky one, I eat pancakes with Papa, I draw green hearts for Dada, I share my gummies. I look at your pictures every nap, see? That one where you kiss my nose, I kiss it back every time.â She strokes your cheek with thumbtip softness, kisses your eyelids, your forehead, the nasogastric tape at your lip, whispering apologies.
âSorry I mad at you. Sorry I say bad things. You best Mama, my Mama, forever Mama. Please wake up, please come home, we still match, I still got my yellow dress, see?â She pulls the crayon drawing from her tote, three stick figures, huge sun, unfolds it, and slides it beneath the blanket over your heart. âThatâs us. We waiting. Bunny waiting. I brave but I need you, Mama. I love you biggest.â Her breath shakes; she leans forward and kisses the ventilator tubing where it meets your mouth, then presses her ear to your chest as if the whir of the ventilator might translate to lullaby. Jaeminâs hand hovers at her back, tears streaking unseen; Papaâs shoulders quake near the foot of the bed. In the hush that follows, punctured only by the slow drip of an IV pump, Haeun breathes her secret into the hollow of your throat, âPlease, Mama, hear me,â and for one suspended moment the room feels gathered around that single, quivering hope, every monitor light holding its pulse just a fraction longer than before.
Each dawn she insists on the same ritual: âDada, we have to visit Mama, every single day so she remembers Iâm waiting.â Every dawn in the little house begins the same way now. Haeun pads from her room clutching Bunny, pauses at the hall table to press a kiss to the framed photo of you, âMorning, Mama, Iâm coming,â then wriggles into the butter-yellow dress that matches your cardigan. Papa kneels to fasten Bunnyâs red heart charm to her collar (âso Mama spots us quickâ), and together they meet Jaemin in the kitchen where heâs already laced his shoes for the drive. Haeunâs wicker âtreasure basket,â newly bedazzled with sparkly stickers, is never empty: that morning it holds a seashell painted purple, a lopsided bead bracelet, a grape-scented marker, a folded crayon note, and one butterscotch âfor sharing when Mama wakes.â Jaemin lifts her onto his hip, and she hooks an arm around his neck, face turned toward the sunrise slanting through the garage door while Papa locks up behind them.
At the hospital she whispers her secret password, âBrave together,â to the night-shift receptionist, receives the usual conspiratorial wink, then marches the long corridor toward ICU, little shoes squeaking on polished tile. The smell of antiseptic makes her shoulders curl for a heartbeat, hospitals are where goodbyes lurk but Jaemin squeezes her calf, and she squares up again, dignity in every step. Nurse Hana meets them outside Bed Twelve, silencing monitors so the room feels hushed and holy, and swings the glass door wide. Inside, the ventilator breathes its slow metronome around your still frame. Haeun sets the purple shell on your bedside table (âbeach musicâ), tucks Bunny beneath your chin (âheart guardâ), spritzes the air with grape marker scent so âdreams smell sweet,â and unrolls the crayon note: three giant yellow hearts stitched together because, as she tells the room, âstrings canât break if you draw them strong.â Only when each treasure is in its proper place does she press her palm to yours, whispering, âMorning, Mama, delivery complete,â the promise of tomorrow already bright in her voice.
The ritual unfolds in a careful choreography she never forgets. First she sets Bunny on your chest, patting the plush paw and murmuring, âGuard Mamaâs heart.â Then she unrolls a square of soft muslin so she can polish the smudges from your promise band, explaining in earnest that shiny rings catch sunlight and âtell Mama morningâs here.â Jaemin pulls a chair close, but Haeun prefers to stand on her tiptoes against the mattress rail, stroking your forearm with three fingers while she recounts everything that happened during breakfast, how Papa tried to flip a pancake and it landed like a hat on his head, how she practiced writing MAMA five times without turning the first M into mountains. She presses each letter against your forearm so you might feel them through the bandage tape.
Around noon she hums the forever-song she learned from Papa. The melody stumbles, her voice still lisping on the higher notes but she insists the tune helps your lungs remember breezes, and Jaemin swears the ventilator pressure curve softens each time. After singing she fetches a small bottle from her wicker basket: a rosewater atomiser that once sat on your vanity. One spritz over the pillow, a whispered âSmell the garden, Mama,â then she leans down to inhale alongside you, eyes closing in practiced reverence. When afternoon light slants through the blinds she unwraps the dayâs drawing and tapes it to the side rail. Some days itâs you and her in twin dresses under a sun; other days itâs three hearts labelled Mama, Dada, Haeunie; and once it was a clumsy but earnest stethoscope winding from her chest to yours so âour boom-booms talk.â She narrates every scribble while your Father and Aunt hover in the doorway, tears shining but silent, letting her words fill the room with color.
Just before leaving she recites her promise, cheeks nearly touching the respirator tubing. âI love you all the way to the loud beach and back,â she whispers, brushing kisses across your eyelids, nose, chin, twelve in total, one for each letter sheâs memorised of your name. She lays her head on your shoulder for a full minute, breathing with you, and when Jaemin finally lifts her away, she turns to the monitors and tells every green line to âkeep Mama breathing till tomorrow.â Outside the glass she waves, palm pressed to the pane until the hallway swallows her; then she tucks the empty basket under her arm and skips once, determined, already planning which treasure Mama needs next, because love, sheâs decided, is a daily delivery, and no distance of tubes or time will make her miss a round.
The house is dark but not quiet, rain ticks against the gutters and somewhere a clock refuses to be gentle but only Haeunâs sobs reach Jaemin like physical blows. They sit on the living-room rug because the couch feels too high above grief; her butter-yellow dress has wilted into rumpled petals, and your cardigan covers them both like a frail quilt of memory. She buries her face against Jaeminâs throat, voice muffled and raw. âDada, what if Mama opens her eyes anâ Iâm not there? What if she thinks I didnât wait good enough?â
âYou waited perfectly, Sunshine,â he murmurs, thumb stroking the curve of her ear.
She shakes her head so hard Bunnyâs charm clicks against his collarbone. âNo, I messed up. I got mad at her before. I said I was mad at the ocean. What if Mama heard my mad and thinks I donât love her big?â
Jaeminâs breath hitches. âYour Mama knows every beat of your heart. She knows love even inside sleep.â
âBut what if the machines are too loud?â She pulls back, eyes glistening like broken marbles. âI counted them tonightâbeep, beep, beepâanâ I tried to shout louder than the beeps so Mama could hear. But my voice cracked.â Her lip trembles. âWhat if it cracked so bad Mama canât sew it back?â
He presses his forehead to hers. âSheâll stitch anything that tears. Thatâs what she does.â
Haeunâs fingers twist the cardigan cuff until threads snap. âI dreamed the tubes were vines, and they wrapped Mama up like a tree. I tried to cut them with scissors, but they grew back, Dada, they grew back!â Her voice rises to a keening note. âThen Bunny fell off the bed, anâ Mama didnât pick him up. She always picks him up.â
Jaeminâs chest caves. âDreams are stories our heads tell when theyâre scared,â he whispers. âReal love is louder even than dreams.â He kisses her damp forehead.
She hiccups hard, eyes huge. âDada⌠if I shout âwuv youâ real, real big, will Mama wake up? Can she hear me while sheâs sleepinâ?â
âMaybe love isnât a scream,â he answers, voice fraying. âMaybe itâs every quiet brave thing you did today. the seashell, the drawing, the grape smell. Maybe itâs the way you keep showing up.â
A fresh wave of despair crashes; she clutches his shirt so tightly the buttons dig into her palms. âIâm tired of brave, Dada. My brave feels empty.â She lifts tear-swollen eyes. âWhat if brave runs out before Mama comes back?â
His own tears finally spill, hot against her temple. âThen Iâll pour mine into yours, and Papa will pour his, and Auntie Songhee will pour hers, until itâs full again. Thatâs what families do.â
She exhales a ragged breath, but the tremor wonât stop. âPromise me Mama not go where I canât follow. Promise me she wonât be gone when morning comes.â
Jaeminâs voice cracks in the quiet. âI promise to hold her hand as long as sheâs here, and I promise to hold you even longer.â
Silence settles, thick with rain and the ache of things too big for either to carry alone. Then Haeun lifts Bunny between them like a fragile treaty. âBunny says I can borrow his brave tonight.â She places the plush against Jaeminâs heart as though reinforcing a vow. âBut Bunny scared too.â
Jaemin gathers both child and rabbit, curling around them as if to shield them from the relentless ticking of the clock. âThen you, Bunny and I will be scared together.â His tears fall into her hair; her little hand creeps up to pat his cheek in clumsy comfort.
Minutes stretch, punctured only by hitching breaths. At last her eyelids droop, lashes clumping with salt. She mumbles, almost inaudible, âTell Mama I love her louder than thunder. Tell her my brave is waiting.â Jaemin nods, voice gone, rocking until her body finally surrenders to exhausted sleep. He stays there long after, eyes fixed on the photograph across the room, your grin frozen in a better season, whispering the promise he doesnât know how to keep: that dawn will bring her back to you both, that love, somehow, will be enough.Â
The ripple begins with Jeno, pushing the door open with a baby balanced on one hip and a preschooler clinging to the other hand. His fiancĂŠe follows, arms full of lilies you once said smelled like summers at the coast. Junseo stretches on tiptoe to place a blue Hot Wheels car beside your pillow, âso Doctor Auntie can zoom back fast,â while little Serin presses a crayon crown onto Bunnyâs head because âevery princess needs a guard.â Jeno squeezes Jaeminâs forearm, eyes shimmering with all the thank-yous he was never able to voice. Word spreads down corridors faster than gossip ever did: the fearless intern who once rewrote protocols with a single daring dose now lies silent beneath ventilator hiss, and the wards respond in quiet, determined pilgrimage. Jihoon drifts in next, pockets stuffed with instant-coffee sachets because âyou hated the cafeteria brewâ; he lines them beneath your monitor like a tiny honor guard, head bowed in apology for every rumor he once repeated. Nurse Hana spends her lunch break painting your nails the faintest seashell pink, whispering that pink matched the sunrise on the day you talked her through her first crash code. Even Dr. Huang, stern champion of rules, stands at the glass longer than rounds demand, reading your chart through fogged glasses, muttering that statistics can be wrong, that people can be more than their worst decision.
Your father never leaves more than an hour at a stretch, pacing the hallway in deliberate circuits, nodding to each colleague who offers a clasped shoulder or murmured prayer. Songhee bakes honey pastries for the ICU staff, a peace offering sweet enough to soften the sharp edges of policy. Outside, whispers change timbre. The story that once framed you as reckless now folds into something human. What was once whispered as âshe tried to save a strangerâs childâ is now retold as âshe dove in because she couldnât bear to watch a boy lose his only friend.â Even the chief of surgery, arms forever crossed, lingers at night to watch the steady lines of your vitals, jaw working with words he never spoke in defense yet now mouths beneath his breath: Come back, we need the fire you bring. Orderlies straighten their posture when wheeling supplies past Bed Twelve; respiratory therapists pause an extra beat after suctioning, thumb brushing your cheek in silent encouragement. The building seems to breathe with you, every ventilator sighs a communal exhale, every beep an unspoken vow that mistakes donât eclipse the years you spent mending other peopleâs broken rooms.
By the time the second month turns, even families of patients you never treated drift by, pressing handmade rosaries or paper lilies into Jaeminâs shaking hands. They confess quietly in the corridor: they once judged, they once feared, but now they pray. Your absence has become its own anatomy lesson, how a single silent heart can draw an entire hospital into uneasy, hopeful communion. In the hush that follows each visit, Jaemin gathers the tokens, coffee sachets, post-it hearts, origami prayers, arranging them on the window ledge so dawn light washes over them first. He leans close to your ear, voice hoarse but sure. âYouâre still loved,â he says, and the hum of machines seems to steady, as if the room itself agrees.
Night settles slow and low around Bed Twelve, the ward reduced to green pulse-lights and the faint, wheezy hush of ventilation. Jaemin pulls the curtain half-closed, not to hide you but to carve a thinner, quieter world for the two of you to breathe in. He drags the visitorâs chair so close his knees brush the mattress rail, then folds forward until his forehead rests against your bandaged hand. For a long stretch he simply listens, to the whirr of the vent, to the soft tick of the IV pump, to the impossible silence where your laugh ought to be, before he unknots the apology caught in his throat.
âI keep circling back to the first time we scrubbed in together for Haeunâs emergency graft,â he begins, voice scarcely higher than the ventilatorâs sigh. âYou were still in scrubs, streaked with blood and tears, holding her so tight it looked like the roof could cave in and youâd still never let go. I watched you fall in love with her in real timeâsaw her latch onto your thumb, heard you promise sheâd never be alone and in that heartbeat I knew Iâd never belong to anyone but the woman who became a mother in one impossible, rooftop sunrise.â He lifts his head enough to look at you, gaze tracing the gentle fog in your oxygen mask. âYou loved harder than protocol, laughed louder than the morgue hallway would allow, refused coffee unless it tasted like burnt optimism. Iâve never fallen in love like this.â He clears his throat, fingers brushing your pulse point. âIâm sorry I doubted you, sorry I let fear speak louder than trust, sorry the last thing I gave you was anger instead of faith.â
âI love you,â he murmurs, voice thick, honest, hungry. âEvery inch. The way you steal all the covers and sleep with your foot hooked over my thigh so I canât escape even if I wanted to. I love the shape of your mouth when youâre about to argue, and how you say my name when youâre annoyedââNa Jaemin,â like itâs both a curse and a prayer. I love how you look at Haeun, like youâre watching the sun come up, every damn morning. I love the scar on your wrist, the mole on your shoulder, the way you canât sleep unless you hear the ocean or my heart. I love how you taste, how you make a mess of me just by biting my jaw or sliding your fingers under my shirt in the laundry room or the car or wherever you decide you want me. I love the way youâre never gentle with the things you love, you fight for them, you bleed for them, you hold so tight I think youâll break both of us. I love your bad jokes, your lectures, your stubborn, childish, reckless, beautiful hope. I love that you still cry when you watch sad commercials and that you dance with Haeun in the kitchen and that you let her eat ice cream before dinner just to see her smile. I love that youâre mine, even when youâre impossible. Even when you break me. I want you, all of youâyour sharp tongue, your soft belly, your wild hair, your laugh, your rage, your forgiveness. I want every future with you, burnt pancakes, ugly fights, morning sex, all of it. Iâm not whole if youâre not here.â
His shoulders shake, but words pour anyway, a steady transfusion of grief and devotion. âI love you because you carry too many pens in your coat, because you hum off-key when you tie surgical knots, because you cried over a goldfish surgery that no one paid us for but you did it anyway. I love that you still buy second-hand paperbacks just to underline sentences about hope.â He squeezes your hand, gentle despite desperation. âMost of all I love the way you love Haeun, how youâd rewrite the laws of medicine if it meant one easier breath for her.â A tear lands on the blanket, darkening the fabric. Jaemin shifts closer, presses his lips to your temple, speaking against cooling skin. âYou told me once that hearts donât break, they recombine in new shapes. Mineâs a mess of edges without youâplease, come back and teach it how to beat right.â His voice thins, tender and trembling. âCome home so Haeun can paint your nails star-glitter pink, so I can sleep on the side that smells like your shampoo, so we can dance in the kitchen at 2 a.m. while pancakes burn. I swear Iâll never let a single day shrink us into anger again. Iâll spend the rest of our forever proving that love is louder than fear.â
He draws a trembling breath, knuckles white where he clasps your hand, the words raw and ragged against the hush. âIâm sorry for shutting you out,â he says, voice thick. âWhen you messed with Haeunâs meds, God, it tore something open in me I didnât even know was there. I kept telling myself I couldnât forgive you, that I had to protect her no matter what, even if it meant locking you out of our lives. I wanted to hold onto my anger. I wanted to punish you, to make you feel how scared I was. I thought if I stayed mad, maybe I could keep Haeun safe. Maybe I could keep myself safe, too.â
He lets the silence settle, throat working, thumb still stroking the inside of your wrist. âBut it isnât that simple. I made promises to you, I said in sickness and in health, in every impossible night, Iâd stand by you. I didnât. I failed you when you needed me most. Thatâs on me.â His eyes are wet, unblinking, fixed on your face as if hoping for a sign. âItâs still something I canât always wrap my head around. Some nights I lie awake just turning it over and overâhow we got here, why you did it, if I could have stopped it or helped you before it broke like this. Itâs a wound, and Iâm not sure itâll ever heal clean. But Iâm trying to come to terms with it. Iâm trying to accept that love is ugly sometimes, that forgiveness doesnât erase the pain but makes room for us to keep going anyway.â He kisses your fingers, soft and helpless, like prayer. âI donât know if Iâm getting it right. I donât know if I deserve another chance. But I want to try. I want you here. I need you. We both do. Please, just come back to us.â
He lays Bunnyâs heart charm between your palms, folds your fingers over it, and breathes in the faintest warmth. âYou brought sunlight to every hallway you touched, donât you dare take it with you. Let me carry some of it, and come back for the rest.â His lips brush your knuckles once more, then hover there, heartbeat syncing to the ventilator hiss. âStay,â he whispers, half-command, half-plea. âStay because I love you in every tenseâpast, present, futureâand there isnât a timeline worth living that doesnât have you awake in it.â He closes his eyes, forehead resting against your intertwined hands, and lets the machines keep tempo while hope and sorrow wrestle quietly in his chest until morning edges the curtain in pale gold.
Itâs almost midnight when Jaeminâs phone vibrates on the bedside table, cutting through the hush of the ICU waiting room. He blinks at the unknown number, thumb hesitating before he answers. On the other end, Attorney Kang Minsoo, his familyâs private counsel since the first whisper of trouble, greets him in a measured, steady tone. They havenât spoken in weeks; Jaeminâs attention has been consumed by you, by Haeunâs unraveling, by the daily rituals of survival, but heâs never let the case go cold. Security at the apartment and hospital has doubled, a new CCTV system covers every blind spot, and heâs kept meticulous files on both Nahyun and Aseul, even as he tried to push the dread to the back of his mind.
Now, Minsooâs voice is heavier than usual. âDr. Na, weâve finished combing the footage from the night of Haeunâs event. The park, the pharmacy, the hospital, we have every angle. We have evidence that Nahyun tampered with your daughterâs medication. She slipped something into Y/Nâs bag when she wasnât paying attention. Our forensic team isolated traces of a sedative not prescribed to Haeun, one that couldâve caused fatal organ shutdown and failure, it matches the timeline of her crisis. Thereâs no doubt she intended harm.â
Jaeminâs hand curls around the armrest, knuckles whitening. âYouâre certain? Sheâshe did this deliberately?â
âYes, and thereâs more,â Minsoo continues, papers shuffling in the background. âWeâve recovered deleted messages between Nahyun and Aseul, including emails plotting to harm you, Y/N, and Haeun. Nahyun made threats to expose private patient records, sabotage your research grants, even discussed staging a car accident. Our team intercepted a letterânever deliveredâthat described, in detail, their plan to isolate Y/N and take custody of Haeun through false allegations. There are notes about medical dosages, routine schedules, everything. Itâs premeditated. And Dr. Na, thereâs a draft will that theyâve forged, trying to list Aseul as next of kin for your daughter.â
Jaemin is silent for a moment, the words sinking in. The world seems to shrink to the size of the. His voice catches, hoarse with the weight of relief and fear. âWhat happens now?â
Minsooâs voice is calm but fierce. âWe have grounds for criminal prosecution, attempted homicide, conspiracy, fraud. Iâve already filed emergency protection orders for Haeun and for Y/N, as soon as sheâs able. The hospital board has been notified. Law enforcement wants to interview you, but you donât need to leave your daughterâs side. If there are any further threats, security will intervene immediately.â
Jaemin presses his palm to his forehead, exhaustion and fear knotting behind his eyes. âWhat about Y/N?â he asks, voice barely above a whisper. âWhat does all this mean for her, for her career? If this gets out, with the allegations, the hospital rumors, the fact sheâs not awake to defend herself⌠Will she even be allowed to come back as a surgeon? And what about adopting Haeun? Sheâs all Haeun has. Will they hold any of this against her?â
On the other end, Attorney Kang Minsoo answers carefully, weighing every word. âI understand, Dr. Na. The evidence we have proves Y/N was a victim in this, not complicit. Once the criminal investigation concludes, the hospitalâs legal team will be obligated to clear her name, especially with the tampering documented and the threats identified. The whispers, the complaints⌠all of it is being re-examined in light of what Nahyun and Aseul did. Sheâll have a hard fight, but she isnât alone in it. And you have strong allies on the board now, her supporters are rallying, especially as more details come to light about her actions that night. Her reputation will recover in time, though it wonât be easy.â
He pauses, letting the weight of it settle. âAs for Haeunâno family court will blame her for what happened now that we have proof of outside sabotage. If anything, it strengthens her case to adopt, as long as she can recover. But the timeline may shift, and sheâll need to show stability when she wakes up. Iâll handle the filings, and you just focus on keeping her safe and supported for now. Iâll update you if the legal board or family services wants to talk to you directly.â
Jaemin exhales shakily, head bowed, gaze flicking to the sleeping figure of Haeun curled on the sofa with Bunny under her chin. âThank you, Minsoo. I want full restraining orders. Press every charge you can. I donât care if it ruins themâI want them nowhere near my family ever again.â
âWeâll handle it. Iâll update you as soon as thereâs more,â Minsoo assures, voice a steady anchor. âTry to rest, Dr. Na. Youâve done all you can. Iâm sorry it took this long to get you answers.â When the call ends, Jaemin sits in the dark, trembling, gratitude and rage flooding through him in equal measure. He glances to the ICU doors, to the dim light where you lie fighting, to the quiet rise and fall of Haeunâs breath, and swearsâaloud, for the first timeâthat nobody will ever come close to hurting his family again.
He comes back to your bedside when the room is shadowed and quiet, every monitor blinking steady and indifferent, the hum of the ventilator the only heartbeat he can hear. He leans in, pressing his lips to your forehead, holding them there so long the warmth leaves his skin. When he finally pulls back, his tears spill free, quiet, aching, like heâs been holding them for years.
âBaby,â he whispers, voice shaking. âYou didnât mess up Haeunâs meds after the park incident. You never would. I always believed it, I always trusted you. I let everyone else get in my head, I let fear twist everything, but I know youâI know youâd never be careless with her, not with anyone, not for a second. Iâm so fucking sorry. I shouldâve fought for you harder. I shouldâve believed and protected you more. I shouldâve listened more. Iâm so sorry I left you alone to take the blame, that I made you feel like a stranger in your own home. Thatâs on me. Thatâs my failure, not yours.â
He cradles your hand against his cheek, breath hitching, eyes red and wild. âI need you. We need you. Haeun needs her Mama. I need my wife. I need you to wake up. Please, baby, come back to me. Come back to us. I promise, Iâll never doubt you again, Iâll never let anyone hurt you, Iâll never let you go through anything like this alone. I love you so much. Iâm so sorry. Pleaseâplease just come back.â His thumb traces your knuckles, mouth pressed to your skin in frantic, desperate kisses, and in the quiet, he whispers it again, over and over, youâre safe now, youâre safe, youâre safe, youâre safe, as if wishing it hard enough might make it true, might bring you home.
The morning starts slow and heavy, with rain needling at the glass and a chill crawling across the floorboards. Haeun wakes tangled in your butter-yellow cardigan, her cheek pressed to a patch of soft white hearts, the scent of you faded but clung to like a dream. Her face is swollen from crying, her hair sticking up in tufts, eyes red-rimmed and raw. She doesnât speak when Jaemin comes to her room; she just lifts her arms wordlessly, clutching Bunny and your sleeve in one small fist. âDada, Mama will be proud if I be brave?â she whispers, the question trembling in her throat.Â
Jaemin nods, kneeling, voice hoarse as he says, âShe already is, sunshine. Every day.â
The drive is silent except for the quiet tap of rain and Haeunâs whispered monologue to Bunny. âToday we see Dr. Huang, Bunny. Sheâs nice, but I donât wanna. Mama would say Iâm her strong girl, but my heart feels owie. Dada, does Mama hear me if I say I love you really, really loud?âÂ
Jaeminâs fingers tighten on the wheel. âI think she does, Haeun. I think she hears you every time.â When they park, Haeun hesitates, peering up at the looming hospital. Her whole body trembles; she presses your cardigan to her face, breathing deep, like if she inhales hard enough, youâll be waiting just past the next set of doors. Inside, she walks on tiptoe, her tiny hand gripping Jaeminâs as if she might drift away. At the elevator, she glances at her reflection, tearstained cheeks, lips quivering, eyes too big for her face. âDada, will Dr. Huang make me all better so Mama isnât sad? I wanna be good for Mama.âÂ
Jaemin scoops her up, pressing a kiss into her wild curls. âYouâre perfect, bubba. Even when youâre sad, even when youâre scared.âÂ
She nestles her face into his neck, whispering, âI wanna tell Mama I brave. I wanna tell her I tried real hard. Maybe sheâll wake up if Iâm good.â
When Dr. Huang opens the exam room, Haeun freezes, half-hiding behind Jaeminâs leg. âHey there, Miss Sunshine,â Dr. Huang says gently, kneeling so sheâs eye level. âI heard youâve had a hard week. Itâs okay, youâre safe.âÂ
Haeun shakes her head, voice muffled in your cardigan. âI donât feel safe. I want Mama. My heartâs beating too loud.âÂ
Dr. Huang holds out her stethoscope, inviting. âWanna hear your heart together? Sometimes brave sounds like a drum.â Haeun nods, climbing onto the exam table, clutching Bunny and Jaeminâs pinky in one hand, your sleeve in the other.
Through the exam, sheâs quiet but watchful, flinching every time Dr. Huang lifts her shirt or checks her scar. âIt tickles,â she whispers, then frowns, âbut only a little. Sometimes it burns when I miss Mama lots.âÂ
Jaemin wipes her cheeks, murmuring, âYou can tell Mama everything later, promise. Weâll go straight after.â
Dr. Huang listens, smiling. âYour heart sounds strong, Haeun. Really strong. Youâre growing, and your numbers are good. I think you can try the new medicine soon, the one Mama, Dada and I talked about when you were little.âÂ
Haeun perks up, brow wrinkling. âWill it make me run faster? Will I be able to do ballet again? Can I bring it to Mama so she runs too?âÂ
Dr. Huang grins, âMaybe. I bet sheâll want to hear all about it when she wakes up.â
After the tests, Haeun clings to Jaemin, refusing to let go. âDada, why Mama not come home yet? Why she sleep so long?â The question is a knife, twisting deeper.Â
Jaemin hugs her close, voice breaking. âSheâs fighting real hard, sunshine. Sometimes it takes a while for people to come back from big hurts. But sheâs trying. She hears you every time you visit. She knows you love her more than anyone in the world.âÂ
Haeun presses her lips together, determined. âThen I tell her again. I yell really loud and kiss her and bring her magic marker. I make a âget wellâ sign, so Mama knows Haeunie loves her super much.â She digs in her basket for the purple marker and waves it triumphantly. âMama likes grape dreams.â
As they leave, Dr. Huang kneels to eye level again, laying a gentle hand on Haeunâs shoulder. âYouâre the bravest girl Iâve ever met, Haeun. And youâve got a heart full of magic. You can do this.âÂ
Haeun nods fiercely, a tear rolling down her cheek. âI do it for Mama. I do it for Dada. I do it for Bunny. We all be brave together.â She tucks Bunny close, presses her palm to her scar, and looks up at Jaemin, eyes shining with hope and something older, wearier, but unbroken. âLetâs go see Mama now, Dada. I need her to see Iâm strong.â And as they walk out into the thin, waiting daylight, Haeunâs courage glimmers, a tiny, trembling sun breaking through stormclouds, carrying her love like a shield, a spell, a prayer whispered into the hospital air for you to hear and come home to her, heart to heart.
Outside the ICU, cold afternoon light seeps through glass, washing the corridor in pale silver. Machines hiss behind the walls. The air is taut with the hush of alarms, the ghost of nursesâ shoes on linoleum. Dr. Huang stands beside Jaemin, his jaw tight, eyes ringed with exhaustion, he looks more like a man keeping watch over his own child than a cardiologist. They stand just out of sight, voices barely above a whisper, as Jaemin leans against the glass, eyes red and fixed on the two figures inside.
In your hospital room, Haeun has wriggled onto the bed, careful of wires and lines. Her arms are flung around your waist, cheek pressed to your unmoving ribs. She traces the faint outline of your hand with her thumb, whispering soft confidences into the crook of your elbow. âMama, I saw the picture Papa showed me, you look like a sunshine in your yellow dress. I wore mine today, see? Bunny wanted to look just like you, so we both put on our heart charms.â She looks up, eyes shining and earnest, voice trembling with childish hope. âMy new heart is working super strong, Mama. Dr. Huang said it beats so loud, like a drum in a parade. I wanna dance ballet when you wake up. You gotta see me dance, okay? You always say Iâm your little star.â She presses kisses to your hand, chattering, âToday Dr. Huang let me listen to my own heart. Itâs a good heart. It misses you, Mama. I miss you so much. Please wake up soon. Iâll be the bravest girl, I promise.â
From the corridor, Dr. Huang glances through the glass, the weight of all those tiny heartbreaks heavy in his posture. He turns to Jaemin, dropping his voice low. âHer echoâs better than we ever dared hope,â he murmurs. âLeft ventricular functionâs nearly normal. You see her running the halls, sheâs stronger than Iâve ever seen her. If she keeps this up, we can get her into the trial.â He glances at Jaemin, searching for something in the younger doctorâs face. âItâs a miracle, Jaemin. Not just the surgery, the match, the recovery. Kids with her history? Almost never stabilize like this. ButâŚâ he hesitates, voice tightening, âwe canât ignore what Y/N did. Sheâll answer for it, legally and ethically, thatâs inevitable. But without her, I donât think Haeun wouldâve survived long enough to get this heart. Sometimes desperation makes parents reckless. Sometimes it saves lives.â
Jaemin stands rigid, arms folded, forehead pressed to the glass. His heart aches at the sight of Haeun, her legs curled around your waist, her tiny lips pressed to your knuckles, her voice rising and falling in the language only mothers and daughters know. Dr. Huangâs voice softens again, gentler. âIâm enrolling her in the trial. With this kind of improvement, she has a real shot at never needing another transplant. Iâll make the call tonight.â Jaemin only nods, fighting a thousand prayers back down his throat. âSheâs earned every chance,â Dr. Huang says quietly, almost reverently.
The world spins, gentle and fierce, on the other side of the glass. Haeun draws patterns over your blanket, showing you her drawings, flowers and stars and little stick-figure families, all three of you holding hands in a field of yellow. âI made you a card, Mama. Itâs got sunflowers, âcause you love them. When you wake up, I wanna go to the beach and wear matching hats again. Promise?â Her voice wobbles but she keeps going, hope stitched into heartbreak. And Jaemin, watching, his hand braced to the glass as if he can steady the ground, lets desperation pool in his chest, a prayer that youâll come back, that the world will keep spinning, that this fierce, fragile family wonât be lost to another wave of darkness. He canât look away, canât imagine another dawn without your laugh, your hands, the light in Haeunâs eyes when she whispers, âI love you, Mama. Forever, ever, ever.â
A few hours later, with bedtime settling heavily in her lashes, Jaemin and Haeun are still in your hospital room, having spent the afternoon talking softly to you, her head tucked against your shoulder, his hand never leaving yours. Haeun sleeps curled in Jaeminâs arms, her breath finally even after hours of tears, clutching your soft yellow cardigan and her battered Bunny with their matching heart charms. The fluorescent lights of the ICU glint off her curls and your pallid skin, both stilled in the lull of exhaustion. Itâs time to take her home. The dayâs weight settles heavy in Jaeminâs shoulders as he stands at your bedside, pausing before he leaves, unwilling to let go. He leans down and presses his lips to your forehead, a kiss that lingers in the sterile chill, his hand trembling against your hair. For a moment, he almost forgets to breathe, swallowing hard against the burn in his eyes as he whispers goodbye. He keeps his voice low so as not to wake Haeun, though she would only stir if she sensed your absence. âIâll be back tonight,â he murmurs against your skin, almost believing you can hear him through the miles of sleep and shadow that hold you captive. One last touch, one more plea: please wake up, we need you. The world cannot balance without you here.
The machines surrounding your bed keep their relentless vigil, numbers ticking steady and fragile in the gloom. Medically, you remain deep in a coma, the aftershock of a catastrophic anoxic brain injury suffered during your drowning. The resuscitation on the beach bought time, but every organ system has waged its own desperate fight in the weeks since. You underwent emergency hypothermia therapy, an attempt to save as many neurons as possible from the crush of oxygen deprivation. After that, your body endured one crisis after another: a prolonged cardiac arrest requiring defibrillation, acute kidney injury, multi-system organ support, sepsis from saltwater aspiration. Surgeons placed a tracheostomy, a feeding tube, all to keep your body alive while your brain rests in uneasy stasis. The coma is not drug-induced; itâs the brainâs natural response to trauma, swelling, and metabolic storm. Despite every intervention, your EEG remains flat with only rare flickers, signs that youâre trapped somewhere between this world and the next, your mind locked away from the daughter and the man who love you most. The doctors have advised Jaemin that if you donât wake up in the next forty-eight hours then it may be time to consider withdrawing life supportâyour organs canât keep waiting, the machines are the only thing keeping you here right now. The news rolls through Jaeminâs chest in waves of numb disbelief, something his mind refuses to accept. He sits beside your bed, knuckles pressed white to your sheets, clinging to hope with every bone, unableâunwillingâto imagine a world where he lets you go.
Jaemin swallows the grief and straightens, tucking Haeunâs Bunny beside your arm so it wonât fall. He smooths your hair back one last time and starts to gather Haeun into his hold again, ready to take her home to the quiet, lonely apartment thatâs grown unfamiliar without your laughter in its walls. But just as he turns, a small, plaintive sound threads through the hush, a thin cry, sharp as glass and almost too faint to notice. Jaemin stops, pulse kicking up. Itâs a sound he knows intimately: the frightened whimper of a child, so soft it might be mistaken for the wheeze of a ventilator or the murmur of a distant alarm. The instinct thatâs shaped his lifeâchief of Paediatrics surgery, attending, healerâtakes hold. He bends down, kisses Haeunâs hair and settles her gently beside you, trusting that if thereâs any place in the world sheâll sleep soundly, itâs pressed between her parents, even if one is only there in body. Quiet as a shadow, Jaemin moves through the corridor, following the faint cry, heart beating harder with every step. The sound shivers through the ICUâs hush, growing clearer, a childâs voice, a heartbreak he canât ignore. He follows it through the maze of monitors and draped beds, letting instinct guide him, ready to kneel beside whatever lost little soul the night has brought to his care.
Jaemin slips into the quiet pulse of the pediatric floor, footsteps echoing down the half-lit corridor where night nurses murmur and monitors cast pools of blue light on the waxed linoleum. Heâs done this a hundred times before, found the hiding places, soothed the shivering kids: that girl with the feeding tube who barricaded herself in the playroom closet, the tiny heart patient who spent an hour beneath the folding cot, sobbing because her mother missed a visit. Thereâs always some corner, under the mural bench, behind the blanket cart, wedged into the shadow behind the vending machine, where frightened children think adults wonât find them. As he follows the faint, uneven whimper, Jaemin slows, instinct sharp. He pauses beside the laundry alcove, listens, and the sound grows, a muffled gasp, a ragged hiccup. He peers behind a basket and freezes, heart jolting.
Curled behind the cart, knees drawn up, is the boy from the shore, his hair wild, shirt stained and too big, skinny legs poking from beneath a scratchy hospital blanket. For a moment Jaemin stands motionless, mind scrambling to believe. The boyâs fingers clench something tight against his chest, Haeunâs bunny charm, worn and streaked with brine, the one Jaemin tucked into the boyâs palm on that hellish evening. Jaeminâs jaw works silently as he crouches, voice gentle, not wanting to startle him. âHey, bud,â he says softly, lowering himself to the floor. âHow did you get here, huh? What happened, why are you crying? Whereâs your Mummy and Daddy?â
The boy wipes his nose on the back of his hand, eyes red and swollen. âTheyâre not here. Not my real Mummy and Daddy. I have new ones, they got me after the water. But⌠but they yell at me. They said I cry too much, and Iâm sâposed to be good, but I⌠I canât stop missing my bunny, and you, and her.â His voice fractures, quavering on the edge of something old and hungry. âI sneaked out. I took the bus. A nice lady helped me find the hospital. I just wanted to see her again. I donât want new parents. I want someone who likes when I cry. The nice lady went in the water for me⌠She died, didnât she? Itâs all my fault. Itâs all my fault sheâs gone.â The bunny charm shudders in his grip, his body shaking with each confession. The boy bites his lip, chin wobbling, eyes huge and glassy. âIâm sorry. Iâm so sorry. I wish I was good enough. She went in the water âcause of me. I just wanted my bunny. I didnât want anyone to get hurt.âÂ
Jaemin settles onto the cold tile beside the laundry cart, lowering himself until heâs eye level with the boyâno rush, no sudden movements, just the steady patience of someone whoâs spent his whole life earning trust from children who flinch at every sound. He lets the boy see his hands, lets the silence stretch, then gently speaks. âHey, little man, come here. Look at me.â He waits until the boyâs damp eyes flick up, wary and wide, before he continues. âI know youâre scared. I know it feels like the worldâs gone all wrong, but what you just said? About it being your fault? Itâs not true, sweetheart. Sheâs not gone. Sheâs still here, right in this hospital, and everyone who loves her is fighting for herâme, her family, you too. She isnât dead. Sheâs fighting really hard, and weâre not giving up.â
He shuffles a bit closer, hands braced on his knees, voice warm and solid. âYou didnât do anything bad. You were scared and you needed help and someone to love you. That doesnât make you naughty. It just means youâre a little boy who lost too much.â He nods at the bunny charm, watches the boy clutch it tighter. âYou know, sheâs my girlfriend. The bravest, kindest person Iâve ever met. She jumped in that water because you deserved help. She did it because she wanted you to know the world can be gentle, too, even when itâs loud and scary. Thatâs not your fault. Adults make choices. I promise you, she wanted to help you, just like Iâd want someone to help my own little girl if she ever needed it.â
The boy sobs, trembling so hard his whole frame shakes, the bunny charm clutched to his fist like a lifeline. Jaemin bends close, his voice gentle but firm, wanting every word to settle in the boyâs heart without confusion. âListen to me. Sheâs an adult, okay? She made her own decision to go into the water. That was her choice, not something you made her do. Itâs never a childâs fault when grownups choose to help. She saw you needed someone and she decided to help because sheâs brave and kind. None of this happened because of anything you did. Itâs not your faultâdo you hear me? Adults are responsible for their choices. You didnât do anything wrong, and I promise you, you are not to blame for what happened at the beach.â
Jaeminâs tone drops, thick with emotion but steady as a rock. He touches the boyâs wrist, reassuring, strong. âYou gotta understand this, okay? You can cry, you can be sad, you can even miss your bunny and want someone to come for youânone of that makes you a bad kid. It makes you brave. The worldâs been unfair, but youâre never too much to love, and youâre ot the reason something bad happened. She was trying to show you how much you matter. Thatâs all.â He lets the words settle, watching the boyâs breathing slow, his lashes fluttering against flushed cheeks. Jaemin squeezes his hand, grounding him. âYou got the charm? That means youâre both still fighting. So am I. Youâre safe now, and Iâm here for you, all right? Even if things have been scary and grownups werenât kind, it stops here. With me.â
The boyâs sobs slow, breaths coming ragged and soft. Jaemin feels a sharp, painful longingâhe wants to take this child away from all the shouting and cold, wants to fill his life with sunlight and quiet, but knows the world isnât so simple. He strokes the boyâs back, murmuring. âYou know, you can visit her if you want. Would you like that? I can take you right now, if youâre feeling brave.â The boy nods, small and shaky, gripping Jaeminâs hand as if itâs a lifeline. Together, they rise from the shadows of the laundry alcove, stepping into the light, into the uncertain hope that maybe, just maybe, not every good thing has to be lost to the dark.
Jaemin scoops the boy up gently, feeling the frailness of him. heâs light, barely heavier than Haeun was at two, bones thin beneath the oversized shirt. As they step into your hospital room, the hush of machines deepens; Haeun is curled beside you on the bed, lost in a tangled nap, thumb caught in her mouth and face pressed to your arm. Jaemin leans down, brushing your hair back, voice a low hush for the boy. âThatâs Haeun, my daughter. Youâre only a few months older than her. Sheâs big and strong because sheâs had people to help her grow.â His eyes sweep over Haeunâs small, sturdy body, her round cheeks, the warmth of her skin, the healthy pink flush that only comes from a life wrapped in love. He sets the boy beside you, steadying him when he wobbles.
The boy stands on the cusp of the bed, fragile as spun glass, skin too pale beneath the sickroom lights, limbs folded inwards like a frightened fledgling. Something about him calls to mind a half-starved dove, a child too light for this world, wrists blue-shadowed, eyes soft and unsure, eyelashes fluttering down with every tremor in his chest. When he kneels beside you, itâs with the tentative grace of a little dancer, feet turned in, knees pressing close, as if even now he is trying not to take up more space than he deserves. Thereâs a balletic beauty in the awkwardness, he tucks his ankles neatly, sits so straight, but the charm in his fist quivers, the only anchor he trusts.
He looks at you, still as marble in your hospital bed, and for a moment, the fluorescent light catches in his hair like morning on a stage, shimmering as if he might take flight. âMissâŚâ His voice shivers, as fragile as the feathers that used to line his old crib. He squeezes the bunny charm so tightly the cord leaves marks on his palm, but he wonât let go, not even for his tears. âIâm sorry,â he whispers, voice breaking, so gentle, so painfully carefulâan apology spun from longing and guilt. âPlease wake up. Youâre a good woman. Iâm sorry for everything. Iâm sorry I made you go in the water. I shouldnât have cried about Bunny, I didnât know youâd go in, Iâm sorry I didnât swim fast enough, Iâm sorry I didnât help. Please wake up.â
His words fall like confetti at a lonely parade, one after another, a litany of self-blame and tiny hopes. He wipes at his eyes with the knuckle of his hand, leaving little smears of salt and dirt along his cheekbones, and when he inhales, itâs so sharp, so birdlike, you fear his ribs might snap from the effort. He leans closer, pressing the bunny charm to your shoulder as though it might work a miracle if he believes hard enough. The dove-child, all bruised knees and ballet hands, bows his head against the sheets and weeps. silent, wracking sobs that sound like the flutter of wings trapped behind glass, begging for a kindness heâs never known, apologizing to a woman who might never hear him, pouring everything he has into the hope that sheâll return and teach him how to dance in the light again.
At the sound of quiet snuffling, Haeun stirs. Her eyes open wide and slow, sleepy confusion turning bright as she sees Jaemin, then flickers with surprise at the boy sitting so close. âWho dis, Dada?â she whispers, blinking.Â
Jaemin settles beside her, softening his voice so it settles in her chest like a comfort. âHeâs a very good boy, baby. Someone Mama helped. Heâs kind and heâs strong, just like you. Be gentle, okay? Heâs our friend.â
Haeun sits up, blinking curiosity and kindness, her headband slipping sideways. âHi, Iâm Haeun. You wanna play? I got stickers, and Bunny, and⌠um, lots of snacks!â Her smile is a burst of sunlight in the sickroom, and the boyâs shy gaze lifts, drawn in by her easy warmth.Â
âMy nameâs Minjoon,â he says, barely above a whisper.Â
She giggles, offering her hand, tiny and sure, the way a child trusts. âNice to meet you, Minjoon. I show you all my best things. You wanna see my ballet shoes?â Minjoon nods, unable to speak, gaze flitting between her sparkly headband and the dandelion fluff of her dress, yellow against the blue of his hospital gown, sun meeting sky, bright and bruised.
In moments, theyâre a tangle of small legs and soft laughter on the floor, swapping stickers and stringing beads, Haeunâs easy chatter drawing Minjoon out until he forgets the worldâs weight, at least for a little while. A quiet falls, but Haeun canât bear the silence. She wriggles off the bed and tugs Minjoon gently by the wrist, showing him her sticker collection, he picks a dove, she picks a sunflower and in minutes theyâve started an imaginary game of âhospital parade,â parading around the bed on tiptoe, arms out like wings, laughing so softly you almost miss it. Minjoonâs slippers drag, his bones bird-light, but when Haeun flaps her arms, he copies, and soon they are two little dancers in the sickroom, the world shrinking to the square of sunlight and the hum of machines.
They drop to the floor, cross-legged, as Haeun empties her basket, bracelets, shiny buttons, a tiny bottle of glitter she calls âmagic dust.â Minjoonâs trembling fingers hover, reverent, as Haeun presses treasures into his palm one by one. âThis bracelet? Mama helped me make it when I got scared. It says âbrave.â And this one is for you, âcause youâre my friend.â Her words are a balm, her confidence a shield. Minjoon lets out a shaky giggle, surprised by how good it feels just to be noticed, to be given something without having to ask.
For a long time, they talk in secret languages, swapping stories, Haeun whispers how sheâs learning ballet and Minjoon says he once watched dancers on a playground behind the fence at his old foster home, his eyes glassy with memory. âI tried to twirl but my shoes went flying,â he says, ducking his head.
Haeun gasps, âI fall all the time too!â They dissolve into laughter, kindred spirits in clumsy courage, each one making space for the otherâs little hurts.
In the fading afternoon light, Haeun and Minjoon spin tiny, clumsy pirouettes for you, chins tipped high, arms outstretched, two little doves in yellow and blue, wobbly and beaming, their laughter sharp with hope. Haeun tugs Minjoon close and declares, âWhen Mama wakes up, weâll show her our best twirls. Sheâll clap and say weâre the best in the world. Youâre my best friend, Minjoonie. You can stay with us forever if you want.â She means it, in the fierce, uncompromising way children do.
Minjoonâs eyes shine with tears, but he smiles, shy and crooked, and squeezes Bunny tight, the two of them curling up side by side beneath your hand as if you could anchor them to the earth by warmth alone. Haeun pets his hair, whispers a lullaby you used to sing, and Jaemin feels the room pulse with love so thick it aches. He settles in a chair, one hand stroking your hair, the other wiping his eyes, watching these two lost kids find a pocket of safety in the storm. His voice is a breath against your temple, a promise, a prayer. âLook at them, love. Our girl and this boy, they found each other because of you. I hope you can see this. I hope you know what youâve done for both of them. You made a place where theyâre safe.â The air thickens, tenderness and ache mingling, hope sparking off the barest touch of your hand.
As the afternoon grows softer, Minjoonâs gaze wanders to Haeunâs Bunny. He swallows, reaching out, fingers trembling as he traces the soft ear. âI lost my bunny,â he murmurs, voice small. âMy dada threw it away. I only ever had one.âÂ
Haeunâs eyes go wide, round, brimming with immediate understanding. âOh, you can have mine!â she blurts, shoving Bunny into his hands before he can protest. âI got millions and millions of bunnies at home. Mama always gives me more. Itâs okay, really! Bunny likes to have new friends.â Minjoon hesitates, but Haeun insists, patting his hand with all the certainty of a child who knows her heart is boundless. âKeep Bunny. Now youâre my best friend. Mama would say thatâs the bravest thing, sharing what you love most.â
Jaeminâs chest aches with pride and something older, something almost like hope. He threads his fingers through your hair and whispers, âThisâthis is the world you made. Please, come back to it.â The world narrows to this fragile, perfect circle: your little girl, the lonely boy you saved, hope tucked between their small bodies, a family of your making, waiting for the miracle of you.
Night wraps the hospital in its blue-black hush, empty corridors carrying only the echo of distant alarms and the slow, glacial tick of a clock thatâs been counting down since the day you vanished beneath the waves. Your room feels colder now, days stretched into weeks, sunlight and hope thinning in tandem. Jaemin sits by your bedside, hands splayed over yours, his thumb tracing the faded crescent where your promise ring used to rest, tears wetting the bandage at your wrist. The air is thick with the aftertaste of things unsaid, a heavy, briny silence. The world outside carries on, Haeun visits, your fatherâs voice shakes as he tells stories about your stubborn childhood, Minjoon leaves scribbled notes and wilted clovers on the windowsill but here, inside the thin, sanitized walls of this room, time has coiled and curdled. The abyss yawns wide and Jaemin feels himself standing at its edge, clutching your hand, begging for something, anything, to pull you back.
Heâs in denial, haunted by your absence, shoving back the certainty every time a doctor says the same thing, gentle and implacable: If she doesnât wake up in the next forty-eight hours, we have to talk about withdrawal of care. The phrase tolls in his ears, an executionerâs bell, the final countdown to an ending he cannot, will not, accept. For hours he sits hunched, his stubble rough, eyes red, watching the flutter of your eyelids for the thousandth time, speaking as if every word might tether your soul to his. âIâm not angry at you, love,â he whispers, breath hitching. âIâm not disappointed. You havenât failed us. Thereâs only love, you hear me? Even if you⌠even if you let go. Thereâs only love. There always was.â He kisses the back of your limp hand, breathes in the memory of your shampoo on the pillow. âIâd choose you again. Iâd choose you a thousand times, even knowing it would hurt like this. Please. Please come back. I need you. Haeun needs you. You promised, remember? Iâm still here. Iâm still yours. Iâll never stop.â
He lowers his head, shoulders trembling, and for a moment he cries soundlessly, tears soaking the cotton cuff at your wrist. Outside, a storm rattles the window, thunder pressed against the glass like the heavy footfalls of all his doubt, all the darkness he tried to outrun. In the quiet, he mutters apologies, âIâm sorry for every time I shut you out. Iâm sorry I doubted. Iâm sorry I made you think you were alone. You never were. Never.â His thumb draws endless circles over your pulse, refusing to let you drift away.
Then, a shudder beneath his palm. Your hand twitches, a moth in the dark, then again, slow and uncertain. Jaemin jerks upright, frozen between hope and terror. Your eyelids flutter, lashes trembling, and the world tilts off its axis. He holds his breath. Please, please, let it be real. Your mouth opens, a broken gasp. You choke on the first inhale, air raw as glass. A shudder runs through your whole body, distant, underwater, everything blurred at the edges. Shadows twist behind your eyes, the black swan that stalked your sleep finally shredded, wings tattered and sinking beneath the parasiteâs tide. The world is color, noise and pain, white lights, voices, a body that aches all over, the taste of metal on your tongue. Your fingers clutch at the sheet, at his hand.
âJaemin?â Your voice cracks, hoarse, lost. âWhere am I? Why does it hurt?â Your gaze drags over tubes, beeping lines, the impossible bloat of weeks spent asleep. You start to panic, muscles spasming, breath shivering wild and uneven.Â
Jaemin nearly sobs, relief knocking the wind from his chest, but he swallows it down, hands already moving to check your pupils, fingers gentle but trembling as he says your name again and again. âHey, hey, look at me, baby. Youâre awake. Oh my god, youâre awake.â He checks your pulse, your oxygen, the IV, heart thundering as he rattles off numbers and cues like a mantra, neuro checks, airway, circulation, respond to voice because even now, heâs a doctor first and your husband second and the two roles twist together in his terror.
The room fills with voices, nurses flooding in, the crash of code blue fading away, someone shouting for Dr. Huang. Jaemin leans in, hands framing your face, tears streaking his cheeks, and when you look up at him, dazed and blinking, he says, âYouâre safe. You were in an accident. You saved a little boy. You⌠you drowned, sweetheart. Youâve been asleep a long time. We missed you. I missed you so much. I love you, I love you, I love you.â He kisses your forehead, cheeks, lips, desperate and frantic and worshipful, every touch a prayer.
You start to cry, apologies tumbling, hands shaking. âIâm sorry. Iâm so sorry. I wanted to come back. I didnât mean toââÂ
He cuts you off with another kiss, thumb smearing tears from your eyes. âDonât. No more apologies. None of this is your fault. Youâre here, thatâs enough. Thatâs all I ever wanted.â Your breaths are ragged, your chest aches, but the sound of his voice steadies you, holding you on the knife edge between agony and grace.
He tells you everythingâabout Haeun, about the boy, about the hospital vigils and the fights and the days he spent counting your breaths, about the world that stopped turning and is just now spinning again. You listen, shattered and remade, as he confesses all the ways he loves you, all the things he forgave before you even left, all the faith he placed in you to survive. His lips roam over your knuckles, your jaw, your throat, his voice a rasped litany of need. âYouâre my whole world, love. My best girl. My forever. Donât leave me again, please. I canât do it. I need you. Haeun needs you. We need you to stay.â
You tangle your fingers in his, your tears hot, and manage a laugh, a sob, a promise. âIâm here, baby. Iâm yours. Iâm not going anywhere.â He pulls you up, wraps you in the only arms that have ever truly felt like home, and the world sharpens, color bleeding back into the black-and-white edges of your fear. He kisses you over and over, frantic, as if he can breathe you all the way back to life, and when you whisper I love you, I love you, I love you, itâs the first true dawn youâve tasted since the sea swallowed you whole.
Your first breaths hurt as much as waking, a knife edge of air sawing at your lungs, every muscle shaking, salt and sorrow caught under your tongue. The worldâs too bright, his face blurred by tears. Your voice cracks and stumbles, thick with all the weight of what you remember. âItâs my fault,â you rasp, hot tears slipping free. âAll of it. Haeun got sick because I messed up her medicine, I know I did. I was so fucking stupid. I shouldâve checked again and again. And the beach, I knew it wasnât safe, but I did it anyway, and look what happened. I ruined everything, Jaemin. Everything.â Your voice breaks down into sobs, your body curled small on the sheets, each ragged apology scraping up the last of your strength. âHaeun⌠the boy⌠youâeveryone would be better off if Iâd just stayed away. Iâm sorry, Iâm so sorry, I ruined everything, I lost everything, Iââ
Jaeminâs hands seize your shoulders, his grip fierce, jaw tight with a heartbreak thatâs sharp enough to cut through any lie youâve told yourself. âNo. No, baby, you listen to me. Look at me.â He tilts your face up, his own eyes storming with love and rage and desperate conviction. âNone of this is your fault. Not a single thing. I know you, I know you would never be careless with Haeun, with anyone. You didnât make a mistake with the medicine. My lawyer, his nameâs Mr. Kang, he found the proof. Thereâs CCTV from the park, baby, the afternoon you thought you got it wrong. Nahyun slipped something into the bottle. She poisoned Haeun, not you. You never did anything wrong. Not one damn thing. And as for the water? You did it out of the good of your heart, there was never any ill intention. You did what you always do, what I fell in love with, jumping in, giving everything, never thinking of yourself. Thatâs who you are. You donât get to blame yourself for being brave. If you hadnât gone in, heâd think that no one cared or would fight for him. And if you think for a second Iâd let you carry this aloneââ He chokes on it, voice raw. âYouâre not alone. I wonât let you be. Iâve already made sure Nahyun and Aseul will never get near you or Haeun again. Legal, security, police, everything. I donât want to get into the details right now, I want you safe, I want you breathing, but youâre never going to have to look over your shoulder again. You and our daughter are safe. I promise.â
His thumb strokes tears from your cheek, tracing every crack in the dam thatâs broken inside you. âWhile you were gone, everyone came. Jeno and his whole family, Karina, Donghyuck, Mark, Areum, even little Chaeun. The whole hospital, your friends, my parents, your dad and your aunt, they never left your side. Minjoon comes to visit every day. The nurses brought you flowers and the kids left you drawings and wishes. I⌠I couldnât sleep. I held your hand for hours. Haeun cried herself sick for you every night, but she kept telling everyone, âMy mamaâs gonna wake up. My mamaâs magic, she always comes home.â I never let go of that, not once, even when they told me to say goodbye. Iâm sorry the last thing we did was fight. Iâm sorry I let you leave angry. I shouldâve run after you, I shouldâve held you tighter. Thatâs my regret, not yours. Iâm never letting you walk out like that again, you hear me?â He kisses your forehead, your mouth, your eyelids, trembling, nearly frantic with relief and longing.
âI love you, I love you, I love you. Youâre everything good in my life. I forgive you, for everything and nothing, because you donât need forgiveness. You need to know youâre loved, youâre home, youâre safe. I want you here with me, with Haeun, with all of us who need you so fucking much it hurts. Please, donât ever leave like that again. Please, donât ever think you ruined anything. You saved all of us. Youâre the best thing that ever happened to me.â He buries his face in your hair, tears hot against your skin, and for the first time since you drowned, the world feels like it might spin on, soft and blinding and brand new.
You lift your trembling hand to Jaeminâs cheek, needing the anchor of his warmth against your palm, and your voice breaks open in a whisper that sounds like prayer. âHowâs my baby?âÂ
At once his eyes soften, every hard edge gentling as though the question itself is a lullaby. âSheâs thriving,â he says, and his words pour over you like sunrise. âHer last echo looked flawless, the truncus repair is holding, the gradients are perfect. She runs laps around the unit with her toy stethoscope, sings to every nurse, and scolds the monitors when they beep too loud. She wakes up asking for you and goes to sleep whispering âMama loves me all the way to Jupiter.â She giggles herself breathless, eats Popsâ rice cakes, and then dances the calories right back out, her oxygen sats stay in the high nineties, her cheeks stay pink, her scar fades a little more every week. Every heartbeat, every skip, every silly ballet twirlâis because you never stopped fighting for her. You gave her a world that doesnât hurt to breathe in, and she knows it.â He presses a reverent kiss to your knuckles. âYour sunshine is shining brighter than ever, and she canât wait to crawl up here and show you how strong sheâs become.â
You exhale a ragged breath that feels like releasing the sea, and another question tumbles out before you can stop it. âWhat happened to the boy?âÂ
Jaeminâs mouth curves into a smile so tender it makes your chest ache all over again. âHe came to see you, you know,â he murmurs, eyes shining with the quiet weight of marvel. âHe snuck past three reception desks, convinced two interns to lend him bus fare, and bribed a security guard with half-melted candy just to peek into your room. He sat in the hallway for hours, hugging his bunny, whispering that he needed to be sure that the ânice ladyâ wasnât just a dream. He drew you pictures, whole oceans and bright yellow suns, taping them to the door so you would see them the moment your eyes opened. He asked every passing nurse if youâd woken, calling them âcaptainâ and âmister stethoscopeâ and thanking them for keeping you safe.â Jaeminâs fingers tighten around yours, and tears glitter on his lashes as he finishes the story the only way it can end. âHis name,â he says, voice thick but sure, âis Minjoon.â
Your head tips back into the soft dip of Jaeminâs shoulder, his arm a shield around your ribs, every word between you stitched close and quiet as if afraid to wake the world outside your little hospital nest. You trace the veins on the back of his hand, voice low, raw with yearning, âHe really did all that, baby? Snuck in here, made the nurses his crew, brought me the whole sea?âÂ
Jaemin lets out a gentle laugh, the sound trembling at the edges, and squeezes your hand like heâs anchoring you both. âHe did, angel. He told one of the interns he was on a treasure hunt, said the only thing that mattered was finding you, and heâd walk forever if thatâs what it took. He called the security guard âAdmiralâ and said heâd trade all his candy for just one look at you. He kept his picture of you safe in his sock, and said he wouldnât let it out of his sight.â
You close your eyes, picturing it, Minjoonâs skinny legs dangling from some plastic waiting room chair, bunny tucked to his heart, all that hope wound tight as a sailorâs knot. âWas he scared, Jaemin? Did he look lost?âÂ
Jaeminâs voice softens to a hush. âHe was scared, but he was braver. Sat right outside the room and drew picture after pictureâoceans, boats, suns, you with a big, shining halo. Every time a nurse checked in, heâd ask if you smiled yet, if you remembered him, if youâd be lonely if he left.â He pauses, throat tight, then adds, âHe told meâdead seriousâthat you saved him first, so now it was his turn to bring you home.â
You swallow hard, throat tight, vision swimming as you clutch Jaeminâs hand. Your voice trembles, barely more than a whisper, raw and hungry. âWhere is he now, baby? Did heâdid he come today? Is he close? I wanna see him.â You blink against the tears that wonât stop, pressing your palm to your mouth like you could hold all the longing in.
Jaemin lets out a long, quiet sigh, his thumb rubbing slow circles over your wrist, the truth weighing heavy in the hush between heartbeats. âI havenât seen him in a few days,â he admits, voice low, sadness rippling underneath. âNot since the last time he left that picture at the door. He drew a sun, a boat and your name in shaky letters. He always said heâd be back, butâŚâ He trails off, gaze distant, his hand gripping yours tighter as if he can anchor you both through the ache. âHeâs out there, love. I know heâs looking for his way home.â
You draw a slow breath, steadying the tremor in your ribs as you lift one hand to swipe the tears from your lashes, fingertips lingering at your cheek to remind yourself that you can still feel the warmth, then you trail those same fingers to Jaeminâs hair, weaving through the dark strands while you lean your forehead to his and pour every ounce of aching hope into a whisper meant only for him, the words spilling soft and molten between your mouths as you promise to keep breathing even while your heart thunders for the boy who has vanished into the cityâs sprawl, and in the quiet after that vow you turn the compass of your mind toward the light of your baby girl because thinking of her is a sunrise that never fails, a sugar-sweet tide that washes the salt of sorrow clean, and you picture the way her curls smell of strawberry shampoo and sun-warm cotton, the way her pudgy arms wrap around your neck with fierce determination, her sleepy murmur of âMama loves me whole skyâ puffing against your collarbone, the way her breath catches on a giggle whenever you kiss the soft hollow beneath her chin where dreams seem to hide, and the memory ignites something steady and luminous inside your chest that refuses to crack no matter how wide the grief yawns.
You let the image grow, tasting the cotton-candy lilt of her voice as she calls for you at dawn, feeling the flutter of her tiny hand patting your cheek as she insists that pancakes must wear blueberry hats, remembering the rhythmic rise of her belly against yours during afternoon naps when she fits into the curve of your body like she was carved from your own shadow, and the thought becomes a tether stronger than IV lines or stitched wounds, drawing you through the sterile hush of the ward toward a tomorrow where she will be tucked beneath your chin again, whispering secrets about brave circles and night-light hearts, and you speak into the space between Jaeminâs breaths, a vow woven of silk and iron, telling him you will heal fast and true so you can gather her into your arms, press your ear to her chest to hear the miracle thrum of her repaired heart, cover her eyelids with kisses until she laughs that tinkling laugh that fills rooms brighter than lamplight, because that future, that chorus of cuddles and feather-soft words, is the map that guides you out of every storm and back into the endless, tender gravity of motherhood.
You turn your head, dizzy and battered by the brightness, reaching for him through blurred tears. Your fingers tangle in Jaeminâs hair, thumb brushing his cheek as you draw him close, your lips meeting him in a kiss thatâs soft and trembling, full of desperate gratitude and all the apologies you canât yet find words for. His hands cup your jaw, returning the kiss with every promise he made at your bedside, his breath hitching with a laugh that breaks into another wave of tears. You can barely breathe because of the ache in your chest, but you manage to whisper, âWhereâs my baby?â The words are thick and slurred, your mind still fogged by fever, coma and the nearness of death, but the need is fierce, urgent, a motherâs anchor, pulling you back into the world.Â
Your fingertips skim the stubble along his jaw, as though touch alone could steady the spin of the world, yet hunger for your daughter throbs louder than the monitor at your bedside. âJaemin, please, I need her. I need our baby girl. I justââ your voice cracks, raw and small, ââI just want to hold her, I want to feel her curls on my neck, hear her say âMamaâ again. I miss her so much. I canât do this without her, I really canât. Please bring her, I donât care if Iâm a mess or if the nurses get mad, just bring her to me. I need her in my arms, I need to see her face, right now. Please, baby, I just want my girl. I want her with me. I miss her so much it hurts.â
Jaemin lifts his head, eyes still shining, and nods toward the glass wall. âLook.â Your gaze shifts, unsteady, to the hallway beyond. Thereâs Haeun, your little sunshine, hair wild and bunny charm jangling on her collar, nestled into the crook of your fatherâs arm. He crouches beside her, the two of them kneeling over a coloring book spread open on the tile, your dad pointing at a picture with gentle pride. Haeun is chattering, cheeks pink, showing him every sticker and every scribbled line. Your heart twists at the sightâher papa, her new world, the bond that bloomed in your absence. Jaemin smiles softly. âTheyâve gotten close, those two. She loves her pops. Wonât do anything without him now. She even got him to braid Bunnyâs ears this morning. Sheâs okay, love. She really is.â
He draws a slow breath, thumb rubbing a gentle circle over your wrist as he continues, letting the memory fill the silence between your heartbeats. âI was so nervous, you know? I thought maybe sheâd be scared, or shy, or maybe sheâd think he was a stranger. The first day, she hid behind my leg, clutching Bunny so hard her knuckles turned white, but he sat right down on the floor, opened up his wallet and showed her a photo of you when you were little. He told her, âSee? Thatâs your Mama, Haeun. When she was just your age. She loved yellow even then. She was always making things, always smiling. Just like you.â And I watched her melt, just like that, our sunshine soaking up a new kind of warmth sheâd never had before.â
Every day since, you can picture it: your father waiting for her in the mornings with a mug of tea and an old photo album, Haeun crawling onto his knee before sheâs even said hello. He let her brush his hair, tried to braid hers (badly, but she laughed), and told her stories about your first dance recital, your first fever, the way you used to stomp your feet when you were upset. She hung on every word. She started calling him âPapaâ on her own, no one told her, she just did it, like she was claiming a lost part of herself and tucking it into the space you left behind. At bedtime, sheâd curl up in his arms, dragging your cardigan with her, and heâd hum lullabies so quietly only the two of them could hear. Sometimes heâd trace her palm, mapping out the family lines, telling her, âYou have your Mamaâs hands, see? Thatâs how I know youâre strong.â
When the night terrors came and she woke sobbing for you, it was your father who carried her through the dark, sitting on the porch steps with her bundled tight against his chest, promising her the sun would rise and Mama would come home, and that it was okay to be scared, heâd been scared too, so many times, and it didnât make her any less brave. Some afternoons sheâd follow him through the house, chattering, drawing pictures to show you, holding his finger with sticky hands as they made soup or watered the plants together. He kept every one of her crayon notes, tucked them in his shirt pocket, showed them off to the nurses, beaming with a pride so fierce it made Jaeminâs eyes sting.
Jaeminâs voice goes softer, lower, tracing the last few weeks in a way that calms the storm in your veins. âShe trusts him, love. Heâs the only one who could make her eat when she was too sad, the only one who could get her to nap, the only one she let braid her hair without a fuss. She tells him all her secrets, all her aches, just like she does with you. Itâs been⌠good, in a way I didnât know we needed. Sheâs found pieces of you in him, and heâs found pieces of you in her. Theyâre both healing, together, even when I couldnât do it myself. I think youâd be proud of them.â
You breathe in, feeling the hush settle over the room, eyes fixed on the shape of your daughter leaning into her grandfather, her face pressed close to his heart as he traces a picture with her. Itâs all there, the love, the gentleness, the hard-won trust, as steady as the light washing through the window. It soothes you, stitches something broken back together. You know now, whatever happens, she was safe in your absence, wrapped in arms that learned to love from the same place you did, anchored by a history that will always, always belong to her.
You soak it in, overwhelmed by the ordinary miracle of them, by the way sunlight sets fire to every strand of Haeunâs hair, painting it gold, the curve of her nose scrunched in focus, her lips pursed in a perfect pout as she peels up a stubborn sticker. Her cheeks are flushed with that apple-bright, wild color, dusted pink at the tip and slick with the sheen of tears that never really left. Her nose twitches when she laughs, a soft snuffling sound, and every so often she presses the tip of her finger to her mouth, brow furrowed, humming quietly as she considers her art. The fullness of her mouth, always a little sticky from breakfast, is parted in concentration, tongue peeking at the corner, the picture of fierce innocence. Your fatherâs hand is a shield against her back, his palm spanning almost her whole torso, thumb tracing absentminded circles whenever her shoulders hitch or she gets too wiggly. Haeun leans into him. trust so instinctive she barely notices it, chin tucked, mouth parted, breath coming in hiccupy little bursts as she babbles stories only he can hear. She lifts her face every few seconds to nuzzle his sleeve, her nose smushing into the soft cotton, eyes fluttering closed for a second before sheâs distracted again by a sticker, a doodle, a story she needs to tell.
When Jaeminâs voice trails off, Haeunâs lashes flick upâdark and wet, curling over cheeks that are still plump with babyhood and her gaze scans the glass, wide and blinking, confused for a heartbeat. Her mouth opens, a tiny o of disbelief, and then the shock bursts into life: her eyes swell impossibly round, her lips quiver, and a squeal so piercing and pure it rattles the air peals through the corridor. âMama! Mamaâs awake! Mama! Mama!â The sound is bright and bubbling, tumbling over itself, a giggle and a sob knotted together. She flings the coloring book sideways, stickers raining in a blizzard across the tile. Her slippers squeak-slap as she careens down the hall, one ear of Bunny dragging from her collar, mouth open in an ecstatic, unstoppable wail.
She crashes against you, face buried in your neck, tears soaking your gown. Sheâs shaking, laughing, sobbing all at once, her arms locked around your ribs as if she could glue you back together by sheer will. âMama, Mama, Mama!â Her voice is hiccuping, her whole body trembling with joy. âI knew it! I knew youâd come back! I told Bunny every night, Mama always comes home, Mama is magic, Mama just sleeping, Bunny said soââ Sheâs babbling, hands everywhereâcupping your cheeks, tracing your eyebrows, pressing frantic kisses to your face, your collarbone, every inch of skin she can reach. âYouâre real, youâre here, I missed you, I missed you, youâre the prettiest, best Mama ever, I be good, I be brave, I ate all my medicine and I took care of Bunny and I cuddled with Pops and I love you, Mama, I love you, donât go, never go againââ Her words dissolve into giggles, then into tears again, her little chest heaving, curls sticking to her forehead. She strokes your face with sticky fingers, her eyes shining with a wonder so fierce itâs nearly painful. âYou woke up just for me, right? You love me the most, right? Say it, Mama. Say it loud so my heart can hear!â
âForever and always, my sunshine,â you manage, voice cracking open under the weight of love. âI love you most,â you repeat, louder this time so the promise drifts straight into her listening chest. You clutch her close, hands fisted in the back of her yellow dress, your own tears hot and new as you rock her, as if you could undo all the nights she spent waiting, as if you could pour every drop of love she lost right back into her chest. Jaemin kneels beside you, arms wrapped around both your trembling bodies, pressing his lips to the crown of Haeunâs head and then to yours, and for a heartbeat, in the middle of machines and monitors and every ache you ever thought would swallow you whole, you are anchored again by the weight and warmth of your girl, by her voice in your ear, by the impossible hope that brought you back from the dark.
Haeun is a sunburst in motion, tiny legs pinwheeling as she scoots higher on your lap, knees knocking against your ribs, bunny charm jingling like a bell. Her butter-yellow dress rides up to reveal pudgy calves the color of warm milk. Every part of her is busy: tiny toes curling, bunny charm chiming at her collarbones, curls flying like spun sugar. She jumps up and down in your lap with a soft pomf, then launches into a flurry of butterfly-kisses, the tip of your nose, your apple-round cheek, the soft sweep beneath your eye, breathless âmwah-mwah-mwahâ sounds tumbling between giggles. Her mouth is a glossy strawberry heart, tongue poking between baby teeth as she breathlessly reports, âMama, Nurse Hana gave me two sparkly stickers âcause Dr. Huang said my heart goes boom-boom-BAM super strong!â Tiny fingers, warm, still faintly sticky with syrup, press to your sternum, then pat her own chest, marveling at the echo of life thumping beneath both sets of ribs. Her eyelashes, black and velvety, sweep her brows each time she blinks, and her button nose scrunches with theatrical awe.
Jaemin kneels beside the bed, arms curling around both of you, his lips finding the crown of Haeunâs head before pressing, reverent and shaking, to your temple. The three of you form a trembling constellationâhis steady heartbeat against your shoulder blade, her tiny pulse thrumming under your palm, your own heart finally slotting back into its rhythm because their bodies are here, warm and solid, anchoring you to the earth. She tilts her head, curls brushing your collarbone, and in that hush between two heartbeats you feel the universe rearrange: every missed bedtime, every prayer whispered into stale hospital air, every throb of fear that you would never wake is gathered up and traded for this single, searing truthâyour baby girl is real, alive, and loving you with all the reckless ferocity her tiny body can hold. Tears slip down your face, and she catches them on sticky fingertips, smearing salt across your lips as she giggles, âMamaâs tears taste like rainbows.â You laugh through the ache, tasting springtime and hope, thinking yes, maybe they do, because for the first time since the dark water closed over your head the world is blooming again, bright and impossible, carried inside the heartbeat of the child who never stopped believing that you would come home.
Before you can answer sheâs off again, words tripping over each other like marbles on tile. âAndâand Papa braided Bunny ears, but Papaâs fingers silly, and Pops maked pancakes shaped like stars. Oh and Mama! Dr. Huang said next week I can twirl in ballet class again, really-truly, so I practiced pliĂŠs with Pops and Bunny but my tutu went whooshââ She demonstrates, bouncing twice on you; her curls bounce too, casting cinnamon shadows across her round, satin-soft cheeks.Â
She launches into a full-body pliĂŠ, knees bending, bottom tucked, arms flung wide, until you gasp, a sharp breath you canât hide, pain flaring where IV lines tug and healing ribs protest. Instantly she freezes, eyes rounding like spilled marbles, curls settling in soft ringlets against her flushed cheeks. You gather her nearer, one arm cradling the warm curve of her back, the other hand smoothing the skirt of her dress.Â
Jaeminâs steady palm lands between her shoulder blades. âEasy, baby. Mamaâs still hurting,â he murmurs, caution wrapped in devotion.Â
Haeunâs whole body pauses; she straightens like a toy soldier, lower lip wobbling. âSorry, Dada⌠âscuse me, Mama,â she breathes, lids drooping, bunny ears drooping, the word sorry puffing out like the tiniest white cloud. âMama, did I squish your owie?â Her fingertips trace invisible circles over your gown, feather-light.
You press a kiss to the crown of her head, whispering, âJust a little sting, my love. Mamaâs bodyâs still waking up.â You feel her soften against you, heartbeat drumming quick apologies, but the sparkle in her eyes refuses to dim; even in your arms she gives a tiny, whisper-quiet twirl, content now to dance in place where she can feel the rise and fall of your breath beneath her palms.
Haeun nestles closer, eyes flicking to the heart-rate monitor that still flickers beside you. She traces one tiny finger along the glowing numbers, then ducks her head, cheeks blooming rose-petal pink. âMama, Iâm sorry for my big hallway yell when I saw you was awake,â she whispers, voice hushed as if the machine might scold her. âI know hospitals like teeny-tiny voices.â She presses her finger to her lipsâshh!âthen confesses in a syrupy rush. âI just got too happyâmy mouth ran faster than my brain.â The confession is punctuated by a sheepish sniffle and a shy peek through her lashes; she presses a solemn kiss to your forearm as penance before finishing, half-giggled, half-contrite: âNext time Iâll keep my happy in a whisper jar but itâs super hard âcause my whisper jar is leaky.â
You cup her moon-bright face, brushing a kiss to her plush lower lip, tasting strawberry toothpaste and all the hope you almost lost. âDonât be sorry, my angel girl,â you murmur, pressing another kiss to the tiny pulse fluttering at her temple. âYour excitement is my favorite medicine.âÂ
Encouraged, she surges forward again, arms flung around your neck, her heartbeat a hummingbird against your throat. âI just so âcited, Mama, âcause my heartâs strong and Iâm gonna dance and you waked up and everythingâs shiny again!â Her words spill like confetti while her hands roam, patting your shoulders, smoothing your hair, counting your freckles as if taking inventory of a miracle returned. You breathe her inâsoap, syrup, sunâand let her chatter swirl around you, every syllable stitching you tighter to the life you almost surrendered.
You press your lips to the silky whorl at her crown, inhaling sunshine, syrup, and the faint powdery scent of crayon wax. Then you guide her small feet into your lap, cupping each pink-socked âballet toeâ as though it were porcelain. âThese brave feet will pirouette across galaxies,â you murmur, massaging the arches the way her teacher taught you, easing the phantom ache of months in bed. She watches, rapt, cheeks blooming peach-rose, lashes trembling while you flex her ankle, demi-pointe, full pointe, whispering the French names so softly they feel like spells. When you brush the pad of your thumb beneath her toes she giggles, bright as chimes, and you tilt your forehead to hers, nose to button nose, both of you breathing the same warm breath. âI promise,â you vow, eyes stinging, âthe very first day you dance again, Mama will be in the front row, cheering so loud the stars hear us.â
Her dimple deepens; tears gleam on her lower lashes. âThen Iâll dance extra twirly so the music keeps your heart awake.â She lays one palm over your sternum, as though tuning the rhythm herself. Haeunâs dimple pops, but instead of another giggle her bottom lip juts forward, eyes going glassy as she traces a sleepy circle over your sternum. âMama,â she sighs, lashes sweeping her cheeks, âI wanna dance with Minjoonie.â The name tumbles out like a secret marble, and you draw a soft breath, surprise flaring in your chest. She catches the sound, eyes widening, curls bouncing. âOh! Mama! You know who Minjoonie is, right?âÂ
Her voice climbs, bright with amazement. âHeâs such a sweet baby boyâso cute, listens real good, holds Bunny the right way so his ears donât drag.â She scoots closer, knees bumping your ribs, eager to spill every detail. âOne night when you were still sleepy-snow, I was walkinâ the hallway with Pops, my heart felt all droopy, then Minjoonie peeked from behind the water fountain. He asked if I wanted a jelly bean, âcause he said jelly beans chase the scary dreams away. We traded colors, yellow for blue, then he showed me how to do a spin-spin slide on the shiny floor tiles. We twirled right by the big clock, three whole circles! He bowed, I curtsied, we clapped for our own show, and he said, âYour tutu is invisible, but I see it sparkle.ââ She pauses, sniffing, curls drooping. âBut then he waved goodbye. He said he had to go back on an adventure bus. He never came back, Mama, and I keep savinâ my extra jelly bean for him.â
Your heart folds in on itself, tender and aching, and you brush her damp curls back, kissing the soft spot just above her brow. âMaybe heâs still on that adventure bus, Sunshine. Maybe heâs following the map of our hearts to find his way back to us.â She considers this, tiny teeth worrying her bottom lip, then nods with solemn hope. Together you lift your linked hands, her sticky fingers tucked inside yours and press them over your joined hearts, a secret mother-daughter ritual born in the lonely hours of hospital nights.Â
She leans forward until your noses touch, whispering, âWish time, Mama.â You both close your eyes, breath mingling, and trade hushed wishes against each otherâs cheeks: hers a soft, earnest plea for Minjoonie to come twirl again; yours a vow that the next time his brave feet reach this ward, heâll never leave without knowing heâs home. When you open your eyes, her pout has gentled into a hopeful curve, and she plants a kiss right over your pulse. âThatâs our wish glue,â she murmurs, voice drowsy with belief. âNow the wind canât blow it away.â You hug her close, letting the magic settle, two hearts, one wish, waiting for the boy who made the hallway a ballroom and left a jelly-bean spot open in both your hands.
You gather her close, palms spanning the sturdier stretch of her back, and lift just enough to feel the new heft of her body. âLook at you, baby,â you breathe, awe brushing every word. âYou feel so strong now.â Your fingers map the subtle weight along her legs, no more bird-thin wobble, only soft muscle beneath fleece leggings and the warmth of her skin pulses steady and sure against your own. Her cheeks glow a healthy peach, dimples flashing like pocket-suns when she smiles; not a hint of that old dusky tint lingers. You rest a hand over her ribs, rising and falling in gentle, even tides and marvel how sheâs not huffing for breath, just giggling, curls tickling your nose as she bumps her forehead to yours. Her heartbeat drums confident and clear beneath your palm, a tiny, jubilant metronome that steadies yours in turn. She tugs your hair with syrup-sticky fingers, eyes crescent-bright, and you press a kiss to her templeâskin warm, aliveâand whisper a silent thank-you to every miracle that stitched her whole.
Jaeminâs voice thickens behind you. âHer EF is up to sixty-five percent,â he says, barely above a heartbeat, pride and disbelief braided in every syllable. âNo regurgitation on the latest Doppler, BNP normal and steady. Huang called it a textbook recovery, and said he hasnât seen numbers like this in a kid her age since fellowship.â His hand slips around your shoulders; you feel the tremor he hides, the breath he steals, watching his two miracles folded together. You anchor Haeunâs feet against your ribs, kiss each tiny toe, and she squeals and bounces, flinging her arms around your neck. âCareful,â Jaemin warns, voice breaking on a laugh-sob
She only nestles closer, whispering against your ear, âMy heartâs dancing, Mama, now your heart has to dance, too.â And with Jaeminâs tears dripping warm onto your hair and your own tears glistening on her curls, you realize it already is.
But joy always drags its shadow behind it. Mid-giggle Haeun freezes, like a music-box ballerina whose spring has jammed, dimples flattening as recognition punches through delight. A ragged little ahh slips out; then her shoulders quake, tears ballooning on lashes so long they kiss her brows. They fall in fat, glassy beads, splashing the hospital gown where her cherry-glossed lips earlier left kissy prints. âI thought you leaved f-forever, Mama,â she hiccups, voice burr-soft, chest fluttering under your hand like a trapped sparrow. âI dreamed you was angel in skyââ she points a quivering finger upward, nose crinklingââand I tried to jump but the clouds was too tall and I cried and cried and Bunny cried too.â She burrows under your chin, hot breaths fogging your skin, her cinnamon-curl halo tickling your jaw; her fists clutch the gown, knuckles pearly, one sticky thumb still half-tucked between petal-pink teeth.
You rock her, heart scraping your ribs, something dark and delicate stretching wings behind the cage of bone. Forehead pressed to her raspberry-warm brow, you whisper, âShh, my angel, Mamaâs here. No more sky between us. I will never walk out like that again, never leave my baby girl.â Your tears slip onto her fluttering lashes; she blinks, surprised, then licks at the salt with the tip of her tongue, the way she does with pancake syrup.
âForever?â she asks on a tremulous breath, voice drifting feather-soft, like a secret shared between swans in their final glide.
âForever-ever,â you vow, unaware that the shadows gather softly at the edges of your promise, a silent ripple stirring the black water beneath the sweetness of your daughterâs laughter. She giggles into your neck, kissing whispers against your pulse, innocence hiding the faint, distant rustle of feathers, your pledge stretching between mother and child, binding you tighter than any oath, until the day the stars align, and the only way you leave this world is with her small hand nestled safely in yours.
She sniffs, wiping snot with the back of a marshmallow-plump hand, lower lip jutting. âBut⌠you said you not my Mama.â The words wobble, half accusation, half plea, little chin quivering.Â
You hush her with traveling kissesâone to each tear-wet cheek, soft as mochi; one to her freckle-dusted nose; one to the sugar-bow curve of her mouthâletting each press stitch truth into her skin. âIâm sorry, my sweet angel,â you breathe between kisses, voice shaking with the weight of it. âI was scared and hurting and I thought the only way to keep you safe was to stand back, but that was wrong. Saying I wasnât your Mama was the worst lie I ever told, and Iâll spend forever un-telling it. I live to be your Mamaâbefore doctor, before anything. My heart beats just to love you, Haeun. Nothing comes before that, ever again.â She soaks up every word, hiccupping a sob that melts into a shy smile, and tucks her damp cheek under your chin as if sealing the promise there.
âIâm your Mama because I carried you in my heart long before the world ever carried you in my arms,â you murmur, each word a feathered kiss across her damp cheeks. âIâm your Mama because your belly-laugh echoes in my bones and your sniffly tears water my soul. Iâm your Mama when you twirl like a dizzy ballerina and whisper, âMama, look-a me!ââwhen you steal the last pancake and leave me only crumbsâwhen you wake at three a.m. with bad-dream hiccups and I rock you âtil dawn. Iâm your Mama every time you paint the bathtub purple, every time you hide stickers in my hair, every time you say âpwease one more storyâ and I read five.â
Haeunâs eyes glimmer, half-moon shy; she wiggles deeper into your hug, cheeks flaming strawberry. âMama,â she whispers, covering her grin with both pudgy hands, âyou âmember the purple bath?âÂ
You nod, brushing curls from her forehead. âI remember everything, Sunshine. Because Iâm your Mama forever-ever-ever, even when the sky turns upside-down, even when my own heart gets scared. Nothing, not storms or hospitals or oceans, can change that.â
Color floods her cheeks, strawberry milk whipped to foam and she ducks, pudgy fingers mashed to dimples. âStop, Mama, I shy!â Then softer, like a secret blooming, âWuv you big as all da moons.â She slings both arms round your neck so hard the monitor wires rustle, sighing out a breath that seems to drain months of night terrors from her tiny lungs. Her legs, dimpled knees, scraped from ward scooter races fold frog-tight about your waist, dawn-soft soles drumming your hips. She presses her ear to your heart, listening, lips moving in a private baby mantra: boom-boom, boom-boom, stay-stay.
Haeunâs giggle bubbles up like soda fizz. She pats your cheeks with both palms, eyes round with adoration. âMama, you wake up even prettier!â she declares, nose crinkling. âAuntie Rina say I look like big girl now, see my hair?â She scoops the glossy curls forward; they spill over her shoulders in caramel ropes, ends tied with tiny sunflower bows. âItâs long-long, almost touch my tummy! Anâ look, pretty twirly dress, all sparkles, just âcause I wanna be bootiful for Mama kisses.â She twirls once, skirt fanning like a lemon-yellow flower, then clutches your hands to her heart. âYou notice, Mama? You notice I match you? We both gots long hair and sparkly eyes and our smiles go up-up on the same side!â She taps her own dimple, then yours, sighing, âSerin look like her mama, anâ I look like mine. I pretty âcause you pretty, âcause you my Mama, see?â
The purity of her certainty fractures something tender in your chest. Blood may not bind you, yet her belief stitches tighter than any gene. Tears slip free, starlight on your lashes, as you stroke her ribboned curls. âYes, baby, I see,â you whisper, voice trembling with love. âYouâre the most beautiful girl in the world, and every bit of that beauty reminds me Iâm the luckiest Mama alive.â You kiss her bows, her dimple, the tip of her freckled nose, sealing her truth to your bones.
Jaeminâs arms wrap around you both, sealing the circle. His hand, warm and sure, cups the back of Haeunâs head, thumb stroking the silky swirl of curls at her crown. She leans into the touch, lashes half-mast, but her mouth keeps puddling out baby love in breathy puffs: how sheâs saving grape stickers just for you, how Pops promised to build a backyard barre, how ballet shoes are âpink like sunrise jellyâ and sheâll do the Bunny Hop recital âonly if Mama claps the loudest.â Tiny fingers trace the outline of your jaw, the pulse at your neck, the curve of your lip, each touch a vow that she will tether you here. Beneath her cheek your hearts sync, thudding a duet older than lullabies, steadier than tides. You breathe her in, strawberry soap, warm milk, faint whiff of crayon and Jaeminâs tears land in your hair like holy water. For the first time since the sea tried to keep you, every breath, every beat, every bunny-soft giggle feels like the world clicking back into its rightful orbit, bright and whole and impossibly alive.
The door swings wide with a soft hydraulic hiss, and the world beyond your tight little bubble rushes in on the scent of after-shave and autumn air. You lift your head, mid-kiss, tears still jeweled on your lashes and there he stands. Your father fills the threshold like a memory given shape: silver at the temples, cardigan buttons misaligned in his haste, eyes the exact warm hazel that lives in every sunbeam of your childhood. For a heartbeat you forget how to breathe. Haeunâs head pops up, curls bouncing, and she squeals so high it warbles the monitor. âPops!â She wriggles to her knees on the mattress, flinging stubby arms wide. Your fatherâs face crumples with wonder; he crosses the room in three strides, careful of lines and rails, and folds her into a hug that looks as natural as if heâd been doing it since her first breath.
Tears spill faster, blurring the scene to soft watercolors. âDaddyâŚâ Your voice breaks on the word, too small, too raw.Â
Jaeminâs palm finds the back of your head, thumb stroking where hair thins around the IV port; he whispers, âBreathe, love,â but his own breath stutters, warm against your ear.Â
You reach out, tangling fingers in your fatherâs sleeve. âIâm sorry,â you start, the confession tumbling out in a rush. âI was scared to tell you. Everything happened so fast, becoming Hauenâs Mama, falling in love with Jaemin, the adoption plans, her surgeries, my internship, I wanted it to be perfect before I showed you.âÂ
Your father hushes you with a gentle squeeze, one hand ruffling Haeunâs curls, the other wrapping around your wrist, calluses familiar as lullabies. âNo apologies,â he murmurs, voice rough with feeling. âThe only thing that matters is that youâre here, and sheâs here, and I finallyââ He breaks off, clearing his throat, then smiles at Haeun, soft crowâs-feet, eyes shining. âAnd I finally get to meet the little spark who made my girl a mother.â
Haeun leans back so she can see you both, cheeks glossy with happy tears. âPops, this my Mama,â she announces, as if revealing royalty. âAnd Iâm her sunshine. See? We match dimples!â She presses a finger to her own and then to yours, giggling.Â
You tuck her closer, one arm bracketing her like a shield, and ease her tiny hand into your fatherâs larger grip. âDaddy, this is my baby girl, my sunshine, my heart with feetâNana Haeun,â you murmur, possessive pride thrumming in every syllable. âOur fearless heart-warrior, tutu-twirling ballerina, bunny-cuddling cuddle-thief, sticker queen, and notorious pancake bandit.â
She beams, dimples like commas in her cheeks. âHiya, Pops,â she chirps, pronouncing the p like a soft bubble. âI got long hair now anâ Dr. Huang says my heart goes boom-boom super strong!â
Haeunâs words tumble out like bright marbles, each one shining with pride. âPops, Iâm Nana Haeun, Mamaâs sunshine and Daddyâs pancakeÂ-stealer,â she declares, tapping each title on her fingers. âI help Papa water the sunflowers, and Dada lets me stir the pancake batter âtil my arm goes wibble-wobble. Mama, when I cried for you at night, Pops tells me stories âbout when Mama was little, he say you wore yellow bows just like me!â She tips her head back so the new bows on her curls flicker in the light, then leans in, voice softening. âPops showed me pictures of Halmeoni too. She looked so happy, but Pops said her head is owie now, so when I see her she maybe wonât know my name.â A tremor pinches her dimples flat; her hand tightens around yours.
You stroke her knuckles with your thumb and press a kiss to the warm crown of her head. âHalmeoniâs memory gets tangled sometimes, baby, but her heart still knows love. When she sees you, she will feel that love even if the words hide. And Iâll be right there to tell her your name, over and over, until it sticks again.â Haeun breathes out, the shiver easing beneath your palm, and snuggles deeper against you, content, for now, to believe that love is strong enough to keep every name safe.
Your fatherâs smile trembles; he bends, planting a kiss on your brow first, salted with your tears then puckers at Haeun. She purses her lips, eyes squeezed shut in exaggerated ceremony, and receives her welcome kiss with a delighted squeak. âMost beautiful girl Iâve ever seen,â he tells her, then taps her nose. âTied with your Mama, of course.âÂ
He turns to you again, voice low. âYou did good, baby. Sheâs brave, bright and sheâs got your stubborn light.â Jaemin slips an arm around your waist; your father notices, extends his hand. The two men share a long clasp, a silent exchange of gratitude and guardianship. Jaeminâs shoulders ease, and a breath he didnât know he held escapes between trembling lips.
Haeun tugs your fatherâs sleeve. âPops, Mama needs a Pops kiss too âcause she missed them all this time.â Laughter ripples through the room, soft, healing. Your dad presses another kiss, warm and certain, to the center of your forehead; you breathe in cedar and mint and all the Saturdays he spent teaching you kite strings and constellations. âIâm proud of you,â he whispers. âOf the surgeon you are, the Mother and partner youâve become, the family youâve built.â Your throat closes; you mouth a thank-you against his shoulder as Jaemin rubs slow circles between your shoulder blades.
The three of them, your partner, your father, your daughter, form a constellation around you, and for the first time since the sea tried to claim you, you feel gravity settle someplace safe. Jaemin kisses the crown of your head; Haeun pats your cheeks with sticky devotion; your fatherâs steady hand anchors the blanket at your hip. Outside, the monitor keeps time, but inside, the room swells with a sound older and truer than any machine: the layered heartbeats of a family that, despite every fracture, has mended into something stronger than blood.
Tears stream down your face, thick and relentless, the kind that blur everything into watercolor light, and you clutch Haeun so close her curls tangle with your fingers. Your voice shakes as you whisper, âDaddy, you met Haeun, you really met her.â The reality is staggering, youâd dreamed of this, dreaded it, spent so many nights turning it over in your head, never believing your two worlds would ever touch, never letting yourself hope that your fatherâs gentle hands would steady your daughter, that heâd see her bright eyes and laugh and call her his sunshine too.Â
Haeun squirms deeper into your arms, her curls fluffing under your chin as she wriggles until she finds the exact hollow she likes, then she lets out a string of giggles that burst and flutter, impossible to catch. âMama, we do big circle now, me, you, Dada, Pops,â she announces, patting each of you with hands as soft as marshmallows. âCircle holdy-hands so the windy dark canât blow us âway. Pops stand here, Dada tall like giraffe, Mama soft like blankie, anâ me the teeny sunshine in da middleâpeek!â She ducks beneath your chin, then pops up again, dimples flashing so bright you think the sun must be tucked behind her teeth. âIf circle stays squishy-tight, nobody go boom-boom, nobody get lost, anâ we all glow like night-light hearts, okay?â She leans close, pressing her forehead to yours, laughter tumbling out of her like silver bells. âSee, easy-peasy! Just keep holdinâânever let go.âÂ
You cup her round cheeks, feeling the tremor of her heartbeat under your thumbs, and nod with absolute seriousness, as if her circle-plan is the wisest map in existence. âEasy-peasy,â you whisper back, letting your forehead rest against hers until your breaths braid together. âNothing can break us while weâre holding on.â Her joy ripples through you both, tiny, ringing, untouchable. You kiss the tip of her nose, sealing the promise as she beams up at you, the room hazy with warmth and laughter.
The four of you tumble together, giggles tangling into hugs, Popsâ hands squeezing your shoulders, Jaeminâs cheek pressed to the crown of your head, Haeunâs limbs winding through yours, all of you pressed in tight, a mess of kisses, tears, hair in eyes, and the breathless sound of family stitched back together after too long apart. Haeun sings nonsense under her breath, clapping her hands, until Jaemin lifts her high, spinning her in the sunlight, her laughter trailing as Pops grins and tickles her feet, your hand never letting go of hers. You feel tears on your cheeks and donât bother wiping them away, not when they fall into Haeunâs hair, not when every drop feels like sunlight instead of rain.
Then, as though the quiet itself were a loom and fate had just pulled a luminous thread through every breath, a voice drifts across the room, soft as sea-foam at dawn, bright as the first note of birdsong, yet carrying the ancient gravity of a starâs orbit and you realize, with a trembling wonder, that you have been listening for this sound all your life without knowing it: the small, earnest call that fits perfectly into the hollow of your name, the echo of a promise whispered long before either of you could speak, a hush-born miracle that turns the air to gold and tells your heart, in a language older than words, that it has finally come home. âMama?â Itâs fragile, threadbare, so vulnerable you almost think you imagined it. But every body in the room goes still, laughter swallowed, the world funnelling down to the boy standing at the threshold, his sneakers soaked and sandy, his eyes wide and blue as a midwinter sky, cheeks sunken, hair mussed, mouth trembling at the corners. For a second you canât breathe. Haeun and Pops and Jaemin melt into the periphery, the light shifting, the world pivoting on the axis of your son.
You gasp, your voice gone thin and shaking, âMinjoon,â and the word tastes like gold in your mouth, bright and aching. Thereâs yellow everywhereâthe sunlight through the window, the lemon on his t-shirt, the band of his bunny pressed flat in his fist, his hair caught gold-bright where it meets the blue of his eyes. He looks at you as if heâs afraid youâll vanish, as if heâs walked through storms to get here, and in a way, he has. Everyone makes space for him, the room bending so itâs just the two of you, and Minjoonâs voice trembles as he says, âI came to find you, Mama. I tried to visit, I went on the bus, I asked the driver and the lady in the shop and the man with the hatââ his words tumble out, small and shaking, âI saw you once when you were asleep, thatâs when I met Dr. Nana and Haeunie, thatâs when you didnât wake up yet and I thought maybe you forgot me but then I needed to come back and see if you were here. Iâm so happy to see that youâre awake now.â He rubs his nose with the back of his hand, blinking fast. âI just wanted to see you. I was thinking about you so much.â
You reach for him and he launches forward, climbing straight into your lap as if no time has passed at all, his bunny squashed between you, his face hidden in your neck. Heâs crying and talking all at once. âIâm sorry, Mama, Iâm sorry, itâs all my fault you had to dive into the water, I didnât mean to lose bunny, I didnât mean for you to get hurtââÂ
You hold him, rocking him gently, whispering, âOh, Minjoonie, sweetheart, none of it was your fault. I would have done it a hundred times just to get to you. I donât regret a single thing.â You nuzzle his nose with yours, kissing his damp hair, your tears falling onto his cheeks as you cradle him. Jaemin kneels beside you, hand on Minjoonâs back, and Pops wipes his own eyes with the back of his sleeve, no one daring to break the spell of reunion. You murmur every reassurance you can, smoothing his hair, telling him over and over how proud you are, how loved, how wanted he always is.
The moment settles under a hush so light it feels spun from candle smoke, every monitor pulse receding until only breath and soft fabric rustles remain. Haeun curls deeper into Popsâ arms, the crook of his elbow cradling her as though she were a tiny bloom folded for the night; her fingers roam the map of his face, tracing the smile lines beside his mouth, pinching the shell of his ear, tapping the silver glint of his wedding band, each touch small and sure, claiming beloved territory. She presses her cheek to his collar, eyelashes brushing his shirt in slow blinks, yet her gaze never drifts from the gentle tableau across the room: you and the rain-laughter boy stitched back together in a circle of quiet awe. In the hush she drifts backward through memory, little reels of night-bright hallway sliding behind her eyes, where fluorescent ceiling bulbs had looked like jellyfish, pulsing and pale, and the linoleumâs moonlit gloss turned her sneaker squeaks into boat-oars tapping quiet water.Â
She remembers how she used to wander those passages while Mama slept, tilting her head for any echo that sounded the way her own footsteps felt: half-lonely, half-hopeful, as if a twin rhythm might appear and braid with hers. She recalls how she built a brother out of whispers: first a laugh that plinked like rain in a tin bucket, then a pair of hands that knew the rules of hide-and-seek without needing to be told, then a promiseâsoft and secretâthat someone else would understand why hospital shadows sometimes looked like dragons guarding treasure. Now, pressed to Popsâ heartbeat, she feels that wish glide feather-light into her chest: no spike of jealousy, no crack of thunderâonly the velvet certainty that love, like ripe fruit, splits its skin not to lose sweetness but to share it. In her small wisdom she decides Mamaâs heart is dough that rises bigger every time someone knocks gently on the door; deciding this makes her lips curve, and she whispers into Popsâ collar that sheâs glad the hallways echoed, glad she kept her ears open, because the boy from her jellyfish dreams has finally stepped into the lamp-warm circle of their family table and there is still plenty of room for another chair.
Pops threads careful fingers through her curls, humming a tune that sounds of low tide and porch lights; the steady drum of his heart beats against her ear, larger than any lullaby, and she fits her palm to his heartbeat the way a seal fits to wax. The room tastes of antiseptic and apple slices, yet under all of it she senses the slow bloom of something brave and goldenâlove stretching its limbs, yawning into new corners. She lifts her head, curls tickling Popsâ chin, and with a solemnity that feels older than her two springs she nudges the stubbled curve of his jaw, whispering, âHeâs the other melody, Pops. Mama sings for two hearts now, moon and sun together. It feels warm here.â Her words float between them like dandelion seeds glimmering against dark velvet, gently settling over every shoulder in the room. Pops smiles into her hair, seals her thought with a kiss to her crown, and she sighsâa tiny puff of gratitudeâbefore returning to her quiet study of you and Minjoon, thumb rubbing lazy circles over the pulse in Popsâ wrist, anchoring the new constellation she senses hanging in the air: four points, one sky, bright enough to guide any dreamer home.
Haeun presses her cheek to Popsâ chest, voice small and sleepy-sweet. âPops, heâs our extra song,â she murmurs, lips brushing the fabric of his shirt. âMama got two heart songs nowâone moon, one sunny.â She pats her own chest, then his, as if showing where the tunes live. âFeels all toasty here.â
Popsâ chuckle rumbles under her ear. âSure does, little peach, warm like fresh bread,â he answers, smoothing a curl away from her eyes. âTwo songs make a bigger dance, huh?â
She nods so hard her bunny charm jingles. âBig big dance,â she whispers, as if itâs a secret the hallway lights might steal. Her words drift up like dandelion fluff, soft and bright, settling over them in a hush of shared wonder. Pops kisses the top of her head, sealing the thought, and she sighsâjust a tiny puffâbefore resuming her quiet watch, thumb drawing lazy circles over the beat in his wrist, certain their sky has room for every new star.
Haeun wriggles out of Popsâ hug with a determined little grunt, bunny charm jingling like a pocket-sized tambourine, and plants her sock-clad feet in the middle of the floor, one heel on the tile, the other toe pointed someplace that only makes sense to her. She throws her arms overhead in what might be a ballerinaâs fifth position if ballerinas wobbled like jelly, then giggles so hard the pose collapses into a wiggle that starts at her shoulders, rolls through her tummy, and ends in a proud bum-shake that makes her skirt flutter like a baby bird. âWatch, Pops! Boom-boom dance!â she declares, scooting sideways with quick little penguin steps, hips swishing, curls bouncing, bunny ear flopping. She tries a twirl but over-spins, landing in a squat that pops back up with a squeak and a triumphant, gap-toothed grin. She wiggles her fingers like sprinkling fairy dust, then shuffles forward on bent kneesâclomp, clomp, clompâbefore tipping onto her toes for three tip-tap hops that leave her giggling breathless. âMy heart goes boom-boom, boom-boomâsee? It makes me do this!â She demonstrates with another exuberant shimmy, then blows an exaggerated kiss toward your bed, nose scrunched, eyes shining, before scoot-scooting back to Pops, bumping his leg with her hip, and darting out again for one more wobbly spin. Each giggle puddles onto the linoleum like syrupy sunshine, every wiggle stitching soft stardust through the hush of the ward, proof that her bright little heart will keep drumming joy into the room for as long as your eyes stay open to see it.
Midâwiggle, Haeun twirls halfway around and bats her lashes at you, cheeks glowing pink. âIâm dancinâ for you and Minjoonie,â she chirps, voice all bubbles and hush, ââcause Iâm happy heâs gettinâ Mama cuddles.â The confession is so earnest it lands like confetti in the quiet room. You reach out, smoothing a stray curl behind her ear, thumb tracing the silk of her baby hair. She beams, twirling one last bumâshake before scooting back to Pops with a satisfied sigh.
Pressed against your chest, Minjoon stirs at the sound of her laughter. Half-asleep, he murmurs into the fabric of your gown, voice small, dream-heavy, but sure. âMamaâs warm⌠smells like the shore so donât let go.â The words feather against your skin, and you smile into Haeunâs bright eyes, your palm still cupping her curls, knowing her boom-boom dance and his drowsy promise have stitched this moment tight around all three of you.
You swipe a trembling tear from your cheek just as Minjoon murmurs âMamaâ against your collarbone, no jolt of surprise, only the clean click of something ancient sliding home because he has always been yours, the tide-chosen shard that matches the broken edge in your own heart; together you are sea-glass blue, made smooth by the same storm, glimmering where the waves once shattered you both, and in the hush of this room his small fists knot in your gown as if heâs afraid the current might steal you back, while your arms cinch tighter, sealing the vow that fate and salt water wrote long before you breathed his name, an irresistible gravity stitching mother and son into one unbreakable line of horizon. You press a kiss into the warm crown of his hair, voice steady and low. âIâm not going anywhere, Minjoonie, Mamaâs right here.âÂ
He stirs, blinking up at you, surprise widening his sea-blue eyes. âBut⌠how do you know my name?â he whispers, fingers absently twisting the edge of your gown.Â
You smooth one palm down his back in little circles and let a smile curl across your lips. âMy boyfriend told me,â you say, tipping your chin toward the tall figure beside the bed. âSee that nice doctor right there? Thatâs Na Jaemin. Heâs the one who let you peek in on me while I was asleep.â
Jaeminâs eyes soften; he gives Minjoon a gentle two-finger salute and a shy grin. Minjoonâs cheek blooms pink as he burrows closer, voice turning awed. âHe helped me find you.âÂ
You nod, brushing a stray curl from his temple. âHe did and heâs yours, too, whenever you need him. He fixes brave hearts for a living.âÂ
Minjoonâs tiny gasp feathers against your collarbone; he turns his head, peeking past your arm. âHeâs really nice,â he murmurs, half to himself.
You shift your weight, cradling him so he can see Haeun still perched in Popsâ lap, her bunny charm jingling, curls bobbing as she wiggles a wave. âAnd that beautiful girl?â you whisper. âThatâs my baby that I told you about at the beach, my Haeun, your new partner in mischief.â Haeun grins so wide her dimples show, blowing an exaggerated kiss. Minjoonâs shy fingers flutter a return wave, the two of them locking eyes like conspirators.
âThatâs Pops,â you add, nodding to the silver-haired man cradling Haeun. âHeâs our steady rock. Loves jelly-bean bribes and late-night stories.â Pops winks, ruffling Haeunâs curls as if to prove the point.Â
Minjoon lifts his head from your shoulder just enough to peek at Haeun across the bed, voice hushed and earnest, the words tumbling out like little marbles of wonder. âSheâs really nice, Mama, her heart goes boom-boom like a drum, but gentle, like itâs humming a song for me. She smells like oatmeal cookies and sunshine, like warm, happy soap.â He rubs his nose, shy grin stretching wide. âHer dress is soft, like clouds, and she shared her bunny and every single crayon, even the shiny gold one. I never had so many toys before.â He presses closer to you, eyes bright. âShe let me hold the sparkle sticker, too. Said thereâs always enough shiny stuff if we stick together.â
Minjoon tucks his face into the crook of your neck, breathing you in, then whispers, almost reverent, âTheyâre both so nice.â You hug him tighter, your forearm snug beneath his legs, his heartbeat settling under your palm, while Jaeminâs hand slides along the small of your back, a silent promise anchoring all three of you. In that tangle of limbs and soft breaths, you feel the new constellation click into place: daughter gleaming like sunrise, boy shimmering like tide-lit moon, and the doctor you love orbiting close, every star within reach.
âI know,â you say softly, letting your fingers brush through Minjoonâs hair. âThey really are the softest people, my baby girl, sheâs all sunshine and sticky hugs and makes even the worst days feel sweet. And Jaemin is everything gentle, he holds us together when I feel like falling apart. I love them so much, sometimes it actually hurts. And you, Minjoonie⌠you fit right in with us. Itâs like you belong, even though we havenât had much time. I canât explain it, but I feel it in my chest, same as with them. After everything weâve gone through, all the times I thought I might lose Haeun, I just donât want to wait or risk losing anything else. I want you with us, for good. Iâll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, because when I love someone this much, I donât let go.â You draw Minjoon closer, eyes misting as you marvel at how gently he nestles into the same tender place reserved for Jaemin and Haeun, proof that his presence carries the very softness that steadies your world. Loving them has taught you that certain bonds announce themselves without history, and his quiet trust slides into your heart as naturally as breath. After staring down loss, your own brush with darkness, Haeunâs five narrow escapes, you no longer barter with time: every signature will be inked, every door rattled, every rule bent until the paperwork echoes what your chest already knows. Minjoon belongs in this constellation, and you will spend every heartbeat making sure no one, not even fate, tries to pull him away again.
You nuzzle Minjoonâs hair while your gaze drifts to Jaemin, protective frame curved possessively toward you, eyes always searching your face like heâs afraid to miss a single flutter and your heart swells at the memory of his hands smoothing every knot in the night, his voice humming lullabies until dawn finally exhaled. Beside him, Haeun is pure honeyed light, the sweetest gravity: her giggles stick to the walls like confetti, her sticky fingers never hesitate to share the last crayon, and her sleepy kisses land on your cheek as gentle as falling petals. Together theyâre the warm lamp you reach for in every storm, Jaeminâs steady tide pulling your heartbeat into calm, Haeunâs sunrise laughter spilling over the edges of any darknessâand in their love, you feel the world soften to velvet, wide enough, at last, for every one of your breaths.
At the mention of her name, Haeun perks up in Popsâ lap, dimples flashing. She cups her hands around her mouth like a megaphone. âMama, tell him Iâm extra nice!â she chirps, then wriggles free, scampering over with bunny charm jingling. She flings one arm around your neck, the other around Minjoonâs shoulders, squeezing until youâre all nose-to-nose. âHi, brother!â she giggles, cheeks glowing. âMama says my heart does boom-booms and glitter, wanna feel?â She drags Minjoonâs palm to her chestâhe gasps at the steady drum and you feel his shoulders loosen as he grins into her curls. Haeun plants a quick kiss on your jaw, then on Minjoonâs temple, before declaring, âSee? Family makes hearts louder!â Jaemin slides closer, hand gliding up your spine in a quiet echo of promise, while Pops watches from his chair, a soft laugh rumbling in his chest. You breathe them all in, apple shampoo, baby powder, the faint cologne Jaemin wears like a lighthouse in stormy seas and think the universe must have bent every star just right, because here you are, wrapped in four small arms and one steady one, the night outside forgotten, every constellational dot exactly where it belongs.
Minjoonâs voice wobbles like a violin string pulled too tight as he burrows into your collar, salty tears spotting your gown. âMama,â he sniffles, little shoulders quaking, âI donât wanna go backâplease.â He takes a shaky breath, words spilling in a rush. âMy dad gets mad and hits me hard, and Iâm scared âcause my bones feel like twigs and I canât hide fast enough. I wanna stay here where itâs warm and smells like cookies and you hold me gently.â He hiccups, wiping his eyes with a knuckle. âSorry for begging and sorry if Iâm annoying. I just⌠I never felt this safe before.â His plea hangs fragile in the quiet, like a paper star youâre terrified will crumple.
You press your palm to the nape of his neck, steady, grounding and kiss the crown of his hair. âSweetheart, youâre never annoying. Your voice is precious to me.â Your own tears blur the room, but your tone stays sure, weaving promise into every syllable. âI hear you, Minjoonie, and Iâll fight with everything I have. Iâm going to talk to the people who can help, and weâll work so you can stay right hereâwhere your heart can rest and your bones can grow strong.â He sniffles again, a tiny sound of hope, and nuzzles closer.
âOkay, Mama,â he whispers at last, voice feather-light. âGood night. I hope I wake up and youâre still here.âÂ
You tuck the blanket higher around his shoulders, smoothing a curl away from his damp cheek. âIâll be here,â you promise, letting the words settle over him like a lullaby. His lashes flutter closed, and in the hush that follows, you feel the weight of his trust, fragile as spun sugar yet anchoring you both to the bright shore youâre determined to reach together.
Minjoon presses a soft, sleepy kiss to your cheek, tiny fingers still bunched in your gown as if afraid to loosen his grip, and whispers, âNight-night, Mama, love you big-big.â The words land warm and weighty against your skin, and as his lashes flutter closed he breathes âMamaâ one more time, half-sigh, half-promise, before sinking into sleep against your heart, leaving it aching and full in the sweetest way.
He calls you Mama because when you knelt on that windy beach, soaked to the knees and still smiling, you became proof that grown-ups could run toward a crying kid instead of away. In his world of slammed doors and weak apologies, you were the first person who didnât flinch at his tears, the first set of arms that stayed open even after heâd wiped his nose on your sleeve. That moment rewrote the word for him: Mama stopped meaning biology and started meaning safe landing, no questions asked. He tries it out like a fragile shell, âMa-ma?ââand every time you answer, another crack in him seals over. He calls you Mama because your heartbeat under his ear is the only lullaby heâs ever trusted. Nightmares taught him that love could vanish quicker than lights at bedtime, but your hand always finds the back of his neck, your thumbs always trace slow circles on his spine, and suddenly the dark feels smaller. When he whispers the word, heâs really asking: Is it okay that Iâm still here? Your quiet âYes, sweetheart,â tucks him in tighter than any blanket, and the question starts turning into a declarationâIâm yours.
He calls you Mama because with you, belonging isnât something he has to barter. No chores to earn hugs, no silence to keep peace, just pancakes shaped like dinosaurs, shared stickers, and a space on the couch thatâs always, always his. The word becomes a soft key he keeps in his pocket, one that will open a door to the smell of blueberry shampoo in his sisterâs curls and the steady warmth of his Daddyâs laugh in the kitchen. Mama says the family photo now has room for four, and the ink is already dry. Saying it is the bravest thing he does each day and hearing you answer is the bravest thing youâll protect for the rest of his life.
Haeun uncurls from Popsâ lap with slow, determined grace, the sort children save for secret missions, and tiptoes over until she is nose to nose with the sleeping boy. Her bunny charm gives a tinkling jingle with every step. She cups it in her hand and whispers, âShh, Bunny, no jingles, baby brotherâs resting,â then taps the plush ear as if it can understand. âWeâre on quiet patrol,â she adds, eyes wide with importance. The charm stays still, and Haeun nods once, satisfied, before leaning close to smooth the blanket at Minjoonâs chin.
She pulls the blanket to Minjoonâs chin, then fluffs it with both hands until a little cloud of warmth forms around him. She presses Bunny to her chest like a tiny choir partner, when sheâs satisfied, she places two fingers on her own throat, finds the quiet hum of her favorite nursery tune, and begins to sing. âBoom-boom heart, sleep so sweet, jelly bean dreams for little feet,â rocking side to side with miniature ballerina sways; each word floats out on a giggle-sigh, punctuated by soft âshh-shhâ pats to his blanket, and when she reaches the end she plants a kiss on Bunnyâs nose, nods solemnly, and finishes with a hushed promise: ânight-night, baby brother, sunshineâs here to keep the shadows small.â The melody is soft enough to blend with the monitorâs hush, words blending into gentle nonsense syllables of jelly beans, sunshine, and brave hearts. Though sheâs barely older than Minjoon by the span of a single season, she sways like a practiced guardian, eyes half-closed, curls dusting his cheek each time she leans in to check that his breathing stays even.
When the lullaby finishes, she presses a shy kiss to his forehead, then lifts her head to you with an earnest sparkle. âNight night, baby brother,â she whispers, though the whisper barely contains her excitement. âMama, I helped him get all snug, so the shadows canât find him.â She adjusts his blanket one last time, then scampers back to the side of the bed, climbing up beside you with a little grunt of effort. Her hands land on your arm, warm and sticky from apple slices. âMama, am I helping? Are you proud of me? I didnât cry, I didnât get jealous. Your heart is big enough for two babies and I ready to be a big sissy like Chaeunie, Mama!â She pats her chest as proof, cheeks flushed from exertion, eyes shimmering with pride and a hint of worry that you might not agree.
Haeun tucks her toes under her bum, thumb slipping to her mouth for a quick comfort suck before she remembers to be âbig,â wiping the shine on Bunnyâs ear with a conspiratorâs grin. She pats Minjoonâs blanket one more time, then turns to you, lips scrunched, cheeks apple-round and glowing. âMama,â she begins, voice soft and serious in the way children believe can move mountains, âPops always says sharing is caring, like when I give Dada the last blueberry and he smiles all squinchy.â Her eyes sparkle, lashes fluttering. âSo I wanna share you and Dada now, âcause Mama love goes whoosh, all big and warm, and Dada hugs are like squishy clouds, and itâs mean to keep all the clouds just to me.â She wiggles her fingers to show the whoosh, giggles bubbling up from her chest. âAnd Chaeunie is such a good big sissy, so I need to practice too. I can hold bottles and sing boom-boom songs and even give Bunny turns, promise.â She leans over to kiss Minjoonâs forehead, little nose wrinkling as she sniffs the soap scent in his hair. âSee? He smells like pancakes. Pancakes need syrup, and syrup is hugs, and I got lots.â She pops her thumb back into her mouth for a second, eyes bright and hopeful, then pulls it free with a soft smack. âItâs okay to share Mama now, âcause my heart got stretchy. Itâs like jelly and jelly can fit two spoon scoops easy.â
âCome here, little jelly-heart,â you murmur, scooping her close and nuzzling the tip of her nose. âYour kindness makes room for everyone, and it fills Mamaâs chest with light. Iâm so proud of how you wrap love around us, how you sing, how you share, how you make the world softer without even trying. Youâre going to be the best big sister, my bright helper, my cuddle captain. Thank you for knowing that Mamaâs love only grows. I love you more than all the blueberries and bunny kisses in the world.â Your arms fold around her, pulling her across Minjoon so both children nestle against you, the warm sandwich of their small bodies making your ribs ache with contentment. Haeunâs giggle tickles your throat as she nuzzles your nose, declaring in a puff of breath that she will help feed bottles, read stories, and keep Bunnyâs ears clean. Her seriousness makes you laugh until tears gather again, though this time they taste of relief rather than fear.
Jaemin watches from the opposite side of the bed, his smile quiet and wide enough to hold every shimmering ripple of the moment. He bends forward, brushes Minjoonâs hair away from his brow, then kisses your lips, lingering only a heartbeat before pulling back to look into your eyes. Without a word he mouths the intention that has been beating in both your chests since the boy arrived, âletâs adopt him.â The strength in his gaze sends a tremor through you, a joy so sudden that air seems to fizz inside your lungs. You nod once, then again, feeling the promise settle like warm weight across your shoulders. Together you have faced too many thin lines between life and loss, too many nights counting Haeunâs breaths, too many hours wondering whether tomorrow would stretch far enough to hold your love. There is no reason to wait for permission from a clock that has already taken enough.
You lean into Jaeminâs palm, anchor yourself in the gentle sweep of his thumb along your cheek, and return his kiss with a silent yes. Above the hush of the monitors, Haeun sighs a sleepy mmm, cuddling closer, whispering that her new brother smells like rain and pancakes. Minjoon shifts, ever so slightly, and murmurs your name before sinking deeper against your heartbeat. Jaemin covers the three of you with one broad hand, and in that circle of skin and breath, the future feels wide enough to hold every wish: Haeunâs dream of endless sparkle stickers, Minjoonâs hope for mornings without fear, and your own decision that from this night forward nothing and no one will come between the four points of this newly drawn family. For the first time in so long you let yourself believeâtruly, deeplyâthat you are all home, held fast together, nothing missing, nothing lost. The circle closes, unbreakable, and Minjoon falls asleep in your arms to the sound of your heartbeat, your lips at his temple, the promise of family soft as breath and fierce as dawn.
The weeks before your discharge, the ward transforms into something feral: fluorescent bulbs flicker like witch-fires, and the corridors lengthen into tunnels where voices echo as if spoken from a caveâs throat. A stone-faced caseworker arrives in a storm-gray coat, signing papers with ink that bleeds the color of old bruises, and Minjoon is lifted from your arms before you can finish whispering his name. He reaches for you, fingers spreading like fractured wings, but the distance swallows sound; the monitorâs flatline hiss becomes a hungry wind, and every promise you made, safe bed, warm pancakes, a forever home, shatters against the tiles like glass spun too thin. As he disappears around the corner, the ceiling yawns open in your mindâs eye, a black maw gnawed by crows, and youâre left clutching air that smells of iodine and grief, tasting the iron tang of your own failure while the wardâs lights hum with something that feels almost demonic, as though the building itself is feeding on your broken vow.
The days after the goodbye are a tangle of restless, shattering nights. You and Jaemin pacing, cell phones glued to your palms, voices hushed and frantic through midnight hours as you dial every lawyer, caseworker, and social worker whose number you can find. Every room is always lit by the blue flicker of the laptop screen, files and policies open side by side, government websites and forum threads, lists of documents youâve submitted twice already. You leave voicemails in cracked, desperate voices, promising youâll do anything, pay anything, just to keep Minjoon home. Every conversation hits the same dead end: your record, your flagged file, the dark marks of what you did for Haeun, a motherâs crime born of love, not malice, are still red-inked and fresh in every database. The caseworkerâs voice is gentle, apologetic: âYou canât foster or adopt at this time. The flags are too recent. Iâm sorry.â That last word lands like a bruise.
The nights break you. Sometimes you sleep upright on the hospital bed, body aching, phone still in your fist. Other nights you sob into Jaeminâs shoulder, mouth pressed to the soft space under his jaw so your cries wonât wake the ward. You taste your heartbreak in every silence, feel the weight of your own promise shatteringâMama will keep you safe, alwaysâand now you are faced with a promise you canât keep. Jaemin tries to anchor you, arms strong and steady, but his own eyes are rimmed red; he isnât used to failing, and it marks him. The bed becomes a place of quiet misery, the two of you holding each other and whispering the names of every judge, every loophole, every impossible hope until exhaustion finally wins.
The morning you have to explain, you sit cross-legged on the rug, Haeun in your lap and Minjoon curled small against your side. You keep your voice as gentle as you can, smoothing Haeunâs hair, tracing slow circles on Minjoonâs back as you try to find words. âSometimes,â you begin, âeven when we love someone with our whole hearts, grown-ups have rules they have to follow. Minjoonie, some very kind people are going to take care of you for a while. They have a soft bed, and brothers and sisters, and theyâre going to keep you safe. Youâre always, always in our hearts, even if youâre not in our house.â You promise him the new family will love him, that there will be pancakes and bedtime stories, and you swear to call, to write, to never forget.
The goodbye is every nightmare youâve ever had about letting go. Minjoon tries to be brave, he pulls his backpack on himself, holds Bunny tight to his chest, and waves with a shaky hand but his face crumples, tears running down in streaks as he wails, âMama, donât let me go, please, please.â You kneel, holding him so tightly you think youâll never breathe again.Â
Haeun sobs into your side, clutching your shirt, babbling, âDonât leave, donât leave, Minjoonie my baby brother.â The foster parent waits by the car, gentle but distant, already thinking of the next meal, the next errand.Â
You kiss Minjoonâs cheeks, his forehead, his knuckles, and try to smile as you whisper, âItâs going to be okay, youâll find family there too, I promise. I love you, always.â
You spend days raw and emptied. Haeun cries herself to sleep at night, clinging to you with a grip that bruises, demanding extra lullabies and extra Bunny cuddles. She draws pictures of her brother, stick figures holding hands, houses with too many windows, a family of four even though there are only three at the table now. Jaemin tries to keep the house quiet, tucks notes in your coat pocket. âWeâre still here, I love you,â but nothing fills the space Minjoon left. The apartment is too clean, the toys stacked wrong, the laughter thinner than it used to be.
For a while, selfishly, you try to move forward. Recovery is a heavy fog: your body is still battered, ribs aching, lungs tender, the scars of your near-death lingering in every breath. Haeun is still a storm of need and tendernessâher medical checkups, her demands for attention, her questions about what families mean. The world keeps spinning, dishes still need washing, work calls resume. You fill out the forms you can, return the calls you must, and remind yourself that healing means learning to live with absence. There are days when the memory of Minjoon is just a dull ache in your chest and other days when you see a little boy on the street and have to duck into a doorway just to breathe. Yet the grief never leaves for long. Some nights you wake up reaching for him, sure heâs just out of sight. Some afternoons Haeun asks for her brother with a clear, serious voice, and you pull her into your lap and hold her until her questions turn to dreams. Jaemin never stops checking his email, hoping for a call, a letter, a sign that something has changed. And through all of it, the three of you keep a space at the table, a place in your hearts, hoping that someday the rules will bend and you can bring Minjoon home for good.
Youâre forced, in the bleakest sense, to bury thoughts of Minjoon beneath the layers of grief and anesthesia, told by nurses and Jaemin and every voice that loves you that sadness like this will rot your body from the inside outâslow your healing, drop your sats, risk the new line between life and the cold. Still, the ache gnaws at your chest in the demon hours: youâre stuck in a hospital bed, lungs never quite filling, ribs sore where monitors cling, days blurring under too-white lights and too-thin sheets, and every time you close your eyes the grief for a boy who isnât dead (who you know is somewhere out there, breathing, crying, calling for you) slithers in, silent and sharp. No one comforts you for mourning the living, no one brings flowers for a wound that canât be stitched, and youâre left clutching the hollow acheâreciting his name in the silence, whispering prayers for him into the pillow, hoping your heartbeat alone can reach across the city. You swallow your sobs, try to smile for Haeun, because if you slip too far, if the sorrow gets its claws in, your own second chance might vanish, and the doctors will whisper that you never really wanted to survive.
Guilt sits inside your lungs like wet cement: you had only just shaped the words, âI will keep you safe, I swear it,â and already the promise was stripped away, as if someone pressed rewind on your breath and shattered it back into syllables. You see Minjoonâs face every time you blink, his trust bright as a match in a storm, and feel the moment the social worker pried him loose, like ripping a seam you hadnât finished sewing. The memory gnaws at you in hospital twilight: heart monitors ticking time you no longer deserve, IV fluid dripping penance that canât wash clean the echo of his small hand slipping from yours. You told an innocent boy that your home was a forever thing, then watched the word forever splinter like thin ice, leaving him to sink while you lay stuck in a bed that smells of antiseptic and failure. Every night you mouth his name to the ceiling tiles, hoping the apology can drift up through vents and corridors and find him, because the shame of breaking that vow is heavier than the machines breathing for you, heavier than the oxygen you canât seem to pull deep enough, heavier than any mortal sickness.
For weeks after waking, your body feels foreign, each breath shallow, every joint heavy, the throb in your chest a stubborn echo of all thatâs been lost and won. There are still IV lines tracking across your arms, blood draws at dawn, cardiac monitors blinking green and yellow at your bedside. Your lungs tire quickly, voice frays after a few words, and even simple things, sitting upright, brushing your hair, feeding yourself soup, can leave your muscles trembling. The medical team is cautious: your brain was without oxygen for minutes too long, your heart stopped twice before they could bring you back, and no one can predict what your strength will look like a week from now, or a year. Youâre on a raft of medications, antiarrhythmics, diuretics, something for the pain, blood thinners for the risk of clots. Physical therapy is daily; the team hovers at the edge of your room, guiding you through slow, frustrating exercises, careful to shield you from every avoidable strain. Jaemin is your anchor, never impatient, never distracted. He helps you to the window for sunlight, brings food youâll actually eat, massages your calves when they cramp, braids your hair, reads your charts, tucks you in at night, murmuring that youâre safe, youâre home, youâre loved. When nightmares find you, heâs there with a hand at your back and soft words, smoothing your panic before it can take root. Every day you grow a little stronger, a little braver; every day he finds new ways to make you laugh and feel like more than a patient.
Word travels, of course, whispers, at first, then conversation. Your name isnât a curse anymore. The story is everywhere, rewritten by the mouths of those who watched you nearly die for a strangerâs child and come back. Most still say it was reckless, and the ban for trying to save Haeun, five years, no research, no independent OR, strictly supervised on clinical floors, remains on your record. Youâll have to petition for full reinstatement, attend counseling, and work under observation with every new case. Your privileges are slashed, your future uncertain, but the air feels different now, curious, even gentle. Families who once avoided your gaze now offer shy thanks; nurses drop off sunflowers and hand-written cards. Jaemin, always by your side, never lets you wonder if youâre wanted, his pride in you loud and unwavering. The other doctors are slower to thaw, but even thatâs changing: Dr. Huang brings you updates, Jihoon lingers after rounds, a few colleagues stop to ask how youâre doing instead of just moving past you in the hall. The punishment itself is stark and immovable: youâre barred from independent surgery for five years, no exceptions, and cannot apply for grants or publish new research until the end of your prohibition. Thereâs a mandatory ethics seminar, three months of peer review, and a permanent note in your file about the events that brought you here. Every shift youâll work will be supervised; every note you sign must be co-signed by your attending. The restriction will acheâburning in your bones on days when your mind feels clear and your hands itch to heal. Thereâs still shame, sometimes a flare of anger, but more often now, itâs hopeâa new respect for limits, for the trust that must be rebuilt, for the chance to show your worth again.
A month crawls by before the social worker finally returns Jaeminâs calls, her voice tinny on speaker as you lie propped against hospital pillows; she offers only a handful of words. âHeâs safe, heâs content, he laughs at breakfast, he sleeps through the night,â those simple sentences slide into the hollow in your chest like warm stones, heavy enough to calm the worst of the ache. She wonât share the address or a photo, only a quiet promise that Minjoonâs new room has sea-blue walls and shelves full of picture books, that he keeps Bunny close and tells everyone his Mama taught him to be brave. You close your eyes, let the image settle: a little boy humming while someone tucks him in, not flinching at shadows, not waiting for footsteps that never come. Itâs not the forever you swore, yet the reassurance threads through your exhaustion, loosening the guilt just enough for you to breathe without the weight of cement on your lungs. That night, while monitors glow soft green, you grip Jaeminâs hand, feeling, for the first time since the goodbye, that you can pour what strength you have left into mending your own ribs, into Haeunâs restless curls and sticky giggles, into the fragile ordinary days still waiting for the three of you. Selfishly, the relief is a balm: knowing that heâs okay lets you focus on healing the family still wrapped in your arms.
Haeun needs both of your hands right now, one to steady her during cardiology check-ups, the other to guide her through nightmares that still echo with monitor beeps; she needs both of your eyes to catch every skipped heartbeat and every dance step she insists on perfecting before breakfast; she needs your lap for midday naps, your voice for story time, and your patience for the questions that bloom whenever an ambulance siren wails outside. Recovery is fragile: her repaired heart murmurs on windy days, her lungs tire before the playground empties, and she clings tighter each time a nurse walks past, proof that healing a body is easier than quieting a memory. So you pour everything into making her world feel ordinary, picnics that end in sticky fingers, sunsets counted from the porch, lullabies free of ICU rhythm and tell yourself itâs enough, even as her absent brother drifts through your thoughts like sea-salt on every breeze.
Your hands have never ached for a signature like they do nowâcraving, in every exhausted bone, the permanence of mother stamped beside Haeunâs name. But even that is stripped away, at least for now. Your reckless act, the medicine, the sea, the boy, the coma, the headline you became, has sent a ripple through every legal and bureaucratic safeguard you spent years building. Youâre still her guardian, still the one she calls Mama, but the courts have pressed pause. The review boardâs ruling, shadowed by your suspension and the official censure, means you cannot finalize her adoption until your medical record is clear and your license is fully reinstated. There will be months, likely years, of oversight, extra home studies, and court-ordered psychological evaluations. The social worker is gentle but unmoving, âWe need stability, Doctor. The best thing you can do is heal, show the board youâre fit, and give her a home thatâs safe and whole.â Itâs a punishment you feel every time Haeun curls into you at night, asking with wide, sun-bright eyes if sheâs âreally, truly yours forever.â You canât say yes, not with the certainty she deserves. Jaemin tries to soften it, he reminds you that love isnât made of paperwork, that Haeunâs heart has never doubted whose arms she belongs in. But at night, when you lie awake, you tally every day, every hearing, every form still unsigned. The weight of those lost months bruises you in places no scan could find.
For now, it will be at least a yearâmaybe twoâbefore youâll be able to call yourself her mother not just in love but in law. The process is glacial: regular visits from the agency, caseworkers with clipboards, supervised meetings, endless lines of questioning meant to prove what youâve always known in your marrow. Each delay sharpens the ache, a reminder that the world moves slowest for those who need time to hurry. Until the day the court calls your name and lets you sign the final line, you exist in limbo, holding your daughter with everything but the force of law, praying your heart is enough, and that someday, sheâll never have to ask again.
Yet even with the case-workerâs reassurance echoing in your ear, the thought of Minjoon drifts back every night like a tide you canât hold back. Knowing heâs safe should be enough, yet your chest still pulls tight with the need to sign his papers too because in your bones he is already your son, distance and policy be damned. You catch yourself wondering if two car seats will fit in Jaeminâs hatchback, if your tiny hallway can handle double the sneakers and art projects, and then you second-guess everything: youâre only twenty-four, still limping through your own recovery, youâre about to be a resident, bureaucrats already question your fitness with one child, how could you possibly manage two? But the answer sits steady beneath the fear: youâve already survived drowning lungs, sleepless wards, and a heart that learned to stretch for Haeun; you know it can stretch again. Love, you remind yourself, isnât measured in free hours or tidy records, itâs counted in night-light vigils, in the way your pulse calms when a childâs cheek rests on your shoulder. And that certaintyâquiet, stubborn, immovableâtells you that if fate cracks the door, youâll find the strength and the paperwork to bring Minjoon home, no matter how messy the path.
When you and Jaemin sign the discharge papers, Haeun, now three years old, heart beating strong and wise beyond her years, cries happyily, bubbling tears in your arms, whispering over and over, âMama, we did it, we go home together now, we all together forever.â It feels like the world ought to pause for you, just this once, as you roll through the sliding doors of the hospital, Haeunâs small, warm hand gripped tight in yours. The air outside tastes fresher than memory, sun blinking bright on the pavement as Jaemin hovers behind you, one arm draped over your shoulder, his fingers tracing love letters into the cotton of your shirt. Youâre still weak, wrapped in blankets and propped in the wheelchair, each movement aches, but you breathe in the sharp, startling freedom of homecoming. Haeun is a vision beside you in her favorite yellow corduroy skirt and bunny tights, hair clipped back with mismatched barrettes, face scrubbed and luminous, cheeks full and rosy. She keeps glancing up, wide-eyed, making sure youâre real, that this isnât another dream where she loses you to a too-bright room and the hiss of machines. âMama, you coming home with me forever?â she chirps, skipping so close she nearly tangles her feet in your wheels. You nod, tears burning your lashes, and she beams as if youâve hung the moon.Â
Jaemin leans down and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, then one to Haeunâs, murmuring, âLetâs get my girls home.â Thereâs no rush; thereâs only the careful, trembling gratitude of three people who almost lost each other, learning how to stay close again.
The doors slide open to a corridor blooming with faces, nurses in powder-blue scrubs, surgeons leaning in doorways, night staff blinking sleep from their eyes as the news travels down the hall like a soft shockwave: youâre going home. They line the passage with flowers, phone cameras raised, shy smiles peeking out between masks, everyone waiting for that sacred ritual, the hospital walkout, your wheelchair in the center, Haeun clinging to your left side with a grip that threatens to fuse bone to bone. Sheâs dressed herself in her favorite dandelion-yellow dress, the one with a frill at the collar. Her braids are neat and glossy, each ribbon tied with the softest hand, and thereâs a delicate pink shimmer dusted on her lips where she borrowed your gloss, mouth pursed in careful pride as she beams at every person lining the hallway. She moves with all the gravity of a pageant queen and the chaos of a garden sprite, waving at every single person she recognizes, blowing kisses to the cleaning ladies and the food service aunties, twirling so the skirt catches and flares, exposing chubby knees and socks slouching around her ankles. When she leans in to whisper to you, her voice tickles your ear, âdonât worry, Mama, Iâll say the thank yous âcause I know you get shy, okay? Just squeeze my hand three times if you need to hide in my hair, I'll cover you up, promise.â Her words are sticky and earnest, cheeks dimpled from grinning too hard, nose pressed to your cheek as she tries to nuzzle away the anxious lines thatâve settled there during all those endless nights.
You pull her close, stealing her gaze away from the parade of clapping hands and hospital faces, pressing a kiss to the tip of her soft nose and another to the center of her forehead, your voice barely more than a tremble, âmy sunshine, my brave little heart, Mamaâs always safe with her tiny bear.âÂ
She giggles, tiny bear, thatâs her favorite, and wraps her arms tight around your neck, whispering, âMamaâs safe âcause Iâm strong like you, okay? I'll be your shadow, always.â Her breath is warm and sweet against your cheek, and when you squeeze her hand three times, she grins and hides you behind a curtain of her hair, standing fierce and proud, shielding you from every worry in the world. Haeun catches the tiny droop at the corner of your mouth, frowns so hard her brows almost touch, then plants a loud smooch right on your pout. âMama, I know why you look squishy-sad, you miss Minjoonie. Me too! Itâs sooo not fair.â She huffs, cheeks puffing like a little pufferfish, then softens and taps your chest. âBut your heartâs still mine, right? âCause Iâm your jelly-bean girl.âÂ
You pull her close, nuzzle her curls, and whisper that every beat in your chest spells H-A-E-U-N, and nothing in the world could make you happier than her giggle in your ear. She brightens, eyes sparkling with mischief. âOkay! When I grow taller, like, this much!â (she stretches on tiptoes, fingers wiggling at the ceiling) âIâll borrow Popsâ bike, ride super-duper fast, and scoop Minjoonie into the basket. Zoom! Then we can all eat waffles and never say bye again.â She seals the plan with another kiss to your nose, hugs you so tight her bunny charm digs into your shoulder, and declares, âShadow girl reporting for cuddle duty!ââleaving you laughing, breathless, and certain that even missing pieces canât dim a heart this bright.
Haeun scoots into your lap, arms circling your neck, cheeks rosy and full of purpose. âMama,â she whispers, nodding solemnly, âitâs time for us to leave the hospital now, âkay? I keep you strong and safe, donât worry, I hold your hand.â Her fingers weave through yours, warm and sticky, and then she leans in, wide eyes darting around to see if anyone is close enough to catch her secrets. She covers your ear with her chubby hand and breathes, âIt was meant to be a surprise, but I canât keep it in, everyone, all the doctors and nurses and the sleepy patients, theyâre waiting outside! Itâs called a⌠a go-home party! Thatâs what itâs called when people get better and donât have to stay in the hospital forever and ever. They line up, and everyone claps and gives you balloons and they said you can walk if you want, Mama, but I told them, âNo, my mamaâs still a little bit weak and she wants to ride in the silly wheelchair so I can hold her hand the whole time.ââ Haeun lifts her chin, proud and earnest, as if making important medical decisions is just part of being a daughter. âItâs better that way, âcause then you get to rest and I get to push you and everyone can see how strong I am! And your hand stays in mine so you donât feel lonely or dizzy. Thatâs what big girls do for their Mamaâs.â She squeezes your fingers tighter, beaming up at you, the picture of loyalty and gentle bravery, ready to parade you through the crowd with every ounce of hope and pride bundled into her tiny palm.
She grins, all bashful and proud, her eyes shining with a quiet understanding that feels far older than her tiny years. âThatâs what happens when people leave hospitals, Mama, they go back home, snuggle in their own beds, eat snacks, and have the biggest bubble baths ever. You get to say goodbye and be so, so brave.â She squeezes your hand, gentle and certain. âItâs your turn to be the strong one, Mama, but you donât have to do it alone. Iâll hold your hand and weâll go home together.â Watching her, you feel a rush of awe, how much sheâs grown, how gentle and wise sheâs become, especially since Minjoon came into your lives. Sheâs a big sister in every sense, always finding the softest words, always knowing just when to press her cheek to yours, her courage shining even when the world feels too heavy.
You feel the lump rise in your throat, eyes blurring as you press a kiss to her brow. âIâm never shy when youâre with me, bubba. Youâre my courage, every step out that door is with you by my side. And hopefully we never have to sleep in these hospital beds again, baby. I hope your heart is strong and carries you through a thousand mornings. No more beep-beeps and pokey needles, just sunshine and pancakes.âÂ
She nods, solemn, then her face lights up. âYeah! Mine too!â She jumps up and down, dragging you with her, shouts, âGoodbye, hospital!â and blows a loud kiss to the window, her little voice echoing down the hall. She cups your cheeks, kisses your lips, and snuggles into your side. âMama, letâs pray, never come back to this hospital, okay? You, me, pinky swear.â She squeezes her eyes tight, whispers, âGod, please keep my Mama and my heart so strong, we never sleep here again. Sorry, hospital, but you made my chest hurt and made Mama cry and I donât wanna see the yucky medicine or the big, scary machines ever again.â She lists the shadows, dark nights, cold floors, needles, the way Mama would cry when she thought nobody could hear, and all the hugs she gave to keep you both from falling apart.
Haeun wriggles in your lap, then pops up and waves both hands at the walls. âThank you, hospital!â she chirps, her voice sweet and ringing down the hall, âbut ba bye! Me and Mama never coming back here!â She sticks out her tongue, cheeks puffed in a silly pout, then grabs your hand with both of hers and pulls you close, giggling into your shoulder as if sharing the best secret in the world.
She cracks one eye open, sees you giggling, and pouts, âWhat?âÂ
You wrap her in your arms, smoothing her hair, and chuckle, âWell, baby, I still have to come back hereâremember, Mama works here!âÂ
Haeun goes absolutely still, lips forming a wide, perfect O, eyes as round as pancakes. She stares at you, deadpan, the seriousness of the revelation weighing on her tiny face, then shakes her head. âOh.â She blinks, processing, then bursts into laughter that bubbles up and fills the room.Â
Haeun wiggles off your lap and stands on tiptoes, fussing with the hem of your blanket to make sure youâre comfy in the wheelchair, patting your knees with her tiny hands until sheâs satisfied. She plants a big, sticky kiss on your cheek, then another on your forehead for extra luck. Jaemin, whoâs been leaning against the wall watching the whole show with a lazy grin, finally bends down and presses a long, slow kiss to your lips, soft at first, then deeper, making you melt right into him. Haeun wrinkles her nose, eyes popping wide, and squeals, âEw! Yucky love germs! Mama, donât let Dada eat your face! Save the kisses for me!â She stomps her foot and covers her eyes, then peeks through her fingers, giggling so hard she almost topples over. âMama, next time you and Dada do smoochy-smooch, Iâm calling Bunny to come put soap on your lips!â The laughter spills around the room, wrapping you in joy as she takes your hand and leads you to the door, her silly bravado and bright heart making every step out into the world feel exactly right.
You let her lead you through the parade, clinging to her warmth, to the silkiness of her small palm in yours, the way her fingers twist your bracelet until it nearly cuts off circulation. Your other hand stays wrapped around her battered bunny, the same one she clutched all through your worst fevers, now swaddled in a hospital blanket and adorned with a sticker that says âsuper patient.â Every time she sees someone she loves, a favorite nurse, the respiratory therapist who made her balloon animals, Dr. Kim with her rainbow shoelaces, Haeun tugs you closer, leans in, and bellows, âthank you, thank you! we go home now! Mamaâs magic again, see! me and Dada will take care of Mama, sheâs in good hands, I promise!â Her lips leave tiny wet hearts across your cheek, and she trails her free fingers down your neck, humming lullabies into your collar, as if her voice alone could knit you whole. She skips and hops, shoes slapping against linoleum, and as you pass by the reception desk, she demands an extra sticker âfor bravery,â insisting that youâre the bravest girl in the building today. The staff laughs, a soft, reverent sound, and you blink back a wave of dizziness at the realization that youâve survived something colossal, together.
Jaemin hovers behind you, tall and drawn, suit jacket slung over his arm, stethoscope around his neck, but his attention is wholly focused on the fragile axis between your body and Haeunâs. He keeps one hand anchored on your shoulder, thumb circling slow, silent benedictions against the curve of your collarbone. When you squeeze his fingers, hard, desperate, grounding yourself, he bends down, lips pressed to the crown of your head, whispering so low it sinks straight into your bones, âcanât wait to get my girls home.â You turn your face into his hand, breathing him in, catching the sharp, clean scent of hospital soap, clinging to the feel of his pulse steady and sure beneath your mouth. Haeun tugs your wrist, urging you to wave with her, so you lift your entwined hands, letting her drag you into her world, letting her joy eclipse the leftover fear that still sticks to your ribs. When she throws herself at one of the nurses, hugging her tight, she beckons you forward with a command, âMama, come on! you too, you say bye-bye now!ââand you comply, leaning out of the chair to touch cheeks and receive soft, well-wishes whispered like prayers.
As the crowd parts and the doors to the lobby open wide, sunlight spills over you all, catching in Haeunâs hair, turning her into a haloed blur as she skips and twirls, her shadow chasing ahead. She turns back, planting both feet, tugging you and Jaemin forward as if she could pull you into tomorrow by sheer force of will. âmy Mamaâs magic, see! bye-bye! thank you! all better now! me and Dadaââ Her words are swallowed by the sound of her own laughter, the hush of the doors, and the sudden bloom of summer air. You reach up, hand trembling, and press your lips to the back of Jaeminâs hand where it rests on your shoulder, holding tight, refusing to let go. Haeun clambers into your lap, legs tangling with yours, cheek pressed to your heart as she whispers, âdonât be scared, Mama. me and dada got you now. We all home together.â The sun sharpens everything, her chipped pink nail polish, the sugar-slick curve of her nose, the way her lips purse as she blows one final kiss to the nurses by the window, promising sheâll come back soon, just to show them how much taller sheâll be.
As the wheelchair glides past the line of nurses and techs and volunteers gathered by the exit, Haeunâs grip on your fingers tightens, her feet padding in time with each wheelâs soft shudder across the polished floor. The lights feel too bright, but sheâs your shield, bouncing in her little patent shoes, cheeks round and pink with excitement, dress swirling around her legs like a spun sugar cloud. She turns back, mouth forming an O as the applause grows, and suddenly she throws both arms wide, announcing in a clear, bell-bright voice, âThank you, everybody! Mama and me and Dada are going home forever! Weâre so, so happyâdonât be sad, Iâll come visit with Mama and bring you flower pictures and magic hugs for your breaks!â Her dimples deepen as she punctuates the promise with two air-kisses, and when she feels your fingers tremble, she slips her tiny thumb over your knuckles, humming a soft âmm-mm-mmâ that sounds like sunlight made into a lullaby, coaxing your shoulders to unclench.
Sheâs giggling as she dances along beside you, hopping from foot to foot in a goofy circle, then twirling once, curls floating around her head. At one point she breaks from your side to plant a clumsy, heartfelt kiss on the wrist of the old night nurse who brought her the pink blankets, then rushes back to you, breathless, whispering, âDid you see, Mama? I gave her a goodbye power-up, now sheâll be strong for other bubbas.â Every time a staff member kneels to meet her, she offers her tiny hand for a shake or a squeeze, spreading out little bits of her heart in gratitude, telling the physio sheâll miss their silly stretching games and promising Dr. Seo that sheâll grow up big and strong now, âjust like you, promise.â
You reel her in with a gentle tug, parking the wheelchair in a quiet alcove between two potted ficus trees so the praise and camera flashes dim to a hush. Haeun squeaks in surprise, then melts into you, knees tucked on the footrest, forehead resting against yours. Nose to nose, you breathe the same pocket of air that smells of vanilla hand-sanitizer and bubble-gum toothpaste. âMy glowing comet,â you murmur, tracing the apple-curve of her cheek with your thumb, âMy brave girl, you always know how to make Mama feel safe, I get all shy with so many people, but when I hold your hand, itâs like I can do anything.âÂ
She giggles, a sound like soft bells shaken inside a quilt and presses her button nose to yours three quick times. âBoop-boop-boop,â she counts, a private code for âI love you,â bigger than the sky. Then she cups your face in both hands, thumbs brushing the tear-gloss from beneath your lashes. âI love you, Mama, Iâll never let the world be too big. Just stay with me, okay? If you get scared, squeeze my hand three times and Iâll cover you with my hair like a superhero cape!â
A laugh escapes you, shaky and bright. âDeal, Captain Sunshine.â You kiss the soft valley between her brows, feel her giggle ripple down the bones of your chest, and the two of you stay like that, foreheads touching, secrets trading in the hush until Jaemin clears his throat gently and the parade resumes. You watch her, your chest aches with how whole she looks, radiant and brave, glittering with all the innocence and pride you want the world to hold for her. She keeps glancing back at you, checking your face, squeezing your hand as if to remind herself youâre really here, safe, real, going home together at last. She leans in and whispers, âMama, can I do my happy dance?â and when you nod, she breaks out in a soft-shoe shuffle, making everyone laugh, a little parade in miniature, Haeun at its shining center.
This isnât just your hospital walkout, itâs hers, the closing of a chapter sheâs too young to name, but her whole body knows it. You feel it in the hush that settles as Haeun bounces at your side, her hand welded to yours, little fingers squeezing so tight you could believe they hold the power to ward off anything. Jaemin stands behind you, hand cupped protectively over your shoulder, thumb stroking slow circles into your collarbone, his breath shaky with the relief and awe of seeing you both here, whole, after all those nights he counted the seconds by the beep of her monitors. Haeun walks with her head held high, cheeks glowing, eyes shining huge and starlit, and she stops to press a kiss to every nurseâs knuckles, gifting each a piece of her sweetness as she says, âThank you for making me all better! Iâll come back to visit, promise! Me and Mama and Dada, super team, strong hearts, all together!â The staff blink away tears, some kneeling to hug her close, others just smiling through the ache of goodbye, and you feel it, this is a day that splits the world in two: before and after, illness and hope, loneliness and family.
You pull Haeun into your lap, the chair slowing as you cradle her against your chest, her legs swinging, soft dress pooling over your knees like a puddle of sunlight. Her laughter bubbles up, fizzy and pure, as she hides her face in your neck and whispers, âMama, youâre the bravest in the world. I knew youâd get better for me. Did you know I wished on every star? I told them, âlet Mama come home, and Iâll be so good forever, cross my heart!ââÂ
You canât answer for a second, your throat knotted with love and fear and the wild, dizzy gratitude of surviving, but you kiss her hair, breathing in the scent of shampoo and her special sun-warm skin. âYou saved me, baby,â you whisper, âyou and Dada. Youâre my reason for everything.â
She lifts her head, beaming, and cups your cheeks in her tiny palms, nose to nose, her voice a breathless, sacred promise. âMama, youâre my superhero. You donât have to be scared âcause Iâll be your light forever. If you ever feel sad or lost, just call me and Iâll come running, okay? Iâll protect you, pinky swear!â She leans in for another kiss, feather-soft, before spinning in your arms, waving at everyone and singing out, âWeâre going home! Weâre all better now! No more beeps, just pancakes and sunshine!â
Haeun canât keep stillâsheâs wiggling in your lap, bunny charm swinging, cheeks pink from pride and joy, little feet tapping on the wheelchair footrest as the nurses and techs linger, some misty-eyed, some smiling wide. She looks up at Jaemin for permission, eyes huge and shining, then stands on tiptoe, hands clutching your shoulder for balance, and clears her throat, trying for her biggest, bravest voice. âExcuse me! Everybody!â she chirps, waving both arms above her head until all eyes turn, the crowd parting for this pint-sized sunbeam in her cloud-print dress. âI wanna say thank you! Thank you for making my Mama better, and for letting me sleep in the nursesâ room when I was scared, and for bringing me jelly and stickers and extra pancakes when I missed my home!â Her hands flutter to her heart as she glances at each familiar face, she calls out names, âNurse Yuha, thank you for fixing my hair with rainbow bands! Dr. Huang, you let me listen to Mamaâs heart, it goes boom-boom just like mine now! Thank you to all the night people for letting me color with your special pens and for giving me warm blankets when it was so cold, and for always checking if my bunny was comfy, too!â
She peeks at you, cheeks dimpled with glee, and bounces closer, whispering in your ear, âMama, you gotta smile, everyoneâs watching! We have to be the bravest, shiniest family ever, remember?â Then she throws her arms around your neck, lips pressing sloppy kisses to your cheek, giggling, âThatâs your hero kiss! Now youâre super strong!â She spins away and grabs Jaeminâs hand, tugging him toward her as she continues, âThank you for fixing all the hurts in our family and for never being mad when I spilled my juice or sang too loud at bedtime. We love you! Iâll bring magic hugs for everybody, promise, and pictures of my flowers, andâoh!âwhen Mama is all strong again, weâll come visit and show you how happy we are! And Iâll let you meet Bunnyâs new babies, and Iâll bring cookies next time if Mama says yes!â She beams up at Jaemin, then out at the crowd, âAnd thank you to my Dada for holding me when I missed my home, and thank you for letting me sneak extra pancakes and for carrying me when my legs got tired!â
Her voice wobbles with feeling, lips glossy with kisses, and she beams at you, squeezing your hand three times the way you taught her, whispering, âSee, Mama? All our friends are happy too.â The room seems to glow, every heart drawn to this bubble of warmth, as Haeun spins in a dizzy little twirl, bowing low, and blowing kisses to every nurse and doctor, âGoodbye, everybody! Iâm gonna be so strong and come back to visit and bring all my sunshine with me! You helped my Mama, you helped my Dada, and you helped me be the happiest girl in the world!â Her giggles echo down the hallway, so bright and unfiltered you feel your chest ache from loving her, she turns back to you, arms wrapping around your neck, nose pressed to your ear, whispering, âDonât be scared, Mama, Iâll always take care of you. Youâre my forever and ever, pinky promise.â
Your throat tightens as Haeunâs little speech echoes and fades, her words hanging bright in the air, and you canât help but pull her into your lap, pressing your lips to her soft crown, feeling her giggle bloom against your chest. You look up at Jaemin, whoâs kneeling beside you, his hand still anchored on your shoulder, and you draw them both closer, your voice trembling but sure. âYou know, I thought Iâd be scared leaving this placeââ You brush Haeunâs hair back, catching her bright gaze, ââbut with my sunshine girl and the love of my life, Iâm not scared of anything. You two are the reason Iâm still here, still fighting, still getting stronger. You both saved me more times than any doctor ever could.â Haeun giggles and wiggles closer, tucking herself against your heart, and you nuzzle her, whispering, âMy brave little hero, my best friend, my magic, Mamaâs never alone with you here. Thank you for being my light, for keeping me safe when I was too tired to find my way back. I love you more than pancakes, more than bunny hugs, more than all the flowers in the world.â
Your fingers find Jaeminâs, squeezing tight as your voice thickens, your heart wide open. âAnd youââ You meet his eyes, steady and shining, ââthank you for loving me when I couldnât love myself, for never letting go, for believing in our family when everything felt broken. You gave me a home, you gave me hope, and you gave me her.â Haeun beams, cheeks glossy with your kisses, and grabs both your hands, anchoring the three of you together. âI promise Iâll keep getting stronger, for both of you, for our whole silly, stubborn, sunshine family. Iâll come back and show everyone just how happy you made me.âÂ
Haeun presses another kiss to your cheek, then to Jaeminâs, her laughter a gentle bell, and Jaemin leans in, voice low and reverent, âWeâll always keep you safe, baby. Always.â Wrapped in their arms, their warmth, their impossible love, you know youâre finally, fiercely, home.
She gives one last round of kisses, feet kicking, face pressed to yours, as Jaemin crouches beside you both, his arm tight around your shoulders, every nurse and tech grinning, and even the patients from their doorways waving. Haeunâs joy is a tide that pulls everyone with her, laughter and hope rising and rising, and when you finally roll forward, her hand in yours, her speech echoing in every heart, you know sheâs lit up the whole ward with her little bubble of love, and every step toward the doors feels like a promise that youâll never, ever walk alone.Â
You watch her, your girl, your moonbeam, your fiercest hope, dancing through the applause, turning a hospital exit into a celebration, into a victory parade. Today you leave together, not as survivors but as something stronger: a family stitched back together by all youâve endured, by every promise kept, every squeeze of her little hand. This is Haeunâs last time walking these halls as a patient, and the way she glows, you know in your bones sheâll never need to come back. Sheâs free, and so are you. Outside, the world waits, raw and blinding, and you realize youâre held here, anchored by love, by Haeunâs unbreakable grip, by Jaeminâs steady handâevery part of you heavy with relief, trembling with the weight of beginning again.
Behind you, Jaemin stands a little straighter, the chief of pedsâalways the doctor in the room, but now just your partner, the man who carried you through every dark hour. His eyes glisten as he watches you and Haeun, pride blooming across his face, every sharp edge softened by joy and awe. For so long heâs worn the weight of other peopleâs heartbreak, every loss carving deep inside him, but here, in this moment, with the ward full of applause and his family gathered in his arms, you see the way heâs come undone with gratitude. His hand is steady on your shoulder, but his thumb traces gentle circlesâa silent promise, a wordless thank you, an anchor. Every nurse who stops to squeeze his arm, every old patient who waves and shouts, âThank you, Dr. Na!â only makes his grip on you tighter, as if heâs letting himself believe in happy endings for the first time. When you turn to look at him, heâs already looking at you, all the pride and wonder in the world alive in his eyes, and you feel that old ache, the one that says nothing is ever wasted, not when love survives it.
The moment you wheel through the front door, Haeun explodes from Jaeminâs side in a tumble of pink tulle and squeals, her arms spread wide as she shrieks, âWelcome back home, Mama!â The living room is transformed, ribbons twined across the ceiling, paper hearts swinging from every lamp, a garland of crayon rainbows draped above the sofa. Cardboard letters cut with clumsy scissors spell out âhome is where Mama is,â in glittery marker across the entryway. There are bouquets in old juice glasses on every windowsill, bunnies and unicorns perched on every chair, and hand-drawn cards tacked to the walls, each one covered in lopsided stars, suns, and a wild mess of âI love you, Mama!â written in every colour she could find. On the coffee table, Haeunâs tiny hands have arranged a half-dozen cupcakes into the shape of a heart, each iced in pastel swirls and crowned with edible flowers, with a big pink cake in the center that says, âwelcome home, my best girl!â in Haeunâs looping, intimate scrawl.
Sheâs tugging at your hand before you can even breathe, voice bursting with pride as she tries to pull you into every corner of the room, âMama, look, look! Dada let me pick the biggest flowers for your room! And I made a special card with sparkles for your pillow and me and Bunny did all the hearts on the fridge! You have to see my drawing of us, look, youâre wearing the pretty dress and Dadaâs got his doctor hat and I gave myself wings so I can fly to hug you anytime youâre sad!âÂ
Sheâs already halfway across the rug, feet pattering wild, when Jaemin gently swoops down, steadying her with a hand to her shoulder. âSlow, Haeunie,â he says, warm but firm, âMama needs to go slow. Sheâs still getting strong again.âÂ
Haeunâs eyes go wide and earnest as she nods, lips pursed in a soft little âoâ, and she tiptoes back to your side, slipping her hand into yours. âSorry, Mama. Dada says we have to be patient and gentle. Itâs âcause youâre sick, but me and Dadaâll help you get super strong again, okay? Pinky promise.â She holds up her tiny finger for you to hook with yours, grinning so wide you can see the gap where she lost her first tooth last week.
You canât help but melt, curling your pinky around hers and tugging her close until her forehead brushes yours. âYou know what? Every time you smile at me, I feel my heart grow two sizes. You and Dada are my best medicine, way better than any doctor could give. Iâll get strong in no time, promise, just as long as Iâve got my Haeunie to help me.â Your voice wobbles with the sweetness of it, cheeks aching from smiling so much, and you brush her hair back, pressing a kiss to her dimple and whispering, âWhat would Mama do without her hero?â Haeun giggles, a bright, tinkling sound, and hugs you so tight your ribs nearly creak, the two of you tangled up in sunshine and soft whispers, safe in the silly, sacred little world you share.
Everywhere you look thereâs something, a line of painted rocks spelling âManaâs gardenâ on the kitchen windowsill, photos from the hospital days printed out and framed with macaroni and glitter, and a parade of her favorite stuffed animals stacked on your bed, each holding a tiny note. Thereâs a new blanket, impossibly soft, tucked up with your favorite mug and a little stack of books, Jaeminâs gentle, careful touch in every detail. You canât help it; the tears prick hot at your eyes, the whole room blurring with gratitude and disbelief, and suddenly youâre crying, shoulders shaking as you clutch Haeun to your chest. She gasps, little hands patting your cheeks, âWhy are you sad, Mama? Did we mess it up? I wanted it to be perfect.â Her voice wobbles, lips trembling, and she presses quick kisses to your cheeks, sticky and warm, murmuring, âDonât cry, Mama, Haeunieâs here, Iâm right here! Iâll fix it, Iâll hug you all night, Iâll never let you goââ
Jaemin kneels beside you, arms curling around you both, pressing his forehead to yours as his own eyes shine. âItâs okay, sweetheart,â he murmurs, voice thick, âthese are happy tears, right?âÂ
You nod, breath hitching, fingers curling tight around both of them. âIâm not sad, baby, Iâm just soâso lucky. I thought Iâd lost this, lost you. I never thought Iâd be forgiven or blessed enough to come home.â You say it raw, the words shaky and honest, and you feel Haeunâs arms squeeze you tighter, her heart beating so hard you can feel it through her dress.Â
âSilly Mama,â she giggles, nose smushing into your neck, âweâd never let you go! Youâre our best thing. Dada said so.â Jaemin cups your jaw, kisses the tears off your cheeks, then kisses Haeun too, the three of you tangled together in the heart of a home rebuilt for joy, each detail proof that youâre cherished, wanted, and finally, finally home.
At home, everything stitches itself back together with the clumsy grace of a first family waltz, slow, sweet, imperfect, so precious it aches. Haeun declares herself the householdâs smallest nurse and your official helper, making it her solemn job to be everywhere you are, eyes bright with duty and her nose scrunched in concentration. âMama, wait, I do it!â she insists, chubby hands clutching your medicine bottle with such seriousness you want to cry and laugh all at once. She pads after you in her bunny slippers, grabbing the hem of your cardigan if you move too fast, reminding you, tiny finger waggling, lips pursed, âno runninâ, Mama, only walk like ducks, âkay?â
When you settle on the couch, she piles pillows around you, meticulous, cheeks puffed out in focus as she arranges them âjust so.â She brings your slippers, her favorite, butter-yellow ones with white hearts, your matching pair, carefully setting them by your feet and tucking your toes inside, humming under her breath. In the kitchen, she fills your water glass with both hands, spilling a little but beaming when she sets it beside you, announcing, âAll done, Mama! Hydrate, hydrate!â Her nose is always wrinkling, sniffing at your tea, her tongue poking out the side of her mouth when she tries to open packets, cheeks rosy with the effort. Her hands, still dimpled and baby-soft, wrap around your wrist as she insists on âchecking your pulse like Dr. Huang,â and she leans in so close her lashes tickle your cheek.
Each morning she climbs into your bed before the sun is up, curls a wild halo, cheeks soft as ripe peaches, Bunny tucked under one arm and her icy feet burrowing for warmth beneath your legs. She presses her nose to yours and whispers, âIs your heart all better, Mama? If not, I can share mineâsee?â She presses her palm flat against your chest, her other hand to her own, and for a moment sheâs very still, eyes wide and hopeful. âDr. Huang say itâs super strong now. It goes âboom-boomâ like music. I got lots to share. I got love to share too, Mama.â Some mornings, you wake to the clink of mugs and the sound of bare feet padding softly across the kitchen tile. Haeunâs voice chirps instructions as she helps Jaemin assemble a little tea tray, balancing the spoon and honey jar in her small hands, face set with determined pride. âWeâre the doctor team,â she announces, marching at his side as he carries the cup, âDadaâs in charge but Iâm the boss.â When she reaches the couch, her eyes glitter with accomplishment, her smile wide and shy as she sets the tray down without a single spill, glancing at you for praise. Jaemin bows, hand to his heart like a waiter, but itâs Haeun who preens when you call her âboss baby,â lifting her chin and squeezing your knee, already angling for another job to do.
At night, she nestles close in the crook of your arm, body all warm limbs and contented little sighs, tracing gentle circles on your skin until the tension leaks out of your shoulders. Her voice is small and off-key as she sings her favorite lullabies, lyrics dissolving into soft hums. âIâll stay awake all night, Mama, so you donât have any bad dreams, cross my heart,â she promises, pressing her nose to your temple, lashes brushing your cheek. She makes a little cocoon of herself around you, thumb stroking your wrist, insistent that her presence alone can keep nightmares at bay. Sometimes you catch her eyelids drooping, her willpower stretched to the limit by the urge to protect you, her sleepy giggle the last thing you hear before you drift off, anchored by her warmth. On days when your body is too heavy for the world, Haeun invents âexercise club,â scampering to your side with a determined gleam in her eyes. She lifts your hands above your head, fingers laced with yours, counting out each gentle stretch and encouraging every toe wiggle with an exaggerated cheer. âOne more, Mama, you can do it!â she calls, her enthusiasm contagious, refusing to let gloom claim the day. Each completed motion earns a triumphant high five, her laughter bubbling up as she flops dramatically onto the rug, arms and legs flung wide, âNow weâre super strong, like hero team!â
When the exhaustion wins and your emotions brim over, Haeun is there to catch the first trembling tear, pressing her small fingers beneath your eyes with infinite tenderness. âAll gone, see? I turn sad drops into happy ones,â she whispers, ritualistically pressing her fingertip to her lips and then to your cheek. She pulls you into a lopsided, sticky kiss, arms flung tight around your neck, her breath warm and sweet as she reassures, âNo more cry, Mama, only hugs now. Promise.â During your afternoon naps, she turns the living room into a gallery, taping up her latest drawings on every wall within view. Her pictures always center you, bright and crowned, cheeks rosy, surrounded by herself, Jaemin, and a flurry of hearts. When you wake, Haeunâs face hovers above yours, proud and hopeful as she gestures to the new masterpieces. âNow the roomâs filled with extra Mama power so you get better quick,â she insists, tugging you to your feet to admire every portrait, cheeks flushed with anticipation, eager for your approval. She carries your story with her everywhereâintroducing herself to neighbors, nurses, and strangers in the park with the same unwavering declaration. âMy mama is very brave and strong, sheâs getting better every day, Iâm her sidekick forever.â When youâre out in public and hesitation creeps in, she slips her hand into yours, squeezing three times just like she promised, her secret signal to remind you that youâre never alone, her love, a constant, unbreakable tether pulling you back to safety.
No chore escapes her, she lines up your vitamins on the nightstand, kisses each one âfor luck,â fetches Bunny if you sigh, arranges stickers on your water bottle (âfor magicâ), and tries to brush your hair, her tongue poking out in concentration, her little hands gentle but tangling halfway. When you wince, sheâs all wide-eyed apology, âsorry, Mama! I be soft!ââpressing kisses to your forehead, your eyelids, the tip of your nose, peppering you with âmwah-mwah-mwahâ until you both dissolve into giggles. She tucks your hair behind your ear, the way you do for her, and whispers, âPretty Mama. I take care of you, promise. âCause you my best friend, forever, ever, ever.â Everything in your world is softer with her: the sharp ache of healing dulled by her arms tangled around your waist, the shadows on hard days chased away by her giggles and the determined patter of her feet. Each sigh, each groan, each slow shuffle, Haeun is there, her whole body a trembling, shining vow, her lashes like butterfly wings on your skin, her nose button-round and pressed to your jaw, her voice a bubbling brook, her heart your miracle and your medicine both.
Your baby girl is sunshine, sweet sticky fingers and wild curls, love so loud it rattles every shadow loose. Your partner is gravity, steady hands, fierce devotion, desire that anchors you back to life every time you start to drift. Jaemin is your shadow and your anchor, never farther than a soft breath, always finding ways to fold himself around your new fragility as if he could take the pain from your body into his own. He hovers at thresholds, watching with that surgeonâs eye, every wince catalogued, every sigh drawing his arms closer, until youâre wrapped in the sanctuary of his touch. Mornings, he tucks your hair behind your ear as you sit at the table, brushing fingertips down your jaw and pressing kisses, slow and reverent, to the pulse in your throat. He carries you to bed sometimes, when fatigue makes your limbs weak and trembling, muttering soft curses at the world that hurt you, at the rules that keep you from the life you built.
Every evening, he kneels by the tub to wash your hair, letting your head loll back into his palm, massaging shampoo into your scalp as if every gentle circle could heal whatâs been torn. He presses his mouth to your shoulder, teeth grazing skin gone sensitive with longing, whispering things that make you shiver: âYouâre here. Youâre home. I canât stop loving you, even for a minute.â When the house is quiet and Haeunâs small snore drifts from her room, Jaemin slides into bed behind you, his palm splaying low on your belly, his nose nuzzled behind your ear. Some nights, the tenderness twists into need, fingers tangled under cotton, his breath shaky against your neck, bodies moving together with slow, aching urgency, everything deliberate, nothing rushed. He maps every new scar, every line of fatigue, his kisses fierce as promises, murmuring âmineâ into the dip of your spine, tracing the love heâs terrified to lose.
He insists on doing the small things, packing your medicine with breakfast, warming your slippers on the heater, filling the house with lilies and sunlight and little surprises: your favorite tea, the novel you wanted, a playlist for slow, rainy afternoons. He sits behind you on the couch, arms locked around your waist, chin hooked over your shoulder as you drift in and out of sleep, holding you close so you know thereâs nowhere safer than this. When nightmares come, heâs there before you can wake fully, rocking you, hand between your shoulder blades, whispering that youâre safe, youâre loved, youâre not alone. He spoons you in the middle of the day, in the middle of the night, never tiring of the feel of your skin under his palms, tracing the edge of your thigh, the curve of your breast, the hollow at your throatâmapping you again and again, as if to memorize every inch for the days he almost lost.
His love language is all action and touchâbandaging what aches, drawing hearts in the steam on the bathroom mirror, lifting you onto the counter to kiss you breathless, hands splayed on your hips, teeth at your collarbone. He worships you with every meal he cooks, every step he ta kes at your side, every whispered âI love youâ while youâre half-asleep in his arms, his heart beating so hard you feel it echo in your own. In the hush of early morning, Haeun squished between you, he traces circles on your knee, mouth pressed to your hair, and says, as if itâs the most natural thing in the world, âYouâre everything. Iâll love you through every heartbreak, every scar, every miracle, every mess. Youâre my home.â And you know, in the cradle of his arms, that youâll never have to heal alone.
There are mornings when you can barely get out of bed, every part of you aching and limp, but Jaeminâs already there, kneeling at your side, sliding soft socks onto your feet, humming some old lullaby that Haeun learned from him. He doesnât rush you; he waits, patient, letting you lean into his side as he leads you down the hall, fingers laced with yours. When you canât make it to the table, he sets a breakfast picnic in bed, sliced strawberries, honey toast, your mug of tea with the perfect amount of milk and brings Haeun up to join you, both of them fussing and coaxing laughter from your lips. On afternoons when sunlight spills through the windows, he draws you close on the porch swing, letting you rest your head against his chest, heartbeat steady as a drum beneath your ear. Sometimes, he reads to you, voice soft and low, his hand tracing slow lines along your hip as if to say, over and over, I am here, I am yours, you are loved.
At night, when sleep wonât come and youâre haunted by fear, of getting sick again, of the world falling away, Jaemin wraps his arms around you, strong and certain, cradling you close until your breathing evens out. He never lets you shrink from your scars, never lets you feel less for needing help, telling you again and again, âThereâs nothing you could do to make me love you less.â When you break down, the tears raw and shaking, he cups your face and kisses every track they leave, letting you sob into his chest, whispering promises heâd carve into bone if he could: âYouâre safe. Youâre mine. Weâre never losing each other, not now, not ever.â In every gestureâevery held hand, every late-night snack, every tired giggle under shared blanketsâyou feel his love, endless and unwavering, the devotion that carried you both home
From the moment you wake, they move as a team, Jaemin, all quiet certainty, guiding the dayâs rhythm, and Haeun, a sunbeam in motion, her tiny legs pumping as she races down the hall to your bedside, curls bouncing, her nose pink from sleep. She climbs up with a grunt, hands and knees soft as new dough, eyes searching your face for any trace of discomfort, mouth parted in silent concentration. Before you can speak, she smooths your hair with clumsy, dimpled fingers, then pats your cheeks with both palms, whispering, âMama, I help! Me and Dada, we do teamwork!âÂ
Jaemin stands just behind, warm palm at your shoulder, reaching to steady your spine as you sit, and the weight of both their care presses comfort deep into your bones. Every morning is a gentle choreography: Jaemin lifts you with slow, practiced hands, supporting your back, murmuring, âEasy, love,â as Haeun runs ahead, picking up slippers and laying out your cardigan, her voice bubbling. âPink one, Mama, like a ballerina!â She fusses with your hair, chubby fingers smoothing the part. Jaemin fetches your medicine, checks your water, and gives Haeun the task of handing each pill, she does it with both palms cupped, eyes shining with gravity, whispering, âGood job, Mama,â when you swallow, as if youâre the bravest girl in the room. Jaemin watches, eyes soft and glittering, then crouches to help, his big hands tucking the blanket around your legs as Haeun fusses over the edge, her chubby toes curling against your shin. Every gesture is a duet, her tiny hand passing you the water glass, his voice murmuring reminders to breathe; her babbling instructions, âMama, eat, drink, you be good girl!â as she feeds you one bite at a time, cheeks puffed with pride, Jaeminâs smile crinkling with every accomplishment.
Motherâs Day in your house is a celebration spun gold, soft, reverent, impossibly sentimental, every detail plotted in secret. The first thing you register is the scent of strawberries and melted butter, the giggling crescendo of Haeun launching herself into your arms, curls bouncing, her cheeks warm and glossy, mouth shaped in the widest, proudest âO.â She clambers up, hands sticky from carrying the tray, thrusting a wrinkled, hand-painted card into your lap, pink and purple suns, a wonky heart with âMama is my Hero!â in jagged crayon. Sheâs wrapped a sparkly friendship bracelet around the card, a treasure she wove herself from your old hair ribbons, and insists on sliding it over your wrist with such gentle care you feel your heart twist. Jaemin stands in the doorway, one hand bracing the tray so nothing slips, his other holding a single, dew-bright daisy in a juice glass, your favorite flower, because Haeun declared them âhappy like Mamaâs eyes.â
He sets the tray in your lap with a flourish, every plate bursting with intention: pancakes shaped like bunnies and flowers, tiny paper flags reading âbest Mama,â slices of fruit stacked into rainbows, even your coffee mug graced with a hand-lettered âsupermom.â Haeun narrates every choice, how she picked the biggest strawberries for you, poured the syrup âall by herself,â and how Daddy let her use the âfancy sprinkles because youâre the Queen.â She nestles beside you, grinning, pink toes tucked under your thigh, insisting on feeding you the first wobbly bite, laughing when a dab of cream lands on your nose then kissing it off for you. The moment feels enchanted: sunlight warming your blankets, Jaemin kissing your bare shoulder with a reverence that breaks you open, his palm splayed over your belly as if cradling everything thatâs ever hurt and everything thatâs healing.
After breakfast, Haeun parades you through the house, her tiny hand locked in yours, revealing her âMama Museum.â Every corner has been decorated, paper chains, bouquets of dandelions and buttercups stuffed in juice jars, a construction paper crown atop your pillow, âticketsâ for extra cuddles hidden in pockets and drawers. She leads you to the living room where sheâs drawn a huge mural of your family, her, you, and Jaemin, all with superhero capes, bunnies at your feet, and a speech bubble that says, âMy Mama saves the world.â On the coffee table, sheâs lined up the gifts: a tissue-paper bouquet (âfor when you need happy tearsâ), a tiny clay heart pressed with her thumbprint, and a photo of the three of you, framed in stickers and puffy glitter.
You sit, legs folded under, as Haeun clambers onto your lap, nuzzling your cheek, hands cupping your face as she whispers, âBest Mama, best friend, best heart in the world.â Jaemin kneels beside you, one arm slung around your shoulders, his gaze wet and unguarded, lips pressed to your temple as if to anchor you to this tiny, golden universe. You canât stop crying, laughter and tears all tangled, and Haeun kisses the salt from your cheeks, pressing her soft mouth over every trembling smile, vowing, âMe and Dada gonna make you happy forever.â In that moment, love is thick and irreducible, your first Motherâs Day, not just a holiday but a benediction, a promise that you are seen, chosen, worshipped beyond measure. The day unfurls around you, sunlight and giggles, pancakes and presents, every second a monument to the family you fought for, every breath sacred, every âI love youâ etched into the marrow of your bones.
When itâs time for your walk, Jaemin is at your side, your arm looped through his, his steps matching yours, while Haeun trots ahead, her knees knocking together, bunny slippers scuffing. She picks wildflowers for you, stuffing your pockets, âSo you can smell pretty things, Mama, even inside.â At home, she helps you change, her hands gentle, voice low, âI zip for you, Mama. You rest.â Jaemin brushes your hair, tangles gently under his fingers, his eyes always searching for pain, always softening with reassurance. âYouâre safe,â he whispers. âWeâve got you.â
After lunch, Haeun insists on âdoctor time.â She brings her plastic stethoscope and examines your heart, brow furrowed, nose squished, curls falling in her face. âBoom-boom is strong!â she announces, kissing your chest, then nuzzling under your chin. âDr. Huang say I can twirl in ballet again, Mama! You come see, okay?âÂ
You promise, your hand cupping her chubby cheek, thumb stroking the sticky curve of her jaw. âWouldnât miss it for anything, baby.â
Jaemin spends the evenings beside you, legs bracketing yours, his arms wound tight as he reads aloud, his voice a soothing anchor. Haeun falls asleep on your lap, thumb in mouth, curls scattered, her nose pressed to your wrist, bunny clutched to her chest. When you wake in the night, panicked and aching, Jaemin is there, mouth at your temple, whispering, âItâs alright, love. Iâve got you. Weâre safe. Weâre all here.â His hands are firm and sure, tracing your spine, grounding you in the present, his body heat a balm against old pain. They treat you like a queen, a patient and a love all at once: Haeunâs affection is an endless fountain, her giggles and nuzzles and wild declarations (âIâm Mamaâs best helper! Dada said!â); Jaeminâs devotion quieter but no less fierce, every touch an act of worship, every look a promise that nothing, not the ocean, not the world, will ever take you from them again. Together, they fill the house with softness and light, the scent of pancakes and hope, and in their arms, for the first time since the water closed over your head, you believe you might never drown again.
Haeun plops into your lap, card hugged to her chest, cheeks shiny with pride. She shoves it into your hands, pointing at her biggest, roundest letters. âLook, Mama! My handwritinâ! You proud of me?â Her voice wobbles a little but sheâs beaming, lashes all fluttery, nose crinkled.Â
âYouâre my cleverest girl. Iâm so, so proud of you. I love you more than anything.â Haeun wriggles, giggling into your neck, soaking up every bit of your pride and love.
She giggles and clears her throat, like sheâs seen grown-ups do, and starts readingâslow and careful, with a hiccup between each word. âI love you Mama! Mama is soft and pretty and Bunny says you the best cuddler. Thank you for pancakes and for fixinâ all my ouchies and for singinâ âmoon riverâ when I sad. Thank you for pickinâ my yellow dress and for lovinâ me big-big, bigger than the sky.â She pauses, cheeks hot, eyes searching yours for approval. âDid I read it good, Mama? You happy?â You sweep her up, smother her in kisses, and whisper,
You nuzzle her nose, cheeks, and crown, squeezing her close until your arms ache with sweetness. âMy sunshine, youâre my heart,â you whisper, voice thick, âIâm proud of you every day for being so brave, so kind, such a strong little nurse for Mama. Youâre the best thing Iâve ever made and Iâll thank the stars every morning I get to wake up and see you smile.âÂ
Haeunâs chin wobbles; she ducks her head, bashful, then buries her face in your neck, giggling, âI love you, Mama, big as the moon. I taked care of you so good, âcause you my one and only.â
The room is a wild garden of color, armfuls of daffodils, daisies, a blush-pink peony in a chipped mug, each bloom handpicked, stems trimmed too short, leaves gnawed by a mystery bunny. Thereâs a card from Bunny, âsignedâ with a smudgy paw print, and a lopsided cake, yellow frosting pooling, spelling âBEST MAMAâ in uneven loops. Jaemin leans against the counter, eyes glittering, a slow smile tracing his lips as he watches you both. When Haeun finally wriggles free, declaring it âDadaâs turn!â and pelts down the hall in search of sticker.
Jaemin slides in, arms banding your waist, hands hot through your shirt. âBeen waiting all day to say thank you for surviving,â he murmurs, breath grazing your ear, voice low and rough. âYouâre the bravest, sexiest, sweetest woman on this earth. I see you, every damn day, loving my girl, loving me. Makes me want to ruin you right here on this couch.â His hands move under the hem of your tee, warm, worshipful, tracing old scars, new softness, hunger in his touch tempered by awe. âYouâre my home, you know that? Youâmessy hair, sleepy eyes, bossy as hellâare it for me. The only woman I want to wake up to, the only one I want to see in nothing but a smile and frosting crumbs.â You laugh, color rising to your cheeks as he kisses you, slow and deep, his thumb tracing your jaw. âI love you, princess. Thank you for being mine, for surviving, for giving me the most beautiful girl in the world. Happy Mama Day.âÂ
Then Haeun bursts back in, arms full of fresh-cut dandelions and a new card for âBestest Mama Ever.â She clambers up, cheeks shining, pressing petals to your lips, her joy a riot, her love the sun you both orbit, your little family blooming all around you, tangled up in cake and flowers and kisses that taste like hope.
You cradle Haeun close, her warm little body curled perfectly into your lap, fingers stroking over the soft shell of her ear as you whisper, âthank you, sunshine, Mamaâs strong because of you.â You press kisses to her cheeks, her forehead, the sweet curve of her dimpled chin, each touch slow and reverent, your gratitude a quiet pulse between heartbeats.Â
She giggles, breath honey-thick and bright, her laughter bubbling up like spring water as she wraps her arms around your neck, pressing her lips to your temple and murmuring, âalways protect you, Mama, always, always, always,â the words puffed soft and earnest against your skin.Â
Jaemin watches, one hand braced on the frame, hunger burning low and restless behind his eyes as he tracks every movement, chest heaving just a little, the flush along his throat making it impossible to mistake his need. He swallows hard, voice rough, âBaby? Do you wanna do something for Mama? Can you get all her medicine pots from the counter for Dada? Then we can fill them together for Mama, yeah?â
Haeun lights up, bouncing off your lap with a proud squeal, âof course! Iâm the best helper!ââher patent slippers thumping across the floor, hair bouncing, her purpose beaming from every pore. As she disappears into the kitchen, you and Jaemin lock eyes, heat tightening the air between you, the kind of look that shreds patience, makes everything ache. Four nights running, every time youâve tried to ride him, hips circling, slick and needy, his cock twitching deep inside you, both of you tangled and aching, Haeun has stormed in, barreling straight for the bed with her bunny and her wide, sleepy eyes, clambering up and wriggling herself right between your bodies, shoving her face against your chest, all soft hair and chubby arms, insisting sheâll sleep right here to protect her family. Each night you freeze, Jaemin groaning under his breath as you both try to rearrange yourselves, desperate and unsatisfied, your cunt pulsing around nothing, his cock left throbbing beneath the sheets, while Haeun burrows in, wedging herself between you and knocking all the breath out of the room. The moment she finally leaves, the door clicking shut and silence swelling in her wake, youâre on him before he can blink, devouring his mouth, nails raking over his chest, every nerve ending shrieking for him, for relief, for the fucking youâve been denied for days, so raw you could sob, so hungry it feels like a fever burning through your veins.
You barely make it across the living room before youâre straddling Jaeminâs lap, hands fisted in the soft cotton of his shirt, bodies pressed so close you can feel the desperate thrum of his pulse under your tongue. His hands grip your waist, knuckles digging in with a hunger thatâs both reverent and raw, your hips grinding down until the world shrinks to the heat blooming between you. His lips brush your jaw, your ear, biting back a groan as you shift, lost in the weight of him, the taste of his mouth, the heady promise of being filled and owned all over again. âWanna make you a Mama again,â he rasps, voice thick and low, eyes locked on yours like thereâs nothing in the universe but this, but you, his need unfiltered, aching.Â
You press your mouth to his ear, breath trembling, âFuck a baby into me, Jaemin. Wanna feel you everywhere.â He groans, hands slipping up beneath your shirt, the friction dizzying, your thighs tightening around him, rolling your hips, the kind of movement thatâs all need and no shame.
Youâre so tangled up in Jaeminâs arms. mouths hungry, his hands gripping your hips, lost in the heat thatâs been denied you for days, that you donât hear the warning tremor of small feet or the gathering thunder that is Haeun on a mission. It isnât until a single, affronted grunt slices through the air that you blink, heart jackhammering, and realize a stormâs about to make landfall. With a smack of bare heels against the floor, she hurls herself onto the couch like a tiny, mutinous typhoon, the force of her flop sending one cushion spinning. She glares, cheeks puffed up, lip jutting so far it could trip you, her eyes sharp and sparking like sheâs about to declare war. Arms crossed in a defiant fortress, she lets out a sigh that could curdle milk, then ratchets the drama up another notch, throwing her head back, rolling her eyes, and muttering loud enough for every molecule in the room to hear: âSo not fair! Daddy always, always gets all the Mama kisses!â
When you and Jaemin freeze, still half-straddling him, she fixes you with a gaze full of righteous indignation, like sheâs the high court of cuddles and both of you are on trial for crimes against affection. âI wanna kiss Mama! Daddy always does, Daddy always wins!â She wails, huffing so hard her curls bounce, then jabs an accusatory finger in Jaeminâs direction, as if heâs orchestrated some global smooching conspiracy. She scoots closer, planting herself firmly between you, fists balled, ready to throw down, her whole body radiating the fury of a bubba who refuses to be out-snuggled, determined to reclaim whatâs rightfully hers, even if it means shoving her dad clean off the couch and onto the emotional naughty step.
Jaemin can barely get the words out, his laugh tumbling loose and startled, shoulders shaking, eyes shining with mischief and defeat, before Haeun launches her full-scale coup, a pint-sized tyrant of tenderness. The second he lifts his hands in surrender, already sliding off the couch and flopping dramatically to the floor, she scuttles into the breach, a protective wall between you and any parental interloper. âNo touching!â she declares, wrapping her arms around your waist, burrowing her face under your chin, as if she could fuse herself to you by sheer force of will. She casts a sidelong glare at Jaemin, all dimples and menace, staking her claim with every stubborn line of her body.
He puts on his best show of heartbreak, one hand to his chest, pouting like heâs been banished to the wilderness, âyou better pick carefully, beautiful, or someoneâs gonna start a revolution,â he warns, only half teasing, but Haeunâs not about to let anyone edge her out. With a triumphant little squeal, she clambers onto your lap, smothering your cheeks in a flurry of kisses, quick, sticky, and ferociously loving, her giggles bubbling out in a victorious chorus. âMy mama! All mine!â She sings, nuzzling close, throwing you a wink of conspiratorial delight before squeezing you tighter, her legs tangled with yours, breath warm on your skin, refusing to share even an inch of you until sheâs made her victory absolute and the world knows youâre hers.
You cradle her tighter, planting kisses along the crown of her soft hair, your voice dropping to a secret hush only for her, âAll yours, baby. My heart beats for you first. just you and me, my moonbeam.â She sighs, the sound happy and soft, snuggling even closer, her little arms stubborn around your neck as if she could keep the whole world away with one squeeze. Her thumb traces a sleepy circle on your jaw, and you whisper, âNo one in the universe comes before my bubba. Mamaâs here, always.â
Jaemin groans, flopping on his back in mock offence, an arm tossed over his eyes. âWhatâs a guy gotta do to get some love around here? Left out in the cold by my two favorite girlsâŚâ he pouts, peeking at you both with a wounded puppy stare, though the corners of his mouth betray him, heâs smiling too wide to fake it for long.
You arch a brow, lips twitching, âGuess youâre both just gonna have to fight it out to see who wants me the most.â Haeunâs eyes flare wide, Jaeminâs mouth quirks with a wolfish grin, and for one heartbeat, the room holds its breath. Then, chaos: Haeun scrambles to snatch your hand, tugging you protectively into her lap, tiny arms thrown around your waist as she declares, âMine! Mamaâs on my team, Dada, you have to find your own!âÂ
Jaemin, not to be outdone, lunges for the nearest throw pillow and brandishes it overhead, voice pitched in mock battle cry. âYou think you can out-love me, sunshine? Weâll see about that!ââand before you can brace yourself, a barrage of plush assaults your back, Haeun squealing with delight, her laughter ricocheting off the walls.
Determined, Haeun plants herself between you and Jaemin, arms and legs splayed out starfish-wide, cheeks puffed with indignation as she huffs, âNo fair! Mama said fight, but Dadaâs too big!â Jaemin only grins harder, crawling forward with exaggerated slowness, reaching for your ankle, and Haeun shrieks, âRetreat! Mama, the giantâs coming!ââprompting you to drag her behind the coffee table in a fit of giggles, hearts pounding, bodies tangled in an impromptu fortress of couch cushions and blankets. You whisper a strategy into Haeunâs ear and she nods, lips pursed, eyes alight with mischief; together, you both launch a counterattack, flinging soft toys and blowing the loudest raspberry kisses you can muster.
When the dust settles, all three of you collapse on the carpet in a heap of limbs, you stretch out an arm, feigning deep deliberation. âAlright,â you announce, drawing out every syllable, âI have to choose the winner. This is serious business.âÂ
Haeunâs breath hitches, Jaemin holds perfectly still, both squeezing their eyes shut, silent, tense, desperate. You tiptoe between them, draw out the anticipation with a wicked grin, then dive, pouncing on Haeun, smothering her in kisses until sheâs breathless and squealing, âI win! I win! Mama picked me!â Her joy is so big it bursts from her, and you hold her close, feeling Jaeminâs laughter vibrating against your back as he wraps both of you up in one strong arm, pressing a kiss to your temple in defeat, all of you tangled together in sun-warm, giggly victory.
Haeun is nothing but motion, she spins wild, breathless, letting the sunlight turn her curls into a living halo, feet barely touching the rug as she whirls and whirls, little bunny charm bouncing against her chest in time with her laughter. Her energy feels endless, defiant; every time you expect her to wobble and collapse, she only grins wider, pushing herself faster, arms stretched out as if she could catch the whole world in her hands. She twirls, then leaps, then twirls again, and each giggle comes brighter, bubbling from deep in her belly, lighting the room like a thousand paper lanterns. The living room becomes her own small stage, and she dances for all of you, for herself, for you, for Jaemin, for every version of her that once lay sleeping in a hospital bed.
You catch Jaeminâs gaze over her dizzy, radiant orbit. Thereâs awe and gratitude and something shining behind his lashes as you pull him closer, your fingers lacing through his, grounding yourself in the heat of his palm. Your voices hush into the soft space between the spinning and the laughter, the miracle of her presence a lump in both your throats. âLook at her,â you whisper, pride thick in your voice, unable to hide the crack. âOur baby girlâs so strong now, itâs a miracle. Sheâs got legs like springs and a heart that doesnât quit, just like her Daddy.â Your lips brush his jaw, and for a breathless moment, the world is only the three of you: you and Jaemin anchored together, watching your daughter spin herself dizzy, cheeks flushed and eyes sparking, each laugh proof that hope can grow wild and stubborn in the wake of everything you almost lost.
The greatest relief is Haeunâs blooming strength. The medical trial, cutting-edge, gentle as science can be, means she takes fewer pills each week, and her labs come back glowing. The study itself is a regimen of tailored immunosuppressants, new gene therapies, and frequent checkups, all designed to keep her heart (a donor-match miracle) beating without the old threat of rejection. No more blue lips, no more fainting spells; Haeun runs down hallways, leaps from steps, twirls in the kitchen with her arms thrown wide, shouting, âMama, watch me! Watch me twirl!â Ballet shoes with pink ribbons replace the heavy hospital socks. Dr. Huangâs voice is steady and proud every month, charting a heart so strong it shocks the whole floor: âSheâs thriving, truly. She can go to school, go to parties, dance, anything she wants. Sheâs a regular kid now.â You watch her, flushed and breathless, hair flying, laughing skipping through the air and you cry, every time, because you never thought youâd see the day where her life was normal.
After her wild spinning finally slows and her giggles dissolve into contented little sighs, you scoop her up, arms cradling her tiny frame close, carrying her into the bathroom where the steam curls honey-sweet through the air. You bathe her slowly, tracing bubbles down her soft arms, the scent of apricot and lavender rising off her skin as you hum old lullabies, fingers gentle as you wash behind her ears and kiss the water from her brow. Towel-wrapped and glowing, she leans into your chest, arms looped around your neck, cheeks warm and eyes bright with sleepy pride as you slip her into her favorite pajamas, the ones that feel like velvet against her legs, pink with tiny moons and clouds, the ones she always insists make her dreams extra pretty.
In bed, Haeun wriggles right between you and Jaemin, limbs everywhere, clinging to you with Bunny clutched to her chest, demanding, âTwo stories, Mama! One about the magic hospital, and one about you and Dada being best friends, pretty pwease.!â Her questions are endless, voice soft and bubbling, so bright and clever you can barely keep up. She makes you kiss each cheek, slow, loud kisses that make her giggle, then insists on one for her nose, her chin, her belly button, then a kiss for every single toe, holding each up in turn, eyes closing in delight every time your lips graze her skin. âFor extra sleepy luck, Mama! All the magic,â she insists, squirming into the crook of your arm, eyes so wide you wonder how she ever gets tired enough to sleep.
As you read to her, she interrupts with a million questions. âDid I really have a heart like a star, Mama? Did Dada cry when I was in the hospital? Did you love each other even when you were sad?ââand you answer every one, brushing her hair from her forehead, watching the shadows dance across her cheeks. She clings to your sleeve, thumb tracing circles into your palm, until the last page is turned and her eyelids begin to droop. Then, she lifts her face, still stubbornly awake, voice slurring with exhaustion but burning with hope. She pulls Bunny up to her chin, clings to your sleeve, and then looks between you and Jaemin, her voice carrying a bubbling, earnest delight that always makes your chest ache. âMama? Dada? Are you two boyfriend and girlfriend again now?â She says it with a giggle, her toes peeking from the blankets, wiggling for attention, and her face glows in the soft lamplight. âYou love each other again, right? Does Mama bounce on Dada again? âCause thatâs how you get happy, I heard you, Dada said so!â She peeks up, wide-eyed, innocent and sly all at once, not understanding what sheâs saying, her words tumbling out on a stream of hope and wonder.
You canât help the laugh that breaks from your chest, genuine, helpless, sweet with embarrassment and relief. You smooth the hair from her brow, bending down to kiss her nose, her cheeks, the soft spot behind her ear, and whisper, âYes, baby. Mama and Dada love each other so much. All for you, always.âÂ
Jaemin slides closer, his hand finding yours across her tiny frame, voice thick, warm, aching with pride. âWeâre the happiest weâve ever been, sunshine. You make us a family. Youâre the best thing thatâs ever happened to us.âÂ
Haeunâs lashes flutter as she processes your answers, chewing her lip with fierce concentration, and then she blurts out, âSometimes I get jealous⌠I want all the Mama kisses, all the snuggles. But Iâm really, really happy when you love each other again. I like it best when weâre together. I guess me and Dada can share you, Mamaâ She blinks at you both, a confession and a blessing in one, before whispering, âAre you married now?â It comes out hesitant, uncertain, but fiercely curiousâa question sheâs carried for the longest time after watching her favorite storybook wedding video on the iPad, after seeing Junieâs mom in her white dress, hands joined with Junieâs dad in the garden, laughter curling into the blue sky. That night, sheâd peppered Jaemin with questions about why people get married, what it means to promise forever, if the rings really make a family magic. Sheâd lingered over the illustrations, tracing gold bands and veils with her thumb, whispering that someday she wanted to dance with you down the aisle, too. Now, nestled warm and safe between you both, she watches your faces with that same longing, a little girl desperate for proof that love can be named, sealed, celebrated, just like in the stories sheâs learning to believe.
You shake your head, smile creasing the corners of your eyes as you kiss her forehead, âNot yet, princess.âÂ
Jaemin leans in, his voice dropping low and sweet, the promise carrying all the weight of a vow. âOne day, though. Weâll have the biggest, most beautiful weddingâjust for you, bubba. Youâll be the main flower girl, youâll wear the sparkliest dress you want, you can pick all the music, taste all the cakes, and throw petals everywhere you go. Youâll blow the biggest bubbles down the aisle and dance in Daddyâs arms all night long.âÂ
She squeals, body thrumming with happiness, legs kicking beneath the sheets, âAnd can I dance with you and Mama and throw bubbles on everyone?âÂ
Jaemin grins, squeezing her hand, âAnything you want. You can help Dada write Mamaâs vows because I know my baby girl will have the best ideas. Youâll make sure weâre the bravest bride and groom ever.â
She yawns, eyelids heavy but still fighting for one last piece of the night, her voice slurring into sleep as she asks, âMama, can I sleep with you and Dada tonight? Just for one night, please? I wanna be in the middle, âcause thatâs the safest place in the world.â
You kiss her knuckles, soft and certain. âNot tonight, my love. You get the biggest bed in the house all to yourself. Mama and Dada need to keep each other safe too. Youâll sleep in your big girl bed tonight, angel. Weâre just down the hall, and you can call for us anytime. Youâve got Bunny to keep you safe, and you know how strong and brave you are.âÂ
Jaemin kisses her cheek too, voice warm and playful as he adds, âWe love you more than anything, Haeunie, but Mama and Dada need their own time tonight. Itâs our turn for extra sleepy luck.â He winks at you, a wicked promise in his eyes.
Haeun groans, rolling her eyes with a sleepy smile, âGrown-ups are so silly. Okay, but you promise youâll kiss me first thing in the morning?â She pouts for a moment, but her smile returns as she snuggles deeper into her pillow, Bunnyâs ear pressed to her lips. âOkay. I love you, Mama. I love you, Dada. Iâm the happiest flower girl in the world.âÂ
Jaemin gathers her in his arms, careful and tender, lifting Haeun from the nest of blankets at your side, her little arms winding trustingly around his neck as she burrows her nose into his shoulder, sleepy giggles bubbling from her lips. You reach up, heart aching with love, brushing her hair back with trembling fingers, pressing a long, soft kiss to her forehead, then one to each warm cheek, your voice a whisper just for her. âGood night, my baby. Dream sweet, Mamaâs always right here.â She squeezes Bunny tight, eyelids fluttering heavy, but she keeps chattering, whispering about how sheâll wear the biggest twirly dress and throw flower petals everywhere, how her wedding cake is going to be ârainbow and taller than Dada,â her giggles sleepy and loose. Jaemin holds her close, murmuring promises, lowering her into bed with gentle hands, tucking the covers around her tiny frame as you watch from the doorway, too weak to follow but feeling every beat of their love carry you. Even as she drifts toward dreams, Haeun keeps mumbling soft wishes, âIâm gonna be the best flower girl ever, Mama, wait and see⌠gonna help you with your dress, pinky promiseâŚâ Her voice finally dissolves into slow, even breaths, her cheeks pillowed in gold, a smile still tugging at her lips. Jaemin lingers, hand smoothing her hair, and when he finally steps back to you, youâre both flooded with a peace so fierce it leaves you trembling.Â
You and Jaemin stand in the doorway of Haeunâs room, watching her chest rise and fall, the curve of her lashes pressed to her cheeks, one chubby hand fisted around Bunny and the other flung wide as if even in dreams sheâs keeping you close. The soft nightlight splashes the ceiling in pale stars, and every corner of her room is thick with the sweetness of her presence, her drawings taped to the wall, a stack of picture books on the little table, a ballerina slipper balanced on the window ledge where the evening breeze slips in. You press your fingers to your lips, fighting the urge to lean in and kiss her just one more time, aching with that bittersweet, suffocating gratitude that sheâs here, that sheâs safe, that she still whispers, âGood night, Mama,â even when sheâs nearly asleep. Jaeminâs hand rests at the small of your back, grounding you, and you linger for long minutes, letting your eyes linger on every freckle, every tiny rise and fall of her chest, wishing the sight could fill the emptiness inside you. The love you feel for her is an oceanâwarm and unyieldingâbut even in this moment, in the hush and safety, you feel the tide dragging at your ankles, reminding you of whoâs missing, and how nothing ever feels completely whole anymore.
You tiptoe from her room, close the door softly behind you, and Jaeminâs arm slides around your waist, steering you gently down the hall, back toward the bedroom thatâs supposed to feel like a sanctuary. The second the door clicks shut behind you, your control buckles, your shoulders cave, your chest collapses, and you crumble into his arms, sobbing with a force that leaves you breathless and shaking, clutching him like a drowning thing. He pulls you to the bed, lets you fall against his chest, his arms circling you tight, hands moving in slow, steady strokes over your back and hair, as if he can smooth the cracks in your heart just by holding you together. You shudder, fists tangled in his shirt, your whole body racked with grief so deep it feels feral, animal, more ancient than words. You try to stifle the noise, to keep your pain quiet and private, but the agony wonât be silenced; it pours out in choked, wordless sounds, trembling through both of you. Jaemin rocks you gently, murmuring soft, useless comforts, voice low and rough as he tries to shield you from the sharp edge of your own sorrow. You donât need to explain why youâre cryingâJaemin already knows, the ache written in every shudder of your breath, mirrored in the tightness of his own embrace; he feels it too, and the silence between you says everything words never could. The room around youâyour room, your bed, your sheets, all of it meant to promise safetyâfeels suddenly too big, too cold, too empty.
You gasp for breath, swallowing mouthfuls of air as the sobs keep coming, hot tears flooding your cheeks, soaking Jaeminâs skin where your face presses to his neck. He doesnât flinch, doesnât try to hush you, just lets you weep, his own hand trembling on your shoulder. The grief is unrelenting, sharp, fresh, every bit as fierce as the first night Minjoon left. âI miss him,â you manage, the words torn raw from your throat. âI miss Minjoon, I miss him so much I canât breathe.â You press your forehead to Jaeminâs collarbone, clutching him as if you might fall apart if you let go for even a second, your body shaking with each new wave of pain. Your mind is wild with memories: Minjoonâs small hand reaching for yours, his uncertain smile, the sound of his voice calling you Mama like it was a spell that could keep the dark away. Every promise you made to himâevery one you brokeâechoes in the silence, a chorus of guilt and longing that knots in your chest and wonât unravel.
You try to speak, your voice catching, shattering under the weight of everything youâve carried. âIâve tried, Jaemin, Iâve tried so hard to let it go, to pretend itâs enough, to be happy just the way things are,â you say, the words tumbling out between sobs, âbut itâs not enough. I keep telling myself I should be gratefulâI am grateful, I know how lucky I am, but I want him here. I want Minjoon. I want to watch him grow, to see him laugh, to tuck him into bed, to hear him call me Mama every night.â The confessions keep pouring out, messy and tangled, nothing held back now. âIt feels wrong to be happy without him. It feels like Iâm cheating, like every smile is stolen from him. I know itâs selfish, I know I should just love what I have, but I want all of it. I want my family to be whole, Jaemin, I want my baby boy.â
Jaeminâs arms tighten, anchoring you, his breath hot against your temple as he lets you say it all, letting you bleed the wound. He holds you closer, his own voice thick and rough. âYouâre allowed to want him. Youâre allowed to grieve. Youâre allowed to need him. It doesnât make you selfish, it just makes you a mother.â He kisses your forehead, his hands trembling now too, and you sob harder, pressing your face to his chest as if you could climb inside him and hide from the world. The ache is everywhere, threaded through your bones, scraping at the edges of every happy memory, and you cling to Jaemin, both of you broken open and vulnerable in the dark.
The night feels endless. For a while you just lie there, tangled together, the shaking of your shoulders the only movement in the room. When you finally speak again, your voice is thin and spent, but the words come anyway: âI donât know how to move on. I donât know how to stop wanting him, even when everything tells me I should. I keep looking for him in every shadow, keep waiting for him to come home, and every day that he doesnât is another day I have to pretend Iâm okay.â You pull Jaeminâs hand to your lips, kissing his knuckles, begging for some magic, some answer. âIt never goes away. I donât think it ever will.â
You take a shuddering breath, the grief rolling in slow, crushing waves, and for a moment you think you might break apart from the ache of it. âI feel guilty every time I smile. I feel guilty every time Haeun makes me laugh, every time you hold me, every time our house is quiet and safe and warm. I should be grateful, I should just let myself be happy, but I canât stop wanting him. I canât stop missing him. I feel like Iâm betraying him every time I try to let go.âÂ
Your voice trails off into a helpless whimper, and Jaemin kisses your hair, whispering words you can barely hear. âYouâre not betraying him,â he promises, fierce and gentle at once. âYouâre loving him the only way you can.â
The night blurs, time slowing until it feels as if the two of you are suspended, anchored only by grief and longing and the tangled comfort of each otherâs arms. You let yourself rest there, in the heartbreak and the hope, letting the tears run their course, letting the ache find its own slow, tired rhythm. Jaemin strokes your back, soothing you with the weight of his love, reminding you that even when youâre lost, youâre never alone. âWeâll always hold space for him,â he murmurs, âno matter what. Our hearts are big enough for all of it.â As the hours slip by, your sobs fade to shivers, exhaustion settling heavy in your bones. Jaemin holds you closer, his arms the only thing keeping you whole. You close your eyes and breathe him in, the salt of your tears and the warmth of his skin and the memory of Minjoonâs laughter tangled in every breath. The pain is still there, sharp and bright, but thereâs comfort tooâin the knowing, in the naming, in the simple act of holding on. You let yourself believe, just for a moment, that maybe someday, somehow, longing and joy can live side by side. And you promise yourself, even as sleep pulls you under, that youâll never stop loving, never stop hoping, never stop leaving a place in your heart for the boy you canât let go.
You breathe out, ragged and raw, tears streaking your cheeks as you clutch Jaeminâs shirt in your fists, and finally the words come, half sob, half declaration: âI really need to let him go, Jaemin.â Your voice shakes but you keep going, because you need him to hear it and maybe you need to hear it too. âHeâs my baby, he always will be, but if Minjoon is happyâif heâs safe, if heâs found parents who love him, if heâs sleeping through the night and laughing at breakfastâI canât keep holding on just for myself. Itâs selfish, isnât it? I keep telling myself I want whatâs best for him, but I keep wanting him anyway. I have to let go, for my own good, so I can move on, so I can heal and be the mother Haeun needs, and the partner you deserve. I canât keep living like this, stuck in the ache and the wishing. Heâll always be my boy, but I have to let him be happy without me.â
Jaemin draws you in closer, his lips warm against your hair, voice thick and sure. âLetting go doesnât mean loving him any less. Youâll always be his Mama, and heâll always be yoursâthatâs something nobody can take from you, not a judge, not a new family, not even time. Wanting his happiness, even if it means you have to break your own heart, is the bravest, most selfless thing you can do. Heâs out there, and heâs okay, and so are we. Weâre going to be okay, too. Weâll carry him with us, always, and youâll still be the most incredible mother and the strongest woman I know. Iâm right here. Weâll do this together.â
Jaeminâs own tears arrive in a slow, unstoppable tide, slipping silent down his cheeks until they mix with yours where your faces press together; both of you breathe in shaky bursts, drowning in the same salt. He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, sea-blue in the dim room, and you see the grief mirrored there? the knowledge that loving a child sometimes means loosening your grip even while your heart claws to hold on. You clutch his shoulders, both of you shuddering, and whisper again that Minjoon will always be yours, that wanting his safety is the only gift you can still give. Jaemin nods, voice broken, agreeing that if letting go is the only path left, youâll walk it side by side; but each of you also feels an undertow of dread, because happy reports can hide bruises beneath sleeves, and cheerful drawings can gloss over nights spent flinching in the dark. Still, you make the promise: for his sake and for your own battered ribs, you will release him into the blue distance and turn back toward the family still under your roof. The two of you cling to each other until the sobs taper to quiet sniffles, accepting the sharp truth that sometimes love has to open its fist. Somewhere beyond the window dawn spreads a washed-out lightânot bright, but enough to see byâcasting the walls in a soft indigo that matches the ache in your chests. You press one final kiss to the damp corner of Jaeminâs mouth, and with that tremulous breath the chapter closes: a son held forever in memory, released to whatever horizon waits beyond your reach.
Home isnât what it was before. Youâre not what you were before. Your bodyâs still slow, your legs ache, but thereâs sweetness in the new pace: Haeun curls in your lap while you grade research proposals youâre not allowed to submit, Jaemin kneads your shoulders while you watch cartoons with Haeun and share bowls of fruit. The three of you build a life inside the quiet edges, bedtime stories, midnight snacks, whispered promises in the dark that you wonât leave again, that there are no more oceans between you. Haeun insists on making breakfast with Pops and Jaemin every Sunday, pancake batter everywhere, all of them laughing at your protests, flour dusted like confetti in her curls. Every setback, your limp, your scars, the paperwork you still canât sign, feels smaller when she throws her arms around your neck, promising to take care of you forever, âeven when youâre an old lady, Mama.â
Your house grows fuller every single week: your father and aunt visit every weekend, their laughter echoing through the kitchen, your dad carrying Haeun on his shoulders like she weighs nothing, calling her his âSunbeam.â He shows her albums of your childhood, tells stories about your stubbornness, your dreams, the first time you ever wore a white coat. Haeunâs giggles ricochet off the windows; she doesnât let go of him, not even for sleep, and in her arms she clutches every piece of your family, Bunny, pancakes, grandpaâs stories. Even Jaeminâs parents come, bearing homemade soup and soft hands that stroke Haeunâs hair, both of them crying when they first see you up and smiling again. Christmas is a gentle riot: the tree full of misshapen ornaments, Haeunâs face sticky with frosting, your aunt and Jaeminâs mother swapping recipes, Pops teaching Haeun how to play âSilent Nightâ on a battered piano. Haeun falls asleep in your lap that night, all the people she loves tucked under one roof, and she whispers, soft and drowsy, âMama⌠I happy. Everybody I love here. But I miss Minjoonie.â Your breath stutters. She hasnât spoken of the boy in weeks, not since you came home but his absence is a shadow you both feel. You and Jaemin exchange a look; neither of you has heard anything. The last update was that Minjoon was placed in a new foster home, his name drifting through your heart like an ache you cannot name.
A month later, when youâre strong enough, you take Haeun and Jaemin to the care home where your mother lives. You dread it, heart pounding as you dress Haeun in her softest blue dress, braid her hair just the way your mother liked it when you were a child. The home is quiet, sun dappling the corridors. You push open the door and find your mother at the window, hair white, body slight and frail, eyes distant, searching the garden as if for a world only she remembers. Haeun hesitates, gripping your hand, whispering, âMama, Halmeoni look sad.âÂ
You nod, kneeling to smooth a curl from her brow. âHalmeoniâs memory is a little broken, sweetheart. She might not remember and know who we are.âÂ
Haeun blinks at this, but walks forward anyway, clutching her Bunny. She offers it gently, âHalmeoni, you wanna hold Bunny? Bunny always helps me when I scared.â Your motherâs eyes soften for a moment, her hand shaking as she strokes the soft fur, her lips moving in a soundless lullaby you once knew by heart. You cry, thereâs no stopping it, grateful for the strange and fragile ways love endures, even through forgetting. Haeun doesnât flinch when your mother canât say her name. She just smiles, hugs her around the waist, and whispers, âItâs okay, Halmeoni. I love you lots and lots. I love you forever.â In every room, in every slow return to life, there are the ghosts of what you almost lost and the dazzling brightness of what you now get to keep. Haeun skips beside you down the garden path, chattering about ballet and Bunny, holding your hand and glancing up as if to check youâre still really thereâher Mama, her forever.
Night after night, the house settles into hush, pain creeping along your ribs, insomnia curling cold fingers up your spine. The dark feels endless, broken only by the shuffle of tiny feet against hardwood, Haeun, hair mussed and wild, bunny pajamas twisted at the ankles, clutching her plush in one arm and dragging a tangle of blankets behind her. She climbs into your bed, knees digging gentle bruises in your side, curls warm and breath syrup-sweet, wedging herself against your chest as if her weight alone could keep you anchored to the earth. âItâs okay, Mama,â she breathes into the hollow of your neck, her nose smushed soft beneath your chin, âI hold your hand all night, bad dreams canât get you.â Her fingers seek yours, impossibly small and fierce, and the pressure of her touch tethers you, knitting the loose threads of your courage into something whole. Jaemin joins, sliding under the covers, his arms curving around both of you, humming quietly into your hair. He traces slow, lazy circles down your back, smoothing every ragged knot until you feel yourself unfurl, letting exhaustion seep in where worry once nested. The three of youâmother, father, childâbecome a single, breathing tangle, a secret island of warmth. Sometimes, when dawn breaks blue and the world is nothing but silence and birdsong, you wake to find Haeunâs little fingers still tangled in yours, bunny tucked under your chin, the bed smelling of dreams and safety and the strange, shivery relief of still being here.
The mornings bring their own rituals of gentleness. Jaemin is up first, careful footsteps in the kitchen, but he returns with the light, stethoscope warm against your chest, his eyes crinkled with the worry that never fully leaves. He checks your pulse, takes your temperature, hands lingering as he smooths a stray lock from your brow. Haeun is right behind, a toy stethoscope bouncing from her neck, clambering up beside you, pressing plastic to your heart and declaring, âMamaâs heart go boom-boom, bestest in the world!â She grins, cheeks flushed, curls wild, insisting on cheering for every small triumph, sitting up, standing, every unsteady step, covering your wrists with stickers, clapping her hands until the room rings with celebration. They turn the slow grind of recovery into a game, each exercise a parade, each stumble an adventure. Even the most ordinary mornings, blood draws, slow stretches, the ache of fatigue are buffered by the soft thunder of their love, Jaeminâs hands steadying you, Haeunâs giggles chasing the pain away.
Bathrooms are full of steam and sunlight, the tap running, your own reflection looking foreign in the glass. Jaemin stands behind you, steady hands bracing your waist, mindful of every scar, gentle as he lifts you under the showerâs heat. He kneels to dry your feet, kisses your ankles, helps you into pajamas soft as marshmallows. On the hardest days, he brushes your teeth for you, making you laugh at his playful scolding when you miss a spot, wiping toothpaste from your chin. Haeun is your towel helper, serious-faced and earnest, fluffing the biggest towel around your shoulders, patting your back until you shiver with delight. When you praise her, telling her sheâs the best nurse, she beams, nose wrinkling, pride radiating from every dimple.
Some afternoons, when fatigue is heavy and the sky presses close, music and laughter fill the air. Haeun plants herself at the foot of your bed, toy microphone in hand, spinning wild songs about sunshine and pancakes and âMamaâs pretty hair.â Jaemin records her, voice low and fond as he encourages each lyric, then joins her, the two of them putting on a bumbling duet, laughter tripping over notes until youâre smiling so hard your cheeks ache. Afterwards, he climbs in beside you, arms curling around your waist, voice humming âMoon Riverâ while Haeun wriggles in closer, sleep dragging her eyelids. The music is a lullaby for all three of you, a promise, a wish, a shield against every dark memory. The days unfold into small rituals, Haeunâs ârecovery diaryâ appears on your nightstand, pink and glittering with bunny stickers, her artwork a record of every victory: you with oversized hearts, her perched on your lap, Jaemin in his chef hat, all three of you under a quilt. Each evening, she asks you to help spell out the stories, giggling over crooked letters, proud of every scribbled masterpiece. You keep each page, knowing these are the artifacts of healing, the map of how you found your way back together.
Weekends bloom with new traditions. Sundays mean breakfast on the living room rug, plates balanced on knees, syrup sticky on fingers. Haeun pours orange juice with more enthusiasm than accuracy, giggling as Jaemin catches the spill before it soaks your socks. You lean against his chest, the steady beat of his heart a comfort, his palm tracing circles on your thigh, your toes tangled with his beneath the blanket. Sunlight puddles on the floor as Haeun twirls, cheeks flushed, bunny charm jingling, the music of her laughter a bright thread tying the three of you together. Pain comes and goes, but you are never left to face it alone. On the worst days, Jaemin kneels by your side, massaging your hands, rubbing circles into your palms, pressing grateful kisses to every finger, as if in awe that they still move. Haeun brings her âmagic band-aids,â the ones with unicorns and smiley faces, solemnly pressing them to your scars, then covers your face with wet, noisy kisses and blows raspberries on your neck until your tears turn to giggles. Healing, in this house, is not silent or solitaryâitâs full of color, sound, and love.
There are soft milestones, each one precious. The first time you make it down the stairs on your own, the first time you laugh without pain, the first time you braid Haeunâs hair againâeach is marked by cheers, photos, a wild âhappy danceâ in the kitchen. Jaemin lifts you gently, spinning you as Haeun claps and Bunny dangles from her arm, the three of you tangled in celebration, your forehead pressed to Jaeminâs, your breath shared. âYou did it, love. Youâre coming back to us,â he murmurs, and you know itâs trueâyou feel yourself, piece by piece, being knit back into your life.
Nights end with the three of you tucked in one bed, Haeun burrowed between you, thumb in her mouth, bunny hugged tight. She whispers her baby secrets into the darkââDada, Mama, I love you bigger than the moon and pancakes. You my best friends.â Jaemin squeezes your hand, the silent weight of his promise heavy and warm, and you realize in that quiet, drowsy hush, with your daughterâs soft breath against your chest and your loveâs arm holding you close, that you have never in your life felt so cherished, so whole, so impossibly lucky to have survived.
Your home, once a quiet sanctuary for three, transforms into a living, breathing refuge, a place where laughter echoes down the hallway and the door is always open, overflowing with visitors, family, and every kind of love you ever dreamed of making your own. It begins as a trickle, a knock on the door, the hush of shoes on tile, and then the nurses and doctors begin to arrive. Jihoon is first, sheepish but smiling, holding a thermos of the barley tea he always drinks, promising you âno hospital food, only real food from now on.â His grin is wide, and when he sees Haeun, he crouches, arms open, and she pelts across the room to barrel into his lap, squealing, âJihoonie!â Next comes Hyejin, hair swept up in a sleek ponytail, always a little brusque but her eyes softer than youâve ever seen. She checks your chart, clicking her pen, and slips a tiny pink notebook under your pillow, âfor recovery goals, no cheating.â Hayoung follows, bearing a hand-knit scarf in Haeunâs favorite color, wrapping it around your shoulders and cupping your face in her hands, murmuring, âWe were so scared, you silly woman. Donât do that again, okay?â Nurse Hana brings armfuls of stickers, a sticker for every day you survived, plasters you and Haeun in rainbows and hearts. Yuha, shy but beaming, brings little origami cranes and a gentle touch, bowing her head with a smile that shines like forgiveness. Dr. Huang is last, standing back as if unsure, then crossing the room in two long strides, taking your hand in both of his and telling youâquiet, ferventâthat heâs proud. âYou scared me,â he says, and his voice wobbles, âbut you reminded all of us what weâre here for.â Even Dr. Baekhyun, who once questioned your every move, shakes your hand, his laughter bright. âOnly you could break all the rules and get away with it,â he teases. âDonât make a habit of it.â
That night, when the house is quiet and the last tea cup has been rinsed and put away, you collapse against Jaemin, trembling with a relief that makes your chest ache. He pulls you close, strong arms curling around your shoulders, letting you cry it all out, tears for every day you thought youâd never be forgiven, for the certainty that youâd be an outsider forever, for the simple, overwhelming sweetness of being welcomed home. âThey donât hate me,â you whisper, voice small, âthey donât hate me.âÂ
Jaemin just kisses the top of your head, his thumb tracing circles down your spine. âOf course they donât, love. Youâre one of them. You always were.â And you believe him, for the first time, because the warmth still hums under your skin.
It doesnât end there. The next weekend, your house bursts into color and chaos as Jeno and his wife arrive, Mark and Areum (with a round baby bump), Chenle and Ningning with armfuls of gifts, Karina spinning a basket of sweets, Donghyuck and Shotaro tumbling through the door like a storm, Ryujin with a bag of books, and the little ones, Junseo, Serin, Chaeun, laughing and squabbling, feet bare on your hardwood floors. Jeno catches you in a bear hug so tight you squeak, his grin stretched wide as he whispers, âMissed you, doc.â Mark and Areum bring homemade cookies, and Areum sits at your side, holding your hand, her eyes shining with emotion as she murmurs, âYou did what I would have done for mine. Donât ever doubt it.â Junseo, cheeks smudged with chocolate, plops beside Haeun and introduces his favorite dinosaur, while Serin tugs your sleeve, asking if Haeun can come to her birthday party.
Haeun herself is a whirlwind, introducing her Bunny to every baby, trailing after Serin and Junseo, bouncing between adults and children. Thereâs a moment when she stops, nose wrinkled, watching as Junseo gives Serin a piggyback ride. She tugs your hand and asks, âMama, itâs so cuteâSerin and Junie are brother and sister, like Bunny and Baby Bunny?âÂ
You smile, smoothing her curls. âThatâs right, love, theyâre family.âÂ
Haeun pauses, nose scrunching as she watches Junseo hoist Serin onto his back, the two of them whooping down the hallway. She trots to your side, Bunny tucked under one arm, lips pursed like sheâs trying to bite down on a question that keeps wriggling free. Finally she whispers, âMama, Serin and Junie are brother and sister, like Bunny and Baby Bunny⌠and me and Minjoonie.â Her mouth wobbles, lashes blinking fast. âBut Minjoonieâs a special brother, right? One who lives in my heart, not my room. I donât talk âbout him lots, but I think âbout him every day, Mama. I dream heâs hiding under my bed so I can find him in the morning. Sometimes I cry for him and you donât hear âcause Iâm quiet. I miss my baby brother. Whenâs he coming back?â The confession tumbles out in one long breath, cheeks flushing with the effort of keeping it hidden for so many nights.
You kneel, smoothing her curls, letting your hands frame her worried face. âSweetheart, Minjoon isnât gone forever, heâs just with a new family right now. Remember the social worker who said heâd have other brothers and sisters? They have a cozy house with sea-blue walls and shelves of storybooks. They tuck him in with songs and he eats breakfast with kids his age, laughing just like he did here. Heâs safe, heâs loved, and he knows weâre loving him from here.â You press a kiss to the tip of her nose. âThat doesnât change that heâs still your brother in the heart-place. That never goes away.â
The words barely land before Haeunâs brows knit, jealousy sparking. âOther sisters? Other brothers?â Her hands fly to her hips, Bunny dangling by an ear. âThey canât have my Minjoonie! Heâs sâposed to eat pancakes with me and build blanket forts with me.â She stomps one socked foot, cheeks blazing pink. âTell them to share! Sharing is caring, Pops said so. They can borrow him on Tuesdays and Fridays but he sleeps here!â A little diva storm swirls, crossed arms, dramatic spin, fierce pout, as if indignation might yank him back through the door.
You scoop her into your lap despite the flailing protest, wrapping her in a hug that softens the edges of her storm. âListen, baby: love isnât a toy we pass aroundâitâs a warm light that can shine in many houses at once. Minjoon has a light there and a light here. Those new kids help him feel brave the way you helped him feel brave. And just like I still love you when youâre at ballet class, I still love Minjoon when heâs there.â She sniffles, gaze dropping to her socks, the fight slipping out of her shoulders. You guide her hand to your heart. âFeel that? Thereâs room for every beatâyours, mine, and his. Heâs always with us in here. One day, when everyoneâs ready, maybe visits can happen. Until then, we send him love in every bedtime prayer and every pancake we flip.â
Haeunâs frown loosens, lips shifting toward a reluctant curve. She presses Bunnyâs paw to your chest as if adding a second heartbeat, then sighs against your shoulder. âOkay⌠but we keep a plate warm, âkay? In case he smells pancakes and comes running.â You promise, sealing it with a kiss that steals the last whisper of jealousy, and she giggles, burying her face in your neck, still fiercely protective, still learning that hearts, like houses, get bigger each time someone new walks in.
Haeunâs pout disappears the instant she spots Areum lingering near the doorway, dabbing at misty eyes with the sleeve of her cardigan. âAuntie âReum!â she squeals, launching from your arms and barreling across the floor on sock-sliding feet.Â
Areum barely has time to crouch before Haeun collides into her hug, little arms squeezing tight, face nuzzled in the soft wool at Areumâs shoulder while Bunny dangles from one hand. Areum laughs through fresh tears, rocking the child gently, whispering, âI missed you, Sunshine. Youâve gotten taller already!â
Haeun pulls back just enough to study her auntâs face, then her gaze drops and her eyes go perfectly round at the gentle swell beneath Areumâs sweater. With solemn wonder, she climbs into Areumâs lap, palms resting on either side of the rounded bump. She plants the lightest kiss on the fabric, whispering near the knit, âBaby in there? You got baby, Auntie?â Her voice is equal parts awe and delight, the secret thrill of discovering new magic.
Areumâs smile blooms tender and wide, a hand covering Haeunâs smaller one. âYes, sweetheart,â she murmurs, voice soft enough to float, âthereâs a little bean growing in there, your cousin. Sheâs been listening to your stories from the very beginning.âÂ
Haeunâs dimples flash; she presses her ear to Areumâs belly as if expecting tiny giggles in return, then beams up at you, eyes glittering. âMama, Iâm gonna be a double big sister!â she declares, pride swelling in her chest while Areum strokes her curls, the moment warm and sweet as sunlight through glass.
Areumâs laugh has barely floated away when Haeun whirls toward you, Bunny flapping behind her like a banner of resolve. She plants her fists on her hips, lower lip pushed out so far it wobbles, and announces, âMama, I want another baby brother or sister too! I already got Minjoonie in my heart, but I need one thatâs really, really tinyâlittle bitty fingernails like sparkles, toes small as rice, hair fluffy like dandelion fuzz, and a cry that sounds like a kitten mewing.â She rocks up on her toes, eyes wide. âWhen you having new baby, Mama? Me and Joonie need a teeny one to cuddle.â
The room cracks up, Areum hides her smile behind her hand, Mark coughs tea through a grin, Jaemin raises an eyebrow at you, amusement and something warmer glinting in his gaze. You snort, trying not to laugh. âBaby, going from one baby to three is a lot. Newborns need round-the-clock cuddles, bottles, and diapers. Thatâs a whole circus.âÂ
Haeunâs pout straightens into determined seriousness. âI can help! I pour bottles, I sing boom-boom songs, I share Bunny for nap time, and I hold the babyâs head super gentle like this.â She cradles invisible air with exaggerated care. âIâm best big sister, Mama. Big family means more pancakes and more birthday cakes.â
You tug her into your lap, smoothing the flyaway curls at her temple. âSomeday, maybe, but not just yet. Mama and Dada need time, and your heart has to learn a little patience.âÂ
Her shoulders sag for half a second, then she nods, fingers tracing circles on your sleeve. ââKay, Iâll wait. But Iâll practice every day.â You kiss her forehead and whisper against her skin, âDeal.â Across the room Jaemin meets your eyes, the curve of his smile saying later, when the house is quiet, youâll talk about what patience looks like and how big hearts can always find room to grow.
The sky hasnât decided between lilac and gold when you steer into the studio car park, the tires crunching over last nightâs pollen while Haeun bounces in her booster seat, chubby fists drumming the dashboard rhythm she calls âpre-class thunder.â Her lips shine with strawberry balm, every exhale fogging a tiny heart on the window, and she giggles at the ghost-print before wiping it away with the tip of her nose for luck. You trade matching smiles, both of you in peppermint-green warm-ups Ryujin insisted would âsummon spring energy,â and she blows a kiss so loud it makes your cheeks flush. Jaemin in the backseat jots vitality high beside a doodle of a dancing bunny, tapping his pen like a snare.Â
The studioâs pale-wood façade gleams ahead, sun slanting across the âSpring Moon Ballet Galaâ poster taped crooked on the door, the words âStarlit Dreamsâ glitter-foiled in moon-dust silver, and just beneath, bold new letters proclaim âA Night for Hearts â Fundraising Recital for Pediatric Cardiac Families.â This isnât just a first show for Haeun, itâs a union dreamed up by Ryujin, Shotaro and Jaemin, pulling together everyone from the ballet class and the childrenâs hospital for one sparkling, nerves-tinged night where tutus and lab coats cross paths under theatre lights. Flyers spill details, how every ticket, every table, every shimmering program will raise money for the new Family Support Wing at the hospital: a place for exhausted parents to sleep, for kids to play and recover, for post-surgery siblings to sprawl on beanbags and forget the beeping world for a little while. The sun paints a streak of gold through the gala poster, and beneath the elegant typeface, the lineup of performers is signed with bubbly crayon signatures, names from ballet class and from the ward, proof that this is more than just a recital, itâs a promise that no one faces recovery, or the dark, or the big, beating world, alone.
Haeunâs toes wiggle in anticipation, sock tips flicking like antennae beneath seatbelt restraints, and when you unbuckle her she launches out with a squeak, curls bouncing like caramel popcorn in a tin. Nurse Hanaâs text pings just then, âremember, gentle pacing is still power,â and Haeun presses the phone to her chest as if the words could soak through bone. You inhale steady, exhale slowly, both of you practicing Shotaroâs mantra until your breaths braid together. The parking lot smells of early lilac and asphalt heat, and somewhere a robin trills what feels like a fanfare. Ten steps to the door, ten tiny squeals from her lips, ten heartbeats syncing to the studioâs hidden metronome.
Inside the changing room, fluorescent lights buzz like lazy bees while lockers clang a hello, and Haeunâs eyes dart wide, soft hazelnut rings wobbling with equal parts nerves and thrill, until your fingertips swipe a reassuring line across her freckled cheek. She slithers into bubble-pink tights, legs kicking like excited shrimp, and you thread satin ribbons through new slippers that still smell of clean leather and possibility. Each bow gets a kiss, left for luck, right for rhythm and her grin tumbles out, all dimples and gumdrop teeth, cheeks so round they nearly squeak against the elastic chinstrap of her bun net. Jaemin crouches beside, notebook propped on knee, murmuring âheart rate calm, oxygen perfect,â and she sticks her tongue out in playful defiance before blowing a raspberry that flutters his page edges. Curls ripple when you fasten her bun, loose tendrils framing the curve of her ears like parentheses holding secrets, and she whispers, âNo pressure, babyâjust dance,â echoing your mantra back at you with soft courage. Ryujin peeks through the doorway to deliver a wink and a sparkly sticker for Bunnyâs belly, declaring it an official backstage pass. The air smells faintly of talc and lavender wipes, the scent of little girls preparing for battle. Haeun presses her palm to your chestâchecks your bravery, she saysâthen laces fingers through yours so tight your knuckles hum. Together you step toward the mirror corridor, every overhead fluorescent reflecting a different version of her future. Soft squeak of slippers, tiny gasp of anticipation, door click, and the studio opens like a storybook page.
The mirrored walls catch the light and throw it back in shards, and the first step inside rips everything open for her, the last time she stood here, her legs had given way mid-pirouette, a sharp, splintering pain through her shin, the studio gone silent and blurry with tears and panic, the slap of her bones breaking still echoing under the music. You see it hit her all at once: knees bending as if the floor itself buckles, glassy panic flooding those wide brown eyes, her lip trembling around the shape of your name, grape-sweet gloss smudged where she bites down. Her grip clamps your shirt with a tiny, desperate strength, every knuckle carved white as she pulls herself against your side, breathing sharp and shallow, like sheâs fighting not to cry in front of her friends and teachers. You drop to her level, no hesitation, no attempt at false bravado and cup her cheek, thumb tracing the damp path of one wayward tear as you press your forehead to hers, breathing in the scent of her shampoo and a trace of lavender fabric softener. âI know, baby,â you whisper, voice soft but certain, letting your words fill the shaky space between you, âI remember last time too. That was so scary, wasnât it? Itâs all right to feel nervous. It was never your fault. Youâre so safe hereâme and Daddy are right here, and your doctor checked your legs and heart this morning, remember? Theyâre strong. They grew back even braver.â You let her press her nose to yours, feel her exhale quiver, and keep her anchored there, holding her wrist gently so her heart can find your pulse and match it. âYou donât have to do any big spins, not today. Just stand with me, listen to the music, feel the floor.â Ryujin kneels beside, adding her hand to yours, steady and warm as stone, and together you hold Haeun in that gentle grip until you feel her start to melt, jaw unclenching, breath evening out, cheek pressing trustingly into your palm, lips parting with a small sigh that tastes of milk and relief.Â
Her voice, when it comes, is a whisper against your collarbone, small and real: âYouâll stay?âÂ
And you promise, mouth in her curls, arms wrapped close, âAll class, every second. Iâll be here for every step.â The studio is just mirrors and wood, but between your bodies you build a shelter, and this time when she steps forward, the fear doesnât follow her.
Shotaro blows into the room like sunlight in sneakers, puffing imaginary candles in exaggerated slow motion until the entire class giggles, oxygen lightening. Chaewon, Niki, and Heejin close ranks, forming a petal circle, elbows linked, chanting âNo one dances aloneâ while bouncing on toes to share their courage. Bunny is seated solemnly atop the piano, sticker pass glittering, acting as honorary safety officer. Your heart thuds in your throat, but Jaeminâs calm nod across the roomâeyes gentle behind glassesâbuoys the moment, and you release your grip so Haeun can inhale, smell the flowers, and step onto the wood. Her toes test the surface like tasting soup, cautious at first, then trusting, and the studio seems to exhale in relief when she takes that single, unstoppable step forward. The mirror reflects not collapse but rise; she blinks, sees it, smiles, and the ghost of fear fizzles like smoke in the sun.
Warm-up starts soft, demi pliĂŠs no deeper than a yawn, and each bend is a conversation between muscle memory and new caution. Haeunâs lips purse in concentration, nose scrunching every time her knees glide outward, cheeks blooming rose as blood rushes but steadies, and you count each heartbeat in your own chest like backup percussion. Ryujin paces, tapping a bamboo stick for tempo, Shotaro mans the speaker with the âBrave Ballerinaâ playlist, and when the opening marimba trill hits, Haeunâs shoulders relax; thatâs her favorite song, and the giggle escaping her throat sounds like soda fizz. You hover close but not hovering, hands behind your back, presence felt, liberty preserved and she gives you a quick glance, eyes sparkling âwatch this,â before sliding into a flawless relevĂŠ. Her friends squeal, Heejin claps, and even Jaemin pumps a victorious fist. Dr. Huangâs voice echoes memory: low-impact only, so she lowers heels slowly, savoring controlled descent, arms floating with fingertip tremors of excitement. Sweat beads tiny diamonds along her hairline, and she licks her upper lip, tasting perseverance mixed with cherry balm. No leaps yet, but when she finishes the series with a tiny sautĂŠ, barely leaving the floor, Ryujin doesnât scold; she smiles, writes a mental note, and lets the class applaud the micro-victory. Haeunâs grin splits wide enough to tug dimples down her cheeks, and she mouths âYes!â before the next track begins.
Halfway through class Shotaro pauses music, demonstrating breathing technique for stamina, cheeks puffing comically as he blows out candles so hard imaginary wax splatters, and laughter ricochets off mirrors like confetti. Haeun copies him, lips forming perfect Oâs, nostrils flaring with strawberry focus; each exhale knits anxiety into useful steam powering her petite engine. They line up for port de bras sequence, arms sweeping like lullaby waves, and her wrists paint ghost ribbons that linger in your peripheral vision. When Ryujin corrects her elbow angle, she chirps âthank you!â in a singsong hush, absorbing guidance like sponge cake soaking syrup. Jaemin scribbles excellent adaptive form and draws a star beside it, then flicks his eyes to you with a subtle nod: heart readings stable. Bunny falls from its perch mid-exerciseâsticker heavyâbut Haeun doesnât panic; she blows a quick kiss toward plush territory, trusting gravity to keep watch. Chaewon stumbles on a tendu, laughter bursts, and Haeun instinctively steadies her friend with a pinky touch, whispering âgot you,â a full-circle echo of her own rescue minutes earlier. Shotaro rewards teamwork with a five-second freestyle, silly jazz hands encouraged, and the room erupts into wiggly chaos, tiny hips popping, toes tapping Morse code of delight. Haeunâs curls bounce, her head thrown back, mouth open wide enough to catch starlight.
The air in the studio smells of powder and sunshine, warmed by four little bodies bursting with secret excitementâHaeun, Niki, Heejin, and Chaewon, all pressed close in front of the barre, shoulder to shoulder in mismatched leotards that stretch over round tummies, shiny with spilled water and sticker glue, every skirt fluffed and ribboned by frantic parent hands. Haeunâs curls are stuffed under a too-tight headband, two bunny clips poking like ears, and Niki, smallest but boldest, keeps squishing his cheeks together, making fish faces until Heejin doubles over, giggling so hard she almost topples off her pink ballet mat. Chaewon lines their slippers into perfect rows, her tiny voice serious as she instructs, âToes must kiss, or they get lonely,â and the girls collapse onto each otherâs laps, laughter sticky and bright, a tumble of arms and knees and little starburst legs kicking as the music cues up.
Ryujin claps a rhythm, but the group ignores her at first, tangled up in their own ballet world, Heejin tugs Haeunâs wrist, whispering âLook, you can do this!â as she demonstrates a wobbly passĂŠ, her leg trembling, her chubby toes gripping the floor with all their strength. Haeun copies, lips pursed, tongue sticking out in perfect concentration, and when she finally holds her balance for two counts, the circle erupts, Niki hugs her around the waist, Heejin plants a kiss on her arm, and Chaewon twirls so quickly her bun comes undone, black ribbon trailing behind like a comet tail. Someoneâs giggle turns into a snort, and then all of them are hiccupping, rolling on the mat, breathless and pink-cheeked, eyes squeezed shut with joy.
When itâs time to try the group dance, Niki insists on being in the middle, and Haeun, careful and gentle, helps guide her friendsâ hands into place, âNo, your fingers go like thisâsoft, see?â She smooths Heejinâs sweaty bangs, tucks Chaewonâs stray hair behind her ear, and Niki sticks his tongue out, triumphant, when he finally gets his arms in the right spot. The music floats around them, all gentle piano and swelling strings, and they move as one, sometimes tangled, sometimes perfect, hands clasped, pinkies linked, little feet padding out clumsy arabesques, their voices soft but fierce: âWe are the moonbeams, no one falls alone!â
Nikiâs tutu is puffed out so wide it brushes Haeunâs knee every time he spins, the tulle tickling against his leg as Niki squeals, âLook, Iâm a real fairy!â His cheeks are shiny with sweat and pride, a gold sticker already plastered on his nose, and Haeun giggles as she helps Niki fix his waistband, clumsy fingers fumbling with elastic while Niki squirms and bumps her shoulder.Â
Heejinâs voice pipes up, âDonât forget the bunny hop!ââsheâs halfway across the mat, demonstrating a wild, bouncy step, hair stuck to her forehead and mouth wide open in a crooked, unstoppable grin. Haeun canât help but mimic her, curls flying as she lets out a little yelp, then doubles over laughing, legs tangled with Nikiâs.
âYour hair smells like jellybeans,â Niki giggles, nose pressed into Haeunâs curls as he tries to re-pin a stray piece with his own slippery fingers, then gives up and just kisses the top of her head. âMineâs all sticky, wanna feel?â Heejin pushes her hair over for inspection, Haeunâs small hands squeezing her cheeks in an examination that turns into a squishy-face contest, both girls blowing noisy raspberries at each other until Chaewon squeaks, âNo fair, youâre making me laugh too much!â
The music comes up, a gentle piano ripple, and the four of them scramble to their spots, only to get tangled up again, all tiny hands grabbing at tulle, arms looping around each otherâs waists as Haeun tries to help Niki find his place. âIâll hold you so you donât fall,â she says, voice soft and sure, lips just brushing Nikiâs ear, and Niki nods, cheeks cherry-bright, gripping Haeunâs hand with all the trust in the world. When Ryujin claps, âMoonbeams ready!â they all chime back, âReady!ââbut the voices come out at different pitches, Nikiâs the loudest, Heejinâs the squeakiest, Chaewonâs a giggle-bubble, and Haeunâs softest of all. The teacher grins, shaking her head, and starts the count. As the music swells, Haeun stretches her arms overhead, fingers splayed wide, her mouth open in a silent gasp, eyes wide and shining at the ceiling as if sheâs catching every drop of light. Next to her, Niki stumbles and Haeun steadies him with a firm, warm palm; Heejin nearly topples and Chaewon grabs her, and then theyâre all swaying together, a clumsy constellation of bodies orbiting, whispering encouragement, âyou got it!â âalmost!â âso pretty, bubba!ââeach word tumbling from sticky lips, filling the air with friendship and fresh hope.
Every time they circle, their hands link and unlink, Bunny bobs from arm to arm like a shared secret, sometimes getting squeezed into Haeunâs chest, sometimes twirled above Nikiâs head like a trophy. Haeunâs laughter bubbles up from deep in her belly every time Niki squints and sticks out his tongue, or Heejin whispers a nonsense spell and tries to tickle her with the edge of her tutu. Chaewon whispers, âIf we all close our eyes, we can fly,â and for one suspended breath, Haeun believes it, knees bent, toes pushing down into the safe floor, arms tangled around her friends, the studio spinning with their sweetness and wild, babbling joy. During water break, they huddle together, backs against the barre, sipping juice boxes and trading stickers, swapping stories about dream recitals and lost teeth and favorite snacks. Heejin tries to teach everyone a secret handshake, slapping palms and tickling each otherâs wrists until Ryujin calls them back, and they scramble up, arms around each otherâs waists, legs bumping, shoes squeaking on the polished floor. Every little bump and bruise is met with a kiss, every wobble with applause, every victoryâno matter how tinyâwith squeals and stickers pressed to cheeks and foreheads, so by the end of practice they are all a patchwork of stars and bunnies and hearts. During recess, they collapse in a heap of tulle and tangled limbs, Haeunâs head pillowed on Nikiâs belly, Heejinâs arm flung over Chaewonâs waist, all four of them clutching their bunnies and giggling at nothing at all, breath warm and sweet with apple juice and bubblegum. The world outside feels big and noisy, but here in the dance studio, it is just them, a knot of soft arms and sticky hands and new, wild laughter, every sound a promise that they will keep dancing, and loving, and lifting each other forever.
When Ryujin finally claps her hands for the last time, Haeunâs cheeks are flushed bubblegum-pink and her mouth is stretched in a smile so wide it nearly squeezes her eyes shut. Niki grabs both her hands, bouncing on the balls of his feet, âletâs do the big jumps! One more time, câmon, moonbeams!â and in a flurry of giggles, the four of them line up in front of the mirror, wobbly arms lifted high, knees bent low, every little skirt fluffing out like spun sugar. âReadyâsetâgo!â Heejin squeals, and they leap, toes pointed, squeaky slippers barely catching air, but every landing is a wild tangle of arms, a burst of shrieks and bunny hugs. Haeunâs giggle is the loudest, bubbling up like soda fizz, her curls bouncing over her forehead as she lands and throws her arms around Chaewon, then Niki, then Bunny, spinning in circles until all four of them collapse into a giggle-pile right on the marley floor. When itâs time to say goodbye, Haeun wraps her arms around each friend in turn, Niki gets a nose smush and a âsee you soon, starlight,â Heejin gets a loud, smacky cheek kiss, and Chaewon gets a squishy, wriggly bear hug that makes both of them tip over in a heap, shrieking. âBye-bye, moonbeams! Dream of sparkles!â she calls, waving so hard her little fingers look like butterfly wings. The others chorus, âBye, Haeunie!â and Heejin shouts, âNext time letâs wear matching socks!â Haeun flashes you a gap-toothed grin and races straight into your arms, nearly bowling you over with all her sticky energy.
Jaemin is waiting by the door, car keys dangling, and scoops her up in a one-armed hug, spinning her so her legs swing wide, ballet shoes kicking the air, her laughter bursting out in thick, breathless peals. âWas that the best class, bubba?â he teases, peppering kisses all along her chubby cheeks, down her button nose, and quick across her giggle-soft chin. âStinky feet, sparkly heart!â he says, making her squeal and squirm.Â
âDaddy!â she gasps, voice a sugary whine, âIâm tickly!âÂ
You join in, nuzzling her curls and pressing kisses all over her temples, forehead, even the very tip of her nose, until sheâs shrieking with joy, feet drumming wild against Jaeminâs hip, tiny hands reaching to squish your cheeks.
âTwo bunnies! My bunnies!â she declares, tugging you both close, planting a slobbery kiss right on your lips and then another on Jaeminâs chin, wrapping her arms around both your necks with the ferocity of a sleepy koala. Her mouth tastes like strawberry milk and her breath smells sweet as frosting, her little tongue poking out as she whispers. âYou make my heart go jump-jump, like ballet!â Jaemin scoops her up, tucking her into the booster seat, strapping her in with a flourish. She kicks her feet gleefully, making her shoes tap a rhythm against the seat, toes pointing and flexing, body still humming with all the leftover joy, little hands slapping at her thighs in a private drumroll. âBooster burrito!â she crows, clutching Bunny to her chest, cheeks flushed and wild, hair frizzed in every direction.
Jaemin leans in for one last round of kisses, on her nose, her brow, your lips, before heading to the driverâs seat, shooting you both a wink that leaves your stomach fluttering. You pause, still crouched by her side, and stroke her hair back from her eyes, thumb lingering at her jaw. âI am so, so proud of you, bubba,â you murmur, letting her play with your fingers as she beams up, love shining from every inch of her soft, open face.Â
Her little voice is so bright it practically squeaks, cheeks ballooned out in a proud grin, sticky lips smudged pink and glistening where sheâs bitten them with excitement. âDid you see me, Mama? Did you see me jump? I was so high, so, so high, maybe even past the ceiling, Niki said next time we can touch the clouds!â She stretches her arms up, fingers wiggling at the roof of the car, nose wrinkled, tongue sticking out between her teeth as she tries to look as tall as the sky itself.
You pretend to gasp, hand pressed dramatically to your heart. âBaby, I thought I was watching a magic bunny blast off,â you murmur, every word swooping low and syrupy as you lean in to nuzzle your nose against hers, âI think you mightâve grown wings while I wasnât lookingânext time Iâll have to tie you down or youâll float away, bubba!âÂ
She collapses into giggles, shoulders shaking, arms wrapping around your neck, Bunny squished so hard between you she lets out a little squeak, and you swear the whole car fills up with her laughter. She pulls your fingers to her mouth, blows a great, noisy raspberry into your palm so hard it tingles, then kisses each one in turn, soft, slobbery, so sincere it makes your chest ache. âIâm your tiny moonbeam. Iâm your little heart, Mama. I wanna be little forever and ever and ever, âcause then you can hold me like this all the days.â You smother her cheeks with kisses, letting your lips tickle all the way from her warm, apple-soft jaw to her soft earlobe, and she squeals, âNooo! Mama! My tickles! Thatâs too many kisses!â but her arms only clutch you tighter, feet thumping against the booster seat as she wriggles with pure happiness, a little bubble of wildness in your lap.
âIâll give you a thousand kisses, even when youâre a grown-up, even when youâre taller than me, look at those ballerina legs, youâre gonna be the tallest bun in the bunch!â you tease, squeezing her thighs and planting kisses on her knees, then her tummy, which makes her giggle so hard she hiccups, curls sticking to her forehead, face shining like a sunbeam.
She buries her face in your shoulder, voice muffled, âMama, youâre so silly, youâre a silly-silly-bunny-Mama,â then suddenly pulls back, squishing your cheeks between her hands so your lips pucker, âI love you all the way to Saturn and back and all around the moon and then down to the squishy floor!â She drops another kiss on your nose, grinning so wide you can see the gap where her baby tooth used to be.
Jaemin leans in from the driverâs seat, his voice all mock-serious, âHonestly, itâs getting a little embarrassing. All this smooching, all this lovey-dovey, I might have to call the PDA police.âÂ
You shoot him a look and stick your tongue out, but Haeun bursts into delighted laughter, wiggling her toes and chanting, âPDA! PDA! Daddyâs jealous! Daddy wants kisses too!âÂ
Jaemin lets out a theatrical sigh, clutching his chest. âNo one ever kisses me like that. I wish I was the tiny moonbeam. Must be nice, huh, bunny?â Then he puckers up ridiculously, leaning his head into the back seat, âGive your poor old dad a kiss or heâll shrivel up from neglect!â Haeun nearly launches out of her booster, plants a loud, wet smooch right on Jaeminâs cheek, and then covers you in rapid-fire kisses, tongue sticking out, mouth open, each one sloppier and bubblier than the last. He leans over and kisses you, too, softer, voice dropping low, âCanât help it, you two are the best things that ever happened to me.âÂ
Haeun claps her hands, squeals, âGroup hug! Squeezy group hug! No Daddies allowed unless heâs silly!â and the three of you melt together in a warm, wild tangle of arms and noses and bunny plush, Haeunâs laughter spilling out like sunshine, the windows fogging up from all the sweetness and breathless joy. She bounces in her seat, legs kicking like sheâs still on the dance floor, babbling, âI love you, Mama, I love you, Daddy, I love my Bunny, I love ballet, I love you, love you, love youââ her voice filling every corner of the car, warm and sticky and neverending.
You lean close, brushing her curls back, kissing her hair, her forehead, every dimple and freckle you can reach, the words pouring out sweeter and sweeter, âYouâre my whole sky, bubba, my dancer, my baby, my wild brave heart, Iâll love you when youâre little, Iâll love you when youâre big, Iâll love you even when youâre bossing me around when youâre a teenagerââÂ
She butts her nose against yours, snort-laughing, âIâll be little forever just for you, Mama! Promise!â
You whisper, voice thick with adoration, âMy promise, my pinky, my sunshine, my always,â and she loops her little finger around yours, tugging you close, lips sticky with the last kiss, cheeks flushed, eyes shining, her love so bright and huge itâs impossible not to give in.Â
Jaemin groans, âUgh, I canât take it anymore, you two are going to rot my teethâthis is sickeningly sweet,â but heâs smiling like a fool, watching you both, and Haeun calls out,Â
âDaddy! You love it! You love us!â and he just laughs, ruffles her hair, and presses another kiss to your temple. You sit there with her for one more minute, wrapped in her soft arms, her laughter echoing inside your chest, feeling like the luckiest person in the whole worldâher love so fierce and unfiltered, it lifts you up and up, higher than any moonbeam ever could.
Jaemin drums his fingers on the steering wheel, lets his head fall back against the seat, mouth twisted in the most dramatic frown he can muster. âOh, unbelievable. My teeth hurt. I think I just got a cavity,â he grumbles, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrays him. Heâs watching the two of you with that soft, gone look, eyes sparkling under the lashes he tries to keep half-lidded, like heâs immune.
Haeun sits up taller in her booster, smacking her lips with extra volume, then fires a kiss your way just to prove a point. âUh-oh, Daddy! Too lateâMama and me are gonna turn you into a marshmallow next. Then weâre gonna eat you up and make you a big, squeezy sandwich!â
You catch her mid-giggle and press a raspberry to her cheek, making her squeal and kick her feet, âBaby! Quick, heâs melting! Save your Daddy!âÂ
Haeunâs hands fly to her face, her eyes wide as saucers, âMama, if heâs a marshmallow, can we make sâmores in the living room?â Her voice drops to a sneaky whisper behind her palm, âI think Daddy likes it when weâre all mushy. He canât stop smiling, even when he pretends heâs mad.â
Jaemin rolls his eyes but leans over the seat, mouth puckered for a kiss, âAll right, all right, one marshmallow sandwich coming up. But if you two keep this up, Iâll have to eat all the sweets at home myself just to survive.â His grin breaks through the play-acting, so bright it practically glows in the rearview.Â
Haeun giggles and leans forward, fingers sticky, voice bubbling with mischief, âThatâs okay, Daddy. Mama says loveâs the best sugarâso youâre gonna be the sweetest of all.â
You become lost in her, her arms looped around your neck, her sticky cheeks nuzzling into your shoulder, both of you squished together in that cramped backseat, swapping kisses and giggles, noses bumping, your whispers all syrupy and secret. âYouâre my baby-cakes, my sugar-bun, my squishy-squish,â you murmur, pressing another kiss to her chubby jaw.
Youâre always telling her you love herâalways, always, as if you could say it enough times to fill up every ache and empty space, but lately it spills out with a new kind of desperation, sweeter and heavier, because nothing is promised, not after that night you almost didnât come back, not after the sirens and the darkness and the last words in your house being a slammed door and Haeunâs heartbroken wails echoing down the hall. You remember her tiny fists banging on the glass, the way her sobs shook through your spine as you walked away from both of them, angry and stupid and so sure you had more time. Now, every kiss on her cheek, every whispered âforever,â every bubble of baby-talk love is a promise and an apology, the only answer to that haunted look that still sometimes flickers in her eyes when sheâs quiet, the only way to make sure if fate steals the sun again, sheâll never doubtânot for a secondâthat she was always your first, last, and brightest love.
She squeals, âMama, your kisses tickle my brain!â and then plants a noisy one right between your eyebrows, like sheâs painting love right onto your forehead.
Youâre so wrapped up, her legs swinging, your hand tangled in her curls, your voices soft and ridiculous, âIf I kiss you a hundred times, youâll turn into a marshmallow,â you threaten.
She gasps, eyes wide, âThen youâll have to eat me up, Mama! Iâll be a marshmallow moonbeam and youâll put me in hot chocolate!â and she wiggles, giggling so hard she snorts, cheeks puffed out, curls bouncing.
Jaemin, parked in the driverâs seat with his head back, lets out the loudest, most dramatic sigh, then beep-beep! slams the car horn, making you both jump. âAre you two gonna move, or do I need to call for rescue?â he deadpans, drumming his fingers on the wheel. âIâm starving out here, I can feel my bones turning into dust. Thereâs only so much sickly-sweet backseat snuggling a man can survive!â
Haeun sits bolt upright, clutching Bunny, and shouts, âDaddy, Iâm not done yet! Weâre doing science! Mamaâs testing how many kisses fit on my face. Itâs an experiment!â She squints at you, very official. âMama, I think we need more data. Five more kisses, one for each finger!â
You dive in, dramatic, pressing noisy kisses down each of her stubby fingers, her giggles coming out in high, squeaky bursts, belly popping with every sound. âSorry, Daddy!â you call, grinning back at him. âThe experimentâs still going! Mamaâs gotta see if Haeunâs cheeks go on forever!â Haeun waves her sticky hand at Jaemin, tongue poking out, âDaddy, you go eat your shoe now! I busy!â She giggles so hard she snorts, scrunching her nose, and then wiggles her fingers in your face, âMama, more! Again! My cheeks need more kissies! More, more!â
Jaemin groans, but heâs laughing under his breath, âIf you two donât get up here soon, I willâdonât tempt me, Haeun!âÂ
You wink at him, snuggle your moonbeam in tighter, and whisper, âIâm keeping her right here till sheâs all grown up. Car dinner forever.âÂ
Haeun chirps, âThatâs okay, Mama! Iâll feed you marshmallows and love!âÂ
Jaemin just shakes his head, starts the car, and mutters, âMy girls are so obsessed with each other, I swear. Somebody save me.â
You press a noisy kiss to Haeunâs cheek, her skin warm and sweet beneath your lips, and she shrieks with delight, arms flapping wild as you finally slip into the passenger seat beside Jaemin. You reach over and squeeze his hand, the soft squeeze saying everything, thank you, I love you, look at our ridiculous life, while Haeun starts up her chant in the back, voice bubbling up like a tiny parade float. âBoba time! Boba time! Boba time!â she shouts, every syllable punctuated by a happy kick, her ballet shoes drumming against the seat, curls bouncing, cheeks still berry-bright from class. Jaemin squeezes your hand back and you both catch each otherâs eyes in the mirror, grinning like fools, Haeunâs little chant echoing through the car like magic, every beat a promise that this tiny happiness belongs only to you three, all the way to the boba shop and back again.
The drive is all easy, golden exhaustion, Haeunâs voice a steady stream from the backseat, her words tumbling over each other as she recounts, in microscopic detail, Nikiâs âgiant-estâ jump, how Heejinâs skirt got stuck on the barre, how Chaewon whispered a secret spell so everyoneâs toes would point like magic. You hum the playlistâs lullaby, soft and low, while Jaemin calls out silly commentary for every car and bakery you pass, making Haeun giggle so hard she hiccups, cheeks still strawberry-bright. She canât reach you, strapped snug in her booster, so she cups her water bottle with both hands, straw poked between her lips, cheeks puffing as she sips with the most dramatic slurp she can muster, just to get your attention. Between sips, she holds Bunny up to the window, narrating the world outside. âBunny sees a big truck! Bunny sees a flower! Bunny says, âHi Daddy!ââ Sometimes she squishes her face up against the glass, then sits back to peer into the mirror, making silly fish faces until you blow her a kiss from the front seat. She catches it, presses it to her forehead, and beams, âThank you, Mama! Thatâs for my smart brain!â
Jaemin glances at you, a soft, sideways grin blooming as you reach over and lace your fingers with his, your hands resting together on the console, quiet and sure. Haeun wiggles in her seat, feet tapping the air, voice bubbling, âBoba time! Boba time!â every syllable rises higher as the shop comes into view. When Jaemin finally parks, she shrieks, âWe made it! We made it! Yay for boba!â Bunny clutched to her chest, she waits for you to open her door, water bottle held high like a victory flag, eyes bright with the promise of her favourite green bunny drink and all the sugar-soaked stories still waiting to be told.
At the counter, she presses her nose against the glass, peering up with those giant, bashful eyes, cheeks still pink from dancing. She stands on tiptoes, elbows perched on the counterâs edge, voice tiny but clear as she looks up at the cashier, ââScuse me? Can I have a little cup please, with green bunny boba? Matcha milk, extra honey jelly, no ice, please. And, um, two baby straws so I can share with Mama?â Her lisp softens all the words, her lips round and earnest.
The cashier melts on the spot, laughing as she asks, âYou want sprinkles, sweetheart?âÂ
Haeun nods so hard her bun nearly wobbles free. âYes, please! Rainbow ones. For my bunny and me. And Daddy wants mango, âcause heâs silly.â
Jaemin ruffles her hair, grinning at the cashier. âIâll have mango green tea please with no sugar. Iâll have lychee jelly and extra mango popping boba. Biggest straw youâve got, please. My girls like to steal sips.â Jaemin says, leaning on the counter with a playful smirk, already eyeing Haeun to see if sheâll try to sneak some of his jelly later. âOh, and could you put a little coconut cold foam on top please? Gotta keep it fancy or sheâll laugh at me.â The cashier grins, nodding, as Haeun wiggles with excitement beside you, already plotting which toppings sheâll trade with her daddy before you even order.
You chime in, âIâll have roasted oolong with brown sugar pearls please, lots of ice, extra creamy, please.âÂ
The cashier promises, âCutest coming right up,â and hands Haeun a tiny sticker for being so polite.Â
She gasps, whispers âthank you, lady,â and tucks the sticker behind Bunnyâs ear, clinging to you so tightly you have to pick her up, her body curled warm on your lap as you settle into a booth.
You sink into a corner booth together, Haeun kneeling on the seat, Bunny balanced upright beside her cup, the two of you tracing phoenixes into the condensation on the glass tabletop. She presses her finger to yours, humming softly, âMama, draw the wings!â You curl spirals and feathery lines, making her gasp, âOoooh, now make it fly!ââso you swoop your finger across, letting her add glittery tail feathers, both of you whispering little stories about firebirds soaring across the shop. Jaemin stands at the counter, hands in his pockets, watching you both with the smallest smile, eyes soft as Haeun stretches out her arms, âLook, Mama, Iâm a flying phoenix! Flap, flap, flap!â She flutters her arms, cheeks flushed, mouth parted in breathless awe, every move a dance, her ballet class never truly left her body.
The bell above the counter rings, and Jaemin accepts the drinks with a formal bow, thanking the cashier like itâs an Olympic medal ceremony. He carries the tray over with exaggerated care, making a show of guarding Haeunâs âgreen bunnyâ drink from imaginary thieves, whispering, âSpecial delivery for the moonbeam and her Mama. Iâm not letting my girls move an inch till every boba is accounted for.â He settles across from you, sliding your roasted oolong, brown sugar pearls shining at the bottom, into your hands, then presents Haeunâs matcha milk, extra honey jelly, rainbow sprinkles, and two baby straws for sharing, every detail perfect.
Haeun snatches her cup, clutches it to her chest, and slurps so loudly half the cafĂŠ turns to smile, a line of matcha dripping down her chin. âMmmmmm! Yummy yummy! So cold, so bouncy!â she announces, lips stained green, cheeks puffed with pride. She angles the cup toward Bunny, whispering, âBunny wants a sip too! Mama, you help Bunny drink?â You hold Bunny up to the straw, making exaggerated slurping sounds, both of you giggling, cheeks nearly pressed together, your free hand tucked around her waist to keep her steady as she kicks her feet in giddy joy.
Jaemin slides his hand across the table, catching yours, thumb tracing little circles over your skin, a silent, sweet reassurance as Haeun leans over her cup, slurping so eagerly that droplets of matcha dot her chin. You smile at her, dabbing her mouth with a napkin, and she grins back, cheeks green and gleaming, swinging her legs beneath the table. âMama, do you think bunnies like boba?â she asks suddenly, glancing down at her plush toy, serious as only a three-year-old can be, the question blooming right out of her bright, fizzy curiosity.
You tip your head, pretending to consider it. âMaybe if it was made from carrots and clover, bunny would love it even more than we do,â you reply, voice playful.Â
Haeun giggles, holding Bunny up to the straw, making a silly slurp and whispering, âBunny says âyummy yummy!â just like me.âÂ
Jaemin nudges his drink closer, lips curled in a mock pout, âBetter watch out, bunnyâs gonna drink my mango tea if youâre not careful.â
She wriggles in her seat, turning toward you again, the world narrowing to the booth and her little voice. âMama, how did you and Daddy find me?â she asks, sudden and soft, and you catch the quiet seriousness behind all the sugar, the earnest weight of her trust. Jaemin glances at you, his gaze warm and steady, fingers squeezing yours as you reach for Haeunâs hand, holding it between both of yours, gentle as a wish.
You let the moment breathe, bending close to press a kiss to her sticky knuckles, âWe wished for you every day, and then one day you just appearedâbrighter than any moonbeam, sweeter than every boba in the world.âÂ
Haeun beams, tipping her head, Bunny pressed to her heart. âI like being your moonbeam, Mama. I like boba with you best.â She leans in for a kiss, laughter bubbling up between every word, sticky and soft and perfect, while Jaemin squeezes your hand again, and the three of you tuck in closer, lost in a sweetness no amount of sugar could ever match.
At home, the hush is thick and golden, wrapping around the three of you curled together on the couch, your baby girl tucked so tightly between you and Jaemin itâs like sheâs stitched into the very heart of the family. Her legs drape over Jaeminâs thigh, one small heel pressing into your hip, her cheek nuzzled against your chest where she can hear the slow, steady rhythm of your heart. You comb your fingers gently through her curls, working out the tangles, fingertips lingering at her scalp until her shoulders soften and her breath evens. Your other hand cups her knee, thumb rubbing slow, lazy circles in that spot you know soothes her when the world feels too big. Jaemin sits pressed against your other side, his palm spread across her back, rising and falling with every breath, his voice low as he hums the end of her playlistâa sound that settles into her bones, safe as a heartbeat.
When Haeun shifts, face creasing with worry for just a second, you pull her closer, murmuring softly, âRight here, baby, youâre home, youâre safe. Nothingâs gonna take you from us.â You press a kiss to her brow, let her tuck Bunny under her chin, and pull the blanket over her shoulders, cocooning her in warmth and love. Jaeminâs hand slides down to her ankle, squeezing with gentle reassurance, and you both lean in until sheâs covered on every sideâher whole world made of arms and soft voices and warmth.
She blinks up at you, lashes fluttering, lips parting in a sleepy smile, voice tiny as she whispers, âMama, Daddy⌠can I stay in your hugs forever? Can we dance in the living room every night?âÂ
You nuzzle her nose, your voice thick with tenderness, âForever, moonbeam. Youâre always safe with us. Even when youâre asleep, weâll hold you.â Jaemin bends to kiss her curls, his thumb stroking the ridge of her knuckles, and she finally lets out a long, shaky sighâthe last of the fear slipping away as her whole body goes soft and limp in your arms.
âMama, Daddy⌠I love you biggest,â she breathes, Bunny squeezed to her chest, âand I wanna have boba and bedtime and you, every day.âÂ
You smile, heart aching sweet, as you hold her a little tighter, blanket tucked up beneath her chin, your lips pressing the quietest promise into her crown. âYou will, baby. Every single day.âÂ
Her eyelids droop, her last giggle curling in the air, âGoodnight, moonbeamâs family. Goodnight, love you always.â And as sleep claims her, her body heavy and safe in your arms, you and Jaemin lock eyes, wordless, awestruck, grateful, knowing that this moment, this softness, is everything, and that your baby girl has never been safer than right here, wrapped in the heartbeats that will never let her go.
Every morning feels like a new beginning, sunlight sliding over the hardwood, the sound of Haeunâs giggle tumbling down the hallway before youâve even started the kettle. PliĂŠ contests have become your private tradition: you and Jaemin in thick socks, her in pastel pink with her bunny plushies lined up as judges, all of you crouched comically low, arms rounded just so. âLower, Mama! Lower!â she squeals, cheeks puffed, tongue poking out as she wobbles but never falls, your hands always ghosting at her elbows just in case. The sticker chart is taped crooked on the kitchen wall, filling up with stars and bunnies, every practice, every brave attempt, gets a new one, and when she stands back, breathless and proud, you press a kiss to the tip of her nose and whisper, âThatâs my brave girl, always.â Jaemin claims heâs just there to keep score but you catch him swaying, grinning at her, the morning softening around the three of you like butter in a pan.
On weekends, the living room transforms into your own ballet studio, furniture pushed to the corners, curtains drawn back so the light pools at Haeunâs toes. Shotaroâs âBrave Ballerinaâ playlist thumps through the speakers, a blend of gentle piano and bouncy, silly pop, and Haeun dances in her slightly-too-big practice tutu, socks slipping on the floor, arms stretched wide. Sometimes she tugs you by the hand, urging you to spin with her, both of you off balance and laughing, spinning so fast your heart canât help but leap with her. You let her lead, her little fingers curled tight around yours, and Bunny always watches from the best spot on the couch, a soft, silent audience for every leap, every bow. When she tumbles to the rug, dizzy and breathless, you flop beside her, both of you pink-cheeked and giggling, tangled in the soft chaos of home.
Jaemin takes his role as post-dance doctor as seriously as any surgeon. He sits cross-legged on the rug with a banana and a sippy cup of milk, peeling the fruit and breaking off pieces for Haeun to pop into her mouth. His hands are so gentle as he massages her calves, thumbs kneading softly, eyes always alert for the smallest wince. âLet me see these superstar legs,â he teases, poking her shin until she erupts in laughter, âOnly the bravest ballerinas have such strong feet. Doctorâs orders: one more bite and a big drink, then youâll be ready to take on the world.â Before every class, he loops his stethoscope around his neck, winks, and asks for a âheart check,â she holds out her arm, eyes huge and trusting, and he listens, playing it straight. âHeart strong, feet ready, doctor approved!â She stands a little taller every single time, heart and body both stronger for it.
Some afternoons the light grows small, the shadows stretch long, and you can see it settle in her, your babyâs shoulders curling in, her gaze flickering to the doorway, fingers winding tight in Bunnyâs ear. You donât ask her to be brave; instead, you drop to your knees beside her and start building the Bravery Corner together, piling pillows into a mountain, stringing fairy lights until the whole world glows soft and golden. You let her pick every spot for a sticker chart, one above her head, one near her toes, another tucked right beside Bunny, letting her have control in the midst of nerves. You pull her into your lap, wrapping your arms all the way around her, chest to her back, chin nestled in her wild curls, and rock gently, side to side, the slow rhythm as constant as your love.
You let her boss you around, her little finger pointing, âsticker here! No, Mama, higher, higher! Bunny wants one on his belly!ââand you obey, balancing charts over every patch of blanket fort until it looks like a sparkling palace. âBunny says, âNo monsters allowed!ââ she declares, voice wobbly and tiny but braver now, chin jutting out. Fairy lights tangled over her head, you wrap her in your lap, tucking her in like a secret, your chin nestled into the crook of her neck, arms around her like she might slip away if you let go.
When sheâs silent, you never fill it up with too many words; you only hold her, pressing small, steady kisses to the crown of her head, her temple, her knuckles, reminding her with every touch that she is cherished exactly as she is. You match your breaths to hers, slowing together, waiting until she shifts in your lap, stretching out her legs, finally ready to uncoil. You let her slip off at her own pace, her fingers lingering at your sleeve, her eyes searching for yours, and you give her your biggest, gentlest smile. âWhenever youâre ready, moonbeam. Mamaâs always here.â You guide her through your grounding routineâsoft squeezes to her shoulders and back, gentle circles at her wrist, your voice a lullaby of little reminders: âWiggle your toes, feel the floor, Bunnyâs here, Mamaâs got you.â Sometimes you sway together, humming her favorite song, your palm cradling her cheek until her breath comes slow and easy and her body relaxes against yours.Â
You press your lips to the crown of her head, humming the tune from her playlist, your voice barely more than breath. You guide her hands to your chest and tell her, âFeel me breathing, bubba. We can make our hearts slow together.â She lays her palm over your heart, you lay yours over hers, and together you countâone, two, in, out, safe, safe, safe. You pull her even closer, Bunny pressed between you, letting the world shrink to nothing but her body tucked against yours. Sometimes she buries her face in your neck, sometimes she just breathes you in, eyelids fluttering, lashes still damp from a few quiet tears.
When you play Ryujinâs message, you hold the phone so she doesnât have to, letting your other hand stroke her knee, then her shin, then up to her wrist, tracing light, soothing circles. When the message ends, you both blow kisses to the camera, your lips pressed to her hair first, then to Bunnyâs nose, then to the screen, never pushing her to speak if sheâs not ready, just showing her every way love can be quiet and patient. Sometimes she lets you film her whispering, âThank you, Teacher Ryujin. Iâm brave âcause you love me.â Sometimes she just clings to you, nodding, safe in the space youâve built together.
You press little kisses to her brow, to each finger, to the tip of her nose, âOne for every brave bit inside you, my tiny moonbeam.âÂ
Sometimes she climbs right into your lap, feet tucked under her, Bunny between you, whispering, âDonât let me go, Mama. Wanna stay your squishy-forever.â You hum, letting her set the pace, tracing hearts on her knee, waiting for the moment her body softens, breath matches yours, and you both melt into the pile of pillows and soft lights.
Sometimes you make up stories, about Bunny rescuing all the shy ballerinas in Sticker Castle, or about a magical moonbeam who dances with jellybeans in her shoes and always finds her way home. She giggles, head tipped back, the worry melting from her eyes as she whispers, âMore, Mama, more!â
When sheâs ready, she slips off your lap, face bright and a little bashful, fingers sticky from clutching your sleeve. You kiss the top of her head, hand lingering at her back, whispering, âGo, go, super-brave moonbeam! Iâll clap every step!â She wriggles into the middle of the room, Bunny held high, then twirls right there, bare feet thumping, her laugh filling every shadow. You clap and cheer, lifting Bunny in the air, âBravest bunny! Bravest girl!ââand in that little bravery corner, strung with love and light, your baby is safe to start again, every time, her softness and your patience the gentlest kind of courage there is.
After practice, when the house grows quiet and the last stripes of sun spill across the floor, you find her in front of the hallway mirror, bare feet planted, arms curved above her head, lips moving in a soundless count. Her brow is scrunched in fierce concentration, tongue poking out the corner of her mouth, and she doesnât notice you watching until you start to clap, gentle and slow, filling the hush with soft applause. She whirls around, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, and in an instant sheâs launching herself at you, arms wound tight around your neck, nose pressed into your shoulder, laughter fizzing up and out. âDid you see, Mama? I did it all by myself! Like the big girls in the show!â
You nose her hair, press your cheek to hers, breath tangled, âI saw every step, moonbeam. Youâre my superstar.â She giggles, all soft and shivery, pulls back just far enough to rub her nose against yours, bunny-quick, then leans in again, lips brushing your chin.
âWas I sparkly? Like on stage?â she whispers, nose to nose, eyes round as moons.Â
You tap her cheek, âYouâre always sparkly, babyâeven with jelly on your shirt.âÂ
She dissolves into giggles, arms still locked tight around you, âMama, if I spin too fast, will I turn into a tornado? Will you still catch me?âÂ
You answer in a whisper, âAlways. Even if you turn into a super silly tornado, Iâll catch every single swirl.âÂ
She squeals, âGood! Cuz if you donât, Bunny will try, and he can only catch little twirls, not big ones!â
You both break into another round of nose nuzzles, her little hands clutching your cheeks, her breath sweet and warm, âMama, your nose is so soft. Boop, boop, boop!â she singsongs, pressing three tiny kisses in a row.Â
You go cross-eyed, make a silly face, âMy bubbaâs got the magic nose! Bet you can boop Daddyâs nose all the way to the moon.âÂ
She bursts out laughing, so loud she hiccups, and cuddles back into your arms, soft as melted ice cream, âLetâs go find Daddy and boop him too.â You sway with her right there, noses still touching, sunlight brushing your hair, your heart so full it nearly spills out. All you can do is hold her, every moment so small and sticky and real, just you, your moonbeam, and every soft, silly nuzzle, the whole world made brand new with every boop.
Her giggles spill everywhere, and when you set her down she tips her head back, still catching her breath. Her voice comes quiet and curious, all sweet innocence, âMama, when I go on the stage, do the lights make your eyes feel funny? Will I see Daddy and you in the crowd or just all the stars?â She bites her lip, peeking up at you, âIf I drop my petals, will I get in trouble? And what if I forget the twirly part, will Bunny remember for me?â Her fingers curl around yours, tiny and warm, her questions tumbling out as if sheâs painting pictures you can hold.
You crouch down, brushing her curls from her brow, voice soft and steady as you answer, âThe lights will feel bright at first, but Iâll be right in front, waving big so you can find me. Daddyâll be next to me, making silly faces just for you. And if you drop your petals or forget your twirl, it just means more magic for everyone, nobody will ever be mad at a moonbeam.âÂ
She squeezes you tighter, cheek still warm against your jaw, her words tumbling out fast and hopeful, âMama, I wanted to build the biggest sandcastle with you and Daddy, and eat all the cold noodles and go on the funny trainâremember? I wanna see the ballerinas in the square, âcause you said I could twirl with them someday.â She pulls back, eyes wide and a little worried, thumb rubbing at Bunnyâs ear, voice turning small, âAre we still gonna go on da holiday, Mama? Or is it all gone now, âcause of the park and the scary day?â She stares at you, so trusting and soft, the world waiting on your answer.
You scoop her closer, nose nuzzling into her hair, thumb brushing her chubby cheek as you promise, âOh, bubba, nothingâs gone. Daddy and I found the holiday again, just for you. Weâre still going, I swear it. Youâll get to twirl in the sunshine and see all the ballerinas, build the tallest sandcastle, eat every noodle, and ride that silly train with Daddy, Bunny and Mama.âÂ
She breaks into the widest smile, eyes crinkling, arms flung around your neck, âYay! I want Bunny to wear his sunglasses and Daddy to go splash-splash in the sea! Mama, you get a giant hat, âkay? Biggest hat in the whole world! Can Bunny have a suitcase too? I want to pack his hat and his purple socks. I want to see Daddy swim like a big fish and you eat a million ice creams!âÂ
You kiss her nose, hearts bumping, âBiggest hat, pinky promise. And weâll all dance in the square, even Bunny.âÂ
She laughs, the sound bubbling out, âI wanna go soon, Mama. I wanna go now! Letâs go! You, Daddy, me and Bunny, all togetherâjust us.â And you hug her so tight, everything that matters is right there in your arms, your moonbeam, your forever, your never-lost joy. The moment feels spun from sunlight and sticky hands, every hope and memory tangling together, your baby safe in your arms, every dream still bright and possible, as long as youâre holding her close.
You wake in the palest blue hush of morning, the city still quiet and dark beyond the window, Jaeminâs body pressed behind you in the tangled sheets, warmth and sleep and home tangled together. You reach back, palm smoothing over his hip, and he rolls closer, lips trailing across the slope of your shoulder, his hand slipping beneath the curve of your breast. You turn to meet him, noses brushing, breath warm, the silence gentle as dawn. He kisses you slow, soft, the kind of kiss thatâs half laughter and half promise, and when he slides inside you, itâs careful, unhurried, all tangled limbs and whispered confessions. The only sounds are the low rush of your breath and the thud of your heart, the way his hand holds you so securely, your leg thrown over his waist. You move together quietly, his mouth pressed to your hair, his hand guiding your hips, and itâs not desperate or rushedâjust the pure, steady ache of loving someone completely, of sharing the morning before the whole world wakes up. He holds you close after, noses tucked together, both of you whispering, âI love you, I love you, always,â until itâs time to rise.
Hot water drums over both of you as Jaemin presses you back against the tile, your laughter echoing between wet skin and fogged glass, his hands everywhere, soaping your shoulders, gliding down your back, thumbs working into the ache of your hips. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, mouths slick and hungry as he lifts your leg around his waist, cock thick and heavy sliding inside, every thrust slow and deep, steam curling between your bodies. You clutch at his hair, nails scraping his scalp as he kisses your throat, water running down the curve of your breasts, his palms cradling your ass, rocking you against him. Each movement is soft, teasing, his hips rolling with practiced care, bodies slipping and joining in the mist, rinsing the night away, every touch a promise, every kiss washing you clean, his mouth swallowing every moan until thereâs nothing but the sound of water and the sweet, aching pulse of loving each other raw.
After the shower, all sleepy and soft, you wrap yourselves in towels and tiptoe to your daughterâs room. Her door is ajar, and you slip inside together, still damp, hands clasped, grins threatening to spill over. Jaemin is right behind you, both of you moving slowly as the sun crawls up the walls. Haeunâs all tangled limbs and tousled curls in the nest of her blankets, one chubby hand flung over Bunnyâs soft belly, mouth smushed around her thumb, lashes dark and low on her cheeks. You kneel beside the bed, brush stray hair from her forehead, and whisper, âGood morning, moonbeamâguess what day it is?âÂ
She stirs, a tiny frown puckering her brow, then a sigh, sweet and sleepy, âMmnh, Mama⌠five more sleeps, pweaseâŚâ
Jaemin leans in, his voice honey-sweet, gentle as his hand stroking down her tangled curls, âCome on, baby girl, you gotta wake upâevery big star has to rise before the sun or the whole world stays sleepy.â He lifts her up in his arms, swaying her gently, blanket and Bunny tucked in tight, his cheek brushing her forehead as he whispers, âHowâs my sleepy pancake supposed to get her sparkles if she stays in bed? Letâs go make some matcha magic and find your show-day smile, yeah?â She burrows in closer, clinging tighter, and he rocks her side to side, making the morning soft and slow, humming just for her until her little giggle bubbles up, her sleepiness melted by the love he wraps around her.
Haeun blinks up at you, rubbing her eyes with a fist, then reaches to tug a fistful of Jaeminâs damp hair, her face scrunching in sleepy confusion. Her gaze bounces between his wet curls and your bathrobe, loose at the collar, the faint pink mark still on your throat. âMama, Daddy, why you both all drippy?â she whispers, voice hushed like sheâs sharing a secret with Bunny. âYou shower together again? Why you always shower together? Last time, you left the door open and I saw Mama jumpinâ on Daddy and you were all kissy-kissy!â She dissolves into a shy giggle, hiding her face in Jaeminâs shoulder but peeking out with a grin, âDid Mama win the jumping game? Is that why Daddy was making that silly noise?â She covers her mouth, giggling so hard she hiccups, cheeks cherry-pink, voice dropping to a whisper, âYou both so funny, Bunny says next time, close the door so the bubbles donât escape, âkay?â Her laughter is pure sunlight, small and bright and so perfectly three, her mischief soft and safe, your little family glowing in the golden morning.
You and Jaemin lock eyes over the top of Haeunâs head, trying to smother your own laughter, your lips twitching, his eyebrow raised in mock scandal. He clears his throat, keeping his face mostly straight, though his eyes are crinkling, and says, âWell, you caught us, bubba. Mama always wins the jumping game, thatâs why Daddy has to practice his stretches every morning!â He leans in to nuzzle her cheek, winking at you, âAnd next time, weâll close the door and let Bunny be the official bubble guard. No more bubbles escaping, promise.â Haeun squeals, wrapping her arms tighter around his neck, âBunny will watch you both, so you donât get too silly!â She giggles, still peeking at you both through wild curls, and you and Jaemin just shake your heads, laughter bubbling up between you, grateful for the sweet chaos that only your little moonbeam can bring.
You canât help but giggle, warmth spilling out, your eyes meeting Jaemin over Haeunâs messy curls, thereâs a soft, secret glow in his gaze that only you ever get, both of you full of mischief and morning love. Just then, Haeunâs gaze drifts over his shoulder, and her whole body perks up. On the wall beside her bed hangs her hand-painted âBunny Calendar,â each square colored with shaky marker lines, a different sticker for every big day: stars for dance practice, hearts for family days, bunnies for extra-special treats. Todayâs box is covered in a blue glitter pen, a silver moon sticker stuck off-center, her careful letters spelling out âSHOW DAYâ in bubble writing, Bunnyâs paw print in the corner. She blinks once, then gasps so loud it startles Bunny from his nest. âIs it big show day? For real-for real?â
She bolts upright, thumb slipping from her mouth, shy smile blooming wide as she grabs the calendar and waves it for you to see, one hand still tangled in Bunnyâs ear, the other reaching for your sleeve. âMama! Daddy! Look, my calendar says so! Itâs show day, itâs show day!â She burrows into you, half giggle, half tremble, âMy tummy feels all bouncy inside. Bunnyâs nervous too. Can you both hold me so I can be brave?â And in that bright, sticky, tangled moment, you both squeeze her close, hearts soft, ready to carry your moonbeam anywhere she dreams.
You scoop her into your lap, blanket and all, and Jaemin settles on her other side, both of you crowding her with sleepy affection. âYes my angel, itâs your big show, moonbeam. Todayâs the day.âÂ
Her cheeks puff, excitement and worry battling across her face, toes curling under the covers. âWill my legs work good, Mama? Bunnyâs scared to dance but I told him we practiced so much. Did you make my dress all sparkly? Is Bunny gonna get a bow?â
You nuzzle your nose to hers, whispering, âYou practiced so much, your legs are made of magic. And Bunnyâs got his lucky charm and his best bow. I made sure.âÂ
Jaemin ruffles her wild curls, âMama made the sparkliest dress in the whole city. Youâll look just like a moonbeam.â
Together, still wrapped in soft pajamas and morning hush, you carry her down the hallway, her legs hugging your waist, hair wild and tangled like a cloud of spun sugar, her breathless voice bubbling with questions. âIs the kitchen cold? Can Bunny help with the magic whisk? Will matcha make my toes go super fast today?â Sheâs all wriggles in her favorite âbunny bunâ shorts, âballet princessâ tee a little crooked, Bunny tucked under one arm, thumb hooked in the ribbon around his neck.
You settle her gently on the kitchen counter, knees hugged to her chest, pink toes wiggling above the drawers, as she wiggles with anticipation. âWe make lucky matcha, Mama! Super lucky, super bubbly!â Her eyes go huge as you measure the matcha powder, letting her dump it in with a careful tip and a gasp, green dust puffing up and making her sneeze. You pour the milkâoat, just the way she likesâover the bright green mound, and hand her the tiny whisk. She grabs it in both hands, tongue poked out the side of her mouth, brows furrowed in fierce concentration as she whips the mixture, chanting, âMore bubbles! More, more, more!â
You laugh, holding her steady, âEasy, chef! Save some for the mug or itâll be a volcano!âÂ
She shrieks, delighted, when the foam threatens to spill over, cheeks glowing, âWe did it, Mama! Look! Bunny says itâs the best one ever.â You pour her a big splash into her sippy cup, clear with little silver moons and her name scrawled in marker, then hand her the pink straw. She clinks her cup to your mug, solemn and proud, âCheers, Mama. I drink all for lucky, and Bunny drink for brave.â
You tap your mug to hers, âTo moonbeams and magic toes!â She sips, gets a bright green mustache that makes her eyes crinkle, then carefully holds Bunnyâs mouth to the cup, whispering, âTiny sips for bravery, okay?â You tell her how helpful she is, how her strong whisking arm made the best bubbles, and how lucky your show day will be with her in charge of the magic. She beams, mouth full of milk and matcha, giggling, âMama, you gotta drink too! If you want brave kisses, matcha makes them super power!âÂ
You play along, puckering for a kiss, letting her plant a big, foamy one on your cheek. âBest magic I ever tasted, bubba,â you say, and she throws her arms around your neck, cheeks pink and sticky, ready to take on anything, matcha, bunnies, ballet, and all.
Jaeminâs already at the stove, sleeves pushed up, hair still damp from your shower, humming softly as he cracks eggs into the skillet. The kitchen is warm with the sound of bubbling butter, sunlight filtering through the curtains, and the sweet sizzle of pancakes on the griddle. He glances back over his shoulder, grinning at the sight of you and Haeun perched on the counter, cheeks smeared with matcha foam, her little feet kicking the cabinet. âAll right, two sleepy bunnies and one brave moonbeam, who wants pancakes and who wants Daddyâs famous cheesy eggs?â he calls, wiggling the spatula.
Haeun raises her sippy cup high, matcha mustache shining, âPancakes! Bunny wants blueberry face!â She slides off the counter, scampering over in her bunny bun shorts to stand on tiptoe beside him, solemnly handing Bunny to Jaemin for a chefâs kiss before the first pancake flip. You tease, âBetter get it perfect, Daddy, or the pancake judge will send you to time-out!âÂ
Jaemin plays along, bows to Bunny and Haeun, and announces, âMy best work, for the bravest ballerina and her world-class coach.â
Haeun giggles, wraps herself around your leg, whispering, âDada makes breakfast happy.â You sweep her up, kissing her nose, watching as Jaemin plates everything with a flourish: bunny-faced pancakes with blueberry eyes and whipped cream whiskers, a little pile of eggs just the way she likes, all arranged on her favorite cloud-shaped plate. He brings it to the table with a wink, âBon appĂŠtit, my moonbeam.â She claps, hands sticky, âThank you, Daddy!ââand you know, right then, this breakfast is pure magic, a family spell no one could ever break.
The softest robin-egg light has crept across the floor by the time you ease the bedroom door fully open, matcha mugs icing your hands and Jaeminâs quiet footfalls right behind you. Haeunâs âmoonbeam dressâ already steals the eye from its place on the wardrobe: tulle dyed in three strokes of blue, pale ice at the waist, dawn-sky through the skirt, and a dusk rim at the hem that seems to sip the morning. Tiny seed-pearls follow the seams like lines of first-position fingertips, and a silk bow the colour of quicksilver rests at the exact place her sternum will rise when she takes her opening breath on stage. Beneath it youâve laid her starlight tights, each ankle dotted with a scatter of silver flecks to mimic rosin dust; her slippers, snow-pale canvas stitched with âNana Haeunâ in neat grey thread, wait with their ribbons curled like resting swan necks. A single bluebell-shaped clip catches the window light beside a satin ribbon no wider than a pinkie, the ribbon strung with her lucky bunny charm.
She sits on the ottoman hugging her knees, excitement and nerves fluttering from the tip-top of her bow to the twitching pink ends of her toes. Her âBallet Princessâ tee has slipped off one shoulder, revealing the tiny throb of her hummingbird pulse, and every few seconds she gives a little bounce, an almost-jump because the thrill wonât stay still inside her. She spots the dress again and lets out a squeak that turns into a bubbling giggle, half shy delight, half disbelief. âOoh, Mama, is that really for me? Can I twirl just one time before we go? What if the twirl falls out of my head later?â Her fingers tap the ottoman in perfect, impatient fifth-position beats; her eyes, dark and glossy as evening pond water, dart to yours for permission while her heels drum a secret rhythm on the cushion, already rehearsing.
You steady her restless ankles with your palms, smile into her shining eyes, and guide her small hand to your chest. âEasy, moonbeam, feel how my heart stays slow and sure? Yours can follow.â You shift her hand to her own sternum, letting her feel the eager patter that lives there now. âThat little drum is your mended star, the miracle that lets you twirl and run again. Itâs strong, but it still likes gentle music.â You gently cup her cheeks, thumbs brushing softly over the warmth of her skin, holding her gaze steady with yours. âI want you to dance as wide as the sky tonight, babyâI know youâve waited so long for this moment, two whole years, and your new heartâs ready to shine brighter than ever. Itâs your miracle, and youâre so lucky itâs strong enough now for you to twirl, to run, to leap againâbut remember, even miracles need rest. If you feel it flutter too fast or get tired, slow your steps, breathe deep, and look right at me or Daddy. Promise me youâll listen to your heart, moonbeam?âÂ
You press a gentle kiss to her forehead, smiling into her eyes as she nods, serious and bright, whispering back, âI promise, Mamaâmy new heart tells me secrets, and Iâll always listen. My heart stays soft and happy.â
You smile softly, catching her bright eyes in the mirror as you gather her thick, silky curls gently into your hands. âAlright, moonbeam, how many ballerina buns are we doing today? Ten? Twenty?â you tease gently, tugging playfully on a soft strand, making her giggle behind the handle of her brush.
âNooo, Mama,â she protests shyly, eyes crinkling with laughter. âJust two buns! Just two little moon buns!â
âTwo moon buns coming right up,â you say, smoothing each glossy strand with careful fingertips, the vanilla-lily scent floating softly around you. âDo you want them fluffy or ballerina-tight today?â
She bites her lip, cheeks rosy and shy, wiggling a little with excitement. âTight! Really tight pwease! I donât want my buns to wobble when I do the comet chassĂŠ.â
Each strand releases the vanilla-lily scent of her shampoo; you smooth the flyaways with a dab of rose water before twisting two perfect, low buns. She watches your hands in the mirror, cheeks hidden behind the tail of her brush. You gently twist her hair into two low, perfect swirls, each twist smooth and neat, watching carefully for her reaction. âHowâs this, bubba? Is it tight enough, or too tight?â
She tests it carefully, turning her head slightly side to side, eyes serious as she considers, then breaks into a shy, delighted grin. âPerfect, Mama! No jelly buns today!â
Laughing softly, you pick up the pearl pins, feeling their smooth coolness roll gently between your fingers as you slide each one carefully into her neatly twisted buns. With every pin secured, you pause briefly, letting her feel the slight tug, watching the tiny crinkle of her nose and the way her cheeks dimple shyly in the mirror. âNow for your accessories,â you murmur warmly, holding up delicate sprigs of babyâs breath that tremble gently, almost as fragile as her excitement. âDo you think we need ten or twenty flowers, moonbeam? I want to make sure you sparkle brighter than everyone tonight.â Your voice is playful, teasing gently, and you tap her tiny nose with the end of a flower.
She gasps dramatically, eyes widening into perfect, glittering circles of wonder, her fingers fluttering like little butterfly wings as she giggles behind one shy palm. âMama, thatâs so many flowers! Bunny says thatâs way too much, just a tiny sprinkle, âkay?â Her voice is giddy-soft, her excitement bubbling out through quiet, delighted giggles. You nod solemnly, eyes sparkling with affection as you carefully nestle just a few blossoms into each swirl, the petals blending softly with the pearl pins until a gentle halo forms, delicate and perfect around her earnest, cherubic face.
âThere we go,â you murmur tenderly, turning her gently towards the mirror again, hands smoothing lightly down her shoulders. âHow does that look, my love? Pretty enough for the brightest ballerina in the whole wide world?â Her cheeks flush a gorgeous rose, warmth blooming beneath your fingertips as she shyly ducks her head, gaze peeking at you bashfully through dark lashes, lips curving into the softest smile.
âSo pretty, Mama,â she whispers reverently, her voice soft as morning mist, filled with a quiet awe. She clutches Bunny tighter, hiding behind his floppy ear as she whispers, âBunny says I look like a real moonbeam nowâjust like the girls on stage.â You lean close, the fragrance of babyâs breath mingling sweetly with the familiar vanilla-lily scent of her hair, pressing a tender, lingering kiss to the top of her head.
âYou belong on stage, my little moonbeam,â you breathe softly, your fingertips gently brushing the delicate halo of flowers in her hair. âIâm so happy for youâso proud of you, my ballerina, my dancer.â You watch the soft sparkle of wonder settle beautifully in her eyes, feeling the warmth of her excitement bloom in the shy, glowing curve of her cheeks, knowing that this precious moment will shine brighter in your heart than any spotlight ever could.
When you lift the dress, she throws her arms high like a grand jetĂŠ about to leave the barre. The tulle rustles over her head with a sigh. âIt tickles my neck!â she giggles, and you hear the scratch of pearls skipping down her spine. You tug the bodice snug, feeling the drum of her heart under your knuckles. She wriggles her toes into the tights, a private little exercise, point-flex, point-flex, then slips each foot into its slipper, heel snug, ribbon wrapped in a tidy figure eight. She leans forward, nose to yours, and sighs, âThank you for making me pretty, Mama. Do you think people will hear my heart under the music? Itâs so loud.âÂ
You cup her cheeks, stroke the warmth there. âTheyâll only hear the music and maybe the stars cheering. Iâll clap loud enough to join them.âÂ
Her answering smile is soft and watery; she touches glitter blush to your cheek, to her own, and then leans in for lip balm. She smacks once, satisfied. âNow we match. Two sparkly moons.â
She practises a curtsey in the mirror, cheeks indented with the effort to remember each step of her port de bras. The skirt lifts and settles like a slow wave. She pauses, strokes the silver bow, and murmurs, âDaddyâs going to see this bow first, right? And Bunnyâs allowed to watch from my pocket?âÂ
You gather the ribbon with two fingers, press a kiss to the satin. âBunny is guest of honour, seat front row, left slipper.âÂ
She nods as though receiving stage notes. Jaemin, camera in hand, steps closer and captures her tentative arabesque. âFrame this one,â you whisper, âshe looks like a note held at the end of a lullaby.â He snaps another as she runs two quick pas de chat across the rug, the pearls ringing a muted music against her ribs.
Then reality tugs: a shy glance, lower lip tucked between teeth. âMama, what if my bow falls or I need a hug in the middle?â You scoop her, feel her dress balloon around your thighs, spin once so the skirt fans in perfect third-ring symmetry.Â
âIf the bow falls, Daddy will catch it. If you need a hug, Iâll walk to centre stage, lights or no lights, and hold you until the orchestra starts again.âÂ
She presses her nose into your cheek and breathes, âLove you big-big, Mama. Promise youâll come back if I get dizzy?âÂ
You tighten your arms, inhaling the mix of matcha on her breath and new fabric at her shoulders. âAlways. Every time. Even if you spin all the way to the moon, Iâll follow.â She giggles, squeezes until her fingers ache, and then because she is three and hope is a physical thing, she kisses your eyelid, the lightest brush of lips. In that blue-washed room, the pearls, the bow, the tremble of her slippers on wood, you feel the day expand: stage lights already waiting, curtains already quivering, your moonbeam ready to step into her own gentle sky.
The car hums softly beneath you, gentle notes of Haeunâs âBrave Ballerinaâ playlist drifting through the speakers as the morning sunlight filters in golden, dancing patterns through the window. Haeun sits snugly in her booster seat, one tiny hand clutching Bunny tightly, the other wrapped securely around your fingers. Her eyes are wide and full of wonder, flickering back and forth between the world outside and you, soft clouds drifting through skies reflected in her gaze, her lips parted softly in awe. âMama, look!â she squeals, pointing excitedly at every passing landmark, each familiar street somehow transformed by the magic of recital day. She lifts your hand and presses soft, quick kisses onto your knuckles every few moments, humming along to the music. âMama, is the theatre big-big? Will my twirls echo? Will Bunny hear me?â Her excitement makes her toes wiggle in her slippers, brushing her ballet bag on the floor below.
When Jaemin pulls the car gently into the parking lot, âBluebell Theatreâ gleams softly in the morning glow, sunlight bouncing off glass windows, lavender velvet curtains just visible through the foyer doors. Haeun gasps, leaning eagerly forward, nose nearly touching the glass. âMama! Daddy! Itâs so pretty, like my dress! Are there princesses inside?âÂ
Jaemin chuckles, softly touching her cheek. âThereâs at least one princess, moonbeam, and sheâs sitting right here.âÂ
Inside the sun-warm foyer, Jaemin kneels to her height, the two of them facing each other in the middle of the lavender-lit chaos, his hands strong and sure, hers tiny and trembling but so determined. Haeun tugs at the hem of his jacket, eyes wide and vulnerable, cheeks warm with shy color. Jaemin takes out their folded âRecital Readyâ checklist, a silly tradition they started in recovery, each step sketched in her crayon: bunny hugs, ribbon checks, heart listen, courage stamp. She holds out her wrist, and he presses two fingers lightly, humming theatrically. âPulse, strong as a lion. Check.â He traces her bow, fingers gentle on her shoulder. âTulle, fluffiest in the room. Check.â She holds up Bunny, and he gives Bunny a quick, dramatic kiss. âBest friendâpresent and on duty. Check.âÂ
Haeun shifts closer, voice tiny and trembling, âDada, am I really really ready? My heart no owie-owie anymore?â
Jaemin leans in, brushing his nose to hers, voice soft and low as if their little world holds only them. âYouâre more than ready, beautiful. That beautiful new heart of yours is stronger than any stage. No more owie-owie, not with all this love squeezing it tight. Youâre my brave girl, and youâve got the strongest heartbeat in this whole theatre.â She smiles, cheeks dimpled, breathes out relief and wonder. You watch, your throat tight with pride and something heavierâcaught between the sight of Jaeminâs handsome, focused tenderness and your baby girlâs little trembling bravery, feeling heat pool low as memory and longing stir. For a moment, the two of them are all you see: her clinging to every soft word, Jaemin a picture of devotion, his hair shining and jaw sharp, the man who was always your safe place, your ache, your partner in every fear and miracle.
Sometimes, when you look at Haeun now, how she dances down hallways, giggles unburdened, skips up stairs, chases after friends with arms outstretched and laughter so loud you hear it in every room, you remember how impossible that once felt. The endless hospital days, the white glare of machines, her breath caught in pain and exhaustion, her world a grid of waiting rooms and worry. The new heart changed everything, her cheeks pinker, her eyes wider, every movement stronger and more certain, her body humming with possibility. Thereâs an energy to her now, a freedom she wears even in stillness, the way she spins in your arms without fear of running out of air, the way she hugs tighter, sleeps deeper, wakes every morning humming. That heart beats with everything you and Jaemin have poured into her, every ounce of hope, every late-night vigil, every whispered promise youâd always find your way back to her. Watching her now, bright, trembling and so very alive, you know nothing is wasted. Every ounce of her courage is a testament, every giggle a victory, every step a quiet answer to all the prayers you whispered, year after year, waiting for this day.
The three of you walk hand in hand through the sun-dappled lobby, Haeunâs little fingers squeezed between yours and Jaeminâs, her ballet shoes tapping a secret rhythm on the tiles. Every few steps she pulls you both closer, and then, unable to contain her bubbling excitement, she lifts her feet and leaps, swinging in the air between you, giggling so bright it echoes all the way to the paper stars above. Jaemin squeezes her hand tighter, and you lean in to press a quick kiss to her temple as she lands, the three of you swaying for a second, linked and laughing. âAgain! Again!â she squeals, twisting Bunnyâs ear in her free fist. With each leap, you whisper the silly mantra you made up together during all those long hospital nights, âsunshine in the middle, love on both sides!ââand with every swing, you both plant the softest kisses on the tops of her hands, until her giggles melt into happy hiccups. You pause by the recital hall doors, and she pulls out the tiny origami heart she made that morning, pressing it into your palm: âMama, for luck. Dada, for brave.â The three of you stand tangled and grinning, the world narrowed to love, light, and the weightless promise of her leap.
The theatre lobby is all gentle chaos and laughter, sunlight pouring in through tall windows, illuminating walls hung with fluttering paper stars and childrenâs artwork. The painted ceiling is a swirl of graceful swans and delicate lilies, and Haeun tips her head back, eyes huge and round, her mouth forming a little âOâ as she takes it all in. âMama,â she breathes reverently, fingers tightening around Bunny, âitâs like dancing in the sky.â Her small frame trembles softly with excitement, eyes flicking quickly around the bustling room, ballet friends and families gathering, excited whispers blending into a comforting hum.
Ryujin appears almost immediately, clipboard tucked under her arm, smiling warmly as she kneels before Haeun. âThereâs my little sunshine! Ready to sprinkle some starlight?â She carefully pins Haeunâs number onto the pearly bodice, smoothing the tiny tulle skirt gently.Â
Haeun nods shyly, her fingers twisting in her skirt, eyes hopeful as she peeks up through her lashes. âTeacher Ryujin, will you clap too, even if I wobble a little?â
Ryujin cups her tiny face warmly, smiling tenderly. âOh, baby, Iâll clap so loud the moon will hear.â
Shotaro comes over, gently checking her slipper ribbons, thumbs softly grazing each tiny ankle, making sure everything is snug but comfortable. âPerfect fit for our brightest star,â he murmurs, winking gently. Niki bounds over, already lively in his silvery-blue comet costume, twirling once in greeting. âHi, Haeun! Ready to be amazing?â he calls, grinning brightly.Â
Chaewon and Heejin appear next, little midnight birds in elegant, shimmering black feathers. Chaewon leans close, slipping a single delicate feather from her shoe, whispering conspiratorially, âThis is my secret bravery feather. Wanna borrow it?âÂ
Haeun nods eagerly, eyes wide as Chaewon carefully places it inside her slipper. âNow youâre double brave,â Heejin giggles, squeezing Haeunâs hand gently.
The backstage is bustling, air thick with the comforting scent of hairspray and soft powder, filled with the warm chatter of excited ballerinas. You help smooth skirts, whispering gentle reassurances, adjusting ribbons and bows. Haeun never strays far, one hand always clutching Bunny, her other always seeking your fingers or Jaeminâs reassuring palm. âMama,â she whispers nervously, her voice barely audible above the soft backstage hum, eyes flickering anxiously to the thick velvet curtains, âwill you see me when I go on? Will Daddy see my bow?âÂ
You kneel before her, eyes soft and shining, thumbs smoothing gentle circles over her small knuckles. âWeâll see every single step, bubba. Every twirl, every bow, every starlit petal you scatter. Weâll see it all, and weâll clap loudest of anyone.â
The theatre fills slowly at first, then all at once, a wave of chatter, camera flashes, the sweet rustle of programs in every row. There are four hundred and sixteen seats in Bluebell Theatre tonight, nearly all of them claimed by parents and grandparents, teachers in spring dresses, hospital nurses in neat pastel scrubs, and rows of children from Haeunâs ward dressed up in borrowed tulle and fairy wings, little paper stars stitched to their hair. The air is perfumed with excitement and the faint tang of hairspray, the lilac velvet curtains shimmering under the warm haze of the stage lights. The ceiling mural glows overhead: painted swans, water lilies, and ribbons of gold that seem to flutter each time someone gasps. In the orchestra pit, a student quartet tunes their instruments; the whisper of strings blends with the low hum of anticipation, and somewhere backstage, a teacher hurries by with a tray of glitter and spare slippers.
Backstage is a living thingâa whorl of bodies and hope, tulle brushing walls, little shoes squeaking secrets into the ancient marley, every heartbeat ratcheting higher as the bluebell theatre hums and swells just on the other side of the curtain. The atmosphere is pure, joyful chaos, forty-seven dancers bustling in a flurry of blue, silver, black, and white, each one careful to avoid the racks of costumes and baskets overflowing with props. Ryujin floats through the dressing rooms, pinning stray locks of hair and whispering last encouragements. Shotaro moves from group to group, checking every laced slipper and reminding each child to breathe. At the makeup table, Heejin lets Haeun dab blush onto her nose, Niki spins a plastic star wand for luck, and Chaewon, quiet and calm, smooths a trembling hand down Haeunâs skirt, pressing her secret bravery feather into the lining one last time.
You hover just beyond the tangle of tulle and sneakers, hands wrapped in Jaeminâs, letting yourself blur into the quiet watchfulness only a parent knows, every instinct tuned to your childâs laughter, every muscle twitching with the urge to scoop her up and press her to your heart. Sheâs a watercolor in motion, her dress hiked up around her knees as she collapses giggling on the carpet, Bunny clutched between her ankles, cheeks so round and pink you want to kiss them from across the room. Her friends tumble around her, Nikiâs slipper spinning like a satellite, Chaewon showing off a secret twirl, Heejinâs hands sticky with lemon stars, and in the kaleidoscope swirl of their chaos you see all the wild hope of childhood shining right through.
Jaemin is beside you, thumb grazing the back of your hand, his eyes gone misty as he snaps a photo on his phone, holding it up to show you, âlook, baby, theyâre a painting. Thatâs our girl, in the middle.âÂ
You canât help but grin, the kind that aches at the corners, whispering, âSheâs never been so bright,â as Jaemin zooms in, catching Haeunâs tiny tongue poked out in concentration as she braids Bunnyâs ear. You lean in, tucking your chin on his shoulder, hearts pressed close, and he turns, kissing your cheek before angling the camera for a quick selfie, his face still glittered, your eyes wet, both of you caught in that sweet, giddy moment where nothing exists except the bubble of backstage joy.
Thereâs a pause, the kind that only lasts a second but feels like forever, Jaemin holding your waist, you smoothing down your own skirt, eyes tracing the silhouette of Haeun and her crew, how their legs tangle, how her fingers curl around Chaewonâs pinky, the unguarded love spilling out in every glance and giggle. You nudge Jaemin, nodding at the cookie tin in the corner, âThink if we sneak a treat now, theyâll notice?âÂ
He laughs, whispering back, âOur baby would trade us for a gummy star any day.â Still, you pocket a lemon candy for later, a small keepsake for after the applause.
When Haeun looks up, searching for you, her eyes catch yours, wide and awash with giddy pride, cheeks flushed, mouth half-open like she canât decide whether to run to you or blow a kiss. You raise your hand, tapping your heart, mouthing, âI love you, moonbeam.â Her lips round in an âO,â she grins, hugs Bunny tighter, and you know she carries every bit of your love right onto the stage, every beat of her joy sewn into the blue threads of her dress, every hope you ever held for her glowing in the golden hush before her leap.
The chaos backstage is like a bubbling fairytale written in giggles and gasp-loud mishaps, every stumble blooming into something more beautiful because youâre all in it together. your little family is orbiting right at the heart of it. Niki tries his signature âspace jumpâ and his slipper launches off with a thwap, bouncing beneath the skirts of older girls and disappearing into a jungle of costumes. Haeun shrieksâhalf-laugh, half-heroâher feet barely touching the ground as she scrambles after Heejin, whoâs crawling on elbows like a rescue mission, while Chaewon waves her arms, hollering, âOther left! Other left!â All you can do is laugh, heart thumping wild, darting in just in time to grab the slipper before a mountain of petticoats topples down.Â
You scoop up Haeun too, pressing her close, whispering, âSee, baby? No lost slippers on our watch. You got the fastest rescue squad in town.â
Jaemin swoops in next, all big shoulders and crinkled eyes, dropping to a crouch so Haeun can slip the slipper back onto Nikiâs wiggling toes, and when she fumbles, he guides her hand, his voice warm, âThatâs it, moonbeam, glass slipper magic, just like the story.â Haeun beams, Bunny flopping from her elbow, and you all dissolve into laughter so loud it bounces off the wings and makes the older dancers turn, shaking their heads with fond smiles. Nurse Hana pops out of the crowd, armed with pins and a roll of cartoon bandages, fixing crooked bows, sticking a sticker on Chaewonâs hand (âMost Helpful!â), her grin a secret promise that every little disaster will be celebrated.
Heejin, now regal with bunny ears perched lopsided atop her head, parades along the line, blowing kisses and bestowing âluck tapsâ to every friend, while you nudge Jaemin in the ribs and whisper, âThink anyoneâs got more fun than our girl tonight?âÂ
He grins, fake-sighing, âWe should be charging admission just to watch you two giggle.âÂ
When Haeun catches you looking, she sticks her tongue out, then scrambles into your lap for a nose-kiss, giggling, âMama, youâre my best slipper catcher. Dadaâs my glass slipper prince!â For a moment, the three of you are tangled together, cheek to cheek, breathless and gleaming and full of love so silly and strong, you wish the world would never spin past this night.
Itâs not just the dancers, their stuffed animals are in full attendance too, a pageant of plush: a bear in a hand-sewn tutu, a duck who sports six star stickers, Bunny regal atop Haeunâs shoulder. The older kids judge with dramatic flair, waving colored cards. âSparkliest Toes!â goes to Chaewon, âHeroic Flop!â to Niki, âBest Bunny Ballet Partner!â unanimously to Bunny himself, who is immediately hoisted for a group selfie, every face squished together, half laughing, half beaming, all of them shining.
Then disaster strikes with a rain of gold: Niki, trying to conjure a âballet spell,â upends a tub of glitter, rivulets running over toes, sparkling on eyelashes, dusting Bunny and all the bows. For a moment, the world is only gold, and Jaemin, swept in for a last-minute hug, emerges with a five-pointed star on his cheek. The kids squeal, trying to tag him with more, and Ryujin surrenders her shoes to the mob, letting them paint on stripes of shimmer, every footprint a trail of stardust. For the rest of the night, even the air feels enchanted, each breath a little brighter, every photo touched by flecks of light.
When nerves threaten, the pep talk chain wraps around the wings: each child leans into the next, soft encouragement passed like a secret charm, âYou leap like a comet!â âYour bowâs the bravest!â âYou look like a real moonbeam!â When it comes to Haeun, her hands trembling, Bunny clutched tight, she squeezes his paw and whispers, âLove you big-big, donât fall down!â The air swells with it, arms tangle, tulle bunches, and thereâs a group squeeze that leaves everyone out of breath, every heart pounding. Suddenly, the hospital kids are among them, tiny in doctorâs coats, cheeks bright, sticker sheets at the ready. Each dancer lines up for their badge: âBravery,â âBest Glitter Rescue,â âMost Magical Moonbeam.â Haeun bows so low her nose touches her knees, her badge pressed proudly onto Bunnyâs ribbon. Thereâs no line between audience and cast, sick and well, everyone is radiant, everyone chosen, everyone seen.
At last, Bunny pressed into Haeunâs arms, the last squeeze tight with every secret hope and trembling dream. The stage is just steps awayâher friends on one side, you on the other, Jaemin at the edge, and every child carrying the rituals, the laughter, the belief that tonight the world might actually be kind. The hush before the leap is thick, holyâyour moonbeamâs hands in yours, the magic of hope spun between trembling fingers, and a certainty that no matter what happens when the curtain rises, she will never be alone. Not in a world this full of love, not when every heart backstage is pounding, aching, living for her.
The moment the emceeâs welcome drifts through the speaker, Jaemin slides an old silver coin, polished so thin the ridges have vanished, into Haeunâs palm. Itâs the same âbravery pennyâ he rubbed between his fingers outside the surgical theatre two years ago, and she knows the story by heart, but tonight her gasp is brand-new, wide-eyed, as if it minted itself just for her. She presses it flat against her sternum, feeling the quick skip of her mended heart beneath blue pearls, and you guide her thumb to trace the faint outline of Libertyâs head. âThatâs you,â Jaemin whispers, voice low and conspiratorial. âStanding tall, shining even when the lights go down.âÂ
Haeun nods, forehead touching his, then slips the coin into Bunnyâs ribbon sash, her own secret armor, before she gathers a fistful of star petals from the prop basket and tucks one behind your ear. âNow youâre twinkly like me, Mama,â she giggles, the petal trembling with her breath. The call for Act I comes again, brighter, nearer; she wiggles from your arms, coin secured, petals rustling in her fist, and for one exquisite instant the three of you share the same inhale, the same pulse, the same promise that when she steps into the light, every beat of your joined hearts will echo in her dance.
Jaemin scoops Haeun closer so her legs dangle around his waist, her cheek nuzzled into his damp curls. He coos, a lilt so soft only you and your moonbeam could ever hear, âWhoâs Dadaâs little dancer? Whoâs my prettiest, bravest, shiniest ballerina?â His fingers trace circles along her back, slow and sure.
Haeunâs lips split into that gummy, half-toothed grin. She buries her face shyly, giggles a nervous âMe! Haeunie, Dadaâs baby girl. Mamaâs moonbeam too!âÂ
You lean in so close your foreheads nearly touch, the shimmer from your top dusting her cheek, and your hands cradle the curve of her jaw, thumbs soft at her pulse. âWhoâs Mamaâs sugar-bubba, hm? Whoâs my sparkliest spark, my jellybean moon, my whole universe squeezed into a tutu?âÂ
Your nose nuzzles hers, breath a tickle, and she squeals, legs kicking, voice high and proud and so impossibly sweet. âMe, Mama! Meâyour moonbeam, your bubble star, your Haeunie!â She presses her nose hard to yours, giggling until she snorts, tiny hands trying to cup your cheeks the way you always do.Â
You whisper, âAll mine, forever and everâmy baby, my best girl, the reason the sky has blue in it at all.âÂ
She bites back a shy little laugh, eyes wide and watery, and burrows deeper into your neck, voice muffled and lisping: âMama, do you love me more than pancakes? More than Bunny? More than⌠more than all the ballet shows ever?âÂ
You gasp, scandalized, winding her wild hair around your finger, âMore than every pancake, more than every Bunny, more than every star on every stage, forever times forever. Who loves you the most, moonbeam?âÂ
She grins, squeezing your arms, âYou, Mama! And Dada too, but Mama first!â You both break down giggling, the sound sticking in your throats, until youâre kissing her nose and sheâs pressing sticky little kisses back, over and over, like neither of you can stand to stop, the whole world shrinking to just your hearts tangled, beating right there in the velvet-lit wings.
Suddenly her nerves get the best of her, and she tugs you both down so youâre eye-to-eye, her fingers knotting in your collar, legs locked tight around Jaeminâs waist, heart beating against your own. âMama, Dada, are the scary juju ladies gonna come tonight? The ones we saw at the park?â Her voice trembles, almost lost in the backstage noise, but your own chest aches at the worry you hear. âI dreamt they were there and they tried to take my bows and steal my shoes. Will they ruin my show, Mama? I donât want them to touch me.âÂ
Your heart shudders, God, you would burn the world for her, would leap onstage yourself to chase every shadow away. You drop to your knees, catching her face in your hands, pressing your lips softly to each brow, each cheek, the tip of her trembling nose. âListen to me, Haeun. No oneâno oneâwill ever touch you or take away your stage. If you see anything scary, you look for me, you look for Daddy. Weâll be there the whole time, front row. I promise. Youâre safe and youâre ours. And youâre going to shine so bright tonight, those ladies wonât even remember how to frown.â
Jaemin kisses her temple, murmuring, âNot a single shadowâs getting near you, baby. Youâve got Mamaâs heart, Dadaâs hug, and Bunnyâs magic. Youâre surrounded, see?â He squeezes her close, and the three of you fold together, a knot of arms, noses, giggles, all tangled up in love that could light up the moon. She clings a second longer, soaking it in, your hands stroking her hair while Jaemin hums your hospital lullaby, slow, grounding, steady as hope itself. She melts, eyelids fluttering, lashes dusting your palm, and you see the nerves fade, replaced by something braver, more certain.
You pull her close, arms winding around that tiny, starlit body, your lips pressing gently and trembling into the round of her cheek, your own cheek pressed to hers until youâre both squished and giggling, Jaeminâs hands sneaking in from the other side to sandwich you both. The world narrows to the scent of her, matcha, baby shampoo, sugar, and nerves and you hear the thud of your own pulse, wild and breaking with the weight of love, as he snaps the photo. Your lipstick smears, blooming like a mark of belonging across her forehead, but she only beams, eyes wide as the moon. You duck your head so she can see nothing but you, your hands cupping her face, your voice shaking but true as vows: âYou know you saved my life, right, Haeun? You fixed my heart. You made me a Mama, my best thing, my miracle. I was always meant to be yours. Everything in this world I do, I do for you. My heartâbaby, my heart only beats because youâre here. If I lost you, thereâs no more me.â
Her eyes well, lashes shimmering, and she catches your wrist in both her little hands, Bunny squished to her chest. She frowns with all her might, so fiercely it hurts, whispering, âDonât go, Mama. Donât go nowhere. Promise?âÂ
Jaeminâs voice is thick, rough-edged, but soft as he pulls you both into him, forehead to forehead, âNo oneâs ever going anywhere, baby. Weâre your sky, and youâre our star. We stick together, always.âÂ
Haeun nods, squeezing so hard your bones ache, her voice barely a breath: âLove you big-big, Mama. Dada, love you bigger than the whole sky, and all the clouds and all the lights in the whole city, forever and ever.â Her nose rubs yours, lips brushing your jaw, clinging for a minute longer, the three of you tangled in a knot of arms and heartbeat and hope, not ready to let go, every goodbye a promise to come back, every single time.
As you help her into line, you tuck a tiny folded note into her skirt, brushing her ear with a secret: âIf you get nervous, check your pocket, baby. Mama loves you big-big.âÂ
She squeezes your hand, finds the note, and waves it at you, bunny pressed tight to her heart. âIâll dance for you, Mama! Iâll twirl for you, Dada!â Her voice is giddy, almost bursting, cheeks glowing, feet barely touching the floor.
The stage managerâs call sweeps through again, âplaces, please! Curtain in one minute!ââand you both kneel, pressing kisses to her nose, cheeks, brow, her lips bubbling with shy, happy squeaks. Jaemin murmurs, âYou make my heart so proud, little one. Iâll be watching every step.âÂ
You whisper, âShine for us, baby. Iâll clap so big the stars will hear.âÂ
She wriggles, grins, presses Bunnyâs nose to both your cheeks for luck, then suddenly turns bashful, eyes wide. âWill you wave, Mama? So I can find you?â
You nod, fighting back tears, âAlways, baby. Look for my hands. Look for Daddyâs star cheek. Weâll be right there.â
A cluster of patients surround your beautiful family, patients who have become her fiercest champions: Jisoo in her pink wheelchair with the rainbow wheel covers, shy Miri holding a stuffed fox, Jinwoo tracing stars on his arm in pen. Every child, dancer or patient, glows in their own way, hair slicked into buns or pressed flat under hats, costumes sparkling, eyes wide with anticipation. Jaemin moves through their circle with gentle gravity, bending low so heâs face to face with each child, the familiar stethoscope gleaming at his collar. One by one, he gives a quick âheart checkâ for luck, pressing the bell over each chest and listening with exaggerated seriousness, âstrongest heartbeat in the house!ââbefore cupping his hand to their sternum, whispering just to them, âYouâre magic, youâre the bravest I know.âÂ
Jaemin knows each of these children better than most, heâs been their doctor, their champion, the one who coaxed smiles in the early mornings and soothed them through the darkest nights. As chief of peds, heâs patched scrapes, memorized every allergy and every lullaby, and always finds time to kneel at eye level, never speaking down to them, always meeting their fears with warmth and gentle humor. In the dressing room now, itâs the patients who comfort him, tugging at his sleeve to show off their costumes or pressing handmade bracelets into his palm, reminding him with shy, grateful hugs that heâs as much a part of their story as the doctors and nurses behind the curtain. They all crowd close around him, some patting his back, others squeezing his hand, whispering encouragement back, âyouâre brave too, Dr. Na!ââas if his courage is just as necessary as theirs tonight, and in their laughter and love, the whole room glows softer and safer.
The children giggle, some wiggling shyly, others reaching for his hand or his coat, and when itâs Haeunâs turn she climbs into his lap and demands, âCheck Bunny too, Dada, he needs magic heartbeats for the show!âÂ
Jaemin grins and solemnly listens to Bunnyâs chest, declaring him âapproved for the stage.â Laughter spills out in a wave, the nerves breaking.
Then itâs time. Haeun lines up with her friends, hands linked, bouncing on her toes, the peds kids flanking her in a scatter of bright costumes and hospital bracelets. She skips away toward the wings, turning once, twice, then a third and fourth time, each time flashing a gummy smile at you and Jaemin, blowing kisses so enthusiastically that Bunny nearly tumbles from her arm. You catch every one, heart aching with pride and hope as your moonbeam disappears into the hush of the wings, her joy lingering in the air like confetti. You feel Jaeminâs hand curl around yours, thumb tracing the inside of your wrist where your pulse is wild and unsteady. The audience buzzes behind you, a sea of parents and soft laughter, the smell of perfume and theatre dust but all you feel is the echo of her tiny fingers letting go. Jaemin leans in, lips brushing your temple, soft as a vow. âThatâs our girl,â he whispers, voice hoarse, breath warm against your skin, and you tip your chin, meeting his mouth with your own, your kiss hungry and trembling, a secret shared in the half-light. Your arms slide around his neck, his hands spread wide at your waist, and for a moment you both breathe each other in, letting the world shrink to just the two of you, grief and awe and gratitude all burning beneath your ribs.
He presses his forehead to yours, nose brushing your cheek, and you smile against his mouth, whispering, âYou made this, too. Youâre her miracle, my miracle.â He answers with a nuzzle and another kiss, lingering this time, before you both move down the row, your hand never leaving his, towards your seats. Just ahead, you spot your dad, tears already bright in his eyes, and your aunt beside him, clutching her hands together so tightly her knuckles are white. Jaeminâs parents wave you over, his mother dabbing her cheeks with a tissue, his fatherâs arm slung around her shoulders as he beams with pride.
You squeeze into the row, Jaeminâs arm staying firmly around your waist, and everyone shifts to make room, cheeks flushed with love, eyes brimming with unspoken words. Your dad squeezes your hand, whispering, âSheâs got your spirit, honey.â Jaeminâs mom tucks a curl behind your ear, eyes glistening, and your aunt presses a trembling kiss to your temple, murmuring, âOur little star.â The lights dim, the crowd quiets, and the orchestra begins its soft overture. Jaemin leans in again, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his hand warm and steady at your thigh. âYou ready, Mama?â he teases, voice low and intimate. You squeeze his fingers and nod, heart thundering, tears pricking your eyes, and together, surrounded by family, by the miracle you made, you wait to watch your moonbeam shine.
All at once, the stage door swings wide, and out step Dr. Byun Baekhyun, his black suit immaculate, and Shotaro in a navy suit that sparkles almost as brightly as his grin. The applause rises, warm and full, as Baekhyun crosses to center stage, the house settling into hush. âGood evening, friends, families, beloved dancers, and our brave patients,â Baekhyun begins, his voice gentle but resonant, echoing across the hush. âWelcome to the Spring Moon Ballet Gala, Starlit Dreams, an evening where we celebrate not only the beauty and art of dance, but the boundless resilience of our children. Tonight is more than a recital, itâs a homecoming, a reunion, a moment to remember why we keep hoping. Every pirouette, every leap, every soft step youâll see is made possible by love, science, and the fierce hearts of our little ones.â He glances fondly at the front rows, at a scattering of wheelchairs and IV poles decorated with ribbons, and you feel the tightness in your throat as Jaemin squeezes your hand, both of you brimming with memory.
Baekhyun continues, âThis gala is a fundraiser, supporting the Pediatric Cardiology and Arts in Healing Program at Bluebell Hospital, where our dancers and many of our patients have spent long days and longer nights. Tonight, every donation, every ticket, every cheer will help us offer music, art, and therapy to more children in recovery. And this year, for the very first time, weâre honored to welcome our sister hospital, St. Maryâs Childrenâs Heart Centre, whose own dancers and patients are joining us in a celebration of courage, friendship, and second chances.â The spotlight sweeps to the opposite wing, where a small group of children and nurses from St. Maryâs wave shyly, each wearing matching moonbeam pins.
Shotaro steps forward, the stage lights glinting off his tie as he beams at the sea of faces. âEvery child here has a story, a story of resilience, of healing, of hope. When we dreamed up tonightâs performance, we wanted every child to know: youâre not alone. Youâre seen. Youâre celebrated. So, before we begin, please join me in applauding not just our ballerinas, but the brave patients of Bluebell and St. Maryâs, and the doctors, nurses, and families who never gave up on a miracle.â
He turns to Baekhyun, their hands clasped in a gesture of solidarity. âAnd now, for the first time, a collaboration that fills this stage with twice as much joy: our opening act will be performed by the Bluebell Ballet Troupe and the children of the Bluebell and St. Maryâs Pediatric Cardiology Wards, a dance of starlight and strength, of dreams shared and hope reborn. Tonight, every heart in this room beats together. Thank you for believing, for giving, for dancing with us.â Applause erupts, the whole theatre blooming with warmth and gratitude, and you turn to Jaemin, your cheeks damp, his thumb swiping a stray tear from your face. On stage, the children begin to assemble, a twinkling constellation of blue, white, and silver, and your own moonbeam waits in the wings, ready to turn hope into something you can see and feel and never, ever forget.Â
The house lights drift down to cobalt, and a hush rises through every row like a held breath as the curtain glides aside. The stage greets the audience with a heartbeat of its own, an indigo glow that slips across a floor polished to black mirror, mirroring coils of silver mist that snake around the footlights and braid themselves at the foot of a towering crescent moon. That moon, built of papier mâchĂŠ but painted in eleven layers of pearlescent wash, gleams like a freshly struck bell; each nick and brushstroke catches the haze so it pulses gently, a living rhythm that promises the entire night will breathe in time with the children onstage. Behind it, a rear scrim painted with snow-white swans seems liquid as it shifts between twilight violets and deep marine blues, as though pond water and sky water trade secrets in slow tides of color. Up above, a swaying canopy of paper stars spans the proscenium, thousands of them, every one cut by small, determined fingers in the wardâs craft room, each tipped with phosphorescent paint and inscribed with a wish: for fewer needles, for Friday discharge, for big-big twirls. When the overhead rig kicks on, those stars ignite like a constellation newly discovered, a map no astronomer could chart because it points not to galaxies but to childrenâs hearts.
Set dressers have threaded the wings with ribbons of midnight tulle, each strand pinned with miniature white doves sculpted from featherweight clay. Every few feet a dove hovers in the gloom, wings open, chest arched, a miracle paused in mid-flight. Whenever the dancers pass too close, their skirts brush the silk ribbons so the birds sway, catching stray beams of light and scattering them in quick flutters of gold. Those flashes, faint but insistent, are the first hints of yellow in a dominantly blue world: a promise that dawn follows night, that warmth follows hush. On the stage left ramp, a cluster of star pillows, stuffed by volunteers and stitched with constellations in lemon embroidery floss, waits for the youngest dancers to tumble over in their entrance, each pillow designed to puff a little cloud of cornstarch shimmer into the air. Even the orchestra pit carries the color story: the harp is strung with pale-yellow ribbons, and the principal violinistâs scroll is wrapped in a band of sunflower satin that picks up every shaft of light.
Lighting cues deepen the symbolism as the overture warms. A wash of cool sapphire sweeps up from the booms, bathing the swans and the mist in nautical hush, while pin-spots of buttery gold slide across the paper stars until they seem to drip honey. The effect is tidal: blue settles the house into quiet reverence, yellow lifts the gaze toward possibility. Stage right, the âDream Starletsâ crescent glows in a halo of candle-bright LEDs, small rings of warm light that make their silk-wrapped wheelchairs glimmer ivory, not hospital white. Upstage center, Ryujin has set a low, revolving gobo that projects cracked-sunlight spokes across the marley; whenever fog drifts through, those golden spokes fragment into wings, so the stage itself appears to pulse with dove shadows. The first three rows see it firstâlight breaking in feathers against the black floorâand a ripple of audience sighs testifies that everyone understands: this is not just scenery. It is the soul of the night made visible.
When the opening chords of âClair de Luneâ unfurl, the color palette breathes a final transition. Blue fades to the rich cobalt of deep water, and a single bar of pristine, unfiltered yellow pours downstage, illuminating the exact spot where Haeun will place her first pliĂŠ. That ray of gold is narrow, tender, and fiercely bright, as if someone cut a sliver of sunrise and aimed it at her heart. It splits the stage into halves, midnight left, morning right so that her very first step will physically bridge shadow and day, illness and recovery, the uncertain past and the glitter-threaded future. No one in the house moves; no cough breaks the hush. In that charged stillness, every adult in the audience can almost see the surgery incisions fading, the IV lines dissolving, the monitors blinking farewell in a dark ICU room. The stage is a promise written in light and paper and breath: blue grief met by yellow grace, a white dove hovering where the two colours clasp.
At center stage, bathed in that slender blade of sunrise-yellow light, Haeun stands on a trembling demi-pointe, blue-pearl skirt quivering around her ankles. Two paces behind her, five of her ballet-classmates wait in a staggered V, palms pressed to hearts, ready to bloom outward in the first ripple of music. Just inside the left wing, Nikiâthe Cometâbounces on the balls of his feet, silver streamers coiled in his fists, counting down the measures until he can explode across the marley. Directly opposite, hidden behind a curtain of midnight tulle, Heejin and ChaewonâMidnight Birdsâmirror each other in soft pliĂŠs, fingertips grazing feathered skirts while whispering last-second reminders: âwings first, smiles second, catch Haeunie if she wobbles.â Farther upstage, the older volunteers, tall teenagers in silver capes, form a quiet semicircle around the moon prop, each holding a lantern they will plant like stepping-stones when the childrenâs galaxy begins to spin. Stage left belongs to the ambulatory peds patients: four little survivors in pastel tunics and soft ballet flats, poised on a low ramp, streamers looped through IV poles disguised as shooting stars. Their eyes glow in the half-dark, hands clutching ribbon wands that will unfurl at Haeunâs first scattering of petals
Stage right gleams with the Dream Starlets: a row of star-pillowed risers hides wheelchairs beneath folds of lustrous silk, braided garlands of lilies draping over tucked-away IV lines so the medical becomes mythic. Each Starlet holds a wand tipped with a LED bulb, warm, flickering amber, to echo the yellow thread of hope running through the blue night. Behind them stand two âguardianâ dancers, both former patients now healthy enough to lift props: they rest a reassuring hand on every chairback, ready to steady wheels when the platform glides forward. In the shadowed wings, Ryujin mouths eight-count phrases while Shotaro rolls his shoulders like a maestro about to summon an orchestra, and Nurse Hana crouches near the prompter box, handkerchief already damp, her free palm hovering in case any trembling knee or runaway ribbon needs rescuing. The footlights hum soft gold, and the hush is so complete you can hear the orchestra leader inhale, the swish of Haeunâs breath, the collective hope of a packed house waiting for the very first step to turn night into dawn.
From the first down-beat of Claude Debussyâs âClair de Lune,â the production plants its feet squarely in classical technique, yet every step, every bourrĂŠe, every arabesque, every breath, is tailored to children whose bodies have known IV poles and surgical scars. Shotaro spent weeks breaking the choreography into color-coded stories: blue cards for pliĂŠs and port de bras that teach balance, yellow cards for petits jetĂŠs that build calf strength without taxing fragile hearts, silver cards for partnered promenades that let tiny dancers feel flight while an older volunteer quietly carries most of the weight. In rehearsals Ryujin paces the marley with a metronome, slowing the waltz counts so the Dream Starlets in wheelchairs can wheel forward on cue, their spokes timed to the harp glissandi. Every child learns to read the score almost like a picture book, crescendo means âhands like wings,â fermata means âlisten for your own heartbeat.â They practise in mirrored studios and in hospital corridors alike, feather boas traded for oxygen tubing, nurses clapping the counts at shift-change, until the ballet feels less like choreography and more like collective muscle memory.
The overture hushes, a single golden spotlight slices the darkness, and there, tiny toes in fifth, blue tulle aflutter, stands Haeun, a moonrise in human form. Every eye locks on her shy, gap-toothed grin, and the paper-star canopy seems to lean closer, as if the theatre itself is holding its breath for her first pliĂŠ. Haeun steps into that hush, a single blue bloom of tulle and pearl, toes perfectly placed in fifth. She tips forward on demi-pointe, scattering her first handful of silk petals, and the stage drinks the light pouring off her smile. You clasp Jaeminâs fingers so tight they ache, tears blurring the scene as your little girl, cheeks glowing, lashes trembling, tiptoes across a circle of soft azure, arms drifting overhead in a moon-shaped port de bras. Every pliĂŠ feels like the earth itself lowering in reverence; every port de bras, a lullaby to the ceiling mural of lilies. Blue petals trail behind her, marking the path of a lost moonbeam searching for home. She pauses, presses two fingers to her heart as though she can still feel the bravery penny tucked beneath her bodice, then lets her free hand unfurl toward the Front Row, toward you, toward her grandparents, toward every soul who once watched her breathe through wires. Your sob breaks before you can swallow it, and Jaeminâs shoulders tremble beside you, his free hand hiding the wet shine in his eyes.
A flash of silver slices the dim: Niki bursts on in a cometâs spiral, streamers streaming, landing in a wide second with a flourish that sets the audience laughing. He tears into a diagonal of grands jetĂŠsâone, two, threeâthen springs into a back handspring that ends at Haeunâs feet. He bows with show-off bravado, offering his hand like a prince coaxing a shy princess into mischief. Haeunâs giggle lifts, bright as bells; she slips her fingers into his and the music shifts, tambourine and pizzicato strings propelling them into a skipping mazurka that circles the moon. Niki darts ahead, swings around a velvet star pillow, beckons her after him; she chases with quick pas de bourrĂŠe, flutter-light, skirts flaring, until he slows, winks at the front row, and kneels so she can pirouette over his outstretched arm. Her skirt blooms, the pearls wink, and the house gasps when she lands without a quiver.Â
Niki lunges forward, offering a flourish of his silverâstreamered arm, and Haeun answers with a shy, fluttering rĂŠvĂŠrence, fingertips grazing the skirt of her moonbeam dress. On the downbeat they launch into a zig-zag pas de basque that carries them in mirror paths, Niki slicing wide arcs, Haeun tracing smaller echoes just inside his sweep so their skirts and streamers braid blue and silver in the air. When the melody flicks upward, Niki coils into a tight tour en lâair, landing in fourth as Haeun darts beneath his lifted elbow, executing a quick glissadeâjetĂŠ that makes her look like a spark thrown off his orbit. They meet downstage centre and link pinkies, tiny, deliberate touch and pivot into a shared chaĂŽnĂŠ sequence. Nikiâs turns are broad, daring, the ribbons on his wrists snapping into spirals; Haeunâs are compact, her toes whispering over the floor in a blur of blue satin. Mid-turn, he releases her, drops to one knee, and she vaults over his bowed head in a miniature ĂŠchappĂŠ sautĂŠ, landing lightly on the far side where she rests Bunny atop his crown like a knightâs laurel. The audience laughs, but the choreography barely pauses: Niki rises, scoops her waist, and together they spin in a cradle lift that arcs across the golden wash of footlights, his knees bent deep to protect her post-surgery heart, her arms stretched first position high, face tilted toward the paper-star canopy.
In the quiet that follows the lift, their feet skitter into a playful mazurka stepâheel, toe, hopâtracing a half-moon that brings them back to centre. Niki tosses a streamer skyward; Haeun pursues it with a tiny cabriole derrière, legs scissoring just enough to catch a glint of pearl under the lights. He crowns the moment with a flashing saut de chat that lands in a whipped assemblĂŠ, his streamer spiralling down to coil around Bunnyâs ear. They dissolve into giggles, breaking character just long enough for Haeun to press Bunnyâs nose to Nikiâs cheek, her solemn little ceremony of thanks, before she flits upstage to await the Midnight Birds. The duet, short but blazing, marries two vocabularies in one heartbeat: Nikiâs grand, explosive lines speak of loud, kinetic courage, and Haeunâs precise, floating steps whisper of a brave heart newly mended, together proving that heroism can be both thunderbolt and moon-soft glow.
From opposite sides float Chaewon and Heejin, the Midnight Birds, feathers stitched into black-blue tulle that catches the light like oil-slick rainbows. They glide in arabesque penchĂŠe, arms sweeping wide, then cross downstage in mirrored pas de chat, each step timed so the feathers on their wrists blur into gauzy motion. They encircle Haeun, one at her back, one at her front, cradling her hands, teaching her to âflutterâ: gentle bourrĂŠes that skim the floor, a tender assemblĂŠ into their arms. When she stumbles mid-turn, just a toe not quite under, Chaewonâs palm presses steady to her ribs, Heejin flashes a conspiratorial grin, and the audience exhales in collective relief. Together they flow into a pas de trois of soutenu turns: Heejin rotates, then guides Haeun; Chaewon mirrors on the other side, creating a slow-spinning triangle of skirts and shared breath. Their final lift is modest but perfect, Haeun drawn into the air, legs in sous-sus, arms curved overhead, long enough for her face to catch the down-light and break into a dazzled, dimpled smile that brings your tears anew. Chaewon and Heejin, the Midnight Birds, move in elongated adagio phrases, low arabesque penchĂŠe, rippling cambrĂŠ backs, quiet pas de bourrĂŠe couru, teaching the audience that bravery can be soft, watchful, almost motherly.
When Haeun drifts to centre stage, flanked gently by Heejin and Chaewon in shimmering midnight feathered skirts, the theatre goes completely silent, breath held in collective wonder. Every delicate tilt of her chin, every slow rise of her arms into a perfect fifth, transforms her from your tiny girl into something ethereal, a white dove carved from moonlight, wings unfurling softly beneath a silver glow. She mirrors her partners with flawless poise, executing graceful bourrĂŠes en couru that glide across the polished floor like whispers of silk, the three of them perfectly synchronized, their fingertips brushing gently through arcs of soft blue light. Haeunâs gaze never wavers, her tiny frame impossibly elegant, her expression serene, eyes wide with a wisdom that shouldnât belong to someone barely three years old, yet it does, astonishingly, beautifully so. The scouts who had come expecting only sweet chaos are leaning forward now, eyes widening, brows knitted in disbelief, spellbound by a child whose every movement breathes pure magic. Beside you, Jaeminâs eyes glisten wetly, and youâre openly weeping, your heart aching with pride so fierce and bright it feels like it could burn right through you. Each gentle dĂŠveloppĂŠ, every poised arabesque, every tender fouettĂŠ sautĂŠ is not just a steps, itâs proof of a miracle, a testament of a heart that fought to beat and now soars effortlessly, gracefully, through this fairy-tale moment, leaving even the sternest observers utterly enchanted.
The fog creeps rosier as the Dream Starlets wheel into view, streamers trailing behind their crescent moon like comet tails. The Dream Starlets introduce gesture work drawn from rehabilitative physiotherapy: ribbon spirals replace classical port de bras, and gentle shoulder rolls become a flock of white doves hovering at dawn. These vocabularies converge when the orchestra shifts into John Williamsâs âHymn to the Fallen,â re-orchestrated for strings and childrenâs choir; every dancer steps into circular formations that resemble a great, turning orrery, each orbit dependent on Haeunâs tiny center of gravity. Each child raises a glowing star wand; one taps a cymbal for a twinkle of sound, another releases a puff of biodegradable glitter that rides the stage breeze. Haeun runs to them, scattering her last petals across their laps. A young boy with post-surgery bandages lowers his wand so she can kiss it; a girl with oxygen tubing lifts her streamer and Haeun spins beneath its arc, letting Bunnyâs ears flap like victory flags. The moment feels suspended, nurses crying openly, doctors wiping lenses, parents clapping as softly as they can so they do not break the spell.
When the music dips softly into a gentle lullaby, the spotlight shifts tenderly to the Dream Starlets at stage right, their wheelchairs transformed beneath silks shimmering silver and lavender, IV poles woven artfully with starry vines, ribbons cascading like falling starlight. Haeun moves toward them, floating with delicate bourrĂŠes, her small hands gracefully extending to each child as she passes, twirling and scattering silk petals that settle softly in their hair, on their laps, like kisses blown from fingertips. In this quiet hush, the entire theatre leans in closer, hearts swelling as Haeun takes her place among them, matching her gentle movements to theirs, leading them in soft port de bras that ripple like slow, shimmering waves beneath the moonlit scrim.
She pauses, smiling tenderly, and steps gracefully to the side, arms stretching wide to proudly present the Dream Starlets, their moment alone under the soft glow. They move gently, hands lifting skyward as though catching moonbeams, faces alight with radiant pride, each careful gesture an echo of their resilience. The audience breathes softly together, captivated, enchanted, while Haeun, now side-stage, peeks mischievously toward the crowd, catching your teary gaze with bright, playful eyes. Suddenly sheâs your baby girl again, gummy smile flashing wide and impossibly cheeky, tiny thumbs springing upward, lips puckering dramatically for exaggerated air-kisses toward you and Jaemin. Her grandparents clutch hands to hearts, shoulders shaking softly with laughter through happy tears, while you press your fingers to trembling lips, overcome with joy. Jaemin shakes his head, laughing softly as he dabs his cheeks, whispering, âThatâs our girl,â while Haeun wiggles her nose and scrunches her face playfully, a joyous spark igniting laughter amidst your tearsâyour star, your miracle, your moonbeam glowing brighter than any spotlight could ever shine.
Haeun stands in the exact heart of the marley, blue tulle blazing beneath a wheel of footlights, while forty-six dancers form concentric rings that pulse around her like ripples from a dropped pearl. On the down-beat she raises her arms into fifth, elbows soft, fingers curved as if cupping a hush, and the entire cast follows that single cue, knees flex, torsos sweep forward, petals fly in perfect echo so the stage seems to breathe with her small lungs. A hush fell earlier when she executed a feather-light ĂŠchappĂŠ-assemblĂŠ; now that hush thickens into reverence as she threads a liquid chaĂŽnĂŠ diagonal straight through the outer circle, each step chased by a glimmer of pearl that skims the floor. In her wake the Comet, the Birds, and every last classmate mirror her cadence: silver streamers carving arcs, feathered arms rippling in canon, star wands lifting with a hush of ribbon. Even Bunny, tucked in Haeunâs sash, bobs like an honored marshal. Scouts in the mezzanine lean so far over the rail they nearly drop their clipboards, penciling exclamation marks when she floats through a perfectly squared tombĂŠ-pas de bourrĂŠe-glissade, lands in first, and opens her chest as if releasing a white dove. You clutch Jaeminâs fingers, both of you sobbing past pride into something like awe, because your baby is no longer three feet tall, she is the planet, and every other body onstage orbits her bright, improbable gravity.
The house lights dim to a hush, and one by one the other dancers flit from the stage like shadows curling back into the wings, until only Haeun remains, centered in a pale pool of light, her tiny figure haloed in gold, the theatre vast and silent around her. You sit on the edge of your seat, breath caught somewhere between your ribs and your throat, your hands clasped so tight they tremble. The hush in the room feels holy, electric, and you find yourself whispering soft, trembling encouragements. âYouâve got this, baby, youâre my sunshineââyour voice cracking on the vowels as you press trembling fingers to your lips and blow her a kiss, your heart beating out a frantic, wild rhythm, every ounce of love in you winging silently across the dark to reach her.
The lights dim, soft as stardust spilling over the hushed audience, and then, from the velvet darkness, emerges your daughter, luminous as a comet streaking across midnight skies. Haeun stands center stage, arms curved gently like the crescent moon, eyes glittering brighter than constellations as she holds a single breath, poised to ignite. Her tiny feet, delicate and precise, trace arcs upon the stage floor, painting invisible galaxies beneath the satin sheen of her slippers. Each graceful turn sends ripples through the air, gravitational waves of innocence and bravery that tremble softly through the auditorium, pulling every heart toward her orbit. In each movement, you see celestial balance: softness mingling with strength, stillness with effortless flight.
She leaps, a petite silhouette suspended briefly between earth and infinity, and in that heartbeat of flight it seems she has broken free of every anchor, every echo of hospital beds and whispered fears. Her dress floats around her in silken waves, the fabric catching stage lights like nebulae illuminated by cosmic glow. Her limbs extend, lithe and fragile, fingertips reaching toward unseen galaxies, her laughter silent but painted in radiant hues across her face. With each graceful descent, she returns gently to earth, feather-soft, only to rise again as if gravity itself is merely a suggestion she chooses gracefully to decline.
Her movements become currents in the darkness, forming a constellation unique to her, arms weaving like stardust clouds, feet pivoting with the rhythm of planetary alignment. You watch, breath caught in your throat, feeling every pulse and pull of the universe shift in perfect harmony with her dance. The music swells, guiding her through cosmic tides; you swear, in that moment, the stars themselves lean forward, compelled by the magnetic pull of your childâs pure-hearted brilliance. Her eyes, bright with concentration and wonder, shimmer like twin moons reflected in a tranquil sea, fierce yet tender, unyielding yet vulnerable. Every twirl, every bend, every graceful leap feels like a starburst, flinging brilliance across the infinite expanse of stage and soul.
The theatre around you seems suspended, transfixed, riding each delicate wave and crescendo as if carried upon cosmic winds stirred by her leaps. Time folds gently in on itself, leaving you all breathless and floating alongside her. The world beyond these walls fades into insignificance, replaced by the boundless universe held within your childâs graceful motions, where each step feels profound, each pirouette a declaration of freedom, of survival, of luminous joy. Her infectious smile, impossibly bright, illuminates every hidden shadow, and in her eyes, you glimpse galaxies unfurling,boundless potential stretching endlessly toward horizons unseen.
When the notes linger in quiet, sparkling echoes, and her tiny feet slow to rest, your heart surges into your throat, and the tears comeâsoftly, swiftly, overwhelming in their pride and awe. Jaemin squeezes your hand, his own eyes glittering wetly, and as you turn toward him, he kisses you deeply, lips trembling against yours in shared wonder. Together, in this suspended moment, you know youâve witnessed something extraordinary, something transformative, a fragile miracle who danced her way from fear to flight, from broken whispers to shining constellations, and both of you realize with fierce clarity that your little girl is forever changed, radiant, and infinite as the universe itself.
Haeun launches into a gliding bourrĂŠe, satin toes whispering over the marley as the stageâs lone spotlight sharpens into a white-blade corridor, her arms unfolding into a high, defiant fifth; with each step she sheds the storyâs darkness, slicing through it in a sleek arabesque penchĂŠe that seems to pin the Black Swanâs shadow to the floor. She pivots through a crisp sĂŠrie of fouettĂŠ turnsâone, two, threeâskirt flaring like a white supernova while phantom feathers, conjured by the lighting techâs slow snowfall of jet-black confetti, spiral around her ankles only to be scattered by the snap of her dĂŠveloppĂŠ. Gathering every ounce of momentum, she drives into a grand jetĂŠ en avant that cleaves the stageâs center line, the arc of her body a silver crescent; when she lands, perfect fifth, arms lifted in victory, the last black feather drifts to her instep, crushed delicately beneath the quiet rise of her relevĂŠ, and the Black Swanâs threat evaporates, quashed by the precision of her technique and the bright, unstoppable pulse of a heart too fierce to darken.
The stage door swings open and a ribbon of the dancers spills back into the wings, Haeun right in the middle, Heejin clasping her left hand, Chaewon her right; the three form a little daisy chain, swaying while they wait for the last hospital kids to be ushered into the dance. Haeun tips her head toward her friends, giggles bubbling as they peck quick kisses on each otherâs cheeks, noses wrinkling at the tickle of face glitter, then they lean together in a conspiratorial huddle, whispering about whose tutu is the twirliest and which flavor of ice pop theyâll demand after final bows. Your phone is a blur of shutters, burst after burst capturing Chaewon draping her cardigan over Haeunâs shoulders like a royal cape, Heejin balancing a stray bobby pin on her upper lip until all three dissolve into hiccup-laughs, and Haeun sprinkling imaginary stardust over their heads for luck. At the last second Haeun spots you with the camera, blows a dramatic double-handed kiss, and the other two copy her, turning the moment into a triple-heart salute that lands straight in your lens and your already overflowing camera roll.
Then, on the final swell of strings a side curtain parts, and the visiting children from St. Maryâs Pediatric Cardiology Wards roll and toddle on. tiny âSun Sparksâ in lemon-yellow tunics, shoulder capes trimmed with glitter dust. Their wheelchairs shimmer under gauzy veils the color of dawn; the ambulatory kids hop in satin shoes dyed buttercream, each holding a miniature sun-disk no bigger than a teacup. They fan across the upstage apron, cheeks dimpled with giggles, and Haeun, still center, pivots toward them with a delighted squeal, blowing exaggerated kisses. one for you and Jaemin, one for each grandparent, a double-wide smooch for the row of nurses in pastel scrubs. The rings re-form: blue Moonbeam at the core, yellow Sun Sparks blooming behind like a corona, every dancer now part of a living eclipse. The air smells of lilies and rosin; the color story, indigo swirling into molten gold, feels like morning cracking open inside night.
A hush settles, thin as moth wings, light enough to quiver on every breath, when a small figure glides onto the ramp where indigo meets footlight gold. His tunic is dawn-yellow so pale it looks brushed from first light, but along the seams tiny cornflower spirals glimmer, as if someone stitched slivers of Haeunâs night-sky pearls into a morning sky and hoped the two halves might speak. You recognise that careful crown of dark curls, the slight tilt of concentration in his brow, Minjoon: your wave-chaser, your riptide rescue, the heartbeat you dragged back from salt and panic; heâs your lost piece, your baby boy, your son, the soft center of every lullaby youâve hummed into nighttime halls, the puzzle corner youâve kept open in every photograph, the hush in your chest that whispers home whenever his name brushes the air. Tonight he steps alone, cape whispering behind him, pausing center ramp with both heels kissed in third, as if measuring the theatreâs silence to be sure it can bear what comes next.
Soft harp threads drift above a single flute; Minjoon lifts one arm to second, palm cupped like it holds a pocket-sun, and eases onto demi-pointe. His slow ronde de jambe barely stirs the mist, but the sweep of pale fabric paints a buttery crescent on the black mirror floor, a luminous answering arc to Haeunâs earlier trail of blue petals. Each pivot tilts his cape so the lining flashes gold, sunflower one breath, candleflame the next, sending thin, bright ribs of light fanning across the swan-scrim. Only when he bends through a melting cambrĂŠ do you notice the soft purple blotches peeking beneath his sleeve: dark constellations of bruises peppered along his forearm, marks pressed there by cruel hands, not hospital needles, each one a dim galaxy that tugs the eye and twists the heart. Your breath snags; Jaeminâs hand spreads between your shoulder blades, his own breath shuddering against your ear, yet neither of you makes a sound loud enough to disturb the fragile dawn blooming onstage.
The moment Minjoon steps into the spill of backstage light, you and Jaemin inhale together, a sharp, twin gasp that lodges beneath your ribs, hands flying to cover open mouths as tears spring unannounced. Itâs him, your tide-tossed boy, but the set of his shoulders is smaller than memory, the dark crescents under his eyes deeper, and something in the too-careful way he scans the room hollows your chest with dread. Every nerve in you thrums with a motherâs certainty: the foster home hasnât wrapped him in the gentleness you were promised. You feel it like a tug in bone and marrow, the subtle sag of his posture, the way his fingers worry the frayed edge of Bunnyâs ear, the quick, uncertain flinch when a stagehand drops a clipboard. Tears leak down your cheeks as your heart surges, fierce and immediate: heâs yours, heâs found his way back, and every instinct screams to scoop him up, to fill the space that was never meant for anyone else. Jaeminâs palm slides over yours, both of you trembling, and you know without words that youâll do whatever it takesâagainâto bring him home where he belongs.
Minjoon completes the glowing circle and stills, feet in first, chest wide as horizon. Haeun, moonbeam in the galaxyâs centre, turns toward him, skirt fanning in a slow soutenu, and their eyes catch across the now-painted floor. She smiles first: that gummy curve you know as surely as your own pulse, two tiny teeth tucked shy in the corner. Minjoon answers with a grin just as bright, gap matching gap, sunrise greeting moonset. He sinks to one knee in a reverent bow, arms opening like a shoreline greeting tide, while behind him the Sun Sparks, four little dancers in buttercream capes, flutter their miniature sun-disks high, catching the golden spill until it spills back in ripples across their faces. Haeun raises a hand to her heart, pointer and thumb forming a tiny white-dove wing, a secret signal they invented when they met, to say youâre safe, Iâm shining with you. Around you, grandparents muffle sobs in handkerchiefs; the scouts forget their pens; Jaeminâs shoulders quake against your arm as Minjoon rises, cheeks glowing, and slips into a gentle pas de chat that pulls the golden circle wider, inviting morning onto the stage one silent leap at a time.Â
The second Haeunâs glittery hand finds Minjoonâs small fingers, the air leaves your lungs in a rush and your knees nearly buckleâitâs as if someone has stitched the missing square back into your familyâs quilt right in front of a sold-out crowd. Tears pour unchecked down your cheeks; you clutch Jaeminâs arm so hard he winces, yet neither of you can look away. Everything youâve mourned, every empty seat at breakfast, every bedtime story with a name left out, collapses into this single, staggering breath of reunion: your two babies, side by side again, their heads tipping close in instinctive trust. Itâs overwhelming, how instant the belonging is, how quickly their smiles match and their bodies lean together, like magnets finally set free to click. Your heart thunders against your ribs, equal parts relief and raw amazement, and all you can do is cry and whisper, âThey found each other, they found each other,â as if repeating it might keep the universe from undoing this miracle.
The moment unfurls slowly, like watercolor dawn spreading over the rim of the world, delicate strokes of moonlit cobalt bleeding into buttery yellow, weaving moonlight with sunrise. It is the quiet miracle of night melting tenderly into morning, gentle as ink dissolving in water, seamless as breaths exchanged between two sleeping children. On stage, Haeunâs blue tulle swirls softly as she turns toward Minjoon, whose sunflower-gold tunic glimmers softly, catching fragments of her silver. Their gazes meet, each mirroring the other like a reflection captured in still water, two halves of the sky reunited, sun and moon spinning quietly into one orbit. Here, in the hush between notes, two small hearts pulse in tandem, dancing into being a new light, born from darkness, spreading gently like dawnâs first fingers of warmth reaching to cradle a bruised sky back to life.
Haeun once glowed the tentative yellow of dawn, fragile, post-surgery, trembling on the threshold of day but month by month that pale light has deepened, layering itself with steady cobalt until she blooms tonight in pure moon-bright blue: the colour of veins that finally carry oxygen without falter, of twilight skies that promise stars instead of storms, of a courage cured and strengthened by every pliĂŠ she practised on trembling legs. Her new heart, stitched, coaxed, and prayed into rhythm, beats beneath pearls like a lighthouse wrapped in ocean night, guiding every dancer who orbits her. Minjoon, by contrast, arrives swathed in yellow that isnât sunrise but warning-flare: bruised marigold blooming along his arms where cruelty has pressed constellations of hurt, saffron shadows under eyes that have stayed awake too many midnights. He carries daylight the way a cracked window carries morning, letting the warmth in but bleeding at the edges yet when he spins beside Haeun, her calmer blue spills toward him, tempering the harsh gold into something more tender, hinting that even a battered sun can soften into safe dawn given one steady moon to dance beside.
Haeun has healed, her heart now whole, her spirit grown bright and strong, a little girl whoâs learned to turn her pain into blue-lit courage on the stage. While Minjoon, still caught in the yellow of old wounds and bruises, bears the marks of a childhood yet to be saved, hope flickering at his edges but not yet fully born. You and Jaemin sit side by side, hands knotted tightly in your laps, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes. You watch Haeun dance, her blue shining bold beneath the lightsâa child restored, a miracle thatâs yours, that you almost lost but now get to keep. You see the way her joy spirals outward, all that sorrow transmuted, every step a testament to how fiercely you and Jaemin fought for her healing. Yet, across the stage, Minjoonâs yellow is stark and raw, the bruises not only on his skin but written in the way he moves, halting, searching, hungry for safety. Your heart aches as you realize that where Haeunâs healing has flourished, Minjoonâs has barely begun, his pain still asking, wordlessly, for the love and rescue you now know how to give. And in that blue-and-yellow glow, you and Jaemin know: if thereâs any way forward, you will not turn away.
Youâre sobbing openly now, unable to keep the shaking quiet, tears running hot down your face, your shoulders trembling so fiercely you can barely stay upright. Jaeminâs chin wobbles, lips pressed tight, but then his composure cracks and he buries his face in your neck, breath hitching, both of you gulping air, hands clinging together as if youâre anchoring each other against the undertow. Your vision blurs, but you see it, Haeun and Minjoon catch each otherâs eyes across the stage, the slow dawning of recognition blooming into something uncontainable. All at once, they break character: a pair of tiny, bubbling beams, squeaking, jumping in place, bunny and cape bouncing, grins splitting their faces wide as the house ripples with gentle laughter. Haeun darts across the floor, Minjoon spins on his toes, and in a wild, unscripted burst, their hands find each other, fingers interlaced, blue and yellow braided together in the spotlightâs soft rain. The audience melts with them; itâs laughter and sniffles and the feeling of something old being made whole. They bounce on their toes, grinning, whispering secrets
For a moment, the routine dissolves into childish glee. Then, in the hush that follows, Minjoon begins to stim, his hands flutter and tap at his thighs, shoulders jerking in rhythmic patterns, a small whirr of sound slipping from his lips. You feel your breath catch, the doctor in you cataloguing the possibilities: trauma, sensory overwhelm, post traumatic dress, anxiety, sensory processing disorder, maybe just the fallout of too many days unloved, too many nights spent bracing for the next blow. Your chest aches with the knowledge that this isnât just a quirk, that this is the bodyâs silent plea for comfort, a language of touch and repetition learned when love is rare and chaos is constant. You whimper, clutching Jaeminâs arm, the realization that you could be a mother to two children who bear invisible scars nearly buckling you, but all you feel is longingâa wild, aching promise that you will never let Minjoon go unloved again.
And then something magical happens. Haeun notices Minjoonâs stimming, sees the way his hands flutter, the little circles he draws on his cape, and without a secondâs pause, she leaves the choreography behind, copying his movements exactlyâflapping, circling, tappingâher blue tulle swirling with his dawn-yellow, their laughter echoing through the theatre. Stimming, you know, is the bodyâs way of self-soothing: repetitive gestures, fingers flapping, rocking, bouncing, humming, small acts of comfort to fend off the worldâs sharp edges. Haeunâs mimicry isnât mockery; it's acceptance, a soft, fearless joining-in. They spin together, the only ones onstage, and suddenly every pair of eyes in the room is watching not a dance, but two children teaching each other, in real time, that healing can be shared. You press your lips to Jaeminâs wet cheek, both of you weeping, because in that moment, your family feels infinite, patched together by grief and miracle and stubborn, unstoppable love.
The last chord climbs like a tide and every dancer melts to the marley, knees folded, palms pressed to hearts, an array of silver capes, feathered skirts, star-pillowed wings all settling into hush so that only one spot of light remains living. Haeun steps into that glow, blue tulle breathing around her ankles, pearls on her bodice winking frost-bright. She inhales, rises onto the tips of her satin toes, and with a courage that seems to tug the moon itself lower, she launches into a miniature grand pirouette Ă la seconde: one slow pivot, leg unfurled, skirt unfolding like a midnight lily opening to night air; second pivot, quicker now, head spotting straight to the balcony; third pivot, impossibly sure, the pearl halo of her clip catching the rigging light so it flashes like a lighthouse. The house gaspsâthen roarsâas she lands in a flawless fourth, arms sweeping overhead in fifth, chin lifted, breath steady.
What she achieves in that moment is not merely precious, itâs nearly impossible. The move she lands at center stage, a grand pirouette Ă la seconde, is a feat so complex that most dancers donât attempt it until their late teens, sometimes not until years of relentless training, muscles and bones matured by a decade or more of barre and bruises and repetition. It demands not just physical strength, but control: balance carved into the spine, ankles sturdy as tree roots, a core that holds every secret quiver of fear and channels it into grace. To see a child so small, barely more than three feet tall, blue tulle billowing, new heart ticking steady, rise to that height, holding her line through all three pivots, chin up, eyes blazing, is the kind of miracle that cracks a theater open. In the audience, jaws go slack; scoutsâ pens hover, forgotten, above their pads; even the oldest ballerinas at the wings blink tears from their lashes, stunned by the bright, unrepeatable audacity of your moonbeamâs impossible spin.
But she hasn't bowed yet. Instead, she turns, finds Minjoon kneeling in his dawn-yellow tunic, and reaches for him. The hush returns, electric; two small hands meet, blue twining with gold, night clasping sunrise. They stand together at the eye of the star-paper canopy, and Minjoonâs free hand begins its gentle tapping rhythm against his skirt,small comfort pulses, an echo of earlier fear transfigured now into music. Haeun mirrors him, tapping the same beat over her heart. Their fingers flutter up, out, tracing circles that ripple through the hush like twin stones dropped in still water; blue petals left on the floor lift and swirl in their wake, catching footlights so each flicker looks half-moon, half-sunbeam. They rock from heel to toe in a shared bourrĂŠec tiny, whisper-fast steps, turning their duet of stims into choreography: circle, tap, flutter, rock; night wave kissing first light; cobalt washing into marigold until the colours inseam, a dawn-tide where no one can tell which hue began the miracle. From the balcony their linked silhouettes resemble a single bloom: outer petals ink-deep, inner petals gold, trembling on the same stem. The orchestra sustains a chord so soft it feels like birdsong before sunrise, and every breath in the theatre holds. Then, with bunny tucked between them like a seed of tomorrow, they bow together, one moonbeam, one sun-ray, tiny backs bending, small hearts beating strong and synchronous and the stage lights swell to white. In that radiant tide the bruises fade into constellations of possibility, the scars into silver threads, and the blue of healed night marries the yellow of brand-new morning while the whole auditorium rises, sobbing, cheering, witnessing how light, once shared, refuses ever again to be small.
Minjoon shuffles closer, still catching his breath, his yellow tunic stained in places where his hands have wrung the fabric. âYou did the hard spin, Moon-partner,â he whispers, voice soft as if heâs confessing a secret to the sky. âWere you scared?âÂ
Haeun grins, chest still rising and falling fast, a wild dimple digging into her cheek. âA little, but not when youâre here. When I see you, Iâm super-brave. Did you see my arms? I made them big like doves.â
He tries to mimic her, arms curving wide, wrists delicate, but then giggles and drops one, fingers flicking against his thigh. Haeun spots the gesture, immediately weaving her pinky with his and squeezing, a little mama-bird move she learned from watching you. âThatâs okay, you can flap however you want,â she says, matter-of-fact, âI like when you dance funny, Minjoonie. It makes me wanna laugh and fly too.â
He glances up, eyes glistening with something so raw and relieved it nearly buckles your knees. âYou really think Iâm good at dancing?âÂ
Haeun nods fiercely, brow pinched with grown-up seriousness. âYouâre the best sun I ever had. Promise Iâll share the stage with you forever.â She leans in, nose bumping his, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, âIf you get scared, hold my hand, okay?â
Minjoon squeezes her fingers, lips all wrinkly with a shy smile. âHaebee, how you always find me? Sometimes Iâm so good at hiding!âÂ
Haeun leans in, nose squished to his cheek, her whisper clumsy and tiny. ââCause blue knows where yellow is, silly. Like when you hide under the stage and your socks peep out! I just follow the yellow bits and then I catch you.â She giggles, hiding behind her own hands, peeking at him through her fingers. âYou my yellow boy, Minjoonie. No hiding from me. Iâm the blue boss!âÂ
Minjoonâs eyes go all round, and he bounces on his toes, laughing, âYou always win, Haebee! Even if Iâm super sneaky!â Their hands tangle up and they start to spin, little feet scuffing the stage, giggles tripping everywhere, the whole world just blue and yellow and best-friend bright. Minjoon lets out a hiccup of a laugh, shoulders loosening, and together they step forward into the golden circle, as if the whole world is just a dance meant for two hearts to light up.
The applause is a living wave, rolling out from the seats in shivering heat, but all you see is the soft flash of blue and the wild rush of tiny feet as Haeun barrels from the wings, her arms spread wide and trembling, Bunny dangling from one hand, crown tipped sideways in her hair. She reaches you at full tilt, almost knocking the air from your lungs, her body all heat and heartbeat and laughter tangled with tears. You drop down to your knees on instinct, catching her as if she might truly lift off, and when her arms wrap around your neck she buries her face in your shoulder, breathless, still humming with the last echoes of the music. You clutch her back just as fiercely, your voice crumbling as you try to tell her, âYou did it, baby, you were beautiful, you made the whole world shine.âÂ
Your words break up on the sobs in your chest and she giggles into your collarbone, sticky and sweet, whispering, âDid you see, Mama? I was so brave. I was your moonbeam.â
Jaemin is beside you now, tears gleaming on his cheeks, his hand settling on your back as he bends low and presses a kiss to Haeunâs hair, then to your temple, pulling you both into his arms. He murmurs, âYou were everything, bubba. The whole sky.âÂ
Haeun twists in your arms, looking up at both of you, her cheeks splotched pink and gold, eyes blown wide with pride and wonder. âWe all clapped for you,â you tell her, kissing her damp curls, âevery single person, every star in this place.â
Beyond the stageâs edge, Minjoon stands alone, small and yellow-bright in his sunflower tunic, fingers twisting the end of Bunnyâs scarf, uncertainty trembling in the set of his mouth. You see him, your heart aching with the familiar weight of the child you nearly lost once, the boy whoâs drifted at the edge of every family photograph in your mind. You reach out, voice raw and choked with hope, âMinjoon, sweetheart, come here. Come to us.â The invitation cracks something in him, his eyes flick to Haeun, then to you and Jaemin, and suddenly heâs running, stumbling in his haste, crashing into the circle of your arms. He stands awkward and rigid for a heartbeat before you gather him close, folding him against your chest, Haeun wrapping her arms around him too, the three of you a tangle of limbs and Bunny fur, with Jaeminâs hand smoothing down Minjoonâs back, steady, unhurried.
For a long moment, the four of you stay pressed together, your tears soaking into Minjoonâs hair, your words stuttering out between kisses and laughter, âYou did so good, sunshine, you were so brave, weâre so lucky youâre ours.âÂ
Haeun, all gentle seriousness, tips Minjoonâs face up with both hands and says, âWe dance together now, âkay? No more alone.âÂ
Jaeminâs voice is thick with love, low and sure in your ear: âWeâre family now, all of us, for always.âÂ
Minjoon melts under the weight of this new belonging, shoulders finally softening as he leans into you, blinking hard, and you promise in a whisper meant only for him, âWeâre never letting you go again, sweetheart.â You stay there, kneeling on the marley, wrapped around your children, as the theater bustles and beams overhead, the world spinning away, the applause now only background to the sacred quiet between heartbeatsâyour family, finally whole, found at last.
The theater hushes but the wings are riotous, the air honeyed and crackling with every kind of joy, your lap is full of Haeun, her hair sticky with sweat and glitter, breath hitching in tiny, hiccupy gasps as she twists to peer at every new face spilling backstage. Minjoon is tucked under your arm, head on your chest like heâs been there all his life, knees drawn up, thumb flicking at the hem of your dress. Jaemin circles the both of them with his arms, drawing you close so you all melt together, the world shrinking to a knot of tangled limbs, fluttering heartbeats, and your laugh breaking on a sob when Minjoon shyly asks if he can call you âMamaâ now, voice so small you nearly miss it over Haeunâs bubbling excitement, âMama, look, all my hospital friends, can Minjoonie have two mamas? Can I keep him forever? Heâs got yellow shoes and his medal says âStrongest Sunshine!ââ
The nurses, soft pastels, their scrubs dotted with little bunny pins and star stickers, guide the parade of peds patients through the aisle. Even the shyest kids beam when they spot Jaemin, his stethoscope looped around his neck, hair mussed, face still streaked with a single tear he never wiped away. âDr. Na!â they shout, and he crouches down, one by one, giving âheart checksâ with his warm palm, stethoscope pressed gently to each chest, murmuring, âStrongest heartbeat in the house, you hear that?ââhis voice a caress, steady as a heartbeat, each child grinning wider, shoulders squaring with pride.Â
Haeun dashes to greet every friend, peppering them with kisses, looping arms through IV lines with reverent care, declaring, âThis is my baby brother Minjoon! He got a yellow medal but his heart is blue like mine now, weâre family forever, âkay?â
Then, Ryujin waves parents and doctors onto the stage, a ridiculous, wonderful sight as Pops and Jaeminâs dad shuffle out, half-dancing, half-bowing, their shoes squeaking on the marley. You scoop Minjoon up onto your hip and Haeun grabs your free hand, declaring, âMama, do the moonbeam hop! Like this! Pops, you so silly, you gotta twirl too!â and she demonstrates, legs swinging, bunny clutching her shoulder like a pirateâs parrot. Everyone tries, some failing spectacularly, Jaemin trips over his own feet, Minjoon giggles so hard he snorts, Haeun presses both palms to her cheeks in delighted horror: âMama, Dada, you so funny, you need more ballet lessons from me!â The crowd is in stitches, laughter rolling over the footlights as the hospital team joins in, forming a ragtag circle of doctors, parents, and nurses, all clapping, swaying, bowing with the kids. For a moment, the whole world is this, a flock of found family spinning beneath fairy lights, blue and yellow ribbons streaming from every wrist, every heartbreak rewoven into something golden.
Both grandfathers are hopeless at ballet, Pops, in his rumpled suit jacket, tries to mimic the âmoonbeam hop,â knees creaking, arms flapping like a startled goose, while Jaeminâs dad squints down at his shoes as if theyâre hiding the secrets of fifth position. Haeun is relentless, marching between them, cheeks puffed and hands on her hips, tiny toes pointed with utmost seriousness. âNo, Pops! Your arms go here, like youâre holding a bubble, not like youâre squashing a watermelon!â She scurries around him, physically lifting his elbows, tongue poking out in concentration, her little voice turning bright and bossy. âPapa Na, you gotta twirl softer or youâll make the stars dizzy! Watch, one-two, one-two, gentle! See? Bunny could do it with his eyes closed.â
The men exchange mock-desperate looks, both towering over her, grinning so wide their faces ache. Pops tries again, this time making a grand, swooping bow that nearly takes out a string of fairy lights; Haeun gasps, âCareful, youâll make the sky fall down!ââthen collapses into a giggle fit, flinging herself against his legs, and he scoops her up, planting noisy kisses to her cheeks. Jaeminâs dad attempts a pirouette, only to wobble and land square on his heels, arms windmilling. Haeun claps both hands to her mouth, then shakes her finger at him, âYou silly! You need more sparkles. Maybe you can be the sun to my moon, but only if you dance nicer!â
Pops dusts off his suit jacket, bows again, and winks at her. âI think I need extra lessons from my best teacher,â he says.
Haeun grins, bashful but proud, darting between her grandfathers to hug them both at once. âI teach you every day, okay? You gotta listen good. Ballet is about being soft, brave and always smiling even if you mess up!â Jaeminâs dad lifts her high, spinning her gently, and she squeals, reaching out for Popsâ hand, three generations turning together under the theaterâs starshine, her giggles echoing, little bossy scolds mingling with kisses and praise, every second pure, golden-bubba memory.
You sink into the tenderness of the moment, feeling the world slow and settle around youâHaeun warm and heavy in your lap, her wild curls tickling your chin, Minjoon tucked into your side, his small fingers gripping tightly to your sweater as if afraid you might slip away. He shifts closer, nuzzling into your neck with the softest sigh, and when his tiny voice whispers, âMama,â something ancient and luminous blooms within you, unfurling like petals opening toward sunlight. Itâs the same radiant feeling you had when Haeun first rested her cheek against your heartâthe universe finally sliding into place, your soul whispering, âOh, there you are.â
When your gaze lifts, Jaemin is already watching, his eyes shimmering with tears and an unspoken promise. He mouths, softly but so clearly, âLetâs adopt him,â and the certainty that fills your chest is immediate, overwhelming, and perfect. You nod, a fresh wave of tears trailing down your cheeks, heart bursting, the ache of happiness nearly unbearable. With one hand you cradle Minjoon closer, smoothing gently over those bruised constellations on his wrist, your thumb brushing carefully over the faded shadows of pain as if you could erase them with touch alone. Your other hand cups Haeunâs face, fingertips gliding tenderly through her hair, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. You breathe in deeply, feeling fate, destiny, and the very threads of your family knitting together at last.
In just three months, paperwork and promises will align, and Haeun will officially be yours in the eyes of the world, just as she already is in your heartâyour miracle, your moonbeam, your very reason for breathing. And now there is Minjoon, the lost piece you didnât realize had always been waiting for you, who has found his way home just as surely as she had. He curls deeper into you, breath warm against your collarbone, and you feel Jaeminâs fingers lace with yours, binding your little family tight. You close your eyes, smiling through tears, and whisper softly, âMy babies, my heart.â
You smooth Minjoonâs hair gently, voice a hush so only he and Haeun can hear, âHow did you get here, baby? We were all so surprised to see you tonight. My heart almost jumped right out of my chest.â He blinks up at you, those huge eyes suddenly watery, and Haeun squeezes his hand, nodding for him to go on.
He swallows, lip trembling, then whispers, âI had to go to another hospital, âcause my Daddy hit me so hard, and the police lady said it was safer there. I cried every night, Mama. I missed you, Dada and Haeunie so, so much. I kept hoping and hoping youâd come get me, but nobody came.â Your chest aches, the urge to fold him inside your arms forever nearly breaking you. âI was so lonely, but then my kind nurseâNurse Jisooâshe asked if I liked dancing. I told her yes, âcause Haeunie loves ballet and I wanna be just like her.â He smiles, shy and bright, and you wipe away a tear streaking down his cheek.
âSo she said there was a ballet show for kids like me, and maybe, just maybe, if I danced good, my family might be there. Every night before sleep I prayed, âPlease let Mama be at the show, please let Haeunie come too, please let Dada clap for me.ââ His small fingers knot into the fabric of your sleeve, hope blooming and breaking in his voice. âWhen I saw Haeunie on the stage, I clapped so loud, and I shouted, âYeahh! My Mama! My Haeunie!âââcause I just knew it was you.â
He looks down, then up again, cheeks flushing with sudden worry. âYou⌠you donât mind if I call you Mama, right? I know Iâm not really yours. My real Mama, she⌠she hits me when I ask her to hold me, when I call her Mama, she gets mad. But when you hugged me at the beach, it was the first time I knew how a Mama should feel, soft, warm, like the sun after rain. I always wanted to call someone Mama, like the other kids do. And I wanna call you that forever. Only if itâs okay.â
Your tears come fast now, impossible to hide. You cradle his face, voice trembling but sure. âOh, sweetheart. Youâre mine forever. Me and Daddy want you to be ours, we want you in our house. We knew we had something missing, and it was you all along. It might take a while, but youâre ours, okay? Weâre going to fight for you, and youâre never going to be hurt, or hit, or lonely again. You hear me, beautiful? Never again. Youâre our baby, too. Forever.â
He sniffles, clinging tighter, cheeks wet but glowing, and he gives a small, wobbling smile. âPromise? I can be your Minjoonie forever? Even when Iâm big?â
Haeun squishes her cheek to his, chiming in, âForever and ever and ever. Youâre our baby now, Minjoonie.âÂ
You hold both of them close, whispering into their hair, âForever and ever, my loves. Youâre both home now.â
Home is a living thing now, always shifting, noisy, light-filled, soft around the edges in a way that feels like breathing for the first time after a winter spent sick. Minjoon, technically your âkinship placementâ under a temporary order of safe harbor, is not yet adopted but sleeps between you and Jaemin nearly every night, his little body fitted into the nest Haeun makes for him at dusk. Home, at last, is a shifting mosaic of tangled limbs, laughter echoing down hallways, and the ordinary chaos of life lived all the way openâblanket forts stitched together by small, sticky fingers, ballet slippers discarded in the kitchen, Haeunâs quiet humming winding through Minjoonâs soft questions as they build worlds out of sofa cushions. Minjoonâs room is his own in name and color, sun-yellow and cloud-blue, but most nights he can still be found curled between you and Jaemin, or tucked under Haeunâs arm, their bodies knotted together like theyâve always belonged. Thereâs a subtle choreography now to the four of you: Jaeminâs hands steadying both children as they cartwheel in the hall, your voice threading lullabies over the sound of giggles, Minjoonâs shy âMama?â answered every time with open arms and a promise, Haeunâs wide eyes always tracking her brother, always keeping him close. The fridge is covered in court letters and stick-figure families, the floors are littered with moon and sun stickers, and the air is thick with the scent of warm bread and baby shampoo. Each day, the rhythms settle deeper. brushing teeth together, tracing the moonâs shadow from the living room window, learning, over and over, that this is what it means to be safe: love without terms, love that never leaves, love that wraps around you, blue and yellow, until the only thing left to do is sleep.
The legal journey is a relentless current, tugging you from room to room, each day measured by another signature, another soft knock at the door. The court date for adopting Haeun and Minjoon, both, together, a double petition, looms just a few weeks away, close enough to keep you up at night, heavy enough to make every morning taste like hope and nerves. Every misstep from your medical past resurfaces in sharp detail: the probation after the incident with Haeunâs care, the weeks spent fighting for a second chance, the way you clung to Jaeminâs side outside every board hearing. Now, your redemption is meticulously documented, every effort stitched into the file, letters from Nurse Hana, who wrote that âno child has ever been more gently or fiercely loved in this hospitalâ; from Yuha, who described your habit of whispering âYouâre safe, youâre homeâ to every child waking from surgery. Chief Resident Siyeon submitted a declaration of your âgrowth under pressure,â recounting how you learned to ask for help, how you showed up to every shift with quiet resolve, never ducking the harder jobs. Dr. Byun Baekhyun and Dr. Huang Renjun both wrote statements, Baekhyun describing the way you comforted terrified families, Renjun detailing your vigilance and the clinical excellence you regained, how he would trust you with his own child.
The intern crew, Jihoon, Hyejin, Hayoung, each offered their own windows into your world: Jihoon remembering your late-night walks to the pediatric ICU, Hyejin recalling how you always made time to braid nervous hands into yours, Hayoung telling the court, âSheâs the reason Iâm not afraid of making mistakes. She never hides the mess, but she always shows the way through.â Social workers pop in for home inspections, sometimes unannounced, and always leave a little slower, watching Minjoon pull Haeun into his lap, both of them laughing, your walls covered in their artwork, sticker charts, Jaeminâs precise rows of appointment cards. Even court liaisons, like Ms. Kim, mention the âundeniable atmosphere of love and healingâ in their reports.
The case is bolstered by your lawyer, Ms. Eunji, who reminds you how much is working in your favor: Jaeminâs steady record as chief of pediatrics, the documented history of neglect and medication mismanagement by Aseul and Nahyun, their medical errors, psychological evaluations, and the mountain of evidence showing the difference in Haeun and Minjoonâs health since coming under your care. You spend hours at the dining table, fielding interview after interview, about your daily routines, how you handle conflict, your crisis plan, your family support system. The court wants proof of stability, so Jaeminâs friends rally: Jeno and his wife send letters, Mark and Areum testify to the transformation in your home, Shotaro and Ryujin speak about seeing the kids âcome aliveâ at every family dinner, Chenle and Ningning record a video of the kids singing together, Donghyuck and Yangyang write about movie nights and sleepovers, Karina stitches together photos and journals, each page a quilt of safety and belonging. Every submission is a promise: this family is worth believing in.
Behind it all, you feel the weight and lift of every testimony, every reference, each a stitch in the tapestry that is pulling your children home. Haeun curls in your lap after bedtime, tracing your cheek and whispering, âWill they let you be my Mama forever?âÂ
Minjoon, nestled beside you, adds, âWill I always live here, even when Iâm big?âÂ
You say yes, again and again, with hope trembling in your chest, because nowâfinallyâthe world is ready to believe it too.
Sometimes you wake before dawn with your heart clawing in your chest, so afraid youâll never be enough, that the court might decide you arenât fit to be their mother, that all the healing and hope in this house wonât be enough to erase a single, fatal mistake. The idea that someone could look at all youâve become, all youâve rebuilt and still say no, still take them from you, it terrifies you so deep it nearly splits you open. What keeps you breathing is the knowledge that no matter what happens, Haeun and Minjoon will always be Jaeminâs, a bond no court or circumstance can break. Some part of your babies will always be safe with him, and nowâmiracle of miraclesâthey have each other too. Watching them fall for each other, shy and sticky and stubborn, is the one thing that lets you unclench your fists. Thereâs something sacred in the way this family is still grafting itself together, growing slow and wild. Every morning, you see the proof: Jaeminâs hand gentle on Minjoonâs crown as he sounds out bedtime stories, Haeun nudging her last piece of cookie onto Minjoonâs napkin just because she canât stand for him to have less, Minjoon always making sure thereâs a space beside him in every waiting room chair, a warm little kingdom just for her. They bicker, over crayons, who gets the last scoop of strawberries, what song plays in the car but the fights always dissolve into giggles or tangled limbs in a fort of blankets. Itâs gratitude that blooms, stubborn and bright: for the way fate spun Minjoon back into your orbit, for the miracle of Haeunâs chest rising easy and strong each morning, for this house thatâs no longer haunted by loss, but humming with the small, fierce gestures of children choosing each otherâchoosing youâagain and again, building a home out of every ordinary, miraculous day youâre given.
Haeunâs health is a daily miracle, a string of little victories that taste sweeter for how hard-won they were. The last cardiac MRI showed âno residual defects, robust biventricular function, no pericardial effusion, mild valve regurgitationââthe attending scrawled âexceptional outcomeâ in three places, and you wept in the stairwell after reading it. Sheâs taller now, all legs and laughter, and her energy is wild, no more rationing steps or whispering warnings about blue lips or fainting. Her medication list has shrunk to a single pill at bedtime, and she keeps a sticker chart to mark every âsuper brave checkup.â Haeunâs trial enrollments, new physiotherapy regimens, a peer mentor program for heart kids, have been less about survival and more about living, about dancing and field trips and Saturday sleepovers. Her pediatric team still checks in weekly, but they say itâs routine now, not rescue. She flashes her chest scar in the sun and tells strangers itâs her âbrave stripe.â She wants to go back to pre-school next month, and her cardiologist, after seeing her pirouette on the exam table, said she might be ready.
Minjoonâs room rests at the quiet end of the hall, walls washed in what Jaemin calls cloud-sky, a pale blue that dissolves to the color of dawn when the night-light glows. Haeun spent an entire Saturday pressing yellow dove decals onto the plaster, each sticker arranged in pairs so her little brother would feel watched over whether the curtains billowed or the dark pressed in. Beneath those gentle birds stands his new bed, a toddler frame low enough for sleepy legs to find the floor without fear; its quilt shows swirling cartoon planets, orange rings and lilac moons spinning across a navy field that reminds him of the NICU ceiling stars. A plush rocket guards the headboard, Bunny the well-loved rabbit claims the pillow, and the foot of the mattress houses a wooden tray painted emerald where his nightly water cup waits. The top shelf beside the window displays treasures carried home from his own homes: a single green marble that catches sunrise like a secret gem, two glow-in-the-dark stars that still faintly pulse after hours, and an origami boat marked in Haeunâs round handwriting reading âMinjoonâs moon buddy,â its creases soft from constant unfolding and study. Even the closets smell newborn fresh, tiny shirts rolled by color, jeans snapped on mini hangers, and a drawer reserved for fleece pajamas printed with surfboards in homage to his favorite ocean visits.
Evidence of his small life spills past the doorway into every communal corner of the apartment. At the entry bench, his navy canvas sneakers with lime-green stripes sit neatly beside Haeunâs ballet flats, both pairs pointing outward like siblings ready for adventure. A pegboard above nests his sand-colored windbreaker, its pockets forever hiding seashells and bottle caps he cannot bear to leave outside. The living-room bookcase now devotes an entire cube to board books about turtles and tide pools, each spine chewed at the edges from teething days. Near the sofa, a red plastic dump truck idles beside Haeunâs doll carriage, wheels touching as if holding hands. The kitchen counters echo his preferences too; one corner hosts a row of oat-milk cartons because cow milk upsets his tummy and oat milk steadies his storms. His small blue sippy cup dries on the rack beside Haeunâs sparkly pink thermos, while the refrigerator door boasts crayon waves taped beside pointe-shoe sketches, two worlds harmonizing in magnetic frames shaped like dolphins. Even the bathroom dĂŠcor shifted when Jaemin installed a step stool painted with white sea-foam so Minjoon could reach the sink, the underside stamped with tiny footprints from an afternoon of enthusiastic trial.
Night settles into ritual. After baths scented with lavender bubbles you guide both children to his room, dim the planets lamp, read two pages from âMilo the Moon Explorer,â then cue their favorite lullaby on Jaeminâs phone. The song drifts like slow tide over stuffed animals, yet nearly every night quiet footfalls cross the hallway minutes later, a bunny-clutching silhouette appearing at your door. Minjoon climbs the mattress with practiced stealth, noses between you and Jaemin, then exhales the sigh of someone who finally believes dawn will arrive. If Haeun wakes to the rustle she lifts her blanket without speaking, offering him space, and his cold toes tuck against her shins while her fingers find his curls. Bedsheets shift, hearts recalibrate, the apartment returns to hush, and the only protest rings from the teakettle when it cools after warm milk duty.
Morning light breaks through sheer curtains and reveals him star-fished across the center of your mattress, cheek damp on your collarbone, Bunny wedged beneath his chin. Lashes flutter as dreams finish their flight, and the first thing he murmurs is usually a request for oat milk in his frog mug, the one that changes color when filled. In the kitchen he perches on the step stool while you gather cereal, Haeun stacks sliced strawberries into the bowl like ballet formations, and Jaemin hums a gentle bassline while grinding coffee. The family orchestra rises with clinks of spoon on porcelain, giggles about straw-formed moustaches, and Minjoonâs delighted squeal when the mug shifts from green to turquoise. His coat waits by the door, pockets already bulging with pebbles salvaged from yesterdayâs walk, and his shoes sit ready for another parade to the park where he will chase pigeons until his cheeks glow pink.
Each detail, the surfboard pajamas folded in the dresser, the oat-milk cartons filed like medical charts, the sneakers lined beside satin slippers, acts as a quiet declaration that Minjoonâs story is written into these walls forever. No longer a temporary guest nestled in borrowed blankets, he is a resident whose heartbeat sets the pace of the household, whose laughter coats the paint brighter than any dove decal. Your fingers brush the origami boat each time you pass the shelf and you remember the night he whispered that moon buddies never drift apart; those words echo now whenever the apartment door clicks shut against the world. This space once echoed with sterile caution but now breathes in two playful rhythms, ballet beats and ocean waves, woven through hallways that finally feel like home, proving that love can renovate more thoroughly than any contractor and that belonging smells a lot like oat milk warming in a frog-shaped mug at sunrise.
Thereâs a rhythm now to the friendship blooming between Haeun and Minjoon, a kind of language they have invented out of giggles, ballet steps, and whispered secrets. Most afternoons, theyâre inseparable, twirling in matching socks across the living room rug, inventing dance routines for their stuffed animals, painting each otherâs faces with glitter, and building elaborate forts from sofa cushions. Sometimes they squabble, over who gets the pinkest crayon, or whose turn it is to be the comet in their made-up ballet but even their fights are gentle, short-lived, always ending with a tangle of arms, a choked apology, and Minjoonâs hand searching for Haeunâs hair to twirl. They have rituals now: secret handshakes, âmoon and sunâ stickers on their cheeks before bed, twin cups of warm milk, and sleepy conversations about their dreams. Itâs Haeun who teaches Minjoon how to braid, and Minjoon who invents a handshake that makes her giggle so hard she snorts. They fall asleep most nights giggling into each otherâs shoulders, a harmony of safety you ache to protect. Every afternoon drifts into a private carnival where the living-room rug becomes a stage and two pairs of socked feet glide in endless circles, Haeun chanting âSpot, spot, spotâ as she teaches Minjoon to keep his eyes on her braid so he will not wobble in the turn, his delighted âSpin again, Hae-Haeâ ringing off the bookcase while Bunny claps from the sofa with stitched paws. They choreograph elaborate pas de deux for their plush toys, the giraffe forever assigned the role of noble prince while the worn bunny portrays a shy moon sprite who only steps from the shadows when Haeun curtsies. Minjoon counts out beats in an earnest whisper and pats his chest to feel his tiny heart match the tempo, then both collapse giggling into a tangle of limbs, pink cheeks pressed to the faux fur of their audience while you lean in the doorway memorising the way their laughter braids through the afternoon light.
Their friendship speaks through rituals as intricate as anything printed in a spellbook, beginning with matching stickers before bed, a silver crescent on Minjoonâs cheek because he claims the night is full of hidden whales and a golden sun on Haeunâs forehead because she promises to guide him home if he wanders in dreams. After that comes twin cups of warm milk timed to the hum of the dishwasher, hers sweetened with a single drop of honey and his poured from a small green carton of oat milk that he calls sea-milk because it reminds him of quiet beach mornings. They perch side by side on the kitchen stool, feet swinging, noses wrinkling with secret smiles, and trade stories about the sandcastle kingdom they will build next summer, Minjoon insisting the throne room must include a slide while Haeun vows to paint every turret blush pink. Even their quarrels bloom gentle and brief, little sparks that flicker and die before they can singe the edges of affection. One example bursts when both reach for the lone glitter crayon reserved for comet trails on their paper galaxy and Minjoon pulls away first, triumphant until he sees the wobble in Haeunâs lower lip. His victory shrivels and he thrusts the crayon forward with a hurried apology, waving Bunny like a white flag while admitting he only wanted the comet to look as bright as her twirls. Haeun accepts the peace offering, pats his curls, and declares that every constellation needs two comets anyway then presses her forehead to his, whispering a silly knock-knock joke that sends them both hiccuping with relief until the argument evaporates into shared colour-stained fingers.
Haeun treasures teaching moments as if theyâre pearls, guiding Minjoonâs small hands through three-strand braids until the brush no longer snags and his bunnyâs ears sport perfect plaits. In return Minjoon springs a secret handshake on her, five quick claps and a wrist flip that ends with their foreheads bonking together, the collision sparking such laughter she snorts every time. They repeat it until dizziness melts them into a heap of tangled arms, and you catch snippets of breathless dialogue, Haeun declaring âWe are moon twinsâ while Minjoon answers âNo, shooting star twins,â both content to settle the debate tomorrow because yawns tilt their eyelids low. Night often ends with their whispers seeping across the hallway like purring cats, Minjoon knocking softly on her door until she lifts the blanket and he slides under, placing ice-cold toes against her warm shins. She squawks but never pulls away, instead curling around him as he murmurs that dreams are less scary when shared. They trade quiet promises beneath the quilt, Haeun vowing to guard his stuffed animals from imaginary pirates and Minjoon pledging to shout at any nightmare that tries to nibble her toes. Eventually their voices fade into unbroken breathing that syncs with the ticking clock, a lullaby that drifts down the corridor to your half-closed door and wraps your heart in velvet.
You and Jaemin stand outside those doors some evenings, hands linked, marveling that such a fierce, gentle bond could grow in such a short time. He squeezes your fingers when Minjoonâs giggle bursts through the wood and you answer with a soft hum when Haeunâs answering laugh follows, both of you holding that sound like a fragile lantern against every darkness. Their love has become the steady metronome of the household, guiding morning routines and evening prayers, and you know with a certainty deeper than bone that as long as they keep inventing languages of sunshine stickers and sea-milk toasts the apartment walls will echo with safety. Together the four of you are a constellation that redraws itself nightly, comet and moon sprite spinning around the gravity of family, glowing bright enough to light the path back home no matter how deep the night. Jaemin never meant to love this hard or this fast, but Minjoonâs sun-bright giggles, gap-toothed grin, and habit of patting his own chest whenever Jaemin enters a room have proven irresistible, filling a hidden hollow the paediatric surgeon never knew existed; the toddler trails behind in milestones, speech a lilt slow, balance a wobble but Jaemin turns therapy drills into games, flexing arms thick as Minjoonâs whole body while lifting him through every new word and wobbling step, transforming strength training into fatherhood practice. Evenings end with those same arms forming a fortress around a surfboard-print sleeper, Minjoon nestling close, murmuring âLove you, Dada,â and finding perfect calm against the steady drum of Jaeminâs heart, soothed by head-canon comforts like lavender baths, oat-milk nightcaps, and âbrave-heartâ lullabies whispered in a bass so deep it vibrates through both of them. In that hush Jaemin realizes fatherhood is not something heâs stumbled into, itâs the strongest muscle he has ever grown, sculpted by a boy whose laughter rewires every beat.
Jaeminâs day begins with the quiet ache of dawn rolling through the apartment windows, the mellow grey light spilling across his bare shoulders and mapping every smooth arc of muscle that has become Minjoonâs favorite pillow; his son stirs against his chest, pudgy fingers curling possessively over a bicep nearly the size of his entire torso, tiny nails grazing the warmth until Jaeminâs arm flexes in instinctive response, ripples sliding under skin like quiet tides, and Minjoon sighs a happy âDada strong,â the syllables gummy and reverent. Jaemin tilts his head, dark lashes sweeping low as he places a feather-soft kiss on the swirl of Minjoonâs temple, inhaling the sweetness of strawberry shampoo mixed with warm milk; something inside him melts the same way muscle fibers yield under a heavy lift, unexpected yet addictive, because he never knew how completely a childâs weight could anchor his pulse. âGood morning, Bubba,â he murmurs, voice husky from sleep, and the toddlerâs button nose scrunches before he plants a wobbling kiss on Jaeminâs jaw, lips sticking in sticky morning drool that makes them both laugh. The room smells of cotton sheets and oat-milk breath, and in that hush Jaemin feels a bright tug in his chest, the exact sensation heâs studied in cardiology atlases labeled missing piece found, realizing that Minjoon hasnât just slipped into his life, he has rewired it beat by beat, heart by heart,Â
The kitchen erupts into soft mayhem once Haeun pirouettes in carrying her silver-tipped spoon like a maestroâs baton, leading Minjoon in a sock-shuffling samba toward the island where bowls await. Jaeminâs forearms flex as he whisk-whips oat milk into a froth that calms Minjoonâs jittery tummy, the cartonâs vanilla scent puffing into the air, and he canât stop smiling when the toddler lifts chubby hands to clap along with the rhythm of the whisk, cheeks dimpling like tiny half-moons. âAgain, Dada!â Minjoon squeals, pink tongue poking between gap-toothed gums, and Jaemin repeats the motion just to hear that giggle burst like uncorked soda. Haeun, towering beside the booster, leans over to tap her brotherâs nose with the back of a cereal star. âComet landing,â she proclaims, sprinkling crumbs down onto Minjoonâs bib, and he erupts in a hiccupy laugh that splashes milk on Jaeminâs forearm. The doctor wipes the droplets, marveling at how the babyâs gappy smile can soft-reset every line of tension in his shoulders, how each syrup-sticky finger that tugs at his sleeve wrestles him further from the lonely edges he once mistook for boundaries.
Later, they sprawl across the living-room mat strewn with flashcards and foam blocks so colorful they resemble sugar candy; developmental milestones stack like uneven towers, and Jaemin coaxes Minjoon through consonant sounds, his rich baritone guiding âbuh-buhâ into a clear âBunny,â the word catching in Minjoonâs throat before blooming bright and sure. Minjoonâs eyes, owl-round, marsh-brown, rimmed by lashes that could sweep stardust, light up when Jaemin praises him, and he lunges forward with clumsy enthusiasm, arms hugging Jaeminâs neck in a chokehold that makes father and son topple backwards into stuffed-animal mountains. âSee, thatâs perfect pacing,â Jaemin mutters through laughter, his cardiologist brain noting how Minjoonâs motor skills lag two moons behind the curve but leap forward whenever praise beats steady. Haeun kneels beside them to demonstrate the next card, her ponytail flicking like a metronome, and Minjoon copies her tongue placement, drool glistening at the bow of his lower lip. Jaemin marvels at the way her patience stitches confidence into her brother, the siblingsâ whispers about bubba badges filling the room with gentle thunder, and he vows, right there against a sea of plush planets, never to let a single milestone slip through the cracks of a crowded schedule again.
Come afternoon the house spills onto sun-drenched pavement, Jaemin balancing Minjoon on one hip, forearm veins carved like riverbeds beneath smooth tanned skin, while Haeun prances ahead with ballet precision, twirling a ribbon wand that catches every shard of light. By the duck pond, Minjoonâs pudgy toes wiggle inside lilac Crocs, and he lurches forward to chase Haeunâs ribbon shadow, legs wobbling yet determined. Jaeminâs heart performs a skipped beat followed by a cavernous pauseâtextbook PVCâbut this time the skip is pure wonder as he watches Minjoon toddle farther than yesterday, arms windmilling, cheeks flushed rose-petal pink. âLook, son, strong steps!â Jaemin calls, voice cracking on the praise, and Minjoon stops to grin back, top lip shiny with drool, before shouting, âWatch me, Dada!â A gust carries the warm scent of grass and sunscreen, the toddlerâs sweat beading sweet and salty on the curve of his wedge-shaped ear, and Jaemin realizes awe can taste like sun-heated breeze on your teeth, feel like thirty pounds of fearless joy barreling toward a future you suddenly want to guard with every muscle fiber.
Post-park fatigue settles like warm syrup, and Jaemin lifts his son in a cradle hold, forearms bulging, flexor tendons taut beneath baby-soft thigh weight; Minjoonâs lashes flutter heavy, head lolling until his forehead bumps Jaeminâs collarbone, whispering, ââNight, Dada,â in a breath that smells of oat milk and distant playground dust. Jaemin sinks onto the sofa where Haeun already dozes with Bunny tucked under her chin, and he aligns Minjoonâs ear over the steady drum of his heartbeat, recalling pediatric articles about rhythmic resonance regulating anxious toddlers. Within seconds Minjoonâs fists unclench, fingers curling loosely around the pendant at Jaeminâs throat, a tiny stethoscope charm Haeun gifted him on Fatherâs Day. Jaemin strokes the toddlerâs curls, each strand sun-bleached at the tip like soft sea grass, while his other hand cups Haeunâs ankle, thumb rubbing slow circles over the faint ballet-rub blister there. In the hush, he counts his blessings in cardiac rhythms: lub-dub for each giggle, lub-dub for every sticky kiss, lub-dub for the breathtaking truth that he finally fits inside a title he once feared would dwarf him.
By evening, bathwater still beads along Minjoonâs neckline as the siblings climb into the big bed, Haeun in cotton pajamas sprinkled with pointe shoes, Minjoon in surfboard sleepers hugging plump calves. Jaemin lies between them, arms outstretched, biceps forming warm ridges where small heads find natural pillows, and Minjoon mumbles through a thumb-sucked slur, âLove you, Dada, big like ocean.â Jaeminâs throat tightens; he kisses the babyâs damp crown, tasting lavender wash and unfiltered trust, then glances at Haeun who grins mischievously. âOcean big,â she repeats, slipping her brotherâs thumb free so she can plant a peck on his sticky knuckle, and the boy giggles, drool dotting Jaeminâs forearm. Jaemin inhales, blood humming fierce beneath skin, realizing that every sinew he once sculpted for sport now exists to cradle these two beings and the woman whose laughter lit up his emptiest rooms. He tucks the quilt up to their shoulders, murmurs a good-night litany, âBrave heart, bright moon, safe dreamsââand as the childrenâs breathing syncs into a soft duet, Jaemin lets his eyes close on a single shiver of gratitude: he never planned for fatherhood, yet here, with thirty pounds of sleeping miracle weighing down his chest and a ballet-ribbon hand linked in his own, he discovers that love can squat deeper than any weight rack, stretch wider than any horizon, and hold him still in a way bench presses never could. Minjoon is still learning how to settle into this life, how to breathe easy when someone calls his name, how to ask for seconds at dinner without fear, how to let himself play without always watching the door. There are moments, shadows in the bright kitchen light, when you catch him flinching at a sudden noise or shrinking from an unexpected touch, and every time you ache with how much has been taken from him. Yet you watch his world grow larger by the week: he learns to ride a bike in the yard, draws you a picture of a family with four smiling faces, lets Haeun paint his fingernails to match hers. He asks questions now, hundreds a day, about why the moon follows you on walks, about why you make soup when someone is sad, about how long forever really is. Some mornings, when the light is soft and your arms are full, he whispers âMamaâ with a hope so raw you can barely breathe, and you promise, again and again, that this time no one is leaving.
The coastline spun its lie the day the undertow swallowed you, headlines screaming that a promising young doctor had vanished beneath milk-blue breakers while hauling an orphaned boy toward the light. Funeral lilies filled a chapel you couldnât enter, and for three heart-splitting months Jaemin paced that same strip of shore with Haeun clutched to his chest as though her ribs might shatter if he loosened his grip, the two of them scanning every silvered seam of horizon for a ghost who never bobbed into view. Colleagues whispered that fairy-tale love always ends with women turning to salt and men turning to stone; the hospital packed your locker in cardboard silence, and somewhere under that grieving city you floated in a covert ward, lungs re-stitched, mind ragged with morphine, learning how to breathe through painkillers and how to cradle the very child whose panic had dragged you under. You loathed the mirror that showed sea-salt burns along your thighs and the news clips that crowned your disappearance heroic, because the only taste in your mouth was the iron of Jaeminâs unshed tears and the brittle hush of Haeunâs unanswered questionsâshame chewing at every breath like sand in your raw throat. Yet night after night Minjoon woke slick with fever dreams, whispering âMamaâ as though the dark itself might steal you back, and you understood that drowning had cracked you open so his little hands could choose a place to live inside your chest. When he curled sticky fingers in your hair and muttered that water should be blue, not black, your shame receded like a tide surrendering shells. You didnât rescue him any more than a compass rescues the lost; he became true north, steering you clear of guiltâs rip current, showing you a life ripped apart can be sewn into brighter shapes. The world insists you give him breath, yet every time his gappy smile flickers across the kitchen or his sea-glass eyes hunt for your approval during speech drills, oxygen rushes in reverse, his laughter siphoning sunlight straight into the hollows the ocean carved. Salvation, you realize, isnât measured by the lungs you fill but by the heartbeat you follow home and he, your tide-born son, is the pulse that keeps your world from sinking.
When the wave folded over you and the ocean pinned you to the sand, you didnât kick because you thought the story had ended, your chest cracked, darkness swarmed your eyes, and you let go until a weight no heavier than a loaf of bread collided with your shoulder and a fistful of panicked toddler fingers clawed your hair. Minjoonâs body wasnât strong enough to pull you up, but the shock of his touch, the raw instinct of a child whoâd already lost too many arms to cling to, jerked your lungs into motion. You surfaced because he used your name underwater, a garbled âMamaâ sliding through the salt, and the thought that he would sink alone hit harder than the undertow. Jaemin hauled you both out, but the truth is brutal: you only kicked because his hand was desperate on your scalp, and the will to live ignited in the millisecond his wide brown eyes met yours through green-grey murk. He saved you by needing you so fiercely that death became the less bearable option. Months later, when infection gnawed your lungs and morphine blurred the ceiling, he saved you again with quieter weapons, raspy night-wails that dragged you out of self-pity, stubby arms locking around your ribs hard enough to bruise, the demand that you hold a cup while he tasted oat milk for the first time. Each time you thought staying alive was too heavy, he bawled or laughed or drooled on your collarbone, and your pulse spiked because his heart set the tempo. He rewired your brainâs terror circuitry: hospital monitors had become countdowns to grief, but his uneven speech, âMama look, sky blue, me safeââturned every beep into proof you were still needed. This is the unvarnished math: no Minjoon, no heartbeat; his clinginess is CPR, his questions are oxygen, his sticky kisses are the defibrillator paddles that jolt you clear of the dark. You kept him from drowning for thirty seconds; he has kept you from drowning every breath since.
Being Minjoonâs Mama feels like diving beneath a warm sunrise tide and discovering the sea has been waiting forever to wrap itself around every hurt place inside you, water turning its salt to balm, because the moment he pressed one sticky palm to your cheek and breathed âLove Mama big like whale songâ the roar in your chest stilled, and now each day begins with him sprawled over your ribs as if your heartbeat is the drum that keeps the world turning. His eyes are deep marsh brown pools rimmed by lashes long enough to brush secrets into the air, he meets the morning light by patting your collarbone and asking whether today the moon will follow him again, strawberry-milk breath coating the question in sweetness; you tell him âAlways,â then kiss the tiny freckle on his button nose, the freckle that seems to brighten whenever he giggles, and you feel something inside you float to the surface that was once weighed down by grief heavy as coral. Jaemin stands in the doorway watching, broad shoulders haloed by dawn, and he murmurs how Minjoonâs laugh turns the bedroom into a salt-touched cathedral, sunlight pooling against the quilt, and in the reflection of his soft gaze you see the woman you nearly lost under those waves now reborn in blue and gold.
Being Minjoonâs mama feels like floating ten feet under blue water, sun braided into your hair, only to find that the warmth you were searching for is already inside your arms, his little body pressed to your heart, soft breath fogging your collarbone, blue pajamas smelling faintly of oat milk and baby shampoo. Heâs the tide that drags you deeper and the raft that lifts you back to the surface, a boy whose laughter repairs cracked places you forgot were broken. Every morning he presses those marsh-brown eyes, rimmed in feathery lashes, to yours and asks, âMama, you happy?â before youâve even blinked sleep from your lashes, thumb smushing your cheek, lips searching for a kiss like itâs the only permission he needs to begin the day. âMama kiss bubba?â he lisps, cheeks glowing and dimpled, and when you answer with a dozen kisses scattered over his nose, he beams, crooning, âBubba love Mama big, big big, bigger than sky!â The world could set itself on fire and you would still have purpose in the sticky arch of his arms around your neck, his soft sigh when you whisper, âMama not leaving, baby. Never, never.â
He clings tight in ways that sometimes ache, legs wrapped around your waist like a sea otter, tiny fists curled in the hem of your shirt, head tucked beneath your chin so his curls catch your breath. He demands your approval with every small task, holding up his spoon mid-cereal and waiting, eyes wide, for you to say âYes, bubba, youâre doing so well!â before heâll take a bite. When youâre folding laundry, he drags a sock over and asks, âMama, this one for me, right? Bubba blue?â and beams when you let him match the pairs. He follows you through rooms like a shadow with a missionâeverywhere, alwaysâtugging at your hand if you walk too fast, whimpering âMama, wait, slow slow!â if he thinks youâll disappear. He pouts hard if you talk too long to anyone else, even Jaemin, and will wedge himself between you, cheeks puffed and voice petulant: âMy mama. Mine.â Yet heâs never jealous with Haeun; instead, heâll reach for her hand, tug her onto your lap too, and say, âWe all Mamaâs babies, âkay?â
The first time Minjoon meets Pops and Jaeminâs parents, he is all wide-eyed shyness, fingers bunched in your sleeve and half his small body hidden behind your legs as if your shadow could shield him from a world of strangers. He refuses every offered toy, shakes his head at every âHello, bubba!â and wonât let go even for Jaeminâs coaxing; you crouch, hands gentle on his trembling arms, whispering, âYouâre safe, baby, Pops is nice, promise.â For long minutes he watches everyone from his hiding spot, peeking out with wary eyes, and itâs only when you scoop him into your lap and hold him tight that he finally lets Jaeminâs mom ruffle his curls, burying his face in your chest as she says, âHeâs a Mamaâs boy, huh?â and you beam, pressing your lips to the soft crown of his head and nodding. Gradually he eases out, first just reaching to grab Bunny and show her off, then allowing Pops to roll a toy truck across the rug for him, though he stays wedged between your knees, head darting back for your approval after every brave new step. Each time he meets someone new, he scans for you first, gaze flickering to make sure your eyes are on him, your arms ready, needing the anchor of your presence to test each tide.
At home, the possessiveness sharpens into a daily dance, his need for you as fierce and physical as hunger. If you and Jaemin sit together, Minjoon scrambles between you, elbowing his way into your lap and glaring at his father, lips pouted and voice full of outrage, âNo, my Mama, sit here!ââuntil you open your arms and let him climb in, giggling when he drapes himself over your chest like a starfish. He watches every gesture between you and Jaemin, and sometimes, when Jaemin presses a kiss to your neck or pulls you close at the counter, Minjoon scowls and wriggles in, wailing, âNo, Dada, my turn, Mama mine!â Jaemin laughs and play-wrestles him away, but you always reward the theatrics with a big, exaggerated hug and whisper, âitâs true, youâre my baby, forever and always,â just to see the jealous storm in his eyes melt into the sun. He does the same with Haeun, but with her itâs never competitive, heâs the bridge, the peacemaker, tugging her in close so both of you are tangled together in a pile of limbs and giggles, three heartbeats thumping against each other in perfect, wild rhythm. Still, you recognize that Minjoonâs hunger for you is different, more desperate, more demanding, a fierce need to be chosen and cherished, to never be left behind.
Your devotion for him has rewritten every rule of your body. You became his home the hard way, through sleepless nights and every whispered promise binding you to his side, you threw yourself headlong into making your body his sanctuary. You meet with lactation consultants in spare call rooms, watched shaky YouTube tutorials on inducing lactation, massaged your breasts under hot water in hospital showers, set alarms for midnight hand-expressions and double-pumping sessions, anything to trick your body into believing youâd carried him all along. You charted hormones and filled prescriptions, drank fenugreek tea until your breath turns sweet and earthy, stitching up your resolve each time nothing came but a few thin drops. When milk finally arrived, sticky and stubborn, as if drawn from the ache in your chest rather than any natural process, it felt miraculous and hard-won, a labor of love as fierce as anything youâd ever done. Feeding him became a nightly rite, his lips latching with such neediness, one chubby hand curled around your thumb, his heavy-lidded gaze searching your face for safety. Sometimes youâd fall asleep upright, Minjoon snuggled against your bare skin, milk-damp curls pressed over your heart, and wake to his sleepy murmur, âMama, more?ââreminding you that every sacrifice, every ache, every stubborn hour of longing had been worth it for this: for him to find his peace and belonging inside your arms, for you to know the miracle of being his only comfort, his harbor in a world that never loved him soft enough before.
Minjoon is still learning how to live with the worldâs edges softened. When someone calls his name, he startles, hands fisting against his sides; when dinnerâs almost done, he hesitates, blinking up at you until you gently say, âYou want more, bubba?âÂ
Only then does he whisper, âYou sure, Mama? âKay! Yes please den, Mama, more? I can really have more?âârelief so pure in his voice you want to scoop him up and never put him down. Some days, sunlight fills the kitchen but a shadow moves across his face at the scrape of a chair or the slam of a cupboard. When you see that shiver, you cross the tiles in three quick steps, crouch low, and pull him close, breathing âSafe, baby, safe. Only love here.âÂ
He settles instantly, burrowing in, then peers up to ask, âMama, why moon follow us on walks?â or âWhy does soup make hearts feel better?â You answer every question with the weight it deserves, teaching him again and again that asking is safe, that love has time for every wonder.
Nights can still break like cracked shells because those first thirty days he woke every hour with a scream torn straight from the cupboard he used to hide in, the shout always the same, âMama donât leave, Mama I sorryââvoice raw as rope burn, limbs thrashing as if the pillowcase were closing in like a door he couldnât push open. You never ran, you glided, scooping him before the second sob split the dark, pressing his tiny palms against your sternum and whispering the tide mantra you stitched together on the quietest NICU nights: âBreathe in with the waves, send the fear out with the foam, this water is ours, this love is home.â At first his breaths were shattered glass, his pupils blown wide, but you rocked in slow circles until he could name the shapes in the wallpaper again, until his chubby fist unclenched and unfolded like a sea anemone testing safety, until he stroked your hair the way you soothed him and whispered âMama safeâ with a softness that vibrated through your collarbones. Only then did you settle him back into the surfboard pajamas still warm from his nightmare sweat, surrounding him with lavender mist and bunnyâs stitched smile, and watching him sink into what sleep should have always been, an ebbing tide rather than a riptide.
Morning resets him like tide lines drawn fresh in wet sand. He sprints barefoot across the kitchen tile, feet pattering in a rhythm that reminds you of tiny gull wings, arms lifted in the universal plea for altitude, and Jaemin, who can deadlift every worry off your shoulders, answers by swinging him high so that Minjoonâs tummy bumps rock-solid biceps almost as thick as his waist. The toddler squeals âDada strongâ and drool sparkles from the curve of his gap-toothed grin, cheeks flushed peach as he claps along to the whiskâs metallic beat while you whip oat milk into clouds to keep his delicate stomach calm. Haeun appears, ballet-straight posture and hair ribbon snapping a cometâs tail, brandishing a silver spoon like a conductorâs baton as she orchestrates the pouring of blueberry batter onto the pan, declaring each pancake a tiny island for seahorses to live on. Minjoon thrums with excitement, turning every stirring motion into a dance step, both children chanting âFlip, flipâ until golden disks arc through steam. Jaeminâs gaze lingers on the syrup drip sliding down your forearm, and when you lick it away his pupils darken like deep water beyond the sandbar while Minjoon gasps at the sweetness vying for attention, tipping his shell cup so oat milk dribbles along his chin and your sleeve becomes a sugary map of domestic miracles.
Afternoons bloom into language adventures scattered across foam puzzle mats that smell faintly of vanilla and crayon wax; you and Jaemin hide flashcards inside bright red blocks so speech drills feel like treasure hunts, prompting Minjoon to shout half-formed words in triumph. He calls a pineapple a âpine ballâ and a dolphin a âdoll fish,â rolling with laughter as Haeun repeats his inventions in operatic soprano, translating nonsense into nonsense while Jaemin chuckles through clenched abs, the deep reverberation shaking plush planets off the shelf. You hear every syllableâs true intent, translating his babble into meaning even when his consonants tangle, because you have woven yourself into the spaces between his breaths; he sits on your lap tracing the grains of your necklace bead by bead, whispering lisped questions about whether the moon ever feels lonely because it cannot splash like him, how long forever really is, and whether sadness is why you make soup instead of cake. Each answer you give becomes a stepping-stone he leaps across, small feet thudding on the rug, cheeks blooming roses when he nails a new word and Jaemin lifts him overhead in celebration so the chandelier prisms scatter rainbow shards across his dimpled elbows.
Your bond is spun from the ordinary, a private language of giggles and whispers that no one else can quite translate. Jaemin sometimes struggles to keep up, brow furrowed as Minjoon babbles, âMama, fuffa dino boom boom,â when heâs talking about dinosaur pajamas, or âDada, gween bopple taste happyâ about a favorite green apple. Jaemin blinks, lost, and Haeun swoops in to provide wild interpretations: âHe said he wants to eat pancakes for dinner and become a unicorn, Daddy!â which sends Minjoon into wild giggles, clutching his stomach and shrieking, âNo, Hae-Hae, no unicorn, pancakes!â Still, you never miss a beat. Every muddled phrase, every lisped syllable, you understand as if the two of you share the same heartbeat. Heâll crawl into your lap, chatter about the color of the sea, or how his âtoes want to be fish,â and you nod, serious, saying, âMaybe today your toes will learn to swim, bubba.â He babbles through baths, grocery lists, while putting on shoes, spinning stories about âbubbaâs castleâ and âmoon puddlesâ and âMama, can we make big soup and eat with Daddy and Hae-Hae?â You answer each thought with matching energy, voice pitched just right, letting him know there is no question too silly, no dream too small.
At bedtime, he insists you tuck him in even if Jaeminâs already sung the lullaby, pouting and holding up his arms: âMama, hug me tight, squish all the bad dreams.â He nuzzles in, face smushed against your neck, whispering, âMama, never let go, âkay?â and you promise, over and over, that nothing, not night, not noise, not anything, will take you from him again. He sleeps with one hand fisted in your shirt and the other gripping Bunny, blue nightlight washing his soft cheeks, lips parted in peaceful, needful trust. Some mornings, when dawn glows pale across the room, he stirs first and traces the shape of your mouth with his thumb, breathing warm against your cheek, and whispers, âMama still here.â Each time, you close your eyes and let your heart remember: you dove ten feet down, but it was your baby boy who hauled you back to the light. Every day you rise and breathe, itâs because he reached for you and made you want to surface.
Jaemin steps into the dim nursery carrying the soft hush of the hallway on his shoulders, moonlight glinting along the muscles in his forearms as he leans over Minjoonâs tiny planet-print quilt and presses an unhurried kiss to the toddlerâs brow, his lips lingering long enough to feel the warm flutter of a dreaming sigh. âGood night, baby boy,â he whispers, and Minjoonâs lips twitch into a foggy half-smile before he snuggles deeper into the crook of your arm, lashes brushing the curve of your breast where milk waits heavy and warm. You shift your nightshirt, guiding his sleepy mouth to latch, and Jaeminâs eyes soften to liquid amber; he bends to kiss the corner of your mouth, tasting both strawberry lotion and promise, then moves to brush his lips over the swell of your exposed breast in silent gratitude before you settle the fabric aside. You feel his breath, a tender wave across your skin, while Minjoonâs fists relax, one hand opening like a sea anemone against Jaeminâs knuckles. The three of you hover together in the low glow of the star night-light, the rhythm of sucking mingling with your slow heartbeats until the room itself seems to pulse.
He straightens, clears his throat, and murmurs something about needing to reorganise the storybooks, though you and he both know you shelved them alphabetically with Haeun just this afternoon; still he drifts to the tiny bookcase, fingertips ghosting spines, eyes never really leaving the slow bob of Minjoonâs swallow or the way your hand strokes the velvet of his curls. He moves on to smooth an already perfect stack of folded blankets, tugs a plush comet half an inch to the left, pretends to dust the glowing star decals Haeun placed in perfect constellations, all so he can steal glances at the sight of his son drowsing safe at your breast, his family gathered like sea-glass treasures on a quiet shore.Â
Minjoon lies boneless against your chest, breath warm and sweet with lingering milk, his lashes fluttering like slow wings, yet sleep hasnât sealed his lips just yet; he shifts, small toes brushing your thigh, and in that hush only the night-light hums while you map the weight of him across your ribs. His forehead nuzzles the slope of your collarbone, cheeks still rosy from the effort of nursing, and he sighs a soft ocean-shaped sigh before murmuring, âMama, âmember beach? Wawa big, bubba love splash, water talk nice.â Each word is slurred velvet, but you catch every syllable, stroking the curve of his dimpled arm where milk droplets still glisten, answering in a whisper tuned to his slowing pulse.
âYes, baby, the sea sings just for you.â He hums approval, nose wrinkling like a sleepy rabbitâs, and his fingers, still curled possessively in the neckline of your sleep shirt, loosen by a fraction, as though your reply has threaded a little more peace into his bones. You feel his heartbeat steady, neither too fast from fear nor too slow with sorrow, and with each rhythmic thump your own lungs learn the tempo of safety again.
He shifts, bunny crushed between you, and exhales another confession half drowned in drowsiness: âWish bubba go outside more at the old house. Old dada and mama had beach close but no play, just look from window.â The syllables tumble over one another, vowels lazy, yet every fragment slices clear, loneliness pressed against cold glass, tiny palms yearning for salt air. You kiss the fine curls at his crown, tasting soap and the faintest tang of sea breeze still tangled in them from this afternoonâs adventure.
You smooth your hand down his back as you promise, âTomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that, youâll touch every wave you want, my sea-bright boy.âÂ
He makes a contented âmmm,â lips pursing, then opens one eyeâthe brown saturated with moonlight, just enough to find your face, searching for proof that your vow has weight; when he sees belief shining back at him, he lets the lid drift closed again, whispering, âMama promise big,â the consonants melting into a sigh that smells of oat and trust.
Minjoonâs lashes flutter as if he means to drift off, but the second you shift your shirt he lets out a soft whimper, lips mouthing the air, nose nuzzling for the familiar warmth, then coos a sleepy âMama, more, bubba still hungry,â voice sticky with need. His mouth latches again, cheeks hollowing in gentle pulls that send a warm tug low in your belly, tiny fingers drumming against your side as if urging the milk to flow faster. Each rhythmic suckle ends in a little click and a contented hum, his button nose brushing your skin while a milky crescent gleams on his lower lip.Â
You stroke his damp curls, murmuring, âDrink up, sea sprite,â and watch his eyelids droop heavier with each swallow, his feet giving one last kick before settling. Bunny slips from his grasp but Jaemin catches it, sliding the plush ear back beneath Minjoonâs hand without breaking the spell, eyes locked on the tender seal of your sonâs mouth around you, the way your fingers cradle the curve of his skull as though youâre holding the entire tide in a single touch.
Jaeminâs breath hitches, awe pouring across his features like moonlight on calm water, and when he bends to kiss your shoulder his lips linger an extra heartbeat longer than before. âYou are unbelievable,â he murmurs, voice husky, fingers lightly tracing the line where your breast meets Minjoonâs flushed cheek. His gaze flicks up, dark and reverent, making your pulse stutter beneath his fingertips while your son suckles in slow, languorous pulls that vibrate through you both. Jaeminâs free hand smooths the quilt over Minjoonâs legs again, a task already finished but repeated just to keep close, then travels to cup the back of your neck, thumb drawing soft circles that spark along your spine. âSeeing you give him everything he was denied makes me fall harder every night,â he whispers, and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth that tastes of silent promises and warm milk. When Minjoon finally releases with a drowsy sigh, Jaemin gently tucks you back into your shirt, brushing a stray drop of milk from your skin with his thumb before letting it linger just a moment too long. He settles Bunnyâs paw securely beneath a chubby arm, straightens, and drinks in the scene, your smile, the steady rise of Minjoonâs contented breathing, memorising it like a sacred tide chart heâll navigate back to long after the nursery light clicks off.
Minjoonâs head slides lower, settling over the steady drum of your heart, and you sponge quietly across the room with slow fingertips up and down his spine; he murmurs one final thought, voice so small you feel it more than hear it: âMama, bubba safe now.âÂ
You answer by drawing the quilt to his shoulders, easing Bunnyâs ear beneath his palm, and shaping the words against his temple like a spell: âAlways safe, always loved, never missed another splash.â He shifts, fingers finding the hem of your shirt once more, but this time the grip is gentle, a tether of comfort rather than fear, his mouth parted, breath drifting across your skin in feathery waves that mimic the sea he loves. In that delicate moment, as sleep folds him under, you understand how completely he has repaid every breath you lost in the water: by turning each night into a shoreline where you both can rest, tides of love rising and falling in perfect, luminous quiet.
After Minjoon finally opened up to you, snuggled in his bed and milk-drunk, voice heavy with sleep, whispering about how much he loved the beach and water even though it sometimes scared him, how he used to watch other children play in the waves when he lived with his old Mama and Dada, but was never allowed to join, always left behind at the window. Hearing him say, âWish bubba go outside more at the old house. Only look, no splash,â broke something deep in your chest, and you held him tighter, promising that this life would be different. You stroked his hair, promising that you would fill his days with as many waves and sunlit afternoons as he could ever want.
So when Saturday rolled around, you kept that promise, planning a surprise trip for the whole family to reclaim the very beach that had almost taken you both away. The air shimmering with sunscreen and cautious hope as you pack swimsuits, buckets, drinks and snacks, Jaemin fussing over floaties and hats, and Haeun dancing around the living room in her bathing suit, shouting, âBeach day!â The four of you load into the car, Minjoon clutching Bunny and peeking at you every few minutes, checking that this isnât just a dream, that you really meant it when you said, âWeâre going to play in the water together, all day, as long as you want.â You can feel his trust, timid and bright, growing with every mile toward the coast, a reclamation not just of sand and salt, but of his right to joy and belonging.
The sun cuts through hazy clouds, brightening the sand until it burns white and silver beneath your toes. Jaemin canât take his eyes off you. He stands a pace behind, towel slung over his shoulder, the sight of you in your coral-pink swimsuit making every muscle go slack, his gaze tracing every curve, still stunned by the way you look after everything youâve survived, the way sunlight paints your collarbone gold and your scars like the contour lines of a tide map. Haeunâs swimsuit mirrors yours in miniature, yellow bows bright against her shoulders and her curls bundled atop her head, cheeks glowing and legs kicking up sand as she leaps, calling, âMama, look! Like you! We twins!â She grabs your hand and twirls.
You laugh, letting Haeun spin you until youâre dizzy, her curls bouncing and her yellow bows bobbing as she shrieks again and again, âMama, look! We twins, we twins!â You scoop her up, hugging her tight, pressing your nose to hers as she giggles and squishes your cheeks with sticky hands.Â
Minjoon immediately shuffles over and glues himself to your side, squeezing your thigh with both arms, looking up and pouting, âMama, me match too? Bubba same as you?âÂ
You lean down, ruffling his curls, laughing softly. âOf course, bubba. You and Dada have your blue suits, and us girlsâpink and yellow! See? All my babies matching. Weâre the best team.âÂ
Haeun squeals and kisses your cheek, smudging a little sunscreen, while you boop her nose, and Minjoon wriggles in for a kiss too, chanting, âMama, Mama, kiss bubba, too!â You press kisses all over his face, and Haeun giggles, âMama loves bubbas best,â collapsing into your lap as the sand crunches beneath you, sun burning warm across your backs.
Jaemin watches all this with a wide grin, eyes glued to the way your coral-pink swimsuit hugs your hips, the thong bottom leaving your ass bare and sun-kissed, and he walks right up, slapping your ass with a sharp, playful smack that makes you gasp-laugh, your arms tightening around both kids. Haeun lets out a scandalized, âSilly, naughty Dada!âÂ
Jaemin just pokes his tongue out at her, grinning. âWhat? My girl looks too good, what am I supposed to do?âÂ
Minjoon, squished between your thighs and clutching your hand, looks up with adoring, sleepy eyes and mumbles, âDada silly. Mama pretty. Bubba happy. I love my family.â Itâs messy, loud, sandy, and you wouldnât trade a second, sunlight, laughter, the feel of Jaeminâs hand sliding over your bare back, and your children glowing beside you, everything safe and claimed in the tide-washed light.
Jaemin canât stop grinning, tugging you in for a quick, surreptitious kiss on the cheek, voice low and hungry, âYouâre going to kill me in that suit, you know that, right?â Heat sparks in your belly, but the shriek of Haeun already has him sprinting down the sand, chasing her as she pelts toward the edge of the tide, arms flapping and laughter bursting free. The air smells of coconut sunscreen and crushed grass from the dunes, and you feel Jaeminâs hand brush the small of your back, all wordless awe, before heâs off at a run, his silhouette long and loose in the morning light.
Haeun is a flash of pure joy. She claims every inch of the shoreline, dancing in wild arcs around your towel, splashing ankle-deep into the foam, spinning so fast her bows slip sideways, arms thrown out as if the wind might carry her. âMama, watch! Mama, watch me jump!â she calls, and you cheer as she launches over a wave, stumbles, and comes up spitting salt and giggling. Jaemin is never far behind, sweat already glistening at his hairline as he wades in after her, catching her up under the arms and swinging her, a wild carousel of shrieks and sandy toes. You watch him plant a wet kiss to her forehead, then set her down to chase after a seagull, and for a second he leans back, hands on hips, breathless and beaming at you. Haeun calls for ice cream and Jaemin raises a brow, mock-exasperated, âAgain? Already?â She just grins, grabs his hand, and races him to the vendor, while you remain where the sand is still cool, heart beating double for the girl who lives as if every inch of the world is hers to reclaim. She tries, at times, to ease Minjoon, âCome on, baby bubba!ââbut he only peeks at her from behind your legs, shy and trembling, unable to loosen his grip on you.
Minjoonâs whimpers are so small at first you almost miss them, just the tremor of his breath, the sticky salt of anxiety wetting his brow as he presses his cheek to your thigh. His fingers dig into your hips, his body wound tight, legs cinched around you as if the sea itself might reach for him again. âMama, Mama, no go, no go,â he mutters, every syllable low and frantic.
You crouch down, scooping him up, holding him close until his heartbeat slows against your chest. âWeâre safe, baby. Iâve got you, Iâm not letting go.â He snuffles, lashes clumped with tears, nose pink and damp as you rock him gently, humming his favorite lullaby under your breath, letting him listen to the ocean at a safe distance, until finally his breathing slows. You smooth sunscreen over the tender skin at the nape of his neck, feathering kisses along his hairline, whispering, âEvery freckle, every curl, mine to keep, my moon-boy, always safe, always held.â Slowly, you guide his hands to the bucket and help him dig the first shallow moat in the sand, narrating every movement as you go.
You take baby steps, no rushing. âLetâs try a little closer, bubba,â you whisper, feet sinking into the damp, ridged sand, the hush of the waves meeting the shore like a slow inhale. Minjoonâs arms clutch around your neck, his body a tight knot of nerves and want. âMama, too big, water loud,â he breathes.
You just nod, âItâs loud, baby, but Iâm right here.â For a long time you stand at the very edge of the tide, foam swirling around your ankles, feeling the thrum of his heart against your own. Each time the water slips up over your feet, Minjoon buries his face against your neck, but when you pull back, gentle, and show him the shallow pools left behind, he peeks out, curiosity flickering through his worry. You bend to point out a hermit crab, the iridescent blue of a mussel shell, and his breath hitches, fear giving way for just a moment to awe.
He peppers you with questions, voice small but insistent: âWhatâs dat, Mama? Dat shiny? Dat run away? Dat make noise?âÂ
You kneel and show him every shell, every bit of kelp, let him hold a stone slick with saltwater and drop it into the pail. âThatâs a mussel shell, love. Thatâs kelp, itâs like sea spaghetti!â You make a silly slurping sound and he giggles, face buried in your shoulder.
âMama, you silly.â He asks why the seagulls scream, why the waves crash, why the sand sticks between his toes. You answer with soft patience, letting him set the pace, matching his wonder with your own.Â
Heâs back at it a second later, tugging at your hand, voice running a mile a minute: âMama, why water cold? Mama, why wave make big crash sound? Whatâs dat bird, Mama, why bird yell at me? Mama, sand sticky in my toes, look, Mama, toes look like cookies, you want bite?â Every new thing demands explanation, every moving shadow and skittering bug becomes an emergency mystery for you to solve.Â
You answer each one with soft patience, letting him press a wet shell to your cheek, offering nonsense back and forth, âMaybe that birdâs yelling because he wants your cookie toes, bubba!âÂ
He gasps, eyes round, and wedges himself tighter in your lap. âNo, Mama, you save bubba! Mama, you strong? You here if water big?â
You press your lips to his ear, voice low and sure, âAlways, always. Mamaâs the strongest swimmer in the whole ocean, and Iâm never letting go.â He nods, reassured, already shifting to point out the next treasure, his voice bubbling over with new questions, trust and joy threading through every breath.
He nods, snuggles tighter, and with each new discovery, sea glass, crab claws, the tangled root of driftwood, he asks, âDat safe? Bubba safe?â and you reassure him again and again, your words a mantra, a tide returning always to shore.
Your love for him glows brighter than the sun beating down. You kneel in the sand and let him build towers on your knees, let him squish wet sand between your fingers, giggle as he makes a castle for Bunny with a seashell roof. When he cups a tiny crab in his palm, face screwed up with concentration, he holds it out to you for approval, breathless. âMama, good? Bubba brave?âÂ
You beam, pressing your forehead to his, "Bravest bubba I ever saw.âÂ
He clings to the words, repeats them to himself, âBubba brave,â as if trying on a new suit. When he hesitates at the waterâs edge, toes curling, you let him decide when to step forward, never pulling, always patient. You watch the shift in him, the softening of his shoulders, the way his eyes brighten with each new sound and scent.
The magic is in the slow reclamation, the way he fits into your arms like he was born to be held, the way you both tremble but stand anyway, step by tiny step, until the water is swirling at your knees and heâs still wrapped around you but now giggling, head thrown back, droplets sparkling along his cheeks. âMama, swim? Bubba swim?â he asks at last, hope shimmering in his voice. You nod, lift him high, and wade deeper, the sea cool silk on your calves, Jaeminâs watchful shadow never far behind.Â
Haeun and Jaemin call from the shallows, âCome on, slowpokes!â and when Minjoon hesitates you make a silly fish face, coax a giggle, and together you dive under the first small wave. His legs tighten around your waist but he shrieks with delight, nose crinkling, lips shiny with saltwater, and when he surfaces he grins, triumphant, âMama, we did it! Bubba swim!â
The atmosphere is golden and alive, Haeun shrieking with every wave, Jaemin tossing her into the surf and catching her midair, Bunny stashed on a towel but never far from sight. Jaemin glances back at you often, eyes shining, pride and gratitude written in every line of his body. When you and Minjoon finally settle onto the sand to build castles, Haeun flops beside you, still dripping, and sprawls across your lap. Minjoon, newly bold, insists on decorating every tower with seaweed and shells, and tells you, âMama, make more! Make big!â You laugh and let him order you around, secretly soaking in every second of his joy, every moment he looks at you as if you invented the world.
As the sun dips and the air cools, you wrap him in a fluffy towel and hold him close, his body limp with exhaustion but his eyes bright and unafraid. âMama, love you. Bubba safe now,â he whispers, thumb creeping to his mouth. You press your lips to his forehead, rocking him gently, while Haeun chatters about catching moonbeams in jars and Jaemin pretends to snore beside her. The sound of your children laughing, the grit of sand beneath your knees, the sting of salt still drying on your skin, these things feel holy, woven through with every ounce of love and healing you could ever give or receive. When the day ends and you gather your babies and all your battered, reclaimed hopes, you know the beach that once took everything from you is now a place of return, a place where Minjoon, clinging and cautious, learned how to call joy home again, and where you, holding him, learned how to breathe. Together you walk toward the car, the four of you tangled and sun-warmed, trailing footprints that the tide will claim and erase, but the memory will remain: a day bright as forgiveness, a world wide as love, a beach remade for you and your bubba, one gentle wave at a time.
By the time the sun has drifted behind the dunes and the air tastes like salt and distant barbecues, your babies have curled into sleep on each of your chests, Minjoon sprawled over your heart, thumb working at Bunnyâs ear, breathing slow and steady in a way that makes you believe in miracles, and Haeun draped across Jaeminâs bare shoulder, hair tangled with sand and tiny shells, one fist clutching his shirt, her lips parted in a smile even in sleep. You and Jaemin lie tangled together on the beach blanket, watching the last gulls arc over the glitter of tide pools, both of you so heavy with peace you can hardly speak. When you finally gather them, their limbs soft and heavy, you barely manage to rouse them for the walk back to the car. Haeun murmurs, âHome time, Mama.âÂ
Minjoon only stirs to nuzzle your collarbone, mumbling, âLove Mama, love dada.â Bath time is a gentle ritual, two sleepy bodies slumped in your lap, warm water sluicing away the grit of the day while you and Jaemin work in tandem, washing curls and scrubbing tiny toes, kissing each forehead as the steam fogs the bathroom mirror. Both children yawn, eyes heavy, lashes dark against flushed cheeks, and by the time youâve wrapped them in towels and carried them to bed, their bodies have gone boneless again, breaths falling in synchrony. That night, for the first time in a month, Minjoon sleeps through the dark without a single cry or whimper, no nightmares clawing him back to the cupboards of memory, just the slow tide of safety and love carrying him into the morning. When you realise, when dawn glows soft and quiet across his peaceful face, something inside you finally unknots; you melt into Jaeminâs arms, burying your face in his neck, and he kisses you back, hungry, grateful, hands slipping over your waist as if youâre the only thing thatâs ever mattered.
Youâre both still tangled up in the glow of that perfect, ordinary night when Jaemin pulls back, eyes shining with something more than just lust or gratitude, and crosses to the dresser. You watch, heart fluttering, as he slides open the top drawer and pulls out a velvet Pandora box, turning it in his hands before meeting your gaze. âI know I canât ever repay you for what youâve done for us,â he says, voice rough, âbut you deserve something beautiful. Jeno got his wife something like this when we were all still in college and itâs really beautiful to see, she still wears it even after all this time so I admit, I took inspiration. I wanted you to have something that you could wear, every day, to remind you just how much I love you. How much you belong here, with us.â He opens the box, revealing a delicate silver bracelet that catches the lamplight like starlight on water, his hands trembling just a little as he lifts it free. You feel tears prick your eyes before you can stop them, and he coos and wipes them away, slipping the cool chain around your wrist with a tenderness that makes your heart ache.
There are two charms already threaded onto the silver: the first is a tiny, polished ballet slipper, pink enamel bright and sweet, delicate but strong. He brushes your hair behind your ear, kissing your temple as he murmurs, âFor Haeun. Because sheâs always wanted to dance. Sheâs our sunshine, our sparkâyour baby girl, your first real miracle. Every time I see her twirl, I see you, the way you never let her fall, the way you built a stage for her in the middle of our storms. Youâre her safe place. Her teacher. Her Mama, forever.â The slipper glints as you twist your wrist, memories flooding you, her first hesitant steps in the living room, the mess of tutus and hair ties, the pure, blinding joy on her face every time she shouts, âMama, watch!â You press your lips to the slipper, whispering thanks, knowing that every moment with Haeun is threaded through your life like a ribbon, grace, persistence, the brave joy of being seen and chosen.
The slipper is more than enamel and silver, itâs the flutter of Haeunâs laughter when morning sun spills across the living-room floor and she claims the light as her spotlight, the hush that falls over the apartment when she spreads her arms and announces, âDove dance, Mama.â You remember how she pressed yellow stickers shaped like doves onto Minjoonâs nursery walls, promising him company even when she couldnât be there, how those same birds now circle her own mirror, a paper flock that reminds her to keep her chin high. When she pirouettes, ribbons streaming, sheâs the very definition of resilience: a beam of sunlight that learned how to curve and leap. The slipper on your wrist catches that radiance and carries it with you, a reminder that youâre a guardian of a soul made of feathers and fire, that your applause is the wind beneath every bourrĂŠe she attempts, that every time you steady her waist during an arabesque youâre teaching her that balance is found in love first, technique second. You stroke the charm once more, seeing not just pink enamel but a sunrise bottled and worn, Haeunâs sunrise. Sheâs your dawn after the longest night, the first ray that broke through when grief clouded every horizon; sheâs the reason you learned lullabies and the discipline of gentle hands, the reason you still tuck love notes into lunch boxes, folding each one into a shape she calls âsunbeam letters.â Jaemin closes his hand over yours, thumb circling the tiny slipper like a vow, and you feel the years ahead opening wide: recitals where the stage lights halo her curls, feather-soft slippers abandoned in the hallway after late practice, chalky rosin dust mapping little footprints across the floor. With the bracelet snug against your pulse, you know youâll be standing in the wings for every leap, ready to clap, ready to catch, ready, always, to be the net that lets your sunshine soar. That delicate slipper isnât just a charm; itâs the first heartbeat of motherhood itself, the moment Haeunâs newborn cry crowned you with a title no loss could ever steal, sheâs the one who made you a Mama, the spark that ignited every instinct to shelter, teach, and twirl right alongside her.
The second charm is blue, a perfect, tiny glass bead shot through with silver and aqua, swirling like a wave caught in sunlight. Jaeminâs fingers linger over it as he explains, voice low and awed. âFor Minjoon. For our boy, for water, for second chances, for everything blue, new and brave. You saved him, and he saved you. Every time you see this, I want you to remember that youâre both survivors, both more beautiful and strong than you ever knew. Heâs your anchor and your sea, your softness and your adventure. This is for every moment you pulled him close and said, âYouâre safe, baby, youâre home,â even when you didnât feel safe yourself. He made you a Mama all over again. He brought you back to the surface.â The bead flashes in the lamplight, a promise coiled tight around your wrist, reminding you of Minjoonâs blue eyes blinking up at you from the surf, the way he clings to you in every new world, the way he fills you with peace like the hush of the tide. Jaemin draws you in, the bracelet cool and perfect between you, and you hold him as tightly as you ever held your children, knowing that this life, the laughter, the safety, the soft blue and gold light of your home, is everything you ever hoped for, more than you ever dreamed you could keep. The blue bead catches every stray shimmer of lamplight and scatters it across the room, the silver threads inside glittering like moon paths laid over midnight water. As you turn your wrist, the charm rolls and its colors deepen, turquoise slipping into cobalt, then back into pale sea-glass green, each shift a reminder of the day Minjoonâs small fingers closed around yours in the surf, begging you both to survive. That bead is the first gasp of breath after drowning, the hush that settles on the ocean just before dawn, the promise that even when tides drag you under, love will buoy you back to the surface. Inside that swirling blue you see his drenching eyes blinking up through salt spray, hear his shaky voice: âMama safe now?â and feel your own heartbeat answer yes, yes, Iâm here. Every glance at the charm promises youâll never again let the water steal his laughter, never again let darkness rise higher than the bright, brave blue of his world.
Haeunâs dovelike slipper and Minjoonâs ocean bead jingle together when you move, two tiny lanterns swinging from the same silver line, sunset and sea tide, light and hush, the twin truths that birthed you into motherhood twice over. The slipper reminds you that she arrived first, a single sunbeam slicing through every storm, crowning you Mama with her very first cry; she taught you the choreography of unconditional love. The bead shows how Minjoon dragged you back into that title when you feared youâd lost it forever, proving you could be reborn underwater just as surely as you once bloomed under sunlight. Side by side, the charms clink like sea foam meeting shore, like applause in a quiet studio, singing their duet of survival: one child dancing forward, the other holding tight, both of them stitching you into the person you were always meant to be. pYou lift your wrist and the bracelet slips cool against your pulse, and you feel the world narrows to the warmth of Jaeminâs hand at your back and the distant sigh of two safe children sleeping. Tears blur the charms until slipper and wave melt into one shimmering droplet, and you realize that motherhood isnât one moment but a tide that ebbs and floods, Haeunâs sunshine pulling you skyward, Minjoonâs ocean cradling you deep, each swell making space for the other. You lean into Jaeminâs chest, letting the scent of salt and milk and brand-new silver fill your lungs, and whisper, âThey made me a Mama twice, you made me whole.â His arms tighten, sealing the braceletâs weight against your skin, and in that hush, blue and gold, dove feather and sea spray, you finally, completely, belong.
Returning to work is a new kind of ache: a slow, careful unfolding. Your medical probation has been officially lifted, but thereâs a shadow of supervision trailing behind, case reviews, mandatory weekly check-ins, the quiet, omnipresent oversight of your chief resident, Dr. Siyeon. Still, you feel the rhythm coming back: the confidence of stitching a wound, the familiar hum of monitors, the sound of nurses greeting you by name. The pediatric ward staff, who once held you at armâs length, now tuck chocolate bars in your locker and sneak extra breaks your way. Youâre still learning how to be present in two worlds, hospital and home, code blue and bedtime stories but the split no longer feels like punishment, just the shape of your new life. Your shifts are lighter now, two days a week plus weekends on call, a schedule carved around your babies and therapy sessions. Thereâs relief in the ordinary, the way old muscle memory returns: scrubbing in, charting, teaching an intern how to handle a parent in tears. Some days you stand outside the on-call room and just breathe, letting the weight of old guilt dissolve.
Back at work, youâre never alone, Jaeminâs hand is a quiet anchor at your lower back as you navigate crowded corridors, always making sure youâre shielded from harsh lights and strangerâs eyes, his presence an unspoken promise that no one will ever touch you or question your place again. He intercepts whispers before they start, meets every sidelong glance with that calm, unflinching gaze, and answers every question with a softness that makes even the hardest nurses melt. You never walk anywhere without feeling his support, the heat of his palm curled around your wrist or squeezing your shoulder, a constant defense against the ache of memory and the coldness that used to chase you from room to room. And when youâre with your babies, his love expands to circle all of you, every meal, every laugh, every hand-clasp in the hallway, you feel untouchable, insulated by the family you built together, safe in a way that feels like armor, like grace, like coming home.
You finally feel safe. For the first time, the hospital isnât a place that devours your spirit or marks you as someone broken, thereâs no shame prickling your skin, no eyes searching for cracks in your composure. Jaeminâs steady hand and the weight of his devotion erase every old scar, and when your babies dart through the halls, laughter trailing behind them, you know youâre not judged or pitied, just seen, just loved. Every room feels warmer with him beside you, every meeting softer, and the fear that used to gnaw at your heart dissolves in the gentle, constant shelter of your family. Here, wrapped in Jaeminâs protection and your childrenâs bright joy, you are whole, you are enough, and at lastâfinally, quietly, beautifullyâyou belong. The afternoon glides forward wrapped in gentle confidence, the hospital corridors echoing with your childrenâs laughter rather than your old fears, and every department you pass feels smaller and kinder because Jaeminâs devotion shadows your steps like a steadfast star guiding sailors to safe harbor. You usher Haeun and Minjoon toward the nursesâ station, deposit a final kiss on each bright forehead, and promise movie-night slushies once clinic ends, their delighted chatter trailing behind as you step into Exam Room Seven with your chart tucked close, heart still light from that soft domestic exchange that reminded you how fully you belong.
Seated on the edge of the paper-crinkled cot is your next patient, Mr. Choi, a man whose birth certificate declares thirty-nine yet whose face reads early-twenties under the fluorescent glow, all smooth tawny skin, thick sable hair brushed back from a gentle widowâs peak, and wide hazel eyes that spark mischief even while discomfort pinches the corners. He lifts one hand in a shy greeting, the cuff of his denim jacket revealing lean wrist bones that carry a rosary tattoo, and the nurses outside the glass panel exchange quick smiles you are certain include a blush or two. Your own cheeks warm as you return his hello, noting that his complaint lists persistent palpitations and mild shortness of breath after an early-morning charity run. You ask him to describe the flutter, whether it feels like skipped beats or racing drums, and he chuckles in a voice low and melodic that the flutter worsens whenever charming doctors lean too close with stethoscopes. You fight the grin tugging at your lips, refocus on placing the diaphragm against his sternum, and hear a benign but irregular extra beat hinting at premature atrial contractions, nothing life-threatening yet worthy of an EKG and lifestyle counsel. He smells faintly of cedar soap and mint gums, and when he exhales his shoulders relax as if your presence alone eases more than the arrhythmia.
While you thread the blood-pressure cuff around his arm and tug the Velcro snug, Mr. Choi keeps his gaze fixed on the silver chain that dangles and sparkles every time you shift your wrist. He clears his throat, the corners of his mouth tipping into a grin. âThose charms,â he says, nodding toward the tiny ballet slipper and the little glass wave that catch the overhead light. âLet me guess, on weekends youâre center stage at the opera house, then you sprint straight to the coast and dive off cliffs like some adrenaline junkie?â His voice is playful, a gentle tease that somehow softens the antiseptic chill of the exam room.
You laugh, brushing your knuckles over the slipperâs pink enamel paint. âNot exactly,â you admit, fastening the gauge and squeezing the bulb. âThe slipper is for my daughter. She pirouettes down the hallway at breakfast and insists every rug is a stage. If I donât clap after each twirl she gasps like Iâve ruined the finale.â You rattle off the systolic number aloud for the chart and tap the wave charm so it swings. âAnd this little tide bead? Thatâs for my son. He calms when the ocean hums at his ankles, he calls the surf âthe big hush,â and heâll stand right where the water just kisses his toes, singing to the waves like theyâre old friends.â
His eyebrows jump, eyes warm with genuine admiration. âYouâre hardly older than my youngest cousin,â he says, voice pitched low as if confiding a secret. âYet you talk about two children like theyâre the fuel in your veins. How do you keep that kind of energy?âÂ
Heat pricks your cheeks, but you bite back a flustered laugh. âHonestly? Their giggles beat caffeine. Love is the best multivitamin on the market.âÂ
He chuckles, shaking his head, then nods at the monitor as it beeps the diastolic. âWell, that sparkle in your eyesââ he gestures lightly toward your face ââbrightens this place more than the fluorescents. My compliments to whoever designed motherhood for you.â Outside the glass panel the nurses exchange a pointed giggle; you pretend not to notice, focusing on keying the reading into his chart. He watches you schedule his imaging, still half-smiling. âSo, Doctor Mom of the Year,â he ventures, tone softer now. âWhen your ballerina twirls and your little tide-talker needs a lullaby, who takes care of you?âÂ
You glance up, pausing mid-keystroke, warmth flooding your chest despite the bustle in the corridor. âThey do,â you answer after a breath, feeling the truth settle like sunlight on skin. âEvery hug, every âMama, watch!ââtheyâre the reason my heart beats steady. I patch them up, they patch me right back.â He nods, understanding flickering across his features, and you finish the notes, offer a final reassuring smile, and slip your wrist out of view, charms chiming softly like a duet of surf and music as you guide him toward the door.
You turn to rinse your hands at the tiny sink, glimpsing the bracelet one more time, and for a single breath the polished stainless backsplash shows your patientâs reflection warped by water droplets into something unspeakable, half his polite smile melting into an abyss of onyx eyes and jagged teeth before the vision snaps back to normal glassy steel, leaving only your pulse thrumming high in your ears. You spin, heart stuttering, yet find him sitting as before, boyish and charming, thumbs tapping nervously against his thigh, utterly human and unaware. The room feels one degree colder despite the steady vent hum, and you swallow, forcing your fingers steady as you hand him discharge instructions, wondering whether the fluorescent light played a trick or whether the nightmare you thought dissolved has merely been biding its time in the shadows behind every shining surface. Your gloved hands steady the ultrasound probe over Mr. Choiâs flank as the local anaesthetic takes hold, the hum of the portable machine filling the procedure suite while you guide a fine biopsy needle toward the shadow on his kidney. Conversation stays light by design, oxygen saturation, weekend weather, until he breaks the rhythm with a wistful, âYou know, Iâve got a little one at home. Two years and four months. He talks my ear off.â The words snag someplace soft inside you as that's Minjoonâs exact but you school your voice, eyes fixed on the grayscale monitor.
âThatâs a fun age,â you offer, keeping anything more personal locked behind your tongue.Â
The needle slides true, a perfect dart, and he exhales. âBet youâve heard all the toddler stories.âÂ
You nod, pulse ticking faster, because that is exactly Minjoonâs age, but a lifetime of caution around strangers keeps your reply to a neutral, âPlenty.â
Youâre bent over the tray, steady hands threading the suture, mind locked on the glisten of blood and tissue and the sterile smell of the room. Youâre not thinking about anything outside this tiny circle of lamp-lit focus, not the rattle of trolleys or the distant voices down the corridor. You donât notice Jaemin yet, donât see him walking your way in loose blue scrubs, donât see the flash of yellow that is Haeun darting down the hall like she owns the place, her bows bobbing and her voice carrying in quick bursts, or Minjoon in his arms, clinging close and peering around the hospital, wide-eyed and overwhelmed, still new enough that every beeping monitor and passing white coat makes him shrink tighter into his fatherâs chest. Youâre focused on Choiâs kidney, the numbers on the screen, the way each movement has to be precise and clean. Only when the quiet stretches does your attention snap to him.
âYour children are beautiful, Doctor.â Choiâs voice slices through the clinical silence, soft and oddly measured. Instinct makes you look up, following the tilt of his head and the direction of his gaze, and you catch sight of your family just beyond the glass, Jaeminâs frame broad and reassuring, Minjoon pressed tight against his chest, small fingers digging into his shirt, and Haeun bounding ahead with fearless delight, bows bobbing as she drags Jaeminâs hand toward the vending machine. The sight always floods you with warmth, and for a heartbeat your smile flickers out, the kind of unconscious pride that only love can summon. Yet as you catch the look on Choiâs face, something inside you wavers. The pleasure in the moment fractures, replaced by a prickle of suspicion and confusionâhow does he know? How does a stranger, with no connection and no context, recognize the shape of your world so easily? The weight of it lands: of course he knows. Of course so many people know. Every piece of your family picked apart in news articles and posts, your traumas and miracles dissected for strangers, every smile, every scar, every private grief made public. Jaemin, the famous surgeon. You, the girl who drowned and lived. Your children, miracles and headlines. You donât need to ask how Choi knows. You feel suddenly naked, like your whole bodyâs been split open for the world to paw through. Thereâs no protection here, not from strangersâ hunger, not from the darkness flickering behind Choiâs polite stare. You tape the gauze, press it down hard, wishing it was enough to hold everything together, wishing there was a stitch for this kind of exposure, for the danger that always seems to be coming.
You lean down, scalpel poised, the edge of the blade catching light in a cold, sterile gleam. For just a heartbeat, your wrist shifts beneath the overhead lamp, and the bracelet Jaemin gifted you, the charms for your children shimmering with promises and protection, shudders faintly, unnoticed by anyone but you. The tiny glass bead representing Minjoon, blue as the sea, deep and calm, cracks invisibly down its center. You feel the fracture like a hairline fissure inside your chest, and suddenly you hear it, a distant wave roaring louder, violent, rising into a furious, murderous crash. The charmâs beautiful blue darkens, swirling into a murky black, an ocean corrupted, waters poisoned. Inside your mind, you sense the black swan that once haunted your dreams, always lurking, sinister and graceful, swimming with menace beneath still waters. You feel its sudden defeat, the creature finally withering away into nothingness, wings crushed and feathers drifting lifelessly on an ink-dark sea. But the relief is short-lived. In its place, rising from the inky depths, looms something else, something darker, masculine, violently aggressive. Itâs not elegant or subtle like the swan; itâs raw power, predatory and unmasked, spreading dark wings that blot out the sky. This creature stares straight into you, straight through you, a chilling promise in its endless gaze: you will never be safe, no matter how far you run, no matter how hard you try to hide.
Choi smiles easily as you finish stitching the incision, his features pleasant and open, nothing in his gentle expression hinting at anything darker beneath. Your attention is half on the neat row of sutures, half on your own thoughts, Jaemin probably rounding up the kids for lunch, the endless mental checklist of motherhood and medicine and Choiâs polite charm registers only distantly, like a pleasant background hum. When he thanks you softly, his voice is warm, friendly, innocent enough that your returning smile is genuine and unguarded. You donât notice the way shadows briefly trace strange patterns across his face, or how the overhead lights catch something deep and unsettling flickering through his eyes, youâre already turning away, gathering your tools and notes, entirely unaware of the danger youâve just overlooked. The patient nods appreciatively, harmless and grateful on the surface, but beneath his composed exterior, something ancient and malignant stirs quietly, patiently waiting for the moment you finally see it clearly.
authorâs note
now, if you made it this far, iâd love it if you left me a comment, reblog, or even a like. i read every single one and they mean so much to meâitâs genuinely the best way to let me know what moved you, what you loved, or even what broke your heart. writing is a little lonely sometimes, it always takes me restless nights, and hearing from you makes it all feel worthwhile, like sharing a secret or lighting a candle for these characters. so donât be shy! every little note is treasured and makes me want to keep going. thank you for reading, and for loving these messy, magical people with me. <3
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⤠One of Seoulâs greatest record label, NEO RECORDS has always been on top of the music industry. Dishing out masterpieces catered only to those who has exquisite taste in music. The label was built from the dirty concrete until it reached the skyline, with artists that bled money, fame and success. Music was their lifeâ but the lyrics doesnât write itself. It was more than a songâ it was a story told with chords, a piece performed with memories, by lips that sung the truth. Well, mostly. After all, lies just sounds better on the mic.
GENRE: ANGST, SMUT
WARNING: âźď¸MDNI, toxic themes, explicit sexual content, drug use, violence, crimes, infidelity, obsession, stalking and manipulation.
if you want to be added to tags, lmk!!
âśď¸ â˘áá||á|á|||| |
⤠track â 1: now playing
superman - j.jh
summary â You knew better than to let yourself be tangled in the so called âsupermanâs sheets. Youâve heard enoughâ that heâs far from the beloved superhero everybody adored. Whilst Clark Kent lived with dignity, honor and justice, Jeong Jaehyun thrived with sex, money and fame. You? Well, youâd live to be his kryptonite, making it your mission to see superman on his knees, ruining him for everybody else.
â Is it a bird? A plane? No, itâs fucking Jeong Jaehyun. â
GENRE: Angst, Fluff, Smut
WARNINGS: MDNI,toxic themes, obsession, manipulation, jealousy, explicit sexual themes, language, possessiveness, drugs&alcohol, morally flawed characters, violence, infamous!jaehyun x fem!reader
Exp. WC: 15k -20k
⤠track â 2: now playing
call me back - l.mk
summary â âUh, hey.. itâs Mark again. Hmm, just leaving a message just in case⌠you know what, nevermind. Uhm, yeah.. Iâm performing at your hometown tonight⌠a few special songs I wrote.. forâ Ah, fuck this is pathetic.. anyways, yeah. I know Iâve said this a million time but.. call me back, yeah?â Mark knows you wouldnât answer, he doesnât even know if you still have the same number. Nonetheless, he still calls youâ leaves a message, as if itâd change the fact that youâre not his anymore. As if itâll erase the mistake he made. One mistake that left him here, settling in your dialtone. He hears it again,
âWeâre sorry, the number you have dialed is not in service at this time.â
GENRE: Angst, Smut, Fluff
WARNINGS: MDNI, toxic themes, cheating/infedelity, explicit sexual content, language, drugs&alcohol, ex!mark x fem!reader, violence
Exp. WC: 15k -20k
⤠track â 3: now playing
heartless - s.jn
summary â Neo Records wasnât always the best, just like any otherâ it had to start from something. Johnny Suh made the label from his own blood and sweat, building straight from the ruins, holding into his ambition as power until he engraved his name onto the solid grounds of the industry. Howeverâ behind a man who has everything, was a woman that gave him exactly that, everything. A woman who left him scarred for years. He had never thought heâd see you again, but here you areâ standing in front of him, ready to ruin him all over again. But heâll be damned if heâd let youâ a woman so heartless, claim his legacy and destroy him again.
âI hope Iâll haunt you with the idea that I wouldâve fought for us âtil the very fucking end.â
GENRE: Angst, Smut, Fluff
WARNINGS: MDNI, toxic themes, explicit sexual content, language, drugs&alcohol, ceo!johnnny x fem!reader, extreme violence, infidelity, obsession, crime
Exp. WC: 15k-20k
note: ok so.. donât kill me. i just thought yk⌠the jh fic sounded really good as a standalone but what IF we make another series thats NOT gonna take years to make??? right?? no?? oh⌠well okay. ig you guys just gotta trusts me thenđ let me cook smth gewwddd!!
hi! i hope youâre doing well đ¤ just wanted to drop by and let you know that i canât wait for your next release~
hello! thank you for dropping byâ¤ď¸
honestly these kinds of comments makes me sooo motivated to write, and it reminds me that theres some people that actually waits for my future posts/fics!! ahh its so heartwarming đŠ
also i am writingâ multiple fics, actually. hehe thatâs all im gonna say right nowwww~~
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summary ⸠⥠Huang Renjun, the sweetie of the year, is one hard star to catch. Not as easy as his other friends, he's quite difficult to have. Although he has a fair share of affairs with girls, it is considered to be a rare occurence. But you? Oh boy were you something. You were quite head over heels over him. His friends could never understand, but you were persistent to get the boy. No matter how much he refuses your advances, Its like you found art in rejection. But to what degree can you hold it out?
"I can be everything I want, but fuck, I only wanted to be yours. Even though you couldn't be mine."
AUTHOR's NOTE: This has gone way too angst-y than I planned but hey, i thrive for angst. Longer than what I expected but it's not gonna be a ryo fic if I stuck with the expected wc lmao. also i cried while writing this fic lol
WC: 19k (told ya)
DISCLAIMER: This story is purely fanfiction. Only the names of the Idols are used, and does not reflect on them in real life. There's no way in any shape of form that they are like this in person, because I MADE IT UP. I don't personally know them. DO NOT STEAL / TRANSLATE / MODIFY. This is my work and I don't appreciate people stealing it. Thank you.
Enjoy reading! -ryo
My dearest Renjun,
I hope you had a wonderful day! I heard you have an exam today. Donât forget to eat on time, okay? Hereâs some brownies, I know you love them xoxo
-y/n
You clicked your pen after writing the letter, spraying a bit of your perfume on the note. You put it nicely on top of the box of brownies before putting it on your bag.
You checked the time, and you nod when it says exactly 7am.
âSeriously, a handwritten letter? Youâre crazy,â your roommate, Julie, sassed at your small box of sweets.
You tighten your shoe laces, before turning around to get your bag. You smiled at Julie, âItâs a habit,â You hear her scoff, but before she argues again, you are fast on your feet.Â
As soon as you entered the school premises, you were greeted by some of the freshmen, waving at you. You of course, waved back and gave them a good morning back. It was nice to greet people, even if you donât know them. You donât know when a simple greeting could make someoneâs day. It sure makes your day better at least.
Youâre supposed to go left at the gym because you have practice at 7:30 sharp and youâve used up all your chances to be late. However, if you run fast enough, youâre sure youâll get there in time.Â
âHey, y/n! Be careful!â One student says as you run through the hallway. You still manage to respond with a smile.Â
You look at your watch, and you silently curse. 7:15.
Once you made it at the school garden, you hover your eyes at the entire field and sure enough, you see who youâve been looking for.Â
There he was. He sat with his three other friends, which you knew of. Usually, itâs only him and Jeno, but this time, thereâs Jaemin and Haechan with him at the picnic table. Haechan slumped in the table, Jaemin mindlessly watching something on his phone and Jeno, along with Renjun, seemingly studying for their upcoming exam.
You put on your best smile, and dust off your cheer uniform.Â
Once you reach their table, you clear your throat. It was Jaemin who granted you attention first, and as soon as he looked at you, his smile beamed brighter than the sun. Heâs good at that, a charmer, really. Too bad it doesnât affect you in any way.
âRenjun, someoneâs here for you,â He says through his smile and nudging Renjun.
You hear the boy grunt, and let out an exasperated sigh. Finally, he turns to you, and even if you swore you had a big smile, seeing him made it even bigger.
âHi, Renjun! Uh,â you waved at him, and then brought the box of brownies out your bag, glad to see it's still in pristine condition. â--I brought brownies.. For you and your friends,âÂ
Thatâs when Jeno and Haechan, who suddenly woke up from his sleep, looked up at you.
Renjun rubs his forehead, and sighed again. He puts down his pen that he was holding from earlier. âY/n, I told you, stop making these for me.âÂ
You gulp in nervousness. âDo.. do you not like them?â you canât help sound dismayed, with the end of your sentence getting quieter.
âI like brownies. I just donât like when it comes from you. Donât you get that?âÂ
Honestly, you were expecting this. Renjun was always harsh, however, you like to think heâs just brutally honest. But you would be lying if you say that it doesnât sting.
âOh-kay,â Jaemin joins the conversation, attempting to dilute the tension. Your smile falters for a second but you try your best to smile again. Jaemin continues, âSorry, birdie, heâs just extra grumpy today âcause of the big exam later.. Iâll get that,â he grabs the brownies out of your hold.Â
You whisper a small thank you to Jaemin. âRenjun, if you change your mind, I guess Jaemin has the brownies..â you still tried to sound cheerful.
Renjun, however, didnât say anything.Â
âIâll shove it down his throat if I have to. Go on now, Birdie, I heard you guys have cheer practice at 7:30.â Jaemin answers for him again, sweet as ever.Â
That piqued your interest. You raised your brows, âHowâd you know?âÂ
âI have a friend in your squad. Now, shoo! Donât wanna be late! Renjun says fighting!â He grabs Renjunâs hand and waved it forcefully, but Renjun just pulls away from his hold.
âOkay. Uh, bye everybody! Bye, Renjun.â Your eyes glanced at him with hope, but came to no avail when he just continued reading his book. Jeno waved a little bit and Haechan just gave you a fake smile. Haechan, for reasons unbeknownst to you, doesnât seem to like you either. But you donât dwell on it too much because frankly, you donât care.
Jaemin smiles, waving at you. You turn your heels and start to run. You have two minutes to get to the gymnasium. It was worth it tho, you like to start your day seeing him.Â
âđâËâšâĄ
After a few hours of practice, you were dismissed due to the classes you have later on the day.
âWhy were you late this morning?â Sunghoon, one of your spotters on the squad, asks as you walk to your class.
You didnât have a chance to answer, when Minnie spoke. âDuh, she did her daily rejection therapy, of course.âÂ
You shook your head and chuckled at her. âItâs not rejection therapy, Minnie.âÂ
âOh please, Huang Renjun could literally stomp at your feet and youâll still show up with freshly baked cookies the next day.â Minnie was annoyed more than anything, but you still smile at her. You know she means well.
You chose not to answer because really, whatâs there to say? Minnie might sound mean, but sheâs just telling the truth.Â
Huang Renjun has rejected you more times than you can remember. Honestly, you think youâre immune to it now. Sometimes, you find it really interesting that he just wonât budge, at all. He hates your guts, but as long as he doesnât have a girlfriend, and he doesnât verbally say to your face that he hates you, technically, thereâs nothing wrong with what youâre doing.
Much more women do worse, actually. Renjunâs really popular with women, despite the attitude and sass he possessed. Some girls are intrigued, curious as to how they could get with Renjun. Going further as to literally kneeling in front of him just to sleep with him. Poor Kim Chaeyon.
Youâre not at that level of extremities yet, thank god.
Although he was picky, he did kind of have a fair share of girls. Some students call the girls heâs been with the chosen ones, making you laugh. Renjun has a standard, and he likes to abide by it.
Unlike his friends, Renjun can count in his fingers how many girls he was with. And boy, were they special.
Renjun is picky. Heâs not someone you can just get together with just because youâre pretty. His standards are sky high, but hey, they donât call you Birdie for no reason.Â
âI donât get why you keep on pursuing Renjun, to be honest. Yeah, I heard heâs hot shit, but come on. Youâre Y/n. NCU Cheersquad Captain, Thee Bird, and not to mention, a Mathematics Olympiad runner up. Youâre like.. Einsteinâs hot little sister.â Minnie didnât stop, even after class she blabbered about your undying admiration for Renjun, claiming it doesnât make sense to her.
It doesnât really matter how many times Minnie likes to remind you that Renjun isn't worth your time, your answer stays the same.
âI just like him. It doesnât have to make sense to you, Minnie.â You say casually as you bite into your apple.
âUgh! Youâre insufferable,â She says before standing up and stomping her way out. You just laughed at her reaction. Minnieâs easily pissed, and it amuses you.
Itâs past five when you finished your day, ready to head back to your apartment. Your routine was consistent, it sometimes just differs depending on your practice and classes. You never really enjoyed going out with your friends, not a party-goer, and most especially, youâre not really amused by other boys, much to your friendâs dismay.
There have been attempts, here and there, of trying to pursue you. You just donât feel like giving attention to any of them, when you already set your eyes on someone. It feels like a waste of time.Â
When you enter your dorm, you see Julie, all dressed up and ready to go out. You eye her up and down and give her a smile. âGoing on a date?â
âYeah, uh,â You notice sheâs struggling to clasp her bracelet, so you try and help her with it.Â
âThat dress looks cute on you,â you compliment her.Â
Julie never really dresses up for dates, well, at least you donât see her getting this dolled up for a date. You have always questioned that, because sheâs always out on dates and she looks good in dresses as well. But hey, each to their own.Â
âThanks, y/n.â She replies with a forced smile, but you assumed itâs because sheâs nervous.Â
You walk inside further, leaving her in the doorway putting her shoes. âHey, donât forget your keys.â You remind her.
âUhm, I think I wonât need them.â Your smirk got even wider at her response, understanding exactly what she meant.Â
âYou go, girl. Enjoy your date.â You giggled before you entered your room.Â
You sigh as soon as your back hits the soft mattress, relieved that youâre now in the comfort of your own home. You donât let your eyes rest for more than three minutes because you have papers to finish tonight and you donât intend to accidentally pass out earlier than what youâve planned.
You did your basic night routine, ready to turn on netflix before drowning yourself in papers.
Your last step was to put your phone on Do Not Disturb, but before that, you shoot a text to the one who matters to you the most.Â
[8:01] to: renjun <3Â
just got home! i hope u ate some of the brownies from earlier, itâs really good! enjoy your night and see you tomorrow, renjunnie!Â
xoxo -y/n
[9:05 read]
âđâËâšâĄ
âJust go talk to him, y/n. Get your mind off that Renjun boy.â You roll your eyes at Minnie who nudges you.Â
You donât know why people even attempt to ask you out. Youâve made it clear that you only have eyes for Renjun, and the fact that you never went out with anyone shouldâve made it obvious. Do you have to write it across your forehead?Â
Sungchanâs nice. Really tall, not bad with the eyes either, and from what youâve heard heâs a real sweetheart. Not a bad bone on his body. A perfect man, maybe, but not for you. Nobody really is for you unless itâs... well, you get it.
âListen, atleast I tried, right?â He snickers, but you can tell itâs unenthusiastic.Â
âIâm sorry, Sungchan.âÂ
âShouldâve listened to Jeno,â He whispers, one you canât make out but you didnât push. He then bids you goodbye, but before leaving, he asks you if you two could be friends.Â
âOf course, we can be friends, Sungchan.â Youâre glad he offered to be one, at least you donât turn him down in every possible way. Thereâs still something there.Â
He smiles at you again and now fully walks away. You also stood up and turned around, but when you do, you see Renjun, on the sidelines talking to Jeno and Yangyang.
Speak of the Angel.
You widen your eyes in great surprise, smiling ear to ear as you see him, hands folded in his chest. Seeing him instantly brightens your moodâ even looking like the most intimidating person ever.
You silently run back, putting an extra hop in every step. You stop where Renjun is, and waved at him.
âGood morning,â you smile at him. You always give your best smile towards him, and not that you put an extra effort to, but he just brings it out of you. A magic pull, in some ways.
He takes a deep breath, âMorning,â he muttered, not even sparing you a glance before going back to whatever they were talking about.
You donât know why, but you still stood there. Youâre waiting for something, but you donât exactly know what it is. Maybe, itâs just an excuse to look at him longer.
âWhat time is your lunch? Wanna grab lunch later?â You ask and you hear Jeno snorts on his side..
âIâm in the middle of a conversation, do you mind?â Renjun says, again with his usual cold tone towards you. In some twisted way, it made your chest flutter.
âYouâre really cute,â you say, making both Jeno and Yangyang laugh. You donât know what they find so funny. Youâre just telling the truth. Renjunâs cute when he gets grumpy. Tho, sometimes you wish itâs not directly at you.
Renjun closes his eyes in frustration and grunts, you can tell thereâs another strong statement thatâs boiling in his mind. Before he could though, you heard Minnieâs voice from afar.
âBirdie! Practice back on!âÂ
âOh, gotta go. Bye Renjun!â You say in your most cheerful voice, throwing him a wink before running back to your squad.
You giggle as you run through the field. You got to talk to Renjun!Â
âđâËâšâĄ
Today, youâre opening auditions for the squad, to prepare for the upcoming cheerdance.Â
Pulling up your phone to track the time, 6:54am.Â
You carefully place the cupcake on the box, getting rid of your pink mittens and finally, a perfectly tied bow to finish it off.Â
A glimmer of a smile appears on your face as you admire the box.
Packing it safely, you made your way out of your apartment, looking at your wrist watch, 8:32am.
"Just on time." You whispered to yourself.
"Hi, y/n!" A junior student greeted you as you passed by, which you bowed back. "Hello!"
"Good morning, y/n." You waved back to another student.
Finally, reaching up to the fourth floor, you strutted yourself to the empty hallways until you reached the abandoned elementary library.Â
"Do Not Entry" It says on the door.
Knocking three times, finally, someone opened.
"Oh, hi, y/n-ie. I'm guessing this is for Renjun?" Jaemin, with his sweet smile, asked as his eyes fixed on the box you were holding.
"Hi, Jaemin. Yeah. Is he here yet?" You tried looking pass Jaemin,into the room, but to no avail, as he was literally blocking everything inside.
"No but I'll make sure he got this, alright?" Jaemin grabbed the lunchbox from you, not missing the opportunity to wink at you.
"Oh. I guess he's late. Okay, Jaemin. Thanks." Disappointed that you didn't get to see your Renjun, you turned around bitterly.
You decided to just get to your first class early. Only a few people was in the room, because its quite early for the class to start. You crossed your arms over the desk and rest your head.Â
You're sure Renjun's just running late. Biting your lip,Â
You pulled out your phone, texting Renjun.Â
[9:01am] to: renjun
hi goodmorning! i brought u a cupcakes today. are u running late? be safe! xoxo -y/n
You didnât see him the entire day, and even though you tried to focus on other things, your day didnât seem complete without seeing his face. But you didnât let it ruin your day, of course. Youâre sure tomorrow, youâll get to see him again.Â
You hop your way back to your apartment, with your laptop bag on hand. Itâs getting chilly, you notice. You thought about what youâll eat for dinner when you exit the elevator.
You were about to take a step out, when you see someone in front of your apartment, hugging whom you assume is your roommate.
You canât be mistaken. Youâre sure it was Renjun. You can never mistake him for someone else.
Renjunâs hugging Julie, before smiling at her and letting her enter the apartment.Â
Your lips fall ajar, baffled at what you saw. Your clutch in your bag tightens, and you feel sick. Renjun and Julie? Since when?
You immediately step back into the elevator, pushing the button desperately, just to get it to close. You donât know if you can look Renjun in the eyes, at least not right now.Â
When it slowly closes, you still stand there frozen. In a split second, in the tiny gap of the elevator, you see his face. And there, you see the shock on his eyes. But before anything else happens, the elevator closes.
âđâËâšâĄ
That night, you slept at Minnieâs apartment. You were lucky that her roommateâs nice enough to let you, although Minnie says that you donât ever need any permission to sleep over at hers. You smiled at the thought that at least, you have Minnie.
It was rough, to say the least. You weren't a stranger to heartbreak, especially when it comes to Renjun. Youâve literally liked him for so long, and youâve witnessed him with girls before. This oneâs just special because itâs your roommate. Itâs Julie, for christ sake.Â
She witnessed your Renjun shenanigans for months. She would even laugh at you for waking up early just to prepare food for Renjun. God, you sure looked stupid.Â
Despite Minnieâs disapproval, you still sent a text to Julie, informing her that you wouldnât be going home tonight. You still apologize for making her wait, if she ever did wait for you. You never received a reply back, but sheâs just probably asleep by now.
The next morning was tough. You donât know if you should still bring snacks to Renjun, maybe you should respect his relationship with Julie. So you didnât.Â
You went to the campus half asleep, Minnie offering to buy you a drink from the cafe. You seriously canât thank her enough.
Sunghoon was the first one to greet you at the gymnasium.Â
âHey, captain!â He waves, completely oblivious to your bad mood. However, you still waved back and gave him a smile.
âHow many are auditioning?â You ask as you sit in one of the chairs that's laid out.
âThirty? I donât know, but I recall seeing your roommate on the list tho? You never told me that your roommateâs interested in Cheerleading?âÂ
You froze. Julieâs auditioning? You might just pull your hair out. You really cannot catch a break, huh?
You scan the paper he held out, and much to your dismay, her nameâs listed. Han Julie.Â
You mentally curse at yourself.Â
And in some effedâ up timing, you hear a couple of steps coming in the gymnasium. You assumed it was your other teammates, or one of the students that's auditioning, but you were dead wrong.
Sunghoon stood up, looking at your back since youâre seated facing back at the hall.Â
âOh? Renjun, Haechan and Jaeminâs here.â He says in a casual tone, you, on the other hand, just wanted the floor to eat you alive. Thereâs no way this is happening to you right now.
âCan you deal with them for a bit? I have a headache,â You rub your temples to up your acting, Sunghoon obediently nodding and walking towards them.
But before you can even catch a breather, Sunghoon returns.Â
âThey want to talk to the captain, Birdie,â He says carefully, afraid to piss you off. But you can never be pissed off, silly Sunghoon.
You smiled, and stood up. You start walking towards the three men who stands out like a sore thumb, with Haechanâs leather jacket and Jaeminâs baggy ripped jeans. Renjun, still looks like an angel, and in your eyes, he fits wherever he goes.
âHey, hi. You guys need something?â You ask, in your usual tone. Avoiding looking at Renjun because you know you canât help but to melt in his stare.
âHi, birdie. Actually,â Jaemin smiled, grabbing Renjunâs shoulder and pushing him slightly towards you. â--Renjun here, just dragged us here. Apparently, he wants to talk to you!â He wiggles his brows excitedly.
âOh?â You act surprised, now looking at Renjun because you literally have no choice.
âYou want us to give you some space orââ Before Jaemin could even finish, Renjun interrupted him, grabbing at his friendâs forearms, to avoid him leaving.Â
âNo, thisâll be quick,â His tone was cold, nothing new to you.Â
Haechan, on the other side of him, just looks bored. Honestly, he looks like he just woke up. But when he saw the other cheerleaders walk in, his body jolted. Typical.Â
âListen, y/n.. uh,â Renjun clears his throat, âMy friend.. Julie is auditioning. I just want to let you know that sheâs really good at cheer and I want you to really consider letting her in the team.â
His friend? Oh, you want to throw up. Heâs sick. Heâs really⌠ah, heâs really done it now. You didnât know Renjun could ever ruin your day, but wow.. He just did.
âWait, what the fuck?â You hear Jaemin curse beside him, Haechan just letting out a laugh. You wanted to burst out in anger and bash his head in concrete, but thatâs not very nice.
You decide that you canât handle this kind of conversation at 9 in the freakinâ morning.Â
âRenjun, I would love to let her in the team, but she really needs to pass the auditions first. Iâm not the only one who decides if a someone gets in. Iâm sorry.âÂ
He didnât say anything, but let out a deep sigh. âAlright, I know sheâll pass the audition. Anyways, weâll watchâŚâÂ
You nod, not having the energy to keep up with him. You immediately turn your heels and you walk away. Yeah, this will be a long day.
Surprisingly, thereâs a lot of people who showed up for the auditions. Apparently, some had an info that Haechan, Jaemin, Jeno and Renjun are watching, (Jeno showing up half an hour after the other three arrived) and thatâs when a wave of students came in.Â
You didnât let your sour mood ruin your judgment, so you put on your big girl pants, and watched every audition in full professional mode. You donât want to sabotage the team, by letting just about anyone join just because youâre not in the mood.
They were good, you have to point out some hopefuls that didnât fit the criteria, in the nicest way you could. However, Minnie took her role as your âanger translatorâ seriously.
âAre you sure you know what you were auditioning for?âÂ
âOh honey, youâre really good! You should really try to be a singer.âÂ
Or sometimes, just cutting off the music mid-performance. Of course, you scolded her for that and let the girl continue, but thereâs just no coming back from that.
âBabe, Iâm sure you can work on your cartwheels a little bit better. If Iâm still here by next year, just call me out and Iâll for sure get you in the team. But for now, you can practice, okay? You can even call me for guidance, okay?â You say softly at Sofia, after her performance. She just nods eagerly, but you can tell she was about to cry.
You really want to go up there and hug her, but you canât because youâd have to do that with every single one you reject.
This is why you hate auditions.
You were still arranging the papers at your table, anticipating the next person when you heard Minnie curse.
âAre you fucking kidding me?âÂ
You whip your head up, seeing Julie walk up on the stage.
As soon as she stood in front, you knew she had knowledge in cheerleading. Her stance says it all.
She started the performance, and even if you want her to be bad, she isnât. Sheâs really good, and it annoys you so much. God, why does she have to be good?
The routine she did wasnât easy either, and she nailed it to the ground. Some of your team was actually impressed, and you canât lie and say you werenât. That back handspring was perfect, to say the least.
âYou guys know that we judge not only with skills, but with personality and attitude as well, right?â Minnie just sounded eerily like a mean girl, saying it to your team but also loud enough for Julie to hear.Â
You silently nudged her, earning a whine from Minnie but you looked at Julie instead, giving her a smile.
You donât know what to say, to be honest. Your cheerleading captain side of you, says that this girl is perfect for the team. But the y/n part of you wants nothing to do with her.Â
You roam your eyes across the bleachers and like a magnet, your eyes swiftly went to him. Surprisingly, heâs also looking at you. Or at your direction, at least.Â
His elbows are in his knees, his entire upper body leaning his height on his elbows. He looks to be anticipating your answer, because at the end of the day, what you say goes.
You took one final breath before tapping your pen. You look up at Julie, and finally, giving her a wide smile.
âWelcome to the team.â
A mix of cheers, clapping and a curse from Minnie fills your ears. You look up, back at Renjun, seeing him smiling and clapping his hands as well. You look down, ignoring the ache youâve got going on in your chest.
You hope you wonât regret this decision. You really hope so.Â
âđâËâšâĄ
âThatâs fucked up, you know. Thatâs really fucked up,â Jaemin wonât stop bitching up until they got home to their apartment, and Renjun just wants him to stop.
In his head, thereâs nothing wrong with what he did. He tried to help a friend, to get a spot she fully deserved. He just did a favor, but it seems to Jaemin that it means heâs a horrible person.
âShe passed the audition, Jaem. I didnât do anything,â Renjun says, stirring his iced americano in hand.
âYeah but dâyou really need to talk to Birdie about it? Like dude, everybody in this world knows that sheâs head over heels for you. Then you get in her face talking trying to get some other chic on her team? Thatâs messed up!âÂ
âSheâs the captain of the cheerleading squad! Who else am I supposed to talk to?â Renjun canât see where he âmessed upâ.Â
Sure, he did have a hint that you were affected with his whole situation about Julie, especially when he saw you at the elevator that night. You looked genuinely hurt, but thereâs nothing he could do about it.
He told you many times that he wasnât interested. He doesnât know what else to do. He canât just stop seeing other people because of you.
âMan, I say she deserves it.â Haechan joins in the conversation, taking a sip from Renjunâs drink.
Jaemin gives him a disgusted look, âYouâre such a hater, Lee Haechan.â
âShe deserved to be treated the way Renjun does, especially when she did those things before, right, Renjunnie?â Haechan scoots up into Renjunâs side, leaning his head onto the boyâs shoulder.Â
âCome on, that was years ago! You can see she clearly regrets it by now,â Jaemin continued to be at your defense, confusing Renjun as to why because he has never seen you two around each other. Jaemin doesnât know you like he knows you.
âDo you wanna be with her, Jaem?â Jeno joins in and smirks at Jaemin.
âNo! Of course not! I wonât do Renjunnie like that!â Jaemin quickly on the defensive state.Â
âIâm literally right here?â He states, reminding his friends of his presence because they seem to talk about him like he wasnât in the room.
âWhat Iâm saying is, canât you just put all those things behind you now? I just feel bad for the girl,âÂ
In Renjunâs head, Jaemin makes a lot of sense. And yeah, Renjun really did tried to forget all of the things that happened in the past.Â
He tried to leave it all behind and just completely start fresh. Because really, heâs got way better life now. He basically could have the world now if he wanted to.Â
Wouldnât it be better if he left all his baggage behind?
Unfortunately, all those are all easier said than done. Considering that everytime he looks at you, heâs just reminded of the fact that you made his life miserable for your own gain.
He relates your smiles to all the tears he had way back when he needed you the most.
For everyone else, you were an angel in disguise. To him, you were the devil he once loved.
âđâËâšâĄ
A few years back
Ever since you were ten, youâve dreamed of being a cheerleader.Â
The entire saga of Bring It On was your lifeline as a kid, and every part of that movie is engraved in your mind. Every dialogue, every routine and every single pose in that movie is burned in your brain.Â
Ever since then, you knew youâd be a cheerleader.
Whatever it takes.
It was summer, you remember it vividly, sophomore year when you met Renjun.Â
Your first meeting didnât go well, though. You still laugh when you think about it.
It was the first day Renjun moved to your school. The teachers announced a Chinese boy joining the class, and you were excited.Â
Then here goes a pale and soft looking boy walking into class, with a pair of glasses and a bag that looks heavier than him. You were dumb, of course, assuming that Renjun would only speak strictly Chinese.Â
So you pulled your phone out, and tried searching Chinese words to impress the boy.
You finally chose one and practiced it over and over, and when you decided you were comfortable enough, you approached him.
âSee-sow-jian zai na-lee?âÂ
You tried your best to not sound like an asshole, but you really wanted to strike a conversation with him. He looks at you oddly, blinks a couple of times before he breaks into laughter.
âYouâre asking me⌠whereâs the bathroom?âÂ
You were shocked to hear him speak your language fluently. You furrow your brows before smiling at him, as he keeps on laughing. You found it somewhat cute.
And ever since then, you became friends with Renjun.
He was timid, shy and overall an introvert but you liked that about him. You like that heâs not some cringy highschool boy trying to impress you or other girls. Heâs just unapologetically him.
âWait, what homework!?â You panicked as you try to backtrack your classes from yesterday, remembering if you did in fact had homework that you missed out on.
âGeometry, stupid. Here, copy some of mine,â Renjun pulls his notes out, allowing you to completely copy off of him.
You thanked him furiously as you tried to tweak some of the details off his homework, but ended up copying it as it is. Renjun didnât complain, he finds you cute when you cram.
The class ended and both of you got a perfect score on your homework, and you got Renjun to thank for that.Â
So the following morning, you begged your mother for a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie, and packed it carefully with a ribbon on top. This was the only thing you could think of giving him, as a thank you.
âDâyou like choco-chip cookie?â You ask, as if youâre just asking a random question. You see him furrowing his brows at your sudden question, but smiles otherwise.
âYes. I love home baked ones,â He answers, still smiling at you.
You take that chance to grab the pink container on your bag and give it to him. âMom baked those,âÂ
He was speechless at first, looking at the cookies, before looking back at you with the sweetest smile youâve ever seen. âWow. Thank you, y/n. This is like⌠the first time Iâve received a gift like this.âÂ
âWell, buckle up dude. There will be a lot coming from now on.â
You and Renjun became inseparable after that day. Having Renjun by your side swiftly became a norm for you, to a point youâre comfortable in saying that Renjunâs your person. It kind of feels that he was always meant to be with you, and youâre meant to be with him.
You never really found the need to find more friends than him, he just filled that need himself.Â
The first bump in your friendship happened three months after that day.
Renjun quickly became the talk of the school, and the longer he settled in, students started to notice just how good looking he actually is. He barely wears his glasses now, and he styled his hair differently. But Renjun never seems to realize the attention he was getting from it.
You never thought it would affect the friendship you had, when you yourself have been making efforts to make friends other than him. However, your sole reason was to just be familiar with the school, because youâre planning to audition for cheerleading this semester. Renjun was still at the top of your priority, you still think of him as your best friend.Â
You were waiting at the library for him, this has been your daily routine since youâve been friends. At first, you thought you were just early, or maybe there has been a change with his schedule so you just thought heâd be late.
But the library alerting you that theyâll close in five minutes snaps you from that thought.Â
You got hurt, yes, but not too much where you had to ask him to apologize. Naturally, you just gave him the benefit of a doubt and think that he just maybe forgot. He did apologize the morning after, and you just kind of forgave him after that.Â
However, when it happened for the second time, thatâs when you question if he really just forgot or he just never really wanted to hang out with you anymore.Â
It sucks, sure, and you wish you didnât attach yourself to him as much as you did, but you were never a confrontational person so again, you just let it happen. This time, you donât make an effort in hanging out with him, and actually try to avoid him.Â
On the evil part of your brain, you thought that maybe, you were just a stepping stone for him to climb up the status quo, and now that he was popular, he doesnât find any real use to be your friend anymore.Â
You hate to think about that, because the guilt of even thinking bad about someone as nice as Renjun eats you up inside.Â
You focused on your own, starting to work on your goals solely and completely stopped hanging out with him. It seems like he has found a new friend circle, and you assumed thatâs just how it ends.Â
You sat by yourself in the cafeteria, planning to just ditch lunch for today. You look like a complete loser, and you donât want to spend more time wallowing in your sorrows alone. Before you could stand up and leave, you saw Renjun walking in, with his friends.Â
He was drastically different than the first time you saw him, and it feels like heâs not the same person. But when he laughs at something his friend says, his smile stays the same, reminding you that heâs still somewhat your Renjun.Â
You sigh and look away, and on your second attempt at leaving the area, somebody sat across from you.
âY/n?â He asks, with his brows lifted as if genuinely curious.
âYeah?â You kind of recognize him, but nothing really pops up in your head.
âHi, Iâm Kim Sunwoo. Iâm part of the Cheerleading squad and our captain told me to speak to you.âÂ
You froze on the spot. Thatâs where you remember him from!Â
Youâve been watching the cheerleaders at the sidelines recently, in hopes to get hints and further knowledge about the team. You were fascinated, of course, because you feel like youâve always belonged in that team.Â
You loved watching them, itâs almost like youâre almost living the life youâve dreamed of. It feels like youâre on your own Bring It On movie.
Especially when you watch Uchinaga Eri, more known as Giselle, the flyer and the cheer captain.Â
Sheâs really great at what she does, and it motivates you to work even more harder to finally be on the same team as her.
âY/N, right?â Giselle is now standing in front of you, looking at you like she was judging your form. You felt nervous, of course.Â
âY-yeah.âÂ
âYou sent that audition tape?â She asks again, now looking at you from head to toe.Â
âYes,â You say, although nervous, you managed to stand still. She reminds you of a mean girl, but thatâs not always a bad thing. She just reeks of confidence, and you aspire to be that someday.
She smirks, looking back at her co-cheerleaders, and walked backwards, giving you space.
âOkay, then, y/nââ She clears her throat.
ââFront handspring, step out, back handspring, round off back handspring, step out, full twisting layout.â
Your eyes widen at her order, heart stumping off your chest. Youâre wearing denim jeans! What the hell were you thinking!
You take a deep breath, before pulling your bag over your shoulder.
This is the moment that could potentially write your future, y/n.
You shake your hands, letting your body loose before walking back to gain your momentum. That routine is a lot, and youâre gonna need a lot of space.
Happy thoughts, happy thoughts. Youâve practiced this before. Youâre just gonna have to put them all together! Itâs easy!
Deep breaths.
Okay.
âđâËâšâĄ
You walk out of the stadium overjoyed, gripping the plastic that was given to youâ containing your own cheer uniform. You let yourself shriek quietly in excitement.Â
You made it to the team. Torrence Shipman would be proud.
Over your small celebration by yourself, you hear somebody call for your name.
âY/n.âÂ
You whip your head over to where it came from, standing there with a bouquet of tulips in his hand, is a face youâve missed dearly.
âRenjun,â you softly say, not registering that heâs now walking up to you.
He hands you the flowers, and you accept them despite your state of confusion as to why heâs approaching you now. Yellow tulips.
âDoâ uhm, do you need something?â You feel that darn butterflies fluttering in your stomach again, as he stands before you.
âNo, no. Uhm, I donâtâ ah, shit. Okay,â He inhales, âIâm sorry. Iâm sorry if I havenât hung out with you recently and If you ever felt that I abandoned you, Iâm sorry. I was just really scaredââ
âI got in,â you say to him, smiling ear to ear.
ââbecause I was a cowâ what?âÂ
âI got in the cheerleading team!â You yell excitedly, opening your arms to hug him tight. You didnât care, youâre just so happy right now. What made it better is him, being here.
It takes him a full second to hug you back, burying his face on your neck. âIâm so proud of you.â
And with that, you felt like you won twice today. Â
You got a spot on the squad, and you got your Renjun back.
âđâËâšâĄ
Today
It has been a few weeks after the auditions, and itâs safe to say that youâre not feeling well.
Back-to-back exams, training the new members of the squad and working on side projects for school credit has been killing you these days.
Being a Cheer captain is a heavy weight to carry. You need to succeed in both cheerleading and academics, and the responsibilities sometimes get overwhelming. You never once complained tho, because you wanted this. You needed this.Â
Cheer is the only thing that made your life make sense. And well.. Renjun too, of course. So there will be times like this. But youâll endure it, as you should.
Not to mention the emotional torture of having to see Renjun and Julie all the time, thanks to Julie inviting him over everytime sheâs got a chance.
Just like tonight. You were exhausted from all the school activities and you just want the comfort of your bed. So when you finally enter your apartment, to your dismay, you see Haechan, Jaemin, Renjun and Julie snuggled up in the couch of your apartment, watching some movie you didnât care to look.
Your body is sore, and so is your brain. If you have a choice, youâd take a vacation to anywhere else than your apartment right now.Â
And although you already accepted the fact that Renjun and Julie has got something going on between them, itâs still a stab in your chest everytime you see them together.
âHey, uh, Birdie, I invited them over for a movie night.. I just thought youâd be over at Minnieâs. Iâm sure you donât mind, right?âÂ
You smile at them. âOh, no. Enjoy your movie. Iâm a bit tired so.. Iâll just head in.â You say, not exactly welcoming as you want to be, but you just canât be energetic as you usually are tonight.Â
You see Jaemin waving at you, Haechan not acknowledging your presence as always, and Renjun sparing you half a second glance before focusing back on the movie.
You head straight to the kitchen, hoping to see anything that could fill your stomach. You just need to eat and then pass out for the night. You canât find time to mend your broken heart, when your entire body feels like convulsing the next minute.
âItâs been two weeks since the last brownie. Finally got tired, huh?â
You look back at whoeverâs speaking, and to your unpleasant surprise, itâs just Haechan walking over the kitchen.
âI just got busy, Haechan.â You say, managing to smile at him.
âYou and your damn cheerful attitude. Still gonna pretend like youâre the perfect little birdie?â Even tho his voice was quiet, his tone still pierced through you.Â
âIâm not quite sure how I should respond to that,âÂ
âOf course you donât. Youâre always nice. Whoever that bitch that fucked my friend over years ago is long gone, right?â His smirk splattered all over his face makes your eye twitch.
God, you know hate is a strong word to describe an emotion. Youâre not one to hate on anybody. But you give yourself a pass, because you just maybe hate Lee Haechan right now.
âHaechan, please. I just want to rest.â You say, closing your eyes frustratedly.Â
âSure. And just so you know, heâs very happy with Julie right now. She treats him better than youâ fuck it, she cheers better than you too.âÂ
He just had to hit you where it hurts the most, doesnât he?
You wanted to curse at him, real bad. You wanted to yell, scream at him for peteâs sake. Your chest is heaving with animosity, to the point where you want to cry. But you kept your composure, at least until you werenât in the safety of your own room.
âI understand Renjun is your friend, and you want to protect him. And I also do understand that you donât know everything that went down between me and him so Iâll just try and ignore everything you say to me. Now, if you excuse me, Iâm going to bed.âÂ
You left Haechan in the kitchen, the growling of your stomach long forgotten. You donât think you could still have an appetite after that.Â
The hunger you feel was overpowered by the tears you want to let out.
âđâËâšâĄ
Youâre awoken by pounding in your head, nose stuffed and difficulty breathing. You were convulsing. You had a hunch that youâre having a fever before you even went to bedâ but chose to ignore it and just sleep on it.
Which you know to be a bad decision now that youâre drowning in your own sweat and tears.
You needed something. Advilâ whatever the fuck is available to you. You need to get up.
Dragging your feet and standing up from your bed, you immediately feel like youâre going to faint. This might be the worst fever youâve gotten so far.
You get your phone to call Minnie, sheâs only in the next building. You see that itâs not even 3 hours when you went to bed. Thereâs clattering sounds outside your room and youâre sure theyâre still out there.
Minnie didnât pick up, meaning youâd have to fend for yourself.
You close your eyes in frustration, even your eyelids burns.Â
Shit, you have practice tomorrow.
You grab your oversized hoodie and ultimately decided to just go out in the kitchen, and find the medicine kit. Thereâs one out there, you knew it for sure because you were the one who put it there.
You really donât want to look like a sick girl out there, so you just buried yourself with the hoodie.Â
You make your way to the kitchen, and to some poop luck, theyâre all there in the counter enjoying two pizza boxes. You practically salivate over the sight, but thereâs no way youâd ask for some.
They all turn their heads at you, each having an expression you canât read.Â
âWhatâs wrong with you?â Jaeminâs the only one who sounded concerned. You shake your head and smiled at him.
âIâm good. Justââ cough. ââneed to get something.âÂ
You see Renjun looking over at you with his brows furrowed, following your figure as you move around the counter. The medicine cabinet is exactly where he was standing, so you just muttered a weak âexcuse meâ.
âYou donât look good.â He says as soon as you stand next to him. You didnât respond, but you just rummaged through the cabinet just to find anything.Â
You were stunned when you felt his hands over at yours, looking up at him with your confused eyes.
âYouâre fucking burning up, y/n.âÂ
He pulls your hood down, and then proceeds to put the backside of his hand on your forehead, checking your temperature. You were baffled, at his sudden concern but you donât dwell on it, you physically think of anything but the raging headache youâre suffering from.
You gently swat his hands away, âIâm really okay⌠I justâ Julie, whereâs the Tylenol?âÂ
She looks at you, as if you were interrupting something. âDonât you keep them in your room? You didnât have to come out,âÂ
You shake your head and you almost respond, before Renjun cuts you off.
âYou should lay down, Iâll call someone,â He says strictly.
âWhat? Dude, she says sheâs fine. Sheâll live!â Haechan interjects, but Jaemin hits him on his shoulder.
âSheâs literally dying, Haechan. Are you fucking blind?â Jaemin.
Haechan rolls his eyes, whispering something about âattentionâ and Julie looking at him with a smirk.
You didnât have the energy to be offended or anything, and youâre almost sure the worldâs spinning.Â
Before you know it, you heard Renjun curse and thatâs when your vision turns absolutely pitch black.
âđâËâšâĄ
âProbably just over fatigue, just a little bit of rest and she should be okay.âÂ
Renjun rubs his temple as he sighed a thank you to Nurse Suh through the phone.Â
âI told you, sheâs just really over dramatic sometimes,â Julie says, in a comforting way, massaging Renjunâs shoulder. He was sitting in a single chair beside the couch, where you were laying on.
He bit his lip, looking over at your figure sleeping soundly. He doesnât even know why heâs still here, Jaemin and Haechan already left half an hour ago.Â
âWhyâre you even so worried, Renjunnie?â Julie chuckles.
âShe literally fainted in front of us. Why arenât you worried? Youâre her roommate,âÂ
Julie looks to the side, straightening up. âYeah, but we were never close,â Renjun frowned at her response, but still shrugged it off.
Honestly speaking, Renjun really did kind of snapped the moment you fainted. He was scared to death, he knew you werenât feeling good the moment you entered the kitchen. And when you passed out, he felt the air snatched from his lungs.
He panicked, he admits. And he hates it so much, the way he acted. He wasnât supposed to care. But what can he do when you literally faint in front of him? Every decent human being would do what he did.Â
Except maybe the part where he woke up a school nurse in the middle of the night in panic and sat beside you for three hours trying to monitor your temperature waiting for you to wake up.
When your temperature finally seemed to had gone down, thatâs when he decided to go home. And on the walk back to his car, he silently drove back to his apartment, simmering on his own thoughts, disappointed in himself.
âI hate her so much.â He says to himself, more so convincing himself. Even his body seemed to detect his lies, every word burns in his tongue.Â
Among the texts you sent him, he finally texts you first.
[12:37 am] renjun: take a break.
Why canât he just.. let you be? Why do you affect him this much? Still, after all this time?
He blames you. He blames your consistency. He blames your overconfidence, every time you look at him. He blames you for smiling at him every chance you get. He blames those stupid fucking cookies you give him everyday. He blames your entire personality, making him melt in a puddle every single time. And more importantly, he blames you for acting like youâve never done anything wrong.
You make him feel like everything that happened in the past was a mere imagination. Like the pain he felt was a pigment of his own mind. Because no normal person would act the way you do if theyâre aware of the damage they did to another person.
However, what kills him the most is the way he still wants to hold your stupid hand and kiss you in your stupid lips. He would never admit it, even to the devil himself, that after all thatâs said and done, heâd still adore you with your hands around his neck.
âI told her to take a fucking break. What in the hell is she doing?!â He muttered to himself when he saw you doing stretches on the matted floor of the gymnasium. He had gone down there in disguise of visiting Julie, but in reality, he just wanted to check if your stubborn self didnât listen to him.Â
âChill out.â He hears Haechan on his side. Haechan tagged along with him, as always, under the excuse of wanting to see Jeno practice. Whoâs he kidding? Heâs here to check out the cheerleaders.Â
Jaemin was on his side too, having no classes to attend and not much better to do, he just went along.
âYouâre so sweet, thatâs for me?â Julieâs high pitched voice slashed through his ears, and thatâs the only reason he even saw her in the first place. He caught himself staring at you and he immediately brought all his attention to Julie.
âUh, yeah.â He lied, giving Julie the gatorade that was supposed to be for you, but he felt stupid giving it out to you. Itâs embarrassing.
He watched at the sidelines, along with his two friends. His eyes were laser focused on you, and when you suddenly slipped during one of your stunts, his whole body flinched like a reflex.
âAt least try to not be so obvious, Injunnie.â Jaemin laughed beside him.
âShut up, dude. I just had a few extra cups of coffee today.â Even he, himself, cringed at his stupid excuse.
âI thought we hate her, dude? Come on, stand the fuck up! Sheâs playing you dude. I hate girls like that, acting all perfect and cheery when she literally fucked you over before.â Haechan complained, following it with a huff on his side.
âI still donât like her, at all, okay? Iâm here for Julie, and no one else.â
âSure, Injunnie.â Jaemin folds his arms on his chest, a playful smirk playing on his lips.
âSay it with me, Injun. We hate Birdie!â Haechan says with two clenched fists moving simultaneously up and down.
âYou know what, Haechan, with the way youâre bitching all the time, why donât you wear the cheer uniform and pompoms?â Jaemin snickers, earning a hit from Haechan.
âFuck you,â Haechan spits.
âSorry, honey, but I donât swing that way. And even if I do, you wouldnât even reach the list.â Jaemin and Haechan continued to bicker, with Renjun in between.Â
Heâs still deep in his own thoughts, remembering that he shouldnât even look at you right now. He has Julie, and thatâs what he should be focusing on. Not you.
But when he invited Julie back to his place, and he found your lingering eyes amidst the crowd, with a hint of pain splattered on your pretty face, he almost wanted to push Julie off of him and run to you.
And at that moment, he curses at himself.Â
He cares.
He still cares.
He will always care.
And thatâs his fucking problem.
âđâËâšâĄ
âThe gameâs in two weeks, and you all shouldâve nailed the routine by now. What is going on here?âÂ
Coach Evie goes on rampage with the squad, most of the blame pointed at you.
âY/n, I will only say this once. Youâve been chosen as the captain of this squad for a reason. Donât make me doubt you.âÂ
This was the first time you felt upset. Not because of the rage that was poured onto you, but because you knew Coach Evie was right. You have not been giving your all these past few days.Â
Thereâs something wrong with you. Emotionally and physically.
Ever since the incident that happened last practice, you find it hard to do all the routines because of your left knee. You didnât want to think about it, hoping it would just go away.Â
It never did.
Emotionally, you felt horrible as well. Renjun was still with Julie, and from what you can see, they look like theyâll be together for a while. It hurts, yes, but thereâs not much you can do about it. Itâs never your forte to force yourself onto a man thatâs spoken for.Â
So you decided to take a break. Maybe a few days without practice will do you and the squad good. You focused on your studies, your classes and other stuff.Â
Thatâs why you found yourself in the middle of a random basketball playerâs party Thursday night. You came with Minnie, and in typical Minnie fashion, she disappeared with a random stranger within twenty minutes into the party.
This wasnât whatâs on your mind at all when you say that you needed a break. But Minnie was persistent, saying everybody has been waiting for you to finally show up with one of these parties. Because again, this wasnât your scene at all.
She basically guilt tripped you into attending.Â
âOh, no, I donât like alcohol.â You politely refused, for the nth time this night. Even though some were absolutely drunk and stubborn to accept rejection, you still politely responded to every single one of them.
âShit, Birdieâs here!â You hear someone yell, and it turns out it was Sungchan, standing tall on the other side of the room pointing at where you were.Â
A small commotion breaks out, some even gasps at seeing you. You didnât expect it to be this big of a deal, you didnât know these people at all.
After Sungchanâs announcement of your attendance, people started swarming you. You didnât want to say it because it sounds so cringe in your head, but you were as if a celebrity attended a random studentâs party. It was odd.
âHi Bird,â You flinched a bit when somebody suddenly pressed on your side, a strong smell of weed filling up your nostrils.Â
âUh, hello.â You smile a little, taking a step away from the stranger. He smirks at you, biting his lip as he looks you up and down.
You press your cup of orange juice in your mouth as you look back at him.
âFancy seeing you here,âÂ
You furrow your eyes trying to remember him. You donât want to be rude and disrespectful so you did try your best but you just canât remember.
âIâm Eric, yâknow.. basketball team?â He says to spark familiarity in your head and it sure did. Thatâs where you knew him from!
âYeah! Yeah thatâs right!â You sounded so proud of remembering him now that youâre sure you looked stupid.
He laughsâ a bit too much actually before stepping again in your space. You didnât know what to do, because you donât want to confront him causing unnecessary drama. Thereâs too many people in here and the last thing you want to do is to bring attention to yourself.Â
You silently prayed that Minnie finishes up quickly. You donât know how to handle this kind of stuff.
âWanna go somewhere quiet? Some privacyââ
âReally, dude?âÂ
You prayed up above, but the devil spawned from down below. It was Haechan who showed up.
Eric rolled his eyes and looked at Haechan, muttering âwhateverâ before leaving.Â
You finally take a breather, and close your eyes in relief. Even tho you think Haechan is a pain in your butt, his interference just saved you. You have to be grateful with that.
âThanks.â You say sincerely.
âI didnât do anything. What, you got tired of chasing Renjunâs tail and now youâre trying other options?â And there he goes again. As soon as you give him the benefit of a doubt, he goes right back in with his horrible remarks.
âIâm tired of this,â You say, wearing down your guard and putting your drink down on the counter.
âFinally! What a fucking relief. We also got tired of your pathetic ass running around my friendââ
âWhat did Renjun tell you to hate me like this, Haechan?âÂ
He falls silent. Suddenly not knowing what to say, completely perplexed at your sudden change of tone.
âYou donât know what happened, Haechan. And all this time Iâm trying to understand all your hatred towards me because I know youâve been told one side of the story. And I know I was in the wrongââ
âY/n.âÂ
Your words hang in the air, swiftly looking over your shoulder seeing Renjun standing with his arms crossed along his chest, leaning his body on the counter.
Cheeks flushed, eyes droopy. Heâs intoxicated.
âRenjun,â you whisper upon looking at him.
âHaechan, please leave.â Renjun slurred a bit in his words, but strict enough for Haechan to take it seriously.
âBut sheââ
âLeave.âÂ
Haechan huffs, giving you one last glare before walking away.
You wipe away any tear that mightâve escaped your eyes, before gaining back your composure. You stand there before Renjun, not knowing what to say next. Should you leave? Should you stay?Â
âYour oven broke or something?âÂ
His question caught you off guard. Thatâs definitely not what youâre expecting him to say. Youâre confused, really, really confused.
âWhat?â You say almost breathless.Â
He smirks, letting his head fall backwards, eyes closed as he whispers something to himself, one you canât quite understand.
âItâs been weeks, no cookies, no brownies or any bullshit you used to give me. What, you give up now, Birdie?âÂ
The way your nickname falls off his lips so smoothly makes your heart thump in excitement. This is the first time he acknowledged you by the way everybody calls you. It sparked a light in your chest that maybe, just maybe, this is a step.
âN-no, I-Iâm just.. respecting your relationship with my roommate.â You donât even know why you had to mention it. You couldâve just lied and told him you were busy, but the atmosphere of being in a party fed your courage to be reckless.
âRelationâ bullshit. Me and Julie arenât together, at least yet.â
 There he goes. He brings you up just to tear you down. Itâs an endless roller coaster with him, but he would always be a ride you wonât ever regret.Â
âI thought you donât like them,âÂ
âI donât. I like the fact that youâre trying so hard.âÂ
âI donât understand Renjun. What are youâ do you want me to keep running after you?â You state, extremely nervous about what heâd say next. Every breath you take was calculated, every second mattered.
You donât even know why youâre having this conversation with him when heâs clearly drunk. However, there could be no other opportunity for him to give you attention other than this.Â
âI donât want you to do anything. I donât want you, period. Itâs just⌠why the fuck do you give up on me so easily?â His disencourage tone was evident, a slight hoarse in his throat made it obvious. Heâs drunk. He doesnât mean it.
âYouâre with Julââ
âIâm notâ fuck!â He sounds like heâs running out of patience, gripping the edge of the counter as if to hold himself back.
âIâm asking you one more time, Renjun. Do you want me to keep trying? Do you want me to keep chasing you?âÂ
This time, he looks at you with an intense gaze, saying the words that wonât come out of his lips, with a hint of resentment and despair. You know him too well.
You bite your lip as you try to hold back the tears threatening to escape again. âBecause I will, Renjun. Just tell me the words.âÂ
If anyone could hear you right now, theyâd be horrified at how desperate you sound. You, the cheerleading captain, down so bad for a man to the point of begging to let you chase him desperately. Youâre so ridiculous that itâs not even funny anymore.
Not that you would care. When it comes to Renjun, youâd do worse.
âGo home.â He spat, turning around just before your eyes started letting go of the tears youâve been dangerously holding on to.
A dagger through the heart, but you are to blame. You're willing the blade through your own heart.
And you wonât have it any other way.
âđâËâšâĄ
Ever since that party, youâve discovered new courageâ much like before.
You went back to baking sweets for Renjun, approaching him any chance you get, and smiling at him at all times. Itâs like you were motivated to do things for him again.Â
Despite the glares Julie consistently gives you, you canât find it in you to care. Renjun said it himself, theyâre not together yet. He was practically saying youâre welcome to do anything youâd like.
Well maybe you assumed that but tomato, tomĂĄto.
âOh, hi Birdie. Long time no see, huh?â Jaeminâs smile was the first to greet you as you knocked in their hangout place.
âHi, Jaemin. Renjun there?âÂ
âNo, but Iâd gladly take that cookie off your hands and give it to him.â He nicely takes the box from you.
âTell him good morning too.âÂ
Jaemin chuckles and scratches his brow, âSure thing, sugar.âÂ
You donât know what he finds funny, because you were serious. But oh well.
You happily walked back to your department, ready to take on one of your classes. A few waves to some students who greets you, stopping for some who attempt a conversation with you.
You remember what Minnie said, youâre always late because you donât like ignoring people or saying no to a conversation, it doesn't matter who it is.
But you just really donât like coming across rude. It feels wrong.Â
You were almost at your class when you stumbled upon Renjun walking in the hallway with his earphones on.Â
Smiling to yourself, you skip over to his side. All it takes was a soft tap on his shoulder before he takes off his earphones and turns around to look at whoever grabbed his attention.
âHi, Renjun.â With the sweetest smile you have to offer.Â
âYou need something?â You felt really giddy hearing his usual cold tone, his voice making you flutter.
âI brought you cookies up at your hangout place but you werenât there. Jaeminnie took it so you can just get it from him. And oh, good morning!â Â
For a quick second, you see irritation across his eyes. Creasing his brows down at you.
âSince when is he âJaeminnieâ?âÂ
Your smile faded, hinting something new at his demeanor. This is new. His tone was something different and the way he looks at you seemed far from what youâre used to.
Is he⌠no way.Â
âSince he..â You shook your head, âNevermind. Itâs freshly baked too so it would be good if you eat it as soon as possible. I donât want you skipping breakfast or any mealsââ
âJunnie.â
You snap your head back, only seeing Julie approaching you two. You almost scowl at her presence but you decide itâs not very nice to do. So you just kept the smile you had before and waved at Julie.
âI thought weâll meet at the cafe?â Renjun asks, the change in the way he talks was prominent.Â
âI figured we should walk together..â The glance Julie gave you was short lived, obviously trying to question why youâre still here.Â
And to be honest, you donât know too. You look pretty stupid standing in a conversation you donât belong in.
You were about to walk away, when your name got called.
âY/n!â You turn to see Sungchan, waving at you with a wide smile spread across his face.
âHey, Sungchan.â You wave back.
He looks at the three of you, but ultimately keeps his focus on you. He seemed to read the room, and when you thought heâd sweep you away, he stood tall.
âHey, Renjun, Julie. Uh,â he turns to you, âMr. Hong canceled the class.âÂ
âOh really? Okay.â You nod, thinking where you should go. You turn to Renjun whoâs looking at Sungchan, visibly irritated by the boyâs sudden appearance.Â
âWe should go, Injunnie. The cafe could be crowded by the time we get there.â Julie clings onto his side, tugging him slightly.Â
âDream cafe? I heard theyâre giving out free croissants! Y/n, we should go with them!â Sungchan, way too enthusiastic as he put his arms around you. You flinch a bit, thinking about Renjun seeing it.Â
But when you see him and Julie, you opted to just let it be.
âI donâtââ
âLetâs go!â Sungchan pulls you with him, and you hesitantly walk with him. Renjun lets out a scoff, looking to the side before following.Â
âWhat are you doing?!â You whisper at Sungchan.
âIâm helping you, silly.â He answers quietly, and you wanted to ask for an explanation on how this is helping you, but you were greeted by a student walking by.
âWhatâs your order?â A lovely barista greeted Julie.
âSpanish Latte for me, Injunnie?â Iced Jasmine Tea. You silently whisper to yourself.
âIced Jasmine Tea.â You smirk to your triumph. Little wins matter!Â
âPsh, simp.â You heard Sungchan on your side, you immediately elbowed him on his side. How the heck did he hear you?
âShut up.â You growl at him, but quickly smile as you look ahead.
âHow about our pastries?â You look to the side and thereâs deliciously looking treats displayed. You would order one yourself, but youâd already eaten your own baked cookies.
âCheesecake for me and.. you, Injunnie?â You note the additional pitch Julie adds in her voice whenever she talks to Renjun. She sounds cute.Â
âNo thanks. I have cookies back at my place.âÂ
You hitch your breath. Is he.. Is he talking about your cookies? The one you baked for him? Widening your eyes, you look at him in disbelief. Did he just acknowledge your cookies? Oh my god!
âHi Birdie!â Your trance was cut-off by the baristaâs enthusiastic approach, even waving excitedly at you.
âJesus christ, Even outside the campus people know you?!â Sungchan asks in astonishment.Â
âOf course! I love her, sheâs like one of the reasons Iâm trying out cheerleading next year. That routine you did last summer was so perfect!â The barista gushed on and on, making your cheeks red.Â
âIâll have Iced Americano and sheâll have..â Sungchan looked back at you.
âCaramel Macchiato, please.â You say sweetly, and the barista happily put your order in. You were about to pay cash, but before you could even bring out your wallet, a ping on the cashier.
You look back and see Sungchan smiling like an idiot after tapping his phone.Â
âI got that.â You complain.
âI got it first tho.â Sungchan smirked. You open your mouth to retort back, however, Renjun starts walking awayâ probably to one of the tables. You quickly follow pursuit.
âHmm, so big game next week, huh?â Julie was the first to initiate the conversation.
âOh, yeah. Uh, heard you guys are performing at the game?â Sungchan looked at you.
âYeââ
âOf course. Weâre already almost finished with the routine. Just kind of sucks that we had to take a break for no reason.â Julie says in the most oblivious way, as if she just said something casual.
You blink thrice, processing her words. Didnât you need to take a break because she didnât do her job causing you to have knee problems?Â
 âIâm sorry about that,I just really needed to let my knee relax. But I'm alright now.â You still smiled and took a sip off your coffee.Â
âYou hurt your knee?â Renjunâs sudden concern made the three of you look at him, but he didnât even flinch. Heâs still waiting for your response.
âYeah uh, itâs just the usual⌠not that big of a deal.â You say, words stumbling upon your throat. Youâre not used to him being like this.Â
âDidnât I tell you to take a break?âÂ
âI didâŚthatâs why the practice got held back afew. But Iâm fine now!â Your tone was cheerful, hopefully to convince him that youâre really doing okay now. You donât know where this sudden concern about your well being came from but youâre not complaining either.
However, If looks could kill, Julie mightâve committed murder by now.Â
âSheâs doing fine now⌠sheâs Birdie, after all.â The sarcasm laced in her words are strong.
The tension was too much to handle, so you excused yourself.Â
As soon as you were in the bathroom, you let out a deep breath. You really donât know how to handle confrontation. When someoneâs being obviously rude towards you, you just fold.Â
Thereâs something really wrong with you. You canât seem to be comfortable with defending yourself, or just straight up calling out people for their rude behavior. Youâd rather just sit there and take it. You canât even curse, for christ sake!
âY/n.â You look at the mirror, only to see Julie entering the bathroom as well.
She looks upset. Like really, really upset.
âHey Julââ
âYou know that me and Renjun are a thing, right?â You stop whatever youâre doing, and turn around to really face her. Did she have to lie straight to your face?
âAccording to him though, thereâs nothing going on between you two.âÂ
âCome on, youâre supposed to be smart. Thereâs clearly something there.â She rolls her eyes.
âAnd unless you and him say it verbatim, thereâs nothing wrong here.â You shrug your shoulders.
âAre you hearing yourself? You sound ridiculous. Whatâs not clicking, y/n? Renjun hates you. He finds you annoying. He probably thinks youâre a desperate biââ
âJulie, get the fuck out of my face. Iâm not gonna say it twice,âÂ
She let out a small gasp. You were shocked as well. You canât believe that just came out of your mouth. You inhale and close your eyes, exhaling when you look at her.
âIâm sorry. I didnât mean to be rude. But if you could just⌠just leave, please.âÂ
âYouâre gonna regret this, Birdie.â You can see that she meant the threat, and you canât help but to feel anxious. You were about to question it but she walked out before you could do so.
When you go back to the table, Renjun and Julie are long gone. Apparently, Julie went on about feeling sick, and Renjun had to go with her.Â
âI really donât get it, y/n. You really like that man? Heâs clearly interested in Julie. And not to mention, he treats you like shit.â Sungchan was perplexed, to say the least.
You just gave him an apologetic smile and continued sipping your coffee. Youâre tired of convincing people on why youâre into him.Â
They donât need to understand. As long as it makes sense to you and Renjun, thatâs enough.
âđâËâšâĄ
Game night.
NCU vs SHU. Two universities that've been butting heads all year. Jeno leads the NCU neocats, whilst Dino leads the SCU ravens. Youâre all in for NCU, of course.Â
The gymnasium was packed. The first game was on your campus, opening its gates for both universities for tonightâs game.Â
Itâs always exciting, the marching band started playing, indicating that the game is about to start.Â
âAlright, guys! Warm up!â Coach Evie calls. You quickly sit on the grass, stretching your legs, reaching it with your fingertips.
Everybody else was stretching as well. But you canât help but feel the daggers that've been throwing at you ever since practice.Â
Julie has been glaring at you. And you canât help but feel anxious. You pull Minnie to the side.
âSwitch main base with me?â You ask nicely.
âThat would ruin the routine, Birdie. Why would you want to switch anyways?â She questions, kind of confused at your sudden request.
âI donât feel secure with some of my support. Itâs only for the toss, Minnie.â You didnât want to say Julieâs name, careful not to single her out. But you also feel bad pertaining to all your main bases when they didnât do anything at all.
âOh, is it that bitch Julie? What happened? You want me to beat the lights out of her? Because I willââ
âYou know what, nevermind. I hate that you resort to violence for anything, Minnie. Thatâs not very nice.â Â
Maybe youâre just paranoid. Julie wonât intentionally ruin your routine. She wonât.
Minnie kissed her teeth, putting her hands on her hips. âI know that you know switching main bases last minute is a horrible idea. Youâre the captain, for christ sake. So that means one thing. Julie said something that would make you want to switch. I will keep an eye on her, donât worry. If she tries shit, I will fuck her up, okay? Now go, captain. Weâre about to start.â Minnie hugged you tight, stepping away after just to fix your bow.Â
Youâre really glad you have Minnie. You wouldnât know what to do without her.
You glance around the bleachers, finding someone that would definitely soothe your overthinking brain.Â
And there he was, in the midst of the busy crowd, looking graceful as always as he sat in between Haechan and Jaemin. Itâs like seeing him made you calm down. The effect of his presence made you relax.Â
And as soon as he connects his sight to yours, he sighs. You thought heâd just look away, but he smiled. Mouthing the words, âGoodluck, Birdieâ
You felt your chest burst, instantly nodding at him. You didnât even think about it when you whispered the words you have always wanted to say.
âI love youâÂ
And then he visibly froze. But before he could react, Coach Evie called you.
You didnât have a choice but to bring your attention back to the squad.
âBirdie, lead the squad. Alright, everybody. Finish the routine safely and perfectly. This is just the beginning. The real competition is the next game, the National Cheerleading Competition executives will be here as judgesâ they will pick a winner between you and Scarlet Heart. But that doesnât mean yâall can slack on this one, alright?â Coach Evie really needs to work on her pep talk.Â
You sigh, shaking your entire body to loosen up. You were about to go into position when you noticed the entire squad looking at you.
âWhatchu wanna say, captain?â Minnie smiles at you, and you realize theyâre waiting for you to say something.Â
âOh, right, uhââ You clear your throat, âCheer like it's your last?â You were unsure, and so as everybody, but Minnie, being the ever sweetheart that she is, she clapped and cheered.Â
As the announcer yelled for the NCU Squad, the familiar feeling rushed through your body. The adrenaline starts to creep in and you get high in the feeling. Everytime you perform, you get the chills that you have always craved. Like this was your calling. Like this has always been what youâre meant to do.
The music started, and you swore you had nothing on your mind. Your body moves on its own and it somehow perfect every single step. It was more of a reflex by this point, every position, every beat tatted in your brain.Â
But then there comes the part where you get tossed in the air. And although you memorized everything in the back of your head, this particular moment was extremely dangerous. You get tossed almost nine feet up in the air, and everything goes once itâs executed. So itâs natural to get nervous, however somethingâs not right.
You donât have time to figure it out, the crowd already hyping you up. They know the climax of the routine, and thatâs when the air lifts are performed. And youâre usually the person who gets thrownâ so they know when itâs your turn.
âBirdie, Birdie, Birdie!âÂ
You take a deep inhale, before starting to climb up on a couple of bases.You glance at the bleachers, finding your courage from one person but he isnât where heâs at earlier. You didnât have time to think about it, and on two counts, the bases started to gain momentum. And just right before you get thrown, you look at a pair of eyes that made your blood run cold.
The rage behind Julieâs eyes was evident. You performed the pose in the air, executed it perfectly, but when youâre about to land, everyone went silent.
Julie stepped back from her spot, causing you to land on your injured knee immediately the pain made you lose your balance.Â
A sharp, stabbing sensation shot through your leg. A searing pain lanced through your knee, buckling your leg. You hold it in place as you process the entire situation.
Everybody was silent. It felt like a slow motion, most of your squad immediately running to you. You canât breathe. The initial shock felt like a dagger through the heart. Your jaw slacks, as you look at Julie running away from the field.Â
Minnie immediately shook you from your trance, and thatâs when you looked at her. The pain has gotten worse when you snap back to reality. You felt your entire cheerleading career crumble in your hands. The tears follow through as you look up at Minnie.
âMinnie, Iâm done..â You canât believe it. âOh my god, Iâm done.âÂ
âđâËâšâĄ
A few years back
âHuang Renjun, youâre close with him, right?â Giselle asked.
âYeah..â You hesitantly say. You saw her look back at Ningning, and they both smirked at each other.
âI was just asking.â Giselle shrugged, and even though you were sure that thereâs underlying meaning behind her question.Â
It has been about three months since you got in the cheerleading squad, and to be honest, it has been underwhelming. Giselle rarely calls for practice, but sheâs always in cheer uniform. She also only has very limited rotation between the team, mostly her, Ningning, and Yiren always in the center.Â
You? You were always at the back. Which you never complained about, because Giselle is the captain for a reason, what she says, goes. And youâre a newbie, thereâs no room for complaints, especially from you.Â
âWhat happened? Whyâd she call you?â Renjunâs soft voice instantly turns your mood up. He waited at the parking lot, leaning on his car as he watched you walk towards him.Â
As soon as you close the distance he smiles warmly, then proceeds to fix the hair that was all over your face, and tucks into your ear.
âShe just asked a question,â You didnât lie, technically. You just withhold a minor detail.
âReady for tonight?â He smiles warmly at you. You nod excitingly at him.
Renjun promised to take you out on a âfriendlyâ date tonight. Itâs one of his ways to make it up for the time he lost with you. You swear to him that he didnât need to do all this, but he insisted that you come with this âdateâ tonight.Â
You didnât want to expect anything, but itâs hard not to when youâre literally head over heels with Renjun. A little assuming wonât hurt, sometimes.
âAre you sure I donât need to change my clothes?â You pat down your pleated skirt, a bit conscious about your outfit. You were only wearing an oversized knitted sweaterâ and your everyday sneakers for this âdateâ.Â
Renjun is also rocking a casual outfit, but he still looks dashing. It's honestly not fair.
âNo, I promise you, you look good in anything.âÂ
Thereâs also a change in how Renjun talks to you. He talks to you with a bit of⌠flirting? You didnât want to assume anything, again, but being delusional naturally is registered in your system.Â
You didnât know where Renjun was taking you, but you didnât care as long as youâre with him. Nothing could make this man look bad in your books.Â
When the car stops, your hand moves to the car door, but Renjun held your wrist.Â
âCome on, you donât need to open the door for me.â You chuckle a bit, finding his chivalry cute.
âNo, we donât even need to leave the car.â You furrow your brows at him. As you turn your eyes on the front, you get suddenly blinded by a cinema sized LED screen.
You hitch your breath as the familiar movie starts.
âBring It On!â You squeal, fascinated and somewhat perplexed as to how Renjun got this drive in cinema play a movie from the 2000s.
You turn to him with, corners of your mouth going up. He smiled back, reached at the backseatâ and suddenly, a bouquet of yellow tulips separated your eyes from him.Â
You canât help but blink rapidly, trying to make sense of it all. Is this an actual date? Not a friendly one? Whatever is going on right now, one thingâs for sure, youâre loving every second of it.
The movie started, and it feels like youâre straight out of a novel. However, as you try to relax, your fingers brush against his, and you swear you felt a slight spark.Â
At this very moment, the movie is long forgotten. All your undivided attention is on the way your skin feels hot, and your focus is on how to initiate more contact with Renjun.
âWant something to eat?â He asks softly, glancing at you with the sweetest eyes you could ever imagine.
âNot exactly that,â you let out an awkward chuckle and shifted in your seat.
âWhatâs the problem?â God, heâs so oblivious, you just want to jump his bones right now. You shake your head off with the dirty thoughts.
âWhyâ whyâre we doing this? Why are you doing this, Renjun?â You gather courage to actually address the elephant in the room.
His jaw slacks but he swiftly kept his composure. âI thought youâd want to finish the movie firstââ
âIâve watched that movie 54 times. I could probably cite the next dialogue without thinking. So what is it, Renjunnie?âÂ
He gulps one time, before he starts fidgeting with his hands. âI love you, y/n. I have loved you for a long time now and I was a coward because I had thought that a loser like me didnât have the right to want you. So I gained my confidence, tried befriending other people to gain popularitââ Before he could even finish, you threw the bouquet on the back seat of his car and grabbed his collar. Next thing you know is youâre already making out with him on the passenger seat and you did not care about anything else.
You pulled away, breathless, âI love you too, Renjun.âÂ
You could not take your hands off of each other as soon as you entered his apartment. He shared it with a guy named Donghyuck, but he was out tonight, which you thanked the heavens for.
âY/n,â He whispers your name every chance he gets, which is not much since your lips are connected at every moment ever since you stepped foot in this apartment.
You didnât want to rush things with him, but you just felt like this was the right moment. This was the perfect timing. Heâs the right person to do this with.
He kissed you hard, but softly at the same time. It was like you were drowning, but you didnât mind it.Â
âShit,â curses sounded heavenly when it came from his mouth, turning you on even more.
You didnât even realize you were already in the confinement of his bedroom, until the back of your knees hit the edge of his bed. You let your balance loose, allowing yourself to lay back on the mattress.Â
He looked at you in a way that made your spine shiver, your entire body burning with desire.Â
âAre you sure about this?â He carefully asks as he lowers himself to tower over you. You look at him with the same passion and nod your head. âIâm always sure about you.â You take his lips once more.
You can tell he was hesitant to touch places you wanted his hands on. So you take the lead, grabbing his nervous hands and placing it on your breast. âPlease touch me,âÂ
His jaw slackens, a new sensation traveling down his body. âIâ-Iâm sorry, I havenât done this before.â He stuttered, but you just bit your lip.
âI havenât either. Weâll be each otherâs first,â You smile reassuringly at him, caressing his cheek as he looks at you warily.Â
He started to massage your breast, whilst his lips traveled down your neck. You can feel your stomach flutter at the feeling, never expecting such a move would make you go crazy. He then looks at you again, holding the hem of your shirt, almost as if asking permission. You gazed over at him with lust that you knew he got the message.
He lifted it up, and in every skin that gets exposed, he blessed it with his lips. The wetness of it makes your breath hitch. âRenjun, please.âÂ
He pulled your sweater up until youâre now only left with your bra. He slowly reaches at your back, which you helped by arching, and with a snap, your bra falls undone.Â
The cold breeze around your nipples did not last long because as soon as his eyes fell down, his lips attached to one of the peaks. You shudder, gripping his hair, gently pulling it. Youâre a moaning mess.
âTouch me more,â You managed to blurt out. He seemed to understand, with the way his hands traveled down your skirt. Still making out with your exposed breast, paying attention one after another, he started playing with your panties.Â
âFuck, youâre so wet already.â He felt the dampness over the cloth, directing his middle finger on the slit. You gasp in pleasure, flinching every time he explored further.Â
âJun,â You whine when he starts pulling down your skirt, along with your panties. His jaw opens slowly as he looks at you with hunger behind his eyes, but the softness of adoration still present at his expression. You clench at the sudden coldness but he didnât allow you to suffer any further as he moved fast and removed his own clothing.
âShit, baby youâre fucking gorgeous.âÂ
He parted your thighs and squished himself in between, his member hitting your core ever so slightly. But the thought of it drives you nuts, and it takes all of you to not do anything about it. He went back to making out with you as his hands do wonders.
âUh, my gosh.â You inhale once his fingers start rubbing your pussy, trying to steady your hands on his body. He pulls away just to watch you fall apart in his hands.
He bites his lip as his fingers started moving down, where your hole is. âIâm.. Iâm gonna finger you first, okay?â He asks ever so carefully, and itâs obvious that heâs also as nervous as you are.
âOkay, baby. I trust you.âÂ
And just then, he applied pressure and eventually entered you, making you flinch a bit. He moans with you, a foreign feeling enveloping at his fingertips. This is the first time he had ever touched somebody, and he can already tell that youâre the best.
âR-Renjun.â You whine as he starts moving in and out. ]
âFuck, fuck youâre dripping, oh-â He takes a glance at your wet core, where his middle finger disappears. He pushed another finger in and you swore you almost felt like youâre coming.
You see his other hand leave your breast, moving it down his own body and you just knew what he was going to do. You swiftly take his hand away and replace it with yours. You knew enough from videos, ones that were shown to you by your former friends.Â
He muttered out a deep groan once you made contact with his cock, immediately moving your hands in the same rhythm he does with his own fingers.Â
You never knew it would feel this good. The look in his face, the way his mouth slackens and the way he falls vulnerable on your touch felt dangerously addicting.Â
There was a strange feeling on your stomach, like a thread thatâs waiting to snap. Like you were about to explode. âRenjâ oh, Iâm.. I think Iâm coming,âÂ
You cry at the feeling, making him work even harder. He licks his lips as he went faster, and you can just feel your body shake. Your hands can no longer move, and in the next moment, you felt euphoria. You were shaking, grabbing at his wrist, trapping it in between as you rode the wave of pleasure.
âThat was so fucking hot, baby.. God I can just cum right here.â He says, now trying to calm you down. He placed a kiss on your forehead and whispered âgood jobâ. Your eyes are still closed when he positioned himself on top of you, the tip of his cock aligning in your entrance.
âYou ready?â He asks, moving his tip up and down your slit. You nod, even when tired, youâre still filled with eagerness.Â
âI need to feel you now,â You say. He gave you a peck on your lips and just when you know it, he started to stretch you out.
And it hurts. It hurts so bad, but it's so good.Â
âIt hurts,â You just couldnât believe how painful it was. Yes, you knew it would sting a bit, but not like this. You almost wanted to stop right there but when you felt him shiver, and hear him moan, everything washed off.Â
âIâ-Iâm sorry baby, fuck youâre gonna make me cum.â He says, whining even louder than you. He cages your head with both his forearms, making you look up at him, and him only.Â
âI love you, I love you, I love you.â He says, tears on the edge of his eyes.Â
âI love you so much,â You whisper. Swiftly, by looking at his eyes, the pain subsided. âYou can move now, baby.âÂ
He nods and in every thrust he makes, the pain slowly turns to pleasure. Like magic, it dissipates into thin air, only replaced with the pure euphoric feeling.Â
Your tears were one of those tears that came from pleasure, and that pleasure not only derives from him fucking you, but also from the fact that itâs him youâre doing this with. The boy you love the most.
âI canât, baby. I canât last, you feel too fucking good.â He whined in your ear, embracing you so tight that you mightâve broken a rib, not that youâd care.Â
You hugged him back, âItâs okay, baby. Let go.âÂ
âAh, ahâ shit, I love you. I love you, y/n. Please tell me youâ fuck âlove me too.â
You were there with him, both your climax approaching fast, even faster when he called your name. âI love you so much, my baby, my Huang Renjun.âÂ
You both came, looking at each others eyes. He dived down to kiss you torridly, caressing your hair.Â
And with that intense state of pleasure and love, you hold him like youâve never before.Â
Everything was perfectly in place for you, and youâve never been happier.Â
Youâre achieving your dream of becoming a cheerleader, and your dream of being with your first love, Huang Renjun. It all seemed dandy, until Giselle asked you to stay behind practice.
âYou know Theo? The main base? Yeah, he likes you, y/n.â At the end of the practice, Giselle and Ningning basically cornered you. You had no idea about what they were talking aboutâ one thingâs for sure, youâre not interested.
âI donât like him like that.. and besides, I have aââ
âAnd our Ningning here likes Renjun. So I suggest giving her a chance, yeah?â Giselle crossed her arms across her chest, lifting her brows.
You were puzzled. You and Renjun just officiated your relationship last night, how can they ask you this? Your breathing quickens.
âI-Iâ Giselle, what are you saying? Heâs my boyfriend,â Your voice started to shake.Â
âDonât piss me oââ Ningning rolled her eyes at you and even attempted to lunge at you, making you flinch but Giselle blocked her.
âNings,â Giselle reprimanded before staring back at you again.
âYou know that cheerleading is all about sisterhood, right, y/n?â Her voice was ice cold, her eyes making you shiver. The Giselle you idolized was long gone, only replaced by this cold hearted person.
âIââ
âBut itâs fine. However, you canât just turn down Theo like that, right? Heâs been talking about you nonstop, and to be honest, I like him as my brother. So, be kind and meet him at the back of the gym tonight. You can do that, right?â Her attitude screamed authoritative, but also soft, as if to trick you into manipulation. She didnât let her smile fade while waiting for your answer.
You shake your head, âI will talk to him when I want to, Giselle. But I donât think its a good ideaââ
âDo you think itâs a good idea to go against the cheer captain? You'll see him after this. And you better not tell Renjun. Or else, Iâll kick you out of the team.âÂ
You were in a state of shock. You feel highly strung, why is she being like this? Threatening to kick you out because you refuse to obey her nonsense order?Â
You couldnât say anything when they left. You were conflicted on so many levels.Â
When you become Captain, you will never be like her. Youâll be better, in every conceivable way.Â
But now that youâre still starting, you canât do much. So you followed her. Convincing yourself that nothing worse will happen. You'll just have to talk with Theo, thatâs it.
[6:34pm] injunnie <3: baby are u done? meet me @ the parking lot
Your fingers shake, typing out a lie. You cannot fathom lying to him, but still, you did.Â
[6:35pm] you: hi babyy <3 uhm, not yet. i need to practice a few stunts :(( iâll just text u, ok?
[6:35pm] injunnie <3: ok baby. see u later! love u :*
You brush your hand across your hair. Not even a day in your relationship, and youâre already lying to him about meeting a guy. You felt horrible.Â
Yet, here you are, standing a few feet away from Theo.
âHi, y/n.â He was smiling at you, but you felt uncomfortable. He started walking towards you rather aggressively, to the point that your legs started to step away backwards.Â
There was a measure of anxiety spread all over your face, however, you still managed to talk.Â
âGiselle told meââ
âSheâs right, y/n. I asked her to help me. And Iâm glad you decided to talk about thisââÂ
Your brows knitted together, but you thought that maybe he had a wrong impression about you coming here to talk to him. âActually, Theo, I have a boyfriend.âÂ
He froze, smile fading, his expression accenting his confusion. You almost felt bad, but in a swift moment, his lips stretched into a smirk and leaned his head to the right. âWell, you could just give me a lilâ kiss then, right?â
Your lips ajar, brows furrowed as you try and process what youâve just heard. Deeply offended, you attempt to call him out on his brazen request, but he continues.
âGiselle would be so mad to hear that you canât even give me a single kiss, y/n. She loves me, and if I told her how selfish you are, sheâd have no problem banning you from cheerleading up until college. She has connections, y/n.âÂ
All other words suddenly fled your mind. Theoâs basically blackmailing you into cheating. Your nose wrinkled in disgust upon his words, but you canât seem to say anything. Heart beats intensely as you weigh the choice you need to make in this situation.
âGiselle wonâtââÂ
âOh she will. Youâre outshining her in the squad and sheâd be more than happy to make up a reason to ban you. Come on, y/n. Your boyfriend doesnât need to know.âÂ
Youâd be forbidden to join up until college. You wouldnât be able to cheer ever again.Â
He takes a step forward, this time, rooted in your place, you feel your stomach twist. Your eyes burned in tears. Theoâs touch burned, and you gulped as his palm laid on your cheek.Â
You couldnât move. Your skin tingles, heart rapidly beating within your chest as your breathing grows tighter.Â
He doesnât have to know. Renjun wouldnât know.
At the moment his lips touched yours, you knew you made a mistake. You felt disgusted, you canât find it in you to respond.
 âKiss me fucking properly.â He growls. You clench your fist, and tighten your eyes as you kiss him back despite the tremble of your lips due, a wave of revulsion swept through your entire body.Â
Youâre cheating on Renjun for your dream of being a cheerleader.Â
Then there was a terrifying moment when you feel someone else being present in this vile affair that youâre forced to partake in. You open your tear filled eyes and right there and then, your whole world shatters.
There he was, the love of your life, standing a few feet away. Behind him was Ningning, sporting a smirk as if sheâd won. Your mind tells you to step away, run to Renjun, and beg for forgiveness. But your fear overshadowed you, staying right where you were, slowly digging your own grave.
His eyes were poisonous to even look upon, so much hatred tainted in his mind. You knew heâd hate you, no, heâd despise you. And nothing breaks your heart even more than seeing him walk away.
You immediately pushed Theo, and landed a sharp slap across his face. Tears surged in uncontrollably as you slowly realize that youâd already lost the only person you loved.Â
Whatever it takes, huh?
You see Theo leave, and when itâs just you and the overflowing guilt alone, thatâs when your legs give out. You sat there, clutching your hand on your chest as you cried, desperately wiping your lips until they hurt.Â
In the quiet moments that followed, the only sound was the echoing resonance of guilt, regret, and shame.
âđâËâšâĄÂ
âRuptured patellar tendon on your knee, Ms. Y/N. Unfortunately youâll have to undergo physical therapy, and most likely, you'll never be able to perform in cheerleading indefinitely.âÂ
You felt like a bucket of ice cold water was just poured all over you. You stared at nothingness, hoping all of this was just a dream.Â
Why should this even happen to you? Is it karma? If it is, isnât this too much of a punishment?Â
You cried and cried until your eyes dried up, having to accept the fact that at the age of 22, your dream was snatched away from you.
Was it cruel? Yes, absolutely. Did you deserve it? Arguable.Â
Cheerleading was the only thing you know, and now itâs off the table. It was as though a veil of sadness had been draped over your eyes, distorting your perception of the world and casting everything in shades of gray. What are you supposed to do now?
A swarm of support follows you on the third day of your hospitalization, and you swear youâre grateful for all of them, however, you canât seem to find gratitude for any of them.
Most of the cards called you Birdie, and how are you supposed to live up to the name if your wings were broken off? Youâre no longer Birdie, and the only remaining sentiment that name carries is sadness and disappointment.
âI beat her up, you know?â Minnie says one time she visited you.
You look at her in shock. A laugh traveled through her, âNot âbeatâ, actually. I just landed a few on her face. Nobody in the squad snitched, because they knew she deserved it. Her boyfriend seemed mad about it tho,âÂ
For the first time in a while, you thought about Renjun. Your mind was in a different space the entire time that you forgot about him. He wasnât there when the incident occured and it would be possible if he didnât know what happened.Â
âDoes he know?â Your voice was scratched, and a glint of hope laced in your tone.
âI donât think he knew of the severity of the injury, and Iâm sure that bitch already switched up the story. Heâs a dumbass.â
âHe wasnât there, he didnât see what happened. Iâm sure heâsââ
Minnie snapped, raising her voice. âOh for fuckâs sake, Birdie. Stop defending him! You should get your mind off of him. Itâs pissing me off that despite what happened, you still find a way to give people the benefit of a doubt. And I bet you donât even blame Julie, youâd rather blame yourself,â Sheâs right. Not that youâre not mad about what Julie did, but youâre more so empty. You donât know what to feel, and even debated if you deserved it or not.
You sink more on your seat in shame. âPlease, learn to be mad. Learn to be angry, and hold people into accountability. Not everyone deserves a second chance.âÂ
That made you think, not only about this entire ordeal, but also the past. Not everyone deserves a second chance.
Does that mean you too? With what you did with Renjun? Did you not deserve a second chance?
Maybe youâre too nice because youâre overcompensating for what you did to get what you had. And now youâve had your time, it was cruelly snatched from you.Â
Maybe that dream wasnât yours to begin with.
And maybe, Renjun wasnât meant to be yours, too.
âđâËâšâĄ
Renjun felt uneasy. Thereâs something weird about the atmosphere that night of the game.Â
Before your performance that night, he had to take a call from his mom, asking him to come home for a favor. He was conflicted, because although he masked it greatly, he did liked watching you perform.Â
However, he thought that you still had a final performance in the next game, which was twice as important than that night so he just opted to leave before the game.Â
The next morning, he was overwhelmed by Julieâs tears.Â
âM-Minnie, that fucking bitch beat me up!â She screams, pointing at the slight bruising at her temple.
He heard about the incident last game, and it killed him to get the news that you were injured, again. The last time that happened, he almost wanted to take you home and take care of you properly. Yet, something in him always reminds him that you chose this career.
You chose this over him.Â
But Renjun wouldnât lie if he said that he didnât feel bad about Julie right now. From what he has heard, the entire thing was an accident. Julie did not deserve to be hurt physically, at least thatâs what he thought at first.
Julie had become a close friend of his, quickly forming a bond with shared interest in some things. Julieâs really pretty as well, and even though Renjun doesnât care about that stuff, heâs sure as hell wonât deny the truth.Â
He tried, he really did. Julie was a perfect partner, and she seemed sweet and kind, one of the qualities Renjun liked about her. So, yes. Maybe he did plan to be with her, at least sleep with her.Â
But when he saw your pain stricken face in that elevator, he was suddenly unsure.
âWhy did you have to put your hands on her?â He asks Minnie calmly. He had no intention confronting her, he just wanted to know the reason and she happened to walk past him.
She stared back at him with a cold grin, âThat bitch deserved more.âÂ
For some odd reason, Renjun didnât say anything after that. Rather, heâd questioned why Minnie did it to that extent, why is she so angry that sheâd resort to violence.
It wasnât until the day before your big performance that Renjun started to worry. It has been more than a week and he still hasnât seen you.
He snuck out from classes just to peek at the cheerleading practice and you werenât there. Not in your usual classes, hallways or cafeteria where heâs usually seen you.Â
Out of sheer desperation, he asked Julie.
âWhat happened at the last game?â
He saw a glimpse of fear run through her eyes when it widened upon hearing his question.
âI told you, It was an accident.â Julieâs tone was defensive.
Thereâs a voice inside Renjunâs head, saying to not trust her.Â
For the reason being that youâd never not show up in your classes, even with simple injury. Sure, youâd skip practice for a few days but youâd be back on your feet the next day. Especially with an event like this.
His worry grew, now stressing on why youâre still not around. Itâs the final game, and you should be here, if not to cheer, but atleast watch your squad. Youâd always done that. So why are you still not around?
He curses at himself for caring about you this much. He felt like he betrayed himself, his own morals and beliefs because he should not care about you anymore. Afterall, you cheated on him. No matter how nice you are, no matter how much you claim that youâve changed. Thereâs no way he could just forget the pain he went through.
So why is he standing outside the field, waiting on any of your friends to show up and ask them where youâve been?Â
âWhereâs your captain?â He asks the first person he saw wearing the squad uniform.
âOh, sheâs almost here, wait, there she is!â Sunghoon says pointing at the back.Â
A wave of relief washed over Renjun. Shit, youâre okay. Youâre here.Â
But when he turns around, he sees Minnie. He furrows his brow, quite perplexed as to why heâs pointing at Minnie when he knows damn well sheâs not the captain of cheerleading.
âIf youâre here to ask whereâs Julie, I kicked that bitch out. Sorry,â She sneered at him.
He almost yells that heâs not here for Julie. He couldn't care less about her. Heâs here for you.
âYouâre.. Youâre not the captain. Whereâs y/n?âÂ
Minnieâs smirk faded, as if his question shifted the mood. âYou really donât know, huh?â
He felt the first thump in his chest. âWhat?â
âBetter ask her yourself.âÂ
With that, she left Renjun hanging. He couldnât try and stop Minnie, asking her for any explanation because he felt like he was going to explode.
His lips fell ajar, as everything clicked.
You had an injury, and right after that you didnât go to any of your practice, then Julie got kicked out and now Minnieâs replaced you as the captain.
He covers his mouth in realization, adding another layer of fear. He needs to find you.
Fortunately, Renjun doesnât need to walk far. He had heard that youâre in the premises to watch the game, and the first place he had thought of was the gymnasium.
He finds you, sitting alone on the bleachers with a pair of pompoms on your side. You werenât wearing your uniform.
âY/n,â He whispers, yet the resonance of his voice echoes. He approaches you carefully, assessing the entire situation. He wants to be there for you, but he doesnât want to force you if you want to be alone.
You look up at him, and when his eyes meet yours, he can just hear his heart break. You looked defeated. You look tired.
âWhy arenât you in uniform, Birdie?â He asks softly. Deep inside Renjun, he knew why. But he canât accept it. Not when this is your life. Not when he knows itâll break you to give up.
You slowly shake your head helplessly at him, on the verge of despair. Gripping both your hands on your knees, like youâre holding yourself together.Â
âThe gameâs about to startââ
âI canât, Renjun, I canât dance anymore.â He takes a huge breath after hearing your voice break, and he takes two huge steps to reach you. He kneels before you, grabbing your cold hands.Â
âThere has got to be another way, baby. Weâll get you the best doctor out thââ
âIâm done with cheerleading, Renjun. I.. I canât even fucking walk properly!â You broke down in front of him, and he swore heâd never felt so horrible in his life. His own tears betrayed him, but he doesn't care. When you, his entire world, is falling apart in his hands.
He pulls you in a tight embrace, letting you wet his shirt completely. Caressing your hair as he attempts to calm you, but in his mind, heâs also hanging by a threadâ seeing you like this, completely giving up, breaks him to his core.
âWhat do I do now, Renjun? Whatââ you sobbed in between your words, and he bit his lip hearing you like this. It hurts him so much to see you like this. He closes his eyes, gently trying to soothe your shaking shoulders.
âIâm so sorry, my baby.â He whispers, kissing the top of your head repeatedly.Â
At this moment, Renjun swears in his grave, that he will never forgive whoever did this to you.
And if your sweet smile never comes back after this, all hell will break loose. Because heâs never afraid of his own scars, but yours? Oh, thatâs his deepest, darkest fear.
âđâËâšâĄ
Neo Culture University Newsblog
âNCUâs Top Cheerleader, the captain of NCU Squadron, the first ever cheerleader to perform the highest basket toss in NCU cheerleading history, Y/N, L/N, famously known as The Bird, announces her departure from the squad after the incident at the first game between NCU vs SHU.Â
Also known as Birdie, had suffered a career ending injury after falling whilst performing a routine last Thursday night. It was announced by the cheer committee that Hwang Youngmin will be replacing her as a captain of the squad.
Furthermore, investigations involving a former cheerleader whoâs accused of sabotaging the Cheer Captainâs career, causing her to retire from cheerleading. Foul play is suspected, and weâll be reporting more on it soon. So far, it has been confirmed that said cheerleader is now kicked out of the squad. Updates soon.â
Renjun is filled with nothing but rage.
That was your dream. That was your everything. And just for⌠a fucking bitch to ruin it all for you?
âCalm down, man. Iâm sure the school will handle it.â Jeno, ever the mediator says. This was the first time his friends saw him this fuming.
âNo. Fuck no. I want that bitch out of this school.â Renjun was adamant about kicking Julie out. Heâd do everything in his power to make sure she didnât step foot on this campus ever again.Â
âAre we even sure about what happenedââ Haechan attempts to cut in on the conversation but a sharp look from Renjun made him freeze.
âDo I look like I care? Accident or not, Iâll make sure she suffers. Iâll make up a dumb fucking reason, anything, to get her kicked out. Iâll fund the fucking investigation against her. Iâll make sure she pays for it. Whatever it takes.â His voice was dangerously calm. Every word carrying weight, every threat sounded like a promise.
It doesnât matter to him now. He could lie and tell everybody he hates you, but nobody could ever hurt you like this. Not on his watch.
You could cheat on him a million times but heâll never be angry enough to let this happen to you. Not when you were once his everything â not when youâre once his lifeline. Everyone else doesnât matter.Â
When it comes to you, heâd do worse.
Haechan, Jeno and Jaemin looked at each other, worried about what Renjun would do. They had never seen him filled with this much rage. It was horrifying, the lengths heâs willing to take for you.Â
And deep inside, they knew that behind the cold exterior he always treated you with, is a man who is still deeply in love with you.Â
Also, one common knowledge among them is never to mess with Renjun.
âđâËâšâĄ
âThank you, Ms. Lin! See you next monday,â You waved goodbye to your therapist, as you went out for your weekly physical therapy.Â
After the surgery, it was really hard to adjust. You needed to use clutches for what it feels like forever, and there were restrictions that you needed to follow. The school granted you a scholarship, which was really awesome to hear. At least that was taken care of.
âBaby,âÂ
You look up front to see Renjun waiting for you in his car. You smiled at him and waved excitedly. He runs up to you, swiftly taking your bag with him.
âRight on time, impressive.â You sneer at him. He grabs your hand and hooks it over his arm.Â
âI was here fifteen minutes early, baby.â He winks at you, giving you a light peck on the lips. You giggled, watching him open the car door for you. You put your injured knee first, before sitting with your entire body.Â
âWhere are we going?â You ask. He didnât tell you about the plans today, but you didnât bother to ask either. You just assumed he would take you back to his apartment and youâll just burn a hole in his couch watching netflix the rest of the day.
You can never really pinpoint on when you and Renjun decided to get back together, or at least you think youâre back together. Ever since that day at the gymnasium, Renjun never left your side. You didnât dare ask him whatâs going on, afraid to ruin whatever it is.
You sat there, a bit uncertain on why Renjun still hasnât started the car. You turn to him, looking for any reason as to why he just sat there gripping the steering wheel.
âGiselle called today,â He exhaled.
You widen your eyes in aghast. Thatâs a name youâve never heard before. Or more accurately, thatâs a name you wished to never hear of ever again.Â
Nonetheless, you guessed this topic should be discussed sooner or later. You canât always avoid the inevitable, hiding from the ghosts from the past. And you believe that the both of you are much more grown now to handle it maturely.
âShe saw the article, apparently. And uh, she told me.. Well, everything.â You take a deep breath.
You clear your throat and nodded, calculating on how you should go about the conversation. Youâve rehearsed begging him for forgiveness a thousand times before, however, you realize that you should just tell him what you feel at the moment. Not some rehearsed bullcrap, because Renjun deserves nothing but the raw truth from you.
âHowâs Giselle? I hope theyâre doing good,â You start with genuine curiosity.Â
Renjun furrows his brows as he looks at you. âBaby, they gave you hell and you still wish them the best? IâI donât think I can ever forgive them for ruining us, ever.â He claims, grabbing your hand, intertwining it and kissing the back of your palm.
You smile warmly at him. âItâs okay, baby. Iâll forgive them for the both of us.âÂ
He shook his head, disagreeing. âNo. Youâll have to learn how to express anger for people who deserve it. You canât let them get away every single time. Theyâd just do it all over again.âÂ
A semblance of a smile had gently flickered onto your lips as you admired him. âAlright, baby. Iâll try. But good thing youâre with me now, right? You can be the bad cop and Iâd be the good cop!âÂ
Through his serious demeanor, a small smirk threatened to sneak its way on his mouth.Â
âAnd Iâm so sorry for treating you like shit. I was deep in my own hateful charade to mask the fact that I still wanted to be with you. I guess I was a pussââ
âLanguage, baby.â You faked an angry tone, but immediately smiled after. âBesides, I understand. I wouldnât want to be seen with a person who cheated onââ
âYou didnât, baby. You quite literally had no choice.â He warned.Â
âOkay, sure but you also have to let me earn your trust. At the end of the day, I still kissed somebody else when weâre together. But at the same time, I also feel terrible because it seemed like I sacrificed our own relationship for nothing.âÂ
Everytime you remind yourself of the decision you made when you were young, hurting the person you love, for something that was taken away from you way too soon, makes you feel so stupid. So disappointed in yourself.Â
âI trust you with my life, baby. Youâre responsible for me now, so donât you dare leave me again. Okay? I love you.âÂ
Before you wallow in guilt, Renjun kissed you deeply and passionately. Your lips move in a rhythmic manner, as if it was a melody that played in the silence of your hearts, a song of tenderness and affection.Â
âShit, baby we should go. Weâre going to be late,â He pulled away too early, despite your pleas and looked at his wristwatch.Â
You turn your head in confusion. Do you have plans today? He didnât say anything and began to drive. You were sitting in your seat demented, wondering where heâd take you. You try to familiarize the road heâs taking, but you are left clueless.
He stopped at an expensive looking hall, seemingly a restaurant, or an events place, honestly youâre not sure. There's a waitress waiting at the reception. Renjun just says his name, and the woman just nodded and smiled at you. You hesitantly smiled back, and thatâs when she guided you inside.
âWhat is this?â Your heart is now pumping out your chest, as you try to figure out Renjun's plan.Â
He just turns to you and puts his index fingers on his lips. The waitress stopped at a double door, knocked five times, odd to say the least, then gestured for Renjun to open the door.Â
For a moment, Renjun unlinks your hands from his arms to open the door. And as soon as you took a step inside the dark room, a collective excitement shrieked as the lights turned on.Â
âCongratulations, Birdie!âÂ
Your eyes widened, your mouth fell open as you saw everyone who ever mattered to you greets you with the widest smile as they held their own party prop. The confetti drowns you, but it doesn't baffle you. What touched you the most is your cheer squad, Minnie leading them as she blows the small horn.Â
âCelebrating Y/N âThe Birdâ L/Nâs legacy in NCU Squadâ it says on a banner.
You covered your mouth and immediately broke down, Minnie running to you and hugging you so tight.
âBitch, youâre gonna make me cry!â She whines as she tries to wipe your tears off your face.
You clutch your chest, being overwhelmed in joy. Sniffing silently as you greet the other people.
âThere she is!â You hear Coach Evie emerging from the crowd, embracing you.
âThank you, Coach.â
âYouâre by far the best cheerleader Iâve seen in my career. But I know youâre much better than just being a cheerleader. Please remain as hopeful as you were before, Birdie.â She says, making you sob even more. You murmured more gratitude to her.
âUh-Uhm.â You look at someone clearing their throat beside you, and you see an awkward Haechan standing there looking at his feet. Renjun harshly nudges him forward to you, Jeno and Jaemin smirking behind him.
âI apologize for my behavior, and I regret everything I have said thatâs hateful towards you. I wish we could get along and be friends. And again, Iâm sorry.â He says, almost robotic, and most people would find it insincere, but you just chuckled.
âDid Renjun ask you to memorize that?âÂ
âRenjun asked more, actually. He was supposed to kneel, Birdie. Just wait for it..â Jaemin snickers, Jeno laughing at the entire thing.
âPsh. Itâs fine, Haechan. I forgive you.â You say in the middle of a laugh, finding it almost adorable how Haechan is scared of Renjun. Somehow, it just makes sense.
It was Jenoâs turn to hug you, âCongrats, Birdie.â Heâs always been soft and composed. You always appreciated that about him.
âCome here! Congratulations Birdie!!â Jaemin runs to you and embraces you, spinning you around. You yelp, not expecting it but Renjun quickly holds Jaeminâs shoulder as he pulls you from him.
âNot too much on my girl, dude!â Renjun shouts, as if Jaemin just kidnapped you in broad daylight. Jaemin carefully puts you down, pointing at Renjun with a mischievous smile splattered all over his face.
âOoh, Is our Renjun jealous?âÂ
The three of them clowned Renjun on, âItâs justâ! Sheâs injured!â He says in defense.Â
As much as you want to watch him have fun with his friends, youâre afraid whatâs on your mind canât wait any longer.
âBaby,â You gently pull at his hand. He whipped his head towards you quickly.
You caress his furrowed brows, smoothing it then caressing his cheeks. In the middle of the chaos, the noise and the sea of people, you looked at him as if you two were the only people in the room.
His eyes fill your chest with warmth, the familiarity of his touch calming your soul, and the comfort of his smile soothes your entire wellbeing. He is your solace, and you wonât ever fucking do anything to hurt him, ever again.Â
âI love you,â You say, silently, eliciting a smile from him. He leans down, kissing you with intensity, almost sparking a flame between the two of you. You hear the crowd cheering, as you two pull away.
âI love you, and you will never be unloved by me. Iâm sorry baby but youâre stuck with me. Be my girlfriend again?â He asks loud enough for just the two of you. You nod eagerly, kissing him again.
Thatâs when you felt the world cheer for your happiness. Itâs now clear to you that your happiness is with him. Not with cheerleading, not with anything else. Your dream could change, your future could give you the biggest plot twist ever known to man, but one thingâs for sure.Â
Just as long as youâre with Renjun, youâre gonna be okay.
To: My dearest Renjun,
I will love you in this lifetime, and the next, because forever doesnât seem enough. My love, youâre worth it all. xoxo
summary â You knew better than to let yourself be tangled in the so called âsupermanâs sheets. Youâve heard enoughâ that heâs far from the beloved superhero everybody adored. Whilst Clark Kent lived with dignity, honor and justice, Jeong Jaehyun thrived with sex, money and fame. You? Well, youâd live to be his kryptonite, making it your mission to see superman on his knees, ruining him for everybody else. â
â Is it a bird? A plane? No, itâs fucking Jeong Jaehyun. â
GENRE: Angst, Fluff, Smut
WARNINGS: MDNI, toxic themes, obsession, manipulation, jealousy, explicit sexual themes, language, possessiveness, drugs&alcohol, morally flawed characters, violence, infamous!jaehyun x fem!reader
AUTHORâs NOTE: atp are we even surprised !? i miss jaehyun so much and im gonna pour all of it in this fic lmao hope yâall love it!
i really liked ur haechan fic and iâm wondering if you are planning on writing more for haechan
YEPPP i always have plans to write for Haechan. Theres always a bubbling plot in my head ready to be written but of courseâ it does take time and effort. When I write for him again, itâs gonna be another proper long fic I promise đ
summary ⸠⥠Huang Renjun, the sweetie of the year, is one hard star to catch. Not as easy as his other friends, he's quite difficult to have. Although he has a fair share of affairs with girls, it is considered to be a rare occurence. But you? Oh boy were you something. You were quite head over heels over him. His friends could never understand, but you were persistent to get the boy. No matter how much he refuses your advances, Its like you found art in rejection. But to what degree can you hold it out?
"I can be everything I want, but fuck, I only wanted to be yours. Even though you couldn't be mine."
AUTHOR's NOTE: This has gone way too angst-y than I planned but hey, i thrive for angst. Longer than what I expected but it's not gonna be a ryo fic if I stuck with the expected wc lmao. also i cried while writing this fic lol
WC: 19k (told ya)
DISCLAIMER: This story is purely fanfiction. Only the names of the Idols are used, and does not reflect on them in real life. There's no way in any shape of form that they are like this in person, because I MADE IT UP. I don't personally know them. DO NOT STEAL / TRANSLATE / MODIFY. This is my work and I don't appreciate people stealing it. Thank you.
Enjoy reading! -ryo
My dearest Renjun,
I hope you had a wonderful day! I heard you have an exam today. Donât forget to eat on time, okay? Hereâs some brownies, I know you love them xoxo
-y/n
You clicked your pen after writing the letter, spraying a bit of your perfume on the note. You put it nicely on top of the box of brownies before putting it on your bag.
You checked the time, and you nod when it says exactly 7am.
âSeriously, a handwritten letter? Youâre crazy,â your roommate, Julie, sassed at your small box of sweets.
You tighten your shoe laces, before turning around to get your bag. You smiled at Julie, âItâs a habit,â You hear her scoff, but before she argues again, you are fast on your feet.Â
As soon as you entered the school premises, you were greeted by some of the freshmen, waving at you. You of course, waved back and gave them a good morning back. It was nice to greet people, even if you donât know them. You donât know when a simple greeting could make someoneâs day. It sure makes your day better at least.
Youâre supposed to go left at the gym because you have practice at 7:30 sharp and youâve used up all your chances to be late. However, if you run fast enough, youâre sure youâll get there in time.Â
âHey, y/n! Be careful!â One student says as you run through the hallway. You still manage to respond with a smile.Â
You look at your watch, and you silently curse. 7:15.
Once you made it at the school garden, you hover your eyes at the entire field and sure enough, you see who youâve been looking for.Â
There he was. He sat with his three other friends, which you knew of. Usually, itâs only him and Jeno, but this time, thereâs Jaemin and Haechan with him at the picnic table. Haechan slumped in the table, Jaemin mindlessly watching something on his phone and Jeno, along with Renjun, seemingly studying for their upcoming exam.
You put on your best smile, and dust off your cheer uniform.Â
Once you reach their table, you clear your throat. It was Jaemin who granted you attention first, and as soon as he looked at you, his smile beamed brighter than the sun. Heâs good at that, a charmer, really. Too bad it doesnât affect you in any way.
âRenjun, someoneâs here for you,â He says through his smile and nudging Renjun.
You hear the boy grunt, and let out an exasperated sigh. Finally, he turns to you, and even if you swore you had a big smile, seeing him made it even bigger.
âHi, Renjun! Uh,â you waved at him, and then brought the box of brownies out your bag, glad to see it's still in pristine condition. â--I brought brownies.. For you and your friends,âÂ
Thatâs when Jeno and Haechan, who suddenly woke up from his sleep, looked up at you.
Renjun rubs his forehead, and sighed again. He puts down his pen that he was holding from earlier. âY/n, I told you, stop making these for me.âÂ
You gulp in nervousness. âDo.. do you not like them?â you canât help sound dismayed, with the end of your sentence getting quieter.
âI like brownies. I just donât like when it comes from you. Donât you get that?âÂ
Honestly, you were expecting this. Renjun was always harsh, however, you like to think heâs just brutally honest. But you would be lying if you say that it doesnât sting.
âOh-kay,â Jaemin joins the conversation, attempting to dilute the tension. Your smile falters for a second but you try your best to smile again. Jaemin continues, âSorry, birdie, heâs just extra grumpy today âcause of the big exam later.. Iâll get that,â he grabs the brownies out of your hold.Â
You whisper a small thank you to Jaemin. âRenjun, if you change your mind, I guess Jaemin has the brownies..â you still tried to sound cheerful.
Renjun, however, didnât say anything.Â
âIâll shove it down his throat if I have to. Go on now, Birdie, I heard you guys have cheer practice at 7:30.â Jaemin answers for him again, sweet as ever.Â
That piqued your interest. You raised your brows, âHowâd you know?âÂ
âI have a friend in your squad. Now, shoo! Donât wanna be late! Renjun says fighting!â He grabs Renjunâs hand and waved it forcefully, but Renjun just pulls away from his hold.
âOkay. Uh, bye everybody! Bye, Renjun.â Your eyes glanced at him with hope, but came to no avail when he just continued reading his book. Jeno waved a little bit and Haechan just gave you a fake smile. Haechan, for reasons unbeknownst to you, doesnât seem to like you either. But you donât dwell on it too much because frankly, you donât care.
Jaemin smiles, waving at you. You turn your heels and start to run. You have two minutes to get to the gymnasium. It was worth it tho, you like to start your day seeing him.Â
âđâËâšâĄ
After a few hours of practice, you were dismissed due to the classes you have later on the day.
âWhy were you late this morning?â Sunghoon, one of your spotters on the squad, asks as you walk to your class.
You didnât have a chance to answer, when Minnie spoke. âDuh, she did her daily rejection therapy, of course.âÂ
You shook your head and chuckled at her. âItâs not rejection therapy, Minnie.âÂ
âOh please, Huang Renjun could literally stomp at your feet and youâll still show up with freshly baked cookies the next day.â Minnie was annoyed more than anything, but you still smile at her. You know she means well.
You chose not to answer because really, whatâs there to say? Minnie might sound mean, but sheâs just telling the truth.Â
Huang Renjun has rejected you more times than you can remember. Honestly, you think youâre immune to it now. Sometimes, you find it really interesting that he just wonât budge, at all. He hates your guts, but as long as he doesnât have a girlfriend, and he doesnât verbally say to your face that he hates you, technically, thereâs nothing wrong with what youâre doing.
Much more women do worse, actually. Renjunâs really popular with women, despite the attitude and sass he possessed. Some girls are intrigued, curious as to how they could get with Renjun. Going further as to literally kneeling in front of him just to sleep with him. Poor Kim Chaeyon.
Youâre not at that level of extremities yet, thank god.
Although he was picky, he did kind of have a fair share of girls. Some students call the girls heâs been with the chosen ones, making you laugh. Renjun has a standard, and he likes to abide by it.
Unlike his friends, Renjun can count in his fingers how many girls he was with. And boy, were they special.
Renjun is picky. Heâs not someone you can just get together with just because youâre pretty. His standards are sky high, but hey, they donât call you Birdie for no reason.Â
âI donât get why you keep on pursuing Renjun, to be honest. Yeah, I heard heâs hot shit, but come on. Youâre Y/n. NCU Cheersquad Captain, Thee Bird, and not to mention, a Mathematics Olympiad runner up. Youâre like.. Einsteinâs hot little sister.â Minnie didnât stop, even after class she blabbered about your undying admiration for Renjun, claiming it doesnât make sense to her.
It doesnât really matter how many times Minnie likes to remind you that Renjun isn't worth your time, your answer stays the same.
âI just like him. It doesnât have to make sense to you, Minnie.â You say casually as you bite into your apple.
âUgh! Youâre insufferable,â She says before standing up and stomping her way out. You just laughed at her reaction. Minnieâs easily pissed, and it amuses you.
Itâs past five when you finished your day, ready to head back to your apartment. Your routine was consistent, it sometimes just differs depending on your practice and classes. You never really enjoyed going out with your friends, not a party-goer, and most especially, youâre not really amused by other boys, much to your friendâs dismay.
There have been attempts, here and there, of trying to pursue you. You just donât feel like giving attention to any of them, when you already set your eyes on someone. It feels like a waste of time.Â
When you enter your dorm, you see Julie, all dressed up and ready to go out. You eye her up and down and give her a smile. âGoing on a date?â
âYeah, uh,â You notice sheâs struggling to clasp her bracelet, so you try and help her with it.Â
âThat dress looks cute on you,â you compliment her.Â
Julie never really dresses up for dates, well, at least you donât see her getting this dolled up for a date. You have always questioned that, because sheâs always out on dates and she looks good in dresses as well. But hey, each to their own.Â
âThanks, y/n.â She replies with a forced smile, but you assumed itâs because sheâs nervous.Â
You walk inside further, leaving her in the doorway putting her shoes. âHey, donât forget your keys.â You remind her.
âUhm, I think I wonât need them.â Your smirk got even wider at her response, understanding exactly what she meant.Â
âYou go, girl. Enjoy your date.â You giggled before you entered your room.Â
You sigh as soon as your back hits the soft mattress, relieved that youâre now in the comfort of your own home. You donât let your eyes rest for more than three minutes because you have papers to finish tonight and you donât intend to accidentally pass out earlier than what youâve planned.
You did your basic night routine, ready to turn on netflix before drowning yourself in papers.
Your last step was to put your phone on Do Not Disturb, but before that, you shoot a text to the one who matters to you the most.Â
[8:01] to: renjun <3Â
just got home! i hope u ate some of the brownies from earlier, itâs really good! enjoy your night and see you tomorrow, renjunnie!Â
xoxo -y/n
[9:05 read]
âđâËâšâĄ
âJust go talk to him, y/n. Get your mind off that Renjun boy.â You roll your eyes at Minnie who nudges you.Â
You donât know why people even attempt to ask you out. Youâve made it clear that you only have eyes for Renjun, and the fact that you never went out with anyone shouldâve made it obvious. Do you have to write it across your forehead?Â
Sungchanâs nice. Really tall, not bad with the eyes either, and from what youâve heard heâs a real sweetheart. Not a bad bone on his body. A perfect man, maybe, but not for you. Nobody really is for you unless itâs... well, you get it.
âListen, atleast I tried, right?â He snickers, but you can tell itâs unenthusiastic.Â
âIâm sorry, Sungchan.âÂ
âShouldâve listened to Jeno,â He whispers, one you canât make out but you didnât push. He then bids you goodbye, but before leaving, he asks you if you two could be friends.Â
âOf course, we can be friends, Sungchan.â Youâre glad he offered to be one, at least you donât turn him down in every possible way. Thereâs still something there.Â
He smiles at you again and now fully walks away. You also stood up and turned around, but when you do, you see Renjun, on the sidelines talking to Jeno and Yangyang.
Speak of the Angel.
You widen your eyes in great surprise, smiling ear to ear as you see him, hands folded in his chest. Seeing him instantly brightens your moodâ even looking like the most intimidating person ever.
You silently run back, putting an extra hop in every step. You stop where Renjun is, and waved at him.
âGood morning,â you smile at him. You always give your best smile towards him, and not that you put an extra effort to, but he just brings it out of you. A magic pull, in some ways.
He takes a deep breath, âMorning,â he muttered, not even sparing you a glance before going back to whatever they were talking about.
You donât know why, but you still stood there. Youâre waiting for something, but you donât exactly know what it is. Maybe, itâs just an excuse to look at him longer.
âWhat time is your lunch? Wanna grab lunch later?â You ask and you hear Jeno snorts on his side..
âIâm in the middle of a conversation, do you mind?â Renjun says, again with his usual cold tone towards you. In some twisted way, it made your chest flutter.
âYouâre really cute,â you say, making both Jeno and Yangyang laugh. You donât know what they find so funny. Youâre just telling the truth. Renjunâs cute when he gets grumpy. Tho, sometimes you wish itâs not directly at you.
Renjun closes his eyes in frustration and grunts, you can tell thereâs another strong statement thatâs boiling in his mind. Before he could though, you heard Minnieâs voice from afar.
âBirdie! Practice back on!âÂ
âOh, gotta go. Bye Renjun!â You say in your most cheerful voice, throwing him a wink before running back to your squad.
You giggle as you run through the field. You got to talk to Renjun!Â
âđâËâšâĄ
Today, youâre opening auditions for the squad, to prepare for the upcoming cheerdance.Â
Pulling up your phone to track the time, 6:54am.Â
You carefully place the cupcake on the box, getting rid of your pink mittens and finally, a perfectly tied bow to finish it off.Â
A glimmer of a smile appears on your face as you admire the box.
Packing it safely, you made your way out of your apartment, looking at your wrist watch, 8:32am.
"Just on time." You whispered to yourself.
"Hi, y/n!" A junior student greeted you as you passed by, which you bowed back. "Hello!"
"Good morning, y/n." You waved back to another student.
Finally, reaching up to the fourth floor, you strutted yourself to the empty hallways until you reached the abandoned elementary library.Â
"Do Not Entry" It says on the door.
Knocking three times, finally, someone opened.
"Oh, hi, y/n-ie. I'm guessing this is for Renjun?" Jaemin, with his sweet smile, asked as his eyes fixed on the box you were holding.
"Hi, Jaemin. Yeah. Is he here yet?" You tried looking pass Jaemin,into the room, but to no avail, as he was literally blocking everything inside.
"No but I'll make sure he got this, alright?" Jaemin grabbed the lunchbox from you, not missing the opportunity to wink at you.
"Oh. I guess he's late. Okay, Jaemin. Thanks." Disappointed that you didn't get to see your Renjun, you turned around bitterly.
You decided to just get to your first class early. Only a few people was in the room, because its quite early for the class to start. You crossed your arms over the desk and rest your head.Â
You're sure Renjun's just running late. Biting your lip,Â
You pulled out your phone, texting Renjun.Â
[9:01am] to: renjun
hi goodmorning! i brought u a cupcakes today. are u running late? be safe! xoxo -y/n
You didnât see him the entire day, and even though you tried to focus on other things, your day didnât seem complete without seeing his face. But you didnât let it ruin your day, of course. Youâre sure tomorrow, youâll get to see him again.Â
You hop your way back to your apartment, with your laptop bag on hand. Itâs getting chilly, you notice. You thought about what youâll eat for dinner when you exit the elevator.
You were about to take a step out, when you see someone in front of your apartment, hugging whom you assume is your roommate.
You canât be mistaken. Youâre sure it was Renjun. You can never mistake him for someone else.
Renjunâs hugging Julie, before smiling at her and letting her enter the apartment.Â
Your lips fall ajar, baffled at what you saw. Your clutch in your bag tightens, and you feel sick. Renjun and Julie? Since when?
You immediately step back into the elevator, pushing the button desperately, just to get it to close. You donât know if you can look Renjun in the eyes, at least not right now.Â
When it slowly closes, you still stand there frozen. In a split second, in the tiny gap of the elevator, you see his face. And there, you see the shock on his eyes. But before anything else happens, the elevator closes.
âđâËâšâĄ
That night, you slept at Minnieâs apartment. You were lucky that her roommateâs nice enough to let you, although Minnie says that you donât ever need any permission to sleep over at hers. You smiled at the thought that at least, you have Minnie.
It was rough, to say the least. You weren't a stranger to heartbreak, especially when it comes to Renjun. Youâve literally liked him for so long, and youâve witnessed him with girls before. This oneâs just special because itâs your roommate. Itâs Julie, for christ sake.Â
She witnessed your Renjun shenanigans for months. She would even laugh at you for waking up early just to prepare food for Renjun. God, you sure looked stupid.Â
Despite Minnieâs disapproval, you still sent a text to Julie, informing her that you wouldnât be going home tonight. You still apologize for making her wait, if she ever did wait for you. You never received a reply back, but sheâs just probably asleep by now.
The next morning was tough. You donât know if you should still bring snacks to Renjun, maybe you should respect his relationship with Julie. So you didnât.Â
You went to the campus half asleep, Minnie offering to buy you a drink from the cafe. You seriously canât thank her enough.
Sunghoon was the first one to greet you at the gymnasium.Â
âHey, captain!â He waves, completely oblivious to your bad mood. However, you still waved back and gave him a smile.
âHow many are auditioning?â You ask as you sit in one of the chairs that's laid out.
âThirty? I donât know, but I recall seeing your roommate on the list tho? You never told me that your roommateâs interested in Cheerleading?âÂ
You froze. Julieâs auditioning? You might just pull your hair out. You really cannot catch a break, huh?
You scan the paper he held out, and much to your dismay, her nameâs listed. Han Julie.Â
You mentally curse at yourself.Â
And in some effedâ up timing, you hear a couple of steps coming in the gymnasium. You assumed it was your other teammates, or one of the students that's auditioning, but you were dead wrong.
Sunghoon stood up, looking at your back since youâre seated facing back at the hall.Â
âOh? Renjun, Haechan and Jaeminâs here.â He says in a casual tone, you, on the other hand, just wanted the floor to eat you alive. Thereâs no way this is happening to you right now.
âCan you deal with them for a bit? I have a headache,â You rub your temples to up your acting, Sunghoon obediently nodding and walking towards them.
But before you can even catch a breather, Sunghoon returns.Â
âThey want to talk to the captain, Birdie,â He says carefully, afraid to piss you off. But you can never be pissed off, silly Sunghoon.
You smiled, and stood up. You start walking towards the three men who stands out like a sore thumb, with Haechanâs leather jacket and Jaeminâs baggy ripped jeans. Renjun, still looks like an angel, and in your eyes, he fits wherever he goes.
âHey, hi. You guys need something?â You ask, in your usual tone. Avoiding looking at Renjun because you know you canât help but to melt in his stare.
âHi, birdie. Actually,â Jaemin smiled, grabbing Renjunâs shoulder and pushing him slightly towards you. â--Renjun here, just dragged us here. Apparently, he wants to talk to you!â He wiggles his brows excitedly.
âOh?â You act surprised, now looking at Renjun because you literally have no choice.
âYou want us to give you some space orââ Before Jaemin could even finish, Renjun interrupted him, grabbing at his friendâs forearms, to avoid him leaving.Â
âNo, thisâll be quick,â His tone was cold, nothing new to you.Â
Haechan, on the other side of him, just looks bored. Honestly, he looks like he just woke up. But when he saw the other cheerleaders walk in, his body jolted. Typical.Â
âListen, y/n.. uh,â Renjun clears his throat, âMy friend.. Julie is auditioning. I just want to let you know that sheâs really good at cheer and I want you to really consider letting her in the team.â
His friend? Oh, you want to throw up. Heâs sick. Heâs really⌠ah, heâs really done it now. You didnât know Renjun could ever ruin your day, but wow.. He just did.
âWait, what the fuck?â You hear Jaemin curse beside him, Haechan just letting out a laugh. You wanted to burst out in anger and bash his head in concrete, but thatâs not very nice.
You decide that you canât handle this kind of conversation at 9 in the freakinâ morning.Â
âRenjun, I would love to let her in the team, but she really needs to pass the auditions first. Iâm not the only one who decides if a someone gets in. Iâm sorry.âÂ
He didnât say anything, but let out a deep sigh. âAlright, I know sheâll pass the audition. Anyways, weâll watchâŚâÂ
You nod, not having the energy to keep up with him. You immediately turn your heels and you walk away. Yeah, this will be a long day.
Surprisingly, thereâs a lot of people who showed up for the auditions. Apparently, some had an info that Haechan, Jaemin, Jeno and Renjun are watching, (Jeno showing up half an hour after the other three arrived) and thatâs when a wave of students came in.Â
You didnât let your sour mood ruin your judgment, so you put on your big girl pants, and watched every audition in full professional mode. You donât want to sabotage the team, by letting just about anyone join just because youâre not in the mood.
They were good, you have to point out some hopefuls that didnât fit the criteria, in the nicest way you could. However, Minnie took her role as your âanger translatorâ seriously.
âAre you sure you know what you were auditioning for?âÂ
âOh honey, youâre really good! You should really try to be a singer.âÂ
Or sometimes, just cutting off the music mid-performance. Of course, you scolded her for that and let the girl continue, but thereâs just no coming back from that.
âBabe, Iâm sure you can work on your cartwheels a little bit better. If Iâm still here by next year, just call me out and Iâll for sure get you in the team. But for now, you can practice, okay? You can even call me for guidance, okay?â You say softly at Sofia, after her performance. She just nods eagerly, but you can tell she was about to cry.
You really want to go up there and hug her, but you canât because youâd have to do that with every single one you reject.
This is why you hate auditions.
You were still arranging the papers at your table, anticipating the next person when you heard Minnie curse.
âAre you fucking kidding me?âÂ
You whip your head up, seeing Julie walk up on the stage.
As soon as she stood in front, you knew she had knowledge in cheerleading. Her stance says it all.
She started the performance, and even if you want her to be bad, she isnât. Sheâs really good, and it annoys you so much. God, why does she have to be good?
The routine she did wasnât easy either, and she nailed it to the ground. Some of your team was actually impressed, and you canât lie and say you werenât. That back handspring was perfect, to say the least.
âYou guys know that we judge not only with skills, but with personality and attitude as well, right?â Minnie just sounded eerily like a mean girl, saying it to your team but also loud enough for Julie to hear.Â
You silently nudged her, earning a whine from Minnie but you looked at Julie instead, giving her a smile.
You donât know what to say, to be honest. Your cheerleading captain side of you, says that this girl is perfect for the team. But the y/n part of you wants nothing to do with her.Â
You roam your eyes across the bleachers and like a magnet, your eyes swiftly went to him. Surprisingly, heâs also looking at you. Or at your direction, at least.Â
His elbows are in his knees, his entire upper body leaning his height on his elbows. He looks to be anticipating your answer, because at the end of the day, what you say goes.
You took one final breath before tapping your pen. You look up at Julie, and finally, giving her a wide smile.
âWelcome to the team.â
A mix of cheers, clapping and a curse from Minnie fills your ears. You look up, back at Renjun, seeing him smiling and clapping his hands as well. You look down, ignoring the ache youâve got going on in your chest.
You hope you wonât regret this decision. You really hope so.Â
âđâËâšâĄ
âThatâs fucked up, you know. Thatâs really fucked up,â Jaemin wonât stop bitching up until they got home to their apartment, and Renjun just wants him to stop.
In his head, thereâs nothing wrong with what he did. He tried to help a friend, to get a spot she fully deserved. He just did a favor, but it seems to Jaemin that it means heâs a horrible person.
âShe passed the audition, Jaem. I didnât do anything,â Renjun says, stirring his iced americano in hand.
âYeah but dâyou really need to talk to Birdie about it? Like dude, everybody in this world knows that sheâs head over heels for you. Then you get in her face talking trying to get some other chic on her team? Thatâs messed up!âÂ
âSheâs the captain of the cheerleading squad! Who else am I supposed to talk to?â Renjun canât see where he âmessed upâ.Â
Sure, he did have a hint that you were affected with his whole situation about Julie, especially when he saw you at the elevator that night. You looked genuinely hurt, but thereâs nothing he could do about it.
He told you many times that he wasnât interested. He doesnât know what else to do. He canât just stop seeing other people because of you.
âMan, I say she deserves it.â Haechan joins in the conversation, taking a sip from Renjunâs drink.
Jaemin gives him a disgusted look, âYouâre such a hater, Lee Haechan.â
âShe deserved to be treated the way Renjun does, especially when she did those things before, right, Renjunnie?â Haechan scoots up into Renjunâs side, leaning his head onto the boyâs shoulder.Â
âCome on, that was years ago! You can see she clearly regrets it by now,â Jaemin continued to be at your defense, confusing Renjun as to why because he has never seen you two around each other. Jaemin doesnât know you like he knows you.
âDo you wanna be with her, Jaem?â Jeno joins in and smirks at Jaemin.
âNo! Of course not! I wonât do Renjunnie like that!â Jaemin quickly on the defensive state.Â
âIâm literally right here?â He states, reminding his friends of his presence because they seem to talk about him like he wasnât in the room.
âWhat Iâm saying is, canât you just put all those things behind you now? I just feel bad for the girl,âÂ
In Renjunâs head, Jaemin makes a lot of sense. And yeah, Renjun really did tried to forget all of the things that happened in the past.Â
He tried to leave it all behind and just completely start fresh. Because really, heâs got way better life now. He basically could have the world now if he wanted to.Â
Wouldnât it be better if he left all his baggage behind?
Unfortunately, all those are all easier said than done. Considering that everytime he looks at you, heâs just reminded of the fact that you made his life miserable for your own gain.
He relates your smiles to all the tears he had way back when he needed you the most.
For everyone else, you were an angel in disguise. To him, you were the devil he once loved.
âđâËâšâĄ
A few years back
Ever since you were ten, youâve dreamed of being a cheerleader.Â
The entire saga of Bring It On was your lifeline as a kid, and every part of that movie is engraved in your mind. Every dialogue, every routine and every single pose in that movie is burned in your brain.Â
Ever since then, you knew youâd be a cheerleader.
Whatever it takes.
It was summer, you remember it vividly, sophomore year when you met Renjun.Â
Your first meeting didnât go well, though. You still laugh when you think about it.
It was the first day Renjun moved to your school. The teachers announced a Chinese boy joining the class, and you were excited.Â
Then here goes a pale and soft looking boy walking into class, with a pair of glasses and a bag that looks heavier than him. You were dumb, of course, assuming that Renjun would only speak strictly Chinese.Â
So you pulled your phone out, and tried searching Chinese words to impress the boy.
You finally chose one and practiced it over and over, and when you decided you were comfortable enough, you approached him.
âSee-sow-jian zai na-lee?âÂ
You tried your best to not sound like an asshole, but you really wanted to strike a conversation with him. He looks at you oddly, blinks a couple of times before he breaks into laughter.
âYouâre asking me⌠whereâs the bathroom?âÂ
You were shocked to hear him speak your language fluently. You furrow your brows before smiling at him, as he keeps on laughing. You found it somewhat cute.
And ever since then, you became friends with Renjun.
He was timid, shy and overall an introvert but you liked that about him. You like that heâs not some cringy highschool boy trying to impress you or other girls. Heâs just unapologetically him.
âWait, what homework!?â You panicked as you try to backtrack your classes from yesterday, remembering if you did in fact had homework that you missed out on.
âGeometry, stupid. Here, copy some of mine,â Renjun pulls his notes out, allowing you to completely copy off of him.
You thanked him furiously as you tried to tweak some of the details off his homework, but ended up copying it as it is. Renjun didnât complain, he finds you cute when you cram.
The class ended and both of you got a perfect score on your homework, and you got Renjun to thank for that.Â
So the following morning, you begged your mother for a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie, and packed it carefully with a ribbon on top. This was the only thing you could think of giving him, as a thank you.
âDâyou like choco-chip cookie?â You ask, as if youâre just asking a random question. You see him furrowing his brows at your sudden question, but smiles otherwise.
âYes. I love home baked ones,â He answers, still smiling at you.
You take that chance to grab the pink container on your bag and give it to him. âMom baked those,âÂ
He was speechless at first, looking at the cookies, before looking back at you with the sweetest smile youâve ever seen. âWow. Thank you, y/n. This is like⌠the first time Iâve received a gift like this.âÂ
âWell, buckle up dude. There will be a lot coming from now on.â
You and Renjun became inseparable after that day. Having Renjun by your side swiftly became a norm for you, to a point youâre comfortable in saying that Renjunâs your person. It kind of feels that he was always meant to be with you, and youâre meant to be with him.
You never really found the need to find more friends than him, he just filled that need himself.Â
The first bump in your friendship happened three months after that day.
Renjun quickly became the talk of the school, and the longer he settled in, students started to notice just how good looking he actually is. He barely wears his glasses now, and he styled his hair differently. But Renjun never seems to realize the attention he was getting from it.
You never thought it would affect the friendship you had, when you yourself have been making efforts to make friends other than him. However, your sole reason was to just be familiar with the school, because youâre planning to audition for cheerleading this semester. Renjun was still at the top of your priority, you still think of him as your best friend.Â
You were waiting at the library for him, this has been your daily routine since youâve been friends. At first, you thought you were just early, or maybe there has been a change with his schedule so you just thought heâd be late.
But the library alerting you that theyâll close in five minutes snaps you from that thought.Â
You got hurt, yes, but not too much where you had to ask him to apologize. Naturally, you just gave him the benefit of a doubt and think that he just maybe forgot. He did apologize the morning after, and you just kind of forgave him after that.Â
However, when it happened for the second time, thatâs when you question if he really just forgot or he just never really wanted to hang out with you anymore.Â
It sucks, sure, and you wish you didnât attach yourself to him as much as you did, but you were never a confrontational person so again, you just let it happen. This time, you donât make an effort in hanging out with him, and actually try to avoid him.Â
On the evil part of your brain, you thought that maybe, you were just a stepping stone for him to climb up the status quo, and now that he was popular, he doesnât find any real use to be your friend anymore.Â
You hate to think about that, because the guilt of even thinking bad about someone as nice as Renjun eats you up inside.Â
You focused on your own, starting to work on your goals solely and completely stopped hanging out with him. It seems like he has found a new friend circle, and you assumed thatâs just how it ends.Â
You sat by yourself in the cafeteria, planning to just ditch lunch for today. You look like a complete loser, and you donât want to spend more time wallowing in your sorrows alone. Before you could stand up and leave, you saw Renjun walking in, with his friends.Â
He was drastically different than the first time you saw him, and it feels like heâs not the same person. But when he laughs at something his friend says, his smile stays the same, reminding you that heâs still somewhat your Renjun.Â
You sigh and look away, and on your second attempt at leaving the area, somebody sat across from you.
âY/n?â He asks, with his brows lifted as if genuinely curious.
âYeah?â You kind of recognize him, but nothing really pops up in your head.
âHi, Iâm Kim Sunwoo. Iâm part of the Cheerleading squad and our captain told me to speak to you.âÂ
You froze on the spot. Thatâs where you remember him from!Â
Youâve been watching the cheerleaders at the sidelines recently, in hopes to get hints and further knowledge about the team. You were fascinated, of course, because you feel like youâve always belonged in that team.Â
You loved watching them, itâs almost like youâre almost living the life youâve dreamed of. It feels like youâre on your own Bring It On movie.
Especially when you watch Uchinaga Eri, more known as Giselle, the flyer and the cheer captain.Â
Sheâs really great at what she does, and it motivates you to work even more harder to finally be on the same team as her.
âY/N, right?â Giselle is now standing in front of you, looking at you like she was judging your form. You felt nervous, of course.Â
âY-yeah.âÂ
âYou sent that audition tape?â She asks again, now looking at you from head to toe.Â
âYes,â You say, although nervous, you managed to stand still. She reminds you of a mean girl, but thatâs not always a bad thing. She just reeks of confidence, and you aspire to be that someday.
She smirks, looking back at her co-cheerleaders, and walked backwards, giving you space.
âOkay, then, y/nââ She clears her throat.
ââFront handspring, step out, back handspring, round off back handspring, step out, full twisting layout.â
Your eyes widen at her order, heart stumping off your chest. Youâre wearing denim jeans! What the hell were you thinking!
You take a deep breath, before pulling your bag over your shoulder.
This is the moment that could potentially write your future, y/n.
You shake your hands, letting your body loose before walking back to gain your momentum. That routine is a lot, and youâre gonna need a lot of space.
Happy thoughts, happy thoughts. Youâve practiced this before. Youâre just gonna have to put them all together! Itâs easy!
Deep breaths.
Okay.
âđâËâšâĄ
You walk out of the stadium overjoyed, gripping the plastic that was given to youâ containing your own cheer uniform. You let yourself shriek quietly in excitement.Â
You made it to the team. Torrence Shipman would be proud.
Over your small celebration by yourself, you hear somebody call for your name.
âY/n.âÂ
You whip your head over to where it came from, standing there with a bouquet of tulips in his hand, is a face youâve missed dearly.
âRenjun,â you softly say, not registering that heâs now walking up to you.
He hands you the flowers, and you accept them despite your state of confusion as to why heâs approaching you now. Yellow tulips.
âDoâ uhm, do you need something?â You feel that darn butterflies fluttering in your stomach again, as he stands before you.
âNo, no. Uhm, I donâtâ ah, shit. Okay,â He inhales, âIâm sorry. Iâm sorry if I havenât hung out with you recently and If you ever felt that I abandoned you, Iâm sorry. I was just really scaredââ
âI got in,â you say to him, smiling ear to ear.
ââbecause I was a cowâ what?âÂ
âI got in the cheerleading team!â You yell excitedly, opening your arms to hug him tight. You didnât care, youâre just so happy right now. What made it better is him, being here.
It takes him a full second to hug you back, burying his face on your neck. âIâm so proud of you.â
And with that, you felt like you won twice today. Â
You got a spot on the squad, and you got your Renjun back.
âđâËâšâĄ
Today
It has been a few weeks after the auditions, and itâs safe to say that youâre not feeling well.
Back-to-back exams, training the new members of the squad and working on side projects for school credit has been killing you these days.
Being a Cheer captain is a heavy weight to carry. You need to succeed in both cheerleading and academics, and the responsibilities sometimes get overwhelming. You never once complained tho, because you wanted this. You needed this.Â
Cheer is the only thing that made your life make sense. And well.. Renjun too, of course. So there will be times like this. But youâll endure it, as you should.
Not to mention the emotional torture of having to see Renjun and Julie all the time, thanks to Julie inviting him over everytime sheâs got a chance.
Just like tonight. You were exhausted from all the school activities and you just want the comfort of your bed. So when you finally enter your apartment, to your dismay, you see Haechan, Jaemin, Renjun and Julie snuggled up in the couch of your apartment, watching some movie you didnât care to look.
Your body is sore, and so is your brain. If you have a choice, youâd take a vacation to anywhere else than your apartment right now.Â
And although you already accepted the fact that Renjun and Julie has got something going on between them, itâs still a stab in your chest everytime you see them together.
âHey, uh, Birdie, I invited them over for a movie night.. I just thought youâd be over at Minnieâs. Iâm sure you donât mind, right?âÂ
You smile at them. âOh, no. Enjoy your movie. Iâm a bit tired so.. Iâll just head in.â You say, not exactly welcoming as you want to be, but you just canât be energetic as you usually are tonight.Â
You see Jaemin waving at you, Haechan not acknowledging your presence as always, and Renjun sparing you half a second glance before focusing back on the movie.
You head straight to the kitchen, hoping to see anything that could fill your stomach. You just need to eat and then pass out for the night. You canât find time to mend your broken heart, when your entire body feels like convulsing the next minute.
âItâs been two weeks since the last brownie. Finally got tired, huh?â
You look back at whoeverâs speaking, and to your unpleasant surprise, itâs just Haechan walking over the kitchen.
âI just got busy, Haechan.â You say, managing to smile at him.
âYou and your damn cheerful attitude. Still gonna pretend like youâre the perfect little birdie?â Even tho his voice was quiet, his tone still pierced through you.Â
âIâm not quite sure how I should respond to that,âÂ
âOf course you donât. Youâre always nice. Whoever that bitch that fucked my friend over years ago is long gone, right?â His smirk splattered all over his face makes your eye twitch.
God, you know hate is a strong word to describe an emotion. Youâre not one to hate on anybody. But you give yourself a pass, because you just maybe hate Lee Haechan right now.
âHaechan, please. I just want to rest.â You say, closing your eyes frustratedly.Â
âSure. And just so you know, heâs very happy with Julie right now. She treats him better than youâ fuck it, she cheers better than you too.âÂ
He just had to hit you where it hurts the most, doesnât he?
You wanted to curse at him, real bad. You wanted to yell, scream at him for peteâs sake. Your chest is heaving with animosity, to the point where you want to cry. But you kept your composure, at least until you werenât in the safety of your own room.
âI understand Renjun is your friend, and you want to protect him. And I also do understand that you donât know everything that went down between me and him so Iâll just try and ignore everything you say to me. Now, if you excuse me, Iâm going to bed.âÂ
You left Haechan in the kitchen, the growling of your stomach long forgotten. You donât think you could still have an appetite after that.Â
The hunger you feel was overpowered by the tears you want to let out.
âđâËâšâĄ
Youâre awoken by pounding in your head, nose stuffed and difficulty breathing. You were convulsing. You had a hunch that youâre having a fever before you even went to bedâ but chose to ignore it and just sleep on it.
Which you know to be a bad decision now that youâre drowning in your own sweat and tears.
You needed something. Advilâ whatever the fuck is available to you. You need to get up.
Dragging your feet and standing up from your bed, you immediately feel like youâre going to faint. This might be the worst fever youâve gotten so far.
You get your phone to call Minnie, sheâs only in the next building. You see that itâs not even 3 hours when you went to bed. Thereâs clattering sounds outside your room and youâre sure theyâre still out there.
Minnie didnât pick up, meaning youâd have to fend for yourself.
You close your eyes in frustration, even your eyelids burns.Â
Shit, you have practice tomorrow.
You grab your oversized hoodie and ultimately decided to just go out in the kitchen, and find the medicine kit. Thereâs one out there, you knew it for sure because you were the one who put it there.
You really donât want to look like a sick girl out there, so you just buried yourself with the hoodie.Â
You make your way to the kitchen, and to some poop luck, theyâre all there in the counter enjoying two pizza boxes. You practically salivate over the sight, but thereâs no way youâd ask for some.
They all turn their heads at you, each having an expression you canât read.Â
âWhatâs wrong with you?â Jaeminâs the only one who sounded concerned. You shake your head and smiled at him.
âIâm good. Justââ cough. ââneed to get something.âÂ
You see Renjun looking over at you with his brows furrowed, following your figure as you move around the counter. The medicine cabinet is exactly where he was standing, so you just muttered a weak âexcuse meâ.
âYou donât look good.â He says as soon as you stand next to him. You didnât respond, but you just rummaged through the cabinet just to find anything.Â
You were stunned when you felt his hands over at yours, looking up at him with your confused eyes.
âYouâre fucking burning up, y/n.âÂ
He pulls your hood down, and then proceeds to put the backside of his hand on your forehead, checking your temperature. You were baffled, at his sudden concern but you donât dwell on it, you physically think of anything but the raging headache youâre suffering from.
You gently swat his hands away, âIâm really okay⌠I justâ Julie, whereâs the Tylenol?âÂ
She looks at you, as if you were interrupting something. âDonât you keep them in your room? You didnât have to come out,âÂ
You shake your head and you almost respond, before Renjun cuts you off.
âYou should lay down, Iâll call someone,â He says strictly.
âWhat? Dude, she says sheâs fine. Sheâll live!â Haechan interjects, but Jaemin hits him on his shoulder.
âSheâs literally dying, Haechan. Are you fucking blind?â Jaemin.
Haechan rolls his eyes, whispering something about âattentionâ and Julie looking at him with a smirk.
You didnât have the energy to be offended or anything, and youâre almost sure the worldâs spinning.Â
Before you know it, you heard Renjun curse and thatâs when your vision turns absolutely pitch black.
âđâËâšâĄ
âProbably just over fatigue, just a little bit of rest and she should be okay.âÂ
Renjun rubs his temple as he sighed a thank you to Nurse Suh through the phone.Â
âI told you, sheâs just really over dramatic sometimes,â Julie says, in a comforting way, massaging Renjunâs shoulder. He was sitting in a single chair beside the couch, where you were laying on.
He bit his lip, looking over at your figure sleeping soundly. He doesnât even know why heâs still here, Jaemin and Haechan already left half an hour ago.Â
âWhyâre you even so worried, Renjunnie?â Julie chuckles.
âShe literally fainted in front of us. Why arenât you worried? Youâre her roommate,âÂ
Julie looks to the side, straightening up. âYeah, but we were never close,â Renjun frowned at her response, but still shrugged it off.
Honestly speaking, Renjun really did kind of snapped the moment you fainted. He was scared to death, he knew you werenât feeling good the moment you entered the kitchen. And when you passed out, he felt the air snatched from his lungs.
He panicked, he admits. And he hates it so much, the way he acted. He wasnât supposed to care. But what can he do when you literally faint in front of him? Every decent human being would do what he did.Â
Except maybe the part where he woke up a school nurse in the middle of the night in panic and sat beside you for three hours trying to monitor your temperature waiting for you to wake up.
When your temperature finally seemed to had gone down, thatâs when he decided to go home. And on the walk back to his car, he silently drove back to his apartment, simmering on his own thoughts, disappointed in himself.
âI hate her so much.â He says to himself, more so convincing himself. Even his body seemed to detect his lies, every word burns in his tongue.Â
Among the texts you sent him, he finally texts you first.
[12:37 am] renjun: take a break.
Why canât he just.. let you be? Why do you affect him this much? Still, after all this time?
He blames you. He blames your consistency. He blames your overconfidence, every time you look at him. He blames you for smiling at him every chance you get. He blames those stupid fucking cookies you give him everyday. He blames your entire personality, making him melt in a puddle every single time. And more importantly, he blames you for acting like youâve never done anything wrong.
You make him feel like everything that happened in the past was a mere imagination. Like the pain he felt was a pigment of his own mind. Because no normal person would act the way you do if theyâre aware of the damage they did to another person.
However, what kills him the most is the way he still wants to hold your stupid hand and kiss you in your stupid lips. He would never admit it, even to the devil himself, that after all thatâs said and done, heâd still adore you with your hands around his neck.
âI told her to take a fucking break. What in the hell is she doing?!â He muttered to himself when he saw you doing stretches on the matted floor of the gymnasium. He had gone down there in disguise of visiting Julie, but in reality, he just wanted to check if your stubborn self didnât listen to him.Â
âChill out.â He hears Haechan on his side. Haechan tagged along with him, as always, under the excuse of wanting to see Jeno practice. Whoâs he kidding? Heâs here to check out the cheerleaders.Â
Jaemin was on his side too, having no classes to attend and not much better to do, he just went along.
âYouâre so sweet, thatâs for me?â Julieâs high pitched voice slashed through his ears, and thatâs the only reason he even saw her in the first place. He caught himself staring at you and he immediately brought all his attention to Julie.
âUh, yeah.â He lied, giving Julie the gatorade that was supposed to be for you, but he felt stupid giving it out to you. Itâs embarrassing.
He watched at the sidelines, along with his two friends. His eyes were laser focused on you, and when you suddenly slipped during one of your stunts, his whole body flinched like a reflex.
âAt least try to not be so obvious, Injunnie.â Jaemin laughed beside him.
âShut up, dude. I just had a few extra cups of coffee today.â Even he, himself, cringed at his stupid excuse.
âI thought we hate her, dude? Come on, stand the fuck up! Sheâs playing you dude. I hate girls like that, acting all perfect and cheery when she literally fucked you over before.â Haechan complained, following it with a huff on his side.
âI still donât like her, at all, okay? Iâm here for Julie, and no one else.â
âSure, Injunnie.â Jaemin folds his arms on his chest, a playful smirk playing on his lips.
âSay it with me, Injun. We hate Birdie!â Haechan says with two clenched fists moving simultaneously up and down.
âYou know what, Haechan, with the way youâre bitching all the time, why donât you wear the cheer uniform and pompoms?â Jaemin snickers, earning a hit from Haechan.
âFuck you,â Haechan spits.
âSorry, honey, but I donât swing that way. And even if I do, you wouldnât even reach the list.â Jaemin and Haechan continued to bicker, with Renjun in between.Â
Heâs still deep in his own thoughts, remembering that he shouldnât even look at you right now. He has Julie, and thatâs what he should be focusing on. Not you.
But when he invited Julie back to his place, and he found your lingering eyes amidst the crowd, with a hint of pain splattered on your pretty face, he almost wanted to push Julie off of him and run to you.
And at that moment, he curses at himself.Â
He cares.
He still cares.
He will always care.
And thatâs his fucking problem.
âđâËâšâĄ
âThe gameâs in two weeks, and you all shouldâve nailed the routine by now. What is going on here?âÂ
Coach Evie goes on rampage with the squad, most of the blame pointed at you.
âY/n, I will only say this once. Youâve been chosen as the captain of this squad for a reason. Donât make me doubt you.âÂ
This was the first time you felt upset. Not because of the rage that was poured onto you, but because you knew Coach Evie was right. You have not been giving your all these past few days.Â
Thereâs something wrong with you. Emotionally and physically.
Ever since the incident that happened last practice, you find it hard to do all the routines because of your left knee. You didnât want to think about it, hoping it would just go away.Â
It never did.
Emotionally, you felt horrible as well. Renjun was still with Julie, and from what you can see, they look like theyâll be together for a while. It hurts, yes, but thereâs not much you can do about it. Itâs never your forte to force yourself onto a man thatâs spoken for.Â
So you decided to take a break. Maybe a few days without practice will do you and the squad good. You focused on your studies, your classes and other stuff.Â
Thatâs why you found yourself in the middle of a random basketball playerâs party Thursday night. You came with Minnie, and in typical Minnie fashion, she disappeared with a random stranger within twenty minutes into the party.
This wasnât whatâs on your mind at all when you say that you needed a break. But Minnie was persistent, saying everybody has been waiting for you to finally show up with one of these parties. Because again, this wasnât your scene at all.
She basically guilt tripped you into attending.Â
âOh, no, I donât like alcohol.â You politely refused, for the nth time this night. Even though some were absolutely drunk and stubborn to accept rejection, you still politely responded to every single one of them.
âShit, Birdieâs here!â You hear someone yell, and it turns out it was Sungchan, standing tall on the other side of the room pointing at where you were.Â
A small commotion breaks out, some even gasps at seeing you. You didnât expect it to be this big of a deal, you didnât know these people at all.
After Sungchanâs announcement of your attendance, people started swarming you. You didnât want to say it because it sounds so cringe in your head, but you were as if a celebrity attended a random studentâs party. It was odd.
âHi Bird,â You flinched a bit when somebody suddenly pressed on your side, a strong smell of weed filling up your nostrils.Â
âUh, hello.â You smile a little, taking a step away from the stranger. He smirks at you, biting his lip as he looks you up and down.
You press your cup of orange juice in your mouth as you look back at him.
âFancy seeing you here,âÂ
You furrow your eyes trying to remember him. You donât want to be rude and disrespectful so you did try your best but you just canât remember.
âIâm Eric, yâknow.. basketball team?â He says to spark familiarity in your head and it sure did. Thatâs where you knew him from!
âYeah! Yeah thatâs right!â You sounded so proud of remembering him now that youâre sure you looked stupid.
He laughsâ a bit too much actually before stepping again in your space. You didnât know what to do, because you donât want to confront him causing unnecessary drama. Thereâs too many people in here and the last thing you want to do is to bring attention to yourself.Â
You silently prayed that Minnie finishes up quickly. You donât know how to handle this kind of stuff.
âWanna go somewhere quiet? Some privacyââ
âReally, dude?âÂ
You prayed up above, but the devil spawned from down below. It was Haechan who showed up.
Eric rolled his eyes and looked at Haechan, muttering âwhateverâ before leaving.Â
You finally take a breather, and close your eyes in relief. Even tho you think Haechan is a pain in your butt, his interference just saved you. You have to be grateful with that.
âThanks.â You say sincerely.
âI didnât do anything. What, you got tired of chasing Renjunâs tail and now youâre trying other options?â And there he goes again. As soon as you give him the benefit of a doubt, he goes right back in with his horrible remarks.
âIâm tired of this,â You say, wearing down your guard and putting your drink down on the counter.
âFinally! What a fucking relief. We also got tired of your pathetic ass running around my friendââ
âWhat did Renjun tell you to hate me like this, Haechan?âÂ
He falls silent. Suddenly not knowing what to say, completely perplexed at your sudden change of tone.
âYou donât know what happened, Haechan. And all this time Iâm trying to understand all your hatred towards me because I know youâve been told one side of the story. And I know I was in the wrongââ
âY/n.âÂ
Your words hang in the air, swiftly looking over your shoulder seeing Renjun standing with his arms crossed along his chest, leaning his body on the counter.
Cheeks flushed, eyes droopy. Heâs intoxicated.
âRenjun,â you whisper upon looking at him.
âHaechan, please leave.â Renjun slurred a bit in his words, but strict enough for Haechan to take it seriously.
âBut sheââ
âLeave.âÂ
Haechan huffs, giving you one last glare before walking away.
You wipe away any tear that mightâve escaped your eyes, before gaining back your composure. You stand there before Renjun, not knowing what to say next. Should you leave? Should you stay?Â
âYour oven broke or something?âÂ
His question caught you off guard. Thatâs definitely not what youâre expecting him to say. Youâre confused, really, really confused.
âWhat?â You say almost breathless.Â
He smirks, letting his head fall backwards, eyes closed as he whispers something to himself, one you canât quite understand.
âItâs been weeks, no cookies, no brownies or any bullshit you used to give me. What, you give up now, Birdie?âÂ
The way your nickname falls off his lips so smoothly makes your heart thump in excitement. This is the first time he acknowledged you by the way everybody calls you. It sparked a light in your chest that maybe, just maybe, this is a step.
âN-no, I-Iâm just.. respecting your relationship with my roommate.â You donât even know why you had to mention it. You couldâve just lied and told him you were busy, but the atmosphere of being in a party fed your courage to be reckless.
âRelationâ bullshit. Me and Julie arenât together, at least yet.â
 There he goes. He brings you up just to tear you down. Itâs an endless roller coaster with him, but he would always be a ride you wonât ever regret.Â
âI thought you donât like them,âÂ
âI donât. I like the fact that youâre trying so hard.âÂ
âI donât understand Renjun. What are youâ do you want me to keep running after you?â You state, extremely nervous about what heâd say next. Every breath you take was calculated, every second mattered.
You donât even know why youâre having this conversation with him when heâs clearly drunk. However, there could be no other opportunity for him to give you attention other than this.Â
âI donât want you to do anything. I donât want you, period. Itâs just⌠why the fuck do you give up on me so easily?â His disencourage tone was evident, a slight hoarse in his throat made it obvious. Heâs drunk. He doesnât mean it.
âYouâre with Julââ
âIâm notâ fuck!â He sounds like heâs running out of patience, gripping the edge of the counter as if to hold himself back.
âIâm asking you one more time, Renjun. Do you want me to keep trying? Do you want me to keep chasing you?âÂ
This time, he looks at you with an intense gaze, saying the words that wonât come out of his lips, with a hint of resentment and despair. You know him too well.
You bite your lip as you try to hold back the tears threatening to escape again. âBecause I will, Renjun. Just tell me the words.âÂ
If anyone could hear you right now, theyâd be horrified at how desperate you sound. You, the cheerleading captain, down so bad for a man to the point of begging to let you chase him desperately. Youâre so ridiculous that itâs not even funny anymore.
Not that you would care. When it comes to Renjun, youâd do worse.
âGo home.â He spat, turning around just before your eyes started letting go of the tears youâve been dangerously holding on to.
A dagger through the heart, but you are to blame. You're willing the blade through your own heart.
And you wonât have it any other way.
âđâËâšâĄ
Ever since that party, youâve discovered new courageâ much like before.
You went back to baking sweets for Renjun, approaching him any chance you get, and smiling at him at all times. Itâs like you were motivated to do things for him again.Â
Despite the glares Julie consistently gives you, you canât find it in you to care. Renjun said it himself, theyâre not together yet. He was practically saying youâre welcome to do anything youâd like.
Well maybe you assumed that but tomato, tomĂĄto.
âOh, hi Birdie. Long time no see, huh?â Jaeminâs smile was the first to greet you as you knocked in their hangout place.
âHi, Jaemin. Renjun there?âÂ
âNo, but Iâd gladly take that cookie off your hands and give it to him.â He nicely takes the box from you.
âTell him good morning too.âÂ
Jaemin chuckles and scratches his brow, âSure thing, sugar.âÂ
You donât know what he finds funny, because you were serious. But oh well.
You happily walked back to your department, ready to take on one of your classes. A few waves to some students who greets you, stopping for some who attempt a conversation with you.
You remember what Minnie said, youâre always late because you donât like ignoring people or saying no to a conversation, it doesn't matter who it is.
But you just really donât like coming across rude. It feels wrong.Â
You were almost at your class when you stumbled upon Renjun walking in the hallway with his earphones on.Â
Smiling to yourself, you skip over to his side. All it takes was a soft tap on his shoulder before he takes off his earphones and turns around to look at whoever grabbed his attention.
âHi, Renjun.â With the sweetest smile you have to offer.Â
âYou need something?â You felt really giddy hearing his usual cold tone, his voice making you flutter.
âI brought you cookies up at your hangout place but you werenât there. Jaeminnie took it so you can just get it from him. And oh, good morning!â Â
For a quick second, you see irritation across his eyes. Creasing his brows down at you.
âSince when is he âJaeminnieâ?âÂ
Your smile faded, hinting something new at his demeanor. This is new. His tone was something different and the way he looks at you seemed far from what youâre used to.
Is he⌠no way.Â
âSince he..â You shook your head, âNevermind. Itâs freshly baked too so it would be good if you eat it as soon as possible. I donât want you skipping breakfast or any mealsââ
âJunnie.â
You snap your head back, only seeing Julie approaching you two. You almost scowl at her presence but you decide itâs not very nice to do. So you just kept the smile you had before and waved at Julie.
âI thought weâll meet at the cafe?â Renjun asks, the change in the way he talks was prominent.Â
âI figured we should walk together..â The glance Julie gave you was short lived, obviously trying to question why youâre still here.Â
And to be honest, you donât know too. You look pretty stupid standing in a conversation you donât belong in.
You were about to walk away, when your name got called.
âY/n!â You turn to see Sungchan, waving at you with a wide smile spread across his face.
âHey, Sungchan.â You wave back.
He looks at the three of you, but ultimately keeps his focus on you. He seemed to read the room, and when you thought heâd sweep you away, he stood tall.
âHey, Renjun, Julie. Uh,â he turns to you, âMr. Hong canceled the class.âÂ
âOh really? Okay.â You nod, thinking where you should go. You turn to Renjun whoâs looking at Sungchan, visibly irritated by the boyâs sudden appearance.Â
âWe should go, Injunnie. The cafe could be crowded by the time we get there.â Julie clings onto his side, tugging him slightly.Â
âDream cafe? I heard theyâre giving out free croissants! Y/n, we should go with them!â Sungchan, way too enthusiastic as he put his arms around you. You flinch a bit, thinking about Renjun seeing it.Â
But when you see him and Julie, you opted to just let it be.
âI donâtââ
âLetâs go!â Sungchan pulls you with him, and you hesitantly walk with him. Renjun lets out a scoff, looking to the side before following.Â
âWhat are you doing?!â You whisper at Sungchan.
âIâm helping you, silly.â He answers quietly, and you wanted to ask for an explanation on how this is helping you, but you were greeted by a student walking by.
âWhatâs your order?â A lovely barista greeted Julie.
âSpanish Latte for me, Injunnie?â Iced Jasmine Tea. You silently whisper to yourself.
âIced Jasmine Tea.â You smirk to your triumph. Little wins matter!Â
âPsh, simp.â You heard Sungchan on your side, you immediately elbowed him on his side. How the heck did he hear you?
âShut up.â You growl at him, but quickly smile as you look ahead.
âHow about our pastries?â You look to the side and thereâs deliciously looking treats displayed. You would order one yourself, but youâd already eaten your own baked cookies.
âCheesecake for me and.. you, Injunnie?â You note the additional pitch Julie adds in her voice whenever she talks to Renjun. She sounds cute.Â
âNo thanks. I have cookies back at my place.âÂ
You hitch your breath. Is he.. Is he talking about your cookies? The one you baked for him? Widening your eyes, you look at him in disbelief. Did he just acknowledge your cookies? Oh my god!
âHi Birdie!â Your trance was cut-off by the baristaâs enthusiastic approach, even waving excitedly at you.
âJesus christ, Even outside the campus people know you?!â Sungchan asks in astonishment.Â
âOf course! I love her, sheâs like one of the reasons Iâm trying out cheerleading next year. That routine you did last summer was so perfect!â The barista gushed on and on, making your cheeks red.Â
âIâll have Iced Americano and sheâll have..â Sungchan looked back at you.
âCaramel Macchiato, please.â You say sweetly, and the barista happily put your order in. You were about to pay cash, but before you could even bring out your wallet, a ping on the cashier.
You look back and see Sungchan smiling like an idiot after tapping his phone.Â
âI got that.â You complain.
âI got it first tho.â Sungchan smirked. You open your mouth to retort back, however, Renjun starts walking awayâ probably to one of the tables. You quickly follow pursuit.
âHmm, so big game next week, huh?â Julie was the first to initiate the conversation.
âOh, yeah. Uh, heard you guys are performing at the game?â Sungchan looked at you.
âYeââ
âOf course. Weâre already almost finished with the routine. Just kind of sucks that we had to take a break for no reason.â Julie says in the most oblivious way, as if she just said something casual.
You blink thrice, processing her words. Didnât you need to take a break because she didnât do her job causing you to have knee problems?Â
 âIâm sorry about that,I just really needed to let my knee relax. But I'm alright now.â You still smiled and took a sip off your coffee.Â
âYou hurt your knee?â Renjunâs sudden concern made the three of you look at him, but he didnât even flinch. Heâs still waiting for your response.
âYeah uh, itâs just the usual⌠not that big of a deal.â You say, words stumbling upon your throat. Youâre not used to him being like this.Â
âDidnât I tell you to take a break?âÂ
âI didâŚthatâs why the practice got held back afew. But Iâm fine now!â Your tone was cheerful, hopefully to convince him that youâre really doing okay now. You donât know where this sudden concern about your well being came from but youâre not complaining either.
However, If looks could kill, Julie mightâve committed murder by now.Â
âSheâs doing fine now⌠sheâs Birdie, after all.â The sarcasm laced in her words are strong.
The tension was too much to handle, so you excused yourself.Â
As soon as you were in the bathroom, you let out a deep breath. You really donât know how to handle confrontation. When someoneâs being obviously rude towards you, you just fold.Â
Thereâs something really wrong with you. You canât seem to be comfortable with defending yourself, or just straight up calling out people for their rude behavior. Youâd rather just sit there and take it. You canât even curse, for christ sake!
âY/n.â You look at the mirror, only to see Julie entering the bathroom as well.
She looks upset. Like really, really upset.
âHey Julââ
âYou know that me and Renjun are a thing, right?â You stop whatever youâre doing, and turn around to really face her. Did she have to lie straight to your face?
âAccording to him though, thereâs nothing going on between you two.âÂ
âCome on, youâre supposed to be smart. Thereâs clearly something there.â She rolls her eyes.
âAnd unless you and him say it verbatim, thereâs nothing wrong here.â You shrug your shoulders.
âAre you hearing yourself? You sound ridiculous. Whatâs not clicking, y/n? Renjun hates you. He finds you annoying. He probably thinks youâre a desperate biââ
âJulie, get the fuck out of my face. Iâm not gonna say it twice,âÂ
She let out a small gasp. You were shocked as well. You canât believe that just came out of your mouth. You inhale and close your eyes, exhaling when you look at her.
âIâm sorry. I didnât mean to be rude. But if you could just⌠just leave, please.âÂ
âYouâre gonna regret this, Birdie.â You can see that she meant the threat, and you canât help but to feel anxious. You were about to question it but she walked out before you could do so.
When you go back to the table, Renjun and Julie are long gone. Apparently, Julie went on about feeling sick, and Renjun had to go with her.Â
âI really donât get it, y/n. You really like that man? Heâs clearly interested in Julie. And not to mention, he treats you like shit.â Sungchan was perplexed, to say the least.
You just gave him an apologetic smile and continued sipping your coffee. Youâre tired of convincing people on why youâre into him.Â
They donât need to understand. As long as it makes sense to you and Renjun, thatâs enough.
âđâËâšâĄ
Game night.
NCU vs SHU. Two universities that've been butting heads all year. Jeno leads the NCU neocats, whilst Dino leads the SCU ravens. Youâre all in for NCU, of course.Â
The gymnasium was packed. The first game was on your campus, opening its gates for both universities for tonightâs game.Â
Itâs always exciting, the marching band started playing, indicating that the game is about to start.Â
âAlright, guys! Warm up!â Coach Evie calls. You quickly sit on the grass, stretching your legs, reaching it with your fingertips.
Everybody else was stretching as well. But you canât help but feel the daggers that've been throwing at you ever since practice.Â
Julie has been glaring at you. And you canât help but feel anxious. You pull Minnie to the side.
âSwitch main base with me?â You ask nicely.
âThat would ruin the routine, Birdie. Why would you want to switch anyways?â She questions, kind of confused at your sudden request.
âI donât feel secure with some of my support. Itâs only for the toss, Minnie.â You didnât want to say Julieâs name, careful not to single her out. But you also feel bad pertaining to all your main bases when they didnât do anything at all.
âOh, is it that bitch Julie? What happened? You want me to beat the lights out of her? Because I willââ
âYou know what, nevermind. I hate that you resort to violence for anything, Minnie. Thatâs not very nice.â Â
Maybe youâre just paranoid. Julie wonât intentionally ruin your routine. She wonât.
Minnie kissed her teeth, putting her hands on her hips. âI know that you know switching main bases last minute is a horrible idea. Youâre the captain, for christ sake. So that means one thing. Julie said something that would make you want to switch. I will keep an eye on her, donât worry. If she tries shit, I will fuck her up, okay? Now go, captain. Weâre about to start.â Minnie hugged you tight, stepping away after just to fix your bow.Â
Youâre really glad you have Minnie. You wouldnât know what to do without her.
You glance around the bleachers, finding someone that would definitely soothe your overthinking brain.Â
And there he was, in the midst of the busy crowd, looking graceful as always as he sat in between Haechan and Jaemin. Itâs like seeing him made you calm down. The effect of his presence made you relax.Â
And as soon as he connects his sight to yours, he sighs. You thought heâd just look away, but he smiled. Mouthing the words, âGoodluck, Birdieâ
You felt your chest burst, instantly nodding at him. You didnât even think about it when you whispered the words you have always wanted to say.
âI love youâÂ
And then he visibly froze. But before he could react, Coach Evie called you.
You didnât have a choice but to bring your attention back to the squad.
âBirdie, lead the squad. Alright, everybody. Finish the routine safely and perfectly. This is just the beginning. The real competition is the next game, the National Cheerleading Competition executives will be here as judgesâ they will pick a winner between you and Scarlet Heart. But that doesnât mean yâall can slack on this one, alright?â Coach Evie really needs to work on her pep talk.Â
You sigh, shaking your entire body to loosen up. You were about to go into position when you noticed the entire squad looking at you.
âWhatchu wanna say, captain?â Minnie smiles at you, and you realize theyâre waiting for you to say something.Â
âOh, right, uhââ You clear your throat, âCheer like it's your last?â You were unsure, and so as everybody, but Minnie, being the ever sweetheart that she is, she clapped and cheered.Â
As the announcer yelled for the NCU Squad, the familiar feeling rushed through your body. The adrenaline starts to creep in and you get high in the feeling. Everytime you perform, you get the chills that you have always craved. Like this was your calling. Like this has always been what youâre meant to do.
The music started, and you swore you had nothing on your mind. Your body moves on its own and it somehow perfect every single step. It was more of a reflex by this point, every position, every beat tatted in your brain.Â
But then there comes the part where you get tossed in the air. And although you memorized everything in the back of your head, this particular moment was extremely dangerous. You get tossed almost nine feet up in the air, and everything goes once itâs executed. So itâs natural to get nervous, however somethingâs not right.
You donât have time to figure it out, the crowd already hyping you up. They know the climax of the routine, and thatâs when the air lifts are performed. And youâre usually the person who gets thrownâ so they know when itâs your turn.
âBirdie, Birdie, Birdie!âÂ
You take a deep inhale, before starting to climb up on a couple of bases.You glance at the bleachers, finding your courage from one person but he isnât where heâs at earlier. You didnât have time to think about it, and on two counts, the bases started to gain momentum. And just right before you get thrown, you look at a pair of eyes that made your blood run cold.
The rage behind Julieâs eyes was evident. You performed the pose in the air, executed it perfectly, but when youâre about to land, everyone went silent.
Julie stepped back from her spot, causing you to land on your injured knee immediately the pain made you lose your balance.Â
A sharp, stabbing sensation shot through your leg. A searing pain lanced through your knee, buckling your leg. You hold it in place as you process the entire situation.
Everybody was silent. It felt like a slow motion, most of your squad immediately running to you. You canât breathe. The initial shock felt like a dagger through the heart. Your jaw slacks, as you look at Julie running away from the field.Â
Minnie immediately shook you from your trance, and thatâs when you looked at her. The pain has gotten worse when you snap back to reality. You felt your entire cheerleading career crumble in your hands. The tears follow through as you look up at Minnie.
âMinnie, Iâm done..â You canât believe it. âOh my god, Iâm done.âÂ
âđâËâšâĄ
A few years back
âHuang Renjun, youâre close with him, right?â Giselle asked.
âYeah..â You hesitantly say. You saw her look back at Ningning, and they both smirked at each other.
âI was just asking.â Giselle shrugged, and even though you were sure that thereâs underlying meaning behind her question.Â
It has been about three months since you got in the cheerleading squad, and to be honest, it has been underwhelming. Giselle rarely calls for practice, but sheâs always in cheer uniform. She also only has very limited rotation between the team, mostly her, Ningning, and Yiren always in the center.Â
You? You were always at the back. Which you never complained about, because Giselle is the captain for a reason, what she says, goes. And youâre a newbie, thereâs no room for complaints, especially from you.Â
âWhat happened? Whyâd she call you?â Renjunâs soft voice instantly turns your mood up. He waited at the parking lot, leaning on his car as he watched you walk towards him.Â
As soon as you close the distance he smiles warmly, then proceeds to fix the hair that was all over your face, and tucks into your ear.
âShe just asked a question,â You didnât lie, technically. You just withhold a minor detail.
âReady for tonight?â He smiles warmly at you. You nod excitingly at him.
Renjun promised to take you out on a âfriendlyâ date tonight. Itâs one of his ways to make it up for the time he lost with you. You swear to him that he didnât need to do all this, but he insisted that you come with this âdateâ tonight.Â
You didnât want to expect anything, but itâs hard not to when youâre literally head over heels with Renjun. A little assuming wonât hurt, sometimes.
âAre you sure I donât need to change my clothes?â You pat down your pleated skirt, a bit conscious about your outfit. You were only wearing an oversized knitted sweaterâ and your everyday sneakers for this âdateâ.Â
Renjun is also rocking a casual outfit, but he still looks dashing. It's honestly not fair.
âNo, I promise you, you look good in anything.âÂ
Thereâs also a change in how Renjun talks to you. He talks to you with a bit of⌠flirting? You didnât want to assume anything, again, but being delusional naturally is registered in your system.Â
You didnât know where Renjun was taking you, but you didnât care as long as youâre with him. Nothing could make this man look bad in your books.Â
When the car stops, your hand moves to the car door, but Renjun held your wrist.Â
âCome on, you donât need to open the door for me.â You chuckle a bit, finding his chivalry cute.
âNo, we donât even need to leave the car.â You furrow your brows at him. As you turn your eyes on the front, you get suddenly blinded by a cinema sized LED screen.
You hitch your breath as the familiar movie starts.
âBring It On!â You squeal, fascinated and somewhat perplexed as to how Renjun got this drive in cinema play a movie from the 2000s.
You turn to him with, corners of your mouth going up. He smiled back, reached at the backseatâ and suddenly, a bouquet of yellow tulips separated your eyes from him.Â
You canât help but blink rapidly, trying to make sense of it all. Is this an actual date? Not a friendly one? Whatever is going on right now, one thingâs for sure, youâre loving every second of it.
The movie started, and it feels like youâre straight out of a novel. However, as you try to relax, your fingers brush against his, and you swear you felt a slight spark.Â
At this very moment, the movie is long forgotten. All your undivided attention is on the way your skin feels hot, and your focus is on how to initiate more contact with Renjun.
âWant something to eat?â He asks softly, glancing at you with the sweetest eyes you could ever imagine.
âNot exactly that,â you let out an awkward chuckle and shifted in your seat.
âWhatâs the problem?â God, heâs so oblivious, you just want to jump his bones right now. You shake your head off with the dirty thoughts.
âWhyâ whyâre we doing this? Why are you doing this, Renjun?â You gather courage to actually address the elephant in the room.
His jaw slacks but he swiftly kept his composure. âI thought youâd want to finish the movie firstââ
âIâve watched that movie 54 times. I could probably cite the next dialogue without thinking. So what is it, Renjunnie?âÂ
He gulps one time, before he starts fidgeting with his hands. âI love you, y/n. I have loved you for a long time now and I was a coward because I had thought that a loser like me didnât have the right to want you. So I gained my confidence, tried befriending other people to gain popularitââ Before he could even finish, you threw the bouquet on the back seat of his car and grabbed his collar. Next thing you know is youâre already making out with him on the passenger seat and you did not care about anything else.
You pulled away, breathless, âI love you too, Renjun.âÂ
You could not take your hands off of each other as soon as you entered his apartment. He shared it with a guy named Donghyuck, but he was out tonight, which you thanked the heavens for.
âY/n,â He whispers your name every chance he gets, which is not much since your lips are connected at every moment ever since you stepped foot in this apartment.
You didnât want to rush things with him, but you just felt like this was the right moment. This was the perfect timing. Heâs the right person to do this with.
He kissed you hard, but softly at the same time. It was like you were drowning, but you didnât mind it.Â
âShit,â curses sounded heavenly when it came from his mouth, turning you on even more.
You didnât even realize you were already in the confinement of his bedroom, until the back of your knees hit the edge of his bed. You let your balance loose, allowing yourself to lay back on the mattress.Â
He looked at you in a way that made your spine shiver, your entire body burning with desire.Â
âAre you sure about this?â He carefully asks as he lowers himself to tower over you. You look at him with the same passion and nod your head. âIâm always sure about you.â You take his lips once more.
You can tell he was hesitant to touch places you wanted his hands on. So you take the lead, grabbing his nervous hands and placing it on your breast. âPlease touch me,âÂ
His jaw slackens, a new sensation traveling down his body. âIâ-Iâm sorry, I havenât done this before.â He stuttered, but you just bit your lip.
âI havenât either. Weâll be each otherâs first,â You smile reassuringly at him, caressing his cheek as he looks at you warily.Â
He started to massage your breast, whilst his lips traveled down your neck. You can feel your stomach flutter at the feeling, never expecting such a move would make you go crazy. He then looks at you again, holding the hem of your shirt, almost as if asking permission. You gazed over at him with lust that you knew he got the message.
He lifted it up, and in every skin that gets exposed, he blessed it with his lips. The wetness of it makes your breath hitch. âRenjun, please.âÂ
He pulled your sweater up until youâre now only left with your bra. He slowly reaches at your back, which you helped by arching, and with a snap, your bra falls undone.Â
The cold breeze around your nipples did not last long because as soon as his eyes fell down, his lips attached to one of the peaks. You shudder, gripping his hair, gently pulling it. Youâre a moaning mess.
âTouch me more,â You managed to blurt out. He seemed to understand, with the way his hands traveled down your skirt. Still making out with your exposed breast, paying attention one after another, he started playing with your panties.Â
âFuck, youâre so wet already.â He felt the dampness over the cloth, directing his middle finger on the slit. You gasp in pleasure, flinching every time he explored further.Â
âJun,â You whine when he starts pulling down your skirt, along with your panties. His jaw opens slowly as he looks at you with hunger behind his eyes, but the softness of adoration still present at his expression. You clench at the sudden coldness but he didnât allow you to suffer any further as he moved fast and removed his own clothing.
âShit, baby youâre fucking gorgeous.âÂ
He parted your thighs and squished himself in between, his member hitting your core ever so slightly. But the thought of it drives you nuts, and it takes all of you to not do anything about it. He went back to making out with you as his hands do wonders.
âUh, my gosh.â You inhale once his fingers start rubbing your pussy, trying to steady your hands on his body. He pulls away just to watch you fall apart in his hands.
He bites his lip as his fingers started moving down, where your hole is. âIâm.. Iâm gonna finger you first, okay?â He asks ever so carefully, and itâs obvious that heâs also as nervous as you are.
âOkay, baby. I trust you.âÂ
And just then, he applied pressure and eventually entered you, making you flinch a bit. He moans with you, a foreign feeling enveloping at his fingertips. This is the first time he had ever touched somebody, and he can already tell that youâre the best.
âR-Renjun.â You whine as he starts moving in and out. ]
âFuck, fuck youâre dripping, oh-â He takes a glance at your wet core, where his middle finger disappears. He pushed another finger in and you swore you almost felt like youâre coming.
You see his other hand leave your breast, moving it down his own body and you just knew what he was going to do. You swiftly take his hand away and replace it with yours. You knew enough from videos, ones that were shown to you by your former friends.Â
He muttered out a deep groan once you made contact with his cock, immediately moving your hands in the same rhythm he does with his own fingers.Â
You never knew it would feel this good. The look in his face, the way his mouth slackens and the way he falls vulnerable on your touch felt dangerously addicting.Â
There was a strange feeling on your stomach, like a thread thatâs waiting to snap. Like you were about to explode. âRenjâ oh, Iâm.. I think Iâm coming,âÂ
You cry at the feeling, making him work even harder. He licks his lips as he went faster, and you can just feel your body shake. Your hands can no longer move, and in the next moment, you felt euphoria. You were shaking, grabbing at his wrist, trapping it in between as you rode the wave of pleasure.
âThat was so fucking hot, baby.. God I can just cum right here.â He says, now trying to calm you down. He placed a kiss on your forehead and whispered âgood jobâ. Your eyes are still closed when he positioned himself on top of you, the tip of his cock aligning in your entrance.
âYou ready?â He asks, moving his tip up and down your slit. You nod, even when tired, youâre still filled with eagerness.Â
âI need to feel you now,â You say. He gave you a peck on your lips and just when you know it, he started to stretch you out.
And it hurts. It hurts so bad, but it's so good.Â
âIt hurts,â You just couldnât believe how painful it was. Yes, you knew it would sting a bit, but not like this. You almost wanted to stop right there but when you felt him shiver, and hear him moan, everything washed off.Â
âIâ-Iâm sorry baby, fuck youâre gonna make me cum.â He says, whining even louder than you. He cages your head with both his forearms, making you look up at him, and him only.Â
âI love you, I love you, I love you.â He says, tears on the edge of his eyes.Â
âI love you so much,â You whisper. Swiftly, by looking at his eyes, the pain subsided. âYou can move now, baby.âÂ
He nods and in every thrust he makes, the pain slowly turns to pleasure. Like magic, it dissipates into thin air, only replaced with the pure euphoric feeling.Â
Your tears were one of those tears that came from pleasure, and that pleasure not only derives from him fucking you, but also from the fact that itâs him youâre doing this with. The boy you love the most.
âI canât, baby. I canât last, you feel too fucking good.â He whined in your ear, embracing you so tight that you mightâve broken a rib, not that youâd care.Â
You hugged him back, âItâs okay, baby. Let go.âÂ
âAh, ahâ shit, I love you. I love you, y/n. Please tell me youâ fuck âlove me too.â
You were there with him, both your climax approaching fast, even faster when he called your name. âI love you so much, my baby, my Huang Renjun.âÂ
You both came, looking at each others eyes. He dived down to kiss you torridly, caressing your hair.Â
And with that intense state of pleasure and love, you hold him like youâve never before.Â
Everything was perfectly in place for you, and youâve never been happier.Â
Youâre achieving your dream of becoming a cheerleader, and your dream of being with your first love, Huang Renjun. It all seemed dandy, until Giselle asked you to stay behind practice.
âYou know Theo? The main base? Yeah, he likes you, y/n.â At the end of the practice, Giselle and Ningning basically cornered you. You had no idea about what they were talking aboutâ one thingâs for sure, youâre not interested.
âI donât like him like that.. and besides, I have aââ
âAnd our Ningning here likes Renjun. So I suggest giving her a chance, yeah?â Giselle crossed her arms across her chest, lifting her brows.
You were puzzled. You and Renjun just officiated your relationship last night, how can they ask you this? Your breathing quickens.
âI-Iâ Giselle, what are you saying? Heâs my boyfriend,â Your voice started to shake.Â
âDonât piss me oââ Ningning rolled her eyes at you and even attempted to lunge at you, making you flinch but Giselle blocked her.
âNings,â Giselle reprimanded before staring back at you again.
âYou know that cheerleading is all about sisterhood, right, y/n?â Her voice was ice cold, her eyes making you shiver. The Giselle you idolized was long gone, only replaced by this cold hearted person.
âIââ
âBut itâs fine. However, you canât just turn down Theo like that, right? Heâs been talking about you nonstop, and to be honest, I like him as my brother. So, be kind and meet him at the back of the gym tonight. You can do that, right?â Her attitude screamed authoritative, but also soft, as if to trick you into manipulation. She didnât let her smile fade while waiting for your answer.
You shake your head, âI will talk to him when I want to, Giselle. But I donât think its a good ideaââ
âDo you think itâs a good idea to go against the cheer captain? You'll see him after this. And you better not tell Renjun. Or else, Iâll kick you out of the team.âÂ
You were in a state of shock. You feel highly strung, why is she being like this? Threatening to kick you out because you refuse to obey her nonsense order?Â
You couldnât say anything when they left. You were conflicted on so many levels.Â
When you become Captain, you will never be like her. Youâll be better, in every conceivable way.Â
But now that youâre still starting, you canât do much. So you followed her. Convincing yourself that nothing worse will happen. You'll just have to talk with Theo, thatâs it.
[6:34pm] injunnie <3: baby are u done? meet me @ the parking lot
Your fingers shake, typing out a lie. You cannot fathom lying to him, but still, you did.Â
[6:35pm] you: hi babyy <3 uhm, not yet. i need to practice a few stunts :(( iâll just text u, ok?
[6:35pm] injunnie <3: ok baby. see u later! love u :*
You brush your hand across your hair. Not even a day in your relationship, and youâre already lying to him about meeting a guy. You felt horrible.Â
Yet, here you are, standing a few feet away from Theo.
âHi, y/n.â He was smiling at you, but you felt uncomfortable. He started walking towards you rather aggressively, to the point that your legs started to step away backwards.Â
There was a measure of anxiety spread all over your face, however, you still managed to talk.Â
âGiselle told meââ
âSheâs right, y/n. I asked her to help me. And Iâm glad you decided to talk about thisââÂ
Your brows knitted together, but you thought that maybe he had a wrong impression about you coming here to talk to him. âActually, Theo, I have a boyfriend.âÂ
He froze, smile fading, his expression accenting his confusion. You almost felt bad, but in a swift moment, his lips stretched into a smirk and leaned his head to the right. âWell, you could just give me a lilâ kiss then, right?â
Your lips ajar, brows furrowed as you try and process what youâve just heard. Deeply offended, you attempt to call him out on his brazen request, but he continues.
âGiselle would be so mad to hear that you canât even give me a single kiss, y/n. She loves me, and if I told her how selfish you are, sheâd have no problem banning you from cheerleading up until college. She has connections, y/n.âÂ
All other words suddenly fled your mind. Theoâs basically blackmailing you into cheating. Your nose wrinkled in disgust upon his words, but you canât seem to say anything. Heart beats intensely as you weigh the choice you need to make in this situation.
âGiselle wonâtââÂ
âOh she will. Youâre outshining her in the squad and sheâd be more than happy to make up a reason to ban you. Come on, y/n. Your boyfriend doesnât need to know.âÂ
Youâd be forbidden to join up until college. You wouldnât be able to cheer ever again.Â
He takes a step forward, this time, rooted in your place, you feel your stomach twist. Your eyes burned in tears. Theoâs touch burned, and you gulped as his palm laid on your cheek.Â
You couldnât move. Your skin tingles, heart rapidly beating within your chest as your breathing grows tighter.Â
He doesnât have to know. Renjun wouldnât know.
At the moment his lips touched yours, you knew you made a mistake. You felt disgusted, you canât find it in you to respond.
 âKiss me fucking properly.â He growls. You clench your fist, and tighten your eyes as you kiss him back despite the tremble of your lips due, a wave of revulsion swept through your entire body.Â
Youâre cheating on Renjun for your dream of being a cheerleader.Â
Then there was a terrifying moment when you feel someone else being present in this vile affair that youâre forced to partake in. You open your tear filled eyes and right there and then, your whole world shatters.
There he was, the love of your life, standing a few feet away. Behind him was Ningning, sporting a smirk as if sheâd won. Your mind tells you to step away, run to Renjun, and beg for forgiveness. But your fear overshadowed you, staying right where you were, slowly digging your own grave.
His eyes were poisonous to even look upon, so much hatred tainted in his mind. You knew heâd hate you, no, heâd despise you. And nothing breaks your heart even more than seeing him walk away.
You immediately pushed Theo, and landed a sharp slap across his face. Tears surged in uncontrollably as you slowly realize that youâd already lost the only person you loved.Â
Whatever it takes, huh?
You see Theo leave, and when itâs just you and the overflowing guilt alone, thatâs when your legs give out. You sat there, clutching your hand on your chest as you cried, desperately wiping your lips until they hurt.Â
In the quiet moments that followed, the only sound was the echoing resonance of guilt, regret, and shame.
âđâËâšâĄÂ
âRuptured patellar tendon on your knee, Ms. Y/N. Unfortunately youâll have to undergo physical therapy, and most likely, you'll never be able to perform in cheerleading indefinitely.âÂ
You felt like a bucket of ice cold water was just poured all over you. You stared at nothingness, hoping all of this was just a dream.Â
Why should this even happen to you? Is it karma? If it is, isnât this too much of a punishment?Â
You cried and cried until your eyes dried up, having to accept the fact that at the age of 22, your dream was snatched away from you.
Was it cruel? Yes, absolutely. Did you deserve it? Arguable.Â
Cheerleading was the only thing you know, and now itâs off the table. It was as though a veil of sadness had been draped over your eyes, distorting your perception of the world and casting everything in shades of gray. What are you supposed to do now?
A swarm of support follows you on the third day of your hospitalization, and you swear youâre grateful for all of them, however, you canât seem to find gratitude for any of them.
Most of the cards called you Birdie, and how are you supposed to live up to the name if your wings were broken off? Youâre no longer Birdie, and the only remaining sentiment that name carries is sadness and disappointment.
âI beat her up, you know?â Minnie says one time she visited you.
You look at her in shock. A laugh traveled through her, âNot âbeatâ, actually. I just landed a few on her face. Nobody in the squad snitched, because they knew she deserved it. Her boyfriend seemed mad about it tho,âÂ
For the first time in a while, you thought about Renjun. Your mind was in a different space the entire time that you forgot about him. He wasnât there when the incident occured and it would be possible if he didnât know what happened.Â
âDoes he know?â Your voice was scratched, and a glint of hope laced in your tone.
âI donât think he knew of the severity of the injury, and Iâm sure that bitch already switched up the story. Heâs a dumbass.â
âHe wasnât there, he didnât see what happened. Iâm sure heâsââ
Minnie snapped, raising her voice. âOh for fuckâs sake, Birdie. Stop defending him! You should get your mind off of him. Itâs pissing me off that despite what happened, you still find a way to give people the benefit of a doubt. And I bet you donât even blame Julie, youâd rather blame yourself,â Sheâs right. Not that youâre not mad about what Julie did, but youâre more so empty. You donât know what to feel, and even debated if you deserved it or not.
You sink more on your seat in shame. âPlease, learn to be mad. Learn to be angry, and hold people into accountability. Not everyone deserves a second chance.âÂ
That made you think, not only about this entire ordeal, but also the past. Not everyone deserves a second chance.
Does that mean you too? With what you did with Renjun? Did you not deserve a second chance?
Maybe youâre too nice because youâre overcompensating for what you did to get what you had. And now youâve had your time, it was cruelly snatched from you.Â
Maybe that dream wasnât yours to begin with.
And maybe, Renjun wasnât meant to be yours, too.
âđâËâšâĄ
Renjun felt uneasy. Thereâs something weird about the atmosphere that night of the game.Â
Before your performance that night, he had to take a call from his mom, asking him to come home for a favor. He was conflicted, because although he masked it greatly, he did liked watching you perform.Â
However, he thought that you still had a final performance in the next game, which was twice as important than that night so he just opted to leave before the game.Â
The next morning, he was overwhelmed by Julieâs tears.Â
âM-Minnie, that fucking bitch beat me up!â She screams, pointing at the slight bruising at her temple.
He heard about the incident last game, and it killed him to get the news that you were injured, again. The last time that happened, he almost wanted to take you home and take care of you properly. Yet, something in him always reminds him that you chose this career.
You chose this over him.Â
But Renjun wouldnât lie if he said that he didnât feel bad about Julie right now. From what he has heard, the entire thing was an accident. Julie did not deserve to be hurt physically, at least thatâs what he thought at first.
Julie had become a close friend of his, quickly forming a bond with shared interest in some things. Julieâs really pretty as well, and even though Renjun doesnât care about that stuff, heâs sure as hell wonât deny the truth.Â
He tried, he really did. Julie was a perfect partner, and she seemed sweet and kind, one of the qualities Renjun liked about her. So, yes. Maybe he did plan to be with her, at least sleep with her.Â
But when he saw your pain stricken face in that elevator, he was suddenly unsure.
âWhy did you have to put your hands on her?â He asks Minnie calmly. He had no intention confronting her, he just wanted to know the reason and she happened to walk past him.
She stared back at him with a cold grin, âThat bitch deserved more.âÂ
For some odd reason, Renjun didnât say anything after that. Rather, heâd questioned why Minnie did it to that extent, why is she so angry that sheâd resort to violence.
It wasnât until the day before your big performance that Renjun started to worry. It has been more than a week and he still hasnât seen you.
He snuck out from classes just to peek at the cheerleading practice and you werenât there. Not in your usual classes, hallways or cafeteria where heâs usually seen you.Â
Out of sheer desperation, he asked Julie.
âWhat happened at the last game?â
He saw a glimpse of fear run through her eyes when it widened upon hearing his question.
âI told you, It was an accident.â Julieâs tone was defensive.
Thereâs a voice inside Renjunâs head, saying to not trust her.Â
For the reason being that youâd never not show up in your classes, even with simple injury. Sure, youâd skip practice for a few days but youâd be back on your feet the next day. Especially with an event like this.
His worry grew, now stressing on why youâre still not around. Itâs the final game, and you should be here, if not to cheer, but atleast watch your squad. Youâd always done that. So why are you still not around?
He curses at himself for caring about you this much. He felt like he betrayed himself, his own morals and beliefs because he should not care about you anymore. Afterall, you cheated on him. No matter how nice you are, no matter how much you claim that youâve changed. Thereâs no way he could just forget the pain he went through.
So why is he standing outside the field, waiting on any of your friends to show up and ask them where youâve been?Â
âWhereâs your captain?â He asks the first person he saw wearing the squad uniform.
âOh, sheâs almost here, wait, there she is!â Sunghoon says pointing at the back.Â
A wave of relief washed over Renjun. Shit, youâre okay. Youâre here.Â
But when he turns around, he sees Minnie. He furrows his brow, quite perplexed as to why heâs pointing at Minnie when he knows damn well sheâs not the captain of cheerleading.
âIf youâre here to ask whereâs Julie, I kicked that bitch out. Sorry,â She sneered at him.
He almost yells that heâs not here for Julie. He couldn't care less about her. Heâs here for you.
âYouâre.. Youâre not the captain. Whereâs y/n?âÂ
Minnieâs smirk faded, as if his question shifted the mood. âYou really donât know, huh?â
He felt the first thump in his chest. âWhat?â
âBetter ask her yourself.âÂ
With that, she left Renjun hanging. He couldnât try and stop Minnie, asking her for any explanation because he felt like he was going to explode.
His lips fell ajar, as everything clicked.
You had an injury, and right after that you didnât go to any of your practice, then Julie got kicked out and now Minnieâs replaced you as the captain.
He covers his mouth in realization, adding another layer of fear. He needs to find you.
Fortunately, Renjun doesnât need to walk far. He had heard that youâre in the premises to watch the game, and the first place he had thought of was the gymnasium.
He finds you, sitting alone on the bleachers with a pair of pompoms on your side. You werenât wearing your uniform.
âY/n,â He whispers, yet the resonance of his voice echoes. He approaches you carefully, assessing the entire situation. He wants to be there for you, but he doesnât want to force you if you want to be alone.
You look up at him, and when his eyes meet yours, he can just hear his heart break. You looked defeated. You look tired.
âWhy arenât you in uniform, Birdie?â He asks softly. Deep inside Renjun, he knew why. But he canât accept it. Not when this is your life. Not when he knows itâll break you to give up.
You slowly shake your head helplessly at him, on the verge of despair. Gripping both your hands on your knees, like youâre holding yourself together.Â
âThe gameâs about to startââ
âI canât, Renjun, I canât dance anymore.â He takes a huge breath after hearing your voice break, and he takes two huge steps to reach you. He kneels before you, grabbing your cold hands.Â
âThere has got to be another way, baby. Weâll get you the best doctor out thââ
âIâm done with cheerleading, Renjun. I.. I canât even fucking walk properly!â You broke down in front of him, and he swore heâd never felt so horrible in his life. His own tears betrayed him, but he doesn't care. When you, his entire world, is falling apart in his hands.
He pulls you in a tight embrace, letting you wet his shirt completely. Caressing your hair as he attempts to calm you, but in his mind, heâs also hanging by a threadâ seeing you like this, completely giving up, breaks him to his core.
âWhat do I do now, Renjun? Whatââ you sobbed in between your words, and he bit his lip hearing you like this. It hurts him so much to see you like this. He closes his eyes, gently trying to soothe your shaking shoulders.
âIâm so sorry, my baby.â He whispers, kissing the top of your head repeatedly.Â
At this moment, Renjun swears in his grave, that he will never forgive whoever did this to you.
And if your sweet smile never comes back after this, all hell will break loose. Because heâs never afraid of his own scars, but yours? Oh, thatâs his deepest, darkest fear.
âđâËâšâĄ
Neo Culture University Newsblog
âNCUâs Top Cheerleader, the captain of NCU Squadron, the first ever cheerleader to perform the highest basket toss in NCU cheerleading history, Y/N, L/N, famously known as The Bird, announces her departure from the squad after the incident at the first game between NCU vs SHU.Â
Also known as Birdie, had suffered a career ending injury after falling whilst performing a routine last Thursday night. It was announced by the cheer committee that Hwang Youngmin will be replacing her as a captain of the squad.
Furthermore, investigations involving a former cheerleader whoâs accused of sabotaging the Cheer Captainâs career, causing her to retire from cheerleading. Foul play is suspected, and weâll be reporting more on it soon. So far, it has been confirmed that said cheerleader is now kicked out of the squad. Updates soon.â
Renjun is filled with nothing but rage.
That was your dream. That was your everything. And just for⌠a fucking bitch to ruin it all for you?
âCalm down, man. Iâm sure the school will handle it.â Jeno, ever the mediator says. This was the first time his friends saw him this fuming.
âNo. Fuck no. I want that bitch out of this school.â Renjun was adamant about kicking Julie out. Heâd do everything in his power to make sure she didnât step foot on this campus ever again.Â
âAre we even sure about what happenedââ Haechan attempts to cut in on the conversation but a sharp look from Renjun made him freeze.
âDo I look like I care? Accident or not, Iâll make sure she suffers. Iâll make up a dumb fucking reason, anything, to get her kicked out. Iâll fund the fucking investigation against her. Iâll make sure she pays for it. Whatever it takes.â His voice was dangerously calm. Every word carrying weight, every threat sounded like a promise.
It doesnât matter to him now. He could lie and tell everybody he hates you, but nobody could ever hurt you like this. Not on his watch.
You could cheat on him a million times but heâll never be angry enough to let this happen to you. Not when you were once his everything â not when youâre once his lifeline. Everyone else doesnât matter.Â
When it comes to you, heâd do worse.
Haechan, Jeno and Jaemin looked at each other, worried about what Renjun would do. They had never seen him filled with this much rage. It was horrifying, the lengths heâs willing to take for you.Â
And deep inside, they knew that behind the cold exterior he always treated you with, is a man who is still deeply in love with you.Â
Also, one common knowledge among them is never to mess with Renjun.
âđâËâšâĄ
âThank you, Ms. Lin! See you next monday,â You waved goodbye to your therapist, as you went out for your weekly physical therapy.Â
After the surgery, it was really hard to adjust. You needed to use clutches for what it feels like forever, and there were restrictions that you needed to follow. The school granted you a scholarship, which was really awesome to hear. At least that was taken care of.
âBaby,âÂ
You look up front to see Renjun waiting for you in his car. You smiled at him and waved excitedly. He runs up to you, swiftly taking your bag with him.
âRight on time, impressive.â You sneer at him. He grabs your hand and hooks it over his arm.Â
âI was here fifteen minutes early, baby.â He winks at you, giving you a light peck on the lips. You giggled, watching him open the car door for you. You put your injured knee first, before sitting with your entire body.Â
âWhere are we going?â You ask. He didnât tell you about the plans today, but you didnât bother to ask either. You just assumed he would take you back to his apartment and youâll just burn a hole in his couch watching netflix the rest of the day.
You can never really pinpoint on when you and Renjun decided to get back together, or at least you think youâre back together. Ever since that day at the gymnasium, Renjun never left your side. You didnât dare ask him whatâs going on, afraid to ruin whatever it is.
You sat there, a bit uncertain on why Renjun still hasnât started the car. You turn to him, looking for any reason as to why he just sat there gripping the steering wheel.
âGiselle called today,â He exhaled.
You widen your eyes in aghast. Thatâs a name youâve never heard before. Or more accurately, thatâs a name you wished to never hear of ever again.Â
Nonetheless, you guessed this topic should be discussed sooner or later. You canât always avoid the inevitable, hiding from the ghosts from the past. And you believe that the both of you are much more grown now to handle it maturely.
âShe saw the article, apparently. And uh, she told me.. Well, everything.â You take a deep breath.
You clear your throat and nodded, calculating on how you should go about the conversation. Youâve rehearsed begging him for forgiveness a thousand times before, however, you realize that you should just tell him what you feel at the moment. Not some rehearsed bullcrap, because Renjun deserves nothing but the raw truth from you.
âHowâs Giselle? I hope theyâre doing good,â You start with genuine curiosity.Â
Renjun furrows his brows as he looks at you. âBaby, they gave you hell and you still wish them the best? IâI donât think I can ever forgive them for ruining us, ever.â He claims, grabbing your hand, intertwining it and kissing the back of your palm.
You smile warmly at him. âItâs okay, baby. Iâll forgive them for the both of us.âÂ
He shook his head, disagreeing. âNo. Youâll have to learn how to express anger for people who deserve it. You canât let them get away every single time. Theyâd just do it all over again.âÂ
A semblance of a smile had gently flickered onto your lips as you admired him. âAlright, baby. Iâll try. But good thing youâre with me now, right? You can be the bad cop and Iâd be the good cop!âÂ
Through his serious demeanor, a small smirk threatened to sneak its way on his mouth.Â
âAnd Iâm so sorry for treating you like shit. I was deep in my own hateful charade to mask the fact that I still wanted to be with you. I guess I was a pussââ
âLanguage, baby.â You faked an angry tone, but immediately smiled after. âBesides, I understand. I wouldnât want to be seen with a person who cheated onââ
âYou didnât, baby. You quite literally had no choice.â He warned.Â
âOkay, sure but you also have to let me earn your trust. At the end of the day, I still kissed somebody else when weâre together. But at the same time, I also feel terrible because it seemed like I sacrificed our own relationship for nothing.âÂ
Everytime you remind yourself of the decision you made when you were young, hurting the person you love, for something that was taken away from you way too soon, makes you feel so stupid. So disappointed in yourself.Â
âI trust you with my life, baby. Youâre responsible for me now, so donât you dare leave me again. Okay? I love you.âÂ
Before you wallow in guilt, Renjun kissed you deeply and passionately. Your lips move in a rhythmic manner, as if it was a melody that played in the silence of your hearts, a song of tenderness and affection.Â
âShit, baby we should go. Weâre going to be late,â He pulled away too early, despite your pleas and looked at his wristwatch.Â
You turn your head in confusion. Do you have plans today? He didnât say anything and began to drive. You were sitting in your seat demented, wondering where heâd take you. You try to familiarize the road heâs taking, but you are left clueless.
He stopped at an expensive looking hall, seemingly a restaurant, or an events place, honestly youâre not sure. There's a waitress waiting at the reception. Renjun just says his name, and the woman just nodded and smiled at you. You hesitantly smiled back, and thatâs when she guided you inside.
âWhat is this?â Your heart is now pumping out your chest, as you try to figure out Renjun's plan.Â
He just turns to you and puts his index fingers on his lips. The waitress stopped at a double door, knocked five times, odd to say the least, then gestured for Renjun to open the door.Â
For a moment, Renjun unlinks your hands from his arms to open the door. And as soon as you took a step inside the dark room, a collective excitement shrieked as the lights turned on.Â
âCongratulations, Birdie!âÂ
Your eyes widened, your mouth fell open as you saw everyone who ever mattered to you greets you with the widest smile as they held their own party prop. The confetti drowns you, but it doesn't baffle you. What touched you the most is your cheer squad, Minnie leading them as she blows the small horn.Â
âCelebrating Y/N âThe Birdâ L/Nâs legacy in NCU Squadâ it says on a banner.
You covered your mouth and immediately broke down, Minnie running to you and hugging you so tight.
âBitch, youâre gonna make me cry!â She whines as she tries to wipe your tears off your face.
You clutch your chest, being overwhelmed in joy. Sniffing silently as you greet the other people.
âThere she is!â You hear Coach Evie emerging from the crowd, embracing you.
âThank you, Coach.â
âYouâre by far the best cheerleader Iâve seen in my career. But I know youâre much better than just being a cheerleader. Please remain as hopeful as you were before, Birdie.â She says, making you sob even more. You murmured more gratitude to her.
âUh-Uhm.â You look at someone clearing their throat beside you, and you see an awkward Haechan standing there looking at his feet. Renjun harshly nudges him forward to you, Jeno and Jaemin smirking behind him.
âI apologize for my behavior, and I regret everything I have said thatâs hateful towards you. I wish we could get along and be friends. And again, Iâm sorry.â He says, almost robotic, and most people would find it insincere, but you just chuckled.
âDid Renjun ask you to memorize that?âÂ
âRenjun asked more, actually. He was supposed to kneel, Birdie. Just wait for it..â Jaemin snickers, Jeno laughing at the entire thing.
âPsh. Itâs fine, Haechan. I forgive you.â You say in the middle of a laugh, finding it almost adorable how Haechan is scared of Renjun. Somehow, it just makes sense.
It was Jenoâs turn to hug you, âCongrats, Birdie.â Heâs always been soft and composed. You always appreciated that about him.
âCome here! Congratulations Birdie!!â Jaemin runs to you and embraces you, spinning you around. You yelp, not expecting it but Renjun quickly holds Jaeminâs shoulder as he pulls you from him.
âNot too much on my girl, dude!â Renjun shouts, as if Jaemin just kidnapped you in broad daylight. Jaemin carefully puts you down, pointing at Renjun with a mischievous smile splattered all over his face.
âOoh, Is our Renjun jealous?âÂ
The three of them clowned Renjun on, âItâs justâ! Sheâs injured!â He says in defense.Â
As much as you want to watch him have fun with his friends, youâre afraid whatâs on your mind canât wait any longer.
âBaby,â You gently pull at his hand. He whipped his head towards you quickly.
You caress his furrowed brows, smoothing it then caressing his cheeks. In the middle of the chaos, the noise and the sea of people, you looked at him as if you two were the only people in the room.
His eyes fill your chest with warmth, the familiarity of his touch calming your soul, and the comfort of his smile soothes your entire wellbeing. He is your solace, and you wonât ever fucking do anything to hurt him, ever again.Â
âI love you,â You say, silently, eliciting a smile from him. He leans down, kissing you with intensity, almost sparking a flame between the two of you. You hear the crowd cheering, as you two pull away.
âI love you, and you will never be unloved by me. Iâm sorry baby but youâre stuck with me. Be my girlfriend again?â He asks loud enough for just the two of you. You nod eagerly, kissing him again.
Thatâs when you felt the world cheer for your happiness. Itâs now clear to you that your happiness is with him. Not with cheerleading, not with anything else. Your dream could change, your future could give you the biggest plot twist ever known to man, but one thingâs for sure.Â
Just as long as youâre with Renjun, youâre gonna be okay.
To: My dearest Renjun,
I will love you in this lifetime, and the next, because forever doesnât seem enough. My love, youâre worth it all. xoxo
Wow, I love the way you structured this story. Initially, I was weary because of y/n's persistence & her people-pleasing nature. There's a fine line between being an admirer & harassment and y/n was crossing it. But the way you drip fed the backstory was so incredible. I actually felt, as a reader, that I was more like Haechan than the y/n, skeptical & judgemental. I also did not like Jaemin at first because he was encouraging her (perceived?) harassment.
Y/n is a complex character, she was almost annoyingly kind and a die-hard people-pleaser. It made her extremely flawed (especially in communicating) yet charming. Although I do not agree with y/n choices to try and win Renjun back, I grew to like y/n in the end when all of her intentions were made clear. I will say though, like Renjun & Minnie said, I wish that y/n was given space to let herself be angry at someone other than herself. I liked that y/n got really close to being vulnerable when Haechan berates her at the party, it was soooo close. Now that I think about it, maybe Haechan would make a better partner. Since he's so honest with her, it would hopefully compel her to be more honest with others and herself.
The story itself is simple but the way it pushed me to explore and change my mind made the story wonderfully engaging and powerful. Thank you for writing this! There's an unfortunate lack of Renjun angst and this was quite amazing. I would love to know your inspiration & thought process in structuring the story this way.
This is incredibe. Itâs almost like u went inside my train thought when I was writingâ u absolutely nailed the exact idea of what I was trying to portray the mc.
Y/N was made to be perfectly imperfect. Sheâs so obsessed with being the nicest and kindestâ to the point where it was destroying her. She carried the guilt from the past and tried to cover it with the annoying people pleaser personality she built, however, in her defense, she truly thought that she was doing nothing wrong. Which what Renjun despised. She never discussed the past and continued pursuing him without thinking about his feelings.
However, I wrote Renjun as a strong hearted person, whoâs not afraid to say whats in his mind. In addition, the hatred he has with mc heightened his already sour behavior thus resulting to him being a complete asshole to mc. He was imprisoned with the painful memories of the past and he didnât want to admit it. He likes to think that he just hated herâ plain and simple. But againâ he wouldnât have this intense emotion if he didnât care.
Both if them are stuck in dealing with the pastâ and have different ways of handling it in the present. One chased, and the other repents. In the end, they met on the same page, both in the brink of breaking. Realizing they actually need to deal with each other and stop running.
I love how you understood everything. I never write mcâs that are just perfect. I like making them complicatedâ maybe sometimes unlikable, even. But I would always give them reason as to why theyâre that way. As per inspirationâ I just really wrote it around the idea of âsecond chancesâ but if you know me, I HATE cliche and stereotypical plots. I structured around that idea but tried to give it individuality. I strained away from being predictable as much as I could without losing the main plot. Giving it unique quality was challenging but Iâd rather take years to write than to publish a rushed and unremarkable fic.
I heavily agree about the lack of Renjun fics. I would never understand why, because as a writer, Renjun as a muse is exciting. I loved writing for him! âĽď¸
As per Haechan and Jaemin, their role in this fic was just simple. I didnât want to give them a complex role because they do have their own stories. Think of it this way. Jaemin is just very nice and Haechan is protective over Renjun bc he loves him so much.LOLL (yes im a renhyuck enthusiast)
Anyways!! Thank you so much and I really appreciate the feed back. Im glad u liked the fic! Im gonna go cry in the corner nowââ-
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i had been waiting with bated breath for so long for haechan's illicit affairs -- and it was so worth the wait <3 everything about this series was so prefectly written and i hope you give yourself time to rest after this series, you deserve it!!!
omg thank you!!!! this is actually so sweet <3 i really appreciate the patience bc this series took TIMEđ i was honestly kinda scared to publish it bc i KNOW some yâall were waiting for a loong time and im so RELIEVED u liked itđ
i am taking a breather, but i still need to finish superman bc i really would like to post it soon (still not sure but im def working on it TRUSTđ)
i have so much more drafts bc i just kept thinking on new plots but i prioritiezed this series first bc ik yall waitingđŤ