My Library Of Fics

｡･:*˚:✧｡ Chapter Index:

01. fundraising event! (w)

02. wrong number!

03. pervert freak of a man! (w)

04. my wingman!

05. jungkook’s little crush! (w)

06. oomf almost died!

07. she’s the girl! (w)

08. my home-wrecker era!

09. side quest: to yearn! (w)

10. funny story!

11. broken fantasy! (w)

12. let’s sleep together!

13. boy in love! (w)

14. my girl my girl! (w)

15. happy wife happy life!

00. epilogue (w)

w = written.

THE “SORRY, WRONG NUMBER !” CAST:

SWAG ACTIVATED — (group chat)

twitter priv profiles: you, jimin, jin, hobi.

THE HOES SQUAD — (group chat)

twitter priv profiles: jungkook, taehyung, yoongi, namjoon.

i know this is not my usual type of writing but idk i was feeling silly and i always wanted to try smau. this is for giggles and shit! — gift credits in the watermark??

The news portals and papers call you a modern day Cinderella, swept from her life of being a simple beer girl, and right into the arms of Japan’s best player, Ken Sato.

Looking back, you never thought you would catch his eye. 

You, a simple Uriko girl trying to get enough commission to pay off your literature degree at a community college, and him, one of the best baseball players to ever grace Japan’s shore. The both of you were a mismatch made on the verdant fields of the biggest game in Ken Sato’s life—and you will never forget the day you first met him. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the game will begin shortly! Please get to your seats and hang on tightly for the match of your life.” 

The announcer’s voice booms across the stadium, echoing the cries and cheers from over 10,000 baseball fans coming to see this legendary playoff between the Giants and the Tigers. 

Working as an Uriko girl—or better known as a baseball girl—came with plenty of challenges. 

There were the heavy bags full of beer that you had to carry up and down the stands, sometimes weighing up to 10kg. The smiles you always have on, the makeup you wear to hide your eyebags from working two part time jobs so you can afford to pay off your literature degree; sweltering heat and a loud, rowdy crowd fuelled by beer from the other keg girls working this cutthroat job. 

Many of them were wannabe idols who perfected the art of cultivating a following on social media and had regulars in the palm of their hands. Only a few handful shared the same fate as you did. 

The truth was, you thought it was just another ordinary day at work when you overhear someone whispering excitedly behind the stands.

“I heard Ken Sato has come out of his break to play this game.” 

Your attention slips from adjusting the straps of your beer keg and you try to listen in on their conversation. 

“He is so cute,” one girl with braided pigtails swoons. 

“Totally,” another agrees, wearing a baseball cap backwards to show off her petite features and pouty lips. “And he’s never dated anyone since coming back to Japan. Maybe one of us could change that for him.”

She giggles, as if it's the funniest joke she’s ever told. 

You try hard not to roll your eyes. A man like Ken Sato would never go for one of these girls. He was the type to exclusively date models and actresses, not struggling Urikos selling beer on the stands.

But, you don’t dash their hopes, and you follow the rest of them in a line, plastering on a smile and mustering up the courage to charm potential buyers into being regulars.

“Ladies and gentlemen—let’s put our hands together for the Giants!”

The roar of the crowd behind the doors shakes through your sneakers, in tandem with the tripling speed of your heartbeat. Electricity sparks through the air, and you can feel it in between your teeth when the stadium doors open and everyone rushes forward, pushing you along the stream of girls ready to break their sales target.

“And Sato-san steps foot into the pitch!”

You step out of the shadows, into the piercing bright light of the open air stadium, its magnetic dome rippling above. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, Ken Sato is back in his element!” 

You take a deep breath and catch a man’s eye. He nods at you and you smile, making your way towards him with a red cup in hand and frozen beer on your back ready to be poured.

Let the game begin. 

 “Ladies and gentlemen, Ken Sato is back in his element!” 

The announcer’s voice booms across the stadium, echoing the cries and cheers from over 10,000 baseball fans coming to see this legendary playoff between the Giants and the Tigers. 

It’s the game of his life, and to say that Ken is nervous would be an understatement. He twists the bat in his hands, adjusts his batting helmet and steps onto the pitch. 

“Oi, Sato—remember, don’t lose your cool,” Coach Shimura sternly warns him before he enters the game, flinty eyes never once softening even when Ken shoots him a reassuring smile. 

“I got this in the bag, coach. Just wait and see.”

Shimura doesn’t scoff, though the corners of his mouth lifts slightly. After months of watching him play in the leagues, the older man can be assured of his star player’s credibility.

Giving him a two finger salute, the young man picks up his favorite bat and high tails it to the edge of the pitch. 

The crowds cheer, their cries reverberating right into his bones. He’s focused, eyes on the pitcher who assesses him from head to toe like he’s vermin on the bottom of his shoes. Ken resists the urge to smirk behind his visor, eyes on the ball and head in the game. 

“Sato! Sato! Sato!” 

He tunes out the cheers, breathing deeply when the pitcher winds his arm back, and the ball goes flying. Narrowing his entire mind on the incoming white blur, he bats and it collides with the hardwood, flying off into the distance. 

“And Sato nails it right out of the park!” 

“Here we go,” Ken mutters under his breath, lurching across the bases until he finally hits a home run. 

The crowd swells like his erratic heartbeat, cheering out his name. Ken gives them a wave, his handsome face plastered all over the big screens, and in the front of the stands, right in the VIP center, his father whoops, raising his cane in exuberance.

Just the sight of the old man fills him with warmth, and Ken doubles back, about to return to his position when a movement on the second bleachers catches his attention.

His sharp, keen eyes catch sight of a man pushing an Uriko girl, goading her on as she backs away, apologizing profusely. He pushes her again, and she stumbles back, dangerously close to the edge of the staircase where she could take a tumble and break her neck.

Ken doesn't know what compels him to lurch right towards her, jumping over the barricade and straight into the stands, much to the crowd’s horror. 

“... you rejected me over and over again…”

“I’m sorry but this is just my job!” 

The red-faced man puffs his chest, and if looks could kill, the poor beer girl would’ve been dead twice over. He’s twice as big as her, and the other spectators are too afraid to jump right in due to his sheer size. But, that’s never stopped Ken Sato before—in fact, bigger opponents were his speciality.

“Oi! Back away from her,” he growls, and before anyone can blink, he’s grabbing the poor, shaken girl and shielding her behind his body. 

The crowds are murmuring, the commentators having a field day announcing every movement of his diversion from the main game. The referee repeatedly blows his whistle, but Ken ignores it, his instinct to protect the weak more important than some league title.

Shimura muscles his way through the crowd, and for a second, Ken thinks he’s gonna blow up on him when the older man glares at the bulky man. 

“Get out of here before I call security on you,” he sneers. “Bullying some poor girl because of your delusions. Tch. Away with you!”

The onlookers jeer him, and he has no choice but to scurry away from the game, tail tucked in between his legs unless he wants to face the wrath of every Ken Sato fan. 

Later that day when you’re washing your face in a nearby restroom, trying hard not to have a full on breakdown that your reputation and sales were ruined, you stumble into a familiar figure who gives you a once over, his mellow voice resonating through you.

“Hey—you’re the beer girl from before, right?”

Ken takes one look at your red-rimmed eyes and clicks his tongue. “Ah. Crap. Must’ve been a horrible experience for you, huh? You’re making me feel bad, angel. You wanna get some food and then we can talk about it?” 

Sliding your eyes over his handsome face, you’re momentarily stunned by those high cheekbones and deeply unnerving violet eyes. His shapely lips and messy dark hair, coupled with his tall, slender build and broad shoulders, makes you suddenly realize that those girls outside the stadium doors were right.

Ken Sato is so cute. 

“I-I—” you stammer, and flush, looking away. Did he just call me angel?

He gives you a sheepish smile, devoid of the cockiness and pride you’ve heard most baseball players possess. 

“Sorry—too forward? I heard girls in Japan were more shy and reserved so you don’t have to say ‘yes’ if you’re uncomfortable—”

“No!” You exclaim, and then start to panic when the rejection settles in for him. “I mean—yes! Yes. I would like to get some food. With you,” you add lamely. “A-are we going now?”

Catching himself before he bursts into laughter, Ken nods, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Sure. I know a great ramen place.”

“Sold,” you say, a smile playing in the corners of your lips. 

Maybe you might’ve messed up your commission for the week and would have to defer your dorm payment for another month, but none of it matters to you right now.

All you could think about was how sweet it would be if you could bring back the smile on Ken Sato’s face—perhaps make him laugh for real this time. 

“Let’s go for dinner, then,” he gestures for you to follow him, and you swear there are stars in your eyes; you can’t stop staring at him. “What’s your name, by the way?” 

“Y/N,” you mumble, and blink when he extends his hand, an easygoing grin on those perfect lips.

“I’m Ken. Sato Ken.” 

I know, you want to say, but tame down the fangirling, taking his hand. His palm is smooth, but his fingers have calluses on them from one too many rough tumbles on the pitch.

“Y/N,” he turns your name over in his mouth and you think it’s never sounded as beautiful as it does now. “It’s nice to meet you.”

You let go of his hand, feeling his warmth sinking past your skin, making your heartbeat kick up a notch. 

“It’s nice to meet you, too… Ken.”

The rest, as they say, is history. 

His large palm smoothes down your tummy, drawing you from the brink of sleep and back into a barely illuminated room. 

You crack your eyes open, one lid at a time, feeling him pushing your hair aside to kiss down the nape of your neck.

“Mhm,” your boyfriend’s sleep-drenched voice, still husky and rough, makes something deep inside of you throb. “Morning, angel. Did you sleep well last night?” 

Stifling a yawn, you nod, much too comfortable in his luxurious king-sized bed. Since coming clean on the dating rumors, Ken had whisked you away from your cramped dorm room to live with him right on the Azabu hills in his expensive, high-tech mansion.

You still went to school and did your assignments, but the biggest difference was you didn't have to worry about food or accommodation like before. 

“Like a log.” You lean into his embrace, loving how sturdy and warm his chest is against your back, making you feel protected and safe. 

“Good morning, Kenji and Y/N. Shall I prepare breakfast for the both of you? Eggs and toast or some pancakes?” 

Mina’s robotic voice chirps from somewhere behind Ken, and you feel him grab a pillow, tossing it over his shoulder. It thuds onto the floor, and you don’t have to look to know that the Sato family’s robot assistant has deftly avoided it.

“Give us some space, Mina,” Ken groans, burying his face into your hair. “It’s cuddle time. We’ll call you when we need you.”

“Alright. But, don’t forget that you have an interview with Tokyo Today at 11AM. Enjoy your morning, Kenji and Y/N.” 

You muffle the urge to laugh, turning around and drinking in the sight of his hazy, adoring violet eyes and sleepy face. Booping the tip of his nose with your index finger, you click your tongue. “Don’t be too mean to Mina. She was just doing her job.”

He grabs your hand and presses it to his cheek, breathing in a deep sigh. “Not my fault someone’s being so enticing today.”

“How can I be enticing?” You tease. “I’m just laying right next to you.”

Ken rolls his eyes, drawing the blanket down to expose your naked shoulder. “Um, duh. My super cute girlfriend is naked in bed with me. What else do you think is on my mind?” 

He loves how your nose crinkles when you laugh, fighting against the urge to kiss you all over for being so adorable.

You place a palm flat on his chest, exerting the slightest bit of pressure and he yields, shifting onto his back. The look of adoration on his face never wanes when you straddle his lap, your hair falling across his face. He pushes it aside with surprising tenderness, a huge palm cupping your face as he strokes the fullness of your mouth with his thumb. 

“I love you, you know that?” 

You kiss the pad of his thumb, basking in his adoration and your pure devotion for him.

“I know.”

Ken arches one dark brow. “Not gonna say it back? How rude.”

You giggle at his petulance, gathering his hands into yours and leaving soft kisses on his knuckles. Ken sucks in a sharp breath when you guide his hands to your chest, encouraging him to palm your heaving breasts. Those violet eyes darken with desire, shooting a dirty thrill right up your spine.

“Already so filthy in the early morning.” He doesn’t protest when you lift your hips, finding his stiffening length and giving it a few good pumps before lining it up to your soaked entrance.

“Just for you,” your feathery whisper gets him harder. 

Tease. You take him inch by inch, and he has to bite down on his lower lip to keep from springing a high-pitched whine when your velvet walls choke his length. 

Your tender nipples turn into hard nubs underneath his palms, the planes of your body a feast for his eyes. 

Kenji thinks he’s never seen such perfection up close.

His large palms fold around your hips, and you let him guide you up and down his cock; controlling the speed and depth, completely pliant in his grasp. 

Ken makes love to you exactly like how he plays on the field: focused, determined and with a firm grip. 

Oh, baby. You mewl, crumpling forward so he can catch you, strong arms vining around your shivering form. 

The scent of sex and skin permeates the room, and you’re close enough that you’re starting to see stars behind your closed eyes. 

Baby, I can’t hold back, he grunts. Need you to come with me—for me. Let’s do it together, okay? 

Your thighs begin to tense, head tipping back. 

His violet eyes darken imperceptibly, drinking you in.

Ken Sato is so fucking in love with you he doesn’t know what to do with himself if you ever got hurt. 

Your soul reaches out to twine with his, your bodies impossibly close until you’re sure your skin is melting into his. 

A burst of white light rocks your entire world, and your universe goes black, filled with only the sensation of his lips on yours and his warmth filling you up.

Ken holds you tightly in the seam of his embrace, kissing your hair and rubbing his cheek all over you like an overgrown cat. You giggle and he joins you, hazily laughing at your hair poking out everywhere.

The moment doesn’t last because Mina pops her head back in, clearing her robotic throat.

“Kenji. 11AM. You have half an hour left to get ready.”

He groans, head thumping back onto the pillows, both your bodies hidden under the blankets so Mina can’t see what he’s been up to, though you’re pretty sure the super smart computer can sense the pheromone shifts in the air.

“Fine. Fine.”

Gently, he nudges you off of him, giving you a kiss on the forehead. Rummaging inside his night stand, he procures a sleek black card and hands it to you without a second thought.

“I’m gonna be busy all day, angel face, so I can’t keep you entertained.” His boyish grin sends flutters in your belly, making you instantly smile. “Go buy something nice and have a good day. I’ll see you tonight.”

You nod and pull him in for another quick kiss; this time, Mina hovers by the doorway, her thin robotic arms arranged like a disappointed mother’s hands on her hips.

“Kenji—”

“Coming, coming,” he groans, and slips on his pajama pants and shirt, giving you a wink.

“Dinner tonight, angel face?”

“Like you need to ask.” You blow him a kiss and he catches it, pressing his palm flat over his heart, simultaneously walking backwards out of the bedroom. 

Once he turns the corner, you exhale, unable to scrub off the lovesick look on your face. 

Bringing his pillow to your face, you inhale the soft scent of his shampoo, forgetting the card and just wanting to bask in his presence a little while longer.

After a day of interviews, Kenji can’t wait to see you again.

He’s asked the chefs to prepare something special for you, a chirashi bowl and your favorite mochi to welcome you back from a day of shopping and classes.

His front door beeps open and you waltz right in, though he can tell something’s off. Your smile’s a little too tight in the corners, and he isn’t sure if the lighting is playing tricks or if your eyes are red-rimmed.

“Baby—”

“Ken, I need to tell you something.”

The truth was you’ve been feeling off the whole week—sleeping in too much, having rapid mood swings, going light-headed whenever you stood up too fast. But, the final strike was when you walked into a ramen shop this afternoon for a quick bite and literally gagged at the smell of freshly cooked rice—which never happens because you love rice more than life. 

“I’m pregnant.” 

Fumbling in your backpack, you don’t look up, rummaging for the small test which has changed your life in a matter of minutes. You bring it to him, noticing his wide eyes and bloodless lips; looking like he’s gone into shock.

He plucks the test from your hands, scrutinizing the double pink lines that cut through him with more pain than any Kaiju claw ever could. 

Without another word, he sets the test down, storming past you and grabbing his leather jacket.

Your world falls apart at the seams when he can’t even look at you, the tufts of dark hair falling across his face being angrily pushed back. Agony rips through your soul, leaving you shell shocked at his reaction, your hands falling uselessly to your side.

“Ken—”

“We’ll talk about this later,” he cuts you off. 

You hear a mechanical whirl behind you, Mina coming to your rescue.

“Ken? Aren’t you going to have dinner with Y/N—?”

“Later,” he snaps at her, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen your tender-hearted boyfriend look this angry; a dark cloud hangs over him, thundering across this room and bringing you right into the eye of his disappointment.

Tears sting behind your lids, and you dash at those pesky droplets before they could fall, running after him.

“Ken, I’m sorry—”

“I need time to think.”

You grab at his sleeve, wishing he would just tell you what was bothering him.

“About what?” you shout in despair.

You’re being unreasonable with his request for space, but you can’t see beyond the fear of losing him after you’ve already lost so much: your parents to a Kaiju attack, your sister to a painful drug addiction. 

You can’t lose Kenji, too.

He tugs at his sleeve back, nearly making you stumble and fall flat on your face. You catch yourself in time, staring at him in pure shock.

Ken curses under his breath, and despite his cruelty, he steadies your shoulders, clasping onto you tightly. Those violet eyes are brimming with anguish, a pain he is unwilling to share with you. From being an open book whose pages you love to read and reread again, he’s now a subject you can’t possibly understand. 

“I need time to myself to think about what to do.” Glancing at the hovering robot, he sighs. “Mina, make sure she gets to bed on time. I’m going for a drive.”

Though she’s programmed to check her Master on orders that do not make sense, her sensors record the cadence of his tone, registering it as pure frustration.

“Of course, Ken. Y/N—come and have some dinner—”

You storm past him, ignoring his squeak of indignation. 

“Where are you going?”

Turning back, your lips pull into a terrifying sneer. “Doing you a favor and leaving first.”

“To where?” His exasperation makes you see red, and you don’t reply, huffing and pushing the door open, speed walking towards your old Camry. 

“Come on. You can’t be serious.” Kenji uses his longer legs to effortlessly catch up to you, grabbing your arm.

The drizzle outside turns into a light rush of rain, steadily soaking you from head to toe. Ken can’t help the flash of panic at the thought of you driving in such bad weather conditions. But, you’re understandably upset with him and can’t think straight—it was his fault for hurting you first.

Heartbreak radiates across your face and he flinches at the sight of tears welling in your eyes. His shoulders sag and he wants nothing more than to reach out to you and hold you tightly to his chest, but you pull away with a sniff and a shake of your head.

“I can’t believe I thought you would be there for me when I needed you the most.”

You tug yourself free from his grasp, opening the car door and rushing inside; giving him one last, stinging look.

Droplets of icy cold water trickle down his face, illuminated faintly by the green neon of your car’s dashboard. 

“Y/N, I…” 

He wants to open his heart to you, tell you everything about the man behind the facade. 

The wounded son, the struggling young baseball star, the giant hero fighting monsters and the dangers that haunt his waking moments…

But, he clams up, holding you back from the truth. 

You exhale brokenly. 

It was just like Ken to always keep you at arm’s length—hovering just out of reach. You’re not sure how long you can stay faithful and patient for him to finally let you into his heart.

“Goodbye, Kenji.” 

He watches your car speed down the driveway, round the bend and out of his life. His broad shoulders curl forward, and he wants so badly to kick his bike into gear and chase after you, apologizing for his mistake.

But the part of him that would always remain selfish, the one untouched by your goodness and the harsh lessons he’s learned in this life, nails him to the spot. 

If he doesn’t chase after you, maybe you might change your mind and get rid of it yourself. 

He shakes his head, a wave of disgust rising in him.

Is this who you really are, Ken Sato? A coward? 

“Ken? It’s raining. Don’t you want to come in?”

Mina’s concern breaks through his destructive thoughts and he sighs. “Mina, do you have a view on her? Where is she going?”

The robot pauses, scanning through the city’s data systems. “She’s right on Odori-chome. Rounding the bend to Takayo Dorms. It looks like she’ll be staying with a friend tonight.”

As much as he loathes the idea of you being pregnant and having to sleep on some poor college student’s floor, Ken knows he has to give you space or else you’ll implode. 

“Okay. If she calls, let me know immediately. She’s pregnant—” He chokes on that word, and Mina gives a concerned whir. “And I’m worried. I’ll see her tomorrow and…” The young man trails off, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Mina, I’m scared.”

She extends one robotic arm, guiding him inside to warmth and dryness, the doors automatically closing behind him. Ken staggers to the couch, kicking the bottom compartment open and finding a can of his favorite Asahi on hand.

He cracks it open, drinking deeply while Mina floats next to him, vigilant and listening.

“Was dad ever scared when mom broke the news to him?”

To his surprise, Mina chuckles. “Why don’t you call him up and ask him yourself?”

Ken considers it, glancing at his watch. Professor Sato was probably already in bed by now, and he didn’t want the old man grilling him on his poor life choices so late in the night.

“... I’ll do it tomorrow. After the playoffs.”

Mina titters and floats in front of him. 

“Whatever mistake you think you’ve made Ken, I know you will have the courage to solve it. You are not like the person you were before—you’ve grown. Changed. And when the time is right, everything will fall back into place.”

Her words marginally comfort him, relieving him of the heaviness in his chest. Ken flashes her a weak smile, drooping his head back against the sofa. He hopes to every god above—both baseball and Kaiju deities—that she’s right.

That no matter how things ended between you two tonight, it will never leave a permanent scar on the future.

“Hey, isn’t that the guy you said you were seeing?” 

Chisa, your roommate from months ago when you still lived near campus, points at the shoddy screen of her twice broken down TV. She’s sipping on a beer while spreadsheets and blueprints litter around her—remnants of last night’s cramp study session which was interrupted by your unexpected return. 

You lift your head from her couch and true enough, the devil in the form of Ken Sato’s confident smile appears on the screen, making your stomach turn and heart twist.

Flopping back onto the hard couch, you sigh. “Yeah.”

Chisa rakes a hand through her platinum blonde hair, stifling a yawn. “You know what—I get it. I would be absolutely shattered too if a hot, successful and rich man dumped me for getting pregnant. You just can’t win everything in life.”

You want to throw a pillow into her face for such harsh words, but a part of you—that small, terrified part—has to agree. 

“So, are you going to keep it?” 

Her sudden question makes you wish you never asked her for a favor in the first place. While Chisa was friendly enough, it was her sharp tongue and blunt nature which often led you two into mini arguments back when you were still living with her.

“I don’t know,” you tell her truthfully, sitting up and feeling a pang of hunger course through you. “It’s not like I can afford a baby right now without—” Your throat swells, the words caught behind a lump.

Chisa has enough grace not to comment on the tears glossing in your eyes. She turns her attention back to the screen to let you rub them away, raising the volume to drown out your quiet sniffles.

The both of you watch the sports segment—her, completely engrossed, and you numbly tracking Ken's every movement on the pitch. It’s a livestream from one of his games happening this morning, the very first game you won’t be cheering him on from the stands.

Without much thought, you touch your belly, wondering if the little life in there could see his or her daddy on screen. The reality that this would be the only way they could meet their own father makes you tear up again, and you reach for your dead phone, needing to at least hear his voice again. 

It didn’t matter if Ken Sato didn’t want you in his life or if he refused to acknowledge the child you’re carrying as his. You just needed to know he would still be there for you.

Hooking it to a cable, you switch your phone back on, and instantly, a stream of messages swarm in.

I know you never liked it whenever I asked Mina to keep an eye on you, but she told me you’re rooming with a friend. Chisa, right? I hope she doesn’t make you sleep on the floor.

Another text. 

Yikes. Reading that again, I sound like an absolute dick. What I meant to say was that I hope you’re comfortable and you can rest well. I know the way we ended things was messy to sum it up, but I really hope this wouldn’t be the last time we see each other. 

The last text, sent around one in the morning, three hours after your epic fight, reads:

I miss you. Goodnight, baby. Sleep well.

You lift your gaze to the TV again, and start to notice the dark circles under his eyes. The hard set of his mouth. Ken still loves me—he still wants this. Your heart leaps, and you turn your attention back to the screen, typing out: 

I miss you. I’m sorry. I 

A sudden tremor rocks the house, and your phone goes clattering to the ground. Chisa’s loud yelp rings through your mind as the shakes get more and more intense, as if it's getting closer.

Outside the dorms, screams erupt and alarms blare. The symphonic pattern of the warning is unmistakable: there is a Kaiju nearby.

You lurch to your feet, dragging Chisa by the arm, jolting her into action. 

The sound of hundreds of feet running in one direction burns through your mind; Chisa’s arm is a constant around you as she drags you down the road, trying to find shelter from the impending danger. 

It’s a lizard or moth hybrid with a wide wingspan and sharp rows of teeth. You’ve seen news reports of Kaijus before, but you’ve never dared to think you would see one up close. Spikes adorn its tail which goes crashing into buildings and houses, debris raining to the screaming crowd below like a reckoning halestorm.

Car alarms blare, in tandem with the rising panicked screams of hundreds of students and teachers who were caught off guard by this sudden attack.

“Look!” Someone yells, and in the distance, you see a human-like shape approaching fast. 

“Ultraman!”

“He’s here!” 

“He’s here to save us!”

Chisa, whose lips are bloodless and cheeks pale with fright, leads you up the stairs of the business school building, where you both can find higher ground to avoid the falling debris.

In your panic, you trip on a large rock and tumble to the ground, a loud, ominous crack resounding throughout this concrete cube you’ve both locked yourselves in.

“Shit!” Chisa bends down to inspect your ankle. She tries to lift it, but a searing pain cuts through your entire body, your shriek of agony making her flinch. “Fuck. Oh, fuck. This isn’t good. This isn’t—”

Boom!

The doors of the building fly off, and the monster sticks its muzzle inside, sniffing around for its prey. Having scented you and Chisa, it releases a loud screech, and before both of you could even blink, the roof flies off, its sharp talons reaching inside and grabbing you. 

The sudden loss of gravity strains your broken foot and you scream in agony and fear.

“Y/N!” 

As the monster lifts you right to its face, you think—this is it. 

Every nerve in your body is frozen, your mouth falls open and you might’ve screamed—you can’t hear yourself or feel your body or your hands or even your broken foot anymore.

This is how I will die. 

“We interrupt this game to announce that there’s a Kaiju attack nearby. All civilians are requested to proceed to the nearest emergency exit. We interrupt this game to announce—”

As the stadium erupts in chaos, Ken hears the worst news his nightmares could conjure when someone screams: “The Kaiju—it’s attacking Takayo University!” 

His mind goes into overdrive, his body catching up as he feels the familiar muscles stretching and pulling, turning him into a 50-foot gargantuan hero. Mina chirps to life, and he’s never heard a robot sound so serious before.

“Ken, Gigan is approaching Takayo University. I can’t seem to get a hold on Y/N’s signal. I think her phone is switched off.”

Damn it—damn it all to hell! 

He pushes his body to the max, racing towards your direction, hoping against all hope that you were somewhere safe. 

The young hero wouldn’t know what to do if he lost you.

“Her messages were all gray yesterday. Her phone’s out of juice,” he snaps back. “Run a search on Chisa’s signal. They should be together.”

“Alright,” Mina whirs. “Chisa’s signal: located. They’re at the Business Faculty Park. I have sent you the coordinates.”

A flash of numbers and lines appear in front of him. Ken reads them quickly and nods. “Got it. Mina, alert dad and tell him Y/N might be harmed. Prepare the base, if needed. If she’s gone, I’ll lose my fucking mind.”

Mina doesn’t comment on his language—she chirps back, “Noted. Calling Professor Sato now.” 

He sees it then—Gigan the monster who’s stomping around and has something in its grubby claws.

“Mina, I see it. I—”

Ken thinks the light is playing tricks on him. There’s a flash of a familiar sheen of hair, a smaller figure held inside Gigan’s monstrous grip.

“Mina, enhance visibility—what is it holding?!” 

The sight enlarges, and Ken gasps. His shock turns into anger, and he’s taking off towards the beast, not caring of anything else in his path as he summons all his anger into a fist and knocks the giant lizard’s head backwards. Gigan’s grip loosens and Ken rushes forward to catch you, holding you tightly to his chest with one hand. 

With the monster down for a moment, he glances at his palm, unfurling his fingers to find your pale, frightful face staring right at him.

“Ultraman,” you gasp, and his heart breaks when he notices streaks of tears running down your face. 

You must’ve been scared shitless for your life.

“Are you alright?” The tenderness seeps through his tone, and he can’t fight back the cresting wave of loathing and self-hatred when you wrap your arms around your midsection, nodding tearfully.

“I-I’m fine—look out!” 

He holds you to his chest, careful not to crush you in his grip as he spins around, deftly avoiding Gigan’s tail as it careens right into his face. The Kaiju raises itself on its hind legs, releasing an earth shattering roar.

Ken cringes back. He needs to find you a safe spot; he can’t bring you into battle like this.

Sprinting away from the carnage, all the screams and fear fade into the distance, his mind hellbent on getting you to safety.

Finding a relatively high rise building that’s been torn apart by the Kaiju and left for ruin, he gently unfurls his hand, placing you back on solid ground as if you’re a Lego figure he needs to safekeep.

You drop to your knees, unable to hold yourself up. Ken sweeps his gaze over you, and without thinking, says: “Mina, run a scan on her. Is she safe?” 

Loyal to a fault, she follows his orders, coming to a hard pause when your screech reaches both their attention.

“Mina?! Hang on—”

Despite his sheer size and how tinier you are in comparison, Ken flinches when you march up to him, looking right into his glowing eyes.

The masked hero whose identity has been hidden since the day he assumed the role of Tokyo’s protector, freezes like a deer caught in headlights and for a moment, nothing exists in this world besides your eyes on his. You reach out, tips of your fingers caressing his armored cheek. 

As if an unspoken truth comes to light, your eyes widen, and you touch both hands onto his cheek, skimming them across his nose. Those wide, luminescent eyes slip close, like he's enjoying your touch.

“It’s you.” Your choked gasp tears at his soul, and Ken opens his eyes to find you crying, a palm pressed right to your mouth. “Oh my God. It really is you. It—”

Your knees buckle, unable to hold yourself upright to such a heavy truth. You slide to the ground and he reaches out a hand, letting you lean against his much bigger palm. His heart is beating so fast, he has to remind himself to breathe so he doesn’t transform in front of you and can’t protect the rest of the civilians from Gigan.

“Ken,” you say his name like a prayer, curling your much smaller fingers around his ring one, feeling the smooth armor of his alien skin under your touch. “Ken. I knew something was off about you but I—”

This pure moment of ecstatic discovery is cut off by a loud screech. 

Ken hears Gigan approach and he’s about to urge you to be safe when you lurch to your feet and stumble towards him.

It’s a split second of unadulterated heaven opening its white, pearly gates when your head touches his gargantuan forehead. You breathe and he breathes, the both of you suspended in this time and space where it's just the two of you in this world—human and beast, lover and monster. 

“Come back to me.” 

That’s all you say, all you have the time to elucidate before he’s ripped away by Gigan’s claws. 

Your cry pierces through his soul, and before he falls, he casts a protective shield around you, trapping you in a blue bubble of safety. 

But, it’s a miscalculated move. 

Gigan’s tail whips around, knocking the base of the building. One second, Ken’s eyes are locked on yours, and in the next moment, the entire roof falls on top of you.

“Nooooo!” 

Ken fights out of the monster’s grasp, using his sheer strength to dig his fingers into the creature's mouth and tear its entire head clean off by its jaw. 

Ending its life for daring to hurt yours.

This is it. 

He doesn’t care that his father would call this cruel—doesn't care for the mess and press comments calling him unhinged or for the KDF commending him on his efficiency in killing off a Kaiju.

This is his entire universe coming to an end. 

The tap tap tap of Professor Sato’s cane on the steel floors of the family’s underground base barely rouses Kenji from his vigil by your sickbed.

From his vantage point, Hayao easily notices his son’s sunken eyes, the unshaven chin and exhausted slump in his shoulders. Ken is holding his phone in one hand, occasionally glancing at a message on the smeared screen. His sharp eyes catch an unfinished message, glossing over it as Ken finally hears his footsteps and pockets his phone hastily.

I miss you. I’m sorry. I

A heavy weight settles in his chest like grease, and the older man exhales a sigh.

Without another word, he takes a seat next to his weary son, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Kenji, you’ve been down here for days. You need to see the sun—stretch and eat a proper meal.” 

He turns those solemn, violet eyes he passed down to his son onto the faint pallor of a young woman resting in a medically-induced deep sleep inside the emergency pod, her chest rising and falling slowly. 

Your vital stats on a holographic board floats in front of him, and Hayao stifles a sigh when he sees a tiny, bean-shaped blob hovering in another panel, its features barely formed but already so dear to him. 

Kenji can barely look at the vitals of his unborn child, eyes closed and head hung heavily as if the weight of the world drags his shoulders down. It might as well have, judging from the mess Hayao had to clean up when his son was too emotionally strained to handle the aftermath of Gigan’s attack.

“I can’t leave her side,” he replies monotonously. 

Hayao recognizes that despair Kenji exudes, having experienced it many, many times over his twenty plus years of being a father. 

Unexpectedly, he chuckles, and Kenji raises his head, finding his father’s expression faraway, nostalgia glistening in his rheumy eyes. 

“Oh, I remember the time your mother broke the news that she was expecting you.”

Any mention of Emiko would draw Kenji’s attention like a moth to a flame. His son listens, patiently waiting for him to reveal the next part.

Hayao smiles and shakes his head. “Just like how you reacted, I was stunned. I had to sit down when she passed me the test. It was the first time she’s ever seen me speechless.” Grasping his son’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze, the older Sato sighs. 

“Kenji, there comes a time in every man’s life when he has to sit down and evaluate if he’s the right fit for fatherhood. Any man can be a father, but it takes a noble, patient, and kind-hearted man to be a dad.”

He continues. “Children aren’t easy. Human children, that is. Kaiju ones grow too quickly and already have a set path due to their nature,” he chortles at the memory of Emi, and Ken can’t resist smiling at that. 

“But, babies… They test us. Show us what we lack and how imperfect we are. They have their own dreams, needs and wants. They’re loud, messy and take up so much of your heart, thoughts and peace. But, despite all of that, they’re our hopes and dreams.” Hayao chuckles. “If anyone were to ask me what my greatest legacy is, I would never say ‘Ultraman’ or the research I’ve done over the years.”

Ken listens to him raptly, violet eyes wide and waiting. 

Hayao finally looks at him, and in those similar purple orbs, he finds a kindred spirit—someone who knows his burdens inside and out because he’s lived through them all for half of his life.

“My greatest legacy is you, Kenji. My son.” 

A wizened finger taps on the screen, and the room fills up with the echoing pulse of a second heartbeat, fainter like its coming from the bottom of the ocean. But, it’s as strong as his own, and in that, Ken feels the anger, despair and disappointment he holds for himself slowly dissipating like steam on a hot day.

“And after seeing how much you’ve sacrificed and learned from raising Emi, I know this baby would be so lucky to have you as a dad.”

Hayao gets to his feet with slight difficulty, patting Ken’s shoulder. 

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Kenji. It will all work out just fine. Take it one day at a time, alright?”

Ken wants to ask about the neverending dread, if his father ever feared putting his family in danger—the perils of parenting and how he’s going to juggle baseball, Ultraman and being a dad (a real one, this time) all at once.

Like he’s heard his son’s uncontrollable thoughts, Hayao turns back to give him one last piece of sage advice. 

“Everything will be okay. You are Kenji Sato—your mother’s son and my son. You will never be alone.” He glances at your resting form. “And she will never leave you. A woman who readily accepts our family’s duty and burdens is a rare gem indeed, son.”

“But, mom did the same,” he blurts out, brows knitting together. “She accepted you with open arms, too. How can you say it’s rare when it has happened before?”

Hayao’s eyes sparkle as if Ken has finally found the answer to his perpetually troubling question.

“That’s why I married her.”

He leaves Ken alone to ponder his words, the doors closing behind his frail form. 

The young man turns back to your pod, placing a hand over the reinforced glass, right over your belly.

Before he can stop himself, he presses his forehead against the cool metal, sighing.

“Well, you heard him,” he mutters. “The second you wake up, baby, I’m locking you down—there’s no shaking me off this time.”

A click. A whir. 

The world slowly comes back to focus and you furrow your brow, biting back a groan. Your body faintly pulses with pain, like it’s remembering the trauma you suffered through a five year memory fade.

But, your limbs work, and it doesn't hurt to breathe. 

“Hey, you’re awake.”

That voice… 

You pry your eyes open and the second you recognize his face, you think you could break down and cry. Soft violet eyes appraise you, slender fingers reaching out to tenderly graze your cheek.

“Ken…” 

He catches your embrace, holding you so tightly you think you might suffocate. The feel of his arms around you is like coming home after a long day, and you think he might feel the same way, his heartbeat thudding erratically under your cheek.

“I’m so sorry. So, so sorry,” he apologizes over and over again. It takes all of your willpower not to tear up at the look of defeat on his face. You cup his cheek, bringing him closer so both your foreheads can touch. 

“It’s alright, Ken,” you murmur, free hand running through his thick, raven locks. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

He cradles your tummy at the reminder, looking like a puppy that’s been kicked to the curb. 

“I was so mean to you. And to Peanut. I’m so sorry—”

“Peanut?” You blink, and he doubles back, scratching the back of his head.

“I, um… may have given the baby a nickname while you were, uh, recovering.”

Your lovely, silly boyfriend thought you would be angry when it is the furthest from the truth. “Peanut, huh?” 

You place your hand over his, drinking in this moment of having your entire family right here, safe and sound. 

“I like it. Peanut.” Your smile is saint-like, warm like the first sun rays breaking through a long, dark night. “Peanut is perfect for him or her.” 

He doesn’t deserve the grace and forgiveness you’ve shown him and Kenji thinks that for the rest of his life he wants to atone for all the wrongs he’s ever committed. 

Your health is his priority, and kick-starting this renewed promise to you, he’s there every step of the way during your recovery—feeding you, bathing you, helping you regain your ability to walk without needing a crutch, taking you to physiotherapy classes so you would be mobile again after breaking your leg. 

He even shows you Kaiju Island with his dad, Professor Sato and him catching up with a now one year old Emi who’s grown into her wingspan and new abilities. At first, you were terrified to meet the Kaiju baby your boyfriend once raised, but the moment she scented you, she was all over you like an overly-friendly cat.

Her beak presses against the barely-there swell of your belly, and she coos in delight.

Looks like Emi is happy to be a big sister. Professor Sato laughs at that, thumping his son on the back. 

Siblings—Kaiju and a human—I’ll have to trash my entire research thesis because nothing can compare to this!

You move back in with Ken, ditching your old dorm and studying from home to accommodate your growing belly and fatigue. Your lecturers were understanding enough, though you suspect the Ken Sato’s reputation was enough for them to give you some leeway.

Ken reduces his time spent on the pitch to be home with you and the baby, catching the press’ attention who start to wonder if the great Ken Sato is cracking yet again.  Eventually, it's his old frenemy, Ami, who spots him leaving a prenatal clinic with you one rainy morning after tailing him for days. 

Your boyfriend literally has to bribe her with two months worth of free Tonkatsu dinners on his card before she lets the scoop go, giving you a sympathetic look that makes you laugh and Ken indignant. 

Life was back to normal—or, as normal as it could be after finding out your boyfriend is literally a 50-foot alien superhero who fights monsters. 

One night where you’re both just lazing around on the sofa, Ken decides to show more of his world to you, and tugs your hand, leading you to the underground base which he affectionately dubs his ‘mancave’. 

There, he asks Mina to pull up an old recording of Emiko on the stands and officially introduces his girlfriend to his mother. 

“She’s beautiful, Ken.” You approach her with a fond smile, and his arms wrap around you; heart filled with pure happiness at the sight of his two favorite women in one room. Ken kisses the top of your head and then sighs. 

“I wish you could meet her, baby. She would’ve loved you to the moon and back.”

He tells you of the efforts to retrieve her from a wormhole; how he spends everyday wondering if the next time he sees his mother, he’ll be just as old and gray as her. You’re there for his every rumination, every fear. 

“My parents separated when I was really young,” he confesses while you’re both lying in bed in each other’s arms, giving you another piece of his childhood that you welcome with no judgment. “I don’t want to be like my dad—putting Kaijus or my career first that I lose the both of you.”

At those words, you take his face in your hands, looking him in the eye as you shake your head. “You will never lose me, Kenji Sato. I’m yours and you’re mine. We’re in this as a team and we’ll see this through.” Echoing his father’s advice, you grin. “Let’s just take this one day at a time, okay?”

With his past revealed and double identity known, it’s your turn to be there for him in a different way. 

When the voices of doubt get too loud for him, you don’t let him wallow in his misery for long, encouraging him to teach you how to bat a ball or letting him press his cheek to your growing tummy so he can feel Peanut moving around. 

You meant every word you said to him that night in the tender darkness: you were both a team. No matter how bad the storm hits, you would weather it together. 

One day, without you expecting it, Ken proposes to you while you’re both watching a movie.

“I can’t walk down the aisle!” You pout, and he’s taken aback, thinking you’re flat out rejecting him when you point at your nose. “My nose will be all squished and the photos will come out ugly,” you whine. “Pregnancy noses are a thing,” you try to convince him as he bends over in laughter.

“Baby,” he wipes the tears from his eyes, broad shoulders shaking with repressed mirth. “Squished nosh or not, I still love you, squirt.”

He removes a simple, velvet box from his pants pocket and reveals a ring with your birthstone and his on it. You whisper about a hundred ‘yes's’ in response to his “Will you marry me, sweetheart?”; tearing up when he slips the ring onto your left hand and brings it to his lips, kissing your knuckles affectionately.

“Have I ever told you I love you so, so much, baby?”

Though you have no idea what’s in store in the future with a man who can turn into a superhero, and a whole new world of monsters, baseball and parenthood to navigate, you thank your lucky stars that he’s right beside you for the journey. 

“Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to hear it again.”

He chuckles and kisses your cheek, the feel of his smile on your skin like the embrace of home.

“I love you.” 

“Hah,” you look up, starry-eyed and in love as you push his bangs out of the way. “I love you, too, Kenji Sato.”

— feedback and reblogs are appreciated <3

You sat beside him, hands loosely wrapped around your knees, eyes fixed somewhere far out where the water met the dark horizon. You told yourself to keep it light. Keep it easy. Keep it like two people who simply ran into each other by chance. Like there wasn’t a history sitting between you. Like there wasn’t a version of you that used to belong right beside him.

“So,” you said after a while, your voice softer than you intended, “how have you been?”

It sounded like a normal question. It wasn’t. Seokjin let out a quiet breath, the kind that felt like it had been sitting in his chest for too long.“Busy,” he answered at first. Then he shook his head slightly, like that word wasn’t enough. “A lot of things… happened.”

You didn’t look at him yet. “Like what?”

There was a pause. Longer this time. He shifted slightly beside you, hands resting on the sand, fingers pressing into it like he needed something solid to hold onto. “Hana and I… ended things.”

That made you turn. “Oh.” It came out small. Careful.

He gave a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah. That’s… pretty much how I feel about it too.”

You studied him quietly. “You okay?”

He thought about it. “I think so,” he said.

The wind picked up slightly, brushing your hair across your face. You tucked it behind your ear without thinking. “I hope you’ll be in a better situation next time,” you said softly. “With someone who… understands your world.”

Your tone was gentle. Sincere. And it hurt him more than anything else you could have said.

He looked at you then. “You always say things like that,” he murmured.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re standing outside of it,” he said. “Like you were never part of my world to begin with.”

You held his gaze for a second. Then looked away again. “I wasn’t,” you said quietly.

The words settled heavily between you. Neither of you tried to fix them. After a moment, he shifted the conversation, like he needed to breathe again. “What about you?” he asked. “Busan. Your job. Your life.”

You let out a small breath, this time steadier “It’s… simple,” you said. “Work isn’t overwhelming. I walk home. I cook sometimes. I go here when I can.”

He listened carefully. Every word. “You sound happy.”

You nodded. “I am.”

There was no hesitation in your answer. And somehow, that made it harder.

“It’s quiet,” you added. “Peaceful. I don’t feel like I have to… keep up with anything.”

Seokjin smiled faintly. “That sounds like something you’ve always needed.”

“Maybe.”

Another pause. Then, “Are you going back?” he asked.

“To Seoul?”

“Yeah.”

You shook your head gently. “For now, I’m okay here.”

“For now?”

You gave a small shrug. “I don’t really see a reason to go back.”

That landed. Not loudly. But deep enough that he felt it settle somewhere he couldn’t ignore.

“I see,” he said.

But he didn’t. Not really. The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full of everything both of you were choosing not to say.

You pushed your hands against the sand and stood up, brushing it off your clothes. “I should go,” you said. “It’s getting late.”

Seokjin looked up at you. “Let me walk you home.”

You shook your head immediately.“I’m fine.”

“It’s dark.”

“I live here,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I know my way around.”

He stood anyway.

“You know people might recognize you, right?” you added, trying to lighten it.

He huffed a quiet laugh. “I’m a professional at not being recognized.”

“Oh really?”

“Years of experience.”

You hesitated just for a second. Then nodded, “Fine. But if you get mobbed, I’m leaving you behind.”

He smiled.“Fair enough.”

The walk back was slower than it should have been. Neither of you rushing. Neither of you wanting to be the first to break whatever this was. The streets were quieter now, the city settling into its night rhythm. Streetlights cast soft pools of light along the sidewalks, stretching your shadows beside you. At one point, your hands brushed. Just barely. But neither of you pulled away immediately.

You noticed. The way his fingers lingered for half a second longer than necessary before retreating. The way your heart reacted like it remembered something you had been trying to forget.

“You changed your hair,” he said again, like he needed something to hold onto.

“You already said that.”

“I know,” he murmured. “I just… didn’t say it properly.”

You glanced at him. “And now?”

He looked at you, eyes softer this time. “I like it.”

You looked away quickly. “Thanks.”

The rest of the walk felt heavier. When you reached your building, you stopped at the entrance. “This is me.”

He nodded, hands slipping into his pockets again. “Yeah.”

Another pause. Neither of you moving. “Do you want to come up?” you heard yourself ask.

The words surprised you the moment they left your mouth. Seokjin blinked. “Are you sure?”

You hesitated. Then nodded. “Just for a bit.”

You stood there for a second longer than necessary, keys in hand, searching for the right one even though you already knew which it was. Seokjin noticed.

“You still keep them all on one ring,” he said lightly, leaning against the wall beside your door. “Even the old ones you don’t use anymore.”

You glanced at him, a small smile slipping out before you could stop it. The door clicked open. You stepped inside first, flicking on the light, then paused. He was still outside.

“You coming in?” you asked.

It came out casual. Too casual for what it actually meant. He hesitated just a second before stepping in. Like crossing that threshold required permission beyond words.

Your apartment wrapped around the moment immediately. Warm light. Soft quiet. The faint scent of something clean and familiar. Your space. Your life.

Seokjin looked around slowly. Taking it in. “You really built something here,” he said.

You shrugged, slipping off your shoes. “It’s not much.”

“It is,” he said, softer now.

You didn’t respond to that. Instead, you moved toward the kitchen. “Do you want anything? Water? Tea?”

“Water’s fine.”

You poured it without looking at him, focusing on the small, simple task like it could keep your thoughts in place. When you handed him the glass, your fingers brushed. Just slightly. You both noticed. Neither of you said anything.

You sat on the couch. He followed, leaving a careful space between you. For a while, it was just quiet. The kind that didn’t need to be filled immediately.

“You remember that night at the Han River?” he said suddenly.

You blinked, caught off guard.“…Which one?”

He smiled faintly. “The one where you insisted you could win that stupid game.”

You let out a soft laugh, leaning back. “I did win.”

“You cheated.”

“I improvised.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.”

The memory settled between you. Warm. Familiar. Dangerous.

“You were so mad,” you added, glancing at him. “You didn’t talk to me for like… two hours.”

“I was not mad.”

“You were sulking.”

“I was processing.”

You laughed again. And for a moment, It felt like before. “You bought me food after,” you said.

He nodded. “You looked like you were about to cry.”

“I was not.”

“You were.”

He turned to you then, a small smile lingering “You remember everything.”

The words weren’t heavy, but they carried something underneath.

“Of course I do,” you said quietly.

The laughter faded. The space between you shifted again. Subtle, but unmistakable.

“You look happy here,” he said after a while.

You nodded. “I am.”

He studied your face like he was trying to understand that answer fully. “Good.”

It should have felt like closure. Like the right kind of ending. But it didn’t.

“You?” you asked. “Are you… okay?”

He leaned back slightly, eyes drifting to the ceiling for a second. “I’m… figuring things out.”

You nodded slowly. “That sounds like you.”

A small silence followed. When you looked back up, he was closer. You hadn’t seen him move. But the distance between you had shortened. Not completely gone. But enough. Your breath slowed.

“You changed,” he said.

“In a good way or a bad way?”

“In a real way.”

That did something to you.. Something quiet. Something you weren’t ready to examine.

“You didn’t,” you said before you could stop yourself.

He blinked slightly. “That a bad thing?”

You held his gaze. “I don’t know.”

Another pause, longer this time. He didn’t look away, neither did you. The air felt different now. Thicker. His hand shifted slightly on the couch, closer. Waiting.

“You ever think about it?” he asked quietly.

Your voice came out softer. “About what?”

“Us.”

That word. So simple. So dangerous. You didn’t answer right away. Because the truth was too close to the surface.

“Sometimes,” you admitted.

His eyes flickered slightly. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Mostly when I’m trying not to.”

A faint, almost sad smile touched his lips. “Same.”

The space between you disappeared in increments. Closer and closer. You could see it now. The hesitation. The want. The question he wasn’t sure he had the right to ask.

“Jin,” you said softly.

He paused. “Yeah?”

You swallowed. Your voice quieter now. “Don’t.”

He didn’t move. But his eyes searched yours. “Don’t what?

You shook your head slightly. “You know.”

Another second. Another breath. But still, neither of you pulled away. His hand lifted. Slowly, carefully. Like he was giving you time to stop him. It hovered near your cheek. Just there. You could feel it. Even without contact. And for a moment, you almost leaned into it. Almost. Then you stood up quickly. Like you needed distance before you lost it.

“I think you should go,” you said, your voice steadier than your chest felt.

Seokjin froze. The moment breaking cleanly between you. “Right,” he said quietly, lowering his hand. He stood too. Not rushing. But not lingering either.

The walk to the door felt longer than it was. Each step heavier than the last. You opened it. Stepping aside. He paused at the threshold, looking at you. Like there was something still left unsaid.

“There’s a concert tomorrow,” he said.

“I know.”

Another pause. Then, “I’m glad you’re here.”

You nodded.

He hesitated. Then gave a small nod. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

He stepped out. The door closed gently behind him. And just like that, the space was yours again. But it didn’t feel the same. You leaned back against the door, closing your eyes. Your hand lifted unconsciously to your cheek. To where he almost touched you. “That was close,” you whispered to yourself. Too close. Because for a second there, you would have let him.

The stadium pulsed like a living thing. Lights flickered across thousands of faces, a sea of voices rising and falling in waves that felt almost physical, almost strong enough to carry a person away. The bass of the music settled deep in your chest, syncing with your heartbeat until you couldn’t tell which one was louder. You kept your head down when you entered. Cap pulled low. Mask on. Just another face in the crowd. That was the plan. That was what you told yourself. You didn’t come here for him. You came for your friends. That was what you repeated as you found your seat, fingers tightening slightly around your lightstick, the glow blending in with everyone else’s. You could leave anytime, you told yourself. You didn’t have to stay.

And then the lights dropped. The scream that followed was immediate. Deafening. Electric. And when they appeared, It didn’t matter how much time had passed. It didn’t matter how far you had gone. Your chest tightened anyway.

They looked the same. And different. Sharper. More defined. Like time had carved something deeper into each of them. You smiled without realizing. Because this, this was still yours, in a quiet, distant way.

You watched them move across the stage, effortless and commanding, their voices cutting through the night air with practiced ease. Jungkook’s energy burned bright. Jimin’s movements flowed like water. Taehyung’s presence pulled attention without trying. Namjoon grounded everything. Yoongi carried that quiet intensity. Hoseok lit the stage like it belonged to him. And Seokjin, you didn’t look at him at first.

You told yourself you wouldn’t. But you did. And the moment your eyes found him, something shifted. He was already looking out into the crowd. Scanning. Like he was searching for something he didn’t expect to find.

Your breath stalled for just a second. Then, his gaze stopped. For a split second, it felt like everything around you blurred. Like the noise dropped away. Like the distance between stage and crowd didn’t exist at all. His expression faltered. Just slightly. Barely noticeable to anyone else. But you saw it. And then it was gone.

The performance continued. Seamless. Perfect. Professional. But something in him had changed. Because the rest of the night, he kept looking. And every time his gaze swept over the crowd, your heart reacted like it was the first time. You stayed until the end. Even when it hurt. Even when it felt like standing there was reopening something you had just started to heal. Because leaving felt worse.

The final song ended in a wash of lights and confetti. The members stood together, breathless, smiling, waving to the crowd that refused to stop cheering. You clapped with them. You smiled. You told yourself this was enough. And then you turned to leave. You had almost made it out of the section when someone called your name. You froze. “Y/N?”

You turned slowly. A man stood a few steps behind you, dressed in staff clothing, expression polite but certain. “I’m sorry,” he said, lowering his voice. “Are you… Y/N?”

Your first instinct was to deny it. To shake your head. To disappear. But something in his tone, familiar.“…Yes?”

He nodded. “Taehyung asked me to find you.”

Your chest tightened instantly.

“He said if you were here… to bring you backstage.”

You hesitated, long enough that the man added gently, “No pressure. You don’t have to come.”

Of course you didn’t. You could walk away right now. Go back to your quiet apartment. Your calm. Your distance. You should. But instead, “Okay.” The word left your mouth before you could stop it.

Backstage smelled like sweat, perfume, and adrenaline. The aftermath of something big. Something alive. You stood just inside the entrance, suddenly unsure. Then, “Y/N?”

Taehyung’s voice. Clear. Familiar. And then he was there. Crossing the room in seconds, pulling you into a hug so tight it knocked the air out of you. “You actually came,” he said, voice full of disbelief and something softer underneath.

You laughed quietly, hugging him back. “I said I might.”

He pulled back, looking at you like he was checking if you were real. “You look good.”

“So do you.”

“Hey—what about us?” Jimin’s voice cut in, mock offense laced with genuine warmth.

And suddenly, they were all there. One by one. Pulling you into hugs, talking over each other, laughing like no time had passed at all.

“You’ve been ignoring us,” Jungkook said, half teasing.

“I have not.”

“You barely reply.”

“I reply sometimes.”

“That’s barely,” he shot back.

You laughed, the sound lighter than it had been in weeks. For a moment, It felt like home.

And then, You felt it. A shift in the room. Subtle but unmistakable. You turned, Seokjin stood a few steps away. Your eyes met. No one else noticed. Or maybe they did. But no one said anything.

“Hi,” you said quietly.

It wasn’t much. But it was something.

“Hi,” he replied.

His voice was steady. But there was something behind it. Something unresolved. Taehyung glanced between you, then clapped his hands suddenly. “Okay! We’re going out.”

A chorus of agreement followed. “You’re coming,” Jimin added immediately, looking at you.

You blinked. “Oh, I don’t think—”

“Nope,” Jungkook cut in. “You’re not disappearing again.”

“I really should go home—”

“You live here,” Taehyung said, crossing his arms. “There is no excuse.”

You laughed softly. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you love me,” he shot back.

You hesitated. Glancing briefly at Seokjin. He wasn’t looking at you. But you could tell, he was listening.

“Come on,” Taehyung said more gently this time. “Just for a bit.”

A bit. That sounded harmless enough.

“…Okay,” you said finally.

Cheers erupted immediately. And just like that, you were pulled back into something you thought you had already left behind.

As you walked out with them, laughter filling the space again, you felt it settle quietly in your chest. This wasn’t over, not even close. And somewhere behind you, Seokjin followed. Not too close, not too far. Just enough to remind you, he was still there.

The hotel hallway felt endless. Soft carpet under your steps, dim golden lights lining the walls, the distant echo of laughter ahead guiding you like something you weren’t ready to admit you were following. You walked behind them. Close enough to hear their voices overlap, teasing, arguing, calling each other out like they always did. Like you never left.

“Last one in orders food,” Jungkook announced suddenly, already speeding up.

“That’s not how it works,” Namjoon called after him.

“That’s exactly how it works,” Taehyung added, immediately running too.

You laughed before you could stop yourself. It slipped out of you, light and unguarded. At the end of the hallway, the suite door swung open. Jungkook disappeared inside first, shouting triumphantly. “I win! Someone else order!”

“You didn’t even explain the rules properly!” Hoseok argued, following him in.

You stepped inside last. And the moment the door closed behind you, everything softened. The room was wide, warm, lived-in despite being temporary. Shoes kicked off near the entrance. Jackets draped carelessly over chairs. The faint smell of food and something sweet lingering in the air. A large couch in the center, low table cluttered with drinks and snacks, music already playing softly from somewhere. It didn’t feel like a hotel. It felt like a place they had already filled with themselves.

“Sit wherever,” Taehyung said, tossing his phone onto the couch before dropping down beside it. “Except Jungkook’s side, he’s territorial.”

“I am not,” Jungkook shot back immediately.

“You hid snacks from us last time.”

“That was survival.”

You smiled, slipping your shoes off near the door. There was a brief second, just one, where you hesitated. And then you stepped in fully.

“Y/N, here,” Jimin called, patting the space beside him.

You walked over, sitting down, the couch dipping slightly under your weight.

“You disappeared,” he said, nudging your shoulder lightly.

“I’ve been busy.”

“You’ve been avoiding us.”

You glanced at him. “Maybe a little.”

He studied your face for a second. Then softened. “We missed you.”

That, that hit deeper than it should have. “I missed you too,” you admitted.

Across the room, Seokjin looked up, just for a moment, and then looked away.

“Okay, food,” Namjoon said, already scrolling through his phone. “What do we want?”

“Everything,” Jungkook answered.

“That’s not helpful.”

“Get tteokbokki,” Taehyung added.

“And fried chicken,” Hoseok said.

“And something healthy,” Namjoon added.

Everyone looked at him.

“Why are you like this,” Yoongi muttered.

You laughed again. And this time, it stayed.

Food came. Boxes opened. The room filled with warmth and noise and overlapping conversations that made it impossible to focus on just one thing. At some point, someone put on a game. A simple one.

“You’re on my team,” Jungkook said, pointing at you like it wasn’t up for debate.

“Why do I feel like I’m going to lose because of this.”

“You won’t. I’m very talented.”

“You said that last time and we lost.”

“That was different.”

“What was different?”

“I was tired.”

“You’re always tired.”

The game started. And just like that, you were pulled in. Shouting. Laughing. Arguing over rules that changed every five minutes.

“You cheated!”

“I adapted!”

“That’s not adapting!”

“That’s skill!”

You leaned forward, laughing, trying to defend yourself as Jimin dramatically accused you of betrayal.

“I trusted you!”

“You shouldn’t have!”

Someone threw a pillow. Someone missed. Jungkook fell off the couch laughing. And for a moment, you forgot everything. You weren’t thinking about Busan. Or distance. Or the careful space you built between yourself and this life. You were just here.

At some point, the game was abandoned. No one kept score. No one cared who won. Music played instead. Softer now. Taehyung pulled out his phone. “Photo.”

“No,” you said immediately.

“Yes,” he countered.

“You always look good in photos,” Jimin added.

“That’s not true.”

“That’s very true.”

Before you could argue further, they were already gathering. Pulling you in. You ended up between them. Pressed close. Laughing because there was no space not to.

“Wait,” Jungkook said, adjusting the angle. “This is important.”

“It’s not that serious,” Yoongi muttered.

“It is to me.”

The countdown started.

“Three—”

You glanced to your side. Seokjin stood there. Closer than you expected.

“Two—”

His shoulder brushed yours.

“One—”

The camera flashed. And for that one second, you didn’t move away. The photo was taken. Laughter followed immediately after.

“Show me,” Jimin said, grabbing the phone.

“Wait, I look bad,” you protested.

“You always say that and you’re always wrong.”

You leaned in to look. Everyone crowding around. And there it was. All of you. Together. Smiling. Laughing. Too close. Too comfortable. Like nothing had ever been broken.

“Send it,” you said softly.

Taehyung glanced at you. Then nodded. “I will.”

Later, much later, the room quieted. Some sat on the floor. Some leaned against the couch. Some were half-asleep, conversations fading in and out. You found yourself sitting near the edge of the couch. A drink in your hand you hadn’t touched.

Across from you, Seokjin. Not speaking, not avoiding, just there. Your eyes met. And this time, neither of you looked away. There was no laughter to hide behind now. No game. No noise. Just this quiet understanding. For one night, everything felt like it used to. And that was the problem. Because it made you forget how much it hurt when it ended.

The night didn’t end all at once. It softened. Like a song lowering its volume instead of cutting off. Somewhere between the last round of laughter and the quiet hum of the air conditioner, the room began to slow down. Jungkook had stretched out on the carpet, one arm thrown over his eyes. Jimin leaned against the couch, half-asleep but still mumbling responses to whatever Taehyung was saying. Namjoon was stacking empty boxes. Hoseok was cleaning out of habit. Yoongi had disappeared into a corner, phone in hand, watching everything without needing to say much. You stood there for a moment longer than necessary. Watching them. Letting it sink in. It felt too familiar. Too easy. Too dangerous.

“I should go,” you said softly.

No one reacted immediately. Then Taehyung turned, blinking like he had to process the words. “Now?”

You nodded, already reaching for your bag. “I have work in the morning.”

“Call in sick,” Jungkook mumbled from the floor without moving.

“You say that like it’s a solution to everything,” you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“It is,” he said, still not opening his eyes.

Jimin sat up a little, frowning. “Stay a bit longer.”

“I can’t,” you said gently. “I really can’t.”

Taehyung was already grabbing his phone. “I’ll call the manager. He can drive you.”

“It’s okay,” you said quickly. “I can just get a ride.”

“I’ll take her.”

The words didn’t come loudly. But they settled into the room like something heavier than the rest of the night. You looked up. Seokjin was already on his feet. There was a small pause. Taehyung glanced between you both. Searching. Weighing something you didn’t want him to see. “You sure?” he asked.

Seokjin nodded once. “I’ve got it.”

Then Taehyung looked at you. And this time, the decision wasn’t just yours.

You hesitated. Just long enough to feel your chest tighten. “…Okay.”

The goodbyes came in pieces. Loose. Unfinished. Jimin hugged you longer than usual.

“You better text.”

“I will.”

“You say that like you mean it this time.”

“I do.”

Jungkook barely lifted his hand in a lazy wave. “Don’t disappear again.”

“I’ll try,” you said.

Taehyung pulled you in last. Quieter. Tighter. “Message me when you get home,” he murmured.

“I will.”

He didn’t let go immediately. You stepped out into the hallway. The door closed behind you with a soft click. And just like that, the warmth stayed inside.

The elevator ride down felt longer than it should have. Neither of you spoke. Not even a word. The space was small, too small. You stood on one side, he stood on the other. The mirrored walls made it worse. Reflections of both of you, standing apart like strangers who used to know each other too well.

The doors opened. You walked out first. The parking lot was quiet. The city distant now, reduced to soft lights and the occasional passing car. He unlocked the car. You got in and closed the door. And then, the silence truly began. It stretched between you. Not empty, just full of things waiting to be said.

The engine started. The car moved. Streetlights slipped across your face in intervals.

“I didn’t think you’d come tonight.” His voice came out quieter than you expected.

You didn’t look at him. “I didn’t think I would either.”

A small pause. “I’m glad you did.”

You nodded. A simple movement. “Me too.”

The truth sat between you. Uncomfortable. Because it meant something. Because it shouldn’t have. Silence returned. When the car finally slowed in front of your apartment, you felt it before it stopped. That tightening in your chest. That familiar pull. You reached for the door.

“Wait.”

Your hand froze on the handle. You closed your eyes for a second. Then opened them. Slowly turning toward him. “Yeah?”

He looked at you. “Will I see you again?”

The question was so quiet it almost didn’t feel real. You stared at him. Trying to find something in his face that would make this easier. There was nothing.

“I don’t know,” you said.

And you meant it. He nodded slightly. Like he expected that answer.

Like it still hurt anyway. “I regret it.”

Your brows pulled together. “What?”

“Everything.”

The word hung there. Heavy. “I regret leaving that morning,” he continued. “I regret pretending it didn’t mean anything. I regret… making you feel like it wasn’t worth it.”

Your chest tightened. Your fingers curled slightly into your palm.

“I thought I was protecting something,” he said. “What we had. I thought if I didn’t cross that line, we wouldn’t lose each other.”

You let out a quiet, hollow laugh. “You crossed it anyway.”

His jaw flexed slightly. But he didn’t look away. “I know.”

Silence pressed in.

“I keep thinking about you,” he admitted. “In moments I shouldn’t. In places you’re not supposed to be anymore.”

Your throat tightened.

“And I hate that it took losing you to understand what you were trying to give me.”

You looked down. Because looking at him was starting to hurt.\

“I was scared,” he said.

“Of me?” you asked.

“No,” he said immediately. “Of myself. Of what it would mean if I let myself want you like that.”

You swallowed. “And now?” you asked.

He didn’t hesitate this time. “Now I know I should’ve.”

Your heart stumbled.

“I want a chance,” he said.

And that was it. That was the moment everything inside you broke open. You let out a short laugh. But it cracked halfway through. “You want a chance.”

He nodded.

Your eyes burned. “You don’t get to ask me that.” Your voice didn’t rise. But it cut.“You don’t get to come back into my life after I spent months trying to fix what you broke and ask me to try again like it’s simple.”

“I’m not saying it’s simple—”

“You are,” you said. “You’re saying it like it’s still there. Like I’ve just been… waiting for you to figure it out.”

His voice softened. “I was hoping—”

“Don’t,” you cut in. The word came out sharper than anything you’d said all night. “Don’t turn this into something hopeful,” you said. “Don’t sit here and make it sound like this is romantic. Like you realized too late and now everything will fall into place if I just say yes.” Your voice trembled now. You couldn’t stop it.

“I gave you that moment already,” you said. “I gave it to you when I told you I loved you. I gave it to you when I stood there and chose you without knowing if you would choose me back.”

Your eyes filled. You didn’t wipe them away. “And you walked away from me like it was nothing.”

His expression faltered.

“You didn’t even hesitate,” you whispered. “You didn’t even look like it hurt you.”

“It did,” he said.

“Then you hid it well,” you replied. The silence that followed felt unbearable.

“I had to leave,” you continued. “Do you understand that? I didn’t leave because I stopped caring. I left because staying would’ve destroyed me.” Your voice dropped. Quieter. More honest than you wanted it to be.

“I couldn’t keep loving someone who made me feel like I was too much for them.”

That landed. You saw it. “And now you’re here,” you said, shaking your head. “Saying everything I needed back then. Saying it like it’s still possible.”

A tear slipped down your cheek. You didn’t stop it. “Do you know how cruel that is?”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

“I just started to feel okay,” you said. “I just started waking up without thinking about you first. I just started building something that didn’t revolve around you.”

Your voice broke. “And now you’re here again… and it’s like nothing changed for you. Like you can just come back and pick me up where you left me.”

“I’m not trying to pick up where we left off,” he said. “I’m trying to start again.”

You shook your head. Slowly. “You don’t get to start again with someone you never finished with.”

That hit harder than anything else. Silence. Your hand found the door handle again. “I’m trying to move on,” you whispered.

He looked at you. Carefully. “You’re not.”

And that shattered whatever you had left holding you together. “You don’t get to tell me that,” you said, your voice breaking completely now. “You don’t get to decide how I heal after you were the one who hurt me.”

“I’m not deciding,” he said. “I’m seeing it.”

“You’re seeing what you want to see,” you replied.

Tears blurred your vision now. You didn’t care. “You’re ruining me again,” you whispered. The words barely made it out.

He said your name. Soft. Careful. But you were already shaking your head. “Don’t,” you said.

You opened the door. The night air hit your face. “Goodbye, Jin.”

You stepped out before he could say anything else. Closed the door behind you. And you walked. Each step felt heavier than the last. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t. Because if you did, you knew you might stop.

The moment you reached the building entrance, your vision blurred completely. You pushed the door open. Stepped inside. And finally, you broke. Your hand flew to your mouth. A sob slipping through before you could stop it. Your shoulders shaking as everything you held back came crashing down all at once. Because loving him never went away. It just learned how to stay quiet. And tonight, he made it loud again.

Outside, Seokjin didn’t move. His hands stayed on the wheel. His eyes fixed on the space where you had been standing. The car felt empty now. Too quiet. He exhaled slowly. But it didn’t help. “Too late,” he said under his breath. And this time, it didn’t feel like doubt. It felt like truth. He drove away. Faster than he should have. The city blurring past him. But no matter how far he went, he couldn’t escape the sound of your voice. Or the way you said goodbye like you meant it.

Morning does not pause for heartbreak. It arrives with the same quiet certainty, slipping through your curtains in thin lines of light that stretch across your ceiling, across your walls, across you like nothing in the world has shifted.

You wake before your alarm. Your eyes stay fixed on the ceiling for a long time, tracking the faint movement of shadows as the light outside slowly changes. There is a heaviness in your chest that doesn’t come from sleep or lack of it, something deeper that settles into your bones like it belongs there now. For a brief moment, your mind is empty. No memories. No voices. No weight. Just silence.

Then it returns. The car. The dim streetlights. The way his voice sounded when he said your name like he was afraid it would be the last time. The way your own words felt sharp in your mouth, like you were cutting through something that had once been soft.

Your throat tightens. You sit up slowly, pressing the heel of your palm against your eyes as if you could push everything back into place. “Get up,” you whisper, your voice rough from a night that didn’t really let you rest. You don’t give yourself time to hesitate. Because if you do, you know you’ll stay there. And if you stay there, you might start thinking again.

The shower runs hotter than usual. Steam fills the small space quickly, fogging the mirror until your reflection disappears completely, and for a second, you let yourself stand there under the water, letting it run over your face, your hair, your shoulders, hoping it might quiet the noise in your head.

It doesn’t. But it gives you something else to focus on. You make coffee. You don’t remember pouring it. You don’t remember taking the first sip. Only that it tastes bitter, stronger than usual, like you forgot to measure something properly. You get dressed carefully. Every movement controlled. Every step intentional. Like if you keep everything precise, nothing will fall apart. You stand in front of the mirror longer than you should. “You’re fine,” you tell your reflection. Your eyes don’t believe you. But they don’t argue either.

Work greets you the same way it always does. Fluorescent lights. Quiet conversations. The soft tapping of keyboards blending into the background like a rhythm you’ve memorized.

“Morning,” someone says as you walk in.

“Morning,” you reply, adjusting your bag on your shoulder, your tone steady enough to pass.

You settle into your seat. Open your laptop. Read the first email. You don’t process a single word.

“Are you okay?”

You blink, looking up. Your coworker is watching you closely, their expression shifting from casual to concerned.

“I’m fine,” you say automatically.

They don’t move. “You’ve been staring at your screen for a while.”

You glance back. The email is still open. Unanswered. “Just tired,” you add, offering a small smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. They don’t smile back right away. Instead, they pull a chair closer and sit beside you, lowering their voice slightly. “You don’t have to tell me what’s going on,” they say gently. “But don’t pretend like nothing is happening. You’re not very good at it today.”

That almost makes you laugh. Almost. “I’m not pretending nothing’s happening,” you reply after a second, your voice quieter now, more honest than you intended. “I’m just trying to get through the day without falling apart in the middle of it.”

They soften. Completely. “Okay,” they say. “That’s fair.”

A pause lingers between you. Not uncomfortable.m Just understanding. “Then let’s get through it together,” they add lightly. “Lunch later. Somewhere loud. Somewhere distracting.”

You hesitate. Because going home sounds easier. But you know what happens when you’re alone. ”Okay,” you agree.

Lunch turns into dinner. Dinner turns into staying out longer than you planned. You walk through streets that feel alive in a way your apartment doesn’t right now, passing small restaurants with warm lighting spilling onto the sidewalks, people talking loudly, laughing freely, living in ways that feel distant from you but still close enough to observe.

You sit at a table surrounded by your coworkers, listening as they talk about things that don’t require emotional investment. Work gossip. Weekend plans. Someone complaining about a deadline. Someone else joking about quitting. You nod at the right moments. You respond when needed. You laugh when it fits.

“You’re quieter than usual,” one of them says, tilting their head slightly.

You shrug, taking a sip of your drink. “Just listening.”

“That’s suspicious,” another one teases. “You usually have something to say.”

You smile faintly. “Maybe I’m learning.”

“Learning what?”

You think about it for a second. Then answer honestly. “How to be okay without saying everything out loud.”

They don’t push after that. And you’re grateful. The night stretches on. Not long enough to feel like an escape. But long enough to keep you from going home too early. When you finally do, the quiet greets you again. Your apartment is exactly how you left it. Nothing moved. Nothing changed.

You drop your bag near the door, your shoulders sagging slightly as the weight of the day settles back in. You sit on the edge of your bed. Staring at nothing. Your phone buzzes. Your heart reacts instantly. Sharp. Uncontrolled. You grab it too quickly. Seokjin’s number. Your stomach drops. You open the message.

Jin:

I know you might not want to hear from me

Your fingers tighten slightly around your phone.

Another message follows before you can react.

Jin:

but I can’t just leave it like that

You inhale slowly. Your chest rising, falling, trying to steady something that doesn’t want to be steady.

Jin:

I’m sorry

Another.

Jin:

I’m really sorry

Your vision blurs slightly. You blink it away. The messages keep coming.

Jin:

I keep thinking about everything you said

and I hate that I didn’t understand it sooner

You press your lips together. Hard. You can hear him. In your head. In your chest. In the spaces you worked so hard to quiet.

Jin:

I don’t expect you to forgive me

I just don’t want you to think you didn’t matter

A tear slips down your cheek. You wipe it away quickly, almost frustrated with yourself for reacting at all.

“That’s the problem,” you whisper into the empty room, your voice shaking slightly as the words leave your mouth. “You’re saying everything I needed back then, like timing doesn’t matter, like the moment I needed you isn’t the only one that counts.”

Your phone buzzes again.

Jin:

You mattered more than I knew how to handle

Your grip tightens. You stare at the screen. At the words. At everything that came too late. For a moment, you consider replying. Your fingers hover over the keyboard. A sentence forming in your mind. A question you’ve already asked. Then you stop. Because you already know the answer. Another message appears.

Jin:

I want to fix it

I don’t know how yet but I want to try

You let out a quiet, broken sound. “Fix it,” you repeat softly, shaking your head as the weight of everything he’s saying presses against you again, reopening wounds you spent months trying to close, making it feel like healing was just an illusion you created to survive.

Your thumb moves. Not to reply. To end it. You press the option. Block. The messages disappear. The screen clears. And just like that, the line between you is cut. You sit there for a long time. Phone still in your hand. Heart still racing.

Across the city, Seokjin sits alone. The studio is empty now. The lights dimmed. The equipment still. His phone rests in his hand. Screen lit. Messages sent. No reply. He reads them again. And again. Hana’s name flashes across the screen. Calling.

He watches it. Lets it ring. It stops. Then starts again. He turns the phone over. Ignoring it completely. Because none of it matters right now.

“She blocked me,” he says quietly into the empty room, the words leaving him slowly, as if saying them out loud makes them more real, more final, something he can no longer undo no matter how much he wishes he could go back.

The silence that follows is absolute. And for the first time, he understands. You didn’t walk away this time. You closed the door.

Chapter 7

The End

a/n: Thanks for reading!! Sorry for all the emotional whiplash lol

Apparently, placing children that were of low birth in the western court would’ve sent a ‘bad message’. In other words, it’d bring their value down to that of an abandoned child.

Do you know how morally bankrupt you’d have to be to think that? The entire purpose of closing off the area was to keep women and children safe, it shouldn’t matter if they’re biologically his or not. Even the strategist saw no validity in their concerns, and he’s known for rejecting proposals, for no reason other than finding joy in others' struggles. 

Needless to say, he continued with his plans.

The circumstances of one’s birth and status becomes irrelevant once they become a child of the palace. Zuko made sure of that by making an actual title out of it, all while hoping it’d be enough to appease a few nobles. 

He may have also let Aang take part and have a little fun with the drafting process. It looks ridiculous on paper— the document starts off by declaring them as the cutest members of the court— the failure to recognize them as such will result in the immediate loss of one's honor. 

Jokes aside, the document is as valid as it gets and it has been advised that it be treated as such. It’s one of the very few documents that mentions the death penalty— testing the legitimacy of it is not a game you want to play with him. 

The orphanage takes up a fair amount of space. The home itself is double the size of a high ranked concubine’s, with a decent sized vegetable garden obstructing the view of it. If some of the concubines are anything like their families, the last thing they need is the constant reminder that their chambers could be bigger. They are more than welcome to visit the children, though— many of them actually do, along with the servant girls.

And you, surprisingly.

Aside from all the planning, you never mentioned anything about the orphanage, let alone show interest in the matter. He just assumed you weren’t the maternal type, only to catch you there six months after the palace started taking in children. He then assumed you were just there to make sure everything was running smoothly. 

Wrong. 

He looked closer and the sight had him reconsidering just how much he knew you because you were clearly there to give a chubby, mindless baby a tour of the garden. You gave them a tomato to gnaw on while you pointed out all the different vegetables being grown, too. 

The conversation he had with you shortly after sounded more like an interrogation. 

“What are you doing here?” 

You looked at the child, then back at the lord who just awkwardly stood there like a child lost at the market, before stating the obvious. “Visiting.”

“Yeah, but… why?”

Your brows raised, “Am I not allowed to?”

“I mean— yeah. Of course you are, but—” he paused and gestured at the child, “why did you give the baby a tomato?”

“Because she wanted it,” you said, voice calm despite growing visibly frustrated with the questions. He gave you a puzzled look, because babies can’t fucking talk, and you further elaborated. “She was reaching for it and I let her have it.”

He almost asked if you were worried about the child choking, but you obviously weren’t since they couldn’t even break the skin of it. You seemed quite confident in your ability to keep the little human alive, which also took him by surprise. “Wait— so you come here a lot?”

You let out a sigh. “Yes.”

The questions stopped there. He didn’t want to offend you or discourage you from making future visits.

Zuko still doesn’t know your visiting schedule, you never tell him when you go even after he’s expressed wanting to visit with you. He thought today would be his lucky day since your visits have been longer due to Mira being there, but the gods never seem to grant his wishes no matter how simple they are. 

The next time he would see you is at the training site, speaking with your father. He was somehow able to give you and the soldiers his full attention, because he stopped talking to you for a split second to bark at one of them to fix their posture. 

He took that as his sign to leave. The strategist apparently had eyes on every side of his head and for all he knew, he’d be the next one to catch some odd form of that man’s wrath.

. . . . . .

It’s easy to forget just how big the palace is, but unfortunately for your fathers assistants, they are reminded of that fact whenever he summons you. The task is time consuming, your location changes depending on what you’re working on, and a lot of the time, you are working on multiple things at once. What’s worse is half the time you’re too busy to go see him, making their efforts all for nothing.

Today’s unlucky assistant checked every single location there was to think of before giving the west wing a try. He wasn’t a fan of the guards there, they’ve always treated him as if he were trying to break in and steal one of Lord Zuko’s concubines. 

You would’ve declined to meet your father today had his assistant not been in such rough shape. Not only was he tired, but he was also afraid thanks to the guards.

“How was your trip to Republic City?”

The question made your face momentarily drop— that’s what he wanted to ask? He could’ve written you a letter! 

“It was busy, but good, I guess. Found some volunteers for the Silk District project.” You don’t spare him the details. Ever. He’s the type to nitpick at them in hopes of catching a mistake that could be pinned on the Fire Lord. 

He raises a brow. “You’re not too tired, are you?”

“No,” you assure him. “Not at all.” 

He gives you a suspicious look before continuing. “Good— anyways, I’d like to send a few soldiers with you on your trip to the Silk District. I’ve received word that it’s only grown more violent since the incident with the brothel workers and I wouldn’t be surprised if those beasts tried to target you.”

It’s like he forgot that you tried to kill him once. He also called you a beast that day… and an evil little bitch. 

You smile. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he barks out an insulting laugh. “The Fire Lord may be a ruler, but don’t expect him to play the role of a protector, too. That man has a duty to stay alive and needs to focus on saving himself. You will have soldiers there to keep an eye on you.” 

You let out a laugh of your own, letting it die out into a silence that ends up getting dragged out past the point of comfort. “I understand your concerns. However, that is not necessary and I’m going to have to respectfully decline your offer.”

“It’s not an offer—”

“Father,” you’re calm as you cut him off with a simple warning. 

“No, listen to me—”

“I will break them beyond belief.” You casually threaten him, making it sound as if it were an event you were looking forward to. It makes the strategist quickly drop it— he’d rather not see you go through with that promise. You take a deep breath, pleased at how easy that was to settle, and move on as if you didn’t just threaten his men. “I am fully capable of protecting myself and will be just fine without soldiers. So please, don’t worry about me.” 

You don’t know what kind of nonsense that old man’s head is filled with. He knows you're strong enough to protect yourself, he also knows you would never count on anyone to save you, and yet he still does… that. 

Sending people after you, demanding your presence, making you accept his help.

He was worse when you were a child, there was a point in time where his control reached even the simplest parts of your life. But that wasn’t the part that infuriated you, it was the part where he’d say you had everything. 

You couldn’t even let your mind wander without being interrogated over what thoughts were in your head. 

You spent your entire childhood yearning for the freedom of adulthood, only to have it ripped away while reading an acceptance letter from the most elite subdivision in the military. To be accepted into a program was considered to be the highest honor. Yet, it was just another reminder of all the choices that you never had— it wasn’t even you that applied. 

Your memory of what happened afterwards is vague. You just remember showing your father what an elite soldier looked like and the experience was enough to send him into a full-blown crisis. It left him panicking over just what kind of punishment was awaiting him after death— he was certain he’d have to answer to someone for giving the world nothing but evil children.

Needless to say, he didn’t push you to go to that program. You were going to be the next head of the clan regardless, which shows you’d done enough. 

The thought of you training for another few years was also deeply unsettling. 

Your father has toned down since then, but there’s moments when he reverts back to the man that raised you. He still wants you to join the military, except this time around he wants you to work for him and be his replacement once he retires, just as he was for his father. He never takes no for an answer, either, and will continue to bring it up. You understand the role of an advisor doesn’t last forever, but that doesn’t mean your time as one is coming to an end soon. 

The constant pursuit of control is an exhausting one. It’s become a sad sight over the years, one that makes it hard to stay angry with him. 

It’d be nice to watch him take a break for once. 

Unlike your fathers assistants, you don’t have to mindlessly search for the lord. There are currently no meetings, which means he’s either in his office or his personal courtyard. 

Hopefully he’s in his office, you’re least likely to be met with an unwelcome surprise there. 

The courtyard isn’t that bad— it’s what his courtyard leads to: his chambers. Aside from the times he’s requested your presence, it’s a place you’ve learned to heed with extreme caution. 

It doesn’t get easier with time. The moment you’re met with an empty office, you’re already cursing to yourself and begging the gods that he’s clothed today. Seeing the lord naked once is already far too much and it’s already happened a handful of times throughout the years.

There is a reason why fights break out so often between concubines. It’s the same reason why Zuko laughed when that man assumed he had a small dick, and it has nothing to do with his personality. 

Getting the image out of your head is a task on its own and has driven you nuts at times. It’s as stubborn as the lord himself, lingering around and refusing to fucking leave. 

You soon find yourself at the entrance of his chambers, nervous as you are frustrated that he refuses to get a door. His reasoning for covering the entrance with curtains is because he enjoys the extra airflow. There’s apparently also no need for a door when he already has one at the entrance of his courtyard. Which is idiotic, in your opinion, he never hears when you knock. 

You make your presence known by calling out to him. No answer. You pull the curtain aside ever so slightly and take a peek. No idiotic lord in sight. 

You prepare for the worst. The first step is taken and you call out to him again, this time it’s more of a warning. Your footsteps echo throughout the dim space, and with each second that passes, you find yourself feeling more and more like an intruder. 

This really is the worst job sometimes. 

You call his name, again. Nothing. Your eyes land on the hallway leading to his bedroom and the doors wide open. If he were in there, he would’ve come out by now. 

He’s not here.

The conclusion brings a sigh of relief as you move on with your thoughts. There’s one other place he could be and that’s the western court, which leaves you torn. If he’s with a concubine, then that means you can take the rest of the day off. It’s getting later in the afternoon though and you’d rather not end up with more work tomorrow just because you made that assumption. 

You turn on your heel and begin to walk out, too lost in thought to pay much attention to what’s in front of you. It’s not until you’re just steps away from the entrance when you're startled by a figure blocking it. 

Startled may be an understatement. You let out this quick, blood curdling scream that left your throat raw afterwards. 

You’re dying inside from the embarrassment and Zuko thinks it’s fucking hilarious. 

“What kind of an intruder gets frightened like that?”

Your heart’s still pounding against your chest from the initial fear, making it difficult to answer back, let alone argue. “I was just— I’ve been trying to look for you— god I fucking hate you— you been standing here this whole time and you couldn’t even say anything?” 

"It’s not like I was hiding.” His grin widens. “I expected you to be a little more aware of your surroundings.” 

“Yeah? Well not everyone’s used to living in a cave,” you say bitterly, finally looking back at him again. “Sorry I’m not used to the darkness.”

He dressed down in training pants and a tunic, but clothed nonetheless. He must’ve been getting some training in since his hair’s up, too. 

“I thought you only trained in the mornings?” 

He crosses his arms and leans against the entryway, then shrugs. “The afternoon’s nice sometimes when it's quiet. One of the servants told me you were looking for me on the way there— you alright?”

“I’m wonderful.”  You weren’t sure what kind of an answer he was expecting— he asked as if that wasn’t your job to look for him. “Was there anything that needed to be finished before the day ended?” 

He hums and thinks about it, then shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Are you sure?” you ask, giving him a skeptical look. 

“Positive.” 

“I don’t believe you.” There’s a tinge of defeat in your tone and the little smile he gives tells you he’s in that little mood to fuck with you. “Zuko, I’m serious— I don’t want to have more work for tomorrow.”

Oh, wow. You’re actually saying his name. 

He lets out this warm, airy laugh, further making a mockery of your suffering. “I didn’t even say anything.”

“You didn’t have to!”

“No,” he laughter dies into a low hum. “You’re all done for the day. Promise.” 

You just stare at him for a moment. It’s not that you don’t believe him, you do. He’s just a pest and you can’t believe he’s in charge of millions of people sometimes. 

“You should come train with me— I think it might help with whatever you got bottled up right now,” he casually offers.

“You scared me senseless and then you made me go around in circles trying to get an answer,” you slowly spell it out for him, not realizing it only fills his chest with a sick sense of pride. “This is because of you.”

“And now you can get revenge” he gives the solution easily, making it sound like the opportunity of a lifetime. “You won’t have to hold back on me, either. It’s probably been a while since you got to spar with someone without worrying about killing them.”

A smile manages to break through as you prepare to shut him down, yet words come out surprisingly sincere. “It pains me to say this, but I’m not sparring with someone as important as you.” 

“That’s the sweetest thing you ever said to me, you know that?” he manages to get a little remark in right before you start listing reasons why.

“Aside from Uncle Iroh, you’re pretty all alone. There is no one next in line, not even a child— that you could’ve had by now, by the way.”

“Yes, I could’ve had multiple,” he comments in amusement. 

“You have multiple meetings a week and they’re all with important people, too. Their job is to notice what’s wrong, especially when it comes to you. Any concerns they have, whether it be a scratch or bruise, can be made into a problem.”

“So what you’re saying is you’re afraid to hurt me?” he asks, words dripping from his lips like warm honey.

You’d think he’d be offended or maybe even start to make fun of you for thinking that, and you’re getting neither. He’s more flattered than anything right now. 

“I would love to.” you coldly break it to him, then go on to say a bunch of things that you hope he doesn’t make fun of you for. “But it’s you who puts on the Fire Lord’s crown everyday and people are safe now because of that— they get to live their lives in peace. Even if it were something light, I’m not going to spar with someone who has a title that actually means something. It’s not like I enjoy bending that much, anyway.”

Zuko finds himself completely still as he takes your words in— not tense, nor shocked, just processing them.

He thought you were kidding when you said he was too important. 

It’s not like his title was something you overlooked. He’s never even had to wonder if you approved of having him as the nation’s ruler. You’ve worked with him for years— of course he had your approval, of course you thought he was competent. He just never expected you to hold him in such high regard as the Fire Lord.

Taking responsibility for his family’s crimes has been nothing short of rewarding, but with it comes a certain guilt whenever he sat on that throne— it makes him wonder if it was time to shed some of that weight.

“Thank you.” His words come out tender, eyes golden and filled with awe. He’d like to say more, but something tells him that your words haven’t caught up to you yet, and so he clears his throat and moves on. “So what’s this about never having liked bending?”

“I don’t know, I just don’t really like fighting. All the running and jumping around is tiring” You murmur, just the thought of it makes you look miserable. “I only went to training because I had to.” 

“I’m sorry about that,” he hums, rubbing the back of his neck. He wasn’t around for a good chunk of time, but he’s heard about how brutal that training was— all the fainting and bloody noses due to exhaustion. “Are you happy now, at least?” 

“What do you mean?”

“You’re family was set on turning you into a fucking killing machine,” he huffs out a laugh, still surprised that you hated fighting this entire time. “Are you happy with where you ended up instead?” 

“Mmm— yeah.” You pause and Zuko waits for the complaint. “It’d be nice if you made my job easier though and just answered my questions with a simple yes or no.”

“You know I like messing with you,” he murmurs, poking the tip of your nose and earning himself a little glare. “Makes my day a lot more fun.” 

“I am not your jester.” You try to say it with a straight face, only for you both to end up having to suppress a laugh, then remember what you came here for just shortly after. “I guess I should get going then since there’s no more work for today.” 

“Yeah— easy day.” He wishes you wouldn’t go right now. “…Are you returning to the north wing?”

That’s where your chambers are, on the complete opposite side of the palace grounds.

“Mhm,” you nod, shifting your stance— you can’t actually leave, he’s blocking the door. 

“Your chambers are up to standard, right?” He doesn’t move, he knows exactly what he’s doing. “I remember you complaining about them once.”

“That was two years ago,” you kindly remind him, his ability to remember such a small detail leaving you slightly concerned. You only complained about a creaky cabinet. “But, nope. I’m very cozy there.”  

“Can I see?” 

“No,” you say as politely as possible. “Any other questions?” 

He gives a contemplative hum— the longer it goes on the more concerned you grow. It’s not like you can leave since he hasn’t moved, so you’re forced to stand and wait. 

Now he’s tilting his head and studying your face. 

“Do you plan on ever asking anything?” 

“I was still thinking about it. But since you’re in a rush right now, sure.” The fabric of his shirt stretches over his biceps as he crosses his arms, eyes lazily trail down to your lips. “Let me kiss you again.”

You let out a long sigh as you start to murmur to yourself. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“I’m not,” his brows furrow with the defensive response. “Just one.” 

“Why?”

“I find it unfair that we both share the same experience, yet be in two different states of being— I was drunk.” It’s a pathetic excuse, one he just came up with.

“That’s your fault.” You almost mentioned the fact that he basically jumped on you and you had no idea about, but decided against it out of fear that it’d create an entire argument.  “Besides, I was tipsy, too.”

“I still think you should let me kiss you,” he persists.

“Of course you do.” 

“Can I?” 

“You are a pest,” you murmur to yourself once again. “Would you like me to escort you to one of your concubines?” 

“No, thanks,” he curtly says, before thinking again. “C’mon, I gave you a baby—“

You cut him off, because he did not— Mira is a child of the palace. “Don’t say it like that.” 

“Alright, fine, sorry.” He lazily holds his hands out in defense. “It’s really easy if you close your eyes, by the way.”

“You're full of shit.” 

“I am a man that would like a simple kiss.” 

You look at him, then the entrance he’s blocking, then back at him again. 

Zuko notices and smiles. “One kiss and you shall be released.” 

You were right, he was blocking the door on purpose. Bastard. It takes you a moment to even take his wishes into consideration. It probably won’t be awkward afterward since it’s happened before, but then that opens the door to him asking again. 

You look at him and he’s never looked more smackable with how unapologetic he is about it all. 

“You’ll let me go after?” 

“Mhm.” 

You take more time to respond, clearly struggling with the idea of allowing something like this to happen. A part of you wants to make a run for it, but you also don’t want to find out if he’d actually catch you. 

“Alright, fine,” you quietly say, already growing nervous from the grin that pulls out of him. 

“Don’t look so scared,” he hums as he starts walking closer. 

His words pull a slight frown from you. “It’s hard not to when you say it like that.”

He stops right in front of you and gently lifts your chin to look at him. “Like what?”

“That.” There’s less of a bite in your tone, he’s more intimidating when he’s this close. “Don’t make this any harder for me.” 

He rubs his thumb over your chin, giving you a sympathetic look. “I like it when you’re sweet like this.”

Just moments later, both of hands are cupping your jaw and he’s leaning forward. 

His lips are soft. 

They’re not crashing into you this time and you can’t help but think about how they’re pressed against you so gently. Even with the way he takes his dear time, everything feels so light, it’s easy to breathe. 

Slowly, he pulls away and you’re met with heavy lidded eyes. His hands are still cupped around your jaw, you’re not sure if you want them to pull away just yet. 

His thumbs rub over your cheeks. “Would you be mad about one more?” 

You know you should pull away, the disappointment for not doing so comes out in your voice. “We shouldn’t be doing this.” 

“I know,” he murmurs, nose brushing against yours before pressing another kiss against your lips. “I’ll leave you alone after this.” 

“I don’t believe you.”

His only response was another kiss. It starts off like the first, but becomes more familiar. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you in and deepening it, until the faint sounds of your lips parting and moving with his could be heard. 

By the time he pulls away, you’re both slightly out of breath, and you’re wondering if this is where the line should be drawn.

Zuko’s thinking the exact opposite. “Still think we shouldn’t be doing this?” 

“We shouldn’t be doing this at all,” you let out a small laugh. 

His hold on you is firm and when you fail to turn your face away, he looks at you in amusement. “Why are you laughing then?” 

“Because I was supposed to leave after the first one.” 

“Sorry about that.” He smiles and presses a kiss against your temple. “You’re allowed to admit that you’re liking this, by the way.”

“I’m not doing that,” you say, words stubborn and final. 

And Zuko laughs because you wouldn’t have the privilege to come up with such an answer if you were in another scenario. You’d be admitting to all kinds of things if he could have his way with you. 

He of course doesn’t say that, being the gentleman that he is. “You’re a very cruel woman, you know that?”

You press your finger into his chest. “And you are a very selfish man.” 

Which probably wasn’t a very good idea, the poking and the name calling. It seems to have put an inappropriate thought in his head given the groan he had to suppress. 

“I am a very selfish man,” he says in a dangerously low tone. 

And then his lips are on yours because for years he’s been deprived of one of the most simple joys in life: touching a woman he likes. 

So he touches you gently. He kisses you deeply. He has been fucking starving, but he savors you completely.

Until there’s metal crashing down on the floor, followed by a yelp that makes you push him away, hard. The servant’s apologizing profusely for dropping the platter that was carrying his tea and for intruding.

Then she scatters away, ashamed and embarrassed. She was under the impression that all of the Fire Lord’s intimate encounters took place in the chambers of his concubines. She was also under the impression that he only had intimate encounters with his concubines.

Which is correct. It’s also why you take off running after her. If the details of what she had just encountered began to spread, you are fucked.

notes: god i need him so fucking bad i just know he'd talk u through it wait im the writer HE DOES talk u through it

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