#safe space

You sat up in your shared bed with your boyfriend, the sheets sliding softly down your waist as you blinked away sleep. The room was dim, illuminated only by the faint glow of the digital clock on the nightstand. 2:03 AM. The world outside was silent, the kind of quiet that only existed in the middle of the night.

You turned your head to the left, eyes landing on your boyfriend. His face was half-buried into his pillow, both arms tucked underneath it, his bulky biceps flexing slightly from the position. His white hair was a complete mess — strands falling over his eyes, others sticking out in every direction from sleep. His breathing was slow and even, lips slightly parted, completely knocked out.

You stared at Satoru for a moment longer.

Then your stomach growled.

You frowned.

The craving hit you suddenly — strong, specific, and impossible to ignore.

You reached out and started shaking his arm gently.

No response.

You shook him again. A little harder.

Still nothing.

By the fourth shake, he only grunted and shifted, burying his face deeper into the pillow.

On the fifth shake, his eyes finally fluttered open, unfocused and heavy with sleep.

Satoru squinted at you, blinking slowly before lazily glancing at the clock. His eyebrows twitched when he saw the time.

“Baby…” he muttered, voice raspy and deep from sleep, stretching his arms above his head with a quiet groan. “…why are you up so damn early?”

“I’m hungry,” you said softly, looking at him with innocent eyes. “Let’s go out to buy food.

Satoru stared at you for a few seconds, clearly still half-asleep, before his expression softened. Your quiet voice, your messy hair, the way you looked so serious about it — it made his chest tighten. He swore his heart might actually burst.

He pushed himself up slightly and immediately pulled you into his arms, his hand sliding around your waist. He pressed slow kisses on your bare shoulder, trailing them upward toward your neck before burying his face in the crook of it. His warm breath tickled your skin as his hands lazily massaged your hips, pulling you closer against him.

This was his version of saying good morning.

Your hand rested on his broad back, fingers tracing idle patterns, while your other hand slipped into his hair, gently massaging his scalp. A low, satisfied sound left him as he leaned more into your touch, clearly enjoying the attention.

Satoru knew you knew he couldn’t deny you. Especially not when you woke him up like this — soft voice, sleepy eyes, asking him to go out at 2 in the morning.

So he sighed, already giving in.

That’s why you and your boyfriend, Satoru, were now in his car, the radio playing softly in the background. The sky was still dark, streetlights casting long golden lines across the empty roads as he drove toward the 24-hour supermarket you insisted on going to.

You were seated in the passenger seat, the back slightly reclined in case you got sleepy again. One of his hands rested loosely on the steering wheel while the other settled on your thigh, absentmindedly massaging it with slow, lazy movements.

The silence between you was comfortable, filled only with the hum of the engine and faint music.

After a minute, he spoke.

“So,” Satoru said, glancing at you briefly. “What did you want so badly that you had to disturb my beauty rest?”

You pouted slightly, arms crossing as you looked out the window.

“I want green grapes with peanut butter… and also that honey butter chip.”

You turned to Satoru, still pouting. “I really want it right now.”

He snorted quietly, the corner of his lips lifting.

“You’re not pregnant, are you?” he chuckled, joking as he glanced at you for a second.

Silence filled the car.

Your heart skipped.

“Satoru… stop saying that.”

You tried to sound calm, but your chest was already pounding.

“What?” he said lazily, clearly amused. “Baby, we never know. Remember last night?”

You didn’t need to look to know he was wearing that smug smirk.

“I mean…” he continued, voice teasing. “I might have to call you ‘ma’ now.”

That damn asshole.

You turned away, hiding your embarrassed expression.

You’ve always hated wearing undergarments—especially bras. The feeling of straps digging into your shoulders and fabric pressing against your skin never sat right with you. So the moment you were home in your apartment, the bra was the first thing to go. Most days, you didn’t bother putting one on at all.

When your best friend Simon Riley first started coming over, you hadn’t thought much of it. But the first time he walked into your living room and found you in nothing but a thin white spaghetti strap top, he froze. His face remained unreadable, calm and composed as always, but beneath that mask, he was caught off guard. Your nipples pressed faintly against the fabric, leaving little to the imagination.

Over time, he learned to mask his reactions better. He never said anything, never crossed a line, though the sight of you padding around your apartment braless—or sometimes in just panties—gnawed at his restraint. He was a soldier, a man with discipline, and though he found it maddeningly attractive, he never let it show. Not outwardly.

But Simon was also protective. The moment he realized you didn’t wear bras at all when you were home, he became more vigilant. He’d tug the curtains shut if the sunlight hit you in a way that made your silhouette visible through the windows. If you bent over while reaching for something near the glass, his jaw would tighten, eyes flicking toward the apartment building across from yours or street below—as if to ensure no one looking out their window could ever see what he saw.

One evening, Simon dropped by unannounced. He had just come from the gym during his military leave and, as usual, found himself drawn to your place. He called it routine now—your apartment had become his haven.

When you opened the door to him, he was in a fitted black sleeveless shirt that clung to every line of his torso. His chest looked impossibly solid beneath the cotton, and when he moved, you caught a glimpse of the ridges of his abs pressing faintly against the fabric. His bare arms were on full display, muscles defined and veins running along his forearms, his biceps flexing easily with each movement. He tossed his bag aside, disappearing toward the shower as you set about preparing dinner.

While the scent of garlic and herbs filled the kitchen. The sound of running water filled the bathroom, and Simon’s voice carried faintly through the steam when you called out to him, “One of my coworkers is dropping by tonight to give me some files I forgot.”

He didn’t respond. Or maybe he didn’t hear.

A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. You quickly wiped your hands on the kitchen towel and hurried to answer it. Just as your fingers brushed the knob, two strong, calloused hands slid beneath your thin top, cupping your breasts with firm possession. The suddenness stole your breath, your body shivering at his touch.

You opened the door anyway, heat rushing to your cheeks.

Your coworker stood there, blinking rapidly. His smile faltered the second he noticed the towering figure pressed flush behind you. The air shifted—the casual drop-off suddenly thick with tension.

The man’s eyes flicked from you, to Simon, and back again. His hand trembled slightly as he extended the envelope of files, muttering a quick, “Here you go.”

Simon’s presence was overpowering. He didn’t say a word, didn’t need to—his hard gaze alone was enough to make your coworker swallow nervously and retreat a step. You could practically feel Simon’s glare burning into the poor man, his hand never leaving your chest, fingers tightening slightly as though staking a claim.

Your coworker managed a stiff smile. “Have… a good evening.” And then he left, almost too quickly.

You pressed the door shut with a soft click, exhaling in relief. Simon stayed right behind you, his chest warm against your back, his hand still cupping your breast as if it belonged there. Just as you turned the lock, his fingers tightened, giving you one last deliberate squeeze that made your knees weaken.

You spun halfway toward him, incredulous, cheeks flushed. “You don’t have to scare him like that, you know,” you said, your voice caught somewhere between exasperation and breathlessness.

Simon didn’t budge. His eyes were dark, his mouth set in that unreadable line, “I didn’t like the way he looked at you. Not before he knew I was here,” he said, his voice low, steady. You fully turned around.

Only then did you notice the state he was in—his damp hair clinging to his forehead, droplets of water trailing down the sharp cut of his shoulders and chest. The towel at his waist hung dangerously low, clinging to his hips like it might slip at any second. He must have grabbed it in a rush before storming out of the bathroom, driven by instinct more than thought.

For a moment, you thought he might stay there, pinning you against the door with that heated gaze. But instead, he let a slow, knowing smirk curve across his lips. Without another word, he turned and began walking back toward the bathroom, towel hanging dangerously low on his hips.

Over his shoulder, his voice came low and teasing, almost casual—yet it sent heat rushing through you.

“You should never wear bras again. My hands are better for you anyway.”

Simon Riley, who just got home from a 4-month military mission in Mexico, long past midnight, only to find you fast asleep on the couch—still waiting for him. Your cheek was squished against the pillow, lips slightly parted, brows faintly furrowed. He stood there in silence, staring at you with a rare softness for more than just a minute (definitely more than five), before carefully scooping you up in his arms, carrying you bridal-style, and laying you down in your shared bed where you could rest properly.

Simon Riley, who caught sight of you at the bedroom’s desk, brows knitted in focus as you poured yourself into your work. The sight made his chest ache in that way he could never put into words—half love, half frustration at how unfairly cute you looked when concentrating so hard. Without a word, he tilted your chin up with his thumb, before peppering lingering kisses across your forehead and cheeks—his silent, overflowing way of telling you to take a break.

Simon Riley, who’s never been the best cook, but still insists on cooking for you because nothing makes him happier than watching your nose crinkle and your eyes light up when you taste his food. He wipes the stray sauce from the corner of your lips with his thumb before popping it into his mouth with a quiet, satisfied smirk.

Simon Riley, who buys you Jellycat plushies because he secretly finds it endearing how you treat them like little children, calling him the “dad” of your growing collection. He pretends to grumble, but he always gives in because your joy is worth it.

Simon Riley, who has a strict schedule when it comes to the gym during his military breaks, and you tagging along with him—not because you’re committed to the workout, but because you’re just as clingy. You perch yourself on a stationary bike or some random equipment, legs swinging idly, pretending to keep busy. He knows full well you’re not there to train, but to sneak glances at him as he bench presses, watching every rep with a little too much interest. The sight of you trying to look innocent while clearly admiring him never fails to make the corner of his mouth tug into the faintest smile.

Simon Riley, who spends hours locked in an online meeting with the special forces, headset on and eyes sharp, while you lie on the bed behind him—pouting, brows furrowed, waiting impatiently for his attention and the warmth of his touch. He sneaks glances at you between calls, fighting the urge to laugh at your sulking.

Simon Riley, who loves nothing more than waking up with you wrapped around him like a koala. Even with the expanse of the king-sized bed, you ignore your pillows and always cling to him—legs hooked around his hips, face buried against his chest or neck, as if you’re part of him.

Simon Riley, who just took off his mask, and you immediately smothered his face with quick kisses, everywhere you could reach. You loved these rare moments, knowing he didn’t often let his mask slip around others. He couldn’t stop the small huff of laughter at your eagerness, eyes crinkling as he muttered under his breath about how impossible you were. Still, he adored the way you looked at him with those soft, doe eyes—so full of love it made him want to squeeze you tight and never let go.

You froze. The voice came from behind the office door—firm, cold, and far too close to your worst fear.

You had come to pick Jinwoo up. You were tired after a dungeon run and just wanted to go home, curl into his arms, and let the day melt away. But as your hand reached for the doorknob, you heard the words that made your blood run cold.

“She’s not fit to stand beside you, Sung Jinwoo. She’s not enough.”

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest. You stood there, motionless, the voices inside the Korean Hunters Association office cutting through you like a blade. You knew they were talking about you. They never liked you to begin with. You were a strong A-rank hunter, the second most powerful female hunter in Korea—but you weren’t Cha Hae-In. And worse… they knew your secret.

You stepped away, footsteps silent as you retreated.

Later that night, Jinwoo lay behind you, his arm draped over your waist, his warmth pressing against your back. His lips ghosted over your shoulder in lazy, affectionate kisses.

“You’ve been quiet,” he murmured into your skin. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, baby?”

You sighed, holding his hand where it rested on your stomach.

“It’s not important. Focus on what matters right now.”

“You are what matters to me,” he whispered, burying himself further into the crook of your neck. “If something’s wrong, talk to me.”

You turned slightly, just enough to meet his eyes. “Have you met Hunter Cha Hae-In?”

He blinked, brushing your hair behind your ear with the gentlest touch.

“I’ve seen her. Once or twice. Why?”

“She’s beautiful. Strong. The directors talk about her a lot.” Your voice was quieter now. “I heard they’re looking for someone to pair her with.”

“I’ve heard the rumors too.”

His expression stiffened. You nodded, then turned your back to him again, pretending to fall asleep. He could feel your distress, but you weren’t ready to say it yet. You weren’t ready to let him go either.

You stared at the wall in silence, wishing time would stop—wishing this moment could stay a little longer before everything shattered.

“Hunter Sung, this is an important discussion. Please try to see reason—”

“I’m done listening.”

Jinwoo stood from the conference table, his voice laced with suppressed fury. His shadow flickered unnaturally beneath his feet.

“This is the third time this week you’ve told me to leave her. What makes you think my answer will change?”

“Because it’s not about love, Hunter Sung. It’s about responsibility. You have power no one else can even fathom. You need someone by your side who matches that. Someone who can create the next generation of protectors.”

Jinwoo’s aura exploded in the room. The lights flickered as shadows stretched unnaturally across the walls. Everyone went silent.

“Don’t speak to me about responsibilities when you’re the ones trying to manipulate my life like it’s a political chess game.”

He turned, grabbing the doorknob.

“I said no. And I mean it.”

That evening, he came home late. You were waiting for him at the door.

He didn’t speak at first. He just pulled you into his arms and kissed you—desperate, almost like he was trying to remind himself that you were still here, still his.

“I’m sorry I’m late… Did you eat anything yet?”

“No. I waited for you.”

His embrace felt like home—safe, familiar, everything you ever wanted. And that made it hurt even more… because while he held on like nothing was changing, you already knew everything was about to end.

The next day, you were called in.

A private meeting. One of the directors. You had a feeling you knew what it was about—but you still went.

You met at a discreet coffee shop, far from headquarters.

“Please, take a seat.”

You sat, heart hammering.

“What I’m about to say is in the best interest of everyone. Please understand this is bigger than you—or even Hunter Sung.”

You said nothing, your silence permission enough.

“Hunter Sung has a duty. He’s more than a person now—he’s a symbol. He needs someone equal to him. Someone who can support the next era of hunters. That person is not you.”

You stared blankly ahead, fists clenched beneath the table.

“You are infertile. You cannot bear a child. That already makes you incompatible. Hunter Cha is not only an S-rank—she’s a woman who can give him an heir. Someone who will inherit his strength. You… cannot.”

It felt like someone had taken a knife to your lungs.

“Break up with him. This week. That’s not a request. It’s an expectation. The safety of the world depends on it.”

And just like that, he stood and left you there—gutted.

‘We need to talk. I need you to come home right now.’ You texted him, heart pounding with the weight of what you were about to say.

You sat on the couch, arms wrapped around yourself, eyes locked on the packed suitcase by the door. You had already decided.

Jinwoo arrived, dropping his keys on the counter. He saw the bag. Then he saw your face.

“Baby… what’s wrong? You’re not okay, are you?”

He rushed to you, kneeling in front of the couch, cupping your face.

You didn’t kiss him back.

“I’ve heard everything, Jinwoo.”

His shoulders stiffened. His expression shifted from confusion to dread.

“No. Don’t say it.”

“Please…” you whispered. “Understand that this is for the best.”

“No.” He stood, pacing. “If you’re asking me to break up, I won’t. I love you, Y/N. I’ve fought everything to be with you. I won’t stop now.”

“I can’t give you what they want, Jinwoo.” Your voice cracked. “I can’t give you a future. I can’t give you a child.”

“We’ll adopt.” He was desperate now. “We’ll find a way. It doesn’t matter—”

“It does.” You stood, holding his hands. “They want a legacy. Someone who’ll inherit your strength. That can’t be me.”

“Then let them want! I only want you…” His voice broke, raw and ragged. “I don’t care about legacies. I care about you.”

“But I care about you enough to let you go.”

His grip on your hands tightened like he was trying to keep you from slipping away.

“Please,” he said, his voice shaking. “Don’t do this. Don’t choose them over me.”

“It’s not about choosing. It’s about doing what’s right.”

He turned away, trembling, swallowing back tears. “You were the only thing in this world that made me feel human again.”

“And you were the only thing that made me feel loved.” Your voice cracked as you stepped closer.

“The world needs you, Jinwoo. I’m not the one you’re meant to be with.” You kissed his forehead one last time, a trembling, silent goodbye.

“Goodbye, Jinwoo.”

You opened the door, not daring to look back—because if you did, you knew you wouldn’t have the strength to walk away.

“Was my love not enough?” His voice cracked behind you, barely audible. “Wasn’t it enough for you?”

You paused at the threshold.

“It was more than enough. That’s why it hurts.”

And then the door closed.

And he collapsed to his knees.

You didn’t look back as the door clicked shut behind you. Outside, the air was colder than it should’ve been. Maybe because you left everything warm behind. Maybe because you left your heart on the floor next to him.

Inside, Jinwoo remained still, his knees digging into the floor, your scent lingering like a ghost. His fists trembled as he stared at the door, hoping—praying—you’d come back. But the silence answered him louder than any goodbye ever could.

He let out a broken laugh through the tears.

But then Nagi transferred to your school. Suddenly, everything changed.

It felt like you were perpetually in second place, and no matter what you achieved, there was always this gnawing feeling of inadequacy.

Even when the list came out, showing that you scored higher than him, it didn’t feel like a win. He always did it so effortlessly.

You sat in the front row, dedicated, writing notes and reviewing endlessly. But when you glanced at Nagi in the back, you’d always catch him sleeping at his desk, oblivious to the world. It frustrated you to no end.

During quizzes and exams, he’d still get high marks, but his carefree attitude made it seem unfair. While you sacrificed sleep and poured every ounce of energy into studying, he simply coasted. Yet he remained unbothered, like he wasn’t trying at all.

You were jealous.

Nagi noticed your furrowed brows whenever your eyes met, but he didn’t understand why. You’d never even spoken to each other. To him, you were the model student—perfect, composed, and untouchable. But he was just that guy in the back of the class, minding his own business.

When midterms came, the pressure was unbearable. You spent endless hours reviewing and juggling your responsibilities. The weight of expectations, the relentless need to prove yourself—it consumed you.

Then came the exam day. You answered the test quickly, confident in your preparation. But as you handed in your paper, you noticed Nagi did the same, just minutes after you. You glanced at him in disbelief. Was he really that gifted, or was it luck?

As the class emptied, you stayed behind to pack your things. Nagi lingered too, his feet propped up on a chair, phone in hand, looking as relaxed as ever.

Then it happened—a sudden, warm sensation in your nose.

“Huh?” you muttered as you touched your upper lip. Blood.

Nagi furrowed his brows when he glanced at you. He put down his phone, grabbed tissues from his bag, and rushed to your side.

“Here,” he said softly, handing you the tissues.

You stared at him, startled by his uncharacteristic concern. He didn’t stop there. Gently, he guided you to the clinic, one hand lightly supporting your arm.

At the clinic, the nurse tended to you, cleaning you up and ensuring you were fine. Once everything was settled, you stepped out, adjusting your bag and ready to head home.

You stopped in your tracks when you saw him. Nagi was leaning against the wall just outside the clinic, a lollipop in his mouth. He wasn’t looking at you, his gaze lost somewhere on the ceiling, deep in thought.

You tried to walk past him, hoping to avoid an awkward interaction, but after a few steps, he spoke.

“Why do you despise me so much?”

You froze, his question hanging in the air. Slowly, you turned around, meeting his confused gaze.

“I don’t hate you,” you said coldly, though your voice wavered. “I’m… jealous of you.”

His confusion deepened. “Jealous?”

You sighed, the weight of your feelings spilling out. “You’re so good at academics, but you barely try. I work myself to exhaustion, and I still feel like it’s not enough. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat—I have to push myself because of the standards I’ve set. Then you come along, doing the bare minimum, and it makes me feel… small. Like I’m stupid.”

He blinked, stunned into silence.

“I just wanted to feel like I was enough,” you continued, voice trembling. “But when you showed up, it felt like I had to work even harder just to keep up. I’ve never felt this way before.”

Nagi scratched the back of his neck, unsure of what to say. “I… I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” you replied quickly. “This is childish. I shouldn’t even feel this way.”

You turned to leave, but his hand caught your wrist.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. Honestly, I kind of disliked you too at first. I thought you were just a spoiled rich girl who had everything handed to her. But I didn’t realize…” He trailed off, exhaling deeply. “You really do deserve the top spot. I don’t even care about ranks—” He paused, muttering to himself. “Why am I even explaining this?”

You gave a small nod, avoiding his gaze. “I see,” you said quietly, the bitterness still lingering in your voice as you turned away.

The rest of the school year didn’t go as you expected. Somehow, you and Nagi became close. He wasn’t as infuriating as you’d thought—laid-back, yes, but also oddly insightful in his own way. The tension between you hadn’t completely disappeared, but it had softened into something more tolerable, almost unspoken.

One afternoon, you found yourself sitting beside him on a bridge, both of your feet dangling over the edge.

“Do you always come here?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” you replied, staring at the horizon. “It helps me clear my mind.”

The golden sunlight bathed your face, softening your usually sharp features. For the first time, Nagi saw you relaxed—genuinely at peace.

He watched you, noticing details he’d overlooked before. The way your hair caught the sunlight, the faint curve of your lips when you smiled. It struck him.

“You know,” he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper, “I think you’re amazing. Not because of your grades or your accomplishments. Just… you.” He hesitated, his gaze softening. “But you should take care of yourself more. You push yourself so hard, and you don’t deserve to burn out trying to meet everyone else’s expectations.”

You turned to him, startled by his sincerity. His words lingered in the air, disarming you. For once, the competition didn’t matter. Sitting there with him, bathed in the warmth of the setting sun, you felt a sense of calm settle over you—a feeling you hadn’t experienced in a long time. It was strange, but for the first time, you didn’t feel the need to prove anything.

As the class president, your top priority is your classmates’ welfare. Naturally, you’re drawn to Rin—the quiet boy sitting near the window, always by himself. He doesn’t seem interested in making friends, yet you can’t help but notice him. Despite his reserved nature, he plays soccer exceptionally well and has a surprising number of admirers. But that doesn’t change the fact that he prefers to stay in the background.

When your homeroom adviser tells you that Rin has autism, you felt a deeper sense of responsibility for him. You took it upon yourself to sit beside him, making small but consistent efforts to support him. You’d greet him with a smile each morning, check on him when he seemed lost in thought, and ensure he wasn’t left out during group activities. At lunch, you started packing extra food, just in case he forgot to bring any. While your classmates noticed your attentiveness, they couldn’t help but speculate—some even assuming there was something more between you two.

Your bond deepened during an entrepreneurship project, where you and Rin had to innovate a dish together. The two of you worked at your house, running through trial-and-error attempts to perfect your recipe. You were surprised to discover Rin’s talent for cooking. He handled the kitchen with precision, focusing on the dishes with a quiet confidence.

Wanting to contribute, you began chopping vegetables, only to accidentally nick your finger. It wasn’t a deep cut, but blood started to pool quickly. Hoping not to disturb Rin, you tried to hide it. However, Rin noticed immediately. Without a word, he took your hand and guided you to the sink. His touch was firm yet careful as he washed the cut under cold water. Then, digging into his bag, he retrieved a single bandage and knelt slightly to wrap it around your finger with an almost professional gentleness.

“Be more careful next time,” he muttered, his tone cool and detached. “That was my last bandage.”

Unbeknownst to you, there were four more bandages tucked in his bag—he always carried extras just in case you needed them.

For the first time, you noticed something beyond Rin’s quiet demeanor. His actions weren’t just attentive; they were deliberate. The others said he was distant, even cold, but you could see now how differently he treated you.

From Rin’s perspective, he wasn’t sure when it began, but he had started noticing you too—every little thing about you. The way you tilted your head when you didn’t understand something. How you fiddled with your earrings when nervous or tapped your fingers rhythmically against your notebook when deep in thought. The way your eyes sparkled when you aced a test, or how your lips quirked into a small smile whenever someone praised you—modest, yet undeniably pleased. The way you waved enthusiastically at your friends or other students instead of just smiling, worrying a simple smile wouldn’t convey enough warmth. How you absentmindedly twirled a strand of your hair when you were lost in your own thoughts. And the way your voice softened when comforting someone, like you instinctively knew how to make people feel safe.

As much as he tried to resist it, Rin realized he had grown fond of you. He didn’t see you as bothersome anymore, though he found it frustrating that your persistence had carved a space in his life. It felt instinctive now—like a reflex—to pay attention to you.

By the third attempt at your dish, you finally succeeded. Your face lit up with pure joy as you grinned cheekily, your eyes crinkling and almost disappearing. You nodded in approval, your head bobbing slightly with excitement. Rin watched you quietly from his spot, his gaze lingering on the way your energy seemed to fill every corner of the room.

For the first time, Rin felt something stir deep within him, something unfamiliar yet undeniable. His chest tightened as he realized it wasn’t just admiration or curiosity—it was more. In that moment, you weren’t just his class president or the persistent girl who wouldn’t leave him alone. You were something far more significant, something that made him feel both uneasy and strangely drawn to you at the same time.

Those were Sae’s parting words before he left for Spain, words he truly believed in when he said them. But the moment he boarded that plane, reality began to weigh on both of you. You tried to hold onto hope, to believe in the promise he had made, but when days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, the silence became unbearable. No messages, no calls—nothing.

He hadn’t meant to disappear. At his training camp in Spain, his phone was confiscated for five grueling months. Five months where he had no way to hear your voice, to tell you he hadn’t forgotten you. But Sae didn’t let the circumstances stop him. Every night, after endless drills and lonely evenings, he sat at his desk and wrote to you. Letter after letter, he bared his soul—apologizing for the silence and sharing the dreams he still held for the two of you.

Little did he know, every one of those letters, never found their way to you.

When Sae finally got his phone back, the first thing he did was to dialed your number, his heart pounding with hope. But the line was dead. The message that your number was no longer in service shattered him. Desperation clawed at his chest as he turned to social media, only to find himself blocked there too. Every door to you was shut, and he didn’t understand why.

It wasn’t until months later, through one of your mutual friends, that he learned the truth. You had changed your number after months of waiting for him. You had felt abandoned, cut off, and alone. The letters he had written, every heartfelt word he had poured out onto paper, had been lost. None of them had ever made it to you.

When Sae finally returned to Japan, he didn’t expect to see you so soon. And yet, there you were, standing amidst a crowd, radiant and full of life. For a fleeting moment, he felt his chest swell with hope, as though fate had given him a second chance.

But then he saw him. The man standing beside you, the one who held your hand as if it was his right, the one who made you laugh in a way that Sae had once dreamed he would.

Kaiser strikes me as the kind of guy who deliberately crouches down to meet your eye level when he’s teasing you—or even when he’s just having a conversation. It’s not out of kindness, though. Oh no, this is calculated. The way he looms just enough to make you feel small beneath his presence is both unsettling and captivating. His overwhelming aura completely overshadows you, and he knows exactly what he’s doing.

This habit of his? It’s most pronounced when you’re acting a little too bratty for his liking. The moment you push a button he doesn’t appreciate, he crouches down, tilts his head, and fixes you with a gaze that practically pins you in place. It’s his subtle way of reminding you who’s really in charge. And let’s be real—you FOLD every single time.

Kaiser lives for the moment your sharp words falter and your confident attitude melts away. When he sees that blush creeping up your face and your defiance crumbling, his lips curve into that signature smirk—the one that screams confidence and pure charisma. Then, with a low chuckle, he delivers his line with maddening composure:

“What? Where’s that attitude from earlier?”

“Hmm… Always know your place, yeah?”

The way he says it, dripping with smug satisfaction, is enough to send your heart racing. He knows he’s hot. He knows the effect he has on you, and he revels in it. That unwavering confidence is borderline infuriating—and yet, it’s irresistible.

As if that weren’t enough, he leans in just a fraction closer. His gaze flickers from your eyes to your lips, lingering there for a moment too long, like he’s weighing his options. The intensity of his stare burns through you, leaving your thoughts scrambled and your cheeks flushed. You can barely breathe as he devours your composure, his ego inflating with every second you fall apart under his gaze.

And then, just when you think he might close the distance, when your heart feels like it’s going to burst—he straightens up. Without a word, without breaking stride, he walks away as if nothing happened. As if he didn’t just turn your entire world upside down.