𝐚 𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐚𝐧 💜

The villainess had a rough upbringing, raised in a strict household where showing emotion was seen as weakness, so she bottled it all up. She was quiet, keeping to herself in the story, but you could see the way she lingered when the Emperor Hongjoong was nearby, how she looked at him. When Miyoung returned to town, she noticed the way the high lady watched Hongjoong with quiet longing and used her sweet charm to manipulate everyone around her, turning them against the woman. These lies resulted in her death, killed by the hands of the emperor, as she was deemed unstable and crazy. The comic ended with Emperor Hongjoong marrying Miyoung.

You were on the high lady's side. She wasn't the villain of the story, she was misunderstood. If it were you in her place, you would've done things differently. Unlike her, you would've fought back against the accusations, but at the end of the day it was just a story, one you continued to come back to despite its dissatisfactory ending. You couldn't rewrite it either, only reimagine your own version of it.

It was Friday, the end of a long week had finally come to a close and you could rest. Days like today you wished you had a car. Walking home only added to your exhaustion, but you couldn't afford to be throwing away money by taking the bus. You came to a stop at a crosswalk, letting out a heavy sigh waiting for the light to turn. Once the icon changed, you made your way across. You couldn't wait to get home.

After that, everything was a blur. The screech of tires could be heard, followed by a force that rammed into your side, leaving a dull ache behind. Glass shattered and something warm trickled down your face. It all happened so fast there was no way you could've reacted.

The muffled sounds of clamoring pedestrians reached your ears as the corners of your vision became hazy. The world felt disconnected and was growing more distant by the second as the darkness crept in, overtaking you completely.

You awoke with a start, inhaling sharply as you shot upright in bed. You frantically looked at your surroundings. The bed wasn't yours. Its silken sheets and luxurious bed frame didn't belong to you. The thick drapes over the windows and marble floors were a far cry from your ramshackle apartment.

You froze. You recognized this room. These were the chambers of the high lady in the manhwa you loved so much. Scrambling off the bed, you stumbled to the vanity, gripping the edges of it when you met your reflection. You weren't yourself. With trembling fingers, you reached up to touch your face, watching the woman in the mirror follow.

"No way." You exhaled.

Your voice was your own, but everything else was different. Your hair, your eyes, your clothes.

"How is this possible?" You uttered in disbelief.

A knock on the bedroom door startled you, causing you to flinch.

"My lady?"

A flash of panic shot through you and for a split second you considered hiding. Then you were struck with a realization. This was your chance. You could rewrite the story, change the ending.

"My lady?" Came the muffled call from the other side of the door.

You straightened your posture and twisted the handle, pulling the door ajar to peer through the crack. The high lady's assistant, well, your assistant, Seonghwa, stood outside.

"Yes?"

"Is everything alright? You took a while to answer."

"Of course." You shrugged it off with a huff.

"Right." He smoothed out his crisp uniform. "Today is the luncheon at the Emperor's palace."

The luncheon. Today marked one week until the innocent-faced Miyoung would arrive and start smearing the lady's name. You had a week to change things.

"Thank you." You told Seonghwa.

He gave a small bow and walked away.

You pushed the door shut with a soft click, resting your head against it.

"One week." You murmured under your breath.

Later that afternoon, you arrived at the emperor's castle, receiving a few sidelong glances from the guards as you entered the gates. Your black robes, covered in intricate silver embroidery, swayed at your feet with every step.

The garden was bustling with groups of other royals and wealthy individuals conversing amongst themselves.

There were eyes on you when you passed by, their stares off putting, but you didn't let it deter you. One of the butlers passed by and offered a tray of drinks to you, the flutes filled with sparking champagne. You thanked him and plucked one from the silver tray, taking a slow sip to steady yourself, scoping the place from over the rim of the glass. You caught sight of Emperor Hongjoong making his way around to greet everyone. When he got closer, you straightened your posture, ignoring your racing heart.

His eyes met yours and a flicker of surprise passed over his features. "Lady Y/n."

You gave a small cordial bow of your head. "Emperor Hongjoong."

He moved on to more attendees, leaving you to ponder your next move.

In the story, the lady didn't go out of her way to interact with Hongjoong. She buried herself in her duties and settled for admiring him from afar at events like this one—but you weren't her.

Once the luncheon kicked off, you began weaving your way through the crowd towards the table lined with food from meats to salad. Everything looked delicious. You prepared yourself a plate and went to take a seat at one of the small circular dining tables scattered about the garden.

No one came to join you.

This wasn't surprising since the wealthy woman you were now parading around as was distant and closed off. You ate in silence. When your plate was empty, one of the many staff around the garden came by to collect it. You thanked them and searched for Hongjoong.

His blue and gold robes stood out from the other wealthy individuals here. He stood by one of the cherry blossom trees by a small stream, observing the crowd. You slowly stood from your seat and made your way over to him.

"Beautiful day." You began.

Hongjoong turned his gaze to you, his response delayed. "It is."

His brown eyes swept the area before pulling back to you. "You're not often seen mingling at these things."

"I know." You let a faint chuckle slip out. "Must be jarring."

"Jarring might be too crass of a word." He murmured. "Unusual is more suitable."

"Unusual, yes." You nodded.

A gentle breeze blew by, rustling the robes that draped from yours and Hongjoong's bodies.

You were unsure of what to say. Being too open too soon would raise suspicion, or more than it already has. Even the emperor, despite inviting you go sit, was quiet.

"Did you have something to discuss with me?"

His question came out of nowhere.

"No. Why?"

"You always attend these events, but you never approach me." He stated.

"Just being polite." You responded coolly, pretending to smooth out a wrinkle in your robes.

Hongjoong studied you, but didn't say a word.

"Your highness." Someone called, shattering the silence between you.

Hongjoong's assistant, Yunho, came striding over, his eyes darting warily to you. He cleared his throat and leaned closer to Hongjoong.

"The grand duke would like a word."

"Grand Duke San?" The emperor inquired. "I'll be right there."

He paused to turn to you. "Lady Y/n." He dismissed, promptly following Yunho through the crowd.

You sighed, shoulders slumping. Maybe it was for the best that you didn't make a lot of progress. You still had six more days.

Lucky for you, the Emperor had a plethora of events until the arrival of Miyoung. And you would be at every single one, just like the high lady in the manhwa, except this time, you would make it a point to put yourself out there.

There was a dinner two days after the luncheon. It was in the dining hall of Hongjoong's palace. Another chance to mingle and talk business with the richest of the rich.

You sat at the long polished dining table that stretched across the vast room. The scent of roasted meats and savory soups filled the air. Those sitting on either side of you eyed you warily, so you offered them polite nods, dissolving some of the tenseness.

"Everyone." Hongjoong stood at the head of the table, calling for the guests' attention. "I would like to thank my head chef, Wooyoung for preparing this meal tonight."

Said man was beside Hongjoong in his cooking attire, the top half of his dark hair tied into a ponytail. He gave a deep bow of appreciation before leaving.

"Tonight I want you all to enjoy yourselves and have fun." Hongjoong said with a dazzling smile before sitting back down.

"Lady Y/n." The nobleman beside you spoke.

His name was Mingi, another duke, one from the Southern region. He was intense with a reputation for being blunt. "You don't usually attend these gatherings."

His comment was dismissed with a hum from you, showing that you acknowledged his words but had nothing to say.

He let out a little huff and began cutting into his honey-glazed duck. "These events are mostly for conversation and you hardly ever converse."

"I'm aware."

In the manhwa, the lady attended more formal events and used it to discuss business matters with other nobles. She buried herself in work and disregarded social events such as this one, which is why you were now in attendance. Social gatherings like this one were perfect for getting closer with certain emperors.

Duke Mingi ceased with his prying questions and settled on enjoying his meal in silence, which you were grateful for.

It seemed that the nobleman and women paid closer attention to you than you assumed, especially if a single instance at a garden luncheon raised suspicion.

Occasionally, Emperor Hongjoong's eyes would flicker in your direction, stealing brief glances when he thought you weren't paying attention. Why he kept starting? You hadn't the slightest clue. Perhaps he too was wondering why you were there.

Everyone's plates emptied, guests rose from their seats and gathered in corners of the grand dining room, more eager to socialize than to be seated at a table. The clatter of dishes being cleared by butlers accompanied the murmur of chatter from the guests.

Hongjoong was still seated, speaking with Grand Duke San to the left of him. His assistant, Yunho, stood behind the emperor, scanning the room. Duke Mingi had since abandoned his seat in favor of chatting with some snobby stockholder.

Hongjoong watched as you stood from your seat, moving awkwardly through the cluster of people, observing you silently while sipping his wine. You didn't approach anyone or join the groups conversing, just drifting.

You were planning, rehearsing. You wanted to play it cool, but the days were dwindling and you needed to make a move. During your silent scheming, you dared to steal a glance at Emperor Hongjoong, pausing when you met his gaze. He was already looking at you. A small nod in greeting was given to him in hopes to seem casual.

Hongjoong lifted two fingers and gestured for you to come over. Despite the initial shock, you made your way to him, the path feeling longer than it should as conversations died down a decibel and you began to feel like attention had shifted to you.

"Lady Y/n." Came his greeting.

"Emperor Hongjoong." You bowed.

His eyes darted to the empty chair at his right, accompanied by a jerk of his head, a silent invitation to join. This surprised you and without a word, you sat.

Duke San cleared his throat, seemingly bothered by your presence, and proceeded with his conversation while Yunho watched silently. You didn't exactly feel welcome at the table, but the emperor himself had offered you a seat, so you had to oblige.

While San discussed something about one of his trade deals, Hongjoong poured a glass of wine and without a word, slid it towards you. You blinked a couple times, processing the gesture. A few nearby murmurs caught your attention. Other nobles and wealthy individuals witnessed the significant act. The emperor personally poured you a drink. The Duke noticed this, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"You're interrupting important discussions." He addressed you suddenly.

"I'm sorry?"

Before San could repeat himself or say something worse, Hongjoong shot him a hard glare.

"She's not distracting me."

Your trembling fingers reached out to take the glass, drinking nearly half of it to calm your rising anger. You were experiencing firsthand the ridicule Lady Y/n faced.

San's jaw ticked in irritation and he went to speak again when Hongjoong raised his hand to silence the duke with one single gesture.

"I've invited Lady Y/n to join us and you will show respect." Hongjoong spoke, his words carrying authority.

San's agitation was clear, but he didn't argue.

"Lady Y/n." The emperor turned to address you. "Are you enjoying the dinner party?"

"It's very nice." You nodded. "The food was impeccable. You'll have to let your chef know."

He gave a soft smile at your words. "I'll let him know."

The rest of the night was a little less tense after Hongjoong broke the ice a bit. San ended up leaving the table at some point, put off by your friendlier behavior. You offered to leave as well so others could converse with Hongjoong, but to your surprise, he declined.

You paced around your chambers restlessly. Tomorrow was the dreaded day and you weren't sure how much progress you'd made with Emperor Hongjoong. Was it enough to protect your image before everyone could turn against you?

"My lady?"

You jumped at the voice, spinning around to find Seonghwa standing in your doorway.

"Apologies. I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's fine." You shook your head.

"Are you feeling alright? You've been different recently." He observed, his brows knitting together in concern.

"I'm perfectly fine." You straightened your posture, attempting to feign nonchalance.

"Very well." He dismissed, starting back to the door. "If you need anything, let me know."

"Thank you, Seonghwa."

A gala was held the day Miyoung arrived. You showed up in the nicest gown you could find in your wardrobe, smoothing out the flowy skirts as you entered.

The ballroom in the palace was huge and filled with the wealthiest individuals, people whispered as you passed. They'd picked up on the subtle shift in your behavior in recent days. You simply ignored them, holding your head high and striding through the crowds.

Since the dinner at Hongjoong's palace, you've felt more comfortable approaching him at gatherings and hope it granted you some grace with him in terms of your impending death.

A butler walked by and you swiftly took a flute of champagne from the silver tray. You took a long sip, steeling your nerves as you began to approach the emperor. Emerging from a cluster of partygoers, you spotted the man you were looking for and he was hugging someone. Your body stiffened when you caught sight of the silken black hair twisted into a tight bun and the pink fabrics on her body. Miyoung. You knew you'd see her there, but it was still rattling to lay eyes on her, even if it was just her backside.

Clearing your throat, you approached Hongjoong.

"I hope I'm not disturbing." You put on your most even tone to appear more casual.

"Oh, Lady Y/n, of course not." Hongjoong pulled away.

"Good. I won't take up your time. I just wanted to come over and greet you properly."

You caught Miyoung looking your way, her eyes slightly narrowed in distain as you spoke to the emperor.

"Well, it's good to see you." Hongjoong was smooth with his response, raising his glass in greeting.

You mirrored his actions. "Oh, and welcome back, Miyoung." You gave a tight smile towards her.

Her entire face changed, that annoyance disappearing in the blink of an eye, masked by a bright smile that could fool everyone—a smile that did fool everyone.

You took your leave swiftly and retreated to a table against the wall lined with finger foods. A couple individuals stood there conversing, Prince Yeosang from a kingdom across the river and his personal knight, Sir Jongho. The two of them noticed your presence immediately, watching you. They shared a glance, unsure whether to speak or not. You lifted your gaze from the spread of food and gave the two of them a faint, but not too obvious, smile.

"Good evening." You bowed your head in greeting.

They both blinked in surprise.

"Yes. Good evening." Yeosang managed to speak. Jongho merely nodded in silent acknowledgement.

You made your rounds through the massive ballroom, circling like a shark and plotting your next move. You caught sight of Miyoung, not clinging to Hongjoong's side like a leech for once, overhearing a conversation she was having with Duke Mingi.

"What's wrong with Lady Y/n?" She inquired, feigning concern.

"I don't know." Mingi responded. "She's been odd lately."

"You don't think she's losing it, do you?"

"Why?"

"This sudden change in personality is strange. It could be something mental."

There was a pause in Mingi's response. "I don't know."

"Well, from what I remember, she's always been so closed off, even before I went overseas. Poor thing. She hardly speaks and only shows up to formal events for business." The way the manipulative words spilled from her like a flowing river was jarring. Her sweet tone could fool anyone into thinking she was just concerned.

"Actually, she's been more social lately." Mingi mentioned. "She even showed up to a social gathering."

"A social gathering?" Miyoung echoed.

"Just the other day."

Your heart raced in your chest. It seemed like your attempts to put yourself out there were working. Instead of blindly believing what Miyoung was saying, Mingi was deciding things for himself based on what he experienced.

Your heart nearly stopped when you heard Duke San's voice join the conversation.

"Are you talking about Lady Y/n?"

"Yes. I'm so concerned about her." Miyoung said, her sickly sweet tone making you feel nauseous.

"You know, the emperor invited her to sit with us the other night at his dinner party?"

"He did." Mingi agreed.

"He what?" Miyoung asked.

"Yeah. And when I tried to say something, he silenced me."

You glanced over your shoulder, looking between the cluster of bodies to see the three chatting.

"Do you think she wants something?" Miyoung asked, placing a hand on her chest in mock concern.

"Her behavior has caught Emperor Hongjoong's attention, that's for sure." San said. "So it's possible."

You chewed on your bottom lip, your heart pounding so loudly you could hardly hear the murmur of conversation around you. Knowing how the story ended, you couldn't stand by and let Miyoung smear your name and manipulate everyone with her faux kindness.

Without realizing, you were headed towards the group, squeezing your way through the crowd.

"Excuse me." You put on a thin smile. "I couldn't help but overhear this discussion you're all having and I must say I don't appreciate you spreading lies and making assumptions about me and questioning my character." You shot Miyoung a glare. "Or my mental state."

Mingi had frozen up and even San was surprised at the way you took up for yourself.

"It's not very ladylike to gossip." You stated.

Miyoung, for once, didn't mask the agitation on her face.

With that, you left with your parting words. "Enjoy the party."

The crowd nearby dispersed as you walked past, some of them having overheard the confrontation. The anger you felt was indescribable, but the satisfaction of sticking up for yourself felt so refreshing.

Hongjoong saw the top of your head storming swiftly through the crowd, his conversation with Yunho coming to a halt.

"Where is Lady Y/n going?"

Yunho turned, catching sight of you just as you slipped out of the ballroom. "I'm not sure."

Hongjoong set his glass down and immediately went after you. Yunho made no effort to stop him.

Air. You needed fresh air, just for a moment. You found a set of glass doors and pushed them open, stepping outside on a stone patio. The heat emanating from your face due to the confrontation was soothed by the nighttime breeze.

Seconds later, the click of the doors sounded from behind you. Then you saw the signature deep blue robes of Emperor Hongjoong in your peripheral.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

You stared out at the moonlit garden, taking in the way the blueish hue tinted everything from the rose bushes to the cherry blossom trees.

"I'm not who everyone thinks I am." You said, not looking at Hongjoong.

The double meaning to your words was lost on the emperor, but it felt good to say them regardless.

"Why do you say that?" He took a step closer.

"Because I hear the whispers." A pause. "I know what people think of me."

"And what do they think of you?"

"That I'm cold and unfeeling. That I'm too closed off. Even Miyoung is in there trying to smear my name, questioning my mental state and putting outrageous ideas in people's heads. She fooling everyone with that innocent smile."

"Not me."

Your head snapped to Hongjoong, your eyes wide. He was standing just a foot away now.

"People fear what they don't understand."

Your chest ached at his words and you felt like crying as memories resurfaced—her memories. Your eyes began to well with tears, a deep sadness aching in your chest. You had the lady's memories. Her pain. And it all felt so real.

You turned away, feeling same, not yours but hers.

Hongjoong took half a step forward, his fingers twitching to reach out.

"I'm sorry. I must look pathetic right now." You uttered faintly.

The emperor then did something no one would expect. He pulled you into his arms.

Your breath caught in your throat. No one had held you like this. In the real world, yes, but Lady Y/n never got this and it hurt you. It hurt the real you too because this was something you needed. Working ungodly hours for measly pay at the office, doing everything you could to get by, resorting to fixing things yourself. You were alone in the real world, always too tired and too broke to go out. In this moment, the emotions you were feeling weren't just yours, but Lady Y/n's too. In that moment, you didn't have to be strong.

Your hands were trembling like leaves as they rested against Hongjoong's back, your head turning into his shoulder.

"My upbringing was unpleasant." You spoke, voice muffled against his robes. "My parents were strict. Showing emotion was seen as weakness, so I had to conceal my feelings. I barely socialized and due to that, I developed severe insecurity. I found it hard to approach people and thought it was easier to keep to myself."

"Thank you for sharing that with me." Hongjoong said. "But you've no need to hide anymore."

You held him tighter, fingers curling into the fabric of his clothes.

"I will not allow myself to be swayed. Not after seeing a change in you with my own eyes."

Hongjoong pulled away, bringing his hand up to gently brush away a tear.

"It's alright." He soothed, his eyes roaming your face for a moment. "I like the real you."

Your breath caught in your throat when his lips pressed to your cheek. He didn't pull away, leaving barely any space between your faces as he met your wide-eyed stare. There was a single pause before he closed the gap and kissed your lips.

It was soft and hesitant, like Hongjoong was giving you time to pull away. So when you responded by kissing him back, he doubled down. Feeling his lips on yours was a breath of fresh air and a testament to the efforts you put into changing Lady Y/n's fate—your fate. Your hands cupped his cheeks and you deepened the kiss. He exhaled through his nose and responded with a slow drag of his lips, pouring every emotion into it.

The kiss only ended when you both needed a breath, parting ways to take in some air.

"Would you like to go back inside?" Hongjoong asked.

"What about Miyoung?"

"I'll keep an eye on her. You just stick with me."

"Okay. I'll give it another go."

"Good." He took your hand and led you to the glass doors. "I'd like to see you again after tonight."

"You would?"

"Yes." He smiled. "Only if you're okay with it."

"I am." You nodded, returning the grin.

"Then it's settled. Let's head back."

You returned home later that night feeling so much lighter. Hongjoong stayed true to his word and kept an eye on Miyoung. He even defended you when she started saying odd things about you. You had done it. You changed Lady Y/n's fate.

"I take it you had a good evening?" Seonghwa greeted you with a grin the second you walked in.

This time you smiled brightly. Your own smile.

"Yes. I did. Things are looking up, Hwa."

"That's wonderful."

You went to your room and changed into your pajamas, undoing your hair and removing all the makeup from the gala. There was a soft knock on your door and Seonghwa poked his head inside.

"May I have a moment to speak with you?"

"Of course."

He entered the room and took a seat in a nearby chair. "I have something to confess."

"Yes?"

"I know you aren't Lady Y/n."

Your heart sank. "What?"

"It's alright." His voice was calm as ever. "I'm the one who made this all happen."

"What?" Your brain was a mess trying to process it all. Seonghwa knew this entire time?

"I know my lady isn't a cold woman." He explained. "So I brought you here in hopes that you would change things. No matter what I said, she wouldn't open up. She just allowed everyone to speak ill of her. I needed you to change the future— and now you have. So I'm giving you a choice. Would you like to go back?"

Go back. Those two words made your chest feel heavily. Go back to your old life, back to the apartment in shambles, to the job that worked you to the bone?

"No." You responded decidedly.

"You wish to stay?"

"I don't know what waits for me if I go back." You played with the fabric of your nightclothes. "Besides, my life was a nightmare anyway. This story—sorry, this universe, was my only escape from it all."

Seonghwa's gaze softened. "Very well."

You knew you'd be alright, especially with Seonghwa knowing your secret.

Due to your actions in changing Lady Y/n's fate, the people in the kingdom started to see the real you. Miyoung was kept at a distance and eventually went back overseas after she finally had enough and lashed out, making a scene in front of everyone. She had to be escorted out of an event after Hongjoong proposed to you. It quite funny.

Presently, you were having breakfast with your new fiancé, laughing over warm buttered croissants, eggs, and fresh juice, his hand clasping yours.

This, you supposed, was what happily ever after truly felt like.

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A little tenderness. A little longing.

The hours she had given it.

The pieces of herself no one else seemed to want.

Thread by thread, she placed everything she could not say into the things she made.

Softness into sleeves. Patience into hems. Hope into hidden linings. Love into every carefully chosen button.

It should have mattered. It did not.

At least, not to anyone who decided whether she was good enough.

The studio smelled of steam, chalk, fabric dye and burnt coffee. Long tables stretched beneath fluorescent lights, each one crowded with sketches, measuring tapes, scissors, pinned muslin, scraps of silk, and half-finished garments waiting to be judged.

Y/N stood at the end of her table with her hands clasped in front of her.

Her fingers ached.

Across from her, three evaluators studied the dress on the mannequin.

None of them spoke for a long moment. That was never good.

The dress was pale gray, almost silver in the right light, though there was no right light in the studio. Only harsh white lamps that turned everything flat and unforgiving. Still, Y/N loved it. She had loved it from the first sketch.

It was simple at first glance. That had been intentional.

A narrow bodice, long sleeves, a skirt that fell in soft layers rather than dramatic volume. But up close there were details. Tiny embroidered feathers along the cuffs. Fine lines of silver thread worked into the hem. A hidden pattern at the waist that only appeared when the fabric moved.

She had spent three nights on those details.

Not that anyone had noticed.

One evaluator, Ms. Keller, lifted the edge of the sleeve between two fingers.

Y/N held her breath.

“The stitching is uneven here.”

Y/N looked at the sleeve.

It was not. Not really.

There were two stitches slightly closer together near the seam, but the line held cleanly. It was strong. It would not show when worn. It would not affect movement.

Still, she nodded. “I see.”

Ms. Keller let the sleeve fall. “The concept lacks clarity.”

Y/N swallowed. “It was meant to feel restrained at first, but reveal itself through movement.”

“Mm.”

That small sound hurt more than outright criticism.

Another evaluator, Mr. Brandt, walked slowly around the mannequin.

“You rely too much on sentiment.”

Y/N blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Your pieces often feel emotional before they feel functional.”

Her throat tightened.

Was clothing not allowed to feel? Was that not the point of making something for a body, for someone’s skin, for someone’s life?

She said none of that. Of course she did not.

“I understand.”

He glanced at her portfolio on the table. “Do you?”

Y/N did not answer.

The third evaluator had barely looked at the dress. She was younger than the others, elegant in the effortless way that made Y/N acutely aware of the frayed cuff of her own sweater.

“You have technical skill,” the woman said.

Hope rose.

“But skill is not enough at this level.”

There it was. The familiar drop.

Y/N kept her face still.

“Your work lacks authority,” the woman continued. “It feels unsure of itself.”

Y/N looked at the dress.

The embroidery she had sewn by lamplight after everyone else had gone home.

The hem she had redone twice because it mattered to her that the layers moved like wings.

Unsure.

Maybe that was true. Maybe everything she made carried the same flaw she did.

Too quiet. Too careful. Too eager to be understood.

Ms. Keller made a note on her clipboard.

“You remain at the bottom of your unit.”

Y/N knew. Everyone knew.

The rankings had been posted that morning.

The word had followed her all day like a shadow dragging teeth.

Worst in efficiency.

Worst in presentation.

Worst in commercial viability.

Worst in professional impact.

Not untalented.

That might have been kinder.

No, her evaluations always found a way to say the same thing carefully.

There was something in her work. Just not enough of the right thing.

“There will be another assessment in six weeks,” Mr. Brandt said. “I suggest you reconsider your direction.”

Y/N almost laughed.

Her direction.

As if she had not reconsidered it every night.

As if she had not turned herself over and over in the dark, searching for the version of herself people might finally approve of.

“Yes,” she said.

The word came out soft.

Ms. Keller’s expression barely changed. “You may go.”

Y/N nodded.

She carefully unpinned the dress from the mannequin after they left.

Not because anyone asked her to. Because leaving it there felt cruel.

The studio gradually emptied around her. Other students and junior designers moved past in small groups, whispering, laughing, sighing with relief or frustration. Some were disappointed. Some were angry. Some already had messages waiting from families who cared enough to ask how it went.

Y/N folded the dress slowly.

No one approached her.

Not because they hated her. That would have required more energy than anyone had ever spent on her. They simply did not think to.

She placed the dress into ist garment bag and zipped it closed.

The sound felt final.

Outside the studio windows, evening pressed blue against the glass.

Her phone lay face down on the table.

No missed calls. No messages.

She had known there would be none.

Still, she checked.

Because hope was embarrassing like that.

Y/N slipped the phone into her bag.

Her family had stopped asking about evaluations after the second year.

Because the subject had become too uncomfortable.

At first they had called her brave.

Then impractical. Then selfish.

Her father had said she was wasting a good mind on fabric.

Her mother had cried quietly at the kitchen table, not because Y/N was leaving, but because she believed a daughter should not choose uncertainty when stability had been offered.

Her brother had told her she would come back when she got tired of playing artist.

She had not gone back.

Pride, perhaps. Or stupidity.

At some point the calls became shorter.

Then seasonal. Then rare.

Now silence stood where family had once been.

Y/N told herself it was fine. People built lives alone all the time.

Some even preferred it.

She simply had not learned how to prefer it yet.

She left the studio long after most of the others.

The hallway lights flickered faintly as she walked past empty classrooms and locked office doors. Her reflection followed her in the darkened windows. A woman carrying too many bags. Hair tied back messily. Shoulders curved inward from exhaustion.

At the elevator, she paused.

The down button glowed when she pressed it.

For a while she waited. Then she looked toward the stairwell.

Up.

The roof access was not supposed to be used by students, but the lock had been broken for months. Everyone knew. Nobody cared.

Y/N stood there for several seconds.

Then she took the stairs.

Not quickly. There was no urgency in her.

That frightened her more than panic might have.

The garment bag brushed against her leg.

At the top floor, the corridor narrowed. The door to the roof waited at the end with a small warning sign taped crookedly beneath the handle.

No unauthorized access.

Y/N opened it.

Cold air struck her face.

The city stretched around her in a thousand lights, indifferent and beautiful. Buildings rose in dark shapes against the deepening sky. Windows glowed warm with lives happening inside them. Somewhere below, traffic moved in red and white lines. A siren cried briefly in the distance, then faded.

Y/N stepped out.

The wind lifted loose strands of her hair from her neck.

She crossed to the low wall near the edge and set her bags down.

One of them tipped over.

A small bottle of wine rolled out.

She stared at it.

Then laughed once.

Quietly.

She had bought it earlier that afternoon, before the evaluation, stupidly imagining she might celebrate if things went well. It had been on sale. Cheap. Too sweet probably.

She picked it up.

The cap twisted open easily.

She drank straight from the bottle.

It tasted terrible.

She drank again anyway.

The city blurred slightly at the edges, though not from the wine.

Y/N sat on the low wall for a while with the garment bag resting beside her.

The dress lay inside.

Her dress. Her failed dress.

Wind tugged at the black plastic covering like impatient fingers.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to it.

The words sounded absurd.

Still, tears rose immediately.

She wiped them away before they fell.

Then stopped trying.

There was no one here to see.

No one to tell her she was too sensitive.

Too dramatic.

Too attached.

Too quiet.

Too much and not enough at once.

She drank again.

The bottle lowered to her lap.

Below, the city continued.

That was the thought that hurt most.

It would continue.

Tomorrow the studio would open. Coffee would burn in the pot. Someone would complain about deadlines. Someone would laugh too loudly. Someone would win praise for a clean silhouette or clever use of texture.

Her place at the table would be empty.

For a day, perhaps someone would ask.

Maybe Ms. Keller would sigh and say such a shame. Maybe someone from administration would send an email. Maybe her family would be called. Maybe they would cry.

Maybe they would not know what to do with the guilt.

But eventually, everyone would continue.

Because people did.

Y/N looked down at the street far below.

Her stomach did not drop.

That was wrong. It should have.

Instead there was only a strange calm.

Deep exhaustion.

A quiet, hollow certainty that she had reached the end of herself.

No one would miss her in the way people were supposed to be missed.

No one would reach for their phone to tell her something funny and remember she was gone.

No one would find her sweater on a chair and press it to their face.

No one would keep her favorite mug.

She had not become woven into anyone’s life tightly enough to leave a tear when pulled away.

That thought settled over her gently.

Almost kindly.

The wind moved again.

The bottle slipped from her hand and rolled along the roof until it stopped near one of the vents.

Y/N did not pick it up. She stood.

Her legs felt distant.

She looked once at the garment bag.

Then at the sky. The first stars had begun to appear between thin clouds.

Tiny. Cold. Far away.

She stepped onto the ledge.

The city opened beneath her.

For the first time that evening, fear flickered.

Her hands shook. She breathed in. Out.

The air smelled like metal, rain, and the distant exhaust of evening traffic.

“I’m tired,” she whispered.

No one answered. So she jumped.

For a moment, there was no thought.

Only air.

The roof vanished above her. The city rushed upward.

Wind tore at her coat, her hair, her breath. Her heart struck once against her ribs, hard enough to hurt.

Then something appeared beneath her.

A door.

Y/N saw it through the blur of falling and thought, distantly, that death had a strange imagination.

It floated upright in the air below her.

A pale door, soft as moonmilk, freckled with silver flecks that shimmered when she blinked. It stood impossible against the darkness, waiting in the space between her body and the street.

Of course, she thought.

A near-death hallucination. That seemed almost funny.

Her mind, at the end, offering something beautiful.

The door grew closer.

Or she fell toward it.

Both, perhaps.

The silver flecks brightened.

For one strange second she saw herself reflected in the handle.

Not falling. Standing.

A woman with tear-streaked cheeks and tired eyes.

A woman who looked as though she had been expected.

The door opened.

Forest air rushed out.

Damp earth.

Lake water.

Moss after rain.

And feathers.

So many feathers.

White shapes burst from the darkness beyond the threshold and rose around her as if gravity had forgotten what it wanted.

A voice unfolded inside her mind.

“Six shall wander bound by spell,

Only love may break it well.

Still your voice and guard each tear,

For silent hearts are strongest here.”

Y/N tried to breathe.

The words wrapped around her like thread.

Then the city disappeared.

She fell through the door.

Cold light swallowed her.

For one endless moment, she was nowhere.

There was no up or down.

No body. No roof. No street.

Only silver. Only wind. Only the faint beating of wings.

She heard water moving somewhere below, smelled pine and rain on leaves. Heard birds calling in the distance, not the harsh cries of city pigeons, but something clearer, wilder, echoing beneath a vast open sky.

Then the world returned all at once.

Y/N fell from the air above a field.

Her eyes flew open.

The sky above her was enormous.

Deep blue touched with violet, scattered with stars brighter than any she had seen in the city. Clouds moved slowly across a full moon. Beneath her stretched grass, dark and silver-tipped, swaying in a night wind.

A village lay beyond the field.

Small cottages.

Thatched roofs.

Thin trails of smoke rising from chimneys.

Warm windows glowing like candle flames.

Y/N had just enough time to understand that she was going to hit the ground.

Panic surged.

Her body twisted instinctively.

The field rushed toward her.

Then something caught her.

Not hands.

Not exactly.

Air. Wings.

A force passed beneath her, soft but strong, lifting her at the last possible second. The fall slowed with impossible gentleness. Feathers brushed her arms, her hair, her cheeks. She heard the heavy beat of wings around her, above her, inside her chest.

For a heartbeat, she felt held. Almost potected.

Then she landed in the grass.

Y/N lay there staring upward.

She could not move.

The sky looked nothing like the one above the roof.

The air smelled nothing like the city.

Somewhere nearby, a bird cried.

A swan, she thought.

She did not know how she knew.

The sound trembled through the night.

Y/N’s breath came in short, broken pulls.

She should be dead.

That was the first coherent thought.

She should be dead.

Instead she was lying in a field beneath a strange moon with the taste of forest air on her tongue and phantom feathers against her skin.

Her body began to shake.

The panic arrived late, rushing in now that survival had already happened. Her hands clawed at the grass. Real grass. Damp. Cool. Alive.

She turned onto her side and gasped.

The village glowed quietly in the distance.

A dog barked somewhere.

A bell chimed once.

Nothing made sense. Absolutely nothing.

Y/N pushed herself halfway up.

The field tilted.

Her vision blurred.

She looked around for the door.

It was none.

Only grass. Only moonlight. Only a few white feathers scattered near her hand.

She reached for one.

The moment her fingers touched it, warmth pulsed faintly through her skin.

Her throat tightened.

The rhyme echoed again.

Still your voice and guard each tear.

For silent hearts are strongest here.

“What is happening?” she whispered.

Her voice cracked.

No answer came.

Only another distant cry from above.

Y/N looked up.

Six white shapes moved across the moon.

Swans.

Enormous.

They circled once above the field.

She stared at them, heart hammering.

The smallest one dipped lower.

Or perhaps she imagined it.

Their wings caught the moonlight like silver cloth.

For a moment, she thought they were watching her.

Then they turned toward the dark line of forest beyond the village and vanished into the night.

The world swayed.

Y/N tried to stand.

Her knees failed.

She fell back into the grass, one hand pressed to her chest.

Her mind could not hold it all.

It split everything into fragments instead.

A silver handle.

A pale door.

A rhyme.

The smell of lake water.

Wings.

The impossible softness of not dying.

A sob broke from her.

Then another.

She curled onto her side in the grass and cried harder than she had on the roof.

Not because she wanted to be alive.

That feeling had not returned so easily.

She cried because she was.

Because something had reached into the air between her choice and ist ending and taken the ending away from her.

Because she did not know whether it had saved her or stolen something from her.

Because she was tired.

So unbearably tired.

The field blurred around her.

The village lights doubled, then smeared.

Her body felt heavy now.

Heavier than grief.

Heavier than fabric soaked in rain.

Somewhere, distantly, she heard voices.

A door opening.

A woman calling out. “Did you see that?”

Another voice answered, lower.

“From the sky.”

Footsteps moved through grass.

Y/N tried to lift her head.

She could not.

The last thing she saw before darkness folded over her was a white feather resting near her hand, glowing faintly beneath the moon.

Then even that disappeared.

And Y/N, who had meant to fall out of the world entirely, fell instead into sleep.

Y/N woke to the smell of bread.

For a long moment she did not open her eyes.

The scent drifted through the room in warm waves. Fresh bread. Butter. Something savory simmering nearby. Herbs she couldn’t name. The kind of smell that wrapped itself around tired bones and whispered that everything would be alright.

It felt impossible.

The last thing she remembered was moonlight.

A field.

White wings.

And before that…

Y/N’s chest tightened.

The roof.

The city.

The jump.

Her eyes flew open.

Sunlight spilled through a small window beside the bed. Golden morning light illuminated wooden walls and a low ceiling crossed by dark beams. A woven rug covered the floor. Dried herbs hung upside down near the fireplace.

Nothing looked familiar.

Nothing looked modern.

Nothing looked real.

Y/N sat upright too quickly.

The room immediately spun.

„Oh.“

The pathetic little sound escaped her before she could stop it.

A chair scraped against wood.

Then hurried footsteps crossed the room.

„You’re awake!“

The voice belonged to an older woman.

Y/N blinked.

The woman hurried toward the bed carrying a wooden bowl. Her gray hair had been braided neatly around her head. Flour dusted her apron. Her cheeks were rosy from heat and hard work.

Most importantly, she looked relieved.

Very relieved.

„Oh thank goodness.“

Before Y/N could react, the woman was suddenly fussing over her.

Hands pressed against her forehead.

Then her cheeks.

Then her shoulders.

„You had us frightened.“

Y/N stared.

The woman stared back.

For several seconds neither spoke.

Then Y/N managed, „Where am I?“

The woman immediately softened.

„You’re in Alderbrook, dear.“

That meant absolutely nothing. Apparently the confusion showed on her face.

The older woman laughed softly. „Alderbrook village.“

Village.

Right.

That explained absolutely nothing either.

Y/N looked toward the window.

Outside she could see green fields stretching toward distant forests.

No skyscrapers.

No roads.

No traffic.

No city.

Her stomach twisted.

The woman noticed immediately. „You’ve been asleep for two days.“

Y/N froze. „What?“

„Two days.“

The older woman nodded sympathetically. „We found you unconscious in the field.“

The field.

The memory returned all at once.

The impossible door.

Y/N looked down at her hands.

Nothing made sense.

The woman carefully sat beside the bed. „My name is Marta.“

Y/N looked at her.

„Marta.“

„That’s right.“

The woman smiled. „And yours?“

„Y/N.“

Marta immediately brightened. „That’s a lovely name.“

Something uncomfortable tightened in Y/N’s chest.

Nobody had said that before.

At least not like that. Not as if they genuinely meant it.

Marta stood again and handed her the bowl.

„Eat.“

The smell hit her immediately.

Soup.

Thick vegetable soup.

Fresh bread sat on the side.

Y/N hadn’t realized how hungry she was until that moment.

Her stomach growled loudly.

Marta laughed. „Exactly.“

Embarrassed, Y/N accepted the bowl.

The first spoonful nearly made her cry.

For some reason that made everything worse.

Or maybe better.

She wasn’t sure anymore.

Marta watched her eat.

The way grandmothers watched. Making sure every bite disappeared. Making sure she was alright.

Y/N couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at her like that.

Eventually Marta asked, „Where are you from?“

The question nearly made her choke.

Where was she from?

A city.

A world.

Another life.

A rooftop.

A place she wasn’t even sure still existed.

Y/N looked into her soup. „Far away.“

Marta studied her face for a moment.

Then nodded. Accepting the answer.

Or perhaps accepting that there wasn’t another one.

„And your family?“

The question hurt.

Y/N stared down at the wooden bowl.

After a long moment she answered. „I don’t have one.“

The words came flatly.

Without emotion.

Or at least she tried to make them sound that way.

Marta’s face changed.

Not pity.

Something else.

Sadness.

Understanding.

The older woman reached over and squeezed her hand.

„You do now.“

Y/N blinked.

„What?“

Marta shrugged.

As if offering a home to strangers happened every day.

„You can stay here.“

Y/N stared.

Surely she had misunderstood.

„What?“

The older woman laughed.

„The spare room hasn’t been used in years.“

„You don’t even know me.“

„I know you looked half dead when we found you.“

That was fair.

Marta continued.

„A pretty young woman shouldn’t wander around alone.“

Y/N almost laughed.

If only she knew.

The older woman patted her hand again.

„You stay as long as you need.“

The words hit harder than they should have.

Because nobody had ever said them before.

Not really.

Stay as long as you need.

Not until you’re useful.

Not until you improve.

Not until you earn it.

Just stay.

Y/N looked away quickly before Marta could see her eyes filling.

The older woman pretended not to notice.

For that Y/N was grateful.

That evening she fell asleep before sunset.

Exhaustion dragged her under quickly.

And she dreamed.

At first there was only water.

Dark water.

Moonlight scattered across ist surface.

Then wings.

Huge white wings.

Six swans flew through the night sky.

Beautiful.

Lonely.

Their cries echoed across a lake surrounded by ancient forest.

Y/N watched them.

Somehow knowing they were important.

The dream shifted.

A clearing appeared.

Moonlight filtered through silver leaves.

And there…

A man.

Y/N froze.

She had never seen him before.

Yet something inside her reacted instantly.

The man sat on a fallen tree watching her.

Watching her sew.

Her own hands moved through pale fabric.

Needle.

Thread.

Stitch.

Again.

Again.

Again.

The man smiled.

Not broadly.

Not dramatically.

Just softly. Fondly.

As though watching something precious.

As though he had been waiting a very long time to see her.

Y/N tried to ask who he was.

No sound emerged.

The smile deepened slightly.

Then the dream vanished.

She woke before dawn.

Heart racing.

The image lingered.

Dark hair. Beautiful eyes. That gentle smile.

The feeling remained long after the details faded.

As though she’d forgotten someone’s face but remembered loving them.

The dream returned the next night.

And the next.

And the next.

A week passed.

Then two. Then three.

Always the same.

The swans.

The moonlight.

The sewing.

The man.

Sometimes small details changed.

But never him. Never the feeling.

A month passed.

Life in Alderbrook settled around her.

Marta gave her chores.

Nothing difficult.

Collecting eggs. Sweeping floors.

Helping bake bread. Repairing clothing.

That last task quickly became dangerous.

Because Y/N was very good at it.

Word spread.

A farmer arrived with a torn coat.

Then another villager. Then another.

Soon people were bringing dresses, shirts, cloaks and trousers.

Marta found the entire thing hilarious. „I told them you were talented.“

Y/N sat beside the cottage window repairing a wool coat. „They think I’m some kind of miracle worker.“

Marta grinned. „You fixed old Hannes‘ favorite jacket.“

„That wasn’t difficult.“

„He has been trying for five years.“

Y/N laughed.

The coat disappeared beneath her needle.

For the first time in years sewing felt good again.

Nobody graded her. Nobody ranked her. Nobody told her she lacked vision.

She simply made things. Because she loved it.

And somehow that changed everything.

Yet the dreams continued.

Night after night.

Until eventually she couldn’t ignore them anymore.

One afternoon she sat outside beside Marta shelling peas.

The dream from the previous night lingered stubbornly in her mind.

The man had smiled again. The swans had circled overhead. The same impossible feeling remained.

Like remembering something that hadn’t happened yet.

„Marta?“

„Hm?“

Y/N hesitated. Then decided she might as well sound insane.

„I keep having the same dream.“

Marta looked up immediately. „Interesting.“

„That’s not the word I’d use.“

The older woman laughed. „Tell me.“

So Y/N did.

Everything.

The silent man.

The strange familiarity.

The feeling that somehow she knew him.

Or should know him. Or had known him once.

When she finished, silence settled between them.

Marta stared toward the distant forest.

Thoughtful. Very thoughtful.

Y/N frowned. „What?“

The older woman slowly lowered the bowl of peas.

Then looked back at her. „That sounds familiar.“

A strange feeling slid down Y/N’s spine. „What do you mean?“

Marta remained quiet for a moment.

Then spoke carefully. „When I was a little girl, my grandmother used to tell me a story.“

The feeling worsened.

Marta looked toward the forest again.

The dark forest beyond the village.

The one nobody seemed to enter willingly.

„The oldest story in Alderbrook.“

Y/N sat up straighter.

Marta’s expression had changed.

Less amused.

More serious. More respectful.

As if speaking about something important.

Something old.

„What story?“

The older woman looked directly at her.

„The story of the Seven Princes.“

The moment the words left her mouth, a chill ran through Y/N’s entire body.

Because somehow.

Without knowing why. Without understanding how.

She already knew.

The dream wasn’t a dream at all.

And somewhere in the forest beyond the village. Something was waiting for her.

Dinner at Marta’s cottage had become the hour Y/N enjoyed most.

Not because the day always went well before it. It rarely did. Alderbrook was quieter than the world she came from, but quiet did not mean simple. There were eggs to collect, bread to knead, clothes to mend, buckets to carry, floors to sweep, and villagers who had slowly learned that the strange girl Marta found unconscious in a field could fix a torn sleeve better than anyone in the village.

Still, every evening ended the same way.

Warm light in the windows.

Steam rising from bowls.

Marta humming near the stove as if the world had never done anything cruel enough to silence music.

Y/N sat at the small wooden table, turning a piece of bread between her fingers while Marta ladled stew into two bowls. Outside, twilight settled over Alderbrook in soft blue layers. The last of the chickens had quieted. The village bells had rung half an hour ago. Somewhere down the road, someone laughed, and the sound came muffled through the walls like something from another life.

Marta set a bowl in front of her.

“Eat before it cools.”

Y/N smiled faintly. “You say that every night.”

“And every night you wait too long because you’re thinking about something strange.”

“I think about normal things.”

Marta sat across from her and gave her a look.

Y/N picked up her spoon. “Fine. Somewhat strange things.”

“That’s more accurate.”

The stew was thick with potatoes, carrots, onions, and herbs that grew along the garden fence. It tasted like every meal Marta made. Simple. Warm. Unnecessarily kind.

Y/N had learned not to cry over dinner anymore.

Mostly.

Marta watched her for a moment with the expression she got whenever she was about to say something Y/N would not like.

Y/N narrowed her eyes immediately.

“No.”

Marta blinked innocently. “I haven’t said anything.”

“You’re going to.”

“I might.”

“Then no.”

The older woman laughed, lines deepening at the corners of her eyes. “One of the single men asked about you today.”

Y/N groaned so loudly the spoon nearly fell from her hand.

“Marta.”

“He’s very nice.”

“No.”

“You don’t even know who I mean.”

“I know enough.”

“He has good hands.”

Y/N stared at her. “What does that even mean?”

“It means he works hard.”

“I am not marrying a pair of hands.”

Marta laughed into her stew.

Y/N tried to look annoyed, but it was difficult when Marta looked so pleased with herself.

“His name is Tomas,” Marta continued. “He helps his uncle at the mill.”

“Wonderful.”

“He asked whether you were promised to anyone.”

Y/N made a face before she could stop herself.

Marta noticed, of course.

The amusement softened into something gentler.

“That bad?”

Y/N sighed and lowered her spoon.

“I don’t know.”

Marta waited.

She was good at waiting. She never pressed too quickly. Never pushed where a bruise might be. It was one of the reasons Y/N had begun to feel safe enough around her to speak honestly, or at least as honestly as she could without sounding completely insane.

The official story remained simple.

Y/N had no memory of where she came from.

No family she could name.

No home she could return to.

It was not the truth, but it was close enough to something true that the lie did not choke her. She did not want to tell Marta about the roof. About the door. About the impossible fall through air and moonlight. About another world with lights too bright and rooms too cold and people who made her feel like failure had become her second skin.

She did not want Marta to look at her with fear.

So she let the village believe her past was missing.

In some ways, it was.

“I’m not really looking for someone,” Y/N said eventually.

Marta’s gaze remained steady.

“I see.”

“It’s not that he’s probably not nice. I’m sure he’s fine. He has good hands, apparently.”

That earned a small smile.

Y/N looked down at her bowl.

“I’m still trying to figure out this place.”

A pause.

“And myself, I suppose.”

Marta’s expression softened further.

Y/N swallowed.

“I don’t think I know how to belong to anyone right now. Not like that.”

For a moment there was only the low crackle of the fire.

Then Marta reached across the table and laid one warm hand over hers.

“Then you don’t have to.”

Y/N looked up.

The older woman’s voice was firm.

“You owe no one your heart just because they ask politely.”

Something in Y/N’s chest loosened.

It was such a simple thing.

Such an obvious thing.

And yet no one had ever said it to her like that.

Marta squeezed her hand once.

“You will find someone if you’re ready. Or you won’t, if that is what you choose. A woman’s life does not become unfinished simply because no man stands beside her.”

Y/N blinked quickly.

“You’re too wise for a woman who just tried to sell me to a miller.”

“I did no such thing.”

“You mentioned his hands.”

“They are good hands.”

“Marta.”

“What? It’s true.”

Y/N laughed.

It came easier now than it had a month ago.

That still startled her sometimes. The way laughter returned in small pieces when no one demanded it. The way mornings no longer felt quite so heavy. The way her hands had stopped trembling every time she picked up a needle.

She was not healed.

Not even close.

But she was breathing.

That mattered.

Marta returned to her stew.

“When the time comes, you’ll know.”

Y/N opened her mouth to make another joke.

Then stopped.

Because a face appeared in her mind.

Not Tomas from the mill.

Not anyone from Alderbrook.

The man from her dreams.

Dark hair.

Gentle eyes.

A smile that felt like an old song remembered by the body before the mind.

The image came so suddenly that her breath caught.

Marta’s spoon paused halfway to her mouth.

“Oh.”

Y/N looked at her sharply. “No.”

Marta smiled slowly.

“Oh, definitely.”

“No.”

“You looked like someone just lit a candle behind your eyes.”

“That is not a real expression.”

“It is now.”

Y/N pointed her spoon at her. “I am not talking about this.”

“About him?”

“There is no him.”

Marta looked far too satisfied.

Y/N regretted everything.

“He’s from the dream,” she muttered.

“Dreams can be honest.”

“They can also be nonsense.”

“Sometimes nonsense is honest too.”

“That means nothing.”

“It means plenty. You’re just difficult.”

Y/N threw a piece of bread at her.

Marta caught it and ate it.

The rest of dinner passed with Marta mercifully letting the subject go, though her smile remained far too knowing for Y/N’s comfort.

Later, when the dishes were washed and the fire banked low, Y/N climbed the narrow stairs to her room. The cottage creaked softly around her. It had become a familiar sound now. Floorboards settling. Wind brushing against shutters. Marta moving below, humming faintly as she checked the latch.

Y/N changed into the white nightgown Marta had given her during her first week. It was too loose at the shoulders and mended at the hem, but soft from years of washing.

She sat on the edge of the bed for a while, staring at the folded sewing on the chair by the window.

A child’s dress.

Blue wool.

Tiny flowers embroidered along the collar because Y/N had not been able to resist adding them.

No one here called that sentimental.

No one told her it lacked authority.

They simply smiled and said the child would love it.

Y/N touched the fabric once before lying down.

Sleep came quickly.

So did the dream.

At first, it was familiar.

Moonlight.

Mist.

The silver cry of swans passing overhead.

The forest waited in front of her, dark and endless, yet she did not feel afraid. Not in the beginning. Bare earth cooled the soles of her feet. Her white nightgown moved around her ankles. The air smelled of moss, lake water, and something blooming only at night.

She walked.

Not aimlessly.

She knew the path somehow.

The trees rose high above her, their branches knitting together like fingers. Moonlight slipped through the gaps in pale ribbons. Somewhere beyond them, wings beat against the sky.

A hut waited ahead.

Small.

Old.

Half swallowed by forest.

A faint glow burned behind one shutter.

Y/N kept walking toward it.

Each step felt slow and heavy, the way dreams sometimes made movement thick as honey. Yet the ground beneath her feet felt real.

Too real.

A twig brushed her ankle.

Damp leaves clung to her skin.

A root pressed beneath her foot.

Then something sharp pierced her sole.

Y/N gasped.

Pain shot upward.

Real pain.

Her eyes flew open.

For a moment she did not understand why the ceiling was gone.

Trees stood above her.

Not shadows on a wall.

Not dream shapes.

Real trees.

Black against a moonlit sky.

Cold air touched her bare arms.

Y/N sat upright with a choked breath.

The forest surrounded her.

The exact forest from the dream.

The hut stood only a few steps ahead.

Her heart began to pound so violently it hurt.

“No,” she whispered.

Her voice vanished into the trees.

She looked down.

Bare feet. White nightgown. A small bead of blood welling near her heel where a thorn or sharp stone had cut her.

She was awake. She was awake, and she was in the forest.

Y/N stood too quickly and nearly stumbled.

Behind her, darkness stretched between the trees. No cottage. No village lights. No path she recognized. The air felt colder here, older, more watchful than the fields around Alderbrook.

She turned slowly.

Every direction looked the same.

Trees.

Mist.

Moonlight.

The hut.

Her breath came faster.

Had she walked here in her sleep?

From Marta’s cottage?

That was impossible. The forest lay beyond the far fields, almost an hour’s walk from the village. Marta had warned her not to go near it after sunset. Everyone had.

People disappeared in those woods, they said.

Paths shifted. Voices called.

Y/N backed away from the hut.

A branch cracked behind her.

She spun.

Nothing.

Only darkness.

Her hands curled into fists.

“Hello?” The word shook.

No answer.

The forest seemed to lean closer.

Y/N took another step back.

Then something struck the back of her head. Pain exploded white behind her eyes. Her knees gave way instantly. She hit the ground before she could scream.

The world folded inward.

Darkness took her.

But it was not empty.

She drifted through silver mist, weightless and cold. Somewhere above her, wings beat slowly. One. Two. Three. Six.

A voice rose through the dark.

Not Marta’s.

Not her own.

Ancient.

Gentle.

Carrying the rhythm of something recited for centuries beside hearths, whispered into children’s hair, carved into memory long after names were forgotten.

It spoke in rhyme.

“Once seven sons in sunlight played,

Beneath a crown that time betrayed.

Six young hearts with laughter bright,

Were stolen first by feathered night.

The eldest stood where shadows fell,

And watched love twist into a spell.

No wing was his, no sky to claim,

Only years of grief and blame.

A faithful friend beside him stayed,

And for that love the price was paid.

Not born of crown, yet bound the same,

He bore the curse without the name.

Through forest deep and moonlit mere,

The swans return but once each year.

By day they wander wing and white,

By moon they mourn in borrowed light.

Their names were lost, their towers gone,

Their kingdom dust, their bloodline done.

Yet roots remember, rivers know,

Where cursed hearts sleep beneath the snow.

One day a girl from distant skies,

With sorrow stitched behind her eyes,

Shall cross the door no hands can make,

And fall where broken vows awake.

She shall not come with sword or flame,

Nor royal blood, nor noble name.

With thread and silence, tear and thorn,

She mends the lives that hate had torn.

When moon and needle meet as one,

When final stitch and dawn are spun,

Then feather, friend, and grief shall cease,

And cursed hearts find their long-lost peace.”

The voice faded.

For a moment there was nothing.

Then cold water hit her face.

Y/N jerked awake with a gasp.

She coughed, sputtered, and tried to sit up, only to find her wrists free but her body heavy and aching. Wet hair clung to her cheek. Water dripped from her chin onto the front of her nightgown.

Someone crouched in front of her.

A young man.

No, not young exactly. He looked young, but something in his eyes carried too much sharpness for that. His hair was dark, falling messily across his forehead. His face was striking in a way that seemed built for trouble, with quick eyes, a restless mouth, and the expression of someone who had never met a situation he could not make worse through commentary.

He held an empty cup.

Y/N stared at it.

Then at him. “Did you just throw water on me?”

The man brightened. “Good. You’re alive.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It worked.”

“You threw water on me.”

“Gently.”

“My face is wet.”

“You were unconscious.”

“So you assaulted me with a beverage?”

“It was water.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

His eyes widened slightly.

Then his mouth curved into a grin. “Oh.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“You’re going to be difficult.”

Before she could answer, another voice spoke from behind him.

“Hongjoong.”

The name settled through the room like a bell.

The feisty man, Hongjoong apparently, made a face but shifted aside.

And then Y/N saw him.

The man from her dreams stood near the hearth.

Real. Painfully real.

Dark hair framed a face too beautiful for the rough little hut around him. His features were delicate in a way that should have made him seem gentle, but there was something guarded in the set of his mouth, something ancient in his eyes. He wore dark clothing, simple and worn, the sleeves rolled to his forearms. Firelight touched the sharp line of his cheek and turned his gaze almost golden.

Y/N forgot how to speak. For a month she had dreamed of him.

Sitting in moonlight. Watching her sew. Smiling as though he knew something tender and impossible.

Now he stood before her in the real world. And he looked just as stunned as she felt.

No one moved.

The hut was small, filled with the smell of smoke, herbs, old wood, and damp wool. Bundles of dried plants hung from the rafters. A table stood near the window, covered in scattered papers, bowls, a knife, and what looked like torn feathers.

Y/N noticed none of it properly. She only saw him. The feeling from the dreams returned all at once.

Recognition. Longing.

A strange ache beneath her ribs, as if some part of her had been waiting for this moment without ever telling the rest of her body.

Hongjoong looked between them.

Then groaned. “Oh no.”

Y/N blinked.

The beautiful man did not look away from her.

Hongjoong pointed between them. “No. Absolutely not.”

The man from the dream finally blinked, as if waking. “Hongjoong.”

“I know that look.”

“There is no look.”

“There is always a look. And this one is worse because she is also doing it.”

Y/N snapped out of whatever strange spell had stolen her common sense.

“I am not doing anything.”

Hongjoong turned to her. “You are staring.”

“So are you.”

“At you, because you appeared outside our house in a nightgown.”

“I didn’t do that on purpose.”

He lifted a brow. “That remains to be determined.”

Y/N pushed herself upright fully, ignoring the ache blooming at the back of her skull.

“Where am I?”

“In our hut.”

“Why am I in your hut?”

“Because I hit you.”

Silence.

Y/N stared. The beautiful man closed his eyes briefly, as though gathering patience from somewhere very far away.

“You hit me?”

Hongjoong shrugged. “You were sneaking around outside.”

“I was unconscious two minutes ago.”

“After I hit you.”

“I was not sneaking. I woke up outside.”

“Convenient.”

Y/N looked toward the other man. “Is he always like this?”

A pause. Then, very softly, the man from her dreams said, “Unfortunately.”

Hongjoong looked offended. “I am keeping us alive.”

“You threw water at the prphecy girl.”

Y/N froze.

The words landed harder than they should have.

Prophecy girl.

The dream voice returned in fragments.

A girl from distant skies. Thread and silence.

Six shall wander bound by spell.

Y/N looked at the beautiful man.

He was watching her carefully now. Too carefully.

“What did you just call me?”

His expression shifted.

“My name is Seonghwa,” he said.

Her heartbeat stumbled.

Seonghwa. The name slipped into her mind like something that had always belonged there.

“And you,” he continued quietly, “may be the reason this forest has been waiting for centuries.”

Hongjoong sighed. “Or she may be a sleepwalking villager with terrible survival instincts.”

Y/N looked at him. “I preferred him.”

Hongjoong grinned. “Everyone does at first.”

Despite herself, despite the fear, despite the pain in her head and the impossibility of the night, Y/N almost laughed.

Then she looked back at Seonghwa. He had not smiled.

But there was something in his eyes now.

Something fragile. Something dangerous.

Hope.

Y/N understood then with sudden, terrible clarity that whatever story had been waiting in this forest, it had just found her.

And she had the sinking feeling it would not let her leave unchanged.

Fairytale Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Seonghwas Masterlist

To read the other members Fairytale Retellings go to the Fairytale Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

It happened slowly.

Yunho texting her good morning every day without fail even during schedules.

Pictures of random things that reminded him of her.

Coffee cups with badly drawn hearts in the foam.

Claw machines holding shark-cat plushies.

Rainy streets at night.

At first Y/N still overthought everything.

Every single thing.

Especially being seen beside him publicly.

The first few times fans recognized him while they were together, she nearly had panic attacks internally.

Yunho always noticed immediately.

Every time.

Without fail.

The first incident happened during a late-night convenience store run.

One girl recognized Yunho instantly near the drink section and immediately started crying.

Y/N’s first instinct had been stepping away automatically.

Creating distance.

Making herself smaller again.

But Yunho reached for her hand immediately beneath the shelves where nobody else could see and squeezed softly once.

Stay.

The silent message settled warm inside her chest instantly.

Afterward, once the fan left smiling with a signed receipt and shaking hands, Yunho simply nudged her shoulder lightly.

“You okay?”

Y/N nodded weakly.

“You looked like you were preparing to flee the country.”

“That’s because she looked at me too.”

“And?”

“She’s your fan.”

Yunho looked genuinely confused.

“She can still look at you.”

The answer came so naturally that Y/N stared at him for a second.

And slowly, over time, moments like that started changing something inside her.

Because Yunho never acted embarrassed by her.

Never hid her away emotionally even when they stayed private publicly.

Never made her feel like she needed to earn her place beside him.

If anything, he constantly pulled her closer.

Sometimes literally.

Like during one dinner with the members when Wooyoung dramatically complained that Y/N clearly loved Jongho more because she laughed too hard at one of his jokes.

Yunho immediately wrapped both arms around her waist from behind possessively while glaring at Jongho across the table.

“She’s obsessed with me actually.”

“Debatable,” Y/N answered immediately.

Yunho gasped like she physically wounded him.

“You kiss me goodnight every evening.”

“That proves nothing.”

“It proves everything.”

San nearly fell out of his chair laughing.

Moments like that became normal somehow.

The boys folded her naturally into their lives with alarming speed.

Hongjoong started sending her music recommendations at two in the morning because apparently they shared the exact same taste in sad indie songs.

Mingi became obsessed with showing her random memes during dinners until both of them got yelled at by Seonghwa for laughing too loudly.

Yeosang remained terrifyingly observant and somehow always knew whenever Y/N felt overwhelmed before she even admitted it herself.

And Wooyoung…

Wooyoung treated her like emotional support and public entertainment simultaneously.

“Y/N,” he announced dramatically one evening while leaning across the bar counter, “you need to know something important.”

“That sentence already worries me.”

“He cried after your first real date.”

Across the room Yunho nearly choked on his drink.

“JUNG WOOYOUNG.”

“It’s true!”

Y/N stared at Yunho immediately.

“You cried?”

“It was one tear.”

“Liar,” San shouted.

“It was raining emotionally,” Wooyoung added.

Yunho buried his face in his hands while everyone laughed around him.

And somewhere in the middle of that noise and warmth and teasing, Y/N realized she genuinely loved being there.

Loved them.

Loved how easily they accepted her.

Even Yuna ended up pulled into the chaos eventually.

That night had started with Y/N nearly having a nervous breakdown beforehand.

Because introducing her best friend to Yunho’s world still felt surreal somehow.

Especially considering Yuna spent the first ten minutes whisper-screaming directly into a couch cushion after meeting Hongjoong.

“I can’t believe your boyfriend is real,” she hissed dramatically toward Y/N while Seonghwa mixed drinks nearby.

"He is just Yunho, Yuna.”

From across the room Yunho immediately looked offended.

“So I am just Yunho now, Baby?”

The entire group burst into laughter while Y/N hid her face behind her drink.

Yuna loved them instantly.

Especially after Mingi and San somehow convinced her into joining an aggressively competitive Mario Kart tournament that devolved into complete chaos within twenty minutes.

Now, hours later, everyone else had finally gone home.

The apartment rested in soft comfortable silence.

Rain tapped lightly against the windows again because apparently the universe refused giving Yunho and Y/N non-romantic weather conditions.

Y/N sat curled sideways against the couch wearing one of Yunho’s oversized shirts.

Nothing else underneath except underwear.

The fabric swallowed her whole and still smelled faintly like his laundry detergent.

Across from her, Yunho lounged comfortably against the opposite end of the couch wearing only gray sweatpants while absentmindedly strumming his guitar.

The domesticity of it all still stunned her sometimes.

Jeong Yunho from Ateez sitting shirtless in his apartment making up stupid songs about Wooyoung spilling wine on himself earlier.

“His face looked like betrayal,” Yunho sang dramatically.

Y/N laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink.

“You’re terrible.”

“It’s art.”

“It’s slander.”

“Important distinction.”

Yunho grinned brightly before continuing the ridiculous song.

The melody sounded suspiciously beautiful considering the lyrics involved Wooyoung crying over expensive alcohol.

Y/N watched him fondly from across the couch.

God.

He really was beautiful.

Not just physically.

Though obviously yes, physically too.

Especially like this.

Relaxed.

Messy-haired.

Comfortable in his own space.

But more than that…

Yunho carried warmth everywhere he went.

Into rooms.

Into people.

Into her life.

And slowly, over these last months, Y/N realized he had changed things inside her too.

Not magically.

She still overthought.

Still occasionally panicked before public outings together.

Still struggled believing she deserved this sometimes.

But now whenever insecurity crawled too loudly into her chest, Yunho met it immediately with reassurance so natural it became impossible not to slowly believe him.

Especially because he never sounded frustrated by her fears.

Only patient.

Like loving her properly mattered enough to keep repeating the truth until she finally accepted it.

Y/N smiled softly watching him continue singing nonsense lyrics dramatically.

“You know,” she teased lightly, “I’m starting to think you only write stupid songs.”

Yunho gasped theatrically.

“You wound me.”

“It’s true.”

“I’m literally an artist.”

“You just rhymed emotional damage with fermented cabbage.”

“That’s talent.”

Y/N laughed again.

Warmth glowed softly through her chest.

Lately life felt almost unrecognizable compared to before.

Especially after quitting her old job.

That alone still felt surreal.

Yunho practically celebrated harder than she did when she finally left.

“You escaped corporate hell,” he announced while physically spinning her around his kitchen afterward.

The new company suited her better immediately.

Smaller.

Healthier.

Focused on employee growth instead of slowly crushing souls beneath impossible workloads.

For the first time in years, work no longer made her dread waking up every morning.

And maybe part of that courage came from Yunho too.

Because he looked at her like she deserved more.

Until eventually she started believing it herself.

Yunho suddenly stopped strumming the guitar while narrowing his eyes toward her.

“What are you thinking about?”

Y/N blinked slightly.

“Hm?”

“You got quiet.”

“I was just…” She smiled softly. “Happy.”

The expression on Yunho’s face melted instantly afterward.

God.

That look alone could ruin her emotionally.

Before she could recover properly, Yunho leaned the guitar against the couch beside him and shifted closer instead.

Close enough that his knee pressed against hers.

“You know what’s dangerous?” he asked quietly.

“What?”

“You smiling at me like that.”

Heat rose faintly into her cheeks.

“You’re dramatic.”

“You love it.”

Unfortunately true.

Y/N reached out lazily to poke his shoulder.

“You know,” she teased, “for someone who writes so many songs, I still can’t believe you actually didn't wrote love songs about me.”

Yunho went suspiciously quiet.

Y/N blinked.

“…Wait.”

His mouth curved slowly upward.

“Oh my god.”

“What?”

“You actually did.”

Yunho laughed softly under his breath before leaning closer.

“Back then?” His voice lowered slightly. “I only wrote songs about you.”

Y/N’s breath caught embarrassingly fast.

“Yunho.”

“It’s true.”

He leaned forward then and kissed the tip of her nose softly.

The affectionate gesture made warmth bloom immediately through her chest.

“You ruined my emotional stability,” he informed her seriously.

“That sounds dramatic.”

“You made me stare sadly at rain.”

“That’s your own fault.”

“Maybe.”

Yunho picked up the guitar again afterward.

Only this time his expression softened slightly differently.

Less playful now.

Y/N noticed immediately.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He adjusted the guitar against himself comfortably. “I just wanna show you something.”

Her stomach fluttered softly.

The apartment settled quieter around them while Yunho looked down toward the strings.

Then slowly, gently, he started playing.

The melody hit her immediately.

Beautiful.

Soft.

The kind of song that physically wrapped around your chest while listening.

Y/N stayed completely still.

And then Yunho started singing.

Not loudly.

Not performing.

Just… honest.

The lyrics painted pieces of her life so carefully that it stole the breath directly from her lungs.

Corporate girls looking exhausted on late-night trains.

Moonlight reflecting across lake water.

Shark-cat plushies tucked against nervous chests.

Girls who apologized too much for existing.

Girls who slowly learned how to laugh freely again.

Y/N stared at him completely mesmerized.

Because somehow Yunho always saw her more clearly than she saw herself.

And hearing herself reflected back through his music felt overwhelming in the most beautiful way.

His voice softened during the chorus.

Warm enough that tears almost instantly burned behind her eyes.

Not sad tears.

Just too much feeling at once.

When the final chord faded quietly into the apartment, silence settled softly afterward.

Y/N realized only then that she had been smiling the entire time.

Warm.

Completely helpless.

Yunho looked suddenly nervous once the song ended.

Which honestly felt insane considering he performed in front of thousands regularly.

“What?” he asked quietly.

Y/N shook her head softly.

“That was…” She laughed weakly. “Really beautiful.”

Relief flashed visibly across his face immediately.

Then warmth.

Then something even softer.

And suddenly Y/N knew.

Not suspected.

Knew.

She loved him.

Completely.

The realization settled gently instead of dramatically.

Like something that had already been true for a while finally catching up to her consciously.

Because how could she not?

She loved the way he made space for her fears instead of mocking them.

Loved how carefully he listened whenever she talked about work frustrations.

Loved how deeply he cared for people.

Loved that he still looked at her like she was extraordinary even when she felt painfully ordinary.

Yunho tilted his head slightly noticing her quiet expression again.

“What’s happening in your head right now?”

Y/N smiled softly before answering.

Then leaned forward instead.

And kissed him.

Full of everything she still struggled putting into words.

Yunho melted immediately into the kiss with a quiet surprised sound.

His hand slid instinctively against her waist while she shifted closer across the couch.

Warm mouth.

Gentle touch.

Home.

When they finally pulled apart slightly, Yunho stared at her strangely afterward.

Very strangely.

Too serious suddenly.

Y/N blinked.

“What?”

He kept looking at her.

Almost overwhelmed.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked softly.

Yunho exhaled slowly through his nose.

Then set the guitar carefully aside before turning fully toward her.

And suddenly Y/N’s heartbeat started climbing nervously.

Because his expression looked devastatingly sincere.

“I love you.”

The words came quietly.

Still powerful enough that her breath caught instantly.

Yunho swallowed softly before continuing anyway.

“I think I’ve loved you for longer than I realized.”

Emotion tightened painfully in her chest immediately.

“You walked into a random bar exhausted and sad and somehow changed my entire life.” His eyes stayed locked carefully onto hers. “And every single day since then, I keep finding new reasons to love you more.”

Y/N’s vision blurred slightly already.

“You make me feel calm,” he admitted softly. “Which is insane because normally my life is chaos all the time.”

A watery laugh escaped her.

Yunho smiled faintly before brushing his fingers carefully along her cheek.

“I love how deeply you care about people.” His thumb traced lightly beneath her eye. “I love how hard you try even when you’re scared.”

The tenderness in his voice nearly destroyed her completely.

“And honestly?” He laughed quietly under his breath. “I love that you still act shocked every time I tell you you’re beautiful.”

Heat mixed painfully with emotion in her chest.

Yunho leaned slightly closer.

“You made me happier these last months than I’ve been in years.” His forehead rested gently against hers. “And I don’t wanna imagine my life without you in it anymore.”

Tears slipped fully down Y/N’s cheeks now.

Not sad.

Just overwhelmed by how deeply loved he made her feel.

“I love you,” Yunho whispered again.

The words settled warm and permanent somewhere deep inside her.

And for the first time in her life, Y/N believed completely that someone could know her fully and still choose her anyway.

Yunho still got nervous before concerts.

Not because of the stage itself.

That part had become instinct years ago.

The lights.

The crowds.

The deafening screams vibrating through entire arenas.

All of it settled naturally into his body now like muscle memory.

But tonight felt different.

Because tonight Y/N would be there officially as his.

Well.

Mostly officially.

The internet already figured things out weeks ago anyway.

Paparazzi pictures spread faster than wildfire the first time someone photographed Yunho waiting outside Y/N’s new office building holding iced coffees and flowers like an idiot.

The photos themselves were harmless.

Y/N laughing while hiding her face behind his shoulder.

Yunho holding her hand while guiding her toward the car.

But fans immediately noticed how soft he looked around her.

And then more sightings happened.

Late-night dinners.

Y/N wearing his hoodie.

Mingi accidentally posting her reflection in a group picture before deleting it twenty minutes later while panicking.

Now the internet practically treated Yunho’s mysterious girlfriend like national news.

Most reactions honestly surprised Y/N.

Way more positive than she expected.

Some fans even called them cute which nearly made her cry from relief the first time she read it.

Still, tonight would feel different.

Because tonight Yunho planned on stopping the hiding completely.

The backstage room buzzed loudly around him while staff rushed everywhere adjusting last-minute details before the concert.

San warmed up loudly in one corner while Hongjoong argued with someone about lighting cues.

Mingi sat upside down on a couch eating snacks he absolutely should not eat before performing.

Normal chaos.

Yunho barely heard most of it though.

Because Y/N sat beside him on the makeup chair quietly fixing the sleeve of his stage jacket while looking impossibly beautiful.

Her outfit tonight nearly ruined him emotionally earlier.

Simple black skirt.

Soft fitted top.

Silver jewelry catching stage lights every time she moved.

And the necklace around her throat?

His necklace.

The one he casually gave her three months ago that she now wore constantly.

Yunho watched her carefully adjust his sleeve before gently catching her wrist.

Y/N looked up immediately.

“What?”

He smiled softly.

“You’re pretty.”

Heat instantly climbed into her cheeks even after six months together.

Still.

Every time.

Yunho genuinely thought he might spend his entire life addicted to that reaction.

“You say that every day.”

“Because it’s true every day.”

Wooyoung gagged dramatically from across the room.

“Oh my god.”

Neither looked at him.

Y/N tried hiding her smile though.

Yunho tugged lightly on her hand until she stepped closer between his knees.

Immediately comfortable there now.

Like she belonged.

Because honestly?

She did.

Yunho rested both hands against her waist while looking up at her quietly.

“You nervous?” he asked softly.

Y/N exhaled lightly through her nose.

“A little.”

That made sense.

Tonight marked the first time she would stand visibly in the VIP section during one of their bigger concerts.

No hiding backstage.

No sneaking exits.

No pretending she was “just a friend.”

Yunho brushed his thumbs slowly against her waist.

“You know,” he murmured, “you can still tell me if this is too much.”

Y/N immediately shook her head.

“No.”

“You sure?”

She nodded softer this time.

“I think…” She smiled faintly. “I’m done hiding from being happy.”

God.

He loved her.

So much it physically hurt sometimes.

Yunho leaned forward instinctively and kissed her softly.

Warm.

Gentle.

Y/N melted immediately into it before laughing quietly against his mouth.

“What?”

“You’ll ruin my lipstick.”

“Worth it.”

“Selfish.”

“Very.”

The backstage door suddenly slammed open.

“Five minutes!”

Yunho sighed dramatically against Y/N’s shoulder.

“Duty calls.”

Y/N laughed softly before smoothing her hands against the front of his jacket carefully.

The gesture felt so domestic now.

So natural.

Six months ago she barely believed someone like him could genuinely want her.

Now she stood backstage before sold-out concerts adjusting his clothes while wearing his necklace.

Life felt insane sometimes.

Yunho caught her hand again before she could step away fully.

His expression softened.

“I love you.”

The words still affected her every single time.

Yunho watched emotion flicker instantly across her face before she smiled softly back.

“I love you too.”

He kissed the back of her hand gently.

Then quieter:

“I’ll look for you in the crowd.”

Y/N’s breath caught slightly.

The promise settled warm inside her chest immediately.

Then chaos exploded again.

Staff moving.

Music blasting louder.

Members gathering toward the stage entrance while the crowd outside screamed loud enough to shake walls.

Wooyoung pointed dramatically toward Y/N while walking backward.

“If he cries during the love song, I’m blaming you.”

“He’s the emotional one,” Y/N defended immediately.

“I heard that!” Yunho shouted.

“You were supposed to!”

Yuna appeared beside Y/N seconds later looking equally overwhelmed already.

“I still can’t believe this is your life now.”

“Neither can I.”

Then suddenly stage lights darkened.

The crowd roared deafeningly outside.

And instantly Yunho transformed.

Not fake.

Never fake.

Just… bigger somehow.

The performer version of him rising naturally to the surface.

Still Yunho.

Still her Yunho.

But glowing now.

Before heading fully toward the stage entrance, he turned one last time toward her.

And smiled.

Not the polished celebrity smile fans usually saw.

The real one.

Soft around the edges.

Full of affection.

Just for her.

Then the stage exploded into light.

The screams hit immediately.

Deafening.

Massive.

Y/N physically felt the vibration through her chest while Ateez ran onto the stage.

Yuna grabbed her arm instantly.

“Oh my god.”

Even after months together, moments like this still stunned Y/N.

Thousands of people screaming Yunho’s name.

Lights flooding the entire arena.

Music crashing through speakers loud enough to shake the floor.

And there he was.

Confident.

Beautiful.

Completely alive on stage.

The first few songs passed in overwhelming energy.

San jumped across the stage like he physically contained infinite stamina while Hongjoong flirted shamelessly with cameras.

Mingi somehow made entire sections of fans scream just by smirking.

And Yunho…

Yunho kept looking toward her.

Tiny moments only she probably noticed.

Little smiles during choreography.

Quick glances during talking segments.

Once during a slower song, their eyes met fully across the arena and Yunho’s entire expression softened for half a second before he looked away again.

Yuna physically shook beside her.

“He’s literally heart-eyes staring at you.”

“He is not.”

“Y/N.”

Wooyoung leaned dramatically across the VIP railing beside them.

“He absolutely is.”

Seonghwa sighed fondly nearby.

“He’s been impossible for six months.”

“True,” Jongho added immediately. Yeosang just nodded.

Y/N tried hiding her smile unsuccessfully.

Because honestly?

Knowing Yunho searched for her in crowds full of thousands made her chest feel embarrassingly full.

The concert moved beautifully afterward.

Fast songs.

Talking segments.

Fans screaming lyrics loud enough to drown out the members themselves sometimes.

At one point Yunho ended up drenched in sweat and laughing breathlessly during a ment while fans screamed marriage proposals at him from every direction.

Y/N laughed helplessly watching him grin.

God.

She loved him.

So much.

Eventually the concert reached ist midpoint break.

The members disappeared backstage briefly while the crowd buzzed excitedly.

Yuna collapsed dramatically against the railing.

“I understand now.”

“What?”

“How people accidentally fall in love with stars.”

Y/N snorted softly.

“You say that while Wooyoung is literally three feet away.”

The dynamic between Wooyoung and Yuna had shifted over the past few months. Wooyoung flirted with her, Yuna ignored him mostly.

“I’m emotionally committed to survival.”

Wooyoung looked offended immediately.

“I’m incredibly lovable.”

“Debatable,” Yeosang answered flatly.

Before Wooyoung could start fake crying again, stage lights suddenly dimmed once more.

The crowd screamed immediately.

Ateez returned to the stage calmer this time.

Less explosive energy now.

More intimate.

Hongjoong stepped toward the mic first smiling softly.

“We’ve got something special next.”

The crowd roared louder instantly.

Y/N noticed Yunho already looking toward the VIP section again.

Specifically toward her.

Her heartbeat immediately sped up.

Hongjoong continued speaking while grinning knowingly toward Yunho.

“One of our newest songs actually came from a pretty emotional period.”

Mingi snorted loudly beside him.

The crowd laughed.

Yunho already looked mildly betrayed.

San grabbed his shoulder dramatically.

“He suffered for art.”

“Please stop talking,” Yunho muttered into the mic.

Fans screamed louder.

Then Yunho stepped forward slowly.

And immediately the entire arena quieted slightly.

Y/N’s breath caught seeing him look directly at her.

Not hiding it anymore.

Not pretending.

Yunho smiled softly.

“There’s someone important I wanna thank before this song.”

The crowd absolutely lost their minds immediately.

Y/N physically froze.

Beside her, Yuna grabbed Wooyoung violently.

“Oh my GOD.”

Wooyoung screamed silently into Seonghwa’s shoulder.

Meanwhile Yunho kept looking only at Y/N.

“I wouldn’t have been able to write this song without a really special woman beside me,” he said quietly.

The arena exploded.

Actually exploded.

Fans screaming.

People crying already.

Phones instantly everywhere.

And through all that noise, Yunho still only looked at her.

Y/N felt tears sting immediately behind her eyes.

Because suddenly she remembered him singing this song softly in the studio while heartbroken.

Back when he thought she might disappear from his life completely.

Now here he stood in front of thousands openly dedicating it to her.

The music started slowly afterward.

Soft guitar first.

Then piano.

Y/N recognized the melody instantly.

The song.

Their song.

Yunho’s eyes never left her once as he started singing.

And somehow it sounded even more emotional live.

The lyrics hurt differently now.

Because Y/N knew the story behind every line.

The silence after she ghosted him.

The nights staring sadly at rain.

The fear of losing someone before love even properly began.

But now the song carried something warmer too.

Hope.

Relief.

Devotion.

The final chorus changed slightly from the original version Y/N heard months ago.

Back then it sounded desperate.

Tonight it sounded certain.

Like finding home.

Yunho sang with his whole heart.

Completely open.

And every single time his eyes found hers across the arena, Y/N felt herself falling deeper all over again.

By the bridge, she already cried openly.

Yuna cried beside her too honestly.

Even Jongho looked suspiciously emotional.

“Disgusting,” Wooyoung whispered while wiping his eyes dramatically.

Seonghwa patted his shoulder.

“You’re crying.”

“No I’m not.”

“You absolutely are.”

Meanwhile Y/N could barely breathe properly anymore.

Because Yunho looked at her like she was the only person in the entire arena.

And maybe in that moment she was.

The final note faded softly into screaming crowds afterward.

The arena erupted immediately.

Fans shouting.

Cheering.

Some crying openly.

Yunho smiled breathlessly toward her before finally looking away again.

But even from this distance, Y/N could see the emotion still shining in his eyes too.

The rest of the concert blurred afterward.

Y/N stayed overwhelmed through all of it.

Because something about watching Yunho publicly love her without hesitation healed parts of herself she didn’t even realize still hurt.

By the time the show finally ended, adrenaline still buzzed violently through her chest.

Backstage became chaos instantly afterward.

Staff everywhere.

Members sweaty and loud and exhausted.

Y/N barely processed any of it because the second Yunho appeared through the hallway doors still glowing from performance adrenaline, she moved automatically.

Straight toward him.

Yunho barely had time to react before Y/N practically launched herself into his arms.

He laughed breathlessly while catching her immediately.

“Baby—”

Y/N kissed him before he could finish.

Hard.

Full of emotion and adrenaline and overwhelming love.

Someone behind them screamed dramatically.

Probably Wooyoung.

Neither cared.

Yunho kissed her back instantly while lifting her slightly off the ground.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathing unevenly, Y/N grabbed his face between her hands.

“I love you,” she blurted immediately.

Emotion flashed violently across Yunho’s face.

Strong enough that his entire expression softened.

Then he smiled.

That real smile again.

The one only she really knew properly.

And god.

Y/N thought she could survive anything as long as he kept looking at her like that.

Yunho brushed sweaty hair carefully away from her face before kissing her forehead softly.

“I love you more than anything, baby.”

The sincerity in his voice nearly made her cry all over again.

Behind them came loud gagging noises.

“Actually unbearable,” Wooyoung announced dramatically.

San pointed accusingly toward the couple.

“You two are disgustingly in love.”

“Physically nauseating,” Jongho agreed.

Yuna looked deeply emotional instead.

“This is literally my favorite romance movie.”

Hongjoong passed by holding water bottles while shaking his head fondly.

“Yunho wrote like twelve songs over this woman.”

“THIRTEEN,” Mingi corrected immediately.

Y/N looked at Yunho in shock.

“Thirteen?”

Yunho looked suddenly embarrassed.

“Traitor,” he muttered toward Mingi.

Wooyoung gasped dramatically.

“Wait until she hears the unreleased ones.”

“There are unreleased ones?”

Yunho buried his face briefly against Y/N’s shoulder while everyone laughed around them.

And standing there backstage surrounded by chaos and teasing and people who loved them both, Y/N realized something quietly wonderful.

Months ago she genuinely believed someone like Yunho could never truly choose someone like her.

Now he sang love songs about her in sold-out arenas without hesitation.

And somehow, despite everything fame complicated, loving Yunho still felt surprisingly simple in the ways that mattered most.

Epilogue

Mina decided heartbreak was deeply embarrassing.

Not even the poetic kind either.

No dramatic rain.

No cinematic breakup speech.

Just one stupid message at eleven thirty-seven in the evening from a boy she spent almost eight months loving.

I think you’re amazing but i met someone else

That was it.

Eight months reduced to one glowing notification on her phone screen.

Mina groaned dramatically and buried her face deeper into her pillow.

Outside her bedroom window, rain tapped softly against the glass.

Of course.

Apparently heartbreak legally required rain.

She reached blindly toward her phone again despite already reading the message at least thirty times.

Still there.

Still horrible.

The worst part?

She genuinely thought Jaemin liked her too.

The lingering hand touches.

The long conversations after class.

The way he smiled softer around her.

Apparently none of it meant anything.

Or maybe it did for a little while before somebody prettier appeared.

That thought made something ache sharply in her chest again.

Mina rolled onto her back dramatically staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars still stuck to her ceiling from childhood.

Pathetic.

At sixteen years old she already sounded like someone’s divorced aunt.

Her room stayed dim except for fairy lights hanging loosely near her desk.

Usually she liked rainy evenings.

Tonight everything just felt heavy.

She needed distraction.

Immediately.

Mina grabbed her laptop from beside the bed and opened it with another dramatic sigh.

Music.

She needed loud emotional music.

Preferably something devastating enough to validate her suffering.

Scrolling mindlessly through recommendations, one title suddenly caught her eye.

ATEEZ – “Moon After Rain”

Interesting title.

The thumbnail looked old.

Really old.

Like vintage-performance-video old.

Mina clicked it anyway.

Soft guitar flooded her room immediately.

Then a voice.

Warm.

Deep.

Familiar.

Beautiful in a way that physically made her pause.

Mina blinked slowly at the screen.

Okay.

Wow.

The song built gently at first before expanding into something heartbreakingly emotional.

Lyrics about waiting for someone.

Loving someone through fear.

Finding home in another person after feeling lost for too long.

Mina stared quietly at the screen while rain tapped softly outside.

The lead singer’s voice especially caught her attention.

There was something oddly familiar about it.

Comforting somehow.

By the second chorus her chest hurt for completely different reasons now.

Not just heartbreak.

Something softer too.

Hope maybe.

The song didn’t sound tragic despite the sadness woven through it.

It sounded devoted.

Like love surviving anyway.

Mina hugged her blanket tighter around herself while replaying part of the chorus again.

God.

People used to make music like this?

No wonder older generations acted emotionally unstable about bands.

A knock sounded lightly against her bedroom door.

Before Mina answered, the door already opened slightly.

Her mother stepped inside carrying folded laundry against her hip.

Her mum Lia always moved softly through rooms.

Even at forty-two she still looked warm in a way Mina struggled describing properly.

Comfortable maybe.

Like sunlight through curtains.

“You’re awake late,” her mum said gently.

“Emotionally suffering.”

“Ah.” Her mum nodded immediately. “Teenage heartbreak.”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you expected this.”

“I did.”

Mina looked betrayed.

Her mum laughed quietly before setting the laundry basket onto the chair near the desk.

Then suddenly she paused.

The music still played softly through Mina’s laptop speakers.

Her mum blinked once.

Then slowly,“…Why are you listening to that oldie?”

Mina frowned slightly while sitting up straighter against the bed.

“You know this song?”

Lia looked immediately amused.

“Mina.”

“What?”

“That song is ancient.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“That too.”

Mina glanced back toward the screen thoughtfully.

“The man singing kinda reminds me of grandpa actually.”

Silence.

Then her mum burst into laughter.

Full laughter.

The kind that made her physically lean against the doorway for support.

Mina stared in confusion.

“What?”

Lia covered her mouth still laughing softly.

“Oh sweetheart.”

“What?”

“That IS your grandpa.”

Mina blinked once.

Then again.

“…What?”

Her mother smiled helplessly now while walking toward the bed.

“No one ever showed you old concert videos?”

“You told me grandpa used to be in a band!”

“A very famous band.”

“I thought you meant like…” Mina gestured vaguely. “Local famous.”

This time her mother laughed harder.

“Oh baby no.”

Completely stunned, Mina looked back toward the laptop screen immediately.

The singer smiled during the live performance clip.

And suddenly…

Oh my god.

Now that she noticed it, the resemblance felt painfully obvious.

The same eyes.

The same smile.

Even the way he tilted his head while singing.

Mina physically grabbed her laptop closer.

“No way.”

Her mum sat down beside her on the bed smiling softly at the screen.

“Your grandpa was kind of a big deal.”

“KIND OF?”

“Okay.” Lia laughed. “A very big deal.”

Mina stared at the performance footage in absolute disbelief.

“You’re telling me grandpa was basically an idol?”

“Rockstar technically.”

“Oh my god.”

The realization completely rearranged her understanding of her grandparents instantly.

Because Grandpa Yunho had always just been…

Grandpa.

Warm smiles.

Movie nights.

Sneaking her candy before dinner while Grandma pretended not noticing.

The man who gardened obsessively and cried during emotional dog movies.

Not this.

Not someone performing in front of screaming stadiums while looking devastatingly cool.

Mina looked horrified suddenly.

“Wait.”

Her mum raised an eyebrow.

“Did grandma know?”

Lia snorted softly.

“She absolutely knew.”

“No, but like…” Mina gestured wildly toward the screen. “THIS version?”

Warmness softened across her mums face immediately.

“Oh, your grandma knew every version of him.”

Something about the way she said that made Mina quiet slightly.

The song continued softly in the background.

Then slowly Mina looked toward her mother again.

“Did they really love each other like that?”

Her mothers expression changed immediately.

Gentler somehow.

Like memory softened her from the inside.

“Oh,” she said quietly. “Very much.”

Mina hugged her blanket tighter unconsciously.

Because honestly?

Grandma and Grandpa always seemed unreal together.

Even as old people.

Especially as old people maybe.

Grandpa still kissed Grandma’s forehead constantly.

Still looked at her like she hung the moon itself.

And Grandma always softened around him instantly no matter how grumpy she acted beforehand.

Mina used to joke they were disgusting.

Now suddenly she wanted that kind of love more than anything.

Lia smiled faintly at the screen again. “That song actually has a story.”

Mina immediately looked interested.

“What story?”

Her mum tucked one leg beneath herself on the bed before speaking.

“Your grandpa wrote it when he thought your grandma didn’t want him anymore.”

Mina blinked.

“What?”

“Oh, they were a disaster in the beginning.”

That startled a laugh out of her immediately.

“Seriously?”

“Absolutely.” her mum smiled fondly. “Grandma almost ran away because she thought she wasn’t good enough for him.”

Mina frowned immediately.

“But grandma was gorgeous.”

“She still thought that.”

The words settled softly between them.

Her mum looked toward the rain outside briefly before continuing.

“She met him before knowing he was famous.”

Mina immediately leaned closer.

“Wait actually?”

And then slowly, softly, her mother told her the story.

About an exhausted office worker wandering into a random bar after work.

About a musician sneaking out onto a patio for fresh air.

About one stupid impulsive night wandering through the city together pretending adulthood didn’t exist.

Arcades.

Lake water under moonlight.

Street food at three in the morning.

Mina listened completely captivated.

Because somehow it sounded less like real life and more like one of the romance movies Grandma secretly loved watching late at night.

“And then?” Mina whispered quietly.

Her mother smiled softly.

“Then your grandma got scared.”

“Because of the fame?”

“Partly.” she nodded slightly. “But mostly because she loved him already.”

The room quieted softly afterward except for the song still playing faintly nearby.

Mina looked back toward the screen again.

Young Grandpa Yunho singing like his entire heart existed inside the song.

And suddenly the lyrics made sense differently.

The longing.

The desperation.

The hope at the end.

“He really wrote this about her?”

“Every word.”

Mina swallowed softly.

“That’s…” She laughed weakly. “Actually insane.”

Her mum smiled knowingly.

“He loved her his entire life.”

Something inside Mina’s chest hurt softly hearing that.

Not painful exactly.

Just emotional.

Because maybe people really could love each other like that.

Completely.

Deeply.

For decades.

Her mum reached over then and brushed gently through Mina’s hair.

“You know,” she said quietly, “your grandma used to say heartbreak wasn’t proof love failed.”

Mina looked toward her immediately.

“She said sometimes heartbreak just teaches you what kind of love you actually deserve.”

Emotion tightened unexpectedly in Mina’s throat.

Because maybe that was true.

Maybe Jaemin breaking her heart now wasn’t the end of everything.

Maybe it just hurt because she wanted something real someday.

Something lasting.

Like the kind Grandpa wrote songs about.

The rain continued softly outside while the old performance video replayed again.

And suddenly Mina understood why Grandma always looked at Grandpa like he was still the boy from that bar all those years ago.

Later that afternoon, the rain finally stopped.

Clouds drifted slowly apart leaving the cemetery washed in soft silver sunlight.

Mina walked quietly beside her mother through narrow stone paths lined with flowers.

Fresh rain clung to everything.

Leaves.

Grass.

The edges of marble headstones.

It smelled clean somehow.

Peaceful.

Mina held white lilies carefully against her chest while following her mum deeper into the cemetery.

She had visited before of course.

But today felt different somehow.

Now she carried the full story with her too.

Finally her mother slowed beside two graves resting quietly beneath a large tree.

Simple stones.

Side by side.

Jeong Yunho.

Y/N Jeong.

Mina stood silently for a second.

The ache in her chest returned softly seeing their names together.

Even after death they stayed side by side.

Her mother knelt first placing flowers gently down.

Mina copied her quietly afterward.

For a while neither spoke.

Wind moved softly through the trees overhead while distant birds chirped somewhere farther down the cemetery paths.

Peaceful.

Mina stared quietly at the engraved names.

And suddenly memories flooded unexpectedly.

Grandpa teaching her guitar chords when she was eight even though she completely sucked at it.

Grandma laughing so hard during family dinners that tears streamed down her face.

The way Grandpa always reached for Grandma’s hand automatically even after forty years together.

Like loving her became instinct.

Mina swallowed softly around the sudden tightness in her throat.

“They really loved each other, huh?”

Her mum smiled quietly beside her.

“Very much.”

Mina looked down again.

She remembered Grandpa after Grandma died especially.

How gentle he became afterward.

Not broken exactly.

Just quieter.

Like half his heartbeat disappeared.

Yet somehow he still talked about Grandma constantly with warmth instead of bitterness.

Like loving her remained the greatest thing that ever happened to him even after losing her.

He only lived two more years after Grandma passed.

Mom always said he simply missed her too much.

Mina used to think that sounded dramatic.

Now she understood better.

The wind moved softly again carrying distant city noise faintly through the cemetery.

Mina sat slowly down in the grass before the graves.

“You know,” she admitted quietly, “I used to think relationships like theirs weren’t real.”

Her mother sat beside her calmly.

“But now?”

Mina smiled faintly.

“Now I think maybe people just get scared before finding the right person.”

Emotion softened across her mums face immediately.

Mina looked down toward the flowers resting against the gravestones.

Maybe heartbreak wasn’t punishment.

Maybe it was direction.

A reminder not to settle for half-loved things.

Because her grandparents had something rare.

The kind of love songs got written about decades later.

The kind that survived fear and time and growing older.

The kind that still made people emotional generations afterward.

Mina thought about the way Grandpa sang in that video.

Like Grandma was the only person in the world.

And suddenly her heartbreak from last night felt smaller somehow.

Still painful.

But temporary.

One day maybe someone would look at her like that too.

Maybe one day she’d understand exactly why Grandpa kept writing songs even after all those years.

A soft breeze lifted through the cemetery again.

Mina smiled faintly toward the graves.

“You guys set the standards way too high by the way.”

Her mother laughed softly beside her.

“Trust me.” She looked toward the gravestones warmly. “They knew.”

Mina imagined Grandma rolling her eyes affectionately while Grandpa laughed beside her.

And somehow the thought felt comforting instead of sad.

Because maybe love that deep never fully disappeared anyway.

Maybe it simply stayed behind quietly in stories.

In songs.

In grandchildren discovering old music during heartbreaks.

Mina looked up toward the sky breaking slowly brighter above the trees.

Then softly, almost shyly:

“I hope I find something like that someday.”

Beside her, her mum squeezed her hand gently.

“You will.”

And for the first time since her heart broke the night before, Mina actually believed it.

Main Masterlist | Yunhos Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

"Come in." His muffled voice called from the other side.

You pushed the handle and stepped into his office, a sense of comfort washing over you at the sight of a familiar face.

"Jongho." You greeted.

"Y/n. You're right on time." He smiled, gesturing for you to have a seat. "You're here for another batch, right?"

You nodded, taking a seat in one of the leather chairs in front of his desk. Jongho turned around and felt along the wall until he pressed on a panel, a mini fridge concealed behind it. He reached inside and pulled out several bags of blood, placing them onto the table in front of you.

"This should be enough for the month." He said.

You stuffed the bags into your tote, pulling out a hefty envelope from your jacket pocket.

"Payment. I put extra in there. I just don't feel right getting this stuff for free."

Jongho dismissed your offer with a wave of his hand. "We've been over this. I don't need your money. This arrangement is special."

"I know, but—"

"Ah." Jongho held a finger up to silence you. "I'm doing this as a friend and a fellow vampire. I don't need money."

"Alright." You relented.

Jongho slid the panel back into place on the wall and stood from his chair, circling around to the front of the desk to perch on the ledge.

"How have you been since your last visit?"

He was always checking up on you during your monthly appointments, asking about your cravings and if he needed to send you home with more blood bags.

"I've been pretty good given my condition." You gave a couple pats to your tote bag. "These help."

You found Jongho almost a year ago when you woke up near the Han River at 3 AM with a burning in your throat and a soreness in your gums. Your memory was hazy and you couldn't think straight. Assuming you had been drugged, you staggered towards the nearest hospital. Jongho just so happened to be working that night, discussing some paperwork with a nurse when you stumbled through the front doors. You thought he was rather young for a Doctor, but weren't going to turn away any potential help.

"I think I've been drugged." You croaked.

Jongho's eyes widened in alarm and he rushed over to steady you, guiding you into a vacant room.

"Take it easy." He spoke in a calming tone, leading you to sit on the edge of the hospital bed. "My name is Dr. Choi Jongho. What's your name?"

"Y/n." You blinked forcefully, seeing everything too clearly for it to be considered normal.

"Okay, Y/n. What are you feeling right now?"

There was a glint of suspicion in his eyes when he asked.

"Dry." You rubbed at your throat. "My teeth hurt. Can't think straight. I don't remember what happened. Everything is so bright."

Jongho's expression turned grim. "Do you mind if I check you out real quick?"

You shook your head, not caring what happened, so long as you got some help.

He gently took your face between his fingers, tilting your head to the side to examine both sides of your neck. A frown carved its way into his boyish features when he spotted a set of fading puncture wounds. He sighed heavily and turned your face forward.

"Open your mouth for me, please."

You obeyed, your lips parting.

He kneeled down just enough to peer into your mouth. You were still in your transitional phase, so it wasn't noticeable yet, but your canines were slowly forming into sharp points. He released you, pulling back to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"So what's going on?" You asked.

"Stay here and lie down if you need to. I'll be right back." He tried to keep up his professional and calm demeanor, but his jaw was taut.

He returned to the room shortly with a blood bag in hand.

"Here." He held it out to you, noting your puzzled expression. "Drink it."

"I'm sorry?"

"You were bitten by a vampire. I know this is a lot to take in, but you need this right now. It'll clear your head and ease some of the symptoms you're experiencing."

You remembered it like it was yesterday. At first, you thought Jongho was messing with you until he revealed his own secret. Ever since then, he provided you with blood bags, insisting that you visit every month for a restock in order to keep your hunger at bay.

"So, why do I never hear from you?" Jongho's question brought you back to the present.

"Huh?"

"You hardly text." He said with a subtle pout.

"Oh. I don't wanna bother you. You're a busy guy."

"I'm not too busy for you." His response was instant.

Something in your chest squeezed at those words. He said them so casually despite the weight they carried and the meaning behind them.

"If you need help or just want some company, let me know." His brown eyes were full of sincerity, staring deeply into yours. You picked up on a flicker of longing in them, getting the sense that he wanted you to reach out.

"Okay." You nodded, picking at your nails. "Sorry for not texting more often. Truth is, I want to spend time with you outside this office. I just wasn't sure how to say it

A slow gummy smile spread across Jongho's lips at your confession.

"Then let's do something this weekend. No appointments or pickups. Just us."

Just us. The sound of it made something pleasant stir in your chest.

"That would be nice." You nodded approvingly, fighting to quell the excitement stirring in your gut.

"I'll text you the details later."

The meetup spot was a convenience store just before sunset. The sky was streaked with pale shades of orange and pink.

"What's with the location?" You teased, approaching Jongho, who was leaned against the building.

"I thought it would be a nice change from a professional setting. Something normal and comfortable." He grinned.

You turned to give a glance at the store and nodded. "Alright. I like it."

"You in the mood for some ramen?"

A small smile played at your lips. "Yeah. Ramen sounds good."

It was nice to still be able to eat regular food, even if it didn't provide the same feeling of satisfaction. The both of you selected your noodles and used the machines provided to add hot water to the cups. Picnic tables were clustered behind the store with a view of a nearby park. The setting made for a wonderful backdrop.

"It's good to see you in a more relaxed environment." Jongho commented, stirring his ramen, the steam rising into the air.

"Yeah." You nodded, taking in his casual attire.

It's not that Jongho wasn't an attractive guy, he was, but seeing him out of his white coat and in a t-shirt and a jean jacket had you looking at him differently.

"What?" Jongho questioned when he noticed your attention on him.

"I'm just not used to seeing you dressed casually."

"It must be shocking." He joked.

"Not really. Just different."

"Good different?"

"Yes." You laughed, quietly slurping a bite of ramen. "It's nice."

His expression softened. "Good." He took a sip of his soda before adding, "I'm glad we could do this and be normal for a bit."

"Yeah. I am too. I wish I'd done it sooner."

Jongho dismissed you with a wave of his hand. "We're here now. That's all that matters."

"You're right." You took another bite of noodles, savoring the flavor.

A breeze blew by and with it came the onslaught of scents from your surroundings: trees, flowers, convenience store items, and humans both nearby and far down the street.

It helped that Jongho was in front of you, his presence was a welcomed distraction. Even though it had been almost a year since you were attacked and turned, smells were still an issue.

"Being a doctor must require you to be around a lot of blood." You spoke up, distracting yourself with conversation.

"Sometimes." Jongho murmured, stirring his noodles.

"How do you manage?"

"Years of practice." He chuckled.

"So you're like Carlisle Cullen from Twilight."

Jongho snorted at first, caught off guard at the comparison. Then he let out a melodramatic groan. "Not even close. That guy isn't even real."

You laughed, partially doubling over in your seat. "Sorry. I had to."

Jongho's giggles filled the night air, the pleasant sounds like music to your ears.

"Are you distracted?" He asked when his laughter died down. "By the smells?"

"A little. It's not too bad."

"Keeping myself grounded always helps." Jongho offered some advice. "I've dealt with all this for six years of this, so I've learned a thing or two."

"Yeah, I usually try to focus on other things." You nodded.

"Does it work?"

"Sometimes."

Just as you said that, a small group of three teenagers game walking by and your nostrils flared.

"Hey." Jongho's calming voice reached your overly sensitive ears and when you looked at him, he was extending his hand across the table, palm up in a silent inviting manner.

Your gaze flickered up to meet his and he just waited. Slowly, you placed your hand in his, your heart stuttering at the contact as his fingers slowly curled around yours.

"Focus." He said.

You nodded, taking in a deep breath.

"I'm not even thirsty." You exhaled.

"I know." He nodded solemnly. "It's temptation that makes you feel like you are even if you fed recently."

His thumb caressed your knuckles in a loving manner that soothed your nerves, his touch feeling less like a comforting platonic gesture and more like something deeper.

"You wanna go on a walk?" He asked suddenly. "Get away from this area for a bit?"

You nodded, both of you ditching your partially-finished cups of noodles. Neither of you really needed food anyway.

You walked along the paved track lining a pond in the park, the sounds and smells of nature filling your senses, dulling the ones coming from passerby.

"The stars are coming out." Jongho commented, gazing up at the darkening sky.

"They are." You responded, managing to spot a few flickering specks above.

While staring at the spectacle, Jongho's knuckles brushed yours. You turned to look down at how close your hands were, your fingers twitching like they wanted to take hold. He glanced over, eyes flicking from your face to your hands, tentatively sliding his into yours.

The atmosphere shifted and Jongho moved to stand in front of you, his free hand slowly moving to brush your cheek. His gentle eyes were full of longing and kept darting to your lips.

"I'm so glad you found me that night you were turned."

"Me too."

"I don't just mean I'm grateful because I could help you, but because my life was boring before. You were the first vampire to come to the hospital for help. Granted, you didn't know what you were yet, but people like you are the reason I became a doctor."

You blinked, stunned at his admission.

"Vampires need connections with their kind. At first, I wanted to help you, but along the way I started to develop deeper feelings."

"You did?" You uttered faintly, making no moves to back away from him or his touch.

He nodded softly, moving in closer.

"I don't just want to be your blood supplier or even your friend. I'd like to be something more."

Your lips parted in silent awe, his words processing in your racing mind.

"Can I kiss you, Y/n?"

His question registered instantly and you nodded.

The initial contact felt like a jolt to your system, the sensations heightened due to your nature. His lips were warm and softer than velvet. The way he cradled your face like you were something precious made a flurry of butterflies erupt in your stomach.

You hardly noticed the pressure in your teeth that came with the rush of heightened sensations. Jongho didn't want to overwhelm you, so he parted ways after a few blissful moments. When he pulled away, he dragged his thumb over your bottom lip, catching sight of your partially descended fangs. His lingering attention had you bringing your hand up to your mouth, your fingers brushing your lips.

"I didn't even know they could do that."

"It's a common reaction." He assured. "Especially when experiencing a surge of emotions. It could be anger, sadness, even pleasure." There was a glint in his eye at the last word. "I take it you enjoyed that?"

Despite the warmth in your cheeks at being called out so bluntly, you nodded.

"Well," He grinned. "there's more where that came from."

Masterlist ᝰ — enjoyed this imagine? reblogs & comments are very much appreciated!

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The same hills where she had stolen his heart without permission.

His hands shook. He hated that they still shook.

A week had passed.

Seven days.

Seven days since she had died in his arms.

Seven days since her blood had soaked through his clothes.

Seven days since her last smile.

Seven days since she had told him she loved him.

The wound should have dulled.

Everyone said it would.

Everyone lied.

It felt worse.

Every morning he woke expecting to find a reason to visit the goose fields.

Every afternoon he caught himself searching rooms for her.

Every evening he remembered she was gone.

And every evening it felt just as impossible as the first.

The grave stood before him.

Simple.

White stone.

No grand monument.

No towering statue.

Just her name.

Y/N.

Nothing else.

Nothing more was needed.

His eyes burned again.

Beside him, Liora squeezed his hand.

Not because she was the future queen.

Not because politics demanded it.

Because she understood.

Out of everyone present, perhaps only she truly understood.

The princess stood beside him dressed in black silk.

The fear that had once lived inside her seemed gone now.

Not completely.

Fear never vanished completely.

But she no longer bowed beneath it.

She stood straight.

Strong.

Exactly as Y/N had wanted.

Her father stood nearby.

The King of Valterre.

Elara stood beside Liora openly now.

No more secrets.

No more hiding.

No more shame.

Y/N had given them that too.

Another thing she would never see.

Jongho swallowed hard.

The priest continued speaking.

The words meant nothing.

He couldn't hear them.

Not really.

Everything felt distant.

Muted.

Like the world had been wrapped in thick cloth.

When the ceremony ended people slowly began leaving.

One by one.

The ministers.

The servants.

The guards.

The king.

Even Wooyoung eventually left.

Though not before placing flowers on the grave with tears in his eyes.

That hurt too.

Because Wooyoung never cried.

Not like that.

Eventually only three people remained.

Jongho.

Liora.

And Elara.

The princess looked down at the grave.

"I wish she could see this."

Her voice broke.

Elara wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

Jongho couldn't answer.

Because he wished that too.

More than anything.

Eventually Liora squeezed his hand again.

"We told my father."

Jongho nodded.

The memory surfaced.

Three days earlier.

A private meeting.

No politics.

No lies.

No obligations.

Liora standing beside Elara.

Head high.

Speaking clearly.

For herself.

For the first time.

The engagement was over.

The alliance remained.

Friendship instead of marriage.

Peace instead of sacrifice.

Exactly what Y/N would have wanted.

The thought hurt.

Everything hurt.

Eventually Liora stepped closer.

Then surprised him by pulling him into a hug.

Jongho froze, then slowly returned it.

"You kept your promise."

She sounded close to tears.

"You helped me find myself."

Jongho closed his eyes.

"No."

His voice was rough.

"She did."

Liora nodded against his shoulder.

"She did."

They stood like that for a moment.

Two people grieving the same woman.

Then eventually they separated.

Elara gently guided Liora away.

The princess stopped once before leaving.

Looking back.

Toward the grave. Toward him.

Then she smiled sadly and left.

Jongho remained.

Alone.

The wind stirred the grass.

The silence stretched.

Eventually he knelt.

One hand resting against the cold stone. "I miss you."

The words sounded pathetic.

His throat tightened. "You should be here."

Nothing answered.

Of course.

Nothing ever would.

Not anymore.

Eventually he stood.

Then walked away.

The stable smelled exactly the same.

Life continuing despite grief.

Jongho hated that.

Life should have stopped.

The world should have noticed.

Instead everything kept moving.

The horses still needed feeding.

The sun still rose.

The kingdom still needed ruling.

People still laughed.

He hated them for it sometimes.

Then hated himself for hating them.

One of the stable boys bowed.

"Your Highness."

Jongho nodded.

"My horse."

The boy hurried away.

Moments later his black stallion appeared.

Then another sound reached him.

Restless movement.

A snort.

A hoof striking wood.

Falada.

The white horse paced inside her stall.

Agitated.

Unhappy.

The stable boys looked nervous.

"She has been like this all day."

Jongho frowned.

The horse immediately looked toward him.

Then snorted.

Loudly.

Demandingly.

The stable boy blinked.

"That's new."

Jongho stared.

Falada stared back.

Then struck the stall door.

Again.

Impatient.

Almost purposeful.

A strange feeling settled inside him.

Old magic. Ancient magic.

Something familiar.

Without entirely understanding why he spoke.

"Saddle her."

The stable boy looked surprised.

"But Your Highness..."

"Saddle her."

Minutes later Jongho rode from the castle.

Not on his own horse. On Falada.

The white mare moved through the fields as if she knew exactly where she wanted to go.

Past the goose meadows.

Past the river.

Past the forest edge.

Farther.

Farther.

Until the castle disappeared behind the hills.

The ride felt endless.

Silent.

The wind cooled his face.

Eventually even the grief faded.

Not because it left. Because he had exhausted himself.

Until only emptiness remained.

A hollow ache.

A wound that no longer bled because there was nothing left to bleed.

Falada finally stopped beneath a massive oak tree.

The sun had begun setting.

Orange light painted the horizon.

Jongho slid from the saddle.

Then sat beneath the tree.

Back against the trunk.

Eyes fixed on nothing.

For a long time he simply sat there.

Silent.

Eventually the words came.

Because they always did.

And because nobody was there to hear them.

Except a horse.

"You liked her too, didn’t you."

Falada's ears twitched.

Jongho laughed bitterly.

"Of course you did."

The horse remained still.

The wind stirred the leaves.

Jongho looked toward the horizon.

"She was annoying."

A tear slipped down his face.

"She talked too much."

Another.

"She challenged everything."

His voice broke.

"She made me laugh."

The tears wouldn't stop.

"I love her."

There it was.

The truth.

"I think..."

His throat tightened.

"I think I always would have."

The confession disappeared into the evening air.

The world remained silent.

Then he laughed weakly.

Looking toward the horse.

"Listen to me."

Falada lowered her head slightly.

"I am talking to a horse."

The horse stepped closer.

Jongho wiped at his eyes.

"She made me feel..."

He stopped.

Searching.

For the right words.

Something large.

Something impossible.

Something he couldn't explain.

„Like I already knew her."

His voice softened.

„Like old souls found each other again."

The horse suddenly moved.

Closer.

Jongho frowned.

"Falada?"

The mare lowered her head.

Then touched her forehead gently against his.

The world vanished.

Light exploded.

Golden.

Warm.

Ancient.

Jongho froze.

A voice echoed through his mind.

Not spoken.

Felt.

Old as mountains.

Soft as moonlight.

You loved her well.

His breath caught.

The voice continued.

And she loved you.

Tears immediately returned.

"What..."

The horse remained still.

Yet the voice remained.

Do not fear.

Jongho's heart pounded.

"Who are you?"

A promise.

The answer felt strange.

Ancient.

Sacred.

A guardian.

Understanding crashed into him.

The queen.

Liora's mother.

The magic.

The amulet.

Something connected.

Something old.

Something watching.

His throat tightened.

"Can I see her again?"

The question escaped before pride could stop it.

Silence.

Then:

Yes.

The word shattered him.

Hope.

Painful hope.

The worst kind.

His hands shook.

"When?"

The answer came gently.

Not in this life.

The hope cracked, but didn't die.

You have a kingdom to guide.

The voice felt warm now.

Almost kind.

You have promises yet to keep.

Images flashed before him.

Liora.

Valterre.

His people.

The throne.

Responsibilities.

Life.

The future.

Protect Princess Liora.

Protect her kingdom.

Rule well.

The conditions settled around him.

And when this life ends.

His breath stopped.

I will ensure your paths cross again.

Jongho closed his eyes.

Tears fell freely.

No shame. No pride.

Only grief.

And hope.

Beautiful. Terrible. Hope.

"She'll remember me?"

The answer came immediately.

Some souls never truly forget each other.

The sunset deepened.

The world slowly returned.

The warmth faded.

The voice disappeared.

Falada stepped back.

Once again only a horse.

Only a mare beneath a tree.

Only silence.

Jongho sat there for a long time.

Looking toward the horizon.

Thinking of Y/N.

Of another life.

Another chance.

A future he would never see.

Yet somehow believed in.

Eventually he stood.

His chest still hurt.

The grief remained. The loss remained.

Nothing had changed.

And yet.

Everything had.

He rested one hand against Falada's neck.

"Then I'll wait."

The horse huffed softly.

Jongho smiled.

Then together they turned toward home.

Toward the kingdom he had promised to protect.

Toward the future.

Toward a life without Y/N.

A life he would endure because of a promise.

And somewhere beyond sunsets and years and lifetimes.

Beyond kingdoms.

Beyond magic.

Beyond death itself.

A door waited.

And perhaps.

One day.

Another soul would open it.

In another lifetime

The first thing Y/N did every morning was unlock the front door.

The second was turn on the coffee machine.

The third was admire her geese.

The order was important.

Very important.

"You're staring at them again."

Y/N looked up from the display shelf.

Her friend and coworker Mina stood behind the counter holding a box of fresh pastries.

Y/N glanced back at the ceramic goose collection.

Then at Mina.

Then back at the geese.

"They're cute."

"They're geese."

"They can be both."

"They hiss."

"They just have boundaries."

Mina laughed.

Y/N carefully adjusted a freshly painted ceramic mug.

White geese marched across the surface surrounded by little wildflowers.

It was adorable.

And apparently nobody understood her artistic vision.

Including Mina. Especially Mina.

The ceramic workshop café had been open for almost three years now.

It was Y/N's favorite place in the world.

Warm lights.

Coffee. Fresh pastries.

Paint.

Clay.

Shelves full of handmade pottery.

The gentle hum of conversation.

And geese.

Lots of geese.

Ceramic geese.

Painted geese.

Tiny goose figurines.

Goose mugs.

Goose bowls.

Goose plates.

Goose everything.

Her customers loved it. Or at least tolerated it.

Mina remained unconvinced. "I still don't understand why you like them so much."

Y/N shrugged.

The answer came automatically.

The same answer it always did. "They feel like home."

Mina paused.

The teasing immediately faded.

Because Y/N always said it like that.

Not joking.

Not laughing.

Just... certain.

As if she genuinely meant it.

Which was strange, because she had never owned geese.

Never lived near geese.

Never even particularly interacted with them growing up.

Yet somehow seeing one always filled her with warmth.

Comfort.

Familiarity.

Home.

The feeling made absolutely no sense.

Mina leaned against the counter. "Dream again?"

Y/N looked up.

Mina noticed. "Thought so."

Y/N sighed. Then laughed softly.

"How did you know?"

"Because every time you have that dream, you spend the entire day looking sentimental."

"Rude."

"Accurate."

Unfortunately true.

Y/N walked behind the counter and accepted the coffee Mina handed her.

The warmth felt nice against her palms.

Outside, people hurried past the café windows.

Life.

Ordinary life.

Normal life.

The life she'd always known.

Yet somehow.

Not entirely.

Mina sat opposite her. "So?"

Y/N smiled despite herself.

"The usual."

"The geese?"

"The geese."

"The mystery man?"

Y/N nodded.

"The mystery man."

Mina groaned dramatically.

"I swear at this point I know more about your dream boyfriend than some real people."

Y/N laughed.

The dream.

Always the same.

Always.

As far back as she could remember.

Since childhood.

Before she understood what love was.

Before she understood grief.

Before she understood anything.

The dream had always existed.

The details changed slightly over the years.

But the feeling never did.

Never.

"There was a field."

Mina immediately nodded.

"There are always fields."

"There are."

"And geese."

"There are always geese."

"And the guy."

Y/N smiled into her coffee.

"Yes."

Mina pointed immediately.

"See."

"What?"

"That smile."

Y/N rolled her eyes.

Mina ignored her.

The dream felt more real lately.

Sharper.

Like something was changing.

Like something was coming closer.

"I never see everything."

Y/N stared out the window.

"Not clearly."

"But?"

"The feelings are clear."

That was the strange part.

The strongest part.

The impossible part.

She remembered feelings more than events.

Warmth.

Safety.

Laughter.

Arguments.

Challenge.

Love.

So much love.

The kind that hurt.

The kind that changed people.

The kind that made the rest of the world disappear.

Mina listened quietly.

"The man is always there."

Y/N continued softly.

"Standing beside me."

The image appeared immediately.

A field.

Golden sunlight.

White geese.

And him.

Always him.

Dark eyes.

Dark hair.

A smile she could never fully remember after waking.

Only the feeling.

"What does he look like?"

Mina had asked that question hundreds of times.

The answer never changed.

"I don't know exactly."

"That's impossible."

"I know."

"But it is."

Mina sighed.

"You're telling me you've had the same dream your entire life."

"Yes."

"About the same man."

"Yes."

"You fall in love."

"Yes."

"You kiss."

"Yes."

"And then you die."

Y/N's smile faded.

Because that part always remained too.

The ending.

The painful ending.

The part she hated.

The part that always made her wake up crying.

The feeling of blood.

Loss.

Goodbye.

And him holding her.

Always him.

Y/N looked down at her coffee.

"I always die."

Mina's expression softened immediately.

The joking disappeared.

As it always did when they reached this part.

"And every time I wake up..."

Y/N struggled for the words.

"Feeling like I lost someone."

Silence settled between them.

Mina reached over and squeezed her hand.

"Maybe he was someone important in another life"

Y/N smiled weakly.

"In another life?"

"You never know."

Y/N laughed.

"What?"

"There is your soulmate speech again."

Mina looked offended. "I haven't even started yet."

"Oh no."

"Oh yes."

Y/N groaned.

Mina grinned. "I think mystery dream man is your soulmate."

"Stop."

"I'm serious."

"You absolutely are not."

"I am."

Y/N laughed harder.

Yet beneath it.

Deep down.

A small part of her wondered.

Because the dream never felt imaginary.

Not really.

The emotions were too strong.

Too real.

Too old.

As if remembering rather than dreaming.

Which made no sense.

Absolutely none.

Still.

Sometimes.

Very late at night.

She wondered.

The day passed quickly.

Customers came and went.

Ceramics were painted.

Coffee was served.

Geese were admired.

A little girl spent twenty minutes painting a goose wearing a crown.

Y/N nearly cried from happiness.

By evening the café finally emptied.

Mina headed home first.

Leaving Y/N alone to close.

The sky outside glowed orange.

Warm.

Peaceful.

Beautiful.

After locking up she decided to stop at a small coffee shop nearby.

A reward.

She deserved one.

Running a business was hard.

And muffins existed.

The logic felt flawless.

Twenty minutes later she emerged carrying a coffee and blueberry muffin.

The city glowed beneath evening lights.

People filled the sidewalks.

Cars rolled past.

Everything felt ordinary.

Y/N took another bite of her muffin.

Then immediately walked into someone.

The collision nearly sent both coffees flying.

"Watch where you're—"

The words escaped automatically.

Y/N grabbed the stranger's sleeve to stop herself from falling.

"Seriously, people can't just stop in the middle of—"

She looked up and everything stopped.

The city vanished.

The sounds disappeared.

The world disappeared.

Dark eyes.

Dark hair.

Tall.

Broad shoulders.

And a face she had never seen.

Yet knew instantly.

Her breath caught.

Impossible.

Absolutely impossible.

Because she knew him.

She knew him.

The stranger stared back.

Equally frozen.

Coffee forgotten.

Sidewalk forgotten.

Everything forgotten.

His eyes widened.

Not in surprise.

Recognition.

The same recognition exploding inside her.

For one terrifying second neither moved.

Then his expression changed.

Softened.

Like someone who had spent a lifetime searching.

Like someone who had finally come home.

Y/N's heart hammered painfully.

Because she knew that smile.

Not from memory.

From feeling.

From dreams.

From somewhere deeper than either.

The man smiled.

Small.

Disbelieving.

Beautiful.

And Y/N felt tears immediately sting her eyes.

His voice was rough.

Almost emotional.

As though he could barely believe it himself.

"I finally found you."

The words shattered something inside her.

Not painfully.

The opposite.

Like a lock breaking.

Like a door opening.

Like a missing piece sliding back into place.

Y/N stared.

Everything forgotten.

Then.

Slowly.

A smile spread across her face too.

The same one she had worn in dreams.

The same one she didn't understand.

Yet somehow felt completely natural.

As if she had been waiting for this moment her entire life.

Maybe she had.

And standing beneath the evening sky.

Looking into the eyes of the man she'd dreamed about for as long as she could remember.

For the first time.

Y/N wondered if some souls really did find each other again.

Epilogue

Some doors close with whispered grace,

Leaving only time and space.

Others linger, soft and near,

Their echoes carried year by year.

Eight were called beneath one sky,

Eight watched ordinary worlds drift by.

Eight crossed thresholds none should see,

And stepped into old destiny.

One sought gold where devils smiled,

And found a heart both fierce and wild.

Three golden hairs, a road through flame,

Yet love remained when fortune came.

One walked forests red and deep,

Where hungry eyes forgot to sleep.

Yet beneath the shadow of fang and wood,

A gentle heart forever stood.

One wandered roads of ash and snow,

Where only stubborn souls could go.

Through scorn and fear and winter's breath,

Love waited patiently beyond death.

One followed garlands pale and sweet,

To a house where danger dressed as feast.

Yet courage saw what charm concealed,

And truth became both sword and shield.

One learned that names hold power still,

That bargains bend to stronger will.

And where fate demanded gold and fear,

Love spoke the truest name to hear.

The Sixth for far away beneath another moon,

A princess wept beside a river's tune.

A stolen crown, a borrowed face, A kingdom bound by hidden grace.

A girl from nowhere crossed the tide,

And stood where truth itself would hide.

Among the geese, among the rain,

She laughed through sorrow, loss, and pain.

She taught a frightened heart to rise.

She taught a prince to compromise.

She gave away what few possess,

A love that asked for nothing less.

And though her story ended there,

With blood and grief and whispered prayer,

The oldest magic knew its part.

For death may still a beating heart,

Yet some souls never drift apart.

Yet even now the tale is not done.

For two doors still remain unopened.

One waits where feathers drift through air,

And silent vows become a prayer.

Six brothers wander wing and sky,

While one brave heart must learn goodbye.

There love shall bloom through sacrifice,

And patience prove its hidden price.

Another waits where crumbs are strewn,

Beneath a pale enchanted moon.

A path of sweets, a witch's grin,

And shadows hiding deep within.

Yet clever hearts and hands held tight,

May still transform the darkest night.

Two stories linger.

Two roads remain.

Two hearts still wait beyond the rain.

And somewhere magic watches still, Beyond the forest, past the hill. Patient as winter. Certain as spring.

Waiting.

For the next door to open.

Because every once upon a time Is merely the first echo of what is to come.

Fairytale Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Jonghos Masterlist

To read the other members Fairytale Retellings go to the Fairytale Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

The first thing you learned about your husband was that he didn’t smile.

Not at the wedding. Not during the vows.

Not even when the officiant tried to lighten the atmosphere with a joke about “till death do you part” sounding a little too literal considering his line of work.

Kang Yeosang had simply stood there in his perfectly tailored suit, hands steady, expression unreadable—like he wasn’t marrying you, but signing a contract.

Which, to be fair, he kind of was.

You weren’t naive.

You knew exactly what this marriage was: a strategic alliance between your family and his. 

Stability. Protection. Power consolidation. 

All the very romantic things that made mafia deals go smoothly.

What you didn’t expect… was how quiet he would be. Not cold in the dramatic, cruel way.

Just… distant.

Like he existed slightly outside of your world.

He spoke when necessary. Ate with precision. Moved like someone always calculating three steps ahead. 

Even at home, where most people would relax, Yeosang remained composed—back straight, voice low, emotions tucked away behind a wall you couldn’t even see the edges of.

At first, you tried.

“Do you like tea or coffee?” you had asked on the third morning after moving in.

“Either.”

“…Okay, but which do you prefer?”

A pause.

“Tea.”

You beamed. “Great! I’ll remember that.”

He nodded once. That was it.

No “thank you.” No follow-up.

Just… Yeosang.

You refused to let that discourage you.

If he was a wall, you’d be ivy.

You talked about everything.

Your day. The neighbor’s weird cat. A random documentary you watched. A joke you found funny.

He listened, always. That was the strange part.

He never interrupted, never dismissed you, never told you to stop talking. He just… didn’t respond much.

Still, you noticed things.

Like how his gaze would linger just a fraction longer when you laughed.

Or how he’d subtly adjust the air conditioning because you once mentioned you got cold easily.

Or how your favorite snacks would magically appear in the pantry after you offhandedly said you liked them.

He didn’t show his affection with his words.

He… executed it.

Quietly. Efficiently.

Like everything else he did.

You shared a room.

A large one, elegant and impersonal at first, until you filled it with small touches—books on the nightstand, soft blankets, a ridiculous amount of pillows Yeosang never complained about.

The bed, however, remained a clear line of demarcation.

You on one side. Him on the other.

He never crossed it. Not even in his sleep. Not even once.

It wasn’t rejection, exactly. It just… felt like distance.

And sometimes, late at night, when the house was silent and Yeosang’s breathing was steady beside you, you’d stare at the ceiling and wonder—

Does he even like me?

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

If there was one thing you didn’t share with him, it was your stash.

Hidden carefully in the bottom drawer of your desk, beneath neatly folded scarves and old notebooks, was your treasure trove:

Romance novels. Fanfiction printouts.

Dog-eared pages, highlighted lines, sticky notes marking your favorite scenes.

Soft love. Slow burns. Confessions whispered in the dark.

The kind of affection your marriage didn’t quite have.

It wasn’t that you expected Yeosang to suddenly turn into a dramatic romantic lead.

But sometimes—

Okay, a lot of times—

you wished he’d just… reach for you.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

It happened on a completely normal afternoon.

Which, in hindsight, was exactly how life liked to ruin you.

You had left in a hurry, rushing out to meet a friend, completely forgetting that you’d left your drawer slightly open.

And Yeosang… had come home early.

He wasn’t looking for anything in particular.

Just a document he thought might be on your desk.

He noticed the drawer because it wasn’t perfectly aligned.

And Yeosang was, unfortunately, a man who noticed everything.

So he opened it.

And found…books. A lot of books.

He frowned slightly, picking one up. The cover was… pink.

Suspiciously pink.

He flipped it open.

Read a line. Paused. Read another.

His expression didn’t change much. But his ears turned slightly red.

“His fingers traced her wrist, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing every inch of her skin—”

Yeosang closed the book.

Very calmly. Placed it back.

Opened another one.

“You don’t understand,” he whispered, voice breaking, “I’ve loved you from the moment you walked into my life.”

Pause. Blink.

Yeosang sat down.

And, for reasons even he couldn’t quite explain…kept reading.

You didn’t think anything was wrong when you walked in.

“Yeosang, I’m back!” you called cheerfully, slipping off your shoes.

No response. That wasn’t unusual.

You wandered into the bedroom—and froze.

Because your husband was sitting on the edge of the bed.

Holding one of your books.

Your brain stopped functioning.

“…”

“…”

He looked up. You looked at him.

The book.

Him.

The book.

Him.

“I can explain,” you blurted.

“Explain what,” he asked calmly, holding up the book, “this?”

You wanted the floor to swallow you whole.

“It’s—uh—it’s research.”

“Research.”

“Yes.”

“For what?”

“…life.”

A pause.

Then—

“…I see.”

He looked back at the page and continued reading.

You stood there. Processing.

“…Wait.”

You stepped closer.

“You’re just going to keep reading it?”

“I was in the middle of a chapter.”

“That’s not the point!”

He glanced at you.

“Then what is?”

Your face burned.

“That’s private!”

“I didn’t know that,” he said, tone even. “It was not labeled.”

“You don’t need a label, it’s obvious—!”

Another pause.

He closed the book gently. Looked at you.

“…Do you like this kind of thing?”

Your soul left your body.

“Why are you asking that?” you said weakly.

“You read a lot of it.”

“That doesn’t mean anything!”

“It usually does.”

“That’s not—” you stopped. “Okay, yes, I like it, but that’s not the point!”

“What is the point?”

“The point is that you weren’t supposed to see it!”

“Why.”

“Because it’s embarrassing!”

“Why.”

“Because it just is!”

Yeosang studied you. Carefully.

“…It is about affection,” he said.

You froze.

“…What?”

“These stories,” he continued, flipping the book slightly, “they focus heavily on emotional and physical intimacy.”

You covered your face.

“I know what they’re about, Yeosang.”

“Do you want that?”

Your hands dropped. The room went quiet.

He wasn’t teasing. Wasn’t mocking. Wasn’t even embarrassed.

He was just… asking.

Direct. Honest.

Like he always did.

And suddenly, it wasn’t funny anymore.

“…I mean,” you started, quieter now, “I don’t expect… all that dramatic stuff.”

He waited.

“I just…” you hesitated. “Sometimes I wonder if you even like me.”

Silence.

“I do,” he said.

You blinked.

“…You do?”

“Yes.”

“…Oh.”

That was… not what you expected.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

Something shifted after that.

Not dramatically. Not overnight.

But… noticeably. It started small.

One evening, you were reading on the couch when he sat beside you.

Closer than usual. Not touching.

Just… close.

You noticed. Said nothing.

Then—

His hand moved.

Slowly. Carefully.

And rested next to yours.

Not holding. Not quite touching.

Just… there.

You stared at it. Then at him.

He was looking straight ahead, completely composed.

But his fingers… twitched slightly. Like he wasn’t used to this either.

You smiled. And gently placed your hand over his.

He froze.

But he didn’t pull away. Didn’t react.

Just… stayed.

But his grip tightened. Just a little.

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Yeosang approached affection like he approached everything else:

Methodically.

Which led to… some very interesting moments.

“You look… acceptable.”

“Acceptable???”

He paused.

“…Good.”

You burst out laughing. He looked mildly offended.

Another time, you were in the kitchen when he suddenly hugged you.

From behind. Stiffly.

Like he had read instructions but didn’t quite understand them. 

You nearly dropped the spoon.

“…Yeosang?”

“…Yes.”

“…Are you okay?”

“I am attempting something.”

“…I can tell.”

Pause.

“…Is it working?”

You turned in his arms, smiling.

“Yeah. It is.”

The third time, you came home one day to find candles.

Everywhere. Way too many candles.

“Yeosang—why does it look like a ritual in here?”

“I read that this creates atmosphere.”

“…For what?”

He hesitated.

“…Romance.”

You stared at him.

Then laughed so hard you had to sit down.

He looked deeply confused.

Despite the awkwardness, the stiffness, the occasional complete misunderstanding of fictional tropes—

He was trying. For you.

And that mattered more than anything.

But the real moment—

The one that stayed with you came quietly. Like everything important did with him.

It was late.

You were half-asleep, curled up on your side of the bed.

When you felt it.

A shift. Warmth. Weight.

You blinked your eyes open.

And realized—