nini's archive

REQUEST:

KIM MINGYU | 1 |

LEE CHAN | 1 |

XU MINGHAO | 1 |

JOSHUA HONG

but if it's forever, it's even better*

no one's ever had me, not like you*

won't let them break your heart*

i don't think i could love you more*

ONE SHOTS

I choose you and me religiously

I might just love you until the end

good graces

one sunday morning

thank my lucky stars for that night

don't make me fall in love again

pull up

JEON WONWOO

have I told you lately, i'm grateful you're mine

sweet nothings

this is how you fall in love

game boy

hearts don't break around here

won't let these little things

cluelessly yours

maybe maybe

chase the cut

when our paths cross again

chase the cut - the spin off

in his orbit

black and white and golden

so highschool | wishlist

CHOI SEUNGCHEOL

fight my way

cheek are red like cherries in the spring

god bless your dad's genetics

skittles

in the quiet of us

drowning in the deepest of truths, i think i'm falling for you*

thank all your lucky stars, i'll always be the lucky one

i only think of you, will we be together soon

ddaddu #1

magnets - part 1 - part 2

bend the break | beyond the tracks

how long before we fall in love

the archer

for tonight and forever

be the rest of your life or whatever

before it sinks in

protective or possessive? call it passive or aggressive?

bound to fall | bound to fall: inbound to you

dark nights and daylight

gonna get you back

vitals - part 1 | part 2 | part 3

casualties of chemistry - part 1 | part 2 | part 3

YOON JEONGHAN

wake up to your sunset

apartments we shared

sincerity is (not) scary

rings and roadblocks

strawberry sunday girl

in case of falling - part one | part two

KIM MINGYU

but on a wednesday i watched it begin again

benefit of friends

ruin the friendship

LEE SEOKMIN

i'm inlove with all your charm

handlebars

CHWE VERNON

as long as stars are above you and longer if I can

grumpy cat's secret soft side

breaking the ice

never too much

headlights and headliners | bonus

XU MINGHAO / THE8

not dating huh

chasing fire

KWON SOONYOUNG / HOSHI

my ins and my means

LEE JIHOON / WOOZI

The door clicked shut.Silence. One second. Two. Three.

You pointed a finger at him before he could speak “Don't.”

Jaehyun slowly raised both hands in surrender “Wasn't going to say anything.”

You turned just enough to glare at him

He blinked innocently “What?”

“You have that face.”

“What face?”

“The one where you're about to become the most annoying person I've ever met.”

He pressed a hand dramatically to his chest “That hurts and this face is handsome so enjoy looking at it” 

He grins back at you, which earned a hit on the arm with the kitchen towel. 

The apartment smelled faintly of soy sauce and garlic. Dinner sat half-finished on the stove where the two of you had abandoned it after the unexpected interruption.

You picked up the wooden spoon and stirred the simmering pot with considerably more force than necessary.

Behind you, you heard Jaehyun pad back into the kitchen. For exactly seven whole seconds he behaved. He opened the refrigerator , grabbed the bottle of wate, took a sip.

You actually started to believe he might keep quiet. 

“Sooo...”

You didn't even look up “I hate that 'so' already”

Jaehyun leaned casually against the kitchen island, bottle still in hand

“So that's the ex”

You closed your eyes “There it is”

He nodded thoughtfully to himself “Good to finally put a face to the name.”

You pointed the spoon at him “You literally met him before, you’re living next to him”

“One I’m barely home, I don’t even come here on normal person hours. And two, I met the guy claiming his mail was lost. Today I met The Ex. Different titles. Different energy. I've heard about this mysterious Choi Seungcheol for, what, two years now?”

“I have not talked about him for two years.”

Jaehyun gave you a look “You absolutely have.”

“I absolutely have not”

“You absolutely have

He started counting on his fingers “The ramen place because they still served the dumplings he liked”

“I said the dumplings were good”

“The stationery shop because you accidentally picked up the notebook brand he always bought”

“That was an accident”

“The camping chair”

You paused “…What camping chair?”

“You refused to buy the green one because,” he cleared his throat dramatically, “‘Someone I used to know would've picked green’”

Your jaw dropped “I hate your memory”

“My memory is incredible”

“Well,” he said lightly, “he's handsome”

You looked over your shoulder “…Excuse me?”

“What?”

“You're complimenting my ex now?”

“I have eyes and he is objectively a handsome man”

“You cannot say things like that”

“Why?”

“Because I don't need outside confirmation.” you grumbled, stirring the pot a little more aggresively 

He pointed triumphantly “You're still aware he's attractive”

“I was aware nine years ago.”

“And today?”

You resumed stirring with exaggerated focus “He looked... normal”

Jaehyun nodded “Normal.”

A comfortable silence settled for a minute while the vegetables finished cooking.

It was easy with Jaehyun. That was probably why the friendship had happened so naturally. He never demanded explanations. Never dug when you clearly didn't want to talk.

He joked. He distracted. He let things breathe.

Tonight was no different.

He set two bowls on the counter.

“So...” he said again

You sighed “If you ask me if I'm still in love with him, I'm throwing this spoon at you”

“I wasn't” he smirks, and you seriously considered your threat

“I was actually going to ask...” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “...do you think he thinks we’re dating?”

You stared at him “You absolutely have no filter. It’s like whatever comes up in your head, you just say it”

“No, seriously ” He was laughing again as he followed you around the kitchen

“You’re stressing me out, now I understand why Jongin volunteered me to move here instead of him”

Jaehyun chuckled, reaching over to pat the top of your head “There, there.”

You swatted his hand away without lifting your head “Don't patronize me.”

“Would you prefer I say more intrusive, unsolicited opinions?” he smiles at you, the one you know he’s teasing 

“You're a bad friend” you mumble

“I am an excellent friend” He leaned against the counter beside you

“Jaehyun.”

“What?”

“You opened the door shirtless, now you’re calling me babe in front of him. Can we just agree that if you accidentally get elbowed in the elevator by him. Leave me out of it”

He chuckles, “So you care what he thinks?”

“I don’t think about what he thinks” you defended, too quickly, busying yourself with ladling soup into bowls

Jaehyun watched you for a moment then chose not to push.

Instead he picked up his bowl, nudged your shoulder lightly with his own, and grinned.

“Well.”

“What?”

“At least next time he asks for kitchen utensils...”

You looked up warily “…I'm giving him the entire cutlery drawer”

=

By the second week, Seungcheol had seriously considered moving.

He had actually opened his laptop on Wednesday night and looked up the building manager’s email. Typed out half a message asking whether any units on another floor might be opening up in the next month.

Stared at it for a full minute.

Then deleted the whole thing because what exactly was he supposed to say?

Hi, yes, I’d like to relocate because my ex-girlfriend of nine years is living next door and I keep hearing her laugh through the wall and hallucinating a future she might be building with another man, thank you so much for your time.

No. Absolutely not.

So he stayed. And suffered. The problem wasn’t even that he saw you constantly.

It was that he didn’t.

You existed in fragments now. A laugh through the wall. The sound of your front door opening. Your voice in the hallway, warm and distracted while talking on the phone.

It was death by details.

And because his brain was apparently committed to ruining him, Jaehyun who he had finally learned after hearing you say the name once in the hallway still existed in Seungcheol’s mind as a giant blinking question mark.

Even after the “babe” incident. Even after you and Jaehyun kept behaving in ways that were just ambiguous enough to torture him.

Sometimes Jaehyun disappeared for days, which should have been a point in Seungcheol’s favor if he were a normal person. But no, because then he’d come back with a suitcase and tired eyes and keys to your apartment, and Seungcheol would spiral all over again.

Sometimes he’d hear both of your voices through the wall and have to sit very still on his couch pretending not to notice the way your laugh still did violence to his pulse.

Sometimes he heard only yours and wondered if you were on the phone, if you were talking to friends, if you were happy, if you were sleeping okay.

It was awful.

Tonight had been particularly bad.

Work had run long. His shoulders ached. He had a low-grade headache sitting right behind his eyes and zero desire to cook, which was saying something because cooking had become his one reliable coping mechanism over the years.

So instead of making dinner, Seungcheol had showered, changed into gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt, and stood in front of his fridge for five full minutes before deciding ramen counted as survival.

He had just finished eating and sat down at the kitchen island when someone knocked.

At eleven at night.

Seungcheol frowned. Mingyu wouldn’t knock. He’d just barge in if the door was unlocked and yell about being hungry. Miyeon usually texted before showing up. Maintenance definitely wasn’t making house calls at eleven.

The knock came again. Lighter this time.

Seungcheol set the spoon down and crossed the apartment, already running through possible disasters in his head.

When he opened the door, his own heart nearly stopped.

You were standing there. In plaid pajama shorts and an oversized cream sweatshirt, hair slightly messy, arms folded tightly across your middle like you were holding yourself together by force. 

You looked up at him with an expression caught somewhere between embarrassment and genuine distress.

For one second, Seungcheol just stared. Then you seemed to regret everything.

Your eyes widened slightly, and the words came out in a rush.

“Sorry—I, uh—I was alone and I thought I could handle the movie but now I can’t stop overthinking and Jaehyun’s not home so I’m alone and terrified and I know it’s late and this is weird and I’m sorry, is it a bad time?”

Seungcheol blinked.

Movie? Terrified?

He looked at your face properly then, at the way your fingers were digging into your own sleeves, the way you kept glancing over your shoulder toward your apartment like something might crawl out of it if you left the door unattended long enough.

And just like that, every other thought left his body.

“No,” he said immediately. “No, come in.”

You hesitated for half a breath. “I can go if you’re busy—” “I’m not busy” 

He stepped back and opened the door wider “Come in.”

You slipped past him quickly, almost sheepish, and he caught the faint smell of your shampoo and body wash as you brushed by. It was unfair how instantly familiar it felt.

Seungcheol shut the door behind you and turned to find you standing awkwardly in the middle of his living room like you’d forgotten how to exist in the same space as him.

Which, to be fair, he understood.

The apartment was quiet and warm, the city lights spilling in through the big windows. A hoodie was thrown over one of the dining chairs. There was a cookbook open on the counter from where he’d been pretending he might still cook.

Your gaze flicked around the room, then back to him.

“I’m sorry,” you said again, softer this time “II know this is… random.”

“What happened?” he asked

You let out a breath and scrubbed a hand over your face “I was watching a horror movie”

Seungcheol stared at you.

You looked vaguely offended by his expression “Don’t.”

“You came here because of a horror movie?”

“I thought it was going to be one of those fun thriller ones,” you defended, dropping your arms and gesturing helplessly 

“It was not one of those. It was one of those weird psychological ones where nothing really happens but somehow it’s worse because then your brain does the rest and now every sound in that apartment feels demonic.”

Despite himself, Seungcheol’s mouth twitched

You pointed at him “No. Don’t laugh. I was fine until Jaehyun left for a flight and then I tried to be brave and finish it by myself and now I’m pretty sure the coat rack in the corner moved.”

It hit him then, absurdly, how normal this felt.

You in his living room, indignant and rambling and a little embarrassed about it. Him trying not to smile because you were being ridiculous in a way he used to know by heart.

He cleared his throat and nodded toward the couch “Sit.”

You obeyed immediately, which told him more about your current mental state than anything else. 

Seungcheol went into the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water, then thought better of it and filled the kettle instead.

“Tea?” he called

“Yes, please”

“Still honey, no sugar?” The words left his mouth before he could stop them.

When he looked over, you were staring at him from the couch, something unreadable flickering across your face.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “Still honey”

Seungcheol nodded once and turned back to the kettle before his own expression gave him away.

A few minutes later he set a mug in front of you and sat in the armchair opposite the couch, leaving enough distance to be respectful and not nearly enough to calm his pulse.

For a while, it was awkward as hell.

You curled your legs beneath you on the couch, both hands wrapped around the mug even though it was too hot to hold properly.

The reality of what was happening slowly settled over both of you.

You were in his apartment. At eleven at night because you were scared. Seungcheol wasn’t proud of how much that did to him.

He reached for the safest possible topic and still somehow managed to make it a disaster.

“So,” he said, voice carefully neutral, “how long have you been together?”

You blinked.

“With Jaehyun,” he clarified, hating every syllable

Your entire face changed. First confusion then realization then outright horror.

“Oh my god,” you said, nearly sloshing tea over the rim of the mug  “No. No, no, it’s not like that.”

Seungcheol went still.

You shook your head so fast“Jaehyun’s not—he’s not my boyfriend. He’s just a friend.”

The knot that had been living under Seungcheol’s ribs for the last two weeks loosened so violently it almost hurt.

“He doesn’t even stay here often,” you continued, words tumbling out now that you’d started “He’s a pilot, so he’s away most of the time. He offered me the apartment because my lease ended before my new place was ready, and I only needed somewhere for a few weeks while everything got settled.”

Seungcheol stared at you. A friend. Just a friend. A pilot.

Mingyu was going to be unbearable about this.

More importantly, not your boyfriend. Not your husband. Not your situationship.

You frowned at him “Why do you look like that?”

He realized too late that he had not hidden his relief nearly well enoughc“Like what?”

“Like someone just pardoned you from prison”

Seungcheol coughed into his fist “I don’t.”

“You do”

He looked away.

You stared at him for another second, then your expression shifted again, softer this time. More curious.

“Wait,” you said slowly “You thought Jaehyun and I were together?”

He gave a noncommittal shrug that fooled absolutely no one.

“Oh my god,” you repeated, but this time there was laughter threatening at the edges of it “That’s why you were being weird.”

“I was not being weird.”

“You lied about mail.”

“I panicked.”

“You came over asking to borrow a ladle because you heard voices through the wall.”

“It was a weak moment.”

You actually laughed then.cA real one. Small, but real and Seungcheol felt it all the way down to his bones.

“For the record, Jaehyun calls everyone babe. It means nothing. He called a customs officer babe once because he forgot where he was.”

Seungcheol let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding “That’s a terrible habit.”

“It really is.”

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, then before he could stop himself, asked, “So he’s really just a friend?”

You looked at him for a beat too long then nodded. “Yeah.”

The room went quiet again, but this time it felt different.

You took a sip of tea, then glanced down into the mug as if gathering courage “Can I ask something too?”

“Yeah.”

You looked up “What’s going on with you and Miyeon?”

Seungcheol nearly inhaled his own tongue “What?”

You shrugged, too casually to be casual “I just… you two look good together.”

He stared at you in open disbelief “Good together?” he repeated.

You lifted one shoulder. “She’s nice. Pretty. Comfortable around you. She calls you Cheol.” 

The last part came out more pointed than the rest, and your eyes dropped quickly back to the mug like you regretted letting that show 

“I just assumed…” “No.” The answer came so fast it almost overlapped your sentence

“No, it’s not like that. She’s my neighbor,” he said, “That’s it. She needed help moving something one day and then we ended up being friendly. We’ve had dinner a couple times, but not—” He cut himself off and shook his head 

“No. There’s nothing going on.”

And then, because of course the universe couldn’t let anything stay light for too long, the smile faded a little and your gaze dropped to the mug in your hands.

The room quieted. This time the silence wasn’t awkward. It was heavier than that. 

Seungcheol watched you turn the mug slowly between your palms, your shoulders finally loosening now that the fear from the movie had worn off and left room for everything else.

“Your apartment’s nice,” you said after a while, voice soft

He looked around like he was seeing it through your eyes for the first time.

“Thanks”

“It feels…” You trailed off, searching “Warm.”

He almost told you the truth.

That he’d chosen it because of the windows, because you always hated dark apartments, because the kitchen was big and open and bright and the second bedroom had looked exactly like the kind of nursery you once described half-asleep with your cheek pressed to his shoulder, because even after losing you, he still kept building spaces with you in mind like some pathetic habit he couldn’t break.

Instead he just said, “I got lucky.”

You nodded and then, after a long pause, “You seem… good.”

Seungcheol looked at you carefully. There was no accusation in it. No bitterness. Just a quiet observation, maybe even relief.

He thought about how to answer.

“I’m better than I was,” he said honestly

“I’m glad.”

That one landed harder than it should have, because there were so many things packed into those two words. So much kindness in them, even now.

He had to physically stop himself from asking a hundred things he had no right to ask.

Are you happy? Did you hate me for a long time? Did you ever think about calling? Do you still take your coffee too sweet when you’re sad? Did you know I went to therapy because losing you made me realize I couldn’t keep being the man who shut down every time life got real?

Did you know I still haven’t figured out how to stop loving you properly?

Instead he asked the only safe thing left “So what movie was it?”

You groaned and dropped your head back against the couch “Absolutely not. I’m not telling you because then you’ll make fun of me.”

He almost smiled “I won’t.”

“That’s a lie”

“Probably.”

You huffed a laugh into your tea.

And little by little, the awkwardness loosened.

Not enough to erase the years between you but enough that by the time midnight slipped past and the city outside the windows went quieter, you were no longer perched on the edge of the couch like a stranger in his apartment.

You were still careful with him and he was still careful with you but the room had softened.

And for the first time in three years, Seungcheol got to sit across from you and hear you laugh without a wall between you.

Which was maybe a terrible sign for his healing but tonight, he didn’t care.

The conversation had wandered somewhere safe. You had told him between embarrassed laughs that the movie wasn’t even that scary, it is to you probably not to everyone. You two talk about the doorman’s cute dog, the morning food cart that walks by on weekdays

and because you're you, he knows you're still thinking about the horror movie. 

"Nothing even happened," you complained, cradling the mug with both hands "That's the worst part. Now my brain is filling in the blanks."

Seungcheol smiled into his own cup 

"It sounds like your own imagination is the scary part."

You pointed at him "Rude."

"But accurate"

"...A little"

The smile that followed was sleepy since its was almost one in the morning.

"You hungry?" he asked

You looked up sluggishly "uh no, I’m fine"

"I'll take that as a yes"

"I can just go home"

The words were automatic, polite. Almost guilty.

He shook his head before you could even finish "I'll grab something."

You opened your mouth, probably to protest again "...Okay."

He disappeared into the kitchen.

The apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerator and the kettle you'd forgotten to turn off earlier finally cooling. He opened cabinets almost on instinct. Crackers. He settled on slicing an apple, adding a few crackers onto a plate, then hesitated before opening the freezer.

There was vanilla ice cream. You always insisted cold desserts somehow made scary movies less scary.

He hadn't questioned the logic then. He wasn't about to now. He scooped a little into a bowl.

He picked up the tray and when he stepped back into the living room he stopped.

At some point while he'd been gone, you'd curled onto one end of the couch. One of the throw pillows had found its way beneath your head. One hand was tucked under your cheek.

Your breathing was slow. Fast asleep.

For a long moment, Seungcheol simply stood there with the tray in his hands.

He let out the smallest laugh "You really tried."

The tray found its place quietly on the coffee table. He crouched beside it for a second, gently moving the mug farther from the edge so you wouldn't knock it over if you rolled.

Then he sat down in the armchair across from you.

And looked.

Three years. Three years since he'd been allowed to do something as simple as watch you sleep. There had been a time when this was ordinary.

Movie nights where you'd swear you weren't tired only to fall asleep twenty minutes in. Road trips where you'd insist on keeping him company before eventually drogging off with your forehead against the passenger window.

Back then he'd tease you. Take pictures you always demanded he delete. Throw a blanket over you. Brush your hair away from your face.

Kiss your forehead because he could.

Now… Now he folded his hands together to stop himself from reaching out.

The apartment felt impossibly still.

He studied the face he'd once known better than his own.

You looked… peaceful.

There were tiny changes time had written into you. Three years' worth of living he hadn't been there to witness. Three years of birthdays. Three years of promotions, bad days, illnesses, lazy Sundays, grocery shopping, random Tuesday victories.

Three years where someone else had been the first person you called.

Or maybe no one.

He didn't know anymore and somehow that hurt more than anything.

"...I'm sorry " The words came quietly into the empty room, not that he expected you to hear and maybe because he'd spent three years carrying them around and they had nowhere else to go.

"I'm sorry I made you question whether I wanted you"

His eyes stayed on your sleeping face "I never questioned loving you"

A long silence "I questioned myself."

He rubbed his palms together "I was scared I'd fail you."

Another quiet laugh "I thought waiting until I was ready would protect us. It only made me lose you."

You shifted slightly in your sleep. Just enough to make him instinctively lean forward before stopping himself. Old reflex. Still there.

You settled again, breathing evening out.

For the first time in three years, there wasn't a phone screen between memories. There wasn't imagination filling in what time had erased.

You were right there.

He was grateful you still felt safe enough to knock on his door. Grateful that somewhere along the way, despite everything he'd broken, life had still given him one quiet night to simply exist in the same room as you again.

Even if it meant nothing more.

Even if tomorrow everything stayed complicated.

He would take this.

Just this.

After a while he stood, quietly retrieved the folded throw blanket from the basket beside the couch, and unfolded it with practiced hands.

Slowly, carefully, he draped it over you. You made the tiniest sleepy sound. Your cheek burrowed deeper into the pillow.

Some things, he thought, never really left.

He turned off the brighter lights, leaving only the warm lamp by the bookshelf glowing softly over the room. Then he settled back into the armchair.

He knew his neck would hate him in the morning. He also knew there wasn't a chance in the world he was going to wake you.

So he stayed.

Watching over the woman he'd loved for nearly half his life.

Not asking for another chance. Not asking the universe for forgiveness.

Just quietly sharing the same silence.

For the first time in three years... it didn't feel lonely anymore.

=

Seungcheol woke before the sun had fully settled over the city.

For one disorienting second, he didn’t move. He can feel the ache from his neck down his back. 

Now he’s definitely sure he’s buying a new armchair. 

Then he looked over the couch.

And there you are. Asleep. Comfortable. 

Some time in the middle of the night he woke up and couldn’t stand watching you sleep on the throw pillow so he walked to his room, took his own pillow before walking back to the living room. 

He woul’ve told you to move to the bed but he didn’t have the heart to wake you up and he’s pretty sure you’ll run if he so much so suggests it. 

So instead he just made sure you’re comfortable. Absolutely not caring if he’s not, as long as your sleepy little breaths were there he’s… okay. 

He can already picture Dr. Han’s reaction when he tells her this. 

That how one night like this with you, one night can completely reset him. Not in a bad way. 

Just… in a honest way. 

How even after all these years, after all that work to be a better version of him it seems that it doesn’t matter because he could be whatever type of man and he would still be in love with you. 

He stared some more, the sleep drifting away as the clock on the wall ticks. 

The light outside slowly creeping in through the curtains, and yet he doesn’t rush like he usually would. 

And then there were the snores. The kind of snore you would deny with your whole chest if anyone ever brought it up.

Seungcheol stared at you for two full seconds then he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from laughing.

Because this was absurd.

Three years after the breakup that had gutted him, after therapy and healing and every difficult thing in between, he here’s and you’re here and somehow, instead of feeling devastating, it felt…

Light. Warm.

Dangerously, stupidly good.

He looked at your face and knew instantly that he didn’t have the heart to wake you yet.

He carefully stood up, stretching the sore muscles on his back and his neck. Quietly he goes to the window to draw the curtains so the sun wouldn’t hit you yet. Then he walks to the kitchen, he moves carefully, quietly. 

He never had to before, he’s been living alone for three years. He wouldn’t admit it but he didn’t mind being alone. But this? you in the same space as him? he’d take this over any good day spent alone. 

Your eyes cracked open, unfocused at first, . For a few long seconds, you didn’t say anything. Just frowned, eyes heavy with confusion of someone who had absolutely no idea where they were.

Your eyes widened. You sat bolt upright so fast the comforter nearly launched off the couch

“Oh my god.” Your voice came out rough with sleep and sheer horror.

Seungcheol appeared from the kitchen looking like he already started his day. 

You looked around wildly, then down at yourself, then at him, then back at the room as if it might somehow explain how this had happened.

“What— why am I here?” you blurted

“Scary movie, dark apartment, questionable noises” he listed off as if that would explain how the night went

“Oh my god,” you whispered again, burying your face in both hands “Kill me.”

He laughed properly then, shoulders shaking. You peeked at him through your fingers with an expression that was equal parts betrayal and embarrassment.

“This isn’t funny”

“It’s a little funny”

“It’s not funny, I’m in your apartment”

“You’ve been here all night, y/n”

You groaned and dragged your hands down your face “I’m leaving. Immediately. Right now.”

“Good morning to you too”

“No, don’t do that. Don’t be normal about this”

He was still smiling when he stood up “I got coffee brewing, I can cook breakfast before you run off”

You froze “You got coffee?”

“And breakfast.”

It lasted maybe a second then self-awareness came crashing back and youstood up so fast you nearly tripped in the blanket.

“Absolutely not. No. I cannot sit here and drink coffee after this happened.”

Seungcheol caught your elbow before you face-planted into the floor 

“Careful”

“I’m fine” 

He steadied you anyway, hand warm around your arm until you found your footing.

The second you did, you pointed at him accusingly “This never happened.”

He blinked. “Which part?”

“Yes.” you blurted out, cheeks already burning from the sheer absurdity of everything that happened

“No.”

“Seungcheol.”

“Not a chance.”

You glare at him and tt was, without question, one of the cutest things he had ever seen in his life.

Which was exactly why he kept his mouth shut.

You pointed toward the hallway “I’m going next door before I embarrass myself further”

“I think we passed that point”

“Not helping!”

He laughed under his breath and followed you out of the room anyway, mostly because you still looked half asleep and likely to walk into a wall.

At the front door, you stopped abruptly and turned back to him.

For one brief second, the panic faded.

“Thanks,” you said, voice smaller now “For last night.”

Seungcheol’s smile gentled immediately “You’re welcome.”

Then, without another word, you slipped out into the hallway and hurried toward the apartment next door.

Seungcheol stood in his doorway watching you go.

And this time, when you left he didn’t feel like the floor had disappeared beneath him.

He didn’t feel hollowed out, or desperate, or like he should’ve said more and stopped you and fixed everything before the door closed.

This time, he just smiled because when your door shut behind you, it didn’t feel like goodbye.

Not even close.

=

You really should have just left the food at his door.

That would have been the normal thing to do.

Set the takeout down, maybe leave a note saying you ordered to much and it’s a thank you for letting you stay the other night, and spare yourself the awkwardness of having to stand there face-to-face.

You owed him dinner or at the very least, some takeout and a half-decent attempt at behaving like an adult.

That was how you found yourself standing in the hallway with a paper bag looped around your wrist and two extra containers tucked under your arm, staring at his door.

It was cracked open slightly. Just enough that you could see the line of warm light spilling into the hall.

You hesitated.

Maybe you should knock anyway.

Then a voice drifted out from inside before you could decide.

Miyeon’s then Seungcheol answered from somewhere deeper in the apartment, voice lower, too muffled for you to make out.

You shifted the bag in your hand.

It wasn’t your business. He could have whoever he wanted over. It wasn’t strange. It wasn’t wrong. You were neighbors, not anything else, and if Miyeon happened to be there while he cooked dinner, that was completely normal.

Completely fine.

So why did your chest tighten anyway?

You told yourself not to be ridiculous and nudged the door open a little wider.

Inside, Seungcheol was by the fridge and Miyeon stood near the kitchen island facing him.

Neither of them noticed you immediately.

And then you heard her say it.

“She’s the girl you never got over, isn’t she?”

Everything in you went still. Seungcheol didn’t answer right away. He just… went quiet.

Miyeon smiled. Not bitterly. If anything, it was soft. Almost fond.

“You know,” she said, voice lighter now, “I thought maybe if we gave it time, maybe one day I could tell you I liked you and this would be… something more.”

Your grip on the bag tightened. Your heart had started doing something awful inside your chest, something hot and embarrassing and irrationally painful.

A woman standing in his kitchen, talking in that careful, brave voice women used when they were laying their pride on the line. A man listening quietly. A confession hanging in the air between them.

And Seungcheol—

God, Seungcheol had every right to have this.

To have someone kind and lovely and emotionally available standing in his apartment wanting him.

To have someone who hadn’t broken things with him. Someone who hadn’t walked away three years ago. Someone who didn’t come with history and regret and enough unresolved feelings to choke on.

Miyeon’s voice came again, gentler this time.

“But you were always steps away,” she said “No matter how close I thought I got.”

That was enough. Maybe there was more after that. Maybe Seungcheol said something immediately, something important, something that would have changed the entire shape of what you were hearing.

But you didn’t stay long enough to find out because in your head, the scene had already written itself.

Miyeon liked him. Had liked him for a while. And Seungcheol had been standing there in silence, not shutting it down.

Maybe because he didn’t know how or maybe because after three years, he was finally ready to let someone in.

The thought hit with a force you were not prepared for. 

You had enough self respect and control to not let yourself drown in that same sorrow again, to put yourself through hell. 

You thought, you really thought one day if you meet him again by chance and see him moving on that you’d be okay. But standin here, witnessing it happen it is a very different kind of hurt you apparently still wasn’t ready for. 

The floorboard near the door creaked.

Seungcheol turned first and his eyes found you instantly.

You saw the exact second he registered your face, the way you’d frozen in the doorway like someone caught in a scene they were never meant to witness.

Then his expression changed.

Fast. Alarm. Realization. Something like dread.

“Hey—”

You smiled before he could say anything else. It was pure instinct. That awful, polished smile people wore when they were trying very hard not to bleed in public.

“Sorry,” you said quickly, lifting the bag a little like evidence “I, uh… had extra. Just thought about sharing.”

Your voice sounded normal. Like the room hadn’t just tilted under your feet.

You glanced once between him and Miyeon, forcing your smile a little wider

“But it looks like you two are already sorted”

Seungcheol’s face tightened immediately “No, that’s not—”

“I’ll go,” you rushed on, taking a step backward before he could finish “Sorry for bothering you.”

“Wait—” but you were already moving.

You turned too fast, nearly bumping your shoulder into the doorframe on the way out, and made it three steps down the hall before you heard your name behind you.

You got inside just as footsteps hit the hallway behind you.

The door slammed shut before Seungcheol could get there.

The sound echoed through the apartment.

For one second, all you could hear was your own breathing.

Seungcheol muttered a quick apology to Miyeon before he followed you out the door because he promised himself he wasn’t going to make that same mistake again. 

He let you walk out years ago, thinking he didn’t love you enough, thinking there was no you in his future. He’ll be damned before that happens again. 

He knocks gently at your door, hoping you’d spare him atleast the chance to explain. 

“Hey” Seungcheol’s voice, muffled through the door

“Go away,” you called back, and hated how unsteady your voice sounded

Through the door, Seungcheol tried again, quieter this time “You heard that wrong.”

Something in you snapped. You turned and marched back to the door, not opening it, just standing on the other side of it .

“I heard enough”

“No, you didn’t”

“from where I was standing, it sounded a lot like your neighbor was confessing to you in your kitchen. Apologies for interrupting”

You didn’t want to sound angry or hurt or that it still affected you but he knows you enough to hear right through it all. 

On the other side of the door, he exhaled sharply

“It wasn’t like that.”

You laughed again, brittle this time “You don’t have to explain anything. You don’t owe me that, Seungcheol”

That Seungcheol landed like a punch, like reopening a wound he’d been trying to heal for three years. The very same way you spoke his name when you two broke up. 

It sounded exactly like the old days for one terrible second. Your question hanging there, his silence on the other side of it, and all the worst versions of the truth rushing in to fill the gap.

“You know what, it doesn’t matter. It’s none of my business.”

“It is my business if you’re upset because of something you misunderstood”

“I’m not upset”

The lie landed dead between you. Even through the door, you could practically feel his disbelief. You covered your eyes with one hand and laughed once under your breath, exhausted by yourself.

“Just… please go back inside,” you said “I’m tired.”

There was a long pause then Seungcheol spoke again, his voice had changed. Softer now. Less defensive.

“She told me she liked me,” he said

You went very still. On the other side of the door, he continued before you could respond.

“And I was going to tell her it wasn’t going to happen.”

Your throat tightened. You didn’t say anything.

Maybe because you couldn’t. Maybe because hope was a dangerous thing and you no longer trusted it when it came dressed in half-heard confessions through apartment doors.

Seungcheol must have sensed that, because his next words came slower.

“I didn’t say anything right away because I was trying to figure out how to let her down without being an asshole. That’s all.”

You swallowed.

The paper bag on the counter suddenly felt absurd. The food. The stupid extra portions. The whole ridiculous scene.

“I shouldn’t have come over,” you said quietly

“Don’t do that”

“What?”

“Don’t turn this into you doing something wrong.” His voice was closer now, like he’d leaned one hand against the door “You brought me food. You walked in at a bad moment. That’s not on you.”

“You should go talk to her,” you murmured

“I will, I just…” he exhales, trying to find the words, to not rush in panic “I just needed to know you’re okay”

Finally, you lifted your head. Taking a deep breath

“The food’s still for you,” you said 

“Open the door and give it to me, then.”

You stared at the wood in front of you “No.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m still embarrassed”

“About what part? The eavesdropping, the running away?

“You’re making fun of me”

“Hey no, sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. I meant thank you… for the food and… for hearing me out”

You pressed your lips together and stood, walking back toward the counter where the bag sat waiting. When you returned to the door, you still didn’t open it all the way. Just cracked it enough to slide the paper bag through.

Seungcheol’s hand appeared first, taking the handles from you carefully.

For one brief second, his fingers brushed yours.

You looked through the small gap of the opened door. he was standing right there, one hand braced against the frame, hair slightly messy from running his fingers through it, expression softer than you were prepared for.

And tired.

There was apology in his eyes

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly “For how that looked.”

You nodded once “You don’t have to apologize for that”

He studied your face like he was trying to figure out how much of that you meant.

Instead, he lifted the bag a little and said “Thank you.”

You nodded again “Goodnight, Seungcheol.”

“Goodnight.”

You started to close the door then paused

“Cheol?”

“Yeah?”

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the edge of the door “Miyeon…” You swallowed. “She seems nice.”

He held your gaze for a long second then said, very simply, “She is.”

Your chest pinched. But before you could regret asking, he added—

“She’s just not you.”

The world went silent.

Seungcheol looked like he realized exactly what he’d said only after it was already out in the air between you. But he didn’t take it back.

He just stood there holding your takeout in one hand, looking at you like he wanted you to understand something he still wasn’t brave enough to say plainly.

Your pulse stumbled. Neither of you moved.

Then, before your face could betray the absolute chaos happening inside you, you shut the door.

Very gently.

And on the other side of it, you pressed your back to the wood, hand over your mouth, staring at nothing while your heartbeat went absolutely feral in your chest.

Outside in the hallway, Seungcheol stood there for another second, bag of food in hand, looking at the closed door with an expression halfway between disbelief and resignation.

Then he looked down at the takeout, huffed a laugh under his breath, and muttered to himself

“Smooth.”

=

The next morning, Seungcheol did what three years of regret and a very expensive therapist had finally taught him to do.

He stopped avoiding things just because they were uncomfortable.

He texted Miyeon first.

Not some vague hey, sorry about yesterday that would leave room for confusion. Not the kind of soft, careful message that could be mistaken for hope.

Just honest.

If you have time today, I’d like to talk properly. And I owe you lunch.

Miyeon, apparently, was a better person than most of the men Seungcheol knew because she replied ten minutes later with:

Only if you’re buying dessert too. Emotional damage tax.

He almost laughed into his coffee.

So that afternoon, they sat across from each other at a small café two blocks away from the apartment, both with iced americanos sweating onto the table between them and a slice of cheesecake Miyeon had chosen 

She stirred her drink and looked at him over the rim of the glass

“Well,” she said “You look like a man about to issue a formal apology.”

Seungcheol sighed. “I am, actually.”

Miyeon grinned “Good. I like apologies when they come with cake.”

Miyeon wasn’t cruel, and she wasn’t trying to drag anything out of him that he couldn’t give. She was just… direct. Warm in a way that made honesty feel less like a trap and more like the least he owed her.

So Seungcheol told the truth.

Not every single detail. he wasn’t about to sit there and narrate the entire anatomy of his breakup with you like some tragic podcast guest… but enough.

Enough for her to understand.

He told her you’d been together for nine years. That you’d grown up together, practically. That somewhere along the line, when the relationship started asking bigger questions—marriage, kids, forever—he let fear masquerade as caution. Let it convince him that silence was safer than honesty.

He looked down at his coffee when he said the next part.

“I thought I was being practical,” he admitted quietly “I thought if I kept things in my head until I could figure them out, until I had the right answer, then I wouldn’t mess it up.”

Miyeon didn’t interrupt.

Seungcheol gave a humorless laugh.

“Turns out all I did was make her feel like after nine years she was still something I was unsure about.”

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

“She asked me if there was a future there. And I…” His jaw tightened “I didn’t answer the way I should have.”

Miyeon’s expression softened

“What was the answer?” she asked

Seungcheol didn’t hesitate this time “There was.”

His voice came out low and steady, and somehow that made it hurt more 

“There always was. I was just scared of it.”

Miyeon watched him for a moment then she leaned back in her chair and let out a slow breath “Wow.”

He huffed. “Yeah.”

“No, I mean wow in the sense that men really do love ruining their own lives over feelings they could simply communicate”

Seungcheol barked out a laugh despite himself “That’s fair.”

She pointed her fork at him. “I’m serious. You men  will stare directly at the love of your life and think, I should probably say nothing and become mysterious instead.”

He groaned, dropping his forehead briefly into one hand. “Okay, I get it.”

“I’m not done.” Miyeon looked deeply pleased with herself “You had nine years and still somehow managed to make her think you didn’t want her? That’s honestly impressive”

“Miyeon.”

“I’m just saying if stupidity were an Olympic sport, you’d be in medal contention. Sorry but I’m on her side”

That one got a proper laugh out of him, the kind he hadn’t expected to have in this conversation at all.

And maybe that was why, when the laughter died down, what came next felt easier to say.

He looked out the café window for a second before speaking.

“I let my fears outrun me,” he said quietly. “I didn’t realize I was leaving her behind while I did it.”

Miyeon’s face changed. The teasing softened out of it completely.

“So I lost the best thing in my life,” he said “And for a while I thought… I thought maybe that was just it. Maybe I was going to spend the rest of my life chasing the idea of her. Missing her. Regretting it. Trying to become a better person too late.”

He gave a small shrug, one that did nothing to hide how tired those years had been

“But even that wasn’t enough.”

Miyeon was quiet.

Seungcheol finally looked back at her.

“She’s next door now,” he said “And somehow it’s worse and better at the same time. Worse because I still—” He cut himself off, jaw tightening briefly “And better because she’s here. Because I can hear her laugh through the wall and know she exists in my life again, even if it’s only like this.”

Miyeon tilted her head “You still love her.”

It wasn’t a question.

Seungcheol didn’t bother pretending otherwise “Yeah”

There it was. Simple. Unequivocal. No hiding in vague language or technicalities.

Just yes.

“I can’t even imagine how much that would hurt, not just you, her too. I’ve known you for some time and now it makes sense” she looks at, really looks at him. But there’s no hurt or judgement in his eyes. 

Just understanding. Miyeon looked at him for a long moment, then nodded like something had clicked fully into place.

“Well, goodluck on this whole… thing I guess. Whatever happens, I hope you both find happiness” 

He blinked “That’s it?”

“What, you expected me to throw my drink at you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe be angrier.”

She snorted “I’m not angry, Seungcheol. Mildly offended on behalf of women everywhere, yes. But not angry.”

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding 

Miyeon took another bite of cheesecake and spoke “For the record, I liked you. I still think you’re very hot, annoyingly competent in the kitchen, and emotionally constipated in a way that probably activates some deeply unhelpful part of my brain”

Seungcheol choked on his coffee.

She ignored him “But I’m also not stupid. You were always half somewhere else.”

That made him still.

Miyeon shrugged one shoulder, expression easy but not careless.

“It wasn’t that you were cold to me,” she said “You weren’t. You were kind. Present. You listened when I talked. You helped me with my stupid washing machine three separate times and never once made me feel bad for it.”

“You almost flooded the hallway,” he muttered

She pointed at him “That was a structural issue, not a me issue.”

He smiled despite himself but then Miyeon set down her fork and looked at him more seriously

“I did think,” she admitted, “that maybe if I waited long enough, maybe if we kept doing this, borrowing sugar, dinners, hallway conversations, all of it you’d eventually look at me and see something more.”

Her smile turned wry “But every time I got close, it felt like you were still standing a few steps away. Like there was a door in you that stayed shut no matter how comfortable we got.”

“It was like… there was never going to be another key that would unlock it”

Seungcheol’s throat tightened “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” She waved him off gently “And honestly? I’m glad I said it. Better to know than keep romanticizing a man who clearly bought an apartment with his ex in mind”

His eyes widened. Miyeon burst out laughing.

“Oh come on, you’re basically batman. The floor to ceiling windows? so out of character for you. The double vanity in the bathroom? I have only ever smelled one perfume on you, why would you need that much counter space. And don’t get me started on the pantry. You don’t even cook that much and it’s big enough to store food for a family of four”

“I cook” he rebutts

She laughs, taking another bite of the cheesecake before she spoke again “You cook to survive. Also the vacant room? you would’ve made that into your man cave the moment you moved in, or atleast that’s what someone painfully single would do. But you don’t even stay long enough at home to need one. Only couples who are planning to you know, make use of that space one day buys an apartment with an extra room”

“There’s no way you guessed that.”

“Try me. You’re less subtle than you think. My guess? She knew you weren’t over her that first night you helped her open the door”

Seungcheol opened his mouth. Closed it. Because unfortunately, that sounded accurate.

Miyeon shook her head, still grinning “The point is, I’m okay. My pride is bruised, sure, but I’ll survive. You’re not some villain for not liking me back.”

He looked at her carefully. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” She took a sip of her drink “Also, I’d much rather redirect my energy into bullying you until you fix whatever this weird divorced-neighbors thing is.”

Seungcheol groaned “Please don’t call it that.”

“I absolutely will call it that.”

“Miyeon.”

“Divorced. Neighbors.”

He laughed despite himself and dropped his head.

By the time they left the café, things were genuinely okay between them.

Not in the fake, forced way people sometimes pretended after awkward confessions. Actually okay. Lighter. Clearer. Miyeon bumped her shoulder into his before they parted and told him, with terrifying sincerity, that if he messed things up with you a second time she would personally key his car.

Seungcheol had no doubt she meant it.

A few nights later, Mingyu decided everyone needed grilled meat and public chaos.

He called Seungcheol at six-thirty with no preamble.

“Barbecue. Eight o’clock. Wear something that says emotionally available but still rich.”

Seungcheol was standing in his kitchen rinsing rice “What does that even mean?”

“It means don’t wear the black sweater. You look like a CEO in mourning.”

“I am hanging up.”

“Wait, wait. I invited Miyeon too. She said yes. Which means if you’re weird about it, I will leave you both at the restaurant and fake my own death.”

Seungcheol snorted “I’m not going to be weird.”

“You say that now. Anyway, be ready in an hour.”

The call ended before he could protest.

Seungcheol set his phone down and stared at the counter for a second. Then, slowly, his eyes drifted toward the wall.

Toward your apartment. He hadn’t seen Jaehyun in days, hadn’t seen any signs of him coming or going. And from the little you’d let slip, that usually meant one thing: the pilot was off somewhere in the sky and you were alone next door.

He pictured you in there.

Probably eating some chaotic girl dinner over the sink because you were too lazy to plate it properly. Or watching another movie you absolutely couldn’t handle and then pretending you weren’t scared after.

The thought came before he could overanalyze it.

He should ask you.

Just because the idea of you alone next door while he went out to dinner with people you already kind of knew suddenly felt… wrong.

He stared at your door for another five seconds.

Then grabbed his keys.

When you opened the door, you were wearing soft gray lounge shorts and an oversized hoodie with your hair clipped up messily, looking like you’d been halfway through deciding whether to cook instant noodles or give up and order delivery.

You blinked at him.

Seungcheol forgot, briefly, how sentences worked.

“Hi,” you said slowly

“Hi.” He cleared his throat “Mingyu’s dragging me out for barbecue.”

You waited “And?”

“And,” he said, trying not to sound as awkward as he felt “Miyeon’s coming too.”

Your expression shifted just slightly, too quick for him to fully catch.

He pressed on “And I thought… if you’re not doing anything, you should come.”

Your eyes widened “Me?”

“Yeah.”

There was a beat of silence.

“This feels like a trap.”

“It’s not a trap.”

“It’s dinner.”

“With my ex-boyfriend, his friend, and the woman who confessed to him in his kitchen?”

“When you say it like that, it does sound bad.”

“It sounds insane”

“Okay, but if it helps, Mingyu is the actual ringmaster of this circus.”

You leaned against the doorframe, looking up at him with that expression you got when you were trying not to say yes too quickly.

“I don’t know,” you said “I feel like I’d just make it weird.”

“You wouldn’t.”

You folded your arms “You have a lot of faith in me for someone who managed to make three awkward hallway moments in the span of a couple of months living here”

He smiled before he could stop himself “That’s fair. But still. Come.”

“You really want me to?” The question was simple.

Seungcheol held your eyes and answered honestly “Yes”

You looked at him for one long second hen sighed.

“Give me ten minutes.”

By the time you all sat down at the barbecue place, Mingyu had already decided this was the best night of his month.

He knew it within the first ten minutes. Maybe within the first five because apparently all it took was one table, one grill, two bottles of soju, and you and Seungcheol within arm’s reach of each other for the entire universe to lose its mind.

It started small.

Mingyu was reaching for the water pitcher when Seungcheol beat him to it. not for himself, but to refill your glass before you even noticed it was low.

You thanked him absently, already using the tongs to flip a piece of pork on the grill because you knew if he did it he’d inevitably overcook it while talking.

Then the side dishes arrived. Without looking up, you slid the japchae toward Seungcheol first.

Miyeon, sitting across from you with her chin in her hand, watched the exchange with the delighted expression of someone witnessing live theater.

Mingyu caught her eye and nearly choked trying not to laugh.

Then you automatically set aside the pieces that were less spicy onto the edge of the grill. For you? Mingyu might’ve believed it was a coincidence.

But no. Those pieces went onto his plate.

Because you, without missing a beat, had already reached for the ssamjang and were mixing it with gochujang the exact way he liked, muttering, “Don’t eat the red kimchi, it’s the really spicy one”

Seungcheol looked at you like this was the most normal thing in the world

“Then put it on your side before Mingyu tries to kill me with it.”

Mingyu slapped a hand over his own chest “Why am I being blamed when i haven’t even said a word?”

The two of you paused. Looked at each other. Then looked away almost in sync, like it hadn’t just happened.

Miyeon actually laughed out loud “Oh, this is insane,” she said, delighted.

“What?” you asked, blinking

Miyeon gestured vaguely between you and Seungcheol with her chopsticks “You two.”

Mingyu gave up pretending and dropped his forehead dramatically to the table

“I feel like I’m watching parents who said they’re not getting back together and then still file taxes jointly.”

You nearly inhaled your drink.

Seungcheol kicked Mingyu under the table “Ow—what was that for?”

“Shut up.”

“I’m just saying!” Mingyu sat back up, grinning shamelessly “The sexual tension is aging all of us.”

“There is no sexual tension,” you said, too fast. Cheeks burning and seriously considering making up some excuse so you can go home. 

“There is,” Miyeon replied immediately

Seungcheol reached for his beer with the calm of a man trying very hard not to combust.

Seungcheol finally set his beer down and looked at Mingyu with the exhausted expression of a man deeply regretting his friendships

“Can you eat your food and stop narrating my life?”

Mingyu gasped “Our life, actually. I’ve been emotionally invested in this relationship since college. I’m practically your first child”

You laughed into your napkin, cheeks pink from the heat of the grill and the soju and the relentless humiliation of being perceived this accurately in public.

Seungcheol looked over at the sound and for one brief second, the entire table disappeared.

Because you were laughing.

It hit him all over again, sudden and sharp, how much he had missed being near that sound.

Not remembering it. Not imagining it through a wall. Actually being near it.

Miyeon saw the exact moment his expression changed and kicked Mingyu lightly under the table.

He looked at her.

She tilted her head almost imperceptibly toward Seungcheol, then toward you, and mouthed, See?

Mingyu followed her gaze.

Saw Seungcheol staring at you like the answer to a question he’d spent three years getting wrong.

“Oh my God,” he whispered to Miyeon

“I know,” she whispered back

“They’re disgusting”

“Tragically so”

Across the table, you were still trying to flip the meat on the grill when Seungcheol reached over and silently moved the lettuce wrap ingredients closer to you because you’d been stretching for them for the last five minutes.

Mingyu made a strangled noise.

You frowned “What?”

“Nothing,” he said, voice high with suffering “Please continue your very normal definitely-platonic barbecue date.”

Mingyu saw all of it. Miyeon saw all of it.

And judging by the way they kept exchanging looks across the table, because right there in that very moment it just showed even after all these years, there was no better person fit for each other than the both of you. 

=

It happened on a completely ordinary Wednesday.

Which, somehow, made it worse.

There was nothing dramatic about the day before it split open. No sign that by six in the evening his entire world was going to narrow down to one thought so violently it would make him sick.

He’d had meetings all afternoon.

The kind that dragged longer than they needed to, in a conference room that was too cold, with two clients who kept asking for changes to something they’d already approved last week. 

By the time he got back to his car, loosened his tie, and started the drive home, he was tired in the ordinary, manageable way. 

Already thinking about dinner. About whether he had enough groceries to make something decent. About maybe texting you later to see if you’d eaten because Jaehyun was still away and you had a deeply concerning habit of calling cereal a meal when left unsupervised.

He was one block from the building when his phone buzzed against the cup holder.

At a red light, he glanced down. A building management notice.

He opened it without thinking then the world stopped.

Emergency notice: Fire reported on the 14th floor. Residents on surrounding floors are to evacuate immediately and await further instructions from emergency responders.

The blood drained so fast from his body his hands went cold on the steering wheel.

The light turned green. Someone behind him honked. Seungcheol barely heard it.

Because all at once, there was only one thought in his head.

You.

He didn’t think about his apartment. Didn’t think about his things. Didn’t think about whether the fire would spread or how bad it was or if his unit would be damaged.

Just you.

You could be home. Or maybe not. Maybe you’d gone out for groceries. Maybe you were still at work. Maybe you’d met a friend for dinner. Maybe, maybe, maybe—

Please don’t be home.

He gripped the wheel tighter and hit the gas.

By the time he turned onto the street, he could already see the flashing red lights reflecting against the glass of the building. Fire trucks lined the curb. Residents were gathered behind the barricade in clumps of pajamas, work clothes, and hastily thrown-on jackets. Smoke curled faintly from one of the lower floors, not thick and black but enough. Enough to make his stomach drop to somewhere near his knees.

He parked badly. Just got out and ran.

The air outside the building was chaos, building staff trying and failing to keep everyone back. Seungcheol’s eyes moved frantically through the crowd.

Miyeon was there.

He spotted her first near the edge of the sidewalk, wrapped in someone’s spare hoodie, hair messy, face pale. The second she saw him, her expression changed.

And Seungcheol knew.

Because if you’d already been outside, if you’d been standing next to her or with the other residents, she wouldn’t be looking at him like that.

He was at her side in seconds “Where is she?”

Miyeon swallowed “Cheol—”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know,” she said, voice shaking “I came down from the stairwell and I thought she’d be right behind me, but I haven’t seen her, I haven’t—”

His heart slammed so hard against his ribs it hurt.

Then, over Miyeon’s shoulder, he heard another voice raised sharp with panic.

Jaehyun. Still in uniform. The pilot looked like he’d come straight from the airport. He was at the barricade arguing with building security and one of the firefighters, frustration and fear written all over his face.

“She’s still up there,” Jaehyun snapped “I’m telling you she’s in that apartment.”

“Sir, we need you to stay back—” “She’s not on the resident list because she’s staying with me temporarily, but she’s there.”

Seungcheol didn’t even think. He was moving before the thought fully formed, crossing the distance to Jaehyun in seconds.

The other man turned at the sound of his steps, and for one brief second all the misunderstanding, the jealousy, the weirdness of being the ex and the temporary neighbor and the ghost of a relationship that never fully died—none of it mattered.

Because Jaehyun’s face looked exactly how Seungcheol knew his own did.

Terrified.

“She’s inside,” Jaehyun said the moment Seungcheol got close, voice clipped and urgent “She didn’t get the building alert because she’s not registered, and if she had her headphones in—”

Seungcheol’s chest went hollow. He knew.

You slept with earbuds in sometimes. Or one earbud. Or both, if you were tired enough and needed noise to quiet your head. He had spent nine years knowing every stupid little habit you had, and right now every one of them felt like a loaded gun.

A firefighter was trying to explain something about containment, about how the fire was a floor below and mostly under control, about how a team had already gone up to sweep neighboring units and make sure everyone was out.

Seungcheol heard maybe half of it.

One of the first responders said something to Jaehyun and he answered, voice tight with anger.

Seungcheol cut in over both of them “She’s in 12D. She’s probably asleep or has headphones in”

“We have people sweeping every unit, sir.”

“That’s not good enough.”

The firefighter’s expression tightened. “I understand you’re worried—”

“No, you don’t.” The words came out harsher than Seungcheol meant, sharpened by the terror clawing through his chest “If she’s in there and disoriented or she can’t hear you—”

“Seungcheol.” Jaehyun’s voice.

Seungcheol looked at him. Jaehyun’s jaw was tight, his own panic barely contained, but he gave a short shake of his head.

So Seungcheol shut his mouth and turned back to the building.

And waited.

It was the longest few minutes of his life. Every time the lobby doors opened, his body jolted forward before his brain could catch up. Residents came out coughing, wrapped in blankets, guided by firefighters. An older couple from the 13th floor. A college kid carrying his cat in a laundry basket. A woman in slippers crying into her phone.

None of them were you.

Jaehyun stood on one side of him. Miyeon on the other now, silent and pale.

No one said much. There was nothing to say.

He thought, wildly, irrationally: I should’ve checked on you today. I should’ve texted. I should’ve gone over. I should’ve—

Then the lobby doors opened again.

A firefighter stepped through first and behind him—

You.

For a split second Seungcheol’s brain didn’t process it.

Just the shape of you. A figure wrapped in a gray emergency blanket, one arm around the firefighter guiding you, your face pinched in pain as you coughed hard enough to fold slightly at the waist.

Then everything hit him at once.

You were here. You were out. You were alive.

And still something was wrong. You were swaying on your feet, face too pale, eyes glassy and unfocused from smoke and panic. Even from where he stood, he could hear the roughness in your breathing.

Jaehyun moved first “Hey—hey, I’ve got you—”

He was at your side immediately, one hand reaching for your elbow, voice low and urgent as he guided you down the last step.

But the second your knees buckled just slightly, just enough for your weight to tip wrong, Seungcheol was there too.

Instinct. Pure, immediate instinct.

He stepped in without thinking, one arm going around your back, the other under your knees as he lifted you clean off your feet before you could stumble again.

You made a weak noise of protest that died in another cough

“It’s okay,” he said immediately, the words coming out too fast, too breathless “I got you. I’ve got you.”

Your head tipped toward his shoulder.

Up close, he could see the soot smeared faintly near your temple, the wetness in your lashes from coughing, the way each breath looked like it hurt.

Panic surged all over again.

“What hurts?” he asked, voice shaking despite how hard he tried to keep it steady “Tell me what hurts.”

You blinked up at him, dazed. Your fingers clutched weakly at the front of his shirt.

“Cheol…”

“I’m here.”

You swallowed, trying to drag in air, and another coughing fit cut through the attempt. He tightened his hold on you instinctively, like if he could just keep your body close enough he could physically hold you together.

“What is it?” he asked again, almost pleading now “Baby, what hurts?”

The name slipped out of him before he could stop it. Just muscle memory and fear and love so old it lived deeper than language.

You didn’t seem to notice or maybe you did and simply didn’t have the energy to react.

Your face twisted as you tried to breathe “Can’t…” you rasped, voice shredded raw “Can’t breathe.”

Every part of him went cold.

“Medic!” Seungcheol shouted immediately, louder than he meant to “She can’t breathe.”

A paramedic was already moving toward you with an oxygen mask and monitor, guiding Seungcheol toward the back of the ambulance where they could sit you down and assess you properly.

He climbed in without even asking permission, still holding you until they told him to set you on the bench. His hands shook as he helped them settle the oxygen mask over your face.

“It’s okay,” he kept saying, though he had no idea if he was talking to you or himself anymore “It’s okay. Just breathe, baby. Slow. You’re okay.”

Your hand found his wrist and held on. Tight.

Outside the ambulance, Jaehyun had stopped a few feet back. Not because he didn’t care. God, no.

Close enough to step in if needed. Far enough not to crowd.

And in that moment, watching Seungcheol bent over you with one hand cradling the back of your head while the other stayed trapped in your grip, Jaehyun understood something he had probably already known since knowing you.

That place beside you had never really been empty. And maybe, for all the time and years and distance that had passed, it had only ever belonged to one man.

Inside the ambulance, the paramedic asked you a question Seungcheol barely heard.

Something about dizziness or about smoke inhalation.

You answered in fragments between breaths.

Apparently you had been asleep. Hadn’t heard the first round of pounding on the door. Had only woken when the room started smelling wrong and the alarm in the hallway got loud enough through your headphones to cut through your sleep. 

By then the air had already been thick enough to make you panic. 

The medic shone a light in your eyes, listened to your lungs, checked your oxygen levels twice. You weren’t burned. There didn’t seem to be anything structurally wrong. But the smoke had done enough that they wanted to monitor you, maybe bring you in for evaluation if your breathing didn’t settle soon.

Seungcheol agreed before anyone else could. You made a weak, indignant noise behind the oxygen mask.

He looked at you sharply “Don’t start.”

It would have been funny if his heart wasn’t still trying to punch its way out of his chest “You can glare at me when you’re breathing properly.” he adds

That only made your glare worse.

Good.

He’d take stubborn over limp and frightened any day.

A few minutes later, when the paramedics were satisfied that your oxygen was improving enough not to force immediate transport, they stepped away to talk to the fire captain and left the three of you in the strange, too-bright quiet beside the ambulance.

Jaehyun came closer then, crouching slightly so you could see him without moving too much.

“Hey,” he said softly. “You scared the hell out of me.”

Your eyes, still watery from smoke and exhaustion, shifted to him over the mask.

“Sorry,” you mumbled

He let out a breath that sounded half laugh, half disbelief “Don’t apologize for almost burning to death, your brother would’ve grilled me if anything happened”

That earned the tiniest huff of laughter from you, immediately followed by a cough.

Seungcheol was reaching for your shoulder before he even thought about it, steadying you as the coughing bent you forward. And Jaehyun knew there wasn’t much he can do, you’re in good hands/.

“I’ll go deal with the apartment stuff,” Jaehyun said after a beat, straightening “Talk to management, find out when they’ll let us back in, grab whatever she needs if they allow anyone upstairs.”

Seungcheol looked at him, surprised.

Jaehyun’s mouth twitched faintly, tired but genuine “You stay with her.”

It wasn’t a question.

Seungcheol hesitated only a second before nodding. “Thanks.”

Jaehyun gave a small wave toward you “Try not to die while I’m gone, okay?”

You made a weak face at him. He smiled once, brief and relieved, then turned and headed back toward the cluster of residents and emergency staff.

Miyeon followed him halfway, already asking questions, and together they disappeared into the crowd.

That left Seungcheol alone with you in the back of the ambulance, he sat beside you. For a while, neither of you spoke.

You were exhausted. He was still too shaken to trust his own voice.

Seungcheol looked at you and felt something inside him shake loose.

Because he had almost lost you. Not in the old, abstract way. Not the slow ache of a breakup or the years spent missing someone still alive somewhere in the world.

He had almost lost you in the ugliest, most literal sense of the word.

The thought made him nauseous. His hand moved before he thought about it, brushing a soot-smudged strand of hair away from your forehead.

Your eyes fluttered open.

For a second, you just looked at him.

Then, very softly, through the oxygen and exhaustion, you whispered “You came.”

Seungcheol laughed once “Of course I came.”

Your lashes lowered again, heavy “I was scared.”

That one almost killed him.

He leaned in immediately, one hand cupping the side of your face with impossible care, thumb brushing beneath your eye.

“I know,” he said, voice rough “I know, baby.”

You swallowed “I couldn’t find my phone.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I thought—” Your breath hitched “I thought maybe no one knew I was there.”

Seungcheol stared at you then shook his head so hard it hurt.

“No.” His voice cracked “No, don’t ever think that.”

Your eyes opened again, glassy and confused.

He didn’t care that his throat was burning. Didn’t care that he was one bad second away from losing his composure in the middle of an ambulance with half the building outside.

He needed you to hear this

“If I had to tear the whole building apart to get to you, I would have,” he said, every word low and shaking and true “Do you understand me? I would’ve found you.”

Seungcheol pressed his forehead briefly to yours, the panic still sitting in his chest.

He closed his eyes.

And somewhere between the sirens and the smoke and the cold metal bench under him, the truth settled in fully, heavily, with nowhere left to hide.

He was not doing this again.

Not the silence. Not the distance. Not another day of pretending he could survive loving you quietly from across a hallway and calling it enough.

Not after tonight.

Not after carrying you out of that chaos and hearing you tell him you couldn’t breathe.

He pulled back just enough to look at you again.

You were already drifting, exhaustion finally winning now that the worst of the danger had passed, your hand still tangled in his sleeve like even half-conscious you didn’t want him far.

Seungcheol tightened his fingers around yours and stayed.

The medics decided not to take chances.

Your oxygen levels had improved, the worst of the coughing had settled, and the doctor on scene didn’t think there was anything immediately life-threatening but smoke inhalation was one of those things they didn’t like to gamble with, especially when you’d been trapped in an apartment and had come out struggling to breathe.

So before you could fully protest, you were loaded into the ambulance and taken to the hospital for observation.

Seungcheol went with you.

There was no discussion about it.

Jaehyun arrived shortly with a few of your things. Your phone, wallet, a tote bag just in case you wanted to change clothes. 

He met Seungcheol by the corridor while they both waited for you. 

The corridor outside radiology in Radiology Department felt strangely detached from the rest of the hospital.

Quieter. Colder. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, and the only movement came from nurses crossing occasionally with charts tucked under their arms.

Your wheelchair had disappeared behind the imaging doors minutes ago.

The sudden absence of your presence changed the atmosphere between the two men because now there was nothing left to soften the silence between them.

Jaehyun leaned back against the wall first. Seungcheol remained standing, hands in his pockets, gaze fixed ahead. For a while, neither spoke.

Only the distant sound of machines and occasional announcements over the intercom filled the space.

Then Jaehyun finally broke it “She cried once after a night out.”

No preface. No warning. The sentence landed unexpectedly enough that Seungcheol turned before he meant to.

Jaehyun still looked ahead

“I thought it was just one of those drunk cries people do when alcohol catches up to whatever they’ve been avoiding.”

He shifted his weight slightly “But it wasn’t.”

Seungcheol said nothing and something was already tightening beneath his ribs

Jaehyun continued, measured, like someone choosing each word because once said, they could not be taken back

“She didn’t say anything at first. I asked what happened. Asked what hurt. Asked if she needed water, food, medicine, if someone had upset her.”

He gave the smallest humorless smile “She ignored every practical question.”

Now Seungcheol looked fully at him ecause he already knew, some instinct telling him where this was going before the words arrived.

Jaehyun finally turned too and met his eyes directly

“All she said was one word.”

A pause “One name.”

The hallway seemed to lose sound entirely after that. Seungcheol did not move.

“Yours”

That did it. A visible stillness settled over Seungcheol so complete it looked almost unnatural. As if his mind had stopped somewhere behind his eyes and failed to catch up.

Because for one disorienting moment, three years collapsed inward.

All the assumptions he had built, that you had moved on cleanly, that regret belonged only to memory, that whatever remained between you and him existed mostly because proximity reopened old things.

None of it sat the same anymore.

Jaehyun let the silence stay long enough for the meaning to settle before continuing 

“In that moment,” he said, voice lower now, more honest than teasing had ever allowed, “all I could think was that I envied you. Not in a jealous way. More of hope that someday someone would love me like that too”

That finally pulled a reaction.

Seungcheol frowned slightly, almost disbelieving.

Jaehyun looked back down the corridor toward the imaging room “Because there she was completely breaking apart, trying very hard not to let anyone see it, and still…” He paused “Still holding onto whatever she felt for you like letting go would betray something.”

“When was this?”

“A while ago. One of the first time the two of us hung out without her brother. Scared the shit out of me too, I thought I made her cry” Jaehyun chuckles at the memory

“That was the first time I ever heard her say your name”

Seungcheol looked away first.

Because now images arrived uninvited, you laughing in cafés, you angry over tiny things, you walking away the day everything broke because both of you were too proud and too wounded to stop each other properly.

And all that time—

all that time there had still been nights where his name remained the one thing you said when pain slipped past your control.

Jaehyun’s next words came even quieter “She’s not hard to love. I know you know that.”

That one struck harder than anything else.

Because yes.

He knew. He had known when loving you still felt simple. 

Before outside voices became louder than trust. Before silence became habit. Before both of you mistook hurt for something that would fix itself if left alone.

Jaehyun uncrossed his arms “For a long time I thought maybe what she felt was memory more than love. Then I watched how she reacts when a memory resurfaces, it’s not loud but it’s there. Memory doesn’t do that.”

Seungcheol spoke before thinking too carefully “And you?”

Jaehyun’s eyes returned to him “I care about her.”

Simple. Honest. No theatrics.

Then he added “But caring about someone doesn’t mean pretending I don’t see what exists before me.”

That answer surprised Seungcheol more than jealousy did because there was no possession in it.

Only calm acknowledgment.

Jaehyun looked toward the imaging doors again before finishing “She trusts me because I stayed where she allowed me to stay but trust and love aren’t always the same shape.”

For the first time since the conversation began, Seungcheol’s voice dropped lower than irritation or defense

“Why tell me this?”

Jaehyun took a second before answering

“Because whatever happened between you two still reaches her before she can stop it.”

A pause

“And because today, when she saw me, she relaxed.”

Then his eyes met Seungcheol’s again “But when she saw you, she forgot how to hide.”

Jaehyun’s final words came almost like a warning, almost like reluctant respect

“If you still intend to stay distant, do it properly. But if you step closer again, understand she will feel every half-step you take.”

"If you still love her after three years… tell her. Show her. And if she gives you another chance..."

"Don't make her ask twice."

Just then, the radiology doors swung open.

Both men turned instinctively.

The conversation ended before another word could be said. But the silence that followed no longer carried uncertainty.

Only the weight of everything Seungcheol knew he had to say.

Three years changed the shape of Seungcheol’s life.

Not the center of it. That part, unfortunately, had stayed exactly where you left it.

In his Thirties now. Older in the face, a little sharper around the jaw, a little quieter in the eyes.  Not in a sad way anymore, not always, at least. Time had done what time always did, it healed but not really. Almost.

People who met him now would’ve thought he moved on.

His apartment was different. His routine was different. His life was, by every practical measure, different.

The old apartment had been gone for two years now. He lasted one year there after you left and that alone had nearly broken him. Too much of you in every room. Too much memory trapped in ordinary things. 

He had tried to survive in that place because some pathetic part of him felt like leaving would be another betrayal. Like if he moved out, it would mean admitting you were really gone. But in the end, staying there had become less about honoring what you had and more about punishing himself with it.

So he left.

One afternoon he signed a lease, hired movers, and spent the next week packing his life into cardboard while discovering all the strange ways a person can still be haunted by someone who hasn’t lived there in a year.

The new apartment was bigger. Better, objectively.

On the twelfth floor instead of the sixth. Better light. A real kitchen with enough counter space for two people to cook without elbowing each other every five seconds. Floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room that let the city spill gold across the hardwood at sunset. Two bedrooms, even though he only needed one.

Mingyu had looked around the first time he visited and whistled low

“Damn. This is nice.”

Seungcheol had nodded, carrying plates from one box to the cabinets “Yeah.”

Then Mingyu said because he was unfortunately observant when he wanted to be “She would’ve loved this place.”

Seungcheol froze with a stack of bowls in his hands. It was only for a second.

Then he kept moving, set the bowls down carefully, and said without looking up, “I know.”

Because that was the truth of it.

Even when he was choosing a place you would never live in, he still thought about what you’d like. The big kitchen because you always complained about cramped apartments with no prep space. The windows because you loved natural light and would’ve filled every sill with plants if he let you.

The extra room because once, years ago, you had told him that if you ever bought a place, you wanted one extra room “just in case.”

He bought the apartment with an extra room then never let himself step inside it for the first three months after moving in.

It stayed empty except for unopened boxes and a folded treadmill he never used because running outside was still easier than being alone with his own thoughts indoors.

That was the thing, really. People assumed heartbreak healed in straight lines if you worked hard enough. Therapy, time, healthy coping mechanisms, routine. 

Seungcheol learned that wasn’t how it worked.

What changed was not the existence of the hurt.

It was what he did with it.

At twenty-seven, after you left, pain had turned him into a ghost haunting his own life. He stopped eating, stopped sleeping properly, stopped going home if he could avoid it. He wore grief like a punishment because some part of him believed he deserved to.

At thirty, he no longer believed punishment was the same thing as love.

That lesson cost him a therapist, eighteen months of actual work, and more uncomfortable honesty than he’d ever given another human being in his life.

The first session, he barely spoke. The therapist, a woman in her forties named Dr. Han with kind eyes and absolutely no patience for emotional evasion had asked him why he was there.

Seungcheol sat on her office couch in silence for so long he almost considered getting up and leaving.

Then he said, “I ruined the best thing in my life because I was too scared to say what I actually felt.”

Dr. Han had nodded once, as if men walked into her office every day carrying that exact sentence in their chest

“And what did you actually feel?”

He stared at the rug between his shoes “Terrified,” he admitted

“Of her?”

“No.” The answer came immediately “Never of her.”

“Then of what?”

And there it was. The question he’d spent years dodging in one form or another.

He should’ve had a clean answer by then. Something concise and intelligent and mature enough to justify the mess he’d made.

Instead he said the ugliest truth he had “That if I gave her the future she wanted and somehow failed at it, I’d ruin her life.”

Dr. Han lets the silence stretch then, gently she says “That’s a very big burden to put on yourself.”

Seungcheol laughed once without humor “You think?”

“I think,” she said, “it’s also a convenient one.”

He looked up.

She held his gaze calmly “If you convince yourself the stakes are so high that you have to be perfect before you commit, then you never actually have to risk being imperfect in front of someone you love. You know they say love is a verb, it’s an action. Meaning you work for it. But that’s also very different from running from it.”

The words hit hard enough to leave him breathless.

He hated her a little for that.

Mostly because she was right.

Therapy was not dramatic. It wasn’t one breakthrough and then some swelling orchestral score while the broken man put himself back together. It was repetitive and embarrassing and often deeply irritating. It was Dr. Han asking him the same questions in different forms until he ran out of polished half-truths and had to answer honestly. 

It was admitting that love had never been the problem. Vulnerability was. Failure was. The idea of being needed and not measuring up was. The possibility that if he became a husband, a father, the center of a family, and then did it badly, he would destroy more than just himself.

“You talk about commitment like it’s a test you have to pass before you’re allowed to take it,” Dr. Han told him once

He rubbed at his jaw and said, “Shouldn’t it be?”

“No.” She leaned back in her chair “It should be a choice you make with someone, while understanding you’re both human enough to do it imperfectly.”

That realization came too late to save you.

But it changed the man he was after you.

Slowly, painfully, he got better. Not in the easy, cheerful way people use the word when they mean “he smiles more now.”

He got better in real ways.

Mingyu nearly cried the first time he opened Seungcheol’s refrigerator and found actual produce.

“Holy shit,” Mingyu said, staring into it like he’d discovered a religious miracle “Spinach. Eggs. Chicken that is not expired. Who are you?”

Seungcheol, standing at the stove in sweatpants and an old T-shirt, barely looked up from the pot of stew simmering in front of him “Get out.”

“I’m serious.” Mingyu shut the fridge and turned around dramatically “Three years ago I had to come here every other day because I was convinced I’d find your corpse on the floor with a protein bar wrapper in your hand.”

Seungcheol rolled his eyes, but there was no real heat in it “You’re exaggerating.”

“I am not.” Mingyu looked around the apartment, then back at him with the kind of fond exasperation only old friends earned “I’m just saying. This is good. You’re… good.”

Because Seungcheol was better.

He was also still in love with you.

Both things had been true for so long now that they no longer felt contradictory.

You had disappeared from his life with almost surgical precision it was almost impressive. No accidental sightings at cafés. No tagged photos from mutual friends. 

He did run into Jongin once.

It happened a year and a half after the breakup outside a convenience store near Seungcheol’s office. Jongin was walking out with a coffee in one hand and a paper bag in the other when they nearly collided at the door.

For a second, both of them froze.

Seungcheol’s first thought, ridiculously, genuinely was ‘I might get punched’.

He would’ve taken it, too. But Jongin just stared at him, expression unreadable behind dark sunglasses, and said, “You look better.”

Seungcheol blinked “Uh…” It was not his most eloquent moment.

Seungcheol braced himself for the rest of it, for the accusation, the coldness, the older-brother contempt that would’ve been fully justified.

Instead, Jongin sighed

“She’s… okay” he said.

Seungcheol’s entire body went still. That was it. Two words and suddenly every nerve in him was on fire.

He hadn’t asked about you in over a year. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he’d promised himself he would respect your absence if it was the last decent thing he could still do for you. 

Hearing even that much felt like being handed water after crossing a desert.

He swallowed hard “Good.”

Seungcheol looked down at the pavement because he didn’t trust his face.

Jongin studied him for another second, then put his sunglasses back on. “Take care of yourself.”

And left.

No punch. No forgiveness either. Just that one devastating sentence left behind like a verdict.

The encounter with your mother had been worse.

That happened a year later at a fundraiser his company sponsored. He almost didn’t recognize her at first in the crowd. Elegant as ever.

Then she turned and saw him. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.

Seungcheol felt Eighteen again. Awkward and too aware of himself, standing in your parents’ kitchen for the first time while your mother sized him up over a bowl of fruit and asked what his intentions were with her daughter in the calmest voice imaginable.

Back then, he had said something earnest and slightly ridiculous about wanting to make you happy.

Now, years later, he stood in a crowded ballroom with a champagne flute in his hand and no defense at all against the sadness in her eyes.

“Mrs. Y/L/N,” he said quietly, setting the glass down before he could drop it.

She gave him a small smile.

“Seungcheol,” she said

He didn’t know what to do with his hands “I—hello.”

“You look well,” she said. It was a kindness. An obvious one. A social mercy offered to keep the interaction from becoming unbearable.

Seungcheol almost wished she’d slapped him instead.

“I’m trying,” he said before he could stop himself.

Something in her expression shifted. Not softer. Not exactly. But sadder.

“I know,” she said quietly.

And there it was again—that awful thing people did when they could see you had suffered too. As if your pain somehow softened what you’d done. As if remorse was enough to make tragedy feel fair.

It wasn’t.

He cleared his throat “I’m sorry.”

Your mother’s eyes flickered with something old and tired “There’s nothing to be sorry about to me, dear.” she pauses, pats his arm once then “Take care, okay” 

Then she left. He stood there long after she walked away, staring into a ballroom full of strangers and wanting, with a violence that embarrassed him, to go back in time and be a better man before it mattered.

But life didn’t work like that.

So instead he kept doing the only thing left to do. Become a better version of him. Not for the fantasy of earning you back. That part took him a while to understand. 

He became one anyway.

At first every therapy session, every balanced meal, every honest conversation, every night he forced himself to go home before ten instead of hiding in the office. Every piece of growth still had you at the center of it. 

As if becoming healthier was some delayed offering he could place at your feet one day and say look, I did it, I’m finally the version of me you needed.

Eventually Dr. Han had called him on that too

“You can honor what losing her taught you,” she said, “without turning self-improvement into another way of waiting for her.”

That sentence annoyed him enough that he spent an entire week thinking about it.

So little by little, he learned how to build a life that wasn’t just grief management.

He cooked because feeding himself properly was part of being alive, not because he was proving something. He left work at reasonable hours because ambition no longer needed to be a hiding place.

He ran because he liked the discipline of it, the quiet rhythm of morning streets and sore muscles and lungs that burned for a reason he chose.

The apartment changed too. What had once been a carefully maintained shell slowly started to look lived in. It looked like the home of a man who planned to keep living.

And in many ways, he did.

But some things never shifted.

He still woke up before sunrise and reached for the empty side of the bed on the mornings after dreams about you.

Three years, and his mind still made room for you automatically.

Not because he was trapped in the past. Because you had been woven into the blueprint of what home meant to him so deeply that even in your absence, he kept building with your silhouette in mind.

He never dated.

People tried.

His coworkers set him up twice before realizing his version of polite disinterest was not normal first-date nerves but the blank, courteous refusal of a man whose heart had already made its choice years ago and refused to revisit it. 

Mingyu once asked him, over beers on the balcony, whether that was healthy.

Seungcheol leaned back in his chair and looked out at the city 

“Probably not,” he said

Mingyu snorted “Great. Love that for you.”

Seungcheol smiled faintly.

After a beat, Mingyu added “Do you still think about her every day?”

The honest answer came so quickly it barely needed considering

“Yes.”

Mingyu was quiet for a moment “That sounds exhausting.”

“It used to be.”

“And now?”

Seungcheol looked down at the beer bottle in his hand, then out at the skyline again where the last light was bleeding orange into glass and concrete.

“Now it just… is.”

Mingyu didn’t say anything to that, maybe because there was nothing to say.

Some loves don’t end cleanly enough to become lessons and then disappear. They just change form. From daily presence to ache. From ache to scar. From scar to something almost livable. 

Seungcheol had made peace with the fact that maybe you would always be that for him.

Not a wound anymore. Just a permanent landmark.

And maybe that was why, on a quiet Sunday morning in early autumn, three years after he watched you walk out with your life in suitcases, he stood in his kitchen making breakfast and felt—if not happy—then at least steady.

The apartment was bright with clean sunlight. The windows were cracked just enough to let cool air drift in. A pan of eggs sat on the stove, toast cooling on a plate, coffee already poured into the mug Mingyu bought him as a joke that read World’s Saddest Domestic Man.

There was music playing low from the speaker on the counter. Not one of your songs. Just some soft indie thing he’d found last month and liked enough to keep replaying.

He slid eggs onto a plate, set the pan in the sink, and reached for his coffee.

Then the intercom buzzed.

He frowned.

Mingyu had a key and never buzzed. No delivery expected. No one from work would be insane enough to show up at his apartment on a Sunday before ten.

The buzzer sounded again.

Seungcheol set down his mug and crossed the kitchen, wiping his hands absently on a dish towel as he hit the intercom button.

“Yeah?”

For a second, all he heard was static.

Then a woman’s voice—

=

“OPEN THE DOOR YOU COWARD”

Jongin pulls it open only to be greeted with the sight of you glaring at him. 

He chuckles acting like he’s about to slam it closed and when you wedge your bag just in time before it closes.

“Well hello to you too, welcome back” he laughs, finally letting you inside his apartment. 

You haven’t been here in a year. After the breakup, Jongin took the big brother role of making sure you actually eat and not just wither away alone. After taking all your stuff from the apartment you used to share with Seungcheol, he didnt even give you a chance to think. 

It’s like even after all these years, even after adulthood, Jongin could see his little sister needed him even when you didn’t say it. 

So that’s what he did for the past 3 years. Become that pillar you needed until you could stand by yourself again. At first it was hell just watching how miserable you were. 

No lie about that. 

Some nights he’d hear you from his room sobbing, random moments through the day you’d break into tears, or just you staring off into nothing. 

The worst? the not eating, not sleeping, becoming a version of you that barely lived. 

As much as he hated watching all of that, he also knew he couldn’t just push you to be better in an instant. For a decade, he never had to worry about this. About his baby sister crying over a heartbreak, he never saw this coming. 

So instead he let you heal, he let you hurt. Let you be you even with only the broken pieces. And slowly as time passed you did.

He can still see those moments you pause, staring blankly off into space as if you remembered something. But atleast now he doesn’t have to worry if you actually ate or slept. 

“My old landlord didn’t even give me a chance to extend for the time being, meanwhile my new landlord kept saying the new unit isn’t done when he said last month it was ready to move into. Can you believe it?” 

You rant as you go inside his apartment, one luggage behind you. 

“I told you, you can stay here again-”

You chuckle, shaking your head, “Yeah, no thank you. I love you but you hover like eomma”

“I think my worries were valid, I came home once and found you on the floor crying over a pasta jar”

“Rude, I was heartbroken.”

He chuckles, walking towards the couch and taking the seat beside you

He checks on you, in that protective big brother way “Work has been good?”

“Mhm, the new project assigned to me is perfect for the new apartment. Won’t be too far”

“You’ve been eating right? Sleeping?”

“Yes, eomma” you roll your eyes dramatically but know he only means well. He did witness you at your lowest so you don’t blame him. 

“Good, did Jaehyun call you?”

“Mhm, gave me the key before his flight. You two sure I can stay there?”

Jongin hums, reaching for his phone “Don’t worry about it, he’s barely home plus he’s been bugging me about the vacant room”

“Yea well you did say you were moving in then abandoned him last minute”

“I had reasons, and valid ones. Anyways, you’re going there later this week right?” he asks 

You nod “Yep, the rest of my stuff will be sent here though so I’ll just take what I need. Hopefully my new landlord calls soon”

“No rush, maybe this will be the chance for-”

“Are you ever done with your match making agenda?” you cut him off, no bite to it. More of that usual sibling banter whenever your brother plays cupid. 

“Never.”

That makes you laugh. Remembering how it all began. Jongin barely left you alone the first few months after the break up, he literally took you with him to the grocery, when he’s going on a quick errand, lunch or dinner with his friends. 

Which is exactly how you met Jeong Jaehyun, your brother’s friend since college. You’ve heard of him but never met him in person until that one dinner. You were quiet, eating at the end of the table while the rest chatted. 

He arrived late and sat infront of you. The two of you exchanged maybe four words in total but he made a lame joke that only you laughed at. 

And apparently that was the olive branch your brother was hoping for. At first you weren’t suspicious at all, used to being dragged around like you were five again. 

Then suddenly whenever you’re there, Jaehyun is too. Sometimes just the three of you. And when Jongin sensed you were feeling more at ease with him, he even asked Jaehyun to pick you up when he couldn’t. 

But much to your brother’s dismay, nothing happened beyond friendship. You and Jaehyun realized that early on. 

It’s like you gained another older brother. Jaehyun was easy to talk to, didn’t demand words when you ran out of things to say. He just… stayed even when you didn’t have anything to say. Cracked dad jokes you still laugh at. 

= 

It’s almost comical and sad how fast Seungcheol hoped it was you but it wasn’t.

It was the woman from 12B who had locked herself out twice in one month and now waved at Seungcheol in the elevator like they were old coworkers bonded by mutual embarrassment.

Miyeon.

Twenty-nine, marketing, recently moved in, always carrying either a tote bag full of groceries or a laptop that looked heavier than she was. 

The first time they met, she had been crouched in the hallway at eleven at night with takeout containers balanced on top of a cardboard box, trying to keep her front door from swinging shut while digging through her bag for keys.

Seungcheol had wordlessly stepped in, held the door with one hand, and taken the containers before they tipped over

She looked up at him, startled “Oh my god, thank you.”

He shrugged “Your hands were full.”

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s done for me all week.”

After that, things became… familiar.

Not in a way that meant anything.  Just civil.

The kind of civil that comes from living on the same floor and being roughly the same age and occasionally ending up in each other’s orbit because apartment buildings had a way of making strangers overlap. 

He helped her carry a shelf she ordered online because the delivery guy left it downstairs and she absolutely could not get it into the elevator by herself. She started saying hi when they crossed paths. He started nodding back.

Sometimes they exchanged actual sentences.

It was harmless.

That was the word Mingyu used when he found out.

“Harmless,” he repeated over drinks, grinning in the way that meant he was about to be insufferable “So you and your pretty neighbor are making progress.”

Seungcheol didn’t even look up from the pan he was washing “There is no progress.”

Mingyu sat at the kitchen island eating strawberries directly from the container Seungcheol had bought that morning “You had dinner with her.”

“She asked if I wanted the extra pasta she made because she accidentally cooked enough for six people.”

“And?”

“And I said yes because I’m not stupid.”

Mingyu pointed a strawberry at him “Exactly. Progress.”

“It’s not progress,” Seungcheol said flatly “It’s food.”

Seungcheol dried his hands and went back to chopping garlic “We’re neighbors”

“Right,” Mingyu said “Neighbors who text”

“We text about building stuff”

“Ah yes” Mingyu nodded solemnly “The deeply erotic bond of discussing trash disposal schedules.”

Seungcheol threw a dish towel at his face.

The truth was, Miyeon was easy company. She didn’t ask too much. Didn’t push.

Didn’t flirt in the obvious, exhausting way some people did when they were trying to decide whether a man was available.

If she had any interest in him beyond friendship, she kept it hidden well enough that Seungcheol could ignore the possibility and keep things where they were safest: polite, uncomplicated, surface-level.

Which was exactly why, a few weeks later, she was standing barefoot in his kitchen on a Friday night in one of his spare aprons complaining about how small his cutting board was while he stirred a pot of stew on the stove.

“Why do you only own one decent knife?” 

“Because I only need one decent knife.”

“That’s insane”

“You’re dramatic”

Miyeon scoffed “You’re thirty and live like someone who only discovered seasoning last year.”

He glanced over his shoulder at her, offended “I can cook.”

“You can cook three things really well and six things acceptably.”

“That’s still cooking.”

“That’s survival with garnish”

Seungcheol snorted.

This was how most things with Miyeon happened. Small and casual and easy enough not to threaten anything. She was slicing carrots now, hair clipped up messily, muttering to herself about his tragic knife situation when the doorbell rang.

Seungcheol frowned and checked the stove clock.

A little after eight.

“You expecting someone?” Miyeon asked

“No.”

The bell rang again.

Seungcheol lowered the heat under the stew and reached for the ladle “Can you get it? I need to stir this before it sticks.”

Miyeon pointed the knife at him “If it’s a serial killer, I’m suing”

She padded out of the kitchen while Seungcheol laughed under his breath and stirred the pot, tasting the broth once before adding a little more pepper.

From the entryway, he heard the front door open and Miyeon’s voice, muffled

“Hi?”

Then a second voice. Soft. Female. Familiar in a way that made something deep in his chest seize before his mind could catch up.

Seungcheol went completely still.

The ladle slipped in his grip and tapped against the rim of the pot.

No.

It couldn’t be.

He stood there, heartbeat suddenly loud in his ears, straining to hear over the low music and the hiss of the stove.

Miyeon came back into the kitchen a moment later, looking mildly confused.

“Uh,” she said, “I think it’s a new neighbor from 12D? She’s asking for help because her door got stuck.”

Seungcheol was already putting the ladle down.

He didn’t think. Didn’t ask which unit. Didn’t stop to figure out why every nerve in his body had gone tight and electric.

He just wiped his hands quickly on a towel and walked toward the front door.

And the world stopped.

You were standing in his hallway.

A suitcase in one hand. Apartment key in the other. Then you looked up and saw him

Everything in you went still.

You blinked once, like your own eyes didn’t trust what they were seeing. Your gaze flicked from Miyeon standing by the open door, to Seungcheol a few steps behind her in a black T-shirt with flour dusted faintly on one sleeve, then back to Miyeon again.

Then to him.

He knew exactly how it looked. Miyeon in his apartment. Dinner half-cooked behind him. The domestic warmth of a Friday night already settled into the space.

For one awful second he saw the scene the way you must have seen it, how neatly it fit together, how easy it would be to misunderstand.

Your mouth parted then closed again.

“Sorry,” you said quickly, too quickly, already backing away “I—uh. Never mind. I think I got it.”

You turned before either of them could answer.

Seungcheol’s body moved on instinct “Y/N—”

But you were already hurrying down the hall toward the neighboring unit, dragging your suitcase behind you with one wheel bumping awkwardly. He heard you muttering under your breath, something halfway between a curse and a prayer.

“Oh my god, of course. Of course this would happen. That’s fine, that’s actually fine, cool, great—”

Seungcheol was after you before he could think better of it “Wait.”

You crouched by the door of 12D, jamming the key into the lock with visibly shaky hands “No, no, you don’t have to— I really got it, it’s just stupid and the lock’s weird—”

The key stuck halfway. You yanked it back out and hissed under your breath.

“Okay, maybe I don’t got it,” you muttered

Seungcheol stopped a few feet behind you, trying very hard to keep his own face neutral despite the fact that his pulse was absolutely losing its mind.

Three years.

Three years and this was how he saw you again, fighting with a stubborn apartment door while trying to flee from the sight of him with another woman in his kitchen.

Perfect.

“Here,” he said carefully  “The doors on this floor stick if you don’t pull them toward you first.”

You froze mid-struggle then slowly turned your head to look at him.

Up close, the shock of seeing you was somehow worse.

You were older, obviously—three years would do that—but not in any way that made you less you. Your face had softened in some places and sharpened in others. Your hair was shorter than he remembered, falling just past your shoulders now instead of the middle of your back. There was a tiny gold hoop in one ear he’d never seen before. No ring on your left.

His eyes caught that last detail and then he hated himself for noticing it at all.

You looked at him like you were trying to decide if this was real gthen your gaze dropped to the door handle and you thrust the key toward him without a word.

Seungcheol took it. He cleared his throat and crouched in front of the lock before that silence got any stranger.

“Pull the door toward you,” he said, more to fill the air than because you needed the explanation twice “Then turn.”

He did it in one motion, the lock clicked immediately.

Your apartment door swung inward “…I hate that that worked so fast for you.”

Despite everything, Seungcheol let out a short laugh “There’s a trick to it.”

You straightened slowly, adjusting your tote higher on your shoulder “Apparently.”

The hallway fell quiet.

Miyeon was still by his door, hovering with the kind of bright-eyed stillness of someone very aware they had just accidentally stepped into something and had no idea how big that something was.

You noticed her too. Your eyes flicked past Seungcheol, then back. He saw the exact moment you remembered what you’d walked in on and wanted the floor to swallow you whole.

“So,” you said, voice going oddly formal “thanks. Sorry for bothering you.”

“You weren’t bothering me”

“Still. Bad timing.”

Something in the way you said it made Miyeon speak up immediately.

“Oh my god, no, it’s not—” She waved both hands as if trying to physically bat away the implication. “I mean, it is timing, obviously, but not like… weird timing? Well, okay, weird timing, but—” She stopped, horrified at herself

“It’s okay,” you said, and your voice softened a little “I kind of walked into whatever this is.”

“Dinner,” Miyeon blurted “It’s just dinner.”

Seungcheol closed his eyes briefly “Miyeon”

“What? I’m clarifying.”

You blinked “Miyeon?”

The way you said her name made Seungcheol realize he had not actually introduced anyone, because of course he hadn’t. He was too busy trying not to have a cardiac event in the hallway.

He opened his mouth but Miyeon beat him to it

“I’m his neighbor,” she said quickly, stepping out of the apartment and offering you a hand with the same energy one might use to approach a startled deer “From 12B”

You stared at her outstretched hand for half a second before taking it

“Y/N,” you said

Then silence again. A deeply stupid, hallway-shaped silence where all three of you seemed to be waiting for someone else to decide what happened next.

You shifted your suitcase upright and glanced into your apartment, where unopened boxes were stacked in the entryway.

Seungcheol’s gaze followed automatically. You were moving in. Right next door.

The realization hit him so hard he nearly missed your next sentence.

“I should probably finish getting things inside”

“Right,” he said, far too quickly. “Yeah. Of course.”

You nodded. Then, because apparently the universe hadn’t done enough to him tonight, you looked at him properly for the first time since he stepped into the hallway.

Not at his shoulder. Not past him. At him.

And the expression on your face wasn’t anger. Wasn’t even hurt, not exactly.

It was something stranger than that. Something almost dazed. Like you still hadn’t caught up to the fact that the man you hadn’t seen in three years was standing in your hallway in socks, smelling faintly of soap and cooking garlic, looking just as shocked to find you here as you were to find him.

You were already bending to grab the suitcase handle, trying and failing to look like your hands weren’t trembling

“Do you need help?” he asked

Your head snapped up “What?”

“With the boxes,” he said, gesturing toward the stack just inside your apartment “Or the suitcase. I can—”

“No.” The answer came too fast, then softened immediately “I mean. No, it’s okay. I can manage.”

He nodded once “Right.”

Another pause then you gave a tiny, painfully polite smile and said, “Thanks for the door.”

It was such a ridiculous thing to thank him for after everything that for one wild second Seungcheol wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

Instead he just stepped back “Anytime.”

The second your apartment door clicked shut, you dropped your forehead against it and whispered, with all the dignity of a woman whose life had just been personally insulted by fate

”Fuck.” You stayed there for one beat. Then another.

Then your whole body snapped back to life at once

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—what the fuck?”

You shoved your suitcase upright with one hand, pacing three frantic steps into the entryway before turning around and pacing right back

“No,” you muttered, running both hands through your hair. “No, absolutely not. That is actually insane. That is psychotic behavior from the universe.”

The apartment looked the same, a bunch of unopened boxes accumulating over the weeks Jaehyun hasn’t been home, your luggage and a few boxes he took from your brother’s place so you can travel lighter. 

And yet somehow the entire place felt different now. Cursed, maybe.

Haunted by Choi Seungcheol in black socks and a domestic-looking kitchen and a woman named Miyeon chopping vegetables in his apartment like that was a thing that happened now.

You started pacing again. He lived next door.

Next door.

Not across the city. Not in some neighborhood you could avoid. Not in the vague abstract way exes exist where you know they’re somewhere out there but the odds of physically colliding with them are low enough to preserve your sanity.

No.

He was one wall away.

You spun toward the stack of boxes by the couch and pointed at them like they had personally lied to you

“This was supposed to be safe!”

You fumbled for your phone in your back pocket with the urgency of someone calling emergency services.

No. Not emergency services. Worse.

Jeong Jaehyun.

The actual owner of this apartment. The reason you were here in the first place. The so-called friend who had told you, so casually, Stay at mine for a few weeks, it’s empty most of the time anyway, while neglecting to mention that “mine” came with one devastatingly familiar ex-boyfriend attached to the neighboring unit.

You hit call.

He picked up on the third ring, sounding far too cheerful for someone who was about to be verbally assaulted 

“Hell—” “What the fuck, Jeong Jaehyun?”

There was a pause then a bark of laughter loud enough that you had to yank the phone slightly away from your ear 

“Well hello to you too.”

You stared at the wall in disbelief  “Are you laughing?”

“I’m trying to figure out which specific crime I’ve committed before I apologize”

“You didn’t tell me”

“About what?”

You made a strangled sound and started pacing again, stepping around your suitcase “About your neighbor.”

He was still smiling; you could hear it in his voice. “I told you I had neighbors.”

“Not like that!”

“Baby, I live in an apartment building. By definition—”

“Jaehyun.”

“Okay, okay” He laughed again, softer this time “What happened?”

You stopped in the middle of the living room, one hand braced on your hip, and lowered your voice into the dangerous calm of a woman one minor inconvenience away from committing a felony.

“What happened,” you repeated, “is that I locked myself out for thirty seconds because your stupid door hates me, so I knocked next door to ask for help—”

“My door doesn’t hate you, you’re just dramatic.”

“—and your neighbor opened the door,” you barreled on, ignoring him, “except not your neighbor, Jaehyun. My ex.”

Silence. Real silence this time. Just pure, startled dead air.

Then, very slowly “…What?”

You laughed once, high and humorless “Yeah. What. Exactly.”

Then, “No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes!”

“Choi Seungcheol lives next door to me? So that’s who he is. Been living next to him for a year and I never knew”

You threw your free hand into the air even though he couldn’t see it “Apparently! Which would’ve been such useful information maybe an hour ago, before I rolled a suitcase into the hallway and accidentally found him playing house with some woman named Miyeon.”

“What do you mean playing house?”

“I mean there was a woman in his apartment!” you hissed. “She answered the door! He came out from the kitchen with that look men have when they’re in the middle of cooking something and suddenly I was in a hallway living through my own personal nightmare”

On the other end of the line, Jaehyun made a sound that was halfway between concern and someone trying very hard not to laugh in your face.

You heard it immediately “Don’t”

“I’m not laughing”

“You are literally laughing”

“I’m not laughing at you”

“Jaehyun”

“I’m laughing at the sheer statistical absurdity of this”

“Are you sure it was him?”

You stopped pacing and looked at your phone like it had offended you personally

“Jaehyun.”

“What? Trauma does weird things to memory. Maybe it was just some other broad-shouldered Korean man who ruined your life and knows how to fix sticky apartment locks.”

You gasped “You’re sick.”

“I’m trying to help.”

“You are absolutely not trying to help.”

Jaehyun hummed “How did he look?”

You closed your eyes. That was the worst part. He looked good. Annoyingly, offensively good.

Older, yes. More settled somehow. Hair a little longer on top than he used to keep it. Softer around the edges of his expression, but broader too, like time had turned him into a calmer, steadier version of the man you once knew how to read with one glance.

And domestic.

That was what kept replaying in your head, to your absolute irritation.

“Oh no,” Jaehyun said immediately, voice brightening with evil “That reaction tells me he looked hot.”

“He looked… fine,” you said with all the dignity of a liar caught on CCTV

Jaehyun was quiet for a beat then gentler, “Did he say anything?”

Your throat tightened unexpectedly. Nothing dramatic had happened in the hallway. No confrontation. No grand speech. No unresolved pain spilling out in front of a stranger.

Just awkwardness. Shock. That small, impossible little hi after three years of silence. and somehow that had been worse.

“He asked if I needed help with the boxes or anything” you said

Jaehyun snorted “Classic.”

You frowned “What does that mean?”

“It means men are emotionally constipated creatures and ‘do you need help with the boxes’ is basically a love letter under stressful circumstances.”

Despite yourself, a laugh slipped out. You hated that he was right enough to be annoying.

“I’m moving out.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“You need a place for three weeks while your lease gets sorted. You are not uprooting your life because the universe decided to prank you.”

“I absolutely am.”

“No, you’re absolutely not.”

“I can’t stay next door to him.”

“Why not?” The question came too fast, too simply.

You lowered your arm and stared at the ceiling in silence.

Why not?

Because seeing him had made your chest hurt in a way you thought time had already dulled.

Because three years was enough to build a life around the absence of someone, but apparently not enough to stand in a hallway and look at them without every old wound remembering its name.

Because you didn’t know if you could survive hearing him laugh through the wall. Smelling his cooking in the hallway. Running into him in the elevator looking half-awake on a Sunday morning and discovering all over again that you still knew the shape of him too well.

“Because it’s weird,” you said finally, because it was easier than saying any of that

Jaehyun made a skeptical noise “That’s not the real reason.”

“It’s enough of one.”

“Y/N.”

You groaned “What?”

“Do you still love him?” The question knocked the air out of the room.

You sat there very still, phone pressed to your ear, eyes fixed on the white ceiling above you as if it might offer a better answer than the one already sitting in your chest.

Jaehyun didn’t rush you. That was one of the reasons he had become important to you over the last couple of years. He joked constantly, flirted with everyone, treated life like a thing meant to be enjoyed loudly and with expensive luggage. But when it mattered, he knew how to wait.

And this mattered.

You swallowed. “I don’t know what I feel,” you said quietly

It wasn’t a lie. Love after that much time didn’t look the way it used to. 

Jaehyun was silent for a moment “That sounds suspiciously like a yes you don’t want to say out loud.”

You rolled your eyes even as your chest tightened “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m perceptive.”

“You’re nosy.”

“Also true.”

You let your head fall back against the couch “I don’t want this to become a thing.”

“What thing?”

“You know.” You waved a hand vaguely at the air “A whole… dramatic thing. I’m not doing that. I’m not nineteen. I’m not twenty-seven. I don’t have the emotional range for some tortured reunion arc where I cry in a hallway and make bad choices.”

“First of all, ‘reunion arc’ is my phrase. Don’t steal my material.”

You laughed despite yourself.

“And second,” he continued, “no one said it has to be dramatic. You can just… live there for a few weeks. Be normal.”

“Normal?I just found out my ex of nine years lives next door to the apartment I’m borrowing from my pilot friend. There is no normal.”

“There can be hallway nodding.”

“I don’t want hallway nodding.”

“There can be tense elevator silence.”

“That’s worse.”

“There can be him carrying your groceries once and both of you pretending it’s not deeply symbolic.”

“Jaehyun!”

He burst out laughing again, and this time you couldn’t even be mad because the absurdity of the situation was finally catching up to you too.

A helpless laugh escaped you, half horrified and half hysterical.

“This is insane,” you said, laughing into your hand. “This is actually insane.”

“I agree,” Jaehyun said cheerfully. “But it’s also kind of funny.”

“It is not funny.”

Then his voice gentled again “Hey.”

“What”

“You don’t have to decide anything tonight ”

You looked toward the hallway, toward the door you’d just locked like it could keep the entire evening out.

Jaehyun continued, “Stay tonight. Unpack a little. Breathe. If by tomorrow you still want out, we’ll figure something else out. But don’t make a panic decision just because the universe has terrible comedic timing.”

You picked at a loose thread on the couch cushion.

It was good advice. Annoyingly good.

“I still think you should’ve warned me,” you muttered

“I genuinely did not know your tragic love of your life was my tragic hot neighbor.”

“Please never phrase it like that again.”

“No promises.”

“Jaehyun.”

“Okay, okay.” You could hear the smile in his voice “For what it’s worth, if I had known, I absolutely would’ve told you.”

That, at least, you believed. You sighed “Fine.”

“Fine as in you’re staying?”

“Fine as in I’m not dragging my suitcase back into the street tonight.”

“I’ll take it.”

“Also,” Jaehyun added, way too casually, “if you do accidentally fall back in love with your ex through a series of increasingly intimate neighborly encounters, I expect full updates.”

“Goodbye.” “Y/N—” You hung up.

=

Three days later, Seungcheol found himself standing in front of apartment 12D at eight-thirteen in the morning with two iced coffees in a cardboard carrier and the full awareness that he had absolutely lost his mind.

He had not meant to end up here.

That was the story he was going with, anyway.

The truth was more embarrassing.

He’d been awake since six after another run he barely remembered, showered, changed, made breakfast he didn’t taste, and spent the last forty minutes pacing around his kitchen trying to come up with a reason not to knock on your door like some desperate man in a romance film written by people who had never experienced shame.

He had already seen you twice in the last three days.

He’d told himself it was casual. Neighborly.

Maybe he just wanted to see your face in daylight without the buffer of an elevator mirror or a giant cardboard box between you.

He adjusted his grip on the coffee carrier and knocked.

Once.

Then, because he suddenly became aware that his heart was beating like he was about to be executed, he took half a step back and tried to school his expression into something that didn’t scream ‘I have not been normal about this situation for seventy-two hours.’

There was movement inside. Footsteps. A lock clicking. The door opened.

And Seungcheol’s brain shut off.

A man stood there. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Shirtless.

Sleep-rumpled hair, low-slung gray sweatpants, one hand still on the doorknob and the other rubbing absently at his jaw like he’d just rolled out of bed and had not expected a visitor before coffee.

For three full seconds Seungcheol genuinely thought he might be standing at the wrong apartment.

No, this was your door. He knew this was your door. He had watched you unlock it. He had literally fixed the lock himself. Apartment 12D. The one right next to his. 

The man blinked at him.

Then looked down at the coffee in Seungcheol’s hand, back up to his face, and said, in a voice still rough with sleep, “Uh… good morning?”

Seungcheol’s entire nervous system went hot. Not because of the man himself, because of what the man’s presence implied.

Something ugly and immediate crawled under his skin before he could stop it.

You can date, he told himself instantly. You can move on. Of course you can.

It’s been three years, and he is not entitled to a single thought about who stands in your apartment at eight in the morning looking like he slept there.

The thought did absolutely nothing to make the feeling go away.

He stood there with two iced coffees in his hand and all the hard-earned calm of the last three years threatening to leave his body through sheer humiliation.

The man frowned a little, clearly trying to figure out why a stranger was staring at him like he’d just stepped out of a horror movie

“Can I help you?”

Seungcheol snapped back into himself so fast it almost hurt.

“Sorry,” Seungcheol said, finally forcing his face into something resembling polite composure. “I think I might have the wrong—”

He stopped himself.

Wrong apartment made no sense. He knew it wasn’t the wrong apartment.

The man raised an eyebrow.

Seungcheol adjusted his grip on the coffee carrier, mind scrambling for something plausible, anything that didn’t sound like ‘I came over here because your… because the woman staying here is my ex and I’ve been operating at a reduced level of sanity ever since I found out she lives next door.’

“Actually,” he said, the lie forming in real time, “I was wondering if maybe some mail got delivered here by mistake.”

The man blinked “Mail?”

“Yeah.” Seungcheol nodded once like this was a perfectly normal thing to say at eight in the morning to a shirtless stranger “I’ve had a couple things end up at the wrong unit before. Same floor, similar numbers.”

The lie was terrible. He knew it. The man definitely knew it. Still, the stranger glanced back into the apartment as if considering it.

“Uh. I don’t think so?”

He looked at Seungcheol again, gaze dropping to the coffee carrier and then lifting back up with mild suspicion “What name?”

“Choi.”

The man’s expression shifted “Choi.”

“Okay,” he said slowly “No, I don’t think there’s any mail for… Choi.”

“Right ” A beat of silence.

Seungcheol should leave.

That was the obvious move. He had already embarrassed himself enough for one morning. He could nod, apologize for disturbing him, walk back to his apartment, and spend the next six hours staring at the wall while trying not to imagine the exact sleeping arrangement in apartment 12D.

Instead he stood there, rooted in place by one brutal question clawing at the inside of his throat.

Who are you? He was not going to ask that. Absolutely not.

The man shifted against the doorframe, still looking at him with cautious curiosity. Up close, he was younger than Seungcheol first thought. Llate twenties maybe, handsome in an annoyingly effortless way, the kind of man who looked like he belonged on a cologne billboard or in business class smiling at flight attendants.

Seungcheol hated that he noticed any of it.

“Sorry,” the stranger said after a moment, rubbing the back of his neck “I got in late last night, so if something did show up I probably wouldn’t know. You can check with the front desk maybe?”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol said “No, it’s fine. Sorry to bother you.”

The stranger nodded once, already halfway to shutting the door, then paused.

“Do you want me to let…” He trailed off “Never mind.”

Seungcheol’s stomach dropped.

Let who know? You?

“Anyway. No mail.”

“Right,” Seungcheol repeated, because apparently that was all his vocabulary could manage this morning.

Another awkward beat then the stranger glanced down at the coffees in Seungcheol’s hand.

He stepped back another pace “Sorry again.”

“No problem.”

The door started to close.

Then, just before it shut completely, the stranger leaned his head out once more and added, “Hey does your lock sticks too? Mine does that, had to do this whole pull routine everytime”

“Yeah, no yea I called landlord to fix mine after I moved in”

“Right right, yea I’ll do that. Thanks. My uh-”the stranger pauses looking behind for quick second “Anyways thanks”

Then he shut the door.

Seungcheol let himself into his own apartment, set the coffees on the kitchen counter, and stood there with both hands braced against the marble.

For a full minute he didn’t move.

Then he looked up at the wall your apartment shared with his and muttered, with deep feeling

“What the fuck.”

=

By the time Mingyu found him, Seungcheol had been beating the absolute hell out of a heavy bag for twelve straight minutes.

Not working out. Not training. Exorcising something.

The gym was crowded and in the far corner, by the hanging bags, Seungcheol was one punch away from being reported to management.

Mingyu stopped in the doorway of the boxing area and just stared.

Seungcheol’s back was to him, shoulders slick with sweat beneath a black sleeveless shirt, hair damp and falling into his eyes, jaw set so hard it looked painful. Every hit landed with enough force to make the chain above the bag groan.

Thud. Thud.THUD.

The bag swung violently.

Seungcheol followed it, gloves coming up again with a level of focus usually reserved for mortal enemies and final boss fights.

Mingyu looked around as if maybe there was a camera hidden somewhere.

Then he walked closer, squinting “Did the bag insult your mother?”

No response just another vicious right hook that made the bag snap sideways.

Mingyu nodded “Okay. Cool. Good talk.”

At this point Seungcheol wasn’t even pretending to be in a normal headspace. There was no rhythm to it, no measured combinations, no controlled footwork. This was just raw, deeply personal violence being redirected onto gym equipment.

Mingyu folded his arms and watched for another thirty seconds.

Then Seungcheol landed one particularly unhinged uppercut and Mingyu finally stepped in, grabbing the side of the bag before it could swing back and decapitate someone

“Hey, Rocky. Time out.”

Seungcheol lowered his gloves, chest heaving looking genuinely annoyed to find Mingyu standing there.

“What?”

Mingyu blinked “What? That’s what you’re going with? What did this bag do to you?”

“I’m working out.”

“No,” Mingyu said flatly, “you’re having an emotional event with boxing gloves on”

Seungcheol looked away, which, to Mingyu, was as good as a confession.

“Oh my god” Mingyu’s eyes narrowed “This is about a girl

Seungcheol’s head snapped back. “What girl?”

Mingyu stared at him.

Then slowly, “I don’t know, man, maybe the one who moved in next door and displaced your entire nervous system?”

Seungcheol glared at him.

Mingyu pointed at him triumphantly “Aha.”

Seungcheol yanked one glove off with his teeth and then the other with considerably more aggression than necessary “You’re annoying.”

“And you’re at the gym trying to fistfight your feelings instead of using your words like a civilized adult, so honestly I think I’m doing great.”

Seungcheol tossed the gloves onto the bench and grabbed the towel around his neck, scrubbing at his face.

Mingyu waited and because he knew Seungcheol well enough to understand that silence was often just foreplay for a breakdown, he didn’t interrupt.

Eventually Seungcheol dropped the towel around his neck again and stared at the heavy bag like it had personally wronged him.

“Have you ever stayed over at a friend’s house?”

Mingyu blinked “What?”

Seungcheol kept his eyes on the bag  “Like… if it was a girl.”

“You mean a girlfriend?”

“No.” Seungcheol frowned, “I meant a friend who’s a girl.”

Mingyu’s eyebrows climbed so high they practically left his forehead 

“Why would I stay over at a girl’s house if she’s not my girlfriend?”

Seungcheol finally looked at him “It can happen.”

“Can it?”

“Yes.”

Mingyu looked around dramatically, as if checking whether a hidden production crew might pop out and explain what slow-burn nonsense he had accidentally wandered into.

“What evening televesion drama are you currently living in?”

“I’m asking a normal question.”

“No, you’re not.” Mingyu counted on his fingers “A normal question is ‘hey, do you know a good dentist’ or ‘do you think I should buy an air fryer.’ You are asking me if men sleep over at women’s apartments platonically.”

Seungcheol went very still.

Mingyu grinned like a puppy being handed his favorite treat “Oh my god. Tell me everything.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“That’s never true when someone says it like that.”

Seungcheol drank the water in one go, crushed the cup in his hand, and tossed it into the trash with far more force than the cup deserved.

Mingyu watched him  “You went over there.”

Silence.

“With a reason.”

Silence.

“…Did you take her coffee?”

Seungcheol looked like he wanted to die.

Mingyu slapped a hand over his mouth. “No, you did not.”

Seungcheol pinched the bridge of his nose “Can you shut up for five seconds?”

“I can’t,” Mingyu said immediately. “Absolutely not. You brought your ex coffee like a man in a K-drama and found something in her? Are you kidding me? This is the best thing that’s happened to me all month. Was it another guy? It was another guy wasn’t it.”

Mingyu made a strangled sound and bent at the waist, laughing so hard he had to brace his hands on his knees.

Seungcheol stared at him with a flat, murderous calm look “This is not funny.”

“Oh, it’s devastating for you,” Mingyu said “Which is exactly why it’s hysterical for me.”

Seungcheol looked like he was debating whether homicide in a public gym would be worth the paperwork.

Mingyu straightened, still grinning “Okay. Start from the top.”

“No.”

“Cheol”

“No.”

“Did you at least see her?”

Seungcheol’s silence answered that one.

Mingyu sobered a little, enough to study his friend’s face properly now that the initial entertainment had worn off. Under the annoyance, under the embarrassment, there was something else there. 

The kind of discomfort that had nothing to do with a bruised ego and everything to do with old feelings being dragged into fresh air.

Mingyu’s expression softened by a degree “You didn’t see her,” he guessed

Seungcheol exhaled through his nose.

“The guy answered the door,” he said at last, voice clipped

Mingyu nodded slowly. “And?”

“He was shirtless.”

Mingyu pressed his lips together.

“Ah,” he said, in the tone of a man approaching a wounded animal with a snack and a prayer “So this is less about hospitality etiquette and more about your soul leaving your body.”

Seungcheol glared at him “I’m not jealous.”

Mingyu blinked “ I didn’t say anything about that”

“I’m serious.”

“Right.” Mingyu nodded solemnly “That explains why you nearly punched a hole through a forty-kilo heavy bag”

Seungcheol rubbed a hand over his face “I’m not saying it means anything.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I know she can do whatever she wants.”

“Of course.”

“I know she has every right to move on.”

Mingyu folded his arms “And yet.”

Seungcheol’s mouth flattened.

“And yet,” Mingyu echoed helpfully and Seungcheol just stared at the floor.

Then, because apparently humiliation was a team sport today, he muttered, “He knew how to open the lock.”

Mingyu paused.

“The lock.”

“The door,” Seungcheol snapped. “The stupid door on her apartment. He knew the trick, he even asked me if my door was like that. Maybe he’s getting it fixed for her”

There was a beat of silence then Mingyu’s face crumpled.

“Oh, you poor bastard.”

“Don’t.”

“No, because that’s so much worse than being shirtless.”

Seungcheol looked genuinely offended “How is that worse?”

“Because shirtless can be random. Shirtless can be a circumstance. Shirtless can be ‘I run hot when I sleep’.” Mingyu ticked the points off on his fingers with maddening seriousness

“But knowing the lock? That implies familiarity. Repetition. Experience. He’s had enough encounters with that stupid door to know its little personality quirks.”

Seungcheol looked like he might actually throw up.

Mingyu put a hand over his heart “Oh my god, you’re spiraling.”

“I’m not spiraling.”

Seungcheol snatched his gym bag off the bench “I’m leaving.”

Mingyu caught his elbow “Wait, wait, wait. Did you ask who he was?”

“No.”

“Did he ask who you were?”

“No.”

“Did you tell him why you were there?”

Seungcheol gave him a look.

Mingyu nodded “Right. Obviously not. So let me get this straight.” He held up a hand and started counting

“You went to your ex’s apartment with coffee after three years of no contact because she suddenly lives next door. A shirtless man answered. You panicked, lied about missing mail, discovered said shirtless man knows her door better than you do, and then came here to commit felony assault on sports equipment.”

Seungcheol slung the bag over his shoulder “When you say it like that, it sounds dramatic.”

Mingyu stared at him in disbelief “When I say it like that?”

Seungcheol started walking toward the locker rooms.

Mingyu hurried after him. “Cheol!”

“Cheol, come on, I’m helping.”

“You are absolutely not helping.”

“I am!” Mingyu insisted “Look at me. I’m a voice of reason.”

Seungcheol barked out a laugh so disbelieving it bordered on rude.

“Here’s my professional opinion,” he said, tossing the towel over his shoulder “Do nothing stupid.”

Seungcheol pulled off his gloves with unnecessary force “I wasn’t planning to.”

“Going to her apartment with coffee at eight in the morning was already stupid.”

Seungcheol shot him a glare.

Mingyu grinned wider. “Exactly.”

He started backing toward the door, hands raised in surrender before Seungcheol could physically remove him from the premises.

“Take a shower,” Mingyu called “Drink the coffee yourself. And for the love of god, if Shirtless Door Guy shows up again, try not to challenge him to a duel.”

Seungcheol deadpanned, “Get out.”

Mingyu saluted. “Text me if you discover he’s secretly her husband.”

The locker room door slammed shut behind him before Seungcheol could throw something heavier.

Left alone at last, Seungcheol braced both hands on the edge of the open locker and stared into the metal shelves like they might contain answers.

They didn’t.

All he had was the image of your apartment door opening. A stranger standing there. And the ugly, immediate twist in his chest that refused to go away no matter how many times he reminded himself he had no claim to anything anymore.

=

The next two days were a masterclass in psychological warfare.

Not because anything actually happened but because nothing happened.

And Seungcheol, left alone with his own brain and a wall thin enough to remind him you existed but thick enough to keep him from knowing how you existed, was proving once again that he could take one bad piece of information and turn it into an entire cinematic universe of suffering.

By day one, he had already built at least five possible explanations for Shirtless Door Guy.

By day two, those five had somehow multiplied into categories.

Category one: boyfriend.

The obvious one. The one his chest hated most. The one that made his jaw tighten every time he thought too long about the man standing in your doorway like he belonged there.

Category two: situationship.

In some ways worse, because it implied a level of intimacy without commitment and for some reason that made Seungcheol want to break something expensive.

Category three: friend who occasionally stayed over and happened to be weirdly comfortable in other people’s apartments. This one Mingyu championed because Mingyu had decided the only thing funnier than Seungcheol’s jealousy was feeding it alternate theories like treats at a zoo.

Category four: cousin.

He knows it’s the least likely because he knows all your cousins from both sides of the family. A decade together provided him with that cheatsheet so he disregarded that category. 

Category five: husband.

That one had lasted all of three seconds before Seungcheol nearly gave himself an aneurysm and banned himself from further speculation for the rest of the afternoon.

The ban lasted forty-five minutes.

By the time he showed up to therapy on Wednesday, even he knew he sounded pathetic.

Not just pathetic. Unhinged.

His therapist, who had spent the last two years patiently helping him become a man who actually sat with discomfort instead of swallowing it whole and pretending it didn’t exist, had listened to the entire story with the calm professionalism of someone who had seen a lot.

Seungcheol had sat on the couch with his arms folded and said, “I know how it sounds.”

His therapist, Dr. Han, had made a note on her legal pad “You brought her coffee.”

“I know.”

“And a man answered the door.”

“Yes.”

“Shirtless.”

Seungcheol closed his eyes “Yes.”

Dr. Han tapped her pen once against the page. “And now you’re spiraling because you don’t know who he is.”

“I’m not spiraling.”

Dr. Han looked at him over the rim of her glasses.

Seungcheol sighed “Fine. I’m spiraling a little.”

“A little?”

Seungcheol glared.

Dr. Han held up a placating hand. “I’m not mocking you.”

“You’re about to.”

“I am about to point out,” Dr. Han said carefully, “that you spent three years learning how to tolerate uncertainty and yet one shirtless man has apparently undone several months of excellent emotional progress.”

Seungcheol stared at the carpet.

Then Dr. Han laughed. Not cruelly. Just one startled, disbelieving laugh that she immediately covered with a cough.

Seungcheol looked up, offended “Did you just laugh at me?”

“I laughed,” Dr. Han admitted, still trying to get her face back under control, “because the human brain is a ridiculous place and yours is currently staging a full-scale relapse over what may very well be a cousin.”

“It’s not funny.”

“No,” Dr. Han agreed, mouth still twitching, “but it is very human.”

So by Thursday evening, he was already in a bad way.

He’d worked late and still got nothing done.

He’d gone for a run and spent half of it mentally composing casual things to say if he happened to run into you in the hallway, then hating himself for it.

By eight-thirty he was in his kitchen rinsing rice when he heard it.

Your laugh faint through the wall, but unmistakable.

Seungcheol froze with his hands under the running water.

At first it was just voices muffled, overlapping, impossible to make out. One lower, one yours. Then a burst of laughter again, clearer this time, bright and loose and warm in a way that hit him square in the sternum.

This was your real laugh. The one he had spent nine years learning like a second language.

He stood there listening despite himself.

Then there was a thump from the other side of the wall. Your voice, louder now.

A protest. Another laugh and then you squealed.

A sharp, startled little squeal that went right through him.

Because he knew that sound too. Knew it in the worst possible way.

It was the sound you used to make when he grabbed you around the waist from behind while you were washing dishes. When he threw you over his shoulder because you were being annoying on purpose. When he dug his fingers into your sides and you twisted away, shrieking and laughing and calling him evil while he kissed your cheek just to make you squirm harder.

For one horrible, blinding second, his brain supplied an image it had absolutely no right to create.

Another man making you laugh like that. Another man close enough to pull that sound out of you.

Another man—“Nope.”

The word came out loud in his empty kitchen. Seungcheol shut off the faucet so hard water splashed on the counter.

Before his better judgment could catch up, he dried his hands on the nearest towel, marched to the front door, and crossed the hallway in about four angry strides.

He knocked. Too hard to be casual.

There was a beat of silence inside, then footsteps.

The door opened and there you were.

Hair loose and a little messy, cheeks pink from laughing. You looked so at home in the doorway that Seungcheol almost forgot why he was there.

Your expression shifted from mild confusion to surprise.

“Hi.”

He opened his mouth but nothing came out. Because now that he was actually here, on your doorstep, under your eyes, he had absolutely no legitimate reason for interrupting whatever was happening inside.

You frowned slightly “Everything okay?”

Seungcheol’s brain, in a final act of betrayal, grabbed the first domestic object it could think of.

“Can I borrow a ladle?”

You blinked “Huh?”

He heard himself double down “A ladle,” he repeated, as if that clarified anything

“Mine… broke.”

Your eyebrows lifted. Behind you, there was movement and then shirtless door guy appeared.

Not shirtless this time, which Seungcheol resented less than he wanted to admit. He stepped up behind you. Too close, Seungcheol noticed immediately, far too close for the current state of his blood pressure and leaned slightly to see around your shoulder.

“Who is it, babe?”

Seungcheol’s entire internal operating system crashed.

His face did not move. Years of discipline and emotional repression and executive composure held the line with military precision.

Inside, however, every single thought in his body started screaming at once.

Babe? Babe?! Who the fuck is babe? Why is he calling her babe? Why is he standing that close? Why does he look comfortable? Why am I going to die in this hallway?

You, on the other hand, looked equally horrified though Seungcheol, in his current state, misread it as the embarrassment of being caught.

Jaehyun, blissfully unaware that he had just set off a controlled explosion in another man’s psyche, looked from you to Seungcheol and immediately brightened with recognition

“Oh,” he said “Mail guy.”

Seungcheol stared at him.

You turned to look at Jaehyun “Mail guy?”

Jaehyun waved vaguely toward Seungcheol. “He’s the next door neighbor, baby. Missing mail”

You looked between them, clearly trying to piece together a puzzle you had not asked to solve but before any of you could say another word, another voice cut into the hallway.

“Cheol?”

All three of you turned.

Miyeon was standing in the open doorway of 12B.

“The washer is stuck again,” she said “And I think it ate one of my socks.”

Silence.

Seungcheol felt it happen.

The exact second your eyes slid from Miyeon to him. The exact second you clocked the nickname. The domestic familiarity in her voice.

Oh no.

He saw understanding flash across your face. Not correct understanding.

Not even close. Just enough to make his stomach drop.

You definitely noted the Cheol.

He saw it in the way your expression changed subtle, but there. And Seungcheol, because God clearly hated him, also saw the way Jaehyun’s posture shifted beside you when Miyeon appeared.

He straightened a little. Not possessive, not exactly. But protective enough that it looked terrible in context.

Miyeon’s gaze bounced between the three of you.

Then slowly back to Seungcheol.

“Oh,” she said. Just one syllable but it carried the full weight of I have clearly walked into something and I don’t know what it is but I’m absolutely going to think about it later.

Miyeon blinked. “I just asked about the washer.”

“Right. I know. I mean—” He stopped, because nothing after this was going to improve “Give me five minutes.”

“Sure,” she said, way too neutrally. “Take your time.”

She disappeared back into her apartment.

The hallway somehow got worse.

You crossed your arms loosely over your middle and looked at Seungcheol with an expression he couldn’t read at all now.

Jaehyun leaned against the doorframe behind you “You fix her appliances too?”

Seungcheol’s jaw tightened “Sometimes.”

Jaehyun nodded, gaze far too innocent “Neighborly.”

Something in the way he said it made Seungcheol realize, with dawning horror, that this man thought he and Miyeon were together.

Or at least involved.

This was hell. Actual hell. And the worst part? Judging by the way your mouth pressed into a line, you might have been thinking the exact same thing.

Seungcheol looked at you. You looked right back. There was too much in that look and not enough at the same time.

Too much history. Too much assumption. Too many things neither of you were saying because there was a man behind you and a woman across the hall and all of it was balancing on the edge of becoming deeply humiliating.

“So,” you said after a second, voice polite in that way he had already learned to fear, “you needed a ladle?”

He almost closed his eyes “No.”

Jaehyun snorted. You glanced over your shoulder at him, then back to Seungcheol, and somehow your face got even more unreadable

“Right.”

Jaehyun, still leaning in your doorway with the relaxed confidence of a man who had no idea he was currently the villain in someone else’s emotional spiral, offered brightly, “Good luck with the sock.”

Seungcheol looked at him with then he looked at you one last time. You had already stepped back half a pace, fingers curling around the edge of the door like you were ready to close it the second hallway theater was over.

“Goodnight,” you said

Three years ago, that word used to come with a kiss. With his name. With your hand reaching for his shirt while he tried to leave the room and you dragged him back for one more minute.

Now it was just a door between you and a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Night,” he said quietly.

As your apartment door clicked shut, Seungcheol had the sinking certainty that somehow this had gone even worse than the fake mail.

The first sign should have been how easy the night felt.

Not in some dramatic, movie-scene kind of way. Just in the ordinary, quiet way that had always belonged to the two of you. The kind built from years instead of sparks. The kind that settled into your bones so deeply you forgot there had ever been a version of yourself that didn’t know him.

By the time Seungcheol pulled up outside the bar, your cheeks were warm from two cocktails and a shared pitcher your friends had insisted on ordering “for old times’ sake.”

You weren’t drunk enough to stumble, but definitely tipsy enough that everything felt softer around the edges. You spotted his car immediately and grinned before he’d even fully parked.

“There’s my boyfriend,” you announced to absolutely no one, because your friends had already gone back inside to pay the bill

Seungcheol stepped out before you could make your way down the curb by yourself. He had one hand shoved into the pocket of his dark coat, the other reaching automatically for you.

Always steady. Always there. Even after nine years, your body knew exactly where to go.

“You waited outside alone?” he asked, brows pulling together as he looked at you

You took his hand and swayed into him with a smile “For like… thirty seconds. Maybe forty. I was brave.”

“Brave, huh?”

“Mhm”

“You can barely stand straight”

“I’m standing great”

“You’re leaning on me”

“That’s because I love you” you said matter-of-factly, as if it explained everything.

His mouth twitched. It was always like this when you’d had a little too much to drink. You got softer, clingier, somehow even more affectionate than usual, which Seungcheol claimed shouldn’t be physically possible considering you were already attached to him on a normal day.

But he never seemed to mind. If anything, he indulged you more. Let you talk too much. Let you hold onto his arm. Let you ramble about your friends and your shoes and how pretty the moon looked from the parking lot.

Tonight was no different.

He opened the passenger door for you and waited until you were seated before buckling your seatbelt himself because you kept getting distracted halfway through.

“Your hair smells nice,” you informed him while he clicked the belt into place

He gave you a look. “Thank you?”

“I’m serious. Come here.”

You caught the collar of his coat and tugged him closer until his face was inches from yours. He let himself be pulled down with the patience of a man who’d spent nearly a decade learning every version of you.

You sniffed dramatically near his neck. “See? Nice.”

Seungcheol laughed under his breath and pressed a kiss to your forehead before shutting the door.

The drive home was only twenty minutes, but you filled every second of it with chatter.

You told him about how one of your workmates was thinking of quitting her job because her manager was “an energy vampire.” You recounted, in painful detail, the argument between two girls in the bathroom over whether texting your ex counted as cheating if it was “just closure.”

He listened to all of it.

One hand on the wheel, the other resting on the center console where your fingers kept finding his. Every time you laced them together, he squeezed once in acknowledgment, eyes still on the road.

That was another thing about Seungcheol. He paid attention even when he acted like he wasn’t. He knew when you were pretending to be okay. Knew when your silence meant exhaustion versus hurt. Knew the difference between your real laugh and the polite one you used around strangers. Knew you liked the heater on in the car even when you’d spent the entire afternoon complaining about being too warm.

Nine years did that to people, you guessed. Or maybe it only did that when love lasted long enough to become muscle memory.

By the time you got home, your words were starting to slur at the edges.

“Baby,” he said, amusement threaded through his voice, “you’re trying to open our neighbor’s door”

You blinked at the number on the wall.

“Oh”

“Yeah. Oh.”

“I knew that”

“Sure.”

Once inside, the apartment greeted you with the familiar hush of late night. It looked exactly like home. Exactly like the life you’d built with him piece by piece since you were twenty and stupidly in love and convinced that nothing in the world could touch you as long as you had each other.

You kicked off your heels in the hallway and immediately groaned

“My feet hate me”

“That’s because you insist on wearing shoes that look like medieval torture devices”

“They’re cute”

“They’re dangerous”

“They’re fashion”

He bent to line them neatly against the wall while you wandered toward the bedroom, pausing halfway to look back at him

“Did you just call me fashionable?”

“I did not”

“You implied it”

“I implied that you make bad choices”

You gasped “Wow.”

Seungcheol smiled despite himself and followed you down the hall.

The routine that came next was one the two of you had done so many times it required almost no words. He disappeared into the bathroom and came back with your makeup remover, cotton pads, and a fresh glass of water.

“Drink first” he said, holding it out.

You obeyed with a tiny pout, taking a few sips while he stood between your knees. Then he set the glass on the bedside table and tilted your chin up with one hand, carefully wiping away your makeup with the other.

You watched him through half-lidded eyes.

Seungcheol had always been beautiful in a way that irritated you a little. Not because you minded looking at him—God, never that—but because he carried it so casually, as if it had never occurred to him what his face did to people. Tonight he was in a black sweater and slacks from work, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, hair slightly mussed from running his hands through it.

His expression was focused, gentle in the way it only ever was with you.

“You’re staring” he murmured

“You’re pretty”

“You say that every time you drink”

“Because it’s true every time I drink”

He snorted and swiped the last of your eyeliner away “Close your eyes”

You did, because even tipsy you knew better than to argue when he was cleaning around your lashes. A moment later his thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, wiping away the smear of lipstick you’d missed. The touch lingered for a second longer than necessary.

When you opened your eyes, he was still looking at you. There was a softness in his face that made your chest ache.

Nine years.

You had met him at eighteen, when everything in your life felt like it was still being sketched in pencil. Back then he’d been loud confidence and broad shoulders and a grin too pretty for his own good. He had driven you insane. He had also walked you home after your night classes because you once admitted you hated the dark and then acted like it was no big deal. He had remembered your coffee order after hearing it one time. He had kissed you for the first time outside a convenience store while rain soaked through both your hoodies and you’d laughed against his mouth because it was so ridiculously cliché.

You had become adults with him.

Not all at once, but slowly. Through exams and part-time jobs and tiny apartments with unreliable heating. Through fights about money and whose turn it was to buy groceries and whether either of you could survive assembling IKEA furniture without ending the relationship. Through promotions and funerals and weddings and all the unremarkable Tuesdays in between.

You knew the exact shape of his hand. He knew how to calm you down from a panic attack in under five minutes. You knew he got quiet when something at work was wrong. He knew you couldn’t sleep if you were angry, no matter how much you pretended otherwise.

Your whole youth was tangled up in him.

Maybe that was why, sitting there in the warm quiet of your bedroom with his hands on your face and your heart a little loose from alcohol, the thought slipped out so easily.

“We should have a baby.”

The room went still.

“Think about it. They’d be so cute.”

Seungcheol set the used cotton pad aside “A baby?”

“Yeah” You laughed softly “Our baby. Little cheeks, little hands… they’d probably get your eyes” Your own voice had gone dreamy, words spilling before you could stop them.

 “And maybe my nose. Or your nose. I don’t know. But they’d be cute either way”

He exhaled through his nose, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“Cute?” he repeated

“The cutest,” you said firmly “Objectively.”

He gave a small hum, brushing your hair back from your face. “You’re really thinking about this right now?”

“I’m tipsy, not delirious.” You reached for his wrist “I mean it. We’ve been together forever.”

Forever. The word came easily too.

You looked up at him, still smiling, and added in a softer voice, “I want one someday”

There it was. The truth underneath the teasing.

You had never been the girl who dreamed about marriage before she could legally drink, or planned names for children she didn’t have. But twenty-seven had arrived with a strange kind of clarity. Not panic exactly. Just a steady awareness that life was moving. That your future wasn’t some abstract thing waiting on the other side of adulthood anymore. You were in it. Living it.

And when you pictured the next version of your life, Seungcheol was there. He always was.

So yes. Someday, you wanted a baby.

“Maybe,” he said after a second

You frowned a little “Maybe?”

Seungcheol smiled, but it was smaller this time. Careful around the edges “Yeah. Maybe.”

You studied him through your tipsy haze, trying to fit his answer into something that made sense. “You don’t want kids?”

He was quiet for just a beat too long. Then he shrugged one shoulder and said, “It’s not really part of the plan yet. Maybe in the future”

The words were gentle. The tone was gentle. There was nothing cruel in it, nothing dismissive. He even reached to smooth his thumb over your cheek like he always did when he thought too hard about how to phrase something.

But still, something in your chest dipped.

It was subtle enough that if you’d been fully sober, maybe you would have hidden it better.

“Not part of the plan,” you repeated

“Hey” He crouched a little closer, reading your face too easily. “That’s not what I mean”

“Then what do you mean?”

He looked at you for a moment, and you could almost see him choosing his words

“I mean,” he said carefully, “I don’t think this is a conversation we should have while you’re half asleep and a little drunk”

You opened your mouth to protest on instinct “I’m not that drunk”

He raised an eyebrow.

You considered it. “Okay. Maybe a little.”

“A little” he echoed, clearly unconvinced

You pouted, and his expression softened immediately.

“Baby” He touched your jaw. “I’m not shutting you down”

“But you kind of are”

“I’m not” He sighed, then leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead “I just don’t want us to talk about something important like this when you won’t even remember half of what I say tomorrow”

“I would remember”

“You forgot your own passcode three times on the way up”

“That was because the hallway was judgmental”

Seungcheol laughed despite himself, the sound low and fond, and for a second the knot in your chest loosened.

Then he said, quieter, “Let’s talk when you’re sober, okay?”

You looked at him. It would have been easy to leave it there. Easy to nod and let him guide you under the blankets and trust that tomorrow or next week, or next month there would be time to circle back. You had always trusted him with your tomorrows. That was part of loving him. Part of loving someone for so long that your future started to feel shared by default.

But maybe even then, some tiny part of you felt the shift.

Not because of what he said. Because of what he didn’t.

You had known Seungcheol for nearly a decade. Knew the difference between hesitation and uncertainty. Knew when he was buying time because he genuinely wanted to think, and when he was buying time because he didn’t want to say the thing sitting heavily on his tongue.

Tonight, he looked like the second kind.

You didn’t call him on it. Maybe because you were tired. Maybe because your head was fuzzy and warm and you didn’t want to turn a soft midnight conversation into something sharp.

Maybe because part of you was afraid that if you pushed, you’d hear something you weren’t ready for.

So you only said, “You promise?”

His eyes met yours immediately “Promise what?”

“That we’ll talk about it”

Something unreadable flickered across his face then he smiled again, gentler this time, and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Yeah,” he said. “I promise.”

The room was quiet except for the low hum of the heater and the distant traffic outside your apartment building.

You traced lazy shapes over his stomach through the sweater. “If we had a baby,” you mumbled, already half asleep, “you’d be a good dad.”

His hand stilled in your hair, you didn’t notice.

“I mean it,” you whispered. “You’d be the best one.”

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then his arm tightened around you, just enough that you felt the pressure even through the haze pulling you under. When he finally spoke, his voice was so soft you almost missed it.

“Go to sleep”

You smiled against his chest, taking it as agreement. As shyness, maybe. As him not knowing what to do with praise.

“Okay,” you murmured.

He kissed the top of your head.

You fell asleep in minutes, safe in the warmth of him, in the familiar rhythm of his breathing, in the certainty that whatever had gone unsaid tonight would sort itself out because it was the two of you. And the two of you had survived too much, loved too long, built too much for one strange conversation to mean anything.

You didn’t know that Seungcheol stayed awake long after you fell asleep.

Didn’t know he stared at the ceiling with one arm around you and the other clenched quietly in the blanket. Didn’t know he replayed every word you’d said until they stopped sounding sweet and started sounding like a deadline he hadn’t realized was already at the door.

We should have a baby. I want one someday. You’d be a good dad.

The worst part was that he could still hear how happy you’d sounded saying it.

As if it were simple. As if the future was still one shared thing the two of you were walking toward at the same pace.

He turned his head and looked down at you sleeping against him, your cheek pressed to his chest, one hand curled into the fabric of his sweater. Even now, even in sleep, you stayed close. Trusted him so completely it made his chest ache.

Nine years.

He knew exactly how old you were when he first kissed you. Knew the dress you wore on your first real date. Knew the way you cried in the bathroom after your grandmother’s funeral because you didn’t want anyone else to see.  He knew the sound of your laugh from another room.

He knew he loved you. That wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that lately, love had started feeling terrifyingly different from certainty.

Seungcheol swallowed hard and looked back at the ceiling.

He had plans. That was the thing. Or maybe not plans exactly—more like timelines, milestones, a shape of life he had convinced himself still made sense. Work harder now. Build more now. Save more now. Buy the bigger apartment first. Get promoted again. Get stable enough that when he gave you everything, it would actually be everything. No corners cut. No fear attached.

He’d always thought there was time.

Time before marriage became urgent. Time before children became a real conversation instead of a vague someday. Time before he had to admit that while you were picturing the next step, he was still trying to secure the ground beneath the one you were already standing on.

And underneath all of that, buried somewhere he hated looking was the quieter fear he never said aloud

What if he wasn’t built for the life you wanted as naturally as you were? What if loving you wasn’t the same as being ready for the things love was supposed to grow into?

He closed his eyes.

Beside him, you shifted in your sleep and tucked yourself closer, your knee brushing his thigh. Instantly, automatically, he adjusted the blanket around you so you wouldn’t get cold.

It was muscle memory. Devotion without thought.

And somehow that made it worse.

Because he could take care of you in a thousand tiny ways. Could pick you up from bars at midnight and clean your makeup off and remember your favorite soup when you were sick and hold you through every bad day.

He could love you with his entire body.

But tonight, with one drowsy confession and one hopeful smile, you had laid your future in his hands so casually, as if of course he would want the same things on the same timeline, as if of course nine years meant you were moving in one direction together.

And for the first time in a long time, Seungcheol had looked at the road ahead and felt the terrifying possibility that maybe you weren’t.

His jaw tightened.

Tomorrow, he told himself.

Tomorrow, when you were sober, they would talk properly. He’d explain better. Tell you it wasn’t a no, not really. Just not yet. Tell you he needed more time. Tell you that wanting you forever and being ready for forever to change shape were not the same thing, no matter how much he wished they were.

Tomorrow, he’d say it right.

Tomorrow, this would still be fixable.

He looked down at you one last time, your face peaceful in sleep, trusting and warm and heartbreakingly unaware.

Then he kissed your forehead so lightly it didn’t wake you.

And in the dark, with you curled safely against him and the apartment wrapped in silence, Choi Seungcheol lay awake beside the woman he loved and felt, for the first time, the faint beginning of something breaking.

=

It didn’t happen all at once.

That would’ve been easier, maybe.

A single fight. A single cold answer. A single moment you could point to and say there, there’s where things changed.

But it wasn’t like that with Seungcheol. It was quieter. Meaner in its own way because it was so hard to catch at first. Hard to accuse. Hard to name.

It started after that night.

Not immediately, not in any way obvious enough to set off alarms.

The next morning he’d still kissed your forehead before leaving for work. He’d still texted you around lunch asking if you’d eaten. Still brought home the strawberry milk you liked from the convenience store downstairs because he’d noticed you were running low.

If anything, he was almost too normal, as if he’d made a private decision overnight to be extra careful with you.

And maybe that was the problem.

Because the conversation never came back.

Not really.

A few days after your tipsy confession, you had brought it up again while folding laundry in the bedroom, your voice light on purpose.

“So,” you’d said, pairing two of his socks together “About what we talked about the other night…”

Seungcheol, sitting at the edge of the bed answering emails on his laptop, had glanced up “Hm?”

“You said we’d talk when I was sober”

He’d gone still for a second. Not enough that anyone else would’ve noticed. But you did.

Then he’d smiled and shut the laptop halfway “You really want to do this while sorting my ugly socks?”

You’d laughed “They are ugly”

“They’re comfortable.”

“They look like something a middle-aged dad would wear to barbecue.”

“Wow. Rude.”

“You’re dodging.”

His smile had faltered, just barely “I’m not”

“You are a little”

He’d rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and looked down at the floor for a moment before saying “I just… don’t know if I have much to say right now.”

The answer had confused you more than hurt you “What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m thinking about it”

That was all you got. I’m thinking about it.

At the time, you let it go because Seungcheol had always been the kind of person who needed time with important things.

He liked certainty. Liked plans, lists, contingencies. He was the one who researched every apartment before signing a lease, who compared interest rates for weeks before opening a savings account, who kept emergency numbers pinned to the fridge and a flashlight in the kitchen drawer in case the power went out.

He took things seriously. That was one of the reasons you trusted him so much.

So you told yourself that was all this was too. He was thinking. Processing. Taking your future seriously because you mattered enough to be taken seriously.

But then one week became two.

And by the third week, something in the apartment had started to feel off.

It was never dramatic. Never enough to point at cleanly. Seungcheol still came home at the same time most nights. Still kissed you hello. Still asked how your day was and listened when you answered. He still slept beside you, still draped an arm over your waist in bed, still reminded you to bring an umbrella when the weather app said it might rain.

Yet there were more moments now where you’d look over and find him somewhere else entirely.

Sitting at the dining table with his dinner untouched, phone dark in his hand, staring at nothing.

Answering your question a second too late, like he’d had to swim back up from wherever his mind had gone.

You’d catch him looking at you too, sometimes. Not in the easy, affectionate way he always had. This was different. Quieter. More troubled. Like he was trying to solve something and hated every answer he came up with.

Then the walls started.

Small ones at first.

He’d say work was stressful, but wouldn’t elaborate.

You’d ask what he was thinking about, and he’d just smile and say, “Nothing, baby.”

You’d curl into his side on the couch and feel him hold you, but not quite melt into it the way he used to.

It was subtle enough that you spent days wondering if you were imagining it. Maybe you were being sensitive. Maybe work really was just hard right now. Maybe you were reading too much into a man being tired.

But you knew Seungcheol.

You knew his moods. Knew his silences. Knew the different shades of them the way other people knew traffic routes or song lyrics.

There was his exhausted silence, where he still reached for you automatically. His irritated silence, where he got clipped and restless and cleaned things aggressively. His upset silence, where he needed twenty minutes alone before he came back ready to talk.

This was none of those. This was distance.

Slow, deliberate distance that he was trying so hard to disguise as normal that it only made your chest tighten more.

By the third week, you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

It was a Thursday night, and the two of you were making dinner together because you had both gotten home early for once. The apartment was warm with the smell of garlic and sesame oil, music playing low from your phone on the counter. You were rinsing vegetables at the sink while Seungcheol chopped onions beside you.

But tonight there was too much space inside it.

You had been talking for the last ten minutes, mostly carrying the conversation by yourself while Seungcheol answered with hums and one-word replies.

You dried your hands on a towel and looked over at him.

He was focused on the onions, expression blank, shoulders slightly tense under his T-shirt. Not angry exactly. Just far away.

“Cheol”

“Hm?”

“You’ve been quiet”

He glanced at you, then back at the cutting board “Have I?”

“Yes” You leaned a hip against the counter “Like… really quiet. Is something wrong?”

He shrugged one shoulder, the motion casual enough to be irritating “No. Just tired.”

You watched him for a beat.That answer had become his favorite lately. Tired. Busy. Fine. Nothing.

You tried to keep your tone light “You sure?”

“Mhm”

“Because it kind of feels like you’re on another planet”

A small smile tugged at his mouth, but it didn’t reach his eyes “I’m listening.”

“That’s not the same thing”

He didn’t answer. The knife kept moving. Chop, chop, chop. A little too precise. A little too fast.

You turned back to the sink, rinsing the last of the mushrooms and trying not to let irritation get ahead of you.

“Anyway,” you said, shaking the water from your hands “One of my workmate invited us both to the wedding next month”

This got his attention, if only slightly “Us?”

“Yeah. Plus one. So you’re getting dragged with me”

He hummed.

You set the mushrooms aside and smiled to yourself “Apparently she’s doing one of those super pretty outdoor weddings. Garden venue, fairy lights, the whole thing. Very her.”

“Sounds expensive”

“Probably” You laughed “She deserves it, though. She’s been planning this since before she even had a boyfriend.”

That got the tiniest breath of amusement out of him, so you kept going.

“And of course the second she gave me the invite, Yuna from accounting was like, ‘So when is it your turn?’”

You rolled your eyes fondly as you said it, expecting him to make fun of nosy coworkers with you. “I swear people hear ‘nine-year relationship’ and immediately turn into aunties at Lunar New Year”

The knife stopped. Not loudly. Not with a slam. Just a sudden stop in the middle of the chopping rhythm.

The kitchen went quiet except for the low music and the simmer of broth on the stove.

Something in your stomach tightened.

You turned.

Seungcheol was staring down at the cutting board, jaw tense. After a second, he set the knife down carefully beside the onions and let out a slow breath through his nose.

Not a huge reaction.

Just a sigh but it was enough.

“Cheol?” you said, more carefully this time

He reached for the dish towel and wiped his hands on it even though they weren’t wet

“What?” he asked

You stared at him. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“That sigh”

He gave you a look like he genuinely didn’t know what you meant, which only made your pulse tick up “Nothing”

“No, it wasn’t nothing” You set the towel down on the counter “I mention weddings and suddenly you look like you’re about to walk into traffic”

He huffed a laugh, but there was no humor in it “You’re being dramatic”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Then tell me what’s wrong”

“Nothing is wrong”

“Seungcheol.”

His jaw tightened at your tone.

You took a breath and tried again, softer “You’ve been weird for weeks”

That made his eyes flick up to yours “0Weird?”

“Yes, weird.” You crossed your arms loosely, not defensive yet but getting there. “Quiet. Distracted. Like you’re somewhere else all the time. And every time I ask, you say you’re tired or busy or fine, and I’m trying not to make a thing out of it, but you literally just tensed up because I mentioned a wedding, so—”

“I didn’t tense up because of a wedding”

“Then what was it?”

He looked away first and there it was again that tiny, infuriating withdrawal. That refusal to just meet you in the middle and say the thing.

You laughed once, short and disbelieving “Okay. So it is something”

Seungcheol exhaled slowly, both palms braced on the counter now “Can we not do this right now?”

The words hit harder than they should have. Not because he raised his voice, he didn’t. If anything, he sounded tired. Worn thin. But that was exactly why it stung. Because it made you feel like you were being unreasonable for asking your boyfriend why he’d been shutting you out for nearly a month.

“Do what?” you asked

“Turn this into an issue”

You blinked at him “Turn this into an issue?”

He rubbed a hand over his face “You know what I mean”

“No, I actually don’t”

The air in the kitchen shifted, subtle but undeniable. The kind of tension that makes every small movement suddenly feel louder.

You stared at him, waiting.

Seungcheol dropped his hand and looked at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read. Frustration, maybe. Guilt. Something tired and cornered all at once.

“I’m just not in the mood to talk about weddings” he said finally

Your chest went tight “Weddings,” you repeated slowly “Plural.”

He said nothing.

You swallowed “This is about us.”

His silence was answer enough.

The realization landed like cold water. It wasn’t just work. It wasn’t stress. It wasn’t your imagination or him having an off month or some passing mood he hadn’t figured out how to explain.

This was about you. About the two of you. And somehow, he had been carrying it alone for weeks.

Your voice came out quieter now. “Why didn’t you say that?”

Seungcheol let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh, except there was nothing funny in it “Because every time I try to think about it, it turns into something bigger than I know how to handle”

You stared at him “Think about what?”

He looked at the onions instead of at you “Everything.”

“Cheol—” “I don’t know,” he cut in, sharper than before, and that made you fall silent. He shut his eyes for a second, like he regretted the tone immediately, then spoke more evenly

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

You laughed again, but this time it came out brittle “Maybe start with the truth?”

His face changed. Not much. Just enough that you knew you’d hit something and because your own hurt was starting to push past your patience, you kept going.

“The truth about what happened after that night,” you said “Because ever since I brought up kids, and then marriage, and literally any future thing involving us, you’ve been acting like being in this apartment with me is some kind of pressure test you’re failing.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Then tell me what is fair, Cheol, because from where I’m standing, I asked one question about our future and you’ve been halfway out the door ever since.”

His head snapped up “Halfway out the door?”

“Yes.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Is it?” Your voice rose before you could stop it “Because you won’t talk to me. You won’t tell me what you’re thinking. You just keep going quiet every time anything remotely serious comes up and then acting like I’m crazy for noticing.”

“I’m not acting like you’re crazy”

“You’re acting like this is all in my head”

He pushed away from the counter, finally facing you fully now “Because you keep cornering me into conversations I’m not ready to have.”

The words rang through the kitchen. For a second, neither of you moved. You just looked at him, pulse hammering in your throat.

Cornering. Not ready.

It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did, but it did. Maybe because you suddenly felt foolish for every gentle attempt you’d made these past weeks. Every time you’d tried to check in, tried to understand, tried to hand him openings so he wouldn’t have to force the words out all at once.

You had thought you were reaching for him.

Apparently, he thought you were trapping him.

Your voice went dangerously calm “Cornering you”

Seungcheol’s expression shifted the second he heard his own words thrown back at him “That’s not—”

“No, go ahead” You nodded once “Say it properly. I’m cornering you by asking why my boyfriend of nine years suddenly can’t have a normal conversation with me about marriage without looking miserable.”

“I do not look miserable”

“You sighed like I’d just asked you to donate a kidney” you laugh bitterly

“Because I’m tired of every conversation lately somehow circling back to this”

Your eyes widened “Every conversation?”

“Yeah”

“What are you talking about?”

“The baby thing. The wedding thing. Your coworker asking when it’s our turn, your friend sending engagement photos, your mom making comments at dinner last weekend—”

“My mom asked if you wanted more rice”

“And then she asked when we were giving her grandchildren”

“So that’s what this is?” you asked, incredulous “You’re upset because people are asking normal questions?”

“It’s not about other people asking questions, and it’s not their business”

“Then what is it about?”

Seungcheol dragged a hand through his hair, agitation starting to show now in the hard set of his shoulders “It’s about the fact that I can feel you waiting for an answer every time it comes up”

“Waiting for an answer,” you repeated

“Yes.”

“You mean because I thought we were going to have a conversation about our future?”

“See?” he said, voice tightening “That. You say it like it’s one conversation, but it’s not. It’s loaded now. Every mention of marriage or kids or ‘our future’ feels like there’s already a right answer and I’m just taking too long to give it.”

Something in your chest cracked, tiny and sharp “A right answer?”

“I’m not saying you’re doing it on purpose”

“But you are saying that being with me feels like some test you can fail”

“I’m saying I need space to think without feeling like every week I owe you a decision”

The second the words left his mouth, his expression changed. He knew. He knew exactly how bad that sounded.

Your face went hot “A decision.”

“Baby—” “No.” You took a step back before he could reach for you “Don’t ‘baby’ me after that.”

Seungcheol swore under his breath and looked away, frustrated with himself now. “That’s not what I meant”

“Then what did you mean?” Your voice shook, and you hated that it did “Because from where I’m standing, it sounds like being with me for nine years still somehow hasn’t been enough time for you to know if you want this.”

“That’s not what I said”

“You didn’t have to”

You folded your arms tighter around yourself “Do you know what the worst part is?” you asked quietly

Seungcheol’s eyes lifted to yours

“I wasn’t even asking for a ring. Not tonight, not tomorrow. I wasn’t trying to force some deadline on you” Your laugh came out thin “I just wanted you to talk to me. To tell me what was going on in your head instead of making me stand here for three weeks wondering why the man I love suddenly feels miles away”

He looked stricken for a second, but you were too hurt now to stop.

“You could’ve just told me you were scared,” you said “Or unsure. Or not ready. I would’ve listened. I would’ve understood that. But instead you shut me out and made me feel clingy and dramatic for noticing”

“I never said you were dramatic”

“You didn’t have to say it” Your eyes burned “You just kept acting like every time I reached for you, I was asking for too much”

“That’s not true.”

“Then tell me what is true, Seungcheol” Your voice cracked on his name “Because right now I honestly don’t know what I’m standing in.”

He went quiet. And that, somehow, was the worst part. Not anger. Not defensiveness. Just silence.

Silence from a man who had once known exactly how to hold your heart and now stood three feet away looking like he couldn’t decide whether to protect you from the truth or himself from saying it.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for all of that yet.” The words landed between you with a dull, devastating weight.

You stared at him, waiting for more. For some follow-up, some reassurance, some I’m just scared but I still know it’s you. Some version of this that hurt less.

It didn’t come.

“All of that,” you repeated

He swallowed “Marriage. Kids. The whole next step.”

You nodded once, very slowly “After nine years.”

Seungcheol shut his eyes.

And that was it. Not a yes. Not a no. Just him standing there in your kitchen with his face turned away like even he couldn’t bear the shape of what he’d admitted.

Your throat tightened so badly it hurt to speak “Okay”

His eyes opened immediately “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Say it like that”

“Like what?”

“Like you’ve already decided what I mean”

You laughed, and this time there was no humor in it at all “You mean the meaning you refuse to explain?”

He took a step toward you “I’m trying”

“No,” you said, stepping back just as quickly “You’re not. You’re trying not to say it.”

His face fell and for one awful second, you saw it. Saw the possibility that maybe he really didn’t know how to say whatever was inside him without breaking something. Maybe he was drowning in it too. Maybe this hurt him too.

But hurt didn’t erase hurt. Not when you were the one standing here feeling like your entire relationship had just tilted under your feet.

You looked away first, blinking hard.

Everything looked so stupidly normal for a moment that didn’t feel normal at all.

“I can’t do this while you keep talking in half-sentences” you whispered

Seungcheol’s voice softened immediately “Then let me finish.”

You looked at him. And there it was—that knife-edge pause before the real wound. Before the thing neither of you could unsay.

He inhaled, shoulders tense, eyes fixed on yours.

“I love you,” he said “You know I love you.”

Your stomach dropped, because people only started sentences like that when they were about to ruin something.

And suddenly, with the kitchen too warm and your heart beating too hard and his face looking more unfamiliar than it had in nine years, you understood with sick certainty that this wasn’t just an argument anymore.

This was the beginning of the crack. The one that, once it opened, might not close the same way again.

You stared at him across the kitchen, the steam from the pot curling up between you, and for one horrible second you couldn’t hear anything except the pounding of your own heart.

Then you asked, very quietly “Is there?”

Seungcheol blinked “What?”

“A future here” Your voice shook despite how hard you tried to keep it steady “Is there?”

“Baby—” “No.” You cut him off so fast it surprised even you “No, don’t do that. Don’t ‘baby’ me and then say nothing again”

He inhaled slowly, jaw tightening “I’m not saying nothing.”

“You are” Your throat burned “That’s all you’ve been doing for weeks. Saying just enough to keep me from pressing too hard and then pulling away the second it gets real.”

His shoulders tensed “I’m trying to be honest with you.”

“Then be honest” You took a step toward him, hands trembling at your sides. “Tell me now. Tell me while we’re finally talking instead of waiting until tomorrow, or next week, or the next time you decide you’re ‘ready.’ Tell me before we go right back to walking in circles and pretending you’re not building a wall between us.”

“You think I’m pretending?” he asked.

“Then what is it, Seungcheol? What do I call this? Because from where I’m standing, it feels like I’ve been trying to talk to my own boyfriend for three weeks and getting shut out every single time”

He dragged a hand through his hair, turning away for half a second before facing you again “You keep acting like I’m doing this to hurt you.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

“I’m trying to figure things out”

“At my expense”

His eyes flashed “That’s not fair.”

“Neither is this!” The words burst out of you louder than you meant them to, bouncing off the kitchen walls. Your breathing had gone uneven.

“You don’t get to disappear inside your own head and leave me standing here guessing whether my relationship is still intact,” you said, voice shaking “You don’t get to go quiet every time I mention our future and then act like I’m pressuring you for wanting to know where I stand.”

“I never said you don’t deserve to know”

“Then tell me”

Seungcheol exhaled sharply, palms flattening against the edge of the counter as if he needed something solid to hold onto

“I don’t know what you want from me right now”

You laughed, and it came out broken “Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“I want the truth.”

“I am telling you the truth.”

“No, you’re giving me pieces of it” You wiped angrily at your eyes before the tears could properly fall “You’re saying you love me, but you don’t know if you’re ready for marriage, or kids, or the next step, and somehow I’m supposed to just… what? Wait around until you decide if the life we’ve built is actually going somewhere?”

His face tightened “That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked away. And that tiny movement, that split second of him looking everywhere except at you, itdid something ugly to your chest.

“God,” you whispered, shaking your head “There really isn’t an answer, is there?”

“That’s not true.”

“Then say it.”

“I—” “Say it, Seungcheol.”

His jaw flexed hard enough you saw the muscle tick.  “I can’t give you some clean answer right now,” he said finally, voice rough.

You just stared at him. And then you nodded once, because suddenly everything in you had gone very still.

“That is an answer”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“It’s not a no.”

“But it’s not a yes either.” Your voice was terrifyingly calm now, the kind of calm that only came when you were hurt enough to stop sounding hurt “And after nine years, I think I deserve more than maybe.”

“Stop doing that”

“Doing what?”

“Making it sound simple.” His own voice rose for the first time, not shouting, but close. Frustration, fear, exhaustion, all of it starting to crack through “It’s not simple.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not!”

“Why?” you shot back “Why is it so hard to tell me if you see a future with me?”

He looked wrecked. That was the worst part. Not indifferent. Not cruel. Just… wrecked. Like he hated this too, hated himself maybe, hated the shape of whatever truth he was trying and failing to say.

But your heart was too raw to be softened by it.

“Do you know what I think?” you asked, voice trembling. “I think you’ve already been having this conversation in your head for weeks. I think you already know what you’re scared of saying out loud.”

“That’s not fair.”

“You keep saying that, but you won’t tell me what would be fair!”

Seungcheol shoved away from the counter and paced two steps back, hands on his hips “Because every answer I give you just makes this worse.”

“Because you won’t finish one!”

“Because you won’t let me breathe!”

The words cracked through the room. You froze.

So did he.

For a second, the apartment went silent in the way it only does after something has been said too loudly, too honestly, too ugly to pull back.

Your mouth parted.

“Breathe,” you repeated softly.

Seungcheol’s face changed immediately. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You need to breathe because of me?”

“No.” He took a step forward “No, that’s not—”

“Because I asked if you still saw a future with me?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” Your voice broke. “What part of this is so suffocating, Seungcheol? Loving me? Being with me? The fact that after nine years I thought maybe I was allowed to ask where this was going?”

“Stop twisting my words.”

“I’m not twisting anything! I’m trying to understand why my boyfriend suddenly looks trapped every time I talk about a life with him”

“I am not trapped.”

“Then why do you look at me like this?”

You saw it in the way his shoulders dropped, just a fraction, like the fight went out of him for a moment and left only something exhausted behind. He looked at you with a kind of helpless anger, but under it there was guilt too. So much guilt it made your chest ache even through the hurt.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he said again, quieter now “I don’t know how to say this without hurting you.”

You laughed through the tears that had finally started slipping free “You think you haven’t already?”

His eyes flicked to the tears on your face and he looked stricken. He took another step forward, instinctive, and you stepped back so quickly your hip hit the counter.

“No,” you whispered, holding up a hand. “Don’t.”

His whole body stilled. The sight of that almost undid you right there, because Seungcheol was not a man you had ever had to stop from touching you.

In nine years, you had never once flinched from him. Never once needed space from him. If anything, he had always been your safest place, the one person you moved toward without thinking.

Now you couldn’t bear the idea of his hands on you while he stood there unable to tell you if he still wanted the life you thought you were building together.

“Just answer me,” you said, and your voice was so small now it scared you. “Please. I’m asking you one thing. Do you still see a future with me?”

He looked like he was in pain.

His throat worked once. Twice and then he said the worst possible thing.

“I don’t know.”

It was quiet, barely above a whisper but it hit like something physical.

For a second, you genuinely couldn’t breathe. The room seemed to tilt, the kitchen blurring at the edges while those three words settled into your chest like glass.

You stared at him as if maybe you’d misheard.

Seungcheol looked horrified the second it was out of his mouth, like he wanted to grab it back, reshape it, turn it into something softer and less devastating. But it was too late. It was already here, hanging between you, impossible to unsay.

“Okay,” you whispered

His face crumpled a little “Don’t—”

“No, it’s okay.” You nodded too quickly, blinking through tears “No, I get it now.”

“You don’t.”

“I do.”

“You don’t,” he said again, more urgently this time, stepping toward you “I’m not saying I don’t love you. I’m not saying I want to leave.”

“But you don’t know if you want this.”

“That’s not what I—” “You just said you don’t know if you see a future with me!”

“I said I don’t know right now!”

“And what am I supposed to do with that?” you cried, the restraint finally snapping “Tell me, Seungcheol, what am I supposed to do with that? Go to sleep next to you tonight like nothing happened? Keep cooking dinner with you and folding your laundry and acting like my boyfriend didn’t just tell me he doesn’t know if he wants a future with me after almost a decade together?”

He scrubbed both hands over his face, breathing hard now, and for the first time since this started, you saw something dangerously close to panic in him.

“I’m trying,” he said, voice rough “I’m trying so hard not to say this wrong.”

“You already did.”

The words landed like a slap.

He looked at you for a long second, chest rising and falling too fast. The kitchen had gone silent except for the stove, where the broth had started to boil over in thin angry spits against the burner. Neither of you moved.

Then he said, very quietly, “I can’t do this tonight.”

Your head jerked up “What?”

“I can’t” He shook his head once, backing away from the counter “Not like this.”

Your heart dropped all over again.

“Not like this?” you repeated “You think I’m the one making this impossible?”

“I’m not saying that”

“You are leaving me in the middle of this conversation.”

“I need air.” The second he said it, you laughed in disbelief. Of course. More space. More time. More distance.

“Unbelievable,” you whispered

Seungcheol was already reaching for his keys on the counter by the front hallway, movements abrupt now, agitated in a way you had never seen from him with you. Not in all nine years.

You had fought before, of course you had. About money, about schedules, about stupid little things and painful big things. But he had never walked away. Never left the apartment while you were still crying. Never chosen distance over staying and figuring it out.

You followed him out of the kitchen, panic beginning to rise under the hurt.

“Seungcheol.”

He didn’t answer, too busy shoving his feet into his shoes by the door.

“Seungcheol, don’t do this.”

He finally looked up, and his face almost made you stop. He looked awful. Pale, furious at himself, eyes bright with something he was trying very hard to keep down.

“I can’t stay right now,” he said

Your breath hitched “You’ve never left.”

“I know.”

“Then don’t start now.”

His jaw clenched so hard you thought he might break a tooth.

“Please,” you said, and there it was, that note in your voice you hated, the one that made you sound younger, smaller, more desperate than you wanted to be “Please don’t walk out on me. Not like this.”

He shut his eyes for one second and when he opened them, he still looked torn apart. Still looked like leaving was the last thing he wanted to do.

But he opened the door anyway.

“I need to clear my head,” he said hoarsely “I’ll come back.”

“Cheol—” “I’ll come back,” he repeated, like saying it twice would make this feel less like abandonment.

Then he stepped outand the door closed.

For a moment, you stood there staring at the door like your body had stopped understanding how to move.

The apartment went silent around you.

He left.

The thought didn’t land all at once. It came in pieces.

He left.He actually left. Seungcheol left you crying in your apartment and walked out the door.

Your knees went weak. You made it two stumbling steps toward the couch before the first sob tore out of you so hard it doubled you over. One hand flew to your mouth like you could shove the sound back in, but there was no stopping it.

It just kept coming. Sharp, ugly, helpless. The kind of crying that feels less like tears and more like your body giving up on holding itself together.

You sank to the floor beside the couch because your legs wouldn’t hold you anymore.

Your chest hurt. Not in the poetic way people wrote about heartbreak.

In the real way. The brutal, humiliating, physical way. Like your ribs had been cinched too tight around your lungs. Like every breath had to be dragged in around the ache of what had just happened.

I don’t know.

Nine years. Nine years of loving him, growing up beside him, building a life so intertwined you couldn’t remember where yours ended and his began.

Nine years, and he didn’t know.

You thought back to that night in bed—tipsy and smiling and stupidly happy, tucked into his chest while you told him he’d be a good dad.

You thought about the last three weeks of silences and smiles and walls you had tried so hard not to name.

Had he already known then? Had he been lying there next to you, holding you while you fell asleep against him, already feeling this doubt and saying nothing?

The thought cracked something open inside you. You curled tighter into yourself on the floor, one hand pressed to your sternum as if you could physically hold your heart together there.

And somewhere under all that hurt, under the shock, the anger, the grief, one thought kept repeating itself so softly it was almost worse than the rest.

He left. Not because he didn’t love you. Somehow that would have been easier to understand.

He left because he did love you and still couldn’t stay.

And that was the part that terrified you most.

Because if even nine years of love wasn’t enough to make him stay and fight through one terrible conversation, then maybe you had just watched the beginning of the end and hadn’t even realized it until the door clicked shut behind him.

 =

Seungcheol woke up with a crick in his neck and the taste of stale whiskey in his mouth.

For one disoriented second, he didn’t know where he was.

The ceiling above him was unfamiliar—too high, too white, with a hairline crack running through one corner. The couch under him was too short for his legs, one arm numb from sleeping twisted beneath his body. Somewhere nearby, a fan hummed softly, and from the kitchen came the sound of cabinet doors opening and closing.

Then memory hit him all at once.

Seungcheol sat up so fast his head throbbed.

“Fuck.”

His voice came out hoarse, rough with sleep and alcohol and the weight of what he’d done. He scrubbed both hands down his face and forced himself to breathe through the nausea curling in his stomach, not from the drinks, not really, but from the sick realization settling heavier with every passing second.

He left.

He had actually left you.

Not for an hour to cool off in the parking lot. Not for a walk around the block. He had driven to Mingyu’s place because he hadn’t trusted himself to go back,

The night after that had blurred in ugly pieces. Mingyu handing him a glass. Seungcheol sitting at the edge of his friend’s couch with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like if he looked hard enough it would tell him how to undo what he’d said.

Mingyu asking, “Did you guys fight?” and Seungcheol laughing once, bitter and exhausted, because fight didn’t even begin to cover it.

He remembered saying things in fragments.

Seungcheol had every intention of going home after that. He remembered standing up, grabbing his keys, saying he needed to fix it now before morning made it worse. He must have sat back down for one second.

One second had turned into him passing out fully clothed on Mingyu’s couch, phone dead in his pocket, with the apology he meant to give you stuck somewhere between regret and sleep.

Now it was morning and he had left you alone all night.

A cold dread flooded his chest.

He was already on his feet before Mingyu rounded the corner from the kitchen, holding two mugs of coffee.

“You’re up,” Mingyu said carefully. “You look like shit.”

Seungcheol grabbed for his phone on the side table. Dead. Of course.

“What time is it?”

“Almost nine.”

“Nine?”

Mingyu’s expression shifted the second he saw the panic on Seungcheol’s face “Cheol—”

“I need to go.”

Mingyu exhaled slowly. “Call me later.”

Seungcheol barely nodded.

The drive home felt endless.

Every red light was an insult. Every slow car in front of him made his hands tighten around the wheel until his knuckles blanched white. His mind kept cycling through the same images over and over: you crying by the door, your voice breaking when you said don’t walk out on me, the way you’d looked at him after he said I don’t know—as if the floor had opened under your feet and you were trying very hard not to fall through it in front of him.

He had never hated himself more.

He tried to rehearse what he would say the second he got home. None of it felt big enough.

The apartment building looked exactly the same as it always did. Same old security guard downstairs. Same potted plant in the lobby that had somehow survived years of neglect. Same elevator with the sticky third-floor button.

Everything was insultingly normal.

He unlocked the apartment door and stepped inside.

Silence.

The first thing he noticed was the kitchen.

It was spotless. No burned pot in the sink. No chopped onions left on the board. No evidence of the mess from last night at all. The counters were wiped clean, dishes dried and put away, stove polished back into order like nothing had happened there.

That, more than anything, made dread crawl up his spine.

You had cleaned. You had spent the night in the apartment alone and crying and somehow still gotten up to scrub away the evidence of the fight before he came home.

“Baby?” he called, voice cautious, already moving toward the hallway “I’m home.”

The apartment was too quiet. No TV murmuring from the bedroom. No music from the bathroom. No kettle boiling. Nothing.

His chest tightened.

“Y/N?” He reached the bedroom doorway and stopped so abruptly it almost hurt.

You were standing beside the bed with your back half-turned to him, folding a sweater with slow, mechanical hands.

The room looked wrong. Your overnight bag sat open on the duvet. Two more tote bags were lined up neatly against the wall. Your suitcase stood upright by the dresser with the zipper already closed. Beside it was a smaller weekender bag and the toiletry pouch you always kept under the bathroom sink.

Seungcheol’s brain struggled to catch up to what he was seeing. For a second, all he could do was stare.

“What are you doing?”

You didn’t turn around, didn’t even pause in what you were doing. You just folded the sweater once more, set it into the open bag, and reached for the next thing.

He took a step into the room “Y/N.”

Now that he was closer, he could see you properly and god you looked wrecked.

Your eyes were swollen nearly shut, the skin beneath them puffy and dark from not sleeping. Your lips were dry. Your hair was tied back in a loose, messy knot that looked like you’d done it with shaking hands. You were still in yesterday’s oversized sleep shirt and sweatpants, like maybe you’d never really gotten dressed at all.

He felt physically ill.

“What are you doing?” he repeated, but softer this time. Not angry anymore. Scared.

You zipped the side compartment of the bag and finally spoke, your voice flat and scraped raw.

“I called my brother”

Seungcheol went still.

“He’s picking me up”

The words landed like a punch “What?”

You bent to pick up a stack of folded T-shirts from the chair by the window, not looking at him “He’ll be here soon”

“No.” He crossed the room in three quick steps “No, what do you mean he’s picking you up?”

You pulled the bag slightly away from him before he could touch it, still avoiding his eyes “It means I’m leaving for a while.”

The air rushed out of him “Leaving where?”

“Jongin’s.”

“For a while?” His voice cracked around the words “What does that mean?”

Now you looked at him and the sight of your face nearly undid him.

There was no anger in it. That would’ve been easier. Anger he knew how to handle. Anger he could meet. But thi this hollow, scraped-out exhaustion, this grief so deep it had gone quiet was infinitely worse.

“It means I can’t stay here right now,” you said

“No.” It came out immediate. Instinctive. A refusal before he even had time to think.

You gave a tiny, humorless laugh and looked back down at the bag “You don’t really get to decide that.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like this is some done deal.” He ran a hand through his hair, panic starting to climb up his spine “You’re packing a suitcase because of one fight?”

Your hands stopped. Slowly, you turned to face him fully.

“One fight?”

The look on your face made his stomach drop.

“Is that what you think last night was?”

Seungcheol opened his mouth, then closed it again “No,” he said quickly “No, that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I meant—” He exhaled hard, frustrated with himself already “I meant we can talk about this. I know I fucked up. I know I did. But you don’t need to leave.”

You stared at him for a long moment then you laughed again, and it sounded like it hurt.

“You left.”

His whole body went still. The words weren’t loud. You didn’t throw them at him or spit them out in anger. You just said them plainly, like a fact you were too tired to dress up.

“You left me in the middle of that conversation and didn’t come back.”

“I know.”

“I called you twelve times.”

His stomach twisted so hard he had to look away.

“My phone died,” he said hoarsely “I went to Mingyu’s and it died and I— I fell asleep there. I swear to God I didn’t mean to stay all night.”

The second the explanation left his mouth, he knew how pathetic it sounded. How useless. Like some teenage excuse for missing curfew, not the truth of a man who had abandoned the woman he loved at the worst possible moment and then been unreachable until morning.

You looked at him with red-rimmed eyes and nodded slowly “Okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, stepping closer “I’m so sorry. Baby, I know how bad this looks, I know—”

“It doesn’t just look bad, Seungcheol.” Your voice shook for the first time “It was bad.”

“You know what happened last night?” you asked, tears already gathering again0

“I didn’t sleep. At all. I cried until my chest hurt. Until my throat burned. I sat on the kitchen floor by myself wondering if my boyfriend of nine years had just told me he didn’t know if he wanted a future with me and then decided I wasn’t even worth coming back for.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? That’s what it felt like.”

“It’s not true.”

“Then what is true?” Your voice rose suddenly, cracking on the last word “Because I don’t know anymore. I don’t know if you meant what you said, I don’t know if you regret it, I don’t know if you just panicked, I don’t know if you’re still trying to decide whether I’m someone you want to keep building a life with— I don’t know anything except that I begged you not to leave and you left anyway.”

Each word hit him like a blow.

Seungcheol’s hands curled uselessly at his side “I know. I know and I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fix what you did.”

“I know it doesn’t” His own voice broke now, low and rough “I know it doesn’t. But please don’t leave like this.”

You stared at him “Like this?”

“Without letting me explain”

“Explain what?”

“Everything.  night, what I said, what I meant—I was overwhelmed and I handled it horribly and I panicked and I said the worst possible thing because I was scared and angry and not thinking straight, and then I made it a thousand times worse by leaving. I know that. I know.”

You looked at him for a long time, chest rising and falling unevenly.

“You still don’t get it.”

His heart sank “What?”

“This isn’t just about what you said.” Tears spilled over before you could stop them, and you wiped at them angrily “It’s about the fact that I don’t feel safe here right now.”

He went pale “Safe?” he repeated, horrified

“Not like that.” You swallowed hard “Not physically. I mean—” You pressed a hand to your sternum like it hurt to even say it

“I mean emotionally. I can’t sit in this apartment and pretend everything is fine while I wait for you to figure out if you still want me here.”

“Baby, I do want you here.”

“Do you?”

“Yes!”

“Then why did you say you didn’t know if you saw a future with me?”

Seungcheol opened his mouth and stopped. Because there it was. The question that mattered. The one all of this kept circling back to no matter how much he tried to outrun it.

He knew the answer, or at least part of it. Because he’d felt cornered by the future and ashamed of not being ready and terrified that saying the wrong thing would make him lose you.

Because he’d been carrying doubts that weren’t really about loving you but about whether he was enough for the life you wanted, and instead of saying that plainly like a grown man, he’d let it rot in silence until it came out as something crueler and less true.

But none of that changed what you heard.

He looked at your suitcase by the dresser and felt panic flood him all over again.

“Don’t go to Jongin’s,” he said

Your eyes flashed “You do not get to tell me where I can go right now.”

“I’m not telling you—” He stopped, started again “I’m asking. Please. Stay. Just for today. Let me fix this.”

“You can’t fix this in a day”

“I know.” His voice dropped, raw and urgent now “Then let me start.”

Something in your face wavered, but only for a second then you straightened, wiping at your cheeks with the heel of your palm.

“No.” The single syllable cut deeper than shouting would have.

Seungcheol stared at you “No?”

“No.” You took a shaky breath “I can’t stay here if this is what we’ve become.”

“That’s not what we’ve become”

Your voice shook violently now “How can you possibly know that when twelve hours ago you couldn’t even tell me if there was still a future here?”

He had no answer. Not one that didn’t sound like another excuse. Another half-truth. Another plea without enough substance to hold your weight.

You laughed bitterly when he stayed silent.

“Exactly.”

“Don’t,” he said quietly “Please don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I already lost you.”

Your face crumpled for the first time.

“You might have,” you whispered.

The words knocked the breath out of him “Don’t say that.”

“Then what do you want me to say?” you shot back, tears spilling again “What do you want from me right now? Because I have nothing left to give you this morning except honesty, and the honest truth is that I cannot be in this apartment with you today. I can’t wake up next to the bed we share and not hear you saying I don’t know. I can’t stand in that kitchen and not picture you walking out the door while I begged you not to. I can’t do it.”

Once the words run out, you’re breathless, hot angry miserable tears running down your face again.

And Seungcheol’s eyes burned too. He took one careful step closer. Then another. Slow enough that you could stop him if you wanted to.

This time, you didn’t move away.

“I know leaving last night might be the worst thing I’ve ever done to you,” he said “I know that. And if you need space from me today, if you need to go to your brother’s and breathe and hate me for a while, I’ll let you. I won’t stop you.” His voice dropped to almost nothing

“But don’t leave thinking I don’t love you. Don’t leave thinking I don’t want this with you. That part isn’t true. Even if I said it in the ugliest possible way.”

You covered your mouth with your hand and cried harder.

Seungcheol stood there and let you, because he had finally run out of ways to ask for grace he hadn’t earned.

The doorbell rang. The sound cut through the room so sharply both of you startled.

You wiped at your face with shaking fingers, inhaled once like you were trying to pull yourself together, and reached for the handle of your suitcase.

The bell rang again.

Seungcheol got to the door first, when he opened it Jongin stood on the other side in an expression already grim before he even looked past Seungcheol into the apartment.

He had always liked Seungcheol. More than liked, really. He trusted him. For years Jongin had teased you mercilessly about how disgustingly perfect your boyfriend was. the one person your brother had never once worried about hurting you.

Until now.

Jongin’s eyes flicked from Seungcheol’s face to the swollen, crying mess of you in the hallway behind him.

And something in his expression changed instantly.

“Hey,” Jongin said softly to you, stepping inside “You ready?”

You nodded once, but the second he held his arms out, your face crumpled all over again. The suitcase handle slipped from your fingers as you crossed the hallway and buried yourself into your brother’s chest with a broken sob.

Jongin caught you immediately.

“Hey, hey.” His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, eyes lifting over you to Seungcheol’s face “It’s okay. I got you.”

Seungcheol had never hated himself more than he did in that moment.

Jongin held you close, his jaw tight as he looked at Seungcheol over your shoulder. No accusation. Not yet.

Seungcheol swallowed hard “Jongin—”

“Not now,” Jongin said quietly. Not rude. Not aggressive. Just final.

You pulled back after a moment, wiping your face with both hands, and bent to grab the suitcase again. Jongin took it from you without a word.

“I can carry that,” Seungcheol said immediately, taking a step forward on reflex. Jongin’s gaze met his and for the first time in nine years of being in your family’s orbit, Seungcheol saw something close to disappointment there.

“I’ve got it,” Jongin said. The words weren’t sharp, they didn’t need to be.

His heart climbed into his throat. You were going to say goodbye.

He didn’t know if he could survive hearing it but when you finally spoke, your voice was quiet and exhausted and somehow even more devastating than goodbye would have been.

“I need a few days.”

Seungcheol nodded too quickly “Okay.”

You stepped into the hallway, shoulders small and slumped, and Seungcheol had the insane urge to grab your wrist and beg all over again. To drop to his knees if he had to. To tell you he would tear himself apart and put every broken piece on the table if that was what it took to make you stay.

He didn’t because this was the first thing you had asked of him all morning that he could actually give.

Space.

The thing he had taken so selfishly last night now had to be offered back to you with no strings attached.

So he stood in the doorway and let you go.

And Seungcheol was left standing alone in the doorway of the apartment the two of you had shared for years, staring at the empty hall while the silence rushed back in around him.

=

Three days turned into a week.

A week turned into two.

Two turned into three, and by the time the fourth week came around, Seungcheol had stopped checking his phone with hope and started checking it with the dull, compulsive misery of a man reopening a wound just to make sure it still hurt.

Every message he sent stayed undelivered.

Every call went straight to disconnect, as if the line itself refused him before it even had a chance to ring.

At first, he told himself you just needed space.

A few days. Maybe a week. Long enough to breathe, to cry, to hate him properly, to decide whether you even wanted to hear his voice without it making things worse.

He respected that, at least in the beginning. He texted once the first night after you left.

I’m sorry. I know I don’t deserve a reply, but I’m sorry.

I’m not going to push. I just need you to know I meant what I said. I love you. I’m sorry.

I’ll wait until you’re ready. Please eat. Please sleep if you can.

By the second week, the messages got less measured.

Can we please talk? Just tell me you’re okay. I know you’re angry. You have every right to be. I just need to know you’re okay.

By the third, they got worse.

Please. Please don’t do this like I’m nothing to you. I know I don’t get to ask for anything right now but please, Y/N. I’m losing my fucking mind.

Undelivered. Every single one. He tried Jongin once. That call didn’t even make it through the first ring before it was declined.

After that, Seungcheol stopped trying to force his way into your silence and started doing what men like him did when they couldn’t fix the one thing that mattered:

he ran himself into the ground.

He stayed late at work so often that his team stopped pretending not to notice. If he wasn’t there, he was at the gym. Or running until his lungs burned and his knees ached and his T-shirt stuck to his back with sweat. Anything that made him too tired to think.

Anything that meant not going home.

Home was the shape of your absence.

Your side of the bed untouched except for the nights he’d rolled over half-asleep and reached for you before waking up to cold sheets and the ugly realization that you were still gone.

He washed your pillowcase once and nearly had a breakdown because it meant losing the last faint trace of your shampoo.

By the fourth week, he looked as bad as he felt.

Mingyu stopped making jokes and started just showing up with food, dropping it in Seungcheol’s fridge without comment because the one time he’d opened it and found nothing but water, beer, and half a container of kimchi, he’d looked genuinely alarmed.

“You need to stop doing this to yourself,” Mingyu had said one night while Seungcheol laced up his running shoes for the second time that day

Seungcheol hadn’t even looked up. “Doing what?”

“Pretending if you stay moving, you won’t have to feel it.”

He tied the knot tighter than necessary “I already feel it.”

Mingyu had gone quiet after that, because there wasn’t much to say to a man who looked like he’d already been living with the consequences of one bad night for a month straight.

And still some stupid, fragile part of Seungcheol kept believing this wasn’t the end.

That if he gave you enough time, eventually you’d answer. He held onto that hope with both hands.

It was the only thing keeping him from fully losing it.

So the morning he came back from a jog and found the front door unlocked, he didn’t think much of it at first.

Just frowned, chest still rising and falling from the run, and pushed the door open with his keys in hand.

“Hello?”

He stepped inside, dropping his gym bag by the door and toeing off his running shoes. The apartment smelled different.

Not wrong. Just… familiar in a way that hit him before he even understood why.

Then he saw the suitcases.Not one. Three.

For one impossible second, his heart leapt so hard it hurt. Seungcheol forgot how to breathe.

The sight of you after a month was so overwhelming it made his knees weak.

“Y/N,” he said, and your name came out like a wound

Your expression didn’t change. You shifted the blanket in your arms and spoke first,  “I just came to get the rest of my stuff.”

The world tilted.

He looked at the luggage again, suddenly seeing it for what it was. Not temporary bags this time. Not a few days’ worth of clothes.

Everything.

His mouth went dry “What?”

“I’ll send the rest of the rent and utilities by the end of the week,” you said, still not looking at him “And the papers are signed. I removed myself from the joint lease and the internet account. The key’s on the counter.”

For a second, Seungcheol genuinely thought he might throw up. He turned toward the kitchen on instinct, eyes landing on the small silver key sitting beside the fruit bowl.

No.

No, no, no.

He looked back at you so fast it made his head spin “What are you talking about?”

His voice had gone sharp with panic “What do you mean the papers are signed?”

You were trying so hard not to cry. He could see it in the way your lips pressed together too tightly.

“I mean I’m moving out, Seungcheol.”

The sentence hit him like a car crash. He stared at you. Actually stared, like if he looked hard enough the words might rearrange themselves into something survivable.

This wasn’t supposed to be how this ended. Not after one fight. Not after one month. Not after nine years of being each other’s first and only real home.

“You can’t be serious.”

You laughed softly, and it was the saddest sound he’d ever heard “I wish I wasn’t.”

“Y/N—”

“No.” You shook your head once, fast, before he could get closer “Please don’t make this harder.”

The room spun with panic.

“Harder?” he repeated, voice breaking “You walk into our apartment after disappearing for a month and tell me you’re moving out, and I’m the one making it harder?”

Your face crumpled for half a second before you forced it back under control “I didn’t disappear.”

“Yes, you did.” He took a step toward you “You blocked my number. You blocked my messages. Jongin wouldn’t answer me. I had no idea if you were okay, if you were sick, if you—”

“I was trying to survive what you did to me.”

The words sliced through him so cleanly he stopped moving.

“I know that sounds cruel,” you whispered, voice shaking “and maybe it is. But I didn’t know how to talk to you without breaking all over again. Every time I thought about hearing your voice, all I could hear was that night.”

“I know,” he said hoarsely “I know what I said.”

“It wasn’t just what you said. It was how you looked at me when you said it. Like I was asking for too much by wanting to know if the man I’ve spent almost a decade loving still saw a future with me.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

 “But it doesn’t change the fact that when I close my eyes, all I hear is you telling me you don’t know.”

He felt himself unraveling by the second “Baby—”

“Please don’t call me that right now” The plea was so soft it hurt more than if you’d shouted.

You took a shaky breath and looked away from him, toward the living room instead. Toward the couch where you used to curl into his side every night. Toward the dining table where you’d had breakfast together on Sundays and fought over crossword answers .

“I loved you through every version of us,” you said quietly “The broke college version. The overworked version. The version that fought over dishes and bills and whose turn it was to buy detergent. I loved all of it because it was still us.”

Your voice broke on the last word.

Seungcheol stood frozen, every muscle in his body screaming at him to go to you, hold you, stop this somehow. But your posture was all wrong for that now. Closed off. Guarded. Like one wrong move from him would send you running.

“I know,” he whispered

“And I kept waiting for this to feel less awful, I thought maybe if I stayed with Jongin long enough, if I gave us both space, maybe I’d be able to come back and hear you out properly. Maybe I’d be less angry. Less hurt. Maybe I’d stop hearing that one sentence over and over in my head.”

Your eyes met his “I didn’t.”

Seungcheol’s voice came out ragged “Then let me try again.”

Your face twisted with pain “Cheol—”

“No, please.” He crossed the room before you could stop him, then halted a few feet away when he saw you tense “Please, just let me say this once. If after that you still want to leave, I won’t stop you. I swear.”

You closed your eyes for a second. When you opened them again, you looked exhausted.

“Okay.”

That tiny mercy almost broke him more.

Seungcheol dragged a hand over his mouth, trying to steady himself enough to speak. His heart was pounding so hard it made his voice shake.

“I was scared,” he said. “That’s the truth of it. Not of you. Not of loving you. Never that. I was scared of how serious everything started feeling all at once and how behind I was compared to where you already were. I was scared because you were talking about kids and marriage and forever, and all I could think was that you deserved someone who heard those things and felt nothing but certainty. And instead I felt terrified”

You stared at him silently, tears still slipping down your face.

“I thought if I could just figure it out by myself first, if I could get to a place where I had a plan and money and some version of my shit together, then I could come back to you with a yes that looked the way you deserved.” His laugh cracked in half “But instead I let myself get so twisted up in my own fear that I made you feel like I wasn’t sure about you. And that—” he swallowed hard

“—that is the biggest mistake of my life.”

Seungcheol’s own eyes burned.

“I love you,” he said, voice cracking completely “I have loved you since I was eighteen years old and stupid enough to think that was all it took to keep someone forever. I love you now, and I will love you when I’m forty and sixty and mean and gray and probably still annoying as hell. You are it for me. You have always been it for me.”

He took another step forward. You didn’t move.

“But if I’m too late,” he whispered, “if I hurt you too badly for that to matter anymore… then say that. Don’t hide behind bills and lease papers and keys on the counter. Just tell me this is really it.”

That did it.

The sob you’d been trying to hold in finally broke free, and you turned away from him, crying hard enough your shoulders shook. The sound tore straight through his chest.

He almost reached for you.

Almost.

Instead he stood there with his hands clenched at his sides while you cried in the middle of the apartment the two of you had built together, because he had finally learned what it meant to be the reason you were hurting.

“I hate it,” you cried, turning back to him with tears all over your face “Because it would be so much easier if I didn’t. It would be easier if I could hate you for what you said and for leaving and for making me feel like nine years somehow still wasn’t enough. But I can’t. I still love you and that’s the worst part.”

“Then stay,” he whispered.

Your face crumpled harder “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I believe that you love me,” you said “I do. And maybe part of me even believes you when you say you were scared, not uncertain about me. But that doesn’t change what happened. It doesn’t change that when I needed reassurance most, you gave me doubt. When I begged you not to leave, you left anyway. When I needed the person I love to hold the line with me, you walked out and let me spend the whole night wondering if my relationship was over.”

Seungcheol lowered his head. Every word was deserved.

“And now,” you whispered, “even if you say all the right things, I don’t know how to unhear the wrong ones.”

He pressed a hand over his mouth to keep from making a sound.

“I keep thinking about having kids with you,” you said, tears sliding down your cheeks. “About marrying you. About every future version of us I used to picture so easily. And all I can hear is maybe. I hear you telling me you don’t know. And I can’t build a life on maybe, Seungcheol. I can’t.”

He looked up at you with red-rimmed eyes “So that’s it?”

Your knees nearly gave out and you had to grab the back of the dining chair to steady yourself, crying openly now, no longer trying to keep it pretty or controlled.

“I don’t want it to be,” you sobbed “Do you understand that? I don’t want this. I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to pack up nine years of my life into suitcases and divide furniture and change addresses and learn how to be a person without you in every part of my day.” Your voice cracked so hard you had to stop and breathe around it

“But I also don’t know how to stay with someone who made me feel like loving me for nearly a decade still somehow wasn’t enough to know.”

Seungcheol covered his face with both hands. A broken sound left him.

“Fuck,” he whispered into his palms “Fuck.”

He dragged his hands down his face and looked at you again, devastated.

“I know I don’t deserve to ask this,” he said, “but if there is even the smallest part of you that still wants to fight for us, I will do whatever it takes. Therapy, time, space, whatever you need. I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never doubt me again. Just don’t end us like this. Please.”

You shook your head through tears.

“I can’t be the one who teaches you how to choose me after all this time,” you whispered

Seungcheol stopped breathing. It was such a simple sentence but it destroyed him.

Because that was the truth, wasn’t it? Not that he hadn’t loved you. Not that he hadn’t wanted you. But somewhere in all his fear and silence and panic, he had made the woman who had already chosen him for nine years feel like she had to convince him to choose her back.

You bent down, grabbed the handle of the nearest suitcase, and wiped at your face with your free hand.

“Please move,” you said, voice barely audible “I can’t do this if you keep looking at me like that.”

He didn’t move. Not because he was trying to stop you. His body just… wouldn’t listen.

“Cheol,” you whispered.

The sound of your voice saying his name like that finally snapped him out of it. He stepped aside.

You rolled the suitcase past him toward the door. Every wheel against the hardwood sounded obscene. Final. The second suitcase came next.

He watched all of it.

At the door, you stopped with your hand on the handle.

Seungcheol’s heart lurched into his throat.

You turned back one last time.

Both of you were wrecks now. Tear-stained, shaking, stripped down to the ugliest version of grief. There was no pride left in the room, no winning, no clean edge to hold onto. Just love and damage and the unbearable fact that sometimes they existed at the same time and still weren’t enough.

“I loved you well for a long time,” you said through tears

He nodded immediately, sob catching in his throat “I know.”

“And you loved me too.” Your face crumpled “But sometimes love isn’t the thing that ruins you. It’s timing. Fear. The wrong sentence said at the worst possible moment.”

Seungcheol shook his head like if he did it hard enough, he could stop this from becoming true

“Don’t do this,” he whispered “Please.”

You cried harder. The door opened.

Seungcheol took one involuntary step forward “Y/N—”

But you were already gone. The door closed behind you with a soft click.

And just like that, nine years ended not with screaming, not with hatred, not even with the absence of love but with too much of it, twisted up with fear and regret until it couldn’t save either of you.

For a long time, Seungcheol didn’t move.

He just stood there staring at the closed door, tears still sliding down his face, chest heaving around the silence you left behind.

Even the air felt emptier.

He looked at the key still sitting on the kitchen counter.

Then he broke.

His knees gave out first.

A sound tore out of him, raw, wrecked, the kind of sob that only comes when the body finally understands something the mind has been refusing for too long.

You were gone.

GAMEBOI EP. 17

Wonwoo’s game room is his sanctuary.

A space filled with glowing monitors, neatly arranged figurines, and the soft hum of his gaming setup. You’ve always loved how focused he looks when he’s streaming, the way his glasses slightly slide down his nose as he leans toward the screen, completely engrossed in the game.

He’s live right now, his calm voice carrying through the slightly ajar door, chatting with his viewers. You tiptoe inside, careful not to disrupt his flow, a small tray of snacks in your hands. His viewers know about you but have never seen you. he’s protective that way. But you love these little interruptions, these secret moments that are yours alone to witness.

You place the tray quietly on his desk, just out of view of the camera. Wonwoo notices immediately, his lips twitching into a subtle smile as he mutes his mic for a moment. “Thanks, love,” he murmurs, his tone so soft it makes your heart flutter.

Before he can unmute, you lean down, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. His ears turn red instantly, but he plays it off like a pro, his fingers never leaving the keyboard

The chat, though, picks up on everything

“Did he just smile?!” “The girlfriend energy is real.” “He’s blushing. We saw that.”

You giggle silently, watching as Wonwoo clears his throat and tries to focus. But you’re not done yet. Looping your arms around his shoulders, you press a feather-light kiss to the corner of his lips this time.

He freezes for half a second, his character taking a hit in the game, and you stifle a laugh

“Y/N…” he whispers, a mix of exasperation and affection in his voice

You just grin, slipping out of the room before he can say more.

Curiosity gets the best of you as you cozy up on the couch with your phone. Wonwoo’s stream is still going, but you’ve tuned in now not for the gameplay, but for the aftermath of your little interruption.

The chat is in full-blown chaos

“He’s so soft when he talks about her. We’re all just third-wheeling.” “SHE BROUGHT HIM SNACKS?? Marriage material. Period.” “Did anyone else see him freeze for like half a second? That kiss hit DIFFERENT.” “WONWOO BLUSHING IS MY NEW FAVORITE THING.”

You can’t help but laugh softly, biting your lip as you scroll through. Wonwoo’s viewers are sharp—they don’t miss a single detail. Some are spamming heart emojis, while others are typing theories about how you must’ve kissed him again since he looked extra flustered for a few moments.

You spot one comment that makes you snort

“Legend says she’s the reason he can’t aim today.”

Wonwoo’s voice cuts through the stream, his tone steady but tinged with a softness only you can detect. “You guys are imagining things,” he says, adjusting his glasses like it’ll somehow hide the faint blush still dusting his cheeks.

The chat erupts:

“WE SAW IT, WONWOO. DON’T LIE.” “Man’s trying to act cool, but we all know he’s whipped.” “Can you blame him? She seems perfect.”

You feel your heart swell at the kindness of his community. They’ve always been so respectful, never prying too much, but it’s clear they adore seeing this softer side of him.

Still smiling, you type a quick comment from your anonymous account: “He’s lucky to have her, but I bet she feels just as lucky.”

The chat agrees instantly, flooding the stream with affirmations. Wonwoo chuckles, as if he’s seen your comment and knows it’s you. “Yeah,” he murmurs, almost too quietly for the mic to pick up, “I really am lucky.”

And just like that, you’re blushing too.

=

GAMEBOI EP.18

You didn’t realize Wonwoo was streaming when you wandered into his gaming room. He’d been spending more time at his desk lately, and you missed having him to yourself. So, without much thought, you pushed open the door, spotting him seated comfortably in his chair, headset on, fingers flying across the keyboard.

He looked so effortlessly handsome that you couldn’t resist. You padded over quietly, and before he could react, you slid onto his lap, straddling him, your arms draping around his shoulders. His hands faltered on the keyboard for half a second before they steadied again.

“Hey,” you murmured, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, not noticing the faint red light of his camera indicating he was live

Wonwoo’s lips quirked into a small smile, his gaze darting between you and his monitor. He moved his mic slightly to the side, speaking low enough so only you could hear.

“I’m streaming right now.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, but before you could scramble off, he rested a hand lightly on your waist, holding you in place

“It’s fine,” he murmured, his voice calm and reassuring

The chat, of course, noticed immediately

“Did someone just sit on his lap?!” “Wonwoo is too calm for this. I’d be losing my mind.”

You buried your face in his shoulder, embarrassed, as he adjusted his glasses and continued playing

“Just my girlfriend,” he said smoothly, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather “She’s comfy, so she’s staying.”

The chat exploded

“Just his girlfriend??? SIR??” “We’re all just gonna pretend that didn’t happen???” “HE REALLY SAID SHE’S STAYING. DEAD.”

You peeked over your shoulder at the chat, your back still to the camera, and stifled a laugh. Wonwoo caught the sound and smiled, one hand subtly rubbing soothing circles against your side.

“What? She’s cute,” he added, his voice nonchalant but laced with affection “Can’t exactly say no.”

The chat was a mix of chaos and adoration

“They’re too cute. I’m crying.” “Wonwoo’s girlfriend is living the dream.” “He’s too calm for this. WHIPPED.”

You whispered against his neck “You’re gonna regret letting me stay here.”

Wonwoo tilted his head slightly to look at you, his expression soft

“Never,” he murmured, loud enough for only you to hear

And so, you stayed, perfectly content in his lap, while his chat buzzed with endless speculation and envy over how effortlessly lucky the two of you seemed.

As you stay nestled comfortably on Wonwoo’s lap, his calm demeanor makes you almost forget that he’s still live. That is, until his eyes flicker to the chat, and a faint smirk begins to tug at his lips.

“They’re having a field day,” he murmurs, his voice low and amused as he scrolls through the comments

You lean slightly to the side to sneak a glance at the chat, still careful to keep your back to the camera. What you see makes you stifle a laugh.

“He’s literally the calmest man alive. HOW??” “Wonwoo’s girlfriend is living rent-free in my dreams right now.” “She’s not even on camera, and they’re this cute. I can’t take it.” “Sir, please blink twice if you’re okay.”

“Blink twice, huh?” Wonwoo says, reading that one out loud with a small chuckle. He glances at the camera and, for dramatic effect, blinks twice. “There. Satisfied?”

The chat goes wild.

You press your forehead against his shoulder, laughing quietly. “They’re obsessed,” you whisper, teasing him.

“You think?” he replies, his hand resting lightly on your waist as he continues to read “They’ve got good taste.”

You swat at his chest playfully, but he doesn’t miss a beat “Someone said you’re living rent-free in their dreams,” he says, his tone laced with humor. “Should I be jealous?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you quip back, matching his energy

He smirks, glancing down at you briefly “I’ll allow it—for now.”

The chat catches on immediately

“WHY IS HE SO SMUG?!” “Wonwoo, don’t act like you’re not living the dream too.” “This is relationship goals to the max.”

Wonwoo leans closer to the mic, his tone teasing as he addresses his audience “You guys really want hints, huh? Well, here’s one: she’s cuter than all of you combined.”

Your jaw drops at his boldness, and you lightly smack his shoulder, your cheeks burning. The chat explodes. “STOP, I CAN’T HANDLE THIS.” “HE’S SO WHIPPED. I LOVE THIS FOR HIM.” “Wonwoo, PLEASE teach me your ways.”

You laugh against his shoulder, shaking your head at how effortlessly he handles everything. “You’re impossible,” you whisper, but there’s no real bite to your words

“And you’re stuck with me,” he murmurs back, his voice warm and steady, as the chat continues its collective meltdown.

=

GAMEBOI EP.19

Wonwoo leans back in his chair, adjusting his headset as he addresses the chat. “Alright, we’re doing a short Q&A today,” he announces, his calm voice carrying a faint hint of amusement

“But judging by the chat already, I think I know where this is going.”

The messages flooding in confirm his suspicion

“TELL US ABOUT HER!” “What’s your favorite thing about your girlfriend?” “How did you meet her?” “When is she making her debut?”

Wonwoo chuckles, pushing his glasses up

“You guys are really persistent, huh? Fine, I’ll answer a few questions about her but don’t expect too much. Gotta keep some things private.”

The chat erupts with excitement.

The first question he picks catches him off guard

“How did we meet?” he reads aloud. He smiles softly, clearly fond of the memory

“We met through mutual friends. She wasn’t really into gaming at the time, but somehow, we ended up talking about it anyway. I think I managed to convince her I was interesting.”

You’re watching the stream from the other room, smiling to yourself as you hear his calm and collected tone.

Another question pops up, and Wonwoo reads it with a faint blush. “‘What’s your favorite thing about her?’” He hesitates for a moment, his gaze dropping to his desk before he smiles. “That’s hard to answer because there’s too much to choose from. But if I had to pick one… it’s probably how she makes everything feel easy. Like, no matter how stressful the day is, she has this way of making me feel calm.”

The chat immediately floods with heart emojis

“OMG STOP, THAT’S SO SWEET.” “Wonwoo is too soft for this world.” “They’re definitely soulmates. I’m crying.”

He clears his throat, clearly a little shy from how emotional he’s getting

“Next question.”

“‘Will she ever show up on stream?’” He smirks at this one

“Probably not. She likes keeping things private, and I respect that. But who knows? Maybe you’ll get another random cameo like last time.”

The final question he picks makes him laugh outright “‘Does she game with you?’”

He shakes his head “Not really. She says I’m too competitive, but she’ll sit next to me and give commentary. It’s entertaining, even if she doesn’t realize it.”

The chat loves it.

“She’s a queen, clearly.” “The way he talks about her is so soft.” “We need her commentary one day, please.”

Wonwoo glances at the camera, his expression warm “Alright, that’s enough about her for now. She’ll get a big head if she knows how much I talk about her.”

You roll your eyes, watching as the chat explodes in protests. He ends the Q&A with a knowing smile, saying, “Thanks for indulging me, though. I’m glad you guys like her as much as I do.”

And just like that, the chat turns into a mix of swooning and playful jealousy, but all you can do is grin, feeling incredibly lucky to have someone who loves you so openly, even if it’s mostly behind the scenes.

=

GAMEBOI EP. 20

The idea caught you off guard when Wonwoo asked, “Wanna play with me on stream?” His tone was casual, but you could see the glimmer of hope in his eyes.

You hesitated for a moment before agreeing, on one condition: you wouldn’t be on camera

“Deal,” he said, a soft smile tugging at his lips “But you better carry the team.”

You laughed at that “You know I’m terrible at this game, right?”

Now, sitting beside him in his gaming room, you had a controller in hand, your nerves barely contained as his stream began. Wonwoo was in his usual calm, composed mode, greeting his viewers like he always did.

“Alright, we’re doing something different today,” he announced, his voice steady “I’ve got a special guest playing with me.”

The chat immediately picked up on it

“Wait, is it HER???” “OMG, SHE’S PLAYING?” “We’ve been blessed. The queen has arrived.”

You could feel your face heating up, even though no one could see you. “Do they always hype things up this much?” you whispered

Wonwoo chuckled, muting his mic for a second to glance at you. “Get used to it. They’re like this every time I mention you.”

Once the game started, you tried your best to keep up, but your clumsy movements and inability to aim properly became painfully obvious. It didn’t help that the chat was fully invested in your gameplay.

“She’s adorable, I just know it.” “Is she new to the game? Wonwoo, help her out!” “THIS IS THE CUTEST STREAM EVER.”

Wonwoo was the perfect balance of supportive and teasing. “You’ve got this,” he said whenever you struggled. And when you accidentally ran straight into an enemy, he couldn’t help but laugh softly “Well, that’s… one strategy, I guess.”

“Hey!” you protested, pouting as you respawned. “I’m trying!”

Eventually, you managed to get a single kill, and Wonwoo clapped softly, genuinely impressed. “Look at you,” he teased. “A natural-born gamer.”

You rolled your eyes. “I think I just got lucky.”

“You mean we got lucky,” he said smoothly, glancing at the chat as it collectively melted

By the end of the stream, you were exhausted but couldn’t stop smiling.

As Wonwoo wrapped up, he leaned into the mic “Thanks for being nice to her, guys. She did great, didn’t she?”

The chat agreed wholeheartedly

“She’s amazing! Bring her back!” “Stream of the year. We need more.” “Wonwoo and his girlfriend are goals.”

He muted the mic for a moment, turning to you with a proud smile “Told you they’d love you.”

You grinned, leaning your head against his shoulder “I guess I’ll play with you again sometime… but don’t expect miracles.”

“Don’t worry,” he said softly, his voice just for you. “You’re my favorite teammate, no matter what.”

=

GAMEBOI EP. 21

It started as a simple task—helping Wonwoo reorganize his game room. The two of you spent hours sorting through cables, lining up monitors, and adjusting shelves. It was fun in its own way, especially since he’d sneak in a kiss or two every time you passed by him.

While rummaging through a box of his old gear, you pulled out a sleek mechanical keyboard. The pastel-colored keycaps immediately caught your eye, but what hooked you was the sound. As soon as you pressed one of the keys, a soft, melodic “click” echoed, and your face lit up.

“This is so cute!” you exclaimed, pressing a few more keys just to hear the satisfying sound

Wonwoo looked up from where he was sorting controllers, a small smile playing on his lips “You like that one?”

“I love it,” you said, grinning as you continued typing nonsense, the sounds filling the room “It’s so fun to press.”

He chuckled, walking over to take a closer look “That one’s been sitting in storage for a while. I didn’t know you’d like it so much.”

You pouted at him playfully “Why don’t you use it anymore?”

“It doesn’t match my current setup,” he explained, but his expression softened as he watched you happily tapping away “You can use it if you want, though.”

You waved him off “It’s fine! I don’t need a keyboard—I don’t even have a setup to use it with. But this one’s adorable.”

Wonwoo didn’t say much after that, just smiled knowingly and went back to organizing.

A few days later, he called you into the gaming room. You stepped inside to find a brand-new keyboard sitting on the desk, nearly identical to the one you’d fallen in love with, but customized just for you. The keycaps were a mix of soft pastel shades, and the switches made that same delightful click you adored.

Your jaw dropped “Baby, did you…?”

“I figured you should have your own,” he said casually, leaning against the desk with his arms crossed but the slight blush on his cheeks betrayed his nonchalant tone

“You kept talking about how cute it was, so… here.”

You rushed over, wrapping your arms around him tightly “This is the sweetest thing ever. Thank you!”

He laughed, returning your embrace “You’re welcome. Now you can pretend to game with me whenever you want.”

You pulled back, grinning “Who says I’m pretending? This keyboard’s going to make me a pro.”

The chat during his next stream couldn’t stop talking about the faint sound of your keyboard clicks in the background, further solidifying your place as their favorite off-camera addition to Wonwoo’s world.

Wonwoo was in the middle of one of his usual chill streams, chatting with his viewers while casually clicking through his game’s menus.

You were sitting beside him, happily typing away on your new pastel mechanical keyboard. Every now and then, he’d glance at you, a small smile tugging at his lips whenever he heard the familiar clicks.

At some point, you nudged him gently, grinning

“Hey,” you whispered, leaning closer “Can I show them my new keyboard?”

He raised an eyebrow, amused “You want to?”

You nodded enthusiastically, and he chuckled, turning back to his mic “Alright, so… she wants to show you something.”

The chat immediately erupted

“WAIT, SHE’S HERE??” “SHOW US, QUEEN!” “WE FINALLY GET TO HEAR HER???”

Wonwoo muted his mic for a second and turned to you, his expression soft “You can stay off camera. Just hold it up in front of mine, okay?”

“Got it,” you said, your voice full of excitement

He unmuted, and you carefully leaned over, holding your new keyboard up so it appeared on his screen, just above his handcam. The pastel colors gleamed under the soft lighting, and your fingers tapped a few keys, letting the viewers hear the satisfying clicks.

“OMG IT’S SO CUTE!!!” “SHE HAS THE SAME VIBES AS HIM, I SWEAR.” “THOSE CLICKS. I NEED THAT KEYBOARD.”

Wonwoo smirked, clearly enjoying the reaction “Yeah, I got that for her. She’s been obsessed with it ever since.”

You laughed softly, your voice reaching his mic “How could I not? It’s perfect!”

Your hands lingered in the frame for a moment longer before you pulled the keyboard back to your lap, laughing as the comments kept flooding in. “They’re so dramatic,” you whispered to Wonwoo.

“They always are,” he replied, his tone fond. Turning back to the stream, he added “Alright, that’s all you get. She’s shy.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him playfully, but the warmth in his tone made your heart swell.

As he continued chatting with his viewers, you stayed by his side, quietly typing away, your keyboard’s clicks filling the background. And if he occasionally glanced at you with the softest smile? Well, that was just for you.

=

GAMEBOI EP.22

The moment you walked into the computer parts store with Wonwoo, your eyes lit up at the sheer number of shiny, colorful gadgets around you. It was like stepping into a candy store but for tech you didn’t understand.

Wonwoo had come prepared with a list and a clear purpose, but it was quickly derailed the moment you started wandering off “Ooh, look at this!” you exclaimed, holding up a pastel pink mouse from one of the shelves.

He glanced at you, amused “That’s a gaming mouse. Do you even know what DPI is?”

“Not a clue,” you said proudly, “but it’s cute, right?”

He laughed, shaking his head “Yeah, it’s cute.”

You put the mouse in the cart with zero hesitation, earning another chuckle from him “You know we’re here to buy parts for my setup, not to make yours prettier, right?”

“But what’s the point of a setup if it’s not cute?” you countered, already wandering off to another aisle

Every few minutes, you’d come back to him holding something pastel or RGB-lit “Babe, look at this fan! It lights up!” you said, spinning the blades

“That’s an RGB fan,” he explained patiently, trying not to laugh at how excited you looked

“Do you need it?”

“I already have better ones,” he said, gently taking it from your hands. But you’re adorable for trying.”

Not long after, you found a pastel purple keyboard and rushed over to him “This matches my mouse! Can I—”

“Yes,” he said before you could even finish, grinning “Just put it in the cart.”

You blinked “You’re not even going to argue?”

“Why would I? You’re clearly having the time of your life.”

The rest of the trip continued in the same way, with you picking up random items like cute cable organizers, a pastel monitor stand, and even a mousepad with tiny hearts on it. Wonwoo didn’t complain once, just followed you around with the cart, his smile growing wider every time you lit up at something new.

By the time you reached the checkout, the cart was a mix of his practical parts and your colorful additions

“You’re really letting me get all this?” you asked, slightly guilty but mostly excited

He shrugged, his tone casual but affectionate

“It’s worth it to see you this happy.”

As you leaned up to kiss his cheek, Wonwoo couldn’t help but think how easy it was to spoil you. Sure, his gaming setup wasn’t going to match with all the pastel you’d picked out, but he didn’t care. Seeing you this excited? That was worth more than any high-tech upgrade.

Wonwoo’s next stream started like any otherhis calm voice greeting the chat as he settled into his chair, adjusting his headset. Except this time, you were sitting beside him, just out of the camera’s view, quietly unboxing all the cute, pastel-colored items you’d convinced him to buy during your trip to the computer store.

About fifteen minutes in, the chat picked up on something.

He glanced at you, smirking “They’re already asking about you,” he said softly, leaning closer to his mic “Wanna show them what you bought?”

You hesitated for a second before grinning “Only if you introduce it properly,” you teased, nudging his arm

Wonwoo chuckled, shaking his head “Alright, guys. She went on a pastel shopping spree, and she’s way too excited to show it off. But she’s staying off-camera, so don’t get your hopes up.”

Sliding into the frame, you held up the pastel pink mouse first “Ta-da! Isn’t it cute?” you said, your voice light with excitement as you turned it so the camera caught all the angles

Next, you grabbed the pastel purple keyboard and tapped a few keys, letting the soft, satisfying clicks echo through his mic

“This is my favorite,” you said proudly “It matches the mouse!”

The chat was eating it up.

“THE KEYBOARD IS PERFECT.” “She really went full pastel gamer, huh?” “Wonwoo, you’re gonna have to build her a whole setup now.”

One by one, you showed off the rest of your haul: the pastel monitor stand, the tiny heart-patterned mousepad, and even the cute cable organizers. Every time you held something up, the chat flooded with compliments and playful comments.

At one point, someone asked: “Wonwoo, how much of this trip was her idea?”

“All of it,” he replied immediately, smiling as he glanced at you “But I didn’t mind. She was like a kid in a candy store. How could I say no?”

You playfully elbowed him, making him laugh even harder “You’re making me sound so dramatic!”

“Because you were,” he teased. “But it was adorable.”

By the time you finished showing off everything, the chat was begging for more appearances from you. You shook your head, laughing

“This is Wonwoo’s stream, not mine!”

He leaned into his mic, his tone soft but playful

“Maybe for now. But if she keeps this up, she’s gonna have a better setup than me.”

The chat exploded with laughter and agreement, and as you sat back beside him, quietly typing on your new keyboard, Wonwoo couldn’t stop smiling. It was a simple, silly moment, but to him—and his viewers—it was perfect.

=

GAMEBOI EP. 23

During one of Wonwoo’s chill streams, he suddenly leaned back in his chair, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. “So, I found something funny the other day,” he began, glancing at the chat

“Do you guys want to see a video of my girlfriend struggling to help me set up this chair?”

“YESSS PLEASE!” “We love her content already.” “Wonwoo, don’t expose her like this!”

He chuckled, reaching for his mouse “Don’t worry, her face isn’t in it—just her voice. But trust me, it’s worth it.”

As he clicked play, the video popped up on stream. The camera was propped up on a desk, capturing the scene of a partially assembled gaming chair and your hands fumbling with a screwdriver.

In the clip, your voice rang out, frustrated but determined

“Wait, wait—what do I do with this screw? It doesn’t fit! Are you sure this is the right one?”

Wonwoo’s voice came from behind the camera, calm and amused “Yes, it’s the right one. You just need to turn it the other way.”

“I am turning it the other way!” you huffed, the sound of the screwdriver slipping making him laugh behind the camera

“You’re turning it the same way,” he corrected, his tone dripping with laughter

“Wonwoo, I swear, if you’re filming this right now—”

The clip ended with you groaning dramatically while he laughed, and the chat absolutely exploded

“SHE’S SO CUTE OMG.” “The frustration in her voice is sending me LOL.” “Wonwoo, you’re a menace for recording this.”

Wonwoo leaned back, grinning as he read the comments

“Yeah, she was so mad when she realized I filmed it,” he admitted, his voice fond “But she eventually got the screw in. She just… needed a little extra guidance.”

You yelled from the other room, loud enough for the mic to pick up: “I got it in all by myself, thank you very much!”

Wonwoo laughed, turning his head slightly toward where you were sitting off-camera “Do you want to defend yourself, or are you going to let me keep telling my version of the story?”

“I don’t need to defend myself,” you called back “The chair’s standing, isn’t it?”

He turned back to the camera, shaking his head but smiling warmly

“She’s not wrong. The chair’s perfect. But man, that setup process was something else.”

The chat kept teasing both of you for the rest of the stream, and Wonwoo couldn’t stop grinning. He didn’t even care if they joked at his expense. it was worth it, just to share a little piece of your chaotic, everyday moments with his viewers.

=

GAMEBOI EP.24

Wonwoo was mid-stream, fully immersed in his game, when the chat suddenly noticed something. His posture stiffened slightly, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips—a telltale sign that something was happening off-camera.

The viewers were quick to pick up on it.

“SHE’S THERE AGAIN, ISN’T SHE?” “It’s koala time, guys.” “Wonwoo looks like he’s bracing for something LOL.”

And sure enough, a moment later, you appeared in the frame, just slightly out of view, your arms looping around his shoulders as you leaned into him

“Baby” you murmured, your voice soft and sleepy

He glanced at you briefly before returning his focus to the screen “You okay?” he asked, though his tone was already filled with fondness

“Mhm. Just wanted cuddles,” you mumbled, wrapping yourself around him like a koala. Your legs dangled over the side of his chair as you clung to him, your face buried in the crook of his neck.

Wonwoo smiled slightly, his free arm instinctively wrapping around your waist to steady you. “You’re gonna make me lose this match,” he teased, though there was no real complaint in his voice

“I don’t mind,” you replied, your voice muffled against his shoulder

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Chat, this is my life now. I’m trying to carry a team, and she’s over here trying to turn me into a human pillow.”

“Pillow privileges only for her!” “She’s living the dream.” “Wonwoo’s so whipped, it’s adorable.”

Eventually, the game ended, and he leaned back slightly, giving you a chance to reposition. “You good now?” he asked, looking at you with a playful smile

You shook your head, clinging tighter “Nope. Still need more cuddles.”

He sighed dramatically, though the grin on his face gave him away. “Guess I’m not going anywhere then,” he said, turning back to the chat

“Sorry, guys, looks like I’m stuck here.”

The chat erupted with laughter and affection, fully entertained by your antics. And as Wonwoo continued his stream, your arms stayed securely around him, your presence as comforting to him as it was chaotic.

=

GAMEBOI EP.25

Wonwoo decided to do something special for his birthday stream—a long, cozy session until midnight. His viewers were thrilled, and the chat was buzzing with excitement, sending him birthday wishes and teasing him about how he was spending his special day with them instead of celebrating offline.

As the clock ticked closer to midnight, Wonwoo glanced at the time with a subtle smile, clearly anticipating something. "Alright, guys," he said, leaning back in his chair

"I think it's about time to wrap things up soon. But before we go, I have a little surprise for you."

The chat erupted.

“WHAT SURPRISE???” “Don’t play with us, Wonwoo!” “You’re really gonna make this stream legendary, aren’t you?”

Just as the clock struck 12, you appeared from behind him, holding a small cupcake with a single candle lit.

"Happy birthday, Wonwoo!" you said softly, your voice warm and full of love.

Wonwoo turned his chair slightly, giving the viewers a brief glimpse of you as you leaned down to give him a quick kiss. The moment was fleeting—your smile, the cupcake, and your kiss—but it was enough to send the chat into a frenzy

“SHE’S REAL OMG.” “The mystery girlfriend REVEALED!” “Happy birthday, Wonwoo, but also WE LOVE HER!”

You set the cupcake down on his desk, grinning as you stepped back out of frame. "Alright, I’m out of here—don’t let them roast me too much," you joked, your voice teasing

Wonwoo chuckled, his ears turning pink as he adjusted his headset

"Thanks, love," he said softly, his tone full of affection. Turning back to his stream, he faced the camera with a shy but happy smile

"So… that’s my girlfriend. She wanted to wish me happy birthday."

“We’re simping for both of you now.” “Wonwoo blushing is everything.” “That was the CUTEST moment ever.”

He spent the next few minutes reading the flood of comments, thanking everyone for their birthday wishes, and promising not to turn his stream into a full-on romantic comedy.

But the way his smile lingered even after you left the room made it clear just how much that little moment meant to him and to everyone watching.

=

GAMEBOI EP. 26

Wonwoo decided to dedicate a stream to reading fan letters from his email, something he hadn't done in a while. You sat beside him, off-camera as always, but he had asked you to join in. "It’s more fun reading these with you," he had said earlier, convincing you.

As the stream began, he adjusted his mic and addressed his viewers

“So, today’s stream is a little different. I’m going to be reading some of the fan letters you guys sent to my email. And, uh… she’s here to help me.” He motioned toward you off-frame

“SHE’S BACK???” “COUPLE STREAM PART 2 LET’S GO!” “Read her the cute ones, Wonwoo!”

You laughed softly “Hi, everyone. Thanks for letting me crash your stream again.”

Wonwoo opened the first email, smiling as he scanned the words

“Okay, this one’s sweet. They said they started watching me during a tough time, and my streams helped them feel less alone.” He paused, his voice warm “That’s… really nice to hear.”

You leaned closer to read over his shoulder. “Aww, that’s so touching. Whoever wrote this, you’re amazing for sharing that,” you said sincerely

As the stream went on, Wonwoo read a mix of funny and heartfelt letters.

One fan shared how they accidentally spilled coffee on their keyboard while watching his gameplay, prompting you to laugh.

“See? That’s why I don’t keep drinks near my setup"

He shot you a playful look “That’s because you spill everything.”

“Hey!” you protested, lightly nudging him, which only made the chat explode

Finally, Wonwoo opened an email that made both of you pause. The fan had written a long message thanking him for being so genuine and mentioning how they admired the love and support they could sense between the two of you.

He glanced at you, a soft smile on his face “That’s… really sweet.”

You nodded, your voice gentle “It’s nice knowing people notice the little things. Whoever wrote this, thank you.”

“THEY’RE SO IN LOVE HELP.” “This stream is making me believe in love again.” “We need more streams like this!”

As the stream wrapped up, Wonwoo thanked his viewers, his voice filled with gratitude

“Thanks for all your letters and for always supporting me. And thanks to her for joining me. You make this even better.”

You smiled, nudging him again playfully. “Alright, don’t get too mushy on stream.”

As Wonwoo wrapped up the main part of reading fan letters, you couldn’t help but notice a recurring theme in the chat. Fans were flooding the comments with questions about your relationship. You glanced at him, raising a brow. “You seeing these?”

He laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, I see them. Do you want to answer a few?”

“YES PLEASE!” “Tell us the love story!” “This is what we’ve been waiting for!”

You hesitated for a moment before shrugging

“Okay, just a few. Keep it simple, though.”

Wonwoo smirked, scrolling through the chat “Alright, here’s a classic one: ‘How did you two meet?’”

You chuckled "We met through mutual friends at a small get-together. I didn’t even know who he was at first.just thought he was the quiet guy sitting in the corner with a really nice smile.”

He grinned, glancing at you “And I thought she was the most interesting person in the room. She kept asking me random questions, and I couldn’t stop talking to her.”

Wonwoo picked another question. “Okay, next: ‘Where was your first date?’”

You smiled at the memory

“It was this little bookstore café. He said he wanted somewhere quiet where we could talk, and we ended up staying there for hours. I think the staff thought we were moving in”

Wonwoo chuckled “Yeah, we didn’t even notice the time. I remember she was so excited about the book sections, and she kept showing me things like, ‘Look at this! Isn’t it cool?’”

“I want a bookstore date now…” “Wonwoo, you’re setting unrealistic standards!” “Did you buy her a book that day?”

Wonwoo smirked at the last comment “Actually, I did. I still remember the title"

You laughed “And I still have it, thank you very much.”

He scanned the chat again “Last one: ‘What’s your favorite thing to do together?’”

You thought for a moment before answering

“Honestly? Just spending time together doing random things—like this. Whether it’s customizing keyboards, trying out games, or just sitting around talking, it’s always fun.”

Wonwoo nodded in agreement “Yeah, same. I don’t think it matters what we’re doing as long as it’s with her.”

The chat erupted with heart emojis and comments

“Get you a love like this.” “The way they talk about each other is everything.” “This is why we stan Wonwoo AND his girlfriend.”

After answering a few more light questions, you decided to let Wonwoo take over again. “Okay, that’s enough about us. Back to your regularly scheduled programming,” you joked, waving off-camera

Wonwoo smiled at the camera. “Thanks for letting her join in, guys. I think she liked it more than she’ll admit.”

You playfully swatted his arm as the chat filled with laughter and love for both of you.

=

GAMEBOI EP.27

The stream starts with a soft, familiar hum of music and the sound of Wonwoo adjusting his mic. The chat immediately lights up with excitement as he finally appears on screen, his signature calm smile gracing his face.

“HE’S BACK!!” “Wonwoo we missed you so much!!” “IT’S BEEN TOO LONG!!”

Wonwoo waves at the camera, his voice warm but slightly shy

“Hey, everyone. It’s been a while, huh? I missed you all too.”

He leans back in his chair, taking a deep breath. “First of all, thank you for being so patient. A lot happened over the past couple of months, and I wanted to take some time to just focus on life… and on someone really special”

His smile grows, and his eyes flicker off-camera for a second, as if acknowledging your presence.

“IS SHE THERE?!” “OMG ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT HER??” “LIFE UPDATE PLEASE.”

Wonwoo chuckles softly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Okay, okay, so… some of you might’ve guessed, but yes, she’s been a big part of what’s been happening. We went on a little vacation recently,a much-needed one. And, well…” He pauses, then you suddenly popped up from the side, well... your hand did to show the faintest glint of a ring

“WAIT WHAT?!” “OMG OMG OMG!!!” “ARE YOU SAYING WHAT I THINK YOU’RE SAYING?!”

He laughs, his cheeks slightly pink “Yeah, I proposed. And she said yes.”

Even though you're off-camera, the faint sound of your laugh can be heard, and it makes the chat lose their minds even more

“CONGRATS OMG!!!” “WE KNEW IT!!” “This is the best comeback ever.”

Wonwoo looks genuinely touched by the overwhelming support.

“Thank you, really. I wanted to make sure everything was perfect before I came back. The past few months have been some of the happiest of my life, and I’m really grateful I got to spend that time with her.”

He glances off-camera again, this time with a small smirk

“She’s here, by the way. But don’t worry, she’s staying off-camera today… unless she wants to say hi?”

You laugh softly before leaning closer to the mic

"Hi, everyone. Thanks for being so sweet to him and to us. And yes, the ring is very pretty.”

“SHE’S HERE!!!” “WE NEED A RING CAM!” “Wonwoo you’re one lucky guy.”

Wonwoo chuckles, shaking his head

“Alright, enough about me. Let’s get back to what we’re here for: gaming. But seriously, thank you all for your support—it means a lot to both of us.”

As the stream goes on, the mood stays light and happy, with occasional comments from you off-camera and the chat constantly celebrating your engagement. It’s the perfect comeback, full of love, laughter, and warmth.

As Wonwoo continues chatting with his viewers, you can’t resist chiming in from the background. Your voice rings out in a playful, teasing tone

“I finally said yes, guys. Took him long enough.”

Wonwoo lets out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes

“She’s not gonna let me live this down, huh?”

The chat explodes with laughter

“SHE’S SO FUNNY.” “I CAN’T BELIEVE SHE SAID YES TO HIM AFTER ALL THAT TIME.” “Honestly, I would’ve made him work harder for it.”

You lean in a little closer to the mic, just loud enough for everyone to hear. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, he had to earn it. I mean, the ring’s nice, but the real question is...did he pass the ‘How to Survive My Cooking’ test?”

Wonwoo laughs, holding up his hands in mock defense “Alright, I’m just gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“Her cooking is that bad?” “The real test of love.” “Wonwoo deserves an award for surviving that.”

You smirk from off-camera “I’m just saying, if he survived the spicy noodle incident, he deserves a medal.”

Wonwoo shakes his head, smiling fondly at the camera. “Okay, okay, that’s enough teasing for one stream. We’ve got a game to play, but I’m just really happy to be back with you all. And to be with her… even if she makes fun of me all the time.”

You can’t help but laugh softly in the background

“What can I say? I’m the best part of this comeback.”

The chat is in full celebration mode now, with messages of congratulations mixed with requests for more jokes and stories from you

“I love their dynamic so much!” “They’re a power couple. Period.” “Please never stop teasing each other.”